i. winter mourning cw: creepy creepy vampire bf being creepy, creepy werewolf not!boyfriend nonconsensual kissing, self-harm via cutting arm, blood
[Bella definitely isn't the most DIY crafty person in the world, but when she hears about the Winter Mourning thing, she...does her best. There's a lot to mourn, after all. She ties a few antlers together with string and puts some herbs on it, like a spice...wreath? Whatever, she did her best.
Apparently the Pthumerians see that, because the wreath is glowing the next morning when she wakes up. She only hesitates a moment before reaching out to touch it, carefully...]
memory a [Bella remembers that first night so vividly. The dizziness that followed a mild concussion, her dad hovering uncharacteristically until she basically had to throw her shoes at him to make him go away. Being so sure she'd closed the window, but waking to find it opened.
And the dreams -- she'd been so young then, sixteen and innocent and so easily taken in by those dark eyes and tousled hair and rare, brilliant smile. Of course she'd dreamed about it, about him and his firm arms and cold touch. Even before putting together the pieces, she'd dreamed of him so vividly she'd been sure she saw him.
Except now, standing as a third-party witness in her room on that particular night, Bella can see that it...wasn't a dream. She saw herself toss and turn, saw the familiar, once-beloved shape standing motionless in the corner of her room, watching unblinking as she slept. In a faint, disgusted voice:] Oh my god, he was literally there the whole time.
memory b [The second memory was...well, it was not better. Bella had her hopes when she saw the familiar landscape of La Push, remembering the hours spent working on the motorcycle with Jake, chatting and teasing each other, tossing playful insults back and forth, feeling like a normal teenager again.
This was...not any of those moments. She would've even taken that time she crashed on the bike after .05 seconds and Jake took his entire shirt off to wipe blood off her face. But no, instead it's the time he kissed her without asking, knowing Edward was back, knowing she was with him and was going to stay with him.
Bella grimaces as her past self makes a face and punches the werewolf in the face and there's an audible crunch of bones breaking. She's just going to bury her face in her hands and hope whoever she's with decides to just not...mention it.]
memory c [This memory is mildly more triumphant, at least. Bella recognizes the mountaintop, the crisp bite of snow in the air, the hiss and snarl of extremely angry vampires. This is one of the last experiences she'd had before coming to Deerington for the first time, this battle, this mountain. She remembers the panic when Victoria and Riley got the upper hand, the sudden conviction that she was going to lose Edward like she'd already lost Jake. She remembers the determination in how she scrabbled for that sharp stone, the memory of the legend Billy had told about the Third Wife, how her sacrifice was the turning point.
Watching herself, the Bella of now -- of Trench, of the world beyond Edward and Jacob and Forks -- still has to smile a little in pride at herself, at the ferocious protective glare on her face. That part at least hasn't changed. She's still willing to fight and bleed for those she loves.]
ii. run, rabbit run
[As the month wears on, Bella gets more...antsy. Maybe it's the coming holidays (it's not). Maybe it's the weather (it isn't). Maybe it's just something in the air, something that makes her feel itchy and unsettled in her own skin. She starts going for more walks, out in the woods and the wilds. Normally that would spook her, but she finds that it's not that scary. She has her omen, Mephistopheles pacing beside her. And she has the sparks of fire and bits of ice that keep sparking from her fingertips, beyond her control.
And she has the whispering, the softly seductive voice encouraging her to chase, to hunt, to catch. Bella doesn't resist it -- she gives in, spotting someone, a vileblood or warmblood, and immediately setting off after them. She's a slow, methodical hunter, trailing her fingers over the trees and leaving splintery patches of ice, like some kind of...creepy stalker Elsa.
And she calls out, soft and lilting in the cold, dark air:] You can run...but you can't hide.
[Good lord. Someone stop her.]
iii. lockjoint-adjacent
[Once Bella is herself again, she sort of tries to make up for her weird...hunter moment by overzealously mothering anyone with Lockjoint that she finds. Homemade soup goes into containers, alongside some truly dismally lumpy socks and mittens, and she sets out to find people who aren't taking care of themselves.
Let's be real, she doesn't have to look far. Sleepers are allergic to self-care. Once she finds them, she and her omen gently bully them into sitting down, bundling up and drinking soup. Even if they resist. Especially if they resist.]
C'mon, you have to eat eventually. Do you own any gloves? [How can you resist that wearily indignant mothering?]
Bella Swan | Twilight
[Bella definitely isn't the most DIY crafty person in the world, but when she hears about the Winter Mourning thing, she...does her best. There's a lot to mourn, after all. She ties a few antlers together with string and puts some herbs on it, like a spice...wreath? Whatever, she did her best.
Apparently the Pthumerians see that, because the wreath is glowing the next morning when she wakes up. She only hesitates a moment before reaching out to touch it, carefully...]
ii. run, rabbit run
[As the month wears on, Bella gets more...antsy. Maybe it's the coming holidays (it's not). Maybe it's the weather (it isn't). Maybe it's just something in the air, something that makes her feel itchy and unsettled in her own skin. She starts going for more walks, out in the woods and the wilds. Normally that would spook her, but she finds that it's not that scary. She has her omen, Mephistopheles pacing beside her. And she has the sparks of fire and bits of ice that keep sparking from her fingertips, beyond her control.
And she has the whispering, the softly seductive voice encouraging her to chase, to hunt, to catch. Bella doesn't resist it -- she gives in, spotting someone, a vileblood or warmblood, and immediately setting off after them. She's a slow, methodical hunter, trailing her fingers over the trees and leaving splintery patches of ice, like some kind of...creepy stalker Elsa.
And she calls out, soft and lilting in the cold, dark air:] You can run...but you can't hide.
[Good lord. Someone stop her.]
iii. lockjoint-adjacent
[Once Bella is herself again, she sort of tries to make up for her weird...hunter moment by overzealously mothering anyone with Lockjoint that she finds. Homemade soup goes into containers, alongside some truly dismally lumpy socks and mittens, and she sets out to find people who aren't taking care of themselves.
Let's be real, she doesn't have to look far. Sleepers are allergic to self-care. Once she finds them, she and her omen gently bully them into sitting down, bundling up and drinking soup. Even if they resist. Especially if they resist.]
C'mon, you have to eat eventually. Do you own any gloves? [How can you resist that wearily indignant mothering?]