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mikkomacko · 1 year

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Jersey Leeds

Nico Hischier x Reader

Summary: Nico's balancing the playoffs and his pregnant wife who's due any day now.

A/n: This one got away from me and is now way longer than I intended. But it's so cute so I hope you all love it.

Typically, you're a very calm and easy going person. You don't go out of your way to make life difficult or feel the need to voice your every thought and opinion. Not that there's anything wrong with it, it's just not who you are.

Which is why you went along with the rule Nico had established after the regular season closed out. Your due date was growing closer and closer, a month turned to 3 weeks, and then 2 weeks, and then Nico was pulling his hair out trying to keep calm. He was about to captain his way through the post season for the first time all while trying to be a father for the first time?

At the recommendation of your doctor (and some online advice), Nico had kindly begged you to stay home for the playoff games in New Jersey. He didn't want you in such a wild and stressful environment, didn't want to risk you being around a crowd of fans that have been deprived of playoff hockey for years. It's their first season back in the post season after the rebuild, he'd told you, and he didn't know what to expect. The last thing he wanted to worry about was you and the baby somewhere in the stands while he was on the ice. Especially for a rivalry round against the Rangers. Things get out of control, he also said, what if something happened to you?

So you agreed. You spent the entirety of the first round in your apartment, eyes glued to the TV and hands on the overinflated balloon that was your belly as you watched Nico fight to keep his team in. He played well, enough to keep you from going stir crazy in the living room, but you knew he was thinking about you and the baby at home. Those 2 weeks turned to one, and it was evident in his struggle to find the back of the net that Nico was holding that due date on his shoulders, right on top of the weight of a tight series. If you being at home was going to ease that weight somehow, you'd do it.

But when game 7 found its way back to New Jersey, you couldn't do it.

"Nico you can't confine me to our home!" You argue, folding the white onesie in your hands "I'm pregnant, not imprisoned. If I want to be there I get to be there." You stack it in the laundry basket, picking up the next freshly washed and dried one.

He's set aside his iPad where he had been watching film from last night's game, the screen now dark as he turns his attention to you.

"Love," he sighs, running a hand through his overgrown hair "you know how much I want you to be there. I always want you there, but this is a whole different game now. You don't know what the fans are like and I can't just let you walk into somewhere you might not be safe."

Safe. Lately everything has come down to you being safe. It wasn't any concern before now. You'd gone to every Rangers game, every Flyers game, and every high tense game before that. The organization and the fans know you, they respect you because at the end of the night you're the one taking their captain home just to send him back the next morning. You'd never felt unsafe or unwelcomed at the Rock before.

"I'm just as safe there as here," you respond, still plucking your way through the pile of baby clothes "I've been there before, I'm known there. That's my home just as much as it's yours."

Nico sits up from the headboard, pushing his iPad even further away as he too grabs a couple of bibs and socks from the pile of clothes. He's silent for a moment and you look over at him to see that he's simply holding a pair of baby socks in his large hands, lips pursed in thought. You know he's picturing the tiny feet that'll wear those socks, thinking about how they kick at his hands when he holds you and talks too loud, when he presses his own stomach into yours so he can kiss you and the butterflies that rush through your body tickle at the baby too. You know he's worried, it's his thing. He's always footed too much responsibility, even when he doesn't have to.

"I know it is," he looks up at you, brown eyes gentle and warm but tinged with fear "and it'll be her home too. But it's not yet, and it definitely won't feel like home when hundreds of blue shirts pack in there tomorrow night. You know how these games are normally baby, and while our fans take care of you, I can't promise anything else for the others."

He folds the socks together, tossing them towards the basket with a half-hearted flick of his hand. You pick the pair up and set them in with the rest, handing him the little tee-shirt in your hands. Jack had gifted it to you a week after you told the team about the pregnancy.

"Don't you think the captain should have his family there?" You prod, softly as you watch his lips twitch into a smile at the shirt. It's got the smallest little Devils logo on the front, a C stamped on the shoulder and when he flips it over to look at the 13 and name on the back you notice the way his bottom lip rattles with emotion.

"We'll get there early and stay in the box the whole time. The other girls will be there, I'll stay towards the back and I won't leave until you or someone from the team comes to get me afterwards." You promise, and while that may sound a little dramatic, you don't mind. In fact nothing sounds better than sitting in those plush chairs watching him play while the caterers bring you food and drinks. The only time you'll have to put your swollen feet to work is to go to the bathroom.

Nico runs his thumb over the white letters spelling out Baby Hischier, and you know he's given in by the slow flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks, the smallest bit of hesitance as he thinks this might be the wrong decision but what the hell?

He folds the shirt, pushing himself up from the mess of sheets and you bite back a grin as he rounds the bed to you. A smile has fought it's way onto his face, crinkling at his eyes and sinking dimples into his cheeks. God you hope the baby has that smile of his.

You reach out for him, hands finding his chest before running up to wrap around his neck. He grips the sides of your belly, drawing you closer to him until your belly button is brushing against his abdomen.

"You don't go anywhere without security," he murmurs, right hand coming up to push a strand of hair away from your face. "no dropping into the store during intermission because you wanted something last minute for the baby. And absolutely no trash talking. These fans are fist happy and I don't need you pissing them off even if you're just defending me."

You can't help but laugh. It wouldn't be the first time you'd passionately defended him in the crowd or taunted a fan after he's scored. He knows you so well. You'd never do that now, you know to keep a low profile but it's sweet that he thinks he needs to remind you.

"I promise baby," you swear, sealing it with a kiss and he cups your face to bring you in even closer. "I just want to be there for you. We want to be there for you."

His inhale is uneven, a small tremor of fear or maybe anxiety or even excitement. Maybe all three but it does nothing to wipe away the smile on his face and so you kiss him again, laughing when you feel little hands and feet nudging against his palm on your stomach. Nico keeps kissing you, trailing his lips over your cheeks and nose as you giggle again, and he presses his hand even further into your stomach.

"Yes," he huffs playfully, looking down at your belly "you girls won, I know. I'll get used to it."

You stayed as low-key as possible. Simple all black clothes, casual and comfy shoes, minimal makeup and tucked your hair up into a Devils hat and hair clip. Nico appreciated it, slipping his bracelets onto your wrists before he left and giving you a kiss after he reminded you of the rules and precautions and emergency numbers for people at the arena.

The other girls had been notified of your playoff debut and swore up and down that they'd have your back, just as you'd always had theirs. You rode in the party bus with them, hands over your belly as you laughed and caught up with everyone. You missed them lately, and a part of you was heartbroken that you didn't get the first full playoff experience with them. Even the jackets, which you'd ordered and distributed to everyone, were a jab in your emotional heart because you didn't think to get yourself one. At the time you knew you'd be staying home for the games and it didn't seem worth it. Seeing it hang in your room knowing you'd never wear it would be just awful so you didn't bother.

A part of you now wishes you had, and you could almost cry about it if you weren't so excited for the game. But when the bus rolled up to the arena and the lights came up, your happiness at being back was nothing compared to the wave of emotion that took over when the girls pulled out a giant gift bag.

It was red and sparkly, your name written on the tag in a very familiar font. You pushed aside the black tissue paper, eyes welling with tears as you pulled out the black leather jacket. The name Nico had given you last summer and his number, surrounded by bright flames. You unfolded the jacket, swiping at the tears on your cheeks while the girls laughed and cheered. A white card had fallen into your lap, the message simple and sweet.

Knew you'd need it eventually

You didn't need a signature to know who gifted you this. The writing itself was clear but the special signature on the sleeve topped with a heart instead of a 13, said it all. Nico only signed with a heart when it was addressed to you. From that first receipt at the bar you met at after he bought your drinks, to the flowers he'd had delivered to you a few weeks ago just because, that same signature always topped it off.

That's what comes to mind when he takes the ice, finding his spot on the blue line for the national anthem and you holler with the rest of the fans, tucked into the jacket he got specifically for you. The Rock is electric, every fan on their feet and every towel in the air. You keep up for as long as you possibly can but your feet quickly grow sore and tired, so you settle into a seat with a plate of food. At least until you get too into the game and jump back up to cheer with the rest of the girls.

Intermission is spent taking pictures for Instagram, showing off the jackets once again and thanking the artist. You answer texts from family and friends wishing you and Nico good luck tonight, letting you know they're tuning in to watch. An ice cream helmet and a churro are delivered to you courtesy of the security guard Nico has requested follow you at all times, and you enjoy the snack for the entirety of the second period.

With the Devils up 2-0 you feel pretty good. Nico was right, you didn't know what a playoff crowd was like and while it's overwhelming, it's also heartwarming. You can't help but think of how happy Nico must be, how much he deserves this. He's done his best all season to carry the weight of being captain of a team that's constantly left behind and forgotten. The Devils are always the underdogs, and at the front of the pack is your boyfriend, trying his best to build them up into contenders. His first point of the night is a step in the right direction, and you hope he's pulling himself out of the rut he's been in. Maybe you're just superstitious but you convince yourself it's because you're at the game.

As the minutes tick by, you grow even more happy about attending tonight's game. If you're lucky it'll even relax Nico into letting you attend round 2, and hopefully more rounds after that. But you're getting ahead of yourself.

In fact, you don't really have time to think about the next round at all because the baby's begun kicking around in your belly. At first you're amused, making a mental note to tell Nico that he's going to have a hard time keeping his daughter from the rink. But as the girls take turns feeling her kick, the sudden sharp pain in your spine and release of pressure between your legs makes you freeze.

The game grows forgotten, the food and laughs and pictures given up on. There's nothing else to think about except the fact that you are going into labor and your husband is unattainable on the ice below you.

Nico has just stepped down the tunnel when he's stopped by personnel, not even around the corner and to the locker room yet. Someone's holding a phone out to him, urging him to take it and he feels his heart drop to his stomach. Why are they looking at him like that? With those hesitant smiles and nervous eyes. He knows it's about you, it has to be and the fact that you're not down here yet let's him know something's wrong.

He rips off his helmet, holding the phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hi my love!" You greet, a little breathless but cheerful. Nico doesn't care whose phone he's got, he takes it with him towards the locker room. Why are you calling him?

"Hey darling, what are you doing?" He ignores the other boys, sitting down in his locker and untying his skates. You're not giving him any reason to be nervous but he has a feeling he should be. "Are you down here yet?"

He can hear someone else talking with you, their voice muddled through the phone but he imagines it's one of the girls. "No I'm not going down to the locker room." You carefully say "I actually already left the arena."

It's then that he recognizes the sound of a car radio and the rumble of the highway. He can feel the others looking at him, wondering why he's on the phone and already stripping out of his gear instead of celebrating with them.

"What do you mean you left?" He asks, toweling through his sweaty hair. "I told you to come down here."

Someone honks on the other line. "I know I know, but I need you to stay calm when I say this Nico."

He freezes, heart pounding in his chest but trying his best to not let it rattle in his voice. "What happened? Are you ok?"

By now Jack has picked up on the call, slowly inching towards Nico's stall with questioning eyes. "I'm fine. The baby is fine. We had a great time. So much fun that she kinda decided she wanted to watch it in person."

Nico's head spins. "What? What do you mean?"

"My water broke," you say and Nico's tossing the phone to Jack, ripping off his jersey and pads.

"Ask her how long ago." He instructs, and he hears Jack greet you before asking the question. You must talk to him for a bit because he's mouthing things and holding up fingers as you go. Nico continues to tear through his gear, half-heartedly wiping sweat off as he goes so he can get dressed.

"Five minutes left in the third," Jack recites back to him. "She took the bus here with the girls so Clare is driving her and they're about 2 minutes from the hospital."

Nico tugs on a pair of shorts and shoves his feet into the sneakers he left in his locker this morning. "She's asking that you please shower before coming here because she knows you smell awful."

He wants to laugh, knows she's teasing him to try and calm him down. It doesn't work. All he can think about is how you're in labor, that your water broke and he wasn't there to help you to the car or drive you to the hospital. He throws on a shirt, taking the phone back from Jack.

"Already dressed, I'm not showering." He's shoving things into his duffle, unsure of what he even needs or should take with him. He at least has the right sense to grab deodorant and cologne from his stall.

"Nico it's not that bad yet." You say on the other end of the phone. "Really you have the time to shower and do media-"

"Media?" He interrupts, "You're not fucking serious? I'm going to the hospital so I can be with you, not talking to the press."

He digs his keys and phone out of the side pocket of his bag, tossing it over his shoulder. He's still got the phone to his ear when he turns back to Jack. "You're on media tonight. Don't say a word about this and call me afterwards."

Jack salutes him, eyes shiny and smile wide. It's then that Nico realizes the whole room is watching him excitedly. Biting back a laugh he address you again.

"I'll be there in 5 minutes. Text me if you get into a room ok?"

"Ok Nico."

"I'll see you soon love," he says quietly, wanting to keep the sweet moment between you two. You return the sentiment, wincing slightly afterwards and he knows you're starting to feel those contractions.

"Hey," he calls before you can hang up. "Don't have that baby until I'm there."

"You got it Cap."

He hangs up, not knowing what to do with the random phone he's been given until the employee that handed it to him is shoving into the room. He quickly gives it back, double checking his pockets for everything just as reporters begin to pour into the room.

"Well boys," he finally addresses the team, looking around at their expectant faces. "We fought hard, we came out on top. And we can do it again later but for now..." Jack has found his way to Nico's side, gripping his shoulder and shaking him excitedly. "I gotta go have a baby."

Hoots and hollers bust out, Jack kisses his cheek and shoves him towards the door. He receives more taps and shoves as he goes, everyone wishing him luck as he prepares for the biggest moment of his life.

Nico's fully aware that he looks like a mess. Disheveled, sweaty, gnawing at his bottom lip as he rushes into the labor and delivery lobby. A man in scrubs spots him before he can reach the counter, obviously recognizing him.

"Hischier?" He asks anyway and Nico nods, unsure if he answers around the trembles of his breath. "Right this way, don't worry you haven't missed a thing."

That eases him a bit, enough that he's not breathing down the man's back as they disappear down a long hallway, one left turn, two right turns. Nico finds the room number you'd given him earlier immediately, almost shoving the man out of the way to get to the door. He thinks he apologizes or maybe says excuse me but the only thing running through his mind is seeing you, being there with you.

You're pacing the room when he walks in, one hand on your lower back and the other rubbing circles over your belly. Clare is standing by the side of the bed, watching you like a hawk and Nico feels better knowing she was there. His entrance draws your attention from the TV in the corner of the room, eyes meeting his and your face immediately lights up. He moves to you before you can even take a step towards him, hands reaching up to hold your flush face.

"Why are you up? Are you ok?"

He searches your face, looks for hint of agony or worry but only finds your beautiful eyes and swollen lips. You place a hand over his, laughing softly.

"I'm ok. Still dilating but it feels better to walk." You say. "I sit down for big contractions, I promise."

Nico trusts you, backing away to thank Clare for taking care of you while you continue to move about the room. She leaves to go meet Ryan, promising to check in on you in a couple hours before disappearing out of the room. He perches on the end of the bed, watching you on the edge of his seat in case he needs to get up. The TV is showing highlights of the game tonight before cutting to the locker room just in time to see Nico give his goodbye speech to the team.

Eyebrows raised, you look at him expectantly.

"What?" He asks, defensive.

"You most definitely had time to shower." You say, waddling towards him. His hands find your hips, chin tilting up to look at you just in time to see you dramatically scrunch your nose at him.

"Not a good first impression on your daughter Nico, she's going to think you're stinky all the time."

He laughs, reaching up to move a piece of hair that's stuck to the sweat on your neck. "I have clothes in the baby bag, I'll change my love."

The relief he expected to see on your face is instead one of panic. Eyes wide, mouth dropping open and you squeeze his shoulders.

"I forgot the baby bag!" You wail, throwing your head back in frustration. Nico jumps to his feet when your whine turns to a wince, your hand dropping to your stomach. He carefully turns you until you're sitting on the bed instead, one hand crushing his as you breathe through a contraction.

He waits for it to pass before digging his phone out. "It'll be fine, I'll have Jack stop and get it. The car seats already in my car, nursery set up." Nico brushes your hair back in again, inhaling and exhaling calmly with you. "We're ready for this."

You take another deep breath, eyes not leaving his and he's tries his best to look reassuring.

"We're ready," you repeat quietly "we're having a baby and we're ready."

Two hours later, after countless swear words over tearful cheeks, her hand squeezing the life out of Nico's, and a little bit of wooziness on his part, Nico's met his daughter.

She's a tiny little thing, only 6 pounds and 9 ounces. Her fingers and toes scrunched, eyes pinched shut under blonde eyebrows but after only a couple cries, she lays on your chest with a smile. And when he leans in to kiss you, blubbering something about how much he loves you and how precious she is, her little nose scrunches in distaste. Maybe he should've showered. It ends up not mattering though because she still recognizes his voice, especially when he says sweet things in German to her, and her little head tilts towards him, hands wiggling around like she's trying to find him.

As soon as she's swaddled he's taking her, cradling her to his chest in the gentlest but safest way he can. Nico's never thought of himself as impossibly strong but she's so light and so small he's afraid of holding her too tight and hurting her.

You watch him fawn over her while you get cleaned up, brushing out your hair and sponging away the sweat and blood and goop. Nico presses his nose to the top of her head, right where little strands of blonde hair have dried, and takes in the smell of her. Her faces scrunches at him again and he wants to go change and wash up so she'll stop looking at him like that but he can't bare to put her down. Even after you've settled back in the bed and the nurses have cleared out, Nico knows you want to hold her but he still takes his sweet time handing her over.

You look so sweet, so motherly when you hold her to your chest and softly stroke over her cheek. His chest alights with warmth, spreading throughout his veins and his eyes sting with happy tears. He wants to remember this forever. He fumbles for his phone, fingers shaky as he snaps a picture of you smiling widely at her. You look up at him, eyes wet with tears but so unfathomably happy and you say, "she has your nose Neeks."

She does, he realizes, taking in the sharpness of it. Your nose doesn't look like that and while his is a bit different after breaking it, hers is so similar to his. And her blonde hair, just like him. Before he'd grown up, he too had pin straight blonde hair. He imagines her with his eyes too, big and brown, seeping off warmth everywhere they look. He thinks she's so beautiful and he hopes she has your smile because that has to be his favorite thing in the world.

Perfect, his baby girl is perfect.

Nico leaves you two alone, fishing out his clothes and the baby wipes from the bag before disappearing into the bathroom. He does his best to wipe down his body with them, wanting to hurry back to his girls but in the end decides he should just rinse off in the shower there. He forgoes the hospital body wash and conditioner, simply washing his matted hair because he wants her to know what he usually smells like, not some cheap unmarked bottle stuff. He should've asked Jack to grab his bathroom stuff but it's too late now.

Toweling off and redressing in sweats and a t-shirt, Nico combs his fingers through his wet hair and let's it air dry. He put on more deodorant, forgetting the cologne because what if she doesn't like it or has some kind of reaction to it? No he'd rather her think he smells bad.

You let him hold her again when he comes back, moving over so he can squish on the bed next to you and this time when he presses her to his chest, she leans into him, lips smacking quietly as she settles in comfortably. He laughs, shaking his head because she's unable to utter a word but he already knows she's got your same little attitude.

"Nurse came by, said the boys are about to break down the doors to get in here." You say quietly. Nico laughs again, decides he should probably go get whoever's gathered out there so he hands her back to you.

"Wait," you stop him before he can get to the door, "hand me the baby bag please."

He fishes it out from the little storage closet, setting it on the end of the bed and helping you dig through it because he knows you're tired and sore. You pull out a little black beanie with a glittery Devils logo on the front, removing the pink one they put on her head and sliding the new one on. Nico tucks everything away again, taking just a second to look at you and her. You beam at him.

"She's very proud of her dad."

Nico kisses you, a real kiss this time instead of those mushy pecks he gave you earlier. Then he presses a flittering kiss to her head, promising to be back soon before he leaves to gather Jack and the others.

The lobby is packed with hockey players, squished onto the couches, hugging their knees on the floor as they chatter quietly. Nico overhears Jack talking about seeing them earlier, poking fun at how nervous Nico looked. He sneaks up behind him, grabs him by the shoulders and Jack jumps, whirling around to look at him. Nico laughs, not even getting a chance to say anything before his friend is jumping at him. He wraps his arms around him, beaming as the others rise to their feet and join in on the hug. They're all shaking him and patting his head.

"How are we feeling captain daddy?" Wood teases, ruffling his hair. Someone pinches his cheek, comments on his puffy eyes and he shrugs it off.

"Feeling like I just had the best night of my life." He admits and they cheer again. Nico gets them all to settle down and split into to two groups. He doesn't want to overwhelm you or the baby and he doubts he can bring in 15 people. The first group calmly follows him through the hall and to the room, all of them growing quite as they lightly tread into the room in a line.

You smile at everyone as they come in, the baby still cradled to your chest and Jesper is the first to tip toe over, a bouquet of balloons and a teddy bear in his hand. He sets them on the tray next to you, looking at Nico nervously.

"You can say hi," Nico chuckles and you motion Jesper closer, instructing him on how to cradle her. She barely fusses as he holds her, eyes widening and he smiles giddily at Nico. Seeing her in his arms draws the others closer and they set up a stack of cards next to the balloons, Timo settling in the chair next to you and asking about how you're doing. Jesper slowly walks down the line, letting everyone look at her.

Dawson gets a glimpse at her before his head shoots up to look at Nico. "She looks just like you!" He exclaims, loud enough that the baby stirs in Jesper's arm and he freezes. Nico laughs, walks over and reaches in to smooth his thumb over her scrunched nose. She settles back down, but Jesper's freaked enough that he eagerly hands her off to a wide eyed Jack.

"Poor kid," Jack teases, "hopefully she gets her mom's personality or she's screwed." But tears have welled in his eyes and he's staring at her so enthralled that Nico knows Jack already loves her. In fact, they're all looking at her like she's made of precious gems.

Trusting them to be careful, Nico takes Timo's seat next to you. You reach out for his hand and he holds between both of his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"You've got a good group there Captain," you say, looking over as Jack shows Woodsy how to hold her head. He grins, unbelievably happy and content in the moment. He hasn't even had a chance to think about the fact that he's moving on to the next round of the playoffs yet. But all that matters right now is his family. He can think about the game later.

"She's already got them whipped into shape." He murmurs, laughing when Woodsy moves a little too fast and she gurgles unhappily, halting him. Dougie scolds him, taking her from his arms with a disappointed shake of his head.

Jack comes over, squishes himself into the chair with Nico even though it means he's sitting half on his lap. You laugh when he wiggles his hand in alongside Nico's, fingers holding both of yours.

"Congrats mom and dad," Jack says, "I've been waiting for a baby sister. All I got was Luke."

"Where is Luke?"

He snickers. "I left him at home."

You gasp but laugh, releasing their hands to shove him. Nico shakes his head, knowing he's going to have to text the younger Hughes brother and let him know he can stop by whenever he wants.

Timo's the last to meet her, blowing little kisses at her and smiling. "Hey little captain," he whispers, just loud enough for Nico to hear. "hope you like it here because you just got stuck with the whole team."

You and Nico look around, notice that everyone is still squished around Timo watching her. They're like moths to a flame following her, inching closer to the bed when Timo hands her to Nico. Jack moves over, perches by your feet so Nico has room to hold her and be close to you.

"You didn't tell us her name," Dougie says, looking between you and Nico. The two of you had been stuck between two different names but now that she's here the decision is clear. Nico was hesitant of it at first, thought it'd be too cliche or something but she's decided for herself.

"It's Jersey," you say with an amused smile. What other name could you give the baby that had done summersaults in your belly during games and decided she wanted to join the world during her father's game and has the whole team smitten with her.

"Jersey Leeds Hischier." Nico adds and the boys all soak it in, tease him a bit for being so sentimental but he doesn't care. This is his home, it's given him everything, and no matter what happens next round or next year or in ten years from now, he wants to remember everything Jersey has given him.

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier fic #new jersey devils #new jersey devils fic #nhl fanfiction

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dreamwatch · 2 months

Text

Exposure

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

It was inevitable, honestly.

Their first professional photoshoot, not just Matty’s brother, Brian, with the family Pentax, shooting in black and white because it’s ‘artistic.’ Usually they didn’t put photographs on the flyers, just their logo, but once they moved to Indy a couple of independent labels came for a sniff of the goods and they wanted photos. Thank you, Brian, your services to photography will be forever remembered.

Once they were signed though, the label wanted professional photographs, which was fair, because honestly Gareth’s garage didn’t make the sexiest back drop. So anyway, here they were in a studio in Indianapolis getting their photographs taken, with a real professional photographer.

He doesn’t know a lot about this kind of gig, but he knows guys on TV get their makeup done all the time on account of the lights making their faces shiny, so at first it’s like, whatever. But then they’ve got them all lined up, real Metal Hammer pose, cloudy blue and gray backdrop like some extreme high school portrait, and the photographer is eyeballing him. Like hard stares. And he’s not looking him in the eye. He’s looking at his cheek.

Then the guy’s in a huddle with the makeup artist, and she’s looking at him and the photographers looking at him, and now they’ve got the assistant there.

“What the fuck is the hold up,” whispers Gareth, and the boys mutter but Eddie says nothing because he knows. He knows and he’s dying a little inside.

Then the huddle is broken, and they’re getting moved around and now Eddie’s facing a different direction (‘we can just flip the neg’) but that’s not working for them either, and the studio lights are getting dimmed on his side, and his heart is racing, and the makeup girl is in his face, “Sorry,” she says, and she’s being gentle, likes she’s trying to be respectful, but she’s painting this shit on his face, on his neck, and he can see the shock, the way her eyes go wide when she starts to move the collar of his shirt and she realises it goes further down and that’s it—

“Can you—“ he snaps, ducking backwards.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” she says all sheepish and apologetic, and she probably means it but he doesn’t care, he’s done, he wants out.

The photographer wraps it up, and he’s talking but Eddie’s not listening, he’s gone, out to the Jeff’s car waiting by the door, but they’re up in the studio playing rockstars, like they’re not driving to gigs in shitty vans, and he’s had it actually, fuck this.

He walks for an hour and then stops at Molly’s and has a few beers. And it feels stupid, at this point, like he’s over reacting, it’s a scar, and they’re in the image industry, and of course they’ll try to hide it. So what? So fucking what?

It’s dark when he finally comes up for air and heads back to their dank little apartment. The guys do that thing where they’re being casual but watching him out of the corner of their eye, but he shoos them away, he’s fine, thanks, nothing to worry about. Gets himself a sandwich and then goes to his room to sleep the day off.

He’s half asleep when he hears his door click, the dip of the bed as someone sits down. He opens his eyes, checks his watch, it’s a little after two in the morning, and when he flips over in the bed Steve Harrington is sitting next to him.

“Heard you had a day.”

“Who called you?” he asks.

Steve kicks his shoes off and slides up the bed, back against the headboard.

“Gareth. He told me what happened. It fucking sucks.”

Eddie sits up, pulls himself next to Steve. “You drove all the way here to commiserate with me on my sucky day?”

“I drove all the way here to make sure you were okay,” Steve says, like it’s nothing, like Eddie can’t feel his heart squeezing tight at the words.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, needs to process it, what to say.

“I just wasn’t expecting it you know? Which is fucking stupid, and all, but you know, when have I ever been known for my smarts?” he jokes, half assed, because none of this is funny. “It’s just… like, it was so… they looked at me like, how do we fix this? How do we make this go away? Like I was ruining the shoot with my…” he gestures to his cheek, to the jagged red scar that runs all the way down his neck.

Steve listens, because he’s good at that, doesn’t butt in even when you know he’s trying to think of ways of fixing everything.

“And like the thing is, if we make it, it’s gonna be a thing you know? It won’t be the last time.”

Eventually Steve chips in. “I know mine are easier to hide, so I don’t like, know how it is, exactly, but… but people see them and then they’ll forget about them. People look out of curiosity, you can’t stop that, but then they just, they’re not bothered, you know? Like, your fans—“

“Fans?’ Eddie scoffs.

“Yeah, fans! They’re not gonna give a fuck, man. I know that doesn’t really help, not right now, but… I think it’ll get easier.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Eddie says under his breath. He rolls his head to the side, making eye contact for the first time.

Steve kicks his jeans off and they climb under the covers, Steve’s back against his.

“You know when you’re rich and famous, first thing you need to do is get a bigger bed. This is ridiculous.”

Eddie can’t help himself, lets the giggles take him, feels Steve’s arm wrap around his waist and pull him close. He finds himself being infinitely grateful to his friends for knowing what he needed, and infinitely grateful for Steve Harrington.

#corrodedcoffinfest #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fic #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #steve harrington #cw scars #cw ableism

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shares-a-vest · 10 months

Text

@steddiemas Day 6: Baking and Cookie Decorating (Winter Wednesday)

Sicky-sweet Steddie decorating cookies from Dustin's (very irritated) POV

“Steve! What the fuck?”

“Dusty!”

He stills at the sight of his mother, materialising from behind the island countertop with a fresh tray of Christmas cookies in hand. Yeah sure, they smell delicious but Dustin still manages to make the intended disapproving face at her chiding.

Honestly, the woman swears like a sailor. She’s only scolding him because they have company. That company being Steve, who is currently standing at the counter too, piping bag in one hand and a cookie in the other as he stares back at him like a guppy.

Dustin glares. If he was still going to hang around here so much, why didn’t he just move in with them and not the Munsons when his parents skipped town?

He purses his lips. Eddie.

This all has to have something to do with Eddie. Why else would Steve be standing in the kitchen, wearing a frilly apron and looking far too pleased with himself while he and Dustin’s mother bake what can only be described as an industrial amount of Christmas cookies?

He has that look too, all angelic and innocent and cozy like an absolute dingus. The same look Steve has had on his face ever since he and Eddie announced they were an item.

A sicky-sweet, ooey-gooey annoying item.

Dustin opens his mouth to say all of that but he catches Steve catches his eye and smirks at him. Shit.

He looks at the cookies, smelling a hint of cinnamon.

Steve quickly returns to his task: shakily piping icing onto the cookie in his hand just in the knick of time as Dustin’s mother turns around.

Goddamn it, their aprons match.

Dustin pinches his nose.

“Steve wanted to make some cookies for Eddie and Wayne,” his mother explains, arranging the newly baked tray on the counter in what appears to be her typical assembly line.

“Yeah…” Steve nods, channelling any shred of concentration he has into the wobbly icing he is applying to a tree-shaped cookie a mere inch from his face.

Dustin reaches for the platter plate filled with neatly decorated cookies but his mother waves his hand away.

“I don’t get any!” he asks, “They can’t all be for Eddie!”

“No,” his mother says and he smiles as she gestures to a Tupperware container already filled, “Those are for Wayne to take for his last shift at the Plant before Christmas break.”

“And mine are…”

“Oh, Dusty!” she grumbles, “I’ll make you some another time! I thought you’d be gone all afternoon.”

“I ran out of money.”

“Poured your pocket money into trying to beat the Star Wars Flyer high score again, didn’t you?” Steve mocks, snorting a laugh as he sets a cookie on the Christmas plate.

Steve’s icing efforts are so wobbly and uneven that they look as if he has left them out on his back decking on a hot summer afternoon.

“No,” Dustin lies, “I – ”

The sound of the door out to the backyard squeaks open and Eddie skips inside like he’s a perfectly-timed sidekick from a goddamn TV show.

Dustin glares again. Bingo!

“Ms H.,” Eddie says, giving a faint salute before producing a bag of something from behind his back.

“Thank you, thank you thank you!”

Dustin watches, mouth agape as his mother makes a beeline for Eddie, takes the bag of flour (as the label says) and kisses the idiot right on his cheek.

Eddie smiles, his deceptively cherubic dimples indenting his cheeks as he flutters his eyelashes like the world’s biggest kiss-ass.

He then rounds the counter and slips onto the kitchen stool, practically knocking Dustin off his axis as he goes.

“Dusty,” he quips, straight in his ear.

“Piss off!” Dustin curses, flinging his arm through the non-existent space between them to shrug him off.

“Dusty!”

Eddie raises a hand to his chest, clutching his proverbial pearls, “So rude of you to speak to a guest like that, Dustin. And in your mother’s home!”

Steve barks a laugh, squeezing his piping bag enough that a great blob of icing plops onto a bare cookie.

“Oh, no,” he mumbles, looking down at the spillage utterly shell-shocked.

Eddie plucks a cookie from the Christmas plate, and Dustin folds his arms with a huff as he watches him hold it up without any protests from his mother.

He holds the cookie up, examining it carefully.

“Did you make this all by yourself, Stevie?” Eddie feigns wondering aloud, using that tone he does with Steve that is all flirtatious.

“With Claudia’s help,” Steve replies, smiling all sickly sweet it makes Dustin want to barf.

Again – ooey-gooey and just so goddamn annoying.

Claudia elbows Steve in the side and chuckles, “I only provided the recipe, really.”

“You’re giving away family recipes now!” Dustin complains.

“I’d hardly call Gan-Gan’s recipes sacred,” his mother defends, making a face, “In fact, I’ve changed them so much over the years, they are more mine than hers, so I can give them to who I damn well please.”

Eddie leans forward, pointedly looking at Dustin and nods in condescending agreement, his scraggly hair flopping in his face

His mother doesn’t catch it – she never does – and simply turns back to the oven. Meanwhile, Steve reaches for another cookie and hands it across the counter.

Dustin perks up until he bypasses him and hands Eddie another treat.

“Here,” he says with a flick of the wrist, “Try this one.”

Eddie again scrutinizes the treat, pouting and all considerate with the typical level of dorky theatrics Steve seems to go ga-ga for.

In rolling his eyes, Dustin regrettably glances at Steve, who is biting his lip with anticipation.

Eddie takes a bite, humming loud and rather obscenely and yet, once again, Dustin witnesses no scandalised response from his mother.

“You like it?” Steve smiles.

“Takes as good as you, sugarplum,” Eddie hums, dropping – and spitting – crumbs everywhere.

“Guys!” Dustin begs, fearing his eyes are going to roll into the back of his skull and never return, “Stop it!”

“Dusty!” now his mother stands to attention, “You can stop being so rude!”

Eddie snickers and hops up from his seat to stand impossibly close to Steve at the counter. Steve hands him the piping bag, the pair grinning at each other as they set about decorating yet another tray of Christmas cookies.

Dustin stomps his foot and marches out of the kitchen, ignoring the chorus of giggles behind him.

#sooo late with this one in my timezone 😅#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #claudia henderson #henderfam #steddie ficlet #steddiemas #claudia henderson 🐈

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klausinamarink · 1 year

Text

One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished

ok wow a lot of you really love my Eddie in the UD with Will au and want that in fruition, huh… so by popular demand here’s like a very rough oneshot. Basically a first draft that sets up the overall plot until i write a better one someday in the future

Edit: I lied, here’s the other parts (ongoing): Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 now on ao3!

Wayne doesn’t hear the news of Will Byers’ disappearance until the afternoon workers come in. Within minutes, the whole plant is buzzing with bewilderment and sympathy. But there is also an underline of fear that struck some of the hearts of the family men. Hawkins hadn’t seen any child disappearance cases, at least not since Wayne moved to the town in the last decade.

He is worried about the boy, especially for the Byers family. He doesn’t know Joyce too well, but they’ve talked plenty at Melvard’s with stories of their boys being quietly mischievous. Wayne sent a silent prayer that Will can be found soon and bring his mother peace.

He doesn’t speed the drive way home, but it’s damn close. He just wants Eddie to be home safe without some boogeyman taking him away.

Thankfully, his nephew is on the couch and watching a movie. He greets Wayne with a lazy wave, “Weren’t enough leftovers so I made some dinner. Hope you won’t die from my veggie soup.”

Wayne ruffles his hair - which had grown past his ears now - and sits next to him. “You heard about the Byers boy?”

“Hm, yeah. Everyone was talking about it. Saw Jonathan putting up the flyers too.” Eddie says, his eyes still on the TV.

Wayne puts an arm around him, making Eddie look at him. “Ya know that if you ever go missing, I’ll search even the lands of Hell for you.”

Eddie’s quiet. He stares with misty eyes, which he quickly blinks away. Then he lightly shoves at Wayne’s ribs. “‘Course, you would, old man. I’m the only family you care about.”

“Hey, don’t go disrespecting your cousins like that.” Wayne jokes back, making Eddie laugh. The two of them watch the movie in comfortable silence until Wayne has the mind to get up and shower.

—

It’s a double shift today. It means extra pay but it also means Wayne wouldn’t be home until early morning. He tells Eddie this before leaving and Eddie says it’s fine as usual, only that he had band practice so he’ll be coming home late. Wayne tells him make sure to stay safe too.

The next morning comes as the second day of Will Byers’ disappearance. Wayne is predictably sore and tired, but his mind remains sharp as stone.

It’s why he doesn’t miss that Eddie’s van isn’t parked next to the trailer.

The small pebble of concern forms in his stomach, but he brushes it off. Eddie’s been going to go to school early lately so it’s not unusual.

But that pebble feels like a rock when he heads to the kitchen and finds no note on the table.

When Wayne first took in Eddie, who was skittish and mute back then, he started writing notes and leaving them next to Eddie’s plate of breakfast. It was little things like ‘eggs are better runny’ and ‘don’t remember toast being this toasted’. A way to get the boy to slowly open up. Not only it worked, but Eddie soon started writing his own notes, mostly of jokes that always made Wayne laugh heartedly.

Even at seventeen, Eddie never missed a day of breakfast without a note.

Wayne makes himself take a deep breath. There wasn’t any reason to get worried. Eddie might’ve been tired or was in some kind of rush. But even then, he would make doodles to make up a lack of written words.

Just check him at the school. He’ll still be there, even if he’s missing classes.

So Wayne leaves and drives en route to Hawkins High, the secret bane of his existence. (Not that he’ll confess that to Eddie. His nephew already has enough of an ego.)

But as he turns at Cherry, he nearly crashes himself into the trees. Because at the corner, parked hazardously at the side, is Eddie’s van.

Wayne gets out in record time, but forces himself to a slow pace. He hopes that anger wouldn’t be on his face when he finds Eddie on the driver’s seat.

But Eddie isn’t in the driver’s seat. In fact, the door is half open. As if it was meant to close but had no force behind it. The front of the van also looks crushed in.

That pebble or rock in his gut grows bigger and heavier when Wayne spots a red handprint stained on the wheel.

Somewhere further in the woods, the search party calls out Will’s name. Wayne is the only one to call out for another.

—

Earlier

Eddie scowled at his bandaged left wrist. He mentally sent a thousand curses for Luka Belinski to jail for a thousand years. The crime? He showed off how easily he can flip his switch knife without getting cut, creating a jealous curiosity within Eddie to try and do the same action. Now his ability to play another instrument was impaired forever!

Seriously, fuck the clarinet players.

He sighed, starting up his van’s engine. He pulled out of the school parking lot, waving to a few peers as he hit the road. He waited until the school was out of view that he changed the radio to David Bowie.

He was in a bad mood. Sue him. Not that anybody can find out.

As he sang along to “Watch That Man”, he felt his left palm oddly sticky. He lifted it up and saw that some of the blood had dripped out his bandage.

“Shit-” was all he said before something crashed in the front of his van. He swore even more loudly, turning the wheel too quickly and pressing the brakes. He thought he heard a loud wail before the van went off the road and finally stopped.

Eddie shakily got out of the van, nearly falling over. His hand pressed against his chest, feeling his wild heartbeat. Before he could inspect the damage, he heard a pained growl. He whipped around and saw a thing standing up long and tall with a face that opened up like the devil’s Venus Flytrap.

What the fuck?!

He ran into the woods. Yeah, nope nope nope fuck that.

Branches snapped behind him and he felt a clawed hand grabbing the back of his jacket. He fell to the ground, screaming and kicking his legs out as he was dragged. His good hand reached out to the scratch the monster’s arm, but his nails barely dug into the gross skin.

There was a weird swoop of vertigo as if Eddie was thrown up in the air. He remained on the ground though, but not until he was actually thrown across. His back hit against a tree, knocking him out for a second.

When his vision cleared, it was to the horrific closeup of the Venus Flytrap face. Eddie opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. The monster growled, its weird toothy mouth drooling over him. He shut his eyes, hoping that he would die painlessly and that Wayne wouldn’t find his body.

Then the monster growled again, with some weird fleshy sounds. Eddie dared to peek an eye open. Its face-mouth was shut and it looked around. Then it hopped to all fours and ran off to another direction.

He forced himself to wait for a full minute before he ran again.

There were few things Eddie realized. One: he had no idea where the fuck he was. Two: he had no idea what the fuck was that thing. Three: holy shit monsters were real and he almost died. Four: was it snowing?

He slowed down his run and reached a hand out. A few snowflakes slowly landed on his fingers, but it didn’t melt or felt cold. It wavered around before he blew them off.

He looked around, trying to guess which way was the road, and saw even something more weird. There were vines practically everywhere. The ground was littered with them. They curled around tree trunks and hang off the branches. Eddie was pretty sure that none of that even existed in the Hawkins woods.

Something blurred to his far right and growled. Eddie went back to running.

He looked back to see if that monster was back and fell off a small ledge. He tumbled and rolled with a yelp, feeling one of his ankles spike in pain. He scrambled to get back on his feet and made direct eye contact with Will Byers.

Seeing the kid’s missing posters everywhere had Eddie memorize the face. Bowlcut hair with a dimpled smile and cheerful eyes. But the kid’s eyes were fearful as he hid under a den of twisted roots.

“Uh…” Eddie said because what the fuck, he just found the missing kid.

Another growl, closer this time.

Will’s eyes snapped up, gesturing wildly to Eddie. “Here, here, quick!”

Eddie crawled in record time into the root den, barely fitting next to Will. He clamped a hand over his mouth as the sounds of the monster approached right above them. It made more sniffing and growling sounds, each one sounding closer…

He glanced at Will, who held a small rock in his hand. For a second, Eddie thought if the kid was gonna hit the monster with it. Instead, Will swiftly threw the rock to his left where it landed loudly against the bushes.

The monster roared so loud Eddie thought his ears burst. It scampered off to the rock’s direction and then everything was quiet.

Will poked his head out and nodded, “It’s gone.” Then he looked at Eddie and Eddie looked at Will.

He brought his hand down from his mouth, suddenly feeling lightheaded. “Don’t tell them I listened to Bowie.”

The last thing Eddie saw and heard before fainting was Will tilting his head in confusion and asking, “What?”

— —

tagging these lovely people for their excitement over this silly au: @unclewaynemunson @steves-strapcollection @hellion-child @sidekick-hero @mmmmwaffles94 @demolitionjetstar @hbyrde36

#klaus writes #stranger things #eddie munson #wayne munson #will byers #*jazz hands* surprise #eddie and will in the upside down au

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wardenparker · 11 months

Text

Vampire Waltz - ch 6

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: 14.6k 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.* brief mentions of medical procedures/accidents, protective Max, imaginary friend nostalgia, telephone anxiety, secrets revealed. Summary: An important conversation with Max takes more sharp and unexpected turns that a labyrinth and is followed by even more revelations from another source. Notes: Again, deep apologies for the erratic posting this week. I swear we're back on track now!

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

The developing rhythm of the days is overtaken with masquerade planning, and it occurs to you somewhere in the first few days of going through decorations and flyer wording with Allison, Tracy, and Candance, that what you're doing here isn't that far off from the life of one of the Gilded Age hostesses that you're imitating with your party theme. Tonight is for relaxing, however, as Dancing with the Stars night has come around again. There was a lot of debating back and forth with yourself but here you are standing outside of Max's room at ten minutes before eight and shaking in your stylish yet affordable boots while you knock – unsure if you're hoping that he's been looking forward to tonight or if you'll be surprised if he even gave it any thought.

There is no answer after the first knock, and his door is closed, so you're left with a dilemma: try again and be disappointed when it seems as though you're being ignored...or just give up after one try and go watch your show alone like you would have done otherwise. Like you would have done before Max watched with you last week and shared a part of himself with you on that couch. Before he insisted on being your escort to the masquerade. Before he danced with you in the ballroom. Before you think he was about to kiss you. It's the culmination of everything that gives you the smallest semblance of hope, and you knock again – a little louder – only to receive no answer all over again.

With your head hanging a little lower, you take yourself to the sitting room alone and turn on the tv.

******

"Cutting it close Max." Mrs. Taylor tuts at him as Max rushes around the kitchen.

"I know, I know." He hisses as he tries to make sure the hot chocolate has the perfect ratio of cream to chocolate. Nearly burning his blood that is warming up in the process. Burnt blood stinks and he can't waste the few minutes that he has before the show starts trying to air out the kitchen. "I couldn't watch it with her without snacks, though."

"She liked the tray you brought up last week that much?" The housekeeper makes no effort to hide her smile as she cleans up the kitchen from prepping tomorrow morning's breakfast. She found a new baked French toast recipe that soaks overnight that she thinks you will love.

“She ate it.” That is a high praise in his mind because all this food tastes like shit to him. The point for him is to make you feel good.

"Then you had better get going." The clock on the wall reads three minutes until the hour and she smiles privately as Max hurries to finish when he realizes the time.

"I know, I know." As soon as the hot chocolate is on the tray, along with his own cup of blood, Max is out of sight. Using that speed to make it from the kitchen in the basement to the floor where you are in less than a few seconds. Having to take extra time to keep the hot chocolate from spilling or the snacks from rattling around too much. "Good, I made it." He huffs like he’s out of breath when he comes into the sitting room to find you already curled up on the sofa like before.

“Max?” Even though you practically jump three feet in the air when he appears — you didn’t hear him coming — the smile on your face is a complete betrayal of how glad you are to see him. With his tray of snacks in hand Once more, you immediately scoot over on the sofa to make room for him. “I…went to knock on your door to see if you wanted to watch with me again. When you didn’t answer…” you shrug instead of finishing your thought, mostly just relieved to have been wrong.

“Sorry.” Max shoots you a small grin. “I was down in the kitchen. I realized about ten minutes before that I hadn’t figured out the snack situation.”

“I wasn’t sure if after…the other night…” It was two days ago that you’d danced in the ballroom together and somehow you could still swear that you feel his hand on your back. But that’s not to be dwelled on, and you shake your head to pitch the thought away. “Never mind. Come and sit down?”

“Gladly.” Max sets the tray down and picks up the hot chocolate to hand to you. “Who’s your money on tonight?”

“Jason Mraz did really well last week, but the Marvel actress might be a ringer. It’s hard to tell if it’s that, or just that she’s young and picking it up quickly.” The smell of the cocoa is already a sense memory locked away in your mind, and you inhale happily before telling yourself it’s far too hot to take a sip right away. Mrs. Taylor had made you cocoa one afternoon this past week but — you hate to admit — it didn’t hold a candle to Max’s. “Latin Night is always fun, though. Somebody’s Cha Cha is bound to go wildly wrong.”

“Cha Cha is so hard to do when you don’t have natural rhythm.” Max snorts and waggles his brows at you playfully. “Not everyone has it like me and you.”

It feels like he’s flirting with you — if you can even remember what flirting feels like anymore — and before you can even blink your cheeks are flushed hot in response. “It’s not fair, ya know,” you mumble sheepishly. “My competitions were filmed. But…after you said it…I looked for yours. They weren’t.”

“No, they wouldn’t have been.” Max smirks slightly, pleased that you had been searching for his own videos. “Romanian Ballroom Dancing competitions aren’t filmed.” He snorts. “Kind of like Russian Ballet practices I guess.”

“Is that in case Dracula shows up?” You snort slightly at your own joke and take a first sip of the cocoa he’s brought you. It’s just as amazing as you remember and you hum happily at the rich, creamy taste.

He chuckles and shrugs. “Maybe, you never know. Or maybe it’s not filmed since vampires couldn’t show up on old film? Since it was processed with silver back in the day? Tradition, I guess.”

“Ballroom dancing vampires.” Another soft laugh escapes you and you reach for a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl he brought. “That would be a sight to see. Imagine a vampire doing a Viennese waltz? That sounds like it would be the most elegant thing in the world.”

There’s a moment where Max considers telling you. Like this is the segue into the ‘I’m a vampire’ conversation that he wants him to have with you. “Very elegant.” He hums. “As if they are gliding.” Call him a coward, but he’s gotten used to your warmth and he doesn’t want to have you terrified of him just yet.

“Maybe you should be a vampire for the masquerade, then.” It’s bold, at least for you. To joke and tease and flirt like this. For so many years this kind of behavior simply wasn’t allowable in your life. But with Max — and even with Eddie and Renee and everyone else in this house — it’s like the old parts of your personality are starting to come back to life.

“That will be easy.” Max grins. “Does that mean you’ll be the Vampire Bride?” He asks. “Big, blood red gown with a veil?”

“I bet I can find an old wedding gown at a thrift store and get some red fabric dye at the craft shop in town.” It sounds silly and light, and like the kind of thing that would have made you laugh a long time ago. What you won’t do is let yourself have any illusions about it meaning anything to Max. Eventually you’ll have to admit to yourself that you have a crush on him, but not just yet.

“You should ask Mrs. Taylor to take you to the dress room.” Max snorts. “Use one of Ms. Brown’s dresses.”

“There is a dress room?” Suddenly this knowledge is far more important than the fact that the show is starting, and your eyes widen at Max. “Is that where the dresses we wore last week came from?”

“I assume so.” Max shrugs. “One of the storage rooms in the attic is where Mrs. Taylor has everything.”

“This house is insane.” You huff, shaking your head and turning to the tv for a moment before looking back at Max. “Everybody seems to be very into vampires around here. I think it sounds fun for costumes. A—as long as you do.”

“No reason not to be into vampires.” Max snorts with a small smirk.

“I guess I’ll have to see what’s in the dress room.” Returning his smile seems so much easier than you had thought it could be, even just a few days ago.

He chuckles and nods towards the tv. “Op, here’s our first contestants on ‘Who’s Gonna Twist An Ankle’.” He adopts a smarmy TV persona voice just to see if you will laugh. It earns a snort and a giggle from you, and you pull your sweater around your shoulders and shift unconsciously closer to him. He isn’t a warmth so much as he feels safe, which is a welcome change from the brash teasing of the first few days of knowing him. “Christ, look at those heels.” Max winces when he sees the clunky shoes on the female performer. “She’s gonna break an ankle, not twist one.”

"I always liked the sequined and bedazzled sneakers on the swing dancers at my studio in high school." You muse, comfortable enough to get lost in a memory while you sip your cocoa beside him. "I swore up and down that I was going to start competing in swing, too. Just to get some."

“Those are cool looking.” He nods as he watches the screen, hyper aware of you beside him and he’s happy your pulse is nice and slow. You’re relaxed. “You know, you could always start up again. You have the perfect practice area.”

"I have nothing but time, I guess." Right now you spend all your time reading, with the girls from the coven, or planning the masquerade. You really have become like an upper-class Gilded Age lady in no time flat. "But..." Glancing over at him, you find his attention on the tv and not on you, which makes you bury your face behind the mug again. "Lessons are always...they're awkward unless you have a good partner."

“So you find yourself a good partner.” He makes it sound like the easiest thing in the world and it honestly is. It just requires you to ask him.

The moment of quiet that stretches between you is where you struggle with yourself. Personal inner strength hasn't exactly been a strong suit of yours in the last few years – or more – and you don't really know if he'll accept if you ask him anyway. Being so afraid of the question means that you start to shift nervously beside him until finally the show's first commercial break blasts across the screen and you scrub both of your eyes with the meat of your palms. It doesn't have to be romantic. You don't even know if it should be romantic at all. But you know you won't enjoy dancing with anybody else nearly as much. Not if the other night was any indication. "If you're too busy or you don't want to find a studio with me, I would totally understand..." you manage, not quite able to look him in the eyes. "But dancing with you was...it was really natural."

“It was, wasn’t it?” Max grins and turns to face you. “Like it was meant to be.”

“You…don’t mind?” That surprises you more than it probably should. Especially because he actually sounds happy about it.

"Dancing with you?" He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Why would I mind?" He asks seriously. "It was the most fun I've had in years."

“I’m just…” When you blow out a breath it feels a lot more self-deprecating than you mean it to be. You were only trying to state a fact. “Not usually people’s first choice.”

"Not people's first choice or not your ex's first choice?" Max asks, wanting to know why you think so lowly of yourself. To see how badly this asshole damaged your self-esteem.

“I already told you.” Curling in on yourself again is instinct, and your eyes drop to the pillow you’ve been holding in your lap. “The night I met him I had gotten stood up at a bar. So it’s clearly not just him.”

"Do you know who stood you up?" You had said it was a blind date, so maybe it’s one of those issues like 'fuck the dude got into a car accident' or something.

“It was a friend of a friend. Some guy that my roommate was taking her art history elective with that she said was so cute and so my type.” You shrug again, burying deeper on yourself. “She said he agreed to it and then dropped off the face of the planet. Stopped coming to class and everything. But…at the time I didn’t care as much. I’d met Derek instead.” Now though…for years now…you’ve wondered time and time again what that guy would have been like and how your life would have been different if he had showed up. “Probably took one look at me through the windows and decided he’d rather drop out than have to have a drink with me.”

Max frowns and shifts in his seat. The memory almost completely obscure and faded through time. There had been other pressing matters, other things that had consumed him that he had completely forgotten about it. He hadn't meant to, but the idea that he was supposed to meet you the day that he had been expelled shakes him to his core.

“What?” The frown on his face makes you frown even more deeply, and the impulse to smooth away the furrow between his eyebrows with your thumbs has to be squelched immediately.

"It's— it's nothing." He shrugs casually, or in a way that is supposed to appear casually. "It's not like your roommate was Shandra Taylor or something."

Now it’s your brow that furrows, the deep ridges marked with confusion. “You knew my roommate?” It’s not impossible, of course. You went to the same college during overlapping years. He could have known Shandra. She was exceptionally outgoing and kind, lots of people knew her.

Max blows out a breath, completely fabricated but he enjoys the little nuances that remind him of human life. “I knew her.” He shakes his head. “You were supposed to meet the blind date at that shitty little bar down from the dorms, right? The ones with the great wings and darts?”

“Bowen’s…” It’s not like it’s a difficult guess, considering that particular bar was a frequent haunt of Vanderbilt students. They notoriously ‘forgot’ to ID so undergrads loved it there.

Max closes his eyes and drops his head into his hand. “In October, that Friday the 13th?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer but he gives a small chuckle. “I promise you I didn’t take one look at you and run away.” He huffs. “That’s the day I was expelled.”

“Oh gods…” The way that idea twists in your gut is haunting, making you feel instantly sick as you shrink back in your seat — a move that accidentally spills cocoa on your sweater and you curse and apologize for the mess as though you’d gotten it on him and not yourself. “Fuck— sorry. I’m so sorry, I—shit—” Your breathing picks up as you start to panic, pulling off your sweater in the process and curling in on yourself on the couch beside him while your mind spirals. It was him. It was Max. He was supposed to meet you. It was Max—

“Hey, hey.” Max doesn’t know how to interpret the fact that you are about to have a panic attack, but he doesn’t like it. He takes you by the shoulders, turning you towards him and ignoring the way you flinch. Looking into your horrified eyes and trying to ignore the way his dead heart clenches, he starts to speak. “Calm down.” He tells you slowly, using his powers of suggestion. “Breathe slowly. In.” He pretends to inhale. “And out.” He slowly exhales even though air does nothing for him. “Everything is fine…”

The calm that washes over you is instant and consuming, even if being told to calm down doesn’t usually help at all. This time it seems to be the magic charm of the whole situation, and you feel yourself relaxing easily in his grip. “I’m sorry…” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut tight and slumping softly against him with your sweater balled up in your hands. “I just—I’ve spent years wondering what happened…and thinking of it as something awful that happened to me. And that’s so fucking selfish when I finally know what a terrible thing happened to you that day…”

“You didn’t know.” He reminds you quietly. His hand on your arm and stroking the back of it lightly. “You couldn’t have known. Shandra didn’t know what happened.”

“I’m so sorry.” Not a single second of your own unhappiness stands up to the way his life was basically ruined in one fell swoop, and you wish you were brave enough to push past self-consciousness and hug him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Max promises, giving you a vulnerable half smile. “You didn’t do it. I just wish I hadn’t stood you up that night. I just— I completely blanked out on it.” He admits.

"You had much more important things on your mind." Life changing things. Although now you can't imagine all the ways your life would have been different if you had met that night.

“I still shouldn’t have stood you up.” If he had known then what he knows now, there’s no way he would have missed that date. His thumb rubs over your birthmark gently.

"Sorry." The instinct is immediate once again, and you move to put your sweater back on to cover the birthmark that Derek had hated so much.

“What are you sorry for this time?” Max huffs, smirking at you slightly and not letting you move out of his embrace.

“The—my—I mean—” Letting out an exaggerated sigh at your own very clear trauma responses (you know what they are, you’re self-aware enough to realize), you shake your head when Max doesn’t let go of you. “Derek hated my birth mark,” you explain quietly. “He was completely anti-soulmate. So I got used to covering it. You just…you touched it a second ago. That’s all.”

“Probably because the motherfucker didn’t have one.” Max sneers, his opinion of your ex falling even lower than it had been, and it was in the dirt. It sounds like this asshole wouldn’t even be a man Max would eat. He would just rip his throat out. “Can I see it?” He asks quietly. This is the moment. If you say no, he won’t press. If you say yes, you’ll learn that he’s your soulmate.

“Um…sure, I guess…” It’s just an oddly shaped set of marks in your skin that your mother insisted looked like a clover, but you just always thought it was a little muddled. Maybe roughly diamond shaped if you squint. Not sure why he would care, you turn in your seat to let him see the back of your right shoulder where the marks have sat your whole life.

“There it is.” Max swallows, his mouth suddenly dry when he sees your mark as a human. “Do you think it’s more diamond or clover shaped?” He asks you, tracing it with his finger. “I always thought diamonds because they are expensive.”

“I’ve kind of thought it was more of a diamond but my—” His comment registers just a moment too late and you pause. “Always?”

His eyes watch you carefully as he nods. “Always.” He confirms softly.

“What do you…?” Straightening up again, your head tilts uncertainly.

Max bites his lip and stands up. He knows he will have to show you. Already out of his suit jacket, he starts to unbutton his vest. “Always wondered what they looked like on someone else.” He admits as he shrugs out of it and starts to undo his cufflinks.

“Max…” Watching him undo himself is a level of arousing that you hadn’t expected, but it’s far more confusing because you’re trying to wrap your head around what he’s saying to you.

“If you are disappointed, I’ll understand.” He tells you, wanting you to know that despite the marks that he shares with you, he doesn’t expect you to do anything. Not when you just got away from a monster. Ironic, coming from him.

When his shirt is finally moved aside, your gasp fills the room loudly enough to drown out even the applause on television. “Oh gods…” It’s right there — the relatively small marks look bigger on his skin but they’re unmistakable. Max is wearing your mark. “I—but—how?” You manage, holding your breath and trying to contain yourself so you don’t reach out and touch him without permission. “I lost my soulmate’s marks four years ago. How do you still have mine?”

Here comes the part that you aren’t going to believe. “There’s an explanation for it, but, you’re going to think I’m nuts.” You frown slightly, but you don’t say anything so he continues. “I—uh, I died four years ago. I mean, I was destroyed. And when I was brought back…all my tattoos and shit, scars, they were gone.”

“You…died and were brought back?” Chewing on your bottom lip, you can’t quite fathom what the hell he might mean by that but all that comes to mind is those fast-paced scenes from medical dramas. “Were you…in an accident or something?” It wouldn’t explain how his scars and tattoos are all gone unless…you suppose skin grafts would explain it. But that’s a lot of skin grafts.

“Not exactly.” He gives a wry grin, looking down at you with a small shrug. “I got staked.” It still irritates him how Evan won, but he could admit he got cocky. Made mistakes. At least he was brought back for a second chance.

“Sure. Sure. Of course.” Once it finally registers with you what he’s said, and that he’s decided to make up a story instead of telling you the truth, your heart sinks. The evidence that Max is your soulmate is right there on his skin, but as he buttons his shirt back up you frown that he clearly isn’t taking this seriously. “You were staked but somehow came back. How did I not think of that?”

He can hear the sarcasm in your voice, seeing the way your eyes clearly display your disbelief. “Well, how else do you kill a vampire?”

The way your heart clenches and then deflates is nearly instant. It’s broken without even realizing he had the power to break it. Finally seeing your birthmark on someone else’s skin has been your literal dream — and to be teased about it makes you feel like you should have just stayed in Tennessee with Derek. “Sure.” You murmur, shaking your head in disbelief and aching sadness. “You’re a vampire. Of course.”

“I am a vampire, Queenie.” Max had never flashed his fangs casually since he’s been brought back, and it feels foreign to let them slide down. Exposing the razor-sharp incisors to you.

“Fuck!” Surprised and more than a little scared, the way you jump backward on the couch would easily be called recoiling by anyone else. But it’s more about utter confusion on your part, if you’re honest. Witches exist, yes. And ghosts. And folk magic. But vampires? They were supposed to be one of those things that was fabricated by humans.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Max’s fangs disappear the second you recoil in horror. Stepping back from you to give you more space. “I just— didn’t want you thinking I was lying.” He sighs, looking down at his shiny loafers and then glancing back up at you. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Not my soulmate.”

“How…how long?” While your mind works to keep up with the information you’ve just been given, your heart aches at the way Max has reacted to your understandable shock. It’s a lot all at once and you’re reeling from overload. But evidence is evidence, and you can’t get much more concrete evidence of vampires being real than having your soulmate be one. “I— want to understand.”

Max keeps his distance, making sure that he doesn’t move. He knows that he can move quicker than you can see, or react to, but this is about making you feel safe. You haven’t run away in terror, so he’s taking that as a good sign. “When I was kicked out of Vanderbilt…the only college that would accept me was in Romania.” He tells you, snorting slightly. “You would think they wouldn’t lean into the legends, but you’d be wrong. The MBA program was run by vampires and I was— well, to graduate, you have to become one.”

“That sounds…simple.” Unexpectedly simple. In all honesty you had expected a long tale about illness or an accident and being offered the chance to pull through. Maybe it’s because of its simplicity that you’re inclined to believe it. It has none of the theatrics of good storytelling which makes it all the more likely to come from real life.

“I guess it does.” Max snorts. “My sire turned me and when I was…staked, he brought me back.” He’s surprised that you are still talking, but maybe it’s not that you don’t completely disbelieve him.

“That…seems less simple?” If you’re going to choose to believe him — which it seems like you are because you aren’t running and something in the back of your head is warming subtly but you can’t explain it for anything in the world. “Staking is supposed to be…it? That’s…in the stories, anyway?” Blowing out a breath, you sigh and trying to resettle yourself. “There are going to be a lot of questions.”

“As far as I knew, it was.” Max admits. “But he could and did bring me back. He’s a powerful vampire.”

“So…you’re…” Breathe. Remember to breathe. “You’re…not alive?” It’s almost an afterthought, the way your mind is starting to connect dots. “I guess…that explains why your hands are always kind of cold. I just figured you had bad circulation.”

“Technically.” He huffs, grinning slightly. “My heart hasn’t beat since I was changed. It won’t…until.”

“Until?” You prompt. That isn’t exactly something you just trail off on.

“There’s something that makes a vampire’s heart beat for a moment.” Max nods, as if that reinforces the statement. “A vampire’s soulmate can make their heart beat for a split second.”

To say you are incredulous would be generous, but the entire situation has you incredulous. Not just him. “I would say that I’ve never heard that before, but I’ve also only ever heard of vampires having soulmates in romance novels.”

“Well…now you have.” He wonders what you are thinking but for once, your eyes aren’t giving away what you are thinking.

“So…what is it?” You ask, shifting on the sofa a little to face him. The show and everything else have been forgotten. The only thing that matters tonight is this conversation.

“What makes our heart beat?” He asks, wondering what you would say to the answer. “A kiss.”

“As simple as that?” Years ago, you might have considered it a cheesy pickup line. Or at least cute, seasonally-themed one. But the story that Allison told you at the bonfire and the fact that Max has fangs are tied together in your mind.

“Simple as that.” He shrugs. “Or so I’ve been told. I don’t know if it’s true or not.” He bites his lip and sighs. “There’s also something else you need to know.”

“More than that you have my mark, you’re apparently a vampire, and you got revived after being staked?” More seems impossible. But considering you’re the daughter of witches living in the mansion of a mystery relative you never met who simply left you everything in her will? Sure. Let’s go for more. “What is it?”

“You know the bat that’s been visiting you?” Max shoves his hands in his pants pockets and shrugs his shoulders slightly, giving you a sheepish look.

“How do you know about that?” You know the girls from the coven haven’t mentioned it, and you haven’t told a soul. It had felt a little too silly to admit to anyone.

“Because…” he shrugs again. “It’s me.”

“It’s a bat.” Somehow this is truly the thing that you can’t wrap your head around, only associating bats with vampires because of the Dracula story — a novel. It isn’t real just like novels about witches aren’t real. The truth is always a bit different than those pages portray.

"Yeah." He nods, "a really cute bat that you call Cutie."

Your eyes widen, mouth falling open, and an instant later you’re sinking deeper into the couch in embarrassment. “That’s…how I’ve ended up in bed…” you murmur, disbelief evident in your voice. “The nights that I could swear I fall asleep on the chaise and then next morning I wake up in bed?”

"Yes." Max can see that you are curling in on yourself and he hates that. "I just— I didn't want you to be uncomfortable." He explains lamely. "I didn't – it wasn't anything, uh, touchy or anything."

It’s almost too much information, the facts at least how they have been presented to you, are working in your mind and clouding a deeply buried instinct of trust. As if the mark on your shoulder that binds the two of you together has reached into your consciousness and turned your mind on to all many of extra possibilities. Composing yourself enough to pick up the remote and turn off the tv, you blow out a puff of air like you’re somehow knocking the dust out of your mind. “I’ve…been reading to you almost every night. The bonfire at Mabon…the night last week when I just made up stories?” Every time you wake up in bed instead of in your chair. Every time he’s snuggled up to you in bat form and trilled happily, he understood every word you said to him. “That means…you saw my birthmark two days ago.”

He nods slowly, keeping his eyes on you as he tries to figure out what the fuck you are thinking. How you are coping with this. "I did." He snorts. "Damn near fell out of the air."

“This is…kind of insane.” Yet, somehow, you don’t actually think he’s lying. That is the strangest part of all.

He decides that the best way to prove this is to prove it. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and winks at you. There's no poof of smoke, no sound. One minute Max the human is standing there, and the next, Max the bat is flapping his wings in the air in front of you.

“Oh my god!” It happens so fast that you barely have time to react, but you cover your mouth with both hands and nearly shriek when your little bat friend is hovering in front of you as clear as day where Max was just standing. “Ohhh gods…it’s…it’s been you this whole time?” You manage to sound insistent and authoritative but only just.

He squeaks and then finds that he would rather talk to you as a human, so in the blink of an eye, Max is standing in front of you again. Rolling his shoulders slightly to work out the feeling of wings as he hums. "It's been me."

“Does anyone else know?” This time when you shift on the couch it’s to make room for him. If witches are real, and folk magic is real, and apparently vampires are too? Then you have questions.

"That I'm a bat? Or that I'm your soulmate?" He asks, unsure of which conversation you want to have.

“Both?” He seems to want to talk about them one at a time, though, so you swallow down your nerves and try to go about this in a rational way. “Vampire first. Soulmate second.”

"Um...." he shrugs, "Everyone?" He tells you. "I've not exactly hidden what I am. As far as the soulmate thing? No one but my sire."

“Everyone knows?” You just can’t believe that, along with everything else. It’s too out there. “Eddie knows? Mrs. Taylor knows?”

Max doesn't know if he had wanted him to tell you everything, but he's not going to lie. "They do." He nods. "Of course they know."

Suddenly the raw beef appetizers and blue rare steaks come back into your mind and you could just slap yourself for not seeing clues earlier. Although, technically? No one could blame you for not assuming your roommate is a vampire. “So you can eat regular food, then? You don’t only…drink blood?”

"I can eat regular food, but I prefer blood." Max grimaces. "Most food, like that orange cake thing the other week, tastes almost rancid. But it’s more palatable if its raw. Or has blood in it."

“Okay…” you nod slightly and are slightly mollified when he sits down beside you on the couch again. “I’m sorry if I’m asking a lot of questions, I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”

"You can ask me anything." He promises, settling out amongst the cushions and looking at you expectantly. "Hit me with your best shots."

“So…” Of all the three thousand questions in your mind, you try to pick just one to start with and end up floundering until you can pull in the thread of a thought. “You don’t speak to your family anymore but Eddie said you were adopted brothers. Does that…mean he’s a vampire, too?”

"Bingo." Max knew you were smart, that you are so much smarter than you think that you are. "We are 'brothers' because we were turned by the same vampire. But actually, Eddie is older than I am. He was turned in the nineties."

“So it’s just…non-biological family? Like your sire is your new father?” There’s something instinctively human about that, but you won’t say so. Not when you’re trying to get your facts straight.

"Kind of." He nods. "Eddie was, is more human than vampire at times. He was here before I arrived. And our sire thought he could teach me a few things. Like how to be a better human I guess."

“He eats more than you.” It was something that you had noticed and just filled away under likely useless knowledge, but Max never eats much at dinner unless it’s on the raw side and never shares the snacks he brings you. At most he’ll have a drink. A drink. You glance at his mug now and then back at him. “Is that blood?” You ask, extremely tentatively, looking back at the mug again. It’s a black mug with a lid and dark liquid inside so it’s impossible to tell what’s in it.

"Yes." He admits quickly. "Normally we would have ‘wine’ with dinner," he even uses air quotes. "So I would just be a person who preferred a dark cab. But I have to admit that I like those double walled tumblers. Keeps it warmer longer."

“That…” You groan, annoyed with yourself for having gotten in the way of things you didn’t understand. “That’s why you got upset that Mrs. Taylor hasn’t been serving wine with dinner. Not because you wanted alcohol. I’m so sorry.”

"Don't worry about that." Max shrugs slightly. "I understand why you don't like alcohol." He clenches his fist at the thought of someone hurting you in a drunken rage. Even if it was to make you cry. "It's not like you knew that the wine was non-alcoholic."

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” you promise him immediately, wanting to set things right. “It’s not fair that I get to eat whenever or wherever I want to and you can’t.”

"Don't." Max shakes his head, almost reaching out to touch you, but he's afraid you will recoil. "It's been okay with just having it in mugs or tumblers." He doesn't want you uncomfortable. It's a strange thing for him, considering his past, but Max wants to make sure that your comfort is the primary priority. "I won't die eating a rare steak."

“Max…” When he takes his hand back you instinctively feel yourself reaching forward, trying to close that gap for the two of you. Who knows if it’s more for him or more for you. “I may not…really understand this, but I do understand that even if you never want to be more than platonic soulmates, we’re still connected. And we live together. So some adjustments are going to have to get made if we’re both going to be comfortable.”

"I'm not—" He shakes his head. "I want you to be comfortable." He murmurs quietly. "I'm not a 'platonic' kind of man, right? But you— you've obviously been through a lot and despite some thinking I'm a douchebag, I'm not the type to fucking push myself on someone. Especially a woman I'm supposed to love and protect." He almost feels like he's trying to convince his parents that he didn't cheat, begging them to believe him. Instead, this time he's begging you to believe that he's not the type of man, vampire to ever push you for more than you wanted to give him.

“I want you to be comfortable.” Which puts you at an odd sort of stand still, if you’re honest, but that’s okay. At least, it’s a hell of a lot better than what you’ve had before. “I don’t want you to think that I expect anything from you. Hell, I don’t even know what I’d do if you said you wanted a relationship. It’s— I don’t expect you to say that, obviously, and I— I don’t know. Considering what I just got out of, I’m probably a terrible person to even think of like that.”

"Why?" Max frowns and shakes his head. "This asshole you were with obviously mistreated you. Abused you. You were probably emotionally detached from the relationship for months, maybe years before it ended." He had listened during the psychology classes he had to take. He had just pretended that it was just to get inside clients and competitors’ heads, to get an edge in business, but he had always been curious about the human condition. There were plenty of 'self help' books he had read during those sleepless hours. Theres only so many hours you can surf porn. "You are—" he huffs. "You're beautiful and kind. Caring. You deserve to be happy."

“Emotionally detached doesn’t mean I wasn’t still there every day. Dealing with the anger and the threats and whatever else he feels like dishing out that day. It’s just…” You want so badly to take his hand, but fear is a very real thing for you in this moment. Being unsure and afraid means your fingertips barely bump his before you’re worried about overstepping. “You shouldn’t have to deal with a partner who could crack or break down at any time. And at this point my list of triggers is a mile long. I’m broken.” And that fact has you near tears just from the simple fact of it, but you have to do your best to blink them away. “You deserve so much better than that.”

"You aren't broken." Max hisses, trying very hard to control his anger. It wouldn’t be directed at you, but at the bastard that had convinced you that you were somehow lacking because he had been. "No one broken would have the strength to travel to a new place and start their life over." He growls. "No one broken would accept the strange circumstances they are faced with. You damn sure wouldn't be as kind and giving as you are. If you're broken, you can't possibly dance the way that you do. You couldn't."

“I feel broken, then.” Sniffling quietly, you wipe away an escaped tear with the hand that isn’t near his. “And I have no idea how long it will take me to not feel that way.”

Max can't help but reach in, hating how you are crying because of him. His fingers brushing yours and he's happy that you don't pull away in fear as he wipes the tear away. "I'm a vampire, sweetheart." He reminds you with a quiet chuckle. "I've got eternity if that's what it takes."

It’s cheesy and sweet, and you crack a smile when his cold hand touches your warm skin. “Would you really do that?”

“What else do I have to do?” Max asks softly, grinning back at you. “I don’t—I was always wondering about my soulmate. I have been drawn to you.”

"I kind of...brushed it off in the beginning," you admit with a note of guilt in your voice. "Tried to tell myself if it's just that you're my type and I shouldn't think that you're cute because you're my roommate. But...this sort of changes things."

“Don’t worry about what you did or what you might do.” Max protests. “I’m not going to yell at you. Mrs. Taylor would tear me apart.”

"She might have a little trouble with that." A small chuckle escapes you, unable to believe the reality of the situation. But Max's cool hand in yours is very real proof. "With you being a vampire and all."

"Not as much trouble as you might think." After all, the housekeeper is a much older vampire than he is. He doesn't even know how long she had been working for him and Cookie.

“No!” The implication of that and the amused smile on his face has you sitting up in surprise. “Mrs. Taylor, too? Is everyone here a vampire and I was just completely oblivious?”

“We try very hard to not make it obvious.” Max excuses your oversight easily. “But you are the only person with a pulse on this estate.”

“I—” Somehow this time it’s amusing that you didn’t know instead of concerning, and you huff out a laugh. “Cookie knew, right? She had to have known.”

“Of course she knew.” Max snorts. “Hard to not know when her soulmate was also a vampire.”

You have never been so acutely aware of your breath as you are when you’re blowing out a sigh in front of a man you now know to be a vampire and you shake your head in that age-old signal of disbelief. “The story Alli told me was true, then? About the witch and her vampire soulmate and all that…gods I feel like such an idiot.”

“It’s true.” He nods, smiling slightly. “Cookie was a powerful witch. And her soulmate is my sire.” It seems like an important piece of information for you to have.

“This just gives me so many more questions.” You admit, laughing quietly. “But I guess…having a vampire for a soulmate runs in the family.”

“I guess.” He doesn’t know why he had wanted you to have a vampire soulmate, but that is a question you can ask him. “I know it’s a lot.”

"It is." And you won't pretend otherwise. That would be worse than disingenuous, given that this is your soulmate and these are the people around you. This is your entire life now. And honestly? You don't want to change it. Which is a whole other issue you will grapple with privately – the fact that some of the nicest people you've ever met are vampires seems to go against every story about the creatures that has ever been told. "But I have my baggage and you have yours. It's...it's honestly not nearly as bad as how some other people have it. Or even anywhere near as bad as my last relationship."

“Do you want me to kill him?” Max asks. “I normally don’t waste food, but it seems like he would taste disgusting.”

The question is startling but not necessarily out of bounds, but you shake your head without even giving it consideration. “I’ll be happier if I can just forget he ever existed,” you tell Max honestly.

“Okay, but you let me know if you change your mind.” He insists.

“I’m not going to ask you to kill someone.” The idea is too much to even fathom and you shake your head again. “Is that…do I want to ask how you all get your blood?”

“Blood bank.” Max smirks. “Or donors. Willing donors.” He adds. “We don’t really have to skulk in shadows and trick people into giving us their blood in today’s society.

“That’s reassuring.” It’s downright relieving, actually, because with your hand in his you don’t really want to think about how he’s had to survive.

He doesn’t mention that he used to play with his food before. The new lease on life or immortality he had been given had come with a ‘sanctity of life’ outlook. He didn’t think you would be okay with him as your soulmate if he kept eating people anyway. “Absolutely.” He gives you an innocent grin.

"This has been an...enlightening night. To say the least." All of the information weighs on you and on your mind, making you feel heavy but in a very different way than the heaviness would feel when someone like Derek used to be upset with you. It's different. Like you know this time it will all settle.

“I’m sorry that your show has been ruined.” Max glances at the clock and realizes that the entire show has ended.

"You're more important than a tv show." There isn't a single note of hesitation in your voice and you give his hand a small squeeze. "And that will always be true. I always said that if I ever met my soulmate that they would be my first priority in everything. I'm standing by that."

It’s been a long time, maybe even never, when someone put Max above anything else. It’s oddly sweet and he looks down at your hand in his. “I—okay.” He nods quietly. “What else do you want to know?”

"Is there anything you want me to know? Or anything you want to know about me?" He looks so surprised that you would make him a priority that you have to wonder if his parents weren't the first people to not have faith in him. Which is pretty heartbreaking, and unfortunately you know exactly how it feels.

He frowns, hating the next part, so he huffs slightly. “Being that I’m—well, dead technically, if we ever got to the point of…intimacy…” He breaks off and looks down at your hands again. “I can’t give you kids.”

That...is a very good point. And one you hadn't thought of. But since it seems to upset him you're not going to harp on it. Not even a little bit. "Well, I think you know I like pets a whole lot," you joke, laughing softly. No one knows that better about you right now than he does. "When we get to that point, it will all be fine."

He gauges your eyes, wanting to see if you are just telling him what he wants to hear and when he finds that you are serious, he chuckles. “Okay.” He nods. “I’ll get you a real pet bat then.”

"I looked it up," you can't help but grin, a slightly guilty laugh coming out of you. "They're kind of illegal to have, and you can get rabies from petting them. You were just...too cute to resist."

“Well, I don’t have rabies.” He snorts and pretends to look offended. “So I’ll change into a bat when you’re missing Cutie.”

"Is it cheesy to say you're cuter like this?" It feels cheesy, and it definitely feels presumptuous to say, but it's out of your mouth now and there's nothing you can do about it.

“Yeah?” Max preens, smugly grinning like he’s just struck the winning lottery ticket. “It’s not cheesy at all, sweetheart.”

"The suits are nice, too," you mumble, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks at both the admittance and his obvious glee hearing it.

“They are nice.” He admits, scooting a bare inch closer to you. “Tailored is the way to go. Better quality than off the rack stuff.”

"I'll have to trust you on that." From warm to burning, your cheeks get hotter instantly, and you duck your eyes away for a second to bite back an unaccustomed smile. "You have much better fashion sense than me."

“Doubtful.” He tuts, shaking his head. “I saw your competition outfits and you can’t tell me you didn’t design them.”

“I learned a little bit from my mother,” you admit with a shrug. It won’t do any good to tell him that Derek had you on strict allowance after always making you use your paycheck for bills and groceries and his beer. The few new things you’ve bought in Newport are the first clothes you’ve had not from a church basement in years. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten it all now.”

"Then it will be fun remembering it all." Max reasons, making it sound simple. He has a good idea from your reaction why you are insisting that you don't have fashion sense, but you also need to remember that you have more money that you could possibly spend in one shopping spree.

“I trust you to pick.” The submission is so easy, so ingrained, that you don’t even think about it. Which speaks volumes about the kind of dictation you’ve been living under. “Whatever you want me to wear is fine.”

"What if we picked together?" He's sure that you have natural style, but you've been so stifled, it's almost natural to repress it. He wants you to start realizing that you can do whatever you want.

“Is that something you would want to do?” You would never go so far as to consider it a date, but spending more time with him after this newfound revelation has an undeniable appeal. You’ve liked Max almost since the beginning. This is an extraordinary next step to take.

"It's not like I would hate it." Max doesn't want you to feel obligated, but he gives a small shrug. "I know the coven has been showing you around, but maybe they haven't taken you everywhere."

"We certainly haven't been clothes shopping." Somehow you can't imagine Max even in a regular mall, but shopping with him sounds like it might be all the more fun for it. A unique experience. "I..." you chuckle softly. "I have nothing but free time these days."

He smirks slightly, finding it ironic that you have the life of leisure while he had work. He was the one that was immortal. "That's not a bad thing, Queenie."

"I'm still getting used to it." Though you highly doubt that you ever truly will, if it will make him less embarrassed to be seen with him you will definitely work harder on your wardrobe.

"Nothing wrong with that." He chuckles. "I can imagine it's hard to go from worrying about your hours, your pay, to not having to anymore."

"I'm honestly kind of surprised to hear that you still work as hard as you do," you admit. "In the stories, vampires are always fabulously wealthy."

"I'm still a baby vamp." Max snorts, shrugging slightly. "Those vampires are also hundreds of years old. So I've still got to create that wealth."

"Ah." Nodding in understanding, you can't help but smile that he's still holding your hand. "Starting from the ground up. Got it."

He snorts and nods. "Exactly. But don't worry, I'm pretty damn good in a board room. Making deals and money."

"I fully believe that you could sell ice to a Norwegian." From what you've seen, he has the confidence and swagger to do just about whatever he wants.

Your outrageous comment makes him laugh, completely charmed by the faith that you have in him when you haven't even seen him close a deal. "I should use that." He admits, rubbing your warm skin with his thumb.

"If anybody ever remarks that you have cold skin after a handshake, you just tell them it's how your soulmate teases you about it." Gods you just ache when he laughs, and you feel like you might explode with smiling.

Max smirks slightly and reaches into his pocket with his free hand. Pulling out a warmer packet. "I try to make sure that I warm my hands up right before I need to shake hands." He admits bashfully.

"Clever." It's something you never would have thought of in a million years and the fact that he's utilizing it so effectively proves your point that he must be extremely good at what he does.

"A good handshake can make or break a deal." Max admits, having learned that when a pharmaceutical exec had told him that he couldn't trust a man with poor circulation. It had cost him a fifteen-million-dollar contract. "I really like warm places." He hums. "Like right there." He reaches up and touches your clavicle where he had snuggled in as Cutie. "And I can hear your heartbeat."

"Is it loud?" You blurt out the question before you can stop yourself, but it's one of those things that when you read fantasy books you had always wondered.

"When I'm close by, it seems like that's all I can hear. But it's gentle." His fingers brush your skin gently, caressing you. "I like when you sleep. It slows down, like your breathing. You are a very peaceful sleeper."

"I very rarely have vivid dreams." The fact that he's listened to you sleeping seems so utterly romantic that it steals your breath for a long moment. "They only started up again maybe a week ago. But they're not bad. Just kind of...nostalgic."

"What do you dream about?" He asks curiously. Wanting to know what you think about when you are lost in your dreams. He hopes they are sweet, kind. A reassurance that you deserve only the good things in life.

"Um..." Suddenly terrified that you shouldn't have said anything, you try to swallow that impulsive fear and be open with him. Since he's been so open with you tonight, he deserves that. "I had an imaginary friend...when I was a kid. And I've started dreaming about him again. But...also...sometimes...you."

His brow raises, surprised that you dream about him. But he's intrigued by your admission of an imaginary friend. "What was your friend like?" He asks, smiling slightly at the thought of a little girl with her friend, playing by herself in the room.

"He's very kind. And encouraging. And gave oddly good advice for being the figment of a child's imagination." Which makes you smile in turn, and you lean in to Max's side slightly. He feels safer than almost anywhere else in the world right now. "With curly black hair and a big smile and I always imagined that he gave the best hugs in the world."

Curly black hair. Max stares at you in shock. He had been visiting you when you were a little girl. That had to be what it was. He had convinced you that it was dreams. Probably coming at night so it would be more plausible. "You didn't hug him?"

"Invisible friend, Max." You laugh softly. "I imagined that I did a hundred thousand times. But it's not like he ever existed anywhere other than my mind."

"What would this friend. talk to you about?" He asks.

"Everything I guess." Sinking a little closer in to Max's side, you tilt your head slightly like you're trying to let a memory drip out. "School. Dance classes. My parents and my friends. I guess I must have used it like a sounding board. Working out all my little kid problems by talking to Yayo and then playing tea party with him afterward once everything was better."

"Yayo?" Max tilts his head. "Did you name him that or did he tell you to call him that?"

"Who knows," you shrug slightly. The memory is nostalgic enough that you don't notice how he reacts to hearing the name. "I was a little kid the first time I remember him, so I must have made it up somehow."

"Cute." He smirks slightly, imagining him coming into your dreams and spending time with you. He needs to find out why you are so important.

“Everybody has imaginary friends, right?” It had always just seemed like such a natural thing to you. Sure it was unusual that your made up friend was a grown ass man, but it’s not like it was a manifestation of abuse or anything. Yayo had always been your biggest fan and biggest supporter. Whether it was soothing your childhood fears, getting excited with you to start dance classes, or just listening to you babble about your day as kid are want to do. “Mine just wore fancy clothes and had a Spanish accent. Who knows? I must have seen an Antonio Banderas movie as a little kid and made up a character with the voice or something.”

“I am sure that your Yayo was a good thing for you.” Max frowns slightly, wondering why he had skulked in shadow and come to you in the night. “It sounds like he was.”

“Imaginary friends fill a gap.” You shrug your shoulders a little, leaning against him. “I’m sure you had one, too. Most kids do.”

“I didn’t.” Max admits. “But that’s because I was normally trying to surround myself with people. To pretend I was better than I was.”

“Better than you are?” Brows furrowing immediately, you tilt your head back to look at him and frown. “But you’re fantastic.”

“Not really.” Max snorts. “If I were better, my parents wouldn’t have abandoned me. I wouldn’t have needed my sire to bring me back.”

“The person you’ve been with me…the person I’ve gotten to know?” You shrug your shoulders again, wondering if a compliment from you is worth anything at all. “I think he’s pretty fantastic. Maybe you were just finding yourself.”

Your words are probably some of the most soothing he’s ever heard and he bites his lip. “I really want to be a bat right now so you will scratch my head.” He admits with a huffing laugh.

“C’mere.” You can’t help but grin, and you cradle his head against your shoulder with one hand before starting to scratch, gently and soothingly, over his short-cropped hair and scalp. “Does it feel as good when you’re like this?”

“Oh shit.” Max’s eyes close and he leans into your touch. “How— it’s so good. This is why dogs love people. It has to be.”

Your blunted fingernails take over his scalp and you shift so he can cuddle closer if he wants to. “But they don’t love vampires?” Somewhere in your memory you remember him remarking that dogs were not terribly big fans of him.

“Nah.” He grumbles slightly. “Knows we are a more dangerous predator.”

Humming in understanding as your nails find a rhythm gently running along his hairline, you revel in the closeness without expectation. Without demand. Without rules. Just simple intimacy without conditions.

How he ended up with his head in your lap, he couldn’t tell you, but it’s the most relaxed he’s ever been. “This is nice.”

“You don’t have to be a bat to get scritches and cuddles,” you promise him with a quiet giggle.

“Yeah?” He grins up at you. “Might have been my favorite part of the day. Your reading voice is really nice.”

“I can still read to you.” The idea that he actually enjoys it makes your cheeks heat up again, and you rub his shoulder with your other hand. “And you don’t have to carry me to bed anymore. Though it was very sweet of you.”

“I liked doing it.” He pouts slightly. “I’m either a wicked vampire carrying you off, or a valiant hero saving a damsel in distress.” He grins. “You pick which one I imagine.”

“I guess it will depend on my mood.” It’s intimidating, and a little embarrassing, realizing that he’s heard every time your heart has skipped a beat around him. But at least this time when it happens, he’s smiling right at you. “You can…keep doing it if you really want to.” It’s utterly romantic, as far as you’re concerned, but you didn’t want him to feel that he had to.

“You sleep, you should be comfortable.” He doesn’t mention that he had wished he could lay down beside you. That would be too far, at least as a human.

“Well, we’ll have to find a new way to curl up.” The way you are now is so nice. So calm. And deeply domestic, which you would never point out. “You won’t exactly fit on my shoulder for me to read to you like this, and that chaise is not built for two.”

Max smirks, resisting the urge to tell you that it could be, as long as you are laying on him. Instead, he hums, surprised you want to give up your furry little friend.

“If you want.” It will always be up to him. You’ll never push or impose. But you want him to know that — as small as your steps forward might be — you’re willing to take them.

“I want.” He closes his eyes and burrows his head into your lap more. “I think I’d scare you with what I want, Queenie.”

“I’m used to being scared,” you admit, fingers still raking through his short hair. “I’d rather be intimidated by something good than afraid of darkness.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid at all.” Max nearly growls, but he doesn’t want to make you nervous. “I’d rather be staked again than hurt you. Or let someone else hurt you. Just think of me as your own, personal guard bat.”

“Life is scary.” Looking down into his face, there is something there that you can’t identify, but it’s less so than in the beginning. There are fewer secrets now. Fewer. Not none. But you would never ask anyone to change for you, and especially not in the course of just a few hours. “And I guess…so is the afterlife. But it’s less scary with an actual partner, I think. At least, I have to think that it is. Hope that it is.”

"I can be rude, downright inconsiderate. Selfish. Maybe too much of a flirt, but I've never, ever wanted to make my soulmate cry." He admits quietly. "Always said that whoever she was would get the best of me."

“Nobody’s perfect.” Your hand stills, leaving only your thumb stroking along the shortest of the hairs on the back of his neck. “I’m certainly not. I would never expect you to be. All that matters is that we try to be the best we can for each other.”

"Why are you so sweet?" He's slightly confused by it. It's obvious you've not had an easy time, and yet you are so willing to accept this when you had just sworn off relationships. "So accepting?"

It’s confusion in his eyes, not criticism, and you frown slightly at the question. It seems fairly obvious to you, but there is more than one answer. “Part of it is just…me. And I haven’t been able to be myself in so long that I thought I had forgotten her. But I guess that’s not the case after all. But also…you’re my soulmate. If I was ever going to accept anyone, wouldn’t it be you?”

"I never thought my soulmate would accept me." It's a hard thing to admit, a sobering one. After he had been turned, he had been certain that he wouldn't be accepted. When he had refused to let him put any marks back, it had just be a silent confirmation of those deeply internal views.

“Surprise.” Sniffling back a laugh, your fingers trace his cheek and jaw in a move far bolder than you thought you could feel. That deep thread that connects soulmates truly is stronger than you ever thought. “I thought I’d lost you when all of your marks disappeared. So surprise for me, too.”

Max sighs, closing his eyes in regret. "My sire— he didn't want me to put the marks back." He explains. "Said it would cause confusion. Ordered me not to. And since I'm dead, I can't really scar anymore."

“If I got a tattoo do you think it would show up?” It’s not really something you had ever considered before, but he’s right. Wounds probably don’t affect him the same way anymore. But ink? Ink might.

"I don't know." He admits quietly. "Your birthmark is the only thing I have."

“The next time you speak to your sire, you could always ask him.” Whoever Max’s sire is, he sounds a bit like a strict father. But there’s probably a reason for that even if you don’t know what it is.

He chuckles. "If he decided to answer me, it would be in a riddle."

“Maybe I should ask him, then.” You offer him a valiant smile, like you’re offering to go into battle. “If you wanted, I mean.”

"You would do that?" His amazement is astounding, nearly making the blood in his system rise to the surface again.

"If you want me to." He seems so genuinely shocked that anyone would do something nice for him that it breaks your heart a little. After all, you know that feeling all too well. "We could pick out a design together, too."

“I- I honestly don’t know what to say.” He confesses softly. “I really don’t.”

“If you don’t like the idea, it’s okay to say so.” But from the expression on his face says otherwise, and it softens your own smile into something akin to dreamy. “But I think it would be nice.”

“No, I like it— it’s just— it’s surprising.” He tells you. “In a good way.”

"I...liked having your tattoos. Having that part of you." He lights up when he smiles and it makes your heart skip again. "Now that we know each other a little, it would be nice to have that to share."

“You never wanted tattoos?” He asks curiously, wondering why you never put a mark on him besides the odd scars that were now gone. “Or did the asshole not want any on you?”

He has hit the nail on the head, of course, and you bite your lip. "Big tattoos aren't great for competition. But...Let's just say he wasn't sad when they disappeared one day."

Max blows out a raspberry. “He sounds like a dick.” He would say more, but he doesn’t want to upset you. “I’m glad you’re here and not still around that prick.”

"I'm glad I'm here, too." Especially now. Now that you know what he is to you.

Max is quiet for a moment. Letting the seriousness of this settle and he doesn’t have a quip, or a joke about it. No snide remark comes to mind. He just feels…peaceful around you. “Do you want to dance with me tomorrow?” He asks finally.

"Yes." You don't even have to think about it. Or consult a schedule. Or second-guess. "Definitely."

“Yeah?” He grins, twisting his head to look up at you. “We do dance together really well, don’t we?”

"Not bad for a few turns around the ballroom." Dragging your fingers through his hair again, you can't help but smile, feeling warmed all the way through. Ironic considering Max is so cool to the touch. "We'll have to go for something a little more complex this time."

"Oh...are you thinking of something special for the opening dance of the ball?" He asks with a smirk. "It's supposedly tradition for the hostess to start the dancing."

"You just want to show off." Still, it sounds sweet. Like he wants to show you off, which seems entirely foreign but utterly romantic. "It might be sweet, though. We'd have to pick a good song, of course. And make up the choreography."

"Tempo should be lively, celebratory." He tells you. "Starting things off with a bang, as it were."

"An upbeat Viennese Waltz?" It seems like the thing to do, traditional but good for an ice breaker. "I don't want to do something that feels staged and showy...even if that's exactly what it is. A salsa or something like that would feel out of place."

"Especially at a Gilded Age party." Max agrees. "Plus it will almost convince people they could do it with a little practice."

"Maybe we can put flyers for the tickets up at some dance studios around town?" Not that you know of any, but there is a decent chance that he might.

"Perhaps we should invite the teachers to the ball." He offers after a moment.

"It would certain be beautiful for the dancing." You hum dreamily, imagining all of those whirling dresses in the ballroom that is now so familiar to you. "Maybe we could go to a free dancing night at each studio to give the invitation and talk it up a little? Since it's for charity and all."

"There are several dance studios in the area." He knows you will be all dreamy about it. "I'll email you the list and you can call them tomorrow. Set something up."

Alright. Looks like overcoming phone anxiety is on the schedule for tomorrow. You nod and give his shoulder a squeeze. "I guess we'll be dancing together a lot."

He sees the way you freeze for a split second before you try to push it aside. "What is it?" He asks softly, wondering if you will pretend everything is fine or if you will confide in him.

"Nothing," you insist immediately, knowing that previous to the last few weeks you would have been expected to shut away every ounce of your anxiety in order to make sure everything got done precisely the way Derek wanted. The fact that Max gives a damn how you feel about things is so strange to process. "It's—" Letting out a sigh, you close your eyes briefly but force a smile. "I'm not always very good on the phone. You know...anxiety. But I'll manage."

"How about I take a portion of the calls?" Max offers. "And if you find that you can't do it, I'll take them all."

"No, it's okay." The fear of being a burden is instant. It seizes like ice water through your veins, and even though you know logically that Max isn't the same kind of man that Derek is, you still shake your head tightly. "I can take care of it. There's no reason for you to do extra work."

“It’s not like I would mind.”

“You work all day. I don’t. I can manage it.” There is no way on earth you’re going to let this slide backward and you shake your head. You’ll make those damn phone calls yourself just so he doesn’t start to think you’re untrustworthy or — like you said you were before and he didn’t believe you — broken.

“If you’re sure.” Max doesn’t want you to be overwhelmed. “You’ve got a lot on your plate with planning this event. I don’t want you to get overwhelmed.”

“If I get overwhelmed, I’ll split the calls into two days.” You promise him, not really knowing if that will help at all but willing to give the — as they say — old college try.

“It’s okay.” Max promises you. He doesn’t want to call attention to it, but he captures your hand and brings it to his mouth. He kisses it softly. “You will be settling into your nickname of ‘Queenie’ before you know it.”

******

Sitting in the teahouse with your cell phone, a notebook, and a list of dance studios had seemed like a good plan for the afternoon. You’ve called three of the four studios on the island but the fourth seems always to be too busy to pick up their line and it has you frustrated and anxious that you can’t finish your task. At this point you feel like you’ve been twiddling your thumbs waiting for Max to get home, and you finally decide to pack up and go inside, intending to catch Mrs. Taylor before she starts making dinner for the night. She should know that you know — and that you have no intention of keeping her or Max or Eddie or anyone else from having the blood they need.

Renee had told you before about the reason for the call buttons in every room of the house. How they shouldn’t be looked at like ringing a cow bell to demand service, but as a polite way of requesting to speak with a staff member when you need something. Rather than the old-fashioned families a hundred years ago or more barging into their servants’ areas, you press the button as a polite request. Trying to keep that in mind, you choose the library as a place to sit once you reach the house, and press the button hidden in the wainscoting before settling down at the desk. Whether Mrs. Taylor or Renee answers will be up to them.

“Ms. Dolly?” Mrs. Taylor’s voice immediately comes over the intercom, like she had been hovering next to it. You don’t know that she was across the kitchen, but that’s the beauty of being able to move so fast. It’s why her and Renee can handle the housework and keep the place spotless.

“Do you have time to speak for a moment before starting dinner, Mrs. Taylor?” The little speaker box on the desk is reminiscent of the 1950s and makes you smile. It’s odd. But it works.

“Of course, Ms. Dolly, I will be right up.” In the time it would take a normal human to come upstairs, she will put together a light tray for you with the fresh apple cider that she had thought you would enjoy. You seem to like the fall theme.

It takes the housekeeper only five minutes to appear in the library doorway with a tray of assorted snacks and a large drink, and this time instead of feeling like a burden that she is serving you, you find yourself amused that she had so much time to fix the tray. Max had demonstrated his vampiric speed for you last night by zipping across the second-floor hallway so now you have a better idea of how fast your housemates can move. “Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. I know your time is precious.”

“It was nothing, ma’am.” She nods her head and sits down across from you when you motion her to sit. “Did you wish to discuss the menu for the party? I’ve already made several varied menus for you to choose from.” She pulls cards out of her sweater to hand to you.

“Well…yes. But I wanted to speak to you about the…general dinner menus as well.” Just because you had been trying to hype yourself up for this doesn’t mean that you had figured out how to go about it gracefully. Grace is only something you have when you dance — not really in conversation.

“Is there something you don’t like?” She looks positively horrified by the prospect and curses herself. She had been treating you like Cookie, and there’s a very real chance your palette is completely different. “If you give me an idea of what you wish to have, I will make sure to adjust accordingly.” She assures you.

"It's not that. Your cooking is wonderful. In all honesty it's high above what I'm used to and I couldn't possibly ask you to change a thing. Not for me." You shake your head profusely to dispel any worries, practically reaching out to take her hand, but you have a feeling that she would find that improper. "It's just that...I have been made aware that...Max and Eddie and...well, everyone else in the house...you all have rather a different diet than I do. And that there have been a few things hidden from me until now, which I presume was done so as not to stun or panic me."

Surprised would be a mild way to put her reaction. Mrs. Taylor’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plate and her stomach drops. “Who told you that?” She had been assured by the coven on the first visit to the manor since you have befriended them that the witches would not tell you.

"Max did, but please understand that he did it for the most noble reason possible." After talking it out with him last night, the two of you had decided that your soulmate status would be impossible to keep quiet in the house so it was probably best just to let people know. If it had taken the two of you only a few weeks, it was sure to come out quickly to everyone else. "We had a long discussion last night about some very important things. And I...I appreciate that you all did your best to make me feel comfortable here. I do feel comfortable here. But I don't want any of you to have to hide your blood anymore. That would be incredibly rude of me to ask when I am the only human in the house."

"It is not a problem." She insists, leaning in slightly. "We are used to being...more formal about things than the average vampire. Cookie had been pleased with it as well as her soulmate. He was the one that had set that formality in place. However, this is your home and what you wish will be."

"The formality is...it's sort of nice, if I'm honest. It's comforting to have an order to how things are supposed to work. But it's really fine with me if Eddie and Max just want to have blood at dinner instead of...well...food. I understand that it used to be served in wine glasses and that my dislike for drinking sort of threw a monkey wrench into that habit."

She smiles softly and tilts her head, a motherly sort of affection for you making her squeeze your hand gently. "It was not vexing to anyone save for Max and well, he likes to make a nuisance of himself at times." She confides. "I think it was that 'only child' syndrome he had."

"He likes to feel special." There's something soft and affectionate in your tone that you just can't help, but you swallow down any sort of guilt that bubbles to the surface from it. Max is your soulmate after all. And it's been weeks since you left Derek's house. There doesn't need to be any guilt whatsoever.

Her brow raises at the change in tone, pursing her lips in amusement. "I gather that the snack trays he has been putting together for you during your show has changed your mind about Max?"

"It's not—" Your cheeks burn hot and you suddenly wish you were a turtle so you could just bury yourself in your shell at the first mere hint of embarrassment. "It's more than that," you tell her quietly, acknowledging that this is surely the opportune time to tell your vampiric housekeeper the truth about what you and Max are to each other. You're just not sure how she will react. "We...discovered...last night..." You take a deep breath, suddenly very aware of that action around so many people who don't need to do it at all. "That Max and I are soulmates."

It's like the key to the riddle of why Max was brought here suddenly slides into place. Her eyes light up and even if she is surprised, she is charmed by soulmates. Her own dear Mr. Taylor is her own, so very fortunate to have found each other so many years ago and to continue to be deeply in love. "That is...spectacular." She hums, sure that he was always aware of the connection, even if he had not confided in her.

"It's very unexpected." And it has you smiling like a lunatic, but you clear your throat and try to compose yourself. "But it really has shown me that I would prefer to have fewer secrets around me from now on. I used to be utterly surrounded by them, and I don't want this next chapter of my life to be that way again."

"Understood." While there is still one secret that she must keep, Mrs. Taylor is determined to make sure you are aware of most of what happens here. She is bound by her sire to keep his secrets, and that unfortunately predates your wishes.

"I appreciate that, Mrs. Taylor." There is some reticence in her – years of having to read Derek's moods at the drop of a pin have made you sensitive to things like that – but you won't push. Just because you've asked for openness doesn't mean it is an easy thing to give, and it means nothing if it is demanded. "I have nothing but respect for you and I'm so grateful to you for helping me to feel at home here so quickly."

"This is your home." She promises. "It was always meant to be your home."

"I'm sure there must have been other relatives along the way that the house could have gone to." You can't imagine that there were no other options for an heir, but you would be lying if you said you weren't grateful for Cookie's choice.

"No." Mrs. Taylor looks down at your joined hands and smiles sadly. "Unfortunately, due to a...family issue, you were the only choice in Cookie's mind for a recipient."

"I wish I could thank her." Your mysterious and enigmatic great-aunt has changed your life entirely and you only wish you could tell her how much it has meant to you. Because of Cookie, you know your soulmate.

"I know she would have loved you." Mrs. Taylor looks a bit misty-eyed, even though vampires don't cry often. She smiles again. "But I know that she knows. Wherever she is now."

"She was very important to you." That much is obvious, and it gives you an equally unexpected reason to smile. Knowing that your great-aunt was loved so dearly is reassuring.

"She was a wonderful lady, in every sense of the word." She nods and looks down again and clears her throat. "Please look over the menu cards I've created and let me know what you are thinking?"

"Of course. I'll look them over now. Thank you, Mrs. Taylor." It's obvious that she doesn't want to continue the conversation and you respect her too much to push, so you simply nod and pick up the cards that she laid out in front of you. "Everything you make is wonderful so I'm sure the only difficulty will be choosing between delicious options."

She smiles proudly and nods. "The apple cider is fresh." She tells you. "I thought it would pair nicely with the pumpkin scones that I had experimented with."

"You very quickly nailed down my weakness for fall flavours." There are crunchy sugar crystals on top of the scones and something that smells suspiciously like honey butter in the ramekin sitting alongside the small plate and full mug.

“It seemed like the cozy comforts would be to your liking.” Mrs. Taylor admits with a smile. “I enjoy having a human in the house.” She admits. “Vampires can eat, but normal food does not taste as appetizing to us as it does to humans, and I enjoy cooking.”

“I am very grateful for that, and for you.” A small smile cracks your face, as uncharacteristic as that may seem for you sometimes. “And I am more than happy to eat anything you feel like cooking. I’m pretty abysmal at it myself.”

“That is no concern.” She waves off your comment about yourself. “I am here to make sure you eat well.”

“Do you mind if I ask you one more thing?” Still working through all the questions you have about the circumstances and about your distant relative, there is really only one more you wanted to ask for now.

“Anything.” Mrs. Taylor was halfway out of her seat, but she sits back down and looks at you expectantly.

“I was wondering…how long you had worked for Cookie? The real answer. Allison told me the story about her soulmate prolonging her life and I didn’t believe her then. But I do now…so I wondered. That’s all.”

Mrs. Taylor smiles, the twist of her lips slightly melancholic. “Two hundred and eighty-seven years.” She admits. “Her soulmate brought me to care for her right after they found each other.”

A split second of quick math has your jaw on the ground, and you press one hand to your heart instinctively. “That…she…1736? And they met right here where the house is built?”

“Back when it was the colonies.” She nods, chuckling quietly.

“Gods…” Exhaling a shaky breath, you nod, trying to wrap your head around this extraordinary piece of information. “She must have had a remarkable life.”

“When I tell you we have an extensive collection of Cookie’s things, her clothes, I mean extensive.” She’s proud of that, because it had been her idea to preserve it. It had been meant for someone else, but now, it’s yours.

The endless possibilities flow out in front of you in every direction but you wrap your hands around the large mug of cider and smile, nostalgic already for a past you can’t possibly remember. “I hope one day you might feel open to sharing some of her stories with me. And yours, as well.”

“Since you are aware of our nature and feel no concern, I have no issue sharing.” She pauses for a moment and then decides to share a vital piece of information. “We did not start the formality with the blood until Cookie had decided to no longer prolong her life.” She admits, folding her hands in her lap. “Then it was a measure of respect to make it seem like we were drinking wine.”

“That seems very respectful.” This household is nothing if not respectful. You know that. “It doesn’t need to be hidden anymore. I know you were…being respectful of me in different ways. But besides the initial shock? It seems…well, I feel a bit silly for knowing that magic is real my whole life and not even entertaining the ideas that vampires could be, too.”

“Some things are viewed as too fantastical. Like werewolves.” She hums as she stands. “I will have dinner ready at seven.” She promises before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

The immortal housekeeper is gone before you can open your mouth again, and you slump backward in your chair with her menus in front of you and a furrow between your eyebrows. Now you can’t help but wonder if werewolves are real, too…

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury

VW: @haileymorelikestupid, @miraclesabound @nastiasnow @vabeachazn @oberynslady @grogusmum @kittenlittle24 @8-900 @survivingandenduring @guelyury @ktmadden86 @inept-the-magnificent

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Max Phillips #Max Phillips x you #Max Phillips x reader #Max Phillips x female reader #Max Phillips x f!reader #Eddie BtVS #Bloodsucking Bastards #soulmate au #mysterious inheritance

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saintship · 1 year

Note

GAZ COMING HOME TO A SURPRISE PARTY FROM YOU AND HIS FAMILY AND MAYBE EVEN A PROPOSAL OR PREGNANCY ANNOUNCEMENT BC HES A GOOD BOY WHO DESERVES GOOD THINGS PLSTHX

YOU GOT IT❗️❗️❗️

Warnings: lovey dovey, swearing, kissy kissy, proposal

Warm welcome - Gaz x Reader

The kitchen calendar made you smile; partly because Gaz insisted on keeping up with them, marking and annotating and doodling in the margins, and partly because you’d been waiting for today’s date for eight months.

The deployment had gone on for much longer than it was supposed to, which was normal, but you couldn’t help the nights you spent sitting by the phone or sifting through photo albums, the images of his face the only thing you could focus on. And, he could only tell you so much; all you knew was someone on the task force needed to be rescued, and it took more than one try. Gaz told you your FaceTimes were the only thing keeping him steady. He’d also made a bold stroke in your relationship; asking his mother to call you personally.

She’d called when you were nodding off after pacing the kitchen late into the night, picking at your takeout and furiously cleaning the countertops. When your tears started rolling, the phone rang. The unknown number made you think of the worst; you picked it up in a panic.

“Is he okay?” You asked breathlessly, one hand resting at your head to steady yourself.

“Sorry?.. I might have the wrong number, is this..”

The way she said your name caught your attention; Gaz had a certain lilt to his accent that you found so cute; and now you’d heard it from the source.

“Yes..”

“I’m Kyle’s mum.”

You leaned against the kitchen island, your breathing steadying. “Hi..”

“It’s nice to hear your voice, I wish he would have brought you home last holiday.”

“He talks about me?”

A gentle laugh answered you. “Darling, he doesn’t stop.”

You blink, folding one arm under the other as you began to feel a warmth in your chest from the gesture, Kyle talking about you to his mom..

“And anyway, he gave me your number, he knows how late you stay up and wanted to make sure you had someone on the line.”

The warmth burst into a brilliant light of admiration and love for your boyfriend; he knew he couldn’t always be there, and instead of only offering an apology, he furthered your involvement in a different way.

“I- that’s..” You huffed, smiling through the dried tear streaks and headache that plagued you.

“Ma’am, I- I love your son more than I can say..”

“I’d hope so.” She replied easily.

You laughed again, your worry fizzling into a low flame.

You spent three hours on the phone that night; though it felt like minutes. You learned about Kyle; how he was during primary school, how he would dress as a differently ranked soldier every Halloween, and picked up every flyer he could to enlist out of high school. She had been terrified, of course, no mother hopes for her son to be a soldier, but she supported his job anyway. It was something you shared; a love that overpowered your fear of the worst outcome.

“What do you usually do when he arrives?”

She’d been asking how you were feeling about him coming home in a few days, if everything went to plan, that was.

“I uh, I make dinner, you know, usually I get his car washed and waxed or something nice like that for him to come home to. He loves that thing more than me.”

“He better not!”

You laughed together for the umpteenth time.

“But.. we could plan something with more people? I’d love to spend some time together in person, and you can bring anyone you like..”

“That would be amazing, darling.”

So, a few days later, Kyle’s mother and father, brother, sister, grandfather and aunt were helping you pin up streamers and a ‘welcome home’ banner, fixing a large meal, and yelling at the TV as their home city struggled in the latest aired football match.

Before they had arrived, though, you’d gone to a family-owned jeweler for a nice watch to gift him with. Skimming the rows of silver and gold plated pieces, you thought about looking somewhere else when you wandered near the ring cases. What began as pure curiosity built into a warm image of you revealing a small box, pouring everything in your mind into the room, and fitting the ring onto his perfect hands before kissing his stupidly perfect face. One band in particular was a shiny tungsten ring, stronger than steel and with a smooth, silver finish. You didn’t think, you just swiped your card.

Now, that ring sat in a velvet box under your pillow, where you examined it each night, anxiety stirring in your stomach. Was this the right time? But you couldn’t think about that now; he was almost home.

“He’s pulling in..” You murmur to the room when you spot him through the blinds, and you rush to stand near the doorway. The sound of keys jingling nearly made you break your cover out of excitement, but he pushed the door open, and the room erupted in cheers of surprise, the ‘Welcome home’ banner in the kitchen glittering in its gold letters.

His eyes widened and blinked in surprise, looking between his family in you with a disbelieving laugh. You took him in your arms, melting in the sensation of him squeezing you back just as tight as his family cooed at the gesture.

“You did this?” He murmured near your ear.

You kiss his cheek that’s facing away from his family.

“Me and your mom..”

“Oh, hell..” he stroked your cheek, his brow drawing together in further disbelief.

You led him, smiling, to the kitchen for him to hug his family next, your heart bursting when he lifted his sister in the air with the momentum of his hug.

“This is mental..” he murmured as he wrapped an arm around you again, looking around.

“You’ve got a gem, Kyle.” His father spoke earnestly.

Kyle turned to move a piece of hair away from your eyes. “Yeah, I know..”

“Big softie!” His sister teased loudly, grinning.

“Sod off..” He threw a crumpled napkin at her, making you smile at the exchange.

The dinner was amazing, but you could have eaten anything with them and enjoyed the experience. It felt like you’d stepped into a beautiful other world where you just felt right. Having him next to you, let alone in the same room, was elating after being separated from him for so long, and you couldn’t help but always be pressed against him in some way. Linking a finger, resting your leg against his, touching shoulders, anything to feel the warmth you’d been craving for the better part of a year.

When it was time to say goodbye, and the last guest closed the door behind him, Kyle kissed you deeply, holding your face delicately with both his hands.

“You’re unbelievably, incredibly, amazing..” he murmured against your lips. “Missed you so fucking much, babe..”

His accent was thicker when he spoke so honestly, and it made your head spin. Or maybe that was how he kissed you like you put the sun in the sky.

“Missed you more..” you pulled him into a close hug, nestling your head into his neck shamelessly.

“You tired?” You ask quietly.

“Yeah..” the slight guilt in his voice made you pull back slightly.

“Kyle, I get it, I promise. Let’s go to bed, baby..”

He let you lead him to the bathroom where you brushed your teeth together before changing and slipping under the covers. Your head pounded as you partially hid your hand under the pillow, clutching the small box so tightly it might have bursted if you hadn’t taken in a steadying breath.

“You alright?” Kyle traced your knuckles with his hands; he was sitting up slightly, his hat taken off along with his shirt, and the soft lamp light just lit up his eyes in the most adorable way..

“I have a question.. it’s- important.” You shifted slightly closer.

“Is everything alright?” He rephrased his question slowly, worry growing in his gaze.

“I’ll just.. show you first..” With a quick exhale, you pulled the box from underneath the pillow, gently separating your free hand from his to open the top. His eyes grew wide.

“Sweeheart..”

“I’m so in love with you.. every time I talk about you, or hear you, or see you—think of you.. I’m just so gone it makes me look stupid. I want to spend my life with you, and I want to give myself to you. Because that’s how I would feel right, and safe. With you..”

You breathed deeply.

“Kyle Garrick.. will you marry me?”

His jaw might as well have detached, because his mouth had been hanging open for half of your deceleration.

“Y-yes! Fuck, yes!” He scrambled to sit up fully as you slid the ring on, taking the first opportunity to smother you in a hug and pepper your face and neck with kisses. “I love you so much..”

Tears of adrenaline and joy stung your eyes as you laughed breathlessly.

“I love you more..”

#cod requests #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mwii #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty modern warfare 2 #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz call of duty #gaz mw2 #gaz mwii

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figmentof · 9 months

Text

i'm witnessing an immensely high level of hypocrisy regarding the ofmd renewal campaign from both fans of ofmd and people who hate on the show/fandom

people are allowed to care about several things at once, whether it be "lesser" causes like wanting streaming services to let creatives finish the stories they set out to tell or humanitarian issues ranging from domestic to international ones-- ONLY IF ofmd isn't involved though! if you care about ofmd you're an awful person who is only willing to give away your money to a stupid tv show but not to people currently suffering. the two most recent renewal/save the show campaigns done by aloto and warrior nun also spent money renting a plane to fly over amazon hq (aloto) and buying billboards across netflix hq (warrior nun) and NO ONE had anything to say about how those two fandoms spent money. no one made posts mocking members of those two fandoms claiming they're wasting their time with their renewal campaigns where they also wrote emails and spammed hashtags and put out flyers and bought ads. no one laughed at how they're putting all this effort into nothing, why don't they just rewatch the seasons they have and shut the fuck up? no one demanded aloto and warrior nun fans show proof of donation to ukraine and/or other humanitarian crisis's happening at the time of their campaigns

if it were any of the other beloved shows that had gotten cancelled, their renewal campaigns wouldn't get any of the scrutiny or hate ofmd currently is. at this point whenever Taika breathes people shit on him and the fans of show he works on are getting the same type of treatment. funny that

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jiminy-crickets · 6 months

Note

yes it was the connor post I haven’t read that intently in ages

the connor post nonny is refering too

YESSSSSSS, i cant be normal about him because no one else is able to be normal about him, the part that gets me, that im being really abnormal about at this specific second is him and his family temporarily MOVING TO SWEDEN, when he was 15 so he could train.... that's not normal!!!!! he never had a normal teenage years, we will never have normal adult years, i need to wipe the worlds memory of him and send him to college for two semesters, i need him to throw up in the bushes outside a frat, i need him to regret taking an 8am, i need him to socialize with people who don't play hockey, i need him to be normal. i need the league to teach these kids to take hits, i need them to try and acclimate the kids who don't get sent to a farm team after getting drafted, how many fucking rookies need to get hurt, and take bad hits for the league to finally realize that they aren't doing well by them. how many more players need to use the nhlpa player assistance program before they realize that taking a bunch of children and signing them to multi year contracts and with a schedule that leaves you traveling and away from your non hockey friends and family for months on end is a recipe for unhealthy coping mechanisms, mary @pwhl-mybeloved said earlier that someone sent in 15 duplicate cards to get graded of a kid who isn't eligible for the draft until 2026, the era of social media is putting even more eyes on "generational talents" THIS QUOTE FROM EMILY KAPLAN AT ESPN

Bedard tries to stay out of public when he can, and as he gave me a tour in his off-roader SUV, bumping some top-40 music, it became apparent why. When he stopped at a red light, a car pulled up with four adults who recognized Bedard instantly. The driver honked and waved enthusiastically as the three passengers frantically fiddled with their phones to take photos. Bedard, clearly experienced with this exact scenario, politely smiled back. "There's a bit of buzz, and for me, it's kind of crazy to see some of the things and people I've been compared to," Bedard said. "It's a lot different getting recognized out and about. It's something I'm getting used to. It's supercool feeling the support. But you know ... I'm still a kid." He's understating the buzz.

^^^^^ HE WAS 17!!!!!!!! THE ENTIRE ARTICLE GUTS ME

he's too young!!!! we are putting children on too high of pedestals, we make children sign contracts with an organization that doesn't care, not about their physical health, not about their mental health, we are stuck perpetually dooming hundreds of children each fucking year.

people want to be angry at cutter gauthier because he "broke up" jamie and tz but i care that a child (okay hes 20 now… and was 19 when the tarde happened, and he was 18 when drafted) who informed the flyers back in MAY OF LAST YEAR, that he didn't want to sign, WAS DRAGGED THROUGH THE MUD!!!!! because the flyers dragged their heels for almost a year and wouldn't take his "im not signing" as an answer!

the fucking amazon tv show "focusing on 10-12 players" will never show any of this shit, the league wants to grow its audience and appeal to a younger and more female audience, but young people are smart, and more people are going to notice, cutter didn't break to mainstream audiences, but this fucking amazon show is going to bring a bunch of eyes, and those eyes are going to look at connor, because there is no fucking way he isnt going to be one of the players they focus on, the league isn't that stupid, and those new eyes are going to see what i see, and i won't be the only person walking round in circles mumbling about gifted children never adjusting.

#asks #anon #connor bedard #cutter gauthier #too i guess #this started out all hahah im abnormal about connor and ended with me screaming about the nhl lack of concern for its youngest players (or #any of their players for that matter)

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lensman-arms-race · 1 month

Text

Headcanons on techfolk nicknames

This is just what I've chosen to put in my fics for my amusement; it's not based on anything in canon.

All techfolk can communicate with each other by short-range transmission, and can detect each others' yes-I-live signals when in proximity. (This also means they can't sneak up on each other unless they mod a signal dampener into themselves. Even if you can't hear or see someone, you can sense their yes-I-live signal.) The yes-I-live signal and all transmissions will be appended with the originator's serial number - this is how techfolk can tell each other apart even though they look much the same.

Cameras

Most Cams have no way of speaking with audio, so if they want to go 'off the record' from transmissions they'll sign using Camsign. Individuals have Camsign names, which are usually two-part names that relate to the individual's job somehow.

Examples from my fics:

Clear Sight: TCam engineer who specialises in the Titan's lenses.

High Flyer: TCam engineer who specialises in the Titan's jetpack.

Sun Driver: actually a human, not a cam. Phaeton the human's Camsign name comes from the story of the mythological Phaeton (the offspring of Helios who tried and failed to drive Helios's sun chariot).

Soundkind

Soundkind pick their names from whatever words they enjoy the sound of, regardless of meaning. Their names are usually three words long.

Examples from my fics:

Kinetic Octopus Drink: TSpeaker engineer (specialises in the Titan's blades).

Static Rook Anaguma: TSpeaker's Engineer Prime.

Trashbag: inter-faction liaison. Goes by Trashbag because "Same reason any Soundkind goes by any name: I love how it sounds! Plus, no-one ever forgets it. Everyone remembers TRASHBAG!"

TVs

Most of them don't bother with nicknames because they think their serials are perfectly fine. They might use nicknames if two of them work in the same team and have serials ending in the same digits. When they do have nicknames, they're usually linked to their serial numbers somehow.

Examples from my fics:

Stannum and Ianthe: two TTv engineers whose serials both end in Zero-Seven (they're collectively known as 'the Sevens'). To avoid confusion, 5007 is nicknamed 'Stannum' (Latin for tin, which has atomic number 50) and 9807 is nicknamed 'Ianthe' (for the asteroid 98-Ianthe).

Palindrome: TTv engineer. Has the serial 9779.

Primus: one of the Matriarch's guards. Has the serial 1153 (a 4-digit prime, and 11 and 53 are also primes).

#skibidi toilet #skibidi tags: techfolk (general)

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kishavo · 7 months

Text

plagued by memories tonight so I’m going to spit them up and hopefully that brings me relief.

I was an EMT for about 5 years and I think these things are tattooed on my bones. trigger warning under the cut for…upsetting healthcare-related experiences? and the f-slur

I remember bringing a wheelchair-bound elderly man up to his shoebox apartment in the inner city, 12 floors up a derelict building in a tiny, shaky elevator, and being hit with the stink of smoke as soon as I opened the door - cigarette butts stubbed out on every surface, ashtrays overflowing, carpet that started out as brown matted down to black. I offered to help him into bed but he refused. he took off his vietnam veteran baseball cap and picked up a stale pack of cigarettes and told me to go

I remember the man who had been attacked by his neighbors’ dogs, two Rottweilers. his legs were mangled; huge scoops of flesh just gone. he was kind. he asked me how my day was going.

I remember the dead woman in the ER who I was told to bag up and bring down to the morgue. she looked familiar. I remember putting a tag on her thumb but I don’t remember her name. I remember making small talk with the ER tech who was helping me on the elevator ride down to the basement. that sounds like the start of a joke, doesn’t it? a girl, a man, and a dead body get in an elevator. if you think of a punchline let me know

I remember the frequent-flyer patient with a chronic mystery skin infection that caused his legs to leak so much fluid that we had to wrap them in plastic bags or else the gurney would get flooded and it would soak into his pants and spill over the edge onto the floor of the ambulance. the first time I got his call I thought we’d been sent to a haunted house. it was an old victorian in downtown, made of rotting wood and peeling paint. The knob in the front door had been ripped out so I bent down and looked through. There was no answer when I knocked so I yelled ‘hello’ through the hole until eventually someone came down the stairs and silently let us in. Our patient’s apartment was one room, it was dark, it smelled, the bed was as dirty as the floor, beer cans and cigarettes everywhere. There was a tiny, square, box TV playing static. There were spoiled diapers kicked under his desk. He lived alone and apparently had no family. I and every EMT who had ever been sent there reported the situation to social services but nothing was ever done.

there was the woman coming down from a meth binge who kept asking me if I was going to eat her brains. we dropped her off at a psych facility and a few days later I was back with another patient. I saw her again, sober now. when she saw me she averted her eyes and retreated into her room

there was another woman in the middle of a severe psychotic episode who, within 5 minutes of meeting me, looked me dead in the eye and said, “You’re a fat fucking faggot and I want you to die.” She had pissed on all her personal belongings and the back of the ambulance stank so bad of stale human urine that I had to kick the fan on and spray air freshener into my face mask. She spent most of the call insulting and trying to spit on me and my partner. My partner snapped at her but I just ate it. Later, when we were outside cleaning the gurney and waiting for the next call, a stray cat slipped out from behind a nearby dumpster and curled around my boots. he booped my knuckles and mewled when I pet him and the night was good again

I remember being in and out of psych facilities so often and feeling like a fucking imposter because I was burning out, depressed out of my mind and regularly experiencing suicidal ideation. I wondered when I would call 911 and end up there myself. I wondered if it would be my coworkers who would pick me up. the thought of it scared me enough that I never made the call, even when I should have. I started getting high instead

I remember the middle-aged woman having a panic attack. that was at my on-location job, at my city’s arena, where all the concerts and games were held. it was a slow night and too many of us responded. this woman was hyperventilating, the bass from the concert was everywhere, and a crowd of strangers was closing in on her. I got there first, so by default it became my call, which always made me nervous. I sat her down, I kneeled in front of her, she grabbed my hands reflexively and I let her grip on. I coached her breathing. I waved my coworkers back to give her space. I convinced her that everyone there just wanted to help her and that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. it worked. I was soothing, and sure, and strong. it worked.

when it was over she held my shoulder and thanked me. patients don’t usually thank us. when it was over I went to the bathroom and cried. I handled it so well because I had been talking my mom down from her panic attacks for years.

I talked about that call in group therapy the week after. I thought I was going to be proud, that it would be a positive share, but I cried again.

when people ask about what it's like being an EMT, I don’t think they want to hear any of this, they only want the cool stories. they want to hear about the lights and the sirens and to thank you for your service but please, please, don’t. There’s a quote by Anaïs Nin: “I was always ashamed to take. So I gave. It was not a virtue. It was a disguise.”

#just heads up #this is an unedited stream of consciousness journal entry that you can feel free to scroll past #kisha talks

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monkeymeghan · 9 months

Text

Sorry I've been MIA. Life has had some pretty good highs and some really horrible lows recently. Christmas was great, but a few days later my mom went back into the hospital. After spending a day in the ER she was transferred back down to Philadelphia. She has a bad exacerbation of her CHF and it's not looking great. It's already gotten to the point where being the primary caregiver for both mom and dad has gotten to be too much, but now there's no way I'd be able to take care of her post-discharge, whenever that may be. Thankfully I have an amazing brother and SIL who are here for me and we are all going to do this together. My SIL drove me and dad down to Philly today to visit with mom. It took about an hour to get there. It was so nice to be able to see mom, not on facetime, but in person, and be able to hold her hand, talk to her, give her a hug and a kiss. But it was so fucking hard to see her like that. I don't know how long she will be in the hospital, but it's going to be a long stay. In the meantime, once the social workers reach out this week, we will all have to work together to figure out what type of facility is best suited for mom's needs, is close to home, and can safely provide all the care she needs. It kills me knowing that mom won't come back home. Just sitting here writing this, sitting in the living room where I usually am watching TV with mom at this hour, being here alone is hard. I'm crying just thinking about it. I hate this. I hate all of this. Coincidentally enough, the weekly email from church last week included a flyer about an anticipatory grief support group that another place nearby will be hosting. I signed up for it, its virtual, for 8 weeks, and starts February 1. I'm glad, because I don't know how to do this. I'm so scared.

#mom #chf #congestive heart failure #family #brother #sister #SIL #philadelphia #philly #hospitals #hospitalizations #anticipatory grief #support groups #personal

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bobby-r2d2-floyd · 1 year

Text

behind the glass part one | (tgm x nhl)

note: i've finally sat down long enough to actually write this and im so excited that it's finally here!

warnings: a few swear words, nothing too bad. not a lot of dialogue, mostly background stuff, time jumping, mentions of the covid-19 pandemic

beta'd by the lovely @sarahsmi13s

word count: 4.2k

------------

The first time your parents took you to a hockey game, it was 2008 and you were 13 years old. You remember it was glass seats, home-shoots-twice side right off to the left of the net for the Pittsburgh Penguins in Mellon Arena, affectionately named The Igloo for the white domed top and it being home to the Penguins.

Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin, the Penguins Two Headed Monster, had a combined 68 goals and 148 assists that season. They both racked up career 100 goals with Crosby earning his 200th career assist and 300th career point. Malkin earned the Art Ross trophy as well as the Conn Smythe trophy with a nod to the Hart Memorial trophy, whereas Crosby only received a nod for the Mark Messier Leadership Award.

The Penguins had a decent regular season that year as a team. 45 wins to their 37 losses (28 in regulation and 9 in overtime) but they went on to beat the Philadelphia Flyers, then the Washington Capitals, then the Hurricanes over in Raleigh before finally beating the Detroit Red Wings for the Stanley Cup at the Joe Louis Arena.

Your dad used to joke that you didn’t blink the entire time that you were there, not even during the intermissions between periods. From that moment forward, you were hooked. Hockey consumed your life, you begged your parents for the chance to go again, and again, and again. You went to every home game that took place on weekends. The glass seats were a gift as a back to school surprise, but you never minded sitting further back if it meant you had a better view of the ice.

Over the next 12 years you must have attended nearly 500 games (professional and college), and when you weren't at the games, you were watching them on TV. You, with the help of your parents and grandparents, cultivated your childhood around the sport. Games, practices, meet-the-players events… you attended as much as you could; you even played on a rec team for a bit.

In high school you convinced the head of the newspaper to let you write all four years instead of just your junior and senior years. You specialized in sports, aside from hockey, you were well educated with baseball and football. You graduated high school with a full ride to Penn State University where you double majored in digital journalism and telecommunications and received a certificate in sports journalism.

You thanked whatever god there was above that you managed to bag a position with the Penguins as an assistant photographer for the team. You became a permanent fixture on your favorite team during year one of their back-to-back Stanley Cups, one away at San Jose (2016) and the second one at Nashville (2017) and you were just as over the moon as the players were as you watched Sidney lift the cup for the third time in the last decade.

As you made your way onto the ice, you threw some of the Predators players condolences and “good game [insert player here]” as they worked their way off the ice.

You had developed a close bond with the Russian half of the Monster, and with his wife at home with their newborn son, you made sure to facetime her as Geno skated up to you with the cup, cheering to her in their native tongue. You leave him to talk to his wife while you go off and take pictures of the rest of the players and staff that made it out to Nashville while they’re still celebrating on the ice before moving into the locker room.

The summer of 2017 was a whirlwind event.

Between attending cup celebrations for the friends you made on the team and then almost immediately getting right back to it with pre-season at the Penguins practice facility, UPMC Lemieux Sports Complex, in Cranberry.

On a rare day off, you and fellow Penguins photographer Leland Hawkins were at PNC Park watching the Pirates play the Cubs when the news came through.

“Jesus Christ.” you mumble as you look at your phone screen.

“What?” Leland asks, eyes not leaving the field as she shovels popcorn into her mouth.

“San Diego just announced that they were approved for their own NHL team and they broke ground on an arena that’s expected to be complete prior to the start of the 2020-21 season,” you paraphrase aloud as you scan the article. “We just went through a draft with Vegas and now we need to go through it again?”

“You’re joking, right? We just lost Fleury and now we’re about to lose ANOTHER person? Unbelievable…” Lee mutters before taking your phone from you and reading the article for yourself.

You watch as Rizzo hits a line drive to left field to take first base and you smile a bit, he was your favorite player after all, but the Pirates were the home team. Either way you would be happy with the outcome.

Expansion drafts were never fun for anyone. You remember the hot coal feeling in your stomach as you watched Marc-Andre say his goodbyes to Sid, Geno, and Kris. Players he had known for his entire career to go somewhere completely new.

“I hope I never get asked to go somewhere new. I don’t think I could ever leave this view,” you say as you kick your feet up on the seat in front of you, stealing Leland’s popcorn as you look out past the outfield to the Allegheny River and the Pittsburgh Skyline. For it being Father’s Day, the park wasn’t that packed considering the weather was absolutely beautiful.

“Yeah I think I could. Isn’t there a Navy base in San Diego? All the hot seamen.”

“Is there even a market for another team there? There’s already three teams in California, two of them are not even three hours away.” you say before cheering as Rizzo crosses home plate, bringing the score to 3-0, Cubs.

“New York has two basically next door to each other and then there’s the New Jersey team, ALSO right there.” Leland tries to rationalize and you shake your head.

“Madison Square Garden is in Manhattan and the Barclays Center is in Brooklyn, there’s a forty-ish minute difference and the Prudential Center is an hour away from Madison,” you correct her before standing. “Want anything from concession?”

“Get me a beer please? And why do you know all that?”

“I make it my job to know!” you yell back as you walk away from her.

While in line, you scan through the article again. The old Pechanga Arena will be demolished and then rebuilt to become a new top of the line facility, not too much different from the newer Little Ceasar’s Arena in Detroit, and will only be a 15 minute highway drive from Petco Park.

You shake your head and slip your phone back into your pocket before ordering two beers and a couple of pretzels before pressing the thought of another expansion team to the back of your mind.

The rest of the game flies by and the Pirates lost the series 7-1 which you weren’t surprised by. Tthe Cubs are a good team who’re just coming off the tail end of winning the World Series only eight months prior.

The news of another expansion was the talk of the locker room the next time you were at the Sports Complex. You were sitting in the hallway leading up to the locker room taking pictures when a little blond boy came running up to you.

“Lens!” You hear and you have barely enough time to set your camera down before you’re being knocked over by Nikita Malkin.

“Nik! What are you doing here?” you laugh as you wrap your arms around him.

“Gonna skate with daddy,” he says, his English is good but you know that Anna and Geno speak Russian primarily at home.

“That’ll be fun, gonna score some goals on Muzz?” He nods and you smile, “Good, score one for me.” you say before he bounces off and you manage to get a few photos of him and Geno walking down the hallway.

During the first half of the 2017-18 season the Pens were 19-21 and 28-14 in the back half. They managed to take second in the metropolitan division and head into the playoffs, where, unfortunately they had a second round exit after losing to the Capitals in game six.

As sad as you were for the team to go early, you were thankful for the opportunity to take a bit of a break. You and Leland were able to travel around Europe for a few months before reporting back to Pennsylvania before the players were due to return.

You were taking some pictures of new players’ jerseys that were hanging up when you heard the door open. You look over and see the captain standing there and you give him a small smile.

“Hey Sid. Ready to be back?” you ask as you move over to the next stall.

“Oh yeah, hopefully we’ll make it past round two this year,” he says and he takes a seat and starts pulling stuff out of his duffle that he had slung around his shoulder.

“Well, you never know. I’m just glad Ovechkin can finally shut up now about not having a cup,” you say and he laughs. His rivalry with the Russian has always been a big thing on the ice, but off you knew that the two were friends.

“Right, happy for him though,” he says before looking over at you. “What happened to Leland? Doesn’t she usually do this?”

“She actually moved to Denver. So it’s just me now. Well, at least until my assistant gets here.” you say and he laughs.

“A promotion? Good for you. You always deserved it.” He hesitates, “No offense to Lee.”

You smile and nod, “I’m sure she wouldn’t take any offense, Sid. How was your off season?”

“It was good, Nate and I did a lot around Cole Harbour. Spent a lot of time relaxing at home, played a bit with Taylor while she was in town. What about you?”

“Went to a lot of Pirates games, helped Lee move, spent a lot of time outside with my younger siblings, hung out with some of the WAGs that stayed in town..” you say before taking a seat next to him. “Did you read that on top of the San Diego expansion, Seattle is getting a team now too? Making the even 32 teams and odd 33? Wonder who will be next.”

“Yeah I heard… It’s weird though, that Bettman has allowed so many expansions.”

“It’s Bettman, are you surprised? Why does he do half the shit he does?” You roll your eyes, your disdain for the NHL Commissioner very evident on your face.

“Don’t say that too loud, he might hear you,” he bumps your shoulder and you laugh.

“Right, the last thing I need is to be fired, or worse… transferred.”

“Hey, you work for Mario and he loves you. He won’t let you leave.” Sidney tells you and you can tell he’s being honest. Crosby may be many things, but a liar? Never.

You notice the proximity between the two of you and you take a deep breath, his cologne filling your senses before you clear your throat and stand up. “I uh.. I’ll leave you to change. See you on the ice, Cap.”

You shake the thought of being so close to him off, he’s Sidney Crosby and you’re just a photographer for the team.

You wait for Sid to take the ice before moving down to the bench so you can get pictures of him without the glass being in the way.

You remember the day that he got drafted to the Penguins in 2005, you remember all the things that everyone had said about him, “he was going to save the Penguins”. All the injuries he had, all the concussions, the year of missed games… He was one of the best skaters in the game after some of the legends. Watching him skate is the reason that you took up skating yourself, he was your on ice hero but you would never tell him that.

After taking some pictures of him skating, you make your way out from behind the bench so you can head up to your office and get started on picking what pictures to send to the digital media team.

Before you know it, the season is already ending with a first round exit, swept by the Islanders despite winning 44 games in the regular season.

By the time March of 2020 rolled around, the Penguins had 40 wins and 29 losses, a comeback that they needed.

Until everything came to a standstill.

Commissioner Bettman paused the season due to the threat of Covid-19. All non-essential positions were suspended due to the virus.

For the next four months you didn’t leave your home. All groceries were ordered from people who were brave enough to do Shipt, you taught yourself how to actually cook, spent a lot of time talking to your parents over Zoom, you started to write more, making mock articles to get back into the swing of the journalism aspect of your job again.

By the time that July had come around there were two hub cities named for the play-offs, Toronto and Edmonton. You traveled with the Penguins to Toronto for the modified tournament but left after the Canadiens knocked out the Penguins after three games.

September 28, 2020 the Lightning were crowned Stanley Cup Champions, and the 20-21 season began officially on January 13, 2021. Only 56 games would be played before the Cup would be returned to the Lightning again only a few short months later.

The San Diego expansion draft took place just after Stamkos raised the cup for the second time.

You watched as players got drafted to the San Diego Tomcats, shocked as some teams traded away some of their best skaters, knowing that they didn’t go lightly. Just like what happened with Vegas when Fleury left, you felt a sinking feeling in your chest.

You watched as the last six players were drafted: first was Bradley Bradshaw, center from the Capitals; Reuben Fitch, left defense from the Predators; Mickey Garcia, left wing from the Rangers; Jake Seresin, right wing from the Stars [you rolled your eyes at his name, good luck Tomcats]; Javy Machado, right defense from the Bruins; and the fortieth man drafted was Robert Floyd, goalie from the Blues.

Floyd and Bradshaw were the two you recognized the most between the six of them. Both were on cup winning teams in the last five years so you were surprised to see them there, but then again they weren’t the only Cup winners on the team, some guy named Brigham Lennox from the Lightning was also there. He was going to be a cocky asshole.

You were driving into PPG Paints the next morning when you got the phone call, it was a number you didn’t recognize so you were hesitant when you finally did answer.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Y/N Champaign?” a deep voice asked from the other side and you sucked in a breath before answering.

“This is.”

“My name is Beau Simpson, I’m calling to inform you that you’re being relocated to San Diego. You’ll need to be here when players report for training.” he says and you pull over to the side of the road.

“Sir I’m employed directly with the Penguins, not the NHL-”

“Oh I know. You’re being sent over by recommendation of Mario Lemieux.”

“Oh.”

“I know you’re comfortable with the Penguins, I know that you’re from Pittsburgh so it’ll be hard leaving home. But I’ve seen your work both on the ice and off, as well as behind the glass. You’re talented and as a new team, we could use some talent everywhere it counts.” he says, and you throw your head back against your seat.

“Of course, sir. I’ll be on a plane before the afternoon.” you tell him and you can hear the relief in his voice.

“Wonderful. Bradley Bradshaw will meet you at the gate, he was the first one here so he can get you to the facility.”

“I’m assuming this is an office phone, so I’ll email you the details of my flight.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mario already has them. I’ll pass your number along to Bradshaw.” he says before the line goes dead and you look at your phone as the line disconnects.

You pull back into the road and continue your drive, the last one to PPG Paints as a home team member.

Mario is in his office when you make your way upstairs. A gentle knock on the glass alerts him to your presence and he gives you a smile, “come in.”

“Beau Simpson called me while I was on my way over.” you tell him as you sit down across from him.

“Yeah, he called me last night. I’m sorry I didn’t-”

You hold your hand up and stop him, “don’t worry about it. It’s… okay. It’ll suck leaving the team and everyone behind but new opportunities, right? Plus it’ll be nice seeing the sun for longer than three out of twelve months.” you joke and he cracks a smile and laughs with you.

“You’ll be missed.”

“I know.”

He passes you an envelope and it has your last check as well as a flight itinerary and contract for the Tomcats for you to read through on the plane. “Well, I’m sure you have some owner stuff to do so I’m gonna go say bye to the team.”

He stands and pulls you in for a hug, you were close with everyone, players and staff, so it wasn’t surprising when he pulled you in gently. “I’m gonna miss you, kid.”

You pull away and give him a gentle squeeze on his arm before walking out of the office and down to the ice, stopping along the way to say goodbye to familiar faces in the hallways.

You take a look out to the ice, you watch as the team laughs and smiles, passing the pucks to each other as they all run their own drills. Coach Sullivan is the first person to notice you, skating over and leaning against the boards.

“No camera today?”

“No.. not today… or tomorrow… or next week.” you say and his smile drops.

“No, where to?”

“San Diego.”

“Well, they just got a great person added to their team, it sucks it comes at our loss.” he says before blowing his whistle, getting the attention of all the players. Sidney is the first to skate over to you, slowing down before hitting the boards.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m being relocated. So I just wanted to come by and say goodbye to the team.” you tell him with a sad smile. He opens the gate for you and you set down your paper work on the bench before taking his hand and stepping onto the ice.

One by one, all players new and old (mostly old) pull you in for a tight hug, ignoring the sting of the hard pads digging into you at odd angles. You laugh as Geno hauls you into the air before setting you back down on the ice, only slipping a little bit but he’s quick to steady you.

After wrapping up your goodbyes, you head back to your apartment and pack up just the necessities before meeting your mom downstairs.

“You ready sweetheart?” she asks, helping you with your camera bags and you sigh.

“As ready as I’ll ever be to move away from the two homes I’ve ever known.” you tell her and she gives you a small smile.

“You’re going to be just fine over there.”

“I know, it's just… this city means so much to me. It’ll suck only being back for a few games a season.”

“And holidays.” she says and you laugh.

“And holidays.” you confirm and she smiles.

The drive to the airport went too quick for your liking and before you knew it, you were in the air above the steel city, watching as the skyline and the yellow bridges fade into the distance.

Six hours later you were landing in Fightertown, USA. Stiff from the flight, you do your best to work out all the kinks and cracks that your body goes through as you walk over to baggage claim. It’s easy to find your gear bags due to the giant Penguins logo on the sides, and the small bright yellow suitcase came shortly after.

You turned your phone back on and the first notification that you get is from an unknown number and a text that reads

Waiting for you at the Starbucks in term. 2. See you soon! -Rooster

“Rooster? Who the fuck is that?” you mumble before making your way to the Starbucks. You do a quick scan of the area, you know what Bradley looks like, so you know that none of the people around you are him.

15 minutes go by when an out of breath, lanky brunette walks up to you.

“I am so sorry I’m late, I was here but then I had to go to the bathroom and then there was some kids that recognized me and-”

“Take a breath, I’m not mad.”

“Okay, give me a minute,” he takes a few deep breaths before holding out his hand, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw, or Rooster, if you want.”

“Rooster?” you ask, his palm large and warm against your own as you introduce yourself as well and you take the moment to take him in, his brown hair is already sun bleached at the front and he dons a pornstache that he somehow manages to pull off.

“Yeah, Ovi started calling me that when I joined the Caps so..”

“Oh trust me, I am well versed with Ovi nicknames. He used to call me chicken because my family had chickens a few years ago.. He’s the one who started calling me Lens, actually.” you say as you stand up and pull the handle up on your suitcase.

Bradley is taking the strap of your gear bag when you grab it from him and he looks at you wide eyed.

“Sorry it's just.. There’s a lot of expensive equipment and-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I get it. Would you rather carry it or…?”

“Yeah, sorry I know it's weird and I know everything is packed really well, but I know it was probably thrown around during loading and unloading.” you say and he gives you a small smile.

“Well, then I’m taking this.” he says as he takes the handle of your suitcase from you. “Welcome to San Diego, Lens.” he says as you make your way to the front where his Bronco is waiting for you.

You two make idle small talk as he makes the short drive from the airport to where the new Pechanga Arena is located.

“It’s going to be weird not seeing you in the Caps uniform anymore.” you say as you climb out of the car and he laughs.

“Yeah, but it’ll be nice to see you everyday now.” he says and you notice the flirty smile on his face and you roll your eyes.

“Just remember to smile for the camera, Bradshaw.” you chirp back to him as he opens the door for you.

Standing in the vestibule of the arena, you take everything in. The Navy timeline that wraps around the wall, the Top Gun memorabilia that's displayed behind glass. Bronze statues of the old San Diego Gulls members standing proudly. Bradley gives you a gentle nudge before looking up and you do the same, a replica F-14 Tomcat is hanging, wings in, right above your head.

“Wow… I’ve been to Little Caesars many times over the years, for various reasons, so I knew a little bit of what to expect but this is… Amazing.”

The two of you wander down into the bowl seating and you watch as the ice gets painted, the steel blue and slate gray of the logo is being carefully brushed onto the stark white ice. You follow him around the rest of the arena, a small tour of the locker room where there’s various players in a state of undress after a voluntary workout before going to the offices.

Your office was a bit bigger than the one at PPG, the only difference was the F-14 that was painted on the wall instead of the Penguin from the 90’s that you loved so much.

“Simpson, Coach Kazansky and the rest of the coaching staff are going to be waiting in the review room whenever you’re ready. It’s down the hall to the left, and then it's the third door on the right.” Bradley says before leaving you to settle in.

You pull out your phone and send a quick text to your mom that you landed just fine and were already settling into your new office before you put your hands on your hips and let out a sigh as you looked around, it’ll be a long road of making your office comfortable like it was back home, but you honestly couldn’t wait to see what this new city would bring you.

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