#drawing is still rare and ugh painful may be too strong word but that's the best I have

[letitflytoapril]

Meve my beloved

#i see a queen with a sword i fall in love #thats simple like that #queen meve #drawing is still rare and ugh painful may be too strong word but that's the best I have #but sometimes i still remember how much i love it and that was on of this moments #anyway #here is my wife's cousin

[justagirlsearchingforamuse]

A/N: So here is my first twd and first Negan smut, I posted this on ao3 where I will take requests and the link will be somewhere around here but I hope you guys enjoy and have a good filthy fucking time, lol.

The sound of heavy footsteps could be heard in the empty store covered and coated with dust, serene silence had filled the entire store long ago and left it untouched and latex was a scent that remained strong in the store. His eager forest green eyes darted around the store as so many things caught his interest, so many things to play with, so many ways to punish you and the rest of his lovely wives. He had a few other men with him like always, grumpy and always seen as no shit taken kinda guys but with this trip, they couldn't stop grinning and staring at everything that the store had. "Mmh, so whaddya' think guys ... should I pick up a few toys for my girls? ... Give them something to fuck themselves with whilst I'm gone." Negan chuckled devilishly to himself as he crouched down in front of a tall shelf full of many phallic-shaped toys that were now covered in large amounts of dust. A wide box with many smaller yet more pleasurable toys lied in the box, picking up one of the toys, he rubs the dust off of the small silver vibrator, grinning devilishly at the small toy he chuckles. This will be perfect. That's all that Negan thinks of with a sly grin on his lips, he slips it into his back pockets before picking up the dusty old box of toys and motions one of his men over. "Here, take this to my truck, I just wanna have a look around ... see whatever the fuck there is to see," Negan announced, handing the large man the dusty box.

"Of course, boss ...", the man answered carrying the decently sized box out into the driveway, obeying his commands sheepishly almost with a cheesy grin at the mere sight of anything shaped like a penis. Negan grins to himself before sluggishly moving his way towards the opposite end of the store, eager to see what else the untouched store had to offer him. An almost genuine grin always rested upon his lips. But my, my, my did he have some plans for you being his latest wife that he took under his wing. You had taken your time with Negan, you knew he had his eyes on you for quite a while but you weren't going to marry him without knowing something about him, you spent a little while getting to know him. You went on dates here and there even though a good portion of those dates were just you guys driving away from the Saviors and having lunch somewhere else. Or Negan and you spend almost all day in his bedroom, no fucking, no weapons, no zombies just two people in baggy clothes and not a fuck to give in the world as you guys either talked or watched movies. Honestly, you had made your decision when he started opening up to you more or when he started to smile more around you, or when he just seemed lighter and more alive. You thought things might be different. Now here you are, hanging out with one of his wives, a glass of water for you as you both talked about your past lives before hell had became reality. You both relaxed on the couch, she grinned widely at your past with more than one of his wives always holding a glass of wine, honestly, you weren't a big fan of alcohol especially since you didn't have the best past. One dealing with alcoholism and it was your past that you kept buried.

The wives weren't that bad at least not most of them, sure some of them gave you the side-eye or would bump into you purposefully but you weren't big on conflict or drawing attention to yourself so nothing ever came of it. You take a sip of your water, unaware of the mischief that Negan has in store for you and only you alone. Sighing to yourself as one of Negan's wives rambles on and on to you about one of her stupid shitty exes, you can't help but feel Negan slip and slither his way into your mind. You thought about when he would be back, even wondering if he was safe, licking your lips a sigh soon falls from them before you see the wide black doors swing open and there is your husband, Negan. He's grinning widely, forcing it on a little too much as he comes in a tall yet decent sized box, immediately almost everyone's minds wondered what was in the box. "Hey, ladies ...! As you know I always keep my promises and I promised to bring my lovely wives something that they'd enjoy. Just a little token of my appreciation for ya'll ..." Negan exclaims excitedly, moving and rubbing his hands together as the poor prisoner who had to carry it had set it down, opening the box and you could hear glass clinking together. Ugh, alcohol. You immediately rolled your eyes, sighing to yourself before thinking of maybe snagging a bottle of something in case of emergencies, you knew that Negan and mostly everyone there loved alcohol. It's not that you didn't like alcohol especially since you found yourself drinking more often than not due to stress but you just didn't want to acquire a habit that you couldn't get freed of. You watched as all the girls got up to go see what was in the box and the excitement that you could feel in the room as they all began to raid the box for alcohol.

You remained seated on the couch with a glass of water, sighing to yourself before taking a sip, thinking to yourself about your past for a few moments making you swallow your water deeply at the painful memories. "Why don't you go and grab a bottle before they steal it all ...? Oh, my bad ... you know starting to get forgetful, you rarely drink and even then you always complain about how bad it smells ..." Negan chuckles to himself, grinning at you eagerly as he couldn't stop thinking about the small pocket vibrator in his back pocket, all he had to do was do a little convincing and maybe you'd agree to it. You nearly jumped at his sudden appearance, you chuckle at his words before resting a hand upon your chest as you couldn't stop yourself from grinning in front of Negan. He is standing right beside the couch, right next to your body, you sigh deeply before finally responding. " ... I don't have a favorite ... I mean ... eh, I'll tell you more about it as time goes on and if we're still standing. Also, wanted to cut back a bit on my drinking, ya know?" You respond, holding a now empty glass in the palm of your hands, both of your eyes meet for a few moments and you can sense the lust, the eagerness that darkened his eyes. "Yeah, but since you're not doing anything, darling ... I wanted to talk with you in my room, that's if you don't want to sit here and just drink water ..." Negan snickered, taking your hand into his own before you sighed deeply and got up from the couch, his hand still intertwined with yours. You both walk out of the room, the women almost done searching for their preferred bottle of alcohol, his bedroom was a door or 2 down from that room. He opens the door to his bedroom for you with a wide grin resting upon his lips, you enter his bedroom which was neat as always which you always appreciated. "So ... what did you want to talk about? ... Is it good or bad?" You ask, crossing your arms as you couldn't deny that always on edge feeling that stuck like gum at the bottom of your shoes. He chuckles at your question, he licks his lips before sitting down on the bed, rubbing his chin he can't help but like how smart you are, how you question his intentions.

"Awe, darling you always keep yourself on your toes, don't ya? ... I have a very special gift for you, my darling ... it may be small but it does plenty of fucking damage." He answers, a smirk curling onto the sides of his lips, you can sense the mischief in his expression and you expect it to be something that would embarrass you but it also left you eager to find out what it was. "What are you bringing Dwight to fuck me ...? Cause you already know my thoughts on that, love." You chuckle, rolling your eyes with a devilish grin curling onto your lips, Negan couldn't stop himself from chuckling before putting a hand on his chest. "Oh, darling ... aren't you able to murder people with your words? But that's not it, my dear wife ... I'll show you it, I think you'll enjoy it. A lot." Negan chuckles, stopping himself from nearly bursting into laughter at your words, he digs his hand through his pocket and pulls out the small silver bullet vibrator. He then pulls out the remote control he found scavenging through the store, you stare at the silver toy in the palm of his hands for a few moments before biting your lips. "I ... we can use it in the bedroom ... you don't have to ask me twice, ha. I'll enjoy this gift, Negan ... thank you, love." You say, trying to hide the smile that curled onto your lips, you sit beside him and reach out to take it from the palm of his hand before he balls his hand up into a fist. "Ah, ah, ah~ ...! Not yet, my darling ... you must know that I want to do so much more than just use this in the bedroom. ... If anything, I've been thinking of all the ways I could use this little fuckin' toy on you outside of the bedroom." Negan confesses, a smirk resting upon his lips as your mouth becomes agape at the idea that he just explained to you.

"But ... I don't know if I'll be able to handle it. I just have never done something like that, I mean that sounds like it can be so fucking embarrassing. Is that what you want to do? Embarrass me?" You exclaim, your cheeks now a rosy red and your lips pursed together. Negan chuckles before moving his hand onto your exposed thigh, you can feel your stomach flutter with butterflies as you can already see it. You can see you making a fool out of yourself, you can see yourself being branded in the eyes of some as a slut or a whore because of this idea. It mortifies you. "Come on, darling ... you know if things get too messy or too embarrassing I'll drag you off to my bedroom and make it up to you, love. It'll just be for 10 minutes, I wanna see how you handle it. Still, we don't have to if you're not keen on that idea." Negan purrs in your ear, you can feel your body shudder at the lewd and sultriness that drips off of every word, you take in a breath as you can feel his hand travel even higher. Licking your lips, you can feel your cheeks become even hotter and your body is surrendering to all of his charms and you can't stop yourself from being interested in the idea, you can't stop yourself from wanting to see how it plays out. " ... I'm interested in it. But you better keep your promise, if things get too embarrassing or if I draw too much attention then drag me out of there." You exclaim, grasping at his infamous leather jacket and you turn your attention towards him, you could see and just sense the lust and the arousal that darkened his eyes, that influenced his body. He chuckles as his devilish grin grows even wider, he licks his lips before burying his face into your neck, sucking and nipping at the smooth skin.

"Mmh ..." You groan, your fingers tangle themselves in his air and you can feel his hand press against the hem of your panties, igniting this spark of arousal that had you gasping his name lowly. You feel his fingers pull and tug at the waistband of your panties as he slowly pulls them down to your ankles, he then takes the slim and short toy and spreads your legs apart. You can't help but shiver and shudder at the cold feeling of the metal entering you, your walls cling to the slender toy and you can feel Negan's hands pull your panties back up onto your waist. He pulls away from your neck, before pressing a sloppy yet messy kiss against your lips, he savors the messy aspect of the kiss as you can feel his tongue try and pry your lips apart. You grin into the kiss before pulling away shyly, your eyes dart away from his lustful ones, your hands rest themselves on his shoulders. "Come on, let's see how this goes, love." You shyly say, getting up from the bed as you straighten your skirt out, you can feel every hair on the surface of your skin stand tall and your nerves become more visible. Boy, did he make a fool out of you, God the first 5 minutes were mortifying.

You were 5 minutes into it and you already felt your legs were numb, your thighs were soaked and dripping with your juices that struggled to stay in your underwear, your entire body was throbbing and aching with demand. Biting your bottom lip, you found yourself on the balcony where Negan announces whatever he needs to tell the community, you felt the toy vibrate erratically and strongly inside of you causing you to bite your tongue hard. Everyone had given you weird looks, you could barely contain yourself and you were completely redfaced, gripping the railing you were panting heavily as Negan had stood right beside you, shit-eating grin widely on his lips. Him enjoying this was an understatement, fuck, he loved seeing you struggle to contain your filthy fucking urges, he loved hearing those low moans that you let slip when no one else was around. But most of all he loved when you came, how your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, and how your legs shook before an audible groan slipped from your lips, he's surprised at how much control he has over himself. He's surprised he hasn't bent you over yet and fucked you hard, oh wait he might do just that. "Negan ... please ... oh fuck ... turn it down, please ...!" You whimpered, leaning against the railing before a moan was pried from your lips at the feeling of the vibrations becoming even stronger. You felt your body weaken and give in to those strong jolts of ecstasy that traveled all over your entire body, leaving it aching and begging for more. "Not yet, darling ... do you know how fucking hot you are right now? I'm surprised I haven't done this sooner, babygirl. I bet you're just so fucking wet because of a stupid fucking toy, aren't you, darling?" Negan chuckles, his words whispered in your ears as not to alert the guards who remained below you both. Biting your bottom lip, you just want him inside of you, you want to feel his cock throbbing in you, you want to feel his hot cum fill your insides. "P-Please ... I need you so fucking bad, love ..." You whine, clutching at his jacket once again, your eyes pleading desperately with his own, smirking devilishly at you, he grabs you by your chin with greedy eyes. "Beg for it, darlin' ... show me how much you want me to fuck that tight little pussy of yours ..." Negan purrs in your ear, his other hand feeling up your trembling body as you gnawed at your lips, hating him for teasing you even more. "I swear to fucking god, Negan ... please ... give it to me." You whispered, tugging even harder at his leather jacket before you greedily devour his lips, his large slender hands cup your cheeks as he grins into your lips, letting a deep groan slip in between your lips.

"Mmh, darlin' ... show me how much you want it. Get on your knees, baby ... worship my cock and give me a reason to fuck you until you're beggin' for more." Negan chuckles, licking his lips as you waste no time in getting on your knees as your fingers grope and rub against the tall bulge in his jeans. "You better keep your word ..." You mutter beneath your breath as you unzip his jeans, you can hear low and distant snickers from down below, making you nearly roll your eyes at the thought that they were listening. Negan didn't care. No, he didn't give a fuck. As long as they did their damn jobs, everything is gonna be peachy. You can feel his hand cradling the back of your head as you pull his boxers down as well, his thick meaty erection sprang forth, leaking and eager for your warm touch. "Go on ... I'm startin' to get a bit impatient, darlin' ..." Negan coos, a devilish smile planted on his lips before that smile fades away into a long satisfying groan leaving his lips at the new yet familiar warmth wrapped around the head of his cock. Fuck. You lightly suck on the head of his throbbing cock, you wrap your hand firmly around his meaty veiny shaft, you slowly stroke him causing sheer waves of bliss rippling through him. "Damn, darlin' ..." He groans breathlessly, licking his lips, low sucking noises echoed through the large garage, he is savoring and relishing in the idea that his own men are seeing you bend to his very will. Goddamn. You start to move your hands away from his shaft and you wrap your slender fingers around his thighs to keep him still as you engulfed more of his throbbing cock in between your lips earning a light tug at your hair. He's biting at his tongue, swallowing the saliva that had coated his mouth,  he could feel the warmth just surround and embrace his throbbing cock eagerly, strong and sustained jolts of ecstasy washed over him mercilessly. "Fuckin' hell, that feels so fuckin' good baby ..." Negan groans, the urge is there to shove your head down further onto his cock but he knows that with patience comes good things. That's if he could handle it or hold himself back.

"That's it, baby ... worship my cock, take my cock in between those pretty little lips of yours like that ..." Negan chuckles before a moan is pried from his lips, you begin to suck him off even harder, causing this energetic sensation to wash over him, of course, it's indescribable but only with thoughts of it being fucking amazing. You begin to slowly move your head back and forth on his throbbing cock, you can feel him twitch and throb in between your lips as you take him almost effortlessly in your mouth. Negan isn't holding back, he's groaning your name and clutching a fistful of your hair as he isn't shy about showing how good your mouth feels around his cock. Little to no time passes before you're bobbing your head at a swifter pace, your head glides up and down his throbbing cock earning deep groans and curses from Negan at the ecstasy that plagues his being. He can feel his body become heated, his heart is pulsating and throbbing in his ribcage as he can feel his entire body fall victim to the ecstasy that you gave him. Groaning deeply, he yanks you off of his cock with a sharp pull of your hair before grabs you by your arms, nearly shocking you before he bends you over onto the balcony instantly. You can feel him nearly rip your panties off of you as they fall to your feet. "Baby, you still want this ...? I promise I won't be gentle ..." Negan whispers in your ear, you grin devilishly at him before agreeing eagerly. "Alright ... don't be shy when I'm up in that tight pussy of yours ... let them hear how only I can make you feel, baby girl ..." Negan purrs in your ear.

He licks his lips before rubbing the head of his cock up and down your soaked slit earning a closed mouth moan from you before he drove himself swiftly into you. "Fuck ..." You gasp at the unfamiliar sensation of Negan's thick meaty cock stretching your walls once more and filling you up to the brim. God, you felt everything in your body just tingle and throb with greed and a need for Negan to fill your pussy with his hot semen, just the thought made your body ache for his cock. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, his thrusts start heavy and rough earning low needy whines of his name leave your parted lips along with heavy breaths that rang through the room. You can see 2 men guarding the balcony with long rifles in their grasps, their backs turned towards you and you know that they're hearing everything, you heard them snickering and smiling to themselves but you don't care. Negan grunts deeply, your walls cling to his throbbing cock and the warmth is even better, burning hot waves of ecstasy tear through him with every heavy and rough movement of his hips inside of you. Tugging at your hair, he continues to slowly move his hips in and out of your heat yet he's struggling to keep himself from moaning like a woman in heat, fuck he'd have to fuck you more often now. It was exhilarating. "Negan ...! I thought you promised me ... anything but gentle ..." You groan, trying to tease him into ramming his cock into you at a much faster pace. He chuckles, heavy breaths leaving his lips before his hand swiftly smacks across your ass causing you to jump at the stinging sensation that spread across your ass. "Don't tease me ... I swear I will have you screaming my name without giving a fuck ... I'll do it over and over again until you pass out. If anything I might as well do that, ha ..." Negan purrs in your ear, chuckling before he begins to slam his hips into you earning a hoarse cry from your lips at how his cock repeatedly hit your sweet spot. "Negan ...! Oh, fuck ...! Oh, yeah!" You cried out shamelessly, pure fucking ecstasy rippling and vibrating through you relentlessly, leaving you clinging to the railing as cries flew from your lips. Negan's grunts echoed through your ears as he continued to pull himself out of you swiftly before slamming back into you relentlessly and mercilessly. The way you said his name, fucking hell, it just drove him to fuck you even harder.

"Yeah, take it ... scream my name, don't ever let me catch you ... saying anyone else's name ... you're mine. Mine." Negan growled deeply in your ear, he's lightly tugging at your hair before he pulls away from your face, his hands are gripping your hips firmly as his hips slam into you harshly. Your pussy is clinging firmly to his throbbing cock and you're only getting wetter, he can taste heaven when he's inside of you, he can feel how amazing, how mind-numbingly amazing it was to be inside of you. Continous waves of bliss vibrate through him as heavy grunts make their way out of his parted lips, quickly the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the area earning a deep blush on your cheeks when you heard the sound. The 2 men stood there, rifles in hand with massive erections and thoughts that were less than pure, to them it felt so embarrassing yet so ... arousing to just hear the sounds you're making. He continues for a little while, your cries of ecstasy echoing through the sanctuary as the night went on, it wasn't too long before your cries became screams. "Oh! Yes! Negan ...! Haah ... Negan ...! I-I'm close!" You cried out breathlessly, clutching the railing as hard as you can, you can feel your stomach coil and sink into your ribs, your body awaiting your orgasm. Grunting deeply, his hand smacks firmly against your ass, leaving a slightly red mark against your skin earning a gasp from your lips before yanks you by your hair, bringing your head further towards his mouth. "Mmh, baby ... cum for me, cum all over my cock ... don't forget to scream who you belong to, darlin' ..." Negan growls in your ear, his words are dripping and soaked in wanton possessiveness that nearly drives you mad. Your mind is screaming and soon you'll be screaming along with it. Negan grunts deeply, his cock throbbing erratically inside of you as he can feel himself tipping and teetering on the edge, biting his bottom lip hard, he slams his hips into you as hard as he can feel himself finally reach his peak. A hoarse and strained cry of Negan's name leaves your lips as you can only describe it as lightning striking you, leaving your body trembling and petrified with ecstasy that vibrates throughout your being.

His semen coats your insides, leaving you full to the brim with his heated cum before you let out a deep breath, you already know that you'll be all that the saviors will talk about. You know that you'll have to try not to die out of embarrassment or perhaps blame it all on Negan and his perverted mind but honestly, you know that they'll forget about it in a week or so. Licking your lips, you feel Negan slip out of you and you can hear the sound of his belt jingling and you begin to pull up your soaked panties, you fix your dress before letting another deep breath leave your lips. "Mmh, come on darlin' ... let's get you cleaned up and I'll get you straight to bed, got a long day tomorrow. But this has to be one of my favorite nights with you, perhaps the most memorable ..." Negan says, rubbing his chin as he wraps his arm around your waist as you both make your way back to his bedroom. "Of course this will be the most memorable to you ... but seriously, I kinda enjoyed it. Ya know, the ... open aspect and the not giving a fuck feeling that I felt as time went on." You say, grinning at him before resting your head on his shoulder, honestly, a bath and bed sounded so fucking amazing after the day that you had. "Glad I could make you happy today, darlin' ..." Negan says, kissing your forehead as he opened his bedroom door, he sits you down on his bed before he goes to the bathroom, he turns on the warm water and pours a glass of wine beside the bathtub. But by the time he came back you were knocked out, curled up with soft breaths leaving your lips. Smiling softly to himself, he gets you out of your dress and puts you in one of his old tee shirts, and lets you rest in his bed before he leaves you to go attend a bath waiting for him. "Man, this one is different ..." Negan thinks to himself before sleeping right beside you or getting as much sleep as he possibly can get.

#negan smut #negan x y/n #the walking dead negan #the walking dead #twd smut #negan x reader #negan x female reader #twd imagine #twd smut imagine #twd negan x reader

[neko-shinigxmi]

“ what? ME have a crush on YOU? whaaaaaat?! haha! what? pfft … shut up! “ with dante?

misc sentences

   Dante can be so...frustrating. For a myriad of reasons that start with his inability to grasp the concept of “personal space” and potentially ending with the fact that, left to his own devices, he can be a bit of a slob without guidance. Tell him to clean, he’ll get it done...as much as possible before the next job shows up. Pick up after himself? Yeah, he’ll do it (after he gets to teasing, first).

   However, none more frustrating than then the fact the newest body at Devil May Cry had an intense affection for him. One that somehow went unnoticed... Due to either Trish making sure he behaved or just the fact he rarely looked above his magazines and guns... Or whatever weapon of the week needed cleaning.

   “If you told me you liked him ahead of time I would’ve tried to help,” Trish teases, braiding back long, brown hair with a soft giggle. Rachel looked back with a pout, though their head was moved back to the front soon enough.

   “What kind of help? Something that would actually help or...I dunno. Some mess you guys try to claim is “help”?” A serious question met only by Trish’s amused laughter. The temptation to drop their head low and sigh deeply occurred to them, but surely she wouldn’t allow for any movement until the newly dubbed “torture” was over with. (Though still far below the uncertain feeling on if these...emotions were even shared with the demon hunter.) “...I don’t know what to do.”

   “Have you ever?”

   “Ugh, I guess not, but you’re not being much of a help, you know. Where’s all the wisdom you promised me?” Trish went quiet for a moment, finishing up the braid before moving so she could pin it up.

   “...They’re not one-sided, you know,” she said softly. Their heart fell into their stomach, blood running cold in shock. “You’d be amazed over what he doesn’t tell you.”

   .....Suddenly, ever ounce of nervousness I ever had in my life sprung to the surface in a tidal wave. It was hard to not show my shaking hands, as Trish finished up my hair and Dante called from downstairs for me, asking to accompany him on a job.

   It wasn’t a difficult one, by any means. Dante probably could’ve finished it by dinnertime and then stayed out to claim his hours while eating a sundae or something like that. A simple job like that didn’t raise too many suspicions at first...but going to that cozy little diner for dinner? A dark, candlelit aura?

   Rachel didn’t like jumping to conclusions, but that didn’t stop the blush on their face, fidgeting hands, or the way heat flared throughout when Dante got noticeably upset when the waiter paid a tad bit too much attention to them. Being the half-deity to his half-demon, one would’ve thought the inevitable draw of opposites would’ve been something they would have gotten used to by now, but...      Seeing those brows furrow, hearing (and sometimes feeling) the huffs of air through his nose, the attitude Dante had towards the waiter... It was impatient. Demanding. Protective.

   ...This diner was suddenly way too warm.

   “So,” he hummed pleasantly, taking a long drink of his milkshake. “It’s come to my official attention that you,” (and here, he waved a fry at their face) “have a crush on me.”

   ........Haha, oh shit.

   “What? ME have a crush on YOU? Whaaaaaat?! Haha! What? Pfft… Shut up!” Yes. Perfect. Nailed it. He won’t suspect a thing.

   Look back into his eyes. A brow is raised and he’s smirking like the cat who’s gonna eat the canary. Far as they know, that’s a possibility. But they’re not sure how metaphorical or literal they’re being in that moment, actually. Suddenly, anything is possible tonight, including death by embarrassment.

   “Oh... So that’s not you checking out my ass? Or my biceps... Or staring at my fangs.... Or when I do this...” And unconsciously, dark green eyes flick down to the hunter’s opening mouth, watching with embarrassed rapture as his tongue swipes over his top lip and slightly pronounced canines. Sharp enough to probably give some pain if bitten by them an- oh stars, here we are again.

   Rachel’s head immediately dips low, face flushing brighter than ever before as Dante laughs softly. That action alone has killed far too many brain cells.... It’s so unfair. He’s so unfair...!!

   “So, Rachel... You wanna admit it? Evidence is strong...”

   “Ugh, I-I... I guess?! Yeah, I like you! A lot! Everything about you is so stupidly distracting and I keep being unable to focus or hope for stuff I don’t know how to feel about, but-!! That sure has been the spot I’m in!”

   “Well then, there we go.” A beat of quiet. Another one. Rachel looked up to a smug, pleased looking Dante, who was happily stuffing more fries into his face-hole. It took him a moment to realize they were staring and he slowly stopped eating. “...You want a fry or som-”

   “...What do you mean?”

   “Huh?”

   “Like-” Their hands flew up, fingers spreading before lighting slapping the table with them. “What are we now?? I just kinda confessed and you gave me some vague nonsense--”

   “.....I thought it means we’re dating?” Rachel blinked, then hesitantly asked, “Are we...?”

   “I’d hope so? I’ve spent weeks admiring your ass, too; don’t want all those fantasies to go to waste, either.” A relieved sigh left their lips, relaxing into the cushions of the booth...just as his words sunk in, eyes widening.

   “W-Wait. What?!”

   “...Heh. I’ll show you what I mean when we get to the hotel... Promise you that, sweetheart~”

#lucacangettathisass #Aki answers #self insert #self ship #self insert community #self ship community #Aki Stories #otp; demons and destinies #OH SHIT I DID SOMETHING AT LAST #MAYBE I'M NOT DEAD After all just kidding #I'm so tired now I need to SLEEP #later nerds #enjoy the fic pls reblog THANKS

[littleredroseonthevalley]

The Embraced

Summary: Amy has gone home with the wrong person, finding herself on a deadly situation. Will someone be able to save her?

Rating: M -  Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Explicit depiction of murder. Mentions of sexual intercourse. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Words: 2241

Notes: A Bloodbound fanfiction. I had this idea with me for a long while, I am a fan of Vampire: The Masquerade, and anyone who has had any contact with the series, should identify the plot as the prologue for Bloodlines.

A.K.A the best 90′s videogame.

Oh, and BTW, this is intended as a one-shot, I’m not sure I can take on any multichaptered fics right now, but if anyone feel inspired to tackle it, feel welcome to write it. I can help beta-ing or something, even.

On with the story.

Amy could swear to the God above, she have never done anything like that before.

She has always been the quiet, cautious type. Staying on her own lane, never taking much risk, rarely going on bar bends Fridays at night, not drinking, least of all doing drugs.

Not going to second locations with handsome strangers. Not having sex with said strangers the night she met them.

There was something about Tristan that was… alluring, too intriguing to ignore, that drew her to him, that made her lower her guard and forget caution for a while, and it was great.

Indulgent people often forget how the smallest of permissible behaviour feels like when you are that repressed. For now, Amy was riding the sweet wave of release and she never wanted to get down.

Finishing washing her mouth after a hot session of love-making and some cuddling, she matted her hair on the places that stuck out from Tristan’s tugging and emerged from the bathroom, wearing nothing else but his shirt.

At the doorstep to the bedroom, she struck a sexy pose, smirking in mirth. “How do you like it?” She asked, in the best impression of a femme fatale she could muster.

Tristan chuckled heartily. “Sexy.”

He was a fine specimen of masculinity, being over 1,80 metres tall and having taut muscles, clear eyes and light hair. He had said he was twenty-two, like her, and was a day trader for a Spanish investment bank.

The young man did not say where he was from, only that he lived in Manhattan, on a studio apartment where he took her for their escapade, but she could notice a tint of accent and foreign manners on his demeanour.

She, then, crossed the distance between the door and the bed, made herself comfortable on his arms and kissed him on the mouth.

“Listen, bella,” He said, nuzzling her neck. “I want to show you something.”

“Stop! It tickles!” She chuckles, unable to control herself. “What do you want to show me?”

“This.”

Then, he bites her neck, hard enough to draw blood. At first, the pain is strong enough that she cannot help but to scream loudly. Soon, however, the hurt ebbs away and is replaced by a sensation of pleasure.

A few minutes into it, and black spots start to form on the edges of her sight. She feels her consciousness slipping away, being taken with a desire to sleep, like if she had not laid her head in days.

Tristan moves his head away and something warm and metallic passes through her lips. A liquid, but not much, not enough for a full gulp.

“Dormís, bella.” She can hear him say, but could not make out what was actually being said. “Cuando vosotros despertáis, empezaréis una nueva vida.”

Amy woke up, breathless. She felt like she could not breathe, and a large intake of air is what signalled her regain of conscience.

It was a strange room, the drawers were drawn, but it did not make the place too dark. She could see perfect shapes, but it was all too colourless, and also very dusty, the flocks dancing in front of her eyes.

Her head was pounding and all her body ached. She also felt very cold, as if she had just fallen on an icy lake, rather stiff and dirty.

“Ah, bella,” A voice came from her left. “You’re awake, and you look fine, too. I am glad.”

She looked from where the voice came and could not recognize at first glance, even if the voice sounded familiar. Staring harder at the face, she could finally place it.

“Tristan!” She exclaims. “What is happening? What did you do to me?”

He looked regretful at her. “I am very sorry, bella, but it was what it had to be done. I couldn’t let you go, you see? So, I had to appeal to extreme methods.”

“What are you even saying?!” Her voice raised and she could feel the rage boiling her blood.

“You were so beautiful, your blood sang to me. I knew I had to make you mine, and yet you didn’t seem to be the least attracted to me when I came to your office.” The man remembers feverishly, as if he was somewhere else. “Hell, when I found you at the bar, you didn’t even remember we had already met.

“I had to do it, I had to compel you, I had to bring you here.” A pause, one which she could hear the sirens outside and people talking on the street. She was starting to freak out. “I had to turn you, so you would have to rely on me.”

“Turn me?” She asked confused. “Turn me into what?”

“Vampire.” Was the response.

Before either of them could say anything else, a banging was heard from the front door.

“It’s them!” He shouts, scared. “How could they know? I was so careful!”

The door was thrown off its hinges, as a few burly men came into the apartment and contained Tristan, who was struggling and shouting. They placed a gag on his mouth and a hood on his head.

Taking him away, they turned to her and repeated the process, but with remarkably ease if compared to her companion. Amy could feel they were strong, and despite fighting to the best of her capacity, it was to no use.

Soon after, with none the wiser, they were taken away into the dark and silence of the night.

Amy was still hooded and incapable of speaking due to the gag they tied tightly on her mouth. She was set on a kneeling position, around half an hour earlier, but oddly, she did not feel any pain or tiredness.

What she did feel, however, was a quenching thirst on the back of her throat, yet, when she thought about a nice, cold glass of water, her stomach made a sick turn, as if it was unnatural and disgusting.

Her mind came back again and again to Tristan’s statement, that he had turned her into a vampire, and it just did not make sense. There was no such thing as immortal, bloodsucking creatures living in the dark, it was preposterous under any circumstance.

Yet, there was this nagging feeling, something that hinted for something have happened to her that she could not quite identify but it was not anything ordinary.

Well, she considered, perhaps a thought exercise would help. If water made her disgusted, she tried thinking about the gory Japanese horror film her roommate forced her to watch some time ago.

Surely enough, the thought of flowing, spilt blood opened her appetite, and it scared her.

“Ugh. He always does that!” She could her a high-pitched, female voice bemoaning. “It’s way past midnight! He insists in making a big entrance like some stupid diva, and we have to sit on our tails, waiting!”

“I have more to lose with this and you don’t see me complaining, do you?” A male voice this time responds. “Just shut up and wait!”

The female ‘hmph’s and keeps her peace. They did not have to wait much longer, as soon after a man’s voice reverberates through the enclosed space.

“Brethren,” He says. “Excuse my lateness. Are we ready to begin?”

A few unamused ‘aye’s are heard, and then the hood is removed from Amy’s head.

They were on a cave, somewhere underground. That would explain the humidity and the echoes on the voices.

In front of her, there were five people looking emotionlessly at her, amongst them very familiar faces like the famous designer Priya Lacroix, who seemed particularly taken with a terrible case of ennui.

Tristan was kneeling next to her, looking desperate. Usually, she would feel compassion, but she was having a hard time feeling anything at all for him.

She could still hear pacing from behind her, but she feared looking back.

“My apologies for disrupting any business or interfering with prior engagements you may have had.” The voice from behind her speaks once more, and the pacing intensify. “It is unfortunate that the affair that gather us together here this evening is a troubling one.

“We are here because the laws that bind our society, that protects our way of living, have been broken. As the current president, I am within my duties to remind you all of the moratorium we, as a council, have imposed on further turnings, and the punishments assigned to those who do not comply to those orders.”

For the first time that night, Amy sees the face of the man who spoke with such authority, and it baffles her to see it was none other than Adam Vega, senator for the state of New York.

He continues with an unchanging tone of voice. “Due to the problem we have been facing with the Feral, and the ever-growing populace of clanless New York has amounted on all of our ninety-so years of existence, all turnings without the strict, express and unanimous authorization of the council has been deemed illegal, and I understand this particular case has not even been brought to attention of his own clan leader.”

“That is correct.” A tanned-skinned, chubby man on the corner of the cave said, forcefully, as if he wanted to ascertain his blamelessness in it all.

“Yes, thank you, Lester.” Adam says with a hint of annoyance and continues his tirade. “Those two were caught shortly after the termination of this youngling’s turning. It pains me to announce the sentence, as, up to this night, I have considered the accused a loyal and upstanding member of our society. However, as you all know, the punishment for this transgression is death.”

A string of ‘aye’s were heard through the cave.

“Know that I am no more a judicator than I am a servant to the laws that govern us all.” Adam says, and this elicits some very conspicuous eye-rolls from some of the spectators. “Let tonight’s proceedings serve as a reminder to all of our community we must adhere to what has been convened, lest we endanger our blood.”

Adam, then, kneels next to Tristan and says, as if trying to be indiscreetly discreet, “Forgive me.”

After that, the senator stands and, in a swift motion, beheads the other man, who promptly turns into dust.

“Which leads us to the fate of the ill-begotten progeny.” Adam says, turning to face Amy. “Without a sire, and more especially, without a clan, most of our kind are doomed to befell the monstrous hunger that condemn us all, to the point that all reason is consumed, leaving only a shadow of their former self, the personification of hunger.” Pause for dramatic effect. “A feral.”

“For that reason, upon great consideration, I have decided to spare her own suffering and especially those of her countless potential victims by executing her tonight.” The politician said, and seemed to motion for carrying out the sentence, when a voice contains him.

“Wait!” It said. “There is another way.”

Adam stares down at the man arguing. “What do you propose, Adrian? That we let her free? Without a clan, she will certainly become a feral.”

“No, of course not.” The man, Adrian, counters, seemed miffed with the mere suggestion. “However, it is to my knowledge some of us have vacancies on their clans. If she has a mark, if she is part of a clan, there is no need to execute her.”

“Perhaps, but you are with a full clan. You cannot be the one to take her in.” Adam argues. “But very well, this youngling is up for adoption. I cannot be the one to take responsibility, either, I also have a full clan, nor does the Baron.

“Lester!” The man calls. “You seem to have just gained an opening, and this girl is of your bloodline. Would you like to take her in?”

The brows of the fat man furrowed in distaste. “Of course not. You have just destroyed one of my most useful underlings. I will not replace him with some girl off the streets!”

“Very well.” Adam agreed. “Priya?”

The designer approached her, circling her and looking at her appraisingly, just like one would do to a horse. Finally, she decided, “Not cute enough.”

“We seem to have ran out of clans, Adrian.” Adam announces, with a sense of sadism. “If no one has any further objections, I now sentence this youngling to…”

Before he could deliver, he was interrupted once again, this time by a regal woman, sitting next to Adrian.

“I will take her.” She said.

“Kamilah?” He asks, confused and in awe. “You wish for this girl?”

“Yes, I have an opening. This should save me the bureaucracy of looking for a candidate and requesting permission.” She responded, unaffected.

It was terrifying, to have your life and death decided by people you do not know in front of you and not being able to weigh in.

Her whole life seemed to flash before her eyes, while the senator considered Kamilah’s position.

“Very well.” He concludes. “I will allow for you to brand her. All in favour?”

Priya, Adrian and Kamilah said ‘aye’, against ‘nay’s from Lester and an odd, grouch man she concludes to be the Baron.

“Four versus two, the motion passes.” Adam proclaims, helping Amy up and untying her. “Welcome to your new existence, youngling. You got very lucky.”

#bloodbound #adrian raines #kamilah sayeed #lester castellanos #adam vega #priya lacroix #the baron

[osmw1]

Poison-Wielding Fugitive   Chapter 4

‘However, I have heard not heard of such job as Poison Earth.’

Is that right? I mean, I’ve played a few videogames before, but that’s a job title I’m not familiar with.

‘Aye. To my knowledge, “Earth” is a first job for humans. Once a certain level and conditions are fulfilled, you will advance to a second job.’

So, Earths are first jobs. Might be pretty similar to the jobs that frequently appear in MMOs.   Like how you’d go from novice to warrior, mage, priest, or ranger. But the stupid “Poison” bit has really caught my attention.

“Poison” is just poison, right? Besides Spirit Link, other usable skills that I have are Poison Absorption (Weak) and Poison Release. If “Earth” means “human” in this world, then what am I? A poisonous person? Why the hell poison? What, am I toxic or something? I’ve never even trolled or griefed before.

‘Aye… perhaps it is due to my influence.’ “What do you mean?” 

I inquired Veno. He replied in a slightly troubled tone. 

‘It is because I was born a poison-type dragon.’ 

There are lots of different types of dragons too, huh? It’s not exactly rare to find dragons described as red, blue, white, or black either. In this case, would he be green? It would be quite kinda tricky to put him in a game.

Because I’m linked with him, I’m a poison human… a Poison Earth. Is this an effect of Forced Possession Summoning? Hmm? Hey, didn’t I see you breathe fire and cast lightning? 

‘If I had used my most powerful magic, there would be nothing but death for my opponents. It would be more troublesome that way. Rarely do I use poison now.’ 

Ah. He had been holding back in the fight so that he wouldn’t kill anyone. He would rather let them go rather than to deal them serious damage.

‘The swamp that you fell into was a poisonous swamp. That would be the reason why the girl gave you an antidote, is it not?’ 

That’s right, isn’t it? It must’ve been because I was in the poison that I was feeling great. Maybe it was actually dangerous though. Who knows. 

I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem like a pleasant job class. How do you put it? It just doesn’t seem like it’s very strong and it doesn’t seem like it’ll get stronger either. From what I’ve experienced in JRPGs, poison is never useful in a big battle. Most bosses are resistant or immune to poison, so it never does anything. 

‘That is not true. Do not make light of poison.’ 

That’s only because you’re on the boss monster’s side.

In a JRPG, it’s not very effective on your opponent but super effective on you. That kind of bullshit happens all the time. 

‘Aye, then you are wondering what you should do?’ 

… in a place without computers, there’s not much an SE can do. No, there’s practically nothing I can do. Like I said early, the life I lived was far removed from things like combat or exercise. If you think about it normally, you can’t level up your job unless you actually use its powers. 

“Well, not much of a choice but to use my job, huh?” 

The problem is how much power does a Poison Earth have. They had to resort to Forced Possession Summoning—an outrageous measure, might I add—to defeat Veno. What if I had picked up some of his powers too? Maybe I could use it to my favour as well. But honestly speaking, in JRPGs, abnormal statuses are usually bad news for the player. But in Western games, that’s not always the case. It depends on the game too, but I’ve completely shutout a last boss before with poison and paralysis.

But who knows which one it is in this alternate world. Might be possible too that neither is true. Whichever it is though, I’ve got to know what a Poison Earth can do in order to survive from now on. To go down the list, Spirit Link is probably a skill related to Veno.

‘Yes, that is perhaps correct. It is most likely that you were forced to learn the skill because of your link with me.’

Can skills be activated by focusing on the desired outcome? 

‘Ah, there too exists skills that have to be acquired through proper training.’

Seems like there are learned skills as well. While thinking about nothing in particular, I focused on Spirit Link to try to activate the skill.

… nothing especially seemed to happen.

‘I believe the ability to communicate through our thoughts while linked together is the desired effect of Spirit Link.’ 

So that means it’s a passive skill. Alright, next up is Poison Absorption (Weak). I try to focus on it, but there weren’t any changes.

‘Certainly, you realize that I was watching when this skill activated.’

What? When was that?

‘It was when you fell into the poisonous swamp and was floating on your back. You seemed to be in great comfort if I am not mistaken.’

… must’ve been right before Arleaf saved me, when I was still half-asleep. It was because of this skill that I felt fantastic, like I was soaking in an onsen. That just doesn’t sit well with me though. I guess it does exactly what it says on the tin and absorbs poison… 

Next up is Poison Release. I focus on it and then get the feeling that words lit up.

Swamp Toxin

Some other icon appeared. … guess I’ll just select “confirm”. Two lumps of purple liquid were created in my palms as soon as I did that. 

‘Hmm… you are able to attack with the toxins you had absorbed. It would appear that you are able to cast beginner-level poison magic.’ 

Do I sling this at my opponent? Hmm… might have lucked out getting magical abilities. But I’m not really excited or anything about being able to use magic so easily. 

‘Oh, but it is not magic. You will need learn quite difficult spells to cast magic. I shall offer you the chance to learn. First, you have to—’

Veno conveniently draws these charts and formulas in my field of vision, but it doesn’t get through to me. Ugh, it hurts to fuckin’ look at. Show it to me later!

‘Hmm… as one would expect, the translation skill does not activate for matters like this. At a later time, then, I shall simplify it for you so that even you can understand it.’ 

Though it’s so that I can survive, to so kindly and thoroughly teach me would be a great help… but that’s not the problem. 

‘I have time to spare for I am currently merely watching. Would it not be fine for me to kill time this way?’ 

He has the nerve to be so carefree… I thought it’d be cool to ride a dragon into battle, but right now, it seems like it’s the other way around. Feels like he’s a dragon riding on my shoulders, ordering me what to do. 

‘Is there some reason that you should be making fun me?’ 

I’m having a conversation with dragon in my head who’s nothing but talk. 

‘Scoundrel! How dare you ridicule me?’ 

And that’s why I’m not scared. He gets all thirsty for blood but I don’t see him making a single attack at me. But still, it’d be a pain if he keeps getting pissed off like this. Literally and figuratively. 

‘It seems like we have been sidetracked. You were wanting to begin with confirming of what you are capable, correct?’ 

We’ve pretty much wrapped up with this confirmation, haven’t we? To be frank, I don’t think I have what’s needed to do what Veno wants—defeating a monster and levelling up. 

Firstly, I don’t have any weapons or armor. Secondly, food. Moreover, I’m feeling kinda hungry but I don’t have any of this world’s currency. How the hell am I supposed to live like this? 

… speaking of money, Arleaf told me to go to the town hall. There might be a way to earn money there. 

‘Aye. If it is like how it is in the past, there is a chance that something like a bulletin board with methods of acquiring money existing. You should try going there. Perhaps it is that building.’ 

With that said, we left the square and headed towards the rather large building that looks different than the houses around it. The building is deserted, but there’s a bulletin board by the entrance. I’ll just check it out first. 

Though I’ve never seen this writing before, it’s translated in a way so that even I understand. No, maybe it would be more accurate to say the meaning gets transmitted into my head. However the translation may work, I can assume it’s thanks to Veno that it does. It would be absolutely tragic if I came to this world and didn’t understand anything said or written. It’s easy to see if you think of the situation when I was saved by Arleaf.

After being spoken to in a language I’ve never heard before, I was fed some mysterious medicine. Then she was pointing and gesturing, somehow trying to figure out my condition. Even with all that said and done, I get to the village and kept hearing a dragon’s voice in my head. … yup. If you think of it like that, you could say I’ve been blessed. 

‘You brood upon strange thoughts. Well, at least you are giving me thanks.’ 

Oh, think about it the other way. Imagine if the Forced Possession Summoning transferred your magic to me too. 

‘What?! To have my feats and prowess stolen by humans?! Take your words back at once!’ 

Right?! It’s more convenient for me this way! 

‘To dare steal my powers is but villainy! Remember that!’ 

I go to take a gander at the bulletin board while I brush off Veno’s rage. Generally, most of the posts are calls for assistance and trade requests. I wonder if there’s a specific time to post. It doesn’t seem like you can just stick a note up whenever you want. Oh, there’s a request with a recommended level for adventurers. 

Defeat tiger plants growing in the plains Recommended: four or more party members; basic job lv 20 or higher

There are a few posts like that printed on the board. However, for a lv 1 novice like me, it’s not a job that I can handle. 

‘About that commission you are currently reading, it seems like the reason why no one has accepted it is because the reward is not befitting the work.’

Half of this stuff is pretty simple to understand, but it’s mixed in with requests that seem closer to scams It’s not too much different than back home, huh? Hell, this town hall is less of an adventurers’ guild and more of a public employment service center. Like, this is all day labor work postings. 

Guildhalls in tabletop RPGs and videogames are always so grand and full of adventurous spirit, but right now, the romance is withering away in front of me. Is it really like this in reality? Or is it only because this village is so dead that this place looks shabby? 

… I feel like this’ll have do since I’m pressed for time. But usually I’ll need to present a license or something for this. 

‘Are you perhaps speaking of adventurer registration? That is performed at the church. You will also need to be put through something called a baptism.’ 

At the church? 

‘If possible, I suggest you to avoid using the church. They pose quite a danger.’ 

Yeah, I hear religions can be dangerous sometimes. Is it because the guys who tried to kill you were from the church? 

‘They were crusaders of a chivalric order sent by the kingdom. They’re related to the church, I suppose.’ 

I see. That’s what he means by dangerous. 

‘About the jobs on the bulletin board… I suggest the request that is by your right-hand.’ 

I read the writing on the request that Veno suggested. 

Harvest marphina Recommended: poison-curing magic; lv 25 or higher 

It seems like I would be rewarded for each gram of marphina collected. The requester is this village’s tool dealer and apothecary. It says harvest, so it’s a plant, right? But since I’m not at the recommended level yet, wouldn’t this be really tough for me? 

‘What are you saying? If my memory serves me right, this plant grows in the poisonous swamp that—as if falling in were not enough already—you were swimming in? You are able to absorb poison, correct?’ 

Ah. I just have to go back the way Arleaf showed me, eh? What’s more, I don’t even need any purification magic, thanks to my Poison Absorption (Weak). Normally one would need an antidote, but it might not be worth it to use one just to do this request. This request would only be worth it for those who can cast magic that cures poison—that way, it would cost nothing. 

The recommended level of 25 might indicate how difficult it is. Maybe you can only cure the poison at that level. In any case, Poison Absorption (Weak) can likely handle it somehow. 

This might just turn out to be an easy job. I wonder if Arleaf harvests like this too.

previously: /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /next/ (full list of translated chapters) (discussion thread) (support Average Translations)

#PWF #Poison-Wielding Fugitive #Fugitive Poison User #毒使いの逃亡者 #ln #light novel #online novel #ラノベ #オンラインノベル #小説

[onisionhurtspeople]

Sorry I just ran into this blog, Lainey said on Twitter they're an ISFJ awhile back. I can see both them being an unhealthy INFP that thinks their Si is stronger than it actually is due to looping and them being an unhealthy ISFJ. They could be in an Si-Ti loop where they dont let new ideas in and believes their experience/conclusions are always correct without looking further than that for information. (1/3)

They’re also very tactful (auxiliary Fe) which makes them seem innocent and wanting group harmony instead of drama. An unhealthy Fe user sweeps issues under the rug to live in their ideal “peaceful” world. If an ISFJ is gripping, their inferior function is Ne. This may cause them to think of all the ways life could be and using it as an excuse that nothing could go wrong due to the likelihood (they think) of it in their life (ex. bringing 18-20 year olds into an unhealthy relationship, believing Onision didn’t cheat due to the fact many things could happen since there are infinite truths in the world and Si-Ti may think that their POV is the most correct from what they gathered). I can see INFP but I do want to see what you think of this. 

Sorry it took so long to respond! I knew this was going to be a long one, so I’ve been avoiding it because tbh you will never meet a lazier INTJ than me. I apologize in advance for the poor quality of this message, because my brain fog is really shitty today and I’m feeling not nearly as sharp as I usually am. My arguments will probably not be as convincing or wordy as they usually are.

Anyway, I believe she actually said she was INFJ. I remember because I was the one who asked her to take the quiz. >_> (Unless we’re thinking of two different incidences? This was, if I recall correctly, around the time that Billie had just left for the final time, so I want to say September or October of 2016.) Anyway–tbh, the fact that she got INFJ just confirmed to me more than anything else that she really was an INFP, because let’s be real, I’m pretty sure no INFP has ever existed who didn’t first mistype themselves as being an INFJ. (I’m mostly joking, but like.. only mostly.) Of course, ISFJs also frequently mistype as INFJs, so this is an idea worth exploring.

Anyway, I shall try to explain why I see her as an INFP rather than as an ISFJ or INFJ. I apologize in advance if you’re an INFP; if I end up saying anything rude about them, please understand that I’m not making disparaging comments about INFPs in general - I’m just evaluating Lainey, who is (I believe) a very unhealthy version of her type.

So, first and foremost: Fi. Sooo much Fi. But Fi in the most unhealthy way possible: incredibly self-righteous and self-absorbed, and excessively concerned with interpreting and relaying her own individualistic, unique identity to the world. She needs to be acknowledged for her differences. If you look back at all of the arguments she’s ever had with Greg on social media (in other words, the times when he says something that aggrieves her enough that she’s actually willing to confront him over it), they all have the same theme in common: they’re always about her feeling affronted because he invalidated her values or sense of self somehow. For example: the last fight they got in was because Greg referred to himself as being in a straight relationship, which offended Lainey because she interpreted that as him undermining her gender. I can think of a few other examples of their arguments on social media off the top of my head, and they all follow that same theme: Greg being insulted that she was hero-worshiping a musician who didn’t like him (also an Fi user); Greg arguing with her about eating fish; Greg calling her filthy because her room was dirty and she hadn’t cleaned it; Greg insulting her family (especially her mother and sister). When Lainey gets involved in Greg’s debates or ongoing feuds with other content creators (Jaclyn Glenn, Joy Sparkle BS, Blaire White, etc), it’s never to weigh in with her opinion, and only ever to express her irritation over them misgendering her, either accidentally or on purpose. When she’s rude and condescending towards her fans, it’s typically because they questioned her sense of self somehow (usually in regards to her gender, internal motivations, or relationship with Greg). It’s rarely in defense of anybody else, which I feel like would happen more often if she really was an Fe user.

I think the tactfulness and willingness to sweep things under the rug that you’re interpreting as being aux Fe may actually be a combination of Fi seeking harmony in relationships (high Fi users can do this too, just like Fe users can; the difference mainly lies in when, and for what reason, their feeling function becomes triggered when somebody crosses the line. For Fi users, this tends to be when something strikes a personal nerve or attacks and invalidates their character or sense of self; for Fe users, this tends to be when somebody rejects, abuses, or takes advantage of their warmth and care, or when somebody expresses a lack of concern for the collective (family, friends, neighborhood, club, church group, society, etc) - other words, selfishness. If you dismiss their overtures of affection after they’ve put effort into displaying warmth and consideration, then they may become offended when that same person then takes advantage of those polite gestures, or refuses to reciprocate them), and also Lainey just generally not caring enough to say or do anything to counter Greg that might rock the boat in their private life. 

Secondly: Ne. In Lainey’s case, her Ne is not as overt as I’ve observed it in other INFPs, and I’m not sure why this is. I apologize if this comes off as rude (and it really kind of is, but I don’t know how else to say this in a non-offensive way), but I think it’s really just because Lainey is an INFP of average intelligence, whereas most INFPs (that I’ve encountered, anyway) are in the gifted range, and so their Ne is much more readily apparent. Ne and Se share many qualities (being that they’re both Pe functions), including that they both have a preference for wanting to live life by their own standards, a strong dislike of feeling constrained or held back, feeling compelled to seek novelty (Se in a more physical, concrete way, and Ne in a more abstract, conceptual way), and wanting to learn through experience. Se and Ne both feel driven to be seen as cool–but in different ways. Se wants to be seen as cool in a more physical and conventional sense - for example, by being entertaining, or by dressing in a manner that is immediately impactful in a sensory way. Ne, on the other hand, wants to be cool by being unique, different, iconoclastic - it wants to be regarded as quirky and iconoclastic, cool for being “uncool”, if that makes sense. And so many INFPs are drawn to countercultures (hipsters, for example) who are unconventional, but still have a certain mystique and draw to them; and I definitely think Lainey fulfills that aspect of Ne.

Ugh. I’m sorry, my brain power is running low. Brain fog is super bad today. I think we both see Si in her, so I don’t think I have to explain that. Mainly where I see Si in her (especially in the form of Fi-Si loops) is her inability to let go of people from her past. She even did it with Billie: brought her back over and over again because she would find herself looking back on the good times, and minimizing the bad ones. She makes the same mistakes repeatedly because she reviews her memories of them (memories which are attached to emotional experiences), and feels compelled to relive them, no matter how painful they were. 

Please don’t make me write something for Te. My Te is all pooped out today. :C

Anyway, it’s lovely running into somebody on here who’s knowledgeable about the cognitive functions! =O I’m guessing you’re an INFP as well? Sorry for this shitty argument, I  might try to redo it in a few days when my brain fog dissipates a little.

Edit: I just went back to the the post; and yeah, she scored as INFJ-T on the 16personalities test (admittedly shitty and has nothing to do with the cognitive functions). In the comment section, I left a link on how to differentiate between INFJ and INFP, lmao.

Edit #2: Oh, one last thing: here’s a description of what a destructive INFP looks like from one of my favorite MBTI sites, Psychology Junkie. Doesn’t it remind you of Lainey?

Destructive INFPs are self-absorbed, self-righteous, and waver between being passive and extremely judgmental. They enjoy living in their fantasies, but care little for the practical realities of daily life. They may neglect their loved ones and family members and instead prefer to live in a world of their own making, in essence abandoning everyone who holds them dear. They may consider themselves more morally superior or “righteous” than others, married to their idealism to such an extent that any and everyone in the real world seems flawed and disappointing. They may retreat from the world and silently judge everyone they see. Over time, they may become increasingly harsh and condemning of people in their lives. They may become so obsessed with their own emotions and fantasies that they shun or berate anyone who tries to find a way into their hearts.

Healthy INFPs are extremely empathetic, gentle, and compassionate individuals. They care for the persecuted and marginalized people of the world, and strive to help them. They are honest and driven by their morals to live a life that adheres to their values. They are creative and insightful, slow to judge others yet holding themselves to a high standard.

Also, just for the keks, here’s the description of destructive ESTJs, the type that I suspect Greg is. (I do believe that he actually took an MBTI test and scored as ESTJ, which he hilariously tried to use to “prove” that he wasn’t a narcissist or psychopath. Really shows how much effort he puts into researching his “facts”.

Destructive ESTJs are dictatorial, aggressive, and controlling. They believe that they know what’s best for everyone, and that their way is the only way. They suppress their moral compass and disregard the feelings and values of other people in exchange for their own rigid views. They push forward to achieve their goals, but instead of taking time to reflect on their decisions, they steamroll over everyone in their path in order to accomplish tasks without considering alternate viewpoints or the moral implications of their actions. They may be loyal to a corrupt system or authority and suppress anyone who stands against that authority or questions it. They trust their own personal experience and disregard other people’s experience. They scoff at the emotions and values of others while they allow themselves to have their own temper tantrums and emotional overreactions.

Healthy ESTJs: Healthy ESTJs are hard-working, trustworthy, and loyal. They see the world logically and push themselves to live up to a high standard. They don’t ask other people to do things they wouldn’t do themselves, and they uphold traditions they see as morally right and effective. They are intellectual, practical, and usually outgoing. They are very supportive of their communities and families and want to make the world a better place.

(Source)

#laineybot #infp #question #mbti

[shintorikhazumi]

Twelve Days of Christmas Project: Day 1

Twelve Days of Christmas Project: Day 1

“So I may have used poison instead of sugar.” for Akko and Sucy?

-Request by Liz! @lizanime3 I hope you like it even just a little bit ;-; Pleaseeee…

A/N: Hola Minna-san! Yes, I’m alive... and yet not. Ok, so I was supposed to start this on the 13th so I could have 12 days until the 25th… but… I’ve actually been really sick for nearly two weeks and I don’t think I’ll be getting better anytime soon. :(

But well, since I finally have enough strength to actually walk around (FINALLY, I’ve been kinda bedridden- and my head isn’t being a little jerk for once), I can work on this, YAY! I’m COMPLETELY out of practice. I‘m sorry if it will su-… be a bit bad. Maybe a bit OOC?

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

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

Gingerbread.

Akko loved gingerbread.

She loved it so much, the desert being a close second only to her precious umeboshi, and that was certainly something considering how much she adored the sour treats.

She loved the refreshing, minty (?) scent of the ginger, she loved how multiple shapes and structures could be constructed by such deliciously edible cookies… bread… cookie-bread. (Akko scratched her head, still trying to unlock the secrets to that one.)

Akko could easily and quite vividly reminisce on her memories, triggered by the gingerbread: A cozy fire back in japan, a log cabin that was a Christmas vacation house for her family, sitting on her papa’s lap as her mother sang her carols and gave her hot chocolate with marshmallows floating in her cup, nearly spilling out- Yes she loved that too, by the way.

Usually, she would relive these memories each Christmas with her family, a small corner of her childhood always tucked away in her heart and opened up during the Merry holidays; quite like a Christmas tree and its décor being stored away and set up each year. It was one tradition she would never replace with anything, and it was just that special considering Akko wasn’t known for being a traditional maiden at all.

… but well…

Who’s to say tradition can’t be broken? (Obviously not Akko, being the number one tradition breaker, citing incidents is of no need.)

And here sat Akko, well, lay Akko, on her bedroom floor, beside their desks that had cookies situated on top amongst all the messy clumps of paper and books; brown and red all over her body in an abstract mix of colors, which was putting it nicely. Putting it bluntly-

“You look like someone dumped buckets of brown and red paint all over you after tripping.” Sucy snidely remarked, stifling a laugh as she simply watched her girlfriend writhe in who-knows-what kind of pain.

The pair were alone in their room as Lotte had gone out to bond with Barbara over the special Christmas edition release of Nightfall, Hannah tagging along. The rest of the gang were doing whatever and the couple decided to spend some… “quality time” together and let their affections grow.

“Gee, thanks.” Akko barked through gritted teeth, not exactly feeling those said affections at the moment. “And whose fault do you think it is that I’m like this?!” She growled, her pearly whites digging into the skin of her lip, drawing a bit of blood.

“Yours?” Sucy replied with extreme nonchalance.

“YOURS!” Akko groaned feeling another bubble in her stomach pop. “What the hell is this?!”

“I honestly don’t know.” Sucy shrugged, kneeling down beside her fallen roommate and wiping the sweat off her brow. “If I knew which potion I knocked in by accident, you wouldn’t be in that kind of pain as I would have already known how to cure you.”

“Ugh!” Akko could feel the tears coming, and despite being quite confident in her bravery and astounding pain tolerance, it wasn’t really something she could be proud of as it didn’t help to quell the pain in her abdomen.

“So I may have used poison instead of sugar.” Sucy said not guilty at all, having baked the favorite treats of her lover as a christmas gift ( Lotte’s Suggestion) . Though she wasn’t sure if Akko’s feelings towards the pastry would remain the same after this traumatic experience.

“YOU WHAT?!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll help you now.” Sucy grinned, assisting Akko in sitting up against the bed as she was instructed to breathe in and out slowly.

“You mean you weren’t?!”

“I am now.” Sucy chuckled and Akko would have hit her if it were possible. “Now, to know what substance is in you right now, I need to ask a few questions.” Sucy explained, opening her potion and poison manual.

“Oh, please do.”

“Would you rather I not?”

“PLEASE.”

“You sounded pretty sarcastic-“

“Sucy.” Akko got out without shouting, a hand that was previously on her stomach, uselessly trying to assuage the pain, gripped Sucy’s pale one and it was then that the girl realized Akko was as pale as her and not at all alright.

“So even someone like you can’t take this kind of poison, huh?” Sucy’s tone had worry laced in it now, squeezing Akko’s hand back. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes turned downcast now, heart suddenly revving its engine and beating strongly as she realized just how much Akko was in danger. “I’m sor-“

“You can apologize after I’m better, jerk.” A playful Akko grinned through her hurting. “That’s not exactly important and I should be used to your horrible methods of tortu- teasing.” She grinned, shakily bringing their linked hands to her cold lips, kissing the back of Sucy’s hand. “I’ll seriously hold you to it.”

With a nod, the mushroom enthusiast went on with her inquiry. “How do you feel? What are your symptoms?” This was more than just one of her experiments on Akko to learn about potions. She usually checked any before giving them to the brunette anyway after deeming them “safe enough” for Akko’s personal intake.

“I feel like there are a ton of giant metal… bubbles, growing and popping against my stomach walls, and I kinda wanna let it out, but I can’t?” Akko tried to draw out her feelings in words as much as she could.

“Maybe you’re just constipated?” Sucy suddenly found herself able to joke again after Akko’s reassurance.

“HA.HA. Real funny.”

“Thanks, I hear mushrooms help people have dry humor.” Sucy replied, not batting an eyelash, hand now pressing down on Akko’s belly while looking through her archives.

“Because they become more delusional and wack?” Akko threw back, preferring this type of distraction from the pain, even if it meant bantering with her girlfriend.

“Say that again and you won’t be having any cuddles or affection.” Sucy threatened half-heartedly.

“Like you give them easily at all!” Akko retorted, now full-on smiling.

“Anything else?” Sucy gave in for once, and Akko was pleasantly shocked.

“Is this because I’m in bad condition?” Akko asked curiously.

“What?” Sucy looked at her incredulously, the sudden question catching her off guard and puzzling her at the suddenness of it all.

“You let me win our little thing just now?”

“Little thing?” Sucy parroted, eyes not leaving her list as she dutifully searched still.

“Our… usual… arguments..?” It felt weird calling it that as Akko felt it was anything but that. “Banter?”

“Ah.” Sucy said in realization. Quieting for a moment and that left Akko to wonder if she had done it subconsciously. “Don’t expect it to happen too often.” She whispered. Akko quirked a brow, a smirk playing across her once-in-pain features.

“Ohohoho… maybe I should be in pain more often then?”

“Scratch that,” Sucy cut off, a deadpanned glare directed at Akko. “Don’t expect it to happen again at all.”

“Why not? I could get what I want for once~” Akko sang, finding a weakness of Sucy, finally, that she could use against her.

“Well, If you’re that willing… be my guest.”

Suddenly Akko felt a chill run up her spine as Sucy gave her a once-over.

“I have no qualms with that, we can have it arranged.”

Akko’s grin dropped as she quieted down, terrified of whatever possibilities hid behind that expression of her girlfriend. “On second thought, let’s not.” She backed out rather quickly and silence resumed between the two roommates once more.

After a few minutes, Akko’s sweat accumulating on her brow once more from the pain, she heard a frustrated sigh come from her companion.

“Sucy?” She called.

“Why can’t I find it?! Nothing seems to match the description.” She scratched her head, messing up her usual smooth hairdo. “How can I help you? I don’t even know what’s wrong- and I… I thought…”

“Shh…” Akko pulled Sucy into a weak side hug. “You’re trying. I know you are. It’s not like we can’t take our time. I’m… I’m a strong girl!” Akko said in a silly voice, and as she gazed into Sucy’s eyes, the girl in a rare giggling fit, Akko was reminded of how much Sucy loved her, enough to have a few tears sitting at the corners of her eyes.

Smiling at that, feeling an overwhelming pleasant warmth, Akko leaned forward, planting a kiss on Sucy’s forehead.

“I know you can do it.”

Sucy simply nodded, once gain baffled by her girlfriend’s believing heart and amazing encouragement skills. “I’ll do it. Just you watch me.”

Despite saying that, no results were gleaned and Akko was now on the brink of passing out from the pain that wasn’t going away at all. Sucy looked like she was about to rip her hair out.

“H-hey, Sucy? Maybe we should ask a professor-?”

“Just a bit more Akko.” Sucy replied stubbornly. “Just a bit mo-“

The door swung open and in hopped a float-y and grinning Lotte, bags and bags of merchandise hanging on her arms. She noticed after a bit the state of her room, and her roommates and cocked her head in worried confusion.

“What is…?”

“Accidentally put poison instead of sugar, I think.” Sucy explained briefly and Lotte just continued to stare, unnerving Akko and Sucy.

“And?”

“I can’t seem to find which poison.” Sucy rolled her eyes.

“If you said you mistook it for sugar, can’t you just… I don’t know…” Lotte spoke, placing her things away and sitting with her best friends as she stated in a matter-a-fact way. “Look for a poison that looks like sugar?”

…

A loud slap was heard in the room and Sucy’s forehead was as red as the random parts of Akko’s body.

“Ugh!” The couple groaned.

“Oh, you’re really starting to become more and more like a couple in unity.” Lotte clapped as Sucy finally found the poison and made the cure.

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

As they lay in bed, Sucy sleeping over on Akko’s, as it had become a… tradition of sorts for them to sleep together, sleeping on one’s bed on certain days and such, the Filipina couldn’t help but ask.

“Still love Gingerbread?” She asked teasingly. “If you do, you’re some masochist… or maybe immune to trauma.” Sucy jested, she knew Akko was anything but that, but what’s a little fun after a problematic day?

Akko shifted from her position, lying beside Sucy and faced her with her own grin. “Do I still love you after all that?” She shot back and Sucy couldn’t help but blush, obviously knowing the answer. Akko nodded, the red glow on Sucy’s face visible even in the dim lighting. “I guess we both know the answer then.” Akko laughed as she turned back to her original position.

There was a shift beside her and her droopy eyes opened wide as Sucy lay atop her, placing a small kiss on her lips before hiding in Akko’s chest.

“I love you too… idiot.

“I love you too Jerk.”

 Merry Christmas LIZ!

A/N: Soooo? How was it? SO SO SO SO? I hven’t written in a while so I barely… know my abilities… ;-; I hoped y’all enjoyed? So anyone else wanna send a prompt can.. do it since well... yeah. I hope to post 12 of these. Soon. I only got 2-3 tho. hahhha... Thank you for reading still from this lousy author. Thank you!

~Shintori Khazumi!

#SuAkko #lwa #Little Witch Academia #akko kagari #sucy manbavaran #fanfic #prompts

[twifeordeath]

Twife or Death: Lesbian Twilight Chapter 14

Updated as of 1-23-17 (previous) (all chapters)

All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer, and this project is non-profit and fan entertainment.Thank you to Laura G, Devyn L, Birdy E, Naoya, Liz B, Caitlin L, Jordyn, Breanna P, Amanda L, Gabrielle P, Nobbie A, Tori K, goddessayem, smallnark, Julia F, Mol M, Dyma S, Rose I, Tess KC, Maria K, Rachel E, Kathleen K, Katie G, Brittany E, Elizabeth E, Imp, Amy L, Robin SG, and the project admins, Alina G and B Bordeaux.

14. MIND OVER MATTER

She could drive well when she kept the speed reasonable, I had to admit. Like so many things, it seemed to be effortless for her. She barely looked at the road, yet the tires never deviated so much as an inch from the center of the lane. She drove one-handed, with the other hand holding mine.

Sometimes she gazed into the setting sun, sometimes she glanced at me — my face, my hair blowing out the open window, our hands twined together. She had turned the radio to an oldies station and started singing along with a song that sounded vaguely familiar. She knew every line.

“You like fifties music?” I asked, hazarding a guess.

“Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the sixties, or the seventies, ugh!” She shuddered. “The eighties were bearable.”

Her comment stirred my curiosity. “How did you… how did you become a vampire?” I asked cautiously, not wanting to upset her buoyant humor by stirring up painful memories.

“Does it matter much?” Her smile, to my relief, remained unclouded.

“No, but I still wonder…” I frowned. “I would like to learn more about you, if you are okay with it…”

“I wonder if it will upset you,” she reflected to herself. She gazed ahead, avoiding my eyes.

“It won’t. I think.” I replied. “Maybe you could simplify, or just focus on emotions and not actions? It might help…” By now I’ve grown used to it all. Besides, this was Edythe’s life, it couldn’t be as bad as the horror stories Mom broke out around campfires.

She sighed, and then glanced sideways at me, gauging my expression. Whatever she saw there must have encouraged her. She looked forward again — the light of the setting sun glittered off her skin in ruby-tinged sparkles — and spoke.

“I was born in Chicago in 1901.” She paused and glanced at me from the corner of her eyes. My face was carefully neutral, patient for the rest. One side of her lips curved up in a tiny smile and she continued, “Carine found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen, and dying of the Spanish influenza.”

I felt my sudden intake of breath, though it was barely audible to my own ears. She must have noticed it, because she paused briefly before continuing.

“I don’t remember it well — it was a very long time ago, and I had wanted that particular memory to fade.” She was lost in her thoughts for a short time before she went on. “I do remember how it felt, when Carine saved me. It’s not an easy thing; not something you could forget.”

“Your parents?”

“They had already died from the disease. I was alone. That was why she chose me out of everyone else she could have saved. I wouldn’t have to go through the pain of leaving a loved one behind. And in all the chaos of the epidemic, I began anew without any suspicion.”

“How did she… save you?”

A few seconds passed before she answered. She seemed to choose her words carefully.

“It was difficult. Changing someone requires precision. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Carine has always been the most composed, the most skillful in my family… I don’t think you could even find her equal throughout all of history.” She paused. “As for me, it was merely very, very painful.”

I could tell from the hard set of her lips, she would say no more on this subject. I suppressed my interest for her sake, though my mind was far from idle. There were many questions that flashed through my mind about this particular issue, and ideas that were only beginning to occur to me.

Her soft voice interrupted my thoughts. “She had also acted from loneliness, I think. That’s usually the reason that drives vampires when deciding to turn someone. I was the first in Carine’s family, and Esme was the second. Esme fell from a cliff. They brought her straight to the hospital morgue. Somehow her heart was still beating.”

“So you must be dying, then, to become…” We never said the word, and I couldn’t frame it now.

“No, that’s just Carine’s morals. Anyone could be turned. She just would never do that to someone who had another choice. If they were conscious enough, she would ask.” The respect in her voice was profound whenever she spoke of the woman who had become her mother. “It is very difficult though, she says,” she continued, “to possess enough control to turn someone.” She looked at the now-dark road, and I could feel the subject closing again.

“And Eleanor and Rosalie?”

“Carine brought Rosalie into our family next. I never had a sister, and neither had she. We enjoyed each other’s presence tremendously.” She rolled her eyes. “I never realized I could feel such a magnitude of both love and annoyance for a single person. Two years later, Rosalie found Eleanor. She was hunting — we were in Appalachia at the time — and found a bear about to finish Eleanor off. Rosalie carried her back to Carine, more than a hundred miles, afraid she wouldn’t be able to complete the change herself. I’m only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for her.” She threw a glance in my direction and raised our hands, still folded together, to brush my cheek with the back of her hand.

“But she made it,” I said, encouraging her to continue.

“Yes,” Edythe murmured. “She saw something in Eleanor’s face that made her strong enough. And they’ve been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple. But the younger we pretend to be, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks seemed perfect, so we all enrolled in high school.” She laughed. “I suppose we’ll have to go to their wedding in a few years, again.”

“Alice and Jasper?”

“Alice and Jasper are two very rare creatures. They both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Jasper belonged to another family before she joined us. She… well, that’s her story to tell. Alice found her. Like me, she has certain gifts above and beyond the norm for our kind.”

“Really?” I interrupted, fascinated. “But you said you were the only one who could hear people’s thoughts.”

“That’s true. Alice has a different gift. She sees the future — things that might happen, things that are coming. That’s how I found you that night, in Port Angeles, because she warned me. Her visions are very subjective, however. The future isn’t set in stone. Things change.”

Her jaw set when she said that, and her eyes darted to my face and away so quickly that I wasn’t sure if I only imagined it.

“What other things does she see?”

“She saw Jasper first. I think Alice felt that she was looking for someone before she knew why or who. After she found Jasper she saw Carine and our family, and they came together to find us. She’s most sensitive to non-humans. She always sees, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose.”

“Are there a lot of… your kind?” I was surprised. How many of them could walk among us undetected?

“No, not many. But most won’t settle in any one place. Only those like us, who’ve given up hunting you people” — a sly glance in my direction — “can live together with humans for any length of time. We’ve only found one other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there were so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us who live… differently tend to band together.”

“And the others?”

“Nomadic clans, for the most part, with some exceptions. We’ve all lived that way at times. It helps to not draw attention to us, especially with our ageless state, but it gets tedious. We run across the others now and then, because there are clans that prefer the North.”

“Why is that?”

We were parked in front of my house now, and she’d turned off the Volvo. It was very quiet and dark; there was no moon. The porch light was off, so I knew my Ma wasn’t home yet.

“Did you not see me this afternoon?” she teased. “Do you think I could walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents? There’s a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula, one of the most sunless places in the world, though it’s mostly for Carine’s and my sake. The darker our skin is, the less we sparkle. Alice, Jasper, and Eleanor still shimmer, though much less than I do, while Esme and Rosalie only have a light, iridescent halo about them.”

She sighed. “It’s nice to be able to go outside in the day. You wouldn’t believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years.”

“So that’s where the sun-allergic legends came from?”

“Probably.”

I pondered on the thought. “And Alice came from another family, like Jasper?”

“No, that is a mystery to us. Alice doesn’t remember her human life at all. And she doesn’t know who changed her. She awoke alone. Whoever bit her walked away, and none of us understand why, or how, they chose to do so. If she hadn’t had her future sense, if she hadn’t seen Jasper and Carine and known that she would someday become one of us, Alice probably would have been utterly lost.”

There was so much to think through, so much I still wanted to ask. But, to my great embarrassment, my stomach growled. I’d been so intrigued, I forgot I hadn’t eaten yet. I realized now that I was ravenous.

Edythe frowned. “I’m sorry, I’m keeping you from dinner. I’ve never spent so much time around humans. I tend to forget.”

“Still, I want to stay with you a bit longer.” It was easier to say in the darkness, knowing as I spoke how my voice would betray my vulnerability.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Would you like to?” I couldn’t picture Edythe sitting in Charlie’s ordinary kitchen chair.

“Yes, if it’s all right.” I heard her get out of the car, and almost simultaneously she was outside my door, opening it for me.

“Slower than I thought,” I teased her.

“Surely by only a few seconds.”

She walked beside me in the night, so quietly I had reach out and take her hand to be sure she was still there. In the darkness she looked different. Still my beautiful Edythe, but no longer the fantastic, if a little ridiculous, sparkling girl of our sunlit afternoon.

We reached the door and she waited. I paused to reach under the eave for the key, and unlocked it. As I replaced the key, she opened the door for me. I stepped inside.

As I reach to flick on the porch light, I noticed her stopped halfway through the frame. I raised my eyebrow.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said, hesitant, “I’ve just never been in a girl’s house before.”

“Ah. No need to be shy,” I said, giggling. “Nothing scary in here.”

I went ahead of her for the moment and gestured down the hall to the kitchen. She stood there for a bit longer, taking in the details of the living room, then followed. In the kitchen, she sat in the very chair I’d tried to picture her in. Her presence lit up the room, and I was suddenly reminded of Renée, in the days before the divorce, how my mother could illuminate the house in the same way. It was a moment before I could look away.

I concentrated on getting my dinner, taking last night’s lasagna from the fridge, placing a square on a plate, heating it in the microwave. It revolved, filling the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. I didn’t take my eyes from the plate of food as I spoke.

“Would you like to…?” I asked casually.

“Hmmm?” She sounded as if I had pulled her from some other train of thought.

Suddenly embarrassed, I changed my question. “What do you think of the house?”

Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw the headlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. Edythe was by my side in a moment as I stiffened, my hand darting down to grip hers.

“Does your mother know I’m here?” she asked.

I thought about the silver Volvo in the driveway. “She will now.”

“Should I leave?”

“Do you want to?”

She laughed nervously, but her hold on my hand remained steady. “I’ll stay.”

“Alright,” I said, taking a deep breath.

My ma’s key turned in the door.

“Bella?” she called. It had bothered me before; who else would it be? “Whose car is outside? You going to introduce me to your friend?”

“We’re in here Ch- ma.” I hoped she couldn’t hear the nerves in my voice. I grabbed my dinner from the microwave and sat at the table as she walked in. I heard a chuckle and glared in Edythe’s direction as I burned my hand slightly in my haste to sit down. Charlie’s footsteps suddenly sounded so noisy after my day with Edythe.

I scrambled back up as she walked in, “Hello Bells! Hope you had a good day?” She smiled and winked as she took in the scene (and Edythe) then  stepped on the heels of her boots to take them off, holding the back of my chair for support.

“Yes,” I rolled my eyes at her, “Ma, meet Edythe. Edythe, this is my mother Charlie, though you probably already know her as the sheriff.”

Edythe stood up fluidly, though a mite too fast to be completely calm, and shook Charlie’s hand after the boots were out of the way, “Nice to meet you Sheriff.”

“Oh please, just call me Charlie,” she wasn’t used to this level of polite respect in a pretty rural town where everyone knew her by her first name. “Bella, did you offer our guest some food?”

We started speaking at the same time,

“Edythe isn’t hungry-”

“I already ate, thank you-”

Charlie smiled at us, then with a mischievous grin suggested, “You should show Edythe your room Bella!”

I took my food with me, scarfing it down as I got her dinner. It burned my tongue. I filled two glasses with milk while her lasagna was heating, and gulped mine to put out the fire, busying myself so I wouldn’t have to reply. She didn’t seem to expect one anyway. As I set the glass down, I noticed the milk trembling and realized my hand was shaking. Charlie sat in the chair, her expression bright, lighting up the room almost as much as Edythe had, though her hair and skin were much darker.

“Thanks,” she said as I placed her food on the table.

“How was your day?” I asked. The words were rushed; I was dying to escape to my room.

“Good. The fish were biting… how about you? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?”

“Not really — it was too nice out to stay indoors.” I took another big bite. “Edythe took me hiking.” Why was my face so hot all of a sudden?

Edythe chuckled so softly I thought I might have imagined it.

“Oh really?” Charlie looked between the two of us in amusement. “Nothing too strenuous though?”

Oh my mom, always protective. Edythe hurriedly assured her that it was more like a walk and then a picnic in a clearing in the Preserve.

Finished with the last bite of lasagna, I lifted my glass and chugged the remains of my milk.

Charlie surprised me by being observant. “In a hurry?”

“Not really? I just…” I had made the mistake of looking over at Edythe and my treacherous brain short-circuited and started hyperfocusing on her freckles and the few strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face.

Edythe swooped in and saved me by asking Charlie about the success of her fishing trip. She could go on for quite awhile on the topics of fish and other wildlife.

I quickly scrubbed my dishes clean in the sink, and placed them upside down on a dish towel to dry, trying to take deep breaths and hoping I didn’t look so much like a tomato anymore

“So is Edythe staying the night?” Charlie asked, hip-checking me as she slid up with her plate and fork.

“Mommmm!”

“I’ll just leave you girls to it then! Go show her around Bella, I’ll finish the dishes.”

Another musical chuckle from Edythe, who, to my surprise, seemed to be blushing as well. I took her by the hand before I could chicken out and dragged her out of the kitchen. She may have been shorter than me, but I’m sure if she’d wanted to, she could have stopped me. I tried not to slam the door but my relief at escaping Charlie’s pointed questions was sizeable. She meant well, but sometimes, well, sometimes a girl just needed space!

“Were you really that desperate to get me alone, Bella?” Edythe was incredibly close to me all of a sudden, amber eyes almost glowing in the dark.

I flipped the switch to turn on the strings of lights on my ceiling, scoffing, “I could ask you the same question.” Where was all this confidence coming from? My heart fluttered like a hummingbird, wanting to take flight right out of my chest.

Edythe laughed loudly, flopping down on my bed, bronze hair splaying out around her head like a halo.

“So, give me the grand tour then, Bella Swan.”

I played with the tassel of an old tapestry Charlie had gotten me, from back when Lisa Frank had been an obsession, “Nothing much to show really.”

Edythe sat up suddenly, her face momentarily in shadow.

“You okay?” I peeled myself off the wall.

She stood up, suddenly looking a bit stiff and uncomfortable. “I’ve never been in a girl’s bedroom before.”

I stared at her a few moments before letting loose a giggle. She looked over at me and the spell was broken, her smile curved easily across her face.

“I know that sounds strange when I put it like that.”

“No, I think I know what you mean.” I said, taking her hand more slowly this time, aware of her every movement. I looked down at her and saw she was blushing again. I pulled her to the window, not able to stand the intensity of her gaze for long.

“Here’s my wishing tree.” I pointed out to the gnarled old hawthorn underneath my window. “I would try to make a wish as I’d watch the leaves fall in the autumn, watching one twirl, before it settled on the ground. Or I’d try to guess how many berries were on a branch. If I was right I’d get another wish.” Edythe’s hand was now warm in mine, almost completely normal.

I turned to see her watching me with a fond smile playing across her face. “You never fail to surprise me, Bella Swan.” She gave my hand a squeeze and went over to my bookshelf.

I watched her eyes scan the shelves, then her arm with an upraised finger, poised to pull a book down, but hesitating.

“Warrior Cats? Really?”

I stumbled over in shock. “I…”

“Cinderpelt was innocent,” she said with a grin. Then suddenly she lay, smiling hugely, across my bed, her hands behind her head, her feet dangling off the end, the picture of ease.

“Oh!” I breathed, putting out a hand to brace myself, dizzy from shock.

“I’m sorry!” She sat up, gazing worriedly at me, “too fast?”

"Just give me a minute to restart my heart.”

She carefully reached out a hand and tugged me onto the bed beside her.

“Why don’t you sit down,” she suggested, putting an arm around my shoulders. “How’s the heart?”

“You tell me — I’m sure you hear it better than I do.”

Her shoulders shook with silent laughter.

We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeat slow. I leaned my head onto her shoulder and felt her arm slowly warm to match my temperature. I didn’t want to move.

“Can I have a minute to be human?” I asked as I realized I couldn’t remember if I’d even brushed my teeth this morning.

“Certainly.” She gestured with one hand that I should proceed.

“Stay,” I said, trying to look severe.

“Yes, ma'am.” And she made a show of becoming a statue on the edge of my bed.

I hopped up, grabbing my pajamas from off the floor, my bag of toiletries off the desk. I left the light off and slipped out, closing the door.

I could hear the sound from the TV rising up the stairs. I banged the bathroom door loudly, cursing my dyspraxia. I opened it back up and shouted, “I’m fine,” back down the stairs so Charlie wouldn’t worry. I heard her laugh and say, “Don’t take your frustration out on inanimate objects Bells, you know they can’t fight back.” I definitely heard Edythe laughing then, and stuck my tongue out in her general direction. She didn’t see it but it made me feel better.

I meant to hurry. I brushed my teeth fiercely, trying to be thorough and speedy, removing all traces of lasagna. But the hot water of the shower couldn’t be rushed. It unknotted the muscles in my back, calmed my pulse. The familiar smell of my shampoo made me feel like I might be the same person I had been this morning. I tried not to think of Edythe, sitting in my room, waiting, because then I had to start all over with the calming process. I shut off the water, toweling hastily, rushing again. I pulled on my holey t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Too late to regret not packing the Victoria’s Secret silk pajamas my mother got me two birthdays ago, which still had the tags on them in a drawer somewhere back home.

I quickly put my hair into two cornrows, then tied my silk scarf around my head. I threw the towel in the hamper, flung my brush and toothpaste into my bag. Then I flew into my room, closing the door tightly behind me.

Edythe hadn’t moved a fraction of an inch, a carving of Aphrodite perched on my faded quilt. I smiled, and her lips twitched, the statue coming to life.

Her eyes appraised me, taking in the head scarf, the tattered shirt. She raised one eyebrow. “Nice.”

I grimaced.

“No, it looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” I whispered. I went back to her side, sitting cross-legged beside her. I looked at the lines in the wooden floor.

She lifted my chin, examining my face.

“You look very warm.”

She bent her face slowly to mine, laying her cool cheek against my skin. I held perfectly still.

“Mmmmmm…” she breathed.

It was very difficult, while she was touching me, to think coherently. I felt her hand, lighter than a moth’s wing, brushing a short lock of hair that had escaped the scarf, so that her lips could touch the hollow beneath my ear.

“So I was wondering…” I began again, but her fingers were slowly tracing my collarbone, and I lost my train of thought.

“Yes?” she breathed.

I closed my eyes and sighed, forgetting what it was I might have been wondering at the time.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No — the opposite. You’re driving me crazy,” I explained.

She considered that briefly, and when she spoke, she sounded pleased.

“Really?” A triumphant smile slowly lit her face.

“Would you like a round of applause?” I asked sarcastically.

She grinned.

“I’m just pleasantly surprised,” she clarified. “In the last hundred years or so,” her voice was teasing, “I never imagined anything like this. I didn’t believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with… in another way than my sisters. And then to find, even though it’s all new to me, that I’m good at it… at being with you…”

“You’re good at almost everything,” I pointed out.

She shrugged, and we both laughed in whispers.

“But how can it be so easy now?” I pressed. “This afternoon…”

“It feels right,” she sighed. “But this afternoon, I was still… confused and scared. I didn’t understand what I was feeling. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave so.”

“Not completely unforgivable,” I disagreed.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “You see,” she continued, looking down now, “I wasn’t sure if I was enough…” She picked up one of my hands and pressed it lightly to her face. “And while there was still that possibility that … it might be hunger,” — she breathed in the scent at my wrist — “I was… scared. I made up my mind that I was strong enough, but now I don’t have to worry, do I?”

I’d never seen her struggle so hard for words. It was so… human.

“Not about eating me you don’t,” I said.

She threw back her head and laughed, quietly as a whisper, but still exuberantly.

“Not in that way anyway,” she amended, winking, her hands encircling my wrists as she spoke.

I blushed furiously and struggled for words. She laughed her quiet, musical laugh. She’d laughed more tonight than I’d ever heard in all the time I’d spent with her.

“You seem more… playful than usual,” I observed. “I haven’t seen you like this before.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be like this?” She smiled. “The glory of first love, and all that. It’s incredible, isn’t it, the difference between reading about something, seeing it in the pictures, and experiencing it?”

“Very different,” I agreed. “More powerful than I’d imagined.”

I started pulling back, to look in her face, and her hands slowly released my wrists, lingering for a few moments before she let go completely. "What —" I started to ask, when her body became alert. I froze, but then she suddenly leaned back, shifting to put space between us.

“Charlie’s coming," she whispered urgently. I laughed at her startled expression.

I heard the door crack open as Charlie peeked in. 

“You girls need anything?”

“No, ma, we’re fine.” I said, turning to look at her with a combination of pleading and embarrassment.

“Alright, well I’m turning in. Goodnight girls, don’t stay up too late.”

“Goodnight Charlie.” Edythe said solemnly, as I tried not to glare.

Charlie chuckled and closed the door.

Then Edythe's cool arm was around me; almost like she needed comforting.

"What, did you expect her to threaten you with a rifle?" I muttered, trying not to laugh, my heart still crashing in my chest.

She shook her head and chuckled. “I’m used to having to hide, not getting close to anyone outside my family. Instincts took over I guess. I only seemed to notice later that her thoughts were amused and not aggressive.”

“I think Charlie teases me about girls because she doesn’t want me to feel alone, but when she saw how I am around you- I guess she picked up on the fact that this isn’t just a crush. She might’ve been the one to try to give you the shovel talk a year ago, but we’ve talked a few times. She trusts me to come to her if I need anything. ”

She hummed a melody I didn’t recognize; it sounded like a lullaby.

She paused. “Should I sing you to sleep?”

“Right,” I laughed. “Like I could sleep with you here!”

“So if you don’t want to sleep…” she suggested, ignoring my tone. My breath caught.

“If I don’t want to sleep… ?”

She chuckled. “What do you want to do then?”

I couldn’t answer at first.

“I’m not sure,” I finally said.

“Tell me when you decide.”

I could feel her cool breath on my neck, feel her nose sliding along my jaw.

“You have a very floral smell, like lavender… or freesia,” she noted.

“I’ve decided what I want to do,” I told her, fighting to keep my thoughts from scattering to the four winds. “I want to hear more about you.”

“Ask me anything.”

“Why can you read minds — why only you? And Alice, seeing the future… why does that happen?”

I felt her shrug in the darkness. “We don’t really know. Carine has a theory… she believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified — like our minds, and our senses. She thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Alice had some precognition, wherever she was.”

“What did she bring into the next life, and the others?”

“Carine brought her compassion. Esme brought her ability to love passionately. Eleanor brought her strength, Rosalie her… tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness.” she chuckled. “Jasper is very interesting. She was quite charismatic in her first life, able to influence those around her to see things her way. Now she is able to influence the emotions of those around her — calm down a room of tense people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It’s a very subtle gift.”

I considered the impossibilities she described, trying to take it in. She waited patiently while I thought.

“So where did it all start? I mean, Carine changed you, and then someone must have changed her, and so on…”

“Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn’t we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey? Or, if you don’t believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, is it so hard to believe that the same force that created the delicate angelfish with the shark, the baby seal and the killer whale, could create both our kinds together?” She laughed, and something touched my hair — her lips? I wanted to turn toward her, to see if it was really her lips against my hair.

“Are you ready to sleep?” she asked, interrupting the short silence. “Or do you have any more questions?”

“Only a million or two.”

“We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…” she reminded me. I smiled, euphoric at the thought.

“Are you sure you won’t vanish in the morning?” I wanted this to be certain. “You are mythical, after all.”

“I won’t leave you.”

“One more, then, tonight…” And I blushed. The darkness was no help — I’m sure she could feel the sudden warmth under my skin.

“What is it?”

“No, forget it. I changed my mind.”

“Bella, you can ask me anything.”

I didn’t answer, and she groaned.

“I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and worse.”

“Now you know how the rest of us feel.”

“Please?” Her voice was so persuasive, so impossible to resist.

“Well,” I began, glad that she couldn’t see my face.

“Yes?”

“You said that Rosalie and Eleanor will get married soon… Is that… marriage… how many times have they gotten married? Why do you do it?”

She laughed in earnest now, understanding. “Is that what you’re getting at?”

I fidgeted, unable to answer.

“Well, I suppose it’s because we’re all in high school again. We’ve been enrolled in quite a few colleges, but it’s too easy to stay longer like that, and I guess Carine thought this would be safer. Rosalie especially enjoys the celebrations, and Alice organizing everything and picking out clothes. It’s almost like a holiday tradition.”

“You…” I began. She waited. “Well, doesn’t it get tedious to take the same classes over and over, to go back to that level of emotional maturity? Or lack thereof,” I added.

She laughed and lightly rumpled my nearly dry hair.

"I’m still seventeen years old emotionally. I may have more knowledge, though I don’t remember everything from the classes I’ve taken,” she paused, playing with a lock of my hair, “I guess it’s different for each of us. It’s not something we’ve discussed a lot, and now I’m curious what the others might say,” she mused.

I yawned involuntarily.

“I’ve answered your questions, now you should sleep,” she insisted.

“I’m not sure if I can.”

She laughed, and then began to hum that same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an angel, soft in my ear.

More tired than I realized, exhausted from the long day of mental and emotional stress like I’d never felt before, I drifted to sleep in her now warm embrace.

#twife or death #lesbian twilight #wlw twilight #wlw vampires #lesbian vampires #finally updated!! #im sure there are typos #shoot me a message and ill fix them! #itsblue #sorry its so late #XD #i got caught up in things #namely naps #i hope i did everything right! #chapter #okay so is it just me who for some reason doesnt like using lesbian as much as wlw? #am i just being weird? #i did a whole lot of rewriting for this chapter #im proud

[asheva]

A New Soul

What happens to her happens to him. But what if this worked for any strong physical sensation, not just pain? Alternatively, a certain changeling learns a lesson in love. Set during Roaming Charges May Apply.

Read it at my AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332195) or below.

The abandoned hallways of Arcadia Oaks High — eerie in the dappled darkness of a waning moon — were perfect for his jaunts. Sometimes, one just had to have a…change of scenery. Strickler relishes the sensations of his true form, feeling stronger than he had for days. His clawed feet make a pleasant clack on the worn vinyl as he stretches his legs to their full stride. It was risky exposing himself, given the chance of tardy cleaners or one of the teachers returning, but such was his mood tonight.

He brushes his steel mantle lightly, fingers testing each edge, carefully as not to cut, before selecting the sharpest of his knives. With a lazy flick, he lodges it in a nearby poster. The keen blade neatly cleaves the love-struck Romeo in half. How appropriate, given the current situation. He went to all the trouble of raising a powerful troll assassin and yet the boy still lived! While Strickler could appreciate Angor’s strategy of patient study — far superior to Bular’s brutish tactics — he strongly suspects the assassin was toying with him as well. Unhindered, the Trollhunter sought a dangerous path that spelt disaster for all changelings. Ignorant child! How could he hope to defeat Gunmar, Gunmar the Black, the greatest of all Gumm-Gumms? Yet the possibility remained, and with it the chance that the Nursery would fall. That was something Strickler could not allow. Sighing, he frees his knife from the wall.

Suddenly, without warning, the changeling is struck with a profound feeling of suffering. His blade clatters to the floor, and his knees sink with it. “W-What…” Strickler gasps, clutching his side. Beneath his hands, his muscles spasm in ways unfelt in this form. Had Angor finally found a way to harm him? Summoning his will through the Inferna Copula, Strickler commands a vision of the troll assassin. He is met by the sight of dripping tunnels and a dais made from piled flotsam. The sewers under Arcadia, if he had to guess. So that was where the troll took refuge. Through Angor’s eyes, he sees a half-carved golem figurine and the rhythmic dip of a sharp blade. The assassin is completely absorbed in his work. An attack on his ringbearer seemed unlikely, then. But what was the cause of the pain? In a burst of green, he shifts back into his human guise. The phantom feeling hits him harder, drawing his breath out in small huffs. He immediately recognises it as the desire to retch. Trollkind — for all the unpalatable “delicacies” they consumed — are rarely struck with nausea. This resilience extended, in part, to the half-breeds or Impure. Even in human form, Strickler was only mildly inconvenienced by the sensation. It should be impossible for this to debilitate him so, unless…

“The binding!” The changeling yelps, forcing himself to his feet. Shoes, not claws, resound, as he tears down the hall towards the staff carpark.

***

A few minutes, one squashed goblin, and several ignored traffic regulations later, Strickler pulls up outside the Lake residence. Neither the wrath of Gunmar nor a raging Gronka Morka could drive him from the car and to the house more quickly. Shifting from foot to foot, he raps on the door sharply. No answer. “Barbara!” Strickler cries out, hating the desperation that creeps into his voice. The binding of fates was a brilliant strategy to control the Trollhunter, but he could not shake the thought it was ill-considered. As he knew from experience, humans were incredibly vulnerable creatures. If someone wanted to strike him down, it would be as simple as harming the woman while she slept. Granted, the Trollhunter was in residence most nights, but even Jim’s budding fighting skills would not suffice. He is honestly surprised Angor had not thought of it. As expected, the assassin was already testing his bonds. Fortunately, the mental compulsions bound with the Inferna Copula were enough to prevent any deviation from the ringbearer’s command…for now.

Strickler knocks again, more forcefully this time, leaving small dints in the paintwork. Was she still at the clinic? No, Barbara mentioned she had the rest of the day off after a fortnight of double shifts. The silence worried him, yet he knew — by virtue of his continued existence — that she still lived. Finally, he hears a reply, although faint and strangled. “One moment…urgh!” The magical echoes of suffering strikes him through the bond. Breathing slowly, Strickler grabs the door frame to steady himself. It would do them both no good if he was vulnerable to attack. He hears her now, shuffling towards the entrance. The changeling quickly straightens as the lock clicks. Barbara, still dressed in her medical scrubs, peers out. Framed by the dark wood of the portal, she is as pale as Myrddin’s cursed daylight. The fine copper strands framing her face are slick with sweat. “W-Walter?” Barbara squints into the cult-de-sac, swaying slightly.

“I…uh…was in the neighbourhood.” It pains him to smile, but after centuries of disguise and deception, very little discomfort shows. He punctuates his greeting with a slight shrug, inwardly cursing his lack of a good excuse.

“This isn’t r-really a good time,” she rasps, coughing at the words. Bile burns at the back of his throat. How unpleasant.

“Barbara, you look dreadful!” Strickler delivers his lines as naturally as possible, eye twitching. He closes the distance in a stride, pushing the door open ever so slightly. His eyes flick behind her, scanning for unseen threats. “Please, let me give you some assistance. It’s the least I could do.” She holds his gaze with those soft doe-eyes, red-rimmed and bagged with exhaustion.

“What have I done to deserve you?” She smiles weakly at him. Her misplaced trust unsettles him, but any unnatural feelings are soon replaced by another wave of nausea.

“Here, allow me.” He proffers his arm. She tucks against him and together they stagger towards the lounge room. The lights are dimmed and soft pop plays from an old radio on the bookshelf. He sets her down on the lounge, shifting the cocoon of blankets already in residence to make room.

“Ugh, thanks,” Barbara groans as she rolls on to her side. The changeling tucks her up again, smoothing the blanket across her shoulders. There is a chipped coffee mug of wine by the lounge. A spicy-sweet Riesling if he was any judge. A bowl accompanies the mug, half-eaten, with the spoon sticking straight up in stiff gloop. “It’s not food poisoning,” Barbara mutters from under the blanket, “just a bad batch of mac and cheese.” She laughs weakly. “Trust me, I’m a doctor.” He raises an eyebrow. To think, he, centuries-old changeling and leader of the Janus Order, could have been vicariously poisoned by cheesy pasta. Ever paranoid, Strickler checks the bowl for Trollish substances. Nomura may have been banished to the Darklands, but many of the Order still favoured her tactics. He finds nothing detectable, but the thought irks him.

Continuing his investigation in the kitchen, Strickler wades through a mire of dirty saucepans and stockpots. The blender, so conveniently and beautifully loud, dangles from the fridge by its cord. Still bubbling away on the hob, judging by its pungent tang, was the culprit. “Things have been crazy at the clinic,” she sighs, stretching out further. “I just wanted something comforting.” He sniffs the pot, immediately rebuking. There is a familiar odour. Fit for a troll, dare he say? It smelled of murkuun, the small balls of rat meat fermented in its own fat for several moons. Something he only tasted once — at knifepoint, in a Troll province under Capua — and never wishes to taste again. How a human could possibly recreate such a horror was beyond him. “Jim makes it look so easy.” Barbara sighs, sinking back into the lounge.

“And where is young Jim?” he inquires, although he already knows the answer. Ojos del Salado was an unforgiving realm and its overlord just as ruthless. With luck, the old volcano would deal with the changeling’s little problem.

“Still out camping,” she replies, sighing deeply. “I just don’t know anymore.” The changeling hums sympathetically, privately frowning. It would not be long before the Trollhunter exposed him, destroying Strickler’s budding relationship, or worse, broke Barbara’s heart. Put simply, it would be easier if the boy just vanished.

With Barbara having expelled most of the offending meal, Strickler figures she could use something to eat. The cupboards are well-stocked trove of exotic ingredients. Pickled ginger, saffron threads, Spanish cheese, to name a few. He should thank Young Atlas for that. Jim’s cooking was indeed superb: comforting, delightful, yet inventive. Much like the Trollhunter himself. A shame those skills would never flourish. The changeling settles on some battered soup tins from the bottom cupboard. It was unlikely anyone would miss these. Grimacing, he selects the most palatable of the bunch. The 'Cream of Chicken' squidges out in a solid, gelatinous, can-shaped lump. He hesitantly tastes it, gagging at the mush coating his tongue. Far too salty and artificial. Raiding the fridge, he finds some milk to dilute it. Now it smells…fairly edible. Changelings were voracious by nature, even at only a few decades old. While he had long since sublimated his needs to a human-like level, he could do with a good meal himself. Finally, he tops the steaming bowls with a few springs of freshly-snipped parsley. Not bad, for all its humble origins. The changeling was nothing if not good at disguising. As an afterthought, he throws the tins in the trash. Always hide the evidence. “Dinner is served,” he says with a wide smile, passing Barbara the soup bowl, “Just what the doctor ordered, I hear.” She chuckles lightly, then coughs as the air catches.

They eat in relative silence, save the soft clank and scrape of soup spoons. Strickler experimentally tries a spoonful of soup, then frowns as it fails to quench that persistent, annoying tickle in his throat. The binding was already becoming inconvenient. He watches her carefully over the rim of his bowl. She sips slowly at first, grimacing as broth irritates her raw throat. Yet, the nausea he sensed through the bond diminishes as she devours the soup. Soon, his dry, scratchy throat quietens. “Mmm. That was pretty good, Walt,” Barbara says, finishing the bowl. She runs a finger around the rim, “I feel… a lot better.” And he knows this to be the truth: their bond is quiescent now. She winks at him and the changeling could not help but beam. He feels…useful? No, that wasn’t quite it.

“Just something I threw together,” he replies, feigning modesty. Truthfully, her praise warms him, far more than the hot soup. He goes to takes her bowl, when a hand curls around outstretched arm, pulling him closer. Thrown off balance, his knees hit the edge of the lounge and he tumbles into her. Before he can right himself, her soft lips brush his, a gentle caress of appreciation.

CRACK! The bowl shatters under his preternatural strength. Barbara jumps at the sound and their noses bump together awkwardly, breaking whatever spell had overcome them. “Sh- sorry,” Barbara laughs uneasily, “I…better take that.”

“Oh, how clumsy of me,” his tongue intones automatically, while his mind reels with the kiss. He lets the bowl slip into her waiting hand, still stunned. Barbara shimmies out of the blanket and all but runs into the kitchen, cheeks burnished red. Strickler touches his lips, as if to ward off the sensation growing there. He had experienced kissing, lifetimes ago, but never like this. Never with the emotional sincerity that burns in his chest now. Gunmar take it, this was meant to happen the other way around. He was meant to be the one in control.

Unable to stop his steps, he follows her in the kitchen. Sauce and soup are splattered everywhere. Looking up, he can even see pasta shells plastered on the ceiling. Barbara is a tempest, a whirling flame of embarrassment. “Idiot, idiot...” she mutters under her breath as she aggressively stacks the dishes in the sink. Freed from its binding, her fiery locks lash like Medusa’s coils. Strickler pauses under the archway, unsure of what to do. This is still new to him — despite the advice he frequently gives. Uncertainty fades into resolve as he watches her unravel before his eyes. He spins her around, hands firm on her shoulders, stilling her movements. Barbara’s eyes widen like the proverbial deer-in-headlights.

“You are utterly enchanting,” he says, voice low and rough. The Morka take him for falling for this woman, this human. Someone who should have been a stepping stone, nothing more. All that frustration, that conflict, and, surprisingly, desire he compresses into a single, blistering kiss.

His hands are gentle but firm, his mouth consuming. Their teeth clash and in the heat of the kiss, he accidentally bites her lip. Pain spikes through the bond, mixed with something unfamiliar. Strickler scolds himself for his fervour, expecting Barbara to pull away. Surely humans didn’t enjoy that. If anything, the fierceness goads her on. Her fingers dig into his sides, pulling them both further over the counter top. Inspired, he bites gently, more of a nibble this time, and she melts against him. The taste of blood and bile is most unpleasant, but the thought enflames him. Trollkind are aggressive in their lovemaking: a play for dominance, with both sides feigning defeat to lure the other into overstepping. But that was not the human way, at least not normally. Yet a half-breed he was, and his warring natures certainly made things interesting. That being said, perhaps next time he would acquire breath mints.

That ridiculous thought wrenches him from his impassioned haze. He is suddenly aware of the precarious situation. Two adults — well, one human and a changeling — bent over a kitchen bench, necking like teenagers among pots and pans. His skin itches furiously. Tendons bound within corded muscles twitch, eager to stretch and change. Twin points of pressure bloom on his skull. Foolish, foolish! Strickler breaks the kiss, breathing hard. What in the Darklands was he thinking? Splayed in front of him is evidence of his zeal. Barbara’s glasses are askew, her lips dusky red and slightly parted. Her eyes, normally blue as the sky, are completely consumed by black pupils. The changeling can only imagine what he looks like. His front incisor aches, and he wonders if he had chipped it in his passion. He’d need to get that looked at. Truly a shame Gladysgro had been slain. She was an excellent dental hygienist. A cursory brush of his lips reveals a smear of red. He can still taste it, and that dances a little too close to his true heritage for his liking. It seems almost deviant. He was content to leave that for changelings like Nomura.

The silence is becoming uncomfortable. Was it too much? The unfamiliar feeling swells again through the bond. Stronger than before, as if duplicated. It wasn’t pain, but something equally as burning. Breathing out sharply, Barbara brushes the hair from her face. “I didn’t say stop.” She crosses her arms in a play of anger, but the impish smile betrays her.

“May I suggest somewhere more comfortable, then?” He suggests with a lopsided grin. His back was starting to twinge and, judging from the bond, Barbara’s was no better. Besides, benchtops were hardly romantic. He sweeps her into his arms, cautious this time, controlled, gentle.

“Hey!” She giggles, playfully hitting his side.

“Would you rather I leave you in kitchen? I do have several history papers to mark.” He deadpans while studying the nails on his free hand, knowing this will annoy her.

“Ass,” Barbara replies with no venom, allowing him to carry her to the lounge. She pushes him back lightly, making room for her to drape over him. Her weight, although light, compresses his chest. It is enough to remind him of stone hands and the first scorching crackle of his changeling magic. It is far too hot now. The cursed blankets twist underneath him, forming knots that dig deep into his spine. His hands stiffen, ghosting her side. Hers are on his shoulders, just resting, but they carry a weight of memories. An eldritch halo. The passage from dark to dark, and dark to light. Two worlds forever barred and only centuries of servitude to console him. He had only survived by adapting, by taking what he could control and bending it to his will. Making the best of a bad situation. Even his guise no longer felt unnatural. In fact, he hardly phased, unless the situation demanded it. Many of his ilk were disturbed by his interest in humanity. He would change their minds. He would rebuild the world for all his half-breed brethren. A chance for a life unfettered. And it starts with her, the woman tucked tightly against him. She is beautiful. Her scrubs have rucked up, exposing a creamy expanse of freckled skin, glowing with heated pleasure rather than illness. She is a radiant Aglaia, and he her supplicant. He surrenders to her, shoulders sinking back and brow softening. Truthfully, he had surrendered long ago.

She initiates a second time. A cautious kiss, a mere press that deepens into a flowing dance. Barbara softens him, tempers the fire inside. Her hands smooth his sides before settling at his nape. She twines her legs through his, not entrapping but encircling. He follows her movements, trying to learn the steps to their waltz. There is no set choreography, save a shared tenderness. They break rhythm, shift weight, dipping and spinning in tandem. Fuelled by their closeness, the bond fizzes with warm tendrils of energy. For a moment, there is no Trollhunter, no assassins, no Gunmar, no Order. But only for a moment. After some time, Barbara falls away from the dance with a gentle brush of her lips. Strickler opens his eyes slowly, afraid that this might have been some pixie-dream. “Oh, that was…” Barbara exhales, resting her head on his chest. Tentatively, he circles her in his arms.

“Exceedingly good?” He jokes, flashing a wry smile.

“I was going to say unexpected,” she huffs, butting him lightly. She looks away, shoulders tensing. “Was it? Good, I mean? I haven’t kis….”

“Barbara,” he interrupts, gently cupping her cheek. “Never apologise. That was perfect.” And this time, he truly means it. Not some lines he delivers to play a role, but an honest expression of emotion.

“You’re a good man, Walter." The words sting him. If only she knew. His keen ears pick up the chug and rattle of an old scooter down the street. So Jim had survived Gatto’s Keep. Hardly surprising, given the Trollhunter’s track record of near misses and lucky scrapes. Strickler had warned Angor not to underestimate the child, with good reason.

“I… should leave,” he says reluctantly. It would not do have the Trollhunter find them in a compromising position. Or perhaps it would? Changelings use any tactic to bring victory, and Strickler would do anything to unsettle his enemy. Besides, he enjoys tormenting the boy, if only to shake that idiotic innocence from his head. Gunmar would not be so forgiving. But lying here, content, in the arms of a woman he lo…strongly admired, Strickler couldn’t care less. And yet…

She hears the scooter as well, now idling in the drive. “Yeah…” Barbara sighs. They go about tidying their appearances, with minimal success. She re-ties her hair, finding her discarded glasses between two pans in the kitchen. Strickler fixes his sweater cuffs, straightens his jacket, which is hopelessly crumpled. Finally, he checks to see if his favourite pen is still inside the pocket. “Coffee? Tomorrow lunch?” Barbara asks as they reach the door.

“Sounds delightful.” He kisses her hand, a chaste reminder of the evening’s events. Heart warmed by the fire they kindled, he steps out into the chill of early evening. For the first time, he wonders if they have any future together. It is weak of him. There was still so much to achieve for his half-breed brethren. Yet, this, this is what he was fighting for.

And he would let nothing get in his way.

#trollhunters #stricklake #barbara lake #walter strickler