#BRING BACK DEBUSSY

[dancingdorito]

petition for bridgerton to use classical music along with the string quartet modern music covers in s3. cuz the use of Max Richter's Spring 1 was fucking beautiful in s1.

s2 had NO classical music, it just had covers. and dont get me wrong, i love kris bowers' soundtrack and the vitamin string quartet music, but modern classical music or just classical music in general would be wonderful. i feel like they overuse the string quartet covers.

missed opportunity to use "flight of the bumblebee" in s2 so....

[freakattack]

I wish mario games remixed "classical" music again

[llamagoddessofficial]

A lovely continuation commission from @valacre. You love your husband Nightmare as he is - but there's a lot more to him than what is now, isn't there?

---

The record player moved on to the next song. Your recognition of the song roused you, faintly, from your almost-sleep... a familiar, emotive, reflective piano piece. You didn’t open your eyes just yet; you could feel a small smile forming on your lips. 

He’s playing Debussy? He must be in a good mood.

You were holding Nightmare’s hand up against your face tonight, tucked up to your ears under the covers, cheek pressed stubbornly to the top of his palm. You spent many nights falling asleep this way. Nightmare didn’t need to sleep, it was a luxury he could indulge in if he felt inclined, but he often chose instead to bring his books and quills to bed with him (propped against his knees) and use the precious quiet hours to read and write. You would fall asleep tucked up to his side... most often with one of his hands commandeered by your own, as your just payment for not receiving your usual embrace from him.

You didn’t mind this arrangement. In fact, you quite enjoyed it. There was something about him being awake that made your sleep so deep, so restful - you felt so safe. He could watch over you, right? It was as if knowing he was awake for you made all your anxieties melt away. He would sometimes play music to fill the silence, and the tunes would lull you into comfortable and romantic dreams. 

You very minutely nuzzled his hand as the song drew to a close. After a few beats of silence, the record player skipped on. You didn’t recognise this one, but it was distinctly Debussy again... you couldn’t help but open your eyes. 

...

The hand you were holding was white.

You gasped, a loud and sharp breath - you snatched your hand away and sat bolt upright in bed. The blanket tumbled off you.

Again?!

Your vision focused. 

... Nightmare, despite the look of startlement and concern on his face, appeared completely normal. His bones were black, faintly iridescent and glistening as they always were; his eyelight’s cyan light was bright and comforting. Handsome as ever, too. 

“what is it?” he asked, gently, putting his quill down. “bad dream?”

... You didn’t know what to say. Let alone how to say it. After searching his face for anything unfamiliar, and finding nothing but the man you loved, you gradually lowered yourself back down into bed. You tried to breathe slowly, calming from the sudden bout of panic you’d caused yourself. Your heart was beating much too hard.

“I... Yes. I’m alright.” You definitely didn’t sound alright. You bought the covers back up over your shoulders.

His face shifted. His voice was soft, as was his gaze, you could tell he was being careful to keep his tone non-confrontational. 

He slowly closed his book. “no you aren’t.”

You shifted uncomfortably at the twinge in his tone. Nightmare, a man who could taste lies, obviously didn’t like being lied to. Even small ones.

“I’m sorry. I... don’t really know what’s wrong.”

You stared at some of the fine stitching around the edges of the pillow. You were struggling to get comfortable again, your whole body still tense. This wasn’t the first time your mind had supplied you with images of a skeleton you didn’t recognise. 

Lately, you’d been having the most intense, vivid, immensely strange dreams. You never fully recalled them when you awoke, but certain aspects would remain in your head like the afterimage of a powerful flash. Symbols of the moon, silver, flickers of purple. The warmth that comes from drinking herbal tea. Laughter, the smell of fire, a tree stump. 

... Then the skeleton himself, the subject of your confusion. Tall and elegant, clad in faded silks, with a kind smile but the aura of something that grown accustomed to unspeakable grief. Soft lilac eyelights that were deep and overflowing with power. You couldn’t remember his face; you could, however, remember that his expression was warm. A smile that made your chest ache. He would look at you as if he owed you a great debt; no matter how much you called out he wouldn’t come any closer. He would open his mouth, but there would be only silence, like he was behind a thick wall of water.

You would’ve ignored the dreams. Were they not so vivid - and so recurring. You felt as if something was quietly watching you. But what? And how could you possibly reply, if you couldn’t even remember what happened?

... You were broken out of the memory by Nightmare moving. His tentacles picked up his book, pen and ink, placing them on the bedside table; as he did, he shuffled to lay down beside you. He drew you against him. Perhaps he could tell that whatever was wrong, it needed more than words.

You gratefully accepted the embrace. Your cheek tucked against his collarbone, his arm and a tentacle looped over your middle. When his huge arms were around you, you felt so safe, you knew heads would roll before he allowed anything in the world to touch you.

“better?” he murmured.

You were choked up. You didn’t know why. “Mhm.”

“you know you can tell me anything.”

“Of course. I just need to find the words to tell you, first.”

“i’m sorry. i shouldn’t push. i’m one to talk about not telling the whole truth, hm?”

You couldn’t help but giggle. He clearly liked that... against his chest, you could hear his Soul faintly humming. Probably by instinct, a second tentacle tucked over you, this time curling around your legs.

The record player moved on to the next song. His claws were gently moving in your hair, wrapping a specific curl around his phalange and letting it go over and over again. He’d always been enamoured with how it looked when it was down; it was a sight he was only privy to in moments like these, with the covers pulled up over both of you and the dark of night filling the bedroom.

Your voice broke the comfortable silence once you recognised the song playing. You weren’t laughing at him, but you were laughing, just a little. “More Debussy? Someone’s feeling romantic.” 

He sounded like he was smiling. “indulge me,”

“I think it would be nice to learn how to play this one.” It felt good to talk about something else.

“it’s not as hard as you’d expect.”

...

You did look up at him this time, surprised, fabric rustling as you tilted your head up. “You play piano?”

“mhm.” His eye was wide and fuzzy, nigh filling up his entire socket, looking down at you with an immense softness. His hand moved to cup your face, massive palm to your cheek, claws curling around the back of your head. “it’s been a while. but i’m sure i could shake off the rust.”

“I didn’t know you knew how.”

“honestly, dear?” He hummed. “until this moment, i had forgotten i could.”

“You always struck me as more of a string player. Violin, perhaps. Or cello.”

“ah... violin, i never particularly fell in love with. but i am fond of the cello.” His voice was so satin-like, if you closed your eyes you could almost feel it caressing you. “i’ve picked up a fair few instruments, in my time. do you play?”

You rested your cheek back against his collarbone. Just how many instruments did he know? He was something of royalty, wasn’t he? Perhaps his childhood had involved a prince’s education. He would’ve seen a fair few beautiful and expensive instruments. His hand traced over your shoulder and down your spine, lovingly and almost reverently, settling to the small of your back. Despite all your time together, Nightmare still touched you like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“I floundered at piano as a child. My teacher always told me I was too airheaded to be any good.”

“she sounds unpleasant.”

“Mh... she wasn’t all wrong.” You thought back to the woman that had frightened you so much as a child. “I didn’t make her life very easy; I never practised, I was always busy playing gardener. She would scold me for coming to practise with dirt under my fingernails. Maybe if I’d concentrated, I would’ve been better.”

“well, it doesn’t matter now.” He turned his face slightly, and kissed the top of your head. “i didn’t marry you for your musical talent.”

“That may be true. But you didn’t marry me for great reasons at first, either.”

“my reasoning was questionable at the time, yes. i had no idea how to process what i was feeling.” His grin was audible once again. “but it would be a bald-faced lie to say i regret it. i’ll never regret making sure you were all mine.”

You rolled your eyes. “Aren’t you the romantic?”

He chuckled. You didn’t realise how much the short conversation had soothed you. Perhaps that was his plan. You were getting sleepier and sleepier, forgetting entirely what had startled you.

“I like these songs.” Your eyelids were drooping. “You have good taste in music.”

“music was... the only thing dream and i ever agreed on.”

... You stilled. Had... had he ever volunteered information about his brother before? Outside of when the spectre of the topic was already looming over both of you?

...

“... You should play me something, tomorrow.”

“anything for you.”

///---///

Nightmare waited until you were asleep to stop petting your hair. He only relaxed once the expression completely melted from your face. Instead, he just let his claws rest beside your head, his eyelight wandering over your features. Doing its best to memorise every curve.

He could never quite draw your smile right. The rest of you, he could create from memory, his claws knew the shape of your body well - your cheek and the arch of your brow, the little dip where your neck and shoulders met, the soft skin of your stomach and back... when he indulged himself in drawing you, those were the parts he could recreate with the effortlessness of total familiarity. The locked box in his study had more than its fair share of proof. 

But your smile? He just couldn’t get it. No matter how badly he wanted to. Perhaps it just wasn’t something that could be contained. Perhaps there was a lesson there, for him, in the thing he loved most being the one thing he couldn’t capture forever.

... Alas. He knew he would keep trying, anyway. He was nothing if not greedy. 

He kissed your knuckles. He would apologise again in the morning. It was unkind of him to pick you up on not telling the truth - especially when you were so incredibly patient with his endless lies by omission. 

He wasn’t telling you everything about his dreams, either.

He’d grown so comfortable around you that many nights, when you slept, his mind would unconsciously reach out and connect to yours - his Soul seemed to see you as an extension of himself, so it would naturally draw you closer. Usually that meant nothing more than moving far more easily into your dreams.

... But recently, something very strange had been happening. 

He would feel you in his mind.

It was the first time someone had ever entered his dream. It was much more pleasant than he imagined, though that was probably because it was you. So physically close to him, and so emotionally close, for you moving into his dream would be as easy as passing through a veil. He wouldn’t even notice you were there; not until he felt your presence in places and thoughts he hadn’t let himself access for years. 

Something within him was... well, he didn’t know. Moving, perhaps? Shifting. He didn't like it. Whatever it was, it made him stop to consider, for the first time in a long time, what he really... was.

He wasn’t his old self. He knew that for sure. He wasn’t Night, but he wasn’t purely Corruption either. Unlike what his brother constantly insisted, Nightmare wasn’t some poor innocent skeleton trapped by a cartoonishly evil Corruption - his lip curled at the thought. Dream’s blind belief was as insulting as it was patronising. Nightmare knew what he was doing, he was the master of his destiny. Nightmare was something new, something different. A combination that was stronger than either entity could’ve been alone. He was better.

... He touched your face again, absentmindedly. 

Both parts of him liked you. There was no question about that. The Corruption adored you, but it loved in an ancient and consuming way - it wanted you with them forever, a bird in a cage. The Corruption whispered longingly about how, if only they moved with more conviction, nobody but him would ever see or touch you again. Was he allured by that? Yes. But Night knew that love like consumption would eat you alive. It was the lingering presence of his old mind, the moderation and empathy of his old self, that gave Nightmare the tools to love you in a way that would make you happy. 

He sighed. Both parts of him loved you... that was the problem. The lines were blurring.

... He could feel himself changing. Something old, rising to the surface. It was troubling. When the Corruption first took over, Night all but became comatose, healing from the damage done to him. As promised, the Corruption protected him. And even once Night did recover, he had absolutely no desire to return to full control, not after what he’d been through. He was afraid... remaining deep inside, protected from a world he saw as universally cruel. Protected by a wall of viscous black darkness.

Then you came along. Walls that he had spent centuries building, crumbling down from just a glance. Were he not so hopelessly in love, he might’ve considered his own behaviour rather pathetic.

He wasn’t sure what to do about it just yet. He pressed his nasal cavity against your hair. He would think about it more in the morning. For now, he just wanted to do the thing he enjoyed most; holding you and forgetting absolutely everything. 

Sometimes, when he slept with you in his arms, he felt like there was nothing in the world to be afraid of.

///---///

Nothing felt off, when you woke up. You stretched your toes, hummed... with light peeking through the curtains, you decided to roll over and see if your husband was awake.

The skeleton facing you wasn’t Nightmare.

When you saw white bones again, the first thing you did was freeze. Your breathing stopped, you stared blankly - the skeleton asleep opposite you appeared startlingly like Dream. The same cheekbones, the same jaw, the same soft expression. But there were differences both minute and glaring. Dream’s face had a brightness and sharpness to it. This skeleton looked softer.

... And when blinking a few times didn’t make him go back to normal, you leapt out of bed.

His sockets opened. Purple.

Instantly, seemingly before he’d even realised you’d jumped away, he jolted, and a look of fear appeared on his face. He sat bolt upright in the bed, lifting up his hands to his face - the sight of his own bones made that look only worsen into one of outright panic, purple eyelights shrinking down into quivering dark pinpricks, deep lines of fear cutting between his brows and around his nasal cavity. He staggered out of bed...

... And over to the mirror. 

It took a split second for him to look upon his face. You could see him, reflected over his own shoulder back at you. You watched as he took only a split second to see his own terrified profile staring back at him. 

You had never seen so much fear strike face before. 

A flash within his sockets, like an amethyst turning in the light. He reared back and punched the mirror, shattering it, the force carrying through and visibly fracturing the wall beneath. You let out a tiny yelp as glittering shards showered the bedroom floor - you moved back mostly out of confusion, but also no small amount of fear, until your tailbone bumped Nightmare’s desk. Pieces of the mirror were still peeling off the frame and dropping to the stone tiles even as the stranger put his hands over his face, stumbling to the side until he hit the wall.

“no. no,” he slid slowly down it, surrounded by shards of mirror. “no, no, no, no...”

...

You could scarcely believe it. But you knew that voice. You knew those movements. As you stared across the room at the ‘stranger’, instincts kicked in. Despite your utter disbelief, the word left your lips anyway.

“N... Nightmare?”

He lifted his face from his hands, staring at you. You gasped, quietly; yes, there he was, it couldn’t be anyone else but him. No wonder you thought he resembled Dream, the layers of tar had vanished but everything you had kissed a hundred times before was still there. 

“val,” he breathed. The way he looked at you - confused, but pleading for help - you knew it was him. It couldn’t have been anyone else. 

You rushed back across the room, over to him, to his side. You didn’t care about the glass. It was so, so bizarre to see him with both sockets, your eyes darted back and forth, unsure of where to look. You knelt before him; he was back to staring with horror at his violently shaking hands.

“what’s happening to me?” His voice was different, too. It didn’t have its usual commanding weight and depth. It was still distinctly him, but it felt as if his voice had been halved somehow. Gentler, higher, closer to the surface. “why... no, no, i can’t be...”

“Shh, shh.” You didn’t know if he wanted to be touched or not, so your hands hovered around his shoulders. Now that you knew it was him, you weren’t frightened anymore. You did your best to keep your own voice calm. “You’re alright. Nightmare, you’re alright.”

The lilac of his eyelights was such a beautiful, gentle colour. Though it was soft, and clearly suited his features, you were so accustomed to comforting cyan that you were unsure of what to make of it. 

He was shaking all over. His voice cracked when he talked. “i don’t know what’s going on,”

“We don’t need to know what’s going on.” The more you gently spoke, the more he appeared to ease, his hands gradually coming away from his face. His eyelights, locked onto you, weren't quite so small. “We’re both fine. Take deep breaths, okay?”

You reached out, placing a hand on his cheekbone. It felt different. Smoother. But that was the extent of the differences, your hand still fit against his face like a puzzle piece.

He sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment you feared you had hurt him - were his bones sensitive like this? - you made to pull away. But Nightmare grabbed your hand with his, pressing it tight to his cheekbone. 

“i-i...” He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking into the middle distance, a lost expression on his new face. Through you.

“Night?”

“i-i never thought i’d be able to...” He sounded choked. “like this...”

... His sockets... filled up with tears. They were lilac too. Shimmering like gems as his eyelights reflected in them.

Instinctively, you placed your other hand on his other cheek. He gripped that one and held it to him just as tightly, his skull sandwiched between your palms. He took in a deep, shuddering breath...

... And then openly started to weep.

You were shocked. Completely shocked. His chest fluttered, the sound was small but deafening. How many times had Nightmare cried around you? Once, for certain, perhaps twice if you were generous and counted the time you suspected he cried but had not seen tears. And even when he did cry, he always hid his face like he was ashamed, tucking into your shoulder or turning away.

But here he was. Tears moving down his cheekbones. Shaking, right in front of you; clutching your hands and sobbing.

Well. You didn’t need to pause much longer. You leant in, using your hold on his face to press a kiss to his skull. He let go of your hands and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in, with you kneeling between his legs it was a slightly awkward posture but neither of you really had it in you to care. You just held him.

He smelled the same. Like home.

Not long passed, he had always been adept at self-control. By the time you were getting used to the sound of his soft cries, they were already fading, replaced with the deep slow breaths he took to regain himself. Though the sounds ebbed away, the tears continued to run down his face like the tide.

... You had absolutely no idea what was going on. But at least he was alright. You leaned back, using your thumb to wipe at his cheekbone. He leaned into your touch.

...

... Suddenly, he gasped. It made you jump. He looked down to the floor - “the mirror. your feet,”

Before you could do more than open your mouth, his arms moved around you, he stood; you were lifted clean off the floor. Even missing half his mass, he was still so strong. As easily as ever, he carried you to the bed, sitting you down and quickly kneeling - despite the tears still visibly staining his cheekbones he only had worry for you scrawled across his face. He took one of your feet in his hands, checking for cuts, for blood, for damage.

The care in his eyelights... you couldn’t believe it had taken you so long to recognise him.

... You had completely forgotten about the shards of glass on the floor. Now that you followed his gaze down, you could see little pinpricks of red, staining the white of the nightgown around your knees. “O-oh,” was all you managed to say.

He didn’t respond. He just obsessively checked you for injuries. His hands felt... more textured than usual? Like a once-smooth stone was now mottled and aged. He moved up to your knees, lifting the hem of the nightgown over them, looking with that telltale frown on his face. He couldn’t have looked more like his old self, with that grimace.

He exhaled, slowly. “... okay. you’re fine. by some miracle, your feet missed everything.”

“And my knees?”

“just some small cuts.” He carefully pulled the hem back down. “the nightgown must’ve stopped anything from embedding. they’ll heal fine.”

He let his hands linger on your legs, staring into empty space again the moment he seemed to slip. He still looked troubled. Troubled - but not panicking anymore.

...

“Nightmare.” You spoke eventually. “You know I don’t usually ask you personal questions.”

Despite his clearly fraught state, cheekbones stained by tears, a little laugh broke out of him when he looked back up at you. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit too.

“i-i know, i know. i think i have some explaining to do, don’t i?”

You reached out your arm - without a single word needing to be spoken, he took your hand and placed it against his cheekbone again. He sighed.

“You’re the skeleton I was dreaming about.”

“i never thought this would happen. i never thought i would be like this again.”

“Again?”

...

He (clearly somewhat reluctantly) let go of your hand, standing, slowly shuffling to sit beside you on the bed. He appeared unsteady on his feet. The light from the window was catching in the shards of mirror on the floor, casting tiny freckles of light across his face; he looked... remarkably handsome. He always did, of course, but especially so like this. You felt your chest get a little tight.

“it is how i used to look. this is how i used to be.”

You tilted your head. You took in everything, eyelights, teeth, mouth. You thought about what the Nightmare you knew looked like - the collapsed socket, the dripping smile, the tentacles. The viscous black fluid covering him from head to toe.

“That’s... quite the transformation,” you murmured. 

He nodded. “indeed. i used to be a different person. more like dream. but that person... entered a contract with another entity. the two of them combined, and became the person you know.”

“Hm.”

“perhaps symbiosis is a better term. nightmare was attacked by people who didn’t understand the role he played. they saw dream and nightmare, ‘good’ and ‘evil’, and placed blame on the latter for everything wrong with their lives.” He spoke about the event as if it had all occurred to someone else entirely. As if he thought nothing of it; as if he was fine. “nightmare gave his body, and the corruption gave its power. that was the deal that created me. a place to be powerful, and in return, the power to never be hurt again.”

“Corruption?” You were immediately concerned. "Nightmare,"

... He looked at you. His face was loving, he looked amused. It was nice to see a more positive emotion on him. “that’s just its name, dear.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very trustworthy name.”

“you’re married to a man called nightmare.”

“I,” ... you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Alright, touché.”

He chuckled. He sounded so much younger. Stars, it was strange to see him this way; like a loved one coming home after shaving off all their hair or losing a vast amount of weight. Though you logically knew it was him, and you could see him so clearly within all the mannerisms of the skeleton in front of you, there was something so jarring about expecting your Nightmare and seeing another’s face staring back at you.

“I think I understand somewhat. Are you... the ‘past’ version of you right now, then?”

“... i... no.” He shook his head. “i’m still me. i can still feel everything. but the corruption has... receded. it’s been at the front for so long. it’s never done this before. i don’t know what to do.”

“Do you think you’ll turn back again soon?”

...

His eyelights widened, ever so slightly. Faint wisps of violet coloured the high edges of his cheekbones.

“you don’t prefer this form?”

You flustered - how could you say something like that? Especially when he was clearly so upset by his transformation. He smashes a mirror in front of you, and you openly express you prefer his previous body to this one? “I-I don’t mean I don’t like you like this! Of course I do,” 

“darling,” he took your hand and squeezed it, cutting off your blabbering. “i like my other body more, too.”

“Y-you do?”

Smiles suited him far more. “mhm. i’m not as strong, this way. and the absence of my tentacles is noticeable. i keep wanting to hold more of you, but i simply don’t have the dexterity.”

“I just...” You exhaled, slowly, eyes trailing over his sockets and nasal ridge and jaw. “Honestly, I really miss your normal face.”

“... normal,” he hummed. It was a pleased hum.

“Well - it’s alright. Regardless of what body you’re in, you’re very handsome.”

His smile sharpened. All of a sudden, he looked like a preened bird. It was hard work not to roll your eyes; all that crying, all that vulnerability and fear, but it was clear from that grin that this was very much the same man that you had gone to bed with hours before. 

“hmm. so i’m handsome to you either way? i like this conversation very much.”

“Oh you would, wouldn’t you?”

“i think i understand now.”

The sudden softness of his voice caught you off guard. You leaned back a little, to gauge his expression. He was smiling at you so fondly now.

“the deal i made. nightmare... the corruption promised no one would ever hurt him again. i wonder if...”

“... If?”

“i wonder if, for the first time since making the deal... i fear nothing.”

... You couldn’t honestly imagine Nightmare fearing anything. You had yet to meet anyone who considered your husband an equal, let alone an inferior; even Dream, his own brother, had left at the first sign of fury. Entities who caused no small amount of strife, like Killer, begged you to assure them that Nightmare wouldn’t kill them. 

Then again. How much pain would someone have to go through, to become that vicious to the world around them?

You leant toward him. He immediately reciprocated the movement, touching his forehead against yours. He sighed.

“touching you, in this form... it’s...”

He trailed off. You didn’t make him finish. “You feel so different. So similar, too. It’s a little jarring.”

“i’m glad you prefer me as i am.”

“Of course I do. I married you.”

He snickered. “despite all the flaws?”

“Not despite.” It was your turn to comfortingly brush your thumb over the top of his palm. “Not despite, at all.” 

“... you truly prefer my ‘normal’ form?” he asked, “even though this one is so much... cleaner?”

“You’re the one who can taste lies. You tell me.”

He chuckled. His sockets closed.

“i want to stay like this. for a while.”

“As long as you need.” You closed your eyes, too. Now that the adrenaline of the situation had settled, you could feel your sleepiness catching up with you.

“... i love you.”

“I love you too.”

...

You felt the cyan-blue light on your eyelids long before you opened them.

[bornagainmurdock]

coming back from space (sub!matt version)

author's note: almost unrelated, but what's matt's astrological chart? bc he has to be a water sun, fire moon, and fire rising, right? please

contents: 18+ ONLY, suggestive but ultimately fluffy, matt murdock x reader, gender neutral reader, sub!matt, coming back from subspace, aftercare, mentions of dumbification, use of 'mutt,' biting

work count: 1.3k

Matt's head was fuzzy, and unable to process everything around him. The bed under his body was slowly entering his senses, and it was agonizing. The sheets were soft enough to keep him from panicking, but it was too much, his entire back, ass, and thighs raw from the sensation.

"Matty? Hey baby, you coming back to me now?" Your voice broke though the static in Matt's head, overpowering the fuzzy noises of the city sneaking through the cracks in the windows.

"Hmm." He hummed, now trying to figure out what was under his head. Soft and smooth, and warm, and he smiled. It was you.

"How are you feeling? You were really deep there." When Matt started wiggling, you placed your hand in his hair, petting through the strands and untangling them with care.

His hearing was still uneven, his right ear amplified and his left still coming back to earth. Your voice made it would like he was underwater, or in the shower prying water out of his ears.

"What am— where am I?" He was blinking over and over, eventually rubbing his eyes and try to clear the fog.

"Did i sink you so far down you forgot you're blind? Matthew that's concerning." You were giggling, but serious as could be.

He blinked a few more times before realizing you were right, removing his hands from his eyes, looking around without seeing.

"Oh yah. Was so far into space, saw pluto. I guess didn't see pluto, but I knew it was there. All the way out with the asteroid belt. Zoomin." He was smiling. It was gentle and loving, and addicting to see him so happy.

"Pluto, hmm? That's pretty impressive." You were slow to bring him back. You knew how hard it was to come down from subspace.

Matt turned his head to nuzzle into your thigh, his nose poking at your skin. The warmth was tempting, he wanted to dig his way to your bones, nuzzle in there and be a part of you.

"Think I'm only at saturn, that's not too far away right? Still close? Maybe? What are the nine planets?" He wiggled and readjusted, shrinking in on himself until he was a small ball in your lap, innocent expression looking up at you.

"What's the first one?" You knew he could barely remember his own name right now.

"Think it's mars. NO! No nonononono. It's the other 'M' one. Mmmmmm— mmmmmm?" His tone trailed with the question. "Mercury!"

"Good job baby! First one is mercury. What's next?" You petted his cheek, leaning down to kiss ove the blush as a reward.

"I'm a lawyer, not an astronaut. Why would I know that?"

"It's that one Mitski lyric. Planet of love?" Matt didn't listen to Mitski, but you did, and that man could hear you blasting 'Be The Cowboy' from streets over, texting you to make sure you were mentally stable.

In a sing-songy tone, Matt danced in your lap, "Venus, planet of love, was destROYED!"

"Such a good singer, baby." You smiled down at him. "My favorite singer."

"Can we listen to music?" He asked shyly, not worried that you'd say no, but worried you'd play something too silly for the moment.

"Of course baby." You twisted to grab your phone off the side of the bed, unlocking it to open spotify and search for your designated aftercare playlist. "How about Debussy?"

"Mmhm, yes please."

You hit play and Matt relaxed into your skin, bobbing his head with the beat and relaxing into the piano.

You both sat cuddled together, curling in on one another and wiggling to get as much skin to skin contact. Matt naked and shivering wherever your body wasn't, and you, half dressed, clothing pulled and tugged at by Matt's hands just a few minutes ago.

You traced your fingers over the expanse of his body, tickling the sides of his stomach and the backs of his knees. He wriggled in your hold, but smiley whole time.

"Matty, do you wanna talk about the scene now? I wanna know what you liked." You broke the silence, trying to get Matt closer and closer to reality.

"You. I like you." He nipped at the skin pulled over your collarbones.

"You know that is not what I asked, baby."

"Hmph," Matt said defeated, "I liked when you were mean to me. Like that a lot. You could be meaner though." He poked your belly with the last word.

"Yah? Like what?" You pushed him further, liking the view of him searching through his memory.

"Welllll, don't remember things exactly, but at one point you called me a dumb mutt and I think I died and went to heaven. Never called me that before. Didn't think I'd like it. Maybe just liked the way you said it." He sorted through the scene, still looking for highlights.

"Good boy. And such a dumb mutt, too! I'm glad you liked it. Felt it in the moment, but was worried it was too much." You said.

He nosed up at your chin, silently begging for more attention.

"Can't say it anymore it's tooooo good. Want me back in space?" He was already a bit dazed again.

"I know my love, just teasing you." You giggled. "What else did you like?"

"I liked when you looked at me with those eyes. Can't see them, but could feel you saw me in half with those lasers. Felt like I was burning up and exploding and like I was the smallest thing in the world," Matt was losing his breath as he talked, pushing through each word, "Liked when you bit me too. Can still feel it radiating through me, your tooth marks, they are still there aren't there."

"Yes baby, clear as day, can still see them," You reached over to his shoulder, pressing into the bite marks, feeling where your teeth were. "They still feel warm."

"Toasty!" Matt whispered, wiggling again in your lap.

"I'm glad you liked that. I liked it too."

"Do it again?" He pouted.

You lifted his body up for his shoudler to be mouth level to you, starting by dragging your teeth over the marks that were already there. Matt was already a mess again, whimpering and begging. You licked over the marks, absorbing some of the heat form his skin.

"Ready, baby?" You flicked you tongue, pressing a bit harder than you had previously.

Matt's back arched, his shoulder pushing closer to your mouth. This was the leverage you needed.

You bit down softly at first, then slowly increasing the pressure allowing Matt time to adjust to the sensation. And the you bit down heard, Matt throwing his head back against you unable to stop himself from moaning and squirming.

His hips bucked up, legs straining under his body. Matt reached a hand up to your face, just to be met with one of your hands pinning his wrist to his chest instead. His finger nails dug into his skin, imprinting there.

You pressed a little harder before pulling away to view the damage.

"I hmmm," Matt struggled to make a sentence. "Thank you."

"The world for you." You licked at the teeth marks again.

"Hmmm. One more?" He asked hopeful.

"No more. Time to get cleaned up lovebug. Let me help you up." You pushed his body away from you to swing your legs over the bed from around Matt, dragging him with you.

"Bath?" He tried to get his footing but ultimately relied on you to stand.

"Of course, let me go fill the tub. Want to pick a bathbomb?"

"Yes, please."

[katurdayss]

Okay so with Long Face being canon with a lyric video at this point, my brain was interested in the other lyrical song we have from Lestat in canon, i.e. Come to Me.

Out of the two, Come to Me is objectively a better written song. Bit repetitive, yes, but so is Sabrina Carpenter's Please Please Please or Taylor Swift's Shake it Off.

What makes Come to Me so intriguing to me though is that it's one of only 2 certified Lestat POV narratives we have currently. I've already mentioned Lestat's use of music terms to position himself as soft in his breakup song Long Face (like that song is anything else cmon). The interesting part is he does something similar in Come to Me.

In the song, he continually refers to himself as Pelléas and Louis as Mélisande. Who are these people, you ask? They are the star-crossed lovers of an Opera written by Claude Debussy (of Clair de Lune) about a love triangle between 2 princes, Golaud and Pelléas, and a mysterious lady found in the woods, Mélisande. TLDR Golaud happens upon Mélisande in the woods and marries her. He brings her back to the castle where she meets his half brother Pelléas. Over time Pelléas and Mélisande engage in an emotional affair. Golaud is jealous and controlling from the very beginning, but becomes even more so as he sees the two get to know each other. The opera ends when the star-crossed lovers meet outside the castle at a well, with Golaud spying on them. They confess their love as Pelléas is set to leave the castle but Golaud reveals himself and kills Pelléas in a jealous rage. Mélisande ends up dying after giving birth, with Golaud remorseful but realizing there will be no end to his torment because his wife has only loved Pelléas all along.

Now, remember, Lestat wrote this song as an apology/gift to Louis for almost killing him. If anything, Golaud is a more representative character for Lestat at the time. He's committed extreme violence out of a jealous love and has no resolution because Louis is silent. 'This silence is cruel Louis and you were never cruel.' Lestat however, thinks of himself as Pelléas, the softer of the two princes. Innocent and tragic in his love. This casts Antoniette in the roll of Golaud in his little love triangle, which shows us how he views Antoniette. A remarkably unfavorable/cruel view of his mistress considering Louis's POV sets up Antoniette as a shadow rival to Louis.

I also think it's worthwhile to note this opera he references was debuted in 1902. A relatively new opera (sung in French, written by a French man, Lestat really has national pride eh?) from Louis human lifetime. Lestat's positioning of himself of Pelléas also foreshadows his "death". Pelléas downfall is love, just as Lestat's fatal blindness was his love of Louis.

And this is all from a song that's only ever a background artifact in the show itself. Goddamn.

[zorosleftmantit101]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ Clair De Lune ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Character: Koby x Moon witch reader 

A/N: THIS IS NOT FINISHED THIS IS A SHORT SNIPPET OF THE PIECE I AM CURRENTLY WRITING.

Clair de Lune, meaning moonlight, was a song written and composed by French composer Claude Debussy.

C/W: Fluff, Spelling Mistakes,  

Word count: Wip

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆

The Moon sat proudly in the sky, bathing the navy boat in a milky glow. Your name was Y/N L/N, and you were a child of the Moon. 

Your mother Clair was a Moon witch who lived among the stars. When you were born, you were blessed with the Kiss of moonlight, given to Moon beings alike. You opted to travel the world below rather than stay and swim among the stars. 

You sat on the railing of the ship, your ethereal white dress draped lazily over your body, your hair flowing, almost as if it was underwater. 

"Wow holy shit" A voice called from behind you. 

You whipped your head to be met with a patrol officer he had curly locks of red hair and freckles gracing his checks 'Sun kisses' you thought serenely to yourself. 

"H-how did you get on the ship, who are you- What are you" words tumbled out of his mouth as a smile graced your face. 

"The moon looks very pretty from here don't you think?" you asked watching the boy look slightly taken aback by your nonchalantness. 

"I- uhh I suppose so" His eyes drifted up to the moon, walking closer to the railing. 

You turned your head to look at the boy, his eyes were focused on the ocean. 

"Your a lot calmer than the other navy men i've met so far" you stated watching his eyes drift from the water to you.

"I suppose this means you do this often" he smiled. 

You felt so utterly warm around this boy his peach cheeks puffing up as he smiled. 

'It's not often you find someone who's blessed by the sun that does not relize they're blessed by the sun, silly boy may the stars guide him back to the daylight' you thought bringing a hand up angelically to twist one of his curls. "Your hair is a very pretty coulor is it natural?" you asked as if you were not a complete stranger invading a navy ship. 

His cheeks were dusted pink "Uhh yes, I get it from my mother, hers is a lot brighter than mine though" he said a gorgeous smile painting his face. 

Smiling too the two of you turned back to watch the moon. 

Such a peaceful moment two souls watching the moon, everything always seems so much more peaceful beneath the eternal glow of the Clair de Lune. 

"Hey Charlie, it's time to switch shifts HOLT SHIT!" A tall lanky officer rounded the corner, black wavey hair curled around his face and a large pointed nose sculpting his features. "INTRUDER, SOMEONE GET SMOKER OR TASHIGI" he hollered hoisting his gun up and pointing it towards you. 

Standing from the ledge you walked off floating just above the railing. Playfully pinching Charlie's cheek you smiled sadly at having to leave. "Until we meet again Mon ami" You drifted off the railing before whisping yourself back to the dimension of stars. 

In reality, you were still floating above the exact same railing you were just standing, just in a different plane of existence that could not be seen by the human eye. 

Think of it like a filter when you moved behind the filter the unblessed eye can not see you even if you have not actually gone anywhere, they can not hear you nor can they touch you but they might be able to feel your presence if they are adept in their skills. 

More guards poured onto the deck racked with sleep. mixes of 

'what's going on out here and 

'why the fuck are we awake.' 

The guard lowered his gun, "where the fuck did she go" he growled. 

You hated the irritability of humans, if only they could just learn to as some might say chill the fuck out~. 

You had no want to stay and watch the events as you left to wander the constellations back to the moon. Your mother.

"Hello darling have a nice night?" she sang her voice echoing in your ears. Your mother sat placing new stars in the sky. 

"I met a sun blessed soul" you whispered floating cross-legged. 

"oooh exciting" she cooed her navy blue dress floating around her body as her platinum-white glowing hair cascaded past her knees. 

"I'm just about done with this new constellation next time you're up here tell me if it looks alright" she quipped placing the last star in the sky. 

"Of course mama, well I'm off now, I might be gone for a while," you said kissing your mum on the cheek.

"okay darling be safe," she chuckled as you walked down the trails of moon trickling back onto the ocean. 

[gnossienne]

Before discovering Maeterlinck’s play, Debussy said of the opera he dreamt of composing: “Music begins when words are powerless to express; music is perfect for the inexpressible; I would like it to seem to come out of the shadows and, at times, to go back, always discreet.” Thanks to Maeterlinck’s characters, to his highly precise and very vague language, so cruel and so apt, Debussy was able to realise the drama of his dreams. A fateful enchantment holds sway over the castle of Allemonde. No sooner does Golaud find Mélisande in the forest and bring her to the kingdom of his ancestors than they find themselves unable to leave, chained to a place that nevertheless belongs nowhere. The castle is racked by desolation and decay. The park seems to be dying under the weight of invisible darkness. The sun barely manages to break through and cast light on the miraculous yet abandoned fountain which used to heal the eyes of the blind and whose waters appear to be bottomless. From the walls one can see the sea, and, at last, the clear sky. But there are also underground tunnels leading to the centre of the earth, suddenly reminding us that we are forever walking over chasms.

Debussy's Pelléas et Mélisande (Paris National Opera, 1997), dir. Robert Wilson

[clementine-side-blog]

Sleep - E.N

Summary: Y/n, Edward's neighbor and friend, calls him in the middle of the night asking for a favor. And, while the favor is unexpected, Edward is more than happy to help.

Content Warning: Explicit language, angst, fluff, GN!Reader, they/them pronouns, Ed and y/n are crushing on each other.

Word Count: 3.9k

Songs For Inspo:

Asleep - The Smiths

In My Head - Bedroom

Clair De Lune - Claude Debussy

No Surprises - Radiohead

"Anything for you, y/n."

Y/n paced back and forth in their room, shrouded in the darkness that came with the night. All the lights in their apartment were off and it was a miracle that they hadn't tripped over their own feet yet. It was late, very late, around 1 AM. Not a sound could be heard anywhere except for the soft mumble that came from y/n's lips. They were having a hard time sleeping that night. Usually, they slept just fine, as they had a body pillow they cuddled with. See, y/n hated to sleep alone, so the comfort of a body pillow allowed them to feel like they were in bed with someone.

"It's a stuffed animal, just go to bed!" They whispered.

Due to spilling a glass of wine on their body pillow, it was thrown out. Of course y/n tried to save it, but it was no use. When they tried to clean it, well, it only made things worse. So now, they were forced to settle with a stuffed animal. Y/n slept with stuffed animals every night, but they didn't provide the "human" like comfort that the pillow did.

Groaning, y/n took another sip of their tea. They had gotten so desperate for sleep that they made chamomile tea. It was supposed to help relax your nerves and let you rest, but it was doing jack shit for them at that moment. If anything, it felt like it was making things worse.

"Whatever..." They huffed.

Y/n gave up on the tea, walking into their kitchen and placing the mug in the sink. Sighing, they went back into their bedroom, glancing around. Their eyes scanned the room, looking and hoping for something to help them with their predicament. But it was pointless. They had exhausted all their options.

"Fuck." Y/n choked back a sob.

Their chest tightened as they felt tears prick in their eyes. The exhaustion they felt was powerful, pairing with their frustration, and it created a saddening feeling deep within their soul. One of the worst feelings in the world was being so tired that you couldn't sleep. Well, at least that was y/n's opinion. It was horrible.

Bringing a hand up to their face, they used their palm to wipe a few tears away. They climbed onto their bed, grabbing their phone, and crawled to the window. It was already slightly cracked, as the summer night air usually helped them sleep. Not tonight, apparently. With one swift movement, they pushed their window up completely. The air, a perfect balance of cold and warm, tickled their skin. Goosebumps raised on their body as they slid out of the window, standing on the fire escape.

All the city lights twinkled like a swarm of fireflies. It was beautiful in a strange way. Y/n sniffled, sitting down on the metal landing, drawing their knees to their chest. The fire escape was a safe haven to them. It was a place they could sit and think. It was peaceful. It was calming.

Blinking a few tears away, y/n turned on their phone. With a few taps of their fingers, they pulled up their list of contacts. Edward's was at the top of it. Y/n had met him around 10 months ago, back when they moved into the apartment complex. The two of them lived on the same floor, and they quickly became good friends. Though, y/n grew very fond of Edward. Y/n wanted to be more than friends with Edward, but they would never admit that.

"No. He's probably asleep." They shook their head.

For a brief moment, they thought about putting their phone back down. They thought about just giving up and facing the fact that they wouldn't get any sleep that night. But something overcame them. Something made them type on the keyboard and send the message.

Y/n:

[ hey can u come over? u can just let urself in since u have a key ] 1:09 A.M

[ its ok if u dont cuz ik ur probably asleep ] 1:09 A.M

As soon as they sent the message, they felt stupid. He wasn't going to answer. There was no way. Edward had work in the morning. And why did they even want him to come over anyways? It wasn't like he'd cuddle with them and help them fall asleep. They were just friends. Sure, friends can cuddle, but this was a little different. It just...it was different and y/n felt like an idiot for sending those texts.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid." They belittled themself, turning their phone off and tossing it onto their bed through the window.

With a heavy sigh, y/n buried their head in between their knees. The gentle Summer breeze blew against their skin, sending shivers down their spine. Moonlight shone down on them, also providing the only light in y/n's apartment. Maybe that was why nothing was helping; it was a full moon. It was a bit superstitious, but y/n was desperate to find an answer for why nothing was working. They knew they hated to sleep alone, but why couldn't they just resort to a stuffed animal? It was just like their body pillow, but half the size. What was the big deal? They were so irritated with themself.

The music they had put on around an hour ago, when they first started to grow restless, was playing in the background. Y/n had their phone connected to their Bluetooth speaker inside their bedroom, and it was playing at a gentle volume. Since they had sleeping problems, they had a playlist with music that helped them fall asleep. It was all gentle stuff, and it was wonderful ambience for the peaceful city.

Each note that played made y/n's chest tighten. Perhaps they were sentimental, or even a crybaby, but the music was making them emotional. For a second, y/n felt like the troubled character in a coming of age movie. Crying their heart out on the roof of their house while sad music played over the scene. It was basically what they were doing right now.

The sound of y/n's front door opening echoed through the apartment. It wasn't loud, but it wasn't quiet either. Y/n's head was up in the clouds, too caught up in their thoughts to even notice it. Plus, they were outside. It was a little hard to hear with the breeze, faint sounds of cars, and the music.

Edward stepped inside of y/n's bedroom, being a little cautious. Even though y/n had told him to just walk in, he didn't want to be too invasive. He still respected their privacy. But he didn't see them anywhere. Furrowing his eyebrows, he looked around. Y/n's phone was on the bed, the blankets neat and tidy, and music played from a speaker. But, where was...

A sniffle, a bit faint, caught his attention. His ears almost perked up like a dog's ears would. He walked towards the bed, nearly slipping with his socks on, and got onto the bed. Since he was such a tall man, it looked a little silly when he crawled to the window. But when he looked out, his eyes widened. Y/n was leaning against the building, crouched on the ground with their head hung low. Edward sighed, tilting his head as he sat on the bed.

"Y/n..."

Their head lifted up quickly, turned to look at their window. When they saw Edward, a blush creeped over their face. It was unclear whether he noticed or not, because he didn't really react when they looked at him. Instead, he pushed aside the pale pink lace of y/n's curtains.

"...what are you doing out here?" He asked softly.

Y/n was shocked that he got their text, as they were convinced he would have been asleep. It took them a moment to respond, swallowing thickly. The lump of sadness still lingered in their throat, and the tightness of their chest never left.

"Um, just enjoying the, um, night." They made up a reason, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

Edward raised an eyebrow. He knew that they were lying. Y/n was quite literally his only friend in this cesspool of a city. He knew them like the back of his hand. To try and lie to him was pointless. It would never work. He cared about them deeply, a little more than friends should. He thought about them often. In fact, he had been thinking about them before they texted him.

He had been in his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to fall asleep. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. Thoughts of y/n had been racing through his mind. Each one of them gave him a fuzzy feeling in his stomach, resembling butterflies. The one thought he couldn't stop repeating, was when he first met them. He had no idea, back then, how much his life would change after meeting them. For the better, of course.

"Y/n, you texted me and asked me to come over. Please, be honest with me." He sighed, poking his head out of the window.

They closed their eyes in defeat. He was right. Y/n had asked him to come over, so he deserved a proper answer. For all they knew, they could have woken him up. A shiver went down their spine as another breeze blew on them, and Edward frowned.

"Come inside, ok?"

He held out his hand, signaling for them to take it. Y/n looked at it, a little sparkle twinkling in their eyes. Regardless of whether they wanted to go in or not, they took his hand. With a gentle pull, he helped them climb back through the window. The window remained open though.

"Thanks." Y/n murmured, looking down at their hands.

Edward ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong, now?"

Y/n nodded, sniffling as tears once again threatened to fall. Edward noticed, but he watched in silence. He didn't want to interrupt them as they talked. Still, he didn't like seeing them sad like that.

"Sleeping problems, I guess. I usually sleep with a body pillow, but um, I ruined it and had to throw it out. It's just, um..."

The man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He took note of how meek y/n was talking. Usually they were energetic and talkative, but not right now. Instead, they seemed almost...shy?

"...I don't like sleeping alone. The body pillow was what comforted me. So I just, um, I can't sleep." They admitted.

Y/n looked up at Edward through their eyelashes, their irises illuminated in the moonlight. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight, completely in awe of their beauty. It baffled him how someone so breathtaking could be friends with someone like him. He felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

"I see." He replied, thinking for a moment.

The short answer disheartened y/n.

"You think it's weird, don't you..." They choked back a sob.

Edward's eyes widened, instantly shaking his head. His movements were frantic and he realized how dismissive his answer might have sounded. He moved his hands to his t-shirt, fidgeting with its hem.

"No, not at all. There's nothing weird about it, y/n. I don't think anyone likes to sleep alone. I mean, I have a pillow that I spoon with, too." He explained.

A wave of relief washed over y/n. If Edward had found them weird, well, they would have died of embarrassment. With a curt nod, y/n wiped away a tear, sniffling. As soon as Edward realized y/n was crying, he didn't hesitate to embrace them in a hug. Maybe it was a little unexpected, but he just wanted to comfort them. Y/n welcomed the gesture, wrapping their arms around his neck. Immediately after, tears poured from their eyes as they wept into the crook of his neck. He felt his heart shatter into a million pieces.

"Hey, shh, shh, it's ok. I, um, I'm here for you..." He was awkward as he comforted them.

Edward was terrible in situations like this, but he did his best. After all, he wanted to comfort y/n. He wanted to make them feel better. His hand rubbed circles into their back, the other holding the back of their head.

"M' sorry, Eddie..." Y/n whispered, pulling away from the hug.

Their eyes were puffy and red, tears staining their cheeks. He tutted, using his thumb to wipe the drops away. With a dorky smile, he shook his head.

"Don't apologize, y/n. I'm here for you. Speaking of, um, why did you want me to come over, exactly?" He asked, not sure how to bring it up.

Y/n blushed, pink hues covering their cheeks and the tip of their nose. Edward noticed, biting back a smile at how sweet they looked. But he also noticed that they looked a little hesitant to answer. It confused him and piqued his curiosity. But he gave them time to answer, and rubbed his arm up and down to get rid of an itch.

"Um, it's stupid and, uh, I don't think its really...appropriate..." They sighed, avoiding eye contact.

Edward raised an eyebrow.

"You're my best friend, y/n. You can tell me anything." He said, placing a hand over theirs.

The feeling of his hand on top of theirs made butterflies swarm in their stomach. It felt like fireworks went off in their brain. Slowly, y/n lifted their head up to look into his eyes. Behind those clear framed glasses were mossy green eyes that y/n loved oh so much. They were like forests and y/n wanted to explore them.

"Edward..."

They couldn't keep the eye contact, so they looked back down. It was hard to look him in the eye as they asked the question. It felt almost embarrassing. Even thinking about it embarrassed y/n.

"...can you stay...with me?" They asked.

He was silent for a moment, simply smiling at y/n. Edward was relieved they couldn't see his dumb grin. He knew exactly what y/n was asking and he was a little amused that they were so embarrassed. Asking for company from a friend wasn't that big of a deal. So, why were they so flustered?

"Of course, y/n." He answered, pulling out his phone from his pocket.

Y/n watched in bewilderment. His answer was shocking to y/n. He knew what they meant by "stay", right? And he still agreed? Were they dreaming right now? Did they end up falling asleep and were now having some crazy pipe dream? That must be the only answer...

"Just let me make sure my alarm is set so I can get up and go back to my apartment, you know, so I can get ready for work." He explained, squinted as the bright light shone on his face.

They simply nodded in response, mouth slightly agape. Not sure what to do, y/n cleared their throat. Slowly, they got on the side of the bed that was closest to the window. They peeled their eyes away from the back of Edward's heading, pulling the covers down and getting under them. The lacy curtains moved ever so slightly in the breeze and it was pleasing it look at.

"Ok, all good." He said, putting his phone down on the nightstand, as well as y/n's.

He got off the bed, bending over to grab the covers. Y/n watched as he pulled them back, admiring the way he was gentle. For such a tall man, he was a gentle giant. With a sigh, he slid under the blankets and took his glasses off, placing them on top of his phone.

It was silent for a while, neither of them sure about what to say. The only sound came from y/n's music, which was still playing quietly. Edward liked it a lot and found it to be soothing. He always loved y/n's music taste, though. They had similar tastes, so it certainly helped. It was actually one of the things they bonded over.

Edward stared up at the ceiling, hands folded over the blankets that covered his lower stomach. Y/n's blankets were so soft and he loved them. A part of him hoped that y/n would ask him to do this more often. He wanted to be there for them whenever they needed. And frankly, being in the same bed as them was a dream of his. The pillow that he spooned, the one he mentioned earlier, was the one he pretended was y/n. He just wanted to hold them in his arms.

"Eddie..."

Y/n's soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he turned his head to look at them. They were laying on their side, facing him, with their hands under their head. He met their eyes, noticing how they looked at his chest.

"Yeah?"

Biting down on their bottom lip, y/n removed a hand from under their head. They used it to fidget with one of the blankets. He raised an eyebrow at their nervousness. Why were they so nervous around him?

"Can I, um...is it ok if I, uh..."

They just couldn't seem to get the question out. It seemed like they were just going to stumble over their words over and over again. But he had a good idea of what they were going to ask. So, he just nodded, lifting up an arm. Y/n's eyes widened, looking at him in shock. He smiled at them, giving another tiny nod to let them know that it was ok.

"C'mere." He said softly.

Y/n blushed as they moved closer to him, turning away from him as they did so. Edward didn't think that y/n meant spooning, but he didn't mind it. If anything, he actually preferred it. He's always wanted to hold them in his arms. Sure, they've hugged before, but never cuddled or spooned. Not hesitating in the slightest, Edward turned on his side, wrapping his arms around y/n, and drawing them close to his chest. Since he was taller than y/n, his chin rested on the top of their head.

"Thank you..." They mumbled softly.

Edward smiled, closing his eyes as he moved his hand from y/n's stomach to over their own hand. He brushed his thumb over their knuckles, loving how soft their skin was. Y/n smiled, not visible to Edward, and bit on their bottom lip.

"Anything for you, y/n." He hummed, subconsciously nuzzling against their hair.

It grew silent once again, but it was a comfortable silence. Neither of them were asleep yet. They enjoyed the embrace of each other. Y/n watched the curtains flutter gently in the breeze, but then looked back down at Edward's hand. It was still on top of their own hand. The sight, and the feeling, made y/n feel safe. It was as if nothing could harm them now that he was here.

"Eddie?" Y/n asked, not looking away from his hand.

He moved his head a little bit, his lips and nose moving against the back of y/n's head. The smell of their shampoo filled his nose and he wanted to bottle the scent. He loved how the smelled, as creepy as it may sound. Truthfully, he just loved everything about them.

"Mhm?" His voice was gravelly with exhaustion.

Y/n shifted, turning over to face him. His eyes opened up, seeing y/n looking up at him. He moved his hands, almost hovering them over y/n's body. They didn't say anything as they looked at him, only smiling softly as he let his hands fall. One of them rested on their hip, and the other propped his head up so he could look at them.

"Can we do this more often...?" They asked, eyes flickering away from him.

He felt his heart leap up into his throat. Swallowing harshly, he let out a shaky breath. The question, or at least what it was alluding to, was apparent. It didn't take a genius, even though he very much was a genius, know what they were asking.

"How often?"

Y/n grabbed his hand from off their hip and held it in their own. He looked at it, smiling subtly. Edward was certain that he had a blush on his face.

"Like, every night?" They replied.

His eyes widened and he flinched a little bit.

"I already have a job, y/n. I can't be your personal body pillow all the time." He joked, trying to avoid the question.

Y/n rolled their eyes at his little joke.

"No, I mean lik-"

He interrupted them, letting go of their hand. Gently, he cupped their face with it. His fingertips, calloused from playing guitar, stroked their skin. He could feel the heat radiating from off of them.

"Like you want to be my partner. You want me to be your boyfriend?" He smiled.

Y/n looked starstruck, but nodded. They were speechless. It was as if his hand on their face rendered them incapable of talking. Edward nodded as well, leaning forward and planting a kiss on their forehead.

"Alright." He said simply, blinking sleepily.

The two of them looked into each other's eyes, seeing a twinkle in both. Even though they weren't doing anything, it felt intimate. They felt like they had just done something groundbreaking. It was as if they had accomplished a complicated task.

"C-Cool." Y/n stuttered, laughing a little at the end.

Edward laughed a little as well, scooting closer to them. Their chests were pressed against each other. They could feel each other's heart beats and Edward so badly wanted to synchronize his with theirs. He wanted to be as close to them as possible. It was all he had ever wanted.

"So, are you feeling better?" He asked, brushing a piece of hair out of their face.

Y/n smiled widely, unable to hide how happy they were. All the anxiety they had felt earlier, all the frustration, and all of the sadness, it was all gone. It disappeared into nothingness. In its place, all warm and fuzzy, was happiness. It blossomed in y/n's heart, growing and spreading like a beautiful ivy.

"Yeah, I am..."

Edward hummed, resting his chin on y/n's head. His arms wrapped around their body, holding them as tight, yet gentle, as he could. Y/n felt like tears were going to fall again, but this time for a completely different reason. A better reason. A reason that they didn't have to be upset about. They yawned, burying their face into the crook of Edward's neck. He rubbed circles into their back, kissing the top of their head as he did so.

"Tired?" Edward questioned, tracing a heart on y/n's back.

They nodded, giving a little grumble as a response. He chuckled, hearing the exhaustion in their voice. As he continued to rub their back, he felt them relax under his touch. Their breathing slowed, coming to a lax rhythm.

"You can sleep now, y/n. I'm right here." He cooed, nuzzling his cheek against their hair.

Y/n murmured something, but Edward couldn't tell what they said. He asked them to repeat what they said and was met with no response. Instead, he could feel y/n's breath against his neck. They had finally been able to relax. Y/n had succumbed to the sweet embrace of sleep.

Carefully, Edward used one of his hands to grab the blankets. He slowly pulled them up, making sure y/n was covered and comfortable. Once that was done, he kissed their head, rolling gently onto his back. Y/n moved with him, partially laying on his chest. As he looked up at the ceiling, he rubbed y/n's back. The feeling of them on his chest was comforting, much like a weighted blanket. Sighing, he closed his eyes. All it took was a few moments, focusing on y/n's breathing, for him to fall asleep.

[fuckmeyer]

I’m certain this is over 500 words but I am dying to hear more about all of this. I genuinely tried to cut but I could not make up my mind - silk tie anon (still workshopping the name here, not sure I want to be know for Edward’s clothing/buns all that bad):

Edward had threaded one hand through my hair and was mindlessly curling strands around his finger, sweeping them off my shoulder, bringing them to his lips. My nails traced mindless patterns on his other hand wrapped around my waist.

The intimacy and burn of his fingers on my skin made me remember with striking emotion how much I missed him touching me, how starved I was.

We breathed in unison. Every other moment, a faint static would pulse down my body. At first, I thought it was him flinching, but it was rhythmic and soft. Like was responding to me. Like our bodies were syncing up. In a good way.

I sighed. “I wish it could be like this all the time.”

He caught my hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips.

“Em’s obsessed with carbon-neutral cabins now,” said Edward. “I should ask him to build us one.”

I could practically hear the smile on him.

Usually, I would balk and respond along the lines of No way, Jose.

Cactus Bella would’ve, anyway.

“That’d be nice,” I said. Edward hmm’d in response, just as surprised by my reaction as I was. “We could watch the sunset every night. It’d have to have a tiny art studio, though. With a view.”

“Yes. Art studio in the attic, recording studio in the basement.”

“And a library.”

“The rest of the house is a library. Every room has at least one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.”

“And we could decorate and hang up pictures. And we’d never pay rent.”

“And I would make tea for you every morning and dinner for you every night. We would stay there for weeks at a time.”

“Months.”

“Years.”

“Forever.”

“Forever,” he echoed. It sounded off.

The sun dropped into the horizon.

“Twilight, again,” I remembered him saying at prom. “No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end….”

At prom, it had sounded romantic.

Here, it haunted me.

We didn’t speak. Only dying birdsongs and classical music filled the silence.

Before he could wallow in his forever comment, I asked, “So what's on the menu for tonight?” gesturing with my head to the tiny stereo. “Wagner, to celebrate my being done reading that freak Nietzsche?”

“Hah hah. As if this was remotely Wagnerian.” For a moment he tensed underneath me; his faltering chuckle returned. “I was wondering when you’d say something. What do you think?”

It was the smoothest-sounding music I’d ever heard—that’s what I thought. Every note was correct and on key and on beat and every instrument played with exact preciseness. It felt more like the whole song was just one fluid, resonating harmonic note to the next. A dream. A fantasy.

What set it apart were the colors. They jumped off the track. Purples and orangey-yellows, mostly, but the piano sounded like the greenest grass Forks had ever grown.

“Unedited thoughts only,” he warned me.

“You know what it reminds me of?” I said, patting his knee. “Debussy. With a little Emile Pandolfi zhuzh to it. Or like if Rachmaninov woke up one day and decided to write something a little more understated.”

“Classical influences with modern touches.”

“Exactly.”

“Dramatic?”

“In good way. Y’know? Not so cloying and loud.”

“Calmer.”

“Yeah. Less struggle. If that makes sense.”

“Interesting.” He tried keeping an even face but his eyes lit up. He nuzzled his face into my collar. “But the real question: do you like it?”

“Hell yeah. That’s my biased opinion. You know I like your recs.”

“Except Bobby Vinton.”

“Fifties trash,” I said with a dismissive shrug, “what can you say?”

“I’d say your taste in men is better than your taste in music, and that’s not saying much.”

His voice was jovial—and false.

—No, not false.

Shaken with a sheepish nervousness. Embarrassment?

I laid back against his chest. Puzzle pieces assembled in my head, so loud and clear I would assume he could hear me coming to my conclusions.

Edward was nervous.

All night, he’d been nervous.

The good kind of nervous.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. Tell me.”

Laying against him, I could feel excitement coursing through him.

“Hm?”

“There’s a speech you’re not telling me,” I said. Edward broke into a smile but looked down so I wouldn’t see it. The anticipation he carried with him felt like live wires on my skin. “You’re dying to say it. Mhm. Something overwrought. Or some super nerdy, esoteric lecture, I bet. Yeah. The blues speech. The classical music. There’s a theme going on here.” He laughed. “Tell me. Who’s this dead guy and why do I care?”

“The tongue on you.” His lips kissed my temple, tickled the shell of my ear when he spoke. “That dead guy is me, thank you very much.”

“Huh?” I whipped around to face him with an open-mouthed smile. “No way.”

“Yes, way. Wrote and performed.”

“This? Really? You wrote this? Really?” As I talked, I moved to straddle him, my hands on his shoulders, the side of his neck. Brassy golds and jewel-toned purples swirled through the music drifting between us. “That’s so cool!”

This, like everything else about Edward, seemed otherworldly in its grace and beauty. It felt like listening to the future of music—refined to an even higher degree of perfection.

Of course this was his.

“Is it so hard to believe?”

Now my hands played nervously with the locks of his hair that sat at the nape of his neck. “No, it’s just, you said you hadn't written anything since the 70s, and the colors are just—I mean it’s perfect, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but, just—wow."

"Eloquent as always."

"This is amazing work. Wow!” It felt like I radiated so much joy, my cheeks burned. “Congratulations, oh my god. It’s great. It’s brilliant. I take back all the ‘dead guy, don’t care’ stuff. Lecture me up.”

“You assume I have more to say?”

I snickered, raking my hand through his hair and pulling on it. He purred. “Six words? You? Please,” I said, and he laughed. “What d’you got for me? Historical context? Music theory? Behind-the-scenes anecdote? You gotta unedit, y’know.”

Getting Edward to share any of his compositions had been, up until now, impossible. He had informed me several times he hadn’t written anything since the 1970s. Any time I’d ask, he’d just come up with some medley of songs by others, or he’d improvise.

“It’s a lullaby.” Beat. “Your lullaby.” Another beat. “I wrote it for you.”

I blinked. Stilled.

“For me?” My hand fell back to his chest, leaving his hair a wild, sculpted mess. Edward watched my face fall and eyes drift toward the speaker; his brows knit. “A lullaby? For me?”

Edward laughed, nervous, and pressed a button on the stereo.

"Happy birthday," he murmured to me.

Instruments jumped into that first note, springing to life with a harmonized breathlessness that reminded me of sky blue, lavender, spots of gold, and brown. An overwhelming, bright, vibrant first measure calmed into a languid, inquisitive piano.

Oftentimes, a song would have competing colors, for better or for worse. Anything I wanted to paint would require several relistenings and a full-on moodboard before the oil would ever hit the canvas.

Art supplies were expensive—you had to be sure of your vision.

But this. This was gorgeous. Like it had been written with the intention of being ready for the canvas.

For me.

“It’s been in my mind for a while now. At first, they were just bits of melodies you’ve given me from our time together. The happy, sunny times.”

“Like a tapestry of little memories?” I joked, voice thick with emotion.

“In the middle of the night, if you start tossing, I hum it to you. I think you like it. It calms you down.” He grinned. “You stop trying to kick me, anyway.”

“Which memories did you use?”

“G-minor, when you first spoke to me—that was the first measure. The first night I stayed over. Picking wild blackberries for you on the way to the meadow. And— Do you remember the second time we took the truck to that forest a couple miles north of Goat Rocks?” I frowned. “In July? We played Nickel Nock in the truckbed? You were asking about the—"

“Fireflies,” we finished in unison. I laughed. “Duh!” I told him it’d been the first time I’d seen one in person. Edward turned off the lamp and caught one for me in his hands just so I could see it up close. I smiled wide. “The little chimes in background. Is that them? The fireflies?”

“Perceptive.”

Tears threatened to spill over; I wiped one away from the corner with my thumb.

hey Silk Buns anon, you can choose your own nickname as far as i'm concerned. i love you

COME NIGHTFALL CHAPTER 3: DATE - DVD COMMENTARY

[i haven't read this chapter since i posted it lmao OOP-]

Edward had threaded one hand through my hair and was mindlessly curling strands around his finger, sweeping them off my shoulder, bringing them to his lips. My nails traced mindless patterns on his other hand wrapped around my waist.

The intimacy and burn of his fingers on my skin made me remember with striking emotion how much I missed him touching me, how starved I was.

We breathed in unison [ok but fr breathing in unison w/ ur partner is relaxing as fuck]. Every other moment, a faint static would pulse down my body. At first, I thought it was him flinching, but it was rhythmic and soft. Like was responding to me. Like our bodies were syncing up. In a good way.

[it's wild how many hints i dropped about the mating bond. i was resolved to put it in the fic because it was an unexplored part of smeyer's lore & an interesting creative challenge (much like imprinting, although that's more about fixing mistakes than fleshing out a concept). but i didn't have the mechanics of mating hammered out at all. details like this are fun to come back to because they ended up fitting perfectly.]

I sighed. “I wish it could be like this all the time.”

He caught my hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips.

“Em’s obsessed with carbon-neutral cabins now,” said Edward. “I should ask him to build us one.” [something something By Starlight Chapter 9: Envoy]

I could practically hear the smile on him.

Usually, I would balk and respond along the lines of No way, Jose.

Cactus Bella would’ve, anyway. [Cactus Bella should have come back]

“That’d be nice,” I said. Edward hmm’d in response, just as surprised by my reaction as I was. “We could watch the sunset every night. It’d have to have a tiny art studio, though. With a view.” [this would be in the attic]

“Yes. Art studio in the attic [HEY!!!!], recording studio in the basement.”

“And a library.” [i picture them having a tiny cabin with a loft, lots of plants, artwork, cozy chairs, one of those little roller ladders for their library, & tons of windows that overlook the forest below. i'm projecting my own desires btw]

“The rest of the house is a library. Every room has at least one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.” [get you a fanfic Edward Cullen who says "YES, AND"!!!]

“And we could decorate and hang up pictures. And we’d never pay rent.” [i can't imagine how much Bella hates dealing with landlords. from her describing her experiences delivering Renee's late rent to telling Phil to pay rent early to "get the landlord off Renee's back" to her doing DIY plumbing repairs, it feels like she does everything in her power to avoid getting a landlord in her hair. honestly, mood.]

“And I would make tea for you every morning and dinner for you every night. We would stay there for weeks at a time.”

“Months.”

“Years.”

“Forever.”

“Forever,” he echoed. It sounded off.

The sun dropped into the horizon.

“Twilight, again,” I remembered him saying at prom. “No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end….”

[so interesting, this shift we see in Edward by the end of Come Nightfall/beginning of By Starlight. in ITA he insists there is an end to all things (especially the self). contrast this with BS Chapter 1: Ultimatum where he insists Bella isn't terminal. he's able to rationalize that he can't keep Bella, but the more he falls in love with her, the less he wants to stand by his assertion that there is an end to all things...]

At prom, it had sounded romantic.

Here, it haunted me.

We didn’t speak. Only dying birdsongs and classical music filled the silence.

Before he could wallow in his forever comment, I asked, “So what's on the menu for tonight?” gesturing with my head to the tiny stereo. “Wagner, to celebrate my being done reading that freak Nietzsche?” [i was reading The Gay Science at the time. sadly, the book does not cover homosexuality]

“Hah hah. As if this was remotely Wagnerian.” For a moment he tensed underneath me; his faltering chuckle returned. “I was wondering when you’d say something. What do you think?”

It was the smoothest-sounding music I’d ever heard—that’s what I thought. Every note was correct and on key and on beat and every instrument played with exact preciseness. It felt more like the whole song was just one fluid, resonating harmonic note to the next. A dream. A fantasy.

[in the early stages of drafting these fics, i list bullet points of things that i think would be cool to write. at the climax of New Moon, instead of exposing himself to humans, i thought it'd be fun if Edward had turned Bella's lullaby into an anti-Volturi operatic work that he would play throughout Volterra on St Marcus' Day. not all ideas are good ideas]

What set it apart were the colors. They jumped off the track. Purples and orangey-yellows, mostly, but the piano sounded like the greenest grass Forks had ever grown. [Bella has chromesthesia. light spoilers?, this comes back later]

“Unedited thoughts only,” he warned me.

“You know what it reminds me of?” I said, patting his knee. “Debussy. With a little Emile Pandolfi zhuzh to it. Or like if Rachmaninov woke up one day and decided to write something a little more understated.”

“Classical influences with modern touches.”

“Exactly.”

“Dramatic?”

“In good way. Y’know? Not so cloying and loud.”

“Calmer.”

“Yeah. Less struggle. If that makes sense.”

“Interesting.” He tried keeping an even face but his eyes lit up. He nuzzled his face into my collar. “But the real question: do you like it?”

“Hell yeah. That’s my biased opinion. You know I like your recs.”

“Except Bobby Vinton.” [deleted a whole scene about Bella and Edward arguing over how much Bobby Vinton sucks, so this was my compromise]

“Fifties trash,” I said with a dismissive shrug, “what can you say?” [SO true bestie]

“I’d say your taste in men is better than your taste in music, and that’s not saying much.” [HEY!]

His voice was jovial—and false.

—No, not false.

Shaken with a sheepish nervousness. Embarrassment?

I laid back against his chest. Puzzle pieces assembled in my head, so loud and clear I would assume he could hear me coming to my conclusions.

Edward was nervous.

All night, he’d been nervous.

The good kind of nervous.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. Tell me.”

Laying against him, I could feel excitement coursing through him.

“Hm?”

“There’s a speech you’re not telling me,” I said. Edward broke into a smile but looked down so I wouldn’t see it. The anticipation he carried with him felt like live wires on my skin. “You’re dying to say it. Mhm. Something overwrought. Or some super nerdy, esoteric lecture, I bet. Yeah. The blues speech. The classical music. There’s a theme going on here.” He laughed. “Tell me. Who’s this dead guy and why do I care?” [this Eleanor Shellstrop-ass line]

“The tongue on you.” His lips kissed my temple, tickled the shell of my ear when he spoke. “That dead guy is me, thank you very much.”

“Huh?” I whipped around to face him with an open-mouthed smile. “No way.”

“Yes, way. Wrote and performed.”

“This? Really? You wrote this? Really?” As I talked, I moved to straddle him, my hands on his shoulders, the side of his neck. Brassy golds and jewel-toned purples swirled through the music drifting between us. “That’s so cool!”

This, like everything else about Edward, seemed otherworldly in its grace and beauty. It felt like listening to the future of music—refined to an even higher degree of perfection.

Of course this was his.

“Is it so hard to believe?”

Now my hands played nervously with the locks of his hair that sat at the nape of his neck. “No, it’s just, you said you hadn't written anything since the 70s, and the colors are just—I mean it’s perfect, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but, just—wow." [Edward likely doesn't know she has synesthesia, considering how much of herself she's hidden from him pre-breakup.]

"Eloquent as always."

"This is amazing work. Wow!” It felt like I radiated so much joy, my cheeks burned. “Congratulations, oh my god. It’s great. It’s brilliant. I take back all the ‘dead guy, don’t care’ stuff. Lecture me up.”

“You assume I have more to say?”

I snickered, raking my hand through his hair and pulling on it. He purred. “Six words? You? Please,” I said, and he laughed. “What d’you got for me? Historical context? Music theory? Behind-the-scenes anecdote? You gotta unedit, y’know.” [it's crazy to go back to these earlier scenes and hear this Bella talk. there's such a stark difference imo between pre- & post-breakup Bella. in By Starlight, she's sounds more mature, somber, careful with her words, closer to canon. i can def see why readers abandon these works lmao]

Getting Edward to share any of his compositions had been, up until now, impossible. He had informed me several times he hadn’t written anything since the 1970s. Any time I’d ask, he’d just come up with some medley of songs by others, or he’d improvise.

“It’s a lullaby.” Beat. “Your lullaby.” Another beat. “I wrote it for you.”

I blinked. Stilled.

“For me?” My hand fell back to his chest, leaving his hair a wild, sculpted mess. Edward watched my face fall and eyes drift toward the speaker; his brows knit. “A lullaby? For me?”

Edward laughed, nervous, and pressed a button on the stereo.

"Happy birthday," he murmured to me.

Instruments jumped into that first note, springing to life with a harmonized breathlessness that reminded me of sky blue, lavender, spots of gold, and brown. An overwhelming, bright, vibrant first measure calmed into a languid, inquisitive piano.

Oftentimes, a song would have competing colors, for better or for worse. Anything I wanted to paint would require several relistenings and a full-on moodboard before the oil would ever hit the canvas.

Art supplies were expensive—you had to be sure of your vision.

But this. This was gorgeous. Like it had been written with the intention of being ready for the canvas.

For me.

“It’s been in my mind for a while now. At first, they were just bits of melodies you’ve given me from our time together. The happy, sunny times.”

“Like a tapestry of little memories?” I joked, voice thick with emotion.

“In the middle of the night, if you start tossing, I hum it to you. I think you like it. It calms you down.” He grinned. “You stop trying to kick me, anyway.”

“Which memories did you use?”

“G-minor, when you first spoke to me—that was the first measure. The first night I stayed over. Picking wild blackberries for you on the way to the meadow. [i've always thought this Edward had some crow-ass behavior going on. like he'll just show up at Bella's window with a handful of berries or a shiny pebble or a tiny flower and be like, "i come bearing gifts (caw)"] And— Do you remember the second time we took the truck to that forest a couple miles north of Goat Rocks?” I frowned. “In July? We played Nickel Nock in the truckbed? You were asking about the—"

“Fireflies,” we finished in unison. I laughed. “Duh!” I told him it’d been the first time I’d seen one in person. Edward turned off the lamp and caught one for me in his hands just so I could see it up close. I smiled wide. “The little chimes in background [WINDCHIMES BAYBEEE]. Is that them? The fireflies?”

“Perceptive.”

Tears threatened to spill over; I wiped one away from the corner with my thumb.

send me 500 words of my fanfic & i will give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet

[councillor-roland]

closed starter for @merekhopper

Roland was trying very hard not to show or admit how shaken he actually was by his brief death by staking. Yes, he'd chosen it, had allowed it to happen, banking on Kaj's blood in his system to bring him back, and all had gone according to plan. That didn't mean the vampire could forget the pain as the stake pierced his heart, the blackness and cold that had consumed him until everything came back into sharp focus. The wound was long gone, no trace of it on his perfect white skin, but Roland had taken to rubbing the left side of his chest, over his heart, as if he needed reassurance there wasn't a hole there. He didn't even notice he was doing it half the time. In spite of the face he was putting on, he needed a distraction. He would have found Rhys but the witch was so damnably busy with and dedicated to his work Roland would have had to wait and he wasn't interested in that right now. He knew someone who didn't take his job nearly as seriously and had invited the pyromancer to his suite for a drink.

He'd left the door open so Merek could walk in. They were old friends, after all. Roland sat on one of his antique couches, dressed down for him, which is to say he was missing a jacket and tie, the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, and the first couple buttons of the shirt were undone. The waistcoat was still on, though, along with pants and shoes and all the rest. Some Debussy recordings played softly in the background from the record player, because Roland found it soothing, and he had a glass of wine in his hand though he wasn't drinking it. He was absently rubbing his chest and staring at nothing, at least until movement at the door caught his attention and brought him back. Dropping his hand, he set the wine on the coffee table and stood to greet his guest, approaching with a smile.

"Ah, there you are. It's good to see you again. Come in, make yourself at home. What can I get you?" Roland was nothing if not an excellent host.

[c4ndytr4p]

sick days! k. alberich

vayne’s notes: this was requested by an anon, whoever you are, thank you so much! also a big thank you to @p0pp3t for helping me come up with some of these! ily!

genre: comedy, fluff

song used: heart to hear by mac demarco and clair de lune by claude debussy

- it just started with “allergies” or so you and him thought. the only thing he’s allergic to… pollen.

- at first, kaeya will deny he’s sick, but once you show him the slightest hint of attention… he’s acting like a spoiled victorian child.

- he does take off work to get better, yes, but he’ll constantly whine for your attention. you sometimes have to tell him to lay down and stay down. he really likes your chicken noodle soup.

- you also make your own handmade salve to rub on his chest (think of it as the teyvat version of Vicks VapoRub) in order to cool down his body temperature (despite him being a cryo user)

- “kaeya! didn’t i tell you to lay down?! you’re gonna run up your fever dammit!” you sometimes whisper shout because diluc is reading in the library across from the main area of dawn winery. “but y/n~” he whines, with a stuffed up nose as well. “no ifs ands or buts, get back in bed!”

- you often bring him ginger ale, he’s skeptical at first and i quote: “is that alcohol?” because he thinks you’re giving him alcohol. “hell no, it’s ginger ale. drink it.” what a drama king.

- i know it’s canon he doesn’t have allergies, but i feel as if he’s allergic to pollen. (read; the first hc.)

and that’s all! thank you for reading! :D

[msfantasy-anime]

From the Ashes the Phoenix Rises

Enji Todoroki X Reader

Summary: Dabi wants to punish Endeavour by slaying his girlfriend on Live TV for the whole world to see

Warnings: Character death, torture, description of murder.

Masterlist - Tip Jar

His malice laughter rings across the speaker.

There’s absolutely nothing Enji could do but watch in abject horror unfolding on the screen before his eyes.

His girlfriend Y/n sitting in an uncomfortable awkward position. Her wrist are bound behind her, stuck to a hook on the wall making her shoulders shoot out unnaturally, her arms look like they’ve been dislocated from her shoulder. Her head is hunched over, fainted from the excruciating torture Dabi was putting her through.

“Quickless little bitch! Wake up!” Dabi growls, he places his hot hand on her thigh, searing the meat. She squirm under the painful flame that burns her flesh. A scream pierces his ears, a painful level of which Enji has never heard her achieve.

He feels utterly defeated watching his first born torture his beloved. Watching helplessly, unable to do anything.

Dabi stares blankly at the camera as her soft sobs echo in the background. “I’ll ruin your chances at happiness just like you ruined mothers.” A sick smile stretches across his face.

Panic rising within Enji he watches his son shove two fingers own her throat. His hand ignites blue flames making the fire burn down her throat, killing her from the inside out. The camera captures the very moment the light left her eyes and begins to melt in her skull. Her flesh shrivelling forcing the liquid to the surface and evaporating under the extreme heat.

“Endeavour! We located Dabi and Y/n, they underground on railroad 7, approximately 4.8km from the manhole 94 located on Debussy Street.” One of the computer technicians yell, wholly unaware of her demise.

Enjis knees give out beneath him, staring at her body dissolving to ash. Dabi echos a sick laugh as he flees the scene.

The feed continues rolling as the fire is completely burnt out leaving nothing more than a pile of ash. Enji would have to be sure to collect the ashes, she deserved that much. He would also have to tell his son Shoto about your death, Shoto will be devastated. His brain switches off emotions, fully focused on the methodical tasks he will need to complete in your death.

“Look!” One of the other agency technicians yell pointing at the screen. The ashes begin to sift as a naked woman springs out into a sitting position, gasping for air clutching at her throat she continues to heave heavy breaths, leaning back she lays back down into the pile ashes, her breathing finally slows down. Her hair cascades to the floor to reveal Y/n’s face.

It couldn’t be, maybe it’s a hallucination, maybe it’s a sick joke. But all doubt falls away as he watched her scrunch her face in that way she does when she’s upset.

“Enji.” She moans with a wobbly lip, tears streaming from her eyes. “Enji!” She screams hysterically, tears falling from her eyes in fat blobs. “ENJI!” Her screams pierced his heart. Though screams were distressed, they filled his heart with utter relief.

———————————————————————————

They stand in a tight embrace together in their shared home.

He holds her tightly, terrified that she would disintegrate all over again, terrified that this part wasn’t real and that Y/n really was dead.

“H-how?” Her sniffles began to subside, taking deep breathes she finally speaks.

“I have a Phoenix quirk, when I die I’ll burn up and turn to ash to be reborn at my current age. My life span is 500years.” She pulls her sleeve down to reveal her familiar tattoo with the numbers 300 printed on her wrist. “But I can sacrifice 100 years to bring back another person, it doesn’t matter how many times I die though, it won’t effect my life span.”

“So how old are you then? Why didn’t you ever tell me about your quirk? I thought you were quirkless.”

“I am the age you know me to be, I sacrificed 200 years for my loved ones. I don’t tell anyone out of fear that people will kill and torture me since they know I’ll come back to life anyway, that’s why I moved to Japan. Where no one knew who I was, so they couldn’t do what people in my home town did.” Enji pulls his beloved girlfriend back into his chest.

He has no idea how anyone could do that to you. He doesn’t even understand how you have such a bright and loving smile, how you are so welcoming and loving when you have such a quirk that people turn evil all around you.

He will protect you from the world.

He cannot bare the feeling of loosing or watching you be tortured again.

[musicalhell]

Persephone's Gambit: 1, 9, 13, 14

What inspired me to write the fic this way: So in January 2023 I took a trip to New York to see the Broadway production of Phantom before it closed, and during that time I also took in Hadestown, & Juliet, and Six. Hadestown got me thinking about the dynamic it presents between Hades and Persephone, how much their relationship depended on a trust that had broken down and needed to be rebuilt in order to "bring the world back into tune." The latter two take well-known literary and historic figures and asks: what if they could have made a different choice? What if they could tell the story they wanted their life to be? Throw in some assorted smut scenes that I wanted to explore, and the story began to emerge.

Were there any alternate versions of this fic?: Sort of. The Tarot motif wasn't incorporated until much later in the process. I'd been mildly interested in Tarot decks and their aesthetics for a while, but reading Amy Schneider's In the Form of a Question was what really prompted me to start playing around with my own readings. Like Schneider, I don't see Tarot as a way of predicting the future so much as a thinking and meditation exercise. The cards tell stories, and by reflecting on those stories and how they apply to our lives we create meaning and consider different perspectives. With the late 19th century fascination with the occult, incorporating this form of storytelling into Persephone's Gambit felt like a natural fit.

What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?: I don't tend to listen to music when I write, because it's too easy for me to get distracted. For the more low-key scenes, I would recommend some good Romantic/Post-Romantic composers (Brahms, Liszt, Debussy) or some nice ambient music like Mythos. For the dramatic/sexy sequences, pop in some balls-to-the-wall symphonic metal.

Is there anything I want readers to learn from this fic: That we're stronger together than we are alone, and sometimes you have to blaze your own trail.

[eveningearlgrey]

Rêverie

Pairing: Peter/Percival

Genre: Fluff, with a little bit of angst

First of all, this is written in second person PoV. "You" in this drabble is Percival. (Not you readers! This is not x reader fic lol.)

And I highly recommend reading this while listening to Rêverie by Claude Debussy. Do it. There's a reason for this and you'll know why.

This morning is quiet and serene; something you really appreciate after you have dealt with loads of paperworks for almost an entire week.

Now, you are lying on the bed, leisurely enjoying the peacefulness this morning brings to you. You have been absent-mindedly gazing at the white curtain since you are awake, watching it flutter along with waves after waves of gentle breezes.

That is when you start to notice; there is no arm or leg wrapping around you like usual. Where is he? You roll over to look at the other side of the bed. It’s empty; no traces of warmth left when you lay your hand on the sheet. Same goes for the pillow. He must have already gone long ago.

Then you hear something; the answer to your prior question comes in the form of faint melodies softly playing in the distance. So you decide to get up, stretch yourself a little bit, then leave the bedroom.

The music is getting clearer and clearer as you walk down the corridor. When you start going downstairs, you finally recognize the song; it is one of his favorite classical pieces. Peter probably has mentioned the name before but you always failed to remember it. It sounds dreamy, and makes you feel like you're in a dream-like state.

And there he is.

Peter, still in his navy blue satin pajamas, is playing piano in the living room. Rays of morning light from one of the windows shines on him. The way his hair shimmers, how his skin glows brighter under the sunlight, everything makes him look like an angel.

The sight before you seems almost too good to be true. He is so young, graceful, and breathtaking. Everything feels unreal.

And yet, there he is.

In your house.

Yours.

"Morning, dear," Peter greets you, while his eyes still focus on the keyboard beneath his hand.

"How did you know I’m here? "

"Instinct." He smiles as he answers.

"Oh, am I interrupting you? "

"Quite the contrary, amore," Peter replies. You would never get tired of his endearment. He speaks Italian now and then even after moving back to London to live with you, and you absolutely adore it. "Actually, this daily practice interrupts me from admiring you.

You cannot help but smile back. You walk across the room to join him on the same bench, watching his fingers working magic on the keyboard, and also fighting back the urge to lean on his shoulder.

"Did you sleep well? " Peter asks. He slows down the tempo until it’s more like casually playing rather than an actual practice.

"Mm."

"There’s some coffee left." He makes a gesture towards the kitchen. "I can make some pancakes for you too, if you like."

"No, no. You don’t have to. I don’t want to bother you,"

And that is when Peter stops playing. He turns to face you. One hand withdraws away from the piano to caress your cheek. His touch is tender, as if you are his most precious person ever.

Wait, you are.

"You’re never a bother to me, my dear Percy." His voice, the way he calls your name makes your heart warm and fuzzy. You cannot help but lean into his hand, wanting more of his warmth, his lovingly gaze, everything.

If heaven existed, this would be it. This is your definition of heaven.

"Percival? "

Strange. He just called you by your pet name. Why would he starts calling you by your-

"Percival? "

The second call of your full name startles you, shattering the dreamy illusion you’ve created without knowing as you snap back to reality again; no more blissful morning, no more sitting side by side.

And you are not in your own house, but in a studio, sitting on a chair with your head tilting to the side a little bit.

It was all just a dream, of course.

You would never have a chance to live like that again. There is no more ‘living happily ever after’ waiting for you, no second chances, not since–

"You’ve been staring at the wall for a while now, is everything all right? " Peter asks with a puzzled look on his face.

No, but I'll pretend to be fine just like I always do. You thought, as you straightened yourself back to your usual stoic persona; the mask you always wear and doesn't have a plan to take them off anytime soon.

"Yeah, I just…I think I was daydreaming a bit."

"How fitting. The piece I just played for you is called ‘Rêverie’." Peter gives you a reassurement smile. "Don’t worry, I got the same reaction as yours when I heard this the very first time. It sounds so dreamy, don’t you think? "

"I think so," You said. "It was so beautiful."

His smile grows wider. And you are, too. Especially when you–

No.

Stop it.

Stop.

"Whenever I hear this piece, I imagine myself settling down with someone I love. We would sit on a bench together while I played something."

It doesn't help at all when Peter's vision is awfully accurate to what you’ve had in mind earlier. Is this a sign? You wonder. Is this a sign for me to finally move on?

But what about him?

"How about you? What were you daydreaming about? "

Us.

"Good old memories." You lied, of course. You always do.

But it’s probably better than telling the truth.

You're not ready for that.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

For Alien Day, here’s a cute little thing of Crowlien and Azirandroid for you guys. Something nice for them in their current state of isolation on a moon, but still.

Warning: body horror due to Crowley being a mutated hybrid

On with the fic!

--

Aziraphale licked his lips unconsciously as he stared at the small wires he was carefully twisting together. He paused when he heard some sort of skittering sound and frowned, looking over his shoulder.

He saw no sign of life behind him, no sight of tails, black fur, long, clawed limps, or even clumpy red hair.

He shrugged, must have been the station settling or something. He grabbed for a rubber cap and closed off the twisted wires, he was almost done with these repairs and then he could go and relax with a book and maybe a cuddle from Crowley.

There was another sound, thumping and scrapping sounds, and Aziraphale turned quickly, seeing just the tip of something move out of sight down the hall behind him. He saw a few small, wet spots on the floor, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Right.” He said softly and turned back to his work, leaning over to adjust the small music player that Crowley had smuggled aboard for them. The sounds of Debussy were just a little louder than before, covering up any more strange noises.

Aziraphale let out a soft sigh and picked up his pliers, getting back to work on repairing the frayed wires before him.

After a few minutes of careful work, Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a loud screech and very loud, fast slamming sounds followed. Dropping his tools, Aziraphale ran out of the room and tried to follow the sounds he was hearing. 

They sounded like they were coming from the vents and his hackles were raised as he followed them through the hall. He activated the mess hall doors and watched as one of the vents shook and rattled about before the grate flew open and out popped a black creature.

Bentley landed on the table, looking around wildly, before turned her attention to the vent. Aziraphale watched as long arms shot out of the hole, followed by a whole body, which slammed down on the ground. It was absolutely amazing that Crowley could even fit themself into the vents, let alone move around in them.

Aziraphale watched in alarm as Crowley growled, drool bubbling between their exposed teeth as they rose to their full height over the cat on the table, who was staring right back at them. There was a tense moment of silence...

Before Crowley made a delighted trill and snatched up the black cat in their clawed hands, bringing her to their chest. Bentley instantly started to nuzzle and was purring like a motorboat.

“W-what?” Aziraphale blinked, watching the two of them. Crowley turned, seeming to finally notice that Aziraphale was there, and then looked excited.

They made a happy growl before holding up Bentley, then gestured as if they were running about, before looking at Aziraphale. Talking was still something that Crowley’s current condition was making difficult, but Aziraphale was learning quickly how to understand gestures and certain tones and sounds.

“Are you... playing a chasing game with your cat, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, then got a very enthusiastic nod. The fear that had been growing in Aziraphale at the idea that something bad had gotten onto the ship and attacked his dears was gone in a flash and he relaxed. “Oh! So that’s what all the banging about had been!”

Crowley nodded again and approached, leaning down the nuzzle their own face against Aziraphale’s own, the android trying not to cringe at feeling drool in his hair, it was something he was slowly learning to get used to. “Alright, you two just be careful, alright? And stay out of the vents! I don’t need to keep screwing the grates back on!”

His alien nodded, gently brushing their teeth against Aziraphale’s cheek, a kiss. They set Bentley down, who happily took off out of the room, and Crowley dropped to all fours, dashing right after her, their tail nearly knocking Aziraphale down when it whipped by him.

He watched the two of them rush off before sighing, putting a hand to his chest. He should have known better, Crowley used to do this back when they were human, Bentley loved a good chase, she was built for speed. It touched him that even now, in this form, with their mind a bit scrambled, that Crowley was still there. 

He hummed the song he had been listening to moments before as he made his way back to his work. 

--

I just love the idea that Crowley gets out their need to hunt by chasing after their very fast kitty, who greatly enjoys the game. No one is hurt while playing, though Crowley might get a bit banged up from bumping into things. They are a rather tall creature after all.

[vox-monstera]

For Vox & Leonora:

📻 What kind of music does your OC listen to? Is there any music that is particularly meaningful to them?

🦁 Does your OC follow a moral code? Have they ever broken it, or been challenged by it?

⚽ How does your OC like to spend their leisure time? Do they have any hobbies?

Thank you for your questions! I love that you asked about music and hobbies 💕💕

Find all the questions here!

📻 What kind of music does your OC listen to? Is there any music that is particularly meaningful to them? - I’m actually in the process of creating some playlists! Hopefully I’ll be able to share them soon.

Vox

Music is Vox’s only connection to her parents. After they passed she inherited all of their belongings, including an extensive collection of music. As a teen, Vox would spend entire afternoon digging through their albums, listening to those she loved most on repeat.

Her favorite genre of music is New Wave, which also happened to be her father’s, but her collection includes everything from reggaeton to rock to boleros. One of her most prized possessions, which she’s actually only ever shared with River, is a mixtape her dad made for her mom when they were teens titled “Amp’s New Wave Love Mix”.

Some of her favorite artists are:

Tears for Fears

New Order

Blondie

The Cure

Depeche Mode

Siouxsie and the Banshees

Leonora

Leo’s all about easy listening. She leans towards instrumentals and enjoys jazz and classical most. Music has kind of… taken a backseat in her life, but she definitely still loves it.

Some of her favorite artists are:

Claude Debussy (her favorite composer and favorite pieces to play)

Bill Evans

Frédéric Chopin

Miles Davis

BADBADNOTGOOD

🦁 Does your OC follow a moral code? Have they ever broken it, or been challenged by it?

Vox - Answer from a previously asked question

Not exactly. Vox has never been squeamish about doing what needs to be done, though she will refuse to take on jobs that require her to hurt people that don't deserve it. She does take on work for free if she feels strongly enough about the reason, and will jump to help anyone who needs it.

Leonora

Leo doesn’t have a moral code, per se, but she does follow rules of “polite society” and etiquette. That comes with it’s own set of rules to live by, but it’s never been a challenge for her; in fact, it’s always been an asset.

⚽️ How does your OC like to spend their leisure time? Do they have any hobbies?

Vox

Vox loves to box! She was taught by Vik as a teen and hasn’t looked back since. Her time is spent between strength and cardio training, shadow boxing, and sparring.

Other than that, Vox enjoys thrifting for weird things (clothing, accessories, decorations, furniture, knickknacks) and classic vinyl records.

Leonora

Cooking, of course! She’s always recipe testing and experimenting with new ideas. Going to eat at new places is also a huge pastime of hers and gives her a lot of inspiration to fuel her own culinary endeavors.

Leonora also happens to be a classically trained pianist, though she doesn’t bring that up a lot. When she’s alone at home she’ll play for fun sometimes, but her baby grand stays in her room and she doesn’t play it for anyone else (except the occasional lover; not all of them get the privilege).