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queenshelby · 8 months

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Auctioned (P. 2)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

You arrived at Arrow House, Thomas Shelby's imposing mansion in Birmingham. The grandeur of the estate was incomparable, but it did little to quell the knot of unease in your stomach. As you stepped out of the car, your heart thudded in your chest, and you couldn't help but wonder what awaited you inside.

At the entrance, you were met by Frances, Thomas Shelby's trusted maid. Clad in a crisp uniform, she greeted you with a polite smile and led you through the ornate halls. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floors, heightening your sense of apprehension.

Frances paused before a lavish door and turned to face you.

"This will be your room," she informed you, her voice gentle.

"Mr. Shelby insists on providing for his...acquisitions. You'll find everything you need inside” she told you quietly as she opened the door, revealing a room that was both opulent and suffocatingly extravagant. Velvet drapes adorned the windows, and a massive four-poster bed dominated the space, its dark wood glinting in the soft lamplight. You couldn't help but feel like it was a gilded cage.

“Acquisitions?” you asked. “Is there more than one of us?” you queried, causing Frances to nod.

“Yes, ma’am. A woman named Alison was acquired by Mr Shelby several months ago, and after her contract was finished, she decided to stay at her own volition. I believe that she receives a generous salary for her services and, no doubt, come tomorrow, you will meet her,” Frances explained, and you mumbled out a polite “thank you” in response.

Despite Frances’s reassurances, you still struggled to shake off the gnawing worry that had settled in your mind. What did Thomas Shelby have planned for you?

"If you need anything, anything at all, Mr. Shelby has instructed me to assist you. Just ring the bell, and I'll be with you,” Frances said, her eyes filled with silent sympathy, and, with that, she left you to your own devices, closing the door behind her. You were finally alone in this unfamiliar territory, surrounded by the ghosts of the past and the uncertainty of the future.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared down at your hands, fidgeting nervously. You had become Thomas Shelby's possession, a mere object to satisfy his desires. It wasn't fair, but then again, when had life ever been fair? You had agreed to this and needed the money.

***

Minutes turned into hours, and you tried to distract yourself from the ominous silence of the room. You wandered to the window, peering out at the moonlit grounds and the distant city lights. The world outside seemed to be carrying on as if nothing had changed, oblivious to the turmoil within you.

Just as you were about to resign yourself to the loneliness of the night, there was a knock on the door, startling you. The sound shattered the silence, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and trepidation.

You made your way to the door, your palms clammy and your heart pounding in your chest. You took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to turn the handle.

To your surprise, it was Frances again, her eyes searching your face for any hint of distress. "Mr. Shelby wishes to see you in his study," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

You nodded, your voice failing you once again. As you followed Alison through the sprawling halls of Arrow House, you couldn't help but feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter. Every step brought you closer to this dangerous man, Thomas Shelby who, until now, had barely spoken a word to you.

Finally, you arrived at a massive oak door. Frances knocked and, without waiting for an invitation, pushed it open. The scent of whiskey and cigars wafted out, mingling with the faint glow of a roaring fire.

"Come in,” a commanding voice beckoned from within. Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside, your apprehension reaching new heights.

Thomas Shelby sat behind a grand mahogany desk, his piercing blue eyes capturing your gaze as you entered. He was every bit as intimidating as the rumours suggested, his presence filling the room with an air of danger and authority.

"Close the door, Love," Thomas Shelby ordered, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. You did as you were told, desperately trying to remain composed under his intense scrutiny.

"Come, sit," he directed, pointing to an intricately carved armchair opposite his desk. You complied, taking a seat, your hands trembling ever so slightly.

"I trust you're settling in well," Thomas said, his voice smooth yet laced with a hint of danger. It sent shivers down your spine as if he could read the thoughts racing through your mind.

You nodded, your voice barely audible. It was almost impossible to look away from him, his eyes captivating you like a predator eyeing its prey.

"Good," Thomas replied, leaning back in his chair, his gaze intensifying. "Now,” he paused, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette. “I will allow you to become accustomed to your new surroundings tonight, and your services won’t be needed as yet. However, I do consider it timely to lay out some ground rules for you.” Thomas told you sternly before continuing on.

“You are my possession, and as such, I expect no other man to touch you while you are here, living in my house,” Thomas said, and your heart quickened at his words, the weight of his dominance bearing down on you. The realisation of what you had gotten yourself into finally started to sink in.

"I don't expect you to love me, and I will never be able to love you," Thomas continued, his voice steady. "Your sole purpose here is to provide me with pleasure, nothing more. Do you understand?" he asked, and you nodded once again, a knot forming in your throat. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that this was only a transactional exchange of desire.

“I also expect you not to touch yourself intimately unless I permit you to do so. Understood?” Thomas asked as a smug smile tugged at the corner of Thomas Shelby's lips.

“Yes Mr Shelby” you responded obediently

"Good. We understand each other, then. Now, Love, tell me, why did you agree to this fucking auction, eh?” Thomas asked, causing you to swallow harshly.

Stumbling over your words, you told him about the poverty you experienced ever since you were a child. The sound of your voice was barely audible in the tense atmosphere. Thomas Shelby's eyes traced your face as if committing it to memory.

“The things we do for money, eh?” Tommy chuckled before telling you again that you were his now.

“Your my fucking property now, Love and poverty is not something you have to worry about again,” Thomas then stated, his voice low and possessive.

You gulped, your throat dry and your mind racing. The weight of his dominance bore down on you, leaving you little room to escape the clutches of his desires.

"Y-yes, Mr Shelby," you stammered, your voice trembling. Thomas Shelby's smirk widened, no doubt pleased with your acquiescence.

"Very well then," he said, rising from his chair and moving closer to you. "If you remember your place and serve me well, I will ensure that you are looked after, eh,” he told you, caressing your face possessively.

His words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of things to come. You couldn't help but shiver, a mix of anticipation and apprehension coursing through your veins.

"Do you have any questions?" Thomas finally asked, his voice lowering to a seductive whisper. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should speak your mind, but the curiosity got the better of you.

"Will, will you...hurt me?" you managed to say, your voice barely audible. The vulnerability in your question laid bare the fear that had been gnawing at your insides.

“Will I hurt you?” Thomas chuckled, repeating your question. His eyes softened for a moment, and in that fleeting instant, you caught a glimpse of something buried beneath his rough exterior. "I will never hurt you, Love," he replied, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You are mine to protect, not to hurt, unless, of course, you give me a reason to," Thomas confirmed and immediately, a wave of relief washed over you, a glimmer of trust forming where there had only been fear. Perhaps there was more to Thomas Shelby than met the eye.

Thomas Shelby took a step closer, the air thick with tension. "That will be all for tonight Y/N," he said, his voice reverberating through your core. "There are other matters I must attend to” he then said, and the finality in his words left you with no choice but to obey. You were in his world now, stripped of your innocence and thrust into a world of raw desire. And Thomas Shelby was the man who held all the power.

"Alison," Thomas called before you had a chance to leave. There was a hint of impatience in his voice as he noticed someone outside his office, spying. Within moments, another woman appeared at the door, her eyes avoiding any lingering eye contact with you at first. She must have been outside his office all along, listening to your conversation.

"Yes, Mr Shelby?" she replied, her voice respectful yet tinged with apprehension.

“Spying, are we?” Thomas smirked before changing the subject. “Come and meet our new acquaintance. Her name is Y/N, and I trust you will show her the ropes, eh?” Thomas said as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving you.

“So, may I assume she is not a maid then?” Alison ought to clarify, and Thomas nodded.

“She is not a maid, Alison. In fact, she is not a whore either. She is a virgin… for now at least,” Thomas smirked, and the knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach as he spoke.

“Really?” Allison asked, surprised, and you nodded nervously.

“Really,’ Thomas confirmed, both looking at you as if you were nothing but a piece of meat.

“Now, Alison here is quite experienced herself. She worked at one of the local brothels for a while, and I offered her an opportunity to work for me here at Arrow House. Just like I offered your sister this very same opportunity, but unfortunately for her, she declined. It was a lucrative offer, but she decided she could not and would not satisfy my needs. Alison, on the other hand, did well in my possession, and I believe in her ability to ensure that you will do equally well for me” Thomas explained, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and dominance as he spoke these words.

“When do you anticipate her to be ready for the main event, sir…” Allison began to say and before she could even finish her sentence, Thomas spoke.

“By weeks’ end. Although, I am hoping to have a little fun with her tomorrow,” Thomas smirked and again, the weight of his words hung in the air, and an internal struggle ensued within you.

“Fun? What kind of fun?” you asked worryingly before, in a daring move, letting your eyes roam freely over Thomas's muscular form, his sharp jawline, and the dangerous allure he emanated. The silence stretched between you, charged with a mix of apprehension and intrigue.

“Perhaps actions speak louder than words, wouldn’t you agree, Alison?” Thomas asked as a self-assured smugness played at the corner of his lips.

“Yes, Mr Shelby. Perhaps I should demonstrate what you may expect her to do,” Alison agreed, knowing exactly what Thomas was referring to as you sat there still, frozen to the spot.

You let out an audible gulp, torn between the fear of what this new role entailed and the forbidden allure that Thomas presented.

“Perhaps you should,” Thomas smirked as he leaned forward, his intense gaze searing into your soul before, eventually, he turned towards Allison.

The mixture of arousal and apprehension coursed through your veins as, without warning, he drew Allison in for a kiss before pulling her back gently, making her moan in discomfort.

As Allison's lips met his, you couldn't tear your eyes away. The sight of them locked in a passionate embrace sent a wave of heat through your body, mingled with a hint of jealousy.

Thomas pulled away, his eyes never leaving yours. “On your knees, Love,” he ordered his voice a dangerous undertone as he looked over at you with determination.

"Observe," he commanded, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Your face reddened as you tried to mentally prepare yourself for what was to come. This was a whole new world to you, and your inexperience made you feel even more vulnerable.

Allison stepped back, her eyes still locked with yours, as she gracefully lowered herself to her knees in front of Thomas.

Your eyes widened, and uncertainty filled your mind. You couldn't tear your gaze away as Allison's nimble fingers began to undo Thomas's belt.

“Oh god,” were the words that escaped you, as eventually, Alison freed Thomas’s now hardening length and Thomas looked down at her, a certain arrogance in his gaze.

"Take note Love," Thomas said, his voice carrying a hint of danger, "this is what I expect from you," he told you before glancing at Alison again.

“Use your mouth, Allison," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your cheeks flushed as Allison obeyed, taking Thomas into her mouth. The moan that escaped his lips made an electric jolt shoot through your body.

You couldn't help but feel a mix of delight and intimidation. This was what Thomas expected, what he desired. And now, it was your turn to learn.

Your breath hitched as you watched Allison's lips trail down Thomas's length, her tongue exploring every inch.

The room grew hotter with unspoken desires as Thomas's fingers threaded through Allison's hair, guiding her movements, forcing her to take him in all the way to the back of her throat.

A mixture of embarrassment, arousal, and fear washed over you as you imagined yourself in Allison's place. Could you ever live up to Thomas's expectations?

Thomas's gaze never wavered from yours, his piercing eyes delving deep into your soul. He knew the effect he had on you, the power he held over your every thought.

"Do you understand Love?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of authority and satisfaction.

You nodded, unable to form coherent words as your own desires swirled within you.

Allison continued her intimate ministrations, her eyes meeting yours as if giving you a silent challenge. A challenge to surpass her, to prove your worth to Thomas.

But then, suddenly, Thomas withdrew, leaving Allison momentarily bewildered.

“Come,” he ordered, clearly wanting you to take Alison’s place and, immediately, wild thoughts raced through your mind, a battle between fear and desire.

“You said tomorrow…do you want me…” you stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"I changed my mind Love, and I do not take no for an answer," he said, his voice a low warning. “Now come,” he said again and you complied and walked over towards where he was standing, with Alison still stroking his length, causing a clear fluid to pool on his tip.

Thomas watched you intently, his eyes searching for any sign of weakness. He wanted to see if you had the strength to meet his demands. He was testing you and then, you took up all the courage you had and leaned in, your lips capturing Thomas's in a hesitant kiss while Alison continued to stroke him.

It was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Thomas's kiss was demanding, his lips moulding against yours with an intensity that left you breathless. There was an undeniable chemistry between you. As your lips parted, Thomas's eyes bore into yours, searching for any hint of uncertainty.

"On your knees," he commanded, his voice demanding and assertive and, immediately, panic surged through your veins as you realised what he was asking of you. You hesitated, unsure if you could comply.

Thomas's patience wore thin. "Now," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Slowly, you dropped to your knees, heart pounding in your chest. You had never been so exposed, vulnerable to his every desire.

Allison moved aside, allowing you to take her place entirely. The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat.

He reached down, his fingers gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze. His touch sent an electric jolt through your body.

"You see, Love," he whispered, his breath grazing against your lips, "I enjoy pushing boundaries, testing limits."

His words hung in the air, the weight of his expectations heavy upon your shoulders. You couldn't deny the allure, the thrill that coursed through your veins.

Bracing yourself, you tentatively leaned forward, your lips hovering just inches from Thomas's length.

“Now prove to me that you can satisfy my needs," he said, his voice a commanding whisper.

Your heart raced as you met Thomas's gaze head-on. Without uttering a word, you nodded and wrapped your hand around Thomas's hardness, your touch tentative but loaded with promise. You were determined to give him everything he desired.

A low groan escaped Thomas's lips as you began to stroke him, your movements growing bolder with each passing second. You were finding your rhythm.

The dominance that radiated from Thomas only fueled your desire to please him. With every whimper and gasp that fell from his mouth, your confidence grew.

Thomas's fingers entangled themselves in your hair, gently guiding your head closer to him. He wanted to feel your mouth, your tongue, worshipping him.

Taking the hint, you parted your lips and eagerly took Thomas into your mouth. The taste of him, the way he filled you, sent bolts of pleasure through your senses.

“That’s it, Love,” Thomas groaned as your head bobbed up and down, steadily building a rhythm that mirrored the waves of desire coursing through both of you. You were entirely focused on his pleasure.

The sounds of your shared passion filled the air, mingling with Thomas's ragged breaths and the wet, lewd noises of your mouth on him.

Thomas's grip on your hair tightened, his hips moving in time with your ministrations. He was close, a tight coil of pleasure building within him.

You gagged several times. It was unavoidable, and even with drool and make-up covering your face disproportionately, Thomas clearly enjoyed watching what you as he forced your head down his shaft.

“I am close, Love,” he eventually announced, but you had no idea what this meant. He was close? To what?

“I expect you to swallow. So, don’t make a fucking mess, eh” Thomas then growled, confusing you even more as his release was imminent.

All you knew by this point was that he felt pleasure, and the knowledge that you were the one driving him to this edge sent a surge of pride through you.

As Thomas's climax finally washed over him, you felt his shaft pulsating. His movements stilled, and he pushed his length into the back of your throat.

A warm, thick and somewhat sweet liquid then filled your mouth, hitting the back of your throat like a violent torrent, spurt after spurt, and you remembered what he said so you instinctively swallowed. You had set out to satisfy him, and you had succeeded.

Panting heavily, Thomas slowly released his hold on your hair. His gaze, filled with a mixture of satisfaction and admiration, locked onto yours.

"You have exceeded my expectations, Love, but you still have much to learn," he said, his voice laden with awe, and it was at that moment that you realised Thomas Shelby was more than just dominant and dangerous; he was flawed, vulnerable, and seeking solace in the very depths of your touch.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine #tommy shelby #cillian murphy x you #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby au #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby

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bobfloydsbabe · 3 months

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dirty mind | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: Imogen learns something new about Professor Bob.

WARNINGS: suggestive language, allusions to smut, age gap (mid 20s/late 30s), power imbalance. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: ~ 1k

PROFESSOR BOB MASTERLIST

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SPECIAL THANKS to @ryebecca who sent this delicious prompt. It took on a life of its own, so I hope it's okay that I posted it separately. Your love for Eccentric Professor Bob is one of my favorite things about working on this AU, and I know I can always talk to you about him. You see and understand the vision. Enjoy ✨

She runs her fingers along the book spines in his home office, so much more neatly organized than the ones on campus. She’s impressed.

“What are you doing?”

She glances over her shoulder and finds the professor leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of him. Behind him, the house is dark and quiet. Only a faint beam of moonlight hits the wall near the staircase.

Smiling to herself, she refocuses her attention on the books. “Browsing.”

Illuminated by the lamp on his desk, she can make out several titles that she knows and loves. Fiction mixed with historical texts, old dissertations from former students that send a pang of jealousy through her, and a small section of books he’s written himself.

His footsteps sound behind her as he draws nearer. “It’s not a bookstore,” he tells her, voice still rough from sleep. “Or a library.”

Casting another glance over her shoulder, he’s now leaning against his desk, watching her. He’s only wearing boxers, and the lamplight makes his chest look even broader and more defined.

“I know. No bookstore or library would be caught dead with disorganized shelves like these.”

“They’re organized,” he argues, but she hears the lilt of teasing in his tone.

“Method to the madness,” she agrees for the sake of peace. “If it makes sense to y–no way!”

Through his rumbling chuckle, she pulls the book out and opens to the title page.

She spins around to face him so fast she feels a little dizzy and Bob has to reach out to stabilize her. “You okay?”

“Am I okay? You have a first edition of Fanny Hill. Of course I’m not okay.”

She holds the fragile book in her hands, flipping through the pages as gently as she can, so she won’t damage it further. It’s from 1748 after all, and she tries not to judge him for not storing it properly. As a history professor who works with texts even older than this, he should know better.

“Must’ve cost you a fortune,” she mutters to herself, turning to the bookcase again to put it back, only for her eye to catch sight of another familiar title. “Is Lady Chatterley’s Lover also a first edition?”

“I believe so.”

She scans the entire shelf and finds only novels in a similar genre, and she suddenly feels hot all over at the knowledge that he’s read these books and enjoyed them enough to get first editions.

As if sensing the change in the atmosphere, Bob comes up behind her, chest flush with her back. Sweeping her hair to the side, his fingertips graze her skin. He leans down and places the lightest kiss to her neck, and a shiver runs down her spine, breath hitching at the sensation.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

His hand travels down her body. The dip of her waist, the width of her hips, and the bare skin of her thighs. Her whole body’s on fire. He’s everywhere, low voice stirring something deep inside her.

As his hand trails up her skin, he inches toward her inner thighs where she’s sensitive and the wet patch in her panties should embarrass her, but it doesn’t.

“Tell me,” he whispers, breath tickling her ear.

She stifles the whine rising in her throat, willing it away. “Who knew you were hiding such a dirty mind.”

He chuckles against her skin, and his hand reaches the edge of her panties. “Baby,” he whispers, “I’m hiding so much more than a dirty mind.”

His other hand presses against her stomach, pushing her against him and his hard chest. She tries to rub her thighs together, but his hand there keeps them open. His fingers skim across her clothed clit, making her squirm in his embrace.

“Oh, you’re desperate for it, aren’t you, baby?”

She wants to say no. She wants to tell him to fuck off, try to convince him she’s playing a game, and he can’t reduce her to a stuttering mess with just a few words and touches. But she doesn’t. She can’t. Not when she can feel his growing desire against her back, and not when he pushes her panties to the side, drawing slow, torturous circles on her clit.

“In your dreams,” she manages, but it comes out airy and needy.

He pulls his hand away from her aching pussy, and the high-pitched whine that leaves her throat seems to shock them both. He recovers quickly, spinning her around to face him, his features half illuminated by the lamp on his desk.

“You’re always in my dreams,” he tells her, walking her backward until he’s crowded her against the bookshelf. “And in my dreams, you’re always desperate for me, for my mouth.”

He’s sinking to his knees, and one hand trails down her leg, placing it over his shoulder. He glances up at her, a cocky look on his face as his fingers hook into the waistband of her panties. “You want me, baby?”

She nods furiously, unable to form the words when he’s right there, so close to where she wants him. Needs him.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice dark and dangerous.

“I want you.” She’s trying to hold on to some semblance of self-control, but she’s babbling. “I want your mouth.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and then he pushes her panties to the side again.

His lips close around her clit, sending her into orbit.

likes are nice, but comments and reblogs are golden

TAGLIST: @joaquinwhorres, @kmc1989, @roosterforme, @just-in-case-iloveyou, @rosie-posie08, @attapullman, @sweetwhispersofchaos, @millieb-3199, @auroraseddie, @keyrani, @solo-pitstop-vibes, @hangmandruigandmav, @cremebruleequeen, @cherrycola27, @seitmai, @bradshawsbaby, @sio-ina-bottle, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @bcarolinablr, @bluezraven

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1000punks · 5 months

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bonding. //nesting

//bonding. masterlist

pairing: spawn!Astarion x named!Tav (non-binary OC)

warnings: 18+. nsft. mdni. discussions of past s/a. light (for now) bondage. more explicit stuff to come in later chapters.

word count: 2,829

summary: two gays remodel a house domestic fluff and some character background building, set in post-game baldur's gate. two people who are weird and traumatized work on their relationship and reclaim their sexuality through a shared kink. i definitely blacked out and wrote this before finishing the game on this particular file for real because the final battle was frustrating the fuck out of me. named!Tav is my non-binary tiefling ranger, Festé. i was seeing far too few fics with tiefling!Tav and i thought it was crucial, nay, critical to include them in the headcanons. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

The past months had been an entirely welcome change for the both of them, and they had taken to domestic life with zest and fervor. It was surprising, considering that each of them were fish out of water in their own right. Festé's positive attitude had soothed the blow of descending back into the night for the elf. Astarion's intense desires to try new things had kept things more than adventurous for the ranger. They certainly made an odd couple, but anyone who knew them well could see each was exactly what the other needed.

Once the restoration of the Upper City had begun, the two made the decision to settle down somewhere nearby. They talked at length about where they would go, and what they would do, and took their time weighing their options. One night as they were walking through the Lower City, engrossed in conversation, Astarion stopped dead in front of an old townhouse. It looked abandoned and derelict in the dim lamplight of the street. Festé had watched Astarion study it, a smile spreading on their face as he dropped their hand and gave them a devious look.

"Look at this ugly old thing!" he had exclaimed, sidling up the half-broken porch and reaching into his pocket for his tools. "Why, it looks just like I did, I'm sure, the first time we met. All broken and run-down, and in need of some tender loving care." He had laughed airily, popping the rusty lock with ease, and held his hand out for Festé to take. He led them inside and positioned them in front of himself as they took in the front room together. The elf had placed his hands on their shoulders, the two slowly revolving on the spot.

"Do you… like it, Astarion?" Festé had asked, and he had drawn in a long breath. They could tell without seeing his face that he had closed his eyes. After a few moments of him being lost in his imagination, he answered.

"I do. This place has wonderful bones, and I have excellent vision. Would you indulge me, my love?"

Festé laughed heartily and turned to kiss his cheek, pulling out one of his old lines - much to the elf's chagrin - "How could I say no?"

Months passed, and the house slowly became their home. Festé took up carpentry, following Astarion's meticulous designs. Astarion spent the days indoors, choosing wood grains, fabrics, art, and other decorations to 'spruce up the place,' as he had put it. The tiefling spent days in the sun, hammering and sawing, building counters and bookcases, chairs, a table, even a bedframe. Any time Astarion called their name, they dutifully (and happily) strode inside to wrap him in a hug, letting him relish in the heat of the sun while it radiated off their skin. He would always hum and bury his face in their neck, sometimes picking them up and wrapping their body around his like a favourite coat.

Suddenly, it seemed, they had a beautiful home and a perfect life together, but Festé noticed the change in Astarion's behaviour immediately following the end of their project together. He moved about the house more fretfully than usual, and sometimes spoke in clipped tones, particularly in the mornings when it was no longer safe for him to enjoy their cozy porch. Then the flashbacks started once more, especially when the two were intimate with one another.

Astarion had developed a habit of ambushing Festé in various corners of the house, where the tiefling would happily reciprocate the attentions. He would kiss them forcefully, pressing them against the walls, on top of the bed, in the bathroom. He would always bite down their neck in the way he knew that they liked, working on opening their shirt when his movements would become mechanical. Too practiced. Festé would set their hands on his arms gently, holding still as Astarion would breathe heavily, pulling away from them with a faraway look and burying his face in his hands. Festé was patient and kind, every time, fixing their clothes and softly asking Astarion if he would like a hug before wrapping him gently in their arms, reassuring him when he would cling to them firmly and apologize.

One night, some months later, they were laying in bed together, each engrossed in their own books. Astarion had taken up learning Infernal, and was poring over an old history volume that Festé had found for him. They couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, and admittedly, a little embarrassment, that he had taken such an interest in his tiefling lover's background. He was more committed than they had thought, and had asked lots of questions as he made his way through the book. Festé preferred old Rashemaar stories, and chuckled out loud as they imagined Minsc recounting the war stories and legends in his booming voice. Astarion had one cool hand on the small of their back, and they fully enjoyed the discreet gesture of intimacy. He sighed suddenly and closed the book with a snap, and they looked up.

"What is it, love?" they tilted their head, studying his face with concern.

"My dear, I do enjoy sipping tea for hours into the night, but sometimes it is dreadfully dull." Festé knew exactly what he wasn't saying, but waited for him to continue, closing their book as well. Astarion had a way with being lighthearted in tone, while covering up what was eating at him. After this long, it wasn't very subtle. His eyes were downcast as he continued, "I… well, you know me, my love. You know that I want to try new things, and one of those things is sex. On a regular basis, and with someone I deeply care about." He looked at them, a little wide-eyed, "I don't know if it's the fact that I can't be in the sun anymore, or if I have regrets, or if I'm… simply broken, but I- I just…" Astarion took their hand suddenly. "I want to, but I don't know how to make myself feel okay, when I want to. I'm sorry, but I- "

Festé listened to him speak, squeezing his hand and interrupting in a soft voice when he began to apologize, shaking their head gently. "Star, you don't have to apologize for that. I'm not going to get bored of you if we only have sex once in a while, or not at all. There are so many ways to be intimate besides- "

"I know!" he snapped, but Festé was nonplussed, they understood he was just frustrated, and they squeezed his hand again reassuringly. "I know, my dear. But I want to." He all but growled the last words. "I want to find a way. I want to experiment with that." Festé nodded, and gestured for him to continue. "I think that part of it is the sense of control, for me. Too often I've battled with feeling out of control - whether it's my thirst, being whored out, or when I got kidnapped… all of that. And now, not being able to join you in the sun, I guess it just brought up a lot of those old feelings for me."

"That makes sense, love." Festé studied his face, it was clear that he had been mulling this over for a while. Astarion looked sheepish, as if he shared too much, and the tiefling smiled gently. "If you want to be in control, then I am more than willing to do whatever it is you ask of me. I trust you with my life."

Astarion smiled too, looking relieved. "Why don't we test that theory, you lovely little imp. Kiss me." Festé chuckled, crawling up the bed and planting a peck on his lips. "Good," he said, "Now warm me up," the elf pouted playfully. "I'm cold." Festé raised their eyebrows, reaching to move the books to the bedside table and straddling his hips before flopping down on him like a ragdoll. They laughed together, Astarion rubbing over their back. "Very good. I do have a serious question to ask you, though, and please answer honestly, my love." The tiefling nodded. "Have you ever… let anybody tie you up?"

Festé rested their cheek on their palm, considering it for a moment. "Well…" they hummed, "There was one time, in Amn, but that was when I was being interrogated." They looked up, their eyebrows knitting at his expression. "I… what? I was, and I remember it being very- " Astarion interrupted with a cackle, petting through their hair as he shook the bed with his laughter.

"During sex, my darling. Has anyone tied you up during sex?"

"Well, no. I've never trusted someone this much." They paused, taking in his surprise. "But, I can tell you that I definitely didn't… hate being tied up in Amn. I can definitely see how it would be pleasurable, with the right person." Astarion stroked their other cheek as they spoke, nodding thoughtfully.

"Do you trust me enough to try it with me, my love?" he whispered, his tone unsure.

"I do." they said simply, sitting up and gathering one of his hands to their chest. "I also trust you with a dagger, I know you would cut me out if something bad happened."

Astarion chuckled and shook his head, "You know, I'm always astounded by how easygoing you are, darling. I feel like I could tell you we need to hide a body and- "

"Do we?" They laughed together once more, Astarion grabbing the tiefling and crushing them into a hug.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · The first time was very nearly a disaster, and resulted in a stiff, sore tiefling, and a very panicked elf. Astarion carried Festé to their large bathtub at the end of the night, and once he had undressed them and put them in the steaming water, he went to the kitchen to get a bottle of wine for them to share. He stripped and sat down with them in the water, pulling his poor little imp into his lap and uncorking the bottle with his teeth.

He took a sip and pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke softly. "I'm… terribly sorry, my dear. I did not realize that bending your arm that way would… would…" he bit his lip, looking distraught.

"Darling, it's hardly the first time my shoulder has been dislocated." Festé said, matter-of-factly. "And you popped it back in right away, I'll be fine."

"You can't just write a dislocated shoulder off like that, my love." Astarion gritted out, taking a deep swig of the wine and pressing the bottle into Festé's waiting hand, who swigged as well, chuckling. Astarion looked gutted, reaching out to hold their cheeks as tears welled up in his eyes. "My dearest, I am so sorry- "

"Shh, shh. I know you are, and while a dislocated shoulder has never bothered me before, I forgive you. It was an accident, Star. Please don't beat yourself up, okay?" He nodded at them begrudgingly, reaching for the bottle and setting it on the floor with a soft thud. He sniffled a bit, then slowly lifted his head, smelling the air.

"I nicked you somewhere, dear, probably when I was getting you out. Stay still…" he looked them over carefully and found the cut between their shoulderblades. "Gods below… I can't do anything right, can I?" he chuckled, helping Festé turn around in the tub. He made to pull them to rest against him, but they resisted.

"Wait, I'm bleeding anyway. Take a drink." The tiefling looked over their shoulder and then tried to twist and find the cut themself, wincing in pain before Astarion grabbed them, as gently as possible, shaking his head with a smile.

"Darling, you're hopeless." he whispered, gently pushing them to lean forward as he licked over their back, closing his lips over the cut and sucking softly.

"Yes, but you love me." They laughed, shivering a bit from his cool lips on their heated skin.

He sat up, pulling them close. "Yes, I love you. And you love me."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was over a month before Astarion approached them again. He hadn't been cold, but his touch had been ginger and chaste with them since the first incident. He had also forced Festé to wear their arm in a sling, which the tiefling had rolled their eyes at, but complied. They had even allowed Astarion to wait on them hand and foot for a few weeks, even if it was just to assuage his own guilt.

It was sundown, and Festé was checking themself over in the mirror, poking and prodding at their shoulder and rolling their arm over, listening. They shrugged, satisfied and began to brush out their hair to re-braid it. Astarion's cool palms landed gently on their shoulders, startling them. He chuckled, weaving his fingers into their hair and murmuring softly, "Let me, dear." The tiefling dropped their hands to their lap as he moved his through their hair, enjoying the gentle touch.

"Thank you, love." They looked up at him when he had finished, and he bent down to give them an upside-down kiss, planting a peck on their neck before straightening up.

"It would seem… that your shoulder is healed." Astarion tried and failed at nonchalance. Festé nodded, standing up and swaying with him from side to side. "Would you be so inclined as to let me try tying you up again?"

"Well, since you asked so politely, my love…" the tiefling laughed, resting their hands on his sides. "Where would you like me?"

Astarion steered them back to the bed Festé had vacated not fifteen minutes before, sitting them down with a soft thump. "We should at least keep you comfortable while I figure this out, I don't want you too sore or broken this time." He grinned, albeit a little sheepishly, and knelt up on the bed with Festé.

They tilted their head, watching him as he reached for the hank of rope next to the bed, holding out their wrists for him. He shook his head, holding up the rope and measuring with his eyes. "Let's leave your arms free, just in case, love."

They ended up staying in the bed together for hours, Festé chatting energetically and Astarion listening intently as he tried what felt like hundreds of different ties, smiling to himself all the while.

"If you're a Mephistopheles tiefling, then why aren't you blue?"

"My love, you can't just ask someone why they're not blue. That's offensive." Festé raised their eyebrows and twisting around to look at him.

"I- well, I…" Astarion's hands froze in place as he stammered. He had Festé in a complex tie. They were laying facedown on the bed, their back a map of crossing rope, and their wrists cinched together above the base of their tail.

"Relax, love." They laughed heartily, "I'm joking. I don't actually know, to answer your question. Both of my parents were blue, so maybe I'm a fluke."

Astarion sighed, "Don't scare me like that, you little imp. I thought I actually upset you." He smacked them gently on the ass. "That's interesting though, you're sure neither of them were unfaithful?"

Festé shrugged as well as they could in their position. "I don't think so, but I couldn't ask if I wanted to, they're both…"

"Dead?"

"They are, yes." Astarion picked them up off the bed, and pulled them into a hug, planting a kiss on their cheek.

"I'm sorry, love." He held them close and tight.

"Thank you for saying so," they nuzzled him and yawned. "It was just old age though, nothing extreme."

Astarion started to untie Festé slowly, glancing towards the curtains with a sigh. "It's morning already," he whined theatrically into the back of the imp's neck, slumping against them while he wrapped the rope back up.

"You know what that means? That was, hmm… ten hours of bondage, with no dislocated joints or broken bones." Festé turned, giving their elf a wide grin. "You're an expert now, aren't you?"

"Oh, my dear. If you're wanting to discuss expertise…" he gently pressed them to their back on the bed, kissing up their neck slowly and firmly before nuzzling into their shoulder with a soft hum. "Mmm… darling, may I- " he lifted his head up, biting his lip and chewing it thoughtfully. "I'm feeling…" he shifted on top of them, pressing one thigh between their legs, wrapping his arms around them and trapping them with a roguish chuckle. "I want you," he finished simply.

"Then you have a very willing captive, my love." Festé murmured. "Do you want to get the rope back out?"

Astarion considered it for a moment, moving to kiss his little imp with a slow sigh through his nose before he sat up, smiling at them. "I do, darling."

A/N: hey all, i was really nervous to post this! :'D i don't see a ton of fanfic with named!tav and Astarion, so i'm quite literally sitting here psyching myself up before i post this it makes it really nerve wracking to write some and hope that other people enjoy it anyone coming out of the woodwork with "they're not a weird couple" no they are, Festé is a dipshit (i know, i made them) and they're down bad for this elf. and the canon i could tell you from the days where they were my d&d character is too fruitful and batshit to detail here but the point is they love wet cat men so here we are, let's think of a horrible ship name together, like uhh... "range-roguer"

#.txt #i'm all pointy ears #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #spawn!astarion x named!tav #.fic #baldur's gays #bg3 astarion #astarion #fic: bonding.

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inklores · 1 year

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐒.

pairing: henry!sherlock holmes x fem!oc

summary: sherlock holmes needs to find his intrepid little sister. clara bedi wants to keep his sharp nose off her trail. (word count: 3.1k)

content contains: fluff, sherlock being bad with women, slight strangers to lovers but they're both smart idiots

author's note: made originally for a class assignment but i'm too proud of it to keep it hidden away in my google docs!! enjoy

FUMES OF SMOKE lifting from the corners of his lips, he thumbed the lapis silk tie the pamphlet was bound by. The rhythmic movement was a rehearsed habit of his, charting keen thoughts that were falling into place.

Tea in the Parlor

Magazine of Modern Womanhood

25 April 1884

“A Problem With No Name. I’ve first heard that uttered so solemnly beneath the breath of a mother amid other mothers over the scent of teacakes and the English brew that her hands had surely processed the week before. Another cried. As your humble magazine writer, there have been women beyond our teatime who had answers to my questions. Those who sort matchsticks in factories, who raise children, who nurse other children. Those who live in the fine estates of Westminster, lodging houses along Greater London, and flats bordering Whitechapel, all have the same problem. The groping truths to their lamentations, brought into light when the children were away and their husbands attended to important business over a glass of sherry at their gentleman’s clubs,—”

Something more than a scoff and less than a laugh escaped Holmes.

“—were provoking. Just what was this nameless problem? A whisper that refuses to be said. The bond of pain, of womanhood, of the searing feeling that something great shall arrive to our fair England.”

— C.E. Babbington.

“Mr. Holmes, I hope you’re not mistaking me as someone with whom you are at odds with.”

Clara wore burgundy today.

Or indigo to a sharp eye, moreso if she sat in the dusky shade rather than by the window where sunlight was allowed to stream through the frosted glass tiles. The heat of the afternoon, Clara could tolerate. The brisk cold, the musk of tobacco, pomade, and fine English leather that filled her office—all mingling together to create one scent that floated around the man who stood in front of her— she virtually could not.

Well, “office” may have been a playful nudge to her ego. It was more of a closet with a pen, a hook to hang her coat when there was a chill, a canister of her favorite tea matched with her precious teapot, and a small sideboard that she used to stash her extra paper. Clara had spent enough time in that little closet to learn its quirks and commodities. The shutters would not close in blustery weather unless they were bound by a scarf. The gentleman who would take his Saturday morning coffee and eggs always found something to guffaw about in the newspaper. Clara knew because she could hear the fervor of his chortles from one story up. The fifth floorboard from the door creaked with the slightest movement and she had garnered the will to purchase a rug that softened footsteps over the parquet.

Now if only she could purchase a rug to wrap around the man filling her tiny corner with the fumes of… man.

A tall man. Haughty by the way he stood. He looked strong and sturdy, weaned on the finest food money could buy. Clara wondered if he teethed on crumpets and caviar as a baby. His clothing may have been picked to feign oneness with the people of England, but she noticed a grain on his breasted black coat. His crisp white shirt boasted no wrinkle, cinched around his neck by a silk ascot the color of charcoal. Chestnut curls spilled across his head—sharing no unified form—and fighting to be free of the pomade that gleamed in the dimness of the lamplight. She imagined an artless tumble of locks when he was nose-deep in a case. An errant strand fell over his brow, softening his countenance where his tone failed to.

“Have you anticipated me, Miss Bedi?”

It was Clara’s mistake for stopping short of her movements. Her fingers froze on the handle of her teapot and it was then she realized the incriminating ink stains that blotched her bronzed fingers.

She did not. He knew that. He likely knew what she had for breakfast as well. Hence the cloying pride that laced his query.

A tickle caught in her throat and she swallowed tightly to preserve her pride as she arched a dark brow. “No, I have not, but I applaud your effort. Nobody contemplates and makes a theater out of their face quite like you.”

Looking up from the tea she was pouring, Clara barely caught the indignant twitch in his face, even as his mountainous posture was unrelenting. For a man who was presumed to be discreet, he was quite eye-catching.

He dropped his gaze down to the lonely armchair and side table Clara would enjoy her tea in. It was the one perpetually surrounded by her basket of stained pen tips and folded newspapers— Clara had the habit of saving old prints—bits of thread, scraps of silk in cooler hues, linen from occasional embroiders, and stacks of books from Edith that never make it back to the shelf, being moved around constantly on the empty promise of being read to completion.

It was a detective’s heaven.

“The name ‘Holmes’ is beginning to mean quite a deal in this country,” her eyebrows slanted, copper eyes filled with constellations, “and do you think I would be in my position if I did not know?”

“Precisely why you flinched when I used your name and not your pen name.” His voice was rich as a fine velvet she let her hands graze over at a textile stand, but detached. “Deceit. To hide the plain truth, just as frills and elegant coifs do. Yes, it may dress you like a powder puff—” she parted her lips in protest but his eyes glimmered like opals, he was clearly not done—“but the man holding the pen is entirely different. In that…”

Her grip on her teacup could not get any tighter, for one tremor to rattle the porcelain would have him arriving quicker to the deduction he savored for last.

“He is not a man at all, is he?”

She watched in bated, almost nonexistent, breath—wondering how quickly she could get her hands on the cake spade lying unfashionably by the crumbs of a Dundee cake she had scarfed down the night before—as he fished a blue silk tie that bookmarked the yellowed book she just realized he held.

“How does a C.E. Babbington become… the elusive Clara Eashwar Bedi?”

A wave of cold took her from head to toe. If Clara wasn’t gripping the edge of her desk, knuckles quickly whitening, she was sure her knees would’ve given out. She stared down at the pretty silk tie, and then at the folded pamphlet he slid over the varnished surface, the black ink script almost snickering at her in mockery.

His words came as fluidly as water, uttered with a stone-cold expression she figured was his mask for his famous deductions.

“Four separate purchases of pens and paper from three different vendors.”

Spreading her tracks. No writer who desired anonymity would so foolishly expose herself by making a reputation with one seller.

He was studying her closet-office now. A satin kerchief protected his hand as he chose a stained pen to scrutinize. “Bills from Whitechapel. Cheaper ink—a shadowy writer such as yourself would not earn her dues to spend carelessly on finer supplies than supper for the night. Or silk ties to make her mark. To create a name.”

Cheaper ink bleeds easier. Her fingers, a blatant victim.

“Bedi.” He tasted her last name on his tongue for a moment, eyebrows pinched as if he was trying to paint a map in his acute mind. “When did your father leave India?”

Her throat was dry but she swallowed down her apprehension and managed out, “Fifteen years ago.”

“Does he work on the docks?”

“Worked.”

A flash of humanity lightened his eyes and the man of a chilly, pragmatic acumen faltered. “Apologies.”

The sound that tumbled from Clara’s lips could only be described as something between a shaking sigh and an aggravated grumble. “What is it you want, Mr. Holmes?”

“You write for the Magazine of Modern Womanhood,” he continued, making Clara bite back an exhausted groan. “Yet you affect a pseudonym. Why?”

“I don’t write for the magazine, I write alongside it,” Clara mumbled. Why was she entertaining him? “I don’t have the means to print my pieces independently— as you so cleverly deduced by my purchases of ink.”

“Your pieces… and other submissions, I’d bet.”

“Are you a betting man?” She lifted a brow curiously, daring him to stop this frivolous quadrille of tongues and get to the point.

“A cipher with the fingerprints of my sister was published in the personal advertisements column of your magazine, The Pall Mall Gazette, and The Journal of Dress Reform. It’s our mother’s interest she hopes to attract and with the choice of your publication, she has a good start.”

“God, there’s more of you?” she asked, feigning horror. “Is the world ready for that?”

(But where the name Mycroft Holmes was etched in cold stone and proud, old money, she had the sense the name Sherlock meant something else. Something whisper quiet like a dusty novel on crumpled velvet. Elegant with solitude.)

Sherlock took a step forward, his fingers still thumbing the fraying corner of the book. “Have you any idea where she might be?” He tilted his head. “I’m afraid our mutual acquaintance Edith had more to say of my “ostrich-like” nature than my sister.”

Clara couldn’t help the kick in her voice as she responded, “Appropriate.”

He smiled at her, a Private Investigator brand of Smile that Clara knew well enough from the numerous times a constable had approached the magazine for its inflammatory words, and which only deserved a Young Journalist Smile.

But what he said snagged her attention as well as a good story. Eudoria’s daughter. Little Enola.

Edith had mentioned her once or twice. Clara might have seen a glimpse of a little brown-headed girl with quick feet, dashing about Ferndell Hall when ladies of a particular ilk huddled around a table, bearing swords on their tongues and determination in their hearts. Clara typically stood behind her bolder friend, Edith, clutching a pen that barely made a scratch against her worn pocketbook. She knew little for the illustrious Sherlock Holmes to knock on her door… but little was more than enough to be cunningly dissected and deduced by him.

“Enola’s missing?” she asked slowly, hoping to stall but Sherlock Holmes was not a man for idle chatter. Her head shook in a disappointing, deceiving refusal. “I’m sorry, but I have the faintest idea as to where she’s gone and why.”

“I find that highly improbable,” said Holmes in a tone that suggested he too was done with this waltz. “You’re protective of your name, or, names —”

“And what will you do if I use your name, Mr. Holmes?” Clara countered rigidly, her heart leaping into her throat. “Loudly? With proper dictation? Letting everyone know your business more than you’d like?”

“Then you’d also find yourself and Edith in a very difficult position, one that I’ve made clear to her and will to you if I must,” Sherlock warned, dropping his voice to a decibel that made a chill rattle her spine. A hint of vague frustration was tangled within his dull humor.

Clara stilled, watching as he turned over the book and leafed through toward the back cover. Stuffed in the spine was a folded napkin and he paired it with the newspaper clipping for her viewing displeasure. Wrinkled and white and stamped with the crumbs of a pastry, her eyes were naturally drawn to the hasty scrawl in ink:

“C.E.B.

Matter of Bill —

Tea Rooms”

The same dismayed expression from when he dissected her alter ego took ahold of her face once more, even if she tried to disguise it by a clench of her jaw.

“Macaroons could do with some attention but Edith has enough to worry about,” said Holmes. “She’ll notice the missing book from her seditious collection but not the message hidden inside— a message written to Babbington, who I understand is an intrepid young woman, so I’m sure you’re aware of what the proper connections can do for a man.” The distant, icy blue of his eyes warmed. “I asked of your father— a man who likely worked too hard for too little a reward and you, his daughter, silently fighting in favor of a bill that will help the men and women like him.”

“My,” Clara gasped, “Mr. Holmes, I didn’t take you for a man of politics.”

The stray little curl swished across his brow as he shook his head. “Oh, I’m far from it.”

She hummed curiously. “Then, what do you fancy? People? Poetry? Probably not. It’s your cases that keep you warm at night, which is why you hunt your own sister in blind circles like a dog chasing his tail.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice, “If Edith tells you nothing, I will say even less. Trust your sister… and the future. Good day, Mr. Holmes.”

She made to go around him, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered as she did, until a bleak and dare she say, concerned mutter caught her ear.

“She’s a child.”

“By my understanding, you’ve abandoned her once, Mr. Holmes. In the pursuit of where your mind takes you and little of your heart,” Clara said, more sharply than was her wont.

“I beg your pardon.”

The anger in his voice flared like a bleeding heart. A man who was a fire next to gunpowder, ready to speak his mind and snatch the rug beneath a pair of unsuspecting feet. She could loathe him for being so perceptive and intelligent, yet plainly missing the changes of the world. But that tone… He was no longer a brilliant mind or a pleasantly distant man. He was a brother who wanted to know where his sister was.

And if there was ever a case that Sherlock Holmes would encounter, it would leave no secrets he could not crack.

Clara turned around, stained fingers toying with each other, teeth worrying her lower lip to a reddening bruise. Amusement danced in her eyes, quenching the frustration that twisted his sharply cut features.

“You have it,” she admitted after a pause, cheeks growing warm. “Because I’m a woman who believes in second chances… and the calling of her heart rather than her mind. And a desolate, hopeless bachelor tugs at that heart, I’m afraid.”

Sherlock’s face contorted incrementally, the corners of his lips curling up just a tad. It was not a smile. Another part of her would have thought so but not the smart part. Still, it was an odd expression that made Clara think it was gracious.

“I’m not aware of such a reputation.” Fond.

“Figures,” she sighed, eliciting a huff of laughter from him. The sound was enough to make her face crack with a smile. “Enola’s sixteen. And if she’s anything like her mother and brother, she won’t go down with a fight nor will she be drawn away from it. And the real fight is coming. I advise you to start there.”

He squinted at her. Then at the napkin. Then at the clipping signed by C.E. Babbington. The fight.

“A problem with no name,” he murmured.

“It has a name, Mr. Holmes. Whether it will be spoken is decided by men like you and your older brother,” she added, rightly hopeful. “Perhaps that will change.”

Silence settled comfortably between them until the pounding of her heart became too loud for her ears to bear. She cleared her throat and pulled the knob to her door, returning her gaze to Sherlock.

“Until next time, Mr. Holmes.” She smiled. “I hope your game finds its feet. My best to your sister.”

He tilted his chin in an understanding nod, hand pressing against the curly blue tie that still sat next to his evidence, her pamphlet. To her surprise, he waited. One hand disappeared in the flap of his jacket and came out holding a fine black pen shot with gold trimming. To a man like Holmes, it was a pen to write some very useful reckonings of the mind but to Clara, it looked more valuable than what she earned in a week. It clinked as he set it on her desk, accompanied by that slight, mysterious smile.

“Trust a bill won’t be made,” Sherlock assured, amused as he approached her. He extended the blue ribbon to her.

“And a secret will be kept,” she enforced, fixing him with a look as she curled her fingers over the forbidden silk tie, folding it into his palm.

His hand was cold, callused like the reward of cracking cases. Yet it managed to send a surge of heat swirling in her chest, akin to lightning crossing a black sky.

(And did she intend the other thing she did too? The split-second brush of her fingertips over his palm and the way the ball of his throat was disturbed by a tight swallow. Savoring the softness of the lapis silk strand against his pale flesh and her copper skin.)

He lingered by the doorframe for more than a second. Sherlock looked at her— perhaps a more bewitching case with the narrowest twists and the sharpest of turns. A shadow of a smile graced his prim lips and he let out a delectable, ruminative hum. “Is that a promise I would be foolish to break, Miss Babbington?”

“Indeed it is, Mr. Holmes.” She watched him depart, a puzzling black figure who had more to his voice than what he decided to speak.

“Oh, on the subject of hearts…”

Sherlock paused and turned around. He studied the meticulous way she swept her indigo skirt behind her and made him wait until she finally, painstakingly met his gaze. Only then she made him realize how beholden he was to her unfinished prose.

“While surely hopeless for a… perspicacious man with such a baffling pigheadedness,” Clara murmured, smiling lopsidedly, “do keep yours open.”

Before he left with another curt, reserved nod, Sherlock ruminated on her words. Her tone— he barely noticed the way he wondered how all of her other pretty, printed words would sound if they were turned from ink to… to… that voice.

No… she was not a case. She was a quandary. An unsolved riddle that he cracked with the full assumption that the winning hand was in his, only to turn over his cards and see that it was she who had the royal flush.

What fresh hell was this?

#sherlock holmes x oc #sherlock holmes #enola holmes #henry cavill #henry!sherlock #cavill!holmes #one-shots #ao3 #sherlock holmes x fem!oc

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abbatoirablaze · 1 year

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Into The Light, Master List

This series is complete! ✔️

Lamplighter was once a powerful superhero. He was part of the biggest, most well-known group; The Seven.

He had it all.

Money.

Fame.

The girls.

Until he didn't.

Until The Boys and Mallory blackmailed him.

Then under Homelander's word, he went after Mallory. He was supposed to execute her.

But he made a mistake.

One that cost him his seat at the table.

And that's how he ended up a lowly orderly at Sage Grove Mental Hospital, where Vought Industries was secretly providing people with Compound V to see the effects. He became nothing more than an abused guard dog.

That's when he met her.

But like all the good things in Lamplighter's life...it never lasts. And Vought will always find a way to make sure of that.

Chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

This story will not have warnings before each chapter. It will include mentions of death, major character death, violence, aggression, depression, depictions of death, blackmail, and abuse, and overall angst.

#lampligter #he boys #the seven #mothers milk #stormfront #lamplighter x oc #superhero #frenchie #kimiko #hughie campbell #compound v #vought international #the boys

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violentdelightsproductions · 4 months

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youtube

✨✨✨ Roarin' 20s - The Boys ✨✨✨

Hallucinations only mean that your brain is on fire If it's Lord of the Flies in my mind tonight I don't know if I will survive Lighters up if you're feelin' me Fade to black if you're not mine 'Cause I just need a sign, or a signal inside This is my roaring, roaring 20s I don't even know me Roll me a blunt 'cause I wanna go home Roll me a, roll me a blunt

Party like it's the roaring 20s. Party like tomorrow never comes. Party the old year away. Party the dawn of a New Year. A New Age. A new adventure. A new beginning. Party like it's your last (or first) night on earth!

Happy New Year from The Boys, and Vought!

Find our The Boys videos here

Check us out on @ddriverpicksthemusic / @girlshunttoo ♥ [Reuploaded for 2023]

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maccreadysbaby · 1 year

Text

Fo4 Oc Ideas (+possible romances!)

please note that these are just ideas and can be changed in literally any way you want them to be. the romances are just suggestions and you can really use whatever characters you want, i’m just here for inspo! please tag if you use them, i’d love to read :)

A young but achingly brilliant scientist living outside of the wasteland (a vault, the Cabot house, the Institute, etc) learns how to reverse ghoulification. They’ve had successful test runs. But somehow the information reached the surface, and every faction is looking for them. Especially the Brotherhood of Steel. (Hancock x oc or Danse x oc)

They don’t know their name, where they came from, or anything about their past. But what they do know is that The Institute is looking for them for being a so called “liberated courser” and they need some hideout help. (Really any companion x oc, but X6-88 x oc would be cool)

A new-model synth goes rogue and fully assumes a human identity for years. One day, they get startled by a glowing one popping out of the shadows because — unlike a human — they are immune to the radiation and can’t pick up on it when they’re around. But, as they lift their gun in a panicked frenzy, the ghoul asks them not to shoot. It’s a non-feral glowing one. (Any companion x oc really lol. Hancock x oc would be nice because he’s immune to rads too)

An institute sleeper agent is sent out into the wasteland to gather information without knowing they’re doing it. They become a member of the Railroad and, weirdly, from the very beginning Deacon always seems to stick close to their side. And for some strange reason, when they start to faint (which happens when the institutes tries to retrieve information from their brain files or whatever) the only thing that can keep them conscious is Deacon’s voice. (Obvi Deacon x oc)

A young drifter from the capital wasteland stumbles into the commonwealth injured, hunted, and alone, finding their way into the most obscure little settlement ever: Goodneighbor. They make their way to the local bar where they inch into a back room and pass out. But when they wake up, they’re being stared down judgmentally by a man in a green cap and tan duster that they swore they’d seen before. Maybe he stopped by Little Lamplight, at some point? (MacCready x oc)

A young ex-raider with an undeniable craving for adventure and fantasy raids, not homes, but libraries just to revel in the stories of pre-war books. They search down radiomen and writers and soldiers just to hear their stories. And one day, they find a young woman with too many stories to count. (Piper x oc)

A starry-eyed inventor, cooped up in a home in Goodneighbor, is working on replicating old weapon blueprints. They don’t exactly know what it does, but they have enough caravans bringing them scrap that they can get it done. Only when they’re finished do they realize the blueprints aren’t old at all, and the Institute was recruiting them. (X6-88 x oc, or any companion depending on how you plan their reaction)

Who knew America had sent panic rockets into space when the bombs were first launched? Well, one of the rockets is back, and a terrifyingly odd, smart person, born and raised in space, suggests moving wastelanders from America to another country. Many other countries glow at night when America doesn’t. But the problem only starts with convincing everyone they’re honest and not on chems. (Any companion x oc)

A small but mighty combat medic emerges from the vault, and believe it or not, the minutemen can’t seem to stop getting hurt. (Preston Garvey x oc)

A sniper, trained by their father for years, comes to the commonwealth in search of their little brother, who went missing but left them mysterious notes about his location. It just happens that they find someone who isn’t so different from them at all. (MacCready x oc or Deacon x oc)

A hardcore survivalist from Far Harbor finds their way to shore in search of Nick Valentine, who, they think, can help them find their father. He went to the mainland once and never came back. But they don’t quite understand — the mainland is tame and not nearly as dangerous as Far Harbor, so where did he go? He’s obviously not dead. Right? (Nick Valentine x oc)

A small but absolutely killer character makes it through the gauntlet, but they don’t want to be overboss. They just wanted to ride the freaking Ferris wheel. But, if the overboss thing comes with it, they may as well take it in their stride. (Porter Gage x oc)

The Brotherhood of Steel has gone off the deep end, taking in hostages of anyone they think holds valuable information about the Institute or Railroad. But when your character wakes up, locked in a kind of prison cell at the bottom of the Prydwen, they laugh. The very fact that they’re missing is going to make all hell break loose, and the Brotherhood doesn’t stand a chance. (Deacon x oc, X6-88 x oc. Just take creative liberty. Who’s is so big and bad they’ll take on the Brotherhood to get one person back?)

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matchamilkislover · 5 months

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In The Darkest Corners, 8.

pairing: vi x fem!oc (reader with a name)

warnings: mature themes, just an overall minors beware, violence, just general arcane-ness.

word count: 1538

synopsis: it always gets better before it gets worse.

author’s note: i put in a small bit of happiness in this one. as a treat. you’re welcome :)

don’t forget to read the other parts first!!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Vi and Olive ventured into Piltover as quietly they could, Olive biting her lip and swallowing cries of pain from her leg. The farther they walked, the more she began to falter, and each step felt like it may be her last before she finally collapsed. Vi kept sending her worried glances from where she supported her.

“Ol, you’re hurt, we need to stop,” Vi urged, trying to slow them to a stop. Olive gritted her teeth and kept moving.

“No, we can’t. We’re almost there, and stopping would be too risky,” she replied, hissing when she took another step but not stopping. Vi sighed but kept with her, supporting as much of her weight as she could without fully carrying Olive — she had a feeling her companion would resist that as well. Finally, they turned onto a lamplight street lined with giant gated homes, and Olive took an audible breath.

“This is it. Her house is right over there,” Olive said, pointing to what looked like the largest house on the block. Vi wasn’t sure whether to laugh or roll her eyes. “We’ll have to go around the back and climb onto the balcony. Something tells me her mom won’t be all that happy to see me,” she continued, picking up the pace. Vi was taken aback.

“Climb? Seriously?” She raised an eyebrow and looked Olive up and down. Olive shrugged.

“I’ve done it loads of times. It can’t be that hard,” Olive replied. “Come on, we don’t want anyone to spot us.”

Olive was wrong. As it turns out, it was very hard to climb a balcony after getting slammed to the ground and your leg slashed with explosive bits of metal and glass, even if you’d done it a hundred times. After watching Olive try over and over again to launch herself onto the wall, Vi sighed and walked over to stop her. Without a word, she grabbed the shorter confidently and threw her over her shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes. Ignoring Olive’s hushed cries and protests, she casually scaled the wall with one arm while the other held Olive securely against her. When they reached the balcony, Vi hauled them gently over the railing and set Olive down on her good leg. Olive immediately turned and whacked her on the arm, glaring with her eyebrows furrowed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you do that?!?!” She accused in what seemed to be some sort of whisper yell.

“You were taking too long,” Vi replied with a shrug. “Would you rather I not help you and have us get caught?”

“There is a difference between helping me and throwing me ov-“ Olive’s rant was cut short by the sound of the glass balcony door being kicked open. Olive spun around to see just who she was looking for standing there, aiming a shotgun at the pair of them.

“Caitlyn?”

“Olive?” Caitlyn’s face went slack, and she lowered her weapon. She sputtered for a moment from shock, looking Olive up and down wildly like she couldn’t believe it was really her. Her face broke out into a smile. “Olive!” she gushed, dropping the gun to run over to Olive and squish her into a hug. “I thought I might never see you again!” Olive immediately sank into the tight hug, a smile she hadn’t felt in a long time spreading over her face. After what Olive was sure must have been quite a while, the two finally pulled apart.

“Where have you been? I kept thinking I would see you again eventually, but…” Caitlyn trailed off. Olive sighed.

“I couldn’t come back. Not after what happened. We’re actually here because, well…we need your help.”

—

After Olive explained the whole situation to Caitlyn, the latter sat silently on her bed for a good few minutes, contemplating.

“So you want me to go through my mom, the great iceberg, and convince her to let you have an audience with the council, to bargain with the gemstone that we can’t tell anyone about beforehand?” She asked, seeming to question the scenario. Olive and Vi looked at each other, a grimace on Olive’s face.

“Look, we know it sounds ridiculous, but unless we want everything to go up in flames, there’s nothing else we can do,” Olive pleaded, reaching out to touch Caitlyn’s hand.

“Silco’s done enough already. Without interference from Piltover, he’ll destroy anyone left in his way. Including topside,” Vi cut in. “There’s no other choice.”

Caitlyn sighed. “Alright. I will have a talk with her. In the meantime, you need to get that leg fixed up and some rest,” she said, eyeing Olive’s leg. She had been so distracted, Olive had nearly forgotten the searing pain going down her calf. Nearly. “I’ll bring you supplies. Can you do it on your own or…” Caitlyn trailed off, looking back and forth from Olive to Vi. It was clear from her body language that she still didn’t trust Vi, but trusted Olive enough to not outright question her judgment — at least not at the moment.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” Vi replied. She was talking to Caitlyn, but she only looked at Olive.

“Ooohkay…?” Caitlyn said, raising an eyebrow before gently getting up off the bed and exiting the room to assumably grab a first aid kit.

“I think your friend doesn’t like me,” Vi said to Olive, only half joking.

“It’s not that, she’s just…never met someone from the Undercity before. Especially living with a council member for a mom, you can imagine she doesn’t exactly have the best impression,” Olive said, sighing. “I didn’t…before.” She looked at Vi with a gentle expression, like she was waiting for Vi’s reaction.

“I’ve always thought the same thing about topsiders. Look where we are now,” Vi replied, shrugging. “I guess we were both wrong.” A soft smile appeared on her lips.

“Maybe.” Olive replied quietly. Before either of them could say anything else, Caitlyn loudly reentered the room, carrying hoards of medical supplies.

“I took whatever I could find,” she said nervously. Olive held back a giggle.

“Thanks Cait, really,” Olive said, smiling. Caitlyn nodded, shot another uncertain look towards Vi, and then turned and walked straight out of the room — presumably to go sacrifice her ass to her mother for the two of them. Once she was gone, Olive and Vi looked at each other in sync and both laughed.

Olive was no longer laughing once Vi was picking debris out of her leg. She winced and let out a sharp hiss of pain when Vi got a particularly stuck shard of glass out.

“I’m almost done,” Vi said in a surprisingly soothing voice. She looked up at Olive when she spoke, her eyes filled with something Olive hadn’t seen before. Olive bit her bottom lip and nodded, closing her eyes when another piece was pulled out. By the time Vi was done cleaning and fixing up her leg, Olive was out of breath, and her eyes were red from the tears she had been holding back. Vi looked up worriedly, looking like she was about to move or say something when the door suddenly opened again.

“I don’t know how, but I convinced her. We’ll be at the next council meeting!” Caitlyn exclaimed, a shocked smile on her face. Olive returned the smile.

“You’re amazing, Cait,” she said, about to stand to hug her again before thinking better of it.

“Anyways, I’m assuming you two will be staying here because…well, you know. The only guest room we have ready right now is the one next door to mine, but-“ Olive cut her off with a wave.

“We’ll be fine. Don’t even worry about it, you’ve done enough,” Olive said. “Vi, why don’t you go on ahead. I think Cait and I have some catching up to do.” She turned to Vi and smiled expectantly. Vi nodded and stood to leave, her hand grazing over Olive’s as she moved. As soon as the door closed behind her, Caitlyn’s interrogation began.

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

—

“…and I think that’s everything!” Olive finished her lengthy explanation of the last year of her life with a heavy sigh. Caitlyn gawked.

“That is most certainly not everything! What is going on with pinkie over there??” Caitlyn said, quieting herself as if Vi could hear them through the thick, grand walls.

“What do you mean?” Olive replied, trying to seem clueless. Her blushing face betrayed her.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Olive Whitlock. I have never seen two people with so much tension in my goddamn life!”

Olive laughed nervously. “We’re just friends, really,” she continued, trying to convince herself as well as Caitlyn.

“Bullshit.”

“I-“ Olive cut herself off with a sigh. “She could never see me like that. As long as I get to know her, I don’t care,” she continued, looking down at her fumbling hands.

“You’re so clueless, Ol,” Caitlyn replied with a sigh.

“Cut it out!” Olive couldn’t help but start giggling. Before long, the two girls had dissolved into laughter.

And even if it was just for a moment, Olive felt like maybe everything could be okay again. Like it used to be.

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amazingnerd · 1 year

Text

The Dragons Fire.

Chapter 6.

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x OC!Fem!Reader

Themes: Cursing, fluff, mentions of violence, mentions of death threats, mentions of an assassination attempt.

Previous: chapter 5

Next: Chapter 7

Gaelyra is stirred from her sleep as the bright rays of the morning sun shine down on her face, practically blinding her even with her eyes closed. How odd, doesn't she usually keep the curtains closed when she sleeps? This isn't the only difference however, she notices how uncomfortable she is. She doesn't feel the softness of her bed like she usually does and she doesn't feel her blanket over her either. In fact, she seems to not be laying on a bed at all, but leather. A couch?

She opens her eyes slowly, groaning at the bright sun in her eyes and turning away from the window, coming into contact with a chest. She looks up and she sees Daemon asleep beside her, naked. She notices that she is naked too. Her eyes widen and she instantly feels more awake as the memories of last night flood her mind. Their argument, the kisses, the words they exchanged, the way their bodies ravaged each other...

Her cheeks turn red and she sits up, feeling an ache radiate through her body, making her groan. The sound makes Daemon stir, and as she turns to him, she finds that his eyes are open and watching her.

She gives him a slight smile, "Good morning, my prince." She glances to the window closest to them, "At least, I believe it is morning." She says.

He hums behind her, sitting up and moving her hair from her shoulder so he can rest his chin there. His arm slings around her waist and he pulls her close to him, "Good morning, my fire." He says softly. Ñuha perzys. Yet another term of endearment that she can't understand.

"Ñuha perzys..." She turns her head to look at him in question, "What does that mean?"

He angles his head to meet her gaze, and he smirks, "Perhaps I will tell you one day." He answers.

She rolls her eyes at him. But then she gets an idea and she smirks, looking at his face, "Or perhaps I will figure it out on my own." She says in Valyrian.

He looks at her in surprise, but then he smiles, "I see those lessons with Rhaenyra are paying off." He says. "How much do you know?" He asks.

Gaelyra turns her body so she's facing him, and she rests her hands on his shoulders as she gives him her answer, "I know enough. How does it sound? Am I speaking it correctly?"

He smiles and leans forward, brushing his lips against hers, "You speak it beautifully. I'm impressed." He whispers. He places a light kiss to her lips, a tease, and as he goes to pull away she follows him. She kisses him again and he let's out a pleased hum, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

Just as they deepen the kiss, the doors to the library open and in comes a collection of people. The lamp lighters. They move around the castle every morning to exchange the old candles in each room with new ones, and they're walking in now. With Daemon and Gaelyra still naked on the couch.

With her lips still over his, Gaelyra opens her eyes and she sees the approaching lamp lighters. She gasps and pulls away from him, Daemon looks at her in confusion when he suddenly hears the footsteps of the servants. He acts fast, grabbing Gaelyra and pinning her down on the couch, practically covering her body with his own as he sends a fiery glare at the lamplighters. The poor servants stop in their tracks and their eyes widen as they see their prince and his betrothed, quite naked, in the library.

With her body as pressed against Daemon as it is, Gaelyra can feel the growl in his chest as he speaks to them, "Fuck off." And they do. They completely abandon their work and they take off out of the library. Once the door closes with a loud thud, Gaelyra relaxes, and she looks up at Daemon. She sees the look in his eyes, and she grins, "A little possessive, my prince?"

He scoffs and looks down at her, "Only I am allowed to see your naked form. No one else can see you like this, certainly not a collection of lamplighters." The way he says lamplighters is full of distaste, and it just confirms that the prince is indeed possessive of his betrothed.

She chuckles and tucks a stray strand of his hair behind his ear, "As I said last night, I do not intend on flouting myself around the court. So you have nothing to worry about, my prince." She assures him.

He hums, "Good." He pushes himself off of her and he gets up, collecting his trousers from the floor and putting them on.

She looks down, "I may have to run to my quarters, lest I be seen like this." She says. She gestures to the torn remains of her nightgown on the floor, "I can't exactly walk around with that on. I might as well be naked with how you tore it up." She says.

He snickers in response, leaning down and picking up his night shirt. He tosses it to her, "Wear that." He says, "It should do the job nicely."

Gaelyra nods and stands up from the couch, ignoring the ache in her joints from sleeping on the couch and the soreness in her body from the passionate sex. She puts on the shirt, it drapes down to her thighs. It will be just fine to keep her body covered until she can properly dress herself for the day. She looks up at him, and she notices that he is watching her. She tilts her head at him, "What?" She says.

Daemon can't deny that the sight of Gaelyra in his clothes makes him feel a warmth within his chest. Not desire. Nor lust. But warmth. A pure, tender warmth. He does not understand it. He realizes that she's speaking to him and he clears his throat, "Nothing," he says. He decides to be bold. He smiles and walks over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. "It's just, you look very alluring in my shirt... and nothing else..." He teases, bringing his head down and brushing his lips down the muscle of her neck.

Her shoulders tense up at the ticklish tingles that his touch gives her and she laughs, pushing his head away from her neck, "Control yourself, Daemon. I cannot spend all day fucking you in the library." "So you'd fuck me in the corridor?" He counters. She laughs and nudges him away with her elbow, pulling away and looking at him, "I have lessons with Rhaenyra and I'm sure you have duties of your own today," she says.

He groans in response, rolling his eyes, "I can miss one small council meeting."

She raises a brow at him, "Betrothed, since I have been here, I do not believe I have heard of you attending a single meeting." She points out.

Daemon frowns, "Since when do you listen to the chatter of the other lords?"

"Since the man that the chatter concerns is to be my husband." She says. She sighs and she walks forward, placing her hand onto his chest, "Go to the meeting, see what is happening in the realm." She looks at his face, and she gives him a gentle smile, "And when you get back, you can tell me all about Otto Hightower's incompetence," she says, trying to lighten his mood.

It works, because he actually smiles. He nods, "Can you promise me a bottle of wine as well?" He questions.

Her smile grows, "I can."

His smile grows as well, and he leans down to her face, "Well then, I will see you later, betrothed." He says, speaking Valyrian to test her.

She is quick in her response, her voice a whisper in the air between them, "Until then, my prince."

••••

Daemon hates the politics of King's Landing. Hearing lords bicker amongst themselves about the realm while his brother listens, waiting to intervene and give orders when it calls for it. Daemon does not understand why he needs to be there. He has made it very clear to his brother that he has no interest for the dull day to day that is discussed in the small council. And yet, he is expected to attend.

If it weren't for the promise of a goblet of wine shared between himself and Gaelyra later, he would not even bother going today.

After making himself look semi-presentable, he walks to the meeting room. The doors are opened for him as he enters, and he heads to his seat. All of the lords are there, except for his brother, which confuses him as Viserys is usually the first to arrive to meetings such as this.

Daemon stops in his tracks as he sees a new face amongst the usual gathering of the meeting, Jaegar Vaela. Gaelyra's father. Why is he here? Didn't he go back to the Riverlands? Does Gaelyra even know that he's here?

"Lord Vaela," Daemon greets, taking his seat at the table, "I was not informed that you had arrived. How long have you been back in King's Landing?" He questions. He himself couldn't care less, but if Gaelyra doesn't know that her father is here, perhaps the prince could give her some answers.

Jaegar looks at his prince with a bow of his head, "I arrived late last night. There is an urgent matter that I must discuss with the king. Lord Hightower-" He answers Daemon swiftly before he turns his attention to the hand of the king, "When will the king be arriving?" He questions, and Daemon notes the hint of anxiety in the old lords voice.

Otto, ever the calm lord, looks at Jaegar with a nod of his head, "The king will be here soon. His delay is thanks to his arm, it has been giving him much trouble lately."

Speaking of Viserys, first of his name, the doors to the meeting room open and in comes the king. All of the lords present stand as the king enters, and they do not sit back down until Viserys takes his own seat at the head of the table. "Good day, my lords." He greets, wearily, as he leans against the table, "Let us begin."

The lords of the small council discuss matters of the realm and they give their reports. Much time passes, and eventually Daemon feels like he'd rather jump out the window than continue sitting in this meeting. However as the meeting drags on, Daemon keeps a close eye on the lord Jaegar. Even from where the prince sits, he can see the nervous expression on the lords face. From what he knows of the lord of the Riverlands, Jaegar is not easily shaken up. Something must be wrong. Wrong enough that Jaegar came all the way here from his home at the edge of the Riverlands.

Wrong enough that Gaelyra doesn't even know that he is here.

"Why are you here, Lord Vaela?" The words that come from the prince surprise everyone in the room. All eyes fall upon him, but he meets the gaze of no one in that room. No one except for the lord Vaela. His eyes stay on him, and Jaegar looks at the prince with a solemn expression, before he looks to the king, "If I may, your grace, I would like to discuss why I am here." He says.

Viserys's brows furrow a little. He has known Jaegar a long time. If there is any lord in all of Westeros that the king can trust, it's Jaegar. He knows that Jaegar is a stern man. A man not easily shaken or bent, but the look in his eyes shows so much fear, so much dread. He feels worry for his friend, so he gives him a nod, "Of course, lord Vaela." He gestures with his hand for him to continue.

Jaegar nods and adjusts his position in his seat, leaning forward so his elbows rest on the table. Every eye is on him as he begins to speak, "Threats have been made against my house as of late. Both of my sons, my wife, and myself have received disturbing letters promising disturbing things against my house, my home, my lands, and all of my children." His eyes flit to Daemon for a moment, and the rogue prince's hand clenches around his cup as he realizes what Jaegar is implying with his glance. Threats have also been made against Gaelyra. Threats that she does not know of because she has been here in King's Landing instead of her family home.

Lord Jaegar looks to Viserys once more, "Less than a fortnight ago, my daughter by law received a gift from someone within the towns surrounding my home. When she opened the parcel she was met with a hissing manticore. Had my son not killed the insect in time, I believe I'd be planning a funeral for my sons wife as we speak." He says.

It is king Viserys turn to speak, "My sympathies, lord Vaela. But I must ask, why do you come to me with this? Wouldn't those in your service be better equipped to handle a threat in your territory?" He questions.

Jaegar nods, "I have sent some of my finest men to investigate the threat and all have come back with nothing. Yet the threats continue. I fear for not only the safety of my house but for my family as well. I have come here to ask for aid. I believe that if whoever is doing this sees the kings army protecting my family, they will go back to where they came from."

Otto frowns, "And how many men would you take from King's Landing?" He questions.

Jaegar looks to the hand, "One hundred. Two hundred at the most. All I ask is to borrow a small fraction of your army, for a short while."

The request is simple enough. There are thousands of men here in kings landing that serve the crown, fine men that could strike fear into the hearts of whoever is terrorizing the house of Vaela. There's a short moment of silence before Otto looks to the king, "Your grace?" He says.

Viserys sits in thought for only a moment before he gives Jaegar his answer. He looks at him, "My old friend, I will grant your request. Take a hundred men. I will see to it that your house and family are safe again." His tone is sincere, his eyes warm as he speaks.

Jaegar visibly relaxes, and he bows his head, "Thank you, your grace. Truly." He says.

Viserys nods, giving him a small smile, before he looks to the rest of the lords, "Shall we continue?" And they do. They speak of many things for the next long while, however Daemon doesn't engage in the chatter and reports of the lords, his mind is elsewhere.

Who in the seven kingdoms would dare to threaten one of the most powerful families in the realm? Who would be stupid enough to try and strike them?

Who would be stupid enough to dare threaten Daemon's fiancé?

He knows not. But he is going to find out.

••••

The sun is low on the horizon. Not dusk quite yet but late in the afternoon. Gaelyra is sitting in the godswood, reading a book in Valyrian. Rhaenyra gave it to her after their daily lesson so that she may practice reading the ancient language. Her back is rested against a tree, her legs folded up with the book resting on her lap as she reads.

"The words of the knight rang true in that moment as the heat of battle swirled around them all..." She reads softly aloud in Valyrian, "And as he plucked his sword from the skull of his opponent, he turned to face the battle behind him-"

"What his eyes beheld was a frightening sight. The river stained red with blood, the sky black with the smoke of castles burning."

Gaelyra looks up at the familiar voice, and she smiles as she sees Daemon standing there, "My prince," she greets, "You know this story?" She asks, holding up the book in her hands.

Daemon smiles slightly, walking over and taking a seat beside her on the grass, "I do. I read it many times as a lad." He says.

Gaelyra's brows raise, "Your parents allowed you to read this? It is quite descriptive towards the atrocities of battle." She points out.

Daemon chuckles, "My parents cared not what their second son read in the late hours of the night." He tells her. He looks at her face, "Why are you reading it?" He questions her.

She looks back down at the book, "Princess Rhaenyra wants me to read it so I can practice reading in Valyrian. I thought speaking it aloud would help me practice the pronunciation of the words as well." She plucks a blade of grass from the ground beside her and she uses it to mark her book, closing it and looking at Daemon, "How did the council meeting go?" She asks.

She doesn't miss how the smile that found its way onto his face disappears, nor does she miss how he turns his gaze away from her to look towards the corridor he just came from. She frowns, "What's wrong?" She places the book beside her on the grass and she turns her body to face his, "Did something happen?"

He sighs and looks at her, "Your father was there at the meeting." He informs her.

She furrows her brows, "My father? Why would he-"

"There have been threats." He stops her in her questions with his words, and her gaze urges him to continue. "Against your house. Against your family. Against...." He looks into her eyes, "Against you."

Gaelyra is silent as she processes this information. Who would threaten her family? Who would threaten her? And why? As far as she knows her family are thought of well in the minds of the common folk. They care about the people who live in their lands, they protect their people, they are patient and kind. She cannot recall anyone alive who would want to harm her or her family. No one that would threaten them directly. The particularaties do not matter. What does matter is that there someone out there who wants to hurt her family, that is all that matters.

She looks at him, "Has anyone been hurt?" She questions, her voice calm. Too calm.

Daemon shakes his head, "No. But there was an attempt against your brothers wife. They sent a manticore after her, but your father said that it was killed before any real harm could be done."

The anger that rushes through Gaelyra's viens is more than obvious now as she realizes that someone tried to hurt Fiyona. Her brothers wife. The love of his life. If anything were to happen to Fiyona, Gaelyra is certain that her brother would never be the same. A death by an assassins blade would be a quick and simple death, but a manticore? Their venom is painful. It kills slowly. It kills the body bit by bit, vein by vein, if that creature stung Fiyona, her death would have been long and agonizing in every sense of the word.

Only a coward would inflict such a death upon someone. Only a monster would harm someone as kind and gentle as Fiyona.

Gaelyra hums and stands up, "Well then, I suppose I know what I must do next." She says, brushing the grass and dirt off of her dress.

He assumes that she is going to talk to her father while he's still here, perhaps to offer him some comfort, but what she says instead surprises him;

"I must return to my home."

Gaelyra looks down at Daemon, "I need to go home and protect my family." She looks down in thought, "I could be there by tomorrow if I leave by nightfall. I will ride all night if I must."

Daemon frowns, "Gaelyra, do you think it wise to go straight to the place where there have been threats made against you?" He questions her, standing up from the ground. He stands in front of her, "Perhaps your brothers and father could take care of matters on their own. You going there would just give them more to defend." He says.

Gaelyra scoffs at that, looking up at him, "Daemon, I love my brothers very much, but they will need me. My father is much too old to defend our lands alone, Graehar has never lifted a sword in all his life, and Sam..." she shakes her head, "He is a fine warrior. A great warrior. But I am better." He opens his mouth to respond, but she places a finger over his lips, silencing him before she continues. Her expression is serious as she meets his gaze, "All my life, I have trained and worked and bled to be the best warrior there ever was. My brother did not spend night after night on the training grounds to perfect his technique. I did. He did not destroy rebellion against the king in our territory. I did. I have had to work twice as hard, no, thrice as hard just because I am a woman and I truly believe it has made me stronger. I truly believe it has made me the greatest warrior of my family."

She pulls her finger away from his lips, and she takes a step back, "I must go to my family. I have to." She says. She tilts her head at him as an idea comes into her head, one that may keep him from arguing against her decision, "You may accompany me if you wish." She adds.

It only takes him a moment to think before he nods, "I will go with you." He says, "I shall inform my brother of our departure. Go and pack, we will head for the pit at nightfall."

Gaelyra swallows nervously, "You wouldn't rather ride on horses?" She says.

He chuckles, "Dragons are faster than horses. We could be there within hours." He says to her. He takes her arm into his hand, gently running his hand down her arm to her hand. He looks down at her, "Caraxes will take us safely there. He will help to protect your family..." He gives her hand a small squeeze, "He will help me protect you..." He whispers.

Gaelyra's expression softens at his words. She squeezes his hand back and she leans up, placing a light kiss to the corner of his lips. She lets the touch linger for a moment before she pulls away and looks up at him, a small smile on her face, "To the Riverlands then?"

He too smiles at her, bringing their joined hands up and placing a kiss upon her knuckles. His eyes look directly into hers as he whispers;

"To the Riverlands."

A/N: Ohhhh man things are really about to get real my friends *evil laugh*. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! The taglist is still open so if you'd like to be tagged in the next chapter then feel free to ask me! I won't bite 💙

Taglist: @writtingforfun @simbaaas-stuff @dragon06fire @immyowndefender @clarym @vilmakamunen @livinthesweetlife @addie333333 @luma6 @enchantedbones @the-baybieruth @cxstrophobic @strawberry07cake @saramarvel07 @harrietgamersstuff @paranoyse

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #daemon x oc #fantasy #daemon targaryen x oc

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starchildren220 · 2 days

Text

Phoenix Chapter Two

♡

Phoenix Masterlist

♡

Homelander x OC

Black Noir x OC

Soldier Boy x OC

♡

It had barely been a day and the video someone posted of you taking down the robbers had gone viral. People were stopping you on the streets for photos. You were the sole talk all over, including the Vought higher up.

“We should get her to take Lamplighter place.” One suggested. “She’s already popular just imagine the sales.”

“She hasn’t even done an interview.” Madelyn Stillwell, Vice President of Hero Management, argued.

“Then let’s interview her.” Stan Edgar, CEO of Vought, announced. “Madelyn,” She turned to him. “get someone to find her and bring her here for a proper interview.”

“Yes sir.” She smiled before leaving.

Reaching her office she sent someone for Black Noir. It wasn’t long before he came knocking.

“Come in!” He opened the door and stood opposite of her. She clicked a button on the TV remote and a photo of you flashed onto the screen.“I need you to find this girl and convince her to have an interview with us.” She gave a smile and leaned on her intertwined fingers.

Black Noir nodded, before leaving the room and heading down to the surveillance department. Annika had already been sent the picture of you, she had the cameras following you.

Black Noir walked over with a sticky note reading ‘girl location’. Annika smiled nervously and she sent the locations. As soon as he received the locations he left.

♡

All the people got quite overwhelming at times but it was just a fraction of the human interaction she missed out on during her lonely childhood.

It didn’t take you long to notice the figure following you. Deciding to hide in the closest store, you push open the doors of an electronics store.

“Hey welcome in! Are you looking for anything in particular?” A man asked, he was tall and lanky with brown curls. He had a lopsided boyish smile.

“Oh, uh… I just need a place to hide out, it’s fine if I stay here for a little while?” You gave a sheepish smile. He nodded.

“Yeah that’s cool.” He shrugged. You decided it would be easier to spend your time there talking to someone rather than being bored out of your mind. You walk over to the front desk. Leaning on the corner you tell him your name.

“Oh um, I’m Hughie.” He kept the same boyish smile. “Who’re you hiding from?” He questioned.

“I don’t know, I felt them though.” He furrowed his brows. “I have powers.” You elaborated, he nodded in what seemed to be an understanding.

“That’s cool, I-I mean if it doesn’t hurt anybody.” You smiled.

“It doesn’t hurt anybody I don’t want to be hurt.” He saw the saw the sadness behind your eyes when you said it.

♡

It had been hours, you and Hughie talked about everything under the sun, he had even told you about his girlfriend’s recent death. It was dark outside and his manger left telling Hughie to lock up after him.

The door opened with a ring. But nobody had walked in. The door closed behind nothing. You felt someone there. Your eyes hardened and you focus on feeling the air around you. Seeing him you looked straight at him. Hughie noticed this and called out.

“Hello?” Hughie asked. There were footstep being heard.

“Who are you?” Hughie jumped up from his seat.

“The fuck?”

“Right in front of you, prick. You think I wouldn’t find this thing?” A plastic circle thing floated in the air. You grabbed the man’s wrist

“The hell, let go of me.” He dropped the thing on the glass showcase in front of him. He ripped his arm from your grip and grabbed Hughie’s lanyard.

“Hughie.” Pulling on the lanyard he slamming Hughie’s head into the glass cracking it and causing a cut on his forehead to appear.

You quickly sprang into action using your powers to stop his movement. You turn to Hughie eyes glowing, cracks framing your face, and your hair floating.

Walking over to the frozen man you place your hand on his arm making his pass out. He fell limp and became visible again. You looked away noticing his nakedness.

Suddenly a car rammed into the store and a man with black hair and beard and dressed in a black trench coat pushed the car door open.

“I see ya already handled it.” His accent was from New Zealand.

“Butcher?!” Hughie seemed to know the man.

“Come on Hughie, help me get him in the boot.” Hughie started to spiral and was arguing with Butcher, you took thins opportunity to leave out the back door sensing the second man hostile nature.

In the back alley a figure dropped down from the rooftop. You forgot about the guy following you. He didn’t say anything but he held a yellow sticky note.

The note read, ‘come with me, Vought wants to interview you to become one of their supes’ This excited you, finally you could do what you dreamed of doing, and you knew he was telling the truth, his thought were a little hard to understand but you knew he wasn’t lying.

You nodded. “Lead the way.” He nodded before turning around and climbing up the wall to the rooftops. You watch him until he reached the top, he looked back down at the ground to where you still were.

Using your powers you float up to meet him at the rooftop. He seemed to just look at you, you tried to get a read on his thoughts but they were way too jumbled and you were tired.

He started to walk jumping over the gaps between buildings, climbing the difference with taller building. You floated when these obstacles present themselves but overall you walked.

♡

Soon enough the two of you were at the very tall, very intimidating Vought Tower. Noir jumped down from the rooftop landing hard on the concrete. You float yourself down and he leads you inside the tower.

No body asked questions when he entered, passing security easily. Everyone moved out of his way and avoiding even looking in his direction.

“You must be a fan favorite.” You quipped to no response. Shrugging it off the both of you reached the elevator, the people who needed to use it either left or waited outside of it so they don’t ride with him.

He pressed the button for floor 99. ‘this is gonna be a long ride’ you thought to your self.

It was a long ride, or at least for you. You had no idea of what Noir is thinking, you kind of just stopped trying to unscramble his thoughts.

He eventually led you to a big room with a ‘V’ shaped table. You looked around the room, TV’s and monitors decking the walls on either side and in front was a wall of windows.

At the table sat a man with short greying black hair and glasses, he had a calm and collected demeanor, unlike the man standing next to him. It was the man she met before at the diner; Homelander, if she remembered correctly.

“Welcome, I’m Stan Edgar.” The corners of his mouth tilted up slightly giving a small business approached smile. You introduced yourself to him and he gestured you to sit at the spot next to him on the ‘V’ table.

“I’m here to give you the big interview, to become part of the Seven, now normally I don’t give the interviews but on special cases like yours I just can’t help my curiosity. So, what can you do?” He seemed genuinely intrigued.

“Uh, a lot I guess.” You didn’t know why but his presence was very overwhelmingly powerful, it made you nervous.

“Show me.” He commanded you, he then commanded the man. “Homelander.”

You stood from your seat as Homelander approached you. “Do you want quick or showy?” You ask Edgar.

“Quick.” He answered your question. Nodding your eyes started to glow, your hair floated, and the glowing cracks formed. Then it took a little bit more struggle to knock him out without physical contact, which you believed was not possible at the moment. Soon enough he got close but when he did he passed out.

He fell at your feet, lying in a close version of the fetal position. Edgar clapped. “Well done, you’re on the team.” He slid forwards some paper work for you to sign. After reading it you signed it, you could always just erase your signature later if necessary.

“Welcome to the Seven.” He held out a hand for you to shake.

“Thank you sir.” You shook his hand back. “Do you want me to wake him?” He got up from the seat and started to walk out.

“I don’t care.” The he left, closing the doors behind him. You walked over to Homelander’s body. He had a peaceful look on his face. Placing your mr hand on his cheek you woke him.

He sprang up grabbing you by the neck and using his flight and speed to quickly slam you into the wall across the room. You weren’t being choked, though he was very much trying you held a small forcefield between your neck and his hand.

“How dare you!” He seethed, his eyes glowing red like when you first met.

“I just did what I was asked.” You expanded the forcefield pushing his hand off your neck. This action seemed to make him angrier.

“I’m the leader of this team you’ll listen to me, ‘ya hear.” He pointed his index finger at you.

“You’re not my employer, I’ll listen to whoever that is before I listen to you.” Two lasers were quickly deflected off of the forcefield you had to make from his anger. Deciding you had enough of this you washed a wave of calm over him.

He seemed to physically relax; his hands unclenched, his shoulders lowered, his face unscrunched, and his breathing slowed.

“What did you do?” The forced feeling chase a whisper to escape him.

“I calmed you down. I didn’t want to fight you, but trust me I will if need be.” You explained with a subtle threat at the end. The force field dissipated and you lowered yourself to the floor. He followed you to the floor.

“Look I did what I needed to do to get this job, nothing against you. I don’t like fighting.” You held your hands up in an explaining manor.

“Fine.” He gritted out. “I’m suppose to show you to your new room anyway.” He walked past you and towards the door. You followed behind him.

♡

#the boys tv #oc #homelander #black noir #soldier boy #homelander x oc #black noir x reader #soldier boy x oc

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erisismywaifu25 · 2 years

Text

Landscape

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

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

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

•Jasper served in the Union

•Proofread but not perfect

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

Word Count: 7754

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

Without further ado…Chapter Two of Shake It Out

___________

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

—————————

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

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

“Shit!” she swore quietly.

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

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

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

Volleyball.

A park.

Practicing.

A man… with red eyes.

Biting.

Pain.

Water.

Choking.

Nothing.

Nothing?

Had she died?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened to me?”

———————————

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

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

—————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Tanya-”

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

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

“Happy to be here,” A.J. replied.

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

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

“Damn it.” A.J. cursed herself.

The last of the blondes stepped forward.

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

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

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

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

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

—————————

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

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

—————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emmett winced. “Damn, sounds rough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so,” A.J. responded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————————

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

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

——————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would they kill me?”

“Are they gonna kidnap me?”

“Am I gonna be forced to stay here?”

“I don't wanna leave my family!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A.J. squinted at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aro, please-,”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jane,” Aro screeched at the blonde girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————

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