#twilight charlotte

[peacefulandcozy]

Instagram credit: danielapardor

[catherinetheprincessofwales]

The Wales x Twilight Source: Instagram poetdepartment.

[charlottesbookclub]

like real people do (alistair x reader) 💜💜

Summary: honestly there's no real plot, just pure fluff. Alistair tries to adjust to having a human mate, and he's trying really hard 🥹

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader, mention of skipping a meal (not intentionally), mentions of eating, Alistair being awkward and a bit rude lol, basically just pure tooth-rotting fluff, but as always, let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 1,634

Author’s Note: me, writing a twilight fanfic in the year of our lord 2024? it's more likely than you think. uhhh yeah I have no real explanation for this except that I have stumbled back into my Alistair obsession and I just wanted to write a cute little something for him. I don't think this is my best work, but at least it made me smile, so that's something. honestly I have no idea if there's anyone else out here reading fanfic for an incredibly minor twilight character, but if there is, I hope you enjoy whatever this is! I was thinking of making this a little series of Alistair trying his damndest to figure out human stuff, so do let me know if you have any interest in that. but okay I'll stop rambling now - enjoy! 💖

            A message pinged through on your computer, and you looked away from your work for a moment, pulling up the chatbox. It was Lucy from the front desk: 

hey – someone’s here to see you

who?

hard to describe – and i’m having a hard time getting his name

You chuckled softly to yourself, having a sneaking suspicion you knew exactly who it was. Odd that he would willingly put himself in a situation that forced him to speak with other people though. Your laughter turned into a small frown as you considered the fact that something might be wrong. You and Alistair hadn’t been together long, but you knew about his aversion to others well enough to wonder what could bring him into proximity of the possibility of needing to engage in small talk.

be right there

You pushed back from your desk and hurried down to the lobby. Lucy was obviously waiting for you to arrive, and she met you with a mildly panicked look, gesturing with her head toward the tall man standing awkwardly in the corner of the lobby. Thanks to his heightened senses, he had noticed your arrival long before Lucy, and was already striding across the floor toward you at a pace that was just barely slow enough to be considered human. You made a mental note to ask Carlisle to gently review normal human behaviors with him. You just managed to give Lucy a quick thumbs-up to indicate that you knew the tousled man before he bustled the two of you back toward your office.

“Alistair, what the hell?” you asked as he ushered you inside and closed the door behind him.

“What a truly awful system,” he muttered to himself, clearly continuing a rant he was already halfway through rather than answering your question. “I mean really, how many idiots should I have to go through to see my partner?” You just crossed your arms and leaned back against the edge of your desk, a bemused smile starting to fight its way onto your face. You knew it was no use interrupting him until he had gotten everything out. “’Would you like something do drink?’” He parroted Lucy’s question mockingly. “No I bloody well would not – unless you’ve got a few bags of blood stored away back there,” he retorted to this fictional Lucy sarcastically. “Zounds, how hard is it to just point me in the right direction and leave me in peace?” His words faded into muttering and soft curses in a version of English that hadn’t been spoken for hundreds of years.

“Alistair,” you said quietly, breaking him out of his monologue. His talking to himself had seemed strange at first, but the more you learned about his life before meeting you, the more it made sense. He had been his only company for so long and was only now slowly adjusting to speaking with other people again. You, however, found it incredibly endearing and hoped he didn’t break himself of the habit completely. 

His focus snapped to you instantly when he heard your voice, and he started murmuring apologies that you quickly brushed off.

“Alistair, it’s fine,” you assured him, sending him a warm smile and softly placing your hand on his forearm. Touch was another thing that was coming back to him only slowly. You had learned to proceed cautiously, gently, making sure he knew that you were about to touch him before making contact. The words stilled on his lips as his eyes focused in on the place where your warm palm met his cold skin.

“Alistair,” you said quietly after a moment of letting him adjust to the contact. His eyes traveled back up to your face at the sound of his name on your lips. “Is something wrong?”

“I—no,” the words tumbled out awkwardly, and you could almost see him trying to say three different sentences at the same time. If he still had blood under his skin, you were certain he would be blushing. Knowing that eye contact made conversation even more difficult for him, you flicked your eyes down toward your hand still on his arm, gently pulling it from where it hung limply at his side. You cradled his large hand in both of yours and began tracing mindless patterns on his skin, hoping this would give him enough of a reprieve to gather his thoughts. He took a deep breath and tried again. 

“Nothing is seriously wrong, but I— well I… worried about you.” This instantly caught your attention, and you looked up again almost without thinking, only to find his ruby eyes gazing back down at you with a softness you were just beginning to recognize.

“Alistair, I promise, I’m just fine,” you assure him.

“But… well… I noticed you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.” You tilted your head, wondering why that was such a cause for concern that he would willingly subject himself to the horror of checking in at your work.

“I was just running a little late and didn’t have time to make myself anything,” you explained, hoping that would ease his mind, “there’s always snacks in the break room, so I figured I’d have something when I got here.”

“I understand, but humans in your age group are supposed to eat three balanced meals per day, with the addition of one to three snacks. Lack of nutrients can result in many deficiencies, which in turn can lead to side effects like headache, dizziness, and trouble concentrating.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that was growing on your face as you listened to him recite this knowledge as though he had memorized it straight from a Wikipedia article. However, you seriously doubted Alistair’s ability to navigate the internet, since Carlisle had only recently convinced him to try using a flip phone.

“Where did you hear about this?” you asked, trying to remain serious and stifling the giggles that were rising in your throat.

“I’ve been reading Carlisle’s medical texts,” he responded with a furrowed brow, “I want to make sure I understand all the risks and ensure that I am prepared for every eventuality.”

If you hadn’t been completely in love with him yet, this would have undoubtably sealed the deal. He may be awkward and eccentric and even difficult at times, but he was trying so so hard to care for you in the best way he knew how. Although the whole situation was still incredibly amusing, you simply couldn’t bring yourself to laugh at him, even if it was all in affection. Instead, you raised yourself slowly to your tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you for thinking of me,” you said as you lowered yourself back onto your heels. Your chaste kiss seemed to have frozen him for a moment, as he stood there completely still, his soft squeeze of your hand the only indicator that he was still present in the room. You let him recalibrate, and as he came back himself, he made a soft exclamation as though he had just remembered something. Reluctantly releasing your hand, he swung a small backpack off his shoulder. 

“I brought you some breakfast,” he explained as he pulled a jumble of containers out of the bag and placed them on your desk, “I tried to make sure I balanced all the proper nutrients to ensure you wouldn’t suffer any adverse effects from not having eaten this morning.”

You busied yourself with looking at all the containers of food to hide the tears that were welling in your eyes. You had never had someone care for you so completely like this before. Unfortunately, your plan didn’t work, since the awkwardly yet earnestly prepared food only brought more tears to your eyes. You had never expected that strangely cut fruit, mangled pancakes, and soggy cereal sitting in its own milk would make you cry with joy, but the amount of thought and care that had clearly gone into each piece of the meal was about to reduce you to ugly sobs.

You could feel Alistair watching you intently as you opened each of the containers, seemingly trying to gauge your response. When he couldn’t bear it any longer, he finally broke the silence. 

“If you don’t like it, I—I’m happy to go out and buy you something. I haven’t had human food in so long and even—even then I didn’t actually prepare it so I tried reading some of Carlisle’s recipe books but I think I still didn’t get it right—” 

“Alistair,” you didn’t normally like to cut him off, but you refused to let his anxious rambling sew any seeds of doubt in his mind. “It’s absolutely perfect – I can’t wait to taste it all!”

Alistair beamed at you then, a rare sight, but a welcome one.

“I just have one question though,” you said, and he looked at you quizzically, waiting for your inquiry. “Can I give you a hug?”

Confusion turned to elation on his face, and he spread his arms in assent and anticipation. You threw yourself on him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you wiped away a few escaped tears. His arms closed around your back hesitantly, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them, but his uncertainty seemed to fade as you melted into his grasp, and he wrapped you even more tightly in his embrace. 

Both of you were smiling when you finally pulled away. You settled into your desk chair and motioned to Alistair to pull up another. He sat just close enough that your knees could touch as you surveyed the feast before you. 

“What do you think I should start with?” you asked him.

“Maybe the pancakes? I’m rather proud of those.”

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

art history playlist moodboard – twilight soundtrack vibes but it's the indie/alt rock bit

Vale (Farewell) – Arthur Hacker // Morning Mist in the Mountains – Caspar David Friedrich // Countess Mordvinova’s Wood – Ivan Shishkin // Wilds – Ivan Shishkin // Temptation – William-Adolphe Bouguereau // Norwegian Highlands at Sunrise – Hans Gude // April Showers, Napa Valley – Jules Tavernier // The Dark Wood – Ivan Shishkin // Fawn – Josef Schmitzberger

[rainagainstthewindowatnight]

hurt/comfort scenes

greys anatomy (2005-present) / boy meets world (1993-2000) / pretty little liars (2010-2017) / outer banks (2020-present) / the hunger games : catching fire (2013) / the twilight saga : breaking dawn part one (2011) / normal people (2018) / a beautiful mind (1993) / queen charlotte (2023) / veronica mars (2004-2007)

[sketchmenot-art]

No More Heroes - Celebration Aboard the UAA Limo Tender

Drew some of my favorite characters from Suda51's No More Heroes series!

From left to right: Sylvia Christel, Bad Girl (Charlotte Birkin), Holly Summers, Alice Twilight, Margaret Moonlight, FU, Jeane, Shinobu Jacobs, Travis Touchdown, and finally Cat Jeane on the floor.

I thought it’d be fun to have everyone on a fancy limo tender, courtesy of Sylvia and the UAA of course, wearing black formal attire. It was fun coming up with the designs for each outfit and incorporating elements of the character’s original outfits. ☺️✨

No More Heroes is one of my all time favorite series! I adore it to pieces and it’s always been a huge inspiration to me! Suda51 himself is also my favorite game dev and I’ve been fortunate enough to meet him a few times! Hoping to meet him again at Momocon! Dude’s awesome! 😎✨

I was inspired by the song It's Kill Or Be Killed Mix from the No More Heroes 2 OST while working on this piece.

It's Kill Or Be Killed Mix - No More Heroes 2 OST

Done with Clip Studio Paint EX May 2024

[necrobratz]

whiteboard doodles ft Pinkie, Rainbow, Twilight and Charlie :3

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

do you think Maria slept with Peter and Charlotte

Jasper slept with Maria

Unlike Jasper, I don't remember the strong implications that this was the case for either Peter or especially Charlotte (who was slated to die horribly until Peter ran off with her).

I always thought know, in part because Peter did run off/seemed much less attached to Maria and more terrified of her than Jasper who did have loyalty and a personal connection that kept him around, or Charlotte who seemed even less attached to the whole operation than Peter was.

But you know what, anon, you can always write the fic.

(gif credit @franzias-cave)

[jessicanjpa]

Twilight Advent Calendar 2023 Event

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

Dec. 21 - Pick any five characters. What's something they always carry with them?

Jasper: Zippo lighter

You never know when you might need to dismember and incinerate an enemy. Or, you know, burn out an entire classroom because you accidentally killed the teacher and you have no choice but to murder the whole class to cover your tracks. Safety first.

Carlisle: doctor bag including a fantasy-level knockout syringe

I don't even know what's in that syringe. Propofol? Ketamine? Methohexital? Even if he were to inject a bolus directly into the jugular vein after making an educated guess about his victim's body weight, I don't think anything can work that fast. Cardiac arrest is more likely, but he's the doctor.

Anyway, that syringe canonically sees more action than Jasper's lighter and I think that's hilarious.

Esme: tin pencil box, 1921

Carlisle had an exasperating habit of purchasing any and every item that newborn Esme mentioned even the smallest interest in. When the words "I used to draw when I was a girl" crossed her lips, he practically ran out the door to shop for art supplies. This tin pencil box came home in his pocket. Esme still carries it in her purse to this day, stocked with whichever medium is her favorite at the time. A small, battered sketch pad is ready and waiting, too—you never know when you might stumble across something beautiful.

Rosalie: decorative makeup compact and emergency toolkit

It's important to Rosalie that everyone—humans and vampires alike—see her as both beautiful and competent. I don't think the books ever mentioned whether Rosalie and/or Alice wear makeup to school, but if they do, it has to be reapplied often because of the nature of vampire skin. And while she's perfectly capable of using people's glasses as a mirror (canon), I think she'd rather do it in style.

And she feels most comfortable when she's prepared for mortifying scenarios like her car breaking down in a school parking lot someday. She also likes being the one to say "Well actually you just need a 3/16 hex wrench—here" when someone is scratching their head over a broken chair/desk/bicycle/anything.

Charlotte: digital camera -> smartphone

Nomads have to be very particular about what they keep with them; no self-respecting vampire wants to dash around the globe wearing a backpack. But Charlotte had to, back when she had no choice but to carry around a bulky camera, extra rolls of film, and prints. She very happily made the switch to digital once the resolution became good enough. And now she's made the switch to smartphone photography (a little more grudgingly). Peter got her an iPhone-compatible macro lens last year and that finally won her over.

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

You can find all of the #twilightadvent23 prompts here!

[usotsuki-no-sora]

I am just here to read things. Since people need to see something at times…here I go…

Despite me using this place since it first came out years ago(2007) just with a different account since could never remember original one or the many after…till now anyways…

Hi. I am awkward turtle duck. For me being here well…long ass rabbit hole there…

I blame Linked Universe, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss…and many more.

[twilightinanotherlife]

The height difference between Brimsley and Reynolds is giving Earnest and Carlisle.

[adcmans]

Idk if anyone does this but do you ever just listen to music and look at fanart of your favorite character? I do it all the time when I have nothing to do or I don’t write.

Then when you like Underrated characters/shows it is rare to find art.

[charlottesbookclub]

it's been a long, long time (alistair x reader) 💜💜

Summary: listening to oldies and slow dancing with alistair. that's it that's the plot 💕

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; exists in the same timeline/universe as "like real people do" but you absolutely do not have to read that one for this one to make sense; alistair being super awkward but also super in love; basically just pure tooth-rotting fluff, but as always, let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 1,860

Author’s Note: we interrupt your scheduled "king of all birds" programming to bring you nearly two thousand words of completely self-indulgent fluff 🥰. soft alistair lovers please come get y'all juice!! 💜💜 I blame @freakazoidr17cr-5 for infecting me with slow-dancing-with-alistair brainrot and also my sibling's 1940s playlist for allowing me to indulge in scenarios generated by the aforementioned brainrot 💖💖

also, if you don't know the song "it's been a long, long time," I highly recommend listening to it, both because it truly is one of my favorite songs, but also because I think hearing it sets up the vibes/tone of the story. this is my favorite version! 🥰🥰

            Alistair watched you intently as you set up the record player and gently pulled the album from its cardboard sleeve. You adjusted its position on the turntable under his watchful gaze. His fascination with human things and his habit of observing as you completed almost any task were nearly second nature to you now. You were about to start the music when his question interrupted.

            “I’m confused,” his brow was furrowed and his hands fluttered near the record player, almost as though he was trying to gauge its function without touching it. 

            “Mm-hmm,” you softly encouraged him to voice his thought aloud.

            “If the music comes from there,” he pointed across the room to where your phone sat on a sidetable near the couch. “Why do you need… this?” His hand traveled back to vaguely indicate the set-up you had constructed with the record player. You smiled at the question.

            “Just for fun!” you responded lightly, shrugging. Alistair rolled his eyes in mock-exasperation, but you could see the affection behind the gesture. “Some people think the sound is better,” you offered as a further explanation, “but I just think it’s fun to do sometimes.” You turned the machine on and placed the needle on the record, looking up to watch his reaction as the music began to play from the speakers.

            He started just slightly upon hearing the first notes, but then leaned in to watch the album spin under the needle. You stood there for a moment, looking on as he observed the turntable, staying just far enough away that he hovered but never quite touched it. With a small smile, you retreated to the couch and picked up the novel you were reading. 

            “What music is this?” he asked after a few moments, his eyes finding you from where he still stood next to the record player.

            “It’s a collection of music from the 1940s,” you responded, a smile growing on your face when you realized he’d likely be quite amused by the colloquial nickname for the genre, “but people usually just call this kind of music ‘oldies.’” 

            Your words had the desired effect; Alistair scoffed in amusement. He finally gave up his station near the turntable, appearing by your side on the couch in an instant, his own book in hand.

            “’Oldies,’” he repeated under his breath, shaking his head slightly in bemused disbelief. “Not even a century old and they call them ‘oldies.’” He chuckled to himself as he settled back into the cushions. You joined in his laughter for a moment before you both became absorbed in your respective reading, the crooning melodies of the music hanging warmly in the room.

            After a while, you gently leaned your head against his shoulder, intentionally slowing your motion so he had time to anticipate and adjust to the gesture. You could sense him faltering for a moment, unsure of how to reciprocate. Then he tentatively slid an arm behind your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side. The movement was halting and almost awkward, but so endearingly sincere that you couldn’t help but smile softly to yourself as you snuggled further into him. He seemed to relax into the position then, allowing himself to curl into you slightly. 

            Time seemed to melt in that moment, and you weren’t sure how long the two of you sat like that before a change in the song caused his head to snap up. The swelling intro of “It’s Been A Long, Long Time” swirled from the speakers, catching his attention like none of the other songs had.

            “This one’s my favorite,” you said softly as he tilted his head, listening intently to the music. He gently disentangled himself from you and lifted himself from the sofa before bolting back to the record player in a blur. He watched the spinning of the album fixedly as he had before, but this time he chanced touching the machine, placed a tentative hand on the speaker, almost as though he was absorbing the very vibrations of the music.

            “What’s this one called?” he asked in a whisper just barely loud enough for you to hear, eyes still on the record, enraptured by what he was hearing.

            “’It’s Been A Long, Long Time,’” you responded, setting your book aside. Now it was your turn to observe him with adoring fascination, elated that he seemed to be enjoying a song you loved so much. Eventually the final chords began to fade, and Alistair looked up at you with something akin to mild panic in his eyes.

            “How do you make it go again?”

            You hopped up from the couch happily and returned to your position by the record player. You could feel his gaze on you as you lifted the needle, his eyes cataloging each movement with rapt attention as you placed it back on the black plastic grooves. The intro music swelled again, filling the room. 

            This time you closed your eyes, humming along softly and mouthing the lyrics, letting the song guide your movements as you began to sway back and forth. Alistair’s eyes were all for you this time, watching in wonder as you let yourself fall into the soft embrace of the music. As the song faded out for the second time, you opened your eyes slowly to find Alistair’s long fingers resting tentatively on the needle. With the utmost caution, he lifted it from the record – you were certain that had it not been for the supernatural steadiness that graced his every move, his hand would have been trembling. He copied your earlier movements exactly, dropping the needle at the correct place for the song to swell to life again. He stopped then, though, as if he wasn’t quite certain what to do next.

            “Do you want to dance?” you asked, holding out your hand to him, palm up – an invitation. He looked at your open hand for a moment, slowly blinking once before resting his cold palm in your warm one.

            “I—I don’t know what to do next,” he muttered nervously, moving to take a step back and pull his hand from your grasp. You held fast though, gently urging him back toward you, a request he could hardly deny you for long.

            “Give me your other hand, please,” you entreated softly, and he obliged. Slowly, making sure he could anticipate your movements, you wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling the two of you even closer. If he still had a heartbeat, it would have been racing beyond all control. You brought your hand up to circle his shoulder, bringing your faces so close that your noses almost brushed.

            “Is this okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

            He nodded wordlessly and swallowed. If he were human, you would have been sure he had stopped breathing. You reached your fingers up to brush back a few errant strands of hair that had fallen into his face. The look in his eyes was equal parts terror and desperation that you understood instantly: he wanted to share this moment with you, but he had no idea what to do.

            Hoping to ease some of his anxiety, you tucked your head against his chest, removing the pressure of such close eye contact. This seemed to work, as it had many times in the past, since he let out a shuddering yet completely unnecessary breath. His body relaxed a bit against you then, and he minutely readjusted the position of his hand on your back before gently squeezing your hand that he still held.

            “What do we do now?” the words were barely a breath against your ear.

            “Just listen to the music,” you whispered back as you leaned into him, slowly encouraging him to sway gently with you. 

Never thought that you would be standing here so close to me

He reacted to your motion instinctively, pulling you into a slow spin across the floor.

There’s so much I feel that I should say, but words can wait until some other day 

Listening to the singer croon the words, you suddenly became hyperaware of Alistair’s hand pressed against you, the other wrapped up with your own. Each place where your skin met his told of hundreds of years of solitude, a protective wall that had been built stone by stone for centuries that was only now beginning to crumble. Every touch spoke a thousand words: I trust you.

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again

You could have been wrong, the gesture was so small and you couldn’t see the motion from where your were still tucked against his chest, but you were fairly certain you felt him press three tiny kisses to the top of your head.

Then his breath was at your ear again, reciting the words to the next lyrics as though he had known them forever. And perhaps, in a way, he had:

It’s been a long, long time – haven’t felt like this my dear since can’t remember when – it’s been a long, long time

            Tears formed in your eyes and you swallowed hard, folding yourself even closer to him. You could only guess how much courage it must have taken for him to allow himself to be so vulnerable. You intertwined your fingers with his and squeezed his hand gently, letting him know that you heard everything he had allowed himself to say, that you understood. He returned the gesture: a thank you, a mutual understanding, and a promise.

You’ll never know how many dreams I dream about you, or just how empty they all seem without you

            His movements seemed slightly more confident then, and he swirled you both slowly toward the center of the room, following the rise and fall of the melody with his steps. You chanced a look up at him and found him gazing back at you, a small but genuinely contented smile on his face. You beamed at him, then leaned ever so slightly upwards, hoping he would anticipate your next movement.

So kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again

            In time with the lyrics, you pressed three almost-impossibly soft kisses to his cheek. His skin was as cold as always, and you could feel the scratch of his beard beneath your lips. But there was something so warm about him, like some internal glow that you could sense even if you couldn’t see it. His steps faltered then, and another unneeded breath stuttered from his mouth. You opened your mouth to apologize, fearing you had acted too quickly, but almost as though he could predict your words, he shook his head minutely to assure you that all was well.

            He pulled you back into him and you melted into his embrace as he once again began to spin the two of you in slow circles. This time, when he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, you felt it, just like you heard the words that were so tenderly cradled in the small gesture: I love you.

It’s been a long, long time…

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

art history playlist moodboard – bella in new moon type of sad

Forest Reserve, Pine Grove – Ivan Shishkin // In the Bedroom – Peter Ilsted // Puyallup River Valley and Mount Rainier – Albert Bierstadt // South Side of Mount Rainier with Tree-Filled Valley in Foreground, Washington, 1920 – Asahel Curtis // Helgoland – Robert Russ // Carola Sitting on the Sofa – Gustaf Cederström // Interior in Paris – Harriet Backer // Pine Trees – Maksymilian Gierymski // Rainy Evening on Hennepin Avenue – Robert Koehler

[goldeneyedgirl]

This is kind of a random question, but I thought about that while reading your story Variable Stars, more specifically that scene in which Alice decides not to kill Peter and Charlotte. If it had happened, how Jasper would've reacted? Or, in a canon version, how do you think he would react if Peter and Charlotte were killed (not by Alice but a nomad or something)?

Ooof, Anon, you woke up and chose violence. We'll start with Variable Stars.

So, in Variable Stars, Alice sees Peter and Charlotte and kills them quickly and moves on.

Jasper is extremely close to both of them in Variable Stars because he is alone - no wife. It's kind of a cocktail of soldiers in arms, paternal, and brotherly. Like an older siblings raising a much younger sibling. So when they stop visiting and communicating with him, this is scary. Jasper has always had Peter at his back and for Peter to vanish... he spends a lot of time trying to find them. Obviously he never does, and because of where Alice found them, no one else (Maria) knows what happened either.

That weighs on Jasper terribly. That they found themselves in a fight that they could not win. He hopes they died quickly and together. But because he cannot confirm their deaths, there's always a little piece of him that hopes that they're still out there. He's much quieter and more serious by the time Alice joins the family.

It's quite a few years later that Edward puts together Peter and Charlotte as some of the vampires that Alice killed during her Rebellion Years. He does end up telling her what she did, and Alice is broken that she did that to Jasper. She considers a visit to Volterra to have herself destroyed but Edward tells her that the last thing Jasper needs is to lose another of his people.

She does tell him, and it changes them. For mental health reasons, Jasper has to separate the idea of the Alice that killed Peter and Charlotte with his Alice. Is it healthy? No! Is it necessary for him to live his life? Yes. Their relationship is fundamentally changed, and very bittersweet; Alice spends the rest of her life essentially trying to keep Jasper as happy as she can to make up for her terrible mistake, and Jasper has to live with that constant cloud of self-loathing and regret that surrounds her.

In canon, oh boy. (Also, anon, if you want Charlotte and Peter and Jasper drama, can I recommend going to talk to @flowerslut? Maybe subscribe to her new fic Roots? It's insanity and is a fucking vision into the dynamic Jasper has with his people and his past. 11/10, A+, six seasons and a movie. But I digress.)

In canon, Jasper would be on the war path, and Alice with him. Jasper would hunt them to the ends of the earth and remind their killer why Jasper's reputation precedes them. Both Alice and Jasper have a violent streak, and even if the deaths weren't planned, the killer would regret ever touching Peter and Charlotte.

And then I think Jasper would grieve heavily, and probably seek out solitude for that grief; he'd definitely retreat from the family a little. Peter's friendship and loyalty shaped who he was and who he got to be so much that there would always be a hole where his brother was. That Jasper couldn't protect Peter or even save Charlotte for Peter would weigh very heavily on him. I can see the darkest point being Jasper resenting the Cullens because if he'd been with Peter and Charlotte they'd still be alive, and maybe even resenting Alice for not being able to see their deaths so he could have protected them.

Alice has no real reference point for the grief of death or strong relationships outside her immediate family that we're made aware of in canon, so I can see her struggling a little knowing how to support Jasper in that kind of grief at first, but ultimately just being present so he isn't constantly alone and brooding. I can also see her struggling with the void that Peter and Charlotte have left behind.

I can see her gently reminding Jasper that even if they weren't with the Cullens, everything falling in place so that Jasper could have protected Peter and Charlotte is pretty unlikely. And I think she'd observe the fact that she didn't see their deaths indicates it was just one of those terrible, unplanned moments; there was no grand plan to assassinate them, no grudges or agenda. Just a series of choices made in the moment.

She's gifted, not a god.

Ultimately, Jasper is no stranger to pain. He'd be a little sadder and a little quieter, and possibly cleave tighter to the Cullens because he's now without alternative allies. He'd be even more protective of Alice, but he'd keep going and keep Peter and Charlotte as a very, very sacred memory.

[annamariehamilton-unofficial]

Literary Hot Takes #2: 50 Shades of Grey is Bad Fanfiction of Bad Fanfiction

Remember back when 50 Shades of Grey was taking the best seller list by storm, hands were being wrung, and pearls were being clutched? Well, I was in high school AP Lit class and it suddenly struck me that the plot summary of 50 Shades (from what I'd heard secondhand, anyway) is weirdly similar to Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre.

Ok, so, like, hear me out. Naive young woman takes on contract to work for *mysterious* broody ultra-wealthy older man who has #issues and a string of crazy exes, and psychologically abuses her, she leaves, then eventually comes back, he claims he has changed his wicked ways, and they get married and live happily ever after. Of course Jane Eyre is, like, a million times better, but you can't deny the surface similarities.

So, as it turns out, 50 Shades of Grey is bad fanfiction of Twilight, which is itself arguably bad fanfiction of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights.

So 50 Shades is literally a bad carbon copy of a bad carbon copy of the Brontes.

And lest you think the chain stops here, there's even a further bad carbon copy of 50 Shades that started as a Harry Styles self-insert Wattpad fanfiction and somehow became a bestselling hit. It's called After by Anna Todd. You're welcome.