‘ i will pretend that i have not already heard the question in your eyes ’ | f. d. soul’s work - between you and these bones
Had it become that obvious? Almost instantly as those words land on him do his eyes avert downwards, hands slipping into his pockets as he takes a step back, embarrassed. He hears no venom in her words, nor irony, nor condescension - all he hears is defeat. He hears tiredness; soaked into every syllable that quietly lulls him into a space of familiarity. He wants to wrap her up, to hold her, to protect her -- keep her safe, and love had always been the main factor for him, and it proved, even still, the number one motivating factor for him.
But does she now feel the same way? Had like turned into a word she hardly let utter from her lips? Or is this simply still, what it had always been, a marriage of convenience? ( though some would still hardly see it as such ) but even a marriage such as theirs still require a semblance of...tradition, of carrying on. He was a proud man, but he was a kind man. Their first few years of marriage, seemed more of a partnership than that of man and wife. But still, he had seen little by little -- how she begun to smile more in her presence, the lingering touches when he had to leave. To grow fond in her heart was a marvel, and something he cherished, but this now -- was a step forward that both of them had seen coming, even if neither had been able to bring it up at first.
❝ It is not something I ---.... ❞ but he stops. Halts, tripping over his own words. Edward cannot complete that sentence because he was an honest man. Infuriatingly such. Always had been, and though this lie would placate something -- someone -- somebody, it would be a lie to himself, and to the one other person that meant everything he had: his wife. Her.
Tilts his head back up, surveying her as he pulls his hands back out of his pockets, hands upturned ever slightly as if to offer her a place in his embrace if she so wished. ❝ We can pretend for a while yet longer, but the topic of children -...❞ he hesitates, almost half-afraid of her reaction, ❝ -- of continuing the bloodline is not something we will be easily able to walk out of nor away from, my darling. ❞
@luridtruths ➤ “ …do we always end up on top of each other ? ” / callie
❝ for that to be true, i’d a c t u a l l y have to best you for once. i think it’s more YOU always landing on top of me. ❞ a slow, cheeky grin spreads across his face as he blinks up at her. not that he’s complaining exactly. childhood crush pining you down against the dewey forest ground isn’t exactly the worst of training situations. a little distracting, maybe. but talk about an adrenaline rush. their eyes lock for a moment, and there’s... something churning away behind her heated stare. a recalibration of sorts, but whether it’s about the best methods of kissing him or killing him, he may not ever know. landon lets out a dry laugh.
❝ – sorry, ❞ he mutters, propping up on his elbows in and attempt to shimmy out from under her.
@luridtruths asked: five times saved - srs ( cc: @antolcgias )
TW: strong violence, injury, blood, swords, guns, war, executions.
ONE.
HIS JOB IS A DANGEROUS ONE. To look lawless men in the eye and tell them there are consequences for their actions is to face all manner of violence, whether they choose to throw punches or pull pistols. He handles it, because someone has to. Because he loves those girls like they’re his family, and the pirates need to learn he will not allow harm to come to them.
He handles it — until one man gets the upper hand, sends half-full tankards flying as he slams Sam into a table and drives his ring-clad fist into his face. Until that hand is caught midair and yanked behind him, twisted until he cries out in agony, further and further and further until there’s a sickening CRACK beneath the skin.
The man is dragged out by her men and there she stands, beautiful and terrifying, an expression of angry disgust giving way to barely-concealed concern as she steps into Sam’s light and touches his bloodied face.
“ Thanks for the save, ” he croaks, that boyish smile shining through the pain.
She scoffs.
TWO.
HE SAVES THEM FROM EACH OTHER, the first time Captain Hastings sees Captain Argent slipping out of Sam’s room. They come to blows out in the street, each staking their claim to his bed — they’ll share him with anyone ( a n y o n e ) else, but not each other — and Sam has to barge into their space before swords are drawn. One hand flat on Argent’s chest, the other stretched to keep Hastings at bay.
He is prey, standing unarmed and barely dressed between two hungry lions, but his voice alone — the stern, bold, “ Neither of you own me. Neither of you came to me out of any desire to fuck each other over. This is a pointless fucking fight, and I don’t want to see it. ” — gets them to loosen their grips on the hilts of their swords.
They will have this fight another day, no doubt. Their paranoia will convince them Sam has whispered all their secrets to the other, that the other planned for as much all along. But for tonight, the fight is quelled. Argent is sent on his way and Hastings is guided upstairs.
He has a power over them they might not have fully realised yet.
THREE.
THERE’S BARELY A WARNING WHEN THE ENGLISH INVADE — a matter of a few days’ headstart when they would need w e e k s to prepare Nassau for a battle it’d stand a chance in. Argent bursts into Sam’s room with even less warning, and greets him not with a hello but with a plan: “ I’ve secured you and the girls safe passage off the island. The boat leaves at dawn so pack your things, get the girls ready. ”
Hastings is minutes behind with a similar proposal before Sam has even had a chance to process the first. There’s a fiery tension when the captains make eye contact, hands hovering over their weapons, but they seem to reach a silent truce. There’s no time for in-fighting with war on the horizon. Not with Sam’s life at risk. Perhaps the only thing they’ve ever agreed on is their furious refusal when Sam suggests he stays to join the fight.
Before dawn, they both visit again to have him escorted to the ship. They kiss him in the shadows with only each other as witness, and they stand side-by-side on the beach — a fragile, fledgling understanding beginning to build between them — to watch Sam ferried to safety with the rising sun.
FOUR.
THE WAR FOR NASSAU’S LAND is long, bloody, and not remotely in the pirates’ favour. The first battle sees their numbers slain in half, both in men and ships, and victory feels like little more than a fantasy. But Argent is hopeful. To a fault, perhaps, but Hastings is there to reign in his more outlandish ideas, to provide the tactical realism the men need to get on board with the bold plans they have to leap into.
The latest involves taking an English ship. A feat, given their numbers, but Argent’s plan gives them the element of surprise — the initial ambush is successful, and it helps their chances, though the battle is no less brutal once it’s underway. The clashing of swords across the deck is near deafening and the scent of blood is soon thick in the air.
It’s thick underfoot, too, and it is almost Hastings’ downfall: her boot slips in a puddle and sends her flying onto her back, winded and disorientated as the soldier she’d been sparring LOOMS above her with a gleeful grin. But before she can blink, the soldier is impaled on a sword, kicked to the ground to reveal perhaps the last face she’d ever want to see save her.
“ You’re welcome, ” Argent says with a smirk, reaching out a hand to help her up.
She reaches instead for a nearby body, pulls a dagger from its abdomen and sends it whizzing past him, straight into the chest of a soldier with his pistol aimed at Argent.
Argent huffs.
“ You truly couldn’t stand to be in my debt for even a second, could you? ”
There’s a spark when their eyes meet.
FIVE.
HE’S TO BE GIVEN A FAIR TRIAL, the messenger says, but they all know that means nothing. In the wake of such a revolt, England is more desperate than ever to reclaim the narrative. The trial will last all of an hour and he’ll be executed immediately as a symbol of their strength, a message to all pirates that this is the fate that awaits them.
Sam’s knees go weak with the news. Scared eyes find Spencer’s, a fragile hoarse “ Reynold… ” getting caught in his throat with all his grief.
Her hand settles over his. She holds his gaze with such a fierce certainty that it manages to ground him, even when her words are so grand. “ We’re going to save him. They will not win today. ”
ASKED BY @ratherbewild (feat. @luridtruths ) :: “I’d like to see you try.” hunters ktj
PROMPTS!
❝ NOPE. It should be Julia. ❞ Startles still with the quick turn of the head towards her, and the kind eyes that are rounded in keen focus on her before Keyleth can utter, ❝ What? He likes you ... ❞
A beat, and Keyleth guides the plastic plate of nachos towards Tegan’s end of the table. Waits for the familiar start to the blonde stuffing her face and ending with, ❝ ... also Tee can’t scare him. We can’t afford to be on his bad side. ❞
ASKED BY @strongofheart (feat. @luridtruths) :: "i love you. you don’t have to say it back, though." mutant srs
SPIDER MAN INTO THE SPIDERVERSE
❝ — waited until our worst plan under the most heinous conditions and with the severest consequences to pull that out of your bag? ❞ It’s the first whole sentence he’s been able to work up in an hour now that his ears are no longer ringing. The blast zone still has falling debris over it and other mutants have been working for a solid hour to try and scavenge what they can — information, resources, anything. A destroyed sentinel covered by giants. Reynold smiles crookedly where his head remains in Spencer’s lap, and his hand is held fast with Sam’s. Works up a laugh at the sudden unamused look their chameleon spares him before the slip of a smile emerges, ❝ I love you too. ❞
ASKED BY @strongofheart (feat. @luridtruths): “ it’s not a dream , it’s a memory ” mutant srs CAN U TELL IM STILL FUCKED UP ABT THIS
ALICE: MADNESS RETURNS STARTERS
The dream was a kind one.
Light filtered through the dirt-stained glass ceilings of their old warehouse unit; an off-shoot space they’d made their room in this lesser know base for the revolution. Given time they had hung curtains for privacy. Kept weapons in decoy spots. In the dream, they had finished dragging salvaged mattresses in — and Spencer fell back on them with hair splayed out beneath her. The languidness that comes from overexertion — exhaustion pulling at the controlled posturing she kept all day as their group settled in. Sam had lined up next to her on the bed. He contributed ideas for plants and decorations. The sparse detailings that would make a forgotten place a home. She challenged each one — how would they water the plants, and would they have to go to Target for prope sheets?
Reynold stood at the periphery. Busied himself by stacking books onto leftover crates — taken from the offices of some production line leader; dusty, and moth eaten in parts, but detailing complex mechanical blueprints. All the way from 1988. A bit of history. Sam and Spencer broke through that little dive into the past with their questions — needing a third to break the tie between them — and he looked at them. The sight of them filled him with something new — a feeling that there would always be a tie to the present.
The hope of a future.
❝ Give me time, ❞ Reynold says from where he sits against a tree that’s apparently his favorite to read by. He peers up at them from under thick-framed glasses. His eyes a dampened blue — the curtain over everything he is still hanging over his mind. ❝ I’ll remember. I’ll bring him back to you. ❞
