Fic: How Sweet the Sound, Twilight
Title: How Sweet the Sound
Fandom/Characters: Twilight, Bella, the Cullens, Jessica, Angela
Word Count: 762
Prompt: 4/30/07 shame at Fic_15
Rating: G
Don't tell anyone, but Jessica Petronini watches a lot of sci-fi. (Only because she has to babysit the Anakin Skywalker of the twenty-first century, of course, no other reason.)
So when Edward Cullen looks at her, his slanted lion's eyes connecting with hers through underweight backpacks and stale, overgrown teenage bodies, she is overwhelmed by the feeling that he could kill her with his brain.
Bella touches him then, the softest brush of her fingertips, nails grazing up his arm to the crook of his elbow, and his attention is so acutely and irrevocably torn from Jessica that it was almost physical, a sharp swooping in the pit of her stomach like falling from a great height, and she lets out a strangled noise that has Angela looking at her in unconcerned concern (and then Ben walks past and Angela goes peculiarly misty-eyed and Jessica could have grown an extra head then and there -- which is what they all feel like doing when one of the Cullens looks at them -- and Angela wouldn't've blinked.)
But the Cullens had never really had a reason to look at them before, except perhaps for the physicals they all do at the beginning of the year that requires them to record each other's eye color, or so says Bonita Cuchiro, who once told her that Emmett's eyes had been greeny-gold, and then a navy blue, all in the span of about five minutes. And, except for the fact she's a fifteen-year-old girl, no one has a reason to disbelieve her.
The bell rings, and the sluggish drifting of students becomes a frantic flurry, but Jessica stays, watching Bella and Edward (Bella and Edward, always Bella and Edward, never Edward and Bella, as if she had known Bella first and then Edward.)
What on earth, she thinks at Edward -- because it's not like she'll ever say it to his face; he did funny things to her power of speech, attracted you to her that badly?
Edward tilts his head forward, the end of his nose barely touching Bella's temple; one hand has a lock of her hair spread between his fingers, held like it's been forgotten, and Bella has her chin tilted up, her eyes half-lidded and her mouth formed into a small "o". In anybody else, Jessica would have been disgusted, but in them, it was so startlingly intimate that she fought the urge to fling her eyes away.
What are you thinking? she asks of Edward, silently, and his eyes snap to her, and it's like Jessica has branded a hot iron to the center of her forehead, which shatters into words as if made of glass.
-- her blood tastes like turquoise and her grandmother's silly shell animals and the faucet that drips on the second floor of her father's house and her mother's disastrous attempt to dye her hair red and she smells so good and tasted better than venison but it's the details that saved her life, made her more than just a good-smelling roast and I hope she never figures out, hope she never knows, hope I never have to tell her what I first thought of her -- and he looks away again, towards his locker, hands releasing Bella's hair to spin the lock, and Jessica reels on the spot.
Before she even has time to regain her bearings, shake his voice out of her head, Rosalie goes brushing past, gait lupine but hurried, and she's not so badly shook up that she doesn't have time to notice, bitterly, that Rosalie is the only blonde who can pull that shade of canary yellow off with any aplomb.
She comes to a halt at their side, and murmurs importantly. In the blink of an eye, Alice is there too, face grim.
The late bell rings, and with a niggling suspicion forming at the base of her mind (her thoughts don't run in straight lines like Edward's do -- that was the only way she could tell him apart from her own mind, though how was another matter entirely - they never covered this in the movies; everybody always knew how thought-speech worked) Jessica darts off to class.
"What do you think they do?" she asks Angela in a classroom-murmur as she slides gracelessly into her seat, while the Trig teacher gets a couple of the kids up front to hand back papers.
"Who do?"
"Bella and the Cullens. They're gone again."
"I dunno," Angela said, disinterested. She flips her hair down to inspect the ends. "I always assume they're off having a lot of sex."
Fandom/Characters: Twilight, Bella, the Cullens, Jessica, Angela
Word Count: 762
Prompt: 4/30/07 shame at Fic_15
Rating: G
Don't tell anyone, but Jessica Petronini watches a lot of sci-fi. (Only because she has to babysit the Anakin Skywalker of the twenty-first century, of course, no other reason.)
So when Edward Cullen looks at her, his slanted lion's eyes connecting with hers through underweight backpacks and stale, overgrown teenage bodies, she is overwhelmed by the feeling that he could kill her with his brain.
Bella touches him then, the softest brush of her fingertips, nails grazing up his arm to the crook of his elbow, and his attention is so acutely and irrevocably torn from Jessica that it was almost physical, a sharp swooping in the pit of her stomach like falling from a great height, and she lets out a strangled noise that has Angela looking at her in unconcerned concern (and then Ben walks past and Angela goes peculiarly misty-eyed and Jessica could have grown an extra head then and there -- which is what they all feel like doing when one of the Cullens looks at them -- and Angela wouldn't've blinked.)
But the Cullens had never really had a reason to look at them before, except perhaps for the physicals they all do at the beginning of the year that requires them to record each other's eye color, or so says Bonita Cuchiro, who once told her that Emmett's eyes had been greeny-gold, and then a navy blue, all in the span of about five minutes. And, except for the fact she's a fifteen-year-old girl, no one has a reason to disbelieve her.
The bell rings, and the sluggish drifting of students becomes a frantic flurry, but Jessica stays, watching Bella and Edward (Bella and Edward, always Bella and Edward, never Edward and Bella, as if she had known Bella first and then Edward.)
What on earth, she thinks at Edward -- because it's not like she'll ever say it to his face; he did funny things to her power of speech, attracted you to her that badly?
Edward tilts his head forward, the end of his nose barely touching Bella's temple; one hand has a lock of her hair spread between his fingers, held like it's been forgotten, and Bella has her chin tilted up, her eyes half-lidded and her mouth formed into a small "o". In anybody else, Jessica would have been disgusted, but in them, it was so startlingly intimate that she fought the urge to fling her eyes away.
What are you thinking? she asks of Edward, silently, and his eyes snap to her, and it's like Jessica has branded a hot iron to the center of her forehead, which shatters into words as if made of glass.
-- her blood tastes like turquoise and her grandmother's silly shell animals and the faucet that drips on the second floor of her father's house and her mother's disastrous attempt to dye her hair red and she smells so good and tasted better than venison but it's the details that saved her life, made her more than just a good-smelling roast and I hope she never figures out, hope she never knows, hope I never have to tell her what I first thought of her -- and he looks away again, towards his locker, hands releasing Bella's hair to spin the lock, and Jessica reels on the spot.
Before she even has time to regain her bearings, shake his voice out of her head, Rosalie goes brushing past, gait lupine but hurried, and she's not so badly shook up that she doesn't have time to notice, bitterly, that Rosalie is the only blonde who can pull that shade of canary yellow off with any aplomb.
She comes to a halt at their side, and murmurs importantly. In the blink of an eye, Alice is there too, face grim.
The late bell rings, and with a niggling suspicion forming at the base of her mind (her thoughts don't run in straight lines like Edward's do -- that was the only way she could tell him apart from her own mind, though how was another matter entirely - they never covered this in the movies; everybody always knew how thought-speech worked) Jessica darts off to class.
"What do you think they do?" she asks Angela in a classroom-murmur as she slides gracelessly into her seat, while the Trig teacher gets a couple of the kids up front to hand back papers.
"Who do?"
"Bella and the Cullens. They're gone again."
"I dunno," Angela said, disinterested. She flips her hair down to inspect the ends. "I always assume they're off having a lot of sex."