#her fears long enough she could think. and attempt to sooth herself

[halfyearsqueen]

her absolute worst pregnancy was with jace

[elioslover]

Worst Wingman - Harry Styles x Reader.

[Premise: Harry is a shite wingman... or is he?]

Prompt Requests- send a couple numbers and a trope or dynamic! (18, 26, 31, 32, 35).

"No goodnight kiss for me? " // "Are you daring me to kiss you?"

Main Writing

Word Count: 2.3k.

🫧

Harry doesn't even have a chance to pull up the handbrake before she has the door open, clutching onto her bag and stepping out into the brisk autumn air, her shoes swiftly scraping against the concrete, hardly caring if the door shut (or if Harry was following) behind her. 

She is aggressively rummaging through a cluster of items in pursuit of house keys, huffing at the incredulity of the man she can almost guarantee is hot on her heels, ready to grovel his way back into her good books. 

By the time she comes to a stop at her door, it’s difficult to ignore the sudden invasion of Harry’s presence nearing her own. 

He keeps a small space available in favour of her comfort, but his confident energy is so palpable that she feels he might as well have his lips pressed against the crook of her neck, it felt as if his hands were already ghosting around her waist, holding her with soothing security. 

The key takes far too long jingling as she repeatedly misses the lock, her hands start to subtly shake with nervous frustration, and though Harry- already peering over her shoulder- wants to chuckle, he pretends not to notice, and that’s an easy feat when his gaze dips to observe the divets of her collarbone and shoulders- almost bare of materials- dedicating his attention to the scatter of sunspots and freckles along her skin.

On the third and final attempt, the keys twist with triumph and the front door clicks, unlocking, and instantly she turns the knob and pushes the door ajar- just enough to slide a shoe- perhaps a leg- through. 

Harry waits in anticipation as she readjusts her bag and slants the door wider, making sure not to leave any space for Harry to follow her through. 

He softly chuckles at her petulant stubbornness, staying put as she slips through the cracks and peers back at him from behind the wooden barrier with a stern frown, secretly living for the feelings of empowerment that surge up her spine. 

But, Harry is only amused, and it only increases the longer he studies the dramatism painting her wide eyes, blushed cheeks, and bushy eyebrows with adorable misplaced anger. Well, he seems to think it’s misplaced. 

She does not. She and Harry have had a simple and seamless relationship up until the past couple of months when he suddenly started acting up. 

An agreement of ‘we’re thirty, time is running out, we should be each other's wingmen’ has turned into a blurred line of kisses and touches behind closed doors, and her focus is now wavering from setting Harry up with someone else in favour of keeping him all to herself. 

The entire agreement hinges on the fact that they're both looking for different things and as far as she’s aware, Harry’s mind hasn't changed, even though they have evidently adjusted the rules- romance definitely wasn’t initially part of the deal- her fears of rejected reciprocity help refrain her from fully indulging in the fantasy of what life could look like if they just chucked the plan and chose each other. 

But Harry thinks he’s made himself quite clear- at least he thinks it’s quite obvious after the numerous times he has interrupted or completely compromised any of her recent romantic prospects. 

He couldn’t recall the exact moment or reason why, but this little ‘agreement’ between the two had rapidly turned into something more for him, and he hoped that she felt it too. 

Sometimes he’s sure she does- that she enjoys each touch and giggle with as much endearment as he does- but then moments like this have him questioning it all as she works her hardest to create distance, visibly frazzled and very disappointed. 

Harry doesn't challenge her defence, he doesn't make any attempts to step forward or push back, only leaning his shoulder comfortably against the wall, cheekily smiling in light of her next move. 

Naturally, her chest tightens at his borderline childish nonchalance, but, resisting the temptation to chide him for every single thing he does that irritates the life out of her, she takes a deep breath and puts on a sickly sweet smile,

“Thanks for the ride, Harry.”

As quick as the words leave her mouth, she uses her palm to weakly attempt to shut the door, hoping to leave Harry as confused as she currently is. 

But he’s been expecting it- actually amused that it took her this long to formally dismiss him- and as gently as he possibly can, Harry uses his own palm to stop the door from swinging shut, ensuring her grouchy face remains on full display. 

She is in no mood for games, and they both know it, but Harry cannot resist the electric currents of endearment surging through him as she scowls and scoffs with impatience, foot tapping in anticipation for his next- and sure to be audacious- action. 

His chosen tactic is to smirk lazily, leaning further- if possible- into the wall, his arm still extended, holding the door ajar, head tilting, eyes enamoured and practically pouting along with his plump lips as he ponders, 

“No goodnight kiss for me?” 

“You’re incredulous!” Her voice raises, mortified, as she makes a final attempt to shut the door. 

Without even confirming, she turns on her heels- ironically immediately starting to rid herself of this evening’s chosen stilettos- but by the sounds of it, Harry has followed after her, just barely standing in the entrance hall, his eyes like a magnet to her bent body as he mutters,  

“You like that about me.”

Levelling on the ground, she whips back around to face him, arms angrily folded across her chest, and currently she has to crane her neck to address him directly, 

“Right now, I don't like you at all.” 

“Don’t be mean.” He whines. 

“Oh, but it’s okay for you to be mean to me?” She huffs. 

Harry feels slightly stumped by that one, his arms absentmindedly straying up his chest, crossing sternly with sudden defensiveness, frowning, 

“When have I been mean to you?” 

“When you kiss me!” 

Her arms flail, brows furrowed with such frustration that Harry feels a new level of confusion, mostly focused on her plump, peachy lips as he asks,

“Are you daring me to kiss you?” 

“Are you daring me to punch you?” She threatens. 

“Ooh, kinky.” He mewls. 

“You make my blood boil!” She all but tosses flames his way, pairing her verbal threat with a hearty step forward, entering his personal space.

“You make me happy.” He takes a mirroring step, meeting her in the middle, his features slowly sinking from jovial into a clusterfuck of perplexion.

But this only seems to make things worse, she seems close to fuming and Harry swears he can see steam spewing from her ears and nostrils. 

And she only creeps nearer, one arm collapsing to her side, the other raising to press a stressed palm to her flaming forehead. 

After what feels like an eternity, she has soothed her twisted stomach and the thumping in her chest has lulled enough for her to huff with unmistakable disappointment,

“What the hell are we doing, Harry?” 

Harry’s stare swells and steals his confident security as he tries to sort through the clues she so sternly requires, 

“Well right now I’m trying-”

“Not right now. In general.” She demands. 

“What do you mean?” Harry- definitely discouraged- concedes and asks for her aid. 

It’s a sting to his heart when her face only surges with what he sees as sorrowful hatred. 

“I mean,” Her tone has lost all patience as she gestures wildly at him, “What the hell is this?” and then her body slumps sadly, “Us.” 

“I dunno. Guess I thought we were having fun.” 

Harry’s head bows, his heart has a headache, and all he really wants is to reach out and smooth out the furrow in her brows, rid her frown with reassurance.

But as soon as he attempts to get nearer, she furthers the distance,

“My wingman constantly kissing me and ruining my dates is not fun… For me, at least.” She hopes the severity of her hurt stays hidden. 

“I haven't been ruining your dates.” Harry pouts, still puzzled. 

“Oh c’mon. You know exactly what you’re doing.” Her eyes roll at his ridiculousness.  

“I don’t!” He hadn’t consciously considered it until this current crisis, and… she’s right. He’s been actively sabotaging the same opportunities he so sweetly sent her direction. He concedes, “Okay, I do, but-” 

“But?” 

“I thought you liked kissing me.” With honesty, Harry shrugs weakly. 

“I do! That’s the problem.” She can hardly stay still, dragging herself deeper into the depths of suffocating frustration. 

“Okay, now I’m really confused.” He can’t conceive of what she’s trying to communicate.  

Suddenly, she’s the one closing the gap, walking straight for him until the only thing separating their chests is an arm's length, peering up at Harry with a gaze he recognizes from brief moments in between the sheets, his head resting in her lap, and after midnight goodbye kisses.  

“I like kissing you. And I like spending time with you.” She announces with certainty, “But I don’t think you want us to be more than… whatever this is.” Her shoulders slump as she weakly gestures once more, “The least you could do is be the wingman you promised to be.” 

“Then I don’t want to be your wingman anymore.”

Harry says it with such simplicity that it seems like a total throwaway comment- like none of this meant anything more than a verbal agreement- like this whole thing was nothing to him from the very start. She feels a lot of things, but the shame of it all is sickening.

“Okay, fine! You could have just said that!” Her voice, booming- cracking on impact, “Didn’t have to pity me.” 

Teary eyes trail down to stare at her shimmering toenails, blinking at a rapid rate to avoid any falls, she hopes to the heavens above that a miraculously giant bird would just swoop down and carry Harry away from this catastrophic nightmare so she can cry in peace.

He doesn’t wish for the same- in fact, he just wishes she would look at him- he needs her gaze to reassure his entire existence, for her eyes to confirm the words slipping past her lips. 

So, with the softness of a summer breeze, Harry nears her and though she still won’t look up, he feels it okay to assert,

“I’ve never pitied you, and you know it.” He tries to sound void of accusation,  “Just wanted to help you out.” 

“Well, no need to worry, your job is done.” She spits, finally looking up. Harry almost wishes she hadn’t.

“Fine.” He scoffs.

“Fine.” She mocks.

They stay locked in a stare-off of lust and maybe love all wrapped up in a bow of a fiery gift box about to blow open and burst their bubble. 

Harry’s chest huffs and his next exhale is as childish as the last, 

“Good.”

“Great.” She grits through a sarcastic thin-lipped smile. 

Harry loves the little strands of hair that have stuck to her skin with sweaty fervour, the promising taste of her peachy plump lips, chubby flared and blotchy cheeks.

Her eyes- tinted red and swooping lashes slightly damp- are as comforting as always and they give Harry the last little push he so clearly needs,

“So, can I finally ask you on a date now?”  

“Excuse me?” She actually wants to ask, ‘What the hell is happening?’.

“I like kissing you. I like spending time with you.” His voice is as certain as his words, “I’d really like to take you out, properly, and I’d love to be yours completely.” 

Timidly, she peers up at him and after a moment of glancing his gaze to seek out any reason for Harry to be lying. But, there’s nothing more than the glimmer of adoration swirling around amorously in the forest of green. 

Then, shyly conceding with insurmountable relief, she somewhat cautiously asks, 

“... Really?” 

“More than anything.” 

“Okay…” It’s becoming impossible to hide the smile creeping at the corners of her mouth, “I’d like- love- to go on a date with you.”

Harry sighs out and releases so much untended pressure that he feels momentarily lightheaded, or it has something to do with the words- he had unknowingly deemed a necessity- coming out in a silky ribbon of a sentence, sung like a prayer from the prettiest of lips from the prettiest of people. 

He ignores how silly and giddy he must seem as he eagerly removes the remaining distance between them, shoes gently bumping against her toes. One hand makes a home on her lower back,

“How does tomorrow sound? Pick you up around 7?” 

“Sounds good…” 

“Good.” 

Harry concludes as her palms tentatively press to his torso, lashes batting lusciously as his face boldly leans closer, mouth glistening, garnering full attention as his free hand comes up to cup her jaw. 

She can feel her toes trying to leave the floor, ankles stretching to get closer, hand leaving his chest in favour of the nape of his neck, her fingers faintly brushing the base of his hair. 

Harry’s thumb slowly strokes at her cheek, then trails along her chin and lingers along the pillows of her lips, 

“Now, would it be cruel to ask for that goodnight kiss?” 

💞

[sequinsmile-x]

Physical Touch

He usually loved when his wife touched him, but it was slowly driving him crazy.

Part of the Love Languages series

-x-

Hi friends!

Well...I should have expected that the smut fic would win the poll by a landslide and here we are haha

I really hope you enjoy this <3 it's soft, smutty and full of Aaron just...pining for his wife. What more could you want on a Thursday evening?

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He’d known she was tactile long before they got together. 

Aaron had watched her for years, always ready to place a comforting hand on someone’s shoulder or pull them into a hug. More than once he’d found himself wishing she’d do the same for him, the embargo they’d seemingly placed on physical contact between them a two-way thing, something they both upheld, as if they knew it was a line they could not cross. 

He’d held her hand once before they became them. It was when she was in hospital, before she was stable enough to be moved to Bethesda. She’d still mostly been out of it, pain and medication rolling through her in a way he was also familiar with. He’d held her hand, squeezing it tightly as he wore the suit he’d worn to her funeral, a bitter taste on his tongue as he apologised to her. She’d told him since that she thought she’d dreamt it, that she’d pulled him out of her imagination, the warmth of his hand around hers something she’d made up in some strange attempt to self-soothe. 

He’d always known she was tactile, but being in a relationship with her was a whole other level he hadn’t been anticipating. She touched him all the time, ranging from subtle moments, like her fingers trailing over his when she passed him a coffee or a case file, or squeezing his knee under the table when they were at Dave’s for dinner, to more obvious moments. She was a snuggler, something he would never have put money on before their first date. She would wrap herself around him like a vine whenever they were alone, her arm linked through his and her head on his shoulder as they sat on the couch, or she could lay half on top of him in bed, her hand sneaking under his t-shirt as she sought his warmth from the source, falling asleep to the comfort of his heartbeat. 

He loved it. He loved that his wife expressed her love that way, that she’d push his hair out of his face as she told him he needed a haircut, that she also loved their children in the same way. It’s one of the reasons he knew Jack and Violet always sought her out for comfort, her embrace was his place of safety too, something so calming about something as simple as her cheek against his shoulder that he wondered how he'd ever lived without it. 

He usually loved it, but it was slowly driving him crazy. 

He’d dislocated his shoulder in a takedown of an unsub two months ago. The injury had torn his rotator cuff and he’d needed surgery, a simple relocation of his shoulder joint not enough. He could still remember the fear in Emily’s eyes when he’d come round from surgery, how she was barely holding herself together, her grip on his wedding ring that he’d had to take off so tight the imprint lasted for hours. His shoulder had been immobilised with strict instructions on how to make sure he healed properly, and the only time his wife ever paid attention to medical advice to the letter was when it was for him or one of the kids, which had led to one, unfortunate, side effect. 

Aaron hadn’t had sex with his wife in two months. 

He missed her. She was right by his side, but he missed her. Missed the intimacy that had always been an important part of their relationship. Every tiny thing about her was getting to him the longer they went without having sex. Her beauty was bordering on obscene, as it always had, and his breath would catch in his chest whenever he looked at her, or if she walked by and he caught a sniff of her perfume, the scent he knew was simply her always following just afterwards. Even watching her with Jack and Violet, watching how good a mother she was filled his gut with want, with the desire to have more children with her as soon as possible. 

The touching was, however, by far the worst. Every time she touched him he felt his skin fizz, sparks set off just by the feel of her skin against his, and he was close to losing his mind. 

He hears a knock on his office door and he looks up, a smile immediately breaking out across his face when he sees Emily standing in the doorway, her arms crossed as she casually leans against the door frame. 

“Hey honey,” she says, stepping into the office, “Are you ready to go? We, and by we I mean you, promised Vi we’d pick up some dessert on the way home.” 

He chuckles as he thinks about his 2, almost 3, year old daughter. She was a mini Emily through and through, right down to the big dark brown eyes he couldn’t say no to. He stands up and starts to put some paperwork in his briefcase, and he raises his eyebrow at his wife as he looks up at her. 

“You say that like you can say no to her,” he quips, stepping out from behind his desk and walking over to her, quickly stamping his lips against hers.

She hums and kisses him again, her hand hooking around the back of his head, making him shiver as she scratches lightly at his scalp, “We both know I’m the bad cop at home, baby,” she says, kissing him once more before she pulls back, “One of us has to be.” 

He laughs, the sound dying in his throat when she reaches out and places her hand on his chest, rubbing gently at the lapel on his jacket. He can feel her touch through his clothes, her skin somehow burning him through his jacket and his shirt, and he tenses before he can control it. Emily frowns at him, her eyebrows pinching together as she pulls back. 

“You had some lint on you,” she explains, pressing her lips together as she looks him up and down, her eyes slightly narrowed as she tries to figure out what's wrong, “Aaron are you okay? Is your shoulder bothering you?” 

It’s not a lie, not really, because his shoulder was sore. A now familiar ache that got worse throughout the day, radiating outwards from the new scar he bore. It was easier than explaining to her how he was feeling, less embarrassing than admitting he wanted her so much he was thinking about pushing everything off his desk right here and now. 

There were still two weeks until the doctor’s initial advice would run out, and he knew it was going to be the longest two weeks of his life. 

“Yeah,” he says, smiling softly at her, rolling his shoulder slightly, “It just aches a bit.” 

She hums and places her hand on it, her concern deepening when he tenses again, “How about when the monsters are in bed I give you a massage?” 

He falters for a moment, sure that would be his undoing, but instead, he nods and decides to deflect as he places his hand on her lower back and guides her out of his office. 

“Why do you get to call them monsters, but I don’t?” He asks, knowing exactly what her answer is going to be. 

She scoffs playfully and looks up at him, her eyes narrowed, “Because one of them came out of me.” 

___

By the time they get the kids to bed, he thinks she’s forgotten. The evening had passed them by with homework, bath time, and bedtime stories, a wonderfully normal evening they both once thought they’d never get. 

He walks into their bedroom to find her kneeling on the bed, wearing one of his t-shirts and a tiny pair of shorts sticking out from underneath, with a bottle of lotion in hand.

She smiles at him, popping open the lid on the lotion as she beckons him over, “Come on, honey,” she says, “I promised you a massage.” She sees the slight hesitation before he walks over, and she hides a smirk by clearing her throat. He sits on the edge of the bed and she rolls her eyes, placing the lotion on the bed before she runs her hands over his shoulders, her fingers meeting at his neck as she starts to undo his shirt buttons, “This works better if you don’t wear your shirt.” 

He nods and helps her get his shirt off, grateful that he’d slipped his tie off when he got home earlier, and he lets the shirt fall to the ground. She puts some of the lotion into her hands and rubs them together before she touches him, warming her palms and the lotion at the same time. 

It’s only when she starts spreading it on his skin, her touch firm but gentle as she pushes her thumbs into his bad shoulder, that he realises she’s using her lotion. One that had a slight spice to it, a scent of cinnamon that followed her everywhere that was now permeating into his skin. He groans, his teeth clenched as he breathes her in, widening his legs as his pants get tighter. 

She frowns, ready to pull away just in case she is hurting him, but then she looks over his shoulder, her lips pressed together as her cheeks flush when she sees the tenting of his pants. She makes a snap decision, wiping her palms on her shirt to get rid of the excess lotion before she climbs out from behind him. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, his eyebrow raised as she kneels on the floor in front of him, her hands already on his belt, undoing it quickly. 

“Come on, Aaron,” she says, unbuttoning his pants and moving them and his boxers just far enough to free him, “It hasn’t been that long,” she says, smiling in a way that seemed far too innocent for where her hand was, “I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at me,” she says, pumping him up and down, “Let me help.” 

He nods, not needing any convincing, and his eyes drift shut as she leans forward and takes him in her mouth. He wraps his fists around the sheets of the bed so tightly he thinks they might rip. 

“Fuck, Em. You’re so good at that,” he says, unable to stop himself from thrusting into her throat, the pressure that had been building him in for weeks threatening to blow, “So fucking good.” 

She leans forward until her nose briefly presses against his pubic bone before she pulls back, sucking in a breath before she moves in again, bobbing her head up and down, his chorus of groans her reward. She has to press her thighs together for some friction, so turned on by seeing and hearing him like this that she briefly forgets why it had been so long since they’d done this in the first place. She can feel him start to lose control, his thrusts getting messier, but he stops her, his hand on her shoulder as he encourages her backwards, a desperate look in his eyes. 

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting rid of the spit that had connected her lip to the tip of him and she tilts her head, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, pushing his hands through her hair that he’d clearly messed up, unaware that he’d even grasped it, “I just want to be with you.”

She smiles devilishly, her tongue pressed into her cheek, chasing the taste of him from it, “You are with me.” 

He rolls his eyes at her. He’d missed this too, the ease that came with being with her like this, the familiarity to it. It could be rough, passionate. Tearing each other’s clothes off. Or it could be soft. Full of love and hands pressed together as they showed each other how much they loved each other. 

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he says, and she smiles and nods, standing up from where she’d been kneeling. She pulls his pants off the rest of the way and then stands up, ready to straddle him, her desire making her dizzy. It’s only when she leans in to kiss him, her gaze briefly lingering on the new scar on his shoulder, and everything comes back into sharp focus.

“Wait,” she says breathlessly, pulling away from him, “We shouldn’t do this, your doctor-”

“Sweetheart,” he cuts her off, barely recognising his own voice because of how thick it is with desire, rough and gravelly as he stares at her, “You started this.” 

She scoffs, “I started this? You’re the one who got an erection when I just barely touched your shoulder.” 

In any other circumstance, he’s sure he’d laugh. It was so like her to try and start an argument in the middle of sex it made him fall in love with her even more, a feat that always seemed impossible until it happened. He pulls her closer, grateful not for the first time this evening that it wasn’t his dominant shoulder that had been injured, “Because you’re so fucking gorgeous I couldn’t take it anymore.” 

She swallows thickly and looks him up and down, desire sparking under her skin. It had been a long two months for her too, her frustration at not being able to have him so intense she’d yelled at Derek twice in the last week alone when he hadn’t deserved it. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she admits, her voice cracking slightly.  He smiles softly, the pent-up, overwhelming, need for her fading for a moment as he reaches out and cups her cheek, tucking some of her unruly hair behind her ear.

“You never could.” 

She thinks about it for a moment before she nods leaning forward to stamp her lips against his before she briefly gets off the bed, dropping her shorts to the ground, “Lean up against the headboard.” 

He does as he’s told, and she pulls a pillow from her side of the bed and slots it between his bad shoulder and the headboard, smiling softly when he stamps a grateful kiss against her lips. She sits on his lap, groaning as she notches over him, a noise he returns when he feels just how wet she is. 

“Fuck, Em,” he says, his hands on her hips as she pulls her t-shirt off, “I’ve barely even touched you.” 

“Yeah, well” she breathes out, rocking her hips over him, “You’re not the only one who’s been missing this,” she says as she wraps her hand around him to guide him into her. 

They both groan as she sinks onto him, the familiar stretch making them both breathless for a moment. 

“Oh fuck,” she says, her eyes rolling back as her head falls backwards for a moment, her hands on his thighs as she clenches around him, the breath stolen from her lungs as she adjusts to him, “God you feel so good.” 

“You do too, sweetheart,” he grunts out, encouraging her closer, tugging at her until they are chest to chest, bare skin pressed against each other as he rests his forehead against hers, “You feel so fucking good.” 

She cups his cheeks, her hands on either side of his face as she keeps her forehead against his and starts to rock her hips against his, a sound she could only call a relieved chuckle escaping her as he meets her thrust for thrust. 

They fall into a familiar rhythm, a sense of desperation woven through it, their eyes locked together as they both move, lost in the feel of each other. Eventually, he feels her hips start to stutter, and her thighs tremble around him. He reaches between them with his good hand and rubs circles on her clit, smiling as she mewls at him, the sound close to obscene as she buries her face in his neck, just about able to remember their children were sleeping down the hall.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says, increasing the pressure on her clit, feeling his own orgasm within reach, “Come for me. Let me feel it.” 

She clenches her teeth tightly as she comes, stopping herself from screaming out as her hips buck against him. A spark goes off in her belly and spreads through her entire body, every nerve ending on fire as it washes over her as she moans his name. He isn’t far behind her, the way she clenches around him as she comes the final push he needs, and he buries his face in the top of her hair, her name lost in the dark locks stuck to her with sweat. 

They fall into silence, just the sound of their heavy breathing surrounding them. She’s the first to pull back, smiling lazily at him as she kisses him quickly before she pulls back to look at him, checking him over as if she’s looking for damage. She looks at the scar, placing her hand over it as she still tries to catch her breath, “I hope we didn’t make it worse.” 

“It’s fine, baby,” he says, kissing her temple and then her cheek, encouraging her to turn her head so he can capture her lips in a kiss, “Besides, since when were you such a stickler for doctor’s orders?” 

She playfully narrows her eyes at him but doesn’t pull back, not wanting to put any space between them yet, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Right,” he says jokingly, stamping a kiss against her lower lip, stuck out in a pout she’d always deny, “So it wasn’t you who I caught trying to drive to the store less than two weeks after she had a c-section? My mistake.” 

She blows out a breath and shakes her head at him, her cheeks somehow flushing even though the blush from her orgasm had never gone away, “That was totally different.” 

He chuckles and kisses her, properly this time, and he smiles as he pulls back, “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.” 

-x-

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[tragedy-of-commons]

Good morning, Gwen. Avery reblogged your event and it appeared on my dashboard, so I came running.

"You're not good enough for him. Just break up with him already." + Jean + platonic

"You're not good enough for him. Just break up with him already."

Jean feels her heart plummet in the suffocating confines of her chest, your words stoking a different kind of fear. Had she overshared too much, causing you to finally snap? Are you going to stop being friends with her for good? Will you start to ignore her when she waves to you in the street? Will you tell everyone about what a sorry person she really is?

She knew she couldn't hold a genuine friendship down for long. It was only a matter of time before you became sick of her busy schedule and secretly dysfunctional livelihood--

She's sobered from her panic by the sound of your fingers snapping a scant inch from her face. "Teyvat to Jean! Hello?"

Like you always do, you're the one to ground her when things get particularly rough. Right - she needs to actually respond; being this inarticulate isn't doing her any favors.

"My apologies," Jean breathes, fidgeting with her gloves. She actually needs to be present so she can heed your counsel. "Please continue."

"Archons, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying that if he constantly expects you to meet impossibly high standards, you'll never be good enough for him," you jut your thumb out from your clenched fist and swipe it across the expanse of your neck. "You need to kick his ass to the curb, and you need to do it yesterday."

Your (literal) cutthroat gesture makes Jean shift in her seat. You don't mince your words at all - but that's precisely what she needs, precisely why she came to you for advice. Lisa has a terrible habit of sugarcoating things, even when she's at her most proactive... and Kaeya is, well, Kaeya.

She rises and places a hand on the backrest of her chair, rounding it so she can gaze out of the generously sized window that brings her whole office together. The view of Mond Proper, her home, never fails to calm her down.

"...I'm not even courting him, truly," Jean explains, watching the breeze ruffle a patrolling Knight's hair before being lost in the rustling leaves of trees beyond. "My obligations leave no room for that. We're keeping our relationship casual, informal."

She can almost hear the grimace in your voice. "Casual or not, him expecting you to ditch your hobbies or dress a certain way crosses the line. You know that as well as I do. If you're looking for permission or validation, I'm giving it to you right now."

Those words immediately soothe a large chunk of her anxiety. Jean's ramrod straight posture relaxes into something much more tailored for this atmosphere - sharing a cup of (now cold) tea with you, her dear friend.

"You're right," because of course you are, "but I have no idea how to end things. Etiquette classes didn't prepare me for any of this."

You snort as she turns back around to face your judgment. "To hell with etiquette. My suggestion? Kill him," you propose with the seriousness of a soldier about to go to war.

Jean's cheeks burn hotly as she flounders, attempting to deal with your type of humor in a timely fashion. You mercifully wait for her to do so, teacup and saucer perched daintily in your free hand. In all honesty, she wishes she were more like you; brave, uncaring of what others think, the main character of your own story.

She finds it in herself to chuckle. "I value diplomacy."

"Yeah, yeah," you roll your eyes good-naturedly, "but this isn't one of your romance novels, Jean, nor is it a negotiation. You deserve to be treated with respect, full stop."

She really wishes you'd stop bringing up her guilty pleasure so nonchalantly, but then she'd be deluding herself. She also wishes that she could be as confident and point-blank as you are, even if you both share the same sentiments - hers are just hidden under many layers of propriety.

"I believe you're very wise," Jean tells you sincerely. "The people of Mondstadt should elect you as their new Acting Grandmaster."

"You know, they should. I'd have that dickhead fling of yours executed immediately. Do they do that here? If not, they should look into it."

She sighs. "I take it back."

You grin, slamming your empty cup back onto her desk with a clatter. "Really? You don't want me to flay him alive? Or exile him to Dragonspine with nothing but the clothes on his back? Oh, oh, I know! What about electrocution--"

As the sun sinks down even lower in the sky, casting the Knights of Favonius Headquarters in a truly poetic glow, Jean realizes she feels much better. She'll have to get back to work soon, but for now she'll indulge you as long as she's able.

(Electrocution doesn't sound like too bad of an idea.)

🏷️: @akutasoda, @aviiarie, @lowkeyren

a/n: hi! good morning to you too & i'm glad you chose to take part! thank you for the prompt huehuehue. i decided to go in a little bit of a different direction because i just couldn't bring myself to be too mean to reader or the lovely jean... hope you don't mind!

event post here

[firewalkzwit]

runt // jonathan crane x reader (31)

Chapter 31

cross-posted on AO3

masterlist.

Crane's fixation to his goals held a special allure to her, she'd watch him and listen to his careful planning and fidgeting of his fingers as he paced around the cold, humid sub-surface cave where all his supplies and secrets were kept. She'd finally figured she'd occupy her mind with visiting Arkham, it'd soothe Crane's mind and keep him out of her ear for a bit at least. In her mind, she'd made up and out of her unsteady relationship more times than she could count, but she doubted that even within the complexities of Crane's mind there had been room for that many questionings of their affairs. With his unwavering tacitly accepting attitude of her erratic behaviour, she couldn't help but feel it didn't come from a place of loyalty, but rather a tired toleration of her tantrums to maintain a peaceful formality, and on the side, good casual sex. He didn't react because he didn't care, and her emotions seemed to hold no place in his worries. He seemed so passionate and invested as he spoke with Falcone's men and his arms fluttered in gestures and pointed in every direction, that she knew the place his devotion to fear occupied in his heart could never be replaced by her.

She knew she needed no such thing anyway, it was never in her plans to get tangled in an affair with who, to her, should just be a gateway to her goal. He seemed to have that clearer than her. Though even in the slight ache in her chest as the realisation struck her, she found a strange comfort in who she could see as a mentor, and a certain fondness with no sexual hunger to prowl underneath it. It was as he rushed walking to a direction that was not her's, she placed her hand on his chest to halt him almost impulsively.

"How do you do that?" Although her head was tilted and between her eyebrows was a frown that seemed to demonstrate interest, her gaze seemed to be lost in something that was hardly his own. As if it seemed like her pupils were looking at his direction but trying to glimpse something further. Puzzled, he gave her his own wry as he thought his answer through.

"Do what?"

"You're so focused..."

"Yes; I should be, all this is important."

"No I mean, aren't you scared?" By that, the beginning of a scoff initiated his hand's motion towards her to gently slide it off his chest.

"No room for that here." Of course that was the answer, it was Dr. Crane talking for him anyway. She had no qualms in admitting to herself that she was terrified, but his answer seemed more of an attempt to reassure himself than calm her own fears. He walked with such performative security she envied him enormously. It felt as if she learnt how to perform for long enough she could somewhat convince herself, as she had done in the beginning, thinking whatever she was doing at that very moment should be the pinnacle of her priorities, or when the confusion of his role in her life had led her to ever believe she could be unconditionally in love with him.

It was as she remembered the reasons for her unease that she chased after him, the staccato of her heeled shoes reverberant in the ample height of the basement. As she reached him, hesitantly her hands gripped his shoulder as if she could feel him closer that way. There was a sense of privacy in holding tight onto the body of whom one wanted to share secrecy with, even though the sound wave would travel and smear just as fast, like gunpowder, she'd still felt words were more confined as her nails grazed the cloth of his suit and her mouth approached his ear close enough to feel her hot breath bounce back against him to return to her.

"I think Bruce might be suspecting something." His attention this time was far more poured into her than the last time, in his eyes and steady expression where not a single muscle twitched, nothing moved except his relentless trembling pupils. It was not natural or uncontrolled, it more seemed as if his gaze was trying to catch a focused glimpse of any minute detail separated from one another by a distance so minuscule the movement in his eyes hardly manifested itself in his eyelids. Yet all that came out of his mouth, despite her expecting him to scold her like a child or make quiet insinuations of immense disappointment, was nothing but a mere interjection.

"Ah?"

"I don't know, he seemed a bit distressed yesterday, he hinted something about danger."

"Well it must be the instinct." His speech, not calming nor alarming, seemed like more of a mild mockery, his reasoning completely incoherent for such a careful thinker. "Don't dwell on it too much, there's no way he got access to this cellar or any information related to it." His voice didn't coincide with his uneasy expression, and she could feel his body move under her hands as he tried to keep his accelerated breathing under control. He was like a rodent, anxious and jumpy, with his twitchy eyes and skittish way of moving, which did no favours to his gaunt and almost dainty physique, undercover within the layers of clothes he strategically wore to suppress what underneath was a frail frame.

That night, Crane drove quietly as she sat beside him, hugging her purse with her knees clasped tightly. The mild sound of the music on the radio had little room to move, too short to reach with steadiness the back of the car, as small as Crane's car was. He drove a '94 hatchback that looked tightly squashed, and it was shaped like a pencil sharpener. It was great to fit in the tight gaps that Gotham had for parking spots, and relatively consumed little gas, but it felt tight to be in, and poorly maintained. The cover of the passenger seat had a little hole she liked to poke her finger into, and the cranky gearshift made an unsettling noise every time Crane would yank it to change it. Still, she'd grown familiar to the car that had been the home to her last fear of death, and the car where she'd been put through an induced psychological torture so bizarre she was now back in it, with the man who'd nearly terrified her to death.

"Would you like to stay the night?" She finally asked once they'd been parked by her building for nearly five long minutes.

"Are you asking me if I want to stay the night or do you need me to stay the night?" Y/N thought her answer through, although reluctant to feed his arrogance she still felt prompted to be truthful.

"Both."

"Then I'll stay."

She didn't know exactly what had bewitched him, but that night, Crane had treated her as tenderly as ever. She felt taken to a nuance of his personality she hadn't been let into before, though he had a knack for revealing his different facets in sporadic outbursts of childlike or akin affection. He seemed to try his best to calm her by caressing her softly enough to make her feel like his fingers were made out of silk. His hands ran through her skin and cupped her face like she was his most prized possession, the apple of his eye. It felt so honest that for as long as that lasted, she'd felt him as genuine as ever. Her lashes fluttered with every blink, and even while she closed her eyes and let herself melt in the body heat and bitter wetness of sweaty bodies, she felt as if her lashes were the wings of a butterfly, his delicate treatment of her face almost made her feel like her body had shifted into a divine deity, feeling almost worshipped.

But as fast as it came, the feeling abandoned her like a wave that crests and dissipates down back to sea level, returning to the ordinary. The problem with serotonin highs was that their similarity to drug withdrawal was so strong the depression and loneliness she felt once he let go of her made her feel like shattered porcelain.

"I hope that helped you relieve your stress, you seemed very tense today." In her eyes, he had turned into an almost robotic satisfier, returning to his cold demeanour the second he considered it'd sufficed. In a way, he had achieved his objective, for all the stress in her body had slid off like the pest it was, leaving her laid in bed like wet clay, stiff in her position but every limb and bone in her body felt completely flexible. Though he didn't abandon her, staying in the small bed together like he'd promised, Crane turned and curled up into a ball. She could feel his arched bones against her back, and although she couldn't see his arms hugging his body tightly in search of simulating an embrace, she could swear she heard him weep, and in the occasional twitching and sharp inhaling on his side of the bed, Y/N felt too scared to bring him any comfort.

[cynic-spirit]

yn gets a black eye

Y/N hadn’t meant to get involved, but when she saw the two men arguing outside the coffee shop, she couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. She had stepped in, trying to calm them down, but things had escalated faster than she anticipated. In the scuffle, one of the men had accidentally swung his arm too wide, and before she knew it, Y/N felt a sharp pain in her face.

It wasn’t until she got home that she saw the damage in the mirror—a black eye already forming, darkening her skin with shades of purple and blue. Her heart sank. She knew how Tony would react. He was fiercely protective, and the sight of her like this would undoubtedly send him into a rage.

Y/N stared at her reflection, gingerly touching the tender skin around her eye. She wasn’t afraid of Tony, but she was afraid of how upset he would be. He cared so much for her, and she hated the thought of him being hurt or worried because of something she’d done.

But there was no avoiding it. Tony would notice as soon as he saw her, and hiding it would only make things worse. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation, and made her way down to the lab where Tony was working.

As she entered the lab, Tony looked up from his work, a smile already forming on his face. "Hey, there you are! I was wondering where you—" His words caught in his throat as his eyes zeroed in on her face, specifically her eye.

Tony was on his feet in an instant, crossing the distance between them with a speed that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. "What the hell happened?" he demanded, his voice a mix of concern and barely restrained anger as he gently cupped her face, tilting her head to get a better look.

Y/N winced slightly at the pressure, even though she knew he was trying to be careful. "Tony, I’m fine, really. It was just a stupid accident."

"An accident?!" His voice was incredulous, eyes narrowing as he scanned her face, his thumb brushing lightly over the uninjured part of her cheek. "Who did this? Tell me who did this, Y/N."

"It’s not what you think," she tried to reassure him, placing her hands over his to calm him down. "There was a fight outside the coffee shop, and I tried to break it up. One of the guys just… swung too wide, and I got caught in the middle of it."

Tony’s jaw clenched, his grip on her tightening slightly as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "You should’ve stayed out of it, Y/N. You could’ve been seriously hurt!"

She sighed, knowing he was right but also knowing she couldn’t have just walked away. "I know, but I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. It’s just a black eye, Tony. It’ll heal."

But Tony wasn’t having any of it. His mind was already racing with a thousand different thoughts, most of them involving finding the men responsible and making them pay. The very idea that someone had hurt her, even by accident, was enough to make his blood boil.

"You should’ve called me," he said, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. "I would’ve come and handled it. I don’t want you putting yourself in danger like that, Y/N."

She could see the fear and worry in his eyes, beneath the anger, and it made her heart ache. She reached up, gently stroking his cheek in an attempt to soothe him. "I’m sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t want anyone else to get hurt."

Tony let out a heavy sigh, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly against his chest. "You’re the one I don’t want getting hurt," he murmured into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "God, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you."

Y/N melted into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him. "I’m okay, Tony. I promise."

They stood like that for a long moment, the tension in Tony’s body slowly easing as he held her close. But she knew he wouldn’t let this go easily—he was already thinking about how to protect her better, how to make sure something like this never happened again.

When they finally pulled apart, Tony brushed a tender kiss to her forehead, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "You’re getting a bodyguard," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes made her pause. He was serious, and she knew this was his way of trying to protect her. With a small sigh, she nodded. "Alright, if it makes you feel better."

"It does," he said, relief washing over his features. "And if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, you call me. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. You call me, understand?"

She smiled softly, reaching up to kiss him gently. "I understand, Tony."

As they settled together on the couch in the lab, Tony kept a protective arm around her, still simmering with a quiet anger that someone had dared to harm her. But underneath that, he was just grateful that she was okay, and he vowed to do everything in his power to keep her safe from now on.

[2kyo7]

𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐌; 𝟎𝟐

metkayina!reader x avatar 2

THAT NIGHT WHEN RETURNING home to your shared marui pod, it would start pouring rain, nothing you weren't accustomed to—but the weather somehow further dampening your foul mood.

The pod you lived in was a bit larger than most, with your grandmother being the clan's well respected healer, it was constantly covered in plants, mysterious liquids and various spices. She'd even taken the time to teach you a little about her work, but you couldn't be bothered to remember the information whole heartedly.

Walking on the very tips of your toes, you made it to one of the pod's many entrances without so much of a creak, pulling back the blanket of thick vegetation which served as some privacy while Tawmì worked. "Where have you been?" You were quick to turn around, braids entangling around your face in the process, all attempts of stealth now entirely meaningless.

Suddenly air caught in your throat, trying to swallow it down enough so that you could speak. "I.. I went a little past the reef with Kanaya..." you took a few careful steps towards Tawmì, still keeping a safe distance away. It was difficult to grasp an emotion, her tone neutral and calm, she sat in a corner mixing a concoction, back hunched obscuring her face.

"Hm."

Besides the sound of rain water connecting with the sea, there had grew a long silence between the two of you. Until Tawmì lifts a single finger that gestures you to kneel on the floor along side your herself, she was—like always—hard at work, grinding a stone tool against a herb which was laid out on a wooden mat.

"Help me girl, make yourself useful." Though your grandmother's words would've sounded harsh to anyone else, they were words of compassion to you, attentively following her directions, a small smile growing on your features knowing she'd no longer seemed to be angry with you.

"____, tomorrow you will teach Toruk Makto's children our way of life." It took you a moment to register her words, Toruk Makto? Those five-fingered devils? Your eyes were blown wide with hurt, "Grandmother, you of all na'vi know—"

"I will not hear any of it!" Tawmì sandwiched your lips between her fingers, cutting your rant short. "Tomorrow you shall bring them fruits and beg them for forgiveness." Once releasing you, she immediately went back to work as if she hadn't asked an impossible feat.

Rubbing the now swollen skin, you became lost in thought, feeling your lips quiver and tears build once more. What have I done to deserve such a punishment grandma? You noticed the copious amount of gathered fruit resting in a bowl near your bed, ready for delivery when you awoke in morning. "I refuse to teach those beast anything." Out of frustration, you fiddled with the pearls which occupied a braid—catching your soft bottom lip between your teeth.

"You cannot live in the past any longer, I will not allow it." Her words echoed throughout your brain, lowering yourself onto the soft fabric, completely drained of the day.

Even as a child you were extremely independent and stubborn, Tawmì remembered, lack of parental guidance only amplified this fact. You still enjoyed playing and socializing with others, no doubt, but at the end of each day she always found you in deep connection to the sea, wether you'd be longingly looking at its waves or interacting with animals.

Tawmì would say, "we are all children of eywa's ocean, but my granddaughter was born to it."

Though Tawmì understood your deep hatred of the sky people, she too feared everyday you grew more resentful—and eventually you'd do something terrible—irreversible even.

That is why she puts you through these trials, so you could see for yourself their was nothing to fear, that these were not the sky people who killed them.

She watches as you shift in your sleep, another nightmare... she thinks, placing a soothing hand atop your tense but unconscious form Tawmì begins to sing a lawr your mother sung to you as a child. Eywa hear my prayers, bring my grandchild to peace, do not curse this 'eveng for the faults of her sa'sem.

lawr - melody

'eveng - child

sa'sem - set of parents

The time was now midday, you'd spent the morning brooding around the pod until forced out by your tail, a large bowl filled to the brim with fruits resting loosely in your arms. You weren't exactly in a rush whatsoever to reach the Sully family's home, stopping along the way for multiple detours.

When you finally did arrive at your destination, about half the bowl went missing—some of the fruits you'd eaten yourself, offered to others, or fed to Ilu. It's not that much of a difference, how could they know anyhow? Before entering you noticed them all kneeled around each other in a circle, your head tilts in confusion and wonder. Flinching when Toruk Makto's eyes met yours, his family's following.

They all stood, the atmosphere suddenly becoming extremely tense due to your presence. You walked into their pod with a quick glance around, taking note of their strange forest belongings, you were met with a simple greeting from the two younger male na'vi (Neyetam and Lo'ak, were there names—grandmother had told you) an "I see you." just like yesterday. Instead of completely dejecting them you sent a small nod their way, seemingly surprising the two.

The youngest na'vi—Tuk—hid behind her mother as the other remained silent, simply observing your movements. Approaching Toruk Makto, you held up the bowl of fruit to him and his mate. "I bring fruit to Toruk Makto—and his kin," the mood lightened very moderately at your words, which contradicted your expression. Lips pressed in a thin line, almost scowl, ears twitching occasionally and eyes appearing bored.

"Thanks kid, that's very nice of you—isn't it guys?" Toruk Makto looked around, prodding his family for a response. There were small sounds of recognition, no one majorly thankful for your efforts, except the smallest na'vi who genuinely seemed grateful. "Thank you!"

"Just so you know, my kids aren't sky people." Your head tilted for the second time today, does he lie to protect them? A hmph sounded from your lips as you turned to scan over his off spring, again. The oldest and youngest were relatively normal all things considered, but the same could not be said about their siblings.

"You can hold my hand again," everyone immediately turned to stare at Lo'ak questioningly, realizing the crudeness of his statement, he was quick to correct himself—"f-for proof, of course."

Neteyam silenced his brother with a simple grasp of the shoulder, saving him from any further embarrassment.

The look you sent Toruk Makto was one of complete doubt, circling around them for a moment, their mother clearly unhappy at your staring. "I will teach Toruk Makto's children, but only if they will learn."

"Toruk Makto's children have names, y'know." Your attention was lured by the female na'vi similar in height, she stared you down in annoyance, she was the most demonic out of them, you cut your eyes away from her form, finding the comment equally bothersome. "I'm sure they do."

"We meet where the currents are lightest, can Toruk Makto's children handle that much?" Not waiting on their response, you dove into the ocean's salty waters and in almost no time at all, you were gone. "Ugh! I hate her! Dad did you see the way she was staring at us?" Kiri held herself even tighter, ears bent in anger. Neteyam and Lo'ak also felt unsettled by your comments, but clearly not as bothered as their sister, Tuk oblivious as ever.

"Come on babygirl, clearly she's got somethin' against the sky people—jus' give her some time, she'll come around." Jake's attempt did little to comfort his daughter, only irritating Kiri further, whatever the sky people had done, did little to do with them, her family was not at fault.

Jake soon sent his children away from their training, a few words of encouragement to go with them. "I'm so worried ma Jake, that girl...she holds such hate." He could only hold Neytiri against his chest to soothe her worries, "the kids are strong, have faith in them."

[annoyinglandmagazine]

@finweanladiesweek | Day 3: Galadriel and Aredhel

She had steel against her thigh now, always pressed cold to the smooth and no longer bloodstained or frostbitten skin, and concealed by the fine fabrics surrounding her. Celeborn knew of it, had felt it’s edge against his leg as she’d laid herself down beside him in the sweet smelling grass with the warm sunlight embracing them and seeming to emit from the golden hair strewn over his chest, almost enough to chase the ice from her bones but not quite, as she doubted anything ever would be. The ice was in her very self now, just as the flame always had been, and buried deep under the smooth gold sheen in a much similar manner.

They did not speak of many things, the blade was the least of it. Celeborn could understand that much, at least attempt to for her sake. After all the story of what had happened to the other princess of the Noldor was a subject only spoken of in whispers but had nonetheless carried as such shocks are prone to. Who’s part in it the Sindar saw as shocking didn’t bare thinking of. Whether it had reached the ears of Thingol himself or Melian was unknown, certainly none had broached it with them, after all Eol had been of his kin.

As she’d only dared voice to her husband for fear of how it may be received, she didn’t dismiss her cousin’s race as of little importance to this matter. She’d lived in Doriath for long years and had been permitted to do so as she was not deemed by the king to be ‘tainted’ as her Noldorin blood was so diluted with a certain squint of the eyes he could see her as one of his Sindar and pretend that the part of her that belonged to the people of one he had once loved was insignificant. Many did not provide her the same courtesy, if it could be called such.

Those who didn’t, those whose minds were decided the second they’d first heard her Quenya name, viewed her one of two ways. Either as something to be feared and loathed or something that could be corrected. Some ‘thing’ in both of those remains the crucial matter. She had no trouble imagining that one such as Eol should lust after Noldor women, not for love or admiration but because he lusted after things he would not excuse if done upon a noble Sinda, because he would see no wrongdoing on his part if he did not truly see his ‘wife’ as a person.

If he saw her as being truthfully unworthy of his generosity and himself as doing right by her with his attempts to civilise her and make her worthy. For truly was it not mercy to cure her of what corruption her kin had inflicted on her, it was not in the nature of elleth to be anything but docile and fair so surely he could make her so and did she not owe him for his efforts?

If one who went by Galadriel could see such sentiments, though never more than unvoiced sentiment, it was no stretch to imagine how easily some may justify things in relation to one such as Aredhel, who bore her blades and bow at her belt and across her back rather than concealed, who’s deep black hair was perpetually bound intricately above her head, who’s skilful hands never stilled, who’s brother had slain at Aqualonde. Perhaps it was for the best Feanor had born only sons, the fate of a daughter who had slain kin of her own volition did not bare thinking of.

Yes, there was a particular hate reserved for Noldorin women, but, as she had been told on countless occasions, she was not one. Her home had been among the kin of Olwe with the fresh scented breeze rushing through her and the exhilaration as she glided as one with the crashing waves, the sea spray plastered her golden locks to her cheeks and her fingers felt the ever present friction of ropes rushing through her fingers.

The same fingers that used the talent at managing multiple strands to sit and weave in soothing silence by Caranthir’s side, only broken by exchanging the odd note on interesting gossip or asking for the basket containing spools of thread. That her cousins, one clad in a mud splattered white tunic and the other with a star of Feanor on his neck beside the mark of Oromë, had taught to string a bow and wield a sword. She had accompanied them on occasion, shared in their banter and endeavoured to best them in speed to the draw and on the saddle. She had never found success there but the practice put her a ways ahead of her brothers, something that had been worth many hours toil in such days.

She allowed her thoughts to slip into treacherous territory, shielded from the view of even the Queen for what sort of a Noldor would she be if she permitted others to censor her convictions, of Thingol and Aqualonde, with particular regard to Nolofinwean kin. It was all very well to condemn all who participated in such an event when you have only heard tale of it and never witnessed it for yourself. It was hard even to tell what he wished them to have done, he’d only condemned the Noldor after all but she found it hard to believe he’d actually accept even his beloved Teleri with how the concept seemed to disturb his sensibilities.

Would he truly have stood to the side, counselling others to do the same, as he witnessed that sheer carnage, the blood seeping through the sand and tainting the water, the glint of swords and torches the only light in the sheer animal panic that had set them all on edge for all the leagues of that fateful journey ever since they knew for certain that their home no longer held any safety for them?

He seemed to have few issues closing his eyes and pretending not to see similar destruction outside his borders at present so perhaps he may have. She had no doubts as to what, if she had arrived but an hour sooner that day, she should have done. She would have felt guilt, of course she would have but then did her kin not also? It would have been a matter of kin over kin but she knew with little waver that she would not have stood by while the Teleri fought a losing battle, just as Fingon could not watch on as those he loved were in peril, with a deep conviction that of course they must have been acting in defence. For what might one not do for their kin?

Perhaps then, he was wrong in allowing her to reside here while others were barred. For though she was a proud sea maiden of the Teleri she was every bit the Noldo her cousins were. Her spirit burned with the same flame, the same need for more that had tormented her uncle into the path he’d taken. It threatened to consume her in bitterness at its constraint within the company of others who did not feel it also and its need to conquer over those who could.

It would not be extinguished, this need for greatness, knowledge and above all power that was in all honesty matched only by that of her most detested uncle. Instead she fed it, honed it and tempered it with arts that Feanor had known not and this satisfied her, what would be called magic running through her veins in a way unique among full Eldar. And as she became more assured of her own strength and achieved what could almost be called satisfaction in her own prowess at last she found the peace he never had.

Content finally in herself as she felt the trickling stream beneath the stones her bare feet balanced upon and the starlight reflected in the water crowded about her eagerly as her beloved gazed upon her with adoration, not for or despite her ability but for the peaceful smile breaking out upon her face as her hand stretched out to guide him. The smile that widened as he took it without hesitance and allowed the elleth he knew to be a cunning and ruthless creature well versed in witchcraft take him by the hand among the dense trees with complete trust.

The water crashed upon the rocks and splashed her bare shins but she did not flinch at the coolness as she pulled him to her and steadied him with the laughter of one who has seen as little pain as one such as Luthien dancing among the flowers while they exerted all their elven grace into not slipping off the rock as their damp lips and bodies settled into a steady and familiar rhythm. They had all the time in the world after all.

[songstresstinyteacup]

An alternative to “Is the weight of it all finally too much?”

Okay, so this deals with implied suicide attempts, and panicky Sibella. Do with that as you will!

Of all the things Sibella had expected to see when she arrived at High Hurst castle that day, Monty pulling a soaking wet and half-frozen Phoebe D’ysquith Navarro from the river beyond the gardens wasn’t one of them.

Monty passed off Phoebe to Marietta and Gorby, stalking inside and forcing Sibella to whirl around to try and keep up with him as Miss Shingle and Gorby began escorting Phoebe back inside.

Sibella hadn’t even had the time to shed her coat and gloves.

“Monty! Monty, whatever’s happened?” Sibella inquired, heels slamming into the ground as she tried to keep pace with him.

Monty turned around, and Sibella saw so many emotions in his eyes.

Anger.

Grief.

Concern.

Fear.

“Phoebe tried to end her life today, Sibella.” Monty’s voice was hoarse and thick with tears, tears Sibella could see he was desperately trying to hold back.

Sibella’s heart plummeted through the floor.

“What?” Her words were breathless.

Phoebe.

Her Phoebe.

Phoebe had tried to die.

Monty threw his arms up, sleeves soaked clear up to his elbows, running damp fingers through snow-speckled hair, frustration in every movement.

Then Monty stepped aside and motioned Sibella into the library, and when she did as bid, he shut the door.

“Wh- I don’t- Oh Monty.” Sibella felt her own tears welling up.

Monty was silent, eerily silent, and then after such a long pause he spoke.

“I think Phoebe found out. I think she knows what I did to her brother.” Monty’s voice broke as he all but collapsed at his desk in the library.

Sibella’s heart sank even further.

Sibella had suspected for quite some time that Monty’s meteoric rise from displaced heir to Earl wasn’t simply a streak of good luck, and she had thought Phoebe had suspected too.

Maybe Phoebe had suspected, but perhaps Phoebe hadn’t believed as Sibella had, and when it came to Phoebe’s grief for her brother, Sibella knew it still ran strong.

Oftentimes Sibella would look over at Phoebe in the gardens and catch her staring teary-eyed at the bee colonies she’d had moved from Salisbury to the castle, staring at them as if enough willpower would make Henry appear.

If Phoebe had learned that Henry had been killed by Monty, had no way to deny it to her own brain, Sibella knew she’d be distraught, but never dreamed that Phoebe would attempt to harm herself.

Sibella was snapped from her spiraling thoughts by the sound of Monty crying, and she moved to wrap her arms around him, bending as far as her corset would allow to try and soothe him.

“She’ll be alright, Monty. I’ll make sure of it.” Sibella kissed the top of his head and then took off from the library to their wing.

It made the most sense for Phoebe to be placed in her boudoir, close to the bath to warm her after Monty had calmed down, if she weren’t already in the bath.

So when Sibella finally reached the boudoir door she didn’t bother knocking, simply pushed in the door and closed it behind her.

The room was warm, almost stifling under Sibella’s coat and gloves, and in a chair by the fire sat Phoebe.

She was wrapped in no less than three blankets, but she trembled like a leaf in a storm anyway, and Mary was there trying to hand her a cup of tea but Phoebe just stared ahead.

Mary seemed to jump when she noticed Sibella, placing the teacup back on the saucer and bobbing a curtsy.

“Miss Hallward! I do apologize!” Mary offered a skittish smile, but it didn’t meet her eyes.

Sibella offered a genuine smile back, a small, sad one.

“Leave us, Mary.” Sibella commanded, pulling off her first glove.

Mary blanched, and looked from Phoebe back to Sibella.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but I was instructed to stay with her ladyship no matter what.” She stammered and Sibella huffed.

“I shall stay with the countess. You may go.” The blonde tried once more, but Mary didn’t budge.

“Take Miss Hallward’s coat and gloves and go to lunch, Mary. I’m alright.” Phoebe’s voice was almost foreign, so resigned and far away, but Mary obeyed.

After the door had closed, Phoebe sighed so heavily her entire frame seemed to crumble, head dipping down.

“Phoebe. What on earth possessed you to try such a thing?” Sibella walked toward the fire and picked up the cup from its saucer and held it out to Phoebe.

The smaller woman didn’t take it, shivering so violently Sibella could hear her teeth chattering, so Sibella extended it again.

“I didn’t try anything. I was trying to tell Monty that.” Phoebe grit out between shivers.

“Was the weight of it all finally too heavy? Phoebe this isn’t like you!” Sibella hissed, tipping Phoebe’s chin upwards with one finger, eyes blazing with anger.

Phoebe shot up, almost knocking her head into Sibella’s as she tried to take a step and tripped over one of the many blankets Mary had wrapped her in.

Sibella caught her immediately, helping untangle the blanket from Phoebe’s feet and looking her over.

“I swear to you, Sibella, I would never do that! Especially not now!” Phoebe was adamant, glaring at Sibella even though she still trembled with cold.

Sibella blinked.

What did Phoebe mean by “not now”?

Phoebe caught her gaze.

“I was walking by the river because it’s Henry’s birthday today. Every year the only thing my brother wanted was a walk by a river with me. I tripped and fell in. Monty only saw my back.” Phoebe’s words were quick, and for a moment Sibella panicked.

Had these statements been planned?

Had Phoebe planned in case one of them caught her?

Sibella hardened her gaze, looking at Phoebe in the way she knew made Monty squirm and hoped it would do the same to Phoebe.

It didn’t.

“Have you forgotten I’m a D’ysquith, Sibella? I’ve had years of experience in posturing.” Phoebe’s voice was like steel, and Sibella noticed for the first time that she’d stopped trembling.

Sibella softened her eyes, looking at Phoebe.

Very well, she could use tears and terror in equal measure.

“Darling, I just-“, Sibella took a deliberately unsteady breath, “I can’t lose you.”

The blonde looked down, and when she looked at Phoebe again there was a light misting of tears in her eyes.

Phoebe seemed to wilt.

Good.

“It was an accident, Sibella. That’s all.” Phoebe’s voice was softer, but still firm.

Phoebe grabbed her blankets and moved to the bed, opening them up and motioning for Sibella to join her.

Sibella did, sniffling as she moved to further illustrate her distress, and when she was pressed into Phoebe’s side, freezing water soaking into her own dress, Phoebe closed the blanket around them and lay back, taking Sibella with her.

They said nothing, Phoebe looking at Sibella, and then Phoebe’s freezing hands were in Sibella’s, guiding, and Sibella all but froze in place when Phoebe pressed Sibella’s hand to her own abdomen.

“That was what I wanted to tell Henry. Now I’m telling you. I would never hurt myself, or my child.” Phoebe’s voice was husky and low, even as tears welled up in both of their eyes.

“Oh, darling.” Sibella crashed her lips into Phoebe’s, kissing her hard.

An heir.

“Does Monty know?” Sibella inquired breathlessly as they pulled apart.

Phoebe shook her head, swallowing hard.

“I tried to tell him after he pulled me out. I didn’t even know he’d followed me out there, but he’s too frightened and angry.”

Phoebe’s shivering began anew, and Sibella rose.

“What are you-“ Phoebe began as Sibella pulled her to her feet, keeping one hand firmly on Phoebe’s waist.

“Let me draw you a bath, I won’t have you catching your death, especially not now.” Sibella breathed, and Phoebe thought for a moment, then nodded.

Sibella led Phoebe into the bathing chamber and deposited her onto the chaise with such gentleness that Phoebe began to get misty-eyed again.

They would tell Monty later.

He had to understand.

[bittersweet-n-smilin]

Loyalty • Chai x Mocha Fic • Game Chapter Write-in

Spoilers: End of Track 4 & End of Track 7

It was a whirlwind of a heartattack for Mocha, but at least it helped her finally realize where her morals and loyalty lied. Even so, she wished it hadn't come to this. One moment, Chai was on his way back to the hideout with the kidnapped head of security, and the next, they were both dragged back, unconscious after a fiery crash on the tram.

His condition wasn't as critical as the dying red-haired woman, but it still sent fear surging through her veins as she gazed upon his still form where he lay upon the sofa in the middle of the room. While the others operated to save the life of the other victim of the wreck, she took it upon herself to look after the man til he woke up, and afterwards when he inevitably realized how much pain he was in.

It was a miracle he hadn't been too terribly injured. She almost couldn't believe it. He seemed almost indestructible, truly. But how long until his luck ran out? It finally made her realize the gravity of the whole situation, and filled her with so much guilt.

So many times she was tempted to sell out these people she had come to befriend over the past day or so. And for what? To become "worth something" to some corporate assholes who evidently don't care about much at all besides their cushy little jobs? To finally "find a good place in the world", even at the cost of others? What the hell was wrong with her!? She was a fool, a damn fool. She felt so fucking guilty.

Even moreso because she's the one who sort of instigated this mess, the weight of her sin was heavy on her. She's the one who told the big bad boss of the company where the group was in R&D, forcing them to flee and kickstarting a chain of events leading to where she is now. Kneeling at the side of someone she quickly grew to care so much for, she felt guilty.

Suddenly, he began to stir and groan upon his resting place. Quietly, she shushed him and instinctively put a hand to his hair in an attempt to soothe the man.

"It's alright. You're OK now. You're back in the hideout. Everything is fine."

He blinked at her, processing what he just heard. "K-Korsi..ca?" He asked about his companion in destruction.

"She's a bit...... critical right now. The others are doing what they can."

At that, he seemed to relax. Or at least, he tried to. It's a bit hard to be at ease when your muscles are crying out in agony. Luckily she had prepared for his, helping him sit up so he could take some painkillers. Hopefully it would be enough in the long-run.

It seemed so, judging by how his jaw finally unclenched and he let out a sigh after a couple minutes. "Thanks," he said, looking up at her after he had settled down once more. "Man, what would I do without ya, huh?"

And with that, she started to cry. Because he would probably be safe without a treacherous snake such as her. The guilt overwhelmed her and tore her apart. Before she knew it, she started spilling confessions of her attempted betrayals, and the one that came to fruition.

"I'm so sorry!" was all she could sob over and over, and he took pity on her. He was shocked at her confession (even though Peppermint had sort of "called it" earlier on), but he still shushed her in an attempt to get her to calm down and listen. He didn't know if he was being stupid, but he did know she seemed genuine in her remorse. Then again, how much could you know about a girl you only met almost two days ago? He was still willing to chance it, so he spoke.

"Hey, don't cry, don't cry. It's ok. He woulda found us back there anyway, so that's not your fault entirely. And the hideout stuff? You didn't, and that's what matters, yeah? You have good in you, I can feel it... Besides, I like you too much to let you walk away."

"Yeah. Yeah, I like you guys too."

"No. I like you."

".....I think I return those feelings."

As her tears slowed and dried, they spent the next several hours in near silence. Mocha tended to Chai as new aches and cuts made themselves known, until their guest had woken up from her operation. She'd make up for her follies by helping make sure nothing like this happened to her new friends again.

....and by making sure she would become a better person for someone who somehow saw the best in her.

[lupin-bun]

Come Back to Me

William Easton/FTM OC, self ship, trauma, hurt/comfort, smut (in later chapters)

Week 1

Chapter 1 - A First Time for Everything

“You’re coming with me to a drag show tonight.”

William looked up from the file he had open on his lap as he sat on his couch, to stare in bewilderment at his sister.

“The hell’d you just say?”

“I said, you’re coming with me to a drag show tonight.” Pamela reiterated, as clearly and concisely as she could, one hand on the back of the couch, the other on her hip as she looked down at her brother.

Will snorted in disapproval and looked back down at the file.

“No way. Can you really see me at a drag show?” He turned his head long enough to raise his eyebrows at her, pointedly, before returning to the file.

“Will,” Pamela started, a warning tone to her voice, “it’s been almost a year, and all you do is work. You never go out, you never meet up with friends, I don’t think I’ve even seen you smile since then.”

Will flipped the file shut in annoyance and shot Pamela a dangerous look.

“My friends? They’re dead, Pamela. Or did you forget? Hell, you were there!”

Completely unfazed by Will’s tone, Pamela raised an eyebrow.

“That’s another thing, Will,” she began, gently, “the friends you did have in the first place worked for you. They were employees.”

“I know! Don’t you think I know that!?” Will’s tone rose as he stood up, angrily, and marched through to the kitchen, Pamela following behind him, silently. “They were both. My employees and my friends. And I…” he paused and swallowed, remembering, “I let them die.” His tone dropped, sadly. His face screwed up and he turned his back on her, busying himself with opening a cupboard to retrieve a bottle of liquor and a glass.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Pamela soothed, stepping closer, carefully. “You didn’t put them there. That psycho did. You saved as many as you could.”

Will didn’t answer. There was a clink of glass on glass as he poured a shallow amount of the alcohol into the whiskey tumbler, and threw it back in one swallow. Pouring it into the glass at all seemed mildly redundant. He put a hand on his right hip as he stood there, his back still turned, but Pamela still noticed his thumb stroking the spot where she knew a huge scar sat, under his shirt, an ugly reminder of what he’d been through.

She stepped up close behind him and lay her head on his shoulder, rubbing his arm, comfortingly.

“Come out with me tonight,” she murmured, quietly. It wasn’t a question, “please, big bro.” She added, giving his arm a squeeze. “You deserve to do something fun. Take your mind off it for once! Ok, so I know it’s more my thing than yours but, maybe?” she wheedled him, looking up at him with a hopeful smile.

Will exhaled, resigned. He side-eyed her. He never could say no to Pammy.

“Fine.” He agreed simply and Pamela smiled, pulling back from him.

Will turned to face her properly, his attempt to look stern betrayed by his eyes that held a deep, desolate sadness that had been ever present these last few months.

“Performers from England are visiting for a while, including my favourite king! He’ll be there tonight and I wanted to show you his stuff.” Pamela decided to try and get Will talking about the show to get his mind off his trauma. She had been introduced to the drag scene by a lesbian friend from the studio and become hooked. The performers were all so… elaborate. Sequins, studs, rhinestones, glitter, confetti, huge wigs, headpieces, nails, heels, it was all so artistic and joyous.

“He?” Will questioned, picking the bottle up from the counter and walking it back through to the living room. “Aren’t you supposed to call drag queens “she”?”

Pamela couldn’t help but smirk to herself. William really knew nothing about the drag world. “No, he’s a king. Not a queen.”

“What? What’s that? A woman dressed as a man?”

Pamela paused, wondering if she dared go into the details of this king she was such a fan of, for fear of just confusing him. She’d been following this king for a while and he was very open about himself and how he identified, talking about it in livestreams, regularly.

“Not exactly…” Pamela said, trailing off. “It’s hard to explain. And I really want you to meet-…”

“No.” Will cut her off, strongly. “I’ve told you before, Pamela. I’m not interested in any of your friends.” He sat back down in his chair, heavily, and picked up the file again.

Pamela nodded with an amused huff.

“Oh I know. I am very aware!” She turned to leave and get ready in the spare room she was currently occupying, “Just like you weren’t interested in Sarah, or Lucy, or Allison…”

…

Pamela walked into the dimly lit venue, excitedly, a beaming smile across her face.

Will followed behind her with decidedly less enthusiasm, his hands rammed into his pockets like a moody teen. Though he had relented to be here, he hadn’t made any kind of effort with his appearance. The suit pants were gone in favour of jeans, he was still wearing his work shirt (it was now untucked) and his tie had been banished to the bedroom floor. He hadn’t even brushed his hair. When it had been scruffed up when he removed his tie, it had stayed like that.

The venue was very small. It was really just a smallish function room above a bowling alley in the city. Glancing around, William figured it would hold around fifty people. Sixty, max. There was a small stage the opposite side of the room, with gold fringe all along the back wall that twinkled, reflecting the stage lights (and the few dim house lights that were on).

With a resigned sigh, Will went to sit on a chair at the back.

“No, Will! Let’s sit on the front row! Please!” Pamela implored him, grabbing his hand and pulling as though she’d suddenly become six years old again and was trying to get Will to join her on the swings at the park.

Will shot her a look.

“Pleeeaaase!” Pamela begged, bobbing where she stood.

“You must really like this guy, huh?” Will remarked, heaving himself up to standing again, trailing after his sister, obediently. He plopped himself down in the aisle seat at the front and pulled a patronising face at his sister, who sat next to him. “Happy?”

“Very.” Pamela responded, with a smug grin.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone inbetween! Please take your seats! The show will be starting in five minutes! That’s five minutes until the start of the show!” came a distinctly male voice over the speakers.

Will rolled his eyes, tiredly, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Pamela elbowed him.

After definitely a lot longer than five minutes (and a lot closer to fifteen), the house lights went down. There were a few, scattered “Woo!”s around the room, including from Pamela. Will pulled a face at her.

She elbowed him again.

A tall drag queen in a floor length, silver, sequin dress, and sporting the biggest, brown, curly wig Will had ever seen in his life, strode, grandly onto the stage to a wave of applause from the crowd. Her dress was low cut, and it wasn’t just her wig that was brown and curly, it seemed. An impressive amount of chest hair sat, displayed proudly, above the neckline. And, when Will glanced down, the leg that poked, flirtatiously, out from a slit in the side of her dress was hairy too. But, he had to admit, the juxtaposition made her striking to behold, as she stood there, mic in hand, waiting for the cheers to die down.

“Thank you, loves. Thank you.” She began, her soft British voice amplified by the speaker that stood just feet away from where Will sat.

“Good evening!”

Another wave of applause.

“and thank you so much for having us bunch of raging queers from England in your city!”

There was a collective chuckle from the crowd.

“Honestly, getting the chance to perform in America is fucking insane when you’re from a tiny bloody city in the UK and hate RuPaul.”

Another chuckle, and a couple of raucous laughs from somewhere near the back.

“I’m Liv Presents, or Olivia Presentations if you’re nasty!” She winked, comically at the crowd, some of whom whooped or wolf whistled. “And I think I should just get the fuck on with it, don’t you!?”

A huge cheer went up.

“First on the line up tonight is a man that we had to pull out of his dumpster just to get him here-…”

“Oh my God!” Pamela whispered to Will, excitedly. “He’s on first! No way!”

“He’s a stinker, but don’t let that put you off. He’s the skunk punk of Norwich and he’s here tonight! He’s fizzy! He’s sweet! I hope you’re thirsty! It’s SODAPOP!”

Pamela flapped her hands against her knees, grinning in anticipation.

Liv Presents left the stage, and Will finally felt comfortable enough to cross his arms without judgement.

What had all that meant? “Stinker”? “Dumpster”? “Skunk”? What did all that have to do with anything?

Without warning, the start of some rock song or other started playing. Will jumped. It wasn’t the bubblegummy pop song or dramatic ballad he’d been imagining.

“You think your life is done, he took it all with him

So you drink enough to wash away the sin!

It’s such a shitty thing he did, the way he said “Goodbye”

You can take it out on me, if you like…”

The song began but no-one had reached the stage yet. William turned to ask Pamela what was going on, but noticed that she’d turned in her seat and was looking towards the back of the room.

He followed her gaze and spotted the performer, strutting up the aisle, slowly, engaging directly with audience members as he went.

The man was smallish, a couple of inches shorter than Will, but he sported a flawless, oil black mohawk with a white chunk at the front that made up for that deficit (Aaah. Now the “skunk” moniker made sense). He had a medium build with nicely toned arms and shoulders from what Will could see. He had surprisingly slim hands, with black painted nails, and he wore (not at all what he’d expected of a drag king), Black jeans, a black leather vest with copious studs and various “punky” accessories (spiked collar, fingerless leather gloves, and various piercings). An unexpected departure from the huge, over-styled outfits he’d seen a lot of queens wear. His wickedly grinning face was accentuated with strong makeup; deep contouring, dramatic eyeliner (top and bottom lids, plus wing), painted on, pointed brows, black lipstick with extended lines at the corners, pulling his smile wider than was natural. The overall effect was a small but dominant creature with a devilish streak, and a snide, sarcastic sense of humour.

“Fuck away the pain Erase him from your brain

Fake it like you love me

Come on baby, touch me!”

He carried on performing. He was not shy in the slightest! He strutted and swaggered down the aisle, getting in close within audience members’ personal space, throwing an arm over people’s shoulders, hiking a foot up on the sides of chairs and rolling his hips (or, in one instance, the front of the chair of a guy who was man-spreading up a storm. Sodapop had cupped the man’s chin and bent in dangerously close, within kissing distance, before grinning and backing away, letting the man’s face go, teasingly). Soda strutted past Will and onto the stage and, apparently, Will was staring pretty intensely, because Soda had caught his eye and, with a wicked smirk, winked at him.

Will immediately felt his face heat up.

“Show me where it hurts

This dirty little curse

Don’t have to be ashamed

If you wanna scream my name

while I fuck away the pain”

Now Soda dropped to his knees, head thrown back, as though in ecstasy, running his hands down the full length of his torso.

Will could actually feel his pulse in his cheeks.

“You hate the way he fooled around behind your back

A slave to him but now, with me, no strings attached!

But if you wanna use me up and leave me in the bed

If that’s what you need, go right ahead.”

Soda rolled his body, thrusting at the audience, head still back.

Will had chanced a glimpse and now wished he hadn’t. Soda had a noticeable bulge in his pants. Why had that caused Will to twitch? He shifted where he sat.

Stronger than a shot of whiskey or any pill you taaaaaaake…!

Liv walked back onstage, the mic in her hand replaced with a glass of (presumably) whiskey. Rather than hand it to him, she tipped it, carefully, and let a small amount pour out onto Soda’s throat. It trickled down his neck to his chest in riverlets as he brought his head back up. He locked eyes with Will again.

Will had to be blushing so hard, you could fry eggs on him! He shifted, uncomfortably, in his chair and uncrossed his arms and, trying to appear casual, pretended to rest his head on his fist (really just trying to hide his woefully red face behind it!).

“Fuck away the pain

Erase him from your brain

Fake it like you love me-…

Soda suddenly lunged at Will and crouched low, so close to him!

...Come on, baby, touch me!”

He ran his hands down the shiny black leather that covered his chest again.

With his heart pounding, squirming in his seat, head swimming and definitely not thinking straight, Will drunkenly put out a hand to place it on Soda’s chest too.

A sharp slap to the side of his leg broke Will out of his trance.

He blinked and looked, instead, at his sister who quickly shook her head, urgently.

Will swiftly returned his hand to his lap, mortified.

Soda didn’t seem to care. With a devilish smirk, he winked again, and moved on.

…

The number had ended.

The audience were going nuts, cheering, clapping and whooping as Soda gave one last little bow and jogged off down the aisle.

Liv returned to the stage.

“SODAPOP, EVERYBODY!!!” She called over the crowd, which redoubled the cheering. “How are you all feeling? Is your thirst quenched? Uuuuuuuuunnnnh!!” she moaned, comedically.

There was a roar of approval from the audience.

“Now, I’ve just got to say,” Liv started, semi-seriously, “I did actually forget to say this at the start of the show. Absolutely my fault! But you’re all going to see some very sexy people on this stage tonight,”

Another cheer.

“but please do not touch us without permission. That’s an absolute must. Please don’t molest the performers! That being said,” here, she turned and directly addressed Pamela, “if someone like Sodapop gets up in your face and tells you “come on baby touch me” and encourages you, and gropes themselves like the filthy boy they are, SODA…!!”, she called to Sodapop, who must still have been at the back of the room (Will turned in his chair to look, but couldn’t spot him in the gloom), “… in that instance, I’d say it’s ok! But, bless you, my darling,” Liv reached a painted-long-nailed and bejewelled hand out for Pamela’s, and Pamela took it, “bless your heart! Ordinarily that’s absolutely the right reaction! Thank you, my love!” She released Pamela’s hand with a warm smile. “Now then! Up next…”

[nyxnightshade1332]

Expectations When Expecting (Prologue)

Chapter 17

Chapter 18:

The three teens and the cat monster raced out of the abandoned dwarfs’ mine, clutching the magestone they had recovered. They rushed into the silent woods, only to realize that the giant, inky monster had managed to follow them. The monster howled and gurgled on its own ink as it approached them. 

Ace looked back, incredulous and nervous at the sight of such a disgusting monster stomping toward them. 

“Are you kiddin' me?!” He cried in exasperation. “It's still coming! It pushed off all that weight!” 

Yuu felt her heart drop at the knowledge. 

“Giiive it baaaaack...!” The giant roared, launching a tree at the group, Yuu barely managing to dodge it. 

“It's too fast!” Deuce gasped, exhausted. “It's about to catch us!” He stated nervously as he began to fall behind. 

“You know what? Fuck it! Then it's kill or be killed!” She cried, glaring at the monster, shaking as she guarded her abdomen. Ace seemed to notice her fear, but followed along, a crazed smirk painted on his face. 

“Aw, yeah! Let's just smash the thing. Try not to wet yourself, Deucey!”

“Same to you, Ace!” Deuce smirked back, clutching his magic pen. 

Yuu watched as Grim placed himself in front of her. “I'm gonna show ya why they call me Grim the Great!” She watched Grim inhale, puffing out his chest. It was a clear indication of the monster’s signature attack of blue flames. She gave Grim a grateful smile as she picked up a stone. 

Yuu pulled her arm back, eyes locking onto the monster giant, glass head with only one conclusion in mind. Break the head and it will die. 

When Grim released his flurry of flames, she threw the rock as hard as she could, hearing the satisfying cracking sound, and she picked up a second stone she watched, weaving between the trees, similarly to the way she would when playing hunters with her friends as a child. She pulled back her arm again when the monster was distracted. She took a breath as she aimed, her eyes fixated on the cracked part of the monster. 

And as she released the stone, there was one final CLANG that echoed in the woods. Yuu felt herself be pulled away, a white light seemingly keeping her from being crushed or drowned by the monster. She shut her eyes in fear and surprise of the light that blinded her bracing herself. 

She froze when she felt the cool, ghostly brush of a hand against her face. Tentatively, the young woman opened her eyes for long enough to catch a glimpse of who had touched her, only to see the familiar form of her deceased lover leading a small man away. She saw the smaller figure pause, turning toward her before nodding what appeared to be his gratitude. She nodded back, watching the two figures retreat before she realized that she had not been breathing. 

Yuu took a gasp of air, registering the sounds of triumph of the boys, Grim happily prancing around her. He stopped in front of her, sharp teeth flashing a happy smile at her, and he held up one paw. 

“C’mon! Gimme a victory high-five!” 

Yuu felt a relieved smile form on her lips as she bent down, giving a high five to the cat. She looked to Ace and Deuce, whose celebrations were ongoing. She stood up Grim scampering onto her shoulders. 

“Shared adversity sure brings people together, huh?” She gave a smirk as she noticed the boys scramble backward. 

“Uh... I don't think that had anything to do with it.” Deuce muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in an attempt to soothe his embarrassment. 

“Yeah! Spare us the clichés, bro.” Ace chimed, face slightly red. 

“There's no "together" here! We won 'cause of me!” Grim bragged, nose held high. “This is all from me bein' a magical genius!” 

“Hush you.” She half-scolded before noticing Ace’s expression toward her. 

“Y'know... I hate to admit it, but... We mostly won because of your plan.” 

“Yeah... if you hadn't managed to keep your cool and tell us all what to do, we never would have got this magestone.” Deuce agreed, noticing the sudden sheepish appearance of Yuu. He said something else that Yuu couldn't quite remember, apparently a thanks for preventing the expulsion. 

“Aww, c’mon guys. It wasn’t really much… I'm just glad no one got hurt.” She muttered shyly. 

“Yeah, yeah, lessons were learned, et cetera. Can we just go home already? I'm wiped.” Ace remarked. 

“I think that may be the most logical thing you’ve said since I met you.” She teased.

“Shut up!” 

“UGH, Usin' all that magic made me hungry!” Grim whined, annoyed before he paused. Yuu stopped, noting the strange-looking stone on the ground. 

“Huh? What's this?” Grim made his way to the mysterious object, picking it up in his paws and bringing the stone up to his nose curiously. 

“Is that a part of the monster we just beat?” Deuce questioned. “It looks like... a magestone? But it's black as coal! I've never seen one like that before.” 

Yuu watched, her eyes narrow, watching Grim as he sniffed the stone, his eyes widening. “Woah! What IS this? It smells amazing!” He took a deep sniff of the stone once more, eyes wide with excitement.

Yuu recognied the look in Grim’s eyes as the same one her dog had when she’d accidentally dropped a $100 bill. She tensed, completely prepared to scramble to wrestle it out of Grim jaws. Maybe he won’t try to eat it? Hopefully? 

“What are you, Insane?” Ace exclaimed. 

“Must be some kinda fancy monster candy that it was hidin' from us! If this tastes half as good as it smells…” 

It all happened much quicker than she’d expected. Grim opened his maw, tossing the entire stone in before the sound of crunching was heard. 

“Grim, you trash panda!” Yuu screeched. “Spit it out! Out! Bad cat!”

She rushed to open is jaws when she heard the heavy swallow. A very loud meow echoed in the woods, startling the group. 

“Are you okay?!” Deuce squawked in surprise. 

“That's what you get for eating trash!” Ace stated, eyes trained on the monster.

“Oooooogh... Urrrgggh... That…” Grim groaned out. “ …was AMAZING!” The group stared, bewildered at the cat’s pleased smile.

“Rich in flavor and full-bodied... Like sweet, fragrant flowers burstin' into bloom on my tongue. A whole field of 'em! Right in my mouth!” He sang, praising the flavor of a random stone. Yuu’s shock quickly melted as she slightly knocked the cat on the head. 

“Darn it Grim! I thought you were going to die!”

“Gross. Monsters must have real weird tastes.” Ace stated, earning himself agreements from both of the other humans. 

“And… you’re sure you're okay?” Yuu asked, examining her cat. 

Grim belted out a cocky laugh. “Don't worry about me. I don't got a weak stomach like you humans do.” 

Ace snorted, looking at Grim. “Hmph. We'll see if you're so smug when you're sick later tonight.” 

“Okay, let's pull ourselves together. We need to get this magestone to the headmage!” 

Chapter 19

[most-definitively-a-human]

Oh dear. It seems I may have made yet another character autistic without realising. We've got three now. (Most likely.) Yay!

I'm happy her experiences are different enough to mine that I'll still have fun. (I get bored when characters are too similar to me)

I'm seeking out the input of people who aren't as negatively affected by autism as I am to get a clear view of things. I'm disabled to the point where I can't drive or work by it, have a caregiver, and don't relate much to much of the autistic representation I see. My experiences with autism are predominately sensory, motor, and with executive function, but I don't struggle to make friends and Lumin's are mainly social and about routine, I think that's why I didn't notice for so long. In many ways we're complete opposites.

My experiences are a skewed and incomplete perspective of what the spectrum is, and something I'd like to rectify/add onto.

About Lumin

Lumin despises interruptions, experiences outbursts of rage whenever interupted, and follows a strict schedule (mainly due to being a workaholic but she does find it soothing). She prefers to do things together than talk most of the time (like sparring), has to excercise to deal with a ceaseless and restless energy, and doesn't understand people different to herself and assumes everyone is similarly oppurtunistic.

She communicates in a blunt, direct manner, with occasional vivid metaphor. She despises looping floral speech, abhors small talk and beaureocracy, and doesn't understand how to interact with others outside of intimidation or power plays as that was all she was taught.

Other people's emotions and sentimentality baffle her, and she's annoyed by their outbursts. She sometimes attempts to soothe people by saying things like "you have nothing to cry about" and "it could be worse" with genuine kind intent. She wishes she could find people who aren't so easily upset.

As a doctor, she is baffled by people who say she has a bad bedside manner. Why are they angry at her for failing to interrupt her duty to engage in pleasantries? Do they want her to be slow and incompetent? If you want pleasantries go elsewhere. You have a broken arm. Why isn't that your priority?

She couldn't bear working as a soldier since she hated being ordered about and 'being in the prescence of so many unambitious idiots' (I think she might also be overwhelmed by all the people but too proud to admit it) (she also hates turning her hobby into a job) (sparring is the one thing in her life that wasn't graded and she wants to keep it that way)

When she meets Asran (a small child of eight years) she decides to entertain him by reading out loud medical textbooks. This works. She does not have any other ideas for methods of entertainment other than "put him in a garden and ignore him" or "give him non sharp medical tools to fiddle with"

Most people dislike her, and she gave up on trying to be friendly long ago. She tries to seem as intimidating and unpleasant as possible because if she can't be loved, at least she can be feared.

She also has a strict moral code and is relentlessly adherent to authority figures she admires. She thinks it is sacriledge to question them.

Typing this out, it seems the main reason I didn't realise it is because she doesn't need a carer like me. She seems pretty obvious now that I type everything up.

I do have another few points of difficulty though.

Reasons why I'm uncertain

-Her inability to empathise is more due to her experiencing severe trauma and also being a jerk. She could understand others if she tried. She just doesn't want to because a) she has work to do and b) to her people are all the same anyway. No point in analysing them when the only important thing is ascertaining whether or not they're useful or a threat. (She would still have a naturally blunt style of communication without trauma - might be even blunter) (And would still be fixated on medical knowledge to the detriment of everything else.)

-She's an alien mermaid with a different set of instincts. She has a heightened prey drive and heightened instincts. Due to her species this explains much of the autism like symptoms, like the sensory seeking behaviour and love of schedule. In short, she wouldn't qualify for a diagnosis without being an alien so I'm not quite sure if she counts.

Personally I think her experiences will be very relatable to many autistic people, but I'm not quite sure yet due to the alien mermaid thing.

I want to make sure I'm describing her accurately. I'm not interested in changing her to be more in line with the diagnostic criteria - she's her own person and close to being fully developed as a character at this point. If she's subclinical that's great because people on the border between neurotypical and autistic get someone to relate to, and if she isn't that's also great. Either way she'll resonate with people, and that I'm content with

I just want to know how best to describe her and make no false promises. (Don't want to say she's autistic rep when she might just a more relatable than average ornery fish lady)

[erisismywaifu25]

Landscape

Before we start, the regular bulletpoint facts to get out of the way:

•Jake and Bella are the same age (Bella still older) and Seth and A.J. are a year younger than them

•In this Twilight fanfic universe, vamps and wolves who were changed before they turned 18 continue to age until they reach 18 cause I said so (but for plot/character sake, let’s say, Jane and Alec still look young)

•Jasper served in the Union

•Proofread but not perfect

This is a Seth Clearwater x OC (?) Cullen story based off my friend who requested this slowburn fic, since there are almost no Seth fanfics (the disrespect😤🤚🏻). All chapters are named after Florence+the Machine songs cause me and my bestie love her stuff

Word Count: 7754

(also I'm better with dialogue so I apologize for my less-than-perfect description skillz…and I apologize for the two-month wait…)

Without further ado…Chapter Two of Shake It Out

___________

The first two months A.J. spent as a newborn were perhaps the worst two months of her entire life. It was bad enough she had been jumped by a ‘serial sucker’; but then waking up in a cabin where two strange, porcelain-like adults were watching over her, telling her things about being changed into some monstrosity previously thought to be nothing but a myth… yeah-that was the icing on her burnt cake.

—————————

Her ruby eyes peeled open, a dull yellow light illuminating the bedroom where she resided. The mattress A.J. was lying upon creaked as she shifted while her deep-set eyes adjusted to the lamplight on the bedstand next to her. A chilled breeze blew across her face from an old window to her right, not nearly as cold as her skin felt, but enough to let her know it was still around May.

After a few moments, once her eyes had adjusted to the abnormally bright light, she willed them to fully open.

“Shit!” she swore quietly.

A.J.’s eyes snapped shut after they involuntarily zoomed in on the log wall across from her bed. In a blink, she sat upright, cold hands rubbing her eyes in an attempt to soothe the strange feeling of enhanced sight. Her left hand dropped from where it was and went to grip the soft blanket that lay over her. Much to A.J.’s dismay, when she threw the blanket off, a loud tearing sound filled the quiet room as the blanket ripped apart.

“Shit,” she swore a second time while carefully sliding her right leg off of the blanket.

The blanket came off easily after A.J.’s leg no longer weighed it down, though it was now only held together by a thread. Her strong legs fell off the side of the bed, her bare feet resting on the floor. A sudden spike of fear dropped in her stomach as memories slowly filled her mind.

Volleyball.

A park.

Practicing.

A man… with red eyes.

Biting.

Pain.

Water.

Choking.

Nothing.

Nothing?

Had she died?

“No, I couldn’t have,” A.J. thought to herself, “Right?”

Just as she was about to inspect herself further, hushed voices caught her attention.

“We should give her a few minutes, give her some time to think.” the soft, male voice said.

“The poor thing is probably confused and scared, Carlisle.” a female voice replied.

A sigh escaped the man. “You’re right. I suppose it's best not to leave her unattended for too long.”

At that, A.J.’s eyes widen in fear. Her eyes scanned the room for anything that could be used as a weapon, deciding she wasn’t going down without a fight. Upon finding nothing outwardly weapon-like and the footsteps getting closer, A.J. snatched the blue bedside lamp up; causing the cord to be ripped from the socket.

The footsteps stopped in front of her door as she zipped against the wall perpendicular to the door. Her body froze at the realization of how fast she had just moved. Fear rippled through her once again. The lamp lowered ever so slightly as she got lost in thought until the handle of the door turned and gradually creaked open.

A roar erupted from her hoarse throat as A.J. spun around the corner and pummeled the lamp at her… whatever they were… all she knew was that she was alone with possible murderers. Luckily for the intruding pair, the lamp flew through the door and into the wall behind it with a loud clatter.

Cautiously, Carlisle peeked his head in with a soft smile on his porcelain face.

“Hello, Angel,” he spoke to the rabid-looking girl, “Please, allow us to explain-,”

Before he could finish, however, A.J.’s fist collided with his face, sending him to the now broken floorboards. Esme’s topaz eyes widen at the scene before her, before kneeling in her green ensemble to help Carlisle up. A small nod of gratitude was sent Esme’s way as Carlisle allowed her to help him. His face cracked along the jaw and cheekbone, making him appear to A.J. as a broken statue… which certainly didn’t help his case.

On his way up, Carlisle grabbed the styrofoam cup that had fallen from his hands, “Well, I suppose Alice couldn’t warn us about everything.” he joked in the hope of lightening the atmosphere.

A.J. squared her body, ready to swing again at a moment's notice, should they decide to try anything.

“I don’t kn-,” A.J.’s voice abruptly stopped as she rasped out as much as it would allow her.

Her hand came to her throat as the dryness became more apparent, especially after the adrenaline-filled roar.

Carlisle and Esme stood to their full heights again, Carlisle’s face having smoothed back.

“Please,” Esme pleaded softly, “Sit, make yourself comfortable, and allow us to explain.”

A.J. hesitated, too frightened to relax in front of them-too confused to not find out what was happening to her. After a moment of contemplation and encouraging smiles from the two unnatural-looking adults, she slowly trailed to the side of the bed closest to a window, red eyes not daring to leave the couple.

Carlisle slowly approached her first, Esme trailing behind him, his hand outstretched toward A.J., holding the covered cup.

A strong aroma of fresh blood filled A.J.’s nostrils, awakening a deep yearning inside of her that she didn’t even know she had.

Carlisle had a knowing look on his face. “Here, please, take it. It’ll soothe your throat.” he shook the cup in his hand as if silently convincing her to take it.

A.J. glanced between him and the straw sticking out of the cup. Her nose twitched at the scent of it, disgust running through her, but the insatiable hunger proved valiant at that moment as she snatched the cup from his pale hand and eagerly drank it.

Esme slowly stepped to Carlisle’s side as they watched the young girl drain every last drop of animal blood from the cup, back hunched and eyes flickering around her surroundings like a wild animal devouring its freshly hunted prey. After less than a minute, A.J. lowered the cup from her bloody mouth, taking in an unnecessary breath. Leisurely, her red teeth were licked by her even more red tongue as she glimpsed at the couple in the corner of her eyes.

One more gulp later, A.J. sat up straight and wiped the corners of her mouth with her thumb.

“What happened to me?”

———————————

8 days after Alice had her vision of A.J.’s attack by a nomadic vampire, Jasper was instructed to travel to the Denali coven in Alaska. While he was heading up there, Esme and Carlisle traveled down to Bastrop, Texas, and arrived the night of her attack where she was found bleeding and face down in the pond of the park.

After picking up the deceased girl, the strange group traveled to a spacious and secluded log cabin in southern Oklahoma. For two weeks they stayed there, A.J. waking up two days after until they decided it was safe to take a conscious A.J. across the country. When the time came around, Esme drove back to Forks while Carlisle and A.J. drove up to the Denali coven’s home, where Jasper was waiting.

—————————

Fresh footprints formed in the packed snow as Carlisle led A.J. toward the five Denalis and Jasper. The teenager's red eyes bore into each of them, still apprehensive about all of this. Though she had grown to trust Carlisle and Esme, at least, as much as one could in two weeks. A gust of wind came from beyond the Denali’s house, which was a few yards in front of her. Her short hair blew behind her as the wind passed by her and Carlisle. A wave of sadness fell upon A.J. as she noticed the chilled wind felt no different from her practically frozen skin.

While walking, a stoic man, with an inhumanly perfect posture that stood to the side of the Denalis, caught A.J.’s attention.

“What’s wrong with him?” she thought to herself as she studied his frowning face.

Failing to realize Carlisle had stopped walking, A.J. stumbled into him. As if on autopilot, A.J.’s strong left hand swung up and gripped Carlisle’s arm through the soft sweater he was wearing and kicked his legs out from under him, then swung her right arm around his neck. His knees dropped in the snow, as A.J. positioned him in a potentially deadly headlock, not realizing her actions until after it had been done.

Jasper immediately started forward as the Denali coven straightened themselves, not quite sure what was about to happen or what to do.

Carlisle forced a smile, despite his tire for this… reactive behavior and the snow wetting his fortunately worn-down jeans; which had been chosen as a precautionary for this exact situation.

“No-no, it’s alright,” Carlisle dismissed their worry, “This is something I hope you can help with,” he said towards the dark-haired man standing with the Denalis.

Jasper stopped in his tracks and watched along with the Denalis as A.J. released her grip with an apologetic look on her face. Sensing A.J.’s distress rapidly heightening, Jasper decided to send a wave of calm over the tall girl and watched as it gradually overcame her. Her posture relaxed, and her frown straightened out before confusion overtook her.

Speculating eyes from A.J. trailed over to Jasper as Carlisle took her hand to stand up. When Jasper’s topaz eyes met her alert red ones, he consciously relaxed his posture, forcing his shoulders to slouch and hands to rest by his side. Unfortunately for Jasper, his ‘relaxed’ stance only made A.J. more on edge due to its blatant, forced nature.

“I’m sorry,” she brought her eyes back to Carlisle while helping him up, “I really didn’t mean to-it-it just happened. I'm sorry.”

“Yes,” a man with short, dark hair, who A.J. assumed was Eleazar based on Carlisle’s description, stepped away from his coven.

He spoke again, “It seems you possess abnormally high agility, even for a newborn. Forgive me, I’m Eleazar and this is my wife, Carmen.” Eleazar outstretched his hand for a woman with pale, olive skin to join him.

A.J. watched closely as Carmen stepped forward with a warm smile that matched her husband’s, gracing her squared face.

Carlisle made eye contact with A.J. as he placed his hands on her shoulders, “This is Angel Dane-,”

“A.J.,” the apprehensive newborn corrected the elder vampire, “I go by A.J.”

“Right, forgive me.” Carlisle smiled apologetically at her.

The chilled air that blew around seem to be amplified by the tense atmosphere created by A.J. The eyes of so many people used to aid her volleyball or softball performance, but it felt different now...unnatural now. Though it was a minuscule crowd in comparison; with the five Denalis standing in front of their house ready to welcome her, Jasper standing off to the side with perfect posture, and Carlisle on his feet directly next to A.J.

“I’m Carmen,” A.J. hesitantly shook her hand, “It’s wonderful to meet you, A.J. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us.”

A.J. gave her a tight-lipped nod. “I hope so too.”

Jasper frowned once again at A.J.’s state, a knowing look in his eyes as his own memories flooded his head. Though he felt A.J.’s demeanor lighten, there was still that underlying feeling of fear encasing her. So, the tall, blonde man stepped the rest of the way to the others. His wavy hair bounced as he approached the guarded girl, his brown boots tucked under his dark jeans tracked in the fresh snow. He wore a pewter sweater over a white button-up with the collar peaking out, in spite of the fact he had no need to dress warmly.

Jasper paused in front of A.J. and took his left hand out while the other stayed put behind his back. “I’m Jasper.”

A.J. met his topaz eyes and shook his cold hand. A small smile was sent her way by Jasper as a wave of peace washed over her, much larger than last time.

A.J.’s thick, arched brows furrowed as she greeted him. “Cullen, right?”

“Technically Whitlock, technically Hale, but, yes, a Cullen,” Jasper answered with a teasing smirk.

The corners of A.J.’s mouth curved up ever so slightly at his remark, Jasper and Carlisle both noticing and were quite relieved at the sight.

During this small transaction; the last of three Denalis, who A.J. was told were Irina, Tanya, and Katrina-or Kate-as she was called, stepped forward to meet the other vampires.

The shortest one with curled hair introduced herself first, which A.J. guessed was Tanya.

“I’m Tanya-”

“Yes!” A.J. silently congratulated herself for that small victory.

“We’re happy to have you here.” Tanya shook A.J.’s cold hand.

“Happy to be here,” A.J. replied.

Tanya’s taller, wavy-haired sister introduced herself next-who A.J. guessed was Kate.

They both stuck their hand out, “I’m Irina-“

“Damn it.” A.J. cursed herself.

The last of the blondes stepped forward.

“Now this is Kate,” A.J. stated to herself, knowing for sure the other two weren’t.

“I’m Kate,” the woman smirked while shaking hands with A.J., “It’ll be fun helping learn to control your ability.”

A.J. snorted, “I don’t know. It’s kinda a pain in the ass.”

Eleazar smiled in amusement. “Yes, your ‘ballistic’-like scream will prove to be quite a challenge.”

Carlisle’s smile faltered before he fixed it. “Her what?”

—————————

So once the third month of her second life came around in August, the three Cullens traveled back to Forks, Washington, where A.J. would officially meet the rest of her newfound family.

Meeting the remaining four ‘children’ went much smoother than meeting Carlisle and Esme or the Denalis. Carlisle, in particular, was very thankful for this. The conversation flowed well. There was no awkward silence this time, at least on A.J.’s part, and no physical aggression if one disregards that small bit caused by Emmett.

—————————

A.J. sat down on the cotton-blend purple couch that resided in her new bedroom. As her eyes trailed around the room, she concluded that it would need some work before it would feel like her room. All the plain, white, and purple/blue decor wasn’t exactly her style; but she could see how Alice and Rosalie had tried their best to make it a room a teenage girl would like, despite how long it had been since they were mentally at such an age.

The newborn had just finished meeting the rest of the Cullens and was told to go make herself at home while they grabbed what few things of hers she was able to keep from her old life. She had good impressions of the rest of the Cullens, or her new siblings, as Alice had introduced them; though she did not like the major invasion of privacy ‘powers’ three of them had, but-hey-what are you going to do?

After a moment of taking in her surroundings, A.J. remembered Rosalie and Alice telling her they had stocked her closet with a few things for her to start with. She glanced down at her current attire, which happened to be an outfit she had smuggled from old belongings; a sky blue sleeveless turtle neck with a pair of low-waisted blue jeans and black combat boots over novelty socks, not that the socks could be seen.

A.J. leaned forward and stood up, a little faster than she had meant to, without her left knee creaking. A snort left her when she had momentarily forgotten about the ‘perfect body’ part of vampirism. She no longer had to worry about that bad knee of hers from a softball injury when she was 12.

For a brief moment, A.J. felt a small tremor of sadness in her chest upon realizing she wouldn’t feel any human characteristic like that again. She understood how most would jump at the opportunity to no longer have sore limbs, perfect skin, or not have to worry about ever being sick; but it was your imperfections that made you human, after all.

A creak made A.J. snap her head up at her open door in the far left corner of her room. Her eyes landed on a big, burly, smiling man with a small box of A.J.’s things… the only box of A.J.’s things. His dark, curly hair was cut short against his head which showcased his sharp features. A blue cotton t-shirt covered his torso and black jeans paired with converse on his bottom half. The chain attached to his belt loops jingled when he moved about and added an edgy flair to his ensemble.

“May I?” he asked to enter her room with a slight tilt of his head.

A.J. nodded, “Yeah, sure, I do kinda need that box.” a small teasing smile spread across her face.

“You better,” Emmett continued as he walked in, “‘Cause this thing is heavy.”

A.J. chuckled at his joke as he set the box down on the desk, a few feet in front of the door, in an exasperated manner.

Emmett turned back to her. “So, what was up with you staring longingly at your knee? I mean, it’s been a while since I was a newborn, but I don’t remember falling in love with my elbow.”

“I ain’t falling in love with my knee,” A.J.’s lips formed a straight line, contrary to her amusement.

“Ain't? Oh great, another Jasper!” Emmett groaned dramatically, clearly attempting to jab at his new sister.

A.J. squinted her eyes. “I thought you were from Tennessee? You telling me they don't say 'ain't' there?” she inquired, an eyebrow quirked up for effect.

“Oh, we do, trust me. At least when I lived there, don't think it’s changed much though.” Emmett scratched his head as he answered.

“Then what are you on my ass for?” A.J. sassed back as her voice slipped into a valley girl accent.

Emmett laughed, “All right, you got me,” he raised his arms in defeat, “Now what was with you falling in love with your knee?”

“I was reminiscing about an injury,” A.J. answered and shifted her weight to her right leg.

Emmett furrowed his brows and crossed his arms casually. “Reminiscing about an injury? Must’ve been a good one.”

A.J. grinned widely at the memory of it happening.

“Oh, it was,” she started as she turned to face Emmett completely, “A pitching machine sent a ninety-mile-per-hour softball flying at my knee when I was 12.”

Emmett winced. “Damn, sounds rough.”

A.J. nodded, “Damn straight-thing had me out of it for nearly a year. Worst year of my life-well-until now. No offense to y’all, just not exactly how I envisioned my life going.” she added quickly in fear of offending the people who were kind enough to give her a home.

“None taken.” Emmett shook it off, not personally knowing how frightening her current situation is, but going off context clues and Rosalie, was able to understand.

The two continued talking as Emmett gave her the ‘down low’ on everyone, much more dirt being dished in his than the one Carlisle gave-not that A.J. was complaining-on the contrary, she was thoroughly enjoying it. The whole conversation gave her a sense of normalcy. It felt real... raw, like she was in the presence of a normal, American family she had always dreamed of, and in a sense, she supposed she was.

“And, yeah, that’s Eddie for you.” Emmett finished his spiel as A.J. listened intently.

Her thick eyebrows shot up in a look of mirth. “Dang, you know, I did kinda get that vibe from him.”

Emmett snickered at her remark, “Hey, do you have a volleyball? You played, right?” he jumped to a different topic.

A.J.’s face immediately brightened, a look Emmett had not seen yet, but would soon be accustomed to.

“Yeah, it should be in my one box that contains everything I own,” A.J. answered with a hint of sarcasm, “Sorry when I say stuff like that. I swear I don't mean it in a rude way.”

Emmett shrugged her off as he opened the cardboard box and picked the volleyball off the top of her belongings.

“Emmett!” Carlisle’s voice called out to Emmett from downstairs.

Emmett ignored his adopted father. “Don’t worry, you’ll fit right in, Aje,” he spoke before spinning back to her, “Think fast!”

Dipping into his vampiric abilities, Emmett chucked the volleyball with one hand at the unprepared A.J. The newborn reacted fast, with the ball coming full force at her face, and caught it with her right hand. The force which it was sent and caught with caused her arm to roll back in a circular before the ball was flung back at Emmett with more force than he had thrown it with.

Just as Carlisle, Alice, and Rosalie had arrived in front of A.J.’s door, Emmett was sent into the white wall behind him, the wall cracking from the force of his weight.

“That’s… what we came up here for,” Carlisle explained.

A.J.’s eyes went wide as she rushed over to help him up. “Ah, geez, I'm sar’y! I ‘idn't mean to-it just-I did it again,” her accent grew thicker as she explained.

Emmett groaned as he stood up. “Damn, Aje, you’re one strong lil’ newborn.”

Rosalie strolled past Carlisle through the doorway to reach her husband and gripped his hand with hers. As she pulled him up, her opposite hand came to rest on his shoulder to steady him as he stood fully.

“A little too strong, I think,” A.J. spoke to herself with a grimace at the scene of the damage she caused.

Carlisle turned his head to her, a sympathetic smile on his face for his daughter.

Carlisle opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Alice.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she floated passed Carlisle and held A.J.’s wrists with her dainty hands, “You master your powers in practically no time.” a bright smile was plastered on Alice’s face as she spoke.

At her reassuring words, and blind faith that Alice actually saw that happening, the corners of A.J.’s mouth quirked up.

“I hope so,” A.J. responded.

Alice glanced behind her back at Carlisle, who gave her a small appreciative nod for her actions.

In a blink, Jasper and Edward appeared behind Carlisle, both with mischievous smirks on their face.

“We heard a commotion,” Edward stated, peering around the door to see the large hole in the wall.

Jasper’s smirk seemed to grow at the sight of Rosalie rubbing Emmett’s ‘injured’ back.

“Did Emmett get his ass kicked,” he teased, glancing over at Alice spinning around next to A.J. to watch the brothers banter.

Emmett glared at him with his honey-gold eyes. “No, I didn’t get my ass handed to me. I was just caught off guard.”

Edward smiled, “So you got your ass kicked,” he chuckled.

“Alright,” Emmett gently pushed past Rosalie, who ‘playfully’ rolled her eyes at them, “Why don’t I show you two the force she threw that ball with?”

“Oh, please do,” Jasper egged on as Carlisle stood between the three men, “If yer’ even strong enough to do such a thang’.”

Emmett huffed as a grin spread across his face. “Oh, I think I’m-,”

“What happened?” Esme appeared behind the four men in the doorway.

Carlisle stepped to the side to let her in. “Just a small mishap. Nothing we can’t fix,” he answered as he wrapped a sleeve-covered arm around Esme’s waist.

Esme looked past Rosalie as she moved out of the way towards A.J. The large hole in the wall caused her to widen her eyes in shock, not quite expecting that to happen today. Her eyes trailed over to where the girls stood in front of the windows as she laid a hand on Carlisle’s chest.

“Well, I’m sure you wanted to choose a new color for your room anyway,” Esme smiled at A.J., “And I always enjoy a little renovating.”

——————————

About a month after some home renovation and gaining more control of A.J.’s abilities, all was going well in the Cullen coven. Emmett, Jasper, and Rosalie became her primary teachers for learning to control her enhanced agility, and the others tried their best to help with her ballistic scream. Unfortunately for the Cullens, Kate of the Denali coven was most equipped for teaching A.J. to gain control over her scream and had since taught her the most in A.J.’s short stay with the Denali’s. Though her scream was most difficult to learn to control, especially during board games where she was winning, her family was teaching her and she was still learning.

A.J. was enjoying her new life peacefully, as were the Cullens, until a letter Alice had a vision of was delivered on a Monday afternoon.

——————————

A.J. walked alongside Carlisle and Esme, practically squished between the two of them as they were led through the stone walls of the Volturi’s headquarters. The first night she had woken up after being transformed into a vampire, Carlisle and Esme had explained to her the Volturi, their ways, their laws, and their history, after explaining what had happened to her.

When the letter arrived at the Cullen’s house, she remembered Rosalie seeming the most distressed, though she couldn’t pry the reason out of her, only a short-

“The Volturi are powerful vampires. Follow their rules, and you’ll be fine, Angel.”

Everyone told her something similar to that; Carlisle, Eleazar, and Edward being the only exception. Late at night, after a heated game of Uno that ended in Edward winning and Emmett and A.J. claiming he cheated; Carlisle, A.J. and Edward ventured to Carlisle’s study where the patriarch of the Cullen’s thoroughly explained his history with the Volturi.

He spoke of venturing to Italy for his studies, where there he came across a group of vampires that, unlike the ones he met in the sewers, were refined and sophisticated. He explained how the Volturi invited him to stay with them, and which took up their offer for a few decades, before deciding to leave as a result of incompatible feeding styles.

Edward added his own knowledge and scarce personal experience with the Volturi after hearing A.J.’s silent questions. He described each of the leaders' abilities, if they possessed one, along with their higher-up guards. A.J. was warned to avoid angering the blonde co-leader, as it was ‘detrimental’ to her safety, and to only speak if they talk to her explicitly.

A.J. shook her head at the memories, grounding herself back in the present moment. The thought of ‘these dudes must be pompous assholes’ crossed her mind before she quickly drowned it with a Yellowcard song, in fear of someone sharing Edward's ability when she received a dark look from a passing vampire. She flashed an innocent smile like the one she used to in volleyball when a teammate would tell her to shut up after accidentally blowing their ear drum out when A.J. was simply trying to call out a foul play.

The four vampires finally came to a halt after the woman escorting them stopped in front of a large wooden door. The door by itself was intimidating to A.J., let alone the three powerful vampires who could decide to kill her in an instant, and not even Carlisle or Esme could stop them.

As the doors were pushed open, the first thing that caught A.J.’s eyes were the three pale men sitting adjacent to each other on black thrones garnished with gold trimming, which resided upon a short plateau. Their all-black attire and cream-colored marble walls only enhanced their luminescent skin, and their red eyes shined like garnets in the sun from the low lighting in the room. Guards lined the surrounding marble pillars of the room in various dark grey cloaks with perfect posture, almost as if they were daring A.J. or her parents to try something.

A.J. felt a soft, cold hand grip her equally cold right one. She looked over at the culprit and met eyes with Esme, who held an encouraging smile on her face. A.J. returned the smile, thankful for the mother she was finally blessed with.

The group continued walking as the tall, dark woman led them to stand a few feet away from the Volturi. The one with slicked-back black hair whose throne sat closest to them slowly grinned at the three Cullens as the woman left them. A.J. stared at him, quite uneasy from his strangely enthusiastic smile.

“Edward was right about his freaky grin,” A.J. thought to herself about Aro before quickly overpowering it with another thought.

“Ah, Carlisle,” Aro started while bringing his fingertips to rest against each other, “Yet another child joins your coven.”

The blonde vampire with a scowl on his face to Aro’s right spoke up, “The Cullens continue to grow an army to overthrow us,” he spat prematurely.

Aro flicked his stubby hand up. “Enough, Caius. They’ve done nothing wrong. At least, not yet.”

Carlisle smiled kindly at Aro and placed his right arm on A.J.’s back, “This is Angel Hale. She joined us four months ago, and I assure you, we would never think to attempt any sort of mutiny.”

A.J. turned her head from looking at Carlisle as he spoke, back to meet Aro’s cloudy eyes.

“I go by A.J., though,” she spoke, noticing the slight squeeze Esme gave her hand.

Aro’s grin leisurely fell, “Oh, what a shame. Angel is such a beautiful name.”

A.J. watched with apprehensive eyes as Aro gradually stood to his full height, which wasn’t much taller than herself. He ambled down the few stairs that separated him from the rest of the room, his back straight as his hair. Carlisle tenderly rubbed A.J.’s upper back before Esme pulled her to the side to give Aro room for his gift.

The Volturi leader stopped in front of Carlisle, standing on the last step above the Cullen patriarch; a subtle reminder of who holds the power here. A stout hand floated up and paused near Carlisle’s light blue button-up. Having previous experience with Aro’s ability, Carlisle promptly placed his left hand on top of his before Aro raised his opposite hand and encased Carlisle’s with his chalky hands.

A.J. observed the ordeal with much intrigue, her red eyes squinting ever so slightly. She watched as Aro grinned at Carlisle while he ‘experienced all the said man experiences’, based on Edward’s explanation, and confirmed that Carlisle was the one who turned A.J. After a moment, Aro retracted his hands, deciding he had seen enough and stepped toward the youngest Cullen.

Esme gave A.J.’s hand a squeeze before untangling it from A.J.’s but staying near her side; close enough to jump into action in case something were to go wrong, but far enough to be ‘respectful’ to Aro.

The girl’s eyes followed Esme’s form until Aro paused in front of her, looming over her with a smile and his hand outstretched. A.J. glanced at his hand and then back up to his eyes, remembering what Carlisle and Edward told her about his ability.

“Come now,” Aro encouraged, “There’s nothing to fear, Angel.”

A.J. internally cringed at him using her first name, realizing she had no power here. She silently shook her disgust off and lifted her right hand before gently placing it in Aro’s. In this moment, she was thankful for being ‘undead’ and not capable of producing sweat, in fear of palms being like pools; but then again, if she was still human, she wouldn't even be here.

Grinning excitedly, Aro placed his unused hand over hers, encasing her hand entirely. A.J. glimpsed over at Carlisle, who could only give her a reassuring smile and nod of his head, silently comforting her.

As Aro activated his gift, he saw the entirety of A.J.’s past; from her birth to her being abandoned by her birth parents at a young age, to her time in the foster care system, the time she tore her ACL, the night she was murdered, waking up and meeting Carlisle and Esme, learning to control her gifts, meeting her siblings and the Denali’s, all the way to today.

By the end of the ordeal, Aro was beaming madly. A giggle escaped his lips as he retracted his hands from A.J.’s and pressed his hands together in front of his chest.

“Such an intriguing newborn,” Aro vocalized. “She has not one, but two gifts.”

The man sitting on the throne to Aro’s left, Marcus, and Caius, both sat straighter.

Caius sprung up from his seat. “We can not allow the Cullens to possess such an asset… an advantage.”

A.J.’s red eyes widen in shock and disgust. The thought of ‘What did he mean by ‘possess’ flicked through her mind as Esme instinctively stepped back to A.J.’s side. Carlisle stepped back to A.J.’s side, as well, sharing the same fear as his wife, but still intending to remain civil.

Aro craned his head to face his presumptuous friend, clearly getting annoyed by his accusations.

“Caius, my friend, none of you even know what gifts she possesses,” Aro chastised him. “Perhaps she would be willing to display them.’

A.J. watched as Aro turned back to look at her with the same slimy grin spread across his onion skin-like face as before. A million thoughts raced through her head.

“Would they kill me?”

“Are they gonna kidnap me?”

“Am I gonna be forced to stay here?”

“I don't wanna leave my family!”

A.J. was snapped back to reality as Carlisle opened his mouth to speak. “We’re still teaching her to control her abilities. It may be unwise for everyone’s safety for her to use them.”

A.J. nodded furiously, silently attempting to convince them of the danger. Aro paid no mind to either’s heeding as he motioned for a clean-cut man with a physique similar to Emmett’s, only taller, to come forward from next to the entrance. An arrogant smirk was sketched on his rectangular face, chalky forehead covered by his tamed brunette hair. The grey coat he donned stayed formed to his torso as he sauntered over with purposeful steps. A rumble shook through A.J.'s chest as the man's, Felix, polished black boots pounded on the marble flooring in the process of approaching her from behind.

“Then this proves to be a perfect opportunity for her to learn from more capable teachers,” Aro explained while stepping back up to his throne and eventually perching himself upon it.

“Aro, with all due respect-,” Esme was cut off by Aro motioning for two guards to guide the heads of Cullen coven away.

A.J.’s posture slouched to a readying stance, not quite sure what was happening or what to anticipate. She watched in alarm as her adoptive parents were pulled to opposite sides of the plateau, as the surrounding vampires observed her like she was a rabid dog in a fighting ring.

“No harm will be done to her,” Aro attempted to soothe the worrisome Cullens. “That is… as long as her gifts prove as competent as I saw.”

Before Carlisle could convince the Volturi against this, the burly man from before, Felix, launched himself at the anticipating A.J. from behind. Just as quickly as he came forward, A.J. seized his arm while springing to the right. She twisted his arm back before Felix spun around to land a hit on A.J. Fortunately for herself, her body moved before her mind could think and swiftly dodged him. Hit after hit and grab after grab, Felix continued his assault on the agile newborn, but each time A.J. was one step ahead of him as she rapidly dodged whatever was thrown at her. With each swift dodge, Felix only grew more annoyed at the fact someone was more skilled than him, which all spectators could tell from the force of his strikes becoming heavier. Right now, all A.J. was focusing on was avoiding harming a Volturi member, hoping that if she evades him, Aro or one of his co-leaders would call Felix off of her. Though A.J.’s mind altered once she caught the looks on Esme and Carlisle’s faces; the panic and guilt on their faces caused a pang of guilt in A.J. She didn’t want to be the cause of pain in there in immortal lives.

A.J. wondered to herself, “Maybe if I take this douche down, they’ll let them go and I’ll just stay here.”

While leaping back to dodge, Felix slammed his fists onto her head, she realized how absurd her last thought was. Why would she ever want to join these people… or vampires? She finally has a family and she won’t give that up.

Deciding to finally end this, A.J. led Felix to where she would be cornered by him and the wall nearest the back exit. A smirk spread across Felix’s chalky lips as he expected to irrevocably take her down, so he reeled his left arm back and thrust his large hand toward her throat. A.J. heard both of her parents cry out as most in the room anticipated her death, right then and there, but if Jasper taught her anything, it was to ‘always keep ‘em guessing’. Just as Felix’s hand should’ve torn through her throat, the newborn ducked down and collided with Felix’s midsection. She tackled him to the floor, it cracking beneath them, and her hands flew up to wrap around his head; but before she could do anything else, Marcus spoke up.

“Enough of this, Aro,” Marcus meekly called out, “We have seen the power she possesses; let us move on.”

A.J. kept her hands on Felix’s head, staring him down, waiting to move until Aro ordered the dangerous vampire to stop.

Aro nodded and flicked his hands out, “Very well, Marcus; I am satisfied with what I have seen. I presume Caius is as well.”

A.J. stared at Felix for a second longer as a precautionary, only to watch as his eyes glinted and a soft smirk spread across his pallid face. Her hands instantly retracted from his brown hair and she flashed back to a standing position before offering him a hand to help him up. Felix took it and rose to his feet with the help of A.J. He shared one last look with her before plodding over to stand where he once was.

“For now,” Caius answered, “Though I’m not yet convinced she should reside with the Cullens.”

With another flick of Aro’s hand, Carlisle and Esme were released from the guards' grip. Esme, who was already next to A.J., immediately embraced her; the older woman’s dominant coming to caress the girl’s wavy hair in a motherly manner. The manner in which Esme treated A.J. was something she always longed for. The four foster parents she’d gone through before being turned were usually kind to her, but none seemed capable of supplying her with the parental needs she craved. That’s something all the Cullens, and even the Denalis, gave her, was love… a sense of belonging… like she was truly cared for.

“I assure you, Caius, we aim to live a peaceful life. Simply blend in with our surroundings.” Carlisle prompted, having already made his way back to stand tall in front of the three leaders.

Esme proceeded to guide A.J. to meet Carlisle in front of the plateau and sandwiched the young girl between them. Strong arms were glued around A.J. as she listened intently to Carlisle’s conversation with the Volturi patriarchs. Though she was very interested in being sure she wasn’t about to be murdered for a second time, A.J. couldn’t help the thoughts that drifted into her mind. Remembrance of a time when she only dreamed of traveling abroad hanging out with awesome friends, partying after epic softball games, eating authentic cuisine, and playing volleyball at the Olympic games… ironically enough. These definitely were not the circumstances she expected or hoped for; but, hey, at least she didn't die not leaving America… oh wait.

Her name being called snapped A.J. back to reality, the sight of Aro grinning expectantly at her creating the uneasy pit in her stomach again. A.J.’s eyes flitted between Aro and her parents, clearly missing a vital piece of information while previously deep in thought.

“Well,” Aro prompted with his almost translucent palms pressed together, “What do you say about displaying your second gift?”

A.J. squinted at that.

“What was this dude’s fascination with her? Kinda pervy,” she silently spoke.

Remembering she was being spectated, A.J. answered, “I don't really like using that… ability of mine. Still gainin’ control of it, ya know.”

Aro’s face dropped. “Yes, that is what your creator said.” he gradually stepped down the steps to lean into A.J.’s face.

The newborn instinctively tilted back and away from Aro’s uncomfortable proximity. She cursed her enhanced senses for being able to smell the stale aroma that wafted from his clothing. Aro paid no mind to A.J. body language and leered into her ever-changing eyes.

“I’m afraid if you do not willingly present your gift, we have ways of making you,” he spoke softly to her, though everyone in the room could still hear.

Esme and Carlisle immediately snapped their heads up to make eye contact with each other, fearful looks on their near-perfect faces. A.J. did not notice this interaction, as all she could focus on was the scent of fresh human blood coming from Aro’s mouth when he spoke to her. She felt sick for another reason than her adoptive parents; the delicious aroma filled her senses to the brim, and A.J. felt herself wanting to lose control. ‘A brief moment of weakness can ruin everything’, is what she had to remind herself as she allowed the goriest of thoughts to flood her scrambling mind. If she could throw up, she very well might have at that moment; whether, from nerves or repugnance, she didn't know.

“Aro,” Carlisle pleaded, “I ask you to please reconsider this. You have already seen her scream, and if it’s really necessary, perhaps we could travel back at some point in the future when she has better control.”

“Exactly as you said, Carlisle, my friend,” Aro strolled back up the steps to the left where a boy and a girl stood in ebony cloaks, “I have seen it, not witnessed it.”

The blonde newborn observed as Aro sent a look toward the compact girl whose honey-blonde hair was slicked back into a bun that showcased her soft features and contrasting red eyes. A child-like smile graced the girl’s lips while she stared innocently into A.J.’s confused gaze.

“Aro, please-,”

As soon as Esme’s grip left A.J.’s shoulders, the girl who looked to be a bit younger than A.J. uttered the word ‘pain’.

In an instant, A.J. was enveloped in a feeling she assumed was similar to being burned at the stake. What she thought was the most painful night of her life was instantly outranked, as what she was experiencing at this moment was exponentially more torturous than the night she had been attacked. In every crevice-every vein of hers was coated in hellfire; it seemed as though her bones were being gnawed and slowly torn apart bit by bit. She couldn't think of anything else other than the crippling pain she was experiencing as her knees collided with the cold stone floor.

Everyone around her was filled with anticipation or horror, the culprit of A.J.’s torture being filled with sadistic glee as she continued her assault on A.J. Groans, and choked shouts fell from A.J.’s mouth as her strong hands dug into the stone beneath her. The stone floor cracked as A.J.’s fingers penetrated it while her back stayed hunched over; it look as if she would snap in half if her body contorted anymore.

Just as Aro was going to instruct Jane to stop, A.J. gradually started to shout louder. Everyone around listened as her shouts turned into screams and within a few seconds, one prolonged scream. The scream that came from her quickly switched from loud to ear-piercing into shattering. The walls that encased them cracked in some places, and every vampire in the room instinctively covered their ears with their hands. The sadistic and determined Volturi girl stayed vigilant despite her and others' skin beginning to crack.

“Aro,” Carlisle shouted over A.J.’s ballistic scream, "Please, stop this.”

“Jane,” Aro screeched at the blonde girl.

Jane immediately ceased and as a result, so did A.J.’s screaming. Despite their disheveled appearance and cracked porcelain-like skin, Esme and Carlisle rushed to aid A.J. in regaining her strength.

A contrasting wide grin, as to everyone else’s face, appeared on Aro’s. He giggled excitedly and rose to his feet before scrambling over to where A.J. now stood with the support of the leaders of the Cullens.

“Magnifico,” he exclaimed, completely oblivious to A.J.’s tired appearance, “My dear sweet child, you must join us if you are willing.”

A.J.’s tired eyes trailed back up to him with a look that questioned his sanity.

“She won’t,” Marcus called out from behind Aro.

Aro ‘tsked’ his fellow coven member, “Now that is completely up to her; and regardless, rest assured that the nomad will pay for his crimes.”

————————

[girlfox]

kuro is familiar with pain. it doesn't get much easier with time, but he knows what to expect, what to prepare for. ahri is perhaps the best thing that's happened to him since he was cursed. since his 'god' stole death from him. she's beautiful, and clever, and a light in his life-- teeth and claws and hunger included. all of it. and he knows that even without his immortality, he would not hate her for her nature. it is what she is, a creature, wild, and enigmatic. he loves her he thinks. he loves her so much, yes that's what it is.

" i'm okay. " his voice is wet and rough, but he's breathing. the blood remains but his wounds are already gone. " i'm okay, see? i told you once before i could not die, didn't i? " his hand as found hers, slippery fingers tangling together. despite the apparent horror, this feels right. " i'm not mad-- " pushing himself up, just enough that he is just a little closer. " i promise. it's okay. "

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄? her breath is raspy, scratching from her throat and slick with the tang of copper. it heaves from her chest, up and down, in time with the rapid beating of a drumbeat heart. what have you done, sweet creature? hadn't you promised long ago not to let yourself slip into the darkest depths of yourself, swallowed whole like a dark lagoon, tinged with moss and dead fish, bottomless, bottomless— when ahri's vision unblurs itself, she sucks in a sharp and loud intake of breath, as if she'd just awoken from a bad dream.

her hands are shaking, violently. she forces her gaze down to them, but it feels like turning her head through a thick sludge, each movement screaming against her: don't look. they're saturated in dark red up to her elbows and her knuckles are bone white as fingers clasp the fabric of his torn shirt. " kuro ... " she whimpers out, voice barely above a weak, trembling whisper. a frail noise drags out of her, on the verge of a wail, and unleashes her grip, moving the heels of her palms to visage in a fruitless attempt to wipe away the copious amounts of blood. it only smears further, compounded by the thick wash of it on her face and throat.

tears sting at her eyes. " i ... i didn't mean to, i thought i— i could ... i'm a monster, " the taste of his flesh brands itself into the fox's tongue and she knows she'll never be able to remiss the memory of it. it'll haunt her, ahri thinks, until the day she dies; and how far away that day is, and how long she'll be burdened by the taste. it's deserved.

kuro's fingers entwine with hers, but she doesn't return his weak hold on her. she can't. ahri's body is revolting against itself, shaking with the sinking realization that she'd just lost herself to her urges once again and tried to eat him, kill him. what if he was capable of death? what if he couldn't simply undo the damage she'd done? he tries to soothe her, but it falls on deaf ears. the fear and anxiety is crushing her to her core.

" it's not okay, " ahri squeaks out. " i would have killed you, " her voice is trembling with desperation. it fights to be understood that she is dangerous, that she is not worth the pain and the maiming. " i'm— i— i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, kuro. you have to leave me, you— you can't stay. " her sentiment echoes an ancient memory: that he must leave, because despite herself, she cannot bear to be the one to give him up. she's a prowling beast in sheep's clothing, waiting for the day it remembers it has teeth, and he's the sacrificial lamb.

finally, her mouth curls into an unrepressed scowl, and ahri leans forward, releasing his hand and instead wrapping her arms around him. she realizes her hair is knotted and matted and wet with blood as it catches between them. it smells divine, and the very thought revolts her. big, ugly tears spill down her face and the fox tremors against him, burying her head into the space between his neck and shoulders— ahri wonders if she would have torn into the softness of his flesh here, too, if she were to lose control again. despicable thing.

her words come out muffled and broken, " please, go. i don't want to hurt you again, " the dichotomy of her pleading words and her arms around him are ironic at best, but she's always been a bundle of conflictions. but what is one to do when their heart and their instinct are in direct opposition of one another? she thinks he smells like the soil on a dewy morning underneath the blood, and it makes her chest pang, because she's never quite intertwined home with another person like this.

[erisenyo]

A Third Chance (Or a First)

Got inspired to write a little Iroh POV on a post-Comet Azula, if he were involved in her recovery. Enjoy!

Iroh sets out his teapot and two of his rapidly dwindling set of cups. He precisely places the canisters of leaves and his precious supply of ginger next to them. He lays out his measuring spoons on the neat little mat he still carries from his time in the Earth Kingdom and carefully adjusts their angle until they’re oriented just right. And throughout it all, he holds his tongue.

The motions of it are ritual, rhythmic, and he paces his breathing to it where words would normally flow forth, trying to model calm as his niece seethes across the fire, straight-backed and ragged-nailed, the fire whipping and roiling along with her mood, sparks on her breath and her tawny eyes predatory in their intensity as she watches his every move.

They were having, Iroh silently laments, a good day. Or a better one at least, where his niece’s inner flame seemed more aligned to her purpose than at odds with it even if she was as sharp-edged and vicious as ever.

But then she found something in her room that reminder her of who knows what, since a quarter of the room is currently still charred and smoking and when Iroh tried to ask she—

Well. Iroh had moved her things quietly and without comment to the next door down the long hallway after that, which only seemed to make her even more full of rage. He’s learned that everything does, though, at a certain point. Like the well of fury inside her is endless, like she is a cup overfull and constantly spilling over, and his heart aches to imagine trying to contain it in a body so small, aches to imagine all the instructors and tutors who taught her to nurture and tend it like it was a fire lily in bloom and not a choking vine that grew to become something larger than herself.

And his brother…well. Iroh has learned not to mention his brother in front of Azula unless she brings it up herself, first.

So he will sit, and model calm and foundational breathing exercises, and make Azula’s favorite tea the way she likes it best. And he will hold back his words much as it pains him to let her rage in silence. Because he has learned, slow and painful as it was, that his niece likes his words far less than his nephew, which some days feels like it means all he has left to give is tea.

He does not know what he is going to do when he runs out of ginger.

He will find the path when he faces that challenge, though, he assures himself as he carefully measures just enough for a fresh pot to steep. He will find a way just as he has found the path many times before, and this need no less urgent than the others. He will not waste this third chance the Spirits have seen fit to give him, this gift that is far more than he ever thought he’d have.

But no, he chides himself, catching his thoughts. Just as Zuko was not another attempt to do better by Lu Ten, this is not a third chance. It is a first. A first chance with Azula. A chance to get it right, maybe, where he has stepped with such confidence before and stumbled.

But oh, where to begin when she is raging and powerful beyond her years, so smart and clever and beyond all else scared and furious that he can see it, enraged that Iroh knows how to recognize fear where no one else would see it on a face so like her brother’s. So like their father’s.

He thinks of Zuko’s raging, of how he would push away like he was testing how determined Iroh was to stay. Of his nephew’s need for plain speaking and how long it took Iroh to realize it, how it took having his face shoved in it when it was nearly too late for him to finally recognize how close pushing away and walking away could seem.

And he thinks of his own brother. Of Ozai’s quiet, simmering fury, of his vindictiveness and his jealousy and worse. And he cannot help but think that Azula has a right to her anger.

So Iroh will hold his tongue though it pains him not to soothe her rage. He will make her favorite tea as long as he can, what little comfort and consideration he can offer that she will accept. And he will do his best to make himself into a port in the storm of her emotions and unruly fire. Into calm seas for her to crash against and come away unhurt.

He will ask her what she needs, and he will listen to her answers and not just what he thinks she means by them. And he will extend his hand in trust before demanding that it be given to him first, even knowing he might be burned, because old men can learn new tricks, even one who spent sixty years learning about what is owed to them first and what they owed to everyone else second.

A Crown Prince expects loyalty before he gives it, even a former one.

A parent, Iroh reminds himself, can expect no such thing.