#Also I can’t draw fences so no fence for his bushes

[carou-sol]

This took me a six rushed hours because this plagued me since last night

[lampmanliveblogs]

Looks like Luz is gonna have to break in/out of the Conformitorium a third time. 

More importantly though is the fact that Darius & Eberwolf (and presumably some of the other head witches) know there is a traitor in their midst. They don’t suspect Raine specifically though, just that one of the BAtTs is the turncoat. I wonder then how many of the other Head Witches know? Obviously Raine doesn’t know, but they’re new. It’s been what, three days? since they were promoted to the Head of the Bard Coven. Raine also doesn’t know what the Day of Unity means.

I’d also like to bring up that D’Arias can can teleport people through his abomination goop. Exactly how the goop works isn’t entirely clear; witches apparently have to make it, but they can also summon it out of nowhere. We’ve seen witches summon things into their hands before, Raine did so with Eda’s lute and their own violin before. But I can’t recall if we’ve ever seen anyone actually teleport entire people. Regardless of how this ability actually works and if it’s something any old witch can learn to do if they’re skilled or strong enough doesn't matter too much though, it is still very effective in establishing that Darius is a powerful witch who means business.

Even if he doesn’t like the woods too much. Hey dude, at least you didn’t have to crawl through dripping wet overgrown bushes and trees trying to pull decades old fence posts out of the ground.

Oh, now that’s an interesting ability. Some kind of tracking magic. I suppose that’s useful for a beast keeper, to be able to actually track the beasts they need to keep… or some witches in this case. 

…that’s not how the faraway model of the invisibility glyph spell was drawn bef—you know what Lampman, forget it.

They’ve managed to avoid detection for a little while though, so that’s good. I notice Eda isn’t wearing her shoes here. Did Raine enchant them to keep running to throw off EmberWülf? That’s pretty clever, though I fear it will only last for so long.

Okay, so Raine knows Emperor Belos is planning something. Some big spell. They don’t seem to know exactly what it is, but that it is something big and probably very bad. Notably, it will also require the aid of all the Coven Head Witches to work, so if they can murd- I mean, take out Darius and Eberwolf, that will seriously halt his plans.

We’re not told exactly what it is he needs the Head Witches for, but it’s obvious it doesn't have to be those specific individuals, just the Head witches of each Coven. Since, you know, that Scooter guy was able to step down and let Raine take over. So taking Eberwolf and Darius out of the picture would probably only delay Belos’ plans until he could find some replacements, but hey, that gives Raine and the Owl House crew more time to find out what’s going on and how to stop it.

For now, I’m gonna assume that the Head Witches are needed to drain or draw upon the magic from the witches in their Covens to fuel the spell and that’s why they are needed.

Also, Raine has a plan involving Eda’s Requiem. They’re gonna use to to trap Darius and Eberwolf in an endless cycle of infinite deaths! Either that, or use the song to spread the effects of Eda’s curse so that it messes up their magic, that might work too.

So after we were shown that Eda & Raine did exactly the thing I said they did with Eda’s boots, Darius gets mad because he got mud in his face and transforms into this thing. This isn’t a great (or even good) screenshot, but I think it looks vaguely like a genie. You know, with how the legs are melded together into a sorta tail? Or maybe he’s supposed to be a mermaid.

[marlynnofmany]

Accidentally Human, Chapter 18

*circus voice*  And now, come see the pixie do something that he thinks is smart, and meet a new species with their first appearance in this story! They’re shiny.

First chapter Previous chapter Next chapter The latest chapter is already up on Patreon!  

~~~

Chapter 18 1568 words

Twig was delighted to see the human nation’s most glittery elite, but disappointed to learn that he would only see them from a distance. Razorscale would be doing the invisibility thing again. How boring. The fact that this was the most sensible approach hardly mattered.

“I will be able to recognize the magical signature of the mage who stole my shape,” the dragon said as they stood outside the fence. “Possibly also the others involved in the spell, but definitely that one. Pixie dust, please.” He held out a hand for Beak’s bag.

She gave it to him, and didn’t complain when he used some, then kept it.

“Wait for me there,” Razorscale commanded, pointing at a grassy area with picnic tables and fancy shrubbery. “I shouldn’t have to tell you not to stray, but I will anyway. Be there when I return. It’s possible that all five of our enemies are here, and we can move ahead with the counterspell. We’ll have to be fast.”

Twig nodded, and so did the others. Silver was playing the part of the tame pet, curled up on the flying carpet next to Windmane, and only blinked. Razorscale gave everyone his signature stern look, then walked behind a potted plant and disappeared.

“All right,” Beak sighed, “Let’s go find somewhere to sit.” She crossed the street as the sun dipped below the rooftops and mage-lights began to flick on.

“Aw, can’t we watch from here just a little?” Twig asked. “Look at how fancy some of these people are!” The entrance to the building made of soaring spires was far from the fence, but even with this much open space between them, Twig could see a beautiful array of colors and frills, trailing skirts and brocade coats with magically-enhanced lights around everyone.

Windmane said in a loud whisper, “The guards won’t like it.” She jerked an elbow sideways.

Twig looked in that direction to see a pair of humans in shiny armor that he hadn’t noticed before. They stood at attention, staring straight forward, but for all Twig knew, their hats were enchanted with circular vision.

“C’mon, you can see the sparkles from over there,” Stomp said.

“Aw,” Twig repeated, allowing himself to be led away from the fence. “But did you see the dark eyeshields some of them are wearing? What’s that about?”

“Beats me,” the minotaur admitted.

Silver stuck their head over the edge of the carpet. “Those are filters for ambient magical energy,” the dragon murmured. “Some mages are overly sensitive, and need them to prevent headaches. Given the number I see over there, it has clearly become a status symbol. I doubt anyone in that crowd is so talented.”

“Oh,” Twig said. He looked back as they left the road for the grass. There were a scattered handful of non-humans, and none of them wore the things. Then a new delegation appeared, and Twig stopped in his tracks. He clambered onto a picnic table to see better. “Look, unicorns!”

“Get down,” Beak hissed at him.

“They have pixie attendants!” Twig exclaimed as he recognized the flight patterns of the glowing shapes that danced around the unicorns.

“No one cares,” Beak said. “Get down.”

Stomp stepped onto the bench and lifted Twig by the armpits, dragging him groundward. “No drawing attention,” she reminded him as she bumped his awkward human shoes against the table.

“But I could talk to them!” Twig insisted. “See if they know anything!”

“No,” the pair chorused.

“They’re too far away,” Beak said. “And they have no reason to tell you anything. You’re a human, remember?”

Stomp set the not-pixie back on his feet. He crossed his arms and sniffed. “Am not.”

“Just pick a seat, all right? Lie on the ground if you want to. Stare at a plant.” Beak waved at a cluster of flowering bushes near the tables. “See how many weird bugs you can find at this time of night.”

She was probably expecting Twig to pout some more, but she underestimated the pixie’s curiosity when it came to new things.

“Ooh, do you think the bugs here glow?” Twig asked.

“Go find out. Just stay close.”

Twig did. He absently registered the sound of the others getting settled at a table with the carpet rolled up and tucked away. That was neither here nor there. The important thing was the bugs. What kind of things lived in this well-tended human land, where magic was hoarded by the rich? Did the gardeners get any? The soil clearly wouldn’t be growing any skyfruit, but what did it smell like?

Twig spent a happy few minutes puttering away among the bushes, inspecting dirt and branches and whatever scant insect life he could find. Everything turned out to be disappointingly mundane, but it was still an interesting search.

He finally surfaced a few bushes away, turning in place to get his bearings. He spotted the table as a cluster of pixies flew overhead, moving away from the party.

Twig stumbled out of the bush and flagged them down. “Hey! Hey pixies!”

They paused mid-flight.

Beak and Stomp were already fighting their way free of the picnic table seats.

“It’s okay; I’m a pixie too!” Twig whisper-shouted. “Do you know where to find the human magicians who are stealing people’s shapes?”

The pixies didn’t come closer, but they did draw together in discussion. Twig hoped they would have good information.

Beak reached him first. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed, attempting to clamp a hand over his mouth. She was still used to harpy wrist positioning, and it took a moment to stop him from talking.

“Five of them — mph!”

Stomp caught up and helped Beak tow him back toward the table. “Don’t mind him,” she said to the pixies. “He’s had his horns knocked loose. I mean, uh…” She searched for an appropriately human turn of phrase while Twig struggled indignantly. “His head’s dented. Sorry to bother you.”

The pixies held their position in the sky long enough to see the pair strong-arm Twig into sitting at the table with Windmane, then they flitted off into the sky. Most went in the direction they’d originally been heading. Some went back towards the party. Very quickly.

Twig imagined those ones would be enlisting the help of the unicorns inside. What a worthy adventure this would be for them! Helping strangers who had been wronged by mysterious villains!

He opened his mouth to say so, but the expression on Beak’s face made him pause. That was a death glare worthy of Razorscale. Twig slowly closed his mouth again.

I don’t think she even saw which way they went, he thought. Guess I’ll get to be smug when they show up and surprise her.

He was half right.

Silver was the first to notice, and the young dragon’s scrambling under the table alerted Twig that something was happening. He realized at the same time as the others, but his exclamation was the only cheerful one.

“The unicorns are coming!” he said as he stood.

The pair of elegant creatures that glided across the road were luminous in every sense of the word. Glowing with silver magic, hooves dipped in gold, manes enchanted into shimmering rainbows, horns glittering with visible static from the power they held. A dozen pixies attended each, awaiting their every whim: comb a mane, open a door, or carry a message.

One was giving directions now, fluttering close to the unicorn on the left. Twig squinted his human eyes against all the glowing things to make out a tiny arm pointing towards him.

“Hello!” Twig said, while Beak and Stomp made worried noises and Windmane tried to stand up with them. They didn’t get farther than that. A flash of light from the unicorn’s horn was brighter than everything else. Twig blinked and shielded his eyes. It didn’t help. And everything was quieter now; what was that about?

Oh, the ground was farther away suddenly. He was being carried.

So were the others; if Twig turned his head as far as it would go, he could see the other three not-humans behind him. Two were glaring at him. Windmane just looked panicky. No sign of Silver.

“I’m sure they’re going to help us!” Twig said.

“Are you,” Beak said flatly. “How great for you.”

Twig gave up and turned to see where they were going. His eyes were adjusting to all the light. Outside the glow, streetlights passed and pixies flew. After a little more twisting in place, Twig got a look at the pair of unicorns strolling sedately along under the ball of magic. They looked nearly identical in their regal posture and colorful presentation. The only difference he could make out was the teeth of the one in charge of the spell: they were visibly long and sharp.

A phrase popped into Twig’s head, overheard years ago from a fellow pixie who had spent time working with such illustrious magic-users as this. The conversation had been about the many ways of telling a magician’s status. Unicorns, the other pixie had said, were known to wear toothcaps of precious stones. The teeth that Twig saw now looked just like the ones he’d heard described.

“Diamond-capped fangs fit to bite a god.”

That probably wasn’t a bad sign, right?

~~~

The next chapter is here, and the latest is up on Patreon.  The next shows us what the dragon sees inside that fancy ballroom.

[bltzgore]

TW: mention broken rib, blood, running, fear

Shoving past tree branches and through bushes that scraped him, he couldn’t feel them. His breathing was rapid and uneven. His body was screaming for oxygen but each deep breath invited fire into his side as it infuriated the doubtlessly broken rib. He didn’t know how long he could run. There wasn’t much longer, his head was pounding and he could feel the edge of his vision trying to pull away. One leg was worse off than the other, he wasn’t quite sure how he was running on it. As just as his brain started to wander to this particular miracle of adrenaline it ceased. 

He tripped or his leg gave, one way or the other he wound up face down in the dirt. He borderline blacked out as his ribcage was taxed. His lungs scrambled to get air back in his chest, and he slowly got his shaking arms under him as he attempted to get back to his feet. His sight blurred for just a second as his head took the opportunity to swim in the excess terror. But as his eyes focused again they reached a set of heavy black boots, one of them mended partially with well maintained metal of some sort.

He took no time to think, he threw himself backwards and started to scramble away. The further back he got the more complete of an image he got. Those boots were worn but feet attached to a set of legs covered by blue jeans slightly worn about the knee. From there it turned to a navy shirt brushed with something black in a few places. The arms that protruded from this torso were strong and marred up. One of the forams was tattooed with a realistically drawn dog snarling with a foaming mouth and crazy eyes. Atop all of that was a face with just as much tan and marring as the arms. In that head there were eyes the color of murk and hair that drained light away rustling like tree branches.

He would have taken this to be a human were it not for the mask. At first glance one might assume it was made of fabric and simply worn for some sort of catastrophic fashion statement but no, that was natural coloring. It was so near to jet black it nearly matched the hair. It was the sharp contrast that made the murky eyes and two little mud colored patches by her eyebrows stand out so much, so brown they glowed. 

He scrambled until his back reached a tree, even then he held up an arm in poor defense of his head. He scrunched one of his eyes shut and waited. For the fist, for the teeth, for the claws, something. But she just knelt down. There was no malice in those eyes, but the carry over fear wouldn’t let him calm just in case. 

“Easy, calm down.” She slowly reached out her hand, gently placing it on his forearm. She was patient, but also strong, and slowly she moved his arm down. She got a much clearer look at the bruises blooming on his face as the clouds made way for the moon. “You had a rough night, huh?” she observed quietly.  

He opened his mouth to answer when a voice rang out from the forest at his back. “Where'd you go, human!!?? You can’t hide!! We can smell ya!” The voice was rife with a feral gratieness to it. 

As soon as it hit his ears the terror came rushing back and he sprang up trying to run again. He made it five steps before he saw the futility of track. A seven-foot chain link fence topped with the customary razor wire stood before him. He almost collapsed against it, trying hard to keep from falling. But even as he reached the ground there was something that wouldn’t let him lie there and wait for his hunters to reach him. Still he tried to crawl. 

“Stop, stop, stop, hey!” she crouched beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, halting his nonexistent progress. “Calm down, just relax. You’re safe now.”

“They’re. Coming.” He managed. 

“I know,” she hushed him, “But it’s fine now. I’ll handle them.” Her tone turned heavy at the last part. 

Before he could answer she stood and turned away, the rustle of footsteps drawing her attention to the trees. He kept himself propped up on his hands as he tried to avoid taking deep breaths, blood dribbling from his nose and a cut on his forehead. He watched them appear from the cold shadows cast by the trees. Glinting eyes of almost yellow flashing before they emerged. There were four of them, she could smell them and hear their breathing. They hadn’t even tried to hide one of their number in the trees behind them. She mentally marked down their intelligence. The leader of their order seemed to be one with a sort of lanky but not quite twig-like build. There were two that seemed slightly stronger than he, and one who was shorter and was just lurking about the treeline without much effort at being stealthy. Rank and immature coyotes.

Their leader stepped forward with an almost shark-like smile. “Give us back our chew toy.” He ordered. 

A group of kids trying to run wild, but probably running back to mom and dad every time the forest got too dark or their phone ran out of charge. Unlike the purists, these punks’ definition of wild was eating roadkill, wearing loose, dirty clothes, and hanging out in the woods that were just at the edge of the town. She could smell his last meal clearly on his breath. She had to openly keep from wincing at the stench. “Humans aren’t chew toys, and you’re not wild animals. Go home.” She dismissed.  

She could see the fury collecting in their leader’s eyes. “Bitch, you think you can just order us around?” he seethed. “There’s four of us and only one of you! We’ll kill you and take him after!” His teeth flashed in the moonlight, far too long and spikey.  

She didn’t have the energy for this. “I’m going to give you one warning. If you don’t turn and run like an intelligent beast I am going to beat you until you can’t.” 

Self doubt seemed to flash through his eyes before he remembered that his friends were behind him. He couldn’t back out, he didn’t need to back out. He was fighting a girl! He’d crush her! With the burst of confidence he charged forward snarling and swinging.

She glided past his pathetic excuse for a punch. It was wild and untrained. She was sure even he didn’t know where he wanted it to go. Her counter was a strike unleashed like a coiled spring. Her fist collided with his face and she felt the transfer of force. She had to remind herself to hold back. If she went too far she could get into trouble. No broken bones, she reminded herself, and pulled back. She took half a step away and waited for the next attack, but it didn’t come. The coyote leader was holding a hand over his bloody nose. He was scared of her now, he was trying to find enough of a reason to run. Well, why deny him what he was so desperately searching for? 

She lunged and for the first time genuinely flashed her teeth and snarled. A hauntingly inhuman sound. Like a dog’s, but much stronger and much deeper. It shook their bones. Even the air was still for several seconds after, until the leader made the sensible call to run. His lackeys followed suit. 

It wasn’t until they were out of sight that she turned back. He was still leaned over, but a small puddle of blood had collected below his mouth. He looked up with pained but grateful eyes. She knelt back down next to him, “Told you I’d handle them.” 

[jadekitty777]

On Your Six, Chapter 2

And thus we come to another day, another chapter.

Day 2: Stealing Hoodies for @taiqrowweek

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 3k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Toes

~

Tai rolled in Sunday with a brisk breeze and a hint of last night’s rain following him. The awkward timidness he’d had, had evaporated quicker than the puddles outside, burned away into steely determination as he got right down to business. “Alright, so, how do you want me?”

Qrow nodded to his bed, the recliner having been pushed up alongside it. His kit was sitting on the nightstand. “Take off your shirt and lie down.”

“Gee, at least buy me dinner first.”

He supposed he walked right into that one.

“Hah. Let’s see if you have any jokes left after we pass the fourth hour.” He strode over to his chair, fetching a roll of paper towels on his way. “I told you we’d be at this for a while. Trust me, you’ll be glad to be in a more comfortable position.”

Qrow had calculated it. He’d have six sessions per letter. At eight to ten hours per session, he’d have a range of 48 to 60 hours per design. It seemed like a lot of time, but drawing on paper wasn’t quite the same as drawing on people. Paper didn’t need potty breaks, for example, and it tended to stay stationary the entire time. Add on to the fact this was easily the biggest project he’d ever undertaken, and he knew he was going to need every second he could get.

At least I won’t be enduring it alone, he thought as he watched Tai kick off his shoes and shirt and climb onto the bed. Qrow poured the alcohol onto one of the paper towels, and as he dabbed at the other’s skin, he noticed the face the other man was making. “Sorry, guess it’s a little strong.”

“It’s not that.” Tai said, rubbing his nose. “Uh, not to be your maid or anything but, you really need to wash your sheets.”

For a split second, Qrow was offended. Then the realization hit. “Oh. You’re smelling the ink.” He indicated the row of bottles organized in the case. The only one he’d need today, the black, was sitting next to his rotary machine. “I mix it with my own pheromones. It helps neutralize the stench.”

The omega reached for the little bottle, giving it a whiff. His eyebrows shot up and suddenly, he was staring at it like it held the meaning of life. “That’s… incredible. But won’t that give me away?”

“Not when your RO can’t smell her way out of a canteen.” They were all betas. Being the neutral dynamic meant there was no risk of ‘going soft’ on their parolee like an omega might, nor get over-protective like an alpha absolutely would. But it also meant that after Qrow finished relining the tattoos, the dramatic shift to Tai’s scent would be almost undetectable. “And if she does notice, just tell her you’re trying out a new perfume.”

“That smells like matchsticks and blueberries?”

“You’ll be fine. You’re good at improvising.”

As Tai eased himself back down, he finished sanitizing his back, then moved on to getting himself ready. He double-checked the machine, made sure the parts were in place and the wire running back to the outlet was untangled and slack. Taped the paper copy of the design over the edge of his nightstand and uncapped the ink bottle. “So, this is how this works.” Qrow said as he pulled on his gloves, “You need to be as still as possible. We’re gonna have a five-minute break every hour, give you a chance stretch and move around. We’ll stop a bit longer half way in or so to eat. But if you need me to stop for any other reason just let me know. And uh, fair warning – when I start tattooing over the letter itself, it’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

Tai nodded. “Got it.”

“Okay.” He dipped the needle and turned on the pen, the quiet buzzing filling the room. “Here we go.”

The moment needle met skin, he felt muscle tense under his hand. Spotted the way Tai’s toes curled in his socks and his face screwed shut. Qrow continued on slowly as he looped one line from the top of the S and connected it to down the middle, then did it again from the bottom part of the S. By the time the S had turned into an 8, the omega had relaxed again, sighing softly. He took that as a sign to continue and started coloring in the new side.

Hour one passed in complete silence.

~

“So, how’s it looking?” Tai asked, swiveling his head around. If he tried any harder, he might become an owl.

Qrow watched him from the stove. “Most of the line art on the top is finished.” He turned on the burners for the kettle and pot of water. “Should be fine to get the rest done in a few hours.”

“I can’t believe how fast it’s going.”

“Yeah well, this is the easy part.” He opened the pantry, eyeing over the options. “Wait until we get to coloring. I have to switch between needles for shading and clean between them.”

There was a dragging noise as one of the dining room chairs was pulled back. “I’m sorry it’s so much work. We don’t have to do all that, if you don’t want.”

Qrow was grateful only his shelves could see his scowl. He breathed out slow, pulled down the pork-flavored ramen packets, saying casually as he went back to the stove, “I mean if you’re too scared to keep going…”

“I didn’t say that! I’m just trying to be nice.” Tai grumbled the last past.

I don’t need you to be nice to me! Frustration welled in him, but he forced it back down. Getting angry wasn’t going to help. Even if this extremely complacent, easily guilted Tai made him want to go out and burn down every Gods’ damned reformatory there was. “Forget about it. I’m too much of a perfectionist to half-ass my work anyways.” He tried to brush off. But now Tai had that kicked puppy look that told him he was feeling bad, which only made Qrow feel bad in turn, so he deflected instead, “I mean, unless it’s too much for you. You’ve been quiet. Is it hurting that bad?”

“Oh, no it’s fine. I, uh,” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t want to distract you.”

“You won’t.” He cracked the bags in half twice, tearing open the pack. “And it helps pass the time.” He dropped the ramen noodlesinto the water that was just starting to bubble and got the mugs down for tea, absolutely refusing to look at the other lest he read all over his face just how much he missed talking to him.

“Well… besides illegal tattooing in the tiniest apartment known to man on the shady side of town, what else have you been up to?”

The kettle was picked up just as it began to whistle. Like the cups filling with water, Qrow opened his mouth and let the words flow out just as easy.

~

As evening approached, another storm blew in. Rain drops smattered against the window every time the wind picked up, drowning out the noise of his pen. Qrow had rearranged his furniture, putting the recliner and nightstand in opposite positions so he could work on the lower half of the design in the 8. His focus was completely on the coastline coming to life over tanned skin.

“Remember that time we snuck out your window so we could put all those plastic rats on Professor Port’s porch for April Fool’s Day?”

Well, maybe not completely.

Qrow snickered. They had camped out in the bushes until dawn, just so they could take the TA’s picture when he came out to get his morning paper. “His face was priceless.”

“Not sure the punishment was worth it though.” Tai bemoaned.

“It was only a week’s detention.”

“For you. I got three month’s grounding on top of it.”

He reinked his pen. “Which you immediately broke by coming to my house every day.”

Tai took the brief pause as a chance to scratch his nose. “I never would have got caught if dad didn’t go home early that one time.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. My ears are still ringing from that lecture.” He flipped back on the pen and continued working on the islands that would split the sea from the sky.

The omega cleared his throat, deepening his voice just enough it was an almost disturbingly perfect imitation of his father, “‘If you don’t want to land yourself into juvie, then you’ll stop leading my son into a life of delinquency.’”

Qrow grinned, continuing for him and really hamming it up, “’Don’t you know my delicate boy’s future depends on finding a proper and upstanding alpha?’”

“He didn’t say delicate.” But Tai was laughing with him.

“Might as well have.” It wouldn’t have been too off-base for the Xiao Longs. They’d always been the traditional, overbearing types, trying to jumpstart every little bit of their only son’s future in every possible avenue. When they’d been young, it always seemed like Tai was going to some lesson or appointment. Swimming. Woodworking. Jeet Kune Do. It had been so excessive it had given his own mother ideas – but at least she let Raven and him choose what they wanted to learn.

After looking through the primordial alpha courses, Raven had chosen fencing.

Qrow had wanted to go with her but there was nothing like that in the omega pamphlets he’d been given. In the end, he kicked his feet all the way to his first few art lessons.

His dad had been pretty ticked off they’d wasted the money when, a few years later, puberty had Qrow shooting up past six feet and presenting as an alpha.

But that was nothing compared to the nuclear war that went off when, just shortly after his fourteen birthday, the Xiao Longs discovered Tai was an omega. The lessons stopped and the strict rules started. No going out past seven o’ clock. No cursing. No dating. No kissing. No sex. And especially, no alphas in the house. Ever.

By the time Tai was fifteen, he’d already broken every single one of them.

Qrow, who hadn’t exactly been an angel himself, thought it was hilarious and maybe encouraged him a bit more than he should have. But honestly, what did anyone expect of either of them? After being caged in like a defenseless pup, he was finally allowed break free and be a little reckless. Meanwhile, Tai refused to be shoved into that same cage, smashing through the doors all on his own. They’d been quite a pair, back in the day.

Nostalgia hit him in a wave. “How are your folks doing these days?”

“They’re fine. Dad’s started a new garden. And Mom’s been talking about renovating the old cabin house we used to vacation at. Said it would be a good place for the girls to enjoy. I was gonna help but…” Tai trailed off, his eyes glazing over a bit. “They wrote to me a few times while I’d been…. yanno.”

Something bitter built in his chest. A long-forgotten fury that had weighed on him when his mother had likewise been ripped from their family to stay at a reformatory and the only comforts he’d got was from the Xiao Longs reassuring him she’d come back as a ‘better omega’. “I’m certain they were just bursting with encouragement and support.”

“Definitely isn’t winning any motivational speech awards.” He joked humorlessly.

There was a quiet lull. Qrow took it as a chance to re-ink and stretch out the crick stiffening his fingers.

As he lowered the needle once more, Tai spoke up, hesitant. “What about you? Heard from your family at all?”

He frowned, knowing there was only one of those two people he actually cared to hear about. He indulged him regardless. “Well, you know my old man. Probably still doesn’t even know I’m gone.” He tapped his pen down, drawing the m-shapes that were meant to be a couple of gulls flying away in the sky. “As for Raven, haven’t seen her for years. Not sure she could find me.” When he paused to survey his work, he couldn’t help but think that the shapes really could have been any birds. “Even if she could, doubt she’d want to.”

The kicked puppy look was back. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Qrow lied, as if the last argument he and Raven ever had wasn’t entirely about Taiyang. But he didn’t need to know about that.

~

“You left? Raven you can’t leave!”

“Don’t growl at me. And anyways, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is Tai’s your mate. You guys have a daughter!”

“And that means I’m bound to him for life? We made a mistake! We were dumb kids. It happens.”

“So you just pack up your shit and tell him ‘good fucking luck’? He loves you! How can you act like that doesn’t matter?”

“…”

“Well?!”

“Really, little brother?”

“Wh-”

“If you want to go and play house with him, be my guest. But don’t project your feelings onto me. This is my life. My choice.”

“…Yeah. Yeah, I guess throwing people out of your life is a fucking choice. Just don’t be surprised when you get the same in return.”

“Are you seriously-”

“Get out. And until you get your head out of your ass, don’t bother coming back!”

~

Qrow taped down the bandage over Tai’s back, the antibiotic cream he’d spread along the new tattoo squishing against the adhesive. He ran through the aftercare steps almost subconsciously. “Keep this on until you go to bed. When you do take it off, wash it with warm water and soap. Do that a few times a day tomorrow and the next day too. If anything seems wrong, just call me.”

“Got it.” Tai reached for his shirt. At least he’d had the foresight to bring a button up. As he pulled it on, he gave Qrow a crooked little smile that made him look adorably boyish. “Same time next week then?”

“Uh, yeah.” He slipped off the bed, making a great show of looking for the other’s shoes. His cheeks felt a little less hot by the time he was returning to the bedside with them. “We’ll have to work on the U next. I’ll keep sending you designs, but a little direction would help.”

Tai slipped into his shoes, getting to his feet. “I don’t really have the eye for this kind of stuff. Just pick something easy.”

“Feel like I’m having a case of déjà vu here.” Qrow huffed, tapping a finger to the center of Tai’s chest. “This is your body Tai, not mine. So could you please put just a mite bit more effort into something you’re gonna have to wear the rest of your life?”

The other’s eyes widened before he looked away. He made an aborted motion towards his neck, fell short, and worried the corner edge of his collar between his fingers. “Could you do words?”

“Yeah.” He replied haltingly, taken aback by the sudden shift. “I’ll probably want to craft stencils to keep the script nice though – and no, it’s not hard.”

Tai nodded, another one of those not-quite smiles on his face. “Then I think I do know what I want for this one. I’ll send you some pictures later tonight.”

“Well… good! See was that so hard?”

“Immensely.” He answered, laying it on thick as honey.

Qrow jabbed him in the shoulder. “Don’t oversell it prima donna. You should start heading home, unless you’re planning on doing a rendition of Singing in the Rain out there.”

Tai spared a look to the window. “It’s really coming down out there, isn’t it?” The sky had darkened with the setting sun, making the already heavy clouds appear thick and ominous. Rain battered against his window at a continuous rate. The minute the omega left the complex, he was going to be soaked. “Think this’ll be okay?” He waved vaguely to his left shoulder where the tattoo began on the other side of.

“Mm, probably. But I guess a little extra cover wouldn’t hurt.” He crossed over to his little box of a closet, rummaging through the sparse selection. “This’ll work. It’s a bit oversized for me, so it should be perfect for you. Here.”

He snapped the black hoodie off its hanger, tossing it. Tai caught it. “You’re sure?”

“What are you gonna do to it? Dye it pink?”

“Well now that’s a thought. It’d match your eyes.”

“My eyes aren’t pink!”

Tai’s laughter was muffled in fabric as he gingerly slipped the hoodie on, being as mindful as possible of his back. By the time his head popped back out, his hair was all mussed up.

It was unfairly cute and Qrow tried very hard not to think about it as he walked him to the door.

Tai stepped into the hall, then paused, turning back to him. He reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey uh, thank you. For all this. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Qrow was pretty sure the touch was electric, because he was suddenly paralyzed. How he even got his jaw to work was a miracle in and of itself. “Don’t mention it.”

The omega hesitated, as if he wanted to argue, but only said, “Sure. I’ll see you soon Qrow.”

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but it was long after Tai had left the hall that he finally found the strength to close the door, slumping against the wood with a pitiful groan.

He thought he was over this. He should be over this. He wasn’t a lovesick teen anymore and this wasn’t a romantic comedy where after a bunch of wild, misleading antics, everything came together in the end. He’d lost his chance – twice over apparently. It was useless to try now.

So why did his stupid, pathetic heart still yearn?

“Come on Qrow.” He knocked his head against the door, hoping to rattle some sense into himself. “You did this for six years. You can do it again for six months.”

As he trod his way back to his bed, falling into it only to realize it smelt like Tai and would continue to every Sunday for weeks, he burrowed his head in his pillow and screamed.

Six was becoming a very unlucky number for him.

[vidalinav]

Queen of Monsters: Chapter 5

Summary: Nesta and Cassian visit the Ironcrest clan and are forced into close quarters ft. an Illyrian wedding 

Read also: Chapter List, General Masterlist 

Warnings: None for this chapter I think 

Updates every Tuesday/Wednesday... mostly Wednesday. I will edit this tomorrow since I can’t look at it any longer.

~

Nesta scowled as Cassian set her down on the platform, crossing her arms as a permanent fissure took up space between her brows.

“Don’t touch me.” She said, patting the skirts of her gown with one hand as she tried to carry a basket full of exotic fruit with the other. Delicious reds, vibrant greens, and some that smelled of candy. The scent made her gag through the flight.

Cassian rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically as Nesta glared. But he grabbed the handle of the basket before she could take a step forward.  

“Stop that,” She grumbled, swatting him away, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he moved to face her, blocking her view of what waited beyond him.  

“Nesta, listen.” Cassian said his voice lowering. “I know you’re intent on making everything difficult for all of us, and you have the tendency to run off to Mother knows where, but here, I need you to stay close to me.”

At the words, Nesta wanted to tell him off, imagined kicking him between the knees like that day many moons ago. But Nesta saw the look he gave her, the red of his cheeks blooming to full color.

He was angry—angry enough that he spouted curses without even opening his mouth.

She saw it in his eyes. The hatred burning.

Nesta nodded her head, and Cassian, at her assent, turned to face the Illyrians.

The rigid males were gathered in the town square, the space situated between the residents of the Ironcrest Clan. Unlike Windhaven, most of the small city had been occupied by buildings instead of tents. Some two or three stories in height. Their triangular roofs ran up the mountain like pictographic trees on a map and there was hardly any space between each hut.

Brown. The city was brown and painted with mud-ridden snow. In the back of her head, she thought she heard Elain’s voice, you can always find something beautiful if you look hard enough. Nesta could not see beauty where there was none.

The Illyrians were lined up as Cassian stepped ahead of Nesta. A male, she could only assume was the camp lord, raised a stern hand. He was stout, with a goatee made of wisps of grey. He stared at them harshly, as Cassian’s wings almost seemed to rise to full height.

Nesta wanted to snort at the action. She’d read in a book once that when birds felt threatened, they brushed up their feathers to antagonize, and when they wanted to mate, those feathers would flutter open so that all the colors would be displayed in its full glory.

He was peacocking, Nesta chortled silently.

“The High Lord sends his greetings,” Cassian announced, the words so formal for the puffed-up bat she’d always seen. “He regrets that he can’t make the trip himself.”

“Too busy to do his job?” Another male inquired. A young man by her standards, that drew up short to Cassian’s impressive height. He was lanky, certainly not as big as Cassian’s physique, but he was well-muscled and built strong.  

He was handsome, she supposed, plain by fae standards, but… handsome enough.

“He has more important affairs…” Cassian glowered, “like running a court.”

The male sneered at that and Cassian clenched his fists. The two Illyrians bristled, Cassian looking down at the male, the male sizing him up. Nesta thought they might settle it right here, in the middle of all of them watching.

She doubted the Illyrians would mind so much.

But a voice broke out from the silence, and Nesta stood on her toes, her neck reaching to see a male wading through the crowd. The lines parting for him.

“Now. Now. Our High Lord is busy settling the conditions of the state. We were in a war after all.”  

To Nesta, the male looked like Father Time. Sleepy and white. His skin pale and grey. His hair seeming to be dipped in winter. For some reason, looking at him made Nesta want to yawn, and she imagined falling asleep to the rhythm of clock hands turning.  

Cassian dipped his head at the male who extended a solemn hand, “Lord Ymran.”

“General,” the male bowed, his voice light and eager.  

Cassian turned towards Nesta, his hand casually drawing her forward.

The Illyrians did not so much as look at the female who emerged through the crowd, her head buried low in her arms. She was pregnant, Nesta noticed, but she moved quickly. Nesta passed the basket to her as she bowed her head and remained quiet beside them.  

“Our High Lord offers a token of appreciation for our stay and in regret of not offering greetings, himself, during Solstice.”

“So, he sends his dog in his stead? Tell me general, what’s it like sitting on his lap and licking up his leftover scraps,” The young Illyrian said, sneering as he eyed Nesta.  

Nesta could feel a tremor in her spine at the words. A deep roar like sound echoing in her mind, that surprised even her.

Cassian stepped closer and the camp lord, perhaps remembering where they were last year, remembered what they saw, raised a hand to the young male who would not be consoled.

“Kallon,” the camp lord warned.

Switching his attention to Cassian, he forced a grin. “How long do you intend on staying?”

“Until what we’ve set out for is accomplished,” Cassian answered vaguely.

“I’m afraid we have not made up a residence for you both,” Lord Ymran said, sizing up Nesta curiously.

As if on cue, the rest of the males did too, looking her over and under and somehow in between. She wanted a bath from all the looks that stared hungrily, and maybe some cleansing oil for the sneers. But Nesta did not shy away from their gaze, a fact she saw eat at Lord Ymran, whose brow twitched slightly.

“All of our houses are otherwise occupied.”

Cassian grabbed her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers as Nesta stared at him with subdued shock.

“We’ll find our way.” He said sternly, without looking at her.

The males began to disperse. But Cassian didn’t let go of her hand.

Nesta did not ask questions, preferring to save them until all of them had left. Except Lord Ymran, Kallon, and the camp lord would not leave. They stayed, standing as if Cassian himself had no right to dismiss them, as if they did not follow his orders.

A wall of Illyrians, she wanted to call the image. One segment of a fence. Barricaded by wings and blundering egos. It was Cassian who eventually submitted, pulling Nesta with him until he managed a distance beyond fae ears.

“Fuck,” Cassian yelled, swearing a list of Illyrian expletives she made sure to remember so Emerie could explain them to her later.

Nesta merely rolled her eyes as he punched at a pile of snow.  

~

“You raging buffoon,” She spoke, “Stop pulling me.”

“You walk so slow in those dresses,” Cassian goaded, continuing his hike through the village.

Most of the houses they past seemed empty compared to the hustle and bustle of Windhaven. There were no lights making way for shadowy figures. All of the lights were out. Nesta counted more than one window shut by thick curtains.

It was a ghost town. Quiet and eerie. Existence trapped behind memories and door frames and four wooden walls. It had her grasping for any signs of life.

Where was the fire? Where was the smoke?

“It’s not my fault you have legs as long as tree trunks,” She roared.

“Wouldn’t be an issue if you weren’t so stubborn about flying!”

Flying had quickly become a debate between the two. Though Cassian boasted she would become used to it sooner than later, that he flew gentler and with a greater care than his brothers, Nesta wasn’t at all convinced. She had asked to stop many times during the trip, puking behind bushes and trees. She wasn’t so keen on trying it again.

“You said it was only a block away!” Nesta yelled.  

“So!” Cassian replied indignantly, his voice getting higher as he got more upset. That was hardly her fault! Nesta thought, pulling her hand away from his grasp.

“So, a block away is walking distance,” She scoffed. “You’re just pissy that you lost.”

At his inquiring look, Nesta continued. “That little standoff you all had…”

He knew what she was talking about, of course. Nesta could see it in the way his nose scrunched up and his jaw clenched tightly.

“There was nothing to win,” Cassian dismissed, whipping forward as his wings almost hit her.

Nesta barely missed smacking them away.

“There is always something to win.”

But Cassian ignored her, stepping up to a building that was larger than the rest.

Like many of the other houses she noticed, a purple plant hung from the door, nailed to the wood in some omen that Nesta could only describe as aggravating. You don’t know what we are, the plant seemed to say. Even after all this time reading, you still know nothing.

She had a vague inclination to ask Cassian, even if it was beyond her better judgement, but he was already racing inside.

Nesta shook her head, muttering the words childish and fool.

She found him at the counter. An Illyrian flipping through a large book as Cassian spoke.

“I’m afraid most of our rooms are filled,” Nesta heard her say, though no regret filled her voice. “There’s a wedding this evening.”

The female gestured to the rich fabrics covering the walls and Nesta’s gaze trailed over the deep pinks and dark purples, the patterned oranges twisting their way up the fireplace, the door frames, and all of the tables filling up the warm space.

“I assume you and your wife will only need one room.”

“We’re not—” Nesta was quick to protest, whipping towards the desk.

“Yes. One room will be fine,” Cassian answered, pulling out a bag of coins that jostled on the countertop. The Innkeeper eyed it hungrily and Nesta wanted to snatch it away, demanding that the female recognize them as sworn enemies and not matrimonially tied.

In a series of what felt to be a cosmic joke, one room was not the worst outcome she’d find as they opened the door to their room.

Inside, covered with an abundance of furs, was a bed.

One bed.  

Cassian snorted at her look, his lips raising to one side as he held in a laugh.

Nesta ignored him, walking past and dropping her bag on the floor. She kicked it under the bed lest Cassian trip and go sprawling on top of her in the tiny room.

Cassian plopped on the mattress and Nesta grimaced at his shoes laying on the soft throws. He tucked his hands beneath his head and lounged. Grinning teasingly as he looked her over.

“I am not sleeping with you,” She warned.

Cassian laughed, “As if you’d get that honor.”

“You think too highly of yourself.”

“And you don’t?” He taunted.

Nesta ignored him, changing the subject in an effort to secure a victory.

“Who was that Illyrian? Lord Ymran.”

Cassian sat up suddenly serious and Nesta smirked inwardly at the win. “An old lord.”

“And his son?”

“Lord Ovis and the younger one is his son Kallon. But he’s not a lord,” Cassian grumbled. “Not yet.”

Nesta grabbed a sweater from her bag, folding it and setting it in one of the drawers.

“Lord Ymran seems... respectable enough.”

“He’s not.” Cassian remarked, not elaborating further.

Nesta wondered what he meant, but Cassian kicked off his boots closing his eyes as he leaned back into one of the many pillows.

“You’re sleeping on the floor.” Nesta asserted haughtily.

~

Cassian had left before her, but not without some convincing. She’d told him she’d wanted to change. He so helpfully remarked that he wasn’t stopping her. After two glares and three smart retorts, Cassian had left for the training fields. Nesta hadn’t asked where those were.  

She took the note Ira left her from her notebook, reading each letter in her perfect script. The name of each plant blooming behind her eyes. She knew three of them in Illyrian. Elleborum for the hellebore flower, iglika for primrose, and podsen for the snowdrop’s droopy petals.

Ira had mentioned a shop. Hard to find at first, but easy enough for someone as stubborn as Nesta. She’d asked the innkeeper if she’d known this shop, but the female had raised a nose and rudely said that if there was such a place Nesta certainly had no business going to it.

Her help had left Nesta with little option, but to walk around, scouring the village herself.

Two hours later she’d yet to find the shop, but oh did she find the training fields.

Sweat dripped down Cassian’s back, and Nesta tried not to crumble the paper in her hands as she took in his shirtless form. His tattoos crawled down his back like a finger running down his spine and Nesta swallowed lightly. Some voice in her head chastising him for being shirtless in the middle of winter.  

She watched as he tumbled with another male in the ring, the Illyrian raising his fist as Cassian punched from below, kicking him so far the male rammed into a set of wooden planks set out for seating. Another male entered the ring and though he lunged at Cassian, he was quick to deflect. The end of his palm going straight to the male’s nose.

Nesta blinked at the aggression, trying not to wince at the splattered blood. Cassian must have sensed her there because he looked back and grinned defiantly. His canines bright and dangerous.

At his stare, Nesta yawned, tapping her mouth as if she’d seem much more impressive things.

His eyes burned at that, and Nesta smirked playfully, dipping her head in mocking salutations as another male came running from behind, kicking out his legs as Cassian fell and they carried on with their ruckus in the rings.

She continued on her way, kicking up her boots as she counted all the buildings.

There were fifteen before the mountain had skewed upwards, twelve on the upper level. Seven as the height grew higher, and none of the businesses had the letters she could draw in her sleep, that Nesta had come to associate with infirmary, plants, herbs or even the word shop.

She gave up after house thirty-five, her shoulders slumping through the inn’s doorway. Her stomach rumbled at the smell of baked bread, and it was only then Nesta realized she’d missed dinner.  

Nesta blinked at the changed scene before her, twisting her head to peer behind her as if she’d entered the wrong building.  

The place had only been half decorated when Nesta left, but now… Silk woven tapestries covered the walls and bundles of fabric fell in every corner, so much that Nesta felt entrapped by the purple and orange glow. She was in the middle of a pillow fort, she felt, rather than an inn turned wedding hall.

Nesta followed the colors down a narrow hall until she met an open doorway that emptied into light.

Candles glittered through the aisle and though Nesta wanted to snide at the impracticality of blushing brides burning before they said, “I do,” the romantic part of her brain took notes.

Illyrians were already gathered in their seats, talking low, their voices thrumming with joyous song.

Nesta crouched low as the music sounded and made her way to an empty seat in the back. Inconspicuous enough that no one would see her as they celebrated the couple she had yet to see. Or so Nesta thought, because the minute she sat, arching her neck to get a better view, a finger poked at her side.

Nesta yelped as Cassian shushed her.

“It’s about to start,” he whispered gruffly.

He maneuvered to sit, but his wings brushed against her hair, a talon snagging on her braids. Nesta gave him a murderous look as she patted her hair down, Cassian failing to hide his snicker.

“Shh,” Nesta answered in reply.

The groom entered from the side, walking to the podium as he made greetings to the people at front. The fabric of his wings were etched in gold paint, a collection of tiny points and whirls like Cassian’s tattoos. Nesta grasped it all, the male smiling as an older female came to bring him a wreath of magnolias.

Nesta was afraid to take a breath as the subtle strings of a mandolin started, the soft thrum of drums. The sounds of heartbeats, she thought, and something more fervent—like a budding flower being dipped in sweet honey until the dew tasted of desire. Of dreams.

The groom loved his bride, Nesta could tell by his look, had perhaps dreamt of her long before the admission had been uttered from his lips.

They did not have to wait long for Nesta to see that the bride too loved the groom. A hush fell over the room as the doors opened, the procession standing at her image.

The bride’s brown skin glowed with gold; her wings as covered as the grooms. With those markings that whispered dreams in their ears. And the groom looked happy, truly happy to see the female glide forward. Her smile bright enough to light the room.

Cassian didn’t utter a word beside her, and Nesta looked at him, suddenly concerned that he had stayed quiet for so long.

He only stared at her softly, his chin resting in his palm.

“The wedding is that way.” She grumbled, watching as a ribbon was twisted around the couple’s joined hands.

What did it all mean? Nesta wanted to know. But Cassian leaned closer, and Nesta blinked as his body neared hers, their heads so close she refused to swallow in fear that he could hear it like resounding bells.

“Red for honor…” Cassian recited; his words sweet to her ears. “Tied around the wrist for fidelity, knotted for bonds that will never be broken.”

Nesta watched as the bride grasped the chalice the priestess held towards her. Her arms, woven in bright red, reached out and she held the chalice up to the groom's lips.

“A sip of wine for abundance, drunk from the same cup for unity. May love be overflowing.”

“My blood is your blood,” She heard the couple repeat. “My glory is your glory.”

Cassian dipped his head, his lips so close to her ear Nesta wanted to shy away, but she held herself still, holding her breath as she willed her heart to stop beating so fast.

“The tie will not be severed,” He repeated as did the couple, “for they are made of strengthened bonds. Love has won all battles.”

The priestess did not untie the knot, but rather let their wrists slip through the loops, so that when they were free the bride and the groom came together in a kiss.

Nesta’s heart swelled for them both.

“After this, they’ll burn the ribbon,” Cassian explained in hushed tones. Indeed, the priestess handed the couple a lit candle, the flame waving to and fro as it was jostled around.

“What happens next?” Nesta asked as if in a trance.

A wicked gleam settled in his gaze and Nesta immediately regretted her words.

“There’ll be a reception. Song and dance, and then they’ll fly off to some location in the mountains. Undisturbed, of course. The best part of the whole thing, I imagine.”

Nesta snorted, “How romantic.”

“How about you Nesta?” He teased, “Do you wish to be swept off your feet—fly to some unknown cabin where you’ll ravaged for hours.”

Nesta gave him a sidelong glance, as he leaned back in his chair, cool in his plain shirt and his loose pants sitting low.  

Where did the advantage lie?

“I think that if there were truly someone who could ravage me for hours, I might skip the wedding entirely.”

Cassian huffed a laugh. “I don’t know. You strike me as the type to want the whole ceremony. Don’t tell me you’ve never planned your wedding when you were young.”

“Why? Did you?” She inquired, pursing her lips. “Now, were you the one in the dress? Or did you just like imagining someone who’d want you for more than a few hours?”

Cassian paused at the words and so did Nesta. The soft strum of the mandolin melting away and leaving only hollow echoes in its stead. She swallowed the regret away as his gaze turned to frigid ice.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Nesta cut him off with a flare of her hand.

“Don’t bother.” She stood abruptly, the creak of the chair loud enough that Illyrians glared her way. She scowled back, looking to Cassian as her body towered over him. “I’m going to bed.”  

Nesta brushed away the magnolia petals falling as the crowd began to throw them at the blissful pair. She cut them off at the door.

At least they had each other, Nesta remedied, swatting the guilt away.

Who did she have?

~

It was uncommonly warm in the small room, with the heat from the kitchens wafting up. There was no need for the chimney, so Cassian had not started a fire. A fact she was both grateful for and perturbed by because the darkness seemed to make her rattle in her skin. People laughed through the walls, through the floors, and Nesta felt their voices vibrate in her bones. She could hear the sharp edge of glasses breaking, the cheers and music drifting through the wood and furs and Nesta tried not to make the bed creak as she turned, clutching the blankets to her chest.

She peered at Cassian, lying on the floor even after all of his complaints, but he turned towards her suddenly and Nesta squeezed her eyes shut, pretending to be covered by sleep’s endless throws…

When she opened them again, Cassian was staring at the ceiling, his eyes bright even in the dark. His wings tucked between the bed and the wall, one of his talons angling oddly. Nesta couldn’t imagine it was comfortable and some brave part of her, the part that had become unhindered in the darkness, wanted to tell him he could share her bed.

She quickly clutched the quilt to her mouth.

Even in all the noise, she could hear him breathing, hear the sweet rhythm of his heart beat on and on. One thump after the next. Nesta wondered if he could hear hers too or if like Feyre had once said, he’d learned to tune hers out.

The thought made her sink into the mattress, her knees coming to her chest.  

“They don’t like us here.” Cassian spoke, his voice as soft as sheets.

She caught his gaze in the moment, Cassian shifting until they lied facing each other. Nesta pretended his words were the beginning of a bedtime story, but Cassian didn’t paint worlds with his tongue. He just looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

Perhaps, she should have said something, voiced that he was wrong or agreed that he was right.  

But Nesta suddenly exhausted and heavy burdened, only turned away. She closed her eyes as she settled, tucking a hand beneath her pillow.

What could she have said anyways, she asked herself.

Why would she, Nesta probed.

But the answer had already clanged in her chest, the space hollow and unfilled. Her soul left desolate and bare.

Empty.  

She would not comfort him, she thought. There was no comfort for the unwanted. The unloved. They only had each other here in this dark room, and Nesta would not make him feel better when he was all she had.

And so Nesta let sleep claim her, tucking wishes into bottles, grasping stars for a tomorrow that would never come.

Cassian deserved to feel the bitterness seep into his skin.

For it had surely seeped in hers.

~

Tagged:  @my-fan-side  @ekaterinakostrova  @anastasia-orlov @lord-douglas-the-third @autumnsletters @soitsgorgeous @sjm-things @courtofjurdan @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives

~

Sorry for the late update! I got sick, but I’m mostly better now! Also oof this chapter needs a lot of work. I’m going to have to edit these last few chapters soon. 

I was feeling this chapter when I first wrote it and today my brain was like nope not today. So I’m a little bit disappointed with it. But I’ll fix it eventually. At least it’s own in the world. 

Also, You’ll notice a lot of times, I have many Illyrian women being in the center of these stories. Mostly, that’s because starting off it’s Nesta’s POV and of course she’d see mostly women. But it’s also because I want to imagine Illyrian culture. And culture and society are built on the backs of women. Food, celebrations, stories, teaching, language by that extent, cultural practices. Especially in a society where men would have a specific role to be the warriors, merchants, weapon masters, business owners, the people who are sustaining every day life would be women as mundane and trapping as that might seem to maybe Cassian or Rhys or Azriel. 

Not to say that women are not disadvantaged as SJM has described, just that the way these men may see disenfranchisement, may in itself be another sort of cage. So I hope to eventually distinguish that between their two POVs. This very biased “feminist” view from Cassian who says that females need to learn to fight to gain this elusive equality and subsequent protection for themselves. And Nesta’s POV who has seen the world with a very traditional mindset of marriage, virginity, ballgowns, and poise, who has learned and experienced that those things create barriers for women. Who herself feels trapped in her body as a fae, but even before is trapped in a society she doesn’t fit in, who then learns her world is a lie and everyone in it a liar. So, personally, I would think that Nesta could see what Cassian can’t, that women are not just “doing chores.” There is some importance in child rearing, in feeding the village, in domesticity, even if they still do need to expand the rights of women. This is not a weakness, but rather one facet of power. 

This is also why I tend not to have Nesta completely dismissed by all these females either. because I feel it would be easier to infiltrate the ranks of women as a women rather than say Cassian offering his money or power or sympathy. Especially when Nesta’s character is someone who can relate so well.  

Anyways, I don’t know if that makes sense or if it’s is coming across well, and I don’t know if I should continue analyzing my own fic, but I guess let me know if that’s something y’all are interested in me continuing throughout the chapters. 

Like, reblog, comment... and Happy Reading! :D

[yourcoffindoor]

Bulletproof Heart Pt. 1

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Prompt: Request from Anon- “ could you write one where the reader is a rock singer and they and mcr are on warped tour together, and they both lowkey like each other but think they’re both out of each other’s league, and find out that they’re both secretly into nerdy stuff + maybe getting together? thank you so much xxx”

AN: This is a multi-part series--I couldn’t help myself! Also, I based this fic around something Gerard said in a Rolling Stone interview:

Hope its ok Anon! enjoy!

You had dreamed of this moment since you first picked up a guitar. Back then it felt like an impossible fantasy, being on stage with your band, playing in front of a crowd of screaming fans; which is why it felt so surreal when your manager Tim told you that your band, The Violent Delights, had booked Warped Tour.

"June 18th," he told you with a satisfied grin, "you're in for the long haul, kids."

Your band-mates let out a collective shriek of joy, while you planted a grateful kiss on Tim's cheek.

"You're an OK manager, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, dramatically wiping his cheek where your lips had been. "Now you guys better get practicing. This is a good opportunity to really get your name out there. Plus you got some real popular acts to compete with."

Your interest was peaked. "Oh yeah? Like who?"

"Off the top of my head? Fall Out Boy, Dropkick Murphys, and I think a band called My Chemical Romance."

"Oh shit, My Chem?" your bassist, Gavin, piped up excitedly. "That's the band I'm always trying to get Y/N to listen to."

"I'll have to finally borrow their last album," you replied, "gotta scope out the competition after all." Gavin rolled his eyes while you laughed.

Your manager got serious. "It's three months on the road, and its gonna take a lot of energy and hard work. Quite frankly, it ain't glamorous."

"Tim, when have we ever been glamorous? I wouldn't care if it were a 12 month tour," you declared, "I wouldn't miss this opportunity for the world." Liz, your drummer, nodded in agreement beside you.

"You might be singing a different tune when you haven't had a shower in three days."

"As long as I'm singing it in front of an audience, we'll be fine."

* * *

Back at your apartment you marked June 18th on your calendar with a star, feeling invigorated with excitement all over again. This was it, you thought, the next level for our band. You were determined to give it your very best, outperforming every other band there.

After all, you had worked so hard to get to this point. Starting in friend's basements and tiny cafes, the band had slowly built up a sizable following of loyal fans. You were no longer the opening act, drawing sell out crowds more often than not. You made a promise to yourself that the band wasn't going to lose this momentum. There would be no distractions for you on this tour, just hard work and the thrill of performing. That meant no parties, and absolutely no boys. You weren't ready for another relationship, you told yourself, especially since the last one ended in disaster.

Yes, this was the moment the band had been waiting for. You let the warm excitement that this knowledge brought envelope you, and you lay your head down on your pillow, falling asleep to fantasies of what lay ahead.

* * *

Its a long road from Maryland to Ohio. Columbus was the first stop of the tour, which meant your band had 6 and a half hours to go over the set-list, make adjustments  discuss their hopes and fears for the three month experience. Gavin gave you a few CDs to listen too, including My Chemical Romance's Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge.  You had heard their first album ages ago and enjoyed it, but there was something incandescent to the music you were hearing now. It stirred a whirlwind of heavy emotion, and you were enthralled from beginning to end. You made a mental note to see them perform at Warped as soon as possible.

When your bus arrived at its destination, you felt the unwelcome buzz of nerves building in your stomach. This was real, you thought, this was happening. You were used to performing at this point, but it was the amount of people you'd be performing for that was nerve-wracking. Not to mention the fellow artists who may be watching and judging your sound. You breathed deep and tried to push past the nervous thoughts that hummed incessantly around your head like insects.

Your band-mates were buzzing about with excitement, but you needed to distract yourself. Fresh air always helped settle you, so you grabbed your shoes and decided to go for a walk around the venue.

It looked almost like a circus with all the trailers and tents that had quickly populated the surrounding area. Merch stands and catering tents were being organizes as dozens upon dozens of vans and trailers pulled in. There were already a few fans camped outside of the chain-link fence that surrounded the area, eagerly awaiting a glimpse of their favorite artists.

You kept wandering, and you saw that a band was being interviewed in the media tent. There were five of them, each holding a microphone; but one member, a dark haired boy, was doing most of the talking. He was cute, you thought, and your stomach did little flips watching him respond to the questions that were being asked.

You watched a little bit longer from a distance, until you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned to see Gavin and Liz, who had been doing a bit of exploring as well.

"Hey, there you are! I was talking to a few people by the catering tent. They said some bands are having a party on their buses later tonight, we should check it out." Gavin informed you excitedly.

You hesitated. No parties. "I dunno, I want us to be in good condition to perform tomorrow."

Liz chimed in. "All work and no play, Y/N. C'mon, it'll be a great chance to make some connections with other bands."

"If you don't come with us," Gavin pronounced dramatically, "we'll be far too devastated to perform tomorrow." His hand went to his forehead, as though he was about to faint.

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Pretty please?" Liz stuck her lower lip out pathetically.

"With sugar on top?" Gavin added.

You glanced at the black haired boy in the distance. Maybe he'd be there, a small voice in your head piped up.

"Ugh Fine! But I'll only stay for a little bit."

Satisfied, the pair stopped harassing you, and left you to continue wandering, promising to meet up with them later.

* * *

People spilled out from open trailers as music blared from an unknown source in the background. Some were already far gone, stumbling from place to place, or lying on the ground blacked out.

You followed Gavin inside one of the trailers. You watched as he interacted with the strangers inside with ease, a trait you envied. He managed to find you both drinks, and you grabbed the mystery beverage, sculling it in hopes that it would numb your nervousness. You may have been a great performer onstage, but offstage it was easy for your social anxiety to take the wheel.

Gavin began to walk away, ignoring your whispered pleas not to leave you. Fuck. It always felt awkward to not know anyone at a party. You clutched your red cup like a life jacket keeping you afloat in a sea of drunken strangers.

A man approached you out of nowhere, the smell of alcohol emanating from every pore on his body.

"You look lonely." He leered at you expectantly.

"Then it seems like you need glasses. I'm just fine on my own."

He laughed. "Ooo! I like you. You've got spunk. Name's Brent, guitarist from Midnite Heist."

"Can't say I've heard of you guys."

Brent was either oblivious to your indifference, or just chose to ignore it. "So how'd you end up at this party?"

"I'm in a band on the tour too. Lead singer actually."

"No way! That's awesome, we need more talented eye candy on this tour."

You screamed internally while he droned on, tuning him out as you continued to sip from your fast emptying cup.

You scanned the room, watching people laugh and dance. Your stomach suddenly flipped again as you noticed the black haired boy from this afternoon, solemn faced and quiet, silently nursing a diet coke in his hands. He was clearly not having a good time. The guitarist who had been talking you up soon saw you looking at the sullen figure and turned his attention towards him, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

"Gerard fucking Way!" he bellowed, carelessly sloshing his drink as he waved him over, causing a stream of alcohol to fall to the floor below.

Gerard seemed to hesitate before walking over. "It's been awhile man," he said softly. His eyes, a warm hazel, flicked to you repeatedly as he spoke. "you here for the whole tour this time?"

Brent laughed, his sobriety dangling by a thread.  "Yeah, but still not up on the main stage, unlike you big-shots." he said, punching Gerard in the arm. Gerard offered a crooked smirk in return, his patience already wearing thin. Brent nudged you in the arm. "This is Y/N, her band is new to Warped. I told her I'd show her the ropes." He grinned at you. Ugh.

Gerard seemed to sense your discomfort. "Welcome, nice to see a new face around."

Brent interrupted before you could respond. "How come you're wasting time with a coke? I would've expected you to be the first one wasted here."

Gerard's jaw clenched, and you cringed internally at the sheer awkwardness of the encounter. "I'm sober now," he informed Brent, "I don't touch that shit anymore."

Brent laughed dismissively. "Dude, you?  Do you even remember the last Warped tour? I'll give it 2 days before you're lying face down in the bushes again." he laughed as if he had just said something hilarious.

You were livid, and Gerard was on edge. You decided to step in when you noticed his knuckles turn white from clenching his coke can.

You moved slightly, ready to get between them. "Hey you know what? I'd really love a coke right now too. Mind showing me where they are?" you looked pleadingly at Gerard. He took the hint.

"Follow me."

You gave a curt wave to Brent, who looked on in confusion before continuing his drinking binge.

You stepped outside, and the sounds from the party behind you became a faint, thumping buzz in the background. You were both silent for a moment before you decided to break the ice.

"So that guy was a dick."

Gerard's scowl turned into a thin, lopsided smirk. Your heart melted a bit. "Yeah. I just realized some of these people are only tolerable when I'm drunk."

Stop. Move away. You don't need a distraction like this. You tried to scold yourself but words kept escaping from your lips, prolonging the encounter.

"This is my first time doing Warped Tour, but I'm assuming these parties are pretty much never-ending?"

Gerard pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Oh yeah, its every night for some of these bands. You're in for an interesting experience." You looked at him for a moment, perhaps for a bit too long. You had never seen anyone look so beautiful while surrounded by clouds of smoke.

"Yoohoooo! Y/N!" you heard the hollering of a clearly tipsy Gavin call from the doorway of the next trailer. "Where'd you go? The night is young! Get back here!"

You sighed. "That's my cue. Well actually that's my bassist, but he'll never let me live it down if I don't go back in there."

Gerard turned his head to the side and exhaled. "Catch you around. Next time you need rescuing from a douche-bag just light the bat signal."

You gave him a soft smile, forcing yourself to turn away and walk back to the trailer. As you did, you whispered aloud to yourself as a reminder:

"No distractions. No boys."

[dorksndisasters]

Session 4

[[<PREV]] | [[NEXT>]]

This one is early! I remembered! Are you proud of me lmao

this is uh. yeah. They realised they were heading for a life of crime, went through with it and then got affronted when Aelfswild decided not to pay them lmao

I’m sure that won’t have any consequences whatsoever :I

 (The consequences are already up on patreon.com/scmalarky!)

This was also Siana’s last session with us, hence her disappearing at the end

##

Siana finds the four of them sitting in the Knave and Cauldron, restless and edgy.

“Where did you disappear off to?” Carric asks, pushing out a chair for her.

“Stock up on new glyph designs.” Siana sits down. “What happened?” She nods to Marask, who lifts a hand in greeting and doesn’t lift his chin from the table.

“We’ve got a job.”

“Well, we think we’ve got a job,” Marask says. “No one’s been by with any info on it.”

“I hope we get to kill people on it,” Uriel says, grinning.

“Please don’t say that when we’re in public.”

“You’re the new collectors?” A kobold darts through the tavern to stand beside their table. “I have an assignment from Aelfswild.” He holds out a piece of paper.

Carric takes the paper and unfolds it. “Hey-” When she looks up, the kobold is already gone.

“Where are we going?”

“West Brightscepter.” Carric spreads the paper on the table. “We're to pick up a box from a house.”

“Alright.” Ophi stretches.

“Do you not have to play tonight?” Siana nods over at the empty stool by the fire.

Ophi shakes her head. “Asked for the night off.”

“We’d better get to it, I guess.” Marask stands. “It’s going take a while to get there, since you can’t just fly.”

“Yeah, yeah, show off.” Carric pushes him ahead of her and out of the tavern.

It’s late evening, and the streets are only marginally less busy than they had been during the day. They wind their way through the streets, and as the sun sets further, they get quieter. The line between trader district and living district isn’t significant, but three streets in it becomes a far different place, with spaces for gardens and trees that overhang the road. The buildings become distinct from each other, with walls splitting off the properties.

“There’s the one we want.” Carric looks down at the paper and then back up, and points.

The house she points at is tall and almost spindly. The fence around it is stone to waist height and then iron spikes, as if to let people look in upon the lush and brightly coloured carpet of plants and see what they’re missing.

“It says – Ophi, bring that staff closer-” Carric reaches out like she’s going to grab Ophi’s new staff. “It says there are two guards that patrol the outside.”

“Ok, so we – wait.” Marask hesitates. “This is theft, isn’t it? We are facilitating crimes.”

“Did that dawn before or after the blackmarket?” Uriel asks, unconcerned. She starts to stalk towards the house, sidestepping to circle around the corner of the wall.

“Wait-” Ophi reaches out to grab Uriel, and misses. “Marask, can you distract the guard for us?”

“Boy, can I.” Marask grins and shifts forms, taking off.

Ophibwynn runs after Uriel, and Carric and Siana follow on behind her.

They find Uriel struggling to scale the fence.

“Here, let me-” Siana climbs it easily, turning at the top to offer the others a hand up.

Marask swoops back over them with Artemis in tow, and caws out a warning.

The four of them hit the ground and dive in amongst ornamental bushes as a guard walks into view.

Uriel’s eyes all but glitter as she draws her sword.

“Wait,” Ophi hisses, placing a hand on Uriel’s arm.

Marask and Artemis dive-bomb the guard, causing him to turn away from the group, bringing his shield up to cover his face.

Uriel charges him from behind with Ophi close behind her, and between the two of them they bring the guard down.

Carric and Siana hurry past them, Carric’s eyes glowing as she uses her familiar to scout for a way in.

“There’s a window open,” she murmurs. “This way.”

Uriel crouches to unbuckle the guard’s armour. It’s too big for her, but that doesn’t seem to be putting her off trying it on anyway.

Siana and Carric find the window, which is open enough for them to push it wider.

Siana slips in first and turns to help Carric, and in doing so knocks against a cabinet.

Someone murmurs, like they’re waking up, and Siana and Carric both freeze.

Carric chances it, keeping low to the ground and tiptoeing across the room while Siana stays by the window.

Ophi is the next to appear, as the person starts to sit up, and she whips a spell at them. “Mine,” she hisses, and the figure jerks to a halt. “Where’s Carric?”

“She got through,” Siana murmurs.

“Go and find Uriel,” Ophi says, shifting to the side. “I’ll keep an eye on this one.”

Siana slips out of the window again, and heads off in search of Uriel, who hasn’t gone far from the guard’s body.

Marask, still in his crow form, darts through the window and lands on Carric’s shoulder as she  pauses in the corridor.

“Where do you think it is?” she whispers.

He lifts his wings in what is almost a shrug.

“Let’s just try in here,” Carric says, spotting a door opposite.

She places her hand on it, and they both freeze as something creaks.

There are footsteps inside the house, just beyond another door.

“Go,” Carric hisses, and throws herself inside the room, closing the door behind her as quietly as she can.

Marask lifts off from her shoulder and caws as the next door along opens, flapping into the face of someone who looks to be another guard. The guard stumbles back, holding his hands up to shield his face.

Marask harries him into the room and circles, staying just out of reach.

Carric finds herself inside a dark, well-appointed room. The only light is coming in through the windows, and casts pale moonlight over several settees, a fireplace and mantel, and two tall cabinets against the wall.

She circles one of the settees and starts towards the cabinets, since they're most likely to have what they’re looking for (she assumes), but her wren flutters from her shoulder to a dresser she hadn’t noticed, just beside the door.

“Oh,” she whispers. “Thanks.”

There’s a small box on top of the dresser, no bigger than her hand. Carric picks it up and finds it heavier than she expected. It’s locked, and defies her attempts to open it by any means.

“This has to be it.” She pockets it and listens at the door to the corridor.

There’s still a muffled cawing from Marask, so she cracks it open and sees the corridor empty. She walks along, being careful to be as silent as she can, and manages to leave by the front door.

“Let him know,” she murmurs to her wren, and it takes off back into the house to alert Marask.

Moments later, a window open and Marask – still a crow – tumbles out into the open air, shortly followed by her wren.

Carric crouches behind a bush and whistles for them as the guard closes the window.

“Did you find it?” Marask drops beside her, becoming human.

“I think so.” Carric shows him the box.

Marask turns it over, shrugs, and runs along the length of the garden to the windows of the room Carric had found it in. “Hey, can you get this open?”

“What? Why do you want to go back in?”

“I didn’t get a proper look around!”

Carric rolls her eyes and forces the window open with a whisper of magic. “There. Be quick.”

Marask grins and clambers in.

Carric doesn’t have to wait long before he’s scrambling back out, tucking a silver chalice into his bag. “Holy fuck why didn’t I see that?”

“I brought you something.” Marask holds out his closed hand.

Carric opens hers, and he deposites a rock there. “Thanks,” she says, dryly.

“Knew you’d like it.” He grins again. “We should grab the others.”

#

Siana and Uriel come back to the window where Ophi waits.

The woman stands quiet, caught in Ophi’s spell, and Ophi keeps most of her concentration on her. She’s already sorted through the table beside her. There are several glyph marks that Ophi can’t understand, and a list of what appears to be names – she pockets that - and a small music box, which she also takes.

Uriel hears the guard first and draws her sword, grinning.

She attacks the minute he’s in sight, and he meets her with sword drawn.

“Uriel!” Siana hisses. “Uriel, we can’t leave another body!”

Ophi looks out the window and sees the fight. “Is that the other guard?”

Siana nods, sorting through her glyphs for one that could work in this situation.

“Come on,” Ophi whispers at the woman, manipulating her towards the window. “Stop your guard!”

The woman pulls a glyph from the table beside her bed and throws it unerringly at the guard’s back.

He stops short and the sword falls from his grasp.

Uriel stops attacking and waves her hand in front of his face. “What happened?”

He has a glazed expression and doesn’t respond to anything.

“Why does she have a glyph that does that?” Siana asks, examining the tile where it’s stuck to the guard’s back.

Ophi climbs down out of the window and walks across.

“Come on,” Carric calls, joining them. “What happened here?”

“Nothing-” Ophi crouches to pick up the sword and cries out, clutching at her head.

The woman in the house blinks and seems to come to herself. “What are you doing here?” She grips at the windowsill, leaning out and glaring at the group.

They bolt for the shadows, running away.

#

They arrive back at the Knave and Cauldron without incident. Despite the late hour, the inn is still open and Aelfswild sits at the table they first saw him at.

“Ah, you’re back.” He looks up, smiling. “How did that go?”

“It - it went fine,” Carric says, after a pause. “This is the box you’re looking for, right?” She holds it up.

Aelfswild tilts his head, peering at it. “It certainly seems to be it. If I may?” He holds out his hand.

Marask stops Carric from handing it over. “What about our pay?”

“Your pay?” Aelfswild raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. We did a job for you, what do we get in return?”

Aelfswild lets out a small chuckle. “Oh, my dears, we never agreed that I’d pay you.”

“But this was a job. Jobs get paid.” Marask frowns.

“I must say, I assumed you would take your pay from the house. There was quite a lot in there asides from what my client wanted, hm?”

“That’s bullshit!” Marask says. “You’re not – we're not giving this to you.” He pushes Carric’s hand back.

She slips the box into her bag.

Aelfswild leans back in his chair. “Alright. On your heads be it.”

The group leave the inn, with Ophi glancing back every so often like she thinks Aelfswild’s going to follow them for revenge, but he just sits there and watches them leave.

“So what else did we get?” Marask asks, as they huddle in the alleyway outside.

“These.” Ophi holds up the list of names and the music box. “I don’t know any names on the list.” She turns the handle on the music box, and a merry little tune plays out. Nothing else happens with it.

“Should we be worried by him?” Siana asks, gesturing back at the inn. “He didn’t seem... annoyed that we’re ripping him off.”

“He didn’t pay us, he doesn’t get the goods.”

“I could always go back and kill him,” Uriel says, and pulls one of her swords out.

“No.” Carric slaps her hand down on top of Uriel’s.

“But it would solve the problem!”

“If he wants it, he can pay us. What else can he do? Go to the guard about how he wanted us to steal it?”

Siana does not look convinced, but she quiets.

Marask pulls the chalice from his bag and looks it over. It’s silver, studded with moonstones, and Carric’s eyes go wide at the side of it.

“And you brought me a rock?”

Marask shrugs. “It’s a very nice rock.”

“It’s just a rock!”

“Let’s not get into that?” Ophi breaks in, before they can get any more heated.

“Let’s go to the black market!” Uriel exclaims, grinning.

“That’s... not such a bad idea.”

“Let’s go, then.”

They leave the alley and walk along the streets to the entrance they know.

#

The black market is as busy as it was the first time; it doesn’t seem to stop for anything.

“Hey, Uriel?” Ophi nudges her. “How do you feel about swapping that armour for this sword?”

Uriel considers it. “Deal.” She shucks the armour, which was weighing awkwardly on her, and takes the sword from Ophi.

Ophi adjusts the weight and size of the armour with her magic and straps it onto herself. “There.”

Marask glances at her and snorts, then looks away.

“What?”

“I’ve just never seen a sorcerer wear armour before, that’s all.”

“Well, we keep getting into dangerous situations. I’d like to be safe.” Ophi turns to the pie stall and buys a stack, eating one on the spot.

“Well, I’m going to go get rich.” Marask shrugs and turns away, and misses Carric lifting the chalice from his bag.

He steps up to a stall already filled with gold and silver jewellery and statuettes and leans over to the elf manning it. “So how would you like to add to this collection?”

“Depends what it is you’re offering.” The elf stares at him, folding his arms.

“Well,” Marask says, searching through his bag, “I... don’t have anything at the moment, but you’d be interested if I did find anything? Say... a silver chalice studded with moonstones?”

“That sounds like it belongs amongst my wears.” The elf nods.

Marask smiles. “Alright. If I spot anything like that, I’ll be sure to let you know.” He turns back to the group. “Right.” He drops the smile. “Who stole it?”

One by one, they all shrug and shake their head.

“Oh come on!”

“We’re in the black market,” Carric says. “This place is probably full of pickpockets.”

Marask snorts and walks away.

“Ok.” Carric walks across to the stall. “What can you give me for this?” She pulls the chalice from her bag and offers it to the elf.

A small smile flickers across his face. “Well...” He examines it. “I can offer you 250 gold pieces.”

“Sounds great.” Carric takes the money, letting go of the chalice.

“Hey!” Marask yells, outraged. “You said-”

“You brought me a rock!” Carric retorts, pocketing the gold.

Marask turns to the pie merchant and buys six pies, grumbling away to himself.

Carric smirks and turns to saunter away, perusing her way down the stalls.

Marask runs after her and slaps two of his new pies into the side of her head with a yell of, “Food fight!”

The market erupts into chaos as the suggestion takes this time, and soon the air is thick with flying food.

Marask shifts into crow form and flits higher than most people are throwing.

Ophi tries to summon a shield spell and fails, and crouches down beside a stall in the hopes of not getting hit.

Carric throws the rock at Marask and misses.

Uriel takes advantage of the chaos to steal two pies from the stall and sits beside Ophi to eat one of them.

Marask circles around and dives at the jeweller’s stall, lifting away the chalice in his claws before anyone can notice or stop him.

In the chaos, Siana slips away without a word to the others, and doesn’t look back.

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

I saw you’re open for requests would you please write a bilbo x reader where the reader joins the companion a hobbit too but she’s a healer ? Knows her herbs and potions, and she is over the heels for bilbo, but shy a bit, and one time when bilbo falls from somewhere high into a bush rather hard but he says he’s okay, yet at night he asks her if she could check him out cause his side hurt, he has thorns in his side lots of em and she has to pic them out, they are both in love🥺🥺,thankyou!

Bilbo Baggins x Reader

Being separately invited on a special expedition because of your renowned skills as a healer is quite the flattering thing, but what’s even better than having your ego stroked is being invited on said expedition with Bilbo, your favorite hobbit by far. 

You’d known Bilbo for almost as long as the two of you have been alive, and while it’s absolutely wonderful getting to go on a journey and leave the monotone of your everyday life, you’d be lying if you said that a part of your reason for joining wasn’t because Gandalf had told you Bilbo was going too. In fact, it may have even been the deciding factor since you were on the fence about it for the longest time. 

Your job as a healer of the Shire usually consisted of dealing with over eaters, small fevers, battered children from wild play, and some sickness usually with the elderly. 

This is way different, though.

Instead of sniffling children, you have blade wounds.

Instead of hiccups, you have bruises and bumps from falling from high places. 

Instead of minor coughs and colds, you have puncture wounds and foot rashes so bad that they even start to sometimes bleed. 

Oin, the dwarven healer of this group, helped to teach you about the anatomy of the dwarf and things that they can’t have that you hobbits can so you can be more effective, and very soon you find that your healing skills have become much more diverse. 

The worst of the wounds you’ve had to deal with so far is when Thorin nearly died after the goblin tunnels and all the bruises and slashes the dwarves got when you all fell form such a high place. 

Oin treated your injuries, and you did the same for him in response (since healing yourself sucks big time).

After dealing with so many bad injuries such as the ones aforementioned, you’ve grown to miss the days where you deal with simple and ridiculous things like scraped knees and runny noses, so when Bilbo fell into that horrible thorny bush you were relieved.

Not that he got hurt of course, but that you finally have something more tame to deal with. 

Only, when you ask to take a peek he insists that he is perfectly fine!

You know right away from the pained expression on his face that he’s lying, but you let it slide since you have no doubt that his refusal of help is to keep the dwarves from worrying for him. 

Later that night, though, you have him cornered while the dwarves wash and demand that he show you his injuries; and from the fiery look in your eyes and stern frown of you lips, he knows you mean business. 

“Show me your side this instant.” You declare, standing before him with your hands on your hips and an angry pout on your lips. 

“Y/N, I’m not going to show you my side.” He sasses back, subconsciously reaching up to graze his fingers along his clothed area. 

“And why not?" 

"Because I am perfectly fine." 

You know for a fact that, that’s a lie, for you saw him wincing and flinching as you all traveled after he fell into the bush.

"Do not lie to me, Baggins. Show me now or I’ll tell Thorin that you got hurt and you’ll be in big trouble. ”

At your threat he immediately relents, putting his hands up in a surrender motion, “Alright, fine. But it’s not a big deal.” And then he reaches into his tucked in shirt and pulls it up (he takes his waistcoat off when he sleeps), immediately revealing multiple punctures and thorns littering throughout his skin. 

“Oh, Bilbo!” You cry, dropping to your knees next to him to inspect the area right away, “You’ve been walking around like this all day?”

“It’s not a big deal- really. It looks worse than it feels.” He tries to explain away his foolish silence of such painful looking cuts, but you can see right through him as always. 

“Let’s pretend for a moment that you tell me the truth; how long were you planning on leaving this alone? Until infection settles in? Until you get sick and become a hug burden for the rest of us?” Your words are harsh and gaze steely with anger, but this fury you suddenly feel is more for yourself since you didn’t force him to let you see before. 

You’ve practically failed as a healer, letting him walk around like that for so long without proper treatment. 

With gentle hands and careful movements you move him to lay down on his good side and pick out one of the bloodied thorns, noting the way he flinches and winces when you pull it out. 

Blood wells up in the hole left by the thorn, and you can only pray that infection doesn’t settle in. 

You begin to work on a second thorn when Bilbo whispers softly, “I’m sorry, Y/N…”

The campground is silent as you wait for him to continue, and you glance up at him from beneath your eyelashes to see his face. 

He’s looking out at the trees ahead with a sad expression, and you can tell right away that he really is apologetic about keeping this from you. 

“I should have told you sooner…" 

"Yes, you should have.” You agree quickly, ripping another out quickly to not draw out the pain, grimacing when he gasps. “Sorry.”

Bilbo doesn’t say anything this time, instead opting to look at you while you work, occasionally flinching or grunting when you pull out a thorn. 

By the time you’re done he’s go more than 10 little holes prickling with blood littering throughout the expanse of his side, and the skin is all irritated and red with rash. 

“If you had come to me right away it wouldn’t be so bad.” You comment once all the bloody thorns are tossed off to the side somewhere else. 

He still doesn’t respond, but instead of trying to coax a reaction from him you just wet a cloth and begin to lightly dab at the bloody punctures in his side to both clean them and get rid of the sticky blood. 

After the blood stops flowing so frequently and the cloth you use is completely stained red, you pour a bit of water on it to rinse it and get some wrappings ready.

“Y/N, please, you needn’t waste wraps on me. I’ll be fine without them.” He pipes up suddenly, reaching over to grasp your busy hand gently. 

“Bilbo…” You warn, looking at him with another deep set frown. “Let me finish my job. I don’t want you to get sick from infection.”

He sighs upon your insistence and allows his hand to fall back to the ground, sitting up when you gesture for him to so you can wrap up his torso. 

Your fingers brush lightly against his warm skin while you wind the makeshift bandages around him, a small smile coming to your face despite your previous anger and frustration with this stubborn hobbit. He never ceases to amaze you even when you’re mad at him. And what I mean by that is that he literally walked around this all day without alerting everyone to the fact that he wasn’t doing so well. 

Truthfully, the only reason you even noticed is because you watch him a bit more closely than the others. Both out of love and out of worry since you knew that it was only a matter of time until he pulled something like this. 

Once it’s all wrapped up and secure you lean down and press a kiss against his side, sitting back up and allowing him to return his shirt to it’s previous tucked in position before he lays back down. 

When you look at his face it’s red (no doubt because you kissed him) and it makes you smile some more. 

“I-I thought you were mad at me…?" 

"I am, but I’m also glad that you’re okay. I worry for you, you know.” You reply easily, lifting your hand to graze your fingertips against his cheek. 

You lean over him slightly and notice the way he suddenly looks nervous, but you don’t go any further and instead continue to just look at him. 

After some time of this weird stare down he asks softly, “U-Um… Y/N?”

“Yes, Bilbo?" 

"I… thank you. I would be lost without you. Truly.” He reaches up and runs his fingers through your curly hair, smiling a bit when you lean into his touch. 

“It’s my job, Bilbo. Looking after you and healing you.” It’s embarrassing hearing him praise and thank you for your skills, since you really do, do this out of love for people (thought the praise is very nice).

“Specifically me?" 

"Well, all of you technically.” You reply back with a grin, leaning down closer until your faces are barely an inch apart before whispering, “But I like you the most." 

His face floods red much like you expected it would, and it draws a giggle from your lips right away. 

"Y-You do?”

You nod your head and begin to caress his cheek lightly, half hovering over him while you watch his countenance morph from shyness to a warm smile. 

“I like you the most as well." 

His slightly hesitant words make you giggle again, and this time you lean down and press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose to see that brilliant blush spread across his cheeks once more. 

You’re not disappointed, because after you kiss him his face floods red, but instead of being all flustered and sheepish like you expected he would he instead reaches up and grabs the sides of your face, pulling you down so your lips will meet once and for all. 

Of course, you don’t deny him (it doesn’t even cross your mind for a second) and you immediately lean down against him. 

The kiss doesn’t last long; nor does it go anywhere special, but you enjoy it all the same and almost find yourself craving more. 

You don’t act upon that impulse of course and instead flop down next to him and snuggle into him (on his good side of course).

"W-Wait, Y/N, what will the others say?" 

"Um… well I don’t really care.” You reply easily, adding softer at the end, “Unless you do?”

A moment of silence passes by until suddenly some of your hair is brushed from your face and he replies just as sweetly and softly as before.

“No… I don’t." 

[our-time-is-now]

June 10, 2019 (2): To all the anniversaries and the petrified killer-hippopotamus

(previous play)

You can find more information about the authors, translators, content warning and additional information about the plays in the pinned post on our blog.   

Monday, 4:24 pm:

Matteo: *has spent the entire morning in bed with David* *making out, more than making out and simply cuddling and talking* *after David's stomach had growled for the third time he said that he'll go make something to eat under the condition that David stay in bed and be lazy* *came back half an hour later with a light lunch on a tray* *they ate and watched a series and made out some more* *now it's almost 4:30 and Matteo notices David get antsy* *laughs and nudges him when he squirms around again* Okay, okay... we can get up if you want to... look up one of those old pools, then we'll take a tour.

David: *has really enjoyed the morning with Matteo and has managed to stay in bed for quite a long time without feeling bad about it* *doesn't really feel bad, yet, but feels the urge to move and immediately sits up when Matteo suggests they could go out* *beams* Really? Do you still want to? *takes his phone from the nightstand and says* I've wanted to go to the Wernerbad for quite some time... but it's quite the distance by bike... but if it's too far for you we could also take the train... *quickly looks up a few photos and gives his phone to Matteo* (https://www.abandonedberlin.com/2014/08/wernerbad-freibad-swimming-pool-hippo-kaulsdorf-hippo.html#more) *gets up and searches for some clothes* Maybe we could stop on the way and get one or two beers to celebrate... *smiles and looks at Matteo scrutinizingly to see if he really wants to*

Matteo: *smiles when David is so excited* *sits up slowly* *only nods with a grin when he asks if he really wants to* *only draws up his eyebrows a little when he says that it's quite the distance away* Well, it's almost 4:30, how far is "quite the distance"? *takes the phone and looks at it* Looks cool... and outdoors... *puts David's phone on the bed and gets up to also look for clothes* Beer always sounds good... *found a shirt, one of David’s, and briefly holds it to his nose to sniff it* *shrugs one shoulder and puts it on*

David: *laughs quietly when Matteo asks how far quite the distance is and shrugs* Depends on how fit you are... I guess somewhere between 30 and 40 minutes... *smiles and nods when Matteo says that it looks cool* I think the figurines are quite nice... allegedly if it rains a lot the water still collects in the pool... but I guess considering the temperature during the last few days there shouldn't be much in it... *in the meantime has found a shirt he feels like wearing, puts it on the bed and wavers between shorts or long pants* *usually doesn’t like to wear shorts outside, but then figures that he'll only be with Matteo and that hopefully they won't run into too many people and that the temperature definitely calls for shorts and therefore puts them on* *briefly looks at Matteo, who sniffs one of his shirts and then puts it on, and laughs* You can also take a clean one out of the wardrobe... *grabs the new button from the nightstand and fastens it to his backpack with a smile* *takes his binder and the shirt he has chosen and murmurs in Matteo's direction* I'll just be in the bathroom... *still doesn’t like putting on the binder in front of Matteo*

Matteo: *nods slowly* That means an hour... *laughs slightly* *then shrugs* But we can do it however you want... *laughs and shrugs when David talks about the shirt* That one's still okay... *doesn't mention that it smells like David and that's why he doesn't want a clean one* *grins when David fastens the button to his backpack* *nods when David says that he'll be in the bathroom* I'll go pack a bottle of water and a package of cookies... *sees David disappear and then goes to his wardrobe to take out clean pants* *gets a bottle of water and cookies, probably Laura's, and puts them in his backpack*

David: *quickly puts on his binder and shirt in the bathroom and smiles when he sees Matteo already waiting for him in the hallway when he leaves the bathroom* *loosely puts his arms around his hip and kisses him briefly* *murmurs* I'm happy... *grins slightly and bumps Matteo's head before slipping his shoes on* Let's go? *sees Matteo nod and leaves the house with him to unlock their bikes downstairs* *it really takes them 45 minutes – but they probably would have managed in 40 if they hadn't stopped to buy beer and water on the way as Matteo had already emptied half of the water on the way* *locks up his bike on the fence once they arrive and takes a look around* *grins slightly at Matteo and tilts his head* Well, at least the fence isn't as high as the one to our pool...

Matteo: *laughs* 1-0 for Werner... then show me what you got... *grins when David jumps over the fence with complete ease* *has to exert himself a little more but he's also the one with the backpack and manages quite well in the end* Looks quite huge... on the pictures it looked somehow smaller... *looks around and then at David* Which way?

David: *climbs over the fence and waits for Matteo on the other side* *has a bit of a deja vu and has to smile slightly* *only looks around once Matteo is with him and nods in agreement* *murmurs* Pretty overgrown... *returns Matteo's look and quietly laughs at his question* No idea... straight ahead? *shrugs and simply starts walking* *almost automatically reaches for Matteo's hand when he's walking next to him* *after a few meters and some bushes really discovers the pool and the slide which they saw on the pictures* *stops at the edge of the pool and first looks down and then up at Matteo* *whistles briefly and then grins* No echo here... 1-1 I'd say...

Matteo: *nods and laughs when David suggests that they go straight ahead* *reaches for David's hand at the same time he does and smiles* *laughs when David whistles and once again thinks that he's pretty wonderful* *looks down into the pool and then at David* 1-2 there's water in here... boring... *grins and then points at the slide* Wanna have a beer up there?

David: *laughs at Matteo's words* A pool with water! That's really outrageous! *follows Matteo's gaze to the slide and smiles* Okay... *goes over to the slide with him and lets him climb up first* *laughs quietly and while he watches him asks* Is there even enough space for the two of us up there?! *but simply climbs up after him and waits on the top of the ladder until Matteo has sat down properly*

Matteo: *climbs up the slide* Sure! *sits down so that he can lean his back against one of the walls and the actual slide is to his left* *has the backpack on his lap and waits for David to sit down next to him* *takes out two bottles of beer and a lighter* *opens the first one, hands it to David and opens one for himself* *grins at him when they clink bottles* To us!

David: *eyes the top of the slide and sees that there is enough space for the two of them* *sits down next to Matteo and also leans against the slide's metal wall* *takes the beer from Matteo, murmurs "thanks" and waits for Matteo to open his beer* *looks at him, smiles and clinks bottles with him* *nods and says* ...and to abandoned pools and the next anniversaries... *takes a sip and leans his head against the wall* *closes his eyes for a moment and smiles to himself* *briefly remembers that a month ago tomorrow is the first time that they slept together and has to grin slightly because that day is really easy to remember* *then wonders if they really will celebrate many more monthly anniversaries and realizes with a beating heart how much he wants this* *takes another sip*

Matteo: *nods at David's addition* To all the anniversaries... *takes a sip* *turns his head and sees that David has closed his eyes* *sees him smile and wonders what he's thinking about* *would actually like to ask him but then somehow doesn't want to ruin the moment and rather watches him for a little while longer* *thinks that he looks beautiful and once again can't believe how lucky he is* *was just about to lean over and kiss him when David takes another sip* *has to laugh quietly and waits until he's finished* *sees him look at him questioningly and only shrugs* *then leans forward and kisses him briefly* *leans back again, takes a sip and turns his head to him* *asks him, after all* So? What are you thinking about?

David: *hears Matteo laugh quietly when he drinks and looks at him questioningly after putting down the bottle* *but "only" gets a kiss and grins briefly* *then watches him as he drinks and sometimes still finds it unbelievable that they have really made it and that Matteo really wants him* *feels so comfortable and secure with him and smiles slightly when Matteo looks at him again* *hears his question and briefly lowers his head in embarrassment and picks at the label of his bottle* *doesn't know if it's way too soon to tell him that he wants more anniversaries* *vaguely remembers that they had been talking about something similar at the lake when they were drunk, but now they're sober and he doesn't know how serious Matteo had been about it at the lake the other day and if he even remembers* *looks at him again, opens his mouth, laughs quietly, closes it again and looks away again* *shrugs a little and without looking at him quietly says* I was thinking about the fact... that I want more of this... more anniversaries... with you... *twists the bottle around in his hands a little nervously*

Matteo: *immediately notices that David is embarrassed and gets even more curious about what he had been thinking* *laughs slightly when David opens his mouth but doesn't say anything* *then hears his answer and feels his heartbeat speed up* *holds his beer and with his free hand reaches over to put it on David's cheek so that he's looking at him* Hey... hey... *doesn't only smile but practically beams at him* And why exactly is that a bad thing? *grins at him a little wickedly and pulls him a little closer* I want all the anniversaries with you, ok? And I'm already really looking forward to tomorrow's anniversary... *wiggles his eyebrows* ...and I'm looking forward to all the anniversaries that we'll add in the future!

David: *feels Matteo's hand on his cheek and looks at him* *has to smile when he sees him beam like this* *shrugs at his question and thinks for a moment* I don't know... I'm so sure about it after such a brief time with you... that's a little scary somehow... isn't it? *laughs quietly when he mentions tomorrow's anniversary and kisses him briefly* Well that's one that even I can remember pretty easily... *kisses him again and murmurs* We'll definitely celebrate that one as well!

Matteo: *slightly shakes his head* *but then shrugs one shoulder* Don't know... maybe? But also good, isn't it? *smiles into the kiss and then laughs* THAT you can remember, well that's interesting... *wraps his arm around him when he kisses him again and pulls him closer* *kisses him again and again and then murmurs* If you want, I'll find an anniversary for us to celebrate every week...

David: *shrugs at Matteo's question but then nods* *sighs and quietly says* Yes, also good... really good... *smiles* *is a little relieved that Matteo seems to have a similar opinion and that he doesn't think that it's somehow too fast and too clingy and too constricting* *grins when Matteo teases him about the sex anniversary* Well, I've got today as a pretty good reminder... so if we continue to celebrate the monthly anniversaries then I can't possibly forget the sex anniversaries... *lets himself get pulled closer by Matteo and loses himself a little in Matteo's kisses* *puts his hand on the back of Matteo's neck and holds him tenderly so that he doesn't even thinks about stopping the kiss* *smiles slightly at his murmurs and looks at him* Okay... *kisses him again and then lets go of him* *leans against him and scoots down a little to better fit into his arms* *asks with a grin* And what do we celebrate next week? *takes another sip of beer*

Matteo: *puts his arm around David and still holds his beer with the other one* *takes another sip* *laughs slightly at his question* Hmmm... well next week starts with the 17th... that was the Abi-prank... or we could celebrate the sandwich-feast on the 22nd... *feels his phone vibrate* *puts the beer down next to him and pulls his phone out of his pocket* *sees a message in ok.cool* WhatsApp ok.cool.: Jonas: Hey brudis, what's up today? Feel like doing something. Ping pong and a few beers? *reads the message to David and says* I'll simply send a picture of us and tell them that we already have plans... *holds the phone up in front of them, takes a selfie a little awkwardly and sends it* Matteo: Today we're out, we're already celebrating :)

David: *looks up at Matteo with raised eyebrows* Ey, now you're kidding, right?! *laughs quietly* You can't possibly remember all those dates... *also feels his phone vibrate but since Matteo is already taking out his phone he figures that it's some group chat and waits for Matteo to inform him* *nods at his suggestion and takes another sip of beer* *grins into the camera with his beer still in his hand and watches Matteo as he sends the picture and the text* *a moment later sees several messages pop up and laughs quietly when he reads them* Carlos: You're celebrating?! Without us?! Abdi: Cheers, guys! Jonas: Where are you roving about? Looks very chill! Enjoy the sun, guys! Carlos: Now I also want beer... but ping pong during this heat?! If Luigi and David are out, we'll have to run even more... Abdi: What are you even celebrating? Maybe we could join you. *looks at Matteo* Should we enlighten them? Or let them guess? *then has an idea* Hang on... *takes his phone out of his pocket and frees himself from Matteo's arms* *kneels down and, holding his phone over Matteo, takes a photo down the slide* *sends it and adds* David: We're celebrating fate #sappytimes10

Matteo: *laughs when David doesn't believe him* Of course I can... somehow my brain is weird like that, I'm good at remembering events combined with numbers... you can quiz me if you want. *grins slightly* *reads the answers in the chat and has to grin* *shrugs at David's question* *doesn't think that they'll figure it out* *grins at the photo David takes and reads the chat* Carlos: Huh? Where's that? And why fate? Abdi: Is that a pond? Jonas: Old pool? Matteo: New hobby Abdi: And what fate, exactly? Carlos: Don't do anything in the water, guys, that only looks hot in movies *only laughs and shakes his head* *nudges David slightly* Just tell them, otherwise they’ll never stop.

David: *reads the messages and grins* *nods at Matteo’s words and quickly types* David: We’ve been together for exactly a month today – that’s what we celebrate. Have a nice evening, and we’ll gladly join you at ping pong in a few days! Abdi: Oh, how nice! Congratulations! Carlos: Sick! Only one month?! Seems longer to me…. Jonas: I should have figured! Congratulations from me as well! Have a nice evening! *smiles when he reads the messages but then puts his phone away again and takes another sip of beer* *looks at the sinking sun and then at Matteo* And now I want to go look for the hippo and the penguins!

Matteo: *smiles at the answers* *quickly types a smiley as response and then also puts his phone away again* *murmurs* Seems longer to me, as well… *then laughs* Okay… but only if I’m allowed to take pictures with you and the stone animals for Insta… *stretches slightly and takes his beer again before he slowly picks himself up*

David: *smiles when Matteo says that it seems longer to him, as well* *feels exactly the same* *presses a quick kiss on his forehead and smiling runs a hand through Matteo’s hair before getting up* *laughs when he hears Matteo’s condition* Dude, soon there will be more photos of me than you on your Insta… but okay, one more or less doesn’t matter… *holds his hand out to Matteo when he starts to get up and pulls him up* *starts to climb down the ladder and jumps down the last meter* *searchingly takes another look around while he waits for Matteo and wipes the sweat off his forehead* One should think that it would cool off once the sun has set but somehow it almost got even more stifling… a shame that the floor of the pool and the water look so disgusting… otherwise we could have put our feet into the water to cool down… *thinks that they should put the kiddy pool back up at Matteo’s balcony if the weather stays this hot*

Matteo: *shrugs* Yes, and why exactly is that bad? *grins and lets David help him up* *waits for David to climb down and then follows him onehandedly because he’s still holding his beer* *nods* Yes, you’re right… but the pool really doesn’t look good… we’d probably catch several foot fungi… *then simply starts walking with him and looks around for any hippos or penguins* We could hold our feet in the bathtub at your place…

David: *grins slightly* I think foot fungi might be the most harmless thing we could get there… I’m more afraid of stepping into some shards or needles or something like that… *walks next to Matteo and looks around searchingly* *nods at the comment about the bathtub* If it stays this hot it’s worth it to put the kiddy pool back up on your balcony – unless Hans wants some strange things in return again… *grins slightly, empties his beer and steps behind Matteo to put the empty bottle in his backpack while they continue walking* *thinks that he can see the hippo from the corner of his eyes while closing the backpack, nudges Matteo and points his head toward it before he picks up his pace, walks around a bush and then really stands before the hippo* *simply climbs on top of it, spreads his arms out and grins at Matteo* Tadaaa… *laughs* What pose do you want!?

Matteo: *nods to the kiddy pool* Hans shouldn’t make such a fuss… we share our food with him often enough… *stops when David steps behind him so that he can put the beer bottle away* *only has a sip left in his own bottle, as well* *quickly drinks it and hands the bottle back so that David can put it away as well* *sees that David has apparently found something and follows him* *isn’t quite as fast as he is and sees him already sit on it when he walks around the bushes* *laughs and takes out his phone* Whichever you want… *turns on his camera and quickly takes a few pictures* *grins slightly* You always look good…

David: *strikes a few different poses for Matteo – lies down on the hippo, stands on it, hugs it etc. – and has a lot of fun with it* *then tilts his head and looks at him ironically when he says that he always looks good* Ha-ha… *hops down from the hippo where he was standing on, and takes Matteo’s phone out of his hand* And now I’ll take one of you where you put your head into the hippo’s mouth… *grins and steps closer to the mouth to get a close-up* *grins* Or even better: We’ll make a video… The hippo has grabbed your head and won’t let go. And just as you are about to free yourself it petrifies and your head has to stay in the hippo’s mouth forever until… ummm… *shrugs* …you’ll just have to improvise the ending…

Matteo: *laughs while David poses and takes quite a lot of pictures* *grins when he takes the phone out of his hand* Okay… *then hears that he has another idea and laughs* Okay, Mister director… *takes the few steps to the hippo and laughs* You’ll just have to improvise the ending… funny… *stops next to the hippo and waits for David to call action* *puts on quite a dramatic show of someone being eaten by a petrified hippo* *ends it with a desperate cry for help, then leaves his head in the hippo’s mouth, closes his eyes and quite impressively feigns his death by hippo*

David: *grins in anticipation when Matteo really wants to play along and loudly calls “action” when he turns on the camera* *laughs a lot about Matteo’s dramatic performance and cheers him on to defend himself against the hippo* *is still laughing when Matteo feigns his death and holds the camera closely to Matteo’s head in the hippo’s mouth* *grins when Matteo really stays dead for pretty long and eventually improvises theatrically* Thus, many moons passed and the brave knight Matteo had almost been forgotten – the dreaded killer-hippopotamus’ country got evermore overgrown… *moves the camera over the thicket and turns in a circle* …one day, however, another brave knight fought his way through the thicket. He could never forget his true love Matteo and never ceased his search for him. He cried bitter tears of loss once he found his love’s dead body in the petrified hippopotamus’ mouth until he recalled an old tale according to which only a kiss is able to undo the hippopotamus’ petrification and thus bring the beast’s victims back to live… He gathered up all the courage he could find within himself… *is now filming himself getting closer to the hippo’s head* …and kissed the petrified killer-hippopotamus… *kisses the hippo* … and looo and behooold…

Matteo: *had assumed that the story would end with his death* *but should have known better* *really has to pull himself together to not laugh when David continues* *bats his eyes open at the appropriate moment, pulls his head out of the hippo’s mouth and holds out his arms* Taa-daa. I am alive. Through the kindness of my noble savior and knight! *theatrically wraps both arms around David* I am forever indebted to you, my knight! *looks into the camera* And so they lived happily ever after… bing bang bong, the end.

David: *grins when Matteo bats open his eyes and repeats* Taa-daa – he is alive! *laughs when Matteo theatrically wraps his arms around him and nods in affirmation at Matteo’s words* *then adds a drawn-out “The End” and turns the camera off* *grins at Matteo and presses a kiss to his cheek* That’s gonna be our big break-through! *lets go of him and points back to the hippo* But now I still need a picture of you inside the hippo’s mouth for the movie poster and one of me kissing the hippo… *already tries the best pose for the picture*

Matteo: *laughs* Oh, yes, for sure…worldwide fame! *sighs theatrically and puts his head back into the hippo’s mouth* One day, you’ll have real, proper actors to do that for you… *grimaces a little for the picture and then pulls his head back out* *takes his phone back and takes a picture of David kissing the hippo* *wipes the sweat off his forehead* Man, it���s really quite hot… do you really still want to find the penguins?

David: *takes a few pictures of Matteo and then hands him the phone so that he can pose for the kiss-picture* *grins* You’ll have to send me the pictures and the video later, ok? *has completely forgotten about the heat while he had fun filming and only now that Matteo mentions it realizes again how hot it is* *looks around and shrugs* *smiles slightly and looks at him pleadingly* Yeees?! *goes to him and kisses him briefly* If we haven’t found them within 10 minutes we can leave… *quickly checks the time and realizes that it’s almost 9:30* *grins slightly and waggles his eyebrows* I promise not to make another movie there… only a few pictures… *grabs his hand and simply pulls him along*

Matteo: *automatically has to smile when David smiles* *grins into the kiss* Well, how can I say no to that? *sighs slightly and then shoulders his backpack again which he had put down before the filming* Only a few pictures, okay… *gets pulled along and simply tags along behind him* *5 minutes later they really find the penguins and Matteo’s heart swells a little when he sees how happy David is about it* Didn’t know that you were such a fan of penguins…

David: *is happy that Matteo doesn’t protest and lets himself get pulled along and is even happier when they really manage to find the penguins after only a short search* *takes a few pictures of them and a few selfies of Matteo and him with the penguins* *smiles slightly at Matteo’s comment and shrugs* I’m not… I’m more a fan of abandoned places… *briefly gnaws on his bottom lip, looks to the penguins and adds* I somehow like this… this overgrown and abandoned and forgotten. If you think about the fact that here… or in our pool, as well, there really was life and stories that happened there… and one day those places were simply forgotten. I simply like the thought that once in a while someone comes by… like with a short visit and that they remember… *looks at Matteo, grins slightly and shrugs* *isn’t sure if Matteo understands this but doesn’t think that it’s that important right now*

Matteo: *nods slightly when he says that he’s a fan of abandoned places* *thinks that it somehow suits him* *listens to him and begins to beam slightly* *not really because he shares his fascination, but simply because it’s so wonderful to see him being so enthusiastic* *pulls him closer when he looks at him* You really are pretty wonderful! *grins and kisses him* *then moves away again because he’s really sweating* And can we now please walk somewhere where we can cool off? How can it still be this hot at 10 at night!

David: *smiles when Matteo pulls him closer and sheepishly lowers his gaze at his words* *doesn’t know what makes Matteo say that right now but knows that there’s no use in disagreeing with him* *therefore only mumbles insecurely* Okaayyy… *gets kissed and briefly puts a hand to Matteo’s cheek – but takes it off immediately because it’s really way too hot for physical contact* *can therefore understand that Matteo pulls away again* *laughs quietly* Walk!? The heat’s messing with you, my friend… we cycled here and I was hoping for at least a little bit of airflow… *slightly nudges Matteo in the direction of where he suspects the fence and their bikes to be and grins* But you’re welcome to walk if you don’t need any airflow… or jog… *hugs him from behind and presses Matteo to him* …or I could warm you up a little if you’re cold…

Matteo: *rolls his eyes* Haha, you know what I meant… *starts to walk when David nudges him* *groans when David hugs him from behind* *grabs David’s arms and leans forward and lifts David up a little* Oh… oh… or I’ll throw you in the pool and then you can cool off!

David: *laughs when Matteo leans forward and he gets lifted up in the air and wiggles slightly so that he’ll put him back down* Arghs… I’d rather have the foot bath in the bathtub… will you carry me? *laughs when Matteo groans and puts him back down* *slightly punches him in the side* Come on… pretty please! Piggyback to the fence… I’d do the same for you if you’d ask that nicely… *wiggles his eyebrows but is actually only kidding because Matteo is already carrying the backpack and he probably wouldn’t even fit on Matteo’s back together with the backpack* *quickly wipes the sweat off his forehead*

Matteo: *laughs and shakes his head* I just carried you, that has to be enough… *slightly punches him back* *shakes his head* Nooo, then I’ll collapse… *longingly looks at the water when they walk past it* Really a shame that it’s so gross, otherwise we could just hop in there for a moment… would be perfect… nobody there who would see us, just cool off for a moment and then go home…

David: *grins and huffs when Matteo says that he’d collapse but then gets serious again and tugs at the backpack* Should I take it for a while? Would only be fair… *takes a moment to realize what Matteo is talking about and follows his gaze to the pond* *nods hesitantly and is quiet for a moment before he says* Cooling off would really be nice… but… I don’t have another shirt and another binder with me anyways… so even if it weren’t so gross you’d first have to go home and get some fresh clothes for me… *grins slightly* …and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that when it’s so hot… if you don’t even want to carry me… *looks back at the murky pool again and then walks toward the fence*

Matteo: *shakes his head when David tugs at the backpack* That’s okay… *listens to him and nods slightly* Yes, you’re right… *stops in front of the fence and watches David climb over it* *has an idea* *waits for him to get to the other side and says through the fence* What if we go to the Kaulsdorfer lakes? We could get a change of clothes at your place… I mean, yes okay, it would be quite the detour and even more cycling… but swimming… and cooling off! Last week we said that we wanted to try it, didn’t we?

David: *climbs over the fence and then turns around to Matteo* *tilts his head at his words and grins slightly because at first he thinks that he’s kidding what with all the additional cycling and such* *but then realizes that he’s really serious about it* *thinks about his suggestion for a moment and about the fact that today’s Monday and that at this time of the day there probably really wouldn’t be anyone at the lake and eventually smiles and nods* Okay… *laughs quietly* This really goes with the anniversary perfectly… we couldn’t have planned that any better… *lovingly and smilingly looks at Matteo and is already looking forward to probably being able to hug him in the lake without sweating himself to death*

Matteo: *is happy when he agrees* Okay. *also laughs* You mean because we’ll actually go swimming and not only pretend to? *climbs over the fence and groans slightly when he lands next to David* Okay, let’s go then…

(next play)

[darks-ink]

Just To Be Seen By My Eyes

Heya @aedelia​, happy holidays! Here’s my Truce gift to you! Hope you enjoy it!

Also on [AO3] and [FFN]! 

---

“It’s certainly very beautiful,” Maddie said, slowly, cautiously, “but I don’t understand why they gave it to us.”

“A sign of appreciation, perhaps?” Jack guessed, shrugging. “We are Amity Park’s primary ghost hunters. Maybe they wanted to pay us back for it?”

Maddie hummed, spreading out the papers a little further. Now they laid all separated on the table, allowing the two of them to view them fully.

“I suppose the artistic interpretation of the Ghost Zone is very interesting,” she eventually settled on. “We know vaguely what it looks like, thanks to the time the town was brought into the Zone, but still.”

Jack picked up one of the sheets of paper, his favorite painting of the bunch they had received. Besides the black-green sky that they had known about, it depicted a ramshackle building that reminded him of Fentonworks, bits of technology haphazardly welded together.

“Even if they’re useless for research, they are still pretty, Mads. I say we frame them. Jazz has been complaining of the house lacking decoration, anyway.”

“I suppose so.” She shook her head, but her lips quirked into a smile as she nudged another painting. This one depicted a grand castle, a vibrant forest nestled up next to it. Ha, like the Ghost Zone could even house something like forests, never mind ones so lively. “I do wish we knew who the artist was.”

“Yeah, definitely.” He put the painting down with the rest, carefully smoothing it out. “They’re certainly a creative sort. Wish we could track them down, but there must be tons of people in town with the initials DP.”

“Well, nothing we can do about it.” Maddie shrugged, turning to head to the lab. “If they only signed it with their initials, and didn’t leave a note with their name, they must not have wanted us to know who they were.”

He grunted as he followed her down the stairs. “Still, I wish we could’ve thanked them. It would be interesting to hear them explain why they chose to depict the Ghost Zone like that.”

“It would be more interesting to look at the real Ghost Zone,” Maddie lamented, stopping next to her table in the lab. She heaved a sigh. “But, unfortunately, we can’t risk such trips.”

“I know,” he grunted. “Who knows what kind of things Phantom could get up to while we left? Or worse yet, what it could do to us while we’re out of the town’s sight.”

“Yes, indeed.” Maddie straightened a blueprint, and Jack stepped up next to her. “Well, nothing we can do about it, except try harder to catch Phantom. Speaking of which, honey, I think I finally figured out how to fix the Bazooka’s battery issues.”

---

“Oh, another one.” Jack chucked the letters in his hand onto the table, focusing on the new drawing. DP had continued to send in paintings on a regular basis. At first they had been various interpretations of the Ghost Zone, like the first batch, but as time went on they had expanded their repertoire and started painting ghosts instead.

“This is certainly a curious one,” Jack mumbled to himself as he looked over the new painting. It was another imagined Ghost Zone vista, although the edges of the island weren’t visible. A lush snowscape, with the characteristic black-and-green sky of the Zone. A curious details was that DP had included ghosts into the landscape this time; small specks of them littered the hills, and a few were close enough for them to include details. They looked animalistic, with shaggy white fur and ice-like horns. One of them even had an arm made entirely out of ice, with bones visible within. A shame that DP had included that detail; ghosts didn’t have bones, so it was an unfortunate error.

Still, there was nothing to be done about it. Maddie hadn’t been terribly interested in looking into the mystery of this ‘DP’ further, and to be honest, he could understand why. They wanted to learn more about the Ghost Zone, and whoever DP was, their paintings couldn’t possibly be based on the truth. Nobody had been to the other side of the Fenton Portal besides ghosts, and no ghost would make mistakes like including bones.

Jack blew out a sigh, placing the painting down on the table. They could figure out what to do with it later. DP had been sending them so often that Maddie and he weren’t sure what to do with them anymore. No matter how sweet it was that this artist was inspired by them, or by their research into ghosts, they couldn’t possibly showcase all this art. They didn’t even know who made them!

“Mads?” he called downstairs instead, deciding to take his mind off of the topic. “I’m gonna head out with the GAV, see if I can find some ghosts!”

“Be home in time for dinner, honey!” Maddie’s voice echoed from downstairs, underlined with the metallic clang of her putting down her tools. “And call me if you need me out in the field!”

“Will do!” he assured her. He didn’t need to check for weaponry; the GAV was always well-stocked, and would have everything he might possibly need.

So he headed for the garage, hopped into the large vehicle, and buckled his belt. The ignition roared to life, and with it, so did the various electronic appliances built into the GAV. Most importantly, at least for now, was the ghost radar.

The screen of the radar lit up, and Jack leaned in closer. Ah, and look at that! Not one, but two ghosts in the park! He’d better head over there. Either they were up to trouble, or it was Phantom chasing some other ghost. And if it was the latter, Jack might finally get the annoying specter!

Quickly he raced over to the park, stopping the GAV right next to the fence. He would have to continue on foot, since the gates were too small, but that was okay. He might be able to sneak up on the ghosts like this, since neither of them had moved since he had first seen them on the radar.

Still, whatever they were up to, it couldn’t possibly be good. Ghosts were malevolent, through and through, and if they hadn’t moved they hadn’t been fighting with each other. That must mean that they were working together, either causing trouble, or plotting to cause trouble later. No matter which of the two it was, Jack knew he had to interfere.

He quickly grabbed one of the plentiful ecto-guns the GAV was stocked with, jumping out of the vehicle. He didn’t have a radar on hand, but that was okay. The ghosts were unlikely to move if it hadn’t before now, and, well. They literally glowed. He was sure he would be able to spot them when he got close enough, even in the bright afternoon light.

As quietly as possible, he crept through the bushes. His gun, he held ready. He had to find the ghosts, and quick. Who knew what kind of trouble they might’ve gotten up to?

The moment he spotted a glimpse of unnatural white light, Jack stopped. Then, certain that neither of the ghosts had spotted him, Jack peeked through the leaves.

The ghost closest to Jack was instantly recognizable. Slight but masculine build, messy white hair, and a black jumpsuit. Phantom, without a doubt. The other, he couldn’t place. Green skin, long blonde hair tied into a braid, and with a sky blue dress. Definitely modeled after a woman, that one, and slightly older than Phantom. Or, well, if they had been humans. There was no telling the age of a ghost.

“Almost done,” Phantom spoke, suddenly. But it seemed to be talking to the other ghost. Why? Almost done with what?

“Ah, very well.” The other ghost inclined its head slightly, a gesture almost a nod, but halted. “I admire your work, Sir Phantom, but my kingdom calls for me.”

A kingdom? Sir Phantom? Very interesting. He would have to make sure to remember all of this. Oh, if only he had some sort of recording device ready. Maddie would’ve loved to hear this, too.

“I know, I know. I really appreciate you coming out here for me.” Phantom didn’t look away from whatever it was doing, hunched over. “I know things are still kinda messy after the whole Aragon thing.”

“It is no trouble,” the medieval ghost—the ghostly queen?—assured Phantom. “Without your help, I never could’ve overthrown my brother. I owe you, Sir Phantom.”

Phantom snorted, shaking its head briefly. “You know that that’s not true, Dora. You fought Aragon on your own, and you won that way too.”

“Ah, but--”

“No buts,” Phantom interrupted the other ghost—Dora, apparently. “You know just as well as I do that I wasn’t the one to convince you to stand up for yourself. You already made me your knight and your ally. You don’t owe me anything.”

The monochrome ghost paused for a moment, then lifted the object it had been hunched over. Finally Jack had a chance to see what it was, and he felt his heart stop.

Phantom had been working on a painting. And, depicted on the paper, was the other ghost. The style, even from where he was hiding, was instantly recognizable. Phantom had been the one sending paintings to FentonWorks.

Oh. Oh. Of course he had been! Just because the ghost usually went by Phantom didn’t mean it lacked a full name. No, when it had first introduced itself, it had called itself Danny Phantom. DP!

Cursing internally, Jack startled back to awareness when the Dora ghost moved. It floated closer to Phantom, inspecting the painting as well. Were ghosts vain creatures, then? Did Phantom pay them in paintings to play pretend with it? Then why would it be sending them to the Fentons as well? Was it trying to buy them? Buy their alliance, so they would no longer hunt it? Ha! As if!

“Oh, what a wonderful work again.” Dora smiled, an expression that was almost soft, if it hadn’t been on a ghost. “You did a very good job again, Sir Phantom.”

Phantom flushed bright green, and Jack took a moment to realize that it was a ghostly equivalent to blushing. How? Why? Ghosts didn’t feel emotions, why would they blush, especially to one another?

“Thanks,” Phantom stuttered back to the other ghost. “But it’s nothing special. And, um. Thank you for posing for me.”

“I already told you, it was no problem.” The other ghost floated a step or two away again, loosely shrugging. “I just hope the Fentons will like it, so you will finally be on good grounds with them.”

“I mean, um.” Phantom’s expression dropped into something Jack could only call an uncertain smile. “They, uh, don’t really care for them, I think? I believe they don’t think they’re real, and thus not useful.”

“But have you not been signing them as yours?” Dora insisted, a frown on its face. “Do they think that you are sending them false paintings of the Ghost Zone? Of your fellow ghosts?”

“Well, I, uh.” Phantom’s grin became even more harried. “I might’ve been signing them just as ‘DP’? I didn’t think they would trust them otherwise!”

Dora stared at the other ghost for a long moment, then clicked her tongue and shook her head. If it had been human, Jack would’ve said it was disappointed. But, since it was a ghost, it couldn’t possibly be. “Well, I suppose you know best. I wish you the best of luck with them, regardless.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Phantom nodded at the other ghost, and dismissed, it quickly left.

Now that it was just him and Phantom left, Jack knew he should be making a move. This was the perfect opportunity; Phantom was distracted, looking at the ground. Gathering its supplies, presumably.

But he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t.

It was astounding. Absolutely confusing. Sure, Phantom’s obsession had always been questionable, never easily labeled, but still. No possible interpretation could cover for its drive to fight off other ghosts and for painting. Hell, it didn’t even try to fight off this particular ghost! No, the two of them had seemed quite friendly, and Phantom had even let it leave without confirming that it really did leave Amity Park.

And then Phantom stood upright, suddenly, a roughed-up backpack in one hand, art supplies clearly visible poking out. In its other hand, it held the new painting.

“Well, let’s go deliver this one,” it said, voice quiet like it was just talking to itself. “Who knows, maybe seeing a ghost they don’t recognize will be what convinces them!”

As if. And clearly Phantom thought so too, based on the tone of its voice. But then, if it was intelligent enough to know this (and apparently it was), why would it still go through with this? Why would it put in such effort, if it knew that it was futile?

Phantom lifted off before Jack could even consider shooting it down. Shot up into the sky, fading from visibility before long.

Knowing that there was no point in lingering anyway, Jack pushed his way out of the bushes, finally. Absentmindedly brushed the dirt from his knees. Lumbered back to the GAV.

He turned the key of the ignition, and the radar booted back up. No ghosts left in range. Dora must’ve returned to the Ghost Zone as it had said, and Phantom went… wherever it usually went when they couldn’t find it.

Like this whole thing had never happened.

His drive back home had been slower than usual. Maybe it really hadn’t happened. Maybe he had just… imagined all of it. As long as there was no proof that Phantom had painted that medieval ghost, that Dora, it might as well not have happened. Right?

The car came to a halt. Jack let himself back in the house.

“Oh, Jack!” Maddie looked up from the potatoes she was peeling. Right. Dinner. “A new painting came in. It was quite fascinating. A portrait of a ghost again, but I don’t recognize this one. Do you think that the artist came up with it themselves?”

He felt his heart stop.

Jack licked his lips, then asked, cautiously, “Is it a green-skinned ghost, with long blonde hair in a braid?”

“Yes.” Maddie put down the potatoes, immediately focusing on him. “How did you know? Did you run into the ghost?”

“Yeah. Both of them.” He shook his head, then let himself drop onto the sofa. He wasn’t going to have this conversation standing up. “DP is Phantom, Mads. I saw him in the park, and he was painting that other ghost.”

“Are you sure?” Maddie asked, but clearly she could tell he was telling the truth. “But why? And how is it making such high quality paintings? It isn’t related to its supposed obsession at all!”

“I don’t know.” And that was the big problem, wasn’t it? Whenever they thought they had Phantom figured out, it introduced some new detail, some new variable. They never knew everything they needed to know about it. “I don’t know, but I know what I saw. Phantom painted it, with the intention to give it to us, and the other ghost was okay with that.”

“It was?” She sat back down as well, the half-peeled potatoes now completely ignored. “But how-- why?! Not only did Phantom indulge in something unrelated to its obsession—art—but then it also completely went against its obsession by letting another ghost into the town!”

Jack snorted humorlessly. “And worse still, Phantom let the other ghost leave without keeping an eye on it to make sure it left. They seemed on friendly terms, too. Were discussing when they worked together in the past. It even called Phantom ‘Sir Phantom’.”

“Unbelievable.” Maddie shook her head, staring down unseeingly. “There’s no way that this could all tie into its obsession, but…”

“But ghosts can’t act outside of those obsessions, either.” Jack nodded, slowly. “So either the research is wrong, and ghosts aren’t bound to their obsessions like we thought…”

“Or Phantom breaks the norm, somehow.”

They met eyes. Jack licked his lips. “And we have no way of knowing.”

“Never mind the question of why it’s making these paintings. For us specifically, right?”

“Yup. Some of them, at least, were made just for us.” Jack drug the new painting closer to himself, staring at it. It was of superb quality, carefully painted, and a very close match to the ghost he had seen in the park. “Which leaves one more question. If this painting is real, have all the others been too?”

“Surely not?” But Maddie was clearly already running through all the other paintings they had received from Phantom. The landscapes, the other ghosts. All the portraits had depicted ghosts they had seen in Amity before, even if others had featured in the landscapes. “It could’ve tweaked them, made the landscapes seem more interesting. Maybe it’s trying to make the Ghost Zone seem more alluring, so we will go in and run into its trap.”

But Jack shook his head. “I don’t think so. There are better ways to get us to explore the Ghost Zone, and it clearly knew that we didn’t put any faith in them being real. As hard as it was trying to convince us, I can’t imagine that it would put so much effort into luring us out there. Especially since it could lure us away with other stuff, by kidnapping civilians or our kids, or, hell, maybe even by stealing one of our more intricate inventions. Lord knows it’s not above stealing our stuff.”

“No, it definitely isn’t,” Maddie agreed easily, a pensive frown on her face. “Still, I can’t think of any other reason why it might be sending us paintings. What use could that possibly have for it? What benefit could it earn from this?”

“Who knows, Mads.” Jack puffed out a heavy sigh. “Who knows.”

---

“Are you sure that this was a good idea?”

“Pfft, are you doubting me?” Danny rolled his eyes at Clockwork’s unimpressed stare. “It’ll be fine, and you weren’t telling me any better plans. You can’t make me doubt myself after I did it!”

“I think that you will find that I can, in fact, do that.” Clockwork’s lips twisted into a smirk.

Danny huffed. “Yeah, well. Thanks for nothing, old man.”

Clockwork fixed him with another unimpressed look, one eyebrow quirked, as his body shifted into his child-like form.

“I hate you,” Danny muttered, no heat behind his words. After the whole thing with his evil future self he had started visiting Clockwork more often, hoping for future knowledge, or at least hints on how not to bring about another apocalypse of his own making. Instead he’d been getting lessons on the Ghost Zone’s history, its geography, and ghost culture as a whole.

He’d complain about it, but it was kind of helpful to know. Besides, Clockwork wouldn’t steer him wrong.

Probably.

“Anyway, I had better head home, see what my parents thought of the new painting.” He paused, then dug his phone out of his pocket. “Wait, can I take a picture of you? To paint you later?”

“On one condition.” Clockwork shifted back into his adult form, gesturing for Danny to come closer. “Make it a picture of the both of us.”

“What, like a selfie?” Danny snorted, but huddled up next to the time ghost anyway. “I mean, I guess, but I was kind of hoping for a painting to give to my parents.”

Clockwork hummed, but didn’t reply. Danny rolled his eyes, but lifted his phone to snap a picture of the two of them anyway.

“Would it kill you to not be cryptic for once?”

“Yes,” Clockwork replied, deadpan. “How else would I have become a ghost?”

Danny snorted, flicking back on his phone’s screen to look at the photo. “Fair enough. Anyway, the pic looks fine, so… Are you sure I can’t snap one of you alone?”

“I am sure. Now get going,” Clockwork’s lips twisted into a smirk, “Wouldn’t want to be late, would you?”

“You’re the worst.” Danny stuffed his phone back into his pocket, floating over to the door of the Clocktower. “I’ll get you back someday, Clockwork!”

“Sure you will,” he said airily, the smirk still on his face. “Sure you will.”

Danny rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to reply, instead leaving the lair. Clockwork was so frustratingly cryptic, but he always told good advice. If he insisted Danny paint a selfie of the two of them, well… there must be some sort of reason for it.

Not that he could think of a reason, but still.

He made sure to turn himself invisible right before passing through the Portal, zipping into his parents’ lab unnoticed. It was a good thing that they had never installed ghost scanners near the Portal, because that would’ve made life so much harder for him.

Huh. No one downstairs. He peeked over at the clock, but it wasn’t dinner time just yet. His mom might be working on it already, but his dad should still be downstairs, right? Strange.

Intangibly passing through the ceiling, he found himself in the living room. Ah, and there were his parents. And his new painting of Dora! Maybe they were discussing what to do now that they figured out that he really was painting the truth.

“It just… It doesn’t make any sense,” his mom said complaintively. She gestured at the painting, almost knocking over the pan with peeled potatoes on the table. “Why would Phantom paint these for us? What’s the point? What kind of benefit is it hoping to get from this?!”

“I don’t know.” His dad straightened up, looking at Danny. No, straight through him, at some of the framed paintings on the wall behind him. “If it were human, or following human logic, it might be… trying to help us understand the Ghost Zone? Paint more of it so we don’t have to go explore there? But even then… We’re not on good standings. Why would it try to help us?”

“Exactly.” Maddie heaved a sigh, then picked up her knife and an unpeeled potato, starting to peel it. “With a human, it could a sign of… of trying to better our relationship. But a ghost? They can’t experience such feelings, such desires, can they?”

“But neither can they pick up a hobby like painting if it’s unrelated to their obsession,” Jack pointed out, shrugging his massive shoulders. “I don’t know if we can dismiss any options, Mads.”

“No, I suppose not.” She dropped the peeled potato in the pot, picking up a new one. “We could try assembling a list of possible intentions later, and then try to cross them off one by one, based on Phantom’s behavior and reactions.”

His dad hummed a note of approval, and, figuring this was a good moment to stop eavesdropping, Danny resumed his earlier flight. Phasing into his room, he finally dropped his ghost form, noiselessly landing on the floor.

“Man. I can’t believe they figured that out,” he mumbled to himself. “How could I… Oh.”

He dug his phone out of his pocket, digging up the picture he just took. “Clockwork knew, obviously. And he… wants me to make a painting of the two of us.”

Danny made a face, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in it. He’s never led me wrong. Unless he’s been resetting the timeline every time he did, but, well. Details.”

Dragging his ragged backpack to his desk, Danny spread out his art supplies. Straightened out a new piece of paper, laid out his phone for reference, and started painting.

Maybe he could include a little note with this one? Write it on the back, or something?

Yeah, maybe that would work…

---

Jack paused, the few letters he’d already leaved through barely hanging on. Was this…

He dropped the other letters, until the only thing left in his hands was the painting. An all new painting, the same style as all the other ones, but the subject matter…

“Mads!” he yelled, not looking away from the painting. “Mads, we got a new one!”

“We do?” Her voice echoed up the stairs, quickly followed by the sound of footsteps as she stormed up. Then she came up next to him, saw the painting, and paused as well.

He couldn’t blame her. Phantom must’ve somehow known that they had figured it out, or it gave up on subtlety.

The new painting depicted two ghosts, huddled up next to each other. Phantom’s arm was outstretched, as if the painting had been snapped like a photo. Maybe it was based on a photo. Next to Phantom was a large ghost Jack didn’t recognize; blue skinned, with empty red eyes and a purple cloak.

No, the focus of the picture was Phantom. It smiled at the camera, but it wasn’t its characteristic smirk. It was more like a genuine cheery smile, matched by a faint smile on the other ghost’s face.

Jack flipped the paper over, wondering if Phantom had signed it as usual. Instead he was surprised to find actual written text.

“A letter?” Maddie asked, leaning in closer. Jack held it out slightly so they could both read it.

“Dear Fentons,” the letter read, the handwriting scribbly like that of most teens, but still legible.

“I’ve been given to understand that you two have figured out that I’m the one making these paintings for you. And I understand that that’s probably pretty concerning, since you’re… not all that pleased with me and my… general existence. Some of the things I have done have been framed badly, yes, and sometimes I cause damage in my fights. Who doesn’t? But no matter what you think, or what this city thinks, I always try my best to protect everyone in this town. And I’m just one ghost, in the end. Even with Red around, I would feel much safer knowing that there are other ghost hunters around. And not just hunters, scientists, who understand how ghosts work, and who could teach others. So I tried to help you with that, tried patching your gaps of knowledge with some of my own. Only you did not realize it was based on the truth, because you didn’t know it was me, and now that you do… I fear that you still do not trust any of the information I’ve tried to teach you. So… I guess what I’ve been trying to say is…”

“Can I do anything else to help, to convince you?”

Jack startled, cursed, and dropped the letter. He twisted around to find Phantom floating behind them, its glow flickering.

“Phantom,” Maddie said, cautiously. Her hand crept to her hip holster, but it was a lost cause; she didn’t carry weapons in the lab. Too big of a risk of a malfunctioning invention setting them off.

“I’m serious,” the ghost insisted, its glow brightening slightly. It still flickered like a candle. Jack wondered why, since it didn’t seem like the ghost was hurt or otherwise hampered in strength. “I want to help you guys with your research. Without, y’know, dissection stuff. I know you haven’t been in the Zone, and I really wouldn’t recommend it because that place is dangerous, but come on! I can teach you all kinds of stuff; ghost society, culture, history--”

“Ghosts can’t have any of those things, though,” Maddie interrupted, eyes narrowed. “They don’t even have emotions. They act only on obsessions. That leaves no room for-- for society, or culture, or whatever else!”

“Oh, come on, you don’t seriously believe that, do you?” Phantom huffed, crossing its arms, and looking seriously peeved off. The glow flickered even more wildly, now. Was it… Could a ghost’s glow express emotion like that? “If I could only ever think about my supposed obsession, why would I make paintings like that? Huh?”

“Your supposed obsession?” Jack questioned, keeping a close eye on Phantom’s aura. “Are you implying that you don’t have an actual obsession?”

“No? Nobody has obsessions like you’ve described them.” Phantom shrugged, and its aura dimmed a little. Hmm, perhaps brightness was related to anger? But then what could the flickering be? Uncertainty? Anxiety? “Plenty of ghosts are obsessed, sure, but it’s no different from a human who is super obsessed with something. Like a hyperfixation, I guess. It certainly won’t kill them to do something else.”

“So if someone stopped you from fighting other ghosts, from protecting this town, you wouldn’t… It wouldn’t do you any harm?” Maddie asked, watchful eyes on Phantom.

“Well, no.” The ghost shrugged again. Its glow flickered harder. “I mean, if someone got hurt I would probably feel kinda guilty about it, but… I mean, nothing I could’ve done about it if someone stopped me.”

“I suppose that that makes sense,” Jack said before Maddie could speak. He wasn’t quite sure that Phantom was telling the truth about obsessions, but they were certainly wrong about the emotional capabilities of ghosts. Besides the interactions he had seen between Phantom and Dora in the park, there was no reason for them to express emotions via their glow; no human could understand that. It could only be used to communicate emotions with other ghosts. “I mean, I guess your obsession could be to be helpful, which would explain why you would learn painting to help us, but still. We were wrong about your emotional range. Who says we weren’t about obsessions, too?”

Phantom made a face, then shrugged a third time. “Eh, good enough for me. But, really, I would love to help you guys with your research by providing more knowledge.”

“Why would you send us paintings, anyway?” Maddie frowned, clearly confused. “Clearly you can take pictures, since this last one was obviously based on one. Why not send those directly?”

The ghost shrugged, then smiled sheepishly. “Well, uh. First of all, I really like painting and I could use the practice. And second, ghost stuff just doesn’t photograph well. The pictures didn’t do justice to the real things, so I figured I could paint them more alike.”

“I see,” Jack said, ignoring the sharp looks Maddie kept throwing him. “Well, we’ll think about it, okay? And we’ll let you know.”

Phantom’s glow flickered again, like a disturbed candle, but then the ghost nodded. “Sure. That’s more than I had expected, to be honest. See you guys around, then.”

The ghost raised a hand, then faded from visibility.

“And Phantom,” Jack shouted after him, assuming the ghost was still within hearing distance, “don’t enter our home without permission!”

“Yes sir!” an invisible voice chirped back, followed by the sensation of wind as the ghost flew away.

Maddie shot him an unamused look, but he shrugged. “Look, Mads. We clearly misstepped somewhere in our previous research. It’s undeniable that they have emotions, so maybe we were wrong about more?”

She watched him for a moment longer, then heaved a sigh. “If you say so, honey, you must have your reasons. At the very least we could hear him out, I suppose.”

“He’s not a bad kid,” Jack allowed, as he turned back to head towards the lab. “Definitely has a talent for painting, that one!”

[michipeachiii]

Hi so excuse my not-to-scale shitty rendering of our property. 

I’ve just really been thinking about all the things I’d like to establish in our garden this year and maybe I could get suggestions? 

So I should clarify that towards the bottom of my drawing is the front of our house and the top is the backyard. 

I wanted to add more rose bushes to our flowerbed out front but SO pointed our that if we hope to paint the exterior of out house the plants could potentially get damaged and thinks I should hold off on that plan until we get the house painted. 

Our planter boxes are out on the lil patio we have, and that’s fine cause they get plenty of sun. We have two sets of planter boxes and maybe we can get a third one set up. 

The sideyard would be my most ambitious project. The window in our office is right by the sideyard and listen I just love seeing the birds on the tree (that I forgot to include in my drawing) right outside the window. 

So I want to move the birdfeeder out of the front yard and into the sideyard. 

But when I think of our sideyard I think of making it into a lil zen garden type thing. I want to build a raised garden bed along the fence but I want to do it in a way where the dirt isn’t leaning against the fence because our fence is...weak. (But when I learned how much fences cost... that shit gon stay weak a while LOL.)

And we have a metal table that needs to be repainted and get an actual top to it and it has matching chairs and it has perfect tea party vibes and if you don’t think I’m not gonna try to incorporate this somehow then... you need to get to know me. (wink wink nudge nudge)

(Sidenote: I am not beneath putting a step stool outside said window so I can climb in and out the window to chill in the sideyard so I don’t have to walk all the way around the back of the house.)

The sideyard gets partial sun so I’d have to find some plants within my interest that I could grow there. There’s also a small issue of some concrete chunks that I can’t tell if I can just get away with trying to cover up with dirt since it’s kinda sunken into the ground. 

And I also wanted to add stepping stones out there. 

Pet death TW//

I still haven’t set up Dottie’s grave properly and I’d like to decorate and mark her grave with the headstone I made for her. 

[nothingeverlost]

Fic: Holding Hands (Benoit/Marta, Knives Out)

I was going to write a flash fic based on a prompt I got ‘he meets her mother.  ha! Flash fic.  In actually a little more than 3000 words that is clearly not only a first attempt at Cablanca, but also an attempt to deal with stress.

WARNING: fic deals with Covid 19, which might be too much for some people at the moment.

Takes place about a month after the movie. _____ Benoit grinned when his phone rang.  It was Marta’s phone calls in the middle of the day that made his isolation bearable.  He was not a man well built for quartine, no matter how resolute he was to write a book, and no matter how many push-ups he did in his free time.  He couldn’t stand more than an hour of tv a day, and there was only so much news he could read before wanting to pull the plug on his internet.  A week ago Marta had called him during her break; hospitals needed extra help and of course she’d been one of the first to answer the call.  The first time she’d had an actual question about a subpoena she’d recieved, but after that the calls had continued each day at the end of her shift.  They had talked of nothing in particular and everything except the virus for a half-hour while she sat in a park and he sat in his apartment.  

“From my window I can see a flowering quince.  The whole bush looks like it’s on fire with the most vivid of red flowers.  I shall attempt to send you a photograph if my neighbor’s cat ever decides to move off the fence.  He is rather blocking my view.”  He liked to have some pretty thought ready when she called, a reminder that not everything was as grim as respirator shortages and sore feet.

“Is this Mr. Blanc?”  The voice on the other end of the phone was not Marta, though there was a similarity in tone and accent.  He looked at the display on his phone; it did say Marta Cabrera.

“It is. May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“This is Elena Cabrera.  We’ve never met but my daughter has spoken of you.”  Her voice broke, just for a moment, barely more than a pause to draw in a breath, but it was enough to give him a clue.  Benoit sat on the closest surface, which happened to be the edge of his bed.

“Something’s happened to Marta.”  Talking with Marta every day was a delight in its own right, but it was also an affirmation that she was alright.  Tired and sore and worried, but whole and healthy despite the risks compounding daily.

“She was going to stay home today because she wasn’t feeling well, but this morning she started coughing and couldn’t catch her breath.  There’s an oxygen tank at the house and she thought that might be enough but it wasn’t helping.  She needs a ventilator.”  

“She’s at the hospital?”  He closed his eyes, almost able to feel her small cold hand in his as they sat in plastic chairs in a waiting room, waiting to hear a prognosis.  She wasn’t Fran, though.  It wasn’t the same.

“She’s on her way.  We had to call an ambulance.”  For a moment there was no noise; he almost thought he could hear Elena’s heartbeat.  Maybe it was his own.  “I thought you should know.  Marta told me that you two had been talking.”

“You have raised a very intelligent daughter, Mrs. Cabrera.  A very kind and compassionate woman, not that I need to tell you that.  She is also strong.”  He was reminding himself more than her. “Thank you for calling me.”

“I have to go now, Mr. Blanc.  I don’t want her to be alone.”

“It’s Benoit, please, and if there is anything I can assist with please don’t hesitate to call.”

He spent a full minute staring out the window; from his seated position he could only see one flower on the bush.  The next minute he was on his computer, and relieved to find that despite so many businesses being shuttered he was still able to find a flight that left in a little over two hours.  He could be at Marta’s side by tonight.

He always kept a bag packed, never knowing when he might be called out on a case.  There were no plants to water, no pets to worry about.  He took a few minutes to find his copy of Chandler’s Farewell My Lovely because he’d told Marta about it, but other than that it was ten minutes from the end of the phone call to locking the door to the apartment.  He hadn’t been outside for three days, except for late-night runs.

The roads were virtually empty, an eerie sight that he was grateful for as he headed for the airport.  It only took him fifteen minutes to drive, which wasn’t an accident.  He traveled enough that proximity to the airport had been one of his apartment requirements.  Likewise he flew enough that it was worth his time to pay for TSA preferred.  He made it to his flight with time to spare.

There were only a few dozen people on the flight, everyone sitting in their own row unless they traveled together and the flight attendants wearing gloves and masks.  He was glad that the amount of conversation that was required of him was minimal.  Usually he was glad to talk to a neighbor or exchange pleasantries with the attendants.  Since the New Yorker article he’d even had a few requests for autographs.  Today, though, his only interest was on getting off the plane, as if his added focus could somehow make the plane land just a little earlier.  He politely refused a drink and pretzels.

The sky was just shading to dusk when he drove his rental car to the hospital.  It was the same place he’d been to before, the same place where Fran had died.  Marta wasn’t Fran, though.  She hadn’t been poisoned.  No one had tried to kill her.  No one he could fight, at least.  No enemy he could put his hands on and pummel to the ground.

“I’m looking for Marta Cabrera, please.”  

“I’m only allowed to give out information about patients to family members.”

“I am working with the police on an investigation.  Detective Blanc.”  If he thought he could have gotten away with calling himself family he would have, but he didn’t know if they would check with Marta’s mother.  Lieutenant Elliott, though, could probably be trusted to lie for him if necessary.

“Just a moment Detective.”  The nurse’s hand shook a little as she used the computer; too much coffee and not enough sleep was his guess.  She told him the room number and a moment later was answering the phone.  She probably didn’t hear his thank you.  Rather than waiting for an elevator he sprinted up three flights to stairs. 

A woman who looked too much like Marta to leave any doubt that she was Elena Cabrera was sitting next to a hospital bed talking in a low voice.  The only other person in the room was Marta herself.  Benoit didn’t know how a twin bed could make anyone look so small.  He knew she was only a few inches below his own modest height, but in the hospital gown with blankets pulled up to her chest she looked delicate and too pale.  On her left a machine beeped with proof that her too-big heart was beating.  On her right a machine assisted with her breathing.  From the doorway he couldn’t tell if she was conscious.

“Can I help you?”  Elana Cabrera stepped around the bed, standing in front of it with all the fierceness of a mama bear protecting her cub.  She all but obscured his view.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I had hoped…”

“You’re Benoit Blanc.”  She tilted her head to the side, looking at him.  “I didn’t expect you to come here.”

He had been so focused on getting to Marta that it hadn’t occurred to him what it might look like when he showed up.  He had seen her a few times in the week after Ransom’s arrest, but then he had gone home, working two more cases in the past month before it had become obvious that he needed to stay at home.  They had talked about the case a few times over the phone.  Outside of this past week he wasn’t sure most people would call them friends even.

He couldn’t get her out of his head, not since that first moment he’d seen her foot bouncing on the floor, this woman with a kind heart so obviously grieving for a friend more than anyone in the Thrombey family grieved.  His first instinct, even after seeing the blood drop on her shoe, had been to protect her from a wake of vultures.

“I thought I might see for myself if you or your daughter needed anything.”  As if he’d just come across town to visit, not on a plane from eight states away.  “How is she?”

“They gave her something to help with the fever but she needed the ventilator to help her breathe.  She’s awake sometimes, but can’t talk.  You sit with her, I’ll go find another chair.”

“Please, let me go.  I did not mean to deprive you of either a chair or time at your daughter’s side.”

“I need to stretch my legs a little and get some coffee.  You’ll stay until I get back at least?”

“I’ll stay.”  He had no intention of leaving, not anytime soon.  After Elena left he dropped his travel bag in the farthest corner of the room.  He stopped long enough to take out a book before slipping into the only chair in the room.  Marta’s eyes were still closed.  Her hand rested against the blanket close enough that he could take it in his own if he dared.

“I believe I mentioned the other day a need to take care of yourself.  You said you were safe with your masks and your gloves.”  He had barely dared mention his concern for her safety.  “This is not what taking care of yourself looks like.”

An overwhelming need to touch her drove him into taking her hand.  It was cold, but her hand was always cold.  She wore sweaters even in the summer, she’d told him.  His own hand was far from cold and he wrapped it around her fingers, willing his heat into her hand.  His life force too, if need be.

“I hoped to see you again, but it was my intention to ask you to dinner.  Someplace nice, where I would hold out the chair for you and tell you how beautiful you looked.”  She always looked beautiful, even now with the medical tape on her cheek and the shadows under her eyes.  He wondered how much was being sick and how much was working too hard.  Would he ever get to see her when she was simply relaxed and happy?  “Truth be told I was working on an excuse to come up here.  It would have been only polite to call if I was to return to the area for a job.  Someone offered me a case in Connecticut and that’s practically next door.”

Marta’s eyelashes fluttered; he held his breath to see if she would open her eyes.  She didn’t.  

“You’ve had so many changes these last weeks.  I didn’t want to complicate things but dinner wouldn’t be too much, would it?”

“I’m afraid the only dinner she’s having today comes in an IV drip.”  A nurse, mask over her face and gloves on, came into the room.  

“How is she?”

“We’ve been able to bring down her fever, and that’s a good sign.  We’re pushing fluids, since there was some dehydration.  That could be the fever or it could be that she’s been worrying hard and not taking enough breaks for food and water.”  The nurse changed the nearly empty saline bag for a full one.  “If she fights half as hard for herself as she does her patients she’ll be fine.”

“Did you hear that darling?  You’re a fighter, and you need to beat this thing.”  When the nurse was gone he squeezed Marta’s hand, talking to her in a low voice.  

“I need…”  He needed her.  It was as simple and as complicated as that.  His life was a nomadic one, going where the cases called him.  The last time he’d sat beside a hospital bed had been more than ten years ago when he’d bid adieu to his mama, the last solid tie he’d had.  He’d dated occasionally but never anything serious enough to look at jewelry.  At some point he’d just assumed that he was past the age of considering marriage.

And then he’d met Marta.  He wanted everything with her. He wanted to pick up his entire life and move it to wherever she wanted to be.  He wanted to court her like she deserved, wanted to hold her hand, wanted to know what it was like to kiss her.  Now he just wanted her to breathe.  “You just keep fighting, like this blasted virus is Thrombey kin, you hear?”  

He spoke to her of the flowers he’d seen from the window of his apartment and the woman who walked her small dog every day no matter the weather.  Nothing of consequence, but talking was easier than silence.  When Elena returned she carried two coffees and offered one to him.

“I have sugar and powdered creamer if you need anything.  Someone will be in shortly with a second chair.”

“Black is fine, thank you.”  Reluctantly he let go of Marta’s hand and stood up.  “I do insist you take the chair, Mrs. Cabrera.”

“Elena please.”  She didn’t argue, collapsing into the chair.  “Did she wake up at all?”

“No, but the nurse was in to change the IV and said her fever is improving.”  He wanted to pace but only allowed himself to walk to the other side of the bed.  

“Thank God for that.”  Elena fingered a medallion hanging from a necklace.  “She was never sick very often as a child, not once we figured out her unique response to…”

“She is a very honest person who does not handle deception well.”  Honest.  Kind.  Perhaps it was the fact that she was so different from the people he met during the course of his work that drew him to her.  Or perhaps it was just her.

“She’s a good girl.”  Elena’s voice shook.  Benoit scrambled for something to say to help her steady herself.

“I bet you have a few good stories to tell about her childhood.  I would be indebted to you if you told me one or two; I do so love a good story.”  With perfect timing an orderly brought in a chair and he settled in.  “Nothing that would embarrass her, of course.”

“You and my daughter…”

“Friends, ma’am.”  For the moment it was the only truth, but that didn’t stop him from resting his hand over her fingers, keeping away from the IV needle at the back of her hand.

Elena told stories, and he added a few from his own childhood in exchange.  By the time the hospital was quieting down he was able to convince her that she should go home and get some sleep.  He could be trusted to sit with Marta.

“Where are you staying while you’re here?” She asked as she stood near the doorway, looking at her daughter and having trouble leaving.

“I am well used to sleeping in chairs.  I’ll get some sleep when I need it.”  Staying up for a couple of days wasn’t uncommon in his line of work.  

“When I come back in the morning you’ll go get some rest at our house.  Marta’s house.  You know there are plenty of rooms.”  She touched his arm, reminding him for a moment of his own dead mama.  “You won’t help her by exhausting yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Benoit was four chapters into Fairwell My Lovely when he looked up to find Marta looking at him.  The book almost fell from his hold.  “Hey there sleeping beauty.”

When she struggled to speak he leaned in, touching her cheek lightly with his fingers.  “You have a ventilator, which is why you can’t talk.  Your mama was here with you all day but went home to sleep and report back to your sister.  You missed our phone call today so I thought I’d drop in and see how you were doing.  Everyone is fine.  You’re going to be fine.”

She looked confused, but he didn’t know if it was his presence that was the issue or her location.  “Do you need me to find a nurse?”

Slowly she shook her head.  

“Call your mother?”  Again a shake.

“I was reading that Chandler novel I told you about, shall I continue?”  The nod of her head was barely perceptible.  He settled back in, holding the book higher so he could look at her and the page.  His free hand touched hers and after the first few lines he could feel her squeeze his fingers.

It was three days later when the doctor decided that she was responding well enough to treatment that she should be able to breathe on her own.  He waited outside the room while they took out the tube, frowning at the coughing and listening for the sounds of breathing even though he was too far away to distinguish her breathing from anyone else in the room.  When he returned she had a cannulas in her nose for oxygen.

“You’re here.”  Her voice was raspy and dry.  It was the best sound he’d ever heard.

“Did you think I would make my exit without letting you know?”  In the last three days he’d only left the hospital twice, both times to sleep in a guest room of the former Thrombey mansion.

“No, I mean you came here.”  Elena quietly got up from the chair beside her daughter’s bed.  

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.  I need something,” she said vaguely.  Benoit moved closer to the bed.

“I couldn’t be anywhere else.  You mean a great deal to me, Marta Cabrera.”  It was as much as he dared to say.  

“I thought I dreamed you.  Your voice…” she coughed, seeming to have trouble catching her breath.

“I don’t believe anyone has confused me for a dream before.”  He held a glass of water for her, letting her take a small sip.  It seemed to help.

“I missed you.”  Her eyes closed for a moment but then opened again.  He could look at her eyes forever.

“I missed you too.”  There were a million other things he wanted to say but they could wait.  They had time.  When he sat down beside her bed she held his hand and for the moment it was everything.

[thosequeenboys]

Love Is Love Is Love - Chapter 4 (Ben Hardy x Joe Mazzello)

Summary:  Ben, Joe and Alex prepare for Ben’s departure to film a movie in London, with all related emotions.

A/N: The next chapter will be cheerier, I promise, as the boys reunite - with some London surprises! Thanks to: @jessahmewren​ for your recent encouraging words that helped me reunite with my muse and work through this intense chapter!  You’re the Bee’s Knees! Thanks also to: @heybuddy-drabbles​ for ongoing support and listening to me kvetch while writing this chapter.  You’re the Cat’s Pajamas!

Warning:  This chapter has smut. I mean, the guys are about to be separated! It has an 18+ Only warning and a fire emoji on my Masterlist.  Some cursing too.

Tag List: @warriorteam1924​ @cardyandy​ @watercolouredreams​ @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​ @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​ @queensilveryrog​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @marianaletosnape​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @honeymazzello​ @igotsuckedintothevoid​ @oniriquex​ @roger-hardy-taylor​ @doctorqueensanatomy​ @chocolatekisses8​

June was the best month because summer was just starting, and it stretched out carefree before them. The spring perennials had dried into brown stalks and were now replaced with hearty hydrangeas in blue and pink hues.  The neighborhood’s evening rituals prolonged the seemingly endless days:  tonguing ice cream cones before they dripped from the evening heat, racing scooters on the sidewalk, chalk drawing on the pavement, telling jokes on the stoop.  The fragrant rose bushes arched over the iron fences that framed the small front-yard gardens.  The evening activities extended into the darkness.  Finally in bed, Alex found it hard to unwind despite Ben’s patient efforts.  Lots of chatter and three books later, he finally fell asleep.

This June would be remembered for preparations surrounding the inevitable separation. While Ben put Alex to bed, Joe ventured upstairs to the ‘extra room’ where infant clothes in plastic bins and baby paraphernalia were scattered among items they seldom used. Walking through the maze of random possessions, Joe found and hefted a large suitcase and duffle bag on wheels and carried them down the steps into their bedroom.

Ben was stretched on their bed reading a script, his long legs crossed at the ankles.  He raised his eyes at Joe’s entrance.

“I kept wishing these would magically appear, but….” Joe said, easing the luggage onto the racks he had set out.

Ben nodded and resumed reading.  

“Ben, Baby, you have to talk to him.  Start preparing him. It won’t really sink in until you’re close to leaving, but… You need to get him ready to separate from you.”  Joe said.

The phrase ‘get him ready to separate from you’ made Ben feel like he was punched in the stomach. Finally, Ben spoke. “I’ve been putting it off….I didn’t want to think about it. Just focusing on the script.  Compartmentalizing. I never thought the travel, being away, would have negative implications.  It seemed par for the course and even glamorous.  An Actor’s Life. I wasn’t thinking of a family. Now, it’s tearing me up to think of being away from him…and you.” Saying it made it real.   Images of his upcoming destiny started to come into focus: he pictured being on the outskirts of the city, working on set for grueling hours every day and then alone in his London flat at night, managing the basics-meals, laundry – under a fog of exhaustion.  It was as if he had to picture it to make himself accept it. Denial can only take you so far.

Joe climbed on the bed next to him. He could tell Ben was off in another place, anticipating the trip as he hadn’t until now. “Hey,” Joe said. “Don’t think about it tonight. Be here with me.”

Joe took the script tenderly, moving the Post-it stuck on the back to the open page.  He leaned over Ben and placed it on the side table, then opened the drawer to retrieve the lube. He kneeled in front of him, tossing the lube next to them.  He slid Ben’s t-shirt up, and with a combination of mouth and hands covered every inch starting at the waist band, pushing the garment upward to access more of that delicious, toned body.  Ben raised his arms and the t-shirt was removed and tossed as Joe straddled Ben, gliding his hands softly now over the smooth, bare chest.  “Joe…” Ben said, “Just…I want to feel you in me.” Joe pulled off his own t-shirt and removed his bottoms.  Next, Ben’s sweatpants and boxers were eased off and tossed.  Sitting back on his knees between Ben’s open legs, Joe’s strong torso arched back slightly.  It exuded a perfect combination of intensity and softness, confidence and vulnerability, as would their lovemaking.   The two naked partners eyed each other. Joe grazed Ben’s thighs, easing them apart, and the blonde closed his eyes, releasing an anticipatory moan, as Joe moved his hand to his husband’s hardening manhood. He worked it a bit as Ben gasped and thrusted to Joe’s rhythmic pulls.   Joe moved his other hand tenderly along Ben’s jawline which caused his lover’s eyes to flutter.  “Look at me, Baby.” Joe said. “I want to imprint your look – your passion and lust and love for me - into my brain.” He flipped the cap of the lube open, and Ben bent and spread his knees wider to allow full access. 

Joe rolled next to Ben and started to ease his dripping fingers into him, one at a time, feeling the resistance and grasp, followed by the release, allowing him to enter deeper.  Finally, Ben whispered, “Joe… God, feels so good.  I’m ready.”

Joe kneeled in front of Ben and pulled him toward his own hardness, which he lubricated generously.  He entered Ben slowly, propping himself on an arm, his other hand on Ben’s thigh easing it wider.  They moved so right, so easily as one, each advance joining them, sealing their love deeply.  Joe resumed stroking Ben, now fully erect, as their rhythmic thrusts quickened.  “I love you, Ben,” Joe panted.  “Love you,” Ben said.  They both moaned as they released, their smooth movements becoming jerky.  They disconnected, Joe rolling next to Ben, as they faced each other and kissed passionately.

The next morning, upon waking, Joe ran his fingers through his hair, last night a glimmer and reality looming harshly. “I need to get the apartment ready for Mariel. She’ll be here in a week.”  With Ben’s extended absence, single parenting would be challenging for Joe, especially with his Netflix consultation requiring monthly trips to LA.  The baby’s eventual arrival would add a layer of complexity. They hired Mariel, an au pair from Peru eager to come to NY, who planned to eventually study graphic design.  Her references boasted that she was a warm, loving and responsible caregiver.  While Ben knew this was a necessity, he was unsettled that their triad was vanishing. Sands would be shifting over the next year as a new normal emerged-a desired and exciting new normal, indeed. They would have to carve out a new family life with the arrival of the baby. The guys decided to hold off telling Alex about the baby until they reunited in London, figuring he could only process one big change at a time, the most imminent one needing to be addressed first.

After breakfast, Ben called Alex over and hoisted him onto his lap as Joe cleared the table, his eyes trained on the two of them.

“Hey, Buddy,  I’m going to be leaving for London in a few weeks for work.  I’ll be gone over the summer, but you and Papa will visit me in the middle, so it won’t seem like that long.  And we’ll FaceTime in between, so you can tell me all about your summer.  Alex listened.  “And, the exciting thing is you’ll have someone special to keep you company-a woman named Mariel.  She’s super nice and she can’t wait to meet you.  She’ll live in the apartment downstairs. She’ll take you to gymnastics and music, and she…”  

“ I don’t want ‘she.’” Alex said matter-of-factly.  Why would he? “I go to Lon-down. Papa too.”

“I know you don’t want someone else.  But, Papa has to work and go to LA sometimes.  I’ll be working so much and wouldn’t be able to spend time with you if you lived with me in London. So, Mariel will help take care of you.  It will take some getting used to, but I know you’ll like her.” Ben encouraged.   Alex had said his piece and didn’t see a need to prolong the discussion.  In his child-like fashion, he quickly scrambled to higher, more familiar ground. “Gymnastics.” he said, sliding off of Ben and proceeding to the foyer where he sat on the bench and waited for help with his sneakers.

“That went rather well,” Ben said eyeing Joe, not trying to cover his sarcasm. He knew this was the first of many discussions, and as the day of his departure approached, there would be more emotions all around.  For now, he packed a water bottle and some snacks and joined Alex to prepare to leave.  At the kids’ gym, Ben peered through the window in the parents’ waiting area. He gave himself permission to bask in Alex’s unrelenting joy as he raised and lowered the parachute with his mates, and ran into it when it was his turn, retreating to his spot before it fell upon him, his feet moving in time to his giggles.  Ben hoped the reality of their imminent family changes would land just as gently upon him as the parachute would have, had he not escaped its billowing descent in time.

So, it went like that leading up to the separation.  They’d mention it, Alex would listen and then deflect.  Joe, meanwhile, dealt with his own onslaught of emotions by pouring his energies into helping Mariel acclimate to their routines and home, the details of which he documented copiously.  She joined their excursions and began to get comfortable with them and dote on Alex.  Ben showed Alex images of London:  double decker buses, the London Eye, Big Ben (not named for Daddy), The Princess Diana Memorial Playground-hoping to build his enthusiasm for their reunion, while reinforcing that Ben would be in another place. Alex gradually registered the images and the impending reality.  He couldn’t ignore the clues that Ben’s departure was lurking: Ben’s sudden shopping trips to pick up last-minute items and Joe throwing items into the suitcase, packing and repacking.  Then there was the vocabulary associated with travel and separation.  The worst word, Alex decided, was ‘gone.’ It was concept he couldn’t fully wrap his head around, but it had a finality and a sadness.  He knew it meant that Daddy wouldn’t be with him.

Four days before Ben’s departure, Ben and Joe woke suddenly to loud wails. “OHMYGOD,” Ben bolted out of bed in his boxer briefs and tore down the hall to Alex’s room, where he found him sitting up in bed, tears falling off his face. “Alex, are you sick??”  Ben practically dove onto the bed and wrapped him in a hug.   Joe appeared at the doorway.  “You left and didn’t say bye-bye,” Alex said through tears.

“You had a bad dream! Of course, I’ll say good-bye and I’ll hug you…..I won’t leave without saying bye-bye. I promise,” Ben reassured.

The day before his departure, Ben brought Alex to the couch.  He took two small blue microfiber pouches from his backpack.  “I got us some things to help us look forward to seeing each other and remember our times together when we’re apart.  Want to see what I got?”  Alex nodded enthusiastically.  Ben handed him a pouch and helped him loosen the strings and open it.   Alex reached in and took out a puzzle piece.  Ben retrieved a puzzle piece from his own pouch, which he inserted into Alex’s, forming an octopus.  “When we see each other, our pieces will join.  But meanwhile, each piece is waiting for the other, just like we are waiting to see each other.”  Alex nodded. He reached into the pouch and took out a little whale statue.  Ben took out a sea turtle statue.  “We both have a sea animal.” Ben noted.  “When you come to London, we’ll go to the Aquarium!” Alex smiled.  Next up were a pair of small model airplanes. “When you visit me, you’ll get to fly on an airplane, and this one,” Ben said, retrieving his own, “will bring me home to you.”  Finally, Alex reached in and pulled out a glittery firm heart.  Ben took his out too.  “These hearts remind us that even though we’re not with each other walking or talking or laughing or playing or reading, we’re still together -- in each other’s hearts.”  Ben lined his red heart up on Alex’s chest, while he eased Alex’s hand that clutched his red heart against his own chest. They smiled.  Then, Ben put the items into their respective pouches. He leaned over and kissed Alex, who wrapped his slender arms tightly around Ben’s neck. That feeling was the most important thing he wished he could stuff into his pouch.

The final morning Joe’s eyes opened at 5:45.  They had 15 minutes before Alex usually woke up and a little over an hour until Ben’s departure. He rolled over and draped his arm over Ben, who was curled up on his side facing away from him.  Joe’s other hand stroked his blonde hair.  “Hey, pretty boy, how about a treat to start the day right,” Joe cooed in his ear.   Ben rolled toward Joe onto his back and Joe’s hands followed, draping one over his chest and the other on his forehead, fingering the blonde tresses.   He moved on top of Ben, letting his weight press into him.  Ben beamed up at him, wanting to take that feeling - the heaviness, the warmth, the familiar, perfect fit - with him.  They moved together urgently, clothed in boxer briefs, kissing as soft moans escaped.   Joe latched onto Ben’s neck, sucking him slowly, leaving fresh marks, the ones from the prior night had started to fade. Ben’s mouth found its way to Joe’s neck, leaving marks as well. Time of the essence, Joe slithered down Ben, taking Ben’s boxers with him.  

“Hey,” Ben crunched his abs with a raised head.

“Are you protesting?” Joe asked.  

“No, I mean, What time is it?? Alex will be getting up….” Ben glanced sideways at the clock.  

“I’ll make it quick. Lie back. I want you to leave you with a memory of me, showing you that I love you.”  Joe took in Ben eagerly, with focus and passion.

“Oh. God. Fuck. Joe.” Ben’s voice was low, and steady, his hips rising slightly in time to his quickening heartbeat.  “Yeah, like that. Fuck. Harder,” he directed. His clipped exhales were punctuated with a rhythmic chant, “Joe. God. Harder. Joe…” Ben felt himself so close to release, his hands tugging on Joe’s auburn locks, when the unmistakable voice called out.

“Daddy? Are you leaving?” It was a sad question, with a known answer.

Joe detached himself from a heavily panting and pink Ben, who held his breath to stop making any noise, his heart beating into his throat, his stomach in a tight curl. After a deep breath, Joe uttered firmly, “Alex, we need a few minutes to get up. Go downstairs and play.  We’ll meet you soon..”

“Ok,” the soft voice padded away.

Joe glanced at Ben eager to finish him.  “I can’t, he needs me….I won’t be able to…” Ben said breathlessly, his head raised.

“You can and you will, if I have anything to do with it.” Joe said.  He wanted to please Ben and have a few more moments of intimacy, delaying the inevitable. Joe knew it was time to pull out the big guns. “I want you to come for me, with my lips wrapped around you…sucking you hard, taking all of you in.  I’ll look up at you as you thrust into me, and release into me, looking so beautiful. Can you do that for me?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Ben crashed his head into the pillow, aroused again, and Joe resumed his skillful pleasuring.  He added a gentle massage of Ben’s balls, causing Ben to resume his chant between moans. Ben came, Joe’s name on his tongue as the gestures slowed, and a final kiss was granted.

“Mission accomplished.” Joe smirked, easing next to his husband.

“God, you’re amazing.” Ben said panting. Then turning to Joe, he asked, “Do you think he heard? You know, when he was outside the door?”

“Heard you cursing?  Moaning? Telling me how to get you off? Chanting my name?  Probably. Look, he’s good in math.  Eventually he’ll figure out that you cursing PLUS you moaning my name over and over TIMES you sounding slightly bossy EQUALS you having an extra spring in your step.” Joe smiled, very proud of the audible results of his handiwork.

Ben looked horrified.

Joe winked. “Don’t worry-at this age, Nah.”  He switched gears.  “I’ll duck into the bathroom quickly and then go downstairs.”  

“Joe,”  Ben said.  “I can…”

“You don’t have to….I have last night as my go-to.” A vision of their prior evening’s passion that started in the shower and ended in bed flashed before Joe’s eyes. “I wanted to give you something special to remember me when you’re away.” Joe whispered.  

“You’re imprinted in me.  All of you.  I love you so mu…” Ben stopped, overcome with emotion.  He swallowed. “We better get moving. I’ll take a quick shower.”

Joe’s hand reached for Ben’s jaw and a kiss enveloped his beautiful full lips.

There wasn’t much talking over breakfast, each of them consumed by their own emotions.  Alex ran a small car back and forth on the table, the movement distracting and soothing him.  Ben kissed his head before he made a final trip upstairs to finish his ablutions and pack a few final things.  He returned with a backpack slung over his shoulder, maneuvering the heavy suitcase. “I better call the Uber,” he said, moving the luggage to join the full duffle bag, already by the door.  Joe wiped the counter with a sponge, yet again, trying to distract himself from his own emotional onslaught.

Ben went over to Alex and sat down.  “Hey, Buddy, come here.” he tapped his knee.  Alex came over and Ben picked him up under his arms. He brought him back against his chest and wrapped his arms around him.  “I have my blue pouch in my backpack, so I’ll always have it close by. You have yours on your bedside table, yeah?”  Alex nodded; his distress evident.  

“Good.  I’ll miss you and I’ll think of you every day.  We’ll FaceTime…”  Ben’s phone lit up.  The Uber was two minutes away.

Joe sidled behind Ben’s chair and rubbed his back as he stood up, easing Alex off his lap. They walked to the entry foyer and Joe took the suitcase down the stoop.  Ben grasped the backpack and duffle bag and Alex’s hand. The car pulled up just as they arrived on the sidewalk.  The driver loaded the luggage and opened the passenger door.  The three boys hugged.  

“Text me when you land,” Joe said.  

Ben nodded and then kneeled bringing Alex in for a final hug and “I love you.” Rising he brought Joe into a hug and kiss. They both uttered “I love you,” at the same time. They chuckled, and Ben peeled away.  He eased into the car and shut the door.  Joe and Alex waved to Ben who turned around and waved out the back window. 

Joe stood behind Alex and placed his arms on his shoulders. “C’mon, Babe. Let’s get ready for playgroup.  Now we’ll start counting the days until we see Dad again in London.”  Alex nodded.  He placed his hand on his chest, soothing the emotions that collected there, causing a metaphorical ache.  He didn’t need any words or pictures.  He now understood the meaning of ‘gone.’

[redemptionbaby]

Hydrangea | Arthur/Reader

Pairing: Arthur/?Reader

Word Count: 1469

Summary: Arthur has a summer tradition.

Notes: Hello naughty children its surprise fic no one asked for time. Lmao. This was inspired by an episode from my favorite anime. And contains lines inspired by Mary’s Letter and that one gay line between Plyades and Orestes. I almost teared up while writing this bc I am a loser. Also, this is a very loose not-rdr-AU.

“Y’ain’t gonna pretend to ignore me if I call you for dinner if I let you go out there Arthur?”

“With Simon giving you a hand in the kitchen? Never, Hosea.”

Arthur had a ritual in the summers. When he had time away from school, the right weather outside, and family visits that kept his parents plenty busy. Every afternoon he snuck past his back yard, through the hole in the tattered fence, and into the overgrown yard of a house that had been abandoned through his entire memory. 

He asked about it a lot when he was younger. He worried that some family would move in and interrupt his secret getaway. Dutch had said nobody would buy that house, not with the history it had. Hosea would elbow him as a reminder that Arthur would still crawl into their bed if he was too scared to sleep alone. So Dutch would shut up after that.

After he forced his way through the fence gap, which was becoming more and more snug as he got older, he’d make his way to the gigantic hydrangea bush on the edge of the property. He’d crawl underneath, and promptly fall asleep.

Arthur told Dutch and Hosea that he’d go exploring. That because the land was untamed there, you could find cooler bugs. He’d bring them home in jars sometimes, as proof, knowing that they wouldn’t want him to fall asleep in strange places.

Then he would open his eyes, but not at all. He was surrounded by a blank space, and the occasional rush of ominous wind that always seemed to come from behind him no matter where he turned.

The only thing there besides him and the wind, was you.

He couldn’t say that he understood you. All he knew for certain was that you weren’t him, and you were his friend. And you were a lot nicer than the girls at school, for sure. You always wore the same clothes, but then again, he supposed that dreams didn’t need to change clothes.

“You came back!”

That’s what you always said.

“I always do.”

And that’s how he always responded.

__________________________________

“Why don’t you come back with me?”

Your eyes widened, but you continued to stare at the ground while he paused in his sketching. 

“And what ever gave you the idea that I could?”

“I can take back my memories of you. Y’gotta be real. So why not?”

“I can’t. I’ve tried before.” It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the truth. Arthur could tell, because it was the same voice he used when telling Dutch and Hosea about his adventures in the yard. You had tried. You just hadn’t had anyone around to help you before.

________________________________________

Arthur had matured enough that he could hop over the fence instead of climbing under it. Not that he had much of a choice. He was way too big to squeeze through anymore.

The hydrangea remained pristine, without anyone looking after it. He supposed that plants like that could just take care of themselves, they had to survive in the wild somehow. 

He’d still visit. Whenever he had the time. Even when Sean would say he had a basement fridge full of beer and his parents were gone for the weekend. Arthur had never really developed a taste for partying. But he hadn’t ignored all of the joys of being a teenager.

When you’ve known someone for as long as Arthur had known you, it’s hard not to see the beauty in them. You were no exception, and Arthur was in the throes of his first and only love. He knew, desperately, that you loved him too. Even when you pushed him away. 

He told you he was going away to college soon, without even really thinking of it. Without thinking of how that meant he would leave you behind. And it hurt how happy you were for him, at first.

“You should forget about me.”

“What? Sweetheart, I couldn’t. Not you.”

“But you should! You have a life outside of here. There’s so much for you to do. You’ll never be happy if you’re tied down to this place because of me.”

The silence was unbearable. You couldn’t face Arthur, and you didn’t sob, but he could still feel the warm tears rolling down your cheeks and onto your clenched fists like venom in his veins. And the dam broke for him.

“Damnnit, why won’t you just come with me?!”

He woke up.

_______________________________

Arthur went to college. And he met new people. He met new girls. And he was beginning to follow your advice.

In fact, he had convinced himself that you weren’t real. Just an imaginary friend. It was about time he parted ways with you. He was too grown for that kinda shit nowadays.

Arthur went through every walk of life when it came to love. He was the playboy. Then, the tamed bad boy, whipped into a serious relationship. Then, he just had sex for comfort, which lead to more problems than it solved. Finally, he was a lone wolf. 

He was tired of the disappointment. The guilt. Was he being untrue by thinking of you, or was he betraying you by being with other people? He had to laugh. The fucking loser who couldn’t let go of his imaginary girlfriend. 

A lot of his friends knew all about you. He told groups of people for laughs, laughing at his younger self for being so silly as to believe you were real. That you were his friend. That he even had some stupid crush on you. How fucking ridiculous was that? Thinking a girl like you could ever be real. That someone could have known his snotty, stupid kid self and continue to love him. That someone could see his facial hair grow in and his voice drop and continue to love him. That someone could know his raw, unfiltered soul and continue to love him.

Yeah. Fucking hilarious.

________________________________

Arthur was sick, and he knew it. Everyone knew it. The doctor said that he could go home for a while. He knew it wasn’t because he was getting better. It was because it was probably his last chance. But even home was painful.

A lot of the time, Dutch couldn’t look at Arthur’s pallid face and bloodshot for long before he started tearing up. His little boy, all grown up. His baby.

His baby boy was dying.

Still, they tried to enjoy what they had left. Hosea dug out all of Arthur’s old stuffed toys and photo albums. All of his school projects and terrible crayon drawings which morphed into cartoon characters made with #2 pencils gripped way too hard, into thoughtful sketches. Every sticker-covered elementary school report card, to high school honor roll. Pajamas covered in teddy bear print and worn with holes.

Arthur wasn’t strong enough to climb over the fence anymore. He doubted it could support him anyways. So he kicked it in a few weak spots and squeezed his thinning body through, stopping part way through to submit to a coughing fit. The hydrangeas were alive. Not at colorful as he remembered, but alive. So he went underneath, and sleep came easier than it had in years.

“You came back.”

The weakness in your voice was palpable.

“I always do.”

He sat next to you with a wince. Even you looked pained at the sight of him. But you looked the same as when he’d left.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

He placed his hand, palm up, into your lap, pleadingly. And even after all these years, seeing you cry broke his heart.

“You won’t like me when I’m up there. I’ve been down here for so long.”

“You know that don’t matter to me. Hell, I reckon I ain’t in any better shape.”

“But it will. I’m so dirty. I’m ugly now. You’ll hate me, I know it.”

“I think you know that ain’t true, love.” 

When you cried, he could almost hear the voice you had when the two of you first met. You peaked up from under your lashes, eyes almost as bloodshot as his, puffy with tears.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise. I ain’t ever loved somebody the way I love you. You couldn’t ever be ugly. Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

Arthur woke up.

He blearily blinked and winced at the rain dripping through the leaves of the hydrangea and onto his face. The next thing he felt was your grip. So weak, and dry. When he looked to his side, he saw your little hand, and the wrist that trailed beneath the soil. But you were more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. Because you were you. And you were real.

[thewineabout]

It’s for the birds!

This is my @stetersecretsanta 2019 gift for @spookubee I hope you like it and that it checks some of your boxes!!

    Find it on A03

Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski G for General!

Peter glares the entire time his neighbors are moving in, peeking through his front curtains at the shouting and the obnoxious laughter. There’s two of them, they look like fresh out of college babies, and the prospect of house parties and late night car door slamming is enough that Peter already hates them.

This neighborhood wasn’t for infants, it was refined, small houses and quiet people that had no interest in each other’s business. No one put up obnoxious decorations for Halloween or Christmas. The wildest thing on the block was Mrs. Fieldsburg’s floral painted mailbox.

Trucks, vans, and cars, a stream of people, clearly friends helping with the move, show up all day. Peter complains to his succulents and uses it as an excuse not to get any of his work done.

After all, how could he focus on ripping apart manuscripts fairly if he was already in such a bad mood? And Cora had been clear he needed to ease off or they weren’t going to have any authors left for him to criticize.

Instead, he finds a reason to work on his front yard and keeps an eye on the new nuisances.

He learns their names are Scott and Stiles, based on the yelling, and it’s the first place they’ve ever rented together. The one with floppy hair, Scott, keeps shouting about their first yard, and their first real mailbox, and their first stove. The last bit has Peter squinting a little behind his sunglasses.

The Stiles one doesn’t shout as much, but his laughter is loud and impossible to ignore. Peter doesn’t hate the sound but maybe that’s just because when he finally gets to see Stiles’ make it, he notices how stunning he is. A mile of pale skin, a plush mouth and an enchanting abandon when he’s got his head tipped back and his hand clutching over his belly as he cackles.

“Hey,” Peter hears from his left, beyond the fence as he’s watering the flower box hanging under his living room window. “We just moved in, obviously,” Stiles is calling and he’s got himself leaned on the little white fence that separates their yards. “I’m Stiles and that-” there’s a pause and then Stiles is whipping his head around to point out Scott who is putting out a chair on their porch. “That’s Scott.”

Peter pauses, having released the trigger on his garden sprayer, and looks first over Stiles and then up at Scott who is currently fussing with the positioning of the small matching table for the chair.

“You’ve got a killer yard, maybe you could give us some tips, we want to get some planting done. We’re supposed to maintain the front and back as part of our neighborhood agreement, but man, neither of us have ever kept a plant alive, you know?” Stiles is still chatting, fingers fidgeting on the edge of the fence and his weight shifting. He doesn’t look nervous, but Peter can practically taste his energy, his heartbeat quick. The excitement of the move, probably.

“Peter Hale,” he offers with a gesture of his hand. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Peter finishes watering his flower box and then starts walking with the hose, coiling it as he goes around his arm. “But, if you’d like, I could give you a few tips once you’re settled in.”

“Serious? That’d be awesome, yeah, maybe you could show me what you did with yours? I can kinda see it from our back porch but you’ve got that big tree,” Stiles makes a vertical gesture to indicate the tree and puts a hand in front of it flat and side ways to show their fence. As if Peter doesn’t know exactly what he’s talking about.

“The last owner of your house agreed to maintain the branches that hang over your side,” Peter says as he walks a bit closer, nearly at the side of his house, and drops the hose where it belongs before he’s approaching the fence.

“The privacy it offers has been a selling feature,” Peter smirks a bit and then settles against his fence with a propped hip. The thing is only waist high, more a divider and a quaint aesthetic than a real barrier.

Stiles nods at him and leans over more, hands on the edge of the fence and his foot coming up between the posts to rest on the connecting wood. The toe of his ked officially in Peter’s yard.

“Yeah he warned us not to go chopping branches down willy-nilly,” Stiles says and looks over at Peter. His gaze seems to pause and wander; Peter smirks under the attention.

A scuffle from the porch draws Peter’s to look over to Scott scraping the furniture across the boards as he repositions it.

When he looks back, he lets his gaze drag down Stiles’ neck and over the tee shirt and thin plaid he’s wearing. There’s smudges of dirt and paint on him, his clothes and his arms where the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows; forearms barely tanned with an obvious cord of muscle and a dusting of dark freckles.

Looking back up Peter smirks, Stiles’ eyes have rounded out and he’s staring before he twitches himself away from the fence and rubs his hands off on his shirt front. If he wasn’t turning pink at the collar Peter would think he was offended.

“I should finish up, we really want to get the furniture set up today,” Stiles’ hands come up and he’s waving them, fingers tight and spread and held in front of his chest. “It was nice to meet you, Peter, I - we should talk again. About the yards. Gardening.” He’s backed up and Peter watches him get to the stone path that leads to his porch.

“Feel free to stop by,” Peter calls after him with a deeper smirk and a last look before he’s turning and walking across his grass to his porch. He pauses at his front door to look over and catches Stiles peeking back at him before the blush becomes noticeable on fair cheeks and he darts into his house.

Maybe they won’t be the worst neighbors after all.

=====

 Peter sees a lot of Stiles in the few weeks after he moves in. Never for very long. It’s often a wave across the fence. Occasionally it’s a quick chat about local eateries or places to buy organic pumpkin seed butter.

Stiles grins at him when they, by absolute chance, go outside to collect their mail at the same time each morning. It’s neighborly, friendly, Stiles is loud and charming but always on his side of the fence.

He crosses it on a Tuesday morning and when Peter answers his short rapid burst of knocking. Stiles is holding a bag of gourmet bird seed with a mild pink crawling up his jawline and his feet shifting on the porch wood.

“You were telling me about the bird feeders in your backyard, and I thought, you know, I never brought over baking or something. Scott’s mom said we were supposed to bring something around to the neighbors but everyone else around here…” Stiles’ face pulls down and he shrugs one shoulder.

“Keeps to themselves?” Peter suggests with a smirk, as if he hadn’t spent his years on this block ignoring every other neighbor he’s had.

Stiles nods vigorously and switches the plastic sack of bird food over to his other arm so he can gesture with his right hand. “We tried, you know. We were going to do the loop, and the house with the ugly puke green trim accused us of trying to give them,” his eyebrows dip and his voice lowers, “brownie-brownies.”

Peter snorts and leans into his door frame, more fascinated by the way Stiles moves when he’s agitated than the story. The house with the ugly puke green trim also turns their lights off on Halloween so Peter isn’t that surprised.

“As if people are going around giving that shit away for free,” Stiles snorts back at him and then he’s hoisting up the bag at Peter who has to take it or let it hang awkwardly in his door frame.

“My birds will be delighted,” Peter says as he looks down at the bag, a heavy mix of nuts and seeds and corn. It’s not the fine blend he usually fills his feeders with, but he appreciates the gesture, perhaps his birds will as well.

“Yeah? Good,” Stiles smiles, the edges soft, it’s disarming.

“Did you want to see the garden?” Peter asks suddenly, brows up as he hoists the seed back to his hip.There’s a sharp uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat, it’s loud and flattering; Peter can’t help the way his teeth peek out when he grins at him and then gestures out the door.

“Yeah, I mean, I’d love to,” Stiles chimes and he’s fussing with his hoodie pocket, tangling his fingers with something he’s stored inside. He glances behind him and then takes a step back with a sharp chirp of alarm when Peter is stepping out of his house and he nearly doesn’t get out of the way in time.

Peter pauses to watch him, bending to hook his finger in the heel of each of his shoes to slide his feet fully into them. “Come on around back,” he says as he breezes by down the steps and around the side of the house. The sound of a rabbity heartbeat behind him curling something hot in the wolf’s belly.

Stiles follows him down the cobblestone path through the gate to his backyard, leaving it swung open after himself as he’s lead into the garden. He freezes up behind Peter for a moment and his chin angles up as he looks thoughtfully around himself.

“This is really nice,” Stiles gestures wide with both hands before they’re back in his pocket and he’s looking up at the tree that borders their shared fence. “That’s a nice tree.”

Peter turns to look at him, brows pitched at the stilted tone before he sees that Stiles means it. He’s looking up at the tree with something like adoration before his gaze trips around and he’s admiring the rest of the yard.

There’s lilies, sage, and salvia hedging the house. It’s green and lush and spotted with a bird feeder on either side with a fountain in among the penstemon. Peter takes pride in his yard. His raspberry bushes tucked against the far fence, and the raised garden bed with an ornamental rock wall at the back, his hand laid circular patio area with seating and a bbq.

“Dude this is - our yard looks like shit,” Stiles gushes as he’s ducking to touch some of the greenery and then watching as Peter goes to take a nearly empty bird feeder down and fill it with his gifted bird food. “This is an oasis,” his hand flails but he’s moved to pet the bark of the tulip tree. “Literally,” he points to the water fountain that’s trickling quietly in an imitation of a waterfall.

“Thank you,” Peter tries not to sound like he’s preening, but he’s preening, mouth turned up and his shoulders a little more rolled back as he comes down off the low garden wall, having set the bird feeder back on it’s designated tree branch. “I spend a lot of time outside.”

“So do I but I’m struggling to keep the grass alive,” Stiles whines, his hand up and in his hair as he looks around and not so subtly smiles at the bird feeder.

“Maybe I could lend you a hand,” Peter offers as he goes to put the bird seed in his locked storage bin, checking the seal with his finger once he’s closed it again. “Before you kill a dozen plants attempting it yourself.”

There’s a pause for an indignant gasp that’s as fake as Stiles’ scowl, his scent warm and sweet, with a strong dash of hazelnuts. Though, Stiles’ always smells like hazelnuts, even from across the fence.Hazelnuts and something peculiar that he can’t quite place yet.

“I’m going to let that go because I could actually use the help,” Stiles says as he wrinkles his nose up in a way that makes Peter’s chest swoop like it hasn’t in years.

=====

 They start work on Stiles’ backyard six days later.

Peter comes for a tour with a disdainful scowl for the dead daisies (how does anyone kill a daisy?) and yellow grass but he leaves Stiles with a list of supplies and suggested plants and they make a date to get things started.

The next few weeks Peter spends his late afternoons split between going across the fence to help Stiles figure out mulch and planting, and arguing with a squirrel that’s recently showed up to raid his bird feeders.

The new seed must have attracted him in. He’s the first rodent that’s dared step foot in Peter’s yard since last year when Derek got drunk at a BBQ and pissed on the tulip tree.

Apparently, this squirrel has no fear of apex predators and is determined to chase away the birds with his ear piercing chirping and the way he stuffs his face with bird food before he’s scampering down the fence.

It becomes a thing.

Peter chases off the squirrel and the squirrel climbs to a branch in the tree he feels safe in and yells down at the wolf. Sometimes Peter catches the squirrel in the bird feeder. Sometimes he catches the obnoxious rodent sunning himself on the garden wall; tail curled over his back and all of his tiny limbs splayed out on the warm stone.

It shouldn’t be so annoying but it was strange to feel laughed at and spited by an animal so far down from him on the food chain. He moves the feeders and hangs them away from the tree branches, on poles instead, and watches the squirrel watching him as he does it.

“You’ll have to find somewhere else to mooch,” he tells the rodent with an irritable growl in his voice. The squirrel whips his tail at him, squawks, and disappears over the fence.

                                                         ======

 “It’s starting to look pretty good,” Stiles says a month into their garden work as he sips on a bottle of beer in a brand Peter can’t stand, but has accepted anyway. It tastes like college and urine.

“It is,” Peter agrees. They’ve both got mud under their nails and sweat sticking their shirts to skin. “Still a ways to go, it’ll take some effort to get the bushes in.”

Stiles nods, and rubs the condensation of his bottle across his forehead with a sharp exhale. “But, that’ll be sweet. Free blueberries? Awesome.”

“Don’t expect them to produce much,” Peter warns, again, because he sees how Stiles eyes up the raspberries when he visits his yard. And those bushes are years old and tenacious.

“Worth it.” Stiles nudges his sunglasses better onto his nose along with a smearing of wet dirt. “Hey, and these,” he reaches down from where he’s sitting in his camping chair and rapped his knuckles against the garden knee pads Peter had lent him, “freaking awesome.”

Peter shakes his head mildly and sips his beer, lips pursed as he swallows. “I told you,” he starts and is cut off by Stiles making a throaty noise and waving a hand at him.

“I know-” Stiles’ tongue catches between his teeth when he smiles and he reaches over to clumsily clink his bottle against Peter’s. “Thanks for doing this.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Peter tips his head to look over and offer a returned cheers though it’s not quite as over enthusiastic. Their bottles linger together for a moment, because Peter’s distracted by the moles near Stiles’ mouth and Stiles has frozen solid staring right back.

 =====

 The squirrel figures out a way to climb up the bird feeders within a week. The tiny monster sits and chirps at Peter whenever the wolf comes out to catch him. It feels like laughter.

“If I wasn’t so suburban, I’d eat you,” Peter speaks to the squirrel as he goes to start his watering routine. The squirrel barks at him but doesn’t bolt away, just continues to pick out what he likes out of Peter’s bird food with tiny paws.

Peter works down the other fence, “I suppose, until I get rid of you, I could call you something.”

There’s a distinct rhythmic scratch as the squirrel climbs the fence and runs along the top, landing himself on a tall post near Peter. He takes out a mouthful of seeds and starts working through them. Littering shells as he goes.

“Irritating rat?” Peter asks, and the squirrel thumps at him, tiny back feet stomping and his tail wagging, “no? Fine.” There’s a pause as he looks up to the squirrel, realizes he’s talking to a squirrel, and scowls. It’s the first time they’ve been this close, just a few feet of space between them.

Peter doesn’t know anything about squirrels, they’re rodents, they’re annoying, but he couldn’t identify the type. This one is red and glossy in the late evening sunlight.

“I still want you out of my bird feeders,” he scolds quietly, in a huff, turning the sprayer over the raspberry bushes. “Little Red.”

There’s quiet chattering, it doesn’t sound agitated and when Peter looks up the squirrel is leaning forward over its front paws to sniff in his direction.

“Now, get out of my yard,” Peter shoos, turning the sprayer on to mist and puffing it a few times in the fluffy rat’s direction.

The squirrel yells at him but darts out of the way down the fence where he continues to bark, and then disappears.

Good.

Peter buys squirrel baffles the next day and clips the cones under his feeders.

 =====

 “So, it’s you,” Peter accuses when Stiles’ comes over for dinner after they’ve finally finished tilling and mulching his under window garden space.

Stiles freezes up, eyes turning over to him and his hand paused on its way to his mouth. A handful of hazelnuts visible between his fingers. Peter could smell them when he’d walked in.

“What?” Stiles asks, his voice sounds a little squeaky.

“I keep finding hazelnuts around my yard,” Peter says as he looks over at Stiles and purses his lips.

It was an understatement. He found hazelnuts in his patio furniture, tucked under seat cushions and in the folds of the table umbrella. In the flower pots he kept on the back steps. A few memorable ones on his windowsills.

Stiles glances at his handful of nuts and slowly goes to put them into his pocket. They make a little curve in the hoodie material. “Oh, I-” his tone is quiet, he smells strange and embarrassed.

“I was wondering who was leaving them out for little Red,” Peter continues, quirking his lips and a brow at his dinner guest as he moves the lasagna out from the oven and on to a pot holder. The entire kitchen smells like hot cheese and garlic. “I have a yard squirrel,” Peter elaborates as he snaps off his oven mitts and goes to pour two glasses of Chianti.

“Oh- oh,” Stiles deflates rapidly a hand on his chest which he then flicks out to flap at Peter. “Dude, yeah, I guess that’s me.” He comes around the kitchen island and starts poking into cupboards until he finds plates, bringing down a pair of them.

Peter brings the glasses to his dining table a few feet away and sets them down at opposite place mats. When he turns around Stiles has snagged a knife off the magnetic strip above the coffee maker and is using it on the garlic bread he’s taken out of the warming drawer.

It’s familiar, in that they’ve eaten together plenty of times, though usually it’s light meals sitting around one of their yards. Sandwiches, occasionally a bbq’d burger, casual food and beer. But it’s new to sit down at an indoor table and Peter refuses to be nervous about that.

“Oh my god, it smells so good,” Stiles moans as he’s sampling a piece of bread and then sliding the row of cut pieces onto the cutting board a little nicer. He rolls the foil on the loaf to keep the heat in and then brings the bread to the table. “This is fancy,” he says, shifting his weight and resting a hand on the back of a chair.

“Fancier than frozen pizza and poptarts,” Peter agrees with a snide little tilt to his nose but a warm smile a moment later.

Stiles sticks his tongue out, and then barks a laugh as he scrubs over his hair. “We do actually cook like real adults,” he points out and then takes a seat when Peter sets the lasagna down on a trivet on the table with a knife and a skinny spatula. “You, know, sometimes.”

Peter hums an ‘uh-huh’ of total belief and then takes his own seat after he uses the dimmer switch to take the lighting down to something a little more intimate.They’re not groping in the dark for their forks but it’s not the stark brightness of a friendly meal. The warm glow makes Stiles’ eyes look golden.

“So this is good wine,” Stiles says when he’s sipped his and made a face he can’t hide against the side of the crystal glass.

“It’s better with the sauce,” Peter promises but he’s smirking anyway, reaching over to cut out a few squares from the lasagna and carefully using the spatula to set one onto his own plate. He lifts up a second, holding it carefully as he waits for Stiles to lift his plate up next.

“Thanks,” Stiles says and he shifts in his seat as he brings his food down in front of him and picks up a fork. “I- don’t think anyone’s ever cooked me a whole meal before,” he’s laughing but his neck is turning pink at the edge of his hoodie. “I mean someone like-” he gestures between them.

Peter doesn’t know if he means a friend or something else but he nods anyway.

“You helped,” Peter offers, picking up a piece of garlic bread and setting it on his plate so it’ll absorb some of the oozing sauce.

“Oh yeah, I cut some bread-” Stiles rolls his eyes and his mouth goes tight before he’s skewering his fork in Peter’s direction. “You’re making fun of me.”

Peter nods, mouth curling as he stretches his leg out to bump his socked toes into Stiles’ shin under the table. The leg under his toes jerks and Stiles is kicking him right back before his heel drops back to the floor, and if his toes stay pressed against the arch of Peter’s foot well... he’s not going to say anything about it.

“How was work?” Peter asks, not because he really cares about the woes of the city archives, but because Stiles loves his job.

There’s a pause, while Stiles moans through his first bite of food and startles Peter into fumbling his fork before he starts talking. “Oh man, today was amazing. I came across a death certificate from like a hundred years ago and it said death by wolf in the post office. And I was like, okay what?” He waves his fork around and his brows steeple. “A wolf in the post office?”

Peter raises a brow and makes a circular motion with his bread before he takes a bite out of it.

“So it turns out half the town thought the postmaster was a werewolf and the other half swore he kept one as a pet.” Stiles is grinning like a cat and leaning over the table. “Werewolves,” he repeats but his eyes are sharp enough it makes Peter pause to look at him.

“Fascinating,” Peter says as he reaches for his wine, he swirls it, just for something to look down at before he takes a sip.

Stiles reaches for his own in mirror though he chugs half the glass before he sets it down and wipes his lower lip with his thumb. “Yeah, the kicker is that he actually might have just had a big dog.”

Peter coughs into his wrist and shakes his head when Stiles hand darts out to hover at him. When he catches his breath he laughs and there’s an answering cackle from across the table before they go back to eating.

Stiles keeps talking at him, about how a man in the 70s who tried to elect his pet duck for Sheriff, and how a cult once passed through. He talks through the rest of the meal and Peter listens.

They chat through packing away the leftovers and through the dishes. Stiles only seems to run out of words when they’ve settled on the sofa. Refilled wine glasses in hand, a sparse foot of leather cushion between them; Stiles fiddles with his hoodie sleeves and darts glances over at Peter.

“Thank you for joining me,” Peter says as he leans into his arm rest and studies Stiles’ profile. His heartbeat is so fast, it always seems fast, but now it’s sprinting.

Stiles fingers blanche against his wine glass before he tosses it back and sets it on the low coffee table. “Thank you for having me,” he pauses and swallows, “for dinner,” his hands fidget and wave, “I mean having me over for dinner.”

Peter exhales slowly and sets his own half filled glass down before he’s leaning back and putting an arm across the back of the sofa. “I enjoy our time together,” he murmurs and pauses to reach a hand out and set it on Stiles’ knee. “I hope we can do it again?”

The house is too quiet for a moment as Stiles breath spikes, the sweet spice in his scent rising like steam and then he’s nodding and dropping cool fingers over Peter’s hand.

“I’d really like that,” Stiles squeezes his fingers against Peter’s before he’s wiggling them under and then they’re holding hands.

It should seem childish, but Peter’s stomach does a nervous flop anyway. He glances down at their shared grip as it migrates to sitting on the cushion between them. Stiles’ fingers are long and pale, his own broader and tanned. He draws his thumb slowly across Stiles’ knuckles once and then again, sweeping as they sit in the quiet.

Later, when Stiles leaves it’s with a nervous parting hug that lingers in the doorway. The neighbors would be scandalized. Peter’s delighted, and he draws in a handful of red hoodie to press a light kiss against Stiles’ temple.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Peter whispers and Stiles rubs at his pink cheeks on the walk back across the yard to his own house.

 =====

 In the following week, Peter finds tiny bright red paw prints along his garden wall with half an abandoned raspberry, a pile of hazelnuts tucked into the crook of his tree branches, and the squirrel baffle on the ground under the bird feeder with very precise chew marks through the clasp.

This tiny creature is besting him. Outsmarting him. Peter’s fuming as he takes the broken plastic baffle out of his garden and he returns to the internet to find something else to dissuade his little Red.

When he tells Stiles about it the next time they’re working in his yard, he laughs, loud and bright, with a sort of mischief that Peter doesn’t understand but wants to taste.

“Maybe he just likes you,” Stiles says over his shoulder at Peter who is sitting on the porch on a camping chair lazily sipping his weak piss water beer.

The new shed they picked out together had been delivered, tucked neatly to the side of the yard. Stiles is sorting out his garden supplies into the fresh shelves with a focused energy Peter’s never seen before.

It’s almost hard to watch. Stiles ducks in and out of the shed seemingly at random, holding a single item at a time to pick a place for. He’s got sheers in his hands now, and a thoughtful look on his face before he zips in to put them upright in a blueberry themed tool caddy Peter had gifted to him.

“I think he’s mocking me,” Peter complains, resting his cheek against his beer bottle, and watching Stiles march a bag of fertilizer, and then a rake, and then a hose attachment, and then a different bag of fertilizer in. “Not afraid of me at all.”

Stiles peeks out of the shed at him and squints, his sunglasses tucked into the front of his obscure tee shirt with a reference Peter doesn’t understand enough to even ask about.

“Do you really want to be scary to a squirrel? Is that really important to you?” Stiles is grinning, the sharp toothed kind that means he’s really delighted.

When he says it so bluntly, Peter does sort of wonder why he’s fighting with a rodent, but he rolls a lazy shrug anyway and grins right back. “Yes, it is.”

The raspberry Stiles blows echoes through the shed and so does the following giggle. Peter rolls his eyes and goes back to watching him pick items at random to store away. He wonders how anyone could tolerate being so chaotic, his own shed was meticulous.

When Stiles is done he’s petting the door of his shed with a satisfied smile and his scent is curling into something spicy and pleased.

“Come see,” Stiles says shyly, tapping his fingers on the shed door as he steps away from it with a gesture.

Peter imagines strewn tools and hides a wince before he climbs off the porch to look. His hand settles lightly on the small of Stiles’ back as he nears. Stiles is warm through his shirt, and he leans a bit into the touch before he looks over and reaches up to hook his elbow up on Peter’s shoulder.

“This is organized,” Peter says blankly after a moment of staring, everything is neatly clumped by use or season, it’s a showroom quality shed. Call Home and Garden. The body under his hand bristles up and Stiles scowls over at him.

“Wow,” Stiles snips, stepping away and back to the deck to the pile of hazelnuts he left on the railing. “I’m totally organized. I’m an excellent organizer.” He looks indignant and chews like it.

The strange smell, Peter has yet to place, intensifies. Musky almost, but clean, and frustrating. Peter braces his hands up in a placating gesture as he looks up at Stiles’ waspish expression.

“Yes, clearly,” he says and comes up to join him on the porch. “I didn’t mean to offend,” Peter can’t help but quirk his brows up because it’s a picky response and he finds it just a little funny.

“You’re very organized, lamb, you did a very nice job of the shed,” he coos it a bit, and goes to tug Stiles closer by his shirt front, soothing the crease between his brows with a warm thumb.

Stiles cracks a moment later, rolling his eyes and grumbling as he reaches around and gives Peter a proper hug; cheek on his shoulder before he’s pulled back to pluck up a few hazelnuts.

“Shut up,” Stiles pinches his side and then goes to pop himself up to sit on the railing.

Peter doesn’t understand his desire to perch himself up five feet in the air and goes back to sit in his camping chair.

“We’re almost done for the season,” Peter drinks more of his beer before he abandons it into the attached vinyl cup holder and turns his head to survey the yard. Everything that could be managed was just about done. There’s a pang in his chest as he thinks about losing his time with Stiles.

The bang of rubber sole against wood draws Peter’s attention back up to Stiles who is raising a brow at him, one leg brought up with him so he can rest his arms around a knee.

“You’ll help me with up keep though,” Stiles says, first like he’s testing it and then more firmly, “you wouldn’t want me to kill everything.”

“You’re right, I can’t leave you totally unsupervised.” It really would be a crime to have all this work undone.

Stiles shifts on his perch, “yeah. My garden guide.” His front teeth peek out when he smiles.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Peter agrees with a long look before he’s flinching away from a hazelnut Stiles chucks at his face.

 =====

 Four and a half months after Stiles moved in next door and subsequently into his life, they’ve got his yard completely sorted; complete with his own bird feeder and a bird bath with spitting frogs that Peter had set up as a surprise after a trip they’d taken to the gardening store.

Personally, he hated it, but Stiles had adored the stupid thing. He’d named the frogs before he’d seen the price tag and squawked.

They don’t talk about what they are or what they aren’t, and Peter’s alright with that. He’s persistent, he has no qualms against a long courtship.

The only remaining problem is the damn squirrel. Little Red comes by routinely to steal bird food and cache food around. He’s got a nest in Peter’s tree. He chitters when Peter’s working in the garden and scampers off whenever the wolf gets a little too annoyed with him.

Short of actually eating the thing, Peter doesn’t know what else to do, and he’s begrudgingly a little fond of the animal. Not that it stops him from going out in the middle of the night and greasing up his bird feeder poles.

It might not be ethical but the decoy owl Peter had bought had been knocked over and stuffed with hazelnuts and bird food, so really, the little rat deserved it. Peter would not be mocked by an afternoon snack.

He’s not sure it’ll work, considering the apparent intelligence of his backyard pest but sure enough, while Peter’s having his morning coffee on the porch he watches little Red dart across the fence.

The squirrel leaps down and shimmies around the base of the feeder before with a solid jump he grabs for the metal pole and slides around it to fall a half a foot away on the other side. Stunned and bobbling back up to his paws.

Peter has to cover an ear against the explosive chattering that follows as the angry slicked down ball of fur rushes off the garden wall and across the patio stones.

He makes it to the porch before Peter even processes that he’s being charged by a squirrel and thinks to take a step back from the barking creature. It hops up the porch railing and in a blink the oiled fur is replaced by a dark brown cowlick and pinched up features.

“That is not fair. That was mean. I could have broken my neck,” Stiles rants at him, with one hand instinctively cupped over his naked groin and the other gesticulating angrily into Peter’s face.

“Stiles-” Peter starts, blinking slowly at Stiles’ face before the opportunist in him looks down to take in the rest. “Stiles, you’re naked in my yard.”

The words don’t seem to click before Stiles flushes a dark red and looks down at himself and then backwards at the neighbor's fences and then he’s darting forward to let himself into Peter’s house.

“Look I thought, you know, it was fun, I liked - I told you I liked your yard. I bought you bird food! I bought you my favorite bird food!” Stiles is using a kitchen hand towel to hold over himself as he grumbles accusingly. “I thought you were joking about not liking - me?”

Peter chews his lips a moment, holds up a hand, and Stiles falls silent after a few breaths.

“You’re a weresquirrel?”

“You’re a werewolf.” Stiles shrugs at him and then he pauses. “Oh my god you didn’t know! I totally thought you figured it out? Like months ago?”

That shocks Peter enough that he has to set down his coffee mug and raise a hand to rub at his brow. “I’m a werewolf?”

Stiles nods at him as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and then he’s reaching over into a jar of hazelnuts Peter started keeping around for him weeks ago.

“Dude you made a cache in your house for me, I totally thought you knew.” Stiles raises his handful of hazelnuts before the palmful goes into his mouth.

“How did you know about me?” Peter demands trying to recall anything that could have outed him.

There’s a gentle hum from Stiles who waves his hand a bit and swallows. “Dude, relax, I’ve got like a super enhanced sense of you know, predators and danger, and things that could eat me. I’ve known since you introduced yourself.”

They’re quiet for a few moments before Peter sighs, rolls his shoulders, and moves to get down a second coffee mug. “Black, two sugars, sweetheart?” He speaks as he’s already pouring.

Stiles grins at him from across the kitchen and nods before he’s approaching and goes to slide under Peter’s shirt to grip his waist. He hadn’t quite gotten all of the oil off on the towel so it’s a little slick, but he squeezes enough that Peter gets the point and turns around.

“You’re not mad, right?” Stiles asks, nose wrinkled up and his mouth turned down as he studies Peter. Twitching his weight from foot to foot.

It would be silly to be mad, a little embarrassed maybe, but hanging on to that would be pointless. Especially when he’s got Stiles nearly pressed against him like this.

Peter lifts a hand and lets it rest on Stiles’ shoulder, slowly dragging it along his skin until he can cradle the nape of his fragile little neck and pull him in gently. It’s been months that he’s wanted to do this but they’d been dancing around it, playing cat and mouse-- so to speak.

“I’m furious, little Red” Peter breathes with an obvious eye roll before Stiles rushes forward to close the gap.

He tastes like hazelnuts and smells like olive oil and it’s perfect.