#twilightadvent23
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Twilight Advent Calendar, Day 10
Masterpost/Prompts
Dec. 10 - Pick one of the witnesses in Breaking Dawn. What was it like for them to stay at the Cullens' home for those two weeks? Who did they spend time with?
"Revolutionaries"
(~1300 words)
There was no question about it.
Carlisle’s family was weird.
He’d met them before, but in passing. Now, surrounded, Garrett understood that the meetings had been in the woods, on street corners, at night, not because that was normal for Carlisle’s coven, but for his benefit. He had heard Carlisle say the words “home” and call the rangy redhead his son, but it just hadn’t registered. He thought it was just language, that his old friend was making himself feel better about the state of affairs he lived in. But it wasn’t.
They had a goddamn Christmas tree. When it had been suggested that he go to the Cullen home, Garrett had assumed he’d find a coven playacting. Staying out of the way of the Volturi. Hiding from humankind. And surely, surely there couldn’t be seven of them as perfect in their records as Carlisle.
But, no, here they were. Half a dozen bedrooms, closets with clothes that weren’t purloined from victims. Carlisle, nerd that he was, had a whole fucking library on the second floor, with books he’d been toting for two centuries. Five bathrooms—for what? And a kitchen. Well, that was, oddly, going to use.
Garrett could hear her, humming to herself as she buzzed around, again making some sort of something for the werewolves who were sleeping on the doorstep, and realized he recognized the tune. Penny Lane.
Yep, he needed air.
There was a figure already on the porch when he exited, and even if the scent hadn’t registered before his eyes did, he’d have recognized the silhouette anywhere. The shoulders were slumped in a way that reminded Garrett of two hundred twenty years ago. The body of a man trying to convince himself he was happy, when he wasn’t.
“This is some endeavor, English,” he said, and the head whipped around. Garrett laughed. “Did I startle you?” Absurd.
A long sigh. “Oh, perhaps I was somewhat aware.” The face broke into a tired smile. “I’m just out here cogitating.”
Garrett cocked his head. “You do you know you sound like the most horrible snob when you use words like that.”
This, thankfully, elicited a smile. “Noted. What brings you outdoors?”
“Your woman was singing the Beatles; I had to escape.”
A questioning frown.
“I didn’t care for the first British invasion. I like the second even less.”
His friend’s bark of a laugh was familiar. Garrett grinned in return, and then joined Carlisle at his side, leaning against the thick railing.
“I will say, however, that her taste in music aside, Esme is quite the—”
“Garrett.”
“—lovely woman is what I was going to say,” he finished sweetly, flashing Carlisle a wide smile. His friend shook his head, rolling his eyes, but then they met gazes and Carlisle smirked. Both of them began laughing.
“I am a lucky man; I won’t deny it.”
“Hell yes you are, you bastard.” He punched Carlisle in the shoulder, and Carlisle looked down shyly, a wry smile playing on his face. “And here I thought you were going to go all eternity without ever doing the deed.”
Another laugh. “Truthfully? So did I.”
The moonlight glinted off Carlisle’s hair as they both fell into companionable silence again. They looked enough alike to pass as brothers; it had been something Garrett had liked all those centuries ago. Even though Carlisle was his elder by a century and then some, he had always struck Garrett as naïve. His hope, his steadfast confidence that if he just did things his way, it would all turn out right and well. It was as admirable as it was ridiculous.
And yet it was working.
Garrett didn’t have to work hard to make out the individual conversations going on in the expansive living room as he and Carlisle stared together out into the forest. The sisters—also gorgeous, talking with the Spanish woman. Her mate, locked in a quiet talk with Carlisle’s son. The weird kid, with her even weirder name, reading to her mother while Carlisle’s blonde daughter interjected every now and again. The lawn behind the house twinkled in color from the tree and the lights that went up the banister in the big room; the shadows cast by the roaring fire danced playfully across the porch.
“You succeeded,” he said finally.
“Mmm?”
He gestured widely at the house behind them. “You succeeded. At this. I thought you were bereft of your senses, with that diet and the doctor thing and everything but…you did it.” He turned, leaning against the rail. “Family life suits you. I don’t know why I am surprised.”
Carlisle made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “It’s not easy. At times, I envy your freedom.” He turned back to Garrett. “I wasn’t out here merely cogi—thinking. I was worrying, while Edward isn’t paying attention. I’m worried about Alice and Jasper, and I’m worried about Renesmee, and I’m worried what that will do to Bella, and what any of this will do to Edward. And then all of you…”
Garrett clapped a hand on Carlisle’s shoulder. “We chose to come. You can’t take that on.”
The brow furrowed again. “I feel responsible.”
“That’s your problem, not anyone else’s. No one is going to hold you responsible for”—he gestured widely in the direction of the field where the clairvoyant had indicated they would need to be—“whatever goes on out there. You’re responsible for this. This gathering. These friends. This…family. This is what you worry about. This is what you can control.”
They both glanced back in the doors. Someone had turned on Christmas music. The Spanish woman was slow dancing with her mate. One of the sisters—the prettier one—had accepted the offer of a a Santa hat. Muffled laughter. The sound of crackling, and the earthen scent of a fresh log beginning to burn.
“And which of you with taking thought can add to his stature one cubit,” Carlisle muttered.
“Huh?”
This elicited another chuckle. “The twelfth chapter of Luke, you heathen.” He grinned. “But it’s a welcome reminder. Thank you.”
The Bible. Of course. That hadn’t changed, either. Garrett stared. Carlisle’s expression seemed to have softened; the strange, amber eyes glowed differently. The two of them stared out into the blackness of the night, the moon glinting off the river so close to the house. They listened to this; the way the water pounded against what must have been much larger rocks further north, where the elevation was even higher, before coming whooshing through the woods behind the stately home.
It was a long while before Garrett got the eerie feeling of being watched. He turned back toward the hulking French doors. Esme standing there, her head cocked, her arms crossed over her chest.
“There’s a beautiful woman looking for you, English,” Garrett said, nudging Carlisle in the ribs.
Carlisle turned. “So there is.” He beckoned, and the door opened a crack as Esme leaned out.
“Your granddaughter wants to say goodnight,” she called. “They’re going back over to the cottage in a few minutes.”
Your granddaughter, Garrett mouthed. The words still felt strange on his lips.
Carlisle didn’t miss this. “It is amazing, isn’t it?”
Garrett stared back at the door. “Like I said. It suits you.” He nodded in the direction of Carlisle’s wife. “Go. Stop worrying. At least for the night.”
In the same instant that Carlisle nodded, he was at his wife’s side. He put his arm around her waist, and she tipped her chin up so that their lips met. It looked…familiar. Garrett watched the way their gazes followed each other’s, the way a hand around the waist slipped slowly over hips to become a hand in another hand. The way she smiled up at him. The blur of knee-high blue that was the little girl streaking across the living room for his knees. The way he lifted her into the air and how she giggled and squeaked as he tossed her before settling her, one-armed, onto his hip. That even amidst the worry, his face lit up as he pressed his nose to hers and she put her palm to his cheek.
He had thought Carlisle boring. Naïve. Even deluded. I envy your freedom, he heard his friend’s voice echo in his head.
But as he listened to the laughter on the other side of the door, and watched the way the colored lights played off the planes of his friend’s face, Garrett wondered if freedom was really all Carlisle imagined it was cracked up to be.
~~~~
Note: A more modern translation of Luke 12:25 reads “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” (NRSV). But I feel confident that if Carlisle is going to quote the Bible, it’s the 1611 KJV that he has in mind.
#carlisle cullen#garrett#my fic#twilightadvent23#The only thing missing when I write these two#Is two bottles of Coors Light#but I try to imagine blocking that includes them cracking open a bottle#and keep that vibe
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Dec. 11 - Besides painting, what art forms does Esme enjoy? How do you imagine her art room/setup looks? - Photography and here's cottagecore art studio
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twilight advent calendar day twelve: What changes did the rest of the family see in Edward as he began to fall in love with Bella? (prompts here)
Early March 2005.
Gesso. Ochre. Cadmium red. The routine had stayed the same for over forty years.
A professor had once written about the warmth of her — well a male pseudonym’s — art, about the expert knowledge of color theory and keen observation skills, and how she — the male pseudonym — was arguably one of the most technically skilled artists of the century. Her husband had been thrilled by the recognition of what he had claimed to know for decades. She always suspected he was thrilled by the fact his vast collection of unreleased sketches and warmup paintings skyrocketed in value overnight. It was an amusing memory, a silly little compliment that had cemented her routine in fear of never reaching such recognition again.
“Dr. Callaghan may have been wrong about the technique, but he was not wrong about your skill. You are one of the greats,” Edward’s voice came from the doorway.
“How long have you been spying?” Esme asked.
“Have you ever accepted a compliment?”
“How can I help you, Edward?”
“I do not need anything,” Edward responded, taking a seat in the armchair tucked in the corner of the studio, placed specifically for the two members of her family who insisted on keeping her company as she worked. “I only wished to watch you paint.”
‘This will be good,’ Esme thought to herself, failing to bite back her sigh. At one point in their lives, Edward would have sincerely spent an afternoon sitting comfortably watching her paint. It had been at least ten years since he had last done this.
“It has not been that long,” Edward said quietly.
She flipped through her memory like a rolodex. Dozens of times she would drift into the living room while he played the piano only for him to excuse himself a few minutes later. Hundreds of invitations to accompany her on a hunt, or errand, or in a game of chess, all politely declined. The past month or so he had scarcely been home at all.
“I have been a lousy son.”
“I did not say that, dear.” It had been seventeen years since he referred to himself as her son in front of her, it had only been a year since he referred to himself as such in front of others. Edward winced at this thought and she mentally apologized.
“You did not have to say it, it is true.”
“I was simply surprised you are here, sweetheart, that is all.”
“I wanted to watch you paint.”
Esme smiled, getting up to fetch a new bottle of linseed oil.
“And,” Edward continued after a moment.
“Here we go,” Esme laughed.
Edward rolled his eyes with a fond smile. It was a playfulness that was once hallmark to their relationship. She had not realized how much she had mourned it.
“You were the one painting me, I presumed you would like a live reference.”
“I have your face memorized, you know that.”
“It appears I have been the subject of the week,” Edward said, standing and walking over to her desk that was littered with dozens of sketches and paintings of him. His unspoken question of why hung in the air.
She did not say the answer aloud but instead thought of the element she had been trying to capture. She walked back to her desk and saw his finger lingering on one of the drawings’ dimples.
‘It had been a while since I had seen that smile,’ she mentally explained. If she was truthful she had not seen him smile so brightly before, before he met… her.
“I apologize I have been so morose lately.”
“Lately as in the past twenty years?” Esme laughed, poking his arm. He shockingly laughed along. ‘I’m happy to see you so happy.”
“Even if it means I am never home?”
“Of course,” she smiled. “I was probably a rotten friend when Carlisle and I first started courting.”
“You were an awful friend,” Edward chuckled. “You kept thinking of my father without his clothes on, it was traumatizing.”
Esme smiled, attempting to keep her mind from wandering.
“Esme,” Edward chided, crinkling his nose in disgust.
“You brought it up,” she smiled, taking a seat at her desk once more. He walked back over to the arm chair, slinging his legs over one arm.
They sat in peaceful quiet as she worked on the portrait, occassionally glancing over at him as she painted the face she knew too well.
“Will you just ask already?” Edward eventually sighed.
“I do not wish to pry,” Esme lied. She wished to pry very much and to know every detail about the girl who brought her son’s happiness back but she knew better.
“Her name is Bella.”
“I know that,” Esme grinned, spinning on her stool to face him. “Tell me everything else.”
“She’s perfect. She loves Jane Austen,” Edward said, looking at the ceiling as if he did not know where to begin. “Her middle name is Marie…”
Esme reached for her sketchbook and pencil as he spoke, not taking her eyes off his face. She barely glanced down at the paper as began to sketch her son absolutely beaming.
He stopped after a minute, recgonizing the faces begining to form on her page.
“Is that what I look like?”
‘Only when you talk about her… and Liberace.’
“I should not be this happy. She is a human, this is not going to end well,” Edward started, the familiar frown returning between his brows.
“Edward,” Esme sighed. “Can you allow yourself to be happy for once?”
“How are you not worried?”
“I know you will worry enough for the both of us,” Esme laughed, begining to refine her linework.
“Your eternal optimism can be cloying at times.”
“Do you wish to tell me you do not feel hopeful when you think of her?”
“Not solely hopeful.”
“But there is hope?”
“Yes,” Edward admitted reluctantly yet immediately, a soft smile on his face.
Esme grinned. “Will you please tell me more?”
“She was born on September 13, 1987. Her favorite color is brown…”
He was grinning as he spoke, allowing himself a rare moment to gush without worrying about the future and all the possibilities. Esme had to flip to another page of her sketchbook, it was difficult to capture his unadulterated joy accurately but she was quite grateful she finally had the opportunity to try.
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Here is your Twilight Advent Calendar for 2023!
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Instead of candy, here are some bite-sized headcanon prompts for each day throughout December 1–25. Each one is simple enough to answer with a quick headcanon post, but your ficlets, fan art, and moodboards will add some extra sparkle!
You can answer each prompt on its day or schedule your posts ahead of time. The tag is #twilightadvent23.
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Dec. 1 - Who is Rosalie's favorite vampire friend outside of the Cullens? What does she like to do with them?
Dec. 2 - What is Emmett's favorite board game or card game? How has he modified it to be more challenging?
Dec. 3 - Pick one deceased Twilight character to draw or tell us more about. How would the Twilight universe be different if they were still alive?
Dec. 4 - What does Sam like about being the alpha? What's difficult about it? And how does he feel post-BD1 about Jacob's new role?
Dec. 5 - What is each Cullen's favorite college major so far? What new major should they try someday?
Dec. 6 - What was it like for Eleazar to see the Volturi/his fellow guards again in Breaking Dawn?
Dec. 7 - Choose one Twilight couple (or an AU ship) and tell us about an argument they've had. How did they resolve it in the end?
Dec. 8 - What was it like for Jasper to train and fight in the Eclipse battle after so many years of peace?
Dec. 9 - What is it like for Carlisle to work as a doctor now versus back when he was alone?
Dec. 10 - Pick one of the witnesses in Breaking Dawn. What was it like for them to stay at the Cullens' home for those two weeks? Who did they spend time with?
Dec. 11 - Besides painting, what art forms does Esme enjoy? How do you imagine her art room/setup looks? (Fan artists, want to show us?)
Dec. 12 - What changes did the rest of the family see in Edward as he began to fall in love with Bella?
Dec 13 - What were Maria's thoughts when she heard about the gathering in Breaking Dawn?
Dec 14 - Tell us about an OC you like, either your own or someone else's. Include a drawing, moodboard, or playlist if you'd like to!
Dec 15 - Tell us about a point in the canon timeline where things could have easily gone in a different direction. How differently would things turn out in this AU?
Dec. 16 - How close do you think Charlie and Renée will come to knowing the whole story eventually?
Dec. 17 - What do your favorite Volturi guards do for fun/hobbies?
Dec. 18 - What are some things the Cullens do every time they move? Does anyone have any rituals re: leaving a location or starting at a new one?
Dec. 19 - Tell us some headcanons about a Twilight character you don't usually post about. Write a ficlet or include a sketch, moodboard, etc. if you like!
Dec. 20 - Headcanons for the summer between Twilight and New Moon (Bella/Edward or other characters)?
Dec. 21 - Pick any five characters. What's something they always carry with them?
Dec. 22 - What did Alice do to pass the time pre-1948?
Dec. 23 - What's one of your favorite scenes in Twilight (books or films) and why?
Dec. 24 - What Christmas/holiday gifts are your favorite characters exchanging this year?
Dec. 25 - For one of the Twilight vampires, tell us about a Christmas or winter memory from their human days.
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Bonus for new year's eve - What resolutions are your favorite Twilight characters making for the new year?
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#twilightadvent23#Fandom event#Headcanons#Prompts#Fanfiction#Fan art#Twilight saga#Please reblog to boost!#Last year's tag was Twilightadvent22 if you want to browse
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Twilight Advent Day 18: Cullen Moving Ritual
Jasper: Sorts out all the financial/ legal stuff, contacting Jenks and getting new IDs, sorting out bank accounts, new school/work stuff maybe contacting the Volturi and Denali Coven about their address change.
Carlisle: Oversees everything, aids in packing and makes sure their house is sorted.
Esme: Helps packing, makes sure house is up to scratch design wise.
Alice: Main packer, organises everything, everyone has their place
Rosalie: Deals with the Garage and any storage areas since a fair bit of it is hers and her car parts.
Emmett: Carries a lot of it (especially if humans are around), is in charge of his gaming systems
Edward: Deals with all the music stuff across the house and all the art around the house as well, except for the Volturi portrait.
#twilightadvent23#twilight renaissance#twilight#the twilight saga#cullen coven#carlisle cullen#esme cullen#rosalie hale#alice cullen#jasper hale#emmett cullen#edward cullen
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✨☃️ Twilight Advent Calendar - Day 5 ☃️✨
What is each Cullen's favorite college major so far? What new major should they should try someday?
Carlisle - all his favorite college fields have something to do with medicine and healthcare. His favorite fields so far have been general surgery and trauma medicine. He knows he has a gift of staying calm and collected in the middle of panicky chaos, and uses it to its full advantage to help people.
Esme - her favorite field is architecture, which she has incorporated some of her other skills into (like art). She has used her skills and money to design a beautiful house as a shelter for women in abusive relationships where they can get the support and help they need. She prefers to not directly interact with humans, but has thought about becoming a therapist some day.
Edward - he enjoys molecular biology and philosophy most of all the fields he's studied. He studied at the theatre one year in an attempt to become an opera singer. No one lets him forget it.
Rosalie - her favorite field is astrophysics, which she has multiple degrees in, loving the look on people's faces when they realize she's a blonde supermodel who's an actual rocket scientist. She's also worked as an OBGYN in a hospital with Carlisle, which she loved but eventually, it got too painful for her to be around babies and pregnant women every day.
Emmett - he's mostly studied fields related to fitness and his favorite is kinesiology, and he usually uses that degree to go on to become a personal trainer. He's also a professional chef and has worked in high end restaurants.
Alice - she's an expert on business and economics and has multiple degrees in it, but her favorite will always be fashion design. She's also worked as a party planner and a professional dancer/gymnast.
Jasper - world history and American history, but usually chooses to study in a military academy and his favorite job is air force pilot. He sometimes works summers at amusement parks or water parks to bask in the happy emotions of humans.
Bella - English literature and environmental biology, especially botany
#sorry this is so half assed#I'm tired af but wanted to write it anyway#so here it is#twilightadvent23#cullens
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Dec. 1 - Who is Rosalie's favourite vampire friend outside of the Cullens? What does she like to do with them?
In terms of canonical relationships, Rosalie is closest to Kate. They align a lot in personality: they both find it hard to trust, but, when they do, they are fiercely loyal, willing to kill or be killed for that person/ people; they have both suffered great loneliness in their lives (Kate first when she became a vampire as, whilst she now had Sasha and Tanya, they were strangers, and her tribe was slaughtered and then again when Sasha died. And Rosalie when she became a vampire.) and in turn can emphasise with and relate to each other over it.
Also, the fact that they are both bad-ass take no shit women.
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Dec. 11 - Besides painting, what art forms does Esme enjoy? How do you imagine her art room/setup looks? (Fan artists, want to show us?)
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She likes photography and junk journaling (a bit like scrapbooking where you put anything and everything you want in a journal). If you count this as an art form in and of itself, she likes doing paint mixing. (When Sydney was a toddler, Esme managed to enthrall her for a couple of hours with mixing paint. Esme's also got a famous Instagram account dedicated to mixing paint and matching colors.)
I imagine Esme's art room is always conveniently next to Carlisle's study, connected by a door. That way they can still spend time together and yet have their own space. This photo makes me think of her art room:
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Twilight Advent Calendar Day 5
Dec. 5 - What is each Cullen's favorite college major so far? What new major should they try someday?
Carlisle's favorite: Neurology. I think that Carlisle is someone who connects his faith and his medical practice together, and learning about the brain from a medical standpoint would have fascinated him. I see him studying this in Europe in the late 1700s/early 1800s, and then again in the very early 1980s.
Try someday: I'm going to say Pediatric Oncology. He's never specialized in children's medicine before, and the oncology specialty is particularly difficult because of the amount of loss associated with the department. But if he can use his abilities and lifetime of skills to get one child diagnosis or treatment a little bit sooner, then it's worth it. But the emotional toll would affect his family, so he hasn't tried yet.
Oh, or something revolving around English History, with a specific focuses on religion's role. He'd like to examine that part of his past from an analytical and academic perspective.
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Esme's favorite: Interior Architecture. It's one thing to decorate a room, which Esme enjoys, but it's a totally different thing to build the room from scratch to capture a specific kind of light, and be a specific shape, accentuate the sound of Edward's piano, and work with the movements and behaviours of her family. She just loves how she gets to create this sanctuary from nothing. And getting to explore that across residential and commercial spaces was magical to her. It's also one of those degrees she gets to use regularly.
Try someday: Languages. Like the rest of the family, she can speak quite a few, but she'd love to go back and get a formal qualification so that she could do translation work professionally. Esme always seeks out her favourite books in foreign editions to compare the translations, and would love to work on book translations.
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Edward's favorite: Music. It's his passion, and he loves to be able to study it so in depth, and get feedback from an academic and practical perspective from someone with a similar interest and passion. Carlisle insists he can only study music once every two decades to encourage diverse interests and prevent a connection being made between identities, so he really savors it when he gets to study it again.
Try someday: Family Law. As as a way to honour his biological father, but Edward has no use for more money or fighting for the prestige in law school, so he likes Family Law the best. It would also come in handy for the Cullens' cover story, and with his gift he believes he could make sure children are protected. Realistically, though, he would only get away with practicing for a year or two, so he keeps putting it off. With the rise in video conferencing and online consultations, though, there's potential for the future.
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Rosalie's favorite: Nothing will ever take away the joy and pride Rosalie felt graduating from her very first Engineering degree. It's the one degree she prizes over the others because she was one of the first girls allowed in the program, and she graduated with honours (second place in the class because the school didn't want controversy, but Rose knows they fudged the grades.)
Try someday: Either Social Work or Early Childhood. Rosalie would love to advocate for women, especially those struggling, but she also recognises her bad temper would probably make a mess of the situation. Maybe one day. Early Childhood is more likely; it sounds wonderful but it's still hard - a little easier after Renesmee, but something she's working towards in the future.
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Emmett's favorite: Video game design - he loved every aspect of that because it was such a great mix of hardcore coding and computer work combined with more creative aspects. He also loved the diverse applications of it, and explaining how it was valuable for medicine and engineering. His final project was technically a failure because it ran too fast and the controllers were buggy according to his professors, but it was also the first vampire-speed video game to be made and he still adds levels to it every so often.
Try someday: Emmett puts a bunch of degrees that sound mildly interesting or really weird in a hat and draws one out each time. He claims that this creates diverse interests and keeps him on his toes. He just loves the looks at his family's faces when he announces that he'll be tackling a degree in Turfgrass Science or Amusement Park Engineering. Gunsmithing and Surf Science have both caught his eye, though.
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Alice's favorite: The very first fashion design degree she ever took. She went from being a girl that stole most of her clothing and wore them until they were destroyed, to learning how to choose fabric, how to draw patterns, cut and sew her own clothes. She learnt about designers, about how fashion shaped society, and it allowed Alice to build herself up from nothing - clothing is such a comfort to her, and being able to make it from scratch is just another level of security.
Try someday: Finance Law. It would be useful for her own wheelings and dealings, since most of her education in finance is from the 50s and 60s night school, playing the stock market, and what she gets from her visions. Having a formal degree in that area would also streamline a lot of stuff for the family. It's just so dry, Alice keeps putting it off. And yes, there would be major Elle Woods vibes if she gets around to it.
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Jasper's favorite: Philosophy. The boy does love a little bit of navel gazing and contemplation about humanity as a concept. It's helped him deal with a lot of things that happened in his past, and the choices that he made, as well as how to move forward. He loves getting out the old books and sinking into them for days; it's the only study area where he's actually worked as an online professor.
Try someday: Forensic Psychology. Jasper would love to understand what makes people tick, especially abnormal ones. He would love to understand how he became such a monster, and if it was inevitable or if there was a trigger. And he would really enjoy figuring out the motivations behind crimes. Everything about Forensic Psychology appeals to the strategic side of him.
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Bella's favorite: English literature. Bella loves it. She loves classic novels, and getting to study them is a dream. She loves discussing them in depth with other people who are just as passionate about them, and examining the difference in language and media portrayals, as well as the reflections from the author's real lives. She gets to shut herself up with a stack of her favourites, write about them, and get graded on her thoughts. It's perfect.
Try someday: Education or publishing. I think Bella would enjoy teaching literature to high school students, especially at a selective school where the kids were high achievers and invested in their education. She'd be a deadly serious English teacher, maybe even aim for a year or two teaching at a college-level. Or I could see her going into media to get into publishing and editing, allowing her to commit extensive time into reading, but also helping shape future books.
#twilightadvent23#late to the party#and wearing a temporary brace on my hand so this took three times as long to type out#headcanons#i had a few thoughts about my choices#emmett has the weirdest collection of degrees out of the family#you can't change my mind
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🌲Twilight Advent Calendar 2023 🌲
Dec. 20 - Headcanons for the summer between Twilight and New Moon (Bella/Edward or other characters)?
hey, that's the premise for my current WIP! check it out if you want to read about edward getting caught in an endless anxiety spiral, alice acting like an obnoxious meddling little sister, and bella being so oblivious that it hurts </3
#twilightadvent23#it's epov so light on the fluff heavy on the angst#fair warning: if the ending of MS made you angry this will probably make it worse lol
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guilt
Esme and Carlisle fight about discuss his motivations to change Rosalie.
twilight advent calendar day seven: Choose one Twilight couple (or an AU ship) and tell us about an argument they've had. How did they resolve it in the end? (prompts here)
content warnings: references to sexual assault & domestic abuse.
June 1933.
Esme sat on the back porch step, keenly aware her freshly styled hair was frizzing in the evening rain but lacking all motivation to go back inside. She would have been thrilled about the project at any other point in her life, a mansion that desperately needed life breathed back into it. She should have been content for years exploring the rooms upon rooms of things to do, planning her restoration, and studying the hundreds of years of history haunting the halls. Yet, the hastiness of the move, and the chaos brought by their new unexpected discontented roommate, meant she loathed what her husband believed was a gift.
The back porch was as far as she could go, the vast wilderness she once spent days hiding in was strictly forbidden. The newest housemate refused to be left alone with anyone but Esme and was too new to their way of life to be left alone completely. Esme should have taken it as a compliment and not the death sentence she had come to regard it as.
She heard the back door creak open — a reminder she still needed to oil that hinge — before she detected her husband, her inhuman senses overpowered by her inhuman imagination.
“Hello,” he said, heavy footsteps walking across the porch, she could hear the oak creak under his boot. The porch would need to be replaced, or removed, which was fine it was a horrific addition, not the only one she had faced in recent months.
“You are home early,” she observed.
“I am an hour later than usual,” he responded, taking a seat next to her, the porch groaned, probably termites.
She blinked, it was awfully dark was it not? “Oh, I must have been in my own mind, I did not realize it was so late.” She moved to stand — begrudgingly preparing herself to mediate whatever conflict had arisen in her mere hours alone — but his hand around her arm stopped her.
“Please don't rush off, I feel I have barely been able to look at you without someone threatening to harm me these past few months,” her husband said in a manner he must have believed to be charming.
She sighed, their home had been… tense, to put it politely. Although it was largely due to his own’s action. He was correct, they had not had a meaningful conversation since April. They had briefly run into each other in hallways, or spent mornings playing chess in the living room but always with an audience, and the understanding they could not speak freely. That moment, although lacking the privacy they typically preferred, was the closest they had gotten to a moment alone in months.
“Edward is simply worried, perhaps a tad mad, but mostly worried,” Esme explained. “You know how he gets.”
“He is not the one I am frightened of," Carlisle laughed, his hand landing on her thigh. "I am afraid she will bite my head off every time I touch you."
She attempted to laugh along but even she thought it sounded wrong.
Frightened. She chewed the word, turning the tone he had used over in her mind, it had flowed so naturally. As if the scared teenager currently listening to every word they said from the second story did not have every right to be terrified.
“She is scared, it is not her fault,” Esme said, wrapping her arm around him.
“She could tone it down a notch,” her husband scoffed, “even Edward was not this aggressive .”
“Edward had the flu,” Esme said before she could think better of it. She knew better than to talk back, especially weaponizing what was a traumatic experience of her son’s. ‘I am sorry, sweetheart. I did not mean it dismissively, I know that was horrific, I was trying to provide him perspective,’ Esme thought to the boy who was undoubtedly eavesdropping. She could hear the muffled first ten seconds of her favorite composition and knew she was forgiven.
“You reacted far better,” Carlisle countered. “You have been through similar," he said quietly enough it would be barely heard by those in the house.
“I had wished for death. I recognized you. I did not have my life ripped away,” Esme said. Why was he refusing to understand?
“Edward had his life ripped away, as did I.”
“Not at the hands of someone you loved.”
“I understand that, love, but—”
“Do you?”
Carlisle recoiled at her tone, but followed it by a tight lipped smile. “Are you alright? This is uncharacteristic for you,” he said in his familiar “doctor” tone, comforting, patronizing, a tone that meant to convey ‘I am an authority.’
“I apologize,” Esme said, squeezing his forearm lovingly, “I have had a long day.”
The words burned as she heard herself say them. How many unnecessary apologies was she destined to give when a husband of hers disagreed with her conduct? No, the two were nothing alike.
He smiled forgivingly, nodding in understanding. His hand, large and cold, wrapped around the back of her head, fingers through her hair. She flinched, he frowned and withdrew.
“I apologize,” Esme said, like one of Edison’s eerie dolls fated to echo the same sentiment until their wax record wore out.
“Does she know about?” He asked, dropping his voice to a whisper, gesturing with his hand rather than say the name they danced around as if it was a curse.
“Charles?” Esme asked, speaking at her regular volume, he winced but nodded. “You can say his name. He is not the Prince of Denmark.”
“Macbeth was attempting to be the King of Scotland. Hamlet is the Prince of Denmark,” Carlisle corrected her attempt at levity.
“Yes, I have told her about Charles. Not every detail but many.”
“Do you think reliving that has caused this?” He asked delicately, once again gesturing, this time to her, referencing her previous tone. Heaven forbid she speak frankly to him.
“It did not seem fair that I knew every detail about the worst night of her life, under no account of her own, and she knew nothing of mine.”
“You did not have to share anything with her. That is your story to tell how, and when you choose.”
“Carlisle, I know far too well how dreadful it is to be alone reliving that pain, feeling completely out of control of your life.”
“You felt alone back then?”
“Of course.”
His only response was a hmmph. She had hinted at this compliant many times over the years but had never said it in so few words.
Esme took the silence as an opportunity to continue speaking about the topic they had silently agreed to dance around. “I have been thinking about Ch- him a lot lately.” She noticed the way his nails dug into his palm, his glare at a puddle forming in the backyard, and yet she persisted, albeit less confidently. “I think… perhaps, I buried a lot of my memories in an attempt to move through it, and to not upset you two, but now it is all bubbling back up.”
“You do not have to discuss anything you do not wish to. No matter how much she pries.”
“She does not pry. I share willingly, I am thinking about him anyways, I figure I might vocalize some of it.”
“I apologize. She should not be forcing you to think of that thing.”
Esme considered her next move carefully. Very rarely did she challenge him blatantly, and never in front of others, but this seemed far more important than anything they had ever disagreed about previously and privacy seemed extinct.
“You brought home a young woman bloody and nude, who had been…” she swallowed the venom that felt like bile rising in her throat at her next word, “raped and beaten by her fiancé and his friends. You decided she should be frozen in that moment for the rest of eternity, and you do not believe I am going to naturally think about my husband and his?”
“His friends?” Carlisle stammered, one hand in a fist, the other gripping his knee.
“Do not act as if I have had complete permission to share freely about what went on in that house. You have torn a hole in your pants in your anger.”
He glanced down at his knee where his nails had shredded the slacks. “Do you expect me to enjoy hearing about him? To revel in...picturing what he did?”
“No,” she said definitively placing her hand softly on his torn pant knee, “but I lived it and sometimes I can not ignore that it happened.”
“His friends?” He asked again, quietly.
“We do not have to discuss it,” she said softly, squeezing his knee comfortingly.
“No, you want to. Please, tell me every gory detail,” he practically spat.
“Carlisle.”
“I apologize my tone was inappropriate” he said, in only a slightly softer tone.
The couple fell into an uncomfortable silence, punctuated by raindrops on brick.
“Why did you change her?” Esme asked minutes later.
“We have been over this before. She was far too young to die, I knew she was beyond the realm of medicine.”
“You see young people die all the time. You see young beautiful women die often, I am not jealous enough to suggest that was the motivator. Why not any of them?”
“This was different.”
“Why?” He did not respond, she pressed further. “Why this young woman who had been through such familiar horrors? Why did you feel compelled to save her? Why not a woman like her forty years ago? Why now?"
Her husband did not respond, but he met her eyes briefly, his mouth turning into a frown, and he abruptly looked away. It was confirmation enough.
“That is what I was afraid of,” Esme muttered. It felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. She had suspected this was at least partly his motivation from the moment she pieced together what had happened to the girl. His needless guilt had been a topic of discussion on a number of occasions, had made him act irrationally more than once, but this… was too far.
They fell back into silence, her hand on his knee drawing mindless shapes but it felt more like a rehearsed gesture than a sign of affection.
He moved one arm as if to wrap it around her shoulders but pulled it back to his body before ever touching her.
“You could not save me,” Esme said quietly. It was truth they had never acknowledged but both knew. “You believe you could not save me because you left, correct?”
“It is the truth.”
“But I was not a victim," Esme said plainly.
“Es-”
“No,” she said, moving the hand on his knee to his jaw, pulling his face to look at her. She shifted on the stair to face him directly. “Listen to me, please. I married him. I stayed with him for years. I chose not to knock him over the head with a frying pan and feed him to my father’s pigs. I chose to stay in our home when he was gone for a year. I chose him. A thousand times over.”
“I do not understand what you are trying to say.”
“Even if you were there, even if you had known what he did, you could not have done anything.” The hand on his face moved to his upper arm.
“But I cou—”
“No. If you had given me a choice, I would not have chosen you. I believed that was the life I was supposed to live. I would have chosen him, every single time. Do you understand me?”
“Do you… love him?” Carlisle asked, frowning as if the words burned.
“Don't be foolish, you know I do not," she scoffed, “I never did. But I was not brave, I would not have chosen to escape even if for some reason you were there and offered. The only reason I left was because I had too. You did not fail to save me.”
“You do not know that. If I coul—”
“Carlisle, no. What happened in my life, is no one’s fault but Charles’ and mine. You are not to blame.”
“But if I had—”
“This is not about you!” Esme exclaimed harshly.
He gulped.
"What I went through had nothing to do with you. What happened to her had nothing to do with you. The only way you are involved is because you changed someone because you felt guilty over what you could not prevent me from going through?” She finally asked.
He looked away from her, eyes focused on their feet.
“I do not believe I thought of it that rationally in the moment,” he said slowly, “But logically, yes, that was probably a motivating factor.”
“Do you understand the position that puts me in?”
“I do now, yes.”
“Do you understand the position she is in?”
“I never intended -”
“I know,” she said earnestly, leaning forward so she could look him in the eye. “You never intend. I do not say this to hurt you, love. I do not say this to make you feel guilty, but I need you to understand the consequences this has had, for all of us.”
He bit his bottom lip, a jerky little nod. “I do,” he muttered. He turned, she thought to avert her gaze, but instead his head dropped on her shoulder.
She wrapped her arms around him as she felt his frame shake, “I do,” he trembled, no louder than a breeze.
#carlisle cullen#esme cullen#rosalie hale#twilightadvent23#my stories#i have had a draft sitting of this fight since 2021 last night i scrapped all but two lines and wrote this in a few hours last night#something is missing so i want to revisit before i post it on ao3 but happy this finally got a full draft#queue
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eavesdropping.
twilight advent calendar day three: Pick one deceased Twilight character to draw or tell us more about. How would the Twilight universe be different if they were still alive? (prompts here).
1927. Great Falls, Montana.
After eleven years and a handful of moves, Edward still could not fathom why Carlisle insisted on forcing the two of them to travel by train. It was torturous, the heartbeats pounding against his skull for hours and hours, incessant thoughts, the smell of intoxicating blood rising at a fever pitch. This failure to understand Carlisle’s motivations meant he had refused to speak to Carlisle for the past six hours. When the train finally lurched into the station Edward hardly glanced back to see if Carlisle followed as he bounded through the car and onto the platform, desperate for fresh air.
Edward made his way through the platform of the small train depot, working his way through businessmen with irritating thoughts. He was unable to focus in on anyone in particular’s thoughts, or any specific conversation, nor did he care to, this is how he found a toddler nearly colliding with him.
He managed to dodge the small child in the nick of time, saving the child’s skull from shattering against his kneecap. Where was this child’s parents? The child instead face-planted on the brick platform. The sickeningly sweet smell of blood came seconds after the snap of cartilage.
He gulped down venom, he would not murder a toddler in cold blood.
“My apologies, sir,” a woman said behind Edward. He turned to glance at her, she was kneeling to pick up the child. Ah, there was the child’s parent. “He fails to watch where he’s going when he is excited,” she explained, examining her son’s face. She wiped his tears with a maternal fondness Edward longed to remember and Edward found it difficult to continue to blame the child for being careless in his excitement.
“It was my fault. I was the one who failed to be observant” Edward said as she got to her feet, the child on her hip. She gave him a grateful smile, her attention still on her injured son.
“Do we know each other?” She asked. “Your face is quite familiar.” Her thoughts were thinking of his gold eyes in particular, the face she recognized was not his but the man who created him. It was clearly Carlisle’s face, even if it was an image clouded by decades of human memories and fairly inaccurate.
‘Say no, please,’ Carlisle thought, closer than Edward thought.
“I don’t believe so,” Edward smiled. The woman thought it was terrifying, he thought the blood gushing out of her child’s nose was terrifying. “I must have one of those faces. Have a nice day.”
“You as well. Apologies again,” she said as he began to walk away.
Edward found a spot in the shadows, along the station wall, as he waited for Carlisle who was currently trying to hide his face with a scarf, while also trying far too hard to see the mystery woman’s face.
“Does your nose still hurt?” The woman asked her son, whose nose was thankfully beginning to stop bleeding. He nodded, burrowing his head into his mother’s shoulder. She kissed the top of his head, paying no mind to the stain that would tarnish her dress.
Most days the grief for parents he had long forgotten was an ignorable ache, in moments like that it felt like a gaping wound.
‘Was it me she recognized? ’ Carlisle thought, a hand on Edward’s shoulder breaking him from his thoughts.
Edward nodded, watching as two more children rushed to the woman as she approached. The oldest, a boy, could not be older than six. The second oldest was maybe four, a blonde girl, who strongly resembled the man standing against the station wall. She greeted the children with pure glee, thoughts full of how different they all looked since she had last seen them. She knelt to properly hug them, letting the broken-nosed toddler free as he squirmed. The eldest two children elbowed each other to be the first to greet their mother.
“A former patient?” Edward asked, realizing the rosy interpretation of this scene was not solely his own but also belonging to the man standing next to him.
‘Yes,’ Carlisle mentally responded, thoughts of a teenager with a broken leg and a boisterous laugh. ‘Frankly, she is one of the ones I have wondered about most often. Her aspirations were quite admirable.’
“What’s her name?”
‘Esme Platt. Although I presume it’s no longer Platt,’ Carlisle thought, his eyes focused on the man greeting her. If Edward did not know better he would say Carlisle was judging the man. ‘At least she made it out West.’
The two stood unnoticed on the opposite side of the platform, for some reason content to watch the family exchange pleasantries and ‘I missed you’s from afar. When the greetings were done the three children, now tired of the novelty of their mother’s return took off into the depot, arm in arm.
“Goodbye,” Esme laughed, turning her attention to the man who was still waiting to greet her.
"Walk calmly and stay in the station," the man called sternly after them. The children stopped running and proceeded in a polite pace. “I may have promised them we would stop for ice cream if they would be nice to each other,” he explained. Esme laughed, as he took her luggage.
"I thought you did not believe in bribery."
"Lillie hid a frog in Joe's pillowcase, which preceded to start a battle. I was desperate."
‘Where did she travel to? ’ Carlisle mentally asked. Edward refrained from teasing him over the sudden interest in humans’ lives, more accurately the sudden interest in one human’s life, a human he had self-admittedly ‘wondered about most often.’
“Her family, an emergency of some sort. I can only see glimpses of a woman who looks like her sobbing.”
‘For how long?’
“A month, I believe.”
‘And her husband did not accompany her,’ Carlisle thought to himself, Edward was confident there was judgment behind that thought.
“How is Mary?” Esme’s husband asked, throwing her bags over one shoulder, offering her his free elbow which she immediately took.
Esme sighed. “I believe she will be fine, eventually.”
“I am sure she will. And how are you?” He asked as they began to walk into the depot.
Without a word to each other Edward and Carlisle began to slowly trail behind the couple, staying far enough away they could not be accused of eavesdropping or stalking.
“Deliriously happy to be home. I missed you all terribly,” Esme smiled.
“Despite the children’s short greeting, we are all glad to have you back."
“Were they awful?”
“They were fine. On an unrelated note, I do believe we have too many of them. I suggest we sell Lillie,” he laughed, glancing down at his wife, pausing when he saw her face, “What does that expression mean?”
“I am not wearing an expression," she said, but well aware her lie was unconvincing she quickly added, "we will discuss it later.”
“Esme.”
She sighed, chewing her bottom lip as she decided the best manner to break her news. “In a few months, we may, potentially, have too many children… by one more.”
“Are you positive?”
She nodded, seemingly unenthused by this news. “I did not wish to tell you here but, I fainted one evening and Mary dragged me to the hospital, and it appears we will soon have enough children to form a baseball team.”
The man stopped in his tracks, finding the confines of proper society quite limiting at that moment and the urge to kiss his wife quite strong. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
“Arthur, we are in public,” Esme chided, her feigned dismay betrayed by her own smile. “You are not cross?”
‘Why would he be cross?’ Carlisle thought.
“Heavens no. Why would I? This is a gift.”
She scoffed as if her reasons for dismay could not be any plainer. “We can hardly afford the three we have. I am dreadfully old. I could not work for months when I was pregnant with Henry. And now, everything with Mary and her children.” She waved a hand to represent all the reasons he should be upset about the situation.
“It will work out, Esme,” Arthur said definitively, leading them to where their three children were playing peacefully on a bench.
“Since when are you an optimist?” Esme laughed.
Before Arthur could respond the children launched in to a chant for the ice cream they had been promised. The couple laughed, Esme lifting the blood caked toddler onto her hip, as the two oldest led their parents outside both prattling on about the dessert they were looking forward to.
“I surmise Montana is no longer an option,” Edward said after a minute of silence.
“I suppose not,” Carlisle sighed, turning to look at the large map on the wall. “Would you like to choose our next destination?”
#twilightadvent23#esme platt#esme's son#carlisle cullen#edward cullen#my stories#this isn't telling you any more about esme's son but more about what esme's life would have been like i suppose oops#i'm hoping hirsch doesn't feel like a watered down carlisle he appears in the piano teacher and is of course in the au draft i've been#working on but six years in i think he would be less grouchy than in the piano teacher but also i'm still figuring out his role
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twilight advent calendar day nine: What is it like for Carlisle to work as a doctor now versus back when he was alone? (prompts here)
The second he crossed the threshold of a medical classroom he understood. From the moment he was born, his father had spoken of this feeling. Of this innate belonging, Carlisle Cullen had spent years tirelessly searching, hunting for self-realization in the pages of well-worn Bibles, on his knees in front of a cross, and giving all of himself to help a parishioner. It never came. He believed, in a way quite different than his father, but the intrinsic feeling he shall never leave the hallowed halls of the church was one he never knew.
The moment he saved a life — an older man with blue eyes and greying hair who looked far too much like his father — he knew his hands were not crafted for guiding a flock but holding a scalpel.
For those two centuries, he roamed the Earth solely in pursuit of being the best doctor he could be. If asked why, his answer would be brief. He would tell those of his kind, in a slightly judgmental tone, that he found a fulfilling life by denying his base nature. He would tell those he desperately tried to save making a difference was enough.
Carlisle would not discuss why an individual life was precious. Humans were a marvel to him, for no particular reason besides being the object of his envy.
He did not recognize the change until 1918 when a young boy lost both his parents in an automobile accident. The hopelessness in the child’s wide green eyes was so reminiscent of the look Edward’s now gold eyes had been haunted by for a year. He could do nothing but naively tell the child his parents were in a better place and the grief would get easier to live with.
He looked at the hands that could not save two otherwise healthy adults, which caused a six-year-old to be fated to a life of grief. He imagined the boy on his wedding day, with no one there to congratulate him, a baby who would never know her face was her grandmother’s. A life forever changed by his inability. That was the day his work became tangible.
He hears a suddenly childless mother’s wail echo against the hospital walls and he sends a prayer she will not be visiting their morgue. He narrates every step of an examination for young women who dig their fingernails into their palms and avoid to meet his eye, assures her it was not her fault. He rolls his eyes at the reckless young men who wind up in the emergency room in need of stitches, he laughs at their ridiculous stories, tells them to be careful, their mothers will miss them. He tells the set of concerned parents their daughter simply “sees the world differently than most.”
In every patient who’s lives he can save in traditional means he sees the lives they lost, the ones that could have happened if their file had never wound up in his hand.
His work is tangible now. If you ask him why he pursued medicine, he will still give a quick answer, but he will think about the preciousness of small mundane lives, and the ones his family lost.
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Twilight Advent, Dec 1
Dec. 1 - Who is Rosalie's favorite vampire friend outside of the Cullens? What does she like to do with them?
I feel it quite certain that Rosalie's closest connections are to the Denali sisters, and that the connection she has with them are stronger than she does with the women in her own family. In the sisters, she would've found the acceptance of beauty and sexuality that she could only dance around in the Cullen family, and she would have found a lot of her own solace in their actions.
I suspect they spend a lot of time talking about men, and that over the years, they have heard a lot more about Emmett than Emmett wishes they have. Edward presumes that whenever Tanya and Rose get going, they're crabbing about him; he would be astonished to know he's almost never in either of their thoughts when they're together.
In the Denalis, Rosalie came to accept a different way of being a woman, and was allowed to let up on some of the mourning for her human life and learn to revel in the affordances of her new one. And deep down she knows this and is so grateful for their company and what it has meant for her relationships with the Cullens and her acceptance of who she is.
She'd never admit it, though.
Masterpost/prompts
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"If we had happy endings, we’d all be under gravestones now."
A scene from this alternate universe of what Esme's life could have been. Written for twilight advent calendar day three: Pick one deceased Twilight character to draw or tell us more about. How would the Twilight universe be different if they were still alive? (prompts here).
#esme platt#my stories#my art#twilightadvent23#I realized the prompt said “or draw” and that gave me the excuse i needed to draw it
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Twilight Advent Calendar 2023 Event
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Dec. 18 - What are some things the Cullens do every time they move? Does anyone have any rituals re: leaving a location or starting at a new one?
It's kind of a bittersweet time, even when the move has been scheduled and has nothing to do with someone having an accident. It's always a bit jarring to bring their cover stories to a sudden stop after 4-6 years of pretending to be completely human, growing up, etc. Those personas are essentially "dying," and dying young.
They gradually retreat from human society beforehand; they really are busy but they also do their best to fade from public view like that instead of just disappearing overnight. Sometimes they talk about the move (to a fake destination), sometimes they don't. Some random thoughts:
-Carlisle and Esme take some quiet time alone together. They find a favorite lookout point or other special spot (sometimes even a public place like a cafe). And they just talk about everything that's happened, new things they're hoping for, their worries and ideas about the kiddos, etc. And then they just sit quietly and silently say goodbye in their own ways. It's sort of a spiritual moment they share, just one without words.
-The moves are the hardest on Rosalie, especially if they're just starting over right away without any break or vacation. It's a bit easier for her if there's something to look forward to, so between Emmett and Esme (and Rosalie herself) this is often the case.
-I wrote Rosalie and Emmett burying a time capsule full of keepsakes when they left the Olympic Peninsula in 1940, and I'm toying with the idea that they do this every time—not sure yet.
-Like Carlisle and Esme, everyone tries to visit their favorite local spots one more time. For Edward it's usually his meadow or cave or whatever was his Brooding Place. For Rosalie/Emmett it's usually a human venue like a dance club.
-Like @miss-morgans-lover said, Jasper is very busy in the weeks before a move. He actually sort of likes the nitty-gritty of managing everyone's identities, erasing paper and electronic trails, deleting pictures from databases, being the liaison to Jenks, etc. He likes to contribute in a concrete way that helps keep everyone safe, and for the most part he's enjoying the challenge here in the digital age. He takes his responsibility for putting the fear of God into liabilities like Jenks very seriously. Bella, why on earth would you take this away from him??? Back off.
-Carlisle still has a lot to do, even though Jasper has taken on a good share of the load he used to bear re: identity management. He generally keeps a handful of identities active at once so he can store valuables, keep in touch with old colleagues (he loves "aging" himself in those letters/emails), and keep his investments going with as little fuss as possible. He also has to pay his dues: preparing his CV, going on interviews, being the new guy at work again, etc. It's always hard for him to be the new guy; he likes the challenge of starting younger every time, but he always has to hold back and re-earn the respect he's become accustomed to.
-Emmett always introduces/tweaks a new vampire-level sport for everyone to try at the new location. It's his way of cheering everyone up and giving a bit of meaning to whatever the new place is. Whenever possible, he finds a way to match the sport to the location.
You can find all of the #twilightadvent23 prompts here!
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