#tld sequel

Otherwise Hellebores

You drive a hard bargain. All five it is!

Atlantis:

“Wait a minute,” Liam’s hands flap around as he stops, blinking at him with a pinched face. “Back UP.” He rubs at his temples, still struggling to process what was just said. “You’re telling me that you remember? Like-like you were there?”

The look Theo can’t help but level at him is less than impressed. Supposedly, the guy is smart, knows things about them, but how can he if he doesn’t know the most basic things about them. "Uh, yeah?” he huffs, rolling his eyes for good measure and smirking at the dumb-founded blinks he gets in return. “Of course I was. Thought you knew things about our culture. Some scholar you are."

Hellebores:

“I know. Okay?” He nodded, emphasizing the fact that he did, smiling a little wider as Liam’s jaw softened under his fingers. “I promise, I know. You’ve said it enough times.”

As the wolf slowly nodded too, mimicking the gesture right down to the speed of it, Theo leaned on and used his hold to pull him in. The kiss was gentle, just a chaste touch of lips against one another, a reminder that he was there, and they were a they no matter what, before a groan rang out from behind them. 

“Okay, yeah, no one needs to see that,” Stiles huffed.

Let Them Fight:

Theo narrowed his eyes, waiting. 

Behind him, someone shifted, cracking a twig. His eyes flicked off the blond in front of him. That was apparently enough of a distraction, because he almost missed catching the hand aimed at his face.

Almost. 

He caught the wolf’s wrist on his own forearm and kicked out, aiming for a knee or shin, though he wasn’t quite used to someone as tall as Isaac, so the arch of his foot ended up on the wolf’s calf. Lacking any real reaction, he switched tactics. Rather than go for breaking the guy’s base by forfeiting his own, Theo solidified his grip on the wrist in his hand. It was a bruising grip, one he used to yank the taller off balance, propelling him forward to slide behind him while both getting out of range before Isaac could do anything and in order to continue pushing the guy away from him.

“Cheeky,” the tall bastard chuckled, spinning back around.

El Dorado:

“I would not get that close, Liam.” 

Theo swallowed back a displeased rumble at the shrill volume behind those words. Good Lord, he hated Mason’s inability to modulate his volume or respect when others were asleep. Liam wasn’t much better, but he only had to snap at the blond once or twice before the idiot stopped waking him up. 

Blackness still sat heavy over top of him, like a blanket, warm and safe and soft, or what he could guess a heavy, comfortable blanket felt like. He shifted, curling even more into a tight ball, something shifting against him, making him pause for a moment. There were actually  blankets draped over him, dragging against his own pelt in odd ways.  

Liam’s low chuckle as he muttered, “Really?” was light, completely antithetical to Mason’s sharp fear which, even as far away as his grumping huff sounded, was filling up their room.  

Blind Theo:

Ghosts don’t exist, not the way that movies always make them out to be. They’re not floating around, discorporated and haunting places. He yanks his hand away, forcing his focus away from the sudden chill creeping along his skin and back onto the clothes, pulling out whatever is closest and turning away. They’re the things that are embedded in a person, memories, scars, those are the ghosts. The screech of tearing metal echoing in his ears alongside the squeals of rubber sliding over ice. 

Chi’s head butting into his thigh, her nose into his hand, pulls him to a stop. Her whine has him rubbing between her ears, attempting to soothe her, while ignoring the fact that she’s telling him something’s not right. He knows, already. The second cold had settled on his skin that this morning wasn’t going to be easy. He hates how quick that day comes back, how angry it all still makes him, how his chest won’t stop itching, and he wants to just rip out the damn organ slamming into his ribs and chuck it as far away as he can. 

A low whine and paw batting at his leg brings Theo down to kneel by her.

More than 3 sentences bc, again, was working it into things I already had:

Only after he had nipped at her paws several times did the werecoyote deign to move off of him, thus allowing him to get up and shake the debris out of his fur. The respite was short, however, as no sooner had he stopped, she darted back over. His lip twitched up, a vague bristle running down his spine as both animals reacted to the idea of being pinned again. Rather than leap or assault him for a second time, Malia dropped the front of her body down, tail languidly wagging behind her. 

Play, she was saying; begging for, honestly. 

He huffed, shaking out his fur again, though the squirming beneath it didn’t abate in the slightest. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. Running burned off energy that, left alone, would fester beneath his human skin. Doing it together settled the itch and ache of his wolf’s desire for closeness in a way he could handle and soothed the still-jagged edges of his coyote’s distaste for pack. They did it often enough nowadays that the blurs of a black and tawny coyote through the trees was normal. This though, her so blatantly asking versus her usual demands for his cooperation, was strange. Malia, as much as their relationship had gotten better since that night in the Preserve, was never one to be polite about anything. 

I might have written a little more than 3 sentences...

Running, letting both his beasts have a paw on the wheel and push the more human of the worries aside, always helped. It brought the itch beneath his skin, the niggling worry that something was out there, the constant screaming in his head that he wasn't’ doing enough, running like this, on four paws and under a thick coat, made it all more manageable. 

A startled yelp leapt out of his throat as he was tackled sideways, slamming into the ground only for paws to press into his ribs before he could scramble to his feet. The unreservedly triumphant yowl, loud enough to cover up the lingering echoes of his surprised noise, and over-proud rumbled as the feet pinning him danced in place, lifting and lowering in a hopping rhythm, were more than familiar, but that didn't assuage the bristling of his own coyote or the growl still building in his throat. Malia, joining him wasn’t abnormal, not since they worked out their shit a few months ago. They would race and wrestle and hunt in their similar shapes, his own coyote only slightly bigger than hers often enough, her own wildness needing a place to go. The pinning was a little less familiar, and entirely unappreciated..