#hallnick

[kaxen]

TOO MANY SECONDARY LIGHT SOURCES.

I don’t think Peter and Nick are into enjoying things ironically so much as they are in embarrassing each other. 

Never sure if it’s too jarring to go hella paintery on the shading but still use sharp crisp black lines. 

[kaxen]

Because I’m a legit mess of emotions, I started typing up WWII Nick and Peter.

Nick spends a lot of time realizing how absurdly emotionally constipated he is between getting sacked at Downton in 1925 and 1940s.

Though he just is still completely standoffish considering he literally acquires no friends in.... a while... god, you’re a fucking misanthrope, Nick...

Nick rustled his pockets for money and cigarettes. There was probably enough in there for a good time. War was exhausting and his small stature convinced the rest of his company that he’d make a great scout. If doing so wouldn’t get someone killed, Nick would have just slept somewhere for a few days and said that he had found nothing. Nick didn’t like his fellow soldiers, but allowing them to die was a bit too cruel.

All Nick knew was that he just had to survive the war with his body intact (or at least most of it) and his mind sharp. He kept himself distracted. Distraction was important. It was best not to think about corpses while sleeping. He was trying to spend his short rest time looking to trade someone for a luger, but people either did not have one or would not part with theirs for most money and cigarettes than Nick had.

So now was time to drink to forget while he could. He certainly wasn't going to spend his time on a prostitute. They were dirty and Nick couldn’t find the desire fast enough in only one night. Both love and lust were things that came slowly to him. Too slowly perhaps. It had taken him years to realize he had been in love. It was all ruined before he realized how much he had lost. He had gotten right and drunk and broke (again) that day.

[kaxen]

Inspired by this gif

Wonder what Nick would do if he had a smartphone.

......never do any work, probably.

[kaxen]

Imagine your OTP in a hammock. 

[kaxen]

crime husbands: Anniversary Celebration

I am never explaining how much war booty Nick collected... as much as he could carry without being a jangling mess when the other soldiers declared he was to scout ahead because he is a tiny little rat so of course the Germans won’t notice. ....Nick doesn’t talk to his war buddies... 

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"I can’t believe it’s been a year. I haven’t finished painting the couch," Nick said, glancing over to the blue-green-black-brown wood framing the faded flowerprint cushions.

"I still think it would look better in black," Peter said.

"I like the green," Nick said.

"Best get to enjoying the red," Peter said as he poured wine for Nick and then himself. 

"To another year! And as many as we can manage after that! Maybe next year we’re have a lovely manor," Nick remarked as he held up a glass.

If only they could get a more comfortable life. They were often too tired to get much of anything done. But it was comfortable enough. But they were together. That was what was important. 

”Are you thinking of Downton?” 

"Well, I don’t think I’d have to have Downton, just somewhere big and gigantic in the middle of nowhere. Where no one can complain we’re too noisy." Nick took a small sip of wine. 

"You finally learned not to drink yourself stupid," Peter said. Nick nudged Peter.

"I learned a lot more than that!" Nick said. Nick wiggled a little as he settled himself against Peter’s shoulder.

“I learned to say I love you without getting all weird about it,” Nick said.

“That you did,” Peter nodded.

“I’m still not soppy, though,” Nick teased.

“You’re soppy enough,” Peter said as put down his glass.

Nick squealed as Peter tickled him along the sides of his chest, nearly dropping his glass. He shakily put down his glass, getting into another fit of giggles--the sort of giggles he always insisted he didn’t have.

He wiggled around and kissed Peter’s neck. Nick’s fingers worked their way below his lover’s shirt. Peter laughed. They squirmed and giggled, knowing all too well each other’s most ticklish spots.

“Oh!” Nick gasped as he heard something fall to the ground.

He glanced over to see the picture frame that had fallen off the end table. Nick picked it up.

The photograph inside had been ripped in half and mangled and battered and rained upon and rubbed and then attempted to be taped back together, but it was precious just the same. How they had shouted when they found each other during the war and put it back together. It had to mean something that they found each other by chance after all those years.

Nick ran his fingers against the faded outline of his face in the photograph.

“This picture makes me a feel a bit old,” Nick remarked.

“You can barely see what you look like in this picture,” Peter said.

Peter wrapped his arms around Nick.

“Besides, your hair is much nicer now that you don’t put so much pomade into it.” Peter ruffled Nick’s hair.

“But I’ve got three gray hairs!” Nick complained.

“Eight,” Peter teased.

“Hmph,” Nick scowled.

“You’re still handsome to me,” Peter said as he kissed Nick on the cheek.

“But I’m not getting any younger,” Nick said.

“You’re not planning to do something silly to look younger are you?” Peter said, “You’re not allowed to copy the styles of those youngsters down the street.”

“No. No. Not that,” Nick rolled his eyes.

“Good,” Peter said.

“I want us to go spend good time together. You and me can go on a vacation. To see the water,” Nick said, “And a nice pretty place.”

“How are we going to afford that?” Peter asked, “You can’t build a trip on stolen picnic blankets.”

“Don’t worry about the money. I got enough. I’ve saved some,” Nick said, “And-and I-I got rid of my, um, trophies.”

“You said you nearly died getting that luger!” Peter murmured in wonder as he noticed the shelf where Nick put his war souvenirs was completely empty. He avoided looking at it in the first place. The less he had to think about the war, the better.

“Yeah… But the war was…  those aren’t good memories. I’m not ever going to want to go back to some bloody foxhole in France,” Nick said, “I never want to do that again.”

Peter nodded quietly. How the war lingered in his mind. He tried not to think about it, but sometimes it just creeped its way in. That deep dread and fear. Sometimes even Nick’s best efforts didn’t pull him back to the present. And then Nick would grow scared and become cross and everything became worse. 

“We’re going to make good memories. We’re going to collect sea shells and get ice cream,” Nick said as he kissed Peter.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Peter said.

[kaxen]

crime husbands: First huge fight

"Are we continuing with the silent appreciation?" Peter grouched as he laid back in bed, giving a sideways glance to Nick who had his face deep in some book about pirates. He felt sore all over from the day and Nick seemed barely inclined to even acknowledge him. And some nights before. 

"What?" Nick murmured as he looked over from his book. 

"I don’t work all day to watch you read a book," Peter said.

"You didn’t want me to read it out loud," Nick said.

"A hug or a kiss or something?" Peter said. 

"If you want me to do something, you ought to say so," Nick said. That sounded reasonable enough, didn’t it? 

"You haven’t started anything lately. Do you want to kiss me or not?" Peter said.

"It’s nice," Nick replied. 

"So I shouldn’t have to remind you," Peter said. 

"I didn’t really think about it-" Nick started. 

"Oh good. You don’t even think about me!" Peter spat. 

"That’s not what I meant!" Nick huffed. His face burned. He set down his book harder than he intended to, the other items on the bedstand clattered.

"Then what?" Peter said.

"I-it just didn’t really occur to me, I guess," Nick mumbled. 

"You always talk about how clever you are and you can’t figure out something so simple," Peter grumbled. 

"Well, it’s not simple for me! I’m sorry I’m not a soppy git like you!" Nick blurted. 

Nick slumped down. Why did he say that?

"Better than frigid like you," Peter said. 

[kaxen]

crime husbands: Moving in together

It was a modest flat. 

But it was their flat.

Somewhere to be together. 

If they could get their things inside of it, anyway.

"Lift higher," Peter groaned as he held one end of their salvaged couch with faded flower print.

"Why don't you lift lower?" Nick complained. 

With a few twists, turns, and swears, the couch made it through the front door. 

Nick slowly carried boxes up one by one as Peter took two at a time. 

Peter sat down on the couch after the last of their worldly possessions were brought inside. He wasn't sure how it came to so many boxes. He fancied that Nick had brought his treasure hoard with him. He was sure he had seen a bright red lampshade. 

"It's home sweet home now," Nick said as he settled in Peter's lap. His fingers danced along the surface of his hair. Whether it was long or short, his hair was still one of his favorite things. 

"It's not home until we've got everything just how we like it," Peter said, flicking the tip of Nick's nose. 

"Well, I got you how I like it," Nick said as he kissed Peter.