#not me trauma dumping that was not supposed to happen

[major-fukkup]

1, 3, 22, and 23

1. What song makes you feel better?

Honestly, it depends on my mood. I tend to feel better when I listen to songs that reflect my current mood - sad songs make me feel better when I'm depressed, happy or upbeat songs give me a good feel when I'm happy, and, well, heavy metal helps me relax when I'm agitated or angry.

However there is one song I have never been sad while listening to - Good Time by Owl City and Carly Rae Jepsen. It always gives me a great feeling inside although... if I'm being honest, I have never actually listened to it while depressed so I don't know how much better it might make me feel. I have specifically avoided doing that because when I'm depressed I prefer to let my emotions out (provided I'm alone and in a safe space) rather than try to force myself to change moods when there's no one around to make me feel bad for having feelings. Mainly because I think suppressing my emotions for all those years is a big part of why my head is so fucked up today! But, I'm not here to talk about that. XD

Also Raining Blood by Slayer.

Y'know what fuck everything I just said Goodbye Forever by Volbeat is The Song™️. It makes me feel good when I'm sad and better when I'm happy, and it's got that vibe that relaxes me when I'm agitated too. So yeah. That one.

3. What's your favorite candle scent?

I'm not really familiar with a lot of candle scents - I don't own any as I don't exactly have the money to buy them or the space to keep them - but I have gone candle-sniffing with a friend a few times and we'd usually smell all of them so I don't really remember any specifically except the one I used to have, which was honeysuckle. I bought it at the time because I find the scent comforting - it reminds me of home. Wherever that may be.

22. What would you say to your future self?

Bro, you don't have to remember where you came from. You can let it all go and never look back. Just don't forget where you're going, and don't forget the lessons you learned along the way.

23. Favorite piece of clothing?

Hmm, you know what? I'm going to say my favorite piece of clothing is probably my Death Note hoodie. It's the best of everything - it's soft and warm and feels like wearing a hug, it's big enough to hide the things I don't like about my body, it makes me feel very secure, and IT'S A GRAPHIC HOODIE FOR PETE'S SAKE NOT TO MENTION FROM A MEDIA FRANCHISE I REALLY LIKE. What's not to love??? And, well, to be honest it gets me a lot of compliments, not that I'm overly concerned with what others think of me. But it does make me really happy when people start talking to me about Death Note just because of the hoodie.

"IS DEATH NOTE YOUR FAVORITE ANIME" yup.

"HAVE YOU SEEN THE MOVIE" don't get me started.

"WHO'S YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTER" Ryuk of course.

And this week it was "IF YOU LIKE DEATH NOTE YOU SHOULD WATCH CHAINSAW MAN" awesome, thanks. I've been hearing about it recently and wasn't really sure if it would be my thing (ADHD decides, I don't) but now I will definitely watch it.

Anyway I'll wrap this up now, it got long (and dark lol I'm sorry) and I probably should have deleted most of it because reasons but then again the ask game is about getting to know a person. XD

[cinnamon-phrog]

A mutual reblogged a pr*ship post and their dni is now neutral. Unfallowed. Bolcked.

[s0fter-sin]

“maybe if i, an 8yr old, managed to talk sense into my groomed and deeply traumatised 13yr old brother, maybe he wouldn’t have accidentally almost killed himself and become a villain” and no one in that room disagreed with him??

[sk3l3t0n444]

shes mad

[spacelazarwolf]

i think it’s appropriate, funny even, to trauma dump on ppl who are intentionally being an asshole to u.

“lmao u just don’t wanna be bald bc then u’ll look like ur dad”

“i mean yeah honestly it’s kinda traumatic bc i have a rough relationship with my dad. it was rough to go from ‘daddy’s little girl’ to ‘gross gender freak’ after i came out, i’m used to him being my biggest cheerleader even when we didn’t see eye to eye, so to lose his support overnight has been really traumatizing and i’m really sad about it. and like how do i find positive male role models if my own dad doesn’t want to be one for me? who’s supposed to teach me to shave or take me to my first suit fitting or teach me how to be a good man when he doesn’t even believe i am one? what happens when i actually do start to look like him and he still rejects me? it’s just been really stressful to deal with all the—”

[southislandwren]

Heehee gamers maybe I should’nt have sat in on this zoom meeting about my dying grandpa

[sexygaywizard]

I kinda hate the term "trauma dumping" because it always makes me feel guilty for just talking about my life and feel like I should be avoiding or lying about stuff that happened to me but like. When you have a life largely shaped by big traumatic events how are you even supposed to talk about yourself at all without talking about that

[teaboot]

Okay so I have therapy later so I'm thinking about things my therapist has said and one thing I'm actually stuck on is "You can just have casual friends you hang out with sometimes for fun. You don't have to like everything they do and you don't have to agree with their choices, they can just be sometimes-have-drinks friends" and like???

I can TOTALLY get along with people I don't 100% agree with! I can ABSOLUTELY be friendly and have a nice afternoon with people I don't especially like! But like??? If I don't trust and respect them, wht would I call them my friend??

The conversation started as, like. "I only have three or four people in my life and I want to expand my bubble a little, but I've been told I have high standards- My standards are just, "people I like being around, who I admire and respect and don't treat me badly"- so how do I lower that standard without putting myself at risk? SHOULD I lower that standard? Or is it better to be a bit lonely, rather than allow for the chance of negativity and discomfort?"

And it feels like her solution to that was just, "expand your definition of friendship".

But like. How??

A friend is someone who I'd trust alone in my home. A friend is someone I want to do unpleasant chores for. A friend is someone who could have a spare key and my phone number and takes turns venting and sharing dirty secrets and asking for help and advice.

And the things I "don't approve of"- things like lying, cheating, dumping work on others, being catty and passive-agressive and not communicating... I can get along with people like that, but I dont consider them friends, because I don't trust that they wouldn't do it to me, and I don't like that they do it to others, and it's exhausting to confront people about their behaviors even if you DO already like them.

But I should hang out with people like this socially, and call them friends, and invite them into my life? Just to get out of the house? What happens if they want to come over? How could I say, "No, I'm scared of getting closer to you"? Or, "No, I don't want you to get closer to me"? Or, "No, I don't actually find you entirely pleasant, and it's not at all your fault, but let's keep this casual"?

That doesn't seem very nice, or very fair. But feelings aren't fair, are they?

Is this an Autism thing? Is it a Trauma thing? Narcissism? A misunderstanding? A delusion? Or something else?

Is everybody constantly trapped in the choice between Comfortably Lonely or Exhausted with Company?

How is anyone supposed to choose?

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Can you do Jeff, Ben, Liu, Masky, EJ, and Toby with a child experimented reader? Like they have scars and there wrists are swollen from being restrained, and everything? 

𝕀'𝕞 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕘𝕦𝕪𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕕𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕦𝕡 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕗𝕗/𝕝𝕙

ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕘𝕠 𝕥𝕠 @𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕤-𝕟-𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖!! 𝔾𝕠 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜!

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘!!

Jeff the Killer

He's a total insensitive asshole at first

"God damn kid, the fuck happened to your wrists? You cut yourself or somethin'?"

When you start sniffling and crying he knows he's fucked up

"Oh shit, wait hey I-I didn't mean it!"

One 3 hour long lecture from Slender and EJ later about how you do not in fact, cut yourself, you were held as an experiment for your entire life, he feels like he's come out a changed man

He is too much of an asshole to apologize, but he will try to make it better by initiating small talk

"You know, I was kind of an experiment too in a way"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean you know, I definetly didn't have it as bad as you but when I was growing up, my parents would force me to do things just to see how i'd react. And you know, how I look now is kind of a result of that"

You definetly don't like him after that, but you feel a little better

Jeff is an acquired taste for most people

No one just likes Jeff when they meet him LMAO

But as he continues to try and relate to you, you can commend him for trying

You still don't like him that much, but he's alright

Ben Drowned

He doesn't even mention it

He notices your scars and stuff, yeah, but he doesn't bring it up

1, he doesn't care enough to ask

2, he doesn't wanna make you upset

But sometimes, it's the guy that's too busy playing video games to actually listen to what you're saying that people trauma dump on

Which he doesn't mind

He's not a gossiper, and he forgets everything so chances are, if you tell Ben something, he's taking it to the grave

Er...second grave???

So as you sit there, telling him all you endured, he just sits there quietly

Maybe occasionally popping in with a "Damn that's crazy"

He probably isn't listening im sorry

Or maybe he is idk

The only way to really tell if he was is if months later, you mention something offhand and he's like

"Oh yeah I remember that. That's when a little bit of your skull was removed, right?"

And you'll just look at him like 'you were actually listening????'

Homicidal Liu

Liu, like Ben, notices but doesn't say anything

He and Jeff had a similar childhood, but even if he didn't, he still wouldn't risk bringing up trauma

But sometimes he gets a little concerned

Like if your wrists look a little more swollen than usual, then he will ask if he can see them

And he'll carefully look them over before getting an ointment that's supposed to help with swelling and rubbing it on them

He also has a lot of scars, so he gets the insecurity that comes with them

If he notices you covering up your arms or neck or wherever, he will offer one of his cardigans or scarves

And he will help adjust it so that it fits on you just right

Once it's on he will tell you how amazing you look

And if you really wanted, he'd let you keep the stuff he gives you

Or he'd go out shopping with you for something that better suits your style

Whichever you want, really

Eyeless Jack

He's probably one of the first people you meet when you get to the manor

And probably the one you see the most often

He is tasked with giving you your daily medicines, checkups, etc

He understands that a hospital room probably will bring up some trauma for you, so if you want to do your checkups in your room or somewhere else in the manor, he'd allow it

Really all he does is put lotion on your bruises, anti-itching ointment on where you were bound, cleaning and bandaging wounds, cleaning your scars, and giving you any medicine you might need

After that, he reminds you to be careful around your bandaged areas, and to try not to itch where he put the ointment, and then you're good to go

If you want, he'll give you a candy of your choice and a sticker

You do have a designated therapist, like all other members of the manor, but if you wanted to open up to him too he'd be ok with that

You opening up about your experiences also helps him give you the right medical treatment

And he assures you, that he and every other medical professional in the manor will never treat you how you were treated then

Of course, he understands that overcoming trauma is a process, and especially with medical professionals in your situation

But he will continue to accommodate whatever you need in the meantime to make you feel more comfortable

Toby

Toby from the beginning makes it clear that you can talk to him anytime you need

He loves helping people feel better, and would love to help you feel better

So if you do decide to open up to him, he will show you his own wounds and scars to make you feel better about them

He also helps you see that taking your medicine is cool and radical

(Take your meds kids, they're there to help you)

He will accompany you to the medical wing when you are finally able to go into hospital rooms

He wants you to feel safe, and if you need a break, he will be there to comfort you

He will also let you come with him when he needs to go to the medical wing, just to show you that everyone needs medical help sometimes, and that it's not scary here

He will let you touch his bandages so that you can see it's completly normal and helps your body get better

He's definetly the best to have around for medical reasons

[randomshitwhore]

okay so this might be far reach for a request but i’m dying here,

could you write something along the lines of ghostxreader where ghost and reader are constantly disagreeing, bickering with eachother and can’t get along but something happens where feelings are shown and they see eye to eye with eachother. maybe some jealousy from ghost or they share past trauma stories. okay love your writing bye bye <3

omg red alert, first request! and thank you, babe!

Eye to Eye [Ghost x Reader]

word count: 1.5k

pairing: ghost x reader

warnings: arguing, reader trauma dumps, angst

summary: ghost and you are constantly disagreeing, bickering with each other, and can’t get along but something happens where feelings are shown and they see eye to eye with each other.

Disclaimer: this is not a continuation of Negative Ghost(rider) but you guys like it so much i just might do a part two ;)

AN: italics are past, normal is present. thanks for the love on Negative Ghost(rider). enjoy loves <3

You and Ghost loved each other. You both knew it and so did everyone, they knew it to the point it made them sick.

That’s why it surprised everyone on base when you two began arguing to an unmeasurable degree. From small arguments in the hallway to the bigger fights in your shared room together, your voices could be heard anywhere on base.

You and Ghost had met when you were just a private. You had caught his eye the moment you and the rest of your class filed into formation, but you were just as bad, looking at him while you were supposed to be looking forward. Both of the people you knew teased you about it. You both made subtle hints you each other, whether it was just looks, slight touching of your waist to fix your posture even a light touch of your hands when passing one another in the corridors. He starts getting bolder by slipping notes, giving encouragement when it got closer to being tested:

"Kick ass today private” “Knock their dicks in the dirt” “Focus on the task and you be fine”

Signed with a single letter…

~B

 While everyone thought you would be the first to pounce, it wasn't, It was Ghost. Ghost didn’t make his move until five months after the meeting. Soup, Alejandro, and Himself caught you out with others in your squad, celebrating passing your final basic training tests, downing alcohol like it was water. The only thing you could remember from that night was the feeling of Ghost’s lips on your own after took you back to his own barrick. You loved the man even though you only knew two features: his eyes and his lips.

Now Ghost was first lieutenant and you a sergeant, you both were constantly busy and really only getting to see one another when walking down the corridors. It broke your heart but it ripped him apart. All he wanted was to hold you after a long day but by the time he was getting back, you were leaving.

“Why can’t you just understand that I dont choose to leave the moment you walk through that fucking door?” Your voice echoed through the room. You could feel your knuckles turning white with how tight they were clenched. “You dont think I understand that?! You think I dont know that better than anyone else on this fucking base?”Ghosts voice boomed against the walls. You both knew that the rest of the barrick could hear you, but you didn’t have the room in your heart to care.

“I rip myself apart…every fucking day I open that fucking door and see you standing there. Simon, it fucking kills me” You said, your voice cracking. You watched his eyes shut, and he held them there for a long time. “You dont think, I sob after the end of every day because I know the moment I get back, I know you’ll be gone?!”You said, driving your finger deeper into your chest with every word. 

“Y/N…” He started but you quickly cut him off. “No, Simon you listen to me. You left for missions, ALL the time when we first got together. You dont think I felt the way you feel now? I didn’t know...”You choked out sitting down on his bed, letting your tears flood out of your eyes. “I didn’t know if you would ever come back.”

You watched his posture tense slightly. You bit your lips to keep yourself from violently sobbing. It was true. As much as you believed that he could do anything, one mission sent you into a dark state of mind. Wondering if your love would ever come back alive. And then seeing the state he came back in…it was enough to make you go mad.

You watched as an armored truck swerved into the base. No doubt in your mind it was Ghost and his squad. You ran up eagerly to the truck, excited to welcome your boys home but stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a man being rushed out of the truck: Ghost. His mask exposed the right side of his face; blood was all over him.

“Simon! Fuck, oh my god, John! John! Oh my god! What happened?! Is h-he…”You yelled, latching onto one of your and Simon's close friends; John Mactavish, callsign: Soap.

“He tripped a land mine with the UTV, shot him straight out of the goddamn car.”He said, holding you up as the tears flooded out of your eyes. “Y/N, Y/N Look at me! He is alive, they're taking him to the medical wing to patch him up. He's gonna be okay, I promise, okay?”He yell-said, holding your head to look at him. You nodded, too worked up to speak with a sob coming out.

“Here, he said to give you this,” He said, dropping something into your hands and taking off after his commanding officer. You looked down at your hands and felt your legs buckle again when you saw what it was…

His dog tags.

“The moment those fucking tags hit my hand, I thought that was fucking it; I was gonna lose you.”You said, letting your sobs just completely take over. You watched as he walked over to the bed, and stopped dead in his tracks at your next words. “Simon, I thought I was gonna lose one of the only fucking goddamn people I love in this world. you….”You bit your lips to keep yourself from screaming. “You just shrugged it off like it was fucking nothing two weeks later.”. You let your head fall into your hands, feeling your temples pulsate against the tip of your fingers.

“Y/N, look at me. Cariño, please look at me” He said, falling to his knees, taking your face in his gloved hand, and wiping your tears away. “Please…Please dont cry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”He said, brushing a piece of hair away from your eyes. He could see how much he hurt you with his incessant complaining about you not being around enough or even showing the little-ish piece of affection. He knew he had broken you down into a vulnerable point to where you wouldn’t even look at him.

You looked up at him to see him pulling off his mask, his own tears beginning to race down his own cheeks. His eyeliner smeared underneath his eyes as he wiped tears away. You felt a smile tug at the corner of your lips, finally seeing all of his beautiful features all at once;

His hair was a beautiful shade of dirty blond. His jaw was chiseled and covered with stubble. His lips were plump and a shade of red, probably from him chewing on them in his nervousness. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of brown, a warm shade.

He was beautiful.

“Simon..”You breathed out, reaching your hand toward his jaw. His hand overlapped yours as you cupped his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You are my muse, Y/N. I’m sorry for hurting you.”He said, planting a kiss at the base of your wrist. “If I hurt you in any way, I just..”You started but paused when Simon’s index finger ghosted over your lips. “We’re not worrying about me. I'm fine” He said, tracing the top of your lip.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him up and into you, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. “I'm sorry..”You whispered, resting your head on his shoulder. “Dont be, you had a right to be angry, I didn't. I'm the one who is sorry. I should've said it a long time ago.”He said, pulling away from you slightly to look you in the eye. He watched as a tear rolled down your cheek again, kissing it away.

He didn't want to push the boundary farther than it had already gone. He start by your cheek, then moved to your eyelids; banishing the tears that dared to fall, then to your nose, and once he was sure you were comfortable, he moved to his final destination…

Your lips.

He planted his against yours softly, and you returned the favor pulling him closer to you, wanting to close the distance between you both. He was insanely gentle when kissing you, planting one of his hands on your waist and the other beside your head as he laid you down gently on the bed. You could feel your body warm up the moment his hand met your waist.

Almost a year later and he still gave you butterflies. You pulled away from him and held his head in your hands. “Let's never argue like this again, yeah?”You said, rubbing the side of your head with your thumb. “Yeah,” He agreed, brushing the hair out of your face and giving you a smile.

 “I love you mi Vida..”You whispered into his ear, pressing your lips to his forehead. “And I love you mi Cielito” He returned back, pressing his lips to yours.

[cfr749]

Initial Thoughts on Chenford in 6x07

All right... I'm feeling... a lot at the moment, so just sharing my initial reactions before seeing anyone else's. I'm sure my feelings will evolve. Also this turned into a GD essay and I'm sorry.

The Good

Grey acknowledging that Lucy was going through a lot ABOVE & BEYOND the break up. I just wish he'd mentioned the shooting, too. Lucy deserves to be more than her relationship with Tim and I need to actually see that in the future.

Lucy laying out 2 key things in her conversation with Grey - how easily Tim walked away and that he had no right to make that decision for her

Prior to the last scene (see The Ugly below), I thought Tim's interactions with the therapist were reasonably well done; if only therapy was that easy in real life lol

"You've always got a home with me" - I loved this final scene between Lucy and Tamara. I don't really have feelings either way about Tamara at this point, and this still hit me right in the heart.

Smitty's poll made me laugh, but also another solid indicator that these writers / producers do in fact really enjoy laughing at the expense of the fandom and shippers (which, whatever, I don't care that they do, I'd prob do the same; but it does irk me when people act like these writers should be worshipped because of all the things they "give" us)

The Tim

"I'm not depressed. I broke up with her."

"I was her TO." Not her friend, cuz god knows Tim has yet to deal with the fact that he started banging his former Rookie I suppose.

I dunno whether to put this in The Good or The Bad at this point; it depends on where they take it, so instead Tim gets a section all about why he's a dick.

To be clear, I do not like that Tim is a dick. But I actually do kind of like that it is very clear TO THE AUDIENCE that Tim is being kind of a dick. Do I still think people will bend over backwards to defend him? Of course they will.

From my perspective, I love Tim, I understand that he thinks he's doing the right thing, and has lots and lots of trauma. I've never seen Tim as a character that magically healed at some point between Seasons 1 & 5 (please see his storyline with his dad, his ongoing issues with UC work and unwillingness to confront or deal with them, his feelings about therapy historically, his inability to dump Ashley, etc. etc.). He's never been perfect and he doesn't need to be.

All of those things are true. None of those things give him a free pass to be kind of a dick. He still has to take accountability for how he treated Lucy (which, to be clear, was like sh*t).

The Bad

Lucy being petty AF with the invites to Tamara's dinner - let her be ANGRY, but give me villain Lucy over this dumb sh*t.

Lucy having no one other than Grey to talk to.

Others acting like Lucy is actually kind of pathetic (why do these writers love sh*tting on her so much? girl could not be down and kicked any harder at this point) -- Celina / Nolan and the double dumping crap, Lucy thinking Grey paid actors and him telling her she was out of her damn mind

The last interaction between Lucy and Tim. I am so angry for her. I needed to see that from her, but instead it felt kind of like her being dumped / a kicked puppy all over again. We got it, thanks. What's next? Lucy being incredibly happy with the hottest man on earth? I'm here for it tbh. Lucy plotting Tim's murder? Also here for it at this point. LOL.

The Ugly

I could not hate the implication of that final scene with Tim and the therapist and the door shutting more. There was ZERO reason they couldn't have had him show up during the day, and it actually disgusts me that they are pushing this line again, but especially with Tim. I am literally NEVER this dramatic, but in this case I really hope they did that to just get a reaction, because if anything were to actually happen between Tim and the therapist, I'd be 100% done with this ship and show as would a whole lot of the audience (I think). If I kept watching, it would only be to see Lucy be absurdly happy without Tim.

Well, what'd I miss? What did y'all think?

[fashion-runways]

okay, i promised an explanation and i won’t go into too many details because honestly i’m still kind of a mess and there’s a lot we don’t know yet and everything but-- 2 weeks ago out of nowhere, in the middle of the night at 6am cops showed up at our home and raided our apartment and stuck around up until 2pm just making a mess of the whole place and taking photos and whatever, they broke the downstairs front door (which we now have to pay to replace off our own money), made an absolute mess of every room in the apartment, took every electronic device except our phones (and that’s only because i started crying about having all my healthcare info on an app and how i was going to lose all my appointments, and i think they felt bad for us?) and detained my father. they have barely given us information on what he’s accused of, they’re still nowhere near investigating those devices they took so they won’t give them back to us, and we have no freaking idea if or when my dad is coming back, because again, they’re not giving us a lot of information. on top of that my dad is pretty old, he's 65, he was supposed to have surgery this month because he can’t see very well from one eye (his workplace was paying for it) and he kinda can’t hear very well from one ear too, even though he refuses to accept it, and he’s been on anxiety medication for a while, so i’m kind of scared of what will happen to him without actual medical care or a nice place to sleep every night?? i don’t know. i truly don't.

now, this as you can imagine is traumatizing enough as it was, and it continues to be, but on top of that my dad was pretty much the only person with a stable job and a concistent income in this family, so now that he’s detained and we literally have no idea when he’ll come back, me and my mom got basically left in the dark. and even if he comes back, like, i don’t know, next week? i’m pretty sure he’ll get fired because he’s been missing work for 2 weeks now. i have some money that i saved from the stuff you guys send me, my mom has some money she makes, but it’s... obviously not enough, and this is a really stressful situation to be in, obviously, i wouldn't wish this on my worst enemies tbh.

so... i don’t know. i can’t promise i’ll post anything new because i’m limited to mobile for god knows how long, that’s why i’ve been reposting stuff. and if you want to help, if you enjoy the blog, if you have anything to spare, that would really be helpful. i know this sounds insane what happened, and trust me it still doesn’t feel real sometimes?? like i’m going to wake up and it'll be a bad dream? i don’t know. as always, since i’m from latin america, anything helps. literally even the smallest amount of money helps. sorry this post is so long and so trauma dump-y, but i said i’d explain and i need help more than ever, this blog is basically the only semi-stable thing i have income wise. if anyone wants me to tag this with any trigger warning specifically, let me know, i wouldn’t know what to tag this myself.

anyway, i have my kofi account that i link in every post i make here: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my redbubble account: https://www.redbubble.com/people/dinah-lance/shop if you’d want to buy something instead. and as always thanks for loving this blog and for always helping us, i know it doesn't seem like it matters sometimes, but it does to me 💖

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 7

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 13.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Reader being self-conscious as usual. Some conversation about blood/vampire eating habits. But mostly this is just unabashed fluff and flirting. Summary: Allison helps you get ready for your first date with Max, and as scared as you are, you are equally excited for the night ahead. Notes: For our chapter banner this week: the White Horse Tavern! A real and very lovely place in Newport, RI. May or may not actually be owned by vampires, though...I'll have to get back to y'all on that...

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

It’s cute, utterly charming really, the way that you are currently freaking out in your bedroom. Max isn’t trying to eavesdrop, but you are being so loud that he can’t help but listen. Especially at first, when he wanted to make sure that you weren’t hurt. After the initial scream, he realizes you were panicking about the date he had formally asked you on. Deciding that visiting the dance studios deserved a little bit of flair. He had asked you if he could take you to dinner beforehand. You’re his soulmate, you deserve effort. Something that you’ve obviously received precious little from by the previous asshole in your life. For once, Max wants to make sure that you completely forget about that douchebag. Never jealous of anyone’s previous lovers, he wants to make you realize that you were just having a bad dream for the past ten plus years. Now you are awake, now you can enjoy yourself.

"Alli, you can't be serious?" Nearly clutching the dress that she brought over for you to borrow in two shaky hands, you look over the skimpy black number with trepidation. This is your fault. You know that. You're the one who went to the cheese shop at the end of her shift this afternoon to get some advice. She had sent you home to pull out your most comfortable pair of dancing shoes and swore to provide the perfect dress if you just promised to trust her. And you do trust her. She has never given you any reason not to. But this dress is short.

“Come on, it’s perfect!” She’s grinning from ear to ear, ecstatic for you and your date. It makes perfect sense now why Max had been hovering around you as a bat. You’re his soulmate. It’s so romantic, she wants to cry. “You’ll look amazing and Max will be panting to get under it!”

“It’s just the first date,” You remind her, nervous at even the mention of any kind of intimacy. Not because you don’t want Max — but maybe instead because you do and you haven’t felt that in so many years.

“The first date with your soulmate.” She reminds you with a smirk. “He’s supposed to be your perfect match, so it’s okay to put out on the first date.” She teases.

“He’s also my housemate, so if I do and that’s all he wanted from me it’s going to be awkward as hell.” It’s not that you think that of Max. It’s that the voice of doubt in your head is still loud and clear over everything else. “I’m just... I’m nervous.”

“Do you honestly think he would have joined a coven of witches at a Mabon celebration if all he wanted was the good-good?” She asks, arching a brow curiously.

“Well…no.” You snort, shaking your head at Allison. “And if you ever call it that again I won’t tell you if it actually happens.”

Laughing, Allison waggles her brows. The term was meant to disarm you and it worked. “Fine.” She huffs. “But I want details. Vampires are supposed to be incredible lovers.”

“You could always find out for yourself.” Aware of what Max had mentioned about their superior hearing, and unsure if Eddie is at home at the moment, you lower your voice measurably. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Eddie lately.”

"What?" Her lip immediately goes between her teeth and she blushes furiously. "We are just — you know — uh, collaborating for the masquerade."

“Mmhmm.” Drawing out the sound incredulously, you grin again and eye the dress in her hands. “Tell me everything and I will try the dress on. Just to see.”

"He's nice." She hands you the dress in exchange for information. "I like talking to him. He's — well, he's just so...human."

“He is very nice.” The short dress has a beautiful, flowy skirt that will be great for dancing and you disappear into your dressing room with it with trepidation. “And he likes you! It’s even obvious to me and my observation skills suck.”

"Please...." She rolls her eyes, even if you can't see her. "I think he's just being nice because he wants to join the coven."

“If that was the case, he’d be making nice with everyone, not meeting you in town to take you out for coffee.” Having found out that that was where Eddie was on the night that you and Max had been left to eat dinner together, you found that there was no possible way to be upset about it. Things with Max are…they’re moving forward in a way that makes you nervous and giddy. And whatever is growing between Eddie and Allison is obviously mutual.

She huffs and bites her lip again. "We have a lot in common and I enjoy talking with him. Even though he's been in college forever, he's still enthusiastic about learning. He's even talking about coming out to the farm."

“That sounds like fun!” Finding the zipper on Allison’s strappy black dress takes a second, but you’re able to exchange the one you’ve been wearing all day today for the one she brought for you to borrow. The deep v-neckline and cutouts in the back are more skin than you’ve shown in years but you know instinctively that it’s the kind of thing Max will love. Fashionable and daring. The kind of girl he deserves even if it’s not the kind of girl you feel like. “Okay…um…I’m coming out.”

Allison gasps as you emerge from your dressing room, nodding immediately. "It's perfect, you can't convince me otherwise. Look at yourself!" She squeals as she guides you towards a mirror.

"Kind of weird that we're the exact same size..." Even standing directly in front of the mirror you can't bring yourself to look up. To look at yourself in any kind of positive way whatsoever. It's like it's been beaten out of you as if you were a stray dog. "It fits well."

"I'd be lucky if I still fit in it." She huffs. "Too much cheese. But you, you've got such a perfect figure to pull this off."

"No such thing as 'too much cheese'," you gripe, shuffling slightly in front of the full—length mirror. You're just staring at your shoes and fighting with yourself to figure out if you're brave enough to look up. "Do you...think he'll like it?" If he does, it doesn't matter what you think anyway. Max's opinion is the only one that matters.

"I think he will love it." She assures you, reaching up and touching your shoulders. "It will restart his non-beating heart."

"Apparently only one thing can actually do that." Digging into your armoire for a sweater, you come out with one that is midnight blue and black with little gold stars stitched all over it. It's still cold out, after all, and this will help you to feel a little less exposed.

"What is that?" She's always been interested in the dynamics of vampirism but she's too polite to ask Eddie to answer her questions.

"Apparently..." Clearing your throat slightly and pulling your sweater tight around your shoulders, you glance up and meet Allison's eyes in the mirror. "A kiss from their soulmate."

"Ohhhh now that's the most romantic thing that I've ever heard." She moans, softening visibility and looking amost wistful at the thought. "Come on, Dolly, that's just so romantic."

"I told Max that it sounded like something out of a romance novel." Which is a sentiment that you stand by very firmly. "Who knows how true it is. But it's sweet to imagine."

"Maybe you will find out tonight." She offers with a sincere smile, not wanting to tease you. "I really think he likes you, Dolly. All that time as a bat, visiting you? Being near you. He was drawn to you."

"I still can't believe that was him." She knows all about those nighttime visits of course. You hadn't thought it was a big deal to tell her about the little bat that visited you, but now you see that it was all so much more important than you realized. And she had known the entire time, but never made you feel silly for not guessing. How could you?

"It's sweet." She hums, smiling again. "I want to see him again like a bat. It was so cute to see him on your shoulder, cuddling into your neck."

“He said he didn’t mind transforming again sometimes if I wanted him to.” Suddenly you feel like you should be busy again, and you move to your jewelry box out of nerves. “He knows that I found it…comfortable. But we might get a pet for the house.”

"Okay, so Max would change into a bat to comfort you, and you still wonder if he likes you?" After spending time with you, she's learned of your ex and she understands your trepidation. "I don't think you should."

“I just…” You sigh, feeling your shoulders start to curl, and you take two long breaths in and out to prevent it. “I hope I’m more than a novelty to him, that’s all. His life is so long. It’s forever and I’m not saying he has to propose or anything crazy. I just…I would like to think a person should feel important to their soulmate. I haven’t been important to anybody since my parents died.”

"You know how long Cookie lived." Allison reminds you. "You could do the same. She—" She pauses for a moment. "Her decision to no longer prolong her life was a very serious one. But until she stopped taking her soulmate's blood, she looked no older than forty."

“Why did she stop?” That has never truly made sense to you. If someone was happy with their eternal life, why on earth would they give it up?

She sighs softly. "It— a very power spell was cast. Meant to last through time until death." She explains quietly. "It was the only way to break it and it was important enough to her to break it."

“What sort of a witch would cast something that depends on life or death?” The idea strikes you as positively cruel, but of course you can’t know what the spell was or the circumstances.

"One that knew that her soulmate could provide her with immortality." Allison explains. "It was...done in anger. Hopefully regretted, but nothing I could find could break it. Cookie spent years trying to break it."

“That’s awful.” As angry as you had ever been in your life at certain people or certain circumstances, you can’t ever imagine that type of anger. Not to mention you’ve never done much spell work beyond lighting a candle or floating an object across a room. And you’re woefully out of practice at even those.

"It was...complicated." Allison hums, "from what I've heard. I never got to meet the person." She knows more of the story, Cookie confided in her in an effort to find a way to break the spell, but she wouldn't betray the woman's confidence, even in death. Especially when it was his place to explain.

“I hope that everything worked out the way she wanted it to, then. Even if she isn’t here to see it.” Concentrating on your jewelry box is the best you can do and not get upset for no reason — but something about the whole situation just makes you overwhelmingly sad.

Allison bites her lip but just makes a non-committal sound. “So where is Max taking you for dinner?” Wanting to change the subject, but also genuinely curious as to your first date details.

“He said there was a vampire-owned restaurant on the island that was really nice.” When you had insisted that dinner wasn’t necessary because he didn’t need to eat food, he had come back with the alternative of a restaurant that also discreetly served blood to discerning patrons. That had been enough to make you agree. “It’s…a tavern? The White Horse Tavern?”

She’s impressed. Whistling lowly, she nods. “It’s only the oldest tavern in the country.” She tells you with a grin. “Super swanky, so it sounds like Max is wanting to do things right. Dinner, dancing….” She sighs. “Sounds incredibly romantic for a first date.”

“He really…he doesn’t have to make a big deal out of it.” And you had told Max that, but he had only shaken his head and told you the restaurant would be perfect. “It’s very romantic, but I guess I’m just…a little worried I won’t live up to it. And I would hate to disappoint him.”

“Why would you disappoint him?” She asks. “He knows you. This isn’t a blind date.”

The irony of that observation makes you laugh dryly, and you turn to look at her instead of searching for earrings. "It was supposed to be," you tell her honestly. "We were supposed to go on a blind date. In college."

“Really?” Her eyes widen. “What happened? Why didn’t you go? You mean you could have known Max this entire time?”

“He had an emergency that night. He couldn’t come.” There is such an ache in your heart realizing that — if things had been different — he could have graduated as a human and you could have been together for ten years already. “Everything could have been so different.”

“Do you—” she pauses for a moment. “Do you resent him for that? Because of being with your ex?”

“No.” Surprisingly enough, that answer is easy. It isn’t Max’s fault that Derek was in that bar that night. He had his life turned upside down in a completely different way. “I just wonder what the second chance will be like.”

“While Max can be cocky, he’s also more mature than he would have been ten years ago.” Allison tells you. “So I think it will be very good for both of you.”

"I hope so." That hope is a long buried feeling for you, and while you feel silly for admitting it...Allison has never been anything but welcoming, friendly, and supportive with you. She's the friend you had dearly missed having for all these years. "I'm different than I used to be, too. I just hope we're not too different."

“Eddie told me that Max, uh, he had a second chance.” Allison admits. “That he lost all his scars? So if you had changed too much, wouldn’t your birthmark never reappear?”

Startled by the solid logic of that thought, you almost reel backward, standing up a little straighter in surprise. "I guess...I never thought of it like that."

She smiles, happy that she could reassure you in some small way. “Then remember that the universe chose you as his soulmate, twice.”

"What about your soulmate?" She's never talked about it before but you feel like this is the time to ask if there is ever going to be one.

“I don’t think I have one.” She admits quietly. “I’ve never had scars, birthmarks or anything.” She shrugs. “Some people don’t.”

"Maybe your soulmate just didn't want to mark you up because they already know you're perfect just as you are." Of course, Allison is right. Some people just don't have soulmates. But that kind of loneliness is not something you would ever wish on anyone as kind as she is.

“Who knows?” She’s very doubtful of that, but it’s sweet that you would want to comfort her. “It just means that I get to enjoy everyone else finding their soulmates.”

“And you can make your own decision for your life. Whatever that decision turns out to be.” There is a matching set of jewelry in your box — a necklace and earrings that all bear golden crescent moon pendants with a little blue stone hanging like a star inside it — and you pick those out to wear tonight. “My parents weren’t soulmates, you know. They just loved each other. Fiercely and with everything they had. Just because someone isn’t your soulmate doesn’t mean they’re not going to be good for you.”

“They weren’t?” She asks curiously, tilting her head in shock.

“No.” The earrings slide into place easily and the matching necklace is a comfort, making you feel a little less exposed in the outfit you’re wearing. Makeup is the last touch. “They met at my mother’s work. She was a librarian and Dad was doing research for his doctoral thesis. She dropped a book that she was trying to get off a high shelf and he picked it up for her. That was that. They were inseparable for the rest of their lives.”

“That’s so sweet. They were both witches too?” She remembers you talking about being raised a witch, but didn’t want to assume.

“My dad was a Bishop on his mother’s side.” It was always a point of pride for him, to be descended from one of the Salem witches, and so it is for you as well. “Mom didn’t know her family, but she was a witch by her own devices, I guess.”

“Was she adopted?” She wonders, asking delicately.

“She never really talked about it.” Which had always struck you as strange, and then was downright inconvenient later in life. “She used to call Dad’s parents her adoptive family and stuff like that. We weren’t close to them, though. I guess they didn’t like that he moved away from Massachusetts, but they liked Mom well enough. They were everything I had and then…they were gone.”

“That’s so horrible. I’m so sorry. I know that it’s hard to lose a parent.” She murmurs softly. “Even worse to lose both at the same time.”

“That’s…kind of why this has been so nice,” you admit, turning to look at Allison again. “I know I didn’t know Cookie. And that we were only loosely related. But it’s kind of like getting my family back. Or as close to it as I’ll ever come, anyway.”

Allison reaches out and takes your hand. "I hope that you know that we will happily be your family. Found family is the ones that you love the most."

The sincerity of the moment cracks something tight in your chest, and before you know it you’re pulling Allison in and hugging her tightly, just willing yourself not to shed tears into her oversized sweater. “Thank you.” Two shattered words, but they are the best you can do at first. Until you manage a deep breath and huff out a half—laugh before pulling away again. “You’ve been so kind to me right from the start. All of you have. And I can’t possibly say how grateful I am. It’s…well, it’s been years since I’ve had a close friend and you’re just…you’re the sweetest woman in the whole world.”

"I felt that you had the kindest energy." She admits, "just that you were...lost. But now it seems that you have found yourself. You are finding yourself, who you are meant to be."

“Whoever that ends up being,” you squeeze her shoulder gently. “I owe her, at least in part, to you.”

"No." She shakes her head, smiling at you as if you were the most precious thing. "You have done this all on your own. You just let are letting her shine through."

“You’re the sweetest person in the whole world.” And she’s yet one more unexpected part of this whole wonderful situation, which you find yourself grateful for all over again. “You should go see if Eddie is home, honey. No sense in letting him sit at home alone while Max and I are out, right?”

She bites her lip again, a habit of hers when you mention Eddie. "I think I will." She decides with a small grin. "Wish me luck."

“Good luck.” Although you don’t think she’s going to need it. Not when it comes to Eddie.

"Do you want me to help you finish getting ready?" She offers, tilting her head playfully.

“It’s just my makeup left, and I can manage that.” The vintage purse you’ll be taking is already packed, and a moment alone to remind your reflection that this is a good thing, not something to be afraid of would probably be good. “Go and have your own fun night, honey. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”

She turns to walk slowly to the door. Turning at the entryway and watching you as you admire or maybe critique your looks in the mirror. "You look amazing and I know tonight will be perfect." She predicts with a wink. "Let me know if you are still up for brunch tomorrow or if you need some recovery time."

“There will be nothing to recover from.” Still, you shoo her toward the door playfully and smile when she worries her bottom lip between her teeth again but makes her way straight across the second floor hall, through the shortcut to Eddie’s room.

******

Max checks his suit, feeling slightly guilty that you are so worked up. Maybe he should have eased you into this. Maybe something more low key was what you are interested in. The flowers he had bought are already sitting in a vase, at Mrs. Taylor’s insistence, and he wonders if he should even give them to you.

Sitting down at your vanity, the clock says five minutes until you promised Max you would be ready and you line up your makeup and brushes with practiced precision. Nothing can or will go wrong tonight, you have told yourself over and over all day long. It is far too important. But the moment you look up at your mirror, your eyes connect with the carnival photo booth snapshot of you and your mother from when you were twelve years old, and you breathe a soft sigh. “You’d like him,” you promise your mother out loud. “He’s sweet. And doesn’t like it when I get in my own way. Which is…it’s a relief.”

Max decides that he will bring you the flowers. Every woman deserves romance, especially from her soulmate. He gives you another minute before he’s knocking on the door, not wanting to rush you, there’s plenty of time built into the night.

The knock is a nice gesture, given that you both know what tonight is and he knows you’re inside. Still, you exhale slowly and open your bedroom door exactly the same as if it had been the front door of your house that he was picking you up at. The suit he picked out is immaculate, with a crisp, clean shirt and no tie to make it a little less formal. And you had meant to compliment him when you opened the door. You really had. But all the comes out is a soft “Wow…” instead.

He chuckles, charmed by your honest reaction. “Is that for me or the flowers?” He asks, holding them up for you to see properly.

“Can it be both?” You ask, embarrassed to admit that you hadn’t even noticed the flowers until he held them up.

“I’ll take that.” He flashes you a grin before he slowly peruses your dress with appraisal.

“If you don’t like it, I can change.” The offer is immediate, unable to read his expression and figure out whether or not he approves of your borrowed dress.

"Don't you dare." He insists, frowning at the mere idea of you changing. "You look...stunning. I don't know if I should change. Make myself more presentable."

“More presentable?” Huffing at him even as you step aside to let him into your room for a moment, you just shake your head. “That suit would make Frank Sinatra jealous. You couldn’t possibly look more presentable.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, have you looked in the mirror tonight?” He asks as he sets the flowers down and turns to you to take your hands and holds them wide to get a better look. “You are breathtaking and that’s saying something, coming from a vampire.”

“Allison let me borrow it,” you admit, feeling your cheeks heat almost uncontrollably at the compliment. “She, um…she helped me get ready. Now she’s going to spend some time with Eddie while we’re out.” It makes you feel less guilty to know neither of them will be lonely. The idea that your happiness comes last has been pervasive for a long time, but you’re trying to be cognizant of it. To shake it.

“Well, she needs to help you spend some of that money buying flirty, fun dresses like this to wear.” He hums. “Because I can see having regular dinner and dancing dates with you.”

“I’ll have to tell her you approve. And the flowers are beautiful, by the way.” The burst of red, orange, and yellow that now sits on your nightstand is brilliant, and you pick up your purse from beside it. “Are you ready to go?”

“Whenever you are, Queenie.” His hand hovers for a split second before resting on your lower back. Guiding you towards the door of your rooms. The door that he had left open to make sure you were comfortable. Just because he lives here doesn’t mean he will impose.

Shutting the door behind you and heading for the stairs, you can hear the soft sound of laughter from Eddie's room. It sounds like they're going to have a wonderful night ahead of them and you note with interest that even though you don't feel any warmth from Max's hand on our back there is still a solid presence there beside you. "How was work today?" Instead of dwelling, you turn all of your attention to Max, wanting to hear anything and everything he has to tell you about his workday.

“It was pretty good, I have a new line on another business deal. Hopefully it will pan out. What did you do besides worry about tonight?” He asks curiously.

He does have a point. You went panicking to Allison, after all. But you smile at the question anyway. "Mrs. Taylor and I nailed down the menu for the masquerade this morning."

“Oh really?” His brow shoots up and he grins. “And what will we be feasting on during the masquerade?”

"The menus that she had mocked up were seven, ten, and twelve courses." As much as you had respected the dedication to the Gilded Age theme, it had seemed a little too much to you and eventually you and your vampiric housekeeper had whittled the ideas down to the best of four courses. "It will be potato leek soup, a fish course with asparagus and hollandaise, chicken...something or other...I think she said it's called Lyonnaise? With mashed potatoes as the main course, and then champagne and strawberry cake for dessert that she said was Cookie's favourite. It felt like a nice way to pay tribute to her." Of course there was discussion of vegetarian options being needed, but when tickets are bought people will have the chance to indicate that they don't eat meat and then that bridge will be crossed when necessary.

“And I am assuming that there is an assortment of finger foods that will be served between dances?” He asks, amused by the dedication.

"According to Mrs. Taylor, it should be several different kinds of drinks and a few sweets to choose from on a buffet table in the dining room." The immense amount of work had shocked you when Mrs. Taylor had laid the whole thing out, but she assured you that she and Renee had everything in hand with just a little extra help from Mr. Taylor and Mr. Finchley. "Then, of course, there's the breakfast for whoever is still left at sunrise."

“This is going to be an amazing night for Newport.” He predicts. “Like nothing they’ve seen for years. I bet they will be clamoring for it to become an annual event.”

"Hopefully it's not too much on Mrs. Taylor and Renee. They're both very excited but it sounds like a whole lot of work to me." At the bottom of the stairs, Max opens the door for you and ushers you through with a smile. "If it becomes something annual I'm going to insist on having extra help for her next year. I know they're both...superhuman, but they shouldn't have to overdo it."

“You know they don’t even break a sweat, right?” He asks as he moves his hand from your back to offer his arm to escort you down the steps.

"They can still only do one thing at a time. Four people cooking for that many guests is a tall order for anyone." He acts like it's the most natural thing in the world to escort you down the front steps and out the front door like a perfect gentleman. Meanwhile you are all but swooning at his side over just the simple act of having an arm offered to you.

“That woman loves to care for people.” He reminds you with a chuckle. “I would say she lives for it, but we both know that’s not true.”

"She exists for it?" You offer with a soft chuckle.

“That’s the way to put it.” Max chuckles and opens the front door to show that his car has been brought forward. Waiting for you.

So far all you've done is walk to his car together but already you feel like a princess. Maybe the bar is set a little too low, or maybe he's doing all the right things — you really can't tell. What you do know, as Max closes the passenger side door and rounds the hood of his car in less than the blink of an eye to get in beside you, is that this is definitely how you always dreamed of dates starting out.

Max buckles his seatbelt and looks over at you with a slight smile. “Are you ready, Queenie?” He asks softly. “If you want to go home at any time, you let me know.”

He's being so gentle with you that it's heartbreaking and heartwarming all at once. The idea that you need to be handled with such a soft touch is a little embarrassing, but the fact that he is being so caring without any kind of request or even indication on your part is just...well, it's just about the sweetest thing you've ever heard in your life. "I'm okay," you promise him, reaching out to put your hand softly over his on the gear shift. "I know you heard me being anxious earlier, but I've been looking forward to this since you asked." And more than that, you've been looking forward to a first date with your soulmate for your entire life.

“Good.” Max hums, turning his hand so you can slide your fingers through his if you want. “I want you to enjoy yourself. There’s no expectations for tonight. No pressure. I just want you to have a night that we should have had ten years ago.”

"Ten years ago it would have been chicken wings and a jukebox in a bar." Which isn't a bad thing, but it isn't what you dreamed of. What you've dreamed of is much closer to this: your fingers fitting neatly through his as he pulls away from the house on your way to a beautiful dinner and a night of dancing. "Let's call tonight the...grown up version."

“The grown up version.” Max hums as he pulls out onto the street. “Well, it’s a good thing then. I wouldn’t have known how to dance then.” He reminds you. “Now I can waltz with you properly.”

“To be honest I never assumed my soulmate would be a dancer.” It’s a perk, obviously. And one that you hold very dear after so many years without dance in your life. But never something you considered mandatory. “It’s like the icing on a cake I already know I like.”

“I think that it’s complementary.” He agrees. “It’s something that we can do together. And neither one of us has to pretend to like it.”

“What else do you like to do?” Other than his work, and having a few things in common like reading and dancing, it occurs to you that you don’t know much about him.

Max smirks. “I like to play poker.” He admits. “There’s this monthly game I’m in. High stakes, pretty much a two day event.”

“High risk, high reward.” Just like his sales deals, you note. He’s mentioned some of them being for upwards of a few million dollars. “I can’t say I’ve ever been great at cards but I do like to play sometimes.”

“Maybe we can play sometime?” He offers. “There’s some lower stakes games, just for fun.”

“I used to play poker for M&Ms with my Dad,” you admit, smiling at the memory. “Any game can be lower stakes if you let it.”

He chuckles, knowing that is true and refrains from offering to play strip poker. “What else did you do with your dad?”

“He liked to paint.” It’s been a long time since you’ve talked about your parents to anyone, but since coming to Newport your family and your past has seemed more relevant than ever. Almost like they had gone on a terribly long vacation instead of being violently ripped from you the summer before you started college. “He would take me to art museums and was the only Dad in my Mommy and Me Painting Class when I was little. We’d play card games and board games and plan all the trips around the world that we would take when I got older.” The last memory makes you shrug, eyes cast down at the floor of Max’s sports car. “We never got to take any of the trips we planned, but it was a fun way to pass a rainy day. It made me think for a while that I could be a travel agent when I grew up.”

“I’m sorry that you didn’t get to travel.” Max tells you quietly, wishing he had some memories like that with his parents. Maybe it would have made it easier when he was alone. But he doubts it. “You should travel.” He tells you. “Go all the places you planned with him. A remembrance trip once a year maybe.”

“I’m not very good at being alone.” Maybe it’s why you stayed with Derek so long. Maybe it isn’t. You can’t be too sure either way, but you know that being lonely is one of your least favourite feelings in the world. “But maybe I’ll try. If…there isn’t someone to come with me, I mean.”

“You don’t have to be alone, Queenie.” Max promises. “There’s your coven, I’m sure any one of them would love to go on a trip with you. Eddie loves to travel and of course, I will go wherever you wanted anytime.”

"You say 'of course' like it's the easiest thing in the world." Your fingers curl around his palm instinctively, afraid to let go of him now that you're allowed to be close in any small way. "But it...it means everything."

“You are my soulmate.” He stresses quietly. “Even if platonic soulmates was all you wanted, I would want to spend time with you.”

"It's not." He's pulled up to a stoplight on Bellevue, and even though your voice is quiet, it's sure. You're just not quite strong enough to look up at him while you say it. "It's...not at all what I want. I just need you to be patient with me. While I...I don't know...figure out how to not be so scared anymore."

“I have eternity.” He reminds you with a grin, wishing he could banish the sadness and fear in your eyes. “And you can have that too.”

"That's a very big offering considering it's only our first date." Trying for a little bit of humor — to lift your own spirits as well as his — you squeeze his hand again when the light turns and he pulls through the intersection. "Let's see how we feel about living in the same house and dancing together and maybe we'll talk about eternity after that. Sound good?"

He squeezes your hand gently. “That sounds like a good idea. Sometimes I get ahead of myself.” He winks before he looks back at the road.

******

It takes a whole six minutes to get from the front gate of Chateau-sur-Mer to the White Horse Tavern, according to the clock on the dashboard of Max's Lexus, and when he pulls into the parking lot the place seems to be completely full to the brim. There's no loud music or bright lights like you might have expected at some place called a tavern, but instead there are people in very smart clothes streaming in and out of the building alternately — and once you're inside there are white tablecloths and lovely candles on every table.

“Now you see why I thought of this place.” He murmurs in your ear, his hand on your back again. Not possessive, but protective. Guiding you up to the host stand. “Reservation for Phillips, table for two.” He responds slightly smug when asked for his name. He is smug about having you here, proud that this date is happening. Eager to learn more about his pretty soulmate.

"Right this way." The hostess smiles politely and leads the way, bringing the two of you to a table in the corner surrounded by other chattering couples on dates enjoying the warm glow of romantic candlelight.

As soon as you are seated, the sommelier comes over. “Good evening.” He smiles charmingly. “May I interest you in our vast selection of reds?” He asks, aware that this reservation includes a vampire who would be wanting a glass of their blood infused wine. Without even looking at you, Max shakes his head. “No thank you.” He hums. “My soulmate and I do not drink.” Even if you had said you are okay with it, Max is aware that anything resembling alcohol could stress you and that’s the last thing he wants tonight.

"Max." His hand is on the table and you put yours on top of it, giving it a squeeze like you did in the car. "It's okay. I promise." What he needs to sustain him and what you need are two vastly different things, and you are not going to be the reason that he skips having blood with this meal and ends up...weak or sick or whatever happens to vampires when they don't get enough blood.

He shakes his head seriously. “I was an asshole at the beginning about it.” He admits. “I didn’t know and there are are options here, just like Mrs. Taylor’s menus for us.”

“…very sweet of you.” Only the end of the sentence is really audible, mostly because you’re so dumbfounded by the idea that he is putting you before and above himself. In your whole life, maybe only your parents have ever done that for you.

The sommelier just gives a confused smile and nods, drifting away from the table. “I didn’t embarrass you, did I?” Max asks, frowning at the shock on your face. He had hoped you would appreciate his gesture, and he wasn’t doing it to show off, he genuinely wanted you to feel comfortable tonight with him.

“Not at all.” The slightly misty look on your face is from how touched you are at the gesture. “I just…you know I’m not used to anyone doing things for me. Emotionally, I mean. Or any other way. I still feel like apologizing every time Mrs. Taylor makes a meal or Renee makes clean clothes magically appear in my room. But you…” With a soft sigh and shake of your head, you offer him a smile. One where you actually manage to look him in the eyes. “I always thought I would be the one taking care of my soulmate with whatever he needed. But you’re the one taking care of me.”

He wants to chuckle, but he can’t. Now when your eyes practically hypnotize him. He’s never felt a pull like that and he shakes his head slowly. “We take care of each other.” He reminds you, “head scratches?”

“Are you asking or reminding?” Either way, the smile on your face gets broader and you can feel that growing familiar feeling of warmth in your cheeks.

“Reminding you.” He grins back at you and winks. “It’s probably the most relaxed I’ve ever gotten as a vampire.”

“Then we’ll have to make it a regular thing.” You can promise him that. The seemingly little promises mean so much when they all stack up together.

“That would be nice, but only if you enjoy it as well.” He knows that you might just agree to keep him happy and that’s the last thing he wants.

"Do I enjoy sitting with my soulmate's head in my lap, seeing him terribly relaxed while I read a book or we watch tv together?" This time when you laugh it's just one huffed chuckle, and it's in near disbelief. "Honestly? It might be the closest to bliss I've been in years."

He smiles at that, squeezing your hand again. “Good.” He hums, nodding towards your menu. “Take a look and see what you want to eat, Queenie, we have dancing later on.”

You don't even have to ask to know that he'll be ordering steak tonight, and as rare as possible. The habit makes perfect sense to you now and you'll never say another word about it. The menu is high-end gourmet and apparently all locally sourced from the list of farms on the bottom of the menu, and for a moment you feel tremendously out of place again until you glance up to find Max smiling at you. And that one little act, that seemingly coincidental timing and easy gesture, has another layer of anxiety and fear slipping away from your heart as easily as water drips down a window. "I've discovered I like duck," you confide after a few minutes of looking over the options. "I had never had it before, but Mrs. Taylor is a miracle worker. Do you think theirs will be as good as hers?"

“Doubtful.” He snorts, shaking his head. “Not unless Mrs. Taylor is moonlighting as the chef here.” He jokes. “She has been to practically every chef’s school in the world in her lifetime.”

“She should be teaching at them. Or opening one of her own.” You know, though, that she would never be as happy teaching as she is taking care of people. It’s a lovely thought, though.

“Never happen.” He promises. “Mrs. Taylor is vowed, willingly—” he adds because he knows you might think otherwise. “— to serve your family line for eternity.”

“She’ll be free to do whatever she wants soon enough, then,” you remind him gently. “We’re not exactly going to be populating that house with little half-vamps.”

“Except you can have an absurdly long life, even as a human.” He points out, sure you haven’t even thought about it.

“I—” Technically, he’s correct. You could have as long a life as Cookie did or even longer. But you can’t even fathom that he would want to spend months or years with you, let along decades or centuries. “That is…something we’ll talk about together. You and I.”

“Okay.” He won’t push, it’s just the first date, after all. Instead of continuing on the same vein, he looks around the tavern. “So, who do you think is a vampire?” He asks playfully.

“Hmmm.” A game is definitely something you can get behind, and you look around the crowded dining room full of well dressed patrons with the air of someone who knows exactly what they’re looking for instead of just being the clueless little human that you are. “I’m going to say…” your eyes fall on an impeccably well-dressed man in an elaborate suit and his pale dinner companion in her lace dress. “Those two. Aaand…the table of four over by the fireplace. I think the girl is introducing her new beau to her sires.”

Max lifts a brow, impressed by the fact that you have clock that correctly. “Good eyes.” He chuckles. “The two are, she’s a baby vamp, too.”

“It turns out that once I realized I was surrounded by vamps, it got easier to see the differences.” There is also a particular, peculiar way that they hold themselves — that all vampires seem to hold themselves. As if they have innumerable secrets. And the older they are, the more secrets they accumulate. Which, you suppose, must be true after a point.

“Really?” That makes him sit up slightly. “What differences?”

“I don’t know if I can describe it properly.” For a moment you pause, when the waiter arrives to bring you both water and ask if you’d like an appetizer. Max orders the specialty charcuterie board and you have to imagine that there are raw things involved for him as well as the regular cheeses and spreads for humans. “It’s like…your shoulders are always a little straighter. Your gaze is more direct. And there’s something…I dunno…elegant? Maybe? In the way you all move. Like it takes so much less effort or you’ve maximized the economy of all of those movements somehow. I can’t describe it properly.”

He smirks slightly and leans in. “We are elegant?” He asks, intrigued by the fact that you are not scared. Perhaps even enjoying that he is a vampire.

“Of course you are elegant, but I didn’t notice until after that you all sort of…have a certain grace.” Shrugging self-consciously, you do notice that he doesn’t let your hand slip away from his on the table. “It probably sounds funny,” you murmur in defeat.

“It doesn’t. It’s actually— I think it might be the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.” He confesses. “People always say ‘you’re hot’ or ‘I want you’ but no one ever tells me I’m elegant.”

“You are hot.” The admission comes with screaming hot cheeks and eyes trained back down at the table, but it’s true. “I thought so the first time I saw you…”

There’s a hint of heat in his smirk, not nearly as play—boyish as it might have once been. “Glad you thought I was hot.” He hums proudly. “Sexual attraction is key to a healthy romantic relationship.”

“And you’ll always look that way.” It’s not a fun thought to have, but you’ve had it twice already. He will always be young and handsome, and you will inevitably get old — even if you choose long life it will still happen eventually.

He snorts. “We age just not as fast as humans do.” He admits.

“So slowly that it’s imperceptible?” It’s a guess, but you nod your head in understanding. “I’ll get everything down eventually, I promise. This is all still…just days’ old information to me.”

“I don’t expect you to be an expert, sweetheart.” Max tuts. “Hell, I’m still learning about vampires.” He flashes you a grin. “And I’ve been one a lot longer than days.”

"What do you like about it?" You ask, looking at your connected hands before you look back up at him. "There must be something you like about the change."

“Smell is better, hearing is better.” Max shrugs slightly. “I’m a better version of myself.” He snort slightly. “The no need for sleep helped when getting my MBA.”

“It certainly gives you more time to get things done.” Thinking on it for even a second though, you laugh a little. “If I had had that in college I think I would’ve done twice as many competitions and probably added a second major, just because I could.”

He chuckles and winks at you, “That’s my girl.” He hums fondly, not even thinking about it until it comes out of his mouth, but you are his girl.

Finding it fond instead of possessive — as the comment would have been from the last person who might have bothered to call you such a thing — hearing it from Max actually makes you proud. Maybe neither of you is perfect, but you seem to fit together in all the right ways. Maybe that's all that soulmates are, ultimately. Just two people — or in this case a witch and a vampire — who fit together just right.

The meal is ordered and it’s a delightful surprise that there’s no lull in the conversation. Beyond ballroom dancing, at your core, your values match up. At least, Max’s values now, after the incident with Evan. Shockingly enough, he tells you about it.

"I can't believe that's even possible." The ordeal with his former friend, roommate, and coworker aside, the way Max describes what was basically his return from complete obliteration is just wild. "It sounds like...like magic...if I'm honest. Your sire managed to bring you back from...nothing." From his description, he was less than a undead body at that point. Something terrifying to imagine and terrible to contemplate. The idea that your soulmate could have been completely lost to you isn't exactly knew considering you thought it was dead, but knowing the truth makes it feel even more terrible. "If I ever meet your sire, I'm going to have to thank him."

“I have no doubt you will.” Max wonders when the old man will reveal himself to you. What his end game is. He always had one, that’s certain. “I am starting to figure out why I was brought back.”

"You think he had an ulterior motive?" You would think it would be enough just to be able to save his family, but you don't really know how loyal vampiric families are to each other.

“Absolutely.” His answer is instantaneous. Resolute. While he doesn’t know the details of why he was brought back, he had been for one reason.

"You're very certain of that." Which does, you admit, surprise you. "I take it he's not a sharing kind of guy? He didn't clue you in on why?"

“My sire is…an enigma.” Max admits, almost fondly. He has often been envious of the elder vampire’s flair and mystique. “He is legendary among vampires and I’m not so certain he doesn’t divulge information because it is his nature or as a way to play into his reputation.”

"Maybe it's both?" The two of you are still sitting at the table with intertwined hands even after your demolished appetizer has been cleared away. It's so unexpectedly sweet that it makes you feel a little bit...gooey. Like you might melt right into your plush upholstered seat. "Maybe the reputation came because he has a little flair for the dramatic, and now he just likes to play into it and keep it going? You said he's quite old now, right? Maybe it amuses him."

“Yes. That is probably a lot of it.” He agrees. “You will like him I think.”

"Are you saying I have a flair for the dramatic?" Raising one eyebrow and shooting him a grin, you can't help but smile along with him. You did, once, have a wicked dramatic side. Inherited from your mother and dearly cherished. It was an endless source of amusement.

“You ballroom dance and you love reality tv shows.” He snorts playfully. “Of course you have a flair for the dramatic. I can’t wait to see you show out at the masquerade.”

"If you think I'm bad with Dancing with the Stars, wait until you see me on a 90 Day Fiancé binge." That really only happens when you hit your cycle, but it's still a sight to see — you tucked up in your bed under three blankets with a bowl of popcorn and a box of tissues crying about love is just...a side of you that you normally keep hidden. But somehow you have a feeling that Max would understand.

“Yeah? Who’s your favorite couple?” Max asks curiously. “I like Angela and Mike, but sometimes she’s toooo much, you know what I mean?” He spends a lot of nights binge watching things, since it’s not like he sleeps and unfortunately, not many human businessmen work after midnight.

The way you just stare at him is nearly comical, like your brain hasn’t quite caught up with you yet, and when it finally goes you realize your mouth has been open and you snap it shut like the little boy from Mary Poppins. “I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised,” you huff, laughing softly at your own reaction. “We should have things in comments. Soulmates and all that…”

“Babe, I’m also a little dramatic shit.” He confesses with a chuckle. “I mean, who really changes into a bat to spend time with someone because your over-the-top douchbaggery has made them uncomfortable, but you’re intrigued by them?” He asks, making it seem like he is the total asshole he believes he is.

“That’s…pretty true.” And it draws another laugh from you just imagining the thought process he went through to even think of doing it in the first place. “I have to admit, though. It made me feel like the missing goth Disney Princess and I kind of loved that.”

“I’m happy to make that secret fantasy come true.” He grins, nearly beaming proudly at the idea of sparking some inner desire. “And as a bat, I can actually sleep?”

“Compacting a big vampire into a tiny bat body must take a lot of effort.” Or, at least, you imagine it does. It’s more or less breaking the known laws of physics, after all.

“It does.” Max admits with a slight shrug. He will minimize the idea of the energy it expels because he doesn’t want you to ever feel bad for wanting the bat to cuddle.

“Well, you only need to worry about all that energy when you want to, now,” you insist, being respectfully nonspecific because you can see the waiter approaching your table with your dinners. “You never need to be anything besides yourself with me.”

“I appreciate that.” He wonders if you are so accepting and accommodating because of the past relationship or if it was just you. “I hope you’re hungry, this place is supposed to have amazing food.”

It would be cheesy or clingy or just too much to tell him that you’re actually disappointed the food is here because you have to stop holding his hand. You sit back though, politely thanking the waiter and letting your mouth water over how good everything looks and smells when your plates are set down. “Thank you for this,” you murmur when the waiter has gone again, looking tentatively back toward Max’s face. “We didn’t have to do anything at all and knowing you’re my soulmate would have already made the time we spend together special. But this is…it’s really beautiful. And I’ll never forget it.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part of the night.” He promises with a small wink. “Before I’m through with you, your body will be sore and you’ll be breathless.” It sounds dirty, but he’s talking about dancing.

“Max.” Your cheeks burn at the innuendo but you can’t even pretend to dislike the feeling. For the first time in…maybe years, you’re free to let yourself enjoy life. And that’s all thanks to him. Let night really might be the first time you’ve considered masturbating in longer than you would like to admit. And that is thanks to Max, too.

“What?” He tuts playfully, fully aware that your heartbeat has sped up. “Dancing should make you sore and breathless if you’re doing it right.”

“Sure.” But the thought is there, and the playful, bubbly, flirtatious woman that you used to be a long time ago floats the surface unchecked. “Dancing definitely does that,” you agree, tucking a smirk into the corner of your mouth.

“So many dances.” He likes that you are flirting back. Your eyes are practically sparkling with mischief and it’s miles apart from the scared mouse he had met when you arrived. “Tango, waltz, horizontal hustle, foxtrot.” He ticks them off on his fingers like he’s doing down a list.

The mention of horizontal hustle warms you through with a flush of embarrassment and — admittedly — arousal and you pick up your fork very properly without the smirk ever leaving your face. “The girls I danced with always called it ‘getting a new tango partner’ when they started seeing someone new. Slightly more discreet of them, considering our teachers were mostly prim middle-aged ladies.”

He hums, amused by the phrase and he runs his tongue over his teeth, toying with his incisor. “It’s allllll in the hips.”

It shouldn’t be sexy, the way you know for a fact that his teeth are certified weapons and he is just casually running his tongue over them…it makes you wonder just what his tongue might feel like running over other things. “Hips,” you hum, watching him lick his lips subtly. You can’t tell if he did it on purpose or not but it’s distracting as all hell. “I’ll remember that.”

“You do that, Queenie.” He winks at you and scoops up his fork to steal a bite of your food from your plate. He’s not going to eat it. God no, it’s too cooked for his liking, but he turns the fork around and offers you the bite. “Tell me how it tastes.” Despite not liking human food now, he misses the tastes of things.

He can absolutely hear your pulse, there’s no way he can’t when it’s pounding in your ears like a hammer. But putting your lips around his fork is perilously close to put your lips around something else of his and you close your eyes against just how tantalizing that thought is when you’re seemingly getting your sex drive back all at once.

He bites his lip when you moan, taking the bite of food. Sure that you are completely unaware of how erotic it sounds. Knowing that you aren’t trying to entice him, but just like that natural curiosity to know more about you, that attraction is something he’s helpless against. All he can do is control his reaction.

“I know you’re not big on this kind of food anymore, but that’s fantastic.” You tell him, letting the flavour linger on your tastebuds happily. Truly good food is such a luxury that you have a hard time imagining giving it up, but that’s just you.

“I used to love all kinds of food.” Max admits with a guilty grin. “Favorite thing was trying new restaurants. New foods.”

“I hate that that isn’t fun for you anymore.” To lose one of life’s simple pleasures is a shame, even if the tradeoff has many more benefits.

“It’s okay.” Max hums slightly. “I can taste what the human donor has eaten through their blood.” He admits with a grin. “Although it’s a little muted since the blood is chilled and reheated.”

“So…if it was warm from the source…it would be better?” Trying to understand the logistics of his vampirism is going to be key for you, and that means even the parts that don’t seem very savory to talk about.

“Yeah.” He shrugs slightly. “I don’t look for donors anymore.” He explains. “If someone were to offer? I might would have taken them up on it before the other night, but I wouldn’t now.”

“Is it…” As the two of you start to eat in earnest, it almost feels like the conversation should have trended this way. You are, after all, talking about his survival. “Is it a very…meaningful connection? Is that why?”

“It’s….” He pauses for a moment. “Intimate. Almost sensual to the point of turning sexual.” He looks at you intently, his eyes drilling into yours and he hopes that doesn’t offend you. “There’s nothing more intimate than taking a part of someone into your own body, right?”

“I suppose I never thought of it like that before.” Before a few days ago you had honestly never given it much thought at all, but knowing what you know now? You spend almost all of your thoughts on the subject.

“It doesn’t hurt much.” He promises, thinking you might be worried about donors. “Just a sharp pinch and then it feels good. But I won’t be drinking from anyone, I think that’s not fair when you have a soulmate.”

“It’s really that intimate?” From what he’s said, it suddenly makes much more sense to you why people would succumb to the feeling quickly, and you nod when he looks at you meaningfully. “If it’s something I’m ever going to consider, I want to know about it,” you explain. “That’s all.”

“I would never ask.” He doesn’t want you to feel like he expecting you to become his meal plan. “I hope you know that.”

******

Dinner passes with slightly lighter conversation, where you learn that you both like fall and winter better than spring and summer, and that Max used to love cookies more than anything other dessert.

The dance studio that you go to is run by a very sweet woman called Miss Valerie — who apparently named the studio for herself — and is full of all sorts of different people when you and Max are ushered into the main studio for free dancing. A laptop in the corner is playing a personalized playlist and there is a card table with drinks and snacks in a different corner which looked like some people had added to upon their arrivals. It was a night of chit chat — as soon as people heard about the masquerade they instantly wanted to know every detail — but it was fun, too. Max stayed by your side, talking up the masquerade and excusing you from conversation to dance a little more when he sensed you getting nervous.

Dancing with Max might be even better now that you know he’s your soul mate. His gentleness and steady presence leading you through every dance is mixed with so much care that you could just about cry, but there is a mounting otherness in every touch that can only be compared to the first time you allowed yourself to explore any kind of sexuality. Like you’re waking up, and instead of curiosity being what drives your own fingers in the night, it will be the memory of hearing Max’s voice in your ear or feeling his touch on your skin. He had even lifted you a few times in certain dances and it was the most literal sweeping off your feet you could ever possibly contemplate. By the time he pulls into the driveway it’s so late that you’ve lost track of the hour completely but you know you’re going to keep holding his hand until the very last second.

“I think I’ve kept Cinderella out past midnight.” Max teases as he cuts the engine. “But lucky me, you haven’t turned into a pumpkin yet.”

“No.” There’s a note of bashfulness in the way you shake your head, even though you feel bolder tonight than you have in years. “I wouldn’t dare. How could I dance with you again if I was a pumpkin?”

He grins, his teeth flashing white in the darkness of the car. “That would be such a shame, Queenie.”

“It really would be.” Dancing with Max had been like floating on water, and your face burns with pleasure and embarrassment remembering even half an hour ago.

“Would you like to keep dancing?” He asks, bringing your hand to his lips. Anyone else, it would be an innuendo for something else, but with you, he’s asking if you want him to take you to the ballroom. He had loved every second of you being in his arms and of dancing was the only way, he would dance all night.

“Am I a sissy if I admit I’m tired?” Still, your fingers tingle under the press of his lips, and knowing what you now do about his exceptional hearing means you’re sure he heard you hold your breath. “I haven’t danced that much in years and my feet aren’t as calloused as they used to be. But—” The thought is there. The intent. But you can’t quite bring yourself to form the words right away. It’s like you don’t trust yourself. Which, to be fair, you don’t.

“Not a sissy,” he huffs slightly at your ease of insulting yourself. “Human.” He reminds you that he might have the ability to stay up indefinitely, but you do not. “But?”

“I was…” It feels silly to admit it, but you would be horribly sad if the night ended here. Having him close feels like a missing piece of yourself has slid into place. “Going to ask if you wanted to come upstairs,” you admit quietly. “But that’s silly. You live here. Hell…your room is right next to mine.”

Max tilts his head, tsking slightly. “Queenie, you never need to feel silly talking to me. You meant come to your room, didn’t you?” He asks quietly, squeezing your hand gently.

“I don’t want tonight to be over yet.” His hand around yours is cool and comforting, but there’s an electricity in it that is so old that it must have been called something far different before it was called a spark.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Max smiles at the shyness in your tone, the mere embarrassment. “How about this? Why don’t I make you a cup of my famous hot chocolate while you change into something causal, and I’ll meet you upstairs?” He asks, lifting a brow.

His knack for the exact right gesture is something you’re learning isn’t accidental. The effort he is putting into spending time with you is very intentional, and makes you feel like the single most special person in the entire world. “I’ll find a book that is less than a hundred years old, just in case. How about that?”

“Whatever you want to read, sweetheart.” He promises, happy that he had phrased it correctly. He doesn’t want you thinking he assumes you’re going to sleep with him. “But first, I need to walk you to the door.” In the blink of an eye, he’s out of the car and around to your side, opening it up for you to climb out.

“I’ll never get used to that.” You’ve seen him do it now five or six times and it takes your breath away without fail. This time, though, the thing taking your breath might also be the soft smile on his face as you put your hand in his and let him lift you effortlessly out of the car.

“It’s handy.” He admits with a chuckle, closing the door behind you and turning to walk up the front steps. “I’ll be able to change into some sweats after making your hot chocolate too.”

“Does this count as post-gaming our own date?” Leaving his car behind to walk up to the house, your hand stays in his and you lean slightly into his side just on instinct. He feels so safe and you can’t possibly put into words how grateful you are for that.

“More like a casual continuation. The wind down, if you will.” He enjoys your warmth, humming softly at the feeling. You have seemed more comfortable around him as the night has gone on and Max deserve brownie points for ignoring the whiffs of arousal he’s detected.

"I like that." You also like the way he almost sounds like he's purring when he hums, but maybe that's your imagination. Remembering the little sounds he would make in bat form. "I like the idea of being able to share all the versions of ourselves."

Max opens the door to the house, hearing a sound from Eddie’s room that makes him smirk. “If you can’t share everything with your soulmate, who can you share them with?”

"What is it?" His question was rhetorical, you know that, but he looks amused and his eyes darted away from you for a second before coming back.

“Allison is still here.” He tells you, putting his finger to his lips like it’s a secret.

"And she claimed Eddie wasn't as interested as she is." You shake your head at that as if the two of you were some wise old mentors finding out your protégés had finally taken your advice. "I guess tonight was a good date night for everyone in the house, then."

Max winks at you as he closes the door behind the two of you. “Like to think ours was better.” He teases. “Now, go take those shoes off, Queenie and I’ll make your hot chocolate. If you’re lucky, I might even be talked into a foot rub for your dance sore feet.”

"I would never make you do that." More than half your life in ballet, ballroom, and jazz classes means that your feet are...not exactly going to end up in shoe ads any time soon. But it's sweet of him to offer, and you squeeze his hand before you let it go. "I'm going to go up and change. You can just come on in when you're ready."

“I’ll knock, just to make sure you aren’t still changing.” He promises with a wink before he zips off to the kitchen.

You deftly avoid Eddie's room as you go upstairs, going the long way to your room all the way across the house before you hang your sweater and release yourself from your shoes — much to the relief of your aching feet. Despite the small pain, though, you wouldn't change anything about tonight. Your dress is exchanged for a favourite t-shirt, worn thin from constant use and sporting the logo of a theme park that you went to with a bunch of friends in college when you all decided that you just needed to get away for the weekend. It hangs long on your torso, skimming past the edge of your yoga pants, and you wipe off your makeup before getting into bed with a copy of a murder mystery by Alyssa Maxwell that was most definitely published in the twenty-first century.

Max hears you settle down and is at your door in an instant. He had made the hot chocolate quickly and of course changed before you had finished your nightly routine, waiting until you were done. Two light taps on the door is the knock he gives, waiting for you to answer before he turns the knob.

"Come in." The door is just feet from your bed, and when he cracks it open he's dressed in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants with a steaming mug in his hands. "Hey." As soft as it is on your lips, it's mostly out of surprise. Max is always immaculately dressed, and the revelation that he even owns a t-shirt is a pretty big deal. Not to mention the way his broad shoulders stretch the faric, or the way his gray sweatpants (bearing a small embossed collegiate logo near the pocket) hang onto his trim hips, which is wickedly distracting.

“Hey you.” He slips inside and closes the door with a grin. “You look comfy as can be in that bed.” He teases. “Is there room for me?”

"It's a big bed." Knowing that he won't pressure you gives you an immense feeling of relief, and the boldness to actually invite him in like this. You haven't even kissed yet. There is no way you would go all the way to sex tonight. But this closeness? You're craving it. "I'm pretty sure I can fit you in here. Might have to cuddle, though."

“I’ve been told I’m pretty good at cuddling.” He hands you the mug of hot chocolate and barely resists the urge to jump into the bed.

“I’m going to be spoiled forever if you keep making me this cocoa,” you warn him, ready to take the first sip despite the steam still pouring off the mug from underneath the perfect swirl of whipped cream. “That coffeeshop should be crying over losing you, if this is what you were doing as a barista.”

“I learned that girls love a perfect hot chocolate, but also, I loved one.” He laughs as he settles down beside you. “I’ll make you one every night if you want. I actually kind of miss making coffees and things like that. It was fun and easy.”

"I would have been in that shop every single day," you admit. The first sip of cocoa is just cool enough to take, and it rolls through you like a warm hug in the very best way. "For..." Bubbling just beneath the surface, a smile spreads across your lips that you just can't contain. "For more than just the cocoa."

“I knew it.” He crows, leaning in with a triumphant look on his face. He puts his lips just a bare millimeter away from your ear. “A whipped cream junky.”

Your breath catches like it always does when he gets so close to you, and your eyes flick up to his as you all but hide your face behind the mug in your hands. "Right..." you nod slightly in agreement, but when the smile returns to your lips it morphs into shaking your head 'no' and your tone dips to teasing. "Whipped cream. That's it."

“Indulgent, creamy….” He’s teasing you, maybe himself a little as well, but he loves the way your heart skitters slightly. It reminds him of a bird being startled, except this is a joyful thing. “Satisfying. What’s not to love?”

"You're incorrigible," you observe with a pleased grin, knowing full well that you have done nothing but encourage him tonight. It's the best night — let alone best date — you've had in ages. And that's so much of why you're not ready for it to end. This is the side of Max that you always want to have with you.

“Confident.” He corrects you with a grin of his own. “Cocky, maybe even a little conceited.”

"Filling in the gaps where I have no self-confidence of my own." In many ways you really are a balancing point to each other. He lifts you up and you ground him. It keeps you interested to see what he'll do next and you can only hope that it gives him a place to feel relaxed with you. Like he can let down his guard with you. "I think...if you want to...we should go back to that studio again next week." They had invited you both eagerly, and Miss Valerie herself had loudly mentioned having a spot on their competition team for another couple if they ever found anyone who was interested. If you were ever going to pin a number onto your dress again, you would want it to be with him. His over-confidence seems to be rubbing off on you, at least a little, and giving you another nudge toward boldness. "I really loved dancing with you tonight."

“It would be unfair really,” Max hums. “To deprive them of our presence. Our talent from the dance floor.” Part of it is an adopted act of confidence, but there is something magical about dancing with you. It’s easier than any other partner he’s ever had. “So I don’t think we should. Deprive them. Give the couples something to aspire to.”

The giggle that he pulls out of you is probably the closest to effervescent that you've ever managed. There is something about the way you feel when his attention is on you that is undeniable. When Max's focus is on you, the rest of the world falls away. "I wouldn't be surprised if it's more jealousy than aspiration," you tell him honestly, taking another sip of your drink. "I'll have the most handsome partner in the room."

He can’t help but preen slightly. “It helps when your partner is the most gorgeous creature you’ve ever laid eyes on.” He murmurs sincerely. Since meeting you, getting to know you, you’ve gone from pretty to stunning in his eyes.

"That's sweet of you." As much as you want to believe that he's telling you what he believes to be the truth, it's so hard to wrap your head around. There has been far too much of your life spent being told all the things that were wrong with you that it feels impossible to believe that someone like Max could find you beautiful. But gods...you want to.

He groans quietly, closing his eyes and dropping his forehead to your shoulder. He should pull away, but your warmth is too intoxicating. “Queenie, I have a confession to make.” He whispers.

Here it is. Steeling yourself for the inevitable rejection you know that you deserve, you put your mug on the table beside your bed without unsettling his forehead. You'll make yourself the smallest presence possible in his life. You'll stop the formal dinners and just let him forget you even live in the same house if he doesn't decide to move out altogether. And you'll sure as fuck wait until he's gone to cry the tears that are already pressing at the back of your eyes. "What is it?" You don't want to ask the question, but you have to. The way your heart is already sinking tells you right away how much this is going to hurt.

He hates that your tone has changed, your body has shifted slightly. He wonders if he should have even opened his mouth, but he wanted to be honest with you. Pulling back slightly, he looks at you with a sense of anger at himself for being so unable to control himself. “I want to kiss you.”

"What?" Pushed out on a single breath, it feels like all the air has been knocked out of you all at once and your eyes blow wide when you look up at him.

“I told myself I wouldn’t push you, and I’m not.” He promises quickly. “I would never push you for anything you aren’t ready for, but I can’t help but think about it and if you want me to leave or move to the chair so I don’t make you uncomfortable, I will.”

"Please don't." Immediately reaching for him, your hand lands on his arm and your fingers squeeze, keeping him close even when you feel like your heart is going to pound out of your chest and you might forget how to breathe. "Don't like don't move away from me. Not don't like don't kiss me. I—" You might vibrate straight out of the bed in disbelief. "I really want to kiss you, too."

“You do?” Despite flirting, Max hadn’t considered that you might actually want to kiss him.

"I was getting ready for you to tell me that you wanted to end this before it started." Which feels terrible to admit, but you want to be honest with him. "Honestly, I...sort of figured you would have been able to...to smell how much I want to kiss you?"

Biting his lip, he considers lying to you, but he nods. “Just because you’re body is telling me yes, doesn’t mean your mind is.” He murmurs quietly, laying a hand on your arm and rubbing it gently. “I was a fucking horndog in the past, but I know boundaries.”

"I don't know how much else I'm ready for." Your hand covers his on your arm long enough to feel the difference between your burning skin and his cooler body, before your hand moves tentatively up his arm. Being allowed to touch him while you're dancing is so very different from touching him in your bed. "But I know I'm ready for this."

Max slides an arm under your body to pull you closer, shifting slightly so both of you are laying on your sides facing each other. “Queenie,” he leans in and nudges his nose against yours, eyes watching you closely. “May I kiss you?”

"Yes. Please." As far as enthusiastic consent goes, you really can't be more explicit and you don't want to just jump the gun and kiss him without answering. Lying in his arms in your bed is the last place you expected this to happen, but now that you're here it's like a dream.

He licks his lips, wetting them as his eyes flicker down to yours. Somewhere between your first sip and now, your cocoa has been pushed onto the nightstand and he can hold you without fear of spilling something hot all over you. “Good.” He murmurs, leaning in to take in your scent, mouthwatering and thick like ambrosia, before he lowers his mouth to yours.

______

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[itsmarsss]

Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 2 - How to Make Friends

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)

Meet Blitzø.

pt. 1 pt. 3 pt. 4

Word count: 2,415

Warnings: surprise surprise! the series is actually non-linear! Some hints of trauma regarding feeling used/objectified, a glimpse into a little more context, mentions of sex as usual, i told y’all i can be a fun writer

Things had been running rather smoothly at Ozzie’s before some idiot decided he could just come in- sneaked in, you assumed, since he didn’t seem to be accompanied, and, frankly, didn’t exactly look dressed for a fancy dinner night at Ozzie’s like other customers always were- and ask for some minutes of Asmodeus’s time as if it were nothing. 

This wasn't the first time this has happened, of course- for some reason people seemed to think that speaking somewhat confidently about having an appointment would somehow distract you, the person whose job was to strictly keep track of Ozzie’s time, from… well, doing your job. 

At this point, he’d gotten past the whole ‘I have an appointment in five minutes´ thing and started trying to convince you that you had to let him talk to the sin. 

“Uh. I don’t know what you want me to say, dude. You can’t just like… ask to see Asmodeus. It’s… kinda not how it works. At all.”

“Why not?”

You sighed. “Who are you supposed to be again?”

“I’m Blitz. The O is silent.” He offered his hand for you to shake, but you only raised an eyebrow, unamused. He retracted his hand. 

“Is that supposed to ring a bell or…?”

“Not to you maybe. But his little bitch boy knows who I am.”

“What?”

“I know Fizzarolli, okay?”

“Okay and?”

“And? And I need to talk to the big Oz!”

“Yeah first off- you could just be bullshitting me. And second off… that doesn’t just automatically give you any priority in Ozzie’s very, very long list of important meetings.”

“Important meetings? What’s he doing right now, discussing dildo prices with some fuckface from Greed?” He coked an eyebrow in defiance.

You did your best to conceal the look on your face as you glanced at Ozzie’s schedule and confirmed he was, in fact, discussing dildo prices with a manufacturer from Greed.

It wasn’t enough, though- the imp seemed to realize it. “He is, isn’t he?” He grinned.

“That’s confidential information.”

He leaned over your desk, planting both his hands on top of it in front of you and getting his face closer to yours. “What’s a hot piece of ass like yours doing in a dump like this anyways?”

“This is… Ozzie’s, dude.” At this point, you didn’t even have an excuse as to why you were even entertaining this guy (at least none that wasn’t ‘things are slow right now and I’m really fucking bored’).

“Yeah, I’m usually at some shitty bar with cum and blood on the walls when I pull this one.”

You actually laughed. “I’m sure you are. Anything else I can help you with?”

“A… meeting with Asmodeus maybe?”

“Definitely not.”

“Eh, worth a try. How ‘bout a drink?”

“Are you offering to buy me a drink or asking me to buy you a drink?”

“Hey I’m up for whatever one you want,” he put his hands up in surrender.

You rolled your eyes, unable to contain a smile at the dumb conversation. At least he was entertaining you. You had to give it to him, he was a little funny. “You know what. Get yourself a drink, Blitz with the silent O. You probably need it.”

“Oh, really? Well if you in- hey wait what’s that supposed to mean?”

You just shrugged. “Ya want the drink or not?”

He paused. “Yes.”

You laughed again. “Just look for Maru by the bar and tell her you got a drink on me, she’ll make something for you.”

“Oh you’re not… you’re not gonna be… joining me?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. He almost looked actually disappointed, just a little bit. Almost.

“Nope. The hot piece of ass is still at work.”

“Riiight. I’ll uh- I’ll be right there! At the bar. Drinking my drink.” He started awkwardly walking backward.

“If you try to sneak into Ozzie’s dressing room I will find out.”

“And what would you potentially do if you found that out?”

“You don’t wanna-” Suddenly, Ozzie’s voice made itself known in your earpiece, your voice dying off as you focused on what he said, saying the words that signaled things had gotten a bit heated during the meeting and you needed to send in someone to escort the imp out of his office (something you had implemented after the third meeting in two months that had ended with him either slightly injuring or straight-up incinerating someone). “Yeah I wouldn’t recommend doing that, sir,” you told him, quickly looking for and pressing the emergency buttons that signaled whoever was working security they were needed at Ozzie’s office. 

“Oh, sir, huh? I can work with sir.”

“Huh?” Realizing you hadn’t given the imp guy any sign you’d been talking to Ozzie, and not him, you felt your cheeks burn the slightest bit, getting caught off guard. “No, uh- earpiece.” You awkwardly pointed at your right ear.

Blitz’s eyes widened, taken by surprise for a second before trying to keep his cool- and the little dignity he had. “Yeah I knew that. Just some good old teasing. Gosh you’re so uptight!”

“Okay, please get in before I change my mind.”

“Yup. Will do. I’m just gonna… stop by the bathroom real quick-”

“It’s the bar or out, man.”

“Fiiiine,” he exaggerated, dragging himself out of your sight.

“Y/n, you there?” Ozzie’s voice came from the comm again, and you realized he’s probably been saying something already. 

“Shit, sorry. Someone was holding me up here. Did they get him out?”

“Yes. Do I have anyone scheduled right now?”

“Hold on, let me see,” you looked at the screen, crossing out the meeting he’d just finished as done and finding the name written for the one under it. “Yeah, you have that meeting about the beach accident with those Inccubi in Pasadena.”

“What is a Pasadena?”

“Living world matter, sir,” you simplified for him. 

“Living world?”

“Yup.”

“When does he get here?”

“Eight minutes.”

[. . .]

“You sure you’re fine?”

“Yes! All of my meetings are done, performances are going fine and Aro owes me a lot of hours anyway. Now if you don’t mind, I have some alone time with my Froggie to attend.”

“Ugh, that nickname makes me sick.”

“I don’t pay you to judge me.”

“Yeah you pay me 'cause you loooove me. See you on Monday?”

“Yes!”

“If you need anything ‘till then-”

“I will let you know, y/n. Now, I granted you an early night, didn’t I? I expect you to enjoy yourself.”

“Fine, boss,” you teased him, making sure he saw you rolling your eyes.

You walked out of Oz’s office, inside of which you’d seen no sight of Fizzarolli, which was strange. You obviously wouldn’t pry, but wondered if the incident with his hearing aid that Ozzie had had to take a break for earlier had been more serious than what Ozzie made it sound. 

There was no use thinking about it too much, though. You and Asmodeus were close, but there were boundaries you still kept between you and respected. You were pretty much the only person Ozzie ever forwardly told about his relationship with Fizz (even though basically everyone else in all seven rings suspected it in some way) and he knew of many personal things of yours, too, but things such as Fizzarolli’s own personal life and the identity of any people you told him about in conversation usually went unmentioned. 

So, to the bar it was. When Ozzie told you he’d gotten someone to cover you for the last hours of the night so you could be free, the very first thing you’d thought to do had been to go straight home- but even thinking it to yourself made that sound depressing. In truth, Asmodeus was the closest thing you had to a real friend- the closest you’d had in a really long time. And although you did feel grateful to be free of work, it wasn't really much fun to think of the fact that, not being able to hang with Ozzie, you didn’t really have much to do. Or anyone to do anything with. 

So you decided maybe you’d have a drink or two, and enjoy the last performances of the night before bouncing. Couldn’t hurt, right?

To your surprise, when you sat down at a stool by the bar, ordering yourself a blackberry frozen margarita- in your opinion, the best drink on Ozzie’s drink menu- you were startled to see the imp you’d talked to earlier that night sliding next to you, taking a seat on the stool right by your left. 

“Sooo. The hot piece of ass ain’t working anymore?”

“You’re still here?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrugged. “I dunno, I kind of imagined you would’ve managed to sneak into Ozzie’s dressing room and gotten yourself kicked out by now.” Of course, you were only taking the piss at him- you’d know if that would have happened. Obviously.

He furrowed his eyebrows together. “Wait I actually could have sneaked into his dressing room if I tried?”

You laughed and decided to answer his first question instead of that one. “No, I’m not working anymore.”

“Does that mean I’m allowed to flirt with you now?”

“Oh, that thing you were doing wasn’t flirting?”

“Depends. Was it working?”

You drank the rest of your margarita in a single gulp instead of answering. “Hey, Maru? Would you get me another, please? You can put it under Blitz’s here.”

“Hey!”

“What? I thought you were trying to flirt. Buy me a drink!”

[. . .]

“So you’re the one who manages this whole thing?” Blitzo motioned around to the restaurant, almost spilling the shot of tequila he was holding.

“Well not exactly,” you toyed with the little umbrella from your third drink of the night. “I’m more focused on managing Ozzie’s business. I mean. The guy, not the place. You know, meetings to attend, places to go, personal errands, everything.”

“That’s… lame.”

“What? What do you do for a living then that’s just so fun?”

“Well, I used to be a circus clown.”

“What? Wait that is cool.”

“Only a little cool. I’m planning something big next. But uh. Right now I’m kind of doing anything I can find to support my daughter.”

“You have a daughter?”

“Yeah. Loona. The love of my life.”

“That’s cute.” You smiled. Examining him with this in mind once again, you took he did sort of have a bit of a dad energy to him. It looked a little unconventional on him considering the… everything else, but it was there. “How old is she?”

“Nineteen.” He finally downed his shot, slamming the glass on the counter.

“Oh, wow.” 

He seemed to notice all the processing you were doing in your mind to try to gather how old he was. 

“I adopted her like a year ago.”

“Oh. That’s cool. What’s she like?”

Conversation with him came to be strangely natural. A few drinks in, and, from an outside perspective, it would probably be hard to figure out the two of you had never seen each other before up until a few hours prior- cracking jokes and playfully flirting, sharing bits and pieces of your lives and drinking a little more than you should together. It was weirdly comfortable.

And, much to your surprise, Ozzie didn’t come up again. Not in the way you were certain he would eventually, anyway. After all, it all seemed too nice to not be a way to get you drunk and tell him something personal about Ozzie, or ask you again for a meeting with the sin. Right?

By the end of the night, Blitzø tried a half-serious attempt at getting you to take him home with you (because apparently he rented a one-bedroom place, and gave up his bedroom to his daughter when she moved in with him, so he wouldn’t be able to take you home with him), to which you laughed, but stopped for a second to seriously consider.

You did find him attractive. His style was hot and his personality was fun. It was all certainly working for you.

 You were sure you could have a fun time with him if you did agree, and, honestly, atop of feeling like you deserved this, you kind of needed it. I mean, nothing like a nice, meaningless one-night-stand with a barely-decent man to distract you from from being alone all weekend. Right? 

But for some reason, you stopped yourself. Maybe not this time. Because, even though you weren’t sure if that was really you or just the alcohol talking, at that moment you found yourself thinking that maybe you could actually become friends with this guy.��

And though you weren't sure if he would want that, it would be nice to have a real friend other than Asmodeus, for a change. 

“Um, I gotta work really early tomorrow,” you lied, giving him an excuse. “But I could give you my number? You’re really funny and I had a lot of fun tonight. Even though you definitely crashed the place,” you joked. “I think we could be… good… friends? Maybe? I’d like that.”

“You… want to be friends? With me?”

Fine. That’s where this ended, wasn’t it? He realized he wouldn’t be fucking you and so the interest disappeared. That’s fine. You were prepared for that. “It's alright if not.”

“No, give me- give me your number. Yeah. Give me your number.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave it to you.

Oh. “Okay.” He probably only said that in the hopes to fuck you in the future. 

Still, you grabbed the phone from him and typed in your number.

He immediately sent you a ‘hi’ and a smiley face so you could save his contact. 

“Just to be clear, like, we’re not gonna- like I really mean it, I wanna be friends.”

“Okay I got it the first time, you don’t gotta rub it on my face.”

Maybe he could be genuinely fine with just being your friend? 

“I don’t mind some flirting with my friends, though,” you commented, and he smirked. 

“Tell that to me when I’m sober, sweetheart.”

No harm in trying, right? And if sober you thought differently, you could always just block him. 

Why not? Maybe this is just how to make friends as an adult. 

“Okay but seriously where does the ‘O’ even go? Like how do I even save your contact?”

A/N: this wasn't even supposed to be out today but i got too excited so here it is. also im serious abt this being non-linear... there's shit mentioned here you'll only find out more about in like chapter 5 or so but i hope i wrote it in a way thats exciting enough to make it worth it! hope yall like it, share ur thoughts w me! luv yall <3

[ghxstfacesgf]

anchor: ethan landry x reader

Ethan returns from a ghostface attack to find you waiting for him, the only person who can ease his mind. His anchor.

Warnings: ya know violent ghostface things

Note: I wrote this super fast bc I had this idea and couldn’t get it out of my head. I realized after I wrote it that it’s pretty gender-neutral so enjoy! Let know how you like it! <3

A loud crash echos through the small apartment as a ghostface mask smashes into the dresser. An unlit candle falls, coating the wood floors in shards of glass. Ethan Landry tramples over them— breathing erratic, hands shaking, curly brown locks coated in sweat. The events of the night clouded his memory, an unsuccessful attack on the Carpenter sisters. He tried, he really did try, but to no avail. His father would return to the apartment any minute now. The apartment they had purchased as another hideout, other than the shrine. The boy could practically hear his father now: unfocused, sloppy, weak.

Ethan frustratingly ripped the cloak off his body, chucking it on the ground with a groan. With brown eyes prickling with tears, he collapsed on the bed head in hands. A small, comforting voice called to him from the corner of the room,

“Ethan?”

You. Of course it was you. Your voice laced in empathy and the only voice with the power to instantly calm Ethan Landry. He let out a sigh, not even needing words to communicate to you what he needed. You moved in front of him while he remained seated, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. Those eyes closed in relief and your delicate hands cupped his face. His medicine. His anchor.

You brought him closer to you, head nuzzled into your chest. Ethan melted instantly at your touch as you stroked his hair lightly, his eyes still closed. He had no idea when or how you’d gotten here and, frankly, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were here. You were there to save him from his own devilish thoughts. That’s what you’d always done for Ethan— grounded him. It was you that helped him balance along the line of good vs evil. He was a killer, yes, but he didn’t want to be. At least not when he was around you. Your glossy eyes, your perfectly imperfect smile, all of you made him forget his family’s plan. No— his family’s mission. One that he almost considered aborting at the sight of you. Almost.

“What happened, Eth?” His eyes fluttered open at your question. He didn’t know why, but he felt like dumping all of his trauma onto you. The only person in world he felt like would truly listen to him without judgment.

“I failed. Again, y/n, I failed. And my dad and Quinn will be back here any minute to berate me for it. He will go on and on about Richie. “If Richie was here this”, “if Richie was here that,” it’s exhausting never being good enough,” Ethan rambled, his voice cracking. Tears were begging to be released but he blinked them away. He sighed, bringing a hand to your face to brush away a stray lock of hair.

You smiled down at him understandingly. “But how did you fail?”

He scoffed at your comment, “how did I fail? Y/n, I didn’t kill anyone that’s how I failed! That’s all he cares about!” Ethan’s hands, that were wrapped about your waist, tightened in his annoyance.

“No.” You spoke calmly, pulling back from the boy in front of you.

“What?”

“No.” Ethan’s eyebrows burrowed in confusion as he, too, pulled away. You were starting to sound like a parrot at this point. “Ethan, what happened tonight?”

He blinked at you. Why did you have that look on your face? Why weren’t you scared? He had just admitted to you he was ghostface, you’d even seen the mask once he entered the apartment. Why were you still here?

“I already told you. I didn’t kill anyone. I was supposed to, supposed to attack Sam and Tara.”

You closed the gap between the two of you once again. A smile full of pity played on your pink lips. Ethan felt his heartbeat begin to race again and he wasn’t sure why. He tried to think, but he couldn’t. How did you even get here? How did you even know this apartment existed?

“You didn’t fail, baby,” your hands cupped his face again, though they were colder now. “You did kill someone.”

Ethan’s eyes widened, he could practically hear his heart beating out of his chest. His eyes closed, the memories of the night flashing across his mind faster than he could stop them. And boy did he desperately want to stop them.

Sam and Tara’s apartment. Glass breaking. Screaming. Ethan lunged for the sisters, managing to slice Sam’s forearm. She fell to the ground— this was his moment. The moment he would finally make his father proud. The blade raised above the boys head. He brought it down, hard and fast. Although it wasn’t Sam he’d just mutilated. It was you. Those eyes he’d once became entranced in looked up at him one last time. This time filled with hatred and fear. Blood soaked your navy top as he removed the blade from your chest. You’d gotten in the way, how could you be so stupid? The others called your name and Ethan ran. He wanted to stay and help you, he really did. He wanted you to be alright. The sounds of Tara’s screams confirmed his fears.

Ethan’s lips began to form a reply but you’d cut him off, “you didn’t mean to.”

His eyes looked up at you frantic, unable to stop the tears from flowing now. “I don’t understand, you’re here! I can feel you,” the boy pulled your hand from his cheek. Both of his hands cupped yours as he brought it to his lips, kissing your hand softly. “You feel real.”

“You know I’m not, Ethan. You know what you did, you know you didn’t mean to. This isn’t what you want, you’re not a killer.” Your words seemed to pierce him like a blade. Like the blade he’d shoved into your chest just hours ago. He cried now, cried harder than he ever had. At some point his hands released yours and those curly locks fell wet against his forehead.

The door to the apartment swung open harshly. Ethan’s attention was torn away from you. It was Detective Bailey.

“There he is! My boy,” Bailey smiled wildly, arms widened for a hug. “I didn’t think you had it in you, to kill y/n.”

At the sound of your name Ethan’s head turned back to where you were standing. Your figure gone now, only a window overlooking the city replaced it. He felt like he had been the one murdered.

“I’m proud of you, son.” Those words, the only words Ethan had wanted to hear, snapped him away from his sorrow. Eyes glistened up at his father. They embraced.

You had been Ethan’s anchor, the one thing keeping him somewhat sane. But, you were gone now. It had to happen, it did. Ethan knew that now. Without you, he could finally live up to his fathers expectations.

He could become a true psychopath.

[cross-my-heartt]

Alright, I’m saying it

I hate what they did with Crosshair in season three

Yes, the entirety of season three, barring maybe only the first three episodes. Let me elaborate.

I’ve been seeing people be more open about criticizing the finale and it’s given me the push to be more open about my own thoughts. And since I still advertise myself as a Crosshair girlie, I think this is a good place to start.

I really honestly don’t like the majority of what they did with Crosshair’s character this season. And yes, that includes the hand tremors. From the myriad things that felt out of character for him to making him a walking exposition dump, to completely stripping him of his more interesting qualities I honestly struggle to see him as the same character I loved right up until the end of season two.

I almost understand why so many people have come around on him – it’s because he’s a completely different character. We’re meant to believe that his time on Tantiss and Hemlock’s attempted reconditioning has changed him as a person. Which is all fine and dandy until you realize that this new character we get feels more like he’s gone through therapy rather than trauma.

New Crosshair is much more agreeable. He’s mild, he rolls over at the first sign of conflict, he talks about his emotions at the drop of a hat and there’s barely any meaningful tension between him and the other characters (not one that’s not forced anyways).

And my question is, why? If we’re just going to use off screen trauma (off. screen. trauma???) to change characters willy nilly then what even is the point of watching a show?

Say I suddenly wanted to make Wrecker this very angry character with a short fuse and I decide that he got an injury off screen that’s causing him chronic pain. It makes sense logically while at the same time making zero sense for him, even less so if you don’t see it play out, because it erases core parts of the character that we already know.

One of the first things Crosshair does in tcw is start a fight. Crosshair has always been a belligerent guy. He literally responds to being hurt by attacking. Where is that combativeness now? I would even go as far as to say that he’s been the primary source of conflict for the group since season one and I don’t even mean that in a bad way. Crosshair bites back. He hides pain by trying to inflict it, he talks back, he challenges, he digs his heels in to the point of proactively making bad life choices.

And the reason why he’s worked so well in this team so far is because his tendencies were counteracted by those around him, right up until the inevitable rift caused by the chip. I could go on about Wrecker and Tech but we all know that the main counterbalance, Crosshair’s foil here, is Hunter. Hunter is supposed to be the one that deescalates, they’ve gotten along so far because he’s the one that handled rising tensions (it’s the reason he’s the leader of their group to begin with. Remember who deescalated that fight in tcw? Remember who started it?) Where Crosshair pushes, Hunter puts a stop to it. Where Crosshair attacks, Hunter deflects, maybe sometimes too much.

And these first two season have felt like they were steadily building towards a confrontation between these two. We wanted Hunter to snap at Crosshair on Pabu because we’ve been craving it. This whole time Crosshair’s been saddled with more and more trauma, unresolved tensions from as far back as season one (which we all seem to have forgotten about as if that story never happened, tldr I’m still bitter no one addressed the Crosshair being abandoned subplot, hello remember that) while the narrative has simultaneously been stripping Hunter of his patience; months of anxiety and frustration and stress chipping away at him and wearing him down so that we can finally get to see these characters clash. The perfect recipe for all of that tension exploding and being set loose.

And what did we get instead?

A tiny little spat. An argument that gets interrupted before fizzling out (because Crosshair can talk about feelings all of a sudden). We got Hunter in the exact right position only for the show to purposefully strip Crosshair of his characteristic belligerence because apparently we don’t want to see any conflict. It’s like they’re teasing us – look Hunter’s on the verge of snapping but Crosshair’s the bigger man now so we don’t get to see that! Why??? What part of that was satisfying?? We got Crosshair pushing back for the tiniest of seconds and resolved two seasons of tension in half an episode. Where they had to fight a giant worm. In what universe is that a satisfying conclusion.

The only reason I can think of is that this mirror development is supposed to be some kind of irony or subversion but honestly that explanation falls so flat in the face of our expectations as an audience.

And the thing is, I think even the authors realized that they had nuked their most intriguing character. Because once they removed his established response to trauma, which was all of those wonderfully complex emotional reactions, they realized they needed to manifest it in some other way. So we got the hand tremors.

Now Crosshair doesn’t get angry or stubborn he just gets jittery. And I know this sounds dismissive but the only reason that is is because the show itself deals with it in a completely ham-fisted and surface-level way.

I hated the hand tremor subplot. Me. Someone who spent two years being disabled because of neural damage to my hands that prevented me from doing the hobbies I used to define myself as a person. Someone who spent two years depressed and dysfunctional because of the loss of identity and purpose I suffered because of that disability.

So no I’m not fucking happy that they used something as serious as ptsd to spice up a character they themselves made bland in the first place. For no reason other than a subplot that went literally nowhere. A subplot that was shish kebabed after an underwhelming fight scene.

Don’t even get me started on the pun level writing of chopping said hand off.

But back to Crosshair… or what’s left of him after this season (see I can make a pun too). Crosshair was already interesting enough as a character without the added hand tremor subplot and I'm dying on that hill.

The thing is, they were so intent on pushing this new, watered down version of Crosshair that even more reasonable, level-headed characters had to be thrown under the bus, made irrationally aggressive next to him to try and make us believe it. I have a lot to say about Howzer this season but the only thing I’ll say for now is that he’s the most prominent victim of this, along with his entire retconned season one plotline.

And speaking of victims, I can’t help but feel like I need to apologize to all the Tech fans out there once again. Because what I think actually happened is that Tech was never the writers’ favorite and was never meant to get any sort of satisfying conclusion.

That was always Crosshair.

The focal point of season one. The most prominent source or drama and conflict. The character who drove the plot forward even when he appeared in a fraction of episodes. The character who got the most development (even if that development spiraled wildly out of control at the end). Nearly every major subplot in this show happened in relation to or in favor of Crosshair’s arc. Tech’s death. Omega’s capture. The CX clones. The hand tremors. All of the meaningful developments and events reserved for two characters in this show, Omega and Crosshair. (Some would argue Hunter as well but really, did Hunter get any development as a character? Spoiler alert, a happy ending is not the same as a character arc.)

My guess is that this was always meant to be the case. The writers just weren’t prepared for the fans’ response to Tech’s death, it caught them off guard, and here’s one more reason why I think creators should stay away from social media or any kind of prolonged fan interaction. Because all it got us in the end was some form of cruel teasing, them trying to ride the wave of attention and thinking their original plans would make up for it when that wave inevitably crashed.

But anyway.

What happens when you dump a bunch of pain and suffering onto a character with a problematic response to adversity? Apparently it makes them emotionally intelligent, at least according to this show. Crosshair in season three feels like a shadow of his former self – the combativeness and complex emotional responses that made him so interesting to begin with are gone, replaced with a ham-fisted manifestation of trauma that gets resolved in an equally ham-fisted way.

And I’m just not on board with that. Nor will I ever be. Even if you give me all the supposed emotional payoffs, hugs or whatever.