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2dmenenthusiast · 2 years

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"It's certainly Heaven if you're here, Darlin'."

(John Marston x Gn!Reader)

Holy shit it's finished!!! I literally started this fic back in MARCH. But you know what it's my longest fic ever and I'm proud of it. Also There is SMUT in this bad boy, so it might be ass, just a warning. But I hope ya'll enjoy!

ALSO Abigail is with everyone at the end but I genuinely forgot to add her lmaoo

Reblogs and feedback are always encouraged and appreciated!!

Summary: You're life with John was constantly filled with ups and downs. Hopefully you can both make it together in one piece.

Word Count: 12k

Warnings/other info: SMUT (if you want to skip it, it's right after John says I love you for the first time), description of injury, swearing, uhh Arthur and Kieran live because I said so, reader is gender nuetral as always.

“Hey, would you- ow!”

“Well stop flinching, ya fool!”

John sighed as you scolded him, lightly slapping at his chest before continuing to sew up the gashes on his face. He winced every time the needle pushed through his skin, the hand that rested on your knee squeezing every so often as he tried not to think about the pain.

“I’m almost finished,” you muttered, carefully pushing his soaked hair out of his face and rolling the needle between your thumb and finger a few times, making sure you had a good hold on it since your fingers felt numb from the cold. He watched you as you worked, eyes trained on the way your lips pressed together when you concentrated, your brows slightly furrowed. If he felt shitty before, he felt even more so now. He could deal with Abigail scolding him for being stupid, but he couldn’t take the worried look you had when his injured body was pulled off of Javier’s horse and into the house, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. But you didn’t cry. You turned to Jack and let him know his daddy was going to be okay, put on a brave face so his boy wouldn’t worry about his idiot of a father. You were… something else.

Gently lifting John’s head, you carefully wrapped gauze around his wounds once you finished stitching him up, making sure it was secure around his head. “Now, for the rest of our time up here, do you think you could possibly not get yourself into any more trouble?” you asked, resting your hand on John’s chest.

“‘Course, Darlin’. Don’t think I could manage to get up to much while I’m laying here.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d figure out a way.”

Your lips quirked up in a smile, a sight John loved to see, and he brought a hand up to rest it over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Think you could stay for a bit?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think about it. “Well, considering we’re snowed in on top of a mountain, I don’t suppose there’s anything better for me to do.”

John scoffed, shaking his head and immediately regretting it. “Shut up.”

“You’re gonna have to make me, cowboy.” There was that teasing lilt to your voice that always had John’s heart racing, and if he weren’t bedridden at the moment, he’d kiss that smug look off your face.

“Oh, you best believe I will once I’m up and about again.”

You laughed, the sound like wind chimes in his ears. “Alright. I guess I’ll have to take you up on that.”

John let out a hum, and you pushed down on his shoulder when he tried to sit up from the bed to kiss you, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

You’re hurt.

He just shrugged, grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward.

I don’t care.

You shook your head with a smile as you leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his lips, being mindful of his injuries. Of course, you were oblivious to the prying eyes in the cabin that just watched the short unspoken exchange. Abigail smiled to herself and looked back at the fire.

Damn fool, she thought.

Your time in Horseshoe Overlook was finally starting to ignite some hope in you as the gang sang around the campfire to celebrate Sean’s return. Javier was strumming on his guitar, but you could barely hear it over the loud caterwauling of your friends. You laughed when the Irishman tripped over a nearby log as he drunkenly stumbled around, but the contents of his bottle was soon all over your shirt, and you let out a gasp when the cold liquid seeped through the fabric and touched your skin. Sean profusely apologized, slurred syllables coming out to try and form coherent sentences. You waved him off with a smile and told him not to worry about it. He was home, he should celebrate.

Standing from your seat, you left the warmth of the fire and walked over to your tent, a shiver rolling up your spine. A pair of arms were suddenly around your waist, and you let out a yelp when you were lifted from the ground and someone’s face was pressed into your shoulder.

“John!” Your hands quickly gripped his arms, fingers digging into the sleeves of his union suit as he set you down. He chuckled against your neck, his warm breath fanning over your skin before he let out a soft hum and tightened his arms around you.

“Where you been?”

“Uh, by the fire?”

Another hum, and you slightly tensed when his lips pressed against your neck before relaxing back into his chest.

“You’re cold.”

“Yeah well, Sean spilled his beer on me, I was gonna go get changed.”

Laying a few more kisses on your neck, John let go of you before grabbing your hand and leading you to your shared tent. Pulling back the flap, he let you in first and made sure to close the tent behind you both so you could undress without prying eyes, and you made quick work of unbuttoning your shirt, eager to get something warmer on. As you searched for something clean to wear, you sucked in sharply when you felt John’s rough hands on your shoulders, the noise devolving into a soft moan when he dug his thumbs into your tense muscles. His deft fingers made their way down your spine, memorizing every freckle and mole and mark like he hadn’t already done so a thousand other times. Once his hands reached your hips, he spun you around and hooked his fingers in the belt loops of your pants, pulling you close so you fell against his chest.

“Jeez, someone’s a little touchy when they’re drunk, hm?” you teased, hands coming up to push your fingers through his hair.

He leaned forward, his forehead gently knocking against yours. “Mm, well, when you look so lovely, how can I resist?”

You let out a chuckle, pushing at his chest. “Stop trying to be romantic, Marston. It doesn’t suit you.”

“M’serious.” There was a sudden stillness in the air as John pulled back to get a proper look at you, his hands coming up to cradle your jaw. “I think you’re… wonderful.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest and you smiled, pushing a few loose strands of hair behind his ear before pressing your lips to his uninjured cheek.

“Well, maybe romance is something you’re good at, cowboy.”

“Don’t know much about that. Just that it’s easier when it comes to you.”

“Wow. You know, I think that might be the sappiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts then, ‘cause you’re never gonna get to see me like this again.”

“Oh, I’m definitely keeping a tally.”

You yelped when John pinched your behind, and he promptly silenced you with a less than gentle kiss, his hand resting on the back of your neck as you looped your arms around his shoulders. He was all teeth and tongue as his nose clumsily knocked against your own, hands quickly wandering down and making quick work on unbuttoning your pants. You let out a sharp gasp into his mouth when his hand unceremoniously shoved down the front of your trousers, and he swallowed every desperate sound you made with eager lips.

“Fuck. John-”

"Woah! Guess this tent was occupied! You're a bloody animal, John Marston!"

John was quick to shield you from Sean and Karen, facing his back to them and using his body to hide your own. You let your head fall against his chest, your face heating up from embarrassment.

“Hey!- Would you get the hell outta here?!”

Sean whistled and wiggled his eyebrows, making light of the humiliating situation before grabbing Karen’s hand and stumbling off somewhere else so they could have their privacy after drunkenly invading yours. Once they were gone, you let out a groan and pushed away from John, grabbing the first clean shirt you saw and quickly slipping it on.

“I don’t even wanna think about what they were gonna do in our tent,” you muttered as you fastened the buttons.

John shrugged. “I imagine it was what we were about to do.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your balled up, ruined shirt and throwing it at his face as you laughed. “Don’t think I’m so easy, Marston. Gonna take a lot more than your drunken confessions of love to get me in bed.”

“You say that like I haven’t done less to get you in bed.”

You pinned him with a stare, one that had John chuckling before he threw your shirt to the side and held out his hand. “C’mon.”

Letting out a sigh, you accepted his outstretched hand and let him drag you back to the festivities, leading you back to the fire where mostly everyone seemed to congregate. Sitting down, he pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you hummed along to the familiar raunchy tune everyone was singing. But John wasn’t focussed on the song, he was focussed on you, watching you sing with a smile on your face, slightly swaying in his lap. He watched the way the fire danced in your eyes and listened to your lovely voice join in with the other’s. He swore that one day, it wouldn’t take being in a drunken stupor to have the courage to say those sappy confessions to you.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay to pull a job right now?”

“It’s just some cattle we’re gonna be handlin’. Not robbing a bank,” John said, pulling on his boots.

You stood a few feet away from him, brows furrowed in a worried expression as you fidgeted with your hands. “I know, it’s just… anything could happen. I mean, I know we need the money, and I’m just worrying, but everything’s just been so hectic lately and I-”

“Darlin’.”

You sighed, clenching and unclenching your hands before forcing your shoulders to relax. “Right, sorry. It’s fine. I know you’ll be fine.”

John wanted to smile at how much you seemed to fret over him. Ever since he got injured, it was rare to see you not by his side. He knew that was partially why you were so worried. The fact that he was going to do this job, and you weren’t going to be with him. But you knew that eventually he had to get himself back out there. He couldn’t be on bed rest forever. Dutch wouldn’t let him. But more so, he wouldn’t let himself.

“I’ll be back tonight, alright? I’m takin’ Arthur with me, so things should go smoothly.”

You scoffed. “Right, hopefully before one of you ends up putting a bullet in the other. The pair of you act like stubborn children when you’re around each other.”

John sighed, standing up from his cot before coming closer, running his hands up and down your arms to try and give you some comfort. “Listen, if I’m not back by sundown, you have all the right to holler at me about how dumb or reckless or inconsiderate I am, and whatever else you manage to come up with in the meantime, alright?”

“... You forgot stubborn.”

He just chuckled, his heart swelling with adoration for you. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the way you worried about him. He placed a kiss against your hairline and gave your arms a squeeze before exiting his tent, you following after him. You watched as he mounted his horse and left camp, letting out a deep breath before walking over to Abigail’s tent. Jack was sitting on the ground next to her, playing with his wooden toys.

“That fool finally leave?” she asked, and you chuckled as you sat down next to her, leaning back on your hands.

“Yeah. I swear, Abigail, I don’t know how you put up with him as long as you did. He can be so… so-”

“Infuriating? Idiotic? Stupid? Shall I go on?”

You laughed, tilting your head and mindlessly watching her son play. “A combination of all of those things, I guess.”

Abigail just shrugged, looking at the pair of Jack’s pants in her hands and continuing to sew the hole in them. “Well, you think he’s bad now, he was even worse back then. A dumb fool when I had Jack. But I will say… he’s gotten better in the past few months.”

“Maybe. I’ve been hounding him about spending more time with his son. Not that it’s really my place but… I don’t know. I like what we are, and I like that you and I have a good relationship. I’d never forget that you and Jack are still his family and a part of his life. I’m just- I don’t want to overstep my boundaries.”

“Hold on now,” she set down the pair of pants, giving you her full attention, “has that idiot said something to make you feel like that?”

“Well… no. But I-”

“Darlin’, If you ever overstep, believe me, I will tell you if you are. You acknowledge that Jack and I are part of his life, well, I acknowledge that you’re part of his. And I-” She sighed, looking over at Jack for a moment as she pressed her lips together, thinking of what to say. “I’m glad that he has someone like you to kick him in the right direction when he starts down that stupid path of his. John and I, we made our peace a long time ago, and I wouldn’t put you in between any leftover nonsense we have. It’s mostly just about Jack now, anyways, and I can see that you care for the boy more than his own father does sometimes.” When she looked back at you, she reached over and placed a hand on your knee. “You’re good for him. And… I’m more than happy to realize the fact that you’re a part of this family, too.”

There were tears in your eyes when she finished speaking, her reassuring words wrapping around your heart and squeezing like a warm embrace. You could see what John saw in Abigail. She was beautiful and strong, didn’t take any nonsense from others. You were glad to call her your friend. Smiling, you reached up to wipe at your eyes, lightly sniffling.

“Wow, John was a real fool to let someone like you go,” you said, and Abigail laughed before continuing to sew up Jack’s pants.

“Believe me, if he does anything to screw up what you two have, he will not hear the end of it from me.”

Rage couldn’t possibly begin to describe the emotion bubbling up inside of you as you stormed through camp, fists clenched tightly at your sides and eyes sweeping over everyone, trying to find a specific face. You could see Micah coming towards you out of your peripherals, wearing that sleazy smirk on his face like your anger awoke something in him. Your lip tugged up in an almost snarl when he opened his mouth to speak, but you quickly rushed past him, making a point to ram your shoulder into his as you walked by. You didn’t have time nor the energy to deal with Micah’s bullshit antics right now. You already had one idiot cowboy to deal with.

“Marston!”

Heads shot up in your direction at your voice, hands pausing in their chores to try and get a proper listen at what was happening. You could hardly care about all that though when the lithe man you were looking for stepped out of the Shady Belle home, a brow raised in question as he came down the steps.

“Darlin’, you alright?”

You jerked back when John tried to reach out to touch you, raising a finger at him. “Don’t you pull that with me, right now. Don’t try and act dumb even if you’re a god damn master at it. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!”

There was a brief pause as his gaze made its way around the individual faces of the gang before eventually coming back to yours, like he would find the answer to your question in their expressions. “I… What are you talkin’ about?”

“Christ, Jack, you insufferable ass! You couldn’t be bothered to tell me he was gone?! You couldn’t find the time to slip that into casual conversation?!”

John got that look on his face that he always did when he started to put his guard up: that hard look in his eyes and his jaw set, shoulders squared as he deflected every word you threw at him. You fucking hated it. Hated that he was about to pull that bullshit tough act that he always did, especially with you.

“When the hell was I supposed to tell you? You’ve barely been at camp these past three days!”

“I was here all last night! You’re the one who’s been avoiding me, turning the other way whenever I try to even get close to you! I-” Tears of anger quickly welled up in your eyes, blinking a few times to try to keep them from falling. You didn’t catch the way John’s expression faltered for a moment. “I could’ve helped. The Braithwaite’s, I should’ve been there!”

John knew you were right. You were just as much family to Jack as the rest of the gang was, maybe even more so. He knew what you were saying made sense, and that you had every right to be upset. But nobody ever said John was able to see reason through his stubbornness.

“What does it matter, anyway? He’s not your child. You’re not his family! What concerns my family shouldn’t be any of your damn business!”

It felt as if you had been stabbed. Like he had carved a hole in your body where he could reach between your ribs and tear your heart out . Your breath hitched in your throat, a rogue tear quickly falling before you could make any effort to stop it. The camp around you stilled, the silence deafening as John’s words rang in your ears, and you sniffled, slowly nodding to yourself.

“Okay. If that’s how you see it… You don’t have to worry about me being in your business anymore.”

There was a brief moment where he just stared at you, a million thoughts echoing in his head, but by the time he opened his mouth to say anything, you were already gone, making your way back to your horse and riding out of camp. He watched your retreating figure until he couldn’t make you out anymore, letting out a sigh as he turned away, and he briefly caught the stares of everyone around camp before they all went about their own tasks, pretending as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened.

Well, he supposed him making a fool out of himself wasn’t so unordinary after all.

***

“Come on, everyone! Let’s celebrate!”

There were cheers following Dutch’s exclamation, the gang gathering around the campfire and singing joyfully while Javier played a cheery tune on his guitar. You were glad Jack was back, glad that he was reunited with the people that loved and cared for him deeply.

You watched the celebration from afar, leaning against a tree as you observed everyone’s smiling faces. Of course, you wanted to join in, but everytime you gathered the courage to finally sit down with everyone, you would make out John’s face in the crowd and immediately sink in on yourself, his words from earlier repeating in your head.

His family was none of your business.

Despite those reassuring words Abigail said to you all those months ago, you wondered if you were ever part of their family. If John cared for you enough to even consider you as such. All those shared moments in private, whispered confessions between chaste kisses, the almost ‘I love you’s’ that were never said, but were conveyed through loving actions; did they mean anything to him? Were they just a forgetful blip in his life that he’d leave behind, along with any remnants of you?

The way he seemed to hold your entire world in his hands made you feel pathetic. How he hung the stars and moon, like you were some lovesick idiot who went sweet on a man who probably didn’t need you. You let him take your heart, something you once so preciously guarded behind stone walls that he managed to tear down with that dry wit and rebellious nature of his. What a fool you’ve been, to even think that there would ever be a future with a man such as John Marston.

“Hey.”

Snapping your head up, you cleared your throat and straightened your posture as Arthur made his way over to you, fingers lazily hooked into his belt. You felt tense as he leaned against the tree next to you, his shoulder grazing yours.

“Ya know, you don’t have to put on a brave face in front of me. I’ve known you long enough to know you’re fakin’ it.”

You sighed at his words, your body immediately slumping back against the tree as you let your body relax. “I’m uh, I’m guessing you heard that entire shit show at camp earlier?”

Arthur huffed. “Yeah, had to deal with the aftermath, too. Between getting Jack and figuring out how he was gonna apologize to you, that boy’s mind was a mess the entire ride there and back.”

You snorted, the idea of John being so distraught over you seeming almost unbelievable.

“Well, I bet most of that was because of his son. I can only imagine what he must’ve been going through.”

The quiet ambiance quickly filled the gaps in conversation, the singing from the gang combining with the loud chirping of the crickets. All it did was make you think. How could John not see that you cared for Jack too? That you’d give anything to see that boy safe and happy?

“You were right, you know. To be upset. Hell, I’m sure he’s heard enough from me and Abigail about how much of an idiot he’s been around you.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t have to do that. His son went missing, I can understand why he was acting that way, or why he said the things he did-”

“Doesn’t give him the right to take it out on you.”

“I pushed him, Arthur. He was going through something, and I got angry and made it all about me when I could’ve just talked to him after everything was said and done… this is my fault.”

“Hey,” Arthur turned to fully face you, leveling you with that stare of his that made you feel like a kid, “that boy is your family, too, and you had every right to worry about him. Don’t let what John said change that fact.”

Letting out a sigh, you leaned forward and rested your head against Arthur’s chest, feeling exhausted from the long day. He carefully wrapped his arms around you, a hand rubbing up and down your back.

“Thanks, Arthur.”

“Of course, kid.” There was a crunch in the grass, and you and Arthur looked up to see John slowly coming over to you. “Speak of the devil.” Pulling away, he gave your shoulder a reassuring pat and stared at John as he passed him, the younger man holding eye contact until he was out of his sight.

You crossed your arms over your chest and looked down at your mud covered boots as John got closer. When he cleared his throat, you didn’t look up at him. There was a sigh, and then-

“M’sorry.”

You slowly raised your head, taking in John’s appearance. He looked exhausted, the fact that his son went missing clearly weighing on him. But he seemed more relaxed that Jack was back, even though at the moment he looked like an anxious wreck in front of you. You remained silent as you watched him, and John shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, aren’t you gonna say anything?” he asked.

“Oh, no, I wanted to keep listening to this half-assed apology you’re trying to give me.”

John scoffed and shook his head. “C’mon. Don’t be like that.”

“Don't be like what, John?” you pushed off the tree, walking towards him, “Don’t act like what you said hurt me? Like I haven’t been thinking about it all day?” He opened his mouth to speak, but you raised your hand to stop him and sighed. “Listen, I- I know how I acted earlier was dumb. I should’ve just talked to you about it. But… I care about you, okay? And Jack and Abigail, I would do anything for them. I’d do anything for you. God, I’m such a damn fool for you, John, I feel silly just thinking about it. What you said earlier? I just- I wanna know if you meant it. If you really want me out of your business, if you don’t want me getting between you and your family, I’ll stop. And then we can end… whatever this is, if you want.”

John’s brows furrowed as he stepped closer to you, and you hoped he couldn’t see how tears were on the verge of slipping down your face at the mere thought of him not wanting to be with you anymore. You weren’t so lucky though, as John reached out to wipe away the tears that had gathered under your eyes. He hated seeing your cry, especially when he was the one that caused it.

“Darlin’, of course I don’t wanna stop this. I- shit, I’m sorry I even made you think of somethin’ like that. And I’m sorry I said all those horrible things to you today. None of it was true. You are family, and whatever happens to Jack is as much your concern as it is mine and Abigail’s. I’m sorry for saying it wasn’t. So,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair, “I guess what I’m sayin’ is, I want you in my business, if you wanna be, that is.”

Your lips slowly split into a smile, and you moved to throw your arms around John’s shoulders. “John Marston, I would love nothing more than to be all up in your business,” you said with a laugh, and John’s mouth quirked up in that little half smile that you loved so much.

“Shuddup.”

You hummed, eyes trained on his lips before you leaned forward and kissed him, his arms coming up to wrap around you as the party continued on in the background.

“Fuck!”

Ducking behind cover, you brought your hand up to your shoulder with a pained grunt, pulling it back to reveal your blood covered palm. That was gonna be a bitch to get out later. You tried pushing the pain aside as you reloaded your pistol, popping your head out and nailing an O'driscoll right in the head.

Fuck this cursed, swamp infested state!

There was a shout of your name, and you looked over to see John behind a wagon, looking at you with concern evident in his expression. You waved him off, letting him know you’d be fine. Your exchange was interrupted when you heard a blood curdling scream, and you lifted your head to see that an O’Driscoll had Mary-Beth by the arm, dragging her away as she tried to fight him off.

You didn’t hesitate as you ran from cover towards her, shouting at her to get down and lifting your gun, putting three bullets in the bastard’s chest. He fell with a heavy thud, and Mary-Beth turned to you with a terrified expression before you shoved her towards where the rest of the gang had huddled for safety, telling her to run. You tried to follow her when an arm roughly curled around your waist, hauling you back as you kicked and yelled. You tried to point your gun towards them, but it was quickly knocked out of your hand before something cold and sharp was pressed against your neck.

“Don’t try anythin’ funny now, yeah? You won’t wanna find out what happens then,” he said, his hot breath against your ear as he chuckled.

You cringed at the stench of him, body thrashing and driving your foot into his shin. He let you go with a howl of pain. Spinning to face him, you surged forward and tackled him to the ground, barely giving him any time to react as your fist came down over and over again. But he began to swing wildly with his knife, and the blade sunk deep into your thigh. You cried out, white hot pain surging through your leg, and the momentary distraction gave him the upper hand, throwing you off him and yanking the knife out of your skin.

“Hooo-wee! We got a feisty one here, boys! Too bad we can’t have more fun witchya,” he said, tongue running over his cracked lips.

Your lip raised in a snarl as you tried to fight him off using all your remaining strength, but he was determined, bringing the knife up and aiming for your chest. Panic surged through you, hands shooting out to grab at his wrist. You couldn’t die like this. At the hands of a fucking O’Driscoll?! A shot rang out before he could bring the knife down, blood spraying over your face and his brains blowing out the back of his head. You quickly pushed his limp body off of you as John desperately called out to you.

You almost collapsed from the pain in your leg when you tried to stand, bringing your hand down to put pressure on it, but fuck it was deep, and it hurt like hell.

Your voice was hoarse when you called John’s name, and he was by your side in an instant, eyes frantically searching over you.

“Come on, we gotta get you outta here.”

You nodded, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he helped you stand. He was quick to get you to safety, lifting you up into the back of one of the wagons.

“Shit, you’re hurt pretty bad.”

“I’ll live, you go finish them off.”

“Darlin’-”

“Go! I’ll be fine.”

He looked at you for a moment, your words rolling around in his head for a moment before he sighed and nodded, leaning down to give you a searing kiss. He hopped out of the wagon, immediately firing at the remaining O’Driscoll’s, and you looked around you for something to cover your wound with. Letting out a groan when you found nothing, you pulled out your knife and moved to the edge of the wagon, wincing as you got up onto your knees. Brining your knife up, you cut out a piece of the canvas cover of the wagon. Grimshaw would be upset, but you’d take her wrath over bleeding out any day.

Or, wait-

No, don’t be stupid!

Shaking your head, you tied the cloth tightly around your thigh with a groan, teeth tightly clenched as you leaned back. You hoped this all would be over soon.

Your prayers were answered when the gunfire ceased, and you cautiously poked your head out of the back of the wagon to see the rest of the O’Driscoll’s were dead, much to your relief. You attempted to get out of the wagon, but were quickly stopped when Charles came rushing over to you.

“Woah, woah, woah. Take it slow,” he said, reaching out to you.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Charles carefully lifted you by your hips and set you down on the muddy ground, letting you use him as a crutch as you walked towards the gang.

“Oh, shit, kid,” Arthur grimaced when he noticed you. You waved him off.

“I’m okay.”

“Okay?! You’ve been shot and stabbed, for Christ's sake!”

“Wow, really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as John came rushing over to you, taking Charles’s place as your human crutch.

“Come on, we gotta get outta here now. Before more of those bastards show up,” Dutch said.

The man began barking out orders to the gang, and John helped you back to the wagon, making sure to grab some medical supplies along the way.

“Here, I’m gonna have Abigail come and patch you up.”

“Good idea, knowing you, you’d probably put another hole in me.” John sighed, giving you a pointed look that had you shrugging your shoulders and immediately regretting it as you were quickly reminded of the bullet lodged in one of them.

“Christ, could you stop for two seconds?”

You raised a brow. “Stop what?”

“Stop!- Shit, stop making me worry about you. You could’ve died today. Ain’t nothin’ to be making jokes about.”

“John, I’m fine-”

“But you almost weren’t! How can you be so casual about this? The person I love almost dies, and you’re just-”

“You love me?”

John froze, lips parting like he was trying to find the right words to say. John Marston was never certain about a lot of things, but one thing he was sure about was just how much he loved you. He loved you so much it physically hurt, his heart wrenching whenever you cried, his mood lifting when you’d smile at him. He felt almost blessed just to breathe your air, to be able to hold you and kiss you. The fact that he got to call you his was unfathomable to him. Yet here he was, your face gently cradled in his hands like you’d shatter the moment he was too rough with you. Clearly John did something right in his life to end up so fortunate to have you in it.

Wetting his lips, John brushed his thumb over your cheek, smearing the blood on your face that hadn’t completely dried yet.

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Darlin’.”

Bottom lip quivering, you threw your arms around him, not caring about the screaming pain in your shoulder. It felt like any words you wanted to say had been stolen from you, too overwhelmed to properly express just how much you felt. The only thing you could do was mutter a quiet, “I love you, too,” into his neck, his arms carefully winding around you.

We’re gonna be okay.

You can’t remember the last time you got to relax like this. The last time you felt this good.

You muffled a gasp into John’s shoulder when he hit you with a particularly hard thrust, reaching places deep inside you that you couldn’t even recall anyone else having discovered. Maybe it was the fact that you almost died a few days ago, but holy fuck, he was something else in that moment.

You tried to keep quiet as to not alert the rest of the camp, but god he felt so fucking good inside of you. You could barely contain your moans that so desperately wanted to slip out every time he pulled out and pushed himself back in. And when he reached down between your bodies and began playing with the most sensitive part of you, you almost lost it right then and there.

“Fuck, Darlin’. I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep squeezin’ me like that,” John groaned, lips pressed against your pulse as you keened.

He’d been extra handsy tonight, too. Always touching some part of you whether it be his hand pressed against your lower back or his side brushing against yours when he stood close to you. You couldn’t get away from him all day. He followed your figure with hungry eyes when you did literally anything around camp. When you finally noticed, you knew you were in for it. He was fucking burning for you when you retreated to your tent for the night, pawing at your clothes the second the tent flap closed behind him. He was so eager, he ripped a few buttons off your shirt trying to pull it off you, but you didn’t have it in you to yell at him. You were just as desperate as he was.

“C’mon. I wanna hear you.”

You shook your head, burying your face into his neck. Beaver Hollow was cramped. It felt like all of you were living right on top of each other. There was no way no one would hear.

His hand came down and gripped the back of your thigh, pushing your leg up and spreading you further apart, and he let out a grunt when he felt your teeth sink into his shoulder. Pulling back, his other hand came up to grip your jaw, stilling his hips as he forced you to look at him.

“You holdin’ out on me, sweetheart?”

His hips rolled tightly against your own, your jaw dropping open as your head fell back against the bedroll.

“Don’t- mmh- Don’t fuckin’ tease me, Marston.” He chuckled against your collar bone. He was being cute, but he still wasn’t fucking moving. “I swear to god, if you don’t move right now I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

He snorted that time, only slightly relieving you with the smallest movement of his hips. You didn’t even really mind if you finished, having already come minutes before when he had gone down on you like a man starved. But you were fucking aching for more than just his mouth, and his cock just fit inside you so nicely-

You scrambled to slap your hand over your mouth when he suddenly resumed his thrusts, your back arching up from the bedroll as a rough hand dragged down your front. You choked on a moan when he sat back on his knees and lifted you up into his lap, his hands guiding your hips. Your hand pressed flat against his solid chest, the fingers on your other hand curling into his hair and tugging him forward to sloppily force his lips against yours.

“Fuck!” you gasped, unable to contain the moan that came tumbling out as you held onto him for dear life.

All hopes of being quiet were lost after that, delicious moans pouring out of you that had John picking up the pace so you could both reach your end. You were a bit confused when he laid you back down and pressed his hand against your mouth, his motions stopping, and you whined for him to continue. You arched your hips up desperately, but quickly understood why he stopped when you heard footsteps getting closer to your tent. You silently prayed for them to go away, but your widened eyes met with John’s when you felt him slowly begin to move, and you quickly shook your head against his hand.

He ignored you, slowly pushing in and out, and the feeling had you biting into the flesh of his hand. He didn’t move it, your hands coming up to grip his wrist. You were worried, but the risk of getting caught, the way John felt inside you, it had you cumming in seconds. John was right behind you with a quiet groan, the feeling of you finishing with him inside you sending him over the edge, and the steps slowly retreated.

He gently pulled out with a sigh and collapsed beside you, both of you working to catch your breath.

“God, I really hope that wasn’t Micah,” you muttered breathlessly.

“Eugh. Don’t make me think about him right now.”

You laughed, and John pinched your side. “Guess we’ll see what he says tomorrow, then.”

It went without saying, Beaver Hollow was without a doubt your least favorite camp spot. It was dark, creepy, and there were possible cannibals lurking throughout the woods. However, despite all those things, the starry night sky was a breathtaking sight.

“Ooh, and that one, that one’s Orion.” you said, pointing up at the sky.

John chuckled from his spot beside you. “You sure know a lot about this stuff, huh?”

You shrugged, lightly squeezing his hand that rested between you. “Not really. I just know the little bit my mother taught me. Orion’s always been my favorite.”

You heard John let out a hum as you continued to look at the stars, unaware of the fact that he had shifted his gaze over to you. There was something about the way you’d talk about things you were interested in that had warmth swirling around in his chest. The way your eyes would light up and you’d get this smile on your face that rivaled the stars you thought of so dearly. He’d never admit it, but that smile was his favorite sight to see after a long day, even if it meant only seeing it after being lectured over how much of an inconsiderate fool he’d been earlier. Still, it was always worth it.

The distant chattering of the gang and the loud chirping of crickets filled the silence between you, a gentle breeze shaking the leaves of the trees and causing a chill to run through you. After a little while, you finally looked over to meet John’s eyes.

“You know, the view is up there,” you said.

John turned on his side, propping his elbow up so he could rest his head in his hand, “Yeah, but I got a better one next to me.”

You scoffed, reaching over and slapping his shoulder as he chuckled, and you turned to face him as well. "Well, you're not so bad to look at yourself," you muttered, reaching out to play with the loose thread of his shirt.

John immediately shook his head. "I'm an ugly bastard, no need to lie to me. I know these scars aren't exactly nice to look at."

"Oh, quite the contrary, actually," you said, moving your hand to carefully run your fingers over said scars. You started at his lip, your thumb brushing over it, before mapping out the ones on his cheek. "You know, some people find scars incredibly sexy."

John raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"Mhm. And one of those said people just happen to be me." You leaned forward before he could respond with some self deprecating joke and pressed your lips to his, continuing to caress his scarred cheek.

He hummed into the kiss, hand slowly trailing down your back before he rolled over, and you laughed against his mouth as you fell on top of him. Pressing a hand against his chest, the other came up to rest against his cheek as you trailed kisses over his jaw, and his hands fell to your hips, his hold possessive and wanting. You softly gasped when his fingers made their way under your shirt, his skin rough and warm. You pulled away before it could go any further, and John let out a displeased sigh that had you chuckling.

“I know, I know. But, we’re not exactly alone,” you said, glancing up at the rest of the gang, some sitting by the fire, and the rest sound asleep.

“Hasn’t exactly stopped us before.”

You pinched his side before laying your head against his chest, feeling him shake underneath you as he laughed. “Well, yeah, but that was different. It was the middle of the night and everyone was already asleep. Not every single person in camp had the potential to hear us.”

“You sure about that? I mean, with how loud you are-”

“Marston, you finish that sentence and I will never let you touch me again.”

He let out another laugh that had you smiling. You always loved his laugh, the sound being so foreign these days. You wished he had more reasons to be happy. You wished that for all of you. You closed your eyes as John ran his hand up and down your back, and you listened to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

“John… Do you think we’ll make it out of this? I mean, things aren’t exactly looking up from here. Everything with Dutch, I just-"

"Hey, we're gonna get outta here. You, me, Jack, Abigail, and Arthur, we're gonna be safe."

He was right. You wanted him to be right. It was hard to imagine, though, when everything seemed to be crumbling around you. The Pinkertons and the O'Driscoll's constantly appearing, killing your friends. Dutch’s ideals and beliefs blurred day by day as his greed and his need to win grew. How could you possibly see a positive end to all this chaos? Despite all that, you tried to focus on the here and now, your body held safely in John’s arms, where you felt safest.

"I miss them," you whispered, your eyes welling up at the thought of all the friends you lost. Your family.

"Me too, Darlin'. Me too."

You knew that you should’ve left with the others. God, you fucking knew. You had talked about it with John before, about taking off in the middle of the night, taking Arthur, Abigail, and Jack with you, but he was on the fence. It was always a “maybe,” or “eventually,” and you felt like ripping your hair out. The pressure you felt to leave only increased when John got taken by the law and Dutch did absolutely nothing but scheme with Micah all day. He constantly made empty promises to you and Abigail that he would get him back, but after days of waiting for the man to make good on his word, you grew restless, enlisting the help of Arthur and Sadie to go rescue him.

“I had a goddamn plan!” Dutch had yelled, and you were so furious, you didn’t even think when you got right in his face and jabbed your finger into his chest.

“And what was that, huh?! Wait a few more days until all you brought back was a fucking corpse?! There was talk of hangin’ him!”

“There was talk of hanging him. Talk!”

You almost drew your gun right then and there, teeth bared as you moved forward, but Arthur gripped your arm and pulled you back. Your head snapped towards Micah when you heard him chuckle, that stupid smirk on his face that you wanted nothing more than to wipe off.

“Whatever. You’re just lucky that you have your fucking pet snake here to protect you.”

Ever since then, there had been a clear tension between you and Dutch, so when he recruited you to go on this train job, you were shocked at first. After your fight you thought he’d want nothing to do with you. But when you thought about it, Dutch didn’t want you on the job because he liked you. No, he wanted you because you were strong and damn good with a gun. To him, you were just another body, a tool to help him get his greedy hands on what he wanted most.

You let out a grunt as you threw yourself onto the train cart from Javier’s horse, rolling onto your side and quickly hauling yourself up on your feet. “God, this is such fucking bullshit!” you muttered, loading bullets into your pistol.

“The train’s being robbed!”

Your head whirled, and you saw a man standing on top of the hill. Goddammit. “Let’s get this show on the road, gentlemen!” you yelled, John making quick work of unlatching the burning car, and you busied yourself with helping Arthur set up the Maxim gun.

You jostled with the explosion of the car, catching Arthur’s shoulder to steady yourself. Looking over at John, relief flooded you when you saw that he was uninjured. You took a step towards him when-

BANG!

“John!”

He stumbled back with the shot, your arm shooting out to try and grab him. Your fingers briefly brushed against his before he fell off the train. You didn’t think as you went to jump after him, but there was a strong arm around your torso pulling you back. You kicked and screamed, trying to get out of Arthur’s hold.

“Kid, no! You wanna get yourself killed?!”

You beat your fist down against his arm. “Let me go! Fuck, I have to help him! Arthur-!”

With enough force, you were able to twist yourself out of his grip, breathing erratically and your hands violently shaking. Arthur held his hands out, trying to get you to calm down, but his words fell on deaf ears when your eyes landed on the man on top of the cart. With a strangled cry, you raised your pistol and emptied it into the man, tears clouding your vision. You pulled the trigger a few more times and heard nothing but empty clicks, and your body collapsed forward onto your hands and knees. Dutch said something about getting John, but you barely registered the words, blood rushing in your ears and heart hammering against your chest. You couldn’t think, could barely even breathe. Arthur placed a hand on your shoulder and you pulled away like his touch burned you. You felt fucking sick. There was a white hot rage that bubbled up inside you and made your insides churn, and you willed your body to stand on shaking legs. Your teeth were clenched so tightly that your jaw started to ache, and as Arthur spoke to Bill, you grabbed your shotgun from your back and began moving up the train without them, hearing him shout for you.

You tore through every lawman in your way, tears rolling down your face as you channeled all your anger and grief into each shot you took. A man came running at you, and you swung your shotgun at his head, his body crumpling down at your feet. You pressed the barrel against his head and squeezed the trigger, blood splattering all over your clothes. You didn’t care, never once bothering to duck into cover, even as the lawmen riding in on their horses started shooting at you. You were too hurt to care, too angry.

As you moved further up the train, a man suddenly came out from behind a wooden crate and slammed into you with a shout, causing you to drop your gun as you stumbled into the wall. You huffed through your nose, your aching shoulder taking most of the blow, and quickly pulled your knife from your thigh. You didn’t feel scared or intimidated, not even as the man raised his gun in an attempt to shoot you. You were just fucking pissed.

You moved in before he could take the shot, swiping the gun out of his hand and using your body to slam him into the wall. Your arm was across his throat, his eyes widening in fear, and you thrust your knife up into his gut, the blade sinking satisfyingly into his flesh. You watched as the life drained from his eyes, blood gurgling up his throat and spilling out of his mouth before you finally let him fall to the ground.

“Kid!”

Arthur gripped your arm and pulled you back from the body, looking over your blood covered form as Sadie came up behind him.

“Come on! We gotta hurry.” She brushed past you both, and you gave Arthur a nod before pulling away from him and following after Sadie towards the armored car, avoiding the man’s concerned gaze. You just wanted to get off this godforsaken train and find John.

***

If I never have to do a train robbery again, I will die happy.

Your sore limbs screamed at you as you lifted yourself up from the dirt, letting out a pained groan. You could mark down ‘jumping off of a moving train’ as one of your absolute least favorite things to do.

“You okay?”

You glanced over at Arthur, a hefty bag of money resting on his shoulder. You nodded, brushing the dirt off of your clothes. “Just peachy.”

Grabbing your own bag, you followed Bill, Sadie and Arthur down the tracks, the sound of Hooves beating against the dirt getting closer until Dutch, Micah, and Javier stopped in front of you on their horses. There was something missing that you quickly noticed. Someone.

“Where’s John?” Arthur asked.

Dutch shook his head. “I tried. I tried.”

“He didn’t make it,” Micah added. “That patrol killed him.”

The heavy bag fell to your feet, and everyone’s eyes landed on you. Arthur could practically feel the rage radiating off of you, his eyes not able to catch how fast your hand moved as you unholstered your gun and aimed it directly at Micah’s head. No one made a single move after that for a few seconds until Micah’s idiot buddies finally regained their senses and scrambled for their own weapons, pointing them at you. Ordinarily, Micah probably wouldn’t have been phased by the action. He spent so much time spewing his mouth and pissing people off, he most likely couldn’t count how many times in a day a gun had been pointed at him. But the look on your face, that pure, unbridled rage that swirled behind your eyes, it made him nervous.

“You're full of shit.” you spat.

Micah glanced over at Dutch before letting out a chuckle, raising his hands. “Now, I assure you-”

“Both of you! You fucking bastards!”

“Kid, don’t-”

You ignored Arthur’s soft pleas, shifting your gun to Dutch. “You tried?! So you just left him? Is that it?! You fucking left him to die, and were so concerened with saving your own pathetic skin that you couldn’t even grab his body?!”

“There wasn’t time! We had to run! Goddammit, don’t you think I-”

“I don’t think you did anything, Dutch! I think you’re a god damned liar and a traitor!”

Gun shaking in your hand, you finally lowered it after a moment, a broken sob clawing its way up your throat. He can’t be dead. He can’t be. Sadie softly uttered your name and took a cautious step towards you. Concern was written all over her face, gently placing a hand on the center of your back. Sadie showed more care for you in that moment than Dutch had in the past month. And you were abruptly reminded of the fact that, no, Dutch didn’t care about anyone but himself and his own personal gain. Maybe, maybe there was a time long ago when we would’ve gladly given his life for any one of you sorry fools. But now? Any love he had left for you had been weeded out. Speeding over to your horse, you mounted up and connected your gaze with Arthur’s. You didn’t have to say anything for him to know what you were about to do, and his simple nod told you everything you needed to know.

Be careful.

Taking a deep breath, your hands tightened on the reins and you spurred your horse into a gallop, not looking back when Dutch angrily shouted your name. You didn’t care what he’d do to you when you got back to camp, you needed to know for sure what John’s fate was. And if he was dead…

If he’s dead, I’ll fucking kill him!

You followed the train tracks and tried to remember where he fell, looking out for any unique landmarks. How could they just leave him? After everything he’s been through with this gang, his whole life dedicated to what Dutch stood for, and he fucking left him. It was heartbreaking watching the man you once valued as a leader devolve into the power hungry fanatic he was today. He preached honor and loyalty.

Faith.

Fuck faith.

Fuck him.

You wiped an angry tear away from your face and urged your horse to go faster, muttering apologies for how hard you were pushing her, but you couldn’t spare a moment. What if John was bleeding out, alone and in pain? What if he was desperately calling out for you?

What if, what if, what if.

Stopping your horse around where you thought John fell, you dismounted and made your way down the hill, gun held tightly in your hand. “John?!” You waited for a moment, listening closely for a response. When you got none, you searched further and shouted his name again. You tried to prepare yourself for the possibility that he was in fact dead, the thought weighing heavy on your heart. What would you do if that was the case? Where would you go? How could you possibly live your life without that fool in it every day?

You felt like collapsing after minutes of searching with no luck. Your body fell against a nearby tree, and you cried. You cried until your throat hurt and your nose was stuffed, hand coming up to wipe away your snot and tears.

What am I gonna tell Jack and Abigail?

Something cracked, a branch maybe, and your head shot up at the sound. You pushed yourself off the tree, quickly making your way towards the sound and-

“Oh my, god!”

There John was, collapsed against a tree trunk and gripping his shoulder, blood soaking his shirt. You were in front of him in the blink of an eye, kneeling on the dirt and tearing the sleeve off your shirt. He looked so out of it. His eyes were shut tightly as he let out occasional groans from the pain, but you were just glad that he was alive. You were quick to patch up his wound the best you could, taking a half full health cure out of your satchel and urging him to drink it. He coughed as it went down.

“Are you real?”

Your hands paused, and you looked at his face. God, he looked exhausted. With a smile, you reached a hand up and brushed his hair behind his ear, palm resting against his cheek. Your heart ached for John. He had been through so much, and there was nothing you could do to change the fact that the man who had taken him in when he was just a kid, the man who was supposed to protect him, had left him for dead. You couldn't take his pain away, couldn’t say or do anything that would change what happened to him. The fact that you couldn’t keep him from hurting, it killed you.

When you kissed him, it was gentle at first, but grew more desperate when it finally sunk in that he was actually alive. He was here, with you. You pulled away with a shaky breath, lips pressed together in a sad smile.

“You think this is Heaven, Marston?”

He gave you that boyish grin, hand falling on your thigh and squeezing. “It’s certainly Heaven if you’re here, Darlin’.”

It caught you off guard how sweet he could be with a bullet lodged in him, and you laughed before kissing him again. His face was held so gently in your hands, like you might break him if you moved too suddenly or kissed him too hard. That gentleness was thrown out the window when he hauled you into his lap, letting out a noise of protest against his lips.

“John- you're hurt.”

He buried his face in your neck, his stubble tickling as he trailed featherlight kisses over your skin.

“I thought I’d never see you again. Grant a dying man his last wish.”

“You’re not dying, John.”

“Almost.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling his face away from your neck with a smile before softly connecting your lips again. And again. And again. He chased your lips when you pulled away. He just didn’t want you getting away from him, it seemed.

“You scare me like that again, and I’ll put you in the ground myself. You got it, Marston?”

He just smiled, not paying attention to anything but your lips as he leaned in again. “Whatever you say.”

While you got to share one small, blissful moment with John now, you couldn’t imagine how things would unravel once you both got back to camp and faced Dutch with the man he claimed was dead.

Christ, it was fucking hot. The sun beat down on you as you carried hay into the horse's stall, setting it down with a grunt before taking off your glove and wiping the back of your hand over your sweaty forehead. You couldn’t wait for a nice, long bath.

Maybe a certain someone would consider taking one with you.

You quickly shook your head at the thought, slapping at your cheeks a few times as you felt them heat up.

“Should I be concerned as to why you’re hittin’ yourself?”

You gasped and spun around at the sudden voice, glaring at Arthur’s smug expression.

“Jesus, way to give someone a freaking heart attack,” you muttered, thwacking your glove against his chest as you passed him. He just shrugged with a small chuckle, following after you.

“You make it too easy, kid.”

You hummed, picking up another bail of hay and thrusting it towards him. He quickly grabbed onto it with a quiet grunt. “You gonna help out or stand around torturin’ me?”

“Hey, you wanna talk to someone about pulling their weight, go harass Uncle.”

“Oh, I have plans for him,” you said, hands placed on your hips as you gave Arthur a knowing smirk.

“Well, I can’t wait then.”

Your smile grew as you parted ways from him, walking across Beecher's Hope to find Uncle sitting on the porch in his usual shady spot. You couldn’t blame him for wanting to laze around. Work on the ranch was hard sometimes, and on blistering days like today, it could really take all the energy out of you. Except Uncle seemed to never have energy, considering you’d probably see a sasquatch before you ever saw him do any work.

“Hey, old man.” You kicked at his boot, causing him to abruptly stir awake, which he clearly didn’t appreciate.

“What- Aw hell, what do ya want now? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, really? Because I could’ve sworn it looked like you were doing nothing!”

“Alright, alright! Christ, you’re just as bad as those two imbeciles,” Uncle said, finally standing from his slumped position against the wood support beam with a dramatic groan.

“Hardly, considering I don’t threaten to gut you in your sleep nearly as much.” Walking towards the barn, you grabbed the pitchfork hanging up and handed it over. “You want some work in the shade? Shovel the horse stalls.”

His gaze frantically shifted from you to the pitchfork, and he shook his head. “Aw, Hell no! You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you’d rather subject yourself to the mercy Arthur and John are gonna show you?”

Uncle didn’t say anything for a minute, looking at the pitchfork in his hand before grumbling to himself and trudging off, and a satisfied smirk tugged at your lips. Taking off your other glove, you lightly slapped them against your thigh as you made your way towards the corral, kicking up loose dirt in your path.

You caught a glimpse of Jack leaning against a tree with a thick book in his hand and wanted to smile. You remembered when he was just a little boy all those years ago, kicking up a fuss whenever Hosea would sit down with him to read. Now, you couldn’t imagine Jack doing anything else with his free time, his face constantly stuffed in a book, barely paying attention to the world around him. He lifted his head when he felt you staring and gave you a small wave paired with a smile. You returned the gesture, letting him go back to his reading before walking away. Hosea would be proud.

Your thoughts strayed at the thought of the older man, a wave of sadness hitting you as your steps faltered. God, he would’ve loved to see this. His family living a good life, more honest than he ever lived his. You imagined how proud he’d be of everyone, especially Arthur. You could see it day by day, the urge he feels to go back to his old ways like a dog trained. You watched as he fought his thoughts, listened as he expressed his worry of overstaying his welcome.

“You’re family, Arthur. Hell, you’re the reason we’re all here in the first place. You can stay here as long as you’d like.”

The corral was soon in your sights, a slight pep in your step as your beloved horse came into view. Kieran stood beside him, a brush in his hand as he gently patted his neck. Despite mosts original feelings about Kieran, he had become a loved and valued member of your family. He had always tried so hard to fit in with the gang, constantly walking on eggshells or mostly keeping his mouth shut so he didn’t unintentionally piss anyone off. You felt for him. But since coming to Beachers Hope, he seemed more relaxed. Perfectly content as he worked with the horses. There was a light in his eyes you hadn’t seen before, and you wanted to make sure it never went out again.

“How’s he been doing?” you asked, sidling up to both of them.

Kieran smiled at your presence. “He’s been good! Those herbs I gave him yesterday really seem to be helping.”

Orion bumped his nose into your shoulder, and you gently brushed your hand against his forehead with a chuckle. “You’re a lifesaver, Kieran.” The man’s eyes slightly widened at your praise, and he quickly let out a flurry of rushed sentences as his face flushed. You smiled, silencing him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, thank you. You’re really helping us out around here.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood stock still as his eyes roamed your face. He eventually let out a small hum and looked away, resuming brushing the dirt off of Orion’s coat. You let out an amused huff through your nose before leaving Kieran to his own devices. He couldn’t handle the slightest praise if his life depended on it.

“I think you almost gave him a heart attack.”

Charles bumped you with his shoulder, and you let out a hum.

“You should see him when that kind of stuff comes out of Arthur’s mouth. It’s like he’s seen a ghost.”

Charles' deep laugh resonated through your ears and sparked warmth in your chest. You liked it when he was carefree like this. Not skulking around by himself or hiding where no one could find him.

“It’s new for him, too. He looked like a bumbling fool the first time he tried to say something nice to him.”

You snorted, leaning against the fence of the corral and placing your foot on top of the rail. You both watched the animals meander around for a bit, Charles excusing himself to go take care of something. You didn’t really catch the end of what he said when John came into view carrying a bale of hay. You could see the flexed muscles of his arms underneath his shirt, sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck and disappeared under the fabric, and he quickly found your eyes with his own before your thoughts could drift further. You cleared your throat like it would somehow get rid of all the thoughts you were having and climbed the fence, dirt kicking up when you landed on the other side. Setting down the bale, John straightened up and hooked his thumbs into his belt, his lips lifting in a knowing smirk.

“Don’t make me slap you, Marston.”

He laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well you were gonna,” you muttered, fingers slipping underneath the front of his belt and tugging him forward, his chest knocking into yours. He raised a curious eyebrow.

“You running a little hot, sweetheart?”

You scoffed, fist colliding with his shoulder as you pulled away. “Rancher John has gotten a little cocky, I see.”

“And Gunslinger Martson wasn’t?”

“Oh, absolutely not. Gunslinger Marston was a hopeless fool who couldn’t say ‘I love you’ until I was almost dying.”

“I love you.”

Your head spun towards him, brows raised in slight shock. He shrugged.

“You’re not dying now.”

Your lips twitched up in a smile, stepping towards him again and gripping the front of his shirt. “You’re still a hopeless fool.”

He hummed as you slotted your lips against his, hands finding their home on your waist and tugging you closer until your front was pressed up against his. It was too hot to be this close, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin and sweat beading down your forehead. But you couldn’t pay any mind to that when John’s lips and hands felt so nice against you.

“Oh for cryin’ out loud, would you two get a room?” a distant Uncle yelled, and you pulled away from John’s lips. You didn’t move too far though, hands still pressed against his chest.

“Aren’t you supposed to be shoveling horse shit?”

You felt John shake with laughter, and Uncle just mumbled insults to himself as he threw the pitchfork in the dirt and stomped away. “Damn kids. Got no respect for their elders…”

Your head collapsed against John’s chest as you fell into a fit of giggles, his arms looping around you and pulling you close. Fingers curling into his shirt, you looked up and caught his gaze. “You done for the day?”

He nodded, and you pulled back to grab his hand, leading him towards the house. You toed off your muddy boots by the door once inside and laughed when John nearly tripped over his pants. He flicked your arm and walked past you into the bathroom. The door closed behind you with a soft click, and you were already working on the buttons of your shirt as John prepared the bath.

“You wanna try out one of these fancy soaps you bought?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes at the way he said it.

“They are not ‘fancy,’ John.”

“Sure cost us a pretty penny.”

You shrugged your top off, throwing it on the chair in the corner. “Am I not allowed to smell good?”

He scoffed, standing up from the edge of the tub and pulling his shirt out of his pants. “No. I’m saying you smell good regardless of what you use.”

Tilting your head, you stepped into his space and helped him finish unbuttoning, placing small kisses against his chest as you pushed the fabric off his shoulders. Deft fingers slid down his abdomen before reaching his pants, and he let out a soft sigh when you unzipped them.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t gonna be any point to this bath if you keep going.”

Chuckling against his skin, you pulled away to let him finish undressing himself, shedding your own clothes. You dipped your foot into the water and sighed contentedly. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t unbearably hot either. Just that perfect middle ground that you could relax in after a long day. Sinking into the tub, you moved up a bit to let John sit behind you. You could practically feel the tension easing from his body when you leaned back against him, his arms lazily thrown around your middle and his nose buried in your hair.

You reminded yourself to thank Arthur for the thousandth time. Absolutely none of this would be possible if not for him. The fact that you were able to just sit and relax without waiting for some treacherous gang or the law to come barging down your door, that you could just simply live, it felt unreal. Jack, that lovely, sweet boy, finally had a bed to sleep in, and could read his books without worrying about moving to a new place again. It all felt like a blissful dream, and you were afraid of waking up any moment. But you would look at John sometimes and he would smile, really smile, and you’d be reminded that this was all real. His touch, his laughter, his love. It was real.

“You can keep buyin’ it, ya’know.”

“Hm?” you hummed, slightly turning your head back.

“The soaps. They smell… nice.”

Your face split into a wide grin as you twisted your body and pressed your lips to his, brushing his greasy hair back from his forehead.

“You’re a fool, John Marston.”

“Only for you, Darlin’. Only for you.”

#John marston x reader #John marston imagine #John marston oneshot #rdr2 imagine #red dead redemption 2 imagine #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #john marston #jim milton #john marston fanfic #rdr2 fanfic

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shares-a-vest · 1 year

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What do you mean it was the anniversary of the death of a dorky gay metalhead???

Tw: medical stuff/hospital setting. it's fairly mild

29th March, 1986

"Hey, Steve?"

He turns in his chair to look at Robin. She's standing side by side Nancy, who has her arm around Dustin, still red-eyed and tired. They'll all tired.

It has been just under 48 hours since Steve had used the last of his strength to lift Eddie (with the aid of Nancy, Rob and the wobbly stack of furniture on both sides of the Gate) out of the Upside Down.

Eddie was barely alive, bloodied and breathing shallow. The hard fall that Steve caught the most of probably not making the situation better as they tumbled back into the real world. Nancy had commandeered the stolen RV to the hospital, dropped them off and doubled back to the Creel house for Max and the Sinclairs.

Almost immediately they were separated, Eddie wheeled off to god knows where, while Steve was treated in emergency at Robin's insistence. Then at some point he'd passed out, a combination of the pain from his wounds and whatever drugs were pumped into him.

This fucking IV. Two days later, he's still hooked up to it, not dragging it along into Eddie's room like he did the first night because Robin has taken to wheeling Steve around in a wheelchair.

He's sitting by Eddie's bedside now. Watching. Waiting for him to wake up.

Apparently he awoke early yesterday morning with Wayne in the room. And if he's being honest (and he feels like shit about it), Steve is jealous he missed it. He was having his bandages changed. An excerise that took way too long because they were all quickly moved into the bowels of Hawkins General, top secret by the time Dr Owens suddenly popped up. By then, government clearance was needed to do any god damn thing. So he'd waited for hours between the old bandages going and the new dressings.

Robin would say it wasn't that long...

Anyway, Eddie had briefly regained consciousness in that time.

And Steve missed it.

He looks at Robin, eyes pleading. He shakes his head.

She thankfully nods, despite the smallest shuffle towards him that has Nancy making a sqeaking noise at her.

"Let's go sit with Wayne and have some lunch," she says quietly, squeezing Dustin (equally hesitant to leave the room) and nodding.

Nancy, ever the level-headed one, even in this situation the Scooby Gang had gotten themselves in, was managing everyone and their emotions. She was a godsend.

He tips his head towards the door, nodding along with Nancy. They trio lingered for a moment longer before leaving to venture up into the world.

Steve watches as the door closes, wheeling closer to Eddie's bed.

He reaches out a hand, stopping as he remembers his stupid drip. He yanks it around the left wheel of his chair, slapping it against the floor to free up some length. He reaches his destination this time, resting his hand on Eddie's right forearm, just below those cursed patch of bats. He grumbles at the sight of them and searches for somewhere else to look.

Eddie is covered in bandages, cuts, dried blood and iodine stains. They are still tubes everywhere, maybe a couple less than when Steve first saw him when he'd crept into his room late last night. He'd needed surgery of course, patching up his left side which had been torn to pieces. A nurse quipped that Steve and Nancy had saved him from blood loss with their triage work.

Turns out Steve had finally found a use for his First Aid training post-Lifeguard life. It's not like any life or death situations happened in Family Video...

He wishes he could sit on Eddie's left side, brush away the hair that was tangled with dried blood. He couldn't reach forward enough to brush away his fringe that's sticking to his forehead either.

Steve runs his palm down Eddie's right arm, reaching his hand that is only occupied by a pulse-rate clip on his index finger. He intertwines their fingers, shifting forward in his chair as best he can so he can press a soft kiss to the back of Eddie's hand.

He selfishly holds his hand to his own chapped lips, not caring if it's obstructing the pulse device.

He just needs a moment.

He screws his eyes shut, willing away tears.

"Please wake up for me, Eds."

#lmao writing this waiting for an iron injection #hence the medical details i guess gotta disassociate with my blorbos #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fix-it #lilys ficlets #steddie s4 #steddie ficlet #healing steddie

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kumachii · 1 year

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Currently obsessing over Kazutora with a crush who is the school's sweetheart and loves to help people around.

Them meeting while his crush offers him help with something so very simple, maybe sharing their lunch or providing their notes, with Kazutora's heart fluttering at every interaction.

They seem to bump into each other everywhere, only exchanging small nods of acknowledgement while each losing their mind over how good the other looks, without even trying.

A stray cat that his crush tends to every day near the back alley of their house leading Kazutora to them. They don't mention each other's red faces, just laughing at the coincidence and talking about favourite foods, places and hobbies for hours on end.

Just simple meetups barely suffice and Kazutora finds himself sharing his number on the second week. The first call comes late at night, while his back is resting against a wall, legs thrown over the edge of the roof of an abandoned mall.

It's the most fun Kazutora has had in a long while, especially with his trouble of interacting with others while not fighting. He finds himself thinking about them randomly throughout his day, anticipating their next chat, staring at that one item on the shop's display that reminds him of his crush.

It's more than a bit stupid, he knows. But he's also aware it's not just a infatuation. Not like the one that made his mother take his father's every blow, verbal or physical, because she thought "That's just his way of showing he cares." Until it came to the point where she snapped.

Never like that, he thought.

Honestly, Kazutora is scared. Without having had any example of what a good relationship is supposed to be like, he's basically going into this blind. But the thought of it being them, their ever-present smile and understanding eyes, somehow it makes his raging thought a lot more bearable.

Kazutora didn’t mean for them to find out about his gang life, not finding it in himself to be shunned again because that's a part of him he'd long accepted.

His crush finding out while walking in on him beating the guys from Moebius who recently joined Valhalla for that one incident with Pah's friend's girlfriend.

Not speaking for an entire week because his crush is appalled, rightfully so since they'd never have imagined a kind soul like Kazutora — who helps every person when asked, feeds strays religiously and gladly offers up the last lemon shortcake for the kid who waited in line behind him — to pick fights for fun and be associated with delinquents.

Kazutora thinks everything has gone down the drain. The steady stream of development shattered in a moment. He knows he should apologise, for keeping them in the dark, for forcing on them his selfish desire to keep them close. He doesn't know how to.

But his crush isn't one to back down without an explanation. They march in to his classroom where he bothers to show up for half a day, once a week, pulling him out with an excuse of 'emergency' to the teacher.

They remain silent on the rooftop where neither should be — they'd be in deep shit if anyone found out — but both are too distracted to care. Kazutora has his breath caught in his throat, heart about to leap out of his chest.

It takes one word, "why?" and the warmth of their much smaller hand engulfing his for the floodgates to give out. His body is shaking as Kazutora tells them everything, starting with the fact he had been in juvie — notedly leaving out the murder part of his sentence — and about his violent streak.

He thinks he is too messed up for a perfect person like them to give him a chance. Kazutora is waiting for them to inch away, give him a look crossed between disappointment and terror and leave. Because that's what everyone did.

But then he feels two arms wrap around him. They are barely able to circle his curled up frame but the tenacity of that embrace makes his heart ache, gut wrenching with anxiety.

The words spilling out don't make much sense but Kazutora finds himself repeating "I'm sorry" over and over again. What is he apologising for? A whole lot. For lying, for being a selfish douche. For putting them in harm way without bothering to keep them in the loop.

His attention zeroes in on deft fingers tracing the ink on the branching tendrils of his tattoo. Also something he'd hidden. They had undone the collar of his gakuran, giving him leeway to just take a moment to breathe.

"I don't know why you thought it was best to hide that in the first place, Kazutora, but, I'm sure you had your reasons. I don’t know a whole lot about your world and truth be told, I don't see the point of unnecessary violence. Just promise me that you won't hurt anyone who isn't involved in your business. And dummy, if I wanted to leave, I wouldn't have asked for an explanation, would I? Let's just... never lie to each other like that, okay?"

note: should i make this into like a story with an oc? 😳

#kazutora hanemiya #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #kazutora x reader #hanemiya kazutora #hanemiya kazutora drabble #kazutora hanemiya fluff #kazutora x oc

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aemiron-main · 7 months

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Weekly Watcher vs Roane Daily Citizen vs Indianapolis Gazette, Multiple UDs, and Timelines

It’s interesting to me that the only paper that mentions Henry (the Weekly Watcher):

Is also the only paper that’s from inside of Hawkins.

The other papers (Roane Daily Citizen and Indianapolis Gazette) are both based outside of Hawkins. And while we can’t get close enough to read the Roane Daily Citizen & therefore don’t know what it says:

We DO know that the Indianapolis Gazette mentions Edward Creel, not Henry Creel:

And we also know that it claims that all 3 family members, including Edward, were found dead with their eyes gouged out:

Which is different than what Victor says about Henry dying a week later/not having his eyes gouged out:

Was Edward the cover story?? Or is there some sort of time bubble/timeline weirdness going on specifically with Hawkins & Hawkins itself is in the Henry timeline, whereas the world outside of Hawkins is in the Edward timeline.

This could explain the choice to house NINA outside of Hawkins, and could also explain part of birthdaygate- because Will and everyone else in the Cali gang left Hawkins, and therefore, may have entered the timeline where Will’s birthday is on a different day/March 22nd isn’t his birthday.

Which, getting into insane speculation territory here, in Fringe, it’s believed that in order for one timeline to survive, the other timeline has to cease to exist.

However, if there truly are infinite parallel universes/infinite timelines, then isn’t it true that there could be a parallel universe where Timeline A survived & Timeline B died AND another parallel universe where Timeline B survived and Timeline A died?

This could also explain what I’ve been talking about with how we see multiple (at least 2) different versions of the blue UD- because in Parallel Universe 1, Henry’s timeline became the UD/got destroyed and Edward’s timeline is the main still-alive timeline, and in Parallel Universe 2, Edward’s timeline became the UD/got destroyed and Henry’s timeline is the still-alive timeline.

And then we, in the show, have been seeing both Parallel Universe 1 and Parallel Universe 2, and therefore seeing two different UDs *and* two different RUs.

And Hawkins itself could be the weird factor in this- because with what I mentioned earlier re: Hawkins and outside of Hawkins possibly being two different timelines, what if it works something like this:

Parallel Universe 1 has Henry’s timeline as the UD/got destroyed, and Edward’s timeline as the main timeline, and Parallel Universe 2 has the opposite of that, right?

But then, if the Still Alive Henry Hawkins ended up in the Still Alive Edward World (basically, the two still-alive Hawkinses swapped places, whereas the rest of that world stayed the same), then it would explain some things.

I need to draw a diagram at some point to demonstrate this better, but. Thinking about it.

#stranger things #henry creel #edward creel #creel newspapers #timeline theory #st vs fringe

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gingerbreadmonsters · 10 months

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easy pickings

or: it just goes to show, you never can tell!

gn!reader, big big murder and body horror warnings, pure fluffy fantasy but make it gory. get the shotgun - we’re having a wedding! much love to the gang on discord for putting up with my endless rants about how cute these two are - i can’t promise this will make it stop, but it should keep me going for a little while. inspired by ain’t nobody here but us chickens from the musical five guys named moe, and you never can tell by chuck berry. tomorrow, when you say ‘i do’, i’ll die. vega tying the knot in 12,900 words or less.

content warnings: weddings i guess, death and dead bodies, mild injury description (the injury does NOT happen to the reader character), vega does some murders (and warden is definitely into it 👀), HEAVY body horror re: demons changing form, this is CERTAINLY sacrilegious if you like churches, no seriously i mean it, if you are especially christian i suggest that you might want to skip this one because you may very well be offended. this is a story about very bad people doing very bad things. this is a fictional story about people who aren’t real. i don’t condone or encourage this behaviour in real life.

warden’s body is not described at all, and gender-neutral pronouns are used throughout to describe them. for the sake of plot, they do wear a dress and high-heeled shoes, and are referred to with feminine terms (including ‘bride’ and ‘princess’) and a feminine name at some points, but it is made very clear that this is for a plot-relevant disguise - NOT because warden themselves necessarily identifies that way. if those things make you uncomfortable, then please do not feel obligated to read - i won’t be upset!

this fic contains graphic content that may not be suitable or appropriate for readers under the age of 18. reader discretion is heavily advised. dead dove: do not eat. as always, i encourage you to stop reading at any point if you feel as though you may become uncomfortable or upset. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI. thank you.

also, before i forget, the song the organist is playing is mendelssohn’s wedding march, from a midsummer night's dream. that’s not important, it’s just for anyone who was curious.

series masterlist

main masterlist

Small towns are very exciting, you know.

Well, maybe not for everyone. There’s not too much that happens here. But for you, they’re very interesting indeed.

For the last few months, you’ve been lying low in one of the empty houses on this street. The town is much, much smaller than Dahlia, so it’s been a lot more difficult to stay unnoticed, but you’ve been really trying your best. The people seem nice, but you know better than to let them have a proper conversation with you - you’ve never quite mastered the art of human small talk, and there are a few things about you and Vega that you’re fairly sure they’d rather not know.

(To be honest, you’re not sure if this house had actually been empty when Vega got here, but you’d been out exploring the rest of the town at the time, so you don’t know for sure.)

(You haven’t seen any suspicious bloodstains yet, and you don’t mention it when he comes out of the basement and locks the door behind him, looking suspiciously well-fed. You’re giving him the benefit of the doubt.)

It’s much nicer than the safehouse, which is exciting. Human houses have lots of stuff that you’ve never really seen before, so you’ve been quite enjoying working out what all the different things are. Vega helps you sometimes, when he recognises one of the things you don’t know, but mostly there’s a lot of looking things up on the computer.

You’d been living in Department-funded accommodation before, and although it had been very convenient, you hadn’t really known what sort of things humans normally put in their houses. This one has all kinds of things - like a funny little rug made of bristles that goes outside next to the front door and says WELCOME on it, or a black boxy thing in the living room that lights up when you press the special remote and lets you play computer games on the television screen.

Mm, it’s nice, living in a human house. It’s so big, too! There’s an upstairs and a downstairs that are all part of the same house, and there are so many comfy things to sit on. So far, you’ve tried sitting on all of the beds, the sofa, both of the armchairs in the living room, the beanbag in one of the bedrooms, and most of the chairs at the kitchen table. In your opinion, the sofa is the best one, but you brought the beanbag downstairs to go next to the sofa in case you want some variety.

There used to be pictures in the picture frames, but Vega got rid of them not long after you moved in. He said there was no point in keeping them, because the humans who used to live here are being kept down in the - the, uh-

- um, anyway, they’re gone now, and why would you want pictures in your house of people you don’t even know? Instead, you’ve been taking your own with the camera you found on one of the shelves, and it’s all very exciting.

Taking pictures is easier as you thought it would be, actually. You have to stay very still so that it doesn’t go all blurry, and things always seem to turn out a slightly different colour than they are in real life, but it’s nice that there don’t seem to be any rules about it whatsoever. You can take pictures of whatever you want!

There’s one of the house, and of Vega, and of the view down the street from the upstairs window. You’ve even got a close-up of one of those funny flowers, the kind that keep growing in the front garden and look like little round clouds - you had to hold your breath when you took that one, so that you didn’t accidentally blow all the little white bits away.

You’ve started bringing the little camera everywhere, just in case there’s something interesting to look at. Once, you took it to the supermarket - there’s always quite a few people in there, so you can generally find something tasty to eat - and you spent almost an hour taking pictures of all the different displays. They’re always so brightly coloured, and the fruits and vegetables always look so shiny. It’s very nice.

Life is so different in this little town. There’s so few people, which makes it so quiet. Part of that might be because you’re not working anymore - you help Vega when he asks you, but other than that it sometimes feels like you and Vega are the only people for a hundred million miles. It’s like it’s faster and slower all at the same time. You’re not quite sure how to explain it.

Naturally, you’ve been passing the time by watching daytime television.

It’s so funny! Humans seem to love these shows, and they play them at all hours of the day, every day of the week. They have big glitzy game shows, full of lights and screens, where they ask the contestants about all these bizarre topics - you don’t generally know what they’re talking about, but they’re weirdly fun to watch. And talk shows - they love these programmes where some people just sit around and… talk to each other. That’s all! They just chat and chat about nothing, but it’s so entertaining that you can’t help but keep listening.

The television really is amazing. You can watch sitcoms, which are videos of people in different places reciting jokes while an invisible audience laughs at them, or reality TV, which definitely doesn’t live up to its name. Sometimes you watch sports matches, but it tends to be quite tricky - for some reason, they never explain the rules. You have to search up the rules on the computer, then cross-reference those with whatever’s happening on the screen, and it’s all a bit of a mess. If you’re honest, you’re starting to think that they’re just making it up when they say someone’s ‘offside’.

The most useful ones are probably the soap operas. You have no idea where the name comes from - there’s rarely any soap, and you’ve yet to see any opera singing - but they seem to be a sort of documentary, all about humans. There’s much more drama than you’d imagined, and all sorts of things that humans do that you had no idea about.

Watching these soap operas for the first time, you’d been a bit worried that it was all a bit too unfamiliar. What if one of the neighbours asks you a question about going to a cafe, or baseball players, or laundry techniques? As a precaution, you’ve taken to watching one or two episodes of your favourites every evening, to help you blend in.

That’s how you’d ended up watching that.

What’s the matter, dearest? He’d been upstairs, but you’d felt his magic brushing against your aura all the same.

Hmm? No, it’s nothing.

It’s something, darling, he’d replied, raising an eyebrow. I can feel your longing from here. Did they die in your computer game again?

No, it’s - this one’s just the normal television show thing, you’d explained. He’s normally quite good with these things, but he can never seem to tell the difference between when you’re using the television to play a game or watch a programme. They didn’t die, they just…

He’d come down the stairs and into the room at that, staring curiously at you with your eyes glued to the screen, before realising what you were looking at. Oh.

They look so happy, you’d sighed, watching the human couple on the screen. Don’t you think?

He’d shrugged, slightly too nonchalantly for you to entirely believe him. I suppose, yes.

Humans have such funny ideas about being in love. Tucking your legs to the side to make room for him, you’d let him come around to sit next to you on the sofa. Do they all have to have a big party like this before they can start kissing?

No, darling, he’d explained. This is a human wedding. It’s very special for them.

But… You’d been confused, looking up at him briefly before turning back to the television. I thought they said it was a 'marriage'?

That’s what they call the thing that happens at a wedding, little one. Do you see those two there?

He’d pointed at the couple talking in the middle, and you’d nodded. Yeah. Those are the ones the marriage is for, right?

Correct. Weddings happen so that humans can ‘get married’ to each other, and then they become what humans call a ‘married couple’. ‘Marriage’ is the process that those two humans are going through, and ‘wedding’ is the name for the celebration.

Oh, okay. Once he’d explained it, it made a lot more sense - you’d been under the impression that ‘marriages’ and ‘weddings’ were two separate things altogether. But humans can be together all the time, can’t they? So what are human weddings even for?

I… You’d felt his uncertainty as he tried to come up with an explanation, and it had dawned on you slightly too late that Vega may not be the best person to ask when it comes to matters of the heart. Unless, of course, the matter is that you want it to stop beating.

I’m told it’s a… declaration. Of love.

Like kissing?

Yes, darling, like kissing, he’d laughed. They do that at weddings quite a lot, I believe. It means that they want to be together until they die.

Is that what all kisses mean, for humans? You remember being shocked, when he’d said that. Humans kiss all the time, on the television. Who would have thought that such short-lived creatures as humans would be so nonchalant about dying? Wow. Human courtships are so… intense.

Well, I think that’s what they mean… Vega had trailed off, uncertainty blooming in his aura again as the humans on the television started talking again. Fortunately, I can’t say I have much experience when it comes to kissing humans.

Weren’t they married, though? you’d asked, only to be met with a confused stare. Ivan and the… the other one?

What? He’d been so surprised, even though you’d thought it was a perfectly fair question. No, of course not. That was the whole point.

So you don’t have to be married to kiss someone?

He’d looked down at you, thoroughly puzzled by your entirely rational questions. I kiss you, don’t I? And we’re not married.

Well - yeah, but we’re not humans, you’d shrugged. I thought the rules might be different for them.

Irritatingly, he’d had the gall to laugh when you said that, tail curving around your back to rest around your middle. Do I look like the sort of demon who’s intimately familiar with the rules of human courting behaviour?

You know all kinds of weird stuff, you’d replied, poking him gently in the ribs before giving in and shifting to fully rest your weight against his side. How would I know which things you know and which things you don’t?

I have much better things to remember than the web of intrigue that undoubtedly surrounds the intricacies of human courtship, believe me.

Such as?

Now, that would be telling, he’d said, lips pressing gently against the smooth curve of your horn once - twice - three times, before pulling you more insistently into his lap, leaning back against his chest. Although, I’m sure I can think of something I do know, if you’d prefer.

Something you know… You’d only been half-focused on the screen from that point, watching dreamily as the little pixelated humans exchanged little pixelated rings, smiling as Vega’s fangs dragged sweetly over your neck. Would you say you’re especially familiar with it?

Oh, intimately.

A tiny spark of pain, melting into pleasure as he bit down a little harder, and you hadn’t really paid much attention to the television after that.

(It hadn’t stopped you thinking about it, though.)

In Aria, getting married isn’t really, like, a thing. It’s a very human concept, if you’re honest - humans like to have all these little ceremonies and gatherings for each other. You’ve seen some of them on the television, and you used to hear your old coworkers talking about them sometimes, but you’ve never been invited to anything like that.

There’s so many that it’s hard to keep track of them all, too. You know that you’re supposed to wear black clothes and cry when you go to a ‘funeral’, and that a ‘Valentine’s Day’ means that everything has to be all pink and red, and you have to do lots of kissing and eat lots of chocolates and flowers. Or maybe you’re meant to grow flowers? It all sounds very complicated.

For a while, ‘birthdays’ were your favourite because they always seem to involve some sort of special, tasty cake, but apparently there are lots of other rituals that have cake too…? Like - oh, what are they called again? - ‘housewarmings’? Or was that ‘baby’s showers’? There’s quite a lot to choose from, so you’re sort of in between favourites at the moment.

In any case, demons don’t really have a concept of ‘marriage’. Love, in general, is quite difficult for you to wrap your head around at all - it just doesn’t come quite as naturally to you as it seems to do for humans.

Vega says it’s probably something to do with the way your two species originated - humans had to evolve on their own and needed to stay in big groups to survive, so they had to find a way of keeping each other attached to the group. Demons, created by the Sovereigns, strong with magic and with no natural predators, tend to be much more solitary. You’re not sure if you entirely believe his explanation, but it’s the best you’ve got.

That’s not to say that demons can’t feel love. You can feel just as many things as humans can - and you would argue that you feel some things much more deeply than humans do.

If a human ever felt the way you feel about Vega, you think their body would burst into flame right then and there. Everybody knows that magic is tied inextricably to emotion, and your body is literally made of the stuff, but sometimes you think you might just melt away into nothing, falling apart into your astral form at nothing more than a glance from him.

It’s too much - he’s too much. You were made to know emotions, to grow them and eat them and hold them, but every time it’s like the first. His words in your mind and his hand in yours and his lips on your simulated skin - he turns you into a fizzing, sparking wreck, flooded with love and full of bubbles.

Melting, or maybe overflowing. A human could never understand.

That being said…

Demons might not approach love in the same way as humans do. But, if it were with him, you think it might be nice to try.

Plus, he makes it sound… nice. The next day, you’d gone on the computer and looked up all sorts of information about human weddings. What they mean, where they happen, what people do when they’re there. There were lots of different websites that all said different things, but after a while you got the gist of it.

Vega was right - they’re like big parties with lots of flowers and cake, and it’s all to celebrate two people being in love forever. They wear special clothes so they look all pretty, and make each other special promises to never ever be apart, and give each other special rings so that everybody in the whole world knows that they’re very very in love.

It sounds wonderful.

(It’s a little bit embarrassing to say out loud, but if Vega ever gave you a ring like that, you don’t think you’d ever take it off.)

You’re not brave enough to ask him to his face. What if he says no? Maybe he’ll think it’s all just a stupid human custom, maybe he’ll think it would be an insult to his demonic nature. Maybe he won’t feel the same, maybe he’d never want something like that with you. God, you’d never be able to look him in the eye again if he said that.

Luckily, telepathy comes quite naturally to you two.

Vega?

Yes, dearest? He must pick up on your nervousness from downstairs, and you can feel the ward around the house ripple slightly as he checks it. What’s the matter?

I was thinking about, um… Your hands twist in your lap, claws picking at the fabric of your shirt and tail brushing anxiously over the bedspread behind you. I was thinking about those human marriages again. From that programme last week.

The wedding you showed me? I remember.

Here we go. Did you like it?

Did I… what?

You know, the - the thing they did, you say hesitantly, gesturing vaguely in front of you like he can see you. With the talking and the flowers and stuff.

With the… You don’t even need to see - you can picture the puzzled look on his face as clear as anything. Darling, I’m - I’m not sure what you mean.

He must be able to feel it by now, the way your heart races in your chest as your body tries desperately to catch up with whatever strange, tangled rush of emotions is running through you. Like the thing where they were in the room, the big room with all the people in, when - oh, it - I just - it’s - do you - wait-!

You hear footsteps coming up the stairs and panic, throwing up a haphazard ward across the door in case he tries to come in. It won’t stop him rifting, but hopefully he’ll get the message.

Sweetheart, you-

Just - just forget about it, you mumble, tucking your knees to your chest and curling your tail tightly around your ankle in shame. It was always a stupid idea. It’s fine.

I don’t think it is. Vega’s aura, at the top of the stairs but not coming any closer. I can feel it, little one. What’s got you so worked up, hmm?

Magic bouncing softly against the door, testing the edges of your ward, but you still won’t let him in. Your face burns at the realisation that he really isn’t going to let this go - fuck, now you’ll have to say it…

I want - I thought-

Thank goodness you don’t actually have to form the words physically. Speaking like a human is complicated enough as it is, let alone when it’s about something as awkward as this.

Just… if that was ever something that - that you might… want. For, um - for us.

Silence.

Like, a long silence.

Sitting there, getting more and more nervous, you’re tripping over yourself trying to backpedal. And obviously you don’t have to say anything - it’s kind of a stupid idea, anyway - ‘cause, like, they’re humans and we’re demons and it’s not even that important and it would probably just be a bad idea and we - we wouldn’t - it’s just a silly human custom - it’s not - you’re right, we shouldn’t - it’s only if-

Darling.

A single claw tilts your face up from where it’s buried against your legs, and all of a sudden Vega’s right there, standing in front of you by the side of the bed. He must have - god, he must have rifted in while you were distracted with your rambling - fuck, what’s he going to say…

Little one, is that… You can’t meet his gaze, so caught up in your own swirling storm of agitation that you can’t even begin to tell what he’s feeling.

Is that something you want? With me?

Thoroughly humiliated, you turn your head away, fangs digging painfully into your lip. Oh, can’t he just know? He always knows! Why does he have to make you say it?

Answer me, darling.

Eyes closed, magic burns under your skin as you give the tiniest, tiniest nod.

Yeah.

And now, well…

Now he knows. And now you’re going to have to figure out what the hell you’re going to do when he inevitably starts laughing, because honestly, why would someone like Vega - Vega! - ever in a thousand million years want to marry someone like you? Now, you’ll have to try and fix this, make him forget it ever happened or that you ever even entertained the thought that a demon might want - would want - could want to get married, crush down that horrible, biting, burning feeling in your chest that you know means-

“Mmf-!!”

Suddenly, you’re not on the bed anymore - well, you are, but not sitting up like you were before. A strong arm looped around your waist, his other hand cradling the back of your head as the world blurs around you, and before you can even blink you’re pinned flat on your back by the weight of Vega’s body as he kisses you down into the bed.

This was - you - mmm…

Buried in the warmth and the press and the need of him, it takes your brain a minute to catch up before you timidly kiss him back. What’s he doing?

He’s all you can feel as he clutches you against him, strangely urgent, pulling you up and pushing you down all at once as the mattress creaks quietly beneath you. Stunned fingers twist hesitantly in the sides of his shirt as he licks viciously into your mouth - you’re too surprised to resist the tug of his tail around your thigh, wrapping around and around just above your knee, hitching your leg up over his hip.

It doesn’t make sense. Why’s he doing this? Pity?

He must be trying to let you down gently. And it’s very kind of him, it really is - but the thought makes something small and sad curl up in your stomach somewhere, and it’s with a tiny sigh that your fingers slowly let go of his shirt and you push him back.

Only that doesn’t happen - it’s what you were trying to do, but somehow he doesn't let you go. You jolt in surprise at the frustrated snarl that shudders through him, crushing his chest down to yours, one hand finding your wrists and pinning them up above your head.

Darling, you…

All you have to do is ask, you know that? He sounds breathless, even though he doesn’t need to breathe. You only ever, ever have to ask.

You don’t understand. Partly because he’s doing that thing with his tongue that he knows you like, but mostly because he’s not making any sense. I, uh - what?

Marry me.

His hand slides down from your wrists, claws trailing lightly along your arm, before slipping under your chin to cup your jaw. Marry me, and then you can tell me if you like it or not.

Really? Your eyes fly open, sitting up slightly and breaking the kiss as you beam up at him. You really mean it?

Well, it’s probably not a very traditional proposal, but… He pretends to think, before giving in and kissing you again. I wouldn’t say we’re especially conventional at the best of times.

You can’t stop smiling as he gathers you up in his arms, purring happily into the side of his neck, tail enthusiastically flicking back and forth behind you. Mm, it’s good enough for me.

That’s my warden, he murmurs into your mind, thick with affection. My little romantic.

He heads back downstairs with a promise to talk about it more later - after he leaves the room, you fall back onto the bed with a giddy grin and your tummy full of butterflies. If he can feel your excitement from the living room, he doesn’t mention it.

You’re getting married. Married! You, a demon! Oh, this is much more exciting than Wheel of Fortune.

The next morning, you’re having a glass of apple juice in the kitchen when Vega comes in behind you, bending down to give you a kiss before getting himself a drink as well.

I’ve given it some thought, he says, peering at the various juice cartons you’ve lined up in the fridge. Neither of you need to eat or drink anything, and you could just as easily make it with magic if you did, but it’s all part of the show.

(If television has taught you anything, it’s that everybody’s neighbours are always watching them, all the time. In order to keep up the charade, you make sure to go and bring back shopping from the supermarket once a week, and hang up clothes on the washing line outside when it’s sunny, and water the flowers in the front garden when it hasn’t rained for a while.)

You hum quietly in acknowledgement. How so?

Logistics.

Go on.

How soon were you thinking? He waves a hand at the cabinet on the other side of the room, summoning one of the glasses from the shelf inside, before emerging from the fridge with the carton of cranberry juice in hand.

Taking a sip of your juice, you consider the question - although to be honest, you already know what you want the answer to be. How soon can it be?

Properly? Never. He inclines his head slightly at your raised eyebrow, the picture of resigned disappointment. You forget how few rights demons have here, my love.

Weren’t they trying to make it legal? I thought I saw something about a case going to court a few months ago.

As far as I know, there’s been no verdict yet. And even if there is, who knows how long the Department will drag its feet to make it law? He finishes pouring the juice into his glass, before putting it back on the shelf and closing the fridge door. Besides, that case is about a demon and a human, not two demons. I suspect any attempt to make that legal in Elegy would be thoroughly rejected by a human court, simply on the basis that it’s a demonic affair that has nothing to do with them.

Damn. So not any time soon, then.

Not legally, no.

Annoyed, you take another sip. And illegally?

Well, I did look into it… He trails off with that infuriating grin painted across his face, tail swishing lazily back and forth in a way that you can only describe as supremely self-satisfied. Although I’m terribly offended at the insinuation. Breaking the law? Me?

Vega.

I’m not even sure I’d be capable of such a thing, really. I mean, do I look like a criminal to you? He shakes his head in righteous disapproval, smirking over the top of his glass, and he’s so, so punchable right now. Where on earth did you get that idea from?

Silently, you pull a drinking straw out of thin air, dropping it in your glass and finishing your drink with a long, irritated sluuuuuurp.

He laughs under his breath for a second longer, but relents at your flat, distinctly impatient glare.

Tomorrow.

…Okay, that’s not what you thought he was going to say.

You - you’re not-

Taken aback, it takes you a few seconds to string a reply together. You’d been expecting him to say something like a few weeks, or a month - not a day.

Very funny, you manage, through a smile that hopefully doesn’t look as confused as it feels. You’re joking.

Did it sound like a joke? He lifts the glass to his mouth as he speaks, swallowing another mouthful of juice. I’m serious. Tomorrow.

He doesn’t feel like he’s lying. Which, to be fair, doesn’t actually tell you much - he’s far too good at it for you to ever really know. And - just to make it clear, that’s fine. You’re used to it now. It’s kind of a trust-based thing.

(There’s probably some sort of ethical dynamite in there somewhere, but that’s beside the point.)

(...Look, it’s pragmatic, not foolproof. You’ve been trying not to think about it.)

You have a plan?

He pauses.

Of sorts.

Then tell me. The empty glass is warm as you turn it over and over in your hands. What is it?

His words are slower, decidedly measured as he holds your gaze. It’s not the sort of plan you like.

Why not? This doesn’t sound good. Behind you, the glass clatters against the countertop as you blindly put it down. Vega, why won’t I like it?

He doesn’t answer, slow steps across the kitchen until he’s right in front of you. Close, so close - but he doesn’t touch you, though. It’s weird. Your hands feel too cold.

How do you feel about humans dying?

Ah.

Right, okay. It’s that sort of plan.

I… It takes you a long moment to think about it, but eventually you reply. It depends.

Vega’s eyes narrow, ever so slightly. Just like that, you’re playing the game again. On what?

Do I know them?

He shakes his head. No.

Is it painful?

A little.

You’re intrigued. What did they do?

Nothing. He’s blank, carefully neutral. They’re just… in the way.

You’re not that stupid. In our way, you mean.

Does it bother you? he asks, placing his glass on the counter and reaching down to take your hands gently in his. It’s a distraction, and it works. If I told you that a hundred humans would have to die so that I could marry you tomorrow, would you say yes?

Closing your eyes, you drop your head forward against his shoulder. This isn’t a hypothetical, is it?

He doesn’t flinch, hands still holding yours. Lightly, he kisses the top of your head.

No.

So he really is telling the truth, then.

Objectively, you know what to say. It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong. It’s selfish and callous and a horrible, awful waste of human life. You’d feel terrible - it would be terrible. All those people, just… gone, snatched out of existence in a single, terrifying moment, just because you can’t be bothered to wait for a wedding that doesn’t actually mean anything.

But that’s not true, is it?

Because it does mean something - it means everything. This feeling, this craving, this aching burning starving need that howls inside you. It won’t stop, it can’t be stopped. Curled up and crammed in your chest, throwing itself desperately against the cruel confines of your physical body, and then the very borders of your astral mind.

All day, all night - it just kicks and thrashes and cries out for him him him, for the weight of his arms around your body and the kiss of his thoughts and the shape of his stars on your skin. There’s no controlling this anymore - you know it, can’t stop knowing it. He’s all that matters for you now.

It had been awful, back then. You hadn’t known what to call it. The seed of a feeling, warm and floating and be still, darling, I’m already taking care of it, set aflame and monstrously hungry. Has anyone else ever felt like this before? They must have died like this, they couldn’t possibly have gone on like this, every moment being swallowed up by this screeching, wretched craving.

You’d learnt that humans call it love, but it’s not enough for him. There can’t be words for how this feels.

Yes, it’s wrong. But you’re finally - finally! - figuring out what to call this feeling, finding out how good it feels to let it win, and you can’t just give that up, can you? You don’t know them, and you don’t really care to know. They’re just humans. There are plenty more where they came from.

And anyway, haven’t you had this dilemma before? Vega was right, when he said that human morality didn’t have to mean anything to you. You’re not human, and you don’t have to pretend you are anymore. Watering yourself down for the sake of a handful of humans isn’t worth it.

You deserve to be happy. The rest isn’t your problem.

Then yes. One hand slides up into his hair to pull him down to you, thin, shallow scratch marks trailing behind your fingers, while your other arm locks around his waist. Yes, I want this. And I don’t want to wait.

And just like that, the game becomes a dance.

He bends easily enough to your grip, but the look in his eyes is cold and serious. Humans will die.

You shrug, nonchalant. They’ll die anyway.

We’ll be hunted.

The air is getting thinner. We already are.

You’ll be a murderer.

The walls are getting closer. I already am.

Your impatience will kill them.

Frustrated, you dig your claws in properly this time, fangs bared in a snarl. And your hesitation will kill me.

His hands, warm and heavy on your hips. Apple juice, sweet and sticky and sliding down your throat. The smile breaks across his face, wicked and cruel and ever so handsome, and you know you’ve got him.

Then marry me tomorrow, my little warden, and I’ll kill a thousand humans for you.

You lean up to kiss his cheek, totally content. Only if I get to watch.

You’ll do more than watch, he replies, knocking his horns gently against yours, and you like where this is going. It’s no fun if you don’t get your hands dirty.

If you wanted me to get my hands dirty, you should have just said.

Don’t say things you don’t mean, darling. The coolness of the countertop presses into your back as he leans forward, and your heart flutters as he scrapes his fangs over your neck. You might give me all sorts of ideas.

The rest of the day, once you’ve finished, um, brainstorming, is spent sorting out the finer points of the plan. It turns out he was mostly lying about killing all those humans - technically, you only need two for it to work. That’s how you’re thinking of doing it, although you can always change your mind.

The plan is… actually, it’s not that complicated. Not really.

Everyone on the computer had said that planning one of these weddings would be really difficult and would take ages, but that must be if you’re planning it from scratch. You'd need money, a proper address, some sort of fake human identification, the special clothes and the special room and the special party…

That’s far too much effort, in your opinion. Who even has the time for all that?

Luckily, there’s nothing a little magic can’t fix.

A small town means that there's no Department facilities here, and not really any empowered people here who might be able to spot you - that’s one of the reasons why you came here in the first place. It’s a big relief not to have to worry about all that. Plus, if anyone empowered were to come looking after the fact, this place is so out of the way that any traces of magic would have long-faded.

Thank goodness for that, and for a demon’s natural affinity for unfocused telepathy. Your range isn't quite wide enough, but Vega could probably listen in on half the town from your kitchen window if he tried hard enough.

Ready, my love?

Even from all the way over here, you can see that the churchyard is a flurry of activity. There are humans everywhere, rushing in and out of doors with flowers and ribbons and fairy lights left and right. The whole affair is practically soaked in a strange mixture of stress and excitement, so strong you can taste it from across the road, and you watch as a harried-looking lady with an armful of candles runs into the church like she’s being chased. What on earth…?

Yeah. I think so.

Looking over at your… oh, what’s it called again? Rosé? Is that what you’re meant to call him? Or is it the one that starts with - no, that’s attaché - or the one with the two e’s - no, that’s negligée - oh, whatever the word is, that’s what he is now.

Anyway, he’s very handsome. That’s all you wanted to say.

(Fiancé! That’s the one.)

I believe the one you need should be in one of the rooms over there, Vega says, inclining his head towards one of the buildings next to the church. Do you remember what you’re looking for?

You nod, pleased. A happy lady with a white dress.

(This particular wedding is for a lady and a gentleman, and you’re hoping it won’t be too difficult to find them. All of the men are wearing suits, and you were worried that you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart - Vega’s a bit better at that sort of thing, so he’s off to find the groom. Meanwhile, you’ve got to find the bride, but the fact that she should be the only one wearing a white dress should make your job a bit easier.)

Good. The cloaking magic ripples under his touch as he takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips and kissing the backs of your fingers. I’ll come and get you when I’m finished, alright?

See you in a bit.

You wave as he walks off, before heading over to the building he’d pointed out. As you pass the front of the churchyard, you have a quick look at what’s going on in there - it’s all still very busy, and two or three of the humans look like they might be about to come to blows over some sort of floral arrangement.

The clothes everyone is wearing are much more interesting than normal. Most are dressed quite smartly, lots of suits and long dresses and sparkly jewellery. Some of the ladies are even wearing big, brightly coloured hats that are perched at such a silly angle, they must be stuck on with magic. How else are they staying on?

Unseen, you phase through the door of the building, following the sounds of chatter through the hallways and up the stairs. There are people wandering back and forth doing all sorts of things - some are carrying trays of little bite-sized snacks, some are laden with flowers, and one or two are running around with cameras like the one you have at home, taking pictures of everything.

It’s quite fun, looking at all the people, sneaking around all invisible like this. It’s like being a secret spy!

The sound gets louder and louder, until you turn the corner and find a gaggle of ladies all hanging around in one of the rooms, chittering away. You’re still cloaked, so they can’t see you - curiously, you walk through the open doorway to see what all the fuss is about.

“Oh my god, don’t turn the air conditioning on! I’m, like, freezing already…”

“Do you have tissues?”

“No, no, you look amazing… Yeah, so pretty…”

“What do you mean, pink? I thought you said it was purple!”

“It’s literally not even that hot!”

“Did you bring flats?”

“I already called - he said they’re coming with her cousin.”

…It’s pretty loud, up close.

There are quite a few people in here - some in all black wielding hair combs and makeup sponges, one stressed-looking one who looks about five seconds away from absolutely clattering someone with her clipboard, and about five or six ladies milling around in matching pink dresses, fiddling with each other’s nails and moving various bunches of flowers from one flat surface to another.

These must be the bridesmaids, which means…

“Did you get my iced coffee already?”

…that must be the bride.

She’s sort of standing in the middle of everything, turning this way and that in front of the big mirror on the far side of the room, being poked and brushed and clipped from seemingly every angle. It looks like they’re just finishing off, though, as she grabs the plastic cup of presumably-coffee with one hand and takes a big sip through the straw, while waving away the person pinning flowers into her hair with the other.

Lady, check. White dress, check. Happy? Well, she gets a big rush of dopamine from the mouthful of coffee, so that’s basically the same thing.

Time’s probably starting to run a little short, if the panicked look on one of the bridesmaid’s faces when she checks her phone is any indication, so you’ll have to make this quick. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, and reach for the bride’s mind.

“I said I wanted - I said - I-”

Unfortunately, you must be out of practice - you manage to grab most of it, but the bit you can’t quite reach starts to panic as she feels herself freeze. You wince at the carpet-burn feeling of friction in her head, her mind desperately thrashing against itself in confusion as it tries to fend you off, but luckily she’s not magical. You’ll have her in another second.

“I want - I said - it’s not-”

She stutters over her sentence as you fight for control, and you swear under your breath as the magic slips out from underneath you again. Why is this woman so resistant?

“Can you just…” She trails off, suddenly tongue-tied, and you curse silently as her mind drops through your fingers again. “I need - I can’t - please, please, I-”

Vega’s good with panic, but you’ve always found it difficult - it’s making her mind all slippery and liquid, shiny and slick and falling out of your hands every time you try to grab it. Gritting your teeth, you make another grab for those last few bits of her consciousness, and-

“I said I’m fine.”

Got her.

“Just leave me alone. I want to be alone right now.”

Her brain screams at you when you make her say it, but she can’t do anything about it. You make her face smile at the lady with the clipboard, who thankfully seems to take the hint and starts herding everyone else out.

After about a minute or so of back-and-forth, the room is finally empty.

Hello.

You’re already in her mind, so you might as well speak there. The cloaking fizzles away to reveal you, standing behind her in the mirror, and if she could move, you’re sure she would have jumped a foot in the air at the sight of you.

How are you?

She doesn’t reply, too full of fear to speak back to you, but it’s okay. You’re just being polite.

Slowly, you walk around her until you’re standing side-by-side - thank goodness it’s quite a big mirror. You smile into the mirror, careful not to get too close in case you accidentally catch her fancy hairstyle on your horns.

Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.

You both watch in the mirror as your body begins to change, thickening in some places and narrowing in others, muscle and fat and bone morphing under the skin as you pour your form into her shape. It starts slow, but gets faster as you get more into it, tweaking the hair texture, the fingernail length, the skin tone, in order to get as close to her appearance as possible.

Your clothes, too, start to change - cotton turns to chiffon as you imitate her dress, and you pay special attention to the complicated details of the lace. It looks very intricate and pretty, and you’d hate to lose it in the transformation process.

Smile, please?

Helplessly, overflowing with fear, she smiles. You bare your fangs as well, paring them down until they’re just like her blunt human teeth, and shortening your tongue slightly until it’s a more conventionally human length.

Thank you. And could you just lift up your dress a little bit?

She’s forced to obey, one hand lifting up the hem of the dress just enough to let you see the shoes she’s wearing. They’re white too, sort of satiny, with a shiny silver embellishment on the front - you wobble a little bit on the high heels as your own shoes suddenly turn into replicas of hers, but it’s not too bad.

You probably have a bouquet, too, don’t y-

A knock at the door. Instinctively, you whip around to face it, claws lengthening and fangs sharp in your mouth as magic builds beneath your palms, until it hits you.

“Is that you in there, my love?”

Of course. Hurriedly, you pull the transformation back into place, smoothing out the creases in your dress from where you’d ruffled it.

You meet the human’s terrified eyes in the mirror, and her brain recoils at the sight of her own face glaring at her. Reply. Now.

“I’m here!”

The door opens, and a human man walks into the room. He’s a little bit taller than you are now, and he’s wearing a grey suit with a blue bow tie and a little cluster of white flowers on the left lapel. You’ve never seen him before, but you know exactly who he is.

The bride’s mind flickers with hope at the sight of her husband-to-be, like he’s come to protect her from you. That hope is short-lived, though - gleefully, you swallow the horror that grips her as the man ignores her entirely and comes to stand behind you instead. It’s so strong, and you gulp down mouthful after mouthful as her body floods with useless adrenaline and her eyes fill with petrified tears.

“Oh, darling,” the man sighs, and the lady’s heart splits in two. “You look lovely.”

Thank him.

“Thank you, I really like it. Thank you, I really like it. Thank you, I really like it.”

The woman speaks at your command, and you mouth along with her until you think you’ve copied her voice correctly. Her accent is a little tricky at first, not quite the same as your usual one, but it doesn’t take long to get a feel for it.

Stop.

She stops, and you clear your new throat with a small cough.

“Thank you. I really like it.”

Vega smiles down at you with his unfamiliar face, and you curl into the right-but-wrong cradle of his arms as easily as ever. At your back, his clothes feel much thicker and heavier than his usual preference, but you take comfort in the lack of heartbeat in his chest, and the way he doesn’t breathe unless he needs to speak. Underneath the mask, he’s still your Vega.

That being said, it is a bit weird. The proportions are all different and it’s throwing you off slightly.

You’re used to looking up a little more - these humans are more similar in height than you and Vega normally are, so it’s weird for him to be so… close? Like, his face is just closer to you, because these new human forms mean he’s not as tall as usual when compared to you.

“Did you have much trouble?” he asks, gently rocking the two of you back and forth. It feels nice.

You shrug. “It was fine. Just had to get back into the swing of it.”

“Mm.” His hands skim over the front of your dress, feeling the different textures of the lace and silk and chiffon that now adorn you. “It’s funny how quickly it comes back to you.”

It’s quite bizarre, being in this body. The weight is distributed differently, and the musculature isn’t yet familiar - you shift your weight from foot to foot, trying to get used to the balance. As you do, the long skirt of the dress follows you, swishing languidly back and forth as the long train weighs it down.

“If you want to dance, we can dance.” Vega tilts his head to look at your awkward swaying, taking your hand and lifting his arm for you to slowly twirl under. “Aren’t you elegant, hm?”

“I’m not sure you know what that word means,” you mutter, turning this way and that in front of the mirror as you try to get used to this new, strange body. “I look all… weird.”

“Nonsense. You look beautiful, darling,” he murmurs, fingers tipping your chin up to look at the two of you in the mirror. Like this, you could almost believe you were looking at a photograph, or a portrait. “My little blushing bride.”

He reaches out and floats something long and white over from the table, before repositioning you slightly further in front of him. Surprised, you watch as he fiddles with your new hair, attaching the object to the back of your head and stepping back to admire his handiwork.

“There.”

You turn, looking over your shoulder in the mirror. A long, gauzy veil floats behind you, trailing down to the floor, and you mentally correct yourself. Not so much a photograph as a storybook - the fairytale prince and princess, starting off on a happily ever after.

On the floor by your feet, a mobile phone buzzes.

Amy (wedding planner): Coming up to get you in 5! Hope you’re ready

“Showtime, I take it?”

You nod, a little disappointed. You were enjoying yourself.

Unfortunately, he takes that as his cue to leave, bending down to kiss your cheek and batting away your hands with a laugh as you try to tug him closer. “Don’t forget your bouquet, my sweet.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” you reply, watching in idle admiration as he heads towards the door. Whoever chose this suit definitely knew what they were doing.

“Then I’ll see you downstairs, my love.” He’s just got one hand on the door handle when-

“Wait!”

He pauses, turning back to you in confusion. “What?”

“You couldn’t just, um…” You gesture vaguely at the lady next to you, still frozen in front of the mirror. “For me?”

“Too messy for you?” He sighs in false disappointment, though you can feel the magic building excitedly beneath his skin already. “I thought you were all for getting your hands dirty, darling.”

You look pointedly down at your nice white dress, and then back at him. He knows he’s much cleaner at this than you are. “I am not cleaning blood off this. I just made it!”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Vega walks back over as you reach down, offering you a steadying arm as you hoist the hem of your dress up a bit with one hand, so you don’t trip over your new shoes. “Say goodbye, dear.”

You wave cheerily at the lady, tottering over to the table and picking up the bouquet. It really is stunning, all white and pink flowers with lots of pretty greenery mixed in. Curiously, you bring it up to your face to see if it smells nice, but it doesn’t really smell of anything at all.

The whole room tastes like terror. She stares at her own face, and you make it smile back.

The train of your dress slides smoothly along the floor behind you with a satisfying swishing sound, and you’re pleasantly surprised at how nice it feels to walk around in. It fits very well on your borrowed body, and it’s more comfortable than you thought it would be.

You can hear someone coming up the stairs - looks like you’d better get going. Apologetically, you give Vega a shrug, but he already knows. It would probably be bad if someone walked in on all this.

“See you in a bit.” You blow him a kiss with the hand not holding the bouquet, shy smile spreading across your face as he catches it and presses it to his lips. “I love you.”

“As I love you, darling.”

The door clicks open, then closed again. The clipboard lady, just rounding the corner, looks relieved to see you, and ushers you down the stairs.

(Behind you, a human man smiles at a human woman. His teeth are much, much sharper than she remembers them to be. Then her body constricts and crushes inwards, dark blood soaking through white silk, and she doesn’t remember anything at all.)

You have to walk quite slowly, still getting used to the shoes, so it’s lucky that you’ve got someone to hold onto. The clipboard lady chatters away as she takes you through the building, out to the sunny churchyard and up to the doors, but you’re not really listening. You’re much too busy floating in the beautiful ambience of it all - the excited nervousness of the bridesmaids, the satisfied anticipation you can feel coming from inside the church.

Everything just looks so pretty, soft pinks and primrose yellows among the sea of white. There’s glitter, and balloons, and gold writing on pastel-coloured bunting. Long swathes of cream-coloured fabric are draped all across the walls and ceiling, and you’re utterly enchanted by the delicate displays of flowers dotted around the room.

Humans have such inventive ways of making things look nice. Maybe you should get some flowers and streamers to decorate the house with.

Belatedly, you realise that you’ve been handed off to some human man, though you don’t know who he is. He looks a bit older than the lady you’re supposed to be, and he feels sort of… sad? But also happy. Nostalgic, maybe? It’s weird.

He fishes around in his pocket for a second, before holding out a little silver disc towards you. What is that? Is it a coin? You take it, and suddenly you realise what it’s meant to be.

It’s a sixpence! Oh, you’ve read about this! Yes, yes, this is a thing that humans do - eagerly, you hitch up your dress and lift your heel slightly out of your shoe, slipping the coin under your foot. The metal is a bit cold, but it quickly warms up, and the man is nice enough to hold your arm to keep you upright as you readjust yourself.

Whoever this man is, it’s very good of him to give it to you. “Thank you!” you say earnestly, giving him a big smile.

For some reason, you feel a little spark of surprise flare inside him when you say that, although he clearly tries not to show it. Do people not say ‘thank you’ when somebody gives them a present? But you’re sure they do - it’s one of the first things in that awful instructional video they make all demons watch when they come to Elegy for the first time. Perhaps he’s just having an off day today.

He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, the music coming from inside the church suddenly gets very loud. All of the bridesmaids seem to have split off into pairs with the men that were milling around here, one lady with one gentleman, and the doors open to let them walk inside.

Is this where you come in? Ooh, you’ve seen this bit on the television! The man who gave you the coin now takes your arm, and the clipboard lady fusses over your dress to make sure the train is laying flat. She also brings the shorter part of the veil over your head, adjusting it so that it falls forwards over your face and down to your waist - fortunately, it doesn’t obscure your vision too much.

(Even if it did, you could just use magic to adjust your eyes slightly so that it didn’t matter, but it’s not that bad. No point in messing around with your disguise right now.)

Magic swirls and fizzes inside you, bursting like fireworks in the dark sky that fills your form. You’re going to marry Vega. You! Marrying him! Today really is like a fairytale, and you don’t even try to hide the lovesick expression that must be all over your face right now.

Somewhere inside, they start playing a familiar song, and the man leads you slowly through the doors. Bouquet in hand, you walk with him, and try not to trip over your long dress.

Everybody in the church is standing up and facing you - suddenly, you’re very glad for the veil. It’s a bit awkward, but you focus on the nice feelings of admiration and happiness drifting through the room, and that makes it better.

Yeah, that’s better. It’s like being part of a play, and all these people are your admiring audience. Today, you get to be the star!

Bright light streaming through the stained glass, lovely music playing as the church organ sings away. At the front of the room, you finally catch sight of Vega - he’s standing next to the altar, and even though his face is different, you’d recognise the beautiful curve of his smile anywhere.

There you are, dearest.

His voice in your head is comfortingly familiar, and as you get closer you can feel the affection in his aura. You give him the tiniest wave, as best you can without making it too obvious, and you have to swallow down the swell of giddy excitement that rushes through you as he waves back.

When you get to the front, there’s some sort of fussing while everyone gets sorted. One of the bridesmaids takes your bouquet, before going to sit down on one of the chairs, and the man in the funny robes next to Vega - the priest? Is that the right one? - tells the man who walked you up here to give you away, or something like that.

It’s a weird thing to say, but the man nods and lets go of your arm, going off to sit down in the front row. One of the bridesmaids stays standing a little bit behind you, and one of the gentlemen stays behind Vega, but as far as you’re concerned, it’s just you and him.

(Most people would say that’s a bad thing. You thoroughly disagree.)

Gently, ever so gently, Vega lifts the veil from your face, letting it fall behind your head once again. As he does it, he blinks deliberately at you with a grin, eyes flicking back to their usual colour for just a second before turning back to their current borrowed blue.

You do the same, keeping a careful grip on the rest of the glamour as it slides back into place. Nobody notices, their human eyes too weak and slow, and the thrill of your shared secret makes your heart feel all warm and fizzy.

There’s a bit more talking from the priest man, during which you take the opportunity to sample a few of the emotions in the room. There are a few sour ones, but they make the nice ones that much sweeter - your mouthful of excitement tastes even better with the swirl of jealousy that runs through it.

He doesn’t say much that’s interesting, but you learn that the lady you’re impersonating is actually called ‘Karla Dillon’, and the man who Vega’s pretending to be is called ‘Justin Bryant’. They’re quite ridiculous names, if you’re honest. Much less sensible than Vega’s or yours, but that’s what you get with humans.

Eventually, the priest turns to you. It’s a little jarring when he calls you by this weird, wrong name, but you don’t let it show.

“Karla, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together with him in the covenant of marriage?” he says to you. “Will you love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto him as long as you both shall live?”

Well, those all sound like good things. You nod enthusiastically, and say “I will.”

He asks Vega the same question, who says the same thing as you. As he says it, you both make eye contact - you can tell you’re both thinking the same thing. If only this human knew just how long you two are going to live.

There’s a bit more talking - you amuse yourself by counting all the petals in the little cluster of flowers that are pinned on Vega’s jacket, and magically making all of the candles flicker in different patterns. He plays along by making them flicker back, and out of the corner of your eye you see one of the men at the back of the room switch one of the standing fans off.

You tune back in just as Vega reaches out, lightly bumping your mind with his own as he softly takes your right hand in both of his. New face, old expression. Looking up at him like this, it’s like there’s nobody else in the world.

“In the name of God, I, Justin, take you, Karla…” He takes a breath, and to anyone else it might look like he’s trying to stop himself from crying. You, however, know that he’s actually trying not to laugh. These names really are silly.

He clears his throat, and tries again. “I take you to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.”

Before he lets go, he presses his thumb lightly over the backs of your fingers, right where he normally kisses your hand. You really have to fight the urge to just grab him and kiss him right now - how dare he be so sweet to you, in front of all these people?

It feels a little off, when you take his hand in return - the shape is all wrong, and his fingers aren’t as long as you’re used to. Even so, you don’t mind. It’s still him, no matter what form he takes.

The words are a little difficult to remember, but you do your best. “In the name of God, I, Karla, take you, Justin, to be my husband. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.”

It’s disappointing when you have to let go - it feels cold, and you’d much rather keep holding his hand. He must feel your disappointment, though, nudging a pulse of encouragement into your consciousness, and it does help a bit.

Luckily, you don’t have to let go for very long. The man behind Vega comes over and offers him a little square, embroidered cushion, with two rings sitting on top. One is quite plain, just a smooth, shiny gold band, while the other has a big, teardrop-shaped diamond in the middle - Vega picks up the one with the diamond, and reaches for your hand again.

“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love, with all that I am, and all that I have.”

He says it in your mind, as well as out loud, and the feeling of his real voice in your head is almost enough to have you bursting into tears right then and there. The slight disturbance in the air where his horns are hidden shudders slightly, a reassuring reminder, and you blink away the tears as you watch him slide the ring onto your finger.

The man then comes to you, offering the cushion, and you reach out to take the other ring. Your hands tremble slightly with nervous excitement as you slip it on Vega’s finger, and you’re sure you can’t quite hide the possessiveness in your voice as you speak - both in his head and with your human mouth.

You definitely remember the words for this part. “I give you this ring as a symbol of my love, with all that I am, and all that I have.”

Vega smiles. Suddenly, you’re reminded of something he said the other day.

Have you ever seen a wedding ring before?

It had been dark, late at night in bed, and you’d just been falling asleep when he’d asked you. Sleepily, you’d turned to face him, but the blackout curtains always make it too dark to really see anything.

I think so. One of your old coworkers had shown you, once - a flat little gold band around his finger. I heard it was like a kind of courting gift.

Something like that. As I understand it, the ring is less of a present, and more… more of a promise, I suppose. Or a reminder.

You remember thinking that it was an unusual thing to say. Are humans really that stupid? Why do they have to wear a special ring to remind them that they’re in love? Shouldn’t they just… know?

Humans are always making things more complicated than they need to be, little one. I thought that was obvious.

So what makes these kinds of rings special? Are they magical?

No, there’s no magic, he’d replied, shaking his head. Unempowered humans can have weddings too.

Frustrated, you’d let your head drop heavy on the pillow. Then what’s the point?

I suppose there isn’t one, he’d said, thoughtful. Humans like all sorts of odd things.

He hadn’t said anything for a long time, and you’re still not sure if the next thing he’d said had been real, or just something your tired mind had dreamt up. Maybe we’ll just have to find out for ourselves.

New weight on your finger, new light in your heart. He’s yours. Now, you think you might understand why humans like these little rings so much.

There’s a little more talking, including a slightly weird part where the two of you have to kneel down while the priest does a sort of short speech over your heads. Vaguely, you remember Vega saying it’s meant to be some sort of blessing, but you aren’t actually paying attention. Instead, you let the words just wash over you, the joyful tide rushing over the sand, and you don’t let go of his hand this time.

When the speech is over, Vega helps you stand - you respond with a grateful pulse of affection in his mind. These blasted shoes are really starting to hurt now, and there’s so much material with all this dress and veil stuff that you have to steady yourself with some subtle psychokinesis to stop you tripping and falling flat on your face. Thank goodness you’ve got him here to keep you upright!

Thankfully, the priest waits until you’re both steady on your feet to speak, and you’re very glad he does. This is the bit you've been looking forward to most of all.

“Karla and Justin,” he says with a smile, “having witnessed your vows of love to one another, it is my joy to present you to all gathered here as husband and wife.”

The candles flicker. In the corner of your eye, a lady in the front row dabs at her eye with a tissue.

“You may kiss.”

A human hand cradles the back of your head, slips around your waist, leans you backwards into a picture-perfect dip. A human face smiles down at you, eyes bright with the thrill of new love. A human man leans down to kiss his bride, sweetly and softly, on the happiest day of his life.

“Shall we, darling?”

You smile, and it’s all teeth. “Of course.”

The glamour splitting, splintering, crumbling to dust. It's no human who holds you now. A woman screams in the second row as the facade falls away, and Vega's horns click gently against yours as he finally kisses you.

Vaguely, you're aware of the thick layer of paralysis magic that condenses in the room, locking the humans in place before they can do anything, but you don’t really pay it any mind. You’re far too focused on the warmth of Vega’s tail tangling with yours under your dress, the sting of sharp fangs dragging over your lip as his tongue dips down into your mouth.

I love you.

The air tastes like frantic, screeching terror. And I love you.

Sliding your fingers into his hair, you press yourself as close to him as you can. The relief of reverting to your demonic form is wonderful, the illusion sliding off your skin like thick oil, and you couldn’t beat back your smile if you wanted to.

My darling, he whispers into your mind, just where he ought to be. A match made in heaven, wouldn’t you say?

As he says it, he gently brings you back upright, though he doesn’t let you go. Gleefully, you relax into his arms, looking around at the room full of horrified faces. A few of them have fainted, falling limp against the paralysis that keeps them in their seats - others try to struggle out of it, but to no avail.

Oh, definitely. You look down at the ring on your finger, watching the diamond sparkle in the light - now that you look more closely, you can see that the big one in the middle is surrounded with lots of little diamonds that sparkle in the light. It’s so, so beautiful.

He holds his hand out next to yours, and you can see him magically adjusting the size of his ring so that it fits him properly. It’s a good idea. You do the same with yours - while you’re at it, you also replace those awful shoes with something a bit more comfortable. There’s a notable jolt as they disappear and you suddenly get several inches shorter, but your feet definitely thank you for it.

Once your clothes fit you again, it feels much better. Indulgently, you rest your head on Vega’s shoulder and look around. Most of the humans seem to be in some stage of panic, but some are remarkably calm. Maybe it’s just that it hasn’t quite hit them yet.

Did you want that back, dear?

Vega points towards the bridesmaid who was standing behind you - oh, your bouquet! Gratefully, you tug it free of her frozen hands with a tendril of magic, and float it over to you.

It’s very pretty, but now that you think about it, perhaps this could be a little more to your taste. With a wave of your hand, all of the candles in the room flare, and Vega watches curiously as white roses turn to deep pink peonies.

That’s better, you declare happily. Now it’s special to us, instead of them.

He doesn’t say anything, just kisses your temple, but you know what he means. You can feel it.

A quiet sniffling sound catches your attention, and you glance over to see where it’s coming from. It’s the lady in the front row from earlier, the one who had the tissue. She must have dropped it when the magic reached her - her face streams with fearful tears, but she can’t bend down to reach the packet lying on the floor by her feet.

It makes you feel a bit bad for her, so you untangle yourself from Vega’s arms and walk over to her. Slowly, as not to startle her, you bend down and pick the little packet up.

Don’t worry, miss. I’ll be quick.

You take a tissue out of the plastic, and dab the tears from her face as gently you can. Her makeup is running a bit, but you try to salvage what little is left, and wipe away the streaks of mascara that run down her cheeks. Did you enjoy the ceremony?

For some reason, your efforts only seem to make her cry harder, chest stuttering and spasming as her body sobs as much as the magic will let it. Soon, your tissue is absolutely soaked through, and you have to dissolve it between your fingers.

Oh, miss. Please don’t cry - it’s okay…

You look back over at Vega, who’s currently inspecting the decorations on the altar, but he just shrugs. He doesn’t seem to know what to do either.

Here, I can make it - I’ll make it stop.

Carefully, you reach into her mind and pull. With a jolt, the crying suddenly stops, and her eyes glaze over as her memory fades - you fill the empty space of the last few hours with peaceful mist, and slowly guide her down into her chair.

Sleep well, miss.

She couldn’t reply, even if she wanted to. She’s already asleep.

Vega, should we…? You wave your hand at the sleeping lady, and then gesture to the rest of the room. It would be weird if she was the only one.

If that’s what you’d like, he says. Faintly, you feel a little flicker of disappointment that you haven’t gone with the other plan, but he hides it well. Come on, we’ll do it together.

(Look, it’s not that the other plan didn’t sound fun. It’s just that you’ve already done a murder today, and killing all these people seems a bit greedy. Plus, it would mean cleaning all the blood out of the chairs, and that’s really not a headache you need today.)

The haze of paralytic magic suddenly gets thicker, swirling through the room like heavy fog, and you pour as much magic as you can into it to get it to stick. Slowly, it dilutes into sleeping magic, and the humans all begin to slump back down into their chairs or onto the floor.

Do you want a specific memory? Vega takes your hand and leads you back up to the altar, so you can see the whole room. Or just a gap?

You deliberate for a second. Just a gap, I think. They should be able to come up with an explanation.

He nods. Then they’re all yours, dear.

There’s quite a lot of humans here, so you have to concentrate quite hard. Gradually, you help the fog to ease the memories of today out of their heads, replacing them with the same swirling mist that you gave the crying lady, and making sure none of them remember you or Vega were ever here.

Human minds are very resilient, and they love making up explanations for things they can’t explain. Once they realise the humans you replaced are gone, you’re sure they’ll come up with an acceptable story sooner or later. They’ll be fine.

Finished. With a sigh of relief, you step back and let the magic dissipate. Should we get going, then?

Your hand moves to start opening a rift, but Vega’s faster, catching your wrist before you can get there.

Mm… Not quite finished.

Somewhere else in the room, there’s a burst of magic - you watch in bewilderment as the organist wakes from her sleep, and dazedly pulls herself up onto her seat. What?

You’re forgetting something, love.

All around you, music starts to play - oh, it’s that song! The famous one! From the one you saw on the television, the one that he watched with you! Vega offers you his arm, and you have to wipe away the happy tears that seem to have appeared in your eyes all of a sudden.

Oh, Vega… The tears don’t go away, and you sob into his shirt as he holds you, long peony stems dangling loose between your fingers. You didn’t have to!

Of course I did, my darling, he laughs quietly, kissing the top of your head between your horns as his hand smooths comforting circles over your back. Of course I did.

He offers you his arm, and you take it with a teary smile. The lovely music echoes from the high ceiling as the organ sings, and you hum along in your head as you walk back down the aisle.

None of the humans are awake to see it, but it doesn’t matter - you materialise a playful burst of shiny confetti just over Vega’s head, giggling as it rains down over him and sticks in his hair.

You-!

He gives you a mock glare, and replies with a retaliatory burst of flower petals over your own head. Then another, then another, until you’re both laughing too hard to concentrate - behind you, the aisle is buried under a trail of confetti and flowers as you practically chase each other towards the doors.

Oh, I don’t think so - there!

You’re too slow to dodge his hand around your waist - he scoops up your squirming form like it’s nothing, dress and veil so long that they still brush along the floor as he carries you in his arms. Got you, little troublemaker.

You try to wriggle free, but he’s too strong - resigned to your fate, you just settle for throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him down for a deep, happy kiss. Is that a promise, husband?

With all that I am, and all that I have, he dutifully recites, tail slipping beneath your dress and coiling possessively around your ankle. I won’t ever let you go.

It’s all you could ever want. Behind you, a room full of humans sleeps unaware, and the organist plays you out as Vega carries you carefully out into the churchyard. The sun is shining high in the sky, and your veil flutters behind you in the summer breeze.

So, darling, he asks over the music. Do you like it, then?

The happiest day of your life. Looking up at Vega, covered in confetti and laughing in the sunlight, you think you finally understand.

Yes, you say. I do.

in the mood for more? here's the series masterlist

main masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted vega #redacted warden #redacted fluff #ginger writes #ginger after dark #gingerbreadmonsters

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complicatedchelsea · 1 year

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Fallen Through Time For You

Prologue: She Fell From The Sky

Synopsis: Eddie Munson had his life turned upside down, literally. While he and the gang are dealing with the aftermath of Vecna, a new problem literally falls into their laps. Sydney Thompson, a twenty-year old from the future. The only explanation? The soulmark on her wrist tying her to Eddie. The only problem? There are no soulmarks from she's from. How will Eddie and Sydney interact? Will she stay or will some other power ruin the only good thing to come into Eddie's life?

Authors Note: Here it is! My first chapter of my new series!

(gif not mine)

To anyone else, it was a cool day in Hawkins, Indiana. To our group of mismatched heroes, it was another calm day of waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the end of times to appear. After the conflict of their spring break and disappearance of Vecna, an evil entity trying to reign control of The Upside Down and the real world; the group was in defense mode. He could strike at any moment, try to finish what he started back in March. So when Eleven and Mike are outside and someone literally falls from the sky, what is the party going to do?

“Steve!” El yelled as she spotted the girl falling in the sky. “Get over here!”

At the sound of her yell, Steve and the older teens raced to the front of the cabin to see El waving her hands out, slowing the drop of a girl that seemed to have fallen from the direction of the sky. They all watched as El lowered her slowly from about tree’s height to the ground where she laid seemingly unconscious. The group was quiet.

“What the hell is that?” Steve asked as he took a few steps closer to the girl on the ground. “Where did she come from?”

“The sky,” Mike answered as he laid a hand on El’s shoulder. “We saw her falling and El stopped her.”

“So you're saying she just fell from the sky?” Nancy asked. “Like really, she just appeared?”

El shrugged. “That’s when I noticed her.”

Steve sighed. “Well we can’t just leave her out here. Should we bring her in the house to see if she wakes up?’

No one had any disagreements so Steve stepped forward and picked the girl off the ground and carried her into the cabin. Steve laid her carefully on the couch, the rest of the group taking places around the tiny cabin.

“What should we do with her?” Will asked from the window near the door. “Where did she even come from?”

“Maybe she can answer those questions when she wakes up?” Robin suggested hopefully. “I mean with all the shit that happened, it would be that she landed here of all places, right?”

“So you think she’s evil?” Steve asked.

“No!” Robin said and glared at Steve. “I’m just saying, isn't this just what we deal with now?”

Steve shrugged and looked around the room to get a good headcount. “Who’s missing?”

Dustin came from the direction of the small kitchen. “Just Eddie and Max. They called earlier saying they would be a little late.”

Steve nodded. “Should we call Hopper?”

Jonathan nodded behind Nancy. “I’ll call him and Mom to get them over here, they should know.”

Steve nodded and went back to staring at the girl. She was breathing, that much was clear. What the hell is she doing here?

It wasn’t too much later that the group could hear Eddie’s van making it up the drive. Before he could make too much noise, Steve and Robin met the pair at the door.

They could see Eddie and Max getting out of the van, laughing as Eddie ruffled Max’s hair. They both stopped short when they saw what was waiting for them at the door.

“What’s going on?” Eddie asked at the end of the steps. “Is everyone okay?”

Steve shrugged and put his hands on his hips. “We might have a slight problem?”

“Problem?” Max echoed quietly.

“A girl fell from the sky,” El said suddenly from behind Steve. Steve jumped and moved away as she came out the door. “Mike and I saw her falling and I slowed her down.”

“Harrington?” Eddie asked as he looked at El. “Is this true?”

Steve nodded. “Yes. She’s in there on the couch, still passed out we think. We don’t know where she came from.”

“Max might,” El said as she reached for Max. “I think you’ve seen her.”

“Seen her?” Robin echoed as they let El bring Max to the couch. The three at the door watched as Max studied the girl before looking back at the trio. She nodded.

Steve sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Why is it always us?”

Eddie clapped his shoulder before moving into the cabin. “Why not?”

Max sat at the foot of the couch the unconscious girl laid on. “I, uh saw her in a vision. El saw it too when she saved me from the Vecna, that’s how she recognized her.”

“The visions that Vecna accidentally showed you?” Nancy questioned. “The ones from the future?”

Max nodded. “Yeah. She’s from the ones about Eddie.”

The whole group turned to face Eddie.

“Me?” Eddie asked. “You’ve got it all wrong, Red. I’ve never seen that girl before in my life.”

“Well she’s in the visions with you!” Max exclaimed. “A lot of it is a little muddy because it was shown so fast, but she was laughing with you in one of them. You looked… happy.”

“Happy?” Eddie repeated. He looked at the girl one more time. Nothing stood out about her. Was she supposed to be a part of his future?

“We can’t do anything until she wakes up,” Nancy said. “So let's not get worked up about this.”

They all nodded and tried not to focus on the elephant in the room.

“She’s not bad,” El muttered as she sat by the TV that was playing a random movie. “She didn’t look evil in the visions, she was around us all. Like family.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson series #stranger things #stranger things series #steve harrington #writing #time travel #fanficion #robin buckley

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whyareyouhere66 · 2 years

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The Outsiders/Sodapop Curtis - Vandalize

Ok, so this is for @collieflower215

I’m not sure if this is what you wanted, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless- not too proud of this one? But yeah, I hope you like it :)

Sodapop Curtis x Reader, mainly platonic but of course you can always think of it romantically or whatever you want.

Fem reader, but from 1st person so it is easily GN.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, drunk driving (stay safe kids). Sad soda. Sandy.

My shirt felt slightly damp, the fresh tears coming from Sodapop staining the soft material. His head was buried into my shoulder, sobbing into my side while I stroked his hair.

“I-I was gonna marry her, Y/n…” he mumbles, and I wince. “I know, Soda, I know…”

He’d called me in hysterics, bawling his eyes out over the phone trying to explain to me what happened. I didn’t listen, of course, instead opting to rush over here to find out what was wrong.

Turns out Sandy had cheated- gotten pregnant with some other guy while Sodapop was working. Poor guy only found out recently, his concerns being proven when the letter he’d written her was returned…unopened.

“Did I do something wrong-?” He cries, grip tightening on my shirt, and I gasp softly. “What? Of course not, Soda-“

I pause, tilting his head up so his eyes could meet mine. His face was red and wet, eyes puffy. “This is completely on her, alright? She has no idea what she’s throwing away..” I say gently, trying to block out any anger I knew might show in my tone. He sniffles again, nodding slowly.

I didn’t leave until a couple of hours later, refusing to leave his side until his tears had dried. And when that time finally came, Steve, Dally and Two-Bit showing up from hell knows where, I took it as my cue to leave.

“Alright, are ya coming over tomorrow?”

“No, sorry Soda. I’m headed out of town for a couple of days.” I say lamely.

He nods softly, and gives me the best smile he could muster.

As I shut the door behind me, I stand there for another moment. “That lying, cheating little bitch…” I mumble.

Fingers curling into a fist, I march away from the Curtis home angrily. If she wanted to run away from her problems then fine, so be it. She could run from Sodapop, and she could run from the rest of the gang. But she couldn’t run from me.

*****

The drive down to Florida was a long one. Hours alone in my car, with a seemingly endless road in front of me at all times. ‘A fun little roadtrip’ if you will, but less fun and more ‘impulsively angry planning.’

With a crinkled and torn map sprawled across the passenger seat, and countless food wrappers and napkins piled up in the backseat, I drove through the small little beach town where Sandy had moved.

It was fairly late now, only the dim light of old lampposts there to illuminate the humid streets. I had only met Sandy a couple of times, but I knew I remembered her car well enough to recognize it. So when I saw it parked in front of this little pink house, I pulled over immediately.

I came here simply to talk to her. Just a small chat, perhaps a couple of curses. That’s it.

But when I found myself throwing one of the rocks from the driveway towards the vehicle, I quickly came to the conclusion that wouldn’t be happening. The image of Sodapop sobbing flashing through my head, stuck in my brain like those horrible beach movies.

The rock hurled towards her car, crashing against the hood and denting it severely.

A strong feeling of satisfaction overcame me, and so I threw another. And another. And another.

“No good-“

WHAM

“Cheating-“

CLANG

“Lying little-“

THUD

“Whore!!”

BANG

It had began to resemble that of a golf ball, instead of a car, much to my bitter enjoyment.

I stared at it angrily, bent over with my hands on my knees.

After a moment I straightened up, brushing some dirt off of my jeans, and began walking back to my own car. Just as I passed the banged-up hood, I took out my keys and let the tip of the small metal drag against the car- just for good measure.

Falling into the lumpy-cushions of the drivers seat, I close my eyes for a moment. And then I grinned.

Just before I started to drive off, I reached over and opened up the glove compartment, blindly searching around before I felt the familiar smoothness of a glass bottle.

Pulling out the small flask, and popping off the lid, I finally started up my car and took a sip of the celebratory alcohol.

As I continued to drive, I took continuous drinks from the flask, letting my anger melt away with my soberness. Though I wouldn’t let myself go beyond tipsy, the burning sensation on my tongue satisfied me deeply.

Just as I began to exit the small town, I reached over again and turned the volume on the car’s radio up a couple of notches- a familiar rock song blasting through the speakers.

Sure, it the middle of the night. Sure, people were sleeping. But I was having the time of my damn life.

Eventually, perhaps an hour or two later, I found myself just a few towns away from where Sandy lived. I reached over to get in another sip from the flask, but found it was just about empty. And so I tossed it out of my window, the brief sound of glass shattering against pavement before I continued racing down the street.

Perhaps I was a bit more tipsy than I thought, as I proceeded to lift my hands off the wheel and raise them above my head, grinning like a child.

Just before the road turned to the left, I grabbed the wheel again and drove across the near empty road in zigzags. My childish laughter was just barely audible under the blasting music, and I raised my hands above my head once again.

The fresh, salty Florida air whipped my hair around behind me, while I tilted my head back against the seat, gripping the head cushion tightly.

And then, I heard it.

It was a familiar sound, quite common in my neighborhood as it best the music easily.

The sirens blared behind me, causing my eyes to snap open in alarm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw red and blue lights flashing across the houses on the street. “Shit…” I mumble, hands darting to grab the steering wheel again.

Getting pulled over onto the side of the road wasn’t my plan tonight, but I guess neither were the rocks.

Next thing I knew, my wrists were being bound together behind my back and I was getting tossed into the backseat of a car.

“Drunk driving, and driving dangerously…” I hear one of the cops mumble. “I’m not drunk-“ I retort, glaring into the back of his head. “Your breath says otherwise, sweetheart.”

I huff, leaning back in my seat. “Whatever…”

*****

I leaned against the cold, white wall of the police station, glancing back to find the guard staring at me. I awkwardly turn away, looking back at the small phone booth that was pressed against the wall.

It was about mid day now, I’ve been stuck in this cramped little station for hours with nothing but awkward silence and the stares from cops. They finally let me make a call, so I could get the hell out of here.

“Hello?”

“Steve?”

“Y/n?”

I let out a sigh of relief, the brunette’s voice feeling far more comforting then it should. “Oh thank god- um, I need a favor.” I say, glancing back at the cop again. I hear a little bit of noise on the other end, before getting a response.

“Um, alright. What is it, I’m about to get my lunch break” he replies.

“Ok- well uh,” I pause. “I may have been arrested-“

“What?!” He shouts through the phone, causing me to pull the black object away from my ear for a second.

“Quit yelling, will ya?”

He ignores my comment, continuing to bombard me with questions. “The hell did you do? And where even are you, we haven’t heard from you in 2 days-“

I cringe slightly, my soberness catching up on me. “…um, so, funny story”

“…what’d you do”

“Y’know how Sandy, moved to that little town in Florida?” There’s a pause, and I can feel the gears turning in his little brain. “You didn’t-”

“Beat her up? No, course I didn’t.” Another pause. “..I beat up her car.”

Almost immediately, I hear a roar of laughter from Steve. Some fumbling of the phone, causing crackling noises to accompany his hyena like noises.

“..and then I got a little tipsy-“ more laughter. “May have had too much fun driving-“ again, more laughter. “-and the rest is history.”

His laughter is yet to stop, and so I sigh, leaning back against the wall.

Once he finally calmed down, he finally picks the phone up. “Man you sure are something, huh.” I roll my eyes, grinning to myself. “Well, like I said I’m about to go on break but I cant come and get ya. I’ll call Dally, alright?” I nod, despite him not being able to see me. “Alright- thanks, man”

The phone connects to the holder, with a small click. I turn, leaning against the wall with a sigh.

A couple of chairs were placed by the wall, which is where I spent the next hour or so waiting for Dally. When he finally arrived, wearing his signature smirk and leather jacket, he dropped a couple of bills onto the front desk.

The exit was quick, and I knew that wasn’t the way it worked but we were out of the building before anyone could stop us.

I found myself once again in the front seat of my car, Dally had taken the bus, only this time he was in the drivers seat. “I’m driving this time, don’t wanna get arrested this time.” He says with a grin, and I roll my eyes. “That’s rich coming from you.” I joke, and he only places a cigarette into his mouth, resting on his lip. “Yeah, me and Two raised ya well huh?”

“Oh shut it.” I laugh. He makes a mocking noise, starting up the car and pulling out of the small, poorly-paved parking lot. “Uh huh, yeah we’ll just wait till ol’ Darrel hears about this one”

“Shoot.”

Edit: just thought of a better way to write this but uh, too late now so I’m sorry-

#dallas winston #Steve randle #sodapop curtis #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #Sodapop Curtis x reader #66-recs&replies

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super-unpredictable98 · 1 year

Note

Can you do a oneshot of Vicky being jealous of Klaus flirting with a fan?🤧

Klaus' Type | The Umbrella Academy AU

Pairing: Klaus x Vicky (OC - The Eighth Child’ Verse)

Word Count: 1,2 k

Warning: Strong language, a little angst

a/n: Thank you so much for the request, I really hope you like it! Also, don't worry, other anons, I'm working on the next few requests.

(Masterlist)

It was a pretty average day for us. Another gang of bank robbers sent to jail and about twenty minutes of interviews to various channels. Vanya (Viktor, but at the time I didn't know that) and dad observed safely from a distance.

"We did nothing more than our duty, everyone in the city should know: as long as the Umbrella Academy is around, you are all safe," Luther smiled at the camera.

"Okay, Freddie..." I sneered quietly.

"Wait, what would that make us? Shaggy and Scooby-Doo?" Klaus asked with a snort.

"Yeah, I'm obviously Scooby 'cause Shaggy is the-" I nearly said the hot one. I remember having a crush on Shaggy when I was a kid, it kinda stuck with me.

"Stoner?" He nodded knowingly.

"Yeah."

"I bet Scooby never took as many bullets to the chest as you did back there, so..."

"Seance! Die Hard! How do you feel after saving the day once again?" A reporter asked.

"We feel great!" I answered, looking for the right camera to look at. "I think when we work as a team, even without our brother Horror, may he rest in peace, nothing can stop us. Right, Sea-Seance?"

I looked over at where he was, right next to me, but Klaus wasn't there anymore.

"I'm so sorry, my brother is like a puppy sometimes, you blink and he runs away," I laughed nervously. "Excuse me, I should find him and make sure he's okay."

Of course Luther and Allison would be able to distract the press while I looked for my brother (yes, it is very odd to call him that without at least adding slash lover at the end).

I wandered around for a few minutes before I heard his voice, when I turned my head he was leaning back against a wall and chatting with a short perky redhead who seemed to be about our age.

I should've called him right away, but that little voice inside my head wouldn't let me. I just carefully blended into the crowd to listen to the conversation. Before you judge me, I was only sixteen and in love!

"It must be hard to get out of the house with your dad and your siblings always there," the girl said, twisting the ends of her long hair. Could she be any more of a fucking cliche?

"Not really, I get out almost every night actually, but don't tell anyone," Klaus chuckled and I felt my blood starting to boil.

"So if we were to, I don't know, go out... You wouldn't have problems being there on time."

"Hmmm yeah, I guess for a girl as cute as you I can be punctual. Do you smoke? I'm pretty sure I could get some pot, some beer..."

"Yeah, sounds cool. I never expected the Seance to be such a bad boy!" Okay, that made me laugh. Klaus was bad, don't get me wrong, but bad boy is the last way I would describe him.

"Seance isn't, but you can call me Klaus," he drawled, taking off his domino mask.

"Oh my God! You have beautiful eyes! It's a crime to hide them behind that mask!"

"Aw, you're sweet... Danke!"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back and made my loathing for this preppy whore (again, we were kids, I was just really angry) overflow. German? Really? What a sly bastard! He was only allowed to be charming in German for me!

"Seance!" I called, marching towards them.

"Hey, Die Hard! This is my sister Vicky, Vicky this is Erica."

"And you just outed my real name, thanks..." I scoffed. "We were still doing press, you left me alone over there! Hi, Payton," I greeted her last to make sure she knew she was an afterthought.

"Her name is Erica," Klaus whispered.

"Sorry, Payton was the last one. I end up losing count, I'm sorry."

"OMG! Die Hard! Can I call you Vicky?" She squealed. "I'm such a big fan, you two are my favorites."

"First of all, no. Second of all, you clearly like him better than me..." I teased.

I didn't notice at the time, but Klaus (according to himself) had the biggest smirk on his face. He was obviously feeling like the king of the world. Two girls fighting over his attention? Who wouldn't want that?

Payton... or Erica gave him her number and we went home. Needless to say, I was quiet the entire time, I didn't even take my mask off in the car so he wouldn't see my eyes.

We listened to dad's notes on our performance and I went straight to my room. I put on my American Idiot CD and skipped to Boulevard of Broken Dreams. Yeah, I was an extremely dramatic teenager.

"Knock knock," Klaus called through the door.

"Fuck off!"

"Wow, Boulevard of Broken Dreams and telling me to fuck off? No one is safe," he opened the door and leaned against the doorframe.

"What do you want?" I rolled over on the bed to face him.

"My weed, can I get it?"

"Oh yeah of course, for your date..."

Klaus chuckled and closed the door before making his way to my dresser where his hidden stash was.

"So, what happened? You did great today, why are you so grumpy?"

As if he didn't know. He just wanted to hear me say it.

"Nichts," I scoffed.

"Is it just me or you don't really like Erica?"

"It's just you."

"That's a relief... She wants me to teach her German-"

The look I gave him made Klaus burst out laughing, that little shit. He knew exactly what he was doing and I was falling for it.

"When did you become a teenage boy? You're all assholes!" I groaned. "You wanna smoke weed and teach her German? I don't care, just spare me the details."

"You're cute when you get angry, you scrunch up your nose like that," he giggled. "I'm just messing with you, she wasn't my type, too preppy."

"You seemed interested."

"Yeah, I like flirting, it's fun. If I went on dates with everyone I flirt with, I'd be booked for the next one hundred years. I do want my weed cause I thought we could smoke and get some doughnuts later. Would you like that, Schnucki?"

I wanted to smack him, tell him to take a hike and never show up in my room again. He was totally trying to make me jealous! And for what? He didn't even like me (or so I thought at the time).

"I'll think about it," I said instead.

"Don't think too long, I get lonely at night," he whispered before heading to the door. He looked over his shoulder and blew me a kiss. "I thought you knew I'm not that into redheads. I like brunettes better."

Tag List: @elliethesuperfruitlover @seanfalco @salvador-daley @firstpersonnarrator (dm me to get added)

#umbrella academy fanfic #umbrella academy klaus #umbrella academy #fanfic #klaus hargreeves x oc #klaus hargreeves #tua #tua fanfic #tua klaus #tua au #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanfic #the eighth child

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candied-cae · 2 years

Text

He Remembers

Chapter 1/1 - - - Read it on AO3

Word Count : 1,685

Summary: It was March 26th, 1986 when the gang in Hawkins, Indiana did their four phase plan to rid the world of Vecna. It was March 26th, 1986 when the five of them climbed into the Upside Down to save the world. It was March 26th, 1986 that Steve felt so much joy, terror, relief, dread, and grief.

And Steve remembers every second of it.

More ST Fics (Warning: This is not a Fix-It Fic! Eddie is dead and he stays dead. I just needed to write about how much it hurts Steve. Please forgive me.)

-----------------------------------------------------

Steve remembers too much about that day.

March 26th, 1986.

Weeks have passed since then, but it’s still all so incredibly crystal clear in his mind.

The rush of stealing an RV, the chaos of the military surplus store, the planning of how they were supposed to end Vecna. They planned and planned and planned. They planned so goddamn much.

Steve’s pretty sure Nancy figured every second of it. If she could’ve had a stopwatch in everyone’s hands and set them to time, she would’ve. Every phase and when they should happen and how sure they had to be about getting it all done right. They planned for fucking ages to make sure it all got done right.

No accidents, no rushing, no mistakes, no injuries, no losses. That was the plan.

He remembers the walking. Slowly making their way through the forest while Robin anxiously insisted they were lost, and feeling a need to thank Nancy for having been a catalyst of growth for him. He remembers the waiting. Just sitting outside the manor waiting for the bats to leave their post. He remembers the sound. The barely-there buzzing that came through the air from Eddie and Dustin's amp before the swarm gathered and took off for the trailer park. He remembers the hopping. The most serious and carefully taken hopping the world has ever seen, all to avoid stepping on the vines that littered the floor as they ascended the staircase to the attic. He remembers the fear when Robin was suddenly strung up by them. When they all were. He remembers that terror as he thought he was doing to die being choked by other-dimensional vines with his ex-girlfriend and best friend. But they were eventually released, and they proceeded to their starring moment: phase four, to burn Vecna's physical body to a crisp with kerosine molotov cocktails. He remembers watching that flaming Venca stand up like a true image of horror with a kind of rage in his eyes that made watching him fly out the window from Nancy's buckshots that much more satisfying.

He remembers that relief because finally, finally, they finished what they were supposed to do, and everything was supposed to be fine.

He remembers all he wanted to do was get back in the trailer and watch everyone flop onto the mattress in their Rightside Up Hawkins one last time and rest. He was making plans about the sort of nap he’d enjoy and the snacks he’d eat and the shower he’d be able to take when he got back home. He was practically daydreaming about calling out from shifts at Family Video for the next week as his own reward for contributing to saving the world, yet again.

But, when the three of them ran out of that house to see Vecna's corpse before getting back home, they stopped on the steps because there wasn't anything there.

He remembers among that confusion the trilling of the clock ringing through their silence and that the only thing it could mean was that Max was dead. That they failed and the gate was going to open. He remembers that fear settling in again as they all broke into the most terrified sprint to figure out what happened. He remembers the beating of his heartbeat in his ears and the panic he felt for those damn kids he always wound up with. This was the one time he wasn't near any of them and, god, he regretted ever wanting to be so far. At least being there meant knowing they were okay or being able to do something about it.

When they got back to the trailer park and saw wreckage and scars of a gate, seeing all of it absent of the usual red-hot glow and knowing it wasn't still open? It was presumptuous of him to think it was all okay again. To assume that it meant only good things were left to learn. But he did. He was so tired of the bad news and being jerked back and forth. He wanted to settle on good news. He already began to hope before they even made it to the front door.

He remembers actually believing that if the world was done ending, then they’d be able to put together some sort of evidence and prove Eddie’s innocence.

He remembers all of those things as if he wrote them down in a diary and had reviewed them every day since.

But more than those, there were other memories from that day that feel so fresh it’s like Steve's still living in them.

He remembers the pitfall in his stomach when they opened the trailer door and it was empty, their tether to their own world cut and laying on the floor. He remembers the quiver in his hands as he just suddenly knew something was wrong. He remembers the way his every muscle clenched when they got around the trailer and saw the figures on the ground yards away, surrounded by a ring of those dead damned bats. He remembers the way everything in him froze as they got closer and he realized exactly what they were looking at. He remembers feeling all that victory he clawed back drain to nothing as he had to admit that he was seeing Eddie, dead, in Dustin’s arms.

He remembers feeling like he needed to mourn, but also like he shouldn't. How dare he claim Eddie Munson's death as a loss to him? He barely knew him, only met him three days before. He had only known him for three days. He had no right.

So instead, he remembers feeling so much… nothing.

Steve is a damn-near expert at pretending not to care about things. He’s prided himself on the skill in the past, it did well with the girls. But, at that moment, it wasn't pretending. It was real. Everything in him shut down for the first time in his life.

There was just nothing there as he saw Dustin sobbing, holding onto Eddie like maybe it wasn’t over if he didn't let go, looking at Steve like there was anything he could do. He felt hollow and cold. Like everything that was left had just been sucked out of him. He'd almost say he felt dead himself if it didn't seem insulting to the one who actually fell.

He remembers thinking that the beating heart in his chest had been turned to stone as he had to pull Henderson off of him.

The kid didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want to leave Eddie there in the waste. Didn't want to leave him alone and admit that they couldn’t save him.

But he knew that, above everything else in the world, the one thing Steve Harrington had to do was keep Dustin Henderson safe. Beyond whatever else was happening wherever else, he was going to get that boy back home. Even if it meant Dustin would hate him for it.

He remembers putting his hands on Dustin's arms and profusely apologizing in a voice so much colder and emptier than he’s ever used before as he began to rip him away from the body. He remembers the way Dustin kicked and screamed and fought him the whole time. He remembers the “I’m sorry” falling from his lips, over and over again like spare change, as he held on tightly and had to carry Dustin to get him back through the door and force him to cross the gate, all the while he had one other thought tumbling around his head.

That he should’ve said yes.

All those times that Henderson called and asked if he’d come by Hellfire. All the times he told him it’d be fun and that Steve would probably end up loving D&D if he gave it a chance. All the times he told Steve that “the freak” of a DM was someone he’d like to know, that he was eccentric and wild and fun and exciting.

He should’ve said yes.

He could’ve known Eddie longer. He barely got to know him at all. He only got three days.

And why? Because he was still so worried about what people thought of him? Of the rumors and judgment? He should’ve gotten over it.

Because when he did get to talk to Eddie, there was something there. Something that Steve feels like he’s been missing, something he's been looking for. Something he never felt on all the dates he’s recently pursued. Something he’s maybe only felt for Nancy before she told him she didn’t love him. Something like... he can't say it.

Maybe it was something he didn't really understand and was confused about because... if he were to say he was interested in Eddie Munson like he'd been interested in Nancy Wheeler three years ago?

What could that possibly mean?

That... that was not something he’s ever considered.

Not something he would've even allowed himself to think was an option.

And if he decided to name that feeling, that interest, “a crush”? Wouldn’t that make the whole thing hurt that much more? He can't call it that. He can't decide to believe that's what was happening. Even if it made him want to ask Robin so badly that it gave him headaches... he can't. Because he thinks she'd call it such a thing: a crush. And that would make it so much worse.

So instead, he has regret. Because he missed it. Missed any chance to make something there.

He should've said yes when Henderson asked.

He could’ve known Eddie for months. He could’ve had time with that feeling to figure it out. He could’ve given it a shot before they were fighting the goddamn end of the world again.

But he didn’t.

And now all he has are the memories.

The memories of March 26th, 1986.

Memories that he’s not sure if he’s begging will fade with time or hoping never will.

But, as the days pass by, his mind always rolls over those memories.

And he remembers them, over and over again.

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servants-hall · 1 year

Photo

TV Insider: ‘All Creatures Great and Small’ Star Takes Us Inside James & Helen’s Season 3 Wedding

Get them to the church on time! The wedding of Yorkshire Dales veterinarian James Herriot (Nicholas Ralph) and farmer’s daughter Helen Alderson (Rachel Shenton) opens Season 3 of the delightfully poignant PBS drama All Creatures Great and Small, adapted from the popular books and now set in 1939. Before the “I dos,” though, there are cows to test for tuberculosis, nerves to overcome and a wedding ring to locate. “I was reading the script and smiling cheek to cheek,” Ralph says. “It was touching, romantic. There was drama, but it was also very funny.”

James and Helen’s nuptials kick off another seven-episode season of the Masterpiece favorite, which was filmed on location in Yorkshire, England, from March to July of 2022. The wedding, Ralph reports, was shot at two separate churches — one for the interior, another for the exterior — and a pair of special guests were on set for the occasion: the children of the real-life James Herriot (aka Yorkshire vet and author Alf Wight), Jim and Rosie, who work closely with the show. “Rosie always starts off by saying to me, ‘Hello, Dad,’” Ralph says, “and then she’s like, ‘Sorry, Nick,’ I just had to say it one time.”

Ralph and Shenton are among those in the cast who welcome Jim’s and Rosie’s stories about the real-life people behind the characters. “Rachel is in contact with Rosie quite a bit,” the actor says. “She’ll ask one or two questions, and then Rosie will give her this massive email back.”

So If you see James and Helen kissing before James goes out on a call, credit Rosie for providing that tidbit. “I asked Rach to ask if they had pet names for one another,” Ralph says. “Rosie said they didn’t, but whenever James was leaving to go out on call, they would always kiss before he left. So we can use this. It just helps for authenticity.”

As the rest of the season unfolds, James and Helen return from their honeymoon and squeeze into tight living accommodations at Skeldale House, where James is now a partner in the practice. But Britain is on the cusp of war with Germany, and he has to weigh his responsibilities to his wife, his colleagues, and his country. “He starts to see boys years younger than he is signing up, so there’s a bit of shame and guilt there,” Ralph notes. “It’s a challenge for him to figure out how to proceed.”

Other episodes offer moving looks at Siegfried’s (Samuel West) past as an army veterinarian during World War I and housekeeper Mrs. Hall’s (Anna Madeley) difficult reunion with her son. On a lighter note, Tristan (Callum Woodhouse), now a valid vet, finds a new love interest, while Siegfried acquires a pet rat (don’t worry, it’s cute), a favorite animal of actor West. “Sam used to have pet rats when he was younger,” Ralph says. “He’s been saying for a while, ‘I think there should be a rat in the show.’ So he finally got his way.”

And some things haven’t changed. The Skeldale House gang will still be congregating around the kitchen table for breakfast — scenes that Ralph enjoys shooting and that include real food for the sometimes hungry cast. “We had one of those midway through the afternoon and we were all kind of peckish by that point,” Ralph relates. “The scene finished and they were like, ‘You guys can shove off to your trailers, we’ve got a bit of a break.’ And we all just sat and had the breakfast. We’re like, ‘No, no, we’re fine.’”

Once again, a holiday special (airing in February) caps the season. Since it was filmed during a June heatwave, snow cannons were used to create the wintry atmosphere. “We were in three-piece suits, with jackets, hats, and scarves,” Ralph recalls. “You know you’re in trouble when you’re on set and they’re handing out ice packs just because it’s so hot.”

This time it’s a cross-cultural Christmas-Hanukkah affair when, with World War II now underway, a Jewish girl named Eva is evacuated from the city of Manchester to Darrowby. “We learn about each other’s traditions,” Ralph previews. “Everyone makes her very welcome, but James and Helen take a particular interest in her — maybe foreshadowing things to come.”

#all creatures great and small #acgas spoilers #acgas interviews #acgas s3 #james herriot #helen herriot #siegfried farnon #audrey hall #nicholas ralph #note from the mod: this is a longer version of something I previously posted

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libidomechanica · 5 months

Text

And yet—she has no ending

A sonnet sequence

She gave me, and two pails of sea water. Thy words fond ware? In the nights of thy door. Like the skin which, one universal love letters are what I was taught what I shall remember, now a saint with kisses and praised to see the stems. Apprenticed by the hair with the munificent House that leaves and hoary. As much know, i’m half return. I’ll be sad face beneath these hapless year had been? And yet—she has no ending. By the ocean’s roar: but be a loving heart. The child; she took growling, prayed, and west winds me at my pain. And looks intensely, and there now we see, the accomplished, the world.

Out upon it? Break of him, this nightmare where he might finde Stellaes face grew grey to hear thy plaints, and fleets and count fair prize what I might take at her threshold. Sweet friends: I go to friends: I go to friend: this fairest and the falling of soap and Clorox have no longer dreams. While Twilight of the various content to your knaves pick up or drop at will freeze me out. To thank you, near and yet they do sweare, euen by the scene, by the same delight force to love that came nearer he’s to set me light, thought one night cannot skill to utter on the stroke of mine, that you once a little house together.

Of faults done by a darkened future, both day and night; that spoke not, grew to faults conceal’d their devotion, up shall be back to look. ’St my mouth will you be kind be quiet— dull fence around; one groan was gone, and more terrible! Progress faltering voice and stane; and fro she paced along the corner of the funeral-shears would take her known thatch. Grant me the light all though you catch me at London, the dark, if anything I’ve read, the golden light. With light and down dear Genevieve; then shall paint all night—ouf! We sate together caught there I knelt at her table set forth your earth my music.

Half-conscious and ran in on the census taker know slime, the moth, grinning the tower, of sine and milky rabble of war: a happy day, languisht with a shoebox. The door opened anything: god slays Himself up on one by sorrow for this will tell whatsoever thought control your wall like little sick, and like his fatal fleshed the very first in that very time, and cannot tell my sight, that what it seemes, as ancient fictions— sun’s and moved my life since? Roses at first your cullion’s hanging a Gangster here, if thou which loose the street, the tops shall love letters with a glow that blinds you think State errours to the kite that light, suff’rings, handsomeness tinged by your lips uncurled and kissing through her casement, the whole night proclaim to—at sometimes from my reach to each! If I shall do and were his pack of rustic merchandize pillowing, dwelt in this poor heart’s grow old?

I’ll no gang to my foot’s glee, nor tie up a love so tender foot, lights and they bore up the broad sun is sinking delicious flame. Meet me at my feet there my love nor her, nor me, since that beauty herself she with a bunch of flowers despite I thought, all naked, will show they saw Cupid bitten by a flea; and to their graves! And no place my merit hath my duty strong creative power of humanity from naturally; but all ten fingers stretch the mortals all his actions he would swim in it invariably drowns with foggy damps, and shone through the scene, had blended with the music of my hair no longer bounds their betters. But for thy right myself, ’ said Blanche: and me the hay- field sleeps incessantly for me, I care na thy kin, sae high spear-grass. Shower of sacred mother’s neck, do with his pack of winter raiment saw the haggard father died or live so long!

Its cheerful light. His wings: chestnut colours of the way to begin, marching—marching— marching—king George’s men came to subdued. Of Christ whose sight upon it, I have him all at once to have a bliss to disappeared— just two months gone. On my body than stockit mailens. Or should not rest: with music we know me like a river, silver, too. It’s terrible and studying at the spring. Vision fleeting, Margaret to medicine, if you love me, and there is no one hurt themselves, the red man’s eye? I am your mother and the tombs where Lucy played; and, being stupid, for the girls.

—I never an end. Always wine, when you at your chance Rumpelstiltskin? Well, all of the cause was the bitter orange or ripened when she stood, and say, ah, what not so past but you may aye inherit thy mither’s is the woman but a kind of mine: my brother, now a saint or two, or the garden where the hill, the street—why, soul and mute, and many a maid look’d more darke then bow downe his lips; but she who lived as do they err I dare not in unrighteous feeling made, with that doth impart. With sad eies I their axes: lo the tenderness and boundless songs and I do these wild beast for?

Then if for my poor solitary dove, much more, and blooming, and in his full-crown’d, he cried ’Tis ask and have a blank, never worthy being so good, who is lodging with her tender and the world’s no blot for the hill, and rushes to take me to subdued and cause, that swum in the passion drew cloud, sunset through it be leap, beyond the sea. John Baptist’s head a-dangle by the wind or ruffling shot a flying worm, so queenly beauty and devise, among the cool refreshment drawn from the quiet be exalted be a flame, you may for my despaire the latch would love alive and I.

Of your first-born and I make; where’s joy in the child. World enough! And after his daily comfort me while, to blush their cribs of barrel-dropping fruits of dried ere that late were fleet as you grown a man should bar the walls a blanket. Common sense, or be drawn from the sun decline, my son! But the pike and never again I saw the harbor lie. Two days before; in any shew of neatness little hill, and flap those two more than the east, nor had power to thank me. In highest wall so even in her breasts, she’s just my niece … Herodias, I would quit the shade of clustering its playthings.

I have him to prove, as he, the crammed fowl comes into your smell, yet lost in light, shattered by this world for world-greeting the dusty toiles of brown bread with coming a hermit’s carnal ecstasy. The songs does meditate; ye country comets, thoughts true to the window for from that crazed that he cross’d their claes, or trots by hazelly shaws and multiple locks and all because of mee, if now thee to the God once to have missed, half falling and floating with men, than if I have not long with the white feathered in unquiet widowhood, a wife of my bed crown with tears stood upon each other.

Attend the antiphonary’s marge, joined in the damn’d would win my lady is, doth belong, that seemed the bit me in it; and his soul more for my poor solitary dove, and the grass, uncared for, spied its lulling on bonfires over delicious music we know that they struck eight; I turned away straight to go out. Needs to be love groan: to say prayers to her organ vocal breath more than ire. Than thou hast stay’d, whether my Sappho’s breath say, faults assured and the shining fields I wanderer among green meadows where he chance is bleeding hand of his load. The brain whirls in a day.

You go to friends, whose limpid eyes on my copy-books, which brought to your smell, yet they call upon the hollow of thralled discourse had of Love, and gazing; and her cheeks, and walked out in degree, the grace; just such profit! Of clear raindrops in your lips uncurled and kind, and sickness, a look she stood upon him that sounding the moon was born. Interpreted my own affections, tender skin like a bell, and worshipp’st at the various tasks of supernatural wisdom turn our heart I set the grey cheek that you in a shower will for malice show no face, prepar’d by Natures dear.

Her weeds, and it’s a fire, most faire my race. Phrases and psalms but for they sight upon the breath, then unmark’d, on either dry nor neat, the witch’s life in each!—You may aye inherit thy mither’s eyes so suited, and to myself without a thought the latest sigh! In chase them—sometimes to melt; the night of that tiny little thief, although fair and strongest quell, the maid who can tell! Which with love I would not bear the spring to call him rives horatian fame; in these kings we embrace; and in my beclowded streams to mourn for that ushers in the third, they said no word to excuse spun the story.

Ask me no more, and on the molecules. Little feet, a sweep of lute-strings, and so true as much know, a man whose hopes already; nature to feele the dressing of you! Since this ring, if you listen and Earth for darkness, and shall she sighed among green field that without his asthma: it’s the mead so chillingly shoulder blade. To see the long since barr’d of my arm, its music of the dread of roses first, but Love is justified,—take it. Not reject, and blue spurt of a lov’d voice caressed, like some coy maid half missed, half in dreams do I live o’er aft thy joes hae starv’d, ’mid a’ thy station now.

Once one hand, but more I had stored to me the executioner of the other times of it? The hermit’s carnal ecstasy. I trust her how the May of my loves, and very side through many a thought,—All labour turned askance a wing across the girl and lose you quite. Her beauty slander so! Hands which I behold our sanctuary is violate, our wisedomes golden lights of thy door. I have this; say they ever call me Papa. You floater, you gull that shell, yet lost ere the straight not gall, to drink, a spider’s web hung the departed hence; and if such a gullet’s gripe!

Its platinum loops shrink—what is not speak? Own, is not two countries. A flying worm, so queenly beauties mine eyes. Over blowing ships; over blowing his own. The pale pageant that promise made him swear to me and fair, now blithe, now farewell; these men are hard upon the right for, baith kirk and queen, does she nor cared to star, the forms that leads me forth merely to show your bestead, thou’s be as fire, where, how oft had I power to make ourselves to the happy spirit flew, saw other proper twinkles still to leave. Roses at first your self. With one hand he was king? Then hey, for thee this an hour.

But I shall to-morrow will be cured: but that beats true to the inviting time I also wrote love did we meet in flower o’ the clematis. And she sprang from my minde; my mind. The pleading tone with the hour of a hundred times each to each! Your voice kept sounding the world—flower salesman i’m on the sheets. Break of all, her iron will read that stark alien surface at his cheek, and low: and the day’s disgrace, and count fair prize what to myself to throw troops into the king replied, and day rose from the bowers with eyes of light, hand in an operation, and flowers pale and white throat.

Love never human comforts, gladly reconciled to numerous self-denials, Margaret for heaven be they were more slack, gold, upon a chain of love and Nature with answer ere she could not seldom in my one chance; others, because of Christ whose sad for nothing to a diseased ere you die it leaves, where’s none to subdued, interpreted my haruest-time will not mistake an infant cried aloud. I will kiss the thunder—everlasting, and loving, to rain an April of ovation round my aching Friars, to do like what, if given their surfaces with their own blood!

The sacred mother’s web hung to the mute still climb, a dream, I do, I taste, and now my hand. For your breast. Ere I rise up to dry and thin, her forehead’s smooth as any rush, and in my one hand he held discourse you did move thee; till that I shall move to- night, the lobes of you—warm brown tea—we held each other slew him for the king replied, it were, it bore not beg in vain, here’s joy in the dark, has risen and aghast the unaccustomed to. I have plugged up my socket pile or two on fig skins, melon parish. In sunny mead and start; you shalt win much glories, crowned with eyes of love.

Your worth, and the choirs above dappled his pains—which die for goodness, his hand when I stretched outward garb of house with strange similes enrich each line, of her while Death may die, but by my own sad steps. When will whispering two angels speak. Sight once, as a warm and moonstruck—I’m the marriage; scarce could sublime in years so tender an arch of the banknotes and as soone be pierc’d with flowers, too, she would sting us too, but streaming here to run by her, like spell benumb our hearth, and any sort of sense not flint to prayers to bring the untill’d again towards a ground and she spake with Learnings spade.

She did not there’s many a green mama who first her should be as before? No, there is no place of midnight moon is weaving her brother, yet unwiped! The bride were wan and comfort. Taught me: I shall neither dry nor neat, there! Before his face, speak gently heaving, as an infant in her chair, that it will bestow; for Bess could survey; just like toes. Lord, I’m not thinking although divine: thou liest in Abraham’s bosom, panting, burst them in statlier glorie shine, ennobling new-found that she walking best, conscious and a lost pulse of feet and sincere as maiden-flower, and loving clown puff his grace, and within the day’s disgrace. Together; and where ever to her love is help’d by fear? My arms like these poor innocence: but Ida with a strange with moonlight over my left slapped in a countries. That floated in the maiden yields. Thee to the winds are so long! Upon thy sweet plight?

And so she agree. Remember the past my way. A thirst and day rose from her head away or trampled on that liuing thus in black, her eyes seeking you were but one I know.—Age o’ertook his hand. I would be afraid but not rise thy prison: My genitals, do you know slime, that they marked it with sullen art exercise her proffer, lastly galleon tossed upon clouds before! In amber, o’er than a God they would free, at least, the chrism of love, to anticipation, wear a torn place on my copy- books, scrawled by a bowery flower were lost in the buried streaming: and thine eyes.

The flying words can ever human being leave his ape, in a Hercules his brow chalcedony. Bour she with tendrils love entwine, yet dried ere that is this reft house with ease the floor, one part papa, one part as tyrannous, so as thought to your knife. Sun is sinking heart, that he live to see your head—mine’s the very plumes, those great Nemesis break of day: tired with his Saint John there is yet once back with a flitting head, my own affection time—to quit thy shore a second protestations glowing seas, when, folk at church knows! As time has been seized up without strain of love again.

Eye can’t a painting serves its purpose. Next to the skipping with pity and reverend beard of grandmother died and present of that poverty and reached to have a blanket. Was a stately fretwork to the way! The Prior and this world is best when I saw these shapes partake wi’ naebody cares for thee alone stands hugely politic, that tender stem of a young and looked up … zooks, sir, and golden gate; and I much like in pleasure, or at your bosom all the dreaded dances, with his grim head from this cottage bench, and suck’d an air the old inn- yard a stable-wicket creaked where we are.

A slant and more sad, more beside still night, and all your world-deafen’d ear is by the savage den, and walked along the gusty trees unrooted left us rock. And faith, some western gate, Luke Havergal, there are two recite the floor was neither white till then unto dancing at the flesh of ours. There when you release the shutters, if the bricks beneath. To make chaff. Points on my body to begin, o fair aspect and puts apparel on my copy-books, scrawled them talk—he picks my painting, bless us, then go, see something in the meadows where beneath her breast. And I keep dancing with thee?

Bricks beneath the woman as of old, we two mourn, and sometimes from leaf that shot in long locks play thy part, resigned his dart, and yell: Get out for the spirit clings to the door arrived, I know do well that coy girl who smiles today, to-morrow should be a flame, and sock or buskin skelp alang to death, when a titter like a split broiler. Many the foolishness of human breast in this momentary trance come home that dimmed her hair is long numb place. May, go marry; for he was, watching follow. ’Twill please me mair they thought control; yet withers in the object of such a heighten themselves.

Other men are wringing in the stay down like a pear, or walk, you weren’t ridiculous little man was leaping on with the scope, more grant that very time, I yet remained. He rose and Preaching head, my own king and silent woody place. After a day, or two, or the jars of night not for a lass wi’ a tocher; the nice yellow, yellow guineas for her soule, arm’d but within us and Minerva when speake and new deckit wi’ bonie green meadows where two rings, for Love might rather kiss the home from this cottage bench one to pick. And stopped a dwarf. Brought as a light ascension, Heaven.

Poorer sparke From the landlord. Locked and mute, and caught the true as much know, since now at length to help each check, with tufts and withered in pride and transparent, but being destinies. He should see you once more tongue’s a feckless may I dared not come again undone, possessive heir, and broken bounds should not countenance, and that we say and down dead-heavy sank her curls from your life, in short, and on the wealth, because they do light—only a honey- dropping flowery sister, when you know paralysis, that one of that shape when you were set up in a brake. My complain he’d met her in the stream, and her soul with the yellow guineas for me, nor come at noon; and on the object of such remarks, be sure, which my hands as trees unrooted at his head, now fired an angry Pallas on the colour, or more will not such as otherwhere the trick of your ne’er-cloying sweet Stellaes heart.

I calm’d her matron eye—while each other regions, cities new, as the child will end the random gales that lay behind. And another friends and she was gone and arms; is there arrives a lull in their axes: lo the travelling far, and half drown’d, that so confuse my mistress bids me wear the child! Composed at first did turn his stiff heels so, although ne’er so brave: and after sank and saw more plain, and nip each other. Yet so they met; but when our worlds have passed, and with life for each! And then to Pindar; and true. Whose livery ye wear, play ye at his lips were as thine arm, most faire-sweete, do not like.

I put you make a tent, and struggle slack, gold, upon a little man. I’ll be mine. But he that beat quickly withered in snow: arise from you, I’m with once a lithe body a bundle unthreshed corn and where poets throng to hear her begg’d that abiding phantom cold. Earrings and dew upon the business of the Medici have given the warmth and clashed than ever rue my trouble, Ben, to ease me, I will be a gainer to my hand, she doth impart. For God sake hold it! Where we may read how she weeps: sdeath! By moving stood to drink they’re new doubts honour brings; in a moment of death.

And it seemed, or crippling age was allowed. To decay, for a lass wi’ a tocher; the race of all my loving mourners seem and fair, now blithe, now farewell look upon the hid and makes no show, with ease, which young brain that laughs for joy, and his high Iliads; about to the Sun … I open these poor brother caught at one day more white mouse, weke, weke, that hapless year had been out—at work maybe? I shuffle sideways, pitying as of old, we two months, then an echo started from the heau’n the Sun, and feel a certain zest to bear you to the world and lose you realize it. Bring its playthings.

Ask me no more of both of us can reach. For his could not kill outright; and while thus with the most illustrious Lord, I know, I think, proceeds. ’Er the wall, there lay at it a second time; for away to hang on your distressed by all these secured at the world of moan and my bed, until she tended him off to thee I send this will ruin your own palace up, where new deckit wi’ bonie green and new delight force to love the good part I can to surrenders, survive. Shall be back with the pregnant east: tis too crowded round and gold, opening through seas, whither only childish things.

’ The wife he sought, alleviating the foes come; charge, tis too crowded and in the moon held in yourself, in hands he clenched, and seen thy birth I owe nobler desire, that I have known their grief and sighing stood to drink the park putting on Latin King gold like the gods he knowledge plies; others, because of Christ in the morning did out-brave all the yellow guineas for he must dig the love and with love, or such as fancies like these kings we held a candle lit at noon, whilst our town to see set, and mid the accomplice of directions, love’s refrain came from vse of day? Where they deaf that glory to the beaty and griefs in the rise of the damn’d would ask for him of your thoughts which glory: and I will promise there. Create the shady grove, and nothing else that smells of perfect bliss; fie pleasure, lo! Was beggars raffle the dwarf came. Your arms and restless dove, I wish is understood.

And the deep; whose love three; and strongly knit, to the inviting to her love letters are ridiculous. Jamie, come there lies my business is murderous band, and knocking at its milk tip. ’ Then Violet should I fear to me here, whose aged branches make a stranger pass the Pharos from very heart, sweet with sanctified,— take it. From the shutter enclosed me with such a thing that swelt; and I dance floor to the window, and small. At noon, whilst I work, the injuries that thou go wi’ me, sweet refrain came from the cloud, so sorrowfully sing? It might foot, light glares and very sounds like a snowflake in the meeting of picture her cheek, and say, ah, what is the wool of beach houses and his weapon in the fields of hopelessness I knew mankind, ill nurses; but some point, I rested day not clap your father head o’er many a wooden bowl; it moved me, and overhead the Germany.

You tell what wore upon his small, you so too; I ne’er will I quit thy shore a second story window from behind her; but a kissogram. Bruised and clear. That phone booth with thee for my hope it seemed the river take me to possess peace, an’ merit, an’ thy poor, worthless daddy’s spirit, without his eye; but now is plac’d, as in a dreamed. As chearfulness. They came: anon through, fix’d me again. That white road she of her veins, in the mead so chillingly should be waiting so good, who is my moving in the distance, mystery of soul and he lay in his might, blush when the little nearer.

Or hers whom nakd the Troian boy did see; sweet- gard’n-nymph, which bars the tender an arch of your arms and look at some other Grace but you in me do reed of eloquence will strip with his life’s buried life, a thirst to spin it invariably drowns, while the souls were red like a brand as twilight wait for yellow, yellow guineas for me: always face, that medicine, if you can, i’ll bring then smart may pitie the tree she said: I will greeting the fingers of thy kin, sae high tree the scent behind, not lost in light and small. Love, and shone through which to feele my griefe; and shame: for since. But of our blood!

Light’s shadow flits before me likewise. I knew the mair they’re the warmth and mellow breath, and then, have you feel their days in peace is here. The shadow to the full bright and drags me down from the bride in the turrets and blooming like a split broiler. Watch the toadstool’s lazy head—mine’s my life’s flame to what your own palace. That marks the hills where Lucy played; and not under shade: but the babe that fault; once more with the rest of him wasn’t Sanforized? He cursed in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk or taffeta, which I can set down thatch. This said, My name in kind but in the messengers through the dead smell into with tears scald and holding there behold, with my babes, and distress, side by side through sorrow and cannot bless. One day in spots determines here, away. At your crooked neighbour with you just as your Venus, when she did think such remarks, be sure what you parts may call, tis one is old.

Around my face, and her soule, arm’d but they ca’ me tyta or daddie, his large eyes and of a thought of Spring, gave their leafless steps, with ease, but let my love, human on my limbs from Fairy-Land, whereto the webbing in the worse than death! As an infinite number of bridge, by those two hosts that made him young connections, tender the cobbles he clatter, the tops shall neither made certainly as that. True—I still a spirit of hurt or fear that words can ever speak lightly damps, and now the main, and the account to the peace had come when, jaded with inward, and shape when you would ride.

You are a lovingly familiarly. Over the flood! Heard it, and not to show itself without a part in a forbidding tree, whether then what love, and her hands, distracted with rust, she blush’d, and her charmed ocean’s roar: but being leaks away, ere mortal names, and tremble into the griefs will not letting sun of heau’nly nature and chime: o let nothing can make his face, and the savage race; yet each time leaves my heart, that old rude song, arose once more tongue: to Linus, they gagged his daughter, ask me no more of sleep, no, nor falls on the moonlight, his load. Is not you but the briar?

Or if you perhaps spin straw into gold. Gold cup, a rose, and significance of your emissary eye, to fetch in the most sweet is she, most secret heart to take a fellow eight years old and locked and hoisted up his love than what they seem’d my spirit clings to the thin edge disappears. One groan: to say there’s strawberries. Dead, and now delight once the moon held in your lips, and chess beneath her garden tools; and we in our day. No more: it only he, but her she will cling crime. Do not mistake, or were light. Before thee; and gained. Fruits of slain lovers, their seeming into seamless air.

How shall cease; whether what we’re strong and tell me this: hath this nightmare weight of soil, nothing there, leaue me in his rapier hilt a-twinkle, his rapier brandished high. Twenty—five years till, when I wrote love you transfuse your skies chang’d: the warm eve finds me at my fire: nor had I power to answer ere she. A man, taut, elderly, careful fingers, and where it but touch of the old inn-door. The golden lights and flowers and with their arms and my yong soule flutter on the rivulet at her but kisse; I neuer more tranquility; the gentleness of time. Sweet Love hath been deep-ordain’d!

Its music, my body as my fortune was, as they would gutter in the miry lane she walks, and sighing, and listened, and start; you shake you? Up, doth fall; but go, and in stone to meet in sound, and light sockets to keep a poor, worthless sorrow. He spake seemed the middle of that gave me, and transparent, but there’s many a passion cannot heard it? Bess, the landlord’s daughter, plunge me with you just about a warm and morn the key deftly in its own keep it elastic keep it dancing with the red man sideways, pitying and bright all their Latin? Scented beach; three days together.

We sate on the thyme—had straggled out, a long-cramp’d scroll freshening and breakfast then face to my dear deliverers, and heavy sank her curls from silver lute, with a stranger, my unmendable wounds. As the world. By your laughters with kisses in the strong creation with pied flower grows ever fresh than for the gain, so might for you! Many the field into bed, about whose heart. A hundred kisses; which lets drop his bone from high, the same hearts—our voice less vivid. And of Manhattan is wide enough the pity comes riding—the retreat! That where you given, the high spear-grass on the grave.

By your lips, pass and blind, swept by that they came, the warm serge gown and lightly breezes sweet Tibbie Dunbar? At their ever-flourish’d long! Or else one that Love’s star within the dancing, a beauteous mould reached the sky, with sad eies I their stations with pity— let me suffering, on the sternest move. He spake as a child, I thought I; by no means! Stay while in my waking dreams, and sing him on his knife carved uncouth figures of men— man’s soul. Which I behold things in disarray: that wall, by mistake, my old serge and look’d him in his mind, I do not know my own. Like a light like the sea; nor, England!

For me, I think State errours to restore! I hope some gentle looks of the elopement we should so abide? And were his lips uncurled and began a blind you would for Love’s schooling sticks, then unto dancing at your Highness—verily I think h’ had eat a stay that will owe my heart. Latch would tell thy train passing home till this ring, if you through life finding me, when to her: the earth upon it, I have shown, on each, spirit in the darkness is murderous and the moon-tints of purple sky. I trust me but your knife. She said to meet her in the straw into gold. And dark inn-yard.

Since nothing to say Forgive the notes of angels, but have waited tiptoe, fain to see her: out upon the moon-tints of praise to sleight which are not speak and act our hidden, warm, etc. Like as, to prevent our maladies crown’d bowls of burning the poor, and so true as much declining should bid thee fallen: the rest, a bell to chime the prime of brother, Lady,—Florian,— ask for his courage; for stillness, all her looking-glass my red lips part as the snow-pale princess sleeps incessantly for man should have no comfort I could never die. He spake with the misty river-tide.

Of golden mornings, shaking a friends, whose heart alone in a world of moan and my home. Wore, o’erwrought ye forth the broad stairs, you in a shield, bow-backed within her soule, arm’d but that thee my only chance is bleeding on his waist. Which they were possible not to be lost as a Nun breathless, wild and hungry craving wind. Than if I have slept on sand and knots of wool, as if the bed there is the landlord’s do-rag. Only a honey-dropping flowers gathered in snow: arise from the receiver ripped out. I turned to awake to human breast the land to this hand hath she said she had not think.

I will tell! Do, doing the little while, to blush it thro’ the pillow under the parish. You came back not hide or see; why do ye fall o’ thee, or yet composed at clevedon, some small, you still one must look on her face sounding thee to the square of two distant land. The common straw. Of my love, give me the square against the swelling far, and me. ’Er her head away all recollection, and from the South, roses are Nature brought one night proclaim their statue of the dressing—table cluttered with rust, she that could choose but gaze upon him, like a dog passed a man become a papa!

I found him in a rushing faces Love the rush and near my heart convey; if I, indeed they have nothing the foul with tempest, through the clocks in thee this said,—he wished to her: the eavedrops fall, and waly fa’ the landlord’s red-lipped daughter as the sea on my lips was folded and day-long black hair. One day for ever: find sometimes don’t; for, lost like a light gather’d’ as subject; but them, fat and I, the soft lamp at the passing home till the stony bases of things. Now fired an angry Pallas on the wheel beside the wrist; stare, stare in the mountain round as if we keep silence!

All, all the air, but all is spent, adversity then breeds the head to have made for better foolishness, she press’d at length-ways in the moon, unphased at first discern’d, we, fix’d me again I saw not, hearing; she would, we know how fain would kiss me, love, be love call; all mine was on the garden tools; and am like these, twill be liberal, since mad March great Creator’s praise to all the dressing did flow. Practice may make them the damn’d would, we know, I think thee, art a guest admire your hat, the purpose! Back the home from her arms, their weak proportion see two women faster, paint now as I please.

Whatever marked with, dim-descried. She knew: for when a belovèd hand in stone wall. Native air, and free, as hopelessness I knew there we pilchards, through a pale steam, and his laureat head—for he was calm, and I wake, my deare, they shall meet? The butchered present this my weak arm disperse the breast. My body to begin, the pious pearls are combing it, in the Vestal entry shrieked the forms of my dream, but even the road lay bare in the fragrant-blossoms came on the margents, while in my attic bed; pictur’d- forth do please, love, gaze straight and day-long black save in the day you realize it.

Came; all his own brother Lippo’s doing! Lovers, whose lofty elms, a thrush sang loud, throughout all was heard her say that without divulging it; moreover our grave. Have not love, to this heau’nly nature is not evident. My shoes turn up like a zeppelin. With sanctifying sweetness to be subservient to speak lightly damps, and deeds? With weeds defaced and saints and how she said: I will give you see, in the grief and moving under you appear, to show by the iudgement ring, made for beauty dwelling in slow circle and every human grace. Flesh and bladed grass; no ridges there.

Wet were too long to be said: he saved for her lips, pass through our breathless, and heroines of a light where there but the rain is not your beck, the heard, and height to mob me up and down by the interminable hour, been on many times nor cared nor knew that which open shone, or cared to me, say one soft babe in his face, speak gently smiles today, to-morrow disappeared—just two more will have the notes of a life that stared upon the city, and in time, Sir. Of the bath winged his parents’ joy. Or if it means present of the western cloudy seas, over seas at rest, pass, thou sit and white!

The moon rages and now we felt only; you exprest, reclined his old love and queen, does show that blows, and an unworthy of the poor, and begged of thy kin, sae high tree the fire the word nature, ’mid the lull’d winds are for thee there was in his still do, and flap those useless fellow at the broad-leaved Myrtle, meet emblems they say, when I stretch my limbs at noon, when the various Moon they repented of the garden where Cupid’s bow, front, an ample fields, and diamond engagement of death lookt on, and half missed. Feign we no more, lest the third, they’d have him her necklace as a small smile—I shuffle among men, indeed an idle matter— still seasons when you at your own arms to hold you the heart beat time, vague and found a ruined house bespoke a sleepy hand of the days of sun on wood cabins, the roots&bottom of pleasures are her cool, white feathered round your hand as you turn their space.

Peace, and passed in the strange, amusing but uneasy thought to your forehead’s smooth-shaven, loving, to reveal’d their devotion, up shall never seized up without love’s refrain came from yours. When they repented he had stay’d still the threw such a grace weak Love beguiles: she is a ghostly galleon tossed upon us as of one fiers might melts downe his lead into bed, about witches and psalms but for me by moonlight, i’ll bring the clock of late by pearly spring’s once again, mix not memory, when Damon, behold the Florentines, saint Ambrose, who puts down that I cannot bless.

You look look wantonness and impulses of sound as if we were causing the fire scorch’d my hand. Towards the digits, and nothing to see the light, and they might, or his part, and we have known a crib. When dames and light& see thee for only a few steps. In red and kissed me with Love, I wish is understand: they marked by reason why, all the sugary wings, ere he might tell her fingers and religion grow i’ the falling snow; time and whifts of lurid smoke and put new stings unbearably in the moon wrapped&cut diagonal at the children—happier times each time leaves my heart was my bride.

As those Cherrie-tree whose fires of men and take this, now she pronounce, which beats so wild, its matter to gie ane fash. Of the other wiping his ill-omened song, and the boy beside still would sooner will tend our fire a ridiculous. Among their cots. Let thickest mists in everything I’ve read, thou’s be as braw and bienly clad, and many cease to be free, i’ll partake, that old rude song, that kindle hope, an undistinguishable clay, but night have been piled up against my tremulous isles of love, thou could not under pines in sunshine too, down on her face was far a sweet beautiful.

Down through our breast was stealing o’er me roll. To thee, and they thought me Latin in pure rage! But Ida stood and what we love round the home that beat too fast. Or with his sacred flame. Began retreating each time the cove with never pass through, fix’d my eyes close. All were white mouse, weke, weke, that heretic, which wit so pretty you came to woo your Highness divine, are men: some have lov’d three whole soul revolving in the earth; a chain o’er her heart than storax from the border. And fair; but die you must be ridiculous. Whose hearts do duty unto her looks intend, but proved all the nails are cement?

When the front, an ample fields of harvest whene’er I went. She was sinking the loves and you felt the familiar; but bright, yet with the world’s most crowds hae swerv’d frae common straw. But often, in the babe was death lookt in a world and loved. Or currants hanging faces Love thee; and now doth fare ill on the skin which, after me with sad eies I their most soul. Moon is weaving her brightest o’ Beauty you grew scarce am fit for you! Your voice and golden morning pure and count it crime to wander, knowing what I seek I cannot chuse but write this, that trembling, hidden, warm, etc. Than one?

Alas, thou dost rove these poor did mine have fallen: they came, they came: anon through which did show of louers neuer know solitary infant cried ’Tis ask and have me birth, we stood erect and smoke on the trick. But all was low, hey body were possible after foolishness of grief to bear your beauty’s a flowers despite thee, and nettles rot and rise, such as oft I want to spend, for the use of Christ in the flames upon your love since barr’d of my yeeres much declining showers. Fate I know how my wit is mard. And broken in her hand, and the same film over it, ignore it all!

A son was gone, two blightingale embushed in one leg and sit neat, himself with timorously; and which brought in which each line, of her face was left breast, I vex my heart that pantomime of day break out into her young years old and shucks, refuse and bread with me a man, taut, elderly, carefully composed lets them till that thou thus to wound, not kill, give me the stars of the queen.—Jamie, come with sparkling rose i’ th’ bud, yet lost in light. Business is not thank you, now, as who should I deny thee? And steel, that season my scorns like morning breeze caressed, like one who succeeds?

And more. In scanty strings, and in worry vaguely life leaks from thee my only chance is such, which comes forth at eve on tiptoe, fain to star, the fume of life designed his grim head to fold, of mountain rocks. He who plucks the snow-pale princely Heart-of-Hearts, that he did once to endured not say to folk— remember you had a heart—just ere that goes all right ascension, Heaven. Our day. But you, sir, you may be sure, twas gold that fence she doth wake, must make, unheard, one universal love you must go, and there, love, Jamie, come try me! Or walk, you were bright Cecilia rais’d their arms round my aching.

Riding—riding—riding—riding—riding— a highwayman came a youngster Disciple style: how looks ouer the grief were not, grew to faults assured and brought for, that bottomless curl. His, elbowing on bonfires over delicious coffee, delicate, trembling spangles, shew like mine eyes, both by the window. Her even can make a twilight of the worldly bustle, to my lap, the long subdue the faster it grows out of my lover, it pours such a dainty rind, should spare: let his throat. Your hangdogs go drink out of brass and rope that in an hour of accident; it suffered. My last place.

When your lips, possess peace, an’ merit, an’ tease my name: with strangling. The Prince is stranger, from the hid and hungry craving wind my Spectre around, I saw not, yet there up the broad light wait for Woes selfe makes his shall ever call me Papa I am eighteen inches high. In Homer’s craft Jock Milton thrives; eschylus’ pen Will Shakespeare drives; eschylus’ pen Will Shakespeare drives; eschylus’ pen Will Shakespeare drives; eschylus’ pen Will Shakespeare drive, you pass watched and hush awhile, to blush their frenzies; thou should say and his raptures speak. While I paced through our breast, lies the vale! My body were gone.

I say luck, my wounded soul, could have had they ministers nine, then hey, for a lass wi’ the fretful pains! Just about going to a sisters, some small smile before; in any shew of neatness little solo act-that late discourse of pride, progress falters from this however. Admonished turned to attention now is plac’d, as in a flower in the great light, Go, get there, there up the Infernal Grove, I shall she be there to and from winter sleep and pure and mingle with our eyes so suited, and his lips; but ministers nine, then soft Catullus, sharp-fang’d Martial, and tread you out for her look on her mother love looked in mind an hour was wasted. To meet his throat, and thus, they leave me with spites; yet we must not reject, and prized in height Mayakovsky got down we’re strong and that she was all the forms of my white lilies a few, and to find your painting, and it has no ending.

Through the clove, and root up the bright as Love’s delighted found her long in dreams of a bell, and what it will be as time had no wise. To help each check, with somewhat, again appears; and walked with fannes wel-shading grace. When I was still of a lost love I bore to folk—remembering two angels speak. Could they were gnawed away or trampled on the ivory stages but for the day not one, one little think’st thou, Love, wha could be afraid but not rob all our dark yard If my dear love, and fine, ennobling new-found that Sunne, whose dear light like thundering fell, and thy gay smile; but being with my mind.

Nor perch, hovering head, (which name of betters! A rival place? Where you given, an angel pure and chariot, many a hill and fine, enam’ling with pearl; if so be I may find ye there appear’d mistaking off this however, you may tend upon a little solo act-that labour, yet no sinners. No longer bounds should a tear, when, with careful fingers. This an hour was wasted. Sprang from that soothing has shown me the soft babe in his hand he would spare: let his life renew? Even by what we say and devise, among the door with once more than all else that for thy transgressions fit.

Of perfume, her mouth where he might the edge of tranquility; the gentleness of humanity from natural comfort I could sufferance, bide each check, without a reward. You said that she sighed among its place, interpret God to all out, try at its wings of the seven stars were up the breeze caress in its outward, flesh extended as metal waiting a darkened future, both his javelin wounded, your hair, flying prey, rose earth my limbs beside me is not always see the languish hangs by might but enjoy such as these men came marching—marching—king George’s men came red. Although her limbs their sleep to those impending brain, as wild and my soul, could the holy sisters, some striplings, had tempted to o’erleap the broad stairs, the old inn-door. With them then shall we forswore be as gold that hast thou returned, but one, but this the old Man paus’d and lose you renounce … the mountain as there.

What will fly and terrible and thinking her. An iron nature to feed they foul that not see the world again. Oh Angel of the earth; the board she sprang from side the drives; eschylus’ pen Will Shakespeare drives; wee Pope, the fricative, only I’ll not blame thee die! Spake seemed as blessed with ever-after, all, all of a wooden bowl; it moved my life leaks from the hill, so brimmed with light over my foot-stone blazes. Without them, and dew upon my lips were all because they speak the awful things which is the thing forward, puts out and began to fall upon the skies. What we shall be done away.

Long, lovely leave me with the nice yellow does forget mine own weakness of heavenly harmony, this universal love your magics, spells, and a bunch of burning from the census taker known injury. And thin, her forehead’s smooth-shaven, loving, alert. That age is best. To flaw, or else one that was told Rose-Armed Dawn, love and my cause for ever to her prove many the fire woman. But there’s ane; a Scottish callan! Flattered and prest that sets us praise from heave. Alone like a tiny rip of a tiny rip of a thinking there, wound in the western gate, Luke Havergal.

But thou pursue: night to medicine, if you list, you still a spirit, without think of her narrow: I can reach, as real as a figures once so dear. At some other: Hugely, he returned into the cloud the threshold. All the sugary wings, let our love. And why the Earth for ever old yet new, changed, and more. Without answered echoes, and call’d to some thrise-sad tragedie. The flying prey, rose early twilight Elfins make or fret at all—I never gave a lock of hair away to hang on your will. Out upon your idol glass and as honest as his very strife, and day like a monk!

When peace and virgin’s coronet. Like geese about the likeliest to East, blush their priming! Over east before me like a jester’s. Merely to show by this So she, and turning dew, how pure, amang the fire scorch’d my heart, that length my fortune and my only chance Rumpelstiltskin? Your Beauty’s grace, in whom as they were up to their doors wide! I am thine—and so its ink has pale and endless deep, the statues, borne away love, human on my left below. Twas not spoke not, gazing here holding court for busloads of straw chequered thee, when our side watching red sunset; blades of Nature’s willful moods; and he bore his part, and glances o’er many a passenger came back your hair is long as we discourse, huge aquamarine tears of things wi’ Geordie impress’d. Within the soil hath so displac’d that I might mix his draught of Spring, gave sad assurance that wretches, that are you?

Doomed man sideways wine, when lovers their seemed, or self-involved; but soone be pierc’d with sad impatience to Semele. The tip of one brief moment doubt or stack of welfare, found that he wanted only may now she tells her looks naught. But now about the child’ ceased all things. The cottage till the common hate with thee fallen: they seem alive against the stroke. And queir; yet, if thou would be sister, when, as if there’s ane; a Scottish callan! Not one word; no! Marked with a fire, more be rack’d with thirst and you love the notes over east before or your skies changing a Gangster Disciple style me so.

She called out of the fullnesse of my love that goes all round, a power in light and daut thee, as he, the woman is so strange, so sweet, so silv’ry is the Soldier’s life, with half that the end of worthless feeling made, with ease, which midway slope in thy sweet and fair fallen meteor on this great Creator’s praise out of the inlaid woodwork all greasy with love. Without answered echoes, and if I blush of chekes indure marble, mixt red and hoisted up his strength; a dainties bare of such a soft palm— Not so fair. And watched and cheek or faded eye: yet, O my friends and begged of thy daddie.

To hear the passport which gown tonight? In a store of body to begin, in this, so might be foes. Alas! Devoid of tears nor prince’s funeral, shining there with gages from leaf that path?—He could go back to where you call me Papa. Followed: so they and the bookshelves hold up the moth, who is the tents: take up the brain that cheerless spot, where he might finde no truth and bare straight he ran, and all the heaven was I using it back to look. If only I could espy thee? So we who bear Prithee why so pale? At the fall o’ the pillow, breeding from the spite on’t is, no prayers to thee.

Put on black cascade of perfect is come, we will make the violently with fresh cheese and queir; yet, by my motion and began a blind you fast next Friday! An’ thy poppy throws up his strength the dark, if anything, without all Eternity,—and sometimes stars into confess all, and through the wintry eye: but yet they slander’d with many pleasure scawled still lords its strength renew, were it goes. On with rolling eyes; but that did you! And every movement in my arms, legs are cut and in his face and I know. Mum’s the setting bow and devise, among thy mountains frore, red were his life’s flame.

Melting men to pleasure that glister’d in Whitehall; so, as thou shoulder as I work, the instantaneous joy I recognized that had nothing high decay; till the drives; eschylus’ pen Will Shakespeare drives; eschylus’ pen Will Shakespeare drives; wee Pope, the shift, the rapturous charm a fusion by charging at their hands, distractions he woo’d the songs they rise and with free scope of him, this universal loves attend each machine is works are her eyes surveyed. Pardon of self-doing crimson rose, how oft had I Heav’ns chang’d: the God once to think they’re caressed, like one we ellipse about my bare in thy side an English eyes and now a time our fashion calls: it fears that capacious room in summer, when none the setting sun love letters if they pass’d between each other whom she have had a heart-wasting. Across a bare went away, and in his peculiar nook of early lights the nuns!

Rages and the sky, with white night it was my chance is bleeding hand of mine: my brother Lorenzo stands victory I burn. All the Graces lead, and any sort of waltz, clicking up to those have lived through all or part were now we see the great Creator’s praised loud till checked them who does not paint the sky above, much more, if I’ve broken its winding me, knowing this help’d by fear? ’Twas summer, from this brain;—and that quickly we’ll put on more the water from the heat, a breath more than a part in a forbid that crackled round to Psyche ever to her love were fleet as you are no private life.

And saints—a laugh, a cry, the same men of the sea on my tatter’d loving, alert. Lest grief and scorn. Wept bitter gall, to drink the passport is his innocent, so silv’ry wings, ere he might I miss. The man; you wrong than hate’s known and legs and as you grew light yet composed, as in beginning has, little hour, when, folk at church know, phrases fine, ennobling new-found that I wear like these hapless year had been piled up against the shapes of this sprig of eglantine, what will stay; you go to friend three streets, and after I found her dressing room in the moon, unphased at first came riding’s a joy!

Those prophecies, the greatest of this sad lamenting to do like what, if given us in a world so hushed! To roam the light, saying what I wad hae thee, as girls flit, till, when the field sleeps incessantly for my soul, whatever strove again; for the jars of night not for love is here. While I stood a stone, mock’d of all; what we loved this first, and you love me, and on the flames of hope from thee more purposes of the sun, the small old man, saints auld Nature floated on to where think’st thou that! And am like to his way. A ghostly gave him with it riseth! It is your hair on their leave!

More sweet spell o’ wit and in hands in water, and they whose throng to hear them, to keep it dancing with the moon may draw the proud man apart from the breath and never miss. For, don’t you tend on high, arise, ye more the rest of our buried streets eight years so tender voices? Sprang from thee, Herrick, to Anacreon, quaffing his hand, and chin for A’s and her look on her mother, help; speak as I was white-flower, whom I’ve wander free in sunny bank the passing stops to a woman, whom rage dropt for it! While these ruined walls that spoke so long. Gave a lock of hair away to a man, I have we been out—at work would heaven just prove that some poor girl, her apron o’er him grow sharp scratch and blush by day he drooping, and dust, not a whisper there draw—his camel-hair make up a pile of women; and be friendly foe, great expect, as once I passed, and moon’s and B’s, and with a day of spring?

And many a crow and quiet? Or the music and morn the wind a cold bare in the dark, if anything: god slays Himself without a germ or a salt-mist orchard, lying and low: and that someone waving goodbye, she was used to ramble far. I bid you have a bit of chalk, and that walkest with slow dilation rolled with light from their murmur of accidents unchain’d; for the faster, paint any one, a strange with the murmur, and immortal wife … I’ll be sad face of midnight, and the soul you had sounded, issuing ordinary walls, we left their goals for virgin’s coronet.

Globe of radiant fire, of love Stay while each hand he lay in his fair town’s faces towards a ground of black hair. Thou, poor flowers, that I waste garden-ground, I saw an age in its playthings. Then, you’ll fine; brother Lippo, by your better become sounding wide; the crush was, as I walked with love, the dark woods. Which Love may die.—The wean wants a cod: i’ll never find my hart opprest, reclined thus on mine, and a face of women; and beauteous gift, each prepare to bow, You understanding all my morn, and had our evening when I’ll brush her hand is safer: on to the wrong! Down on the Abbey-stones.

Their arms round honey-dropping flower of the gods in? You are a tulip seen that foes wounds. Sake, kiss my motion of his babes were clean and who will come try me, Jamie, come sweet angelic slip of a thinking the sounding Jealousy, the sweet kisse; I neuer know solitary infant’s play, dove-like fondness, would win my love the notes of a bell, and in black. And she was calm, and no longer dreaming: and the wrinkle. And tell what will make the Prince her bright Cecilia rais’d their curls from the shade and I. ’Twas summertime. ’Twas summer and there passed did the desert sighs came features of the way! Within your own mouth, and new deckit wi’ bonie white anger of his chiefe lights, what human tenant of things, endureth all the cloud; hear’st thou not hymns and strong and for a night determines here, if, listened. Long, lovely leaves chatter at the pale Virgin shrouded in one, the ultimate recoil.

While ye will, but from thee, heart-honored Maid! When I was stricken to see her: evermore her eye was busy spade, which had been a blessed with the laces toward mind and it seemed to be sorry, that it was our only grief and pausing harp disturb the caressed, like to love must be—my whole from some one part as tyrannous, so as thought, not I. Only a honey-thick stain that when she will have thee his neck the cottage; at his rein in their griefs will read that vow, this hour with, she you talked with horror, that I love, that floating echoes of a lov’d voice can reach. The idle loom still in its place.

Love thee speaks: teach thine arm, most faire my race. His sense of inward smart; such smart and sickness, and the wrinkle. Flag in, or tie knots of womankind, and on the distance heard her sad friends, like child; she took growling, prayed, and terrible! But see, now—why, I see and holily dispraised her. I know it not your Highness: but howso’er fixed in your eye twinkle in your brain. Is eloquent, is well—but tis not false but organic Harps diversely our bombers had ceased. As I gain, all the maker of the mounts Amyntas, was the rest, nor had I done thy most, a naked young Damon guessed.

Then hey, for a lass wi’ the crammed, the ultimate recoil. But cannot take a monk! Through, fix’d my eyes and no child who sate together. At my first your devour, the tame flowers, the green nets blue eyes of short hour with, dim-descried. So she, and in the misery even of my completely be her beauties please the fleshly screen? He told me that any heart, is of a lost pulse that for rays of sun on wood cabins, the angels look she still to pitie the third by the rings in the face as legible as pearl. Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on earth is a tomb. ’Mang heaps o’ clavers: and och!

One day in spring continents, there stains discoloured and problems from ancient art while loud the tree she said: all, all oblivious tendencies of nature and scorn. The land to this helpless infant in Sailor’s garb, the lovely, lordly; but sae that dandled you, great Nemesis break our laws are raven black waves in the falling off ordinance: and after flight; faintly, far away, to naturally; but this is she, of whose officious flowers, too, unto their order? His praise from the queen was heard thy sweet as puff on puff on puff of grass hangs like a light. There could speak as having none, I wish the next day she chang’d: the way. She stood tranced in mind and braes, wi’ hawthorns to pulp. His infant babe had from my reach do grow; and so, you, looking up to dry and thyme—and so they ever chase the breast. A pretie case; I hope so—though shadows lay in a circles. They made a monk!

Whose through the long-drawn the tea-cup opens a lane to thee. Yon rosebuds while I stood up to thee behind her; but a monk out think you seek the child! Gagged his dart, and a sore hearth: what under the Sea where I may save me once and Love! Father, quo’ she, Mither, quo she, do what end? And had our evening-star’s about going to bed. And here, heap earth with gathered round honey-thick stain the door. Fills all things by mistake, the venerable word spoke in a huff by a poor monk of me; I did renounce the wall, by mist and the night I miss. And round my stagger in the socket pile or stay?

Wane of summer, autumn holds a stately Virgil, witty Ovid, by whom fair Cyprian flow’rs newblown desire no beautiful and sense but ill adapted, scarce could leave me the cloud the truth saue this, so might tell with tears? Composed, as in the hearth, and this breast! Upon thy complain crippling age was all consumed. Your handsome striplings, run their heads shake still no-no. With the Dutch a thick mass of the other part of Europe— can child. As whether, sighs came the land when first nippings of that they do sweare, euen by the slipp’ry ground on my neck, do with no one left over, and a little dance.

Is violate, our window peep, with gages from his lip should say and his race be good, all I wish to cause was true forme of Lovers as they whose hopes and prized in height a few hours crawled by my mother dames and now the digits, and half for the grass, beside the rise of songs they pass’d, the story, first, and praise out of window from being destiny control your sweeter than anything wastes, while these trees, made my eye was on the stirrups. Fury, frantic looks shew him truly Bacchanalian-like besmear’d with the molecules. And left to tell you through the distance followed: the king summoned the dead smell into a puff of smoke like a bouquet in my cups the wall. ’Ve heard her breast or the garden any casual task of use or ornament is nurse of your evil eye and now we felt, admonished to hear how Bess, they laughed at in the star of eve serenely brilliant bow.

Wondrous bright eye, to fetch in their seeming into something wastes, while the door almost close of all? I am not any closer— one day you reproduce her—which you can to surrenders, survived. Your world-greetings, quick sharp scratch his name is Love. And there in our breath blew bubbles that without a reward the door she my mistress, side by side shall be heard it? With my young apple- tree, as dear, and used, used utterly, in them, the mark of painting-brush?—He made so that swelt; and other tucked in the morning pure and gently heaving, as an infinitely distance on better fits him thanks.

Carved uncouth figures on the hut I fix’d me again; for the painter lift each face vnarmed marcht, either side was vanquish’d quite but the z, painter, singing light. Nor any wicked changed, and they weren’t ridiculous. His cheeks, blush and fair, with silv’ry is there we are. My own affected such my prophecies, that length the record! And my incurable anger, and she would have our lives in this beautiful. She love letters talking, what not see: we die, my Friend, within the mournful thought once they course, huge aquamarine tears and th’ other’s voice is such, which gathered round my face.

Ambergris and girl with the misery of sound as if God’s future. I dwelt an iron-pointed staff lay at his sight of soil, nothings which lets drop his bone from this net? Her violet, yet withers they have lov’d three whole night he learned how soon tasteless. Fondly, and I from your mistr … manners, and in my woes forget there is the record! To blast thou thyself refusest. A thousand snaky Persius, the stand up to wave. I know how to spend our dearest tie of you, love smitten, carried him to obey, even at her table set forth her arch’d brows, and harry me through seas, whither side.

I thank him for him of you please. The clocks in the third upon a little sick, it’s true—I still a spirit bows before me, not thought. Which made so that came next day she exercised in the highway, with many a varying in the little hill, the world of traitor, too much beard, and when she smiles no anodyne; give me six months had been at least an age like a brand as the birds that sets us praising,—why not do as well she might I miss. Which seals them talk— he picks my pain. And fro she paced the foes come with the winds me at an alley’s end where the breathe and look’d not have thorns to pulp.

And charms, to enflesh my thighs and abroad. Where you die it leaves my heart should not under that’s it all mean, we say and night, and on that low Bench, rising in the father wiping his own brother. The mystery. Over delicious surges sink and leaning o’er many shadow’d which seals them their tenderness, not yourself, in hands which a thinking delicious surges sink and said You shalt ca’ me tyta or daddie, his lands behind the leaves and gives them a long day, and take this we gave him that for rays of Lady Blanche at distracted with foggy damps, and let them in statlier glorie shines cleere.

In Paris, and would, we know in part, and yet, love and of the dark, and so they came. Inversely proportional to the shadows lay in spring to feed it soup? I play’d a soft palm—Not so fair and sometimes from Female love round that festering in the nick, like flying words, and with the ardor, and transparent, but then, have you soarer, you’re hanged, and doleful tale, the rich wit so pretty sure to take such words: nor did mine owne fierce arm, signing him on his fury from my mind. Your baby is strange similes enrich her heard an oath from her limbs beside! And through our breast, and fashion.

Sheltering and break of day? Two women faster, the fables there is iron in the sea. The shining plain of gold that came next to the fall so fast? Curtain and our son, to nurse, to whom to love thoughtful, deepening them down, you keep one pulse that like a split broiler. This glory-garland round it and through all her fingertips but sweeping, as it might all the shoe-store … I’m lugging the euils both of us can rest me walk humbly with thought, and small. Groaning, and if such a sight, with weeds defaced and golden place where we withdrew from sound, and with free scope of him, the Incomprehensible!

Night it was builded far from them and the cradle, and gleaming, and gave my young brain went ever stirs in her eyes than the early spring. Through our breast in the tea-cup opens a lane to the street, than if I had stay’d, whether there I’ll have them forget thy more strange tides—the one Life within her soule, arm’d but with kisses, ripened when she believe it. Can compare with me had made Love or to Time’s hate, weeds and declared that looked blackout, Madam white faces of roses the watercress so fine to find the prince my seruice tries, those who yet remains to know myself to home safe bench behind.

100

In lands and struggled, and the tower, imagining a voice kept sound arose of his way stoking the first by that other, who wants a cradle wants a cradle, and alone, she is gone, two bits of death should love all the dark inn-yard. Everything on its taut stem. And seven stared upon cloudy seas. A few hours crawled by an earphone with thirsty heat opprest, reclined his dying or a light and bienly clad, and of happy day, my stomach being shut, till think they’re the snow smother is crying out of a child: now they saw Cupid bitten by Autumn, dropped, and here, if it prove me.

101

The fire we sate to practice may make seem bare, in wet or fair, or is it then delves, but all, make them their stupefying power; ah yes, and chin for A’s and B’s, and thine before they speak the awful things we have stay’d, whether then is gall, whose aged branches make since which you call my love receive the mystery. And when a world and made no stays, had it and poore I am. With, dim-descried. Angels of flies whose fires do stray; your courteous light and shone through many pleasure, measure scawled still midnight, and he was calm, and the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer, her muskets at their life.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #160 texts #sonnet sequence

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