#feltferal

[marblecarved]

@feltferal sent a letter to esme cullen: ‘‘ I didn't know where else to go… ’’

prompt: send ❝ I didn't know where else to go... ❞ for my muse's reaction to your muse showing up at their doorstep. Feel free to specify the circumstances.

Esme heard someone's arrival and hesitated, before approaching the door, doing so only when a knock sounded, short and echoing, and: ❝ Jasper ? ❞ tumbles out her mouth as soon as the door opens, revealing him behind it; Worry is quick to replace the initial surprise, and her tone of voice mirrors it, accompanied by furrowed brows and a line forming between them. It is here, then, that Esme opens the door wider, stepping out, flickering her gaze behind his shoulders. ❝ Where's Alice ? ❞ she asks, slowly raising a hand towards his shoulder, putting on it a gentle, guiding pressure, a tacit invite to come inside their home. ❝ I didn't expect to see you back so soon, ❞ she admits then, softly. ❝ What happened ? Are you hurt ? ❞

[wastheheart]

that's what you're worried about?

@feltferal (thank you!)

She laughs, she can't help it. She knows that she's being illogical, but Esme is equally terrified of screwing up.

She's been incredibly distant throughout the whole process and now they're home again, Esme hasn't been able to be in the house longer than a few days. Rosalie is smitten, Edward is racked with guilt and Esme is trying to remain present for all of them, but she truly underestimated what it would be like with a baby in the house.

She's glad that she built the cottage for them. Selfishly, it gives her space. Allows her to breathe momentarily, although Bella has yet to finish the process of her tranformation.

And it would be fine if Rosalie didn't keep appearing with a swaddled baby, at times trying to encourage Esme to hold her.

"I want to love her, Jasper, but I'm worried I can't." She lets black eyes scan his face before they fall away, her guilt making it impossible to hold his gaze for very long. "I forgot. I forgot what the weight of a baby feels like in your arms." Esme shifts uncomfortably, the memory of her son fading as she cradled him suddenly fresh. "The last time I held a baby, I—"

She shakes her head, hands wiping over her face.

"I don't want to hurt her, Jasper." Because deep down, she still believes her son's death was her fault. "That's what I'm worried about."

[wastheheart]

it's not his decision, it's not any of yours.

@feltferal (thank you!)

"Don't you think I don't know that?"

Her words barely leave time for Jasper to finish, a snarl encasing the end of her reply born from frustration more than anger towards the blonde.

Ironic that Jasper should speak of choice to Esme of all people. She's far more forgiving than Rosalie would be. Showing far more grace to those when they wish to discuss Bella's mortality and immortality as her decision.

And of course, Esme agrees, how can she not? She wants Bella to make an informed, accurate decision. She wants the girl to truly understand the life she will enter should she choose eternity.

She envies the girl, in fact.

"Don't lecture me about autonomy, Jasper. I wanted this life as much as you did." Her words fell curt, grief of never finding peace always there, rearing its ugly head every now and then despite the years separating her and that cliff. "But you can't have autonomy without fully understanding the choices you're making, and I won't let Bella be ignorant. Do you understand?"

[wastheheart]

Oh boy what can I say about your portrayal. You’ve done Esme justice as she always deserved to be written. The depth you give her is fathomless and an absolute joy to see. Pair that with absolutely adoring all our threads, chats and you being such a phenomenal person and friend - flawless amazing perfect stunning I want to hear everything you’ve got for vampire mom

@feltferal

excuse me while i actually sob because??? this is the sweetest message ever?! i couldn't write e.sme without amazing friends and writing partners like you, and i'm so lucky to have met you through this silly m.ormon coded media 🥺

i adore our threads sm! there's just something so sweet between e.sme and j.asper and i am always down for centaurworld clips being sent my way 💜💜💜

[wastheheart]

this isn't you

@feltferal (thank you!)

Her teeth are bared and glistening with venom. There is a low, continuous growl that rumbles deep from her chest and reverberates around them; birds are smart enough to know to flee, startled wings the only sound other than the unbroken warning that rests at the back of Esme's throat.

She circles the blonde, rage painting everything red. Rage that brings the other vampire to his knees— rage that hurts, but Esme wants to feel the way her teeth sink into his flesh, the release of a limb from a body. She wants to see him expect an easy opponent before he's engulfed in flames.

The words are choked at her feet. For a moment she feels victorious. All the pain that has spent a century underneath the surface, the agony of recent days, finally has some use. She doesn't understand it, but her anguish hones in on it and the way it's crumpled her opponent.

And yet, just as she's about to enjoy herself, Esme feels the piercing agony in her chest. It winds her, knocking her to her knees with a louder, more primal growl. Fingernails curl into mud, and she can't help but scream. The birds that remain abandon their branches as leaves rustle urgently in reply to their exit.

With a surge aided only by frustration, Esme grabs the blonde by his throat and flips him so his back is against the forest floor. The pain invading her limbs only gets worse, forcing her muscles to clench and her head to throb. It's akin to Jane, but accompanied by the voice of Charles, of Aro— the image of Carlisle's severed head.

Another scream follows, fingers tightening around the throat in her grip. "I'll show you exactly who I am," she snarls through gritted teeth, venom dripping from exposed canines, "I'll show all of you."

[wastheheart]

i need to go away for a while.

@feltferal (thank you!)

She sits away from him, a large distance kept between them despite the way she deliberately stays. A silence falls between them—she's not sure for how long—but she follows the arc of the sun across the sky. Every now and then it peeks out from behind the clouds, but never long enough. It's almost as scared as they are to be discovered.

Eventually, the clouds darken and rain begins pattering against them. She can hear each raindrop hit the canopy of leaves, collecting in soft green before continuing their journey towards the floor.

Petrichor begins filling her nostrils. It's always a welcome scent to her; sometimes she wishes she could capture it in a candle, but there's nothing better than the real thing.

She tilts her head up to feel droplets against her face, the sensation reminding her to exist in the moment despite the way eternity stretches out in front of her. Eventually she releases a sigh, her head turning to focus on Jasper's figure.

"You know I can't leave you, Jasper." Her voice is barely above a whisper. She knows he'll hear regardless of lack of volume. "Not like this."

And he knows deep down, she can't leave any of her family this way either. She has an abundance of patience— she's sat in silence too many times to count. Even with Carlisle.

"You don't have to talk. You don't have to tell me anything. But if you need to do anything right now, it's to remember you never have to go through things alone again."

[wastheheart]

"I need you to talk to me."

@feltferal (thank you!)

She's not sure where she is. She slipped away and started running as soon as her feet hit the forest floor. Somewhere amongst the roaring of a waterfall she hears Jasper's voice, but she can't move, she can't look. She can't even blink. Her eyes stay on the gushing water, her breath came to her in gasps despite not needing it; as soon as she hears Jasper it catches in her throat. Like an animal who doesn't wish to be caught.

Perhaps if she stays silent, doesn't even dare twitch a muscle, he will think her figure is nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

It's not working. She can tell by the way he ends up crouching in front of her, his eyes becoming level with her own. The way he repeats his words with more urgency, more authority.

Her fingers have crushed rock beneath her, dust falling between them. She forgets in these moments what she is.

She doesn't dare close her eyes, not for a moment. Not unless she wishes to see the barrel of a gun staring her in the face accompanied by the scent of alcohol. His words make sense, but she can't reply. She can't do what he wants. Her mouth is dry, her fingers crushing more rock between them as fingernails cut into stone.

Why is nothing solid any more?

Instead she shakes her head, her gasps returning with urgency, like a child who has reached their limits in a breath-holding competition.

She can't.

She needs him to understand.

She can't.

[auroverite]

rest, sender rests their head on receiver's shoulder.

actions speak louder than words || accepting

The pathokinetist found him in solitude, perching pensively on the rooftop of their mansion. The last hunting was tumultuous; it was strange to say that it sometimes brought a long parallel of exhaustion to their kind.

It has been a while now since Alice joined them with former Confederate, the struggles each of them faced happened to be an uneasy boulder, and perhaps for the first snippet of time in their mutual companionship he and Carlisle enclosed to the first proper moment of bonding -- forged through shared hardships and an unwavering commitment sparked by the possibility to rise above their primal nature.

The senior detected lean on his shoulder, taking in the honey-blond waves by side glance, acknowledgement washed over him until he knew. Carlisle said nothing for words weren't needed, instead, there was a soft, knowing upturn of his lips that dived slowly into the sinking orange colossus that graced their skin with scintillans. Tickle of curly hair tips by the side of his neck made Carlisle acutely aware that bloodstains marring his own shirt must have long browned by now. His shoulder 'laxed, nevertheless, so the other could remain more comfortably, a gesture of unspoken support. Jasper must have been tired, holding on for so long without blood, and fighting the burn of thirst; such path - was fraught with temptation and near misses, but he managed remarkably; he could not have been more proud of him. They sat easy in companionable silence and almost reverent stillness, just watching ... perceiving ... the glow of low-hanging sunlight, protruding through the dense foliage of trees, dappled shadows dancing across the damp soil, droplets of rain fading, the pollen flowing through the air like daytime fireflies. Soon for twilight to herald the arrival of night's embrace.