‘ i will pretend that i have not already heard the question in your eyes ’ |  f. d. soul’s work - between you and these bones

Had it become that obvious? Almost instantly as those words land on him do his eyes avert downwards, hands slipping into his pockets as he takes a step back, embarrassed. He hears no venom in her words, nor irony, nor condescension - all he hears is defeat. He hears tiredness; soaked into every syllable that quietly lulls him into a space of familiarity. He wants to wrap her up, to hold her, to protect her -- keep her safe, and love had always been the main factor for him, and it proved, even still, the number one motivating factor for him.

But does she now feel the same way? Had like turned into a word she hardly let utter from her lips? Or is this simply still, what it had always been, a marriage of convenience? ( though some would still hardly see it as such )  but even a marriage such as theirs still require a semblance of...tradition, of carrying on. He was a proud man, but he was a kind man. Their first few years of marriage, seemed more of a partnership than that of man and wife. But still, he had seen little by little -- how she begun to smile more in her presence, the lingering touches when he had to leave. To grow fond in her heart was a marvel, and something he cherished, but this now -- was a step forward that both of them had seen coming, even if neither had been able to bring it up at first.

                    ❝ It is not something I ---.... ❞ but he stops. Halts, tripping over his own words. Edward cannot complete that sentence because he was an honest man. Infuriatingly such. Always had been, and though this lie would placate something -- someone -- somebody, it would be a lie to himself, and to the one other person that meant everything he had: his wife. Her. 

Tilts his head back up, surveying her as he pulls his hands back out of his pockets, hands upturned ever slightly as if to offer her a place in his embrace if she so wished. ❝ We can pretend for a while yet longer, but the topic of children -...❞ he hesitates, almost half-afraid of her reaction, ❝ -- of continuing the bloodline is not something we will be easily able to walk out of nor away from, my darling. ❞

❝  for that to be true,  i’d   a c t u a l l y   have to best you for once.   i think it’s more  YOU  always landing on top of   me.  ❞    a slow,  cheeky grin spreads across his face as he blinks up at her.    not that he’s complaining exactly.    childhood crush pining you down against the dewey forest ground isn’t exactly the   worst   of training situations.    a little distracting,  maybe.   but talk about an adrenaline rush.   their eyes lock for a moment,  and there’s...   something   churning away behind her heated stare.   a recalibration of sorts,  but whether it’s about the best methods of   kissing him   or   killing him,   he may not ever know.   landon lets out a dry laugh.

ONE.

HIS JOB IS A DANGEROUS ONE. To look lawless men in the eye and tell them there are consequences for their actions is to face all manner of violence, whether they choose to throw punches or pull pistols. He handles it, because someone has to. Because he loves those girls like they’re his family, and the pirates need to learn he will not allow harm to come to them.

He handles it  —   until one man gets the upper hand, sends half-full tankards flying as he slams Sam into a table and drives his ring-clad fist into his face. Until that hand is caught midair and yanked behind him, twisted until he cries out in agony, further and further and further until there’s a sickening CRACK beneath the skin. 

The man is dragged out by her men and there she stands, beautiful and terrifying, an expression of angry disgust giving way to barely-concealed concern as she steps into Sam’s light and touches his bloodied face. 

“ Thanks for the save, ” he croaks, that boyish smile shining through the pain. 

She scoffs. 

PROMPTS! 

❝ NOPE. It should be Julia. ❞ Startles still with the quick turn of the head towards her, and the kind eyes that are rounded in keen focus on her before Keyleth can utter, ❝ What? He likes you ... ❞

A beat, and Keyleth guides the plastic plate of nachos towards Tegan’s end of the table. Waits for the familiar start to the blonde stuffing her face and ending with, ❝ ... also Tee can’t scare him. We can’t afford to be on his bad side. ❞

SPIDER MAN INTO THE SPIDERVERSE

ALICE: MADNESS RETURNS STARTERS

The dream was a kind one. 

Light filtered through the dirt-stained glass ceilings of their old warehouse unit; an off-shoot space they’d made their room in this lesser know base for the revolution. Given time they had hung curtains for privacy. Kept weapons in decoy spots. In the dream, they had finished dragging salvaged mattresses in — and Spencer fell back on them with hair splayed out beneath her. The languidness that comes from overexertion — exhaustion pulling at the controlled posturing she kept all day as their group settled in. Sam had lined up next to her on the bed. He contributed ideas for plants and decorations. The sparse detailings that would make a forgotten place a home. She challenged each one — how would they water the plants, and would they have to go to Target for prope sheets? 

Reynold stood at the periphery. Busied himself by stacking books onto leftover crates — taken from the offices of some production line leader; dusty, and moth eaten in parts, but detailing complex mechanical blueprints. All the way from 1988. A bit of history. Sam and Spencer broke through that little dive into the past with their questions — needing a third to break the tie between them — and he looked at them. The sight of them filled him with something new — a feeling that there would always be a tie to the present.

The hope of a future.