Julián Carax is my Spirit Animal

Here to shamelessly stalk those who produce the shit I avidly consume.

[neyiarts]

valko fanart i made so please bring him back ):

[faithschaffer]

⭐🌟 searching by starlight 🌟⭐

[serafisolaris-deactivated202508]

[vetyr]

hi, i ireally love your work and i don't know if you've answered this before but, what kinds of studies do you do or how did you learn color theory? i wanna get better at rendering and anatomy but im having trouble TT TT

Hi! Long answer alert. Once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox.

When I started actively learning how to draw about 10 1/2 years ago, I exclusively did graphite studies in sketchbooks. Here's a few examples—I mostly stuck to doing line drawings to drill basic shapes/contours and proportions into my brain. The more rendered sketches helped me practice edge control & basic values, and they were REALLY good for learning the actual 3D structure behind what I was drawing.

I'd use reference images that I grabbed from fitness forums, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and some NSFW places, but you could find adequate ref material from figure drawing sites like Line of Action. LoA has refs for people (you can filter by clothed/unclothed, age, & gender), animals, expressions, hands/feet, and a few other useful things as well. Love them.

Learning how to render digitally was a similar story; it helped a lot that I had a pretty strong foundation for value/anatomy going in. I basically didn't touch color at all for ~2 years (except for a few attempts at bad digital or acrylic paint studies), which may not have been the best idea. I learned color from a lot of trial and error, honestly, and I'm pretty sure this process involved a lot of imitation—there were a number of digital/traditional painters whose styles I really wanted to emulate (notably their edge control, color choices, value distributions, and shape design), so I kiiind of did a mixture of that + my own experimentation.

For example, I really found Benjamin Björklund's style appealing, especially his softened/lost edges & vibrant pops of saturated color, so here's a study I did from some photograph that I'm *pretty* sure was painted with him in mind.

Learning how to detail was definitely a slow process, and like all the aforementioned things (anatomy/color/edge control/values/etc.) I'm still figuring it out. Focusing on edge control first (that is, deciding on where to place hard/soft edges for emphasizing/de-emphasizing certain areas of the image) is super useful, because you can honestly fool a viewer into thinking there's more detail in a piece than there actually is if you're very economical about where you place your hard edges.

The most important part, to me, is probably just doing this stuff over and over again. You're likely not going to see improvement in a few weeks or even a few months, so don't fret about not getting the exact results you want and just keep studying + making art. I like to think about learning art as a process where you *need* to fail and make crappy art/studies—there's literally no way around it—so you might as well fail right now. See, by making bad art you're actually moving forward—isn't that a fun prospect!!

It's useful to have a folder with art you admire, especially if you can dissect the pieces and understand why you like them so much. You can study those aspects (like, you can redraw or repaint that person's work) and break down whether this is art that you just like to look at, or if it's the kind of art that you want to *make.* There's a LOT of art out there that I love looking at, probably tens of thousands of styles/mediums, but there's a very narrow range that I want to make myself.

I've mentioned it in some ask reply in the past, but I really do think looking at other artist's work is such a cheat code for improving your own skills—the other artist does the work to filter reality/ideas for you, and this sort of allows you to contact the subject matter more directly. I can think of so many examples where an artist I admired exaggerated, like, the way sunlight rested on a face and created that orange fringe around its edge, or the greys/dull blues in a wheat field, or the bright indigo in a cast shadow, or the red along the outside of a person's eye, and it just clicked for me that this was a very available & observable aspect of reality, which had up until that point gone completely unnoticed! If you're really perceptive about the art you look at, it's shocking how much it can teach you about how to see the world (in this particular case I mean this literally, in that the art I looked at fully changed the way I visually processed the world, but of course it has had a strong effect on my worldviews/relationships/beliefs).

Thanks so much for sending in a question (& for reading, if you got this far)! I read every single ask I receive, including the kind words & compliments, which I genuinely always appreciate. Best of luck with learning, my friend :)

[vetyr]

i have nothing to say other than you were one of the reasons i began drawing 3 years years ago and your illustrations / concept of color & light still inspire me to draw everyday , i just wanted you know you helped changed my life and inspired me to be a better person / artist . i hope this message isnt overwhelming and i hope you have a wonderful day 🧡

AAAHH thank you so much!! It's not overwhelming at all, and I just want to add that I read every single message I get here (even if I don't post a response to them), & I appreciate kind words like this so much. This message is from earlier this year, and I hope you're still learning and drawing and coming across wild new things now, months later.

As a treat here are some pages from a sketchbook I finished recently. Yes I take this long to finish sketchbooks nowadays :)

[rocketbirdie]

easy. lmao

[ff7storybook]

Welcome @umechaw to Final Fantasy Tales zine as our 📖page artist🗡️! Goodnight Moon is just one of the many books they love, and their favorite FF7 characters are Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart, Red XIII, Vincent Valentine.

[vetyr]

Hades and Persephone

Recent commission! The details on this one were crazy fun to paint, I spent a lot of time on it but I'm really happy with the result :)

If you'd like to make an inquiry or get more information about commissions, feel free to email [email protected].

[blurry-walker]

"Where Are You Off to? Darling..."

[blurry-walker]

Not satisfied with this one, but not completely disappointed either.

Color me pretty

or

Hope it never fades

For after Volterra Edward, too eager, crazy and hungry (both biblically and gastronomically), to mind his strength. And little Bells checking herself out afterwards... Looking good sweetheart.

Come Nightfall, by @fuckmeyer , fanart.

(Watercolor practice. Color got out of my control and I can't stick to Bella's facial features... not happy with the hands either. But it was fun, quite happy with the bruises)

*Bottom hands inspired by a photograph by Michal Buddabar (I believe... it was hard to find the source).

[blurry-walker]

[blurry-walker]

One short and sweet (hohohoho) because I couldn't take it out of my head.

Hard to bear, not enough to satisfy

[blurry-walker]

[fuckmeyer]

the choice between Edward & Jacob is not a question of which relationship is healthier or which partner is best suitable for Bella. neither is correct. neither is best. neither produces a happy ending for Bella. at the end of the day this is still a vampire novel. any choice Bella could make would yield, at best, a bittersweet happily ever after.

if she chooses Edward, she gets the terrifying Breaking Dawn ending: a girl who rejected her call to grow up has hung her love & her eternity on an emotionally stunted partner who hates himself marginally less than he loves her. she's a teen mom with a kid she never wanted who perpetuates the generational trauma passed down from her parents. by keeping this child, the Cullens have set the stage for an uprising/cold war against the Volturi who are likely to take revenge in order to maintain power. Bella is living in a tenuous "dream come true" wrapped in a nightmare & doesn't realize it.

choosing Jacob is the true coming-of-age ending that rips the stitches out of a wound that never fully healed. even if we ignore the fact that she ends up with a man who sexually assaulted her (we must bear in mind Jacob's character is influenced by smeyer's racism, but it did happen), they can't have a secure romantic relationship. based on the high imprinting rate of the pack, Jacob will likely find his imprint in his lifetime & will lose himself to the imprintee. he will no longer be her Jacob. he will inevitably abandon her (whether he wants to or not), & she must reconcile with the reality that she will always be inadequate to Jacob's imprint. & say he never manages to escape the vampires? he will presumably not age for a long time, meaning the relationship Bella always feared with Edward (her being an old grandmother while he stays forever young) remains a possibility. this is the story of a girl who slaps a Band Aid on an open wound & calls herself healed while flinching every time she sees the shadow of the knife that cut her.

if she chooses neither (team therapy), her healing requires her to lose or be at least partially disconnected from everyone she cares about. Bella must spend the rest of her life shut out from one world while never fully existing in her human world ever again. she must always keep secrets. she can never go back home. even in the unlikely event that she manages to escape the Volturi, the threat of being hunted by vampires will never leave her. in addition, she must face her worst fears (aging, losing Edward) while always keeping in mind the immortal life that could have been hers, if only.

even the "healthiest" option produces scars that will never quite heal.

Twilight is a horror. Twilight is a vampire novel. Twilight is gothic. Twilight is fiction. neither Edward nor Jacob is a "bad" choice because neither will give Bella her happily ever after. the choice between Edward & Jacob is simply a matter of which horror story you prefer to read.

[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

[fuckmeyer]

DVD COMMENTARY #1.. I have a couple!

***

“Did Marie see into the past, too?” said Phil.

“She read palms,” I mumbled.

“Past,” said Renée, pointing at me, “present,” she continued, pointing at herself, “and…” finally, she pointed to the sky “…future.”

By this point, Edward had gone quiet.

I added, “Mom, don’t you remember the way she would grab your hand and read your palm?”

He could keep wading through her memories, and I could get off the subject of my “psychic talents.” Win-win.

“God! Let me tell you how embarrassing it is to have all your friends’ deaths predicted by your mother whenever they came over.” She and Phil laughed; I chuckled weakly. Edward had no reaction. “She made the freakiest predictions sometimes. Uncanny.”

“What did she say about you?” said Phil

“All kinds of things. Let’s see. She predicted my little girl.” Renée threw me a loving glance. “She also said I would have a boy later in life, though—hm. I suppose that could be David. She said Bella would reunite with long lost family— I’m sure that was Charlie. And what else? —Ooh! That I would die an old, old lady.”

“Not to throw kerosene on the fire, babe,” said Phil with a growing grin, “but that’s pretty vague.”

“Oh, no! She was very specific. Death was her specialty. Her mother— my Nona Cynthia, Bella’s great-grandmother— she was the same way. Nona Cynthia used to run a little business with two friends when she was growing up— all the neighborhood kids would pay a cent to be read by The Psychics Three.” Renée laughed.

“So intuition runs in the family,” said Edward. His voice was scratchy. I gave him a look he didn’t return.

She gave me a knowing look. “Honey, you remember—after a while, I had to tell Nona Marie to stop reading your palm. Oh, she was just awful about the whole thing. Every time she would visit—”

We finished in unison: “Bella, your lifeline has run out.”

Edward looked up.

“Had it?” he said.

My mother and I had both been taken aback by the question.

“Well, of course not,” said Renée quietly with a nervous chuckle. Her hands fidgeted, nails picking at skin.

Edward didn’t need more information. He could see the memory clear as a mountain spring.

“Nona said I would drown,” I explained in a murmur.

Edward swallowed.

***

what made Edward go so quiet? what is Renee thinking that has him so on edge and tense? what is Renee feeling when seeing Edward’s reactions? please please share what you are able to without spoilers!!! and with Renee’s total 360 on her thoughts about Edward… was this when she realized he had this “darkness”?

ooh yay, throw em all my way!

BY STARLIGHT* CHAPTER 10: THEORIES - DVD COMMENTARY

*(no spoilers for future chaps)

“Did Marie see into the past, too?” said Phil.

“She read palms,” I mumbled.

“Past,” said Renée, pointing at me, “present,” she continued, pointing at herself, “and…” finally, she pointed to the sky “…future.” [this line is SO freaky to me. past implies a terminus, & Bells is terminal. the future, like Nona, is dead (& Renee points up, implying ascension). only the present - Renee - remains. like, holy shit Renee, do you have any idea how fucking symbolic you're being rn???]

By this point, Edward had gone quiet. [because Edward DOES realize how fucking symbolic she's being rn]

I added, “Mom, don’t you remember the way she would grab your hand and read your palm?”

He could keep wading through her memories, and I could get off the subject of my “psychic talents.” Win-win.

“God! Let me tell you how embarrassing it is to have all your friends’ deaths predicted by your mother whenever they came over.” She and Phil laughed; I chuckled weakly. Edward had no reaction. [this subject is discussed later, so maybe light spoilers? Edward can go deeper into someone's mind, but it requires more attention and energy. he is not well-trained in his new abilities. right now he's seeing Renee's memories: orange shag carpeting, birthday hats, children laughing, Renee whining to her mother...] “She made the freakiest predictions sometimes. Uncanny.”

“What did she say about you?” said Phil.

“All kinds of things. Let’s see. She predicted my little girl.” Renée threw me a loving glance. “She also said I would have a boy later in life, though—hm. I suppose that could be David. She said Bella would reunite with long lost family— I’m sure that was Charlie. And what else? —Ooh! That I would die an old, old lady.” [no comment]

“Not to throw kerosene on the fire, babe,” said Phil with a growing grin, “but that’s pretty vague.”

“Oh, no! She was very specific. Death was her specialty. Her mother— my Nona Cynthia, Bella’s great-grandmother— she was the same way. Nona Cynthia used to run a little business with two friends when she was growing up— all the neighborhood kids would pay a cent to be read by The Psychics Three.” Renée laughed. [no comment]

“So intuition runs in the family,” said Edward. His voice was scratchy. [i've been wanting to do this "Edward stays out too long in the sun" scene for years. i initially pictured this as the day E&B get back together. i wanted them to be best friends (albeit with unbearable sexual tension). this lunch happens at a restaurant. when Bells would go off to find him, they'd meet in an empty hallway and get it on the janitorial closet or the pantry or sth. not all ideas are good ideas.] I gave him a look he didn’t return.

She gave me a knowing look. “Honey, you remember—after a while, I had to tell Nona Marie to stop reading your palm. Oh, she was just awful about the whole thing. Every time she would visit—”

We finished in unison: “Bella, your lifeline has run out.”

Edward looked up.

“Had it?” he said.

My mother and I had both been taken aback by the question.

“Well, of course not,” said Renée quietly with a nervous chuckle. Her hands fidgeted, nails picking at skin. [she knows how accurate her mother is. she's seen it firsthand. so for Nona Marie to INSIST that Bells would drown EVEN AFTER that incident at Charlie's makes Renee wonder if it'll happen. it's been years, and she's "convinced" herself Bella will live a full, happy life, but she'll never be able to shake the specifics of Marie's prediction (details she's never told Bella), & her insistence that Bella's time is coming very soon.]

Edward didn’t need more information. He could see the memory clear as a mountain spring. [that is, Renee getting the call from Charlie that Bella is in the hospital and Caitlin has gone missing.]

“Nona said I would drown,” I explained in a murmur.

Edward swallowed.

***

what made Edward go so quiet? [although he is a more powerful telepath, slipping into people's minds requires more energy & is harder to control. he's trying to focus & find what he needs to find. i talk about this more in depth in future chaps]

what is Renee thinking that has him so on edge and tense? [reliving the memories]

and with Renee’s total 360 on her thoughts about Edward… was this when she realized he had this “darkness”?

regarding Renee's about-face:

i intentionally set this and the next scene up to be ambiguous. we never actually know how Renee feels about Edward specifically. we do know Renee is worried for Bella. but we only hear about Edward & Renee's interactions through Bells who has proven to be an unreliable narrator. we also hear about Renee's opinion of Edward through Charlie who is at best is paraphrasing & at worst lying to suit his own agenda. Edward never tells Bells whatever it is he may or not may not have read in Renee's mind. is it a 180? i think that's something the readers should decide for themselves based on their perception of the characters :)

i will say, Renee seems to be a worrier. when she's in the middle of an adventure or new experience, she can quiet her mind & go with the flow - it's why she's so impulsive & reckless. here, grief is a constant source of background tension for her as her mother's funeral takes place, while having Bells home blinds her to pretty much everything else. not as to say she didn't notice. she is clearly concerned for Bella to some extent. but i think she had a lot going on around her & needed to reflect on the visit to grow so concerned she calls Charlie.

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

[fuckmeyer]

Hi!

Can you do this one?

“Hm. What a shame. Though I do understand the particular challenges one faces with telepathy. I am not surprised to hear of your intra- and interpersonal struggles. Especially when one’s power has increased exponentially in such a short span. What, do you suppose, was its catalyst?”

Edward’s eyelids fell closed again.

A smile spread across Aro’s face. Even Edward’s lips turned up at whatever he was showing him.

“Ah.” When his eyelids fluttered open again, I’d noticed they’d gone completely gray. “Oh. My, yes. I can see why such a mouthwatering morsel can feel so life changing.”

Edward ripped his hand away; the guard tensed. Aro, however, seemed unperturbed. The gray drained away from his irises, though that unusual milky film remained. Beyond that, the glitter in his eyes made him seem starstruck. He blinked and shook his head as if recovering from a daze.

“Your talent warps the mind. How you endure your life day-to-day still confounds me, dear boy.”

“It’s not without effort,” said Edward as if remarking on the weather.

“Is the exhibition quite finished?” said Caius with a touch of resentment. “It is time to pass our sentence.”

“Gentlemen,” Aro said, turning to his brothers with a beaming smile, “I beg you, before we deliberate, a moment of your time. I believe we have encountered an impossibly rare phenomenon for which I desire your council. It seems young Edward has reason for his relations with Isabella apart from the aforementioned.” Caius narrowed his eyes. But Marcus…his gaze flickered between me and Edward with a knowing look. “The progeny of our peculiar former king has met an impossibly rare treat.”

Tearing his attention away from us, Marcus peeked at Aro and gave him a single, slight nod.

Grinning, Aro paused for dramatic effect.

In a loud voice that rang through the chamber, the announcement rang out.

“Edward and Isabella are mates!”

Alice’s mouth fell open.

The three kings’ gazes shifted to me.

So did everyone else’s.

Everyone’s—except Edward’s.

After a shock of stunned silence coursed through the room, the entire guard burst into laughter.

Breaking out in song, Jane holler-laughed, “O, to be a Cullen: eat animals, like animals.”

“Cheers to the noblest savages in the West!” Alec sang in a stunning vibrato. Another chorus of whoops and laughs sounded.

Alice’s lips became a fine line. Edward closed his eyes. Flushing red, I frowned and looked down at my shoes.

“Children,” said Aro, his stern fatherly tone cutting off the next lines of the rhyme, “good little courtiers do not sing such vulgar songs to distinguished guests. Apologize at once or there shant be any dessert.”

Their peal of laughter quieted to snickers behind him."

I was intrigued by how Aro sees Edward gift, and how exactly the others feel about Edward and Bella's bond. Is it seen as a kink? As a paraphilia?

I'm loving these! Thank you for your insights, they are as much fun as the story itself!

hi!! anything for you, bestie :) (i'm so happy someone picked this chapter finally!!)

COME NIGHTFALL CHAPTER 28: VOLTERRA - DVD COMMENTARY

“Hm. What a shame. Though I do understand the particular challenges one faces with telepathy. I am not surprised to hear of your intra- and interpersonal struggles. Especially when one’s power has increased exponentially in such a short span. What, do you suppose, was its catalyst?”

Edward’s eyelids fell closed again.

A smile spread across Aro’s face. Even Edward’s lips turned up at whatever he was showing him. [i picture him telling the story of his and Bella's relationship through images. driving to the meadow. her hair in the sunlight. laughing. a trip to the record store. eating peaches. arguing over playlists. etc.

eventually, of course, his mind settles on The Event. i.e., the bite (every detail: the taste & mouthfeel of her blood, the memories they shared (i pictured Bella seeing Edward in a speakeasy early 1920s), her screams), Edward's feelings (guilt, fear, disappointment in himself...pleasure?), the aftermath (being completely out of his mind, hauled away by his family to keep him from her), etc.]

“Ah.” When his eyelids fluttered open again, I’d noticed they’d gone completely gray. “Oh. My, yes. I can see why such a mouthwatering morsel can feel so life changing.”

Edward ripped his hand away [he's hearing & seeing Aro's thirst]; the guard tensed. Aro, however, seemed unperturbed. The gray drained away from his irises, though that unusual milky film remained. Beyond that, the glitter in his eyes made him seem starstruck. He blinked and shook his head as if recovering from a daze. [i picture Aro seeing a bird's eye view of memories. he sees every second of someone's life. granted, he's trained well enough to be able to explore the thoughts he wants to, but i imagine he doesn't get the sheer amount of detail that Edward might. (i go into Edward's gift in later chaps.) i think that this, in combination with the fact that Edward can read every mind in a ~3-mile radius, is very appealing to Aro.]

“Your talent warps the mind. How you endure your life day-to-day still confounds me, dear boy.”

“It’s not without effort,” said Edward as if remarking on the weather. [ripped this line from the books. love it]

“Is the exhibition quite finished?” said Caius with a touch of resentment. [he is SO bitchy. love him] “It is time to pass our sentence.”

“Gentlemen,” Aro said, turning to his brothers with a beaming smile, “I beg you, before we deliberate, a moment of your time. I believe we have encountered an impossibly rare phenomenon for which I desire your council. It seems young Edward has reason for his relations with Isabella apart from the aforementioned.” Caius narrowed his eyes. [BITCH] But Marcus…his gaze flickered between me and Edward with a knowing look.

“The progeny of our peculiar former king has met an impossibly rare treat.”

Tearing his attention away from us, Marcus peeked at Aro and gave him a single, slight nod. [honestly, i've always wondered if Marcus would have said anything if Aro hadn't discovered the bond. maybe Marcus thought it'd be better if E&B were both dead because that's really what he wants for himself...]

Grinning, Aro paused for dramatic effect.

In a loud voice that rang through the chamber, the announcement rang out.

“Edward and Isabella are mates!”

Alice’s mouth fell open.

The three kings’ gazes shifted to me.

So did everyone else’s.

Everyone’s—except Edward’s.

After a shock of stunned silence coursed through the room, the entire guard burst into laughter.

Breaking out in song, Jane holler-laughed, “O, to be a Cullen: eat animals, like animals.” [used to be: "mate with animals, like animals."]

“Cheers to the noblest savages in the West!” Alec sang in a stunning vibrato. Another chorus of whoops and laughs sounded.

Alice’s lips became a fine line. Edward closed his eyes. Flushing red, I frowned and looked down at my shoes.

“Children,” said Aro, his stern fatherly tone cutting off the next lines of the rhyme, “good little courtiers do not sing such vulgar songs to distinguished guests. Apologize at once or there shant be any dessert.” [the first time i drafted this scene (~2021), it was pretty gruesome. blood was dripping from the ceiling; some dribbled down Bella's forehead. in the other room there were humans being tapped like casks; there was screaming throughout the scene. the kings were drinking blood from chalices (as a status/age symbol). anyway, it was super distracting, so i cut it.] Their peal of laughter quieted to snickers behind him.

I was intrigued by how Aro sees Edward gift, [hopefully i answered above, let me know!],

and how exactly the others feel about Edward and Bella's bond. Is it seen as a kink? As a paraphilia? [you're 100% right. even eating animals, to the Volturi, is "deviant" behavior that the Volturi feels must be corrected (this was said explicitly in an earlier draft.) they see the Denalis as lesser than because they have sexual relations with humans. vampires hearing of Edward & Isabella's relationship usually involves shock, scorn, or amusement, and even the kings have only heard rumors of these sorts of bonds...i can only imagine what the community at large must think...]

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

[fuckmeyer]

Ok that was amazing!!! I would love more behind the scenes details on CN now 😭 still on my phone so apologies if this is too long

“Answer the question, Isabella,” said Edward. “When did you last feel you were alive?”

With you, I thought immediately. Which led me to a grimmer answer.

“When I jumped off the cliff.”

What if I really had drowned?

“I heard about that,” he said quietly. “Rose told me. She said you were trying to kill—”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“Well, you did,” he said. “God, if we weren’t already dead, I imagine I would be furious at you for doing something so stupid.”

“We aren’t already dead.”

“True,” he said. “There is a possibility I am somehow still alive, and my hallucination of you is simply filling in the gaps based on the information I’ve received.”

“You’re alive, I’m alive, and I’m right here.”

I lunged towards him again.

He dodged me, again.

Then he laughed at me. Again.

I wheeled around and snapped, “It’s not funny.”

“Isabella Swan, who lives thousands of miles away in one of the remotest parts of the country, who has never been farther east than Boston, is sitting next to me in a dungeon in Italy as I wait for the Volturi? Yes, in fact, I find it quite hilarious.” Except his laugh hadn’t sounded amused. Actually, he sounded bitter—and thirsty. “I cannot believe that as a figment of my own imagination you should need me to spell out how farfetched a scenario this is.”

“I cannot believe that as a real live person who’s sitting next to you in a dungeon in Italy, I have to convince you I’m really here. Newsflash: stranger things have happened.”

“Such as a vampire falling in love with a human?” he joked dryly. I groaned, rubbing my face in annoyance. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand your existence is predicated on my believing you’re real, thus you’ll do anything in your power to convince me. While I’ll readily admit to fantasizing about you being here, you’re kidding yourself if you think I’m insane enough to believe you’re actually here.”

Oh god. He was insane.

“As far as I’m concerned,” he continued, “we have two possible theories. Either I’m alive and you’re another hallucination—”

“You can hear my heartbeat,” I said, voice crackling. “You can smell my scent. If you wanted to, you could—” taste my blood “—t-touch me, and you’d know—”

“Ah, there it is.”

“What?”

“You want me to touch you,” he accused.

My cheeks had grown so hot, my head pounded. “That’s— I’m just saying, if you wanted to—”

“If I wanted to, what?” he snapped. “If I wanted to, I could taste your blood, is that it? Is that what you want?” I shook. When my lips parted, the bottom one trembled. The chill in his words ran through my veins. “What a convenient situation we find ourselves in. A starving vampire and his singer are trapped in a tiny box where no one can hear her cries for help, and she is throwing herself at me, begging me to touch her so she can—"

“Not throwing. Not begging. No. I-I’m not—I’m not saying you should drink me,” I said, nervousness making my voice uneven. “I’m saying if you wanted to go about this empirically, you would touch me. If I was a hallucination, you wouldn’t be able to.”

“Which provides us a perfect segway into theory number two,” Edward said without acknowledging my comment: “I’m in hell.”

“Hell!”

“Of course, you would want me to touch you.” The edge in his tone grew. “You want me to bite you, don’t you? You want me to taste your blood. You want me to drink every last drop from your beautiful veins until nothing is left because you are mine, mine—”

“All I’m asking is that you definitively prove I don’t exist. Which you can’t. Because I do. I’m trying to make you see that I’m real. That’s it.”

The low growl that punctuated our conversation made me shiver. Every molecule in my body tingled at the same frequency.

“And the second I buy into the idea that we’re finally together,” he said, “you’re going to die in my arms. I see your tricks.”

thank you, anon! :)

COME NIGHTFALL CHAPTER 27: VOLTERRA - DVD COMMENTARY

[i rewrote their meeting scene about a thousand times. i have a billion versions of that Verdict chapter where Edward is anywhere from a slobbering mess to a conniving little gremlin child. anyway, this is the earliest version of this scene, written March 2021:

In the darkness of the cell, I could see nothing except Edward’s marble-black eyes. His growl stole through the air around me. He circled me; the air sifted around me, choking me with dirt and blood and wet rat smell.

I came all the way here to die at the hands of my mate. I survived Victoria and Laurent and Jasper to die at the hands of my mate. I went all that way and went through all that effort to die by the hands of the person I thought I loved. My “mate”. Fuck this guy.

I swallowed, breathing ragged. “Kill me, coward. Do it.”

The growling ceased.

“Edward.”

In the corner, he snarled and snapped his jaws; I flinched, still blind in the dark.

“You’re not real.”

“You can’t smell me?”

Edward erupted into a grin of gleaming black teeth. I inhaled. “Nice try.” Clothing rustled, and a tiny thwip of paper hitting the ground.

My fingers fumbled around the sharp, folded edges of thick paper. My thumb traced the shape several times over. “A crane.” But that paper… Despite the musty stink of the cell, I smelled charcoal, acrylic, dried b—

Dried blood.

My dried blood.

The drawing I had given him. He had folded it. Into a crane.

“My crane.”

Edward’s slight cackle wheezed through his crackling chest; I flinched at the sound. “Can you believe I haven’t killed you yet?”

“Are you going to?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. Then added, “I am going to die here.”

My heart sunk. “You can’t die here.”

“Sure I can.”

“No you can’t.”

“I’ve lived long enough. I met you. I can die.”

“What?” Panic rose in my chest. “You can’t die, Edward.” I couldn’t die. Not until I saw him again. Since this wasn’t technically seeing him, I figured I could get out of this encounter alive with a loophole. “You—promised you’d come back.”

“I did.” Beat. “You’ll have to forgive me for breaking so many of them.”

“I won’t. Not if you die I won’t.” The deeper I fell into this world, it seemed, the tougher choices I had to make. Every step of the way felt like a failure, even if it wasn’t. “You made tough choices.”

“You certainly don’t sound like my subconscious. Maybe I really am dying.”]

[ok i guess we should actually start this scene]

“Answer the question, Isabella,” said Edward. “When did you last feel you were alive?”

With you, I thought immediately. Which led me to a grimmer answer.

“When I jumped off the cliff.” [girl you should have lied what the fuck]

What if I really had drowned?

“I heard about that,” he said quietly. [i vaguely sketched out Alice's POV from when Bells jumps off a cliff. dated December 2022: "Rosalie calls Edward and tells him Irina is on her way to the Volturi. She feels that Edward needs to take responsibility for Isabella because Irina going to the Volturi means that everyone’s on the chopping block. She advises Edward to stop Irina before she gets to Italy.

How would Rosalie call Edward? You have to assume I suppose that Edward flew from Brazil to Miami only for Rosalie to call the airport and request that a Mr. Edward Masen pick up the phone.

Why doesn't Edward corroborate? Why the fuck would he? This gives him perfect plausible deniability to go off and kill himself with reason so he's never tempted to come home to Isabella again."] “Rose told me. She said you were trying to kill—”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“Well, you did,” he said. “God, if we weren’t already dead, I imagine I would be furious at you for doing something so stupid.” [this later becomes inspiration for Chapter 5: Alliance of By Starlight.]

“We aren’t already dead.”

“True,” he said. “There is a possibility I am somehow still alive, and my hallucination of you is simply filling in the gaps based on the information I’ve received.”

“You’re alive, I’m alive, and I’m right here.”

I lunged towards him again.

He dodged me, again.

Then he laughed at me. Again.

I wheeled around and snapped, “It’s not funny.”

“Isabella Swan, who lives thousands of miles away in one of the remotest parts of the country, who has never been farther east than Boston [visited, never lived there], is sitting next to me in a dungeon in Italy as I wait for the Volturi? Yes, in fact, I find it quite hilarious.” Except his laugh hadn’t sounded amused. Actually, he sounded bitter—and thirsty. “I cannot believe that as a figment of my own imagination you should need me to spell out how farfetched a scenario this is.”

“I cannot believe that as a real live person who’s sitting next to you in a dungeon in Italy, I have to convince you I’m really here. Newsflash: stranger things have happened.”

“Such as a vampire falling in love with a human?” he joked dryly. I groaned, rubbing my face in annoyance. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand your existence is predicated on my believing you’re real, thus you’ll do anything in your power to convince me. While I’ll readily admit to fantasizing about you being here, you’re kidding yourself if you think I’m insane enough to believe you’re actually here.”

Oh god. He was insane.

“As far as I’m concerned,” he continued, “we have two possible theories. Either I’m alive and you’re another hallucination—”

“You can hear my heartbeat,” I said, voice crackling. [bro the amount of times Edward has hallucinated or pretended a human's heartbeat is Isabella's is INCALCULABLE. she has no idea how terrible an argument this is. it's like The Tell-Tale Heart up in this bitch] “You can smell my scent. If you wanted to, you could—” taste my blood [the desperation is palpable. she has wanted him to drink her blood since Chapter 14: Explanations of In The Afterlight when she first dreams about it lmao] “—t-touch me, and you’d know—”

“Ah, there it is.”

“What?”

“You want me to touch you,” he accused. [YES GIRL SAY YES]

My cheeks had grown so hot, my head pounded. “That’s— I’m just saying, if you wanted to—”

“If I wanted to, what?” he snapped. “If I wanted to, I could taste your blood, is that it? Is that what you want?” [YES] I shook. When my lips parted, the bottom one trembled. The chill in his words ran through my veins. “What a convenient situation we find ourselves in. A starving vampire and his singer are trapped in a tiny box where no one can hear her cries for help, and she is throwing herself at me, begging me to touch her so she can—"

“Not throwing. [girl you just threw yourself at him] Not begging. No. I-I’m not—I’m not saying you should drink me,” I said, nervousness making my voice uneven. “I’m saying if you wanted to go about this empirically, you would touch me. If I was a hallucination, you wouldn’t be able to.”

“Which provides us a perfect segway [WAIT this should be segue holy shit i did not mean the scooter!!!!! omg i'm editing this rn] into theory number two,” Edward said without acknowledging my comment: “I’m in hell.”

“Hell!” [i really wanted to make a Dante's Inferno/Biblical reference, but at this point i was rushing to get the last chapters out. i wanted it to be over; i was so disappointed at how CN had turned out. shoutout to my beta Soup for helping me get over the finish line!]

“Of course, you would want me to touch you.” The edge in his tone grew. “You want me to bite you, don’t you? You want me to taste your blood. You want me to drink every last drop from your beautiful veins until nothing is left because you are mine, mine—” [thus far, this is the closest Edward has ever come to admitting the truth to her: he has a very real desire to drink her blood. to ME this scene is so sexually charged...]

“All I’m asking is that you definitively prove I don’t exist. Which you can’t. Because I do. I’m trying to make you see that I’m real. That’s it.”

The low growl that punctuated our conversation made me shiver. Every molecule in my body tingled at the same frequency.

“And the second I buy into the idea that we’re finally together,” he said, “you’re going to die in my arms. I see your tricks.”

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

[fuckmeyer]

Ok I’m on my phone so I have no idea what 500 words looks like but I’d love to hear some more on this section from CN:

“No.” The cold left my body. The groan of falling furniture fluttered my eyelids. I twisted in the sheets. “Come no closer. You won’t take her from me.”

“Hush. Let’s not wake Isabella.” Over the low growl, in a coo as calm and lilting as a low tide washing in, the other man said, “I’m not here to take her away. It’s all right. I won’t take her away. I am here only because—”

“I won’t hunt. She needs me. I won’t leave her. You won’t take her. You won’t trick me. Who told you I was here? Alice?”

A silence had the familiar voice snarling something under his breath.

“It took me some time,” said the calm male voice. “Her directions weren’t exactly specific. Luckily, you picked quite the lavish vacation home to commit a misdemeanor.”

“But now you’re here and you’ve come to take her away,” said the other uneven voice. “You won’t. She’s mine. She’s not going. Not without me. You won’t take her. She’s mine.” After a pregnant pause, he inhaled raggedly. “I am not delusional.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Don’t lie.”

“You know what we say about first thoughts.”

“We,” he spat. “How dare you invoke his spirit.”

I shook with sweat. Where did the cold go?

“May I ask when the last time you fed was?”

“No.” A pause. Hesitation. “I—I don’t know. A while.”

“How long is a while?”

“I don’t know,” he stressed. “Rio. Texas. I don’t know.”

The words came slow and careful: “I suspect…in light of this fact…you may be under the misapprehension that I am not real.”

“I-I— well, it—it’s— No, I don’t need to hunt, for god’s sake, stop thinking it!”

“You are a danger to her in this state.”

“You’re the danger!”

“Shh…”

I called out for the cold. It came to me.

“Can't have her. You can't have her. Mine. Mine.”

“Edward. Control your breath. You will frenzy.”

“I know. It’s bad. I know. I’m fine. I am. I’m not the danger, it’s—it’s— It’s bad. Isn’t it. She’s got—it.” Fear trembled the young man’s whisper. “Don’t lie. You smell it on her.”

“I do.”

“Then you know. I can’t leave. I can’t hunt. She’ll die. You’ll take her. You can’t have her. She’s mine. I won’t let her go. I won’t make the same mistake. I can’t.”

“You are referring to…” Beat. “Edward. You must know the circumstances are entirely different. Your mother contracted the influenza a century ago during the height of the pandemic. We did not have the resources and technology to treat her as we do with Isabella. It will be all right.”

“I can’t risk it. Not while she’s fevered. I can’t leave her side. I won’t. I can’t make the same mistake. This…is a test…and if...I leave…again…” Words dissolved into uneven breaths.

“Shh. Okay. It’s okay. It’s all right. I understand. Breathe slowly. We don’t have to go anywhere. We can stay right here. Open the window. Keep breathing. Do you mind very much if I wait with you? I won’t take her away. I promise. I’ve only missed you so.” A creaky floorboard near me groaned; the young man snarled. “All right. Shh. I won’t get close. She is yours.”

“Mine.”

“Yours. Yes. And so, I will sit here, on the other end of the room. —Is this okay? Over here?”

A deep growl soft as a whisper came in response.

COME NIGHTFALL CHAPTER 30: 03:00 - DVD COMMENTARY

“No.” The cold left my body. The groan of falling furniture fluttered my eyelids. I twisted in the sheets. “Come no closer. You won’t take her from me.”

“Hush. Let’s not wake Isabella.” Over the low growl, in a coo as calm and lilting as a low tide washing in, the other man said, “I’m not here to take her away. It’s all right. I won’t take her away. I am here only because—” ["YOU NEED TO HUNT"]

“I won’t hunt. She needs me. I won’t leave her. You won’t take her. You won’t trick me. Who told you I was here? Alice?”

[yes. Carlisle arrives at 3AM. the earliest they would have left is 3PM CET, or ~8AM PST. so, as soon as they touched down in Italy, Alice was making calls asking them to follow. she had solid enough visions on the flight that someone was going to get out of there, though she didn't know who. THE GIRL WAS MAKING MOVES]

A silence had the familiar voice snarling something under his breath.

“It took me some time,” said the calm male voice. “Her directions weren’t exactly specific. Luckily, you picked quite the lavish vacation home to commit a misdemeanor.” [outskirts of Florence]

“But now you’re here and you’ve come to take her away,” said the other uneven voice. “You won’t. She’s mine. She’s not going. Not without me. You won’t take her. She’s mine.” After a pregnant pause, he inhaled raggedly. ["The delusions are worsening. Or, rather—"] “I am not delusional.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Don’t lie.”

“You know what we say about first thoughts.” [Edward used to fly off the handle a lot in his newborn days, especially in reaction to others' thoughts. Carlisle always used to tell him that first thoughts are the product of social conditioning, while second thoughts determine a person's true character. (That is, first thoughts are impulse and don't matter, but second thoughts are calculated and *do*.) Carlisle means to say that while he doesn't think Edward is delusional, he does think Edward is starving enough not to process their meeting coherently.]

“We,” he spat. “How dare you invoke his spirit.” [ok calm down buddy]

I shook with sweat. Where did the cold go? [literally i modeled this scene after the stupid tent scene in Eclipse. if smeyer is allowed to have a conscious unconscious Isabella who can hear conversations, dammit, so am i!!!!!!!!]

“May I ask when the last time you fed was?”

“No.” A pause. Hesitation. “I—I don’t know. A while.” ["HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN SEVENTEEN???"]

“How long is a while?”

“I don’t know,” he stressed. “Rio. Texas. I don’t know.” [Rio. ate rats in the slums before starving himself in his apartment]

The words came slow and careful: “I suspect…in light of this fact…you may be under the misapprehension that I am not real.”

[in Chapter 27: Volterra, Aro says : "Perhaps Carlisle has not disclosed to you his firsthand experience with nervous consumption, but the delusions become quite vivid…" Nervous consumption is the archaic 17th-century term for anorexia nervosa. even before leaving the Volturi, Carlisle 'experimented' with starving himself with the intent of 'recording vampire physiology.' per canon lore, a vampire can't starve themselves to death; in this universe, their minds produce vivid hallucinations as their bodies waste away.]

“I-I— well, it—it’s— ["He needs to hunt."] No, I don’t need to hunt, for god’s sake, stop thinking it!”

“You are a danger to her in this state.”

“You’re the danger!” [Edward thinks Carlisle is an angel sent to take Bells to heaven aslklaksl idiot]

“Shh…”

I called out for the cold. It came to me.

“Can't have her. You can't have her. Mine. Mine.” [it's at this moment Carlisle realizes Edward is using the verbal and physical language of a mated vampire. (Though E&B have been using this language since Chapter 24: The Angel in In the Afterlight.)]

[still, Carlisle isn't sure where the line of "mate" ends and where the line of "prey" begins.] “Edward. Control your breath. You will frenzy.”

“I know. It’s bad. I know. I’m fine. I am. I’m not the danger, it’s—it’s— It’s bad. Isn’t it. She’s got—it.” ["I do not know to what you are referring."] Fear trembled the young man’s whisper. “Don’t lie. You smell it on her.”

["Illness?"] “I do.” ["I do not deny she is sick, Edward."]

“Then you know. I can’t leave. I can’t hunt. She’ll die. You’ll take her. You can’t have her. She’s mine. I won’t let her go. I won’t make the same mistake. I can’t.”

“You are referring to…” ["...the death of your mother?"] Beat. “Edward. You must know the circumstances are entirely different. Your mother contracted the influenza a century ago during the height of the pandemic. We did not have the resources and technology to treat her as we do with Isabella. It will be all right.”

“I can’t risk it. Not while she’s fevered. I can’t leave her side. I won’t. I can’t make the same mistake. This…is a test…and if...I leave…again…” Words dissolved into uneven breaths.

[For a long time, Edward felt guilty for being away from his mother's deathbed when she passed (though she purposefully sent him away so he wouldn't watch her die). this is one of many transgressions Edward is being "punished" for by god.

he talks about it in Chapter 27: Volterra: “I’ll admit, trapping me in a small enclosure with my flu-stricken singer is a rather genius way to punish me for my sins: leaving Bells in Forks just like I left Elizabeth in the hospital..."

he goes into more detail re: the death in Chapter 10: Theories of By Starlight: “Four days after she was admitted, she told me to run home and fetch her favorite Indian comb. She said she was feeling better and wanted to leave that afternoon— Lord forbid she leave without her hair braided and pinned. When I came back, her bed was empty. The sheets were already changed. I never said goodbye.”]

“Shh. Okay. It’s okay. It’s all right. I understand. Breathe slowly. We don’t have to go anywhere. We can stay right here. Open the window. Keep breathing. Do you mind very much if I wait with you? I won’t take her away. I promise. I’ve only missed you so.” [Carlisle steps closer to Edward and Bella.] A creaky floorboard near me groaned; the young man snarled. “All right. Shh. I won’t get close. She is yours.” [he utilizes Edward's possessive nature to show submission to Edward in order to stay longer (and ultimately convince him to go).]

“Mine.”

“Yours. Yes. And so, I will sit here, on the other end of the room. —Is this okay? Over here?”

A deep growl soft as a whisper came in response.

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