#enturmoiled

                  the ruckus from the camp has since faded to a low hum , the stragglers of the celebration still staggering around , merry as can be . a small frame rests beside her , sleeping head atop her lap. she brushes her fingers through his hair , eyes fixed on his face. days of terror have taken their toll on her  - left her on the brink of total exhaustion. even so , she smiles. she breathes.  she cannot tear her eyes away from the boy for more than a moment , but offers a glimpse over to his rescuer . his father . 

              ❛❛ i didn’t say it . . . not very well , at least .  ❜❜ she offers her free hand , resting it on john’s forearm.  ❛❛ but thank you,  john ,  for bringin’ our boy home .  ❜❜

Send me ✪ and my muse will tell you what they’d like to do to/with yours.  |  accepting!

SEEMS LIKE SOMEBODY SHOULDVE JUST LEFT HIM ON THAT MOUNTAIN TO DIE!!!

    he throws the last log, freshly split, on top of a pile he’s been working on since breakfast. it topples in a clatter, bark chipping, and john’s glad for the noise, for the buffer of anything but words between them. his back is still turned to her as he examines the sap hiding in the cracks across his palms, and as he picks bits of detritus from the tackiness coating dry skin, and as he speaks, finally, like he’s only just drummed up the energy to respond.

  ❛ — i ain’t nothin’ at you, abigail. ❜ ( to his own ears, this is almost kind, even-toned and unhindered by grit teeth. john hopes that’ll be enough, though seldom ever is for her. high expectations are only natural wherever dreams are preferable to reality, he supposes. ) ❛ not ‘less you give me reason to be. ❜

she should be   used to it   now,   the constant bickering   &   the back   &   forth.   yet,   there she stood,   coffee in hand,   lips   parted   ever so slightly.   it was a   stupid   question,   really.    when were they   ever   satisfied   —   especially so in   each others   company   ?   perhaps they never were.

                                                           how’s my portrayal ?

truly i am out here in the west elizabeth wilderness crying my lil eyes out . you know when you sort of ? hit the jackpot of writing partners ? that’s how i feel ! i truly knew that i loved abigail so much when i started writing her on my multi , but i can’t even begin to tell you how much writing & collaborating with you has challenged and inspired me . i truly feel that your writing has provoked so much thought that help me to have a more balanced outlook.  i feel so positively challenged in such an encouraging way, by you,  to dig deeper & learn more . 

hug prompts  | accepting !

there was a time he remembers standin’ taller .     when they were younger boys , the roles had been reversed .     he never really did mind that growth spurt john had , but now he feels a lot smaller than he should .     gravity is a sonuva bitch for a sick man like him , that even with his brother’s assistance he topples onto him .he gives in to the nature of his disease .     how it cripples him beyond the use of his lungs .     what john needed to understand , that this wasn’t arthur giving up … rather he finally accepted his fate .arms climb ‘round his brother’s shoulders , his fists take bundle of the fabric ‘pon john’s back .     the sensation of his lungs crackling for air more noticeable whilst embraced close to john’s chest .     their kinship had seen hurdles , both good and bad .     resentment he once felt toward john gradually vanishes , when he would rather try to prevent a time like this from separating them .     perhaps if he had hugged john a little more often rather than have argued , this would not feel as bittersweet as it did .

                     she’s no stranger to roughing it . tent , fire , and bedroll have become a home replacement . but this ? a foreign experience altogether. for now , she is not the sole inhabitant ( barring , perhaps , jack ) of such cozy accommodations . now , her bedroll is positioned snug against another , her shoulder brushing occasionally against a larger one. not even in shady belle , as they resided in close quarters ( she on the bed , and he respectably next to her on the floor ) did she expect to end up like this: together , voluntarily. 

         the softness with which he speaks to her fills a hole in her heart she had not realized existed - not until there was softness to be found . fingers that were only just tracing patterns into john’s forearm pause. her eyes close  and she smiles.  ❛❛  ain’t so bad .  ❜❜  

she cannot let the half-hearted admission on her part stand for too long. she’s far better with words , and his mean so very much . abigail turns onto her side , facing him. the back of her hand gently grazes the side of his face , ghosting his scars and his mouth before gently attempting to tip his chin downward. a long moment is spent looking at him , making out what she can of his vaguely illuminated face. then, she presses a brief, smile-laden kiss to his lips. 

                              ❛❛  me too , john. it’s real nice.   ❜❜

        what she does not say is that while a tent and bedroll might be all there is , while they might be struggling to make it , this is the closes she’s ever felt to a home . after all that has happened between them , being so close to him might mean that home isn’t so far off. quietly , she inches closer , rests her forehead against his chest , and yawns. 

                                             ❛❛  i’m goin’ to sleep now , ‘kay ?   ❜❜