#Emmett Wool | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bodhrancomedy · 1 year

Text

Hey, hey, who wants one of my favourite scenes from Tocktick the second highest voted novel in my poll?

(I’m working on Flies in Amber, I gotta redo the beginning)

“Why are you up?” Talas asked.

“Why are you?”

Raising an eyebrow at the bite in the other man’s question, Talas leant back on his box. “My body does not like me. Pain is hard to ignore after dark.”

“Oh. ‘m sorry.” It was genuine.

“So, why are you up?”

Sixsmith looked away. “Just am.”

“… can I request a better answer?”

“No. Fuck off.” Then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Dun’t tell Emmett.”

Talas tapped his heart twice. “Sun-God’s Oath.”

“’m… havin’ trouble sleepin’. Nightmares.”

“What kind of nightmares?”

Sixsmith hunched, hands clasping the mug like a lifeline. “Bad ones.”

Talas cleared his throat hesitantly. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“What does?”

“The nightmares must be terrifying.”

“What?”

“We are having a civil conversation.”

Sixsmith laughed. “We are, aren’t we?”

“I do declare the sky is about to fall.”

He laughed again and Talas felt himself crack a smile. He edged closer to the other man and took a swig of his tea. “What are they about?”

Sixsmith smiled weakly but said nothing.

Talas swallowed another mouthful, feeling the burn down his throat. “If it makes you feel better,” he began slowly, “My worst nightmare is about being chased by a goat.”

A splutter from beside him made him grin. Sixsmith looked up, eyes wide. “A goat?”

“Have you ever seen a Heliokratos goat?”

“No?”

“They are petrifying. Big, golden, three great big – uh –“ Talas made a crown of fingers on his forehead – “spikes…?”

“Horns?”

“Yes! Horns!” he scratched his neck and confessed, “I lied. They are not so very big, but they do have three great horns. I was chased by two as a boy.”

“What did you do?” Sixsmith sat forwards, his eyes gleaming and not just from the fire.

Talas shrugged modestly. “It was a dare. There was a farm not too far from the boarding school. I was trying to take a handful of their… uh… fluff. Wool. They woke up and chased me. I barely made it over the fence.”

Even thought he was expecting it, the bark of laughter from his right made him jump. Sixsmith’s shoulders were shaking, even as he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound.

Hastily wiping the trickle of hot tea down the side of his mug, Talas said archly, “I am glad my nightmare is so amusing.”

“‘M sorry, Talas, but you deserved that one.” Sixsmith took a few fortifying breaths before adding, “It’s just a funny image, you as a wee kid in some fancy uniform runnin’ hell fer leather ‘cross a field wi’ a massive goat on your heels.” He leant over and gently clapped Talas’ shoulder, “Such a diff’rence to the res-pect-able man before me tonight.”

“It was the night time. I was in my pyjamas.”

Sixsmith held up a hand, “My apologies.”

“We spent most of the night trying to wash out the mud before the matron found out,” Talas protested, “it was a memorable experience and I do not know why I do not dream more of that, but evidently the goat made a greater impression.” He paused for effect, taking another sip of tea. “I could not sit properly for days.”

He saw Sixsmith grin, but he had turned back to the fire. He was gripping the cracked mug again, his knuckles white skulls against the cheerful yellow.

Keeping his voice as light as he could, Talas said, “So, what are your nightmares about?” He tried a cheerful smile, but knew it looked as fake as it felt. “Now that you know that mine are utterly unimpressive.”

Silence save for the crackling of the fire answered him. The air was suddenly heavy and thick, the shadows seeming just a little darker.

Talas waited, heart thudding and hardly daring to breathe.

Sixsmith’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed conclusively. Once, twice. He opened his mouth and shut it again, shaking his head.

“I apologise. I was prying. Rude of me, I know -“

“People without eyes.” Sixsmith’s voice was low, but Talas heard him perfectly. “I dream about people who dun’t have any eyes.”

#deaf #queer #arcane engines #arcane skies #writing #writeblr #tw nightmares #tw eye horror

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never-was-has-been · 1 year

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We can win this thing and create a healthy, harmonious world, and the work each of us does to help bring this about makes a real difference. The more I observe and learn about human behavior, the more convinced of this I become.

Let me explain.

Every positive change in human behavior is always preceded by an expansion of consciousness. This is true whether you're talking about positive behavioral changes in an individual or in a collective.

By "expansion of consciousness" I mean an increase in awareness — someone or a group of someones becoming more aware of something than they previously were:

Someone gaining a new perspective on the forces within themselves which drive them to seek out dysfunctional relationships.

An addict becoming more conscious of the inner dynamics that compel them to use.

A victim of abuse realizing that abuse is happening, and that a better life is possible, and that they deserve it.

A community becoming aware that their clergy have been sexually abusing children.

The US civil rights movement making Americans more aware of the injustice and destructiveness of racism.

Increased literacy and a greater ability to distribute the written word giving society a greater hunger for freedom and democracy and less tolerance for overt tyranny.

Etc.

Conditions don't get better until the forces which give rise to them are clearly seen and understood. This movement from the darkness of unconsciousness into the light of awareness can create the illusion that things are getting worse, because they turn up so much ugliness.

After the 1955 lynching of Emmett Till, his mother made the decision to hold an open-casket funeral to expose the world to the cruelty that black Americans were being subjected to by showing his mutilated body to the public. In that moment it looked like the world was being made more ugly, because an ugliness that had previously gone unseen by many people was being published in papers across the country. But it was later said that "The open-coffin funeral held by Mamie Till Bradley exposed the world to more than her son Emmett Till's bloated, mutilated body. Her decision focused attention on not only American racism and the barbarism of lynching but also the limitations and vulnerabilities of American democracy."

Similarly, the dawn of the internet has turned up a tremendous amount of ugliness and cruelty that had previously gone unseen and unknown to most people. This can lead to the mistaken impression that the internet itself is making people more cruel and ugly than they previously were, but it isn't. It's just turning up humanity's longstanding inner demons that had previously functioned solely in the dark.

It looks ugly, it moves in a sloppy, clumsy, two-steps-forward-one-step-back shamble, but human consciousness is undeniably expanding. We're getting so much better at sharing ideas and information with each other that we've arguably changed more as a species in the last thirty years than we did in the previous thirty centuries. We might outwardly look similar to the way we looked in our grandparents' time, but billions of human brains connected to each other through the internet is something that is wildly unprecedented in the entire history of our species. Nothing like this has ever happened before.

So humanity is indisputably becoming more conscious, as awkward and sloppy as our situation looks right now. We're becoming more and more aware of the problems our species faces, and our rulers are having to do more and more work to pull the wool over our eyes and keep us marching in a way that is convenient to them.

Police brutality. The abuses of Israeli apartheid. The agony of poverty. The ravages of ecocide. The ways we've been deceived and manipulated by the mass media. People are becoming more and more aware of these things than they used to be, because the truth about them is suddenly vastly more visible now than it previously was.

And what's exciting is that we all have the ability to participate in, and facilitate, this expansion of consciousness. We each have the ability to help humanity become more conscious in our own small way, thereby bringing us that much closer to a positive shift in our collective behavior.

Anything you can do to help make humanity a little more aware of the abusive nature of the systems which drive the problems we now face makes a difference, even if it's a difference as small as making one single person a little bit more aware of one specific aspect of the tyranny we're being subjected to. It doesn't make a huge difference, but it does make a difference. And as long as it makes the slightest bit of difference, it is worth doing, because a lot of slight differences adds up to a massive difference. And there are a whole lot of people who have the ability to do this.

What this means is that we each have the ability to directly and meaningfully participate in the creation of a healthy world, because we are each able to directly and meaningfully advance the only factor that ever leads to positive changes in human behavior. We can do this through the new technologies which have expanded humanity's ability to share ideas and information like videos, blogs, podcasts, tweets and memes, and we can do this through older means like holding demonstrations, creating art, distributing literature, writing messages on walls, and just having conversations.

Anything you can do to help people become more aware of injustice, abuses, propaganda and tyranny, whether in your own community or in the world, makes a difference. Does this mean you will single-handedly save the day like the protagonist in a Hollywood movie? No. That's not how real change happens, and it never has been. Real change is the result of sustained efforts of many, many people whose individual actions could never achieve much on their own.

I think the protagonist-driven storytelling models humanity uses in its legends, folk tales, novels and films often plays an unwholesome role in distorting people's expectations about the efficaciousness of their own individual actions. Those storytelling models are designed to appeal to the human ego, which gets a tremendous amount of energy and attention in this particular slice of spacetime, but they are not accurate representations of the way real change actually happens in real life. In real life, change happens because a great many people put their shoulders up against the change that was needed and shoved in the required direction.

So that's what we can all do: we can all lean our shoulders into the expansion of human consciousness and shove. Spread awareness of what's going on in the world, make people more aware that we're all being deceived and manipulated at mass scale, and help people to see that a better world is possible. The more people open their eyes to what's happening, the more shoulders there are to help join in our collective shove toward consciousness.

Ultimately what we're looking at is humanity's journey toward becoming a conscious species. One that's no longer driven by unconscious animal impulses and the flailings of illusory egoic constructs in our psyches, and is instead driven by a lucid perception of reality and a desire for the greater good of all beings.

We can all play a role in this achievement, both by expanding our own consciousness as far as it can go by bringing clarity to our own minds, our own worldviews and our own inner processes, and by helping others to become more aware of the world around them. It won't often unfold in a way that is elegant and linear and egoically pleasing, but it will unfold. And if it unfolds enough, positive change becomes inevitable. ~ Caitlin, June 14th 2023

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voskhozhdeniye · 1 year

Text

Let me explain.

Every positive change in human behavior is always preceded by an expansion of consciousness. This is true whether you’re talking about positive behavioral changes in an individual or in a collective.

By “expansion of consciousness” I mean an increase in awareness — someone or a group of someones becoming more aware of something than they previously were:

Someone gaining a new perspective on the forces within themselves which drive them to seek out dysfunctional relationships.

An addict becoming more conscious of the inner dynamics that compel them to use.

A victim of abuse realizing that abuse is happening, and that a better life is possible, and that they deserve it.

A community becoming aware that their clergy have been sexually abusing children.

The US civil rights movement making Americans more aware of the injustice and destructiveness of racism.

Increased literacy and a greater ability to distribute the written word giving society a greater hunger for freedom and democracy and less tolerance for overt tyranny.

Etc.

Conditions don’t get better until the forces which give rise to them are clearly seen and understood. This movement from the darkness of unconsciousness into the light of awareness can create the illusion that things are getting worse, because they turn up so much ugliness.

After the 1955 lynching of Emmett Till, his mother made the decision to hold an open-casket funeral to expose the world to the cruelty that black Americans were being subjected to by showing his mutilated body to the public. In that moment it looked like the world was being made more ugly, because an ugliness that had previously gone unseen by many people was being published in papers across the country. But it was later said that “The open-coffin funeral held by Mamie Till Bradley exposed the world to more than her son Emmett Till’s bloated, mutilated body. Her decision focused attention on not only American racism and the barbarism of lynching but also the limitations and vulnerabilities of American democracy.”

Similarly, the dawn of the internet has turned up a tremendous amount of ugliness and cruelty that had previously gone unseen and unknown to most people. This can lead to the mistaken impression that the internet itself is making people more cruel and ugly than they previously were, but it isn’t. It’s just turning up humanity’s longstanding inner demons that had previously functioned solely in the dark.

It looks ugly, it moves in a sloppy, clumsy, two-steps-forward-one-step-back shamble, but human consciousness is undeniably expanding. We’re getting so much better at sharing ideas and information with each other that we’ve arguably changed more as a species in the last thirty years than we did in the previous thirty centuries. We might outwardly look similar to the way we looked in our grandparents’ time, but billions of human brains connected to each other through the internet is something that is wildly unprecedented in the entire history of our species. Nothing like this has ever happened before.

So humanity is indisputably becoming more conscious, as awkward and sloppy as our situation looks right now. We’re becoming more and more aware of the problems our species faces, and our rulers are having to do more and more work to pull the wool over our eyes and keep us marching in a way that is convenient to them.

Police brutality. The abuses of Israeli apartheid. The agony of poverty. The ravages of ecocide. The ways we’ve been deceived and manipulated by the mass media. People are becoming more and more aware of these things than they used to be, because the truth about them is suddenly vastly more visible now than it previously was.

And what’s exciting is that we all have the ability to participate in, and facilitate, this expansion of consciousness. We each have the ability to help humanity become more conscious in our own small way, thereby bringing us that much closer to a positive shift in our collective behavior.

Anything you can do to help make humanity a little more aware of the abusive nature of the systems which drive the problems we now face makes a difference, even if it’s a difference as small as making one single person a little bit more aware of one specific aspect of the tyranny we’re being subjected to. It doesn’t make a huge difference, but it does make a difference. And as long as it makes the slightest bit of difference, it is worth doing, because a lot of slight differences adds up to a massive difference. And there are a whole lot of people who have the ability to do this.

What this means is that we each have the ability to directly and meaningfully participate in the creation of a healthy world, because we are each able to directly and meaningfully advance the only factor that ever leads to positive changes in human behavior. We can do this through the new technologies which have expanded humanity’s ability to share ideas and information like videos, blogs, podcasts, tweets and memes, and we can do this through older means like holding demonstrations, creating art, distributing literature, writing messages on walls, and just having conversations.

Anything you can do to help people become more aware of injustice, abuses, propaganda and tyranny, whether in your own community or in the world, makes a difference. Does this mean you will single-handedly save the day like the protagonist in a Hollywood movie? No. That’s not how real change happens, and it never has been. Real change is the result of sustained efforts of many, many people whose individual actions could never achieve much on their own.

I think the protagonist-driven storytelling models humanity uses in its legends, folk tales, novels and films often plays an unwholesome role in distorting people’s expectations about the efficaciousness of their own individual actions. Those storytelling models are designed to appeal to the human ego, which gets a tremendous amount of energy and attention in this particular slice of spacetime, but they are not accurate representations of the way real change actually happens in real life. In real life, change happens because a great many people put their shoulders up against the change that was needed and shoved in the required direction.

So that’s what we can all do: we can all lean our shoulders into the expansion of human consciousness and shove. Spread awareness of what’s going on in the world, make people more aware that we’re all being deceived and manipulated at mass scale, and help people to see that a better world is possible. The more people open their eyes to what’s happening, the more shoulders there are to help join in our collective shove toward consciousness.

Ultimately what we’re looking at is humanity’s journey toward becoming a conscious species. One that’s no longer driven by unconscious animal impulses and the flailings of illusory egoic constructs in our psyches, and is instead driven by a lucid perception of reality and a desire for the greater good of all beings.

We can all play a role in this achievement, both by expanding our own consciousness as far as it can go by bringing clarity to our own minds, our own worldviews and our own inner processes, and by helping others to become more aware of the world around them. It won’t often unfold in a way that is elegant and linear and egoically pleasing, but it will unfold. And if it unfolds enough, positive change becomes inevitable.

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the-railways-of-seidrey · 1 year

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The railway lines on Seidrey are the Gunnigrind & Tarfalam Line, Ben Fisag Branch, & Kirktobaness Light Railway, and the Tarfalam, Chraig, & Laughof Railway

The stations along the railways (and their Scots Gaelic translations

Main Line

Mainland from Wilkhaven, connecting to the Far North Line at Fearn

Tarfalam (Tarsainn Falamh)

• Tarfalam Chraig & Langhof Railway

Dochas (Dóchas)

Lubadmore (Lùbadh Mòr)

• Dairy

Gunn Castle (Caisteal Guinnich)

• Kirktobaness Light Railway

• Guinnich Brewery

Tradham (Ag Ionaltradh Neamh)

• Farm

Samchair (Sàmhchair mu Dheireadh)

Gunnigrind (Port O' Guinnich)

• Ben Fisag Branch

• MOD

• Main Shed

• Port/Fishing

•Stewart's Holiday Camp

Kirktobaness Light Railway

Gunn Castle (Caisteal Guinnich)

• Mainline

• Guinnich Distillery

Kirktobaness (Caisteal ri Taobh an Eas)

Ben Fisag Branch (Beinn Phiseag)

Gunnigrind (Port O' Guinnich)

• Mainline

• MOD

• Main Shed

• Port/Fishing

• Holiday Camp

Bailanns (Bhaile Anns na Beanntan)

• Bailanns Distillery

Gemsted (Áite Falaich)

• Game Lodge

Hörgr (Aoradh)

• Stone Quarry

Tarfalam, Chraig, & Langhof Railway

Tarfalam (Tarsainn Falamh)

• Mainline

Chraig Castle (Caisteal Air a' Chreig)

Mountain Farms

Laughof Central (Bath Earrach Teth)

• Stewart's Hot Spring Resort

• Laughof Academy

Laughof Main Street

Hiking Hault

Bonniebear (Bonn na Bearraidh)

• Fishing Town

The History

In 1868 the Tarfalam & Gunnigrind Railway was formed, and started construction from the Sutherland Railway station at Fearn, crossing the water from the mainland at Wilkhaven to the island at Gunnigrind. Construction was finished in 1874. It was absorbed into the Highland in 1884 (they were already providing services along the line), the same time as the Sutherland, Duke of Sutherland Railway, and Sutherland & Caithness Railway.

In 1890 the Highland built the branch up to Aoradh and double tracked the entire line from Inverness to Gunnigrind, strengthening the line more than they would ever need (end enough for the LMS to even run Pacifics on it in the 30s).

The Kirktobaness Light Railway started construction in 1900, and was opened in 1902, a part of the Highland, but heavily subsidized by the chief of Clan Gunn at the time. Despite the station name of Gunn Castle, the actual castle was around 7 miles away at Kirktobaness, so a light railway was built out to it. The railway had bypassed it in the beginning due to the 1 in 45 gradients required to the town and castle

In 1915 a naval base was constructed at Gunnigrind.

In 1923 the Highland railway was grouped into the LMS, however other than a new coat of paint, the roster didn't change much. The line, like most of the surrounding lines, was given the shed code 32A.

In 1928 a Gunnigrind local and millionaire, Roger Masters, took a visit to Kent and became infatuated with the the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Railway, and decided he wanted to bring such small charm to Seidrey. He got his friend Emmett Stewart in on the action, and next year a Light Railway Order was applied for and granted for a fifteen inch gauge line from Tarfalam to the hot springs at Laughof, and in 1930 construction began on the Tarfalam, Chraig, & Laughof Railway (they also stole the locomotive designer, Henry Greenly, from the RH&DR in March 1929). The railway was opened in 1931 from Tarfalam to Laughof. The railway helped build Mr. Stewart's hot springs spa and resort at Laughof, and then bring passengers to it. It also had sidings at the local farms to haul wool to the mainline.

In 1929 the LMS started testing 6299 Fury on the line and due to it's early faults, a year later a new express locomotive arrived, Royal Scot class 6168 The Girl Guide

Other engines started to arrive through the years, including Patriots, moguls, 8fs, Stanier red and black 5's, a Pacific, 6204 Princess Louise, and even the Turbomotive.

In 1937 the TC&L was extended to the seaside town of Bonniebear. Fish trains were attempted, to surprisingly moderate success.

During the war, the naval base got a lot of traffic, and an Austerity tank, a WD 2-8-0 and two 2-10-0s were moved to the region, and stayed, even after the war.

The 2-10-0s were absolutely crucial on the Ben Fisag Branch, as the rails at the stone quarry past Hörgr were so light that none of the LMS built engines assigned to the region could run on them, so they were being run by increasingly tired HR locomotives until the 2-10-0s showed up.

One oddity about the Gunnigrind & Tarfalam is it is a near perfect microcosm of the WCML, so experimental locomotives were sent here for trials. In December 1947 this was the case for 6256 Sir William A. Stainer, F.R.S. and 10000, who found their homes here (almost all LMS and LMS ordered experimental diesels also found their home here). Because of this, the Gunnigrind sheds had a heavy maintenance sheds for diesels, always stocked with parts for the sometimes temperamental LMS diesels.

BR's takeover once again didn't change much at first, only a few BR standard class 5 and 6s showed up. The shed code was changed to 60F

However, in 1966, the Benching Axe fell for both the Kirktobaness Light Railway and Ben Fisag Branch, as standard classes of diesels took over the island.

Named Passenger Trains and their stops

The Black Wolf (Sleeper Train) (Hauled by Royal Scots, Rebuilt Patriots, or Pacifics)

Gunnigrind

Tarfalam

Perth

Stirling

Glasgow Buchanan Street (later Queen Street)

Symington Junction

Carlisle Kingmoor

Preston

Crewe

Stafford

Rugby

London Euston (from 1966-1981 Kensington Olympia)

Glasgow Highlander (Hauled by Patriots or Jubilees)

Gunnigrind

Tarfalam

Perth

Dunblane

Stirling

Glasgow Buchanan Street (later Queen Street)

Edinburgh Highlander (Hauled by Patriots or Jubilees)

Gunnigrind

Tarfalam

Perth

Dunblane

Stirling

Falkirk Grahamston

Edinburgh Princes Street (later Edinburgh Waverly)

Aberdeen Highlander (Hauled by Patriots or Jubilees)

Gunnigrind

Tarfalam

Keith

Aberdeen Joint

Seidr Pullman / Seidrian (Runs opposite days) (Hauled by Royal Scots, Rebuilt Patriots, or Pacifics)

Gunnigrind

Tarfalam

Perth

Stirling

Glasgow Buchanan Street (later Queen Street)

Symington Junction

Carlisle Kingmoor

Workington

Whitehaven

Barrow-in-Furnesa (Engine Change to NWR)

Crovan's Gate

Tidmouth

The Spa Express

Tarfalam

Laughof

Preservation

A large amount of steam locomotives from this line survived. When withdrawing old HR engines, the railway liked to donate one of a class to a village along the line. Once this was unreasonable, Roger Masters, the Creator of the Tarfalam Chraig & Langhof Railway, created a "scrap yard" where he could store engines.

In 1948, the Guinnich Distillery purchased the HR Clan class locomotive 54765 Clan Stewart (the express engines of the line until 1930, and which has been retired in 1945) as well as the wooden Pullman coaches that ran the Seidr Pullman to use as a display and diner/bar.

When the LMS express engines were retired, they were put on display, some at the Gunnigrind Resort, some others at the Butlins Ayr resort.

In 1966, when the Ben Fisag Branch closed, preservationists, led by Mr. Masters, managed to come up with enough money to buy the branch and all locomotives that served it and the two tank engines that ran the Kirktobaness Light Railway, creating the Ben Fisag Railway.

In 1968, they also purchased the (at that point disused) Gunnigrind engine facilities, retrofitting the diesel works so they could also maintain their steam engines, and started restoring some of them to operation. They started purchasing the Highland Railway locomotives on display around the island, restoring them to operating condition.

In 1971 the train bought by Guinnich Distillery was restored at the works for operation, now that the distillery could do an actual running dinner train on the mainline.

Throughout the 1980s, the engines that had been displayed at holiday camps were purchased back by the museum and trust for mainline use.

All names and history are subject to change as I figure more working solutions, this is a living story.

#Seidrey #trains #this is a massive thing sorryyyyy #but im passionate #vaguely ttte #anyone who speaks scots gaelic i am sorry i dont and am having to use google translate #lore

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casspurrjoybellbittner · 4 months

Text

Wreckless - The Beach House

*Warning Adult Content*

Emmett

Yesterday I got a text from Finnegan telling me that Megan had found us a place and with almost no begging and Peter gave me the go ahead.

He complained that he'd actually have to work for a week but was happy for me, for us.

This morning I worked, then came home and tried to get ready to leave the house for a week.

Andy said he'd come by and feed and play with Marten which was the biggest thing to take care of.

I did laundry, cleaned out the fridge and took out the trash.

I pulled the cooler out of the basement and filled it.

I've learned that Finnegan likes to snack at all hours and most of the hotel rooms near the beach have those little refrigerator/micro combos so I brought some fruit, string cheese, drinks and microwave popcorn too.

At the last second I remembered to grab one of his cups.

Finnegan is supposed to be back by now so I text him.

Emmett Locke: Hey darling. Is everything going okay over there?

Finnegan Walker: Stupid stupid-heads aren't even HERE YET. I have to see them before we leave so I have to wait.

Emmett Locke: Did you call and confirm?

Obviously big Finn would have but the whole 'stupid-heads' is making me think he may not be quite his normal work self.

Finnegan Walker: Of course. They're at another job and on their way. They have been on the way for the last two hours. I need a vacation.

Emmett Locke: You're getting one tomorrow. Anything I can do to help?

Finnegan Walker: Any chance you want to pack for me? I don't have much, we can buy stuff there right? I'll do my toiletries in the morning but my shorts and sleepies and a few t-shirts?

He's right, he doesn't even have a weeks worth of casual clothes because his dress clothes took up so much room.

I'm going to handle that for him since he handed me another huge check this morning.

Emmett Locke: I've got you, darling, no worries. I recommend going to the bathroom. People always show up as soon as you gotta piss.

Finnegan Walker: I'm desperate enough to try anything. TY :)

He's not the only desperate one, I can not wait to have some more time with him next week.

I try 'Old Navy' because they make slims, which will look amazing on Finn and they have some fun stuff that I think he'll like.

I end up scoring big and get him an extra pair of trunks with sharks all over them and a matching blue rash-guard shirt to protect his poor shoulders, two pairs of shorts, three t-shirts and a really cute short sleeve button-down.

I get him two fun graphic tees, a funny pair of socks and a pair of flip flops for the beach and pool because all he has are fancy leather sandals.

That will do him but still give him room in the suitcase to shop if he wants to.

I stop by the dollar store on the way home grab a few ridiculous things that we probably won't ever use.

I get two bubble wands, two squirt guns, a beach ball and a raft that probably won't hold either of us.

I pack his jeans because damn he looks good in them and if it rains the evenings may be cool, a pair of long pajama pants and pretty much everything else he has at my place that doesn't involve wool or need to be starched except for one outfit that I leave folded on my dresser for tomorrow and of course his night undies.

Then I let Marten out and play with him for hours before cleaning his cage.

Finally, hours after he should be, Finnegan is back home.

"Hi darling," I holler from upstairs when I hear the door.

"I'm done," he says gleefully.

He comes careening up the stairs and leaps into my arms.

"Can we go now?"

It's not THAT late but...

"I thought the booking started tomorrow."

"Nope. I had to do weekly Saturday to Saturday. I know it wasn't the plan, I just want out of here. I want to be with you and forget about work. I just need to change and pack some stupid work stuff but I can be ready in like ten minutes because you're amazing and packed for me."

He's not usually so impulsive but how can I say no to wanting more time together?

"I'll get the toiletries and put the suitcase in the car. I assume we're taking yours?"

I'm looking forward to driving it, actually.

"Yeah, of course. I can't believe we're really going."

His excitement is contagious and I'm grinning like an idiot.

"Okay, in the car by six p.m. Darling. We'll stop and get something to eat on the way."

He kisses my cheek before dashing towards his office.

"Thanks, Emmett."

********

Finn has the address in his cell-phone's GPS so I pay no attention.

We're going east so I assume it knows what it's doing.

When we get close I ask...

"Which hotel is it?"

"She got us a house... a block away from the water. Sorry she couldn't find anything closer... we'll plan better next time."

He's kidding, right? I've never stayed within walking distance of the actual ocean and a house?

There are some adorable beach cottages all clustered together not far from the beach, maybe it's one of those.

That would be sweet.

I follow along as the phone chirps directions at me and when Finnegan points and says...

"That looks like it."

I slow down.

"Yeah, 303. That's us Emmett... the blue one, right here."

He's shitting me.

It's the cutest house I've ever seen and it's huge.

Well, probably not huge by his standards but it's a lot bigger than my rowhouse.

"This is crazy, Finnegan. Seriously?"

He doesn't answer, he jumps out of the car as soon as I put it in park and runs to the door.

He punches in a code and disappears inside as I grab my bag and his suitcase.

The porch light was left on for us but he's running around flipping on more.

"It's so CUTE," he squeals.

"Emmett... Emmett... look at the pool."

There's a pool? Of course, just what you need next to the beach.

My jaw drops open when I look through the huge window and there are fountains shooting water across the pool.

Finnegan is turning them on and off but soon tires of that game and runs upstairs.

"Our bedroom."

He meets me halfway up the stairs, grabs his suitcase and lugs it the rest of the way.

"There are three... well two and an office with a sleeper couch but this is ours."

It's beautiful.

I was in a torn up old palace once but this is definitely the nicest room I've ever been in.

It looks like the 'after' on one of those remodeling shows.

The whole house does, actually.

It even has a door to a little balcony and I'm pretty sure that in the morning we're going to be able to see the ocean because it's way too dark over there to be anything else.

"Can you start unpacking while I get the cooler?"

I guess I shouldn't have worried about having a fridge.

"Okay but then I wanna go to the beach."

"Tonight? It's late."

"Please? I just wanna see it and smell it and hear it. Please? Ten minutes... that's all," he promises.

"Sure Finnegan, I could use a walk to stretch my legs."

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nurtelo · 1 year

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Madewell Womens Size 29 Slim Emmett Wide Leg Full Length Jeans Pants Y2K Denim.

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bellasredchevy · 5 years

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the reason permanent marker doesn’t stay on human skin isn’t because it isn’t actually permanent it’s because humans shed layers of skin every day or skin is buffed away with exfoliation and also the wear-and-tear of everyday life and the skin dyed with the ink of the permanent marker is shed but vampire skin doesn’t shed so i guess what i’m saying it catch esme with a bucket full of sharpies giving the other cullens and passing nomads beautiful and intricate weaving tattoos that don’t come off unless soaked with rubbing alcohol

#emmett draws a bear dead in the middle of his forehead and it only came off with steel wool #rose gave him a tramp stamp once #bella drew a frown on edwards chin once.#made him cry harder #twilight #the twilight saga #twilight saga #twilight renaissance #tts #esme cullen #100 #500 #1k

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therealvinelle · 2 years

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The Cullen fortune is gone overnight. The rest of the Cullens have to get jobs to support their lifestyle.

What jobs would you suggest for them to experience growth/be the best version of themselves? (minus Carlisle, for whom I'm pretty sure the answer is just doctor, unless you have other thoughts)

Alternatively, what jobs would they be objectively terrible at, but you find really funny to imagine them having just the world's worst day at work doing?

Oh this has got to be the best anon I've received all year.

Right then, the Cullens lose their money, we'll say the wealth-eating vampire Ivan (turned in 1929, this bolshevik is on a mission to create a communist utopia, and has the gift to go with: he has the power of liquidating all assets belonging to private persons and companies and giving it back to the state) set his eyes on them and it's history from there.

For the sake of simplicity, we'll say the year is 2008, they're all still living in Forks.

The Cullens could get by on Carlisle's paycheck, he makes enough to pay the bills and buy them something nice every now and then. It's stretched a bit thin, though, the Forks hospital can't afford as much as a hospital in a bigger city could and there are nine of them. He's got the bills and a shared family car (that he (wait for it) has to buy from Billy Black) covered and not much else.

They've got to get jobs.

Alice decides it's time to no longer do what she's good at for free: she's going to become a clothes designer and fashion consultant. With her skill she will take the fashion world by storm, with her family she has the glamorous models in the box already, and with her gift she'll have a failsafe ensuring no idea she has ever fails. She is already planning the Met gala outfits she'll outfit stars in.

The trouble is this: she has no brand and no clients. She's starting at rock bottom.

Never fear: she makes a battle plan for herself. She'll start small with a neat-looking website, promote herself as so exclusive that the reason you haven't heard of her is because she's that big a deal, and she'll attract clients with her amazing concept designs.

She gets Carlisle to invest in the hottest new thing: a stark white MacBook (Image below), gets Rosalie to program the website (Rosalie cries because the programming she knows is from studying astrophysics, she can give you an animation of a sphere's trajectory through a frictionless space if thrown at various speeds, she has no idea how to make a website. She ends up making Alice a blog at Wordpress. It has really nice HTML, though), now it's portfolio time.

Portfolio time goes terribly: Carlisle won't let her publish photos of the family on the interwebz, and the making clothes part of the equation turns out to easier said than done because Alice wants quality merchandise, but quality fabrics are expensive. Carlisle offers to make her fabrics out of wool and hides from the animals they hunt, offering that it would be a rustic look, and she has a horrible feeling he's being serious.

(Alice is in the red)

We cut to how Emmett is doing.

Emmett was thinking he'd get work as a lumberjack, it would be fun and manly, but then Alice bought that computer which has a webcamera and he thought, why not become a fitness instructor? That could spell money.

He asks Carlisle if the computer is a family computer and not just Alice's, Carlisle says yes, Alice fumes, and Emmett sets up a studio in the basement. He publishes one video per day, and his ridiculously muscular frame combined with being an insanely beautiful man wearing a blindfold so he'll be less recognizable (Carlisle's stipulation) while physically exerting himself makes him an instant hit among gay men and straight women everywhere.

(Emmett is in the green)

Esme was inspired by Alice quoting "if you're good at something, never do it for free!" and decided to become a cleaning lady who also cooks. This works really well for the first few weeks: she's incredibly sweet so everyone likes her, she's a white woman so the racists don't worry about giving her access to their possessions, and she's alarmingly talented at what she does. One hour of Esme in your home, and your house smells like cookies and looks cleaner than an operation room.

(Esme is in the green)

The problems arise once Esme's instinct to care for others conflict with her work.

Sooner or later someone struggles to pay her, or it becomes clear simply from the state of their house that this, having someone make their house look nice, is them splurging.

Esme was once on her own, working to make ends meet, and her apartment looked terrible not because she didn't try to keep it clean, but because between working, being pregnant, and saving up for a baby she had no money or energy left to do things like fix flaking tapestry or a rocky chair. And having a clean, pleasant space to live in- it sounds frivolous, but that matters.

She decides to lower the price for cleaning people's houses, and expands so she's now home maintenance, not just cleaning. Instantly she has more clients than she did before. So she expands her work hours, and lowers the price again.

Before long, she throws the towel in and starts working pro bono.

The money she made are spent on supplies, and she starts leeching off of Carlisle's paycheck.

(Esme is in the red)

The family never sees her around anymore, meanwhile the denizens of Forks are now much happier for having a real life Mary Poppins running around town helping everybody. There's a general sentiment that they should do something for this poor woman, who works pro bono for the town's poorest even when her family lost all their money. Between that and adopting all those kids, the Mr. and Mrs. Cullen are starting to look like saints.

Hey, isn't her daughter trying to start a business?

Alice gets her first few clients, three to be specific. One is Jessica Stanley's cousin who's getting married and thought she could save on the dress by having her cousin's former classmate design it, the other two are forty-something women who were touched by Esme Cullen's initiative and thought they'd do something for her daughter. Can't Alice design each of them a gown for weddings and other formal occasions?

Alice wants to be happy she's finally getting off the ground, except-

Those two forty-something women are not the kind of clients she wanted. They're not young, for starters, and they're... well, she isn't sure how to say this to them but if they want to wear one of her designs they're going to have to lose a few pounds first. And get a makeover. It's fine, she can give them a makeover, and Carlisle can set them up with a diet to lose weight (what's that, he can't? Why not? He's being completely- oh, jeeze, fine. Rosalie can come up with the diet then! Or tell them to just stop eating, period, that works too.), Alice will airbrush the photos to hell in her portfolio, THIS IS FINE.

It's not fine.

The ladies get offended and cancel their orders when Alice tries to explain this over the phone, which just goes to prove that Renesmee really needs to learn to leave the room already whenever aunt Alice has a phone call because if she'd been able to See what would happen then she could have found a way to phrase this that wouldn't have lost her two clients.

She's left with Jessica's cousin, who gave her a budget of $500.

For a wedding dress.

And Alice doesn't get to decide anything else, she knows from her gift that the wedding will be- not the worst she's seen, but a pitifully forgettable mediocre with a boring colorscheme and ugly bridesmaid dresses. Nope, she's just going to have to sit there and watch that happen, design a gorgeous dress for this subpar wedding.

Pearls before swine.

Alice tries to reason with Jessica's cousin, and offers to design the dresses for the bridesmaids at a discount. She won't ask them to lose weight, she will pay for the fabric herself if that's what it's gonna take. Fuck, she'll do this for free. Oh, what's that, Jessica's cousin, you already got the dresses? At H&M?!

... this would be a stain on her portfolio. It wouldn't advance her career at all. Alice has got to get out of this.

Jessica's cousin fires her before she can quit.

(Alice is in the red)

Jasper becomes a drug dealer.

(Jasper is in the green)

Edward and Rosalie, meanwhile, both decided that they wanted 9-5 jobs that would get them their paychecks without having to build anything.

Rosalie gets a job as an electrical engineer at an established company that'll pay her big dough, and she now has a bigger paycheck than Carlisle. The problem is that she's a young blonde woman working in STEM.

Rosalie proceeds to spend her workdays being sexually harassed by some colleagues and belittled by others, and has a terrible time.

Still, she stays on the job, because she really really wants to be able to buy things again.

(Rosalie is in the green)

Edward, with his gift and medical training, figures he would do great as a therapist. Steady supply of money, could become a lot of money if he makes a name for himself, and he'd be making a difference for people who really need it.

Carlisle is thrilled: finally, one of his kids isn't telling well-meaning ladies to lose weight, pandering to horny people on the internet (to be fair, no one has had the heart to tell Emmett this. Rosalie moderates his comment section zealously), dealing drugs, or being harassed by sexist pigs! Go forth into the world of psychotherapy, Edward, make that difference!

Edward gets certified (read: Jasper pays Mr. Jenks a visit) and, wanting to prove that he's modest and wants to do good by the world rather than seek money at his earliest convenience, accepts a job as a councillor for college students.

(Edward is in the green)

Edward proceeds to spend his days listening to students with petty problems such as doing poorly in class, breaking up with their lovers, and blah de blah. Edward could not care less about their problems. They're lying through their teeth, too, making the whole thing in an exercise in frustration.

He quits after a month.

Throughout all of this, Bella has been floundering. She has no marketable skills, and... though she won't admit it even now, she did not become a Cullen so that she would have to worry about going to work and making ends.

Just- god, she didn't care about the money, at all, definitely not, it's just that it wasn't supposed to suddenly be gone!

She eventually gets it together and starts applying for jobs.

She doesn't get any of them, not when she's applying for office jobs with nothing to show but a high school diploma.

She starts applying for retail jobs.

The worst application, by far, is calling Newton's and asking if she can have the job back (she can't, they have a new girl. They're very sorry).

(Bella is in the red)

Renesmee, wanting to pitch in, asks her grandpa Charlie if she could get a job. He lets her be his secretary, and she makes $30 per hour telling people to go to the waiting room.

(Renesmee is in the green)

Bella's daughter is now networking better than her and making more money than she ever did. Her daughter is less than two years old.

She asks Carlisle if he's got a job for her, and Carlisle takes pity on her. She is to be his secretary, just man the phone and tell people Dr. Cullen is busy when he is in fact eating squirrels in the woods before a surgery.

(Bella is in the green)

It's terribly unfortunate, then, that Bella in her awkwardness manages to make it sound like Dr. Cullen is masturbating in there (He's taking care of business, har de Cullen inside joke har har. Seriously though, you don't want to disturb him right now.) and has absolutely no ability to keep things secret so she will openly tell anyone and everyone who is seeing Dr. Cullen and for what (I can't believe Mike's got an STD! And he let it get so far, holy cow I hope somebody told Jessica. Oh my god, someone should tell Jessica).

Carlisle is put in the unenviable position of having to fire his daughter-in-law.

Alice gets desperate enough to try Carlisle's animal hides idea, and Carlisle finds himself working round the clock as he gets home from the hospital, and immediately has to go hunt down good pelts so he can then slave away in the one-man sweatshop she set up making woolen gowns. He makes sure Esme is out cleaning 24/7, lest she be dragged into this as well.

Alice still has no clients, but that she'll think of something.

Any day now.

(Alice is in the red)

Emmett gets sued. Turns out his channel was getting people hurt (lift with your backs, guys! When you're stretching, try to make it fast and jerky! Keep pushing if you're uncomfortable, that's when it's getting good!), so now he has legal problems.

Carlisle, Rosalie, Edward, Bella, Jasper and Renesmee each have to pitch in the money they've made to fight this lawsuit and pay the monstrous fine Emmett gets slapped with.

(Everyone is in the red)

The Cullens hold a strategy meeting.

Who's actually made money, who's going anywhere?

Rosalie's making dough, but she's not going anywhere due to sexism in the workplace keeping her from advancing.

Alice may have gotten off to a rough start but she is going somewhere, she assures them. She just needs to change her brand: streetwear and smart casual are much more marketable, and it can still be high end, she'll just make it more down to earth. How's that?

Edward reads in her mind her ideas for $600 sheepskin tank tops, and grimaces, but he's not suicidal enough to say anything.

Carlisle is already making as much as he can at that hospital, if he wants to make more he'd have to move. And then Renesmee and Jasper would be out of work.

Renesmee is actually doing rather well for herself, she's now running errands and taking small jobs around town, picking up $20 here and $50 there. Everyone agrees Edward's niece is a delightful little girl, and she's successfully gaslighting them that she's always been this tall. Or this tall. Or this tall.

Jasper has progressed as well, he is a cleaner now. No, not the same kind as Esme. He's making more money than Carlisle and Rosalie combined, though, so Forks (Well, Seattle. And the state of Washington, really, his guys know distance isn't really a problem for him) is good by him.

Emmett still has his YouTube channel, he's posting videos of himself flexing his muscles and lifting things. People are strangely willing to pay to see that, he's got commissions to eat and wear various objects and everything. Crazy world, eh!

Realizing that his brothers are now doing better than him, one by being a gangster and the other by posting softcore porn, Edward decides to get back into psychotherapy because goddamnit this won't stand.

Bella asks Renesmee if she too can run errands and be Charlie's secretary. Renesmee readily agrees, her aging was getting too obvious anyway. She becomes Bella's... manager, is the term they land on: Renesmee gets the gigs and Bella does them, both make money.

On seeing Alice struggle without initial capital of her own, Renesmee decides that Alice can run errands too. That way, Renesmee's operation can expand and she will be more effectively be able to compete with the other kids in town trying to make dough or that accursed Esme who cleans and paints houses and mows lawns for free. How do we compete with that? By being cheaper than the other kids and better than Esme!

She has to get more manpower to pull this off, so Emmett and Edward get pulled in as well.

She ends up working Alice, Bella, Edward, and Emmett so hard that Alice's fashionista dreams get put on hold (this is also because she's making such lousy money being a one-year-old's below-minimal-wage-worker that after six months she still can't afford any of the things she needs to get started), while Renesmee has the money to hire the kids who were formerly her competition. To keep them on retainer she has to actually pay them, of course, something she didn't have to do with her family because family will work for $5 a gig.

(Renesmee is in the green)

In the end, Ivan the wealth-eating bolshevik vampire is appalled by the monster he created in Renesmee. In his outrage he takes all the Cullens' assets again, and tells the Volturi on them because he won't stand for such blatant exploitation of the workers!

Aro can't even.

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ginwhitlock · 3 years

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summary: human!JASPER/ human!BELLA. Bella is called to deliver day supplies to a very tired and mostly lost 1st Regiment Calvary, headed by no other than Major Jasper Whitlock. What will the two do once left alone to go over maps of the Tennessee hills?

fic type: oneshot, SMUT 18+

warnings: is set in the civil war, which means Jasper is a soldier in the confederacy literally only because he’s from Texas I promise, it would’ve been weird to make him union and apart of the Texas Calvary as that wasnt a union regiment, I do not support the confederacy or any of its beliefs, its just part of his backstory and this fic is centered directly in his human life (the confederacy itself is not mentioned in detail, it is just alluded to the fact). This is a smut fic but not hardcore in anyway so be warned. Oh also I made Bella and Emmett siblings. Of course.

She almost broke his nose kissing him.

She almost shattered bone and cartilage clicking their teeth together, enamel scraping enamel.

She almost caved in the center of his face so she could lick the insides of his molars, separate his jaws to find the pit of his throat, dangle her self righteousness by his uvula.

And to think she almost didn’t go out that morning.

Isabella Marie was the kind of pretty you didn’t see right away. The layers of fine muscle and fragile skin hiding the richness of her blood-red cheeks, crisp even in the horrible heat of August. And with that heat came hot headed Calvary men with unlined coat pockets and a hunger for pretty little girls.

She met Major Whitlock three miles outside of town, the local preacher sending her out to their camp with as many baskets as her daddy’s two mules could hold on their hips. She was flushed, the slot of her breastbone slick with afternoon sweat— her riding boots did nothing but slosh around with her pale feet inside, leather no match for Tennessee mountain hidin weather.

Maybe she should’ve dropped ice down her shift. Maybe she should’ve played dead and waited for God to put her on her ass.

The thin brunette was graced with the presence of an even skinner red head the moment Stubborn Ass’s (as she affectionally called her steed in private) hooves entered the temporary camp. The mans hair fell limply in front of his eyes which were slightly sunken, the blue of his irises molting into a starved shade of dust. His lips were worse. Once pink and slightly plump, now skinny and cracked with the less than dusty air.

“Is this the 1st Regiment Calvary? From Texas?” Her voice was strained and feverish, salt dripping off her Cupid’s bow.

The man nodded and offered a hand, “Names Sargent Henry Arquette. Nice to see you Miss, the boys haven’t been able to get any supplies up here for days,” Bella grasped his hand tightly, afraid her unskilled balance would come into play, and forced her weight down to the ground ungracefully, “you’re the sheriffs daughter, right miss?” His smile seemed correct handing off his skinny face, his teeth crooked and off centered, but sweet. She quirked her lip in return.

“Yes Sargent, I seem to be your supply wagon today. There’s more back in town but I was told you wouldn’t be in for a day or so.” Flushed and overdressed, that’s how she felt. Every second.

Henry took in the view of the well fed half breeds and gestured off handedly, something she would come to learn was an action he didn’t even notice he performed. “Day. Days. Who knows until we ration it. These trails are less trails and more raccoon paths. I’m just waiting to see why the hell we’ve been sent so far east to begin with.” He had no recognition what was proper to say in front of the young lady at his side, the year had been sucked dry of any feminine… life, to say lightly. A piece of his brain nudged him for speaking so plainly, but Bella never once looked offended and twitched her head in both sympathy and understanding. She had been raised in these hills. She knew their damnation like the back of her hand. Maybe even the back of her skull.

“I’ve heard about raids up in McMinnville. Bases and such lining up and down the mountain. My brother’s part of the 16th Regiment Calvary up there actually, you know. Things are heating up in our little slice of the world.” The little thing spoke like a sparrow, her nose pointed and soft, the bottom of her front teeth pillowing into her bottom lip. At the age of seventeen she seemed somehow both grounded and unsure.

The south was ripping itself apart. And she— and the Sargent, knew it.

Bella could see the redhead start to comment on her brothers hand me down gossip when a giant of a man— boy? Man? Definitely man, by the looks of his muscled shoulders and high jaw, the darkened cast shifting just under the skin of his cheeks, the low dip of a scar just below his brow— a brow which furrowed, twisted, and arched back up into his tanned forehead when he noticed the mules waiting restlessly, tails swinging behind a girl in a kinder man's idea of a dress and interrupted the lower soldiers train of thought.

“You must be Miss Isabella McCarty. I spoke to your father when we arrived last night.” Clipped and forward were his words, his hand outstretched in front of him, decorated in mis-matched freckles and calluses she could feel pressing into the column of her throat as she placed her small palm in his. “Major Jasper Whitlock, at your assistance.”

No smile graced his face but by God she would witness his lips stretch over his teeth if it was the last thing she ever did.

Still with her hand in his she whispered “You can call me Bella. Or Bella Marie. Or Isabella Marie oh or my mother calls me Belle or sometimes when my father is upset with me he calls me Marie McCarty like my grandmother used to and um..” her tongue had to have swelled to the size of a watermelon in the three seconds it took to look him in the eyes— the swamp green eyes in fact. Eyes the color of duckweed and marigold stems and whatever leaves would stick to the blackberries in the spring.

He laughed. And it sounded like a white flag waving in her insides. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Maybe the preacher was a righteous man after all.

“I like Isabella Marie. Miss Isabella Marie.” Like rain drops on a tin ceiling.

The Arquette boy looked between the two before edging towards the black mules “Any orders where to put these, Major?” Skinny lips. Skinny spine.

Jasper had finally looked up from the strawberry cheeked girl in front of him, released their hands, and knocked his head backwards, towards the other soldiers checking tents and cleaning their own horses.

“Just take em back to the storage tent. Not like it’ll be competing for space.” The Major looked back at his men “Calhoun, Jennings, help Arquette move these rations will you? Make yourself useful for once.” His voice didn’t have to boom and condense like a rung out air horn, the cool of his vocal cords carried and personally plucked the not yet men from their activities and dragged them towards the group of three. Like some sort of magic act.

Bella was far from resigned. “So Major Whitlock, what would you like me to do?” Hopeful eyes, always searching to please. Or to piss off— as Emmett always scorned.

An upturn of lips flashed through Jaspers face and he looked to the sky for a mere moment “Mind helping me sort out some of my maps back in camp? My backwoods knowledge ain’t as sharp as my Houston kind and you seem like an expert in this area, getting yourself up to us all alone.” Bella’s feet started to move on instinct towards the felted wool tent covering a hundred or so feet behind the large man, but his hand stopped her at the shoulder, “And, if you don’t mind, would you be my guide back to town this evening? I’ve got to scout the path for the boys to pull through by the end of this week.”

She should’ve thought longer about it, linger over his words, the way his tongue flicked over his canines and brushed noticeably at the edge of his front teeth. But she didn’t. Not now. Not when the time it would’ve taken could pick at the carefully constructed wall built specifically for boys with serpent tongues. And lion hands. And bear teeth and… he still waiting for her response.

A shake to her head “Of course Major. If you’ll help me bring the mules back home, you’d be more help to me than I think I’d ever be to you.”

He could taste her self doubt. And he didn’t like it.

A jut of his brow led them through the ragged campsite, broken down cinders coating the bottom of her unusually worn boots, the lace of her dress clashing horribly with the scent of charred flesh and resting wounds. If only she knew a doctor. If only the town still had one.

His tent was one of the stronger ones, every inch placated with the spine of a book or a map binder or a drape of letters. He needed a desk and a real bed and maybe someone to make sure he stayed warm during the mountain nights.

Jaspers hands found a tiny stack of drawn maps and laid them over his now folded lap on the ground. Bella swiftly found her place at his bended knee and ran a finger over the torn edge. “These look older than my father. It doesn’t even mark the trail you follow to town.” The squishy flesh of her thumb traced an invisible oil line through the mountain and deposited itself in a town with seemingly no name, according to the parchment. “That’s home. If you’re following these maps I don’t quite understand how you ever got here.” Her eyes were full, engorged on road markers and faded city names.

Jasper softly nodded, their heads just inches from each other as she leaned in to scour the map. He had barely gotten to the camp they were in, his right hand Henry doing nearly all of the sight work. He’d be a hell of a tracker if he was a bloodhound. The blond almost chucked at the thought of Henry with big floppy mutt ears, yelping at the pretty girl almost in Jasper’s lap.

Her hair was like a chocolate waterfall. The good chocolate that mama got sent to her from her sister up north, the kind that was broken off continuously, piece after piece fed to him and his sisters until nothing was left.

Part of him wanted to see if she tasted as sweet.

He’d blame it on how damn long it’s been since he’s smelled anything other than soured sores and gunpowder. Even if Miss Isabella Marie smelled good enough to eat. Good enough to take like a man starved. And God— Jasper hungered like no other.

“There’s a river through the valley here, if you can find yourself through the woods.” Bella had found a piece of graphite and drawn in the harsh line of a hidden waterway just a mile or so from camp. She looked up at him as she spoke, her eyes warmly whiskey colored through her lashes.

His mouth clenched. “How old are you Miss McCarty?”

She blinked rapidly, like coming out of a daze. “Seventeen.”

Her hand dropped the instrument to the paper and draw up to his knee, the covered bone sharp under her knuckles.

“Do you have a boy at home waiting for you, Miss McCarty?” Hot air blew from his mouth to hers like a heatwave. Like a curse.

Bella’s lips formed a small “No” as she slid her small hand up the Major’s thigh, her singular ring gliding like margarine inch my inch as the seconds ticked by, each breath marking the two closer.

“Do you have a wife, Major?” Only whisper escaped her rosebud mouth, his face turning downwards, noses only separated by spirit.

“I was too busy waiting for you, it seems, Miss Bella.”

Her heart thumped her chest hard enough to make her ears ring.

Bella’s fist jumped from Jasper’s thigh to his army issued button up and crushed his chest to her own, her lips finding purchase slotted against his, the force clinking their front teeth together without care. His hands were gripping the roots of her soft waves, their skulls as close as their skin would let them. She wanted more, more, the heat suffocating the tent from more than the August sun. Her thin fingers slipped easily through the button gaps as his tongue invaded the privacy of her mouth. A horrible demented part of her brain screamed ‘Take, Take, Take. Mark me down and climb into the spaces that were meant to fit just us.’ Her brother had always called her too much of a dreamer. Too much of a poet and a believer and an artist. But God. This man was in her hands and she felt like a masterpiece.

A man she hardly knew.

But somehow, the scrape of his knuckles against her soon to be bare thighs felt like they had known each other at birth. Like Texas and Tennessee were just minutes from each other. As if they were the only bodies in the whole entire war.

Jasper’s hands were of no gentleman’s when he unfastened the ribbons holding her skirt to her waist, the under coat used for riding coming off like silk in his calloused palms. She was moaning into his mouth, the world outside the tent becoming buttery soft and not to be worried about. All there was was Jasper and his fucking mouth moving to her neck and his teeth toying around her jaw.

“Jesus, Major” He chuckled at her swear and rid her completely of every layer but her shift and the wool of her stockings, the small corset she wore becoming just cannon fodder for the mouth and hands of the Cavalryman.

“I love when you call me that, darlin. Wanna hear you scream it.” She had barely gotten open a single button on his shirt before he brushed the maps out of the way and flipped her on her back underneath him, the sway of his curled mane teasing her, the golden wheat just barely out of the reach of her teeth or fingers.

She wanted to use it like reins.

She’d especially like calling him by his rank then.

“You know I—“ her breathing caught the better of her as he lifted her by her thighs and dragged her ass to his kneeled position, his fingers running up her stockings with particular care, each inch another layer to her growing wetness. She didn’t let go of her breath until he had reached the skirting of her underdress, the white cotton nearly see through with the sweat sticking to every inch of her skin. His watery eyes devoured the sight with an indescribable hunger. Like a wolf hanging over a bleeding lamb.

What a happy sacrifice she’d be.

“Are you a good little southern girl, Isabella?” His fingertips brushed just under the fabric, his intent not easily hidden behind his hardened brow.

She came out trembling, she couldn’t tell over excitement or fear. “Yes Sir. No ones ever…” even her mother would blush saying those words.

Jasper finally smiled, sharp and soul quenching, like a mist of rain before a hurricane.

“I’m going to ruin you.” He couldn’t tell her about the wedding playing out behind his eyes or the static electric resonance he felt thinking about how another man would never get to lay a hand on his pretty Isabella.

His fingers slipped over her cunt, the soft curling hair tickling his fingertips. The moist warmth wet his fingers before skirting over her lips. He almost groaned. She was soaked. He had to see what his little Belle looked like in the light.

Jasper’s eyes met Bella’s giant blown out doe ones, her elbows holding up her upper body, trying to anticipate his very next move.

If they were playing chess, he was going to win. And she had always been a sore loser.

The skirt of the shift creased with the heat of his palms against her stomach, the slightly cooler air blowing across her pussy, making Bella suck in a breath through her teeth, her bottom lip becoming stuck under them with practiced strength.

Her knees knocked against Jasper’s hips as he watched the pink of her pussy clench around nothing, her wet little hole puckering and buzzing with the want of something under his trousers. He licked his lips as he had a gathered two fingers at her slit and traced upwards, her breath coming out in pants as he reached her clit, the engorged nub nearly ringing in her ears. A small circle over it make her moan from her throat. Bella had never felt someone else’s touch, she had never realized how much she wanted for it. She never knew how much she wanted Jasper to touch her.

The solider took his time as he brought the pads of his fingers back down to her achingly small hole and gathered some of her slick, the smell of sweat and Bella nearly driving him half insane as he brought a finger to his mouth, his tongue licking her clean off.

If Bella could speak to God directly and have him reply, she’d thank him for the creation of Major Jasper Whitlock.

But all she could do was cry out for more. And more he silently promised to give.

Maybe too much.

He had to stretch her out, the head of his cock wouldn’t fit into her without an orgasm in her, not now at least. Jasper slowly brought his hand back a third time and entered a single finger, her hips nearly bucking against his wrist as he slowly sat himself. A bead of sweat ran off his brow. A second finger partnered with the first after a few pumps, in and out, in and out. The near wetness coated on those fingers alone could bring him to release in his cot. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Isabella I have to—“ “Please Major I need—“

The two looked at each other, their mouths in sync as they sat, their souls intertwining and bundling up into a bramble of wonderful thorns, coy smiles gracing both their faces.

Bella sat up slowly and draped a hand over Jasper’s belt buckle. “May I, Major?” The shorty craftsmanship of the iron buckle became putty under her unskilled hands as he nodded, now without words for the angel in front of him. The belt was off before the two noticed and Jasper brought his issued pants down to his ankles and off with his shoes to rest with the scraps of her dress he had taken off so quickly.

“Do you… always go bare?” The squeak of Bella’s voice made Jasper snicker like the teenage boy he technically still was, the nineteen year old clicking his teeth together and grinning. “Miss McCarty, sometimes underpinnings only get in the way of an army man.” A deep blush settled into her cheeks as she slapped at his chest, his shirt hanging open just slightly as he pushed her back to the floor.

“Shush, Whitlock.”

His smile turned feral as the head of his cock graced the hood of her clit, bouncing just slightly with the breath of their bodies. Jasper marked in his head that this should be a sight to see on their wedding night, not their first night together, but by God was it a beautiful one.

He looked at her as he grasped one of her hips with his right hand and the base of his cock with his left. “Breathe, Belle. Breathe with me, alright?” She nodded her head slowly and brought her own hand to the tent floor, grasping tightly.

Jasper’s hand guided the head carefully over her lips and to her quivering entrance. One buck and he’d tear her to badly to bear. No matter how long it had been… he’d never rush with his Isabella. Not now.

He slowly pushed in, the stretch a burn like no other, Bella’s voice turning from a quick steal of breath to a long sigh, the air being pushed out as he took her in. Inch by inch she devoured him, the heat marking his cock in emotional third degree burns. The sky burned brighter, the colors in his eyes turned clearer. Her hips and her fragile skin and the slip of her cunt was the end of the world and the birth of something entirely new. She grasped his shoulders as he mumbled a slew of impressive praise as he allowed her to adjust and seated himself at the very base of her cervix. Her throat screamed out to him as her nails dug in his back.

A wonderful, wonderful burn.

Bella slipped a hand to Jasper’s hip to push him back, to set any and all pace so that the fire would keep burning. He quickly slotted his face in the clench of her neck and began to move his pale hips, beginning to push and pull within her very tight walls.

The tent was full of grunts and moans and breathy screams he was sure the entirely camp heard. But Jesus Christ he didn’t give a single damn at that very moment. His boys knew to stay out of his shit and they be proven that every second until his angel’s orgasm.

God he wanted to fill her up. Wanted to take all of his cum and bury it deep where the lord intended, leave her leaking and exhausted and full of everything he had. He’d empty his balls in her again and again if it meant the Tennessee flower in his arms would keep him forever.

He wanted her forever.

“Major, deeper, please God please yes YES.” Jasper’s hips were snapping at a rapid pace, his balls slapping against her ass as he drove her into the hard ground. He could feel her tighten up the way he felt the air change around him before a fight broke out, the way a horse steps on a snake without jumping. There was an electricity in the air and the moment Bella tore his head out from her and pulled him into a jaw crushing kiss, he was crumbling at her feet, her pussy clenching and spasming around his cock with enough force to take out a grizzly bear.

She locked her legs around his hips as he all but collapsed into her, his hair sweaty between her fingers as she combed through it as his dick twitched it’s last time inside her belly. Jasper’s own hands found repentance under her ass and stayed there, too tired to remove himself from her heat.

“That ride home is gonna be sweaty, isn’t it?” Her whisper made her snort and bite into the side of her neck as she giggled.

#btw the link on the summary is always the ao3 link #i cross post things there #jasper/bella #my writing #mine #writing #fic #twilight #thetwilightsaga #twilight fanfiction #jasper hale #jasper Whitlock #jasper Cullen #bella swan #confederacy tw #smut tw #smut

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goldeneyedgirl · 2 years

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TwiFicMas Day 9: Mermaid AU

Today's offering is a mostly-retired version of a mermaid AU. Retired because it felt a little paint by numbers, and I kind of think a modern mermaid AU might be more dynamic.

As we hit the end of Ficmas, is there anything anyone is *dying* for that I can bump to the top of the list?

Blood stains bloom in the sand as she limps up the beach, dragging the rough cloth around her – the fabric is stiff with salt, and it burns into her cuts, but there is nothing else to protect her modesty. Not here, at least.

The pier hasn’t been used in decades, half-rotten and forgotten on this stretch of beach. A good hiding place.

She remembers when sanctuary meant something more than half-rotten cloth and a dark place to hide.

Little gasps escape her lips - her legs and feet are slashed to ribbons, and the pain radiates hot and agonizing throughout her body. She is exhausted and starving, but she made it. She is safe. For now.

Finally.

The sky and sea are churning, grey and angry, and there is something reassuring about the rage that precedes a storm.

“You know, not matter how hard you scowl, it isn’t going to change anything?”

Jasper looked up from where he was staring out to sea – goddamn sea – and looked up to find his cousin smirking at him in, quite frankly, an unladylike way.

Rosalie looked ready for high tea somewhere, not clumping around an old ship – her blonde hair pinned up, delicate jewels hanging from her ears and throat, her dress a soft pink beacon surrounded by muddy blue water, brown wood, and the dark wool of everyone else on board.

“Shouldn’t you be sewing or gossiping below deck?” Jasper asked archly, and Rosalie scowled – the twin of the one on Jasper’s face a mere moment before.

“Utterly hilarious, Jasper,” she sniffs. “It was far too stuffy and unpleasant below deck that I decided to get some fresh air.”

Jasper chuckled. “So, it had nothing to do with the fact that McCarty is working on deck this morning?”

He wasn’t imagining the soft pink tone in his cousin’s cheek as she haughtily looked away. “I have no idea where Emmett is this morning.”

“Oh, it’s Emmett now, is it?” He was enjoying himself. It had been so long since Rosalie had smiled, and joked around.

In truth, the voyage was worth it just to see Rosalie looking like herself again. A little sadder, a little sharper, but still essentially Rose. He would travel on a hundred ships to the corner of the universe, to put Rosalie back together again, so he figured a little teasing wouldn’t hurt too much.

The Hale-Whitlock escape from New York City was currently something of a scandal – mostly because it had been such a quiet season in the city. Within the space of three weeks, people had gone from carelessly debating the appropriateness of the new King residence on Park Avenue (gauche, very ‘new-money’) to whispering behind gloved hands about the Hale-Whitlock family. And whilst the rumours swirled higher and higher, Jasper couldn’t deny there was a great deal of truth to them.

There were lies circulating, too – he hadn’t been completely left out of the will when his parents died; no debtors had chased him from the country, and his two sisters had made good marriages long before he packed up his things and headed to his closest kin. Though it was true that neither of them had opened their houses to him, and he was fairly certain he was persona non grata in Texas at the moment.

It didn’t matter though - Aunt Lillian had welcomed him, delighted at the idea of her dashing nephew joining Rosalie in the social circuit, no matter the scandal that had sent him over the Mason-Dixon Line. Rosalie had taken some time to thaw to his presence in her home, as her chaperone and escort, but they were kindred spirits, as close as brother and sister. And New York had been good for him – something new, a challenge to conquer, a strange riddle to understand. Whitlock Ranch hadn’t exactly prepared him for Manhattan cocktail parties and box seats at the opera.

Of course, some days, he had felt like packing up Rosalie and taking her back to Texas. He had tried to talk to Vernon a few times, but the man had made it clear that he didn’t care a whit what Jasper had to say. After all, Rosalie was the flower of the family, the most beautiful and envied socialite, and Jasper was short of disgraced, the orphaned son of his sister-in-law. What could he possibly know?

If it hadn’t been for Rose, Jasper would have washed his hands of the whole mess and high-tailed it back to Texas the following day, no matter what was waiting for him. There had to be a way to protect Rose without drawing Vernon Hale’s ire.

Royce King was dangerous, moreso than his aunt and cousin could ever comprehend. There had to be a way out.

Before he worked it out, there had been the terrible accident.

And the worse aftermath.

Whatever their misfortunes, Jasper was eternally grateful the hideous emerald ring was gone from Rosalie’s hand. Whatever else fell apart, at least he could protect his cousin and make sure she was taken care of.

The letter had come in the spring, crumpled and stained, all the way from England. From an Esme Cullen, a name that had made Rosalie smile. The exceptionally polite missive offered sympathies for the loss of Lillian and Louisa, and their respective husbands. Esme had been school friends with both Lillian and Louisa, and was Rosalie’s godmother – though she hadn’t seen Rose since she was very young, when Esme had left for England to marry a doctor.

I understand how difficult it can be to be left utterly alone in your youth, and whilst you have each other, I would very much like to invite you into our home and our family for as long as you will have us.

The offer was unexpected at best. London. London. How far from Texas could he possibly get? And who was this woman, truly, opening her home to them for as long as they wished?

But Rosalie had still looked utterly haunted and miserable then, and Jasper had wondered aloud at the possibility of a London season, she had perked up some. And it wasn’t like his sisters had invited either of them into their marital homes, or any of Rose’s father’s family had reached out. It was London, or haunting the halls of Rosalie’s empty childhood home – he knew better now than t0 suggest they retreat back to Houston.

“London,” Rose said certainly. “It will be good for us, Jasper. Even if we only stay for a little while. We can see Paris and Berlin, too.”

For the first time in weeks, Rosalie put herself together and began to make plans. Jasper was sure he’d be bankrupt in a week, the amount of telegrams Rosalie sent to Mrs Cullen to plan their journey. Dr Cullen knew of a privately-owned ship leaving Boston for Europe, with a stop in Portugal and Spain, that had spaces for passengers and arranged for them to join it in New York.

And here they were, two days into their journey.

The ship was hardly the luxury liner he pictured Rosalie insisting upon. It was clearly a modest business venture, loaded with cargo. There were roughly a dozen very small rooms, half of which were reserved for the crew. The rooms themselves were basic – a narrow metal closet, a set of bolted-down bunk beds, a sink and a bolted down desk and chair. Most of their luggage was strapped down with the rest of the cargo, though Rosalie had taken the time to unpack her things for the journey and settle in.

The other travellers were an older eccentric named Alistair, who had shut himself into his berth every morning after breakfast, emerging at dinner. He was erratic, haunted and reeked of stale liquor; and an Irish trio – Liam and Siobhan, who were travelling with Siobhan’s cousin, Maggie. Maggie was younger than Rosalie, but both girls got along well, though Siobhan encouraged Maggie to stay close and not roam the ship like Rose.

The crew were a very nice group – the ship was owned and captained by Emmett McCarty and a man simply known as Garrett to all, who used it to run a respectable but modest shipping and transport business. Then there was Randall, Riley and Laurent – the crew – and Mary, the cook.

Jasper had asked about the smallness of the crew, and Garrett had mentioned a few other crew members who were remaining behind in the US for the next few months, as the ship fulfilled its European contracts and would re-join the ship when they returned to New York in the late summer before Emmett and Garrett shut the business down over the winter.

It had been an ordinary evening. He and Rosalie were in for the evening – Rosalie was recovering from a cold, and Aunt Lillian had declared the evening’s invitations inappropriate for people of their status. But Uncle Vernon had an invitation for him and Lillian to attend a dinner party at a colleague’s house, and they had gone.

No one knew why the car had burst into flames in such a way, or why Vernon and Lillian hadn’t been able to escape the burning vehicle. But they were dead, leaving Rosalie an orphan in one dreadful night.

The police had turned down Jasper’s offer to identify the body, since there was nothing identifiable about them – just the remains of Uncle Vernon’s cigarette lighter. The sight of which made Rosalie faint.

The funeral had been two days later, with Vernon’s family prominent at the event. Rosalie had looked small and young in her black lace, tucked into Jasper’s side.

And then there had been the will reading.

Rosalie had been left her belongings, some jewellery and modest assets, mostly art and ornaments and a small allowance. The money and property would have only been hers had she been married. Everything else had been left to Vernon’s brother Maxwell.

Maxwell, who had smiled victoriously across the table at them, and given them twenty-four hours to pack and get out of his house. The servants, the house, everything inside the house – it was all Maxwell’s. Rosalie could claim nothing but a modest allowance from the trust.

Jasper had stared at Rose’s pale face, and sneered at Maxwell, and bought the house for Rosalie. In both their names, so that Rosalie might never have her birthright stolen from her. He paid a ridiculous amount, though consoled himself that the artworks in the Hale house were worth more than conniving Maxwell realised.

And then Jasper realised Rose might be a Hale first, but she was also a Whitlock lady, and in his care. There was money from Grandfather Whitlock, for all his grandchildren, and goodly amount. Jasper had invested much of his in his horses and had a good return (he would trust no one but Peter with his horses during his absence). His oldest sister had spent hers on a London season. His other sister had used hers as a dowry.

But Rosalie’s was untouched, and forgotten.

It took little more than a day to pen all his letters, and arrange things. To dissolve Rosalie’s engagement – easy to do when Maxwell Hale’s inheritance was so well reported – and Royce had a new debutante on his arm within the week. To set up Rosalie a trust. To direct all Hale accounts to the office of Maxwell Hale. To sell and trade and secure.

The girl blinked owlishly back at him, worry and fear etched into her face.

She was beautiful. A black cloud of hair framed her face, and a rope-like braid was tossed over one shoulder. Enormous golden eyes stared out at him, from alabaster skin. She was huddled beneath a filthy piece of cloth,

Rosalie smirked at him as she presented Alice to him.

Her hair had been washed, cut and brushed, a loose tumble of curls over one shoulder. Her cheeks were tinted pink, and her dress was soft blue-grey, that made her eyes even brighter. A choker of pearls wrapped around her throat, and she wore tiny dancing slippers.

“I managed to cobble together a wardrobe for her,” Rosalie said and Alice shyly smiled.

Jasper gasped.

Alice perched on the rocks, looking sad. Grey-blue scales were forming on her legs as the water washed over them, slowing pulling them together and covering them in swirling patterns, delicate fins that were almost transparent forming at the ends. Her hair hung wetly against her face, and the dress seemed to have dissolved into sand across her torso, her hair providing a small amount of modesty.

Mermaid.

Thin scars rested on her neck, and as he watched, they deepened and gills. They were actual gills. He wanted to be sick.

She reached out to touch his cheek.

“I am sorry. I never meant for harm to come to anyone when I ran.” In his head, her voice was sweet, like bells, and full of such sorrow. “I know not who perished, but your cousin and her paramour are quite safe. You should be found here within the day.” She looked at the ugly wound on his leg. “I can wait with you until they arrive, if you would like me to.”

“Please. Stay,” he croaked, his mouth dry. She offered a small and adorable smile, sliding off the rocks and into the water, reappearing seconds later at his side, resting on her arms.

Jasper knew that he had a head wound, an angry wound on his leg, had nearly drowned, and various other cuts and bruises, making him somewhat delirious. But the sight of sweet Alice, her black hair shiny with water, her pale skin almost glimmering, and the swell of her breasts above the water was just the sort of image he wanted to carve into his memory forever.

Her story was terrible. An orphan delivered into the care of an uncle who, when the ship went down, prayed to the old gods to take his niece in his place. And they had snapped her up and cursed her, turned her into a mermaid, whilst her uncle had been found and saved, and lived out his life.

The shoal of mermaids she had taken up with traded with a few of the older boats and fishermen – they knew of the mermaids, of the old legends, and were always pleased to see the girls. Most of them were good men, respectful of the girls and of the ancient magic and laws they represented. But there were the younger men who weren’t. Who looked upon the girls with greedy desire, as animals to be captured and imprisoned; they ignored the warnings from the older men, who knew that the ocean would not be pleased at the loss of one of its daughters, especially in such a cruel way.

One of those men was James.

James, from his first glance of Alice, had planned to take her for himself – if not as a lover or child bride, then as a trophy. It had been almost ten years and Alicia had tried to escape James, had left behind everyone she knew to hide from him, but still he came after her.

“He nearly caught me in Barbados,” she told him through their minds, the images flashing in his mind, of tiny Alice with a tall, thin blonde girl sprawled on the beach, watching the scales pale and dull and peel off their bare legs. “Irina and I. Irina was looking for the one she fell in love with, and I was running, so we went together.

“A fishing boat came close, and we thought it might be Marcus. A good man, gives us news and helps us out. His own wife was cursed a long time ago, and he spends his days searching for Didyme,” Alice continued. “In return, we tell him whatever we can; we are fairly certain she was caught in her early days, but Marcus won’t stop. Not until he has drained the sea and named us all. He loves her so much.

“I drew the short straw and swum out to see Marcus. He was kind, warned me James was close. And that he’d found Irina’s sailor – he kept a home in Brighton, she should go to him there.

“We talked too long. He liked our stories, liked to tell us about Didyme, before she was cursed. It was late afternoon by the time I went back to the beach.

“Irina was there, but James was there too. He knew all our tricks, all our magic,” she shuddered. “He’d bound her and raped her and cut her throat. It… it doesn’t kill us like humans. It silences us and it is the most terrible pain, but we do not die. She couldn’t even scream for help… Afterwards, he wet her legs down and cut her scales from her, right to the bone. Cut her braid from her head. That’s what killed her, cutting the scales away. She bled out, slowly.”

She was crying now, white cloudy liquid that spilt down her cheeks and left flecks of salt behind. “And I couldn’t do anything but hide in the caves and wait til he’d gone.”

Jasper wanted to hold her, to sooth her.

“I took her necklace, though, and decided to take it to the sailor and let him know she had been murdered. Perhaps he could stop James in Irina’s name. So, I went to Brighton. It took me a few days to make such a trip - and made me ill, going from warm, to so cold – but I made it. The sailor’s place was remote, an old boatshed you could swim up to through the floor. So I did.

“And he sat there, with James. James plunked down a chunk of Irina and her lovely pink and grey scales and the sailor paid him. And he knew they were Irina’s, knew and still paid the monster for them. He used them in jewellery, in medicine, in magic - they were valuable. The brighter, the better. Our hair is stronger than rope, and he took that too. He never loved Irina at all.

“I followed James when he left, and he had another girl, another mermaid he’d caught. Victoria, he called her. Victory, his first live catch. She had curly red hair and a vicious temper, and he had her chained in iron, so she could never retreat back to the water, and it was slowly poisoning her. She was nothing but a toy for his pleasure. Their babies were born dead, and he’d burn the little corpses. When they ran out of money, he’d wet down her legs and rip her scales out clean. I watched for a long time – he’d had her ten years, since she was cursed, stuck in a shack in the middle of nowhere, but close enough so she could hear the ocean. The iron bracelets around her wrists were melted into the skin.”

She shuddered. “There was nothing I could do. She could never go back into the water again, not with the iron melted into her skin, and she was too weak to run as a human girl. The iron’s poison had left her mostly blind. I couldn’t do anything. I had to leave her there.”

The aid ship arrived in the earliest morning hours. Jasper had finally convinced Alice to return with him, and she had finally climbed out of the water, scooping up handfuls of sand and rubbing it over her torso. As her scales dried and fell away, revealing her pale legs, the sand too dried, and began to weft together until she was wearing a very thin, ragged dress.

“That’s a good trick,” Jasper managed as Alice knelt beside him.

“At heart, I am rather modest,” Alice said, peeling off the cloth to examine his leg. “I could use it to wrap your leg properly, but if it becomes wet again, your wound would fill with sand.”

Jasper winced at the prospect of pain. “I’d rather not test that out.”

Alice giggled. “Understood.”

When the aid ship arrived, Rosalie was white with fear for Jasper, and mortified at his wounds. Alice quickly wove a story about Jasper protecting her at his own cost, to explain her own lack of serious injury. Riley and Mary had perished, Randall hadn’t been found, and both Garrett and Maggie were injured, but everyone else was okay.

By the time they arrived in Dover, they were all glad to be done with the journey. The aid ship had taken them to the Spanish port of A Coruña, where Emmett and Garrett’s ship was waiting for repairs. The bodies of Riley and Mary were buried there – neither had significant family. They had stayed in Spain for a week, where Garrett, Maggie, and Jasper were seen by doctors, and new supplies were gathered.

The sight of Dover was one they were all grateful for. Emmett had rented a smaller ship to take their surviving cargo, Alice, Rosalie, Jasper, and Alistair on to England, whilst Garrett was waiting for repairs of their ship, and Maggie healed enough for Siobhan and Liam to continue on their journey.

Rosalie had occupied herself by fashioning Alice a second wardrobe, and teaching the girl to sew, looking a lot more solemn than she had before the storm. By the time they reached Dover, Alice looked like any other young lady travelling.

When James finally comes for her, she is unprepared. They are within days of leaving for America again – Jasper has come to an agreement with Esme and Carlisle to build them a house on Cullen land, bring his beloved horses from Texas, and breed and train horses. Alice knows that Emmett has already approached Carlisle and Esme, asking if he and Rosalie could remain in the cottage once they are married, so he might save for a respectable home for her, though he has yet to ask Jasper’s permission or choose a ring.

Packing the cases, Alice hummed as she worked, making sure they had everything. They would arrive in very early spring, and leave in early summer, to avoid the terrible heat. Emmett had agreed to take them, drumming up some extra, early shipments to put towards his future.

“Hello Alice.”

Whirling around with a shriek, Alice stared wide-eyed at the man in the bedroom doorway.

James.

#twilight books #alice cullen #jasper hale #jalice #twilight movies #my fic: mermaid and sailor #my fic #my writing #twificmas21 #ficmas21 #ficmas #AU #tropes #mermaids

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comeandreadawhile · 4 years

Text

Give Esme a Farm

The twilight renaissance continues

Animals might not like vampires but they can probably tell when they mean no harm.

It all started when, upon a future move back to the Tennessee house, Esme mentioned offhand she wanted some goats. She had goats growing up and there’s so much grass to mow, they’d be well fed.

Of course she got her goats, and of course they were young.

Cue mothering.

They have to fence off Esme’s flowerbeds so the goats don’t eat them.

For Mother’s Day the girls distract Esme in town while Carlisle and the boys build a coop in the back yard by the goat pen, except Emmett who’s picking up a clutch of chicks from the nearest Tractor Supply. Mothering intensifies. Actual mother hen. It’s no trouble taking care of chicks when you don’t really sleep.

The chickens love Esme they follow her everywhere. They love Emmett because he gives them snacks.

Esme was all about taking in rescue calves. Emmett had been hinting about how cool it would be to have cows and they already had a barn for the goats. Needless to say when he and Rose returned from a weekend trip to find Esme bottle feeding a calf with a bow on its neck, Emmett was over the moon. He spends so many nights in the barn with her that Rose has to try not to be jealous. They add two more calves within the year.

The cows love Rosalie. They follow her when she walks by and nibble at her hair. Whenever they’re being stubborn coming in the barn for the boys, Rose calls and they run to her.

Emmett chases the cows. The cows chase back. He gets to ride the big Jersey sometimes.

They seriously have so much land at this Tennessee house Esme gets sheep for giggles. The cows love the sheep. The sheep love Jasper. They wriggle and fuss when Emmett shears them but they sit politely for Jasper. There’s one ram because Esme loves the lambs and that thing fights Emmett CONSTANTLY. Jasper only gets playful butts to the leg.

Alice learns to spin and starts making her own yarn to both get rid of the wool and to replace all the boys’ ruined sweaters.

Alice and Rose can’t complain about Em and Jazz’s cowboy boots now.

Since Emmett got 3 cows, Carlisle and Esme can’t really deny Jasper a horse. They also can’t deny that the horse makes rounding up the cows easier when Rose isn’t home.

The sheep give Carlisle an excuse to have dogs. He has two Border Collies that are eager to please and love chasing the kids. The kids get herded a lot.

Alice and Edward each get a bunny. If the dogs hadn’t already chased that one stupid fox away from the rabbit and chicken coops Alice would’ve shredded it. Sometimes she and Ed just go sit in the rabbit house because they enjoy how chill the bunnies are.

There’s a barn cat that keeps rats and snakes out. She’s best friends with Carlisle’s dogs and sleeps on the sheep whenever she pleases. She loves Jasper and wove around his legs and screamed at him until he followed so she could introduce him to her kittens. It’s a good thing the sheep love Jasper because he’s always in that barn with those cats.

Emmett chased Alice with a corn snake the cat brought him once. As much as he wanted to keep it he let it go because it really didn’t like his cold hands.

As per my last writing, Jasper still gets a big heckin’ truck. It’s his pride and joy besides his cats and his horse.

Jasper has absolutely taken the horse into town instead of taking his truck though, just for errands though.

If in a position possible to do so, the dogs sleep on Carlisle. The cat sleeps on Carlisle. The rabbits, when not held by Alice or Edward, want to be held by Carlisle. The cows like him well enough but sleep on Emmett. Their people are cold and clearly need all the warmth they can get.

Rose will find Emmett in the barn covered in cows next to Jasper covered in sheep and cats.

Rose gets a pot bellied pig and she adores it. She and Emmett have a pigs vs. cows rivalry now.

Because they want to, and to keep illusion of being twins, the Hales join equestrian sports. Jasper does small time rodeo and Western Dressage, Rose does English Dressage with a horse from the stable she attends.

One time Alice cried wolf and it was just Jacob (who was visiting while Bella was home from college) playing with the sheep.

#Esme Cullen #Emmett Cullen #Jasper Hale #Carlisle Cullen #Rosalie Hale #Alice Cullen #Edward Cullen #give esme a farm 2020 #give the cullens pets #twilight #twilight renaissance

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alinaastarkov · 4 years

Note

Are there any specific Jonrya Quotes that doesn't mean sibling love? If so which ones?

Yes! Loads! Thanks for this ask.

She [Ygritte] is no older than I am. Something about her made him think of Arya, though they looked nothing at all alike. "Will you yield?" he asked, giving the dirk a half turn. And if she doesn't? - Jon VI ACOK

I don’t know about you guys, but it’s not often I’m romantically attracted to someone who immediately reminds me of my sibling. But hey, maybe that’s just me.

Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he'd thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions. She looked plump as she crouched there, but most of that was layers of fur and wool and leather. Underneath all that she could be as skinny as Arya. - Jon VI ACOK

Once again, I tend not to imagine my (future) romantic partner’s naked body and think of my sibling. I’m starting to sense a pattern 🤔

"NO!" Arya and Gendry both said, at the exact same instant. Hot Pie quailed a little. Arya gave Gendry a sideways look. He said it with me, like Jon used to do, back in Winterfell. She missed Jon Snow the most of all her brothers. - Arya I ASOS

Even Arya is comparing her (future potential) love interest to Jon. It’s an epidemic!

She reminded him a little of his sister Arya, though Arya was younger and probably skinnier. It was hard to tell how plump or thin Ygritte might be, with all the furs and skins she wore. - Jon II ASOS

Yet another instance of Jon thinking of Ygritte’s body beneath her clothes and thinking of Arya. Hmm, suspicious 👀

"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly. Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever? - Jon III ASOS

Kind of strange to question his relationship to Arya, especially after all of those inappropriate thoughts regarding Ygritte. And to question only Arya? Seems like someone really wishes they weren’t blood related so it wouldn’t feel wrong to think of her that way...

"It wasn't Longspear, then?" Jon was relieved. He liked Longspear, with his homely face and friendly ways. She punched him. "That's vile. Would you bed your sister?" "Longspear's not your brother." - Jon III ASOS

Real smooth, Jon. Real smooth. Notice how he totally dodges the question? How we never get an answer on if he would bed his sister? Perhaps because the answer is yes?? Notice how this sounds a lot like it might tie in to “their passion will continue to torment them until the secret of Jon’s parentage is revealed in the last book”? Very suspicious.

"He's with the Night's Watch on the Wall." Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn't care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . . "Jon looks like me, even though he's bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me 'little sister.'" Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad. - Arya VIII ASOS

“I know where we could go," Arya said. She still had one brother left. Jon will want me, even if no one else does. He'll call me "little sister" and muss my hair. - Arya XII ASOS

Maybe not explicitly romantic per se, but it is telling that she genuinely believes her own mother and brother would not want her for superficial reasons and because of the people she killed in self-defense, but her belief in Jon doesn’t waver for a single second.

Jon has a mother. Wylla, her name is Wylla. She would need to remember so she could tell him, the next time she saw him. She wondered if he would still call her "little sister." I'm not so little anymore. He'd have to call me something else. - Arya VIII ASOS

Arya’s questioning her relationship with him too?! To distance herself from him and subconsciously make it easier to deal with romantic feelings in the future?! Will it ever end?!

"It's just a sword," she said, aloud this time . . . . . . but it wasn't. Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. - Arya II AFFC

This is so sweet and the specificity of his smile over the more general descriptions of the rest of her family mark it out as different in some way.

She had never cared if she was pretty, even when she was stupid Arya Stark. Only her father had ever called her that. Him, and Jon Snow, sometimes. Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. To her sister and sister's friends and all the rest, she had just been Arya Horseface. But they were all dead now, even Arya, everyone but her half-brother, Jon. Some nights she heard talk of him, in the taverns and brothels of the Ragman's Harbor. The Black Bastard of the Wall, one man had called him. Even Jon would never know Blind Beth, I bet. That made her sad. - The Blind Girl ADWD

Arya loves Jon so much she wishes he could meet her alter-egos too. Ugh, the romantic angst is too much.

"He's to marry Arya Stark. My little sister." Jon could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows, with her dirty face and tangled hair. They would wash the one and comb the other, he did not doubt, but he could not imagine Arya in a wedding gown, nor Ramsay Bolton's bed. No matter how afraid she is, she will not show it. If he tries to lay a hand on her, she'll fight him. "Your sister," Iron Emmett said, "how old is …" By now she'd be eleven, Jon thought. Still a child. "I have no sister. Only brothers. Only you." Lady Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear those words, he knew. That did not make them easier to say. His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton's throat as easily. - Jon VI ADWD

Once again, Jon thinks of Arya in a way that a brother really shouldn’t think of a sister. Funny how he specifically says “Ramsay Bolton’s bed”, and not just any man’s bed? Maybe because he can imagine her in someone’s (his)? Either way, weird thing to think about, Jon. And a very violent reaction to your sister’s marriage. Way more than his reaction to another sister’s marriage. Definitely intense feeling that goes beyond sibling bond.

"I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. "What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?" "Arya." His voice was hoarse. "My half-sister, truly …" - Jon VI ADWD

Need I say more?

Jon felt fifteen years old again. Little sister. - Jon IX ADWD

This is not so big in terms of non-sibling feelings but it is a very intense reaction and also I love Jon being such an emo little shit here cause... Jon, bby, you’re sixteen. Calm down.

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled. "Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. - Jon X ADWD

This is such a romanticised scene and the fact that it mentions Arya at the same time, and Jon’s intense feeling again, gives me pause and made me put it on this list.

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he'd had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon XI ADWD

Again, veeeerrry intense feelings, the mention of her wedding night again, and the fact that he once more questions his relationship with her. It’s too repetitive and obvious not to mean something.

You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … "I think we had best change the plan," Jon Snow said. - Jon XIII ADWD

So, Jon thinks of his former lover and Arya right after, repeats the phrase “I want my bride back” specifically in reference to Arya, and imo “bride” is not what you call someone you have only platonic/ familial feelings for. That would be very weird. Then he abandons all his vows, something he had the opportunity to do and didn’t at least 3 separate times, for and only for Arya, and if that ain’t just the most romantic shit you ever heard. And then of course he literally dies with her as his last thought. Romantic. As. Fuck!

There is more than this, but you asked for things that don’t also mean sibling love, so here you go! 🤗

#asoiaf #jonrya #jon snow #arya stark #jon x arya #jonarya #my meta #sort of #shut up neve #Anonymous #neve has mail

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casspurrjoybellbittner · 5 months

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Wreckless - Call me, darling

*Warning Adult Content*

Emmett Locke didn't expect the knock on his door so soon and when Finnegan Walker walked through the door, he knew something was wrong.

"Are you okay?"

He was wet but it was more than that, he just looked absolutely drained.

"Take off your jacket at least," he suggested when he got no response.

Finnegan heard his words and they were all perfectly reasonable but the weight of the day had settled on his shoulders and he couldn't seem to form a response except for...

"I should go."

For a million reasons, number one being that he wasn't going to be any sort of company tonight and if he was going to go into the office tomorrow and make anything happen, he needed to recharge, somehow.

"I don't think you should," Emmett said, slipping his hands underneath Finnegan's lapels and pushing his wool suit jacket over his shoulders.

He placed it gently over the back of the chair and still, Finnegan hadn't moved at all.

"What's wrong?"

Emmett's voice was comforting and melodic and his eyes showed nothing but concern. Finnegan had wanted to crumple at least three times during the afternoon but had stayed strong. This time he did.

"Everything," he sighed, his eyes downcast.

"Have you eaten?" Emmett asked.

He had obviously just come from work, his tie wasn't even loosened yet.

"I... no. There were bagels in the break room for lunch but that's it."

Emmett was surprised by that, didn't the vice president have someone to handle that for him?

"I can order you something or I might have leftovers in the fridge. I'm sure I have a can of soup in here somewhere and I always have frozen pizza."

At the word 'pizza' Finnegan perked up a bit.

"Pizza sounds really good."

It wasn't exactly a healthy dinner like his parents preferred but sometimes you just need what sounds good. Tonight definitely qualified.

"I'll order the good stuff if you're that excited. What do you want on it?"

"Anything is fine."

Because it was... he would just pick off anything he didn't like.

"Help me out here, Finnegan. Supreme? Veggie? Mountains of cheese?"

He was too mentally exhausted to not be honest for once.

"I like plain cheese but I'll eat anything."

He watched Emmett turn and grab his cell-phone was still standing next to the door when he returned. Emmett gave him a look but he wasn't sure exactly what it meant and then he slowly reached out, gently unfastening his tie and sliding it from underneath his collar. Expensive silk, no doubt. He placed it with Finnegan's jacket.

"Would you like to get out of the monkey suit? I can loan you some sweats."

He watched as Finnegan's eyes darted towards his couch and the fuzzy blanket laying across it.

"Just a t-shirt would be great. I'm fine in my boxers, unless it'll bother you."

Emmett decided he couldn't possibly be serious. What about that could possibly bother him?

"I'll be right back. Sit down and get out of those shoes. They're making my feet hurt just looking at them."

His shoes were comfortable but the belt he was more than ready to lose and his starched shirt came in a close second. He wasn't sure what to do about his socks. His feet were always cold but dress socks and boxers were a definite violation of the sock gap rule. He took them off and tucked them into his shoes and was just shimmying out of his pants when Emmett returned, handing him a boring t-shirt. It was better than nothing. Emmett certainly hadn't expected hot pink boxers with ice cream cones on them but given Finnegan's mood, he didn't think it was the right time to make a joke about them.

"I don't think it's ever taken me that long to pick a t-shirt before, Finnagan. I wasn't sure if I should bring out something that I liked, something well-worn and loved or if it should be like new because that would gross you out. We don't know each other well enough to share clothes yet. I hope this one works."

He was a little bit startled by Emmett sharing his insecurity so freely.

"It'll work but I like fun."

That shouldn't have surprised him. Why did he have this mental image in his head of Finnegan being so straight-laced when his tattoos and everything he was learning about the man so far, seemed to point in a totally different direction?

"Next time then."

He watched as Finnegan pulled on the shirt and curled up on the couch, tucking his feet up onto the cushion before pulling the blanket over himself. He picked up the remote and handed it to Finnegan because it was more than obvious that he didn't want to talk.

"Feel free. Find whatever you'd like."

"Thanks Emmett. I'm sorry for ruining your evening."

That wouldn't do... Emmett felt around to make sure he wasn't going to squash Finnegan's feet and then set on the end of the couch.

"I was going to watch TV and play with my ferret, you're not ruining any grand plans."

Finnegan couldn't help but smirk.

"Play with my ferret sounds really dirty, Emmett."

It did, he couldn't deny it.

"Lucky for you I already did it," he teased.

"Or unlucky," Finnegan sassed right back.

"Is this a smart TV?"

He looked at the remote to try to figure it out but it was a different set up than the one in his apartment.

"Wait... this one?" he asked, pressing the menu button.

"Yep, what are you looking for?"

"YouTube."

Finnegan found it quickly but when the search screen came up, he paused.

"Do you hate cartoons?"

What kind of question was that?

"No. I don't love them madly but what cartoons do you mean? I mean there's like South Park and the Simpsons which are very different from Dora the Explorer."

Finnegan was saved from answering by a sharp knock on its front door. He couldn't believe the pizza was here already but he could smell it from the couch and Emmett had a huge box in his hands. He wanted to offer to help but since he was pant-less he stayed exactly where he was... besides, it was chilly. He waited until Emmett closed the door and then followed him into the kitchen.

"Can I help?"

He needed to remember to drop a twenty dollars on the table before he left since his wallet was in his pants.

"Yeah. Eat something and talk if you want to darling, tell me why everything is wrong. If you don't want to talk, that's fine too. I'm going to steal a piece of your pizza."

He got a plate out for Finnegan but didn't bother getting himself one, just held the heavy slice with two hands.

"Sometimes toppings are overrated."

Finnegan almost answered with a dirty comeback about topping but he was too busy shoving pizza into his face. When he finally did speak it was only to moan.

"This is so good."

"It's literally a block and a half away. Tiny little hole in the wall but so, so good."

After his second piece Finnegan leaned back in the chair and wiped his hands off.

"Not everything sucks but work is a disaster right now. I've spent four months and three million getting ready for Monday and today it all went to shit. Plus, Megan is out because her kid's sick which makes everything twice as hard. I really don't know what I'm going to do."

Emmett barely knew the basics about what Finnegan did and certainly couldn't be of any help.

"I'm sorry. I would help if I could."

But he was.

"This helps. I had to get out of the office but for some reason I just couldn't face going home. I guess because I thought that if I went home then I would eat and go to sleep and it would be tomorrow already. That doesn't make sense, does it?"

"Makes perfect sense to me, routine can really get you down after a while."

The monotony of the Army had nearly driven him crazy on more than one occasion.

"You asked me about cartoons, what do you want to watch?"

He had several favorites but not all of them were available on YouTube and he wasn't sure how much he wanted to try to get away with tonight.

"Have you ever seen Space Ghost? Coast to coast," he added.

"I have, what's that evil dude's name? The praying mantis?"

Finnegan laughed.

"Zorak."

"Yeah and the other dude who sings the funny songs. Bric?"

"Brak," Finnegan corrected, laughing.

His songs are the best.

"I love beans, is a classic."

"A dude in my platoon loved that show, used to play it at night."

He struggled, trying to hum the song in his head that he couldn't quite remember.

"Wait, the days song. How does it go?"

"What day is it? Let's find it, I love that one."

"I can't believe I forgot," Emmett lamented.

"The days used to blur together in the desert and every time someone asked what time it was or what day it was, Phillips would break into song. Sometimes under his breath in formation. Even when we couldn't hear him, you knew he was doing it and people used to get in trouble for snickering and laughing all the damn time. He was funny."

While Finnegan played with the YouTube app, Emmett pulled the cushions off the back of the couch and laid down on his side.

"You've gotta share the blanket."

Finnegan glanced back once he found the right video. He had never snuggled on the couch with someone while watching cartoons but it seemed perfect. He did his best to get comfy and then whispered...

"Are you okay back there?"

"I'm good darling, relax."

So he did. For the next hour they went through video after video, laughing and snorting and generally enjoying themselves. He loved when Emmett's arm came down to wrap around his chest and snuggled in.

"Your couch is perfect. The one in my apartment is so hard."

"I like my couch too. Even more with you on it," Emmett answered.

Finnegan yawned so wide that his eyes watered.

"It's getting late," he whined, not wanting to go.

"It is," Emmett agreed, wondering if he should offer.

But hey, why not? Who ever turned down a blow job? The question was, how?

"Finnegan?"

"Yeah?"

"I know this is awkward but I'm more than happy to help you out tonight if it would help you relax, if you get my drift."

Finnegan understood right away but then second-guessed himself, replaying Emmett's words in his head.

"What are you offering?"

"A blow job or a hand job if you prefer. I thought it might make you feel better."

It would, of course. Even more than that, it was really thoughtful.

"I... I mean how can I say no?"

Without it being awkward he found himself on his back, Emmett above him and slowly sliding down towards his waist. He gripped his bicep, halting him, then pulled him down for a kiss.

"I've never gotten a BJ from someone with facial hair. Should I be nervous?"

"No one has ever complained."

Not that there had been many. He wondered briefly if Finnegan might be pierced because it was just something that this complicated man might do but no, he had a perfectly nice circumcised cock and was trimmed neatly.

"Nice," he murmured, teasing Finnegan with his tongue before taking him into his mouth.

He didn't waste time, simply did his best to make Finnegan feel good. He thanked his lucky stars that Finnegan was vocal and responsive and used the gorgeous noises coming out of his mouth to help get him off.

"Jesus Emmett, that was so good," Finnegan half gasped, still catching his breath.

"Your turn?"

He couldn't remember the last time he had turned down an offer but he knew how rough Finnegan's day had been and it really was getting late, considering that he still had to drive home.

"I'll take a rain check. It's getting late."

Hopefully he could cash it in soon. Finnegan didn't argue, just sat up and started pulling on his pants.

"You know what they say about guys who don't have sex on the first date?"

Emmett could only shrug.

"They say they have tiny dicks."

Emmett's eyes widened.

"Is that so?"

He followed Finnegan to the door and kissed him hard, grinding himself against Finnegan's hip.

"Does that feel tiny to you?"

"No, no," he replied, grinning.

"Feels pretty damn perfect but I just needed to check."

He casually reached down and palmed Emmett through his pants.

"Perfect. I'm glad you're not a racehorse either."

"Nothing porn worthy in there, no."

"Good. I was a little bit of a slut in college but isn't everyone? Anyway, went out with a guy and he kept bragging about the great time I was going to have. Yes, he was creep. Anyway, long story short, you know what having a ginormous dick got him? A blow job, Emmett, a blow job. I had things to do the next day, like walk."

Emmett had covered his mouth with his hand about halfway through that story and at the end all he could do was laugh.

"You crack me up, Finnegan."

"Good. Thanks for tonight... for everything."

He walked Finnegan to his car, holding onto the door as he climbed inside.

"You're welcome. Drive safe, darling."

It wasn't the first time Emmett had called him that but it seemed to be slipping out more and more frequently.

He'd never really liked pet names but...

"You know what, Emmett? I think I like you calling me that."

"Good. Text me when you're home, please."

"I will. Good night Emmett."

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nurtelo · 1 year

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years

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Daylight | Edward Cullen x Stark!OC

Chapter 2 | Invisible String

"You gotta step into the daylight and let it go"

Summary: Delphina Stark, to be frank, is tired. After the events of the Accords are done and half of the Avengers are now considered fugitives, she moves from bustling New York to live with her mom in Forks, Washington. Wielding a sarcastic attitude and crippling self-deprecating humor, she somehow gets wrapped up in the supernatural world.

Word Count: ~3k

Note: Click here for the Masterlist for this series ♡ || Link for my tag list in my Bio ♡

“So, how are you enjoying the school so far?” The voice on the other side of the phone trickles into Delphina’s ear. It’s honey-sweet and wrapped with a warmth that could only belong to Pepper Potts, quelling the homesickness that’s been crescendoing since she stepped on the plane. It’s lunch period and instead of sitting at one of the tables, getting claustrophobic from everyone staring at her like it’s the circus and she’s the newest act, Delphina opted to call a few people, Pepper being at the top of that list.

“Oh you know, I’ve already texted my mom on five separate occasions begging to be home schooled.” Delphina says.

“And?”

“And I received a veto all five times,” Delphina says, a small smile on her lips. Laughter trickles from the speaker into her ears, bringing a smile to Delphina’s face. She can perfectly imagine Pepper’s face right now. The way her face scrunches up, perfectly straight posture bent over slightly, and the small lines that form around her eyes when she smiles. And instead of soothing her homesickness, it ignites it, like a flickering flame being doused in oil. The easy banter and relaxed feeling another reminder of how much she misses New York.

“Well, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Pepper trails off, her voice raising an octave, the statement sounding more like a question.

“Oh, I’m not concerned. When she gets home from work I’m going to ambush her with a PowerPoint presentation and everything.” Delphina says, breathing out a laugh at her own joke. “But in reality, it’s not… the worst, I guess. No one has tried to kill me yet, so there’s that.”

“That’s good, and hopefully the bare minimum for your expectations.”

“Don’t worry Peps, my standards are always low, keeps me from being disappointed in anything,” she says. Turning around and glancing at the clock, it reads 12:45, fifteen minutes until lunch ends and class begins.

“I’ve got to go, my next class starts soon. I’ll talk to you later and tell dad that my plans for overthrowing the patriarchy are currently in phase one. Love you!” she says, walking towards the cafeteria entrance, bag swinging with each step and tapping against her side.

“Will do. I love you too.” Pepper says, laughter lacing each word. And with that, the line goes silent as the call disconnects. With a sigh, Delphina pulls the phone away from her ear and back into her pocket. Opening the door, the loud talking assaults her ears, quickly overcoming the semi-peace that covers the outside like a thick wool blanket.

To her left, there’s a table of obnoxiously attractive people, and hidden in the midst of them is the guy from her Biology class. There’s three guys and two girls, all wearing nice clothes with perfectly styled hair. Matching amber eyes pin on her like a cat pouncing on a mouse, none of them so much as blinking when Delphina meets their gazes.

“Family genes are weird,” she mutters to herself, snapping her gaze away and continuing forward, towards the loudest table in the room, where Bella and all her friends sit at. But before she gets too far away, Delphina swears she hears someone chuckle from the other table. She returns her attention to them, seeing the guy from Biology smirking as he looks at Delphina, amusement dancing in his eyes. She flashes him a quick smile, taking notice of the scowl the blonde woman presents in return.

“New York, New York! How gracious of you to well… grace us with your presence.” Mike calls out upon noticing her.

“I have a name you know,” she mutters, pulling out the chair by Bella with more force than necessary.

“I know, but it’s kind of hard to remember,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck with his brows furrowed.

“It’s Delphina, Mike, not that hard.” Angela pipes up, flashing a quick grin towards Delphina, which she quickly returns.

“Whatever doesn’t matter. Back to what I was originally going to say, how you liking Forks so far?” he questions, moving from his seat across the table so he is standing by Delphina.

“It’s cold,” she grumbles, not meeting his gaze as she pulls out her phone.

“W - yeah. Look, I know we’re not big city New York --” Delphina hums in agreement. “But I’d say we’re alright.” he finishes.

“How long did you practice that one in front of the mirror?” Delphina asks after a moment, moving her eyes from her screen to meet Mike’s. He promptly begins stuttering, face heating up rapidly that longer Delphina stares at him.

“I’d say about 20 minutes, heard him in the bathroom practicing everything he was going to say,” a guy teases, moving behind Delphina like that air. She turns to see Tyler, smirking at Mike before he turns to Delphina, throwing her a wink. And as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone, Mike nearly falling out of his chair as he chases after Tyler.

“Get back here, Tyler!” he yells, nearly tripping at least a dozen times, Tyler just laughs as he runs, effortlessly avoiding Mike. “Not cool, man. Not cool!’

Delphina raises a single brow, her face void of any amusement as they run through the room, Mike screaming like a banshee and Tyler cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West.

“But I do have a question.” she turns her attention to the rest of the table, mainly focusing on Jessica, since she seems to be in the center of all the gossip. “Who are they?” she nods her head in the general direction of the group of gorgeous people. From the way Jessica’s face lights up and a giddy smile overtakes her face, Delphina knows Jessica is the right person to ask.

“Those are the Cullens. Their dad, Dr. Cullen, and his wife Esme adopted them. The two blondes are Jasper and Rosalie Hale, they’re twins. The big guy by Rosalie is Emmett. They like...a thing.” This causes Delphina to raise a brow, but she doesn’t interject. “The other girl is Alice, she’s kinda weird, her and Jasper are a thing. And then lastly there’s Edward, incredibly single and gorgeous, but apparently too good for anyone here.” she finishes, her tone bitter like espresso at that end.

“Cool,” Delphina says, nodding her head and then focusing on her phone again. “So if only two of them are blood-related, why do they all look alike?”

Jessica opens her mouth and then closes it again, like a fish fresh out of water she’s squirming from uncertainly. Before anyone else can say anything, however, Eric interrupts them, claiming the chair between Angela and Delphina.

“Hate to interrupt, but Delphina, I’ve been dying to talk to you all day. I don’t want to spend this precious time on the Cullens. As you probably already know, I’m with the school newspaper, and as the new student - no - as the new student and daughter of Tony Stark you’re the feature, which means I need dirt.” he says, looking at Delphina with puppy dog eyes and a hopeful smile.

“If you need dirt, there’s some outside,” she replies, pointing her perfectly manicured finger towards the building exit.

“You know that’s not what I meant. We can delve into whatever you want: favorite color, check; childhood trauma, also check. I mean, you were in Stark Tower when Loki attacked in 2011 weren’t you? Come on, Del, you’ve got to give me something-- anything, please!” Eric pleads, holding his hands into a prayer symbol.

“Eric, I really don’t think she wants to be on the paper,” Bella speaks up, cutting him off before he can continue talking.

“Yeah, not really my thing. Me and the press don’t get along.” Delphina mutters, checking the time.

12:56.

“What does that even mean?” Jessica asks, taking a bite out of her salad.

“It means, I spent most of my time in New York with Natasha Romanoff.” Delphina says as she shoves her phone in her pants pocket and stands up from her seat.

“Black Widow!?” Eric exclaims, eye lighting up with excitement. Delphina nods her head, grabbing her backpack, throwing its strap over her shoulder

“And if you remember, a few years ago, she told the media and news to kiss her ass. Take that as you will.” And with that she walks away from the table, a smirk on her lips.

“Oh, and it’s pink, but only in pastel,” Delphina calls behind her, long out of hearing range before anyone has a chance to reply.

o0o0o0o

The classroom is relatively empty when Delphina manages to slip in. The teacher, a middle-aged woman with graying brown hair and a pallid complexion is sitting at a desk, intently focusing on some papers. A few students litter the room, sitting at tables that fit two people per desk, making idle chat before the bell rings to signify the start of class. Eyes flicker immediately to the guy from her Biology class with the messy copper hair and honey eyes. He’s sat in the farthest corner, not looking at anyone as he focuses on his notebook.

Delphina approaches the teacher’s desk, gaining the woman, Mrs. Davis’ attention. She glances up at Delphina and then back to the paper in her bony fingers, and with lightning-fast speed, back up to Delphina. She clumsily stands from her chair, nearly knocking over her desk in the process. She thrusts her out towards Delphina, a nervous smile pulling at her lips that are painted with bright coral lipstick.

“You must be Delphina Stark, welcome to History II, I’m your teacher Mrs. Davis, but I think you already knew that.” she chuckles nervously. Delphina slowly takes her hand, giving it a quick shake before dropping it.

“That’s me,” she mutters, handing the teacher the paper she needs signing. She snatches the paper from her hands, Mrs. Davis vigorously signing it, handing it paper a second later

“You’ll be down there, by Edward.” with a quick nod, Delphina turns to go to her chair. She quickly reaches the desk and sits down, tossing her bag on the ground beside her. She turns to look at Edward, who is still intently focusing on his notebook.

“Looks like I can’t get away from you. Or is it the other way around?” A moment of silence passes. A small sigh leaves her mouth as she begins mindlessly scrolling through her phone, more students filtering into the room.

Ring.

The bell pierces through all the noise, indicating that class has officially begun. Delphina slides her phone into her pocket, attempting to appear interested.

“Sit down, Jeremy.” Mrs. Davis scolds one of the rowdy students in the room, a football player she’s seen hanging around school. Mrs. Davis moves from behind her desk towards the center of the room. “Today, we’ll be covering World War II, but before we jump into today’s lesson, we have a new student today.” Mrs. Davis says, pointing back towards where Delphina is sitting. “Delphina Stark.” All at once, everyone in the class turns to look at Delphina, whispering to one another as their eyes lock on her.

She offers a pathetic wave, sinking into her chair, in hopes that the floor would swallow her whole. And whatever god is out there seems to have at least a small amount of empathy, because a moment later, everyone looks back at the teacher.

“Since we are starting a new chapter, that also means a new assignment.” a few of the students groan, but Mrs. Davis pays them no mind. “Turn to the person at the table next to you, get a good look at them, because that is your partner for this coming project on World War II. This assignment counts for half of your semester grade, so I recommend you make the best with what you have. We’ll be going over the specifics tomorrow, but today turn to Chapter 23 in your book and start chatting with your partners.” Mrs. Davis says, finishing her announcement and moving back to her desk.

Delphina flips open her book to Chapter 23 and turns to Edward. His gaze is already transfixed on her, no book in front of him, just a notebook and pen.

“Mind if we share?” he asks, voice smooth like honey and as sweet as a mid summer strawberry, his lips pulling into a crooked grin.

“Oh, now he wants to talk to me.” Raising a perfectly shaped brow at him, her eyes narrow slightly. “But sure, what’s mine is… well still mine, but I’ll let you read it too.” Hand on the side of the book, she pushes it closer to him. A faint chuckle leaves his mouth, the sound like soft bells ringing in Delphina’s ears. And she hates how much she wants to hear it again, and again, and again.

“I'd like to apologize, actually, for how I acted earlier. It was rude of me to ignore you like that,” he says.

“Please, I lived in the same building as Loki at one point. I don’t think anyone could top that maniac,” she says, a sly smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. He breathes out a laugh, the quiet flick of the thin paper clashing with the melodic sound.

“But I accept your apology.”

“Didn’t he attack New York?” Edward asks, eyes solely on Delphina, paying no mind to the book they should be reading.

“Oh yeah, I swear my mom nearly killed my dad when Loki attacked Stark Towers. It was kind of funny actually.” After pausing for a moment, she opens her mouth again. “Well, after I got over the trauma of the whole building almost collapsing on top of me, of course.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he says, the grin on his face growing ever so slightly and Delphina’s heart nearly stops in that moment

‘Keep it together, you idiot.’

“You never did introduce yourself,” the teasing tone in her voice is the perfect match to the glint of mischief in her eyes. She nudges him lightly with her elbow, feeling nothing but skin that’s like cold marble and chilling to the bone.

“Apologies, I’m Edward Cullen.”

“Delphina Stark, but I’m sure you already knew that,” she says, rolling her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

“There has been talk around the school.” He reflects the smirk on her face like a mirror.

“Great, love that for me so much.”

“You don’t like the attention?” he asks, the laugh in his voice betraying that he already knows the answer.

“No, despite what people think, us Starks aren’t vying for attention everywhere we go,” she mutters, glancing down at the page for a split second, if only to say she did look at their chapter.

“So why move to a town as small as Forks, where everyone is going to talk?” he asks.

Flick, another page turns, nearly tearing from the speed.

“Well, it wasn’t my first choice, but my mom lives here, so here I am.” Anxiety creeps into her system, increasing each second that Edward continues to look at her, flashes of sitting in the Compound surrounded by deafening silence overwhelming, beating against her like a baseball bat hits a ball in the Big Leagues.

“Well, let me be the first to formally welcome you to Forks.” The words are playful and light, and Delphina can’t help but lean into them, falling deeper and deeper into the haze hanging over her each time he opens his mouth. She smiles at him, pushing away the Avengers and just focusing on the sound of his laugh and the intoxicating smell of his cologne, a woody scent that feels like the best parts of nature.

“Well, you’ve already been beat there, but thank you.”

“I couldn’t help but notice that Mike Newton has taken an interest in you.” he says after a moment, containing his laughter long enough to speak smoothly. Delphina scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, wish he wouldn’t. He might be nice, or whatever, but I have a strict ‘no dating anyone that calls me a nickname based solely on where I moved from’ policy.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Edward says. Delphina just shrugs, a smirk pulling on her lips.

“But effective.”

“Don’t you want to make friends?” he asks, moving his eyes away from Delphina for a second to look around the room, the other students too engrossed in their own conversations to notice them.

“I don’t need friends, they disappoint me,” Delphina says without a moment of hesitation, quoting the iconic Vine like she’s drinking water or breathing air.

For a moment it brings her back to the Compound, before everything with Ultron happened, setting the scene for the Accords. Delphina would make obscure references to Vines or memes that were popular at the time, most of the Avengers wouldn’t understand them, Thor least of all. But he laughed at every single one anyways. Steve would shake his head and mutter something about kids these days, only giving Delphina more ammo to tease him with. As soon as the memories enter her mind, weaving through every thought until it’s all she can think about, she banishes them, refusing to fall into that melancholy.

Then, Edward laughs, not a breathy sound or a small chuckle that Delphina nearly misses, it’s not booming like Thor’s, the kind of noise you make when you don’t understand a joke. But a loud one, a genuine one that leaves his eyes looking like small crescent moons, lighting up Delphina’s dark skies. And she doesn’t think what she said is that funny, nor her wittiest line ever, but maybe it’ll become her one liner for the next lifetime, using it at every opportunity. If only to hear Edward laugh like that again.

She places her elbow on the desk, leaning her chin against it as a starry smile forms on her face, memorizing everything about this moment, the small crinkles around his eyes, the way his eyes shine, and the bright smile on his face. If only to remember back on it late at night when she inevitably has trouble sleeping.

“Should I then assume that means you wouldn’t like to be friends?”

“I can have one.”

o0o0o0o

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#Edward Cullen x reader #Edward Cullen imagine #edward cullen #edward cullen fanfic #twilight fanfiction #twilight imagine #twilight one shot #twilight #cullen clan #Avengers #stark!reader #stark!daughter #stark!oc #Edward Cullen x Stark!OC #pre infinity war #post civil war

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