Oct 18, 2023
Tav wants a baby + companion responses
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Tav wants a baby + companion responses
Astarion x Tav, because the Baldur's Gate brain rot is real. Sorry to my beloved mutuals who have no idea what I'm on about!!! I don't know either!!!!!!
tripping over my own heart AO3
“I do not wish to sour our friendship, but I have to know if it can be something more.”
Tav is maybe not the best judge of when people are trying to flirt with her. It’s funny, really, because she can sniff out bullshit from a mile away, and her gut hasn’t been wrong once on their absolutely insane journey. There are a million excuses she could use, to try and explain why in this one facet of social interaction she fails, but the simple truth is it just doesn’t occur to her that someone might be in to her.
Especially Halsin.
Without thinking, she blurts out, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested,” realizes how that sounds, and then continues with a cringe, “but I’m already in a relationship.”
Which should not be news to you! she stops herself from saying.
Part of her expects it to end the conversation, but he keeps talking, about bonds and souls and gardens and nature. She has to actively fight herself to remain calm, have her face stay open and friendly instead of running to Shadowheart and asking how she might voluntarily give up the memory of this interaction ever happening.
There’s a snicker in her head that sounds suspiciously like her friend’s as she finally extracts herself from the conversation with a polite, “I’m sorry, Halsin.”
He seems to understand and doesn’t hold it against her, maintaining his smile, even if it’s a touch bittersweet as she walks away. Her gait is steady and casual as she walks to the edge of the camp, avoiding eye contact as she focuses on her footing on the path towards the small river they’d managed to find. After all, she had been on the way to wash up when Halsin had asked to chat. Something she is very much Not Thinking About It.
Until she dips her toes in the river, peeling off her clothing with care. She can’t wait to do laundry in the city, and have a proper bath in something that isn’t a natural body of water. As a druid, she loves being outdoors, but a hot bath is incomparable. Even Halsin -
The thought of him stops her cold, and suddenly she finds herself giggling, grabbing at her soap as she wades further into the river. That makes what, five of her eight traveling companions that have blatantly come on to her? The girls back home would never believe it. Homely little Tav, suddenly finds herself with a string of suitors. All it took was a tadpole eating away at her brain.
The general lack of attention she’d received her entire life are probably why it always takes her by surprise when someone admits to wanting her. She’s no blushing virgin, but rarely has she ever been so desired. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t surprised when Astarion admitted his plan, felt something like sick acceptance in her stomach. No, the surprise came after, when he told her he genuinely cared for her.
She’d been prepared to take her own feelings to the grave, accepting that she’d share Astarion’s bedroll, or grassy clearing, until he decided he was done. The man flirted with everyone, and she’d assumed it’d been lack of choice that lead him to her. Instead, they’d fallen into something deeper, scaring both of them.
It’s not easy, by any means, but by pushing sex off the table and getting more comfortable with platonic touches, they’re growing into something she feels like might be big. Even rest-of-her-life big. Which is another shock, in and of itself.
“And what has you so lost in thought, my dear?”
She stifles a shriek as she whirls around, inadvertently splashing an amused-looking Astarion as he wades closer. “You startled me!”
He grins as he pries the bar of soap from her pruney fingers. “Apologies, my love, but I did say hello. It’s hardly my fault you were miles away and didn’t hear me.”
“I don’t believe I was done with that.”
“No?” he asks, all faux innocence as he scrubs at his torso. “You’ve been in the water for nearly a quarter of an hour now, so I merely assumed you were just -”
“Relaxing?” She hums as she takes the soap from him and starts to scrub at his back, mindful of the scars. Part of her feels like she should be attempting to cover her nudity, but another, much larger part, reveled in the intimacy born of just simply being with him. “I meant for just a quick wash, since we’re going to be in the city proper tomorrow. I don’t want to show up looking like we’ve just spent the last tenday hiking.”
“I cannot agree more, darling. Mustn’t have the locals mistaking us for goblins, covered in muck and grime and speaking in mono-syllables.”
She laughs at the image he paints. “As if anyone could mistake you for such a creature.”
Preening, he says, “Yes, well, unfortunately for our little group not everyone can be as blessed as I. In fact, our first order of business should be getting Gale to a barber, as soon as possible.”
The chatter about being in the city again occupies them while they finish cleaning up, and Tav doesn’t think about anything other than the excitement of the new day until Astarion gives the braid he just finished helping her put her hair into a little tug. “You never answered my question, you know.”
She tips her head back to lean on his chest, blinking up into his face. “What question?”
A perfectly manicured eyebrow arches up. “Why you were so lost in thought, my dear.”
“Oh. Oh,” she says, scooting forward just enough to turn around to look at him properly, knelt in the grass with a curious look on his face. “You wouldn’t believe the conversation I had with Halsin on my way here -”
To her surprise, he erupts in laughter, interrupting her. “I was wondering when we were going to talk about this.”
Her eyes go wide as she feels her face heat. “How could you tell?”
“I guessed. The man can’t stay quiet about ‘enjoying the freedom of Nature’s gifts’.” She can’t help but laugh at his Halsin impression as he continues, “I bet he’d outlaw clothing if he could.”
The mental image has her covering her face with a groan. “Astarion!”
“It’s perfectly natural, after all, darling, no need to be shy.” His long, slender fingers gently pry her hands away so he can meet her gaze. “So, what did you say?”
The question has her freezing, mind stopping and restarting. “I’m sorry, what?”
“What did you say?” he asks again, somewhat impatiently. “I’m on the edge of my seat.”
“What?” she splutters, “I said no, of course! I’m with you, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Strangely enough, I had,” he says, drily. “I would be more than happy to let you have as much Halsin as you want, you know. Don’t stop yourself on my account.”
Something in the air has changed, she thinks, his fingers still wrapped around her wrists as her hands hang between them. His face is open, and she doesn’t think he’s lying, but -
“If I’m understanding you correctly,” she tells him, slowly, “you don’t mind if Halsin and I have a tumble.”
She thinks annoyance flashes across his face before he can smooth it out again, but his voice is still even as he answers, “Far be it from me to deny you such pleasures. I would just, that is…”
The silence stretches long enough that she feels comfortable breaking it. Shifting so she’s closer to him, she prods him, “Yes?”
“It’s not because, you know, we haven’t, in a while?”
And there it is, the missing piece she was searching for. He’s worried.
She sighs, and gently tugs her hands out of his grip. His expression only shifts to concern for a moment before she slides into his lap, pushing him more securely onto his bottom so she can wrap her legs around his waist without fear of knocking him off-balance. “Astarion,” she murmurs, into his collarbone, “my silly goose.”
He’s somewhat stiff in her hold, but he hesitatingly brings his arms around her. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to be insulted, my love. Perhaps you can explain.”
Pressing a quick kiss to the underside of his jaw, she leans back far enough to meet his eyes, those wonderfully dark eyes that she wants to sink and drown in. “It’s a term of endearment, you silly man. I think there’s been some confusion here.”
Some of the worry leaves his face, but not all. “Pray tell, then, what the confusion is, for I admit to being lost.”
“I don’t want Halsin. I was flattered by his offer, in all honesty, but I don’t want him. I want you.”
His brow wrinkles. “You would still have me.”
“I’m a selfish creature, at heart, you know. For all of the grief and whinging you gave me about wanting to help people, there are certain things I cannot share. You are one of them.”
“But Halsin wasn’t asking about me he was asking -”
It's crude, but she doesn't know how else to get through to him, so she risks saying, “And you’re telling me that you would be completely fine with his hands on my skin? His mouth on me? His fingers and cock inside of me?”
A shudder passes through him that has her clutching him tightly. Caught out in his half-lie, he buries his face in her hair, finally squeezing her back. They’re quiet for a moment, and she strokes his curls the way she knows he likes, waiting for him, always waiting for him to be ready. She would wait forever if it meant waiting like this, wrapped up in him.
“No,” he finally says, voice rough, “no, I couldn’t stand it. But I don’t want you to regret being with me when I can’t, that is, I’m not capable of giving you all you need. If someone else is willing -”
“You are all I need, my love.” She smiles up at him, willing him to see the truth in her eyes. “It’s true, I miss being close to you, skin-to-skin with nothing separating us. But that ache is nothing compared to the joy and happiness I gain holding you through the night, holding your hand when we think nobody is watching, or even if they are. The kisses you greet me with and send me off with, our conversations, the way I can just be around you. That’s what I need. What I don’t need is someone else’s arms to help me find pleasure I’m perfectly capable of finding on my own.”
“You,” his voice is emotional, and he has to clear his throat before continuing, “you really mean that, don’t you?”
“When we agreed that this would be real, whatever it is between us, we agreed we would be honest, truly honest. I know it’s difficult at times, but it’s necessary, for this to work. I need you to be honest with me about how you feel, so we can talk about it. I might just surprise you.”
“Oh, that I know for certain,” he murmurs, tipping her onto her back so he can press soft kisses to her face. “You are so full of them.”
She hums moving her face gently so he doesn’t miss a single inch, a wide smile stretching her lips. “So, no Halsin.”
“No Halsin,” he agrees, before leaning down and capturing her lips for a slow and dirty kiss. The way his tongue slips past hers, flicks at it, draws a moan out of her throat. The sound must satisfy him, because he leans back with a wicked grin. “Now, darling, I just have one more bone to pick with you.”
She snorts. “And what might that be?”
“You naughty little thing, pleasuring yourself without me. I want to hear all about it.”
It’s not really a joke, but it makes her laugh anyway, hands covering her face once more. “Astarion!”
“But maybe not tonight, hmm?” he continues, gently prying her hands away so she can see the hungry smile on his face. “After all, we are very close to having privacy again, with four walls, a roof…”
“A bed,” she finishes for him, but she has a worried frown on her face. “Whatever you want, my love. If you want to hear about my solitary adventures, I will be more than happy to share. As long as you’re comfortable.”
The smile sharpens. “Oh, my dear, I think a step like this is exactly what I want.”
Later, when they’re tucked into what’s become their bedroll, with her curled up on his chest after a few stolen kisses, all she can do is hope the Emperor has the good sense to leave her alone this night. She has a feeling her dreams will be full of Astarion, and she doesn’t want to be interrupted.
Or share.
Be the prompts you want to see in the world, or whatever it was that Gandhi said. “I was just taking a walk through the woods and I didn’t think Fae really existed, and I really don’t think I’ll accept any food from you” AU Lizzie/Darcy ofc
Lizzie cuts through Longbourn Park on the days she walks to work on her way home to stay out of the downtown foot traffic. She walks to work most days, for multiple reasons, including, of course the fact that she lives in a city and it's not practical, and the reduction of her carbon footprint.
If she's being honest, she also experiences horrific road rage and already hates her job enough that she doesn't need to be in a bad mood when she gets to work.
Of course, that being said, rarely does she ever cut through Longbourn Park on the way to work. It's usually dark enough outside that she prefers to stick to the well-lit sidewalks instead of the shadows of the path. However, she makes an exception the day the marathon comes to town. The number of spectators has created larger crowds than usual, and she doesn't feel like wading through strangers when she hasn't had her morning coffee yet.
She's hyper focused on not tripping, in the murky gloom of dawn, when a voice, accent crisp and cool, speaks out, "Excuse me, do you have the time?"
Startling, she clutches her bag and holds it close. Common sense for those living in the city dictates anyone asking for the time is probably going to attempt to steal your phone, so she doesn't rush to answer the stranger's question.
Her eyes adjust to see a pale man standing a few feet away, keeping his distance. He's tall, with beautiful features, dressed in a business suit out of place with his surroundings. It's suspicious, but he's far enough away that she risks taking her phone out of her pocket.
"It's 6:15."
"And the day?"
More suspicion. "Tuesday, the 15th."
The stranger nods, and smiles politely. "Thank you."
She rushes away without saying anything more, and pushes it out of her mind.
A few weeks pass, and she doesn't see the stranger again. She'd kept an eye out, the first few days, but eventually the encounter slips from her mind. There are more important things to worry about, like how her coworkers are trying to actively screw her over and, honestly, if her boss continues acting like he's acting, she might let them, just for an excuse to quit.
She should've gone into teaching, like she wanted, but no, accounting was the more reasonable and responsible choice, according to her mother. She'd never listened to anything her mother had said before, or since, so she's not entirely sure why she let herself be swayed on that particular issue.
It's not until she cuts through the park on her way to work, again, actually, that she sees the stranger. She's running late, and the park shaves five precious minutes off of her commute.
"Excuse me, do you have the time?"
Not only is it verbatim what he said last time, his voice is exactly like it sounds in her memory, so she's not surprised when she turns and sees the man, almost in exactly the same place. She checks her phone. "It's 6:31."
"And the day?"
She frowns. "Tuesday the 19th."
The same smile, the same nod. "Thank you."
It's bizarre in the way not a lot of things are. It stays with her, makes her look at the calendar in her down time, and note the exact amount of time that's passed between their meetings. She decides to conduct a little experiment, just to see if she's insane or not.
She cuts through Longbourn Park the next day, and the Tuesday of the next week. Neither time results in a meeting with the stranger. Marking her calendar for the third Tuesday of the next month, she decides to go about her life as usual.
And then, when she's called to work for an 'emergency' on a Sunday, she runs into him again on her way home.
"Excuse me, do you have the time?"
She jumps, not expecting him, and turns to him. "Don't you have a phone?"
He cocks his head to the side, considering her. "No."
"Why not?" she demands. "I don't know how anyone lives without one nowadays."
He shrugs. "I do."
Something is off, but she can't help her curiosity. "So, do you just hang out in the park, waiting for strangers to tell you the time?"
"You recognize me?"
"Should I not?" she asks, mirroring his expression of confusion. "This is like the third time I've spoken to you."
"Huh." He blinks, and then smiles. It's a little unnerving. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. Will you give me your name?"
The way he's phrasing it is odd, and it makes the hair stand up on the back of her neck. "Why?"
"So I know what to call you."
She hums. "What if I don't want you to call me?"
He laughs, bright and unexpected. It makes him seem less off-putting. "Fair enough. Will you tell me the date?"
"Sunday, the 24th."
"Thank you," he says. "I expect I'll see you later."
Still unsettled, even minutes later, at her desk, she decides to open up a private browser and google 'will you give me your name'. She thinks she remembers the phrasing, but doesn't know why. Until the search returns.
Thousands and thousands of hits, about the Fae.
"I need a vacation," she mutters to herself, closing out the page viciously.
"What was that?"
The last thing she needs is for her bloodthirsty coworkers seeing her weak. "Nothing, Caroline! Just excited for another day in paradise."
As it turns out, she can't sleep or eat properly, now that the idea has lodged itself in her brain. She reads page after page after page about the Fae on the internet, checks out books from her library that she's sure make her seem crazy. Jane asks if anything's wrong, but that's where she draws the line. Her sister is not getting drawn into this.
She avoids the park, completely, for two weeks, before risking going again. Of course, he's there.
"Hello," he calls out, cheerfully.
"Hi," she returns, short.
"Will you give me your name?"
"Nope."
"That's a shame. Would you like an apple?"
He produces it out of thin air, and it cements her suspicions. "Listen, can I ask you a question?"
"You just did."
She rolls her eyes. "Oh, ha ha. Very funny. May I ask you a question that's not this one?"
"Of course," he says, smoothly. "That's a no to the apple, I take it?"
"Yeah," she says, watches him take what looks like a very delicious and juicy bite. "Are you a Fae?"
He chokes on his bit of apple, coughs a few times. "What brought this on?"
"That's not a no," she points out.
"You are correct."
She squints at him. "I'm correct in pointing out that you didn't deny it, or correct in guessing you're a Fae?"
He smiles. "It's really unfair, don't you think, this game of yours? I don't even know your name."
"And you're not getting it," she says.
"Clever girl." He sighs, gives her a short bow. "You may call me Darcy."
"Okay," she says, slowly. "You can call me Nobody."
He laughs, like he did the last time they spoke. "Like Odysseus."
She's surprised, for some reason. "You know the Odyssey?"
"Just because you suspect I'm not human, I can't be aware of human things?" he asks, raising a perfect eyebrow at her.
"I guess not." This entire conversation has made her feel off-kilter. "Was there something you wanted?"
He hums, takes another bite of the apple. After he's done chewing, he says, "I tell you what, you ask a question, and I'll answer, but only if you answer a question of mine. Quid pro quo."
She snorts. "Silence of the Lambs. Okay, now you're just messing with me."
"Maybe, maybe not. Do you agree?"
Remembering what she's read, she tells him, "I agree to answer a question you ask me if you answer a question I ask you."
"Clever," he repeats, the smile on his face looking almost fond. "Alright, you may have the first question."
Now that he's agreed to answer her questions, she's not sure what to ask. They stare at each other for a few moments, before she settles on, "Why are you here? In the park, I mean," she hastens to add, "now."
"I enjoy it here. I like meeting people."
"Are you -"
"Ah." He holds up a slender finger that looks slightly too long. "My turn. Rules are rules."
She sighs. "Fine."
"What's your profession?"
It confuses her, why he'd want to know that. "I'm an accountant."
"Interesting." To his credit, he does look like the answer intrigues him. "Now it's your turn."
"Well, what do you do?"
He smiles. "I supposed you could say I'm a manager."
"Seriously? Just a manager."
His smile widens. "You can ask follow-up questions, you know. You just have to wait your turn."
She rolls her eyes.
They go back and forth like that for almost an hour, as she gets sucked into the conversation. He wants to know the most mundane things about her, like how many siblings she has and how she feels about the windows in her apartment. Being careful in her answering, she speaks plainly and clearly while trying to be clever. She’s not certain how effective it all is, but it makes Darcy smile and laugh, and she's found she likes that.
Not enough to accept his offer of food or tell him her name, but it's pleasant all the same.
In turn, she finds out he also has a sister, whom he loves very much and practically raised, and that he doesn't have many friends, amongst other inconsequential things, like his favorite color (blue), favorite food (fresh blackberries), and favorite song (Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture). Any time she tries to veer into harder facts, like what exactly he is or where he comes from, he circles her neatly, and answers without really telling her anything at all.
Her phone goes off, reminding her of a dinner with Jane, halfway through her story of how she lost her last baby tooth. "Oh, shit. I totally forgot, I have dinner with my sister. I have to go."
He nods once, suddenly serious. "One should always keep their appointments."
"It was really nice talking with you," she says, and finds she means it. "I guess I'll see you around."
"You will," he tells her, pausing with something like hesitation before continuing, "I'll attempt to be here Tuesdays and Thursdays, between four and six in the afternoon. If you would like to speak again."
Her cheeks feel hot, but she manages to keep her voice even as she replies, "I would like that. I'll see you then."
And then curses herself for it all the way home.
She can't tell Jane, can't tell Charlotte, can't tell anyone for that matter, that she's made friends with some weird Fae being that may or may not live in some alternate dimension accessible through Longbourn Park. There's no way anyone would take her seriously, and, worse, Jane would be worried. She can't do that to Jane. No one should do that to Jane.
They talk consistently at least once a week for months. Sometimes he's not there, and sometimes she’s sick or works late. She's glad they never formally agreed to meet at a specific time, as she remembers the look on his face when he spoke about honoring commitments. He's a funny man, and is always nice and polite, even charming with her, but she has a feeling he's not like that with everyone, or even all the time.
However, it starts getting colder out, and then it's generally the time of year she starts driving or taking public transit again, to avoid the snow and ice. She tells him, hesitatingly, that she's not sure she'll be able to keep meeting outside.
He looks around, as if this hadn't occurred to him. "Ah, yes, it is getting colder outside, isn't it?" He's quiet for a moment, and she knows him well enough now to see the gears turning in his head. "Ms. Nobody, if I may ask a question of you?"
"Yes, you may."
"Why do you still hesitate to give me your name?"
The question surprises her. He's stopped asking for it, hasn't asked for it in months. "Um, I don't know. I guess I read that if the Fae know your name, the have power over you."
"And what of refusing to eat what I bring?"
"Isn't it," she's less sure of this, so she pauses while she tries to figure out the phrasing. "I read that if I eat something from the Fae world, I'd have to live there."
He hums. "You are correct in different ways on both issues. I have a solution to our problem, but it requires a certain amount of trust from you."
"What is it?" she asks, wary. "I make no promises.
Smiling, he tells her, "I'd never expect anything else. I would like to court you, formally, if I may."
Her eyes must be wide as saucers. "I'm sorry?"
"I've enjoyed getting to know you, and I dare say you've enjoyed getting to know me. And now I would like to get to know you further, in different settings. A courtship, because I like you, very much."
If she thought meeting a Fae was weird, this is somehow weirder. "And what would that entail?"
"I would need permission to come to your home, and you would need permission to come to my world."
"And how would we do that?" she asks, voice somewhat faint, trying to wrap her head around it all.
His face is serious. "This is where the trust comes in. I would need to know your name, and you would to eat something of my world. I will tell you my real name, and eat something of your world in return."
"I have questions."
That gets a smile out of him. "Of course."
She steels herself. "What power would you having my name give you?"
"If it was not reciprocated, or given without conditions, I could steal you away and compel you to act as I wanted you to," he says. "I am being honest and speaking plainly, something that is not natural for me. However, if I give you my name, we would have the same power over each other, and negate the effects."
Processing the information, she nods. "And what would eating your food do?"
"If you ate enough of it over a certain period of time, you would be unable to leave my world. However, I will give you a single slice of an orange, enough so that the travel between worlds does not make you sick."
"But you're already here," she points out, "why do you need to eat my food?"
"Ah," he laughs a little, "you haven't noticed. For someone so perceptive, I thought you would've."
He points to his feet and, for the first time since she met him, she sees the mushrooms around him. She groans. "You're in a circle."
"Yes. If I wish to leave it, I must have either permission or food. Food is easier." He makes a face. "Is this how humans feel all the time? Speaking plainly is exhausting."
For some reason, his face and admission is what does it for her. "Okay, Darcy, what's your true name?"
He looks somewhat nervous as he introduces himself, "My name is Fitzwilliam, and I give it to you freely."
She smiles. "Fitzwilliam," she says, feeling the rush of magic through her fingers and toes. "My name is Elizabeth. I give it to you freely."
His eyes darken. "Elizabeth."
There's a spark that runs through her, butterflies in her stomach. "Please, don't let me have made a mistake."
"I would not do that to you," he tells her, desperation coloring his tone. “If you -"
Her heart is pounding, fit to burst. "I give you permission to leave the circle."
In a flash, he's in front of her, arms winding around her waist. "Elizabeth," he murmurs, "may I kiss you?"
"Yes," she says, "please."
His lips touch hers, and it feels like coming home.
No thoughts, head empty except for witch Darcy. Lizzie/Darcy, another magic!au Because I caaaannnnnn
Lizzie is 15 when she sees the village witch for the first time. It’s not her village, of course, but a neighboring one. Longbourn is too small for a witch to make a proper living, so the closest one is in Netherfield, a two hour’s ride from their home. She goes there once a month, with her mother and sisters, to get the things they can’t at the market nearby.
He’s younger than she thought, handsome in a way she didn’t believe witches could be. Her mother’s stories always made her picture them as elderly, haggard looking people. But he’s unmistakable in his robe, the sweep of deep purple fabric denoting his status, standing in the corner of the square, listening to another young man animatedly talk his ear off.
She thanks her lucky stars when her mother doesn’t notice and leads them the opposite way. The last thing she needs is to be shoved in front of another eligible male.
She’s 21 when she speaks to him.
As she’s grown up, she’s seen him quite a few more times, collecting facts about him like they’re precious stones. His name is Fitwilliam Darcy, and he became the village witch the year she saw him, at 20. He has a sister who is a witch in training up north, and he keeps to himself. People accuse him of being arrogant and cruel, but Lizzie doesn’t put much stock in town gossip.
She’s never exactly planned on testing the gossip and talking to him herself, but Jane gets sick. So sick, their healer assumes she won’t last the night.
Lizzie can survive anything, except the loss of her sister.
Jane, who is all that is perfect and good in the world, deserves a chance to live. Lizzie can’t imagine a world without her. So, she runs out to the fields and steals her father’s horse, riding as fast as she can to Netherfield, to the cottage on the outskirts she knows the witch lives in.
A two hour ride that takes an hour and fifteen, her father’s poor horse shaking with exhaustion as she comes to an abrupt halt in front of the door, not bothering to take a breath as she throws herself at the wood and bangs on it with all her might.
She gets six knocks in before the door is thrown open, the witch’s scowling face on the other side.
“What?” he snaps, before his eyes widen as he takes in Lizzie’s sweating form.
“My sister,” she gasps, “you have to save my sister.”
He’s quiet for a moment, examining her, before asking, “What’s wrong with her?”
She details Jane’s illness, the progression of it, her pallor and inability to keep even fluid down, before finishing, “I’ll do anything.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Anything?”
She nods. “Whatever the price is, I’ll pay it.”
He considers her for a moment longer, before turning to go back into his cottage. “Let me see if I can save her first.”
The horse she rode is in no condition to go anywhere, so she gets on the back of the witch’s, once he’s gathered his things, and holds onto him tightly. “I’m Lizzie, by the way.”
He shifts uncomfortably before taking off. “I know. I’m Darcy.”
She buries her face in his back, lets a few tears leak out. “I know.”
The ride is terse, but only takes forty-five minutes. Darcy must’ve used some magic to make them get there faster, and she’s grateful for it. They tumble off the horse, together, and she throws open the door of her family’s home to their shocked faces.
“Lizzie?” her father asks, rising out of his chair by the fire, surrounded by her other sisters. “Where have you -”
“Where’s Jane?” Darcy asks, interrupting him.
Comprehension dawns on her father’s face, and Darcy is quickly led to the bedroom Jane has been confined in. Lizzie can hear her mother’s wailing in the background stop once Darcy enters the room. She can’t be there, though, and abruptly turns around to go back outside, leaving her other sisters to watch her leave.
She’s unsure how much time passes as she sits in the tall grass by the house, face buried in her knees as she hugs them to her chest. All she can do is sit and wait and hope she wasn’t too late. It’s torture as she runs through all her memories of Jane, and thinks of all the things they still have to do. Like raise their children and grow old together.
Finally, just as the sky is beginning to lighten, Darcy steps outside, wiping his hands with a rag. Her eyes snap up to his as he approaches. “How is she?”
“She’ll live,” he tells her. “She’ll need rest for two weeks, and won’t be completely better for longer, but she’ll live.”
She lurches to her feet and wraps him in a hug, surprising him judging by the way he stiffens. “Thank you.”
He pats her on the back awkwardly before stepping away. “Well, I didn’t do it for free. I thought of my price.”
Bracing herself, she scrubs at her face. “What is it?”
There’s a beat of silence before he answers, “Your firstborn.”
It doesn’t register at first. “My what?”
“Firstborn,” he says with some annoyance. “Your first child.”
“Wh -” she shakes her head, “why?”
“A life for a life.” At her continued stare, he sighs. “I need an apprentice eventually. I might as well have one I can mold from an early age.”
She opens her mouth before shutting it again. His expression is relatively neutral, but she thinks she can see some nervousness in his eyes, and a small indent in his cheek where he might be biting it on the inside. He really is handsome, with dark tanned skin and curly thick hair.
“Sure,” she finds herself telling him.
He sticks out his hand and she shakes it, making sure her grip is strong and steady, just like his is. The warmth of it lingers, even after he leaves and she’s by Jane’s side again, brushing hair out of her fevered face and pressing a relieved kiss to her brow. She has absolutely no regrets.
Just like Darcy said, Jane is up and moving around at the end of two weeks, though still somewhat weak. So, it’s up to Lizzie to go get the horse she rode to Darcy’s that night. The walk takes almost the entire day, so she makes sure to leave mid-morning, and brings a basket with some food in it.
It’s dusk as she approaches the cottage, knocking on the door with much more polite restraint than the previous time. Darcy answers it quickly, annoyance on his face smoothing over once he sees her.
“I was wondering when you were coming. I’m assuming you’re here for the horse?”
She smiles at his brusque tone. “Are you always annoyed when people knock on your door?”
“I like to be left alone,” he tells her, somewhat stiffly. “Your horse is in the back.”
Holding the basket of food in front of him, she says, “I thought maybe we could have dinner first. You did save my sister’s life.”
“Which you’re paying for,” he reminds her, but lets her in regardless.
She smiles to herself once more, and starts unpacking the ingredients she brought at his table. “I haven’t forgotten.”
He eyes her suspiciously, but volunteers his services to dice the vegetables that will go into the stew she’s decided to make. Conversation is stilted at first, but she manages to get him talking about his favorite spells and what he likes about magic. She doesn’t press for any personal details, because she doesn’t want to spook him, and he seems like he spooks easily.
“I feel like I’ve been talking a lot,” he finally says, as they sit in front of the fire, waiting for the stew to finish cooking. “I’m sorry.”
“I find it interesting,” she tells him. “I don’t know anything about magic, and we don’t have a village witch in Longbourn.” She pauses, considering him. “What made you decide to become one?”
He freezes, before looking like he’s forcing himself to relax. “My mother was a witch, and I had a propensity for magic. My father paid for my education, and left money for my sister’s, as well.”
“Tell me about her,” she requests, as gently as she can.
She learns Georgiana is quiet, a few years younger than her, and a great witch already, even though she has three years left on her apprenticeship. That conversation turns into Lizzie sharing about her own family, her four sisters and parents. She manages to make Darcy laugh a couple of times, and counts it as a victory with the way his eyes sparkle in the firelight.
Finally, when their bowls are scraped clean, Darcy turns to her with a sigh. “You should stay the night. I think it’s too late for you to ride back.”
“Okay,” she agrees readily. “Where should I sleep?”
The tips of his ears turn red and he clears his throat. “You can take my bed. I have a cot Georgiana sleeps on when she stays over.”
She suppresses a smile that she only lets out when she’s curled up in soft sheets that smell like him.
The next morning, he greets her with a nod. She considers his tousled curls and sleepy expression. “I have a proposition for you.”
Immediately he looks on his guard. “What kind of proposition?”
“I can come over once a week and cook dinner for you, and you can teach me some basics about magic. Longbourn doesn’t have a village witch, after all, and I can’t come riding over at a breakneck speed every time we need one. Maybe I could at least learn some basics until you get there.”
He frowns as he thinks it over. “I guess I could teach you some basic healing spells. If you have a propensity for it, that is.” He snaps his fingers, and a small ball of flame erupts on the tip of his finger. “Here, hold your hand out.”
She does so immediately, without hesitation. The fire spreads from the tip of his finger to hers, causing a tickling sensation that makes her smile. “It feels funny.”
He smiles briefly. “Should we get started next week?”
The lessons go well, if she does say so herself. Not only does she manage to learn some useful spells to help the villagers out if they need it, but she also gets to know Darcy. He is a little arrogant, but he’s also an extremely talented witch, so she can forgive it. He’s not cruel, and is capable of being kind. He’s shy and awkward, but she likes it. She likes him.
It comes to a head after his friend Charles asks to formally court Jane, once they’ve met during a chance meeting at the market. Discovering the connection makes Lizzie laugh, especially when Charles makes Darcy come with Jane and Lizzie on outings. Darcy never really relaxes in public, but he comes willingly, surprising even Charles when he makes an appearance at their engagement ball.
Darcy has forgone his robe for the occasion, dressed in a crisp shirt and pants to wish the couple well. Lizzie finds him before he can disappear, and drags him to the dance floor. He complains minimally, causing a warmth to spread in her chest.
“You clean up nicely,” she tells him, as they move to the music.
“As do you.” His eyes sweep her form, and she has to stop herself from preening in the light blue dress she picked because she knew it would match her eyes. “It seems like a good party.”
“I’m really happy for them.” She smiles as she looks over at Jane, laughing and blushing with Charles. “This is all thanks to you, you know.”
“I remember.” Something passes over his face. “I’m going to have to collect eventually, you know.”
“I know,” she tells him, curtsying to him as the dance ends. “I’m working on it.”
He clenches his jaw. “Oh? I didn’t know you had - prospects.”
She snorts, grabbing his hand to drag him away from the crowd. “I have one.”
Scowling, he looks around at the people gathered. “Who? You never -”
“Fitzwilliam,” she interrupts him, smiling, “you can have my firstborn anytime you ask.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
“I’m pretty sure it takes two people to make a baby.”
“I, uh -”
She suddenly feels less sure. “Unless, of course, you’re not -”
“No!” he shouts, before clearing his throat. “I mean, uh, no. I am. I really am.”
Her smile feels like it’s splitting her face in two. “Good.” She waits for a moment, but he seems frozen in place. “So, are you going to kiss me, or -”
The rest of her sentence is muffled by his mouth, to her delight. Her arms wind around his neck to keep him in place, her lips moving against his soft and slow. Everything in her feels right, as if things are clicking into place. And, when she finally pulls back and gazes up in his face, she can tell he feels the same way.
James Darcy is born almost exactly a year later.
P&P Magic University AU for @crossedwithblue ;) Lizzie/Darcy as always
Lizzie’s Tuesday is going almost comically bad, she thinks, as she throws up an arm for a brief barrier of light before the explosion can singe her eyebrows off. She’s already got bright blue streaks through her hair that may or may not be permanent, depending on how potent Maria’s potion actually was. And before that she’d had an argument with Darcy in the staff meeting that ended with a verbal reprimand.
At least he had been verbally reprimanded, too.
And now she’s sighing as she fans the smoke out of her face, her newest canister for housing magical energy gone up, quite literally, in flames. Which is going to knock her findings back at least two months. “The nature of research,” she mutters.
A knock on the door interrupts her thoughts. “Professor Bennet?”
Quickly schooling her face into a warm smile, she looks up. “Yes, Maria?”
Maria’s cheeks turn pink. “I was wondering if your hair was still blue, but.”
Lizzie laughs at that. “Yes. I’m actually pretty impressed. Want to go over your processes with me? Maybe we can market this stuff.”
Maria gives her a delighted grin.
Once Lizzie is satisfied the blue will eventually fade from her hair and has assured Maria she won’t be failing the assignment, she makes sure the lights are off in her office, and brushes her fingers against her nameplate on her door. It’s a gesture she does at the end of every day, to remind herself that she’s where she wants to be. Teaching college-level potions can get tiring, but she does love playing mad scientist, and genuinely cares about her students. Plus, the teaching provides her a position for her research into renewable forms of magical energy and accessibility for nonmagical people, her current mission in life.
It’s a niche subject, to be sure, but she’s garnering more interest and rarely has to fight anyone other than Darcy over it these days. And even then his arguments are getting more nitpicky than anything.
“Professor Bennet.”
“Speak of the devil,” she murmurs to herself, before turning to meet Darcy’s expectant gaze. “What?”
His eyes flick up to the streaks of blue in her hair. “Lab accident?”
She sighs and starts walking down the hallway, shifting her bag on her shoulder. “Maria Lucas added eye of newt to her potion instead of the tail.”
“Huh.”
She waits a beat before prompting him, “What do you want?”
“I was wondering if you would mind meeting me this weekend, on Sunday, if you’re free.”
The offer stops her in her tracks. She turns sharply to look at him, his face unreadable. “What?”
“I was asking if you had time on Sunday -”
She waves her hand to interrupt him. “I heard you. What I meant was why?”
His brow furrows as he meets her gaze. “I need your help. You’re the most competent potions professor we have, and I have a project that requires a knowledge of the subject.”
It’s like her brain stops and restarts, and she flounders for words before deciding on, “But you don’t like me.”
An interesting blush blooms across his cheeks. “I don’t remember saying that.”
“I feel like it’s implied,” she says, before considering him. "What project?”
“I managed to get a copy of a first printing of Pantagruel’s Grimoire, and I thought it would be fun for my Intro to Renaissance Magic class if we recreated some of his potions.”
Her eyebrow raises. “And?”
He sighs. “Some of the ingredients he lists are either protected substances or no longer available to obtain, like dragon scales. I thought you could help figure out substitutions.”
“I mean, I could definitely help you out,” she says, slowly, turning it over in her mind, “but you know you could just Google substitutions, right?”
“Yes, but this sounds more fun.” He pauses, the hint of a smile forming. “Besides, I trust you more than the internet.”
It’s flattering to hear, though the statement does make her think she’s stepped into an alternate dimension. Before she can second guess herself, she starts walking back down the hallway. “I’ll see you Sunday at 2.”
* * * * *
Saturday passes too quickly for her, as she spends most of the day refreshing her memory on potions ingredients from the 15th century, cancelling her lunch with Charlotte in favor of pouring over her Encyclopedea of Majicks she hangs on to out of mostly sentimental reasons.
She’s as prepared for the potions as she’ll ever be on Sunday, though being prepared to knock on Darcy’s office door willingly is a different story. Still, she manages to force her knuckles against the wood. It opens almost immediately, as if Darcy’s been waiting on the other side.
He’s dressed more casually than she’s ever seen him, in jeans and a t-shirt for the university. The t-shirt is rather tight, and, not for the first time, she’s struck by how attractive he would be if he wasn’t the biggest pain in her ass.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” He smiles at her before stepping back so she can come in. “I almost thought you weren’t going to come.”
“I told you I would.” She looks around the office, notes the neat shelves of books that line the walls. “Your office looks almost exactly like what I pictured.”
“Which is?”
She snorts. “Tidy.”
He frowns. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“Sure.” She dumps her bag on one of the two chairs in front of his desk and slouches on the other, just to annoy him. “So, where do you want to start?”
He looks like he’s suppressing a grimace at her sprawl as he sits down behind his desk and pushes an extremely old-looking book towards her. “I marked the pages with what I thought would be the five easiest potions.”
She flips through the pages looking at the entirety of the book with interest before going back and looking at the potions he’s picked out. There are a lot of needlessly complicated spells she recognizes as having been streamlined through time, and potions that electronics and modern medicine have replaced, but it’s a snapshot of time that fascinates her. Idly, she wonders if Darcy will let her read the whole thing before he has to give it back to whatever institution he managed to talk into letting him borrow it in the first place.
“You weren’t kidding,” she murmurs, reading the list of ingredients to the last potion. “I think the only thing you aren’t going to have to substitute for this one is salt.”
“Doable, though, right?”
He sounds nervous, so she looks up to flash him a sunny smile. “Definitely. So, do you want to test these out in my room or head to the lab in Brighton Hall?”
“What?”
“We’re going to test these out, right? To make sure we’re not accidentally having the students create some sort of magical disaster.”
“Oh. I didn’t think about that.”
The set of his shoulders and clenching of his jaw strike her. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, are you scared?”
“No,” he says, stiffly.
She bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, you totally are. What, do you think I’m going to blow you up? I know we don’t get along, but I’m pretty sure if I murdered you they wouldn’t consider me for tenure.”
His posture doesn’t change. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”
Dots continue to connect in her mind. “Are you worried you’re the one that’s going to blow us up?”
“I passed potions.”
“I can’t believe I’ve finally found something perfect Darcy is bad at.”
“I never said I was perfect.”
His tone is off, and it forces her to stop and consider the situation. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, so she takes pity on him, since he technically extended the olive branch first. “Well, don’t worry. Potions is kind of my thing. Trust me.”
When he meets her gaze, his eyes are intense in a way she wasn’t expecting. “I do.”
They decide to copy down the recipes and leave the book in his office so it doesn’t get damaged. She underlines the ingredients she needs to figure out substitutions for, and she makes them go to her storeroom first. Most of the ingredients have standard substitutions, but there are a few that she’s going to have to guess at.
“Blood of the blue-backed buffalo is generally used as a substitution for the tears of Eros, but the blood makes a noxious gas when mixed with essence of Mercury, so we can’t do that.” She scans her shelves as she runs through the properties of tears of Eros. “Since the potion is supposed to dispel typhoid, I think the cleansing part of the tears is what he was after. Giant saliva could cover that, but it’d be too watery. So we might need to thicken it with wormwood.” She grabs the jars off the shelf and stuffs them in her bag, and then hands the leaves of wormwood to Darcy. “Make sure you don’t accidentally crush those. They need to be fresh when we add them.”
Darcy just nods and holds the plant gently, wisely guessing that his participation in her conversation with herself is unnecessary.
He turns out to be the perfect lab assistant, as he does what she wants without question, only asking her to clarify things when she gets too wrapped up in the mixing to realize she’s only speaking in half sentences, finishing or starting them in her head.
It’s fun, she realizes, as their efforts pay off with the first potion, a sweet-smelling concoction to ease headaches. A puff of periwinkle signals its completion, and she grins up at him. “Look at that!”
He laughs. “I’m surprised.”
“You doubted me?”
Not realizing she’s joking, he tries to backtrack. “Not at all, I just assumed -”
“Relax,” she tells him with a smile, “I’m just teasing.”
Hearing it seems to release the tension she didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I’m glad.”
He’s more talkative the more potions they do, opening up and telling her about his classes and apparent feud with Henry Dashwood.
“I thought you guys were friends,” she says, biting the inside of her cheek so he doesn’t see her smile.
Darcy makes a noise she’s never heard him make before, a cross between a snort and a scoff. “Henry Dashwood is an idiot, and if I could somehow write a paper about it just to cite in future works, I would.”
She laughs at that. “Have you met his wife, though? She’s somehow worse.”
“Perish the thought,” he says, dryly. “No, I’ve managed to escape that torture.”
“She came to the holiday party last year,” she explains. “I wanted to shove my fork in my eye.”
“It sounds like I’m not missing anything, then.”
She puts the knife she’s been using to chop up lacewing flies down to turn and look at him. “Yeah, you never come to any of the dinners or events. Why?”
He sets his own knife down and considers her. “Honestly, I find it a waste of time. I do attend the dinners where I think I can network successfully, but attending holiday parties and other things where it’s staff only seems unnecessary.”
It definitely stings in a way she wasn’t expecting. She probably should’ve given this is the first time in the entire two years they’ve known each other that they’ve gotten along, but it hurts. “So, you’re too good for it, huh?”
He must not catch the tone of her voice because he picks his knife back up and continues, “I mean, what use is it, really? I’m not going to learn anything new or meet anyone worth meeting. Case in point, Dashwood’s wife.”
“You know, we might just surprise you.” Her voice is even as she picks up the knife and finishes chopping. “We are your colleagues, after all. As in, on the same level professionally.”
Something must click, because he looks slightly horrified as he meets her gaze. “Elizabeth, I wasn’t talking about you.”
“It doesn’t matter if you meant me or not, because there are other professors here that happen to be great at their jobs, like Charles, and Jane, and Anne Elliot -”
“Wait -”
“And I know you don’t think well of me, anyway! You take every opportunity to knock me down in our staff meetings and left a pretty rude critique of my paper, actually, in the newsletter last month. Which you had absolutely no right to do, since you’re not even in Alchemy, you’re in fucking History!” She notices too late she’s sparking at the fingertips, her anger pushing past her consciousness and lighting the lacewings on fire. “Shit.”
Thankfully, lacewings aren’t particularly flammable, but it still takes about a minute to make sure nothing else caught fire and that the flames are, in fact, out. A minute of silence, as Darcy appears to not have any response for her rant.
She can’t find it in her to break it, so she sweeps the charred remains of the bugs into the trash, and dumps the beginnings of the fifth potion, a voice-changing one, down the sink. There’s no point in trying to salvage it, not with the lacewings ruined and the amount of time it’s been sitting. Almost on autopilot, she starts cleaning up the mess they’ve made as he stands there and stares at the floor.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice makes her fumble with the cauldron, and it’s only by luck that she doesn’t manage to drop it. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “You’re right.”
“What?”
He sighs. “I’ve been an asshole, and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve my critique when, in all honesty, I had trouble keeping up with your paper. You are very good at what you do, and I’m not used to feeling intellectually inadequate.” She can’t do anything but watch him with wide eyes, so he continues, “I’m hard on you during our meetings because I know you know what you’re doing, and I want to have you explain your thoughts, so I can understand better. I want to understand, because I like you.”
The room is spinning, so she clutches the cauldron closer and leans against the countertop. “I don’t -”
“It’s okay,” he interrupts. “Thanks for helping me today. Do you want help cleaning?”
“No, I’ve, uh,” she clears her throat, “I’ve got it.”
“Okay.” He gives her a smile, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’ll see you later.”
* * * * *
She feels like she’s living in a fog for the rest of the day, curling up on the couch once she gets home and staring into space as her demon of a cat, Felix, takes the opportunity to chew on her hair.
“Felix, stop that,” Jane scolds as she lets herself in. “Lizzie, what is going on? You missed dinner.”
“I don't know,” Lizzie answers, looking up at her sister. “I think I’m in an alternate reality.”
Jane brushes Lizzie’s hair out of her face as she crouches next to the couch. “What happened?”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy told me he likes me.”
“Oh, dear.” Jane presses her lips together tightly. “Well, what did you say?”
“Nothing.” Something connects in Lizzie’s brain. “Wait, why do you look like you’re about to laugh? Did you know? Did Charles tell you?”
Jane sighs. “Sweetheart, he didn’t tell me anything. It’s pretty obvious, the way he singles you out. I thought you knew.”
“No,” Lizzie grumbles and turns her face into the cushions. “I had no idea.”
Jane doesn’t say anything for a few moments and continues to idly stroke Lizzie’s hair. Eventually, however, she comments, “I know you two haven’t always seen eye to eye, but he’s a good man. If you tell him you’re not interested, he’ll leave you alone.”
Lizzie imagines telling Darcy she’s not interested, can picture the way his face will slip into a mask of indifference. He’ll pull away and leave her alone, which’ll be good for her sanity. It’s the smart option, the sane option.
And yet, she gets the feeling it’s not the one she wants.
“I’m going to sleep on it,” she says, looking up at Jane. “It can wait a day or two.”
“Not too long, dearest, otherwise you’ll be dragging it out.” Jane tugs a little on one of Lizzie’s curls. “Come on, let me make you some food. You’ll feel better.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
She does feel better, though, after she’s eaten and Jane’s put on a silly sitcom she doesn’t have to pay strict attention to. She uses the time to think about Darcy, instead, and how he’s always pushed her to be better and more articulate, even if for no other reason than to shut him up. She thinks about his laugh, and how their students never have a bad thing to say about him. She thinks about how willing he was to be wrong. She also thinks about how his arms looked in the t-shirt, if she’s being honest.
All in all, she finds herself nervous as she finds herself in front of his office door, Tuesday evening, after classes are done for the day. Before she can psych herself out, she knocks on the wood, hoping he’s not in.
“Come in.”
She exhales before swinging the door open slowly, meeting his eyes as he looks at her in confusion. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
There’s a beat of silence before she tries, “I wanted to -”
“You can -”
She stops, before trying again, “Sorry, I -”
“I just -”
Laughter bubbles up in her throat. “Can I come in?”
He smiles and gestures to the seat in front of him. “Please.”
She shuts the door behind her, and sits, examining the nameplate on his desk to avoid his gaze. “I wanted to talk about Sunday.”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” he tells her, quietly.
The smile is gone from his face when she looks up at him. “I do,” she says, “want to talk about it, I mean.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” She takes a calming breath. “I don’t really know if I like you or not, to be honest.” He winces, but she continues, “I think you can be kind of a stuck up jerk, and I’m not really into that. And I like our coworkers, with some exceptions, so I don’t really want to be with someone who looks down on them.”
He looks stricken. “Elizabeth -”
She cuts him off. “But I think you’re a good guy, overall, and if you’re willing to work on those two things, I’d like to try and go out with you.”
“Yes,” he says, immediately, “yes, I will work on both of those things. I promise.”
“Okay.” She can’t stop herself from grinning like a fool, but he looks the same, so she lets herself slide.
“Okay.”
They look at each other, smiling, for a few more moments before she asks, “So, when do you want to go out?”
“I haven’t had dinner yet. Are you hungry?”
She nods, unwilling to take her eyes off him, and how beautiful he looks when he smiles. “Yeah, let’s go.”
It’s new, and a little strange, but he opens the door for her and holds her hand as they walk down the hallway, and she finds herself liking it. A lot. He might be a little sharp around the edges, but -
She’s got a good feeling about it.
I’m back mes bébés Not for very long, but I’m trying Anyway, you know the drill Darcy/Lizzie, soulmate au
Lizzie meets her soulmate in a statistically improbable, but obviously possible, way in that she punches him in the face during a bar fight.
As a rule, Lizzie does not get into fights at bars. In fact, she very rarely goes to bars where fights happen at all. She frequents the local dive bar on the corner where the owner knows her by name and keeps her favorite cider on tap. Her uncle Frank’s bar does a good business, but he never lets the crowd get too rowdy. Which is why she should’ve insisted George Knightley and the rest of her college buddies meet her there, instead of Bingley’s Bar and Grill in the middle of downtown, prime real estate for drunken assholes.
Her second mistake was spotting Lydia across the room and deciding to say something.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Lizzie hisses, grabbing her underage sister’s arm after swimming through the masses that had separated them.
Lydia wrenches herself out of Lizzie’s grip with some effort, both because Lizzie’s hand is a vice and Lydia is on her way to being very drunk. “You’re not Mom, Lizzie.”
“Thank God for that.” Lizzie wraps her arm around Lydia this time and starts dragging her towards the exit, despite Lydia’s protests. “If I was Mom I would’ve kicked your ass when it needed kicking.”
Before Lydia can retort, some guy more drunk than Lydia is appears. “Hey, what’re you doing with my girl?”
Something about the voice makes Lizzie squint, and, even through tequila-colored glasses, she recognizes him from when she was at college eight years ago. “Wickham?”
“Hey, Lizzy B!”
She groans and continues tugging Lydia towards the exit. “Oh my God, Lydia, you know he’s 32, right?”
“We’re in love,” Lydia whines. “Let me go.”
Wickham grabs Lydia’s arm. “Yeah, let her go, Liz. We’re here to have a good time.”
Lizzie opens her mouth to argue, before a guy looking like the bouncer walks up. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
After that, things go blurry, with Lizzie arguing with Lydia, Wickham, and the bouncer all at once. George comes over to try and break it up, with someone she’d seen sitting at the bar earlier. She’s thankful for backup, until the stranger opens his mouth and insinuates her sister is the problem. It’s the last straw in a bad night, so she makes a fist, pulls it back, and hits him square in the face.
The pain radiating up her arm is the first thing she notices, and the blossoming of color over his face second, a starburst of pinks and blues around his eye. She can’t say anything, because as soon as she notices the mark, she’s being dragged out the bar, slung over the bouncer’s shoulder. Thankfully, she notices George doing the same thing with Lydia, so at least she doesn’t have to worry about that, too.
Once they’re outside, Lizzie thinks she’ll have time to process the situation, but then Jane pulls up and is the maddest Lizzie has ever seen her. After an hour of lecturing that is mostly directed at Lydia, Lizzie finds herself bundled up on her couch, Charlotte and George examining her hand as Jane drives Lydia home.
“You didn’t even get his name?” Charlotte asks George incredulously, rubbing her thumb over Lizzie’s pastel knuckles.
George sighs and rubs the back of his neck, leaning back into his seat. “All I saw was Lizzie arguing with Wickham and knew it wasn’t going to end well. I didn’t even notice the guy following me until he said something.”
“I can’t believe I had to work,” Charlotte grumbles, finally dropping Lizzie’s hand. “I would’ve gotten his name.”
“No, you would’ve been throwing punches, too.”
Charlotte sighs. “Yeah, probably.” She jostles Lizzie’s shoulder. “Liz, you okay? You’re awful quiet.”
Lizzie is also feeling uncomfortably sober. “This can’t be happening to me.”
George rolls his eyes. “Only you would be upset about having a soulmate.”
“Oh, shut up,” Lizzie says without any heat. “I would be happy if my soulmate wasn’t an asshole.”
“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” George insists. “You were pretty drunk.”
“Not drunk enough, apparently.”
“We’re just going to have to go back tomorrow,” Charlotte tells her matter-of-factly. “I bet he’s going to do the same.”
Her soulmate does not, in fact, do the same. Charlotte and Jane drag her to the bar and talk to the bartender. He’s not very helpful, but he’s cute, and takes a shining to Jane. While Lizzie leaves her number with him in case her soulmate wants to get in touch, Jane gives him hers for more personal reasons.
Lizzie goes into the bar a few more times but, after no success, gives up. If her soulmate isn’t going to put any effort into finding her, she’ll be damned if she puts effort into finding him. She’s happy in her life, and doesn’t need anyone else to complete it.
She recognizes, of course, that soulmates are so rare, people don’t try and find them. They’re considered miracles, but she’s never put much stock in those, so she doesn’t see the point in making it her life now. Charlotte says Lizzie is driving her crazy, but she feels most of their friendship has been like that.
Jane, on the other hand, has been having a great time with the bartender from the bar, who turns out to also be the owner, Charlie. The first brush of their fingers had sparked red and orange lightning strikes racing up their arms. Statistically improbable, but again, possible.
It’s cute, really. They’re both cheerful and kind, though Charlie is a little bit louder and more outgoing. Still, their matching smiles do more than enough to balm Lizzie’s bruised ego. So when Charlie throws a party to introduce his friends to Jane’s, Lizzie is happy to go.
She likes Charlie, so she’s expecting to have a good time. Which she does, dancing and laughing with Charlotte and her sisters. Lydia has been grounded forever, but Mary and Kitty come, too. All that comes to a screeching halt when she overhears Charlie talking to someone in the hallway as she makes her way to the bathroom.
“So this is why I haven’t seen you in over three months? Did you even go to California or was that just a lie to cover your ass?” Charlie sounds mildly annoyed, which is madder than Lizzie thought he was capable of being.
The voice is deeper than his and sounds regretful. “Charles -”
“Don’t ‘Charles’ me, Will. You knew Jane’s sister was looking for her soulmate, so you hid like a coward.”
“I didn’t want to know why some drunken asshole was my soulmate, Charles! I’d rather not have one at all.”
Lizzie is mildly tipsy at worst, so she’s able to quickly put two and two together. Her suspicions are correct, when she turns the corner and sees Charlie talking to the man she punched in the face that night, blue and pink decorating the better part of the right side of his face. She clears her throat, and feels a vicious enjoyment at seeing the shock on both their faces.
“I think I’ll be going now, Charlie. Go hit up an AA meeting since I’m such a drunken asshole.”
Charlie looks concerned. “Listen, Lizzie -”
He’s interrupted by his friend, who opens his mouth angrily. “It’s not like you made a better impression!”
“Oh, fuck off,” she snaps. “You don’t know anything about what was going on, and if you hadn’t called my little sister a slut I wouldn’t have punched you.”
“I did not call her a slut!”
“No, you just told her if she focused on studying instead of dating she wouldn’t find herself in situations like that!” The man opens his mouth to continue arguing, but she holds up her hand. “I’m not arguing with you anymore. Clearly the universe fucked up, so don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.”
She storms away and out the back door, since the front door is the wrong way to be walking. It makes her feel like an idiot when she has to hoist herself over the fence, only to fall on her face, but she’ll be damned if she has to walk past her soulmate again.
Jane calls her, approximately ten minutes after she’s made it back to her apartment. “Lizzie, where are you?”
“Home,” she grumbles. “I’m not coming back.”
Her older sister sighs. “I’m not going to ask you to. I was just wondering if you were okay.”
Lizzie sighs and sags against her pillows. “I’m sorry, I should’ve texted. I made it home safe and I’m going to bed now.”
“That’s better.” Jane pauses. “For the record, I’m sorry it turned out this way, Lizzie.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
For good measure, Lizzie texts Charlotte that she's safe and home, too, before turning out the lights and staring up at the ceiling. Anger is still running through her veins, but she knows herself well enough to accept sleep is the best option. She does not need to get into another physical fight this year.
The next thing she knows, someone is knocking on her door at four in the morning. She blinks blearily and checks her phone three times to make sure she’s reading the time right. Once she realizes it really is four in the morning, she closes her eyes and throws her blankets over her face, willing the knocking to stop. It doesn’t work and, if anything, the knocking just gets louder.
Groaning, she wraps her comforter around herself and hobbles to the door, throwing it open with a scowl, to find her asshole soulmate standing on the other side.
“Um, hi. Sorry, did I wake you?”
She stares at him and tightens her hold on her blanket. “Yeah.”
“Sorry,” he repeats, before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Can I, um, is it okay if I come in?”
Her night is already shot to hell, and this is weird enough as it is, so - “Sure.”
He awkwardly follows her as she leads him to her living room, where she curls up on the couch and watches him from her blanket burrito. It seems like he’s waiting for her to say something, so she merely raises her eyebrows at him.
He sighs. “I wanted to apologize for how I’ve acted, been acting. Those things you heard me say to Charles -”
“Yeah, yeah, drunk asshole -”
“No,” he insists. “I mean, you could be, but honestly? I was scared.”
She blinks rapidly and feels herself wake up. “Because I punched you in the face?”
He laughs. “No, although your right hook is pretty good. I was scared because I assumed I would never have a soulmate. My life has been so focused on my job and, uh, raising my sister, so romance hasn’t been something I’ve had time for. It never occurred to me I would be destined for one.”
The speech warms her heart grudgingly. “I’m scared, too, if it helps any. I’ve never had a great track record with guys.”
“Yeah, well.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Can we just start over?”
She laughs despite herself, and sticks her hand out in front of her. “I’m Lizzie, I’m sorry I punched you in the face.”
His grin is charming, and he runs his thumb over her knuckles as he turns her hand to kiss it, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m Will, and I’m sorry I was a jerk about your sister.”
It’s not perfect, but it’s a good place to start.
Somebody give me a fanfic prompt I’m drawing a blank
Looks like I’m back on my bullshit y’all. Prompt is: “witch tattoo artists who secretly disguise protective runes into all their tattoos” Lizzie/Dary ofc.
Check out my podcast with @oakleaves if you want more Jane Austen geeking out! Link is at @theaustenarchives
“Um, I’m looking for Lizzie Bennet?”
“Okay, do you have an appointment?”
Lizzie pushes away from her station on her roller chair and peeks around the corner. The girl talking with Kitty at the receptionist’s desk is young, probably at least as young as Kitty. She’s nervous, playing with her blonde hair. Lizzie would bet money she’s never gotten a tattoo before. And certainly not a magical one.
Lizzie’s been a tattoo artist for four years and a witch for much longer. Her parents despaired over her career choice but she didn’t want to be a healer or consultant or whatever it is more respectable witches do. Since she was old enough to hold a crayon she’s wanted to be an artist. And there was something, well, magical about tattoos.
In a literal sense, her tattoos don’t move, or catch the sun, or any other flashy tricks some would expect. Those tattoos really only work if the person is magical themselves; the spells and runes involved in making something like that work needs a larger power base than she can afford to give people who can’t maintain it.
No, the only way her tattoos are magical is that she hides runes in her lines, protective ones or good luck ones based on what she thinks her clients need. The kind of magic needed for those runes is much more bone deep, and the ink will hold it for as long as the person she tattoos lives.
It’s nothing major, just a little push into whatever she thinks would help. And that’s part of her magic, too, knowing what people need. What they’re missing in a big way. Like security or love, family or a little peace.
“Lizzie, do you have a minute?”
Kitty’s eyes meet hers around the corner, and she realizes she’s been staring too long. “Uh, yeah, come on back.”
The girl walks over to her hesitantly, sitting gingerly in the chair next to Lizzie’s station. “Sorry for, um, just walking in.”
Lizzie gives her a warm smile. “No worries, we welcome walk-ins. What can I do for you?”
“I’m not,” the girl exhales, “I’m not even sure I want a tattoo, to be honest.”
“That’s totally fine.” Lizzie pauses, considers. “What’s your name?” “Georgiana.” She finally meets Lizzie’s eye. “Well, Gigi to my friends.”
“Okay, Gigi. What’re your thoughts?”
“Um,” she pulls out her phone and swipes through a few things, “so, without getting in to it, it’s been a rough year. But I made it, and I’m set to graduate in two weeks with my Bachelor’s, so I’m finally in a good place. And I wanted to celebrate that.”
Lizzie smiles at her again, a little brighter this time. She can feel it, the heartache and the resolve thrumming in the girl’s veins. “I think that’s a great reason to get a tattoo. Not that you really need one, but, if you wanted one, it’s good.”
“Yeah?” Gigi brightens up, relaxes even further. “So, my degree is in music theory, and I play the piano. I was wondering, would it be possible to get a like, well, growing up my brother bought me an upright piano, and I’ve got a picture of it? If I could get it in, well, obviously the piano at a much smaller scale, and some notes? My brother used to play me, I guess it doesn’t really matter, but there’s this Tchaikovsky waltz? The one they used for Sleeping Beauty? The first five notes of my favorite part.”
It’s a lot of information to take in, but Lizzie thinks she’s got the idea. “Alright, let’s see that piano.”
Lizzie sketches as Gigi continues to talk, listens to the way she loves her big brother and how she feels music has saved her life more than once. In the back of Lizzie’s mind she’s also planning on how she’ll incorporate the runes, maybe in place of the stems that flow along the side of the piano. She’ll fix it so Gigi can’t even tell the difference.
At the end of it, Gigi gasps and is a little speechless, touching the rough draft almost reverently. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it. My sister Mary plays the piano, too, so I’m pretty familiar with how to tattoo musical notes, too.”
Gigi smiles at her. “I know I made the right choice. Your instagram is what brought me here.” She looks back at the rough draft. “So, how much? When can I get it done?”
Lizzie sets the sketch done with a laugh. “Do you want color?”
“Yes, please. So like $1,000?”
“Jesus.” Lizzie chokes a little. “No, it’s really not that big. I’d say $350? If you want color that’ll have to be two different sessions, is that okay?”
Gigi nods. “Can we start today?”
Lizzie checks her watch. “I’ve got an appointment in thirty minutes, which won’t be enough time. Can you come in tomorrow?”
“That’s perfect. Thank you so much!”
Lizzie smiles at her again. “Really, the pleasure is all mine.”
* * * * *
Gigi’s first session goes really well. Lizzie was right in that she’d never gotten a tattoo before, but she lies perfectly still and doesn’t flinch away from the needle like she’s had some first-time clients do. No, it seems like all Gigi was waiting for to get a tattoo was an idea.
Lizzie really likes Gigi, too. She senses some loneliness that she hopes possibly becoming friends with Kitty would fix, since they chatted extensively before and after Lizzie gave her the first part of her tattoo.
Charlotte laughs at her a little, as they grab lunch at the reception desk. Kitty’s stepped out to grab herself something to eat, leaving Charlotte alone to tease Lizzie.
“You can’t just adopt everyone who comes into your shop, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Lizzie waves her off. “If you met her you’d understand.”
“Except you’ve scheduled her for Sundays, which is one of the two days I’m off.”
Lizzie sighs dramatically. “Yeah, too bad for those damn labor laws.”
Charlotte snorts, and is about to respond when the doors to the shop are thrown open by a very tall, very angry looking man. “I’m looking for Elizabeth Bennet.”
There’s something about him that reminds Lizzie of her high school principal, when he’d learned it was her that caused the mirror in the boys’ bathroom to shout insults at them. “Uh,” she raises her hand, “present?”
Much like her old principal, the humor is lost on him, and he walks with quick steps toward the desk, brown eyes flashing in anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Eating?” she asks, rising to anger herself. “Mind telling me who the fuck you are?”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy.” His nostrils flare almost comically. “You tattooed my sister. Against my permission.”
Her eyebrow raises. “You mean Gigi, right? Unless she got a super great fake made, she’s definitely 20. And able to make her own decisions.”
“That’s,” he frowns, stopping short, “you don’t have to be 21?”
“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’ solely because she thinks it’ll annoy him. “Also, it’s super gross how you’re trying to police her choices.”
“I am not trying to police her choices, I’m trying to prevent her from doing something she’s going to regret in a month.” He gives her a once over, causing her remember her untamed, pink-streaked hair and mustard stain she missed near the hem of her shirt. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
Her anger settles into a cold fury. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“It’s clear you don’t give much thought to your body.”
Both eyebrows raise. “First of all, you don’t know a thing about me, and that includes what I chose to do with my body. Secondly, I feel like I need to remind you this is a place of business, namely, mine, and it’s time for you to leave.”
“Fine.”
He turns to leave, but she can’t resist one last parting shot. “Oh, and Mr. Darcy? If Gigi doesn’t show up to her appointment in two days? I’ll come looking.”
He glares at her but otherwise leaves without another word.
She sits down and huffs, anger starting to recede as Charlotte lets loose a low whistle. “So, would this be a bad time to bring up how hot he was?”
“Charlotte!”
* * * * *
“I am so sorry,” are the first words out of Gigi’s mouth as she enters the shop.
Lizzie looks up at her from where she’s going over the bills with Kitty and flashes her a grin. “I’m assuming you’re apologizing about your brother and not about any potential regrets you have?”
“No,” Gigi gives a shakey laugh, “no, this was the best idea I’ve ever had. But I really am so -”
“Stop, Gigi, it’s fine,” Lizzie assures her. “Your brother isn’t the only person I’ve ever met that’s been unhappy with a choice I’ve made. All that matters to me is that you’re okay.”
“Yes, I’m better than okay.” Gigi starts lifting up her shirt. “Want to see?”
Lizzie laughs and tugs her towards the back. “Let’s do this where you’re not providing a free show for the neighbors.”
Kitty follows, and appropriately oohs and aahs at the work on Gigi’s ribs, before asking, “So, G, how’d your brother even see this?”
Gigi blushes as she takes a seat in the chair. “We don’t live together anymore but he has a key. I’d lost track of time and was applying the ointment you gave me when he walked in for our weekly dinner date.”
The two girls continue chatting as Lizzie preps her station. She lets the conversation wash over her as she gathers her supplies, and thinks about Gigi’s brother.
She understands how people can be confused as to why some people decide to get tattoos, even to be upset that their loved ones have made that decision. But to barge in on a shop like that? She’s pretty sure that’s a first.
The shading and color goes well, and Lizzie is able to slip in the runes in the piano, a little thrum of magic from her to Gigi, to protect her and keep her strong when she needs it.
“I really, really love it, Lizzie,” Gigi gushes, when she sees the finished product. “It’s better than anything I imagined.”
“I’m glad you’re happy,” she gives the other girl a squeeze. “Anytime you want another tattoo, or even just to talk, I’ll be here, okay?”
Gigi hugs her back, fiercely. “I will.” She turns to Kitty. “And I’ll see you Sunday for brunch?”
Kitty grins. “Yes! 10 o’clock, Brighton Teacakes. I won’t forget.”
After Gigi leaves, Lizzie tweaks her younger sister’s nose. “I’m glad you’re making friends.”
Kitty scowls at her and swats her away. “Oh, shut up.” She softens though, and looks up at Lizzie. “You put the protection runes in, right? And ones for good luck?”
“Of course.” Lizzie’s a little surprised. “Why?”
Kitty shrugs. “I get the feeling she needs it. She seems a little lonely.”
Lizzie hums, reaching out with her magic, feeling the tendrils of Kitty’s own. Kitty’s still young, her magic unsure. But Lizzie can make her feel better. “You know what? I have a feeling she’s going to be just fine.”
* * * * *
It’s not very often that Lizzie is completely alone in the shop, but it does happen. Sometimes on Sundays, when she’s the only artist in the shop, she’ll let Kitty go a little early to meet up with her friends before the office work week starts. Lizzie usually spends the time doing a deep cleaning of the shop.
Not that it really needs it, but she likes making sure the glass encasing her drawings are shining on the wall, and that her equipment is running as smoothly as magically possible.
She’s just about finished up, actually, when she hears the jingle of the door behind her.
“We’re just about to close, sorry!” She calls, before she rounds the corner and sees who it is. “Oh.”
Darcy looks somewhat sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Hi.”
“What do you want?” Lizzie snaps, arms crossed in front of her.
He winces a little at that. “I suppose I deserve that.”
“You deserve worse, honestly, but I promised your sister I wouldn’t murder you, so,” she raises an eyebrow, “why are you here?”
“Um,” he shoves his hands in his pockets, stares at the floor, “I came in to give you an apology.”
She blinks in surprise. “What?”
“An apology?” He sighs, and meets her eyes. “I’m sorry, my treatment of you was unfounded and wrong, and extremely inappropriate.”
She feels slightly dazed, and edges a hip onto the reception desk. “Uh. Yeah.”
“I didn’t,” he sighs again, and scrubs at his face, “you have to understand. I’ve taken care of Georgiana since she was six.” At her blank stare, he continues, “I was only eighteen myself, and am convinced I screwed up all the time. She, uh, I don’t know how much she shared with you, but I wasn’t sure she was even going to graduate this year, or ever. And when she got the tattoo, I thought, well, I thought she was slipping again.”
Lizzie snaps back to herself. “That’s such a common misconception -”
“I know,” he cuts her off with a weak smile, “I’m sorry. I panicked.”
“As long as you know it’s wrong.”
“I do.” He clears his throat. “I also, uh, wanted to thank you for the tattoo.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
“The runes you put into it? I noticed,” he explains, “and I really, really appreciate it.”
For the first time, she feels a magic that’s not familiar to her in the shop. She sways a little, and is glad she’s leaning against something. “But -”
“No, Gigi doesn’t have it,” he explains, guessing what she’s about to say. “For some reason, only the men get it in my family.”
“Only the women get it in mine,” she says, still in shock. “Well, mostly. My youngest sister and mother don’t have it, but.” She realizes she’s rambling. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s, it’s fine.”
It’s quiet for a minute as Lizzie tries to get her thoughts in some sort of order. Finally, she settles on, “Well, I really appreciate it.”
“It’s really the least I can do.” He turns to go, before nodding once and turning back. “Actually, can I make an appointment?”
“For a tattoo?” She might actually die.
“Yes, if that’s okay.”
She stays in a daze as she sets up an appointment for next Sunday, late enough where she can make sure she’s the only one at the shop. She doesn’t know how to deal with him so she can’t even imagine what Charlotte, Kitty, and Maria would say, to him, and to her. Her heart is a confused mess.
He gives her a small smile as he leaves and suddenly things come sharply into light. Oh no.
* * * * *
Darcy settles on getting his family’s crest and motto, ‘Fortis In Arduis’, on the inside of his arm. Small and, as she learns, utterly him.
She anticipates three different sessions, for the line work and shading and more line work on top of it. It shouldn’t be bigger than the palm of her hand when she’s done, something he appreciates.
“Worried you’re making a choice you’ll regret in a month?” she says, teasing him a little. They’ve met once since he asked for an appointment, to sketch out what he wanted, so some of the awkwardness has subsided.
Not all of it though, and he blushes a little at her choice of words. “I’m sure I won’t.”
She gets to know him, slowly but as intimately as it can be, with her face inches from his for hours. He’s hesitant to talk at first, but starts opening up, about his business, how he doesn’t have many friends, and how his magic is only good for little things, like knowing the weather or who to hire.
“I’m sure it’s better for more than that,” she tells him, tongue pressed up against the side of her mouth as she traces a curve. “You just have to let it speak to you.”
“Maybe,” he allows, “unfortunately, my father died when I was young, and I didn’t have any other family members to ask. The only remaining relatives I had were on my mother’s side, and they’re not magical.”
“Well,” she says, after a moment of hesitation, “if you wanted, I’m no master but I’d like to think I know my way around a spell book or two.”
His eyes are warm as they meet hers. “I would like that. Very much.”
She hums as she quickly turns her eyes back to his arm, telling herself she’s getting into very dangerous territory indeed.
It’s probably a good thing that she keeps it on the down low, though that doesn’t last too long. Honestly, looking back on it, it’s a miracle she manages to keep it a secret for as long as she does. They’ve only got one session left when Gigi drops by to pick up Kitty for lunch and says, “Lizzie my brother’s tattoo looks so good!”
Lizzie chokes on her sandwich as Charlotte thumps her on the back, grinning like a cat who’s just caught a nice meal. Kitty shoots her a look that says, ‘we’ll talk about this later’ as they leave.
“So, Mr. ‘Not-In-A-Thousand-Years’, huh?”
Lizzie shoves at her best friend. “Shut up. He changed his mind and wants a tattoo, so?”
Charlotte tsks. “That’s a pretty dramatic 180.”
“Stranger things have happened!”
“Name one.”
There’s a beat of silence, before Lizzie groans. “Damn it.”
Charlotte pats her shoulder. “At least admit he’s hot, come on.”
“You’re the worst and I hate you.”
“Love you, too, babe. Love you, too.”
* * * * *
Lizzie feels a little anxious at Darcy’s last session, almost like how she felt when she did her first tattoo. She knows, however, that instead of being afraid she’s going to fuck it up, she’s afraid she’s not going to see him again. Even though she offered to help him with his magic, they still haven’t exchanged phone numbers or made any plans. He was probably just being polite.
He finally comes in, a little later than usual and a little more quiet.
She shoots him a concerned look as he takes a seat. “Everything okay?”
He seems to give himself a little shake before smiling up at her. “Yeah. I just, uh, had a question.”
“Sure.”
“What runes were you thinking of using?”
She blanks for a moment. “Oh. I guess, I wasn’t sure if you wanted them.”
“Ah.”
He looks a little disappointed, so she scrambles to correct herself. “Not that, uh, the protection ones? But,” she goes quiet as she searches her magic, “I don’t know if that’s appropriate. Maybe good luck?”
“What about something for ease of mind?”
She hums. “Those are generally harder. If it’s too strong people will stop worrying about anything.” She searches again, an idea coming to mind. “You know what? I’ve got just the thing. But it’s a surprise.”
He laughs a little, the good humor returning to his face. “Okay, I trust you.”
There’s more silence between them, this time around. He asks how her family is, and she tells him about Jane’s new summer school students and how Mary is finally moving in with her girlfriend. After that, however, it’s quiet, but comfortable. She doesn’t feel the need to force conversation with him, and, with a sharp, fierce feeling, she realizes she’s going to miss him.
She almost wants to take the tattoo much more slowly, just to draw out the time, but she wouldn’t risk the integrity of her work for something like that.
“Okay, all done,” she says, pushing him towards the mirror. “Take a look.”
He stands up and examines the tattoo, where the golds and reds sit under the griffin that’s his family crest, and the motto with the tiny runes bordering it.
“I don’t,” he huffs, “sorry these aren’t familiar to me.”
“How do you like the rest of it?” she asks, carefully.
“It’s gorgeous,” he says, a smile breaking across his face, “but I’m sure I’d love it more if you told me what those runes mean.”
She takes a deep breath and walks over to him. “This one,” she taps a sequence, “so that you may always know your heart, even when it’s hard, and this one,” she taps the other, “so that you can recognize the love of the people around you, so you realize you’re not as alone as you think.” He’s quiet, as he stares, so she continues, “I’m sorry, if that was presumptuous of me. I can inscribe over them.”
Instead of responding, he turns to her, eyes dark with emotion, and presses his lips against hers. It’s tentative, at first, but after she gets over the initial shock and throws her arms around his neck, he gets stronger and more sure as his lips press more firmly against hers.
He’s been wearing those ribbed tank tops so she can have unrestricted access to his arms, and she appreciates it more now that she can let her hands wander over his toned arms, and slip her fingers under the hem of it, to ghost along his stomach.
In return, one hand of his goes to her hair, and the other goes to her waist, bending her over slightly for a better angle. Her magic is brushing up against his in a way that makes her think, yes, I’ve found you.
They break apart gently, the fact that they’re in her shop with the windows open coming back to them slowly. He laughs a little. “Sorry.”
“For what?” she asks, more than a little confused. Her brain seems to have shorted out.
He turns her slowly so she can see herself in the mirror. She laughs, too, to see her hair more wild than usual, and her shirt rucked up around her hips. He’s not much better, with swollen lips to match hers.
Their eyes meet in the mirror, and he smiles, a little shyly. “So, are you busy tomorrow?”
She reaches over and interlaces their fingers. “Are you busy for the rest of your life?”
His smile grows then, stretches as far as it can. “Let’s see about dinner, first.”
They can do that. She’s not worried.