#salemfloyd

[mrs-yevette-marshall]

European Honeymoon | Marshiano

Yevette smiles widely, walking with her husband -god she loved the sound of that- by the hand, down the street. Suddenly she stops, eyes wide, as they styop on one particular shop. “Oooh! I want to go in there.” She says excitedly, pointing to the antique shop. It looked like a warehouse, no windows. Yevette bounces like a little child and, without waiting for an answer, starts to head over that way. 

[unknown-tristen]

I’ve learned four th-things tonight. One, suits are weird to wear. There are so many layers and it’s weird to lift my arms up. Two, I learned how much you and Matka love each other. I could really see it, the way you looked at each other the whole night. And three, I think I understand marriage and weddings more.

[persephone-johanson]

Oh jeez! 

[rosemaryhoover]

Rosie sighs rubbing her eyes as she walks out of work. 

[mason-the-writer]

“So, you don’t have to happen to have any embarrassing stories I can use to hold over hem do you?” Mason asks the girl behind the counter, specifically talking about his best friend,

“Sorry, My lips are sealed.” Yevette giggles. The two had been talking for about an hour

[salemfanfics]

A Vision of Beauty | Marshinao

Floyd walked down the hall of his home, starting down the stairs, and halting only a step or two down. His reason for halting his late night walk about the house was seeing someone standing at the bottom of those very steps, waiting, it seemed, for him. He didn’t reach for his gun, he didn’t tell the intruder to stop where they were. Even in the dark lighting he knew who it was. He could never mistake her for anyone else.

Yevette stood there, looking positively radiant. Her black hair was curled and spilling over her shoulders—like ink against the paper white of her skin. She wore a long dress that shined brightly into Floyd’s eyes, a contrast to the darkness of the room they stood in. But all of this wasn’t why she was so radiant. It was for a different reason. It was because she was her. An angel to the ragged man at the top of the stairs.

Floyd blinked and blinked again, but this seemed to be the only movement her could muster. He couldn’t reach his hand out and try to beckon her closer, he couldn’t move his legs down the steps, he couldn’t even move his lips or tongue in order to form the words he really wanted to say. Lucky for him, Yevette decided to move up the stairs, quickly towards him, stopping a step short of being on the same one as him. He blinked at her and she blinked back, then gave one of those impossibly beautiful smiles of hers. The one that never failed to make his heart seemingly speed up and melt all at the same time.

“Floyd,” she said and even though it was a whisper, the sound of her voice filled his ears. It didn’t seems quite the same, though. It was smoother and more melodic than the last time he’d heard her speak. He started to count the days, but then she reached out for him, going to caresses his cheek with her soft, delicate fingers. Floyd closed his eyes and imagined, imagined hard what those fingers—what that palm—would feel like in the moments just before she touched him. He had to imagine because that’s all he was going to get. Because she would never—could never—touch him ever again. Floyd was right as a moment later there was nothing but air where Yevette had once stood.

The more days that passed since Yevette was killed, the more often this happen to Floyd. If he was having conversations with his dead brother, then he was seeing his dead wife. He never knew when her jarring image—her in that dress, with her hair effortless, her voice like the ring of a bell, and an unnatural glow—would turn up. Usually it was at night, when his insomnia was just kicking in. She wandered about the house, never saying much more than his name. She was dancing to a song in front of the TV, beckoning him forth to an airy embrace. She dwelled on the porch, wishing on stars that she saw up in the sky. She was cooking in the kitchen and reading in their bed and singing in their shower.  Her laugh seemed to always be heard just around the next corner. And the next. And the next. And the next…

[mrs-yevette-marshall]

Yevette stands in the doorway of Hope's room, looking in, waiting for Floyd to show up.

[mrs-yevette-marshall]

Call-Floyd

Yevette: Hey uhm I need you to come to the hospital. I'm fine. it's Hope. He's not. He was attacked.