#I hadn’t even given her a locket!

[coral-myland]

And finally, does anyone else find the rest of the dateables getting super flirty after you get married?

[happy-beeeps]

Naïveté

Summary: Astarion begins to reconcile with the fact he might have fallen for you, only to worry you've caught an interest in someone else. Earllllllly act 2, minor spoilers for act 2!

Pairing: Astarion x f!tav

Warnings/tags: fluff, miscommunication if you squint, jealous!astarion, platonic!wyll x tav, slightly ooc Astarion because I'm still learning to write him so be nice PLEASE😭🥺

WC: 2k

a/n: I'm finishing a character sheet for tav so we can have her backstory, but she's who I've been using this playthrough and I've been really enjoying her story. When I post on Ao3 she'll have a name, but I'm going to leave her unnamed here! Also, will have a seperate BG3 spot on my masterlist soon!

It’s late at camp, and by the time you finish indulging in a bottle of wine with Karlach, you figure you’re the only one still up. It’s been a long night, and an even longer few days, spent trudging through the grimy depths of the Shadowcursed lands and just barely making it out of the encounter with Marcus alive. Isobel had given you the ability to travel freely, but all you could do was set up camp near the inn.

The firelight is dim when you make your way back from the secluded spot near Karlach’s tent, and Astarion’s tent is sealed tightly. You contemplate going over, just peaking your head in to see if he’s deep in trance yet, but you change your mind. After your previous night’s conversation, you’re still not sure on speaking terms. It plays out over and over again in your mind. Naive, he’d called you, your heart was too big. 

You tried to be reasonable. You were naive. You were young, and perhaps no one but Wyll new exactly how young. To be ninety as an elf was to be just becoming an adult. No one else had known, no else had asked, including Astarion. You chalked it up to his truly immortal lifespan, he hadn’t cared about aging for 200 years, why start now?

Still, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt to him, or the thrill that shook your bones when he would quietly rush into your tent each morning, murmuring the incantation for lesser restoration. You still thought of the way he looked at Gale when he asked to consume that locket all those days back. “I’m glad you let him suffer for a moment, darling,” he’d murmured into your ear that night, his breath tingly on your neck, “That one’s ours.”

There’d been other nights since your first night together, while you hadn’t slept together in completion since, all passion and teeth and sweat. Sometimes you’d just kiss him, wrapped up in nothing else but this bliss of arms and scent. Lately though, he’d been closed off—distant. His conversation the previous night had come out of nowhere, as if you were standing on the doorstep of Moonrise Towers that very instant. 

You were so lost in your own thoughts, consumed of Astarion, that you nearly missed Wyll’s form standing near the dimming fire, moving around in a dance you actually recognized.

“I hope I’m not interrupting practice,” you smiled, giving the man ample warning before you stumbled into his rehearsal. 

Wyll wheeled on you, a faint blush growing across his cheeks. “It’s one of those old courting dances, it’d be a cold day in the hells before I’d ever forget them.”

“Oh I’m quite familiar,” you murmured, thinking back to your own youth, your own debutante ball, before you lost everything. “Everyone else around here forgets I come from taste.”

Wyll snorts, “Sure don’t smell like it.”

Your friendship with Wyll is a special thing. No one else can understand what it felt like to be from a Noble family, the expectations and the experience it comes with. When your family had been killed and their wealth assumed, you were completely on your own. Learning how to pickpockets and lie had not been a part of your expensive and tasteful education.

Dancing, however, came second nature.

You move to stand in front of him without really thinking, decades of experience guiding your motions. “Go on, let’s see what you can do.”

He’s a fine partner, moving cautiously around you and guiding your hand easily. Even when he brings you closer for a slightly more intimate dance, his hands nor his eyes never stray. 

“I wonder what I’d have done if I ever saw you at one of the balls my father sent me too.” He murmurs.

“I’m certain you did. Though you would’ve been young. I haven’t been in nearly a decade.”

He chuckles, and clucks his tongue for a moment, “Just practically a baby, far to young to approach Fey nobility.” Before bowing in front of you and wishing you goodnight. There’s the smallest beat where he looks at you as if he has something to say. You look at him for the smallest moment. It would be so easy to love him, if you were anyone else. He’s exactly who your father would have picked for you, save his humanity. But, despite it, you can’t. You can’t fake the flutter you get when you Astarion’s cold hands tickle your fingers, or the tickle of his hair on your cheek when he’s pressed against your neck. You’re not naive enough to admit this to Astarion, but from the fleeting glance you send to his tent, you can see that Wyll already knows. He leaves you with a knowing glance and a soft goodnight. You go back to your own tent, happy to have removed the thought of the curse, of Ketheric, and even of your own problems for just a moment.

So full of contentedness in fact, you don’t notice the scarlet eyes peering at you from the slat of their tent, a whirlwind of emotions cascading over them.

* * *

Astarion doesn’t hide his mild disdain for Wyll, or anyone to be fair, to begin with, but the following morning he bears down on the man like an ogre. “I didn’t anticipate you being quite so light on your feet. The Blade stands at the ready, and also ready to pirouette, I suppose?”

Wyll rolls his eyes at Astarion’s quip, used to the sarcasm, but somewhat surprised at the intensity of the rogue’s grip on his arm. “Wasn’t aware I couldn’t have past times.”

“By all means feel free to entertain us with a ballet in between slaughters,” his voice hushes as you walk by, looking at the two men skeptically, “I’d just prefer if your duets didn’t happen whilst I’m trying to read.”

Wyll follows Astarion’s slightly fleeting to his retreating gaze. You’re standing behind him, out of earshot, leaning against Lae’zel’s tent while she sharpens your sword. Astarion’s stare is enough to allow him to piece everything together. “Can I give you a word of advice?”

“Only if you accept that I may ignore it entirely.”

“She’s wonderful. And she’s made her choice without giving anyone else a chance. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste it, wouldn’t kill you to get to know her.”

Wyll walks away, and Astarion is left alone again with his thoughts. Contrary to Wyll’s belief, he thinks it might actually kill him to get to know you. He’s been balancing precariously on his fight to not let himself be fully consumed by you and your grace, your goodness. You were a spoilt little thing, he was sure of that, and he had meant what he said that night by the water. It didn’t mean it hurt his chest more when your face fell. “Naive?” there was a crack in your cool, crafted facade. Genuine hurt had settled there for a moment, and something akin to disappointment. He hadn’t known how to face you since, hadn’t known how to say “I’m sorry! I’m falling for you and can’t help it and I’m terrified!”

So instead he said nothing at all, and resolved to say something later.

* * *

You had just gotten back to camp for the night, Karlach nearly giggling at the amount of gold she had stuffed in her pockets from the tollhouse. You had noticed Astarion’s eyes on you, heavy and pensive, when you had dealt with the Master of Coin, how easily you’d convinced her to simply cease to be. That was perhaps the easiest transition from nobility to rogue you had, the gift of a silver tongue and wide, batting eyes.

You changed into your camp clothes and watched Karlach throw gold pieces at an increasingly irritated Lae’zel, Gale standing nearby doing his best to keep spirits high in this eerie camp, working with whatever cured meats and cheeses you still had to attempt to make a dinner. You had changed into camp clothes and grabbed one of the books you had found in the tollmaster’s office, a shockingly smutty romance novel that had to be even older than you. It was quiet in the corner you found, somewhere even Halsin’s booming laugh had faded into quiet background noise. You tried to not think about your surroundings, about your increasing frustration with Astarion, or the odd way his gaze had hung on you all day. 

“I’m always impressed by that tongue of yours, petal.” The vampire’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and he settled beside you on the ground, arms behind him as he reclined easily next to you.

You rolled your eyes at the innuendo, and the pet name. “Yet you’ve been leaving me and my tongue to our thoughts the past few days.” You huffed, flipping the book to the next page, though not really reading any of it 

If Astarion could blush, he looked as if he would. “We’ve been a bit busy darling. I’ve been…strategizing.”

“Strategizing?”

“Precisely.”

The quiet overtook the two of you. After being so distant, if he didn’t want to come to you, then so be it. You could not—would not–crack first. He could not even begin to know the bubbling furnace of your feelings, or you’d be positively done for.

“How old are you?”

His question strikes you, strikes you enough that you set the book off to the side and face him. “At what point did you start to ask me questions?”

“When I realized I had done something to anger my favorite companion,” his fingers reach out and trace small patterns on your skin. “How old are you?”

“Ninety.” Your voice moves to a whisper at the end of the word, and his eyebrows quirk.

“Only ninety and yet alone. And Balduran?”

“Yes, but I haven’t lived there since I was seventy five.”

“Something happened,” he rocks upward, now sitting nearer to you. “You weren’t supposed to be like this.”

“Perhaps that’s why I’m so naive.” It comes out more bitter than you meant, but oh well. He deserved it.

“Naive wasn’t the right word,” he looks like he’s fighting himself to turn out the next sentence. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

You smile softly, laying a hand on top of his. “I don’t know if I believe that, but I appreciate the apology.”

He grins, his deep set smile lines settling in your favorite way. “Tell me about your childhood.”

You shrug, “There’s not much to say. I was an only child, an only daughter. I used to play the lyre, learn languages, paint–”

“You come from nobility.”

“I sort of thought it was obvious,” you shrug and tap your knee against his, “I wasn’t supposed to be out in the middle of a campground, much less learning the ways of a rogue.”

“What were you supposed to be?”

“A wife, I guess.”

“And while I’m sure suitors everywhere are devastated, I much prefer my rogue.”

My. You don’t say anything and neither does he. You let the word hang there, testing to see if he reaches back to grab it, but he doesn’t. It gets quiet for a moment after that, and you can see him spinning the illusion in his head. You, swathed in organza, spinning around a marble ballroom, entertaining suitors. 

“Is that why you danced with Wyll?”

“Ah,” you smile and rest your head on his shoulder. You love these fleeting moments of intimacy, where you can both pretend to be nothing more than lovers on an adventure. “So this was spurred by jealousy?”

“As if I have anything to be jealous over Wyll. He wishes he looked half as good as me.” His words lack their normal bite, and he turns his head softly, so he’s speaking quietly, just to you. “But perhaps in the future you’d let me take you for a spin.”

You press your hand against his on the ground. “You need only ask.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

There’s so much more you both want to say, confessions on the precipice of both your minds, but you say nothing. You idle together a touch longer, hands resting against each other, pretending neither of you can get hurt, envisioning a world where it’s him spinning you across the dance floor in a world where you could have each other.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

On a rainy afternoon, Voldemort walks in on Harry fresh from the bath, water still beading at the ends of his hair. He must’ve been out flying and, like a fool, hadn’t come back before the storm that had been threatening made good – his sodden clothes trail like breadcrumbs across their bedroom floor.

Voldemort would give Harry yet another lecture about leaving his things all over the place, but. Harry. In just a towel. He has his priorities in order.

Harry takes his baths at ungodly hot temperatures, and while Voldemort avoids the water, he thoroughly enjoys pressing up against his flushed, warm husband afterwards. Harry grins at him, accustomed to his predilection for wrapping around the younger man’s back and basking in the heat practically radiating off him.

The near-boiling water also emphasises where Harry’s many scars mar his body, the shiny whites and textured purplish-browns standing out against his skin more than usual. 

Voldemort adores Harry’s scars. He’s unashamed of how many he caused, directly or indirectly – they’re a part of their history, after all. He’s been marking Harry as his from the start, though the intention was very different when the famous lightning bolt he’s tracing with his finger was first formed.

Harry, well used to Voldemort’s fascination with his scars, sighs with long-suffering amusement and lets him continue his exploration. 

(It had taken a long time for Harry to feel comfortable with Voldemort’s attention on his body; even longer to let Voldemort look at his bare skin with the lights on. There were still days when the younger man would shift self-consciously under his appreciative gaze.

It remained a work in progress – one to which Voldemort would happily apply himself whenever given the chance.)

He knows Harry’s body better than his own by this point, but it never ceases to captivate him. This body withstood his many efforts to destroy it (avada kedavra, basilisk fang, ritual knife, locket horcrux), his worthless relatives (latticeworks of fine white lines decorating his hands and forearms and shins, shiny patches from untended skinned knees, rough splotches from burns), and the tender mercies of Dumbledore’s machinations. 

Voldemort runs his fingers gently over each mark he finds, pressing his lips against Harry’s shoulders, throat and jaw as he pleases to distract his boy.

When he gets to the back of Harry’s right hand, the other man tenses briefly as he always does. How odd, that of all the scars on his body, this is the one that lingers in his mind – that causes him shame and anger when reminded of it.

Voldemort draws the hand up to his mouth and nips at the scar before continuing on, not giving it any special significance and hoping Harry will learn to do the same.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Later, once Harry’s shaken Voldemort off long enough to get dressed, they’re curled up together on the library couch under a blanket and a gently snoring Nagini, watching the rain fall in sheets against the windowpane.

“Did you have scars before?” Harry asks so softly it’s barely audible over the crackle of the fireplace.

Voldemort thinks back to the cuts and scrapes he’d get at Wool’s that would heal practically overnight, with nary a trace remaining thanks to his magic. He remembers bloody fingers from trimming quill ends and learning the difference between slicing, dicing, mincing and chopping potions ingredients and the effects of each method – he’d acquired a bottle of dittany to take care of those. (If the matron didn’t want students to wander off with her supplies, she should’ve guarded them better.)

He thinks of the sixth-year Slytherins who’d tried to carve ‘mudblood’ into his back when he was twelve. They’d just finished the U when he’d mastered the shock and pain enough to lash out with his wandless magic and make them regret being born.

“I did.”

That wound never healed properly. The scar tissue would tug if he twisted a certain way.

He certainly doesn’t miss it.

(And perhaps he understands Harry’s hatred for the scar on his right hand – there’s something different about having letters incised into you. A revulsion; a degradation.)

Harry turns his head to press his temple against Voldemort’s cheek, offering silent comfort.

Voldemort feels the faintest flicker of rage at the memory, but he draws Harry closer and lets the anger drift away. It’s not important anymore.

[legacygirlingreen]

Christmas With the Sallow Family: Chapter 5 - A Locket & A Promise || Sebastian Sallow X Reader

This is a continuation of a series, Masterlist found here: https://www.tumblr.com/legacygirlingreen/713709759369560064/part-1-becoming-a-proper-gentlemen?source=share

Author’s Note:

Hey I am back! Graduation took up some of my time, but I thought I’d give those still reading an update! This is mostly just fluff and filler so I apologize. I also didn’t spend as much time editing since I wanted to make up for the lack of posting. Next chapter should have more content… Anyway’s peace and love as always!

Word Count: 6,000 +

Warnings: Brief mention of NSFW content, mild angst (if you squint), mostly tooth rotting fluff.

A soft snore against the nape of her neck slowly lulled her from sleep. As she eased into consciousness, the weight against her waist from the freckled arm resting there, and his gentle breathing helped a smile stretch upon her lips. It felt heavenly to be held in such a way, by someone she loved so dearly.

Even in the man’s unaware state, his body seemed to recognize her presence, as her slight movements made him nuzzle in closer to her side while his quiet snores continued. The slight chill of the room made her sink further into his warmth. Sebastian truly was a furnace.

Ever so carefully she turned from her side onto her back without waking him, before turning to her other side so she could face him as he slept. The sight alone made her heart flutter.

An important thing to know about the young man, was that Sebastian almost always bore strong indications of his emotions upon his handsome face: frustration, elation, confusion, sadness, and the most common: mischief. They were always there, in the crease of his brows, crinkles around his eyes, dimples in his cheeks, depths of his chocolate orbs and in the smirk upon his full lips. However as he slept, she recognized a rare moment where she got to see him completely at peace.

The slight flaring of his nostrils as he inhaled gently with its slight rumble, before air softly came out of his parted lips. She had always loved his slightly broad button nose, and how it always seemed to scrunch right across the bridge as he laughed. His long, dark eyelashes that laid upon his freckled cheeks slightly danced as his eyes ever so carefully moved under his closed eyelids.

As he had slept his hair had become a birds nest, strands of varying lengths sticking up in almost every direction. The same forelock that she always loved to move off his face, falling into its natural resting place. His curtains of fringe falling more around his hairline instead of the way he’d been pushing it over his ears since he’d gotten it cut short. She noted the way his sideburns were already starting to curl into his face again, as well as the hair near his nape, despite having them cut short not long ago. She almost laughed, stifling it to a small puff of air, thinking about how difficult it must have been for him to maintain his hair given how fast it appeared to grow, especially with its thickness and unruly nature.

She hadn’t even realized she had been brushing her fingers through his hair until his eyes snapped open, meeting hers. The look in his chocolate orbs looked startled at first, resulting from the still new feeling of waking up next to someone. When his mind recognized the playful expression she wore, his lips stretched into a toothy grin as he nuzzled into her hand that was buried in his bed head. His eyes closed again, as the final signs of alarm faded, and he fell into a content sigh as he awoke next to the girl of his dreams, who was admiring him no less.

“What’s so funny” he asked, voice slightly horse from sleep as her fingers continued to dance along his scalp.

“Oh its nothing really, just an observation” she said watching as his left eye opened just to judge her expression before he stretched his body within the confines of the thick wool blanket. Once he finished waking his sleeping limbs, he rolled over, propping himself up to lean over her.

“What observation?” he asked, mischief finally working its way back to his face after sleep. Sebastian loved the way her cheeks broke out in a light blush at his questioning.

She sighed as she continued running her hands through his hair, trying to tame it, to seemingly no avail. “Your hair is an absolute mess Seb… how have you possibly maintained it for so long? How does it not annoy you?” She playful retorted while she carefully untangled a small knot along the back of his crown without pulling too hard on the strands.

“Oh trust me, I often find it quite frustrating to deal with. Having it cut has actually been more convenient than you could imagine” he said, raising a hand to help her attempt to brush down the cowlicks.

“That’s baffling considering it is still so chaotic” she laughed as she gestured to his head. He rolled his eyes at her antics.

“Perhaps I should just march in the house, and request my uncle shorn it down even further to prevent such chaos then” he joked. Never in a million years did he think, that after years of torment around the whole ordeal, would he be in bed with a half naked woman, making light of his childhood trauma.

“Absolutely not.” She deadpanned, almost nervous at even the suggestion.

“You would allow such trivial things like the length of my hair lessen your affections for me?” He let out a small gasp, clutching his collarbones as he continued to playfully taunt her.

“You are being ridiculous.” She feigned annoyance.

“A tad, I will admit. I will say, I am thankful you never had to see me sporting a Solomon Special as Ominis used to call it attempting to get a rise out of me over it” he truly did thank Merlin. He was certain with the lack of the usual giddy whispers from his female classmates around the time it was freshly cut, that his hair did not look good that way. He hated how much it struck his confidence, especially given how he knew it to be one of his better features despite its wild and untamed nature.

“That bad huh?” She laughed, trying to imagine him slightly younger, with chubbier cheeks and short hair.

He lifted his hands, pushing his hair off his face, covering most of it, in an attempt to recreate the look for her. “Dreadful.” He replied, allowing her to examine this face in full view.

“You’d still look incredible handsome” she said, pulling him down into a chaste kiss. When his hands moved from his head to her waist, however, the kiss deepened. He pushed his way in between her legs, arms drawing her closer. He suddenly became aware of how the only thing she wore to bed was his sleep shirt, while her lower half remained bare. He remembered the night before, and how wonderful her innermost being tasted upon his lips, as the only thing that mattered, was him bringing her pleasure.

Sebastian couldn’t wait until the moment where once again he could feel her tremble under his fingers. Or when he could gaze upon her naked body, tracing her womanly figure with his lips. Maybe even enter her with his manhood and make good on his promise to one day give her children.

Their lips seemingly picking up speed as his mind wandered. Their kisses becoming more needy as she ground herself against his clothed thigh. When her hands lifted into his hair, pulling in the way he’d come to love, he couldn’t help but moan out. She pulled away after a few moments, breathless. “Please just keep it long enough for me to muse it” she said, fingers mirroring her words.

Sebastian sighed, realizing that her denial of letting things progress to be wise. He didn’t want to loose his virginity in a tent also occupied by his friend and his sister. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to make sure they were on the same page after the previous night, before they progressed further.

“I imagine the next time I need a trim it’ll be your job, so that is entirely your call my love. You are the one who has to look at it, so whatever you desire. I trust you.” He said, nose bumping into hers gently. She stared at him wide eyed, shocked he would admit to trusting her with such a task.

“That sounds utterly domestic” she replied and he laughed at her words.

“Is there a problem with wanting to build a home with you?” He questioned rhetorically.

“Absolutely not. It endears me to know you wish for such things” she spoke, carefully caressing his cheek as she stared at the small patches of stubble on his face.

“You know, I do have a gift I could give you now, if you’d like. I am realizing it to be quite domestic the more I think about it.” She said, eyes looking back up into his own.

“Honestly, the more I think about it, I would prefer to share mine in private as well. I hate the thoughts of Solomon, or even Anne and Ominis, lingering whist I give you what I have.” He replied.

She smiled at his suggestion, leaping from the bed and rummaging through her small trunk. He stood, realizing he’d have to sneak over into his room to retrieve it. Carefully slipping over into the other half of the tent in the very early hours of the morning. Somehow he managed to find clothes for the day along with her gift in the near darkness without waking Anne and Ominis. The pair were curled up in the middle of the two beds, which they at some point pushed together. Anne’s head laid upon the boys chest, his arms wrapped around her shoulders as they slept. Sebastian smiled. A large part of him loved seeing his sister so cared for, a sense of normalcy for her, as well as his friend finally relaxing into physical comfort with another. Not wanting to spy on them further he slipped back out.

When he returned he was disappointed to find her no longer in his sleep shirt, instead sporting a slip, pulling the waistband of a petticoat up her thighs and around her waist. Laying on the freshly made bed he saw a few linen dresses, before a simple red one caught his eye. He turned around in time to see her finishing the strings of her corset. Carefully pulling it from the bed, and walking towards her, he gestured for her to lift her arms. When she saw the material in his hands she relented, allowing him to slide the dress over her layers.

The dress allowed her open collarbones to be on display, and she smiled, realizing he had somehow found the perfect blend of looking nice without being too overdone. Ever since Anne forced her into a dress she’d really taken a liking to the way Sebastian constantly smiled at her. Although he tended to do that anyway…

He stood next to her, still without a shirt, and only now wearing a pair of trousers. She grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the bed as she tossed the remaining clothing back into the trunk.

“Could at least wait till I’m dressed love” he said with a laugh towards her impatience.

“I prefer you this way” she said, cheeky grin adorning her face.

“It appears I have corrupted you my darling” he said, pulling her hand closer to him.

“Close your eyes” she demanded, and he closed them. She delicately placed something into his hands. The box sat in his outstretched hand for a moment before he opened his eyes. Her expectant glance followed him as he opened the small package.

Immediately upon seeing the contents he laughed, pulling out the small razor. “I have to say, this seems more like a gift for you than for me” he said remembering how she had begged him to rid himself of the sparse facial hair he’d grown.

“I believe it can serve my needs and yours” she shrugged. He admired its shinny silver handle, with an ornate design. Figures replicating Roman marble statues were incorporated throughout. Near the bottom he saw a small engraving: “S. Sallow” in cursive. For such a practical item it did appear quite beautiful.

He understood what she meant when she said it was more domestic than she intended. Sebastian slid the blade out, admiring the way it caught the light. It felt like such an adult gift. His uncle had continually ignored his transitioning from boyhood to man, by denying his request for better fitting shoes or longer pants. It hadn’t been until recently he had actually started addressing him as such, however still avoiding assisting in a graceful transition. This made him feel so grown up, receiving a gift that would be used daily, becoming a reminder of her every time he would see it.

“It’s beautiful, thank you” he said setting it back in the box, beckoning her closer. She obliged him, setting her fingers along his jaw.

“Of course. My family has always tried to gift each other something practical as well as something homemade… so I figured this might be a good idea as you had need for one, or at least a better one” she said and he laughed.

“I love it.” He said, as a wonderful image flashed in his mind. Him leaning on the vanity of a small home, much like what he had in feldcroft, while her careful hands scraped the blade over his cheek. At some point he’d pull her in for a kiss, the lather getting all over her face to her dismay, and he’d laugh at her before aiding her in wiping it away. Maybe at some point he’d pretend she had nicked him, just to momentarily startle her, before allowing his mischievous laugh to fill the air. More than likely she’d scold him, lightly slap his shoulder, before continuing anyway. When she would finish he’d pull her in for a deep kiss, to thank her for the not so difficult labor. The more he thought about it, these domestic tasks like grooming being in her hands instead of his own made them exciting, endearing, alluring.

“Good, because I hope you’ll get use out of it” she said, rising to finish dressing when his hands pulled her backwards onto his lap.

“I still haven’t given you anything sweetheart” he purred along the column of her neck. From behind he carefully set the small box in her lap. She lifted it somewhat apprehensively. The small size and shape of the box didn’t leave many options for what it could contain, beyond perhaps a fountain pen or pair of spectacles.

Nestled inside soft velvet laid a small golden locket. The front depicted a simple curved S, made of many sparkling green stones. As she lifted it from the box’s soft interior the gems caught the light brilliantly. Whether the letter was to represent their house, or one of his names she didn’t know, nor did she care. She didn’t realize her lack of a comment on the item was causing Sebastian to shift awkwardly, worried she didn’t like his gift. He was even more concerned at what her thoughts would be when she opened it…

“It’s okay if you don’t like it, I wasn’t sur-“ he started but she interrupted him by turning towards him, flinging her arms around his neck.

“I love it.” She whispered close to his ear and he couldn’t contain the smile that erupted upon his face knowing he was able to make her happy.

When he pulled back he saw the awestruck look on her face as her index finger traced over the initial on the front. “And the S is for….” She asked, a small smirk working its way on her face.

Sebastian blushed at the realization of its implications. He still told her the intent nonetheless. “I suppose it could be whatever you wish for it to mean. I had hoped it you wouldn’t mind it being a connection back to me, for Sallow or perhaps Sebastian. My mother had a similar one that my father gifted her soon after we were born. She had wanted to be able to display something on the inside for Anne and I.” He explained.

“What did she put inside if you don’t mind me asking?” She questioned, understanding if he’d be apprehensive, but driven by curiosity she asked anyway.

Instead of replying he gestured towards the locket in her own hand, signaling to open it. She obliged his request, falling silent when she realized what laid in one side of the locket. He left one half empty, presumably for whatever she deemed important enough to place there herself. In the other side, a small lock of brown hair held together by a tiny thread, laid behind a thin clear cover.

Even encased she immediately knew that he had gifted her something that, in muggle tradition, was highly sought after. The kind of gift exchanged between those who were wed, or at the very least set to be wed. Maybe the same applied in wizarding culture she thought. Either way, her eyes watered when she realized he wanted to share such an intimate part of himself with her.

His lovely brown locks in a way had become a symbol for their utter devotion to one another. He had given up his normal appearance for her to be here with him, as difficult as it had been for him. He had trusted her with the knowledge of how Solomon had abused him in such a manor. She knew how important the task of grooming him had been a strong bond between him and Mrs. Sallow before she passed. How much she enjoyed slipping off to the room of requirement together at the end of the day to hold him close, allowing him to relax as she brushed through his hair. Even now he mentioned passing the torch of cutting his hair onto her, showing his trust in their future, as they both looked forward to the domestic tasks of life together.

“I know that where you come from it has such strong implications but… I couldn’t help it. Nothing seemed grand enough a gift when I thought about it. I wanted you to know, that I am deeply committed to you, and a life with you. When I think back upon the exact moment in which I fell madly in love with you, a large part of me recalls that day in the Undercroft, when you held me in ways no one else had.” He explained, his own hands toying with his hair.

“Put it on me?” She asked, voice thick with emotion and he nodded. She closed the locket again, handing the necklace to him before lifting her hair off her shoulder to avoid getting caught in the clasp. Sebastian carefully laid it along her collarbones before fastening it around the back of her neck. He laid a gentle kiss along the nape of her neck before wrapping his arms around her from behind.

“This is so thoughtful, I truly don’t know what to say other than thank you..” she explained, hand wounding around the locket resting around her neck.

“After all you continue to do for me… I still feel its not enough. A part of me wishes we could both just skip to the part where we are done with school and able to be whatever we choose. A locket seems dull in comparison to such promises now.” He told her as she turned around to face him.

“I want those things, but that does not diminish how lovely this is. It must have set you back quite a bit. Not to mention… when did you get a lock of hair for this?” She asked playfully.

“Yesterday. I had Madam Snelling help me trim and tie off a section when you all were in honeydukes. You can somewhat see it -“ he trailed off, lifting part of his forelock and upon close inspection she could see where part of his iconic hair strand had been sheared a bit. She blushed realizing he had gifted her something so close to his identity.

“Would it be too much for me to ask for a photograph or portrait to keep in the other side?” She inquired, loving the way his lips stretched into a proud smile at her request.

“Of course not. I will admit, I do not have any recent photographs, but I am certain we can work something out if that is what you desire”. He expressed.

“I would love that.” She replied, beaming at his acceptance of her request. “I do have something else for you as well…” she explained and he was reminded how she told him about her muggle traditions.

“Well lets see it.” He tried to reassure her. He had always been a little concerned their differing backgrounds when it came to magic would make her self conscious. He did not believe an ounce of the pure blood nonsense that people like Ominis’s family boasted of. His mother had much respect and regard for muggles, often finding their customs to be utterly fascinating. She had taught history of magic along with continuing to infuse it with elements of muggle studies. He hoped that she would never feel less for her non magical upbringing.

She shifted around before producing a small round container, smaller than the palm of his hand. Gently she passed it off to him, allowing him to do with it as he pleased. What Sebastian couldn’t see was the soft blue glow coming off the box. She knew that only herself, and those with her gifts, would be able to see its connection to ancient magic. However, she hoped that in giving him something, that at its core was made of the magic that flowed through her, to be a strong show of herself as a gift.

It took a moment for Sebastian to recognize what exactly he was looking at. The small round shape imitating earrings or something of the nature, but when he lifted one from the container he realized it they were a set of cufflinks. The small oval shaped cufflinks depicted coiled snakes on each side, mirroring each other.

“I uh… asked the Keepers about using ancient magic to conjure and create items. I realize you actually have no way of knowing they were made with my magic, however, I can assure you it took several attempts before I mastered conjugation with ancient magic. They don’t exactly sell spellcrafts for forms of magic long forgotten. In fact, I am not sure many items like this even exist.” She rambled in an attempt to explain the possible let down of her gift.

“You made these?” He asked her, still surprised at her magical talents and abilities. Knowing that she had taken the time to learn more about her unique abilities in order to gift him something so trivial made his heart flutter.

She nodded, watching as his eyes softened.

“They are incredible. Thank you. I shall wear them every day.” He told her, drawing her closer, intending to feel her warmth. They remained in a soft embrace for a while, enjoying the way their bodies relaxed into one another.

“Thank you again for the locket, I absolutely adore it.” She spoke quietly into his neck as he held her.

“I will admit, I am looking forward to seeing you walking about the castle with it.” He replied smugly.

She pulled back slightly, “Was that your attempts at branding me” she asked with an obviously put on gasp.

“Well you are my little heifer…” he joked and she smacked his shoulder as he begun to laugh.

“I believe I told you never to call me that” she whined

“Oh you did, but we both know I am not particularly good at following rules” he replied and she hummed, returning to the comfort of his warm skin. Her fingers grazed across his still naked chest, traveling up to cup his jaw.

“This is true.” She replied.

Sebastian lifted his hand, feeling around on the other side of his jaw. Looking back at the small razor he realized he didn’t actually know how to use one. He had been barely scraping by with the occasional usage of the safety razor he borrowed from Ominis, but a straight razor was somewhat intimidating. Perhaps Solomon would actually be of assistance if he asked nicely.

“Why don’t we finish getting dressed, and I will see if Solomon can actually help me learn how to use one of these properly.” He gestured towards her gift and she nodded before rising from his lap.

She stepped towards a mirror, brushing her own hair while he slowly finished dressing himself. Once the last of his buttons was fastened, he attached the cufflinks she had gifted him, before coming to stand behind her with the tie he had snagged from his trunk. When she lifted her hands to begin braiding her hair he gently removed them before dropping her locks over one side of her shoulder, leaving the other bare.

“Please leave it down” he murmured into her shoulder as he gently pressed kisses to her soft skin. He felt her nod as she set the brush down, turning to face him. Removing the tie from his hands, she wound the fabric around his neck, slowly making work of creating the knot. Once she was satisfied she gently brushed a hand over the length of the tie, flattening it against his abdomen.

“Fastening my tie, yet another domestic task that I would much appreciate falling to you in the future” Sebastian winked as he carefully leaned down to peck her lips before moving to collect his waistcoat, sliding his arms through the holes and doing its few buttons as well.

“So allow me to recap. I am to help you shave, cut your hair and fasten your tie. Anything else Mr. Sallow, or are you incapable of doing anything on your own” she teased and he laughed at her notion he was helpless. She came to stand next to him as he finished pulling his arms through the sleeves of his blazer. She adjusted the lapel pin that had shifted when he’d tossed the jacket to the floor the night before.

“Not really, I am utterly helpless without you, future Mrs. Sallow.” At his words her fingers stalled, her eyes lifting to his own as his hand stretched out to trace the locket resting near the valley of her breasts.

“Don’t act as if you don’t like it when I call you that” he said in a low tone.

“I never said I didn’t”. She replied

“Good.”

The two of them stared at one another for a while before finally he lifted a hand, beckoning her to grab it. Sliding the box containing the straight razor into his jacket’s pocket, he helped her lift the few miscellaneous boxes she had brought containing gifts for his family into one of the enchanted bags she often carried. Helping lift it over her shoulder, he sought out of the tent, holding her hand.

The cool air had intensified overnight, and the light was barely touching the edges of the sky. Very few people moved about the hamlet as they made their way to the main house. Sebastian let go of her hand when they approached the door, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, before stepping inside to make sure his uncle wasn’t still asleep. When he confirmed Solomon was awake and moving in the kitchen to start the kettle, he stepped back through the door to retrieve her.

Once inside the warmth of the house, she brushed the few pieces of fallen snow off her hair and arms. “Good morning Mr. Sallow.” She said as she wandered over to the pantry to aid in starting breakfast. Sebastian followed behind her, standing close by as his Uncle turned around to acknowledge the pair.

“Mornin you two. Sebastian, are your sister and Gaunt still asleep?” Solomon asked and he nodded in reply.

“Best to let Anne sleep as long as she can.” He replied, moving back to the now boiling kettle.

Sebastian watched as she carefully folded the dough she had quickly crafted into the shape of what he imagined would be scones without any hesitation and precision from years of doing it nonmagically. Seeing her so comfortable in their family’s kitchen brought back the stirring he continued to feel at seeing them both engaging in domestic tasks. That reminded him of the conversation he’d been meaning to have with Solomon. This was as good a time as any.

“Uncle Solomon, might I have a word.” He spoke, turning back towards the man who was setting the table. At his question, the man dropped one of the napkins he’d been holding. Turning back towards his nephew, seeing the way he shifted weight from foot to foot, he began to panic. He’d heard that tone before, and suffice to say, when his brother often used it on their parents the outcomes were not pretty. Solomon glanced over at the girl, knowing she had heard Sebastian’s request but did not look worried. Seeing her more calm reaction made him sigh as he realized Sebastian was not addressing that as a concern.

Sebastian stepped back through the door once his uncle nodded and the pair made their way around to the right side of the house. Unsure how to bring up the topic, he led us guardian over to the top of the watch tower before leaning over the railing.

“What’s happened?” Solomon asked him, worried of all the horrible responses Sebastian could give him.

Sebastian on the other hand couldn’t entirely fault him for assuming the worst. Instead of turning Solomon’s wrong assumption into an argument he simply shook his head.

“I have been thinking about what you said the other day, when she came back on the brink of death with Professor Fig.” Sebastian told his Uncle, still trying to find a way to articulate himself in an appropriate manor that would be taken seriously.

“I already apologized for my actions, why can’t it be left at that?” Solomon said, wrongfully assuming Sebastian was airing out more of their dirty laundry so to speak.

“I am not looking for an apology. I admit, I was partially in the wrong as well.” Sebastian replied, finally looking from Rookwood castle back to his Uncle, who still bore a confused expression.

“Then what is this about Sebastian? Have you-“ Solomon began but Sebastian immediately responded by shaking his head, making the older man’s words die upon his lips.

“I have not disgraced her if that is what you are inquiring. I meant what I said, about caring for her. I make no attempt at hiding or denying my affections. To do so would be futile at this point.” He replied, a sigh leaving his lips as his fingers probed his temple. Solomon and him had never been close, and to have a conversation like this with him was proving difficult.

Sensing the struggle coming from his nephew, the ex Auror softened. He recognized the young man was attempting to open up to him, not seeing him as the enemy.

“She’s a remarkable young witch. Eleazar spoke highly of her talent. Hard to believe she only learned of magic recently. What she did for the man was selfless. The way she is with your sister, Gaunt, everyone… I can see why you care for her.” Solomon spoke as gently as he could, still finding the words foreign on his tongue.

“I feel undeserving of her affections if I’m honest.” Sebastian said, looking back down at the house. He knew a small part of his Uncle would agree with him, but that still didn’t stop him from uttering the words. Solomon truly wasn’t sure how to respond, knowing the young man would most likely not believe any attempts to disagree so he remained silent for a moment.

“The way she looks at you reminds me of how your mother looked at your father as if he had hung the moon himself.” The man spoke, gesturing towards Sebastian. “You may feel undeserving, however at the end of the day, her affections are hers alone to give. If she has chosen you, count it as luck, and do your best to avoid loosing it.”

Solomon pondered his life of failed relationships, how he dug his heels in at every woman’s attempts of loving him. He did not want his nephew falling into the same state. Even though the teenagers endearments were at time worrisome with possible undesired consequences, he truly enjoyed having the girl in his home. He enjoyed how much more mature his nephew had been as a result of her affections. At the end of the day he knew this strange girl, with her strange gifts, were the only thing that would snap Sebastian out of this dark road he’d slowly been going down since Anne was cursed.

“That’s what I need help with. I don’t want to lose her. I’m not sure how much Professor Fig shared of her responsibilities, but knowing every time she leaves the castle could be her last, it terrifies me. Knowing Anne may not be there to see us -“ Sebastian paused, eyes glassing over at remembering the words his sister had spoken to Ominis last night. Solomon gently placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him.

Eventually Sebastian was able to rope in his emotions to continue. “If I was to write to her father, how would I go about that? What exactly… what should I say? What do I offer? I understand that there’s a difference in how Muggles handle these arrangements, but how would I initiate…”

When Solomon realized what his nephew was asking his eyes unintentionally went wide, acknowledging the young man was serious.

“Sebastian, when I said that the other night it was out of anger, I do not expect you to-“ he started but was interrupted.

“I am asking because it is what I want. I did tell you when I finally got around to it, I wanted it to be my decision. The last two days have showed me a great deal of what I desire.” Sebastian replied.

“And what is it you want exactly?” His uncle asked, still fully unsure what he had planned.

“I would like to ask her father for her hand. I was able to read a tome in Hogsmeade and apparently the average muggle engagement lasts at the very least 1-2 years, often times longer. If I were to ask now, it would allow time over the next summer for me to construct somewhere for us to live, and once we are both 18 and have left Hogwarts we may do as we please. And, if Anne does take a turn for the worse, we can hasten that plan to at least allow her to see vows or something of that nature, since it is important to me that she be there.” Sebastian began to ramble of the loose plans he had been constructing while lying in bed last night. Once he finished he turned, expecting a mirage of different responses: possibly anger, frustration, annoyance, humor. He was not expecting Solomon to be nodding his head along with his words.

“Are you sure Sebastian?” He asked, attempting to gage the seriousness of the young man.

“Positive. You know, ha” Sebastian started, cutting off to chuckle before continuing as he pulled the razor from his pocket, passing it to his uncle. “She gave me this and the only thought I had was standing in a home of our own in the morning before work while she attempted to make the tea. That picture of spending our lives together has been the only thing keeping me from going insane for a while now. I - I can’t imagine coming home to anyone else.” He finished his train of thought.

“I suppose it is time I teach you how to use one of these” Solomon responded the small box back to him. His lighthearted comment eased Sebastian, as he was not sure what his guardian’s response would be to the request.

“So you’ll help with what to send to her father?” Sebastian asked.

“How about we head back and knock it out while your sister and her finish breakfast? Then we’ll tackle that peachfuzz.” Solomon offered with a small laugh and an outstretched hand.

“While I take offense to that later half, I would love that.” Sebastian responded, accepting the handshake.

[1heartsickfics]

OMG i would die if you wrote a fic for Katniss/Peeta i’ve been on such a big HG kick ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

not sure what you wanted lol but here’s a little ficlet.

TW: ptsd and depictions of vomit

Katniss could always tell when Peeta was having one of those days. Days when his mind played tricks on him and reminded him of all the horrible things that happened.

He’d been restless last night, tossing and turning, getting up a few times and pressing closer against her when he came back. She hadn’t said anything, but held him as he fell back into fitful sleep.

In the morning after making breakfast he’d frozen for a moment, eyes going hazy and unfocused as he gripped the back of his chair. Then it was over and he sat down. She’d given his hand a squeeze and flashed him a sad smile but hadn’t said anything. Sometimes talking about it made it worse.

“I gave you a locket on the beach that day, real or not real?” He asked suddenly.

Even years later, they still played this game to help him when he had the bad days. It helped Katniss to know where his mind was at, what it was showing him. The 2nd hunger games.

“Real,” she said, pulling said locket out from inside of her shirt so it laid on top for him to see.

He nodded, frowning thoughtfully. She waited for another question but he didn’t say anything else. “Hey,” she said softly, reaching across the table to rest her hand on his arm. He wouldn’t look at her.

“They took me away from you, real or not real?”

“Real,” Katniss answered quietly.

“I was supposed to protect you Katniss, I failed you,” he said shakily, finally meeting her eyes. She could see that he was moments away from crying, tears welling up in his eyes. “You did protect me. I’m the one who failed to protect you,” she shook her head, reaching forward to cup his face in her hands, wiping his now falling tears away with her thumb.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, starting to shake. He shook his head rapidly, eyes fluttering as he fell into a flashback. “Katniss!” He shouted, lost in the memory.

“It’s not real Peeta, you’re having a flashback. Just focus on my voice,” she got up out of her chair and moved to stand next to his chair, wrapping her arms around him as he shook.

“No! No you can’t take me! You can’t-“ he thrashed in her arms, cutting himself off with a sob and a cry of pain.

“You’re safe my love, I’ve got you. That’s all over now,” Katniss continued, tightening her arms as he fought against her. After a moment he went limp, head lolling back against her.

“Katniss… no, where’s Katniss?” He mumbled, limbs jerking against the restraints in his mind. “I’m right here Peeta, just come back to me now,” Katniss said softly, loosening her grip on him to run her fingers through his hair. It always calmed him down and helped to ground him in reality.

He gasped, going stiff for a moment before his eyes flew open. His dazed eyes darted around the room, filled with panic, before the settled on Katniss, who was now crouched in front of him. She placed her hands on his thighs, proving to him that she was real.

“Katniss, I-“ he broke off, suddenly pitching to one side to vomit onto their kitchen floor. “Oh Peeta," Katniss sighed in sympathy, rubbing a hand up and down his back as he was sick.

"M'sorry," Peeta mumbled, turning fully to the side and hunching forward even more to put his head between his knees.

"Hush," Katniss waved off his apology. "Are you back with me?" she asked.

Peeta didn't say anything, but nodded from his slumped position.

"You know where we are?" she pressed, wanting to make sure.

"Home,"

"Good. Are you going to pass out?" she asked.

"Don't think so," he shook his head.

Katniss stood from her crouched position and grabbed the chair she'd been sitting in before Peeta's episode to pull it closer to his. She wrapped an arm around his chest and pulled him up straight so he was leaned back on the chair. His face was pale, eyes glassy, tear stains running down his cheeks. She reached forward and wiped the tears away with the sleeve of her shirt.

"That was a bad one huh?" she asked quietly.

"It felt so real..." he nodded.

"I know, but that's all over now I promise. We're here, together, and we're safe," she reassured him, knowing that he needed to hear her say it.

"Thank you," he said, forcing a smile. He sounded exhausted, like even the effort of saying those two words was almost too much. He hadn't had one of these episodes in a long time. Certainly not one this bad. It made sense that it had taken so much out of him.

"Let's go lay down," Katniss said, standing up and holding her hands out to help him up. He grabbed them, letting her pull him up and to their bedroom. They crawled back into bed, even though they'd only been up for a couple of hours. Peeta laid his head on her chest, her arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tight. He felt safe again.

"You love me, real or not real?" he whispered after a few minutes of silence.

"A million times real,"

[rmtndew]

Chapter 16

Summary: The Great Depression took its toll on a lot of people and some had to get creative to survive. Seraphina’s father decides his solution is to sell his only daughter to a much older man. But when Sy overhears a conversation about the young woman, he makes a decision that will change his life - and Seraphina’s - forever.

(An arranged marriage AU with Captain Syverson)

Pairing: Sy and OFC Seraphina

Word count: 3,500+

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16

. .

It was early in the morning, everything still dark out, when Sy woke me up by kissing my neck and shoulders. His beard rubbed against my skin, the familiar scratch enough to bring me out of sleep. I reached behind me and put my hand on the back of his head, running my fingers against the soft fuzz of his hair. 

“Happy anniversary, honey bee,” he rasped in my ear. 

I smiled. “Happy anniversary,” I whispered back. 

“I can’t believe you’ve been mine for three whole years.” He pulled me to him tighter. “I knew you was something special when I first met you but I had no idea I’d be marrying my best friend.” 

“Best day of my life.”

“Shh. We got our baby sleeping over there. Don’t let her hear you say that,” he whispered teasingly. 

“Well, she wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for us getting married so I stand by it.” 

He pressed his mouth to my shoulder and let his warm lips linger for a bit. “Alright. That’s fair.”

My eyes had adjusted to the dark and I turned my head to look at him. More had happened in our first year together than had happened in my whole life. We’d gone from total strangers to husband and wife to best friends to sweethearts to parents. But none of it would’ve happened if Daddy hadn’t sold me. I moved my hand to his jaw and stroked it gently. “Was I worth all that money you paid Daddy?” 

He smiled and bent his head to kiss my mouth. “Every penny, baby. Every penny.” 

We laid there together for a bit just holding each other but once I started drifting back to sleep, he let go of me and tucked me back in after he got up. I slept a little longer but once the sun started peeping through the window, I knew it was time to get up and start my day. 

I got dressed and was putting on the bee locket that Sy had given me when Hazel Mae woke up. I smiled as she sat up in her little bed that wasn’t far from ours. She looked so serious as she brushed her messy curls away from her rosy cheeks. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep good?” I asked her. 

She nodded and looked around the room. “Papa with the animals?” 

“He is. He’s taking care of all the animals and then he’ll come have breakfast with us.”

“Can my have oatmeal?” 

Hazel Mae had a habit of sometimes saying ‘my’ instead of ‘I’ and even though I knew I should’ve corrected her, I thought it was too sweet to stop. Sy thought so, too, although his favorite was when she’d say ‘lellow’ for ‘yellow’. He’d point out every single yellow thing he could find and ask her what color it was just to hear her say it. We both decided we’d teach her right as she got older but she’d only be little once. 

“Yes, Momma can make you some oatmeal. That sounds mighty good,” I said. “I bet Papa would like a big bowl, too.” 

Me and Hazel Mae went out to the kitchen and I got her settled down at the table with her dolly who she started rocking and singing to, as I went to the stove to get the oatmeal started. I’d just finished up when Sy came in. 

He immediately came over to me and wrapped his arms around my waist then kissed my neck. “Good morning, Mrs. Syverson.” 

I smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Syverson. How’s the farm?” 

“Noisy and smelly as always.” 

I laughed. “Breakfast is done. Go wash up and I’ll fix you a bowl.” 

He let go of me, his hand rubbing sweetly on my hip as he stepped away. Then he went and told Hazel Mae good morning and gave her a kiss before going to wash up. 

I put Hazel Mae’s oatmeal on a plate to cool off faster and left it on the counter so she wouldn’t be tempted to stick her little hands in it, then gave her half a piece of toast to eat while she was waiting. I put Sy’s in a bowl and set it on the table for him along with a cup of coffee. 

“Momma, Papa’s oatmeal hot?” Hazel Mae asked as I was getting a bowl of my own. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s hot. Don’t touch it.” 

“My blow on it for him,” she said. 

“What?” I turned around and saw Hazel Mae standing up on her chair, leaning over Sy’s bowl of oatmeal, and watched her blow, spitting bits of her toast all over it. “Oh, honey, no!” 

She stopped and looked up at me. Her little lip trembled for a moment and then she started crying. Sy came rushing out of the bathroom and when she saw him, she reached out for him. “Papa!” she cried. 

He made it over to her in about three long steps and picked her up. She threw her arms around his neck and cried into the crook of it. He patted her back, trying to calm her down. “What’s wrong, sweetie? What happened?” he asked. She was wailing and wouldn’t answer him. He looked at me, his eyebrow raised in question. 

“She wanted to cool your oatmeal down so she was blowing on it for you,” I said. “She’s upset ‘cause I stopped her.”

He peeked down at his bowl and I reckon he saw all the little bits of toast because he started laughing and tried holding it back. “Aw, sweetie, Momma isn’t being mean, she just didn’t want you to get hurt is all,” he said, his body shaking as he fought back his laugh. “That was mighty sweet of you to try to help Papa out like that.” 

I went over to the table and picked up his bowl. “You can have mine and I’ll make you some more,” I told him. 

He shook his head. “Just scrape the top off. I’ll eat it.”

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. It’s fine.” He sat down at the table in his seat still holding Hazel Mae. He rocked her until her crying let up some. “Let me look at you, Little Bit. Let me see your face.” 

I watched from where I was scraping the top of his oatmeal into the scrap bucket as she pulled away from his neck and sat down on his lap, then looked up at him. Her face was red and wet and her little lip just kept wobbling. Sy wiped her tears away and dried off her cheeks with a napkin from the table. 

“There’s my girl.” He lowered his face to meet her eyes. “I know you were trying to help by cooling off my breakfast and that was mighty sweet of you, but it’s very hot and Momma didn’t want you to get burnt, alright? She didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Sy calmly tried to reason with her and I apologized for hollering out like I did, but she still wanted to stick right with him all through breakfast and even afterwards. So once we were done eating, he took her down to the barn with him while I tidied up the kitchen. 

While I was cleaning, I kept stopping to adjust my brassiere under my dress. I knew it was crude to do it out in the open but the only people that should have been coming in the house were Sy and Hazel Mae and it was pestering me something awful. Even though I knew it hadn’t, it felt like it had shrunk somehow. Like it was digging into my skin. Once I was done cleaning up, I decided to go put on my other brassiere. It wasn’t as comfortable, I saved it for when we’d go to church or go into town, but it was better than the one I had on. As I was taking it off, I noticed my breasts were more tender than usual. Sometimes it happened before I had my monthly blood and for a moment, I thought that’s what it was. But once I started thinking about it, I realized I hadn’t bled in a while. We’d been so busy, I hadn’t even thought about it. I knew there could be a few reasons for it but only one was sticking out in my mind right then.

I put on the other brassiere and sure enough, it was tight, too, so I decided to forego wearing one and put on a top slip under my dress instead. It would work for being on the farm but I’d have to order a new one soon. Once I’s changed, I left the house and went out to the barn. Sy was brushing down Betsy while Hazel Mae was a few feet away playing with the baby chicks. She had one scooped up in her hands giving it kisses. I hadn’t ever seen chicks let someone love on them the way ours let Hazel Mae do but they sure seemed to enjoy it. They were the most spoilt chickens in the whole state. 

When Sy saw me walking towards him, he smiled. “Have I told you how pretty you look?” he asked, running the brush across Betsy’s neck. 

I shook my head but smiled back. “Not today.” 

“Well, you’re the prettiest thing I ever seen.” 

“Ain’t you ever gonna get tired of me?” I asked, stopping next to him.

“No, ma’am. I don’t reckon so.” He paused his brushing to look down at me. “You gonna get tired of me?” 

I shook my head. “Never.” 

“Good.” 

He smiled as he bent down to kiss me. I put my hand on his neck, drawing him closer as our lips touched. I kissed him harder and he growled into my mouth as I tangled my other hand up in the front of his shirt. I felt like I couldn’t get him close enough. When Sy pulled away he chuckled as I tried to follow his lips. But all he had to do was raise his head and he was out of my reach. 

“That was a mighty good anniversary present,” he said, grinning. 

“I got an even better one.” 

He laughed and dropped his hand down to my hip. “I’m looking forward to that.” 

“Me, too. Although it might take a bit to get here.” 

“It’ll be night time before you know it. Then you can give me whatever present you want,” he said, giving me a cocky smirk. 

“You are something else, Hoyt Syverson,” I said with a laugh. “But that’s not the present I was talking about.”

His brows pinched together. “Then what are you talking about? You didn’t actually buy me something did you? Because you made me promise I wouldn’t spend a dime this year and I behaved myself.”

“No. I didn’t spend no money. It’s a…homemade gift.”

His confusion grew even further. “Then how’s it going to take a bit to get here, woma -” I grabbed his hand and moved it from my hip, placing it on my belly instead. His eyes moved from confusion to excitement in just a few seconds. Then his whole dang face lit up like a kid’s. “Are you joking with me?” 

I shook my head. “No. I might be wrong but I ain’t joshing you,” I said. “My breasts are tender and swollen to the point I’m already outgrowing my under things and when I was thinking back on it, I realized I haven’t had my cycle in a while. We’ll have to wait and see to know for sure but…I think it’s safe to say we’re going to have another baby.” 

He dropped Betsy’s brush and swept me up in his arms as he kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him back. He was holding me so tight it hurt my chest but I wasn’t about to make him stop for nothing. He twirled me around in that barn like I was a princess or something and I couldn’t help but giggle. He started smiling so wide that between the two of us, we had a hard time kissing because our lips were too distracted by how happy we were. 

“Best present ever, honey bee,” he whispered. 

“What you doin’, Papa?” Hazel Mae asked. She was knelt down on the barn floor, setting the little chick back on the ground with its brothers and sisters.  

“I’m giving your momma a great big bear hug to show her how much I love her,” Sy said. 

She pushed a curl out of her eye. “Can my have a bear hug?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Come on over here.” 

Sy set me down and I let go of his neck. When Little Bit got to us, I picked her up and held her in my arms, then Sy hugged us both, putting her right between us. She lay her head against my shoulder and Sy kissed her temple. Our sweet daughter was the light of our lives and I couldn’t wait to see how much brighter it could get with another baby. 

That night me and Sy laid in bed listening to the rainstorm outside. His hand just kept rubbing my belly. “What do you think it’ll be?” he asked quietly, trying not to wake Hazel Mae. 

“I don’t know.” I looked at him. He seemed so contented. “You think we might get our little Isaac this time?” 

“Maybe,” he said. “But if we don’t, that’s alright. We could end up with all girls and I’d be happy.”

I put my hand on his cheek. “What if it’s not a baby causing all this? What if it’s something else?”

“I’d still be happy,” he said. “You make me happy.” 

“You make me happy, too,” I said, brushing my thumb across the bristles of his cheek. 

“I know I told you this all before but…before we got married, I thought I’d be alone my whole life. I thought when I lost Ma that was it. I didn’t have no more family. I thought I’d work myself to death here on this farm and that would be the end of it,” he said. “I just stayed here living in my own hurt and anger. Then I met you and…” He blew out a breath. “Golly-bum, Seraphina, you were like an angel to me when I saw you standing at the top of the steps on your daddy’s porch. 

“I knew that making sure you didn’t get married to Jud was the right thing to do and I had hoped you would learn to trust me enough to make friends with each other, but I didn’t think for a second that it would ever lead to anything more. And it broke my heart, honey bee, absolutely broke it, when you thought I was going to force you to lay with me on our wedding night. Knowing how scared you must’ve been thinking that someone as big as me was just going to take what they wanted from you and you wouldn’t have no say in it. I took marrying you seriously but that night…I vowed I’d do everything I could to give you a safe and happy life.”

I had tears welling up in my eyes as I cupped my hand to his face. “You did, Sy. You’ve made me feel safe and taken care of ever since I got here,” I told him. “Even the first time you told me you loved me, you let me stay with you because I was scared and you didn’t touch me no way you thought I might not want to be touched, you were just sweet to me and told me you loved me. And from then on, I ain’t had a second of doubt in my mind. You tell me every day but even if you didn’t, you say it in everything you do to take care of me and Hazel Mae. And I know if we get blessed with another baby, you’ll do it for them, too. It’s hard to say that what Daddy did to me was the right thing, ‘cause I don’t think it was, but it let me find you and that’s the most right thing that’s ever happened in my life.”

A big streak of lightning flashed outside our window and I could see that Sy had tears in his eyes, too. He pressed his forehead to mine. “You’re the most right thing that’s ever happened to me, too, honey bee.” 

I kissed him as thunder sounded overhead, shaking the house along with it. I knew it was just the storm but it felt like it was every bit of Sy’s love calling out for me as it did. His love was strong enough to make the house shudder and rattle my bones. I truly believed that. Another clap rang out as he slipped his tongue into my mouth. A second later, Hazel Mae started crying and we both broke apart quick as could be. 

“Momma! Papa!” she cried. 

I sat up in bed and Sy followed right after me. He turned, swinging his feet down to the floor, just as she came running to him in the dark. He scooped her up and held her tight to him while she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“Did that loud storm wake you up?” he asked, patting her back. She nodded her little head. He kissed the side of it. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Papa’s got you.” 

I moved closer and brushed my hand over her hair. “It was awfully loud, wasn’t it?” I asked, and same as she did with Sy, she just nodded her head as she continued to cry. “It’s only the sky making noise, though. It can’t hurt you.”

“Can my -” Her breath hitched, hurting my heart. “Can my sleep with you?” 

“Of course you can, sweet girl.” 

I scooted back, giving Sy room to turn and lay down. Hazel Mae let go of his neck and he put her between us. He dried the tears from her face with his thumb then we both kissed her big round cheeks until she stopped crying and was giggling instead. 

“That’s what I like to see. My little ladybug happy,” Sy said.

She pushed the curls off her forehead then she looked at Sy. “My dolly,” she said, reaching towards her bed. 

“I’ll get it,” he told her. 

He got out of bed and went over to her little one, searching through the blankets for her dolly. It took him a few seconds to find it in the dark but finally he did and brought it back to her. She clutched it tight and kissed its head. But there was another loud clap of thunder and she whimpered, curling up to me. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” I told her, hugging her close. 

Sy scooched over, throwing his arm across my hip so we had Little Bit snuggled up between us. “You tell that sky it needs to go to bed. It’s up past its bedtime and keeping the rest of us awake.” 

“Go to sleep sky!” Hazel Mae said, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s past bedtime!” 

“That’s right,” Sy told her. “It’s not kind to be noisy and wake people up.”

“It’s not nice sky!” she hollered up. It thundered again. She didn’t seem scared that time but she looked at Sy. “It’s not listening, Papa.” 

“That mean ol’ sky being naughty.”

“Maybe Papa could sing it a song, see if that’ll make it go to sleep,” I said. 

He grinned at me. “You just wanna hear me sing.” 

“I sure do,” I said, grinning back. “What do you think, Hazel Mae? Do we want Papa to sing for us?” 

She nodded and turned towards Sy. “Sing a song. Please?” 

“Alright,” he said. “Let me think of one.” 

I looked at him as a flash of lightning lit up the whole bedroom. Hazel Mae sunk back against me and clutched her dolly tight. His hand on my hip gave me a soft squeeze, and then he started singing. 

“I am dreaming dear of you, day by day. Dreaming when the skies are blue, when they’re gray. When the silvery moonlight gleams, still I wander on in dreams, in a land of love, it seems, just with you. Let me call you ‘sweetheart’, I'm in love with you. Let me hear you whisper that you love me too. Keep the love-light glowing in your eyes so true. Let me call you ‘sweetheart’, I'm in love with you. Longing for you all the while, more and more. Longing for the sunny smile, I adore. Birds are singing far and near, roses blooming everywhere. You, alone, my heart can cheer; you, just you. Let me call you ‘sweetheart’, I'm in love with you. Let me hear you whisper that you love me too. Keep the love-light glowing in your eyes so true. Let me call you ‘sweetheart’, I'm in love with you.”

The storm had passed over enough by the time he finished singing that it wasn’t loud no more. Just quiet rumbles in the distance and rain gently falling. And Hazel Mae was sound asleep. 

I brushed my hand over her head, running my fingers through her curls. “You ready to have another baby to sing to?” I whispered to Sy.

He smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “More than ready.”

[ezlebe]

If you’re still taking requests I don’t have any concrete ideas but something to do w/ painful amounts of miscommunication

Tom stares across the castle field that Duchess Caroline calls a garden, watching a line of birds on the wall near a group gossiping at the far end. He lifts tea to his mouth, barely tasting it, as a particularly large raven hops down the side, a bit closer, then closer, and exhales a harsh breath when the bird cheekily tilts its head right down at the gathering of royals.

“Dare I ask?”

Tom glances sideways in haste and nearly upends his tea onto his vest, as he exhales a wheezy cough.

“Wasn’t his commitment up a week ago,” Shiv says, brows raising underneath the brim of an oversized, overfeathered hat, “Or did he not pass whatever your test was?”

Tom is unsure how to answer – he had given the task and Greg had passed it with unsurprising ease, but he has yet to give up the charm that binds him to Tom in bondage. He still wears it around his neck like a locket, when he’s not taking advantage of being an acting familiar slip into places as an overgrown pest, and fetches Tom’s mail, and his tea, and spellcasts with the reserves he’s afforded from Tom’s end of the thrall.

“He did,” he says, feeling it’s the simplest, least telling answer to give.

Shiv hums in a short tut, lifting a glass of mulled wine to her lips. “We were friends, weren’t we?”

Tom glances over with a furrow of his brow, blinking rapidly, and feels his mouth twist into a bemused grin. “Aren’t we now?”

“I thought so, too, but you’re woolgathering and equivocating, rather than letting me in.”

Tom sighs softly through his nose. “The familiar thing is complicated, Shiv.”

“If you say so,” Shiv says, voice roundly mocking, as she conjures an umbrella to lean into on the grass. “But if you ask me, it seems everything but the familiar thing is complicated.”

Tom slowly flattens his mouth expression. The avoided truth to the issue is he had once reacted very badly to the idea of Greg moving on elsewhere, trading off his bondage as apprentice and familiar, rather than fulfilling it, and Tom worries some that is what is keeping Greg from approaching him to formally hand back the charm. He had let his temper grab ahold of him and wrench at an already frayed trust, and though Greg had gotten his druthers in a rather admirable, underhanded use of gathered knowledge, it is more than apparent he’s developed a certain manner of carefulness around Tom.

It hadn’t even been the first time Tom had treated Greg in a less than gentlemanly manner, but the less said about how he had toppled Tom’s wedding plans to a woman he now hesitantly calls friend the better. He thinks that reaction had been slightly more justified, if not by much; besides, that case had nothing to do with any personal, undignified attachment, which was almost entirely the basis of the latter, and present, matter.

He’s pulled in powerful warring directions. He does not want Greg to give the charm back, and he doubly does not want Greg to move on with his life; wants nothing more than for Greg to give the charm back, and he doubly wants Greg to move on with his life with him.

Tom shifts his feet and forces a barking laugh. “What do you know?”

“Oh, nothing,” Shiv says, her smirk sharp, a brow lifted on the same side as the curve of her lips. “Only that dear Cousin Greg is treated far less like a bonded servant and more like a beloved pet.”

“Neither is an equal, Shiv,” Tom says, managing a lofty tone that sounds like a joke even to his ears; granted, he has, once or twice, threatened an oversize birdcage.

“Oh, sure,” Shiv says, voice dropping somewhat harshly, plainly taking the words in a different direction, as she punctuates herself with a scoff through her nose. “And what would I know about that?”

Tom rolls his lips together, catching frost on the edge of a sleeve, and offers a carefully neutral tilt to his head.

“That is to say,” Shiv says, some seconds later, once the silence has thawed by degrees in a somewhat literal manner. “Why give it back, when with it he lives so comfortable.”

“He would live just as comfortably – ”

“I doubt you have told him so,” Shiv interrupts, tilting her head with a pointed tsk. “Does he even know your vulgar little secret?”

Tom feels his jaw tighten with a hasty look across the lawn, only to see Greg has flown of elsewhere, and he cannot be sure quite where unless he abuses that facet. “Siobhan, that’s a – ”

“No, he probably does,” Shiv says, with a dismissive tilt of her chin, shifting her grip on the umbrella to dig into the ground closer to her side. “You’re not a subtle warlock, Tom. You never have to tell.”

Tom presses his tongue hard to the backs of his teeth, while forcing a smile, then he takes another sip of tea that’s practically ice in the cup. “I don’t know what you’re speaking of, but I believe you can stuff it like a hog, Miss Roy.”

Shiv makes a drolly pinched face, tutting under her breath with a tilt of her head. “Mister Wambsgans, that’s hardly polite.”

“Shiv!” Roman yells down the steps, standing atop them in rare advantage. “Mother wants to see you.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Shiv mutters, lifting her umbrella with a shake to open it up against the sun and her brother alike. She turns to Tom, head tilting, “Could I still beg you to come pretend at urgency in a few minutes?”

Tom exhales a thin sigh. “Wouldn’t that be just more impoliteness?”

“I will weather any sacrifice to my ego,” Shiv says, turning with the umbrella across her shoulder, walking up the steps and voice fading with every foot put between them. “If it frees me from my mother. I believe she’s in the parlor just beside the library.”

“I’ll think on it,” Tom says, lifting his voice, and catches her hand lift in a slight turn.

A familiar wash of energy tingles across Tom’s back just before he hears a flutter of wings, and he looks across his shoulder to see Greg now standing at it.

“There you are, bud,” he says, lifting dwindling tea to greet him. “You get anything interesting from the Prince?”

Greg shrugs while he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, shedding black bristles and down that disappear before they hit the stone tile. He then leans in close, voice low and expression lit with a familiar entertainment of secret. “His grandmother is concerned he’s Jack the Ripper.”

“Good Lord,” Tom tuts, reaching up and tapping at the edge of his chin with a knuckle, as he raises a brow across the garden. “Here I thought Logan had a low opinion of his kin.”

Greg softly huffs, eyes curving up and ducking his chin into his shirt collar. “You could still use it for the paper?”

“That’s terribly cruel,” Tom says, feeling a smirk curve his mouth, tilting his head at the far off procession, then back to Greg. “What has the Prince done to you?”

“Um, nothing?” Greg says, shrugging while scratching into his lower lip. “But it would sell?”

“It is a fun bit of terrible gossip, isn’t it?” Tom says, turning toward the steps into the great house, and feeling Greg fall in beside him. “It would absolutely rankle the Crown, even if no one in the readership believes it. It’s like saying the Ripper is Cousin Kendall; could you imagine?”

“He would, um –” Greg offers some odd coughing choke that sounds vaguely like it could be in horror. “That noise he makes?”

“I know it,” Tom says, huffing out a laugh at the top of the steps, gesturing with curves of his hands in front of himself. “Exactly, really – ”

Greg makes the same noise again, but now with his hand mimed as if around an over large knife.

Tom breaks into a louder laugh, certain he’s drawing the attention of other guests, but the only one he’s looking at is smiling just widely back. He reaches out and claps Greg hard in the shoulder, unable to resist lingering at his elbow. “Your last moments are that!”

“Awful, very awful,” Greg agrees, curling his arm under the other across his chest with a too-serious nod.

The inside of the house is not quite so busy as the garden, quieter with a different sort of guest, a few servants, and one of Lady Collingwood’s peacocks. It seems to know where it’s going with some impunity, so perhaps it is some manner of familiar, though there’s no noticeable magic coming off of it outside the general sort carried with animals.

Tom catches Roman walking into the library with an unfamiliar man, and glances to Greg with a prompting hum.

“A royal, I think, from a land between Russia and Persia,” Greg says, voice low, though they’ve well disappeared behind the doors. “Roman sought him out.”

Tom offers a short grunt. “Roman?”

Greg scratches against his lower lip, head tilting while his shoulder comes to meet it in a shrug. “Money?”

“Always a safe bet,” Tom says, peeking in the next door, and finally catching Lady Collingwood and Shiv at a standoff near a settee. He watches them a few seconds, then looks at Greg through the corner of his eye. “I ask you to avenge me, should I fall next victim to Roy ego.”

Greg offers a flat sort of smile, rather than playing into the joke, while he drops back a step.

“It’ll just be a moment,” Tom says, as appeasing and just as dismissive as he can be, while he takes a step forward into the parlor. He’s well aware that Shiv has a tendency to put Greg in a sulk, as he’s more sore than Tom, at this point, about her previous indiscretions. It’s a bolstering, ego-feeding sort of regard, but Tom came to a grudging conclusion over a year ago that he was, in someway, actually thankful. The realization had been during a weeklong holiday to his family that he grasped that he didn’t miss Shiv like he should, and never truly had, because being without Greg gave him an ache like a missing limb.

“Ah, Miss Roy!” Tom greets, lifting his voice while entering into the room. “There you are!”

Lady Collingwood whips her head around with a briefly pinched, furious moue, though it quickly melts into a more tight politeness. “Mister Wasguns, we are — ”

Tom manages not to react to the mispronunciation, fairly long practiced at it. He drops his head. “Lady Collingwood, I apologize, but it is an emergency.”

“Tom,” Shiv says, brows going up while lifting her head; it’s not quite open thankfulness in her eyes, but it’s somewhere markedly close. It must truly be a irksome conversation.

“Your eldest brother is out there looking for you,” Tom says, ignoring the poisonous look that Lady Collingwood is leveling him, promptly stepping back when Shiv takes the out, so immediately that it is somewhat startling, raising from her seat with a reach for her umbrella. “He’s out there yowling and making a real fuss of it like a bandy-legged donkey.”

“Of course,” Shiv says, exhaling a short, put-upon sigh, as she looks back to Lady Collingwood with a drop of her chin. “I apologize, we’ll have to pick this up later. You know Connor.”

Tom clears his throat with an additional nod, quieting his own snort; he’d somewhat forgotten about Connor. He manages to ignore an impulse to look back into the room, following Shiv’s frosty steps out into the hall. “So…” He says, offering his own smile. “Good talk?”

“Oh, what do you think?” Shiv snaps, mouth pressing while she flattens her hands down her jacket with a harsh breath through her nose. “I am loathe to admit it, but you were correct, if in some different way – our mere speaking is impolite, as she’s now decided I’ve compromised my dignity.”

Tom sucks briefly at his cheek, face scrunching while looking down the hall toward the crystal chandelier. “Is that better or worse than a spinster?”

“A spinster is, at least, seen as a grown woman,” Shiv says, inhaling a deep breath while turning on him with a toothy, irked sort of smile.

Tom opens his mouth, but ultimately answers with only with a short turn of his his head. His own family had been none too happy at his short engagement, but he had the benefit of being many hundreds of miles away from them while the dust settled on the ruins; at this juncture, he… mostly assures to them through many letters that he’s fulfilled with his career.

“In any case,” Shiv says, while reaching up to trace her fingers along the brim of her hat, sparing a quick glance back toward the parlor, then forward again to Tom. “I believe I do actually have business with Connor I was avoiding.”

“It is astonishing how few want him in parliament,” Tom says, slipping a hand into his vest, as he steps back to leave room for Shiv to turn down the hall. “Even Greg said no, and politics are the only thing he doesn’t try to dig his nose into.”

Shiv declines to even wave off the commentary, responding only by marching down the hall with a clack of heels.

Tom tuts low, wandering a few steps back and leaning to peer into the library. It’s oddly loud with chatter; hardly a shock that Greg is loitering, who certainly wandered in with purpose after seeing Roman and his companion, not to mention his general predilection for information, but the youngest Roys are a surprise. He would have thought they’d be outside – he had always preferred the sun and stables as a child, but his parents rarely entertained the… caliber of guests as Lady Collingwood.

His presence surely tips the small library into full capacity, wandering in and pulling his hand from his vest to pour a thin amount of mystery liquor from atop the cabinet. He sniffs rather than downs it, uncertain what it could be – cognac, of some sort. He isn’t sure how it might go into the gullet outside being a reason to linger; he lifts the glass and confirms not particularly well.

A softly accented voice raises with low curiosity. “And him, there – that one is your cousin?”

“A cousin, yes,” Roman says, then snorts, rolling his eyes away from Greg at a far away bookshelf. “But barely a Roy, of no relation to Collingwood at all, and currently shackled under contract as a fucking familiar. I’m not sure why he’s here, or anywhere, except to – oh, Mister Wambsgans, could you coerce your cawing pet to fetch us a biscuit. I want Eduard to see his tricks.”

Tom suffers an irked tug underneath his sternum. He briefly loses focus on maintaining his own act of a proper gentleman, a sneer alighting on his lips. “It would be beneath any bonafide warlock to act in service to a glorified spiritualist as you. Get your own damn kekse.”

Roman shifts his shoulders in a tight hunch in the chair, uncomfortable, but not exactly surprised, at the dismissal. “You’re such a bore,” he says, eyes quickly glancing to, then away, from the bored-looking Eduard. “And a bitter bastard. I’m glad you were kicked from of my sister’s bed.”

“You and me both,” Tom agrees, forcibly earnest, quite satisfied at the uneasy blink it gets him.

Tom does notice with a discomfited prickle that any consideration this Eduard briefly directed toward Greg promptly dissipates due to him being revealed as such a… perceived lower class. It digs further under his skin, the longer he sits with it, and it’s not that he wants anyone really glancing twice at Greg, but that a stranger would listen to the likes of Roman and so blatantly agree that he’s not of status enough to attend his own family’s tacky garden party.

The treatment has drawn Tom’s attention before, and he always dismissed it as a temporary stopgap – a self-dug hole for Greg to climb himself out of – but now there’s quite literally no reason for it. Greg has fulfilled his contract and even has a testament coming from the crown, so he… He should certainly no longer be reduced to the perception of a familiar. The situation is going to get Tom spell sanctioned if it goes on much longer.

He had been simply too sore after having to give the task to Greg at all, and too selfish, as he had even been relieved it didn’t get brought up, but now he’ll have to be the one to ask for it. He knows, at least, that Greg has nowhere else to go – he certainly isn’t going to go to his immediate family, even further away than Tom’s own homeland, and he’s thin on trusted friends – so that’s a temporary comfort. Tom will be able to hang onto him for a bit longer, work up to a next course of action, if he can, though it’s a…

Tom glances across the room, as he steps now toward the large windows along the wall. He sees Greg has wandered to the shelf ladder, climbed up two rungs, towering by consequence, and a pinching grin on his face while peering down at Sophie and Iverson. He watches Greg stretch along a shelf, pointing to some clapper, while Sophie, who makes a face, yanks at it with a shaky spell from multiple feet above her head.

Greg suddenly looks over and catches Tom dead on, curling an arm along the ladder top to wag his fingers in hello. He’s a rather devastating sight, practically posing on a pedestal in his straight trousers, primly buttoned shirtsleeves, and fitted vest commissioned by Tom himself, simply because he wanted to see him in forest green silk. He startles and plays at losing his balance, all of a sudden, or perhaps he really does, hopping off the ladder back to the rug.

A sickening ache grows beneath Tom’s sternum, and he leans against the window sill, as Greg bids goodbyes to his youngest cousins to join him on it with a more muted, but still smiling face. He seems almost tipsy, knees knocking, fingers twisting in his watch chain, as he drops his head against a pane of glass.

Tom nods toward the children, now exchanging words between bowed heads over the puzzle. “Are they about your maturity level?”

Greg exhales a weak huff, peeking out of the window. “I am, uh – perhaps a bit lower,” he says, tugging his watch out entirely toy with the clasp. “More nearer you.”

Tom allows a laugh around the edges of a tsking scold. The droll feeling slips away with a lurch when his eyes catch on the fine silver chain around Greg’s neck, just barely visible through a shifting gap of his cravat. He wets his lips and leans an inch or so away, as the sight of it wars with a desire he has to reach out for Greg, and worsens the ache; a part of him overwhelmingly doesn’t care, and has led to countless trespasses before – grabbing at limbs and standing too close, closer than even now, teasing at taking more, but he… He cannot ignore the truth of that small, insignificant chain; it is drawn tight between him and what he really desires from Greg, holding that cursed charm that acts as its lock. He doesn’t want to lose Greg, flighty as he can be, nor his use and his wit, but is it truly better to never know whether Greg even enjoys his company or if it’s just some damned leash?

“Tom?” Greg says, head tilting, lazily tugging at Tom’s sleeve with a pinch of two fingers. “Are you – um, do you need anything?”

Tom feels a sigh deflate him and flattens his mouth. “I don’t need anything, Greg.”

Greg furrows his brows, pulling back his hand to toy at the edge of his own sleeve. “Have you… seen the greenhouse, yet?”

Tom scoffs and rolls his eyes, eyes drawn sidelong down the stacks while Roman and Eduard leave their seats at the far end. “Greenhouse?”

“I saw it from the sky,” Greg says, as he points to the sky with a lift of his eyes in the same direction.

Tom finishes off the cognac with a mild grimace. “I suppose I could do to wander.”

Greg takes to the skies while Tom trudges on the path through the garden, probably thinking he’s leading in some way. The greenhouse rises crystalline and bright on the other side of a pond feature, bright spots of color amidst the green inside, and it is odd that Tom hasn’t yet been out to it. Greg swoops down on the last few paces, talons biting into Tom’s shoulder upon landing, and exhales a choking sort of warble that Tom can understand is a message that Willa was at the pond.

The greenhouse is no Crystal Palace, but it is still overly large, as big as the stables, with domes and iron curlicues that must be held together with magic. He is perhaps overly careful with the door, as he pulls it open, feeling Greg hop off in the same moment to once again become a man; it’s a questionable choice, as the heat and humidity inside is considerable, and Tom thinks a bird might be more suited to weather it.

“So, um… What did Shiv say?” Greg asks, not waiting even a second before revealing his impertinent hand, as the door closes behind with a soft turn of the handle and cuts them off from the estate. “Back in the house?”

“Nothing in particular,” Tom says, exhaling a dismissive breath, looking up with some genuine interest building in a creeping greenery that dominates the building. He doesn’t look back at Greg, keeping his voice bland, as he reaches out to tap a wide, oversize leaf that bobs under his fingertips, “Something about Connor’s parliamentary plans. Why?”

Greg offers a short, quiet sigh, as he looks over then away. “It seems to, uh – to have exasperated you?”

“I am not exasperated,” Tom says, drawing out his voice as a wash of temper briefly flushes him. “Good God. Maybe I have sun stroke.”

Greg offers a dubious mutter. “The sun improves mood.”

“Stop reading so many books,” Tom says, sweeping his jacket behind him while setting his hands along his waistband. “No one cares that much about the sun, Greg. Maybe I enjoy a cloud or two – and so should you; your skin contracts burns to such a degree that I’m surprised standing in this oversize magnifier hasn’t immediately transformed you to an oversize Devil of a man.”

Greg bites an evident grin between his teeth. “It’s warm.”

“It is,” Tom agrees, with a heaving sigh, coming to a stop in front of a truly ugly sort of plant. It’s as tall as him with a bloom like a pitcher and a smell like a Whitechapel alley. “What the hell – why can’t the Duchess just have a proper fucking orangery?”

“You should have an orangery,” Greg says, with a particular note of enthusiasm that more realistically means that he should have an orangery.

Tom attempt briefly to really entertain the idea, but there is a fairly glaring problem. “And where, pray tell?”

“The roof,” Greg says, as if this is a truly perfect location of where to stick trees in a London townhouse. “Of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Tom says, rolling his eyes, as he uncrosses his arms with a gesture above them. “The part of the house where all the snow and smoke goes.”

“You could spell it to stay warm, Tom,” Greg says, tutting slightly, a petulant turn to his mouth, as he runs a hand through his hair. “This is spelled.”

Tom laces his own hands together at his coat tails, turning to continue his walk. “Not me – it’s all your idea, bud.”

“My idea – ” Greg takes a breath, hurrying to catch up and peering into Tom’s face with eager eyes. “Could I, really?”

“If you do all of it on your own,” Tom says, raising his brows, with a quick glance to the side to make eye contact, then pointedly looking best he can through Greg to the next eyesore of a flower. “And tell me nothing about it. I want no part in an inevitable visit from the constabulary about rooftop height limits and unpermitted gardens.”

Greg deflates as expected, mouth flattening with dashed hopes, then his eyes abruptly brighten. “Could put something in an extra room.”

“Your room was the extra room, Gregory.”

Greg is quiet for a pair of beats, knotting his brow while looking down the path. “That’s… an idea.”

Tom furrows his own brow slightly, glancing quickly to Greg and back, and rationalizes best he can that probably means little; it’s not as if Greg could take advantage of a pseudo-orangery if he wasn’t still living there with Tom. He is only… He has a lot of plans, Greg does, and very few of them go anywhere in particular on purpose.

“Oh,” Greg says, reaching out across Tom’s chest with a bold hand to stop him. “Look!”

Tom stares at the tall bushes heavy with bruise-purple fruit. “What on god’s green earth are those?”

“I don’t know,” Greg says, kneeling down and picking a ripe, fallen fruit up with a rub of his thumb against the skin. He stands up, lifting it closer to his face. “I think it’s a –”

Tom promptly phases the fruit into his own hand. “Don’t eat it!”

“I wasn’t going to,” Greg insists, straightening and plainly half an instant from taking it back.

“You were so, I saw your face,” Tom says, wagging a finger at him with his unoccupied hand. “You looked eager as Mondale under the cook’s feet.”

“It, well – it’s clearly a fruit,” Greg says, staring down at it with a pinch building at his lips.

“So are hollyberries,” Tom says, pressing his fingers into the edges of the fruit with a furrow of his brow. It’s firm, with slight give, and he tuts again while turning it over on his hand. “Though it would be unusual for Kendall to set anyone up for his own the poison tree – not really the type.”

“Like, you could – ?” Greg says, producing an ornately decorated penknife with turn of his palm – a raven in scrimshaw across the ivory handle. “Maybe?”

Tom grunts under his breath and takes the knife with a flick of his thumb to open the blade. “If this opens up and releases a miasma that kills us both, I’m going to find some way to haunt you for eternity.”

“I am quite accustomed to it,” Greg says, cheerful and without missing even a quarter beat.

Tom scoffs low and briefly mimes stabbing Greg with the penknife, a laugh at the edge of his breath when Greg winces back with a peeking grin in the gesture. “You watch it.”

The fruit yields easily enough to the knife, almost startlingly so, and Tom finds himself pausing a cut halfway through it. He decides on a whim to slice around the diameter of it, like he might a peach, and twists, blinking down at a thoroughly unexpected, segmented white center.

“What do you think?” He asks, offering the inside toward Greg with a pointed lift of his brow. “You still want to eat it?”

“I – I mean, I don’t know?” Greg says, grabbing at his elbows in a particularly obvious rejection, bending slightly at the waist to peer down at the fruit. “You could try it.”

“I really haven’t the slightest idea what this is,” Tom says, picking out a pale wedge with a squish between his fingers, feeling what must be a seed inside it. “Any of your books?”

“None I can recall,” Greg murmurs, taking the wedge with an uncertain curve to his mouth. “It smells sweet – ” He then abruptly shoves it in between his teeth before Tom can stop him. “Oh!”

Tom suffers his heart jumping into his throat. “Spit it out!”

“It’s really good!” Greg enthuses, instead, reaching and summarily curling his long fingers against the back of Tom’s to push the fruit into his mouth. “Try it, Thomas.”

“Has it poisoned you so quickly?” Tom demands, stumbling back, the warmth of Greg’s hand making his face flush with heat that he hopes looks like anger. “We don’t know what it is!”

“Then, uh – ” Greg pulls now to draw the fruit to his own chest, still in Tom’s hand, in a way that leaves only inches between them. He lifts his other hand to try to pluck another wedge out from the evident shell. “Then gi-give more to me.”

Tom feels heat flash against his jaw, watching Greg eagerly scarf down the rest of the fruit from his own hand. He knows that he should raise more concern regarding belief it could still be lethal, but feels choked, not wanting to interrupt in a way he refuses to directly mentally dwell.

Greg takes the last piece, smaller than the others, and looks up with a wide pair of eyes. He offers it between them, and his voice is soft with the sparest manipulative note. “Tom, you must –”

“Do we want to know?” A voice drawls behind Tom.

Tom looks over his shoulder while Greg hunches and stumbles to get behind him, the great and powerful coward, as it is revealed Mister Hosseini and Miss Pierce have found them to offer mocking tilted heads from under the vines. He entertains the idea of throwing the rest of the rind, or peel, or whatever this is, but stays his hand.

“Do you enjoy the mangosteen?” Pierce asks, eagerly approaching, a wicked grin on her face. “It was such a pain to import them, but Ken thinks it’ll earn him favor with the Crown.”

“They’re, uh – pretty good,” Greg answers, all but speaking directly into Tom’s back.

Pierce seems to hear it, judging by her laugh, and lifts a shoulder. “You’re not wrong, but it’s still a waste of his time. Stewart?”

Hosseini bends to grab one of the riper, fallen fruits with a quirk to his brow. He tosses it up, then catches it, handing it over Pierce with a click of his tongue. “Anything to keep him distracted, I think.”

“Not wrong,” Pierce laughs, grating and pitchy, as she turns a shoulder to drive right between Greg and Tom to continue down the length of the greenhouse. She looks over the opposite shoulder, back to them, as Hosseini picks another couple of fruits. “Just like you two, hm?”

“Distracted is such a polite term,” Hosseini says, head turning, a smirk across his lips, as he takes a slightly less rude path to their other side by way of crossing in front of Tom. “It is so easy to forget the translucent walls, isn’t it?”

Tom glances sharply toward the glass, biting hard to the back of his cheek. It’s warped and slightly opaque, so not quite perfectly translucent, and he looks back with a harsh tut, only to see backs turned and that he’s been thoroughly dismissed.

He looks down with a start when Greg drops, but sees he’s only, evidently, taking more fruit with swift cuts at the stems. It wasn’t exactly a pass, but Tom might agree that it was enough of one, though only to later blame Hosseini for it, if it comes up.

“Look at you,” Tom says, once there is four clutched awkwardly in one big hand, threatening to roll out onto the ground. “What a greedy Greg.”

Greg stands with a high lift of a brow. “Will you try some? If the Queen eats them.”

“Her opinion is moot,” Tom says, watching the fruits disappear, then the knife, in whatever manner Greg is choosing to hide them. “I’m just relieved we’re not on our way to an infirmary.”

“It would have been worth it,” Greg says, far too seriously, “Far better than when you had me eat those poor birds… fluttering around as-as if they were still alive.”

“Will you ever get over that?” Tom says, slipping a hand along the inside of his vest, after a short, startled step around an errant rabbit. He clears he throat, lifting his chin toward the house on the far end of the field. “Are you about ready to part with the estate?”

“If only,” Greg says, tutting some under his breath, then reaching up and rubbing at the center of his brows with a dissatisfied scrunch of his nose. “Or, that is… Um, could we take some advantage of our current geography to go directly to the carriage?”

“You’re such a boor,” Tom says, lifting a hand and pressing at Greg’s shoulder to direct him to the house, then catching himself and jerking it back down to his side. He manages a loud scoff, hoping the sudden lurch of his entire being is only obvious to him as the sufferer. “Have I truly taught you nothing?”

Greg sulks through his next steps, entire body hunching with reluctance. He manages to recover slightly, as the milling party comes into view, pasting on one of those ambivalent half-smiles to meet Kendall lifting a hand in a greeting toward them.

“You two look about to give me bad news.”

“Too true, we’re off,” Tom says, stretching his shoulders back with a glance across the garden, down the grass and into the ponds along the curve of the shallow hill. “You’ll have to continue this lively fete without us.”

Kendall huffs out a snort. “Sure.”

“I did want to ask –” Greg clears his throat with an earnest nod. “Could you put together perhaps a, uh – a compendium of the spells in the orangery?”

“Oh,” Kendall says, a brow lifting, as he reclines in his seat with a considering tilt. “I could, cousin. Are you heading for the country once you’re free from Wanbsgans?”

Tom feels his jaw tighten, a hand curling around the buttons of his jacket, as the other fists in his pocket.

Greg, however, only tuts short. “I don’t believe I-I ever will be, so no.”

Kendall’s other brow joins the first, eyes briefly glancing to Tom while his mouth purses in bemusement. “Oh.”

Tom only barely acknowledges the judgmental glance, more piqued and staring openly at Greg. He doesn’t – what does that even mean? Is he just openly accusing Tom of being unwilling to fulfill the contract, now?

“I’ll get it right over,” Kendall says, slow, shifting in his chair to flatten his heels onto the floor.

“And anything on, uh – on facsimile sunlight?” Greg says, raising his brows with a lean down that makes him a somewhat ludicrous picture over Kendall. “If you could? I think it must be needed in winter.”

“Yeah, makes sense…” Kendall says, clearing his throat with a bob of his brows and glance away. “You think… drainage?”

“Oh,” Greg intones, brow furrowing now with evident concern. “I… yes – it hadn’t even –“

“We agreed there is no room,” Tom interrupts, finally managing to find his voice at the minuscule chance he might really have to deal with some sort of mad spelled greenhouse installed in his home. “You have a hard enough time at your height, Gregory, how do you think a tree would enjoy it?”

Greg scrunches his face up, dropping his head with a marked roll of his lips against his teeth. He seems to have folded, by the grabbing of his elbows, turning a more resigned look toward Kendall. “I’d still like the spells.”

Kendall offers a narrow sort of look, aiming it hard at Tom, again, then jerks his chin up with a more flat smile. “Yes, sure. It’s no issue.”

“We might move, sometime,” Greg says, looking across his shoulder, to all appearances comfortable with verbalizing this fact of him so forever chained by Tom and that he might be forced to move house with him to somewhere with greenhouse space. “You’re… uh, always complaining of the bad air.”

Tom manages a short breath and a low mutter of condescension, forcibly relaxing the hand against his vest with a sense of unease. He certainly should have addressed this a week ago.

The carriage back to the house is long and quiet, as Tom largely pretends to doze on the door, while Greg stares out the window while flicking his watch open and closed. It’s not particularly unusual, and often Greg even has a book, and Tom does actually doze, but today his mind instead runs in circles like it generally saves for the witching hour.

He doesn’t have a plan – he hadn’t actually had one for the task, to be candid, too busy dreading loosing Greg from the bind that could very well be between their souls, dreaded any change and no change in most equal shares, dreaded his own biased regard leeching into every aspect of it. He is positive that it seemed like a hack job, but Greg hadn’t noticed, nor the required witness in a Crown official.

Greg summoned and destroyed and busied himself over damned numerology, then looked pleased as ever when he got a full pass. He hadn’t slipped the chain from his neck to give back the charm in the presence of the official, like Tom had expected, nor broached it after their evening out, like Tom later expected, nor over the breakfast that he fetched into the dining room, as Tom, rolling it over in his head at midnight, decided would certainly be it.

It hadn’t been.

“I think I am going to have these put in a tart?” Greg says, as he resummons the mangosteen, then promptly, presumably disappears them straight into the kitchen. “In the, uh… the hopeful case I refrain from eating them – all of them fresh; you like tarts?”

“Everyone does,” Tom says, as he peels off his jacket with a shallow sort of sigh. “Greg, we –”

“I just hope that the pastry is good,” Greg interrupts, exhaling a thoughtful sort of sigh. “The last one, for Easter, was just a – it was stale, I believe? I do not know how, but it was.”

“We really have to address – ” Tom turns, with a hard swallow as he hangs his coat, and looks back only to blink at nothing behind him. “Gregory! Where’ve you gone?”

“The sitting room?” Greg says, low yet a bit uppity, from just down the corridor.

“I was talking to you,” Tom says, tutting slightly, and makes to follow the voice. He finds himself smoothing down his vest with a short breath, tugging at the hem, as he turns into the room. “Leaving me muttering to myself there like some drunken tramp.”

Greg sweeps his eyes toward Tom, then a bit away, in that manner which is him rolling them.

“We need to get something out of the way,” Tom says, reaching out and snatching away the book Greg has already open in his hands. He looks down at it and turns it around twice before fully realizing it’s one of those senseless spellbooks with the pages all different directions, and that he almost certainly stole it from the estate. “It should be quick – you can get back to all the… forest fae riddlesome tongue twisters you’d like after.”

Greg flattens his mouth in mild irritation, eyes fixed on the book, as it switches between hands.

Tom puts the book down on the end table, slightly rattling a lamp, and paces back across the room. He sets his hands against his hips, curling them into fists, and paces across twice more before he manages to open his mouth again, forcing himself to look at Greg, who seems now markedly more concerned than annoyed with him.

“You’ve fulfilled your term as a familiar, Greg,” Tom says, forcing a loud, jaunty voice that he hopes also sounds firm. “And since I am aware there could be some… concern about how willing I am to emancipate you, I want to assure you that I am –” He briefly glances on Greg’s face, sees it quickly falling shocked, and paces another pair of steps. “I do want to. Just hand it over already.”

“Hand it over?” Greg repeats, one of his hands slowly lifting over the charm sitting under his shirt.

“Yes, come on,” Tom says, hearing his voice only pitch by a note or two, “You passed the test, buddy – that’s the deal! I can’t keep you locked into this indentured magical yoke forever.”

“Have I not…?” Greg visibly chews at the inside of a cheek, as his eyes gain a darker edge that Tom sees only rarely, truly just enough to know the next statement is about to be argumentative. “I have spent three years now a-at your side, Tom – do you appreciate me so little?”

Tom finds himself at a loss, mouth agog while his mind runs through words that have abruptly run somewhere like the opposite direction that he was prepared to go in. “That’s not it, Greg, I…” He clears his throat, shifting his hands from fists to flat palms across his hips. “I appreciate you plenty – that’s hardly in question.”

“Then why ask me to go?” Greg sets his mouth, grabbing at his own elbows with a short hunch into himself. “Why not just let me stay?”

Tom ignores the irksome echo of Shiv’s point in the back of his mind. “No one said anything about you leaving, Greg. Everything else will be the same.”

“It won’t be the same,” Greg says, brows knitting along his forehead while he slips a finger along the chain around his neck. “You won’t b-be bound to me.”

“Exactly, and I – ” Tom pauses, blinking hard and slightly tilting his head. “What do you mean… me bound to you?”

Greg makes a petulant, irritable face, then refuses to answer for seconds, while his eyes drop to the ground between them.

Tom exhales a weary puff of a sigh. “Greg.”

“Do you want to replace me?” Greg asks, not quite answering, diving straight into an obvious, yet still rib-cracking ploy for sympathy. “Take another familiar?”

Tom presses his tongue hard into the backs of his teeth for a pair of seconds. “No, I don’t, you were a… special case,” he says, nearly taking a step forward, then instead taking one back and winding one of his hands into fist. “You know well enough I never had a familiar of any sort, and I do doubt I ever will again.”

“Then why – ?” Greg shakes his head with a sullen press to his mouth. “Uh, why change anything?”

“Because…” Tom takes a breath, briefly looking down to the whorls of colors on the rug beneath their feet, then forcing his eyes back up to look into Greg’s petulant expression. “I don’t simply appreciate you, Greg, I care for you. And I do not want to have to introduce you anymore as just some servant.”

Greg looks up with a blink, brow furrowing, then relaxing, fingertips pinching together in front of him.

“I don’t want this curse between us that turns you half a beast made for my benefit, or compels you to obey. I want…” Tom looks steady on at Greg for as long as he can, then glances away while he exhales a croaking laugh. He has wanted that, a bit, is the trouble – a way to keep Greg perfectly perfect and under his thumb, but… it wouldn’t really be Greg, who is slippery and somewhat earnestly sly, always operating on his next opportunity, and Tom might say he adores how hard it is to wrestle him. “I want you to do what youwant, even if… I do not like it, but at least you will do it without a spell ready around your neck to punish you.”

Greg shakes his head, as he lifts a hand to tap at the impression of the charm beneath his shirt. “You’ve never used it for any of that.”

“Yet,” Tom says, firmly, squaring his shoulders with a harsh gesture between them in a turn of his arm. “I haven’t yet used it. I could at any moment.”

“You once threw a tea service at me,” Greg says, glancing with some significance toward the platter at the far end of the room, gleaming ignominiously in its place under the portrait of some highland. “And it was… not great; the teapot is… um, quite large. And you shoved me down that hill, too, which was cold and unpleasant. But you never used this, really – I’ve been curious sometimes if you even did it right.”

“And now here you’re asking me to shove your face in a pile of horse shit, Gregory,” Tom says, slumping down onto the edge of the settee with a harsh, lengthy sigh. “It shouldn’t matter. You passed your test. You’re a real warlock, whatever the hell that means in this century.” He throws out his hands. “You’re free.”

“Can’t we maybe…” Greg tips his head with a sweep of his eyes in a manner rather plaintive. “Alter it?”

“Alter it?” Tom repeats, sharply, feeling a brow raise high up his forehead.

Greg briefly chews at his cheek, turning one of his hands smally up to show the palm, as his fingers curl inward over it. “Have it all be the same, our magic bound and all, but… without those parts you think are bad.”

Tom rolls his eyes patronizingly in the direction of the textured ceiling above Greg’s head with a scoff. “Obviously, Greg, but that’s more the sort of thing they do for – ” Marriage. “…Handfasting,” he manages at the end of a croak, and he drops his eyes with a thick swallow. “Do you mean that?”

Greg blinks and his brows twitch, a rosy tinge bursting up his neck that means he understands the meaning, but with plainly far less surprise. “Wecan, then?”

“Yes, we…” Tom trails off, barely managing a word, while suddenly feeling… somewhat very manipulated, in a way, though in that it has ended in a rather pleasant outcome. It’s an almost sentimental sensation at this point. “That is, if you’re welcome the idea.”

Greg breaks into one of those brilliant, giant smiles. “I, ah-h – I came up with it.”

Tom feels rooted to the floor, yet also like he needs to take very many steps back. “You did, yes, you proposed – ” He nearly chokes, voice tightening and pitching, ”Proposed it, this notion of continuing our… altering the deal.”

“I’ve wanted to… to at least, to address it,” Greg says, relaxing around the shoulders now that he’s gotten his way, and slipping down to sit onto the opposite wingback chair. “Since I realized exactly… um, what it mean that there was an expiration?”

“Oh,” Tom intones, trying to keep his voice and bearing steady, but mostly feeling his heart beating a heavy pattern against his ribs. He doesn’t know how to ask if Greg means this as… a truly amorous sort of handfasting, or simply one of opportunity and general companionship. It’s hard to tell with him, but Tom… He does rather desire the former, if only he could say so. “Did you?”

“Actually, I-I think even longer than I’ve really understood about it…” Greg rubs across his upper lip with the back of a knuckle, then uses the same hand to flick oddly with his fingers. “Because often I – I entertained saying something… unpleasant about Shiv, to deter you from going through with it with her, even if whatever it was hadn’t been true, as long as it kept you separate.”

Tom feels his eyes go wide, and he can only offer a short, startled tilt of his head.

“I was… somewhat inconvenienced at the idea, um – ” Greg shrugs, flush in his face worsening while he spreads his hands palm up in a small gesture at his middle. “I was relieved not to need to fabricate something… I’m not gifted at it.”

”You were inconvenienced?” Tom takes a thin breath, reaching up and sweeping his fingers harsh against his mouth. He hopes that might count as some confession, in a way, “Even so long ago?”

“Even since, ah – since your first engagement, yes, but… it was superficial?” Greg rolls his head against his shoulder with an avoidant turn of his eyes. He clears his throat in a weak, almost preoccupied cough. “And cooled sli-slightly with the new publishing position, admittedly, but it – uh, it’s gotten stronger, again, far more profound now that we’re all collectively much happier, I think; aren’t we?”

Tom stares for a few beats, sucking at the backs of his teeth a jerky sort of nod –  first engagement, Greg says, of course, because he…

A loud, cracking bang goes off upstairs, followed by a scatter of glass onto the pathway just outside the door.

“Oh!” Greg jumps and looks up, hands gripping his seat and eyes wide at the ceiling, then turns his head at the next one. “Ar-ar-are we being attacked?”

“No,” Tom says, tightly, taking a deep, if tremulous breath in through his nose.

“…Oh,” Greg repeats, blinking twice while still peering at the ceiling. “Are these, um… yes, we are happy bursting windows?”

“Could you, for once – ” Tom hears another window shatter upstairs and covers his burning face, shoulders hunching at the follow shriek of some poor maid, then Mondale barking up a storm. “Just don’t talk.”

“I think that was the stained glass,” Greg mumbles, his voice changing pitch with some evident judgment.

Tom growls under his breath. “You’re still talking, you waste of ears – ”

Greg tonally clears his throat, as cool, spindly fingers abruptly shove under Tom’s palms to replace the grasp on his face. He murmurs something low and utterly indecipherable, prompting a yanking, if somehow palliative feeling to sink into skin and along bone, until Tom feels… limp, but not badly so, every bit of focus plunging into the cradle of Greg’s grip.

“Wha’d y’do?” Tom manages, hearing his voice but not quite feeling it come from his own tongue.

“A spell,” Greg says, lowly and somewhat furtive, as if that is something other than the only answer he could have given. “I may have memorized it from, uh – from one of my grandfather’s tomes. It was used to calm berserkers of the Vikings.”

Tom is distantly certain he should not like to be compared to such a Viking, but he’s feeling far too pleasant to really care too much about it. “Ah.”

“How does it feel?” Greg asks, plainly curious, while his fingers beat a soft tattoo to Tom’s jaw.

“Like opium, in a way,” Tom says, taking a deep breath, then exhaling with a hum, and lets Greg push him down more supine onto the settee. He open his eyes, as cool hands pull away, and reaches out to sluggishly grab at a wrist. “…You’re serious, really – ?”

Greg gently furrows his brow, then crouches back down next to the settee. “I said so.”

“But you…” Tom feels his mouth somewhat flatten, and it is… so, so odd to not feel in such a temper about these words. “You always… You want to leave.”

“It, like – I wasn’t…” Greg drops his eyes, shoulders falling, with a quiet puff of a sigh. “I wasn’t fond of what you were doing in the sense of the soul, you know,” he says, as his arm turns and twists until he can grasp onto Tom’s hand that was around his wrist. “For Uncle Logan, the way it… You must remember. And I was, um… uncertain of how I felt about the work; where I fit in? Even when I tried my hand with Kendall. But it wasn’t the you part, not really, not like that – I-I’m sorry you thought different.”

Tom exhales a bemused note of a hum. “Not me?”

Greg leans in, all of a sudden, to press his forehead to Tom’s with a shallow breath. “Not you.”

Tom stares into Greg’s eyes for a few beats, then swallows thickly, tilting his chin to make hesitating contact with Greg’s parted lips. He lets go of Greg’s hand, pressing it to the side of his neck, looping fingers against the fine chain that holds the charm. He thinks about tugging it, between breaks for breath, but it wouldn’t do much more than bruise Greg’s feelings on the subject; the returning requires ceremony, a meeting of magic and complementary words of spellcasting to jointly break the bond.

He can, perhaps, understand where Greg might have found parallel with another sort of ceremony.

“Do you, truly… truly, Gregory,” Tom begins, rubbing at the soft skin of Greg’s neck with the back of his knuckle, “My sometime Praktikant… want to be just as trussed up as this with me into some uncertain ever?”

“Tom,” Greg sighs, barely above a breath, a smile soft across his lips when he next presses them across Tom’s mouth. “I said so.”

Tom tilts his head to deepen the kiss, taking more firm hold across the flat of Greg’s nape and digging fingers up into his soft hair. He’s not sure – no, he knows that he won’t truly believe that until it actually happens, but… it is a pleasant promise to hear.

Greg pulls away with a sharp glance toward the window, blinking rapidly, eyes going wide with a curse under his breath.

Tom tries to tug Greg back with a yank at the baby hairs along his neck. “Hey– ?”

“I-I have to, uh – to fix the window,” Greg says, pressing another hasty, chaste kiss to Tom’s mouth, before he tragically pulls entirely away. He stumbles up from the floor, swaying with a hand pressing to the settee arm, as his other hand points toward the street. “There seems to be… an argument? Over the taking of our colored glass outside.”

Tom smacks his lips, a powerful line of annoyance biting into his spelled pleasant mood. He pushes himself up and squints toward the window, where some heads topped with varying hats are indeed gathered out beyond it on the stoop. He watches them for a few lazy moments, then murmurs a soft spell under his breath, which prompts a bundle of fur atop of a lady’s head starts to scurry about her; she stumbles and shrieks, then so does the man just next to her, as the fur bounds across the crowd.

A noise of muffled protest comes from the entryway. “Thomas, don’t – they-they’re atop the glass!”

[masterqwertster]

Not an existing AU I don’t think, but what do you think would’ve happened if Laudna hadn’t killed Bor’Dor?

That's perfectly fine, I'm open to penning some thoughts on new AUs, or just giving thoughts on an event or possibility 😊 So since you've specified Laudna not killing Bor'dor, I'll follow that the reveal encounter went as canon until that last Wither and Bloom.

Instead of draining the last bit of his lifeforce for herself, she backs off. She won't be Delilah, taking taking taking people's livelihood, their lives. She won't, she won't!

Orym steps forward and looks down at Bor'dor's unconscious form, a frown marring his brow and calculations running behind his eyes.

"We're at war," he says, stepping closer. "And I'm not losing any more of my people."

Seedling finds the weakly beating heart, stills it.

There's no satisfaction, no relief, in what he's done. But it was necessary.

Bor'dor made his choice. He chose to attack them, despite knowing he was outnumbered and outgunned. He chose to attack them when they heard his story with sympathy, when they had protected and supported him, shown him kindness and vulnerability. He chose to lash out at the whole world for the actions of one group of soldiers, to sentence the gods to death for not intervening. He chose to not give a fuck about the collateral damage of his actions, decided that innocents were a worthy sacrifice to the bottomless pit of his pain.

Maybe if Bor'dor hadn't attacked them, he could have lived. But all trust and safety was shattered in a splash of arcane acid that felled the true most innocent member of the group, Prism, who had absolutely nothing to do with why Bor'dor hated Bells Hells.

The only way to save a mad dog is to put it out of its misery, protecting all the people it would have hurt should it have continued living.

It's the worst part of being a guard, a soldier: to know that the enemy is a person just like you, but their choices mean you cannot allow them to live. Not if you're going to protect the things you swore you would.

Orym pulls the locket out of his pocket and looks at it for a moment.

Then he slides Seedling free and places the locket over the bloody little gap.

"We're at war," he repeats, then walks away to assess the decision he has made today.

So yeah. Even if Laudna hadn't made the kill, I have no doubt Orym or Ashton would have. Bor'dor chose to attack, and more than that, he chose to attack people who were completely uninvolved in the fight between Bells Hells and the Ruby Vanguard just to get at the members of Bells Hells that were present. The one he came closest to killing was Prism, the child, the one who was most innocent to the ways of the world because of her life in cloistered academia. The boys aren't strangers to death or killing, are perfectly willing to kill for the safety of their people (are hardened on the idea that at times they must kill for their people's safety), they have empathy for the people who are dismissed as collateral damage (they've been the collateral damage), and Bor'dor had just proved that he'd put a knife in them if given the opportunity regardless of the consequences or cost.

[seaglass-skies]

An third prompt: Damon Gray has learned about Valerie's elusive new friend Ellie, and pieced together that she's a runaway.

Now, he's trying to at least get her food and shelter on a regular basis. It's a task that reminds him more and more of befriending a stray cat with shrimp from a takeout box.

I'll write drabbles I said, they'll be short and quick I said

:))))

Only CW I can think of is for character injury

~~~

At first, Damon thought the girl was a new friend from school. Then, briefly, he thought she was a new girlfriend, when he started to hear her voice in his daughter’s room far too late at night, well after the doors were locked. He’d been fully ready to support his daughter, once he spoke with her about this sneaking around of course, right up until he caught the girl climbing through his daughter’s window when Valerie wasn’t at home.

It was the first time he’d seen her, and his first thought was “who in the world has been feeding this girl?” She was tiny, gangly in the way of young teenagers who hadn’t grown into themselves, but nearly as tall as his seventeen year old daughter. She’d stared up at him with wide blue eyes half-hidden under a nest of black hair. 

There was something familiar about her, but that wasn’t what mattered in that moment. Namely that she immediately panicked and very nearly clotheslined herself trying to crawl back out of the window.

After a brief tense, awkward conversation, he finally had confirmation that Ellie and Valerie were just friends, (yeah, from, uh, school! yeah!), and that Valerie had given Ellie permission to stop by. Now, he knew he would be speaking with his daughter about that when she got home, but he also was very capable of reading between the lines.

This girl was not a friend from school. And if she had nothing at all to do with his daughter’s, ahem, ghost hunting activities, he would eat his glasses.

Still, it took several more visits, and several very pointed conversations with his daughter, before he put together the rest of the puzzle that was Ellie.

Ellie was Valerie’s friend. Ellie met Valerie during a ghost fight, in which his daughter saved her.

Ellie has nowhere else to go.

So, to answer his very first question upon meeting the girl, no one was feeding her.

Now, that was quite alarming for a number of reasons. Elmerton is a suburb of one of the most dangerous cities he has ever encountered, and he knows how unsafe the streets can be at night. Even if violent crime has drastically dropped off since the ghost attacks started, it’s still no place for a young girl to be wandering alone.

And so began his self-imposed mission to give this girl a safe place to come back to. He learned quickly that this would be extremely difficult.

The girl was flighty and evasive, quick to give detailed accounts of her travels (also deeply troubling was that she seemed to have traveled quite far alone), and yet very reluctant to give any details at all about herself or where she came from. She dodged questions with the acumen of an experienced businessman, all while openly telling lies so clumsy it was difficult to listen to them with a straight face.

She also refused to stay for more than a few hours at a time. She insisted she didn’t want to impose, no matter how much he insisted it was no trouble. Even Valerie confessed, on one dark and rainy night, that she was worried about Ellie finding shelter from the weather.

Unfortunately, any time Damon has tried to suggest that Ellie stay longer, or tried to insist she stop by to eat more often, she’s run away. Literally, on one notable occasion. And so, over the course of several weeks, he found himself becoming the sometimes-host to a very friendly, very excitable, very flighty stray. 

He kept spare food set aside, copied a spare key with a locket for Ellie to keep it in (much safer than his daughter’s window staying unlocked at night), and kept an eye out for any missing person’s posters whenever he passed city hall.

He had the beginnings of a plan to offer a more permanent home. It would be difficult, resources would be tight, but it was becoming increasingly clear that this girl had no family to return to, and the frankly concerning comments she let slip sometimes painted an ugly picture of why. Still, he thought they were making good progress. 

Ellie and Valerie were clearly close friends, and Ellie had begun stopping by more often. More freely accepting their offers for a meal and a warm place to sleep. She even seemed happier, smiling more, laughing more. There were still bags under her eyes, eyes that still seemed far too wary for someone so young, but she seemed to be getting healthier.

Damon remained cautious in his offers of help, unwilling to push too far and scare Ellie off before he could ensure she still had some semblance of stability and safety in her life. He and Valerie had spoken at length, and both were working together to offer the girl a home. They planned to invite Ellie to join their family for good before winter settled in.

They did not expect that those plans would need to change quickly, one early September night, when they returned home to find a girl with snow white hair and glowing green eyes bleeding on their couch.

[purplebass]

True Love Stories Never Have Endings

A belated birthday gift for @emmcarstairs 💜 I tried to put your most favorite ships together in a fan fiction, I hope you like it!

London, Spring 2015

Emma sat on the new parquet of the living room at Blackthorn Hall, sifting through a couple of cream-colored cardboard boxes. She and Julian found them in a closet in the only part of the house that they hadn’t renovated yet, the one dating from the 60’s. Emma wasn’t sure why they’d left that one for last. Perhaps Julian had foresighted that they’d find something valuable in there.

“There are a lot of personal belongings in this wing,” she noticed when they started checking the cupboards and the drawers. “I wonder who lived here? Do you have any idea?”

“I really don’t,” Julian shrugged. “Perhaps a Blackthorn?” he offered, but he thought he would have known. 

“Could your father and uncle might’ve lived here?” Emma wondered, but Julian quickly shook his head. She went back to her box, and found a tiny one with gray stripes on it. Inside, there were a bunch of black and white photographs with the name of the person pictured and the date on the back. In most of the photos there were little kids, three boys and a girl. They looked happy, and they seemed familiar even though they lived a century earlier. “Teddy, Kitty, Willy, Robby,” Emma said out loud, “they were Blackthorns.”

“Blackthorns who named all their children with names ending in -y,” Julian came closer to look at the photos. “I guess it’s a family tradition to follow a theme,” he laughed, thinking about his own family. “Perhaps they inspired the next generations.” He continued his search until he found a box made of wood in one of the drawers of the closet. Some of the blue velvet covering it was coming off, but it was still in good condition. There was a golden inscription on the top, with the Blackthorn family symbol underneath. “L&J, Spring 1908. True Love Stories Never Have Endings.” 

“Wow, this looks old. My parents used to have one too, it belonged to my grandma,” Emma said, suddenly interested in what Julian was looking at. “Who are L&J?”

“Blackthorns?” Julian offered with a shrug, pointing to the circle of thorns on the velvet. “I believe it was them,” he continued after opening the box, where he found a few pictures. The couple pictured could’ve been around their age. “It must have been their wedding day, considering the poses. The girl has a bouquet and this looks like wedding attire, I don’t know,” he showed it to Emma. 

“Lucie and Jesse Blackthorn, May 13, 1908. Our wedding day. You’re right,” Emma read aloud. “There’s even a tiny heart drawn here, how cute,” she smiled. “They must’ve been your great-great-great grandparents, I guess? They look a lot like you and your siblings” she observed the picture better. “I think I remember this guy from one of the portraits at the Los Angeles Institute.”

“I believe he is Rupert’s son,” he said. “They look so much like Livvy and Ty when they were little children,” Julian continued with a faraway expression, pointing a finger on the locket around the girl’s neck. It was the same one Julian had given to Livvy and that now Ty kept. “They must be the reason the Blackthorn family didn’t cease to exist after Rupert died.”

“Indeed,” Emma covered his hand with hers. “And that you’re here, with me, today,” she said lovingly, pressing her lips on his. “So thank you, Lucie and Jesse Blackthorn?”

“We should keep these photographs and memories in a safe place,” Julian nodded. “These are family heirlooms, like the locket,” he showed the two rings he found inside to Emma. They had the same inscription as the top of the box. “I don’t want them to be lost in this ruckus.”

“Smart idea,” she agreed. “Let’s see what more we have here, then.”

London, Spring 1908

It was the day before her much awaited marriage with Jesse, and Lucie was too busy worrying about her vows. Not only the vows she would exchange during the ceremony, but also the ones she would say in front of the guests before the wedding feast. She knew she could’ve just thanked everyone for being there, but as usual, she’d been verbose, as Cordelia had defined her speech. “You need to be more concise, the guests would be starving once you’re done,” she’d suggested. She was probably right, but she still couldn’t help but write half a page of words of affection and gratitude towards her future husband and her guests. They would understand. 

Jesse couldn’t even sit down to eat dinner the evening before the wedding. He asked his aunt Cecily and uncle Gabriel to spend the night at their house in Bedford street. “It’s tradition that I am not to see Lucie the day before the wedding,” he explained. “Dear, traditions are made to be broken,” Cecily said. “You’re just like your uncle Gabriel,” she laughed, and told him that they had been in a similar living arrangement before they got married, and he had done the same. “I went to my brother’s house the night before our wedding,” uncle Gabriel started, and they spent the remainder of the time talking about past memories, trying to ease Jesse’s anxiety. 

Neither he or Lucie could sleep that night, but at least it was all a blur after preparations started early in the morning. Lucie could barely remember her mother and her friends helping her with her hair and dress, before she set for the sanctuary. Nor Jesse could recall the embarrassment he felt realizing his palms were sweaty when he caught sight of the girl he loved walking down the aisle. Lucie didn’t forget her vows, while Jesse had a brief lapse of memory but he quickly remembered the words he had to say. “I’m sorry for earlier,” he told Lucie when they were taking pictures after the ceremony ended. “I was totally dumbstruck,” he confessed shyly.

“No need to apologize,” she muttered with a grin, still blushing. “We made it through, that’s what matters the most, right? ”

“No talking until we take at least five pictures,” said the vampire photographer her father hired. “It takes a few minutes to process these, so stay still and smile for the camera! Don’t you want your descendants to remember you?”

“Of course we do,” Jesse told the guy with a pleasant smile, “but let me kiss my wife before we start.” He glanced at Lucie, and she waited expectantly to be kissed. 

The vampire had to cough to make them stop. “Shadowhunters in love, the things I abhor the most,” he muttered, “I wonder why I accepted this job!”

“To make a living?” Lucie chanced, but the vampire rolled his eyes. “I apologize, that was bad. Please, we’ll behave. We’re eager to have our pictures taken,” she said excitedly. 

The vampire shook his head and muttered how Shadowhunter's sense of humor was of poor taste, but he still took their wedding pictures, preserving their memory to this day.

So, thank you Emma and Julian for remembering your Blackthorn ancestors.

[tr4pnests]

runaway love

not sure what to say other than thank you to those that read chapter one! i hope it was a nice read. i hope my writing improves the more i post but for the time being please be patient with me... enjoy chapter two!

just so its clear there's two flashbacks in this chapter, i wasn't sure how to write it out so i'm saying it now lol

pairing: minami ryusuke x reader 

oc x eiji kimura

word count: 1269

warnings: cursing.

unedited.

𝟏 𝟐

--------------------------------------------------------

𝟐.

ryusuke stares out of his small dreary apartment, the moonlight shines over his face and the breeze from the slightly agape window makes its way into the room.

he was feeling restless once again.

it’s been about three months since he last saw you. the last image of you he had was of your sleeping face, you looked as cute as ever laying there unaware of what would occur later on.

he recalls that night well.

he had come to your house as he usually did after ‘work’ smiling as he walked through the beaded door of your living room.

‘darlin?’ 

‘yes…my…love’ he heard you say slowly and broken from the kitchen that was attached to the living room and walked in further, seeing you chopping up some vegetables with a cigarette hanging from your lips. you wore a long black dress that hugged her body well that it was hardly modest looking on you and paired it with a small light pink apron, and some vintage brown mules. your hair was tied up away from your face.

he smiled as he placed his work (runaway) bag on the floor and walked around the breakfast bar towards you. your house wasn’t very big but it was nice enough for you and your roommate; nelle to share with occasional guests. the living room and kitchen were attached, equipped with a breakfast bar and two chairs, the house had a small hallway that went up stairs to the bathroom and two bedrooms, both rooms having a balcony facing different directions.

‘what are you making?’ he asked while wrapping his arms around you from behind, placing a kiss on your cheek partially to distract you from him stealing the cigarette that was in your mouth.

you giggled softly, putting the knife down onto the chopping board. ‘a salad to go with the salmon i just put in the oven for us.’

he hummed and exhaled the smoke from the cigarette, going around to sit on the stools opposite your cooking station. although ryusuke appeared normal and fine, he wasn’t. he was savouring these last moments with you and planning his goodbye in his head.

‘how was work my love?’ you asked while bending down to check on the salmon, poking at it with a fork.

ryusuke took a moment to think about how things were with the gang… things were not going smooth to say the least, two of his boys were caught during a heist, it caused the rest of the gang to become wary about what they’re doing, they were in a vulnerable position and could be targets for another gang attack. he sighed, taking another hit. 

‘it’s been okay…the office has been rather quiet recently…not much action…’ he told you half a lie. you didn't really know the full his nature of work, he told you he worked in a firm when you first met to cover his tracks. any time you asked about his work he'd avoid talking too much about it.

‘i’m sure things will pick up again soon.’ you smiled genuinely as you stood up slowly again. 

it hurt his heart to lie to you but he had no choice. it pained him even more knowing this was the last time he’d see you…

ryusuke sighs at the memory as he reaches out for the pack of cigarettes at his bedside table along with his lighter. you guys hadn’t done anything significant that night, it was like any of the other nights you shared enjoying each others company. at times he wishes he could’ve been more honest with you in your relationship, especially that night. 

‘i miss you…’ he says quietly looking down the small photo he had of you inside the locket that hung around his neck. you were the one that had given him that necklace.

ryusuke's mind goes back slowly to another memory as he stared at your picture.

‘what’s that around your neck?’ ryusuke pointed at your chest, touching the locket lightly, brushing past your boob. you were both a little drunk and handsy, the two of you shared a bottle of red.

‘this? it’s just a necklace, i bought it a while ago at a flea market because it was cute.’ your heart jumped at his sudden touch but you shrug it off as you look down at your chest, grabbing a hold of your necklace, trying to play it cool. 

‘can i have a closer look at it?’ ryusuke asked staring deeply at the necklace. 

‘uh sure…’ you slowly take the necklace off and hand it to him. you were a little confused as to why he was so engrossed by it but you didn't mind showing him. your chest now felt expose so you placed your hand over it.

he hummed as he looked closer at it from all angles and dangled it in front of you. ‘this is a locket.’

‘what? no it’s not, it’s just a pend-‘ 

‘no look-‘ ryusuke held the pendant on it's side, tearing it open revealing it as a locket. ‘it’s a locket darlin.’

you gasped, falling into laughter and into ryusuke’s lap as you had no idea. ‘do you want it? since you figured that out.’

‘what? you want me to have this?’ he looked down at you in slight disbelief.

‘yeah, why not, you can add a little picture of me and wear me everywhere.’ you winked and joked, feeling a little flirty due to the alcohol which caused him to grin widely.

‘okay let me take a picture of you now then’ ryusuke pulled out his antique polaroid camera, facing it down in your direction. ‘…ready…’

‘wait no! my hair. let me sit u- can we do this tomorrow? i wasn’t prepared for th- ' you panic at his sudden action.

‘aaaaaaandddd smileeeee’

you quickly forced a smile as you knew there was no getting through to your drunk boyfriend when he put a camera in front of you. the camera flashed brightly and an image began to print.

ryusuke smiled grabbing the photo and laying it to the side.

‘i know that photo is sh-‘

‘be quiet and let it appear, i know it’s the most beautiful picture i’ve ever taken.’ he didn't feel like listening to your negative comments, he truly saw you as an angel so it bothered him at times when you'd make such comments but understood it was just occasional insecurities coming through.

you rolled your eyes getting up from his lap to lean on his side instead, waiting with him. once the photo appears you just stared at it, unsure of whether you liked the picture or not and turned to ryusuke, surprised at how happy he looked.

‘ray-‘

‘this is the best locket photo in the world darlin’ thank you.’ ryusuke planted a kiss on your cheek, making you to blush, you look away from him and he chuckled at your reaction, finding it cute how bashful you could be at times.

he stood up to look for some scissors, cutting around the image carefully and placed it into the locket, clasping it around his neck.

‘you’re now with me whenever i go.’ he smiled softly, walking back towards you and planted another kiss but this time on your lips ever so sweetly, leaning so slightly as you were still sat on the couch.

you returned the kiss and smiled up at him. 

'you truly are with me forever y/n' he falled back on his bed again remembering another memory, putting his cigarette out lazily with his arm stretched out to his ashtray.

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

The Last Visit - Hansel

Evidently I'm doing these prompts like a spinning wheel with these three, lol

Hansel is in the same district as @pied-piper-of-hamlet's Caspasia and @clocksandchaos's Oliver Strath

Tagging @concealeddarkness13 @ratracechronicler, @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses, @drabbleitout, @clocksandchaos, @knmartinshouldbewriting

Hansel shuffled nervously. He’d done what he could, what made sense at the time. Had waited to see if his name was called, heart sinking when he realized the third name wasn’t his and he’d have to draw attention to himself. He almost hadn’t, wondered if there was another way to get to where he needed to get to; but the kid. The name that was called…from what he understood of the games, there was no choice, really.

He also needed to get back home. He’d been drawn into playing with the portals, providing a hint of his own magic…and it had gotten him here.

He looked out the window of the small grey room. They apparently were allowed visitors, and he wondered if Jash and her kids would be…

No. He shook his head. He’d only been here for a short while. Jash and her sons wouldn’t have that much of an attachment to him, surely.

Could barely believe they let him volunteer at all, if he was honest. He was on the older end of the age gap, and even then he doubted they looked at him closely. He always looked younger than he really was. Or so they told him.

To his surprise, the door opened. Actually opened. And in walked Jash, her red hair cut short and tears in her eyes. Nahtn and Ksi stood just behind her, the younger one bawling and running for him, wrapping his arms around Hansel’s leg.

“Hey hey Ksi,” he soothed, picking up the younger boy. “It’s alright. It’ll be fine.”

“I won’t tell you that you didn’t have to,” Jash said, walking up to him. “Because…but Hansel…why…You don’t even know us that well. Why did you volunteer?”

Hansel ran a hand through his white hair with a lopsided smile. “It’s simple, really. I…used to have a son. About the same age as Ksi, here. And after that speech about the hunger games…about what this game is really about…Well. Just sitting back and letting Ksi get chosen would be like watching my own son get chosen. I couldn’t do that.” He gave a half-hearted shrug. “Just couldn’t.”

Plus he needed to be picked. Needed to find the others. He hadn’t told Jash the whole story, felt like that was the best. Who’d believe he was a portal-jumping humanoid from another world, anyway? He still had a son, as much as he knew, just back home. Caine hadn’t managed to get caught up in the portal shenanigans, thank elements. But it didn’t change the fact that, despite looking for a different answer, the best way out appeared to be through.

“Here,” she said, walking up to him. “I made this for…in case…” she shook her head. “But Ksi wanted you to have it. For saving him.”

She pressed a small stuffed thing into his hands. It looked like it was supposed to be some kind of animal…a bird? Maybe? Small, small enough to be completely swallowed by his palm. He nodded. Glanced at the closed door and removed a small chain from his neck.

“Here,” he said, placing it into her hands. She stared. Looked at it; the chain led to a small locket which hid a picture. “It’s Caine,” he explained as she looked back up at him. “My…”

“Oh.” She understood. Shook her head. “You should keep it…”

He pushed it further into his hands. “You’ve given up the token you made for your boy,” he said softly. “Take it as a way to remember me…or as a lucky token for next year. Maybe it’ll protect your boys next time and the time after and…” He let it die off. She stood for a moment before quickly looking around and pocketing the locket. Nodding.

The time was almost up. Hansel handed Ksi back to Jash, who held the boy close. Nahtn rushed up and, with a stubborn face said, “thanks. For everything.” Then gave him a short hug before walking away, doing his best to keep up his stubborn face. Hansel only smiled. Brushed his hand through Ksi’s hair before Jash leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered, turning to leave. “Thank you.”

And with that, they were gone. Hansel leaned back into his seat and resumed staring out the window. Couldn’t get over the fact that they were sending kids – kids – into a death machine. Kids that looked no older than his boy.

He did have to find the others. Fuel the portal. Get back home. But…he glanced back at the door. Maybe there was something he could do here, first. He’d only known the family a short while. But it had been long enough for him to get attached to them and them to him. Long enough for him to have realized that he’d only bought Ksi and Nahtn a year before they’d have to do this again. And what about the other tributes? The other kids? The other Districts?

There had to be something he could do.

Jake usually had ideas, was the plotter. The connector. He’d have to hope that Jake managed to wiggle his way inside the games as well. Had come to the same conclusions. Would be able to help him figure out a better way to fight back.

Somewhere in the distance, a chime rang. That was time.

[the-fiction-witch]

Helping

Media MCU Spiderman

Character Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

Couple Peter X Reader

Rating Smut

Concept 'helpful'

Smut: suggestive talks / hand on thigh / blow job

I rushed in from patrol and immediately attempted and failed to get this suit off! But it wasn't working well I knew I was already late I don't have time for technical issues 

"Peter?" I heard that little sugary voice call

"Ohh…. Fudge" I muttered luckily this time it came off so I stuffed it under my mattress and grabbed a shirt from my half open draw unable to even do any buttons up grabbing some jeans 

"Peter? You here?" 

"Yeah! Just give me-" I began but before I could say another word my bedroom door opened 

"Peter!" She gasped in shock clutching her silver locket in shock as she saw me like this, 

"Y/n!" I gasped in shock too immediately attempting to pull my jeans up "hi"

"Hi" she says unable to stop looking at my…lack of jeans 

"Uhhh my eyes are up here" I playfully remind her 

"Are they now. I hadn't noticed" she says dropping her little fluffy blue backpack with rabbit years in her usual spot, and it was then I really took note of her as I actually got some jeans on, in her sweet little black combat boots, pink and green striped tights, her Princess Quest 4 shirt mostly covered by her purple pinafore dress, her hair in her usual pigtail braids her Alice band on keeping her bangs from her face "sorry Peter" she smiled sitting down on my bed beside me

"It's fine. You just… you need to wait until I say so. So you don't end up barging in on me again"

"Alright I am sorry" she smiled "shall we?" She offered as she pulled her switch from her backpack

"Sure" I smiled happily taking a joycon to engage in our usual Thursday night 

"What where you up to anyway parker?" She asks 

"What?" I asked as I had been concentrating

"I was merely inquiring as to why you where snuggled in your bedroom with your shirt undone and jeans off, moment's before my arrival?"

"Ohhh well I had uhhhh just uhh got out the shower?" 

"I don't see a towel" she says glancing around the room 

"Ohh yeah well I uhhhhh I was uhhhh"

"Peter?"

"Yes?" I gulped

"Where you?" She asks "doing something naughty?" She whispered

"Naughty?" I asked giving her a questionable look 

She didn't answer her hand simply moved to my upper thigh giving it a soft squeeze and glancing at my 

"Oh- naughty. Right" I blushed, well that's certainly an easier answer to explain then… the real one. "Kinda"

"And why were you doing that?"

"Just…. cause" 

"Cause?"

"Cause. It happened."

"Your such a sweetie" she smiled giving my cheek a kiss which made me blush hard "you know, next time if it….happens again right before our Thursday night time. Don't bother"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't mind helping" she smiled giving my leg another squeeze

"Uuuuuuuuuuhhhhh" was all that arrived at my mouth getting lost somewhere between my brain and mouth "you uhhhhh you wouldn't?"

"Not all all Peter" she smiled giving my nose and kiss before returning her focus to the game 

"So if… just before you came over I… you wouldn't mind helping?"

"Not at all" 

"What if, you weren't meant to head over, could maybe I…. Call you? And you might help over the phone"

"I could of you'd like that" she smiled giving me a playful elbow 

"What if I said I…. Now?" 

"Now?"

"Yeah"

"Right now?"

"Right now" I nodded 

She smiled saving her game "okay" she smiled moving to kneel on the rug Infront of me "in or out?" She asks

"What?" I asked having not really been focusing noticing her hands on her dresses straps suggestively I was for a second confused by her question and then it clicked "ohh your- uhhhh in. I don't want you to get cold"

"Awww so considerate" she smiled gently undoing my jeans tugging them down my legs, I didn't stop her I just relaxed and let her work soon enough she pulled my boxers down too and she seemed taken aback but given how excited our meer conversation had made me "umm you did need my help" she smirked she started slow meerly taking a soft grip of my shaft, I couldn't help but stare are her as she slowly stroked every inch of me she smiled wickedly before she moved my legs apart and moved forward pressing her soft little kisses onto my shaft which immediately made me gasp struggling not to buck my hips towards her trying to relax into the sweet pleasure but it just winding me up more "hummm relax peter" she smiled rubbing the bottom of my stomach between her kisses 

"I'm trying…" I gasped 

"How about we move on then?" She smiled moving to take every inch of me in her mouth

"Ohhh…. Fudge. Fuck. Fuck. Y/n!" I groaned my eyes rolling back as she gently bobbed her head gently sucking all the whole "uhhhh y/n baby" I groaned resting my hand in the back of her head, I lost track of how long this went on and honestly I couldn't care it felt so good doing my best to limit my moans and groans that task getting harder the longer it went on, I knew I was so close but it didn't slow her down at all "y/n… baby please im-" I pleaded but it only made her speed up gently moaning with me still in her mouth and it was like I was swinging and hit a wall this instant rush! I grabbed her hair hard and she happily took as much as she could, once I crashed I felt back on my bed getting my breath, she giggled and pulled back cleaning what little escaped her lips getting up fixing her hair a little from all that, getting a bit of gum from her bag and laying down beside me 

"Feel better now peter?"

"Ummmm much much better y/n. Thank you"

"You're welcome. No more secret playing?"

"i won't I promise. Why would I need to if I've got you to help me out" I smiled. "Could maybe… I actually kiss you?"

"Five minutes" she smiled kissing my head "when the taste is out my mouth" she winked 

[tallbluelady]

Solar Cycle

2.1k

Books selected, Urianger raided the larder for any easy to transport food stuffs for his personal Heaven's Turn celebration. He spotted a pot of mun-tuy that Rowan had given him... but alas, twas empty. He then remembered that was from before last Heaven's Turn, so it was likely for the best. Still, now that he had seen the pot, he found himself wishing for the silky texture of Gelmorran mun-tuy.

Even without his food of choice, Urianger found enough to snack on while he read under the stars. Blanket, books, candles, food, and sparkling wine set in a basket, he made his way upstairs. And found a very surprised Rowan at the top of them as he opened the door.

"Oh, Urianger!" She was carrying a few small pots in her arms. "Are you going somewhere else for Heaven's Turn? You're not wearing your usual garb."

"Nay, not in the sense that thou meanest, milady. I only mean to ascend to the roof to watch the stars whilst I read, and that is harder to achieve with goggles on," he admitted, "Wherefore hast thou come hither on this night of celebration?"

"Ahh..." She shifted some of the pots uncomfortably. "I... err... Thancred said you were wont to have a quieter celebration than everyone else. The Stones is currently too rowdy for my taste... And I wasn't quite in the mood to spend the night with my mother's friends asking me if I had a man in my life... so I thought I'd spend it with you."

Urianger could only blink a few times as he tried to process what she had said.

"If - if that's alright with you." Rowan swallowed.

He shook his head and smiled. "Thou art more than welcome to join me. Dost thou need to set thy burden down in the Sands proper?"

"They're pots of mun-tuy, actually. I remembered you liked it, so I stole some from my mother's before heading here."

After some rearranging of packs and getting another glass for Rowan, the two of them made it to the roof. It was a beautifully clear night to see the stars arrayed in the heavens. The streets of Vesper Bay were relatively quiet, with only a bit of noise spilling out of the Pissed Pieste. Urianger found himself smiling as Rowan took in a deep breath of the salty air.

"So you do this every year?" she asked as he laid out the blanket for the picnic.

"Should circumstances allow, I do. Twas a habit borne out of avoidance. Moenbryda found me one year and we would spend it thusly ever since."

"Is it hard to do this without her?"

He shrugged. "I had been practicing the tradition alone when I took to Eorzea's shores. That first year in this country had been trying, but I was also left bereft of Master Louisoix's company that previous summer."

"What about last year's?"

"I hadn't the chance. To facilitate Elidibus' plans, I had to forgo last Heaven's Turn."

"Oh." Rowan's face took a melancholic look as he lit the candles.

"But with any hope, we may leave that terrible business with the last Solar Cycle." Urianger reclined on a cushion next to her. "And mayhap we'll only have good news for the next."

"Ha, don't jinx it. With how ridiculous the last two have been, I think we qualify for living in 'interesting times'."

"Then I pray that we survive such times until they become utterly dull," Urianger said, "Though that may leave us unemployed."

"You, a scholar of Sharlyan without aught to do? I'm sure you could think of some subject of study to keep you busy." She took a spoonful of mun-tuy and smirked.

He gave her a conceding nod as he remembered the equation for the amethyst carbuncle he was occasionally scratching at. "Thou dost have the right of that, I must admit. But what of thee? What wouldst thou do if not pressed by urgent needs?"

Rowan sighed and hugged her knees close to her. "This might sound strange or silly considering he fought at Charteneau, but I'd try to find my brother Ellant. They found my father's body after the battle, but there wasn't any trace of Ellant. Not his quiver, not his flute. Not even the locket he took with him. So mayhap by some miracle, he's still out there. Why he hasn't made his way back home is still a mystery but..."

"I would fain help thee in thy search," Urianger offered almost immediately.

She paused, but gave him a half smile. "I know you would. You all would, honestly. Alisaie always points to various Duskwight men asking me if they're Ellant."

"Even if the man in question doth not resemble thy mother?"

"She still does! I don't recall if she ever even met my mother properly, much less have an idea of what he would look like. I think she pointed at a rather skinny Roegadyn man once!"

 The two of them shared a laugh at that. Her eyes were glittering in the candle light as she smiled.

Urianger found himself caught in the soft silver of her eyes, so he turned and took out a book of poetry. "I was only going to read these silently, but I suppose that thou wouldst enjoy a recitation."

Rowan nodded. "Aye, that I would. Is this one particular poet or a collection?"

"Tis a collection of poems of the natural phenomena of the Star. The editor found it fit to organize it by season, and I take the chance to remember the past year as I read through them."

"I think my mother has this one, is it The Silent Regard of Stars?"

As it turned out, it was indeed The Silent Regard of Stars, and Rowan volunteered to read a few of the verses herself. The two took turns holding the candle close enough to the book so the other could read. Urianger had to admit their proximity made the whole thing rather intimate but... mayhap it wasn't a bad thing to become closer with his colleague. She certainly didn't seem to mind it.

Rowan read through her chosen poems with a clear, melodic voice. Where she stressed some of the syllables were different than his, but they were oft to the poems' benefit, he had to admit. The words flowed from her mouth as though they were written to be delivered in her voice, and her voice alone.

Oh.

"Urianger?" Rowan asked softly when there was a lull between them.

"Yes, milady?" He realized how lovely his name sounded coming from her voice.

"Tis nearly midnight."

"So it is."

"Shouldn't we pour the wine to toast the new year?"

He shook his head. They hadn't even gotten to the wine with how enraptured they had been in the verses. "Oh, aye, of course, we shouldn't let this vintage go to waste."

Though he found himself loathe to turn from her, he moved the candle so he could see the wine bottle and glasses. Rowan set the book down and held her glass. Both poured, they held them to each other. The patrons of the pub were loud enough that they could trust the crowd to count down to the new year.

"Dost thou have a toast in mind?"

"I do... it's one from Count Fortemps." She cleared her throat. "To those we have lost, and to those we can yet save."

Urianger nodded and repeated it. They touched their glasses as the old year slipped away and started the new one fresh with the wine on their lips.

"Oh, that is good." Rowan smacked her lips after finishing her toast. "Did you ever get too drunk to get down afterwards?"

"Moenbryda and I did stumble into that situation once or twice. We found a more secluded location after the first time." Urianger smiled, remembering how the two of them had cuddled together until the world stopped spinning.

Rowan gave a little hum and topped off each of their glasses. "Do you have a particular toast before the occasion fades?"

Urianger thought for a moment, then smiled. "To finding that which is lost, and finding them whole and hale."

Rowan smiled and they touched their glasses again. Seeing her in this happy state, he found that he had another toast.

"This is really good, honestly," Rowan said, "But I don't know if I want to indulge too much."

He nodded. "I do see the wisdom in that. Yet I do have one last toast ere we drain our cups."

She nodded and raised her glass in preparation.

"To seeing ourselves in this blessed state next year."

"To making sure that it happens."

The two of them touched their glasses one last time and finally drained their goblets. Rather than clean up, however, the two of them just sat and admired the heavens. Clear, twinkling stars shone through the chill of the night air. Urianger turned to see that Rowan was concentrating very intently on the sky.

"Is aught amiss?" he asked.

She continued to look at the sky. "Not if I can find what I'm looking for."

"Art thou seeking one of the Heaven's Gates?" He had heard from Alphinaud that Rowan had been researching astrology in an attempt to learn more of the magic arts.

She turned to him. "I am, actually. I don't know if I'm truly able to practice the astrologian's art, but I find the connection to the stars in the heavens to be fascinating."

"I fail to see why thou couldst not. After all, thou hast managed to revive the dead art of Red Magic along with Mistress Alisaie."

Rowan shrugged. "That feels different; there's a much more physical component to the casting of Red Magic. You have to find the connection to yourself in that art. And despite my favor of the stars at night, I can't seem to find the connection to them. I know there should be one of the Heaven's Gates visible here, but I am completely lost as to where it is in the expanse."

Urianger thought for a moment, then remembered that at this time of year and at this location... "There it is - the Bole." He pointed at the constellation, tracing the shape of the bright stars that marked the contours of the World Tree. "Where...?" Rowan's head bobbed trying to find where he had pointed to. "Here." Urianger, bereft of some of his usual inhibition, reached around her to take her right hand in his and pointed to the first star. "The Bole consists of these six pale yellow stars. Most learn to find the center star, the trunk... then find the others as the branches... then the roots."

"Huh. That has to be the squattest constellation for a tree I could ever think of."

Urianger chuckled, dropping their hands. "Thou shouldst know that I had a similar reaction when I first was introduced to astrology. My teachers then explained that the color of the stars are due to their aetheric make-up. The first astrologians took inspiration of the aether for their subject rather than the shape it produced."

Rowan hummed her acknowledgement and started to lean into him. His heart leapt to his throat. He hadn't felt like this since he and Moenbryda were adolescents.

Then she started and moved back. "I, uh, er... ah, I suppose it's getting late. Mayhap we should retire?"

"Aye, mayhap twould be best we retire now, lest we catch a chill in the night air."

She nodded quickly and they packed up the picnic. With extra care, they climbed down from the Waking Sands roof without injury. After setting the basket in the kitchen and returning the wine to its rack, the two of them took their time to walk to the dormitory area of the Sands. He wasn't entirely sure, but he thought he felt Rowan's hand brush his as they walked.

"You know, I never expected you'd keep the room for me," Rowan admitted when they got to her door.

"I am not wont to have to many guests, Rowan. Fewer still grant me with such delightful conversations as thee." Was that too much?

She looked down demurely at the compliment. Gods, was she always this humble? "I enjoy our conversations as well. I must admit, this was probably my favorite Heaven's Turn I've celebrated as an adult."

"Twas easily my favorite since arriving upon these shores."

She smiled again, and leaned against her door. "I hope we have a good year, Urianger. This was definitely a strong start."

"Verily."

Later, he would blame the wine - despite only having a single glass - for his taking her hand and kissing it. He would blame his cowardice for not taking the time to see her reaction as he turned to his room and locked himself in.

[apaise]

@feveredblurs​ ( continued . )

the pearl feels cool to the touch, smooth and slippery as if it had just been plucked from the stream. she’s about to ask if they could find a locket big enough to hold it when haley reveals the gift isn’t a pearl after all. ❝ it’s not? ❞ avery gapes in surprise, never having seen anything else as iridescent; it catches bits of sun from the window and spangles rainbows across the floorboards.

she closes one eye to take a closer look, but then haley swiftly retrieves the stone from her, declaring it an amplifier. avery had certainly heard that word before -- that grumpy witch who dresses in jewel tones had once come around to brag about one, but hers had been the beak of some poor creature. it hadn’t looked half as beautiful as this, the amplifier gleaming like a drop of twilight in haley’s hand.  

yet despite how striking the stone is, it can't hold her attention for very long when haley is here. avery looks back to the witch's pretty face, already smiling before she even hears her explanation. but then it does dawn on her, and then avery stands there transfixed, doubting her ears for a moment. beginners? magic? 

that couldn't be haley then, her talents already so marvelous, undeniable. a gift for avery, for beginners' magic. she sways a little as haley hands her the crystal again, wanting to catch her fingers and kiss them but ultimately too stunned to move. part of avery worries that this is a dream and if she acts too suddenly, she’ll find herself waking up in bed. but the feeling of haley’s fingertips grazing her palm feels too real, too electric, and avery suddenly finds that life can sometimes be greater than even her wildest dreams.

any spells you make. the prospect of actually casting spells herself should excite avery more than anything, but instead she finds herself clinging to the idea of haley’s teachings even more -- the idea they’ll be spending more time together, closely, working together, partners! she’s still amazed even as haley offers again, asking if avery would like it, as if there could be any other possibility but yes.

 ❝ you want to teach me? ❞ avery repeats the words like they’re something holy. so overwhelmed with love and happiness in this moment, you could knock her over with a feather, a breath, even a thought. she doesn’t need a confirmation, however, she realizes the answer on haley’s face.

❝ yes -- yes! ❞ she exclaims, bounding forward in an instant to wrap her arms around haley. ❝ a thousand times yes! ❞ she embraces her tightly, inhaling the scents of sage and lavender from this morning’s potions still perfumed in haley’s hair. ❝ oh -- thank you, haley, ❞ avery draws back, happy tears in her eyes. normally, she would be showering kisses on a friend’s face after such a gift, and yet something keeps her from drawing too close, as if afraid to waste such a precious touch.  

❝ this is the best gift anyone’s ever given me. ❞ her smile trembles with the delight and anticipation. she squeezes haley’s arm with her free hand, refusing to disentangle from her just yet. ❝ i won’t let you down, i promise. i’ll work very, very hard. ❞

[kilannad]

As the Stars Burn On Chapter 32

Masterlist. Ao3. Discord.

The Thousand Sunny

The party swung to life with a roar. The Galley-La company had an outdoor pool behind their headquarters and decided that with the funeral over, it was time to celebrate the living. Besides which, Luffy ordered a victory party, and none of them would dare mutiny. With Robin back, everyone awake and as healed as they could be, they had no more reason to delay.

Not even Luffy bitching about them all getting tattoos without him could ruin the good mood. Lucy wished she could be surprised, but in the aftermath of Enies Lobby, she thought they all wanted the reminder of where they belonged. Zoro had gotten his stretched across the left side of his chest, reaching over to cover part of his arm; Nami’s was on her left thigh and Robin’s on her right calf; Chopper and Lily had both gotten it on their chests, so that it’d stretch when they shifted forms; Usopp, taking a cue from Lucy, had put his on his arm, just under the shoulder; Sanji had put his on his right hand. Luffy was highly offended they hadn’t waited for him to be up so he could also get a one, but the fact that they’d need seastone in order for him to get any tattoo anyway seemed to calm him down. He was determined to get one at the soonest opportunity though. 

The water felt good against her skin, washing away the stress and tension. Usopp was singing some god-awful song about Sniper Island, Zoro and Sanji were arguing, Paulie was bright red and complaining, loudly, about Nami's bathing suit. Lucy cut through the water, coming up not far from where Robin was lounging, smiling quietly as she watched the crew. Her locket hung around her neck, the carved tree glinting in the sun, the last heirloom of Ohara. Lucy stopped at the edge of the water, sending a splash up.

"Dereshishi!" Robin laughed. "I suppose I deserve that."

"There's nothing to forgive," Lucy told her. "But if I can ask...why didn't you tell me, when you found out about the Stone Keys?"

Robin sighed, rubbing the necklace. "That last moment, the only time my mother hugged me, she pressed it into my hand and told me it was the heart of Ohara and for as long as it was safe, our legacy would live on with me. I...I should've given it to you. I nearly did, on Skypiea."

"It's alright," Lucy promised. "I can understand wanting to protect the last thing your mother gave you. Hóu said you kept good care of his Key. I think he'll be glad to meet you, when you're ready for it."

Robin swallowed heavily, nodding. "Thank you."

"Whatever you need, Robin."

"Well," she drew out, "Since you're offering...Care to explain what's been happening with the dragons while I was gone? They seem to be getting very friendly."

Lucy's face went red and she lowered herself deeper into the water to hide. It only earned another laugh from Robin. Sensing drama was happening, Nami seemed to appear from nowhere.

"Oh, this has to be about Laxus and Gajeel."

"Do you two ever stop?"

"Will you ever stop hiding and sleep with them?" Nami shot back.

The thought--the idea of being in bed, with both of them, naked--made steam come out of her ears. Lucy wasn't ashamed about still being a virgin, but she would be a liar if she said she hadn't considered it. Often.

"You know sex isn't the issue," Lucy complained.

"Lucy," Robin soothed. "I have lived many years in many places, and not once have I seen people who cared about each other the way those two care about you. If you'd only try, I think you'd find them very much in your reach."

It eased something in her, some curled up fear left over from days as 'Lady' Lucy. She was so used to people wanting her for her body or her fortune that even though she knew Laxus and Gajeel cared about her, it was hard to remember, sometimes.

"We want you happy," Nami told her. Then, smirking, she added, "And just to be sure; I told Franky that you three needed a room together."

"You what?!"

"Don't worry. He said, I quote, 'I ain't dumb, I planned the soundproofing for their room first'. So, you know."

"Does everyone think we're already in a relationship?"

"Yes."

Lucy splashed water towards them, then dived away to cool off. They were right. She knew they were right but...for all her confidence she was nervous. Anxious. She'd managed a handful of dates during her year in Magnolia and had never met the same person twice. She was too awkward, too unsure of how to handle a normal relationship. At the end of the day, she'd been raised an heiress and hadn't been taught dating; she'd always expected for a match to be made for her, all the way up until she ran away. Besides, the three of them were so entangled already, she didn't even know how to approach the topic.

She came up, gasping for air and wiping water from her eyes. The sun was starting to go down, the party tipping away from 'fun celebration' and toward 'drunk crowd'. Lifting herself up and out, she spied Gajeel stepping behind one of the corners where she knew some chairs were tucked away in the shade.

At her side, Aquarius's Key seemed to glow spitefully.

"Yeah, yeah." Lucy pressed a towel to her face, trying to think calming thoughts. She knew they'd say yes, no matter what she said. She did. She just...might combust before she got that far.

Moving before she could over think anymore, she patted herself dry and dumped the towel on a table. An arm bloomed, giving a thumbs up before vanishing in a flourish of petals. With no plan but as ready as she'd ever be, she wove her way through the crowd.

It was quieter in the back, a handful of beach chairs tucked away in a corner out of sight and in some semblance of peace. Gajeel was laid out across one in his black swim shorts and nothing else, his piercings still dripping water. His eyes were closed, but when she stepped closer he snatched up her wrist without looking and tugged her over until she stretched out next to him.

Despite herself, his touch eased her tension and she was glad for him pulling her close. Nami could tease her for it all she wanted, but Lucy was always calmer these days in Gajeel or Laxus's arms.

"What's wrong?" he murmured.

"Who said anything was wrong?"

"I can smell your stress, Bunny." He cracked an eye open, the slitted pupil wide in the shadow. "Is it your bounty?"

Fuck, she'd almost forgotten about that. She'd never heard of an 'only alive' bounty and she couldn't fathom why the number was so high. "There are Emperor Commanders with lower bounties than me," she admitted. "I just don't get it."

His arm tightened around her waist, drawing her closer against him. She buried his face in his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his pulse. "We'll figure it out, Bunny."

She trusted him, but she didn't know if it would be that easy. There were too many things lately; her bounty, creating a Key, the mark on her back. She needed a distraction or she'd start spiraling.

"What do I smell like?"

"What?"

"You said you can smell my stress. What's that like?"

He chuckled, twisting his head to take a deep breath of her hair. "Normally, you smell like eucalyptus and spearmint--your soap. Then there's the layer of hormones and things that everyone has; that's what lets us know your emotions. If it's sour, you're afraid; bitter means stress or anger, depending on the situation; if you smell...sparkly, then you're about to cast."

"Sparkly?" she teased. "What do sparkles smell like, exactly?"

"Don' know, but you manage it, Bunny. It's just what your magic smells like to us." His gaze went a little distant. "It was so thick when you saved Merry I could've bitten into it. Like a physical thing pressing down all around us."

She swallowed, pressing a hand to his jaw to draw him back to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

"You did, Luce. Just...be careful what magic you call on."

"Okay." She bumped their foreheads together. Trying to lighten the mood, she said, "What about sweet? Do I ever smell like that?"

Instead of laughing like she expected, his nose flared as his pupils dilated further. His voice roughened, dropping down as his hand clenched around her hip. "Only smelled ya sweet once," he murmured. "When we first met up on Water 7."

It didn't take her long to put together the pieces. Of course two dragon slayers could smell when she was aroused, she didn't know why she expected otherwise. It certainly explained Laxus's smugness afterward, though by Gajeel's voice she guessed it did as much for them as watching them fight did for her.

It was a peculiar kind of power, she realized. The ability to make two of the strongest, most controlled people she knew get distracted simply by her scent. The knowledge that they wanted her the way she wanted them. That--knowing they were equals in this in every way--made her next question so much easier.

She tilted her head, pressing their noses together. Beneath her hands, Gajeel went perfectly still, eyes tracking her every twitch without daring to move an inch, lest he go uninvited.

"Kiss me?"

Gajeel dragged a hand slowly up her arm, fingers gliding back into her hair and gently tugging her head back as he leaned down and finally--finally--kissed her. He kept it gentle and sweet, giving a single nip to her bottom lip so she'd let him in. She moaned against the first swipe of his tongue, hand gripping at his shoulder and feeling the flex of his muscles. Lucy pressed closer, flicking her tongue against the sharp point of his canine; he growled, fingers digging in as he shifted their angle, going deeper and harder. Her head spun, every inch of her attention falling on the points of their bodies, the glide of his tongue, the taste of his lips.

Another hand, larger and hotter, prickling at her skin with almost-static, dragged up her back. She shifted, baring her throat and whining despite herself. Laxus pressed kisses up her back, nipping at the pulse in her neck when he'd found his way there.

Gajeel pulled back, eyes flicking across her face then over her shoulder. "Don' break her skin," he warned. Lucy was too far gone to understand what he was asking, but Laxus hummed an assent.

Lucy leaned back, finding Laxus hovering over her, panting and wide-eyed. His tongue flicked out, chasing something on his lips. "Can I-?" He didn't finish, but she didn't need him to. She pulled him down until he was close enough, arching back and up to kiss. Gajeel dragged his lips down her neck, her collarbone, her chest, his canines leaving hot trails, just a touch away from painful.

Laxus had none of the patience of Gajeel but all of the same skill. He kissed hard and deep, leaving her desperate for air and completely unwilling to part. Gajeel shifted them, hauling her up until she was straddling him and more able to twist and meet Laxus without hurting her back. For a long while she lost track of herself, falling into the warm sensations of their touch.

☉

Lucy curled deeper under the covers, the soft sheets dragging across her skin as she buried herself into Laxus's chest. Behind her, Gajeel shifted closer, his arm a hot band across her stomach. She was vaguely aware that there was sun shining from somewhere and she should probably get up, but she was too warm and comfortable, her limbs heavy and loose, even in the places that were sore.

Distantly, she heard a door open. Gajeel lifted his head, giving a short, menacing growl that reverberated through her back. The door closed.

Through the walls, audible even to her human ears, she heard Usopp shout, "Alright, who had money on during Water 7?"

"Ha!" Nami yelled. "I knew it!"

Lucy groaned but decided to ignore them. She could be mad about them betting on her sex life later.

☉

"So it's true you're building their new ship," Paulie breathed, walking up alongside Tilestone and Lulu.

"What are you idiots doing here?" Franky demanded.

"What, you think we'll let you make a mess of their ship after they got revenge for Iceburg?" Paulie snorted.

"When was the last time you built a ship?" Lulu demanded. "And this is a rush order, you'll need help."

"You think I want help from some two-bit shipwrights?" Franky spat, glaring at them all over his glasses.

"We studied under Iceburg," Paulie said, lighting his cigar. "He'd be here himself if he could."

They were right and Franky knew it. With Iceburg and Tom dead, Kokoro was the only one who knew his dream from all those years ago. Iceburg had laughed, but Tom, as always, had simply told him to do it with a gusto. And for all that he loved his guys, Franky knew none of them could build something this complicated. They were having enough trouble fixing the Franky House from the damage left by Aqua Laguna.

"So," Paulie demanded. "Where are those blueprints?"

"Fine but if you fuck this up, I'm SUPER tossing you into the ocean."

☉

"Do you really think it's her?"

"Who else?"

"Then this era is more dangerous than any other. We must be vigilant."

"We have withstood for eight hundred years and we will withstand for another thousand. One Heartifilia couldn't stop us then, and she won't do it now."

☉

Kuzan pushed off from the wall, having seen all he needed to. For years, he'd wondered if Saul had been right, always questioning Justice and how he served it. Now, it seemed he had his answer.

Nico Robin would live her life for those who came before her and those who protected her now. Her choice had been made.

Now he just had to make his.

��

Jonathan leaned against the railing of his ship, considering the distant figure of G-8 raising from the ocean. His showing in helping evacuate Enies Lobby had bought him time, but little else. More than ever, he had to consider what he served. Nico Robin continued to haunt him, and likely would for days to come.

☉

"Don't you want to see them, Koby?"

"Of course, Helmeppo. But I'm not strong enough yet. I'm a marine and he's a pirate; one day, I'm going to have to arrest him."

"You think you'll be strong enough?"

"Yeah. One day, I'm going to be an Admiral. Then I'll be able to arrest the Pirate King."

"You're crazy Koby."

"If you don't want to-"

"Oh I'm staying. A crazy bastard like you? I've gotta watch your back."

"Heh. Thanks."

☉

Lucy breathed deeply as the breeze passed over her. The air was getting colder as Water 7 headed towards their winter season, the water still choppy. Aqua Laguna may be the worst storm they'd get, but it marked the beginning of their rainy season. Out here, on the little scrap of land that they had first docked at, the world felt strange. It was the same land, if still a little muddy. The same ocean pushing against the shore. Yet somehow, everything had changed. Her back prickled each time she reached for her magic, her bounty hanging over her head. Their crew had publicly declared war on the government and now had a collective bounty over 2.1 billion berries. There were New World veterans who didn't have a bounty that high. They'd tasted that sort of strength against Aokiji and been thoroughly outclassed; she couldn't even win against a Vice Admiral. 

In her hand, Merry's Key seemed to vibrate. Lucy didn't know what form she'd take, or what powers, if any, she'd carry. There were no stories to guide her and no memory of her mother whispering in her ear. Only the newly forged Key in her hands, a fresh constellation created in the night sky, and the bubbling strength of her magic in her chest. Laxus had explained Second Origin to her and she could feel the edges where her magic had gotten deeper, bigger. It'd only grow from there.

Behind her, Usopp shifted in place, the whole crew present to watch and say hello once more to their nakama who had given her life for them. Lucy figured she should stop making them wait. She stepped into the ocean, the water cold against her ankles.

“I am linked to the path to the world of Celestial Spirits, now! O spirit, answer my call and pass through the gate! Open, Gate of the Klabautermann, Going Merry!"

Her magic tightened, almost hesitant, then channeled through the Key. It was like summoning a Gold or Stone; a Spirit she knew, instantly, was unique and special and the magic demanded a price for the exchange. Merry wasn't nearly as strong as Loke or Aquarius or even Mă, but there was a weight to her energy, a strength so at odds with her struggling in her final moments. In the water just in front of her, a gold circle appeared, and in a shimmering light, the first Wood Spirit materialized.

Merry as a Spirit was both just like herself in life and yet so different. Short and slim like her Klabautermann, the hood of her yellow raincoat was pushed off, revealing a puff of white hair with two curling horns and a wide, bright smile. Her eyes were completely black, as if her pupil had fully taken over and she wore striped red leggings and a black shirt, a wooden mallet hooked on a little tool belt around her waist. She sank into the water, kicking her feet to make it splash as she laughed long and loud, just like their captain did.

"Shishishi! Glad to officially meet you, Lucy Heartifilia!"

Lucy had to press her hand over her mouth, tears welling up before she could stop them. The blood and injuries she'd carried in life were gone, leaving her looking like nothing more than a happy, if strange, little girl. If it weren't for the connection to her magic, Lucy could almost believe she was still alive. Almost.

"Merry!" Usopp rushed forward, sweeping her up into a hug and suddenly the whole crew was there, passing her around for hugs and pats, as many tears flowing now as when she'd gone down at sea. Lucy couldn't stop crying, no matter how hard she tried, caught between the joy of Merry's existence and the cost it would come at. She knew, better than anyone, what price Spirits paid for their immortality. Several of her Spirits had served Layla, only to watch her die. Aries had been horribly abused, and she had no doubt the rest had their fair share of cruel masters. Merry would be protected for as long as Lucy lived, but inevitably, there would come a day she'd die, as those before her did. When that happened, she could make no promises about Merry's safety.

Luffy kneeled down, gripping Merry's thin shoulders. "I'm glad you're okay, Merry. You were the best ship we could've hoped for."

"Thank you, Cap'n," she saluted. "I'm ready to serve whenever called on." She dropped her hand, grinning sheepishly at Lucy. "Uh, if you want to make a contract with me, that is."

Lucy couldn't help but laugh. "I think that's meant to be my question." She stepped forward, offering a hand out. "What do you say, Merry? Want to keep sailing with us?"

"More than anything," she swore. She gripped Lucy's hand, brow setting into fierce determination. "I may be the newest, but I've been caught up to date by the others. My power over ships is yours, Lucy Heartifilia, for as long as the stars burn on."

Something about the words stuck out, more than they usually did. She'd had the thought, what felt like years ago, that Mă was more formal than the Gold Keys and it'd held true for all the Stone Keys. Now, having created a Key herself and having met her ancestor, after a fashion, she wondered what secret was hidden in that phrase. She felt like she had a hundred piece puzzle scattered around her, but couldn't see the picture. Maybe she wouldn't until she was at the end of the world.

Lucy wavered on her feet, Laxus cursing as he balanced her. "I told you it was too soon," he muttered. "Now will you please get some rest before doing any more serious summoning?"

She grimaced, but had to admit he was right. For all that the well of her magic was bigger, it hadn't finished refilling in the aftermath of Enies Lobby. She was already exhausted again, like her magic was taking a physical toll. Merry waved goodbye as her Gate closed, leaving the crew gathered at the edge of the sea.

"Thank you," Usopp said, wiping his face. "Thank you for saving her, Lucy."

"I didn't," she had to admit. "Not really. I just...gave her a second life. She won't ever be able to go back to how things were."

"That's alright," Luffy decided. "She's still with us, and that's what matters."

Even Lucy had to admit that was fair.

"Oi!" From the edge of the city, Zambai waved them down. "Oi, Straw Hats! Come on. Your ship is ready!"

☉

It didn't take them long to rush to Scrap Heap Island where they'd been thoroughly banned. Franky had told them it wasn't right for any of them to see the ship before he'd completed her and since he'd announced his intention to build their ship, none of them had seen him except during the party. The eleven of them gaped at the sight of the massive tarp covering something in the water, Paulie panting on the ground in front of it. Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet.

"Gotta admit, I thought he was nuts when I saw the blueprints." He lit himself a new cigar, hands shaking. "But nuts or not, we got it done."

"Where is he?!" Luffy demanded, vibrating.

"He took off," Paulie said. "Went back to the Franky House, I think."

"Did he still need to pack?" Chopper guessed.

"So you have invited him to join. I figured you might."

The crew looked at him, each with various levels of 'are you dumb?'.

"He's our shipwright," Lucy pointed out.

"Duh," Gajeel agreed.

"It's fairly obvious," Lily added.

"Why would I need to tell him that?" Luffy finished.

Paulie gaped for a moment, before shaking his head. "That's on you to deal with. I'm just here to show you this." He grabbed a fistful of the tarp, grinning at them. "He did tell me to say one thing though. 'If you're going to be the King of Pirates, then it's only right you have the King of Beasts!'"

The tarp fell away and all of them were left gasping at the ship--the masterpiece--before them. It was huge, to start, over three times as big as Merry, long and sitting low on the water, with three square rigged sails. The most massive, in the center, was painted with their jolly roger, their flag flying in pride of place on top of all three masts. Painted red and white, the two anchors in the form of massive yellow paws. The figure head, a smiling lion--or possibly sunflower, it was hard to tell--was immediately claimed by Luffy as his new seat. On the side, there was a round wooden piece painted with a black '1'. When they boarded, Lucy found the deck covered in actual grass, Nami's tangerine trees planted on the uppermost deck in the back. It had a full library, huge bathroom, workout room in the lookout, five-star kitchen, an aquarium and lounge, an infirmary with an attached room for Chopper and a space for experiments, to say nothing of the bedrooms. While Chopper had a bed for when he needed to spend the night in the infirmary with a patient, the women's room consisted of two sets of bunk beds, with a walk-in closet. The men's quarters were similarly outfitted with a dozen beds, plus a set of hammocks that descended from the ceiling when required. Nami hadn't been lying either; there was a separate bedroom on the bottom level, tucked away at the front of the ship and away from everyone else, for Lucy and the dragon slayers which involved one truly massive bed, and plenty of space for their things.

In every aspect, it was a ship built for them in every way, the love and care put into it a physical thing. Usopp was in tears over the work room on the bottom level (an extra room for Franky attached) and drooling over the series of cannons and guns lining each side.

"It's a man o'war," Paulie explained. "Bigger than we usually make them, in case your crew expands some more, and with several modifications Franky designed. She'll be faster than any ship I've ever seen though; Adam Wood is lighter than almost anything I've worked with."

"She's perfect," Nami breathed.

"Now we just need Franky," Luffy decided. "Ne, Nami? Which way to the Franky House?"

☉

Meanwhile, running through town, a naked cyborg was chasing after his thug underlings to get his speedo back. Sadly, this was not the start of some joke, but rather the initiative for many parents to start therapy funds for their children.

"You idiots!" Franky roared. "I ain't joining that crew."

"Get to the ship!" Zambai called. "Just one of us needs to make it."

He tossed the speedo away, caught by one of his brothers just as Franky ran him over. The chase continued, twisting through the entire city, the most memorable game of keep-away that the island had ever seen.

On one of the roofs, Luffy waved at the Franky Family. "Oi, toss it here!"

"Luffy!" Franky yelled as he caught the speedo. "Did you see the ship?"

"Yeah she's perfect," Luffy called back. "But we can't sail until we have the full crew."

"I'm sorry I can't come," Franky said, honestly apologetic. Luffy laughed in his face.

"You will."

☉

Lucy had never wanted to see what recruiting a naked cyborg in public looked like, but she could now cross it off from her bucket list and put it squarely on her 'never again' list. With Franky properly blackmailed into joining, the crew could finally set off peacefully.

"We've got trouble!" Sanji announced, running up the gangplank. "Luffy, your grandpa's back and I don't think he's leaving peacefully this time."

Or maybe not, because Lucy was cursed.

"Drop the sails!" Nami ordered, sending Chopper up to the helm as Zoro and Sanji began cranking the anchors back up.

"Wait!" Franky stopped. "We can't sail until we name her."

A cannonball crashed into the sea a few meters away, sending the ship rocking. "Can't it wait?" Lucy demanded.

"A maiden voyage without a name is cursed," Franky insisted.

"I got it!" Luffy announced. "Bear! Polar Bear! Lion!"

"That's awful!"

From the distance, projected over a den den announcer, Garp yelled, "Luffy! Sorry kid, but Sengoku got mad and is demanding I bring you in."

"Is that Aokiji on the ship with him?" Gajeel called. "Will this guy ever fuck off?"

"What about Monsieur Sunflower?"

"That's just as bad!"

"If we want French, we should go with Etoile Filante."

"You're all terrible," Usopp complained.

"Well then what would you name it?"

Zoro leapt into the air, slicing a canon that Garp had casually tossed to pieces. "Can we speed this up?"

Usopp hummed, staring at the sunflower--lion--figurehead. He snapped his fingers. "I got it. The king taking us across a thousand seas, for a thousand sun rises, for all of our dreams. I present the Thousand Sunny!"

"Wow," Lucy whistled. "That's...actually really good."

"The Thousand Sunny," Luffy grinned. "Shishishi, I like it!"

"I'm so glad," Nami gritted out. The marine ship, with a massive dog figurehead, was closing in and Garp was visibly contemplating which of the thousand well polished cannonballs to toss next. "Can we please go now?!"

"Sure thing," Franky assured. "Just raise the sails and leave it to me."

"Are you nuts?!"

"Don't worry, big sis." He flipped his glasses up, grinning. "Ain't nobody know this ship better than me."

Trusting in his plan, the crew rushed to lift the sails, Lily and Zoro knocking cannons away as they did. Just as Garp hauled out a massive ball and chain, the size Merry once was, the ship began vibrating under their feet. Laxus tilted his head, before wrapping a hand around a rope.

"Franky says to hold on!"

The back of the ship, where a massive round tube was just slightly sticking out, began to glow; then stronger, the whole ship shaking. "Holyshit," Lucy breathed.

From beneath, she could just make out Franky shouting. "Ready for the SUPER escape plan; COUP DE BURST."

The sky went dark under the titanic cannonball just as the energy released with a roar of power and the Thousand Sunny, making her maiden voyage, flew into the air and away from Water 7.