#edward never ceases to amuse me

[just-an-enby-lemon]

I was reading King Tut's Tumb from Batman Confidencial and I was fully expecting Eddie to blame the museum security for being so weak or dumb that they basically let he steal things and therefore forced the museum to have to refuse exibitions for fear that Riddler specifically would steal them but NO baby girl went beyond!

His excuse was "I may have robbed the museum two or three times maybe more but there was that ONE case last autumm that was TOTALLY NOT ME, I was super framed there. So like is it even my fault really?"

[palmofafreezinghand]

Sweet Little Romantic Gestures ask:

I am never not here for your Carlesme bickering; it's the best. Pls to drop some, I am working on a Sunday. :(

thank you @gisellelx ! so sorry you had to work on sunday here's a little bickering (over baseball) for ya!

April 1921: 

Edward and Carlisle had been thrilled to introduce Esme to baseball. They were significantly less thrilled once they finally got a bat in her hands and realized she was horrible. 

“You might want to try to hit the ball,” Carlisle suggested light-heartedly, as Esme swung three seconds too late, for the umpteenth time.  It seemed with each swing her aim somehow got worse. 

She turned on her heel, bat still positioned to swing, with a cutting glare. “You don’t say?” She asked sardonically. “I thought the objective of the game was to stand here and let it fly right past me.” 

“That… that was you attemp-” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re doing a great job,” he lied, with an unconvincing grin.  

She pressed her lips together, yet the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying her true emotions. His smile in return was genuine. She turned back to face the makeshift pitcher's mound — in an effort to maintain her feigned annoyance — where Edward was failing to stifle his own laughter. 

“See, Edward thinks I’m humorous,” Carlisle said, watching Edward retrive yet another ball from their dwindling basket. 

“No, no. I find Esme amusing.” 

She glanced over her shoulder with a smile that  “I was simply thinking your head must be big enough I would be physically unable to miss it.” 

“I am sure you would find a way,” Carlisle laughed. 

“You are awful.” 

“At baseball? I believe that's you, Ms. Platt.” 

“Why don’t you try it then?” She thrust the bat into his chest. 

“I know how to play,” he smirked. Nevertheless, he did as he was told, stepping up to the irregular pentagon they had drawn in the dirt to serve as home base. Edward threw a two-seam fastball, Carlisle predictably hit it into the tree-line. He paused before starting to run, handing the bat to Esme, rather than throwing it as he typically would. He ran a complete circuit with ease while Edward hunted for the ball, for the fun of it and to prove a point, needlessly sliding into home base. 

“Show off,” Esme muttered right as Edward ran back into view, two seconds too late. 

“Would you like to try again?” Carlisle asked, tapping the imaginary plate with his foot. 

“I suppose,” Esme sighed theatrically. 

“Why don’t you help her?” Edward offered as he walked back to his place. Their gazes snapped from each other to him, matching looks of horror. 

‘You are not as charming as you believe you are,’ Carlisle thought pointedly. Edward knew quite well the objections Carlisle had to touching Esme, or rather his lack of objection which terrified him into objecting. 

“A hands-on demonstration might be helpful,” Edward continued with that irritating lopsided smirk.

Esme glanced up at Carlisle, the previous annoyance and confidence drained from her. “If you think it would be helpful,” she said tentatively. 

“It could not possibly hurt your performance,” Carlisle smiled. 

She rolled her eyes, raising the bat, once again, he hesitantly stepped behind her, his hands hovering over hers. “May I?” He asked quietly. 

She nodded, eyes focused forward. He ignored the fact she had ceased her unnecessary breathing for some reason, surely not the same reason he had. Ignored the smell of honeysuckle and vanilla, how well they fit together, how she was seemingly, impossibly, warm. Things he was not supposed to think about a woman he stole from a morgue, a grieving mother, his friend.

 He wrapped his hands around hers, and nodded towards Edward. 

Edward threw a straight forward pitch, Carlisle – and Esme – swung and hit the ball into the outfield. Applause came from the pitcher’s mound as Edward jogged to retrieve the ball. 

Esme turned slightly in Carlisle’s arms —  he ignored how this pushed her further into his chest — her hands still entrapped by his, but she made no moves to break the embrace. 

“We did it,” she laughed, her left dimple shining, nose scrunching. 

“You did!” 

“I see why you enjoy this now. That was thrilling.” 

“I told you could do it.” 

“You did nothing of the sort!” She leaned into him as she laughed, it was a mindless motion, one he was trying and desperately failing to pay no mind. 

“I…” he started to speak before he could think of a witty retort, his mind preoccupied. “I… I thought I did?” 

She blew air out her nose, shaking her head fondly. 

Before she could respond, Edward cleared his throat. “Want to try again?” 

Esme nodded enthusiastically. Carlisle reluctantly let go of her hands, taking a step backwards. 

Her shoulders slumped slightly, turning back to him. “Would you mind helping me one more time?” She asked, timidly, quickly adding, “just to ensure I truly have it.” 

“Of course,” he beamed, too eagerly stepping back into his place.

He “helped” for far more than one more attempt, neither of them objected.

send a gesture & pairing for a ficlet!

[knightdawnart]

Inktober, Day 14: Clock “one who does not sacrifice anything cannot achieve anything”

Do not repost or remove credit!

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Jasper Hale (7/10)

Word count ; 4.1k

*Edited:3

If it wasn’t for Jacob’s body warmth, I would’ve become an icicle on the ride to school. It stunned me, even despite his species, that he managed to be testy toasty all the time. He rolled up during the morning in a t-shirt and shorts. It was clearly to gloat his superiority, and he succeeded in making me very jealous.

I was more than relieved as he entered the school parking lot and pulled up to the steps. I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding in and shakily released my grip from his waist. I swung a leg over, and I stumbled, my legs not used to standing anymore. 

Jacob smirked at me. But I cut him off before he could get a word in. “Stop looking at me like that,” I huffed. “It’s not my fault you’re blessed with warm genetics. Honestly, I never would’ve agreed if I knew you rode your motorcycle everywhere.”

Jacob laughed, kicking down the pedal and hopping off. We were given strange looks, and I noticed in particular Jasper’s glare from across the parking lot. I sent him a smile, which made Jacob peer back at the guy grimly. Before they could engage in a stare down, I punched Jacob in the arm playfully.

“Hey! Not here and not ever.  It’s ridiculous honestly.” I smiled innocently, knowing that he couldn’t really spew any opinions about the Cullens in public.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “But listen, you seriously need to talk to Bella about… that.”

I sighed, "As much as I’d love to, she doesn’t really… respect me. We both know I’m the dumb sister. It’d be better if you told her.”

Jacob frowned. “That’s hard to believe. After all, she’s the one with - and you’re - you know what I mean.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but we both know I’m the dumb one,” I chuckled dryly. I noticed Jasper had pushed himself off the side of the jeep and was coming toward us. Jacob noticed, and he tensed. I snickered quietly, but just then, my snickers ceased because I noticed a grey sedan pull into the parking lot.

All eyes, including mine and Jacob’s were on Bella and Edward as they excited the car. Edward looked ecstatic and Bella, terrified. Edward had his arm wrapped around her. Jacob’s fists clenched as he stared at them. It certainly cleared things up in my head that Jacob had a thing for her.

He was a little biased. I kept that in mind as Jasper was suddenly beside me, throwing an arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his chest.

Jacob turned back to us, sneering. “God… get your hands off of her. Don’t think you’ll mind control her like your so-called brother did to Bella.”

Jasper wasn’t amused, but he faced me anyways. “Class is going to start and you’re freezing. Thanks for driving, mutt, but I’ll take it from here.”

I clicked my tongue in irritation, grabbing Jasper’s hand and bringing him closer. “Yeah, yeah. We don’t have time for this now. I’ll see you later, Jake.”

Jacob waves curtly, straining a smile. His fury was self-evident, though, as he hopped on his motorcycle and sped off, right by Bella and Edward.

I allowed Jasper to lead me to my locker, and as I fished through my stuff, he stood behind me like a loyal guard dog. I’ve asked Alice why she doesn’t walk with us anymore, and according to her, Jasper was relishing the ‘alone’ time. 

I pulled out my books, turning to Jasper. For once, all the eyes weren’t on us, but instead, Bella and Edward. They were glued to each other’s sides. Even my eyes were drawn to the couple. 

“It’s great, isn’t it?”

My gaze was drawn back to Jasper, who’s bangs had fallen in front of his eyes. I chuckled, drifting my fingers to tuck it behind his ears. “It is. I never thought Bella would be one for the spotlight. She tends to avoid it.”

“Edward’s had that affect… You know, despite what your mutt friend must think… Blood isn’t our top priority. It’s just food. Eating lunch isn’t your motivation in life, just like drinking blood isn’t our’s…” His voice was hushed, and only I could hear it, as his breath was fanning over my ear. “And if you’ll so let me, I want you to be my purpose. In fact… you already are.”

My cheeks reddened. “God, you’re so cute,” I muttered, caressing his cheek. “I’d kiss you, but I have a class to attend to.”

“But you hate school.”

“Not P.E.! I love my sister, but I love seeing a dodgeball pummeled into her face even more,” I argued, tucking my gym clothes underneath my arm.

“Ah-h-h. I should’ve known,” Jasper chimed, stepping away so that I could escape my locker. 

“Mhm, you should’ve. I’ll see you later.”

~~~

I sat my tray down, and for the first time ever, all of my friends weren’t greeting me. Instead, they were staring over at the Cullen’s table, where Bella sat with Edward. I hummed expectantly, ignoring the scene. However, Angela finally greeted me, which made my friends notice my arrival.

“Y/n, oh my god! First you, now your sister!” Jessica groaned. “How did she manage that?”

“It was bound to happen eventually,” I answered with a shrug. “And no, Jasper and I aren’t actually dating yet.”

“Good. It means you’re still on the market,” Mike flirted with a wink. Us girls gave him unamused glowers. “But seriously, the only reason people are into them is because of their looks.”

“I second that. The Cullens are freaks. They think they’re better than everyone else,” Jessica ranted. “Honestly? I’d hate to be in your shoes. Jasper’s hot, but who knows what’s going on behind the scenes. He always looks like he’s in pain.”

I strained a smile. "Or maybe they’re just normal people that don’t talk to their classmates because they talk crap about them behind their backs.”

“She’s not wrong, guys,” Angela parroted. “We don’t even know anything about them.”

“Exactly! And they’ve been attending for three years now! What are we supposed to think? That they aren’t a super secretive cult?”

“Yes, actually. Alice is super nice and Jasper is… I could go on about him for hours,” I giggled, casting a knowing glance over my shoulder at him. He sent me a wink from his table, an exchanged shared only between the two of us.

Mike suddenly spoke up. “So, uh, Y/n. The winter formal’s only a month away. Since you think so highly of him, is Cullen your date?”

“Oh not yet!” I exclaimed. “But I’m sure he’ll ask me soon enough.”

“Then who is your date?” Mike prodded suspiciously.

I tilted my head in confusion. “Nobody yet. Why?”

“Because you already told me you had a date when…”

The memory clicked into place and I covered my mouth in embarrassment. “It’s nothing personal, Mike. I’ve told everyone that. I, uh, just knew Jasper was going to ask eventually.”

Mike let out a grunt of displeasure, and silence fell over the table. Jessica was regarding the two of us with suspicion, although she tried to fake a smile. Poor Eric and Angela were left to watch from the sidelines.

I wanted nothing more than to shrink into nothing. The remainder of lunch, Jessica was incredibly passive aggressive - both toward Mike and me - and classes were dull since school was only ever really fun once Wednesday morning hit and I could attend AP Literature. Also known as ‘pass notes with my potential vampire boyfriend for an hour’ class.

I stuck around talking with Tyler about our project after the last class of the day. I hoped I wasn’t keeping Bella waiting. But as I walked into the parking lot and saw the grey sedan exit, I remembered - Bella wasn’t going to drive me home. And I had no car. And I didn’t want to get frozen solid from riding on Jacob’s motorcycle.

So… all my friends had left already, my sister included. Dad was at work. I guess I was walking.

I shoved my hands in my pockets, my breath visible in the snowy air. I walked through the parking lot, shoving my earbuds into my ears. Some classmates waved and I waved back, but I made my way to the road.

And thus, I turned left. I knew the way home from driving. It only few twenty minutes. I could only hope it wouldn’t take any more than an hour to get back. After all, I was hungry and cold as hell. Music blasted in my ears, so much so that I didn’t sense the footsteps beside me until a minute after the thought.

I raised my head, gasping excitedly as I recognized him. It humored me that Jasper was so bundled up in clothing that he didn’t need. He even adorned fluffy pink earmuffs that Alice probably forced on him. I couldn’t help but laugh at his appearance, and he feigned offense.

“I’m being forced to wear these, you know.”

“I know, and I love it even more for that. Alice has great taste.”

He snickered. “I was forced to wear it because she saw the future. And was fretting how you didn’t have warm enough clothes on.”

“Ah. So she also knew I wouldn’t have a ride home, huh? I wish she’d given me a heads up.”

“I’m your ride home, am I not?”

My eyes widened. “I hadn’t considered that in the slightest. I didn’t realize humans - vampires could be used as cars.”

He rolled his eyes, reaching out to my bare hand and wrapping his gloved one around mine. The fabric masked his icy touch. “Vampires are, in fact, faster than cars. So, in a way, we’re better.”

“I can’t believe you used to literally manipulate my emotions to keep me from finding out when now you’re just promoting yourself in public,” I chuckled. “What, did Alice abandon you in your time of need? Surely she could’ve seen this coming.”

Jasper’s grasp on my hand tightened, and grew tense. “Her visions change depending on a person’s decision. She couldn’t see past our conversation in the forest. That meant could’ve gone either way.”

“…Oh.” Silence fell over us as we walked down the road. Cars occasionally passed, but other than that, it was just and the snow crunching under our boots. It wasn’t awkward, and yet, I yearned for more. I never thought slightly southern accents were attractive until I met Jasper, after all.

“Hey, uh, I know it’s a school night and all, but why don’t you come over for dinner? You can officially meet my dad. Bella’s been teasing me about you for ages and it’s driving him insane.”

“…You’re sure? But you realize I can’t eat human food, right?” 

“Ah! Right, I forgot. Well, maybe come over ‘after’ we eat so we can have a movie marathon or something. If dad isn’t clogging the television, that is. I know some of my favorite rom-coms are going to be playing tonight.”

“That sounds more plausible,” he agreed. “I… can only hope he’ll like me.”

“Me too,” I tittered. “I know he’s expected some rough-around-the-edges bad boy. I’m not sure why he has that impression of me, though. I know damn well I have impeccable taste in guys.”

He chuckled lowly. “You’re still too cold.”

“There’s not much you can do about it, Mister ‘Cold One,’”I reminded him.

“I can always get you home faster.”

“And waste these precious moments with you? Never.”

He sighed, caving to my stubbornness. I shivered, but it was done so triumphantly. We continued on our way, passing by the series of houses. And, as silence fell over us once more, I grew to appreciate it. It gave me time to think about a great many deal of things.

What Jacob said resonated in me. Soulless, blood-sucking monsters.

But, as I looked at Jasper and he looked back at me, and I stared into his beautiful golden eyes, I knew Jacob was wrong. Other vampires were perhaps that way. But not my Jasper, nor the Cullens in general. And even if I wanted to convince myself otherwise, I knew I couldn’t.

We finally made it back to the house just as it was growing dark. That meant it had only taken an hour or two, but the time flew by. I couldn’t help but enjoy something as trivial as walking if Jasper was with me. He walked me to my doorstep. 

I hovered outside and we simply faced one another. Jasper harbored his usual stoic yet vaguely enamored expression, and because I was on th step, we were currently the same height. I fluttered my eyelids flirtatiously. “Come back in an hour, okay? I can’t wait for you to meet dad.”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, though. Charlie’s car pulled up the the side of the house, and I gaspd quietly. Jasper didn’t need to turn to know who it was due to his vampiric abilities. I clasped my hands together nervously, peering behind him as my father emerged from the police car.

He was usually slow and lazy, but he regarded us suspiciously and met us at the door. We were staring at him, and when I realized Jasper was just staring I started, "Hey, dad this is —"

Jasper shot his hand out for him to shake. “Jasper Cullen, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dad quirked a brow, eyeing him up and down. However, when they made eye contact, it was like his wariness dissolved. I thought for a moment that Jasper was just that charming, but then I remembered. Ah. So that’s why he wasn’t as terribly against meeting my dad, a regular human. 

“Ah. I’ve heard a lot about you, Jasper,” he greeted, pulling his hand away and wiping it on his uniform. “Are you.. staying for dinner?”

Jasper shook his head. “No, sir. I was just dropping Y/n off from school.”

“I… see. And what exactly are your intentions with my daughter?” he investigated further.

I gasped in embarrassment. “Dad, no —"

Jasper just laughed. “I’m very interested in her, sir.”

My cheeks reddened and I covered my face up. I could feel my father’s glare on the both of us. 

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“Geez, dad, we’re dating! You don’t need to be so hard on the guy,” I groaned. “I wish you were this hard on Bella. She’s dating Edward Cullen, you know.”

“Edward - ain’t that - she’s failed to mention that,” dad gruffly replied.

Jasper cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be going. It was great meeting you, sir.”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Charlie replied. 

I waved him off and pulled dad into the house. I was rather giddy. Even though Jasper hadn’t made a shining impression, he’d made use of his abilities for something I actually approved of for once. The entire time while eating dinner - and watching dad grill Bella -, I eagerly anticipated Jasper’s arrival. However, several hours passed as I waited by the front door, and I eventually realized that he must’ve dipped. Maybe I shouldn’t have left my phone in my room.

I jogged upstairs and brushed my teeth. I got ready for bed, having no reason to stay up. It was only nine, sure, but this whole werewolf-vampire rivalry was exhausting to even think about.

I opened the door to my room, completely spaced out. I closed the door behind me, and when I turned back to my room, I let out a startled shriek of fright. Sitting on my bed, watching in slight amusement, was Jasper. He was no longer in his wooly attire, and in his hands he held a bouquet of f/f. He had a smug smirk on his face as he watched me catch my breath.

“Jesus Christ, Jas!  You could’ve given me a head’s up.”

And then he held up my phone, dangling it between his fingers. I sniffed in disregard, plopping on the bed stomach-first, groaning into my pillow to mask my flustered face. Jasper laughed, and I heard dad suddenly knocking on the door.

“Y/n? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! It was just a bird —"

The door opened and I looked up from my pillow. Dad peered into my room, but it was safe to say that Jasper and the flowers had seemingly dissipated into thin air. He shut the door after bidding me a good night, which I returned.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. “You seriously should’ve given me a head’s up,” I repeated with a firm pout.

Suddenly he was sitting next to me upright. His lanky legs extended out onto the bed and I assumed he’d put the bouquet on my desk or something. 

“It would’ve ruined the surprise,” he answered.

“The surprise?”

He tilted his head, watching as I propped myself up on my elbows. Watched him with entranced eyes as he leaned on his side. His hair bounced from the movements. And his fangs barely peeked out from his lips. He had perfectly played dimples that have his face an even lovelier shape.

“Be my date for the winter formal.”

My cheeks flushed. “Is that a request or a demand, cowboy?”

“Both.”

“Then you already know my answer, peeping tom.”

“Ah-h-h. I see. My apologies for keeping you waiting. After all, you were the one who said you’d think things through.”

I clicked my tongue. “Yeah?  Well, I’m stupid and I don’t think things through. Ever. So-o-o, it’s your fault for actually expecting me todo that.”

“My bad, princess.”

I eyed him up and down. Desire welled up in my chest. He was so very close. Close enough to…

“Oh, screw you.”

I grabbed the collar of his loose white shirt, jeering him toward me. But, instead of dodging to his cheeks, I let our lips dance together for the first time. From how still he was, yet eager in how he scooted closer, it struck me as odd that an immortal vampire didn’t have much experience. So, I led him in the kiss, his lips chapped and soft.

He slowly pushed me back onto the comforter. He leaned over me, his chest pressing against mine. I groaned quietly, and that was enough for him to pull away. My lips chased him and my eyes fluttered open, but then his lips returned. Instead, he trailed butterflies across my jawline, each gentler than the previous.

My hands glided up his biceps, as his arms trapped me on both sides of my head. I arched my back in attempt to truly close off any personal distance between us. His tongue escaped his mouth and trailed all the way down to my collar bone. He pressed another soft kiss, and I quietly muttered his name. His hair tickled my face, and I grabbed at his muscular back desperately.

His movements ceased for but a moment. He dipped closer to me, and I thought nothing of it as his lips, fangs somewhat protruding, brushed against my lower neck. I hummed, feeling myself lull into a sense of tranquility. My passion and energy had sizzled out, replaced with a soft, pleasant, unidentifiable feeling. Butterflies were rampant in my stomach.

I heard thudding footsteps come upstairs. I thought nothing of it, assuming Bella or dad really had to do a number two. However, just as Jasper’s fangs brushed against them once more, my bedroom door burst open. 

I shrieked again, but Jasper let out a snarl, his head rising. I recognized his blood orbs, and I followed his gaze. Standing in the doorway, panting and furious, was Jacob.

“Why, you filthy blood sucker…!”

He dashed over to the bed, reaching out for Jasper. However, he was instantly off me, panting with a mutual anger. He pressed himself against my dresser, and he was clutching the rim so tightly the wood splintered. I scrambled to sit up, the blanket watching on my foot. 

But, because Jasper had dodged his advances, Jacob instead grabbed my wrist and tugged me to my feet with inhumane strength. I let out a quiet ‘oof’ as I collided with his broad chest, but that wasn’t enough. He tilted my head, showing my neck.

He suddenly let out an elongated sigh of relief, burying himself into me. I was still startled, and my shaky hands raised to pat his back.

“Damn it… I thought he changed you,” he growled under his breath.

“What - what are you talking about, Jacob?”

I heard a sudden whiz, and just like that, Jasper was gone as though he’d never been here. I pushed on Jacob’s chest, but only as much as he allowed. He held my hands to his chest, and my heart sped up expectantly. A desperate expression dawned his face.

“Y/n, you’re in denial. Please, don’t tell me he has that much control over you. I knew what he was trying to do the moment I sensed him.”

“What do you mean, change me?”

“He’s a filthy vampire, Y/n. What do you think I mean?”

I bit my lip. I didn’t… believe him. I didn’t know if I was supposed to. “We were literally just making out, though. It’s none of your business, Jake.”

He shook his head, his grasp on my wrists tightening, although I tried to pull away. “Y/n, no. You can’t tell me you didn’t see his eyes. You didn’t feel his teeth. I may not read minds like your sister’s disgusting boyfriend, but it doesn’t take a genius to know what he was thinking.”

I gulped down my disappointment. One of his hands drifting to my face, and he cupped my cheek, tilting it upward. In that moment, I saw how sincere he was. There was a disparity in his eyes that no man could fake. He want every word he said.

“But… Jasper wouldn’t do that.”

“He has before and you know that,” he insisted. “You’ve known him for what, half a year, and you think you know that blood sucker? Why do you trust him more than me? We’ve known each other since we were little. You know I’d never lie to you.”

“…Yeah, I know,” I responded, barely above a whisper.

“And just like I’d never lie to you, I’d never hide anything from you, either. Not like him.” I finally met his intense gaze, finding myself drown in his honey eyes. “And that’s why I have to tell you. It’s never been Bella. It’s always been you. Ever since we were kids, I… I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

My mind completely blanked and he dove forward, unexpectedly kissing me. But, just as quickly as his lips were against mine, he was torn away and crashed against the door. I covered my mouth as Jasper, more enraged and ragged than I’d ever seen him, threw Jacob away. Jacob immediately pounced, and it seemed that he’d suddenly grown ten times harrier. 

Jasper was hunched, eyes completely blood shot, swarming with red and black. His nails had elongated indefinitely, and his fangs were very much on display. I shrunk back onto the bed as Jasper dodged out of the way, hands barely grazing Jacob’s forearm. 

“What the hell is going on?”

My dad was standing in the doorway, and just like that, both of the boys returned to their normal state. The looked at me and dad worriedly. However, Jasper scowled, angrily motioning to Jacob. “This mutt kissed my girlfriend —"

“This blood sucker is a piece of crap —"

“Jesus Christ,” dad continued, rubbing his forehead. “Both of you, get out. And Jasper, if I see you in my house again, you’re dead meat. Got it? Now leave!”

Both became rather forlorn and crestfallen, still muttering under their breaths. I was still in shock from everything that went down in under ten minutes. No words were exchanged as they left, leaving only me and my very concerned father. And Bella, who’d obviously noticed something was awry.

[happyandticklish]

Ooh, I saw that you have Twilight on your fandom list - one of the first fandoms I ever got into 🥺 if you’re okay with it, could you do the five sentence thing with Bella and Edward w/ the sentence “You never cease to amaze me.” Also it doesn’t matter if Bella’s a vampire at this point or not!

"You never cease to amaze me," Bella said, shaking her head in amusement. "A vampire—" poke— "A fearsome predator—" poke— "Ticklish."

Later on, Edward would deny the very prominent giggles slipping out of his mouth. "Ah! B-Behella! I'm not t-ticklish!"

Bella followed him as he scrambled back on the bed, his normal perfect instincts strangely lacking in the moment. It had all started with an innocent question, a hasty denial (too hasty in her opinion) and now they were here, with Edward doubled over as Bella found out the truth for herself.

"I can't believe I've known you for almost a year now, and I didn't realize you were ticklish." Bella pinched his side teasingly, and Edward yelped, his arm jerking down protectively. "This is incredible. Like, actually incredible."

"Okay, ohokay! That's enohough!" Edward gripped her wrists, though he didn't pull her hands away. Bella raised an eyebrow. Interesting. "Behella! Not there!"

"Not... here?"

Edward let out an uncharacteristic shriek as fingers scribbled over his stomach suddenly, jerking his knees towards him in defense. "Bella! Nohohoho!"

"Oh my god. This is adorable. Like, actually adorable. I'm gonna have to spend some time experimenting with this new discovery. What do you think?"

Edward fell into helpless cackles, the night soon lost to laughter and her fingers finding all the best ways to wreck him.

-

Hey, Twilight was one of my first fandoms too! I haven't interacted with content for it in a while, so this might be slightly out of character. Hope you enjoy! ^^

[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— US AGAINST THE WORLD ; PART 4 / ?

( credits to @animusrox for this gif )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2247 hot diggy dog

SUMMARY: You have a heart-to-heart conversation with one of your students before the play and you're hit with the realization that your love for Bruce may be more than meets the eye. hence, you’re starting to wonder if it was a mistake you can never fix.

A/N: This one’s long and kinda depressing. I’m in an angsty mood now whoops. Nevertheless, thank you for reading this series, the bagels will make its appearance and enjoy this one folks.

WARNINGS: Anxiety, depressing thoughts.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

The night of the show arrived quicker than you anticipated. The flurry of theatre kids rushing about backstage is quite the sight, feeling the incredible sense of pride of a mother for her children. Yet in prayer, you ask Mrs. Wilson for the gift of strength and ability to manage a bunch of highly-strung teenagers. It’s only Shakespeare after all but you knew that wasn’t the genuine nature behind their stage jitters. With all tickets sold out within a week, it has easily become the biggest event of the year aside from homecoming. It may be a little pretentious for a high school production of an over-performed Shakspeare play to emerge as the highlight of the year, but you know it will help with some of the students’ portfolios for acting school.

The clock ticks—thirty minutes before showtime and panic starts to creep.

Your fingertips dance along the selvage of the extensive drapery of the stage as lighting queues are being run through for the last time. The urge of curiosity lets you crack open the curtain as you peeked at the rest of the theatre. The bustling crowd made up of mostly teenagers with seats rapidly being filled, it’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. Amongst the settling audience, you spot Bruce, seated between Mr. Walken, the principal, and Mr. Huckleberry, the vice-principal, likely being shamelessly asked for donations. He looks engaged, but his posture and the gaze of his eyes tell a very different story—Bruce is barely listening to a word they’re saying.

He then turns in the direction of your hiding spot and despite the distance, he catches your eye, immediately recognizing it’s you spying from behind the curtains. You watch the curve of his lips turn up into more of a smirk, swiftly sending a wink your way. You instantly disappear behind the curtains, cheeks burning.

You sometimes find it hard to believe you’re sleeping with the man with no strings attached because you’re incredibly attracted to him.

Someday, you’ll burst out into an exaggerated love confession, and you know it’s going to be ugly. It’s a reality check and right now, it’s the last thing you want. Running away from your problems is more of a habit than a choice as you would rather live in the world your mind has created, where miracles are made and defects cease to exist. Anyone would trade the cruelties of reality for a perfect one yet getting too caught up in a daydream will eventually evolve into toxicity. Bruce orbits the very core of your problems and daydreams. You want to run away from him and allow yourself to be engulfed by his presence at the same time.

You just need...to breathe. Hence, the second dressing room has a weird stench to it. It’s a mess but it’s empty. Yet, it seems you aren’t the only one in need of space, away from everyone else. Shaniqua is seated at the far corner of the room on a crooked metal chair, dressed in a somewhat modernized version of an Elizabethan era dress. Very elaborate and theatrical. Despite her introverted character, she was constantly bright-eyed and keen during your classes. She had a drive like no other. Hell, she miraculously memorized all her lines in two days.

You’ve never seen a furrow of the girl’s brows, until now, and it worries you. Even her glitter-covered eyes could not conceal the dismay they portray with prominence. Gingerly, you made your way to her as she stared at her fidgeting hands. It was only when you settled on the opposite dusty old chair when she finally noticed your presence.

“Stage fright, huh?” you casually asked, resting your arm on the dressing table. She mirrors your posture, heaving a deep sigh, and shakes her head. “No, it’s just,” A pause, her gaze finds yours. You nod, flashing her a smile. It’s a simple gesture that you’re here to listen. “It’s about Oscar...” You catch a hint of a smile as she trailed off and in an instant, your brow raises with curiosity. Oh? Another beat of silence, her eyes dart around the room. You sit quietly with patience because you knew she had more to say.

“It’s just that doing this play has got me thinking a lot about my feelings. I mean, if Romeo and Juliet could be lovers, despite their feuding families, then it must be easy enough for me to admit that I like Oscar.”

“You have a point.” You chuckle, eyes crinkling with amusement. Sometimes she thinks too much for her own good. She reminds you of Bruce. Shaniqua flashes you a faint smile, lips pressed with doubt. “But why am I finding it so hard to just tell him that?”

You stayed silent for a moment or two, mind deep in thought. The chair creaks as you shift in your seat. “Well, could it be that you aren’t sure if he likes you back?”

A hum in response, shrugging coyly as she mumbled a ‘maybe’. Although it was clear as day to you that Oscar liked her back, you wondered if her doubts emerged due to their differences in character. The familiarity of the situation is beginning to feel a lot like deja vu.

“How do you know that someone is the one?” Her sudden question catches you off guard because, in all honesty, you aren’t confident if you knew the answer. A straightforward question, commonly seen in the pages of teenage magazines, written for innocent eyes. You knew its true nature and it terrifies you. The image of Bruce charges through your thoughts like rushing water, memories of times when the two of you were younger clouding your mind. You forcefully push back your university days, buried back deep into your conscience.

“I don’t exactly know the answer to that but in my opinion, it’s—it’s the feeling of completeness when you love them and know they love you. They may be different from you, but it doesn’t make you love them any less. There’s no conflict or strife; it’s just the two of you against the world.”

Those words were raw and genuine, carefully crafted directly from the heart. You weren’t surprised by your words because you’ve thought about it a lot, especially on nights you slept on Bruce’s bed. Maybe, you do love him, and that's a huge ass problem. It’s amazing how unexpected situations tend to encourage apprehension on large issues you never knew existed in the first place. Perhaps it was your astonishing lack of discernment when it came to matters that could potentially alter your life.

Tonight, a sixteen-year-old girl did just that.

Amid your growing anxiety, you manage to catch sight of the wall clock, hung on the other side of the room. It’s now eight minutes until showtime. Your eyes are now wide as you sprung up from your seat in the sudden realization that everyone should be at their respective positions two minutes ago. “Oh God, we’re running late. Shaniqua, word of advice—don’t end up regretting something you didn’t do,” You shoot her a pointed look, index finger stretching towards her. “Now, you really need to go, or we’ll have to delay and you know Mr. Walken hates waiting.”

-

It’s a quarter to nine, and the theatre is empty. Outside, the foyer and the hallways are buzzing with the remaining audience, lingering and sharing inane conversations as others wait for a car to take them home. You had only just finished rearranging the costumes in the wardrobe of the dressing room. You tried to sweep the scatter of glitter all over the floor but it deemed a task as impossible; you’ll deal with it next week.

You’re sitting in the seat at the front row, nearest to the aisle with a large box filled with props on your lap. Alone in transcendental silence, feeling as empty as the theatre itself. It was partly the conversation you had with Shaniqua that hit you with the reminder of all the mistakes you made that have led you to this unchanging world of a blur that takes the blame for the wretched feeling in your chest. Yet, as the show progressed, hearing the words of affection from two lovers had sent your mind reeling. You were desperate to head home, crawl into bed and potentially cry yourself to sleep but the growing anxiety forbids it, you don’t even think you could drive home.

So, you stillness of the theatre reminds you of Edward Hopper’s painting, Solitary Figure in a Theater. With eyes shut, you pretend you are the figure in the painting, sheathed in black, sitting alone in the cavernous dark.

You hear the door of the theatre squeak, swinging open followed by the shuffling of feet. You don’t look at first, too tired anyway. You’d assume someone had either forgotten something or it was the janitor that you’re sure is going to be upset over the glitter massacre in the dressing room. It looked like a crime scene, except it was the murder of a literal unicorn. You made a mental note to send an apology sandwich of some sorts next week.

It was the familiarity in the whiff of cologne that made you snap your eyes wide open, looking over your shoulder to meet with the sight of Bruce, ambling down the aisle towards you. He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “What are you still doing here?” He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “I could ask you the same question.” He settles in the seat next to you, elbow brushing against yours. Your head tilts, gesturing to the box. Bruce merely hums and nods thoughtfully.

“So, how was the play? Does it get a Wayne seal of approval?” There’s a hint of teasing in the curve of your lips as his eyes drift to the stage. “I liked it. The kids have talent.” Your eyes glint with amusement, your smile growing wider. “I never knew you were a fan of romance.” His laugh comes out more like a huff of air, crinkled eyes meeting yours, and nudges you lightly. “Well, now you know.”

He recognizes the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes and the way you’re fussing with the edges of the box on your lap. Something is bothering you and he knows it. He nudges you once more. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You blink once. Then twice, face wincing instinctively. You keep forgetting how well Bruce can read people, especially you. You exhale slowly as he watches you struggle to pick the right words.

“It’s really nothing. It’s just-” you say after a long minute, cutting yourself short. Then, you turn to Bruce. “I’m growing older, and I’ve spent my entire life in a fog with so much fear for reality, I’m afraid it’s too late to fix all my mistakes and regrets.” Your voice dwindles with every word that escaped your lips. You were young, naïve with the notion that time was extensive to make decisions without thinking it through. To know that you could never take back the things you did. Saturn’s rising, it’s a wake-up call now that you’re older and the fear that you would never change creeps onto you with every passing birthday.

Bruce defines the epitome of the sinking feeling in your chest whenever you lay in bed at night and let your mind reel about your existence. Yet, it isn’t as simple as you want it to be. The boy you met at university has grown into a far more complex and entangled mess of the grief of his parents, the responsibility he held over this city and the drive to just...keep moving on. For the longest time, it was him against the world, and a part of you wants to believe that it doesn’t have to be that way. That maybe, you could be enough for him.

He glanced away from you, trying to hide the despondency in his eyes. He holds back a sigh as he speaks, “Do you regret us doing this?” As vague as his question is, you know what he exactly means. He remembers the time the two of you used to exchange senseless conversations and laughter so vividly that it scares him. Juvenile friends, lacking the knowledge to know what love really was. Hence, the agreement—it was just two friends, messing around. Nothing could go wrong. Now, the hole has been dug in too deep, with no way of getting out.

“I don’t,” you reply and with just two simple words, his chest feels like fire. It was the way you had said it, with so much confidence and assurance, despite the intricacy of this relationship. For the first time in a long time, you were extremely sure about an answer. You could never regret Bruce. Never.

It’s almost hesitant in the way his hand finds yours, but it represents his care for you, even if you may not know it. The warmth of his hand feels like fire. Hell, your chest feels like it’s on fire, heart burning for the man beside you. “I’ll drive you home,” he whispers with a squeeze of your hand. You flash him a grateful smile as the two of you drift into a comfortable silence. Silence so eloquent that you don’t feel so empty anymore. No longer a solitary figure trapped in a painting but now two, hand in hand, against the world.

TAGLIST

@raineeace

[nanshe-of-nina]

Favorite Historical Fiction || The Queen of Last Hopes: The Story of Margaret of Anjou by Susan Higginbotham ★★★★☆

Henry died more than eleven years ago. He now sleeps at Chertsey; my son sleeps at Tewkesbury. I grow weaker every day and shall soon join them in death. The thought makes me smile.

I spent over four more years in England after Henry and Edward died. My time in the Tower was short: I was moved first to Windsor and then to Wallingford, where the dowager Duchess of Suffolk, who had mothered me when I came as a seasick fifteen-year-old to England, could visit me from time to time and mother me once more.

Then in 1475, Edward mounted a great invasion of France. With Burgundy’s aid (the quarrel of 1471 having been mended for now), he would win back all that my Henry had lost; the fall of Normandy, of Gascony, would soon be nothing more than a bad memory. But Burgundy proved an unenthusiastic ally, and in the end my cousin Louis did not have to raise a finger against Edward: only to give him and his leading nobles handsome pensions. There was yet another part to the bargain: for fifty thousand crowns, I was ransomed. So in January 1476, I sailed from England for the very last time, as “Margaret, lately called queen.” At least, I thought as I gazed back at the land I’d first entered while borne in my dear Suffolk’s arms, I’d left England standing upright.

There was a rub to Louis’s generosity, of course; I’d never thought it would be otherwise. In repayment for his ransoming me, and in repayment for the costs he had incurred in helping me to recover my husband’s throne—the small matter that helping me had furthered his own ambitions seemed to have slipped my cousin’s mind—I was required to renounce my rights of inheritance to my father’s dominions. It suited me; I had no heir of my body, only the memory of my beautiful boy. So I took the pension that Louis offered me—I found it amusing that both I and King Edward were his pensioners now—and settled in my father’s manor at Reculée. I seldom saw my aged father himself. Having himself suffered somewhat from Louis’s sharp dealing, he had elected to spend his declining years in comfort at Provence. Though I was welcome at his court, I, clad in the black I had worn since 1471, a moth in a house of butterflies, was ill suited to its gaiety.

I had been at Reculée for about four years when my father died, which thanks to the renunciation Louis had forced me to sign left me with no home. Father in a burst of practicality had arranged, however, for me to go to the home of François de la Vignole, a family friend, and so I live now as a guest at his chateau at Dampierre.

Who of us is left from those bloody days in England? My cousin Marie returned to France after Tewkesbury and remarried, but my dear Katherine Vaux stayed by my side; she remains with me today, and if there is a hand other than hers that I am holding as I die, I shall be sorely surprised. The Duke of Exeter was not killed at Barnet, as we had thought: he lay on the field, stripped and left for dead, until a servant found him and carried him off to a surgeon, then to sanctuary at Westminster. But Edward removed him from sanctuary and imprisoned him in the Tower. He was no longer the wild young man of my own youth: during the short time he and I were both prisoners there, Sir John would allow him to visit me and play a game of chess or cards. He was freed to join the great invasion of 1475, but drowned on the anticlimactic voyage back. Some say he fell overboard after quarreling with some drunken soldiers; others say that King Edward, always eager to lose one of the House of Lancaster, had him pushed.

The Duke of Clarence, the sorry turncoat, never ceased to plot against Edward, who solved his Clarence problems in 1478 by locking him in the Tower, then having him privately executed. My daughter-in-law Anne married the Duke of Gloucester, by all accounts a loyal and dutiful brother, rewarded as such by King Edward. I wonder if Anne ever thinks of my own Edward. She has a son by that name; he was named for the king, of course, but I like to think that he might have been named for a Prince of Wales too.

I like to think a lot of things; it is my main occupation these days. Yet I do not think so much of the past but of the future: the day that I shall see my dear ones in Paradise.

[ashyblondwaves]

Snippet idea:

Vision coming home from a mission and nobody greeting him at the front door which is weird.

He listens and hears crying from his and Wanda’s bedroom.

When he walks in, both twins are having a meltdown and Wanda is trying to calm them both down so they can go to bed but the hormones are making it so she’s about to throw a tantrum right along with them.

She’s tired, her back hurts, she’s off balance and at the mercy of her changing body/ emotions that can change at the drop of a hat.

When Vision comes in he helps Wanda wrangle the boys into their pjs and big boy beds and he holds her while her frustration bubbles over.

They get reacquainted in the tub once the boys are asleep.

Thank you for sending this! It just struck a chord with me so here we are jumping right back into the Outnumbered universe! I made the boys a bit younger, I hope that's ok and I hope you enjoy <3

Outnumbered: Are You Scared?

The room was dark and quiet save for the soft hum and flicker of The Dick Van Dyke show on the television.

Wanda lay on her side, Vision behind her with a supportive hand on her growing belly. A soft laugh escaped Wanda's lips, keeping it low so she wouldn't wake one of the twins, but her body jiggled with the full power of her amusement. As the episode ended, Wanda grabbed for the remote in front of her and cut the power on the TV. She turned, wrapping her arms around Vision's neck the best she could with the space her belly put between them.

"Are you scared?" Wanda whispered.

"Of what, my love?" Vision asked, reaching a hand out to brush his thumb across the apple of Wanda's cheek.

"To have a third baby," Wanda explained, leaning into Vision's hand. "What if she's colicky like the twins were?"

"We'll tackle that if we need to, darling," Vision assured her.

"What if you're not home again?" Wanda asked, bringing the thought of some of Wanda's hardest days as a new mom to the front of Vision's memories.

***

The door flew open a bag dropping to the floor as Vision stepped over the threshold and immediately changed from his human form when the door closed behind him.

"Wanda?" Vision called out, not seeing her or the boys anywhere on the first floor. Normally, Wanda was opening the door for him and pulling him inside, but this time it was eerily quiet downstairs.

His mind immediately cycled through disastrous scenarios that could have happened. One of the boys was sick and she rushed them to the hospital and didn't have time to call. Wanda herself was sick and unable to call. Why hadn't she called if she something was wrong?

Then he heard it. The shrill cries of his 8 week old sons coming from upstairs. Their bedroom. Wanda had to be in there with the boys.

"Wanda?!" Vision yelled out, speeding up the stairs three at a time as he descended upon their bedroom. Something had to be wrong for her to not even realize he was home.

Not bothering with the doorknob, Vision phased through the closed bedroom door to find Wanda sat in the middle of their bed. She was still in her lounge clothes, her hair up in a messier than usual top knot at the crown of her head. Her eyes were red from crying as she stared down on her screaming sons.

"Wanda...." Vision said tenderly, causing her to look up.

"Vis," Wanda's voice cracked with emotion at the sight of him. "They won't stop." Tears spilled over as she picked up Tommy and held him close, cradling the back of his head as she bounced him gently.

Vision acted quickly, pulling Tommy from Wanda's arms and plucking Billy from where he lay screaming on the bed. With a boy in each arm, he looked down at Wanda's disheveled form.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he said, voice laced with sympathy. "I will handle these two tonight. Please just take a little time for yourself and I'll be in when I've calmed them down."

Through tears, Wanda nodded, sniffling as she moved to get up from the bed. Her exhaustion was clear as she stood, slumping like she just didn't have it in her to even walk.

"I'm going to take a bath," she croaked out. "Please come make sure I didn't fall asleep in there."

"Yes, dear," Vision said, looking down at the screaming squirming bundles of joy in his arms. "Let's take this to your room, lads."

A change of scenery didn't calm the boys but Vision was determined to do this for Wanda after being gone for almost a week on a mission with The Avengers. Everything went fine except for the fact that Vision was torn away from his wife and newborn sons for so long. Seeing them screaming in their cribs caused guilt to run through his system. He'd never been needed two places at once before and he wasn't quite sure how to handle it. But at that moment, it didn't matter. The boys needed calming and he was going to be the one to do it.

"How about a fresh diaper and pajamas, boys?" Vision asked, his voice mostly muted by the screaming infants. He nodded to himself. "Right then."

He gathered his materials quickly. Two pairs of pajamas from the dresser, two fresh diapers, wipes, powder and two brand new pacifiers. Tommy was first and Vision slowed himself down to make sure he had the time to bond with his young son.

"What appears to be the trouble, Thomas?" Vision asked, gently setting the crying boy on the changing table as he looked up at his father with big crocodile tears spilling from his eyes. Vision carefully slipped the baby's arms from his outfit. "Now I know your mum has done everything she could for you. Why the tears?"

Tommy looked up at Vision, his cries beginning to cease as a hiccup jolted his body. He stuck his bottom lip out in a pout, looking as though he were about to start screaming again but instead he let out a sigh before another hiccup hit.

"That's right," Vision said proudly, fastening the fresh diaper to itself. "Nothing to cry about with a mum like yours." He finished by snapping the small buttons at the front of the baby's onesie pajamas and offering the pacifier to him. Tommy took it, suckling on it furiously as more hiccups made his small body jump.

As Vision set Tommy back in his crib, he set his sights on Billy, still crying furiously in his own crib.

"Round two," Vision said, picking up the other boy. "Let's freshen you up and have a little chat, shall we?"

He repeated the motions with Billy, arms and legs lightly pulled from clothing that was covered in tears and drool a fresh diaper to replace the slightly wet one Billy was in and then the pajamas.

"Billy," Vision said, tending to his son. "Look at your brother there, quiet as a church mouse now. Can you do that too?"

The boy seemed to be listening to Vision, eyes trained on his father's flesh and vibranium face. And the crying slowed to a whine.

"That's it," Vision soothed, offering the second pacifier to Billy. He took it eagerly and quieted completely. "Let's calm down now, boys."

With two mostly silent infants fresh and ready for bed, Vision took Tommy from his crib and brought both boys to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. He sat with a boy cradled in each arm. Since he was unable to grab a book his systems pulled one up and he read the words in front of his eyes.

"Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin," Vision read, feeling the tense infants relaxing in his arms.

As Vision read, he looked down at his boys periodically, now calm and asleep and looking as though they'd never cry for a single minute let alone for hours on end. Vision decided to finish the first chapter of the book before setting the boys in their cribs, just to be sure they'd calmed for the night.

"He nodded and went out, and in a moment I heard Winnie-The-Pooh--bump--bump--bump--going up the stairs behind him."

Vision closed the book his system had pulled up and looked down at his boys again, fast asleep. He stood up carefully and moved to the cribs, setting each boy down in his own space.

"Goodnight, boys," Vision said, finally exiting the room and walking down the now quiet hallway and straight into his and Wanda's bedroom, then into their bathroom. There he found Wanda soaking in the tub, her old clothes shed in a heap on the floor, steam rising from the water.

"Wanda?" Vision asked, making sure she wasn't asleep. "I've gotten the boys to sleep."

"Thank you," Wanda replied gratefully, her voice still cracking. "Join me?"

Vision didn't have to be asked twice to join his naked wife in the tub. He quickly phased out of his clothes and slipped in behind her, pulling her back against his chest.

"I've missed you," Vision said, pressing a kiss to Wanda's neck. "I'm so sorry you've had to do this alone."

"I missed you too," Wanda said, her voice still not quite right. She was crying again.

"What's wrong, my love?"

"How bad of a mother must I be that I can't calm my own sons?" Wanda asked, "Yet you calmed them in just a few minutes."

"I don't think I calmed them," Vision said honestly, holding Wanda close. "I think they just finally tired themselves out."

Wanda sighed and dropped her head to the side, giving Vision perfect access to her neck. He peppered kisses to the area, feeling her body relax against his with each kiss.

"You're not a bad mother," Vision said firmly, pressing a final kiss to the top of Wanda's head. "I won't hear of it."

"But nothing I did worked--"

"Shhh," Vision cooed, "They're colicky. It has nothing to do with your skills as a mother. This will pass. I promise you, it will pass."

"I'm so glad you're home," Wanda murmured.

***

"Are you scared, Wanda?"

"I'm scared of doing this without you," Wanda confessed, pulling Vision in for a quick kiss. "What if I have do this without you?"

"You'll never have to worry about that," Vision assured her. "It's always only temporary. I will come back. Always."

"How can you make that promise?" Wanda asked, voice almost in a panic. "What we do could get either one of us killed at any time without warning."

"We can't think like that, darling," Vision said, running a hand down Wanda's arm. "We have to trust that the other will always come home safely."

"Well I can't do that," Wanda snapped, pulling away to look Vision in the eyes. "And I don't think you can, either."

Vision looked away and he knew it would tell Wanda all she needed to know about his fears of losing her or having her lose him.

"I can't," Vision finally confessed, pulling Wanda back into his arms. "But we can't dwell, darling. We have to stay present. For Tommy. For Billy," he set a hand on Wanda's belly. "And for Big Bird."

Wanda laughed, music to Vision's ears.

"We aren't calling her that after she's born," Wanda said firmly, finally changing the subject.

"Of course not," Vision agreed. "But for now we can."

"For now," Wanda replied, closing her tired eyes. "Goodnight, Vis."

"Goodnight, my love."

[barbers-glimmerin-darlin]

At The Touch Of Your Hand

Charlie Barber x (Female) Reader (Historical AU)

As a young woman whose entire life has already been mapped out for her, you believed there was very little to look forward to as you entered the ballroom. It was just another ball, during another season, with the same foppish men shallowly vying for attention. However things are bound to take a turn for the unexpected when Charles Barber makes his re-entrance to society after six years in obscurity.

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 

Warnings: Period typical sexism, historical inaccuracies 

Word count: 2.9k

“I’ll not be listening to any more of your incessant griping tonight Judith.” Your father’s voice was firm and unwavering, his distaste for his wife’s unending list of complaints evidently getting the better of him. 

“You cannot possibly think him to be an agreeable man Edward! Not after he-”

“Enough Judith!”

Your mother’s mouth bubbled open and closed as if she were impersonating some incredibly affronted fish, it was very rare that father would plainly tell mama he had tired of listening to her whining. You swapped a furtive glance with Jemima, the tension spiking to a palpable degree, your mind instantly began scrambling to fill in the gaping hole left in your mothers remark.

After he what? What could he have done, this enigmatic man, whom you had never heard of before this night, to have warranted such obvious distaste from your mother? You could not help but feel that whatever it was should be much cause for concern, if it meant that your mother was unwilling to host him. Judith Bell would usually be seen falling over herself for the opportunity to have such a man welcomed to dinner, an impressive man, titled. 

Before your racing mind had the chance to create a whole plethora of beastly scenarios to cast this man in, along came one of the very few things in the world that made you want to disable all intelligent brain function in your mind.

Hartley. 

You regrettably saw him approach you over your father’s shoulder, straightening his gloves and smoothing his flaccid hair as he neared. Every last cell in your body heaved a long groan at the sight of him, so bland, so thoroughly unimpressive, truly he was an unremarkable sight to behold. In no time at all, he stood proudly before you.

“Miss Bell, I believe the first waltz is almost afoot.” He declared. You saw your mother’s previously enraged face fracture into an unbearably bright beam at his appearance, all distaste for Lord Barber’s presence seemingly forgotten. 

You flashed a tight smile as he held out his gloved hand for you to take. You accepted, placing your hand in his with the lightest tough you could manage, as if placing your hand solidly within his pudgy one would solidify your future with him. Unfortunately you feared that there was very little you could do to escape that. 

He led you briskly onto the dancefloor, amongst the sea of brightly coloured silk taffeta frocks, and then proceeded to draw you into a hold appropriate for a waltz. It was far too intimate for you, even though his hands were in no danger of straying, you would have much preferred a livelier jig that required much changing of partners. 

As the rhythmic arrangement of the waltz began to fill the room, you willed your feet to move in a reasonably graceful fashion, it’s not that you were a bad dancer, you were just much better when paired with a partner you actually wanted to dance with. Robert was a long way from fitting that criteria. 

You could not help but note the hotness of his hand upon your shoulder, and you guessed it would probably be sweaty if he were to take that glove off, you repressed a shudder at the thought of his slimy hand upon your skin. Sweaty hands were indicative of nerves, what on earth could he be nervous about? If he could not struggle his way through a meagre waltz without being overcome with nerves, what chance did he have of upholding one end of a fiery debate, or withstand a passionate feeling about anything?

You allowed your eyes and mind to wander as you twirled about the dancefloor, you spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, many of your mother’s acquaintances gathered to watch their own daughters on the dancefloor, your mother was no exception. She watched you with beady eyes, looking for mistakes in your footing or your posture, clutching her dainty glass of sherry in her clawed fingers. 

You were vaguely aware of Robert droning on about a business venture his father was allowing him to head, something pertaining a new weaving technique for linen, you really did not care to give much attention to it, you occasionally emitted a noise of agreement to create the illusion of engagement. 

As you rounded the dancefloor once again, your eyes swept over a broad form that was becoming undeniably familiar all too quickly. Charles stood a little way back from the dancefloor, conversing with a stout man who you recognised as the host of the ball, Lord Harrington. Although upon closer inspection, you were forced to reconsider your observation that he was participating in conversation. It appeared that he was being talked at rather than talked to, his attention otherwise much diverted, much like yours. His glittering eyes were very much fixed on the couples dancing before him.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were not travelling aimlessly amongst the group of merry dancers, his gaze was solely tracking you. He watched as the buttery yellow light shimmered upon the lavender fabric of your gown, sparkled through your hair, and highlighted the barely exposed curve of your shoulders. He drank this in all without your knowledge, your attention far too occupied with ensuring Hartley did not step on your silk slippered feet. What an enchanting little creature he saw twirling before him. 

“Did I see Lord Barber making conversation with your father earlier?” You were forced to tune back into Hartley’s voice as he spoke directly to you, stopping your eyes from repeatedly searching out the towering height of Barber,

“Yes, I believe he knows my father.” You replied flatly, not really eager to discuss the man with Robert. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, Charles had begun to feel rather sacred to you. 

“I’m interested in making his acquaintance myself while he’s in town, quite the recluse he’s been for the past five years or so from what I understand.” Robert remarked, this did admittedly capture your interest. Why would a man like him have hidden himself away from society, other than the obvious fact that it was a dreadful environment, it was practically created for powerful men like him. 

“I confess I was unaware of his existence until tonight.” You offered blandly, while you were tempted to probe Hartley for more information, you found his predisposition for gossiping more repellent that intriguing. 

“People don’t talk about him much anymore. Though what I have heard them say is undoubtedly interesting, I’m sure his reappearance tonight will be the talk of the town by tomorrow breakfast.” Robert’s sentence was punctuated by a ridiculously salacious chuckle at the end, which made you long to put more distance between your bodies. 

“Undoubtedly, people do little else but talk the day after a ball.” You deadpanned, avoiding eye contact with his misty eyes. 

“Although I dare say there ought to be rather a lot of talk of just how ravishing you look in this gown.” Your stomach dropped at his words, spoken in a voice that he had forced down into a lower octave. You flicked your eyes up to his, only to find him inconspicuously allowing himself a good look at your chest. You swallowed back the tart response that your brain formulated, much in favour of finishing the dance as quickly as possible. You settled on a lifeless little laugh.

As soon as the band began to cease their performance you delicately pushed yourself out of his hold, and lowered into a quick curtsy. 

“Thank you for the dance Mr Hartley, it was quite… satisfactory.” And without waiting for his response you turned on your heel and began to hasten away, in search of Jemima. You were eager to tell her in agonising detail how utterly lecherous he had been. But you didn’t even make it off of the dancefloor before a broad chest blocked your path. Your eyes were obscured by a wall of icy blue and white, and you didn’t even really need to glance upwards to confirm the identity of the individual. 

The scent of fresh mint and fragrant pine greeted your senses, cleansing them of the heavy musky smell, with an undercurrent of body odour that you had endured with Hartley moments before. You refrained from indulging in a deep inhale as you summoned the courage to raise your eyes towards his face. 

Charles Barber’s smirking face.

“In a rush, Miss Bell?” He asked, his honeyed voice vibrated through the air, breathing against your ears like a summer wind. You momentarily forgot every word you had learned since infancy, and struggled for a response. 

“No I- I mean yes I was just- I’m not in a rush per say I just-”

“Were making a fleeting exit from your partner over there?” He stopped your aimless flailing with his words, allowing his full lips to quirk even further into an amused smirk. You felt your cheeks warming rapidly.

“I was just in search of my sister.” You replied, unsure if it was proper to admit that you were, in fact, shamelessly fleeing Hartley. 

“Well, by the looks of things, he will presently approach and ask you for another dance. Allow me to be so bold as to assume that you would like to avoid such an occurrence.” Charles remarked, quickly glancing over your head to where you assumed he could see Robert.

“I would be reluctant to dance with him again so soon.” You said quietly, unsure of his next assumption. 

“Well in that case, would you do me the honour of the next dance, Miss Bell?” Your heart gave itself to flittering beats as you absorbed his words. You could hardly fathom the idea of sharing a dining table with him, and you were being offered a dance? The pristine white glove upon his expansive hand moved into your line of sight as he offered his hand to you. You could not help but raise your eyes to his, though you promptly wish you hadn’t when you were met with the scorching intensity of his gaze. It was fight or flight really. 

“Yes my lord, I would be honoured.” You replied, placing your hand firmly in his. 

The experience of being led into a dance by Charles Barber was worlds away from that of the artless movements of Hartley. You knew that much. 

You stood facing each other, as part of a long line of men and women standing parallel to one another along the centre of the marble floor, you could not help but notice that he was the tallest in the line by a considerable amount. Your heart was racing as you heard the shaking violin strike up the opening measures of the dance. The line of ladies ducked into graceful curtsy, directed at the men before them, and then the dance fell into an elegant sequence of turns and fleeting touches of hands. 

It was not two measures into the dance that Barber clearly felt that he was in rhythm enough to begin to talk to you as you moved around each other, and the other occupants of the dancefloor. 

“Are you enjoying the evening?” He asked as you passed close by one another, his eyes firmly fixed upon yours, paying no mind to his feet or the people around him, though his body continued to move with a grace and ease you would have thought impossible for a man of his stature. 

“Very much so, Lord and Lady Harrington do always host the most beautiful parties.” You replied politely, though it was untrue that your night had been pleasant up until this point, the unfamiliar feelings fluttering about your stomach presently were enough to erase all memory of the previous encounters from your mind.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly Miss, though I might add that I think Lord Harrington has very little to do with the festivities you see around you. I believe it is fair to say that Lady Harrington is the brains of the operation.” He concurred, his face breaking into a smile, one you might call mischievous if you were so inclined to such flirtatious words. You could not stifle the laugh that escaped at his remark towards the esteemed Lord Harrington.

“Are you well acquainted with the hosts, my lord?” You asked him, the smile laid upon your face beginning to ache slightly, though you could not for the life of you force it down. You gasped silently as your hands entwined, as he led you side by side down the line formed by the other couples, as part of your dance.

“Old friends of my late father’s.” He explained, looking sideways at you. His hand dwarfed yours, it warmed his glove in a way that was so different to the sticky heat of Hartley’s hand. You found yourself wishing that there were no gloves separating your hands from touching skin to skin. A tingling sensation began in the palm of your hand, still held in his, and worked its way to the tips of your fingers and up your arm. In that moment, you decided the touch of his hand was something quite inexplicably magical. 

“And you, Lord Barber? Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked, longing to hear the velvet of his voice again. He smiled down at you warmly, sending the tingles from your hand all over your body. 

“I am enjoying the evening far more than I anticipated, it has been pleasant to see old friends.” He started, his eyes moved swiftly once up and down the length of you, never hesitating anywhere for too long. As he met your eyes again, his smile curled into a smaller one, far more intimate, meant only for you. “It has been even lovelier making new acquaintances, which is not something I usually find myself able to say.” He tells you. 

Your mind raced to stumble through the meanings in his well measured words. Did he mean meeting you? Part of you screamed that he must mean that, why else would he have bothered to make such a point of saying it to you? A larger part reasoned that he had undoubtedly met many new people tonight, and why in this vast room full of people would he single you out as a lovely new acquaintance?

All too soon it was time for your hands to part once again, you already missed his large warm palm and it hadn’t even left yours yet. As he opened his fingers to loosen his grasp on your hand, and pulled his palm away from yours, your eyes widened as you felt the tip of his middle finger trace a burning line across your palm as he slipped his hand away from yours. A shiver shot down the length of your spine at the sensation, which you had felt so keenly despite the presence of your silk glove. 

Another glance towards his regal face showed you that his smile had faded, melted into a look of deep concentration. The chocolate of his eyes had darkened, the light sparkled in the depths of them. So many thoughts were rushing through them, but you couldn’t comprehend a single one of them, your own brain was still trying to make sense of the litany of feelings coursing through you from the mere brush of the tip of his finger along your palm. 

It was a wonder you had managed to complete the dance without bumping into a single other occupant of the dancefloor, as you had quite forgotten that you were sharing the space with anyone else at all besides him. You could scarcely remember a time before you found yourself cradled in his gaze, you could not remember what your hand had felt like before it had been encased by his. It was only the end of the melody that brought the end of the dance to your awareness, you found yourself short of breath, though you were absolutely certain it had nothing to do with the steps of the dance. 

You bowed to each other once again, as was customary, and then he went a step further by enclosing your hand in his. He lifted your slightly quaking hand up towards his face, and you held your breath as his warm lips pressed down gently upon your glove. Had you not have held your breath, you were quite certain he would have robbed you of it. The impression of his lips seemed to burn your knuckles in a delightful way, in a way that made you yearn to tear the white silk from your body and request that he press his lips to your bare skin. You couldn’t correct the way your own lips parted slightly, something which he seemed to note as his eyes roamed your face as he straightened back up to his full height, allowing your hand to fall back to your side. 

“Thank you for the dance Miss Bell, it was quite… enchanting.” He spoke softly, caressing your face with his eyes for a moment longer before inclining his head, turning, and leaving the space, your eyes were stuck to his wide shoulders as he left. You were pulled out of your little world, where you and he were the only inhabitants, by Jemima’s voice suddenly at your ear.

“Just to warn you, sister dear, mama is quite enraged.”

Tags: @millenialcatlady​ @safarigirlsp​ @mariesackler​ @direnightshade​ @sacklerscumrag​ @stumbleonmywords​ @fizzywoohoo​ @hopeamarsu​ @roanniom​ @kylobien​ (Please let me know if you would like adding or removing!)

[bywordofaphrodite]

Book Reviews 3&4: Nancy Drew and the Lilac Inn by Carolyn Keene & Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion by Julie Campbell Tatham

This review’s theme is girl detective books ! Audience age range: roughly 12 and up !

Just as Enid Blyton’s books made me fall in love with magical creatures and faraway lands, detective novels became an obsession during late primary school, with classic lead female characters Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden being my absolute favourites. My school had an extremely small and limited library, and the Nancy Drew books were one of the only decent series there- even with a great chunk of the collection missing. My mother introduced me to Trixie Belden, which she insisted was better than Nancy Drew, though I refused to listen to such a declaration at the time.

Now, though? My opinions have definitely changed.

Nostalgic review

Rating: ★★★★★

From memory, Nancy Drew is a clever, beautiful and well-off girl in her late teens, living with her lawyer father Carson Drew and her housekeeper Hannah Gruen, who has looked after Nancy since her mother’s passing when she was only three. I always enjoyed the dynamic between Nancy and her father, as it was similar to mine with my father, also a lawyer- Carson doesn’t step in unless Nancy needs his help, but he does assist in legal advice when necessary. I also loved Nancy’s friendship with the cousins Bess and George, and liked that her relationship with her ‘special friend’ Ned never got in the way of solving mysteries or hanging out with her friends (‘hanging out’ was practically code for sleuthing in these novels anyway). Overall, my memories of this series amount mostly to exciting searches for missing heiresses, finding beautiful jewels and battling crocodiles in Florida.

On the opposite side of the spectrum is Trixie Belden- rough-around-the-edges thirteen year-old from a poor family living with both her parents and three brothers. Where Nancy has a housekeeper, lives in an affluent suburban neighbourhood and never wants for money, Trixie lives on the outskirts of a small town, both her parents work, and she is constantly reminded of how important it is to work for money as they do not have much of it to spare on mindless things. Nancy is a fairly solitary character, often working alone unless her friends show up, and even then she does most of the legwork; Trixie is also the main sleuth in her series, but her best friend Honey is almost always at her side. While the mysteries were great, the warm friendships in Trixie Belden novels are what I remember best.

Regardless of whatever my thoughts may be after rereading books from these two series, I’ve never ceased referencing either of them and my love of the mystery genre still holds fast even now.

Nancy Drew and the Lilac Inn Review

Post-read: ★★

Synopsis: girl detective Nancy Drew is called to solve a series of odd goings on at her newly engaged friend Emily’s inn, in what seems to be an attempt to prevent Emily and her fiancé from opening. Disaster strikes when her aunt retrieves Emily’s inheritance of diamonds- Emily’s last hope to cover the costs of fixing up the inn- and they are swiftly stolen within the hour. Nancy vows to catch the thief and the intruder and save Emily’s inn from failure.

I struggled in choosing which Nancy Drew book to reread for this review, and after reading through multiple rankings lists I decided on the Lilac Inn because it ranked highly on every list. I now wish I had just gone with Crocodile Island anyway… at least there was something snappy about it. In between the bomb, the theft, the doppelganger, the underwater fake-shark, the kidnapping, the spear-gun attack- I think I’ve made my point. There’s far too much going on, and if it was well-written I would be okay with it, really I would, but it’s all so blandly articulated that half the time I had to reread just to make sure I’d read correctly what nonsense was occurring at any given time.

Straight out the gate, I just want to say how shocking the writing was- that’s shockingly bad, by the way. If I thought Enid Blyton’s work was stunted, well, this was far, far worse. Especially since it lacks the excuse of being written for young children. It was incredibly difficult to push through in the slower parts, and I must admit I basically skim-read the lead up parts to the action sequences (which were incredibly minimal compared to the gnashing crocodile teeth I longed for, but alas). Sadly for me, Bess (my old fave), George and Ned were not present at all, and I cannot remember if they had actually been introduced that early in the series because they are not mentioned once.

I did really like the concept of the story, and the element of Nancy having a creepy doppelganger posing as Nancy to cause mischief (she has several over the series) was fun, even more so that said doppelganger was an actual actress and quite ruthless in her attempts to steal Emily’s diamonds- I love a morally-corrupt pretty female villain as much as the next person, after all. There is a romance teased between Nancy and a young man staying at the inn, a young man who continuously seems to be in the same room as the diamond thief messing with Emily’s inn, but ultimately both never amount to anything. This hardly surprised me given the book is written in the thirties, and Ned and Nancy never do anything but attend dances together the entire series, but still, come on. He could’ve at least stolen the diamonds to add some spice to his useless appearances.

It’s possible that were a very talented scriptwriter to take this book and make it into a movie it could work out a lot better than it does on paper- provided the casting was done well. The sets would be interesting, and I think the creepiness of the ‘ghost’ in the orchard and the diving scenes would translate a lot better on camera. Normally I’m not one to nominate live actions of novels for no reason, but this thought kept recurring as I struggled to get through the writing.

Characters who aged well: Nancy is smart and weirdly good at everything (they don’t explain why she knows how to do all the things she does, but diving and freeing herself from bonds seems to be easy enough for her. Given male characters are always allowed to be perfect without training, I’ll allow it). For a female character written in the 30s she has plenty of agency and does not once rely on a man’s help to do anything, which is why I always enjoyed her books. Carson Drew also aged well- not present that often, but useful without being interfering, and his trust in his daughter is refreshing. As for the other main characters in the series… they didn’t even show up in this book so I can’t really comment on this.

Characters who aged badly: plot twist- I’m adding Nancy here too. She is a little too perfect, too polished, a common criticism by modern readers, though at the time of publication was her main selling point. Additionally, earlier editions of the series featured racist comments made by Nancy, although those have since been taken out. However, the publisher and creator of the first books was not a very pleasant person, so I find myself able to separate that from Nancy’s character.

Favourite scene/quote: ‘The article went on to tell that Nancy had just completed a course in advanced skin diving in the Muskoka River, and that she had finished first in total points in the twenty student group’.

I find this quote amusing because there is really no need for Nancy to be good at every single thing, and this is a good example of the many times throughout the series that Nancy is the ‘best’ at a very random activity that is often never mentioned again.

As for my favourite scene, though nothing interesting actually ends up happening in the orchard, I did like the eerie setting of Nancy dressing up as a ghost and chilling behind a tree for a while (okay it was partially eerie, mostly just oddly comedic). The actress/impostor posing as Nancy provided a few good scenes, too, but for the main villain of the story she was hardly in as many scenes as she should’ve been in.

After doing some research, I discovered something most interesting: Nancy was written with significantly more character by the original ghost-writer of the series, a woman named Mildred Wirt Benson, who wrote Nancy ‘embodying qualities that she wished she had’- but the publisher Edward Stratemeyer did not want a bold female character, and she was rewritten with similar dialogue but now accompanied with ‘dainty’ verbs to sweeten her words. Stratemeyer was also known for his beliefs that women belonged in the kitchen, and the only reason he created Nancy in the first place was to capitalise on young female readers who wanted their own equivalent of the Hardy Boys.

With all of this in mind, it’s very possible that the Nancy from my memories is a mix of the older and new editions, which allowed Nancy more personality as the series went on, no longer needing to confirm to the sexist expectations of the 1930s. And despite these origins, Nancy Drew aged quite well as an unintended feminist icon: she solves her mysteries alone and rarely needs Ned’s help at all; in fact, most of the time, Nancy is the one doing the saving. It’s nice to think that, almost one hundred years later, Mildred Wirt Benson’s version of Nancy is the one being kept alive, both on paper and onscreen.

Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion Review

Post-read: ★★★★★

Synopsis: energetic teen Trixie Belden’s boring town of Sleepyside is turned upside down when a rich new family moves onto the property opposite her own, an old miser winds up in hospital and his empty mansion is suddenly inhabited by a runaway boy, and a missing fortune is waiting to be uncovered.

Whewww.

This was a massive breath of fresh air after the Lilac Inn! After being so unimpressed by both Blyton and Keene’s writing, Tatham’s writing restored my faith in my childhood judgement. Her words flowed well and the conversation between the characters was very natural. The blank slate characters in the Lilac Inn were showed up by the animated and multiple-dimensional characters in the Secret of the Mansion, and I never once felt the need to rush myself through the chapters.

Unlike my method of choosing a Nancy Drew book, I simply decided on reading the first Trixie book for this review. While I almost went for a later book where all the main characters had been introduced, I couldn’t remember how Trixie first met Honey and Jim, which I felt was pretty important to her character. I’m very glad I did. Even in the first book, Trixie endures so much character development (contrasting very strongly with Nancy’s flawless existence). Longing for a friend, Trixie takes herself up the hill to the newly habited mansion to introduce herself and her little brother Bobby, who she is babysitting to earn money to buy herself a horse. There she meets rich girl Honey Wheeler, a sickly and sheltered but sweet girl of the same age, whose parents pay little attention to her. Things fall into place with all the expected luck of a teen heroine- Honey’s governess is a lovely woman who wants Honey to befriend Trixie and offers to look after Bobby, and of course Honey’s stables are now filled with horses and a stable hand who can teach her to ride.

But for every easy thing comes an opportunity for Trixie to grow: she comes to admire Honey’s bravery after previously being irritated by her fear of trying outdoor activities; she ignores the stable hand’s orders not to ride the stallion and falls as a result, leading to her having to work to regain his trust and also being taught the valuable lesson to recognise her own limits; finally, as much as Trixie hates looking after little Bobby, when he is bitten by a snake Trixie is resourceful and quick on her feet in helping him, keeping him well enough until a doctor and other adults arrive.

Rather like the Lilac Inn, the mystery of the story centres on the hidden will to a supposed fortune of the elderly man who lived in the old mansion not far from Honey’s new home. On a whim, Trixie nags Honey into accompanying her to snoop around the building, leading to their discovery of the old man’s nephew Jim hiding there. By the end of the book, the girls have helped Jim to find the will and safely escape his abusive step-father. Later in the series, Jim is adopted by the Wheeler family, and also becomes Trixie’s primary love interest (I love that this relationship is not at all rushed either).

The reading level for the Trixie Belden series is listed as grade 3 and above, but I had no problems being completely involved and intrigued by the storyline and characters as a twenty-three year old. I think I’ll continue to read the series on my own time, as I always enjoyed the full character line-up developed after a few books in.

Characters who aged well: Trixie! If my praise during this review didn’t make clear enough, she’s a wonderful character with great development. Honey and Jim are also solid characters, and Bobby and Trixie’s parents are well-written too- supportive and kind, but realistic concerning raising Trixie to be a responsible kid. Also going to add that Trixie’s group of best friends- self-named the Bob-Whites of the Glen and consisting of her two older brothers Brian and Mart, Honey, Jim and the later additions of Dan and Di- have a strong presence and very distinct personalities when they show up in the later novels.

Characters who aged badly: nobody! All the side characters were well done, including the villain. He wasn’t over-the-top by any means, his abuse of Jim was both emotion and physical in a realistic manner that concerned the adults around him enough to comment on it without actually taking proper action to help him, as it often goes. I appreciated the author’s ability to write a male character the vulnerable one, to recognise what was wrong about the situation, and to gladly accept help from two girls younger than him.

Favourite scene/quote: “‘serves him right,’ Trixie said, wiping her grimy hands on her rolled-up blue jeans. ‘The mean old miser. You should have left him lying in the driveway, Dad.’”

An earlier quote in the book, this sets the tone for Trixie’s character: she’s messy, no-nonsense and cheeky. For a female character written in 1948 I found this quite amusing. There’s none of the internalised misogyny that often popped up in ‘tomboy’ characters of the time: Trixie just is what she is, and she’s great.

A standout scene would be Trixie sucking the venom from her brother’s snakebite to save him, and the chapters focused on the developing friendship with Honey and Jim while the two teach Trixie how to handle horses is also enjoyable.

Overall verdict:

My mother was right, Trixie Belden is far better than Nancy Drew in every category I can think of. I wish that the series had gained the popularity that Nancy Drew did, because it would make for a fun movie or television show. There is an eighteen year gap between the publication of the first novel from both series, and both heroines saw many more books written after that. Nancy Drew is so persistent, however, that multiple movies and even a recent CW show have been made, though it is not very accurate to the books at all. Even now, modern-day setting Nancy Drew mysteries are still being released under the Carolyn Keene pseudonym, showing her unending mythical status.

I still love Nancy, bad writing and all, but in all fairness, Miss Trixie deserves a cut of the nostalgic hype surrounding the girl-detective genre. I’d also like to bask in the poetic justice of Nancy not only remaining a more iconic character than the Hardy Boys, but also becoming more feminist as time goes on. I’m sure the publisher is rolling in his grave!

[ad1thi]

@starklysteve me?? spamming you w recs because i love talking about my ships?? more likely than you think :)) (here’s some rhodeytony to get you started on what is objectively the best tony ship)

i place your hands around my neck:  @fanfictiongreenirises

"Rhodey could practically feel his lungs getting heavier again, weighed down by roots of plants that he’d thought would never take hold in him again."

Or: the one where Rhodey's been pining over Tony for much longer than either of them realised and develops the Hanahaki disease

Pretend We’re In Love (The Heartache Still Hurts): @marvelingjules

Rhodey's dad is dying, and what he's always wanted is for Rhodey to be happily married. Tony and Rhodey were best friends, and haven't spoken in years. But after a chance meeting at the airport, and a desperate, insane idea on Rhodey's part, they end up pretending to be engaged.

But how much of it is really pretend?

i can’t seem to get a grip, no matter how i live with it:  @psikeval

Tony knows he's got no business being a father.

A Million Shades of Blue: @notfknapplicable

“I just know that if I could get to wherever he is, I could find him. Dead or alive, I'd bring him back to us.”

James Rhodes will never stop searching for Tony Stark.

Twenty Five Years: @notfknapplicable (part of a series)

Nobody knows how long this has actually been going on. (Tony Stark has pretty much been in a monogamous relationship since he was 18 years old.)

Leave The Light On: @notfknapplicable (part of a series)

He was never doing this for fun. He'd just wanted to stay awake. And whatever you do, please don't tell that guy he's been fucking. He kinda likes him.

coloured in sun: @heleus

The one in which Anthony Edward Stark, having just reached the warm age of seventeen, realizes that he's in love with his best friend.

(The idea is terrifying.)

the planets that bend us: @deathsweetqueen

When Antonia Margaret Stark wakes up on her sixth birthday, it’s to the words: I didn’t get any sleep last night after that fucking lawn mower decided that 7 in the morning would be a perfect time for him to start his day, right outside my room.

She runs a thumb over the long string of words, wrapping around her wrist like a thick leather band.

She smiles.

She’s fourteen when she meets James Rupert Rhodes for the first time.

Written for the "more than a partner" square (S3) for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019 and the "soulmate" square for the Iron Husbands Bingo 2019

we rattle together in a bed of honey: @deathsweetqueen

Toni first met James Rhodes in Cellular Neurophysiology and Computing, when she was fourteen and trying very hard to stay in the shadows. She stumbles into the classroom, clutching her books and binders and pencil case close to her chest, as she stares at everything, wide-eyed and hungry and terrified. She seizes on the contempt, the confusion, the incredulity of the other freshman who look at her like she’s an incongruity – she’s used to that look, all that hate and derision.

She eats it up like chocolate cake.

Much to her luck, all the seats are filled, all except for one towards the middle of the row, a table shared only by a tall, handsome black boy, sleeping on top of the counter.

a winding road that stretches to the truth: @/coulddaughter (this author ostensibly has a tumblr but im unable to locate it -- so if anyone knows what their tumblr is please let me know so i can tag them!)

“Why do you need a date? Also, no offence, but why did you come to me? I stole, like, four of your girlfriends and at least two boyfriends, remember.”

“I do remember that, Tony,” said Jim, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, I need you to come on a date with me.”

Love in the Eyes:  @child-of-sunshine

The moment each of the Avengers realized Tony and Rhodey were in love.

The Curious Case Of The Discarded Condom:  @/AssvengersArsemble

Natasha, Clint and Steve get just a little nosy about Tony's love life. Tony finds it extremely amusing they can't see what's right under their noses.

takes a lot of love and compliance: @gyzym

She's born breech, feet kicking out before the rest of her screams free; she's born breech, and never stops running. (Rule 63!Tony)

Targeted Persuasion: @galwednesday

Jim opened Tony's most formal closet and started pulling out tuxedos. "Put one of these on.”

"Why?"

"We're getting married."

Tony froze. "No, we're not."

"Oh yes we are." Jim tossed three tuxedos onto the bed. Three was a good number of options, enough for Tony to make a choice, but not so many that he'd get lost analyzing the ramifications of navy pinstripes vs. charcoal paisley. Tony did best with clear, specific expectations rather than an unlimited universe of possibilities that he would inevitably filter through his neuroses and obsess over, and Jim was really kicking himself for not considering that, oh, ten years ago when they’d first started this, but there was no point in beating himself up about it now when he could put that energy towards solving the problem instead. "You brought this on yourself, Tones. Pick a damn tux."

Five thousand roses: @/forestgreen

She is broken and all the more dangerous for it. The world should tread carefully around the shards of her former self lest they cut themselves on Antonia Stark's sharp edges.

A Guide to Handling the Unhandleable Tony Stark:  @/nightrider101 (this is ab a/b/o verse)

Written for the following prompt on the Avengers Kink meme: The rest of the Avengers assume Tony is an unbound Omega by the way he acts. He's reckless and carefree and does what he wants. Imagine their surprise when they find out that Rhodey is Tony's Alpha. They're all confused at the way Rhodey lets Tony act and how they can be away from each other for long periods of time and Rhodey's just like 'He didn't want to give up his career and I didn't want to give up mine. And I gave up trying to tell Tony what to do years ago.'

It’s Not Bacon Until It Ceases To Be Bacon: @sobebold

Tony has lived with his best friend Rhodey for fifteen years, and everything is perfect.

Until Rhodey finally gets a boyfriend, and Tony's world gets turned upside down.

by any name: @machi-kun

Tony calls him ‘mine’, sometimes.

And he also calls him platypus, honeybear, sugarplum, all those stupid nicknames; but James’ favorite will always be ‘mine’.

Tutor Me: @wisiaden

Tony really wants James Rhodes to be his math tutor. The guy was hot, and if he had to play dumb, well, he can say he hates math.

run and hide: @/starksrhodey

Tony may or may not have a crush on football captain James Rhodes.

Or, Tony is extremely insecure, Pepper knows best, Steve likes to bake, Bucky loves red heads, and Rhodey keeps trying to talk to Tony.

This Is The Real Life: @blancheludis

It takes doing the laundry for Tony to realize he is completely, irrevocably in love with Rhodey. Who knew that the way to Tony Stark's heart is to teach him how to wash his clothes.

Anything For You Darling: @areiton

Tony is sitting on the balcony of his palace in Malibu, and Rhodey hates it, more than he's ever hated anything, watching his best friend stare at the water, limmed by the sun and utterly alone.

"She's dead," Tony says, before Rhodey can ask and he feels his breath catch, his heart stumble.

There's--

Grief. For pretty, troubled Maya with her big eyes.

Heartbreak. For a sweet infant who will never know the mother who gave him up, whose life will never be exposed, now.

Relief. Because Harley is safe. Safe. Gods, he's safe.

or

Rhodey helps Tony raise his son.

it goes like this (just like heroin): @quandongcrumble

He’s twenty-six and you’re twenty-eight and you get a midnight phone call from Obadiah and between the two of you, you manage to beg and bully until you can fly back to the States and sit beside the white hospital bed while they say words like heroin and accidental overdose and that Tony should pull through but Tiberius might not wake up.

It goes like this—for almost sixteen years Tony’s addiction problems are a blight on Rhodey’s relationship with him. Friendships crack and trust is shattered, over and over again.

motor oil and coconut oil: @/halfasgoodasanything

James loves his best friend. He's entirely supportive of his friendship and his almost relationship with Steve Rogers. He is! He is. Carol and Pepper seem to think otherwise, but he's cool. Loving Tony doesn't mean no one else can. Even if he wanted to.

lost and found: @starkslovemail 

“Are you lost?”

Tony jumped at the voice cutting into his thoughts. Turning around, he saw another teen, maybe a year or two older than him, decked out in Team USA gear. He shook his head, flashing what he hoped was a disarming smile, “Nope.”

“Are you sure about that?” The athlete raised a disbelieving brow as he stared down at Tony. “You’ve been walking up and down this hallway for the past ten minutes, and the least embarrassing reason why is being lost.”

The blunt honesty startled a laugh out of Tony. He grinned cheekily, rocking back on his heels, “Guess I’m lost then.”

--

Written for the RhodeyTony Mini-Bang! Art can be seen on twitter here!

two boy geniuses walk into one frat house: @starkslovemail (part of a series)

There were too many white people at this damn party.

The Other 'Mr Stark': Iron Man’s Mysterious Paramour:  @presidentrhodes 

Clint leans over to Tony and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re dating Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker.“(Based on this prompt: Tony keeps telling the avengers how awesome his husband is but they don't believe he exists because it has been months and they still haven't met him yet and then finally, Rhodey comes home.)

[batmanie]

The choice of words - Scriddler

I dedicate this to my friend @finzphoenix go check her beautiful art!

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There are too many things about Edward that annoy Jon to the point of anger but there are also a few that he grew to like in time. Not the obvious ones, like his brilliant intellect and skills, no, Jonathan appreciates the little things much more: the way Edward's right eye twitches each time he is stressed, the fact that he always hums the same old song under the shower, his boyish giggles when he thinks he just said something funny and ah, Jon's favorite thing – the naive belief that he can drown all his sorrows in a cup of hot cocoa.

And then, there are also those other things – Ed's quivering lips, his desperate grip, his fair skin exposed for Jon to mark. Jonathan stores the memories of these moments in his brain for later, and the more he recalls them, the more he falls for the ridiculous man in green.

It is one of these moments right now, with Riddler trapped under him, blushed, naked and panting.

“Edward, my love...”, Jon stops himself before he can actually say that aloud, he stops because saying that wouldn't be appropriate, and more, it wouldn't be true.

Edward is not 'his' – Edward is a self-depending man who happened to be tangled in this arrangement, he will easily turn away and leave the very moment their partnership ceases to be beneficial. And he will survive on his own just fine like he has done before. He doesn't belong to anyone in particular, not even to himself.

He is the Riddler, and Riddler belongs to Gotham, he has to live up to his reputation and to his own expectations, and that requires dedication.

Second, Edward isn't his 'love' – he can't be because Jonathan has no love in his heart for any other human being. Science is his love, and his only mistress is his Fear Toxin. Same as Riddler, Scarecrow needs to be dedicated to his field of research and sometimes it is not only time consuming but also exhausting.

What is Edward to him then? A distraction? A fun, little experiment of his?

He started as his test subject, true, but from the beginning, he was too complex, too engaging with all his layers of issues Scarecrow used to peel off one after the other to never see the core.

He was a challenge. That time when Jon pushed him against the hard wall, just to pin him with his own, crooked body, not yet sure if he wanted to hurt him or please him – and Edward responded with calling him a coward: “Scared, Crane?” He mocked. “Afraid to kiss me?”

Perhaps he was afraid, him – the great Scarecrow – afraid of succumbing to his human nature. If Edward knew that Jon was only a human, playing the God of Fear among the mortals, would he be satisfied? Would he understand?

No, Edward loathed and still loathes everything human, everything that he considers average and stupid. Edward hates himself but he always fights to conceal it – and that's something Scarecrow can work with.

They didn't kiss that day, which is a pity because back then, Jon's face was still in one piece. The first time they did, was much later – in the Arkham sewers.

Jon finally manages to snap from his memories. “Edward,”, the word is slipping through between his mutilated lips, torn by fresh scars. And this time there is nothing more – only the name, no flattery, no pet names. Only 'Edward' as it has always been. “Are you sure about it?”

Jonathan's sweaty forehead is inches away from the other man's head. “You are aroused, your brain tricks your body to keep going without thinking, in hope of possible reproduction. Your prefrontal cortex is not functioning normally right now, which means you can not make rational decisions.”

“Are you suggesting, I don't think straight?” The man below him smiles, and it is the most endearing, genuine smile of innocent amusement that Scarecrow has ever seen on this smug, bratty face.

“To hell with it,”, he thinks to himself as he stares down at Edward, feeling the urge to smile back at him or even chuckle at his horrible joke. “My prefrontal cortex must have been already switched off too.”

It's a small miracle that Jon is still that collected at this point.

“I'll ask you one more time,” he lowers his voice, trying to make himself sound completely serious. “Are you sure, you meant it in a literal sense when you told me to fuck you?”

[herawell]

@mihrsuri a snapshot from the Exile AU when Tommy is born.

“You must tell the King,” Mary says when Anne is delivered of a healthy son, bearing his mother’s eyes and his father’s temper.

“The King’s instructions were very clear that he did not wish for either of us to ever contact him again, for the rest of our natural lives.” Nearly four months later, the edict still sends a tremor into Anne’s voice.

“But he is the heir to the throne, and to hide his existence -- it would be treason.” The aforementioned heir stirs in his cradle, and they glance at him, before he subsides and Mary continues in a softer tone. “My father would never forgive you.”

“He knew when he sent me away that I was pregnant, with a child that could be a boy. He knew the risk, and he sent me away nonetheless. He will not care that it is a boy.”

Anne’s voice is so firm, refusing to brook any disagreement, that Mary ceases her protests, but she cannot help but wonder why her father and stepmother’s marriage dissolved so quickly, how it went from joy to sudden lifetime exile and forced remarriage to a servant. There had been Anne’s miscarriage, and there had been Jane Seymour under her father’s nose, but with a possible son in Anne’s belly, Mary cannot understand what went wrong.

For one mad instant, she wonders if the baby is not her father’s child, but a bastard born of adultery. It is ridiculous -- the baby has her father’s red hair, Anne would be in the Tower if that had happened and not on her Pembroke estates, and Mary slanders her second mother with the very thought. 

If the child is not a bastard, then he is the Prince of Wales, and Mary cannot help but fear what her father’s reaction will be should he ever discover that the existence of a Prince of Wales was concealed from him. Might his anger fall upon Mary, if he views her as complicit in silence?

“What will you be naming him?” Mary asks instead. Had he been born at Greenwich, he would have been either Henry or Edward.

“Thomas,” Anne says, a slightly defiant gleam in her eye. “For my father and for the saint.”

“And for your new husband,” Mary adds, amused. Her feelings regarding Thomas Cromwell are still a tangled muddle -- he is a reformer, more radical than either her father or Anne, a brewer’s son and a poor substitute for a King, but he is also an intelligent and kind man who has borne being saddled with another man’s disgraced, pregnant wife with aplomb. And Mary cannot deny that he and Anne are surprisingly fond of each other, considering they were summarily forced together

“Yes, for him as well,” Anne whispers, her face soft and warm.

“You must realize,” Mary says lowly, brushing her fingers over his little curls, “that in the absence of any son by Mistress Jane Seymour, my father views me as his heir. I am usurping your son’s birthright, if I don’t say anything.”

Anne grasps her hand. “Henry cut him out of the succession -- him and Elizabeth -- when he had me exiled, and you are merely obeying your father by accepting his commands. And in truth -- I am happier here, in Pembroke, than I ever was as Queen. Bessie and Tommy are better off here, away from court.”

Mary wonders if her own mother would have so easily accepted exile for herself and her daughter, and doubts it. She does not doubt her mother’s love, but Katherine of Aragon is a proud woman, born an Infanta of Spain, who would never have accepted Mary being cut out of the succession altogether. 

It is strange, when Mary has spent half her life believing that had she been born a boy, her father would never have left her mother. Now he has a legitimate son, and he will not even acknowledge his existence. Nothing has been certain for her since the day the Pope annulled her parents’ marriage, and she supposes this one more surprise.

[deceptive-jo]

@sides-egosfanfic-art finally got it done!

Words: 598

Henrik awoke with a wide grin. Today was going to be great! He glanced outside to marvel at the red and yellow trees and threw on a turtleneck sweater. It was Saturday, his day off for once, so he could take his time and properly get done. He deserved to look nice on his birthday after all! Smile still wide on his face he made his way down into the dining room, where the others were eating. "Good morning", Edward handed him his coffee mug. "A great morning", Henrik respondet, expecting some sort of birthday wishes from his partner. When none came he decided to go for a little push, "You know what day it is?" "Yeah, saturday", Edward respondet grumpy, "which means that I'll have to work at the clinic." Finally Henrik's smile fell. "What do you mean? You said you were free today?" "Yeah, well Chuck just called me, they need me for a patient", he swiftly stood up and with a short peck on his boyfriend's cheek he was out of the door.

Henrik looked after him with a heartbroken expression. Had Edward really just forgotten his birthday? Chase came up beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Hey man, I'm sure it's nothing. You know how he is when he's stressed", it didn't really help Henrik's mood, especially when Chase noticed himself how lame those excuses sounded, "In the meantime, how 'bout we get going. Marvin's holding open some seats for us, maybe that will take your mind off of things."

By the time they reached the theatre Henrik's mood had lifted a little. They'd stopped at his favourite café for waffles and could now take their seats in one of the front rows. Besides having seen it numerous times the show never ceased to amaze Henrik. One trick followed after the other, with cards disappearing, animals reappearing, flames, smoke and explosions! By the time of finish his mood was significantly better and almost none of his thoughts were directed towards Edward. "I sadly have to proclaim that there's only one trick left for tonights show", Marvin exclaimed, playing along to the audiences shouts, "and for that one I'll need a volunteer!" Immediately arms shot up but Marvin ignored them all in favour of staring at Henrik. Of fucking course. The doctor tried to hide his amusement when he was directed on-stage and asked for his name. Marvin had pulled this stunt with his other brothers before, so this was no suprise. He just always changed the trick with them, so there was no way for Henrik to know what would come next. "You see, good sir", oh yeah, Marvin was having a blast, "I have this box, without sides. Now I will ask you to step into this box before I'll cover it and begin spinning." Henrik did as told. This was a normal disappearance act, nothing could really go wrong here and he trusted his brother after all. But after a while the spinning stopped. Had the trick not worked? The cloth was pulled off and he could see Marvin clearly in the dark- wait what? "Happy birthday!" The lights went on and only now could he see his family standing in one of the backstage rooms with him. He barely had time to take in their faces and decorations before he was pulled into a tight hug by- Edward? "You didn't forget?", Henrik breathed out. "Of course not! I love you after all!" "I love you too." They ignored the cheers at their kiss. Today was really going great!

[primeemeraldheiress]

Brönte's Forgotten Child

(You did say to keep it coming) 

Her mother loved Emma. Those first lines were everything she ever wanted to be

“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and a happy disposition... and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.” 

She wanted that.

The life of the socialites. Of Gotham’s beloved children that seemed inhuman for their beauty.

They garbed themselves in riches that she couldn’t attain, couldn’t even afford to dream.

So she tripped.

She tripped hard. 

She disconnected herself from the world and it’s cursed reality and pretended she was Emma Woodhouse being cathered and pampered instead of Catherine Todd laying on her own vomit in her run down little apartment in Crime Alley, new bruised eye from her Mr. Darcy, and her daughter trying to clean her up.

Her daughter.

Her Jane.

Catherine never wanted children.

But just like everything that involved Willis she either had to accept it or get bruised. 

“All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.”

Jane Petra Todd was every bit of Sheila and every bit of Willis.

Willful, stubborn, obstinate, tenacious, dangerous, cunning little devil child with a heart too damn soft for this world.

She had come to her as a little girl with a profound scowl and pretty bows in her hair.

Her mother had ran away from a lawsuit after a botched abortion.

Talk about a contraceptive method.

Catherine never wanted children. 

She especially never wanted a girl.

If push ever came to shove (which it did most days with Willis drunk off his ass), she wanted a boy.

A strong, self-sufficient boy.

One she would make sure to raise right, away from the influence of her poisonous father.

Away from Crime Alley.

Away from this Hell.

He would be chivalrous and educated and well read and well spoken. He would be every bit the gentleman that managed to break through Elizabeth’s wall.

She always did like the name Jason.

“You — you strange — you almost unearthly thing! — I love as my own flesh. You — poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are”

Instead she got a Jane.

Soft, brittle, little Jane withe dark hair that fell in curls and bright blue eyes that made the Gotham sky seem dull. 

Catherine never wanted children.

But she loved her Jane. 

“I knew, you would do me good, in some way, at some time;- I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you”

Catherine always knew she would die with a needle in her arm.

Rehab never worked.

It didn’t matter how many times she tried. 

How many books she read.

What words Elizabeth, or Emma, or Jane, or anyone said to her.

Willis would always show up with a little white powder and once again she was lost.

Jane always forgave her.

Looked after her.

Cleaned her.

Tucked her into bed.

Made sure she drank water.

Soft, brittle, little Jane who cried because kids made fun of her name. Stupid, selfish Catherine who took her into her arms and showed her the miracle that was Jane Austen.

Catherine always knew she would die with a needle in her arm.

She thought everything would be cold and dark.

Instead it was warm and bright.

The image of her sitting on the couch, little Gothamite princess in her arms, reading at loud:

“I desired more...than was within my reach. Who blames me? Many call me discontented. I couldn't help it: the restlessness is in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes.”

Daddy dearest died not too long after, a job with Two-Face gone wrong.

She was officially an orphan, and ran away before CPS came for her.

Jane wouldn’t be caught dead in foster care.

She barely survived her family.

She wouldn’t survive another one like that.

She was better off alone anyways. 

Soft, brittle, little Jane died the day she found Catherine overdosed on the bathroom floor.

Feral, menacing, savage Jay was born that same day.

She always did hate her name anyways. 

 “I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high.”

These glimpses of who she once was, of the life she left behind haunted her day and night.

Nagging, bugging, exhausting swarm of bees, that never fell silent, not even in her sleep.

Nightmares of mother, and ma.

Dreams of father and pa. 

Ironic that two men so different could be the same.

Violent, and proud with their heads shoved so far up their asses they could never see how they hurt everyone around them….or was it that they didn’t care?

                            “Am I hideous, Jane?

                   “Very, sir: you always were, you know.” 

She always hated her name.

Catherine appeased the hatred for a while, reminding her that Austen was an unbreakable woman. An unstoppable cyclone who wouldn’t budge at the circumstances.

Who wouldn’t budge, who wouldn’t bend, who didn’t just survive but THRIVE. 

Then again, fate always seemed to like to play jokes on her. God (if there was one) always found her pain very amusing.

She wasn’t Jane Austen.

She was Jane Eyre. 

“I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty I uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly blowing.” 

She was the ghost that haunted Wayne Manor.

The failed Robin. The wayward child. The lost daughter. The absolute scourge of evil.

The cursed mark upon Batman’s perfect record. The problem child of Bruce Wayne.

The fucking blemish upon the family name. 

Her catastrophe etched on the walls of the place she once called home.

Her debacle immortalized in the cave that saw her grow.

Her fucking name forgotten, erased letter by letter and tossed in the air.

She lived now in the attic; Edward Rochester’s best kept secret, and burning shame.

Her screams and cries were ignored as they resonated in the halls. Her calls of justice silenced once for all.

“Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned”

He locked her in the attic, let her memory haunt the place.

He locked her in the attic, let her memory fade.

He locked her in the attic, let her name never be displayed.

He locked her in the attic, let her go fucking insane. 

                      “Remorse is the poison of life.”

Jane always hated her name, Bruce never once called her “Jay”

One more reason to hate him. 

And hate everything he built after her.

The life that blossomed above her grave, flowers nourished by her corpse.

She hated him.

She hated all of them.

She hated Gotham, and her villains, hated her crime and her corruption.

But most of all she hated herself.

She hated her lack-luster hair, and the single white stripe on it, her dead eyes, with green specks bleeding through the blue. Hated her scars, covered by a million tattoos.

She hated herself.

Because despite it all.

She couldn't hate him too. 

“I could not unlove him now, merely because I found that he had ceased to notice me.”

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Em here:

Excuse me?

Excuse me, where the fuck have you been hiding?!

This god damn knock-my-fucking-socks-off-amazing!

Is there an AO3 account out there I'm missing?! Holy shit!

I need more of your writing, do you hear me? MORE!

[hyungbean]

Secrets, Secrets | Emmett Cullen x Witch!Reader

Request: hi i hope you’re still taking twilight requests!! could you do any cullen boy x witch!reader? she’s been with them for a few years but they never knew she was a witch until eclipse when she helped protect bella from victoria using magic so she’s gotta let everyone see what she is. thank u tons!! ur writing is amazing

Genre: Fluff, Angsty-ish

A/N: your girl had to do a little research for this one, also tysm!! I hope you like the imagine ;) + I’m trying to get through my requests atm, I’m working on part 2 for voicemail and part 3 for Locusts !

It was no secret that you were different from Bella. You had join the Cullen Coven years ago, and they could smell how absolutely divine your blood was, but they blew it off as just really tasty human blood. 

It was not until the encounter with James and the wild goose chase that the Cullens grew suspicious that you weren’t exactly human. You had to keep your mind clear at all times of your true nature since Edward could read your mind. You had grown really close to Emmett ever since you had joined, in a different way than you had with the others. His sister, Rosalie pointed it out a while back and pushed you to confess, but you knew it would never last so you never got the courage to profess your feelings.

The Cullens loved you and wanted to trust you with every fiber in their bodies, but they couldn’t ignore the way your blood was different from Bella’s, Jasper couldn’t ignore the doubt and defense you always had up, Edward couldn’t ignore how squeaky clean your thoughts were when he was around, they were too clean. 

You just didn’t want to scare off the only family you had, so you had to play off your true identity. It was easy since the Cullens had never really encountered a witch before, so they didn’t have anything to compare you to. 

It all seemed to be going fine, with you and Emmett growing closer and closer with every passing day, almost sharing a kiss a few days back. But you knew that you both were just going to get hurt in the end, you couldn’t hide forever.

The only real obvious evidence of you being a witch was the celestial bronze necklace you wore around your neck all the time. It had been passed down for generations, parents teaching their kids how to control and be one with their supernatural witch abilities. Once their child became advanced enough to venture into the real world, they gave them the necklace as tradition. 

Different kinds of witches wore different kinds of necklaces, made with different times of elements ranging from imperial gold to stygian iron to celestial bronze. Your family possessed the abilities to control the elements around them, and after they died you swore off your practice of magic which made it easier to blend in. Although you weren’t sure how powerful you were anymore, being out of practice for so long.

Then the eventful inevitable arrived on your doorstep in the form of Victoria. If her mate had given us enough trouble, she would multiply it by a tenfold. And that’s exactly what she did. She was not only after Bella but you too, since your blood smelled tastier than any meal she had probably ever had. That was what pushed your coven to band together with the shape-shifters to take down Victoria and her army. 

Even though the Cullens had trained you in hand to hand combat for many years, there was no way you were prepared to take care of yourself against an army of newborns. So you and Bella were instructed to stay with Edward and Seth Clearwater, a boy you had grown quite fond of. You weren’t nervous, knowing if anything you were still a witch after all; you had been told that Victoria wouldn’t be able to find you anyway. 

You knew better than to believe that, and you were right as Edward had suddenly tensed and announced that Victoria and another vampire had traced Bella’s scent. Standing in front of Bella, you shielded her from the sight of Edward engaging Victoria and another man in battle, watching as Seth had to intervene when it got too intense for our liking, dragging the boy off into the forest as he pleaded with Victoria to save him. 

Pathetic really. Did he really believe in this stone cold bitch’s promises?

After the boy was dragged off, Victoria ran at Edward. Her moves were sharper and faster, and it was quite clear that Edward was losing the fight. Bella seemed to notice too as she started scrambling in the snow for something.

Ancestors don’t fail me now. 

You concentrated on the world around you, feeling the faint surge of power course through your veins, willing you to once again be one with your environment. Controlling your powers were hard as you were heavily out of practice, sweat rolling down your face even in the cold weather. Darting your fingers into a backward motion, you concentrated on the snow, willing it to drag Victoria down and away from Edward.

Fighting with the element, you eventually overpowered it and successfully dragged Victoria down into the white blanket as Bella watched in confusion Edward taking the opportunity to quickly stomp on her neck and decapitate her. 

Groaning, your knees buckle and you barely catch yourselves with your palms. Exhaustion burning at your muscles in rapid waves, telling you to sleep. You don’t see the way Bella falls to her knees in front of you, waving her hands frantically, or the way Edward sets the red-head’s corpse on fire. The orange flames looking jumbled and still, that didn’t seem right at all. 

You couldn’t talk because everything felt numb. You also couldn’t think because your brain felt like mush. All your body allowed you to do was squeeze your eyes shut, trying to take even breaths. 

Slowly your vision clears and the ringing in your ears cease as you gaze up to find a concerned Bella and Edward looking down at you. 

“Y/N? Y/N? Can you hear us?” Bella asks trying to mask her panic, she had no idea what she had seen. One moment Victoria was going to break Edward’s neck, the next she was being pulled away by the snow. And it looked like you were doing it. But that was impossible right?

“Y/N.. What exactly happened? Who are you?” Edward asks, helping me up. Wiping the sweat away I prepare to answer but Edward stiffens suddenly looking around. 

“We need to go.” He drags us both away as Seth runs after us, not knowing the danger awaiting ahead of us. Once we arrive we find a little mini bonfire set up, burning the bodies of the newborns, the others looking nervous. They didn't look this nervous unless the Volturi had something to do with it. Not much could shake up the Cullens this bad except for the Volturi, so you knew that they must have sent a message or worse, be coming our way. 

You must have looked like hell because Emmett immediately rushed towards you, gripping your forearms, frantically looking around for signs of injuries. When he didn’t find any visible ones, he hugged you to his chest kissing the top of your head softly. 

When you pull apart you make eye contact with Edward who raises an eyebrow at you, clearly still questioning what had happened earlier. You knew you had to come clean after this, afraid of what it would bring.

Once Alice announces that they were here, Emmett pulls you towards the family, who were all shielding a young newborn who looked scared out of her wits. Rosalie squeezes your wrist giving you a concerned look which you just mouthed a ‘later’ to in response. 

Emmett squeezed you tighter into his side, standing tall with his chest puffed out, possibly getting ready for another fight. 

From the woods you see Jane, Alec, Felix and Demetri emerging , pulling off their hoods in an attempt to seem more powerful. You wouldn’t say it out loud but you thought they looked ridiculous, but by the amused look Edward shoots you, you knew your thoughts weren’t as concealed as you thought they were. 

Jane converses with the Cullens for a little before her eyes find your figure slumped against Emmett, looking drained. 

“My, my. So that was the delicious scent that I caught on the way here. I see you’ve brought a witch into your coven. Surprising I must admit.” You freeze as the Cullens look at each other in confusion, glancing at you in alarm. 

You had only ever run into the Volturi a few times, but each time they had not been able to figure out who you were, and you wondered if they had but just decided to toy with you. It seemed like something that they would do. 

“Oh my. It seems that you weren’t aware of that. Secrets, secrets.” Jane hums, turning to look at the newborn who was cowering behind the family. You were glad she redirected her attention, but you knew that things would never be the same. You didn't know if it was from your exhaustion or from being overwhelmed but you felt yourself grow dizzy, your vision blackening. And you swore you could see Jane smirking at you before you lost consciousness, knees buckling painfully.

When you awakened, you realized you were back home, feeling the familiar warmth of your blanket, and smelling the shampoo you always used on the pillow you were sleeping on. What you didn't realize was the large figure laying next to you, watching as you awakened, smiling softly.

“Good morning my little witch.” Emmett whispered, trying not to startle you. You flinch a little and your cheeks heat up when you turn and realize the close proximity between you two.  

“How long was I out?” You croaked, throat feeling a little dry, head hurting slightly.

“Just a few hours.. so witch huh? We knew you were different. We just never expected you to be so...exotic? We’ve never really seen a witch before, can’t believe we’ve been living with one for years.” Emmett mumbles teasingly, stroking your head. 

“ ‘m sorry I didn’t tell you guys. I thought you guys would be scared and abandoned me. I haven't used my powers in a long time, I guess I overworked myself today.” You whisper sleepily, feeling your lids growing heavy again. 

“Yeah Edward told us how you saved his life today, Bella’s too. Carlisle said you’ll just lots of rest. He’ll help you train at a healthy pace when you get better.” 

You only hum in response, burying your head into the crook of his neck, as he wraps his arms around your middle, leaning his chin on top of your head. He hums quietly, being greeted by your soft snores only moments later, the both of you at peace.