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knightley--phillip · 2 years ago

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coming out of my cage || the golden brio

in which Phillip has something important to tell John and Tom

backdated to sept. 23 -- aka bisexual visibility day :3

cw: internalized homophobia, these boys working through their cultish upbringing, you know how it be

@prince--thomas @captain--john

PHILLIP: Phillip had maybe accidentally on purpose come out to the whole town on Twitter.

After the initial wave of adrenaline wore off, Phillip sat on the couch and let the sheer terror sink over him.

Fuck. What had he done?

Never mind the people on Twitter congratulating him. Never mind the kind words from friends and acquaintances and hell, even strangers. Phillip knew he messed up. He shouldn’t have done it like this. He shouldn’t have done it like this, because Tom and John should’ve been the first to know.

But maybe that’s the reason he did it like this. Because he was so terrified of what Tom and John would say, so terrified that they would kick him out of the house, so terrified that even though they’d all turned their backs upon their families, there was still some trace of their fathers in them.

Might as well do it in style, ey?

Phillip was restless. Tom and John would not be home for another hour or so. Phillip decided that the best way to break this news would be over a meal. They’d both be hungry, yeah? It was dinner time. And instead of ordering a pizza, Phillip set to work. And by set to work, he boiled some water and put some pasta in it and when he looked at the can of sauce, he didn’t really know what to do with it so he dumped it into a tupperware and put it in the microwave till it sizzzled and bubbled and left quite a mess. But it was warm and that was all that mattered and he thought maybe he’d fry a few strips of bacon to go with it.

By the time Tom and John had come home, the smoke alarm had gone off.

“It’s fine!” Phillip yelped from the kitchen. “The thing’s just sensitive — hang on, sit down, I made a proper dinner.” He stuck his head out of the little window that opened from the kitchen and gestured to the round table, which he had already set out with plates and forks and glasses.

THOMAS: Thomas was completely unawares of any angst that Phil was having. He didn’t get on Twitter much, especially after the whole debacle with Annie. While he had post alerts for both John and Phil, he wasn’t actually logged in on his phone after everything that had happened. There was a peacefulness to being online that Tom was enjoying. The last thing he needed was people commenting on his life. He knew it was a disaster, thank you.

The day was ordinary. He went to work, he got home, stopping at the Qins to pick up Levi and thank Ting-Ting for having watched him. Tom was chatting with her on the porch, when he heard the fire alarm at his house going off.

“Should probably go see what that’s about,” Tom sighed, saying his goodbyes to Ting-Ting.

As he crossed back over the yard, John pulled up and hopped out. They raised their eyebrows at each other, but didn’t say anything.

“What the bloody hell?” Tom asked, going over to a window and opening it a crack. There wasn’t too much smoke, more just the heat of the oven, but Christ. He went over to the fire alarm, shrugging out of his jacket and waving it underneath it, baby in the other hand, who had started to cry at the piercing noise.

After a moment, it stopped and Tom huffed a breath, bouncing Levi on his hip before going to put him in his high chair.

“Who said you were allowed to cook, eh?” Tom glanced at John with a tired half-smile.

JOHN: John found twitter to be full of people not worth his time and gossip which only lead to more drama he didn’t need. After all, people like Annie flocked to twitter and instagram and whatever for their news and thoughts and to be brainwashed. Why did he need a twitter? One of the lads had made one for him way back but he never really scrolled or got to retweeting or whatever. Pretty sure he deleted the app off his phone.

The blonde had just walked up the drive when the alarm went off and his instinct took over immediately. Phillip had fucked the coffee maker again or left the oven on or put plastic on the stove top while it was still hot. His muscles all seized and he was about to spring towards the door, laptop bag flung behind him, eyebrows up as he glanced at Tom and hastened his way up to the house, about to have a shout at Phillip when he walked into just a mildly hot kitchen with nothing actively on fire.

He immediately deflated, “An edible proper dinner?” His one eyebrow raised. “Where did you order it from? Did it come with heating instructions?” He looked confused at this whole situation and looked towards the table, an immediate thought popping into his head, “What did ya do, lad? Please tell me we don’t have another puppy situation.”

PHILLIP: Well, this could be going better.

It also could be going a lot worse, Phillip reminded himself.

He stood behind the table, placing his hands on the back of one of the chairs. Of course John would think he got someone knocked up. Which, okay, given the house’s track record seemed plausible. (Or John could’ve actually been referring to Gilly — in which case, c’mon, she was spayed now!)

“Oh, no, nothing like that, don’t worry,” Phillip said quickly. “It’s, uh… it’s actually good news.”

Was it? Phillip certainly thought so. Except, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was terrified by all of this. Maybe he was stalling. Maybe he’d get everyone to sit down and eat dinner and then when they were clearing the plates he would make up a lie about what this whole thing was — he got a poem published! He no longer had chlamydia! He was getting a promotion to head barista!

Maybe he should do that. It might be easier.

But he looked at John and Tom and little squirming Levi and —

Well, he wanted them to know. He didn’t want to hide.

“I do have something I want to tell you,” said Phillip. And he swallowed the bitter taste in the back of his mouth and kept his gaze on them. “And — this is very hard for me and I wanted to do it right, because you mean a lot to me. I… I’m bisexual.” He looked away now. “Meaning, I like men. And women. I still like women too, don’t get me wrong. I just — I understand if you two need some time to process that, but… I can’t hide this part of me any longer. And I wanted you two to know.”

And then he spread his arms out, waving his hands.

“Uh. Well, that’s it! Let’s dig in!”

THOMAS: Tom was glad he wasn’t holding the bairn, because he was damn near sure he would’ve dropped him at Phil’s announcement.

For a moment, he just stared at him like he’d grown another head. Or shed his skin. That was what it felt like. Like suddenly Tom was looking at an entirely different person. He felt like his entire life was being rewritten, again. Maybe that was dramatic, but Tom didn’t know how else to feel. No one, in his entire life, had ever come out to him. He’d known queer people, obviously. And he didn’t have a problem with them (except that gay men made him slightly uncomfortable, and lesbians were just a bit confusing…and that was as far as his understanding of the whole thing went.) His boss was a lesbian! She was very nice.

But Phil was his childhood friend. They’d known each other their whole lives. From the cradle. They’d never had secrets from one another. Phil and John were always the first ones to know about everything in Tom’s life, and the same had always been true for them too. Or, at least, Tom had thought it was.

Phil was telling them now, though, that--this had always been the case? This--bisexual thing? Or…had it just happened?

Tom didn’t know what to say, but he did know what to do. Whenever Tom was worried or didn’t know what to do in a social situation, he always looked to John. Followed him. Copied him. Ever since they’d all been young.

That was what he did now, after fiddling with buckling Levi into his highchair. He looked at John, waiting for him to say something. To do something. To tell Tom what to say and do too.

JOHN: At the ‘don’t worry’ John relaxed a bit. Last thing they needed was another puppy or child or responsibility. But really, what had Phillip done? Stolen something? Small compared to the things they’d carried out in the name of the Order.

Bisexual.

The word rang through his head and he blinked. He felt the gaze of Thomas fall on him, as if he were to set the tone of this whole thing. As if his opinion was the start of everything. And well–he really didn’t know what to think. Of course he was still Phillip, but now he was Phillip who kissed and shagged men as much as he did women.

As the cogs whirred in his brain and the pieces all rearranged themselves, flipping back and forth through memories and facts he knew about his best mate. Oddly, it sort of clicked and made sense.

“Huh. Don’t know why we didn’t see it before. I mean, you do enjoy a fair bit of pegging which is always a little bit of a knock to heterosexuality.” He crossed his arms, sizing up his mate, “Yeah. I can see it. Can’t you, Tom? Anyways, you shouldn’t hide things from your mates. You know we accept you and love you, even if you do shag men.”

He had nothing against the gays, wasn’t his style or preference, but that wasn’t to say it was a wrong preference to have.

“I’m more concerned with what you’ve done to this dinner, actually. I might not be as accepting of it if you’ve ruined another appliance.”

PHILLIP: There was a long pause and for a moment, Phillip feared the worst.

Because they could yell at him. Or worse — they could icily regard him and tell him to be out of the house by dawn. That’s how the conversation would’ve gone had he told his parents, probably. Well, his father at least. And certainly John’s father.

His heart hammered. He felt dizzy, like his knees might buckle at any moment, but he held back the urge to blurt out that it was all a joke, that he was just messing with them, because he knew as painful as these next few moments would be, the alternative would sting far, far more.

And then John made a joke. Or, at least as close as a joke as John Smith could possibly make. Phillip blinked. He let out a breath. His shoulders shook a little.

“I —” He thought about everything he could say, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out. He blinked and there were tears. He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head and trying to hide any crying.

“I promise it’s not that bad — it’s edible,” he managed to choke out. He sucked in a breath, blinking and composing himself. “And if it isn’t, I’ll order a pizza. On me.”

THOMAS: Phil was near crying and John was making uncomfortable sex jokes--a desperate cry for help, if you asked Tom. And Tom just stood there. Quiet. Unable to think of anything at all to say. Which was probably for the best, because if he did, he’d fuck it up. Tom wasn’t good at emotions. At conversations where you shared your feelings and tried to talk things through.

Not to mention…he still had no idea how he felt about all of this. He was reeling a bit. His entire world view shifted, once again. After the third or fourth time, you’d think you’d get used to something like that but didn’t really seem to work out that way. It should be fine. It would be fine but Tom had a lot of questions that he didn’t think he wanted to know the answers to.

How long had he felt this way? How many times had they cracked jokes and made him uncomfortable? He wasn’t dating a bloke, was he? Why hadn’t he told them earlier?

These questions just sat in his chest.

So, he just pressed his lips into a little nod when John nudged him.

Levi cooed and Tom looked down at his son, giving him a little bit more of a genuine smile, running his hand over the baby’s head. His brow furrowed a bit in thought. What would happen when Levi grew up? Would he like blokes? Tom’d admit he’d be a bit disappointed. Potentially have no idea what to say to him about it. But…at least he’d have his Uncle Phil. And Tom would still love him.

Tom still loved Phil too. ‘Course he did. He just--needed to get used to it probably. Like if Phil had shaved his head.

“It better be,” he finally said, clearing his throat slightly and finally looking at Phil properly for the first time since he’d blurted out his news. “I’m starving.”

#coming out of my cage #the golden brio #johnlip #tomlip #john #tom #big steps for philly

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prince--thomas · 2 years ago

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How Many Horsepower? ~~ [Tomlip]

@knightley--phillip

Tom didn’t really know how he came to be standing in his neighbor’s driveway, a beer in his hand, Levi on his hip, and Phil at his side--but here they were. It was probably fine. They weren’t trespassing. Jane knew John and, sort of, them. She’d vouch for them. (Phil and Tom both also knew Wendy, though not well, and they both didn’t know the other person knew her.)

It was just--neighborly curiosity.

In the beautiful cherry red car parked in their driveway. Really, if they didn’t want people prying, they would’ve put the bloody thing in the garage.

“That’s the 488 Pista Spider,” Tom said confidently with a little nod of his head. “Where’d ya think they got it? I mean--these things aren’t cheap. Bit flashy for Swynlake.” He took a sip of his beer.

[outfit]

#swynphillip #tomlip #how many horsepower?#lookbook #this thread is gonna be so hard #but it's so funny

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knightley--phillip · 2 years ago

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Happy Holidays from John, Tom, Phil, and Levi!

@captain--john @prince--thomas

i just wanted clem’s creation on phil’s blog officially

#the golden brio #tomlip #johnlip #tom #john #levi

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knightley--phillip · 8 months ago

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tom x ting i will always be a friends to lovers bitch xxx

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knightley--phillip · 3 years ago

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Won't you free me from my chains? || Tomlip

Mother, Mother, Mother Won't you free me from my chains? Mother, Mother, Mother Won't you come show me the way?

in which Phillip and Tom receive an unexpected visitor...

takes place late April 2022

tw: mentions of plotting murder and death; general Order manipulation; leaving what is essentially a cult and also a bad marriage

@prince--thomas

PHILLIP:

When the doorbell rang again, Phillip knew he ought to get up off the couch and answer it. Gilly and Fly were already barking and Tom was — well, Phil knew Tom was home, but he wasn’t sure exactly where Tom was at this current moment in time. He paused the Netflix show he’d been watching and groaned, swinging his legs off the coach and walking to the door.

“Sorry about the dogs —”

He froze, hand gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Standing in front of him was a tall woman with long blond hair tied in a bun at the nape of her neck — his mother.

He hadn’t seen his mother since — well, he couldn’t even remember at this point. Almost a year. He’d not talked to her since August, since he and John and Thomas turned their backs from the Order.

She looked at him, her mouth drawn in a thin line, before she tilted her head a little.

“I understand if you don’t want to see me.”

Phillip had always liked her voice, that lilt of her German accent that she hid beneath a posh one. It had never quite gone away, despite all her years living in England. She used to sing to him — well to him and his siblings.

“If you’re coming to kill me or something, maybe we can do this outside,” Phillip finally managed to say. He slipped into humor, using it like a shield to hide behind, because the alternative was — well, he didn’t want to think of the alterative.

“I’m not here for them.” She almost spat the word. “I’m — it’s a long story, Phillip. But I am not hear to harm you, or to hurt you in any way, shape or form.” She looked at him, eyes wide now, and he almost saw her lip tremble. Almost. Edelgard Knightley was not a woman who trembled, ever. “May I come in? I can tell you the full story and if you would still wish me to leave, I will then. Please just let me explain.” She paused. “Also, it’s raining.”

Ah, true it was. Raining on a grey April day, the pitter-patter of droplets growing faster and more frenzied. He could hear thunder in the distance. Phillip swallowed and held the door open, glancing over his shoulder just in time to see Thomas come from the back of the house.

“Hey Tommy,” he said. “It’s my mum.”

He kept his voice cheerful, even though he felt like his insides had been scraped out.

“I’ll, uh, put on a kettle.” He gestured to the dining table, which was currently covered in empty coffee mugs. “Uh. Make yourself at home, I guess.”

THOMAS:

Tom had been out back, working diligently on the crib when he heard the dogs start up a ruckus, which meant someone had come over. He wasn’t exactly concerned. Figuring it was a neighbor, or a lad Phil knew from school, or a lass he’d invited over. Maybe it was just John getting home.

He took his time finishing sanding the piece that he was working on, before he stood up and headed into the house, dusting his hands off on his jeans as he made his way through the hallway to the main part of the house. When he caught sight of their visitor, he stopped dead—looking warily between Phil and his mother. The ladies of the Order were not trained assassins, but he knew full well what good distractions they were. What good spies.

His arms crossed over his chest immediately and his eyes narrowed. Part of him wanted to follow Phil into the kitchen, to give him a tongue lashing about letting her into the house in the first place. But the other part of him didn’t want to leave her alone, for even a second.

“Hullo, Aunt Edelgard,” he said without any warmth in his voice. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, one ear on Phil, moving about but watching as Edelgard took a delicate seat at the table, looking horridly out of place. Good. She didn’t belong here. Fly, completely unaware of the hostility in the air, went up to her as soon as she sat down and tried to put her front paws in her lap.

PHILLIP:

From the kitchen, Phillip could see his mother take a seat on the chair. She sat prim and proper, back straight and her hands folded on her lap. She greeted Tom with a closed-lip smile. Even when Fly tried to sit on her, she gently pat the dog on the head and shifted so that Fly would not have access to her lap. Not once did her face betray any emotion other than perfect politeness.

She was like that in front of most people. She knew when to smile, when to turn her nose up. She hadn’t been born into the Order, but she played the part with such precise perfection that it put the most seasoned Order women to shame.

But Phillip’s best memories were of a woman who laughed loudly when he and his sister put on little performances for her, of a woman who clapped enthusiastically when he memorized his first sonata, of a woman who found herself moved to tears when looking at a beautiful painting, of a woman who felt deeply and strong, yet only through art could she ever surface it.

He’d thought themselves alike, once upon a time.

He brought the tea over, glancing at Tom in a brief moment of weakness, wordlessly asking him to stay.

“So, what?” asked Phillip, sitting across from his mother and plopping his elbows right on the table (which he knew would annoy her). “Are you here to tell us that you left too?”

“Yes, actually,” replied his mother, without hesitation. “Do not act like it is hard to believe, Phillip. I lost my daughter. And then they would take away my son? I thought it was just your father being… difficult. But he was serious. I can’t believe he was serious.”

“Of course he was serious,” snapped Phillip.

He wondered why he felt so mad. Should he not be happy that his mother was here? That she’d come to him? That she’d seen the light too?

But he looked at her now and all he had was one question: why didn’t you fight for me?

He did not say that. He just took a long sip of his tea.

“I am not the only woman in the Order who feels like families have been torn apart because of antiquated traditions,” his mother said, after a brief pause. Her voice was quieter now, but still steely and hard. She looked at Tom. “Your aunt, I know, is another. Is it so hard to believe that I would follow?”

THOMAS: Phil’s look was caught and noted, but Tom had no intention of leaving. If only because he didn’t trust Edelgard and didn’t want any Order person in his house. It didn’t matter if she was coming to apologize or make nice. That could be a lie. It would be just like the Order to send a plant. Especially with Levi’s birth only a month away, they were probably putting the pieces in place to take him as soon as he was out of the womb.

Maybe that was paranoid, but Tom had earned the right to be paranoid.

He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a glower on his face a few paces away from the table, as if guarding the rest of the house if Edelgard tried to make a break for it. The expression didn’t change when Edlegard revealed exactly what he thought: she was here to “leave the Order.” It did slide towards Phil, though, when his friend’s voice rose.

It wasn’t that Tom had never seen Phil mad. He had known the bloke his whole life, but Phil rarely actually showed it. He liked to live life as if he was wearing a raincoat and all of that messy stuff called life just slid right off of it. Tom supposed things like family would always stick more than others. They were like acid.

“Yes, it is,” Tom replied shortly. “I don’t trust Aunt Elinor, either. I barely have any contact with her.” It was true enough. He had gone there recently to ask Elinor to help him, if he needed it, but he had mostly been asking Merida. Who, despite once being in the Order as well, Tom did trust.

“Why should we trust you?”

PHILLIP:

“I am not asking you to trust me —”

“Then why are you here?” Phillip cut his mother off before she could get another word in. He tried to keep his voice detached and lazy, but despite it all, he felt the last word choke in his throat.

He wanted his mother to cry. That thought sliced into him like a whip. He wanted her to cry, because he hadn’t been able to cry for months. Because he’d stare at his ceiling in the middle of the night, feeling lost and hopeless and all sorts of horrible dark things, and still not find the ability to summon tears. It was his father’s fault. Ever since he’d been a boy, his father had taught him that boys didn’t cry. Boys didn’t cry. Men most certainly didn’t.

And so Phil didn’t cry.

At Rosie’s funeral, his mum had cried. His dad had found him, almost sobbing in the mud, and told him that he had to be strong for her. But now Phillip realized that she’d been the strongest of them all. She’d wept for all of them that day, and in the weeks after. She carried all the sadness that they were unable to.

If she cried now, then —

Then maybe Phillip could too.

It was a terrible thing to want his mother to cry. Phillip didn’t want his mother to cry. Except he did. Except he did. Except —

“I’m here to ask you to forgive me,” she said. “And if you do not want to do that, then I understand as well. For too long I’ve been compliant in everything your father and the Order have wanted. I was not always like this, you know.” And she lifted her head here, her lip quivering ever so slightly. “I was not born into this world, so I can see its flaws more clearly.”

“Then why did you stay?” snarled Phillip. The warmth was gone from his voice. “If you’re so good that you saw right through it, why did you stay?”

“Because I am a weak, flawed woman who thought it would be best for my children,” she replied. Her voice was sharp now and gone was the quiver in her lip. “Because I thought that I had no choice. Because I thought it was too late. You’ve seen how they treat their women — I thought that I was different. I thought that because I had not been bred a fine little lady that I still grasped some sense of independence. And I was wrong. I saw that slowly wrenched from me, but I stayed because I had you and your brothers to care for. And your sister.” She added this in a lower voice, dropping her eyes to the table. “And then … I did not have her. And then they dare take you from me. And then they dare turn your brothers against us — your father wanted to kill Samson.”

That caught Phillip off-guard a moment. He felt like he missed a step on the stairs.

“Samson? My horse?!”

“He’d have your brothers do it. And they wanted to. That’s when I knew it went too far.”

“It took them wanting to kill my bloody horse for you to realize it went too far.”

“That was when I knew they would not come back to me,” she said. “That they’d chosen your father and the Order over our family. And what kind of a life is that? I do not blame you if you do not want anything to do with me. But I have money, you know. From my family. I am not dependent on them any longer. I left. I have my own accounts in Switzerland that your father never knew about. I will never speak to him again.” She paused. “But I would like to speak to you. You do not have to forgive me now. You do not have to forgive me ever, really. Maybe I lied when I said that. I just want to… I want to let you know. That I love you. And if you do not want me in your life, then I will pack my things and go. And also, you should find somewhere else to keep Samson. I can pay for it, if you would accept.”

And she stood up, as if to go, but Phillip instinctively held out a hand.

“Wait, wait — don’t go. Finish your tea at least. Just… give me a second. Give us a second.”

This time, he stood up and ran hand through his hair, then looked at Tom, cocking his head towards the kitchen, where they wordlessly stepped into.

THOMAS: “I don’t like it,” Tom said, his voice low and his expression serious as soon as they were more or less out of earshot.

He didn’t. Even if Edelgard was telling the truth, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t somehow be used by the Order. It didn’t absolve her of her sins, the same way Tom’s sins—Phil and John’s sins—weren’t absolved. You never really left the Order. It always lurked. It was always a threat. And with Levi’s due date drawing closer and closer, Tom felt that presence like a breath on the back of his neck.

His arms were crossed over his chest, hands gripping his elbows. He searched Phil’s face and saw his friend’s expression torn. Tom understood. He didn’t know what he’d do if his own mother showed up on their doorstep. But that was what Phil and John were for. To look out for him. And it was Tom’s responsibility to look out for Phil now.

Reaching out, Tom gripped Phil’s shoulder tightly, hoping to steady him. He didn’t know how to say all of the things that were passing through his mind. About how he understood this was difficult, how he wished he could fix it, how he was scared too and worried about Phil and his son and so many things, about how he missed his mother and his sisters, and how he wanted them back and he wanted that for Phil too.

He wanted to say something else, he really did, but he didn’t know what or how.

PHILLIP:

Phillip hung his head low, leaning on the counter. He wasn’t sure what to make of all of this. If John were here, he might tell Phillip about the risks, about how the Order could still be tracking his mum, even if she was telling the truth, about how they had to be smart about this all.

But it wasn’t John here; it was Tom. And Tom said that he didn’t like this situation at all, which, well, yeah Phillip didn’t either. And Tom reached to grab his shoulder and did not say anything else.

Phillip wanted to grab Tom’s hand. He wanted something to hold onto, something to pull him out of whatever spiral he was dangerously plummeting towards. He didn’t do that. But he did lift his gaze to Tom and let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Is it terrible of me not to want to tell her to go?” he managed to say, his voice strained.

The truth of the matter was that Phillip loved his mother and if he had one regret about leaving the Order it was not being able to see her again. And then here she was, sitting at his dining table and sipping tea.

He wasn’t strong enough to cut out everything from his old life.

When Phillip was younger, he’d heard the stories about brave princes who cut down dragons and monsters and protected women and children from dangerous Magicks. Phillip listened, as any good Order boy did, but he always found it a little strange, because he knew he always felt the safest when he was in his mother’s arms.

He knew Tom and John might not like this. That was the only thing that made him hesitate, before he stepped back out.

“I don’t know if I’ll forgive you. Not now at least,” he said slowly. He stayed in the doorway of the kitchen, hands in his back pockets. “But I don’t want you out of my life.” He swallowed. The words felt painful. “I don’t know what that looks like. I don’t know what any of this looks like. But…” And he clenched his jaw a little tighter, reflexively looking at the tattoo on his forearm. “We’re what’s left of our family. What’s worth saving, anyway.”

“Oh Phillip,” said his mother softly. She stood up and walked over to him, gently resting her hand on his cheek. For a moment, he thought she might hug him. He didn’t know if he wanted her to or not. He thought if she did, he might break down, so he was quite glad when she pulled her hand away.

“We should discuss what this means,” she said, clearing her throat and getting right down to business. “I have a room in the Tipton now, but I also do not have to stay here. I do have family back in Germany. They will not be pleased that I’ve left my marriage but…” She lifted her chin up. “They will come to understand.”

“You can stay in town if you like,” Phillip blurted out, then quickly glanced at Tom. His mother followed his gaze.

“Really, I do not have to, if it makes the three of you uncomfortable.” Her voice was a bit softer than before. “I will not be offended.”

THOMAS:

Tom didn’t know how he felt about all of this.

He was jealous. Wished it was his mother at the door with tears in her eyes. Something he wasn’t sure would ever happen. The DunBrochs were a stubborn lot and she had lost her husband to the Order. What did his death mean if the Order was wrong? It meant nothing. All the deaths that Tom had known throughout his life meant nothing.

He was irritated that Phillip was making the executive decision to let her stay in town. His expression showed it, still glowering in Edelgard’s direction. He didn’t trust her. The Order had many tricks, many strings to pull. They could have threatened Phil. Said they’d kill him if she didn’t come spy on them. Once, Tom may not have thought this way. Out of the three boys, he had always been the most trusting. The most gentle-hearted much to his own chagrin. Much to the chagrin of his father. But now—he hardly trusted himself. Phil and John, really, were the only people in this world that he felt like he could.

Which brought him to his other emotion: he wanted what was best for Phil. His friend, who had suffered so much, because of Tom. At least, that’s how it was in Tom’s eyes. He had been the first one to throw down his sword. He was the one who had stupidly knocked up some woman he barely knew and fast tracked the agreement none of them would’ve had to have worried about for another few years, at least.

John and Phil stuck by his side out of loyalty.

The least Tom could do was stay by Phil’s side out of the same.

“You can stay, for now,” he allowed.

“I still don’t trust her,” he told Phil bluntly. “And we need to speak to John.”

PHILLIP:

Phil knew Tom wasn’t pleased with this decision. Hell, Phillip wasn’t pleased with this decision. There was a part of Phillip that told him to be stronger, to cut off ties completely, to be suspicious of her motives and examine this objectively. But also, it was his mother.

It was his mother, and Phillip had already lost too many people.

He swallowed, nodding at Thomas.

“Yeah, we’ll talk to John,” he said.

There was a moment of silence.

“I am planning to go to Germany,” said Phillip’s mother. She stood up, grabbing her handbag and folding her hands on it. “I have some assets in my name that I will need to sign for in person. There is a lot of paperwork to be done, and I am going to make sure that your father does not see a cent of my money.” She held her chin up high. “That will give you enough time to discuss. If you change your mind…” Her voice faltered slightly here. “Then I understand.”

Phillip nodded slowly. Maybe when she walked out he’d get a grip on himself. Maybe Tom and John would talk sense into him. And maybe that would become all null and void the minute his mother showed up again.

He didn’t want to lose his mother.

This could be a trick. This could be a lie. This could be the Order trying to lure them back in again.

It could also be none of those things. It could also be Phillip’s mother choosing him — and Rosie — over everything else.

“Have a safe trip,” he said, as she walked to the door. His mother nodded. She paused before speaking again.

“You are both good,” she said, eyes sweeping from him to Tom. “Braver than all of those men combined. Hold onto that.”

She reached for Phil’s cheek, touching it just long enough that Phillip felt her fingers linger when the door closed behind her.

#Won't you free me from my chains?#tomlip #feat edelgard #tom

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prince--thomas · 3 years ago

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All for One ~~ [The Golden Brio]

In which Tom shares his news with his best mates...[takes place: early October]

@captain--john, @knightley--phillip

[tw -- brief talk of abortion, general angst/depression/etc.]

THOMAS: When Annie had left, Tom had stayed sitting at the kitchen table for what felt like hours. It wasn’t actually that long. The dogs eventually got restless, having missed their midafternoon walk. Tom got up when Fly started pawing at his pant leg. Robotically, he’d moved toward the front door, hooked them both up on their leashes and took them into the grey day.

Outside looked the same as it always had. Part of Tom expected this stupid, bullshit magical town to look different for some reason. But no, the rest of the world turned on as it always had. Tom was the only one who was different. He felt lost, even though he’d walked these Swynlake roads so often that they no longer twisted and turned on him. His mind was moving sluggishly as it tried to unstick all the facts from his anxious, disbelieving mind.

Annie was pregnant. It was his. She was keeping it. He was going to be a father.

With every step, he repeated these facts until they felt more solid. Unavoidable.

And then, he started to plan. His job at the fire department didn’t pay extremely well, maybe he’d have to change jobs. Or pick up more shifts. Or get a second job. His mother had sent him a fair bit of his inheritance, but he knew it was all that he would ever see of it. Enough for maybe college? Fuck. He needed to tell John and Phil. This was not just because they were his mates, but because it could become complicated. If it was a boy (he prayed it wasn’t a boy), then the Order would try to come for him, as they had agreed to. Thank God he hadn’t sworn it in blood, the way he’d sworn not to pick up a sword again. John and Phil needed to be told this was coming.

If that was not the case, Tom didn’t think he would tell them right away. He wasn’t eager to share his stupid fucking mistake with them. He was ashamed. He was guilty. He felt like an idiot.

He wanted to call his Ma, but he couldn’t do that. She’d tell the rest of the Order. That didn’t stop him from missing her, from wanting her advice. Instead, he just had John and Phil. Who had just as much of a clue as him about all of this.

Eventually, he took the dogs back home after walking them for an hour or so. Phil and John were home soon, he was sure. Until then—

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he had been doing before the front door turned and Phil and John sauntered in together, done with their classes for the day. Tom was sitting at the dining table on his laptop, which he closed when he saw them, his lips pressed together, his palms sweating.

“Oi,” he said, catching them before they could walk into the rest of the house. He wiped his hands on his trousers and leaned back in his chair. “I, uh—well, I’ve something to tell you both. It’s...not good.” His gaze flicked to John first, then Phil, before dropping to the table.

PHILLIP: “Well, you sure know how to welcome two blokes home,” said Phillip, sticking out his tongue. All in all, he wasn’t super concerned about this whole interaction — after all, the last time Tommy had pulled them in for something like this, his dog had gotten knocked up and that had been more funny than anything actually concerning. Also, they’d literally just undergone the worst thing that any of them had imagined growing up (getting totally cut off from their family and disowned and disavowed and thrown out like trash), so really, anything else that followed was

Phillip took a detour to the kitchen, grabbing a can of Red Bull, and then plopped himself in the seat in front of Tommy.

“So… what’s up? Girl troubles? Dog troubles? Both?”

JOHN: Through all of this mess, showdown, blood pacts, and oh fucks what do we do, John had coped. He had his budgeting spreadsheets out. They were itemized and down to the cent for everything. He had margins for wiggle room but there wasn’t much. They all had to get jobs, which he’d already started at the Deer as a bartender as well as his TA stipend and Tom had always had his firefighting, and Phillip was doing what he did best. Sell himself in whatever he felt fit to do. He didn’t really worry about ole Phil.

What he did worry about was Tom’s current state waiting for them as he and Phillip walked through those doors. The bloke had been withdrawn and guilty the last couple weeks. Skulking around and just being well, not quite Tom-like. Phillip bounced back despite all the shit he covered up with that plaster of a smile, Tom wasn’t as easily patched.

It worried him. And it worried him even more now in that ominous sort of tone of his. Numbers, figures and facts comforted John Smith, emotions did not.

“You never admitted the puppy situation was a horrible, god awful idea so please tell me what I must brace myself for, Thomas.” He crossed his arms, mouth already in a frown and his gaze scrutinizing, looking over his friend as he sat himself down next to Phillip.

THOMAS: Tom ignored Phil’s quips.

They bounced right off of him. He was too wound tight to let them affect him. It was a good thing too, considering that Phil had come dangerously close to the mark and the thought made him sick.

It was John’s gaze that made him want to squirm. He did, just a bit. Leaning back so that his chair was on two legs, then plopping back down again, his knee starting to bounce underneath the dining room table.

How was he supposed to tell them? How was he supposed to disappoint them? Again. He had disappointed them by being the one to throw down his sword first. No matter what they said, he felt there would always be guilt in his heart for that. It had been the right thing to do, but he had ruined both of their lives.��

And now--this.

Tom, always the most emotional. Always the stupidest of the three. For years, it had been John and Phil that protected him from his own stupidity. By the reputation alone, Tom had felt invincible with his name next to his friends but now--

Tom dropped his head into his hands, his elbows on his knees. His forehead nearly knocked into the dining room table. His fingers tugged at his curls.

“Annie Tremaine came by today. She’s--well, we slept together a few weeks ago. Right after...everything. I dunno. I was drunk and not thinking straight.” Tom wouldn’t usually feel the need to explain a one night stand to them, but--context was important.

“She told me she’s pregnant,” Tom told the floor. “And that it’s mine.” His voice twisted on the last word, like it was glass in his throat.

PHILLIP: “What —” Phillip coughed, choking on his sip of Red Bull. He had to thump his chest a bit as he hacked up his lungs, eventually swallowing the sugary sweet taste of the drink mixed with his saliva. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he gave one final cough and flicked his eyes to Tom. “And you’re getting rid of it — right?”

There was no other fucking solution — the Order would swoop in and claim Tom’s kid if it was a boy and Phillip did not want to deal with that. Besides, Annie Tremaine had like five other kids or something and she’d really be doing the world a favor if she just took care of this speedily.

Then he paused.

“Wait a second — how do you even know the thing’s yours?” He gestured with his can of Red Bull to make a point.

JOHN: John’s eyes narrowed at the mention of another girl. Women just seemed to cause trouble in their lives, and most importantly, it was women in Thomas’ lives that endangered them every time John could clean up a mess.

Rose, Marie, Arista, now Annie, some sort of carousel of women that Thomas just rotating and riding and causing each of the poles they were located to skewer John repeatedly in his pockets as well as his sanity in this infinite circle of madness.

As the news came in, he felt his blood boil and his jaw clench. They didn’t have room for this in their budget. How in the bloody--

Phillip was speaking now and John felt himself relax slightly. Dear, dear, Phillip, John could certainly kiss him at this very moment but that would be very disturbing and quite wrong. Those were the options. Get rid of it, or at least get a paternity test on the thing. Who knew who this Annie Tremaine was or if she would have some sort of fling with Thomas, why couldn’t she have a fling with others.

“Phillip is right. You need to make sure.” He said it offhandedly, already getting up from the couch and heading straight for his bag that held his laptop and schoolwork. He sat himself down on the kitchen table and opened his laptop and opened his color coordinated, macro filled, tabulated spreadsheet and opened a new tab. Baby Budget

He then began typing furiously into it, sighing out deeply every now and then a “Fuckin’ hell.”

John didn’t look up, he was too busy trying to figure out the damages, his search engines already browsing for average baby budgets. He didn’t look up as he spoke, “Thomas, you know I do love you as I do Phillip. But if I get a bloody ulcer this year... ”

THOMAS: As far as reactions went, this was better than expected, though also exactly what was expected.

Phil and John were more level-headed than he was. He hadn’t even thought about whether or not the baby was his. Anastasia had said it was...why would he question that? Then again, until recently, he had a Wikipedia page and a net worth of a few million quid. There was every reason for her to lie. He felt embarrassed, not having realized this, and also confused because...well, he’d sat with the news for a few hours now and he had gotten--

Okay with it was a strong statement, but he had accepted it. Mostly. Now, it felt as if another wrench had been thrown at him. Right at his shins. Intent on making him fall to his knees. Instead, he just hung his head, like a child being scolded. That was what he felt like. Stupid. Like a child. Not ready for a child. And like a burden to his friends.

That was the most prominent feeling. It was Tom who had not been able to carry out their orders. Tom who had thrown down his sword and let them be captured by the enemy. Tom, who, with his stupid mistakes, was putting them all in danger oncee again.

He swallowed roughly and shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry,” he rasped out, trying his best not to cry, but he was bloody exhausted. And it felt like he had nothing left to do but cry. Which wasn’t manly or brave. Phil and John wouldn’t respect him for it. It would only make all of this worse. So, he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath until he knew his voice would be stronger.

Then, he looked up. “I dunnae kin if it’s mine, but that’s what she told me. That she hasn’t been with anyone else. And that she’s keeping it.” He said most of this to Phil, then glanced at John. “It’s--it’s not your responsibility to budget for. I-I make okay money at the fire station. I’ll get a second job. This isn’t--I’ll handle this. If it is…” my kid. “I’ll handle it.”

PHILLIP: Phillip felt like someone’d just punched him right in the gut. He regretted what he’d said. He knew he could be callous when it came to these things, if only ‘cuz he couldn’t understand why the hell anyone would want to keep an unwanted pregnancy. But this wasn’t Phillip and his millions of lays and girls whose names he did not remember — this was soft-hearted Tommy, and of course, Tommy would be totally okay with this bird keeping his kid, and of course, Tommy would want to handle it.

His gaze softened.

“I know you will, Tommy,” he said, slowly. “And you’ll be a great father. I know it. But the point is, you don’t have to handle this alone. We’re here for you, okay? No matter what, till the end. We’ve always got your back. I’m not bad with kids, you know? S’long as they’re not mine.” He chuckled, leaning a bit back in his seat, but the smile faded from his face slightly. “You don’t — if you don’t want us to help, that’s fine. But we will. We always will.” And here, he cast a glance at John. “Right, J?”

JOHN: John was quiet, his brain was working a mile a minute, he’d been listening but it wasn’t until Phillip said his name that he looked up from the document, suddenly pulled from his disaster preparation and failsafes and he truly looked at his mates. Phillip soft and Thomas on the verge of tears.

“Yes.

He slowly shut his laptop and pushed it forward, standing and walking over to his mates. His bristled panic response died down as he crossed the living room

“Thomas… that reaction was not to say that you’ve burdened us with something, that was me just, well-- it's the only way I know how to help.” He gave a bit of a begrudging smile as he clapped him on the shoulder, “You know I’m no good with caring for children or puppies or anything really that’s alive and has a mind of its own that’s not fully developed.” He exhaled a bit, “But what I can do is help you with what I’m good at. Financials. Responsibilities. And I will always help you, just as Philly said. Because you’re our family, you know. We’re all we have.”

THOMAS: We’re all we have.

John squeezed his shoulder and Tom had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek.

He wanted it to be enough. For Phil to be enough, for John to be enough, for the both of them to be enough. The problem was: they didn’t know shit about raising a baby. None of them did. Tom wanted his sisters. Wanted his mum. Yeah, he was a grown ass man and he had never wanted his mum as badly as he wanted her right now.

But his mum had turned her back on him. Texts, unanswered. Calls unanswered. She was ashamed of him. She probably hated him.

Who Tom had was Phil and John. Just as lost as him, though probably better off. He was bloody grateful for them though, because he knew that he couldn’t do this alone. There was no way that he would be able to do so. But maybe, with their help, he could--be a decent father. Maybe not a good one, but a decent one. With their help, he knew that he could keep his child safe. And that meant more to him than anything.

He nodded, swallowing roughly again. “Aye, thanks. Thank ye, both. I--don’t think I could do this without you.”

There were other things that he wanted to say. Reassure John he’d be a perfect uncle. Joke with Phil that he’d not let his baby alone with him. Tell them both he loved them. But these were things he had never been taught how to say. So, instead, he just sniffled a bit and squared his shoulders.

“I’m goin’ for a walk.” How were they to know he’d already walked the length of Swynlake this morning. “C’mon Gilly, Fly.” He turned and looked over his shoulder once more, giving them both a nod and a tight lipped smile and then disappeared out the door.

#swynjohn #swynphillip #tohn #tomlip #the golden brio #JUNIOR #all for one #brotp: we are all we have #it's honestly DISGRACEFUL #we don't have any official #brotp tags for them

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prince--thomas · 2 years ago

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@knightley--phillip, @captain--john

#tomlip #tomlip stuff #the golden brio #the golden brio stuff #inspiration

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prince--thomas · 3 years ago

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Sword Upon Our Hearts [Part Five: By Blood We Swear] ~~ [The Golden Brio feat. Helle and Howl]

In which the Golden Brio are punished for the mission they’ve been sent to Swynlake for…[takes place: early morning August 4th, 2021]

@captain--john, @knightley--phillip, @trip-downtheriverstyx, @labellerose-acheron, @oh-heartlessman

[tw – talk of murder, lil bit of gore, blood oaths]

BELLE: They had won.

At least, they had won the battle. Belle had dealt with the Order enough at this point that she knew it would not be so simple. There would be more. The only way this felt at all like a victory was the look in those boys’ eyes. The regret and the horror of what they had done. Belle had seen that look before: in Merida. And even in Hades, himself, after Persephone had died. It was a hard thing to fake, the kind of remorse that brought you to your knees. Belle did not trust these men, but she believed them.

Mercy was a kindness she could afford to show them. That was how she knew that they could use the Princes. If they had not broken. If they had not crumbled beneath the weight of their crimes, perhaps Belle would have not touched Hades’ arm. She would have let them go up in flames. A cruel man was no use to them. A repentant man could be.

Belle watched silently as Hades and Merida bound them and brought them out of the garden, seating them on the floor in the living room. Toulouse stayed at her side, his hulking form warm against her trembling thigh. She stroked her hand over his head a few times, but otherwise didn’t move. She felt like she might faint if she did. Despite winning, Belle was still terrified. She didn’t even notice that her neck had been cut on Phil’s sword (probably from her own thrashing, because of course, she’d put up at least a bit of a fight), until Hades handed her a wet towel to put against it.

Having done her duty--calling Howl and telling him it was time--there was nothing left to do but wait. Toulouse stalked around the living room, unable to sit still. Merida had collapsed into a chair, holding her side. Lou had whined at her when she did this, probably worried about the upholstery. (Perhaps worried about Merida.) Hades stood at her side, his hand on her shoulder. She had leaned against him, but only for a moment. This wasn’t a time to seek comfort.

They still all had jobs to do.

When the knock sounded at the door, Belle moved out of the shelter of Hades’ shadow to open it.

“Hullo,” Belle murmured as she looked up at Howl. She gave him the best smile she could manage before stepping aside to let him in. Taking a breath, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. This needed to be a performance as much as a spell. Belle did not want to let the trio see what they had taken from her.

“Thank you for coming. I trust you have everything prepared?”

HOWL: There was nothing like a little blood magic in the nighttime to really remind one what it felt like to be alive!

“Of course, darling,” said Howl, with a tip of his head.

Now, of course, Howl felt very terrible about everything that had happened. He slipped Belle a little calming tincture, with a note wrapped around it with instructions on how much to take before bedtime for a dreamless, restful sleep. But he was here to get to work, and he knew Belle would not like it if he fussed over her. So he unclipped his cloak and it drifted towards a nearby chair, and stepped inside the house.

“Now… where are these prisoners?”

In Howl’s time in Swynlake, he’d not really crossed paths with the Order of the Prince. Oh, sure, he knew about them — of course he did, because they seemed determined to destroy Belle and her family, but he’d never actually directly interacted with them (well, as far as he was aware).

He followed Belle up to where the three men were tied up. They were nothing remarkable — each handsome in their own very generic way, which he supposed was probably optimal for covert missions; good-looking enough to be charming, but not enough to stick out. He did recognize two of them, now, from the play, the one with the big blue eyes and the one who was somehow smirking through all of this.

“So how does this thing go?” asked the smirking one, who sounded awfully cheerful for someone tied up. “Slash our palms, say a few words, bound forever, etcetera, etcetera — say, what are our terms and conditions for this?”

“I’m sure that’s up to Belle and Hades,” said Howl, as his vials drifted out of his bag, along with a piece of chalk that started to scribble a circle around the three men, full of intricate runes. “I’m just here to run the show.”

HADES: If it were up to Hades, they would be dead.

If it were up to Hades, he would take every weapon they had. He’d take their hands-- never able to hold a weapon again. He’d take their sight-- so they could never so much as look at his family. He’d take their hearing, their legs. He’d take everything and then some.

If it were up to Hades, at the very least, he’d banish them from Swynlake. Send them far far away, and every time they even thought of this place, they’d be struck with a headache. If they put his name in their mouth, their tongues would burn.

But it was not up to Hades.

It was up to Belle, and in the end, the punishment needed to serve the strategy, something they were cobbling together quickly. All three men seemed remorseful (Hades didn’t trust it), which meant that they could potentially be allies and spies in one way or another. The punishment had to be a collar that would control them like dogs, without choking them entirely. A very specific kind of punishment that would, at the very least, entail his family remained safe.

It wasn’t the satisfying revenge Hades wanted; he’d have to wait to get into the heart of the Order for that.

“I don’t want them to be able to attack my family. Or think about attacking my family, actually,” said Hades to Howl. It was up to the sorcerer to devise exactly how this could translate. “And-- they should never kill again. Not a mundus, not a magick. Take that away too.”

PHILLIP: All of those requests seemed rather reasonable to Phillip. He was genuinely surprised that they weren’t being murdered, of course, but that did just reaffirm his decision.

Hades and Belle and Toulouse and Merida were not monsters. They were people. Whatever the Order had twisted about Magicks and Mundus all these years was a lie. Perhaps it was started with good intention — after all, Phillip’s family was known for killing dragons and certainly a thousand years ago, the devastation that dragons wreaked on small villages was enough for some to raise swords against them. But somewhere along the line, protecting people turned into hunting others.

Or maybe it had always been about hunting. Phillip didn’t know. Phillip didn’t want to know.

“Oh absolutely — no harming all of you and no killing. On the penalty of death,” said Howl. Vials were flying everywhere. Phillip wasn’t sure what it all was, but he followed one particularly shiny one as it uncorked and spilled something silver around them. The sorcerer must’ve noticed, because the next time Phillip caught his eye, he gave a little wink.

“While that all carries itself out,” Howl waved a hand at all the bottles and what not, “I’ll explain how this works. First of all, this is blood magic, just getting that out of the way, darling.” He looked at Belle when he said this. “I doubt you’ll have any qualms, but it is the disclaimer I make whenever I involve other people in that craft, because people can be so righteous about it. But the way I see it — if everyone’s down, why not have a little fun?”

He turned his brilliant blue gaze to Phil now, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

Phillip gulped.

“Anyway,” continued Howl, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get a little blood from all of them, mix it in a vial, and then after you write the terms of the contract — “ As he said that, a piece of parchment floated towards Belle and Hades. “ — they’ll sign it in their blood, then we burn it in the spell circle, and — well you’ll see, it’s very fun, that part.”

“Sounds sexy,” said Phillip, instinctively.

“I knew I liked you,” said Howl. “But yes, this only works if all parties are willing, so …” He pulled out a knife from his cloak and held it out. A new vial floated next to him. “Who’s first?”

“I’ll go,” said Phillip. He agreed with everything Hades had said. “I never wanted to even hurt them in the first place. And I’m fine if I never have to kill again — just — I can protect without killing.” He hadn’t been planning on saying that, but as he did, he jut his chin out a little more.

“Yes, yes,” said Howl lazily. He walked to Phillip, standing over him and using the blade of the knife to turn Phillip’s gaze towards him. The metal pressed into Phillip’s skin, and he let it, without flinching, and felt a trickle of blood down his neck. Howl pulled away the dagger, holding it over the vial, and watched as the blood dripped into it.

“The rest of you can use your palms,” he said, then flicked his gaze to Phillip. “An eye for an eye, darling.” And those bright blue eyes darted to Belle, to the thin line across her own throat, as his lips tightened. “Who’s next?”

THOMAS: This whole scene played out like one of his nightmares.

The only difference was that Tom wasn’t scared. He was full of so much remorse, he felt heavy with it. As if the ropes that bound him were tied to an anchor and he’d been sent to the bottom of the ocean. That was how he heard the conversation above him: as if he was underwater. He heard words, but their meanings escaped him. All he knew was that whatever fate awaited him, he had condemned Phil and John to the same one.

That was the only part of him that regretted it. The one that would never forgive himself if something happened to John or Phil. His brothers--in arms or anything else. Otherwise, he couldn’t find it in himself. He realized, as soon as he had faced Merida, there was never a moment where he would have been able to go through with what he had been told to do. As always, he had simply followed orders. He had believed in the wrong thing. The wrong people.

Tom didn’t know what he believed in now. Except perhaps Mercy, who came to them in the form of a beautiful, gentle woman. He was aware enough to see the murderous glare in Hades’ eyes, in the reflection of the wolf’s eyes. Even the sorcerer, when he stepped close enough, had eyes as hard as diamonds, no matter how he smiled and moved like a ripple in the wind. Belle was the only one who looked at them with eyes like water. She was gentle. And Tom realized it had nothing to do with the fact she was a Mundus, or even a mother. She was just--a good person.

She was the only one Tom could look at without feeling like he wanted to throw up. Not that it mattered, because she was not looking at him. Instead, she stood stiffly, the parchment that the sorcerer had handed her crumpling in her hand. She was milk-pale in the moonlight, from her eyelids to her lips and her white-knuckle grip. He clung to her in his mind, like a child clinging to a mother’s skirts.

Until the sorcerer moved towards them. Tom flinched and then his boots scraped at the floor, his arms jerking, fighting against their binds as the sorcerer lifted the knife to Phil’s throat. “Don’t--”

The plea was choked off as the blade was drawn away again. Once more, Tom felt nauseated. As if he had suddenly become seasick on the solid land. (Nothing was solid for Tom.) He sucked in a sharp breath when the knife was held out towards him.

“I--I will.” Tom didn’t know if his voice had ever sounded so soft. He was looking at Belle still, desperately as if she could save him, though he did not know from what. He turned his palm over and held it out. The sorcerer sliced the sharp blade across it. This time, Tom stayed perfectly still. After all, he already felt like he was bleeding from every part of him. When the sorcerer got what he needed, Tom curled his hand in a fist.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, still soft. He didn’t know why.

Finally, for just a moment, Belle’s eyes flickered towards him before they jumped away. She turned and moved toward the kitchen, falling clumsily onto the stool at the island, the first sign he had seen of any toll this night had taken on her. It was then Tom’s gaze fell to the hardwood beneath him, stomach churning with shame, before he turned to watch John, wondering if he should be apologizing to him instead.

JOHN: John’s eyes were cold, an icy blue. He shut down and put on a brave face, but his eyes were also tired. He was exhausted, but despite being corralled into this room and bound he kept his posture, he kept himself strong. He was so close to breaking but he pulled the pieces together as hard as he could to get through the last of this.

As the sorcerer spoke, John’s brain wracked through the contract for loopholes, but he was too tired. He was done with this. As the blonde man stepped forward and held a knife to Phillip’s throat, John’s whole body tensed, pulling hard on the restraints that kept him on the ground, his fist clenching at how vulnerable his mate--his brother--was. He ground his teeth down, letting out a slight exhale of irritation and almost a warning though he knew he was no match for this sorcerer in his current state.

He let Tom go ahead of him, his eyes darting around the room to make sure that this wasn’t some kind of falsehood. That they were being bled for some ulterior purpose or something. But the rest of them just looked as tired and hurt as John felt.

The blonde was willing to end this, though he wasn’t particularly happy about it. For his mates, he did this. He didn’t want to watch them suffer. He sat tall, chest up as he strained as firmly as he could to make himself as big as possible, back absolutely aching as as he stared into the eyes of the all too charming and cool sorcerer who seemingly had a fleeting fancy in all of this. His eyes analyzed his face a moment before he turned out his palm, his arms already burning from the damage Hades had done to him during the first encounter. What was one more cut?

The knife pressed into his palm and sliced through, John’s eyes never left the sorcerer’s face. He didn’t flinch, didn’t grimace, just stared. And once that was over, he wished he was free, shielding Thomas and Phillip from whatever might come their way with this strange blood magic being tampered with, “What next, sorcerer?”

HADES: As the blood was drawn, Hades and Belle set to work on the contract. It wouldn’t be long. As much as Hades wanted to take so much more from these men, it was unrealistic and would not fit into the broader plans of revenge against the Order-- of taking the Order down.

And so for now, he took his anger and he put it aside. There could be no emotions involved here. This was all strategy, all necessity, though as he murmured low to Belle, there were several things he knew that were non-negotiable and had to remain that way.

The first one was, as he’d previously said, the Order should not be able to kill anyone, any life, at all. That needed to be locked down in blood. He didn’t care for any unforeseen consequences of this rule; if it meant they all had to convert to veganism, then good. Better for the goddamn environment otherwise. Likewise when it came to their family-- just an added level of protection to ensure that they’d never wield any weapon against them, or plot against them either. The last thing they needed was the Order to contract their murderous plans out. But the contract also needed to have some flexibility. “In case we need to...add anything, later. Is that possible? Could we leave a door open, somehow?” he murmured to her. If anyone could manage that, it would be Belle. “Anything else?” he asked her, glancing back at the three men before he looked down at the sheet of paper. So far, the contract did not even fill one page, but that was because the script was tight, well-written. Howl was just drawing the last bit of blood, and so soon, it would be signed.

BELLE: There was nothing Belle had learned in her Contracts class that would help her with this. There was nothing in her criminal justice or torts or wills and trusts classes that would help her write up a contract, signed in blood, sealing someone’s fate.

A part of her didn’t want to. It felt wrong. Belle had had her own fate messed with plenty of times and she knew that helpless feeling that came with it being out of your hands. After all, she remembered how difficult it had been to break Hades’ contract with Yubaba, once upon a time. What it had cost them. Blood magic was not something to take lightly. She supposed, at the least, she could give the Golden Trio that: she would take this seriously, carry it heavily in her own heart.

Of course, she didn’t owe them anything--not even this small kindness--but she felt as if she did not hold onto it, she would lose a part of herself to this contract.

She also knew that if she told any of this to Hades, he wouldn’t understand. Belle didn’t blame him for this. He was strong and sure. And he was right. This was what needed to be done. His murmurings made her feel stronger, more sure as she wrote the notes out on a separate piece of paper. They had shown the trio mercy twice now and they had not cared. This would ensure her family’s safety. And that would be all that mattered.

In the end, this is what the contract read:

By willingly giving blood to seal this contract, John Francis Fitzwilliam Smith, Phillip Julian Brenton Harris Hubert Knightley, and Thomas Richard Edward Harrington III, hitherto referred to as “the promisors” vow to obey the stipulations set out below by Belle Rose Acheron, Hades Acheron, Toulouse Henri Bonfamille, Merida Elinor DunBroch, and their dependents: Opal Grace Acheron, Aidan Alexander Acheron, and Bellamy Henri Acheron, hitherto referred to as the “the promisees.”

I. The promisors shall not raise a weapon against the promisees, nor any sentient creature, being, or entity, with the intent to kill. They shall not be indirectly involved in the death of the promisees nor any sentient creature, being, or entity, through nefarious means such as, but not limited to: hiring someone to kill them, giving information that may cause another to harm them, etc.

II. Punishment for killing those outlined in stipulation “I” will result in the death of the promisor who committed the act. Deaths caused by reasonable accident including, but not limited to: vehicular death, medical death, or elsewise, will not result in the promisor’s death.

III. Additionally, the promisors shall not plot or scheme against the promisees, nor their other family--blood or otherwise--whether with the intention of retribution, punishment, or other malicious intent. They will not give information to others that might insist in causing harm to the promisees.

IV. Attempts to achieve the stipulations outlined in “III” will result in the promisors becoming incapacited until which point they stop attempting to speak against the promisees.

V. The promisors swear to follow further instructions laid out by the promisees within reason. This is limited, but not limited to, requests for intelligence on the promisees’ enemies, protection, and other requests that would uphold the spirit of this contract.

VI. This contract may only be broken by statements made willingly and without coercion by the majority of independent promisees to the promisors.

Belle set down the pen gently on the counter. She curled her hand and tucked it under the table, into the folds of her skirt, to hide its trembling. Taking a deep breath, she nodded to Hades and then reached out for his arm as she got off the stool, to help steady herself.

“I think they will find this...satisfactory,” Belle told Howl, lifting her chin slightly to make up for the way her voice wavered.

HOWL: “And now the fun part.” Howl winked, taking the contract from Belle. It floated in the air, soon joined by the vial of blood and a quill. “I’ll need all of you to sign this in turn — we can start with you, darling.” He smiled at Phillip, who took the quill without hesitation, the red mark on his neck still fresh, and dipped the nib of the feather in the blood and signed his name with a flourish. The other two followed.

Howl took the parchment back, holding it for a moment, before he let it drift towards the spell circle. It hovered for a moment and then burst into flame.

“Oh, I love that part,” sighed Howl. He could get into how it was a reaction of all the reagents that had already formed the binding rune on the floor (plus a little extra help from Calcifer, who’d lent him some demon flame for the occasion). The rune began to glow, also catching fire — except it did not emit heat. Not to Howl or Belle or Hades, at least, but for the three men, it would feel as if their hearts had caught aflame, burning brightly and fiercely and painfully to remind them of their promise and bind them fully to the words written on the page.

The flame burned orange, before it settled into a red — a deep crimson, like the blood spilled on the page, and then finally, after it reached its hottest, it snuffed out at once, leaving nothing but a whiff of smoke that soon dissipated.

And where the blood was drawn across the three men, there were now faint marks — scars that could be passed off as just a scar, but would mark them forever bound to the Blood Oath.

“There we go,” said Howl. “Oh — I have a copy here.” And a replica of the parchment popped out from his satchel. “Duplication paper! Marvelous. One of Mel’s little trinkets she left with me.”

#swynjohn #swynphillip #swynhades #swynbelle #bdrphowl #sword upon our hearts #by blood we swear #tohn #tomlip #tades #bellas #thowl #and fin #:)

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