#cinnamon hummingbird

[lavender-nightjar]

Cinnamon scratch

[wingedjewels]

Colibrí Amazilia Canela - Cinnamon Hummingbird - (Amazilia rutila) by Raúl Vega Via Flickr: Tárcoles, Costa Rica

[rondaincorporated]

Hummingbird Species, Part 36

Today’s featured hummingbird is the Cinnamon-throated hermit, Phaethornis nattereri. The cinnamon-throated hermit hummingbird, also known by its scientific name Phaethornis nattereri, is a fascinating species of hummingbird found in the neotropical region. These small, brightly colored birds are named after their cinnamon-colored throat and are a common sight in the rainforests of South…

[fullcravings]

Classic Hummingbird Cake

[morethansalad]

Hummingbird Cake Overnight Oats (Vegan & Gluten-Free)

[sebring5]

IMG_0002 by Henry Via Flickr: Duck

[seelockhart]

Bread Recipe These ooey-sweet hummingbird cinnamon rolls, which are inspired by the traditional layer cake, are ideal for a spring brunch.

[sakkiichi]

CASTLES CRUMBLING.

Memories of you are both cathartic and painful when he visits your grave.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Lyney, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Autumn. The time of year that brought warm memories to the wandering samurai despite its chilly winds.

Shades of scarlet coated Inazuma’s grassy plains, like a rain constituted by droplets of dawn light when the maple leaves swayed to the ground.

And amidst this scene, you.

You, who danced to the tune of the foliage floating in the breeze; you, who snuggled his red scarf closer around your neck when he wrapped it around you, taking in his sweet cinnamon-like scent; you, whose hand used to fit perfectly in his, as you ran your thumb over the scarred skin under his bandages.

Kazuha finds himself staring at those now. He remembers all too well how you used to wrap them around his hand. Your lips brushed over every indentation in his burnt skin, overwriting storms with sunlight and blue skies.

“All healed now.” You sing-sang, the tenderness of your kiss over the wrapped scars.

It feels empty now, his grasp, still searching for you every morning, but you’re out of reach.

Even now, as the wandering poet’s head rests against you, he can’t quite feel your touch.

“Hello, my dove.” He begins, fingers brushing over the dendrobiums surrounding you. Moondust lashes kiss his cheeks when the sunsets in his stare cloud over, the image of your smiling face behind his lids. “It’s already autumn, remember how you called it our season, my angel?” He softly says, turning his head slightly, so that his forehead partially leans on you. “The leaves are turning red already, I’ve picked some for you.” Kazuha utters, as he gently threads them around the stone.

Hard. Cold. So unlike the warmth you radiated. He sighs, opening his eyes, tender hearths to warm your paralyzed heart.

“I’ve been writing too…” Dampness pools around his lashes. “Haikus, poems, because I know you love them, hummingbird…” The samurai’s voice cracks, vision blurry, as he traces the letters of the name he used to breathe in between kisses.

Your name. The only one that will forever echo through his sweetest dreams, double edged now.

Droplets of molten moonlight slide down Kazuha’s cheeks, colliding with the earth separating you from the world.

“We will meet again, my dove.” He vows, kneeling on the grass, moist by his tears. “In some corner of the next life. I promise, love.”

As he stands up, retracing his steps, the wind picks up.

Kazuha clutches his red scarf closer to him.

Your scent still lingers.

✧ XIAO

Spring had never felt so cold.

The sun over Liyue’s mountains is too dull; the glaze lilies appear closed off; the days feel too long.

The conqueror of demons makes his way through Guili Plains, his steps slow, as if that would keep away a cruel reality that’s set in stone.

He’s coming to meet you, and yet he’s never felt so far away from you.

In the few steps that separate the yaksha from you, an infinity of memories and bittersweet dreams seem to wash over him. They mingle with the scent of morning dew over qingxins bloomed anew.

Qingxin. What he used to call you.

“Xiaooo!” You cooed, a smile sweeter than the treat you offered him alight on your lips. “Dessert’s ready, love.” You called, offering him the plate of delicious almond tofu.

It was always his favorite, especially the one made by you.

His cheeks took on a tint not unlike the lipstick marks you left on him when you felt like teasing him, peppering his face with your honeyed kisses. You always used to chuckle at the sight.

“Qingxin…” his voice quivered, in awe, gaze of gold widened, sparkly. “There is no need for you to go through this trouble for me…”

“Nonsense!” You cut him off, hands cradling his cheeks. “I love making your favorite food for you, baby.”

Now he brings one of his own scarred hands to his face.

It’s so cold in comparison to your comforting warmth.

Yet even colder is the grey hue of the heavy stone that comes into view: the one marking the spot where you were laid to rest for good.

Slowly, resigned to the inevitability of reality, the vigilant yaksha reaches you.

Even though he knows he will no longer have you.

Xiao’s whole form trembles when he leaves the handmade butterfly over your gravestone. Its petal wings are all crooked, his grip vice-like in his anguish.

Now the flower-made insect will never fly again. A crystal bubble, lit up on his darkest nights, inside which dreams warm and sweet were recounted, as long as the adeptus stayed in your embrace; now shattered, only sharp fragments left to pierce his heart.

“I’m sorry…” is all the demon conqueror can manage as greeting, the moment he sits before you, head hung low.

The karma he bears had never crushed him this badly.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Winter squalls leave nothing but ashes behind.

The layers of snow have started melting, decrepit twigs following, the aftermath of a furious gale, death in its wake.

The wanderer seems to verse in the bony hands of it often, after all. This life, this world… they only ever took from him, shattered mirrors as the only remains of promises to never come.

He rests the back of his head on the frigid stone. He doesn’t care about the last remains of snow seeping into his very crafted bones.

Scaramouche’s hand closes into a fist, dirt and melted ice on his skin.

“They took you away too…” The puppet breathes, inexistent puffs of his words sifting against the blackened skies in the cold. His indigo gaze is clouded over, despite stars littering every corner of the midnight above.

A lie.

Make believe. Like thinking he could be happy for once.

Turning around, Scaramouche presses his forehead against what’s left to symbolize you.

“Why?” He asks, teeth gritted, to stop the helpless quiver of his lip. “Why you too?”

The softness of your human embrace takes ahold of his memories, as you both lay beneath the endless firmament above.

“Have you ever wished upon a star, Kuni?” You asked, your warm fingers combing through the distant nights contained in his shiny locks.

“Pft, are you serious?” He used to retort, the mirrored galaxies of his stare coming into view as his eyelids opened.

“Very.” You stated, without stopping your movements, eyes never leaving the starfields above.

“Why?” He asked, focused on your profile, as if a part of him knew how ephemeral instants like this would become, committing to memory the only constellation that lit up his hollow heart.

“Because it’s nice, to hope, to believe in things… wouldn’t you agree?” You smiled down at him, tender hands cradling the coolness of his jawline.

“Huh, if you say so…”

“You know I’m right!” You chuckled, poking his cheek playfully, his nose scrunching up in feigned annoyance.

“Ugh, whatever.”

“Make a wish?” Your fingers found his in the night breeze, entwining together, the warmth of a small sun just for him.

“Fine…” He sighed, closing his eyes, lashes of concealed dreams leaning on his perfect cheekbones.

“I wished for forever with you.” He croaks out now.

An almost god brought to his knees by the treacherous fate written in devious stars.

His vision blurs, headed skyward, the universe above, a multitude of molten wildfires to him, raining down in flammable rain, his own tears the match to ignite them.

The failed god weeps. Winter burns.

✧ LYNEY

“You never know what can happen in the blink of an eye.”

Those were the words the magician once uttered, as your eyes lit up in wonder. He believes to recall it was a summer night, when his dusky gaze set on you for the first time.

Beaming and shining with excitement, you marveled at his sleight of hand, as the lumidouce bell on the performer’s hand vanished, only for its petals to have tinted in rosy shades of rainbow when the bloom next appeared in your hair.

If anyone had told Lyney, in that moment, that you’d end up putting his heart under spell, he wouldn’t have quite believed it.

But thinking back on it now, the time spent next to you certainly feels like mere seconds.

A peculiar figure sporting a top hat makes his way towards Fontaine’s graveyard.

His steps are monotone, the usual cheshire-like grin on his visage is nowhere to be seen, and in his hands, flowers abound.

Lumidouce bells.

The color of goodbyes, separations.

And the summer nights under which he used to kiss you.

“Please, Lyney! I want to see another one!” You begged, hands clasped together, eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

Your lover hums, his gaze, the backdrop against which the sunsets in your stare sparkled.

“Well, mon coeur,” the magician leaned forward, “I’ll have to charge you for it this time, you know.”

You pouted, marcotte colored lips irresistibly sweet, a bite of sugary peach in the heat of an early midsummer’s night.

“Close your eyes, my rose.” Lyney breathed, in the little dusk-lit millimeters separating you two.

“Okay.”

Warmth flooded around him the instant his lips enveloped yours, akin to fairy lights in the coziness of a familiar room, fiery arrows that linked two hearts. Your lover’s hands cupped your jawline, spells written in the caress of his gloved touch over your skin.

A new breed of magic, with the sun dipping behind the nation of hydro’s mountains to give the lovers privacy.

When he next opens his eyes, the allure has faded.

No trace of you remains, save for the emptiness and cold beside him.

And the only nightmare he can’t undo; your tombstone all too palpable, too real.

“You really never know how everything can change in the blink of an eye, huh?” Lyney utters, his voice raw, hoarse.

Despite the lumidouce bells’ petals shifting from dusk to dawn the moment he lays them to rest over you, the magician feels like he’s shooting arrows made of shadows; there’s no fiery beacon to light up this night.

The curtain closes when he steps away, rainbow roses bleeding and lonely in his wake.

The sun has set.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Off-key birdsong and steely skies.

Those are Fontaine’s Chief Justice’s companions today.

Alone, he sits next to the ghost of someone he used to adore.

Someone he still loves.

Crystalline amethyst eyes scan the horizon. Even the seas seem turbulent today, relentless waves colliding against jutting rocks, as if by persistence alone they could cut through them.

The wailing ocean mirrors Neuvillette’s actions; as if by staring in the distance, he could somehow conjure you up back into the world, on forgotten dreams and pieces of flashbacks alone.

“It looks like it will rain soon, my dearest.” He softly says, the words lost in the monsoon overcasting the heavens.

Naturally, no answer follows, except for the agonized cry of a fallen sparrow.

The Iudex of Fontaine sighs. An upheaval in the blowing mistral combs through his hair, the sensation unlocking the pages of a diary once rose-colored, now only scattered petals over a lake that’s gone still for good.

“Isn’t the weather so nice lately, Neuvi?” You chirped, knees folded over the azure flowerbeds. Your hands were carded through your lover’s long locks, silver seafoam running almost hypnotizingly between your fingers.

Sunbeams glittered all around you when his eyes opened up to you, enigmas from the depths being laid bare for you alone.

“It is, darling…” He trailed off, one of his hands touching the side of your face, eliciting giggles from you.

Pink dusted over the pallor of his cheeks whenever you did that.

If only all days could be sunny, if only he could have kept the symphony of your laugh forever playing…

The sea’s surface turns charcoal, undulating with the low whistling of uprising gales.

Dark spots start appearing over the stone where your name’s been eternally put to sleep.

Beneath the blindfold, Justice mourns.

It’s raining again.

[proseandpretrichor]

Longing For You~ Spencer Reid

Summary: After noticing you share the same bus route, Spencer can't help but want to know more about you Warnings: None

Spencer had memorized your entire routine. Not in a creepy stalker way, he honestly couldn’t help it, your existence shone so bright it rendered him in captivation without you really even trying. 

The first Monday he saw you, he smelled your perfume first. Vanilla with some hints of coffee and cinnamon, warm and comforting, like a hug from fall itself. You came to stand in front of where he sat, there being no room in the crowded bus, leaving you with the only option of invading his presence with yours. Facing him so that you could look out the window, the only words you had since spoken to him were a quick, “Sorry!” before turning your attention to the contents outside. 

He didn’t anticipate what your voice would have sounded like but it matched you perfectly, soft, warm, melodic and lilting. Reminding him of the wind-chimes, Garcia cluttered her front porch with. 

He wouldn’t have given anything and everything the universe desired of him to hear it again, to hear it every moment he was given on this earth. 

He took the advantage of your distraction to commit your appearance to memory. You were much shorter than him. While he was tall and lanky, you were soft and curvy, every part of your body well loved. Shiny  hair tumbling to kiss your shoulders creating a halo-like frame around your face. The hue of your hair saturating the  in color your eyes, which sparkled from the wide-framed glasses perched on your nose dotted with freckles that splayed out reaching out till your cheekbones. Your full cheeks tinted pink from your exertion to reach the bus. Your lips were a modest plump, your fuller bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you surveyed the scenes they passed. 

That day you wore a simple black dress. Thin straps meeting the v-line that plummeted to your cleavage. The fabric clinging to your soft curves until your hips then fell loosely till your mid-thighs. Artistically woven jewelry making home in the open space of your chest as though pointed to the art below the garments. An oversized sage green sweater covered your exposed shoulders and trailed down your arms covering your ring clad fingers which clasped your leather satchel matching his. 

Your black boot clad feet tip tapped on the bus floor as you mouthed the lyrics to the music flowing from the earbuds in your ears adorned with more jewelry he thought could possibly fit on someone’s ears. 

It was then that he noticed an array of tattoos underneath your black stockings. 

An open faced pomegranate, a fairy, a hummingbird, a lit lantern with some plants hanging from the frame, a cracked antique looking mirror and a mosaic looking window were only some of the art that he could see covering your lower thighs and upper calves. Spencer was never particularly drawn to tattoos before, but there was something so mesmerizing and intriguing about the ink plastered on your skin. Why these drawings, what did they mean to you, what were their stories, did you have any others he couldn’t see. 

The chirping sound of someone signaling the driver to stop the bus interrupted his thoughts and before he could snap out of his trance you were  gone. 

The next day, Spencer vibrated with anticipation as the bus hurled towards the stop he hoped you would be at. Sure enough, the open doors wafted your perfume towards him as he glanced up from his shoes and saw you walking towards him as you boarded the bus. 

This Tuesday was rainy, foggy, humid, and ominous. While Spencer loved the possibility these kinds of days brought, most of society didn’t. And much to his delight, this meant the bus wasn’t as crowded as the previous day, allowing you to perch yourself  in the seat across from him. 

The open space allowed you to open your satchel and bring out your book which seemed to delight you. You wiggled in your seat as you opened the very worn copy, cramming the bookmark, annotation tabs and pencil in your hand as you placed the book on your thighs. 

Spencer couldn’t help but stare at you in awe as you lost yourself in the pages in the way he’s only seen in himself. Every now and then you would pause, look up and out at the window above him, adjust your glasses, underline a particular sentence or two and tab the page before losing yourself in the plot once more. 

He couldn’t help but feel pieces of his soul chip off of his being and float over to you every time you  hummed a note in the song you was listening to or pulled a berry glossed lip into your teeth. 

Spencer knew in his very genius logical mind that love at first sight couldn't possibly be plausible. While love at first sight could very well be an intense initial attraction, one couldn’t simply be in love or hold the intense passion of love with nothing but a singular glance of a person.

 But in that moment, Spencer was willing to risk it all, he was willing to step onto every stage he ever stood on and declare he wished to worship this one goddess for the rest of his life, however long he was blessed with. And if he was granted too little time on this earth, he would beg on his knees to a god he didn’t believe in to have just one more minute looking at you. 

Over the coming weeks, Spencer committed any little detail of you to memory. An unsleeved coffee cup told him the secret of your coffee order- a hot/iced dirty chai extra chai and a shot of caramel. The temperature of your beverage depends on the weather that day.

He figured out your favorite color as your glasses, phone case, and many of your articles of clothing were various shades of the same color.

A flash of your work badge allowed him to notice your place of work- a local university in the city of Quanitico which a quick shameful google search he made as soon as he got to work told him you were the lead analyst and book curator for the library at the school.

He joined Instagram just to scroll through your posts and stories which included snapshots of the books you read - a blend of the classics, fantasy, and romance being the most frequent genres you enjoyed, song lyrics that spoke to you, and what you called photo dumps of random candids of you and things you enjoyed throughout your weeks.

He learned you had a rescue pitbull named Galadriel which you affectionately called Gala from your posts and phone lockscreen.

He learned you graduated from Harvard from the only swag sweatshirt you seemed to own since unlike all of the clothes he had seen you wear this one was faded and worn and a quick inquiry from an acquaintance who raved on and on about the sweet, dedicated, and smart nature of their old student. 

After three months of shared bus routes, he was totally enamored with you. You were  his last thought before he went to bed wondering how you would do your hair or what you would wear the next morning and the first thought he mustered when he woke up a ghostly waft of your perfume fueling him to start the day just to see her.

 He longed to hold you in his arms, to bury his head in your neck, card his fingers through your soft tresses and listen to your every word with a baited breath. But no matter how much he longed and struggled to gain the confidence to just try and approach you, he couldn’t enter your bubble for fear of you finding him uninteresting. 

It was 3:37 on a Wednesday afternoon as Spencer sat down in his usual seat. He and the team had just wrapped up a case when he decided he would take the after case paperwork home and do it after a little power nap and shower. As he leaned against the window clutching his go-bag in his lap, he didn’t notice the bus filling up with people leaving work, nor did he register the presence coming up towards him. 

“Excuse me,” he turned to face the voice, “Do you mind if I sit here, there’s no more space otherwise I’d give you the row” You smiled softly at him gesturing at the seat beside him. 

“No, of course! I don’t mind at all.” He said a little to hurriedly wincing at his own excitement. 

With a soft thanks, You plopped in the seat, thigh brushing his due to the close proximity. 

“Are you alright? I don’t mean to pry but you seem more exhausted today then you typically do. Not that you look tired normally, I didn’t mean that…” You stuttered, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I just haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to make sure everything was okay in your world.” Finishing with tinged cheeks you glanced at him before focusing on one of your rings. 

“I am quite alright, thank you. Exhausted yes, but if anything relieved to be here. I was on a case.” Spencer told you, teeming with excitement that they were finally having a conversation, something he only ever thought would happen in his daydreams. 

“A case?” What kind of case, if you don’t mind me asking.” You tilted your  head fully invested in his next words. 

Spencer couldn’t believe that not only did you notice he was gone, wanted to check on his well-being, but actually was invested in his life with a sliver of interest he had with you.

“You don’t have to share. I know I’m being nosy. Just tell me to butt-out if you want some peace and quiet.” 

“No! He quickly shut you down. 

“I don’t mind, I work for the FBI, I was on a case to stop a series of serial killings.” 

You  fully turned in her seat, mouth dropping in shock. “I thought they only had those jobs in movies! Do you have those boards with the pictures and the red strings, and have the family members make phone calls to the criminals?” your hands started waving and your eyes widening as the thoughts raced around in your  head. 

“Well I am a terrible liar so I don’t think I’m cut out to be an actor. He tried to joke that he was delighted to be rewarded with a little giggle from the girl beside him.

“We have boards, yes, no strings, though. We mainly put photos of preceding victims, evidence and geographical tools such as maps. Sometimes we entice the unsub with direct contact if they have the need to inselves into the investigation. Most of the time we don’t have any contact” He rambled but quickly trailed off taking a peek at you to see if you had any signs of boredom. 

Instead you found you leaning towards him, chin resting your closed fist which you propped on your thigh. You nodded along pausing before asking, “Unsub? I’m unfamiliar with that term.” 

“Unidentified subject,” Spencer supplied, “Since they are not convicted or charged with a crime, yet they are not technically criminals.” 

“Ohhhhh, yeah that makes total sense. Duh” You said lightly smacking your forehead. Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle. 

Spencer expected you to be content with the conversation and turn your attention elsewhere. Instead you continued asking him questions about the case, interjecting to ask his opinions on the unsubs behaviors or make little comments of your own. Just as Spencer anticipated, talking to you was easy even if they were discussing a rather heavy topic and you voiced very interesting points. 

Before he knew it, the bus had arrived at your stop and Spencer's heart ached when you moved to get up. 

“See you tomorrow… I’m sorry I don’t know your name!” you exclaimed, hands coming up to cup your cheeks in embarrassment. 

“Spencer Reid.” He offered. 

“Y/N Y/LN” you returned beaming up at him. “I would love to continue this conversation tomorrow if you're interested.” you  asked, looking down nervously. 

“I would like that.” Spencer returned. 

You nodded and with a little bounce you turned and headed to the bus exit. As you stood behind the line of passengers exiting,  you turned back and waved at Spencer before you disappeared off the bus. 

Spencer held his hand up to wave back hoping you  saw him return your gesture.

For the rest of his ride, he could not stop grinning. He willed the bus to drive to his apartment faster so he could climb into bed so the next time he opened his eyes he would only have to wait a little longer to hear your voice and smell that vanilla perfume.

[mbirnsings-71]

YOU'RE WELCOME JAY PLEASE-

ITS BEEN BROUGHT 2 MY ATTENTION THAT ALLENS HUMMINGBIRDS EXISTS SO UHM

THIS IS BART ALLEN BIRD UH HUH

IF I EVER DRAW BART W/WINGS YK WAHT IM REFERANCING NOW

[stalkerofthegods]

Lady Aphrodite/Venus deep dive

Lady Aphrodite/Venus is Amazing and beautiful in soul and looks, graceful as a swan and as kind as a mother, I adore Lady Aphrodite/Venus as a worshiper and as a researcher, she is far beyond interesting, so please know that she is not any insults you may know, she is a powerful and wonderful goddess and a mother, and know she is not just her looks.

Herbs • anemone, daffodil, myrtle, lettuce , pomegranate, apple, rosemary fresh roses, vanilla, cinnamon, cypress, jasmine, the olive tree, narcissus, honeysuckle, the apple tree, the lime tree, Strawberries, Oranges, Pears, lotus

Animals• hare, turtle-dove, sparrow, goose, swan, horses, hummingbirds, cats, butterflies, bees, fish, hare. 

Symbols• Hearts, Seashells, Mirror, Girdles, Dolphins, Doves, Swans, Sparrows, Bees, Sea Foam, Pomegranates, Apples, Strawberries, Oranges, Pears

Colors • pink & red, rose gold , blue, green, white, gold, baby blue, pastel colors, Seafoam green, Aqua

Appearance in astral or general • many ancient artworks of her, depicted her with traditionally male features, like beards, along with traditionally female features, she can change looks many times, but no matter her looks she is the most beautiful alive.

Crystal• rose quarts, garnet, pearls, diamond, sapphire, aquamarine, opal, sea glass, silver, emerald, rhodonite, rhodochrosite, ocean jasper, morganite

Jewelry • pearls, rose gold, promise rings, diamonds

epithets of Aphrodite• Psytiros - whispering Aphrodite, epithet also is attributed to Eros, Euploia - a marine epithet to Aphrodite of easy sailing, fair voyage, Leaina -the Lioness, an epithet given to the Goddess by Athenian orator Democha, Praxis - Aphrodite of action, a statue to whom stood in the city of Megara, Peitho - as an epithet to Aphrodite, it describes Her a persuasive, Epiodoros - Aphrodite of bountiful gifts as She was titled by Greek poet Stesichoru, Argounis - shining Aphrodite, worshiped in Boeotia and likely associated with Dawn, Philomedes - Aphrodite of a lovely smile or smiling Aphrodite, Helikoblepharos - quick-glancing, or Aphrodite with an ever-moving eye, Polychrisou - rich in gold, rich in many golden gifts, Chrisopeplos - gold-clad, Aphrodite dressed in gold, Chrisostephanos -  Aphrodite wearing a golden wreath, Chrisanios - Aphrodite holding golden rein as Her chariot was often said to be fully made of gold, Nikêphoros- She is the Warlike, Areia- She is the averter of unlawful desires and actions, Apostrophia- She is one who blessed marriage and unions, Migôntis- She is the one who turns to love, Ourania- Heavenly, Divine Love, Pandêmos- Common To All, Epistrophia - She who Turns to Love, Nympthia Hêrê - Of Hera of Marriage, Symmakhia- Ally in Love, Pontia - Of the Sea, Kypria - Of Cyprus, Pothon Mater -  Mother of Desire, Chrysea- Golden, Aphrodite Urania (also spelt Ourania), Aphrodite Pandemos, Venus Genatrix, Peitho, - meaning persuasion, Philommeidḗs - "smile-loving", Cypris and Cythereia -  for her association of Cyprus and Cythera, Eleemon, In Athens, she was known as Aphrodite in kopois ("Aphrodite of the Gardens”, At Cape Clias, a town along the Attic coast, she was venerated as Genetyllis "Mother", Aphrodite Euploia - of the fair voyage, Anaduomenê - The Goddess Who Arose From The Sea, Ambologêra - The Ons Who Delays Old Age, Antheia - The Blooming One / Friend Of Flowers , Apotrophia - The Expeller ( Of Shameful and Sinful Desire), Areia - The Warlike, Kupria/Kuprigeneia - The One Born in The Island Of Cyprus, Despoina - The Rulling Goddess/ The Mistress , Genetullis - The Protectress Of Births , Nikêphoros - Bringer Of Victory

Cult epithets • Ourania (heavenly) , Pandémos (common to all) , areia (of ares, warlike) , hòplismené (armed) , Symmakhia (ally in love) 

Poetic epithets • Kypris ( of Cyprus) , philomeidês (laughter loving) , aphrogenia (foam born) khryseé (golden) Pothón Mêtêr (mother of desire) 

Names• Venus, Aphrodite, Harthor, Astare, Priyah, inanna, isis, Freaya,

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Zodiac • Libra, taruas

How to get closer • sign her hymms or dance in her honor

Number• 5

Courting• Ares, she is no longer married.

Past lovers and flings • Anchises (a mortal in the past she dated), Adonis ( handsome young man killed by a boar (Ares in disguise), Dionysus, Zues (maybe), Hermes, Phaethon, Posideon, Butes, Apollon

Devine children • Phobos, Deimos, Harmonia, Eros, Anteros, pothos, hermaphrodios, (From the mortal Anchuses), Aeneas a mythical hero of Troy and Rome, and Lyrus/Lyrnus (From Butes), eryxs, Meligounis and several more unnamed daughters, Hymenajks, lacchus, priapus, the Charites, (graces: Aglaea, Euphrosyne, Thalia) (From Dionysus) Phobos, Deimos, Harmonia, The Erotes (Eros) , Anteros, Himeros ,  Pothos,  from Ares, Hermaphroditos, Priapus, from Hermes, Rhodos from Posideon, Beroe, Golgos, Priapus (rarely) (from Adonis), Astynous from Phaethon, Priapus (from Zeus)

Attendees • The erotes, Harmonia, Hebe, peithos, the kharites , Naiades

Regions• Cyprus; Kytherea, Corinth, Eryx in Sicly

Holiest shrine•  Paphos, island of Cyprus, (her birth place & seat of her mysteria) 

Other shrines • Temples throughout Greece and Asia Minor and ur moms house. Some places, most notably Sparta, Thebes, and Cyprus honored her as a goddess of war.

Parents • Ouranos Sometimes it’s said that she is the daughter of Zeus and Dione. And born from the severed genitals of the primordial god Ouranos.

Siblings • Aeacus, Angelos, Apollo, Ares, Artemis, Athena, Dionysus, Eileithyia, Enyo, Eris, Ersa, Hebe, Helen of Troy, Hephaestus, Heracles, Hermes, Minos, Pandia, Persephone, Perseus, Rhadamanthus, the Graces, the Horae, the Litae, the Muses and the Moirai.

personality• she isn’t intimidating at first, she likes not having already used products on her alter if possible, a clean, nice smelling alter.

dislikes• She does not like Medusa, she wants nothing to do with her for some reason, just what I’ve heard from people who worshiped Aphrodite and Medusa in close timelines

Diety of • Sex, libido, self-image, self-love, relationships, friendships, parent love and pet love, crushes, lust, procreation, seduction, pleasure, happiness, sadness, passion, stalking, ports, port homes

Home• Olympus and was living in the sea before Olympus

Hate• Boars, pigs. 

Likes• Faries, unicorns, butterflies, lacy & frilly things, music boxes, ballet, cars.

Roots• Greek, born near Paphos, on the island of Cyprus

Offerings • pastries, cakes, , olive branches,  dark chocolate, wine, apples, perfume, makeup, Pomegranate: said to be first planted by Aphrodite herself, Strawberries, Raspberries, Blackberries, Figs, Watermelon, Sea shells, handheld mirrors/ beautifully ornate mirrors, makeup products, perfumes (sweet/sensual/seductive ones), skin/body care products, fruits, apples, lettuce, pomegranates, chocolates, sugar and cream, honey, wine (rosé or sweet-scented), sweetened rose tea, rose quartz, pearls, jewelry, roses, flower bouquets, statues of her sacred animals (ex- swans) ,  myrtle or myrrh incense, pink/gold/white candles, seawater, the artwork of her, devotional poems, self-care routines, ritual baths, have a rose garden that you can take care of in her name if possible, be supportive of women and the LGBTQ+ community. • olive oil, fruit, honey, chocolate, dark chocolate (she loves it) , Apples/golden apples, Mermaids, Jewelry, Cherries, Dolphins imagery, Perfumes, Cologne, Makeup, Combs, Affirmations/Affirmation Cards, Beach Sand, Sea imagery, Water, Love poems, Oyster shells, Pink Salt, Driftwood, Sea glass, Amenome/Roses/Carnations, Other flowers, Valentine's Day gifts, Teddy bears, Rose water, Eros/Cupid imagery, Cakes, (Dress up) Dolls, Chapstick/lipstick, Fishnets, Honey cakes, Undergarments, Hearts, Handheld fans, Pictures of loved ones, Condoms/lube(18+), Lingerie(18+), Undergarments(18+), Sex toys(18+), NSFW magazines/books/movie(18+) (AND I MEAN IT WHEN I SAY 18+, OR ASK HER!!), roses, Myrtles, Apples, Pomegranates, Honey, Chocolates, Cookies or cakes made to look like one of Her symbols (ex- hearts), Strawberries, Oranges, Pears, Bath Salts, Bath oils, Bubble bath soap, Scented lotions or fancy soaps

Devotional• light your favorite candle, put on your favorite lotion or perfume, put on your favorite piece of jewelry, put on your favorite article of clothing, enjoy a sweet treat, Sex magic, Glamour spells, Dressing up, acts of self care and acts of self- love, Caring for mental & physical health, Take a bubble bath,Spend time at the sea, Collect sea shells, Read Sappho poetry, Donate to LBGTQ+, Support sex workers, Have safe sex and learn about it, Stand up for yourself and what you believe in, Donate to woman programs and shelters, Do stuff to make ur self feel empowered and beautiful, Honor her kids and ares, watch a romcom, watch a regular romantic movie or show or read your favorite romantic story, Make plans with loved ones and friends or your lover in her honor, Treat yourself to something you enjoy, if you have a pet and they like to snuggle, snuggle or lay with them. Talk to them and tell them how much you love them (If able take them for a walk or a ride), listen to ocean/sea soundscapes, read up on all the many kinds of love, engage in an act of self-care, listen to love songs, listen to a devotional playlist for her, make a Pinterest board or playlist, or journal all of your favorite things and things that you love, learn about the different kinds of love, do things that boost your self esteem, be gentle with yourself, take it easy, etc, watch a ballet, read love poems, Dress up and selfies, Keep menstrual products on you (even if you don't bleed), Advocate for pro-choice, Give/accept compliments, Advocate for SA victims, Go on a date, Take yourself on a date, Do something nice for your partner, get a Manicure/pedicure, Flirt, Affirmations in the mirror, Drink wine, Advocate for proper sex ed (Including queer sex ed), Experiment with your style, Mirror scrying, Listen to sleep affirmations, Love letter to self/her/partner, Take a bath/shower,Go to the ocean/water, Finally give into that one kink (You know the one, 18+), do Masturbation in her honor (only 18+, I heard she’s not comfortable with minors doing it, but that’s between y’all, just ask her beforehand.), Practice safe sex (18+), Educate yourself on the porn industry, Support sex workers (TIP THEM, 18+), Have sex (18+), Get educated on consent/safe sex, Take nude/lewds (18+)

Holiday • on March 18, goddess of fertility day 

Season• spring 

Status• Olympian, major goddess

Music • Harry styles, Classical music, old love songs (50s & 60s)

Day• Friday 

Planet• Venus

Tarot• High priestess, the lovers, the empress, the star

Rituals • honored and invoked for love and fertility and beauty

Festivals • Aphrodisa, kinyrades ( summer festival) adonia ( mourning for Adonis, woman only) 

Fact• She was most worshiped during times of politics, Many people offered her Opiates, or did Opiates in her honor. opium-burners were often found at her shrines in ancient times, please do not do opium.

Prayer•

1• sing, sing, oh i sing to aphrodite who is most beautiful! she who stirs the passionof men & god alike! o, to she — i sing! golden goddess with soft lashes, golden goddess withsoft arms, i spin and sing and delight in the bright rose that is you. may i dance with your grace, lifted up as the foam from the sea as you were — may my smile be blessed with delight. golden-haired goddess, bless my tongue to be sweet as honey, bless my fingers to be delicate and swift, bless my steps so they may bound forth in soft beauty. glory to she — praise to she! goddess of ever golden smiles, of fierce beauty, of spilling laughter and delight. o! may i love as you love — may i delight as you delight! goddess, fill me with your beauty — may i shine & rise above the wrathful waters of those around me and delight, delight, delight in the glory that you have given to me! 

2•Golden Aphrodite

Lady of beauty and grace, Please give me the power to appreciate my body, Grant me confidence in my masculinity, Help me to feel your love within myself, and to express it outwardly as well, Lady Aphrodite, please hear my prayer, I sing your praises and offer you this incense

3•Aphrodite, guide me towards love. Help me discover it, receive it, embrace it, give it, celebrate it, honor it, teach it, and live it. Let love be the mark I leave, as your devotee, as a human being. 

4• Antheia 

Hear to me my call for spring to have sprung,Oh, sweet one scented of honey and nectar. Hear my call Aphrodite Antheia,As I harken a need for the sweet bloom. I crave the beauty of the opening flower, The sweet taste of its nectar upon my lips. Ah Aphrodite Antheia, Bring to me the joy of the fresh blooms. Let the petals cascade upon my body, Allow me the joy of the sunshine. Oh sweet one, Oh Aphrodite Antheia. Bestow upon me and mine, The gifts of the flowers fair.

5•daughter of seafoam, goddess of beauty, aphrodite please hear my cries. please listen as i describe all the parts of me that are shattered & torn, please understand as i tell my stories of pain. aphrodite accept me please. aphrodite pick me up & help me mend myself for i am yours, thank you so much & so mote it be

6• Aphrodite rivals the beauty of the sun setting over an ocean's horizon as you stand on the shore, the water tickling your feet as it pulled in and pushed back out repeatedly by the waves.

Scents/Inscene •  Rose, wine, fresh roses, Frankincesne, Myrrth, vanilla, cinnamon, cypress, jasmine, cherry blossom, lavender. 

Other• images of things she’s associated with, jewelry, perfume, bath salts , scented lotion, seawater, seashells, sand, makeup, feathers, self care essentials. 

Links/websites/sources

 @khaire-traveler

 ephemeral-cryptid.tumblr.com

  @mars-and-the-theoi graffitiphilosopher.tumblr.com teawiththegods.tumblr.com

 @seleniangnosis

@melitheoidevotion

 @seafoamsister

 evilios.tumblr.com hearthcreation.tumblr.com orsialos.tumblr.com 

@hisfluer

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 8: The New House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, kids, parenthood, historical topics like violence and discrimination, Cakes with Christabel, angst?? Who am I kidding. Angst!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @gemini-mama @daenysx @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbelll @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 2 chapters left!!! 🥰🧁

“I have no idea what he’s thinking,” Christabel tells Alicent, a low furtive murmur around nibbles of a cinnamon French toast cupcake. They are both sitting at the kitchen counter as you scuttle around wiping down burners and handles and knobs, trying not to listen in, unable to help yourself. At the table, Amir is frosting a Lady Baltimore cake and chatting with Criston, who has eaten no less than three miniature cherry pies in the past fifteen minutes. Amir keeps casting you wide-eyed, flummoxed glances. He means: Can you believe these people? No, you can’t.

Alicent sips the glass of sweet tea you poured for her and gazes vaguely around the room. “Oh, you know how Aemond is, dear. He works so hard. He’s so consumed by the Lake Verret project.”

“But shouldn’t he talk to me?” Christabel’s large blue eyes are luminous, persistent.

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Of course he talks to you.”

“Sure,” Christabel says, frowning. “He talks to me about the weather and the garden and the koi in the fish pond. He asks if I listen to Dire Straights or AC/DC. Nothing of consequence, nothing revealing. And he never touches me. Alright, fine, there’s a hand on my shoulder or my waist once in a while, for a moment. There are quick, courteous kisses. But that’s all. And he’s so…so…” She struggles to decide on a word. “Formal!”

“Have you tried the cannoli cupcake yet?” Alicent asks, sliding the plate towards Christabel. “It’s just divine. I absolutely adore it.”

“When we’re apart he says he misses me, but he hardly ever calls. He tells me that he loves me, but only if I say it first.”

“He’s marrying you!” Alicent declares as she restlessly twists her assortment of glittering rings, gold and diamonds and emeralds. “What more is there to say, dear?”

“Surely there must be something,” Christabel mumbles. She obediently samples the cannoli cupcake, carving away a tiny sliver with her fork. “Oh, that is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s my favorite one yet.”

They have twelve flavors to choose from, some familiar and some new: vanilla bean and triple chocolate of course, the classics, and then also cannoli, cinnamon French toast, carrot, red velvet, Boston cream pie, apple cobbler, peanut butter and grape jelly, Neapolitan, Louisiana crunch, and hummingbird. Christabel surveys the selection and then looks to where you are vigorously scrubbing an already clean stovetop. “Aemond mentioned something about banana bread cupcakes. Do you have one of those we could try?”

And again, you are amazed by how much he remembers: the very first cupcake from the very first night. “Um…I’m not sure, actually. Amir, didn’t we make a batch earlier this week? Are there any still on the table?”

Amir checks the cake plates, lifting glass covers, until he locates a single remaining banana bread cupcake for your customers. He ferries it to the kitchen counter with great ceremony. “Everyone raves about this flavor! And it’s so quintessentially southern. Perfect for a Louisiana wedding.” You give him a miserable, deadened stare and he offers a millisecond smirk of commiseration. What else can we do? Amir means. And you think: Nothing.

Christabel samples the cupcake, an infinitesimal morsel speared on the very tip of her fork. You recall how Aemond tasted like sugar and honey and cinnamon when he kissed you on the night you met, rough, dominating, irresistible, without the aching weight of disappointments or betrayals. If time was a cobweb you could rip and walk through, you’d be back in that May dusk in an instant, you’d live there forever and never leave.

“That’s it.” Christabel grins as she licks cream cheese frosting from her full, pink lips. “This one. I want a banana bread cake.”

“Mmm,” Alicent agrees, taking a bite. “It has so many dimensions! Sweet with just a touch of salt, light and fluffy but with a certain substantial, rustic quality, don’t you think? It’s the cinnamon, perhaps.”

You make a note on your yellow legal pad—a reminder you don’t need—so you can avoid Christabel’s benign, guileless gaze. “Is there a design you’d like for the frosting?”

“Wildflowers.”

Amir emits a startled gasp before he can swallow it back down. You look up at Christabel. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Just like the vanilla bean cake you made for the engagement party.” She draws blossoms in the air with her fingers, whimsical like a fairytale. “There was white icing and then all these gorgeous flowers in a dozen different colors. You could do that for a wedding cake, couldn’t you?”

“Of course.” And then you amend: “Well, Amir can. He’s our Picasso.”

“You’ll need something for the rehearsal dinner too, dear,” Alicent tells Christabel. Then she turns to you, tugging anxiously at one of her auburn ringlets. “You’re the expert, love. What would you recommend to impress upon our guests all the history and mystique of the Deep South?”

Your mind is blank, your thoughts gnarled up with visions of Christabel meeting Aemond at the end of an aisle. Amir sees this and he saves you.

“A Napoleon cake,” he announces with his best salesman enthusiasm, powerful enough to sweep everyone else along with him.

Alicent claps her hands, elated. “Oh, just like the town!”

“It has layers of puff pastry and rich custard cream, very French, very elegant and sophisticated, but also a nod to Napoleonville. And we can add a cherry jam to make it more romantic, if you like.”

“Doesn’t that just sound heavenly, darling?”

“Does Aemond like cherries?” Christabel asks Alicent. You know he does, but you don’t say anything.

“I think so. We’ll ask him tonight to be sure.” Alicent is opening her clutch purse to get the cash to pay you; she is eager to have this errand finished, you believe. “And can you put wildflowers on top of the Napoleon cake as well?”

“You can have the Declaration of Independence written on it if that is your heart’s desire,” Amir says, then steals a glimpse of you. You’re jotting the order down and then tracing over your own letters again and again.

“That’s the color scheme,” Christabel says a bit dreamily, forever woolgathering. “Wildflowers. And I think you suggested it at the engagement party,” she tells you, appreciative. In your recollection, it was less of a suggestion than a confession of what you once dared to hope for. “Everything has to have wildflowers. Even the dress.”

Alicent groans. “Oh, Christabel, not this again.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so resistant, those dresses were spectacular.”

“Whoever heard of a multicolored wedding dress?” Alicent asks you, Amir, Criston. “It’s absurd. The bride always wears pure white, everyone knows that. It’s tradition! It’s dignified!”

“Well now I get to solicit opinions too.” Christabel reaches into her own purse—a quilted shoulder bag, light blue with red roses and a label reading Souleiado stitched inside—and produces several polaroid photographs. She gives them to you; they are all of her posing in different wedding dresses, stylish white gowns freckled with wildflowers like splashes of paint. “All anyone can talk about is what I should wear, what the guests will expect, what they will chatter about when they gossip afterwards,” Christabel tells you. And in her vast, shimmering eyes you can detect no resentment or slyness, only quiet desperation. “But you’re a real person. So be honest with me, because there’s only one thing I really care about. Will my husband think I look ravishing in any of them?”

“These theatrics,” Alicent sighs to herself, lighting a Marlboro cigarette. Again, she is peering aimlessly around the kitchen. Amir fidgets with the dogwood flower in his hair as he watches you wearily. Criston compulsively eats another miniature cherry pie.

You study the polaroid photos. Each one feels like a split lip, a fractured rib, the shredding elephantine pressure of a contraction. You wait to speak until you’re sure your voice won’t break. “They’re all stunning. But this one…” You place one picture on top of the pile. “This dress was made for you. Just look at your face. Glowing like a lightning bug.”

“Thank you,” Christabel says, beaming, immensely grateful, and she takes the photos back. She seems pacified. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

“I was, yes. Briefly. Not very happily, I must admit. But it was worth it to get my daughter.”

She smiles. There’s no uneasiness; she doesn’t shy away from displays of human frailty. “I’d like a few daughters one day. We could all dress up together and style each other’s hair.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. If I tried that, I’d get my hands chewed off.”

Christabel laughs. She wears a casual blue t-shirt, blue gingham capri trousers, and white flat pumps. Her eyeshadow is a sparkling gold, her mascara flaking onto the apples of her cheeks. She is still marveling at you with those aquamarine eyes when Alicent pulls a list out of her clutch and grudgingly crosses off items with a black ballpoint pen.

“So we’ve got a wedding cake, a rehearsal dinner cake, a dress, a venue, flowers, photographers…I still need to call about hair and makeup…and we need to pick out candles…”

“Where are you getting married?” you ask Christabel.

“The most unique, picturesque, atmospheric place in the entire state of Louisiana, I’m sure of it.”

“We took a drive to visit that church you mentioned,” Alicent says to you. “And it was absolutely perfect. None of our guest will have ever seen anything like it. And it’s so historic! Over 150 years old! The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens.”

Amir squeals, a distressed mewing that he stifles with a feigned cough into his elbow. You stand shellshocked for a few seconds before managing a generic encouragement: “Really! Wow! Amazing! Great!”

Now Christabel is rather melancholy again. She scrutinizes her engagement ring, a large teardrop emerald with a gold band. Her voice is low, like she’s talking to herself. “I just wish…I don’t know. That we had more time together before the wedding, I suppose. Then I think I’d feel like I had more of a handle on things. It’s all been such a whirlwind, such a shock. A good shock, but still. We hardly know each other.”

Alicent prompts her: “You care for Aemond, don’t you, dear?”

“I’m in awe of him,” Christabel replies, a little dazed, a little defenseless. “He’s so clever and gallant. He’s the most inspiring man I’ve ever known. And the scar…it gives him quite a roguish look, doesn’t it? Like a Bond villain. It’s not a detriment in the least.”

“Yes, yes,” Alicent says impatiently, like she’s waiting for the conversation to be over. “Then there’s nothing more to worry about. You care for him, he cares for you, and you’ll have the honeymoon to get better acquainted. Criston, would you go outside and start the Lexus, please?” He dutifully departs.

Honeymoon. Your stomach lurches, the sea in a storm. You can see Aemond’s hands on Christabel’s face, in her hair, skating up her bare thighs. You can hear him moaning her name.

“We’re going to Greece,” Christabel informs you, thinking she’s being polite. “Athens, Mykonos, Santorini, and Corfu. Have you ever been?”

I’ve never been anywhere. But instead you say, forcing a smile: “Not yet.”

When Christabel, Alicent, and Criston have gone, you look to Amir. Your blood has turned to cement: cold, heavy, immobile, trapped. “You realize she’s getting my wedding, right? The one I always wanted. The wildflowers. The candles. The chapel.”

“And she’ll even be taking your favorite dick home at the end of the night.”

You cover your face with both hands and shake your head, trying to clear it, to drive out mirages of someone else’s oasis. This can’t be real. I can’t handle it, I can’t survive it.

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, gently now: “If we’re catering dessert, we’ll have to go to the wedding. The rehearsal dinner too.”

“Why would they want that? How can they not see how insanely awkward and wrong this is?”

He shrugs. “They probably think it’s normal. Wasn’t Camilla at Charles and Diana’s wedding?”

“If one more person tries to talk to me about Camilla Parker Bowles, I’m going to feed myself to the gator.”

“You’ll have to come to terms with it or you’ll have to end it. Those are the only options.”

“Yeah.” And it’s not just about me. It’s Cadi’s life too.

Amir sits down at the kitchen table, crosses one leg over the other, kicks his foot nervously. He rests an elbow on the tabletop and his chin on the knuckles of his left hand. “I hate to give you more bad news.”

You already know what he’s going to say. You’ve been dreading it for months. “You have enough money saved for San Franscisco.”

“I do.”

You exhale, your shoulders collapsing, tapping your fingertips against the counter. The air conditioner whirrs; the cicadas shriek in the trees outside. The house is hushed and still. Cadi is away at horse camp. Each day you receive a postcard in the mail that you assume the employees forced her to write at gunpoint. “When are you leaving?”

“The end of July. I’ll wait until after the wedding, once all the dust has settled. But I can’t wait any longer than that.”

“I want you to be happy,” you say. “I really do. But I’m going to miss you so much. You’ve been my best friend for a decade. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a partner in life.”

Amir smiles faintly. “Come over here.”

When you sit beside him, he takes your hands in his; and you remember how he visited you in the hospital after Cadi was born, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers he picked himself and a Tupperware container full of crawfish pistolettes. He had been just a casual friend before you found out you were pregnant, one of a group, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t keep him at an arm’s length. Amir was different, and not in a way that you fully understood or accepted yet. But he was the only friend who had no judgment for you when you told him you were pregnant, who cared about how you felt, who wanted to be a part of whatever would happen next. He was the only one who stayed.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Amir tells you. “I’ve never even been on a date, not once. I’ve never been in love. I’ve never had sex that wasn’t a one night stand in a New Orleans club or the back seat of my Ford Escort because those were the only places we had to go. And I’m starting to believe that people like me can’t have more than that. So I have to go someplace where I can have more, where I will have more. I don’t want love to be something that only other people get to experience. I don’t want to be afraid of leaving my house after dark or wake up every day wondering if someone has broken a window out of my car again. I have to go. There’s no future for me here. If I stay in Napoleonville, this place will kill me, one way or the other.”

Okay, you think. I can let him go. After everything he’s done for me, this is how I can be the friend that he deserves in return. “You should leave, Amir,” you say, tears stinging in your eyes. “I hear you, I understand you. I just wish I could go with you.”

“No, don’t cry, don’t cry! This isn’t the end. I’ll fly back to visit, you know that. Grandma’s still here, you and Cadi are here. And you can visit me too. Maybe you’ll even settle down on the West Coast someday. Eight more years and you’re free.”

You try to imagine your life then: Cadi headed off to college—and she will go to college, you’ve already decided that—and your tether to Willis weakened, closer to 40 years old than 30, Aemond and Christabel nearing their anniversary. How many children will they have by then? Three? Four? And the Lake Verret project will be well-established and no longer in need of so much of Aemond’s attention, and the house they call The Last Desire will sit empty on the lakeshore, warm draughts breathing through it like blood in veins. “I wouldn’t know how to exist anywhere else.”

“You’d learn,” Amir says confidently. “Now, have you ever made a Napoleon cake before?”

“I don’t think so. Not that I can remember.” You consider this. “My mom might have a recipe lying around somewhere. I’ll call and ask her.”

“Yes, do that,” Amir agrees. “If she doesn’t, I’ll try to dig one up at the library. We’ll want to have a few practice runs before the rehearsal dinner. Gotta impress the Rockefellers and their soulless millionaire ilk. Unless you were planning to have a homicidal meltdown and make the custard out of antifreeze or something.”

You chuckle. “No. Probably not.”

“It would be difficult to blame you.” And he turns on the little pink Panasonic radio: Alone by Heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

In a spacious corner booth of the Olive Garden in Gonzales, Aemond is talking about Lake Verret as you pick at your Tour of Italy and Frank Sinatra pipes through the speakers. You could swear they have the same three songs playing on a loop: Fly Me To The Moon, My Way, Luck Be A Lady, back to outer space again.

“But by total coincidence, Daeron has been researching desalination techniques for his latest article. Apparently there are ways to try to mitigate the damage and reduce the brackishness of the water, so we’re going to be—”

Abruptly, you ask: “Where does Christabel think you are right now?”

Aemond’s forehead crinkles, his fork hovers above his plate of herb-grilled salmon. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and his Marlboro jacket, jeans, Adidas sneakers. “Why do you care?”

“She’s getting the wedding I always wanted, did you even notice? She’s getting married at the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens in Belle River. She’s getting wildflowers and flickering candles.” And she’s getting you too.

“Okay,” Aemond says slowly. “I’m not involved in any of that.”

“I think you are, actually, because you’re kind of the groom.”

“But I don’t do the wedding planning,” he insists. “I have no idea what Christabel has arranged. My job is to be there on the day in a suit and that’s just about the extent of the real estate it takes up in my brain.”

“She’s never mentioned any of that to you? Not once? You’d swear on your life?”

He sets down his fork with a clang and stares fixedly at you. Your waitress glances over from several tables away where she is refilling a couple’s sweet tea glasses. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry you had good ideas and other people liked them. It fucking sucks that you didn’t get the wedding you wanted when you were seventeen. But that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know you yet, and you didn’t know me. You can’t blame me for what Willis or anyone else did.”

“But it’s not fair,” you choke out, sounding weak and juvenile, and you hate it but you can’t stop. “I understand that you’re marrying her, I get that, but she can’t have everything.”

“Look…” Aemond laces his hands together on top of the table, and his voice softens. “Even if Christabel didn’t exist, even if you were from my world, even if you were a duchess or a socialite or the daughter of the president of the United States of America, I still couldn’t marry you.”

You scoff; it’s despicable. “Because of Cadi?”

“No,” Aemond says, like that’s preposterous, like he’d never consider her to be a liability. “Because I have to have heirs.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss with vitriol that stuns him. Now the waitress is gawking. “You’re going to manipulate Christabel into walking down that aisle and then immediately get her pregnant?”

“Why are you mad at me?! I’m listening to you, I’m respecting you! You don’t want to have any more children of your own, fine, completely reasonable, I would never ask you to have a baby and go through all of that again for the sake of the Targaryen dynasty, but somebody has to!”

“You really don’t understand why I would empathize with a teenage girl trying to raise a child when she’s lonely and exhausted and confused about why the man she married isn’t turning out to be who she expected?”

Aemond shakes his head like it’s not a valid comparison. “She wants this.”

“She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t understand what she’s signing up for.”

“Everyone from a family like mine goes through this,” Aemond says. “My grandparents did, my mum and dad did, Aegon did, even bloody Charles and Diana did, and now it’s my turn. There are growing pains, but people adjust and it all works out eventually. Christabel will learn to manage her expectations, and once the children are born she can find happiness wherever and with whoever she wants to.”

“But you’ll be with her,” you forced out, voice fracturing, and at first Aemond doesn’t grasp what you mean. “You’ll…you’ll sleep with her. You’ll touch her, you’ll kiss her, you’ll do everything with her.”

“Surely you, as someone who called up a stranger from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal, comprehends that sex can be a solely physical act under the right circumstances.”

“So what, you’ll fuck me and then go home to her? Or you’ll fuck her and come home to me? And I’m supposed to live like that?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s simple, like it’s easy.

You gaze morosely out of the restaurant window. In the distance is a Dollar General, a Burger King, the Kmart where you had to buy your own engagement ring.

“Do you want me to tell Christabel to change the wedding?”

“No.”

“Because if I tell her to pick a new venue, new flowers, new cakes, whatever, she’ll do it.”

“No. She likes her wedding. I can’t take that away from her. She thinks I’m her friend.”

“Cupcake,” Aemond says, tenderly now. You turn back to him. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m going to be gone for a while, four or five days. I have to fly to Norway and inspect some of the offshore rigs we have up there.”

“In the North Sea?” you ask, alarmed. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I mean, it’s oil drilling. It’s one of the most deadly professions in the world. But that’s how we built our fortune, our legacy. I’ve survived before, I’m sure I will again. If you need anything while I’m gone, you can call the house. Criston knows that you’re to be taken care of.”

“No one else can go to Norway instead of you?”

“I have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my responsibility.”

“Because Viserys told you to?”

“They amount to the same thing.”

“I don’t think you should listen to him.”

“I have to go,” Aemond says again. He takes out his wallet and lays $30 on the table. “But there’s something I need to show you first.”

As Aemond’s red Audi Quattro barrels down Route 70 southbound towards Napoleonville, you say very little to each other. Once you were strangers, and the words flowed easily and your bodies intertwined with effortless need, and now you have known each other for nearly two months and shared days and nights and confessions and yet every ghost filled up the space between you until it was a splinter, a gap, a gulf, a chasm. You miss the person he was when he showed up on your sloping, creaking porch steps back in May. You miss the person you were before you found out about Christabel.

A Men At Work song comes on the car radio, and it takes you a moment to figure out which one. It’s Down Under, a bewildering hit from 1981. “I never understood this song,” you say, staring through the open window as a jungle of southern live oaks, dogwoods, and cypresses rolls by. Rivulets of opaque, slow-moving bayou water snake through the wild green. Pelicans flap their wings in the pink-golden dusk sky. “What’s a head full of zombie? What’s a Vegemite sandwich?”

Aemond laughs, a smoldering Marlboro Red nestled in his left hand. You wonder if once he’s married he’ll wear a gold band on his ring finger, if he’ll take it off when he cheats with you. “Cupcake, it’s obviously about Australia.”

“What?”

“Down Under? As in, literally below the rest of us in the Southern Hemisphere? Head full of zombie means they’ve been smoking weed. Vegemite is a kind of yeast spread they put on sandwiches. I’ve had it, it’s disgusting. The whole song is in Australian slang. Everyone knows it’s about Australia.”

I didn’t. You look out your window again. Aemond takes note and swiftly backpedals.

“But I mean, I can see how an American wouldn’t know that. No big deal, okay? To anyone in the Commonwealth, Australia is like our fuckup sibling. It’s our Aegon. But you guys probably don’t really learn about Australia in school. So…yeah. It’s probably not as obvious as I assumed.”

“Maybe I missed that lesson,” you say. Maybe I missed that year.

In a brand new neighborhood just outside the town center of Napoleonville, Aemond parks in the paved driveway of a ranch house on a three or four acre lot. The yard is bordered by a white masonry fence with chicken wire around the base to keep snakes and gators out. There are a few dogwood and bay laurel trees, and one monstrous southern live oak that’s probably two hundred years old. Aemond cuts the Audi Quattro’s engine and steps out into the twilight.

“Aemond? What are we doing here?”

“Follow me.”

“Why?”

He walks around to your side of the car, opens the door, and leans down to grab your face with his right hand, his fingers hooked around the curve of your jaw. Instantly, there is a bolt down your spine: hunger, warmth, weakness, momentum that is thoughtless like falling from a great height. “Follow me,” he repeats, grinning mischievously. “Right now.”

Aemond has a key that unlocks the front door. Inside is rose pink carpeting and mauve walls, a sunken conversation pit, popcorn ceilings, mini blinds on the windows, closet doors covered with mirrors. You can see your face reflected in them, puzzled.

“This is the living room, clearly,” Aemond says as he continues briskly through the house. As an afterthought, he kicks off his Adidas sneakers so he doesn’t track any dirt inside. You do the same, sliding off your cheap flats from Kmart. He points down a hallway. “There are two guest bedrooms down there, and then a big one at the other end of the house with its own private bath. Here’s the kitchen…” He leads you through it, mint green with pristine black and white tiles on the floor. “And over there is the dining room.” It’s a kind, golden yellow like dawn or sunset.

“Aemond, what—?”

“Bedroom next,” he interrupts, hurrying you along.

At the end of the hall, he opens a door to reveal a sprawling chamber. It is blue like his bedroom in the Targaryen mansion, but not a deep, vivid sapphire color; it is a pale blue like prairie flax or a clear midday sky. The carpet is lush and soft. There are mirrors on the ceiling.

“Those are optional,” Aemond clarifies, pointing upwards. “But personally, I like them.”

“Aemond, whose house is this?”

“It’s yours,” he says.

“It’s what?!”

“Well, technically, it isn’t yours quite yet,” he admits. “I bought it in cash, it will close in a week or two. At that point I’ll sell it to you for $1—the same price as one of your cupcakes, incidentally—and then it will officially be your house. And it doesn’t even have a sinking foundation or any alligators. Imagine the possibilities.”

“But…but…”

“Cadi’s bedroom is green, like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I’ve been told the yard is big enough for one horse, or two very small horses. Ponies, I guess.”

“You cannot buy me a house,” you say, aghast.

“I think I already did.” He holds out the key to you, resting in his palm among lines of prophesy.

You are paralyzed; it takes you forever to find your words. “Aemond, I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s a gift, not a trade,” he says, the key still lying in his outstretched hand. “Every cent I spend on you, every second I spend with you, is solely because I want to do it and for no other reason. There’s no obligation. There’s no quid pro quo. And that’s what I feel like you don’t understand. I have no logical reason to keep you in my life, absolutely none, aside from the fact that I want you to be here. And I want that with everything I’m made of. I never stop wanting it. So let me help you. Take the key. Take the house.”

His right eye is on you, imploring, commanding. At last, you lift the key from his palm. Studying it like the cryptic letter of a foreign language, you murmur: “You shouldn’t have done this.”

Aemond rakes his fingers through your hair, tilts your face up towards his, skims his lips feather-lightly from your cheekbone down to your lips—though he doesn’t kiss you, only ghosts his flesh over yours, a taste, a taunt—and then up to the curl of your ear. His whispered voice is colored with wicked scarlet desire. “You don’t tell me what to do. I tell you what to do.”

If he yanked off your t-shirt you would let him. If he unzipped your denim shorts and slipped his artful fingers inside them he would find panties soaked through for him. You would let him do anything he wanted to you, here in this glass-fragile liminality before he becomes Christabel’s in law, in body, in inked and inerasable history. But it would not be because you want to, not because you feel ready in your bones, not because you trust him again. It would only be because you could not bring yourself to resist.

Aemond reads this on your face; he stops before you have to tell him to.

~~~~~~~~~~

On July 1st, Cascade Stables is swarming with parents as they descend upon the property to collect their children and meet the horses they’ve spent the past week with. There is a stereo somewhere blaring Your Love by The Outfield; apparently, this does not disturb the horses. You find Cadi beside the stall of a very tall, willowy beast, ears upright and alert, one bulging eye onyx and the other a striking icy blue. Its coat is white with a splattering of rust-colored stains. Even its mane and tail are comprised of alternating strands, dark, light, earth, clouds, cocoa powder, granulated sugar.

“His name is Patches,” Cadi tells you proudly as she pets the leviathan’s velvety muzzle. “He has a wall eye. And he’s a real handful and usually they only allow the experienced campers to ride him, but they let me try and he listened so well I got to keep him all week!”

“Wow, that’s incredible! Good job! Did you learn a lot about how to take care of him?”

“Yeah. They taught me how to feed Patches and clean his hooves and put a saddle on him. And how to hit him with a hairbrush when he tries to bite me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Right. Okay.”

“Can we buy him? He’s for sale. Probably because of all the biting.”

“Who, Patches?” You definitely cannot afford to board a horse; and then you remember the new house. “I’ll think about it.”

Cadi peeks around you. “Daddy isn’t here too?”

“No, honey, I’m sorry. He had to work. But he really wanted to see the horses and he is looking forward to hearing all about your adventures.” This is a lie—Willis seems only dimly aware of the concept of a horse camp, and he is staunchly incurious by nature—but a compassionate one.

Cadi accepts the explanation readily enough. “Alright. Is Aemond your boyfriend yet?”

“Um.” You thread the horse’s forelock through your fingers to buy yourself time. It seems unwise to try to deceive her again; Cadi will learn about Christabel sooner or later. “No, we’re still just friends.” You pause. She watches you, knowing there’s more. “Actually, he’s getting married this month.”

“What?!” Cadi is shocked, but she’s outraged too. “To who?!”

“To a nice lady named Christabel. And I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.” Another lie. And you think for the first time: If I settle for being Aemond’s mistress, if I let it tear me to pieces…what am I teaching Cadi?

Your daughter doesn’t say anything for a long time. She pets Patches’ speckled face, her own expression tense and thoughtful, lines and worries that should be far beyond her age. At last she says quietly: “Is it because of me?”

You are mystified. “What, honey?”

“Is the reason why you and Aemond can’t get married because of me?”

There is a flash of crimson wrath in your skull—protective, animalistic, wronged on her behalf—but no one to direct it at. “No. No, absolutely not. Why would you say that?”

Cadi shrugs, and you recognize it as her self-preservation, faux-flippant shrug. “I don’t know. One time I heard Michelle’s mom talking about how no decent man wants to deal with some other guy’s kids. And that’s me when I’m at your house. Another guy’s kid.”

Oh, fuck you, Janet. “No,” you say again. “Aemond likes you a lot, Cadi. He cares about you.” He picked out a house that could accommodate a horse for you. “You’re the opposite of a problem. He actually likes me more because of you, I think.”

“Okay.” And she’s relieved, although she’s trying not to show it. “Then why is he marrying someone else?”

“Well…it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Where the hell do I start? “Aemond and I are very different people,” you tell Cadi. “And we want different things out of life. We like to spend time together, but that doesn’t mean that we’d be able to share our whole lives…homes, careers, values, everything. His family has a lot of expectations of him that I don’t feel right supporting, but Aemond wants to respect their rules. And, you know. He’s a robber baron.”

“But he doesn’t talk about Jade Dragon Energy or oil around me. He talks about history.”

You sigh, watching dust motes swirl through the hot, sunlit stable air, listening to horses nicker and huff. “I know, honey.”

“I don’t even think he wants to be a robber baron. I think he wants to be something else.”

“Like what?” you ask, picking stray bits of yellow straw out of her short, disheveled hair. And remarkably, Cadi tolerates this.

“I don’t know, just…just…” She battles with the words, then finds one she likes. “Free, I guess. Just free.”

[daisies-daydreams]

Hi! I hope you're having a good day. I wanted to ask if you could please write a fluffy/angsty scenario where Alejandro Vargas comforts his wife whose having anxiety about being a first-time mom? Thank you!!

Pairing: Alejandro Vargas x Pregnant!Wife!Reader Category: Fluff/Angst Warnings: Mentions of Morning Sickness, Pregnancy

Word Count: 987

A/N: Hello! Thank you for your lovely request! I’m a sucker for domestic scenarios. 🥰 I apologize, my Spanish is pretty rusty but I tried to be as accurate as possible. I hope you enjoy!

Warm sunlight poured over your face and cascaded down the soft fabric of your maternity dress. You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath. You swayed back and forth in your rocking chair while rubbing your swollen belly. The deck creaked below you with each sway of the chair. Your eyes snapped open when you felt a small kick below your palm.

“Hello, little one,” you whispered with a smile. Another kick reverberated against your hand as if they were answering. You grinned as you continued to rub your abdomen, taking in the sound of the summer breeze rustling the nearby trees. Heavy footsteps thudded behind you. You turned your head to see Alejandro smiling warmly. He carried two glasses of horchata in his large hands. You returned his gentle expression as you took the beverage in your hands. He kissed your lips softly before sliding into the chair next to yours.

“¿Cómo te sientes hoy, cariño?” he asked sweetly. You sighed, taking a small sip of your drink. Notes of cinnamon and vanilla coated your tongue, blending pleasantly before you swallowed.

“Estoy muy cansada,” you replied with a weak laugh. “It felt like I didn’t get any sleep at all last night,” you continued, eyes watching the hummingbirds flick back and forth around the nectar-filled feeder that hung nearby. Alejandro nodded, recalling how he helped you wash your hair after you threw up several times throughout the night. He set his drink down on the side table and took your hand in his, stroking your knuckles with his thumb.

“Lo siento, mi amor,” he apologized. You smiled at him as he massaged the back of your hand.

“Thank you, Ale,” you sighed. He nodded. Your heart melted when he brought your hand up to his lips.

“I’m sorry it’s been so hard, mi corazón,” he whispered. You smiled, bringing his hand down to your tummy. He gasped when your baby kicked again, this time much harder. You winced at the harsh, internal impact. “Ay, te comportas,” Alejandro clicked his tongue playfully. You quietly laughed, shoulders bouncing before you took another slow sip of horchata. You smacked your lips, drawing out a heavy sigh as a hummingbird drew closer to you. You held your breath as its wings buzzed quietly, its small, emerald head tilting as it observed you. The bird’s ruby throat puffed out before it quickly zipped away into a nearby tree.

“Magnífico,” Alejandro murmured, his lips cracked into a wonder-struck grin. You nodded, watching as more of the tiny birds dipped and swerved around. He squeezed your hand, drawing your eyes to him. “(Y/N)…I want you to know that I’m so amazed by you,” he breathed. You tilted your head. He clasped his other hand above yours, his thumb still stroking your soft palm. “You’ve been so strong through all of this, mi vida. I know this is our very first child, and-” his words halted when he saw tears well in your eyes.

“¿Cariño?¿Qué te pasa?” he asked, his brows knitting together as he wiped a tear that rolled down your cheek. You released a shaky sigh as you sobbed, the waterfalls ceaselessly pouring from your eyes. Alejandro frowned, patiently waiting for your response.

“What if…What if I’m not ready, Ale?” you cried. Your husband reached over, taking your cup from you and placing it next to his.

“Not ready for what, (Y/N)? To be a mother?” he asked. You nodded and sniffed. He hummed, his hands coming up again to wipe the wet stains on your face. “Ven aquí, bebé,” he murmured softly while patting his thigh. You wiped your eyes before he helped you onto his lap. You sat on his sturdy thighs, his hand bracing the outside of your leg. Your face crashed into his shoulder. He stroked your back and whispered sweet words as you soaked his shirt with your tears.

“I’m so scared,” you confessed with a shaky breath. Alejandro pulled back to look at you, his eyes studying your worn features. “Th-There’s just so many unknowns. What if the baby doesn’t latch right away? What if something happens in the middle of the night? When I’m not around?” you rambled. You swallowed a lump in your throat, your husband’s eyes steady on you. “What if I…I just can’t do it,” you shook. Alejandro was silent, his hand pressing on the small of your back. Your bottom lip trembled, pain and exhaustion ricocheting through every bone in your body.

“Hey, look at me,” he commanded gently. You slowly tilted your head up, his hand on your thigh coming up to cup your chin. You blushed as he captured your lips in a deep kiss. You melted into the tender embrace, your hands coming up to stroke up his chest. Alejandro’s thumb caressed your chin before he pulled away. “Cariño, this will be a first for both of us. Will we make mistakes? Sí, all parents do,” he said firmly. You sighed, your body sinking into his hold. “I believe in you, (Y/N)-I believe in us. And we’re going to raise this baby the best we can,” Alejandro said with a sturdy resolution. Your frown slowly shifted into a small grin. You nodded.

“Te amo, mi corazón,” Alejandro whispered gently, his words falling over you like the calming breeze. You laughed quietly, his hand coming up to swipe at the small waterfalls cascading down your weary face.

“Te amo, Ale,” you said, nuzzling your cheek against his. You felt him smile at his nickname, his arms coming to squeeze you tightly as he planted small kisses over your face. Both of you remained seated on your porch, holding each other tenderly. You soon nodded off in his arms, head rolling into his chest. Alejandro smiled, brushing hair out of your face before he too slipped into an afternoon nap.

————

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Translations:

¿Cómo te sientes hoy, cariño? - How are you doing today, honey?

Estoy muy cansada - I’m very tired.

Lo siento, mi amor - I’m sorry, my love.

Mi corazón - My heart

Ay, te comportas - Hey, behave yourself.

Mi vida - My life.

Magnífico - Magnificent

¿Cariño?¿Qué te pasa? - Honey? What’s wrong?

Ven aquí, bebé - Come here, baby.

Sí - Yes

Te amo - I love you.

[braveclementine]

Gonna Give All My Secrets Aw-a-ay

Warnings: 18+readersonly, smut, fingering, breast worship, pet names

Copyright: I do not own any Twilight characters or locations. I do own Davina Mikelson and Marcel. I also own the backstory for my OC. I do not condone any copying of this.

Davina P.O.V.

Birds are annoying. I mean, seriously. When you're trying to sleep and they're just going "Cheerp cheerp! CHEERP CHEERP!" Honestly, it sounds like they're screaming.

The pain had been immense, the way I imagined being a vampire and being set on fire must feel. You know, if you're set on fire alive. They weren't kidding when they said becoming a vampire was painful.

I much preferred the vampire diary way. Drink some vampire blood. Snap your neck. Ba bam- you're a vampire.

I wondered how long it was exactly that I was out. I knew it ranged anywhere between two to five days, depending on where the venom was injected and lots of other lovely factors. The stronger the heart, the shorter the time. And if the venom was injected into the heart or near it, then it was more on the two to three day side.

Of course, the ending brought tears that couldn't spill to my eyes. Watching memories. I could see everything that had ever happened in my life play backwards. From the pain, to the wedding, the Marcel's changing, to the newborn fight, to spying on Seattle, to being in Kentucky with some of my family, finding out I was a werewolf, Sam's sister, and then there was Laurent trying to kill me, Edward telling me about them leaving, being in the hospital because of James, coming to Forks, the last few years of working to get a plane ticket, the bombs going off, Azim and I kissing, Azim and I laughing, meeting Azim's parents, going to gymnastics meets and Tae Kwon Do competitions, learning military strategy, moving to the base, being back in Forks, running around with Paul and Sam, swimming in the ocean, Kol's birth, Josh arguing with Sam's mother, a four year old playdate with Tyler Crawley, and then being born in a hospital.

My eyes snapped open. The pain was gone. Good. It felt like I had been burning for years.

The first thing I heard were birds and I almost groaned in annoyance. But I could also hear squirrels crunching on nuts, rabbits sprinting through the forest, a mountain lion- or maybe a bear but it definitely had hunting feet- walking over stone and rock, the violent flapping of hummingbird wings.

Feeling wise, I could feel the soft fabric of the sheets beneath me. Soft, fluffy, and warm. I could also feel that I was wearing something made of silk, but I didn't move my head to look down quite yet.

As for the smells. . . I could smell so many different smells. There was cinnamon, hyacinth, pear, sourdough bread, pine, vanilla, leather, apple, moss, lavender, chocolate, lemon and lime, tomato sauce, almonds-ew-, roses, jasmine, lilies, plastic, and so many other different smells. The strongest smell was seawater.

I took in a shuddering breath, feeling the air move through my lungs, but not really. I looked around the room. The ceiling was white, dust motes flying in the air. I could read the titles of all the books on the shelf across the room.

I sat up slowly, moving my legs over to the side of the bed, getting to my feet. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and stared in horror at the red eyes. My dark hair and pale complexion gave me a Snow White complexion. I was just missing the blue eyes.

I had been lucky with my complexion though. I had been captured in a mid-tan state, my dark skin coming out only after being in the sun for long periods of hours. I now looked Half-Cullen like, Half- Quileute like and I loved it.

I pursed my lips at the choice of dress Alice had clearly dressed me in. It was a green colour that balanced out the skin and eyes nicely. Except for the fact that I was not wanting to be in it. I much rather wanted to wake up in jeans and a T-shirt.

I could hear voice downstairs and I could distinguish Emmett, Jasper, Carlisle, Alice, and Bree's voices.

I darted down the stairs, stopping in front of Alice, my arms crossed angrily.

"Davina!" Carlisle said in surprise, "You're up early."

"Early?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"It's only been two days." Emmett said, looking me over, "Looking good Mama bear."

"Really Alice?" I questioned, gesturing to the dress. "Really?"

"What? It's a wonderful dress to go on your first hunting trip in." Alice said, putting an elbow on Jasper's arm.

I looked at her incredulously, "You want me to go hunting in. . . this?"

Jasper shifted uncomfortably, "That's what you care about?"

I looked up at my favorite son, "What do you mean?"

Jasper looked confused, "I don't understand this."

I stared at him blankly and then looked around for an explanation. Bree was the one who answered, "He means. . . you care more about the idea of your hunting attire than thirst."

"Oh." I said, thinking. I concentrated on my throat but I didn't feel anything. "Where should I feel. . . hungry?"

They all stared at me in surprise, "In your throat." Emmett explained.

I concentrated and then shook my head, "Maybe I'm just not thirsty yet."

"Maybe we should go hunting anyways." Carlisle suggested, reaching out to take my hand. I slid my hand into his, feeling the smoothness of his palm, the creases where the lines were, and finding that he was no longer cold nor hot, but that we were the same temperature now.

I looked up at him, staring into his honey coloured eyes and then reached up to kiss him on his lips. He tased wonderful, like things I couldn't even put into words. His lips were hesitant against mine and full. I pulled away, smiling, "Let me go change."

"No." Alice pretty much growled at me.

I sighed, "Yes, let me try tackling a grizzly bear in this dress. It'll get ripped and I actually kind've like it."

"You could go nude." Emmett said, grinning and winking at Carlisle who rolled his eyes.

I actually kind've liked the idea.

Jasper shook his head, drifting away from the room. I looked after him, my smile fading, "What's wrong?"

"He has never seen a newborn with this kind of self control." Alice said and then drifted after him.

"Oh. Great. I'm still weird even after my death." I muttered.

"I don't know." Emmett said in a serious voice, smirking. "You haven't quoted Harry Potter once since you've awoken. You might be going sane."

I stuck my tongue out at him and then tugged on Carlisle's hands. "Come on then."

Carlisle and I exited the house. It was a sunny day and I stared, my hand outstretched as the sun bounced off my skin, sending sparkles out, glittering across the pavement. I stared at Carlisle whose face was glittering.

"You look so handsome." I murmured, wanting to take him to bed at that moment.

Carlisle smiled and I felt my heart do flips. Well. . . not my heart, but ya know.

"And you look absolutely breathtaking." He breathed.

"Except the eyes." I said with a sigh, preening as he swept a strand of my long black hair back from my face.

He gazed at me, sliding his thumb across my cheek and I relished the feeling of his hand. "Even with the eyes you are stunning."

"Well," I said, taking his hand, squeezing it lightly. "Let's go hunt some animals and make them gold."

Carlisle nodded, "Ready?"

I nodded, preparing myself, and then started to run.

It was amazing. It was better than my motorcycle. I flew across the forest, laughing a little, and when we reached the creek, I leaped without thinking, feeling myself almost fly as I crossed the water.

I landed lightly on the balls of my feet, continuing to run, thinking of nothing but the wind caressing my skin and then- Carlisle stopped me.

"We don't want to go to far." He purred. His eyes were raging between black and yellow and I smirked.

"Well hello, Lord. I see you're trying to make an appearance."

"Well," the eyes became completely black, "You look completely ravishing like this."

"You've completely taken over Carlisle." I complained lightly, walking my finger sup his tight sweater.

"He's trying to figure out your self control so he's to distracted to try and take over." Lord smirked before smashing his lips to mine.

Oh yes. I liked where this was going.

My back hit a tree, making the plant shake underneath my body. I barely felt the bark scraping against my impenetrable skin, pushing back fiercely against Lord's lips. So rough and smooth and delicious.

His hands ripped the dress from behind and I tore his sweater off of him. I growled, seeing the light blue buttoned up shirt underneath. "You wear to many clothes Lord."

"Blame Carlisle." Lord growled, biting at the skin on my neck. He pulled back and murmured, "I can leave a bruise. Good."

I chuckled before using strength and speed, sending the both of us crashing into an opposite tree as I pressed against him tightly.

And then I paused, lips hovering above his, "The kids?"

Lord's black eyes melted, becoming tawny again and Carlisle actually shook his head like he was trying to clear his mind. HIs eyes lingered over where he'd ripped part of my dress, revealing the top of my cleavage. He cleared his throat and said, "I do apologize for that. And they're at our house. We can go see them after we hunt."

I nodded, my mind focused solely on the hunt. "Let's find a few rabbits then."

He raised an eyebrow, "Rabbits?"

"Or squirrels." I muttered, thinking back to Vampire Diaries. "That's what they eat in Vampire Diaries."

Carlisle chuckled, reaching out his hand. I took it without hesitation. "Let's find you a mountain lion, shall we?"

I laughed lightly, running again. This time, I led, following my heightened senses to a cave.

"Can I just walk in there and eat it?" I questioned.

Carlisle seemed a little anxious and muttered, "Maybe we should find deer instead."

I raised an eyebrow. "It's not like the mountain lion is going to hurt me."

The mountain lion suddenly paced out of the cave, growling at me.

I could smell it, and while it was appealing, it didn't send me wild like I thought it might've. I stalked forward, avoiding its claws, and bit down into the neck.

I tasted the blood, gushing into my mouth. It was. . . sweet? I don't know how else to describe it. It was satisfying, but it tasted different and I realized that was because I was dissecting the different tastes of the blood. I could taste the water, the salt, and even the plasma. I wrinkled my nose a little bit, trying to ignore the taste that way.

I pulled back once I was done. I had done pretty well, I thought. I'd barely spilled any blood on my dress. I turned to look at Carlisle who had a strange expression on his face.

"What?" I asked, racking my brain. "Did you want some?"

"It's not that." He said softly, coming over and pulling me into his arms. "It's just. . . well first it's very hard watching you drain something that would normally kill you. And for another, you're thirst didn't take you over. You were very calm in your feeding. And. . . you also didn't seem to enjoy it."

"Well." I said, frowning slightly. "I've always liked big cats. Maybe I should go after a bear instead. Those scare me. I might not feel as bad about killing a bear than a cat. And well, for another, it was the taste."

"What do you mean?"

"I could taste the individual components of the blood." I explained, wiping my bottom lip. "The water, the salt, the plasma, it wasn't the best taste in the world."

"Oh." Carlisle whispered, frowning deeper.

"Now can we go see our kids?" I asked.

Carlisle was still staring at me and I recognized this face from my months of interning under him. He was analyzing me like a data project. "Carlisle?"

He snapped out of it. "Our kids? Yes, we can go see them now."

"It's only been two days. . ." I murmured, "What are they like?"

"They're wonderful." Carlisle said with a small smile, "Come on, I want you to meet them."

"Are they. . . have you noticed any signs of danger from them at all?" I asked in worry as we ran back, not to the main Cullen house, but our small cottage.

"Nothing." Carlisle said and then frowned slightly. "They bite a lot. Esme- she's the one whose been helping me take care of them but she hasn't told anyone else about them- she said that when our little girl bites, she doesn't feel anything. But the boys are venomous."

"Two boys and a girl?" I breathed out.

Carlisle nodded, "The boys are identical. The girl looks more like me."

I smiled. "What did you name them?"

We stopped running once were in front of the front door to the house. Carlisle stopped me, picking me up into his arms, carrying me across the threshold before kissing me on the lips.

I giggled as he set me back down on my feet.

"I'm letting you name them." Carlisle murmured.

I shivered, nervous. I already had boy names in my head, but nothing for the little girl.

"Carlisle?" Esme's voice floated out the door. She appeared, holding a very small baby with long golden locks in her arms. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of my daughter.

"Oh." I gasped.

Esme's hold tightened around the baby. "They're still part human Davina."

Carlisle wrapped his arms around me tightly. "Breathe deeply."

I was nervous, not wanting the scent of my daughter to attract me. I let out a stuttering breath and then breathed in.

I could smell honey, cinnamon, and parchment, like the way Carlisle smelled. And I could smell her blood which smelled sweeter than the mountain lion, but it was nothing. I felt nothing. I was still relaxed in Carlisle's arms and then asked, "Can I hold her now?"

Esme was shocked, looking from me to Carlisle.

"Maybe you have a self control gift." Carlisle said, but he didn't relax his arms. I sighed, staring a the blond girl.

"She doesn't look like she's two days old. . ." I whispered.

"She's around three and a half months." Carlisle whispered behind me.

Fear spiked through me, "So. . . she's aging much faster than normal?"

"Yes." Esme said. "All three of them are."

"But- but then- then they might not live very long." I panicked. Venom stung at my eyes and I quickly blinked.

"No, they might not." Carlisle said, kissing my cheek.

"Oh." I whimpered.

"Esme, I think she's alright." Carlisle said, letting go of me.

I stepped forward cautiously, extending my arms for the little girl. Esme handed her over and I shivered. Her skin was warm, her heartbeat faster than I thought it should be. Her eyes were ice blue and I looked at Carlisle, trying to imagine him with blue eyes.

He smiled a little, "I could put contacts in if that helps your imagination."

I giggled a little, the sound lighter and less horse-goat-sheep sounding than it used to be. More like an angel now I guess. "Sorry. Personally, I was thinking your eyes might've been green."

"Sorry to disappoint."

I was suddenly by his side, pressing my lips to his, our daughter between us, "You don't disappoint me. Ever."

Then I pulled away and was in the babies room in a heartbeat. The two boys truly were identical, around the same size as their sister.

"Do you have names?" Esme asked me quietly.

I nodded, "For the boys anyways."

The only difference between the boys was that one of them had short black hair while the other one had curls and they were a tad degree lighter.

I handed the baby girl back to Esme with reluctance, picking up the one with straight black hair. I held him out to Carlisle and said, "This is Samuel Carlisle Cullen."

Carlisle smiled, kissing the top of my head, before taking his son into his arms. I turned back, picking up the last baby, looking into his eyes and said softly. "This is Niklaus Kol Cullen."

Niklaus after the hybrid. Kol was after my brother.

I turned to the girl, having no idea what to name her. Nothing seemed to fit her right. Kijana? Jasiri? Temperance? Kisa? Naomi? Camille? Luna? Kiara?

"Caroline. . . Elizabeth Cullen." I finally decided.

"Those are all wonderful names." Esme decided.

I hesitated and then asked, "I feel so normal. Why?"

Carlisle shook his head, "This could be your gift. Self-control."

"Do the children show any signs of gifts?" I asked.

"Not yet." Esme said. "But of course, they might not be able to have gifts. Or maybe they'll develop later."

I nodded and then looked at Carlisle, "I need to make a call."

------------------------

I paced by the treaty line. I was terrified, unsure. Carlisle stood nearby. He had promised to be there so that I wouldn't hurt them.

"They're coming." Carlisle said and then laughed quietly. "I didn't have to tell you that."

I smiled a little. "It'll take some getting used to, I'm sure."

Sam appeared first and I was surprised he wasn't in wolf form.

I felt a smile break out over my face at the sight of him. "Hey Sammy."

"Hey shorty." He said, grinning. "You look. . . yourself. 'Cept the eyes."

I shuddered, "I hate the eyes. But. . . Carlisle thinks I have the gift of self-control. Yay I guess. I was kind've hoping to be able to shoot lightning from the sky but I'll take what I can get."

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking between Carlisle and I. "She really hasn't changed at all."

Carlisle chuckled, "No. No she hasn't."

"How is everyone?" I asked. "Have you heard from Jacob at all?"

Sam paused and then said, "How about you come down on the Rez."

I blinked. "What?"

Sam sighed, "Billy, Sue, Old Quil, and I. . . well we might've come up with a late wedding gift for you. We decided, as you're basically the wolves mother, you could come down on the Rez. You're the only one, mind you, although Carlisle, you're not that bad."

"Thanks." Carlisle muttered, but he looked worried, "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

I paused, glancing over at Sam and then sniffed tentatively. I cocked my head to the side, "You don't smell."

Sam looked surprised and then said, "You don't smell either. Well, not bad anyways."

Carlisle looked stunned. "I don't understand this at all."

I tilted my head, "Could it be because I'm- or was- half werewolf? So maybe I don't have an aversion to them?"

Carlisle hesitated, "I need to research this."

He was in front of me in a flash, taking my face in his hands, kissing me hard. I kissed back fiercely, wrapping my fingers into his hair. We kissed until Sam cleared his throat. "I'm as romantic as either of you, but I don't like watching my little sister kiss anyone."

I giggled, pulling back from Carlisle. "I'll see you back at our house, okay?"

Carlisle kissed the side of my head, pulling away slowly, and then he was gone.

I hesitated on the brink of the treaty line before carefully stepping over it. I looked around nervously and then said, "No booby traps?"

He chuckled. "None."

I reached my arms out hesitantly and then he pulled me into a hug. I inhaled his warm, comforting smell. Like jasmine and spices, sweat and leather rolled into one. I sighed. "I'm glad you smell the same."

"What do I smell like?" Sam questioned.

"Jasmine, spices, sweat, and leather." I mumbled, feeling embarrassed. "It's a good combination."

"Hmm." Sam said, pulling away, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, pulling me through the forest. "And you smell like honey, almonds, peaches, and lime."

I growled. "I know I smell like fruit. I've been told several times."

Sam chuckled.

Very soon, we were at Emily's house.

"Umm, Sam." I said in a small voice as Emily came out to greet us. I grabbed his shirt, hiding halfway behind him.

"Davina!" Emily cried happily, stopping short of me. I hesitated, almost trembling behind Sam. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Emily. I noticed Jared and Paul emerge, looks of excitement on their faces too.

"Hey Vampire mom!" Jared called, jogging over.

I shivered.

"It's alright Davina." Sam said. "You're not going to hurt them."

I inhaled deeply, smelling for Emily's scent directly. And though I smelled her, though her blood smelled divine, there was no unnecessary craving for it.

I let go of Sam's shirt a little, taking a few steps till I was closer to Emily, but still hesitating. "Hi." I said softly.

Emily threw her arms around me, taking me by shock, making me freeze. Sam was there in a second, worry in his eyes until I very slowly put my arms around her.

"That wasn't so bad." I mumbled as she pulled away.

Sam seemed rather relieved. "So. . ."

"I mean. . .you smell good." I said half-heartedly, still really nervous. Though I couldn't smell the werewolves as awful, my nerves were tingling like I knew I was being surrounded by enemies, "But I'm not craving after your blood. Or any blood for that matter." I frowned a little. "I hunted a mountain lion today. It didn't taste as good as I thought it might."

"You hunted a mountain lion?" Jared asked with a grin. "What was it like?"

"Boring." I said slowly. "It kind've just stood there while I killed it. Maybe it was in shock?"

"But you said it didn't taste good?" Sam asked, frowning slightly.

I shifted uncomfortably. They were okay with this conversation? "Well. . . I could taste everything individually. The water, the salt, the plasma. It wasn't very good. The water was most potent in taste, but it didn't taste. . . it didn't taste like blood really."

"Interesting." Jared said.

"Mom!" Seth's voice called from behind me and a brilliant smile lit up my face. I turned, dashing towards him and wrapping my arms around him. I was very careful not to squeeze him to tightly though.

"Hi Seth." I said with a grin.

I could hear Jared and Paul complaining behind me about how I hadn't hugged them.

I darted till I was in front of Jared and Paul and hugged both of them too.

"Paul imprinted." Seth offered.

My eyes lit up, "Really!"

Paul rolled his eyes but he was trying not to smile either. "Yeah. Jacob's sister. Rachel."

"Quil imprinted too." Jared said.

"Really?" I asked, astonished. "Did everyone imprint while I was dead?"

"No." Seth said glumly. "I haven't. Neither has Leah or Embry or Jacob or Collin or Brady."

I ruffled Seth's hair. "Well good. You're to young for love."

Embry and Quil showed up sometime later. I found out that Quil had imprinted on a two year old named Claire, who happened to be related to Leah and Emily.

Privately, I was thinking that it made sense they were imprinting on each other's family members. Jacob was a powerful member of the wolf family. Which meant his sisters' technically had the gene too. So it made sense for Paul to imprint on one of the sisters. And anyone related to Leah, Seth, and Emily would have strong genes too from Harry's side of things. Same with Quil's blood line.

I didn't stay long, not wanting to overstay my welcome for one thing, but also wanting to get back home to Carlisle.

Unfortunately, Paul still wasn't good at keeping his nose out of other people's business. "So what are you going to do tonight?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I have no idea."

"So you and doctor aren't going to. . . get it on?" Paul smirked.

I wish I could've blushed. I scowled at him instead, putting my hands over Seth's ears. "Not in front of the kids dumbass."

Paul snickered.

I got to my feet, swooping down and kissing Sam on the cheek. "I'll come back soon, I promise."

"Stay safe." Sam said and I smirked, rolling my eyes.

And then I was gone, running back for the treaty line, back into the forest, and back to my house.

Our house.

Carlisle and mine house.

I stepped inside.

"Carlisle?"

Carlisle was in front of me in an instant. "Shh, they're asleep."

"They sleep!" I said, delighted.

He nodded, smiling slightly. "Did you have a good time at the reservation?"

I nodded, "I was very happy."

"Good." Carlisle whispered, moving his lips to the skin underneath my ear. "Mm, do I get you all to myself tonight?"

I giggled, "Yes you do."

"Good." Carlisle growled.

Before I knew it, we were in our bedroom, on the bed. I was under him, his dark gold eyes practically glowing.

I yanked him down to me, my hands wrapped in his reddish-yellow locks, pulling his lips to crash down on mine. He growled against my lips, his tongue fighting for dominance against my open lips. Except this time, I could hold my own fight.

Our tongues mixed together, creating new sensations while his hands traveled down to my shirt. He didn't even bother unbuttoning it, ripping it in half instead and I was grateful that it was a new top I hadn't gotten attached to yet.

I rolled over, pressing him down to the bed, gripping his hips with my legs, squeezing tightly as I tore his shirt apart, blue buttons flying and scattering across the floor.

I pressed my lips right above his pants line, licking a stripe all the way up his chest, his neck, all the way to his earlobe before nipping at it. He growled again, his fingers pulling at the stretchy leggings I was wearing, pulling them downwards and they were discarded as well.

My fingers worked fast, undoing his belt, yanking it out of the belt loops, tossing it away. It fell to the ground with a dull clink. I unzipped the black dress pants, pulling them down quickly. His arms were behind my head in an instant, his body pressed against mine and I could feel his member pressing against my mound.

Our mouths moved furiously in sync with each other, our hands tangled in each others' hair. I moaned against his lips as one of his hands traveled down to my heat, rubbing my clit with lightning fast speed between his fingers.

The sensations were even more erotic as a vampire. They hadn't been lying when they said your emotions were heightened. This was at least ten times better than when I had been human.

"C-C-Carlisle." I moaned out. "Please."

He plunged three fingers into me, thrusting them in and out at a furious pace, rubbing my clit even faster.

My eyes rolled back in my head as I clutched his shoulders before I bit down on his bottom lip, his fingers bringing me over the edge, and I released all over them.

I could smell the arousal now, bitter and exotic and sharp. Carlisle slowly pulled his fingers from my warmth, sticking them in his mouth, licking them clean.

I wanted to ask if that actually tasted good, but didn't want to ruin the moment either.

Carlisle smashed his lips to mine again, flipping me back over on my back into the pillows. I could taste myself on him, something that seemed highly erotic and actually somewhat pleasant. My tastes and his tastes all mixed together.

"Carlisle." I growled, missing the fullness between my legs. I rolled over so that he was pressed into the sheets, angling myself to go down on him.

His hands shot to my hips, thrusting me back into the pillows, before pounding into me. He bottomed out and I gasped in pleasure, eyes rolling backwards before I recovered, bucking my hips to get him to move.

He moved in and our, faster than I thought possible, even with the speeds we could run.

I was a whimpering mess under him, surrendering to him completely. "Carlisle , please!"

"What baby? What do you need?" Carlisle purred lowly in my ear, his dick a blur as he thrusted in and out of me.

I whimpered, wanting more, "More, Carlisle, more."

"More what baby?"

My eyes rolled back into my head, my hands gripping his shoulders.

I had no idea what I wanted more of, I just knew I wanted more. "Faster."

The fuck? Could he go faster? Something was wrong with my br-

He thrusted even faster and I was practically screaming underneath him. His mouth, lowered to my breasts, flicking out at my nipple. The overstimulation was overwhelming. I barely got his name out as I clenched around his cock and milked it for all it was worth. He didn't stop, pounding me through my orgasm, drawing it out, chasing his own release.

The sensation was more than white static. It was a burning white fire that made my toes curl and now I saw how it had taken Emmett and Rose weeks to leave their house. I never wanted to leave this. I wanted Carlisle and I to continue going forever.

We were blessed with such short refractory periods it wasn't even funny.

This was probably going to be my favorite extra curricular activity outside everything else.

"CARLISLE!" I screamed as he twisted my nipple tightly between his smooth dexterous fingers, pulling it, sending the jolt straight to my clit at the same time I came.

My entire body was shaking and her wrapped one arm around me. My legs, wobbly, I jerked forward, the both of us landing off the bed and onto the floor. We didn't even break rhythm, barely noticing the stone floor beneath the both of us. Carlisle simply rolled over onto the carpet, pulling me on top of him, thrusting upwards into me.

We couldn't even get sore.

Carlisle moved his lips to my throat, biting, licking, sucking at my skin, purring with delight as large purple bruises popped up on my skin.

I growled, trying to mark him the same way, and failing. That caused enough confused for the both of us to slow down and observe things.

When we finally came to a complete stop, I was breathing shallowly and so was he. Carlisle ran his hand over my neck, observing the bruises.

He pulled out slowly, causing our combined juices to pool out onto his stomach and he chuckled lightly, kissing me.

"Let's take this to the bathroom, shall we?"

I wasn't as ecstatic, touching the bruises.

"Carlisle, what's wrong with me?" I asked in a whisper. "My skin marks, I don't thirst after blood, blood doesn't even taste that good to me, and I feel completely normal!"

Carlisle pulled me into his arms, carrying me to the bathroom, "There's nothing wrong with you darling. Maybe. . . maybe your gift delves farther than self control."

"So what is it?" I asked.

"Maybe it's more of a. . . normality gift. A gift that keeps you human in a vampire body. I wonder. . . " he drifted off, thinking deeply.

"What?" I questioned.

He looked at me, pulling out the handle on the bathtub- which by the way was huge- and let it fill with warm water. "I was wondering if you could eat human food was all."

I frowned slightly. "But vampires-"

"Vampires also can't bruise." Carlisle said, smiling almost sadly, running his fingers over my hickeys.

"Am I not a vampire?" I questioned. It was overwhelming and venom welled up in my eyes. "Did something go wrong during the transformation?"

"No." Carlisle said. "The only thing that could go wrong is you died. But you didn't. You are a vampire Davina. That much is obvious by the eye colour, the speed, the strength. You have all the physical attributes of a vampire. But when it comes to feeding, that's where you're different. I think it must relate to some sort of gift."

"Carlisle, if my skin can bruise, doesn't that mean I could be killed easier than a normal vampire?" I whispered quietly.

Fear flashed through his eyes for the briefest second. I knew he was thinking about the Volturi and the enemy I had made myself out of Jane.

"I. . . I don't know. There's no way to test it without hurting you either." Carlisle whispered. "I can't test it on you. I can't let anyone else test that on you."

"But evidence suggests it, right?" I questioned softly, throwing my arms around his neck, holding him to me.

"Yes." He said quietly.

I sat there for a long time before he slipped both of us into the bathtub. "It's okay." Carlisle whispered, "We'll figure it out. Everything will be okay."

[fullcravings]

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[morethansalad]

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