#drabble:laf

[salty-stories]

Hey! I love your writing, if you're still doing prompts! “I have had rather more callers than I expected.”

Thank you for the lovely prompt! I'm sorry about the wait! I decided to do Hugh and Vivian for this one! I had so much fun, really got me going for chapter one's scenes^^

You were content to wait, perfectly so. Especially after the kind attention, Mr. Langely and members of his staff paid you amidst the rather large crowd of women that were occupying his sitting room.

You managed to find an unoccupied study adjacent to the space and waited them out. His collection of books surprised you. There were a breadth of works from socio-economic theory to children's fantasy, and you found yourself completely absorbed in the pursual of his shelves.

Eventually, the chatter from the sitting room dulled away into a fresh bit of silence, the kind that only illuminated the level of noise that had vacated. Just how many people were seeking the poor man's company today? Although you were here for exactly the same purpose.

The door to the study opens and in walks, Ms. Fortescue.

She gives you a wide grin, just as surprised to see you. "Waiting on Hugh, are we little lamb?"

"Perhaps? Were you part of that group?"

Her smile grows silly before she replies, "you mean that stampede that ravaged poor Hugh's sitting room, I'm afraid not."

She walks closer, the sunlight revealing the subtle dark green of her dress. You involuntarily suck a breath in as she stops right in front of you, no humor or harshness in her face. She looked strangely vulnerable.

"Wait with me?" the words come out softly and the veil flutters with them. You try not to pay attention to the way the setting sun illuminated her silhouette, creating a pale gray halo around her head.

But the softness steals your footing and you don't quite trust yourself with words. So, you nod.

And she smiles wide and bright again. It's hard to say which is brighter, her or the orange sky.

Her attention mercifully turns to the book in your hand, she gently rests a hand on the cover and you hand it to her.

"Poetry? Oh, romantic poetry at that--Hugh's been holding out on us."

"Vivian!" You chide her, mostly in jest, but the widow laughs anyway.

The door to the study opens once more and the gentleman in question makes his appearance. Entertaining, as Ms. Fortescue put it, "a stampede" looks to have nearly exhausted the poor man.

He runs a hand through his beard, taming some unruly sections that had their own plans. His jacket is draped over one shoulder and he is wearing a simple pale pink vest over a white shirt, looking rather young despite the tiredness in his eyes.

"I have had rather more callers than I expected," he admits with a sheepish smile, coming into the study and plopping down on the nearest seatee.

Vivian is ready with a response, "I hadn't pegged you as one for understatements. I wouldn't be surprised if every eligible young lady and her mother in town were filling your parlor this afternoon."

He grimaces but offers her snark nothing more than a shrug.

"If you wish, we can come back another day?" you wring your hands in the front of your dress, giving Vivian a pointed look.

"Very well, lamb," She laughs, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze, before looking to Hugh, "she is right. Much better for you to rest than bore us."

Rather than frown, he seems to fight with a smile, conceding to it soon enough. "While I loathe to disappoint either of you, I would not wish you from my company. After that...that--"

"--group of wildebeests?"

"--Crowd," his smile grows wider. "I would love nothing more than to spend some time with my friends."

"Finally," Vivian wastes no time in taking a seat on the opposite sofa, draping a long arm along on the top. "We have so much to catch up on."

They both turn to look at you expectantly and for a moment, you're struck by your fortune to have found people in town who actually cared for you. The open warmth in Vivian's gaze and the kind-hearted gentleness in Hugh's felt more than you deserved. So, you joined them and resolved to love them as dearly as you could anyone.

[salty-stories]

“is that my shirt?" or “i love it when you laugh!" for warren ;D

oh yes!!! Love these! Tried to do both but it got so fluffy<3 deep-into-relationship!warren and she’s short, just a taste^^

~~~

“Is that my shirt?” It was. It most certainly was his shirt. 

“Maybe.” You look down and pull at the unstarched, white linen undershirt. Freshly laundered in that specialty lavender soap he insists on using despite its price tag. It’s a really nice shirt and honestly, he should expect this kind of behavior from you by now. 

"You were gone a fortnight." It's not meant to be an accusation but you say it with your back to him, washing your face in the porcelain basin in the corner.

"I was." You hear him take a few steps into the floor, dropping his coat on your bed. "I was gone for a fortnight. But I've been away from you for longer, darling." 

You finish wiping your brow with a towel when Warren comes close enough to wrap his arms around you in a backwards hug. He kisses your shoulder before snuggling into the crook of your neck, sighing in content. 

"I missed you." 

You turn around to hug him properly. "I missed you, too." 

[salty-stories]

hi salty, i would like to tell you that the warren angst made my heart ache and you wrote the angst nicely 🥺 but consider this— happy warren? 🥺

you’re right, I’ve been a bit mean to my son. Here’s some happy Warren!

“What’s this?” 

Warren looks up from the delicately wrapped parcel to meet your eyes. You try to rein in your smile and swat away his questions. 

“Just open it.”

“But it’s not–”

“Open it, Warren.” 

He laughs. “As the lady commands.”

It’s small, fitting neatly in the palm of his hand, covered with pale mint wrapping paper, which took longer than it should have to affix. As the paper cuts on your fingers can attest. 

He gives it a shake, holding the small cube up to his ear to listen for a rattling. 

“Warren–” You warn.  

He laughs again, setting the present back down on the table. “I can’t even guess?” 

“Warren.” 

“Alright, alright, so pushy this morning.”

It’s hard not to hold your breath as he gently pulls back the side-folds, instead of tearing the paper straightaway. Though you know how gentle and rough those hands could be.

Warren takes his time, looking up at you every so often, almost more amused with your expression, or rather effort in keeping the same expression, than the actual gift. 

His smirk fades as he finally wrests the final bit of paper away and opens a mundane looking box. 

He doesn’t look up from the contents and there’s a seriousness to his voice as he asks, “is this…”

“It is.” 

Inside in the box, carefully supported by fabric, is your family’s signet ring, the Merritt crest engraved in the smooth gold. Warren pulls it out of the box and lays it on his palm, inspecting the ash tree at the center of the crest. It is a long time before he finally looks up at you. His eyes are glossy but his expression is firm and it makes a part of you ache. 

“Are you sure?” 

You reach out to close his fingers around the ring. “Of course, I am.” 

“Darling, I–”

“–Evelyn told me that the Hind ring is– is with Henry and it’s not like I have a brother who can wear this over-sized thing and you always said you felt like taking my name when we got married, so I just thought, maybe, I don’t know.” It's a rush as you ramble on. You were more confident about this when wrapping it up. But you wanted to do something nice for him after….well, everything. 

His other hand comes to rest over top yours and now when you meet his eyes, tears have gathered at the corner, making the green of his eyes almost blue. 

“I would be honored. I love it. I love–” you. It’s almost there on the tip of his tongue but your arms around him. You feel him smiling in the crook of your shoulder, even as his tears began to wet your dress. 

[salty-stories]

“ dance with me? “ with Viv if you're able^^

I love this prompt, also I did listen to “Shut and Dance with me” on repeat while writing

~~~

"Dance with me." 

You pause, fingers lightly tugging on the lace of your slipper. 

Vivian stands off in the center of the otherwise empty patio. Her veil bellows out in the light autumn breeze. Is she not warm in all that black?

The question does arise in your throat but you find yourself having a hard time swallowing it back down. So you push yourself up from off the floor and answer her the only way you know how. 

"But there's no music?" 

"So?" She quirks a brow, holding out her bare hands towards you. "You're a clever thing, count the tempo out in your head." 

You flush and hurry to avert your gaze. It's not like you to be this shy but with Vivian, things are…...well, they're new and bright and–god, all you ever want to do is grin. 

Naturally, you come close to her and take her outstretched hands, warm and soft. 

Despite your earlier question, the pair of you dances perfecting in silence, even as you count out the steps. Silently mouthing the numbers with each switched foot and half-turn, you spin and pass around one another. As you do, it's hard not to pretend that instead of the recently rained-on patio, you were dancing in the assembly rooms. Polished oak, letting your shoes glide as fast as your heartbeat, large hand-lit chandeliers casting soft warm shadows across Vivian's face, your breath catches as you lose count but keep dancing. 

Vivian leans closer, putting her arms around your waist, pulling you closer, "see, I knew you could do it, little lamb."

[salty-stories]

💗💓💞💕💕💖💘💝💕❣️💜🖤🤍🤎💔💙💚💛🧡🧡❤️ I’m not even sure what hearts were part of the questions, but all the hearts for all the glorious babes.

Oh my!!! All this love!! It’s turning the salty depths of my heart into sugar!! Hehe Thank you for all the hearts, Anon<3 <3 <3 The ROs send them back in droves<3 <3

I was going to try and answer as many as I could but instead I ended giving each RO their own in depth answer to a different question each, if that makes sense? It’s late when I’m answering this:) Also under the cut, cuz long!

💘— What was one of the first things that attracted them to their partner?

I’m changing this one to be “when did they first realize they were crushing?” to better fit Sam^^ 

The carriage lurched to a stop, taking Sam’s stomach with it. She felt the contents of dinner threatening to debut on her mother’s new muslin gown. But somehow she managed to keep it down, even as the door to the carriage opened and her mother ushered out. 

Foxhall loomed large, but any unease at the prospect vanished as her eyes met Miss Merritt. Then her stomach began to flip for different reasons as Miss Merritt beamed. 

oh no.

Sam does her best to take her best friend’s outstretched hand without trembling and grimacing as they go inside. But something tells her this new kind of unease wouldn’t be leaving her soon.

 💕— What makes them feel connected to their partner?

It was to be a short trip. A week away. Vivian could last a week without her partner. She’d spent the better part of the past two years alone. What was one week. 

Turns out one week was harder than Vivian expected. 

She rotates out this month’s fixations rather quickly and trying to read the novel’s her love recommended was too much. So, instead, Vivian spends much of the week in the garden, her knees caked in mud, as she pruned and pruned the rose bushes. But when even that was too much, she sat underneath the great old ash tree at the center of the estate ground, running her fingers across the sets of carved initials. The first belong to someone long gone, the other to someone who would come back to her. And that was enough for her.

❣️— When do they first say I love you?

Warren doesn’t do “I love you”s. He loves his pets, his niece, and nephew, handing out “ily”s without a care. But he doesn’t do those kinds of “I love you”s. 

The kind with weight and intent. The kind that turn even the sharpest tongue to lead. The kind that leave you breathless and without a thought to your name. He doesn’t do “I love you”s. Or at least he didn’t used to. 

He doesn’t say it the first time you kiss, back pressed up against brick and mortar, his hand bunching up your skirts. He doesn’t say it the day he introduces you to his remaining family. He doesn’t say it, even when you catch the affection in his eyes as he watches you play with Matilda and Junior. He doesn’t say it on your wedding day, not even as you swap tears during your kiss, not even as you call each other, yours.

Instead, Warren exhales those three little words as you are passing him something mundane, a book or something he’d asked for. It’s not rushed or said with embarrassment. No, he tells you he loves you in the same way he would say “thank you”, causal and sure. And once he does. He finds himself unable to stop. “I love you” slips from his lips as easy as your name does, punctuating his sentences, filling those small moments of quiet when you’d almost forgotten you were in the same room. Warren didn’t do “I love you”s, until he met you.

🧡— How do they say thank you/show appreciation?

It wasn’t heroic or anything. You just did what anyone else there should have done. The poor horse wasn’t at fault either. If anyone should be taking responsibility for this disaster of an afternoon outing, it should be Janet. But she got what she came for, to be seen on Mr. Langley’s arm. 

And poor Mr. Langley, being the object of Janet’s attention might be worse than calming a spooked horse and being thrown off into a pond. You begin to undo the soggy mess that used to be the bun your hair was in, plucking each metal pin with idle precision. That’s when you notice the cream envelope sitting on your dressing table, unaddressed, freshly sealed. You look around to ask one of the staff but it seems they are still with the group on the lawn.  It’s a rather short note, two words and delicate-looking flower chain. Thank you. You smile a bit brighter in the looking glass. “You are welcome, Hugh.”

these were so fun to write^^ If y’all have any small snippet requests, feel free to send them 💙

[salty-stories]

So that warren ask broke my heart (in the best way). For some alternative fluff, could we get the ROs reaction to MC kissing away their tears?

Hehe gotta have some fluff to wash the angst down! I’m gonna try to keep these reasonable^^

Sam: sorry it hurts before it gets soft (also pre-relationship!)

The sound of the piano-forte leads you right to her. 

Sam sits at the bench, fingers idly pressing the keys, playing the main verse of ‘Faint and wearily’ over and over. The lyrics desert your mind as you notice the tears silently rolling down Sam’s face. 

You take a few more steps into the room before softly calling her name. 

Sam’s fingers still on the keys. The melody cuts so abruptly that you almost miss the gasp that leaves her lips. And yet, she doesn’t turn to face you. 

So, instead, you go to her, sitting beside her on the bench, noting the sheet music torn clean in half with a frown. 

“Sam?” you try again, a hand hovering so light on her shoulder. That worry festers further when she turns to finally face you. You saw the tears from afar but the bruise, that deep purple patch marring her left eye makes you sick. The shadows had hidden it from your view but it practically glew now with the light of the moon. 

Sam stares at you as if unsure what you came for. As if she thought you would leave her alone after hearing her father’s angry screams. As if you would willfully abandon her after that. 

“Miss Merritt–”

“Sam–”You, both, speak at once. But it can’t disguise the tremor in her voice. A tremor you know well. She’s afraid. Of you? For you? Either way, your heart clenches in your throat. 

Your hand moves from her shoulder to her face, thumb grazing up the length of her cheek, trying to erase the tear trail. You watch her closely, ready to stop at even a hint of discomfort. 

But instead, Sam’s eyes close as you make contact. 

“I’m sorry. I should have been there.” You continue wiping her tears, feeling new ones rolling down her cheeks once more. “I never should have let you go.” 

Sam’s eyes fling open as she grabs your hands and brings them into her lap. Something new in her eyes. Anger. Not at you. Deeper than that. Resolve. 

“No. You’re here. That’s enough.” She exhales deeply. “You’ve always been enough–more than I deserved.”

The words incite something bright within you and your lips are upon hers. “Enough.” You whisper as you pull away, surprised at yourself but unwilling to take any of it back. 

To your further shock, Sam returns the kiss just as brightly, hands tight on yours. “Enough.” She echoes, salt exchanged on your tongues. 

Vivian: (uno reverse for the prompt) protective!Viv post!relationship is too good to pass up;)

“Lamb?” It’s softly spoken, just above the threshold of a whisper. You hear it clear across the foyer, where you are slumped against the wall, long since given up on preserving your dignity. 

“Is that you, my little lamb?” The voice comes closer but you know who it is. You’ve always known. Instead of answering, you lay your head back against the itchy wallpaper and breath deeply, holding back an ugly sob. 

Vivian doesn’t hesitate in kneeling before you, her perfect mouth curled into a vicious frown. 

“What’s wrong? Who did this to my lamb?” Her hands are soft against your wet cheeks, gently wiping even as she snarls in unrepressed anger. 

“J-Janet–” you try to explain but just her–here and her hands and it breaks you. The sobbing begins again in earnest as you all but bury yourself in Vivian’s open arms. 

She pulls you close, gently guiding your head to her chest. On hand slowly running down the length of your back. “Hush, hush. It’s alright now, sweet thing.” 

You open your mouth and try to explain, but the sobs choke the words away. Vivian squeezes you in response. “Don’t speak, just focus on breathing, alright? In and out with me?” 

“In, one, two, three…” She begins to rub little circles, changing direction with each inhale and exhale. 

After a while, you begin to taste the salt of your tears again, feel the linen of Vivian’s shift against your face. The urge to curl in and away fades as your breathing evens out, at ease, and pace with hers. 

With great care, Vivian takes a hold of your chin, getting to look up at her. She presses three softs kisses to your cheeks, with a final salty peck to your lips.

“Now tell me, little lamb, whose heart will I be ripping out tonight?” 

[salty-stories]

ik i might be asking a bit too much, but bath scene for all the ros? feel free to ignore if you have too much on your plate for the moment!

So, it’s technically not what you asked for but I had a lot of fun with this one! The gang all together, platonic hangs are my favorite scenes! I can’t wait to write the scenes with them all together. 

I imagine this is happening later in the game once things have been dealt with hehe. Also, I didn’t write any romance into the scene as that’s a valid course for the game, friendship’s in the title! Also, I didn’t really do any research into bath-houses during the Regency, so please don’t mind the historical inaccuracies. 

“So, not to be a bummer but I hardly think they’ll just let us all hang out.” 

Hugh and Vivian pause their conversation to give Warren a look. 

“What I mean is that, despite the novelty of the concept, I doubt the bath-house organizers will just allow the five of us to take a dip together.” Warren goes on, pointing to you, Sam, Hugh, Vivian, and himself to illustrate the point. 

Vivian begins to laugh, ignoring Warren completely, heading towards the dressing rooms. Sam is quick to follow, shrugging sheepishly. You doubt she is over her own reservations but the Roman-inspired bathhouse installation is brand new and surely, an afternoon with steam and good company is exactly what you all need. 

Hugh gives a similar shrug but smiles when you catch his eye. “I don’t think they’ll be having a say in the matter, especially when Ms. Fortescue seems so eager.” 

Warren rolls his eyes but lets Hugh lead him into their dressing room, giving you a wave as they go. 

~

“Bloody boiling!” 

You look up from your corner of the room, to watch Sam as she puts a single foot into the recessed pool that serves as your bath. The entire room is technically a “bath”, with entrances to the different dressing rooms. This room is meant to be used by families but Vivian’s scowl and Hugh’s efforts on her behalf managed to convince the staff to let you use it communally. 

“It is a bath, dear Miss Renolds. Surely a little heat is warranted.” Vivian calls from the other side of the pool, body fully submerged in the warmth of the bath. Unorthodox but the baths aren’t meant for actual cleaning, but rather to soak in. The social rules aren’t so clear here and thus you’ve all made assumptions to operate on. In order to preserve comfort, you all are wearing rather banal shift-like garments, a bathing suit if you will. 

It’s certainly strange but being around your friends has made the process rather easy. Well, easy for you. Sam is….having trouble. 

She dips another foot in but remains on the edge of the pool. 

“Too hot. I’d much rather sit here if that’s alright.” 

You smile gently, giving her a nod. 

She looks like she’s about to say something more when the door to one of the dressing rooms opens and in walk Hugh and Warren. Both in similar long shifts. 

“Really, boys. I believe that was a quarter-hour for the pair of you to undress. Anything hold you up?”

Hugh blushes at Vivian’s tease but bites back. “Clothing can be challenging, too many buttons and ties. Though I suppose that’s your area of expertise.”

She tsks and returns to her soaking but you spot a small smile on her lips. 

Warren, on the other hand, wastes no time running into the pool, sloshing the heated water in his wake. 

You put up your hands but the damage is done, none of you are left dry. Even Sam is left soaking in the aftermath, her golden curls now a dark brown matted to her face. 

“Warren Hind, you–you absolute–”

She reaches out as if to grab him but Warren is quicker and manages to weasel away from her grasp. Sam is left reaching forward and falls further into the pool, now more or less completely in the bath, looking like a very angry wet cat. 

“Apologies Samantha, but some of us are a bit eager,” is the rogue’s response as he heads your way, taking a seat on the bench-like outcrop in the pool, so one may actually sit in the bath. He is close enough that you can make out each individual droplet on his cheek but not so close you feel uncomfortable. 

The sight of them all, your closest friends, together. It manages to warm you up more effectively than the water and you find your cheeks are beginning to hurt from the smiling. 

Yes. This was a very good idea, indeed.

[salty-stories]

“ you got a little something on your lip… here, let me just… “ with Sam if you feel like it^^

HELL YESSSS!!! I love this trope!!! Thank you for giving me an excuse to write it^^ 

The sun had set some time ago. Yellow had burnished to orange, which faded into thin shafts of red, edges kissed by indigo. The fifteen-minute polite time limit had passed ages ago and yet, you find yourself in the presence of company. 

Sam sits on the settee beside you, legs curled up beneath her, still reading the same adventure novel you’d given her for her birthday a fortnight ago. Normally, she consumes books quicker than meals but this one has her taking her time. 

In all fairness, you haven't really been reading this entire time either. Miming the motions, fingers pluck page after page, while you watch Sam out the corner of your vision.

You look up fully from Fordyce’s sermons, a request of your mother’s, only to find Sam already looking at you. The eye contact lasts maybe a few seconds but you feel your cheeks begin to flush. Sam, strangely, looks unaffected and continues to watch you, even as you grab a cookie from the table to stuff your mouth. 

You keep your eyes on the asymmetric wallpaper of the study as you chew, willing your face to return to normal, hoping she hadn’t noticed exactly how flustered you were by that.

“You’ve got something–” 

“What?”

“On your face, Miss Merritt. There’s some….” Now she almost looks shy, dragging her fingers along the corner of her mouth, parting her lips in the process. You can’t look away, even as you try to mimic her motion. 

The crumb must still be there. “Here..let me–”

You go stiff as she reaches over, close enough to see the reds and oranges of the sunset reflected in her brown irises. The colors spin and shift as her fingers ghost over your lips, so light a touch it might not have even happened. 

"There–" Her voice is heavy but Sam clears her throats, shifting  back to her side of the couch, scooching just an inch or so further away. 

You blink past the shock and bring your own fingers to your lips as if to preserve the contact. "Thank you, Sam."

"You’re very welcome, Miss Merritt."