#not the thin mints i'm used to but they aren't bad

[fluffypotatey]

how come you can still live in the same state and yet encounter two types of girl scout cookies????

[jerzwriter]

Thank you to @alj4890 for this ask from this list! I loved this, and I'm working on your other two now. No need to apologize, dear, how much have I been bugging you in your inbox! lol

Stranded...

Book: Open Heart (Book 2 Timeline) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Kaycee MacClennan (F!MC) Trope: There's only one bed... Rating: Teen Words: 1,600 Summary: If someone were to ask Ethan or Kaycee how they were getting on during the months following his return from the Amazon they would have used words like civil. Professional. On the best days, perhaps even friends. But how when their trip home from a rural Massachusets hospital goes awry, how will that change?

Participating in @choicesjunechallenge2024 - dialogue prompts are bolded in black in the text (so as not to spoil).

Ask list based on prompts from @creativepromptsforwriting - thank you for the wonderful ideas! The 2 prompts are bolded in purple within the text.

My Complete Masterlist Ethan x Kaycee Masterlist | Open Heart Masterlist

“Well,” Ethan turned back with a half-smile. “At least there aren't any rodents.”

Kaycee rolled her eyes. He insisted on entering the desolate, little cabin first despite being injured. As much as she wanted to argue that if an armed bandit were squatting in their dingy overnight rental, she was in far better condition to handle it than he was, she knew the argument would be futile. Besides, there had been more than a few moments in the past year when she would have been delighted to give the bandit the first shot at Dr. Ramsey. Perhaps this was her chance?

She pushed past him and stepped into the one-room retreat, but it wasn’t as bad as she had expected. Rugged? Yes? Sparce? Without question. But it was neat, clean, and tidy... three of the things Dr. MacClennan valued most of all.

“This isn’t bad.” She opened a small cabinet and smiled; the innkeeper down the road hadn’t lied; there were some treats to be had, and her rumbling stomach couldn’t have been more grateful.

Ripping open a package of Thin Mint cookies, she shoved a few in her mouth and tossed the box Ethan’s way.

“Here,” she smiled when he just barely caught them. “We can’t complain; we’re lucky we found a place at all.”

Ethan did his best to hide his delight as the chocolaty-mint cookies crumbled in his mouth – normally, he’d have a wellness routine to stick to, but right now, this decadent callback to his childhood was just what he needed.

“I still say we could have stayed in my car just fine.”

“Seriously,” Kaycee groaned. “It’s below freezing out there! Not to mention snowing and pitch black. If we hadn’t frozen to death, I’m sure another vehicle would have barreled into us, which may have been a more merciful ending, now that I think of it.”

Ethan turned to her with a huff. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re overdramatic?”

“I don’t know,” Kaycee grinned. “Has anyone told you you should listen when your passenger says it’s best to get gas before you leave civilization?”

He couldn’t decide if he found the smirk on her face more infuriating or alluring, but he knew one thing for sure... she was right on this one.

“I’m sorry. I should have stopped at that Shell station by the hospital.”

The doctors had been summoned to a small hospital in the town of Alford, part of the Edenbrook Rural Medicine program. The director was grateful for their assistance and offered to put them up overnight, but both were eager to return to Boston and saw no reason to delay the long drive. Five hours later, they both realized that hadn't been their best decision.

“Oh, but you have a Citgo credit card, and you get bonus points when you fill up with it. It guarantees you discounts on the Red Sox games, so why would you want to fill up at a Shell before driving onto desolate mountain roads?”

Ethan let out a deep sigh, causing him to wince, before asking Kaycee if she was finished. Noting the pain in his eye, the younger doctor decided to dial her wiseassery back, just a bit.

“Ethan, why don’t you let me examine you. You took quite a fall on that ice...”

“I’m fine. I just twisted my ankle."

“If it’s just your ankle, why did you just wince when you took in a breath?”

He looked at her tenderly as he sat in one of the two wooden chairs next to the smallest table Kaycee had ever seen.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

Kaycee brought over the rest of the haul from the cabinet, two bottles of water, a box of Cheez-Its, and two granola bars for good measure.

“It’s not much,” she shrugged, “But it will get us through until the morning. There’s a small coffee pot, too...”

“Don’t you dare!” He bellowed. “I can only imagine how horrendous that swill would be! We can make do with the water.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Kaycee chuckled. “Even in these dire straits, you’re still a coffee snob! What are you going to do next? Complain that the cabin doesn’t offer Puccini on surround sound? No quality Scotch on the sideboard?”

He smiled despite himself; he had to admire a woman who knew how to push his every button. Even when she was a colossal pain in the ass.

“No, wiseass! But there is one problem with our accommodation that you might even find complaint-worthy.”

“Nope,” she said, wiping Cheez-It dust from her lips. “See, I’m a grown-up. Desperate times, desperate measures... I’m just grateful we’re here.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Ethan nodded. “Then I guess you haven’t noticed...that.”

He gestured to his left and watched as Kaycee’s face fell. There it was, the sole piece of furniture beside the small table and chairs where they sat, one full-sized mattress nestled between the walls, making it appear even smaller. While Kaycee’s mood dampened, Ethan’s was beginning to perk up when he saw the look of horror on her face.

“Oh, fuck...”  she grimaced.

“What?” He teased. “You’re a grown-up, and desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.”

Kaycee’s mouth went dry, and the two bottles of water they had for the night were going to do nothing to remedy that. She swallowed hard but refused to look Ethan in the eye. “This isn’t funny!” she insisted.

“Do you hear me laughing?”

She turned to him with fire in her eyes.

“Look, it’s fine,” he demurred. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“On the cold, wooden floor? I don’t even think we have another blanket to put atop it?”

“I was a Boy Scout; I’ll survive.”

“Were you nearly forty and injured during your Boy Scout days, Dr. Ramsey,” she sighed. “Look, you take the bed; I’ll take the floor.”

Ethan shook his head; the thought of her shivering on a cold, hard floor was not something he could bear.

“I won’t have it. Why don’t we just share the bed? I promise I’ll stay on my side.”

She looked at the offensive object. It was smaller than her bed back in her room in Boston, and that was pretty small. If they were to share it, it didn’t seem like they’d be getting their own ‘side.’

“I... I don’t know,” she muttered without realizing she said the words.

“Kaycee, we have to be practical. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t slept together before.”

His words hadn’t even hit her ears when he wished he could take them back. He was prepared for the anger in her eyes when they fixed on his – he deserved that – but he wasn't ready to see the pain.

“I know,” she said with a fragile voice, but then the vexation returned. “Twice, in fact. But I have to ask if we make it a third, what far-off land will you need to run off to once we get back to Boston? Considering the Amazon’s already been done.”

“Kaycee,” he said grabbing for her hand, but while there weren’t many places to go in the tiny cabin, she managed to get to the spot furtherst from him in an instant.

“I’m sorry," he said. "That was insensitive of me."

He watched her silhouette in the moonlight as she gazed out the window, rubbing her temples as she grimaced in what he hoped wasn’t pain.

“No, it’s fine,” she replied quickly. “There is no reason for us to make things worse than they are. We can share the bed tonight, it only makes sense. We’re grown-ups. We’re professionals. We can do this.”

“Are... are you sure?”

“Do you have a better solution?” she spat. “But this time, my clothes are staying on.”

"Kaycee," He said, viscerally reaching for her hand, the feel of his touch having a more profound effect than either had anticipated. “I hope you don’t think I expected otherwise.”

She smiled softly, unsure of whether she was relieved, or sad, at his response. “I know...," she whispered, hopping onto the bed. "Let's... let's just go to sleep."

Despite the turmoil, sleep came quickly for Kaycee who was simply exhausted from their day. But the same wasn't true for Ethan. He

Sleep came quicker for Kaycee, who had been exhausted from their day, but Ethan wasn’t as fortunate, he dared not shift in the bed since there was little place for him to go, the slightest shift would feel like an invasion of her space. But the reality was, they had no personal space tonight, and as he felt the heat emanating from her body, he couldn’t help but recall the last time they had been this close, and how many times he had dreamed of it since. He let out a deep sigh. Every time he told himself he was over her, he knew he was lying to himself. But never had it been more difficult to maintain that lie than it was tonight.

But sleep finally did come, and despite the circumstances, it was deeper than he expected, neither waking until the birds chirping near the window became too loud to ignore.

Ethan was the first to open his eyes; the first to endure the inexplicable joy and pain of feeling her hand lying delicately on his hip. He knew it was unintentional, but he pretended to be asleep so he could continue to feel it as long as he could.

When Kaycee woke, she was grateful to see Ethan was still "asleep". She quickly retreated her hand before he was any wiser. Clearing her throat loudly, she rolled onto her side.

“Good morning,” he mumbled groggily.

“Good morning,” she smiled. “Did you manage to get any sleep?”

Ethan rolled over to face her, their faces only inches away.

“Believe it or not, I did. I slept quite well once I managed to fall asleep."

“As did I,” she smiled, and the twinkle in Ethan's eyes grew ever brighter.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

They lay quietly, the sounds of nature and a distant snow plow surrounded them. Not wanting the moment to end, neither made a move.

“Well," Ethan eventually droned. "I suppose we should head out. After we find gas, we can look for someplace to get a proper breakfast.”

He was almost out of bed when Kaycee grabbed his hand. "Ethan, wait. Can we delay getting up a few more minutes, please? I know the real world is waiting for us just outside that door, so can we.... please...."

She didn't have to finish her thoughts, he knew exactly what she was feeling.

"Of course," he smiled, pulling back the covers and slipping back underneath as Kaycee trepidatiously moved closer until her head was on his shoulder. A warm smile came to his lips as he encircled her in his arms, holding her close to him.

They closed their eyes, reveling in the warmth and tenderness that only being this close to each other seemed to deliver. Their dreams had become a reality, even if only for a short time.

"Ethan?" she whispered cautiously.

"Yes?"

"Is this a beginning, or an ending?"

His lips descended onto her forehead, and for a moment all was right in the world.

"I think we're somewhere in between," he replied, as she placed a hand on his chest.

"I'll take that," she whispered. "At least, for now."

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shun the Light - Ch. 9 - Moments

Slow Burn | Refuge | Decision | Mend | Hunger | Thin Mints | The Garden | Philip |

Author's Notes: Not thrilled with how this one turned out but I needed to get some ideas out of my system that aren't quite developed enough to be their own chapter. It fills in some gaps and gives them a break before the next, much whumpier chapter.

Content Warnings: brief use of mind control, that's about it. This one is pretty light.

----

One more night becomes a week, and then another.

Dante never asks Matteo to leave, and Matteo never asks to if he wants him to. Neither wants to know the answer.

-

After learning what he did about the vampire, Matteo feels it's only fair to share a little about himself. One quiet evening, Matteo joins Dante in the living room and just starts talking. He expects Dante to be indifferent or even annoyed, but instead is met with rapt attention.

"I was pretty boring until a few years ago," he begins. "Had a job, a little place, I was dating." He clears his throat and starts fussing with the hem of his shirt - which is in fact one of Dante's or possibly Philip's shirts, he isn't quite sure.

"I met this guy I really liked and we started dating, sort of. It always felt like I was more into him than he was into me."

"So people are okay with that now? You being with another man?"

"Some of them," Matteo replies. "More than there used to be but still not enough. Depends where you go."

"I see. Sorry, continue."

"Well, there's not much else. He got me into some trouble. A lot of trouble, really - "

He catches the trepidation on Dante's face and quickly adds,

"I'm not wanted by the cops or anything. Like I said...no one is looking for me. But I...changed. And I knew if I stayed there I would hurt people. So I left."

Every time Matteo gets close to telling the whole truth, he diverts at the last moment. That would change everything and he isn't ready for this to change yet. But he makes a firm promise to himself to hide during the full moon, lest he put Dante in danger.

"Where did you go?" Dante asks.

"Nowhere, really. I move around a lot. I'm not sure there's a place for me anywhere anymore."

Dante sits back in his armchair and silently reflects on Matteo's story. He doesn't press for details, which is a relief but makes Matteo feel twice as guilty for being so vague.

"When you got here," Dante says after a while, "you were in bad shape. Can I ask...what happened? Were you attacked?"

"Sort of. Some guy caught me on his property and chased me into the woods with a gun. I got cut up on branches and stuff."

That much is, technically, true.

"And after all that you still gave me your blood?" Dante muses aloud.

Matteo shrugs, trying not to feel too proud of himself considering he was only there in search of shelter. Dante was never part of the plan.

"You were in worse shape."

Dante doesn't disagree. "I never did thank you for saving me."

"Well...I never did thank you for the place to sleep."

"Mm. Glad to know my life is at least worth a bed."

It takes Matteo a moment to pick up on the dry humor. Dante isn't smiling, but there's a glint in his eyes.

Matteo wonders what that somber face would look like smiling or laughing. He wouldn't be like the man in that old photograph, not anymore. Sorrow has weighed on him too heavily for too long. But maybe it would be beautiful in its own way.

Maybe he'll even get to see it.

-

Despite his often morose demeanor, Dante is a gentle soul who feeds stray cats and leaves seeds out for the birds even though he'll never get to see them enjoy it in the morning.

Living alone almost fifty years has left him with no shortage of eccentricities. He talks to himself, never has the same routine two days in a row, takes long walks alone at night, and stores blood in mason jars in the refrigerator.

His knowledge and hobbies have been shaped by what is available to him in the house - the books in the office library, the grand piano in the living room, Mrs. Townsend's knitting and needlepoint, an assortment of games and puzzles.

And, as it turns out, basic cable.

"How in the hell did you manage that?" Matteo asks, staring at the old but functioning television.

Come to think of it, the house has electricity and running water. He never even questioned it, and suddenly he has so many questions.

"A very large savings account," Dante explains calmly. Then he looks sheepish. "I may have...borrowed Philip's identity."

Matteo stares at him.

"...I'm not proud of it."

"No, no, I don't care about that, but what happens if something breaks? Or if someone from the company comes by?"

"There's this - this thing I can do. It's probably easier if I just show you."

Dante's eyes gleam unnaturally bright in a way Matteo has only seen a couple of times before.

"Pick up that book. Balance it on your head."

All other thoughts disappear; Matteo obeys without question.

As soon as the spell is broken he snaps back to reality and the book drops to the floor.

"How...wait, did you do that?"

"No. You did."

"But you made me do it."

"Yeah. I can make someone think they were never here. It isn't harmful...I think. And I swear I didn't use it on the Girl Scouts."

Dante seems uncomfortable admitting to using this skill, but Matteo is unperturbed. Even a little jealous - his condition doesn't come with any cool powers.

"What about shopping? I guess you don't have the internet...but maybe the home shopping network?"

"No...no mail. It's not worth the risk of someone stopping by every day."

Matteo chews his lip, thinking.

"I have an idea. What if I went shopping for you? I can go out in the daytime. And I could get some real food...not that I don't appreciate the cookies! What do you think?"

Dante looks stunned.

"You'd do that for me?"

-

The next day, while Dante sleeps, Matteo follows the path of the winding, overgrown driveway to a main road and follows that until he finds a small shopping plaza. It's a long walk but he feels stronger and healthier than he has in a long time.

That evening Matteo sits back with a bowl of soup and watches as Dante eagerly goes through the bags. He had only requested a few new books, the most recent newspaper, and some new pens and pencils, but Matteo threw in some extras just because.

I owe him for letting me stay. That's what he tells himself.

It's all going too well. He should know better than to get comfortable anywhere...or with anyone. As the waxing moon grows larger each night, Matteo knows he should leave.

But he doesn't.

[crowsbeak-cos]

Fizzarolli update!!

Here's where I'm at on the tunic-

The main body of the tunic is about done, all I really need to do is make and put the mint bias tape on the hem

I do need to seam rip the armholes, I'm going to be attaching the lime green puff sleeves to the tunic itself instead of my initial plan (more info on that under the cut)

I'M ALMOST DONE RHINESTONING!!! All I have left to do will be the little bit around the hem, which i can't actually do until I get basically everything else done with the tunic- though I might put a few rhinestones at the shoulder area for some extra sparkle

I'm no longer doing the stripes of the sleeves and the pants out of the same cotton of the tunic- I'm planning to make them out of a custom-print stretch fabric, both for comfort and easy wear. I'm still going to rhinestone the hell out of them, but those are waiting until I can afford to get that fabric printed.

But the puff sleeves. My god do I have info for you about those

SO see these fuckin things

yeah they're kind of a pain in the ass to make- here's what I've got:

Since I'm getting that striped fabric custom printed on stretch, the lime section of the sleeves need to be attached to the tunic instead of worn underneath like I originally planned. I do think it'll look a lot nicer this way, and I won't have to add in as many weirdly placed snaps to keep everything in place.

If you've ever sewn sleeves before, you know that generally puff sleeves aren't all that bad, you just need to make sure you don't do any weird fancy shit. But because Fizz. Is Fizz, I get to do fancy shit (yayyyyy)

First off (and what I have done), those hearts. They're separate pieced I backed with interfacing and appliqued on, using a pretty tight zigzag stitch to try and limit fraying. Then of course, the rhinestones get individually glued on-

You can see the tight zigzag i did (Yes, lighting is shit, it was like eleven pm when i took these sh), you can also see that my machine has been having weird tension issues for a bit that are causing a little bit of puckering. I'm not super worried about on these since they are puff sleeves, but hopefully I can figure out wtf is causing that sooner than later.

Since the combo of applique/glue/rhinestones adds a fair bit of weight to the sleeves, I'm a little worried about them collapsing on me? They're going to be lined, so I'm hoping that helps support the weight. If that doesn't work, I'll add in a really thin interfacing inside to help keep them puffy.

I also need to figure out how I'm going to do the cuffs on these- Usually when i do puff sleeves I don't line them, but with the layers I'm putting underneath and hopefully making this competition quality I'm putting in that lining. I'm trying to limit as much visible topstitching as possible, so I don't think I can do the elastic cuff I was planning to do? i might do a thin black cuff (similar to what's at the elbows on the striped part of the sleeves?) and rhinestone that to hide my seams. It won't be screen accurate, but we're fighting cartoon physics with this one and need to adjust for how clothes actually fit and move. As long as I'm able to make it blend with the rest of the cosplay I'm not super worried about it .

Once I have everything on the tunic done, I'll be giving another update on this whole Fizzarolli nightmare- the goal is to at least have the tunic done before I hit the one year mark of making this shiny clown <3

[acommonloon]

TL;DR

about last night's mperfect ending. After stops at three Louisville venues, each more fun than the last, we decided to get a nightcap in New Albany. We didn't manage to get a drink at any of four stops in that sleepy town but we did witness a police officer chasing a black man down the side of State Street. Still watching for a news report.

Alternately a night for Morgans

_____________________________________________________________

D's niece's husband, J, is a sweet guy. He has almost no family of his own living in the area and his own family unit consists of an unruly teen (not his) a precocious 6 year old and 3 year old twins. It's a lot.

With that in mind, I always wait for him to contact me and he always earns his kitchen passes so when he texted me he had a free night out I was glad to hang with him. I only asked if he had a curfew. No sir. He's nearing 40 and regularly admits he wishes he could more often frequent the places D and I do, meaning bars and restaurants. I remember those days when self came last.

Our 1st stop was World of Beer. With 50+ taps and hundreds of bottles and cans sitting in glass front coolers directly across from the bar, it's one of my go to spots. J immediately set about building a flight of five small pours while I took my time picking one or two low gravity beers to sip since I was driving. They had two bartenders on this Wednesday night, Morgan was ours and our service was prompt and friendly. By the time we finished a plate of tots, loaded with melted cheese and fresh jalapeno slices I had our plan.

I hadn't been to Commonwealth Tap since before 2020. This small wine bar is in a movie set sort of town called Norton Commons. Think "The Truman Show." The houses were all built over a small number of years and though they are comprised of many different styles, with no two near each other being the same, they are on the same size lots and there is no variety in terms of weathering or decoration. Everything to plan. Unreal. Creepy.

I glanced at the wine list on a chalkboard noticing a Turley Zin at $18 and a Cotes de Rhone at $8. When the bartender asked what I wanted, I said, "Talk me out of the Turley and into the Cotes. He hesitated for a second and I said, "I want something minerally, earthy, not fruity." Like a Beaujolais Morgon or an Italian grown on the side of a volcano. Before he could reply, a guy sitting at the bar said we don't have that on tap. The Cotes is your best option and the bartender handed me a generous taste saying, try that.

I took the glass all the while evaluating the man who'd spoken up. He'd said "we" don't have that. He was alone at the bar except for us. I doubted he was just a bold regular, maybe drunk, who felt everyone benefited from his opinion, he wasn't drunk. Then he stood up and walked over the the wine racks. His search was one of familiarity and he pulled a bottle and sat it down on the bar next to me. Was he an employee or maybe a distributor on good terms with the staff? Then he began talking about the wine, about his many trips to France, and I suddenly I knew. "You're an owner here aren't you?"

He laughed and admitted he was. He introduced himself, Neal Morgan and for the next 40 mins or so he told us about himself and the bar. He told us about his wife, a pediatrician who worked for 20 years in Indiana and he went so far as to describe his Scottish heritage along with his general thinking about wines. When he said he was going a friend's house for a pizza party, I thought he was about to leave. Then he said he was going to take a kick ass wine but first he wanted me to taste it. It was a California pinot noir priced at $30 more than the first bottle he'd put down on the bar. It was fantastic! He gave us tasting notes and I admitted I couldn't perceive half of what he reeled off. I said he spoke like a sommelier and he laughed again and said he claimed he had a better palate than Kenny, the sommelier who worked for him. He thanked us for coming in and seemed sincere. When he left, J looked at me and said, "That was amazing." I laughed and said it was a Wednesday at a bar.

Before we left, I asked Rainha to make me a Penicillin and we talked about Scotch. She related how she introduced her brother to Scotch and now that's all he drank. We talked about how things were during the shutdown and I told her about a new place I'd been the previous Saturday. Outside, J exclaimed this was just the best time! He said he'd never be able to talk staff like that, let alone the owner. I said talking to industry people was one of my favorite things. They are so interesting and I think they find it refreshing when someone at the bar wants to hear about them instead of wanting to talk about themselves. Then I said, I know where we'll go next. Maybe Stephen is working.

Our next stop was at Cuvee Wine Table and Stephen greeted me at the door with a huge "Shane!" and a hug. If J was impressed with Commonwealth, I thought he should fasten his seatbelt. Stephen is a trip. Except, Stephen exclaimed I'm on this side of the bar now! To my quizzical look, he said he was the manager now. Amidst introductions, our bartender, Andie came over and introduced herself. She was tall, regally thin, and wore a colorful scarf on her head. She offered an engaging personality I perceived as professional banter but sensed alos she seemed to enjoy her job.

When I described what kind of wine I preferred, she said, "OOh how about a white?" Ooookay??? I thought to myself, this is going to be fun. Stephen came back as Andy set my glass down in front of me and asked, "What are we having?" Andie said, it's the Santorini. Stephen, a newly minted sommelier, immediately launched into an enthusiastic description about this remarkable wine from a Greek Island. He said it was so constantly windy, they braided the vine boughs into bowls to protect the fruit on the inside. I smelled it and it reminded me of a Sav Blanc but when I tasted it, I knew I'd found a new favorite. It had a salty savory aspect with more minerality than any white I'd had previously.

Andie was from Lexington and our other bartender, Heather, was newly arrived from the Nashville area. Heather was training behind the bar but seemed tres calm. At one point she asked us to wish her luck and I realized she was going to take an order. When she came back, I was a little surprised but delighted when J asked her where she was from specifically. It turned out they were from the same area and knew the same high schools and such. Great fun. When Stephen came and asked if we were eating, I said, "What am I having?" The cassoulet he responded immediately and then he tried to add in sweet breads but I insisted I was out on that. J selected a flatbread and when my giant bowl of white beans with pork and a small chicken leg came, I felt I'd got the better order. He admitted sheepishly he just didn't like beans and that was that.

I suggested we finish with a French brandy served in proper snifters and asked for a bottle of the Santorini to go home. It was full dark but comfortably warm walking to the car and J asked if I were up for one more on him. I suggested we go see Emily at Brooklyn and the Butcher. She made me a perfect drink in January and I'd been craving another ever since.

All the way to New Albany, J kept bringing up how much he enjoyed the two wine bars and how he hoped he and his wife could indulge in similar experiences when their children were older. He worried his wife didn't really like anything but sweet wine and was picky about that. I laughed and said D was exactly the same but she was game to hang out and recently started to appreciate ciders and frutied beers, and even some semi-sweet wines.

There were still plenty of cars parked on the street when we arrived at Brooklyn and the Butcher. I noticed there was no one at the hostess stand when we walked in but I breezed past into the bar. There were two women sitting at the bar and I was a bit disappointed when I realized the bartender wasn't Emily. I was even more so when she came over and apologized but said they'd closed already. I laughed and made a joke about the owner being an old man for closing so early then I realized who it was sitting at the bar. I asked, "Is that Emily sitting at the bar?" she said it was and I got up and walked over. We talked for ten minutes about my last visit and I asked her about her trip to Savannah. She kept apologizing for the bar being closed but I assured her I would be back. It was fine, we'd walk down to The Earl.

I got a bad vibe the minute we walked in. The bar was mostly full and there was only one bartender. He was wearing short shorts and took forever to get us a drink menu then never looked our way for the next five minutes. I suggested we go to Recbar nearby. There it was the same. The lone bartender, woman this time, was overwhelmed and though the bar was half empty she never looked our way before I lost patience.

Okay then. We were driving to my final option (so I thought) when I stopped at a light. J said, "Look at that! A cop is chasing that guy!" Sure enough through the sparse traffic I could see a black guy sprinting along the side of the normally busy road. His arms were pistoning up and down, his hands flattened into chopping motions like a track sprinter. Coming behind but steadily losing ground was a hefty police officer. He looked ridiculous and I can only imagine he might be thinking everyone watching thought he looked ridiculous. I wondered if he might pull his gun.

The light turned green then and I moved forward. That's when we spotted a car with the front passenger side crushed in where it had impacted the guardrail, on the opposite side of the road. There was a cop car with its lights flashing parked behind it. I couldn't see any activity around the cars as we drove past. About a half mile up the road we pulled into the parking lot of our 4th attempt to get a last drink. It was closed.

We laughed and decided we'd had enough fun. As we headed back towards the scene of the incident, sirens and flashing lights were suddenly all around us. I guess there was a manhunt. I weaved through parked cruisers while J counted eight more with lights flashing on side streets . Fifteen minutes later I dropped him off. He thanked me profusely but it nothing but what I like to do anyway.

20 mins later I pulled into the garage and for a second my heart did the little flutter it always does when I see D's car parked in its spot. Then I sighed remembering she wasn't home and wouldn't be for another week.

Just a Wednesday.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shun the Light - Ch 16 - Claws

Slow Burn | Refuge | Decision | Mend | Hunger | Thin Mints | The Garden | Philip | Moments | Full Moon pt 1 | Full Moon pt 2 | Tend | Absolution | The Talk | Scars | The Bunker |

Author's Notes: Another full moon? You betcha!

I hope things aren't moving too fast...I really want to get to the Big story moments, but I also worry I'm going too fast and missing some of those little day-to-day moments. But those also don't make for good chapters on their own so I try to slip them in with other things. That said if anyone has any questions about anything that might happened in between, feel free to message or ask!

Content Warnings: werewolf whumpee, painful transformation, imprisoned (voluntarily), self loathing, hand/finger/nail whump, blood, bruising, headache, angst

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Dante shuts and bolts the bunker door with Matteo inside. As an additional precaution, at Matteo's request, he barricades it with a heavy desk he dragged from upstairs.

It feels wrong to trap him like this. The space is small and bare, no windows, nothing but concrete and metal. Even someone who isn't particularly claustrophobic would find it stifling.

But there's no point questioning the plan now. The full moon is minutes away, and Matteo insisted he wanted to do this. Now all Dante can do is wait.

-

The hours pass slowly and nothing Dante does to try to distract himself is enough. He pauses every so often to listen for sounds from downstairs, but is met only with eerie silence.

That shouldn't be a bad thing - the whole point is to keep the wolf contained - but regardless, Dante is restless and uneasy all night. The old house feels too much like it used to and he is forced to admit to himself that he enjoys Matteo's presence.

-

At dawn he is waiting, sitting on the desk in front of the door. This should be his bedtime, and even with all the curtains drawn getting to bed might be tricky, but he has to let Matteo out. When the warm glow of morning finally peeks under the door at the top of the stairs he is quick to jump down and shove the desk away, unbolt the door and fling it wide open.

Immediately his gaze falls on the figure collapsed face-down on one of the bare metal bedframes. Matteo is naked, having insisted that clothes were pointless and would just be destroyed. He is bruised, shaking, and Dante smells blood.

He sits at the edge of the bed and lays a hand on Matteo's back. To Dante's surprise, his skin is as warm as if he'd been laying in the sun for hours.

Matteo startles at Dante's cold touch. He opens his eyes and looks around blearily.

"Wh...where 'm I?"

"You're in the house, in the fallout shelter. You're safe."

Matteo closes his eyes and groans. "Ow..."

"What hurts?"

"Everything," Matteo chokes out, his emotions bubbling over as he wakes more and his pain comes into sharper focus. "M-my head, m-my whole - whole body - "

Matteo's head ends up in Dante's lap, face pressed against his stomach as he sobs. Dante's fingers end up in his hair like they belong there. He combs through the messy curls and scratches at his scalp with tenderness he didn't know he still possessed.

"You're safe," he repeats, "you're safe."

Matteo gradually calms. After a moment he lifts his head and tries to sit up.

"We should have - ah - left the mattresses on," he mumbles, rubbing at an indent where part of the metal frame dug into his bare skin. "That's worse than the forest floor."

Dante barely hears him.

"Your hands..."

"Huh? O-oh - "

Dante cradles Matteo's trembling hands in his own. His fingertips are torn and bleeding; some nails are cracked and others missing entirely.

Matteo whimpers, looking like he might break down again at any moment. He looks around the room and Dante follows his gaze across the walls, covered in bloody claw marks.

Dante's heart sinks. He really believed that Matteo would be safe here. What he didn't consider was that a trapped animal will gnaw off its own leg to escape. The wolf had tried to claw its way out, and when that didn't work, it had rammed the door several times, leaving Matteo with bruising across his back and shoulder.

"Dante," he pleads, and he doesn't need to say another word. Dante sinks his fangs into Matteo's wrist and gives him just enough to ease the pain. When Matteo starts to droop against him he stops, getting an arm around him and hauling him to his feet.

"Let's get you upstairs."

-

Matteo is silent while Dante cleans and bandages each of his fingers. He stares at the ceiling and tries to focus on breathing. He aches all over, his head hurts, he's hungry and thirsty...all the old familiar feelings he's had to begrudgingly accept.

But there are new feelings, too. A couch is so much better than the ground, the dim lighting so much easier on his pounding head than sunlight, he's covered in a soft blanket...and he's not alone.

"There. How's that?"

Matteo holds his hands up above his face. He bends and unbends his fingers and the bandages hold. The pain has dulled significantly.

"Good," he whispers. "Thank you..."

"What else do you need?"

Matteo sighs and lets his hands drop to his stomach. He tries to muster up a smile for Dante but falls short.

"To be put down, probably," he replies. "That's what people do with suffering animals."

Dante frowns. "You're not an animal and I'm not a people - I mean, a person. You know what I mean."

That gets a chuckle out of him. "Of course you're a person."

"Well then so are you."

Matteo gives in. "I guess...I'm pretty hungry. I got some stuff at the store last week, it's in the - the kitchen..."

He starts to sit up but Dante eases him back down by his shoulders. Before Matteo can argue a pair of shining silver eyes meet his.

"Rest," is the gentle command. "I'll get it."

Matteo has no choice but to lie back and be cared for. It's all he ever wanted on those mornings he woke up hurting and alone after a full moon. Dante, though shy and uncertain, is a calm and steadfast presence. He never complains, not even when he is visibly thirsty and tired himself. Guilt begins to gnaw at Matteo's heart, and with it, a question he has been afraid to ask:

Am I taking advantage of him?