Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Starting a new school is like a game to the Cullens. Not unlike DND (which they tried playing once, but Jacob kept purposefully trying to throw the plot off track because it made Nessie laugh), but not like it either. They don’t take on personas or quests beyond trying to blend in. Trying to act like modern teenagers (which Bella had told them they failed rather spectacularly at, but it hasn’t caused them trouble so far so why fix what isn’t broken?)

Starting a new school is like playing the lottery for Alice: she never knows what sort of lovely reward the new area will bring to her.

The week before the Cullens move to their new home, Alice has a vision in three parts.

One: Nessie. Nessie blocks her, so she isn’t in the vision itself. But oh, Alice knows she’s there. That it’s about her. She sees a young girl of eleven (twelve in six weeks!) running around their home, screaming with laughter. Playing with Rosalie. Asking what it’s like to be a vampire. What is it like to be more than human? If she can come over to play every day after school with her new friend. Alice also sees her saying she’s not allowed to come over anymore. To never speak to Nessie again.

Two: Rose. Rosalie is in bloom. A beautiful glow surrounds her already ethereal appearance: she’s smiling, waltzing around the house–Humming songs under her breath. Being nice to strangers. She is miserable. On her knees, hands curled up into fists, venom coming out of her eyes. She’s in love and it is beautiful and horrible all at once. Rosalie is forever nineteen and her beloved is sixteen. A child. Unaware of the sufferings of eternal life.

Three: her parents. The only mother and father she remembers and will ever know. They ache the most in this vision. Knowing that the other is in agony, knowing that their morals cannot be broken. Not without consequences. That the object of their desires lies behind a veil they cannot trespass easily. If at all. She’s beautiful, she looks like a mother. Smiles like one. Cares like one. How easily she’ll fit into the threads of their family.

How easily they’ll all fit into the tapestry that is the Cullens.

Alice sees the future that will happen if she doesn’t do anything to help. If she stands aside and lets her family suffer. Her niece, her sister, her parents. 

Alice Cullen smiles like she just won the lottery, opening up her planner and scribbling furiously. Underneath her, Jasper glances at his lap: her mood bringing a sudden pep to his step.

“See somethin?”

Alice turns her head to look up at him, “How do you feel about pasodoble?”

-

Jasper, as it turns out, is a natural.

Now to bring the rest of the family on board. 

Edward is privy to her machinations and is mostly against it, which ruffles Alice’s feathers well and good.

“I had a vision.” She tells them the next morning, all of them gathered around the table (only Jacob and Nessie are eating). “Our family is going to grow by three.”

Esme is the first to react. She’s delighted at the thought of more children. Of a full household with joy and laughter and never an empty nest.

Rosalie is next: she’s worried that Alice is talking about a human. Or worse: multiple humans. That the foreseen family members are not already turned and will put the rest of them at risk. That she’s going to have to deal with another Bella all over again and be the villain of the family once more.

Edward keeps mum. Arms crossed. Not getting involved. Worried. Alice knows him well. His experience with Bella left him cautious about how a new factor will affect his family. His past with Carlisle makes him wary of how their father will react to keeping out of his second mate’s life. His life as a father leaves him worried over any unnecessary heartache his daughter could experience.

But he doesn’t need to worry because Alice has a plan.

Everyone just needs to do exactly as she says.

-

Their new high school is a charter school that’s seen better days. Then again most of the schools they’ve attended (if not all of them) are in the same boat. Buildings not up to code, potholes in the parking lot, and classrooms with more than thirty kids in attendance. Despite this, the local area is surprisingly cozy with everything being within walking distance, and anything further than that only requiring a bike.

Their cars bring a lot of attention.

“This is the kinda town where you could leave your doors unlocked, but uh–” Their guide (part of Ambassador’s Club) scratches their nose, “Well it doesn’t hurt to lock them anyways.”

They’re a nice person, Penelope ‘but call me Penny’. Most humans who meet the Cullens get something akin to the heebie-jeebies or stare with starstruck eyes. Penny is too distracted by trying to do a good job on the tour to focus on how pale or beautiful the lot of them are–Edward knows from reading their mind. It’s a decent enough space, and it’s nice to rest in the thoughts of someone who doesn’t immediately make snap judgments or worse: objectify him.

Emmett compliments Penny on their camo metal tumbler.

Alice wants to see the Arts building first. Rosalie stiffens and excuses herself to the nearest restroom.

Penny is very excited about the Arts building, and their energy is spurred on by Alice, who wants to drag every little detail out of their guide while they have them. Penny tells the Cullens about upcoming performances, after-school clubs, and different skill levels within the various subjects offered.

“Any of you signed up for an art class?” Penny sniffs (Alice foresees Nyquil in her future) “Like, music or drama or photo?”

They all raise their hands, naturally, because Alice wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Runs in the family, huh?” Penny doesn’t think they’re actually all blood-related but is too polite to ask the obvious question. “Well you’ll end up coming here at some point in the week or semester, depending on your schedule, and more than likely, you’ll be taught by Ms. Prieto at some point in time.” A pause, “Wait, shit, Mx. Prieto.” 

This was new. Alice blinks. Emmett pipes up, “Mix?”

“Gender neutral way of saying mister or ms. Real California, huh? Don’t tell her I said that.” She’s anxious, suddenly. Concerned or self-conscious about what they might think. “The town’s real don’t ask don’t tell about all that transgender stuff, but Mx. Prieto’s been here so long, nobody minds about what she calls herself. She makes it easy for them to understand.”

Penny’s defensive. Protective. It’s a good sign. Jasper feels no resentment and Edward skims over happy memories of her with the arts teacher.

He then glances over across the corridor, at the end of the hall. “Is that her?”

“Wha? Oh yeah, hey!” Penny waves at a teacher carrying an absurd amount of tote bags stuffed to the brim with what appears to be random junk. “Mx. Prieto, do you need any help?”

The teacher smiles, awkward, touched at being considered, and denies the offer of assistance, looking flustered at being caught in such a state. Alice thinks she looks kind. Bella thinks she looks young.

“Aight!” Penny shouts back, turning back to the group, “Mx. Prieto single-handedly runs the entire Arts department.” They sip from their tumbler (smells like battery acid mixed with blueberries), “It’s both inspiring and fucked up: the school doesn’t hire more people because she does it all herself. No room in the budget for added help, but plenty for those new tv monitors in the halls and gym. Who even stops to read those, anyways?”

Alice stops listening. Or rather, she pushes the conversation to the back of her head as she rests her chin on her fist, arm across her torso. Wondering about the woman her parents would eventually come to love. “What are the after-school activities again?”

Chapter Text

The new kids are kinda weird.

But that’s ok, Penny is kinda weird too.

None of them really set off their queerdar (patent pending), but they look like small-town kids. Like Penny. Like all the rest of the student body. Whom didn’t know what the hell a pansexual was or that Muslims didn’t all cover their heads. Not before Mx. Prieto kindly taught them. The Cullens look mature for their age, but Penny’s wise senior brain knows that they’re going to stick out like a sore thumb.

If the Arts teacher doesn’t informally adopt them, maybe they’re cult kids.

...Hey did that blond chick ever come out of the bathroom--?

-

Esme has been scrubbing the same plate for twenty minutes. It is sanded down to a disk that resembles the worry stone Jacob got Nessie for her birthday. Ah. Well. There goes another one.

Her husband comes up behind her and squeezes her shoulders. “We don’t…Have to meet them.” He murmurs into her temple, doubting the words as they came out of his mouth, “We could let them go. Live their life. We would be none the wiser. No loss.”

Esme’s shoulders slump, turning her head to look at Carlisle like he had just declared himself the murderer of several cute baby goats. “How could you say that?” She caresses his cheek while she says it because even though what he said hurt, she is not mad. Not at him. “It is the loss of a part of us. The loss of love.”

The loss of something that could have been. Even now, Esme aches for it. It makes sense, dying in the middle of your brain experiencing some of the worst emotional pain. Venom freezes you like that. Preserves you like that.

He rubs his thumbs over her hands. He tries even though he perhaps knows it is pointless. “She has a life. Family.” We had nothing when we became this way.

“They will become a part of our family too!”

“That’s not our call to make.”

“What about Rose?”

That makes him pause. What about Rose?

“Rosalie made her choice last week.”

His wife clenches her fists, and were he a mortal man, she would have dug her nails into his skin like claws. “It was the wrong choice.”

“That’s not our decision to make.”

Esme goes on. But isn’t it their job as parents to look after their children? To guard their hearts and guide them towards happiness? Fulfillment? How can they live with themselves if Rosalie meets their other half and watches them die? 

He doesn’t know how to answer. Carlisle didn’t let Esme die when it was her time (when she wanted to). Didn’t let Edward or Rosalie either. Edward, his first son, he’s his own man now. A child of his own. Rosalie…

“It’s not right for us to interfere…” 

Esme holds his forehead against hers, swallowing her passion. Trying to focus on him. Carlisle. Her rock. Her lodestone. Her true north. Breathes in the scent of him. Centers herself. Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle Carlisle–

Carlisle rocks her gently. Swaying together back and forth at a steady rhythm. To and fro as if they were dancing. Still. Staying in one place in their kitchen, like plastic mannequins on display.

-

Renesmee thinks all of this is really quite silly.

If her father could court her mother via breaking and entering through her bedroom window, well, why couldn’t her grandparents? Why couldn’t Aunt Rosalie?

Jacob explains that it’s messed up. That privacy is important and boundaries are healthy.

“But if my mother had those…I wouldn’t be here.”

He hesitates, shrugs, “How do you know?”

It frustrates her that she has no proof of her knowledge. She just knows.

Moreover: she wants to learn about her new playmate. Her human friend. What is she like? Is she shorter than her? Taller? Will she be the big sister to her little sister (she is, after all, barely three)? Are they going to braid each other’s hair and have sleepovers like in the Disney Channel movies Jacob watches with her?

Oh! Will she share Jacob with her?

She looks at her Jacob, squinting down at the expiration date of a can of Pringles before shrugging and waterfalling the entire thing.

…Hm. No. Maybe she’ll keep her Jacob to herself for now.

-

Mx. Prieto is ex-fucking-austed.

Her hoarding tendencies are paying off, however, because all of the silly little cardboard and crayon and ribbons and junk she’s refused to throw away ‘just in case’ are all going towards the next unit. Recycled Sculptures. Art and Environmentalism. Teach the children about the difference between art and trash. How transformation and interpretation give art its value. That’s the good shit.

“Mal, where do you want these chingaderas.”

She blinks, glancing over her desk (still clean, miraculously), “Uh, the marker drawer.”

“Which marker drawer?”

“The one labeled markers, smart one.”

A Crayola Supertip fwips at her head. She throws back a hackysack embroidered with Ms. Prieto’s Wake Up Bag from before she went by Mx. “Don’t be fucking rude!”

“How do you even know it was me!”

Mx. Prieto gestures to the only other inhabitant in the classroom, who was too enraptured by a game of Pokémon Ruby to recognize that she was being talked about.

“...She’s faking it.”

“This is middle sibling behavior.”

“Uhhh you ate your twin in the womb, actually, so you’re middle sibling beha–Hey what the fuck!”

Mx. Prieto noogies the shit out of her younger sibling. On the other side of the room, the youngest captures a shiny ralts and dabs.

Chapter Text

They have not moved in the hours since embracing. Since the children went off to find local game. Since Carlisle came home to find her washing dishes. Worrying.

They are both wondering what it would take for the other to change their mind.

“...Alice says she likes to dance.”

“Does she?” Carlisle replies, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

“Yes…Mostly Latin dances, but Alice sees her in a ballgown. Waltzing.” There’s something wistful in Esme’s voice as if she were licking her wounds. Or pouting. Wanting that which is behind a glass case. Guilting Carlisle into something.

“Mmm. With who?” Which one of us?

“Someone she doesn’t know.”

It’s meant to push him. Drive him to some action. But he doesn’t know her yet. Not her face or voice or form. There’s nothing to be jealous of. Nothing to bring him into a possessive frenzy.

Not instinctually, anyways.

He squeezes her tight. A console and an apology. The situation is…new. Precarious. He would love to satisfy everyone involved–While keeping the human (he tries to avoid using the word mate ) alive and mortal. But it seems…

He can’t keep Esme from asking Alice about her. Asking the children. Finding out about her online. It wouldn’t spur on any vampiral instinct, but it would further compress Esme’s feelings of want. Need. Yearning. The emotions that transferred over from her human body. The emotions that are amplified by her death.

Esme whimpers at the gesture. Carlisle’s resolve cracks.

-

Rosalie is taking community college classes instead of going to the high school.

Online, of course.

It’s been a good while since she’s refreshed her medical knowledge, and it’s a wonderful relief listening in on classes and lectures made for someone her age. Or, well, not for teenagers.

Nevermind that she’s nineteen forever.

Alice had whined about the decision, Esme had shown hesitation. The rest knew to leave her to her own devices and choices, but Emmett understood her best. Why she had to do this. Why she could never meet that person that Alice claimed was to be her mate.

Sixteen. Honestly. Rosalie knows sixteen year old girls. They’re barely more than children, stumbling around the world like Bambi. With sweet naïtivity and hope. Potential. To have your future suddenly ripped from you at sixteen …

Her mate would resent her. She knows it. If Rosalie herself still resents Carlisle after all these years. Even after loving him. Protecting him. Then her destined other half would hate her as well.

And she’s had enough heartaches, thank you very much.

Alice had promised not to bring her around the house no matter what, and Rosalie made her swear on Jasper and her wardrobe. Even so, she confirmed with Edward that she wasn’t planning anything (all Edward would say was that Alice was confident she’d change her mind).  Horrible. Rosalie loved her sister with a passion, but she forgets herself too often. Plays with them like dolls, like she knows best and better because she’s already seen it happen.

She means well, she does, but Rosalie is tired.

A quick bit of typing on her keyboard (she treated herself to a new laptop for her classes), and she presses submit on her first essay. Looking out the window to her left as the sun rises on her siblings’ first day of school.

-

The little girl in Alice’s vision is in their Biology class. Skipped a few grades. The novelty of having her around seems to have worn off on the sophomores in the class, but to Bella and Edward, it’s like watching a small hamster sit at the table with capybaras (the humans being the capybaras–if they were an animal, they’d be a bear at the table).

It’s good that she’s smart. Nessie should have a girl friend her age (sort of) that can match her smarts and maturity. Not that their child is actually mature, but the teenage first-time parents, they do not know any better. Yet.

The girl, Salma, has gentle enough thoughts. Wondering if she could convince her sisters to adopt a dog, wondering if she could be allowed to have a sleepover, and wondering why two very pretty teenagers are sitting at her table. She’s going over different methods of impressing them, piquing their interest, ways to prove she’s not just some pipsqueak. She is also debating whether or not she should just shut up and not talk to them. Because she’s just some dumb little girl.

In the end, she resolves to be honest, and compliments Bella on her green bowling shirt (kept from her human days).

Overall, Edward is happy with the hypothetical playmate except for one thing: she is obsessed with vampires, to his horror and Bella’s delight.

“My oldest sister blames it on The Count from Sesame Street, but really it was when Chel rented Lost Boys from the library.” Salma prattles after the teacher finishes her lecture, filling in the worksheet with ease and finishing up without much thought or hassle–Bella checks her work speedily with a glance, mostly correct, only one wrong on a technicality.

“Chel?” She questions, deciding to speed through her own worksheet–the pretense of appearing human with average intelligence seems pointless considering her tablemate’s own smarts. They can all be done early and fish for more information.

“Ixchel. My other sister.” Salma lowers her voice to a whisper, “She has middle child syndrome.”

Bella nods solemnly, a quirk of amusement on her lips. “Do you have a favorite vampire?”

Edward desperately wants to change the subject. His wife will not let him.

“That’s kinda hard to answer. Like, asking someone what their favorite type of air to breathe is.” Penchant for drama, Salma plays with her pencil in thought. “Though I guess some people like sea air more than, like, mountain air.”

Bella nods, “I’m partial to a nice petrichor. It’s nostalgic.”

Her husband looks over at her, surprised, perhaps, by this revelation.

“Pe-tre-coir…That’s the smell of rain, right?” Salma sounds the word out by writing it on her worksheet.

Edward sees images of three young girls standing outside in the rain chanting and screaming with laughter. Pretending to be witches. Summoning the lightning. Salma is hip height on the tallest, a younger Mx. Prieto. 

“Right.” Bella’s happy the other’s well-read. It would do good for Nessie to be influenced by a reader other than herself. “Oh, for the record, I like Dracula.”

“Classic.” Salma nods, “But basic.” She squints. “Have you read Dracula?”

“Oh, the terrible struggle that I have had against sleep so often of late; the pain of the sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep, and with such unknown horror as it has for me.” Bella quotes quite happily.

Salma nods once in approval, satisfied with whatever test she set against the other. Edward hears bits of her thoughts skitter in her head alongside a My Chemical Romance song that’s been stuck in Salma’s head for days ‘ Alright, she’s the real deal, she can stay at the table.’ “I was checking. Most people who aren’t true vampire fans can only name him and maybe Lestat. But just the movie version because nobody reads anymore.”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?”

“It IS!” Salma is finally amongst her people. Well, she’s amongst Bella, who understands her plight as a reader, and amongst Bella’s weird boyfriend who looks like he’s in pain. Maybe he has a medical condition? Like her classmate in dance with scoliosis. Bones hurt, man. “Have you read Anne Rice?”

“More of a fan of the Classics, obviously.” To say the least. “But around the time I met Edward, I got curious about reading them.”

Now that he didn’t know. He smiles boyishly, in that way that makes Bella’s heart want to beat again.

Salma doesn’t notice because she’s rummaging through her impossibly messy backpack. Edward, who’s too distracted by loving his wife, doesn’t realize what Salma’s planning until she holds out a well-loved paperback to Bella. “Here. you can borrow it. Let me know what you think.”

Bella knows the sort of trust it takes to lend out a book to another person. She looks at the worn book, Interview with the Vampire, dog-eared and sticky-noted to oblivion, and smiles. “I’ll start tonight.” She’ll finish in an hour and some change, but she’ll take a week to return it.

“Tell me what you think of the reporter in the end.”

Edward reads Salma’s thoughts. He sighs, because he knows just what Bella will have to say about it.

-

Alice decides she likes her sister’s future mate.

Well, she decided it long before she met and spoke to her, but it’s always nice to be able to confirm it in person. For sure. Without a shadow of a doubt.

“It’s kind of really stupid to shame girls for being girls. You know,  feminine, when that’s kind of what everyone wants them to be? And then when they’re too masculine all of a sudden that’s bad too? God forbid women do anything.” She licks Taki powder off her fingers, dipping them back into her chip bag, “Like my sister, she loves shopping, and it took her forever to admit that because some incel convinced her it was a sign of being shallow. And I told her, so what if it is? There’s worse things in life to be than shallow, you know?”

“Mm, preach.” Alice nods, her hands laced together and hammocking her chin as she listens to the other rant.

“Mal got the worst of it, being older than us–Back in dinosaur times, it was real bad.” She folds the empty bag of chips and stuffs it into her pocket to be forgotten about later. “But even my lil sister is affected by it. Starting going off the other night about preps and blondes and girly girl stuff being stupid. Was like listening to a younger me. Or Mal. Had to straighten that bullshit out of her you know?” She retrieves a whole heirloom tomato out of her bag, lying on the floor by the desk, salting it with a pig-themed shaker. “Generational trauma is a helluva drug. Do you want one?”

“Oh no thank you, we’re on a special diet.”

“Worm.” She nods, taking a whole bite out of the tomato like it were an apple. “Sorry I ranted there, no one ever lets me talk for that long. Once I start hitting the social justice stuff, people tend to tune out.”

“Well we’re supposed to be rambling and talking about ourselves, silly!” Alice smiles, bright and cheery. “It’s an ice breaker activity!”

Besides her, unspeaking and not breathing, Jasper nods.

“I mean, still.” Ixchel shrugs, wiping her mouth with a papertowel, “I guess I try too hard to seem interesting in these things, all I’m expected to say is stuff like my favorite color, right?”

“Well tell us!” It seems like every sentence Alice speaks ends with an exclamation point. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Mmm.” Well shit she doesn’t know. Maybe. “Indigo?”

Alice’s eyes glimmer (Ixchel thinks she’s hallucinating again), as she sees the young girl before her in a vision of indigo and gold.

Chapter Text

The two sisters weren’t asked to sit with them at lunch (or rather, they did not invite themselves over to their usual space) because the invite wouldn’t have been taken very well. At least, according to Alice. They also do not wander towards Mx. Prieto’s room, because she has not met them yet and Alice could see a very clearly annoyed woman telling them to ‘skedaddle’ because she’s going to take a nap in her classroom.

They sit outside for their lunch alongside the other students who either skipped eating or decided to do so under grey skies. Periodically handing over Esme’s handmade gourmet lunches to Jacob as if he were a personal garbage disposal (not that any of them would ever disrespect Esme by throwing her food away, but the way Jacob eats is ridiculous). 

“You are attracting attention.” Edward tuts.

“Yeah, sure, I’m the one attracting attention.” It’s mean to be a cut at the vampires’ otherworldly appearance, but considering there’s currently some sort of  Student Council led dance battle in the quad, it’s probably safe to say that no one has noticed they even exist. 

Alice asks the parents at the table about Salma with all the eagerness of a labrador (though maybe Pommeranian is a better comparison). Bella voices her approval and Edward voices his concerns about whether the young girl is going to notice something.

Emmett shrugs, “Why would she? They never do.” Humans usually think of aliens before reaching vampire, if ever.

“Because she knows what she’s looking for.” Edward frowns, “The poor girl is misguidedly obsessed with our kind.”

Jacob shakes his head as if this were some kind of tragedy, because he’s a clown and he thinks this whole thing is a bad idea.

“Well she’s going to find out anyways!” Alice buckles down, arm around Jasper’s, “They all are!” It feels good to talk about this openly without Rosalie constantly reminded them of the existence and danger of the Volturi. Though Alice wishes her sister would have come to school with them to meet Ixchel. 

Speaking of, where even is she?

Ixchel is found lying down on the grass looking up at the sky, hugging her arms to her chest, and looking…Well, there’s no other way to phrase it, she looks like she’s yearning.  

Upon closer inspection, she is listening to music on her (inherited) iPod; a brick, her classmates would joke. ‘They stoned Goody Proctor with that thing!’ was a particularly notable one said by Penny.

“Whatcha doin’?” Salma asks, laying down on the grass next to her sister with no hesitation.

Ixchel wets her lips. “Thinking about aliens zapateando.” She takes out one of her wired earbuds and hands it over to the younger girl without further explanation. El Cascabel plays triumphantly into Salma’s left ear, and the two decide to spend the rest of the lunch hour like that: listening to the Voyager Record on an iPod that was older than one of them.

“Do you think vampire aliens exist?”

“Why the hell not?”

Edward, watching the two from the table not but a few meters away, turns towards his sister, “They don’t eat with friends?”

“They were supposed to. Chel changed her mind.” She had happily taken to calling her Chel , as they would be friends and family soon enough. Though, only where the young teenager couldn’t hear her. ‘Chel’ was for close friends or family only and she wouldn’t have liked Alice calling her that on the first day of knowing her. “Usually spends it in the library with some other humans. Or in Mal’s classroom.”

“Can we not call Mx. Prieto that?” Emmett, the goodest boy, asks with distaste, “It’s weird calling teachers by their first name, let alone their nickname.” Their new parent or not, referring to a teacher by anything other than their last name was against the laws of nature. Even if everyone at the table was older than said teacher. 

“Right. Might as well start calling her mommy now.” Jacob swipes a turkey sub from Jasper’s plate without asking (because, well, he’s not going to eat it), having finished up his pizza and Bella’s salad.

Alice huffs. “Don’t make fun! It’s good to start getting used to how the family will change, like when I saw Bella coming into our lives! Edward tried to fight it, but I knew the whole time where we would all end up.”

Bella perks up at this because this was never fully iterated to her. Edward inwardly cringes, because he knows he is about to be painfully embarrassed by the entire family.

“ Oh. ” Jacob dusts off his hands, leaning into the table, “Do tell.”

-

Their first class with Mx. Prieto is after lunch.

“Welcome children, come in come in, please refrain from killing each other while I talk to Mrs. Poinard in the hall.”

Jacob could tell she was the ‘cool teacher’ that kids thought would let them get away with shit. Would stand up on her desk and start with some Oh Captain My Captain nonsense.

“Be nice.” Edward mumbles, already done with the bellwork question projected onto the board.

“Yeah, be nice.” Alice backs up her brother, though having no idea what the wolfman was being not-nice about.

On Mondays and Wednesdays during first semester, after lunch, they have Intro to Photography. A hobby that piqued Alice’s interest, and that Jacob could learn to tolerate. Edward could honestly bear any class so long as his favorite sister was there with him, but in truth, he had a desire to capture his family (particularly Nessie) in proper photos as they grow and continue to evolve.

Alice already sees what most of his projects will be centered around.

Their photography class is a mix of students eager to learn and expand their artistic potential, and slackers who wanted an easy pass. While maybe the first semester of teaching this course, that might have been a possibility, Mx. Prieto uped the difficulty out of spite over the next couple of years. Gotta keep the standards up. Excellence and all that.

Despite this, the syllabus handed to them (due in a week!) is reasonable and oddly specific. Per the student handbook, eating is only allowed the first ten minutes of class. Per the same handbook, said snack must be HEALTHY. Soda, candy, pastries, cookies, chips, and other foods high in sugar and/or sodium without other vitamins to balance them out do not count as a healthy snack.

Jacob says something about Esme only packing an herbivore for a snack and Alice pinches him. Not really a good parallel, because the only unhealthy snack for a vampire is a sick blood donor, or no blood at all.

Then again, none of them have ever drank from a bear full of cocaine.

Chapter Text

She opens her Facebook. It’s set to private. Smart. Especially for a teacher. She looks at her photo: a smiling shot of her with her sisters at a theme park. She right-clicks and saves it to her laptop.

Her mouse hovers over the Add Friend. Tempting. But no. Not right now. Not until Carlisle is fully on-board. And, well, until she meets her formally. A parent-teacher meeting, maybe. Or a school bake-sale? Those have dropped in popularity these last few decades, maybe she’ll volunteer for the PTA. Ask for a meeting to discuss her children’s grades (no, it’s too early, and she doesn’t want to play the strict, overbearing mother). Maybe one of them could have had an anxiety disorder– Jasper, yes, they can forge an IEP, right?

Her hand cracks the shell of the mouse. Esme relaxes. Looks at the photo with tenderness. If it’s this bad without even knowing her, she wonders just how obsessive she’ll grow once they meet–Because Alice keeps reassuring her that they will. That they just need to trust her.  

And Esme does, Esme does trust her Alice, but her obsessive vampirical brain continues to run off without her. What if and what about and what thens. The only thing that calms her is Carlisle, and he’s stauchly against all this…

Well, maybe not entirely.  

-

“Would it be so bad?” Emmett prompts, pressing buttons on a Tamagotchi game Nessie got bored with months ago, “It all worked out with Bells.”

Rosalie scowls, “You were there when we killed James in a pyre, right? Jasper almost ate her at her birthday party. An entire army of newborns was created specifically to kill her. The Volturi– ”

The Tamagotchi makes an absurd little sound. Rosalie can’t take Emmett seriously like this–She makes a move to crush the little electronic creature, and Emmett keeps it out of her reach, tutting. 

“ Emmett. ”

“If you think about it…None of that was really Bella’s fault.”

Rosalie purses her lips, “You’re right. It’s Edward’s.”

From across the house, the serene piano music suddenly comes to a sour stop. Bella’s laughter can be heard. Esme tells Rosalie to be nice from the kitchen. 

It was an immature thing to say, but it made her feel better.

Besides, at least Bella made her an aunt. Renesmee is a treasure. 

“You’ll handle it better than Eddie boy. Keep your cool. Give them space. Time.”

Rosalie purses her lips because she knows when she’s being played, but unfortunately she likes the game that her brother is pitching. Likes being told that she’s different, better , than Edward. That she can have her cake and eat it too. That she could be allowed to have just a shred of happiness in her afterlife without any consequences.

It’s a dangerous line of thought to have. “I am handling it better. By avoiding the human at all costs.” There’s no chance to get attached. To let a feeling of ownership sow.

Emmett pauses, thinking before he speaks, and that alone gets Rosalie to sit up a little straighter. “You deserve to be happy, Rose.”

The whole house goes silent, as if in agreement.

-

“Alright, what are we watching?” Jacob sits next to Renesmee. Criss-cross applesauce on her bright mint rug that resembles shag carpeting. A bag of chips in his hands.

“Kiki’s Delivery Service!” Renesmee holds the book the movie is based on in her hands (purchased alongside the movie at her mother’s insistence). “Alice says it’s a favorite of Salma’s.”

Jacob really fucking wishes Alice would drop this. But he knows the moment he decides to step into the picture, he’ll be suspected of blocking her visions and it’ll start a really nasty fight he wishes to avoid–Even if the real reason Alice’s visions could be getting blocked might be assigned to Nessie.

No, Nessie would listen to Alice and keep away until it was just the right moment. Unless she got too impatient. Impulsive. Unless Jacob’s not there to steer her right.

“Yeah?” He reaches for some of the hot chips, “What’s it about?”

“I’m not sure.” Renesme squints at the screen, watching a little cartoon witch take off into the air with her black cat, “I thought it was about a girl starting her own delivery service–Like the title says, you know–But right now, it feels…sad.”

“Sad?”

“Yes.” She points to the screen, where Jacob sees the witch fly in the rain and get treated rudely by an older girl in a party dress. “She’s going to lose her powers soon after this. And get sad.”

Damn. Pretty dark for a kid’s movie. “Does she get them back?”

Renesmee shifts, “Yes, but she’ll never be able to talk to Jiji again.”

“Jiji?”

“Her cat.” She pouts, “Her best friend. She can’t understand him anymore. And she’s okay with it!”

“Sometimes you have to be okay with sad things.”

“Why?!” She sounds positively aghast. “It’s not right. She should have been able to speak with him again at the end of the movie! It should have all been a perfect piece of forever!”

Ah. She’s been reading her mother’s diary again. Jacob sighs, dusting off his fingers on his clothes, “Nessie–Real life isn’t like that. Sometimes sad things happen, and…it’s a part of you.” He would have said shit happens, but he knows every vampire in the house (minus Emmett) would have immediately jumped to scold him on his language. He’s learned ever since the squid incident of 2008. “Bad things happen, and you can’t stop them. No matter what Aunt Alice tries to tell you. You just gotta…take them as they come. Get back up again.”

He thinks of Leah, suddenly. Wonders how she was able to get back up again.

Nessie sniffles, on the edge of tears, “I’ll never let that happen, Jacob! I’ll never let any sad things happen to you!”

He sighs. It was going to be a very long day.

Chapter Text

Salma’s in the hospital for vaccinations. The weirdo rise of anti-vaxxers in the state are freaking Mal out and that results in Salma getting all the shots needed to have a safe and successful school year. Along with a lot of other optional ones.

“I am so powerful now.” Salma declares, her Pokémon band-aid bright and colorful against her arm, “I’m going to step on so many rusty nails.”

“No you’re not.” Mx. Prieto pinches her nose, “You’re going to be cautious and not go barefooted out into the woods like a hobbit.”

“I’m an elf. ”

“Well elves don’t do that either.”

Carlisle isn’t in pediatrics, so there’s no risk of running into his mate, but Esme adores visiting him in the middle of the day (under the guise of bringing him lunch), so she is the first of the Cullen clan to meet the foreseen new family members. Just as Alice predicted when she told Esme that Rosalie would be in the Pediatrics wing, and that it would be nice for her to visit and say hi.

Now what is Rosalie doing here?

Rosalie is doing her job. That is, her college job. Working as an assistant, helping process blood samples: something she can only do thanks to her marvelous self-control. Working in Pediatrics is just a bonus because all the lil kids call her Doctor Rosie and think she’s very pretty and ask to braid her hair.

She doesn’t know who Mal and Salma are, and maybe she should have stuck around on that introductory tour two weeks ago, because then she could have stopped this from fucking happening– fucking Alice!

Esme is here, seeing how Rosalie is adjusting to the job and asking if she’s going to be home for dinner. Esme is here and she’s staring. Not at Rosalie but at the humans. Rosalie’s first thought is shit is she her singer? But then she sees the look in Esme’s eyes and–

Fucking Alice!!

“You don’t know what elves can and can’t do.”

“The hell I don’t.”

She must be the teacher. The next human up to ruin their pretty little lives and throw a wrench in what was just a few short years of peace. Rosalie grips Esme’s arm tight because the mate bond is like a sucker punch, only hitting harder and harder until it’s reciprocated. She has to get her out of here. Fast.

“Oh–Rose, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.” Esme tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, self-conscious or shy, she’s not sure. All she can really focus on is how good the stranger smells. Not like food but like…like…

“Mom.”

Rose’s words hardly phase her, even if she’s been waiting decades for her to call her that. Mom. Mother. Instead, Esme wants to know. To know who the woman is. To know everything about her. It’s a thrill she hasn’t experienced in ages, and–Oh. It’s her, isn’t it? This is why Alice brought her here, that little scamp.

“I was just finishing up, we can go to lunch in a moment, okay?” Rose presses again, firmer this time. Then, lower and faster, so the humans wouldn’t hear, “ Don’t make a scene. ”

Esme hasn’t disobeyed anyone, been rebellious, since she was sixteen and snuck out to the pictures with her girlfriends. She sticks out her hand towards her mate and introduces herself, trying not to shake. “I didn’t get a chance to say hi to you before my kids started school, I’m Ms. Cullen.” She usually uses missus, but she hopes the modernity will appeal to the other.

Mal looks awkward, is awkward. A really hot woman ( milf , Chel’s voice rings in her head) is looking at her with such an absurd degree of intensity that she wants to look away. Like she’s naked or something, which is ridiculous because she’s been naked in front of others before, and it’s honestly not that big a deal, but this…

“Oh! Um,” She scrunches her eyes, trying to remember the faces, the names of her newest batch of students, “Alice’s mom?” There’s some resemblance, but she doesn’t like to make assumptions. She gets it. Mal’s hand grasps Esme’s and the later woman gasps. Tries not to grip so tightly that she wouldn’t be able to pull away.

“Among others.” Mal’s skin is so warm. So soft. So perfect. Everything there is to want in a human. Does she feel it too? The draw, the pull, the need? Esme wonders, sometimes, if she had known Carlisle as a human, if she would have felt the pull. The way Bella did when she met Edward…

Her mate introduces her younger sister, Rosalie speaks about something , but it’s all blurry in Esme’s head. Pushed to the background as she focuses on the feel of Mal’s hand. 

She wants her. She wants her she wants her she wants her. To wrap herself in her and never let go. She wants Carlisle to feel it to, to want. To be as thoroughly intoxicated as she feels right now, what a wonderful feeling! The feeling of meeting your mate, that which only could be felt though vampirism–And isn’t it cruel that she can’t feel it too? That whatever eventual feeling of love and adoration her beloved Malena feels is dwarfed by the sheer volume of vampiristic emotion? Oh if only Esme could just lean right over and just…

“ Mom. ”

Ah. Rosalie’s clarity saves her again. Esme puts her fangs away, coughing off her daze and excusing herself–Releasing the other’s hand. See, she hasn’t gotten much sleep lately, and she’s been just all over the place.  

“Oh it’s fine.” Mx. Prieto holds up her hand, “I’m tired all the time, hahaha.”

Concern flairs up in Esme immediately, “Dear, you can’t be tired all the time, you’re so young! ” She’s older than Esme and Carlisle, if only physically. “Are you eating alright? Feeling sick?”

The young teacher flushes under the attention (thank god she’s brown), “If anything, I think I eat too much.” 

Her self-deprecation isn’t subtle, at least not to Esme. She frowns, wanting to reach out and…

“Mom, you need to go.” Rosalie insists again, “ Dad’s waiting. ”

The reminder of her other mate seems to loosen up Esme’s grip. “Right, how silly of me.” She clears her throat, presses her lips together. “It was wonderful meeting you, Malena.”

“Oh,” the woman blinks away her bemusement, “same to you, Ms. Cullen.”

“Please, call me Esme.”

-

Rosalie almost throws a chair when she makes it to Carlisle’s office.

Esme is enveloped in her coven father’s arms, humming and mooning over the human. At meeting her, hearing her voice, being able to touch her. How wonderful it was and how she wished oh how she wished that Carlisle could experience it too!

Carlisle is…He’s in wonder, watching Esme so happy. So hypnotised. He’s also disappointed in Alice, for allowing this to happen. For orchestrating it. He resolves to talk to Alice before the day is over with. Before Esme can break his resolve any further than she already has.

“She did this on purpose!” Rosalie stresses, pointing behind her, towards the Cullen household, “She promised not to bring any of them to the house but of course, she blindsighted– ”

“That’s enough, Rosalie.” Carlisle knows how she gets when in her fury. He would also not enjoy his coven daughter dampening the mood of his mate, euphoric in her new love. 

“Do you think,” Esme acknowledges Rosalie, but not her anger. “Do you think I made a good impression?”

Rosalie huffs and puffs up with hot anger. And deflates. At the sight of the sweetest woman to have touched the earth. Do you think she liked me? Esme sounds like a teenager. Twiddling her thumbs and asking her best friend if she thought the cute new boy had a crush on her. Ridiculous. How this mate pull turns the strongest of them into simpering idiots. Terrifying. How this same vampirical instinct could make her the same. Or worse.

In her pocket, Rosalie’s phone pings: a new message from Alice. She knows from the custom ringtone her sister insisted on applying for herself.

[SMS:] :) You’ll thank me later!

The fuck she will.

Chapter Text

"I'm going insane." Chel sits at her usual table in the library right by the foreign language books that offend her sensibilities by exotifying the Latinx experience ("Sandra Cisneros is gonna catch these hands one day"). "I'm going fucking insane."

"Ok yeah." Erin squints at her, "But what is it this time?"

"Jeanette fucking McCurdy's book!!" She shakes her shoulders "It's so fucked. It's so fucked up. I love it. She's just like me for real."

"You're both traumitized child actors severely abused by their dead mothers?" Sophomore (whose name was Ray, but everyone at the table called her Sophomore) questions in a manner that makes it hard to decide if they're serious or teasing. 

"You don't know my life." Chel insists, "But no, like girl. "

"Girl." Erin nods, the boys coming to join them on the other side of the table. 

"Girls? Where?" Matt makes a theatrical show of turning his head, "Where the hos at?"

"You scared them." Chel smacks his arm, "Stop scaring the hos!"

"It's really rude that you keep saying that like I'm not right here." Erin tuts.

"If you're a ho…And I'm a ho…" Jackson gestures loosely with his hand, limp at the wrist.

"Then who's flying the plane, ahhhh!" Chel smacks into the side of him, domino-ing the teens down in a fit of laughter.

"This is what awaits my future." Sophomore nods with acceptance. "Aight."

-

Salma likes to take walks around the campus during lunch sometimes because she secretly really misses recess and playing on swings, and this kind of exercise is the only enrichment she gets during school hours. She uses a big stick to drag and bang against the metal fence separating the high school from the neighborhood and waves hi to people out for a jog or walking their dogs.

The Cullen kids take turns walking with her because Edward mentions to them how ridiculously lonely the preteen feels, and Esme immediately jumped on the opportunity to push them to treat her like family.

. It's weird, at first, especially because Salma isn't used to having teenagers pay attention to her outside of class or her little comedy routine (all of her yearbooks are signed You are so weird and funny!! ).

She doesn't feel pressured to seem super smart and mature or really funny to the Cullens, and for that, she's appreciative. It's exhausting, trying to be interesting. Especially to older kids. After a while, they sorta get bored with her. Or so she suspects. It's weird trying to be friends with someone five years younger than you. She, herself, can't imagine trying to tolerate a six-year-old for very long.

She talks about her vampire OC (named Yuuki) to Emmett, who suggests increasingly edgy ways to make them more violent or cool. Salma takes his suggestions seriously but keeps to her Yuuki’s theme of being dark and moody with a love of Evanesence. Bella suggests Muse and Neutral Milk Hotel as additions to the Yuuki Spotify playlist. Edward sulks about the idea of someone so young and full of life being so misguidingly obsessed with dark creatures.

“She’s dark but not evil.” Salma shows her sketchbook, full of delightfully ill-proportioned anime characters with big heads and hands hiding behind their back. “She’s just lonely. Misunderstood. You know? Like Blade.”

She goes on to explain the story of the dampyhr and how his mother was bitten by a vampire in the middle of labor, cursing him to the life of a half-vampire. “He hunts down vampires as a job, all popular dampyhrs in media are pretty much vampire hunters. I blame daddy issues.”

-

If another kid asks her if she knows who Tyler the Creator is, she might just pop a blood vessel. She was listening to him before they even knew they were alive! You know, that moment in kindergarten when you suddenly become self-aware? Fucking kids.

Her new batch of students weren’t annoying like that. Strangely mature, in their own way: approaching topics like adults but with the emotional reactions of teenagers. Peculiar. Especially because they looked like motherfucking models–No kid should look like that outside of Photoshop and Hollywood bullshit. Every high schooler, no matter how conventionally attractive, is supposed to look awkward. Scruffy. Like a newborn kitten with its little triangle tail. It’s weird. It’s weird right? Its really mean and really weird that she’s focusing so much on this. She should just push it away, right? They’re just kids, they’re just kids.

…Their mom is really hot. Really really hot. Like, just looking at her makes her blush. Which shouldn’t be possible, right? She’s brown, that stuff just doesn’t happen. It’s like, weird to think that your students’ mom is hot, right? Her weird OCD guilt is totally justified, right? Right?

“Mx. Prieto, cute top.” Alice cups her cute little face with her hands, “Totally retro.”

“Huh? Oh, thanks.” Sometimes she gets paranoid that students are Regina George-ing her, but something about Alice’s compliments are so…eager. And it makes her feel nice having a fashion-conscious student tell her that she’s doing something right. Makes her feel less like a fat dork and more like a cool fat dork.

“Where’d you get it?”

“I made it, actually–Yeah, I got the fabric at Goodwill, I think it was a bedsheet before?”

Alice raves, talks about how important it is to be eco-conscious and to reduce, reuse, and recycle. It’s really weird. Not because kids can’t be environmentally friendly, but because Alice wears designer clothes. Everyday. If it’s not her shoes it’s her purse, if it’s not her purse, it’s her jewelry. Maybe it’s a recent development? 

“I make my own clothes too.” Her expression reminds Mx. Prieto of the ‘:3’ smiley that Chel keeps sending in the family group chat. “I want to be a designer.”

“That’s a lot of hard work.” Mx. Prieto doesn’t like to shoot down kids’ dreams, but she does want them to know that it takes a real effort to break into an industry like that. Even with the copious amounts of money that Alice’s family seems to have. 

“I’m a hard-working little miss.” Alice lifts her chin, confident in her ability to succeed. “I get what I want.” 

Chapter Text

The first snag in Alice’s plan comes Tuesday morning.

The vision is odd, as if glazed with some sort of glass barrier that blurs and warps her perception. It’s not an unusual thing to happen, but it hasn’t happened in a very long time. Not since her earliest memories as a vampire (and to her, those are her earliest memories period). 

Mal is there, pointing her finger at Alice like she was scolding a child–No, she’s warding her off. Like the act of pointing is meant to protect Mal from Alice. From the rest of the Cullens. She’s accusatory. Holding Salma behind her back as a mama bear does to her cubs. Salma is visibly distressed. Confused. Unsure, perhaps, of whose side to take in this conflict. 

Chel isn’t there. Notably, Rose isn’t either.

The words grooming and predator ring in her ears. The words fuck right off where you came from roll out of Mal’s mouth and do a direct hit on Esme’s heart.

It’s wrong. It’s untrue. She just doesn’t understand. Not yet. How could she? She can’t see like Alice can. Can’t comprehend in her human mind what the greater picture is. Alice just has to make her see–

When Alice comes back, Jasper is embracing her tight. Waiting.

“Change of plan.” She licks her lips, mind whirling as she explores alternative futures, “We need to keep Rose a secret for a while.”

You win this time, Rosie!

-

“What’s an eight letter word for something being traumatizing?”

“Up your butt.”

“...That’s ten.”

“U-P-U-R-B-U-T-T.”

The weekend is a welcome escape from the strange new reality of Salma’s school life.

Mal doesn’t like grading papers when she gets home, so most of her time is spent on sisterly bonding (whatever what means). Chel is usually on the family laptop 24/7, but the wifi is out for the foreseeable future, so she’s busy currently engaging Mal in said sisterly bonding. Not by helping the latter with her crossword, but rather with distracting her at every turn.

“Hey, remember that episode of The Office? Satchel. ” Chel says the last word in a squeaky falsetto voice before laughing.

Salma, herself, is busy with her latest Yuuki story: a crossover with her favorite anime at the moment, Blood+ and Naruto. Is the world ready for it? Only time will tell.

“It’s scarring.” Salma interrupts Chel’s soulful rendition of BeeGee’s Stayin’ Alive.

“Thank you!” Mal scribbles down the word in the slot as Chel repeatedly tries to get her annoyed enough to get off the couch and onto her impromptu dance floor. 

Salma preens with pride and goes back to writing in her college-ruled notebook: A/N: lol. stupid sakura.

-

Esme cuts out Mal’s Facebook profile picture and pastes it to her scrapbook with gentle care. Beside her, Renesmee decorates her own scrapbook with glitter and Pusheen stickers.

Scrapbooking was one of Mal’s public Likes on Facebook, back before she switched her account to private. The date read 2010 on a post talking about the absolute lack of good scrapbook paper that didn’t feel like it was designed by a thousand year old grandmother. Esme ordered supplies online immediately before zipping out to the local Michael’s out of impatience. She did not trust herself to pick out designs that were hip and modern, choosing to ask the help of a very confused employee named Tara. 

Esme didn’t need Alice to know that Mal shouldn’t see this book–At least not until after her turning. It will just be for her. To look at. Admire. Plan. A sort of pre-wedding binder? Alice has a vision board in her room that Esme took interest in, and thirty seconds later, she was introduced to Pinterest. Maybe this could be something like that?

Renesmee hands a glittery gel pen over to her grandmother, “Needs flowers.”

The woman smiles, her still heart warm and swelling. “You’re right, dear. How about some carnations?”

Chapter Text

“Fucking Honda drivers…” Mal mutters, clenching the steering wheel of her ancient Toyota Corolla (“‘98 or ‘96, I forget”).

“Fuuuuucking Hooondaaa driiiverrrrz.” Chel croons out, continuously parroting Mal’s road irritations (“Like road rage but under medication”).

“It’s not like I was going over the speed limit anyways.”

“Noooot like I was gooooing over the speeeeed limit anyways.”

“Just had to fucking cut me off like your goddamn life depended on it because I guess it does! I guess you’re just the most important person on the fucking road.”

“Just haaaad….to cut me off…like you’re the most goddamn important fucking person on the roaaaddd.”

“I fucking hate cars.”

“You drive a car.” Salma pipes up from the backseat, crinkled copy of a vampire book from the library in her hands.

“Don’t sass me, Salma.” Mal wags a finger at the review mirror, “One day, you’ll be behind a wheel and under the constant torment of Honda drivers and their lack of empathy for the human race.”

Salma shrugs and returns to her book.

Five cars back, Esme was sitting in her car with Nessie and Emmett. He had offered to be the one to drive (Esme can get a little reckless when anxious, which she undoubtedly is, following behind a future mate), but was turned down with a fierce determination–Plus, Alice whispered to him that being in the passenger seat would make her worse. She had previously foreseen her getting out of the car in the middle of rush hour and running towards the blue Toyota out of sheer desperation. Would have been a big no-no. For a variety of reasons. 

He looks at the genuine leather steering wheel, already bent out of shape from Esme’s grip. Something new for Rose to replace, later. 

NPR chirps on the radio, a sudden constant in car rides with Esme ever since she saw that Mal had “liked” it on the Public portion on her Facebook. The troubles and issues of the world seem so far away and trivial to Emmett, considering they live for-fucking-ever, but the idea of connection makes his mom really happy. The idea that she and her second fated mate listened to the same story or voices, or perhaps chuckled or ‘aww’d at the same humanitarian tidbits.

Nessie isn’t quite the same. She dips into the interests of her eventual sister-best friend, but hasn’t delved into the fictional rabbit hole of vampires. ‘Why would I?’ she had claimed, when asked about it by her parents. She grew up around vampires, is half of one herself, she already knows all there is to know (this was quickly countered by Carlisle, who knew that there were infinite mysteries surrounding their kind). ‘Well okay.’ Nessie doesn’t like to be told she’s wrong, ‘but I still know more about real vampires than she does.’

The arrogance worried Jacob (Edward was the one to vocalize that the werewolf even had a worry), and went uncommented on by Bella, who was busy braiding the girl’s hair at the time. 

Rose was in the garage at the time of the meeting (they had been having them weekly, sometimes nightly), as usual.

Esme looks in the review mirror and smiles, her nerves still tittering on the surface of her face, “What do we say when we meet them in the mall, lovely?”

“We politely say hello and nice to meet you.” Nessie responds, reading through the Howl’s Moving Castle book.

“And?”

“And we keep to ourselves. Friendly but private. Respecting.” Her recital of instructions would be cute if it wasn’t for such a creepy reason. “We let her come to us.”

We let her come to us. Is the new strategy since Alice’s vision the other day–Something which almost led Esme to breakdown, were it not for her mate’s (and Alice’s) reassurances that everything would be okay.

It was getting harder to keep Esme from wandering off to look at or check in on Malena. On his days off (which he seemed to be taking more and more of), Carlisle could hold her back quite easily, but in all the other days, the children have had to take different shifts at varying times; something which was made all the more difficult when one considers that they were supposed to be in school for the majority of the day. 

We let her come to us. Alice wouldn’t particularly elaborate on that front, much to Rosalie and Jacob’s suspicion (it’s rare when those two are on the same page, weird even ). Edward knew immediately, and didn’t divulge much either. Either out of respect for his sister, or concern for whatever lied ahead. Perhaps both. 

Esme was taking it about as well as anyone could expect. 

She was never particularly bitter about not having special abilities like other vampires, or even her children, but right about now she wished she could have something, anything, that helped her with Mal. Being able to know she was alright, alive, breathing. Being able to know what she thought about her and her family–Being able to see the right things to do and say to woo her. Court her.

Or seduce. The kids these days don’t use those words anymore.

At the mall, they keep their distance, at first, not really putting in the effort to look like a normal human family out for a shopping trip, but rather like they were very blatantly spying on someone. Passersby presumed a cheating father or a teenager on a first date.

They meet in front of the Cinnabon. 

“Okay fine, but ONLY ONE.”

“Okay but…what if TWO?” Salma bargains, Chel nodding enthusiastically beside her.

Emmett has to keep Esme from running up to Malena like a border collie. Instead, she makes eye contact with the other, and instantly relaxes. Melts. Sweet cooling on a fierce burn. It almost doesn’t hurt when Mal takes a moment to show recognition.

It’s so fecking awkward whenever she encounters students outside of school, but parents of students? Normally nobody fucking talked to the electives teachers because no one gave a shit about them. How was she supposed to navigate this? Smile and nod? Wave hi? Say something? Oh god, please don’t have her socialize with people–Did Alice’s mom get hotter? Is that possible? Fuck, she’s coming over.

The flush of blood at the surface of her mate’s skin is something pleasing. Alluring. She almost wants it to break through the surface. She can hear her heartbeat, her breath. Is she nervous? Does…Does she make her mate nervous?

Emmett is the only Cullen child not in one of Mal’s classes, hence why Alice lightly suggested that he be the one to go with Esme to keep her behaved. Having one of her students there would make Mal stiff and professional–associate Esme more with work than personal life.  

The news upset Esme but (as with all things having to do with a vampire’s mate) endeared her more to Mal–So responsible! So diligent! Doing right by her job and her students, oh she deserves a break. A reward. A rest. To kick back her feet and lounge while Esme makes everything better for her…

“This is my oldest, Emmett,” She doesn’t take her eyes off Mal for a moment, she hardly remembers to blink, “helping out with the shopping, we have a birthday coming up soon.”

Chel spaces out while the boring old dinosaurs talk about whatever it is moms talk about–Not that Mal is her mom, but even if their parents hadn’t fucked off and left them to fend for themselves, she suspects that the older woman would have developed all these little mom-traits. She knows Emmett from her Theatre class, but doesn’t really know him. One or twice they were paired up to fuck around on stage with a scene or two, but she can’t recall ever having a real conversation with him. He’s like, a meathead or whatever. A jock. Not that she judges him on that or anything… At least not consciously. She swears she left her prejudices back in the eighth grade where they belong.

Salma retreated into Chel when the strangers showed up. Well, Emmett isn’t a stranger (his advice on her Yuuki stories is appreciated), just kind of a weird teenager. The woman looks sort of familiar, but she can’t really place her face well in her memory. She hates it when people who know Mal approach them in public and waste all their time with stories or inquiries on how they’ve been. This is supposed to be their time together as a family. Not social hour. Now they’re going to be talking for like, ever, and she’s not ever going to get the time back because Mal doesn’t know how to exit a conversation politely.

“...And this is my precious Renesmee.”

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you!”

Salma wonders if there’ll be time to stop into Hot Topic today. They’re supposed to be getting a new collection of anime shirts she wants to peruse.

–She feels a tapping on her shoulder, maybe a light pinch. Ah, the signal to introduce herself like a normal human being. “Nice to meet you.” Her smile is awkward, half-hearted, not quite reaching her eyes. Already bored of the conversation.

Nessie truly takes after her grandmother, because she’s blinking and staring very openly at Salma, who doesn’t immediately gush and declare her her new best friend forever. The way she should have.

She tilts her head, still blinking. Confused. There isn’t anything wrong with Nessie, her mama braided her hair to perfection and Alice fit her in the cutest, most trendiest outfit a girl her age could have. Salma didn’t even really look at her. Look at her!! Look at her!!!!

If Jacob were here, he would easily see and read Nessie’s face, her emotions. Could have easily known what she was going to do.

Nessie reaches out and grabs Salma’s hand tightly–Unconsciously wanting to, on purpose accidentally, beginning to show her what their friendship and sister-hood will bring. How Salma was already hers, the same way Jacob was. How Salma needs to know that they were going to be the closest of friends.

Esme is a second or two too late, having been delightfully distracted by Mal’s rambling (it’s so cute how humans do that, so cute how her mate does it). Emmett is occupied with keeping Esme from picking Mal up into a bridal carry and riding away into the sunset, never really considering that Nessie would fuck up their cover.

Luckily, Jacob said fuck that to Alice’s instructions to keep away.

“Hey there trouble maker!” He appears out of nowhere (“Literally out of fucking nowhere!!” Chel will later exclaim), scooping Nessie up in his arms and spinning her around to keep those around them from noticing any change in her facial expression, “Who said you were allowed out of your enclosure, huh?”

Salma wobbles, disconnecting from the strange daydream that filled her head–pressing into her sisters’ sides and closing her eyes tight. Feeling nauseated. Light-headed. Worse than when she confused her father’s wine for juice. Than when she was told that her parents were gone. 

Esme’s line of sight, disturbed by Jacob, brings her back to reality– ”Oh, naughty girl, Nessie! We don’t grab people like that!” This, communicated through a low whisper, far from the hearing range of humans, is a slap on the wrist. 

Nessie is flabbergasted. Appalled. Offended? Why is Jakey here? She’s always happy to see him, but he interrupted her! She was just showing Salma her gift, her powers, even if it’s not allowed, their family can make an exception, right? She’s just showing Salma why she was wrong to ignore her, to brush her off like that. The same way the adults around her show her why she’s wrong.

“Shit, are you good, Quacky?” Chel presses her hands against her younger sister’s back in support, “You look like you did when we rode that Magic Mountain roller coaster.”

Mal doesn’t have the time or bandwidth to scold Chel’s language, she kneels down and presses a hand against Salma’s forehead and cheek the moment she recognises that something’s up, cutting off her greeting to Jacob and inquiry on whether he’s finished the homework. “Do you feel sick?”

Dazed, Salma doesn’t quite know how to answer. She feels hot and cold at the same time. Dizzy and still spinning, like the inside of her head when she had the sinus infection last year. 

“Jakey, I was–”

“We don’t do that.” Jacob’s voice isn’t soft, isn’t gentle. It’s quiet and firm. A tone Nessie’s never heard in her life. “ We don’t do that. ”

“I was…swimming.” Salma mutters, lost. Still not opening her eyes, relishing in the safety of the darkness behind her eyelids. "...I wanna throw up."

“Shit.” Emmett mutters, too low for the humans to hear. “Fuck.”

Mal apologises, saying that they were going to go home immediately–Maybe drop by an urgent care. She picks Salma up swiftly, like she weighed nothing, resting the girl’s head on her shoulder and hurrying off to the mall’s exit, not noticing the bruise slowly forming on the youngest girl’s wrist.