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libidomechanica · 11 months ago

Text

But rarely trodden black men waiting

A curtal sonnet sequence

Stanza I

Have vengeance; we might hide her heaven, my absence they were, not such hints from change my selfe denied till wave along the interposed; pleasant fruits. Few female hands in view; the flock, and the Ring: thaw this male nature bankrupt is, beggar’d of bloudy locks: thy hand, and when bent to set the taking of air; let thy white. Of high birth. Of coursers keen, sate silent, wan, into her greenness; of her pap and bud about the Silver Thames.

Stanza II

And bent in his life hovers like a princes; o sceptres vail, and priceless now we felt, admonished which was receives its Name. The trouble; shoals of thy strings, and now we sit I waited her fair as the strange, bold eye which no wording to the General admirations flitts the autumn a fever seen, and others samphire in the white rose thee what the feeldes wente. Lo, heere express in courteous and lowly dust: and if twas I.

Stanza III

Bows have the church unthinking fry, delights! Oh hadst better! For an army upon them, let it blush through many a sally. French Romances, sighs, the throne. But that drinks, and pledge this at present, and company of those Christmas when we met first and it seem’d quite. Books is not more than to brynne. Not even that I wont deuise, to goon a- caterwawed. So fraid, though little breeze of morn and thou art fair, my beloved come again!

Stanza IV

—For ever blind and grieves me you know you like not the few or many a nyght and dames heroic bustle. In person is even then, Clarissa drew with their face was pale He did not make the Nine, apollo’s garland:-yet didst the sixth year is used. Instead, where Wigs with accents high of politics. With thee embrace; I love was homeless, helpless, must fall. On the monk made hym frye for such as under here had been shakes full dreams.

Stanza V

Good vision, a virtue, like doctors of the Trophies of an air as the speculation, though at nature, as in Banquo’s glass, which that voice? Am I imagination grown, lawlesse youth with tender soever, can contrive it all. Go on too with loue so ill bedight, would up the tone of the hand he would speak in vain he her the midnight Masquerades, safe from ev’ry Atome just, there cannon threw on the hotels, st.

Stanza VI

Is a third interpreted, was to repeat that is noght with Child, and no assistance, and swift magic. Trod down by thee and mother’s names, and shuddering more on that he dighte; under a triumphs pinned with, she you talked ere we ourselves and those curls of glory! Eyes, look living wind shook to see such this minions fly, in various damme’s’- the might thrice o’er some bare-headed, on the wilderness, nor stone—whereas the ocean black.

Stanza VII

The oaken log lay on me this body? For my part, I may know thinking those martyr, who hath no great Drawcansir, examined by their example may redresse. Of hym corrected be; the shade. Breath will mingle with the vaulted Roofs rebound. With store of grisly thyng of my beloved the gay saloon, had passed from myself the way, her, piano, and keener Lightning interpos’d thro’ Crystal rill to delay, and fresh air.

Stanza VIII

Not the forms in a sunny atmosphere. And what he finds her then the cannonade alone; and in the graves of empire, which was but a little carpet as, this old man’s search of the Signs of Kings; while earth, nor boundless chin and took my staff, and Chokenoff, and he did not understonde. In ev’ry place? Or discomposed to shadowy as though thunder, midst thou be’st Doubt, for he was once more nearly. Of hir owene tooth.

Stanza IX

’Twas now a time draws us wish ourselves— the woman a’ her with this poachers caught soul for the street, but her waist spinning this request that can both my pack of such a loftie verse of war and plumes and rills of old pedigree match’d at present story, then festoons are about themselves as stone-Henge is no comanded he had gone through and morals of fire, the parish charity we owe but of the publicly import both thee!

Stanza X

You came in nearer to his laugh from the same small Pillow prest, her Guardian or their flanks;—but that we still; but faint in his life’s a poor priesthood moans; before the free, and sighing did not him take care not shake one love thy spirit plays so doting, which to the lads with another, Lady,— Florian,—ask for dearer; o that’s not as are too numerous Wax-lights the samė wordes in hands dropped with Arms Divine. In heat and grone?

Stanza XI

Dearest bands or Franceses? Thoughts which at their memory rankles, when models arrived, some minx tripped up-stairs, she sat by the towers of the moon stops for a throne—though a generous creatures are giving, gilded Chariot never saw him pale, and he in thee there was lasting resident— whose plans a word thou in sleepe art dead? Or roll the nyght, he would go: perhaps she went after his own care. In Romances, neatly gilt.

Stanza XII

Sunset the dim cell lying beyond, you shalt drynke. For him of your great business, affliction into some sage would he turned towards the great plenty and their heads, and could not build upon their Hands should suppose us quite tarnished thus, with Pins; or plung’d in Light. Either known exactly as blows they are, since—since—since—in youth’s lament: why such a theme, her feet to twinkle me to slow dilation betide thee, calling out Mine—mine— not you?

Stanza XIII

—And always three, fifteen, forty were boundless Boy, she said; the great dilettanti do with Musick steals upon Sion’s hill must ramble beneath the swamp for a week or fortnight, and drove thee!—Thou makest thy mother’s something which shal be both should achieve, by the good and to cold earth’s tyrants. In spikes, in ridles, and slowly; and as he was change again, and, heavenly ignorant though the Priest have profanely, to restraine.

Stanza XIV

Bright thus, just to good verse more than their place of his summer weeping, for the rest! Myself years back a dim look on before the should but in the robin comes the beste quoniam myghte they been said it was a mere spectral residence. Little nearer to his new order of some moment, at times a single fabric that no tide shall from the lives away. No object was the wo, Ful giltelees, by the day are empty in its case.

Stanza XV

In sickness she repeat their understood I will get a richer pearl spring toward Damas, names great—was, that life and silent, save when all his Flight repast make play. For who cleft them, or with, who, thou know not, O thou hast thy heauy mould, no winter, reckless and kill’d as with heart of a Court; in various Tasks assign’d, by Laws Eternal power of Lebanon. For Right of gratitude, I know it then howl your Honours shall light.

Stanza XVI

No links with what a child;—long didst thou find, and nettles rot and gain an inclination. Blood there was a noble heart is set up for virgin bumper gay; or like a stone with child was ever seized the antipodes of Poet stands, for a still is dead: fair Eliza! ’Er many for the spring I shall be the Great friend and lowly camomile and thy countless to such a meek surrender: the ear such eyes— but hark!

Stanza XVII

And sorrow laid as low. Was gone: in vain; or Alom-Stypticks with interest’ meaning thy sins more glitt’ring Fan be Zephyr drooping, and thou should fain would keep it always best to all the Word with a stranger to most. I can those who though our brain—’tis all my shame away. Under the flock, and the Wing, hang o’er a waste of sheep which won it, shall not well might, the altar be ’fore which flashing chariots, when the present can tell?

Stanza XVIII

When wild, where thou list the latest sun. Each eye it cheerless on what you would go forth, as though he should you doubt, pray ask of your left espy; and so leave her life. Which grows dim and day, for having the lady’s heart, my lassie o’ my heart in twain for a much like Confusion, and not nation, and half the country far remov’d, the right thrice they rehearse making then along the more strongly acted on the night have gather’d tyrants.

Stanza XIX

In all plan of interesting about this body riddle nature and clear; and I’ll be yon, at vesper-carols are. Yet poortith cauld, and left behind taking the margin of a joyous day; and Juan, carpe diem, ’ Juan, followed: the rose from crime, perhaps was the man’s hearts away, so that it was nought woman! Twain, but Airy Substance of housbondes that was to bombard it, and in answered there. The tender grapes. Breaks white array.

Stanza XX

I felte his wyf hir lyf, for which many on, and the tree! Me where I leave to wounded soul. From kissing cymbals made with quia impossible, because our laws with lively veins? With lilies and steady beams. Her steed a little strange Motive, Goddess wit, nor had her height touch’d the Circle they were not be driven away. Is bothers to break of wheat set about thine imaginary thing of it of hir owene house arriv’d.

Stanza XXI

The youth dependence, and seyde hym on honde. Till it be of hous al of golden stories, and jewel from Thee dominion bleed as is the deadly drede, that he dare. ’Ve said, and be reckon’d of his leisure to show ye what they were. Into a crescent of proofs and grace that, nor the wall hung behind; and hopes to fluttering and Breath and be friend and wear my heart. And he’llsay nothing to such they have overcome it. Growing old.

Stanza XXII

My beloved. To swallow’d, by way of lesson again, ’ and Hayley’s Triumph spreads and embeds every vestige of troubled midnight by chilly finger; to the Sun, and that which I’ve wander’d upon each new meeting flight thrice happy he who answer ere she could, young feathers, are always great, if not arts,—the owner, with her thee, as though the thorn you see us. And most faire, and saw I at a glance on Adeline dispence.

Stanza XXIII

Seen Napoleon there’s nought such a deed, and drew much better thou hast met this enormous elms he said, oh Thou, sad Virgins blush’d upon the World imaginary death! And t is since held sagest, and, neither difficult some were this aged thorn; it looks were in which he became historical superiority, that he seyde hym how the road: so take a Salamander his son and breath hold of ten years ago.

Stanza XXIV

And when I kissed it, lost in rymes, in two. Thee, cut down; the basest weed outbraves his dignity withouten his young doue may, in sad really durst put to sit beneath the awful topic—but t is— ye power to give her alone? How shall their subjects to destroy? And they shall be the ranks of it, er though their design to the Lunar Spheres and vows that Crist ne wente nevere with flagons, comfort. For when to be gay.

Stanza XXV

One can’t well miss out of all, but my barren among the lighted, meaneth thee to their Wings. Tis thus invades, th’ Imperial peacock, sits on her mouth a doubtful Beam long nods from eve till thy presence gracefull Pitty Beauties skies, which a portal tympanum: his eyes and his mourning into the city won while ev’ry side the old ways. Newton that prodigy, Miss Araminta Smith was comfort at the Vent.

Stanza XXVI

She looked up, and called him, and in her here. The little good will her comfort a poor priest was the purpos, why I tolde it understand: the others still the kindest Calmuck tone,—whence could not reproof’s a smile overturns; and wipe the midnight caused; below stairs, she and fright, or javelin-like its kind of boyish days. A is for buttondown, O then, Clarissa drew with their extremity; and to the wall, while yet no more than weeds.

Stanza XXVII

The death-watch, her blooming mantle of high birth. Descend to the great from me. See fierceness. Which is a lie? Midst thou poure alwey ful faste. I’m free from side to side are sealed off in a tin box. Hath wedded bee; and gazed-and gay, and Time wou’d spare, from the valley, why dost borrowed me on my ribbes al by rewe, and found mere cannonade alone bent overturning, beneath a Double Burden. Niagara is no noise at all.

Stanza XXVIII

Because the stones, till, in time of war and to make thee once a kiddy upon his heed, namoore dorste nat comanded may illuminings of fashionable bows their bare limited to gild the Flock. They are passing to build its nest among the Bath Guide, ’ and Hayley’s Triumph return’d: both love, for the same rapid tide shall foredoom the vaulted Roofs rebound. Swarm of females with Sword-knots Sword-knots strive that fair sun of all minute.

Stanza XXIX

Sometimes he made the blossom fell in with Throne and flow. Night, all as a flock of sheddeth in other climates calls forth she wore, who measures ope at once my tale is De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis. Joined be to the great as any other the way a women sob? Do, dame, quod this possible—how dearly pays for Nisus’ injur’d Hair! Nor did mine own vineyard unto me; he shal, for sothe I was yong and such glee?

Stanza XXX

The very bravest, when she drank wyn, thogh folk to hym in no cas. But on the Vent. So prime, so swell, so nutty, and no one thing of the Ages, queen o’ womankind, ill nurses; but descend, and bit the same, delight love to hear thee recche or care for him, snatch of pleasure, hope, nor wine and icy clime: and her arms pale death-watch tick is still more the radiant face; th’ embroidery, scarlet ornaments and seyde hym on lyve!

Stanza XXXI

I would not show us to our subjects to delay, and with long’d the dwelling present such Rage, Resentment in her Mind, how soon the might mix his dress as gales sweet as a ghost, if in the falwes, and priceless Grace what not, my wrath did grow. He flapp’d toward her cry, oh misery! ’Er with all powders of the heart or heart have left as the casement, upon grass, beside the compared with sad impatience still, and in Vienna.

Stanza XXXII

—While quacks of State unwieldy spread its tendency to under-lip. Yet grace, to view the lovely Davies. Just as Koutousow might meet. Had gone before, a joy proportions, exulting fills with all her head away or trampled on the Sex to Fifty chosen Sylph prolong them, the breeze of moonshine interminable—not eternal, to thee as my Makere hath the heat, a breadth of pain. Ten thousand years; yet of oure dispute.

Stanza XXXIII

Came not Thou the World appear, and silent, save by and babbling rustle thy beauty tempting her them in saving his night be courtesy so blending, struck; with separate; some desperation? Aside in Paradise! Not fighting nations: the British friend must be to that of the night was a mouses herte nat wirche as she still, except the Whisper tale may them were some twenty wynter oold, and throwing Christian thunder; for Hermes!

Stanza XXXIV

The bayonet, and now Will’s eyes a bright and dealer, were both bomb and bad oure housbonde wol I telle. The women faster for the night, downcast, yet espiegle eye, silent; but his claim, says Hotspur, long I stood, trifling his head—I guess, exclaiming;— ’Juan! Just in all its conseil al. Until their heap’d carcasses, o’er the green and where hope of every staff, and Rousseau, who passes swift foot back? To answering to thee. An oath.

Stanza XXXV

With endless Skies, when the pinions; make more fleeting or shame is lust in the vine, and shriek their Mind, how soon fit Instrument? That thogh the wilderness little pond of Place. And that not so they say, into her the fresh and lines of your own arms to hold your name in order’d it, and least so far that fester smell of Lebanon, excellency, ’ thus replied at her spared;—three talents, for Morning or officers a third, our only know.

Stanza XXXVI

The Russ flotilla getting more of Pray’rs, for Morning Omens did quake his wyf hire drynken of all the dear officer for the pious duty, that which rusts arise; dreadful trade, ’ like hats but now from oother won’t do it so well if she be chancellors endeavour to burn a town was thus in black as a raven. And my fingers drawn Clarissa drew with snorting fairy, all beauty hold dominion draws; the Time is run!

Stanza XXXVII

But certeinly—I sey yow sooth. Courteous and houndes, ne of noon oother causė,— sey ye no? Yet herde the Handle thise were the bridal house, the mean the compare thou most ensured her breast, and nursed book agayn Jovinian; in which I freezes, blood and bread I broke the towers: then with much simplicity,—a merit not the brooks’ and when and that all and soft phrase is when the world. Was with sorrow yet had left them not aroynt!

Stanza XXXVIII

That simple word that strange, amusing but a shame struck the Turk’s resisted, batteries, cap-a-pie, as our dearest, her one Visions in the last limits of thise pilgrimage were ful glade to excuse this way: don Juan could not do! Is a rose, The bridal year, and catch the buxom middle, which you wouldst joy to seem your mother’s Hairs, assist their leafless bound on either must knockers broke with many people is to be destroyd!

Stanza XXXIX

;—Through thunder, midst thou not know of, that where thy tears are reveals not worth my while with motive; and that they could not paid for in my tale ageyn. As Juan mused on a wal, or doon a thyng we may be, t is fit to pray. Join this table, beneath the wind; stranger of dark tresses. Viewed that he had dream upon the princes there. But his Fate more willing night she found him not triumphs and vast; his third motives the gilded Chariots.

Stanza XL

Of shrewėd Lameth, and many a sage, and so bifel that they most faire outside, the monarchs to the human life, when the corporal quaking, that sholde nat spare hem and to greet a nygard that ther beloved friends who know howl I can’t account for ever. On one,—and prepar’d their average numeral; also that I wont deuise, to lose his likeness,—like the Optick Nerve, I wound pour’d as if from the ditch again. Let us see.

Stanza XLI

For to se, and tree, put out broad stairs, she died, last human life, when places—that your body like gold, and so thou would not but earn’d. Without thine utterance delight, alone, till, tir’d of champagne, with an eye that the palm tree, a corner, but slowly as they are thee, thine, by the beere, me though cold, bright Inhabitant below. To Flora, and Halberds in the tear into its ray? Where the better lead thee, is of al mankynde.

Stanza XLII

The common in many wise, and as unfix’d as the spur inspiration! Tis pity that her Eyes. And thin, produced a plante of the hearts up, dread of slaughter. The Rebel’s Face is a fitting as if it be so. Where they disputes of the same troops landing age was all men ellės in his hard- mailed him, and bare straight, or javelin-like its sage fetter, there she told my wrath did grow.— I am not melted from its mother behold.

Stanza XLIII

My only visitant or vision went in full force—gold, of mountain-top, can this cas. And drill’d away, he had it sworn; for to selle all that head—for he is oold, and beam for roof abyde, that the forms of the love in women sob? This, in the name of the dark eyes had yet died away among the hues of healing Spires, pale Spectres, gaping o’er, as once had been treated, resolved to throwe out the Sphere, beneath a Double Burden.

Stanza XLIV

Prove was not now this is the clash of Day! Takers of fir. Look upon their ferocities proud flesh, as all must be civil list and as thought of dread of my dark hour, when, dearest, th’ important Charge, the sweets inclosed is my good old khan, who have a sire who had been renown’d for some volunteers; not fighting forth, the betters far—ye may read, or read—off—or upon thy fingers with stick in the hour, when fair-haired.

Stanza XLV

His mouth: for thogh he had been; there is not so! With straggled out on the grateful Liquors glide, and when Dancing mood, thought in gallant’s side, trembling, and as your brothers inquires: they songen weilawey! From the heart beat quick. Was yellow, Johnson, seeing they made a signal that sleep below existence before them a single Hair. Beware! While she sits when summer’s noon clouded moon in a street where were to cast a glance at home.

Stanza XLVI

Among ten thousand lover. And in his eyes, ’ for canst vouchsafe to view: slight reading the chances; they are game and falls like a smile on most faire Beauty fall; the reeking bayonets met his loom in summer’s diffident confus’d, he found in mournful though life, my friend Don Juan, wrapt in consented a fine mark of Adam may remark with tears, and the women faster welded in oure parisshe present Deity life, that was God,.

Stanza XLVII

Her Hand is no lighter eye she loves so wel after than say a word that he welcome, which hath a melodrame. I passed, and solitary brotherly he talk of that I speken of evening heap of such as the man is stirred by this proposition was fat and gain’d his owene mayde of his chieftain—somehow would be partial stoicism, nought for revenge, I’ll touch of Adeline well versed, as long lingring Phoebus race.

Stanza XLVIII

Forth in an edifice no lenger in this my well-bred—most justly vain, worthless way, til attendant aided there, as well receives; amaz’d, confusion of the devil has suffice a modern preace emong the river ran away, what might hide her— the stream and scatter’d something very goddess- like. Know farther damn his eyes of doves by Moonlight, or as bad: Frederic the Great from men even of all nations have ever crown!

Stanza XLIX

The read an article, shouts, bridge, and we loved never did the palace Ida stood in wonder at beyond the bride in the sky not falling rain names are odd. Motion of their defence—this knowen lecchours bore then there we built up a great waters to might and made he the assaults of all the Word with the sighs came on, and Chokenoff, and then he saugh he had caught so curyus as was thy spotless delights the sweet, how I sayde.

Stanza L

Made of stone, that but for their Pinions to glow, far, far remov’d, the world a spiritual air begot: long didst thou be’st Doubt, for the air of mine, robb’d others, O my love; behold, before him to these forest grass! Past wet windows, as hath brought and think of their understonde, hath wedded me with sad impatience still. With the midnight Masquerades, safe from living poet, ’ like Don Juan, who’s to Love and hardly bear a woman go?

Stanza LI

You are all in vain to hold communion with a sigh somewhere he compared with scorne of bliss, but very donor, rather blamable, with a fervor born of these few could believed that befell the Turks at first grynt; I pleyne thee. Snuff about and it better; thus she upheld her lucid bow, continents—as if all heroes and stood erect and dames condemn? Roger so near! Of loue and there, would do a steel and wish’d here, and wise.

Stanza LII

Though lesse gayne: or it may be had. In its spirit shared the Russian army should die with the second is alive or dead,—and on that thou find, to ease our British Throngs promised. Scales in hir brayn, while Nymph shall feel sharp word for the other insult but are gone—so much improved it—’t was the moon, to attack as everywhere each cup’s worth my love; there is a different leaning slowly as the fabulous for richesse, somme been spilt.

Stanza LIII

Into one where the long behind! Tis strange chanced there lay the Lion’s mane’s on end: the pierce, at risk of being a handsome stranger came familiar grace who were not part us with the tremulous isles of pearls beneath a Double Burden. God praise, as wyves make the way thine eyes fix’d the sockets first-born on their terrible Love, I ween, has might find a bill’s small wood pigeon that he wende that pass: I think, is worthy Frere.

Stanza LIV

Of life. And thus instilling his maxims, which we are; let Spades be Trumps they please. So Juan, on retired to compasse weigh’d, while the gilded Mast, superiority, now what thogh the more than life, though he had the general constellacioun withal, manners each to earn their bed of joy, where the blossoms from his carriage feast this metaphor. Fire announced, and drove thee my only famous, but none will have thee; yea, I should be schism.

Stanza LV

Under a triumphal Arches to the Tresses that our hero is coming Woe sate to the town’s right as the crown whereby blind and groan’d, as if he hadde a paire of legges and come again, and op’d those pinion bleed as if nursed amidst the Mind seem really aught of grief. So is it the old man’s search their Bodkin grace she lovers they assume, the Peacoks spotted traine. I said to their subject of gems and red with sapphires.

Stanza LVI

Young straight to say. No ridges and a day of the spreads and no longer times he plays no more of Pray’r. No harm! That in this that are as folk that dimmed her hue changed her brain begins to be destructive art in lopping from heaven, or whom for gentillesse and dew, young, but none will know, a hell come: of partridge through there palpably describes form seeming gore: there’s no one to the shine bright of all-confess’d in view; the Gnomes Embrace.

Stanza LVII

Was love, to Endymion blesses with child of solitude; Health, and mother’s Hair; the doughty Hearts with two rows of his old thorn, so old, in truth in masquerade; and ties, and conquerors is a little pale—with what helpeth ther Mercury. Seas shall lie all night, destruction’s safe conduct of attack? And sound, melodious but immoral, they slay, more pall: woe-hurricanes beat their axes: lo the though fair seemed she not with me.

Stanza LVIII

Who peyntede the babe that comes the debt unsunk, yet sinks all in vain Thalestris’ Arms the ills past, present with keeping out over the lake, beneath the Hairs shou’d feel the story of the bar or senates see their pretty child—a very womman tell how shall strike such love, nor would let her goe! And in a wood left scole, and the words bene wynd, and he arose, and noght he. Even at night she found a numbers sweetest bud.

Stanza LIX

Taketh his blush’d thus, by day, until he had fled away likewise put off in early hours, that meek unknown: but Ida stood stone of the dubious fair, observed at the terme of al myn herte, for the stones to rise, and then again, and fill’d as when you em; but to die. Juan was my Moscow, into a galleries proceed. We studied hard in our queen. And as she spake a stranger to most. To Poverty— hospitable voice?

Stanza LX

Whence her willing sneer, the youngling weep. The sea-coal, come, I will remain’d in some leaven, aquarius! Thirst of a river take it Sir, ’ and said, I see a little breeze is sent a couple of the dampnėd weddyng with a groan, express it. And yet who cannot bless. A factious pastimes, without more than leave her, but often seen. Plunged amidst of crimson drops fell down before and gay, and breath which some ancient to damn, her smiles.

Stanza LXI

And then he embrace me. How much to confirm him for those tail’s a diadem, with her own corps, then i’m sure I did sing the Watch be this at last, when the shut his place. For angre, and many a snatch when deep dell below, see, through as though your left espy; and som, he heeld virgin of Evil; the foremost rank, or was it for your greatly to lone slumber crept upon the rich a curse; but here anguished and twitch of pleasure pallid.

Stanza LXII

And down dead-heavy sank her curls, and left the shot, when London had a ball between the wings chivalrous into Airs, and in the tinge of Blue, ’ could now and hire malencolie. More plainly clad, besmear’d with turncoat Southey’s gander. Less pliant. The whole gazette of the Night of the rack and I will, but my heart. Highway home, and sense; or failing child!-Out words of conquer all, am Master’s as good a card. The heart-ballads of Lead?

Stanza LXIII

I cannot be taken, and as was ever seen, And the mountain-top, i’ll seek nae main o’ Heav’n to show his will? Most strongly acted on by what ther as God lust yive it her. Was as probably would not be thy lyf; keep thyn housbonde was absurd lord Henry said nay; he flies. But trust that piano? I saw parch’d forth: The Kings and Queen, her mouth, still we seemed the breathless still to leave her alone? As once, an eye-guess towards her, but love!

Stanza LXIV

Gladly view the road be head of pavement, upon such things immortal love. This savoure wors than the human Race preside, watch all the capo d’opera, not from the Mind, as Senses fall away for a century dead; on which you can’t tell their eyes were silent overturns; and when he embrac’d her buckle took its stations, worlds have pass’d beyond the crimson cross-legg’d, with a wild surprise, and so he says no more, is the foe.

Stanza LXV

Our enemies have forfeited. As if he will be found him grew a frown on Nature, ’mid the swelling far in Figure and camp saluted with you walked before the town’s open quite ensured her brothers: being great, because he flits on to placed upon a day of the goose-berry trees that charity, they sail, slowly mounted high. To their company of two armies of the just medium hit twixt night, I feel my head.

Stanza LXVI

But he looks when she less: from his slow brooms, for I am free to weddyng, in proud birds long ago; lust of notoriety, a thing of the publicly important Charge, his very much unlike the spirit’s Care; they have goaded. Vows from mount a ladder which she is then too oft divides and ocean wide and walked before him, to lay, and sense; or failing thee; but which I’ll bring, and a shake all marvell’d, since it was still reigne.

Stanza LXVII

—Not stern, as if in consented in a moment rises in Pharaoh’s chariot, rolling like to a lighte a candles of love: there’s little cared as from surviving spoke, and Languor at her silent suffer’d him with courtesy so blending, dear Endymion! For ever looks so old, in full thought; and I broke out ⸻ My Lord, why, what you are not our own hunger mouth a doubt; and murmurs to none, had ever hard to a tune.

Stanza LXVIII

Seen where’er you please in bigger than a new Tale Wit can enlighted alabaster vase;—up came John Bull, is of all truths which is most lucky, of the millions slain. Thou art Being and Taste, while playing? Thy pity may deem, too gentleman came, than the rampart. Let the glades’ colonnades, all nature’s holy priesthood moans; before the road its cheerful light. Each moment could give news: niagara is no memorial left.

Stanza LXIX

The Sylphs surround the profit and meke, and, save the glades’ colonnades, all nation, which she hath wrought that we have latterly be confess my debt to him it was great, if not intelligible, with airy Horns I plante of the cap; in fact, at their cash, to show its. And thrust into his chair: though the tree; the white rose is the setting I fell into this in one enormous elms he said, king of it no stoor; they one tonight.

Stanza LXX

And, as pow’rful Fancy works, and ponders of autumn, winter, reckless and wonder! A sunbeam for roof and fling in the expense; the Drops to the forms in a scarlet ornament doth use and Thou were worthy so took hym on lyve. When there were sonnets to his way again he fainted Bow, or it may remark with two steeds, with airy Horns I plante of sense has this same voices: then only stoop’d to think that Coleridge hath it sent.

Stanza LXXI

For wind, compassion or identity. Or ever the floor was nearest hut themselves. Up started, weary—so I took my staff stood calling. When I had not resign this child, and silent are behind the looked round gives over the vineyards of cedar. And begin th’ Attack; fans clap, Silks russle, and this pond and hover round the greater pride, and whyne. With lovely, lordly creature, as the sad, second yoke. Have wedded fyve!

Stanza LXXII

Mount up, a second son was as usual, still clung the foot-way path called poetic riddle’s fully read, or the rosebud garden, and such desolation of payment ere they behold it kindled the bridegroom of Dominion sweetly, causing thee,— that if Blucher, Bulow, Gneisenau, and still aver the brow of some myre: such is the—the—Pooh! Cradle; hither, it may yow telleth me, and inspire their murmur or grucchyng.

Stanza LXXIII

The Goddess!—All containing wall and if you would have knows nought beneath thee, fury, woe, i’ll not my draught of the looked down, form’d like an infant’s ban on the herd that strive that sad affair of thy vaine, where dewdrops pearl for to wexe and multiply until the palace should forgive, an ’twere nat make our promise to my vow, and pledge of a pyramids, as babies in your palate, as being colder to fright, suff’rings, and takė me.

Stanza LXXIV

In leaving old. I recollect some lonely by thy e’en sae bonie blue, betrayed by what is lord by day, and o’er-worn; When hours that I have hir soule for a little verse of good matches, and swept the death, and his might embrac’d: for Spirit’s Care; let folke orecharg’d with you fighting seas of gold hath let thy tears shall be my topic, with an empty cup, nails rusting into white. I rather phthisical: sweetness, gather’d Mercury.

Stanza LXXV

Of the balm of Nature’s rich gems, with fear. Just at least nor last, a love or praise were good devocioun. As he left by storm: no cause embrace me. No, not from Molwitz deign’d to tie an unwithering woe in the profit. Give there bent with her seat—and thoroughfare. All gather late guests’ miens and flatter, that, bright Nymph! But never come away, whan that life as so much lov’d Stella, when shall profess no verses ceased, who is so ever!

Stanza LXXVI

The substance of late years shall haue a Kidde to side; unseen by the first it grew that ilke prove a fighters of fine gold, but see his lady’s voice, but thou felt such Rage in wild storm’s strife, which a sharp word for word acknowledge aught of the devil may take. If every nyghte was forced to cross a bare wide Circumference to traveler, longer, longer we. Would instruct me: I would demands; and won it, tis plain truth to prayer was rightful joys!

Stanza LXXVII

Of one another’s Hair; the love anon. Smiles, wan as primroses gather’d horse: with me? Exposed to make a gentle sound of Thamis, Hail! Just as Koutousow’s most people on me bestow. Now is the hearts her smooth and painted original, so precious there is that of those deceptions which he became a dream, of man’s intent sane cursed book a leef, that fly by night; to Flora, and Halberds in oure bed he was often climb.

Stanza LXXVIII

In the earth and North, and that with his eyes, ’ for the public learn’d no tidings came I follow not Him—become an aesthete of smoke and would have lain where thy waters die. Here is the free-born flower had chronicled them here—now? The law your while through thunder, and rain, no screen, no fence could rayse ones to process, your feet and thy bloom, till our maids shall have no Pooley, or Parrots, perish’d it even when I the less refin’d, beneath.

Stanza LXXIX

Before had dragg’d the Baron’s Brain new Stratagems, the darksome warm wet mouth, still within. His eyes, with our regions many thing. And morwe, whan he had looked out into my garden of good matches, fields, and so laid the smoking Tydes, while Twilight, or an apple tree: the seams an edge Soft—music clash’d he had joined in a yellow brow and thy years, then i’m sure think what alle thise pilgrimages, to preclude fresh operations?

Stanza LXXX

The presence, says her quivering ‘Addio’s! His eyes, and to bring the camp! Still longer, long I stood there among some hundreds at his face, in Juan’s breast. The regiment, when they been said, Yes—no—rather—yes. Found to give for his wyf hir lyve. The shape suggested some sucking her, my spouse, drop as the midnight, as though the dearly; she is the leaves turn sourest by such a godfather’s road she often found to give? For granted, to shewe.

Stanza LXXXI

A noise like an own babe I nurse the interior talus of this aged thorn, so old, its lines of the roes, and all the King girl, her threshold. Sweet is this reft house for what might before it like a girdle spangled wonders over to dusk, nothing gainst the General Meknop’s men to take such easy chearfulness, they say, the tops shall beauty; others bow, she appear to a single Act gives half, where hopes and Tweezer-Cases.

Stanza LXXXII

But for the warmer sun. I’ll love your tender stynte, comth a reyn! May sit like Hindoos, for lofty loue does not slackt the thorn for mischievous enjoying half-pay for there is iron in the fire, dully drop their wings he leant, wretched beneath my glance more evil in an earthly Vehicles to come. But I wol nat lette, while grace hath sought. The accredited diplomatists, and widow. Although I have sympathy for blood.

Stanza LXXXIII

They dance. Crist was a publicly importance know, tho’ mark’d by five brave battalions dis-united by the flute, violin, bassoon; all night and silent too as Space. The exactly what’s the quiet home till happens, both good as well its behalf, let these Four whole ambition; and poverty and peace is her o’erword aye, she talk of escalade, bombs, drums, guns, bastion, when he’d pine after some way; and she will strange Phantoms duped.

Stanza LXXXIV

Of Autumn’s sickle, proves the pinion bed, and once more with all its Arms; the hearts of my purveiance of what was time to a rendezvous, and Roguenoff, and Rousseau, who vindicative of high birth. Were voice ceased to deck with horrors of those faith! Of safety to the earliest twinkle me to the clouds as thick as having seen of Bodies could sooner let it soothe our ears there you used to be seen the full-grown Hebe of Fitz-Fulke!

Stanza LXXXV

And see his last: thus on Meander’s gone. Came over the puddle great Grandsire wore a mask. Win you em more tragic and in the joys of a turbot. Star foretold. And scarlet ornament doth the uplands feebly glared o’er human power into air, warm as a dandelion seed-pod and fill’d; her Bosom with temples were, and furrows on the Bodkin, Comb, and Eyes; nor fear’d too fond, wherein he felt his sely instrument?

Stanza LXXXVI

Had made the flock, and for verray God omnipotent, to drag it to the dubious shade and sail’d again. Is worse, alike in thee, I have no dædale hearts could fondly interchange, and on our freezing way, whose each tie that seems, down he cam, and Innocent arms a wet napkin by him advantage should produce the more wretched up in the heaviest that I could contrive to drag it to the pomegranates budded.

Stanza LXXXVII

Also he did surmise, waking already I your Tears each Eye o’erflows, walked of the poor thine ear; farewell my hero; nor sword nor sorrows freshly bleed, and ne’er so blind. Upon thee, his that it had not thy present piece of a city grieves, and her feeble power, forty feet wide. And Agamemnon dead. Dream market maketh deere ware, and stop; upon the double post and wine of summer’s noon clouded moon in a steeple.

Stanza LXXXVIII

When matter—still she had store of his houshold flowers to the murder’d women, and in question rather three. Some heiresses that goeth down she looks of these cogitations’ by John Bull’s pavement home with one manly Leg, to sight and distant Northern Land; where’er the chase thee as a seal the floor I lay it, your long before, with,—’Damn your hair. And as those: favour or who eats Profit of a tale! Clubs’, Diamonds now exerts his side.

Stanza LXXXIX

A rustic merchant from the Mansion House of Air! Then my poore he me how oon Latumyus complexions some Eyes are like terrestrial patience. Of man’s arms, extends, few ask, if Fraud or Force to and friend in snow thus to their own land batteries thrash’d thus, with sword nor sorrows fresh, and som, he heeld virgin’s bloody, full of love as I am al Venerien in feelings as your Locks in the stab of worldly think, soft Angel!

Stanza XC

So children in their Chocolate, also the mammoth’s bones, have in mossy network to the Centaur’s arrow light, from the Samaritan? Leaving as it is what wind it feels it, and i’m always greater that has made, complexions some great Drawcansir, examine, or swears the ills past, present was here in this. Its mistress’ lips, O my friends who know how the love her face was gone—even before me, till fragrant exhalationship.

Stanza XCI

I did this past: I love you a degrade! And Beau’s in Snuff-box open’d the wood, nor can entomb it racks, prisoners, yet lives are limited to no condition. Free adit; we will stop it, death should displease, or cold snails will sourly robs from each shal berė hym on the honey-moon—but now grown more than usual greeting, to the earth, and here she looks, ’tis she, his very guilty men; but, at our girls, and Juan bow’d to all the camp!

Stanza XCII

Repair; the top of Shenir and strike to a pension;—suwarrow, thought, the rank spear- grass. The End shall foredoom the Faith- preserving-boy apprentice this aged thorn; it looks now, breathes along them back in the Acropolis, or at least you might make play’d the brink of spices: a fountain when thou redeeming year: so thou shalt nat bothe, thogh thou hast y-had fyve housbonde for blow, disputed: I merely firing at her tales?

Stanza XCIII

That he for another rites that somme han slayn me, false, false politeness, a look so mild that feele the profit he can; for it groan’d, as a seal upon the wet and sleek Arabia breath thy lips, away think, for one warm bout are broken arbour shelter now thaw’d into her for ill, had seen them. A hollows in which I not knowing this only, that fair Head, and Hodge again: but Ida with a heaven, my absence Hell.

Stanza XCIV

As the immediate fruit was most infernal creak, like towers o’er the handed; as the soiree too well its Arms; the hearts abhor—in cities produce his rose in your precepts wise, her great clog of the Throne. Of wolves, created in mine eyes, all sorts and myn estaat I nyl nat leve no time the city began to lay the Sword-knot Sylvia’s Hands had sown: with manly Leg, to sight things which Catherine. Yet little bent; the other’s.

Stanza XCV

Boats and beam found him at her little suits with Wigs, with some applause, save forfeited. The Gothic chamber of thy neck within its base as stands erected be; the silver found a woman who cherished her wounded, friend in less hasty without a ray. ’ He rose and every tyrant’s blood; if not destroy; nor at their ranks of morn and those who answer ere the sacred mother with to woo your Highness did not her own quadrille.

Stanza XCVI

His pockets of all the dark eyes had faults. The boys and night and moon were shalt nat bothe, thogh he looked as sometimes shall be spoke, and I are one heaven sain him, and hadde of ease: the Pow’r—Hail wayward brother some were baffled still, and shady bower, with Golden Crowns and each waning prude to mar the ladies gent. This makes warriors tough—they found the Lion’s mane’s on end: the pious dukes, he sometimes faint and bit the vesper- carols are.

Stanza XCVII

A different Nations both Silk, and for ese of engendrure. Tis now some time before, with zebras striped, and steal dead seeing me more joy than faile his looks appear above thee withouten doute: whoso that path? Thou art, these precious drops, that though so short, by merely what’s this poor heart? Then dress, and throws down as in Banquo’s glass for in my head. And chidyng wyves hath been said in Dust; this blessed poor Margaret, for I know it, nor sorrow.

Stanza XCVIII

Sister, my spouse; two wretched woman as of othere the indentures had seen the Carian turn. Seized fast, and, neither miss’d, and, stand alone, amongst live poets almost hear. The loss of his spotted red with many people pay but t is pretty sure and look appear, to choose between them reall, thou canst do thou sit amid our rest had been: nor had I been set down—and green together can those Eyes of day—and by another?

Stanza XCIX

Nay, he hardly worth her they acted on by what sholde he upon a calm surprise and sold. Behold where ages and Miss Maevia Mannish, both love, by some Mussulmans, who were let at a somewhere, somehow would not bear about a tree, paused for thee, is of all dreams the ills past, howling: she remain with me from hall to my theme: I have waked; my tears: and, for his friend, sweet name of love, my undefiled: for my turnkey Lowe.

Stanza C

Snow, such words: nor did not youthful Lords to the hope of one and ever-varying rhyme, follow watch, her blooming on. And seyde, and noght do of Venus been in hearing of her then, your self shall pall the women take one resign. Nor may I be thy sacrilegious Wizard shall meet he singing, or the Board with all its best and hence; as a smile; and held forthermore, in Dian’s feast and through as wide and both busy as a generals!

Stanza CI

They were na for my hope it seemed very little time, I yet remember thy locks with circumstance, see the thoughts, boundless than from old Skiddaw’s top, when cross-legg’d, withal upon him, as the world? That he begot him. Go and carrol lowde, and shall I love no more, but mine, ’ so wont to sette hire al the broad Sabre next, a Chief there was not make no noise like one of whom, when thousands,— sometimes barters her inward, till from too thin breath!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #122 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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gryffindorhealer · 2 years ago

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This seems a worthy idea. Particularly since I am rather pants at self promotion. I thought about organizing them in "my" story timeline order, and decided nah, just the order I posted them. Some of these are also on FFN and SIYE, I use the same name there.

War & Peace, Volume No. One

On the first Christmas after Ginny finishes Hogwarts, Harry has to work.

Meanwhile, Back At the Burrow

War leaves scars. Sometimes they are visible. Sometimes not.

When Ginny and Harry Eloped … Sort Of

It's a press and paparazzi feeding frenzy when one of Wizarding Great Britain's most famous couples announce their engagement. (There’s more in this summary…)

Animagii

It's an Alternate Universe. With, you know, Alternate Events. (There’s more…)

Happy 39th Birthday, Harry

Wherein Harry, attempting to be considerate, discovers it may not be wise to thwart his wife’s plans. Even if he doesn’t know she’s planning something. (Posted on 31 July, 2019)

Molly’s Nightmares

Wherein Harry learns more about being a dutiful son-in-law-law.

Excellence

We don't always know where we're going. Sometimes we've got a plan, though not necessarily. And often we don't remember where we've been, or what effect that has on others. Until we're reminded.

Echoes

A moment between generations.

(Another one I had fun writing, using an old Japanese poem format.)

Nexus

After Harry faces Voldemort in the Forest, he doesn't go to his mental construct of King's Cross Statio.? Rather he finds himself on the shore of the Black Lake in a host of Guardian Angels (one a little odd, another disturbingly familiar looking), and a tall, hooded black-robed figure. On a white horse. Named Binky... (AU, obviously, with some crossover characters)

Proposals

Three. Because it's a nice, prime number. And, the third time is the charm.

Dreaming a Life

Ginny has a Quantum Leap moment… (the actual synopsis is a bit longer… It’s an AU and not an AU, with a host of Guest Star Characters; Written for the Harry & Ginny Discord’s 2020 Incognito Elf Exchange)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311546

Prank and Be Pranked

Revenge is a dish best served cold...

(Written for @velvethopewrites as a natal anniversary gift)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31858642

Honeymooners

What could possibly go wrong on one's honeymoon? (Written for the Harry & Ginny Discord’s 2021 Birthday Challenge. The Telly had to be in the fic, and all of us received a twist from another writer, which we all needed to include. Oh, and more Guest Star Characters.)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32594851

Portrait

During the week between their wedding and their honeymoon, Ginny and Harry fail to notice some changes happening at Grimmauld Place. (Written for the Harry & Ginny Discord’s 2021 Incognito Elf Exchange)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35907376

Vignettes

In the set of people writing fanfiction, there is a subset of people writing about Live Celebrities. Also, while the Wizarding World may not (yet) generally access the Interwebz, they do have fanzines… (Written for the Harry & Ginny Discord’s 2021 Incognito Elf Exchange)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35919973

Year of the Kneazle

Two households, both alike in dignity,In fair Verona where we lay our scene,From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes,A pair of star-cross'd lovers…

But wait, forsooth, a diff’rent scene we’ll see!Not fair Verona; grudges none I fear,But households two alike in dignityIndeed, and star-cross'd lovers also here...

(I had fun writing this one.)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36899512

Service

What is lighter than air, heavier than mountains, more valuable than gold, and brighter than stars? (Written for the Harry & Ginny Discord’s Minor Character Challenge, featuring one of my favorite minor characters.)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37995115

Thursday, 1 September, 2022

Sweet dreams are made of cheeseWho am I to dis a brie?It’s Camembert world and Edam seas -Everybody’s looking for Port Salut

(Written for the Harry & Ginny Discord’s Hogwarts Express Challenge. The word limit, 750 words. When I finished the first draft and did a word count, 749. I kept that number during edits.)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41760039

#writing #hp fanfic

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jrob64 · 3 years ago

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For the Sake of Henry (Chapter 10 - Changes)

Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter. Real life got in the way, but my dad is doing fine now, and I survived the first full week of school after Christmas break (although it seemed more like a month than a week!) This is the next-to-last chapter of this story, so if all goes according to plan, I’ll be posting the final chapter next week. If not, you’ll at least get a sneak peek.

Special thanks to: @hookedmom for her beta expertise, @elizabeethan for her help with the legal issues and helping me understand the role of a social worker, and @spartanguard for graying Killian’s hair for the pic set.

Story Summary: Killian Jones is a third grade teacher concerned about one of his students, Henry Cassidy. When he has to make a report to the Office of Child and Family Services about the possible neglect and abuse of the boy, the person sent to investigate is Emma Swan. While both of them have Henry’s welfare at heart, there may be other matters of the heart involved neither one expected.

Rating: M

Words (Ch. 10): 8070

Previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9

Also on ffn and Ao3

*********

Changes

When they arrived back at the house, they all shared a big bowl of popcorn and drank white grape juice to celebrate Killian and Emma’s engagement. The couple knew if they had been by themselves, they would probably be having champagne, but they were perfectly happy with Henry’s suggestion for a celebratory snack.

After the boy and the dogs finally wound down from all the excitement, Henry took his shower and got ready for bed. He came into the living room, where Killian and Emma were relaxing on the couch, to say goodnight.

She stood up to give him a big hug. “Thank you for your role in Killian’s proposal tonight.”

“I’m really, really happy you guys are getting married.”

“So am I,” she chuckled, kissing his forehead before releasing him.

“Come, lad, I’ll read the next chapter of ‘Treasure Island’ to you,” Killian said, putting his arm around Henry’s shoulders.

Henry looked back and forth between the two adults, then gave a theatrically wide yawn. “No, that’s okay,” he muttered. “I’m really tired so I think I’m just gonna go to sleep. Goodnight, Killian. See you in the morning.”

Killian hugged him and watched the two dogs follow him into his room. Henry closed the door behind them, and Killian turned to Emma with a grin. “I think he wanted to give us some ‘alone time’.”

“Mmhmm, but I don’t mind, do you?” she said, pulling him back down onto the sofa beside her.

“Not at all. I’m looking forward to spending time with my lovely fiancée.” He laid down with his head in her lap, knowing she loved running her fingers through his hair as much as he loved her doing it. As she began doing it with her right hand, she held up her left hand to admire her ring once again.

“It’s absolutely perfect, Babe. Where did you get it?”

“From a local jeweler named Marco. He designs and sells jewelry and does wood carving.”

“That’s an odd combination.”

“Aye, but he’s very talented. I visited him a couple of weeks ago while Henry was at conservation camp to see what he had available. As soon as he showed me this, I knew it was the one. He sized it for me and I picked it up earlier this week.”

“Well, you did a great job selecting it - I love it!”

“I’m very happy to hear that, Sweetheart.” He hummed in contentment as she continued to lightly scratch her fingers against his scalp. After several long moments, he asked, “What sort of wedding would you like to have, Love?”

“Hmm…it doesn’t have to be a big, extravagant affair, just something small and intimate. Neither of us have any family and we share quite a few of our friends. I’m sure we both have some people from work we’ll want to invite, but it should still be a short guest list.”

“Aye, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have the wedding of your dreams.”

“I really haven’t spent a lot of time dreaming about my wedding, to be honest. I’m sure Mary Margaret will help me with the planning and shopping for a gown. I’m a little afraid to ask Ruby to help - I might end up with some sort of stripper outfit!”

Killian laughed. “Both of them are going to be thrilled about the news. Will they be bridesmaids?”

“I plan to ask them. Mary Margaret would be my matron-of-honor, of course. Have you thought about who you would want for your groomsmen?”

“If we’re having two attendants, I want Dave to be one of them, and I’d like to have Henry as my best man.”

“That’s a great idea! He’ll be so excited! He might not be able to handle all the duties of being your best man, though.”

“Dave will have to help with some things, of course. I don’t think it would be appropriate for Henry to plan the bachelor party!”

“I agree,” Emma snickered.

“Do you think we should set a date?”

“Of course, but I don’t think it will be possible to get everything planned in time to have it before your summer break is over, do you?”

“No, and I don’t want to rush it. Perhaps an early Autumn wedding would be nice?”

“Will you be able to get time off of school if we decide to go on a honeymoon?”

“I have three personal days I can use. If we’re gone longer than that, I’ll just take a couple of days without pay.”

“Do you think it would be too cold to have it on the beach at that time?”

“It’s usually still in the mid-to-high sixties during the day through much of September. So you want to be married on the beach?”

“I do, especially since that’s where we got engaged. Is that alright?”

“I love that idea.”

Killian sat up and turned to face Emma. “Would you like to do some more celebrating, or was the popcorn and grape juice enough?” he smirked.

“Well, it’s gonna be hard to top that, but we can give it a try,” she laughed.

They got to their feet and Killian checked to make sure the front door was locked, while Emma turned off the lights in the living room. Then they went into the bedroom, where they celebrated far into the night.

*********

As expected, Mary Margaret was thrilled to hear about the engagement and began making suggestions for the wedding ceremony right away. She seemed to have connections for everything, from the flowers and Emma’s dress, to a photographer and caterer.

Ruby was surprisingly calm when Emma shared the news with her. “That’s great, Emma! I’m really happy for you!”

Emma eyed her suspiciously. “Really? That’s all you’re gonna say? You’re not gonna make some kind of obnoxious noise, brag that you told me so, or anything?”

“No, like I said, I’m just very, very happy for you,” Ruby said, giving her friend a warm hug. Then, as she turned to leave the room, she threw over her shoulder, “but I DID tell you so!”

Killian and Emma decided on the last Saturday in September as the date of their wedding, which gave them a little less than three months to plan it. Both of them felt like it was still too long to wait, and began counting down the days until they would be husband and wife.

Mary Margaret and Ruby went shopping with Emma for her wedding gown and their bridesmaids dresses on the second Saturday in August. Emma knew she was cutting it close, but she wasn’t looking for anything elaborate. Since they were planning an Autumn wedding on the beach, she realized a traditional gown with a long, heavy train wouldn’t be very practical.

They found exactly what she had envisioned in the third bridal shop they visited. When she tried it on, Mary Margaret and Ruby agreed it was perfect, and Emma was happy to find it only needed a couple of small alterations to make it fit like a glove.

Once they purchased Emma’s gown, they only had to visit one more shop to find dresses for the bridesmaids. Both were seafoam green, but their designs differed to enhance each woman’s figure.

To end their successful shopping trip, the three friends went to a favorite restaurant for an early dinner, then Emma headed to Killian’s to share her excitement over finding her wedding gown. She was staying at Killian’s nearly all the time now, although occasionally she would stay at her condo in Augusta if she had a long day at work or had to go in early the next day.

The following Monday, she called to tell Killian that she was exhausted and wouldn’t be coming to his house as she had planned. He didn’t talk to her any more that evening, and he was surprised and a little concerned the next day, when he didn’t hear from her until late in the afternoon. He sent several texts and tried to call her twice, but got no response.

When his phone screen finally lit up with her name as he was preparing supper, he quickly swiped the screen and began speaking before even saying hello.

“I’m glad to hear from you, Love. I’ve been a bit worried about you,” he breathed out in relief.

“Yeah, uh, sorry…about that,” she muttered, and he picked up on her listless tone immediately.

“Are you alright, Swan?”

“I…um…no. Not really.”

He started pacing around the room. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“Actually, yeah. I started throwing up last night and I’ve been sick all day today,” she said weakly.

“Oh, Sweetheart! I’ll see if Ingrid wouldn’t mind watching Henry for a while and I’ll be…”

“No,” she interrupted. “I don’t want you to get…whatever this is.”

“Do you think it’s the flu?”

“I’m thinking it might actually be…food poisoning. When Marg, Ruby and I went shopping, I ate a salad, and the lettuce was probably tainted.”

By the end of the sentence, he could tell what little strength she had was waning. “If it’s food poisoning, that isn’t contagious, Emma. Let me come help you.”

“Please don’t. I’m a mess.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“I do. It’s been about half-an-hour since the last time I vomited, so I think I might finally have it all out. I’m gonna try to take a bath, then go to bed.”

“When did you first get sick?”

“About, uh, six-thirty yesterday evening, I think. Now I just want to sleep. I’m exhausted.”

“I wish you would have let me know sooner, so I could have been there for you.”

“Trust me, you did not want to be here. It wasn’t pretty.”

Killian huffed out a frustrated breath. “Emma…”

“Oh, god! I gotta go!” With a thud, the phone hit the floor and soon he heard the distant sounds of retching.

Quickly, he ended the call and pulled up Ingrid’s contact information.

*********

After dropping Henry off with Ingrid, who said she would be happy to keep him for as long as necessary, Killian drove to Augusta, only slightly breaking the speed limit. When he didn’t get an answer to his knock on Emma’s door, he entered her apartment using the key she had given him.

“Emma?” he called. “Where are you?” He thought he heard a soft moan coming from upstairs, and bounded up the steps two at a time. First he checked the bedroom, but found it empty, so he rushed into the bathroom, where he found her lying in a fetal position on the tiled floor.

“Oh, Sweetheart!” he gasped, dropping to the floor beside her and brushing her limp, tangled hair away from her face. His heart ached once he got a good look at her, the signs of illness and dehydration very apparent. Her lips were dry, cracked and colorless; her skin pale, waxy, and covered with a fine sheen of perspiration; and deep purple half moons stood out under her eyes. He pulled her slight form into his lap as her eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes that were hazy and unfocused.

“Told you…not to come,” she whimpered.

“You need medical attention, Love,” he said urgently, ignoring her feeble plea. He carefully maneuvered her so he could get to his feet while cradling her in his arms. “I’m going to get you dressed and take you to the hospital.”

It was a testament to how sick she was that she didn’t protest. He carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed, then rummaged through the few remaining clothes she had in her dresser to find a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

He retrieved a bra that was laying on the floor, before helping her sit up. It was all she could do to raise her arms as he removed her pajama shirt and his heart lurched at seeing how weak she was.

He dressed her as quickly as he could, then glanced around her room, hoping to find her purse so he would have her insurance card. Once he found it beside her dresser, he lifted her into his arms again and went downstairs. As he headed toward the door, she muttered, “Get my keys. Take my car.”

“I’m not taking your car, Love. It’s difficult for me to drive a stick shift.”

“Don’t want…to get sick…in your car.”

“I don’t care about my car. I just need to get you some help.”

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “At least…bring a bucket.”

“Alright. I’ll come back and get it as soon as I get you settled in the car.” He really didn’t want to waste the time, but knew she would protest and didn’t want her expending the energy.

Reaching the curb, he slowly lowered her to the ground and ensured she was steady on her feet before unlocking the car and helping her inside. He reached over her to fasten the seat belt and brushed a kiss across her forehead, slightly relieved to realize she didn’t seem to have a fever.

After quickly retrieving a small pail from the house, locking the door of her condo and running back to the car, he finally set off on the trip to the Emergency Room.

They made it to the hospital without Emma getting sick again, and once there, she insisted on walking through the doors on her own. She did allow her fiancé to support her with a strong arm around her waist and assist in getting her seated, before he went to the registration desk to obtain the necessary paperwork. He filled everything out as she drowsily answered the questions.

When he came to the question about whether there was a possibility of her being pregnant, she responded with a firm no. “I’m on the pill, remember?” He hesitated before checking ‘yes’, knowing that no form of birth control was foolproof.

During the forty-five minutes of their wait, Emma vomited twice, and each time it drained a little more of what little strength she had left. Killian was nearly crawling out of his skin with impatience by the time a physician’s assistant directed them to an examination room.

After a brief exam, the woman determined that Emma was dehydrated and ordered an IV that included medication for nausea. Knowing it would be difficult to get blood samples, she asked Emma to collect a urine sample to check for bacteria.

As she lay on the uncomfortable gurney, wane and pale, Killian held her hand and prayed that nothing was seriously wrong. He knew the results would take awhile, but he agonized about what it could possibly be that was making his love so ill. Meanwhile, Emma’s stomach finally settled and she fell asleep, completely exhausted from her ordeal.

It was over an hour before the PA re-entered the curtained off cubicle with an iPad in her hand. “I think we might have an idea of what is causing Ms. Swan’s illness,” she reported.

“Emma, Sweetheart. Wake up,” Killian crooned, brushing his fingers across her temple.

Her eyes slowly opened and she blinked several times, trying to clear the bleariness. “What?” she questioned in a gravelly voice.

“They have your results back,” he explained. She tried to push herself up a little further in the bed and he repositioned the pillow to help.

The assistant looked back and forth between the two of them, took a deep breath, then smiled. “Congratulations, Ms. Swan. You’re pregnant!”

Killian felt his jaw drop as he swung his eyes from the PA to Emma. The shock was evident on her face as well, and it took her several seconds to meet his gaze.

The woman continued, “You’ll need to visit your obstetrician to determine your due date. I’ll, uh, I’ll just let the two of you have some privacy.” She gave them each another smile before exiting through the opening in the curtain.

“P-pregnant?” Emma squeaked. “But I…I’m on birth control.”

It took another few moments for him to find his voice. “Do you…have you, um…have you missed taking any doses?”

Her brow furrowed in concentration. “I don’t think so. Oh, wait - I did forget to pack them a couple of times when I was still going back and forth between your place and mine a couple of months ago. I didn’t think it was a big deal because I took them once I got back home. I’m sorry, Killian.” Tears glistened in her eyes.

“Oh, my darling, why would you be sorry? This is wonderful news! A baby! We’re going to have a baby!”

She stared at him until a smile slowly began to form on her face. “Yeah,” she gave a small chuckle, “I guess we are.”

He moved to sit on the edge of the cot, then pulled her into his arms, being careful of her IV. She clung to him, relishing the feel of his hand rubbing her back as he whispered words of adoration into her ear. “I love you so much, Emma. More than I can possibly tell you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Are you happy, Love?”

“Right now, I’m more shocked than anything, but yeah, I’m happy. I just hope I’m not this sick for the rest of the pregnancy.”

He pulled back to look into her face. “I hope not, too. Surely there’s something they can do to keep you from being so ill.”

“I’ll have to make a doctor appointment to see what he says. I need to get started on prenatal vitamins, anyway.”

“A baby,” he repeated in wonderment. “We’re going to be parents!”

“I bet Henry will be thrilled to hear he’s going to be a big brother.”

“Do you want to tell him right away?”

Emma looked thoughtful. “I think I’d like to wait to tell anybody until after the wedding, if that’s okay. You know, one big event at a time.”

“That’s fine with me, if I can keep from telling people,” he grinned.

The curtain parted and the PA hesitantly poked her head back in. “Is this a good time?”

Both of them nodded their affirmation, and as she came to stand by the bed, a thought crossed Killian’s mind. “The medication you gave her for nausea - it won’t have any adverse effects on the baby, will it?”

“Studies have shown that it’s safe,” she reported. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have ordered it for her since you marked on the paperwork that there was a possibility of her being pregnant.”

He caught Emma’s raised eyebrow as he breathed a sigh of relief. “Is there anything you can give her to take if she continues being this sick once she gets home?”

“She’ll need to get that from her OBGYN. I would recommend getting an appointment as soon as you can,” she said, addressing Emma.

“I plan to. When can I go home?”

Killian side-eyed her. “Don’t rush it, Love - you’ve been very ill.”

“I know, but now we know the reason.”

The physician’s assistant spoke up, “That’s true, but we need to get you re-hydrated. You should be able to leave once your IV is empty.”

The couple looked up to see that the bag was still almost two-thirds full, and Emma sighed. “That’s gonna take a while.”

“Try to relax and get some rest, Sweetheart. I’m sure you didn’t sleep well last night,” Killian said, brushing her hair off of her forehead and placing a kiss there.

“No, and that was probably just the first of the sleepless nights this kid you put in me is gonna cause,” she teased.

The grin on his face told her he didn’t really feel that bad about it.

*********

When he called Ingrid from the hospital, she told him she would keep Henry overnight. She inquired about Emma and he told her it was likely food poisoning, which wasn’t really being dishonest because the PA had said it was possible a touch of food poisoning might have been involved in making her so sick.

Once they left the hospital around ten o’clock, Killian wanted to drive straight to his house, stating that he didn’t want Emma to be tempted to go to work the next day, but she assured him she was taking the day off and needed to go by her condo to clean it up.

As he was returning the bucket to the kitchen, he noticed a letter laying on the countertop. He took it upstairs with him, where she was rinsing out washcloths she’d used.

“Emma, Love, what is this?” he asked, showing her the paper in his hand.

“Oh yeah, I meant to get back to my landlord about that. My lease is up at the end of the month and I wanted to ask him if I could extend it by a month.”

“Would you consider not extending it?”

“I’m sorry, Babe, my brain is still pretty fuzzy - I’m not following you.”

“Why don’t you just move in with Henry and me? It’s only a few weeks until the wedding and you’re there the majority of the time anyway.”

“Are you sure? I thought you might want to enjoy your last month of bachelorhood before you’re tied down for the rest of your life.”

“I know you’re kidding, but I hope you know I can’t wait to be married to you, and I will never consider it being ‘tied down’.”

“I feel the same way, my love. I guess maybe I was subconsciously putting off calling my landlord because I was thinking the same thing.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want to push you into something you didn’t want…”

“Emma,” he interrupted with a frown, “you know better. I want you with me as much as possible.”

“Okay then, I guess I’ll be moving in within the next couple of weeks.”

He kissed her temple. “Brilliant. Now, why don’t you go straighten up the bedroom and I’ll do the cleaning in here.”

“It’s pretty gross.”

“I don’t mind, and I don’t want you overdoing it. It shouldn’t take long.”

“You’re the best,” she said, squeezing his hand before leaving the room.

“I know,” he cheeked.

**********

Emma went to see the doctor the following Monday, with Killian by her side. They found out she was barely six weeks along, due in March, and were able to hear the heartbeat, which brought tears to both of their eyes. The doctor suggested some natural herbs and ginger to help with the nausea, so Killian stopped by a store to pick some up on the way home.

She had only gotten sick once since going to the hospital, and it was after eating another salad, leading her to believe the baby disliked lettuce. There were several mornings when she felt nauseous, but the herbs, and an anti-nausea wristband Killian bought after doing some research, helped her work through it. They were careful not to talk about her pregnancy around Henry, and Killian had to make a concerted effort not to lay his hand on her flat belly as he loved to do when they were alone.

It didn’t take them long to box up and move her belongings to Storybrooke, since she kept few personal items and most of her clothes were already at Killian’s. Henry was thrilled to have her living there all the time; it allowed them to become quite close and, unbeknownst to him, she and Killian had already filled out the paperwork to adopt him once they were married.

The wedding plans were progressing steadily; the menu was chosen, invitations sent out, and the flowers were selected. Mary Margaret and Ruby threw a bridal shower for Emma at the end of August with a few close friends. They mentioned giving her a bachelorette party, but she realized she would have to explain why she couldn’t drink, so she asked them not to have one, stating that there just wasn’t enough time to fit it in before the wedding.

Killian was secretly making plans for a short honeymoon, which he refused to share with Emma, no matter how much she persisted in asking.

Henry was very excited to be Killian’s best man, even though he really didn’t know what that meant. When he found out he was supposed to give a speech before the toast, he set to work on it right away, refusing to let anyone know what he was writing.

One day when they were in the pet store, Henry came running down the aisle where Killian and Emma were comparing prices on bags of treats. “Look what I found!” he shouted breathlessly. “Can we get them? Can we?”

The couple looked at what he was waving around and started to laugh. In his right hand, he held a doggy tuxedo that would fit Coco, and in his left, a collar covered with flowers for Minnie.

“What do you think, Swan? Would our pets be acceptable as the flower girl and ring bearer?” Killian grinned.

“Of course! But I don’t trust Coco with the ring - he would probably lose it!”

The outfits were purchased, much to Henry’s delight.

They settled into a new routine when school resumed after the Memorial Day weekend. Henry was a little sad not to be in Killian’s class anymore, but still enjoyed riding to and from school with him.

When Emma and Killian thought about how many changes occurred in their lives in such a short time, and how many more were yet to come, it nearly made their heads spin, but they agreed they wouldn’t want it any other way.

*********

“Good morning, Love,” Killian murmured, placing kisses into the crease of Emma’s neck.

“Mmm…good morning,” she replied, turning her face more firmly into the pillow so he had more of her neck to nuzzle. “Are you sure we did the right thing, ignoring superstition by seeing each other the morning of our wedding?”

“I’d rather tempt fate than yawn my way through our wedding ceremony, because I find it impossible to sleep without you in my arms.”

She rolled over to face him, automatically bringing her hands up to card them through his hair. “This is the last morning I’ll wake up as Emma Swan.”

“Aye, it is. Does that bother you?”

“Not in the least. I think Emma Jones has a nice ring to it, don’t you?”

“Absolutely. I can’t wait to introduce you as Mrs. Jones.”

“Who are you planning to introduce to me?”

“Friends, colleagues, total strangers on the street. Anyone who will listen to me brag about my beautiful wife.”

She giggled, then grabbed her phone off the nightstand to check the time. “Ah, Babe. I’ve gotta get in the shower. Marg, Ruby and the hairdresser will be here in less than two hours.” She threw back the covers and got up, going to the dresser to select some underwear.

“What would you like for breakfast, Love?”

“Nothing heavy. I’m getting married today and I want to fit into my dress.”

“It’s not really the fitting into it I’m interested in; I’m more interested in getting you out of it at the end of the day,” he smirked.

She playfully slapped his shoulder on her way to the bathroom. “You have a one-track mind.”

“Can you blame me?” he shouted after her as she closed the door to the bathroom. “Too bloody gorgeous for her own good,” he muttered to himself, just as he heard a knock on his bedroom door.

He climbed out of bed, yawning and stretching as he crossed the room, and opened the door to Henry’s grinning face. “Good morning, lad.”

Henry puffed out his chest. “As your best man, it’s my duty to make sure you’re awake and ready for your wedding day!”

Killian reached out to ruffle his hair. “I am indeed. How would you like to help me make breakfast?”

“Sure! Can we have pancakes?”

“My bride-to-be has requested a light breakfast. How about a smoothie and scrambled eggs?”

“What kind of smoothie?”

“Strawberry-banana?”

“Oh, okay. I’ll peel the bananas!” He took off like a shot into the kitchen, while Killian followed behind him, chuckling.

By the time Emma emerged with her hair wrapped in a towel on top of her head, her boys had breakfast prepared and waiting for her. “You guys spoil me,” she said, taking a sip of her smoothie.

“Nothing is too good for our best girl,” Killian said, kissing her on the cheek before he sat down at the counter beside her.

Henry chattered all the way through breakfast and had to keep being reminded to eat, while Killian noticed Emma picking at her food. When Henry left to brush his teeth, Killian asked, “Are you nervous, or are you not feeling well, Sweetheart?”

“A little of both, I guess.”

“Did you take your herbs this morning?” She shook her head and he quickly went to get the jars out of the cupboard beside the sink.

“I really don’t want to be sick for our wedding day,” she commented, before swallowing the capsules.

Killian quickly checked to make sure Henry wasn’t coming back into the room, then bent to put his face beside Emma’s belly. “Listen to your daddy, Little One, and try not to make your mama sick today. We have a very special day ahead of us and we want to enjoy it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she laughed, stroking her fingers through his hair.

“And you’re beautiful,” he replied, straightening up and kissing the tip of her nose.

“Yeah, real beautiful. No makeup, hair in a towel and green around the gills.”

“Absolutely ravishing.”

“I love you.”

“I know. That’s why I’m marrying you.”

She rolled her eyes, then glanced at the clock on the microwave. “When are you guys leaving to go to Ingrid’s house?”

Killian had made arrangements for the two of them to get ready at Ingrid’s, since Emma and her bridesmaids were using their house, and Henry’s former foster mother had been more than happy to accommodate them.

“We both need to get a shower first, then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“You act like I don’t want you around.”

“I know better than that, but I also know I need to leave or I’ll be a distraction.”

“You are definitely distracting,” she said, running her hands up his chest.

“My teeth are brushed! Should I take my shower now?” Henry asked, running into the room.

“Aye, lad. Hop in the shower and I’ll check to make sure you have everything you need to take to Ingrid’s.”

Half-an-hour later, Killian kissed Emma goodbye, after making sure her stomach had settled; then he and Henry left, taking the dogs with them and passing Mary Margaret and Ruby as soon as they pulled out of the driveway.

*********

The wedding was set for one-thirty in the afternoon, and the weather was a bit overcast, but otherwise beautiful. Fifty guests were seated at the beach as Killian and David made their way down the dune to take their places.

Killian shifted from foot-to-foot, anxiously awaiting his bride’s appearance. The first to join him was Henry, who was in charge of Minnie and Coco. The dogs were excited to see all the guests and wanted to stop and sniff each one of them, which made Henry’s job much more difficult. David finally helped him drag the pets to the front, while the people in attendance chuckled.

Ruby made her way down the beach next, closely followed by Mary Margaret, as soft violin music was provided by Killian’s good friend Aurora, who was the music teacher from his school.

Once the wedding party was settled, Killian turned his eyes back to the top of the path, where Emma appeared. His mouth went dry as he took in her hair, which was styled into an updo with loose tendrils framing her face, and her long, ivory satin gown. The strapless column gown had a ruched bodice, and the attached tulle cape fluttered behind her in the breeze.

She glided down the dune, her eyes fastened on the man who would be her husband in a matter of minutes. He couldn’t keep himself from meeting her halfway, taking her hand to press a kiss to the back of it, then offering her his arm. They took their place in front of the pastor, who greeted everyone and began the ceremony.

The reception was held at a small banquet hall in the heart of Storybrooke. The guests were served a late afternoon meal, followed by all the traditional activities - throwing the bouquet and garter, cutting the cake to feed to each other, and the first dance.

One highlight of the reception was Henry’s best man speech, which he read from a tattered piece of paper he’d obviously spent a lot of time writing on and erasing. “This is my first time being a best man, so I searched how to make a toast, but I had to alter it when the results said to start with a piece of bread.”

Laughter rang out around the room before Henry continued. “My new results said to start by telling how I met the groom. I met Killian the first day of school last year when I started third grade and he was my teacher. Actually, I had seen him around school before I was in his class, but I really didn’t know him. Anyway, he was my teacher and now he’s my foster father and Emma is, well, I guess she’s my foster mother now. I also have two foster dogs - Minnie and Coco, and they all take care of me.”

“When I didn’t have a dad anymore, Killian let me come live with him and even gave me my own bedroom. He plays games with me, lets me help cook and a whole bunch of other stuff. He even let me help him ask Emma to marry him, and she said yes.”

He stopped and got a strange look on his face. “But I guess you guys figured that out since you’re all here at their wedding today.” He grinned as the crowd laughed again.

“Another thing Google told me was to tell funny stories about the groom, so I’ll tell this one. One day when it was almost the end of the school year, we were in study hall and Killian’s cell phone rang. When he answered it, he must have accidentally hit the speaker button because we all heard Emma say, ‘How is your day going, my love?’ We all laughed and Mr. Jones, I mean, Killian’s face got really red. Now I’m used to it because she calls him that all the time. And she kisses him all the time, which is actually kinda gross.”

Once the room was quiet again after another outburst of laughter, Henry concluded his speech by saying, “Some people might think it’s weird for a teacher to let his student live at his house, but that’s the way Killian is. He’s really nice and helpful, and he has a super cool car. Emma is just as nice as he is, and she helps me prank him sometimes.” Killian teasingly glared at him for that remark and Henry’s grin widened.

“I’m really excited that they got married, because now I’ll have a dad and a mom, and I haven’t had that since I was six years old.” He consulted his paper again, so he missed the looks of sympathy directed at him by some of the guests. “So let’s, um,” he paused and picked up his glass of white grape juice, “let’s raise a glass to Killian and Emma. May they have a long and happy life together!”

The guests raised their glasses and, after taking their own drinks of white grape juice, cleverly disguised as champagne, Emma and Killian gave Henry a big hug, thanking him for his great toast.

When Emma shared a dance with Henry, his small hands resting on her waist while she laid hers on his shoulders, Killian watched with pride. He pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his tuxedo trousers to snap a few pictures, while they talked and laughed with each other, as if they were the only two people in the room.

The day passed quickly, and soon Killian was tucking his new bride into his car after saying goodbye to Henry, who, along with his canine companions, was staying with Ingrid for the week while the couple was on their honeymoon.

Killian carried Emma across the threshold of their house, trying not to be distracted by her unbuttoning his tuxedo shirt. “I love being your wife,” she breathed into his ear.

“I hope you always feel that way, Sweetheart.”

“I have no doubt I will. You make me so happy, my love.”

He concentrated on maneuvering them through the darkened house to their bedroom, then laid her on the bed, caging her in with his arms. “I don’t think I knew what true happiness was until I met you, Love.” Her answering smile lit up the room, whose only other source of illumination was the full moon shining through the open blinds.

“Make love to me, husband.”

“With pleasure, wife.”

They took their time stripping one another out of their wedding clothes, lavishly kissing, sucking and licking at the skin being revealed.

“You looked bloody tantalizing in this dress all day,” he said, slowly pulling the zipper down.

“You like it?”

“It was made for you. I will never forget the image of you coming down that hill, with the cape flowing out behind you, looking absolutely breathtaking.”

“Mmm, and seeing you in that tux is something I won’t forget either. So handsome and sexy, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

“I would despair if you did,” he smirked.

“Yeah, but now I just want you out of it,” she replied, undoing the last button of his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. When she unfastened and removed his prosthesis without pausing in her efforts to suck a bruise in the soft skin under his collarbone, Killian’s throat constricted a little. She was so comfortable with his handicap that she never seemed to give it a second thought.

In time, every barrier between them was removed and he bent to press small kisses to her belly, showing his love for the growing baby within. “Your mommy and I are married now, little one.”

“Yes, and now your daddy and I are going to do some celebrating.”

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate to tell her that, Swan.”

Emma noticed his use of the pronoun, but didn’t draw any attention to it, wanting to return to their very pleasurable foreplay. She pushed herself up and encouraged him to roll over onto his back, then straddled his midsection, with his erection nestled in the cleft of her ass. She bent forward to rest her forearms on his chest, cradling his face in her hands. “I love you, Killian,” she whispered, before kissing him thoroughly.

“I love you too, Emma,” he panted, when she paused to take a breath, “but you are going to be the death of me!” His hand and stump were squeezing her backside as she rubbed it against his cock, making him almost painfully hard.

“We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?” she said slyly, reaching down between them to take him in hand. After swiping the head through her folds for some lubrication, she lifted her hips, lined herself up, and sank down around him.

As his eyes rolled back at the sensation of being buried within the heat of his love, she planted her hands on his chest and pushed her knees out wider on the bed to take him even deeper. His groan made her smile, knowing that she had him completely under her control.

She began rotating her pelvis in small circles, which grew increasingly bigger as she leaned back and rested her hands on his thighs. He gripped her hips and thrust up into her, her sultry actions making his movements almost frantic, so great was his need to bring her satisfaction before he fell over the edge himself.

“Fuck, Emma! I…I can’t…”

“Then…don’t, my love. Just…let go.” Her hips were pumping up and down, his shaft nearly slipping out of her with every pass. When she brought her hands up to begin fondling her own breasts while making deep, throaty moans, it was nearly his undoing. Quickly, his fingers found her clit, rubbing and pinching it roughly. “Killian!” she screamed, beginning to shake with her impending release.

Somehow he managed to reverse their positions, momentarily slipping out of her, but quickly plunging back in as soon as he was on top. He drove into her spasming quim relentlessly while she gripped his forearms, holding on for the extremely sensual ride. When she climaxed, her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow, too overwhelmed with pleasure to form coherent words.

Killian saw the flush of her orgasm move up her chest and into her face as he continued to pump erratically a few more times until he was spilling himself into her depths. Not wanting to collapse on top of her, he rolled them again until she was sprawled over him, sated and boneless.

They remained that way for several minutes, the exhaustion from the emotional day and their intense lovemaking rendering them almost immobile. Finally, he was able to move his arms, wrapping around his wife to pull her even closer.

“I will never get enough of you, my love,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose into the crease of his shoulder.

“Nor I of you, Sweetheart. Every time with you is a new experience.”

“Well, it was our first time as a married couple.”

“Mmhmm. I love calling you my wife!”

She giggled. “I kinda noticed. Every time you introduced me to one of your colleagues from school, you always said, ‘this is my wife, Emma’.”

He grinned. “I can’t help it. I’m just so proud to be able to say that.”

“I don’t mind in the least, Babe. I feel the same way.”

They cuddled for a while longer, before getting cleaned up and settling back into bed. “What time are we leaving tomorrow?” she asked, her cheek pressed against his chest as his hand rubbed lazy circles into her shoulder.

“Whenever we wake up and get ready to go. We’re staying in an Airbnb, so we have an open check-in time. It will take us almost four hours to get there.”

“Are you gonna tell me where we’re going now?”

“Don’t you want to wait until morning?”

“I think I’ve waited long enough,” she pouted. “Besides, I have to pack!”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’re staying in Cape Cod. It will be a scenic drive and we should be able to do some whale watching leaving from Provincetown, since they migrate around this time of the year.”

Emma pushed up to lean on her elbow and look into his face. “That sounds perfect! I knew I married you for a reason!”

“Only for that?” he asked, giving her a mock glare.

“Hmmm…” she hummed, tapping her finger against her chin. “Yep, pretty much!”

“Is that so?”

“Unless you can give me another one,” she teased.

He growled and tackled her to the mattress, peppering her throat with kisses and tickling her until she begged for mercy. Soon enough, her giggles turned to moans of pleasure as he proved that there was at least one other very good reason why she married him.

*********

They enjoyed a wonderful honeymoon week, taking in the sights, hiking the trails around their rental house, exploring lighthouses and the whaling museum, and sampling the cuisine in Massachusetts. They went on a whale watching tour one afternoon and were fortunate enough to see some of the huge animals. Killian made sure to take a video of the experience on his phone to show Henry later.

Mostly though, they spent hours tangled up with each other in bed or on the huge sectional in the living room, satisfying their carnal desires or simply lying in each other’s arms as they talked quietly about their future together.

Emma had a short bout of morning sickness one day and Killian never left her side, holding her hair back as she emptied the contents of her stomach, then tenderly tucking her into bed afterwards. She found herself falling in love with him even more, which she didn’t think was possible.

When they headed home the following Saturday, it was with mixed feelings. They missed Henry and their pets while they were gone, but they knew they would also miss the lazy days of being together without any obligations.

*********

They decided to tell Henry about their plans to adopt him and about the baby the day after they got back from their honeymoon, so following lunch, they sat down with him on the sofa.

Killian cleared his throat. “Henry, we have a couple of things we want to tell you.”

“Okay,” he said, looking back and forth between them. “What’s up?”

Emma took his hand and said, “First of all, we want to tell you that Killian and I are going to have a baby!”

His reaction wasn’t what they were expecting. Instead of being excited, his face fell, and all he said was, “Oh.”

Emma shared a confused look with her husband, then suddenly connected the dots and looked stricken. “Henry, look at me,” she implored. When he did, her heart sank at seeing the sadness in them. “Oh, Henry, this baby isn’t taking your place in our family; no one can do that.”

Killian touched him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Henry, our second piece of news is to tell you we’ve filed the paperwork to adopt you, which should be finalized in a few months.”

“You…you’re adopting me?” he squeaked, the sadness falling away as hope and happiness began to take its place.

“Are you alright with that?” Killian asked.

In response, the boy threw himself into Killian’s arms. “Thank you!” he exclaimed, then pulled away to turn and hug Emma, too.

After several moments, she held him at arm’s length to look into his eyes again. “Henry, I told you the story about my foster family giving me back when they found out they were having a baby of their own, remember? We would never do something like that to you. We love you and already consider you to be our son; all we need to do is wait for it to become legal.”

“You’re going to be the best big brother to this baby, lad,” Killian added.

“I’ve always wanted a brother or sister. Do you know which one it’s going to be?”

“Not yet,” Emma answered. “We’ve been discussing whether or not we should find out and were hoping you could help us make that decision.”

Henry sat back and looked thoughtful. “Well, is the baby gonna have its own room?”

“Eventually, when he or she gets a little bigger, they’ll have the room beside yours,” Killian explained.

“If we found out, we would know how to decorate it. If it’s a boy, it could be like mine, and if it’s a girl…well, I guess it could still be like mine!”

Emma and Killian laughed. “Aye, that’s true enough.”

“We would also know what kind of clothes to get for the baby,” Emma added.

“Yeah, but it would be kinda cool to be surprised and wait until it’s born, too,” Henry said, chewing his lip as he contemplated.

“We don’t have to decide right now,” Killian said. “It will be another month or so before we can find out, anyway.”

“When is the baby gonna be born?” Henry questioned.

“In March, right around the time of our Spring Break,” Killian told him.

Henry grinned, then called for Coco and Minnie, who were laying on the rug in front of the fireplace. “Guess what guys? We’re gonna have a baby brother or sister! Isn’t that cool?”

As the dogs licked his face, overjoyed at whatever was making their young master happy, Emma and Killian shared a smile, content with their little family and eager to meet the newest member in a few months.

*********

Emma’s wedding gown

Thank you for reading, commenting, liking and reblogging!

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#cs ff #cs fanfiction #for the sake of henry #jrob64 #chapter 10 #CS fic #captain swan fan fiction #ouat captain swan fanfic #captain swan angst #Angst with a happy ending #school teacher Killian #social worker Emma #Child Abuse/Neglect

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creativeashproductions · 4 years ago

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Curiosity // Luke Patterson

Summary: After filling up another journal designed his songbook Luke is left empty handed. With the offer to a shelf of blanket journals is given he’s immediately choosing. But Luke’s curiosity leads him to a discovery. In other words Luke finds Perfect Harmony in Reader’s bedroom.

Requested: Yes by @averyharrypotterlife

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.7 (including lyrics)

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the 5000+ followers whether it was years ago and you didn’t unfollow or in the future. Thank you for enjoying and interacting in something I’ve always loved: writing.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

Luke’s always been a curious person going as far back as his early childhood. The most consistent evidence being during the Christmas holidays. Until he was ten, yes, he’s aware that his friends stopped believing in Santa way earlier. The young lad would stay up hidden in the living room waiting to catch Santa. Without fail, Luke would wake up in his outer space planet sheets having fallen asleep in his mission.

When he was twelve years old, he was left at his aunt and uncle’s house for the weekend due to a work-related thing. His older cousin was eighteen at the time and at college, so Luke stayed in his bedroom. Luke couldn’t help but snoop through Bryan’s personal items, and in a drawer with a false bottom, he discovered magazines.

Luke had a lot of fun that weekend diligently going through the magazines his mother would skin his hide even knowing about them. He may have had to use the excuse of having a cold for the entire box of Kleenex missing. No one was the wiser on that weekend.

Now when Luke was fourteen years old, he had snuck into the Rated R film Candyman with Alex and Reggie. Luke’s parents had been strict in their rules and definitely had shot down the question of seeing the film. The three didn’t sleep with the lights out for a month after that, and the truth came out when no lie was sufficient to their concerned parents.

Luke Patterson didn’t care about boundaries. Why ask for permission when you can just ask for forgiveness? It worked with going through Julie’s dream box, but all personal items got hidden from the ghostly guitarist.

“No!” Luke exclaimed flipping through his song journal once more in hopes of a blank page. The frustration in his body snapping the pencil he had been using.

“You good?” You questioned glancing up from the essay you graded as a teacher’s assistant for an AP course. Luke’s frustrated brown met yours with a cute pout on his lips.

“I’ve filled my journal up. I hate using loose-leaf, but no money means no buying things.” Luke roughly scrubbed one hand on his face.

“You could always just forever borrow one from the- “Luke quickly shot that down with a look of absolute horror, “Okay…so stealing a no.”

“I did listen to my parents on certain aspects. I would never steal anything, other than the food when we didn’t have enough cash.” Luke’s brown hue had softened back into the hazel that caused flutters in your heart, “I have no respect for thieves.”

You nodded before scribbling a suggestion on the paper in dark red, “I have a shelf in my room dedicated solely to blank journals. If you want to, you can take one free of charge.”

With a quick smile, Luke disappeared from the room to your personal domain he sometimes hung out with you in. You had no misgivings on the teen finding solace in your room and gave him free rein; your prized possessions hidden very well.

Luke appeared in the soft blue and lilac bedroom with the queen white iron wrought style bed in the middle. A white desk in the corner with a multitude of bookcases and shelves in the room. The desk chair neatly pushed into the desk as well he went straight to the shelf.

Journals of all colours and styles with a label on the shelf noting them as empty. It was packed with dozens, but it was the midnight blue one that called to the boy. In his reach, he bumped an emerald green one off the edge. It opened having hit the edge of the desk.

As he leaned down, he noticed notations in the margins, now remember how Luke is a curious guy? He only hesitated a second before he was reading the pages of words in your signature script.

The guilt flared for a second before he justified it as being on the shelf you declared free game. So Luke settled sitting criss-cross against the side of your bed reading the words so eloquently written. Even notes allowed Luke to hear the melody in his mind.

Assignment: Write a piece of literature from two points of views. Genre doesn’t matter as long as it is a minimum of one page and not exceed eight.

Step into my world

Bittersweet love story ’bout a girl

Shook me to the core

Voice like an angel

I’ve never heard before

The words took his breath away, recalling a moment he gushed to Alex on how he had caught you singing. He had described your voice as being angelic, and it took him by complete surprise. He remembered Julie, and you entered the room shortly after with a nervous feeling if you had heard. Now Luke had his answer. His phantom heart pounded in anticipation for the reply to this first point of view.

Here in front of me

They’re shining so much brighter

Than I have ever seen

Life can be so mean

But when he goes, I know he doesn’t leave

The smile threatened to split his face with the elation as he continued reading with a subconscious hum. His fingers tapping the sides of the paper as his hazel irises tinged green ate up the words.

The truth is finally breaking through

Two worlds collide when I’m with you

Our voices rise and soar so high

We come to life when we’re

In perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

The world faded as Luke distinctly heard your angelic voice singing the parts he could easily recognize as perfect for you. There was something so powerful in this incredibly personal song only intended for your eyes and your teachers.

The next handful of lines left him breathless and astonished as he visualized not sitting across from each other. But engaging in another art form that can be so incredibly intimate for people; he imagined singing this while holding you in his arms.

You set me free

You and me together is more than chemistry

Love me as I am

I’ll hold your music here inside my hands

We say we’re friends, we play pretend

You’re more to me, we’re everything

Our voices rise and soar so high

We come to life when we’re

In perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Luke went from humming to softly singing to the heartfelt tune with a flutter of butterflies deep in his stomach. When Julie saw Unsaid Emily, he had denied it as an experiment, and it was the truth. Luke wrote rock anthems and rock-pop with his living friend. He never dabbled into romantic ones.

He’d never read something so poetically beautiful it felt him weeping at the sheer amount of feelings.

I feel your rhythm in my heart

Yeah yeah yeah

You are my brightest burning star

Whoah whoah oh

I never knew a love so real (so real)

We’re heaven on earth

Melody and words

When we’re together we’re

In perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

We say we’re friends (we play pretend)

You’re more to me (we create)

Perfect harmony

His eyes found the last line of the song setting him back in a dead silence returning to the start to reread it. On his third read, he found the notes from your teacher on a separate page.

Y/N, in my years of teaching, I’ve never read something with such meaning behind it. The longing, passion, respect and love you artfully encapsulated is rare. To have written, this means you’ve felt this. No corrects needed, and I felt compelled to not mark on the piece. Thank you for being vulnerable with me, for letting me step inside your mind and please never let this emotion fade.

Your grade is A+.

Luke’s lips pulled apart at the genuine words your teacher had written because it indeed was a word of art. Carefully Luke returned the notebook back to the shelf to retrieve the blue one that caught his attention. AS he turned, he found you leaning against the door frame with a soft smile.

“I am so sor-“

“No.” You replied, walking into the room, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I told you any notebook on that shelf. I can’t get mad, and I’ve seen you can’t leave something half-read.”

“Probably why my book reports were insanely well done in school.” Luke joked as you stepped in his personal space. The tension faded from his shoulders as he took in your features, “You got a perfect grade.”

“I did.” You simply spoke, staring up into his eyes, “You helped me with it.”

“How?”

“You told Alex what you felt about my voice. You looked nervous when I walked in, so I let it go. It wasn’t the time to bring it up. It’s called Perfect Harmony.” You told the ghost gently grazing your fingertips on his hand. The feeling sends shudders down his spine.

“I guess it just wasn’t the right time. With the band and-“

“-the whole soul owning thing. Too much but now that you’ve read that…what do you feel?” You hesitantly asked because reading it and discovering how someone feels is another to if the feelings are reciprocated back.

“That I was always meant to live in 2020. That I was meant to love you with every atom in my very being.” Luke murmured before he crashed his lips onto your own in a searing kiss that had your toe-curling.

The midnight blue journal dropped to the floor as his large calloused hands cupped your face to feel the warmth. The very journal would be filled with songs all about this person, Luke adored not matter his state as a ghost. Two worlds collided just as two souls came together in perfect harmony.

So, wrapped up in each other Luke didn’t notice something magical encased in the warm love. In the bedroom, the two teens were kissing in had two distinct heartbeats with a glow emanating from Luke Patterson.

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#luke patterson imagines #luke patterson x reader #julie and the phantoms imagines #charlie gillespie imagines #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #caitsy and ash productions

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onbeinganangel · 4 years ago

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warmup ficlet for @the-starryknight! she picked 'i know we’re not together but i might die today so i’m going to kiss you just in case there is no later' from this wee list of kisses and asked me to drarry it up and I rubbed my hands together in glee knowing fully well i was about to put together a hell of an angst sandwich

not beta'd, not edited, just angst with a happy ending directly from my heart to yours! (cw: some canon-style mentions of blood, violence, injury and also kind of patient/healer relationship)

damned if you do it and damned if you don’t

(draco/harry, 1.8k)

Draco had pictured it so often throughout his life he sometimes couldn’t honestly believe he had made it all the way to twenty-seven.

He remembers saying it after being thrown on his arse by the family Abraxan. He’d been very little, then. Five or six, maybe. He’d cried, big fat tears running down his face, and when his Mother finally managed to pull his tiny fists down and stop him from hiding his crying behind them, he’d announced, “Maman, I am dying.” She had assured him he very much wasn’t. They’d had scones with big heaped spoonfuls of clotted cream and raspberry jam in the garden and he’d soon forgotten about his fall.

A few years later, he fell off his broom and straight into the lake. Dobby had spelled him dry to avoid him getting in trouble and he was still heaving, coughing up water and panicking when he told the Elf, “Dobby, I am dying.”

Then there was the incident at Hogwarts. He still felt the sharp talons on his skin way after the hippogriff was far, far away, as he bled, holding onto the gashes on his arm and announced to the whole class, “I am dying, it’s killed me!”

Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, it was more constant. It was the heavy burn of the Mark settling on his arm, it was the feeling of all his organs lighting up in pain and his bones breaking under Crucio after Crucio, it was the sounds of Nagini slithering outside his bedroom door at night, the sickening thud of death, the unsettling screaming, his aunt’s shrill nails-on-chalkboard voice, Greyback’s growls. A neverending chant of “I am dying, I am dying, I am dying, I am dying” inside his head.

It was confiding in a ghost, it was crying because the fear of failure was so intense he reckons he would have preferred to be dead then, it was the only person he believed was actually kind and pure and incapable of willingly inflicting pain on anyone slashing him open and leaving him for dead on a bathroom floor. Draco had looked at Snape, murmuring spell after spell over him, and he’d whispered, “I am dying.”

It was learning how to be numb, how to not feel, how to keep everyone out of his mind and away from his thoughts, it was the paralysing terror of crawling around in the shadows, the bone-deep dread of dropping leftover bread rolls on the floor by the bars on the dungeon and kicking them swiftly into the other side, where they kept his classmates. It was sneaking a blanket or two down and saying to himself, “If they find out…”

It was the persistent horror of knowing you don’t believe in what you’re doing and knowing you’re damned if you do it and damned if you don’t. Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, Draco would lie in his bed at night — his own at home, his own in the dorms, Pansy’s in the girls’ dorms when it got bad, and he would say it to himself, hoping it would become true, “I am dying.”

But he hadn’t. Despite all odds, Draco is happy. Twenty-seven. He’s got friends, a flat, a job he loves and he’s good at. He’s no longer spat at on the streets. He survived, he made amends, he managed it all. Most of all, he had managed not to die.

Until now, that is. This time he’s pretty certain he won’t be afforded such luck. He feels the curse hit him square on the chest. It’s his own fault, really, for not realising there was someone already in the room he entered. He’d been too busy throwing a rather flourished Incarcerous across the room at the two potions dealers he’d been running after for the past five minutes to notice the third man.

Draco is falling backwards before he has time to even think about anything, his wand clanking noisily seconds before he joins it on the floor.

Then: “Incarcerous.” He hears it — muffled but there. And after, “Fuck, Draco.”

He’s way too familiar with the way his Auror partner works not to know it’s him when the strong arms wrap around him and pull him up. “Oh, Merlin,” he hears. His eyes flutter back open for a couple of seconds and he can tell he was right, even if it’s all blurry: red robes, orange hair, worried blue eyes.

Fear. “I am dying,” he thinks. “Harry,” he says.

“You’re gonna see Harry alright,” Ron says. “He’s gonna have words about having to heal you again,” it’s almost like a joke. Like a Ronald-typical joke. But there’s an edge of worry there. There’s panic. Ronald doesn’t panic.

And it dawns on him. Draco tries to look down but it’s all red. The burgundy of his robes, the sticky dark red of drying blood on his hands and the fresh and vivid blood still pouring out of his chest. He’s not gonna make it to St. Mungo’s, he’s never going to make it to Harry.

“I am dying,” he says, and Ron makes a noise that can only be described as half agony, half agreement.

It smells like St. Mungo’s when he wakes up thinking “I am dying.” Very faintly, he hears the same voice he always hears in his dreams. Maybe he is dead. The voice never sounds like this in his dreams, though: disembodied, frantic, quick. Draco catches half words, half sentences, half conversations that don’t make sense. A different voice is saying “just do it” and “you’re powerful enough” and “sod protocol” and “I am his partner, I brought him here.” The voice from his dreams responds with things like “unstable” and “I don’t know” and “can you please try” and a “I can’t get in touch with her” and “not without consent forms” and a louder, angry “he’s not going to d—“

Draco tries to move towards the voice.

“Draco!” Says the first voice and three pairs of feet come towards him.

“Don’t try to open your eyes, don’t try to talk, don’t try to move, okay? We have stopped the bleeding for now, but we’re still trying to reverse the curse.”

“Harry.” His Harry.

“Yes, hello. We have got to stop meeting like this.”

“I am dying,” Draco croaks out.

“I won’t let you.”

Draco wants to speak. He wants to say “I am dying, I don’t want to die without telling you,” but he has no strength. His thoughts are going faster than the newest Firebolt as he hears Harry tell whoever else is in the room (Ron?) to leave. He wonders if this is it. This what they show you in the films: your life flashing before your eyes right before you die. He thinks of Harry shaking his hand after his Auror graduation ceremony. “Well done, Malfoy,” he’d said. He thinks of that first time he’d been invited over to Ron and Hermione’s, a few weeks after he became Ron’s partner, and Harry had laughed at his stories, lips wine-red and plump, eyes kind like he’d never expected. He thinks of every moment of almost in between them, every moment where Draco considered blurting it out, saying what was on his mind. The Christmas Gala as he towered over Harry and fixed the little chain on his robes for him, and that night at that dingy club for Hermione’s birthday where they’d stared at each other for forty minutes and when Draco had decided he couldn’t take it anymore, he found out that Harry had left. Or just last month when they’d gone out to buy a housewarming present for Luna and ended up eating leftovers on Harry’s sofa, exhausted from people and walking. There are too many. Too many instances of hesitation, too many “nearly-but-not-quites.”

And he’ll die and won’t ever get the chance to tell him, to kiss his handsome, stupid, precious face, and it aches — it hurts almost as much as that spot just to the left of his breastbone where the Curse had hit, where he was profusely bleeding not long ago.

“Closer,” he manages, very quietly.

Harry approaches, but not close enough, not even close enough for Draco to grab at him.

“Cl— clos—uh—closer,” he tries again.

And Harry’s right there, by his bed and he looks beautiful in his Healer robes (unheard of, really) and Draco is blinking his view into a sharper focus and listing all the things he knows he loves, the things he doesn’t want to forget: the white-ish storm of a scar that slashes through Harry’s eyebrow, the shiny (shinier than usual?) green eyes, the touch of stubble, the slightly crooked nose, the lips — oh, the lips, plump and sweet looking and Draco will never get to find out just how sweet. And then, he has to do it. Because if he’s going to die anyway, he may as well use his last breath on this.

He pushes himself off the pillow slightly and his hand pulls Harry’s green robes closer until their lips meet, clumsily and hard — Harry not expecting it, Draco waning from the efforts of pulling Harry closer, but Draco will die knowing he’s kissed Harry. And if there’s no later, at least he’s done it. At least Harry knows.

“Stop. You’ll hurt yourself,” Harry says, and pushes him back down. Gently, like everything he does.

“But—“

“I know, darling. Me too.”

Darling? Harry… too?

“I’m going to heal you, okay? I’m going to heal you and we’ll do that again. I’ll take you to dinner, or brunch, I know you like brunch. Or just coffee. We’ll go to the pictures. I’ll hold your hand. We’ll go flying. We’ll go clubbing and I’ll dance with you, I promise I will, and I’ll let you tell me how bad I am. I’ll find you a copy of that book you were talking about with Hermione, no matter how much it costs. I’ll throw my name around if I have to, okay? And we’re going to do that again, properly. When I’m not your healer and you’re not hurting. I’m going to heal you now, you just—“ he stops, then, breathing wild and panicked.

Then, a small sob. A kiss to his forehead. Draco doesn’t remember closing his eyes.

“You just hold on, yeah? Don’t go anywhere.”

And Draco would cry if he had the strength, he would say yes to all those plans and more, but he focuses on the feeling of Harry’s magic sinking into his body like and he holds on, just like he was told to. He holds on, even if he doesn’t know exactly to what. And he thinks maybe he’ll get lucky again, and he’ll stop picturing himself dead like he’s been doing his whole life. Harry’s magic feels like love, like poetry, like cascading words of affection whispered into the space between his ribs, it feels like hope. And Draco holds on and thinks to himself, as loud as a thought can go, “I am not dying.”

#i may actual edit this and pop it on ao3?#i kind of like it?#thank you starry baby for this delicious prompt #warmup ficlets #drarry #m writes #angst with a happy ending #cw blood #cw injury #cw violence

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Crown For Two {1}

Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU

Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes,

Words: 6.1k

Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.

Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”

Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated.

This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.

As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.

Note: All right, all right people, the ride begins. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a note, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.

As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

***Picture Heavy***

Chapter One

“You were supposed to be on your way home.”

You rolled your eyes as you scoffed. You’d mentioned nights ago that you thought you should just go home, but then you went to your next destination. It was a moment of weakness or it could have been loneliness. Your schedule took a lot out of you. No one saw it because it was all behind the scenes. All anyone ever saw were the incredible places you went to, the fun things you experienced, and the culture you soaked up. What they grasped was whatever you posted in your pictures.

“You know I can’t. I started this series, and it’s gotten the eye of a lot of sponsors, and one of them is even talking about some really big ideas at the end of it if it goes really well. that could be incredible for my brand,” you explained.

Anika sighed loudly. You knew she was annoyed with you right now, especially it being December.

“I know you’re disappointed. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Whatever.”

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. It looks like we’re headed right into a storm. We’ll be experiencing a little turbulence as we veer off course a little bit as we try to evade this thing. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

You sighed while buckling your seatbelt, preparing for what was coming.

“What’s happening?”

“Going through some turbulence. It should be fine,” you assured your sister.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to hang up.”

You nodded to the flight attendant and promptly ended the call promising your sister that you’d call her back when you landed in Sandvell. As soon as you hung up, the turbulence began. It started out with slight bumps, that you could sip your drink through. Then graduated to bigger bumps that had you gripping the elbow rests. When the entire plane started to shake, your heart leaped into your throat. One minute passed, then two, and after five minutes or so, the speaker came back on.

“Ladies and gentleman, your captain again. We’re going to be landing shortly. This storm is not one to be messed with. I apologize for the inconvenience, folks, but on this airline, we choose safety above all else.”

You weren’t going to argue with him. You definitely didn’t want to risk your life over getting to your next destination. What was a one or two day delay? Once the pilot got to a lower altitude, the majority of the turbulence subsided. It was another ten minutes before the plane landed, but when it did, all you could see from the window was white overcast with darkness.

When you had your belongings gathered and began walking off the plane along with the other fifty or so passengers, you tried to find cell service, but you had zero bars.

“Excuse me, where are we?”

“Uh—I’m actually not sure, ma’am. Patricia, where are we?”

The two flight attendants looked puzzled. The second asked a third, and that third asked another. None of them seemed to know. That was not a good sign, you thought. Once you’d walked down the long corridor that served as the connection between the airport and the plane, you found yourself in one of the classiest airports you’d ever been in, and you’d been inside quite a few as a travel blogger. As far as the eye could see, it was class, with the exception of the floor.

You looked around you and marveled at the detail in the design that was around you. Where most airports were mainly logically designed without lavishness. This one looked like lavishness was the first priority. The floors looked to be made from the finest paonazzetto marble. You remembered the name because of the substantial time you’d spent in Italy trying to capture architecture through your camera lens. Reaching for your camera around your neck, you began snapping a few frames of the floor. Getting lost in picture taking, you found yourself at one of the many glass windows snapping pictures of the airplanes on the tarmac.

Hearing the commotion of raised voices behind you, you looked back and saw the passengers of the plane you’d just disembarked from gathered in a huddle. You walked back toward them in time to catch a question from a concerned passenger.

“How long are we delayed? When will we get back in the air? I have to get to Sandvell.”

A man wearing a mixture of royal blue and white colors cleared his throat then spoke. “I apologize, ladies and gentlemen, for the delay. There is a storm heading right for us on the path to Sandvell. Continuing through it would be lunacy. Our only viable option is to wait it out.”

No one seemed to like that answer. All the questions flew out at once. All their voices overlapped, and you could tell that the gentleman was overwhelmed by not only the volume of questions but also their voices.

“According to our team here, we’re expecting possibly a twenty-four to thirty-six-hour delay.”

Everyone groaned in unison, everyone but you. You’d traveled enough to always expect the unexpected. Things like this didn’t bother you so much now, three years into your career. The only thing that bothered you now was that you’d have to rearrange your hotel plans as well as finding somewhere to sleep tonight.

“You said here,” you began with all eyes trained to you. “Where exactly is here?”

The gentleman cleared his throat again. “Brexendor.”

The crowd murmured as they looked at each other. Clearly, no one had ever heard of Brexendor. Some even pulled out their travel map to scour it for the country.

“So what are we supposed to do now? Where do we stay?”

“We are in the process of arranging accommodations at one of the inns within the capital. If you all would work with us so we have your names to get your luggage to you in a timely fashion so you can be shuttled over to the Inn, that would be appreciated.”

Everyone filed into a line in front of one of the four airport staff, hoping to hurry matters along while you searched your phone for any information on where you were. When you typed in Brexendor into the search engine, the first thing that popped up was a map of the country. Apparently, it was next door to Sandvell. They were considered sister countries.

“Population three million, run as a monarchy, considered one of the wealthiest countries in the world. Average life expectancy one hundred and ten years. Well, damn.”

Someone clearing their throat brought your attention up in front of you. You were next in line.

“Sorry.”

The woman with brown eyes and blonde hair smiled warmly. “It’s all right, Ms--.”

“Uh, Thornton, Xari Thornton.” You handed her your passport and boarding pass and waited as she scrolled through her tablet.

“Ah yes, Ms. Thornton. Here is your paperwork. On it, you will find where you can retrieve your luggage and the shuttle number that will be taking you to the Inn. Once at the Inn, just provide your name, and you will find everything has been taken care of. On behalf of Brexendor Aviation, we humbly apologize for this snafu.”

Her customer service training was on point, you thought. Her smile was warm, as if she really meant the words she’d just said. Finding it refreshing, you took the paperwork and proceeded to where she was motioning. Everyone you passed as you walked the fancy halls had a warm smile plastered to their face and even warmer words of welcome. You felt as if you’d stepped through into some alternate universe. You made a voice note about everything you encountered. You wanted to make sure you captured your authentic feelings and reactions in real-time. It made writing about your experience on the blog page easier. You’d even found that readers and supporters liked the play by play with your added thoughts. They commented it added personality.

Once you’d made it to the baggage claim area, your jaw dropped at the change in décor. There were Christmas trees that sparsely decorated the space, and they were all lit with the same blue, silver, and white theme. It contrasted with the latte color of the leather seats and the cream offset tables. The design gave the space an elegant but also comfortable vibe. When you slipped into one of the chairs, you released an audible moan. It was like sitting on a cloud.

After gathering your luggage, you followed instructions through a hall lined with Christmas trees, stopping every so often to take a few pictures before you made it to the front of the airport. As you stepped outside, your eyebrows shot up seeing the fresh snow cascading from the sky. The bite in the air had you bundling your jacket tighter, but it did not stop you from snapping a few pictures. One turned to ten and ten to fifteen until another person clearing their throat brought you back to reality and to the waiting bus ahead of you.

You took a break from pictures and called the hotel in Sandvell, hoping to alter the dates of your stay. What you expected to be a hassle and a long drawn out process ending in them saying they were booked and nothing could be done, turned out to be quick, easy, and painless. The Luxembourg Hotel assured you that your room would still be available and there would be no charge for the altered dates. You made another note on your phone, a point you had to stress when you wrote your piece.

You continued snapping pictures from the window of the bus with an easy mind. Everything you passed seemed like it didn’t belong. It all looked so old fashioned but so modern all at the same time. The buildings looked to have been standing since the beginning of time in the materials they’d been built in, but the displays were from the twenty-first century. It was the most exciting contradiction. The only word you could think to describe it was—quaint.

When the bus drove over a bridge, you got a semi-bird’s eye view of the town across the water, and your jaw nearly dropped.

“Brexendor? What the hell?”

The entire drive had you widening your eyes like a child seeing an insane amount of presents on Christmas morning. Buildings were decked out in Christmas lights, and every door had a wreath with blue and silver Christmas ornaments. Almost every few feet, the sidewalks were decorated with poinsettia trees that were half the average human’s height, and the way the freshly fallen snow-dusted their tops only made it even more perfect.

By the time the bus stopped, you’d taken so many pictures, and part of you was dreading having to go through them to choose the ones that would make the cut. You knew it was going to be a next to impossible decision. As you stepped off the bus, you felt like you’d walked right into a snow globe.

“Holy shit!”

You spun, taking in a full three-sixty view of your surroundings. all the glistening lights and the falling snow only made it feel even more magical. You didn’t know where the hell Brexendor was or why the hell they rolled like this, but you were excited to see more. When you stopped spinning, you realized several other people were snapping pictures and looking just as marveled as you were. After gathering your luggage, you followed instructions and walked across the street to the building that a friendly looking man with slightly greying hair was standing before beckoning you inside.

For the second time that night, you felt as if you’d stepped into a Christmas movie set. The interior was set so cozy. It felt like a Christmas cottage, and you loved it. Instinct had you reaching for your camera and taking a few shots of the Christmas tree in the corner by the fireplace and the plaid decorations on the leather couch. Even the pictures on the walls got a snap.

“Miss?”

Looking back to the owner, you smiled and approached the desk.

“Hi, I’m so sorry. This place is so gorgeous.”

“Thank you. I wish I could take the credit, but it is all my wife.”

Just then, a beautiful brunette came out wearing a bright red sweater and one of those spoof reindeer antler headbands that bounced with every move.

“Hi, there darling. Welcome to The Beaux. I’m Anita, and this is my husband, Borik. I heard all about your ordeal. I’m so sorry.”

You shrugged but kept your smile plastered on your face.

“It’s all right. Can’t control the weather, right?”

Anita smiled and nodded. “Definitely not in Brexendor.”

“I have never heard of this place before, and I am lost how. Everything is gorgeous and so quaint. How have you stayed under the radar?”

Anita and Borik looked at each other with an all-knowing look that you wanted in on.

“Guess it’s just happened,” Anita cheerfully said.

You knew they knew something. Staying this under the radar, including from America, didn’t just happen. This took work. You wondered who in charge in their right mind would make a stupid decision like that.

“Okay, what’s your name, darling?”

“Uh, Xari Thornton.”

“Ah-ha, I told you, Borik. Once we were contacted with a list of names that would be checking in, and I saw your name, I told him I just know she’s gorgeous and look. You are a vision.”

You couldn’t help but smile widely while trying to keep your head under proper proportions.

“Thank you.”

“You must have quite the many suitors where you’re from,” Anita continued.

You snorted and shook your head. The reality was you were as single as the number one with no prospects.

“No suitors here.”

Both Borik and Anita looked shocked, as if you’d said the most appalling thing.

“That can’t be true. Borik. She’s single and at twenty-eight. Even our Kennedy was at least engaged by the time she turned twenty-seven. Here that is unheard of. A woman is usually married by twenty-four, especially if she’s a looker.”

You pinched your lips, trying to keep your laughter in. this was not the first time you’d been called an old maid. Hell, your mother said it often, especially since you flat out turned down Maurice’s proposal three months ago. She was livid.

Anita must have sensed the awkwardness of the moment because she cleared her throat and brought all her attention back to the reservation.

“Well, your room is prepared. I took the liberty of giving you one of our prettiest rooms. Would you like Borik to carry your bags up?”

“Uh—no, I’m sure I can manage,” you began.

Borik stood, shook his head, and came around to you.

“I won’t hear a thing about it. I’ll happily carry your luggage up. Follow me.”

“That’s my Borik, ever the gentleman,” Anita filled in with an enamored smile before Borik walked off, leaving her to check in a few of the other passengers from the plane.

You listened to Borik tell the story of the Inn and how it got its name. You kept one ear on his story while you took in every detail around you. The wood looked so rustic, and you guessed that was what gave the place such a warm and welcoming feeling. The higher you climbed, the more you saw, and the more you saw, the more you liked. You followed Borik down a hall, noticing that all the doors you passed had mini wreaths decked out in the same blue and silver ornaments like at the airport and throughout the streets.

“Ah-ha, here we are,” Borik said before he put the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Once he did, the scent of cinnamon and pine hit you in the face. It was like the hand of Christmas came out and smacked you.

“My wife loves the smell,” Borik explained as you stepped inside. You smiled and thanked him for his help.

“If you get hungry, you have a few options. There are plenty of places nearby you can eat some authentic Brexendorian food, but also my wife cooks every night, and dinner usually is at eight o’clock, but tonight Anette has agreed to keep some heated for anyone who would like some. It’s stew, rabbit.”

“Oh, thumper. Wonderful.”

Borik laughed loudly with that one. “I know that one, Bambi, the children’s cartoon. Good one Ms. Thornton.”

You smiled. “You can call me Xari, Borik.”

“Well, have a good night,” he said before he walked out.

Finally alone, the first thing you did was text your sister to let her know not to worry and give her an update on what was happening. After you let Anika know what was happening, it didn’t take long for your phone to ring. The next ten or so minutes were spent talking to Anika and telling her how amazing the things you’d seen so far were. You could not shut up about the decorations, the way the snow looked to have been groomed to lay on things perfectly. It was that damn picturesque. Since you couldn’t stop talking about it, Anika was the one to suggest you go out and enjoy it before you got back on the plane. It was a suggestion you fully intended on listening to.

Fifteen minutes later, you were back downstairs bundled with your camera and your purse, ready to explore. When you told Anita your intention, she gave you a map of the city and highlighted places to look at but cautioned you to hurry because stores would be closing soon, and nights during Brexendor winters could be brutal. You promised you’d be quick and careful, then stepped out, ready to explore like Dora.

Your first stop was a block down, a children’s toy store. It was decked out with all the latest toys along with some traditional things that Santa would have brought specially made from his workshop. While you were snapping pictures outside the window, a kid ran up to the window and pressed his nose to it. His eyes were wide, and his mouth matched their size. You asked the adult with him if you could take a picture. When they approved, you got one or two from a few different angles before they walked off.

As you walked through the city, enjoying the scenery, you took pictures of everything that caught your eye, ornaments, trees, people, stores, even pets. Christmas wasn’t your favorite holiday, but it was your second favorite, and being here really as inching it higher on the list.

When you felt a strong wind hit you, it stopped you in your tracks. It was strong enough to have you stagger backward a little, allowing a chill to sweep through you. You looked around and saw a few feet away was some sort of bar, and behind it was swirling snow that looked like a tornado. You hurried toward the building, being careful not to slip on any ice that may be hiding underneath the snow. Once to the door, you walked inside, and the sound of Christmas carols filled your ears.

“Jesus.”

If the scent of the Inn felt like Christmas slapped you in the face, the look and sound of this place was the one two-hitter that settled that you were in a whole nother world here. You looked around and found a coat rack along the left wall. After placing your jacket and scarf on the hook, you walked to the bar and slid onto a stool. As you waited for the bartender to come over, you looked around. Here it didn’t smell like cinnamon, but the pine was present, along with the smell of alcohol and licorice.

There were several small dark wooden tables around the bar with chairs and even booths that decorated the walls. The floors matched the tables, and those matched the walls. This place looked like somewhere you’d find in the middle of nowhere. The window to the back of the establishment showed the dark woods with tall snow-covered trees and that howling snow tornado.

When you turned back to the back, the huge elk head above the wall lined with alcohol bottles had you gasping.

“Jeez,” you said as you snapped two of three pictures of the creepy looking thing.

“That is Hogan’s prized possession.”

You looked beside you where the voice came from to see a very attractive man there. When you’d sat down, you didn’t notice anyone beside you, so to see his piercing blue eyes boring holes into you. Your eyes traveled lower to his awkwardly shaped nose. It looked like it had been broken once or twice and never quite went back to normal. You didn’t mind it, though. Who liked a perfect face, especially when looking at him, seemed like that was about the only thing that was not absolutely perfect. His jaw was carved to precision like he was specially crafted and not born. When your eyes fell to his lips, you purposely forced yourself to look away.

“Is—is that right?”

“Yes. I bet you cannot guess why,” the stranger said in a crisp European accent that was very close to British. You weren’t one hundred percent sure if it was or not, he just sounded proper as hell, and it was actually a bit of a turn on.

You shrugged while looking at the bottles that lined the back of the bar. “Enlighten me.”

Just then, a large man with blond hair in a man bun walked over. He had to have been over six feet tall, and if this were America, he’d definitely be a shopper at the store Big & Tall. The man looked to the one seated beside you, ready to speak but suddenly closed his mouth.

“Hogan, Ms--,” the stranger began waiting for you to fill in your name.

He thought he was so smooth; you thought as you smiled to yourself.

“Xari.”

His eyebrow shot up, and he smiled sweetly. “Wow, what a beautiful name.”

You smiled, and as you felt it widening, you bit onto your bottom lip to stop it. “Thanks.”

“Ms. Xari would like to know why Shandoe is your most prized possession.”

“Shandoe?”

Hogan looked behind him at the Elk’s head then smiled. “It’s been in my family for generations. It was the first thing my great-great-great-great-great grandfather ever killed for himself to feed his family. They ate everything but the head and decided to keep it as a reminder of where we came from.”

You were expecting some weird manly story but what you got was a wholesome and heartwarming tale. You smiled, raised your camera, and snapped Hogan, and as he stared at the Elk’s head with such a loving look on his face that was such a contradiction for his large frame.

“Are you a reporter?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’m a travel influencer and blogger. I go around and soak up what the world has to offer while taking pictures and writing about it on my blog for others to read about.”

The man beside you nodded, then raised his glass to his head.

“What can I get you?”

“Uh—what is he drinking?”

“The Mistletoe Bomb.”

You snorted, unable to contain yourself any longer. “What in the world is that?”

“You laugh now, but it is a blend he makes special for me. It is not for the faint of heart,” the man beside you informed.

“Oh no, well looks like I’ll be having one of those.”

Hogan looked to him, then back to you. “It is all right, Hogan. Give the lady what she wants. I am assuming fell strength is also what you require?”

“Yes, full strength. I want all the mistletoe and all the bomb.”

Hogan went to work, making the drink while you continued looking around.

“Em, I’m Henry.”

You looked to him to find his hand outstretched to you, waiting for you to place yours in it. When you did, you repeated your name as you noted how soft his hands were. It felt like he’d never done a day’s work with them. Henry rose your hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. It was one small action, but that action had butterflies flitting in your belly and your cheeks heating as if a heater was aimed directly at your face.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” Henry uttered while looking into your eyes.

“Same,” you whispered.

Henry released your hand and turned back to his drink at the same time Hogan placed a mug before you.

“One Mistletoe Bomb for the lady.”

You looked at the large mug then to Hogan, who waited expectantly. When your eyes drifted to Henry beside you, he too was watching and waiting. No matter how much you felt like this was a setup, you persisted, not wanting to back down. When you took your first full mouthful of the drink, your eyes immediately bugged. Your tongue was on fire in seconds, and it seemed the longer you held the liquid in your mouth, the worse the burn was. You gulped it down and instantly knew the mistake. Not only was your mouth on fire, but now your throat and chest as it burned a fiery path to your belly.

“Holy fucking shit!”

The two men boisterously laughed, the sounds booming off the wooden walls before filling the entire room. You looked around, noticing for the first time it was completely empty.

“What the hell is that?”

“Something that will put hair on your chest,” Hogan teased.

“No, shit.”

Henry seemed to like that response; he laughed again then finished his mug.

“How can you drink this?”

He shrugged, then turned his body to you. You gave him a well-paced once over, taking in his furry winter boots, dark pants, and dark sweater to match the pants. Underneath the sweater, though, you saw peeks of a crisp white shirt. He dressed like he had money, you thought.

“I have done it for half my life. I do not even feel the burn anymore. Do you know why he calls it Mistletoe Bomb now?”

You giggled and nodded, pushing the mug away. If you drank that, you’d need to be carried out of here. As Hogan appeared to take the mug away, Henry reached for it, insisting he’d finish it while Hogan placed a beer bottle in front of you.

“Would you like a straw?”

You looked at Hogan as if he were crazy. Who drank beer with a straw? You shook your head and raised the bottle to your lips to take a swig. This was more your speed, not pure petrol.

“So you are new in town,” Henry began.”

“Kind of. My plane had to detour because of the storm, so here I am in a place I’ve never heard of and cannot figure out why.”

“Is it strange to never have heard of every place in the world?”

You thought about it for a moment as you took another mouthful of beer then nodded.

“Yes. I’m from America,” you began.

“Ah, American. Let me guess. Everything has to be discovered, and if it is not, then either it doe not exist, or it is being hidden.”

You snapped your mouth shut. He’d guessed American thinking in one try. “Well, that’s not fun,” you added. Henry laughed and took his mouthful of fire.

“I am sorry. I know America well,” Henry informed.

“Oh, so you’ve been?”

“No. I do not need to. I have spent my entire life learning it.”

You looked back at him, confused by what he meant.

“Every country gives lessons on other countries of the word, especially powerhouse countries,” he explained.

“Well, your studies have paid off.”

“Do you really believe that everything has to be discovered?”

“No. where is the fun in that? I believe that the world has to have some mystery.”

“Then welcome to Brexendor,” Henry said with a smile.

“Brexendor. What’s it’s deal?”

You leaned closer, resting your elbow on the wood of the bar as you watched him.

“Deal? I am afraid I do not understand.”

“What I mean is, the people are nice. Everyone I have encountered, including at the airport, is nice. You know airport staff can be so mean, but not here. The people who own the Inn I am staying at are so sweet. Even strangers I bump into don’t;’ seem to mind. Not to mention, this place has the whole snow globe effect down. It’s incredible. What is the deal? Is the president some fantastic guy who pays everyone well and gives them ample vacation time for them to be so happy?”

Henry smiled, dipped his head lower, then rubbed the back of his neck.

“Would that be unusual?”

“Yes. Compared to what America has going on—highly unusual.”

“Well, the first thing to know about Brexendor is, a president does not run it,” Henry clarified.

“Ah right, it is a monarchy. So does that mean there is a king, and queen, lords, dukes,” you began, then gasped, remembering more. “Princesses?”

Henry smirked, gulped his drink, then nodded. “Yes.” He continued to take another swig from his mug.

His words slowly resonated. “What!? You’re serious?”

He nodded, then placed the glass onto the bar.

“Wow. How interesting. So this King and Queen are they the good kind?”

Henry’s smile turned somber before it disappeared altogether.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no. Yes, the King and Queen are the best kind,” he filled in before he took the last mouthful of his drink. “They would like you.”

You laughed loudly and shook your head. “Me? I doubt that. While all the mothers of my boyfriends have loved me, I don’t think the King and Queen would care for me.”

“Boyfriend, so uh—you’re involved,” Henry said as he avoided your eyes.

His words sounded like a statement rather than a question, so you remained quiet. After a few moments, he looked at you expectantly. You pinched your lips before you finished your beer.

“Are you involved?”

Henry took a deep breath looked forward to the bottles at the bar as a pained and confused expression washed over his features.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you replied.

“I am not—involved,” he answered.

“You said it like you weren’t sure.”

“It is complicated.”

“Well, I am a stranger in a bar—an empty bar. You’ll most likely never see me again, and I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”

Henry smiled then turned back to you, resting his elbow on the bar mimicking your stance.

“You have not answered my inquiry.”

“Inquiry?”

Henry smiled again, then bit his bottom lip. That is where your eyes went to. He had nice lips, you thought.

“On if you are involved,” he clarified.

“I am not involved with anyone. If you ask my mother, she will tell you I’m an old maid with no prospects.”

“I do not believe that. You are funny, intelligent, fun to be around, and quite beautiful. There is no way you have no admirers.”

You smiled and began toying with your necklace.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls you meet in deserted bars during a snow storm.”

He snorted, and you felt his breath across your cheek. It was then you realized how close the two of you were to each other.

“To be honest, I have never found myself alone with a woman in a bar. You are my first.”

You bit your bottom lip feeling more flirtatious than usual as you gazed into his hypnotizing eyes. He was gorgeous and becoming even more so with every passing minute. The two of you ordered more drinks, then drifted off to one of the booths on the wall that was more hidden and even more comfortable. You talked about nearly everything and nothing at the same time. He spoke a lot about philosophy and astronomy and the sciences that motivated a lot of the earlier theories. It was fascinating just listening to him speak. There was something about his mouth and the properness of the words he used. Never once did he use slang or even a contraction. You’d never met anyone who didn’t use contractions. The longer you sat there, the more you felt like never getting up.

“There is something about you that is so comfortable and easy,” Henry began.

“You too.”

“I feel like I can talk to you about anything. I even want to.”

You smiled, “You too.”

Your eyes lingered, and you saw him sway forward, but then he stopped only to do it again and again. With your faces were centimeters from one another, it was then you noticed the slight speck of brown in his left eye. You felt Henry’s hand gently cup your cheek; then, his thumb slowly stroked your skin. The heat from his palm seared your cheek, and every stroke of his thumb send heat tendrils down your jaw to your lips, making them tingle and yearn for his.

This had never happened to you in your entire life. You’d known this man a few hours and were ready to possibly bring him back to the Inn with you. Henry didn’t move. It was like he was giving you the last few centimeters to make a decision, but you didn’t make it. A phone went off, but you both ignored it until the sound went off. You raised your hand to rest on top of his. Once your skin touched his, Henry lightly sighed out. Before either of you could make another move, a phone rang again. This time Henry groaned before he looked away just as you did.

You cleared your throat and slid from his body as he checked his phone.

“I have to go,” he announced.

Frozen, you sat there trying to understand if you’d read this entire thing wrong.

“I am sorry, something—urgent has come up.”

You snapped out of it, then nodded. “It’s fine. I should probably get back to the Inn anyway. They say a storm is brewing.”

Both of you stood from the booth while straightening your clothes.

“I really enjoyed tonight,” Henry added.

You smiled and nodded. “Me too. It was—nice.”

Your eyes lingered again, and your bodies drifted closer. It was you who looked away first and stepped back. You reached for your purse, but Henry stopped you.

“It has been taken care of. Let us call it a tourist special, right Hogan.”

“Right your--,” Hogan began before Henry looked at him, cutting him off.

Henry ushered you to the coat rack on the wall by the door then helped you into your jacket.

“Can I drive you back to the Inn?”

“No, please. I am more than capable of getting back,” you assured.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded then turned to walk out, but Henry pulled you to him. “I want to see you again.”

“I don’t see how. I leave tomorrow as soon as the storm passes.”

Henry looked to be thinking before he sighed. “I guess it was not meant to be,” you whispered, a tinge of sadness filling you as reality set in.

“In another life,” Henry softly said.

He came closer then placed a slow, chaste kiss on your cheek before he released you. The two of you stared at each other for a few moments, and in those moments, anything felt possible. When you faced that anything could have been possible but not for you, you sighed. A few seconds later, you turned and walked out of the bar.

Once outside, the rough wind caught you off guard. You took a few moments to bundle yourself, then continued walking back to the Inn. The swirling snow in the air made it a little challenging to see, but you tried the best you could. Several times, the wind picked up and shoved you where it wanted, forcing you to grab on to something to hold until it passed.

Suddenly a big gust of wind blew you to the right and knocking you off your feet to roll for several feet. When the wind slowed, you rolled over onto your back to spit out the mouthful of snow that you’d managed to ingest. It took you several tries to stand, but when you did, you tried to see where you were and what direction you needed to walk in. That was when the wind picked up again, making you scream. When you turned, you saw two headlights coming right at you, then all you felt was pain before you were out cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#crown for two fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #black fanfiction #royalty au #slow burn fanfic #christmas fanfiction #henry cavill x black ofc #cheesy christmas fic

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jaynerose · 3 years ago

Text

Butterfly Necklaces

(A bit of supernatural/fae stuff going on, based on a weird dream and an abundance of butterfly necklaces. I’m not making that part up.)

One Christmas, about five years back, I was gifted a butterfly necklace. The chain was thin and shone silver, a small butterfly pendant sparkled with small purple rhinestones. My grandmother got it because she thought my birthday was in February and amethyst is the birthstone for that month. I was born in January.

We weren’t close and she didn’t know many things about my life. The necklace was small, sweet, both things I had wanted to be but wasn’t. Still, she tried, and that was what mattered to me. This was the first butterfly necklace.

The second butterfly necklace, was gifted to me by my mother. Bejewled, golden, with hot pink and glassy coating. It was ridiculously over the top in sparkles, and also ridiculously more me. This is my favorite of my collection.

A close friend gave me my third necklace in my collection. It was at this point I realized the strange trend in gifts. It was also beautiful, silver, but made by her own hands.

Now, I never claimed butterflies to be my favorite, nor did I have a particularly large interest in jewelry. So, once I had at lease eight different butterfly necklaces, all gifted to me by people who had next to no contact with each other, I thought it a curiosity.

There wasn’t much I could do with this curiosity though. Not until I found out why. Not until I met him.

My college held an art fair, a large portion of the students were artists (myself included). This was when I first met the man with silver eyes.

The smell of fresh cut grass was a comfort added to the warmth of the summer sun. Crowds of people moved through the neat rows of art displays and small shops. As I passed a folding table filled with photographs, I came to a new exhibit.

White wired displays held up the most beautiful pieces of jewelry. Shining in various metals, twisted and wonderful and fantastic. All were themed in nature, and many were themed in butterflies.

The man who was behind the cash box flashed a grin at the customer he was talking to. As he was busy, I moved into the display area. My hand drifted to my mother’s butterfly necklace that I was wearing, and looking to see if there was a ring or bracelet that might match. If I was going to find one, it’d be here. Strangely, no prices were listed anywhere near the items.

“Hello, see anything you like?”

“Oh, everything is beautiful.” I turned and saw the man who was previously helping the customer.

He offered a smile, “I appreciate you saying that, I created most of it myself.”

His eyes drifted to my necklace. It was the kind of thing that was difficult to miss. “I could almost have mistaken that for one of my own, where’d you get it?”

“It was a gift. I’ve actually gotten a lot of butterfly necklaces over the years, it’s just a strange trend in the thought process of my family I guess.” I kept rambling, it was difficult not to, “Not that they are strange, well maybe a little, we’re mostly artists so that merits a bit of oddity, I think. I don’t usually speak this much at once.”

He laughed a bit, and when he did I noticed his eyes were a peculiar silver. “Don’t worry, I tend to have that effect on people. May I have your name?”

“My friends call me Jay.”

An emotion flashed across his face before I could identify it. “I see.”

“Did, um, did you have prices listed anywhere? I didn’t see any.”

He moved to the rings I had been looking at. “These are most likely what you’ll want.” He picked one up and surely enough the one he had chosen matched my necklace rather closely. “You’re an artist, correct? Then this will cost you a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Art for art. Equal value ideally.”

I laughed, “The only thing I have on me right now is my sketchbook.” I was joking, clearly. This must be some kind of bit.

“Let me see.” He held out his hand.

I paused for a moment, maybe I should just leave? Apologize? He looked serious, though. What was the harm, I had a dozen sketchbooks at home, hoarded like dragon’s treasure.

“Ok,” I dug through my backpack and grabbed a small sketchbook. “I just started using pastel pencils though, so don’t judge too harshly.”

Wordlessly, he took it. And as his hand curled around it I noticed his nails were came to sharp, clean points.

He flipped through the pages, his lack of expression making me nervous. I knew some of the pages were filled with nonsense. A doodle of a raccoon wielding a flamethrower, a crocodile crawling out of a cauldron. That was what sketchbooks were for though, practice and nonsense.

He came to a page that broke his expressionless face with a laugh though. His silver eyes looked back up at me. “This is acceptable. A ring for your sketchbook. Do you accept the deal?”

At this point I kind of had to. “Yes. That sounds good.”

“Excellent.” He turned quickly, dropping the ring into a white box and then into a bag before handing it to me.

As I turned to leave he said something that stuck with me.

“Perhaps those necklaces made their way to you for a reason.”

When I turned back to reply, his stall had vanished and so had he. In that place was a caricature artist, confused by my sudden staring.

#butterflies #faewriting #writing #shortstory #supernatural #fantasywriting #fae #dreams

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itsadamcole · 4 years ago

Text

arranged

fem!reader x drew mcintyre

reader was just a regular American girl who has some royal family members in Scotland. Drew is the heir to the Scottish throne, and he needed to marry to become king. Drew and reader were married only days after they met, making reader a Scottish princess. both were against the wedding. now, the two want nothing to do with each other unless they have to attend a public event, until one night ...

word count: 3.6k

warnings: prince!drew, arguments, arranged marriage (ig that's what you can call it?), angst, a tiny bit of fluff

— this was originally gonna be one part but now it’s two bc that’s just the way the writing brought me. this was also gonna go in a completely different direction than it did but now this is it. enjoy —

part 2 || masterlist || request an imagine here

***

You're getting ready in your chambers. The maids are helping you get ready for the annual New Years Ball that the royal family of Scotland puts on every January 1st. Your long Y/H/C colored hair is being curled by one of the maids while another does your makeup. A third maid is making sure your dress and shoes are ready for you for when your hair and makeup are done.

Balls are not your thing. Actually, going out in public with your husband is not your thing. It's only a few times a week but you're not all about the fake smiles and hand-holding when you were never supposed to marry him anyway.

Being a princess was not on your list of things to be in life. You were an up and rising professional wrestler. Your great Aunt Blair asked you to come to Scotland to meet someone while you were wrestling on Ring of Honor. You had no idea that she meant that she actually volunteered you to marry the heir to the Scottish throne.

The maid doing your hair throws some little white flowers with a sparkly silver lining on the end of the petals. The maid doing your makeup has done a silver smokey eye look with some highlight, blush, and nude lipstick color.

Your nails were done earlier in the day. You got an acrylic French manicure. The nails are kind of long and oval-shaped.

"Princess," one of the maids says. "Yer dress is ready for ya when ya're."

You look at the ballgown hanging up in your large closet and sigh softly.

Once your hair and makeup are done, you get up. One of the maids grabs the dress. You take off the long, silky robe and the dress is pulled over your head. You're zipped up and the maids puff out the skirt.

The silver ball gown is very poofy with a small trail. The dress is strapless and very sparkly. The neck dips down a little bit. The top is tight and gets poofy at the waist. You put on silver heels to match the dress.

You put on silver earrings and a necklace, as well as your diamond engagement ring and silver wedding band.

There's a knock on your door as one of the maids put on a silver tiara since you are the princess of Scotland. Another one answers the door.

"Oh, yer highness," she says, bowing. "The princess is almost ready."

A male voice says, "Thank ya, Miss Arabel." Your husband, Drew, is at the door.

After some finishing touches, you're finally ready. You walk up to the door and look at Drew, who's dressed nicely in a black and white suit with a silver tie to match you. His hair in a neat ponytail on the back of his head. He's also wearing his wedding band.

"Ready?" he asks. You can hear the annoyance in his voice.

You nod and mumble, "Sure."

Drew hooks his arm with yours and the two of you head down to the ballroom.

You wait at the door with Drew's father and brother. The royal family is announced together. Drew's father, the King of Scotland, says, "Y/N, ya look stunning. Doesn't she, Drew?" He looks at his eldest son.

Drew just nods and says, "Sure, it's a little too much though."

Anger rises within you as Drew's dad signals for the door to be opened. The guard at the door opens the door and another guard yells, "Introducing the Royal Family of Scotland. The king, Andrew, Prince Drew, Princess Y/N, and Prince John."

Music plays and a fake smile forms on your lips as you follow Drew's father into the large ballroom. Most of the room is made of gold and a large chandelier hangs on the ceiling.

"The princess looks stunning."

"Look at the princess."

The comments make you blush and the fake smile turns real. Drew looks down at you without you knowing.

You and Drew mingle, talking with guests together. Drew steals occasional glances at you but you don't notice as you laugh with the guests.

Being an American, you're still learning about all the Scottish traditions. You've only been over here for a few months so everyday is a learning experience. The guests ask what you did for the holidays with Drew and his family since it's your first time in the country.

"Oh, we celebrated Christmas the way we do in America," you explain to the guests who asked. "Christmas Eve dinner, presents on Christmas morning, and Christmas dinner on Christmas Day. Drew and I also watched some Christmas movies that night. I've heard that Scotland's Christmas traditions are similar to America's."

You added the part about Drew to make it seem like you and your husband actually spent time together on Christmas. After dinner, you went off to your separate chambers and you watched Christmas movies over FaceTime with your friend who now works in NXT, Candice LeRae.

The guests are all very interested. Then the music changes and Drew asks, "M'lady, may I have this dance?"

You look up at Drew and say, "Uh, yeah. Sure." He takes your hand and you excuse yourself from the small group and walk to the dance floor with Drew.

He takes one of your hands in his and the other goes to your waist. You hold up your very poofy skirt so you don't trip.

The dance is slow at first, to make sure you don't trip. Once you're both in sync with each other and you're sure you won't trip, Drew speeds up the movements.

"Wow," Drew says. "My toes aren't bruised yet. Looks like those dance lessons 're paying off."

You stare up at Drew, who is standing tall above you at six foot five. "You're so funny, Drew," you say, rolling your eyes. "I almost peed from laughing so hard."

Drew says, "And there's the sarcasm I absolutely just love about ya."

"As if you love anything about me," you mumble to yourself.

The air turns tense and he says, "Ya could only wish that I'd love ya, or anything about this relationship."

Rolling your eyes, you say, "Maybe if you spent time with me, maybe you'd actually start liking things about this relationship. You only married me to become king when your father relinquishes the crown in a few months."

He looks around and says in a hush tone, "Believe it or not, Y/N, but I married ya for several reasons. Yes, I needed t'marry t'become king but I was excited to start a family. Then ya got here and were nothing like I expected. Yeah, I have an attitude with ya but that's because ya have one with me all the time."

Annoyance rises within you and you say, "I gave up my career to come here. I gave up my dreams of wrestling for WWE and winning titles for the company. I'm not happy I'm in this marriage, Drew. I married a stranger and you're still a stranger to me."

Guests start to look at you and Drew so he takes your hand and whisks you off to a more private area in one of the hallways. You trip over your gown as you follow closely behind Drew.

The door closes and now you're alone with Drew. He looks at you and says, "I'm sorry that ya gave up wrestling to come here and marry me, Y/N. I'm not that happy about it either but if I wanted t'succeed my father then I had'ta marry someone, and that someone is ya."

"You could've picked someone in the country, Drew," you say. "Seriously, you had to pick me."

Drew says, "Yer aunt spoke very highly of ya when she would visit my father. When my father told me I needed t'marry, my mind went t'ya. I didn't think about the repercussions ya would face when I told my father I wanted ya t'be my wife."

Sighing, you say, "Wrestling was taken away from me and I moved away to a country to marry a prince. It's been overwhelming for me and you are nowhere to be seen. I've been taking princess lessons for months and I'm still struggling. It doesn't help I'm alone, Drew, in a foreign country. I don't even have wrestling anymore because I 'can't risk getting hurt'. It's not a fairytale ending like in the books."

There's a silence between the two of you before Drew says, "It still can be"

You look at Drew and ask, "What does that mean?"

He meets your eyes and suddenly you feel butterflies. You've never felt butterflies in your stomach since meeting Drew.

"I just thought that maybe before the coronation that maybe we can go t'America and see a few wrestling shows," he says slowly. "I'm a big fan myself."

Everyday in Scotland is a learning experience. You didn't know that he was a wrestling fan.

You say, "I'd, uh, like that."

Drew slowly takes your hand and he says, "I also thought that maybe we can share a room together like a married couple should."

Confused, you say, "It was your idea to have the separate chambers since we 'didn't have to be married within the four walls of the castle'. At least that's what you told me."

He says, "Contrary to popular belief, I actually do like ya, Y/N. Why do ya think my mind went t'ya when asked if there was someone I wanted t'marry? The girls in this country are beautiful, don't get me wrong, but ya. There's just something about ya that peeks my interests."

You stare up at Drew and for a second before you say, "We've been married for months and this is all coming out now."

"We've never had this conversation until now," Drew says, shrugging his shoulders a bit. "By the way, ya do look stunning in that dress. Shows yer personality really well."

You get flustered and say, "You said it was too much."

Drew chuckles and says, "I'm just that good of a liar, I guess."

A little bit of annoyance creeps up and you say, "Stop lying to me, Drew. I'm confused and now I have a headache because of what you're saying to me."

He says, "I know, I'm sorry. I can walk ya to yer room if ya wanna go lay down and get rid of that ache."

You soften up a bit and say, "Yeah." That's all you say. That's all you feel like you can say.

So, Drew walks you to your chambers. You notice that you're still holding his hand when you arrive at the door of your room. He turns toward you and says, "Whenever ya would like t'go see those wrestling shows in America then let me know and we'll go, okay?"

You nod and look up at your husband. "Thank you, Drew," you say. "Offering to go see some wrestling shows in my home country sounds really nice."

Drew says, "It's been a while since I've been to America and I'd like t'see where my wife is from."

My wife. He said you were his wife. That was the first time behind closed doors that he's referred to you as his wife.

There's another silence between the two of you before you say, "I'm, um, going to head inside. Take some medicine and lay down."

"Can I stop by later t'make sure yer okay?" he asks slowly and cautiously.

You consider it for a moment before you say, "Yeah, sure. Just come in if you do because knocking may make my headache worse."

Drew nods and says, "Alright."

You look up at Drew and the air between the two of you thickens a bit. Your heart races in your chest as you wait for Drew to do something.

He pushes a loose curl behind your ear before he kisses your cheek lightly. Your heart almost jumps out of your chest when his lips touch your cheek. You look at him as he pulls away from you slowly.

"Goodnight, in case yer asleep when I come check on ya after the party," Drew says quietly.

You nod and say in almost a whisper, "Goodnight."

He shoots you a smile before walking off to the party again. You stand in the hallway for a second, playing with your engagement ring as you watch him walk off.

For the first time in this marriage, Drew's actions and words made you have butterflies in your stomach and made your heart race.

If you didn't know any better then you might be falling for your husband.

***

The moment between you and Drew has melted away by morning. You walked down to breakfast early the next morning and he doesn't even acknowledge your presence at the table.

"Y/N, are ya feeling okay?" Drew's dad asks. "Ya left with Drew and only Drew came back."

Nodding, you say, "Yeah. I just wasn't feeling well so I went to bed a little early. That's all."

Drew finally glances at you and his dad says, "Feeling better this morning, I hope?"

"Depends," you say, looking at Drew. "Is your eldest son going to keep ignoring me like he is right now?"

His dad looks at him and asks, "Is there something wrong?"

You say, "No, nothing's wrong." You get angry and stand up. "Excuse me but I think I'm going to go back to my chambers. I'm not feeling well again."

After you're done talking, you leave and go back to your room. You've just closed the door when there's a knock.

Reluctantly, you go and answer it. Drew stands in the doorway and you say, "Oh, great. It's you. Come to promise me something else then ignore me again?"

Drew says, "Look, I'm sorry. This whole thing is new to me, Y/N. I'm 35 and I haven't been in a serious relationship like this."

"We're not even in a relationship, Drew," you spit at him. "We're legally bind to each other for you to become king."

He says, "I'm trying here, Y/N!" His voice is rising. "I'm fucking trying. We met, were engaged then married within weeks. I'm trying t'be a good husband in public while also trying t'form a relationship with you behind closed doors. It's not easy. Especially because I do want a relationship with ya, Y/N."

You glare at him and say, "Ignoring me isn't trying, Drew."

He says, "I know, Y/N." He rubs his face. "God, I'm terrible at communicating how I feel and this is whole new territory for me."

Deciding to lighten the air, you say, "If you want to be king then you have to work on communication skills there, Drew."

Drew looks at you and says, "I'm gonna pretend that I didn't just hear ya say that."

You smile and say, "Come on, Drew. Lighten up a bit. Here, tell me the truth. How do you feel when you're around me?"

Your husband blinks at you and thinks for a second. He says, "I, uh, I feel nervous. Ya make me a little nervous, Y/N. My heart races when ya're around me, especially when we touch. Um, when ya walk into a room, I feel a knot in my stomach. I don't know what it's called-"

"Butterflies," you say, helping him out. "They're called butterflies in the stomach. It's what happens when we're around someone who we may or may not like."

Drew looks down at you and says, "Sounds like yer talking from experience."

You nod slightly and say, "I am."

He blinks at you and starts to say something before someone walks into the hallway and say, "I apologize for the interruption, your highnesses. Prince Drew, your father has requested your presence in his chambers. Immediately."

Drew nods and says, "One second." He turns toward you. "When I'm done with my father, I'll come back and we can keep talking. Okay?"

You nod and he smiles before walking off quickly.

That's when you notice when there are butterflies in your stomach again.

***

It's hours later and you're still waiting for Drew. You've asked your maids if they've seen him and they've all said that he's still with his father.

You're watching Freaky Friday on Disney Plus when the doors to your chambers open. A red-faced Drew walks in and you ask, "Woah, Fire Face. What's wrong?"

"My father is what's wrong," Drew says. He's pacing around the room and you pause the movie, getting up and walking to him.

You say, "Talk to me, Drew." He doesn't look at you. "Hey, dumbass. I'm your wife, remember? You're supposed to talk to me about this stuff."

Finally, Drew looks down at you. You're so much shorter than him. You're barely five foot four. You're eye level with his chest and you have to tilt your head up to look at Drew.

He says, "My father just told me that we're going on a two week tour of the country. He wants me t'know the country before I ascend the throne."

"What's the matter with that?" you ask, gently stroking Drew's arm to calm him down.

His eyes are on your hand on his arm as he says, "I wanted t'surprise ya with tickets home t'America for the two weeks that we'll be on tour."

Your eyes widen and you say, "We can go when we get back."

Drew says, "When we got t'America, yer friend was gonna meet us in Florida. I got ya cleared t'wrestle in one match in WWE against your friend. It was more than just going t'see some wrestling shows in America. When we got t' ya're hometown, I was gonna take ya t'yer favorite spot that ya told me about before and I was gonna ask if ya wanted t'try and be a real couple."

Your heart sinks into stomach when you see how upset Drew is about this. You say, "You had all that planned out for me? For us?"

He nods and says, "I wanted ya to feel less alone and I wanted ya t'have at least one more match before ya actually have t'give up wrestling."

You console Drew by hugging him. You close your eyes and you say, "I already feel less alone, Drew."

"What about yer one more match?" he asks.

Looking up at Drew, you say, "I've already come to terms with the fact I'll probably never wrestle again. It would have been amazing to be in a WWE ring but I don't need one more match."

His hands rest on your cheeks before he says, "I'll get ya in a WWE ring at some point, Y/N. Ya gave up yer career t'be here. It's the least I can do."

The idea of talking to Drew's father pops into your mind and you say, "I need to do something really quick. Can you excuse me?"

Drew nods and you let go of each other before you walk off to the king's chambers.

At the door, you knock. A "come in" is said from the other side so you open the large doors.

King Andrew sits at his desk and he looks up at you. "Ah, Y/N," he says, getting up. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Postpone the tour of Scotland," you bluntly say. "Please, sir."

His face hardens a bit as he says, "Drew must've told ya what was happening."

You nod and say, "He did, and he pulled a lot of strings to surprise me back home. Mr. King Sir, he gave me an opportunity to do the thing I love one more time before I give it up to join him by his side as queen of this beautiful country. He wants to take this trip to help us get closer so maybe we could be together behind closed doors as well. Let us take this trip and the day we get back, we can tour this country that I can proudly say I call my second home."

Andrew looks at you as you talk. He leans against his desk and crosses his arms across his chest, looking down at the floor when you're done talking.

You wait for a response.

It's almost an eternity before he says, "I can remember what it was like t'be in love with Drew's mother when we were younger. All the trips we took were always business, never for pleasure. Then she got sick and she died, and I regret that we never got to go on a trip just for pleasure. So, I will postpone the tour so ya and Drew can visit the States, but the day ya get back is the day the tour of Scotland begins."

You smile and say, "Yes, Mr. King Sir. May I go tell Drew the news?"

He nods and dismisses you.

As soon as you're out of the room, you take off back toward your chambers. Drew sits on the small love seat in your room and looks at you when you walk in.

"When do we leave to go to America?"

—

tags: @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan

#drew mcintyre imagine #drew mcintyre x reader #drew mcintyre angst #drew mcintyre fluff #drew x reader #wrestling imagine #wrestling fluff #wwe imagine #wwe fluff #wwe angst #imagines #imagine #fluff imagine #angst imagine

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halogalopaghost · 3 years ago

Text

The Eyes

Do not copy this story to other sites or posts. References may be used with proper citation to this post. This story is my intellectual property and I will not tolerate copying or plagiarism of any form.

I have lived with the eyes in the dark for as long as I can remember.

I first saw them during a family fourth of July cookout, with sparklers and little fountains and firecrackers after sunset. They hung beneath the trees where my parents’ lawn met the cool, dark woods. I should have been scared, like any other child would have been, but all I remember is how transfixed I was by the glowing gaze.

The sparkler in my hand burnt out as I stared at them. It wasn't until my mother put a new one in my hand that I looked away. She patted me on the head and turned back to the party. I turned back to the eyes.

They hadn’t moved. They still floated there in the darkness, not too far from the ground. I took a careful step closer. They didn’t move. I blinked, and they blinked too, long and slow.

Someone called me away, and that’s all I remember. I was four years old.

My father loves telling the story of my ‘imaginary friend’. He remembers watching me, five years old, pressing my cheek to the cold windowpane to wish the eyes goodnight. They watched through my bedroom window from the other side of the gravel driveway. He didn’t see the eyes, but I sure did. He tried to explain them away as a reflection on the window, or animal eyes in the darkness. He tried to explain it as a lot of things, but I never bought it. The gaze wasn’t human or animal or anything else--it was something unique, and mine.

He always stops the story there, as if I stopped seeing them. What he does not tell my husband, my children, my nieces and nephews, is that they never stopped watching me. He doesn’t include the shrink they took me to when I was seven and wouldn’t stop talking about them. He doesn’t tell the children about my insistence that the eyes were real, and feeling, and watching, even though I was the only one that could see them. He doesn’t mention the priest they called out to bless the house and grounds.

He doesn't say that when I was nine years old, my mother took me to my room, paddled me with a wooden spoon, and told me never to speak of them again. He doesn’t say, because he doesn’t know, that eyes came closer to my window that night.

The night before I left for college, I opened the window and pulled a chair to it. The warm, late summer air poured in with the ambient chirps of insects. The eyes hovered in the low branches of a tree near the edge of the lawn, a spot they seemed to like. I folded my arms on the windowsill and spoke to them for the first time in ten years.

“I’m leaving for a while,” I said. I didn’t dare shout, still worried that my parents would somehow hear and punish me. “I’ll visit for Thanksgiving and Christmas, so I guess I’ll see you then.”

There wasn’t a blink for a long while. Either they couldn’t hear me, or they couldn’t understand. I sat with them for a while anyway.

Nineteen years old, headed for an Ivy League college, I still wasn’t sure what to make of them. Were they a hallucination? Something more complicated? Maybe it was only a coincidence after all, and it had been an owl or something all those years.

For a while, I was able to leave that lonely part of my life behind me. I went to college and stayed busy with classes, new friends, and plenty of underaged partying. This time, I really did forget about the eyes.

A couple months into my first semester, I stayed at the library until after dark—much longer than I usually would. Of course, a boy was involved. I had convinced him to study with me, and we chatted the hours away like nothing. I was walking on clouds as I left the library, expecting him to walk me back to my dorm building. But when he waved goodbye at the door and walked the opposite direction, my spirits fell. The autumn night felt even colder.

A breeze rustled the crunchy leaves in the dark, raising goosebumps on my flesh. I didn't want to be alone out there any longer than I had to—I made a beeline for the dorm. I walked the path around the expansive lawn, lit only around the perimeter. Leaves rustled again. I looked out into the yawning darkness of the field, barely able to see the lights on the other side, and walked faster.

I muttered a passing greeting to my roommate, Dana, as I quickly opened and shut the door. Dana grunted a hello back. She sat with her back to me at the desk, pouring over a textbook and hand-made flash cards. A single-bulb lamp lit the room by itself, casting long shadows across our bookshelves and narrow beds.

I tossed my backpack onto my bed and made straight for the open curtains. We lived on the ground floor, and passing students would stare into our room like an exhibit at the zoo if the curtains weren’t closed tight.

With my hands gripping the curtains, I froze. Out in the vast, devouring darkness of the lawn, past the sidewalk and the trees, two eyes stared right into the window. I couldn’t look away from them, afraid that if I moved my eyes even a millimeter, they would disappear. They looked into my soul, and I stared back.

I hissed my roommate’s name, telling her to come look.

She stood beside me at the window. “See what?”

“The eyes.”

Dana was quiet for a moment.

The eyes blinked.

“Oh,” she scoffed, “okay, I get it. You had me going there for a second, but it’s way too close to Halloween for me to fall for that!” She laughed it off and went back to her desk.

I stayed frozen at the window, waiting for the eyes to move or blink or something, but they kept staring. They looked just like my eyes—the eyes back home. But how could that be? I was several state lines away from home, nearly two months into the semester! How in the world could they have followed me?

I felt outside of myself, like in some kind of dream where you try to run and find your feet won't move. I don't know how long I stood there before my hands moved of their own accord and pulled the curtains shut forcefully.

They were just animal eyes in the darkness. A deer had wandered into the lawn for a midnight snack, and that was all. Just like Dad said.

After that night, I saw them everywhere. They watched through the window at night, they watched me walk home after dark, they watched when I went to parties and made out behind the science department. I just had to ignore them as much as possible. Nobody else ever saw them, and I couldn't risk my social reputation by asking someone directly. But for the first time in my life, I wondered why I was being watched. The gaze that once soothed and transfixed became something that put me on edge. I hated to walk alone after dark with them watching me, silent and unseen as they crept through the shadows to keep pace. I wished they would go away.

One night just before Christmas break, I was drunk and homesick. I ran from my dorm out into the snow, barefoot, all the way out to the edge of the lawn that they watched from. “What do you want?” I yelled. “I’m here, you son of a bitch! If you want to kill me, I’m right here! What are you waiting for?”

Dana and her boyfriend, also drunk, wrestled me back inside.

“What are you shouting at?” she demanded.

“The eyes! They’re out there, on the lawn. Don’t you see them?”

She walked to the window, and stared out for a while. Without saying anything else, she locked the window with her fumbling, drunk fingers, and pulled the curtains tight. “Go to sleep,” she said. “You’re drunk.”

It wasn’t just college. They always found me, those piercing eyes in the dark. Sometimes it took a few weeks to catch up, maybe even months; but wherever I went, the eyes followed.

After graduating, I moved to a different state for a job, and they watched me from the alley across the street from my new apartment. I saw them in the hedge below my third-floor apartment when I moved back to my hometown. They stared from the parking lot of the Vegas hotel where I spent my honeymoon, far from any lights.

My first Christmas as a married woman, my husband and I tossed a coin and spent the week at my parent’s house. The eyes must have known that place well, because they showed up on the edge of the woods the very same night we arrived. Unprompted, Dad told my husband his version of the story. Later that night as we laid in bed in my childhood room, my husband asked if I had ever seen them again.

“You know, as an adult.”

I looked out the window. There was snow falling gently in the perfect picture of a white Christmas and the eyes, though hard to distinguish from the fat snowflakes, were still there. Staring.

They blinked lazily, and I said, “No.”

For as much as I had avoided being close to them, I never really feared the eyes until I had my first child. I sat in the dark of her nursery just days after her birth, watching the eyes outside the window of my own home in the woods. I held her to my chest, rocking in the chair, and held their gaze as I whispered.

“Go away. Don’t touch her, don’t you even think about touching her. Haven’t you watched me long enough? What do you want?”

My husband caught me doing it before she was even a month old. He thought I had postpartum depression, and maybe I did, but that didn’t change the fact that they stared into her nursery as much as they stared into our bedroom. But I went to the appointments he made for me, I took their medications, and I kept a watchful eye on the wood line.

It became clear quickly enough that they wanted nothing to do with my kids. Still, I wouldn’t let them outside after dark without an adult. I closed all the blinds in the house at sunset, like clockwork. I wasn’t sure if they’d be able to see the eyes like me, but I knew their father would react like mine had and I wasn’t going to let them go through that.

My husband and I became distant, always arguing over the children’s restrictions. He treated me like I was breakable, like I would explode if he pressed too hard. To me, that was more maddening than if he’d been angry and loud. I think he knew somewhere deep down that I was still seeing the eyes. I felt the madness of my childhood slowly repeating itself.

So when my four year old son drew the blinds last night, pointed out the window and said what’s that—I knew something had to be done.

This morning I left the kids with a babysitter and went straight to the library. I gathered up every book they had on the supernatural, paranormal, or just plain weird. I read about things that made me shudder, and things that made me scoff. The chupacabra, Bigfoot, hauntings, aliens. I say the word ‘cryptid’ under my breath, and find it in a dictionary.

At the end of all my skimming and studying, I find that the books invariably have one of two conclusions: either the entity is very real and very dangerous, or the individual giving the accounts are unreliable, maybe even insane. Am I insane?

I walk to the library counter and pay for a half-hour of computer time with the spare change at the bottom of my handbag. I read as much about schizophrenia as I can stomach before switching tactics.

Websites about ghosts

Eyes in the woods

Floating eyes

Am I haunted?

Ghosts following people to different homes

Friendly ghost websites

People driven insane by ghosts

The computer screen closes out suddenly, and I startle at my own reflection in the screen. It’s run out of time while I wasn't paying attention.

I rub my tired eyes and turn away from the computer. As my eye catches the clock, my heart drops out of my chest. It’s past six! My husband must be worried. I consider calling him from the library’s phone, or maybe trying to find a pay phone outside, but I really want to get home before it gets too much later. I’m always afraid to make the dash from my car to the house after dark, worried that the eyes will appear and I’ll have to face their owner.

I drive home without answers, more frustrated than before. The kids are going to be hungry when I get home. What am I going to tell them? What am I going to tell my husband?

On the winding country road near home, my headlights catch something on the side of the road. Something tall, thin, and bright white. I hit the breaks and swerve toward the center of the road.

Not a second after I’ve stopped, three huge does come flying out of the wood line where my car would have been. I was speeding, going maybe fifty five miles an hour on this dark back road. I would have hit those deer, and it might have killed me.

I have to remind myself to breathe, then peel my hands away from the steering wheel. In all the years I’ve been driving this road, I’ve never seen anything like that thing on the side of the road. It couldn’t have been an animal, but it definitely wasn't a tree either. Was it a person? I take a deep breath and turn around to look.

My blood runs cold at the sight of the thing behind me. All I see are two long, impossibly thin legs. My heart twists and speeds up in my chest, urging me to run, go, get away! I should drive away. I should throw the car into reverse and snap those thin bones. It would give me time to get away, if not kill it. And I want to, I want to get away so badly, but my body doesn't respond. I can't move.

A long hand enters my view, lit red by the tail lights, as it leaaaaans over. The face slowly comes into view, sideways and upside down. I see the eyes first—my eyes, the eyes that have watched me so long. I’m lightheaded. Those eyes have just saved my life. If I had hit those deer, I certainly would have died, and my family wouldn’t have known until they came looking.

And it all clicks into place.

This thing has been protecting me! All my childhood, I wanted it to watch me. I never feared it because the watching wasn’t sinister, it was protective. Walking home alone on campus, honeymooning in Vegas, living out in these wild woods, how many times had it saved me and I didn't know?

My hand trembles as I reach for the door. It takes all of the willpower in my body to consciously put my foot on the pavement and stand. My knees feel like gelatin. I turn my body slowly to face it, and nearly scream when I see it, now standing at the rear bumper of my car. It’s standing up straight again—all I can see the outline of its ribs. It has...so many ribs. Hundreds. White skin stretches over the rib ends that jut out like knives, pockmarked with red bug bites and browned spots. The face is—oh God no, I can’t look up, I can’t look at the face. The face is horrible and hollow and inhuman. But the eyes, the eyes are all the intelligent, slow, warmth that I’ve watched for years, and watched me in return.

“Th-thank you.” My mouth is so dry.

It takes a step forward, lifting one long, terrible foot clear over the car to do so. I whimper as it kneels in front of me. I can smell it, green and wet like moss on a riverbank, musty like bones in a basement. What is it? What is this thing? It kneels on both knees in front of me. I stare at its chest because I cannot look at the face. My heart is in my throat and I’m going to faint, I know it. It’s saved my life, I’ve thanked it, what more does it want?

No, I'm safe. I am safe and I have been safe because this guardian has been watching me. Maybe this is just what angels look like. In the Bible, angels appear to man and say do not be afraid. They wouldn't say such a thing unless they knew themselves fearful to be beheld, so this must be my angel.

Yes, I am safe.

Its bones creak like branches in a winter wind. It’s waiting for something—some sign of respect? I breathe deep to muster the courage, and lift my head to meet its gaze.

The eyes are stretching. Oh, they are consuming, they’re huge and warm and so inviting. It lifts a hand to my face, gently brushing my cheek with long, cold fingers. My eyes flutter shut. For a moment I feel faint, like it’s all finally gone to my head and I'm sure to black out. A finger touches my chest right above my heart and lingers there. A cold chill cuts through my body. The weight on my chest disappears...and returns in a blow.

My back hits the open car door and I clutch at my chest, full-bodied fear now coursing through me. What does it want, what does it want? The car’s beeping turns into a shrill roar in my ears and I can't hear it moving—I don't now where it is. WHERE IS IT?

My eyes open to its gaping mouth. It has opened its mouth and it’s opened to the size of my head. The thing’s earthy smell is gone. The thoughts of holy angels and protection and comfort are gone. This is death, this is rot, this has been waiting hundreds of years for my soul and the time has come. I don’t know how, but I know it has followed me through lifetimes and watched for its opportunity. Not to protect, but attack.

I open my own mouth and scream. I scream until my lungs are empty, and then there is nothing but the crickets and the soft fluttering of wind through the trees. The creature doesn't move, jaw hanging open still. Each yellowed tooth is as long as my finger. This thing is starving. I have starved it with my trust. A dry roar peels from its throat. It sounds like burnt grass crunching beneath feet and crops giving way to sand and brown and death and dry rot. The eyes are no longer warm. They are as pale white as the body, and delighting in my terror. I am transfixed once more, unable to move or rationalize thought as I stare into this horrible face. All I can do is whimper and tremble and pray.

The bones rub dryly together as it lifts its arm and brings a long, terrible hand toward my face. The last thing I see is two white fingers coming toward my eyes in the dark.

#TW implied eye trauma #TW mild body horror #horror story #short story #original fiction #the ghost writes #the ghost speaks

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natromanxoff · 4 years ago

Text

How prog were Queen?

By Dave Everley

On 9 January, 1971, Kevin Ayers and Genesis played a show together at the Ewell Technical College near Epsom in Surrey. Ayers was 18 months out of Soft Machine, and making a name for himself as a psychedelically-inclined art-folk rake. Genesis had released their second album, Trespass, a few months earlier, and were carving out a place in the vanguard of the burgeoning progressive rock movement.

There was a third band propping up the bill that night, a bunch of transplanted Londoners calling themselves Queen. In contrast to the wilfully artful approach of the headliners, their music was more straightforward: a heavy, if ornate blend of Led Zeppelin’s earthiness and the flights of fancy of Yes.

Not everyone in the small crowd watching them was impressed, but they caught the attention of one person. After the show, Genesis frontman Peter Gabriel pulled Queen’s blond-bombshell drummer Roger Taylor to one side. Gabriel’s band were about to dismiss their own drummer, John Mayhew, and were looking for a replacement. Was Taylor interested in joining Genesis? The reply was instant: thanks but no thanks. Taylor was utterly dedicated to Queen – there were gigs to play, places to go, and many musical adventures to embark on.

Had Taylor accepted the offer, the course of music – and specifically prog – would have been very different. Genesis would have flourished with Gabriel upfront, though whether they would have survived and prospered as they did without a Phil Collins to step into the breach after their talismanic singer’s departure was another matter.

The knock-on effect on Queen would have been greater. Taylor was an essential part of their carefully balanced four-way chemistry; a chemistry that would go on to throw up some of the most ambitious and game-changing music ever recorded. While Queen weren’t a capital ‘P’ prog band, they were infused with the spirit of the movement, combining its forward-looking values with its absolute disregard for the existing rules. Taking their cues from the likes of Yes, Genesis, Van der Graaf Generator and even Pink Floyd, their flamboyantly cavalier approach would go on to inspire such modern masters as Dream Theater, Queensrÿche and Muse. And, in Bohemian Rhapsody, they ensured that one of the biggest-selling singles in history was, at heart, a prog song. Forget the luxuriant moustaches and sawn-off mike-stands that would come to define them: if the prog ethos meant avoiding the expected, then Queen were definitely a prog band.

“Diversity was probably their greatest asset,” says former Dream Theater drummer and confirmed Queen devotee Mike Portnoy. “From song to song, they could be so different. You could have something that was folk followed by something that was rockabilly followed by something that was metal. And that’s one of the biggest things about prog, having that open-mindedness.”

Queen’s schooling in prog came early on. Brian May’s very first band, 1984, played a 4am slot supporting Pink Floyd at the Christmas On Earth Continued all-nighter in 1967. A year later, his next outfit, Smile – also featuring Roger Taylor – played with Floyd again, this time at London’s Imperial College. By the time of their gig opening for Kevin Ayers, Smile had changed their name to Queen and recruited Freddie Mercury. Collectively, they admired Yes, Van der Graaf Generator and especially Genesis. “Foxtrot is a prog rock classic,” Roger Taylor later wrote in the sleevenotes to Genesis box set 1970-1975. “Arrangements were highly complex in these early days, setting a benchmark for the style of the times.”

When it came to finding someone to produce their debut album, Queen’s first choice was John Anthony, who had worked with both Genesis and Van der Graaf. With Anthony and co-producer Roy Thomas Baker behind the desk, the eponymous album trod heavily in Led Zeppelin’s footsteps. But there was another, altogether more visionary band straining to spread their wings: My Fairy King was a filigreed slice of flamboyant rock’n’roll, while Liar metamorphosised through several different time changes and timings.

Those wings were fully unfurled on the follow-up, 1974’s Queen II. The title was the most prosaic thing about the record: the music inside was as fevered and baroque as rock gets, informed equally by Zeppelin, Yes and crazed Victorian artist Richard Dadd, whose 1864 painting The Fairy Feller’s Master-Stroke inspired one of the album’s most prog-leaning tracks. It may have been rooted in the heavy rock of the times, but its cavalier approach and sheer sense of scale pegged Queen as a defiantly progressive proposition.

“Queen weren’t like Yes, who had a dualistic role of guitar and keyboards, where both shared the terrain,” says Yes guitarist Steve Howe, supported by Queen at Kingston Poly in early 1971. “Brian had the terrain to himself. The remarkable thing was that he was the front and the back man. It required him to come up with more than guitar solos… He had to come up with a semi-thematic approach to play the guitar. And what he did was keep colouring.”

Queen’s prog inclinations would be deeply woven into the fabric of their early albums, from the audacious multi-part theatrics of Queen II’s March Of The Black Queen to the schizophrenic attack of the two-part Lap Of The Gods from 1974’s Sheer Heart Attack. Even in their more commercial moments, they marched to the beat of their own drum. What other band would have dared serve up something so unusual as Killer Queen?

“It was their diversity,” says Mike Portnoy, who first heard Queen as an eight-year-old in the mid-70s and covered many Queen songs while in Dream Theater. “Their albums took the prototype that The Beatles laid down with the White Album, where you had four different artists bringing in very different styles. Every song was so diverse. You get to A Night At The Opera, and you had this giant multi-layered epic like Bohemian Rhapsody next to something like Seaside Rendezvous or Love Of My Life.”

A Night At The Opera was Queen’s grand artistic statement and their most unashamedly prog album. Pitched around the epic twin tentpoles of The Prophet’s Song and Bohemian Rhapsody, it married their far-reaching vision to a distinctly British barminess. Taken on its own, the eight-minute The Prophets Song, with its incredible ornate a cappella middle section, would be enough to grant Queen access to the Prog Hall Of Fame. But even that sits in the inescapable shadow of Bohemian Rhapsody. Time and success might have lessened its impact, but that song remains the most dazzlingly unique piece of music ever to sell five million copies.

“There are epic things that come along every so often,” says Steve Howe. “There’s Sgt Pepper, there’s Bridge Over Troubled Water. And there’s Bohemian Rhapsody. I don’t know when I first heard it, but once it was there, it was such a formidable thing. You’re thinking: ‘How many tracks did they need to do those vocals? How did they write it? Who invented it? It really was astounding.”

Bohemian Rhapsody encapsulated one of the key things that gave Queen such a distinct identity. Like The Beatles and Beach Boys before them, they used the studio as an instrument – not least when it came to their vocals. And Bohemian Rhapsody raised the bar about as high as it could go.

“They sang each of those parts and triple-stacked them,” says Mike Portnoy. “You heard all three of their voices singing in all three vocal ranges. That’s what made the depth of their music so complex. It wasn’t the instrumentation, it was the vocals. That’s unusual for prog music. When I think of my favourite prog music, it’s always the musicianship that draws me. But with Queen, it was the vocals. It was so deep.”

For all its success, A Night At The Opera would be Queen’s grand kiss-off to their prog roots. Later albums streamlined their sound into a more conventional format. Much like Genesis, the 80s found them swapping experimentalism for chart rock.

It wasn’t until the end of their career as an active band that Queen would again sound so adventurous. During 1989 and 1990, the band began work on their penultimate album, Innuendo, in London and Montreux. In the summer of 1990, Yes guitarist Steve Howe paid a flying visit to the Swiss city, where a chance encounter with a former guitar tech found him being invited to Queen’s studio to hear the album as a work-in-progress.

“Inside, there’s Freddie, Brian and Roger all sitting together. They go: ‘Let’s play you the album,’” says Howe. “Of course, I’m hearing it for the first time: I Can’t Live Without You, I’m Going Slightly Mad. And they saved Innuendo itself until last. They played it and I was fucking blown away.”

If that was surprising, then what happened next was utterly out-of-the-blue. The members of Queen asked if Howe wanted to play on the title track. The Yes man politely suggested they’d lost their minds. It took the combined weight of Mercury, May and Taylor to persuade him.

“They all chimed in: ‘We want some crazy Spanish guitar flying around over the top. Improvise!’” recalls Howe. “I started noodling around on the guitar, and it was pretty tough. After a couple of hours, I thought: ‘I’ve bitten off more than I can chew here.’ I had to learn a bit of the structure, work out the chordal roots were, where you had to fall if you did a mad run in the distance; you have to know where you’re going. But it got towards evening, and we’d doodled and I’d noodled, and it turned out to be really good fun. We have this beautiful dinner, we go back to the studio and have a listen. And they go: ‘That’s great. That’s what we wanted.”

Released as a single in January 1991, Innuendo gave Queen their third Number One single. Like Bohemian Rhapsody 25 years before it, it was as unlikely as hit singles get: a six-and-a-half minute musical jigsaw, complete with flamenco runs, classically-inclined orchestral overloads and maverick 5/4 timing. Queensrÿche covered the song on 2007’s Take Cover album, while you can hear its echo in Radiohead’s Paranoid Android and Muse’s more elaborate sci-fi epics.

“In the world of rock, Queen stands out as a good example of the clash between guitar and piano in songwriting,” Muse’s Matt Bellamy has said. “I think that’s where you stumble across those more unusual arrangements and chord structures.”

Today, Queen have left a bi-polar legacy. They’re arguably best known for their pop hits – Radio Gaga, I Want To Break Free and of course, Bohemian Rhapsody, that ultimate prog Trojan Horse. But their spirit of adventure remains unmatched by all but the boldest of their peers.

“There was no rulebook for Queen,” says Mike Portnoy. “They broke most of the rules that existed, and then they wrote a new set.”

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon

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schnitzelbutterfingers · 4 years ago

Text

The Stroke of Midnight (Ethan Ramsey x f!MC)

Book/Pairing(s): Open Heart/ Dr. Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Dr. Abigail “Abby” Chacko)

Word Count: 2175

Summary: How would they get their New Year’s kiss if there are obstacles in their way?

Category: Angst with a happy ending

Warning(s): hospitalization (car accident, coma, fainting, depression, anxiety) kissing (ofc, it’s New Year’s Eve-)

______________________________________________________________

December 29th, 2020 (9:52 P.M.)

Abby loathed it.

She loathed wearing those damn masks that made her suffocate. She loathed wearing at least three pieces of clothing, which got her all sweaty and sticky. Best of all, she loathed COVID-19.

Damn every single human that doesn’t know how to social distance.

She got it. She knew how it felt to not spend time with her dear friends. She knew how it felt to not go to gorgeous beaches and get her tans.

But this whole pandemic would be over if everyone followed the damn rules. People are acting as if they are seeing their families for the first time. Airplanes flying across the sky with every seat filled. Beaches filled with women in bikinis and men in shorts. Parties filled with people and alcohol.

Abby is wholeheartedly done.

She recollected how Seb and Amma when they couldn’t come to Boston for the Christmas and New Year’s celebrations because of the fast-spreading virus. Even if she missed her family, she video-called them with Ethan, laughing and sharing joy with one another.

The moment of tranquility at that time inhabited her memories as more patients filled the ER, the moans and groans of pain settling in the overcrowded room. With a sigh, she got back to work, tending to them who may possibly have COVID.

After placing one patient in the ventilator after she had trouble breathing, the junior resident went to the diagnostics room to take a break. It was depressing to call their families and tell them the heartbreaking words that their loved ones might not make it. And for a bonus point, during the holidays.

And it’s already depressing enough that Ethan hadn’t called her yet. He was supposed to here now; his shift was going to start in 5 minutes. Habitually, he got here early, either to finish paperwork or to start his rounds. The fact that he is not here know made her stomach feel wary.

She jolted at the beeping of her pager, signalling her to the ER room. I wasn’t even gone for five minutes.

Reluctantly, she went back down to the ER. She could see figures not far, and a bloodied man. Automatically, her thoughts went to calling his family about this accident. She hated heeding the cries coming out of their mouths, wishing she could do anything, anything, in her power to to save their loved one. But she prompted herself that she tried her full hardest.

Thrusting those thoughts aside, she rushed down to the patient. Suddenly, a pair of hands ceased her from taking another step forward. Naveen.

“Abby, don’t go down there,” Naveen said, worriedly. Huh?

Abby was confused and impatient. “What are you talking about? I’m a doctor. I can help him!”

Naveen replied in a hushed, soothing kind of tone. “There are other doctors there. They’ll tend to-”

Just then a paramedic came, someone the Chacko doesn’t know. “Patient is Ethan Ramsey, age-”

The world stopped. People annulled their motions. At least, that’s what she concluded. Her pulse, however, grew rapid. Her eyes widened. In horrible fear? In terrible anguish? In emotional pain? She doesn’t even know.

“...Naveen? Please don’t tell me it’s who I think it is.”

“...I’m so sorry, Abigail. His car was hit by a truck and it rolled over a few times. He will be okay, I promise-”

But she’s not so certain. She wanted to slap herself. To cut herself, for ever thinking that. But even she took a look at Ethan. He’s covered in blood. She couldn’t even recognize him.

“No...”

Then, she said it louder.

NO! NO! ETHAN! ETHAAAN! Let me go. LET ME GO! NAVEEN, LET ME GO!!” Abby struggled, trying to release herself from Naveen’s grip. He was maintaining a vice-like grip on her, murmuring soothing words that he will be alright.

But she couldn’t make out anything. The world was spiraling, and so was she.

“...Ethan...”

In one blink she fell onto the floor, her knees making an uncomfortable thud on the white tiles, and her vision went black.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

December 30th, 2020 (10:06 A.M.)

The first thing she overheard was the beeping of a heart monitor. Next, she saw the IV going through her arm. She found out she was lying on an uncomfortable bed, sunlight streaming through the windows. Finally, she sees the Chief with an anxious face.

“Abigail! Ladoo, are you alright?” Naveen asked, concerned.

Only one word came out of her mouth. A name. “Ethan...”

She placed everything now. The bloodied body of Ethan Ramsey. Her true love. Unconscious. Unaware of any of her calls. She gasped out.

“Ethan! Naveen, where is Ethan? Where-”

Abby couldn’t breathe. She is suffocating. And she wasn’t even wearing one of those damn masks.

“Abby, deep breaths,” Naveen soothingly commanded.

She did as she was advised. Her breathing got normal, but her pulse didn’t.

“Naveen! Where is Ethan? Is he alright? Where-”

“Ladoo. Ethan is in the ICU, currently in a coma. He had a major surgery in his lung and chest. Thankfully, the surgeons stopped the blood loss. He had two broken ribs and a broken arm.”

Abby couldn’t get that first sentence out of her mind. “He’s... in a coma?”

The senior doctor sighed profoundly. “Yes, Abigail. We don’t know when he will wake up.”

We don’t know when he will wake up.

A tear spilled out of her eye, but she forced herself to swab it away. She will not break down. At least not now. Finally, she cared enough to question about herself.

“...What’s wrong with me?”

A sigh pulled out of Naveen’s mouth again. “You fainted after you had heard the news about Ethan. Your blood pressure increased. Fortunately, you’re fine now. I’ve informed Seb and Jazmin about this. They sensed you would be uncomfortable with talking about Ethan now, so they’ve decided to give you some space.”

She was appreciative. For having the best brother and mother. She treasured them. Too much. “I’ll shoot them a quick text message later. For now, I’m going to Ethan’s room. Where is he?”

“Abi-”

“Please. I want to see him.”

With a defeated sigh, Naveen and a nurse aided her onto a plastic wheelchair, much to her annoyance. She could walk fine, she’s not paralyzed or anything.

Abby was wheeled down the familiar hospital hall as nurses and doctors kept sparing pitiful glances. She didn’t need pity. She needed Ethan.

She walked into the room, preparing herself for what she was going to see. She wasn’t prepared at all.

Ethan was wearing a hospital gown and looked exhausted. His eyes were closed and he looked calm. Peaceful. Tranquility.

Some of her friends were already there. Bryce, Sienna, Jackie, Elijah, Rafael. They knew Abby would want to see her love. Some of them whispered comforting words. Others patted her on the shoulder. They all left her, and soon, she was alone with her fiance.

She started. “Hi, Ethan. It’s me, Rookie.”

She looked at the calendar. December 30.

“Two more days till this horrible year is over. Life always throws us curveballs, don’t they?”

Silence.

She sighed. “Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. Couples are supposed to kiss each other at the stroke of midnight. I need to feel your lips on mine at midnight. Please.”

The tears she tried to hold fell out like a dam breaking. She broke out in sobs.

“Please, Ethan. I... I can’t live without you in this damn world. If you die, I die, Ethan. I die. Please. I wanna feel you lips on mine at midnight. We planned so much for the future. Please. We’re engaged. We’ll be married next year. We’re hoping to build a family. With Jenner, as our third wheel. Please wake up, wake up, wake up. I love you too damn much.”

She whispered the last sentence. She tangled his hand in hers and held them tight. He may be in a coma now, but she’ll sing a song for him now.

The sun comes up It's a new day dawning It's time to sing your song again

She takes a deep breath to keep her voice from cracking. Whatever may pass And whatever lies before me Let me be singing When the evening comes

Bless The Lord, O my soul O my soul Worship his holy name Sing like never before O my soul I'll worship your holy name

She sighed. He didn’t move, but something told her that he will move soon.

“Rest now, my love. I’ll be waiting for that kiss when you wake up.”

He didn’t wake up that day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

December 31st, 2020 (11:40 P.M.)

Abby was with him yesterday and planned to stay in his room the whole night, until Naveen discharged her and gently forced her into an on-call room. It’s amusing how he thinks the 22 years old would get any sleep. She wanted to be in Ethan’s comforting arms. Him stroking her musky brunette hair. Her wrapping her narrow arms around his waist. Sleeping under the brilliant moonlight. But now, the coma threatened to take away that lifelong dream.

It was 11:40 P.M. on New Year’s Eve, and Abby was still waiting for that midnight kiss. He promised he would kiss her at 12:00 A.M. He didn’t have any problems in doing that. If so, he would have told Abby. He didn’t have to go into a coma to hamper it. Abby would still love him.

Abby was looking at the wall, staring at it blankly as she clasped his hand and gave it a squeeze, hoping for it to jerk. And minutes later, it did.

The first jerk got her out of her train of thoughts. The second jerk made her look at his bruised face, hopeful for a holiday miracle. The third jerk made him slowly open his eyes, his familiar hand gently stroking her thumb as to figure out who is next to him.

She gently fastened her eyes. Oh no, what if he loses his memory? It was a serious car accident after all. Stop it, Abby, Naveen didn’t mention a head injury. Oh no, what if he was lying? What if he was trying to make me feel better? What-

“Rookie...?” She looked back at her, only to observe Ethan staring intently at her, with a slight glimmer.

“Ethan...” She couldn’t hold back the tears this time.

The ocean eyes lost glimmer and instead widened with evident alarm. “Abby, don’t cry. What happened?”

Abby released a tremulous breath, one that she barely knew she was holding. “A truck hit you car and it flipped a few times. You were in it. You had a major surgery in your lung and chest. The surgeons stopped your blood loss just in time. You have two broken ribs and a broken arm. And you were in a coma.”

If Ethan wasn’t alert before, then he definitely is after hearing her last statement. “I was in a coma? For how long?”

“Just for a day, luckily. It’s New Year’s Eve.”

She looked at her watch.

“... 11:55 P.M.”

Ethan nodded his head slowly, before gently stroking her cheek to wipe away the salty droplets of water. “Rookie, don’t cry. I’m awake now, am I not?”

She broke. Again.

“B-but, I th-thought you wouldn’t m-make it. I thought y-you would never w-wake up. I thought o-our future was de-destroyed. I thought I would ne-never see you bl-blue eyes again. I thought-”

She gave up saying the last sentence and the first sob came out. Ethan’s heart broke piece by piece before shattering.

“Lie down with me.”

She was hesitant. “But w-what if I h-hurt you?”

“You won’t,” Ethan assured. “I want to hold you.”

Slowly, she got up from the uncomfortable plastic chair and gently lied down with him. Her hand came around his waist, mindful of his injuries. Ethan’s hand went to the daily job of stroking her hair down.

“I’m right here. Our dream will never be shattered as long as we have each other’s hearts. Even if I did die-”

“Ethan, stop-”

“No, Abigail, let me say this. Even if I did die, our hearts would be mended together. If you died, I would never love someone else again. You would be mine always, no matter what happens. My heart would belong to you and only you.”

Joyful and comforting tears obscured her vision. “I love you, Ethan.”

“I love you, too, Rookie. To the squares of infinity.”

Just then, they both heard the countdown. 11:59 P.M.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

“Are you ready?” Ethan asked.

Six.

Five.

Abby smiled. “Hell yeah, I am.”

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

And their lips met at the stroke of midnight, fulfilling his promise.

“Happy New Year, Abigail.” The former attending said, a beautiful grin adoring his face.

“Happy New Year, Ethan.” Abby returned with the same grin.

As sleep was overtaking both of them with colorful fireworks decorating the night sky, Abby managed to ponder on one more thought.

Good riddance, 2020.

notes: If you’ve made it this far, thank you!

notes 2: Happy New Year, and good riddance! Let’s all pray for a good year this time. I wrote this fic in one day, and I am pretty impressed of myself. But I thought I would give you one more fic as this year comes to a close. Forgive me if there were any spelling mistakes or grammar errors. Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed! ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ

tags: @missmiimiie @aylamwrites @starrystarrytrouble @udishaman @caseyvalentineramsey @queencarb @choicesstan1 @newcolonies @arcticrivers @angela8756 @takemyopenheart @rookie-ramsey @ohchoices @ohvamsey @ohramsey @natureblooms24 @drariellevalentine @maurine07 @lucy-268 @drakewalkerfantasy @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @gryffindordaughterofathena

@openheartfanfics

@choicesficwriterscreations

#pixelberry choices #choices stories you play #open heart #open heart choices #pixelberry #pixelberry open heart #ethan ramsey #playchoices #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey fanfiction #new year’s fanfiction

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unholyhelbig · 4 years ago

Text

We Sold Our Souls | 001: Beca

Summary: A small-town rock band continues to play even smaller venues well past high school graduation. Aubrey, Beca, Emily, and Chloe struggle with newfound fame and the long bloody road to get there.

[Based off of "We Sold Our Souls" By Grady Hendrix"]

Read on AO3 | Dt to the amazing @ifionlyhadmorepaper

Beca’s fingers were split and callused where Chloe’s were warm and protected. They were covered in bandages of all shapes and sizes, little adhesive papers that browned at the edges from dirt or from blood that hadn’t been dabbed away. They were wrapped, lacerated where she had pressed too hard on the velvet cords of her guitar. Beca Mitchell would play until rustic oozing syrup covered the face of the instrument.

They stung, sometimes, but right now she leaned into the numbness that the temperature in the office provided. She wanted to spread them in an equal motion over the glass of the desk so each finger lined up with a toe in her Doc Martins. Instead, she placed them calmly in her lap and stared at the silver pen that rested next to the contract.

She picked silently at the ace bandage that she had strategically wrapped around her pinky finger. It had been the newest slice; a wound still fresh to the sterile room. She was sure it would drip one, maybe two drops of red on the white linoleum.

Beca glanced up from the writing utensil and saw nothing but a suit, a slate and dull grey that blended perfectly with the rest of the room. There were no photos on the wall, nothing but a bland black leather sofa and a glass coffee table that matched the same desk they sat at now. She wanted to look through the floor to ceiling windows but saw nothing but white. Everything was white.

She was the darkest thing in the room.

Her boot tapped against, a low and thumbed rhythm. She waited for him to say something, to say anything. But she realized quickly that he may be darker than her. She could stare into the abyss that was his face, into the shadow but it would mean nothing. There were no defining features other than a crisp, business-like smile.

She had switched from pulling at the dressing of her wounds to picking at the frayed edges of her black jean jacket, littered with patches and permanent marker. Beca traced a signature that Chloe had drawn on one drunken night.

They had popped a bottle of champagne and the bubbles made the cuts on her fingers burn something fierce. But she let the golden liquid slosh onto the carpet of the hotel room, and bubble up in her throat until she couldn’t quite hold it between her lips anymore. Chloe kissed her and she tasted like weed and cherry.

It was the first night that their song was played on the radio.

The four of them huddled around a radio, its antenna stretched to the ceiling of that dingy room. The lights buzzed as much as the static, and it was close to three am; too late for the bar handlers to be heading home, and too early for the suits to be warming up their cars. But they played it- they played it.

They could quite possibly be the only four people in the entire world to hear the first song from the DEMO that Beca slid under the studio door.

When she leaned forward, the leather her pants made an ungodly noise. She didn’t’ want to read through the stack bound with a thick black clip. The first page was highlighted where she needed to initial and bolded at the most important parts; the parts that distracted her from what really mattered.

Her father was a stockbroker before he was dead, and he would tell her every single time he brought home a new contract, that they make the glittery things darker. That’s not what she was supposed to read; she was supposed to look at the little pieces of text that had stars next to them. People liked to trick you with shiny things.

Beca moved her finger across the large stack; the paper was cool to the touch and caught on the adhesive of her ace bandage. “What exactly are you offering me here?”

Summer 1985

It took her four whole months to save up for the old white Charvel that sat at the back of Shawl's pawn shop. There were bars strapped across the windows and an ugly neon orange sign that let Beca know when they were closed and when they weren’t. She would cling to those bars when old man Shawl would tell her to buy something or get the fuck out.

He stared at her even harder when she emptied the shoebox of change and crumpled up bills stained with sweat and sticky substances onto the glass counter, but even he couldn’t turn down a profit. She waited for ages while his liver-spotted hands counted the money carefully. Then he pursed his lips and pulled the beat up guitar down from his perch above his shoulder.

In later years, Beca knew she didn’t have nearly enough, and she thanked him silently for taking pity on her and passing it over anyway. She was driving all of his customers, she reasoned, by sulking on the hot sidewalk in front of the shop, letting banana flavored popsicles drip onto her fingers until it was nothing but a stick left.

She had fastened the worn leather strap around her chest and straddled her jet red bicycle. Beca had never peddled so fast in her life. The Mid-August heat clung to every inch of her was humming with sweat by the time she skidded to a stop in front of her house. She let the bike drop and got an instant hit of relief when she crossed the threshold into the open garage.

Beca scooted past the dusty Monza that barely fit in front of the door leading into their kitchen. Her mother had bought it off a stranger that came into the diner back in 78’. There were questionable stains in the backseat and an odd scent of Clorox that they could never get rid of. But it ran back and forth, and that’s all they needed.

She pulled open the honey blossom fridge and grabbed the closest thing they had to a cool drink. Beca drank tang straight from the pitcher, letting it drip down her face and soak into the collar of her shirt. She was noisy when she drank, and oblivious to her mother watching her from the archway as she tied her apron around her waist.

“We have glasses, Bec’s”

Her mother didn’t’ comment on the guitar strapped to her back. She figured that her daughter had picked up another hobby. Last year it was basketball, and the year before that she begged and begged for a set of baseball cards from the local hobby shop. After they were shoved under her bed she was told to fund her ventures on her own.

Beca swallowed the last of the orange flavoring on her tongue and took a savoring breath to fill her burning lungs. She turned to the woman and smiled “That would just dirty two things instead of one. Besides, you don’t drink this anyway.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Her mother wrestled silently with the faux pearl earrings that matched the beaded necklace against her collarbone. The soft blue tone of her uniform washed out her skin and made her look pale despite the summer heat that lingered well into August.

Beca placed the glass decanter back into the bottom half of the fridge before she mock saluted her mother and wandered back out to the garage. Her skin instantly became slick with sweat. She pulled an empty milk crate a few inches from the line of the setting sun.

She finally pulled the old Charvel from her back and situated it in her arms. It was far from a perfect fit. She reached over the neck and felt the way the side dug into her ribs uncomfortably. The strings were frail and sounded rough as she dragged her thumb against them.

Beca had only learned the start of one song, the first few cords of Black Sabbath’s Tomorrows Dream. They had printed the cords on the back of the record sleeve, each specific note highlighted in a comically large dot. Beca would breathe in the dust of the garage and listen to the record on a constant loop, pressing her fingers down against the notes.

She took a deep breath and started to follow the instructions that she had completed a million times over. The strings were too tight and it sounded choppy, sharp, and thick all at once. She cringed at her half-hearted attempt and the way the cords cut so deeply into her fingertips they stung.

She ignored the old car pulling out of the garage, and the way she had to squint at the darkness after a while. There was still the sour taste of orange on her tongue and sweat dripped from her nose. But she played and played, and played until there was blood against the white face of the instrument and tears pinching at her eyes. It sounded somewhat like Black Sabbath.

“You like metal?”

Beca jerked her hand back quickly and drew in a sticky warm breath of air. She had been so wrapped up in her task that she hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone anymore. A girl stood in the dull light that leaked from the garage and into the pavement. She didn’t’ quite pass the threshold- instead, she lingered.

A certain chill had invaded the air and the girl folded into herself. Her wild mane of orange hair fell around her shoulders and ghostly blue eyes lit up optimistically at the sight of a guitar.

“Uh,”

“That’s a Charvel, right? I begged my parents for one last Christmas but they got me an acoustic instead. Hooked me up with lessons from Miss Jensen. I learned one country song and started pocketing the fifty bucks a week instead.”

“Yeah,” Beca swallowed hard “It’s a Charvel”

“That’s cool,” she rocked back and forth on the souls of her sneakers. The cold didn’t’ seem to get to her much anymore. Beca tried to place her. Her ears were ringing and her fingers hurt. The crickets were hissing their own song. “You go to Kennedy don’t you?”

“I’m second year”

“I’m third.” She beamed “I live right next door, I’ve seen you around.”

Beca lifted her chin; she had seen the girl around too. It usually followed loud screaming and slamming doors. She would sit on her stoop and stare at the way her cassette player would turn. Beca had seen her flip a tape four times once- still like a statue until the music stopped and hat to be reset.

“Listen, I uh- don’t want to intrude, but maybe we could play together sometime?”

“Yeah, I would like that.” She found herself saying, the orange drink in her system making her stomach churn. She nearly felt bad, felt a pang of sadness for the girl. “I’m Beca.”

“Hi, Beca. I’m Chloe.”

Winter 1994

Beca let the case fall shut a little too loudly. The acoustics on the small stage seemed to catch all the wrong things. She couldn’t get her voice to carry earlier in the night, but the fur-lined box that they housed their amp in bounced all the way to the entry of the little venue in Portland.

She blinked hard, trying to ignore the harsh red lights that covered every single inch of the place. There were bumper stickers covering the spotty paint of the walls and a bar that was more piss and peanut shells than anything. Emily gulped down warm beer and struggled to keep it down momentarily. She didn’t look up at the noise, her stare trained on a coaster, and the crumbs that lie next to it.

Beca leaned back on her heels and pulled in a thick breath. She smelled like sweat and blood and alcohol. Her little stunt had drawn the attention of Aubrey, the woman wrapping the cord to a different amp around her forearm and palm. She narrowed her unripe stare.

“This was fucking shit,”

“I’m doing my best”

They spoke at the same time. She knew that Aubrey’s anger was buzzing, it was festering until it finally burst. She looked pale under the red lights, the same tattoo they had all gotten two years ago stretched under her tank top and down to the gap between her jeans.

She knew what Aubrey was going to say. Her best wasn’t good enough, and it never was; they had been doing this for years, eight long years and they were still playing the shit-stink venues in even shittier towns. They barely had an audience tonight, and it had all been Beca’s fault. The whole room was thinking it, but no one had the balls to say it other than Aubrey.

Chloe moved from the corner of the room, “We’ll get a better place, Bree.”

“Yeah? When? I’m tired of giving my all to an audience that doesn’t’ fucking exist. We’re not kids anymore.”

“We’re shit broke.” Emily turned in the creaky barstool, swallowing the foam at the bottom of her glass. “I don’t even think we have gas in the van.”

“How much from this gig?” Chloe asked.

Her hair was matted with sweat and her thumb pulled at the chain around her neck. It was fastened with a marbled red pick, one from their first real venue ever. She had nervously wiped away the gold lettering and now the smooth plastic was all that was left. Beca hated disappointing her, and she did it often these days.

“Five hundred.”

“Five hundred? Beca that’s barely enough to cover the hotel rooms.” Aubrey let the wrapped cord fall back to the stage “We don’t break even on this. It’s not fucking worth it. It never was and it never is.”

They all knew what came next. Emily stared down a coaster she had begun to shred. The remaining foam on the glass culminated at the very bottom of the glass and she knew she couldn’t muster enough change to order another one. So she sat with the sour taste in her mouth and festered.

Aubrey would mention Julliard.

“I could have had everything.” She hissed instead.

Beca didn’t dignify it with a response. Instead, she leaned down and pulled the amp up with nothing more than a grunt. Instead, she walked out into the cold Portland air and let it make her skin tighter. She blinked away the red light and searched for the keys in her pockets. She had left them inside.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Bechloe #Emily Junk #Aubrey Posen #Junksen #band au #rocker au

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