#just musing on some things. goodnight.

[corallapis]

[quietlyblooms-gone]

🧍🏼‍♀️when did i fall asleep🧍🏼‍♀️

[oculusxcaro]

I absolutely love your portrayal of Khare! You thought through about how her mutation works. Which amphibians she was basically fused with and how they each have their own role in her mutation that when brought together makes for a very cool yet terrifying way to live.

Also such a beautiful tragedy with her story. How she had a normal life before being snatched away to get experimented on by Prometheus. Her escape, how the heavy trauma doesn't stop there nor does the practical storytelling as she had to survive in the wilderness on her own for a time. Gaining injuries and of the sort until she ends up in Gotham city. A perfect place to lay low from people who work for Prometheus as there still could be a chance they're out looking for her.

How her mutation slowly spreads, hindering her memory and slowly eating away her mind. And that's ALONG with the eyes and teeth growing all over her body especially after getting juried. The uncertainty of if there is a cure, or a way to keep the mutation at bay. Or if Khare's fate is sealed and she is living on precious time. How one day, she'll loose herself. Every bit that makes her human, the friends she's made, her compassion, kindness, her determination. All her emotions and thoughts slowly decay as she watches her own body deform into something else.

Not to mention how relatable and sympathetic someone may feel when Khare is too scared to tell her family that she's alive because of how powerful Prometheus is. Like, a giant corporation, with MANY connections. Surely they figured out where her family lives and are waiting for the day Khare might return.

All of this to say that you have a perfect balance of tragedy along with a slice of life. The way you write Khare being drained from long shifts hits the nail on the head on how it actually feels like. It's so easy getting entranced with your writing! always worth waiting for as it's always so descriptive even when it's just a few sentences! Khare is just so human and I love it!

Her mutations are very cool but they actually come with a cost and you show it. Which I don't think is done enough in media. (especially with some superhero powers where theirs "comes with a cost" but it actually doesn't show or feel like it does. It's just generic and on top of that the superhero is out doing superhero shit. Contradictory with Khare. Who actually reads and FEELS like a normal person being stuck with powers that come with a cost but only wants a normal life. And actually lives a normal life! That's what makes Khare stand out. Because in the situations where she does fight it feels more genuine and so much less scripted.)

Please tell me your favorite things about my portrayal/muse?

RUUUUUUUUUE, WHY YOU GOTTA SLAY ME LIKE THIS???? 😭😭😭😭 This right here? Is hands down is the loveliest message EVER like... where do we even begin? First and foremost, thank you so, so much for taking the time to write down and send such a dedicated and thoughtful message - it means the world to me, as do YOU in having been such a phenomenal writing partner through both Rorschach and Oswald (and while we're at it, let's not forget Dan!) Receiving such a detailed message about the things you like concerning Khare is just about the highest praise imaginable considering what an excellent writer you are yourself! You have a fantastic eye for storytelling, delving deep into the narrative to shape not only your muse but the world they live in, how they grow and develop through interacting with that world which is not always the easiest take and yet somehow you always make it seem so effortless? Ever since we started talking, your writing has been a huge influence and a stellar example of roleplaying to not only look up to but to admire and emulate. Writing is hard as fuck even on the best of days but you? Have really helped shape my perspective on so many things, how to write well without padding everything with purple prose and to get into a muse's head. Rorschach is a beautiful example of that what with being very much in his head (and not the forthcoming man in his feelings or words.) It's just one of the many reasons I love the relationship our muses have, Rorschach being incredibly unhinged and aggressive as he was during Watchmen but clearly having changed since his untimely demise, awakening somewhere in the middle of Gotham. You've made that feel so real, how very disconcerting it would feel to die only to wake up in a completely different world, in a universe oddly similar yet so different to the one you left behind. And then there's Dan over on @made-of-archimedes, being Rorschach's polar opposite in being so much more approachable and affable but having his 'darker' side present too, his woes, his worries and very real concerns. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you encapsulate personality so well, making your muses feel so very human with minds of their own, as though you've plucked them straight from the movie. You mentioned once before how you didn't feel you did that, that maybe you weren't writing them 'right' but that's not true at all. Your portrayal made me love your two ragingly repressed men and to appreciate their characters all the more after seeing them from your lens. Ah, I'm so sorry to have waffled on like that but honestly Rue, how you're always so kind and thoughtful is a mystery even Dr. Manhatten couldn't solve. Thank you again so much for saying so many wonderful things about Khare! I've tried so hard to describe some of these things (with less success than I'd have liked) so for you to have nailed everything on the head like you did? Means a lot to me, from your thoughts regarding her mutation to her struggles and fears to why she doesn't contact her family back home. She's fucking scared, completely at a loss on what to do or even if she'll manage to survive when every day there's a new tooth or eye to greet her. Her mutation isn't a cute issue at all, instead being the shit-covered end of the stick of gaining a 'useful' power with very heavy costs. Not everybody gets superpowers like Peter Parker and her story is an example of what happens when things go terribly, terribly wrong. Tumblr is getting fucky now and won't save this post so again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for such a lovely, uplifting message! It means so much that you like my silly frog-fish shambling flesh horror of a girl and her relationship with Rorschach is hands down my favourite part about her development as a character! I look forwards to interacting with him (and Dan) much more in future and for their stories to continue!

[ethereacals]

MANIAC

the one where you don't go back to the boys.

part two of the conan gray series

“i wish i were heather” out now!

synopsis: after getting cheated on by your previously expected soulmates, a change in perspective occurs and you find yourself falling for a different set of three.

warnings: foul language, slander on the marauders, sexual innuendos, mentions of smoking, a small taylor

"PEOPLE LIKE YOU ALWAYS WANT BACK WHAT THEY CAN'T HAVE."

Leaving Hogwarts early for Christmas this year was not something anyone could've forshadowed.

You, the girl who spent most of her time studying for her upcoming OWLS in November, had disappeared without a trace.

Of course most of your close friends knew where you were, and some not so close friends did aswell.

"She can't just run away from her problems." Said Sirius, his leg bouncing anxiously from the news Regulus had just sprung onto them.

"Sirius, It'll be fine, okay? When they get back to school, we can formally apologize and move on, right?" Remus attempted to reassure Sirius, but he in reality he felt quite crestfallen.

Lily sat quietly, already regretting her decision to do this with them.

In her head, she knew they had every intention to not cheat and solve things the right way— but she hadn’t helped.

It all started one night at a loud and ear-shattering Gryffindor victory party after a successful win for their Quidditch team.

She got drunk, and they were completely wasted.

And you weren’t there.

So their drunken minds believed it would be a missed opportunity if they didn’t take their chance with Gryffindors golden girl.

Lily knew she should’ve said no, she should’ve gone back to her dorm and hid from them for the rest of eternity.

But fate clearly had other plans.

And after secrets, longing stares, and lingering touches that the truth finally came to light.

and it was all at your expense.

“So— When will our Reggie be joining us, Meadowes?” Evan slurred, his voice carrying a heavily intoxicated tone.

“Soon enough, he’s got one more OWL to complete and then he’s on his way.” Dorcas mused as she gently pet the head of her tipsy sleepy Gryffindor girlfriends head as she babbled on about Quidditch.

Evan nodded drunkenly— before taking another swig.

Dorcas seemed so peaceful with Marlene— who had surprisingly accepted her invitation to spend Christmas with the Slytherins, though Marlene truly wasn’t prejudice against them like others were.

They seemed so… in love.

You had love once.

Remember?

They’re gone.

Remember?

They’re gone.

“I— I had love… once—“ You hiccuped sadly, beginning to sob for the umpteenth time this evening.

You were extremely drunk, who could really blame you?

“Aww… Treasure…” Barty (who surprisingly was very sober) cooed, encapsulating you in a bear hug as you cried into his chest.

“How many more times is she going to do that?” Asked Peter, who— by the way: lied to his friends and said he was going home for Christmas.

He was only visiting for the night, as he was currently visiting his girlfriend— Sybil Trelawney who lived in town.

“Who knows, Pete. Who knows..” Evan slung his arm around him.

“This should be the last time before she realizes that she doesn’t need them, that’s what the sprites are telling me.” Pandora smiled, petting your hair gently in comfort.

“Pettigrew, you should turn back to your rat-pack and tell them they’re trash.”

You spat, in broken sighs.

Obviously, Peter felt a bit of offense to the rat slander but alas— they weren’t aware of his rat-secret.

Quite a shame.

“Sure thing, L/N.”

'FEELS LIKE WE HAD MATCHING WOUNDS BUT MINES STILL BLACK AND BRUISED.'

on December 19th, Regulus had finally arrived at Barty's flat he'd rented for the holidays.

Marlene, Dorcas, and Peter had their departure just the day before, leaving just you, Pandora, Evan, Barty, and Regulus.

Pandora had just wished you all goodnights and dream blessings before nodding off to your shared room for your stay.

"So, anyone up for some firewhiskey?" Offered Evan, who held a giant bottle of the substance.

"Just a small bit, Rosie." Barty accepted his offer graciously.

"Need anything, amour?" Regulus mused in your ear, by far he was the most comforting one. As the other two just distracted you with their own twisted ways of thinking and chaos.

"I'm alright, Reggie. Thank you." You nodded politely, you had felt incredibly off this break.

Though they all weren't stupid, they knew why you were acting strange.

Every year since third year; You and the boys would leave Hogwarts and spend Christmas with the Potters.

Snowball fights, roaring fires, Effie's hot cocoa, the memories echoed through your brain like they were music blasting from your headphones.

Every time you closed your eyes to sleep, you would see endless slideshows of everything you had ever done with them.

The nights of passion, the hugs, the pre and post-quidditch game good luck and good job kisses, the play fights, the happiness.

Your life was black and white before you met them, they brought the color.

But they showed you colors they knew you couldn't see with anyone else.

Well, besides your 'best' friends.

Were you really just that? Just friends?

You were a year younger than the Marauders, same year as Regulus.

and Sirius would be so pissed off if he found out that you were sleeping with his brother-

...

Wait.

Who gives a fuck about Sirius?

Who cares what intelligent insult will come out of Remus' mouth?

And James, he liked Regulus once.

They'd hate you.

But,

Maybe you wanted them too.

So, you ended up taking a few shots of firewhiskey.

Okay,

More than a few.

"Um- actually, Reggie. I- I do need something." You slurred, holding onto your sober ex-boyfriends brother best friends nimble shoulders like he was your lifeline.

"Yes, amour?"

"I want a kiss."

Evan spat out his drink back into his cup, and Regulus' face heated up significantly.

"I'll give you a kiss..." Barty clambered over his boyfriends as his cold, veiny hands meet your waist.

His hands skim your body up and down, before pecking your lips softly, as if he was asking for acceptance.

"Can I kiss you?" Barty spoke so softly, he may have been chaotic and insane- but he was extremely cautious and respectable with things like this.

"I-I wanna taste you so bad.." Evan cooed at Barty's sweet words, as he held an extremely flustered Regulus in his arms, watching the scene in front of him unfold.

"Barty- please, kiss me." You mewled, barely finishing your sentence as he dived into your lips.

His lips surprisingly tasted like cherry chapstick, even though he had just been chugging firewhiskey.

After feeling like an eternity, Barty broke your kiss.

"I've wanted to do that since fourth year." He mumbled drunkenly, gazing up stupidly and lovingly at your blush-kissed face.

His kisses were heavenly, and so were Evan's, and Regulus'.

And needless to say, you didn't return back to Pandora that night.

'YOU'RE POINTING AT THE STARS IN THE SKY THAT ALREADY DIED.'

The return to Hogwarts was an awkward one at that.

But returning back to Hogwarts feeling happier than ever with your boyfriends? That was the best return you could make.

Hand in hand with Barty, you strutted into the Great Hall.

Evan and Regulus trailed behind, as you rambled on and on to Barty about something.

James stared your direction, and you unfortunately met his gaze.

He wasn't dense, he could see how your bright smile seemed to dim.

He smiled, softly.

James knew that they'd never get you back the way they had you.

He should've realized that you were the light of their lives.

Everyone should've woken up to see you.

They hurt you.

And this was their price.

They had to watch you thrive, with three other men.

Who would treat you like a goddess, something they never sought time for.

taglist; @hisparentsgallerryy @cultish-corner @asexualbuthorny @prettylittlewrites @champomiel @hellothere7 @anakinsluvrr @lady-balem @awkwardalie @nosteponduck @eeviee4 @dreamygirli3 @navs-bhat @angemyrtille @mrssslangdon @siillly @makanirock05 @hcqwxrtss123 @wolfyychan @nislame @lalalandincraz @rorywright @ih3artpjo @st4r-girl-official @pain-in-the-ashe

[mixsethaddams]

For the Love Confessions prompt as part of @stmarchmm Stranger Things March Mating Madness

Steve was never anyone's first choice, was the thing.

Throughout his whole life he was always the after thought, the second phone call. Even his name, Steve, wasn't his parents' favourite. They had to go with their back up name after a neighbour gave birth three days before his mom and used the name Marley before she got a chance to.

Once he started dating, it was more of the same. Omegas would get him to ask them out, make him pay for meal and the movie, and then once they were done doing whatever they got up to in the back seat of his car, they'd gush about how they had the confidence after all of that to go after the alpha that they really wanted.

He was used to it now, he supposed, being used as practice. He didn't mind much once he made his peace with it. It was nice to get out of the house and go some place that wasn't work a few times a week. And he got to listen to rumours about the other alphas of Hawkins while he was at it, which admittedly he loved.

It didn't make sense to him when Eddie Munson shuffled into Family Video one sunny Saturday afternoon and asked about his plans for the night. 'Great,' Eddie had said when Steve said he had none. 'Well, not great, but uh, maybe we can do something?'

Steve ran through the rolodex of local gossip he'd picked up recently. He hadn't heard anything about an alpha having their eye on Eddie, or vice versa. And given the depth of some of the stuff the omegas around here knew about, it would be hard to hide any sniff of a crush on the town Freak.

It didn't make sense when Eddie insisted on going dutch for their bill in the diner, and paying for his own movie ticket. In fact, at the end of the night when Steve was used to going on auto-pilot and feeling someone up on their front doorstep, he was totally baffled when Eddie blushed and asked if they could do it again next week.

'You… want to see me again?' he asked, feeling a crease between his eyebrows. 'Why?'

Eddie snorted. 'Way to tell me you didn't have a good time, Harrington,'

'I did!' Steve saiad quickly. 'I just, I guess I'm not used to second dates,'

Eddie smiled and lightly punched Steve's shoulder. 'Pick me up next Saturday, same time,'.

Steve watched him climb the steps into his trailer, half expecting him to turn around and say Gotcha! I actually have a date with someone else!

But the door clicked close with a finally parting glance and grin from Eddie and Steve, of course, drove straight to Robin's house.

'It doesn't add up,' Steve said through her window. She was on curfew, and he had to climb across windowsills from the garage to get to her room. 'Everybody knows I'm the practice alpha, what does he want from me?'

'Sounds like he wants a second date,' said Robin, focused on trimming her own bangs.

'But why though?' Steve mused. 'He didn't even want me to kiss him, it was weird'

'Did you try?'

'Yeah, leaned in and everything,' Steve sighed. 'But he moved so I got his cheek,'

'Romantic,' said Robin. 'Maybe he likes you,'

'No omegas like me, Rob,' Steve said flatly. 'I'm not that guy,'

So it just didn't make sense that they were six weeks down the line now and Eddie was still asking Steve to pick him up for dinner and a movie every Saturday. They met for lunch at least once a week. They sat next to each other when everyone hung out. They held hands. Eddie even let Steve kiss him after their third date. Steve liked the kissing.

Steve liked everything, if he was honest. He liked the consistency of the same person calling him at the end of every day to say goodnight, he liked being a part of 'Steve and Eddie'. He liked Eddie. In fact, he really liked Eddie. Maybe even more than that. The idea that Eddie would eventually be through with Steve, practice run over, made his heart hurt.

They were napping together on a summer evening. They were in their boxers on top of the sheets, Eddie's heat was coming up so he was feeling the warmth in the air more than usual. Steve couldn't sleep even though they'd spent the whole day swimming at the quarry. He should be exhausted. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from Eddie's face.

They had yet to cross the line of sleeping together, so it was the first time Steve saw Eddie at rest like this. Eddie looked beautiful in the spot orange light that filtered through the thin curtains. The slope of his nose, the gentle pout of his lips, Steve's drank in the sight of him like water. Even the small swell of his chest, swollen because of an upcoming heat, was perfectly placed and proportioned.

It was the time of day where the birds were singing their last songs and the neighbours had already finished their noisy returns from work. The only sound Steve could hear was the slow breathing of the omega laid out before him, blankets piled around them in a makeshift its-too-damn-hot nest. He didn't even want to breath himself for fear of disturbing him.

'Stop staring at me I look gross,' Eddie mumbled, turning his head into the pillow.

'No you don't,' Steve protested, hoping he didn't look like a serial killer watching someone sleep.

'Mmm, heat next week, my skin looks like shit, pimple, see?' Eddie tapped on his jaw to a small red bump.

Steve hadn't even noticed it, or if he did he didn't care.

'That's not gross,' he said softly.

'Whatever you say,' Eddie yawned, stretching before shuffling himself closer to Steve, burying his face in Steve's chest. 'You'll be the one stuck staring at it until it's over,'

'I, what?' Steve asked. 'What do you mean?'

'My heat,' Eddie mumbled. 'You'll have a front row seat to all my gross zits,'

Steve felt his heartrate pick up. Eddie wanted him to be part of his heat? That was kind of a commitment, maybe he didn't know? Steve would tell him, and Eddie would laugh and say oh man, my mistake, you're right!

'That's, uh, that's kind of a lot,' he said, preparing himself to laugh along with the obvious mistake.

Eddie pulled back quickly, wide awake now. 'You don't want to be there?' He looked hurt.

'No! I mean, yes!' Steve stuttered. 'But, you know what that means, right? It's kind of a couple thing, and, we're, I dunno,'

Eddie sat up and flung his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching down to grab his socks from the floor.

'Me neither, apparently,' Eddie said quickly. 'And here I thought—'

Steve grabbed one of Eddie's wrists. 'You thought what?'

'I thought maybe were fucking were a couple, Steve,' Eddie hissed, trying to bat his arms away.

'You like me?' Steve asked.

'You're kidding me?' Eddie shot back, staring at him in disbelief. 'How could you not know that I liked you? We make out like six times a day!'

'No one likes me,' Steve said quietly. 'No one ever picks me,'

Eddie softened, dropping the sock that was in his hands and scooting back onto the bed. 'Do you remember our second date?'

Of course Steve remembered, how could he forget? He was so surprised that Eddie actually opened the door of the trailer when he knocked that he couldn't speak for thirty minutes. He nodded.

'How about our third?' Eddie asked. That was the date they kissed on. It was the first kiss in years that Steve had really wanted. It felt like it lasted for hours, and he was disappointed that it couldn't last forever.

'And our fourth, fifth, sixth…' Eddie said, retaking his place in Steve's arms. 'All of them?'

Steve nodded again. He could tell Eddie every detail of every single date or hangout they'd had if he asked.

'I don't ever want another first date again,' said Eddie. 'Or third, or fourth, or fifth, or sixth,' He added with a laugh. 'I only want to be with you. I just didn't know I needed to spell it out for you,'

And Steve all of a sudden felt incredibly stupid. Because of god damn course they were a couple. Right up to the awkward meet-the-family weeknight dinners that they'd both sat through and giggled about in the car afterwards.

'Sorry,' he said. 'I just didn't think you wanted that with me, no one ever does,'

'Do you want it with me?' Eddie asked earnestly.

Steve kissed him softly in response. 'That's all I want,'

'Good,' Eddie said, rubbing his face in Steve's chest hair. 'Can I go back to sleep now that you're done scaring me to death?'

Steve smiled against the top of Eddies head, rubbing his back lightly.

Steve listened as Eddie's breathing evened out again. The birds had returned to their trees by now.

He still didn't sleep. His mind was racing. Thoughts of a future were bouncing around his head like never before, with Eddie right in the middle of all of them.

Steve breathed in Eddie's lavender and cold milk smell as deep as he could. His heat might not wait a full week before coming, if the intensity of his scent lately was anything to go by.

'I love you,' Steve breathed against his hair. He smiled to himself his eyes sliding closed. It felt so right to say it out loud, finally being able to name the feeling that was built up behind his rib cage.He revelled in the secrecy of speaking to someone lost to sleep, not having to worry about being caught showing his cards too early.

'I love you too,' Eddie whispered back.

[kitkat13001]

♱ . ݁ ⛧ ₊ ⊹ 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗

we creep up on extinction, i pull your arms right in i weep and say “goodnight, love,” while my organs pack it in and here it is, our final night alive and as the earth burns to the ground, oh girl, it's you that i lie with as the atom bomb locks in oh, it's you i watch tv with as the world, as the world caves in

⤷ l lawliet x reader

⤷ soft angst, implied character death (takes place right before L dies), title and lyrics from matt maltese’s “as the world caves in”

those damn bells. he’s heard them all day long. 

it started as distracting and has now escalated to pissing him off. 

as if ryuzaki didn’t already have enough to deal with. he’s in his prime, at the peak of this case, so very close to solving it all.

and now this, these damn bells. 

you’d noticed his increased irritability today. oh, how he’d felt like crying after he’d snapped at you earlier. all you had done was ask if he was feeling alright, offered to maybe bring him some cake, and he’d written you off with a snippy tone and a sarcastic comment. 

guilt shriveled up his heart like a punch to the gut. 

of course it’s not your fault. you’re not a detective, and you definitely didn’t hear the bells. even if you did, you’d have no idea what they meant in any case. 

he wishes he could tell you. now that he knows what’s coming, what was inevitable in every universe, there is so much he wishes he could tell you. but he still can’t, there’s just not enough time. that’s always the problem, isn’t it?

he’s already made his final preparations. have watari arrange to delete the files, contact roger, alert the orphanage. it’s all in order. 

he’s made his own arrangements, too.  a letter with his final words to you, everything he’s always wanted to say and never could. you’ll find it tomorrow morning, probably. 

there’s really nothing else to do now but wait. 

you’re already asleep when he comes shuffling into the bedroom, the patter of water droplets following him in. 

you stir as he pads toward you, as if you can sense him even in your dreams. you sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and call out to him in a soft voice. it’s a tone he only ever hears when you say his name. 

“you’re soaking wet,” you murmur, cupping his face between your hands as you look him over. his eyes are fixed on the spot between your brows where a concerned crease is growing. “what on earth were you doing?”

“up on the roof,” he whispers back. “just thinking. no need to be so worried, love.”

“i always worry about you,” you remind him, thumbs stroking his cheeks as you give him a soft smile. “that’s my job. i think you’ve been overworking yourself lately. i know you can’t help it, but you ought to at least take decent care of yourself.”

he gives no response aside from a low hum. he’s quiet as you towel him dry with gentle hands, get him out of his sopping clothes and into comfortable pajamas. 

you’re brushing his damp hair back with your fingers, tracing the lines of his face like you’re trying to memorize it with your touch, when he speaks in a quiet voice. 

“i’m sorry i snapped at you earlier.”

you blink, surprised. you’d just about forgotten it already. 

“is that what’s got you in this mood?” you muse, crawling into bed to sit beside him. not just that, he thinks as his hands find yours, resting in your lap. but that’s about the only thing i can apologize for right now. he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes. 

“it’s okay, ryuzaki,” you tell him, and he feels the warmth and kindness in your voice. 

no it’s not.

“i shouldn’t have spoken to you that way,” he insists quietly, staring down at your interlocked hands. 

“really, ryuzaki, i’m not upset. you’ve been overworked and stressed and i should’ve let you be.”

“i love you,” he says, his black hole eyes staring right through your soul. it doesn’t scare you. it never has. 

“i love you too, ryuzaki. let’s go to bed, okay? you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

he really wishes that were true, but he lets you pull him down to rest beside you anyway. he treasures the way your body curls against his, the warmth of you beside him. 

he tries to internalize it all. the smell of your shampoo, the faint humming of his computer in the corner, the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. 

his fingers are ghostly gentle as they trace over the soft planes of your face. his heart tugs when your eyes crinkle with a little smile. 

“what are you looking at me like that for?” you ask in a whisper. 

it takes him a second to respond, lost in your eyes. “you’re…the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.”

you stifle a little giggle into the pillow, basking in this rare affection. you have no idea what tomorrow holds—the agony the coming days, weeks, years will be for you. 

what a small miracle the marginal odds of you two finding each other were. what a little tragedy it is that it was never something fated to last. 

but fate has no place here tonight. in the safety of this bedroom, with the rain pouring heavy outside and the man you love—the intangible, elusive enigma that is L transformed into the quiet, thoughtful, lovely man that you know as ryuzaki—at your side, you are happy. 

dividers by @/saradika-graphics — because i love angst apparently?? kitty drops two bangers in one day, what are the odds. if you’re looking for fluff to fix this please check out daydream or my retired detective!L headcanons (where he lives!!) much love and take care, - 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 !

[rainystarters]

💫 love is cosmic ! a collection of dialogue + action prompts inspired by red velvet's album cosmic. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. adjust as necessary.

dialogue :

meeting you as the stars would have it.

i can't get you off my mind.

what did you do to my mind?

i want to know you.

how about you stay a little longer?

perhaps we're travelers searching for orphaned dreams.

come with me.

discover things no human eyes have seen.

i just can't say goodnight.

your love is cosmic.

you got me hypnotized.

i saw you hiding.

what are you? my god.

honey, i give you my all.

i'll find you in my dreams.

summer, autumn, winter, spring: the whole world is you.

my memories are floating away.

the beautiful times are leaving me, stealing you away.

this isn't the end ...remember.

i will gladly stay by your side.

it's you who kept me through the long nights.

no one knows where a fading star goes.

and i'll fly light-years to find you.

to you, my universe, the only reason i exist.

i'll always be here for you.

is it love?

i remember the first moment i saw you.

you feel the same way, right?

we can't play no game the right way.

it doesn't matter 'cause you're my prize.

i saw the same moon.

i want to dream every day.

i want to whisper in your ears the things i couldn't say.

we're not that young anymore.

i still remember the summer days when i first saw you.

believe in us more than anything.

i don't mind staying up all night, my love.

let's talk like we did when we were young.

i'm your friend. i'll be there.

take my hand and run.

sweet dreams, my love.

our story continues even in dreams.

when the moon shines bright, i'll tell you my story.

close your eyes and lean on me, my love.

oh, you've grown so quickly, kid.

we were always young and fearless.

we're together and we have the same dream.

actions :

crash-landing. sender chases a falling star but finds receiver where it fell.

stargaze. sender lies down next to receiver to stargaze.

daisy chain. sender weaves flowers into receiver's hair.

hypnotize. sender falls under receiver's spell, hypnotized.

zodiac. sender asks for receiver's sign.

bubble. sender blows/magically creates bubbles that surround receiver.

string. sender sees an invisible string of fate tying them to receiver.

chase. sender chases receiver through the woods.

arcade. sender loses a game to receiver while at a neon-illuminated arcade.

last drop. sender pours a drink into receiver's mouth.

hallucinate. sender finds receiver hallucinating and talking to inanimate objects.

memory. sender steps into one of receiver's memories.

sunburn. sender kisses receiver's skin and leaves behind a burn mark.

far-flung. sender wakes in another world to receiver staring down at them.

funny story. sender watches receiver trespass on a fairy ring and join the dance.

sunset. sender kisses receiver against the setting sun.

peek. sender doesn't notice receiver watching them dress through a hole.

honey. sender sends a bee to sting receiver.

stars align. sender fails to stop receiver from completing a ritual.

cosmos. sender and receiver feel each other's heart beat despite being apart.

night drive. sender and receiver drive through the night in a convertible.

butterfly. sender catches receiver transforming into [magical girl/werewolf/etc].

long-lost. sender reunites with receiver who has no memory of them.

sunflower. sender tucks a flower into receiver's lunch/purse/etc. to find later.

tarot. sender draws a card and waits for receiver to reveal its face.

flight. sender bridal carries receiver as they fly.

sweet dream. sender and receiver snuggle in bed below glow-in-the-dark stars.

may queen. sender crowns receiver queen of the spring festival.

turbulence. sender trips receiver, sending them falling.

carousel. sender grabs receiver's hand as they ride on a carousel.

moonlight. sender and receiver bathe naked in the moonlight.

astral. sender astral projects to receiver's location far away.

cat's cradle. sender performs a spell with receiver using cat's cradle.

night. sender and receiver walk through an illuminated night festival/market.

ride. sender sits on receiver's lap, straddling them.

see you. sender kisses receiver before they part forever/for a long time.

electric. sender teases receiver, brushing their lips across intimate skin.

cosmic love. sender and receiver break the bed during sex.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

hey, can you write abot Dave Mustaine and reader getting caught in the act for their child? Like a bit of smut and comic fluff

Thsnks!

Warnings: smut, talk of insecurities/body image issues, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Justis was four, you and Dave both loved him unconditionally and spent as much time with him as you could. Even when he was on tour he was calling home every night, learning the time zones of everywhere he went so he knew when it was bedtime just so he could say Goodnight to the both of you.

However, it had been harder to get some alone time together, without the little bugger.

You had your date nights but those were usually spent catching up on sleep, but finally you were ready for more.

It wasn’t like it used to be, not totally anyway. Dave was moving much slower, his hands planted on either side of your head to hold himself up.

Your body finally had time to recuperate but you kept that baby body. Dave had caught you eyeing yourself for a little too long in the mirror, he’d seen the way you held your stomach and pouted.

Now, he looked over you and saw the same body he loved since the day he met you. Sure, you had some extra pudge, but that was just more to love.

He sat back, smiling widely down at you. His hands went to your hips so he could pull you more onto his lap. “Look at my pretty mama.” He mused, smoothing a hand over your stomach. “So perfect.”

You chuckled and waved him off. “Come on, I’m fat and covered in stretch marks.” Dave didn’t laugh, instead eyeing you closely in awe and admiration.

“So pretty.” He purred, leaning down again and kissing down your neck, sucking and nibbling, gently of course, he knew you were swore all over, no matter how much he tried to help.

Your arms wrapped around him, moans falling into his ears. “I-I’ll work it off, I promise.” You mumbled, kissing where you could reach, his sharp jaw mostly, his soft hair.

Dave shook his head. “Work it off or don’t, I just want you happy, you’re-you’re pretty when you’re happy.” His voice was deep but it wavered as he spoke, feeling his high creeping up on him.

He reached down to rub your clit, it hadn’t gotten much love since Justis was born, leaving you all too sensitive. Your moans turned to whines as he played with you, knowing just what you like.

Dave heard a door creak open, it was soft so he knew it wasn’t your bedroom. He was so close and your eyes were already rolling back, he figured Justis was just going to the bathroom.

Dave held his hand over your mouth, not wanting you to get to loud and-

“Daddy?” A quiet voice came. Dave bit down on your shoulder, his hand holding so tight over your mouth. You both refused to make a noise.

The blanket covered you both enough so he wouldn’t have seen anything. Dave slowly sat up, not fully turning to Justis but just enough to see him. “What is it, buddy?” He asked.

Justis wiped his eyes, a pout on his lips. You could still feel Dave gushing in you, it had been far too long. “I had a nightmare…” He mumbled.

Dave nodded and wiped his forehead. “Alright, well, go crawl back into bed and I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I can’t walk back alone.” Justis said, offended Dave would even suggest such a thing.

Dave chuckled and looked back down to you. “Yeah, yeah, dumb daddy.” He exhaled heavily as he thought of another solution. “Hide in the bathroom, the bathroom is a safe space, can’t get you in the bathroom.” Justis thought for a moment before deciding it was sound logic and went across the hall to the bedroom.

Dave let out a heavy sigh and rolled over beside you. You moved closer to him, laying your head on his arm. Dave groaned before getting up, pulling on a pair of pants and heading for the door. “I’ll put him to bed, just clean yourself up.”

Dave got Justis out of the bathroom and back to his room just down the hall, tucking him in while you hurried into the bathroom to clean up.

Dave still wasn’t back by the time you were out of the bathroom so you just crawled into bed and had exactly fifteen seconds to yourself before the door shot open and Dave came in with a flying Justis, making aeroplane noises before landing on the bed, followed by Dave who jumped on next to him.

“Dave-“ you started, you’d talked about this, Justis couldn’t sleep in bed with you guys, but he cut you off.

“Just for tonight, to keep away Lars.” You rolled your eyes at him while Justis got comfy next to you, you were thanking yourself now that you decided pyjamas were a good idea.

“Lars?” You repeated.

“The balding dwarf!” Justis explained.

“Dave!” You swatted at him as he laughed.

[fluffymarshmalllows]

In every universe, I'll look for you

fanfic about Reader getting sucked in the portal first, Ford follows.

Another restless night for you and your husband in the basement. Coffee staining the journals as he scribbles more blurbs about this “Bill” person he keeps calling his muse. You didn’t want to feel jealous but ever since that absurdly long late night walk Ford took months ago, he’s been nose deep into every physics book and theoretical researches to prove something, anything. Every time you beg him to rest, he refuses making you a bit annoyed, blame it on the sleep deprivation and lack of quality time.

“Please, Fordsy, you really need some rest. We’ve been working on this project for weeks now” you muttered, half-asleep at this point. But words fell on deaf ears as your husband just waved you off with some empty promises of he’ll be with you to bed soon.

Too tired to argue, you kissed him on the cheek which caused his face to get dusted pink for a bit, but still very much focused on his calculations. A sight you will never get tired of. You also waved to Fiddleford who was roped in this whole project bidding farewell.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” he says without looking up as you climb the squeaky staircase. You reminded them both to get some rest while internally praying to whoever God that will listen that you get your doting husband back sooner than later.

Not even hours later, loud metal clashes and bangs from the basement jerked you awake. You shot up and dashed straight to Ford worried that something might’ve happened. Did he get injured? A part fell on him? Was he trashing the place? Shaking your head ridding of those thoughts. Running towards the basement fueled with adrenaline and a power nap is not ideal but the situation called for it.

You got there as quick as you can and witnessed a rather vulgar argument between your husband and Fiddleford leading to the latter walking out and bumping your shoulder muttering unpleasant words towards Ford.

Peering out from the basement stairs, on the other side of their makeshift divider was a big glowing construction whirring with power. “Oh my god” those were the only things that you could mutter in that moment. The machine was… working. It was finally working. After months of sleepless nights, exhausted arguing, they finally made it work giving you hope that things will soon get back to normal, or as much as it used to be.

Ford felt your presence and looked at you like a mad-man, eyes crazed with no sign of sanity. It made you question if the man standing ahead of you was really the guy you married. “It finally worked! The math finally made sense. Do you understand, Y/N?! This is our key to figuring out all these anomalies.” You took a step back your back against the door while he tries to coax you in joining him. “No, Ford, this doesn’t look safe”.

Ford turned his back to you, staring at his creation. “Fiddleford said the same thing” he mused, “but please, beloved, I won’t let you be in any danger”. His reassuring voice was enough to put you in some ease as you walked to him extending his hand.

He held you by your waist supporting your trenbling body, guiding you to admire their creation. Observing some sparks of electricty dancing across the ground and bouncing off the walls. Ford was explaining to you how it works, how he plans to use it, what they should do next and all that but one look at your alarmed face gave him all the hint he needed to keep quiet and let you process all this.

He was so enamored by this portal he built, you both did not realize the glass dividing the area was slowly cracking. Only took some more volts of current to run by it to shatter and allow the portal to suck you in.

It happened so fast. Ford tried grabbing you but the force was too much, pulling you in within seconds. You managed to maneuver yourself to grab on the portals frame. Using all your strength pulling your body out to ask for help one last time before you were completely lost somewhere some time in space.

“Ford, help me!” The last words his lover spoke before getting lost in the oblivion haunts him in his every waking hour. He tried consulting Bill about this, how to get you back, but Bill was adamant about the situation, believing that Y/N was just a hurdle to their masterplan. He spent too many lonely nights missing you and regretting what he has done, it was driving him imsane. This lead to him calling quits with Bill which ultimately made the polygon mad.

Alas, he struck the courage to contact his twin after years. This was not an easy decision for him but to set up his grand scheme of finding you in the vast universe, he had to have his brother fit the missing link.

Ford explained everything to Stan, or as much as his twin needed to know but things did not go exactly as planned. He was planning to portal jump, sure, but not get sucked into it accidentally. He found it somewhat humorous that he ended up the same way his lover left, through the portal—asking for help.

Journal log no. 176? 177. Two years, 18 dimensions, 3 timelines. I saw them again. Different hairstyle but with that same aloof smile. Happy in this dimension with me, alternate universe me. I still live to regret that day. It also appears that she is also being tracked by the space-time continueom agencies (noted from the encounter at the do-over dimension). Just what in the world did my Y/N get to?…

Journal log no. 320+. It has been almost 10 home years if I calculated it correctly. Still no sign of my Y/N in this timeline. From the dwellers of this dimension, it appears that the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron has laid low on the investigation of their whereabouts. It has become harder tracking them down, maybe they learned new tricks. Best to take a note of this…

Journal log __ . I have lost track of days in this dimension. Some part of this dimension are mirrors that behaves like looking glasses. Upon my first arrival, a mirror reflected Y/N staring back at me. As I am writing this, I am still formulating probable hypothesis that could explain their reflection on mine. Seeing them again after so long makes me yearn for them more. If only I h

A zipping sound ripped from a distance away from Ford as he's trying to journal his discoveries.

“Time to go” quickly packing all his materials shoving it in his makeshift bag careful not to drop any while going on another leap. He looked back at those men? Aliens? Whoever those guys are they are pretty hot on his trail. Getting too close for his own comfort. And too many close calls with them than Ford will admit.

“Get him!” The smallest tentacle humanoid man commanded or something similar of the sort, it’s another universe language he has yet to decode. Learning the tongues became much more difficult since he accidentally stumbled on a rebellion matched with a bounty picture of your face displayed in every available surface they can stick it on to. Knowing you, whatever you did there most likely called for it or he hopes so, anyway.

Muttering some curses he took his grand leap and entered another dimension. Not once did he look back.

This time it looked like another parallel timeline of his home universe. Ford walked around pin pointing important anomalies, most of them minor like an extra toe on a cat or a bird with butterfly wings. He slumped down under a tree near the opening of the forest to draw these creatures. Pulling out his journal, he realized something in this dimension feels right, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he belong. Another minor anomaly in a dimension filled with other anomalies. It made him feel normal, but not complete. Ford sniffled his tears back overwhelmed by the feeling of missing you. He never stopped looking for you. Eyes scanning every place hoping to see you again, waiting for him, happy with him.

Coast is clear and the sun was slowly setting. It lulled Ford to take a nap. Closing his eyes trying to remember what you look like. It’s been years since he last saw you. In every universe and timeline you were in, they did not look like you, his Y/N. Something was always off, but one thing remained constant— you were always happy together with him. Ford chuckled bitterly. Only in the universe he lived in was he alone. It was unfair, but he did this to himself. He regrets all the time he spent with Bill than his own spouse. His only lover, to think that fame and knowledge blinded him to put you in danger.

A soft thud was heard from the tree he was resting on, followed by a feeling of being watched made chills ran down his spine. Ford became hyper-aware looking, searching, for anything. Standing up quickly, he was ready to dash for it but for unknown reason he stood his ground. His feet felt glued to the ground, waiting for whatever it was to emerge from the trees’ shadows. The now dark forest was eerie and he could not risk getting hurt in another dimension. A pitter patter of steps from the forest heading his way made him draw his gun aiming at the darkness. His fingers at the trigger, steady.

“Fordsy?”

His breath hitched. Hands trembled. A figured appeared out of the dense forest. Face to face with the gun he was ready to fire. His heartbeat was so loud it was almost all he can hear. Seeing you, still perfect after so many years. With gray hairs and past your prime, yet you still had the same effect on him. Decades or more has passed but the feelings remained the same.

Both of you did not dare to take a step. You feared that this is all in your head, a fragment of your imagination that you did not want to go away. The air was still, and the silence deafening. You can’t take it much longer and you run up to him. Ford took you in with open arms.

He hugged you tight, not willing to let go. Never again will he let you go. All those years of longing and you’re finally back in his arms. He stared at your eyes, filled with the love and adoration like the days you were married and living with each other. You took a step back and slapped him. Hard.

“How dare you!” You angrily muttered to him. Voice tight but not so loud to disturb the silence. “This?! This is what you were trying to make?” Shoving a pointed finger to his shoulder blade. Ford was hurt, but he knew he deserved that anger. “We were always together! In every dimension I went to, even in our past, did you know how much it hurt seeing us together? Knowing that every version of me is happy and loved while I am trying to go back home to a husband who’s cheating on me with a guy!” Y/N rambled exasperated. Your cheeks felt wet, not realizing the tears already started falling. All those years of resentment and anger to your husband resurfaced. “And you know what the worst part is?” You sniffled trying to sound brave “I still love you! And at times I feel like a fool for doing so.”

Ford was confused with what to feel to say the least. He felt sad you had to endure being lonely, longer than he had been. Joy? That you still love him despite his wrong doings. Humour as he realized that you thought Bill as a mistress. That made him crack a small smile which you noticed. You turned around calling him a jerk while wiping your tears muttering cusses.

“Dearest” he tried calling out to you. “You know you’re the only one I love right?” He cooed, still not getting over the fact that he had someone else. He reached out to you gently, wrapping his arms around you. His chest at your back as you felt his breathing on your neck. “Y/N, please face me, it’s been so long since I’ve seen your beauty.” Ford purred. What else can you do but look at him again, you reached your hand to the cheek you hit and soothed it for a bit. “I’m sorry for hitting you” you muttered looking at his eyes. “It was deserved” he replied sheepishly avoiding your gaze. The tension was as thick as the dense forest behind you and you can’t take it anymore.

You pulled him down by grabbing the collar of his coat to give him a kiss. A bit stunned Ford was but he warmed up to it. Breathing a sigh of relief, finally in the arms of his Y/N, with no plans of letting her go.

They trudged into the woods, conversing on what they witnessed and all the universe they jumped, comparing notes and journals. You proudly showed him yours as you stated “I was just copying you but it became a scrapbook of some sort”. Inside were trinkets from dimensions folded into the paper with drawings and detailed descriptions of things you saw. Ford was more of interested with the folded wanted poster between those pages. He took it out and observed it closely. “Yeah, I became part of their council for a while,” you said which earned a questioning eyebrow raise from your husband. You raised your hands in protest “Well, I didn’t know that fruits were their money! I was hungry”. This made him laugh and it sounded like music to your ears. Mr. All seriousness laughing with you again, everything felt perfect.

Until the familiar space ripping nearby brought you both back to reality. Whipping your heads towards that sound, Ford exclaimed “I’m getting too old for this”. Grabbing your hand he lead you the forest clearing and pulled out his dimension jumper and you followed suit.

“We are now easily trackable since we are together so we need to be extra cautious” Ford explained as you both explore the city-esque universe you landed in. “Do you think we’d ever go back home?” You asked, stopping in your tracks. Ford turned to you “I trust Stan. It might take a while to be honest.” You nodded in respond, still not giving yourself false hope. “But I’m with you Y/N, and anywhere is better when you’re by my side.” His voice was so sincere you can’t help but believe him. You held him interlocking your digits together. His six fingers perfectly hugging your hand as you both jumped into another dimension unprepared but together.

word count: 2.5k words

woop woop first published fic! should i make a part 2?

[pastelghoul]

hello! I love your connor work :) I just finished my first play through of DBH and I’m in love with Connor 😭 could I possibly request a scenario? Maybe one where reader is a detective working a case with him at the DPD and since he’s this advanced prototype and doesn’t need food/warmth and everything they feel a bit like.. inadequate as a human compared to him? And how he would make them feel better? Sorry this is a long ask 😅 love your work and hope you’re having a lovely day!!

Only Human - Connor x Reader

More than happy to! Had a lot of fun writing this one - Imagine Connor comforting you after feeling inadequate working alongside him on a case

“___? Are you alright?” Connor asked, peeking over your desk at your slouched form; one hand supported your chin as the other clung loosely onto a pen, your eyes drooping shut. Whatever you had been writing on the sticky note now had a large pen-strike through it.

“Huh? Sorry, i dozed off.” You said, squinting at the clock on your computer. It read 12:38 am in small, white letters. Honestly, you were exhausted. This case was your top priority however, solving it had the chance to land you a promotion you desperately needed.

Of course, you were no Hank Anderson. That promotion was just wishful thinking. Looking over at Connor, you sighed. You certainly were no android, either. You watched as he typed away, eyes scanning the screen intently as he worked on the case.

The ability to never tire, what a blessing. All the things you could get done if you never needed to rest; You’d tidy your desk, for starters. The mess of documents and files scattered across your desk, not to mention the near-overflowing trashcan resting at your feet.

Compared to Connor, who’s desk was neat and tidy save for a succulent, a photo frame of the three of you (with Hank and you five beers deep) and a sticky note taped to his monitor. Craning your neck as you hunched across the desk, you narrowed your eyes at what it said.

dipshit

Gavin. Reaching across the desk you ripped the sticky note from the monitor, Connor quirking a brow as you did so.

“I’m sorry ___, did I do something to upset you? Would you rather I’d let you sleep?” Connor asked, watching as you scrunched up the note and threw it in the trash.

“No Connor, it’s fine. I’m gonna head home and get some sleep. Goodnight.” You waved as you made your way out of the station.

You awoke to a loud knocking on your front door. Looking over at your alarm clock, your eyes widened as you realised you had overslept. Shit, shit, shitshitshit, Hank’s gonna have my ass for this!

Dashing to get dressed and find your shoes, you almost ran headfirst into a firm chest. Looking up in bewilderment at the android stood in your living room, you cursed under your breath.

“Connor? How did you get inside?” Connor held up a small, silver key - you’d entirely forgotten you’d given him your spare. “Oh, right. I was just about to leave, uh-“ Connor quirked a brow, looking you up and down.

“Your shirt is on backwards.” Connor mused, smirking as you grabbed at your collar to indeed be greeted by the sizing tag. “You also seem to be missing your pants.”

“Give me a minute, I just woke up!” You grumbled, pushing past Connor to make a coffee. Your heart sunk as the machine groaned to life, only to come to a shuddering death moments later. Fuck me backwards with a chainsaw, can’t even get a coffee without something going wrong.

This was not starting out to be a good day. You turned around to see Connor sitting across from you, perched patiently at your kitchen island, hands resting in his lap.

“I brought you a coffee, you had a late night last night. I thought you might’ve slept in considering the state you were in when you left the station last night.” The android pushed a brown disposable cup towards you, steam dancing welcomingly from the hole in the lid.

“Thanks Connor.” You offered a half smile, taking the beverage and sipping it as you made your way back to fix your clothes. As you were changing, a muffled voice arose from the kitchen; at first you thought Connor was talking to himself, however upon walking out you realised it was a news report.

“Detroit Police are reportedly expecting a brand new line of android detectives, the first prototype currently running a probationary period to decide…” you slunk quietly back to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed as your hands cradled your head.

By all accounts, you loved working with Connor. He was an amazing partner and friend, and an even better detective. The problem was he was too efficient.

Connor couldn’t fall asleep working on cases, he didn’t get tired so there was no need to rest. He was available 24/7, never late, always on time to the millisecond. He certainly didn’t need to drink coffee or eat to keep his energy up.

Connor was the prime example of a perfect being, in every sense of the word. He left you looking like burnt toast. Tears stung your eyes; not sad tears, rather unadulterated frustration.

Fuck…

“___? What’s wrong? Did I get the wrong coffee?” Connor asked, peeking in hesitantly through the doorway. You scoffed at the absurdity of the question. The coffee was perfect. Everything he did was perfect, yet you couldn’t even wake up on time. Wiping your arm across your eyes, you forced a smile.

“No, no the coffee is fine. I’m ok, just overwhelmed by the case is all.” Connor tilted his head as he analysed you, coming to sit beside you. The bed sunk with his weight, the thrown sheets ruffling against his movement.

“I’ve been proven to have excellent listening skills.” Connor nudged you gently. “Talk to me, please.” You sighed, resting your head on Connor’s shoulder.

“Everything you do is perfect, Connor.”

“I don’t understand, are you saying I’m too efficient at my job?” Connor asked as his LED spun amber circles upon his temple.

“No, not that - well actually, kind of. Just listen.” You stammered, pinching the bridge of your nose in thought. “You don’t make mistakes. You don’t get tired or hungry, or hell even need bathroom breaks. Every move you make is efficient and calculated.”

Connor looked down at you, watching as you caught a stray tear with your finger. He sat in silence, listening as you vented your pent-up frustration to him.

“I’m only human.” You raised a hand, looking at how fragile the human form really was. “I could never be as good of a detective as you are.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Connor stated, resting his hand on yours. You noticed how much larger than your own hand his was, how realistic his pores were, the tips of his fingernails flawlessly sculpted - a faultless imitation of life itself.

“I may be incredibly efficient, but there is one thing i lack.” Connor met your tired gaze. “Emotions.” You scoffed, the irony of the situation hitting you.

“Connor, I am sitting here crying to you about how inadequate I feel, and you try to tell me these same emotions somehow make me better?” Connor gripped your hand tighter, not once breaking eye contact.

“You can feel so many things, ___. You can laugh, cry, fall in love…” Connor paused, finally looking away. “Without emotion, you’re just another soulless machine.”

“Connor…” you started, however words failed you as you found yourself unable to grasp the right thing to say. Instead, Connor wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer against him in a comforting embrace.

“You have the freedom to choose what you want to do, where you want to go, be who you want to be. Androids don’t get that choice. We’re built to serve one single purpose in life then dismantled once that purpose is fulfilled.”

“I never thought about it like that…” You confessed as you leaned into Connor, taking in his words as the two of you now sat in silence. It was a while before either of you spoke again, taking it upon yourself to break the peaceful quiet.

“Thanks for the coffee and uh, coming over. Talking about this really helped.” You mumbled the last part, a subtle hue of embarrassment painting your cheeks; working with Hank, neither of you ever really talked about your feelings. Connor smiled in response, patting your head. You leaned away, raising a brow at him.

“I heard it was a comforting gesture. Gavin said so. You rolled your eyes, leaning back into Connor.

“Remind me to kick Gav’s ass when I see him next.”

“Of course, detective.” Connor mused, entwining his fingers with yours.

Want more? Check out my Masterlist <3

[summeroflove-if]

How about 💓 - What are some signs they’ve fallen for someone? How do they show their affection? For the whole cast?

Amber shows it in overly elaborate ways that are meant to seem casual but are very much not; booking MC a spa day and then pretending it was an accident, "accidentally" cooking MC's favourite meal after a long day. If she calls MC "a menace" while brushing their hair out of their face, that's basically a love confession.

Affection leaks out of Anwar like they're not even aware they're doing it, like casually rubbing MC's back during conversations, making playlists that "just happen" to describe their dynamic. When they've really fallen, expect them to look MC dead in the eyes during the most mundane moment and go, "You know I adore you, right?" as if it's obvious and always has been.

It's confusing for Charlie. They might not realise it themselves until they're watching MC laugh at something dumb and suddenly feel a full-body warmth they can't shake. They show affection in subtle consistency—remembering how MC takes their tea, texting just to say goodnight. It's quiet, but it's there, and it's real.

Haoyu makes jokes. So many jokes. But if he teases MC more than usual and suddenly stops mid-sentence to actually look at them… yeah, he's gone. He'll write little inside jokes in his creative work just for them, or sneak their name into a draft. It's all one big love letter in disguise.

Izzie is excited to love. She makes little surprise gift boxes for MC "just because" and has probably cried because she felt too much affection for them on a random Tuesday. Every sticky note she leaves is signed with a heart, and every date is planned with the care of a wedding proposal.

Mattie gets overwhelmed in the best way. You'll find her looking at MC like they've hung the moon, often blinking back happy tears. She'll ask if MC needs help with the smallest things just to be close, and she always worries she's not doing enough, even when she's loving them with her whole chest.

It's all routine with Noah. But not boring routine, it's thoughtful, quiet love. He remembers MC's shoe size without trying, sets their mug out before they wake up. He may not say much, but when he starts using the phrase "our" instead of "my," it's over. He's locked in. Occasionally, he'll brush his hand against MC's and linger — just for a second longer than necessary.

Scarlette watches MC like she's still deciding if they're real. Acts like she's annoyed but brings MC food when they're tired and stays up late just to walk them home. She won't say she's in love, she'll just be there, always, until MC realises she never left.

Theo draws them. Constantly. Little doodles on napkins, detailed sketches in his book. He won't tell MC they're his muse, not at first at least, but it becomes obvious. His touches are tentative at first, but his presence is unwavering. He listens like every word MC says is a secret worth keeping.

Vanessa flirts like it's an Olympic sport, but when she falls? She tells MC. Probably loudly. Probably in public. But she also remembers the tiniest things: the date MC first met her dog, what snack they buy when they're sad. She'll tease, but she'll never, ever let MC doubt that she's all in.

[coffeecat1983]

Stobotnik: "As the Song Says" pt 2.

(again apologies for any inconsistency, this is at it's core an AU set after the second movie) Part one is here

   He hadn't noticed it before but it struck him as he joined Stone in the small dining nook that his assistant looked exhausted. He acted his usual self, invested in anything and everything the doctor spoke about during the meal, but the dark circles under his eyes and the hint of his cheeks beginning to sink in were more apparent now that Robotnik bothered to look.    The two were quiet towards the end of dinner, until Robotnik spoke.      "So, Stone, you seemed preoccupied earlier. Anything I should know about?" A low, sharp inhale, the clink of the fork hitting the plate as fingers trembled slightly. In the blink of an eye Stone regained his composure.      "Nothing to worry about, sir." he said smoothly. "Just a mild headache."      "I see. Anything else?" A tremor again. "It's really nothing, sir. I wouldn't want to bore you with my health."    So this is how we're playing it, Robotnik's eyes narrowed in annoyance. Fine, he would dance this dance.      "As long as it doesn't interfere with your duties." He decided to take one more shot. "Because if it does, I'll find out."    He looked up and their eyes met. There it was. The briefest hint of guilt as the agent returned his boss's gaze. Resisting the burning urge to reveal he knew the truth, the scientist let the subject go.

   Returning to the lab, he settled in and began to type, his eyes darting from screen to screen as page after page of information came up. Losing track of time, he was startled as the door opened.      "Sir?" A ripple of tension shot up Robotnik's spine as he tapped a fingertip to hide what was on the screens.      "What is it?" he nearly growled.      "It's eleven, sir. I was just wondering if you were staying up or...?"      "I'll be up, I have things to attend to." Before Stone could offer to stay up with him, Robotnik waved a hand. "You are excused. I don't need an exhausted assistant on my hands right now."    Stone gave a quiet 'yes, sir,' before slipping out. Moments later the door opened again and there was a soft clink. The agent had placed a mug of steaming hot cocoa beside the doctor. Pure Belgian White chocolate with a dusting of lavender powder and just a light drizzle of honey.      "Goodnight, doctor."    A low hum was the reply and Stone quietly left. Reaching over, Robotnik lifted the mug and sipped at it, pausing as the flavors mixed on his tongue. He found himself briefly thinking back to one afternoon in winter, a year or so after Stone had been assigned to him...

     "Agent, why is your drink covered in purple dust?"      "Oh! It's a little something I've been working on. I think I finally got the recipe right." It took very little prompting from Stone to get his boss to try the new drink. Musing over the taste, Robotnik hummed.      "You surprise me, Stone. Keep this recipe, I believe I would enjoy this once in a while before bed."

   It had been the first time he had truly complemented the other, and he had secretly enjoyed the look of pure delight on his assistant's face as he registered the praise. His trip down memory lane was brought to a jarring close as the screen in front of him flashed with a beep.    Final result for potential survival rate: 0%    The mug hit the desk, some of the contents spilling over. Growling to himself over the mess and the lack of results, he pulled up the search parameters and began to edit them before starting it again. As the new search ran, Robotnik considered something. Opening another program, he began typing.    The clock shifted sleepily to three in the morning as Robotnik finished his work and tapped his fingertip against the table. A picture popped up on the main screen as one of his smallest Badniks activated and flew over to him, the camera within the fingernail sized robot was now focused on his face.      "Go on, you've got a job to do."    With a beep of understanding the little device shot out of the room. Robotnik watched the screen as it used the air vents to sneak into Stone's room and the night vision clicked on. It hovered over the sleeping agent for a moment and Robotnik noticed the beads of sweat along Stone's forehead accompanied by the sound of distressed breathing. Had his agent been hiding pain this whole time? He found himself leaning in as he stared at the screen.      "Go on." he urged. As if hearing him, the tiniest Badnik moved and landed behind Stone's exposed ear. A pinch to the skin, a snort from the sleeping figure, and a new panel opened on Robotnik's screen. He was now looking at a live feed of Stone's vital signs.      "Good baby," he coo'd as the Badnik floated back in and over to him. Beeping happily it returned to resting on his desk and watching as he began to type.      "I swear you Badniks somehow have personalities." he muttered, eyeing the little bot. It beeped once as if to agree. Shaking his head in disbelief, the scientist turned back to the screen and began to read.      "Elevated temp, oxygen is steady, pulse elevated indicating physical distress." he contemplated this.    If Stone was already showing signs of discomfort and fever, that meant... A hiss as a string of foul language left his lips. He didn't have much time.

To be continued...

[laurenairay]

“It’s good to know you’re safe” – Anthony Beauvillier

Second prompt in the 6 x 6 x 6 Easter Weekend Challenge.

I needed some Tito fluff and that’s that. He seems like such over-protective boyfriend material.

Word count: 490 words

~

You closed your front door behind you, locking it securely, before allowing yourself a moment to tilt your head back and smile softly. Of all the first dates you’d ever been on, you’d never been swept off your feet like this before, and you could only hope that Anthony felt the same way.

Never before had a man put so much effort into romancing you. Never.

You didn’t care that the giddy smile stayed on your lips as you hung up your jacket, no-one else around to judge you for indulging yourself in hope. It had only been a classic wine-and-dine date, Anthony making the reservation and meeting you at the restaurant with a sweet smile, but it had been everything you’d ever wanted.

Hope was a dangerous thing, you knew that much. But as your phone started buzzing, Anthony’s name flashing across the screen, that dangerous hope buzzed through your skin.

“Hello?”

“Did you get home okay, ma chérie?”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks at the term of endearment, smiling to yourself as you kicked your shoes off.

“Yeah, I did Tito, thank you for checking. I hope you did too?” you asked, wincing at the mildly awkward tone in your voice.

“I did, yeah. It’s good to know you’re safe.”

“The uber took me right to the door of my apartment building!” you mused.

“Next time I’ll pick you up myself.”

Next time?

“Next time?” you said softly, hope sinking into your chest.

He cleared his throat, huffing out a laugh, and you just wished you could see his face to read what was going on in his mind.

“Yeah, next time. I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but I had a really great time tonight, and I hope you did too? I know people say to wait a few days to text after a first date, but I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile on your lips spread into a full grin, a hand raising to cover it even though you were alone. This man.

“I had a great time too. I…would love to go on a second date with you,” you said, voice full of warmth.

“Alright! Alright, great. I, uh…”

He trailed off laughing softly to himself.

“I swear I’m much smoother than this usually.”

The fondness you already felt for Anthony was crazy – you couldn’t think of any other way to explain it.

“I don’t know, I kinda like this not-smooth version,” you teased.

Anthony just laughed softly, sending butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“Good to know. Look, I know it’s late so I’ll stop making an idiot of myself. I’ll text you tomorrow, see when you’re next free for me to take you out?”

You found yourself nodding before you could even think. “Yeah, okay. That sounds great.”

“Great. Great! Goodnight, fais de beaux rêves.”

If Anthony ever realised how him speaking French affected you, you’d be a goner.

“Sweet dreams, Tito.”

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

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I’m freaking out, I need to know!! Them cuddling in the motel?!?!? The car crash?!?! EDDIE GET YOUR MAN!!!!

Hopefully you've been enjoying the answers!

144 or 1k for ⚖️:

---

Buck shifts over on the bed, mindful of Eddie’s leg. Eddie sits up, wincing a little, to try and meet him halfway. 

“Just stay still,” Buck commands. 

“Bossy,” Eddie grumbles. 

Awkwardly, Buck leans over, and kisses him. Gentle, as the occasion calls for. Eddie’s lips are softer than Buck would have expected. He feels warm all over. Like he’s the one on pain medication. It’s quick, and soft, and when Buck pulls away, he can hear Eddie take a sharp little breath.

“Wow,” Eddie mumbles.

“Satisfied?” Buck asks. 

“I love you, too,” Eddie whispers.

“Jeez, that good?”

“I already did… I’ve just… Only girls before, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s a mindfuck, huh?” Buck muses.

“Definitely.”

Buck carefully lays down next to him, closer than before. 

“I’ll kiss you more tomorrow if you take your pain meds and go to sleep?” Buck bribes him.

Eddie chuckles. “Yeah, okay. Deal.”

Buck reaches for his hand and squeezes it. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Buck.”

ii. 

They spend the next two days before Buck has to go back to work - while Eddie has to take time off - as a sort of family. Maybe not a sort of anything. Maybe just as a family. Buck likes the feel of it.

They take it easy. Eddie can’t do much. Plus, Chris just wants to be home. They order in and play games and just spend time with each other. Buck and Eddie are a little shy. Shyer than they need to be. They don’t want to be too open in front of Chris. Not yet at least. And also, it’s just… Well, it’s strange. To go from best friends to people who are allowed to kiss now. It’s not a simple switch. 

But, god. Buck is happy about it. 

He’s so happy about it. This is right. This makes sense. This is why nothing else was ever going to work out for him. There’s a fate, right? A somewhat determined future? He’s seen proof of that. Well, it’s Eddie. For him, it’s Eddie. It has to have been. It has to be, even now. He belongs here. Exactly here. 

“I can’t believe Tommy poached you,” Eddie grumbles one night in bed, after a decent amount of kissing. Awkwardly positioned kissing, to avoid hurting Eddie’s leg. But still, pretty great, in Buck’s opinion.

“Okay, not to defend him, but you did have a girlfriend and never did literally anything about those feelings, so… Poached isn’t accurate,” Buck says. 

Eddie huffs. “Still.”

“If only I could’ve seen the future then,” Buck says wistfully. 

“About that…” Eddie starts nervously.

“What about it?” Buck asks. 

“I don’t think I want you to look into mine at all,” Eddie says.

Buck stiffens a little. He’s told Eddie about everything he saw in Christopher’s future. The endlessness of the choices. The incomplete future, because of his age. How Eddie’s accident had been obscured to him. The only thing he hasn’t told him was about his little chat with Nemesis. How could he? If Eddie heard about that, he might never let him help again. 

“Uh, you don’t?” Buck says.

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “I get it’s a risk, but… Well, you can still do Chris. Make sure he’s good. But don’t you want some things in life to be a surprise?”

Buck sighs. “For me? Sure. But I want… I want to know the people I love are okay.”

“I know you do,” Eddie says. “So do I. But… I think I’m firm on this, okay? Especially if we’re going to be together, Buck. I want all that to unfold naturally.”

Buck smiles at that thought. He can see what Eddie’s saying. Honestly, he can.

“We’re gonna be together, huh?” He says. “For the future?”

“Well, aren’t we?” Eddie asks. 

Buck grins. “Yeah. Yeah, we are. And, uh, that’s not said with future confirmation.”

“So, then?” Eddie prompts. 

“I get what you’re saying,” Buck assures him. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Besides, he thinks. If what Nemesis said was true, this will be better for him anyway.

iii. 

Buck returns to work resolved to only help or punish strangers. No friends. No loved ones. He’s going to look out for himself. Even if anything could be happening at any point and he wouldn’t know about it. He wouldn’t be able to prepare for it. Change it. It’s fine. Totally fine. Nemesis warned him, right?

For the first few shifts it’s fine. He helps some call victims. Punishes another. It’s mostly not an issue at all. If he just lets himself live in the moment, most days, he finds he can sort of ignore that it’s a thing. He’s working, or he’s home with Eddie and Chris, and he feels fine. Good even. He’s not thinking about the doom he could be preventing if only he risked himself a little at all. Not at all.

When Eddie gets back to work, he’s on light duty for a while. Man-behind for a number of shifts. Relegated to the ambulance after that. Bobby’s taking it seriously, in typical Bobby fashion. Buck is glad. Even if when he’s the one injured it irks him. 

They disclose to Bobby that they’re seeing each other. They’ve told Chris, and his enthusiastic response kind of gave them the fuel to amp things up. Buck has hardly been back to his apartment for anything more than more changes of clothing. Bobby doesn’t have a problem with it. Nor does he seem all that surprised. Is he seeing the future now, too? Damn. 

[but-make-it-bi]

⚡️

Lisa Frankenstein x Creature

Summary: Creature get's his turn with the back massager. This is a little different from the og concept but I hope you guys like it!

18+ Smut Under the cut

Lisa was speechless. Not in just a heady post orgasm way either although, holy shit. Like, why was he so good at that anyway? Did he practice? Do vibrators feel good on guys? Is that a thing? Suddenly the confidence she’d been gaining vanished as she remembered how woefully inexperienced she was at this. What are you even supposed to say to someone who made you cum. Can’t say thank you, that’d be weird. And just saying goodnight seems rude… 

“ Okay your turn!” 

Lisa had gotten pretty good at interpreting her friends noises by now but this particular choked garble was new. His face though. That was easier to read full of shock and something deeper she didn’t recognize. She laughed in an attempt to diffuse the tension but it sounded even worse than his choking sound. 

“ It’s cool friends help friends. I’m not gonna just leave a friend hanging ya know?” , Jesus why is she saying friend so much.  “ Like I know blue balls is bullshit cause Taffy told me but if you wanted to I could I mean we could…”

Lisa trailed off. She felt more on display than when she was screaming at the top of her lungs. And it didn’t help that he was staring. He was always staring at her. Like she was doing something both fascinating and confusing. And he was still holding the massager. Gripping it hard like a lifeline in a storm. 

“ Easy there you might break it”, Lisa teased taking it from his hands. It was warm covered in her slick. A sight she felt strangely proud of as she looked at it. “ Need to clean it before you use it though.” Like with his tongue. Lisa dropped the toy like she’d been shocked. “ Um actually how but just an old fashioned back rub huh?”, moving behind him quickly. His skin was cold even beneath the pajama shirt. Muscles tight and stiff from years of disuse. Plus a few weeks cramped in a closet. 

“Jeez you really do need a massage”. He sighed contentedly in response. Lisa worked diligently as she could before admitting defeat. “ Ok I can’t- you just you have to take your shirt off.” Lisa worried the poor boy’s neck would snap with the speed he turned to meet her eye. “ Oh what now you’re shy? You weren’t shy when you were, you know. But if you want me stop-” 

Lisa inhaled his damp earthen smell as the shirt was thrown in her face. Wasn’t dirt supposed to smell bad? It didn’t. It smelled like the forest after the rain. Like a a sky that had cleared just for her. She was taking too long to take the shirt off her head.  

Huh.

Well, it wasn’t like Lisa hadn’t seen shirtless boys before. She’d been to a pool for God’s sake. But seeing a shirtless boy and having a shirtless boy in her bed. Well that was very different. 

He was full of scars. Some were red the only part of his skin that really looked alive. Others were dark and deep a few even looked like they were still open ready to bleed. But most of them were pale hard to even differentiate from the rest of him except by touch. Lisa felt the slight raise of them beneath her fingers. 

“Do they hurt?” His head tilted from side to side like he wasn’t sure. “Well tell me if I’m hurting you cause that’s kinda the opposite of what I’m going for here.”  His nod is accompanied buy an exhale through the nose. “ Don’t laugh! I’m trying really hard.” He raised his hands in a pacifying gesture letting her continue.  

“ I didn’t realize how fun touching someone would be. When I imagined it I always just kinda assumed the guy would be in control,”  Lisa mused. She felt him tense under him at this. “C’mon man, it’s 1989 you can’t get grossed out by a woman being in charge.” , Lisa said crossing her arms. He looked at her then even going so far as to turn around. “What?” He took her by the shoulders then looking even deeper in her eyes. “ Oh! Really? Well that’s, that’s very progressive of you.” He shrugged nonchalantly but his smile looked deeply self satisfied. 

“Does that mean I can boss you around?” His brow rose playfully as if say, you already do. Lisa’s laugh was genuine this time her confidence returning. He did kind of just let her do whatever she wants. It was freeing to not have to listen to whatever crap people thought was good for her. To get to decide. And not just for herself for someone else. Someone who looked at her like he did. Like he would be grateful for whatever she did. Like she was a fucking gift.

“Lean back.” He followed immediately, instinctually eyes never leaving hers. He had such pretty eyes dark brown with those long lashes. She wanted to touch them. His breath caught as Lisa gently grazed each lash with her thumb. She touched his cheek next it was softer than his back. No scars. 

“Open your mouth.” He was slower at this request. Nervous. Lisa traced small circles as she waited. She wouldn’t rush him. He gasped as his lips parted. Soft enough she didn’t even hear it, just felt it tickle her skin. “Good boy.” Her thumb skated on his bottom lip causing him to grip the sheet in response. Lisa couldn’t help but giggle at how easy he was to fluster. Beneath her thumb his lip jutted out poutyly. 

“Sorry! I’m not laughing at you. It’s just it can’t feel that good I’m barely touching you!” He scoffed in obvious disagreement. “I just wanna make sure you can handle it if I keep going.” His nod was adorably eager. He really would do whatever she wanted.  

Lisa leaned in giving him a soft kiss before biting down on the space where neck meets shoulder. Smiling to herself as she heard him moan in earnest. Deeper and needier than his little gasps from before. She bit his chest next not even bothering with a kiss first. Just teeth. She was trying not to break the skin but wondered vaguely if he’d even mind. Looking at his face she didn’t think so. Eyes closed, head thrown back as he arched into her. Disappointed didn’t quite cover the look on his face as she pulled away. 

“Sorry I just I need it to be my turn again.” She said grabbing his hand. Lisa shivered as ice cold fingers slipped beyond the waistband of her unnderwear. He looked for permission before moving any further. Lisa guided one of his fingers inside her in response. She already felt fuller than she ever had before with just one finger. She reached for him. Gripping his shoulder hard enough to leave marks. 

“More.” The finger inside her curled as he pushed another inside her. Lisa tried not to scream. Shoving her palm in to her mouth to stifle herself. He moved then. So slow it made her want to cry. “ Faster. Please.” It was still too slow so Lisa started grinding down desperately. Panting as she used his fingers. 

His other hand found her clit unbidden. Tentative and curious as Lisa moved even faster. “Yes yes” Adam’s movements were slow. A delicious contrast to Lisa’s pace and she knew she wouldn’t last much longer. She grabbed his chin looking at him.  “ You’ll let me do this again won’t you?” Nod.

“Good, I think you’re my new favorite toy”

[say-hwaet]

If I Had to Do it All Again

Chapter 27: Blackwater, Part I Next Chapter: Twenty-Eight Summary: May, 1899. Eliza and the children have gone. But where? How does time find them? Warnings: Mature themes, language, spice, MDNI Word Count: ~11,200 A/N: The song Madness kept popping into my head. While the original, by Muse, is done in a genre not exactly in alignment with the western/Victorian setting of this fic, I found an acoustic version sung by a young woman, which would be in Eliza's perspective anyway. But the loud cry of "I need your love" in the original is also fitting so, take your pick, I guess... haha

You finish jotting down the day's reflections in your journal, the pages filled with swirling thoughts and inked musings. The paper rustles softly as you close it and place it gently atop your old wooden nightstand, its surface gleaming under the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Suddenly, a gentle knock resonates from your bedroom door, a muffled sound that breaks the silence of the room.

"Come in," you call out, your voice a soft invitation.

The door swings open with a quiet creak, and Arthur's head appears around the edge, his eyes warm and familiar. "Just wanted to say goodnight," he murmurs, his voice a gentle lullaby that fills the room with comfort.

"Oh, then please close the door. I don't want the light to wake Isaac." He comes in, closing the door behind him. "Is he still asleep?"

"Yeah."

You exhale slowly and lean back against the headboard."Good. It's been quite the day for him."

Arthur gently lowers himself onto the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. You shift, drawing your knees up closer to your chest to make space for him. "Shoah," he says softly, his gaze thoughtful, "He's a sensitive little guy."

You nod in agreement, a warm smile playing on your lips. "He's got a big heart," you reply, your voice filled with affection. "It's almost too big for him," you add, imagining the tenderness and vulnerability that seem to overflow from him.

"I think he got that from you."

You hug your knees and tuck your nightgown around you. "What, you don't have a heart?" you tease.

Arthur tucks his chin, chortling softly at your remark. "Well, you said so yourself, I'm rough around the edges."

"That may be, but that's only surface deep. I know you keep that tough exterior to hide what's inside."

He raises his hands in a defeated gesture. "You seem to have me pegged."

You shrug, a hint of playfulness in your eyes. "Maybe for some things. In others, you're still a mystery. I bet that journal of yours has a lot of secrets."

"And they're mine to keep."

"Of course, just like my journal holds my secrets."

He shifts his body toward you, a playful grin spreading across his face. "So, you're a bit of a mystery, too, huh?" he teases, his eyes glinting with curiosity under the dim light.

"Maybe," you reply, a hint of mischief in your voice, "Though you already know my deepest secret." An expectant silence envelops the space between you, the air thick with unspoken words. As your eyes lock, the lightness in Arthur's expression slowly dissipates, his smile slipping away like the last rays of the setting sun. He averts his gaze, looking past you into the distance. You feel a pang of urgency; you don’t want this night, painted with laughter and shared secrets, to conclude on a somber note.

"Speaking of secrets..." You rise from the bed and walk over to your hope chest, its polished wood gleaming softly in the dim light. Arthur's eyes follow you with curiosity as you lift the lid, its hinges creaking slightly, and begin to rummage through the neatly arranged items inside. After a moment, you retrieve a carefully wrapped parcel, its paper crisp and tied with a delicate ribbon. You return to Arthur, placing the package gently in his lap. "I meant to give this to you, but I only just finished it while you were out with Isaac. I figure now is as good a time as any to present it to you." You resume your spot on the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath you, and watch as he unties the ribbon and peels back the paper. Inside, he finds a meticulously crafted shirt, the fabric a rich azure cotton adorned with subtle vertical stripes. Each button is sewn with precision, perfectly aligned and gleaming. The craftsmanship speaks volumes of the care and attention you poured into its creation.

"I can't believe you did this for me,” he finally says, barely above a whisper. In all his life, no one has really made him anything. Besides his mother, that is, and that was nearly twenty years ago. “Thank you."

You shrug bashfully, tucking some loose hair behind your ear. "I wanted to do something nice for you...I just wish that I had done that sooner."

Arthur turns to you, his eyes flickering with a hint of nervousness about what he is about to say. "You gave me Isaac, Eliza. I don't need nothin’ else." His voice is earnest, carrying a weight of sincerity that tugs at your heartstrings.

You can feel a warm flush creeping up your neck, settling into your ears, turning them a rosy pink. The thought of asking him to stay begins to take root in your mind, a delicate seed of hope that you carefully consider nurturing. You long to reach out, to touch the tender part of his heart, one final appeal that might persuade him. The memories of his time spent at Aspen's Way and the precious moments shared between you both seem to weave together, forming a tapestry of possibility that suggests it could work this time.

"Arthur," you begin, your voice tinged with a mix of hesitation and resolve. "I know that we've done things a certain way, which is why I haven't said much, but... I need to say this..." You anticipate him interrupting, perhaps with a gentle word or a raised eyebrow, but he remains silent, his eyes fixed on yours, urging you to continue. "I...I've wanted to go with you, many times," you confess, your heart pounding like a distant drumbeat. "I've wondered what it would be like, to be by your side, to experience life differently if I were near you all of the time." His gaze is unwavering, a steady flame that lights up the depths of your courage, encouraging you to lay bare your heart.

"But, I have finally realized that...that this life is better. Having a home is better. A homestead. One place that's truly ours. That's what Isaac needs. That's what you need." You lean forward, your hands feeling clammy and heart pounding. "You'd be safe with us. No one knows who you are. Isaac needs his father to protect him. I–I need you, too."

He turns his gaze away, his silence heavy in the air. You extend your hand, gently resting it on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "I love you, Arthur," you say softly, your voice a tender plea. "Please stay. Even if it’s not right here, but somewhere close—just so you can be nearby to see Isaac more often,” and you hesitate before adding, “To see me."

Arthur now understands that you have no intention of leaving Aspen's Way. He feels a weight settle in his chest as he grapples with the realization that he cannot have you under these circumstances. A crossroads lies before him, demanding a decision. Perhaps the time apart will grant him the clarity he needs to ponder his choices. You are firm in your stance; marriage is only an option if he chooses to remain. Arthur sits there, his gaze fixed on the wooden floor, avoiding your eyes. He clears his throat, the sound a quiet interruption in the tense air between you.

"Dutch—Dutch has plans to head south for a while."

The abrupt shift in the conversation casts a shadow over your mood, a wave of sadness washing over you. You lean back, withdrawing your hand from his arm, the warmth slipping away. "How long?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I ain't shoah," he replies, his tone carrying a note of uncertainty that echoes in your mind.

A prickling sensation begins to form in your eyes, an unmistakable sign of the tears threatening to fall. You swallow hard, determined to keep trying, to find the right words to reach him.

You just have to.

"You—you have a home with us, Arthur," you implore, your voice filled with earnest desperation. "It isn't too late to quit and be like everyone else." The plea hangs in the air, a glimmer of hope amidst the growing tension.

Arthur turns his head, and your eyes meet, locking in a gaze that speaks volumes. His expression mirrors the one Isaac wears when he asks, "You mean it?"—a look filled with hope and a touch of vulnerability. Arthur's eyes seem to plead silently with you, as if he desperately wants to believe your words.

You lean forward once more, gently caressing his face with your hand, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "Truly, I mean it," you assure him, your voice soft and earnest. "You have it good here; please don't leave us."

He leans his face into your hand, the warmth of your skin a comforting presence against his cheek. As he closes his eyes, surrendering to the intimate gesture, his eyebrows knit together, a silent testament to the turmoil within him. It is as if an invisible force is pulling at the very fabric of his being, leaving him unsettled. He senses that the moment to make a decision is slipping away like sand through an hourglass. Your gentle touch is a soothing balm to the deep ache in his soul, offering a fleeting moment of solace, but he knows it cannot quell the storm raging inside him.

For the past four years, he has meticulously suppressed his feelings and desires, locking them away in the deepest corners of his heart. Yet, as your fingers gently trail to the back of his head and weave through his hair, a profound longing stirs within him—a yearning to be enveloped in your embrace. He craves the solace of knowing that your arms will welcome him upon his return. He senses that it will be a considerable time before your paths cross again.

Slowly, he opens his eyes, and there you are, gazing intently at him. Your eyes, rich with emotion, reflect a mixture of concern and an unwavering love. It was always love, deep and unfaltering, shimmering behind those beautiful, warm eyes, a beacon of comfort and connection amidst the uncertainty.

He doesn't want you to be concerned anymore.

Propping himself up with his right arm, he leans in toward you, his eyes focused and intent. Reaching out with his left hand, he tenderly cups the back of your head, his touch both comforting and electrifying. As he draws nearer, your lips hover just inches apart, suspended in anticipation. You wait on bated breath, uncertain of your next move, when he softly kisses you. The moment stretches, his lips lingering on yours, and just as he starts to pull away, you lean in, deepening the connection into a passionate kiss. Your heart races, pounding in your chest as you gently cradle his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin as the kiss grows more intense, igniting a shared spark between you.

It is then that you feel his hand move slightly, slowly, up your leg and under your nightgown.

You instantly pull away and gaze deeply into his eyes, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within them. His hand freezes, palming the silken skin of your thigh, as if time itself has paused. Your eyes, wide and searching, lock onto his, trying to decipher the silent message they convey, all while you catch your breath, the air around you thick with an unspoken tension.

He knows what you are asking. You are waiting for an answer.

Without uttering a word, he gently lifts your hands and unwraps them from around his neck, carefully placing them over his chest. You can feel the rhythmic, powerful thumping of his heart beneath the soft fabric of his shirt, each beat resonating through your fingertips. His touch lingers for a moment before he releases your hands, allowing them to rest on the button of his shirt. Slowly, with deliberate movements, he begins to slide his suspenders off his shoulders, the fabric whispering softly as it glides down.

He has given his answer.

Keeping your hands firmly on the first button, you lean in, pressing your lips against his once more. His suspenders, once taut, now hang loosely at his sides like the gentle drape of a curtain. Without breaking the kiss, you both move seamlessly, working together to shed his layers that separate your bodies and souls. Your hands tremble slightly, a testament to how long it has been since you last experienced this intimacy. There's a flutter of embarrassment, a whisper of self-consciousness, but he doesn't mind. Each of your touches is tender, conveying just how much this moment means to you.

In a fluid motion, your nightgown is lifted over your head, cascading to the floor like a whispering breeze. The warm glow of the lamp bathes your body in a soft, golden halo, highlighting the warmth and inviting allure of your freckled skin. 

He lets a soft breath escape him; you look more beautiful than the starry sky. He brings a hand to touch you, to palm your waist gently, to feel your ribcage expand over your lungs. Living. Breathing. Breathtaking. You smile, and he lifts his eyes to watch you as you carefully, slowly, lie down on your back. 

And his body, a pillar of strength, moves to be supported above you, his arms at your sides, as he looks down at you.

You remain like this for a moment longer, taking your time to regard each other’s bodies, to observe how time has changed you. Your hand reaches up to him, fingering the recent scars on his body, the ones that you don’t remember ever seeing. He nearly shivers at your touch, watching you silently, taking deep breaths to steady himself.

You trace the lines of his scars, your fingers delicate yet probing, as though trying to understand each mark's history. "These weren't here before," you murmur, a hint of sadness threading your voice, and your finger follows a thin line that starts from his navel to his hip bone. “You could’ve died…”

Arthur nods slightly, his eyes never looking away from you. "Yeah," he replies huskily. “But I’m still here.”

Your eyes lift to meet his again, and you notice the thin ring of blue in a deep circular darkness. “Yes, you are…”

His voice is hoarse, almost a whisper, as he continues, "Wit’chu." There's a promise in his words, one you hope he intends to keep. He lifts his right hand to gently cup your face, thumb brushing away the tears that have started to trace paths down your cheeks.

“Come to me,” you whisper.

And so, gently holding you, you fall into each other as the world disappears.

***

A soft, distant cry echoes from beyond your bedroom door, gently nudging you from the depths of sleep, though not quite bringing you fully into wakefulness. Your hand instinctively reaches forward, eyes still sealed in the comfort of slumber. "Arthur, can you...?" you murmur, expecting the familiar warmth beside you. Instead, your fingers brush against nothing but the cool, vacant sheets, a hollow reminder of absence. Your eyes snap open, startled, and you sit up abruptly, scanning the room with urgency. The sight that greets you is unsettling—his clothes are missing, leaving only a sense of unease in their place.

His new shirt is gone. 

Maybe he's outside, you rationalize.

But Isaac is crying.

You swiftly throw off the covers and leap out of bed, the cool air hitting your skin as you step out of your room. As you reach for your robe, your ears pick up a soft creaking, and you follow the sound down the dimly lit hallway. There, in the entranceway, stands Isaac, his hand on the doorknob, the front door inching open to reveal the world outside. "Isaac!" you call, your voice echoing slightly in the quiet of the early morning.

"He's...g-gone...!"

You hurry over to him, your footsteps quick and purposeful, and gently pull him away from the door before shutting it with a soft click. You try to adopt a soothing tone, your voice laced with warmth and reassurance. "Isaac–" you begin.

But Isaac's voice is filled with distress, his eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears. "He's gone, Mommy! He said he'd stay longer! He promised!"

You gently lower yourself onto your knees and wrap your arms around him. "Isaac, come here," you whisper soothingly. His words dissolve into a stream of muffled sobs as he buries his face into your chest, seeking comfort. With a tender strength, you lift your growing boy into your arms and carry him to the well-worn rocking chair in the corner of the room. Settling into the creaky wooden seat, you readjust Isaac on your lap, feeling the warmth and weight of him. Slowly, you begin to rock back and forth, the rhythmic motion soothing both his distress and your own heart.

At that moment, you gently thread your fingers through his hair, the strands soft and silky against your skin, in a calming, tender manner. You start to hum a quiet, soothing melody, though your voice wavers, shaky and uncertain, as tears stream silently down your cheeks, glistening like droplets of rain on a windowpane.

He’s gone. He’s gone.

***

“Okay, Mr. Wilson, I think that was the last of ‘em,” you sigh as you wipe your hands on your apron. “Is there anything else you needed?”

Mr. Wilson steps out from behind the bar, still cleaning one of the remaining glasses that were in the lineup. He talks around a large cigar in his mouth, one of the few pleasures he’s afforded before the evening shift. “Naw, that about does it, Marie. You go on, now.”

You smile, relieved that you are free to go. “Thanks.”

“How’s your little-un doin’? Stayin’ outta trouble?”

You frown as you hang up your apron on the wooden notch and reach for your hat and coat. “That’s what I’m about to find out.”

The bald-headed man clicks his tongue. “Not another meetin’ with the school marm…?”

You sigh. “Another one.”

Mr. Wilson feels compelled enough to take out his cigar, waving it at you as you head for the door. “I’m tellin’ ya, you need to straighten her out. God knows she will turn into one of those delinquents you read about in the papers…!”

Since you’ve lived here, you’ve heard plenty of others' opinions on your parenting. It’s 1899, and even with the turn of the century, folks around here are stuck in some of the old ways, including how to raise young girls. Most would just ship her off to a boarding school, or some sort of place to make her into a prissy queen bee.

But even if that is what you wanted, it would be far from solving the problem. You know what’s making her act in such a way. 

But you can’t do anything about it. You know you can’t. 

But you still want her to behave.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Wilson.” You reach for the door knob and pull it back. “I’ll die before I let that happen.”

And you step outside.  

Sometimes you forget how dry West Elizabeth is, after being in so many humid places. It only makes you more attentive, more self-aware, and you always make sure your children take a canteen of water with them. 

You pause a moment to watch people pass by in wagons, on horses, and on foot. Most are dressed in well-tailored attire, some more casual than you. You don’t have time to change out of your day clothes, a simple cotton shirt and pants, for something more demure, you’re already running late. 

As you step down from the platform, you hold onto your hat as a strong breeze whips up through the city street, some women holding onto their parasols. You chuckle to yourself. You find it pointless to wear dresses, skirts, and bloomers anymore. Just more stuff to collect dust. 

It should be Blackdust, not Blackwater, but you suppose that still wouldn’t be accurate. 

Your shoes make a satisfying clip-clip on the cobblestones as you stay close to the right side of the street, making your way to its end. Your destination is just outside of town. You’re used to walking it, as you only have one wagon cart, and it is at home with Farm Boy, who is resting before his nightly commute. 

As you continue down the street, your mind drifts back to the last few months. How easily you’ve settled here. It was a long journey, traveling the hundreds of miles, relying on the help of strangers. You were surprised there was that much benevolence left in this world, having been living with a group of thieves and murderers.

And when you arrived at Blackwater, you thought you had reached the promised land, despite its desert and dry landscape.

You know you are near the school, when you hear the cacophony of children playing.

Children shouting.

Children screaming.

Fight! Fight! Fight!

Your steps quicken, the familiar surge of adrenaline prickling at the back of your neck as you approach the chaotic scene. Dropping to a brisk jog, your heart beats in time with the urgent sound of children's raised voices, their cries echoing off the nearby buildings.

“Get up, Tommy!”

“Yeah! You can beat ‘er…!”

You round the corner, eyes scanning over the small crowd that has gathered in a dusty patch near the schoolhouse. There, at the center of the throng of shouting children, stands Alice, her overalls covered in dirt, a balled fist raised, face flushed with anger. Two boys lay on the ground before her, nursing bruises and torn shirts.

One lies beneath her, looking up at her with a scowl. “You fight like a girl!”

But she roars back, changing her stance as she reaches for his collar. “That’s ’cause I am one, dumbass!”

You push your way through the circle, your voice rising above the shouts of the children. “Elizabeth…!” Even though it isn’t her real name, it’s ingrained in her now, causing her to immediately lift her head and see you approaching. She freezes, fist still raised, other hand gripping Tommy’s shirt collar as you storm over to her. “I never raised you to beat up on anyone, much less talk like that…!”

The children standing around immediately stop cheering and quickly scatter, not wanting to get caught up in whatever reprimand you might deliver on them as well. You grab Alice's arm, pulling her up and away from the boy on the ground. Her breathing is heavy, chest heaving with each breath, and you can see the fire still burning in her eyes, unquenched by your arrival.

"Elizabeth, how many times have I told you to stop picking fights?!”

“I didn’t start it, they did! They was callin’ me names! Sayin’ things about my—!”

You turn her away from Tommy, facing the school, as you haven’t forgotten your appointment. “That doesn’t matter, you need to ignore them and let it go…!”

“Daddy woulda been proud of me!”

You nearly lose your breath at the mention of him, but you can see the tears in your daughter’s eyes. You know she’s hurting, missing him just as much as you do, but you can’t let her keep acting out this way. Your eyes soften, if but for a moment, but you remain firm in your tone. “We will discuss this when we get home.” You begin to walk towards the school. “Right now, we need to meet with Mrs. Thorne.”

“But Mama,” Alice moans.

“Enough…! I would have rather you had left with your brother at this point.” You had given Alice strict instructions to wait at the school for you instead of heading home with Isaac. Now, you’re wishing that her disobedience translated in that direction instead.

Alice falls silent as you tug her along, her steps reluctantly matching your brisk pace. Her head hangs down, and you can feel the tension radiating from her small frame. As you approach the school steps, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the upcoming conversation.

The school has only two classrooms, with two teachers. The city is growing, so undoubtedly the need for more instructors will come. For now, Mrs. Thorne teaches the younger groups, while Miss Lane teaches the older groups. Next year, Isaac will be moving to the older class, and Alice and him will be separated.

Another reason, you believe, for Alice’s rebellion.

You’ve been to the school more often than you’ve ever been to church, and you find the classroom fairly easily. You maintain your grip on your daughter’s arm and only let go before you knock on the door.

“…Come in, Mrs. Leland.”

You look down at your daughter, who only faces forward, eyes on the door. Her single plait down her back is all frizzy and like rope, dirt, and who knows what else marks her face. You’d normally take a minute to wipe off her rosy cheeks, but you know it is futile at this point.

You reach for the door knob, turn it, and let your daughter step inside first.

The room is well lit, each desk is in its neat row. The chalkboard spick and span. And there sits Mrs. Thorne, hands folded on her desk. 

“You’re late, Mrs. Leland.”

You feel your hackles rise at her remark, and you keep your hands unclenched by placing them on your daughter’s shoulders. “I was breaking up a fight between your students in the front yard.” Your jaw tightens, and you keep your eyes steeled as you meet her gaze. “Were you aware of it, or are you oblivious to what happens on school grounds?”

Her mouth parts, surprised by your grit. You’re usually rather soft spoken and demure whenever you have met, always agreeable and willing to cooperate for the sake of peace. But suddenly you’re not as malleable as she was expecting. 

She closes her mouth and clears her throat as she readjusts the glasses on her face. “Have a seat, Mrs. Leland.”

You nod curtly. “Thank you.” Hands still on your daughter’s shoulders, you gently guide her to the chairs in front of Mrs. Thorne’s desk. “Let’s sit down, Elizabeth.”

Still not speaking, Alice heads over to one of the chairs, plopping down on it with an angered huff. You calmly sit down and remove the hat off your head. You place the hat on your lap, smoothing out the fabric of your trousers as you prepare yourself for the conversation ahead. Mrs. Thorne remains seated, her posture rigid, the lines of her mouth tight with disapproval. Her gaze shifts between you and Alice, assessing the situation with a critical eye.

"Mrs. Leland, it is no mystery as to why I requested this meeting…”

You shake your head. “No, Mrs. Thorne, it is not.”

“Your daughter Elizabeth is not only a ruffian in play, she’s also negligent in her studies. She’s constantly looking out the window, and likes to argue with me and other students during instruction.”

This has all been strange to you. When you were teaching Alice and her brother back at camp, they always gave you their undivided attention. Of course, there were moments where you had to reel them back in, but that is normal for children. They aren’t meant to sit still for hours on end.

But you’ve only been aware of the fights. The behavior indoors is new to you. “How long has this been going on?”

Mrs. Thorne lifts her chin. “Long enough. I had thought that in time, she’d adjust, given that she’s new here. But alas, I have learned that this behavior is more of nature rather than…well…”

You grip your hat tightly. “Elizabeth has never acted out this way before.”

Mrs. Thorne pushes up her glasses, a force of habit, you’ve noticed. “Forgive me, Mrs. Leland, but in my line of work, that is something I’ve heard time and time again.”

You take a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the brim of your hat as you prepare to respond. "Mrs. Thorne," you begin, your voice steady despite the anger simmering just below the surface, "Elizabeth has been through more than most children her age. She's had to adjust to a lot of changes. Now, I’m not excusing her behavior with the other children, but—”

“Well, then, how would you explain away the academic performances? The fact that she challenges the material I teach?”

You furrow your brow. “The material?”

“Yes…! When we have discussed topics in history, she insists on the ridiculous things! One example being that the Midwest is more east than west, and another being that outlaws and gangs still exist…!” She scoffs and gestures to a book on her desk. “The United States is far more civilized now. We are dawning a new century, and we cannot have a future if we are stuck in the past.”

You look at your daughter, who looks into her lap. She isn’t ignorant. She’s known who her father is, what they do, despite your and Arthur’s best efforts to keep it hidden from her. You had tried to protect Isaac when he was little, but it all eventually came into the light, like everything else.

But for her teacher to insist that she’s wrong, when you know for a fact that outlaws are a present entity, it strikes you a different way.

As you look back at Mrs. Thorne, you feel a surge of frustration at her words, but you strive to maintain composure. “Mrs. Thorne, I don’t know where you get your information, but I assure you, outlaws are very much alive and well. It is true that America isn’t as wild as it used to be, but people still get attacked on trains and held at gunpoint. You can’t remove that from existence, or from the papers.” You lower your voice as a protective strength fills you. “It is one thing to correct a child when she is wrong, but how dare you make my daughter a fool in front of the entire class?!”

Mrs. Thorne leans back, the creases in her forehead deepening as she processes your words. She appears momentarily taken aback by the intensity of your response. “Mrs. Leland, I didn’t mean to—”

“Exactly. You didn’t mean to do anything. My daughter is bright, and all you have done is sit back and watch her fail. I am not above doing my part to help my daughter learn, but I’ve seen enough evidence these past three months on how you teach, and my son, who never tells a lie, has told me much.” You go to rise from your chair, the legs of it screeching on the wooden floor as you push it back. “My daughter will be rightfully punished for the fight this afternoon, but if I hear more about this academic negligence and derogatory treatment toward her, I will take it up with the school board.” Your gaze is unwavering, your voice firm, every word punctuated with a cold, resolute edge.

Mrs. Thorne's lips press into a thin line, her eyes narrowing slightly as she meets your stare. “Very well, Mrs. Leland. I will take your concerns into consideration,” she responds, her voice maintaining a professional tone despite the clear tension in the air.

You nod, not fully satisfied but recognizing that this is perhaps the best outcome for today. "Thank you, Mrs. Thorne," you say crisply, standing back and tapping Alice gently on the shoulder. “Come along, Elizabeth.”

She stands up slowly, and as you turn away, you feel her slip her hand in yours. You almost stop at the gesture, surprised that she’d even want to share affection with you, after reprimanding her outside.

Well, it’s something she wanted to do. Of course, she knows the gesture doesn’t exonerate her from her wrongdoing, but she’s somewhat inspired. It means a lot that you came to her defense, in the way that she had imagined you would.

You both leave the classroom and keep silent as you walk down the hall and out the door.

The sun will be setting soon. You and Alice need to get home before it gets dark. You’ll need to have supper and help the children with their homework before going to bed.

“Mama…?”

You look down at your six-year-old daughter, meeting those beautiful blue eyes of hers. “Yes?”

She bites her lower lip, worried about how you might react to her question.

And her silence is making your curiosity peak just a little. “Yes?”

“Do you…? Do you think he misses us?”

You know who she means, and it makes you ache inside.

You hope he does.

You can only squeeze her hand. “Let’s just head home, Alice.”

“You called me Alice, Mama…”

You blink. “Oh, right. I just…I’m sorry.”

Alice finally smiles. “It’s okay.” Her eyes catch the light from the sun, making them look like crashing waves. “Sometimes it’s nice to hear it.”

And you start toward home together.

***

As you reach the house, you see the smoke coming from the chimney. Dinner is cooking, and you’re relieved, but guilt pangs at you. It was your turn to cook dinner tonight, but you must be a lot later than you thought you’d be.

You like to call it home. It’s small, but with two bedrooms, a kitchen, washroom, and a living room, it is enough. Isaac has to sleep in a cot in the living room, and you and Alice share a room, but you have a good system going. Though, sometimes, Isaac craves solitude and will spend a couple of nights in the safe house, just beyond the property. 

You spot the small garden you have in the gated yard. It appears that it hasn’t been attacked by crows this time, and that makes you glad. The earth here is rough, and so you make do with drought-resistant vegetables for canning. You’re happy to work in the soil again. It has been too long. 

The front door swings open just as you reach the bottom step to the porch, and Isaac steps outside.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he says, bypassing any sort of greeting.

You nod, forcing a smile. “Will you tell her I’m sorry?”

He nods, and turns to head back inside, leaving the door open for you.

“I hope we’re not having beans again,” Alice grumbles.

You squeeze her hand. “You will be grateful for what you get to eat, won’t you?”

You motion for her to step inside first, and you hear her sigh loudly. “I guess…”

“We won’t talk about what happened at school today,” you say softly so only she can hear. 

“She’s gonna ask.”

“Leave that to me.” You close the door behind you and hear the sound of pots clanking and water running. “We’re back, Annabelle.”

Following the sound, you enter the kitchen and see a dark-haired woman standing in front of the sink. She looks over her shoulder, her green eyes sparkling as she smiles at you. “How’d it go?”

You feel Alice tug on your arm. “See? I told you…”

You swat at your daughter gently. “Go wash up, Alice. You’re caked in dirt.”

She nearly rolls her eyes, knowing she’s being shooed off, but obeys. She drags her feet along the wood floor, letting you know that she’s disgruntled about the whole thing, and she disappears down the hall. 

You wait for the washroom door to close before speaking. “I think I want to pull Alice out of school.”

Annabelle’s eyebrows lift. “Oh?”

“She needs time to adjust, and putting her in a classroom full of students is overwhelming for her. Mrs. Thorne just got done telling me that she’s failing academically.”

Annabelle finishes rinsing off a large pot and begins to dry it with a towel. “That doesn’t make sense. Alice is very bright.”

“Which is why I want to pull her out. The teacher doesn’t seem to care and would rather argue with her than come alongside her. It doesn’t help that she has already gotten in trouble for fighting before.”

Annabelle nods thoughtfully. She knows you’re stuck on teaching your children yourself, having done it for most of their lives. 

You’ve had this conversation before, each time bringing up another reason why you should take one, if not both of your children, out of school. 

But Annabelle, steadfast Annabelle, has the same response every time. 

“I can keep working, but I won’t be able to keep up for long. It’s easy to feed myself on my wages, but we have livestock now and three other people to feed.”

There it is. Reason returns again. You were so eager to start a new life that you convinced Annabelle to go in with you on chickens and a cow. You have Farm Boy and Rooster for transportation, and then you needed to help repair the tiny stable. All expenses, all money taken from Annabelle’s savings, and what you’ve been able to earn from your job as a waitress. 

Annabelle’s right. She won’t be able to keep up with it on her wages alone, even if she’s the most sought-after saloon girl and makes the most tips. 

You didn’t know she’d be open to that profession, but she’s told you that it’s the most powerful she’s ever been. To refuse men night after night and get up on stage to sing a few numbers, allows her the free will that she feels was robbed of her years ago. She’ll never fall in love again. 

And you’ve never seen her happier. 

When you showed up at her door, after traveling for hundreds of miles, she couldn’t believe it. There was no question in her mind whether or not she should take you and the children in. She made room, clothed you, fed you, and got you that job as a waitress. And thankfully, she didn’t ask about Arthur. She already knew enough by his absence. 

You work days, she works nights. It lets you have a normal schedule with your children while guaranteeing someone is home at all times. When Annabelle told you about the safe house, you were excited to know that there was a safe place for retreat, but you hoped you'll never have to really use it. 

“I suppose a girl can dream,” you finally say, turning toward the serving dish of cooked beans on the counter. You take it and begin to walk over to the kitchen table, where Isaac silently has been doing his arithmetic. 

“Those have been getting better, I hope,” Annabelle comments, changing the subject. “Alice hasn’t been complaining of you talking in your sleep.” She chuckles softly, going for the cornbread in the oven. 

You only told Annabelle about your dreams solely because she asked you. You’ve brushed it off, only sharing one recurring dream you keep having. Of course, you tend to skip over some details, but you try to convey the main atmosphere. It’s not like she can do anything about it. How can anyone explain them away, when they’re so vivid and telling? 

They haven’t been getting better, but you’re glad you haven’t been talking in your sleep. You’d hate for Alice to pick up on what they could be about. The last thing you need is another reason to exacerbate her anxiety and loneliness. 

“I suppose so,” you lie. “They’ll have to quit eventually.” You set the dish of beans on the table and tap your son’s paper tablet, getting his attention. “Set that aside for now, darling.”

He sits up in his chair, stretching his arms after focusing intensely on his homework. He’s become more reclusive since moving to Blackwater and gives everything to his studies and his stallion. You haven’t seen him draw or write much, but he has asked you for a new journal. You figure he’s still doing it, even if you can’t see him writing or sketching away. “Okay,” he sighs, and collecting his things, he rises out of his chair and goes to put his homework away. 

“Now if I could only get Alice to be as dedicated,” you say under your exhale. 

“Don’t rush her, Eliza. You said so yourself, she just needs time.”

Time. You’ve had a decade, and it still isn’t long enough. “She mentioned him today.”

Annabelle sets the cornbread down on the table with a soft clack of the glass on the wooden surface. She removes her hands slowly, clutching tightly onto the potholders. “I see.”

You go to sit down, the table now set, and rest your elbows on it, supporting your face in your hands. “I know she misses him. They had a bond I can’t describe.”

You hear Annabelle sit down next to you, and she grabs your fist gently, encouraging you to come out of hiding. “And you don’t miss him?”

You relent to her gentle pulling and meet her eyes. “No,” you lie again. 

She smiles knowingly. “You don’t even think about him?”

You feel the sting in your eyes. You can’t cry. Not right now. You forced them down each time and have taken pride in being able to do it.

To keep it down, you speak in a whisper, suppressing sobs deep in your chest. “What do you think I dream about?”

She clicks her tongue. “I don’t think a large stag appearing in your dreams means it’s Arthur.”

“If you know him like I do…” Your mind goes to that night in the woods, the breath from his nostrils like smoke. His posture strong and tall. “It does.” 

Her eyes widen slightly, understanding that you have been keeping more from her than you’ve let on. “Is that what you think? You think you’re dreaming about Arthur?”

You blink, and a single tear rolls down your cheek. “I don’t think…I know.”

Her eyes soften, her brow pinched in empathy. Her hand leaves your wrist to pat your upper back. “It will get better, hon. You need to give yourself grace, too.”

You nod, sniffing hard to build your wall back up again. “Yeah,” you cough. “I’ll be fine.”

And just in time, you hear Alice thumping barefoot across the wooden floor. You quickly wipe your eyes and turn to look over your chair to see her wearing a clean pair of overalls but no shirt. 

“Alice Elizabeth…!”

She freezes in her steps, groaning. “Aw, what did I do now…?”

You pause before you let yourself raise your voice again, covering your eyes with your hand, and you feel Annabelle’s hand on your shoulder, as though saying, “I’ll handle this.”

“Alice, darlin’, you forgot to put on a shirt.”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t forget. Don’t need one.”

“Yes, you do. You don’t wanna get burned from the sun, do you?”

Alice shrugs, her bare shoulders swimming under the straps. “I won’t be outside. So I won’t need one.”

Annabelle then firms her tone. “Then if you ain’t gonna do it for yourself, do it for your mother.”

Alice’s eyebrows lift, and her eyes fall on you, still covering your eyes as you try to remain composed. She’s been caught up in her own grief, her own sadness after being swept away in the night, then waking up to an open sky and miles away from her home. She still holds that against you, still angered by being taken away from her father before even getting the chance to say goodbye. 

She’s heard your explanations, how you all needed to be safe, but she knows there’s something more. Something you’re not telling her. 

But your soft utterings in the night tell her much. The soft cries of your subconscious, speaking louder than your reprimands or downcast eyes. 

“Okay,” she says softly, and turns to head back to her room. 

You lift your eyes just in time to watch her go, your heart aching with the complexities of motherhood and loss. The weight of the secrets you hold tightens around your chest like a vice. You know you're doing what's best for your children, but the cost sometimes feels too high.

As Alice's footsteps fade away, Annabelle squeezes your shoulder. “Remember, Eliza…” She pauses a moment for brevity so you may really listen to what she has to say. “Grace.”

***

Right after dinner, Annabelle readied herself for her shift at the saloon, and after Isaac helped hitch the wagon cart, she drove the wagon into town. She will be gone all night, and you and the children won’t see her again until tomorrow afternoon. 

And as Annabelle has left, so has the day, and it is time to retire for the night. It is an evening ritual, after helping your children with their school work, to spend time with each of them as you tuck them in. There’s something special about it, something safe and warm, that affords you minutes to improve the bonds with your children. You couldn’t really have one-on-one time in camp, having only the single tent to share sleeping space, so this is a welcomed change. 

You decide to tuck Isaac in first, as you want to avoid the pressure of shortening your conversation with Alice. You still have to talk to her about the fight this afternoon. As you finish braiding your hair, you walk down the hallway and find Isaac on his cot in the living room, his back propped against the wall as he reads a book. You can’t see the cover, as it is blocked by his propped knees, but he seems really engrossed in it. 

You lean against the entryway, tying the rope to your robe. “It’s time for bed, Isaac.”

He doesn’t look up, still reading the pages of his book like rapid fire. He turns the page and clutches the ends tightly, clearly getting to a good part. 

“Isaac…?”

He still doesn’t look up. 

You lean away from the entryway and walk calmly over to him. Once you reach his cot, you lean forward and tap him gently on the head. “Isaac.”

He looks up, and the way his brows lift, the softness in his eyes, you see his father there, and you almost lose your train of thought. “Yes, Ma?”

You clear your throat, snapping out of it. “Time to go to bed.”

“Oh,” he chuckles sheepishly and sets his book down on the end table. “Sorry.”

Your curiosity piqued, you point to the book. “What is it you’re reading?”

As he pulls the covers over himself, he turns his head and eyes the book. “Oh. It’s a law book.”

What? A law book? You thought it was a well-written novel, not a law book. You help tuck him in, reaching for the cotton blanket and pulling it to his chin as he lies down. “Why are you reading something like that?”

Isaac doesn’t want to tell you. He doesn’t want you to know what’s been on his mind, what occupies his thoughts. After all, you don’t mention it, you refuse to talk about it, and that tells him enough. 

He shrugs his shoulders. “Dunno.”

You see the melancholy expression in his eyes, the slump in his shoulders. You motion to sit down on the edge of his cot, easing into it slowly so as not to squish him. “Nine-year-olds typically don’t read law books, son.”

He knows that. Most of the boys at school would rather sneak penny dreadfuls or catalogues of corsets into the school, all huddling under a tree to get a peek. While he might admit to having had a look once or twice, he’s got bigger problems, other worries. He shrugs again. “I guess I’m just not normal.”

You smile at him and reach to run your fingers through his hair, coming it back a little. “You’re special. You’re unique.”

“I guess.”

He’s got something on his mind, you know it. You and Isaac have always been able to talk about things, to be open with one another. But these past few months have been more challenging. You’ve been trying to balance it all, you’ve done it so seamlessly before, but you know you’re slipping. 

“Sweetheart, I know that living here hasn’t been the easiest, but—”

“Ma.” Isaac interrupts you gently. “You don’t have to explain it to me. I know why we left.” You close your mouth and study his calm expression, and watch a small smile appear on his face. “You wanted to keep us safe.”

That’s what you told him and his sister. While it is true, you know you’ve had to tell yourself that to convince yourself that it was the right thing to do.

“And we are safe,” you manage to say. 

“But…” he struggles with his words, unsure if he should even say them. “You ain’t happy, are you?”

You feel them coming, those tears that irritate your eyes and make your nose burn. You sniff loudly and comb his hair more fervently. “I will be,” you promise. “What matters is that you are happy.”

His smile falters, and his answer betrays his sobriety. “I think so. I like school. Even if the teacher is mean.”

“Mean to Alice?”

He shrugs again. “It isn’t just Alice, it’s the poor kids.”

“That doesn’t make sense. If it’s because of that, she’d be mean to you as well…”

Isaac avoids your gaze. “She is. Alice just gets in trouble because she stands up to her.” 

You feel one of the stones in your belly grow hot, your protective nature rising up. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Because…you’re always worried about us and you’ve been tryin’ to help Alice. It didn’t make sense to have you worryin’ about me, too.” He brings his hands out from underneath the blankets, picking at his fingernails. “It’s like Aunt Annie says, we just need time.”

You reach for his hands, squeezing them as they clasp together. “I will always worry. It’s my job as your mother. You just can’t go on living while worrying about me.”

“But Dad always said—” He grimaces, realizing his slip. His father is such a sore subject with you, and he tries his best to avoid it altogether. 

But you don’t chide him, or ask him not to speak of Arthur. Though you avoid speaking about him, you almost want to hear it, having been six months since you left him. Just because Arthur isn’t a part of your life anymore, that doesn’t remove him from your children’s lives. “Well, what—” you begin, just as timid with your words as he was. “What did he always say?”

Isaac unclasps his hands beneath your palm, bringing them out to hold your hand. “He said it was his job to look after you, so you didn’t ever have to watch over your shoulder. So you can keep looking ahead. But…” His eyes begin to glisten, and his lip trembles softly. “But since he’s not here…who’s gonna…” He sniffs, swallowing back a sob. “If he hadn’t come back…when those men came…” Then he looks up to meet your eyes. “Who’s gonna look after you now, except me?” 

You remember when he had first shown a strong spirit, that stroke of courage. That afternoon when he held your revolver and pointed it at Dan and his group of bandits. He had thought the same thing then, you see that now. The man of the house at just four years old. You can only imagine how often he thinks of that day, letting it influence his decisions now, his protective character, and loyalty to his mother and sister. 

You lean forward and kiss his forehead, then touch your nose to his. “I will look after me. I can fight and I can shoot a gun, remember?” You feel him nod his head against yours. “I love you, my son.”

His arms immediately go around your neck, bringing you close. “I love you too, Mama.”

***

You’re careful to enter your bedroom, the door squeaks loud enough to wake the dead if you aren’t. Your eyes immediately go to the left corner of the room, where Alice’s bed is. You find the shape of her small body under the covers, her head facing the wall. 

You think about her small frame, the fire in her eyes. You’ll never admit it, but you’re impressed that she managed to beat up three boys, all larger than her, in rapid succession. 

Alice was right. Arthur would have been damned proud of her. 

Unsure if she’s awake or not, you walk quietly to her bed. Sitting on its edge, you pull the blanket up more to cover her shoulders, and then gently brush a strand of hair away from her face. She stirs slightly, the movement subtle, but she doesn't give herself away.

You sit there for a moment, watching her breathe, the rise and fall of her chest steady and even. The room is quiet except for the occasional creak of the tree branch scraping against the side of the house, the wind picking up again. For a dry climate, there are more thunderstorms than you can count.

You let your hand rest on Alice’s arm as she lies still, and you feel words bubble up inside you. Words that you wouldn’t say to her if you knew she was awake.

“You’re so much like him, you know…” you begin. “So brave. So strong and stubborn.” You listen to yourself and chuckle. “Okay, we’re both stubborn, but you’re like a dog on a bone when you set your mind to something. Like he does. Did.” You rub her arm with gentle sweeps of your thumb. “I wish I could be like that. I wish that I hadn’t been a doormat most of my life. Your father he—he doesn’t let people walk all over him. Except Dutch. That man has your father wrapped around his finger.” You frown. “That’s why we had to leave.” You watch her unmoving figure, feeling your words dissolve into the quiet of the room. "But I hope, one day, you understand why it had to be this way. For us. For you and Isaac." You sigh softly, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing down upon you. "I'm trying, Alice. I'm really trying."

You stay there for a moment longer before leaning in close to kiss her softly on the cheek. “I guess I’m proud of you, too. Mrs. Thorne was definitely wrong about outlaws, wasn’t she?” You rise back up to a sitting position, then stand. “Goodnight, Alice.” And you turn, walking over to your bed on the other side of the room. You ease onto it slowly, feeling the weight of the day slide off. You then blow out the lamp, slip under the covers, and lay down to sleep.

After a few minutes, once she can hear your steady breathing, she flips over to find your sleeping form, tears streaming down her face.

***

Your back scrapes against the tree, your mind racing, heart pounding, as your fingers work to remove his gun belt. The air is cold, but you hardly notice, the warmth of your bodies radiating heat like steam into the darkness.

He squeezes your breast again. Harder, making you mewl in his ear.

The gun belt falls with a thud on the ground, forgotten as his hands explore you more fervently. Your own hands are not idle, tugging at the fabric of his shirt, pulling it from his trousers. The urgency between you is palpable, the night air thick with desire.

He pulls back to look at you, his eyes searching yours in earnest as you nibble at his bottom lip. “The body…” He lets out a sigh, as though regretting the duty set before him. “I gotta take care of it.”

You feel the disappointment rise in your chest, and like a fool, all at once. “Okay.”

He steps away from you, taking your hands in his as you come away from the tree. “Meet me at my wagon,” he suggests huskily, and he swallows thickly. “We can…”

Finish what you’ve started. Yes.

“Yes…” you sigh, and he pulls you in again for a kiss.

“Go now….”

You nod and hurry. You feel light on your feet, the stars like twinkling lights guiding your way back to camp. It is as though you run faster than you ever could. Leaping in bounds, reaching the moon.

Slipping past the horses and the other neighboring tents, you slip behind the canvas leading into Arthur’s domicile. You push out any worries about discretion. You don’t care. You’ve managed silence once upon a time, surely you can do it again.

You ready yourself, tousling your wavy hair. Unbuttoning your shirt, removing your shoes. Any slight sound outside makes you nearly gasp, thinking it is Arthur.

You’re doing it this time. Nothing is going to change your mind.

It has been a while waiting, but it only feels like seconds when you hear the jingle of his spurs as he approaches.

The flap of the canvas rustles gently as Arthur steps inside, his silhouette a dark shape against the faint glow of the dying campfire outside. His face breaks into a relieved smile when he sees you there, anticipation written across his features, mirroring your own excitement.

"Eliza," he breathes out, the word carrying all the weight of his emotions, his longing. As you rise, he swiftly crosses the small space between you, his hands reaching out to draw you into his embrace. His touch is firm yet gentle, the warmth of his body against yours chasing away the chill of the night air.

You melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as he buries his face in your hair, taking in a deep breath.

While you welcome his embrace, his touch, you have not snuck into his tent for mere sentiment.

“I want you, Arthur,” you whisper lowly, catching his earlobe between your teeth teasingly. His body stiffens for a split second before he exhales slowly, the breath ruffling through your hair. “Right now.”

Arthur’s hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. His voice is a low rumble as he responds, “Not before I tell you…” He pulls away and gazes intently into your eyes, looking you up and down as though searching for something. “I love you.”

The words. The words you’ve longed to hear. “Say it again.”

His breath hitches slightly, the confession hanging in the air like a sacred whisper. "I love you, Eliza," he repeats, his voice a blend of strength and vulnerability.

You can't help but smile, the intensity of your emotions swelling in your chest. Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him even closer, and you bring your lips to his in a kiss that seals everything he's just said, every promise that might lie in those words. The world outside the tent fades to nothing, and all that exists is the warmth of his skin, the depth of his kiss, and the certainty of this moment.

You feel yourself taking charge, making him turn so his back is facing the cot. You take urgent steps forward, causing him to back up until his calves reach the cot’s edge. “Help me,” you beg, as your hands go to his chest and begin to undo the buttons of his shirt.

His fingers work in tandem with yours, eagerly slipping off the fabric barriers that separate skin from skin. Under the gaps of light seeping through the canvas, you can see the glint in his eyes, a mixture of adoration and raw need that makes your heart throb painfully in your chest.

The shirt falls away to the floor, and his hands find your open coat. Without saying a word, he pulls it off of you, a mixture of force and gentleness, both of which aren’t unwelcome.

Your coat, then your shirt and chemise join his clothing, and when your hands return to the waistband of his pants, you see the goosebumps rise on his flesh. You want to see him. You want to touch him, to feel the entirety of him against you. Your fingers tremble with anticipation as you unbutton his trousers, your movements hurried, fueled by a desire that has been building for what feels like an eternity.

Arthur's hands are not idle either; they roam over your skin with a possessiveness that sends shivers down your spine, movements to not hinder your work of pulling down his pants, but to maintain contact at all times.

And once he steps out of his pants, you take a moment to gaze upon the map of his body. Every muscle, every vein, every time his chest rises and falls.

And the most magnificent part of all, and the sight of his girth makes your center ache, your legs tremble.

You finally lift your eyes to find him staring at your half-naked body, and you realize you still haven’t removed your skirt. “Oh,” you sigh.

Arthur takes a step toward you. “Allow me—”

But you hold your hand out, stopping him. “Lie down,” you demand.

Arthur's expression registers mild surprise, tinged with an amused respect as he complies. He lowers himself onto the cot, his movements deliberate and controlled, his gaze never leaving yours. As he lies back, his eyes remain fixed on you, filled with an intensity that makes your heart skip.

You then work slowly, tantalizingly, as your hands go to your waist, your thumbs slipping into your waistband. You slowly push your skirt down, working your bloomers at the same time. His eyes follow your movements, his breath growing heavier with each inch of skin revealed. When you finally step out of the pooled fabric at your feet, standing before him in all your vulnerability and strength, there's a flicker of something profound passing over his face—a mix of admiration and raw desire.

You move towards him, the air between you charged with an electric pulse, something powerful beyond the ether, that seems to make the world outside disappear. You carefully climb onto the cot, straddling his hips, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath you. Arthur's hands settle on your hips, guiding you closer, his touch a catalyst igniting a fire within. The intimacy of the moment wraps around you both like a cocoon, isolating you from everything but each other.

You lean down to kiss him, softly at first, but then with a growing urgency that feeds off the heat between you. Your lips move together in a rhythm set by the beating of your hearts, deep and insistent. Arthur’s hands roam up from your hips, fingers tracing the curve of your back, sending shivers that ripple across your skin.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue meeting yours in a dance that stirs a hunger too long denied. The sensation of his hands on your skin, the taste of him, pulls a low moan from your throat. You press closer, the contact of his skin against your thighs, reminding you of every moment you've imagined this reunion.

"Eliza…” his voice comes out hoarse, bordering on urgency and pleasure. “I meant when I said I weren’t a patient man…”

You chuckle softly, the sound a gentle ripple in the quiet room, as your hands glide over the contours of his muscular pectorals, feeling the warmth and strength beneath your fingers. Your touch trails down to his firm abdomen, where each defined muscle seems to respond eagerly to your caress. Slowly, you push yourself up, your body rising gracefully on your legs, using him as support. With one hand continuing its journey down his abdomen, you find him, ready and wanting, a palpable anticipation in the air. You align yourself with him, a perfect fit, as you begin to lower yourself. "To tell you the truth," you say, your voice a whisper that mingles with the shared breath between you, "neither am I," as you sink down, feeling the connection deepen with every inch.

Arthur's breath catches, his hands gripping your hips with a tenderness edged with urgency, guiding you as you settle fully against him. The sensation is overwhelming, a mingling of pain and pleasure that sends ripples through your body. Your head falls back, a soft moan escaping your lips as you let it overwhelm you, just a moment longer.

But you won’t let yourself be tortured. Bringing your head back up, you look down to meet his eyes, seeing the desire and affection swirling in their ocean depths.

That’s when you start to rock back and forth.

Your movements seamlessly harmonize with his instinctive thrusts, creating a slow, deliberate rhythm that gradually builds a crescendo of urgency within you both. His gaze is locked onto yours with an intensity and steadfastness that speaks volumes, as if attempting to convey every emotion that words could never adequately express. The connection between you is palpable, a silent symphony of shared feelings and unspoken desires that fills the space, making the moment profoundly intimate and deeply resonant.

“Dear God,” he moans, and you chuckle at his exclamation, a mix of amusement and satisfaction swirling in your chest. The sound of your laughter seems to stir something deeper within him; his movements grow more deliberate, each thrust meeting yours with an increasing fervor.

The cot creaks under the weight of your united rhythms, a steady soundtrack to the rising heat between you.

It creaks louder.

And louder.

Crack. Crack.

CRASH!!!!!

BOOOOM!!!

You rise out of bed with a start as a flash of white fills the room for a fraction of a second, followed by another crash of thunder.

BOOOOOMMMMMMMM…!

You’re breathing heavily, gasping for air as you look about the room.

The room.

Your bedroom.

You were dreaming again.

Settling down, you sit there, in the dark stillness that now fills the room after another echo of thunder fades away. The sheets are tangled around your legs, a testament to the fierce reality of the dream. Your heart is pounding, still caught in the grips of that vivid encounter with Arthur.

Outside, another grumble of distant thunder rolls across the sky, a deep rumbling sound that seems to resonate with the turmoil inside you. For a moment, you sit frozen, your mind grappling with the transition from dream to the stark reality of your lonely bed.

You swing your legs off the bed, the cool wood of the floor grounding you as you stand and walk carefully over to where your daughter sleeps, needing to reassure yourself of her presence. The room is dim, with only the occasional flashes of lightning casting brief illumination. You reach Alice's bed and watch her small form rise and fall gently with each breath. The sight calms you somewhat, anchoring you back to reality, the reality where Arthur is not by your side, making love to you with a passionate fervor.

You’re glad she didn’t hear you; you hope you didn’t say anything to give you away.

Maybe it would be best if you slept in the safe house for a while, at least until you get these dreams under control.

If they ever will be.

Thank you for reading! :)

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