#(all this to say though. at the same time. the Resemblance to holly is eerie. like the differences seem deliberate. which brings me straight

[mikesbasementbeets]

everyone seems so sure that nell is a recast of holly but i truly don’t see it tbh…. she’s not giving holly wheeler vibes To Me. seems funny (weird) to recast her Now (as if the other child actors haven’t also grown far past their canon ages) and then Also style her so distinctly different than we’ve seen holly before. the high pigtails to low ones, the muted/pastel colors to bright ones… if it really were holly, wouldn’t they want to definitively convey that by styling her in a way that balanced how different she would already look being played by a different actor? idk man!!! maybe i’m very wrong!!! but. i just don’t buy it

[delicatebluebirdruins]

the Hollow Boy book 3 reactions reading it for the first time

book 1 and 2

finally ready to type this up here we go page numbers are my copies

page 3 "I think it was only at the very end of the Lavender Lodge job, when we were fighting for our lives in that unholy guest house, that I glimpsed Lockwood and Co working together perfectly for the first time" Lmao

page 8 the owners of the Lodge description "If they resembled anything, it was a pair of elderly owls roosting on a branch"

16 we know who you are Lucy

19 "That's real bad. If I were you Lucy I would find a window and jump out." that is not a good thing is it

page 20 "however as the weeks passed and we'd got to know it properly, we'd learned to really despise it too" heartwarming really

Page 27 that is a lot of ghosts (example whatever I'm on this would be great to see this on screen the practicality of it though? nope)

38 "you chucked that bottle like a girl"/ "I am a girl" no comments let it speak for itself

49 "Outside the window a gale was blowing. Portland Row seemed formed of liquid. Trees flexed; rain pattered on the panes. Inside, it was warm; we had the heating on full blast." this is so cosy

57 "so Lockwood's proximity made me happy" 63 Skull being annoying and I love the background on the night taxis

66 insight into the past and the sorry fate of Jessica Lockwood.

72 Poor Lockwood standing there as Lucy and George bickered

74 I love this quote "It was a place of absence, we were in the presence of something that had gone. It was like coming to a valley where someone had once shouted, loud and joyously, and the echo of that shout had resounded between the hills and lasted a long time. But now it had vanished, and you stood on the spot, and it was not the same"

also Lucy thinking about Lockwood opening up to her more is so cute

82 Hi Kipps (lmao this is so funny when you consider how worried Lockwood was at the thought of Lucy leaving for Fittes "Bloody cheek. Lockwood said. He's talking nonsense as usual. Even so, he said little in the taxi, and it was left to me to give renewed directions"

85 "I smiled at him. There was a horror behind that door. I would see it in seconds. Yet my heart sang in my breast, to be standing beside Lockwood in that house. All was as it should be" aw the horrors but united front

86 I wonder why i was thinking of the Woman in Black

91 "My Talent could bypass such anxieties" can it? 100% of the time?

92 the skull is funny but also an jackass

96 testing Lucy's talent time... the skull is so funny

101 "it wasn't the easiest of homecomings" (typing this up I did not notice the Fittes ghost hunting board game which is basically surgery" 105 "I couldn't believe it. They'd actually done it. They'd tidied! they'd tidied up for me" and "Lockwood's favourites - the ones with almond icing that he rarely allowed himself- were on top" and "Portland Row was my home. My real family was here." I need a minute for that last one honestly

118 "her skin looked as smooth and delectable as coffee- coloured marble". interesting word choice (bisexual Lucy)

125 "I'd never thought to sit so close behind Lockwood that I could lean foreward and speak quietly in his ear, or, by virtue of my proximty to the leader, tactily became the second most important person in the room"

133 the tale is so eerie the casual callouseness of Mrs Wintergarden (thought she doesn't mean to be) and the haunting itself 136 "I gulped mine down like an antisocial seabird" also hello lyre brooch

142 Lucy talking and getting cut off by Lockwood.

153 time sickness

162 Ned Shaw dies and it is just go on as usual there'll be time to mourn later. I am really glad we got to see Ned and Lockwood fight together in the show

165 Neighbourhood Protection Leagues. I was hoping for something like this in the world at large

176 Holly wearing Lockwood's old jumper on the one hand makes sense because cold but also was it necessary for Holly to say it still smells like him? like it is really intimate wearing someone else's clothing and smelling them on it and of course the possibilty of her wearing Lucy's spare gloves is so *flails*

186 "there were bloodstained footprints all around my circle" how about? no 188 "or mimicking the sound of breathing" again no

192 "the ghost opened it's mouth. "I need YOU" it said" creepy. three steps at a time is huge (i want a Lockwood POV)

200 "were you feeling particulary abandoned or needy up there?" and Lucy not answering or looking at George. 205 Lockwood and Lucy arguing about Holly (not arguing per say but rumbles of thunder off in the distance)

209 I love this chat with the Skull. 211 "head wounds clearly suit you" the way i sputtered at this

216 I love the vastness of the Chelsea outbreak

219 Bad things happening? let's throw a party! well carnival you get the picture

224 FLO! we're going to see Flo... 228 "Don't worry about Locky. He must like you really. It's been eighteen months and you're still alive" lmao

233 Love Mrs Wintergarden inviting them to the carnival

236 George is protective of Lucy aw

241 hi sir Rupert... 244 they're tossing sources!

247 deadly hair piece NICE ("the band was a crescent- moon- sharp, made of silver. She held it like a knife")

253 "we [Locklyle] were in step together perfectly in sync"

259 I love the pictures of Lockwood in the newspaper

264 "[Luce] You're a star" a bit out of context but who cares? and then she goes into Jessica's room and finds out what she can

266 Lucy finds a necklace "a golden necklace with a dark green stone lay on a sheet of cotton wool" 269 poor little Lockwood

278 world building! finding where things are located! this is cool

281 smarty pants George but also teamwork with Flo

284 "Another point to Lucy. She's good at playing atrocities" now thing of the scene in the show where she and Lockwood roleplay relic men

287 misplaced trust in Barnes

292 Lucy telling Lockwood to join forces with Kipps and I really like the scene

Lucy: "I think we should take Kipps up on his offer. There are people dying out there, Lockwood, and we can't stand back from it. We need to act. We need to engage, even if that does mean making compromises. That department store is massive: even if we're just doing a reconnaissance, we need a proper team. And Kipps's team is good- we know that. If we have faith in George, in all the work he's done, we should do this. We owe it to him. More than that, we owe it to ourselves.

and Lockwood just gazes at her (Lockwood POV) and she gets flustered "I just don't think we have any choice" and I love it so much

and I love the reactions of everyone else

297 FLO! I feel so safe. 299 Flo is plesant to Holly Lucy is annoyed

303 haunting descriptions time "Mornings are all right' the attendant in Meswear said. 'And late afternoons, funnily enough when you get the sunlight streaming through the windows. It's noon I don't like, when the streets outside are bright, and in here it's full of shadow. The air goes thick. Not hot, exactly. Just stuffy."

312 Lucy paired with Holly and neither being very happy about it the skull being funny

317 i like this description from the skull "Because you're [Lucy] unique. You shine like a beacon, attracting the attention of all dark things" 319 "i missed him [Lockwood] at my side"

323 "And i watched that notch of darkness. I watched as something moved into it" how about nope

328 "with a fetch a ghost that makes a psychic bond with the onlooker and takes on the guise on the guise of someone closely connected to them" this would be horrible yeah (I would love to see it in the show)

338 Lucy telling Holly she should have told Lockwood no and Holly goes "like you do?" Lucy yelling at Holly and poor Bobby is injured and having to deal with these two

351 "truth is, it's everywhere. it's right on top of us. It coils around us like a snake. We're all inside it. It's already swallowed us whole." I LOVE THIS LINE

359 why is Lockwood's eyes sparkling at Lucy and then it all goes to shit the chapter ending with "both my mind and body were lost"

365 "rule seven (b), obviously, is to keep your matchbox well stocked."

367 "I looked at it. 'Hello,' I said. 'Sorry' The skeleton said nothing. It couldn't help it's bad manners"

379 Lucy recognising the voice being that of Lockwood. But it not being Lockwood

385 "you know I'd die for you" so Lucy see's the fetch ghost take on Lockwood's form and telling her Lockwod dies for her. Then she hears this from real Lockwood. If it were me the moment i was able i'd sit in the corner and rock. Also this is a crime that we don't get to see this scene and the lead up to it on the screen because Lockwood's actor is great and would knock it out of the park. (also Lockwood pov again)

390 "it's happened to me before. Losing someone dear to me. I can't let it happen again" see above Cameron and Ruby would be stunning.

394 Lockwood's first ghosts were his parents? yikes

413 creepy thought indeed missing mysterious people doing a ritual

417 "take your boyfriend Lockwood" lmao skull

419 and everyone is in shock and the book end.

[belladonnaandulriched]

the artist | chapter twenty-five

I was nervous to say in the least, more nervous than the thought of actually standing in the same room as this bunch of guys I had befriended and was now sharing the most intimate parts of myself. But it was actually real at this point. I had found myself at the helm of my very own art show, filled with prints of my own art. My head still spun from how Lars managed to organize all of this as quickly and thoughtfully as he did. Tom told me it was because he liked me: if Lars liked someone, he would move mountains for them. He moved mountains for his bandmates, therefore it made sense to move them five more feet for a girl he had a crush on.

But it still blew my mind that I was standing there.

My very own gig in the wake of a raging pandemic that was returning with a vengeance, once again standing at the end of the world.

I stood in between Joey and Chris; Lars wove about the floor with that black protective mask on over his face and maintained that distance apart from the people there. Will controlled the door as he donned a bright neon blue bandana atop his afro and a mask that resembled to a respirator from the Chernobyl accident: it was almost eerie to look at even from a distance, and yet I couldn't help but wonder where he had found it there in that speakeasy.

In fact, save for him, we all wore those black masks over our faces: Joey went the extra step and included a pair of glasses to protect his eyes. We were a few steps from the nearest faucet, and the nearest bathroom: I knew I was going to have to come clean to my parents about these boys here. These boys. My friends. My muses.

I thought about that sunflower down in the garden area there in Portland.

And the other sunflowers in their garden nearby.

Those Hollywood sunflowers.

I wondered if blond Dave and Stone were going to keep their promise and actually come to the gallery. Chris raked his fingers through his black curls and cleared his throat.

“So I got a message from Stone earlier,” he began.

“And?” I asked him.

“He said they're gonna keep those sunflowers safe for you. Those sunflowers that he and Dave had crafted out for you.”

“They better,” I told him with a smirk behind my mask.

Joey shifted his weight next to me. I looked over at him gazing over at Will and the door. I wondered what he was thinking right then, but not in this setting, though. There was no way I could bring it up to him right then and there with Chris standing right next to me.

Outside, I spotted the guy I had had the misfortune of meeting standing on the sidewalk. He faced the other way but I knew it was him. I would never forget his fat face staring back at me. I still had no idea what to say to my parents after the incident on the street, especially when memories of it kept returning to me every so often. They were fleeting memories but they were memories nonetheless. Joey was the one soul who knew about it—as far as I knew, blond Dave and Stone had no idea about it.

Lars doubled back to us with the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile.

“We've got a good crowd tonight,” he informed me, even though there really wasn't a lot of people in that room so to speak. It was definitely remarkable for me given it was my first ever show. I could only imagine who else would be there the next night if all went well that night. I swallowed as I spotted Will letting my assaulter into the speakeasy. The whole incident made me think of a bear attack, and therefore Will let a bear into the building.

Even from across the room, I could feel the tension coming down on me. Joey shifted his weight again; he glanced over at me with a concerned look in his eye.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah, I just got a—kind of a weird feeling just now. This funny fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach.” I followed his gaze to across the room. Even without me telling him about it, I knew what he was thinking upon seeing... him.

I wanted to tell Will about him, but it was water under the bridge at that point. I was already in too much of a pickle at that point.

My mask felt lopsided, like it wasn't protecting me enough. Or it was protecting me enough, it just stuck onto my lips and my nose with a bit too much discretion. I needed to breathe.

I was already nervous before the show started, but now he strode about the floor like some big grizzly bear with the smell of blood on his paws.

Chris glanced over at me with his eyebrows knitted together.

“You alright, Holly? You seem tense.”

I swallowed.

“I need a moment,” I confessed to him.

“What is it?”

“I just—I need a moment.”

I ducked away from there and doubled back down the hallway to the painting room.

“Holly?” Chris called after me.

It was about to come to a head, if not there then at some point or another in the future. I had to let the cat out of the bag, about everything to everyone. Transparency and closeness is key when in the arts, and I couldn't even get that right. It felt as though a dead weight set upon my shoulders, and my feet weighed a thousand pounds each. I thought I would collapse onto the floor right then and there, but I never did.

“Holly—” His voice followed me down the hall.

For a second, I was disoriented. I was still a kid. Still a teenager. Still a kid, and yet it was all coming down on me. The pressure to be perfect and to do everything all at once, even in the wake of the virus. I wanted to be outside, to be out in the garden with blond Dave and Stone. Just be out there with them.

“Holly! Holly, what's the matter?”

I heard a man with a large husky voice in the front room which contrasted with Lars' squeaky Danish accent and I could only assume James was there. I was in such a mess of mind that I was missing meeting James! It proved too much for me to bear: I ducked into the painting room without turning the light on. I sank down behind the table, the one holding the paintings of Joey and Lars from the light of day. I pulled my knees into my body, peeled off my mask, and bowed my head.

The tears welled up. I couldn't breathe. The pain still riddled throughout me, even with the painting I had made for Joey.

At least my hands were clean on a literal level—I couldn't shake the feeling of the cold earth from the gardens and the paints from the paintings from the skin, though.

I bowed my head so Chris wouldn't have to hear me crying. But he heard me anyway.

“Holly! Holly, what's wrong?”

I pressed myself against the wall to hide myself, but he sank down next to me and snuggled closer to me. I felt him put his arm around me. I leaned my head over to his chest. I buried my face in his shirt and wept.

“Holly—” he breathed; I felt his hand on my back. His heartbeat and his steady breathing soothed me, but it was still almost too much for me to bear. Art had its power over me, but I needed to release it like this, complete with Chris cradling me in his arms. I knew I had to say it to him. It loomed over me.

I sniffled and raised my head to look up at him through the darkness. He too had taken off his mask: I could smell the soft soap from the bathroom on his skin. I brushed the tears away from my eyes. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed the thoughtful look upon his face.

“Holly—is there something you want to tell me?” he began. I thought about blond Dave and Stone's fears about being seen from the outside world. The first thing that came to mind was someone finding out about them. Someone asking me about them seeing as I was on the way to becoming a public figure in the wake of everything. No private life—personal life out in the open, and that included the gardens.

“I'm just—I'm worried about Dave and Stone down in the gardens,” I told him. On the other hand, there was no way I could tell him the full truth right then and there.

“They'll be fine, don't worry,” he assured me; in the darkness, I noticed those sensual lips upturning into a warm smile. I always wanted to see him smile more because it was so genuine, but even a small nugget of reassurance had its shelf life, especially given the extent of the dead weight on my shoulders. And that smile soon faded as well, given I was still showing him some tears and I felt my body shaking and quivering. Nowhere to hide, not even in the dark.

“There's something else, though. I can feel it. Like, somebody walked in and you got upset somehow. Like I heard you talking to Joey about it.”

I swallowed and I gasped at the sound of his name. Chris stared at me hard in the darkness.

“Are you and Joey—”

I pursed my lips together. I didn't want to say it.

“Holly. Are you and Joey together?”

I swallowed again and this time I actually could do it.

“I wouldn't say we are,” I confessed to him at a reluctant pace. Even in the shadow, his expression never changed for a second.

“Well, I ask you that because—I've seen how he acts towards you, and how he reacts whenever you come up in conversation. I just couldn't help but make assumptions about the two of you.”

“Chris—” I couldn't hardly speak from the tears in my eyes and the heavy hard feeling inside of my throat. I backed off of him, but I couldn't back up too much given the table was right behind me. Those paintings were right behind me: the one time paintings ever haunted me. The dim light from the hallway shone onto his face so I could make out the thoughtful expression still plastered upon him. In fact, it was my looking at him that calmed me down more than anything.

Calmed me down and even stunned me.

“You know,” he began, “when I was growing up in downtown Seattle, I was forced having to lie to people all the time.”

“You?” I asked him with a sniffle.

“Oh, yeah. Lie to people about my parents and their status—lie about where I lived, given there was a lot of drugs to go about—I even had to lie to cops a couple of times. My mom had pot plants outside and my brother and I had to hide them whenever a squad car came around the corner. I know what it's like to have to lie, and I know what it's like to lie to protect yourself. But like every sense of protection, you have to step outside of it every now and then to unfurl the truth. You have to—dare I say—be outside of the wall. So—”

He peered over at the door and the dim light shone in the whites of his eyes.

“Welcome to the outside of the wall. Kind of.”

“What are you saying?” I asked him.

“Does Joey know about you and me?”

“Not that I know of.”

“How 'bout Lars? It's the same story with him, too—I actually saw you guys screwing on the floor that one time.”

“You saw us?” I sputtered.

“Shhhh.” He brought a finger to his lips. “Yes. I didn't say anything because I wanted to see how far you two would go.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Holly, I like you. I like you so much that I'm willing to let you hang out with other guys. I don't want to be limited to one thing—it makes sense that I do the same thing for my girlfriend, too. But—does Lars know about us?”

“I—I don't know,” I confessed.

“Will does, though,” he told me.

“Will knows about us?”

“Yeah. Oh, yeah!”

And then Joey checking to see if Will was coming during our video chats made sense right then. But at the same time, it made wonder about Joey. It also made me wonder about Lars, too. Maybe they did know about us, but they, like Chris, wanted me to go about and have a little fun. We were all friends after all.

But I already gave Chris a valid answer, and on top of that, I had no solid proof that the two of them knew about us. I swallowed and brushed away another couple of tears.

“But let's keep it between the three of us, though,” said Chris in a low voice. “You, me, and Will. Joey and Lars can either figure it out for themselves or you can tell them because we are all friends here. If you tell them, I'll make sure Will gets the message. Don't worry about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

I put my arms around him again and he returned the favor. At the same time, I couldn't help but wish to tell Joey and Lars about Chris and Will's secret.

They deserved to know, too. I did paint and feel the both of them after all.

I moved my head back and Chris brushed a lock of hair back from my face, and tucked it behind my ear.

“Let's go showcase some art, shall we?” he suggested. I wondered if the bear was still out there. However, if he was, I at least had Chris to stand up for me. I could show him that he wasn't going to win, not with my boyfriend and three other boys standing on either side of me.

[quillerqueen]

Down In Yon Forest

Alone in the world though Regina may be, she doesn’t have to spend Yuletide season all by herself.

 But she’s chosen to.

 Yule morning wakes her with the gentle drizzle of fog, glittery particles drifting in and chilling her cheeks peeking from the furs pulled all the way up to her chin. Her little burrow is cosy if not outright warm, but she can tell it will be crisp and cool outside, just as it’s been the past few days. Today’s going to be a busy day for Regina, she’ll make sure of that—no time to dwell on useless, sentimental nonsense such as the lack of friends and family to burn the Yule log with. Regina slips from beneath the blankets and into the fuzzy vest, grabs two apples and a slice of stale bread from her small and pitifully empty pantry, dons gloves, bow and arrow, and steps outside her rustic abode.

 The willow forest gleams in the weak winter sun, wisps and clouds of fog hanging suspended low over the ground, a lazily shifting mass that lends her little nook of the forest a half eerie, half ethereal ambiance. Tiny droplets and crystals of ice float in the scant rays, and perhaps she’d stand in wonder at such a sight if not for the brazen frost pinching her cheeks and creeping beneath her skin the longer she stands still.

 Off Regina goes then, bypassing the trigger of the falling log and the pit trap concealed under the cedar tree, never bothering to watch for animal tracks the hard, frozen forest floor won’t be marked with. Her snares yield a single rabbit, and well, it won’t be the first time she goes without substantial dinner—at least that orphaned brother-sister duo new to the village won’t have to go without. They’re already up and about, diligent as ever by the time she sneaks up to their window and coaxes it open enough to deposit the modest catch on the windowsill. They’ll know it’s from her anyway, it’s not the first time she’s contributed to keeping the children fed and watered, but she leaves unseen all the same with just a touch of guilt and regret she knows would only grow with another imminent invitation to share in tonight’s festivities with them.

 An invitation she would have to decline, just like she had all the rest before them made by a grateful widow here, a poor and numerous peasant family there. Only yesterday she had some dozen pairs of eyes beg her to stay for the dinner she’d helped secure with the same sack of money that would keep the orphanage above water for another year.

 The money had come from the royal tax carriage she’d robbed the day before to buy herself passage out of the kingdom. She’d been planning that particular heist for weeks, her escape from Snow White’s vengeful clutches for months. The orphans needed the money more. Regina will just have to bide her time for just a little longer. Another carriage will come, another opportunity will present itself—but not tonight. Tonight, all the world is going to celebrate.

 Little groups of wassailers form in the small marketplace, and Regina watches hidden behind bushes of juniper and holly as they go door to door, singing and drinking spiced wine to the health of friends and neighbours. Love and joy come to you.

 It’s sentimental of her to be here, sentimental and foolish, but she’s still only human after all and while she’s used to solitude and even prefers it, Regina craves company once in a while. Today she does, in whatever shape and form she can get it without endangering herself and others too much. Yuletide brings back memories, for better and for worse, of a life long gone, of palace feasts with leftovers in such abundance that her stomach was blissfully full even with just the scraps. But in the good old days, the servants would have a feast to themselves, cooks and handmaids and menservants and all the help, and Regina would open gifts with stable boys and another batch with the princess. That was when Queen Eva had still lived, before the deadly rift between Regina and Snow White came to be.

 And now everything is a potential trap, a betrayal waiting to happen. Regina has to be suspicious, constantly on edge, ever vigilant. To a fault, she sometimes wonders; then dismisses the thought—it’s only self-preservation.

 Yuletide is no exception. Not with the wanted posters doubling in number and the prize on Regina’s head quadrupling. Snow White hates the season as much as she hates Regina, and the combination of the two seems to be quite unbearable to the tyrannical queen. No, if anything, Regina needs to be more cautious this time of the year than ever.

 Which is why the scrap of parchment tucked into her pocket has no business being there. She’s not going to use it, she decided that days ago.

 Then why hold on to it at all?

 ### It’s something of a tradition for Robin Hood and his Merry Men to venture into the town of Nottingham around solstice and spread some Yuletide cheer. Granted, it is risky business with the sheriff, Robin’s old rival, always looking for a bone to pick, but that’s part of the fun. Nursing cuts and bruises or even a broken nose the following morning, on the other hand, is not half as amusing. So his men rise reluctantly but refuse to shine on this misty Yule morn, and Robin’s vigorous efforts to bring some order into the bit of chaos their camp currently resembles is met with much grumbling and general grouchiness.

 “Less talk, more action,” Robin frowns while sorting through the various items of clothing haphazardly discarded around the camp—always one to lead by example, Robin makes sure of that. Then, smirking at a very hungover Friar Tuck: “I remember instructing you to share mead with the townsfolk, not to drink half a keg yourself.”

 Tuck mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like I hate guests, but sets about washing up the pots and pans from breakfast all the same.

 “Oi, Robin,” shouts Will Scarlet, leaning on the broom for support rather than sweeping up the shards of the clay bowl with globs of porridge still clinging to them. “That’s a lot of trouble we’re going to for this lass, innit? More than any guest in all me time here.”

 The Merry Men have entertained nobles and dignitaries in abundance, yet these visitors are guests only by the title bestowed upon them mockingly, treated to a feast they would pay for thrice over once relieved of coin and gems. Concerns with the camp’s cleanliness and overall charm simply never surface. The only aspect to showcase to them is without a doubt the camp’s ingenuous defences—although neither of these poor devils would be able to trace their way back to the cleverly disguised hideout even if they tried.

 Will’s cheeky implication starts a veritable riot of jests and jokes, and Robin finds himself the subject of much good-hearted ribbing and roasting over his apparent anticipation. The easy back and forth is partly a relief—even though the majority have been amendable to argument and eventually gave their stamp of approval to bringing an outsider into their circle, a hint of discomfort lingered all the same, and Robin’s glad to see that lift, if only temporarily. The downside of this banter, however, is the heat he feels rising to his cheeks—a silly thing over something quite as non-existent as any sort of romantic entanglement with this competition he’s never had the occasion to properly meet, but a thing nevertheless that his men would be sure to tease him for mercilessly should they notice.

 Robin ducks into his tent to retrieve his bow and arrows and sets off to instruct the sentries for the day.

 Halfway to the nearest watch post, Little John falls into step with him. A smudge of dried blood peeks from the frayed edges of the bandage plastered over his nose. He pinches the bridge of it gingerly— a tell-tale gesture that suggests he’s about to approach a sensitive subject. And so it is.

 “Dey hab a poid, mate,” says Little John mildly.

 “They have a point about what?” Robin stalls. And he really shouldn’t be using Little John’s temporary speech handicap against him, so he adds with a lick of guilt: “Revealing the whereabouts of our hideout?”

 “Dad I cad udderstand. Dobe, I bead all de fuss you’re baking abou’ dis bardicular visit. Abou’ Regida.”

 “Well, you know my reasons for inviting her, so I won’t repeat them. I’m aware she’s competition, John, but I’m certain we can trust her with this. It would be a valuable alliance. I don’t know,” Robin sighs with a touch of exasperation, “I just feel it in my gut that we’d be a good fit. Bandit Regina and the Merry Men,” he adds hastily lest there be any misunderstanding.

 His closest friend merely nods in response, a knowing little smile trailing after the gesture, as if he could understand something Robin himself can hardly begin to sense.

 “You’re fine with this, then?”

 “Her cobing—yes.” Then Little John frowns and huffs: “De cleading—do.”

 ### Regina is too curious for her own good. The scrap of parchment her latest heist yielded rustles between her fingers, crumpled and unreadable by now. It doesn’t matter, she has it memorised. What she hasn’t figured out though is why the outlaw would divulge the carefully guarded secret of their encampment’s location to their prime competition. Obviously this smells of betrayal, doesn’t it? It’s a trick, no more, and a rather heavy-handed one at that. Perhaps they’re even conspiring with the queen.

No, she doesn’t believe that of him somehow—stupid though such a hunch is.

If she approaches by ground, she will be spotted. So what she must do is climb and crawl in the foliage, painstakingly slowly, and once she reaches a point after which she must be discovered by the sentinels stationed at the perimeter of Robin Hood’s famously untraceable camp, to seek some kind of proof that the message was indeed from the thief and not, perchance, a setup with Black Knights lying in wait (they’re way too dim-witted to come up with a plan this complicated themselves, but the queen could have).

It takes a poorly concealed protruding root to shake her awake as she trips and fumbles for support lest she end up face-down in a luxurious carpet of moss. What the hell was she thinking, foregoing vigilance for the sake of fruitless speculation? She’s not going to this alleged campsite of theirs, she decided that a while ago. It’s just not safe, or reasonable. At least not when they’re expecting her. But in a few days, or weeks, when they’re no longer counting on her—although will they be foolish enough to let down their guard once they know their secret’s been revealed to her? Time will tell.

Regina’s steps lead her down a path dusted with flecks of snow melting to sludge under her boots. There’s no game in sight, not a sound other than that of leaves and snow crunching and squeaking under her boots. Fat flakes float around her, flurries chasing each other to the ground in ever increasing numbers, painting the forest a veritable winter wonderland.

The clearing she favours is hard to approach in the best of conditions, but Regina knows the way—up the gentle slope of the hillock, twining between branches as needles prick her face and pull at her hair, and finally around the boulder blocking the game trail. A few strategic brushes of her hands to clear away the snow, and she slips into her usual seat on the upturned trunk with a content sigh.

A patch of the forest stretches before her—a canvas of greens and browns and a blinding, sparkling white—yet she remains hidden to prowling eyes at this magnificent vantage point. She loves it here, loves the seclusion and the simultaneous oneness with nature that surrounds her here like a soft blanket. She doesn’t come often because the place belongs to other forest-dwellers, and she’d be loath to deprive them of their safe place just as she clings to her own. Yuletide is the only exception—they don’t come here this time of the year, and so she’s not intruding upon anyone when she gifts herself the blissful peace the place invariably fills her with.

Regina lets her thoughts wander and drift much like the snow, which soon drops like a thick curtain over the world. The tips of her boots brush mindless patterns into the freshly fallen layer as she swings her feet inches above the ground, memories of wooden swings and feet kicking in the air swimming before her eyes. Faster, Regina, higher! comes Snow White’s elated voice from back in a different lifetime, and Regina’s arms ache as she laughs and pushes her royal friend with more vigour. It’s only the cold, she tells herself as she wipes a cluster of tears from the corners of her eyes.

Perhaps this year the queen will open the parcel tied with a string that Regina’s left for her under the rosebush they used to play hide-and-seek in. Every year Regina leaves a present, something small and simple, for old times’ sake. Every year she finds a pile of ashes in its place, and knows the queen incinerated it before Snow White ever had a chance to resurface and see it for the peace offering it was—even just a temporary one; even just for the duration of Yule.

Twilight falls and Regina hasn’t moved, her backside numb with cold and back stiff. Somewhere deep in the forest (her heart skips when she realises she knows exactly where now), the thief and his men are making merry in the warmth of the burning Yule log. Somewhere in the village, church bells are ringing for those of the new belief to assemble for mass. Old ways and new flourish side by side, a motley of faiths, legend, and lore; but Regina doesn’t set much store by either of them—no creature, god, or fairy has ever come to her aid, no matter how she’d beg or wish or pray. Only the forest has been there for her, though harsh and cold at times, giving nothing for free and always making her work for her livelihood, but providing all the same if she only tries hard enough, imprinting a lesson life’s been so intent on teaching her—that the only one she can ever truly rely on is herself.

A shuffling sound comes from the thicket, a body pressing its way through to the clearing, putting an end to Regina’s reverie.

Her senses are suddenly on alert, her instinct kicking in. She reaches for her bow and plucks an arrow from the quiver. Something—or someone—is coming, and she’s ready with her bow strung tight and aimed at the mysterious source of the commotion.

A deer stumbles forth, dragging itself through the snow and brambles.

The poor beast is huge, and frozen still at the sight of the intruding human. It’s precious quarry, food for days if Regina fells it, and she cannot possibly miss from this close. Her stomach rumbles at the thought of the feast.

And yet she doesn’t shoot.

Their gazes remain locked, human and beast, and Regina bites her lip—the animal looks almost pleading. It’s come all the way here, where it thought it’d be safe and sheltered, only to find itself staring in the eye of a predator. Regina huffs in exasperation—this isn’t how you survive in the wild, and yet she knows she’s going home hungry tonight. She can’t kill the beast—not like this.

Lowering her bow, she steps back, stomach growling in protest, her mind raining reproof but her heart full when the deer steps further into the small glade, as if it understood. Regina gasps when its knees buckle and its long legs fold under its massive belly as it sinks to the ground, a high-pitched wail resounding in the stillness of the thickening night.

It’s a doe—and she’s in labour.

### Sherwood forest looks as festive as it ever could, even the weather playing into Robin’s cards as it works its wintry magic on the landscape. The camp gleams with cleanliness as much as any forest hideout could, and the Yule log is burning with a bright, homey flame. Robin sips on spiced wine and watches the air shimmer from the heat as he stands on the snowless patch of ground cleared by the warmth of the fire. He’s waiting for the guest that’s already running late.

Robin watches Regina every year, and can’t fathom her behaviour. She hides from those she does good unto, and doesn’t make friends. The suspiciousness and fear of betrayal he understands to an extent, but the thoughtful gift she smuggles to the queen is a mystery to him—she’s met with such cruelty, with guards swarming around that same spot every year, and yet she never fails to make this gesture. He wants to know that generous yet closed-off heart—curiosity and awe, and a feeling of kinship he’s only just beginning to grasp, are his sole motivation. That’s why he entrusted her with their biggest, deadliest secret, and drew a map, hoping the show of trust would convince her he wasn’t a threat to her.

It seems to have achieved the opposite, for wait as he might, she doesn’t show up as the ancient festivities in their camp proceed. The Merry Men honour the old ways, the turning wheel of the year fuelled by the never-ceasing battle for rule between the Oak King and the Holly King. He’s no idea what Regina’s beliefs are—but he finds, befuddled, that he wants to know them with a force he can’t quite account for yet.

With a heart quite inexplicably heavy, Robin abandons the half-drunk beverage, asks Little John to oversee the festivities in his absence, and sets out for a walk to clear his head.

He wanders aimlessly through the woods he knows like the back of his hand, slipping under branches heavy with snow, cool flakes melting on his nose and eyelashes in the ever thickening fall. He pays no attention to paths already snowed in, to landmarks barely discernible in the overwhelming whiteness that quickly turns into dusk. Lost in thought, Robin jumps as a bulk of snow tips a branch and lands on the ground with a soft thud.

Pressed against a tree, he draws his weapons and strains his eyes for a glimpse of the mystery visitor responsible for the disturbance.

A doe comes into view—and she’s alone. That’s odd for the season, for deer rarely wander from their herd, and especially not in winter. A lone doe is a rarity unless it’s the spring, unless she’s—pregnant. Robin’s eyes drop to its protruding belly hanging low, to the swollen udder, and his arms fall to his body, his grip on the bow and arrow slackening. The doe’s isolated herself because the birth of her young is imminent, and she must be on her way to the fawning site. Her timing is most unfortunate—in this weather, it could even be fatal.

Robin shakes his head, filled with compassion for the poor thing, and for lack of better things to do, he follows the retreating animal. The vigorous snowfall hinders his vision, and he needs to keep his distance and stay upwind lest he scare the doe, but luckily he’s figured out her destination halfway there. Reaching the clearing, he crawls through the foliage and crouches amongst the boughs, out of sight but with a perfect view himself. He won’t interfere with nature’s course unless absolutely necessary.

The doe’s lying on the ground, a dark shape in the pristine snow, her pained cry cutting through the serenity of the night.

And then he hears another voice—a soft cooing, words quite indiscernible if they are words at all, but clearly meant to comfort the ailing mother-to-be. Robin cranes his neck, squints in the dark, and gasps when realisation dawns on him.

Regina’s bow is at the ready within the blink of an eye, her aim remarkably true considering she can’t possibly have seen him.

“Don’t shoot,” he says quickly as he emerges into the clearing with his hands raised, “I’m a friend.”

“I don’t have friends,” she claps back without thought, then corrects with a hint of something—sadness, and frustration with herself maybe, for revealing too much or wanting more: “We’re not friends.”

“Perhaps I meant the doe,” Robin grins.

He can’t see her face from here, but he would stake anything that she rolls her eyes at him.

“You can’t have followed me here,” she reasons, still suspicious—always suspicious, and he supposed it comes with the trade, but in her case it feels like there’s more to it than that. “The snow has long covered my trail.”

“As I said, milady, I followed the doe. I wanted to make sure she and the fawn will be fine.”

“Well, I have the situation under control,” she insists. A stubborn one, this Bandit Regina. “Go back to your camp. Celebrate with your men.”

“I’d rather stay,” he says mildly, and steps to the log.

### “I’d rather stay,” he says brazenly, and hovers over her makeshift seat as if he had a right to be there. “May I?”

“I don’t own the log,” she shrugs, still standing with her bow drawn but lowered, and damn him for making her feel so flustered. Especially when he brushes specks of snow off the wood and makes a sweeping gesture next, prompting her with a wink to sit.

Regina scoffs at the gallantry, though her stomach performs an odd little skip that’s hard to blame on hunger. Their arms brush as they sit side by side, bows and quivers propped either end of the log. The moon choses that awkward moment to illuminate the clearing, casting silver light upon the world. Regina needs every ounce of self-control not to give in to curiosity and stare openly at the face she’s only ever seen on wanted posters, often alongside her own. Do the drawings do him justice?

The doe watches them with soft brown eyes brimming with pain, but soon she has other concerns as she begins to prepare for the fawn’s arrival, licking herself thoroughly.

The outlaw seems engrossed in the scene, and Regina uses his distraction to take a proper look at him.

He’s handsome. Painfully so. Fair hair, brilliant blue eyes, stubble she wants to run her fingers over. Dimples for days when he turns his head and smirks—caught. Shit, he’s caught her staring!

“I was hoping we’d meet under different circumstances,” he tells her with that smirk still glued to his face, “but I’m certainly not complaining. Witnessing a fawning is a rarity even for us forest-folk.”

“Did you really think I would just walk into my competition’s camp? I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Actually, I do know that. I’ve admired your work for quite a while. I was going to propose a partnership.”

“Oh?” That’s—not at all something she expected him to say. Praise and compliments on her accomplishments have been scarce in her life. But she mustn’t let herself be so easily swayed by sweet talk. People lie, and make mistakes, and betray others—her heart is her own responsibility, and she’s hell-bent on keeping it whole and beating in her chest. “I appreciate the offer, but I work alone.”

Robin Hood nods, as if he had seen it coming, quite undeterred as he admits: “I was hoping you might reconsider. It seems we’re already partnering up for the night at least.”

The thought of spending the night with this man sends her heart into a wild stampede she doesn’t know how to tamp down.

“This kind of thing hardly takes all night,” she rolls her eyes at him. Presumptuous thief. And yet it’s she who’s—annoyingly—blushing at his innocent statement.

“Not if it goes smoothly, no,” he gives her. “But her timing’s off—she may yet find herself in trouble. I hope I’m wrong, of course.”

“Why aren’t you at camp anyway? Weren’t you gonna throw a grand Yuletide fest?”

“Oh I’m sure my men are making the best of it,” he chuckles. He has a good laugh—warm and rumbling. “I fancied a walk. She crossed my path. You know the rest. What brings you here?”

“I fancied a walk,” she grins gamely. No way is she detailing the depth of her thoughts to this stranger who styles himself as friend. Not that he’s a complete stranger, of course. There have been messages, aside from the map. Whimsical notes back and forth upon snatching loot from under the other’s nose. Words of warning when danger lurked. She knows his reputation, and he knows hers. That doesn’t make them—well, anything, beyond acquaintances at best.

Then the doe gives out a strangled little sound and begins to push, and there’s no room for conversation anymore.

###

It’s only when Regina loses herself in the moment that Robin breathes more freely.

The second that moonbeam hit Regina’s face, Robin was simply enchanted. All this time he struggled not to let it show, not to stare too long or bask too obviously in the moment. Ever since those first few words, that smart mouth of hers and the adorable scrunchy face she made at him, she’s been reeling him in—and she doesn’t even know it. Her dark hair’s a tangled mess, her braid barely holding together and adorned by stray needles and twigs; her face raw from the long stay outdoors; her mouth perhaps a touch bluish from the cold. It’s her eyes he wants to fall headlong into though—flecks of honey in molten chocolate, bottomless, swirling with emotion.

Those eyes are trained on the doe in labour now, and completely oblivious to the rest of the world. She leans forward on the log once the baby deer’s forelegs emerge with its little head tucked between them, barely able to hold back as she wills herself not to interfere with nature’s way. She’s worrying her lip, fists clenched as the doe struggles on. Robin’s not sure what to attribute his little shiver to—the chilliness, the little mewl the half-born fawn lets out, or Regina’s fingers digging into his thigh absent-mindedly.

He orders himself to snap out of it, to comport himself like the gentleman he is, and focus on the poor deer like he said he was there to do in the first place. The sight truly is a rare one, and most expecting deer wouldn’t tolerate others nearby when their time came, but this one seems resigned to their presence. Indeed, she looks absolutely knackered. The fawn’s progress seems to have stopped, but it’s not for the doe’s lack of trying.

“It’s stuck,” Regina whispers, eyes wide with horror.

“They’ll make it,” Robin assures, though he fails to keep the worry from his voice.

The doe has a faraway look in her eyes now, and Regina rests her arm on her belly, clutching nervously at her garments. He quite understands what she’s going through—a burning need to help clashing with the knowledge that their interference might just ruin the fawn’s bond with its mother.

Robin stands slowly, a vague idea floating to the surface of his mind, but he’s barely taken a step when he’s yanked back by a fretful Regina.

“Don’t touch the baby,” she hisses, “you can’t! She’ll—” her breath hitches, “she’ll abandon it if you do!”

Rumour has it that’s what happened to her—that her mother abandoned Regina as a baby, that she left her in the forest to fend for herself—to die.

“I know,” he rushes to say, “I won’t.”

Robin reaches for his wineskin and uncorks it, raising a brow at Regina. With a soft oh, she holds out her cupped hands for him to pour water into, and offers it to the doe. She drinks up—and again, and again. Robin has no more water to offer, but Regina grabs a handful of snow and breathes on it furiously, the warmth of her breath melting it to sludge for the doe to drink.

And then with another mighty push the fawn slips out.

Robin grins broadly as the new mother sets to licking the little thing clean, his heart filled with reverence at the miracle of life. A wet chuckle escapes Regina when the doe’s vigorous cleaning knocks the fawn off its wobbly legs, and once the little one starts nursing, Regina turns to him with tears running down her cheeks and a smile so radiant it positively robs him of air.

And that’s when Robin knows he’s well and truly doomed.

### Regina isn’t sure how or when it happened, but they’re halfway to the Merry Men’s camp before she even realises her hand is clutched in Robin’s. Their shared experience has brought them rather close rather quickly, forged a bond that scares her but that she also can’t help but want to explore. Their bows clink together now and again as they walk side by side, and they snicker at each other every time. Reverence has given way to elation, and even though that fearful, warning voice at the back of her mind tells her she’s being reckless—perhaps not with her life after all, but most certainly with her heart—Regina decides not to listen for once.

The hour is late, and the sentries must recognise their leader because there’s neither warning nor attack as they enter the ingeniously concealed camp. The fire is burning low, the Yule log feeding the flames still, and empty tankards lie scattered around kegs of ale and barrels of wine. Remnants of dinner are strewn on a rough-hewn table—a wild-turkey leg here, a chunk of pork there, sweet honey cakes piled high, and candied apples on a spit.

He offers her one and she accepts, looking around the many tents, in which his men have undoubtedly departed for the night if the snoring is any indication.

“It was neater when I left it,” Robin excuses with a half-smirk, and she can’t believe he’s actually being bashful about this—as if he were anxious for her approval.

“I didn’t have you pegged for a neat-freak,” she teases, then takes pity on him. “It’s a good hideout. Well-concealed. Well-protected. Very clever."

He beams at her—actually beams at her, and could the impossible man be any more adorable?

“Well, we missed dinner—but how about I make you breakfast?”

“That sounds wonderful, but—” It’s too big a commitment, feels way too much after having spent the whole night with him, and part of her wants to run and never look back. Part of her wishes for him to to give her just enough time and space to work through her issues. To be someone not to break down the walls built around her heart, but to patiently wait for her to invite them inside.

“Tea then—to warm you up before the journey.” And bless him, he seems to understand. She could cry—and she has, she remembers and feels her cheeks grow hot. He doesn’t comment, only grins as he jokes: “My men say I make a mean cuppa.”

“Tea,” she nods, laughing, “and another one of those scrumptious apples?”

“Whatever milady wishes.” Robin clasps her fingers gently, looking at her in a way that makes his meaning quite clear—it’s not just the meal he’s talking about. He understands, and he’ll wait.

Regina’s never been the kind of person who gets a happy ending—but perhaps she can afford a merry beginning, and see where it takes them.