#bessie was a sweetheart

[wexhappyxfew]

Hi Shannon! For the prompts “We’re a package deal” with Bessie? - @lostloveletters

hey battie ( @lostloveletters )!!!! thanks so much for the prompt - i absolutely LOVED the idea of this prompt with my girl bessie!! :) let's just say, the ideas started flowing immediately and i loved where this prompt ended up taking me, so please enjoy bessie carlisle and carrie achterberg, the two peas in a pod! enjoy!

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"Oh god, I look horrific," Carrie muttered, shifting in the bed, face slick with sweat, her eyes half-open, "don't let Dougie come in here, I can't deal with that today." Bessie chuckled quietly and leaned back in her chair arms crossed.

"You really didn't miss much, he didn't mind subbing in today on the run," Bessie said with a grin her way, "I swear to ya. And he was a real sweetheart about it, too. Made sure not to be too finicky with your stuff you've set up and such."

"Well, I appreciate you keeping an eye on things," Carrie said with a small smile, "how'd things go?" Bessie shrugged.

"Business as usual," Bessie said quietly, "loss two forts."

"Who?"

"Glassmacher and Thompson." Bessie offered and Carrie nodded.

"Any chutes?" Bessie shook her head.

"Annie chewed Douglass out a bit," Bessie offered and she watched Carrie, cuddled against the pillow, raise a brow, "he started telling some, arguably, pretty bad jokes over comms, she kinda lost it on him, told him he oughta shut his trap if they're going to fly this metal box and back." Carrie smirked from behind the pillow.

"Annie Bradshaw, the woman you are. That's karma for him," she said with a wet laugh that turned into a cough, before she cleared up. Bessie reached over and grabbed the cup of stagnant water that had been persistent at her bedside and offered it to her.

"Thanks, Bes," Carrie murmured, taking down the water and then letting out a disgruntled sigh and falling back onto the bed, "God, I'm the worst patient." Bessie let out a light laugh and leaned forward.

"Just try and get yourself better before the next mission, was missing you today, and even though Dougie and you are carbon copies of each other, there was no replacing you up there," Bessie said, "Annie called him Bergie too many times to count." Carrie chuckled.

"When do you think this shit will go away?" sighed Carrie, staring at the ceiling, "I just have lied here and stared at the roof like a French painting."

"What type of French paintings do you look at?" a new voice chimed in and the duo looked up to find James Douglass there, a smile on his face, a cup of soup in his hands and a small smile on his face, "Probably pretty fucked up ones, huh?" Bessie looked from Douglass' face to Carries and watched as Carrie slowly smiled up at him, her sickness playing a bigger role than their usual bickering and sat up a bit.

"You could say that," she offered. Douglass grinned and then came forward and sat on the edge of the bed and held out the soup.

"Figured you'd want something warm," he said, and then reached into a pocket and pulled out a spoon and napkin, "maybe it'll stay down, too."

"Thanks, Dougie," she said quietly, moving to sit up a bit more, "kept down some crackers and water. Bes tried with some juice…didn't go too well." Douglass glanced towards Bessie, where Bessie offered a sad shrug of the shoulders.

"Well," Douglass said, pulling the top off the soup, "my Ma always made sure to try out soup if anything, even just the broth. Some protein, some liquid that's more than just water. Usually always does the trick."

"Your Ma must be a tough woman," Carrie said quietly and Bessie watched as Carrie gazed at him lazily, "dealing with you and your stubbornness." Douglass grinned.

"When she brought out the fucking soup, I knew she was serious," Douglass said softly with a chuckle. They fell quiet for a minute as Douglass stirred the soup and Carrie watched.

"Alright, c'mon, open up," Douglass said, "no way in hell am I playing the choo-choo train game with you." Carrie admonished and rolled her eyes.

"I'm not 5, Dougie," she murmured, before seeming to give up and sighing, the fact she was feeling less than good, taking over.

"C'mon," Douglass said quietly, raising a brow. Slowly, he brought broth to Carrie's lips and she took it and kept it down - at least half the cup of soup - and then she curled on her side and fell promptly asleep.

Bessie sat there for a while, Douglass there on the edge of the bed, the two of them in silence as some of the nurses bustled around, some of the other patients being taken care of or moved about the place. Bessie watched Douglass reach forward and brush some of the sweat-laden hair from Carrie's cheeks and away from her eyes, before slowly standing to his feet, leaving the soup at her bedside and then shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked to Bessie with a small smile and nodded at her.

"If you need to go and get some food, Bes, I'll stay with her," Douglass said, "I don't mind. You were working overtime up there." Bessie looked up at him quickly, crossing her arms and leaned back against the chair, a wide grin spreading on her face as she watched him.

"It's alright," Bessie said, looking towards Carrie curled up in the bed, "we're a package deal. One of us goes down, the other does what they can. And staying with her is what I can do now, so."

"Two peas in a pod," Douglass said with a grin, before tilting his head and nodding, "seriously, go get yourself something. I'll stay." Bessie smirked.

"She really didn't want you in here," Bessie said, slowly standing to her feet and watching as Douglass' eyes darted towards Carrie before looking back at Bessie, "being sick and all. She's a tough nut to crack so, she just doesn't want people having to worry for her." Douglass let out a soft chuckle.

"She's part of the crew, the 100th, I don't mind bunking out with her here," Douglass said with a soft smile that he only ever used around Carrie and about Carrie," plus….it's Carrie." Bessie tilted her head with a smirk and nodded.

"Alright, Mr. Chivalrous," Bessie said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "do you need me to grab you something? Coffee?"

"Just a coffee would be great, thanks," he said, before looking back at Carrie, "maybe grab a piece of toast with butter. Solid food and all, ya know?" Bessie smiled softly, her heart warming at how attentive he was being about Carrie.

"I'll make sure to butter it up real nice," Bessie said, "if she gets up, let her know where I am." Douglass smiled and gave a two-finger salute.

"Yes, ma'am," he said and she smiled, before giving a lasting look towards Carrie and heading out, a grin on her face.

"Oh James Douglass, the romantic," she whispered with a soft chuckle.

[radiofauxshow]

Radio Faux Show Volume 2, Number 35 (September 25, 2022): The National Recording Registry Part One (Pre-1955)

Radio Faux Show Volume 2, Number 35 (September 25, 2022): The National Recording Registry Part One (Pre-1955)

This Week’s Theme: The National Recording Registry Part One (Pre-1955) This week we are taking a deep dive into the historical research aspect of the Radio Faux Show. This week’s show is best described as a collection of recordings rather than a playlist of songs because this week’s show is part one of a four-part show about the National Recording Registry. I have been planning this theme for…

[darylssunshine]

Ride a Cowboy

genre: almost smut but like technically not

non-apocalypse au

can be imagined as any era!

word count: 1.4k

summary: Daryl has fun with you on a bar date.

Glasses clinking and joyous conversation filled the air of the club while you eyed Daryl down his fourth shot of vodka, barely grimacing as it went down his throat.

“How can you do that? I've only had two shots and my mouth tastes literally disgusting right now.” You chuckled at the tolerance of your boyfriend, sipping your sweet tea to get the taste out of your mouth.

“Years of practice, sweetheart.” He retorted, leaning his elbows on the bar in front of him and flicking a piece of hair out of his eyes.

Daryl had been wanting to take you on a date for a while, and it was his choice for the location this time. So, of course, you and him had ended up at a southern style club a couple miles into town. It was very old-fashioned, with all wooden furniture and brick walls, adorned with framed photos of the owners, along with iconic landmarks of the surrounding area. The lights, however, were colorful and energetic, flashing along with the beat of the music at times. The bar area took up half of the building, while the other half housed a mechanical bull that was currently inactive.

With your attire being black skinny jeans, a band tank, and a black cowboy hat you stole from Daryl, the regulars could tell that this wasn't your scene. Juxtaposed with Daryl's rugged dark red flannel that fit his biceps just right thrown over a v-neck and blue jeans, you two were a sight to see.

You were broken out of your thoughts by a man over by the bull with a microphone, his voice loud enough to be heard over Low blaring over the speakers. You snapped your head over to his direction, your boyfriend's head moving slightly slower than yours.

“Alright, y'all! Bessie over here is finally up ‘n runnin’ and ready for a ridin'! Any of you folks wanna give ‘er a ride? Show ‘er a good time?” The man in the beige cowboy hat gave a wink and a few women sitting at surrounding tables shouted and whistled.

“Oh my God, Dar, can we? Please??” You gasped, eyes gradually lighting up as you shook his bicep, signaling your excitement.

He chuckled in response. “(Y/N). Really? Ya wanna ride the bull?”

“Yeah it'll be fun!!”

A raised eyebrow was all you got in response.

“If you do it with me, I'll pay for your tab.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled lightly. He then suddenly downed his fifth shot and placed it down on the bar harshly. “Aight. Fuck it. Le’s go.”

You immediately beamed and jumped off your barstool and basically pulled Daryl off of his, stumbling slightly from inebriation and the sudden incoordination. Daryl could only kind of keep up with the pace of your speed walking.

“Us! Us! We will!” You shouted, dodging a few groups of casually dancing club goers.

“Oh, we've got some volunteers!” A few patrons that were paying attention whooped and applauded your bravery. “Step right up!” He announced, motioning to an opening in the inflatable, cushiony material that surrounded the bull to avoid injury. “You better hold on, little lady.” the announcer said quietly to you, followed by a wink. You smiled and rolled your eyes while walking across the inflatable floor to the bull.

The bull was slightly elevated, so you were having trouble mounting it, and Daryl could tell. He let you try and struggle for a few moments before lifting you by the waist and placing you on the bull, the sudden gesture causing you to giggle and grip one of the bulls ears for balance. You felt the bull jostle and then settle, signaling that Daryl had hopped on behind you. You blushed at the feeling of his hands holding your hips.

“Y’all ready?!” The announcer shouted, talking to you and Daryl, but also everyone else in the bar, including the small crowd that surrounded the bull. You grinned and gave a thumbs up in the announcer's direction. “Alright! Hold on, you two!”

The bull then whirred to life and rose a couple inches higher than it already was. You kept both hands secured to it’s ears in front of you, thanking whatever deity that was listening that Daryl had agreed to go on with you.

Then, it began to move.

Startled, you gasped and moved your hands to the handle in front of you for more balance. You slowly got used to the up and down diagonal movement, even taking one of your hands off the handle to raise it above your head, only to return it a couple seconds on a particularly deep downward slope. Meanwhile, Daryl was calm, barely reacting to the movement at all, instead choosing to keep his hands firmly planted on your waist to ensure your security. He softly chuckled in your ear at your inexperience.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure ya don’t fall off.”

You felt your blush grow impossibly bigger. What does that mean?

He started by stealing back his hat, placing it on his head and returning his hand to your shoulder and squeezing it. His hand then snaked to your throat, engulfing it with his large fingers and making your head lean back. Your eyes widened and your breath hitched.

“Dar we’re… we’re in public.”

He bit your ear lobe in retaliation. “Ya think I care?” Your airflow was then slightly restricted, and you sighed in pleasure.

“Yeah. Ya like it, ya dirty little slut.”

He then took a hold of your hair and pulled, continuing to leave your neck exposed, and cockily put the other hand in the air. Your eyes had closed and your hands had migrated to his knees.

The patrons surrounding the bull cheered and whooped at Daryl’s action, a few women squealing.

“Everyone's gonna know who ya belong to.”

Your head was then tugged to the side and his lips were hungrily latched to your neck, sucking hard and adding a good amount of teeth so that when he pulled away, there was a decent sized purple mark left in its wake, growing deeper by the minute. You let a small moan escape your lips and Daryl huffed.

He then had an idea.

The brunette let you and the crowd calm down a bit, riding the bucking bronco how it was intended. He waited until the bull moved diagonally downward, then he strategically flung himself to the front of the bull and moved his legs on top of yours, earning another cheer from the crowd. You, on the other hand, were absolutely stunned, staring at him with your mouth agape. Your heart was going a million miles a minute, and he could tell. He loved it.

“Wha’d I say, darlin’? Years of practice.”

The sporadic thrusts of the bull now had a new intensity to them, Daryl’s bulge clearly being felt through your thin jeans. You steadied yourself by gripping Daryl’s shoulders and looking at him with half-lidded, lust-filled eyes. Daryl smirked, leaned down to your ear, and grumbled, “What’s wrong, sunshine? Thought ya was worried ‘bout bein’ in public.” He bit your cartilage for extra measure and continued to smirk down at you, proud of the needy little fuck doll his actions have created.

Daryl’s lustful gaze along with the thrusts of the bull and the cheers of the bull were all too much to handle, so you shamelessly latched your lips with his with intensity, something that he gladly returned. Both of you barely even registered the roar of the crowd while your hands were tangled in his hair and his hands firmly held your torso.

Right after Daryl had drunkenly and fervently introduced tongue into the mix and was already winning the battle of dominance, an especially quick jolt of the bull had you falling off the side. You tried to stabilize yourself by gripping Daryl’s shoulders again, but that just caused him to fall as well, ironically, right on top of you.

You both gazed at each other longingly for a few moments before finally registering your surroundings. He stood up first and held out a hand to help you stand as well. The crowd was wild, some of them waving their cowboy hats in the air in excitement. Daryl snicked. He wrapped a heavy arm around your shoulders and used his other hand to take his hat off and return it to your head. Almost like he was showing off a shiny gold trophy that he had just won for his performance.

The announcer beamed. “Holy shit! We haven’t seen that level of ridin’ in a while, literally.”

Daryl looked over at you and winked.

You and him will definitely be returning soon.

[cadmusfly]

Tag Yourself: Unabridged Shitty Drawing Marshal of the Empire Edition

Yes All 26 Of Them + Bonus 2

drawn and compiled by yours truly, initial and probably inaccurate research assisted by Chet Jean-Paul Tee, additional research from Napoleon and his Marshals by A G MacDonnell, Swords Around A Throne by John R Elting and a bunch of other books and Wikipedia pages

captions under images

mike (Michel Ney)

- full of every emotion

- always has ur back

joe (Joachim Murat)

- it's called fashion sweetheart

- will not stop flirting

lens (Jean Lannes)

- bestie who will call u out on ur shit

- does not like their photo taken

bessie (Jean-Baptiste Bessieres)

- actually nice under the ice

- was born in the wrong generation

dave (Louis-Nicolas Davout)

- overachiever

- 20 year old boomer

salt (Jean-de-Dieu Soult)

- people think ur up to no good

- doesn’t cope with sudden changes 2 plans

andrew (Andre Massena)

- actually up to no good

- sleepy until special interest is activated

bertie (Louis-Alexandre Berthier)

- carries the group project

- voted most likely to make a stalker shrine

auggie (Pierre Augereau)

- shady past full of batshit stories

- will not stop swearing in the christian minecraft server

lefrank (François Joseph Lefebvre)

- dad friend

- in my day we walked to school uphill both ways

big mac (Étienne Macdonald)

- brutally honest

- won't let you borrow their charger even if they have 100%

gill (Guillaume Brune)

- love-hate relationship with group chats

- pretends not to care, checks social media every 2 minutes

ouchie (Nicholas Oudinot)

- needs to buy bandages in bulk

- a little aggro

pony (Józef Antoni Poniatowski)

- can't swim

- tries 2 hard to fit in, everyone secretly loves them anyway

grumpy (Emmanuel de Grouchy)

- can't find them when u need them

- complains about the music, never suggests alternatives

bernie (Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte)

- always talks about their other friendship group

- most successful, nobody knows how

monty (Auguste de Marmont)

- does not save u a seat

- causes drama and then lurks in the background

monch (Bon-Adrien Jeannot de Moncey)

- last to leave the party

- dependable

morty (Édouard Mortier)

- everyone looks up 2 them literally and figuratively

- golden retriever friend

jordan (Jean-Baptiste Jourdan)

- volunteers other people for things

- has 20+ alarms but still oversleeps

kelly (François Christophe de Kellermann)

- old as balls but still got it

- waiting in the wings

gov (Laurent de Gouvion Saint-Cyr)

- infuriatingly modest about their art skills

- thinks too much before they speak

perry (Catherine-Dominique de Pérignon)

- low-key rich, only buys things on sale

- “let’s order pizza” solution to everything

sachet (Louis-Gabriel Suchet)

- dependable friend who always brings snacks

- lowkey keeps the group together

cereal (Jean-Mathieu-Philibert Sérurier)

- unnervingly methodical and precise about fun

- will delete your social media after u die

vic (Claude Victor-Perrin)

- loves spicy food but can’t handle it

- says they're fine, not actually fine

Bonus!

june (Jean Andoche Junot)

- chaotic disaster bisexual

- will kill a man 4 their bestie

the rock (Géraud Duroc)

- keeps a tidy house

- mom friend with snacks

[say-hwaet]

Here’s the next chapter for my au fanfiction:

HIGH SIERRA: A RED DEAD REDEMPTION STORY

Chapter Two: Into the Woods

On his way to work, Arthur thumbs through his contacts on his phone. Soon, he hears the dial tone and a short pause.

"Hi, son."

"Hi, Dad."

"Bessie! It's Arthur!"

Arthur hears a background noise and a soft voice that has always comforted him ever since they adopted him as a teen. "It's Arthur? Hi, sweetheart!"

Hosea’s voice softens as he talks to his wife on the other side. "I'm going to put him on speaker."

BING

Then Arthur hears his mother correct her husband. "No, Hosea, you're doing it wrong."

BING

"It looks like a microphone, Dad," Arthur interjects, hoping they can hear him.

"Oh, wait, I think I got it."

There is a scratching sound. And another pause before Hosea speaks again. "There. Arthur, can you hear me?"

"Yeah, I can hear you," he chuckles.

"Ah. Good. So how are you, son?"

"Fine. Just thought I'd update you both on Isaac."

"Oh, that poor baby. How is that boy?" Bessie's voice grows louder, Arthur pictures her leaning close to the phone and almost laughs.

"As of now, they say he's stable and that the worst part is over. He's even been back to school."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Bessie praises. "I was hoping he could finish the school year out. It being second grade and all."

Arthur smiles softly, nodding his head. "I'm glad, too. He seems to be doing fine."

"How's Eliza?"

Arthur swallows, not sure if he was ready to talk about it. Hosea was also at the party but didn't see what had happened. He didn't know why Eliza stormed off and left Arthur behind that night. Bessie stayed at home and watched her grandbaby, so she wasn't aware, either. "She's alright."

Hosea’s voice comes confidently through the phone. "Still mad at you, huh?"

"How'd you figure?"

"Well, put two and two together, and an old man with experience can figure things out."

Arthur was hoping that it wouldn’t be so obvious, but he knows there’s no point in trying to convince his father otherwise. He’s too smart for that. "Sure.”

"So, are you gonna tell us what actually happened?"

"It isn't good."

"I doubt that."

Arthur becomes expressive as he drives, flitting his fingers on the steering wheel after making a turn. "You haven't heard what it is yet, but I don't know if I should say it over the phone."

"What is it, honey?" Bessie pleads.

They remain silent. It seems that he won't be able to talk his way out of this one. The tall redwoods guard both sides of the road and the solitude in his vehicle helps him to feel freer to talk about the topic of Eliza.

"Eliza saw Mary kissing me."

"Oh gosh. Your ex-girlfriend?" Hosea asks.

"Yeah."

"Oh, Arthur, why did you go on and do that?" Bessie wis not happy to hear it but sounds more sad than angry. Truth be told, she really likes Eliza, and she vividly remembers that day when Arthur came over, so young, sad, and upset when Mary told him she would never marry him. All those plans shattered.

So when Eliza came into the picture, and after seeing her grand baby for the first time at the hospital, she was rooting for them to be a family. But of course, she kept most of this to herself. Mary was a nice girl, all things considered, but she was not a perfect match for her son.

Arthur grimaces, but not from the sunlight as it flashes in his eyes. He lowers the visor and blinks. "I didn't kiss her back, but it didn't look good. I...I didn't stop her."

"Do you wish you had?"

"Yes, Dad, but I don't know how I feel about all this. I'm confused."

Hosea clicks his tongue. "Well, you need to figure out what it is that you want."

"That's what Eliza said."

"Smart girl." It was clear who Hosea preferred. "Take some time away from both of them and see who you miss. Think about who really matters."

"I can't just not spend time with Isaac."

"No, of course not, so just...pick him up."

Arthur sighs, that is an option. "Okay."

"It'll be alright, honey," Bessie's comforting tone makes Arthur smile. "It's better to be honest with yourself."

"You're right."

Arthur makes a final turn on a road and approaches the employee side of the district office. Showing his badge to an officer at security, he is waved on through. "Look, I gotta go. I am at the office."

"Alright, son. The next time you have Isaac, bring him on by, would you?"

"I sure will. Eliza wanted me to tell you both hello, by the way."

"I knew I liked her."

Arthur grits his teeth. "Not helping, Dad."

"Sorry. Bye, son."

"Bye, Dad. Bye, Mom."

"Love you!" she sings and he hangs up.

He parks in his reserved spot at the Department of Fish and Wildlife, which he and the other wardens claim as their base. He looks at the time, and sees he is only five minutes late, and is sure that his superiors will forgive him.

He steps out of the vehicle and locks it, then makes his way inside.

He is greeted by the summer student at the front desk, Mary-Beth, who just recently came back to help their clerk for the summer. “Hiya, Arthur!"

"Well, Mary-Beth, it's about time you came back!" Arthur stops on his way in and leans on the counter. He rests his right arm on its surface and tucks his left hand in his pocket.

Mary Beth chuckles playfully. "And you're lucky I did. I have a lot of planning to do."

"And why's that?"

She beams, holding out her hand. On her ring finger, is a simple silver band with a solitary diamond.

Arthur’s mouth goes agape and he looks closely at the ring with a happy interest. "Why, congratulations!"

She brings back her hand to tuck hair behind her ear bashfully. "When I graduate next year, we will be going to Ireland for our honeymoon, that is where my fiancé is from. Well, kinda."

"Okay, so who is the lucky feller?"

"His name is Kieran Duffy. We met in my first year in college."

"Is he going into journalism too, then?"

She shakes her head and goes to a stack of papers to go through. "Oh no. He actually works as a groundskeeper. He has quite a career at keeping the university clean and beautiful, inside and out. Plus, he works with troubled kids over the summer and teaches them fishing, so I will get to see him when I help at the park sometimes. He rather enjoys it."

Arthur steps away from the counter, his eyes softening. He’s glad that at least someone is having a successful relationship. It seems that he always finds a way to mess his up. "Well, I am happy for you."

"Thanks, Arthur."

He waves as he walks on, heading into the conference room where there is usually a morning briefing and assignments.

Other than the tension in his personal life, everything else has been going well. Having been a game warden for almost ten years, he has worked hard and diligently up the ranks. Reaching the level of Corporal, he hopes to be able to work with the Special Operations Unit, if he can only prove himself.

Though he does not worry about being late this time, he knows he doesn't want to risk it again, lest the captain finds him unloyal and uncommitted to the tasks that the SOU would require of him.

He sees that the meeting has not started yet, and sighs a breath of relief. He finds a seat next to his friend Charles, who has only been with the department for a few months. He’s young, built like a bison, and speaks with a calm and thoughtful air. He has been helping Arthur implement a full-fledged K-9 program in the department, and Charles has shown great promise in his field. And above all, Arthur trusts him, which speaks volumes.

"Hey, Charles."

Charles nods, his voice soft and calm. "Morning, Arthur.”

Arthur pulls out the chair next to his companion and takes a quick look around. “Captain Monroe here, yet?"

Charles shakes his head, smiling. "Nope. You're lucky."

"Am I?" Arthur laughs as he sits down. He lurches forward and the chair makes a warbled screech on the tiled floor.

Charles returns to face forward and rests his arms on the table in front of him. "I wouldn't want to get on his bad side."

"Sure, If he has one,” Arthur snorts.

"The nice ones usually do, when you least expect it."

Arthur can see his point, but decides to humor him. "I'll take your word for it." As their conversation settles, he looks over on Charles's left and sees Copper, his Chesapeake Bay Retriever, lying down. He pats Charles’s shoulder, and gestures to the canine. "Hey, thanks for taking him home for a few days."

Charles nods. "No problem, Arthur. If he and I are going to be working together, we might as well get used to one another, right?"

"Sure." Arthur was grateful to Charles for taking him for a few days. Even though Copper belonged to Arthur, ever since he was a pup, he needed to be able to not worry about him while he figured things out. Charles could see it anyway, the change in Arthur's demeanor, without even knowing about the incident at the party, but didn't think it was his place to ask. So, when Arthur suggested Charles take Copper for a couple of days, he gladly agreed. "Since we have this K-9 unit starting up, you will be getting a dog soon, I think."

"I was wondering about that. I overheard Captain Monroe asking someone about it yesterday."

"Well, good."

Before anything else could be said, Captain Monroe enters the room.

"Good morning," he formally greets. All in attendance make sure to rise in respect. He waves them down and they sit. "Just to make you all aware, although some of you may already be, school ends in three weeks, which means we will have more people active in parks, forests, and wild reserves." Captain Monroe fingers through some papers after setting them down on the table.

Finding one, he takes it and glances over it. He continues, "If you recall last year, we had some teenage arsonists who thought it amusing to start some wildfires, so be diligent in your patrols if you see unoccupied vehicles near dry grass and on the outskirts of our National parks. We also have a rising issue of drug trafficking this year. With that being said, Corporal Morgan and Warden Smith, you will be taking your K-9 unit and patrolling the northwestern region of our district. Try to avoid detection on the roads, and enter through the northern part of the woods."

"Understood," answers Charles.

"And before you ask, Morgan, the unit will be getting a new K-9 Monday, so Smith, it will be assigned to you. Sounds good, gentlemen?"

"Yes, sir," they answer in unison. Arthur turns to see a small smile on Charles's face.

"Very good. Let's continue with the remaining assignments."

Captain Monroe begins to go through each group and unit, reiterating the cautionary tales and places to keep an eye on. Arthur and Charles listen, though they don't need to. Arthur was only responsible for his unit and was to check in on other wardens as needed. He loved the freedom to be outdoors while also manning a gun and taking his dog along. To him, it has been the perfect job.

But knowing that some don't feel that way has bothered him in the past. He didn't appreciate the doubt that some had in his career choice.

Hosea and Bessie always told him he was intelligent and could have been a doctor or pursued a career in the exploratory sciences. But he preferred to help his folks work their ranch raising horses and hold riding classes. So, when he decided to go to college, it came as a surprise, as they were unsure of what he would pursue. But when they found out the reason why he even decided to go to college, they vocalized their concerns that his relationship with Mary wasn't healthy at the time. Arthur was convinced that being college educated would earn her parents' approval and they could get married, despite Hosea's assurances that it wouldn't. He didn't listen, had his heart broken, and they were certain that he would quit college, despite being close to graduation.

But he stuck with it. Earning two degrees in Biology and Conservation Law, it wasn't long before they were sitting in an auditorium watching him receive his badge after excelling in the Warden Academy.

Captain Monroe dismisses everyone and leaves the room. Charles and Arthur stand up, alerting Copper. Copper rises and comes to Arthur, tail furiously wagging.

"Hey, boy!" Arthur greets, patting his dog on the head. "Did ya miss me?"

"Do you wanna drive?" Charles asks, pushing his chair in.

"Naw, I see the look on your face. You take the reins for today. You oughta learn the routes, anyway."

"I know where we're going."

Arthur raises his hands in a playfully defensive gesture, smiling.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

Charles chortles and Arthur takes Copper's leash.

"Let's go."

***

After being on the road for a few minutes, a silence fell in the cab of the department truck. Arthur takes out a small leather sketchbook he uses as a journal and starts to write some thoughts down. He writes about this morning and the confusion he feels and hopes to figure things out. After writing, he looks out the window at the scenery and begins to sketch it.

"I didn't know you drew, Arthur."

Arthur turns and sees Charles glance his way before turning back to look at the road. "Oh. Yeah, I've been doing it since I was a boy. Not really good at it, it's just a hobby. It has been a while though, so I thought I'd get back into it."

"Oh really? I am into woodworking myself. I make bows."

Arthur lifts his chin, interested. "Really? Who taught you?"

"My mom. When we lived out at the reservation, it was important to keep our history alive. Making a hunter's bow was an honorary task. She also does some featherwork."

"So you're Native American? I thought that you're..."

"My father is black and my mother's Native American."

Arthur feels embarrassed, worried that he has offended him. "Oh. I hope I didn't offend you by..."

Charles lifts his hand in a passive gesture, putting Arthur at ease. "No, it's okay. I know you didn't mean anything by it. Most people are fine, but that doesn't mean everyone is. Even amongst my people, there were some."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

A small silence falls between them, the scenery changing slightly as they head more north. After another moment, Arthur clears his throat. "When did you move off the reservation, then?"

"I was almost eighteen. I guess my father wanted a different life for us. It was hard for my mom, but we adjusted eventually. I still go out to visit my family that's still there. I wish things could have been different for them."

Arthur doesn’t know if he should say anymore. There isn’t much to say. He looks to the back of the cab into the bed of the truck and sees Copper's head sticking up in his secured crate. He smiles. Turning back around he opens the page in his journal and begins to sketch a mountainous landscape.

***

Finally approaching the woods from the northern side, they pull off under some trees to hide the truck. They both jump out and Arthur immediately goes to the bed of the truck to let Copper out, who begins to whine quietly. He knows he is about to start working and it excites him every time. Arthur grins. "Just hang in there, boy. You'll be out soon enough."

Charles grabs their packs and pulls out a pump action rifle. Though they prefer to avoid shooting anything, there was always a chance to encounter something dangerous in the woods.

Arthur leaps into the bed and lets Copper out, who bypasses him, and jumps down onto the ground, sniffing eagerly. Leaping over the side, Arthur meets Charles and takes his pack from him. "Thanks, Charles.”

"Sure, Arthur.” Charles rests his hands on his hips and regards the forest before them, taking a deep breath of the pine-scented air. “Where do you want to start?"

Considering their options, Arthur points east. "Let's check out the spots where folks tend to camp. We might pick something up there. If Copper gets anything, we will follow him then."

"Of course."

Locking up the truck, they begin to trek in the woods, heading to a secluded spot where people tend to camp at. The woods are thick and the fresh air circulates through the leaves, causing a rustling sound. Looking up through the trees into the sky, Arthur regards the clouds and wonders if it might rain. He pulls out his GPS and looks at their location. The campsite is a mile into the woods.

"Arthur, look."

Arthur immediately stops and looks to Charles, who points into the trees. Following the line of sight, Arthur spots it: a young buck, gently eating at a small bush. Arthur looks at Copper, who remains still and does not bark.

"Good dog," Arthur whispers.

They remain still for a moment and wait for the deer to trot gracefully in between some aspens.

"Let's hope he lives a long life.”

Arthur replies with conviction and solemnity. "That's what we are here for, Charles. Let's keep going."

They move onward. As they continue, the light penetrates through the trees less and less. Arthur takes note of the health of the trees, indicating the dryness of the foliage in his Game Warden's logbook.

"Hopefully it will rain soon. It isn't good how early in the summer it is to have it dry like this."

"Yeah," Charles agrees.

It has been almost twenty minutes, and they approach the campsite. Pushing away at some low branches, Copper runs ahead and sniffs the site. Arthur holds back the branches for Charles who nods in thanks and they walk around the space. Charles immediately goes to the fireplace and checks the coals.

"Still warm. There is still a glow. So irresponsible."

Arthur regards the trash. Thankfully, it was all in a bag, but it was still left behind.

"Do you think they could still be around?" Charles asks.

"I don't think so. There's no tent."

"Maybe they're day hikers."

"Could be." Arthur notices a bunch of sunflower seed shells strewn all over the ground. "Don't people know they can burn half of the trash they bring in?"

"I guess not. Look at the sky." They both look up and see an opening in the trees. A line of smoke shoots straight up. Fire.

"The other camp?"

"Let's go, Arthur."

Arthur kicks dirt on the coals, stifling any that desire to burn. "Okay. Let's remember to come back and pick up the trash later."

"Sure thing."

Arthur whistles sharply. "Copper, heel!"

Copper comes quickly to Arthur's side and they move on to another common campsite.

"Who normally camps out here?" Charles grunts as he ducks under a tree.

"Teenagers and young adults who want to be alone," Arthur answers matter-of-factly. Copper leaves Arthur's side and trots ahead, keeping his head low to the ground.

"I can imagine," Charles scoffs, disgusted.

"C'mon. Don't tell me you never had a wild streak?" Arthur laughs, remembering the days when he would sneak out to meet Mary at the diner in town during its late hours. They'd share a milkshake and a few sweet nothings, and he'd come back home before Hosea and Bessie would even notice he was ever gone. Sure, he'd be exhausted in the morning, but it was typical for high school sweethearts to do things like that.

"Nope.”

Arthur’s smile falls, but after thinking about it, it doesn’t really surprise him. "Oh."

"I am guessing you did?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I condone trashing up a camp and leaving an unattended fire."

"Sure," Charles laughs.

Suddenly, Copper stops ahead of them and lifts his head. He sniffs the air and signals that he has found something of interest. Charles and Arthur stop laughing and watch. "Find, boy," Arthur commands, and Copper takes off.

Right in the direction of the camp.

"Something's not right," Charles says thoughtfully.

Arthur can’t help but agree. "Let's go see."

They walk briskly through the woods, carefully watching their steps, and see Copper sniffing at something large on the ground. It takes a moment to realize what it is.

It is a partially charred body.

Let me know if you want the next chapter! 😊

@photo1030

[highrollersrolls]

Opinions on ALL of the cog managers and i guess the higher ups

(this is gonna be long folks so just sit tight with it) *was given the list of literally everyone by the creator of this account* lets starteth off with skelecogs i suppose.. ...factory foreman, eh they cool since they with the VP and everythineth Mint supervisors are a bit...strict... Head attorney, their silly i like themeth :D Club president...i'd honestly care less about em..sorryeth hmm.. William Boar is uh...ok i suppose...he's hard on the outside and soft in the insideth

Alton is also silly me like em a loteth :D he's a sweetheart if you aint a toon..

Winston is also silly, i try to take care of em since he needs that love and comforteth and he's a bit like me neutral with toonseth

Tawney is just very sleep so i dont know much about em..

Spruce however is how i know about chip!..he's a cool guy as well always teaching me about the wild lifeth

Flint is..hot NOT IN THAT WAY but liketh he's literally fire..i also cant be around em much since my feathers are flammable...but he's alright i guess..again i dont know much about someth managers so bare with me

Belle, is a sweetheart if i had parents i would visit her a lot shes so niceth makes my tail wag honestly ^^

Ben...the british, im honestly fine with em he makes some good tea in my opinioneth

Holly, i dont really know about so i dont really have anything to say about her..

Mary, is very sweet yet protective i can tell she careseth about the cogs and her boardbot employees

(we aint gonna talk about buck because its gonna be VERY confusing to yall about my HR headcanon lol, unless ya really wanna know then ya know what to do)

(same goes to dave)

Brian...oh dont even start...i fucketh hate him..yea he knows a lot about stuff but...he's strict and egotistic and i honestly want flint to light him on fireth...wait thats a good idea..thats going into my show idea book!

Misty, honestly i love her..platonically she's so sensitive but she's such a sweetheart i feel bad for what happened with her..and now she probably has some built up trauma...with her and bessie..

Prester, honestly i like em, just because of how he takes his job seriously, THAT AND HE KICKS ASSETH!! LIKE COME ON MAN HE'S COOL!!

Cathal..i dont really know about much besides that he's the VP's soneth

Cosmo..again i dont really know about em and his satellite investors..i just know he's short like the chairman..very..very....puntable...

Ch-chip..eheh..um..i-i like em...only a little YEA JUST A LITTLE!! hehe..dear god im having difficulties explaining why...you know what lets just skip my opinions on chip...

Graham, i also dont really know much about i just know that flint is with graham and graham is also egotisticeth...so lets just assume i also hateth him..

now the..i suppose "scary" teameth... *clears throat*

Mundle..scary honestly, not much a fan of gators..dont know much about em nor do i want too..

Courtney..im sorry but who the fucketh names a cog courtney...its like naming a newborn toon Karen...or Caroline..like what the fucketh?? i know sometimes i dont fucketh with the law but..why? just why?...anyways i dont have opinions on her much

Barry, just reminds me if he was the principle in the school house, but other than that no opinionseth on em

Kilo, honesty i know he's a grown goat but he acts like a brat and or a bully and i dont really like em, in other words...he can go fucketh himself...

now before we get into the 'higher ups' as yall sayeth im gonna put my opinions on the other 2 contractors..

Count Erclaim..eh i dont really get a long with vampires..same with his brother..Count Erfit, as much as they are buff and swole, i dont really give two flying fuckseth about them two honestly i just see them more as competition and enemys..them 2 can also die in a ditcheth for all i care..

i know the rest of these contractors are no more..unfortunately..i still wanna talk about em..whether they went somewhere or they got scrapped by cogs inc and turned intoeth something else...

Redd H. Wing i really do miss, he was a great friend of mine..until they disappeared...god i miss them..i wish he was here again..

Sads i dont really know what they were referencing from but.. all he ever did was make constant puns and it was annoying..i can only handle a few jokes and puns but not it being constant..

the Witness Stand-in was also a cool guy its unfortunate that he's scrapped though and made into probably someone else..he was a cool skelecog to hang out with at the bar..its sadeth that he's gone now...

Clerk i didnt really know much about so no opinion on em

ah yes..both of the directors of public relations and land acquisition, i mean technically their still here their just managers and not contractors anymoreth so i still get to hang out with em even if their just managers

now for what all of you have been waiting for..my opinioneth on the 'higher ups'!!

Allan is a cool guy, i know he takes pride in his work but other than that he's a chilleth guy i like em he's just like..he makes the sellbots have it easy ya know and i like that..i'd rather see cogs enjoy their work than seeing them stressed and suffer during their work ya know?

Chris is uh..a greedy son of a bitcheth the truth had to be said sorry, but ya are a greedy son of a bitch, Chris..however he is the one that manages the money sooo, he's a greedy son of a bitcheth but he's useful..so i'll deal with it i suppose..

..Diane..me and Diane do not mix well..now i try not to fucketh with the law but...she's strict as hell..i dont really vibe with her..now if i were to go to court i would win, if i were to go to jail i would escapeth...im not saying jack on how thougheth...

Craig can go suck a dicketh in my opinion he's a straight on bitch, i dont give a shit if HES FUCKING "USEFUL" OR NOT HE CAN GO DIE FOR ALL I CARE GOD I FUCKING HATE HIM!!..sorry anger got to me..

now the best for last..

Robert Cyger..i also hate him a fucketh ton but he is very puntable and that is the only thingeth i like about em is that he is short and very easy to kick, like a football if you willeth

that was a lot..now excuse me im gonna go drink something so my throat can heal..from all me talkin..

[emoprincey]

What's in the box?

Author’s note: Hello hello, I wrote a silly little thing based on the incorrect quotes video XD

Relationships: Romantic logicality

Patton was up to something. Logan could tell - of course he could, they’d been married for six years, he knew all of Patton's tells.

When he'd laid all of their mugs out on the lawn, he'd been suspiciously quiet all day, only humming the Flintstones theme every so often until he came into the kitchen and said, "it's a little muggy out today."

So, when Patton came through the front door whistling nonchalantly, Logan knew something was going on.

Patton had been home from work a little late, with only a cryptic text about going to help out one of his colleagues as explanation. Logan had decided to pass the time reading a book on the sofa.

"Did you have a good day, dear?" He greeted when he heard the door open.

"Mm-hm!" Patton called from the entryway.

Another tell. It was rare that Patton didn't immediately rush to greet Logan when he came in from work, dying to tell him all about his day.

Logan carefully marked his place in his book and put it on the coffee table, then went to investigate.

Patton was in the entryway, his shoes still on, holding an absurdly large cardboard box.

Before Logan could speak, Patton gave him a bright, if slightly guilty smile. "You remember Marlene from my work, right?" Patton said.

Logan thought for a moment. "The woman from the Christmas party with the orange blazer and that obnoxious One Direction song as her ringtone? Yes, I remember her vividly."

"Well, her dog just had puppies!" Patton exclaimed. "They weren’t expecting it at all, Bessie didn't even show any signs of pregnancy, but a couple of weeks ago she had a litter of six! Marlene and her parents don't have space for six more dogs in their house so the puppies needed somewhere to go, and-"

"Patton," Logan interrupted warily, already sensing where this conversation was going. "What's in the box?"

Patton's smile faltered, looking a more like a grimace. The kind of grimace he gave when he'd just been caught.

Logan took a step forward. "What's in the box, Patton?"

"I think you know," Patton mumbled, holding it out to him.

Logan peered into the box, and inside were six adorable golden labrador puppies, all curled up together. If anyone asked later, Logan would tell them that his heart absolutely did not melt in that moment.

"Well, I... suppose you can't really go back on it, now that you said you'd take them," Logan said. "How much did they cost?"

"Oh, nothing," Patton said. "Marlene just wanted them to go to a good home. She also gave me a bag of their food and leant me one of Bessie's old beds for them to use tonight."

"Right, well, we'll have to go shopping and get some more things for them first thing tomorrow," Logan said. "Let's see, they'll need a bowl each, plenty of toys, some proper beds, and- what?"

He noticed Patton was staring at him, a fond and look in his eyes.

"Nothing," Patton replied, shaking his head. "I'm just happy that you're happy, sweetheart."

[wexhappyxfew]

I’d love a lil something for Vivian and #39 off the touch prompts list if it sparks your brain!!

OMG HEYYYYY!!!! thank you so much for this - and for letting me explore viv a bit more!!! her character was fun to come up with and i haven't really been able to dig deep into her thoughts and character yet and this gave me the PERFECT opportunity, so thank you so so much!!! i feel writing for me has been angsty recently and that's the direction we seemed to take with this here lol! BUT, we get a bit of ev blakely, whom i have been eyeing as of late for some writing and he plays the perfect part in comfort. it's been a few weeks where i had the first half of this in writing and couldn't figure out where i wanted to go with the second half - and HERE WE ARE!!! please enjoy!!!

ease the pain

(a/n): a lil look into vivian ratcliff and her emotions for long-time boyfriend james pennington across a war-torn sea. we get a bit of comfort in the form of ev blakely. prompt is: leaning into the other's side, which i absolutely LOVED and think worked really nicely here! viv, you deserve the most sweetheart, please accept the comfort blakely is trying to give you <3333 and enjoy your mashed potatoes too girl!!!

Vivian ran her fingers along the side of Silver Bullets, her calloused hands running over every bolt ever pumped into the sides of the B-17, careening over paint and brandished edges of metal that had been knocked back in place, mission after mission.

There was something comforting about the B-17, a maternal force none of them had out here, that carried them from mission to mission, always present. Always there.

Vivian stepped back and let her hands fall to her sides, hanging empty and broken. All the girls were back at barracks, Interrogation the shit show it normally was, cleaning up and readying for a night to forget. She was here. Staring at the B-17 in silence.

"Sergeant Ratcliff," Vivian turned quickly, glancing over her shoulder, and found Ev Blakely coming her way, removing his peak cap and smoothing a hand over his head, "some of the girls were beginning to wonder where you wandered off to." Vivian stared at him, as he came closer and then looked back at Silver Bullets, her eyes wandering up to the silver pant along the name on the nose and then sighed.

"Just came to take a look at her," Vivian said quickly, patting the side of the metal for a moment, before turning to him and crossing her arms, "needed a minute." He came to a slow stop in front of her, crossing his own arms and raising a brow slightly as he tilted his head. He nodded to her.

"You okay?"

Vivian had been a waist gunner for Ev Blakely back in their training days for a few months, before Captain Faulkner had started gathering a crew and requesting people, and she was transferred. But, she'd grown to enjoy his company and his thoughts, as well as what he had to say to his crew. She also enjoyed the fact that when she was spiraling, he was always there for her, even if he never cared to admit it himself.

"Fine," she said with a nod, shaking her head, before considering the look on his face, "what, what's that look for?" Blakely smiled at her and then glanced up at Silver Bullets, his face softening in the light before looking back at her.

"You were looking sentimental, wanted to make sure you were doing okay." he said, and then his face grew serious, "You heard from James?" Vivian grew quiet at his words and then glanced towards his eyes again.

"Not in a few weeks." she said softly, and then nodded, "It's fine though, he's fine. It's fine."

James Pennington had not written back in almost three weeks and nearly everyone seemed to know; even the men, who usually didn't get involved in any sort of discussion of lovers outside the realm of East Anglia.

But they all knew about Viv's Jimmy Pennington and Bessie's Tommy McKenzie.

Blakely watched her, and she knew, she knew from that look he was giving her that he didn't believe her for one second, but she swallowed that thought down.

"I survived another mission, I can't complain," she said quietly with a nod, "Jimmy'll get back to me when he does. He's fighting a whole other war across an ocean and a continent. I just….have to get out of my head. Gotta be grateful, too." Blakely continued to watch her as she spoke and she was sure she sounded half like a lunatic but she didn't care.

When Vivian had been sick as a dog a few weeks back, Blakely hung around at night and talked to her as best as he could through her coughing and vomiting. He'd seen her sweaty and half-dead after missions, distraught and in tears, drunk that one time off her ass when she couldn't deal with this stupid thing called war, bringing her to barracks and helping her settle in bed. Sometimes, she looked at him and swore in is eyes there was something there neither wanted to discuss, but she ignored it and took his friendship head-on more than anything.

"I'm fine, seriously," Vivian said, with a nod, convincing herself alongside Blakely, "everything's fine." She stared at him, "What?" Blakely smiled slightly and nodded.

"Let's get you some dinner, step away from Silver Bullets for a bit, she'll be here when you get back," he said softly and she felt the tension from her shoulders release a bit as he turned and wrapped an arm over her shoulder, "c'mon, there's barely a soul even in there. Plus, you need some food in your stomach before we even oughta consider drinks."

Vivian walked beside him slowly, a small laugh escaping from her lips as she leaned into his side a bit more as they walked, for once, trying to grasp onto something to stabilize herself more than anything. Because out here, when the mission was all said and done and you were alone with your thoughts and feelings, there was no one but yourself.

"What if he doesn't write back, Ev?" Vivian whispered quietly as his hand squeezed gently on her bicep, narrowly avoiding where part of her jacket had been burned from a bullet graze, "What if-"

"He's going to write back." Blakely said, stopping her spiral and glancing down at her as they continued moving forward, "You've told me in length about Jimmy and his writing and how he keeps up with it all. For you. He's going to write you back. It may be a war on, but guys don't forget that sorta stuff." Vivian swallowed the emotion in her throat and nodded against him.

"Ev?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." Vivian said quietly, reaching up to wipe at her eyes which hard turned misty just at the thought of Jimmy somewhere out there in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with the Navy, on a submarine or aircraft carrier or wherever he was that he couldn't reveal.

She thought of his kind smile, those deep, brown eyes, his hugs, his touch. The last time they'd seen each other, and she'd held onto him for as long as possible before he'd had to go. How deeply and longingly he'd kissed her, whispering that he'd see her again and they'd be back on her daddy's ranch in no time. And she had believed him.

Now, with no letter, and no sign of life, she was spiraling.

They entered into the mess hall and found some of the cooks cleaning up, wiping down tables and turning up chairs. But, upon entering, Blakely let out a whistle and some of the cooks glanced over.

"You guys still serving?"

"Yes, sir." one of the cooks said, looking to Vivian, who stood quietly by his side, staring off at nothing in particular, "Two plates? I'll bring them over."

"Thank you." Blakely said as he led Vivian over to a table in the corner, pulling out a chair and helping her to settle into the wooden seat before sitting across from her. She sat there quietly for a moment, her body closed in on itself as she stared at the placemat in front of her, her mind spinning, her eyes struggling not to fill with tears.

"Hey, Viv," Blakely said, leaning forward and reaching across the table to put a hand on her shoulder, "you can talk to me, you know that? It wasn't long ago you were my left gunner and a part of my crew, remember that?" Vivian looked at him and nodded, sniffling briefly before leaning against the table, covering her mouth with her hands in an attempt to hold in her want to sob.

"I feel like I lost him, Ev," Vivian whispered quietly, her voice breaking as a tear snuck out her eye and trailed down her cheek, before she tried to gather herself together in some sense, "it's not like him. Not to write. I…." She shut her eyes and shook her head.

"It's stupid to even talk like that. When he…he could be alive, just….." Vivian shook her head, "I don't know this time." Blakely watched her with that familiar, calming presence that she had grown used to. He always had that extra care of keeping an eye out for her at the flying club or when they were at interrogation or even just around base at breakfast. He was always there, always a comfort. And right now, the only thing keeping her afloat.

"Here you are, sir," the cook said, coming over with their meal of turkey and mashed potatoes, with green beans, another cook behind him with coffee and water, placing down the plates, as Blakely leaned back and Vivian ran her hands down her face, "ma'am." The cooks nodded, with thanks and then disappeared as Vivian's stomach rumbled looking at the plate. But her heart ached and her head pounded and the tears in her vision hurt.

"There's nothing to ease that sort of thought and pain, Viv," Blakely whispered quietly, "but you can only do what you can for now. And taking care of yourself and eating are things that are possible. That's something you can do now." Vivian watched him as she wiped at her cheeks, and nodded.

Staring at the meal, she thought of that first date with James, back in Fort Collins, Colorado - out to Stewart's down the road, hot turkey, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, peas and carrots. Shakily, she lifted a forkful of turkey to her lips and ate it, before leaning back against the chair and biting back her bottom lip. She looked towards Blakely who was a mix of eating and worriedly watching her.

And in a split second of time, he was standing and coming around the table and pulling her into his arms, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Just for a moment, to be held while she felt like her world was coming undone, was the only thing to ease the pain in her mind and heart.

[fischerfrey]

oc x oc connections masterpost

an open oc x oc interaction post with all of my characters looking for different relationship dynamics!

this post will be updated with all new additions and when one of the ocs featured becomes unavailable!

preference for mutuals and matching story lines!

if you're interested in any of these ocs, please feel free to message me via dms, asks, or comment on/reblog this post directly!

current available ocs: 15

looking for a love interest: 6

victorian era;

alphonse edevane (intro post)

professor of ancient runes

wealthy background

half-blood

ravenclaw

researcher, explorer

bisexual

starts teaching at around 30 years old

studious, socially awkward, prefers books to people, sweetheart

open for;

love interest (of any gender)

friends

colleagues

harlan rowle (intro post)

born 1874/75?? (depending on the timeline)

slytherin

pureblood

bisexual

a little bitch (derogatory)

a slut (affectionate)

he doesn't really have a set story line yet but maybe some relationship dynamics would help me develop him!

love interest: winona rosewood by @usernoneexistent

open for:

friends

dorm mates

rivals/enemies

ww1 era;

klara belikova (profile)

born 1892

sagittarius

istj

lesbian

pureblood

durmstrang

closed off emotionally, kind of rude, tries to be a better person

open for:

love interest

friendships after school (since in school she's a huge bitch and only hangs out with lexi, kat, and fiete)

rivals/enemies (especially during school)

sydney barlow (profile)

born 1892

aquarius

esfp

slytherin

a little bitch *affectionate*

funny lil guy

love interest: alexej kavinsky by @potionboy3

open for:

friends

dorm-mates

rivals and enemies

leda gaunt (profile)

born 1893

leo

slytherin

isfp

she's the most decent person out of her family

voldemort is her first cousin once removed lol

love interest: lunas avery by @cursed-herbalist

open for:

friends

school acquaintances

dorm-mates

riddle era;

charlotte quinn

born 1924 (ish)

pureblood

slytherin

prefect and head girl

older sister of stephen, aunt of bessie and camron, great grandmother of baby

bisexual (not actively aware of this)

star pupil, compassionate, sheltered childhood

open for:

love interest (of any gender, with the disclaimer that she'll have at least one child at some point)

friends

school rivals

stephen quinn sr.

born 1926 or 1927

classmates with tom riddle

slytherin

pureblood

is among tom's closest circle of friends but doesn't become a death eater later on

regrets his actions as an adult

smart, ambitious, gravitates towards charismatic leaders to get closer to power and influence

love interest: gwendoline quinn, née greengrass

open for:

friends (especially others who are pals with dear old tom)

dorm-mates

rivals

frederica "freddy" of alderly

born sometime in the early 1930s (ish)

firstborn child of edward of alderly and jocelyn somerset

gryffindor (only sibling with magic)

half-blood

bisexual

has a wicked sense of humour and shirks her duties like her dad

oldest of four children but is more often than not doing her own thing and letting her younger brother edwin take on the role of the oldest sibling

open for:

love interest (of any gender)

friends

marauders' era;

brandon "bran" vespertine (intro post)

born 1966

samara's brother

slytherin

half-blood

gay

a mess

tw: substance abuse (this guy is his own trigger warning truly)

love interest: tba

open for:

friends

hpma;

olympia alderly

born 1998

muggleborn (with wizarding roots in her family tree)

beauxbatons

princess<3<3

quincey's sister

laid back, just wants to live her life in peace (that's why wanted to go to beauxbatons for her schooling)

love interest: gaia alden by @cursed-herbalist

open for:

friends

classmates from beauxbatons

anora brindlemore (intro post)

born 1958

ravenclaw

bisexual

professor of defence against dark arts

based on hpma's mysterious dada professor

a mysterious past, several brushes with dark forces

a demanding teacher but ultimately cares deeply about teaching future generations to be able to defend themselves

has two children; bloom, born in 1995, and twyla, born in 1999

bloom's father was a decent guy but he's dead, twyla's father is a dick and not around

trust issues

her children are her priority

love interest: cairo aguilar by @cursebreakerfarrier

open for;

colleagues

friends

bloom brindlemore (anora's intro post, lol)

born in 1995

slytherin

pureblood

son of anora brindlemore, professor of dada

half-brother of twyla

quidditch player, jock supreme

gay

mummy issues

identity crisis 24/7

not in touch with his emotions

love interest: tba

open for:

friends

dorm-mates

rivals

next gen;

apollyon "polly" byrn

born around 1993

vampire

slytherin

brother of ella

gay

kind of evil

assassin

be gay do crime

love interest: idris potter by @potionboy3

open for:

enemies😈

imogen everlane (intro post)

born 2005

ravenclaw

half-blood

bisexual

musician

aloof, eccentric

she's probably not very well-adjusted ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

open for:

love interest (of any gender)

friends

dorm-mates

rivals

misc;

aada aarnintytär (intro post)

born in the 1600s, immortal

bisexual

half-blood

avid user of blood magic and other sort of shady magicks

"do not cite the deep magic to me bitch, i was there when it was written"

finnish but has lived in soooo many countries during the centuries

sister of loviisa and aino

former carefree social butterfly turned vigilante to avenge the death of her younger sister during the witch trials

*vigilante shit by tswift playing in the background*

open for:

love interest (of any gender) for any time period since the 1600s but preferably for modern times

friends

enemies

[quill-pen]

Like George

Finally got this done! Now can focus on other things that need to be done. Thanks again to @rom-e-o for the inspiration.

I way overwrote on this. I need help.

Pairings: Assorted

Rating: Rated T--minors welcome

Warnings: Feelings of all kinds and sorts, the Asshat is here--he's disgusting and terrifying, depression, lack of self-confidence and self-esteem issues, sappiness and tooth-decaying sweetness at the end, some innuendo

Summary: A comparison of the significant men in Bess' life to the first man who ever held her heart, as well as her life around them all.

Theme: Assorted

Rural Ohio--Cincinnati 10 miles--August 1829;

"Figured I'd find you here."

Bess Sullivan looked down from her spot in her favorite tree to see her stepfather standing below her. The tall, bearded, curly brown-haired man smiled warmly up at her, his hands perched on his hips. Sniffling, the nine-year-old wiped her arm across her sodden cheeks and under her drippy nose. Her midnight-blue eyes still swam with tears. "H-Hi, George," she stammered, trying to steady her voice.

George's smile fell, concern flooding into his soft brown eyes. "Hey, I don't like that shaky voice--you sound like you've been cryin'," he remarked gently. The carpenter stepped closer to the trunk and craned his neck to try and get a better look at the girl. "What's wrong, Mudpuppy?" he asked, voice so full of softness and warmth.

His tone and the usage of her pet name set the child to sobbing all over again. Plunging her face into her skirt, Bess pulled her knees closer to her chest and wailed. She cried so loud and hard that she began hyperventilating.

That alarmed the man. "Whoa! Hey! Not good!" Without hesitation, the man grabbed a large knot in the tree's trunk, placed his foot on another, and began to haul himself up the tree. In seconds he was pulling himself up to sit on the branch that jutted out directly in front of his step-daughter. Throwing a leg over to straddle the limb, he scooted as close as he could to the girl and reached out for her. "Bess. Bessie, Sweetheart, look at me." He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them to get her attention. "Look at me, Little Darlin'." When the girl dared to peek up at him, he smiled encouragingly and nodded. "That's right, Mudpuppy." He cupped her cheek with a large, warm, weathered hand, stroking her tears away. "Look at me. And breathe--in-" he breathed deeply with her, "- and out." He exhaled with her. "In. Out. Slow, big breaths. That's my girl." George reached into his pocket, pulled out his handkerchief, and brought it to Bess' face. He gently began to dry her off.

It was a few minutes before Bess had regained control of herself. Her puffy eyes were still watery, her lashes wet and heavy, her cheeks were hot with tear stains, and her nose hadn't stopped running yet, but she wasn't sobbing anymore, and she was mostly dried off. For the moment anyway.

"There now," George crooned. He shifted around on the branch to get more comfortable as he settled in for a conversation. "That's better, yeah? Think you can talk now? 'Cuz I'd like to know why you're up here cryin' like the sky's gonna come fallin' down."

The thing was, that was exactly how Bess was feeling at the moment: The sky was going to fall down--or at least her sky was. Hanging her head, the nine-year-old started to study the calico pattern of her skirt. "Did you talk to Mama?" she muttered hoarsely.

"Yep. That's why I came lookin' for ya. She said you two had an argument and you went runnin' off."

"Did she tell you exactly why I ran off?"

"Not in so many words." George's voice became very soft as he went on: "She said she told you about the baby."

Bess said nothing, just peeked up from beneath her brows at her stepfather.

The man looked genuinely sorry. "I wish she'd waited," he stated quietly, shaking his head. "I told her I wanted to be there when we told you, Mudpuppy." He smiled sympathetically at her. "To make it easier."

Bess sniffed and turned her gaze down again. "Yeah, well, she didn't," she grumbled. "That's Mama for you." Hugging her thighs, Bess drew her legs close again.

Silence fell over the tree. Wild birds' songs filled the emptiness.

"I know..." George broke the silence after a long while,"... it's gonna be a change, Bess--goin' from bein' an only child to bein' a big sister-"

"Does this mean you won't love me anymore?"

The question hit George like a battering ram, knocking all words and ability to speak right out of his head. He couldn't help but stare at the girl, who in turn stared almost desperately up at him as she waited for an answer. Finally George found his voice. "What?" he croaked in disbelief. "I... Bess, why would you ask that?"

Tears were welling in the girl's eyes, threatening to spill over again. "Mama said..." she quivered, "... th-that... now that you're having your own kids... y-you might not spend... s-so much time w-with me. Sh-She says... you might j-just want... yo-your own kid a-and n-not me." A tear trickled past Bess' lashes, and then another, glistening like diamonds as they descended down her freckled cheeks. "A-Are... are you not gonna be my daddy anymore, George?"

"What? No!" George was incredulous, his heart breaking at the little girl's tears and palpable fear. Instinctively, the big man sat up and grabbed up the child, pulling her into his strong arms as he scooted in to take Bess' seat in the junction of the tree. He held his stepdaughter tight to his barrel of a chest, curling around her to envelop her with a physical representation of his love. "Of course, I'm gonna be your daddy, Bess," he murmured, cradling the back of her head in his large palm as she buried her face in his chest. "I'm always gonna be your daddy--nothin's ever gonna change that, not even a baby. Not even a hundred babies."

"Not even your own baby?" Bess squeaked, her voice muffled against his shirt. She hugged her stepfather with all her nine-year-old might, never wanting to let him go and never wanting him to let her go. She felt so protected in his arms--so safe; like no one and nothing would ever be able to touch her while she was being held by George. She didn't want that to go away, ever.

"You are my baby, Bessie."

"I'm not your blood though."

"Don't matter--you're as much my baby as any child your mama and I have together, and I'll always love you just as much." George kissed her forehead, nuzzling into her hair after. "You're my little Mudpuppy," he murmured. "I picked you when I picked your mama--fell in love with you as much as I fell in love with her. I adopted you, gave you my name: You're mine, Bess. Blood or not, you're my little girl and I couldn't be happier or prouder of that. You're my Mudpuppy, and I will always love you."

Bess' chin trembled, the man's words hugging her aching heart just as warmly and tightly as his arms hugged the rest of her. But her mother's words still haunted her. "B-But Mama said-"

"Shh, I know what your mama said," George stopped her, stroking her back soothingly. "She and I are gonna have a long talk about what she said when we get home. I want you to forget about what she said, Bess--all of it. Don't pay it any mind; your mama's wrong. I love her with all my heart, but your mama is wrong, Mudpuppy; and she never shoulda said somethin' like that to you."

Bess sniffled and let go of her stepfather, gently pushing away from him enough to meet his eyes. She loved his eyes--always had. Always so warm and gentle, even now in her heartache and fear, those deep brown irises made her feel so calm, so loved, so wanted. She felt like she was something special, in George's eyes; like she mattered. And when George looked at her like he was now, with nothing but softness, love, and compassion in his gaze, she felt like the very center of the world. It warmed her to the very core of her soul.

"So you're still gonna love me?" she whispered, drying her eyes on her sleeve again. "Even with you and Mama having a baby?"

Chuckling with a gentle smile, George cupped the girl's face in his palm again. "Yes, Mudpuppy," he cooed. "I'm still gonna love ya. Always and forever."

"And you're still gonna be my daddy?"

"Yep."

"And you're still gonna have time for me?"

"Yep. Maybe not quite as much as I do now 'cause the baby's gonna need me to be their daddy too, ya know, but I'll always make time for you, Bess."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Cross your heart?"

George did just that as he held his right hand to God. "And hope to die."

At that, a small hint of a smile finally quivered its way onto Bess' lips. She wrapped her arms around the man's neck again and cuddled close; a relieved sigh left her as her stepfather wrapped his arms tight around her again and she closed her eyes, listening to the beat of his heart in her ear. It was steady, strong, unwavering, and full of love. Love never withheld from her, no matter how sick or tired or hurt or angry he was, not even when she was in trouble; love that she never had to work to earn but was freely given without strings attached. Pure love. Pure love for her--that made her feel warm and cozy from head to toe.

"Hey," George quietly murmured after a moment, "remember what I told you, Mudpuppy? When I adopted you?"

Not opening her eyes, Bess nodded against his chest. "Uh-huh. You told me with you I'd always be safe, I'd always be wanted, and I'd always be loved."

"Yep. And I want you to remember that always, okay? No matter what happens or what anyone--even your mama--says, so long as I'm alive, I will always protect you and keep you safe; I will always want you as my little girl; and I will always love you with my whole heart. Ya hear me?"

"I hear you."

"And if you ever feel like you don't feel that way, or maybe I'm not givin' you enough, you tell me, okay?

"Okay, George."

"Never settle for anythin' less, Elizabeth. I don't ever want you to settle for less than you deserve, with anyone or anythin', includin' me."

"I won't, George. I love you."

"I love you too, my sweet girl."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Cincinnati, Ohio--May 1840;

"Where would you like to go?" The question sounded more like it was being asked out of polite obligation as opposed to a genuine interest in what she wanted.

Bess looked up at Oliver Sprague as they walked side-by-side down the bustling Cincinnati street. They'd been going steady for two years, and the young man still wouldn't hold her hand or offer her his arm in public. Bess was rather low maintenance when it came to romance and relationships (much too low maintenance in some of her loved one's eyes), but even she couldn't help but feel a little put out as they walked by other couples, all of whom were hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm at the very least. Briefly, at the start of their walk, the young woman had considered just snatching up his hand on her own and holding it until he pulled away. She could have easily done it; his hand had hung unguarded at his side, so close to hers. Oliver was decent and would have indulged her if she had, she was sure. But almost as if he had felt her eyeing his hand and read her thoughts, her beau had pulled his hand up to his chest to scratch it before casually slipping it into his pocket, all the while keeping his elbow tucked into his side. So much for that idea.

Bess' mouth twitched and twisted in quiet annoyance as she counted yet another obviously happy couple pass by. They were so close as they were arm-in-arm, they could have been conjoined at the side. Bess quietly huffed, once again letting her gaze fall to her own young man's arm. She knew Oliver was reserved with his emotions--she'd always known that since they were children--everyone who knew him did--and, truly, she didn't need public displays of affection (though they would undoubtedly be nice); but it was their anniversary. Could he not, just for one night, maybe, possibly be sweet enough in public with her to offer her his arm? She knew he was capable--he hugged and kissed his mother and granny in public, for crying out loud! They were sweethearts--he'd chosen her: Was she still not special enough?

Stop griping! that caustic voice at the back of her mind that sounded too much like her mother chastised her. You're lucky a boy like him even looks your way without being disgusted, with your history. You're incredibly lucky to have him. Take what you can get and soldier on!

And so, Bess, once again, pushed her disappointments and misgivings deep down inside her. But as she did so, she felt a smaller, more quiet, and gentle voice in her heart, one that sounded like George: Never settle for less than you deserve. However, as always whenever Bess thought to consider that advice, her mother's voice came back to remind her that she was damaged goods; and this third-rate, tepid romance (could you call it "romance" when the first kiss didn't even bring a single small butterfly to your stomach?) was what damaged goods deserved.

"Oh, I don't know," Bess finally answered his question. She fiddled her lonely hands together in her skirt, wondering if maybe she could trick herself into thinking Oliver really was holding her hand. His hands weren't that much bigger than hers, honestly. "I wish you'd told me we were going out tonight sooner. I could have made reservations somewhere." She tried not to sound annoyed or passive-aggressive, even though she was. Just a bit. Oliver wasn't one for celebrations, so she hadn't even considered booking something somewhere; she'd simply expected to spend this anniversary as they had their first; Oliver coming over for a quiet supper and then attempting to play dominoes only to give up halfway through as Oliver started preaching about the new strides being made in the field of photographing and how he was sure there was a way that, not just objects, but colors could somehow be captured in photographs. (Colored photographs--that was a thought to make one laugh.) So, needless to say, when she'd received the letter from Oliver in the noon post stating that they were going out for the evening, Bess had been surprised. And admittedly pleased. Until she'd learned when Oliver had shown up at her door that, no, he hadn't made plans to go anywhere, they were just going out. Talk about all dressed up with no place to go.

Oliver shrugged, completely unconcerned. "I didn't think about going out until this morning when Albert asked me what we were doing tonight." The red-headed boy chuckled. "You know, he had to remind me that this was our anniversary. Can you believe that?"

"That you forgot or that he remembered?" Bess grumbled under her breath, eyes trained on the cobbles at her feet. "Because I can certainly believe both." Honestly, at this point, Albert was more of an attentive beau to her than Oliver was, what with remembering all the important dates. Bess was sure Albert had bought her birthday gifts the past two years, too. And Christmas gifts. And picked her Valentine's cards. He'd probably written them, too--the handwriting hadn't looked exactly like Oliver's, neither had the words sounded like him. Honestly, Bess should have been out with Albert right now, and perhaps she would have been had it not been for the fact that she was not his... type of person. Shame, as he was heartbreakingly handsome.

An idea came to Bess. "Why don't we take a hansom cab to the park and go for a walk?" she suggested, looking hopefully bright up at her beau. "There won't be many people there, so it'll be quiet. Not to mention--dare I say--romantic." She bit her bottom lip and wiggled her brows playfully at Oliver, nudging him with her shoulder.

Oliver did not look at her, but instead seemed to be mulling the idea over. Much more carefully than he should have needed to. "Hmm, yeah, I don't know, Specks," he said uncertainly. "I'm kinda hungry--there's nowhere to eat near there."

"Oh, well, we can stop in a pub and eat first then, yeah? Then we can go to the park and walk it off after. What'd'ya say?"

Again, the boy took much longer to think about it than he should have. She wasn't asking him to take her to New York City, for God's sake! Bess held her tongue: She didn't want to argue with him tonight--not on their anniversary.

"Eh... yeah, that sounds fine, I guess," Oliver agreed after long deliberation. Then he perked up as he looked at her for the first time since they'd left her apartment. "Mack's?"

Bess couldn't help how her face scrunched up at the suggestion. "Oh, no, please, Ollie--we go there all the time. Can we try something different? Please? I'll pay if you like." She didn't need to pay; she knew Oliver had money and he wasn't short on it either--his job as a daguerreotypist paid well. But she also knew she needed to sweeten the deal to get him to even consider breaking habit.

It didn't work. "Aw, come on, Specks, you love Mack's and you know it. Besides, it's only fitting, right? We had our first date there." He wasn't completely wrong, though Bess did not love Mack's, she was just used to it; and his bringing up something as sentimental as their first date on their anniversary was actually surprisingly touching. And not at all like him to think of on his own. "Did Albert tell you to mention that?" she couldn't help but ask, giving the boy a deadpan look.

Not picking up on her unamusement, Oliver simply nodded with a slight grin. "Isn't he great? Best roommate ever."

Bess rolled her midnight-blue eyes. "Yep, he certainly is," she muttered. Then she sighed. "Fine. Mack's is fine. Let's just go. I'm feeling hungry too." Not that there was much of anything edible that came out of the pub's kitchen; Bess just had no energy to try harder to change Oliver's mind.

So they arrived at Mack's and took their usual table in the back corner. Oliver greeted the usual pub-goers, Bess tried her best to ignore the usual skeevy heels that eyed her and not let them make her skin crawl. The usual barmaid, Abigail McLintock, a girl Bess' age that they'd both gone to school with, came over to take their orders and, as usual, she flirted with Oliver. As usual, Oliver flirted back and ordered his regular meal. The tradition broke slightly as Oliver ordered for Bess rather than letting her order for herself, but the variation stopped there as he ordered her regular meal as well (shepherd's pie--it was the only appetizing thing in this place).

Abigail took their orders to the kitchen and again, as usual, Bess told her young man off for flirting with Abigail. Like always, Oliver brushed it off with the assurance that it didn't mean anything, that she was just a friend, and he only did it to ensure that they got the best service. Again, Bess didn't quite believe him, but she let it go. She always let it go. Why did she do that? Oliver was her beau and, while she'd never claim to be passionately in love with him, it did twinge whenever he flirted with and looked at other girls. Particularly Abigail, who had always been one of the worst bullies to Bess in school. Bess didn't usually have a problem voicing her opinions and feelings, except when it came to things like this; then she clammed up like... well, a clam. But why? Why did she do that? It wasn't like she would be being demanding or controlling; she wouldn't be insisting he couldn't interact with other women besides her. She would just be telling him she didn't like it when he flirted with other women and asking him not to do it out of respect for their relationship and her. But she couldn't bring herself to do that--why?!

Again, Bess heard the warring voices of George and her mother in her mind and heart.

It was while they sipped their drinks and waited for their food that, again, the routine changed. Bess was staring at the fly in her beer, wondering if it had just dived in there or if it had been there under the head the whole time, when Oliver cleared his throat. "Bess?" he asked.

The girl looked up to see him looking at her in a... different way. He didn't really appear nervous, but he certainly didn't seem as calm and relaxed as he usually was. It was almost like he was... uncomfortable Like he wasn't sure he should do something. Or like he wasn't sure he wanted to do something. "Yes?" Bess prompted him when he didn't continue.

"I've--um... I've got something for you."

Bess raised an eyebrow, not quite sure what to make of that. She was still bemused by his expression. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Uh..." He dug into first one pant pocket, then the other before pulling his hand out. He stretched his arm across the table to her side and opened up his fist. Something fell to the tabletop with a metallic sound. "Here."

Bess looked from Oliver's face down to whatever he'd rather unceremoniously dropped on the table. She did a double-take, her eyes widening. "Oliver, is that a-"

"Ring? Yeah."

Bess picked the ring up. It looked like it had come from Atlantis, with the shoulders and the setting having been crafted to look like seashells. Small red garnets were set as the side stones and two larger, tear-drop, purplish-red garnets had been used as the center stones and positioned point to point so they made an eight. It looked older, so it wasn't polished up to look shiny and flashy, but it did look opulent, and it was big--big enough to draw attention--and it most definitely wasn't in Bess' taste. Oliver should have known that: Her fondness for simplicity and understatedness was one of the things he liked about her. (So he claimed.)

The longer she studied the ring, the more Bess tried to decipher why it was so familiar looking. When it hit her, her stomach plummeted. Oh, God, please no! "O-Ollie..." she gulped, feeling all the blood drain from her face, "... is... is this...?"

"Gran's engagement ring? Yeah." He said it so simply; as if he'd dropped his grandmother's laundry on the table and not a family heirloom that had been passed down through the generations from woman to woman.

Bess felt like she could be sick for a completely different reason than the fly in her beer. Her hands began shaking. Slowly, respectfully, she set the ring back down and pulled her hands in her lap, folding them together tightly to try and stop the tremors. She continued to stare at the ring, unable to look up and meet Oliver's gaze. The girl cleared her throat. "Why... are you giving me your grandmother's ring, Oliver?" she asked, somehow managing to keep her voice even.

"I think you know why."

"Probably. But I want you to say it anyway."

"Okay, fair enough. I think we should get married."

That finally caused Bess to look up at the boy again. He just sat there, looking at her, not completely emotionlessly as he still looked a little uncomfortable and uncertain about this, but he certainly didn't look nervous. Nor did he look at all happy. He didn't look like anything one might expect a young man asking his sweetheart of two years to marry him might look like. And Bess was certain she didn't feel anything like what a girl in that situation would be expected to feel like either.

"Why?" The word fell from her mouth like a lead ball. It almost surprised her, as she knew that wasn't typically something a person being proposed to said. Was this a proposal? Yes, it had to be; there was a ring, Oliver had said they should get married--what the hell else could it have possibly been? Yes, for all intents and purposes, this was a proposal. So why did it feel more like an... obligation?

Apparently, the question had taken Oliver by surprise too, as he started to fumble around for something to say. "Uh... well... we've been going together for two years, right?" he reasoned. "Don't people just normally get married after they've been doing that?"

Bess felt a pain stab through her chest. "Um... y-yeah, I suppose."

"And, besides, you know Ma really likes you."

"Your mother has called me a "lobsterback brat" for as long as I can remember, Oliver Howard," Bess countered flatly. "And that's the nicest thing she's ever called me."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Aw, come on, Bess. You know she says everything out of affection."

"Oh? I was supposed to take "trollop" as a loving pet name?"

"Come on--I told her off for that."

"Yes. And I'm grateful to you for that, truly. But it doesn't change the fact that your mother is going to throw an absolute fit and scream about how I'll marry you over her cold, dead body and that I'm not good enough for you."

"Since when have you cared what people say about you?" No declarations that he didn't care what his mother might say. No reassurances that, whatever his mother or anyone said, she was good enough. No promises to defend and support her against whatever wrath might be directed her way as a result of their union. Merely a somewhat accusatory question that made her feel guilty for what she'd said.

"We're not just talking about just any people here, Ollie, we're talking about my future mother-in-law."

Oliver's mouth curled into that little, sly smirk that drove her up the wall in the worst possible way at that. "'Future mother-in-law', huh?" he repeated.

Bess knew what he was implying and frowned. "Don't take that as an answer--I haven't decided anything yet."

The boy shrugged nonchalantly. "What's there to decide, Specks? We've been steady for two years. We spend the weekends with your family or my family. We have supper at each other's places and go out for breakfast together. You make and pack my lunches for me. We're practically married already: We just need the legal stuff."

"Please don't be so flippant about this, Oliver: We're talking about marriage--you know how serious this is for me."

"Yeah, yeah, I know: Don't wanna end up like your mother."

"Don't say it like that--it's important to me, Oliver! Mama's first marriage practically ruined her until she met George, and it permanently soured her on me, even now that she's happy. I refuse to end up like her and I won't risk the chance that I do."

Oliver gave her an unconcerned look. "It's not like you have to worry about being a bad ma though, right?"

Bess felt like a prize purse-winning boxer had just socked her square in the gut. Her blood boiled; her eyes stung with the threat of tears. Did Oliver ever think about things before he said them? Did he ever consider the tone in which he said them, how cold and heartless he could sound? Did the thought that maybe this was something he should steer clear of ever cross his mind? "Wow," she croaked, trying her hardest to keep her temper under control. "Thanks for that. It's such a comfort to be reminded of the fact that I can't have children."

"Oh, don't be like that," Oliver grumbled, sounding the slightest bit annoyed. "You know I didn't mean anything nasty by it."

"Then do me the favor, Oliver, and just never mention it at all, yeah?"

Oliver held his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, yeah. Okay. Fine. Won't mention it at all."

Abigail was returning with their food at this point. She set their respective dishes down and the couple lapsed into silence for a long while as they ate, not so much as looking in the other's direction. There was an undeniable tension in the air over their table: You could have cut it with Mack's blunted knives.

Bess was about halfway through her shepherd's pie when her beau spoke again.

"So, what'd'ya think, Specks?"

Bess finally looked up to see Oliver looking at her again, still not appearing to be what one would consider happy over the situation. He did look more resigned, however; as if he'd finally managed to put to rest whatever doubts had made him initially uneasy.

With a shrug, as he noisily chewed on a fatty bit of his over-cooked pot roast, Oliver asked: "Ya wanna be Mrs. Oliver Sprague?"

Mrs. Oliver Sprague. A shiver ran through the young woman at the very thought, but not in a good way. And it made her feel horrible because it should have been in a good way. She should have been giddy, nauseous with butterflies, perhaps shedding tears of joy because the man she loved wanted to be with her forever. Instead, she felt dread and just plain sick. And for no good reason: Oliver was a decent fellow in both temperament and looks and had a job many people would have killed for if they realized how well it paid. And, above all else, he treated her like a person instead of some diseased vermin unfit to be around. Not the most romantic and passionate testimony one could make of their sweetheart, perhaps; but romance and passion weren't in the cards for her.

Again, Bess could hear the voice telling her she was lucky to have what she did--that she would be a fool to let it go: Your past, your looks, your attitude--you'll have a hard enough time finding any decent man to put up with your harsh edges, let alone a perfect one. Take it or leave it.

Again, Oliver was certainly decent. Mostly. He certainly never raised a hand or even his voice to her, and he never threatened her or tried to manipulate her into a compromising situation: She felt safe with him. Like George. Sort of--it wasn't quite the same kind of warm, fuzzy, homey feeling that came along with George's security; nor did it have the sense that he would do anything to protect her. Still, overall, she did feel safe and protected with Oliver, and that was important to her.

There are other important things to consider too, Mudpuppy, she felt George's voice in her heart again.

"Why do you want to marry me?" Bess asked by way of answer. She was almost afraid to hear his reasonings--her insides were already bracing for the blunt impact--but she had to hear them anyway.

Oliver looked at her as though she'd spoken French. His jaw ceased its grinding on the leathery beef in his mouth as he stared at her, completely taken off-guard. "What?" he mumbled around meat, potatoes, cabbage, onions, and carrots.

"Why do you want to marry me, Oliver?" she repeated calmly.

For a long moment, her young man was quiet as he tried to process that question and figure out how to answer it. Finally, he answered uncertainly: "Well... we've been going together for two years-"

Bess cut him off in some annoyance: "Yes, we've been steady for two years, and the family weekends, and I make supper, and we go to breakfast, and your lunches--I know--we've established all that. I want to know your feelings, Oliver. And I know how uncomfortable a topic that is for you, and I'm sorry, but I have to know before I decide anything: Why do you feel you want to marry me?" She repeated the question again, slowly, emphatically, looking her beau right in the eye as she said it.

Again, Oliver was clearly struggling with something to say. "Um... I... like you."

Bess felt her heart twist. "Like" not "love"; but Oliver was bad at communicating things like this, she reminded herself. "You like me. What does that mean, exactly?"

Oliver cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head and neck awkwardly. "Uh... w-well... I... I like when you cook and bake for me; everything you make tastes real good--even better than Ma's. And... I like that you can stitch up my clothes to make 'em look practically new. And I like how you don't hassle me like other girls to take you out on big, fancy dates all the time or demand I buy you expensive stuff."

The girl felt her insides completely drop into the abyss to leave her a cold, empty shell. None of those things had been about her as a person. They hadn't even been about her physical attributes, which was somehow both refreshing and vexing at the same time. And while it was nice to be appreciated for and complimented on one's skills, that wasn't exactly what one wanted for an answer as to why their sweetheart wanted to marry them. And it certainly didn't make one feel very loved. Valued, perhaps, but not loved.

Oliver sighed heavily, looking like that little confession had taken everything out of him. "Look, Bess," he said quietly, smiling a bit at her in a way that Bess couldn't help but feel a bit patronized, "I just... I think you'd make a good wife, and I know you've always wanted to be married, and we know each other and get on real well as a couple, I think, and I want to get married to a good wife. So... doesn't it just... makes sense that we tie the knot? Isn't it logical?"

"Logical": he was using logic to justify their being married. Of course, logic and sense had to play into something like this a bit; one didn't go around getting married willy-nilly--that would be idiotic. But to have that be the only thing considered felt wrong. And depressing. Bess felt like a spare princess being betrothed and married off to some foreign dignitary for the sake of political power and nothing more.

"Ollie," she began, leaning forward to look as closely into her beau's gray eyes as she could, "do you really want this?" She swallowed hard, thinking about how Oliver had started this conversation looking uncertain like he hadn't been exactly sure that he wanted to do this. Surely he had to have some misgivings about this idea. "Do you... do you really want me?" She thought about all the women Oliver had flirted with in the past while he had never flirted with her. Not once--before courting or during. Yes, he walked out with her, he called her his 'sweetheart', he hugged her on occasion, kissed her sometimes--all things he didn't do with other women. But he didn't ever play with her, or try to make her blush and laugh like he did with other women he called "friends". He didn't wink, didn't try to cop a feel (not that she wanted that... exactly), didn't try to tickle her--he did nothing with her that he did with his female "friends" and she was courting him. He didn't even call her by the same cute, endearing nicknames he did them: She was either 'Bess' or 'Specks', and 'Specks' had originally started out as something to make her cry when they were small children. Even as the one girl he'd asked to go steady with, the one girl to be chosen out of all the girls he could have picked, Bess had never felt wanted by him. Not as a friend. Not as a potential wife. Certainly not as a lover.

She should have taken George's advice back then; to ask Oliver why he was interested in courting her before jumping into the relationship. But she'd been eighteen and lonely, and Oliver was one of only a handful of people who weren't disgusted by her. The fact that he would look her in the eyes when he talked to her, was enough to make Bess swoon then. That initial feeling of what she thought was being in love had quickly faded as she'd realized just how generally uninterested in her he seemed--not to mention the serial flirting. But she stayed with him. Because she felt stupid for not taking George's advice and didn't want to disappoint him with the revelation that she had been wrong when she'd assured him she wasn't; and because she was terrified to be alone and not have a life. She was terrified of everything her mother told her about herself, and that it was all true. So if Oliver would take her in any capacity, she would accept it and count herself lucky. At least, that's what she'd told herself in the past. She didn't feel that way now that it was happening. Spending the rest of her life with someone that didn't seem to love or want her beyond the domestic services she could provide him sounded almost as bad as being a spinster.

Almost.

"I just... think it makes sense," Oliver replied to her question. She knew it was the closest thing to an answer she would ever get. "Isn't that good enough?"

Bess felt her stomach lurch and twist into a giant knot. No. It wasn't good enough. But it would have to be. Oliver was right about one thing; she wanted to be married--had dreamed of it ever since her mother and stepfather had married. Oliver was the only person who would ever be willing to give that to her, despite that he didn't seem to really love her, despite that he didn't seem to really want her. He was her one chance. And she was safe with him. Like George. She just wasn't loved or wanted by him, like George.

But safe--safe was good enough, she thought. Safe was all she would get, anyway.

With a sigh, Bess let her gaze fall to the ring again and tried not to show her distaste for it as she picked it back up. She slipped it on her left ring finger. Internally, the girl cringed; it looked so out of place on her hand--clashed so horribly with her sensibilities and who she was. But it was her engagement ring now; she would have to get used to it. "Okay, then," she sighed heavily. She looked up at Oliver and tried her best to smile at him, despite how sick she felt. "You got yourself a fiancée, Mr. Sprague." She'd never tasted anything so vile--it made her want to vomit on the grimy tavern floor. And that made her feel even more terrible because Oliver really didn't deserve that. He wasn't bad, he just wasn't The One. But he would be the only one she got. In return for that, she would make him a good wife.

Oliver smiled back at her, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes. "All right then," he said simply. He turned back to mutilating his pot roast.

Bess turned back to her own food, though she was no longer hungry. Picking through the remains of her meal, the girl stared at her new accessory, trying to will herself to like it; will herself to be happy; will herself to love Oliver. After her first initial, naive infatuation with her beau, Bess had held out for the hope that, maybe, she would eventually grow to love Oliver, just as her mother had done with George some time in their own courtship. The problem was, Oliver was nothing like her stepfather, and Bess was even farther away from loving him now than she had been then. Still, love or not, happiness or not, he was her one ticket to any sort of life worth having: Her mother was right--another one wouldn't come along anytime soon. Or ever.

No, Oliver Sprague wasn't like George. But he and the security he offered would be the best option Bess would ever get.

»»————-　♡　————-««

London, England--June 1845

Bess had never been so disgusted in all her life, and she'd had plenty of things in her life to be disgusted about. She didn't know how she was going to be able to eat her dinner, when it finally came, with him sitting right there next to her and his pompous, arrogant voice resounding loudly in her ears to the point she had a migraine. At least he wasn't directly in her line of sight, she supposed; but it was a bad trade because, sitting where he was, the man was well within reach to easily reach out and touch her. Which he did. A lot. Bess hadn't wanted to cut off somebody's hands so badly since she was fifteen.

Lawrence Bryant, on the surface, was everything a woman could possibly want: sinfully handsome, lively, devilishly charming, rich, and from a very powerful family. He was very good at making the most out of these qualities and making them appear deeper than they actually were. But Bess didn't believe him--not for a second. She had a sort of sixth sense about these kinds of things, an intuitive gut reaction; and hers had screamed that Bryant was bad news since the moment she'd met him a year ago.

She could still recall it vividly; how he'd eyed her, undressing her with his eyes the moment she'd walked into her uncle's library; how he'd snatched up her hand without invitation and gripped it so tightly, as though he'd never let go; how he lazily kissed her knuckles--she could still feel the moisture of his inner lips on her skin if she thought about it long enough, and it made her shudder and want to dunk herself in boiling water. She felt the same way now, as Bryant reached over again to brush her arm with the backs of his fingers. The woman was thankful for her long gloves that offered a barrier between their skin, but even then she shuddered and cringed away at his touch, unable to help herself.

She scolded herself: Stop it! She had to behave tonight--couldn't do anything to upset Bryant. If she did, she knew he'd report to her uncle how she displeased him, and then who knew what her uncle would do in response? If it was just herself she had to worry for, Bess wouldn't have cared and bitten Bryant's hands off the moment they moved to touch her. But she wasn't what she had to worry about--her siblings were. If she made her uncle angry, there was every possible chance he could use the stipulations set in her mother's will to break the terms of it early and take custody of her brothers and sisters while throwing her out on the street. However much she hated Bryant and felt disgusted and uncomfortable with him, Bess couldn't risk custody of her siblings. She couldn't allow them to grow up under her uncle's roof, where they would surely be treated with cruelty. Aunt Effie had already stated once that she would send her sisters abroad to boarding school: Bess couldn't allow that to happen to George's children!

Bess took a deep breath and let it go slowly through her nose. She could do this. She was a big girl--she could handle some discomfort and disgust for a few hours. Just focus on all the different ways you could torture Uncle Gerald and Aunt Effie, she thought to herself. That oughta keep you occupied. Might even be pretty cathartic. Unprompted her gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. They'd been sitting here for forty-five minutes--where was the food? The sooner the food came, the sooner she would be free!

"Looking to see how much time you have left to bask in my presence, Beautiful?" Bryant's voice brought the woman out of her thoughts.

Slightly shaking herself back into the moment, Bess looked from the clock back to her suitor. He was gazing much too intently at her with those deep blue eyes of his, as if he were trying to will her affections for him into being. His lips were curved and parted in a grin that was much too white and perfect. She supposed that smile was meant to set her insides aflutter with butterflies; instead it filled her guts with rancid, dead fish. Could the man be any more repulsive? Don't tempt fate, Elizabeth.

Trying her best to smile in an amicable way, Bess replied: "Something like that."

"Aaaawwww!" a sappy, syrupy, nasally voice grated like nails on a chalkboard in Bess' ears. Lady Penelope Anne Michaels and her fiance Mr. Rupert Anderson III, heir to the Earl of Overton were seated at the table across from them: A double date. Bess had been set up on a double date with a man whom she didn't like (putting it lightly) and a couple she didn't know (she'd heard the names and seen the faces at balls the past seasons, but that was as far as her acquaintance with the pair went).

Lady Penelope was looking between Bess and Bryant with an expression that reminded the Yank of her baby sister on Christmas morning. Grinning and biting her bottom lip to the point Bess worried she may have bitten through it, Penelope clapped her gloved hands and squealed girlishly. "Only your second outing together and you're already watching the time, trying to will it to not slip away from you. Ooh, that's positively adorable! Isn't that adorable, Rupey?" She turned to her fiance for his input.

"Rupey" was looking much the same as Penelope, only less wholesomely smitten and more knowingly sly. "Yes, Penny," he agreed. "Very adorable." He winked at Bryant and nodded toward Bess. "You're a lucky tyke, Larry: Don't let this one slip away from you. She's a keeper."

Bryant grinned widely at his friend, raising his glass of champagne in a toast to himself. He looked incredibly pleased with himself. "I have no intentions of letting such a thing happen, I assure you, Rupert. I am well aware I'm a lucky tyke in Bess!" he laughed in agreement He turned to Bess and winked brazenly at her. Beneath the table his hand found her knee and gave it a presumptuous squeeze that caused Bess to stiffen. "Maybe we'll find out just how lucky tonight, eh, Darling?" He threw back his head and raucous laughter, Rupert joining him.

Penny pressed a petite hand to her lips and tittered with amusement. "Oh, Larry, you naughty boy!" she affectionately teased the man. "You'll bring scandal down on your own head if you're not careful!" She continued to laugh with the men.

Bess didn't know she could feel even more sick, but she did at the utterance of those words. The rolling in her stomach was unbearable. She had to step away from this and breathe or else she was sure to vomit all over everyone and everything and then she really would be in trouble with her family. Doing her best to force her nausea down, Bess stood. She managed a small, tight smile at her companions as she told them: "If you'll excuse me--I must run to the powder room for a moment." She pivoted away and took off in a hasty walk before they were able to respond.

The woman hardly had time to get in front of the toilet before her stomach heaved and emptied itself. A vile, bitter concoction of bile, champagne, and bits of partially digested lunch spewed into the toilet bowl with a sickening, cascading splash. The second heave brought Bess collapsing to her knees, bracing her arms against the round porcelain edges of the bowl. She sucked in a desperate breath before heaving again. Goddamn it! Saliva flooded Bess' mouth in a desperate attempt to cleanse it of the nastiness, drool dripping down her lips and chin, ruining her once immaculate lipstick. She would have to reapply before going back to the table, or else Bryant would be upset. He had a horrid lipstick fetish, apparently.

After upchucking a few more times, Bess' stomach finally decided that it was empty enough and stilled. She gasped and coughed, trying to pull air back into her aching lungs. Propping her forehead in her hands, she tried to relax and pull herself together again. Tears burned her eyes. "I can't do this," she whispered. She wasn't sure who she was whispering to. Herself? The toilet? God? "I can't do this! I can't--I can't--I can't! I hate him! God, forgive me, but I hate him! I can't keep seeing him: I know I can't marry him! But that's what Uncle Gerald and Effie want, and if I don't do what they want..." she broke off into a choked sob, unable to stop it. Bess clasped her trembling hands together and buried her face in her arms, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. "Jesus, help me, what do I do? What do I do?!"

Ebenezer's face came to her mind's eye and the most agonizing of pangs wracked her body, heart, and soul. Bess wanted him. In every possible way, she wanted him, but right now, at this moment, she would have settled for just having him here beside her for moral support. She would have given anything to be surrounded by his long, strong arms and curl up into the protective warmth of his broad chest; drown in his deep, smokey, chocolatey smooth voice as he murmured sweet, gentle comforts into her ear. She needed his presence; she needed his advice; she needed his security; she just needed him! But Ebenezer was not here and, unless summoned by some miracle, wouldn't be here. She was on her own.

Sighing heavily, shakily, Bess pulled herself together and sat back from the toilet. She pulled her hankie from her bosom and wiped herself off before rising to her feet and flushing away her sick. Turning to the sink, she looked herself over in the mirror and finished drying off before turning on the water, removing her gloves, and cupping her hands under the stream. She pressed her face into the little pool in an attempt to cool her heated skin and soothe the slight headache starting to throb in her temples. The coolness of the water made her relax a bit. After a moment or two, Bess straightened up and looked at her reflection again. She didn't look quite as red; the cool water had soothed the tearstains. All she need do was straighten her dress, touch up her makeup, and reapply the lipstick and she would be good to go. She grabbed up her handbag that she'd dropped on the floor.

When Bess left the powder room, she ran smack dab into Penny. "Oh! Lady Penelope, pardon me!"

"Oh, it's quite all right," Penny assured her with a smile that was meant to be friendly but grated on Bess' nerves. It just seemed so fake. "No harm done. And please, call me 'Penny'. Any friend of dear Larry's has a right to do so."

Bess fought the urge to roll her eyes. Ah, yes--"dear Larry". Honestly, Penny talked about the sleaze like he was a saint! "Oh, well, all right then--if that's what you'd like. Penny."

Penny beamed. "Excellent! I merely came to find you and tell you our meals have arrived."

"Ah, I see. Well, thank you. I was just coming back."

Penny was looking at her closely, making Bess feel uneasy. What could she possibly be studying so hard on her face? "You've redone your makeup," she stated after a moment.

Bess didn't know what to say. "Uh...."

Penny's smile became knowing, almost conniving. "Bess, did you rush to the powder room in order to be sick?"

Again, Bess wasn't sure how to respond. "Um... well... n-not very-"

Penny squealed like a schoolgirl again, clapping her hands beneath her chin. "I knew it! I just knew it! I did the very same thing when I first started seeing Rupert! I was so charmed by him and so in love that I felt so rumbly and rolly with it all I couldn't help but be sick! And now here you are in your blossoming romance with Larry and experiencing the same thing! Oh, how magical!"

Yeah, Bess thought sarcastically. Magical. She offered the woman a small, awkward smile and replied: "Um... something like that."

"Ooh, and you're too shy to discuss it! Adorable! Simply adorable! Ah! I know the two of you have only been out twice, but trust me, my dear, I have an intuition about these sort of things--and I most definitely hear wedding bells!" Penny sang the last part of the statement, wiggling her brows at Bess.

Bess' stomach lurched a bit again. Penny was probably right, unfortunately, and not because Bess was in love with Bryant and wanted to marry him. She likely wouldn't have any choice.

The two women made their way back to the table together. Penny exchanged a little kiss with Rupert as she retook her seat beside him, staying as close to him as possible the entire time. Contrarily, Bess did her best to stay as far away from Bryant as possible, walking the long way around the table to get to her chair and slipping into it from the far side. Her gaze never met his and she stared at the seafood dish steaming on her plate. Drawing her lips into a thin line, Bess tried to will the remainder of her nausea away. She had to eat at least some of it or else Bryant would deduce something was amiss with her; he'd seen her appetite before and knew how healthy it was. "My Lady, you eat like all my horses combined!" he'd told her once. He'd said it as though it were a compliment.

No sooner had Bess sat down than Bryant was reaching for her again. She froze in order to keep herself from shifting away. She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from snapping. Good God, could he just not for two minutes?!

"I missed you," Bryant purred. It was probably supposed to sound loving, perhaps seductive: to Bess it sounded like the ravenous snarl of a lion. As always, Bryant gave her the sense he would eat her alive if given half a shot, and not in a good way. That feeling only grew as Bryant reached down to grab her hand and squeeze it tight as if he never meant to let go again.

Bess knew she should have reciprocated the squeeze, but she just couldn't bring herself to. She was using all her willpower to not throw up again. "I was only gone but a minute," she responded quietly, still not looking at the man.

"Ten minutes and twenty-six seconds," Bryant stated. There was a slight edge in his voice that time.

Bess felt like she was hit by a runaway carriage; she swore her heart jolted to a stop. Panic slammed into her stomach like a cannonball. Her head snapped towards the blond, mustached man as she finally looked at him, her utter shock forcing her to. "Yo-You... you timed me?" she gasped in disbelief. A nervous smile pulled at her mouth.

Bryant smiled at her, but there was nothing good in it: no warmth, no softness, no kindness. He tried to fake it, but Bess could tell. Her gut could tell. All Bryant's smile had to offer was desire, possessiveness, and danger--the kind that would end with her six feet under. Bess had never wanted to run so fast and far in her whole life. Again she longed for Ebenezer to be here to protect her and make her feel safe.

"Of course I timed you, stupid woman," her date chuckled. "Just as you were watching the clock to see how long we have together, I watched the clock to see when you would return to me." Bryant lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I love you."

There were a million things to scream on the tip of Bess' tongue. First was to tell him off for insulting her. Did the idiot really think calling a woman "stupid" even if he said it in what was meant to be an affectionate tone (which he failed at) was a surefire way into a woman's heart? He was the stupid one, and that was putting it lightly! The second was that it was not normal to time the absence of someone down to the second they returned. That was insanely disturbing and borderline psychotic behavior, and would not endear him to any sensible woman either. And the third Bess actually voiced: "You don't love me." She tried to say it as calmly and evenly as possible as if she were trying to reason with him instead of rebuffing him.

Bryant chuckled, leaning closer, pulling her closer at the same time. Bess' free fist instinctively clenched. "Of course I love you," the man insisted. If he thought that tone in his voice was seductive, he was dead wrong; Bess had never heard something sound so chilling and sinister. "I think about you all the time. I yearn for you all the time. Sometimes I feel as though I can't breathe without you." He trailed spidery fingers up the woman's arm and shoulder and brought them to brush her graceful jawline.

Bess couldn't help but pull away that time. "Mr. Bryant," she said, trying to sound polite but firm, mimicking how she'd heard other girls gently scold gentleman callers that weren't as repulsive as her current one was, "what you are describing is an infatuation-" actually it was more like "obsession", but Bryant was not the person to tell that to, "-not a love. Besides, we hardly know each other--there is no possible way you could honestly profess to love me."

"We know each other quite well, I believe," Bryant countered. He took hold of Bess' chin, holding it so tightly between his fingers that it pinched. Bess wanted to pull away, but the cold, flinty gleam in the man's gaze made her stay. "I saw you quite regularly throughout the season last year and this year. We've danced at every ball, sat beside each other at dinners, spent time together last summer at your Aunt's house party in Somerset: I'd say we've spent more time together than most couples."

"You've certainly spent more time together than we have, that's for sure," Rupert remarked as he devoured his beef wellington with a fervor that didn't quite reflect a gentleman.

"How much of that were we alone though?" Bess challenged Bryant, ignoring Rupert. "How much do we really know about each other? I mean, what did we really talk about during those times, Mr. Bryant? The weather? We certainly never discussed anything personal. The truth of the matter is, Mr. Bryant, we hardly know each other beyond name."

"I don't need to know anything other than your name and how beautiful you are," Bryant insisted, starting to sound a tad bit testy.

Bess felt an alarm bell go off in her head. She was pushing him too far--she had to calm this down, sweeten it up and smooth it. For a frantic moment, she thought, mind racing for ideas. "Mr. Bryant," she started slowly, "I once thought about love the same way you did; that only one or two things really mattered and everything else would fall into place. I came to find out the hard way that that isn't the case at all. Being in love isn't just about someone's looks or how they make you feel a certain way. Those things certainly factor into different degrees, of course, but they're not everything." She managed a small smile at the man, hoping it looked sweet and friendly and maybe even a tad sympathetic. "All I want is for you to be careful about this, Mr. Bryant," she fibbed. She really couldn't care less if he got hurt or not. "Take it from me--a broken heart is a terrible wound to suffer, especially if you find out it was already empty to begin with." She found the will to squeeze his fingers as if in reassurance. "We really should get to know each other better before we make such claims... Larry." Lord, calling him by his casual moniker made her want to be sick on the table all over again. Nothing had ever tasted so bad!

Bryant had been quiet the entire time, listening to Bess' words intently, his eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but consideration. A couple times he'd even looked a bit surprised as she'd made insinuations about her past, something he had never inquired about even in all the time they'd apparently spent together. When Bess smiled, he'd smiled too, the sharpness leaving his eyes. When she'd squeezed his hand, he'd almost seemed to beam; a nasty, sickly-looking beam that only served to disclose his malignance further. And when Bess said his name, the woman was sure all the work she'd just attempted to do, had been undone, and the man was right back to being certain of his love for her; but she supposed she was never going to sway him from that thought. Perhaps she'd at least staunched the flow.

"Oh, I know my heart would never be broken when it comes to you, My Lady," Bryant crooned, pulling her hand back to his lips. "Because I know you would love me as purely and truly as I love you. In fact, I'm sure you feel the same way right now, but are only denying it because of the sorrow you experienced in your past." He smirked in some annoyance. "I'll admit that I find this a tad vexing, as I am not and could never be anything like the man who hurt you, and struggle to understand how you can't possibly see that after all our time in each other's company. However, I know women are of much more delicate sensibilities in matters of the heart-"

"Here, here!" Penny chimed in.

"-and I don't wish to appear insensitive to your womanly plight. As such, however hard it will be for me, I am more than willing to give you time to accept your feelings for me."

It took everything within Bess not to roll her eyes and clonk the dunderhead on the noggin. "Mr. Bryant," she said, shaking her head, "I can't promise you that I'll ever-" she was cut off as a cold, spidery finger was pressed to her lips. The woman froze, her heart leaping into her throat while her stomach plunged in the other direction. Wide-eyed, she stared at Bryant. He was so close to her--much too close! All of Bess' instincts screamed at her to strike out at the man and knock his block off, but she didn't. Hard as it was, she held back. For her siblings, she had to. Still, just in case, Bess tightened her already clenched fist.

"Hush," Bryant purred (Bess supposed that's what it was meant to be). He trailed his fingertip over her lips, smearing her lipstick onto the pad of it. "I will hear no such negative talk, my love," the man stated softly but adamantly. "Not when it comes to the concept of our love." He trailed his hand down beneath Bess's chin and cupped her jaw. "We are meant to be together, my love--you know it, I know it-" he gestured to the other couple, "-they know it." Bryant chuckled and leaned in even closer, his dark, desirous eyes gazing deep into hers. Bess had never felt so stricken with fear. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in this damn room knows we are meant to be together."

"Oh, there's no way they can't possibly know, Larry Darling!" Penny chimed in. She was watching the pair intently again, her hands clutching at her chest like her heart was about to implode. "To witness the two of you together is to witness true love personified! Oh! It's like seeing Romeo and Juliet together!"

Um... they died, is what Bess wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut, which was fairly easy to do, as her terror had dried her mouth entirely and glued her tongue to the roof of it. She didn't even think she'd be capable of squeaking.

Bryant must have taken her silence to mean she was so flustered and awash with sensations of love and desire that she couldn't speak. Finally he pulled his hand away from Bess' jaw and began to sit back in his chair. He looked at his lipstick stained finger and brought it to his mouth, kissing it, tracing it over his lips and smearing the paint onto them. The dark red color made him look even more ominous, as if he'd just recently killed and devoured raw flesh and had stained his lips with the blood of his victim.

Bess could only stare at the display in mesmerized horror. All of her instincts screamed at her to flee, but she was quite incapable of moving now, either to run or look away. She had never felt less safe. Even here in the middle of a busy restaurant among all these people, the Yank felt as though she was mere seconds away from Bryant slitting her throat and gutting her like a deer. Not even in the Connellys' household as a vulnerable teenager had she felt such danger.

Bryant wanted her. More than anything. And he was set on possessing her no matter what he had to do. His delusional thinking that what he felt was love and that she felt the same for him was what made it all the more threatening because it meant only one thing: He would stop at nothing to have her.

Bess felt she'd been dropped buck-naked in the middle of the Arctic Circle. All those times she'd silently wished and prayed to be wanted by someone again, this wasn't what she'd had in mind at all! This was nothing like George or what he'd talked about! Nothing like what she wanted! No sense of security, no loving warmth, only want, desire, lust--hotter and more obliterating than the furnace Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had been thrown into. And Bess suspected she wouldn't be saved from it as they had.

Finished coloring his lips, Bryant reached out again for her hand. He brought it to his lips once more and pressed a firm kiss to it, leaving behind a faded but undeniable lip print on the periwinkle blue silk. "I said I would wait for you to realize and accept your feelings in your own time, Bess," Bryant murmured, meeting her gaze as he caressed the lipstick stain on her knuckles. "But I yearn for you far too fervently to pass up this chance." With only that cryptic warning, the man yanked the American in by the hand , and pressed his mouth flush to hers.

Bess swore her soul fled her body. Simultaneously she felt her lips being branded with both hot and cold irons, marking her as this horrid man's. Everything faded away and she was left alone with Bryant in a vast, dark, perilous sea of existential dread. Something told her Bryant would never let her slip from his grasp now. Only the grave would be able to truly separate them, and it would likely be hers.

Very vaguely through the blackness and fear, Bess could hear both Penny and Rupert fawning and making comments at them, but she could not comprehend the words. Her mind was much too focused on Bryant: How his lips were just as possessive as the rest of him; how his cologne was even stronger this close and made her feel even sicker; how his mustache prickled uncomfortably beneath her nose; how he felt unpleasantly cold, even as his lips seared hers. The touch of a tongue against her top lip was what finally caused adrenaline to burst through the Yankee's system and force herself out of the kiss. (Not an easy thing to do, as Bryant had reached around to hold the back of her head at some point.) "Mr. Bryant, please!" she hissed, unable to keep the anger or the tremor out of her voice. She felt a mess: Her face burned with rage and humiliation, but her whole body trembled with fear now that they'd pulled apart.

Everyone else at the table merely chuckled.

"Oh, Darling, you look positively scandalized!" Penny tittered.

"Come on, Yank, don't be so prudish," Rupert said dismissively, successfully cementing himself on the list of individuals Bess wanted to box the ears of.

Bryant sneaked in and pecked another quick kiss on the corner of Bess' mouth, making her startle. "Don't worry, my dear," the man chuckled, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "Public displays of affection will be limited, I promise." He leaned into the woman, hissing in her ear, "Once I have you in my house, I do not intend on ever letting you out again."

The tone was meant to be seductive, Bess was sure, but there also seemed to be a sinister threat in it that she wasn't just imagining. She looked out of the corner of her eye at her suitor, studying him carefully. Perhaps it was just the odd, peripheral angle at which she viewed him, but the American could have sworn his face distorted, and for a moment he appeared with some horrible, demonic visage. When she turned her head to look at him fully, he looked as he normally had, which honestly wasn't that much better in Bess' opinion.

With a chuckle, Bryant winked at her and pulled away to turn back to his meal.

Bess sat and watched him for a long moment, a hurricane of emotions whirling through her. Her lips and cheek still burned where Bryant's lips had touched her; her heart raced her boiling blood through her veins; the rotting, dead fish in her gut had transformed into a nest of angry hornets that were determined to tear her apart from the inside out. Bryant's statement rang in her ears, tattooing itself into her memory. She thought of what she'd heard of Bryant's past; all the women associated with him that had ended up hospitalized, institutionalized, a few even dead; the wife that had apparently just vanished; his own mother who he openly admitted had abandoned him and never spoke with him. Bryant joked bad things trailed him wherever he went; Bess was growing surer the longer she knew him that he was the bad thing. And in her gut filled with raging hornets, the woman knew if she married Bryant--if she ended up in his house--she would either be killed or chained up and locked away forever.

Bess' gaze fell away from Bryant and down her hand, locking and holding on the lipstick stain he'd left behind. All at once she felt dirty--tainted--as if she'd been branded by the devil himself. She was a marked woman: Desired, yearned for, wanted with a passion that would burn the globe to a crisp if it wasn't fulfilled. But not loved, whatever Bryant believed or claimed. And certainly not safe.

Lawrence Bryant was nothing like George. He wasn't even a decent man.

»»————-　♡　————-««

St. James' Square, London--House of the Dowager Countess of Calloway--November 23, 1850

Bess could hardly breathe she was laughing so hard. She'd always known Tom to be witty and clever, but she never could have guessed him to be an actual comedian. But here he was, standing in Granny Felicity's parlor before the assorted rabble that was their social circle, proving himself to be just that as he gave her a good and right-proper roasting for her birthday. Bess had mentioned to Addie months ago how she would like to be roasted, and evidently, her cousin had passed the word on to her hubby as well. A most welcome and appreciated surprise! And apparently, she wasn't the only one who thought so, as everyone in the room was laughing just as hard as she was. Except Granny of course. She never smiled or laughed; at least not with her mouth--those piercing blue eyes of hers were sparkling brighter than stars though.

"Now, when I first heard that our lovely Bess was engaged to our dear Mr. Scrooge, my first thought was: 'How would that even work?'" the swarthy man was saying, as he stood before the roaring fireplace and casually sipped at his champagne, the smile never dropping from his face as he gazed at his audience. "I mean, none of us, not even the happy couple, can deny the age difference, yeah? Thirty and... how old-"

"Old enough still to take you over my knee and learn you some manners if you finish that question," Ebenezer snarled good-naturedly.

"Now, easy does it, Mr. Scrooge," Tom snapped back with a devilish grin. "Save the spanking for the missus!"

An uproar of laughter and shrieks peeled out of the partygoers at that, even Granny FeFe letting loose a delightfully scandalized cry. It was only fueled further by the bright red faces of the couple being fired at.

Bess giggled madly as she hid her strawberry blush in Ebenezer's collar. The long arm draped loosely about her waist tightened in the most loving way as the man leaned his cheek against her hair, burring a warm chuckle into her ear. Bess shivered delightfully and cuddled closer to her hubby, reveling in his comforting warmth despite how stuffy the parlor was with the fire and all the bodies present. Ebenezer didn't seem to mind either as he pulled her even deeper into his lap. Bess' heart fluttered.

"Well, anyway," Tom went on with a chuckle, "as I said, I was more than a little perplexed with their union: the age difference, the culture difference." A wicked gleam came into Tom's eyes yet again. "But then I realized she's so young and he's so old, their bedtimes would be the same anyway, so."

Another round of laughter filled the parlor.

"That was utter rubbish," Ebenezer remarked quietly so only Bess could hear above the laughter.

"You're still laughing," Bess countered, grinning up at her love's smirking face.

The man's blush deepened as he smiled softly at her. He pressed a gentle smooch to her hairline and trailed butterfly kisses down her brow to the bridge of her nose before nuzzling her. Bess tittered happily.

"Hey, hey, hey--easy now!" Tom's scolding voice brought the couple out of their reverie and drew their attention to him. He scowled playfully at them. "Simmer it down, you lovebirds! Need I remind you there are youngsters here? And Harry?"

More laughter.

"It's my party, Thomas Aaron, and I'll kiss who I damn well please!" Bess shot back, drawing even more laughter from those around her.

Tom lifted his hands to try and quiet everyone down. "Okay, okay," he chuckled. "But no, all jokes aside, I think we can all agree what an honor it is to be here tonight to pay tribute-" Tom held out a hand toward Bess, "-to this lovely woman right here."

A round of "here, here's" went around the room and Bess felt her blush utterly burn in touched embarrassment.

"Lady Bess--Cousin-" Tom's eyes briefly fell on Addie, who sat closest to him, her hands and arms cradling her growing belly, her eyes and wedding ring shining like stars, "-I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we are all so very blessed to have you in our lives." The man moved towards his pregnant wife and took up her left hand, kissing her ring. "I know, at least for myself, that you have changed life for the better." He and Addie shared a brief, soft moment of gazing devotedly into each other's eyes before Tom turned back to Bess, though he remained grasping Addie's hand. "Bess, you are clever, kind, beautiful, and so full of love, you make this gloomy old city a better place just by living in it. You are truly a treasure. And for a Yankee... eh--you're not bad." Again everyone laughed, and then Tom raised his half-gone glass of champagne. "A toast!" he called out. "To our dearest Mrs. Lady Bess Scrooge. The happiest of birthdays to you! May you continue to grace the London streets and the lap of our dear Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge for many years to come."

From his spot in the corner, Harry suddenly sang out: "For she's a jolly good fellow!" Soon everyone had joined in the song, a dozen or so mixed voices echoing throughout the parlor with fervor.

Bess hid her face in her hands and buried it into her husband's chest for good measure, feeling warm in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room or the handful of glasses of her favorite wine flowing through her veins. She felt so appreciated--so cherished. Six, five, even four years ago, the Yank never would have guessed she would be so awash in affection, or so deeply ensconced in her own little network of society that she would never have to worry about being alone ever again. The lonely, friendless little girl of her past would have burst into wailing tears of happiness to hear such news: Bess was a bit older and more mature now, so she didn't wail, but she did quietly sob into Ebenezer's waistcoat. The man rubbed her back and kissed her crown in comfort.

"-And so say all of us!" the group finished with a shout, practically vibrating the room with their volume. Whoops resounded, what remained of drinks was finished off, and everyone rejoiced as one.

"Tommy," Granny spoke up as soon as they'd all quieted down some, "as hostess of this little soiree, I believe it's my turn to have the floor."

Tom bowed low with a grin. "But of course, My Lady. The floor is all yours." He stepped aside and took his space next to Addie, his lips immediately connecting with her temple and one of his hands coming to rest upon and gently caress her belly. Addie beamed at him, totally and completely in love.

Standing straight and tall and stately as ever, Granna Felicity slowly made her way to Tom's previous spot in front of the fireplace. Her elegant, silver-headed cane tapped out a steady, strong rhythm on the floor. Coming to a stop in the center of the hearth, the old woman turned towards the group, shoulders straight and square, head held high and proud. The woman was an absolute pillar of their little community. Piercing blue eyes found and fell upon Bess, who had pulled her face from Ebenezer's chest, but still remained resting upon his shoulder. Granny's eyes warmed, and her thin, wrinkled lips softened ever so slightly, but did not curl. The closest thing to a smile that would ever grace her face.

"Bess," Granny began, her thin, wavering voice strong and commanding absolute attention, "my darling great-granddaughter, lost to me but then found, I cannot tell you how it overjoys me that I am here today, able to bless you with this celebration of your thirtieth-year of life that you so greatly deserve. And I hope to endow you with more as time carries off." At that, Granny sighed deeply, and she suddenly looked very tired as she leaned more heavily on her cane. "But, let us be honest--I am old--no spring chicken by far." She drew herself straight again. "In light of that, I believe it would only be fair that I open the dancing tonight with your fine young man."

Bess couldn't help throwing back her head in a laugh. "Granny!" she exclaimed. "It's my birthday!" She tightened her arms around Ebenezer and cuddled even deeper into his lap.

Granny looked completely unfazed. "I know, my dear, but you are likely to have many, many more birthdays, whereas I am likely to keel over any moment now and am limited on the amount of time at which I might be swept around the dancefloor by a strapping young gentleman."

"You know, she has a point," Ebenezer remarked with a smirk, his slate-blue eyes sparkling with delight.

Bess turned on him and fixed the man with a good-natured glare. "You just like being called "young man"," she accused.

Ebenezer didn't even try to deny it and simply shrugged. "Regardless."

"And, need I remind you, Elizabeth," Granny continued, "that if it weren't for me, you and that wonderful young shaver you're so tightly wrapped up with currently may never have come into being at all." A playful yet slightly haughty shadow settled over the woman withered and wise visage. "All that is to say, I am due for my just desserts--wouldn't you agree?

Snorting, Bess rolled her eyes. "Fine," she sighed melodramatically, "but I get him directly and immediately after you're done." A serious look fell over the American's face as another thought crossed her mind, and she held up a firm finger toward her great-grandmother. "And absolutely no groping. Or pinching. I mean that now, Granny."

Granny's eyes twinkled deviously. "But, my darling girl, you know as well as I, that's where all the fun is!"

The small orchestra Granny FeFe had hired was no half-baked group. Despite their small size, they played as well as, if not better than, the Philharmonic Society. They filled the front hall with a beautiful and speedy waltz which Ebenezer and Granny danced to splendidly. The steely-haired man gracefully swept the old woman around the wood floor, always controlled and collected in his movements despite how free he made the dance look. Granny's eyes sparkled though her mouth remained set in stone as ever. She, herself, moved with such grace and fluidity that she could have been floating along with Ebenezer. The music seemed to revitalize the octogenarian, shaving decades off her as she flitted about; if it weren't for her stark white hair, one could have sworn she was a far younger woman.

Waltzing around in Tom's arms (Addie had most graciously surrendered her husband for the moment), Bess grinned from ear to ear and guffawed as the man made a comment about her grandmother (or their grandmother technically) sweeping off with her husband if she weren't careful. Bess cheekily remarked that, with as much fun as he appeared to be having, it was more likely they would have to keep an eye on Ebenezer sweeping Granny off. They both laughed at that.

Hearing a startled yelp, Bess' head snapped in the direction of the pair in question. "Granny!" she barked over the music. "I said no pinching!" She tried to school her gaze into a firm glare, but it was difficult to do, especially when she caught the goofy grin on her hubby's blushing face. The black-haired beauty snorted and shook her head. He'd never admit it or let it cause him to stray, but Ebenezer did rather enjoy being felt up and admired for a younger man, and Granny FeFe was always more than happy to oblige him.

Bess couldn't help but keep her eyes on Ebenezer throughout the rest of the waltz. She didn't regret allowing her great-grandmother a treat (it only seemed fair after the woman had put together this wonderful party for her), but she was longing to return to her love's arms so that they might sweep off together too. Even surrounded by all this love and warmth from her friends--which of course she was exceptionally grateful for--Bess wanted to be surrounded by Ebenezer's love most. It had taken her so long to find him--a man that was compassionate, kind, humble, intelligent, loyal, handsome, and charming and possessed a passion that matched her own; and she wanted to be completely enveloped in him as often as possible.

Finally, the waltz ended and everyone on the floor parted and bowed/curtsied to their partners. Bess walked arm-in-arm with Tom back to Addie. "Here's your hubby back!" she chirped to her cousin. "Thanks ever so much for lending him to me. He's a spectacular dancer!"

"Best there is in London!" Tom piped up, puffing out his chest as he hooked his thumbs in his lapels.

Addie giggled. "Don't I know it," she remarked. She reached her hands out to her man, and he instantly took them in his and knelt before her, gazing up into her round, glowing face. Addie giggled again, blushing all the way up her ears, her gaze locked on Tom's.

Bess smiled, her heart filled with joy. First, she and Ebenezer had tied the knot (although not under the most romantic circumstances); then Addie and Tom; now Ernie and Ella were only a few months away from their wedding; Jules and Martha were likely to be engaged any day; Josie, Belinda, and Kathy all had wonderful, steady beaus; Ida was making good headway with Harold (he'd actually come with her tonight though he wasn't dancing--that seemed to be just too far out of his comfort zone); and, to top it all off, the next generation was well underway, with Harry and Hela on their fourth child and Addie and Tom their first. Bess had a feeling her duties as a midwife would be even more taxing in the coming years, but she couldn't wait to watch and help their extended family grow. Again she thought of her lonely childhood and how happy her child-self would be to know that she grew up to be surrounded by love of all kinds.

Then she thought of George. She could almost hear his deep, warm, gentle voice in her head: You made it, Mudpuppy. And you done good. I knew you'd get there. Tears pricked at her eyes, and Bess reached up to wipe them, sniffling ever so slightly.

A deep, velvet voice called her: "Bess?"

Bess turned to see Ebenezer coming her way, a concerned look on his face as he watched her dry her eyes. She smiled reassuringly at him, though her lips did quiver, and stepped toward him. "I'm all right," she said with a little dismissive wave of her hand. "Just... thinking is all."

"Ah," her husband replied, the worry fading from his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, raising it to her face to gently dab at her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. "A dangerous pastime."

Bess rolled her eyes and giggled. "I know." She brought her left hand up to gently hold his right wrist as the Englishman blotted away her tears, leaning into his touch. Ebenezer's free hand sought hers, twining their fingers together and squeezing soothingly. Bess squeezed back, gazing up into her lover's face, her eyes brimming full with adoration as she admired him for the millionth time in their six years together (two of friendship--four of marriage). She felt a soft warmth bloom on her cheeks: She didn't believe she'd ever get over this remarkable, handsome man and how he was all hers.

"May I ask what you were thinking of?" Ebenezer murmured quietly. He sopped up a tear at the corner of his wife's left eye before bowing down to gently kiss her there, trailing more kisses along her cheekbone until he came nose to nose with her. The man gazed into her eyes, love, admiration, and desire shining out from his soft, slate-blue depths. Just as they always did.

Bess felt her heart clench almost painfully with love for the gentleman, bringing a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. She was very emotional this evening. "Just... the future. And the past," she answered vaguely. "And about George--what he would say if he were here."

Ebenezer hummed in consideration. Letting go of Bess' hand, he folded his handkerchief again and replaced it, gazing around the hall at all of the people here specifically to celebrate his wonderful wife: The Cratchits and their oldest children, the Huffmans (including Mr. Huffman Sr.), the Chars, the future Mr. and Mrs. Shaw, the Jenkinses, the Dowager of course, Ida and Harold, Bess' siblings of course. So many people here, just for her. Well aware of her past and how melancholy it had been (much like his own), Ebenezer knew what this party and all these people being here meant to Bess.

Still gazing around the hall, the reformed miser reached out and pulled his wife into his arms, pulling her close to his chest, Bess wrapping her own arms around his waist. He brought his gaze to hers again, smiling warmly at her. "I never knew George, of course," he stated, "but I like to think I've heard you speak enough of him that I could know him." Ebenezer touched his forehead to Bess' and gently smushed their noses together, making her giggle: His heart soared for it. "I know he'd be proud of you," he quietly cooed. "He'd be proud and happy and tickled every shade of pink for you and the life you've built for yourself." The man pecked a feather-light kiss on his love's painted lips before burying his face in the hair cascading over her shoulder and hugging her tight to him. "I know I am," he whispered meaningfully into her neck. He pressed his lips to the burn scar partially hidden by the new choker he'd gifted her, making Bess tremble ever so slightly.

That quiet declaration touched Bess deep in her soul: She felt more tears sting her eyes as the smile on her lips pulled wider in reaction. Clutching at her man's back, she pressed her face into his chest, trying to be as close to his heart as possible. His beautiful heart; so full of love for her. A heart that had not only proven its love for her but wanted her and beat with a fierce desire to protect her unto the ends of the earth. Like George. Just like her beloved George's heart, was her beloved Ebenezer's heart. Bess wanted nothing more than to kiss and cherish it into eternity.

"I've failed in telling you thus far, because I haven't been able to find the right words to say," Ebenezer murmured, stroking a hand up to cradle the back of her neck, his lips hidden in her hair right beside her ear, "but I am so very, very proud of you, my darling Bess. I still can't quite put it into words, I'm so proud of you."

Bess knew she was about to cry, his words filling and soothing a void deep within her that had been there ever since George's untimely passing. She hugged her husband tighter, never wanting to let go or him to let go. A quiet sob shuddered its way from her lungs. "Ebenezer...."

"You've grown so much, Bess," Ebenezer continued softly, reciprocating her constrictor-like grip. "You arrived in London hardly more than a girl; alone, lost, nearly penniless, thrust into parenthood and a society and culture you scarcely knew how to navigate. Look at you now! A grown woman who's successfully raised two children into adulthood and two more into fine youths; an accomplished and much sought-after midwife; a darling of London society-"

Bess snorted. "I wouldn't quite say that."

"-surrounded on her birthday by all the people who know and love her. You've come into your own, Sweetness--become the woman I always knew you could be. My chest is so tight and swollen with pride in you, I feel it will burst into pieces."

Bess nuzzled lovingly into his pectorals. The cheeky part of her wanted to make a quip about how she hoped not because she rather liked his chest in one piece, but the lump in her throat wouldn't allow the words through. She was so happy--so very happy! Never growing up would Bess have believed it possible for anyone--much less herself--could be as happy as she was in that moment: She felt she could explode off and fly all the way to Heaven's golden gates with the force of the blast. What had she ever done to deserve such fortune? What had she ever done to deserve this man holding her?

"You forgot one very important thing," the woman rasped. She pulled back just enough to gaze up at her tall love and meet his eyes with her tear-filled ones. "I'm a wife. A wife to an amazing, wonderful, magnificent man who loves me so much and treats me so well. And who helped to make everything else you've already mentioned possible."

Ebenezer smiled humbly, his cheeks pinking up a bit. He shook his head. "Bess-"

"No, Ebenezer, I mean it," Bess insisted, giving him a severe look. "It's true. I... I never could have done everything I have without you by my side. None of this would have happened if you weren't in my life." She reached up and grabbed his face, holding it in her hands and pulling him down closer to her to gaze even deeper into his eyes. "You helped me. You saved me--more than once. You've always had confidence in me even when I've had none in myself and given me the strength to carry on even in the darkest of moments. You've done so much for me that I can never repay."

"You are my wife," Ebenezer replied. He lifted a hand to wipe away some tears that had breached her barrier. "I love you. And before that, I was your friend and still loved you. You needn't ever repay me, Sweetness; all services were given freely from my heart." He smiled gently. "After all, it's not as if you haven't done the same for me in turn."

Bess' lips quivered into a smile. "You're my husband," she flipped it back around. "I love you. My life... it wouldn't be a life without you." She tilted his face further down to kiss his brow.

Her husband chuckled softly, leaning into her touch. "Nor would mine be without you," he murmured. Slipping a finger beneath her chin, the Englishman kissed his American love sweetly and slowly, his lips slotting expertly in with hers.

Bess utterly melted, her insides turning to quivering mush. Wrapping her arms around his bowed neck, she went up on tiptoe to deepen the contact. She squeaked against his mouth when Ebenezer suddenly clutched her about the waist and thighs and swept her up off the floor. Lovely, gorgeous, strong, tall man! Tickled by internal butterflies, a muffled giggle left her. The kiss was already making her giddy, and the sensation of nothing under her feet made it almost feel like she was floating. Her heart certainly was. The elation of it all caused both of the woman's feet to pop; knees together beneath her skirts, toes primly pointed skyward.

The band was finishing with a song and starting in on another. The couple parted for breath.

"Would you care to dance, Mrs. Scrooge?" Ebenezer lowly rumbled against the Yank's lips. His half-lidded gaze held hers.

Bess smiled a bit dazedly and nuzzled his nose. "I would be delighted, Mr. Scrooge." She loosened her grip around the man's neck and slowly, gracefully descended to the floor again.

Ebenezer took a slight step to the side, folded an arm behind his back, and debonairly offered her his left hand. Bess bit back a giggle and reached out with her right to take it. Holding hands they made their way to the middle of the floor, avoiding the other dancers. Turning again to each other, they bowed and curtsied respectfully before Ebenezer held out his hand again, smoothly pulling Bess into his arms when she took it. He pulled her quite a bit closer than was traditional, her front coming flush with his. His right hand fell much, much lower on her back than was proper. Bess gasped, a blush instantly heating her cheeks, and raised a speculative eyebrow at the man. "I say, Mr. Scrooge!" she hissed with a smirk.

Her lover merely snickered, raising a devilish eyebrow of his own, a spark of desire flashing through his slate-blue eyes that made the woman in his hold shiver with excitement. "Consider this a prelude for tonight, Mrs. Scrooge," he growled huskily as he leaned down towards her ear. "You'll have one more present to unwrap and play with before it's all said and done."

Bess' blush grew hotter, her smirk turning saucy. "However I wish?" she inquired coquettishly. Her hold on him tightened, her hand squeezing his, her nails lightly digging into the back of his shoulder.

"However you wish," came the rumbled answer. As if to provide further reassurance, Ebenezer's hand only trailed up slightly higher on Bess' backside, but only for the sake of comfort.

A wave of anticipatory pleasure rolled through the woman, settling low in her pelvis and tickling with delight. Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, what a lucky girl she was!

Hands lovingly clasped, their free hands positioned properly on backs and shoulders, Ebenezer and Bess finally swept into the next waltz with everyone else, the gentleman's long legs carrying them rapidly around the circle. They held each other's gazes the entire time, following the path simply by instinct. That never would have happened six years ago, when Ebenezer was first helping Bess learn to waltz. Which, perhaps not so coincidentally, had taken place in this exact hall.

Bess smiled at the memory. Even back then, when they'd hardly been more than acquaintances yet, Ebenezer had helped her--had been willing to help her. Even though she'd been a perfect stranger from a foreign land who'd been an absolute and sometimes offensive idiot about everything English, he'd been nothing but compassionate and shown nothing but kindness and graciousness to her all while expecting nothing in return. She hadn't thought of it then (there'd been so much else to consider) but as she thought of it now, it reminded her of George and the first time they'd met: Her a little buck-naked urchin, caked in the mud of a puddle she'd run away from home to find, and he a gentle-hearted giant of a man who hadn't batted an eye at her antics and had wrapped her up in his own shirt and taken her back home. The parallels didn't end there, as both Ebenezer and George had kept coming back, offering support and protection free of any charge. Then, eventually, both had also stayed for love and want of her.

Bess pulled her gaze away from Ebenezer's and rested her head against his shoulder, slipping her hand on his shoulder around the back of his neck to embrace him. Closing her eyes, she simply let her husband--the man she loved and trust more than any other person in this world--steer and carry her wherever he wished. It didn't matter where it was, she would go with him; wherever he went, she would follow.

"Sweetness?" Ebenezer murmured, slowing their dancing just a bit. He watched her with some concern.

"Thank you," Bess sighed with contentment. She looked up at him again, her head never leaving his shoulder, and offered a small smile. "Thank you so much."

Her husband smiled warmly. "For what, may I ask?"

Bess felt the prick of tears again at the corner of her eyes; she blinked them back. "For being everything I've ever wanted in a man," she answered softly. She squeezed his hand. "For making me feel safe, wanted, and loved. For being..." she trailed off to take a shaky breath as one more tear dripped from her lashes, "... for being even better than George."

Ebenezer's eyes softened, and Bess could swear she saw a sheen of tears in them too. Bowing his head, the tall man lovingly kissed her brow before resting his cheek against her head. His arm around her waist tightened, as did his grip on her hand. "If that's true, you're happiness is thanks enough, my darling," he assured her. "And it would be my greatest honor to continue these things if you'll allow me."

Bess could only nod her head and squeak "Yes," as the lump was back in her throat. Her lips quivered into a tight smile as she tried to control herself. She had cried so much already tonight, she didn't want to cry anymore. Squeezing her eyes shut, the American buried her face back into her man's chest, breathing in his comforting scent. Not only would George be proud of her--he would also be happy; for she'd finally done it. She'd finally found a man that measured up to him--out-measured him actually. Ebenezer was everything George had been and more, and he was hers. All hers. She still wasn't sure she deserved him, but that was neither here nor there--she had him. And she was not letting him go.

And he was not letting her go. Not ever. Just like George.

Taglist: @rom-e-o @oldmanlusting @the-house-of-auditore-frye @crimson-phantom-designs @ofvampiirisms @purgratoriat

[grievedeeply]

hello hello hello!! im so glad you're taking red dead reqs as I literally just got into the game and i'm obsessed!! <:0

may i have some soft Hosea moments? Like snuggling together to keep warm in colter? (gn reader please <3)

RAHHGGGGGG HOSEA MY DAD i love him so very much. absolutely a sweetheart. please enjoy <3 including platonic ones for my own enjoyment LOL but there are some romantic ideas too! i'm glad you're liking the game! i've been in love with these characters for so long... they are so special to me. especially john :")

gn!reader | no tws :)

soft hosea headcanons

this man. absolutely the best friend you could ever ask for. so understanding and so good at giving advice even if you didn't ask for it

he's the sweetest man in the entire world!! kind, protective, loving, understanding. he gets you when no one else does no matter what you might be going through

you swear he's lived 100 different lifetimes with how much he seems to know. it's nice, though. you always know who to go to whenever you're having trouble

if you have insomia or restless nights of any sort, hosea is by your side, no matter how tired he may be. invites you to a cup of tea and a story

he'll tell you about anything. his time before meeting dutch, the early days of the gang.. whatever you want to hear about

he insists he has a horrible singing voice but... definitely will sing you to sleep if he knows it'll help you

the warmest man alive. colter was a breeze with him by your side. with his arm constantly wrapped around your shoulders, you don't know how cold it truly is outside. he's good at keeping your focus on him

also really good at cuddling, just in general. paired with being warm, he knows how to make people feel comfortable. knows just where to put his hands to keep you feeling safe

he makes your chest feel all fuzzy. platonically or romantically, he has that effect on people :")

it's something about knowing you're safe with him around. he might not be the fastest gun, but his mind is more than capable of protecting the ones he loves. which includes you, of course

obviously... develops a major soft spot for you. he doesn't want the rest of the gang knowing about it but it's not like he's trying his best to hide it, either

he finds a lot of the things you ask for, saying he just ran into it while he was out or something, when it was clear he went looking for it to make you happy

if you develop romantic feelings for him.... he's so oblivious. he thinks he's too old for romance, and after bessie, he has trouble imagining a new relationship with anyone

he doesn't accept your feelings at first. not because he doesn't reciprocate, but because he's a bit afraid. he's a highly wanted man. he worries about the repercussions of that on you

you'll be the one doing the reassuring for once... for someone so smart he can be as dumb as a rock sometimes

he has such a kind and beautiful soul... the way he looks on the world is something entirely new to you. he sees people in a way no one else does, and it's helping you to open your eyes honestly

he sees the best in people, even despite the life he lives

if anyone says anything poorly about hosea (micah...) you will not hesitate to give them a piece of your mind

he tries to tell you to stop. it doesn't bother him, and it shouldn't bother you, either. but you can't let him go around talking about him in that way

he's one of the kindest people you've ever met. he gives everyone a second chance. even when they don't deserve one. it's more than what micah deserves, in your opinion

anyway, hosea shows his love through every single love language there is. he says he loves you so often, but it's really special whenever he expresses it physically too

he has touch a gentle touch, it's hard to picture him being an outlaw, someone as nice as he is. he has such soft hands, paired with a kind heart

he spends a lot of his spare time with you!! he indulges in your hobbies, expressing interest in everything you find yourself doing. he's genuine, too. he really cares <3

he's so good at reading you, you can't ever hide being upset from him

immediately by your side asking you what's wrong (or, if he thinks of you platonically, who broke your heart and who he has to get revenge on for it)....

he gives the best hugs... just picture it

he has so much love to give. it's a nice change of pace, honestly. he loves with all his heart, no matter what your relationship to him may be

he loves you with every bit of him there is :")

[ask-lyla]

Lyla? Could I get into the... Bad building?

I have in...in... No see spells and something that can... Di... Di... Make all the tech go sleepys!

- Bessie

Bessie, sweetheart, absolutely not.

You are young. You should not worry about things like this. I promise, it'll be okay.

[ Lyla kisses her forehead. Keep in mind Lyla is like 5in tall MAXIMUM, so it was like Tinkerbell kissed Bessie. ]

[21witnokidz]

IN THE GHETTO

Chapter 14

Despite having changed into dry clothes, Arthur and John still caught fevers, meaning y’all had to postpone the ambush on the O’Driscolls.

“Just eat the damn soup!”

Bessie was trying to get John to eat some soup Pearson had made to get over his fever. Despite being an orphan John was a picky eater and didn’t like anything too chewy. And all that was in the soup was just soft mushy vegetables.

Arthur made a fuss too but when you promised to feed him every bite he promised to eat every bite. So here you were holding his head while feeding a grown man his soup.

“I shouldn’t have to do this y’know?”

“But you are and I’m so grateful for it”

Arthur took the spoon in his mouth and swallowed all of it.

“I feel bad for John. When I refused to eat when I was little, Bessie would force a prier down my mouth and shove the food down my throat”

“That’s kinda traumatizing Arthur”

“Oh please.. despite all that I still turned out just fine. No trauma here!”

He finished all his soup and wanted to take a nap. He wanted to take a nap with you on top of him though.

“I have chores to do Arthur”

“And I have sleep to get. I can’t sleep without you. You know that”

“And you know Bessie is just gonna come in here dragging me out to help”

“Just tell her you’re still helping me out which you are by helping me get some sleep”

He pulled you into his arms and didn’t let you go for the whole 3 hours that he slept.

-

After a week the boys finally got over their fevers and were back in action.

“Dutch can we go now I’m tired of sitting around”

“All in due time y/n. In due time”

Dutch shooed you out of his tent to give him time to think. You knew he just wanted space to go and screw Annabelle. Speaking of screwing, Arthur came behind you smelling like alcohol.

“Y/n come on sugar let’s go- let’s go into the woods. You wanna go into the woods with me?”

“How many have you had to drink?”

“Too many sweetheart. Come on girl let’s go wild”

“Go sit down”

“Well what’s gotten into you darlin’? Thought you loved me. Nobody love me no more. Not Dutch. Not the old man. Not even my own girl. Sad enough to make a grown man cry”

You grabbed Arthur’s shoulders to try and get him to sit down and he leaned on your shoulder and put his face in your neck.

“Tried to drown him y’know? I was jealous he was taking up all of our time. Didn’t even know he couldn’t swim. But you know what? I saved him. Did a good thing didn’t I? You think I’m a good man?”

“You tried to drown John? God what is wrong with you the kid’s like 12!”

“I was just- I don’t know what got over me”

“That boy is 10 whole years younger than you and you think he’s gonna steal me away from you? Grow up Arthur”

You got up and walked over to Hosea to see if he had another scheme cooking up in that clever head of his. Of course he came up with the same old house robbery theme. You didn’t care much though, you were just happy to leave camp. You changed out of your camp dress and into your ‘bandit clothes’.

John and Arthur came along too once Arthur sobered up. They seemed to be getting along now even after the whole drowning incident. Maybe that was what helped them.

Hosea thought this would be good for Johns first official job so he was glad he decided to come along.

You all climbed on your horses and you saw John get on the one Arthur had brought back from the O’Driscoll camp.

“Arthur taught you how to ride?” You asked

“No actually Hosea did”

“Oh that makes sense. Now that I think about it. Every time Arthur tries to teach someone something bad always happens. When he tried to teach me how to ride a horse I busted my head”

“Sorry for that by the way” arthur muttered.

“Yea and when he tried to ‘teach me how to fish’ we almost ended up drowning. Maybe you just got bad luck with teaching people” John added.

“Can we just go rob this house please like damn” Arthur grunted.

-

You guys made it to the house and got off your horses.

“You sure this house is empty Hosea?”

“I never said it was empty but I’m sure everyone’s asleep at this hour”

Y’all went inside the house and checked every bedroom extremely quietly.

“Aw man there’s no jewelry here”

“You sure about that y/n?”

Turned around to see Hosea dangling a necklace from his finger.

“Oh my god it looks so nice!” You gasped.

“Expensive too. Let me put it on you”

You turned around and Hosea clipped the the necklace on your neck.

“How do I look?”

Hosea picked up a mirror from the nightstand and held it up so you could see it.

“You look beautiful as always. This makes me wonder. Have you ever thought of marrying Arthur?”

Hosea remembered the time he had that conversation about marriage with Arthur. That was a long time ago though. He thought he would’ve asked the question by now.

“Of course I have. I think about it all the time. I’m just waiting for him to ask me”

“Well if he does. Who’s going to walk you down?”

He said leaning towards you with a smile.

“Ok fine you are”

“Well don’t say it like that. Makes me think you don’t want me to at all”

“No seriously you were the one to find me all alone that day and I appreciate you a lot. Dutch is great and all but I don’t know. Sometimes I think he doesn’t always have the gang in his best interests”

“Yea Dutch is a tricky one but if you ever asked him to walk you down he’d do it with no complaints. You’re not gonna ask him though right?”

…

John was trying to search for money clips, jewelry, anything that meant anything but couldn’t find any.

He was so focused he couldn’t even hear Arthur sneaking up behind him. Arthur tickled John’s neck making him scream.

“What the fuck!”

That scream woke everyone in the house up finding outlaws in there home.

The room Arthur and John were in was the son’s room. The son woke up and immediately knew his family was being robbed. He grabbed his shotgun from under his pillow and shot at the boys but missed. John aimed his gun but Arthur pulled him back and ran out the room.

“That guy has a shotgun! Our pistols are no match against that in short range”

You and Hosea ran downstairs being chased by the father and mother with shotguns also in their hands.

“So did your guy also have a fucking shotgun just lying under his pillow or what?” You asked

Everyone ran outside and onto their horses.

“That bitch stole my necklace!”

The mother emptied her whole clip into the air and just stood on her front porch watching you ride off.

“Never seen a family full of hunters” Arthur laughed.

“Wooh that was so fun! Wooooooh!!! Don’t mess with the Van Der Linde gang Yea!”

John fired his gun into the air screaming.

“John shut the fuck up you wanna lead bounty hunters and O’Driscolls to our location?” Arthur hissed.

“Oh let him have his fun Arthur. We don’t get much of that nowadays”

[meteorologistaustenlonek]

Artist @alexpaulloza is the next guest on @thealistwtci with @alisonlebovitz

Thu 6/20 at 8:30 PM on our public media partner @wtci.

Listen to a preview as heard on @WUTC_FM 's @scenicroots423:

"Alex Paul Loza has garnered the attention of art enthusiasts around the world with his impressive sculptures, murals and portraits - and people here in the Chattanooga area can see his work in public spaces throughout our community.

He has sculpted a wide range of figures - from Thaddeus Stevens, the “Father of the 14th Amendment” to local icons such as Bessie Smith, Emma Wheeler and even a certain snack cake sweetheart.

Whether he’s creating pieces for the Little Debbie Park in Collegedale or the renowned Gettysburg Monument collection, Alex infuses his work with story and emotion.

Alex Paul Loza is the next guest on “The A List with Alison Lebovitz” - this Thursday at 8:30 PM on our public media partner WTCI PBS."

[bridgertonopinions]

I feel that with all the Newton messy life/relationship/TT and all someone was left to easily. Bessie Carter pissed with big part of the cast, specially/maybe with Harriet?? LukeT in the middle?? Has some friends/girl code being broken??What's the deal between Luke and Harriet??Was there anything ever??Relationship, friends with beneficts, LukeT being a sweetheart with everyone??LukeT's sexual chemistry with everyone?? Luke being a good cover cause Harriet was starting a new thing with Perry???

Then back to Bessie, she was always with Harriet filming season 2, now seeing the bts of season 3 we have zero og them together but tons with LukeT, so her "deal" proably is with Harriet. Also, I was suprised that with had pics of Harriet alone, with Jess with Hannah, even with Perry Fitzpatrick at the premiere but none with Bessie.

And in the middle we have Sam, that went with Bessie to see LukeT last year at the premiere, so clearly with him is all good, who, at least on social media, seems to have a cool relation with Nicola, and we can go ack to Bessie who clearly has a lot of issues there too.

Okay, this was long and a lot of guessings, but this is also an interesting, whatever we call it, moment happening.

.

[modern-music-through-the-ages]

Alberta Hunter, right (1920s?)

Alberta Hunter was 87 when she recorded her last album. That was in 1983. Her first 78 came out in 1921, more than sixty years earlier.

Hunter hadn't planned on making any more records but she had been forced out of nursing - which she adored - following mandatory retirement at the age of 70. What the authorities didn't know that Hunter was already 82, having lied about her age after enrolling on a three-year nursing course when she was almost 60.

Hunter's remarkable musical journey began in 1911, singing in a Chicago bordello in her mid-to-late teens. She had run away/relocated with her mother (depending on who you believe) to escape a gruelling life in Memphis four to five years earlier. Either way, her mother - with whom she remained close - joined her soon after.

Alberta progressed to bars and clubs, ultimately landing a spot and a road to stardom in the storied Dreamland Cafe, which also hosted King Oliver's Creole Jazz Band (including Louis Armstrong and soon-to-be friend Lil Hardin).

Over the following decades, the Sweetheart of Dreamland ended up on stage in Broadway, London and Paris as well as in New York and London recording studios. She also wrote songs, notably including Downhearted Blues, which Bessie Smith turned into a hit.

Hunter finally stepped out of the limelight (or so she thought) after her mother died in 1957. Little did she know that a musical renaissance, and even greater fame, were yet to come.