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sundrop-writes · 2 months

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Careful - Chapter One

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter One: Over Yet

We can go farther, beyond the end.

Summary:

You and Spencer broke up more than four years ago. Since then, he has tried his best to forget about you. He has pushed all of his feelings down - locked them away into a little box that he never touches.

That is, until he sees your name on a list of potential victims being stalked and killed by a man who kills single mothers. (And he quickly realizes that your son could be his.)

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst.

Word Count: 5,900

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Please keep in mind - I am not doing a taglist for this series, so please do not ask to be tagged in future parts. I do not do taglists. If you want to be notified when future parts of this fic are posted, you can follow this blog and turn on notifications here - I don't make personal posts on this blog, it is just pure posts of my fanfiction. Or you can subcribe on AO3 to get email notifications when this series is posted. You can also view the posting schedule on the series materlist and check @tenpintsof-sundrop for any information about possible changes to that schedule.

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder/killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, the underlying misogyny that comes with a man killing women, mentions of children being orphaned due to their mothers being killed (though there is no mentions of other living family members taking care of those children - you can imaging that they still have nice families to take care of them if you want, I didn’t fill in that detail), mentions of children being in proximity of a serial killer; exes to lovers - the reader and Spencer broke up and the reason why will be revealed later; mentions of pregnancy/mentions of the reader having a child; mentions of sex that resulted in a child/pregnancy (there is no detailed sex scenes/detailed smut in this chapter, but there will be in other chapters); mentions of JJ x Will; the reader’s looks are described as vaguely as possible; passing mention of incest (in the context of a historical figure); all statements that Spencer makes toward the end of this chapter were heavily researched and are factual; I think that’s about it?

A/N: The reader and Spencer originally dated around Season 1/Season 2 - I state at some point during the fic that they dated for 3 years before breaking up, so they started dating when he was very early Season 1 baby Spence (or even before Season 1) and they broke up around Season 2. So technically this fic takes place around Season 6 - but because I didn't want to distract from the plot, I didn't mention any of the stuff going on with Emily or any of those major canon plot points, and I am using pictures of later versions of Spencer just because that's who I was picturing in my head while writing this. But that's how the math works out. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!! This chapter is more of an introduction before we really get into the meat of things, but I still hope that you guys like it.

...

The team had been in Portland for three days.

No leads, a confusing, inconsistent profile - huge pieces missing that would likely give them the real answers.

A patient killer with an extended timeline who likely wouldn’t kill again for months - leaving them chasing their tails, looking for answers.

“Okay, so, let’s take a step back.” Hotch sighed. “What do we know so far?”

He leaned against a nearby table, looking at everyone with the hope of reassessing the case from a different angle. The hope of talking it out to get some answers.

Another woman’s body had been found just before they arrived, and that would mean that the UnSub would be out hunting again soon. This was both good and bad.

Good, because the UnSub clearly had to spend a lot of time stalking his victims - he knew a lot of details of their lives, and he had spent a lot of time developing an intimate fantasy of being a part of their family in his mind. So he wouldn’t be killing again the next day. No woman was in immediate danger. It gave the team more time to find viable suspects.

Bad because they had no physical evidence, no good leads. And thus far, the profile was leading them nowhere. It felt incomplete.

They could find no real connections between the victims - their gyms, their banks, their childcare, their grocery stores. Somehow, the victims didn’t seem to have any crossover in their lives. There was no real way to say how the UnSub had met them. And someone like this - he would have interacted with them at least once in order to become obsessed and stalk them to this degree.

“Five women dead within the last three years.” Prentiss announced, starting to round up the facts that the team knew for certain. “All of them mothers, all with children under the age of five. All within the same ten square mile radius of Oregon, around Portland’s suburban neighborhoods.”

She slumped back into her chair with a tired huff, and then continued.

“The UnSub breaks into their homes through a backdoor or a back window, and somehow goes undetected in such an upscale neighborhood.” She sighed. “He kills the mothers, but he leaves their children alive. And then he calls 9-1-1 to report the death as a case of child neglect.”

“So he was likely neglected by his own mother in his childhood.” Morgan easily theorized.

“All of the victims upper-middle class, single mothers to one child with good jobs. All of them are of the same physical type.” Rossi added on. “They’re the same race, they have the hair color, they’re the same body type - all in their late twenties to early thirties. So the UnSub definitely has a type. He’s most definitely recreating a fantasy of some kind - perhaps taking out revenge on his own mother, but protecting himself. Which is why he never hurts the children.”

“Yeah, but the children are different.” Morgan replied. “Sometimes boys, sometimes girls. Some of them are biracial - he doesn’t look for a specific type in the father. He doesn’t necessarily need to see himself in the children.”

Then, as another thought occurred to him, Morgan continued on:

“Plus, the children’s ages vary from barely a year old all the way up to five - if he was looking to seek revenge on his mother, looking to protect a younger version of himself, then he would have locked in on a critical event that he needs to protect himself from. The age of the children would be more consistent, at least, because he would be looking to protect himself as he hits the age that he was most traumatized by a specific event.”

“That’s good.” Hotch nodded. “Then we know that it’s more about the mothers. He hates women at his core. Protecting the children is just a byproduct of his obsession over these women.”

“But we still have no clue how these women could be connected or how they met the UnSub.” Morgan replied, jaw stiff with frustration.

“Focus on what we do know.” Hotch reminded him.

“All of the women were killed via stabbing. They all had over a dozen stab wounds to their stomachs and genital areas.” Rossi replied. “So, he is an aggressive sexual sadist.”

“But if he hates women so much, why spend so much time in the house?” Morgan argued gently. “Every single one of these scenes has evidence that the UnSub spent hours - possibly up to a day in the house before he killed them. He cooked dinner, set the table, and made the women eat it before he killed them. Including a second place setting for a child. Some of the kids even said that ‘the scary man’ tucked them into bed and read them a story.”

He held up one of the crime scene photos that depicted the scene of the family’s place settings - a haunting scene of plates not cleaned up from dinner, with a flower vase sitting in the middle of the table with a few white flowers wilting inside of it.

“He’s right - why bother to show them the kindness of a last meal if he shows so much aggression toward them during the killing?” Prentiss added on.

“It’s a routine.” Hotch said, the thought suddenly occurring to him. “It’s likely that he chooses single mothers because he gets to play the role of the father. With the real father figure absent from the picture, it makes it easier for him to impose himself into that role. At least for a temporary amount of time.”

“It is strange.” Reid added on, clearly swimming in thought. “It’s almost like he’s courting them? Sending them gifts, showing what a good father he could be. Each of the women were sent white carnations sometime in the days before they were killed, and after the killing, he lays the flowers around their head in a halo-like fashion. It is said that carnations represent motherhood, and the white shade could depict an angelic innocence that he’s projecting onto these women.”

“So he views these women as angelic figures, yet he kills them so brutally?” Prentiss scoffed. “It just doesn’t add up.”

“Maybe he views the killing itself as a type of purification.” Reid theorized. “It’s not uncommon for killers to emotionally fetishize dead bodies and consider them more ‘pure’ than their living counterparts.”

Prentiss visibly cringed at this.

“Wait.” JJ said, looking at one of the crime scene photos with a sharp line pulling her brows together.

Everyone looked to her, waiting for her to finish this thought.

“I don’t think that the mothers were the only ones sent gifts.”

She held up the photo, showing a picture of a colorful child’s play mat in the living room. Everyone stared at the photo in confusion, and JJ sighed and began to explain.

“Look at this toy truck in the middle.” She said, pointing at something that almost blended into the background of the photo. The true focus was a large handprint - one that belonged to the killer, but he had worn gloves. “It’s wooden, it’s hand-carved, it’s old fashioned. All the other toys are plastic, brightly coloured. Remember what the UnSub said in the second 9-1-1 call?”

“‘She pretends to have her son’s best interests at heart, but she was going to let him get cancer from sucking on those cheap plastic toys.’” Reid said, repeating it word-for-word, using his impeccable memory.

“Exactly.” JJ confirmed with a nod. “Clearly the UnSub believes that he would be a good father because he can gift his child something hand-made instead of something mass produced.”

“Alright, get the crime scene techs back over there to pick up the truck, maybe he wasn’t wearing gloves when he made it and there is some slim chance he left a print on it.” Hotch said, and JJ left to call the crime scene unit.

This left the team sitting in silence for a few more moments until Reid spoke up again.

“What about preschools?” He said, suddenly coming out of a wave of thought to announce this to the room.

“What?” Prentiss prompted, wondering what on earth he was talking about.

“Preschools.” Spencer confirmed, looking across the table at her.

“We checked already, none of the victims’ children went to the same preschool.” Morgan reminded him. “Two of the kids didn’t even go to preschool.”

“Yeah, but preschools typically have large waitlists.” Spencer argued.

Naturally, all eyes in the room fell on him, waiting for him to explain.

“In the first 9-1-1 call, the UnSub said that the victim ‘shipped her son off to be cared for by strangers half the time’.” He explained, once again perfectly reciting this from memory. “What if the UnSub resents preschools and the schooling system for taking these children away from their mothers, so he’s choosing his victims off of a preschool waitlist? What if that’s where his obsession stems from because that’s where his rage stems from?”

Reid jumped up, pointing to the map he had been using to make a geographical profile.

“All of the victims live within the same school district.” He added on. “So they would be applying to the same group of preschools.”

“I’ll call Garcia.” Morgan announced.

A few minutes later, Morgan connected Garcia’s call to the comm on the center of the conference table they were working from.

“Hey, pumpkin pies.” She greeted them sweetly, as usual. “So it turns out, the preschool that Tommy Laird, and Emily Ashton, the third and the fourth victim had in common, does have a waitlist. But none of the other victims’ names were on it.”

“Come on, babygirl. I know you’re holding out on me.” Morgan said, giving a small smirk.

“Oh, my Adonis, if I don’t have your trembling anticipation, I have nothing.” Garcia giggled. “The school’s waitlist, and their applications, are handled by a firm called Gordon & Stanheight. And it turns out, they handle the applications and waitlisting for five other preschools in the area.”

“Which gives the UnSub a perfect way to pick his victims.” Morgan sighed. “The first interaction that gets him hooked might not even be in person-”

“Unless he’s picking them out of the line-up on paper and then waiting to meet them in person?” Prentiss replied. “With this type of guy, the smallest smile, a nod in his direction - that could be consent in his mind to play father to a household that’s missing one.”

“You said they handle forms for five different schools? That just widened the victim pool.” Rossi groaned.

“And the suspect pool.” Garcia added on. “The firm has thirty male employees. And I did a bit more digging - the preschool applications have ten ‘optional’ questions on the bottom that are definitely not marked as such. Questions directed at the parent filling out the form, rather than vital information about the child. Things such as: ‘what’s your favorite food?’, ‘when is your birthday?’, ‘what’s your favorite color?’, ‘do you plan on having more children?’ - typical survey schlock,”

“That would explain why the UnSub served Lisa Laird a birthday cake.” Reid sighed. “He knew it was her birthday two days before he killed her.”

“I have a feeling I’m not gonna like where this is going.” Emily sighed.

“Oh, sugar. You probably won’t.” Penelope easily agreed. “The ‘optional’ part of the forms is sold off to other companies as survey data. And those forms are seen and handled by over a thousand male employees of Gordon & Stanheight’s larger ‘data processing’ sector.”

“Well the UnSub has to be local to Portland. So narrow down the suspect list based on his last known address and go from there.” Hotch said. “Also, it would be someone who has a criminal record. Someone committing this level of violence wouldn’t be a first time offender.”

“Gotcha.” Penelope said. “Penny G, out.”

…

The team ended up raiding Gordon & Stanheight’s Portland based office.

After some pointless conversation, some threats of lawsuits, and some even larger threats of being detained for impeding an FBI investigation, the team was able to get their hands on the preschool applications. Over two-dozen boxes worth, that they would have to sort through.

So this left JJ, Reid, Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss knee deep in paper, looking for anyone who fit the UnSub’s victimology - praying that they would be able to pick out the next victim and get to her before the UnSub did.

“We’re never gonna get through these fast enough, are we?” Prentiss sighed, continuing to sift through the papers.

“We just have to go as fast as we can, and hope the UnSub sticks to his schedule.” Morgan replied. “He has to spend time stalking them, learning their routine. Even if he has chosen his victim by now, he won’t break into the house until he’s fully confident that he won’t be disrupted.”

“And the stalking helps build up the fantasy.” Reid added on. “He romanticizes them from afar, sends them gifts. It adds to his delusions of grandeur and forbidden love. The idea that he’s swooping in to become the perfect father figure for these ‘broken’ families.”

“So we’re hanging all our hopes on the idea that this psychopath needs time to ‘fall in love’ with his next victim before he kills her?” Prentiss groaned.

“Sadly, yes.” Rossi confirmed.

“It helps that most of these applications are from two-parent households.” JJ pointed out. “We can throw out anything with a second applicant on the form, because he’s only targeting single mothers.”

The rest of the conversation easily became quiet in Spencer’s ears when he saw it.

It should have been just another page among the sea of paper in his hands, but when he saw those words on the page - that name - it was like a punch to the gut. It pushed all the air out of him in seconds, it made him dizzy, made him struggle to breathe. Like a reel flashing through his mind, it brought back a flood of memories he thought he had locked away forever.

It was you.

What the hell were you doing applying for preschools?

Spencer rushed to tear this paper away from the others in order to read it more carefully.

Surely enough, the application was filled out in your handwriting. Something that had barely changed over the years. And it was all right there, laid out in front of his eyes, clear as day -

You had a son.

A son named Sebastian, who was three years old. Spencer checked the date on the form, eagerly looking for a birth date for your son. His birthday had just recently passed, actually, so he was four years old now.

And his birth date was… fuck.

He had been born eight and a half months, almost nine months exactly after the two of you had broken up. Your son had been born eight and a half months after the day you had left and Spencer had never seen you again.

One thousand, seven hundred and two days.

Four years, eight months, and two days.

It wasn’t difficult math.

Your son was the perfect age to be Spencer’s child. Was this Spencer’s child?

His hands began to shake at the very thought of it.

Is that why you had disappeared from his life with such haste? Because you knew that you were pregnant and you didn’t want Spencer to be a part of your child’s life?

Had you been keeping this from him intentionally?

He hadn’t thought about you in four long years, he had tried so hard not to. He had spent so long forcing himself not to miss you, and now he was struck with the realization that he might have a child out there with the woman he considered to be his regrettable lost love. A child he didn’t know - a child who he had missed four whole years with.

What the fuck was going on?

There were no pictures included with the application, and suddenly, Spencer found himself dying to see the boy. He wanted to know if there was any physical resemblance to himself, or if he was jumping to conclusions.

Maybe you had cheated on him. Maybe that was why you had left town and never contacted him again. Maybe the kid wasn’t his at all, maybe-

“Reid.” JJ called out gently, getting his attention.

Spencer suddenly realized that he was hyperventilating, staring down at the application with your name on it in his hand, wrinkling the paper as he squeezed it more frantically.

“Did you find something?”

…

All in all, the team found four different women who fit the victim pattern in the files - you being one of them.

So the team split up, ready to knock on each of the womens’ doors, preparing to warn them that if they received any gifts or saw any suspicious men lingering around them in the next few days, they should call. They had to hope that the UnSub wouldn’t move on from this victim pool if he saw the FBI around. But he was overly confident, he had contacted police before.

It could definitely work.

When Hotch found out that Spencer had known you, he said that Spencer should be the one to knock on your door. That you might find it comforting to hear that you and your child could possibly be in danger if it were coming from ‘an old friend’. Spencer stuttered over himself and didn’t have the words to explain that you weren’t just a good friend to him, but a romantic flame. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the team by telling everyone that the break-up had been messy, and sudden, and Spencer still wasn’t even completely sure what had caused it. He didn’t want to rip open his old wounds in front of everyone.

So he simply shut his mouth and got in the car with JJ, and they made their way toward your house.

…

“So…” JJ’s voice broke through the undulating silence of the car ride - filled by nothing but the sound of the car’s motor running and gears grinding inside Spencer’s mind as he tried to figure all of this out. “I do have to ask the obvious question,”

“What is that?” Spencer probed, slightly glad to be relieved of his own thoughts.

He wasn’t so glad when JJ pried those thoughts out of his mind and spilled them to the open air.

“Is the kid yours?” She wondered aloud. “I mean - when did you and Y/N break up?”

JJ had known you as Spencer’s girlfriend.

Come to think of it, she was probably the only person on the current field team who had some kind of a relationship with you back when you and Spencer dated.

Initially, it had been by accident. JJ had driven him home one night after a particularly long and sleepless case, and you had been coming to his apartment to drop off some books he had asked for (shortly after he had given you a key). When JJ saw you, her natural curiosity got the better of her - even more so when you stuck out your hand and introduced yourself as ‘Spencer’s girlfriend’ without hesitation.

The two of you got to talking, and JJ invited you to ‘girls night’. You met Elle and Penelope shortly after. You had become pretty good friends with the three of them before the break-up.

But Spencer had always felt secretive…. well, protective of you. He didn’t want Morgan teasing him about you, or him wanting to have ‘guy talk’ about things that occurred in the bedroom. Not when it might mean talking about intimate moments with you. Spencer had only introduced you to Gideon over coffee about three weeks before the break-up, and that felt like a lifetime ago.

Back then, having you, Elle, and Gideon leave his life all in a matter of a few months felt like hell on earth. It felt like being grabbed by his ankles and shaken for all he was worth. He really wasn’t sure that he was ready to see you again.

It had been four years.

JJ was someone he could lean on right now.

“Four years ago.” He told her, completely honest.

“And how old is the kid?” JJ asked.

“Four - four years old.” Spencer stuttered out, realizing that now as he was speaking about this very real possibility, he might be breathing more life into it.

“Oh my god.” JJ sighed. “Well… could it-? I mean…? Did the two of you?”

It took Spencer a moment to clue into what JJ was talking about. He gave her a sideways glance and she took her eyes off the road for a moment, raising her brows and giving him a pointed look.

“Please tell me you know what does and what doesn’t make a baby,” JJ groaned.

“Oh!” Spencer huffed, a small wave of embarrassment flooding him. “Yes! God, yes. I know.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Spencer felt the need to clarify his answer.

“We - I mean. We…” He trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. “We didn’t always use… protection. We were together for three years, at the time, it was on the table.”

“Kids were on the table for you back then?” JJ asked, clearly shocked by this. “I could not imagine little twenty-four year old Spence with a baby.”

“Well… it’s something I’ve always wanted.” He mumbled quietly in reply.

It was true. At the time, Spencer easily imagined himself getting married to you, having multiple kids with you. These days, seeing JJ with Henry and Will brought him the occasional underlying pang of jealousy - but since breaking up with you, there hadn’t been anyone else in Spencer’s life that he could have imagined having kids with. He thought that he was going to be alone and childless for the rest of his life. That the dream was long dead for him.

“Hey - then, maybe this is a blessing in disguise?” JJ posed. “If we hadn’t been looking through those forms because of this UnSub, you never would have found Y/N again. You wouldn’t even know this baby exists.”

There was another thing that JJ was dying to ask - something she held back because she felt like it was a touch too personal. (Even if ‘too personal’ was basically how the BAU team lived - knee deep in each other’s business, all the time).

She wanted to know why you had a baby, a baby that Spencer had very likely fathered, and you hadn’t contacted him about it. Spencer seemed entirely clueless about the child’s existence before now, and JJ knew that because of what his own father had been like, he wouldn’t just blow off a kid that was his if he knew that one was out there in the world.

So why hadn’t you told Spencer about the baby?

“What if the kid isn’t yours?” JJ wondered aloud.

Maybe that would unburden him. She knew that either way, Spencer would fight to protect you from the UnSub. But if the kid wasn’t his - he would walk away again, and he wouldn’t have to be hung up on the heartbreak of dealing with his ex just to parent a child together.

“Honestly… I think I’ll be more heartbroken if I find out that he’s not even mine.” Spencer told her, his voice quiet and already lulling with that disappointment.

That was not something JJ had considered. She frowned as she saw the sadness paint across Spencer’s face.

“One thing at a time, alright?”

…

When they pulled into your driveway, Spencer’s mind immediately began churning.

It was a nice house. It was a beautiful, quiet neighborhood. The front yard was clean and trimmed and there was a silver SUV in the driveway with a ‘baby on board’ sticker in the rear window. There was a rocking chair on the porch, but he didn’t see many children’s toys out front on the lawn. He guessed that was a good thing. Letting children play in the front where they could run into the street and potentially get hit by a car was too dangerous. He was glad to already see signs that you were a good mother.

Spencer felt like he was opening up a book halfway, desperately wanting to be filled in on the previous chapters while having missed so much. Still wanting to read ahead and see more.

He had already missed so much of your son’s life. He had missed you. That was something forming the biggest knot in his gut. He had truly missed you. The times he had allowed himself to think of you over these past few years - he had missed you so dearly.

And now the two of you likely had a child together.

Craning his neck to get a better look, desperately trying to take in more information, Spencer’s eyes were wide and hungry as JJ put the car in park by the curb in front of your house. As Spencer reached for the passenger side door handle, JJ’s phone rang.

“I have to take this.” She sighed. “You go ahead.”

She gave Spencer a distinct look that said ‘I know you need a minute alone with Y/N’, and he nodded, stepping out of the vehicle while she greeted whoever was on the other line. He smoothed down his tie - for once in his whole life, he was actually worried about how he looked. Only because he knew that he was going to see you. Perhaps he had only ever felt like this before going on his first date with you.

He had such a strange lashing of emotions going through him as he approached the door. Fear, anxiety, anticipation. Longing.

He truly had tried so hard to lock away his feelings for you when you had left. He had tried to move on. He had considered, briefly, in passing, dating other women. There had been times when someone else caught his eye, and he considered asking her out on a date. Morgan had offered to ‘set him up’. Penelope had offered too, telling him that he deserved to ‘get back out there’.

Whenever she asked about you, his heart freshly cracked open.

At one point, she had advised him to write a long, Shakespearian letter, pouring out his heart to you in an effort to get you back - one which she would mail. (Because of course, she could get your new address in a heartbeat.) But he didn’t want to experience the heartbreak all over again if you ignored him. He didn’t want to sit, waiting by the mailbox every single day like a lost dog, waiting for you to write him back in return.

You had disappeared from his life for a reason. Just like everyone else had. For a long time, Spencer convinced himself that he was simply meant to end up alone.

Perhaps if he had known about your son - a child that could very well be his - then he might have felt differently about getting Penelope to contact you.

But now he was standing at your front door, his fist shaking as he raised his hand to knock.

He let out a sharp breath and steadied himself, giving three swift, firm knocks against the door and then trying to wait patiently. His heart thumped inside of his throat, and it felt like forever.

“Sorry!” Your voice called out from behind the door, muffled. “Sorry, I almost didn’t hear you. I was-”

You cut off your own words as you opened the door - the moment you caught Spencer’s eye and recognized it was him, pure shock fell across your features, and you froze on the spot.

You were just as stunning as ever. You had barely aged at all - your hair was different than the last time he had seen you, of course. And you were dressed casually - wearing a simple hooded sweatshirt with a drawstring and a pair of jeans with some fuzzy slipper boots on. But pale blue looked so good on you.

So much like the pale blue dress you had worn on your first date with him.

You were breath-taking.

“Y/N.” He greeted you, his throat dry already.

You didn’t say anything, simply continuing to stare him down with wide-eyed shock.

Seeing you again, Spencer couldn’t help but to think back to that first date.

The first night that he knew he was in love with you.

…

He had taken you to see the Virginia Symphony Orchestra.

It was Spencer’s idea of a good time - and it ended up being one of the most beautiful, most romantic, most unique first dates that you had ever been on.

It was difficult not to fall for him with the beautiful music in the air and his glossy eyes, so sickeningly thick with affection, staring you down all night.

Afterwards, the two of you stopped to get ice cream at a small shop that was a short walk down from the orchestra. And now you were both enjoying your ice cream as you walked along in the cool night air - enjoying the peace and quiet and the gentle breeze in the darkness.

It was a perfect night.

Spencer could think of no better way to spend it than with you. The yellow bulbs of the street lights practically cast a glow onto your skin, the mulberry lipstick now worn off your lips as you brought the pink spoon to your mouth and licked up your sweet treat.

His stomach was churning with nerves. Joyous nerves.

And as per usual, when he was nervous - he rambled.

“You know, Bach actually married his cousin.” He said, spouting off the first thing that came to mind.

You told him that Bach was one of your favorite composers - it’s why he had thought to bring you to the orchestra on a date in the first place.

“I did not know that.” You giggled. “So what? Was it like a ‘third cousin twice removed’ type situation?”

Spencer found himself grinning at the fact that you actually engaged him in the conversation, rather than staring at him with an odd look for bringing up such a strange topic.

“Not quite.” He replied. “They had the same surname before marriage.”

“Oh, ew.” You chuckled again, giving a shudder at the thought of this.

Spencer knew it was an odd topic to discuss on a date, and if he rambled on too much, it might freak you out - but he couldn’t stop himself. His mouth ran away with him, and he continued.

“He married Maria Barbara Bach, and they had seven children together.” He told you. “His sons, Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philipp Emanuel became composers and musicians much like their father, which was actually carrying on a legacy started by Bach’s father himself - who was a seventh generation musician. He was the one who taught Bach the organ from a very young age.”

“Why don’t people play the organ anymore?” You wondered aloud. “Except in churches, I guess. The organ rocks.”

Spencer’s brain began rocketing off at the fact that you had asked him a question. A question he could answer.

“The organ has actually long been associated with divinity.” He replied. “The instrument rose in popularity alongside Catholicism throughout the eighteenth century, and in a sense, that was part of what made Bach a sort of ‘rockstar’ of his time. The religious references in his work, and his mastery of the organ - all of it made him incredibly popular at the time because it caused him to be favored by the church and by royal figures associated with the church.”

Spencer gleamed a large smile, heavily enjoying that he could share these facts with you. He thought for certain that any moment, you would change the subject or imply that he should stop talking. But instead, you engaged the conversation more.

“Religious references?” You questioned, wondering what he meant by this.

“Yes!” Spencer grinned, suddenly very excited by the explanation behind this. “Even in his secular music, Bach would often incorporate the acronym ‘INJ’, a Latin abbreviation that means ‘In Nomine Jesu’, or ‘in the name of Jesus’. It was something he put on all of his manuscripts.”

You grinned back. You found it fascinating that being around Spencer for such short periods of time caused you to learn so many things. It easily made you want to be around him more.

“Interesting.” You replied.

“And his talent on the organ was seen as something that made him ‘divine’ at the time. Divine enough to be worthy of performing for royalty.” Spencer added on. “In 1708, Bach got a position as the court organist in Weimer for Duke Wilhelm. And later when he requested early release from this position, desiring to go work for Prince Leopold of Koethen, the Duke actually had him arrested and put in jail for several weeks in 1716.”

Spencer laughed at this mental image - the composer being put in jail.

“Ooh, harsh.” You sighed. “But I guess Dukes have too much power.”

Spencer let out another bright laugh at this.

“And see, the interesting thing is, Bach later became the conductor of the court orchestra, in which Prince Leopold played.”

“So he got his wish,” You replied with a smile.

“And see-”

Spencer set off on another rant again, and you couldn’t help yourself. You put your spoon into the cup of ice cream and then you used your now free hand to reach out and grab Spencer by his tie - you pulled him toward you before he could get anymore words out, and he let out a shocked, choked-off sound when you pressed your mouth into his.

He sighed gently against your lips, and unconsciously dropped his own melting chocolate cone on the ground by his feet as his limp hands drifted toward your waist. He was dizzy, and now every single fact he had ever known about any composer had vanished from his head. In that moment, standing under a random street lamp on a random sidewalk somewhere - all he knew was the soft, pillowy feeling of your lips and the cool night breeze against his skin.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

You found his intelligence and the enthusiasm with which he spoke to be so utterly irresistible. You had been on so many dates with men before where they had acted like talking about their interests was a chore. Where they had made it seem like the whole thing was simply a routine, waiting for the end of the night so they could get into your pants. And for them, that’s what it probably was.

But Spencer was nothing like that.

He spoke about everything with such intense passion - and you couldn’t resist the urge to try and suck that very passion off his lips.

When you were forced to pull back slightly, your lungs crying out for oxygen, Spencer let out a gentle moan and began puffing out sweet little pants across your chin as he tried to catch his breath. You kept a hold of his tie, wanting to keep him close, and he stayed there, gently pressing his forehead against yours.

“That was… wow.” He sighed.

“I didn’t think I would ever find you at a loss for words, Doctor Reid.” You replied with a giggle.

“Well, I - you - wow.”

It was all he could muster, causing you both to break down into laughter.

Back then - everything had been perfect.

He had no clue where it all went so wrong.

...

Continue reading: Chapter Two - Liar

#sundrop writes #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

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wardenparker · 3 months

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Vampire Waltz - Epilogue

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: 13.9k 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.* Pregnancy. Some healing of generational trauma, reconciliation, regret, past pain. But mostly fluff. Summary: In the time after returning to your original timeline, life seems to have many more surprises left for you and Max. Notes: Editing this chapter has been a good old fashioned cry at my laptop, I will admit that entirely. This little family has given us such a wild ride, and we are so grateful to each one of you for reading along for every twist and turn. Please join us for Hummingbird Has Landed, starting next week!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Ch 16 ~ Ch 17

Six months fly by in the blink of an eye, and before you know it the day of the wedding has arrived. Seacliff has been thrown open for the occasion, decorated top to bottom in roses accented with spring wildflowers and with every curtain thrown open to let the sunlight in. At the end of your second trimester, you tend to get tired earlier in the night so you and Max had opted for an afternoon wedding with sort of an high tea theme for the food. The music is all perfect for dancing to, of course, and everyone from the dance studios you now frequent to the girls from the coven to your extended vampiric family has been invited. He’s even made a few friends at the firm where he now works, opting to go into real estate this time around. After spending a hundred years building different houses, he knows a thing or two about it.

Allison and Eddie will be the ones to stand up for you today, of course, as Allison learns each day a little bit more of what it means to be a vampire who has kept her humanity through every step of the change. You and Max had stood up with them at City Hall a few months ago and helped throw their more laid-back wedding reception at Chateau-sur-Mer. Now everything is set up for today’s success as well. All that’s left, really, is for Max’s surprise to arrive.

Max hovers, a habit that he’s developed even more as your stomach has grown. In love with the slow heartbeat of his child in your stomach and the sweet smell of your blood. He craves you more than you know, but he’s refused to drink from you since finding out that you are carrying his child. Not willing to risk anything, even after decades of taking your blood.

“Everything’s fine, love.” He’s always been a doting partner but for the last few months it’s increased exponentially and somehow you’re even more in love with him for it. “We’ve had weddings before. Everything will be just fine.”

“I know.” He does know that, but for some reason, this is the one that is making him nervous. “I’m excited.” He admits quietly. “This one is us. Our original timeline.” He pushes away the pang of sadness that seems to be creeping up every time the baby moves, or he thinks about being a father. The loss of his family is more poignant in this time because there’s no good reason they are not here.

“That’s why this one is exactly what we wanted. Good music, good food, not too fancy but not too casual.” You reach out and squeeze his hand, rubbing gently along his arm. “It’s the Goldilocks of weddings.”

“Are you comfortable?” He asks, shaking away his disappointment that parents who don’t care about him aren’t sitting on the groom’s side and focuses on you. “You should sit before the ceremony.” After so many years together and so many weddings, it seems ridiculous to observe the ‘no seeing the bride before the ceremony’ tradition. “The baby was really active last night; I know your sleep wasn’t the best.”

“The baby’s excited.” Over your second trimester you’ve started to get the feeling that your little witch-vampire pup can sense your emotions, and he knows you’re excited for today. “And Tracy brewed me a little potion for today. Energy without caffeine so I won’t get too tired and I can enjoy the day.”

He eyes you, but he doesn’t say anything. Always wary about portions because he’s paranoid, not because he doesn’t trust the witches that make up your very supportive coven. “Do you want a little massage before we start?” He offers, knowing how much you enjoy the back and foot massages he’s gotten pretty good at.

“It’s perfectly safe,” you assure him, but you’re already sitting back in your favourite chair with bare feet ready for rubbing. This is not going to be a day for silk stockings or anything delicate like that. “It’s one of Lina’s recipes. Tracy is having fun going through her grimoire.”

Max chuckles at how quickly you move when you are offered a massage. It’s cute how much you enjoy being pampered and he loves to remind you that you are the absolute love of his life. “Honestly? I trust them. I’m just worrying to worry.” He tells you as he sits down on the little foot stool. “Have I told you how fucking gorgeous you are today?”

"Hmmm, only once." Max starts in on your swollen, achy feet right away and you hum happily, sinking back into your chair and letting your hands cradle the large bump that threatens to take over your entire torso. Max Phillips makes big babies, apparently. "The grey suit is one of my favourites, by the way," you hum, referencing the three-piece heather grey suit he chose for today with dark red accents that match your bouquet of roses and Allison's red bridesmaid dress. "You look like a dream."

“Not nearly as dreamy as my pregnant, gorgeous, glowing wife-to-be.” He teases, winking at you. Since the beginning of the week, he’s called you his fiancée or wife-to-be. The new ring on your finger would never replace the original that has so much meaning for the both of you, but he has always given you new rings for every wedding. “But I have to try to look my best when I will be by your side.”

"I hope you don't mind." Holding up your other hand, you show him the original engagement ring he gave you in 1885 sitting on your finger, like a family heirloom accenting the beautiful sapphire ring he chose for you in this timeline. Your something blue, he had told you with a grin. "I felt like this time was the time to wear both."

“Whatever you want.” He promises with a grin. “Eventually we will have enough rings you can wear a different one every day.”

"I'll have a very full jewelry box for our son to pick from when he eventually proposes to his soulmate." Finding out you're carrying a little boy had had both of you crying in the doctor's office, overwhelmed and emotional about the next generation of your family to come.

“Very true.” He presses his thumb to the arch of your foot and he grins when you groan.

"I'm so glad I decided not to wear heels today," you huff, laughing slightly as your head falls back on your chair.

“Me too.” Max snorts. The sparkly white shoes you have chosen are cute and practical. “Although I still like the barefoot and pregnant wedding idea.” He teases with a wink.

"Maybe next time." That draws a deep laugh from you, and you lean back even more. "We'll have that one in summer, when being barefoot doesn't mean stepping on cold floors."

“Next time.” He agrees, although he doesn’t know if there would be a next time. All that matters is your comfort. “We still have an hour and a half before the ceremony.” He chuckles. “Maybe we’ve become too efficient at getting ready for these things.”

"Probably. Sixth time's the charm, I guess." You both laugh, enjoying the quiet and the comfort of being together upstairs in your bedroom. The Taylors, Renee, and Mr. Finchley were all invited to come today as guests but they had balked at the idea of not helping to put together today's event. As a result you've had twice the staff in getting the house ready today and everything is ready ahead of schedule. "Although..." you glance up at the clock and realize it's almost time. "I did plan a sort of...surprise for you today."

“Sweetheart…” he tilts his head and pouts at you adorably. “I thought we said that we were going to keep it low key?” He huffs. “Now my surprise is just going to be a normal wedding gift exchange.”

"I know what we said, and your wedding present is entirely separate." The photo album isn't technically complete anyway, since it has photographs of your first five wedding days already set in it but has left plenty of room for your sixth. "This is just for you."

“Is it something kinky?” He asks with a wicked grin on his face. “I can get behind that. Unless you want to get behind me???” He jokes.

"Not until this little pup comes out to greet us," you laugh, knowing your maneuverability isn't great these days.

“I don’t know, you were pretty kinky last night.” He reminds you. “Or was that someone else that wanted to ride my cock while I gave her tits all the attention?”

"Oh no, that was the horny pregnant woman you're marrying today." And damn last night was a good night.

“I know, and I love her.” He laughs and looks around. “So tell me about this surprise?”

As if on cue, there is a knock at your bedroom door and your own housekeeper clears her throat gently on the other side. "Mrs. Phillips? It's time."

"Thank you, Mrs. Moreau. We'll be down directly." Thankfully your shoes are nearby, and you flash Max a small smile. "Ready, love?" You ask, knowing that he has no idea what's waiting for him downstairs.

“Sure.” He shoots you a suspicious look but quickly applies himself to putting your shoes on. “You’re lucky you don’t have stinky feet.” He teases and pats your knee when he puts your foot down, both of them now wearing comfortable shoes.

The result of about three months' worth of phone calls is waiting downstairs, and you take Max's hand to walk downstairs together. There's a chance he'll be upset with you. Angry, even. But you've known him for long enough now that you don't think he will be – or at least you hope that he will see the gesture for what it is. A loving attempt at bringing him the happiness that you know he's been missing from his life.

He’s curious when he sees that the formal parlor is where you are guiding him. Wondering what you’ve had delivered and he stops dead when he hears a voice he has not heard for a lifetime. He wouldn’t recognize it for the fact that it was permanently attached to a thousand different childhood memories.

"I reached out about three months ago," you explain, feeling him stop dead beside you in the hall. "I told them that we were getting married and that we're expecting, and honey...they miss you so much."

“They— you called them?” He asked dumbly. “That’s— that’s my parents in there?” He asks, feeling like he’s in a dream even though he’s not dreamed since he’s been changed.

"I'll let them tell you everything." He isn't shouting or refusing to see them, so you're taking his quiet wonder as a very good sign. "But...I obviously left out the whole time travel, magic, and vampirism part of our story. I did tell them we're Wiccan, though. So they wouldn't be confused by the handfasting today."

He nods but he doesn’t say anything. Still process the fact that his parents are beyond those doors. People who had abandoned him when he needed them most. Part of him wants to run away, to refuse to see them, but you are squeezing his hand and looking so hopeful when he finally looks at you.

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay.” They’ll be disappointed, and so will you a little, but you’ll all understand. “I just knew that if I asked you about having them over, you would refuse on principle.”

“No.” He chokes out, shaking his head and for a horrible moment, he thinks he might cry. “I just can’t believe they came.”

“Well…” When you look up at him again, you offer him the softest, gentlest smile possible. “They wanted to apologize in person.”

“What did you say to them?” He asks, unable to believe the people who had disowned him, told him they never wanted to see him again, want to apologize.

“I actually did very little of the talking.” You nod to the door and squeeze his hand again, ready with a handkerchief if he ends up needing it. “Do you want to go in?”

“Um, sure.” With his free hand, he meticulously straightens his vest and his hair before he moves. He’s nervous and honestly a little afraid his parents want to ruin today for him.

When the door opens there are two people standing by the windows, looking down the lawn where your wedding ceremony will be and out to the sparkling ocean. Jeff and Maria Phillips stand together in a moment of awe before Maria is rushing forward and stops still in front of Max with one arm outstretched. “Max.” Her instinct is to call him honey, but she doesn’t know just how much he would hate that. “You—we tried everything we could think of to find you and we’re—” She chokes up almost instantly, The regret painted on her face as obviously as daylight.

“We’re so sorry, son.” Jeff has come up behind his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. “We should have taken you at your word when everything happened and we didn’t. That’s—we can’t undo it, Max. But we’ve regretted it every day.”

“Why?” That is the question that plagued him for years. The thing that had broken his heart and confused him. His parents weren’t the warmest people, but he had thought they had loved him enough to believe him. “You told me I was a disgrace to the Phillips name, that you wished I had never been born.” He reminds them. “Why?” His hand lets go of yours and rests on your stomach protectively. “I can never imagine telling my son something so cruel.”

“We received a phone call from the young man who…who accused you.” Usually quite a proud man, Jeff Phillips flounders in explaining himself to his son — a fully grown and obviously proud man in his own respect. “And from the Dean of your college, as well. We were told the proof was irrefutable and we knew you were ambitious, it all just…” he stops, shaking his head and letting it hang in a moment of shame. “Your great-grandfather, my grandfather, had done a lot of very unfortunate, mostly illegal things to get ahead in his lifetime. I tried to raise you as far away from that kind of life as I possibly could, and it—it was a lie that hit too close to home. And I thought I’d failed you. Instead of taking responsibility for that, I lashed out. And I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for it. But your soulmate reached out to us and said you were getting married, so we wanted to at least tell you that we love you on your wedding day.” The gift they had brought was out on the table in the foyer with a few others that had been mailed — an heirloom for the baby with a long letter of explanation and apology. That way even if Max didn’t want to see them, they could at least leave him with words of love in another way. The Phillips family crib and baby blankets made by Max’s grandmother belonged with him now.

Max swallows harshly, knowing that before you, before his time in the past, he would have sent them away for the pure pleasure of watching them hurt the way they had hurt him. To lash out and make them feel the rejection and heartache he had lived with for years. Except, he had to watch history repeat itself in a sense. Knowing the path that was before a headstrong daughter and equally stubborn parents. Watching the silent heartbreak and pain when their daughter distanced themselves from them. Knowing the further heartache that was awaiting them. He had sworn that he would be better than his parents and if he sends them away, what does that teach his son? His parents only have a small amount of time left, should he deny himself that time out of some childish need for punishment? Over the centuries, Max would like to believe he’s matured.

He frowns, looking at the table that has the gifts on them and then looks back at his parents. “Are you staying?” He asks, unsure if they wanted to stay or if they just wanted to make peace.

“We’d like to,” his mother offers, eyes flickering once over to you and then back to her son. She knows the decision isn’t theirs or yours. “But only if you want us to.”

“What made you look for me? Do you think that I’m telling the truth? Or—” Max has to know, he has to know what changed their minds.

“We tried to look for you just a couple of weeks after everything happened.” Maria takes a small step forward, so deeply hopeful that Max will forgive them. “The school said they couldn’t tell us anything besides the fact that your transcripts had been forwarded to another university, and there wasn’t a Find My Phone or anything like that, that we could use to try to find you.” Her voice wavers, obviously emotional, and she sniffles softly. “We realized that the son we’d raised…you didn’t deserve to be shunned even if you had made a mistake. We’d just been so shocked that we reacted on instinct.” Another small shake of her head comes with a few small tears that Maria quickly wipes away. “We should have believed what you told us over anything else. Over any other fear or story. The more times we talked through it, the more we realized…cheating was never the shortcut you were going to take. You always worked too hard for that. And we’d pushed you away for nothing.”

“I had to go to Romania to find a school that would accept me.” Max tells them, biting his lip and closing his eyes as he wrestles with himself. “You lost the son you knew there.”

Your hand slips gently over his, holding it in yours and wondering if this was a mistake. You know how much Max misses his parents, but some hurts are just too deep. It would be truly unfortunate if this was one of them.

“It’s obvious you’ve become a good man even without us.” His father acknowledges, nodding sadly. He knows he failed his son in so many ways, and he really doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself. Maria had fought him in the beginning and brought him around to the truth in time. “But if you’d let us, we’d like to get to know the man you are now.”

“There’s something you need to know before you make that decision.” Max opens his eyes and looks at the older man who is so much like him, even though he has his mother’s ears. Then over to his mother who looks like she is about to break down sobbing. “I’ve wanted you in my life for years, but I won’t let you back in only for you to run away when you find out.”

“Whatever you want to share with us, we want to hear.” It’s a promise, and Jeff Phillips doesn’t take that lightly after all this time.

“Technically….” Max squeezes your hand gently. “Your son, I— died in Romania.” He admits quietly. “I was turned into a vampire.”

The quiet in the room could be cut by a knife, and you hold Max’s hand tightly while his parents process what he’s just said. It’s confusion — deep confusion — more than anything else, but after a seemingly interminable few minutes, Maria nods. “Are you happy?” She asks, aware that her husband must be looking at her like she has three heads right now.

“I am.” Max nods. “I have my soulmate and our child. I’ve done things you would never believe. And now, I am seeing you again.” He gives her a small smile. “After I— was changed, I came back. I saw you from a distance.”

“The world gave you a witch so you would have someone to understand you.” Maria observes, nodding solemnly. You had explained the pertinent parts of being Wiccan to his father over the phone months ago but hadn’t had that conversation directly with his mother so you hadn’t heard her reaction personally. “When did you come to see us, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. It’s a term he hasn’t heard from his mother in over ten years in this timeline and it makes him bite his lip. “August 14th, 2013.” He gives a small shrug. “Your birthday.”

It’s heartwarming, and unexpected, to know that he had missed them too. Just because you had said so in your call — it did not mean it ran deeply. But Max and his mother had always shared a mutual fondness for birthdays. “I wish you had come inside,” his mother admits, although she smiles in a sort of lopsided way. “Although…could you have? If we had not invited you? You’ll have to tell us what is real and what is legend.”

It’s curious that his mother automatically believes him, and he wonders if they think this is some kind of test. He’s testing to see they will believe him and chosen the most outrageous thing. “I don’t have to be invited in.” He laughs.

“Do you remember Vera?” His mother asks, seeing skepticism in her son’s eyes before looking back at her husband too. “The woman who lived next door and would babysit for us when Max was little?” To you she explains, “He would get off the school bus and go to our next-door neighbor’s house for a few hours until Jeff or I got out of work. Whichever one of us got home first would go next door and tell him we were home.”

“Yes?” Jeff frowns slightly, wondering why his wife would bring up a neighbor that was long moved away.

“When Max was a baby, and I would go over to her house during the day for a little change of scenery?” She pauses and looks back over at you with a smile. “Maternity leave can make you feel like your mind is melting sometimes. Find a safe place to get out of your own house. Even if it’s just someone else’s house.” The advice to you seems decent enough, and you barely have time to smile in acknowledgment before she’s looking back to her husband and son again. “Vera used to tell me stories from home,” Maria explains. “And…folktales are always founded in a little bit of truth, aren’t they?”

“She was Romanian.” Max remembers suddenly. “She told you about vampires, didn’t she?”

“She did.” Maria nods, but ends up shrugging reluctantly. “I thought she was an eccentric old lady, but I was grateful for the company. Now…I wish I had taken notes.” Stepping forward one more time, Maria takes a chance and reaches out for Max’s free hand. “We already lost you once, sweetheart. If this means we’ll never lose you again? That your soulmate and your son will never lose you? Then it’s a blessing.”

“I just— I didn’t want you to find out and throw me away again.” Max murmurs quietly. “I had planned on honoring your wishes, to never see you again. But— I— I’m glad you’re here.”

"We never should have said those things." Jeff was the one who said most of it, and he's been humbled enough by regret over the last decade to just...accept whatever it is that life puts out in front of him and his family. He may not understand it, but better to be confused and follow his wife's good example than to risk losing everything all over again. "We missed you, son."

Even though he doesn’t need to breathe, Max exhales loudly, trying to keep from crying. The whole in his heart that he’s refused to acknowledge since the day they had disowned him, finally starting to heal. “I’ve missed you too, Dad.”

The hesitation is cut from the room as Max's parents lurch forward to throw their arms around him and hold on to him tightly. As much as he hates to let go of your hand, he does, needing to basically catch his parents as they hug him. Closing his eyes and trying not to bawl like a baby as he inhales the scent of the people he had never imagined being close to again.

Maria is the one who cries, being dainty about it because she doesn't want her makeup to run or to stain her son's immaculate suit, but she can't help herself. It was not so long ago that she thought she would never get to even see Max again, let alone hug him.

The embrace goes on for longer than he had ever imagined until they break apart and Max turns his head towards you to find you crying quietly into a handkerchief. “Dolly, come here, my love.”

"I'm sorry," you murmur, laughing at yourself a little as you dab at your eyes. This is the reason you hadn't done your eye makeup yet. "Pregnancy hormones."

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” As soon as you are close, you are bundled into his arms and he is pressing his lips to yours. “I love you. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

"I'd do anything for you." And as many times as you've said it, the meaning always holds true. You would turn the world upside down for him – and you even have the power to do it after a hundred years spent honing your magic. "I love you so much."

“I love you too.” He promises gently. Kissing you once more before he turns to his parents. “Let me properly introduce you.” He offers. “Even though you’ve spoken on the phone.”

"We want to know everything." Max's father has handed his wife his handkerchief and is obviously stifling his own emotional reaction – and doing a very poor job of it.

Max pulls you closer to his side and his other hand is proudly protective on your stomach. “This is Dolly.” He does mention your real name, but wants them to know that you prefer your nickname. “My soulmate. The most wonderful woman in the world and the woman I will waltz through eternity with.”

Maria moves to embrace you without hesitation, but Jeff’s head tilts in obvious confusion and curiosity. “Waltz?”

Right. He had never really danced when he was with them. It was picked up in Romania. "I started ballroom dancing." He explains. "An elective in Romania. Dolly also ballroom danced competitively. My favorite thing to do is to waltz with this beautiful lady." He admits proudly.

“We choreographed our first dance,” you tell them proudly, as soft as ever at Max’s side. “You’ll see. He’s an exceptional dancer.”

Maria bites her lip, aware of missing so much time with her son because of their foolish mistake and she nods. "He is exceptional." She reaches out for one of his hands and squeezes it gently. "And you seem so happy." That's all that matters to her.

“We are.” If anything, that is the thing you can promise them. That you’re happy and living the very best, most fulfilling life you possibly can be. “Max is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

"And...his being a vampire is what caused you to meet?" Jeff asks, curious to how the two of you met and trying to wrap his head around the whole situation.

“My grandfather was one of Max’s professors in Romania.” This is the part that is going to get careful explanation, as you hadn’t gone into it over the phone. “He is also Max’s sire. That is…the vampire that turned him. My grandfather took Max under his wing, and even brought him to live with my grandmother here in Newport before she died. I met Max when I moved into that house, as well.”

"I see." There's obviously more to the story, but he won't pry. Right now, he is just glad the boy is talking to him. He knows that Max inherited his stubborn streak, and he could have been rightfully turned away with an expletive and he would have deserved it.

“You’ll meet him today, if you stay for the wedding.” There are still a few more months on Yayo’s ticking clock to join his wife and daughter in the afterlife, but he is waiting until your son is born to leave this world. He had smiled when the decision was made, telling you that wanted to bring good news to Cookie and Annie in the next life. “My grandfather is…a little dramatic,” you smile, stifling a laugh. “I’m afraid it’s a family trait.”

Max chuckles. "And since he is a vampire as well, he looks younger than you, Dad." He warns the other man. "However, Dolly's grandfather is the first vampire. The oldest in existence and has walked the earth for thousands of years."

“It’s a bit of a long story.” The expressions on both of his parents’ faces are something like an undergrad trying to work out a complex math problem, and you shake your head while running a soothing hand over your belly. “Can I offer you a tour of the house?” That, at least, is semi normal. Even if your house was built in 1888 and is still a functional Gilded Age mansion.

“It is beautiful.” Maria nods instantly and Jeff shakes his head. “Do you mind if I speak to Max privately?” He asks you before looking at his son. “Would you, son?”

You look to Max for his confirmation, and when he nods and leans over to kiss you, you offer him an encouraging smile. “I’ll show your mother the library first.”

Max nods, his eyes following you out of the room and he wants to follow you, but he is curious to what his father wants to say privately. Only when he can't see you anymore, do his eyes turn towards Jeff and he arches a brow.

“She’s quite a girl.” He says after the door closes, gesturing to where you have escorted his mother from the room with grace and surety.

"Yes she is." Max will always agree with that. His proud little smile on the corner of his mouth shows his happiness at being matched with you. "She's been through a lot and is still the kindest woman I've ever known."

"When she called us the first time, your mother thought she was an angel." Jeff smiles at that, his wife always has been the gentler out of the two of them. Just like with you and Max.

"In a lot of ways, she is." Max nods. "I normally call her Queenie, as another nickname." He tells his father. "And she is amazingly graceful, carrying a half vampiric child."

"And her..." his father clears his throat. "Her grandfather is...also a vampire?" He's not willing to go against a single second of this, his son is too precious to him after all this time, but he wants to at least make sure that he has everything he's being told straight.

"Yes." Max looks at his father. "I would have met her at Vanderbilt. Discovered that we were soulmates there. I actually had a blind date with her the day I was kicked out." He reveals. "But that didn't happen and luckily her grandfather recognized her birthmark on my arm and changed me." He slides his hands into his pockets, a defense against the hurt that is still there but slowly lessening. Ever more so now that his parents want to be in his life. "He arranged for us to have the meeting we should have had nearly fourteen years ago."

"Jesus..." If his wife was in the room, Maria would scold him for taking the Lord's name in vain, but Jeff just shakes his head. "I..." Jeff blows out a breath. "I know saying that I'm sorry will never be enough. But I really...I'll never stop saying it, if that's what it takes for you to believe how much we regret what happened."

"I believe you." Max has become closely acquainted with actions taken in anger and regretted later. He believes that your mother would have eventually broken the magic binding if she had lived. "Dolly and I talked about reaching out, but for a long time, I was so hurt, I wouldn't have come to you for anything." He sighs softly. "My wife doesn't have much family left. Her parents are gone, and I know she wants as much love for our son as possible. It doesn't surprise me that she contacted you."

"She said she lost her parents, and that you shouldn't have to lose yours as well." It's sweet, Jeff thinks, that his son already refers to his soulmate as his wife on the morning of their wedding day, but he doesn't say anything. It seems like your lives are complicated and he doesn't want to judge. On that, he has learned his lesson. "Max, you should...you should know..." He clears his throat again and casts an eye around the room. "I never actually changed my will. By the time I came out of the fog enough to even talk to our lawyer, I realized the mistake I had made. But it was already too late to find you."

Max frowns slightly, wondering why that would matter to him. Why he would be concerned with his father's will, but then it clicks. His father wants to talk to him about some kind of inheritance. He tilts his head curiously. "I see...."

"Obviously you don't...you don't need my help." The house his son lives in now is a literal mansion. It's far bigger and better than anything that he and Maria were able to give Max growing up. But there is a matter of principle and pride in making sure that they leave what they can to their son when they leave this world. "I had a cousin. A distant cousin, I mean. Who died two years ago. And the guy left behind a big plot of land as well as some assets. Combined with what your mother and I had planned to leave you...it's pretty substantial." He shrugs his shoulders a little, hands in his pockets in a posture that mirrors his son's. "Do whatever you like with it. It's yours. Or maybe your boy's, who knows?"

"Dad...I appreciate that." He promises, meaning it. He had long written off the idea of anything from his parents. "More than you know."

"Maye we can all take a trip together sometime?" He's lost so much time with Max that even being called Dad again has him close to tears, but he shakes it off for now. The day is already emotional. "I guess my mother's side of the family had some money, so it's a nice piece of land in upstate New York. Tuxedo Park. 'Pullman House', I think it's called. Can you imagine having enough money that your house has a name?" He chuckles at the idea, not realizing that his son’s current home most definitely has a name, and shaking his head.

Max freezes for a moment, his eyes widening slightly and he has to take a moment. "Pullman House?" He asks, remembering visiting the house, the last time being a very somber affair. "I— are you serious?"

"Yeah." Jeff nods, taking out his phone to pull up the pictures of the house and grounds that the estate lawyer had sent over. "Have you heard of it?"

"I— I didn't know we were related to the Pullman's." He admits, never looking into his family tree when he was back in time with you. He hadn't wanted to. "How?"

"My grandmother was a Pullman." He doesn't quite see why it matters, but Max seems to recognize the family name so he hands over his phone with photographs of the sprawling mansion. "They made train cars, I think? Back after the Civil War. Must have made quite a bit of money at it, to have a house like that, but it's not in the best shape now. We, uh...your mother and I thought, we could invest a little in it now to fix it up and rent the house out while we're alive. And once we're gone it's yours to do whatever you want with."

"I've been there before." Max tells him with a nod, "I mean, in the area. Tuxedo Park. It's gorgeous from what I remember." He lifts a brow and decides that maybe he should put forth an idea of his own. "It could be something we do together?" He offers. "Dolly and I love historical architecture. Obviously." He chuckles as he glances around the room. "We can start the restoration and see what happens?"

Jeff obviously hadn’t expected that kind of enthusiasm, and when he nods he put his hand out to his son to shake. “I’d like the chance to get to know the man my son has become,” he agrees, on the verge of being choked up again. “And I’ll never say no to getting to see my grandson. It sounds pretty perfect.”

Max looks at the offered hand and reaches out to shake it firmly. "That sounds good." He tells him. "But first, I need to make sure that my soulmate officially carries the Phillips last name." He jokes.

“Why don’t we catch up with our soulmates before they start making plans of their own?” His father suggests with a chuckle, knowing that Maria’s sweet disposition means it could very well happen.

"I'm glad you came." Max admits softly, frowning slightly even though he's completely happy. He's frowning so he doesn't cry, but there's a certain mistiness to his eyes.

“I’m glad, too.” On instinct, Jeff tugs gently on Max’s hand and gratefully holds onto his son once more in a strong hug. They’re both emotional, but if there was ever a time for it in their lives — this seems as appropriate a time as any to shed a few tears in each other’s presence. “I love you, Max. I’m sorry it’s not something you heard often when you were growing up.”

"Always thought I had done something wrong." Max confesses. "If I made the team, you'd love me. If I graduated with honors, you'd love me." He flashes an amused, self-deprecating grin. "If I was a ladies’ man, you'd – at least be proud of me." He snorts. "Always wondered why it was never quite enough. If I was just that much of a disappointment. So instead of talking about it, I decided being a cocky shit and show that I didn't really care what people thought of me."

“I pushed you hard because I knew you were going to do something incredible one day.” They’re both teary, standing together in that room, but it’s okay. It’s always been okay to show his son what he feels, he just didn’t know that. “Your Mom, um…she’s had me doing work on myself. I mean, we’ve been doing it together, but it’s mostly for…” He huffs, rolling his eyes at himself. “She comes to therapy with me a lot. Got plenty of shit to work out and I don’t want it to affect you anymore. And I really don’t want it to affect my grandson. So I’m…I’m working on me. I just really hope it helps. Because you were always enough, Bud. And I always loved you. I just didn’t know how to tell you that.”

"I understand." Max nods. "I've done my own bit of therapy." He doesn't mention it was back before therapy was a thing and it had been with his sire. "Dolly has insisted on it, because of her own issues and it's a good thing. To be the best version of ourselves for each other and our son."

“Do you have any names yet?” Motioning to the door, Jeff means to walk and talk if they can, trying to make the most of every second he has with Max. Of course there’s probably things to finalize before the wedding starts, but they at least have time to catch up to their soulmates.

"We were thinking Johnathan, for Dolly's grandfather and my sire." He smiles slightly. "Johnathan Jeffery Phillips." He watches his father, wondering how he would react to the middle name.

It’s instant, the way Jeff tears up all over again, and this time two thick tears escape his eyes before he can stop them. “Really?” He has to ask, wondering if his son had forgiven him long enough ago to have considered naming his son after the father who had made such an enormous mistake.

"We had long talks about it." Many hours spent talking while you laid in his arms and later when he was stroking the rounded stomach that houses his child even now. "If my son couldn't have his grandfather in his life, at least he would carry a piece of him with him." It was how you had phrased it and Max had nearly cried then too.

“Well goddamn.” Gobsmacked, Jeff wipes his hands down his face and then claps Max on the back with a sigh. “I don’t even know what to say. Except thank you.”

There's nothing else to say at the moment, so Max just nods as you and his mother come into view. "There they are." He hums, smiling at the sight of you absently stroking your stomach as you chat with Maria.

“Hey, my love.” In your wedding dress, all ready for the day, you have been telling your mother-in-law a little about the history of the house and showing her some of the older books in the library. Seeing Max’s softened expression though, you reach out to him immediately. “Everything alright?”

“It’s fine.” He loves that you worry about him, it makes him feel loved. “I was telling my dad about the name we’ve picked out for the baby.”

“Ah,” you hum, leaning over the bump between you to kiss him softly. “Hence the tears?”

“A little emotional.” Max admits shamelessly, enjoying the bump of his heart as he presses his lips to yours.

“That’s good.” You tilt your head to kiss his nose as well and wink. “It’s our wedding day after all.”

"You are amazing, you know that?" He asks softly, kissing you again. "I can't believe you did this. Thank you, my love."

“You deserve to be happy.” The gentle reminder comes with a smile, and you squeeze his hand. “And I know you missed them.”

"You know me too well." He smirks. "Almost like you've lived with me forever."

“Hmm.” Humming a little, you end up giggling instead. “Almost like.”

There’s an inside joke there somewhere, making Jeff and Maria smile awkwardly as the two of you share a moment. “Did you tell Mom?” He asks you, wanting to make sure everyone was aware of the name.

“Not yet.” You look back at his parents but shake your head. “I thought you would want to tell them.”

He flashes you a grin, knowing you are aware that he still has a love of attention, but this is truly special. “Our son is going to be named Johnathan Jeffery Phillips.” He tells Maria, rubbing your belly gently.

“Sweetheart.” His mother is nearly in tears all over again, reaching for Max with overwhelming affection just as earnestly as her other hand goes to her husband. “Is it…” her hands are occupied, but her eyes move to you. “Was Johnathan your father’s name?” She asks as gently as she can.

“It’s my grandfather’s,” you tell her, touched that she would think to ask. “We think we’ll call him JJ for short, but we wanted him to have family names.” JJ is also a sort of family name; in a way you can’t really explain. Lina’s youngest son — little JJ Astor — was sort of your spiritual godson after he wanted to start learning his magic as a young man. You mourned him as dearly as the rest of his family did after the Titanic went down, even though you knew it was coming. That didn’t stop you from missing him.

“I— it’s a beautiful name.” Maria assures you. “JJ is a proper little boy’s name and then he can decide if he wants to keep it or go by Johnathan.” She is so touched that Max would include them in the naming of his child, despite the troubles from before. It will be one of the greatest regrets of her life.

“No matter what, he’ll always be loved.” Your hand smooths the underside of your belly as JJ himself makes an appearance in the conversation, kicking happily to show his approval — or at least his enthusiasm.

Max chuckles proudly. “He’s always so active. Giving mom his opinions on everything. He seems to like his name.” He tells his parents.

“I hate to interrupt, sir. Madam.” The petite figure of your housekeeper appears in the open library doorway. Mrs. Moreau has been with you since the house was finished in 1888, a determined and intelligent middle-aged woman-turned-vampire from Louisiana that prided herself on her skills as a caretaker. “But the other guests have begun to arrive. Mr. And Mrs. Perez are asking for you.”

“Of course.” Max nods and looks towards his parents. “I would like you to stay.” He tells them. “Please? We can talk and if you haven’t booked a hotel, you are welcomed to stay here.” He glances at you for confirmation, but he’s well aware that you’ve probably already planned for such an event.

“I already asked Mrs. Moreau to make up a guest room.” Obviously you had been hopeful that this reunion would go well, but you had really asked your housekeeper to make sure a few guest rooms were ready just in case anyone over indulged at the wedding. Safety first.

“Oh, well – are you sure?” The last thing they want to do is intrude on their son on his wedding night, but they also aren’t ready to let him out of their sight for too long as well. They hadn’t booked a hotel in case he refused to see them; the heartbreak would have been too much.

“We insist.” This is the outcome you were hoping for, after all, and you’re glad to see that Max and his parents are going to be able to patch things up. However slowly it happens, the work has begun. And that’s what matters most. “We aren’t leaving for our honeymoon for another week. And we’d like very much if you stayed.” The little train ride down to Washington DC will be welcome, and you had planned to take in museums and eat good food for a week or two before coming home again and making sure you have everything you need for the baby.

Maria bites her lip and looks at Jeff, wanting this more than anything. She’s missed her son, her only baby and now she’s being given another chance. “We accept.” She tells you with a happy grin. “As long as we can help in some small way. However we can.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.” You assure her, but for now you link your fingers through Max’s and smile. “We’re going to go finish getting ready. Please have a drink if you’d like and enjoy looking around a little before you take your seats in the garden. Mrs. Moreau will help you get settled.” There’s something to be said for having come into your own as a woman and a hostess in the Gilded Age, and with the help of women like your grandmother, Mrs. Astor, and Mrs. Vanderbilt. It has made you gracious and thoughtful, and very well prepared.

“Thank you again.” Jeff nods, looking at both of you as he compares the boy he had last known and the man and father-to-be that stands in front of him. “We will speak later.”

“We shouldn’t keep Eddie and Allison waiting.” A squeeze of his hand reminds Max to walk with you, and you hurry upstairs quickly to avoid being spotted by your newly arriving guests.

“Any other surprises that I need to be aware of?” Max asks with a smirk as he keeps his hand on your back, just in case.

“I talked my grandfather into cutting his toast in half.” The grin on your face is unrepentant. At the first of your weddings, Yayo’s reception toast was early forty minutes long. “Surprise.”

Laughing, Max shakes his head. “Yeah but now, we might have to have a speech from my father.”

“I’m rather looking forward to it.” At the top of the stairs, you can hear your brother and sister-in-law in your bedroom, humming over flowers and such. “I love you, Max. Forever. And I take that promise very literally.”

“I love you too.” Max stops you and cups your cheek. “You continue to surprise me, and I will never take you for granted one day during our existence.”

******

There are things about returning to Tuxedo Park that make you very nostalgic in a way that you cannot express to anyone besides Max. You came here together for Emmanuel’s funeral, supporting your grieving mother as her friends. It had been his parents’ wish to bury him here on the property, and now a large weeping beech tree oversees a small family plot on one end of the acreage. The distant cousin Max hadn’t known was buried here also, and had stored generations of family heirlooms inside the many rooms of Pullman House.

Going through these rooms is a lot of organizational work, but thankfully you can do quite a bit of it sitting at the dining room table with JJ in his Grow-With-Me chair beside you, kicking at musical keys and playing with the knobs, soft toys, and multicolored rings that the stationary play station has for his little mind to engage with. He seems to like the house well enough – although he did not like the drive here – and is currently staring and babbling happily at the far corner of the room while you look through old staff records and maintenance books kept by the superintendent.

“Hey love.” Max breezes into the room, taking on the role of handyman seriously, complete with walking about the house in flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up and a tool belt around his hips. Not that he was really using it right now, but you seem to enjoy the view.

“Hey Daddy.” You stretch your neck to invite a kiss and he leans over obligingly as your six-month-old gurgles happily a foot away. “Are your parents back from town yet?”

“Just pulled in.” He grins and presses his lips to yours several times. “How’s my favorite girl. And my little biter?”

“He’s got a favorite spot on the wall to babble at and I’m reading through staffing records. Apparently the house got hit hard by Spanish flu and lost a few people.” You bite your lip, almost hating to say his name, but you have to. “Emmanuel’s nieces both died, and a few members of staff.”

Max sighs softly. “It feels like he should walk through the door.” He admits quietly. “Asking if we have time to check a design he had built and give our opinions.”

“Is it weird that I’ve always wished I could introduce him to my father?” The two men your mother had loved definitely had had more in common than not. Which makes sense, of course, in that your mother had a type. “I just know they would have been friends.”

“It’s not strange.” Max shakes his head. “Just like you shouldn’t feel bad for loving Emmanuel like we did. I think they would have loved each other.”

“I don’t feel bad. I mean it took some adjusting to…to realize that I miss him as my friend and he very well could have been my father.” You shrug slightly, reaching out your fingers to adjust one of JJ’s toys in his chair. “Being here just brings it all back. I’m sure if we were in the house I grew up in, I’d be thinking about my Dad instead.”

“Of course you would.” Max nods seriously. “Have you thought about my offer?” He asks softly.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually.” Ever since reuniting with his parents and the birth of his son, Max has been fully family oriented. He’s been endlessly helpful in every aspect of adjusting the way you live to make way for more family, and that included a very generous suggestion a week ago. “I think I’d like it very much, honestly. Bringing Mom and Dad back to Newport seems…it seems right. The family plot at Island Cemetery has plenty of room and it would be nice to not feel so disconnected from them.”

“You would be able to visit her whenever you want.” Max agrees. You’ve visited your parents’ graves a few times, but it’s too far to travel now that JJ is here. “I will have all the arrangements made.”

“Thank you, love.” A half-smile graces your lips, which grows when JJ babbles at the corner again happily. “And when we’re here, we can visit Emmanuel.”

“What is he babbling at?” Max wonders, looking over at his son with a curious pride. “It’s like he’s talking to someone.”

“I don’t know, he’s been at it the whole time I’ve—” But turning your head to actually look at the area where your son is focused makes you almost swallow your tongue. “Oh gods…”

“What?” Max’s fangs descend in a flash and he’s speeding over to JJ to whisk him into his arms. He might be a little overprotective, but this is his son.

"Emmanuel?" The ghostly figure in the corner is unmistakable, his tousled hair and immaculate clothing exactly the way he looked in life, if significantly more transparent and...somewhat more sad.

“What?” This time Max’s eyes are wide, not fearful or protective, but confused. “What do you see?” He demands again, staring at the spot where JJ has been babbling.

"I see Emmanuel," you repeat again, more carefully, seeing the figure of your old friend looking back at you. "That...that is you, isn't it?" The fact that Max can't see him makes you think it must be your and JJ's witch's blood at work, and you stand up from your chair carefully. "Can you see me, too?"

"Oh..." The shadowy memory of Emmanuel sighs quietly. "I can see you. And hear you. It's...I didn't know you could see me," he admits.

“What’s he saying? Is he talking back?” Max asks, looking back and forth between the corner and you.

"He didn't know that we could see him," you explain to Max, tears brimming in your eyes to see your old friend again. "But I—I don't understand." When you look back to the corner, Emmanuel has taken a step forward. "How long have you been here? I had no idea someone who had been a vampire could become a ghost."

Max tilts his head as you seemingly talk to thin air, but Emmanuel has to be there if you say he is. “Since I was destroyed.” He admits quietly, eyes darting back and forth between you and Max. “But you are here and— Annie? She’s your mother?”

“I suppose there’s…a bit to explain.” You glance back at Max where he is holding JJ close to his chest and bouncing your son gently in his arms. “This is when we are originally from. One of my powers is the ability to time travel, and I brought us back to your time by accident. But…yes. Annie was my mother. And the Browns were actually my grandparents.” You smile softly, almost laughing in disbelief. “And this is our son, JJ. Who apparently could see you all day today and simply couldn’t tell me.”

Emmanuel bites his lip as he stares at you. “I— I thought I was doing the right thing.” He tells you, having had decades to reflect on his mistakes.

“So did my grandfather.” Although you nod, regret sticks in your throat as though you were somehow complicit in the decision to sire your mother’s soulmate purely because you didn’t stop it. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Is that what happened?” Emmanuel asks softly, frowning fiercely as he tries to remember those last moments. There was just a fog, a hunger he had never felt before and then seeing Annie’s eyes filled with regret and pain. Realizing she had staked him. “I— I could never hurt her. She is my world.”

“I know.” Magic isn’t merciful enough to let you touch him — hug him — to offer him comfort, but at least you can give your friend some kind of reassurance. “And Mom knew that, too. That it wasn’t you, when it happened.” Maybe that’s how he ended up a ghost, instead of moving on? You can’t be sure. “No one who ever saw you together could ever doubt how much you loved each other.”

“I— oh god.” He closes his eyes, pain etched across his face. “I hurt her. I— I just wanted to live through eternity with her. To give her the world. I would have never…” Regret laces his words, fills his tone and he wishes once again, that he had never changed.

“Emmanuel…” Cutting him off softly, you find yourself reaching out a hand to him even though you know you can’t touch him. It’s just instinct. “It’s—it’s done with. And…even if you had lived on? It’s…Annie died in a car accident when I was eighteen. She was still mortal, Emmanuel. Despite having such a long life. There’s just… there’s nothing that any of us can do sometimes to prevent tragedy. I know that might not be the most comforting thing in the world, but please don’t torture yourself thinking that she’s still walking the earth in pain.”

“She’s— Annie is gone?” He chokes out, the pain of knowing his soulmate no longer exists, blooming. He had thought he couldn’t feel the crushing pain of loss as a ghost after so many years of haunting Pullman House, but apparently he could. “Dolly— I— she’s gone?”

“I’m sorry.” Maybe you should have eased into the news a little, but you had honestly thought it would be comforting to know she wasn’t in pain anymore. “It’s been almost fifteen years now.”

“Why am I still here?” Emmanuel asks, unable to ask the question to anyone else since he has shown up here to haunt the halls.

“I don’t know.” You tell him honestly. “I’ve…you’re the first ghost I’ve ever met.”

He nods and his eyes slide over to Max and JJ. “Is he—?” He asks, eyes longing as they look at the child. The child that in his mind, should be his grandchild. “Are you happy?”

It almost feels rude to tell him just how happy you really are, but there is such a small chance that knowing your family is happy and healthy might actually help him somehow — and you cannot lie to your friend. Not anymore. You’ve already kept so much from him. “Yes,” you nod, knowing that Max is right behind you with JJ in his arms and that every moment your family has together is not to be taken for granted. “We’re still very happy.”

“Good.” Emmanuel smiles and looks back at the baby again. “Your son?” He asks. “He’s bright. He saw me right away.”

“He’s six months old today.” You can’t help the immensely proud way you beam when talking about your son. JJ is your pride and joy and you absolutely will talk about him from dawn until dusk. “Seeing you is…it’s the first sign of magic he’s shown. And I’m so very glad.”

“Does he...need blood?” He asks curiously.

“Some.” And you’re grateful you had been prepared for that, otherwise it would have been a very rude awakening. “But according to Cookie, Annie stopped needing blood after she stopped growing.”

“And you?” He asks, curious as to what you experienced as a child. “Did you need blood?”

“Not that I remember.” It isn’t impossible that you were given it as a baby and simply don’t remember, but even with your memory as clear as it is you don’t recall any sippy cups of blood in your childhood. “But I do take some of Max’s now. To prolong my life.”

“That is good.” Emmanuel nods. “You deserve a long life. You were always so kind to me. Even if you obviously knew what my fate was.”

“You loved my mother.” It’s as simple as that, to you at least, and again you just desperately wish you could hug him. “And you were a wonderful friend to Max and to me. You deserve as much kindness as every other good person in the world. I’m just…I’m very glad that I could be one of the people you find it in.”

“I am sorry.” Emmanuel murmurs softly. “For all the pain I cause your mother.” He’s had plenty of time to regret his change and now that he knows that he had hurt her, he is even more so.

“I wish it didn’t torture you the way it does.” It’s a sort of vain hope…or least a far-fetched one, but it is honest. “We are all of us only human, after all. Even witches and even vampires. We still make all the same mistakes and have all the same feelings.”

“I just hope that she was happy.” Emmanuel confesses. “After my time with her had ended.”

“In my memories of her, she was very happy.” It would be cruel to harp on the fact that your father was a good man and a good partner for her, and you won’t mention him at all, but you do smile reflexively. “Life when I was growing up was simple, and quiet, and happy. I can promise you that.”

“Good.” He smiles, nodding at the imagery you are producing. “That is all I can ask for.”

“You should know.” Stepping away from the topic of your mother or his regret for a moment is the gentlest thing you can think of in this moment. “Max and I…we’re helping his parents restore this house. They own it now. So we’ll be here, in and out, from now on.”

“Truly?” His eyes light up, delighted to maybe have company at some points during his existence as a ghost. “Would you— perhaps we could talk more? Not always, but some moments when you have time?”

“Of course we can talk more. And as JJ gets older, he’ll be able to talk to you, too.” His joy makes your heart ache, just like the very idea that you might not want to talk to him is absurd. “We’ve missed you, Emmanuel. Very much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” He promises with a small, sardonic smirk. “Although it’s amusing that Max cannot see me.”

“We’ll have to talk about him while he’s in the room,” you tease, throwing a grin back at your soulmate. “It will drive him crazy.”

“Don’t you dare talk about me.” Max huffs, frowning fiercely at the idea.

"Love you, babe." A grin over your shoulder tells him you're only teasing.

Max huffs and rolls his eyes. “Keep it up and I’ll start calling you ‘Manny’.” He threatens his old friend, not meaning a word of it.

“You’ll do that anyway,” Emmanuel replies, knowing his friend can’t hear him but enjoying the comfort that you can. You’re the first person to ever see him and actually hear what he says and it’s more comforting than he can possibly say.

“He says you’ll do that anyway,” you pass the message along with a grin.

Max tries to look innocent but fails miserably when he grins. “True.” He snorts and steps closer to the corner with the baby in his arms. “I can’t see you, but I’m glad that you’re— not gone.” He settles for that and shrugs. “I don’t know what to call it, but I’ve missed our billiards games.”

“It’s hard to play billiards without a body,” Emmanuel chuckles. “But maybe your wife will be kind enough to help us play chess.”

“He says I should help you play chess.” Translating between them makes you smile. Something you never expected but it warms your heart. “And I happily agree.”

“We will have to do it.” Max nods and gives a small chuckle. “No cheating though. I know you.”

That makes you snicker, but you hold up both hands in innocence. “I promise I won’t help him cheat,” you vow, wiggling your fingers in his direction. “Now, can I hold our son, please?”

“Sure.” Now that there’s no danger, Max has no problem handing over JJ to you. The boy goes easily, babbling happily and pointing at the corner.

"Sweetheart, I want you to meet somebody." Cooing to your son, you press a kiss to JJ's forehead and carry him a little closer to where Emmanuel is standing, past the table and past the chairs you had been sitting on all day. "This is Uncle Emmanuel." How much of what you're telling him is actually sinking into his curious little mind, you can't be sure. At six months old, he's definitely not piecing together a family tree in his mind. "He lives here, so we're going to be very nice to his house, okay Bud?" Picking up his little hand in yours, you grin when your son giggles approvingly. "Wave hi, Bud! Hi Uncle Emmanuel!"

JJ has learned to wave and he throws his entire body into it. Babbling and gurgling with a giant grin on his face as he damn near wiggles out of your arms.

If Emmanuel could still cry, he would have tears in his eyes. But as it is, the emotion sticking in his throat gives him away. “He is a blessing.” He manages to say, regarding the little boy in your arms.

“Yes.” You will agree to that every time, and never contest it for even a moment. “He absolutely is.”

******

Despite it being over 100 years of you sleeping beside him while he stays awake, Max doesn’t leave the bed. Too content to hold you as your breathing is nice and slow. Unless JJ is fussy and then he leaves you sleeping to handle the baby. He slips out of the bed as you groan and turn over to hug his pillow.

Your dreams have gotten slightly stranger since starting to take Max’s blood — the strangest were during pregnancy, but thank the gods that’s over — but it wouldn’t be uncommon to dream of magic or anthropomorphic anything or even create entire other universes in your mind. That makes this dream, as Max slips out of bed to rock your fussy son in his arms, all the more remarkable for being normal. Just a dream of your grandparents and parents sitting around a table playing cards like nothing had ever happened between them.

Your grandfather is the first to notice you, turning and smiling at you, just like he had your entire childhood when he visited you in your dreams. “Muñeca, you have come.” He stands and waves you over to the group.

“Yayo?” It isn’t the first time you’ve dreamt of your grandfather since he left this life, but it feels so much more real. “Am I late?”

He shakes his head and moves to gather you into a hug. “You are just on time. Come. There are others who have waited so long to see you again.”

You can see your family in the room, but at your grandfather’s bidding it’s like a veil lifts and you step further into the dining room at Chateau-sur-Mer to see your parents beaming at you as your abuela starts to deal you into their card game.

“Come sit with us.” Cookie hums in delight. “It has been so long since I have talked to you, my darling.”

“Are you…” Aware of your grandfather’s power, you don’t hesitate to go to the table, but you do look back at him before reaching out to hug your grandmother. “Are you all really here?” You ask, already choked up at the idea of it.

“After death, hard feelings are not nearly as important as family.” Annie admits, reaching out and taking your hand when you sit down. “I have so much to apologize for, sweetheart. So much.”

“You did what you thought was right, Mom.” Being able to see her again — touch her — call her Mom instead of Annie? It’s such a gift. It’s more than you ever dared to ask for, even knowing what is possible in the world. On her other side, though, you fly out of your chair to go to your father. It’s been the longest since you saw him, let alone spoke to him, because talking to the photos on your vanity at home don’t count as much.

“Hey pumpkin.” The fact that you are grown makes no difference as your father folds you into his arms and pulls you onto his lap for a hug like you are still six years old. “I have missed you so much. Been watching over you.”

“I miss you, Dad.” Such easy words to say, even as they shake through you, and you cling to him for a hug. “I miss all of you, but…gods I’m so sorry I didn’t come to see you when I was in the past. I was terrified of changing the timeline.”

“Honey, we understand.” Your father reassures you, kissing your forehead like he would have when comforting you from a bad dream. “I am just glad you got to see your mother. Your grandparents.” He pulls back and smiles at you. “Now you get to see me.”

“I wish you could’ve met Max.” Looking up and casting your eyes around the table, you soften again. “And JJ. Yayo is the only one who got to meet JJ, and you would all love him so much.”

“We’ve met JJ.” Your father admits with a smile. “Dreams, just like now, with you.”

“You can…with JJ?” It shouldn’t surprise you, not after last week’s revelation that your six-month-old can already see ghosts, but you smile in relief. “Good. I’m glad he’ll get to dream of his family.”

“We won’t monopolize his dreams.” Cookie promises. “Just drop in from time to time.”

“How are you still able to visit us?” This question is for Yayo, who is quietly looking through his hand off cards with a small smile. “If you…passed on? How do you still have your powers?”

“We are waiting.” Yayo tells you simply. “For Emmanuel.”

“Then I think you might be waiting for a while,” you tell him, guilt creeping into your voice as you look around the table. “He’s…he didn’t cross over. We’re at Pullman House right now. And he’s still here.”

“He has to forgive himself first.” Annie murmurs, looking sadly over at your father and then at you. “But he will. And then we will all be together.”

"He's heartbroken that he hurt you." It's so important for your mother to know this. To completely wrap her head around it, even if you understand that she probably forgave him long ago. "He barely even remembers when it happened. We've...talked through it. Extensively." Call it Ghost Therapy, but you had been hoping that trying to remember might somehow help him move on.

“Tell him that I— we— are waiting for him.” Annie requests, looking over at her husband, your father, and smiling. “Your father is looking forward to knowing the man that I loved before him. That I still love.”

“I…always thought you would be such good friends if you could meet.” It feels odd to admit it to your father, but it’s honest. It’s how you’ve felt since very early on after meeting Emmanuel.

“I know we would be.” Your father chuckles and looks at Annie lovingly. “She has told me about her soulmate.”

“Did they…tell you about Max, too?” It might be selfish, to wonder if they’ve talked about you and your happiness — but this is your family. Your parents and grandparents. In your heart your hope they’re at least happy for you.

“Absolutely.” He assures you with a proud smile. “I’ve watched how he cares for you, loves you.” He bites his lip. “He’s the kind of man I always hoped you would be with.”

“I wish you could visit him, too.” You admit, smiling softly. “But he doesn’t dream. Or sleep, really.”

“Yes, he’s too busy watching over his family.” Your grandmother hums in approval.

“You made a good choice, Yayo.” Of that, you can assure him. “Eddie and Allison are doing so well.”

“They are, aren’t they?” He smiles the satisfied little smirk of contentment before he picks up Cookie’s hand and kisses the back of it. “They are made for it, so I have cashed in one last favor from the devil.”

“Oh?” To hear that he had any left at all is a surprise, and you sit up at the table.

“Yes.” He hums, arching his brow and letting the moment sit just a touch longer for the dramatic effect. “They will walk the earth for eternity as soulmates.”

“Yayo.” The well of tears behind your eyes is instant, tears spilling over onto your cheeks as you think of how much that will mean to them. “You—they’ll be ecstatic,” you sniffle, wiping away the dripping tears.

“I thought they would like my last gift to them.” He nods, and holds up a finger. “But tell them that they should still treat every day as if they have just discovered each other.”

“I promise I’ll tell them.” Is it possible they don’t know yet? That it hasn’t happened? You’re certain that Allison would have called if she and Eddie had suddenly gained each other’s marks on any random afternoon. “And…” you look to your mother but have to wipe tears away all over again. “I’ll talk to Emmanuel. To tell him it’s time to finally forgive himself. Because you forgave him a long time ago.”

“I wish for him to enjoy this eternity with us.” Annie adds, nodding happily that you understand and there seems to be no hard feelings.

“I’ll tell him,” you promise again. For all the lifetimes that you knew your mother — whether she was your mother or your friend Annie — you have been able to love her through all of them. It’s oddly gratifying that you’ll be able to send her soulmate to her now. So that she can be loved all the more.

“Thank you, love.” Annie beams at you. “I am so grateful that you came back to visit during my youth. That I know you as the woman you are as well as my baby girl.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t tell you while we were there.” It would have been too much. Too complicated and too risky. But at least you had been able to know your mother for many more years.

“Oh sweetheart, I understand.” Your mother shakes her head and gives you a sad smile. “It would have changed things if I had known. And while I wish that I had not made mistakes, I did. I just hope you can forgive me for them.”

“I don’t think there’s a single person at this table who hasn’t tried a little too hard to protect the people they love.” Too much pressure, spellbinding, and accidental time travel all seem to be varying levels of the same misguided leaps into protection. It seems to be a family trait. “I understand why you did it. I’d do anything to protect JJ, too.”

“Just don’t repeat the mistakes we have made.” Yayo cautions you wisely. “Learn from our follies so you can make all new mistakes.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. The idea of all new mistakes being both daunting and very realistic. “I’m sure we will. That’s parenthood, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is.” All of the adults chuckle, well aware of their own parental mistakes and your father strokes your back gently. “You are a good mother. You will be for all the children to come.”

“I hope it will be several,” you admit with a grin. “I’m really enjoying motherhood.”

“It will be.” Yayo confirms with a knowing smirk. He has his ways of knowing that his family will be happy and healthy for generations to come.

******

The sun rises right into your bedroom window at Pullman House, bringing you out of your dream gently but without question. The baby monitor is gone from the nightstand on your side of the bed and your husband is nowhere in sight, so he must have gotten up with JJ in the night to make sure you could sleep. Sometimes he’s fussy for blood and sometimes for a bottle, but either way Max is able to take care of him.

They’re sitting together, father and son, at the table in the breakfast room when you come downstairs in your favourite old t-shirt and jeans after taking a steaming hot shower. Any chance to actually take a lengthy shower and feel human again is not something to be undervalued as a new mom, you have found.

JJ squeals happily at the sight of you and you sweep into the room to scoop him up out of his seat. “Hey Bud,” you croon, kissing his little forehead before leaning over to kiss Max as well. “Were you good for Daddy this morning?”

“Say ‘of course I was, Mommy’.” Max answers for him. “Nothing short of perfect, my son.” He winks at you playfully. “Takes after his father.”

“Mmhmm.” Even if you smirk skeptically, it’s full of nothing but love. “So that means he wanted blood last night, then?”

“So much that I’ve been thinking of creating a ‘Little Biters’ line of baby products.” He snorts jokingly. “The mascot of the line will be Cutie.”

“Mommy’s little menace,” you tease, placing another kiss on JJ’s head before moving around the kitchen to pour yourself a bowl of cereal. “I…had a dream last night.” Looking back over your shoulder, you shoot Max a meaningful look. “A family dream.”

“Really?” Max straightens up and his brow furrows slightly. He’s curious at the timing, especially since Emmanuel’s appearance. “What was it about?”

“Yayo had some messages to deliver.” Your grandfather’s mastery of the dramatic never ends. “I played cards with my grandparents and my parents and we talked.”

“Bridge?” Max asks, having spent many hours playing with your mother and grandmother back in the day.

“Of course.” The smirk on your face is because you got very good at the game over the decades. To the point where you were almost better than your abuela. “Dad and I switched out. Apparently he never quite mastered it the way you did.”

“Was this….a visit? Or a dream?” He asks seriously, knowing that stranger things are possible. He’s currently feeding one of them.

“It was a visit.” The distinct, you grant him, is important. “Apparently Yayo still has a little pull where it matters. Don’t I think this will be the last one.”

Max chuckles and shakes his head affectionately. “Of course the old bastard does.” He huffs.

“They told me they’re waiting.” The reality of it feels heavy, weighing on your shoulders like Atlas balancing the world. “They haven’t crossed over yet because they don’t want to leave Emmanuel behind.”

“That’s…sweet.” Max admits, his expression soft and yearning. He has been a little put out that he can’t see his old friend, but you have been enjoying talking to him. “Very sweet.”

"You know the old chestnut about ghosts having unfinished business?" With a bowl of cereal now in hand and enough milk to satisfy you, you sit down at the table with Max and set JJ back down in his own seat. "Mom says Emmanuel has to forgive himself so he can move on."

“Yeah?” Max shakes his head. “How are you going to convince him to do that?” He asks. “Although, telling him that Annie is waiting for him is a good start.”

"Hopefully being able to tell him directly from Mom that she has already forgiven him will give him the permission he feels like he needs to forgive himself." It's your best theory, anyway, and the fact that your friend has been so tortured over what happened for more than a century grieves you in a way you didn't know what possible. "Dad wants to meet him. Wants to wait for him, too. It’s...actually incredibly sweet."

“I told you it was.” He huffs at you playfully, reaching out and taking your hand. “Were you happy to see all of them together? Especially your dad? Since you didn’t get more time with him?”

"It was really nice to see Dad." To see him, to hug him, even if it was only in your dream. Dreams in your family have always been a little more intense anyway – but visitations are step above and beyond. "I think..." You glance up at your soulmate with a little grin. "Maybe we name the next little boy after him?"

“Next little boy?” Max perks up, considering you haven’t really talked about having more kids, and you had cursed him blue while in labor with JJ.

"I'm not saying giving birth was my favorite leisure day or anything." You snort at the idea, letting yourself enjoy a bite of your breakfast while you chuckle silently over the very idea. "But Yayo heavily implied a little insight into the timeline, and the fact that JJ will have at least a couple of siblings at some point."

“Can we start making them now?” Max asks, waggling his brows at you suggestively.

Shoving Max's arm playfully at the table, you make a soft if slightly non-committal noise at him and have another bite of your breakfast. You haven't been intimate since JJ was born and that's the longest you've gone in your entire relationship, but the doctor had been adamant that you needed time to heal and Max had agreed to follow medical advice without hesitation. "Let's see what the doc says when we get back to Newport," you tell him, that beaming grin overtaking your face again. "It took a hundred years to get JJ. Who knows how long we'll have to wait for the next?"

“That’s a hell of an age gap.” Max snorts, imagining JJ as a grandfather and becoming a big brother at the same time.

"It would be," you agree, laughing almost to yourself in silent little huffs. "Hopefully it won't take as long next time."

“Whenever you’re ready.” Max insists. He had even suggested wearing condoms when you were ready to have sex again.

"I love you." As many children as you many or may not have, as many different houses as you may live in, and as many decades or centuries as will ever pass between you -- this is the thing that holds it all together. The fuel that keeps your life going is right here at this table. And you can't help but be caught up in it a little when he slides his hand into yours and smiles. "Come on," you urge, pushing your cereal bowl away and nodding toward the belly of the house. "Come dance with me." It wouldn't be the first time he's twirled you around the dance floor at eight in the morning and you're sure it won't be the last, because the two of you never seem to tire of the waltz.

______

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jawritter · 1 year

Text

Something About Fate...

Chapter 1

Summary: Y/N has been homeless and living on the streets of Dallas, Texas since the start of Covid. Until one day, a handsome, green eyes strange notices her and turns her whole world upside down.

Warning: Homelessness, fear of sex trafficking, brief mention of past relationship. Brief mention of almost assualt.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader (eventually).

Word Count: 2700

A/N: This series is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! This series will contain mature content eventually, and therefore is unsuitable for persons under 18 years of age! Anyone under the age of 18 will be blocked for my blog! Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoy this series!

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

Y/N shivered as she pulled the thin jacket she was wearing closer to her small, underweight body. She watched in silence as the people on the street passed by her from her spot in front of the streetlamp where she sat cross legged, with her paper cup in front of her. Some would glance at her, sometimes in disgust with judgment plastered all over their faces. Some would even go as far as to actively take a step away from her to put some distance between them. Other, more kind people, would drop a few coins into her cup, most of the time with barely a glance at her.

If she was lucky, she might even have enough money to get a sandwich from the little shop she sat just across from tonight; at least, that was the goal. Then she would wander down to the park and break into the splash pad bathroom to shower in what was surely going to be a painfully cold shower, but even though she was homeless, and currently begging to eat every day, she was going to at least be clean as she could manage anyway.

She only owned a backpack full of belongings, some of which contained two changes of clothing, and on Tuesdays, she’d sacrifice eating her one meal a day to go to the laundromat and do her washing. Today was Monday, so if she didn’t want to not be able to eat for the next two days as opposed to one, tonight would have to be the night that she collected enough to get her a sub that she might be able to stretch for a few days. Which meant she had to hope and pray she could gather up enough coins to go and get something before they closed at 8 pm, it was already 6, and she was running out of time. During the winter months though, it was harder because there was already less traffic on the streets than normal, and right after the holidays, people were exceptionally tight with their money, and therefore, she missed a lot more days of eating than she cared to admit.

This wasn’t always life for Y/N. At one time, she had a job, she had an apartment of her own, she’d even planned to go to college to become a nurse. Then, covid struck, and the man she thought loved her left her for another, prettier woman, or at least that’s what the dick had told her. She lost her roommate at that point, and then covid came, and she lost her job too. The world shut down around her. No one was hiring, no one was open. She fell into a downward spiral she couldn’t come up from, and now, here she was, living on the streets, begging money from people to eat more than once a week if she was lucky.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t hirable, it was more the fact that when you fill out a job application and have no place to put down as a permanent address, it’s a red flag for businesses. They immediately don’t want to hire you, no matter how great your credentials are.

She wasn’t addicted to drugs or alcohol the way some where that lived on the same streets she did, and she quickly learned that a halfway house for women wasn’t safe when she was almost assaulted twice, once by another homeless person, then again by someone that worked for them at the shelter. But of course, who was going to believe her?

No one, the answer was no one.

She’d learned a long time ago that it did no good to cry, even though tonight it was hard not to do. Crying didn’t change things.

A crack of thunder sounded overhead, and she sighed heavily as she heaved herself upward, and made the decision to move over to the side of the building where the overhang would protect her from the impending rain at least a little. She knew this was a dangerous move, because if some customers complained about her presents, the owner may would come out and make her move, but she had to try, this was the last night she’d be able to eat for a few days, and she was starving.

Lucky for her, no one seemed to notice her sitting there that cared enough to turn her in, at least, they didn’t seem to, and she did get a few more people drop a few dimes into her cup. She almost had enough, she just needed one dollar’s worth of change, and she’d be able to eat, and then go and take her frigid shower before trying to find somewhere to sleep for the night. Somewhere dry preferably; maybe under the overpass off of I-10 even if the wind was terribly cold under there.

A large group of people heading down the sidewalk interrupted her planning, and she looked up to see some well-dressed men, accompanied by a shorter, thinner, redheaded woman walking her way, and she quickly sank back into the building’s exterior as best as she could to give them some room, and also make herself look as small as possible. It was quite obvious that this group had money. They were dressed too well. Usually, well-off people didn’t like homeless people, and Y/N feared that they would have her tossed away from her meal, especially since the tall, breathtakingly handsome, green eyed one seemed to be unable to keep himself from openly staring at her as they walked past. He little slower than his counterpart who seemed to not notice her at all as they walked into the establishment where, she watched them all make their order through the window, sighing in relief when they didn’t seem to be talking to the cashier about her.

She noticed that the handsome, green-eyed man sat on the end of the booth they were all sitting at once they placed their order, allowing the woman that was with them the safer seat against the wall. She wished she knew what it was like to have someone like that protecting her. God he was handsome. Tall, thick in all the right places. His features were striking. A strong jaw accented by just the right amount of facial hair, and if she looked hard enough at him, she could almost see a light dusting of freckles on his face. The man was a walking, living, breathing work of art; something beautiful in the dark and cold world that she lived in.

Suddenly, as if he could feel her looking at him, his astonishing green gaze turned and met hers. For a moment, she thought she saw a flash of something cross his handsome face. Sadness? Pity maybe? But whatever it was, it disappeared fast, and he was on his feet, making his way on long, bowed legs to the cashier that was leaning against the counter, texting on her phone.

A deep rock dropped into the pit of her stomach, and she bit back the tears as she slowly started to gather her things. Surely, he was going to ask her to be moved like all rich men did. Which meant that he may have been an Adonis on the outside, but on the inside, he was just as cold and ugly as everyone else in his status. Then again, maybe she was just that cursed, and it had nothing to do with what men seemed to think of her at all.

The door chimed behind her as it open, and she scrambled faster to dump the change she’d collected into her bag to hide it there, when she noticed the same dark jeans that the man was wearing inside the shop kneel down in front of her in the corner of her vision, and she froze terrified as to what was to come from him.

“Hi,” he greeted her, and shivered against the wind that billowed through the now suddenly, impressively empty street.

Y/N kept her eyes on the ground, holding her breath, unsure as to what might happen next, she was too scared to run, and honestly, he’d probably be able to grab her before she could even get away.

“Are you hungry?” he questioned, keeping his deep voice as soft as possible as he offered her a wrapped sub gingerly, and her stomach rolled loudly as she looked at his freckle dusted hand; giving her away so that she was unable to deny her situation at hand.

“Take it honey, it’s okay,” he pressed, and she reached for the sandwich with shaking hands, half expecting him to jerk it away at the last minute and laugh, but he didn’t do that to her surprise. He just let her take it from him with the same sad look on his face as he’d had when he’d passed her earlier while he watched her unwrap it with trembling fingers.

She mumbled a quiet, “thank you.”

Before another word could escape his perfect, pink lips, the door to the establishment opened once more, and this time, a taller, thinner man was at the door, along with the short, red-haired woman.

“Hey Jay, Felisha needs to go back to the hot–,” the man blurted out, stopping in his tracks when he saw that his friend, ‘Jay’ was crouched down in front of the homeless girl that loitered the side of the building, and Y/N could have sworn a slight panic crossed his features. “Is—is everything okay?” He questioned him, and the man in front of her just nodded, not taking his eyes off of Y/N, who was now cowering slightly under his sharp gaze, and away from the man that had just come out of the door.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, you guys go ahead,” he said, reaching out to take the sandwich the man at the door offered him, “I’ll catch up to you guys.”

“Jensen,” the woman, Felisha said, taking a tentative step forward, but Jensen, which was apparently the handsome man’s name, and ‘Jay’ was just a nickname, held his hand up to stop her as Y/N slid back a little further on against the wall away from the three of them, suddenly, she felt trapped.

She’d heard of sex traffickers capturing younger, or young, women on the streets, and suddenly, she was afraid this was just that.

“No, you’re scaring her,” Jensen voiced in an authoritative tone, and his friends took a step backward to give them some room. “You two go on back to the convention. I’ll meet you there, I promise, I just wanna make sure she’s okay.”

The tall man wrapped his arm around the woman’s shoulders and nodded at his friend before they both started back towards where they’d came from, leaving her alone with Jensen, and Felisha looking back over her shoulder as they went, concern etched deep in her pixie-like features.

Jensen then did something that shocked the hell out of her. Instead of grabbing her, which is what she expected him to do, he plopped himself down on the wall next to her and began to open his own food.

“What’s your name sweetheart?” he questioned, and Y/N just looked at him like a deer caught in headlights. It had been so long since someone asked her that question, a simple, ‘what’s your name,’ that she had to think about it herself.

Had she really been out here so long that she’d forgotten her own identity?

“Y/N,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain that broke loose overhead, and the loud crack of lightning that followed, causing Jensen to look away from her for a moment, and up towards the angry, dark sky.

“I’m Jensen,” he said, keeping his voice calm and low, probably to try and keep from scaring her again.

Personally, Y/N was still trying to figure the man out. Why the hell would this God of a man sitting down in the dirty street to eat his sandwich next to a homeless girl? Much less introduce himself after asking her name? Was he dangerous, should she run?

As if Jensen sensed her sudden extreme fear and apprehension, he slid a little closer to her, blocking a little of the blistering cold wind and rain with his broad back and shoulders before he continued.

“How long have you been living like this Y/N?” he asked, taking another large bite of his food, which reminded her that she had her own in her hand.

He couldn’t be that horrible. Maybe he was just an eccentric rich guy who just like to talk to homeless people? He couldn't be that bad if he was being this nice, could he? Surely if he was part of some sex trafficking ring, they would have grabbed her and made off with her by now, right?

“Almost three years,” she answered him, looking down and flinching away from the flash of lightning that lit up the street in front of them. Jensen even flinched himself this time. She knew before long, they would both have to get off the street and find shelter somewhere. Which meant she would probably never see the handsome stranger again, and that made her heart ache just a little. He was the first person in so long to show her any kindness. She hated to see him leave, even if he might be a weird sereal killer or something. At this point she’d take what she could get.

“Damn,” he murmured, a look of what she thought might be disgust crossing his face, and shame flooded her, causing her to look down at her lap in order to keep from crying.

Crying did no good. There was no point in crying.

Jensen’s phone rang in his pocket, and he quickly silenced it, not even bothering to look and see who was calling him, most likely it was his friends that had left him there with her.

Jensen looked up the street at the falling rain, and then back to Y/N’s trembling form before he stood slowly, a heartbroken look in his deep green eyes as he reached out a hand to her, determination taking control of his face, and she just stared back at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“Come on honey, it’s freezing out here, and it’s pouring, please come back to the hotel with me. I know that sounded terrible, like I’m some sort of pervert or something, but I swear I’m not,” he said, pulling a tag that said Creation Entertainment Supernatural Convention, from his back pocket and showing it to her. “My hotel is less than a block from here. I’m here for the convention, Dallas is my hometown, I’m from here. I’m not just some freak. I can’t leave you out here in this, I just can’t. I swear I’ll not lay a finger on you. I just can’t leave you alone and cold here in the rain.”

Y/N’s chest tightened as panic, and some other emotion she wasn’t sure of gripped her tight around the throat and threatened to choke her. She knew then, she had a choice to make. She could either turn down the handsome stranger, watch him walk away back to his job, leaving her to live in the squalor she found herself in, maybe survive another day…

Or she could take this man by the hand and leave with him to the hotel he was staying at, and leave this mess behind her for even just a night…

Worst case scenario, he would kill her and dump her body in a dumpster behind the place he was staying when he was done doing God knows what to her. It was a fate she knew would probably happen to her eventually if she kept living the life she was living, she wasn’t an idiot.

She was pretty certain that he wasn’t a sex trafficker, or else he wouldn't have the badge he had shown her to get into the convention.

Maybe he just wanted a good time for a night, and thought she was an easy pick up for some sick reason? Would that really be so horrible? So what if she had to sleep with him to stay the night? At least he was attractive and seemed nice. Surely he’d let her take a shower and sleep on the floor of a warm, dry hotel room, that was more than she could ask for… Even if he did kill her, what did she have to lose?

Jensen watched as she debated within herself, patient, the rain beginning to dampen his jacket and perfectly placed brown hair, but he never moved a muscle, just looked at her with the most pleading eyes she’d ever seen.

Slowly, still somewhat unsure of her own fate, she reached up and took his warm, massive hand, and he helped her to her feet.

There was no going back now, either way, she’d just sealed her fate…

“Come on darlin,” he said, slipping his jacket from his massive shoulders and over her own thin frame, not caring that the rain pelted against his side as he slowly started to guide her towards the massive hotel off in the distance. “Let's get you dry and cleaned up.”

Forever:

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe

@jensenslady79

@spnwoman

@stoneyggirl2

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@stixnstripesworld

@fullwattpadmusictree

@nancymcl

@christycreature

@whiskey-infused-dreams

@supernatural79impala

@deandreamernp

@forgetthisbull

@miraclesoflove

@slamminmine

@deanwanddamons

@rvgrsbrns

@chevyharvelle

@i-love-superhero-movies

@lyss-dw79

@magssteenkamp

@lemondropirwin

@squirrelnotsam

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@defenderrosetyler

@thecreatiivecorner

@vicmc624

@busy-bee-angel-misska

@justanotherwinchester

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@idksupernatural

@lyarr24

@emoryhemsworth

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel

@flamencodiva

@itmejado

@thoughts-and-funnies

@teresa-67

@hearteyes-j2

@peaches007

@bobbie3939

@vulgar-library

@writercole

@fairlyspnfanfic

@sexyvixen7

@spngi

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@donnaintx

@maliburenee

@the-family-business67

@agirlwithdemonblood

@captainsoldiergirl

@twinkleinadiamondsky

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@deans-baby-momma

@impalaslytherin

@perpetualabsurdity

@msmarvelouswinchester

@akshi8278

@love-jackles

@irmcpar

@pink-sparkly-witch

@deans-spinster-witchs-favorites

@herstarburststories

@mimaria420

@deanwinchesterswitch

@charred-angelwings

@pascal-rascal424

@myloversgone

@fortheloveof-jackles

@eevvvaa

@bts-spnlvr12

@jxackles

@lassie-bird

@samsgirl93

@shawnie74

@kaz11283

@mlovesstories

@ladysparks78

SAF tag list

@itsdesiree86

@evilunicorns4minions

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld

@thefemalestorywriter

@tapedeck-hearts

#something about fate #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen x reader #jensen x you #jensen x y.n #rpf #real person fiction #jawritter

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choicesficwriterscreations · 8 months

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September 2023 WOTM: lilyoffandoms

Each month CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers, and this month’s writer of the month is @lilyoffandoms. We hope you will enjoy learning more about them and their work below! The writer is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page.

This month's Writer of the Month was selected a little differently than normal. We announced that we would be selecting the WOTM from the participants in last month's Writer Appreciation Event. But the eleven writers involved all agreed the honor belonged to Lily. Lily has been a staple in the Choices community for so long, and they continuously go out of their way to support creators and spread positivity while continuing to inspire and create themselves. We couldn't think of anyone better suited for the honor, so please join us in congratulating Lily... September's Writer of the Month!

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog Name: lilyoffandoms Blog Masterlist

How do you want to be known on Tumblr? Lily is fine (they/them preferred)

1- When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played?

Best guess would be back in January of 2018. It was a joke at first since a friend saw one of their god-awful ads and said we should both try it. Next thing you know, we were both arguing over which books were better and regretting our decision to start. Though their opinions on what constitutes good books are almost as bad as the Choices ad that got us to jokingly play (and I say this most lovingly because they are awesome and I love them). I started with Most Wanted, and my friend started with The Freshman.

2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?

Oh gods! I joined back in March 2019. I know I’m a Tumblr baby by most everyone’s standards, but that feels like a really long time. I joined when Open Heart book one was released. I had lurked, reading fanfics, for a few months before biting the bullet and creating a blog and actually posting. Only joined because I was taking my editor’s advice and writing something entirely outside my norm to break a particularly bad case of writer’s block. Thought I might as well share those silly things if I was taking the time to write them. Maybe someone would enjoy them. Never did plan on sticking around, but found so many lovely people that I’ve come to call friends.

3- How did you pick your blog name?

It was lilyofchoices. My name + Choices because I am super creative like that with those sorts of naming things 😅 I changed it to lilyoffandoms when I left the Choices fandom for a bit. I’ve thought about changing it more times than I can count but I can’t bring myself to actually follow through on it. How do y’all’s change your blog name with each new book release? You are a crazy different breed of tumblr and you fascinate me.

4- Pull up the first post in your archive, and tell us about it!

I deleted the first one years ago. It was my first drabble. Currently, as it stands, the first thing in my archive is this post about Desire and Decorum, and it still makes me giggle.

5- How long have you been writing fanfiction?

I’ve only been writing fanfic since I joined Tumblr. I never really tried writing fanfic before that. Some nonfiction personal things before that but never anything like this world. It's been an adventure, to say the least haha

6- What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to write about?

My favorite book is probably Blades of Light and Shadow, book one, but there are plenty that are really close behind. This is also the book I’d say I enjoy writing for the most because it is my favorite book, contains my favorite LI, and has one of my favorite OCs (Maiele) in it.

Though recently, I’ve been writing more for Crimes of Passion because it's more of a challenge for me. It's a different vibe between the MC and the LI and it's one I don’t often explore so I’m here for that right now. But I have a sneaky suspicion once Blades 2 drops I’ll be back on my bullshit with that again.

7- Share the first fanfic you wrote with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were writing it today?

I don’t think it exists on this site anymore. Maybe in someone’s reblog? I still have it in my files. It was an Ethan x MC drabble featuring my MC, Merida. I still like it. I’d not change it cuz I’m a firm believer in writing it and don’t look back haha.

This is it:

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to form in his eyes. There it was. He had told her. Dr. Banerji was dying and Ethan was at a loss as to what was ailing his mentor and friend. Ethan stared at the young woman in front of him and then to the floor. He cleared his throat and made a small motion to turn back into Naveen’s room but froze instantly the moment he noticed her take a step towards him.

She threw her arms around him and hugged him, wishing to take away all of his pain, all of his loneliness. Silently willing him to understand that she cared for him. Cared deeply for him and much more than she should. “Ethan. I’m so sorry,” she whispered, one hand stroked through his hair while the other grasped his neck and slowly bent his head toward her shoulders as she raised herself to her tiptoes to meet him halfway.

He tensed upon feeling her arms around him. Arms, he thought to himself, that he had imagined holding him for a number of weeks now. Ever since that night spent sitting up with her watching little baby Ethan. “Merida,” he sighed as he gradually relaxed into the embrace.

She didn’t let up on the hug, squeezing him to her just a bit more tightly. God, she had wanted to comfort him when Dolores died but she didn’t know how he would respond. Now, he was facing the possibility of another friend dying and she couldn’t help herself.

He responded to the increased pressure of her hug and tightened his own hold upon her. Finding himself tracing circles up her spine and imagining what it would feel like to move his hands to tease along the skin of her back where her pants met her shirt.

Her breath caught when she felt his hands move lower. No longer making gentle movements along her spine but increasing their pressure upon her body, nearly massaging their way lower. She brought one of her own hands around to his chest, lightly bunching his white coat in her fist to try and pull him closer to her.

A loud crash echoed down the hall. “Shit!” a construction worker cursed. The two doctors jumped back from each other both staring into each other’s eyes seeming to question if they had both felt the same in the other’s arms. She blushed slightly. “I should see to my other patients. Dr. Banerji’s condition stays between us. Understand, Rookie?” he stated, his eyes narrowing. She nodded and he turned and marched down the hall.

8- What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I love asking this question of others but don’t like it asked of me. I’m so bad at self-rep and advertising my wares 😂 But if I had to pick one, I’d say this one. It was so far outside my comfort zone when it came to writing that I almost abandoned it two paragraphs in. But I’m a stubborn person, and I refused to let it beat me. Plus, I had been wanting to write a noir fic for this book since it was released. Furthermore, I adore Hayden’s work too much not to gift a little something back for all the art he shares with us, so I knew I just had to make it work.

9- Do you have a fic that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to be but found could use a little more love?

I didn’t expect last year’s Luck of the Draw fic to garner much love. Attention? Maybe. But not love and definitely not the response I got. I really enjoyed writing that one.

10- If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

Fluff. I’m a sucker for happy-ever-afters and an endless hopeless romantic. Give me the fluff. All the fluff.

I pull a lot of what I toss into my silly drabbles from real life. Always been a believer in writing, most often what you know, and sprinkle that all with a dash of the stuff you don’t as a treat. And my life is pretty fluffy thanks to my incredible partner.

However, I do so adore angst I’m just not able to write it often because it hurts more to write. But I’ll always always read it. That pain is *chef’s kisses*

11- Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?

Maiele, my Blades MC, is most definitely me coded. His whole personality, his choice of partner when it comes to personality, his constant flirting with said partner, his sense of humor, his lack of a filter most times, it’s all pretty much me. Gabriel, my CoP MC, is me when it comes to romantic gestures and Valentine’s Day. I may be a romantic, but I get weird when it’s aimed at me 😂

12- What element of writing do you struggle with most?

Editing. I refuse to do it. I hate it with the burning light of a thousand suns. Those of you that manage to edit your fics have all my admiration. I honestly don’t know how y’all do it. Doesn’t it just bore you to no end?

13- Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

I have more drafts than I care to admit. I would like to complete a series I started long ago for Ethan x Merida, but I don’t know if I’ll ever do that. I’d settle for finishing one of my drafts 😅

14- If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to read your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you recommend they read first?

Nope, haha, I’d not be able to do that. If I were that brave, I’d recommend this one maybe. I do so love Flynn. Or this one, mostly because I do so love the idea of Gabriel just pouting on the couch.

15 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing?

Not really. I mean all of em probably. I read a lot of books in a lot of genres. Mostly I use my drabbles as morning warm ups for my day job.

There are definitely fanfic writers I admire around here that encourage me to share my silly things everyday. Especially all those queer writers out there that have a rather thankless existence sometimes around here but keep sharing their stories! They are all my heroes!!

16- Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series?

Any and all of my Maiele and Tyril stories. I just love them sooooo much!!

17- Do you write original fiction?

Yes, but until recently, I wrote mostly nonfiction.

I do have a fic I began a few years back when I was still teaching. I had a student who hated their writing class, so I promised to write a short story alongside them and read it to the class like all the students had to if they gave it an honest go.

They did and so I did too, and I was asked the following year to do it again by more students and so I continued the same story. I’ve since continued that same fic, and maybe someday I’ll actually go looking to publish it.

18 - What other hobbies do you have?

I love the outdoors. Hiking, spelunking, kayaking, gardening, camping, anything and everything outdoors. My other favorite hobby, which I've done for years and years, is fencing. I still am part of a club and teach a few levels.

19 - What’s your favorite emoji?

😅 because it’s legit my state of existence at this point in life.

20: BONUS - tell us anything you’d like (if you want to).

I want to send a special shout-out to all the absolutely lovely participants of August’s writer appreciation event I hosted. I still cannot believe y’all did this for me. 😘 These are each of my favorite fics you’ve written. Thank you for making our fandom a little brighter each and every day!

@aallotarenunelma Bathed in Sunlight @coffeeheartaddict2 Moths to a Flame @karahalloway A Leviathan Surprise @jerzwriter A Mother's Journal @ladylamrian Ma Cherie @mydemonsdrivealimo Run, Run @peonyblossom We're Gonna Get Married @petiteboheme Familia @storyofmychoices Passing Shower @tessa-liam All is Fair in Love and War @trappedinfanfiction What's In a Name? Lily's Top Three Commissions can be found here:

Crimes of Passion by @javsarts

A Year of Kisses by various artists: @lethendralis-paints @cashweasel @kundool @deheerkonijn @javsarts @weetlebeetle @kollapsar @mooreaux @rosefuckinggenius @/ArtbyAinna (IG) @littlestpersimmon @callmebeem

Trystan x Noel by @rosefuckinggenius

#cfwc writer of the month #playchoices #choices the stories you play #lilyoffandoms #choices fic writers creations #choices fanfiction #choices fanart

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romaine2424 · 10 months

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Daily Blog June 21, 2023

Hi! Welcome to my first day of fandom blogging! I'm very excited about doing this and hope you'll join in on the conversation and really hope that you might start one of your own!!! So on that note, lets get going.

What I'm reading:

I'm currently re-reading The Changeling by @annerbhp. It's a canon rewrite of sort, with a big twist. Here's the summary: Ginny is sorted into Slytherin. It takes her seven years to figure out why. It's 182K from Ginny's POV. It does follow canon to a point. I read this about 6 months ago and I still think about it when writing Drarry. I now have to give Ginny a positive break-up with Harry. LOL No dissing her because she's such a badass in this story. While it's listed as Harry/Ginny, it really is mostly a Ginny story for the main story. There's follow on stories after this one that are fab too.

It starts with Year 1 and the house sorting. Ginny is surprisingly sorted into Slytherin. She at first thinks its a joke done by her twin brothers, but then reality sets in. Most of her family is devastated and she feels completely isolated. This is a Ginny you'll recognize from canon and then so much more. If you longed for more Slytherin background and lore than canon gave us, this you will love. And if you think Slytherin is dominated by the males...well this will give you a headcanon that you won't forget.

What I'm writing:

The Azkaban Letters, which I'm so far behind on I want to cry. It's a 2007 WIP I started right before HPDH came out. So it's canon divergent after HBP. I did edit the first 7 to be more in line with canon and post canon. My issue is I have too much in my head and too many ideas to get down on paper...er on the computer. When I stopped writing it in 2007, I had posted the first 7 chapters on The Hex Files. It came over to AO3 during the transfer and has been staring at me in the face since then. I'm now up to 16 chapters, which sounds like a lot, but there's 4 sections to the story and I'm in the middle of section 2. sigh.

Tumblr Posts of Interest:

@xanthippe74 on her blog has reposted her 2020 fic, Follow the Water in honor of summer solstice. If you have not read this fic, you are in for such a treat. Perfect summer fic. Give her post a reblog and fic some love!

@julcheninred posted on her blog yesterday that it was the 5th anniversary of Draw Drarry badly. I so love her block H/D art, and so happy we've had five years of her sharing them with us. Make sure to reblog to share the Drarry fun!

3. HDMpreg2023 has posted the reveals on A03. TWENTY fics in all. I only got to read about 1/3 of them, but whoa there are some serious gems. (If I find the Tumblr post for this, I'll add it.)

4. @lcdrarry has also posted their reveals! My apologies to the fest and authors/artists. I've only read a few this round but plan on diving into the treasure trove of Drarry. This was a new fest for me to watch when I came back to fandom. While I don't watch many movies or watch tv much anymore, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to follow/understand the stories as well as I should. I was wrong. Most I have found I could enjoy without knowing the source.

Tumblr Drarry Fic/Art Resource:

I'm guessing most of you follow @drarryspecificrecsdaily, but in case not, you should definitely follow! They post Drarry completed fics which have been posted on AO3 for the current day. I have found some amazing gems from this resource. Fics I haven't seen discussed or recced anywhere else and authors I haven't been blessed reading before.

Okay, that's it for Day 1! Hope you found something interesting. I'll be switching around the categories on a daily basis. Tomorrow, I'll be adding in Fic Rec from the way past. Feel free to comment. :)

#romaine2424 daily blog #june 2023

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grapejuicegay · 9 months

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Thai BL Favorites List Tag Game

I was tagged by @feralmuskyscentedhoepran @casualavocados @waitmyturtles (look guys! I'm actually getting to a tag game relatively fast this time!)

Favourite bl:

Could it be anything but Bad Buddy? It's my first ever bl, it changed my life, I met some of my favourite people on here because of it and it just destroys me every single day just be existing. It got me with a flying kick in the chest and I have never let go since

Favourite pairing:

I joined at such a great time in bl and I've had an absolutely wonderful amazing 2 years with so many great pairings. But I love Ink with my whole entire heart and I love both of them and just their very existence as a pairing is Such a Big Deal in the industry as a whole that it can't be anything but

My girls!!!! I have nothing more to say

More underrated actor:

I think it's a toss up between Sing Harit and Aou Thanaboon. I'm excited every time Sing has any sort of role in any show I watch. He's brilliant and SO good. Just like with Neo, he's great at comic relief and effortlessly funny but also SO GOOD in a serious role. And Aou just showed up like a year ago and maybe I'm biased because I'm obsessed with Mes and I love him as Max but I just want to see more of him.

Favourite character:

Feral. Musky Scented. Hoe. Baby Boy. King of Repression. Menace. Dimples. Pran Parakul Siridechawat. I love him so much.

Favourite side character:

Wat "you are what you eat. what you take builds who you are" Wasuwat. Just making movies and looking out for his friends and being their voice of reason in the face of the impossible pressure on all of their shoulders.

Favourite scene:

The Eclipse ep 6 beach scene!

Not just because it's such a good scene but also because it's the reason @casualavocados and I finally started talking after months of lurking around each others' blogs. Julian ily never forget the big meta 💖💖

Favourite line:

I've already yelled with @dribs-and-drabbles and @dimplesandfierceeyes how absolutely insane "I'm tired of pretending to hate you while your face has taken over my heart" is.

But also, "I can't change the world but the world can't change me either"

It's such a powerful line delivered in the sunniest of settings. It's validating and empowering and comforting. It's as big a hug as Uncle Tong gives the boys when they say goodbye.

Most anticipated bl and why:

Only Friends and 23.5 Degrees. I don't think I need to explain

Healthiest relationship in a bl:

They snipe and snark at each other constantly but the only reason it works is because they know each other inside and out. They look out for each other, they fight but they figure it out, they talk about everything. They love each other not despite of their flaws but because of them (it's literally canon!). They make me want to tear my hair out with how much they love each other.

Most toxic relationship in a bl:

I've been very very lucky so far to have watched only great to average shows. I know they exist, but not for me they don't 🥰

Guilty pleasure series:

I don't think I really have any?? Largely because guilty pleasure is usually assigned to shows that are cheesy and/or pulpy shows that you don't like to admit to enjoying because you don't want to admit to watching them at all. I just enjoy enough objectively bad media (fast and furious franchise my beloved) to not really feel guilty over anything I like anymore.

Bonus! Most underrated series:

Agreeing with both @casualavocados and @waitmyturtles on Triage and He's Coming to Me. Both of them absolutely fantastic and DEFINITELY need more attention.

This was fun! I don't know who to tag that hasn't done this already! I guess I haven't seen one yet from @dimplesandfierceeyes @respectthepetty @lost-my-sanity1 @jemmo. If anyone else wants to do this, consider yourself tagged too!

#this wasn't supposed to be 90% about bad buddy #but like what did i expect would happen #bad buddy #the eclipse #only friends #23.5 degrees #inkpa #patpran #wat wasuwat #sing harit #aou thanaboon #triage #he's coming to me #feral musky scented hoe pran #tag game

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aticklishpercivalwriter · 2 months

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About Me and the Blog

I am a 1st year college student pursuing a Bachelor's in Aerospace Engineering. If I don't post in a while, you know why. But, I'll definitely post something in advance or an update whenever I have the time. I love tickling and I am 90% lee 🫠. Interestingly, I have never been tickled before but have always been yearning for it since I learned about it. I usually satisfy my craving by reading fanfics and looking at art which at times gives me the ticklish tingles if you know what I mean ;)

This brings me over to why I started this blog. I have been thinking of starting a tickle blog for a while now. Around 5-6 years ago. I wanted to write and join the tickle community that has always been bringing me happiness throughout my life. It's the joy, laughter, and connections that I feel when I read a fanfic or see an art piece. The Tumblr Tickle Community has a special place in my heart and I want to be a part of it.

My main inspiration and love for tickling comes from otomiya-tickles, now known as otomiyaa. Her blog has been a huge influence and one notable post she made back then when I was still exploring the community was key in making me start a tickle blog. Screenshot below 👇

Her post was a sense of relief knowing that there are other people like me that are hiding their interest in tickling. I wanted to break out of my shell since then and here I am now, proudly starting a tickle blog :) I'm not alone and there is a whole community that I can be in without being judged because we have something in common, tickling.

I want to also thank all the tickle blogs whom I've liked the content of over the years and how much your content means to me. I have read fanfics or saw artwork of a series and enjoyed it and wanted to watch the series. Avatar the Last Airbender and Dr. Stone, as examples.

A special thanks to you, the reader, for taking the time to read this and understand me and the blog a bit better. This all came from the top of my head and was a lot of information. I can't wait to make content for you all and see what else the community has in store!

#blog intro #intro post #tk blog #tword blog #tword community

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marcodiazisatransgirl · 5 months

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this is a response to a post made by a troll a while ago. they decided to call me mentally unwell when I finally snapped at their harassment. If you go back in my blog, you'll be able to find the original post.

Hey so I actually have no idea if this person is still on tumblr, I just wanted to address their points because I'm petty and don't want to leave them with the last word. I vaguely remember there being some sort of drama around this but can't remember specifics. If this sort of discourse upsets you, I'm sorry to bring negativity back to your dash.

Also if you're OP and in a bad place, just don't read this. Fucking block me, pal.

First, Breastforce claimed that their entire interest in this started from Marco in a dress from St. O's. The person asking about Marco in a dress was trying to bait Adam into saying something about the theory.

I addressed this in the original reply. Breastforce is a trans woman who identified with something she saw as potentially trans coded. It was what made her first notice things in star versus. Noticing something insignificant then connecting it to other things is how fan theories are formed. People who are intelligent notice things and make connections to other things. Like how one might notice that ships dip below the horizon instead of disappearing into dots, then use that to extrapolate that the Earth is round.

And yes, they wanted him to address the fan theory, in the same way you baited Daron Nefcy without actually telling her what you were asking about.

Most people who repeat the theory do it because of the dress, not the "dysphoria" (which is actually body dysmorphic, involving obsessive focus on a perceived flaw in appearance.)

Actually, since you weren't around when the theory was big, you have no idea why most people liked the theory. A lot of people joined because of the dress, others joined because Marco didn't like to see her body in the mirror, wore a towel in a traditionally feminine way, prefers to pee sitting down (something that is difficult and messy, I'm told), freaked out when she started to grow facial hair, started using feminine pronouns in certain situations, kept dressing as turdina when she didn't have to, etc. etc. etc. I've actrually already told you this in another post, here, but you ignored that.

I know that you're not going to believe any of this. It's upsetting to see you misgender anything

You can't misgender a fictional character. Literally you can't. There might be problematic and transphobic aspects of continuing on your way claiming a character is cis when they are confirmed not to be, but that's being transphobic, not misgendering. (I'm not accusing you of doing this just to clear that up)

especially when I've been misgendered so many times in the last 6 years.

I don't care. You don't get to use your own experiences to bully others for existing. Instead of projecting your shit onto others on the internet take some accountability, babes. You disliking something because of your own shit doesn't give you the right to harass people. Your options were block the tag and move on or harass and bully people obsessively for weeks. You chose to be a bad person.

Also your comments about my physical state don't help, making a joke out of it is cruel which is how I interpreted it.

I actually have no idea what you're talking about here. Sorry I upset you unknowingly (actually I don't give a shit about you or how you feel as we've established), but how you interpret my words is firmly your own problem. I have already addressed that I neither know, nor care about your physical state. Trying to emotionally manipulate me into feeling sorry for you is immature and petty, and I stand by that.

And being transphobic is another jump to conclusion that doesn't make either of us look.good. I'm not transphobic. I'm transgender and have had years of reflection on iit. Calling me transphobic is like a punch in the gut.

Good. As I've previously highlighted your behavior here is abso-fucking-lutely transphobic. You are being transphobic. You being transgender does not excuse you from being transphobic. Hope this helps. Since you spent weeks bullying my friends, I don't actually care about your feelings.

As far as Daron, all she said was that she always intended Marco to be the type of guy who wasn't hung up on doing some things that are typically feminine without any concerns for his masculinity. It seems from an experience she had when she was young with her best friend who was male. When I asked her if Marco was going to grow up and be a good male role model, she said yes. Twice she did.

Cool? Characters change in the making? Characters are up for interpretation? Ever heard of death of the author? Also what sort of question is "will marco grow p to be a good male rolemodel?" what was she going to respond? "No, actually, she's going to grow up to kill people and be a terrible parent." You asked her a childish question and she gave you a stock response. That means nothing?

Also, and here's the kicker - if Daron Nefcy came up to me tomorrow and said to me "Marco is a cis male" I would say to her "I don't care" and keep headcanoning her as trans, harming no one in doing so. She's trans because I say she is. She's trans because there is a lot of contextual clues that means she can be interpreted as trans very easily. Fuck she's probably my most heavily subtextually trans, trans headcanon. Some characters I headcanon as trans just because of vibes. I don't go into Marco Diaz main tags saying that Marco is trans and everyone is transphobic for having a different interpretation of her character. That would be stupid, hurtful, mean, wrong, nasty... exactly what you did.

I have come to the conclusion that you really haven't been around queer fandom long. The thing is, we don't get stories like this. We don't get to see main characters in disney shows turn out to be trans. We don't get to see ourselves in fiction at all until quite recently, certainly more recently than this fandom originated. Often, the only way we can have trans characters in the things we love is through piecing together subtext clues, often put in by creators throwing us a bone, or being queer themselves and unable to express anything more than tidbits. It's how we function, how we've always funtioned, and being so aggressively and vehemently against that is transphobic. If that's something that upsets you, than you need to educate yourself on queer theory and queer fandom spaces. I recommend starting with Jessie Gender or Philosophytube on youtube.

I won't deny I love the character a lot. I won't deny that some of the crew liked that some people saw themselves in Marco. But even if you look at the storyboard that everyone points to, it was a doll of a persona Marco already distanced himself from except for a royalty payment of $650. It was a capitalist business deal and nothing more. That's all the merch was ever about. A way to give Marco spending money during adventures. It wasn't about some secret "he's going as a she" behind everyone's back. It was all about the money. If Marco really cared about it on the level you theorize, he wouldn't have taken money out of the profits and would have done it in the best interests of the girls.

That's your point of view. You say it was about money and only money, but you can't tell me Marco wasn't emotional when she gave it up. You can't tell me that my icon isn't Marco showing real attachment and emotion towards the Princess Turdina persona. And when she finally gave that persona up, when she felt guilty about "lying", why did that come back after? Why wasn't that the last we saw of Turdina?

It's up to interpretation, which is something you have willfully ignored the whole way along. You might come back with the argument Marco likes drag, and she's just a feminine boy. But that's just one interpretation.

In conclusion I see this is misgendering. While it is a fictional character, some of the ways you've interacted with me have also been along the same lines, about me being transphobic and making light of my physical problems which is hitting below the belt.

No, it's not. It's the only way that queers could see themselves in fiction for years. Also you're projecting the rest. I didn't even know you were trans or had a disability until you brought it up.

At the end of the day, you never addressed my points: feminine men in western cartoons are a dime a dozen, trans women are nearly non-existent. We are harming no one by enjoying a theory that does have evidence to back it up. You, meanwhile, harassed and attacked people for weeks. Not just theorists like me, but people who were just posting fanart. Then, when people got fed up with you, you turned around and announced that I had mental problems.

I hope in the time since this initial drama you've grown up a bit. I hope I'm writing to a ghostblog, the owner of which is vaguely embarrassed about their actions. I hope you've found other characters to relate to, and that you've learned a bit about queer fandom. I hope you have found a canonically cis female character to interpret as a trans guy. I hope you've found real queer rep, since it's become more available. I hope you're doing well, and that you're no longer an internet bully.

Also I'm Australian, mate, swearing is part of my culture.

#discourse

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ahhhsami · 4 months

Text

AO3 Writer 20 Questions

Saw @thatonebirdwrites answer these questions focused on AO3 writers and thought it'd be fun to answer them too!

1) How do you keep getting ideas for your ship/fandom?

Day dreaming, music, and other media (books, movies, TV series).

2) Which authors inspire you in your fandom, and why are they so freakishly good?

This is the main question I wanted to answer because I wanted to just praise people and share their works!

A_M_Nicholson since I really adore their AUs and amazing vibes you get from their settings. The characters are always so interesting and they're able to maintain the characters' personalities and traits even though they are in an AU.

RaeDMagdon since her stories introduced me to omegaverse. She also cranks out solid works consistently and it's extremely impressive and admirable.

Xaibaugrove's writing makes you feel things through her words. Each chapter, paragraph, and even sentence is so well thought out and her story telling is to die for. Plus the depth and details she goes into for the surroundings is beautiful and immersive.

Tabsbee writes for Genshin Impact and I adore her style of writing and the modern AU settings she uses. Everything she posts is a banger. Plus they feed my need for more JeanLisa stories!

AnotherShotofBourbon was one of the first fic writers I ever read in the korrasami fandom. They started a series of soulmate AUs and I adore them so much! Their new works are also just as exciting!

Velvet95 has super unique and fun AUs. They're working on their sequel to a galactic sci-fi story that they had created a while ago and just as the first part, it's super enjoyable and creative!

AsamiOnTop has a behemoth of a fic (I think almost 300k words) and it's such a fun read. I loved seeing her growth from chapter 1 to the ending and it's always so admirable seeing people wrap up long fics like hers!

kittymannequin is another OG korrasami writer that inspired me to write fics myself. Whether her stories are for TLOK or Arcane or another fandom, it's always a delight to read.

tumblr blogs: @raedmagdon @xaibaugrove @tabsbee @abronzeagegod @kittymannequin @asamiontop

3) Aside from the characters of your main ship, who are the characters you love to write?

There's a handful but here are the ones that come to mind; Vi & Caitlyn from Arcane, Jean & Lisa & Beidou & Clorinde from Genshin Impact.

4) Are there pairings or tropes you know for sure you'd never write about? Which ones?

I lean away from tropes that delve into Family dynamics. Mainly pregnancy since I actually don't like babies...

5) What is your writing process and why is it cursed?

Get an idea

Jot down a rough plan

Start writing and stray instantly from the plan

Get a new plot bunny and fight with myself whether to continue what I've written or scrap it for a new shiny story

Obviously the 4th step is where things become truly cursed.

6) What is your favorite part of your writing process?

Since I write so many AUs, the world building aspects are my favorite.

7) What’s the weirdest thing you’ve had to research for a fic?

I've had to research a lot of things... but the weirdest usually revolve around bodily injuries or time period research to keep things as accurate as possible when needed. If you need to know how to prepare opium like they did in the 1800s... I got you.

8) Is there a particular writing rule you struggle with (grammar, spelling, tense, reality in general)?

Grammar 100%. But I also think breaking grammar rules are okay for vibes, bruh.

9) What was your hardest scene to write so far and why?

It's one I'm currently working on and have been for years. It's the next chapter of Start Again and I'm struggling to progress the story in a way that I like. I've written and scrapped it so many times that I've lost count at this point.

10) Have your characters ever done something you didn’t expect, changing your plot completely?

All the time...

11) If you could converse with any of the characters, who would it be and why?

It'd have to be Korra. She's got such a special spot in my heart that I don't think I could choose anyone else.

12) What are some of the tropes or themes that you find yourself returning to in your writing?

College AUs just keep coming back even when I think I've had enough of them.

13) What's your most important resource as a writer?

Other books. I don't have a book in particular, but just reading other books and fics is helpful. I've also joined a local writer's guild that has been helpful too!

14) Can you share some of your strategies for editing and revising your work?

I read/mumble my stories aloud to myself to see if things come out clunky. I also have a wonderful partner that betas the majority of my stories and I couldn't be more grateful for her.

15) Which is worse: making the summary, picking the tags, or the anxiety when you post your fic?

SUMMARY. God damn, I will spend more time on a fucking summary than the story. I will also be lazy at times and just copy and paste an excerpt if I'm at a real loss.

16) How do you define success for your fanfic - hits? Kudos? Comments? Bookmarks? Or just if you like it?

A huge factor for me is if I personally like it, BUT hits/kudos/comments are always appreciated. The goal is to share my stories with people and for them to enjoy their time reading, so it's always nice to receive all of those. I don't gauge much off of bookmarks since I often write explicit fics, which tend to be privately bookmarked or not bookmarked at all.

17) Do you have a playlist for your favorite character/ship?

I make playlists for stories/chapters. I don't do them individually for characters. I wouldn't be surprised if I have 50 or so playlists for my writing though.

18) If fan art was going to be made from your work, which fic would you pick and which fan artist would you like to create it?

When it comes to the story, I'd want the artist to do art for one that resonates with them. One that somehow inspires them. And oh man, when it comes to specific artists, I'm not sure since there are so many amazing ones. I've recently been inspired by @seijousai and am writing a story inspired by their Clorivia art. @ppyuuingles art is super wholesome and adorable. I love their JeanLisa stuff. I also have always adored @persnickety-doodles style of drawing when it comes to Korrasami. In the past I had the pleasure to collaborate with @unii-outlawed and later commissioned her. If you don't know her, then definitely check out her stunning artwork! Other amazing artists that deserve a follow are @ttanaart, @kf1n3, and @mimiendos (follow their twitter).

19) How many WIPs do you currently have?

Erm... posted on AO3 there's 20 unfinished stories BUT I also have over 100 completed ones. As for the WIPs that are written and not posted... that's also probably in the 20s. It goes back to all of the plot bunnies that I get and the battles I lose which results in partially written stories.

20) What's your advice to new fanfic writers?

Write what you want. Even if you feel that it may be niche there'll definitely be people out there that will read and enjoy it!

#long post #ao3 #writer #writers #fanfiction #writing #archive of our own #korrasami #tlok #arcane #caitvi #genshin impact

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sapphos-darlings · 2 years

Text

Hey there, m’ladies! /tips fedora

It’s Sade here! I’m writing to you now because there is, for whatever reason, a huge uptick in hate targeting detransitioning women online at this time, and that sucks. It made me think if I’ve ever been upfront here about the changes in my identity over the course of these past few years, so if I have not, I will be so now, because it is important that there is visibility for us.

When we started this blog several years ago, I was a trans man, 100%, plain and simple. I don’t remember if I had at this stage stopped taking testosterone, which I did for health reasons, as my body never agreed with hormone replacement therapy - but if I hadn’t, it would come soon after. At the time I stopped taking T, nothing about it was due to changes in my identity. HRT was making me very sick, and at this point, I’d already quit it once for the same reason, only to pick it up again after two years as I’d recovered, thinking it was a coincidence. Two years back on T and I’d learned it was not a coincidence; HRT was contributing to my ill health. I knew I would not be prescribed HRT again after stopping the treatment twice: no sane health care professional is going to look at that and go “okay, nothing to see here, go ahead and pick it up again”, so I had to make the final choice on whether I’d continue despite my ailing health, or quit it for good.

I chose to quit.

This didn’t affect how I viewed myself. I’ve experienced cross-gender identification, as they clinically call it, and dysphoria from early childhood onwards. My first instance of telling my parents that I did not want to be bought “girl toys” because I was “boyish” was around 5 or 6 years old. I’ve consistently presented in a masculine manner since childhood, and preferred the activities and expression associated with boys rather than girls, and this was not due to enforcement of gender roles in my family or immediate circumstances growing up. I’ve always been allowed to do what I wanted, within reason; for example, I was prohibited from opening manhole covers to go looking for frogs in the sewers, but climbing trees and swordfighting and carrying a bow everywhere I went, which was usually in the middle of the forest or a ditch, was fine. (I did continue to open manhole covers to go looking for frogs in the sewers despite it being forbidden, but that is besides the point.) My mum wanted a princess to doll up, but gave up on that within the first couple years of my life due to my predictable counteraction of undressing myself if I was put in a dress, or alternatively rolling in mud to ruin the outfit, or tearing it up doing unladylike things while inappropriately dressed for the occasion. I made a mess of our bathroom trying to pee like a boy, and by 10 years old, I was crying myself to sleep because I’d realised I was going to grow up into a woman, and felt like my life was therefore already over. I wanted to be a boy, and I wanted to grow up to be a man.

This dysphoria did not let up when I entered my teens, but I’m not going to write about that period of time in more detail solely because it is a very painful subject that I’m not in the mental place to revisit. To put it shortly - this was the latter half of the first decade of the 2000s, transgender experiences were not widely known or recognised, and there was no mainstream promotion of resources or information about gender dysphoria. And still I ran into one example after another: people who had gone through horrific pain, but who I immediately recognised my own experience from. During these years, I realised that I was transsexual, as it was called then, and that I had to hide it and suppress it, because if I didn’t, I would die.

It was only with the help of the other mod of this blog that I finally at 18, after moving out of my childhood home to live on my own, began to feel safe exploring my gender and my expression. With her help, I embraced my male identity, and she’s told me countless times how it was for her to witness that angry, self-destructive girl blossom into a much calmer, much more stable young man. I spent a year on my self-exploration, making absolutely certain by journaling and endlessly seeking information, that transition was the right choice for me. I asked myself all the questions, I looked up all the consequences, I wanted to know everything about transition and trans futures and trans presents and trans pasts, and I even looked into detransition to make sure I wasn’t transitioning for any of the reasons that people who regretted their choices later had.

And then, at 19 going 20, I sought out a referral to the gender clinic of my area, beginning the six months long evaluation process for a diagnosis. The criteria at that time was strict: not only did you need the two year long “real life” experience of living in your chosen gender role, but you had to pass all sorts of psychiatric and physical evaluations to qualify for it. I was recognised as traumatised, anxious and depressed, but of sound mind and with a consistent, typical history of transgender identification from childhood onwards, by all of their criteria that needed to be crossed for them to diagnose me. And I was diagnosed, and prescribed topical testosterone to start at this point.

I loved being on testosterone. I loved all the changes it was giving me, even if those were very few in reality. I felt amazing in my body, and I felt amazing as a human being, and I was genuinely enjoying myself at this time. But it started digging into my body very fast in all the wrong ways, beginning with my brain; it was exacerbating and transforming my existing mental health conditions in ways that I didn’t know how to cope with. My depression turned angry instead of sad, and my self-harm habit grew worse and more frequent with suicidal breakdowns being a fairly common occurrence. My anxiety turned into all-consuming paranoia that eventually exploded into psychotic symptoms. And my physical health was imploding - at a point, I was visiting urgent care every week with terrifying problems like the inability to swallow anything more solid than soup, I was literally choking even on ramen, and could not eat meat at all. My body was hurting, I had dizzy spells that made me unable to get out of bed, I had a recurrent UTI that came back for about seven times in the span of six months and I was living on cranberry juice and antibiotics all the way until the doctors couldn’t even find an infection anymore, my body was just so wrecked from them that I was starting to experience chronic pain when urinating.

It was my mental health that made me drop T for the first time, rather than the physical ailments. I just thought I was dying, and had no idea this was related to T at all. I’d never heard of anything like this in context of HRT at the time, so I hardly connected it, aside from guesswork regarding my bodily pains being a result of muscle growth with no proper exercise, benign things like this. I was planning my funeral, and while all of this was going on, I couldn’t keep up the routine of applying topical T every day, and I eventually realised it’d probably be healthier for me to not be on HRT at all than it would be to take it infrequently and potentially destabilising my body’s hormonal balance.

I don’t remember what happened between that point and going back on T well, only that I recovered to a degree where I was now attending a rehab program three times a week, and my life was looking up. I chose to start Sustanon injections instead of topical to avoid the previous issue with routines, should my mental health get worse again, and I am not kidding when I say that the injection was the highlight of my biweekly existence. I felt on the top of the world every day my nurse stuck that needle in my arm, and I loved living.

Two years in, my mental health was down the shitter again to the point where I could not leave the house, and my body was breaking down on me. I developed tachycardia during this time, not clinically significant enough to diagnose but significant enough to have me on what’s now looking like lifelong treatment of beta blockers. And then I started losing my hair, and it was the last straw that made me turn from clearly mentally ill to batshit crazy - I could not shower if there was light in the room, and I wore gloves to touch my body. I covered all the mirrors in the house, and never turned the lights on.

And as I said before, this was the point where I had to make a permanent choice: I either accept that this is my life, or I quit T to recover. (And save my hair.) I didn’t have long to make that choice and it tortured me for months. I did not want to stop T. I’d been on for four years combined, and I’d gotten very few changes; my voice is amazing, and I have a faint trail of belly hair, but that is just about the extent of what had happened. I had no significant bottom growth, I’d never left the typical female range on the clit/cock spectrum. To date, the best I can say for my facial hair is that I have tiny tufts of greyish, soft whiskers above my lip, and some curly pubes under my chin, around the top of my neck. Nothing on my face. And I realised - nothing that I’d gotten from T was going to go away if I stopped HRT, and staying on T was giving me nothing more, while taking away so much.

So I quit, but I did not detransition, nor did I have any intentions of doing so. I could not bear being referred to with a female name, and female pronouns made me panic at best and want to skin myself at worst. But I wanted to get better, so I started to work on that, little by little. I didn’t want to suffer, especially looking at a future where I might feminise in appearance, and besides, I did not feel safe or welcome with cisgender men, nor was I interested in hanging out with them (at all.) I’d always been a female and always felt kinship with other females, women and other; I understood them, and they understood me, and I felt safe with them which I did not feel at all with men, due to my difficult childhood and overall history. So I started to build on that - joined all sorts of sisterhoods, began to appreciate my female body for being pretty fucking amazing. (Female bodies are pretty fucking amazing. We’re made to endure and survive. Our bodies may not be strong by design, but we are hardy as fuck, and always the last woman standing when it comes to disasters like famines and long winters, and while an average woman may not be able to win a wrestling match with the average man, we will most definitely outlast him when injured or ill or starved - the odds are in our favour when it comes to persevering in this world. We were built to make it here.)

I grew up surrounded by SSA girls. I don’t exactly know how this happened, but from late preteen onwards, I was hanging out with mostly gay people, particularly gay and bisexual women. This was my community, where I truly felt I belonged. So I started digging my way back in. This is part of the reason this blog exists: we needed a place where we could uplift people like us, women like us, and individuals like myself who are on the female side of something else.

Through all of this, reconditioning myself to let go of my fear and hatred of everything feminine, and embracing my body as a beautiful thing that is working for me, not against me, I started to become more comfortable with myself. And through doing so, I started feeling more confident letting go of the male mask I’d been clinging to despite the whole of my biology being against me on it: it had taken all of my mental power to make sure I passed, every day, and every instance of not passing was crushing both in the mental sense that it reminded me of what I lacked and what hurt me all of the time, but also in the sense that it made me so incredibly afraid for my safety, and it was just not working out for me. I started dressing up the way I wanted to, chose my clothes on the basis of what was comfortable to wear and what was fun to wear, rather than whether it was hiding my form or making me appear more angular or mannish. And I felt... delivered. Freed. Amazing. People around me didn’t actually immediately attack me on sight when I didn’t pass as a man. They didn’t care. I was the only one who actually had cared if I passed or not. I started experimenting with my style, and it turned out that what was comfortable and fun for me to wear was usually female-cut shirts, fabrics used for women’s clothes, trousers that fit the female form. No longer were my shirts crawling up my throat and too stiff to ever feel unconstricted by, and no longer were my jeans biting into my hips and twenty miles too long underneath my feet. And I regained the ability to wear patterns and prints, which are forbidden in the male world. The cutest design you are allowed to wear as a man is the logo of a university you’ve never been to. Women’s clothes are fucking amazing when it comes to diversity of style, colour and design.

I did not go full feminine. I have never been feminine and I will never be. I kept my hair cropped short both because I was still paranoid about it and because I frankly do not fucking know what to do with long hair, I don’t understand hair care or hair styling and I always end up looking like a depressed mop when I let it grow out. Shaved hair is great, it looks great, and I feel great in it. (And so it’s ironic that I’m growing it out right now, for reasons wholly unrelated to femininity, and more to a deep-seated desire for a manbun which returns periodically to me every few years or so.) My clothes are at best androgynous, and I love being as butch as my bisexual ass will carry me.

Over the course of all of this happening, I also received a mental health diagnosis that changed my treatment entirely. Through trauma/dissociation focused talk therapy, I started to actually work on the problems that had been recognised this whole time, but neglected and ignored and shoved aside despite my lifelong history of being a patient in the mental health care system.

The combination of these two factors, of me easing myself back into a more natural expression and acceptance of the reality of my body alongside with proper therapy that targeted the damage underlying all of my mental health symptoms, is what ultimately led to me realising that I feel fine as a woman.

I’m not dysphoric anymore. I don’t feel all-consuming grief at the thought of growing old as a woman. I love the idea of becoming this silver-haired kickass granny one day. I am proud of being a same-sex attracted female. I prefer she/her pronouns now, because I don’t have to panic every time I’m being referred to - I don’t have to defend myself, or worry that I’ll be thrown out of the closet and into the midst of lions. I feel confident and great in my skin and my health is actually a thousand times better than it’s ever been, though it looks like I’m finally developing a long overdue case of fibromyalgia, but hey, maybe it’s Maybelline or maybe she’s got long COVID, we just don’t know (yet).

I don’t hate any of the changes I got on T and I would have loved to get more, but on certain parts, I’m glad I didn’t. I already mentioned I wouldn’t know what to do with my hair if my life depended on it, just imagine what it’d be like if I was growing a beard. I was also very much right on the count of “nothing that I got will go away”, because I’m still a hairy beast with whiskers and a deliciously dark voice, but I’ve got a ton of range on that now and I’m so happy with the sex characteristics I’ve got going for me. I don’t feel ashamed of my body, and somehow in the same vein I’ve been released from the confines of conventional beauty standards, because I am very much the epitome of ugly if you ask the mainstream media, and I fucking love it, and want to be even more so. I am hairy, I am fat, I am masculine, I’m opinionated and annoying and I’m not going to apologise for any of that again.

And now, if you’ve made it this far - great, first off, but also why - I just want to add my grievances to the bottom line. Everywhere I go, detransition is assumed to equal transphobia. I give no two fucks about what anybody else in this world does with their bodies, actually. I’ve made these choices for my own mental and physical wellbeing, to express myself as I am, and I wouldn’t unmake any of them if I was given a do-over of the whole deal. I am incredibly fucking tired however of being asked, repeatedly, if I hate all trans people, or if I really think all trans people are deluded. I have never voiced such an opinion in my life. If you believe in the slightest that detransitioning equals this ideology, then you are a victim of us-vs-them propaganda, and have fallen for a smear campaign.

We are not a hivemind of transphobes out to ruin everyone’s access to HRT and surgery. I am an individual. I am partnered with a nonbinary person, and I will never be anything but ambiguous and gender non-conforming myself. I am so left on the political spectrum that the questionnaires that come with the Finnish elections each time around keep recommending the communist party for me to vote for. I would strangle Donald Trump with his own guts and shove Putin’s underwear down his shitty little windpipe and not think twice about it, and if you need an abortion, my house may be quite far away but it does have a spare bed open for you.

I am not your terf sockpuppet. Detransitioners are not your right wing smear campaign, hellbent on criminalising the LGBT. We are you. None of us was more or less trans than any of the currently transitioning people are. We all have our own stories. We all come from our own circumstances. We all have our own circumstances. We all feel our own, unique ways about our transition journeys, as well as our detransition ones.

Please do not ostracise and abuse us because our stories seem scary to you. We are not your enemy.

#detrans #detransition #detrans kinksters feel free to drown yourself in the toilet if you so much as twitch towards this post #thank you for your continued cooperation #mod sade

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