#matthewbaudelaire

[nicholasbaudelaire]

Green is good... right?

Starter @matthewbaudelaire

Where: Nicky's apartment

When: Whenever

The apartment had been kept in good order during Nick's time away. He had rented the space to his housekeepers niece, and the woman must have inherited their aunt's house keeping skills because the place was in pristine condition when Nicholas returned home. However, unable to sleep much these days, Nick had still spent about a day deep cleaning and organising. As a naturally untidy person, he still felt it odd to be surrounded by such organisation and so while he waited for his brother to pick him up on their way to the fae cafe, Nick found himself awkwardly smoking on his sofa gazing around the apartment.

Any sign of feminine presence had been stripped bear, the place looked like it was some sort of display room targeted at bachelor types in their twenties. There were the comics displayed on shelves, organised by worlds and then chronologically. A wooden drinks cabinet displaying some dark spirits and bar snacks, giving the idea that the owner of the home was down for hosting. The Xbox and PlayStation set up was large and proud and dominated the seating area. The corner of the apartment was now dedicated to work out equipment of black and steal. Not to mention, the renovated loft apartment was decorated with steal metals and heavy oak wood.

The apartment seemed to reflect just one side to Nick these days, the softer side to him, the more creative and home making side to him seemed to have never existed. It felt cold. Nick, realised it made him feel cold.

Bright blue eyes rolled to the ceiling, as Nick told himself he was being ridiculous. He had only just returned home, over time, things would go back to normal. Some how. Whatever normal was.

About to reach for his cell, so he could check on his brothers' ETA when he heard what sounded like a vehicle screeching to a stop in the parking lot, through the open window and the wolf jumped up to run see if it was his brother coming to pick him up.

[yashicanandarchive]

[ TEXT ]: How was the holiday? [ TEXT ]: I've made it through like three romantic comedies. [ TEXT ]: I think I'm not clumsy enough to be a main character, how often do you trip over things?

@matthewbaudelaire

[thebellamybarnesarchive]

"Oh it's for getting vitamin therapy, they like hook you up to an IV and infuse you with like a bunch of vitamins and stuff," Bellamy told Matty. It was perhaps a gift that overstepped - much like Layne's skincare - but Matty living off cigarettes and protein did concerns her, and besides, as he opened the second gift from Bella he would see the various silk screens featuring mushrooms for his pottery and hopefully that was personal enough to offset the first gift. (@matthewbaudelaire)

Merry Christmas, Matty!

[duderosiers]

what's worse, what was imagined or the reality currently lived? jean-claude is still as there is so little visible reaction from matthew as a proverbial bomb is dropped, the last man standing amongst the piles of rubble. barbed words or tears would be easier to deal with than what can only be described as forced nonchalance, autopilot almost. he can't take his own words back, nor can he stop the hurt he too feels ; a break may be seen as drastic but, j.c doesn't know any other way to hammer home that this is serious.

an apology forms but never makes it out of his chest, trying to keep his cool now. each step is filled with lead, he will always wonder what matty meant to say and stopped himself from. there is nothing else, just silence, the vampire collecting the small bag of pills of the side (doesn't trust matty not to try and force them all down at once) and then reaching for the key placed haphazardly near them. long fingers tremble as jean-claude hooks off the spare key he gave to his boyfriend (it had to be earned back) for his apartment, thinks of all the things there that aren't his. it feels heavy in his pocket as he turns then, urgency rising at his own fissures begin to form.

there is still one more thing to do before letting go of the hand that pulled him from the endless ocean - cold lips press a kiss to a stubbled cheek, brief and lingering.

"a bientôt, mon petit goûter,"

jean-claude only allows himself to wail in anguish the moment he's on the other side of the door.

There it was and everything within Matthew exploded in an instant, Jean-Claude's words settled like fine dust in the aftermath and the gears that kept his body working clicked into place. Running on auto pilot, the conductor had left the engine room, a 'we will return soon' sign hung in the door outside, or maybe it said 'gone fishing.' Part of Matthew blanked and all the anger, all the anxiety, all the fear and the upset and sour feelings that had burnt a hole in his gut dissolved away in the blast. It left him with a huge resonating nothing. "Okay," he said, because what else was he supposed to say. He wasn't going to beg, he wasn't the type, maybe he should be, maybe if he hated himself less he could do it. "So we go on a break," mechanical words, echoing Jean-Claude. "I, uh," he turned his head to look away, to look at something, he doesn't know what, eventually his vision lands on the tote bag he'd brought for the useless things he'd bought in.

His thoughts go briefly to the pills on the counter, part of him wanted to take them just so he can make a show of getting rid of them; he could throw what was left of them into the sink and turn on the disposal to grind them away forever, he could throw them into the bin which was less anticlimactic but resulted in the same. He ended up doing neither and didn't even spare them a glance. "You know I.." teeth caught onto his lower lip pausing the words. It's dangerous to feel so empty, so numb, when he doesn't know what he's feeling he can't be sure of anything. His head dropped and he shook it all away, the unsaid words, with a sniff and quiet, "Nevermind."

[findopulenceedits]

opulence as tarot cards... 𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯 is 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔠𝔲𝔭𝔰

the queen of cups is seen as compassionate, caring, sensitive, and nurturing. they connect with people on the emotional level, so people enjoy their honesty and fairness. the appearance of the queen of cups in a reading can be guiding you to find help from others. most times, like the other queens, this is a female figure that will come into your life.

@oliver-sereno { source }

[the--helen]

 Every heartache eats you, bite by bite. 

Status: Closed

Where: around the streets

When: ~4am

With: @matthewbaudelaire

He had come home angry very quickly after leaving, she wasn’t sure what exactly had caused the state and did not dare ask while she sat on the couch, drapes pulled over the windows, no lights shining aside from a scented candle that filled the room with the smell of sandalwood. He explained to her his latest research on the topic of their future, but no success, and more refusals to even have it considered. He needed to leave the city tonight, still having around 5 hours of darkness before the sun came up. He had explained it all then pressed fingers to the back of her neck, peppering kisses along her face and lips before dragging his teeth down her neck and embracing her small frame with his other hand to her side. Helen could feel his fingers moving along her skin, but not register it as her mind was going blank. When she came to a short while after he had left her with new small bruises where he had held her, the room’s air left cold caressing her naked skin. She bent down and took his boxers, her own in tatters. Another pair to throw away. At least he always bought her new things to substitute the old ones and she was showered with all kinds of beautiful clothes and jewelry.

An old phone was sitting on the dining table and she looked at it with confusion, knowing she should remember something important about it. But the fog was too deep and she felt an urgency to breathe fresh air. Her heart began to beat fast, knowing that the windows would be bolted shut and the door locked as it always was when he left her alone in his apartment. Sitting on the floor her breath started to get stuck in her throat and sweat started forming on her skin, the feel of it icy and painful, almost as if burning her skin. She pulled a T-shirt over her head and hoped this would help, hugging herself a bit, but the feeling of something crushing her wasn’t going away.

Helen sat as a statue for what could have been days or weeks, or years…or perhaps it had been not even an hour, mere minutes or seconds. She was not sure and could not be sure. As if a millennia later, she stood on her feet and went to get the phone, wishing to call him and ask him to come back home and hold her and kiss her and stay with her until she fell asleep. Holding the brick device in one hand she could rationalize just a tiny bit more than a moment ago and knew that she shouldn’t have it there… along with the keys. Keys to their apartment, they weren’t in Nashville anymore. With a start, trembling fingers pushed the key in the lock, almost breaking it in half but it was unlocked and she knew Alexander wouldn’t mind her leaving as long as she let him know where she was at all times, with whom she was. He had told her that before leaving, she remembered that.

Her feet were in flip-flops she didn’t remember putting on, but they sounded quite cheerful as she walked in otherwise mostly silent streets. The fresh air was like a lifeline and she took deep gulps of it as she walked aimlessly down mostly unfamiliar streets. Her eyes were wandering over everything around and concentrated on absolutely nothing as she subconsciously pulled the neck of the top to clean the residue of a red liquid. She wasn’t cold and she wasn’t hot. She was nothing, but also continued to feel like everything inside her was on fire.

Another corner to turn and she was utterly lost but instead of panicking she stopped and sat at the curb, elbows on her knees, eyes on the road in front of her. There were voices somewhere in the distant and some light inside the buildings around, but no real proof of life at this hour. At least not to her, not now. It was peaceful and she felt as if she could be the last one left in the world. It was a nice feeling for her, imagining that. Despite its sad undertones it was a nice thing.

Her pale eyes followed the silhouette moving on the other side of the street, unfocused. Her mind was still not fully cleared and she did not remember yet that she shouldn’t be out alone after… an hour. What was the hour? And perhaps she should have stayed put in front of her building as it was very possible whoever walked past could take her away and she would be sad, right? A sound between a chuckle and a sigh filled with disappointment escaped her, air through her nose. Her irises returned to the silhouette. She thought she said hello but she wasn’t sure. Maybe she asked where she was or not.

[tcrturedpcets]

Oliver Stark, Lucy Hale, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Nina Dobrev, Francois Arnau, Scott Speedman and Reilly Dolman manipulation ( please reblog or like if you use and do not steal or repost ) { @theobaudelaire @bashbaudelaire @laynebaudelaire @werewolfroman @asherbaudelaire @matthewbaudelaire @kaylabaudelaire }

[duderosiers]

it was just the two of them now, roman not looking him in the eye for reasons the vampire wasn't privy to. it was now, with the absence of his beloved's nervousness that j.c could get a real look at roman baudelaire. or joseph, an attempt there to clearly avoid a past that he didn't know about. all it would take was an idle touch but, j.c had a hard time dealing with matthew's trauma in his head - he didn't need his dads to. what he truly got from the werewolf sat across from him was the great aura of melancholy, and tiredness, the type that settled in your bones and made you weary of the world. as old as jean-claude was, it was something he had never experienced, always with the zest for life...for it would never end.

the question caught j.c off guard, leaning back a little, almost away. is he happy? the retort is instant, comes out before he can really mull the question over; "why don't you ask him yourself?"

truly, the events of roman's failings as a father aren't truly understood by the vampire who only has a fraction of an awareness about the baudelaire family and their particular brand of familial problems. "sorry," it follows after, just as quick. i said i would keep my tongue. "it's a loaded question," jean-claude looked down at his hands, covered in netting gloves, pulling the jumper of them as if they were cold. green eyes glanced over, seeing matthew still purchasing coffee, affection so ready in his gaze.

"he's trying to be. it's not easy, i don't think it comes natural to him, happy," j.c explains, voice low, fondness tinging his words. "he doesn't think he's worth it, and everyday he wakes up waiting for it all to fall out from under his feet. it's a work in progress, the 'h' word but, i think it'll be alright. i think he'll get there. i know he will," perhaps it isn't what roman wants to hear. perhaps it's what he needs to.

"don't tell him i said this,"

@werewolfroman

As Matthew interjected about coffee, Roman nodded as he reached into his billfold.  There wasn’t a whole lot there, some crumbled up ones and thankfully a five.  “Um, here I like to take care of it,” he commented as he pulled out the singles and the five to give to his son, hoping it was enough to cover the costs.  “May I please just have a small black coffee,” he requested.

There was a nervousness as his son stepped away. The last time he was stuck with a vampire was when he was a child in his parent’s closet watching something unfold before his young eyes.  “Um,” he looked down, not making eye contact with JC as he listened to the man discuss his talents when it came to painting.

“That’s nice, I have no such talents.”  He stated.  Eventually, he lifted his gaze and there was concern in his eyes as he looked over towards his son, making sure he was out of earshot.  “Can you uh,” the man did not know if it was appropriate to even ask this question.  But he needed to know.  “Is um, is he happy?”  Only information he received about Matthew was secondhand, usually from Corey.  Today though, he figured he could go to someone closer to the source.

@matthewbaudelaire

[wolfontheloose]

|| Matthew & Ryden ||

Ryden had skipped the last few cooking club classes, what with going to Colombia, experiencing a plane crash and then Halloween stuff happening. This time though he was hell bent on attending. He had been feeding additional two mouths for a while now, including his own which was worth at least three and sticking to the same menu over and over again didn’t seem like a good idea for a growing baby who was now eating solids well and although still picky as toddlers tended to be, it was good to introduce her to diversity of food as early as possible. So, Ryden needed to learn and he learned best if someone showed him how then let him do it himself. The cooking class he’d been attending was stellar at it, surprisingly keeping the werewolf coming back. He usually lost interest very quick when it involved someone telling him what to do but he was invested into feeding his little family well and for that, he would suffer an occasional judgmental frown at a botched dish or a comment about his marinating skills that was supposed to be funny but all it did was piss the werewolf off.

This time though, they were working in pairs, and surprisingly he’d been buddied up with Roman’s oldest, who also attended these classes sometimes. They usually seem to be missing each other, the last time they met was when Roman was in need of help for building his deck. As they prepared to occupy their assigned cooking station, Ry took a quick glance at the injured hand the human was sporting and snorted. “Musta been a very good wank.” He chortled, not caring at all that a very respectable older lady next to them couldn’t miss his loud baritone even if she wanted to.

@matthewbaudelaire

[callie-everest]

[TEXT]: Hey, where are you? [TEXT]: You okay? Safe? @matthewbaudelaire

[asherbaudelaire]

Closed Starter for @matthewbaudelaire Where: Sunday Farmer's Market *** When Asher was a kid, Sunday mornings used to be his favorite. Mom would get up early and make a big breakfast for everyone, and the whole house would smell like pancakes and maple syrup. Some of his happiest childhood memories--few and far between as they tend to be--are of those Sunday mornings sat around the kitchen table with with his siblings; laughing over spilled orange juice or challenging his big brother to rock-paper-scissors over the last slice of bacon. Somehow Ash never lost. Looking back with the clarity of hindsight, he's fairly certain it didn't have anything to do with luck.

Sunday mornings aren't the same these days, but even still Asher insists upon clinging to some semblance of what they used to be. It's family tradition, after all, and they have so few of them left to hold onto. The hour is stupid early and he's braving a killer hangover as usual, padding around the outer edge of the farmer's market as he makes his way to the stall where Matt sells his ceramic creations; a brown carry-out bag from the Blue Frog Cafe clutched in one hand and two plastic containers of orange juice in the other. "Y'know, you could've taken up a hobby that starts at noon..." Asher grumbles, rounding the display to set the food and drinks down on the nearest clear surface before collapsing into one of the uncomfortable folding chairs along the back end of the stall. "I forgot the hashbrowns. Sorry. You got any aspirin?"

[duderosiers]

i don't know. it had never occurred to jean-claude that matthew had rarely left the confines of the town he'd grown up in, never really travelled and experienced the world. even his own country. perhaps it was different for the vampire who lived forever, who ended up making a mistake and was forced to hide somewhere new for a few years. a lot had happened in this town, and to matty in it, and a trip wouldn't wash away it all but...maybe a break would just be a kindness. a chance to be someone new, in a city where nobody knew who you were, what burdens you held. he gave him a squeeze, a tight one at that.

in the end, jean-claude just wanted to ease his boyfriends fears, anxities, worries. he wanted to shine a torch in that darkness, for it to dissipate - and if it wouldn't go forever, then maybe a few brief moments at least. "i promise you'll like it," his voice was quiet, cold lips pressing kisses wherever they could reach.

"I don't know," was Matthew's immediate response. He'd never really gone anywhere, the cost of travel and too many responsibilities kept him rooted at home while he worked two or sometimes three different jobs to give his younger siblings the opportunities he forwent for himself, letting them leave while he remained at home because it was for the betterment of them and something he had to do as the eldest and the legal guardian he had become when they were all still too young. The only time he'd ever left was for that very brief late night bus to Wichita Falls, a trip that Jean-Claude had the misfortune of experiencing through his own memory. Somehow Matthew had formulated the idea that leaving town meant an end. If he ever left it would mean that was it, he was done and he wouldn't come back, too afraid that history would repeat itself and reveal he was too much like his father, an unescapable fate and he would just never return because coming back would be too hard.

But these were all things he didn't know how to say, too weak to reveal these awful hidden insecurities and so he kept them inside of himself where they festered around the edges of wounds he didn't know how to let heal.

"Maybe," he found himself saying, "We can go," he contradicted himself and his anxieties, not wanting to disappoint him, "We can go somewhere," and maybe if he wasn't alone, it would be easier to come back.

[siennabaudelaire]

Closed starter for @matthewbaudelaire

Sienna would do anything for her siblings, she always had and she always will. So she frequently tried to invite Matty over to her place whenever she had some free time from work. "Okay so listen you're not getting a home cooked meal because I don't have the energy for that. But I got us frozen pizza and your favorite candy bar to make up for it." Sienna said as she handed her older brother the candy. "And I may even be persuaded to let you pick out what we watch if you want."

[antiquecritique]

|| Matthew & Duncan ||

Even though he now had an actual employee in the store, Duncan still did all of the errands personally. Mostly because some errands were quite difficult to explain and give instructions for. Aside from restoring old furniture pieces, procuring misplaced or homeless art, retouching damaged paintings or completing rare sets of collector’s items, Duncan was quite good at finding and acquiring other things as well. As long as it was rare, in one way or another mystical and difficult to obtain, Duncan found it to be enough of a challenge to have him drawn out of his store in attempts to track it down. This may also sometimes include things that were somewhat beyond Duncan’s specialty, but not out of his reach as far as he could help it.

So, after a brief research on the infamous belladonna, or more commonly known as the deadly nightshade, which was the main ingredient of the item he now had in an inconspicuous paper bag like it were nothing more than some random groceries from a grocery store, Duncan made his way out of the night market, efficient and brief with his errand as always. The jar of the Sleeping Death, a type of poison whose recipe was almost lost and forgotten to most herbalists and poison makers, would soon find a buyer, already pre-ordered for purposes Duncan didn’t inquire about. After all, means to cause death were of little concern to one who’d already experienced his own.

However, on his way back he got sidetracked, which was quite rare since nothing could drag Duncan’s attention away unless he allowed it to. A face he knew had just stepped out of a shop further down the street Duncan had stepped on, a face he fancied he could see some features on that he could also recognize in himself. This wasn’t the first time Duncan had seen Matthew Baudelaire, a young man coming from a long line of an intricately branching family tree Duncan was intimately familiar with. There was once a very brief week in the past when Duncan had passed through Greywood, lingering only temporarily, when he’d stalked the Baudelaire family home without ever being detected and noticed a few children playing in the backyard, rambunctious and loud, which was typical of most little ones. The mop of unruly curls was as memorable then as it was now. The next time he’d found Matthew when he moved back to Greywood more permanently, Duncan had no problem matching that child’s face to its adult version. Now, it was well committed to memory.

However, what piqued Duncan’s interest even more was the man who'd followed after Matthew, coming out of the store behind him to continue whatever deceptively friendly chatter they’d engaged in before their transaction was done. Well, at least the man was trying to be friendly with Matthew, the guy a real schmoozer, one of those hustling street peddlers who’d talk to you like they were selling you fog even when all you’ve asked them was how they’ve been lately. Duncan knew that face too. He never forgot a face. It was a face that once saw Duncan’s crisp suit and eye-catching silver pocket watch chain and perceived a chance to lighten Duncan’s wallet for a few dollar bills. Needless to say, nothing the man had tried to sell him had managed to catch Duncan’s interest. After all, he had no need of a dealer of any kind, unless what they dealt with was a potential Rembrandt, a piece by Sheraton or a collection of an old volume set. But apparently, Matthew’s search did involve a dealer of exactly this sort, much to Duncan’s mild surprise. However, it wasn’t a smart choice to put this sort of trust onto this specific fellow and that Duncan was very well aware of. It took the old vampire only one conversation with the man to know that he was decidedly not the right person to do any ‘business’ with.

@matthewbaudelaire

[werewolfroman]

LOCATION: The University WHO: @matthewbaudelaire

Nearing the end of his shift, Roman had one room left to clean before could call it a night and head home to down a fifth of whiskey where he might be able to catch some shuteye.  With the large cart with cleaning supplies, the mop, broom and bucket filled with water the man entered the room to see a figure standing there.  “Sorry,” he mumbled under his breath.  “I thought everyone was done for the night,” he commented.  By this time in the evening, the rooms were supposed to be cleared out but he guessed someone was staying late.

The moment he caught a glimpse of the man, realisng it as his eldest son, he started to back up from the room.  “Sorry, I uh.  I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he quickly said, hanging his head down so they didn’t have to make eye contact.  “I uh, I can come back later.”  He offered, wanting Matthew to be comfortable, not sure where the boundaries were anymore when it came to his son.  Or maybe he never knew what they were, but he was at least trying to respect them.

[duderosiers]

they're dancing around each other, jean-claude knows matthew's mask well, green eyes never once straying from him. he's filled out, bulkier than when he last saw him and some people would make a note of that being a sign of health. but - it's those eye bags that speak otherwise. he hasn't been sleeping well. the vampire's fingers itched, wanting nothing more than to pull matty to him and press kisses into newly-dark locks and insist he rest in his bed. it's more than that, though, it's an ache at how different he looks. that time has passed, an absence that shouldn't have occurred. j.c has spent time and time again replaying in his head how an attempt at reconnecting would go between the two, sat half on the roof of his apartment with a cigarette, staring silently into the night sky.

sorry wouldn't cut it. how could it? je suis desole, now lets pretend it all never happened. jean-claude knew it wouldn't be so simple, had thought on ways upon ways of how to explain himself, when the truth was much simpler; he'd known addicts. he'd watched them die. he didn't want to watch matty go the same way.

there's a response, one he doesn't expect, so sure that the human will simply turn away and walk off. j.c stands in stunned silence for a few moments before letting out a hollow sounding laugh. how can you be upset? you left him. not even left, abandoned.

"terrible then?" he responds, putting them back and lingering there. hand on plastic, eyes tracing kanji he doesn't understand, the picture of the rose. where his crumbling heart lay, an ache formed. absence made it grow fonder, didn't they say? it felt good to know that it hadn't changed, that every time he gazed upon the other, there was a sudden spike of adrenaline. a rush of sorts. adoration.

"i want to ask you how you've been doing but, i know that's a very loaded question," j.c says eventually, hoping that the other hasn't walked off. that he's still humoring him. "not that i deserve an answer, or your time. or - anything from you really," gods, he was bad at this.

"how've you been doing?"

There was a very brief moment where Matthew thought of just walking away. It flashed strongly into his thoughts, he almost thought he'd done it but he had not, his feet remained rooted in place at the end of the aisle as he stared down it at the familiar figure of Jean-Claude. A figure that would always look like that while he would constantly be changing, every day subtleties lost to himself who looked at his reflection every day but likely noticed to someone like Jean-Claude who could compare what he looked like now to how he had looked before.

Some body changes would be there, the stress of quitting a drug habit and a nicotine habit added stress to a body that he supplemented with working out more instead, filling his hours with moving his body and doing something because it was better than doing nothing and fixating on the fact that all he needed to do was dial a number in his phone and a new batch of pills would be ready for pick up. It was something he tried not to think about and he'd deleted the saved contact in his phone to keep himself from thinking of it, but he couldn't shake the memory of the number from his brain, memories couldn't be deleted so easily.

There would be more pronounced bags under his eyes, darker shadows from sleepless nights. He'd always been a fitful sleeper even when they were together but now that he was alone and hadn't been finding the excuse of another body to tire him out at night or the pills to aid him, sleep was evasive to the human. This resulted in his physique looking good, more defined muscle structure visible even beneath the t-shirt that he wore, but looking overall exhausted and worn out, a contrasting image of good and bad. His hair had grown from the bleached platinum blond and was trimmed and redyed back to as close to his natural color as much as possible, and as it was late at night he'd already taken out his contacts and replaced them with his thin frame glasses.

He does not respond to the wave or the greeting aside from a slight nod of his head. A show. A pretend. He recognizes Jean-Claude's actions for what they are and it was something that the human was good at too, pretending to the vampire clientele he used to cater to. He'd once spoken that way to Jean-Claude but at what point did the pretending stop being a pretend. Somewhere along the lines of hushed comments in the dark of the vampire lounge and the shared moments between bed sheets it became less a show and something more tangible and real. But it was back to being a pretend again. Matthew stepped up, his expression a mask of calm neutrality, leaning in ever so slightly to get a better look at the bag Jean-Claude held.

"Probably tastes like perfume," he commented, sounding normal, he thought he sounded normal. He can't tell if his eyes are lingering too longingly on Jean-Claude's face before he looks away, a casual glance over the rows of colorful snack bags on the shelf. He's already forgotten what he came in for. Maybe it was out of habit to buy cigarettes.