[palmofafreezinghand]

today my brain decided to think of a full set of dialogue & a story idea for the first time in months during work and can't promise myself I'll write it but glad to know after months the weird little vampires haven't fully left my head

[spanishinfluenza]

I need you to recommend some good Carlesme fanfics, several in fact, I'm tired of searching and not finding many.

Answering this ask to celebrate the fact that Chapter 20 is written (and in need of some editing), but you came at a great time anon. Im honoured you think i have good taste. First comes a shameless plug of my own Carlesme fanfiction, my beloved, my baby,

A Rope In Hand by yours truly

Esme is a middle-aged human woman with a past worth running from. Carlisle is a middle-aged vampire man solo parenting five vampire teens. There's murder, there's mystery. Everyone is a suspect. Esme pov. Slowwww burn.

Next I'm gonna skip straight to the creme de la creme of Carlesme writers.

for appearance's sake by @palmofafreezinghand

Two years on from her tragic suicide, Esme is 'alive' and well and ready to soak up all that pre-depression America has to offer. The only problem is that folks don't look so kindly on a single woman living with two bachelors. A fake marriage is proposed. Bride and groom are equally frought. So close to canon compliant that reading it feels downright scandalous. GET TO CHAPTER 20 PLS ITS SO GOOD.

If au is your vibe, please consider:

A Taste of Boston by @thecullanos

Carlisle Cullano is King of the new york organised crime scene. Esme Cullano is the Goddess he prays to. Gratuitous violence. Sex that you could likely smell. Its short, its sweet. Who doesnt love this little fanturd. Genuinely im still so invested in the Cullanos and im not even slightly ironic about it.

I can't make these lists without including:

Stained Glass Soul by Mackenzie L.

Completely canon compliant beheamouth, that takes place from not long after her rebirth to their wedding night. It is an undertaking but I believe it set the tone for so many of the writers for this pairing.

If you're into all human au, please consider:

An Array of Reasons and/or Ties of Trauma by @youareonlyastory

Esme is the edgy badgirl watching her life swill down the drain of her flat bathroom, pushed along by all her awful choices. Sharing this bathroom with her, of course, is her flatmate, Carlisle Cullen: med student, Christian, hopeless fool. It is unfinished but if we all beg and beg and beg and beg and- she might pick it up one day who knows

If you're looking for short and sweet oneshots you need to read

Home Office by @stregoni-benefici

A steamy look into the sheer eroticism of suppressed Newborn Esme in close and intimate confines with the repressed Creator Carlisle. Its so hot, guys. Get ready to lap it up, because shit gets wet.

Okay so these are all the tops of the tops imo (and also my lil ficcy)

But the thing is i havent actually been reading fanfic properly since 2022 bc I'm intensely employed and have a family now teehee. So im now going to honour more stuff by giving you my ao3 To Be Read/Re-Read list.

Delicate by @alexlsf

On This Harvest Moon by enigmaticagentsully

Lover of Mine by ivyjune

Hairbreadth by esmeanne

I hope you find something that tickles your pickle. Whatever you do read, give all your love to the writers. Theyre all phenomenal people!

[miss-ute]

i DO NOT NEED A REASON!

[palmofafreezinghand]

A fresh grave.

For months, Carlisle had dangled a reward for advancing her tolerance. While forcing her through torturous sessions of exposure, risky social interactions, and overwhelming, pain. All of it had amounted, not in a visit to town like it had for Carlisle and Edward alike, but a solitary visit to the small graveyard.  Through the beast of small town gossip, and busy minds, Carlisle and Edward had discovered a basic headstone had been purchased for the boy they never met. Funds pooled from the town who had thought Esme, though they did not know her by that name, as a loose woman carrying a child out of wedlock, who took her own life. Yet, her child was innocent, most thought, and no one could argue with her skill as a teacher. The change in their children, for the better, was what kept the collection pot moving, a giving of thanks the only way they could. 

Esme visits her son's grave for the first time.

on ao3 here.

[meiaeimeija-deactivated20260416]

Did some practise again. I've been obsessing over twilight so I tried to draw Esme. It's not perfect but I think she's recognisable enough

[palmofafreezinghand]

A fresh grave.

For months, Carlisle had dangled a reward for advancing her tolerance. While forcing her through torturous sessions of exposure, risky social interactions, and overwhelming, pain. All of it had amounted, not in a visit to town like it had for Carlisle and Edward alike, but a solitary visit to the small graveyard.  Through the beast of small town gossip, and busy minds, Carlisle and Edward had discovered a basic headstone had been purchased for the boy they never met. Funds pooled from the town who had thought Esme, though they did not know her by that name, as a loose woman carrying a child out of wedlock, who took her own life. Yet, her child was innocent, most thought, and no one could argue with her skill as a teacher. The change in their children, for the better, was what kept the collection pot moving, a giving of thanks the only way they could. 

Esme visits her son's grave for the first time.

on ao3 here.

[palmofafreezinghand]

the bride of cullen: the 1928 text

word count: 19k+

The smell of freshly tilled dirt hit him the same time as he tripped, intently focused on finding her; he didn't see the fresh mound in the middle of the woods. His body crashed against the earth at full force, a shallow indent of his frame in the dark brown dirt, an anomaly in the sea of bright snow. Her scent was all over the spot; lavender and honeysuckle, the citrus from her hair products, the French perfume he’d bought her for her birthday. 

It wasn’t a trail he could follow, a simple marker, an x on an old map. Any trace of her started and stopped here, the mound. A mound like the ones they used occasionally to cover the animals they feasted on. But this wasn’t the shallow grave of an animal. It was bigger than a deer, much bigger than a deer. Skinner than a bear. Three feet wide, six or seven feet long. A perfectly human sized grave. 

No. No. No . 

He was only gone for four days. It couldn’t be. It was. It was a grave and Esme was missing. In a matter of a few seconds she had gone from a wife who abandoned him to a wife on the run. A woman in danger, a woman who was danger.

on ao3 and ffn.

[palmofafreezinghand]

under the apple trees

Charles Evenson searches for his wife in 1920 and finds something haunting under the apple trees, or Charles thinks he killed his wife. on ao3 here. content warnings: references to domestic violence, sexual assault, burying alive, murder, and alcohol abuse.

June 16, 1920.

Charles Evenson awoke to the feeling of an ice pick piercing his skull. The sip of bootlegged whiskey he presumed to be water, had last night’s dinner threatening to make itself known. As the wrinkles in his face deepened — making him look like his father more each passing day — his tolerance for the drink that once sustained his youth deteriorated. 

He stumbled to the bathroom, tripping over his own feet as he squinted to avoid the rising sun peeking through the blinds. He had asked his wife to replace the flimsy lace curtains to something more substantial. She refused, whining she had spent hours crocheting them while he was away. He didn’t have the energy to fight her. 

The bathroom door was closed, a sliver of light telling him his wife was holed up in there, again. The same sight and pain in his head had greeted him the morning prior, and the one before that. 

Naively he had presumed she was avoiding him, throwing one of her hysteric fits after a disagreement. The memory of their fight had evaded him, the cause long forgotten. What remained was dried blood caked to his knuckles, pools of rust-colored stains on their bedsheets, and a knife lodged in the kitchen countertop. 

That morning, unlike the two previously, he twisted the doorknob. His shoulders straightened, preparing for one of their early morning fights. It was a habit of theirs. The oak door creaked open to reveal an empty room. 

“Hello?” He muttered. The only response he received was the flicker of the overhead light. 

The impending disagreement escalated. He let the anger simmer as he went about his routine; using the restroom, showering, cooking himself a breakfast he burned, smoking a cigarette without opening a window. 

He half-heartedly searched the rest of the house, paying closer attention to her typical hiding places. She was nowhere to be found. The impending battle jumped another pitch, his nails dug into his palm. 

She had insisted on publicly embarrassing him before. Less than a month into marriage, after she had pushed him too far, she had run off to her parents. A weekend with her cousin for Christmas had turned into a week. He was forced to traipse all the way out to Milwaukee. He refused to acknowledge how exhilarating those fights had been. The hours spent sitting in ugly silence as a train engine chugged along, a tea kettle at a near boiling point for an uncomfortable, unnatural amount of time until the kettle nearly exploded. A shrill scream as a room was drowned in blinding steam. 

A thrill ran down his spine as he began to think of the hunt. It was cut abruptly by the realization she may not be hiding but hidden.      

———————   

He pulled his automobile off the dirt farm road, parking in between dense rows of fruit trees he knew well. Despite its density, Charles knew the orchard had not turned a profit in nearly a decade. The peaches were never quite sweet enough, the apples never red enough, the plums too tart. 

The Platt’s grove had made a brilliant hiding place for Charles over the years. In the few months they courted, they had secretly met in the orchard a handful of times, away from her mother’s grating inquisitiveness. 

Once they were married, many months in, he had met another woman among the trees. One less stubborn, who did not pester, a woman whose name he could not, nor cared to, remember. He had met a half dozen forgettable women thereafter. 

A little over a year into their marriage, in the middle of the night he had raced to the grove. His wife wrapped in a bed sheet lying lifeless on the back bench seat. Frantically he had dug a grave under the apple trees, under the light of his headlights and the full moon. Four scoops of dirt had been thrown into the shallow grave —  making a point to cover her face first — when she screamed. He helped her out, and they went home and never spoke again. 

Less than a month later, after one particularly loud argument, he snuck back onto the property, spending most of the night digging the small hole into a proper grave. He covered the grave with a board and leaves, telling himself it was a precaution. He would never need it.  

When he returned from the front the times he thought he would need it were countless — countless fights and snide remarks — but he had never used it, at least not as a grave. An occasional barrel from his friends in New Straitsville had been stored in the hole to avoid his wife’s nagging. 

The engine shut off as he stepped out of the car, scanning the night. It smelled like rain and wet soil. The cicadas screamed, a deafening incessant buzz. 

He looked for the heart he had carved in the trunk of an old apple tree; hoping if someone ever discovered the symbol they would suspect adolescent antics, not a morbid gravestone. The trunks looked as if they went on for miles, rows, and rows of evenly spaced trees taunting him. 

He walked further into the grove, twigs crunching under his boots, his step quickening. The sun was almost done rising, the old farmer was undoubtedly moving about his routine, unaware of the potential disaster lurking in his yard. 

Charles could foresee one of the old hounds digging up the grave, dropping her femur at the front door. He shook his head violently, the ice pick returning to its familiar place in his skull. 

She was hiding, throwing a fit, mocking him. She was not buried hundreds of feet from her childhood home at the hands of her husband. 

His search was a precaution, he would not kill his wife. 

The boy’s face flickered across his mind. He shook his head. That was different, war. His life had been on the line, anyone would have done that. 

He was not evil. His wife’s screams echoed in his brain, her pleading, the words ‘no, God no,’ beat in his brain like a pulse. The blood, hers, under his nails, on his knuckles, the bruise on his forearm. Disagreements, like any other married couple. 

They had disagreements, but it wasn’t the only thing they had. The happy moments. Summer evenings were spent watching the neighborhood as they sat on the porch swing, nursing a drink. The feast she had cooked when he returned home after sixteen months. The taste of apple pie, the promise he made to do better, her genuine smile. The first time he had brought her to his house, she had prattled on about decorations and Christmas stockings. The moment they learned she was expecting, and every moment after, the bump, the kicks, the nursery that would never be used. 

The light of his lantern fell on a mound of fresh dirt, five feet long, and three feet wide. Shit. Shit. Shit.

No. 

She was not dead. 

He did not kill her. 

He had not held a pathetic burial for a pitiful woman, and forgotten entirely. 

No. 

Excuses for the public began racing through his head: she ran in the middle of the night, it was a complete surprise. No, that would lead to questions about why she would leave him. She could not handle the grief any longer. She slipped on the stairs. 

He could move, let her slip from everyone’s memory as he lived a life without her. 

“Charles?” A deep voice called out through the trees. 

Charles's head snapped to attention. “Hello, George,” he called to the father-in-law he had not seen in nearly four years. 

He needed an excuse, now, because she was, he did, and he had. Or at least that’s what he believed. 

[palmofafreezinghand]

hey! Something to brighten your day amidst the job hunting? Do you think Esme goes looking for a lovely new places to show Carlisle or plans an impromptu visits? For example finding the perfect spots for a “picnic” or Esme just going “I know a place” haha

Omg thank you for the ask @stregoni-benefici - this did brighten my day amidst the job search! 💖

To answer your question - Yes! I imagine it started in the years Edward was gone. After a few weeks — once the initial grief and shock has worn off and it’s a familiar pain she is forced to carry — she realizes there’s only so much time she can spend painting, cleaning, reading, and finding anything and everything to do around the house alone while Carlisle is working twenty-four hours at a time. She starts by exploring their yard, and then slowly widens her territory each time she ventures out. For the first few years of their marriage walking out on her own meant someone would wind up dead, but by the time Edward leaves she has enough self control that she can stay in control if she smells a lone hiker or mountain climber miles away. 

The first time Carlisle comes home and she’s not there he panics — surmising, of course, that Esme has also left him — and follows her trail to find her sitting at the base of a waterfall. After that, it becomes a game. About once a week he’d come home to a note, and have to find her, sometimes hundreds of miles away. At the top of a mountain, in the middle of a lake, a cave tucked in the side of a cliff, or up a tree. It’s a way for them to get out of that too quiet of a house, to soften the blow of coming home to a dust covered piano. 

Once Edward comes back, and eventually their house becomes fuller and fuller the impromptu adventures lose their frequency, but never completely cease. Sometimes it’s a place she found on a hunt and choses to show him at a later date, other times she just needs away from the constant noise of their home and he eventually stumbles upon her in a painting worthy scene. (And she has painted more than one of their spots). 

[palmofafreezinghand]

"how's the job search going?"

[palmofafreezinghand]

enough faith for two

Esme calls Edward as he sits vigil at Bella's bedside while she's in the hospital.

on ao3 here.

The hospital room door slowly swung open, both Edward and Renee’s heads snapping to attention. Renee smiled as Carlisle walked in, giving them both a soft smile while closing the door quietly. Her shoulders fell, the tension releasing as she saw the man she kept thinking of as ‘too kind for his own good.’ Her eyes landed on the phone at his ear, and realizing he was occupied she turned her gaze to her sedated daughter for a mere moment before focusing again on the fashion magazine Alice had purchased her at the hospital gift shop.

Edward had of course known who it was, Carlisle’s thoughts were as loud as they always were punctuated with the almost sickeningly sweet tone they got whenever his wife was the subject. 

“Esme wants to say hello,” Carlisle said quietly, passing his phone to Edward.

Edward let his head fall back in disinterest, a move he knew Carlisle thought ‘makes him look like such a teenager.’ Edward made no move to remove either of his hands from their grasp around Bella’s.

“Shall we try that interaction again? Edward, your mother — who has been worried sick about you — is on the telephone.”

Edward sighed, taking the phone and bringing it to his ear with one hand, the other still tightly gripping Bella’s. “Hi, Mom.”

“Mom? Is there someone else in the room?” Esme asked, a small trace of amusement in her voice. Somehow he knew it was a farce, he could picture her on the other line. Eyebrows furrowed, her free hand tucked under the arm that held — no clutched — the phone. If she was at home she would be twirling the cord anxiously around her finger, if it was the cellphone — which she refused to use unless absolutely necessary — she was likely pace, strides a touch too fast to be human.

“Mhm,” Edward muttered, glancing across the room at Renee who was still focused on her magazine. He could feel Carlisle sit down next to him on the plastic bench a nurse had brought into the room in the middle of the night.

“Feel free to tell Carlisle that condescending tone was not the least bit becoming,” Esme offered, the false lightness in her voice remained.

Edward smiled slightly, glancing towards Carlisle, who, of course had been listening to the conversation the whole time. “She says your attitude is unflattering.”

Renee smiled to herself, quickly catching that she was being obvious about her eavesdropping and let her face fall. ‘I wonder if the wife is just as gorgeous as the rest of them?’ She thought, flipping the page of her magazine.

Carlisle waved off the comment, his eyes focused on the screens above Bella’s bed, watching the steady waves on the heart monitor mounted above Bella’s bed.

“I won’t be foolish enough to ask how you are,” Esme said, drawing Edward’s attention back to the phone. “I know I have said it before, and I know you are sick of hearing it but I am so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” he said half-heartedly. “How are… things with you?”

“I feel safe to assume you do not care how I am, but instead are covertly asking about Officer Swan?”

Carlisle bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from cracking a small smile at that line.

“Mhm,” Edward muttered again, attempting to ignore the man at his side.

She took a deep inhale. He could hear a distant tap-tap-tap in the background, she had gone with pacing. “He was quite upset to hear the news, as any father would be.”

“I know, I heard.”

“Carlisle should know better than to have let you hear that,” she sighed. “Mr. Swan is… fine. He is physically fine. I am remaining close, I have no reason to suspect the threat has returned. Yesterday we went to the courthouse out in Port Angeles. I managed to listen to the trial from the parking lot and it was fascinating.”

“I’m glad you are having so much fun,” Edward said coldly.

Carlisle glanced over, his brow furrowed in a puzzling blend of chastisement and curiosity. ‘Be nice,’ he thought.

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” Esme said and he could practically hear her eyes roll over the line.

“I know,” Edward murmured, looking at the toes of his shoes.

“His friend did come over, the one in the wheelchair, I didn’t catch his name. He is quite furious.”

“I will deal with that later,” Edward sighed, yet another problem of his making.

“We will deal with it later. You do not need to hoist the entire world on your shoulders.”

Edward scoffed in reply.

“I hope you are not blaming yourself for all of this too much,” she said gently.

“Too much?”

“I knew it would be a fool’s errand to tell you not to blame yourself at all. Am I wrong?”

“I think you know me too well.”

“Eighty years will do that.”

“I suppose it will.”

There was lull in the conversation, an almost comforting silence. One he had experienced countless times before, whether it be lying on the couch in her art room, or her seated beside him at the piano bench. Only this time the gentle warmth of her thoughts were thousands of miles away, and he was left in a cold sterile hospital room.

‘Will you ask her if Rosalie went with Emmett, please? I cannot ask, lest I risk her calling me a worry wart,’ Carlisle thought, taking advantage of the silence.

“How is Rosalie?”

“On her way to Phoenix, only after threatening that if I die while she is gone she will never speak to you or Carlisle again, so I must stay alive for the sake of the family.”

Carlisle frowned at this, twisting his wedding ring as he focused on the word that had bounced around Edward’s head for the past two days, albeit for a different person.

Die, die, die.

“That sounds like her.”

“She will come around, I promise. She is acting out of fear.”

“I wish I could have your faith.” In Rosalie. In modern medicine. In the universe , and a God neither of them believed in if they were brutally honest.

“I will have enough faith for the both of us, at least until you find yours. Although, truth be told I think you have found yours, she’s simply asleep right now.”

“Thank you, Esme.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“This will all work out, I promise you,” she said, sincerity dripping off her words. More than anything he wished he could believe her.

‘I would like to speak to her again before you hang up, please,’ Carlisle thought, holding his hand out slightly. Edward nodded, about to hand over the phone when his mind flashed to the tape Alice had shown him and he held out his index finger to Carlisle.

"Have you spoken to Alice lately?" He asked. 

"Not in the past two days, no. What happened?" 

"Nothing happened, but you might want to give her a call. She's going stir crazy in here." 

"I can imagine," Esme laughed. 

“That was it. Carlisle wishes to speak with you before you hang up,” Edward said. 

“That man is obsessed with me,” she laughed, which earned a small smile from Edward. “I will see you soon. Give Bella my love.”

“Bye, Mom,” Edward said quickly, handing the phone back to Carlisle, whose eyes were wide in surprise at Edward’s use of an endearment, specifically that endearment, not out of practicality to keep up a ruse but out of genuine feeling.

“No, you’re not losing your mind, I heard it too,” Carlisle laughed when he got the phone back. Edward watched out of the corner of his eyes as Carlisle stood and snuck out of the hospital room.

Edward's attention returned to the subtle rise and fall of Bella’s chest, the steady beep beep beep of the heart monitor. It was not enough to convince him completely she would be fine.

[tinyedwardcomics]

A Creature of Blood: Chapter 1, part 2

words adapted from p. 319 of midnight sun. image descriptions in alt text.

part 1

[tinyedwardcomics]

A Creature of Blood: Chapter 1, part 1

words adapted from pp. 383-384 of midnight sun. image descriptions in alt text.

[palmofafreezinghand]

enough faith for two

Esme calls Edward as he sits vigil at Bella's bedside while she's in the hospital.

on ao3 here.

The hospital room door slowly swung open, both Edward and Renee’s heads snapping to attention. Renee smiled as Carlisle walked in, giving them both a soft smile while closing the door quietly. Her shoulders fell, the tension releasing as she saw the man she kept thinking of as ‘too kind for his own good.’ Her eyes landed on the phone at his ear, and realizing he was occupied she turned her gaze to her sedated daughter for a mere moment before focusing again on the fashion magazine Alice had purchased her at the hospital gift shop.

Edward had of course known who it was, Carlisle’s thoughts were as loud as they always were punctuated with the almost sickeningly sweet tone they got whenever his wife was the subject. 

“Esme wants to say hello,” Carlisle said quietly, passing his phone to Edward.

Edward let his head fall back in disinterest, a move he knew Carlisle thought ‘makes him look like such a teenager.’ Edward made no move to remove either of his hands from their grasp around Bella’s.

“Shall we try that interaction again? Edward, your mother — who has been worried sick about you — is on the telephone.”

Edward sighed, taking the phone and bringing it to his ear with one hand, the other still tightly gripping Bella’s. “Hi, Mom.”

“Mom? Is there someone else in the room?” Esme asked, a small trace of amusement in her voice. Somehow he knew it was a farce, he could picture her on the other line. Eyebrows furrowed, her free hand tucked under the arm that held — no clutched — the phone. If she was at home she would be twirling the cord anxiously around her finger, if it was the cellphone — which she refused to use unless absolutely necessary — she was likely pace, strides a touch too fast to be human.

“Mhm,” Edward muttered, glancing across the room at Renee who was still focused on her magazine. He could feel Carlisle sit down next to him on the plastic bench a nurse had brought into the room in the middle of the night.

“Feel free to tell Carlisle that condescending tone was not the least bit becoming,” Esme offered, the false lightness in her voice remained.

Edward smiled slightly, glancing towards Carlisle, who, of course had been listening to the conversation the whole time. “She says your attitude is unflattering.”

Renee smiled to herself, quickly catching that she was being obvious about her eavesdropping and let her face fall. ‘I wonder if the wife is just as gorgeous as the rest of them?’ She thought, flipping the page of her magazine.

Carlisle waved off the comment, his eyes focused on the screens above Bella’s bed, watching the steady waves on the heart monitor mounted above Bella’s bed.

“I won’t be foolish enough to ask how you are,” Esme said, drawing Edward’s attention back to the phone. “I know I have said it before, and I know you are sick of hearing it but I am so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” he said half-heartedly. “How are… things with you?”

“I feel safe to assume you do not care how I am, but instead are covertly asking about Officer Swan?”

Carlisle bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from cracking a small smile at that line.

“Mhm,” Edward muttered again, attempting to ignore the man at his side.

She took a deep inhale. He could hear a distant tap-tap-tap in the background, she had gone with pacing. “He was quite upset to hear the news, as any father would be.”

“I know, I heard.”

“Carlisle should know better than to have let you hear that,” she sighed. “Mr. Swan is… fine. He is physically fine. I am remaining close, I have no reason to suspect the threat has returned. Yesterday we went to the courthouse out in Port Angeles. I managed to listen to the trial from the parking lot and it was fascinating.”

“I’m glad you are having so much fun,” Edward said coldly.

Carlisle glanced over, his brow furrowed in a puzzling blend of chastisement and curiosity. ‘Be nice,’ he thought.

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” Esme said and he could practically hear her eyes roll over the line.

“I know,” Edward murmured, looking at the toes of his shoes.

“His friend did come over, the one in the wheelchair, I didn’t catch his name. He is quite furious.”

“I will deal with that later,” Edward sighed, yet another problem of his making.

“We will deal with it later. You do not need to hoist the entire world on your shoulders.”

Edward scoffed in reply.

“I hope you are not blaming yourself for all of this too much,” she said gently.

“Too much?”

“I knew it would be a fool’s errand to tell you not to blame yourself at all. Am I wrong?”

“I think you know me too well.”

“Eighty years will do that.”

“I suppose it will.”

There was lull in the conversation, an almost comforting silence. One he had experienced countless times before, whether it be lying on the couch in her art room, or her seated beside him at the piano bench. Only this time the gentle warmth of her thoughts were thousands of miles away, and he was left in a cold sterile hospital room.

‘Will you ask her if Rosalie went with Emmett, please? I cannot ask, lest I risk her calling me a worry wart,’ Carlisle thought, taking advantage of the silence.

“How is Rosalie?”

“On her way to Phoenix, only after threatening that if I die while she is gone she will never speak to you or Carlisle again, so I must stay alive for the sake of the family.”

Carlisle frowned at this, twisting his wedding ring as he focused on the word that had bounced around Edward’s head for the past two days, albeit for a different person.

Die, die, die.

“That sounds like her.”

“She will come around, I promise. She is acting out of fear.”

“I wish I could have your faith.” In Rosalie. In modern medicine. In the universe , and a God neither of them believed in if they were brutally honest.

“I will have enough faith for the both of us, at least until you find yours. Although, truth be told I think you have found yours, she’s simply asleep right now.”

“Thank you, Esme.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“This will all work out, I promise you,” she said, sincerity dripping off her words. More than anything he wished he could believe her.

‘I would like to speak to her again before you hang up, please,’ Carlisle thought, holding his hand out slightly. Edward nodded, about to hand over the phone when his mind flashed to the tape Alice had shown him and he held out his index finger to Carlisle.

"Have you spoken to Alice lately?" He asked. 

"Not in the past two days, no. What happened?" 

"Nothing happened, but you might want to give her a call. She's going stir crazy in here." 

"I can imagine," Esme laughed. 

“That was it. Carlisle wishes to speak with you before you hang up,” Edward said. 

“That man is obsessed with me,” she laughed, which earned a small smile from Edward. “I will see you soon. Give Bella my love.”

“Bye, Mom,” Edward said quickly, handing the phone back to Carlisle, whose eyes were wide in surprise at Edward’s use of an endearment, specifically that endearment, not out of practicality to keep up a ruse but out of genuine feeling.

“No, you’re not losing your mind, I heard it too,” Carlisle laughed when he got the phone back. Edward watched out of the corner of his eyes as Carlisle stood and snuck out of the hospital room.

Edward's attention returned to the subtle rise and fall of Bella’s chest, the steady beep beep beep of the heart monitor. It was not enough to convince him completely she would be fine.

[hoahoahoahoahoa]

>New Moon

>Instead of the whole runaround in Italy, Edward comes back to Forks

>he’s expecting a big weepy reunion. He’s ready to grovel on his knees immediately. He’s ready for sobbing, vitriol, everything in between

>Taking a deep breath to savor and reacquaint himself with his singer’s scent, and steeling himself for Bella’s reaction, he reveals himself to her

>Bella sees him. Frowns. She slowly and calmly takes a shoe off and throws it at him

>Bella: “Sorry. Just making sure you’re real this time”

[juderuo]

Recreating vampire paintings with old man yaoi because all vampires are gay and that is science.

[minkei]

its 2024