#this. was supposed to be a celebration not a trauma dump :(

[tealvenetianmask]

Hell's royalty has a culture that enables Stella's abusive behavior.

Point 1: Keeping up appearances is valued above all else. And I specifically mean the appearance of things being the way they're supposed to be. Conformity basically.

Conformity in this culture seems to include a kind of stoic dignity ("you know excitement is unbecoming of a goetia"), an air of superiority ("don't bow to that one- he bows to us!"), and, of course, some good old fashioned toxic masculinity ("cease this bitch crying").

Individuals at the very top are not immune. Even though he gets past it, Asmodeus seems to spend a lot of time and effort on keeping his relationship with Fizz quiet in order to keep up the appearance of fulfilling his "lust" role.

Point 2: The members of the aristocracy who don't conform are seen as the problem, not the members who are being cruel.

Speaking of Ozzie, there's a chance he'll face real consequences for getting out of line . . . Mammon seems pretty confident about getting revenge. Also, if Ozzie had decided that his reputation was important enough to avoid stepping in to help his partner, well . . . I'm just saying. Cultures of conformity create bystanders who stand by and let abuse happen. So it's good that this guy has the courage (and a good heap of privilege and power) to enable him to step out. Yes, I realize that the crowd at Mammon's celebrated Ozzie and Fizz, but the crowd was distinctly NOT aristocratic.

Now look at Stella's party- this woman is not subtle about being cruel to her husband.

She calls the party a "Not Divorced" party. She openly talks negatively about Stolas in a blatant attempt to humiliate him. She's not trying to hide that she hates the man.

Because he's . . . an oddball. Gentle, not as polished as others in his social sphere, awkward and mostly friendless, probably autistic. And importantly, I think, not traditionally masculine.

So Stella has no need to hide that she treats him poorly. She's proud of it. And her social circle seems to support her in it, or at least, they don't push back. Because based on the aristocracy's unspoken (or if we look at Paimon, very much spoken) value system, Stolas's failure to fulfill all of his expected roles gracefully is worse than Stella's cruelty.

Point 3: Stolas's parenting, while much better than his own father's, still reflects this value system in some ways, and that's . . . complicated.

In some ways, Octavia is doing great. She has her own interests (music! gothy fashion!) that don't seem to be based on any role prescribed to her by others. She has a genuine bond with her dad that's based on care and not on molding her into some ideal princess.

But Stolas still puts on an facade in front of Via. We know that he pretended things were fine when they distinctly weren't for most of her childhood. We could argue endlessly about whether Stolas was right (as Georgia Dow explained in her video) or wrong to stop himself from explaining the situation with Stella to Via in Loo Loo Land, but honestly, the man could let his nearly grown up daughter know that abuse was happening without all out trauma dumping. It would enable her to make more informed decisions, and I think she would want to be able to do that.

Instead, Stolas keeps it to himself. Because he feels like Via SHOULD have this picture perfect childhood. Look at the pictures that are up in his palace. Look at his attempt to gloss over the fighting in the household by taking Via to an idealized childhood destination.

A part of him still thinks that good parenting is keeping up appearances, and that the ugly things are best kept hidden. Look at how hard he still tries to avoid crying in front of people. The values he was taught as a child are part of him.

And while it's not his fault (it's Stella's fault, obviously- these are HER actions), his inability to be open allows Stella and Andrealphus to scheme and (we'll see . . .) probably manipulate Via because of her lack of knowledge.

We're meant to see the moments where Stolas breaks expectations and behaves raw and even a little unhinged as triumphant. Sleeping with Blitz. That is the sound of a fucking divorce. Actually going through with the fucking divorce. Insisting on it. Appearances be damned.

And yeah, more of that please. Because if the people around Stella stop caring about aristocratic social trappings, all she'll have going for her is her shitty personality.

Thanks @akirathedramaqueen for inspiring this post with a conversation.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

The Plan [Marcus Pike x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: The Mentalist

Pairing: Marcus Pike x you/cishet f!reader. Reader is fat/overweight but this is never explicitly mentioned. Also, reader is a lawyer. (I know nothing about lawyering.)

Tags/Warnings: Sad Marcus, alcohol mention, one night stands, fellatio mention, neighbours with benefits, safe sex, squirting, cunnilingus, reader has a difficult relationship with her family, mad dash through the airport at Christmas, trauma dumping (Marcus coming clean about his disappointment after Lisbon dumped him).

Summary: A drunken one night stand with your cute new neighbour Marcus Pike eventually leads to more. Takes place after his story arc in the show.

Words: 7,895

A/N: My first Marcus Pike fic, and also I finished a goddamn fic! There is so much cause for celebration here, folks. Remember to comment and reblog: sharing is caring.

Shout-out to @missredherring and @pazizz who read drafts and helped me forward with this story <3

Marcus Pike does not have a bitter disposition. He does not sulk, or harbor resentment. It's just not in his nature.

Until now.

There is just something so unforgivable, incomprehensible, wrong about the way Teresa Lisbon left him. She called him to say she was coming to D.C., that she would marry him, and two hours later she called again to inform him that she wasn't. That she was in love with Patrick Jane. That asshole.

Marcus has been divorced, and not even that made him spiral as hard as the breakup from Teresa. It just hit harder, because he had fallen so hard for her, for the way she dipped her gaze and chin when a smile broke out on her lips, before looking back up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. He fell for her sense of humor, her intelligence, the way it was so easy to be with her. And he really thought that she fell for him in the same way. Maybe she did - but Jane was there, in the background, confusing her, wooing her with one last big, desperate gesture. If Marcus had known that all it took to keep Teresa was to get himself arrested, he would've done that instead of bringing her takeout at work, making her morning coffee just as she liked it, loaning her his jacket when she was cold during that date, all the thousands of little things that he did for her, that he loved doing for her because he loved her so much that doing those things weren't a chore, they weren't planned, they were an honest, spontaneous expression of his feelings for her.

And then, one big, desperate gesture that rendered Marcus's all small, everyday gestures moot. And it pisses him off.

Practicality kicked in as a form of survival. He quickly cancelled the purchase of the house he had Teresa had picked out, found a condo instead, moved in with his things, and threw himself into his work. Most of the boxes were left unpacked. His place didn't feel like a home because he couldn't let it. He was supposed to share one with Teresa, and now there was just him, surrounded by moving boxes that he had to deal with but couldn't, wouldn't. What should've been a house for the two of them - maybe more in the future? - with a little garden, walls impregnated with love and excitement for a life together, sunlight through the window during long weekend mornings of slow breakfasts, putting up Christmas decorations together, all those things that he was looking forward to. Now he has a bachelor pad, in a fancy apartment building with a doorman, but a sad bachelor pad all the same. The furniture is more or less where it should be, but he hasn't bothered to plan that much. The kitchen table is too big, but he's not in any condition to sell it off and buy a new one. The bookcases are half full, and his artwork is still unhung. He really tried there, but the first painting he got his hands on was one that he had seen before him in the spacious yet cozy living-room in That House, with the fireplace, and suddenly no wall in his apartment was good enough. So he put the painting away, and the rest were left packed down.

He even started going out after work, when he couldn't stay any longer but didn't want to go home. He found a watering hole to his liking, and became a regular, nursing one whiskey after another until he could go home and fall into bed for a deep, dreamless sleep.

It's after one of those nights that he finds you, his neighbor, trying to open his front door with your key. Your clumsy yet meticulous movements tell him that you're intoxicated, and there is something endearing about the way you're frowning, the tip of your tongue sticking out the side of your mouth as you focus on sticking in the key that doesn't fit.

When Marcus comes closer, you notice him, and look up. Quickly registering that it's the workaholic neighbor that you rarely see, you just nod, and go back to trying to open the door.

"That's my door," he says, and you look up again.

"What's that?"

"That's my door. You're trying to get into my apartment."

You frown, your hand holding the key falling to your side as you process his words. You then squint at the number of the door, taking a few seconds to realize that this is, indeed, not your front door.

"Oops," you mutter, then grimace apologetically at your neighbor. "Well, this isn't embarrassing at all."

"Don't worry about it," he shrugs, fishing his own key from his pocket. You step to the side to give him access to the door, and when he stands right next to you, you can smell his cologne, sophisticated and with a hint of bergamot.

He eyes you, just as drunk as you are.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Late night. You?"

"Same." He looks so tired when he says it, but you can tell that there is a dimple aching to appear in his cheek. His face, bleary though it is, is handsome, and looks like it was made for smiling.

"What is it you do again?" you ask. You've exchanged pleasantries with him when he first moved in, but you never had the time or mental capacity to actually remember who he is.

"FBI, I investigate art theft."

"Ah, right." Yeah, that's it, something so unusual and random that one couldn't make it up. Then again, D.C. is full of people who do stuff you only hear about in movies.

"Marcus," he offers his hand, and you take it, and give him your name.

"And what is it that you do?"

"Law. I work with government contracts and related investigations at a law firm here in D.C."

"Sounds complicated."

You shrug. "I'm smart enough."

"You look good, too."

You scoff. "Are you coming on to me?"

"I'm trying." Now the smile breaks through, lighting up his whole face. Gods, but he's cute.

"Okay." You make the decision quickly, nodding at his door. "Looks like I picked the right door, after all."

Marcus unlocks the door and opens it for you.

His head is pounding, and his mouth is dry when he wakes up. For a moment, he doesn't know what day it is, what he's supposed to do, or what happened last night, but then the flashbacks start to put things together. The flirty neighbor. Her naked skin. Her alcohol-fuming kisses.

He turns his head and sees you, still asleep next to him. Oh, okay.

Sitting up slowly, he gets his bearings before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Clothes are strewn over the floor. Right next to the bed is a used condom, tied up and looking sad and abandoned. Okay, good, at least he remembered to use protection. He picks it up and takes it to the bathroom, where he disposes of it before washing his hands and face.

He hears the rustle of bedsheets, and returns to the bedroom, realizing that he's naked. You might not want to be greeted by a naked stranger first thing. Looking around for his underwear, he's nevertheless too slow in finding them: you're already sitting up and rubbing your forehead.

He clears his throat. "Good morning."

Your smile is a little lopsided. "Morning."

"You want breakfast?" Marcus immediately offers, wanting to do the gentlemanly thing before he sends you off so that he can take about ten aspirins, and go to work. "And I'll put out a clean towel for you so that you can use the shower."

"Appreciate it, but I live right next door," you point out as you get out of bed. You're as naked as he is, and Marcus tries very hard not to ogle your body for what he suspects will be the last time.

"I don't mind."

"Thanks, but I have to get to work." You pick up and put on your panties, bra, skirt, shirt. Marcus spots his boxer briefs, and pulls them on.

"Okay, well... I had a good time."

"I did too."

Now you're standing right in front of him, buttoning up your silk shirt. Even with your makeup smudged out, and terrible morning breath, you look really nice.

"I gotta ask you something, though, because my memory is a little... hazy." Your cheekbones seem to glow, and he realizes that you're blushing.

"Yeah?"

"I sucked your dick, didn't I?"

Marcus feels the heat rise to his ears. "Um... well... yes, you did."

"Well?"

"What?"

"Did I do it well?"

"I think so."

You grin at him. "You don't remember much either, do you?"

"It was all consensual, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that." You surprise him by placing your hand on his naked chest. His heart skips a beat, and he hopes that you won't notice.

"I really have to go, but maybe I'll see you again soon?" you ask softly, and Marcus finds himself relaxing.

"I'd like that."

You even kiss him good-bye, a quick, closed-mouth peck to keep morning breaths from mixing, before you grab your shoes, your purse (muttering under your breath about several emails, and two missed calls), and head over next door.

Marcus, still only wearing his underwear, looks thoughtfully at the closed door for a long while before going into the kitchen with the too big table to make coffee.

Work occupies most of your waking hours, six days a week, often seven. You don't see Marcus again for weeks, don't hear any sounds from his apartment during the hours you're home and awake. Barely having time to think about him, your thoughts nevertheless stray to him when you're standing in the shower or going to bed at night. You haven't been able to fit a boyfriend into your life in a long time, and casual hook-ups have rarely left you satisfied, but even with your hazy memories of the night with Marcus, you left his apartment that morning with a feeling that it was good. So that's where your thoughts go when you touch yourself, the few times you have the energy to do so.

One Friday night, after a long but satisfying week that ended with a contract being accepted as it was, which meant you could have a weekend with only a couple of hours of work from home, you're hurrying home with Chinese takeout in a bag. Looking forward to a quiet night in front of the TV, with an early morning at the gym the following day, you run into Marcus on your way into your apartment building.

"Hi," you smile, immediately noticing how he seems to square his shoulders when he sees you. "Going out?"

"Yeah," he nods, moving his weight from one foot to the other as he takes in your food bag. "And you're staying in?"

"Finally, a Friday night without work," you acknowledge. Marcus's smile lets you know that he knows about that all too well.

"Enjoy."

"You too, you going somewhere nice?"

"No, I mean... I'm just going by myself."

There is something so despondent about the way he averts his eyes when confessing to going out alone. You're not in a position to start saving people, but you see an opening here.

"Join me for dinner instead, Marcus."

"I don't want to bother you."

"It's no bother," you shake your head, now moving towards the elevator while beckoning him to follow you. "Come on, before the food gets cold. There's enough here for two, I always buy extra."

He hesitates for only a split second, you can see it in how his body seems to pull him away, out to some sad bar with too much to drink. Instead, he nods, smiles softly, and follows you. He insists on bringing a bottle of wine from his place, and you accept.

You find out more about him that night, as you share your takeout with him, and he shares his wine. He tells you of heartache, only summarily, clearly not wanting you to feel sorry for him, but you can tell that he's been torn up about the "amicable" break-up. He also mentions that he's been married, and you wonder what's wrong with him. He seems perfectly nice and normal, why hasn't he been able to keep a woman? To his credit, he never complains about nice guys finishing last, only states that maybe he's meant to focus on his career.

"There's a lot to be said about having a good career," you agree. Marcus sips his wine with a small smile.

"Work doesn't break your heart."

"That, too."

"I take it you don't have a partner who'll suddenly come home to find me in his kitchen?" he jokes lightly, but you recognize the question for what it is: he wants to know if you're Seeing Anyone.

"Not one for relationships," you shrug.

"You don't long for anyone to snuggle up with in front of the TV on a Friday night?"

"I don't have time. And they never seem to understand that. Or they're working, too." You pick at the scraps in your takeout box with the chopsticks. "And I seem to attract douchebags. Dunno if it comes with the field in which I work. I always seem to go out with terrible lawyer guys."

Marcus chuckles. "Their loss."

"I miss having sex, though." You look him in the eye, and his tongue slides over his lower lip, catching some runaway sauce.

"Yeah?"

You nod, and feel your cheeks heat up. You're a no-nonsense person, but not always this forward with men. But it's easy with Marcus. He takes it all in stride, doesn't seem to think you're aggressive, or slutty, he just smiles and tells you that he misses sex too.

"But what we had was okay, though?" he adds. "Even if neither one of us seems to remember it that well."

"It was," you agree, raising the glass to your lips and draining the rest of the wine. After putting it back down, you tilt your head and bite your lower lip.

"You wanna do it again? Now that we're sober and all?"

"I'm a little tipsy," he warns you with a chuckle, "But I'm in."

Both of you get up at the same time, chairs scraping the floor simultaneously in the kitchen that mirrors his own but has a table that fits it. All of your apartment just fits in a way his half-assed dwelling doesn't. He realizes that it's because your apartment is a home, decorated and lived-in, warm colors and fabrics, Scandinavian wallpapers in bold but tasteful patterns that he himself would never consider but that feel right here.

You step up to him, snugly fitting yourself to his frame, and place your hands on his narrow hips as you kiss him. The two glasses of wine that you've had have laid a warm, cozy blanket over your busy mind, and now you're fully focused on Marcus, whose soft, plump lips are meeting yours as his arms go around your waist.

You make your way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes as you kiss and get undressed, get undressed and kiss. The bed in unmade, you just threw the covers to the side when you got up this morning. Wearing only your underwear, you lay down, pull Marcus over you, rake your fingers through his hair, moan when he palms your plump tits through the bra.

"Tell me what you like," he asks you hoarsely. You hum when he scatters kisses along the lace trim of your bra.

"That's a good start."

He hums back as he pops your tits out of your bra and lick around the nipples.

"Go on," he asks, and a shiver runs down your spine at the low barytone of his voice. You reach around to unhook your bra, and Marcus takes it off you and flings it to the side before burying his face between your breasts.

"You eat pussy?" you ask him breathlessly, and he looks up at you.

"Of course."

"Not everybody does," you wink, and he shakes his head.

"Their loss."

He's in a hurry, you note, but it's endearing in an unexpected way. When he pulls down your panties and gets settled, your legs over his shoulders, you remember to give him a warning.

"I, uh, I don't orgasm from oral, just so you know."

"Really?" His breath is hot against your folds, but he's looking up at you with attentive eyes.

"Yeah. It's not a comment on your skills, I just need you to know it," you shrug, accustomed to always having to tread carefully around the matter. Too many men get offended or take it as a challenge.

"Thanks for telling me," Marcus smiles in a way that's way too innocent and adorable for a man who's got his face inches away from your pussy. "But do you really want me to...?"

"Oh God, yes!" you reassure him. "I enjoy it a lot, and it gets me wet. I just can't cum, I need vaginal stimulation for that."

"You got it," he pats your thigh lightly before his tongue connects with your folds, and your eyes fall shut as you hand yourself over to the pleasure, to Marcus's deftly dancing tongue. He's good, he's attentive and eager, yet you don't get the feeling that he's trying to prove you wrong, to make you orgasm. Lord knows men have tries that in the past, and it's just stressful. No, he just seems to enjoy your moans, the way you writhe and grab his hands, the twitches of your pelvis when he does something extraordinary.

"Goddddd, Marcus, that's so fucking good..." you wail when he alternates between sucking your clit and licking it with a quick tongue. He's getting louder, sloppier, and you know you're dripping. Your clit is throbbing, and you know this is the perfect time to speed things up. You push him away, your thighs closing around his head, and Marcus retreats, chin glistening as he licks his lips.

"You okay?" he wants to know. You nod, breathless and with a pounding heart.

"Need to fuck you."

He scrambles up for a deep kiss, wet and lewd, before you push him over to get a condom from your nightstand. He drapes himself over you as you stretch across the bed, and peppers your back with kisses, like he's unable to stay away from you. You roll around, finding yourself caged between his strong arms, and you pull him down for more kissing with lips swollen and dry but still wanting more.

"How do you want me?" he gasps between the kisses as you pull down his underwear and paw at his small butt.

"Can I be on top?"

He rolls over onto his back immediately, watching you with open-mouth excitement when you remove his shorts and put on the rubber. When you finally sink down on his length, his fingers dig into your thighs as his breath hitches.

"Oh, that feels good..."

"Uh-huh," you sigh, staying still for a moment to adjust to his cock inside of you. You smile inwardly as you find yourself thinking about just how perfectly sized it is: thick but not too long.

"What?"

Your eyes open to find Marcus grinning at you.

"What what?" you grin back. He caresses your hips slowly.

"You looked like you had something to say."

"I was just thinking about what a perfect, gorgeous dick you have."

His cheeks turn pink. "Thank you. It came with the body."

You chuckle and start a slow grind, hips moving lazily back and forth as you seek out the right spots, the right rhythm. Finding it, you plant your hands on Marcus's chest and let out a low moan as you go slightly faster.

"That right for you?" he huffs, sitting up to catch a nipple in his mouth.

"Mmmfuckyes..."

You drop your hand to where your bodies meet, fingers seeking out your clit. Pleasure zaps through your body when you rub it, and you clench tightly around Marcus, causing him to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, both of you groaning.

"So good," he gripes, soothing the sting of his fingertips by rubbing his palms over the affected areas before he moves his fingers to your front. "Need a hand?"

"'m good," you gasp, your free arm slinging around his neck. You clench around him again, and Marcus's hips jut upwards, slamming into you with a force that makes you choke.

"Fuck! God, Marcus, that was..."

"Can we try something?" he pants, pulling you in for a kiss. "Please?"

"Okay?" you frown, a little frustrated at being interrupted, but Marcus gestures for you to rise, so you do as he asks, and let him pull you down with him.

"Get on top of me again, but lie down," he instructs you. You must look doubtful because he immediately adds:

"Just try it, if you don't like it, we can go back to what you were doing."

"I'll try anything once," you shrug, and get on top of him again, this time with your back turned to him. Marcus pulls you down, positioning you on top of him, legs spread, his own legs on the outside of yours. You hesitate for a second, the reality of your weight sometimes haunting your mind, but Marcus insists.

"Just come here, baby," he tells you softly, so you let him take your weight. One of his arms sneaks up the side of your ribcage to cup a breast. With the other, he guides himself into you, pushing himself in with an upward thrust of his hips. You choke on your breath and let your head hang back on his shoulder, one arm seeking a position to support you, the other coming around Marcus's neck when he presses a toothy kiss to your neck. He thrusts into you again, fingers playing with your nipple, and then his other hand comes to rub your clit.

You keen at the sudden intensity, back arching on top of him, and he plants his feet more firmly on the mattress.

"Fuck," you gasp, "that's good, Marcus, this is good..."

He sucks a kiss to your neck, his teeth stinging just a little, and your legs kick in search of a hold so that you can stay just above him. He slips out, and you whimper.

"Relax," he soothes you, thumb abandoning your clit to instead guide himself back into you. "Put your weight on me, I can take it."

You follow his instructions, back sinking down onto his chest and stomach, pelvis angling slightly to help him stay inside you. His fingers return to tease your clit, and your head falls back onto his shoulder as he settles into a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

"That's it," he praises you, his breath hot against your ear. "Just like that, take it, just enjoy it, let me take care of you."

The slow drag of his cock against your slick walls is maddening in how it pushes at your spot but leaves you wanting more. You buck your hips down eagerly.

"Faster, please, Marcus."

He obeys immediately, moaning at how you immediately clench around him. Your fingers thread through his hair, the other hand fists into the sheets. The pressure on that one spot inside you is growing in intensity, insanely, perfectly, knocking your breath out with each jab of Marcus's cock against it. Your moans become whimpers, a moan too complex a sound for you at this point, when you are so close, so utterly close to the climax that you now need as much as you need air -

The release floods your body and your cunt, and for a split second you're horrified at the wet feeling on your thighs, the rippling sound, until you realize that you squirted. A half moan, half giggle escapes you as you press your thighs together as if to lock in the orgasm that pulsates through your cunt and lower belly. Marcus gasps an excited Fuck, yes before bucking up a couple of errant times, and then relaxing down. He kisses your temple, drags his soaked fingers up over your soft belly, making you squirm.

"Sorry," he murmurs throatily. You murmur something back and slide down next to him. Everything between your legs seems wet and now cold, but you're still prickling all over with excitement.

Marcus heaves a deep sigh before turning his face to you. "That was so hot."

"I didn't know I could do that with a man."

"You haven't before?"

You shake your head. Marcus smiles softly.

"I'm honored. Was it good?"

"Yeah. How about you?"

"So fucking good."

You smile back at him before turning your face back towards the ceiling, and taking a deep breath that you sigh out audibly. Your body relaxes quickly, a muscle in your lower back mutters about the position you just were in, but you feel extremely good, and wrung out in a fantastic way. In the corner of your eye, you catch Marcus taking the condom off, before getting up to take it to the trash. When he returns, he looks around, looking for his clothes. You roll over onto your side.

"You don't have to leave, you know," you tell him quietly. Marcus stops, boxers in hand.

"Yeah?"

"I mean... don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for a relationship," you hurry to assure him. "But I wouldn't mind you staying over. Unless you have plans?"

"I don't."

He drops the boxers, and slides back into bed, next to you. You smile a little wryly.

"The sheets are wet. I'll change them, feel free to grab a shower.

"Soon," Marcus tells you, low voice heavy with a calm confidence. "I suggest we wet them a little more first."

Your deal with Marcus is simple and beautiful: sex, with or without staying the night. The occasional take-out dinner. Quickies when you run into each other in the corridor outside your front doors, with ten minutes to spare. It's undemanding, friendly, mutually satisfying. Uncomplicated, with no romantic feelings involved, so nobody can get hurt.

Marcus is an active lover who smoothly takes charge. Not bossy, but firm and empathic, and not afraid of using aids of different kinds to raise your orgasms to the next level. He's not opposed to fucking you fully clothed in the morning and leaving you wanting as you go to work with his cold cum in your panties, shot there after he removed the rubber after fucking you.

It is, in short, the perfect set-up.

Fall passes by, and you see yourself forced to fly out to see your family over Thanksgiving. You spend as much time as you can working in your childhood room, however. Your parents do not understand your choice of profession, your mother does not see how a woman of your age has chosen to be childless. Your older brother knocked his girlfriend up at sixteen, your younger sister was married at eighteen and divorced at twenty-eight. You love them, but you don't have a lot in common with them, and even if your siblings at least pretend to understand your life choices, their contempt steeped in jealousy of your life shines through at times. Your parents choose to simply ignore the life you have built for yourself in D.C., talking instead about Mrs. McCall next door, Annie down the street, Cybil in town, Kearney at the gas station, as if you knew any of them or cared about what they said about Kayleigh's twins.

You endure for two nights, and text Marcus from the airport, before boarding: I'll be home after nine tonight. You free?

He replies almost immediately: I'll pick you up at the airport.

You text him the flight number before turning off your phone, settling for a three-hour nap in lieu of working.

When you finally land, puffy-faced but breathing freely now that you're back in the city you call home, Marcus is waiting for you in arrivals. The way his smile lights up his eyes when he sees you makes your heart miss a beat. There is something there that's beyond what the two of you have, something much more sincere.

You shake it off and smile back as you walk up to him. He leans forward, like he's about to kiss you, but ends up giving you an awkward half-hug.

"Welcome home."

"Thanks. And thank you for picking me up."

"My pleasure."

The two of you turn and start walking towards the exit. Marcus offers to take your carry-on wheelie bag, but you decline, accustomed as you are to carrying your own luggage yourself.

In the car, he asks you how your Thanksgiving was.

"As holidays at my parents' usually are. One night would've been enough."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah. It's just..." You rub your forehead. "Whenever I visit, I feel trapped. Everything back home is... small. People are kind, yes, but they're small-minded. The town is small. The spaces in which to move, physically and mentally, are small. And I feel like some kind of big city snob who comes to visit twice a year, scoffs at their very ordinary and, as far as I know, happy lives, and then flies back to my vegan frappuccinos and twenty-four-hour sushi restaurants."

Marcus chuckles low. "I think I know what you mean. But it's hard for me to imagine that you'd be a snob about anything."

"I probably am. But I... I don't know, I outgrew that town when I was fifteen. Couldn't get out fast enough. And I don't like going back."

"Does your family support your choices?"

You shrug. "Yes and no. Mom and dad are proud, I guess, but at the same time they don't have any idea what it is that I do. 'If you wanted to be a lawyer, couldn't you be one here? Where it's not as stressful and you could start a family, and work normal hours?' As if I could practice the law I'm interested in over there."

"What's the most common type of lawyer in your hometown?"

"General practitioners who do a little bit of everything, wills mostly. And there are three, I think."

"Wow."

"Exactly."

The conversation turns to other subjects as Marcus drives the two of you to your apartment building. As he parks in his spot in the underground garage, you place your hand onto his thigh. He turns off the engine and looks at you.

"Thanks for picking me up," you tell him quietly. His hand comes to rest on top of yours.

"No problem."

"You have any plans for tonight?"

He shakes his head, then leans forward over the middle console as you reach across the same for a kiss. His fingers thread into your hair before closing around the back of your head to bring you in, and you sigh softly against his lips as you feel the rest of the pressure from your Thanksgiving visit melt away. If the town you grew up in felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable, D.C. and Marcus feel like home. And there's nothing you want to do more now than be with Marcus in this city.

You break the kiss and lower your gaze to his fly, where your fingers are already working on unzipping him. Marcus exhales in an audible sigh.

"You missed me that much?"

"Don't get any ideas," you warn him before bowing down over his lap.

Later, when you are freshly showered, and lying awake in Marcus's bed with him deeply asleep next to you, you wonder when his presence at night became such a comfort for you.

Marcus visits his parents over Christmas. You manage to convince yours that you're way too busy and the holidays too short for you to fly out. Settling in for a couple of days off work, you plan to go to the gym, meet friends, and maybe finally get through that book you started three months ago. You plan for simple yet delicious meals and come home with bags full of groceries and bottles of wine that you balance in your arms as you're digging for the keys in your pocket.

"Lemme get that."

Marcus appears by your side, taking a grocery bag from you.

"Thanks."

You manage to let yourself in, and Marcus follows you to the kitchen, where he leaves the bag on the table.

"Hi," he smiles. There is something so endearing about this man, his smile lights up the whole room, you can't possibly keep from smiling back at him.

"Hi. I thought you already left for the airport?"

"Just on my way now. Glad I caught you."

"Oh?" You unbutton your coat, unwrap the scarf from around your neck. "What's up?"

"Just... I wanted to see you before I left. Wish you happy holidays."

"Right." You take off your coat and leave it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Well... happy holidays, Marcus. I hope you have a nice weekend with your parents."

"Thanks." He clears his throat, looks down and scratches the back of his head. "Do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve?"

"Not that I know of."

"Do you maybe... want to do something?"

"Sure," you nod, a warmth spreading in your belly. "Like, dinner?"

"I was thinking Hirschhorn? You said you were curious about their special exhibit. Then dinner, and maybe a movie, if you're not opposed to spending so much time with me at once?"

You feel your cheeks heat up a little. "I don't mind at all. That sounds lovely."

His smile widens, his warm eyes glitter. "Great. I'll get back to you as soon as I return."

He kisses your cheek before leaving, his hand resting momentarily on your arm. When he closes the door behind him, the apartment feels empty.

That emptiness stays with you over the holidays. You're enjoying the time off, yes, and downright cherish not having to spend time with your family. You were looking forward to Christmas eve drinks with a couple of friends but are disappointed when they only talk about holiday preparations, gift shopping, and visiting in-laws. The detachment makes you annoyed. It's not that you want that kind of life, you don't want kids and a house and Thanksgiving dinners and all of that. But there doesn't seem to be any alternatives. You get the feeling that they feel sorry for you, that they think you should look up from your laptop once in a while, go dating, settle down, maybe work less.

Always work less. You love your job so much, maybe you won’t forever, but right now you do, and it doesn’t feel taxing when it gives you the gratification it does.

You grab a cab home, earlier than you thought and morose for not getting the carefree night you had planned for. Maybe it's your own fault for thinking that people with families wouldn't have changed.

You weigh your phone in your hand for a couple of blocks before texting Marcus.

Hope you're having a better time than I am. Just getting home after drinks, and realized I have nothing in common with my friends anymore :/

You regret the text as soon as you've sent it. It sounds whiny, and you know that you're being unfair to your friends. But Marcus replies almost immediately:

Sorry to hear that. Wish I was there to make you feel better.

You smile, and your heart skips a beat. He always knows what to say.

It is what it is. Early night for me.

He replies with a Santa emoji that makes you chuckle.

Too old for Santa, you type back. Or too naughty. Either way, he's not coming.

Only man who should come in your apartment is me ;)

You stare at the message, cheeks heating as you lick your lips. Your brain scrambles for an answer to match his tone.

I'll be the judge of that, mister. If you're away for too long, I might get lonely.

The reply comes almost immediately.

I'll be back before you know it.

Your heart is fluttering like a butterfly inside your ribcage, and you react with a thumb up to the last message. For the rest of the cab ride, you're chewing on your lower lip while looking out the window, decorated windows racing past you as the cab driver navigates towards your apartment building.

You fall asleep in front of the TV and are awakened by a text.

You up?

You rub your eyes, realize that you're still wearing makeup, and curse low.

It's two am.

Marcus's name immediately lights up on the phone, and you answer the call.

"What's up?"

"Sorry to wake you."

"That's fine, I was on the couch. Gotta schlep my ass to bed," you yawn as you turn off the TV, and stand up, scratching your head.

"I'm outside."

"What?"

"I'm outside your door."

You frown, trying to understand what he's saying. "What are you doing there?"

"Just open?"

Call still active and phone held to your ear, you walk over to the front door, and unlock it. And there Marcus is, holding his phone but lowering his hand and ending the call while smiling wryly at you.

"Hi."

"What... why aren't you at your parents'?" you stutter, still holding the phone like you're talking to him through it.

"Because I can't do this at my parents'." He steps up to you, cups your cheek, and brings his lips to yours. His face is cold, so you understand that he has just arrived from the airport. Your sleep-riddled brain still doesn't understand, and Marcus breaks the kiss, breathing softly against your lips before drawing back.

"Did I... fuck this up now?"

You lick your lips and realize that you're feeling calm and steady in a way you no longer do when he's not around. You grab him by the jacket lapel and pull him in through the door.

"No," you reply, a shiver running through you when he puts his arms around you. "No, you did just the right thing."

You don't use your tub as often as you would like to, yet it was one of the main reasons why you bought your apartment. It's spacious, has gorgeous vintage style brass faucets, and is placed by the window, from which you can see the park, now wearing a white winter coat of snow, on the other side of the street. The shower booth is at the back wall of the bathroom and your busy lifestyle has you favoring quick showers instead of long, luxurious baths.

Now, however, you're stretched out languidly in Marcus's arms, the back of your head on his shoulder, his hairy thighs pressing up against you on either side. The water is hot and scented with oils, and if the orgasms you had before getting out of bed hadn't relaxed you, this would definitely take away the last vestiges of stress knotting your muscles.

"This is a really nice tub," Marcus mumbles into your ear, his hand running up the inside of your arm, resting on the edge of the tub. "Wish I had one."

"You're welcome to use mine," you smile, just as his hand disappears into the water, finding your breast and cupping it, thumb lazily stroking the nipple.

"I like your apartment better anyway," he admits. "Mine doesn't feel like a home."

"That's just because you haven't unpacked."

He raises his shoulders in a shrug. "Been busy."

"Doesn't help much that you're fucking me every time you're off work."

“One could even say it’s your fault I haven’t unpacked,” he muses, lips touching your temple. You shake your head, hand finding his and leading it away from your breast.

“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to pin this on me.” There is no vehemence in your voice, and even if Marcus can’t see your face, he can plainly hear the smile threatening to break out.

“I had to try.”

You bring your hand back to your chest, and sigh when his fingers brush over your nipple. It would be so easy to just let things slide, enjoy his hands, his mouth, his cock that’s resting softly against your lower back… But your interest is piqued.

“Why haven’t you unpacked, Marcus?” you ask quietly. “I’ve seen that you have painting just waiting to be hung on the walls and given how much you like to criticize my dentist’s office artwork from Ikea, I can’t imagine why you haven’t done more to decorate your apartment.”

His hand stills, and you feel him swallow. He clears his throat, sighs, clearly stalling, but you don’t show mercy. You want to know.

“I guess… I thought I’d be making a home with someone. And when that didn’t happen, I didn’t like the idea anymore.”

You braid your fingers with his, the water gently rippling with your movement.

“Your ex?”

“Yeah. Teresa.”

“What happened?” He’s mentioned some tragic breakup but never specified, and you’ve never asked. Now, however, you’re asking. You want this puzzle piece to fit right, want to know everything there is to know about Marcus Pike.

“I don’t want to burden you with that…”

“I want to know, Marcus.”

He hesitates, but eventually tells you how his ex, a smart, beautiful woman that he fell head over heels for and eventually proposed to, accepted his proposal over the phone but called again thirty minutes later to tell him that she was leaving him for a coworker. Marcus had been transferred to D.C., had asked Teresa to come with, had a plan for a life together, and she turned out to be in love with a coworker: a charming, unreliable man who worked out an elaborate scheme to make her choose him instead of Marcus.

You’re shocked to silence when he stops talking, an array of emotions simmering inside you. When Marcus speaks your name, the first one to burst is anger.

“What a cunt!”

Marcus sputters your name, but you don’t feel bad.

“You know I’m right!”

“No need for language like that,” he protests, but you can sense a change in him. It’s like something’s loosened in him. Even if you can’t see his face in this position, you can feel it in how his body feels against yours.

“I’m sorry, but that behavior is despicable. And from what you’ve told me about that asshole that she went with because of you, I’d say they deserve each other.”

He shrugs. “Or maybe I was too pushy. We didn’t date for long before I asked her to marry me. I should’ve given her more time.”

You turn around in his arms so that you can meet his flickering gaze. Raising your hand to his cheek, you caress the slightly scratchy surface that sorely needs a razor.

“If it feels right, it feels right,” you tell him softly. “There’s no shame in being open and honest about your feelings, Marcus.”

He blinks, and for a second you think his eyes look shiny. His lower jaw moves as he swallows.

“Thank you,” he eventually mumbles. “I don’t want to sound like I’m making excuses but… I did feel I was being straight with her. And she… really fucking hurt me.”

“Yeah, she did.”

His stare is suddenly relentless.

“Will you? Hurt me, I mean?”

You feel nothing but calm. “Marcus, I like you a lot. This is more than just sex now. But I won’t marry you in six months, and I don’t need you to have a plan for us. I like my job, I have a good career that I won’t give up. I don’t want kids, but I like being with you, and I want to keep being with you, not just have sex but do other stuff with you.”

He smiles at that and casts his eyes down. You lean forward to press a small kiss to his lips.

“And I will help you to unpack your shit, and I will come with you to get a new kitchen table tomorrow when the stores open. Because that huge monster you have jamming up your kitchen has got to go.”

“Not tomorrow,” he immediately tells you, and you quirk an eyebrow. “Because tomorrow I’m taking you to the museum, out for a meal, and then we’re watching Casablanca.”

You chuckle. “It’s a deal.”

He pulls you in for a deeper kiss, water splashing when his arms go around you.

“For the record,” he murmurs against your lips, “I like you too.”

“That’s a relief,” you smile, before a gasp escapes your lips; Marcus’s hand has slid down your soft stomach to the apex of your thighs, and one finger is slowly circling your clit.

“Open your legs,” he whispers, breath almost scorching your cheek that is already warm from the water and your rising desire. You move around, legs and hips repositioning themselves so that he can cup his big hand over your sex.

“Marcus,” you breathe in a low moan, “I already came twice this morning…”

“And you’ll come a third time,” he promises as he slides a finger inside your warm heat, rolling a nipple between two fingers of his other hand. You curl your arm back and around his neck, seek his lips for more kisses, push down against his hardening cock to make him gasp into your mouth. Thumb on your clit, he adds a second finger to your pussy, fucking you slowly as you exchange moans along with your kisses. Your hips jut upwards when he hits the right spot, and then he stays on it, water splashing over the edges of the tub when he goes increases speed. Your hand dives underneath the surface to find his cock, and a strangled moan travels from Marcus’s mouth to yours when your fingers close around the stiff length. When he slows down, so do you, when he fucks you faster, your hand works him faster.

The climax reaches both of you at the same time, your bodies tightening up, Marcus’s hips jerking up as your thighs clamp shut, cries bouncing off the tiles as you press your bodies together. As silence falls, the water stills and your hearts return to their normal rhythms, and Marcus’s lips are on your temple.

“Fuck, you’re amazing.”

“So are you,” you hum, a ripple of lingering pleasure making your legs twitch. He kisses you again, a light smattering of kisses over your temple, brow, cheekbone, before reaching your mouth. That last kiss is deep and slow, loving, and intimate in a way you haven’t had with him before. It’s unnerving, almost scary, but there is something so comforting about Marcus’s broad-shouldered body underneath you, something that makes you embrace the unknown.

“Happy Christmas, baby.”

The underwhelming meeting with your friends, the flirty texting with Marcus, that feels like weeks ago. But it was only last night, and your world has been thoroughly rocked since then.

“Happy Christmas, Marcus.”

[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.

[engie-ivy]

(Lyall Lupin being a Good Dad for his anxious son in law😁 For @wolfstarmicrofic)

9th: Cosy

1039 words

Lyall goes to use the toilet, and ends up adopting a new son.

Your New Family

“Really, Lyall?” Hope places her hands on her hips. “We just got here!”

“Sorry dear,” Lyall says cheerily. “But that’s the price you pay for becoming an old man, very frequent toilet breaks. Besides,” he adds. “With all your fretting about not being late, we’re like twenty minutes early, so now’s the perfect time.”

Hope rolls her eyes, a gesture Lyall is all too familiar with, and goes to inquire whether their table is already available, while Lyall strolls to the restrooms.

When he’s relieved himself and walks over to the sinks, there’s a boy pacing up and down. Well, maybe he’s more a young man, looking rather handsome with his fancy shoes, crisp white shirt, fitted suit jacket and long hair neatly tied into a pony tail, but to Lyall, he’s still a boy.

As Lyall is washing his hands, the boy leans on the sink next to him, staring at his reflection in the mirror, while taking what seem to be calming breaths.

Lyall meets the boy’s sharp grey eyes in the mirror. “Everything alright, lad?”

“Ah,” the boy says, looking slightly flustered. “Yes. Yes, I’m sorry, sir. Please, don’t mind me. I’m just...” He gestures vaguely with his hand. “Anxious, I guess.”

Lyall smiles at him as he turns off the tap. “On a big date?”

“No,” the boy says. “Not really. I mean, sort of, I guess.” The boy makes a move as if he wants to run his hand through his hair, showing that he’s not used to having it tied up. He settles for tugging at his pony tail. “I’m meeting my boyfriend’s parents for the first time. They’ll be here in...” He checks his watch. “Fifteen minutes. Fuck.” He presses his hand against his forehead. “Pardon my language,” he says after a quick glance at Lyall.

“Ah,” Lyall says, as something starts to dawn on him. “And you don’t think they’ll be... nice people?”

“They’re the best people!” The boy exclaims. “Going by what my boyfriend has been telling me at least, they’re really great.” He shakes his head. “But that’s just the fucking- I mean, that’s just the bloody problem, innit?”

Lyall tilts his head as he dries his hands with a paper towel. “How so?”

The boy shrugs. “My boyfriend comes from this warm and loving family, and he’s really close to his parents. It’s important to him that I get along with them.”

“Right.” Lyall nods in understanding. “And that of course puts a lot of pressure on you.”

The boy sighs. “I’m just scared I’ll fuck it- sorry, I’ll mess it up. I mean, what do I know about bonding with parents? I couldn’t even get my own bloody parents to even like me, and they’re supposed to have been programmed to love me!”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lyall says sincerely.

“He’s envisioning this whole future, y’know?” The boy continues, now letting it all come out. “Coming together for birthdays, celebrating Christmases together, Sunday brunches at his parents’ place... He’s picturing this harmonious, cosy family, and I sure as hell can’t offer him that from my side, so if his parents don’t like me, I’ll take all of that away from him.”

Lyall looks at him sympathetically. “Sounds like it’s really important to you.”

The boy looks away. “I just don’t want to disappoint him,” he says softly. Then he lets out a humourless laugh. “God, I’m sorry. I swear I don’t normally trauma-dump on strangers in the restroom like this!”

“No, no,” Lyall says. “I asked, so don’t worry about it, lad. And the fact that You’re so anxious only means that this guy really means a lot to you.”

“He means everything to me,” the boy says without a moment of hesitation. He smiles to himself. “I can’t even explain. I mean... if I can’t give him everything, if he can find someone who can, who will make him happier, then I want him to break up with me, y’know? Even if it’ll completely destroy me. It’s like.... nothing matters besides his happiness.” He shakes his head. “I’m probably not making much sense. I’ve honestly never felt like this before.”

Lyall feels a warmth somewhere in his chest. “You know, lad, all a parent want is for their child to be happy...”

“But I don’t know that,” the boy interrupts, before adding quietly “Mine sure never did...”

Lyall feels a surge of fatherly protectiveness wash over him, for a boy he only just met! “I’m sorry you had that experience,” he says, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But take it from me, if they are indeed the good people your boyfriend has made them out to be, then that will be the only thing that matters,” he says firmly. “So if you love your guy-”

“I do,” the boy immediately says. “I love him so, so much.”

Lyall regards him fondly, gently squeezing his shoulder. “Then trust me, that will be enough for them. It won’t matter if you’re wearing a fancy jacket, or if you’re hair is neatly tied up, or if you let slip the occasional curse word. If he loves you and you love him, and you make him happy, then that is going to be more than enough.”

The boy gives him a grateful look. “Well, then I have nothing to worry about,” he then says with a grin. “Loving him is actually my specialty!”

Lyall lets out a laugh. “Sounds like you’re going to be just fine!”

Suddenly, the boy gives him a hug. Lyall is startled for a moment, but then easily hugs him back.

“Thank you,” the boy says, pulling away. “I’m sure this isn’t what you were expecting when you just wanted to use the toilet, but I appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lyall says. “And I’m sure your new family will grow to love you.”

The boy grins at him. “Alright, here I go. Wish me luck!”

“You don’t need it, lad.”

The boy chuckles. “If Remus’ dad is even slightly like you, I’m sure I’ll be fine!” And then he dashes out of the restroom.

Lyall looks in the mirror and smiles to himself. “I’ve got a sense that he will be.”

Now with a part 2!

Part 2: Your New Son

[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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[gardenianoire]

alright so my aunt died and now my dad is sad because that was his last living sibling so he against all odds is the oldest living person in his bloodline my sister told me about it and without thinking about it I simply said I'm sorry for your lost she told me to call my dad because he's depressed but I've been debating cutting my parents out of my life for 9 years now and in January I just stopped talking to them and I don't think I'll do that again. as previously stated I don't have any affection for this aunt she like my dad's first wife and always treated me and my sister (my dad's second wife's children) like the social rejects of the family when I was 17 or so I admitted to myself I didn't love any of these people let alone like them. at best I sympathize with some of them because they've been through some shit but they always managed to try to build themselves up by tearing me or my sister down so I'm not callous except I told my cousin I hate her and she deserved the hell she created for herself but I was 17. and right about that. the rest I just stopped talking to them a few of them follow me on ig but my page is public some of them are blocked tho. my aunt's death isn't a celebration or a relief I'm just indifferent it's like hearing a coworker's partner's relative died but the relative like yeah that was a human person but ultimately it was old age/50 year smoking habit it's not tragic unexpected sudden but I think about calling my dad and then I think about the 3 stints in the mental hospital I did for trying to kill myself because he and my mother fucked me up in ways were even to this day I think about killing my at least once a week (down from multiple times a day so progress I guess <3) why should I comfort them also my sister does my dad's mychart and his doctor tod him something is erong with his heart valve or something and depression from losing a family member forced into retirement (he had two strokes) depression from a child refusing to speak to you not changing your diet/exercise after a stroke means he hasn't got a lot of time left but then I remember when he punched me in the face so hard it swelled up my lip an a social worker told me I'll be graduating and going off to college soon so suck it up I guess (paraphrase but so many of them do not care at all) so why the goddamn hell should I care but I still sleep with the teddy bear he gave me 25 years ago and suppose I always will what will his death mean to me will I be indifferent will I go to work like nothing happened it'll destory my sister who desperately wants a relationship with them both but calls me confessing that she knows deep that won't happen I trauma dumped about being worried that social services won't care about the possible criminally neglected children in my class during professional development and ended up telling the whole spiel about my deal with physical and emotional abuse and the indifferent from almost every adult in my life if no one cared that I had my life threatened and was beaten no one but me is going to care that one of the girls seems to be scared of her father (never happy to see him, doesn't go to him unless walked over to him, hides from him sometimes...) did my teachers care and they knew no one else would do anything does anyone care should I kill myself now I bet it would hurt him the most if I did it now I won't but I know it would hurt if I did and it might be the last chance I get but it would hurt my sister in a way she doesn't deserve and who would be there to say no you're not crazy I was there when he pushed you into the painting and broke the glass and you fell down the stairs I didn't know falls down the stairs could be deadly at the time I told myself it was normal I told myself it was normal when our mom said committing suicide is selfish when you told her you wanted die I think you were 12 and I had to help you untie the phone cord you wrapped around your neck I don't allow myself to think about it often and I'll never bring it up it feels like I'm not supposed to

[mostlymaudlin]

ooooooh ok juicy sfc posts happening !! i rly honestly truly love to see it. here's my unasked for two cents, as someone who did find the story really hopeful. im posting this not to like, discourse or disagree or discount what im seeing, but to just maybe offer a different pov for ppl who might be trying to file this story away in a less devastating way.

i, of course, think baz deserves better than what he gets from his family. we all deserve to have families that love us unconditionally, and so many of us DONT have that -- including baz. that hurts !! i also think simon didn't deserve to lose his magic, and penny didn't deserve to take on the sole responsibility for keeping simon safe, and agatha didnt deserve to be shoved into every princess/damsel role ppl cast on her, etc etc. 

what i like so much abt this series is that ppl dont get what they deserve, but theyre still okay. its why i also love the end of awtwb -- simons LICH ER ALL Y crying lol. he got a whole mega-bucket of extra trauma dumped on his plate that he hasnt even started to process. but its still so clear that he's got the support he needs to live a good life alongside this terrible knowledge. the mage fucked him over even more than he knew, but he doesnt have to define himself by these terms anymore -- we've seen his growth in this regard.

bazs main arc in the series is about how he sees himself -- in crudely simple terms, he rly wants to be a Good Guy (you know, not a vampire, straight, a good pitch etc etc) but sees himself as cursed with that impossibility. this continues as his idealized Good Guy self develops over the course of the books into something that actually feels more achievable to him and is less reliant on the shit his family put on him growing up. 

the cool thing about snow for christmas is that -- just like when simon finds out abt the mage at the end of awtwb -- we get to see baz's new sense of self tested. we get to see what he's using to draw the lines of morality. and we get to see that while of course he still cares about what his family thinks, and it still causes him anxiety and trauma and all the shitty things that he doesnt deserve -- he has grown from that place where their value system can make him hate himself.

and moreso on the hope part -- the grimms value, above all, the ability to fit into the roles they think theyre supposed to hold. its bullshit, and they've both caused themselves problems and absolutely are fucking up their children. daphne fully had to be saved by a cult bc of it and shes still not over that mindset -- these ppl need therapy lol. so it's def sick n twisted that they're celebrating baz being able to hide better rather than celebrating who baz is, but is this not the utmost sign of love that they're capable of? baz gets to fit in better -- that's all they've ever wanted for him, whether we agree with that or not. baz seems to recognize the balance of this in the story. he narrates the rest of the dinner with a sort of dry, relieved, disbelieving tone. it’s like hes huffing a laugh, shaking his head, thinking, “did i really used to pin so much of myself on this stuff? how silly.” he is not distressed bc he understands his parents, and he has, again, divorced his sense of self from their expectations. so much so tht he says fuck it and gives simon the lil kissy at the end, because THIS is his new value system: he ALWAYS kisses simon goodbye!

so, is this a step forward for the grimms being more supportive parents? yeah, maybe not. maybe it never gets better than baz hiding his fangs at dinner and everyone doing the bare minimum to accept simon's role in baz’s life. that's not what baz and simon deserve. but it could be enough, because simon and baz have different ways that they measure their happiness by. they have each other and penny and shep and ruth and agatha and niamh and every other person they'll meet in the many, many years ahead of them whose opinions they can choose to make important to them, or reject. i love this for them! the true queer hope story imo. thats what i want for myself and for the people i love. 

to be clear: this story made me sob so hard i scared my cats. (im not rly a crier, they did not know what to do). i had to put it down in the middle because i couldnt see the page. any queer person who has Family Shit is bound to get whammied lol. but! i personally find comfort in the idea that we can coexist with people who are important to us but also very difficult to be around, even if its not totally what we deserve. its a very quiet, somber hope -- but that only makes it feel more real to me. 

[youremyheaven]

Hello, Purva bhadrapada, Leo stellium native here, I also wanted to add that I think purva bhadrapada, since it is Brahmin caste is probably more prone to this, then punarvasu and finally vishaka, who in my experience is the most materially/self interested Jupiter nakshatra, which is why we see it in so many celebrities compared to the other two, especially purva bhadrapada.

I've always been at the role of teacher/smart one since I was a little girl, I've always been a bit parentified and I think that comes out a lot in my relationships with nodals, since I'm the one who has to keep things in control, now that we are on the topic, I'm gonna trauma dump about my Magha sun, mula moon friend 😭

I don't want to bad mouth her since I do still have affection for her, but this woman put me through so much. One time she face timed me whilst she was drinking, she got so drunk and then started driving! She face timed me whilst she was drunk driving talking about how sad she was, all whilst I could hear all the dangerous turns she was making, so I called her mom to come get her, I couldn't do it myself cause I live too far away. The next day she wouldn't stop complaining about how pissed she was that I called her mom on her, talking about how she got in trouble, but what was I supposed to do? WATCH HER DIE ON CAMERA?! She made me the villain and not our other friend who she also face timed, who is also nodal.

Another time, she was dating this dude and SHE ALWAYS DID WHATEVER HE SAID FOR NO REASON, one time we were all hanging out as friends, a whole ass group of people, and this girl started sucking this mans dick in front of us 💀😭 like they were not slick in the slightest, I caught sight of it and then I tried to politely tell them to stop before the others noticed, she did not stop and others caught them, to which they all collectively said "Wtf? Stop please" AND THEN SHE COMPLAINED TO ME ABOUT THIS? HOW DO YOU WANT ME TO TAKE YOUR SIDE? 💀

Another time, I was really busy with some work but she texted me about how suicidal she was feeling and how she wanted to attempt, I stayed with her the whole night trying to talk her out of it until she just stopped talking to me all together, I panicked and spent hours debating whether to call someone, since I don't know if she really attempted something, but I didn't want her to be mad at me again. It was one of the most anxious nights of my life. Eventually, she called me and said she was fine 💀 I SPENT ALL THAT TIME WORRIED AND SHE DIDNT SAY ANYTHING! that was my breaking point and I just cut contact with her after that

The worst part of all of this is that she never took any interest in my emotions or any of the problems I had, in all the years of friendship we had I only opened up to her twice and I regretted it immensely both times. She never took any time to take care of me, and would always accuse me of telling her what to do after giving her advice THAT SHE ASKED FOR!

Anyway 💀 yeah it was traumatizing

💀💀💀💀 I'm glad you've cut her out

My Swati Sun, Magha Rising ex was somewhat like this. He texted me saying he's having a panic attack and does not know what to do (at like midnight) and then after I text & call him mad worried, he does not respond. He texts me back the next day afternoon saying that "it was just a spur of the moment thing, I'm alright" like wtf??? He always kept me on edge with his mental health stuff and I was always made to feel like I'm on suicide watch only for him to turn around and be like "oh I'm over it now bc I've drunk away the last thought I had in my head"

He once video called me at 8 in the fucking morning because he wanted company while he smoked

Let me just say that there was a clear imbalance in our relationship bc I had to watch out for him while he did batshit stuff and I could never do the things he did and expect him to have played the supportive role 😒

There was another Magha Moon girl I used to know who completely did unhinged shit, she jumped from man to man every week (not slut shaming, just pointing out poor choices) in India, the arranged marriage system prevails and she received a proposal from some 5'2 30 yr old (when we were like 21) who was loaded 💸and her family rejected the proposal and she was already dating some deadbeat loser. Guess what she did after she broke up with the deadbeat loser many months later?? She started talking to the 30yr old guy who came to her house with a marriage proposal 😭and literally 2-3 weeks later he publicly announced his desire to marry her at the wedding of a mutual relative and she said "I'm not interested in marrying you" PUBLICLY, it was super shameful for the families and all parties involved bc like ??? what on earth was she thinking??? he made his intentions clear from the get go??? did she think she could hook up and rebound with the guy who contacted her family with a goddamn marriage proposal??? and she played the victim when in reality throughout their 3 week tryst she led him on and on and on, why didn't she say she would never ever marry someone like him?? so embarrassing lol

There was a Magha Moon guy who I had mutual friends with and he's a complete deadbeat loser. He hasn't finished his degree (he was my senior at uni) he's broke as hell and all he does is go on road trips and drink till he drops and he had the audacity to ask my friends if I'd be interested in seeing him and I was like 🤢🤮ew no and he literally repeated this process every month no joke. He's asked me out more times than I can count, he's made our friends ask me on his behalf a billion times and I'm like ??? how oblivious or lacking in self awareness do you have to be?? He always told them that he thought I was "hiding" my interest in him 🤮🤢🤭so idk I feel like Nodals can be supremely delulu

[chaikachi]

I HAVE ONE OBJECTION TO YOUR OTHERWISE STELLAR META ON THE DOJO SCENE/RUBY'S BREAKDOWN!

I would say as of recent there is now one other character *besides* Oscar who takes notice of how much Ruby is struggling and breaking, who uplifts and comforts her without placing any expectations on her in the process... That of course being Little.

The only one still with Ruby. (*gestures to Little being framed in Jinxy's jar of hope that Ruby can't fill all the way, because Little is meant to represent the last spark of Ruby's hope and inner child*)

I don't think they'll have the perfect wise or uplifting words to say to Ruby (and I'm not sure she'd want to hear them right now anyway, she just needs to feel what she's feeling and let the rain pour, metaphorically and literally). But I imagine if Ruby asks them why Little is still with her, why don't they just leave her alone, and Little saying that they just want to be there for Ruby because she's sad, and because Ruby is their friend, and they don't know what else they can do for her. And that's all. And then Ruby will cry and I'll cry and we all will cry.

Also this ask may just be an excuse to share a headcanon I have, of if Little returns with Ruby to Remnant, that Oscar makes food for everyone to celebrate their return, and also gifts a tiny picnic basket especially for Little and says something like: "thank you for being Ruby's guide when she was feeling lost" because she was lost physically but also *felt* lost too and just. Little has taken on the purpose to be Ruby's guide, and I think that's going to apply in more ways than just helping her get back home.

YOU ARE SO TRUE!!! i was so caught up in the parallels and RG that I left our little friend behind 😭 Before I do get into it, do want to just acknowledge that what you mentioned about how Little might handle this is absolutely all that Ruby needs right now. I've seen some discussions around about people saying WBY haven't supported Ruby enough (valid, as are their reasons for not being able to) but the counter argument is often that they can't force her to dump about her trauma and it's like... no. Secret hidden third option. Just give her some time to rest, acknowledge how hard this is on her and how much this sucks without sugar coating it, and remind her that you're there to lean on if she needs it. I really hope that she gets that from Little in the coming episode(s).

BUT YES. SPEAKING OF LITTLE. YOU ARE CORRECT. They stuck by Ruby's side in the market when her team ran off and were paying such close attention to her after they first noticed how sad she was in the paper vilage.

It's hard to catch, but I'm also fairly certain Little is the first to call out to her when she starts hallucinating against the walker. It's timed just as Little jumps up and it's just ahhhhh. YOU'RE JUST A MOUSE!!! WHY ARE YOU BEING BRAVE AND PEEKING OUT OF HER HOOD RIGHT NOW!!!

We don't see them for the entire breakdown scene before it ends with a zoom in on this. Which is just... oof...

Also I know that Little is first and foremost supposed to be a symbol for Ruby's remaining spark of hope and inner child, the literal "Little" Riding in her Red Hood... but i can't get the parallels of that mouse to Oscar outta my brain. 💀

Cinder and Nora have both called Oscar 'little'. Little Prince. Oscar paid attention to Ruby back in v6 when she said "Food always makes me feel better" and so after her confrontation with Jaune, he went and made her a freaking casserole about it. And what is one of the first things Little does upon meeting Ruby? Offer to share their food with her when she's upset. And they, just like Oscar, were the only one paying attention enough to how hard of a time she was having.

EDIT: I am currently having a convo with someone else about this and oh my god

Ruby: I've never spoken to a... mouse before. Little: Well... I guess I've never spoken to a you before! - Oscar : I've never really meet huntsman and huntresses before... Ruby: Well, uh... we've never met a person with two souls! So first times all around!

I just!!! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THIS.

Lastly, your headcanon is adorable. Little absolutely deserves an entire picnic basket full of food and a very cozy bed after all of this, and both them and Oscar are fist-bumping through dimensions right now over their shared fondness for Ruby. 😤

[foreverrandomwritings]

Okay okay okay reunion after trauma letter

With nat???

What’s In The Envelope? 

Pairings: Natasha “Phoenix” Trace x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst, injuries, fluff and lots of emotions.

Word Count: 1015

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A/N: I want to thank you so much for this ask! The second I saw it I knew what I wanted to write for this. Natasha has been flowing out of me today! I really really hope you like this part. Heres to my mini celebration!

Natasha had had the envelope setup since you guys made it to the 6 month mark of dating. 2 years in and the tradition still stood.  She would take it to the post office and give them a date to mail it out. It would simply arrive in your mailbox a couple of days after she was meant to be back. She would make sure to grab it from the mail once she came back from the mission so you wouldn’t see it. This time however she was back but unable to grab it. You had found the envelope this time. 

Heading to the hospital you made sure to put the envelope in your bag. You had no idea what it was, just that it was addressed to you from Natasha. But she was still alive. She was just laid up in a hospital bed with a couple bruised ribs, a concussion and a fractured pride.

Her and Bob had been on a mission that had gone south and they had to eject. The ejection worked like it was supposed to. Her parachute however took too long to deploy and that caused her to have a rough landing to the ground. She had smacked her head on the ground and had landed on her ribs weirdly. No one knew how she had made it out with only a concussion and a few bruised ribs but everyone was very thankful. 

The doctors requested she stay in the hospital for a week so they could observe her concussion and ribs in case any complications arose. You had stayed by her side the first 3 days. On the 4th day she was begging you to go home and get her some comfortable clothes. You had agreed and made your way to your shared apartment. You decided to check the mail while you were there and that's when you found the envelope. 

When you showed back up to the hospital 2 full duffle bags and an uneasy expression she was immediately worried. She had asked you what was wrong in which you replied by pulling out the envelope and dumping it into her lap. Her stomach dropped and she gave you a look of sadness. “Baby girl, I promise you I can explain this okay? Just don’t get mad and hear me out okay?” She pleaded with you. 

“I’m not angry sweetheart, I really have no idea what to think. I show up to the apartment and find a random envelope addressed to me from you.” You had said to her tears working themselves into your eyes and slowly down your cheeks as you started to chew on the inside of your cheek. You knew that whatever was in that envelope wasn't anything happy. She patted the spot on the bed next to her and gave you a pleading look. Making your way to the bed you carefully sat down next to her. 

“I never intended for you to find this unless I was no longer here. I don’t want to worry you more than I already know you are. If it will help to ease some of your worries I will tell you everything I have in this envelope.” She said with tears entering her eyes. You nodded your head and so she continued. “There are 4 letters inside this envelope. One for you and the rest for Bradley, my parents and Bob's parents. There is also a USB drive with a video of me on it that’s for you. Bradleys letter consists of me begging him to look after you or I swear to haunt his idiot ass.” You let out a laugh at that one. 

“The one to my parents is telling them how much they mean to me and that I am beyond sorry for not making it back. The one written to Bob’s family is me expressing my grief and apologizing for not bringing their son back to them. The final letter for you is me pouring my heart and soul out to you. Saying goodbye and telling you everything I love about you.” With that her hand had moved up to your cheek. Tears slowly making it down both of your faces. 

“And what about the video?” You shakily asked her, looking in her eyes leaning your face against her hand. She took a shaky breath before replying. 

“The video is of me telling you about the future I wish we could’ve had together. It’s me reading you your favorite book. It’s me laughing and crying and trying to convince you that I wanted to come back to you more than anything in this world but I for some reason wasn’t meant to. But that I loved you more than I loved anyone else and that you were definitely without a doubt the last thing I thought about as I took my last breath.” as she finished you had let out a sob. She quickly pulled you to her chest and rubbed your back trying to sooth you. After what felt like ages you pulled back. 

“Please promise me that you will always try with everything in you to make it back to me. I never want to read my letter or watch that video. I don’t want to have to hand out the other letters. I just want to have you.” You pleaded with her. She quickly nodded her head and wiped the remaining tears from your eyes. 

“I promise to always do everything in my power to make it back to you. I never want you to have to read that letter or watch that video. I don’t want you to have to hand off letters or live a day knowing I won’t be thinking about you every minute of every day.” The end of her sentence was met with a kiss. There was one thing in the envelope she hadn’t told you about. Which was the ring that she had had picked out for the last 3 months just waiting for the perfect time to ask the question it came with.

[autisticlee]

I cant bond with people by talking to them anymore...I realized the only way I bonded with people was either by sharing special interests and only talking about that (and losing that friend when one of us lost interest), by trauma bonding and only talking about our traumatic lives back and forth, or because we went to school together and saw each other every day.

I don't see anyone regularly anymore. i'm too burnt out to have a set special interest to get completely absorbed in, to know enough about to talk about it, and don't even know how to talk about interests anymore. and trauma bonding is so exhausting and I do not want to do that anymore. I do keep finding myself accidentally falling into the habit of it when i dont know what else to say, and then i feel like im stuck there, I ruined it already.

for years online my method of making friends was meet because of special interest and bond over that, get to know each other through trauma bonding and bond over that, ir a combo of both shared interest snd trauma bonding. twe trauma bond daily and/or talk about the shared interest. then after a while we either stop being friends because they expect me to be their therapist and get mad that i'm still sharing MY trauma and "dismissing" theirs, or one of us loses interest in the shared interest and the conversations fall apart until we stop talking because we have nothing else in common.

I don't know HOW TO TALK TO PEOPLE NORMALLY. i've seen and met so many people who had beat friends for their whole life and they have barelt anything in common and I just dont understand how they do it lmao.

I truly don't know how to talk to people and it's too exhausting to keep trying. I know you're supposed to do small talk because it's important to them. but I can't even do that right and don't enjoy it at all. but then what after that? I don't know! I never feel any connection to people during or after small talk. I don't know when you're allowed to stop the small talk to info dump your interests. but also people don't like the info dumping....but I don't know about anything else besides my narrow set of interests that are never the same interests as anyone around me.

I don't know how to share things about myself without it accidentally becoming trauma dumping. becasue there's not much to me outside of the trauma and "negative" stuff. I panic and syart oversharing when I think they are getting bored of me because they're barely responding and not suggesting other topics, but I don't know about other topics. i'm uncomfortable asking them potentially invasive questions about themselves. I dont know whats appropriate or how many I can ask before they think i'm being invasive and nosy and get uncomfortable by it. I rather let them talk about what they're comfortable sharing naturally instead of pressuring them to tell me everything. (ive has may experiences with people getting hostile because I tried to get to know them by asking questions) I dont know how to be entertaining and not bore them. I don't know how to respond to 1-5 word responses. I don't know what to do if they stop responding. (most times i've come to find it means they don't want to tall and get annoyed when I keep trying) I domt know how to carry conversations about things I don't know about or care about. I don't know all the cool tiktok trends and stuff or celebrities or movies or tv and don't get their references. I don't live a "normal" life so I can't relate to most people.

the only interesting things to me are my interests that no one else ever cares about. I don't like asking people a bunch of invasive questions about them to "get to know them" because I prefer things to naturally come out over time when they want it to. I prefer to naturally learn things about them as we hang out and they are comfortable sharing. I rather DO things than talk and try to carry a conversation. I can't do back and forth conversation. it's either one sided where I just listen to them and usually be their therapist, where they talk about stuff I don't know or understand and have to pretend I understand to make them happy, or I have to carry the conversation and end up oversharing because I cant carry the conversation any other way. sometimes i'll get the autistic back and forth where I say a thing about me, they respond a related thing about them, and so on. thats easiest to do.

but even that lately has been exhausting and unenjoyable. especially if we run out of things to tell about ourselves/our interests and have nothing to talk about anymore. but also the fact that i've done it SO MUCH over the years that i'm bored and tired of telling every new person I meet the same exact things, having the same exact conversation over and over and over with different people. having to keep telling people the same things about myself and ask the same questions about them. its exhausting and boring. I know that's "how it works" but I dont have the energy for it. i'm tired and bored of it. that's why lately I feel it's easier to try to convince people I already know to be my friend again.....even if that's bot working out for me at all. I can at least skip the "get to know each other" phase for the most part

I think I just want bonds where we can do things together that we enjoy. quietly. comfortably. no pressure to converse and be socially acceptable. a bond we feel naturally and don't need to fight for it. I think I need an irl friend more than online ones right now. because I can only chat with online ones and I don't really want or need someone to chat with right now! I don't want to say words! I wrote this blog to say words and talk to my therapist! I don't have many words to say and I want soneome who is ok with that, but still wants to be around me! I need someone to do things with! to hang out, not talk. an irl person to share regular activities with instead of having endless conversation. but those are even harder to get and I cannot figure it out despite how hard i've been trying! because it always required the small talk and conversation that ends up dying very quickly because I cant do it 😭

I also know I can't expect people to meet my needs and do the interaction the way I need them to go. I have to do what's expected of me and meet them in the middle instead of them meeting me. i've tried asking people to meet me in the middle and explained my needs and stuff, but that has lead me to being alone. so I cant expect or demand it. but I don't have the ability to give them what they want anymore 😭 "finding the right people" isn't something that just happens. it's not easy. see all the above to know why. I need them to find me, but know they won't. but I don't have the energy and ability to look and keep trial and erroring people for years and years straight...I'm out of options. no choices. don't know what do.

does this make sense?? words are hard

[veetyuh]

More random trauma dumping / finding similarities between antis & conservative Christians & random bullies from childhood.

I think my brain gets perturbed when I see young people acting so stupid, cruel, and callous with gen z humour, partly because I've been on the receiving end of it so frequently in high school.

Despite shaving my face often, I'd still get some stubble by day's end. My "moustache" was a meme — hell, one time, I think junior year, I'd received a valentine's day card as a joke, and it was a print out of that can I pet your squirrel scene from iCarly. Despite identifying as more masc/neutral now, I still shave daily and whenever I feel even slight stubble on my face, I want to tear my skin off. Idk how many times I've cut myself from pressing the blade down too hard, trying to get the closest shave possible. God forbid I get depressed and go a few days without shaving — I get noticeable whiskers and feel like a disgusting abomination. Facial hair is fine on others, of course, but there's a compulsion to avoid it, myself. Even after all this time.

And at the time, having that insecurity, and the culmination of societal and religious pressure, condensed into a meme and presented to you as a joke at your expense? I remember feeling numb about it at the time but fuck me if it didn't stick in my brain.

There's something so insidious about seeing my own sense of humour weaponized against people for things they can't control, or for things that are harmless. Because I know how stupid little memes can stick to you and have long-lasting effects when, by all accounts, they really shouldn't. But like. I see antis dogpile twitter users with the most vile sentiments + memes and it makes me want to vomit. I wonder which of those is going to stick in that victim's brain. Which of those is going to press on the right button and make their trauma worse. At least one of them will. God knows that's what antis want, too.

And that makes antis worse than the random bullies in high school. I think that card I got was supposed to be good fun for others — they'd probably feel bad about it in adulthood, especially if they knew how long that insecurity has stuck with me. But that's the stated goal of antis when they bully people. They want you to hurt, to hate your own interests, to feel like an abomination, and kill yourself. They openly celebrate your pain. That makes them worse than any casual schoolyard bully I've ever personally experienced.

It makes them more cult-like, actually. Because that's how Christianity was. They need you to hurt and hate yourself, and believe that they hold the only cure. If you stand your ground and insist you're not broken, then they want you to off yourself. What use are you, living a worldly life without suffering for it? Look at the atheist, who hates life and is angry at everyone and God. Look at the queer, the transgender teen who kills themself — look how terrible it is, to stray from the path of god.

If you're not under their control, they want you dead. And I'll be damned if antis don't behave the same way.

[teaveetamer]

In your opionion is there things that Engage did better than 3 Houses or things they did worse than 3 Houses ? if that is the case, which one and why ?

Things 3H did better:

I won’t say that the characters are outright better (they have all sorts of problems of their own), but I think 3H was better at showcasing them, if that makes sense.

Engage is written a bit more realistically in that not every character is going to immediately trauma dump their entire deal on every single one of their support partners. At the same time, when you might only be getting one or two supports for a character before you have to make a decision on if you like them or not, that repetitiveness can ensure you’re getting to the meat of that character’s appeal faster.

Like, soooo many people write Alfred off as boring because the details about his illness basically only appear in his A support with Celine. Whereas if you like Marianne basically EVERY support she has is her trauma dumping.

This difference is compounded by the fact that it’s sooooooo much harder to build supports in Engage than 3H. So it’s harder to see the relevant character information AND it’s more hidden.

Things Engage did better:

Other than the obvious “gameplay” aspect, I think Engage is better at just knowing what it is and what it wants to be.

You can argue that the story is “worse” but it was aiming to be a fun, campy, Saturday morning cartoon/shounen manga romp about the power of friendship and bonds, and that’s exactly what it is.

I think the fact that it’s an anniversary game also tends to get lost in discussions about its story. It’s supposed to be something fun and light to celebrate the fans and the series. It absolutely nails that. I mean, the fuckin’ full version of the opening theme ends with “Woven in to all our memories/The Fire Emblem burns eternally”.

Oh also Emblem Engage! >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Edge of Dawn

It’s a bop don’t even come for me and musically it’s 10,000x more interesting

[sadkidwarexpert]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝

tw: generational trauma, mentions of sharp objects, mention of cancer and death (no specifics)

a/n: i promise i'll be writing more stuff, it's just that this year so far was a whole-ass circus, anyway, i want to write more so let's hope i deliver that. i appreciate you waiting for me if you have.

tags: @daisycheols @etherealyoungk @scarlet789 (if you wanna be tagged let me know)

"This is fucking useless," my mother spat through gritted teeth, as she threw the scissors away. "Give me the knife."

I slide the blade knife towards her, and myself back a couple inches away till I'm up against the wall, my tailbone aching as I sat on the hard floor. Cherry juice stains my fingertips, my eyes never leave her as clicks the blade open, and as I lick my fingers clean, I taste the sourness of her expression. So much fury in the way she's shredding the cardboard, the sound of the blade working through it like that of my grandfather's phelmy cough before lung cancer took him to greet death. Mother, with years of rage hiding in her every day actions, was making my little sister's school project, and I, not wanting to be victim to her blade, am staying well away, nibbling on my cherries.

Clock strikes midnight and as if on cue my thoughts rush in, a ritual known to womankind for ages: the act of overthinking till your mind bleeds and begs you to stop. Anxieties from every direction, some yours, some not, a whirlwind of silent screams about a timeline, the past, present and the future. It didn't matter if it was within your control or not, if it was yours to begin with or not. You're a woman therefore you must overthink, it's a built-in biorhythm that you can't escape.

Her hands quiet down and move less violently now that the project was slowly coming together, but the guilt inside me roars like those silent volcanoes that never erupt. I often wonder, what exactly was it that ignited such anger inside her and spread eggshells around the house, and if, by extension, our deliberate choices are a true reason to be angry. My mind always round it back to me, or more like us, and through her labored breathing, I'm still questioning if I was competing over air with her. But then again, I did not chose; she did.

Then again, if you uproot a human, strip away familiarity, dump her between four walls, with a bucket and a mop, and a swelling that breaks her back then cleaves her open over and over, wouldn't it be fair if there was anger?

I don't think anyone can expect what happens to them, no one is never prepared, yet they have to bear responsibility for it, the shocking consequences, the sudden upheaval, the dysrhythmia of being, the clocks that tick wrong, the foreign breaths into your skull, the change of face, of odor, of cloth, slipping into an abyss of different flavor. Misfortune you swallow every day that's dressed in summery silks with the lingering scent of hay. Happiness that tears your ribs far and wide and leaves them open for the wolves of misery to gnaw and gnaw and gnaw at the flesh of your heart like a door open in the dead of winter.

The red of cherries on my fingers makes me nauseous, it reminded me too much of my becoming womanhood. I still wonder as I throw the cherry seeds into the sink, if my mother every wanted to discard us like that, to reclaim her old self, and disrobe from this foreign being she'd become to herself. Maybe even nurture herself into something brighter. Maybe then she'll feel that she was enough. Maybe then she'll love us like she loved summer once.

It's two minutes past midnight, an anniversary has arrived, and for a moment I see a glint of tears at the corner of my mothers eyes, and I know that with one choice, one choice that was supposed to break her ribcage open for happiness, her wings got clipped instead, and the day that was supposed to be celebrated, was the day the butterfly died.

Three minutes into my eighteenth birthday, I realized I wanted to die too.

•

©2023 sadkidwarexpert, Eboni.

[winderlylandchime]

I swear i thought i replied to some of your questions a few days ago but i’m starting to think that I might’ve forgotten to and now i feel bad. But to summarize it: When we first started watching, he thought that Gale looked a little bit like Ashton Kutcher (but older version) and it was the funniest thing ever to me. He did only talk about it in the pilot though. Btw I am more and more tempted to later on give him Gale’s out of the box interview to watch. Or Randy’s podcast. He has been asking me about the actors a lot lately and if they still act and where are they and if theyre all still friends and I’m avoiding answering because well, one of them abandoned his podcast and the other one we dont even know if he’s still alive until we get a new photo. But I do wonder how he will react when he finds out Gale is straight ngl because right now he fully thinks Gale is gay irl.

Also yes, he has been going on and on about Brian’s growth and how he’s changed since he clocked it around 4th episode. He is so happy that he’s growing and allowing himself to be happy and in love even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that i just know the second 5x01 will start, he will have a mental breakdown and it will be very valid of him.

Your celebrities/therapist story actually made me curious now because how can a celeb that is well known, even get a therapist then without weirdness. I had no clue this was kind of a thing. And yes! My brother would absolutely launch into a discussion about Gale without shame, he’d have pictures and everything ready for it. I mean his confidence when it comes to talking to literally anyone about anything in his life (usually interests and shit he’s done thats funny to him or in this case the show) is impressive as fuck but also for an innocent bystander like me? actually a nightmare to be around that. He truly doesn’t give a single fuck and has zero shame and all the confidence in the world and idk how he does it. He just tells anyone who will listen (not in a trauma dumping type of way but like his interests and such? No shame) to give an example: when he was in high school he made an entire poster presentation for his class to talk about his love for the movie School of Rock and HE DID IT BY SINGING A FAKE ROCK N ROLL SONG (id give anything to remember the lyrics). Mind you, the presentation was supposed to be about current events in politics/world and School of Rock came out like a year or two prior. So you best believe he would do the exact same for Gale or more importantly QAF/Brian/Britin. And as someone who does shy away from talking about qaf just because it is a lot, he on the other hand truly gives zero fucks. Because when we started watching the show, he was fully explaining to the nurses/doctors/anyone that listened(our parents!!!) about how the show is AND HOW BRITIN MET! He TALKED ABOUT THE RIM JOB! I NEVER EVEN FUCKING TOLD YALL THAT! HE TALKED TO OTHER HUMANS ABOUT THE RIM JOB! AND HE WAS FULLY EXPLAINING IT bc he was shocked and surprised at how they filmed it and couldn’t figure out if that meant gale really did do it or not. So if you ever feel like maybe you’ve overshared about something you like and it keeps you up at night. Fear no more because my brother has for sure shared even more and has zero regrets about it.

It is hard to believe Gale is straight because he is that good of an actor and just went fully into the role and really thought deeply about who Brian is. Ugh it hurts my heart to think about just because it’s so full of appreciation for Gale and Randy.

I think you could show him any media that was released while the show was airing. But maybe avoid anything more current? Until he’s done and his heart is broken. He is going to be so upset by all the back pedaling in s5. Which is the correct reaction.

(I kinda love how as a fandom we’re like this is on the writers because Brian would never. Justin would never.)

I have a specific approach I take when I have celebrity clients and I think I could be a therapist to someone I’m a casual fan of. I could never be a therapist to someone I’m actively in a fandom for. I would have to leave the fandom, for starters.

HE TOLD PEOPLE ABOUT THE RIMMING SCENE!?! Oh my god. Anon you have to at least have him listen to Randy’s podcast episode about bottoming where he essentially said that Justin was too naive to do any prep and therefore someone experienced would have never rimmed him without making him at least shower first.

However I will feel so much better about over sharing now. Because holy shit I’ve never overshared like that.

[keepthetension]

what fascinates me about the idea of boston being in love with top is if they'd done this in the show, it would have started with boston being hurt by top not reciprocating his feelings the way he wants, and ended with nick being hurt by boston not reciprocating his feelings the way he wants (technically atom as well but fuck that guy)

which sent my brain pinballing around trying to figure out how all of them could cause hurt in the same way they were hurt. and some of that did happen in the show, but i was enjoying thinking about what i'd write in to spread it around and make it worse!

top hurts boeing by dumping him -- mew hurts top by dumping him

but then, let's say mew copes with the heartbreak by launching himself right into a rebound with ray, convincing himself it's true love this time, and trying to get the relationship of his dreams! except he's extra paranoid, clingy, and controlling. ray realizes the reality of this is not the thing he built it up to be in his head. and also a wild sand appeared earlier in the game so… what do?

an infidelity, of course!

and if mew had really leaned into triggering top's trauma by setting the entire sketchbook ablaze in front of his face?

mew sends top's mental health spiraling by worsening old wounds -- ray sends mew's mental health spiraling by being less and less attentive and present in the relationship, worsening old wounds around feeling insecure

top hurts sand by stealing boeing -- sand hurts mew by stealing ray

and what if sand finds a decent job, and the bulk of his money worries are over! what better way to celebrate than to have a nice romantic fuck on the balcony <3

except doubly heartbroken mew is in his revenge era now, and so

sand hurts top and boston by distributing a recording of them -- mew hurts sand by distributing a recording of him online

the company he's supposed to start working for is pretty conservative. and it's a customer facing job! they can't hire the guy the entire internet is talking about because of the [insert awful nasty freaky no-good kink here]

and maybe sand dumps ray about it. because he's hurting and angry and it was such a great opportunity but now he's back to square one all because ray couldn't clean up his mess properly!

ray hurts sand by calling him a whore -- everybody hurts ray by calling him a whore (everyone knows ray's with mew! their ig is plastered with photos of them doing cute couple shit!) once his sex tape starts doing the rounds online (specifically, i'm imagining ray's father's business being hurt the scandal, and ray's dad calling him this out of anger)

ray hurts mew and severely worsens his mental health by dumping him -- sand hurts ray and severely worsens his mental health by dumping him

can't figure out how to shoehorn this into that particular cause and effect line but:

nick hurts boston by secretly recording him -- someone hurts nick by secretly recording him and daddy dan doing an hr violation (for blackmail? to get him fired? possibilities are endless!)

atom hurts boston with false accusations because he's heartbroken that boston doesn't lurve him -- atom has a one night stand with a guy from his university who hits atom with false accusations because he's heartbroken that atom doesn't lurve him (bonus: atom is a social pariah now, because fuck that guy <3)

boston hurts mew by fucking his man -- atom's having a go at a serious relationship with some dude, and i-do-drugs-and-party-now mew picks him up and fucks him (and cheum kicks mew to the curb for breaking "friend code")

do i think this would have been a fun show to watch? fuck no. it sounds exhausting lol. and i wasn't trying to write it this way, but in the end, the friendships and relationships all explode. oops. the aroace hermit part of my brain won, i guess~

anyway, i'm just fascinated by the idea of hurting people the way you were hurt, doing the shitty things you were mad were done to you but not caring or noticing, or even thinking you're justified in doing the shitty thing because someone hurt you first, so why shouldn't you hurt them back, and how incredibly normal and human it is to do all of this