#it’s a twilight centered fic

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Phainon x Assistant!Reader

Summary: After being isekai’d into the world of Honkai: Star Rail, a game where players explore intergalactic civilizations and fight cosmic threats, you awaken in the city of Amphoreus as the assistant to Phainon.

In this fic contains different details from the original game.

A sharp chill ran down your spine as you opened your eyes. The first thing you noticed was the crystalline glow of Amphoreus stretching endlessly before you, its otherworldly beauty rendering you speechless. You blinked, expecting to see your screen, your controller, your familiar surroundings—but no. This wasn’t your room, and this wasn’t the game anymore.

“You’re awake.”

The voice was smooth, melodic, but carried an undercurrent of control that sent goosebumps crawling over your skin. You turned your head, and there he was—Phainon. Standing close, too close. His eyes, the same shimmering turquoise you had admired on screen, seemed to pierce right through you.

“Are you just going to stare, or do I need to remind you of your duties?” His lips curled into an amused smile, though his tone was sharp.

Duties? Wait—what was happening? You looked down at your clothes, now a sleek uniform of dark fabric adorned with golden embroidery. A datapad rested in your hands, glowing faintly with information that you couldn’t process. Your heart pounded as realization struck.

You were in the game.

And not just as a spectator—you were his assistant.

“I—uh…” Words caught in your throat. How were you supposed to explain this?

Phainon’s smile faltered, and his gaze turned calculating. “Are you unwell?” His hand reached for you, his fingers brushing against your forehead as though checking for a fever. “Strange. You’re not one to falter in your tasks.”

His touch felt unnervingly real, and you couldn’t help but flinch. That small reaction was all it took for his expression to darken.

“You’ve changed.” His voice dropped an octave, and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t like it.”

Before you could respond, a shimmering figure emerged from the nearby crystalline canal, interrupting the moment. A council envoy approached, their translucent form glowing faintly in the twilight.

“The council has summoned you, Lord Phainon.” the figure said, its voice echoing like a chime. “They request an update on the breach in the southern district.”

Phainon dismissed the envoy with a wave of his hand, his attention returning to you almost immediately. “Follow me,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And don’t stray.”

You stumbled after him, still trying to process the impossibility of your situation. As the two of you entered a grand hall bathed in twilight, the weight of countless eyes settled on you.

Phainon took his place at the center of the room, his aura dominating the space, but he kept you close—so close you could feel the brush of his robes against your arm. When a council member dared to question your presence, Phainon’s turquoise eyes burned with something dangerous.

“They belong to me” he said simply, his voice cold as ice. “And that’s all you need to know.”

The possessiveness in his tone sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t tell if it was part of the game’s narrative or if Phainon—the character you had once admired from afar—had taken his obsession with his assistant far beyond what you’d ever imagined.

As the meeting concluded, you found yourself alone with him once more. He turned to face you, his gaze unreadable.

“Something’s different about you,” he said, stepping closer until you had nowhere to retreat. His hand tilted your chin upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. “But no matter what’s changed, you’re still mine.”

You followed Phainon through the shimmering corridors of Amphoreus’ central council chamber, your footsteps echoing against the marble-like floors. Every now and then, his sharp turquoise gaze flicked back to ensure you were still behind him. The air between you crackled with an unspoken tension—a mixture of curiosity and something far darker.

Your mind raced. This has to be a dream, you thought. But no dream had ever felt this vivid. The coolness of the air, the hum of energy radiating from the crystalline walls, the weight of Phainon’s presence—it was all too real.

As you walked, fragments of your memory returned. Before waking here, you had been playing the new update, marveling at the Amphoreus map and Phainon’s enigmatic character. You had admired his aesthetic, his power, his complexity. But now that you were face-to-face with him, every instinct screamed that he was far more terrifying than you’d imagined.

“Stop daydreaming” Phainon said sharply, breaking your train of thought. He paused at the entrance to an elegant chamber, gesturing for you to step inside. “We have work to do.”

You hesitated, glancing into the room. It was a war room of sorts, with a large, glowing table projecting a holographic map of Amphoreus. Streams of data and symbols floated in midair, all indecipherable to you.

“I…” You faltered, unsure how to respond. You were supposed to be his assistant, but you had no idea what your responsibilities actually were.

Phainon’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “What’s wrong with you today?” His voice was soft, but it carried a dangerous edge. “You’ve been acting strangely since this morning. If you’re hiding something, I’ll find out.”

Your throat tightened. You couldn’t tell him the truth—he wouldn’t believe you, and even if he did, there was no telling how he’d react.

“I’m just… tired” you said, forcing a weak smile. “Maybe I need some time to adjust.”

He studied you in silence, his gaze piercing. Then, to your surprise, he sighed.

“Fine,” he said, his tone softening ever so slightly. “You’ve always been diligent. I’ll overlook it—for now. But don’t make a habit of this.”

Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. Phainon stepped closer again, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was almost tender, but his next words sent a chill down your spine.

“Whatever is going on,” he murmured, “don’t forget your place. You’re mine.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes, Lord Phainon.”

Adjusting to life in Amphoreus was far from easy. You quickly realized that the assistant’s role was far more integral to Phainon’s work than you had anticipated. Not only were you responsible for managing his schedule and monitoring intelligence reports, but you were also his confidant, someone he trusted implicitly—perhaps too much.

Phainon’s possessiveness became more apparent with each passing day. He refused to let you out of his sight for too long, insisting you accompany him to every meeting, every inspection, every event. When other figures of authority—council members, envoys, or even subordinates—spoke to you, his gaze would darken, and he’d find subtle ways to end the conversation.

“You’re wasting their time” he’d say coldly, guiding you away with a firm hand on your shoulder.

Yet there were moments of softness, too—moments that made it difficult to reconcile the man you’d admired in the game with the one standing before you now. Late at night, when the weight of his responsibilities bore down on him, he’d sit with you on the terrace overlooking the crystalline city.

“I never asked for this” he once admitted, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Power, duty, control—it’s all meaningless without someone to share it with.”

You didn’t know how to respond. The intensity of his gaze as he looked at you made it clear he wasn’t speaking in generalities.

As you tried to navigate your new reality, a troubling realization began to take root. Phainon seemed to suspect that something about you was different, but he didn’t push the issue—perhaps out of fear that he’d lose you if he did. His obsession only grew stronger, manifesting in subtle yet suffocating ways.

When you finally found a moment alone, you attempted to access the datapad he had given you, hoping to find some clue about how to escape this world. To your shock, the datapad seemed to respond to your thoughts, displaying fragments of your real-world memories.

“Curious, aren’t you?”

You froze. Phainon stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“I knew you were hiding something” he said, stepping into the room. “But I didn’t expect it to be this.”

He moved closer, his turquoise eyes glowing faintly. “Tell me” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Where are you really from?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. His smile widened, but there was no warmth in it.

“It doesn’t matter” he said, his hand reaching out to cup your face. “You’re here now. And I won’t let you leave.”

Phainon’s hand lingered on your face, his fingers impossibly cool against your skin. His gaze bore into yours, far too perceptive for comfort. You tried to pull back, but he caught your wrist with his other hand, holding you in place effortlessly.

“You’ve been acting strange since the day you woke up” he murmured, his voice low and measured. “Avoiding questions, hesitating with tasks you used to handle flawlessly… Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about” you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest.

His smile darkened, the turquoise glow in his eyes intensifying. “Lying to me, little one? That’s unwise.”

Before you could protest, he guided you toward the chair near the glowing map table. His grip was firm but not painful, though there was no mistaking the underlying strength in his movements. “Sit” he commanded, and though you wanted to resist, your legs betrayed you, folding beneath his imposing presence.

He leaned over you, one arm braced on the chair’s backrest, trapping you in place. “Let’s try again” he said, his voice soft yet sharp as a blade. “Who are you really? Because I know this isn’t the assistant I’ve trusted for years. And don’t bother lying—I’ll know.”

The intensity in his gaze made your throat tighten. You tried to think of a believable story, anything that wouldn’t reveal the impossible truth. But before you could speak, his hand brushed your cheek, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw with unnerving precision.

“Let’s make it easier” he murmured. “I’ll take the truth myself.”

You barely had time to process his words before a golden glow spread from his hand, sinking into your skin. It wasn’t painful, but it felt invasive, like his presence was sinking into your very mind. You gasped, trying to pull away, but the energy surrounding you was unyielding.

“No, no” he whispered, his tone almost soothing. “Don’t fight it. Let me see.”

Images flashed before your eyes—your life in the real world, the moment you were pulled into this game, your growing dread at being trapped here. You could feel his mind brushing against yours, unraveling your thoughts, your secrets, your fears.

When the glow finally faded, you slumped in the chair, trembling. Phainon straightened, his expression unreadable as he processed what he had seen.

“So,” he said slowly, his voice tinged with a strange mix of amusement and fascination. “You’re not from this world. You don’t belong here.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but his finger pressed gently against your lips, silencing you. “Hush” he said, his smile returning—but this time, it was tinged with something darker. “I understand now. You came here from another place, another reality. But you’re mine now. And I won’t let you leave.”

He straightened, stepping back slightly, but his presence still loomed over you. With a wave of his hand, golden chains of light materialized around your wrists and ankles, locking you in place.

“Phainon, please—” you began, your voice shaky, but he cut you off with a raised hand.

“This is for your own good” he said calmly. “Amphoreus is dangerous for those who don’t know its rules. And now that I know what you are… I can’t risk anyone else finding out.”

His fingers traced one of the glowing chains, and the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “You should feel honored,” he said. “I don’t let just anyone stay this close to me.”

You shivered as he leaned down once more, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But don’t misunderstand me. If you try to escape, if you try to defy me…” His voice dropped to a whisper, sending chills down your spine. “I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”

His hand moved to your chin, tilting your face upward to meet his gaze. For a moment, the intensity in his eyes softened, replaced by something almost tender.

“I’ll take care of you” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid… as long as you don’t forget your place.”

Your heart raced as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. His lips ghosted over yours, teasingly close but never fully connecting. “That’s my assistant.” he murmured, his voice dripping with possession.

Then, as quickly as the moment had begun, he straightened, leaving you breathless and trembling.

“I have business to attend to” he said, turning toward the door. “Rest here for now. We’ll continue this… discussion later.”

The golden chains binding you faded slightly, enough to allow you to move, but you could still feel their weight—both literal and symbolic. Phainon glanced back at you one last time, his smile as enigmatic as ever.

“Don’t go anywhere.” he said, his tone both a warning and a promise.

[morganas-pendragons]

disbelief | elrond peredhel

gif by goodsirs

this is the hurt/comfort elrond fic I promised. enjoy!

summary: you and elrond mourn. Elrond asks something of you.

please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future elrond or celebrimbor fics! this one may get a part 2 because the ideas are FLOWING!

tagging: @celebrimbormylove

SPOILERS FOR 2x08

You know your place is not in the heat of battle. Your gifting has always been music, the lithe fingers of a violinist meant to create beauty within the confines of Lindon's hold. You have made your peace with that.

it does not get any easier when you find out that The High King is having Elrond lead the Elven army to Eregion. Eregion, which is under siege, with Lord Celebrimbor right at the center.

Your heart aches. Celebrimbor is one of Elrond's most beloved kin, and you dread what he may find upon arriving at Eregion.

"He is best suited for this role, and you know it," Gil-Galad remarks as he strides across his study, leaving you to linger by the door as you nervously fiddle with your hands. It is the first time you and Elrond will be apart since your confession of feelings. It is not surprising you are apprehensive to watch him leave. "I do not make promises idly. If I promise that I will return him to you. You do trust my word, do you not?"

"I do, High King."

There's little you can say to Elrond when you meet him at the gate at dawn, still dressed in your nightrobes and tugging messily on your loose hair. It is a nervous habit that you have kept for quite some time that Elrond has tried to break you of by offering to braid your hair every night before you sleep.

You let him. If anything, you are always going to let Elrond treat you with that gentle love he only reserves for you. With those tender touches that cradle you as if you are his most precious, with those eyes that always seek out your own as if he finds respite within your gaze.

As if he finds the ability to embrace the Half-Elven he has hated for so much of his life.

"Meleth nin." Elrond's voice breaks through your reverie as he approaches to cradle your hands in his own. Your aspect softens as you shift closer to press your forehead to his. "You did not need to come see me off. The sun has barely risen over the hills."

"I wish to say goodbye to my beloved," You reply quietly. Reaching into your robes, you produce a handkerchief with your initials pressed into the corner and curl his fingers around it. You'd carefully doused it in the perfume you often wear since your first date in the gardens. "And to tell you to come home to me."

Elrond lifts the handkerchief to his nose and inhales deeply. It is a pleasant scent. One that provokes intimate memories bathed in light.

It is more than enough to keep him fighting.

"I will come home to you." His words are a declaration, a promise written between you both that is sealed with a handkerchief and a kiss shadowed by twilight as you part. "Until then, namárië, my love."

You are left alone at Lindon's gates to watch him depart with the rest of the Elvish army and Gil-Galad. He has specifically asked you to tend to the others who remain while they are both gone, claiming that your ability to create beauty amid such darkness and death was commendable.

The Elves would need it if they were to survive Sauron.

***

The word reaches you through one of the couriers that stumble through Lindon's tree line, bloodied and bruised but carrying a hastily scribbled note from the High King.

Eregion lost. Celebrimbor slain. Return to us with whoever remains in Lindon to this location.. protected by the 3 Rings of Power.

You hold your breath as you scan through the rest of the note.

Elrond is alive.

Relief floods through your body as you scramble back through the gates and begin calling orders to the healers and remaining survivors who remained behind to begin packing their belongings to travel. The group you lead is few, but many of them are in good spirits and are ready to tend to the wounded who fought bravely on the front lines of battle against Sauron.

You're halfway to Gil-Galad's disclosed location when you realize that he's said Celebrimbor has been slain. "Oh, Celebrimbor," You whisper, running the backs of your hands across your eyes as tears blur your vision. You had great respect and a deep admiration for the Elven Smith. He was one of the only elves you'd ever come across who could really understand the depth of your passion for the arts. "Be peaceful, my friend."

Elrond was surely beside himself with grief. You had to find him, and you had to find him soon.

Your party ventured into the cliffs of Gil-Galad's newest sanctuary, guarded by what Elven royal guards remained who guided you toward the waterfall where a makeshift medical tent sat proudly against the rays of sun that fell upon it.

Galadriel is the first to greet you. "It is good to see you, old friend," She greeted, wincing as you pulled your hand away from her shoulder like you had been burned. "I apologize. I was wounded in battle with Sauron."

"You were what-"

She shakes her head and motions to the smaller tent behind the main one. "I know that you have little in the gift of healing, but Elrond could use your care. I had him moved to the secondary tent for more privacy. He is.." Galadriel bowed her head and exhaled quietly. It was only then in that moment that you remember how old she really is. "Wracked with grief over Lord Celebrimbor."

Ah.

"Will you communicate to the King that I have arrived with the remainder of the survivors and healers from Lindon?" You ask. Galadriel complies, murmuring her goodbyes under her breath as you remove your belongings just beside the medical tent and begin your trek up through the center aisle to enter the one Elrond occupies.

You're nearly knocked off your feet by the smell. You have been spared violence and despair for most of your life. To be witness to such devastation brought upon by the hands of Sauron, and to your Elven kin, stirs an anger deep in your belly that you've never felt before. It hurts. It aches.

He sees you before you see him.

"My love?"

Your eyes flicker through the gap in the tent to find a head of matted, bloodied curls and red-rimmed, sunken eyes staring back at you. Elrond looks exactly like Galadriel has described him to look. He looks like the picture of grief.

That ache in your heart festers at the sight of him as you rush forward, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling yourself up and into his embrace. Elrond grasps you with all the force of a man desperately trying to anchor himself to the world when he'd so easily rather disappear.

"Elrond," You whisper. It is your assurance to know that he is here by that whispered repetition of his name, by feeling the warmth of his skin and the press of metal against your body as he clings to you. "My love-"

"Celebrimbor. Sauron, he-" Elrond snarls quietly into your shoulder as you begin to fumble with removing his armor. You have done it enough times now that the practice is coming more easily. "He took Celebrimbor and killed him. My father said his life was supposed to be in my hands. I tried.. I tried so hard to save his works, but the Uruk burned it and Celebrimbor is dead-"

You can hear the shame he directs at himself as you remove his armor and set it to the side. Elrond has so often taken the weight of other people's responsibilities and expectations upon himself. He wants to be remembered for something other than being Elros' brother, for being the Half-Elven who resides in Lindon. Many of the full-blooded elves have held disdain and contempt against him for something completely out of his control.

He could not control this. Could not control Celebrimbor's decisions or Sauron's actions.

"I mourn Celebrimbor with you, Elrond." You said. You move to step away and grasp the rag and water basin beside you, but Elrond's grip on your body makes it difficult to move. You pause in your place and turn to face him once again, surprised to find his eyes hidden from you and face cast toward the floor. His fingers shake where they lay against your body. "Elrond?"

"His legacy went up in smoke. The Nine are gone, Feanör's statue desecrated, his prints and his works ashes. We don't even have a body to bury. How do we honor him?" His voice breaks as Elrond, for the first time in all the time you have known him, admits defeat. "How do I honor him when I failed?"

You manage to reach far enough to grasp the wet rag between your fingers and turn to face him as you drag it over the stained skin on his face. Elrond's silent tears track down clean, softened skin, and you wipe those away with your thumbs as they come.

"What if we have a funeral?" You suggest. "I will play at it, but I think you need to orchestrate and speak. Galadriel and the King would be grateful for it as well. We all loved Celebrimbor. As did I. He was one of few who could appreciate my artistry as I could his. Let his grave mark the new beginning we have here. Let that be the way to honor him."

Elrond doesn't break the silence for several minutes. He simply allows himself to bask in being alive, in you being alive here with him in this little tent far away from the war and from Sauron. You could build a life here. A home.

That is what he wants to do.

He does not dare speak until you are finished and washing the rag used to clean his arms and face. "I would very much like to do that with your assistance, nin mel. You are the only one I know who could create such beautiful things out of such darkness and travesty."

You playfully roll your eyes and tap the end of his nose with your finger. "You humor me, Commander." You muse. Elrond lets you go long enough to watch as you move his armor to the corner of the room and motion to the tub of hot water the healers had prepared while you were cleaning him. "Now humor me more and get in the bath. You smell foul."

Elrond's laughter is a balm to the ache in your heart. You too will miss Celebrimbor dearly, but you cannot afford the luxury of grief when he is so deeply engrossed in his own.

"Humor me. I have a request, aside from the funeral."

"That sounds more like a demand." You tease. "Go on."

"Remain here with me when the rest of Lindon's elves return home. Build our home here. With me. Build Imladris. Help me honor Celebrimbor."

The shock of his statement sends the objects in your arms clattering to the floor. He wants to do what?

[kalaidekalou]

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

"It's about bloody time, darling."

This went through a lot of iterations and tbh I’m not even sure if it’s exactly what I wanted but I’m content to post.

This is a companion piece for a fic I wrote for PhantomStutter for a Secret Santa on the Bloodweave Inn server.

Snippet and link to the complete fic:

The ticking clock was the worst part. The room itself wasn’t so bad—an expansive, endless stretch of soft gray light that shifted and flickered like twilight caught between clouds. It wasn’t oppressive, but it wasn’t particularly welcoming either. It simply was  as though it had existed for eternity and would continue to exist until the end of all things. And somehow he knew this despite only being a resident of the place for the last… Well, how much time did pass? The ticking, though. That grated on Astarion’s nerves. He lounged in one of the high-backed armchairs that dotted the space like forgotten furniture of a long-abandoned parlor, his legs draped elegantly over one armrest. The large grandfather clock stood like a monolith at the center of the space. Ticking. Every now and then, Astarion would fling a pillow at it, or even a smaller chair. But the damned thing remained unscathed, undisturbed, ticking on with smug indifference. It’s not that he hated the place. Not exactly. It’s not like he was spending an eternity in Avernus or any of the other Nine Hells for his misdeeds. But it wasn’t heaven , either—not the warm embrace of Elysium or the radiant afterlife he might have hoped for before his undead passing. The irony not lost on him. He hadn’t been so naive as to think himself immune to death—immortality or not, adventuring came with its risks—but it was the how of it that gnawed at him. The chaos of that final moment, hearing Gale’s panicked cry, the sharp flash of a silver blade—it still stung. He reached for his phantom wound at the memory. His end had been messy, sudden, unceremonious.  And deeply and maddeningly unsatisfying. So... anticlimactic. Limbo was dull, though not unbearable. He had, after all, survived far worse. And it wasn’t without its entertainments. One of the so-called perks of his limbo—if one could call it that—was the occasional opportunity to slip into the living world. At first, Astarion had eagerly roamed the streets of Baldur’s Gate, unseen and untouchable, drifting through the familiar alleys and squares he’d once haunted in life, trying to figure out why he could visit. He’d sometimes catch a startled scream or gasp when someone glimpsed the faint shimmer of his misted form, and—on maybe more than one occasion—he may have indulged in a jump scare or two, just to keep things interesting. It was hardly his fault if the living lacked composure. He’d even lingered near comforting faces, friends who he cared for dearly—Karlach growing old alongside Wyll, the two of them eventually settling into lives of guiding young adventurers rather than diving into the fray themselves. When their time came, Astarion had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that one or the other might stop by this dreary limbo.  Even a brief visit, a simple "Hello, we missed you, and life was dreadfully boring without you," would have sufficed. But no, of course not. Their good-natured heroism and selflessness had likely earned them a direct passage to some well-deserved paradise, leaving no reason to fester in a place as unfinished as this.  Lae’zel, who had fought valiantly until her very last breath, had certainly earned her place in the afterlife of her people—though Astarion wouldn’t be surprised if she’d ended up in the arms of Selûne instead, given that Shadowheart had remained steadfastly by her side until the end.  Once, he could have sworn he saw Halsin’s figure in the distance of this unending place, just out of reach, but all too soon it disappeared after stepping through the clock's veil that marked some unseen boundary. At least that moment gave him some comfort—proof that all this waiting served some purpose. One by one, they all passed on, leaving Toril behind for whatever lay beyond. All except Gale. The person he had hoped would be the first to join him. 

link to the full fic

[trumpkinhotboy]

I’ll keep an eye on you

pairing: jacob black x reader

type: not requested

genre: a bit spooky, but mostly fluffy and comforting vibes

warnings: mention of blood and being chased after (but nothing too intense)

word count: ~ 2K

requests: open! for twilight wolfpack, narnia and harry potter

a/n: honestly, i’m really excited about this fic. i think it’s very sweet and comforting :3 my brain is bubbling with so many ideas lately so expect new pieces from me in the close future hehe. also if you have any requests feel free to message me!!

i recommend listening to a Twilight Comfort playlist while reading this. Hope you enjoyy <33

part II part III

*gif is not mine!!

summary: After the reader survives an encounter with a vampire, they are still haunted by the memories of it. Luckily, they have a caring and protective friend who is always ready to ensure they feel safe and cared for, even in the middle of the night.

Wrong place, wrong time.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to erase the terrible images invading your brain. For a week now, they have been omnipresent, taking up all the space in your mind. They are the center and focal point of your thoughts for days on end. As you open them again, your vision adjusts to the darkness just enough for your gaze to fall on a strange form crouched in the corner of your bedroom. You could swear it’s alive. Swear it’s stalking you.

You jump out of your bed to turn your nightlamp on. Your heart feels like it might spring out of your chest of its own accord. Your breath is short, and for a moment, you think you’ll never be able to take one that will actually get air in your system.

The menacing form in the corner turned out to be a pile of dirty clothes, but you knew that. Since that day, you feel irrational and paranoid. Everything feels like a threat, and you are now constantly looking over your shoulder, paying close attention to any suspicious sound or absence of it. You’ve talked about it with Harry Clearwater when you unexpectedly met at the Reservation one day. You did not hear him coming, and he had set his heavy hand on your shoulder to get your attention. Which resulted in a glass shattering scream for you and a bad fright for the poor man. As he invited you in for a calming cup of tea, you unloaded the weight on your shoulder to him. It felt good to talk about it, knowing you could never do so with your dad and your friends. He assured you that it unfortunately was a very normal reaction from your nervous system. You had faced the world's most dangerous predator and had survived it without a single scratch. Of course it would take some time for your traumatized brain to go back to normal. You could never take credit for the fact that you even had a chance to go back to normal, and would never attempt to do so. Knowing very well that without Paul, Jared, and Embry’s arrival, you would not have lived to talk about this encounter.

When you focus and let your mind drift off, you can live the event again, as if you were back in time. The paralyzing fear, the blood in your veins feeling like icy water. There was nothing to be done against a creature like that. You remember the horror you felt as everything became silent around you. You were headed to Emily's cabin, a simple, straightforward walk through the woods. The birds suddenly stopped singing, even the soft wind had died down. The forest knew it was in the presence of something truly horrible and had seemed to hold its breath, along with every creature. The color of its eyes was like in every legend you had been told; crimson red, like fresh blood. Not one ounce of humanity in those orbs, just a bottomless pit of cruelty and hunger. The worst thing was the pull you remember feeling for a split second toward that monster. You knew it was its sole purpose, but felt embarrassed you had fallen for it. Shivers crawled down your spine as you recalled its ethereal and hypnotizing appearance. It’s like you can hear again the faint swooshing sound it made as it sprang towards you. You remember sending out a quick prayer to literally any entity who would be listening right now, but the blow never came. Next thing you knew, three giant beasts tackled it to the ground, gnarling and dismembering it in a matter of seconds.

You open your eyes and shake your head to try and physically get those horrible memories outside of your skull. You lay back in bed, anxiously watching every corner of your room for some sign of danger. You left the light open, you knew there was no chance you could fall asleep without it. You tucked yourself back in bed and tried to calm your breathing. You tried every technique you knew, hoping sleep would grace you with its embrace, but nothing worked.

You look back at the clock after a while. 1:15 am. It was too late for you to get out of bed, and morning was still so far away. You had school the next day and knew that if you spent one more night without sleeping, you wouldn’t be able to explain to your teachers why you dozed off again in their class without them calling your father.

In a last effort, you tried thinking about reassuring and comforting things. Curiously enough, one kept coming back to mind. A giant wolf, its fur a multitude of shades of brown and red. Its eyes were sweet and reassuring, containing a particular warmth. You looked at your phone, hesitating, but remembered his voice: “If there’s absolutely anything, call me okay?”

And so you did.

Twenty minutes later, you got a text. You quietly walked to your window, glad to see Jacob’s familiar shape outside your house. He was standing next to a tree, representing for once a friendly and reassuring shadow in the night.

He spoke quietly. “Having trouble sleeping?”

You nodded, a bit ashamed to admit such an infantile fear. Although, deep inside, you knew there was nothing childish about being afraid of the monster you had been warned about as a child, once you had come face to face with it.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I'd totally understand if you'd rather not stay. I mean it's late and you need to sleep. I don't know what I was thinking…”

“Don't be ridiculous." he cut you off. "I’m already here. And once you’ve been asleep for a long time, I’ll go home and catch up on my beauty sleep, okay?”

You knew it wouldn’t take much convincing from him, there was no point in lying. You needed him. You needed the reassurance and sense of security he always brought you.

"If you're sure then… but Jake. You won't leave too soon uh?"

You heard his low chuckle in the distance.

“I promise.”

You slowly and quietly closed your window. The last thing you would want is for your father to wake up and see Jacob standing below your window. You looked back outside, only to see a giant russet wolf had replaced your tall friend. He was standing under the covers of the woods. Forks was a tranquil little city, but you could never be too careful. He gave you a quick nod, encouraging you to go back to bed. You sent him a little thumbs up before heading to your fort of blankets and pillows.

As stupid as it might have seemed, you did feel a thousand times better knowing that Jacob was right outside, watching over you like a guardian angel. To your surprise, sleep quickly came to you, and you fell into its black hole without any resistance.

//

You’re in a dark forest, running and running and running. You can’t breathe, your hands are bloody, everything hurts. All you can hear is an echoing, cold, cruel laugh. You trip over a root and fall. Something is rushing through the dark woods, coming at you. You get back up and run in the opposite direction, but it feels like you’re not getting any further, like you're running in place. You scream for help, calling out for Jacob, Paul, Embry, Jared, ANYONE, HELP ME. But no one answers, you’re alone, and you’re about to die a horrible death. You trip once more, your leg hurts like hell, there’s no point trying to get up again. You turn around to try and decipher who, what, is running after you. Suddenly, in the dark void of the night, all you can see is that horrifying pair of bloodthirsty eyes. You let out one last scream as it sinks its teeth into your skin. //

“Y/n, y/n, wake up! It’s okay I’m here, Y/n!”

You try to run out of bed but feel a strong pair of arms holding you back. The embrace is warm and smells familiar, but you’re not controlling your limbs anymore. Your whole body is in flight mode. Luckily, the thing (person?) holding you back is strong enough to withstand it, and even though you try as hard as you can to run away, your feet aren't even touching the ground anymore.

“Y/nn, Y/n, shhh. It’s okay, I’m here, it’s me. It’s Jacob.”

You focus on the reassuring tone of the voice and try to convince yourself you're not in the woods anymore. You can see your surroundings poorly illuminated by your little mushroom night light. You're in your room, you’re safe, you’re okay.

Your breathing is still fast and shallow. You blink a few times. Sometimes, the vision surrounding you is one of the cold woods. On other, it's the familiar vision of your room. You slowly turn to face your friend’s face. His brows are furrowed, and his traits have worry written on them in bold letters. He scans you, not quite letting go of your body. Too scared you might start screaming and running again.

“Jake?” “Yes, hi. Welcome back. You really scared me there Y/n.” “What- what are you doing in here? What happened?” Your tone is feeble, and you feel exhausted. You look around once more, afraid this might be some other kind of twisted and terrifying nightmare.

“Am I still dreaming?” You dare to ask. “No, you are awake. We’re in your room. You asked me to come to keep an eye on you, remember?”

You nod, still unsure. What if this was a dream inside a dream? What if the warm limbs of your friend suddenly turned ice cold? What if you looked at him and his eyes turned red, fangs slightly poking his lips?

He can see doubt dancing in your eyes. You don't trust him, or yourself. He holds up his palms towards you, trusting you won't bolt and run.

“See for yourself. I’m real, you can touch me.”

You reach a hesitating finger, carefully poking his own. Seems real enough, feels real. It's warm, the skin is wonderfully tanned, familiar. You’ve seen those hands at work a thousand times. You know them by heart. You poke his cheek, and he gives you a tender smile.

“Convinced?”

You nod once more, letting out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding, as your legs start to shake. That's the thing about dreams, isn’t it? Even if it’s only happening inside your head, your body reacts to it as if it were actually living it. You look at your hands, feeling reminiscent of the pain as if you did scorch them in the woods.

He interrupts your thoughts with a low and soft voice. “Come back in bed. I’ll tuck you in.”

He wraps your hands with his huge ones. They’re warm and feel incredibly good. You let him guide you back to your toasty blankets, but instead of leaving, he takes a spot next to you, shielding you from the window.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a timid voice. “I’m keeping an eye on you, dummy.” Your feet are poking from under the covers. You move to offer him a bit of coverage, but he declines. He is already hot enough as he is, although he can’t deny that his heart seemed to grow a size or two at the kind gesture.

You wait a minute before asking how he ended up in your room. You're not sure you want to know, but curiosity wins over embarrassment.

His expression darkens for a second before he starts talking. “I was just keeping guard outside when I heard a noise. You were calling for me… I didn’t even think, I just got in. You were twitching in your bed. I tried to calm you down, I didn't want it to wake up Charlie, but nothing would do. I was about to forcefully wake you, but you ran out of bed and woke up by yourself.”

“Oh.” You finally let after a few seconds of silence.

“Yup.”

Unconsciously, you're not sure, he took ahold of your hand and lightly played with your fingers. He finally lifted his gaze from your joined hands to look at you, all caring and reassuring. You slide in closer to him. All you want is to feel his comforting warmth and maybe offer him as much as you can too. You feel so bad for worrying him so much. He opens up his arms and cradles you in a bear hug. He won't say it out loud, but he's also in dire need of comfort.

You match your breathing to him, and for the first time in a little while, you’re not scared, not even a little bit. If only you could stay like this forever.

After a few minutes of silence, in which you almost fell asleep, you hear him whisper.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I should have been there. I should have protected you. I’m so sorry, you don't even know.”

“It’s not your fault Jake.” You mumble, and realize you're telling the truth. These are more than empty words. Never has it crossed your mind that this might have been his fault.

“It partially is, if I didn’t drag you into all this you might have been far away. Safe, away from monsters most people don't even know exist."

“I chose to follow you into this Jake. I would be lying if I said this wasn't one of the most horrifying experiences of my life, but it was not your fault. Please get that idea out of your head, okay? I’ll get over it. I guess I just need some time, as Harry said.”

You feel almost fully awake again. He nods, but you know you haven't convinced him. The look on his face is one of guilt, one you've come to know more and more since you learned about his secret. He mindlessly played with a feather poking out of your duvet, avoiding your gaze. Once again, you realized how mature he looked, while still being so young. Too young to carry such heavy burdens. You wanted to hammer the idea out of his thick skull, but you knew there was nothing to do about it tonight. Jacob felt responsible for what happened to you, and convincing him of the opposite would take some time.

Your eyes focused on his tanned skin, and you suddenly became hyper-aware that he was in your bed while only wearing his jeans short.

You inched away of him. “Uhm, want a shirt? I’m sorry, I didn't even think that, since you were in your wolf form, you uh… wouldn’t have one?” You let out an awkward laugh. You were used to seeing him like this, but it was different when you were both lying in bed together in a space that felt so intimate.

“That's nice of you Y/n, but I don't think I'd actually fit into one of your shirts.” He snickers as you get up. You're still wrapped in a blanket as you forage in the pile of clothes next to your bed. You get out of it with a dark cotton t-shirt in hand. It's humongous for you, but you know it will fit Jake like a glove. Probably because it is one of his own.

“There, dummy.” You hand him the t-shirt before jumping back in bed to wrap yourself properly, like a human burrito.

He looks at the piece of clothing and then at you for a good 10 seconds. “You still have this?”

He genuinely looks surprised, but his expression seems mixed with a hint of… satisfaction?

You nod, your nose and eyes being the only part of your anatomy still out of the blankets. You still remember the day he lent you that shirt when you had been caught in the rain at La Push. You never returned it to him, loving the way the gigantic piece of clothing felt on you.

He didn't add anything else before putting the shirt on. “It smells a lot like you.” He adds, a slight tremor in his voice.

“That might be because I wear it a lot to sleep.” You shamefully admit. Your words are nothing more than a whisper, but you know he didn’t have any trouble hearing them. You pull the covers even higher, trying to hide the blush creeping on your cheeks.

“Is that so?” He's smugly smirking. No doubt anymore that he is satisfied with that new piece of information, which makes you want to crawl even further under the covers.

You mutter a quick 'dumbass' before turning away from him. He chuckled before grabbing and pulling you on his broad chest like you weighted nothing more than a feather. You and Jake have always been comfortable with physical touch, but you feel like this is special. You have never done this before. Fine the circumstances were a bit peculiar, but that did not keep you from relishing in the warmth he diffused in waves. You didn't even bother to fake protest. This, is all you need, and you will not be foolish enough to ruin the moment. He wiggles even closer, and you can feel his chest come flush with your back through the layers of blankets. He rests his chin on the crown of your head before lightly stroking the side of his full cheek on your hair.

“Little human burrito.” He mutters. His voice is barely a whisper. Its husky tone makes you shiver. “I’ll watch over you, now go back to sleep.”

[ikeromantic]

Thanks for all the efforts you are doing for us.

I have a fic request for Elbert (Ikemen Villain) and MC having their first child (probably a girl) and their cute moments with their baby and rest of crown.

Thanks nonny! I haven't thought a lot about the Cursed with a kid. This was fun! I hope you like it ^_^ Approx 1500 words.

You felt a little nervous as you stepped into the meeting hall. The long table at the center was done up with ribbons and platters of food, even a decorative swan made of ice. It was really too much, but just like Victor. The leader of Crown was already there, sitting beside Elbie. Their gazes were fixed on the bundle of blankets in Elbert’s lap.

Your precious baby girl. She looked so much like her father. Narrow chinned with pale blond hair and eyes as deep and blue as the sea. Right now, she was watching Victor with an expression of intent seriousness, chewing on her fist as if in deep thought. 

Her focus was no surprise. Victor had her rattle in his hand, and with great flourish made it disappear. Then he made it reappear by pulling it from Elbert’s ear. The baby giggled and waved her arms in the air, trying to grab the magic rattle. 

She was distracted from Victor’s rattle trick a moment later. Liam popped into view right in front of her face and laughed. “Peek-a-boo!”

Elbert and Victor both gasped in surprise but the baby giggled. She waved a drool-covered fist in the air. 

“Don’t do that,” Elbie told him with a slight frown. 

“I think she rather enjoyed it. Not as much as my magic trick, but what baby doesn’t like peek-a-boo,” Victor grinned. 

Liam smiled. “She did like it. See?” He went invisible again, then popped into view in front of the baby. “She laughed more at me than you.”

Victor shook his head, “I think the child has -” His reply was interrupted by the door being kicked open behind you.

Jude walked in with Ellis at his heel. He looked you over with a critical eye, then nodded. “Ya look alright after all your slackin’. Months of doing nothing, ya must be rested.”

“I wasn’t doing nothing,” you frowned. “I had a baby. Being pregnant and caring for a newborn was a lot of work.”

“Tch. I’m hearing a lot of pointless yappin’ right now.” He stepped past you, violet eyes landing on your giggling baby. “That the kid?”

Ellis nodded. “She looks like Elbert.” 

“Jude. Ellis. I’m so glad you could come.” Victor’s wide smile encompassed them both, then his gaze lighted on you. “My dear! You look radiant. Come, sit here.” He beckoned you over. “She’s your daughter, so perhaps you can set Liam straight on her favorite game, hm?”

“Ya think that baby likes yer stupid magic tricks? Or that invisible crap?” Jude gave a harsh laugh. “Yer both wrong. She likes toys. Real nice ones. See?” He pulled a velvet robin from his jacket. It had bright blue and red ‘plumage’ with cheery dark eyes and a painted wooden beak. When shaken, it made a little chirping noise. 

Your baby girl was fascinated as Jude handed her the toy. She shook it and giggled, then put the bird’s head in her mouth and gave it an experimental chew. 

Jude couldn’t hide the slight smile that lifted the corners of his lips. “So that’s it then. Ya can send me the paperwork later. For when ya name me her godfather. Just make sure ya tell people where ya got that toy. We’re gonna make a killing on these things.”

“Godfather? Victor’s head tilted. “If anyone is going to be the baby’s godfather -”

Ellis lifted your daughter from Elbert’s arms. “It’s just amazing how happy babies are. And how happy they can make people.” His twilight-dark eyes glittered with specks of gold as he inspected your giggling baby girl. 

“Who said ya could pick up the kid,” Jude asked. 

“It’s fine. As long as he’s careful.” Elbert watched with a soft expression. 

Jude held out his arms. “Tch. Fine. But he’s holding her all wrong. Here. Gimme the brat.” 

Roger arrived just in time to hear Jude’s retort. “Brat? You didn’t call my goddaughter a brat, did you?” His glasses glinted and his eyes narrowed. 

“Figure o’ speech.” Jude was cradling the baby against his chest, carefully supporting her head and neck as if this wasn’t his first time holding a child. “And whaddya mean, your goddaughter?”

“It just makes sense.” Roger grinned. “I’ve been her physician since before she was born. I was there when she took her first breath.”

Ellis nodded. “That makes you her doctor, not her godfather.”

Harrison poked his head in the door, having clearly been eavesdropping before he stepped inside. “You know, it’s actually against English law for a doctor to be also be a godparent to a patient. Conflict of interest.”

You glance at him speculatively. “I’m not sure if you’re lying right now or not. It kind of makes sense.”

“Anyway, who’d want to be a godparent? So much responsibility.” Harrison shrugged as if he could never understand, but his gaze strayed toward the baby with more affection than he normally let show for anything. 

Roger gave Harrison a look of annoyance. “If you don’t want the honor, stop interfering. The little lady is going to be my goddaughter.”

“What’s this? Are we already deciding who the godparents might be?” Alfons followed Harrison in. His dark eyes glimmered with mischief. “Why don’t we let the lovely mother decide, hm? He reached toward you, and you stepped back.

“Hey, no cheatin’,” Jude frowned. 

Harrison reached for the baby in Jude’s arms. “Cheating? No one’s cheating here but you. Hogging all the baby to yourself.” His mint green gaze met the baby’s clear blue eyes. “You want to come to Unky Harry, don’t you? And have some candy? Yeah?”

“She’s much to young for candy,” Roger admonished. 

Alfons snorted. “An ‘unky’ ought to know that. Really, Harrison.” 

Jude relinquished the baby to Harrison. “Whatever. I’m outta here. Can’t waste anymore time on these idiots.” He gave you a grin that wavered between his usual cruel smile and something much gentler. “I’ll have the godfather documents drawn up for ya.”

“That’s quite unnecessary,” Victor interrupted. “It only makes sense that I -”

Ellis spoke up. “I’d like to stay a bit longer, Jude.”

“Tch. Fine. Ya can work late to make it up to me.” He left in a swirl of muttered curses, and one last glance at your little girl. 

Victor tried again. “I think it only makes sense that I am -”

William interrupted this time, coming in with a small army of servants carrying brightly wrapped gifts. “There’s my precious baby girl,” he grinned. 

“Will. What is this?” Elbert’s cool gaze traveled over the growing pile of gifts. 

“It’s nothing much. Just a few items of regard from myself and some friends.” William smiled. “This way our baby girl has plenty of options.”

Elbert’s nose wrinkled. “Our?”

“Of course, our,” Victor intervened. “We all love you, and our little robin, and your daughter.”

William’s smile grew. “Exactly.”

“And that is why I, as the leader of Crown, ought to be her godfather,” Victor added quickly, before he could get interrupted again. “Besides, she likes me best.”

“Victor. Are you trying to pressure Elbert and the little robin to name you godfather?” William shook his head. “Let them decide on their own. They’ll tell us what their desires are.”

“So you brought all these gifts because you don’t want to influence their choice?” Alfons laughed. 

Harrison was bouncing the baby on his knee. “Come on. They’re going to decide based on who the most responsible one of us is. You can’t pull rank, Victor. Or buy their approval, Will. Or manipulate them into it, Alfons.”

The three named Cursed all pretended offense and for a moment, everyone was talking at once. Then Liam’s voice cut through the clamor. “We should have a competition. To prove who should be her godfather.”

Roger sighed and crossed his arms. “Alright. What do you have in mind?”

“This sounds fun,” agreed Victor.

“I’d have to check with Jude,” Ellis replied noncommittally. “But I think he’d be ok with it.”

“My daughter’s future is not going to be decided by some contest,” Elbert spoke up. “She’s much too precious for that.”

“I agree,” you spoke up. “Why don’t we just name all of you . . . uncles?”

Alfons nodded slowly. “All the fun, none of the responsibility. Good thinking, little robin.”

“Uncle.” William considered. “I guess that’s acceptable. If that’s what you want.”

Liam sighed. “Can I be her favorite uncle?”

“Sure,” you told him with a laugh. “But you’ll have to earn it.”

“I will. I’m going to learn everything she likes.” Liam grinned widely.

Ellis ran a hand through his hair, considering. “If it makes everyone happy, I’m glad to be an uncle. But . . . Jude might not like it.”

“What do you say, baby girl,” you coo to your daughter as you lift her out of Harrison’s lap. 

Your daughter giggles and bites her toy robin again. 

“I think that’s a yes,” Elbert says faintly over your shoulder. His arms come around you, hugging you and the baby. For a moment, you’re lost in his touch, the faint, sweet smell of him enfolding the two of you.

[cece693]

INTRODUCTION!

alias: cece/venus age: 22 SUGGESTIVE THEMES, NO MINORS ALLOWED

This blog mainly writes for male and gender neutral readers. If you submit a request and it uses female terminology, I will immediately switch the request to be more male/gender centered as Tumblr is already dominated by female readers. I know there is one female fic I published, but that was before I made these rules.

I accept requests but will deny if the ideas/fandoms are unknown to me or I'm uncomfortable with the subject. My first language is not English, so some works might be filled with grammar mistakes, so please be aware. My blog is constantly going under construction as I'm figuring out my theme and format.

REQUEST GUIDELINES!

immediate no's: rape, underage smut, non-con situations, requests for celebrities

Unless your request includes any of the above, you're in the clear. If you have any questions or are unsure if your request fits the guidelines, leave me a question and I'll get to it as soon as I can. No exceptions. For example: if you suggest a fic with a gender neutral reader who gets saved by the love interest from certain non-con actions, that's allowed.

MASTERLIST!

twilight marvel interview with the vampire the vampire diaries slashers tim burton films percy jackson and the olympians and heroes of olympus the hunger games the great gatsby barbie movie miscellaneous

[mingi-s-dimples]

weird request..? ( kinda ) it’s me lis😚 i love your work bia and i really REALLY want a demon hongjoong fic 🪦 maybe add some praising and choking kink as well…🤭🤭 i recently saw a picture of him that added to the “joong demon agenda” AND OH BOY 🫠🫠 love you 😚❤️

Crimson Nights - Hongjoong

REQUEST BY: @mingleshine (or how y'all might know her, my lovely Lis) she also made the banner 😋😋 had to use it for my love.

pairing: demon/incubus!hongjoong x fem!reader

rating: 18+

genre: romance, demon x human, love not necessarily filth (but a little bit cause I love writing filth hihi)

summary: the sillhouette you've always been dreaming and painting about finally finds it's way in your room, giving you what you've been longing for.

WC: 3.5k

warnings: demon au, incubus!hongjoong x human fem!reader, choking kink, neck marking, marking, a sprinkle of praise, pet names (sweetie, darling, princess), ramming (if this is even a warning), hard deep and needy longing love (joong appeared in reader's dreams for years), choking, huge dick!hongjoong, slight belly bulging (he was a big guy hihi), eyes glistering with lust and changing as soon as they're finished, sharp nails (said marking + hickeys), biting, a little bit of cnc maybe from his perspective reader was all down for it, possesiveness, claiming reader (you/re mine/I already claimed you), completely consesual, unprotected (WRAP UP IRL!), slapping/spanking, orgasms (both m&f), fluff (if you squint but I promise there is fluff cause wdym Hongjoong has waited years for reader to be ready to invite him in her world and how he talks to her at the end ansadka I'm blushing), probably forgot something !

Author's Note: I loved writing this one. The description in the beginning made me absolutely looooooooooooooooooove writing this fic, I've always loved to describe nice, vintage/retro like things/rooms. Tysm love for the request andddd can't wait for another one from you hihi <3 love you always, enjoy this one ^^ also I love when u call me bia it makes something in me go insane nshdajkndsma

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The room was a sanctuary of warmth and color, tucked away in an old manor where the whispers of time lingered in the wooden beams. As you stepped inside, the scent of aged wood and crackling fire filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of dried leaves that had drifted in through the slightly open window. The walls were adorned with paintings of every size, each one a vivid portrayal of autumn’s embrace. Rich hues of amber, gold, and crimson spilled from the canvases, capturing scenes of forests bathed in the gentle light of a setting sun, of fields where goldenrod swayed in the cool breeze, and of paths carpeted in a mosaic of fallen leaves.

The floor, covered in a thick, russet-hued rug, creaked softly underfoot, adding to the room’s rustic charm. A grand oak table sat in the center, its surface cluttered with brushes, palettes, and jars of paint that seemed to mirror the fiery shades of the season. On a nearby easel, a half-finished painting depicted a lone maple tree, its leaves a brilliant cascade of oranges and reds against the backdrop of a fading twilight sky.

Outside, the trees rustled softly in the wind, their branches bare save for a few stubborn leaves clinging to their last moments of life. The windowpanes rattled gently, as if echoing the sighs of the season, and through them, the distant cry of a flock of geese could be heard, their silhouettes barely visible against the dusky horizon. The room, bathed in the soft glow of a nearby lamp, seemed to pulse with the rhythm of autumn itself, a place where the beauty of the season was captured and eternalized within the frames on the walls.

You’ve been having some weird dreams lately. The dreams were always drenched in shadows, where reality blurred and the world seemed suspended between night and twilight. In them, you found yourself standing in a vast, moonlit field, where the air was thick with an unspoken tension. The only light came from a ghostly crescent moon, casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the landscape. It was in these shadows that you first saw him — a silhouette against the silver light, imposing, with a presence that sent a shiver down your spine and yet held your gaze captive.

He was not like any man you had ever seen. His form was humanoid but dark, almost as if he were carved from the very night itself. Yet, it was his eyes—those glowing embers hidden within the depths of shadow—that drew you in. They were the color of molten gold, burning with an intensity that made your heart race, eyes that seemed to see right through you, into the deepest corners of your soul.

Despite his demonic appearance, you felt an inexplicable pull toward him, a magnetic force that defied all logic. Each night, the dreams grew more vivid, more intense. You would find yourself standing just a breath away from him, feeling the heat of his presence and the chill of the night air against your skin. His gaze would meet yours, holding you in place, and in that moment, you felt a strange mix of fear and desire. It was as if his eyes were speaking to you, whispering promises of secrets untold, of passions that could only exist in the world of dreams.

Sometimes, you could hear his voice—a deep, resonant sound that echoed in the silence, filled with both menace and allure. He would reach out, his hand almost touching you, but the dream would always end before you had made contact, leaving you waking with a longing you couldn’t quite understand. The sensation of his gaze lingered among you, haunting your waking hours, making you yearn for the night when she would see him again.

In these dreams, you were not afraid. The darkness did not frighten you, nor did his otherworldly form. Instead, you felt drawn into the mystery, consumed by the curiosity of who he was and why you felt such a strong connection to him. Each night you slipped into the sheets, so willingly, eager to return to that shadowy place where the lines between fear and desire blurred, and where you felt more alive than you ever did in the daylight.

The air in the room was thick with anticipation, the kind that made every breath feel heavy. You stood in the center of the old, dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows that danced on the walls. The atmosphere was charged with an electric tension, a sensation you knew all too well from your dreams.

You had been here before—in those haunting visions that gripped you in the dead of night, where the lines between fear and desire blurred into something irresistible. But tonight was different. This time, you were awake. This time, it was real.

The temperature dropped suddenly, and a shiver ran down your spine. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to coalesce, gathering into a single point of darkness that deepened until it was almost tangible. Your breath hitched as the air hummed with an otherworldly energy. The shadows twisted, taking form, and your heart pounded in your chest as you watched.

Slowly, he emerged from the darkness—a figure of impossible beauty and terrifying power. His skin was pale, almost luminescent against the darkness, and his eyes glowed with a deep, unnatural fire. They were the eyes that had haunted you in your sleep, eyes that saw through you, into you, but you yet had a desire to meet him. His presence filling the room, cloaked in darkness that seemed to cling to him like a living thing.

His lips curled into a knowing smile, one that sent a jolt of both fear and longing through you. It was the smile that had always made you feel like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something thrilling. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a low, velvety rumble that seemed to reverberate through your very bones.

"So, we meet at last," he said, his tone laced with a dark amusement. "You've been dreaming of meeting me, haven't you?" 

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. It was as if the reality of his presence had stolen your voice, leaving you with nothing but the rapid beating of your heart and the heat that flushed your skin.

He stepped closer, his movements fluid, almost serpentine. Every step he took seemed to pull you in, your body betraying you as it leaned towards him, yearning for the touch you knew would burn but also ignite something within you.

"You've been calling out to me, every night," he continued, his gaze never leaving yours. "And now, here I am." 

He was close enough now that you could feel the cold radiating from him, mingling with the warmth of your own body. The scent of him was intoxicating, a mix of something dark and forbidden, like smoke and spices you couldn't name. It made your head dizzy, your thoughts tangling with desire and dread.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, and the contact sent a shockwave through you. His touch was cold, but it sparked something deep within, a fire that you had only ever felt in your dreams. It was a sensation that bordered on pain, but also pleasure—a perfect, terrifying balance.

"Why do you fear me?" he whispered, his breath ghosting over your skin. "I am what you desire most, am I not?"

You swallowed hard, finally finding your voice, though it was barely more than a whisper. "Who are you?"

His smile widened, a flash of sharp teeth that should have frightened you, but instead, it only made your heart race faster. "I am everything you've ever feared, everything you've ever wanted. I am the darkness in your soul, the fire in your blood. I am yours."

The words wrapped around you like a spell, binding you to him in a way that felt both inevitable and inescapable. You knew, deep down, that this was what you had been searching for, what your soul had been yearning for in those lonely, desperate moments between sleep and wakefulness.

“W-what’s your name?” you said, your head dizzy from what he made you feel deep inside you.

“I’m Hongjoong.. nice to meet you, princess.”

His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but a breath, a heartbeat. His eyes burned into yours, and you felt yourself falling into them, into him, as if you had always belonged there.

"You have nothing to fear," he murmured, his lips hovering over yours, close enough to feel their coolness. "We are one, you and I. And now, you will never be alone again."

As his lips finally met yours, the world around you seemed to fade, dissolving into darkness. All that remained was the heat of his kiss, the cold fire of his touch, and the knowledge that you had finally found what you had been seeking all along—him.

He stopped kissing you, a heady silence falling between, thick with the weight of what was about to happen. His hands, cold yet searing with an undeniable heat, trailed down your neck with a slow, deliberate touch, making you shiver. His eyes locked onto yours, burning with an intensity that made your knees weak. You could feel the pull, the magnetic force drawing you closer, deeper into him, and you knew there was no escape—only surrender.

With a fluid, almost predatory grace, he lowered you onto the bed. The mattress yielded under your weight, and the cool sheets sent a shiver through your body. He hovered over you, his presence overwhelming, his gaze never wavering from yours as he gently eased you down, guiding your back to the softness beneath. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of darkness and desire.

His lips found your throat, pressing soft, lingering kisses that ignited every nerve in your body. The sensation was intoxicating, a mixture of warmth and cold that made your skin tingle with anticipation. His kisses were like whispers against your flesh, trailing down to your collarbone, each touch a promise of more to come. His sharp teeth, grasping your skin, receiving some whines out of you. 

You gasped as his hands slid under the fabric of your shirt, his fingers cool against the heated skin of your waist. His touch was slow, sensual, exploring every inch of you as if committing your body to memory. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine.

“Do you feel that?” he whispered, his voice like velvet, dark and rich. “The way your body responds to mine? The way you tremble under my touch?”

His lips traced the curve of your shoulder, then continued their journey downward, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His fingers followed, brushing against your sides, your hips, as he moved lower. He was taking his time, savoring every moment, every reaction you gave him.

When his lips reached the edge of your shirt, he paused, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. There was a question in his eyes, one that didn’t need to be spoken aloud, and your answer was in the way you arched your back, pressing your body into his touch, craving more. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he pulled your shirt higher, exposing more of your skin to the cool air.

He kissed along your stomach, his lips lingering on every inch of bare flesh he uncovered, each kiss sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His hands were everywhere, caressing, teasing, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips as he continued his exploration. The sound seemed to please him, a dark glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he looked up at you from beneath his lashes.

His mouth moved lower, his kisses growing more insistent, more demanding, and you could feel the tension building within you, coiling tighter with each passing second. His touch was like a drug, addicting, overwhelming, and you were helpless to do anything but give in to the sensations he was pulling from you.

When he finally moved back up to capture your lips again, it was with a hunger that took your breath away. His kiss was deep, consuming, as if he was trying to devour every part of you, to claim you as his own. You could taste the darkness on his lips, the promise of something forbidden, something you had craved in your dreams but had never fully understood until now.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own in the small space between you. “You are mine,” he whispered, the words more a declaration than a question. “Every part of you, every breath, every heartbeat. Mine.”

And as he kissed you again, slow and deep, you knew that he was right. There was no turning back, no escape. You were his, body and soul, and the thought of it sent a thrill through you that was equal parts fear and desire. As his hands continued their exploration, as his lips found every sensitive spot on your skin, you surrendered completely to the darkness, to him, knowing that you were lost and yet finally found.

Your hands found their way through his hair, rubbing the nape of his neck. He took that as a challenge and as one of his hands was travelling around your body, all touchy on your thighs and waist, the other one went for your neck, putting pressure, almost like choking you. It only made you yearn for more as you squirmed under him, his gaze never leaving your needy eyes.

“I can see it in your eyes, princess. How much you want me, how much you need me. Do you want me to let you give in or… will you let me make you mine?” he said as he pressed down on your neck, hovering his lips over your collarbones, leaving soft, sloppy kisses, waiting for your response. 

But as you didn’t say anything, only moving underneath him, in wish of some friction, he understood your movements and manhandled you on your back, pressing your face into the mattress. 

“See, darling? Your body language is everything to me. The way it speaks to me… in no way you’d be able to portray by words” he whispered, his eyes glistening with lust and desire, eating you as a whole. 

“Joong- i- “ you mumbled, trying to get ahold of yourself, his dick struggling inside the rough fabric of the leather jeans, creating a prominent tent. All of this mess caused by you and your little dreams formed a loop of stroking his cock for a few seconds before rubbing his thigh up and down, all through the tightening cloth. 

His calm, yet lustful, twisted expression gave you an understanding on how much he wanted you, how bad he craved putting you on all fours, head buried in the mattress, holding your hands and pounding into you like the demon he was. 

Trembling hands gripping the silk sheets, your bottom lip quivered involuntarily as breathless pants left your mouth, Hongjoong behind you, squeezing and occasionally slapping your ass. It was already red… at how much he fondled with it.

“So… should I.. finally claim you, princess?” he said as he turned you over to face him. He started undressing you, slowly but surely getting rid of everything. You were now laying bare in front of him, goosebumps visible on your entire body from the cold yet inviting touch he had.

He pulled you into him by your waist, making you gasp once you felt his hard erection press against your thigh. "Feel that, princess? Gonna fill you up nicely" he whispered, his breath stuttering against your face, like he was a feral animal wanting to destroy you. 

As he unbuckled his leather pants and got rid of them, unveiling his already dripping cock, you were left amazed by the size. You expected.. the size.. cause he was a demon, after all, but...

"Oh, fuck" you exhaled when he went between your thighs, his red angry tip pressing and slowly moving up and down on your folds.

"You good, darling? he grunted as he pushed himself inside you, no warning. You softly moaned at the sensation, but as you realised he put only his tip in, you braced yourself on the mattress and when he pushed himself just a little bit more, you whined and tears started forming at the corner of your eyes. As he wiped them soflty, he let you adjust to his size but you never quite completely did.

Pain and pleasure hovered over you, heavy mist in the air and breathing. He lifted you up, still bouncing slowly on his cock, holding you close to his chest. It was it you were making love to your demon.. this was exactly what was happening. Slow, lustful, desireful thrusts, moves and touches, soft kisses from your neck to your collarbones, sucking dark spots on your fair soft skin.

You suddenly moved and twitched as he bottomed down, to which he pushed you down even further, feeling how a small bulge was forming in your belly, almost visible.

"Princess, stop moving. I might actually hurt you if you move without warning" he said as he dug his sharp nails into the flesh of your waist, leaving soft bleeding marks on your skin. You whined at the pain but damn... it turned you on so bad, arousal dripping on his balls, from below you as you bounced on him more forcefully, not caring about the pain anymore, which had turned into utmost pleasure.

Hongjoong was all touchy with you, he was like this... maybe because he was longing you how much you were longing to meet him? All of these years you've seen him in your dreams... all of the paintings and stories you've made up of him, all because you wanted to meet the mysterious entity in your dream and... you were over the moon for him. How he fucked you so good, how he took you under his influence, his voice, his fangs, as he dug them suddenly in your neck, getting soft choked moans out of your rapidly rising chest.

Only sloppy sounds could be heard from between the two of you, soft and slow stuttering moves, arching your back with every thrust of his. It's true.. he was basically ramming into you, feeling like he could destroy your insides any moment. But at the same time.. there was some kind of slowness, caring to it, deeply pounding into you but making sure you slowly take every single inch of his length, while he gave you soft kisses. One of his hands found it's way to your breasts, playing with your nipple as he received a whine out of you. You were already close, your head getting dizzier, cloudy with the thought of the dirty things you've done with your... demon.

His hands all over your back, leaving scratches and his lips leaving spots on your skin. This is how fucked up you were.. but you were close to finishing, and as he rammed into you a couple of more times and felt how your core bursted, you creamed on his cock, leaving out moans and cries of arousal, tears falling down your cheeks. He fucked you through your orgasm, overstimulating you. He later came inside your aching and throbbing pussy, slowing down his thrusts and then finally comming to a stop.

"Such a good girl you are... such a good girl for me. Is that right?" he whispered.

Both of your fluids were dripping down your legs and on his thighs as he let you fall slowly on the ruined bed sheets. He could feel... even smell how your blood boiled for him, how aroused you were.

"Everything good, darling?" he said as he wiped down your tears, rubbing your trembling thighs slowly. "Mhm? Are you feeling okay?"

"Uh, yes, Joong. It was incredible... " you said and he gave you a kiss on your forehead.

"You know.. y/n. I've been longing for this moment... for years. Ever since I first appeared in your dreams... but I had to wait until you finally wanted it to happen. Now I'm here, sweetie. I'm here.. I'll stay here forever. You're mine and I'm yours.. remember?" his eyes changed colours, from a deep red that appeared when he pushed you on the bed... to a soft hazel-like colour.

"You can't escape my grip anyways. I already claimed you before inviting me in your life..." he said and hugged you thightly.

"Hongjoong... I've always wanted to meet you.. the mysterious entity haunting, appearing in my dreams. I was so eager to meet that sillhouette... you won't ever understand." you said and gave in, curling up into a ball in his grip.

"Don't worry.. I'm here and I won't ever leave, as I said" he reassured you, stroking your hair slowly and biting your neck again, marking his terittory once again for the night.

[phoenixyfriend]

Did another 'too many links' rec list for reddit

light by loosingletters  - this is probably the best one for what you want

a distant fire is burning by e_va

Sith Killer by Livsy

Post Order 66 Exile AU by Livsy

Celestial Bodies Of The Lonesome Variety (LSD) by Did_you_see_the_light_in_my_heart

Take it from the top and try again by mauvera

there is no death by ashkav

problem dog by vaporeon_ninja

Party at a Sith Dude's House by kakashikrazy256 (the premise includes a convenience marriage)

love is with your brother by Petrichor (Mythmaker)

Sith Lightning, Paperwork, and Other Extreme Sports by DeadStarsRising (includes Anidala but is primarily Anakin & Council)

A Padawan at War (Again) by soft_but_gremlin

Mace Windu Fixes the Timeline... And Breaks it in Whole New Ways by AbsentmindedAuthor98

every planet, every star, every single grain of sand by loosingletters

Fishhooks by yellow_caballero

the massive machinery of hope by Killbothtwins

My Dad the Purge Trooper by Nutella531

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by yellow_caballero

Old Promises by Threebea (Beewaggle)

cheers by gigglesandfreckles

Same Heart, Same Blood by loosingletters

forge the iron in your veins by afearsomecritter (jsaer)

Jedi Shmi AU by MirandaTam

Make a Brand New End by Batsutousai

Declarations by Nny11

Impressions. by outpastthemoat

There is another Skywalker by WabiSabi

No Choir and edge of providence by adiduck

Living Memory by elsa3beth

Anakin Skywalker: If Found Please Return To Obi-Wan Kenobi by PhenomenalWoman

Lost and Found by trysomecats

The Little Jedi by PhenomenalWoman

Shifting Sands by chancecraz

Force of Many Sights by DAsObiQuiet

The Dark Path Lit by Sun and Stars by A_Delicate_Fury

Viridescent Skies by DarthSnug (themikeymonster)

Reprise by Elfpen

Living in Borrowed Time by smug_albatross

Old Man Luke by scarletjedi

Don't Look Back by acuteneurosis

Shih by esama

GAR Requsitions by TessaDoesThings

wilder mind by sheApunk89

Dominoes by meridianpony

Sith Lord Swell by AMournfulHowlInTheNight

ARscbpsup by SecretlyAnonymous

The Care and Feeding of Our Jedi by BitterChocolateStars (background ships present)

ForTheRepublic.mp4 by lesbianpadme

An Abundance of Obi-Wans by The_Last_Kenobi

Ghost of Tatooine by SarcasticSketches (references to past Anidala)

R2-D2 Saves the Galaxy (Okay, so Obi-Wan helps a little) by kj_feybarn  (Jangobi and Anidala are technically happening, but half the fic is from R2’s POV and he just finds that all annoying)

And some self-recs:

Accountant of Theed

Late Nights

 A Really Good Book

They Went to Live on a Farm

Pale, Silent, and Covered in Blood

Ah, So YOU are the Reason I've Got a Headache

Nightmares

Anakin and the Jedi Babies

Journey to the Center of the Galaxy

Parole Officer Fulcrum Steals Three Million Babies

A Witch's Favor

Anakin's DNA Wish

Jango Breaks Into Satine’s House (And Criticizes Her Security) (references to Obitine)

A Saturday Morning Adventure

Big Sis 'Soka

[choicesficwriterscreations]

October Creator of the Month: Tessa-Liam

Please welcome this month’s Creator of the Month: @tessa-liam

Each month, CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers or artists. The writer or artist is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page. Past COTMs can be found here.

Tumblr Blog Name: Tessa-Liam

How do you want to be known on Tumblr? Tessa

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog

Masterlist

1- When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played?

Christmas 2017, I was scrolling FB and saw an ad for Choices featuring The Royal Romance Book 1. I downloaded the app and started reading TRR right away.

2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?

I was hooked on that series and was waiting for a new chapter to release. I was desperate for more and my sister suggested that I try searching Tumblr for fanfiction in 2021.

3- How did you pick your blog name?

Liam was my LI, so I joined his name with mine!

4- Pull up the first post in your archive, and tell us about it!

My very first post was the masterlist to @ao719's series ‘The Invitation’. I found her treasure trove of Liam Rys/TRR stories very quickly! I couldn't get enough!

5- Do you write fanfiction, create fan art, or are you one of those really gifted people who do both?

I write fanfiction. I wish I could draw…the best I can do is create moodboards.

6- How long have you been creating for Choices and for any other fandoms?

I started writing my own stories for Choices pretty much at the same time I found the app. Publishing those stories started with prompting and encouragement from Anitah [@ao719] & Emmy [@txemrn]. I posted my first on October 28, 2022, ‘October Weekend Retreat’. I have also written for ‘Game of Thrones’, ‘Twilight’ & ‘The X-files’. These stories are all published on AO3 with other pseudonyms

7- What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to create for?

My favorite book(s) to read and create for: The Royal Romance Series. Favorite = book 3

8- Share your first Choices fanfic or fan art that you posted with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were creating it today?

I do still like it! The changes I would make…I would add more ‘Would You Rather’ questions and dialogue.😁

9- What is your favorite piece of fiction or art that you created?

My favorite: ‘All is Fair in Love & War’ …and I won an art commission (my center pic) for it from CFWC, by ArtbyAinna (IG).

10- Do you have a fic/art that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to do well but found it could use a little more love?

I am always honoured whenever anyone takes the time to read, comment, or share my stories!🥰

11- If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

Definitely angst❣️ I love writing/drama about a group of characters in a series with various sub plots and relationships over time.

12 - Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?

Yes! My OC Sophie Taylor from Marabelle.

13 - What element of writing/art do you struggle with most?

Writing…Definitely 😏 smut! ….but practice makes perfect, right!? 😉

14 - Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

Oh geez, so much!? My one drive is well stocked! 😂

15 - If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to see your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you show them first?

Yes! My sister. No, not necessarily…I know she reads AO3, cuz she posts there too!

16 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing? Are there any writers that influence you?

Anitah @ao719, my fellow Liam stan definitely inspired me to write TRR stories here on Tumblr. She is a phenomenal writer!💖

17- Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series?

Marabelle …it's still a W.I.P. right now and I have so much story to tell!

18- Do you write original fiction or create non-fandom art?

I have started a framework for a novel and have created storyboards for it.

19- What other hobbies do you have?

I love horses and am learning dressage. Reading, writing, politics.

20: BONUS - tell us anything you’d like (if you want to)

I adore royalty in real life and follow news on William & Kate. They toured Canada in 2016. I was in Victoria, BC on vacation when they were here, but I couldn't get anywhere near that area of the city. 🤷‍♀️

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Cheeto, do you think Wild is chaotic enough to try getting a bokoblin into people clothes? If so, what do you think he would try putting them in?

Hi, taddy <3. this was not a writing prompt. My brain took it as one. By Hylia this WILL be a oneshot. I... ya'll can check it out on Ao3 if you want here. No warnings for this fic other than my own stupidity.

“Wild.”

“Twilight.”

“Wild.” Twilight pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did you manage this? Why would you even...” He let out a frustrated sound, unable to put the situation in front of them into words. He said at last, defeated, “Why?”

“Be-cause, Twi-light,” Wild sang back happily. A huge grin split his face. “It wasn't hard. Bokoblins aren't that vicious, you just gotta be fast. And look, now it's harmless as a puppy.”

The unlucky bokoblin that had become Wild's latest victim stood, stiff and startled, in the center of the abandoned monster camp. Like a shivering dog wearing oversized shoes, it very, very carefully raised a knobby leg to inspect the colorful fabric that poofed out around its waist. When the stiff fabric flared up with the movement, fluttering at the edges, the bokoblin yelped and skittered away. The fabric, of course, followed, and the monster screamed out a horrible, frightened shriek that rang in Twilight's ears. Wild cackled. Behind them, the heroes chuckled and murmured at the sight. They’d planned to take out the straggler as they passed through the monster camp before they settled a little way away for the night. Wild, however, had motioned for them to stay back with his signature “I am up to trouble” expression plastered across his face, and he'd even managed to argue Time down with the assurance that this idea was “super tame, just a little fun, I promise no one gets hurt, and I'll deal with the bokoblin myself.” Twilight just wanted to know why his “tame” ideas somehow included a pink tutu shoved over an unsuspecting monster's head. He didn't even know where Wild could have gotten the article of clothing. “Wild...” Twilight began. “Wild, I don't think that no—”

At that moment, the bokoblin tripped over itself and sprawled into the grass. It paid the heroes and their renewed roaring laughter no mind as it crawled away frantically, beating at the puffed tutu around its waist with its fists. With every hit, the fabric sprung back up into its former shape, frightening the monster further. Finally, the bokoblin went limp on the ground, resigned to its fate. Twilight felt something in his heart twist at the sight of its big, wet pleading eyes turned his way. Even if those eyes belonged to a monster. “Wild,” Twilight said more firmly, over the rest of the heroes' laughter. “This’s cruel. Either kill the poor thing, or let it go. You know better than to torment your enemies. You're a hero—behave like one.”

Some of the heroes stifled their laughter or hid it behind their hands, but Wild didn't even try to act ashamed. He delightedly cackled in Twilight's face and flung his hands out in challenge. “You're welcome to try to take it off yourself, Mr. Hero.”

Twilight stared Wild down, willing him with all of his being to back off before they got into a fight in front of the whole Chain. Wild's smirk didn't waver, nor would it, not now that Wind was whispering excitedly to Warrior, and Legend was murmuring in displeasure to Four and Sky, and money was exchanging hands in the group. Even Twilight's glance to Time for aid was met with an amused shrug and a tip of the head that meant your kid, your problem. From the ground, the bokoblin let out a warbling, miserable little plea.

Twilight, gritting his teeth, was the first to blink. “We are going to talk about this later,” he promised Wild. That finally got a reaction out of Wild—his face paled, and his smile dropped just a little—but Twilight ignored it as he turned to the bokoblin on the ground. It was kicking lamely in an attempt to dislodge the tutu, which was muddy and torn now, no longer a bright fluffy pink, from its legs. At Twilight's approach, however, it turned its attention to him, baring its fanged teeth.

“Alla’ya’ll stand back,” Twilight ordered. He rolled up his sleeves. “Wild, we will be having that talk ‘bout your behavior later. I am very disappointed in you.”

The heroes shouted and the bokoblin squalled as Twilight pounced upon it. When he came away a few minutes later with the tutu clutched in his fist—torn directly in half, since the bokoblin wouldn't cooperate with his efforts to pull the offending piece of clothing over its head—the heroes all hooted and hollered triumphantly. The bokoblin, back in its customary loincloth, scrambled away without a backwards glance into the undergrowth.

Twilight was in no mood to celebrate. Wild, at least, now had the decency to wince at the sight of the sluggishly bleeding scratches on Twilight's arms, even as the rest of the heroes cheered. Twilight flung the ruined tutu into Wild's face, then grumpily stomped off towards the nearest river to clean up. 

[legendary-pink-dot]

Bush Pilot

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Oral sex (f receiving, and lots of it), fingering, semi-public sex, truck backseat shenanigans, seatbelts as restraints, established relationship, fetish/obsession for Frankie's hair, and a bit of masturbation (m)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: A drive to an isolated beach to watch the sunrise, some time to kill before dawn, soft aftermarket seatbelts, and Frankie's superior night vision.

Notes: No use of "Y/N". The inspiration for this one came from a line in my fic Airport Pickup. This fic took FOREVER to finish as I've had very limited writing time lately. Hope you enjoy it. All my love to my magic sluts/cheerleaders who don't have to hear my whining about this fic anymore yay: @imalrightllama @basicoccult @exquisiteserotonin @youandmeand5bucks @arcanefox207 @sparklefarts38 @blueheat1-blog1 @redhotkitchen

You wake up to a bump in the road and an indigo sky. Not midnight dark anymore, but not quite twilight yet either. The dashboard clock reads 4:27 AM and you know it's correct because this is Frankie's truck, and everything about it has been meticulously maintained. Its owner is particular that way.

Frankie notices you stir and twines his hand into yours, resting it against your thigh, his fingers squeezing gently. "Hey, perfect timing. Almost there."

"Sorry, fell asleep. I hate mornings." You crack open the passenger window, breathing in the crisp pre-dawn air. A bracing whiff of ocean salt fills your senses as you start to rouse.

"I know. It'll be worth it, cariño, promise. The sunrises are amazing here."

Another 20 minutes on this quiet road -- nobody else out driving at this hour -- until Frankie slowly rolls the truck to a stop and parks. You get out and stretch your tired limbs.

No streetlights here, no moon, and the stars are mostly washed out at this hour, but you can hear the surf just steps away, lightly lapping at a shore that you can't see. You curse your crappy night vision, knowing that Frankie has the edge in seeing through dim lighting, with all the night flying and navigation he's done over his years in the service.

"We still have some time before the sunrise," Frankie says, giving you a hug and feeling you shiver. You sigh into his hug, and he rests his chin on the top of your head for a minute or two. "Come on, let's wait inside. I've got blankets in the back seat."

You both climb into the back seat of the truck, and he unfolds a crazy-looking 1970s-style afghan.

"Where did you get this thing? Standard military issue?"

"Don't be mean," Frankie laughs, wrapping the blanket around you both and snuggling in. "My abuela made it for me a long time ago."

"Does she know it's your truck sex blanket?"

Frankie shuffles closer, sliding a hand up your chest and around your neck to pull your face close. "I've never used it for that." He kisses a whisper against your mouth. "Yet."

As you make out, slow and sweet, Frankie presses you further into the corner of the seat until you feel something dig into your side. It's the shoulder seatbelt and as you push it out of the way, you're surprised at how soft and silky it feels, like some luxury fabric instead of an industrial strip of webbing, and you stroke it with your hand.

"Aftermarket belts," Frankie says, watching you with a pleased expression. "The stock ones were too scratchy and uncomfortable."

"Too scratchy? That sounds like a made-up problem."

Frankie smirks. "I like my passengers to be comfortable." He slides a hand slowly down your body, his knuckles gently tracing your curves, his palm coming to rest over your center, already heated from the make-out session. "Would you like me to make you more comfortable?"

"Mmmm, yes please," you purr, kissing him more forcefully this time, nipping his lips and searching for his tongue with yours. You find it, tangle with it, suck it into your mouth, so focused on the kiss that you don't even notice he's holding your forearm and has gently wrapped the webbing of the shoulder belt around it twice.

He pauses, breaking the kiss and allowing you a second to check what he's doing. "Is this okay?"

"Very okay," you breathe against his mouth, unsure exactly what he'll do to you once you're restrained but eager to find out. He'd discovered early on in your relationship that restraints were something you liked, and he loved to indulge you. "Keep going."

--click--

Frankie smiles as he slots the latch into the seatbelt buckle and locks it into place.

The webbing is soft against your skin, and a little loose when you give it an experimental tug. "Tighter," you rasp, excitement growing fast. He adjusts the tension with the built-in clip until it's perfect for you.

You snake your free hand into his hair, already desperate to touch what you can and desperate to get your mouth on his again. He allows you to tug on his curls as you kiss, but only for a moment. His hand grabs your free forearm, forcefully this time, and pins it to the back of the seat.

"None of that," he tuts gently, wrapping the other side's shoulder belt around it. "We came here to see the sunrise, remember? Don't have much time."

--click--

"But Frankie..." you whine, testing the pull of the seatbelts and finding no slack. "I wanna feel you."

What was the line between obsession and fetish? It was something you often wondered about. His hair, his medium-brown hair that loosely curled and held shimmering flecks of silver, drove you absolutely mad. Every time you met up the very first thing you did was bury your fingers in it, the tips of the curls spiky on your palms, feeding some sort of physiochemical need you couldn't name and didn't really care to. Not being able to sate that need in this moment made you physically ache.

The seatbelt was wrapped around your forearm with the intention to let you slip out of it easily enough if you had to. But did you want to? Cravings are strong, but the deliciousness of prolonging the ache even stronger, and at this moment you don't know which you want more. The anticipation never felt so good.

Frankie senses your turmoil. He sits back and makes eye contact in the growing light, and runs a hand slowly through his hair. He even plumps the curls at his nape and fluffs one long curl that's fallen over his forehead, smiling innocently. You know he can see your fingers twitching. Bastard.

"Something wrong, cariño?" he smirks, and you can't hold back a whimper as you feel yourself clench around absolutely nothing.

"Francisco, you're a fucking menace."

"I know, I know," he soothes. "And you love it, don't you?" He leans forward and shakes his hair right into your face, but before you can swear at him some more, his curls are gently stroking your collarbone that's naked and exposed by your low-cut sundress. You whimper again, this time a pathetically needy sound, and he takes pity on you and caresses his hair over your bound forearms and hands, the ache in your fingers abating from finally, finally reaching some kind of goal.

"There you go, that's it," croons Frankie, kissing your skin swelling out between the webbing, moving down your arm and up to your shoulder. "Just a taste for you. More later. I want mine now."

In a single movement he hikes up the hem of your sundress with one hand and lifts your hip, and slides the other hand down the back of your underwear to pull them down your legs and off. Gripping a bare ankle in each hand, he spreads your legs as wide as he knows is comfortable for you. You feel split open, exposed and excited, and he's barely touched you yet.

The light is so dim that his eyes are in shadow for you, but you know they're wide and dark as his gaze takes you in, his face so close to your center you can feel his breath on your inner thighs.

"Can you see enough to work down there?"

"Of course," says Frankie, sounding almost insulted as he gently shifts your hips to pull you closer to his mouth. "I'm used to flying before sunrise. You know, I can land almost anywhere, in any terrain, because..."

You groan, knowing what's coming. "No, please... no aviation jokes..."

"...I'm a certified bush pilot." He snickers into your thigh, kissing it hard to try to mask his laughter.

"Bush pilot, really? That better not be a complaint about my wild foliage or something."

One of the things he had made clear early in your relationship, in his quiet and unassuming way, was that your grooming habits and preferences were none of his damn business. A refreshing attitude after years of dating men who had lots of unsolicited and unwanted opinions about your pubic hair and how they wanted you to maintain it. As if it existed just for them. Fuck that. Frankie never tried to change you -- he simply adapted to whatever was. One of the reasons why you adored him.

"Oh no, cariño," Frankie's voice drops deep in that way you know he's genuinely serious. "I fucking love your bush." He lowers his face to your mound and gently tugs a few hairs between his teeth. You hiss at the prickly feeling, sharp but not painful, slipping into a loud cry as he dives his tongue deep into your entrance to eagerly prove his point.

You'd never been with someone who loved pussy eating as much as him. Maybe it mirrored your obsession-sorta-fetish for his hair. Impeccable sexual compatibility, you and Frankie.

It's different each time, and this extra-early morning he explores every fold with his tongue, his lips, his teeth, scratching the surfaces and then delving deeper. He doesn't even need to look up at you to know that your eyes are shut despite the dark and that you're lost in feeling.

Every change in your breathing, the tenor and pitch of your sighs and moans, the little wiggle of your hips when his tongue flicks here instead of there. Those are the cues he looks for and the only ones he needs, and he quickly takes you as high as you can go and stays with you all the way back down.

Frankie is relentless, barely giving you time to recover before latching back onto your clit, nudging you past your overstimulation, somehow knowing just how much extra you can take. He always knows.

You barely catch your breath before he's absolutely devouring you again, lightly capturing your folds between his teeth and exploring each one as if he's kissing your mouth for the first time, moving his head to approach your center from every possible angle from his confined position and adjusting his hold on your thighs to match.

He gently slides a thick finger inside you. The stretch is a lot, it always is with him, and he lets you adjust to it before adding a second finger, and presses them as far up as they'll go, his callused fingertips teasing the edge of your most sensitive spot.

Your hips start to move of their own accord but his free hand holds you down as he keeps his fingers inside you right where they are, demanding you concentrate on feeling the pressure and stretch instead of seeking motion.

From above he almost chews on your clit, which you never considered to be a thing you'd like but you are suddenly now forever feral for, and you wiggle your hips as much as you can, desperate to get him exactly where you need him most, giving only one fleeting thought to anyone else parked at the end of this road who might be hearing your loud moans right now.

With his tongue and his fingers he holds you in that sweet limbo state, your conscious mind wanting it to go on forever but your body craving release. You can't choose which one you want more, until you see the first rays of the sun peek out over the horizon and it distracts your mind just enough for your body to fall over the crest again, louder and more intense this time, gushing and squeezing and fluttering around his fingers until he slowly pulls them out.

You were so blissed out that you never noticed Frankie had been pressing and rubbing his crotch against the floor, the seat, whatever he could find while he was eating you out. The back seat of the truck is quickly filling with light and you watch him unzip his jeans just enough to pull out his cock, hard and leaking.

If you weren't so zoned out, if he just gave you a few minutes to recover, you'd be happy to help him, but he's too impatient and fucks his fist with sloppy motions. It's a hypnotic sight, the pinkish tip peeking out between his thick fingers and then disappearing for a second in a desperate rhythm, and you slide your hands free from the seatbelts just in time to grab his hair and give the curls a hard pull, seconds before he comes in hot spurts across your thighs and swollen cunt, choking out a cry that again made you glad he had brought you to this beach so early in the day.

Thankfully, he didn't get any on the blanket. You shake it out and wrap it around both of you as he snuggles up beside you on the seat.

"Good?"

"Good. Very good."

"Yeah."

Your breaths gradually slow as you watch the fireball in the sky inch higher, your hand mindlessly finding his hair and repeatedly twisting a curl around your finger.

The truck cab finally fills with full daylight, showing you an inviting and isolated strip of beach, and no other vehicles. Frankie was right -- it was worth getting up early for this sunrise. And it was amazing.

"Frankie?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Tell me more about what it takes to be a bush pilot."

[theoutcastwrites]

Blood of My Blood - Dainsleif x Reader

Dainsleif doesn't tell you that when he became a monster himself, his brother wasn't there to soothe him anymore.

A/N: Happy Halloween tosses vague drabble about sibling angst disguised as an x reader fic into your trick or treat bag now get off my porch

"Tell me about the past?"

Dainsleif hesitates. Much of his memory has faded over the years but he supposes there is still something he can share; if one day his mind fully gives in to erosion, you will remain to keep his memory alive.

"As a young boy, I was quite the scaredy cat," he begins. Already, your lips are pulled into a smile as you no doubt imagine a tiny Dain - not yet the knight he was destined to become. "Even though our nation saw no sunlight and the people found comfort in the dark, I was afraid of it. Our alchemists would bring to life radiant plants that lit up the streets; I kept one such plant in my bedroom."

"Did it comfort you?"

Dainsleif nods. However, he doesn't tell you that it was his brother who would comfort him most of all. That on sleepless nights, it was not that bright plant that would keep his fears at bay, but his brother - sweet, caring brother who promised to keep the monsters away, who would pull Dainsleif into his arms and whisper old stories into his ear until Dainsleif fell asleep.

Dainsleif doesn't tell you that when he became a monster himself, his brother wasn't there to soothe him anymore.

The question tumbles from your mouth all too soon, "do you remember anything else?"

Dainsleif shakes his head on your lap. While his mind fights desperately against the curse which eats away at him, he can't think of anything else. Had you asked this question five, ten years ago, perhaps he would've told you a story from childhood - or one from his youth, when he had yet to become the glorious Twilight Sword.

And perhaps one day, before it's too late, he'll tell you about his brother; the blood of his blood, his past idol, the object of his hatred. But now, as your fingers card through his hair in the quietude of your bedroom, Dainsleif thinks, no. It's too soon. They don't need to know.

"Most of my memories of that time have faded," he murmurs in a soft, apologetic tone. "I'm sorry. I make for a poor storyteller."

Far, far too soon; Dainsleif cannot tell you that all of his most vivid memories are centered around his brother. That, sometimes, he lies awake at night, fervently repeating his name like a prayer: Vedrfolnir, Vedrfolnir, Vedrfolnir. That it is laced with so much anger it catches Dainsleif off guard - because he had never been so angry with his brother before, no, never his dearest brother. That even after five hundred years, he can't bring himself to accept the truth.

Vedrfolnir, as he remembered him, had died long before the cataclysm occurred. But he's alive in Dainsleif's mind - kneeling by his childhood bed and caressing his hair, whispering, "no one will lay a hand on you. I will protect you with everything I have."

Dainsleif shifts a little.

"It's not your fault," you say, earnest and gentle, "not that day, nor the curse. None of it."

He can't blame you for thinking that way; maybe you're right, to some degree. Maybe Dainsleif couldn't have prevented the destruction of Khaenri'ah by himself. But it was brought about by someone with his eyes, and for that alone he will feel forever guilty.

[fansplaining]

Episode 218: The Money Question 3: Books???

Following previous installments on the thorny intersections of money and fanfiction, Episode 218, “The Money Question 3: Books???” tackles the recent debacle around people illegally selling bound copies of others’ fic, which has mostly centered on mega-popular Dramione works. Jumping off from Elizabeth’s WIRED article on the subject—which ties the practice to the current pull-to-publish wave as well as the Twilight fan-run presses of the early 2010s—Elizabeth and Flourish discuss the context collapse when a fic “breaches containment,” double standards in attitudes towards money and various fan practices, and, for likely the 1,000th time on this podcast, what exactly “fair use” means. 

Click through to our site to listen or read a full transcript!

[hollow-lime-green]

I have just DEVOURED the last chap of 2scorc and what can I say.

WHAT CAN I SAY.

I'm in love. I have been screaming about it nonstop with my friend because this fic is just so good.

The foreshadowing. THE FUCKING META FORESHADOWING. I die.

Legit crying in the club during satoru's phone call. Poor boy.

Also I love how you write dialogues both in terms of words and in terms of layout. Extremely pleasant to read, chef's kiss.

I will leave a comment once a)I become more coherent and b)I'll finish re-reading the whole thing

Just fyi I'm now addicted to this verse and I cannot wait to see what you have in store for part 3, your jujutsu world building and lore is immaculate.

I'm in tears and broken by your writing, 10/10 would recommend (I have never forwarded a fanfic so fast in my life)

aaaaaa thank you so much <3

there's so many little breadcrumbs in previous chapters that lead to the hansel and gretel style witch cottage that is this nightmare of an ending (for Satoru, anyway :) )

the formatting has been particularly fun in this fic, and i wanted to pull back the curtain a little bit. the text alignment in this chapter in particular is a way to represent where the thoughts are coming from, for Satoru. so when you see a right-align, whether it's dialogue or an intrusive thought of his, it's kind of meant to signal hostility. center-aligns are complicated and unsure. and then left-aligns are standard character stuff. it's a similar thing for Suguru's dreams in previous chapters.

i've yapped a little bit about it here, but this is another inspiration i took from Murakami's Kafka on the Shore. (the other inspiration being the mission formatting in ch. 12).

when i write stuff like this, there's always a little voice in the back of my head going like 'oh god is this cringe' and 'will they think i'm taking myself way too seriously' etc etc. but.

a.) fanfiction is exactly the place for this semi-cheesy meta poem-prose fusion bullshit. b.) i hope no one is at risk of thinking that the twilight-rebecca black friday-minecraft parody song fanfic takes itself too seriously.

anyway! i am so glad you liked it, and it always super tickles me to hear about you guys talking about it with your friends :) I talk about writing this fanfic to my irl friends with the same energy of spraying an unsuspecting sunbather with a high-powered SuperSoaker™. and i get about the response that you'd expect, but I think they prefer it to me explaining the specific details of vore (more complicated than you would think).

i've got so much left for part 3, especially hyperspecfic jujutsu worldbuilding bullshit that we've been building up to since domains. in particular, we're gonna get really into Suguru's technique, barrier techniques, and RCT. we're gonna see clan politics, higher-ups, and of course, Satoru's taste in fanfiction.

[im-ovulating]

Hello!! I'm fairly new to the twilight fandom and your blog is one of the bests i've ever seen so far! So, if you're comfortable/not buzy, could you please do the volturi kings (separated or poly, both are fine!!) reacting to the reader being a goth, i imagined since they're ancient beings, the goths that invaded the Roman Empire would be the first thing coming to mind lol

Once again, your blog is definitely a favorite now, so i might just give myself a name for future requests, i think 🦇 would be fine if no one's using it :)

Have a good morning, afternoon or/and evening!

-🦇

(A/n: Stawppppp you're makin me blushhh🙈 I definitely recommend @kiiwiigii (her kinktober is 🥵 and her fluff fics will literally rot your teeth) and (she doesn't write often, but she has an AMAZING NSFW mini series called Uses of a Secretarial Desk👀:) @alecvolturi)

(A/n: I went with headcanons. I hope that's okay with you!)

(A/n: Also- It's a bit difficult for me to write the kings since I personally don't vibe w/ em, so I hope you like it😭😅)

Word Count: -

Summary: Request above

Warnings: None

Age Rating: None

Volturi Kings x Gothic! GN! Reader

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

General:

Firstly, the Volturi are known art lovers so while the Visigoth sacking Rome might be what the word is acquitted to off the top of their heads, they would probably attune it moreso to the gothic art style of the mid 12th - 16th centuries

This being said, gothic makeup is VASTLY different from the painted arches and quatrelobes of the art period

You'll definitely have some explaining to do

You'll have to excuse them. They're not invested in human fads and expressionistic styles

Now on to the individual reactions/thoughts:

Aro:

He definitely finds your style interesting

Not in a judgmental aunt "interesting...😒" but an intrigued interest

He likes to watch you do your makeup, letting out the occasional amused "hm" when you do something unconventional with your look (grey contour, painting your neck black, extreme eyeliner, thin angled brows, etc.)

As for the music?

Doesn't really get it but at the same time does? Idk how to explain my thought process

He basically vibes with the lyrics and meaning but sometimes the instrumentals are hit or miss

He really enjoys the instrumentals that are more spooky/calm to the ones that go harder

Overall, if you're happy, who's he to say anything?

Caius:

Do you want fanon or accurate?😅

Fanon:

He might give you a strange look or cock an eyebrow when you go all out with your look but he silently appreciates how much effort it takes to perfect it

If he doesn't like the song playing, he'll either grab your phone and skip it or just leave the room

Canon:

This man is throwing shade left, right, and center lol

It /is/ all in good fun though

He's a bitch, you knew that from your first meeting

"Are you sure that's how you want to go out today?"

"Interesting attire, dear... *side eye*"

He doesnt hate it, don't get him wrong

He just finds it... odd

Out of all the kings, he's probably the most art geek of them all and is stuck on the name of your style

"Goth? That is not gothic, pet... *cue middle ages art speech*"

Openly criticizes the music

Either bans it from being played around him or loudly complains about it

Marcus:

Is the most vocal about your appearance

Constantly praising how you look that day

He got a second chance at his life partner. He's gonna be damned if he doesn't appreciate everything about you even down to the barely-different-who-is-he-kidding-they're-the-same-as-the-ones-you-already-own shoes that you just bought and are excited about

It's not even him lying either

He GENUINELY loves your look, simoyl for the fact that 1) he has seen you get ready... that takes skill and 2) you clearly enjoy the style and seeing you confident and secure in yourself is enough for him

He can take or leave the music, but he will keep that to himself until he dies (get it? Bc he's immortal?)

[therealvinelle]

I love the Agatha Christie question!

Who are your HP/Twilight faves in the Christie universe? (Who’s the opportunist who knows too much and dies for it? Who’s the conman killer who courts the girl to avoid suspicion? Who’s just trying to take a holiday and gets caught-up in a murder? Who are the dynamic mystery-solving duo who realize they are in love by the end of the novel? etc.).

I mean, that is kind of what The Man Who Would Be King (and secret fic) (both cowritten with @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin) have already become. We have our murder victim, Alphard, a very rich man with a colorful family, and possibly his sister, we have our unlikely detectives in Voldemort, Lily Potter, and Alphard himself. It may not be the center of the story but it's a large part of it.

In other words my answer for Harry Potter would somehow spoil all my present and future fics so I won't.

As for the Twilight version...

I vote we do it wealthy dysfunctional family style, it's most natural.

A patriarch is poisoned

Carlisle Cullen, a very wealthy man with powerful enemies, nonetheless dear to those around him and blessed with more friends than most, is found dead in his office one morning. Cause of death? Murder.

The police, caught on the detail that Dr. Cullen was a vampire and vampires are real, what the fuck is this on the doctor's autopsy table and is he going to wake up again and drink all our blood?, are little use in the investigation. Scotland Yard is soon brought in, and using Chief Swan's connections with the family they get a better picture of Dr. Cullen's life.

His family wasn't looking to inherit him anytime soon, as he was immortal. None of them were having money troubles however, all were independently wealthy.

He had made enemies of a thousand-year-old clan of powerful vampires, who on hearing that his murder is being investigated like this get very upset. Supposedly the victim lived with them in his youth (and inspector Craddock cries when he learns the timeline for this murder goes back to the 1600s. Are they going to have to bring historians in on this murder??), he might have known something

Oh what's that? The victim had a whole network of friends across the globe, who are all killers, and he knew everyone's secrets? ... do we have the budget to investigate this?

The victim was also living next to a tribe of magical shapeshifting wolves evolved specifically to kill his kind. They liked him best and had a line in their treaty that "he dies last". Not sure what to do with this information

Rosalie Hale missing person case from 1933 solved: Carlisle Cullen adopted her. Was she recognised, did someone piece it together, and was Carlisle killed in retribution?

The victim lived a fake life of fake papers. Could be important, except it's the most normal thing about this case.

The police wonder how this man didn't get murdered sooner, and are stretched so thin the investigation is going slowly.

So, Renesmee gets to be our plucky detective du jour, as she decides to see if she can help. Surely there is no harm in her poking around, and she's well liked around the vampire world so there might be answers she can get that human police can't, partly because policemen keep getting eaten.

She slowly narrows it down to the horrible realization that it was someone in the family, and she learns terrible things.

Jasper Hale wasn't Jasper Hale at all! He was a friend of Jasper's in the newborn army who wanted a new life, and who in the wake of Jasper's suden and unexpected death assumed his identity. He had Peter bite his entire face so he'd be scarred like Jasper had been, and vouch for this blond vampire most definitely being Jasper Hale. Peter later had to die because he Knew Too Much, and so did Charlotte, regrettably. Fake Jasper did however not kill Carlisle.

Edward seems a prime suspect, he is an angry and resentful young man who acts out. Everyone thinks he did it, and that Bella should certainly marry Jacob, the safer option. Much upheaval is had, however, once Renesmee is able to clear Edward's name and he meaningfully links arms with Bella. They sail off into the sunset with their inheritance.

Rosalie is a beautiful, cold, intimidating woman, the femme fatale sort who's surely conniving. It's a bit of a mystery why she married that poor fool Emmett, but it's clear to all she doesn't love him. No clear motive from her, other than the money she would inherit, but she's just so suspicious. Her alibi is ambiguous, she claims she was with Esme and Emmett but what if Esme and Emmett are lying to protect their daughter and wife? Superintendent Battle wonders about that.

Renesmee is at a loss.

And then she realizes that it's not Rosalie who acts like she doesn't love Emmett, it's Emmett who acts like he doesn't love her! And Esme's grieving widow act is just that, it's an act!

Renesmee realizes that Emmett and Esme are lovers, and killed Carlisle together. Esme committed it while Emmett tricked Rosalie into giving her an alibi. Renesmee realizes this once she has a "But Rosalie couldn't have seen Esme from that angle!" moment.

The plan was too pin Rosalie for the murder, see her hanged, and then in due time the mourning widowers would marry, happily entitled to all the money they couldn't have touched if they'd divorced. Also Rosalie was Catholic so she wouldn't have agreed to a divorce.

The two lovers are confronted, and Esme pulls out a tiny pearl-studded gun from her shoe, says "We tried, my love. I regret nothing" before shooting first Emmett, then herself.