#also this is not a post about devils minion so I’m leaving this in the tags but if the recovery took months and Armand erased it all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uozlulu · 2 years ago

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IwtV AMC fic. May You Get What You Desire Is a Curse upon the Dead.

Character(s)/Relationship(s) Armand, Daniel, Fareed, Louis; Armand/Daniel Genre Drama/Horror/Romance/Slash/Vampire Rating PG-13 (unless you want to count language then R) Word Count 9,615 Disclaimer As this is fanfiction, I do not hold copyright to the source material(s) nor do I claim that I do. This is for free entertainment purposes only. Summary Daniel wants the creature with the glowing eyes and sharp fangs. Armand wants the mortal shaped by life. Mortality forces their hands. Warning(s) spoilers up through season 1 episode 7, spoilers from The Queen of the Damned, vampire attack, language, drug use, imprisonment, stalking, blood drinking, implied sexual content, set during the AIDS crisis, set during the COVID-19 pandemic, unhealthy relationships, non-explicit sexual content, brief mentions of murder by vampire attack, brief mention of cannibalism, mention of death, coronavirus infection, major character undeath Notes I’ve been thinking about desire a lot lately. It might be my supermodel supports car midlife crisis. These thoughts led me to the final Daniel POV scene of this fic, and then I kind of came up with the rest of it from there. I decided not to write a straight up lemon because I’ve been there, done that, and I didn’t feel like doing it again. Sorry about that for all of you who were hoping this would be more explicit. As per usual, I’m on my Armand is Alice BS, but this time Daniel scrambled his own brain.

This fic is set up with all of Daniel’s POV scenes being in the past and all of Armand’s POV scenes being in the present so I could alternate between their perspectives without the timeline getting confusing. I thought a linear presentation wasn’t the correct vibe for the fic considering it’s about wanting things and so forth rather than a chronological exploration. I also tried to change things up a little while nodding to the source material so that it could hopefully be a kind of AU to enjoy no matter what the show does when it gets to all these things.

As a heads up, I’ve watched the show only once, I read Interview about twenty years ago in university, I’ve read the Devil’s Minion chapter of The Queen of the Damned, and several excerpts from various books along with synopsizes. Some of what I know comes from having friends and acquaintances in the fandom since I was in middle school and being an active part of the TV fandom since last fall. Sorry if I miss something or misremember it. Luckily, the show’s theme is the odyssey of recollection so I feel like I have some wiggle room to vibe a bit especially since it changes some things up here and there itself.

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May You Get What You Desire Is a Curse upon the Dead

It was the fall of 1972. Daniel had no time to react when Louis’ fangs sank into his neck. Daniel’s eyes widened. At first all he could process was the peeling wallpaper on the far wall over Louis’ shoulder. As pleasure began to swell, Daniel’s hands lifted, but he found no desire to struggle, to fight. He closed his eyes and his hands slowly lowered.

A door slammed open and an unnatural hiss filled the air. Cold hands shoved Daniel to the ground, ripping him from Louis’ jaws. Blood oozed from Daniel’s neck. His vision swam. His fingernails remained bitten and his teeth remained rounded. There was no transformation coming. He looked up just in time for Armand to force Louis across the room, both vampire’s fangs barred and eyes glowing.

‘Leave!’ a voice rang in Daniel’s mind and seemingly in his ears though no one spoke aloud. ‘Leave now!’

Daniel got to his feet, shoved his recorder into his pocket, and barreled out the front door, almost tripping on the stairs. Two and three story town houses rose up around him on both sides of the street, some painted dark and others light. They were all in varying states of disrepair. The occasional car sped by. Daniel touched his neck. It still bled. His knees wanted to buckle. He barely had time to register the front door opening before Armand stood beside him, dragging him by the arm to a small door on the same level of the town house as the bottom step.

“I thought you told me to leave,” Daniel tried to walk towards the street, but Armand’s grip was too steady and his strength too much to overcome.

Armand opened the door and urged Daniel inside. “Stay here until the blood stops. If they come looking for you, I will leave you to rot.” He shut the door and locked it.

Daniel rushed forward towards the door, but there did not seem to be a handle or hinges inside the room. There were no windows either. “Hey! Hey! What the fuck?!” He pounded on the door but there was no response. He tried shouting but again there was only silence. He could not even hear the occasional car speed by on their way home from the clubs.

Daniel reached into his pockets, finding only his recorder, condoms, matches, and the last of his acid. He cursed loudly. He must have left the interview mini-cassettes in the living room. So much for writing Louis’ memoir. Daniel sighed and lit a match to assess the room. The walls were stone and concrete. The door was metal. On the wall opposite the door there were wooden shelves holding a few canning jars filled with unidentifiable preserves. A skeleton lay slouched in a corner. The flames touched Daniel’s fingers and he dropped the match to the concrete floor and put it out. The room held some heat but it chilled with the night.

“Fuck this,” Daniel murmured and dropped acid.

The bite on his neck stopped bleeding before the trip ended. He lit a match to look at his watch but he could not be sure if was four hours or sixteen hours later. His stomach rumbled. He never should have sold his lighter. He lit another match and peered at the preserves. All of them looked like organ meat canned in garish pink or red liquid. His stomach rumbled. He did not have the luxury to abstain. He opened one of the jars. It smelled of strong, unidentifiable spices to enhance the deep red color. Daniel pulled the pickled meat apart with his fingers and tasted it.

“Christ.” He almost spit it out but willed himself to swallow. He tried another small piece and managed not to gag. He gave up on a third helping and closed the jar. He sat against the wall under the shelves and rubbed his face. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, there was a canteen of water near the door. He rushed forward and guzzled the water despite wanting to make it last. The more he drank, the more he became aware that the door was only barely open. Night breeze blew into the room. There was enough streetlight to see the canteen and the figure standing nearby, its eyes glowing orange in the darkness. Daniel almost choked on the water.

Armand stepped into the thin slice of streetlight. It made his brown skin glow the same orange as his eyes and made his dark curls almost shimmer a deep, dark amber. He titled his head and one eye caught more light than the other eye did as he assessed Daniel.

“Is this a ritual?” Daniel asked. He did not remember Louis mentioning starvation and the most disgusting offal known to man before Lestat turned him.

“No,” Armand said. “It’s a stay of execution.” He moved swiftly, standing just in front of Daniel in not even a blink of an eye. The backs of his fingernails skimmed the scabs at Daniel’s neck. “I can’t decide how to kill you.”

Daniel shivered. He should take a step back but he could not look away from Armand’s eyes and fangs. “You could kill me by turning me instead. You know, win-win…?”

Armand laughed, melodic but raspy, filling the room and Daniel’s stomach with echoes. “No. I won’t do that.” He leaned forward, his breath cold against Daniel’s face. “You will run and when I catch you, I’ll show you my choice.”

Armand’s fangs glistened in the dim light. Daniel swallowed and somehow found his legs. He pushed past Armand, running from the room. He raced down the street until he gave way to panting and nausea. He did not know where to go. His stomach rumbled. His throat felt dry despite the water He glanced over his shoulder. Armand’s eyes glowed down the street in the shadows. Daniel turned and fled.

It was the summer of 2022 in Dubai. A three-sided tower rose in the air amongst other skyscrapers. From two sides, it looked out across the sprawling city, and from its third side, the city gave way to the gulf glistening in the distance. Sunlight illuminated Armand’s skin but did not burn or heat it. All the windows except one protected any vampire in the building from its rays. Armand adjusted his gloves. He filed his nails to half their length and wore brown contacts. He slipped into Louis’ entourage without comment or incident. The disguise was Armand’s invention, but it was Louis’ suggestion to do a second interview since the first one never resulted in a memoir. As the sun faded from the sky, Armand heard the elevator whirr. If he needed to breathe, he might have held it.

Daniel entered the apartment. The lamplight clung to him, bringing out the white in his hair. His heart beat in Armand’s ears and his breath filled the air. His eyes caught the light and shone sharp and clear, focused on Louis and the upcoming interview. Armand stepped forward to shake Daniel’s hand. The touch traveled from Armand’s arm to his stomach effortlessly.

Daniel let go and immediately turned away, his attention still elsewhere.

Armand blinked. He flexed his fingers. The jolt in his stomach turned to a fire that spread throughout his body. His eyes fixed on the back of Daniel’s head. He could not process what Daniel and Louis said to one another. Daniel did not spare him another glance or another thought. It was a game! It had to be!

“Rashid,” Louis said and then repeated in a firmer tone, “Rashid.”

Armand blinked. He let the anger simmer. “Yes, sir.”

“Show our guest to his room,” Louis said and held Armand’s gaze a long moment.

Armand did not look away. “As you wish.” He picked up the bags and led the way through the penthouse. Daniel’s thoughts were as loud as ever hopping from food to Louis to the flight to the interview to the pandemic, and the interior of the penthouse. The distance between Armand and Daniel grew. Armand slowed his gait. Daniel’s arms did not move at his sides as he walked. Sometimes Daniel almost seemed to forget to blink. His thoughts continued, turning more towards jetlag and the interview than anything else.

“This is your room,” Armand said. He placed the bags inside near the bed neatly. “Do you require anything, Mr. Molloy?”

Daniel looked at him rather than through him this time. There was no flash of recognition. No twinge of memory. Not even a sign in Daniel’s mind of that ridiculous creature Daniel spoke of in his memoirs with the two toned eyebrows and hair dye instead of glowing orange eyes and brown contacts. Daniel nodded and said, “I don’t need anything.”

Armand opened his mouth and closed it. He needed to stay in character. “Of course,” he said and slipped from the room to escape deeper into the penthouse. The fire that once coursed through him quelled. There was no game. There was nothing. It was possibly worse than silence.

Armand slipped out onto one of the balconies. Clouds obscured and revealed the stars as they passed overhead. Armand stared at them until they blurred into a haze of red.

It was the spring of 1973. Orange eyes followed Daniel everywhere since leaving San Francisco. He traveled through the United States to Canada and on to Europe. His travels led him to Asia and his feet tonight led him to the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden in Tokyo. Thick heavy clouds covered the entire expanse of sky. It was after hours, but so far, Daniel had not encountered any guards or other trespassers. He slowed his walking and stared up at the cherry blossoms lit up on display. Their scent mingled with the threat of rain, and they fell to the ground with every pass of the breeze.

“Even on the run from a vampire you find time to admire vampires,” Armand said at Daniel’s side.

Daniel jumped. His heart beat in his ears. “Jesus!” He turned to face Armand.

Armand’s eyes did not glow, but his brown contacts caught the garden lights. “There’s no need to speak of Him right now.”

“I’m not…” Daniel took a few breaths and let his heart calm down. “I’m not really talking about Him.” He shifted his weight. This was his cue to escape once again, but his feet remained in the damp grass. He looked around them and then returned his attention to Armand. “The only vampire I see here is you.”

“Cherry trees are vampires.” Armand did not blink. His shoulders seemed almost too square. He smelled of blood and his skin was a pleasant, almost human shade of brown tonight. “They suck up blood at the roots. The more they suck, the deeper their color.” He leaned closer, his cool breath tickling Daniel’s ear as he spoke, “See that white one? It’s barely pink. It drinks like Louis thinks he does.” He paused and gestured to a tree with deep pink, almost red blossoms. “That one is like me. Full of blood.”

Daniel’s gaze did not leave Armand. He felt every whisper in his stomach. “Why the contacts?”

“Sometimes wolves know when to wear sheepskin,” Armand said.

“It’s nicer when you don’t,” Daniel said without thinking, but to his own surprise, he did mean it.

Armand stared at him unblinking. He removed the contacts and put them in a small container. His eyes glowed a deep orange.

Daniel smiled slowly. His heart beat a little faster, but it was different from when Armand startled him earlier. “And…the gloves. You should let your nails or claws or whatever they are breathe.”

The breeze rustled the trees and petals scattered. A hiss of rain drew closer. Armand stepped back. “The sun will rise soon.” He seemingly disappeared as the rain began to fall. Daniel lingered and then ran in the opposite direction, an almost emptiness blossoming in his chest.

It was only two days into the second interview. The sun disappeared and night overtook the sky but Louis was elsewhere in the tower and would not appear for a while. Daniel’s thoughts drew Armand out onto the balcony. Daniel stood beside a state of the art telescope; his glasses perched on his nose as he tried to discern what the controls meant and how to work the screen display. Armand noiselessly shut the door and walked deeper into the balcony. “Do you need assistance, Mr. Molloy?”

Daniel startled and he turned to face Armand. “Louis should put a bell around your neck.”

“Mr. de Pointe du Lac can always hear me.” Armand settled beside Daniel and began to work the controls of the telescope. Soon an image came up on the display of the clouds swirling across the sky, a planet peeking out between them every so often. Armand began to zoom.

“Which buttons are you using?” Daniel asked.

“These buttons.” Armand could feel the warmth radiating from Daniel’s body. Armand could take a step closer. He could come up with a ruse to touch Daniel. Yet, Armand’s body was much too cold and Rashid was much too aloof for such things. Armand kept his focus on the display. Once he adjusted the view, he stepped to the other side of the telescope so Daniel could see the display clearly.

Daniel zoomed in until Saturn’s rings faintly appeared whenever the clouds parted. His mind radiated curiosity. He snorted lightly. “Alice loved this kind of stuff. We’d stay up to all hours while she studied all the planets, any star, whatever caught her attention.” He smiled. “She always wanted to see things, know things. She’d find insects and slice them open to look under microscopes. She’d made these hideous concoctions in the blender.” He shook his head. “One time she woke me from a dead sleep, demanding I call some idiot in Paris for her. She was an absolute menace.”

Armand licked his lips. Sand and beach spread out from Daniel’s mind, interweaving with Armand’s own memory. They were alone, the water slowly flowing to shore, with a telescope pointed at the heavens. It was hot and humid and sweat drenched Daniel’s body. Armand zoomed in on the planets clustered together. “It’s hard to believe Jupiter is so large when it’s also so tiny.”

Daniel laughed and the ocean breeze ruffled his hair. He wiped the sweat from his brow on his tank top. He took a drag on his joint and watched the smoke spiral up into the air. “Maybe scientists are just fucking with us.”

The memory shifted to Daniel’s perspective, but instead of Armand operating the telescope, a woman with the same brown skin but the most garish eyebrows stood in his place. She seemingly had no face, but slowly eyes appeared and glowed a bright, deep orange. Just before her visage could turn into Armand, the memory faded all together.

Armand blinked and found himself back on the balcony in Dubai, away from Daniel’s thoughts. The breeze from the gulf pushed Armand’s hair from his face. He sighed long and low.

“I know Louis probably sent you out here, but you don’t have to stay,” Daniel said. He changed the position of the telescope and zoomed in on a different planet. Letting his hands manipulate the telescope helped ease the tremors.

“I do what is asked of me,” Armand said. “I don’t question it.”

“For someone who claims to worship their boss as a god, you sure are hate your job,” Daniel said. He found the power button and shut down the telescope.

“My job isn’t the only thing on my mind,” Armand said.

Daniel held his gaze, questions spinning through his mind. “What else is there? I’ve never been in a cult of personality before.”

Armand smiled. “If you don’t need anything else, I should procure Mr. de Pointe du Lac’s next meal.”

“I guess vampires wouldn’t have some kind of chef for that,” Daniel murmured. He nodded more to himself than Armand. “I need to get ready for tonight.” He retreated to his room.

Armand watched him go, unable to look away or blink. He licked his lips and then headed to the kitchens. There was so much more to do than just find Louis’ animal of the night.

It was midwinter in 1974. Daniel was not sure what possessed him to travel to Norway even for the view. The snow was ever-present and it was frigidly cold. His hotel was cheap but warm. He woke slowly, his eyes fluttering open as he became increasingly aware of a weight on the bed near his feet. Pages flipped rapidly. Daniel let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Armand sat at the foot of Daniel’s bed, The Boys of Summer by Roger Kahn in his hands. His glowing eyes scanned the words at an alarming rate. He finished the last pages and cast the book to the other side of the foot of the bed carelessly.

“Evening to you too,” Daniel murmured. He sat up and rubbed his face. Slowly his brain spun to life and he froze, peering through his fingers at Armand. Armand was in his room. Armand was on his bed. This was a first. Daniel made a mental note to stop getting high before bed. Although perhaps locks were irrelevant to vampires.

“Why did they put a building on the cover if it was about people?” Armand asked.

“The Dodgers played at Ebbets Field back when they were in Brooklyn,” Daniel said.

“But they leave that place half way through the book,” Armand said. He shook his head. “Illustrations should tell you what you’re going to read.”

Daniel sighed. He rolled out of bed. “Gotta piss,” he murmured and escaped to the bathroom. He took his time and splashed his face with cold water. He spoke with Armand plenty of times in plenty of places. This was no different but also very different. He ran a finger along the bite scar Louis gave him. Maybe Armand made up his mind. Daniel shaved in the off chance Armand decided to turn him. He returned to the room, finding the curtains open and Armand standing in the moonlight. It illuminated his skin, highlighting its discoloration from hunger.

Daniel could not look away. He licked his lips. “Did you decide how to kill me?”

Armand smiled. “You haven’t run away yet.”

“I’m not running until I see the lights.” Daniel started packing his bag. “Otherwise what was the point of freezing my ass off?” He reached for his coat and then stopped. A warm, beautiful black wool coat rested where he hung his threadbare jacket last night. “Whose…?”

“It’s yours,” Armand said. “Put it on.”

Daniel did so. When he put his hands in the pockets, he found gloves and money he did not have last night. He looked at Armand and then pulled his hands from the pockets.

“Let’s go,” Armand said. “I want to hunt.”

They entered the city. Armand disappeared from Daniel’s side. Daniel sighed. He chose a hotel close enough to the outskirts of the city that a short hike brought him well away from the city lights. Armand reappeared at Daniel’s side, his face a more human shade of brown now. They made their way out of the city until the northern lights overtook the sky.

Daniel’s breath condensed around him. Armand never once breathed. The lights shivered and spread across the sky, creating patterns and shapes that almost defied imagination.

Daniel inhaled snow and blood. He moved closer to Armand. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Temperatures mean nothing to my kind,” Armand said.

Daniel took one of Armand’s bare hands and pressed it between his gloved hands. Even through the fabric, Armand’s hand felt like ice. It slowly warmed under Daniel’s touch but never became as warm as it must have been in life. Daniel traced the curve of one of Armand’s nails with his finger. He looked up at Armand, finding Armand staring at him unblinking. Daniel’s eyes moved along the folds of Armand’s scarf to the shirts under his heavy coat. Daniel snorted and let go of Armand’s hand. “You wear a lot of layers for a guy who’s ambivalent to cold.”

Armand touched his warmer hand with his other hand, feeling the change in temperature before his skin could lose its borrowed warmth. “I like fashion.”

“You’re wearing bell bottoms,” Daniel said.

“I liked the color, so I ate the owner,” Armand said.

Daniel’s fingers ran along the lapel of his coat. He sniffed the fabric. It smelled faintly of blood. “Did you eat mine too?”

“How else does a vampire acquire clothing?” Armand asked.

Daniel’s fingers slipped away from the lapel. He did not remove the coat. It was much too cold for a moral dilemma.

When they returned to the city, Armand disappeared. Daniel sighed and adjusted the bag on his shoulder. He needed to move on so he could see Armand again.

It was early afternoon in Dubai hours before the fifth session of the interview. Armand noiselessly settled at the foot of Daniel’s bed while Daniel slept. He watched Daniel’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Armand counted each heartbeat, the inconsistent rhythm a steady warning. Fareed helped Armand devise a serum of diluted vampire blood to combat Daniel’s ailments, but it seemed as ineffective as the modern medicine supplied alongside it. How long until Daniel could no longer swallow? How long until Daniel stopped breathing? How long until Daniel’s heart decided to upset everything? How long until Daniel died?

A shiver ran through Armand. His jaw tightened. He should have objected more when Louis suggested the interview. He should have let Daniel languish in New York far away from Armand’s eyes and ears. Even then, Armand might have crossed that ocean. Even then, he might have spied on Daniel through the windows of Daniel’s home. Perhaps he always would have been perched on the foot of the bed watching Daniel sleeping right now.

Armand probed Daniel’s mind, finding the dreams shallow and distorted. Slowly a dream of a yellow room with too many chickens gave way to speeding through Paris on a scooter. Daniel clung to a man with no face. Armand could still remember driving that scooter, the breeze passing over them as they sped home. Armand’s memory replaced the dream in Daniel’s mind. Daniel’s body seemed to relax as the change dragged him deeper to sleep. It did not ease the tension in Armand’s shoulders.

When the memory faded, Daniel drew a ragged breath and then his eyes opened. He stared at Armand, still tired. Armand stared back at Daniel and did not blink.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?!” Daniel hissed as if whispering it would not alert Louis despite Daniel’s mind freaking out very loudly. Any vampire in Dubai could probably hear it.

“Whatever you want,” Armand said. “It’s your dream.” It was very much not a dream.

Daniel eyed him. He sat up slowly and flexed his hands several times to ease the tremors before putting on his glasses. “I’m not easily manipulated, Rashid. Dreams don’t hurt this much.”

“Of course it’s a dream.” Armand slowly pulled off his gloves, one finger at a time, and offered his hands towards Daniel.

Daniel ran the tip of his finger along one of Armand’s filed nails. His eyes shifted to Armand’s face. “But you’re not a vampire. Your eyes don’t glow.”

“Not in the waking world.” Armand leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of Daniel’s hips and one of his knees between Daniel’s legs. “It’s a dream,” Armand repeated, allowing the Mind Gift to add weight to the statement. He leaned back on his legs and removed his contacts, lowering his gaze as he cast the case casually towards the foot of the bed. His raised his gaze to Daniel.

“You…” Daniel’s voice trailed. His heart rate increased. He held his breath and then swallowed. For a moment, several memories of Daniel admiring Armand’s eyes flashed through his mind.

Armand leaned forward and placed a kiss to the bite scar along Daniel’s neck, letting his lips linger. “Sleep, beloved,” he said quietly.

Daniel immediately laid down, dragging Armand with him. Armand placed his ear against Daniel’s chest and listened to his heart’s ominous beat. Armand would have to leave soon to prepare Daniel’s treatment, but he did not sit up and instead pressed a cold hand against Daniel’s warm skin until he almost could not feel a difference in their temperature. He peered into Daniel’s dreams, but there was nothing to see, Daniel’s sleep was too shallow.

Armand’s fingers curled and his nails almost nicked flesh. His jaw tightened. He slowly sat up and retrieved his disguise before slipping from the room.

It was the spring of 1974. Daniel walked through the ruins of Pompeii well after sunset. Everything was wet and chilly but the rain would not return for a few days. Despite roaming openly through the ruins, he had yet to meet a guard. This was his fourth day in Naples, the longest he spent somewhere since he began his game with Armand. He had enough money to leave, but he chose to stay.

The breeze died and the humidity climbed. Daniel meandered up a road that led to the top of a hill. Ruined buildings lined the dark streets. All light came from the full moon. Someone moaned from between the buildings. Daniel followed the noise and arrived just in time to watch Armand cast a dead body into the dark recesses of what once was a shop or perhaps a home. Blood dripped from his fangs. Armand licked away every last drop of blood and removed his contacts.

Daniel did not look away. His heart beat in his ears, but its beat was a steady throbbing, rather than errant, flighty beats.

Armand did not blink. Neither of them moved. There was no sign of anyone else in the ruins. “You’ve stopped running,” Armand said.

“I have,” Daniel said. “I’m done running. It’s up to you. Turn me, kill me, fuck me – whatever you want.”

Silence passed. Ghosts seemed to press down upon them. The moon continued to rise, spreading more light.

“Turn you? Kill you?” Armand shook his head. “Never.” In a blink of an eye, he crossed the distance between them. His gloved hands slid along Daniel’s face. “We’re well past that.”

Daniel leaned into the touch. He inhaled the smell of blood and death. His heart continued to pound like prom night. He reached up, removing Armand’s hands from his face so he could free them from the gloves. “I want you. I love you.” He dropped the gloves to the ground.

Armand moved even closer. Their torsos almost touched. His hands returned to Daniel’s face, his nails slid through Daniel’s hair. He grinned at Daniel’s shiver, his fangs catching the moonlight. “You beautiful, foolish boy. You are mine.”

“I am yours,” Daniel agreed. His breath caught when Armand bit him, his fangs sliding right into the mark Louis left years before, a fresh warning for other vampires. Daniel gripped Armand’s hips and closed his eyes, shuddering with each draw of blood. Daniel waited for his body to transform.

Armand drew back and his fangs seemed to retreat. He swallowed and used his nails to rip a vein along his own neck. “I’m not turning you either. Drink,” he said, “and we will never part.”

Daniel watched the blood ooze from the wound, sliding and pooling along Armand’s skin. It smelled more fragrant than blood should. Daniel could not help but lick it, finding it just as sweet and thick as he imagined and warmer than he anticipated. Daniel sucked from the wound until the blood clotted. A warmth filled Daniel from inside out, warmer than any alcohol. His mind seemed to buzz faster than any stimulant and his nerves calmed quicker than any opiate. He gasped for breath and drew Armand into a kiss, pressing their bodies flush against one another. Armand’s hands slipped under Daniel’s shirt. Daniel pulled Armand’s shirt over his head. The rest of their clothes followed. Daniel’s legs hit the top of an overturned stone. He pulled Armand down with him. They took each other on the stone of ghosts with the moon as their only witness.

It was a week into the second interview. Louis gave the signal, Armand revealed himself, and Louis proclaimed him the love of his life. Daniel stared at them for a long moment, his thoughts filling the air, loud and cacophonous before taking a step back and saying, “Fuck this.” His eyes shone sharp and true as they shifted between Armand and Louis. “And fuck you – both of you.” Anger bubbled up from within, projecting from Daniel like a radiant aura. He grabbed his things and shoved them into his bag as indiscriminately as a computer bag might allow.

“The intent was to deceive,” Louis said, “because I couldn’t trust myself without Armand present.”

“Then you should have just written him into the contract. ‘No third parties’ my ass.” Daniel tried to wrap his cord in a semblance of a circle. He gave up and shoved it into its pocket in his bag.

“But that’s not why you’re actually angry,” Louis said and his lips quirked into a small smirk.

Daniel shut his bag. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Louis asked. “It’s not Armand’s presence you’re mad about, it’s who he is.”

Daniel glanced at Armand briefly. His attention returned to Louis. He shouldered his bag. “I’m out. Keep your money.” He left for his room to get the rest of his things.

Armand said nothing and followed Daniel. He entered Daniel’s room noiselessly.

Daniel’s hands shook terribly. He stood over his unopened suitcase, flexing his hands, trying to encourage the tremors to ease, but more than just Parkinson’s drove the tremors. He glowered over at the doorway. “Out.”

“You know you couldn’t meet with him alone,” Armand said.

“You also said you wouldn’t save my life this time,” Daniel said. “Like I can even remember you saving me a first time.” He opened his suitcase. His clean clothes were inside and folded. He started adding things he took out for various reasons to the suitcase, his movements slow. “Probably because you did something to my memories.”

“I didn’t,” Armand said.

“Bullshit!” Daniel paused in his packing. “I started remembering some things. I remember you at the bar. I remember something about a locked room. You were the person driving that scooter in Paris. I got high, we drank each other’s blood…” his voice trailed. He looked at Armand. “Someone’s fucked with my memories. I really doubt it was the vampire with a guilty eating conscience. I want my real memories back.”

That made two of them. Armand’s gaze followed Daniel as Daniel retrieved the last things from the room. “I don’t know if I can fix them.”

Daniel stopped packing. He walked closer to Armand. “You took them. You can give them back.”

“What makes you think I took them?” Armand ran his thumb along the side of his opposite hand.

“Every memory I had of Alice is turning into a memory of you. You’ve got Louis locked up in some gray garden where he can’t even reach the books he claims to love. You guys say you’re here to keep Louis from doing something he’ll regret, but I wonder if you’re actually here to keep him from telling the truth.” Daniel did not look away.

“Louis tells the story he chose. I don’t have any sway in it,” Armand said. “When you went to rehab, you never returned! How could I steal all your memories if you left and never came back?!”

“You could have done it before I checked myself in!” Daniel said. “The only memories I have that feel real anymore are from before I met you and after rehab!”

“Do you think I wanted this?!” Armand’s fangs appeared. “Do you think I wanted you to look through me? To ignore me? To treat me like this?! I thought you would recognize me! I thought you’d take my gloves off and tell me you missed my eyes!”

Daniel paused. His gaze moved from the glowing eyes to the fangs to the long nails. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and growled in frustration. “Then why Alice? Why didn’t I remember you as you until two nights ago?!”

“I don’t know!” Armand moved about the room, unable to stay still. “Even when I peer inside, I can’t fix it! Fareed’s drugs can’t fix it! Nothing fixes it!”

Daniel rubbed his face. He took a few deep breaths and tried to calm the tremors in his hands, but his whole body seemed to shake instead. “What have you even tried?! When did you try anything?! I think I’d remember Rashid sticking his hands on my face trying to manipulate my mind!”

Armand crossed the room before Daniel could even blink. He pressed his fingers to Daniel’s face. Daniel’s blood pumped under Armand’s fingers and warmed Armand’s skin slightly. “Stay still,” Armand hissed.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Daniel murmured, but he obeyed.

Fragments of memories filtered through Daniel’s mind. Armand tried to catch the pieces and match them to places, scenery, colors, incidents – anything. No matter what he found, no matter what he connected, nothing felt complete. Nothing felt whole. Even with Alice disappearing, Armand found himself faceless in Daniel’s mind. Armand’s fingers slid down Daniel’s face, one of his filed nails leaving a mark without drawing blood. Blood stung Armand’s eyes. He turned away and hissed, long and low.

Daniel frowned. His mind spun, projecting snippets of memory, questions, and thoughts. He sighed. “We can work on this. If I leave, then I get nothing. But, I swear if you two keep fucking with me, fuck my memories, I’m on a plane home.”

Armand wiped the blood from his eyes. He kept his back to Daniel. Daniel’s heart beat in his ears like a timer. He could heard Daniel unpacking. They only had a week before Daniel would pack for real.

It was late spring in 1979. Two years ago Daniel and Armand started living in Greenwich Village, making periodic trips abroad on Armand’s whims. They hopped from apartment to apartment, filling each with clothing, kitchen gadgets, slides of insects and other creatures sliced into different pieces, never to return once they left the city. Tonight was chilly and smog obscured the moon. Armand latched onto Daniel’s arm as they left the theater and began to sing the songs from Sweeny Todd: Demon Barber of Fleet Street. No one else on the sidewalk paid them much mind, too drugged, drunk, or busy to care. When the singing ended, Daniel looked over at Armand. “Was it really like that back then? Did they get the outfits right?”

“I don’t know.” Armand moved closer. “I don’t think about time like that. It’s too big, too tangled. I need a specific date.”

Daniel thought a long moment. “January 2, 1850. What happened? What was it like?”

Armand did not answer immediately. His contacts obscured his eyes and the whir of his mind. “I was in Paris. There was so much snow that some bridges stopped working. We put on a show and snatched the first family to enter the theater. We ate them in front of a full audience. A woman died in the front row of fright.”

“So you guys were eating people as a play back then too?” Daniel asked.

“Mortals love the macabre,” Armand said. “The actors could have really baked people into pies onstage tonight and the audience would have reacted with the same enthusiasm.”

Daniel frowned. Would he have noticed if the musical was really a snuff piece instead of pretend? Would he have noticed real cannibalism? The part of Armand’s arm not covered by glove or sleeve brushed Daniel’s skin. It enhanced how cold Armand felt at Daniel’s side. Daniel inhaled the faint smell of blood, death, and cologne. He swallowed and looked away, catching their reflections in a dark store window. Daniel blinked and slowed his pace. Armand slowed and looked at Daniel. Daniel’s gaze remained fixed on their reflections. Both of them did not look like teenagers. Both of them had no signs of wrinkles. They wore expensive clothing like some high-powered young professional couple on a night out after work. Daniel ran his tongue along his teeth. He could still remember looking at their reflections in other storefronts back when Armand looked noticeably older. If Daniel became a vampire now, they would look the same age forever.

“I will not.” Armand let go of Daniel’s arm and stepped away.

“I didn’t ask.” Daniel followed.

“You were thinking it,” Armand hissed a warning.

“Then stay out of my head if you don’t like hearing what I want,” Daniel hissed back.

“Your thoughts are too loud to ignore.” Armand’s pace quickened.

Daniel tried to catch up. “Look, I’m sorry. I just… I want to be at your side like this forever. I want to be your equal. I don’t know why that’s such a bad thing.”

“Because it won’t be like this!” Armand turned to face him. “The Dark Gift is never like this! I won’t damn you! I won’t curse you! You’re beautiful! You’re human! Embrace that!”

Daniel’s heartrate increased with Armand’s intensity. He could almost see Armand’s eyes flash behind the brown contacts. He could almost see Armand’s fangs catch the streetlight. “You’re beautiful too, you know. There’s beauty in the undead.”

Armand eyed Daniel and then turned away from him. “I’m going to hunt. I’ll return before dawn.”

Before Daniel could say anything more, Armand disappeared into the shadows. Daniel peered into the dark corners of the night, but saw nothing. He ran a hand through his hair and took a detour to buy drugs before heading home.

It was the ninth day of the interview. Sunlight streamed into Daniel’s room. Armand’s eyes barely glowed in the bright light. He set a tray of water, medicine, and a syringe on the desk. Daniel watched him from the window, his body bathed in the sunlight. It was difficult for Armand to look away.

“I doubt you’re medically trained,” Daniel murmured.

“Fareed showed me how to do the injection.” Armand poured the water into the glass on the tray. He arranged the pills neatly on their china plate.

Daniel walked over. He took his pills slowly, almost choking towards the end. He put a hand on his chest and Armand gently hit him between the shoulders. It was firm enough to help. Daniel shut his eyes, took a few breaths, and then groaned quietly. “I’d say, ‘Never get old,’ but too late.”

“I’ll let Rashid know.” Armand checked the syringe. He could smell his diluted blood inside it even before he removed the sterile cap over the needle. “Fix your sleeve.”

Daniel pushed up his short sleeve. He did not flinch when Armand injected the blood serum into his muscle. “I’ve been dreaming about living in a mall. I don’t think I’m homeless in the dreams.”

“It was our home.” Armand set the used syringe back on the tray. “You owned it along with the island.”

Daniel lowered his sleeve and settled into a chair. “If I owned an island I wouldn’t have had to start college funds for my kids.”

“You still own it,” Armand said. “It wasn’t mine to sell.”

“Where is it?” Daniel watched Armand.

“Off the coast of Miami.” Armand stood in front of the desk.

Daniel stared at him a long moment. “Night Island? That abandoned tourist trap? That place my daughter almost died trying to parkour in college?”

“I don’t know its current state. I haven’t been there since you left.” Armand ran his thumb along his opposite hand.

Daniel’s eyebrows furrowed together. He leaned forward and tried to think, tried to remember. Palm trees, night skies, fresh sea air, shouts and cries echoing through ample atriums projected from his mind punctuated by garbled synthesizer music. These thoughts gave way to advertisements for documentaries trying to probe how such a mall could shutter so quickly at the height of its popularity.

Armand stepped forward and rested his fingers on Daniel’s forehead, allowing his thumbs to rub small circles against his temples. He tried to encourage whatever memories he could find, no matter how small the fragment or distorted the image.

Daniel closed his eyes and did not move his head from Armand’s touch. Memories flowed from him in fleeting flashes. Orange eyes, warm nights, vicious fights, the cars that would collect them, the texture of the sheets of their bed. “Your hands are always cold. You always smell of blood.”

“You used to like it,” Armand said.

There was a long pause and an internal debate before Daniel spoke, “I still do.”

Armand let his fingers slide down and away from Daniel’s face. Daniel opened his eyes and gazed up at Armand. Even if his long-term memory was in pieces, his gaze was still strong, still curious, always thinking. Armand leaned down and Daniel’s mind projected doubt.

“You worry you’re not the boy I once loved,” Armand said, his breath against Daniel’s ear.

Daniel shivered and swallowed. “I know I’m not.”

“No one is who they used to be,” Armand said. His settled onto the chair, kneeling so he straddled Daniel’s lap.

Daniel’s gaze returned to Armand. “I’m soft and saggy. I’m not the kid you used to lead around naked by a leash.”

“You remember that?” Armand mouthed along Daniel’s neck, purposefully denying his teeth.

“Almost wish I didn’t.” Daniel shivered and his hands rested on Armand’s hips. His doubt faltered when Armand ran his teeth along his neck but did not bite just yet.

Armand bit Daniel’s ear, not using his fangs yet, feeling Daniel’s grip tighten. “You are mine, my beautiful foolish boy,” Armand said against his skin. “If your body could stop me, you would not be here.” He bit Daniel right on the bite mark, taking only a few sips, letting the mark fester anew as a sign to any vampire to stay away from Daniel.

Daniel moaned. When Armand kissed him, he returned it without hesitation. The kiss broke so Daniel could breathe. A second kiss became a third and a fourth. Clothes found their way to the floor. Blood oozed. The chair groaned in time with their motions. It sang with their moans. The sun continued to shine.

It was the summer of 1984. The grand finale of the fireworks display in Chicago finished erupting along Lake Michigan. The crowd of onlookers surrounding Daniel on Navy Pier began to disperse as the smoke began to fade. Daniel’s stomach rumbled. Gloved fingers pressed against his back with no warning or noise. Daniel felt tears come to his eyes but they did not fall. “Hey, boss,” he said very quietly.

“Tears after you insisted on leaving for good?” Armand asked. “Where’s your resolve? Perhaps I should have given you more time to find it.”

“I’m sorry.” Daniel wiped at his eyes. “I woke up that morning and flaked.”

“As you have five times already.” Armand’s cool breath tickled Daniel’s ear. “Are you going to again? Don’t you tire of it?”

Daniel shivered. “My beard’s turning gray. I’ve got these lines on my face. It’s too much.”

“Many would envy such things.” Armand’s hand remained firm at Daniel’s back, a tether, a chain. “You should not fear them.”

Daniel did not envy it at all. He sighed. “I can’t even string five words together anymore.” His jaw tightened. “I can’t remember the last time I turned in an article. I can’t remember the last time I got more than a page typed. I’m spinning my wheels.”

“Then write your articles on the computer,” Armand said. “Work when I sleep.”

“All I end up doing is hacking and pushing money around,” Daniel said. “I don’t want to do that for the rest of my life.”

Armand moved so they faced each other. His hands rested on Daniel’s hips. The crowd continued to thin. No one spared them a second look. He reached up and ran his fingers through Daniel’s hair. Daniel leaned into the touch. Blood, death, and a faint scent of cologne filled Daniel’s nose. His heart beat faster and he swallowed. Armand kissed his face, his lips cold, inviting. Daniel swallowed again. “I want to go home.” He was not sure where ‘home’ was but he knew Armand would at least return him to Night Island. That would have to do once again for now.

“Alright, beloved,” Armand’s hand grasped the back of Daniel’s neck, a gloved thumb caressing all it could touch. His fangs caught the light, a promise for later. “But if you run away for good again, I can’t promise I will find you.”

“Isn’t that our game?” Daniel asked.

“It was once,” Armand slowly released Daniel’s neck. He led the way to the waiting car. Daniel followed. Once inside, Armand allowed him a drink.

It was twelve days since the start of the second interview. There were no more diaries to read. The narration left post-war Paris and headed towards Louis and Armand’s reconciliation in the sixties. Armand sat in one of the chairs in the sitting room and edited a video on his iPad. Louis’ voice suddenly trailed mid-sentence. Armand glanced up and followed his gaze, becoming aware of an unsteady heartbeat gaining speed.

Daniel sat on the sofa. He leaned forward with his arms on his thighs. His head bowed, almost obscuring the flush across his cheeks. His chest worked for each breath. The insides of his arms were pink and almost splotchy, highlighting a series of inflamed nerves.

“Daniel,” Louis said, and repeated the name in a firmer voice.

Daniel’s gaze shifted from the floor to Louis. His eyes were far away. He swallowed and nodded. “Right. Right….” He glanced at the notes on his screen. His mind could not focus. His hands tremored more than normal. His face seemed to become redder. His brain repeated a question to himself that he could not seem to answer.

“We should end here for tonight,” Louis said.

Daniel did not object. He closed his laptop without much thought and started putting things in his interview bag. He coughed a few times, dry and hacking. Daniel bid them goodnight and headed to his room. Armand followed.

Daniel barely entered the room when he began to cough again. The bag slipped from his shoulder and he leaned against the corner of his desk. When the coughing spell ended, he seemed more exhausted than anything else. He glanced over at Armand. “What happened to privacy?”

“Can you balance if you let go of the desk?” Armand asked.

Daniel rolled his eyes and let go of the desk. He was unsteady on his feet, but he sat on the chair before he could fall. “I’m sick. It happens.”

Armand helped divest Daniel of his clothes. Daniel shivered with chills and got into bed without protest. He groaned as only a fever could muster. “I’ll be fine in the morning. You don’t have to hover.” He coughed again, still dry and hacking.

Armand glanced out the windows. It was still night and the sun would not rise for hours. He looked back at Daniel. Daniel’s eyes were closed and his breathing still rough as his mind ached for sleep. Armand pressed a finger to Daniel’s hot temple and eased him as deep to sleep as Armand dared. A weight settled in Armand’s stomach. How many plagues did Armand witness? How many people did he watch succumb to something as simple as a cough? How many faces turned blue? How many stared upwards with unblinking eyes when the end came? He could not remembered feeling such weight before in those crises. Even during the blood plague decades ago, Armand always found Daniel alive and without illness. This time….

Armand did not wish to finish the thought. He curled up on a chair and tapped the screen of his iPad back to life. He began to devour anything he could read on this new plague as he had when he first learned of Parkinson’s. Information conflicted. The governments of the world had things to gain. It was like any other plague but somehow less clear.

Daniel’s coughing grew more frequent as night became day and his mind quieted. Armand remained at his side.

It was the fall of 1985. “Hotel California” played on an endless loop in Daniel’s mind. Here he was yet again on the balcony of the penthouse on Night Island after vowing to leave and find a way to live as himself again. “Blue Monday” by New Order echoed from the open atriums below. Sometimes shouts and laughter drifted up to his ears. Daniel sighed and retreated into the penthouse. He returned three days ago. He already wanted to leave again. If he left, he would only return. He always returned for Armand, for his blood. The thought made Daniel’s stomach rumble.

He passed by a small table and then stopped. A white envelope sat upon it, his name written in strangely familiar script along with a stamp and postmark. Daniel looked around, but there was no one nearby and Armand still slept. He could not remember the last time he received anything by mail.

He carefully opened the envelope and read the letter. It was from the most legendary tomboy in his entire high school. Her handwriting looked almost the same as it did the last time they traded papers to grade them in class. Daniel slowly sat on the floor. He read the letter a second time. The first boy he ever kissed, the boy he might have run away from home for, had the boy not moved away, was dead. The tomboy was a nurse now and helped care for people suffering from AIDS. She thought Daniel might want to know about their classmate’s death.

Daniel heard of AIDS, but he had not paid attention. It was hard to focus and care about current events while trying to untangle himself from Armand and his vampire blood. Daniel stared at the letter until tears threatened. He averted his gaze to the ceiling for a long moment and then rose from the floor. He found the latest edition of the local newspaper, but it had no articles. All others newspapers he could find were the same. He was behind everyone. The world likely moved on years ago without a reason to care about a virus targeting mostly gay men. Daniel folded the letter, put it in his pocket, and headed for the ferry. When he reached the shore, he headed to the University of Miami’s medical library. The girl at the desk mistook him for a professor. He did not correct her.

He gained access to every newspaper and journal article he could find on microfiche. He took notes in a small notebook he always kept in his pocket after his recorder broke years ago. There was not enough information. He needed to go to New York or San Francisco. Even then, he was not sure how much information he could gain. The current administration appeared to be deliberately making everything worse on purpose. Daniel searched until his eyes crossed and his glasses hurt the bridge of his nose. The librarian told him the library would close soon. Daniel gathered his notes and stepped out into the warm Miami night. He stared up at the moon for a long moment. He had to break the cycle. He had to get away from Night Island for good. He had no more excuses.

Daniel looked down the sidewalk. Orange eyes watched him from a distance, drawing slowly closer. Armand never blinked. He stared at Daniel, blood drying on his chin. Daniel’s eyes fixed on the blood. He took a deep breath. “I’m going to check into the hospital.” He paused. “I’m leaving.”

Armand continued to draw closer, each movement deliberate, slow, and light. “So you can call crying to come home in a few weeks?”

Daniel licked his lips. His breath hitched and then he cleared his throat. He met Armand’s gaze. “Forever. You win. I’m going to live my life. I’m going to give up on immortality.”

“You can give up on immortality and stay with me,” Armand said. “Isn’t that what you want? To be at my side forever?”

“Not like this! I’m not a toy! I’m not a pet! Either make me your equal or let me go!” Daniel pointed at himself. “I’m thirty-fucking-three! I’m not a boy anymore! My best friend just died of fucking AIDS and I’m sitting on an island in the middle of Miami Bay like the world’s biggest asshole!”

Armand hissed. “If you leave, you’ll catch that blood plague! You’ll die of an overdose! What if you run so far I can’t find you in time?! Stay on the island!”

“Whether I stay on the island or die in a ditch, I’m going to die! That’s what humans do! We die!” Daniel said. “I could fall off the penthouse balcony drunk off my ass and die tomorrow!”

Blood gathered along the corners of Armand’s eyes and threatened to fall down his face.

“Don’t,” Daniel said. “I mean it. I’m going to go to rehab. I’m going to forget how to drink your blood. I’m going to stay sober this time. I’m going to kick the government’s ass. You’ll turn on the television someday and they’ll be thanking me for this.”

“Then… Then go!” Blood trailed down Armand’s face. “Live your life and when you die, don’t expect me to appear!”

Daniel felt that hitch in his chest again. He hesitated and then he remembered the letter and the articles he read. “Hotel California” threatened to start playing in his mind again. He licked his lips. “Goodbye, Armand.” He slowly retreated down the sidewalk, heading for the main hospital entrance. When he looked over his shoulder, orange eyes glowed in the shadows, following his every move until Daniel disappeared into the building. As he stepped through the doors, he began concocting a story to tell about an ex-wife with eccentric tendencies and no mention of vampires at all.

It was seventeen days since the second interview began. It was five days since the interview stopped. Armand transformed Daniel’s room in Dubai into a hospital room. Daniel lay on his stomach in a hospital bed. Fareed’s trusted associates tended to him and machines monitored his condition. A ventilator sent a rhythmic hiss into the room every time it repeated its cycle. Louis said the sound was inescapable in other parts of the penthouse and the tower. Armand did not know. He had not left Daniel’s room since this began.

“Vampire blood, like all other treatments, is too experimental to know its success rate,” Fareed said as he finished checking Daniel’s progress. “He should be at Medeor.”

“Can we even move him now?” Louis asked.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” Fareed said. “You should have sent him there when the symptoms first developed.”

Armand heard their words but said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on Daniel. Daniel’s heart pounded in his ears. Each cough seemingly rattled his mind.

Time passed and grew irrelevant. Armand did not dare leave the room. He ate what victims Louis brought him. When Armand dared to sleep, he took Daniel’s hand. The sun spread across the room and retreated as it cycled. The machined continued to sound.

One night, the waning moon climbed into the sky. There was no one else but Armand and Daniel in the room. The machines sang their noises and then Daniel stopped breathing. It was only for a second. The cadence of his heart changed with it. Armand straightened and peered into Daniel’s dreams.

Everything was a bright, deep, dark red. The dream oozed almost into a puddle at Armand’s feet. Daniel stood motionless in the center, staring at the deterioration in an almost daze, his concept of himself varying widely. Sometimes Daniel was in his seventies, sometimes he was in his thirties, sometimes he was a child, and all ages in-between sometimes simultaneously. He looked to Armand with ever changing eyes and then his mouths formed the first syllable of, “Goodbye.”

Armand fled the dream. He loomed over Daniel as the monitors began to shriek. He ripped Daniel from their grasp and drew him into his lap before sinking his fangs into the bite scar. Armand drank until only enough blood remained.

Daniel’s body began to convulse as transformation overtook it. His hand reached up to remove the ventilation mask. Armand stripped it away and barely registered Fareed’s team arriving only to immediately leave upon understanding what happened.

Daniel’s eyes fluttered open, shades of purple and amethyst overtaking blue. He gazed up at Armand and rasped, “What did you do?”

“You know what I did,” Armand said. “You can smell it. You can feel it. You can hear it.” Blood slid down Armand’s cheeks. He could not look away from his creation.

Daniel slowly sat up. Armand continued to hold him. The hand that wiped Armand’s tears continued to lose all its warmth and shook almost imperceptibly. Like Louis’ depression, vampire blood could not fully heal problems of the brain. Silence permeated the room. It echoed through Armand’s body as his tears slowly subsided.

The End

#my fanfics #my fanfics 2023 #my iwtv amc fanfics #interview with the vampire amc #devil's minion

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mercy-misrule · 2 years ago

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interview with the vampire finale s1 spoilers

So I’m so excited for Daniel/Armand interactions

did they interact properly in the 70′s, did they have their devil’s minion nightmare doomspiral relationship, and it ended in Daniel refusing Armand, and getting clean? Did Armand decide to let Daniel go and Daniel has been mind whammied and also substance addled so that his memories are too fucked with?

Because folks I am all about that

The other and very funny option is Daniel/Armand enemies to lovers and Armand leaves Louis from whatever weird gaslight girlboss gatekeep relationship they are in, for Daniel, and Daniel’s like well shit, now I’ve got this awful twink to take care off.

God I’m so excited for this. The books are at their funniest whenever Louis is leaving Armand for Lestat or vice versa.

Also, this series is really justice for Daniel. He gets so fucked over by the narrative in the story, Anne shoots the amazing possibilities she wrote in the Devil’s minion in the head. And instead I am forced to deal with the deep mediocrity and one dimensional experience of Sybelle and Benji.

Keeping Louis and keeping Daniel in the story post IWTV shenannigans will be amazing. I desperately need Daniel to meet Lestat and rip him to shreds. I need him to wither under Daniel’s cynic wit.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv

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axoxtxhxh · 4 years ago

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Can you do Miche x male reader? Like male y/n is a tian shifter and would do anything to protect Miche even if the others deem it wrong. 18+ smit and some angest? If you want..🥺

So sorry this took me a bit. I really had to think about it to make sure I was doing a good job with it. I did cut out the smut only because it would have been too quick for this. I really REALLY hope you like it! ❤️

On Top of the World

Pairing: Miche x Male Reader

Content: Nearly all fluff, tiny bit of angst

Word Count: ~ 2,900

Summary: Reader is a Marleyan warrior, similar to a titan shifter, and one day he feels the need to save a scout from titans.

A/N: I am totally out of my comfort zone on this one since I don’t have much experience writing for a male reader, so I hope I didn’t do terribly. Thank you for the request and I hope you like it!

You remember the first time you saved Miche. You directly disobeyed orders and followed your commander. You were told to continue forward and clear a way for him as he stayed back, moving in to interact with one of the island devils who had killed four of Zeke’s titans in a few swift movements. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You had never seen someone moving so quickly and smoothly. His tall body flying through the air, jumping from titan to titan, his silky hair blowing all around his face as he spun and flipped. That’s all it took for you to follow Zeke as he approached the man. Your interest already completely attached to him.

You knew you couldn’t let Zeke know you were following him so you moved around the trees, hiding in areas he couldn’t see you. You were a small titan, not like the others, certainly not like Zeke. You were a minion to him, just a little busy bee that did what he asked.

You watched as Zeke spoke to him, the horrified look in his eyes was understandable. Zeke was an intimidating titan even for you. You couldn’t believe the strength of him, trying to stand on two broken legs as titans closed around him. That’s when your body took over and you can barely remember how it happened. One moment you were hidden in the trees watching it all happen and then next moment you were running, slashing through titans with your hands and running with Miche in your arms.

He was bigger than you thought he would be, your post in the trees not close enough to get a good look.

You weren’t a titan like the other shifters. You were considered a subclass to them. A lesser version created by Marley researchers in order to grow their army. You were the first one. A prototype. Something they liked to look at in horror, yet in the same breath, confidently ask you to do their bidding. You always listened, except that day.

You watched Miche squirm in your grip and you struggled to hold him. You weren’t as strong as titans were. You were certainly stronger in your titan form than human form, but significantly weaker than a normal titan.

“I’m not trying to hurt you.” You told him, your titan voice deep and throaty. His struggling stopped and you felt his body trembling at your voice. As soon as you shook off the titans following, you slowed down and gently placed Miche on the grass. You both sat there staring at each other. Miche unable to believe what he was seeing while the realization of what you just did hit you.

“You can talk.” Miche spoke first, still taking shallow breaths. You watched his broad chest rise and fall and wondered how it compared to the size of yours when you were in your human form.

“I can.” His eyes widened again at your voice and you took a step back, not wanting to scare him. “I—I’m a titan, but I’m also human.”

You were more of a shapeshifter than a titan, though someone looking at you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. The only difference was your eyes. You struggled to remember what your eyes looked like before you became what you were. Were they brown? Maybe green? You were sure they weren’t blue, but could never be certain how sure you were. It didn’t matter. They were now a luminescent glowing swirl of purples. Something to do with the chemical injections given to you during the experimentation phase of your transformation.

You explained all of this to Miche the second time you saw him. The second time you saved him. That first day was not the last. You would save him numerous times following that day. Each time was the same. Each time he knew you were coming. You could see a smile grow on his face as he picked up your scent.

You never understood his olfactory sense no matter how many times he explained it to you. He’d laugh at the confused look on your face each time he would try.

It was difficult what you were doing. The constant disappearing caught the attention of the warriors. They were always asking where you were running off to and you had to come up with excuse after excuse, lying to your comrades to spend time with the enemy. Those labels started becoming increasingly more confusing to you as did your feelings towards the man you were secretly escaping to meet.

Visiting Paradis wasn’t always top priority for Marley and in between the times you were able to see Miche, you found yourself lying in bed at night thinking about the times you were with him. He wasn’t at all how people of that island were described to you. He was funny and caring, someone you enjoyed spending time with. You often wondered if he thought the same about you. You wouldn’t describe yourself as funny, but he laughed quite a bit when you spoke. Serious conversations turned silly when he smiled.

That night wasn’t any different than the others. You were in bed, your thoughts quickly moving to Miche again. His broad shoulders and muscular arms at the front of your mind. You learned quickly that he was very playful, always play fighting, pretending to fight you when he became restless from sitting, laughing at himself when you playfully pushed him back. You tried not to think about his smile and his laugh as you felt a growing warmth in your stomach. Fighting it only made it worse though. The nights feeling so much longer unless you gave in.

You weren’t sure what it was that kept you going back to see him each and every time. It never occurred to you that he was making the same choice as you. Deciding himself that he wanted to see you each time you were on Paradis.

“Why do you come to see me?” You finally built the courage to ask him. You were thankful in your titan form he couldn’t see what you were feeling. He was sitting in the grass, looking up at the sky and shrugged.

“What else would I do?” He smiled. “Do I get to ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“When will you let me see you?” He finally looked away from the sky and directly at you. You tried to bring your eyebrows together, but your titan form prevented it, leaving you just staring at him.

“What do you mean? You’re seeing me now.”

“The real you.” He clarified.

He wanted to see you in your human form? What for? Was he trying to weaken you? This whole time was he trying to get closer to you in order to use you. He was using you to get to Marley, the get to the other warriors. He didn’t actually care about you. You didn’t know why you were thinking these things, but you were, you couldn’t help it.

“It’s fine, you don’t—”

“Why would you want to see me in my human form?” You stood up.

“Because I want to see you.” He laughed. Maybe it was a nervous laugh, but it felt like he was mocking you.

“What does it matter what I look like? Is that what you care about?” Miche stood up. He realized what you were feeling even without being able to see it or hear it in your tone.

“Y/N, I care about you.” He brought his hand to yours and you looked down at it. It was so small compared to yours, but you knew in your human form it would be so much bigger, able to completely cover yours as he closed his fingers around your hand. You pulled your hand away.

“You don’t care about me. If you did, you wouldn’t ask that.” You took a step back.

“I do ca—”

“You just want to see me weak and small. I’m not weak.” “I know you’re not. I wasn’t—Y/N, I wasn’t saying—”

He stopped speaking when you turned around and ran away, heading to meet back up with your comrades. Maybe they were right. Maybe this place was full of devils only out to get everyone. It didn’t feel right. None of it felt right. You felt confused and hurt. Why would Miche be like that? How could he be like that? He wasn’t anything like what you thought people here would be like. He was different. He had to be different. But when you thought about what he asked, you weren’t sure.

If he did care about you, why would he want to see you in a different way? If he cared about you in your titan form, that was how he saw you. Strong, tall, intimidating, a warrior. Why would he want your human form? Your human form was small, it was weak, it was tired and nothing special. That wasn’t what Miche cared about. He knows you as the titan that saved him. The tough, the durable, the giant titan that he could rely on. You were nothing like that in your human form. Nothing. He may not have known it, but you knew it. If he did care about you, it could only be in your titan form.

You stopped running. It was as if a wall were in front of you and you would hit it if you kept running, but the feeling you felt was more of a pull coming from behind you. A feeling that stopped you from leaving. You couldn’t. You felt something on your face and went to wipe it. Tears? You didn’t even know you could cry in this form.

There was a buzzing sound coming from behind you. You had never heard it before, but you knew what it was. That special gear the people of the island used to get around titans. The sound got closer and closer until it was right behind you, stopping suddenly and then you heard heavy breathing.

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. Even if all the reasons in your head told you to turn around. All the training you had told you to turn around, never turn your back on an enemy, but you didn’t. Miche wasn’t the enemy. Even though you knew the man you had fallen in love with was standing behind you, you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t.

“I won’t ask you to do it again.” He panted. “It really doesn’t matter to me what form you’re in.”

“Then why did you ask?” You stayed with your back to him.

“I… I don’t know.” He paused and you could almost hear his worry. “If this is the form you want me to see, if this is who you want to be, if this is who you are… I will love you either way.”

Love?

You turned your head, looking back at him and he smiled. The smile that set of everything. Your feelings, the reason you kept coming back. There was a familiar tingle in your spine and you cried out, your body shaking and bones cracking. Your transition from human to titan often went smoother than the other way around. It was painful and took much longer, your body tensing and sweating as it pushed through the unnatural process.

Your eyes were closed, but you could feel Miche’s eyes on you as your body twitched and shrunk down to half, a third, a quarter of the titan size. You struggled, but you managed to open them up enough to blink away the tears and see Miche’s face. He didn’t have the look of horror that you were expecting. There wasn’t even a look of disgust like you were used to from many of the Marleyan soldiers. It was a look you had never seen anyone give you before. It was a look you could only describe as adoration.

As soon as the shift was complete, you were forced to take shallow breaths as you tried to get enough air for your body. You held what was left of your pants to your stomach, trying your best to adjust to your weaker form. Your muscles felt tired, almost too tired to hold you up. This was a transition the other warriors never had to feel, they always kept their human form, hiding it in their titan’s nape. You, however, became something different, needing a period of adjustment as your remembered how to use your smaller body.

You took one final deep breath and slowly turned around. Miche stood in the same spot, unmoved from when he landed before your shifting started. You opened your mouth to say something, but you didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t really anything you could say.

Miche took a slow step forward, another slow step after that, and another step after that. Each step getting quicker than the previous one until he was standing in front of you. It felt strange and you knew he felt it too. You had never had to look up at him and he never had to look down at you.

He looked almost apprehensive as he stared at your face, trying to find parts of your titan face in your human one. He wouldn’t though, you were completely different. He looked into your eyes, the familiar swirling waves of purple and his face relaxed.

“Your eyes are the same.” He spoke softly.

“They don’t change.” His body stiffened slightly at your voice. It made sense. He had never heard you speak before and you wondered if it was uncomfortable for him to hear. He sniffed the air in front of you lightly.

“Your scent is the same too.”

“I—”

“So this is you?” He asked. The question completely unnecessary because you both knew it was. Still, you found it difficult to speak the confirmation and instead just nodded, having to quickly look away. You weren’t sure if it was discomfort or embarrassment, maybe even shame.

You weren’t that small for a man. You were very average, but to a titan, you were small. To Miche, you were small. You thought of the first time you saw him, flying through the sky over the titans, twisting and spinning as he cut their nape. You remembered his heavy breathing and thought about how big he would seem if you were standing with him as you were in that moment.

Before you even really thought about it, your hand had lifted up, moving towards where your eyes lay on his chest. You were hesitant to touch him, not even really sure if he was okay with you being close to him. You looked like an entirely different person than he was used to. You started pulling your hand away, dropping it to your side and Miche grabbed it, pulling it to his chest and holding it there.

You didn’t even have time to enjoy it because soon after he wrapped his arms around your body and lifted you up from the ground. Your legs were swinging as he spun in a circle and laughed, his smile seemed different somehow and before you knew it, you were smiling with him. The feeling of his strong arms wrapping around you felt so warm, your heart was slamming in your chest at the feeling.

He set you down quickly, moving his hands to your cheeks, cupping your jaw and pressing his lips to yours. Your eyes went wide, your hands holding his shoulders, and you forgot to breathe. There was a strange buzzing in your body that you had never felt before. It moved through you quickly and settled in your stomach. It felt good. You felt high. You felt like you were on top of the world.

Your eyes slowly closed and you opened your mouth, your arms going around Miche’s neck to pull him closer to you. His tongue brushed over yours as his arms moved around your waist and he pulled you up, spinning you in a circle again. It was a feeling you wouldn’t have been able to describe to anyone and a feeling that no one had ever told you that you could feel.

He set you back down and smiled into your lips, pulling away. You had expected Miche to look at you differently once he saw you, the real you. What you hadn’t expected was how different he looked to you. His eyes were brighter, his smile wider, his voice warmer.

You both took a deep breath and smiled, his hand finding yours and holding it tightly while he swung it back and forth.

“I think I might be able to take you on now.” He joked. You looked up at him, trying to guess what he was talking about and he put his arms up, play punching your shoulder and you laughed.

“I can always shift back.” You jokingly threatened, lightly pushing his shoulder.

“Not yet.” He grabbed your hand and pulled it behind his back, bringing you up against his chest. “Just a little longer like this.”

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otterskin · 4 years ago

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Dumb Details From the Loki Trailer I noticed but then got too serious about

First - apparently it’s not a trailer, so I guess we’ll get ‘Trailer 1′ later? ‘Exclusive Clip’ hardly seems accurate, but hey, I’m not Disney’s marketing division. I wouldn’t live in a shoebox if I was.

Dumb detail no. 1:

Owen Wilson’s jacket is...weird. Look closely.

And another shot:

Yeah...his jacket has a ‘reversed collar’. It’s a cut-out rather than cloth folding on top. Huh. What a strange design choice. What could it mean?

I’ve no idea, but that I watched the trailer enough times to notice this should concern you.

Detail No. 2

In this scene, we see what we can presume to be President Loki’s ‘Throne’. Notice the candy-canes. This is a Santa Claus throne, presumably from some mall Santa. This whole place might be in a mall, judging by the stuff in it.

But the Loki in this shot is not President Loki. Notice that he’s wearing brown pants, a thin brown tie, and the beige shirt he’s seen wearing in other parts of the trailer after he's apparently joined the TVA. President Loki wears black pants, a green vest and a wide green tie with a golden clip that resembles Loki’s little chevron he always has (more on that later).

So it would seem that Loki might meet President Loki here. President Loki might even be addressing him at the end of the trailer. It’s possible that his minions turn on him because there’s two Lokis and they don’t know which is the ‘imposter’.

Speaking of, there’s a minion with bicycle handlebars grafted to a football helmet here, likely meant to resemble Loki. I dig it. There’s also cans of food scattered among the rubbish here. Makes sense that food production is non-existent since everyone has resorted to wearing license plates and spoons. Love how tattered the whole aesthetic is.

This reminds me of the opening Michael Waldron’s script ‘Worst Guy of All Time’, which featured a similar post-apocalyptic setting after the ‘worst guy’ ruins everything and makes himself king of the ashes. That’s likely what’s happened here, but I hope that Loki isn’t anything like Logan Paul, who was the inspiration for that title character.

Ah, the mysterious female character watching a meteor shower WAY TOO CLOSE UP. But my eyes are drawn to one thing...

What is that oblong object with a shiny handle? Could it be...

A sword? I do love swords. Did you know there’s a bunch of pictures of me in the stock photos for ‘Fencing?’ That’s my cred for loving swords.

I suspect that this female character will be an amalgamation of Amora (shudder) and Sylvie and an alternate Loki of some kind. This sword is currently in her possession, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it or another timeline version of it becomes the Loki Show’s Loki′s weapon.

Loki has lacked a ‘weapon of his own’ in the MCU for quite some time. I mean, yes, he has his little knives, but they are many and disposable and something he chose for himself, rather than the two legendary weapons wielded by Odin and Thor, Gungnir and Mjolnir. In fact, throughout his appearances, Loki has seemed to want such a thing of his own - he briefly had Gungnir, and then the Gungnir-like scepter, and even tried to lift Mjolnir.

One might ask why Odin would’ve overlooked such an obvious show of favouritism. Why give Thor a storied weapon and leave Loki empty-handed? Heck, even Hela had the Necroblade.

In Thor 1, we might’ve assumed that the Casket of Ancient Winters was perhaps intended one day to be given to Loki, as it is shown with Mjolnir in the Vault and thus connected to it and the children who would inherit it. But in the comics, Odin did have another weapon of storied history put away for his second son: Gram the Sword.

It was locked for eons by Odin in a special vault which required five keys to be opened, and it was meant to be for Loki if he be worthy.[2] The five keys were infused by Odin with the powers of "journeys", "endurance", "secrets", "new beginnings", and "brotherhood", respectively.[3]

The sword, like everything else in comics, has a complicated history full of take-backs and twists, but let’s just leave it at ‘it’s a representation of Loki’s worthiness and belonging in the trifecta with Odin and Thor as a King of Asgard’. It gives him ‘equality’.

In the original mythology, it’s wielded by Sigurd to kill the dragon Fafnir, and the only relation it has to Loki is that Loki is partially responsible for Fafnir existing in the first place (my username is nod to this myth by the by. Sorry Ottär.) But hey, maybe that means we’re getting a dragon? The Fafnir would be very cool.

Or it could just be a bit of rebar in this mining quarry.

Then again...it appears somewhere else...

It’s easier to see in motion, but that’s a sword swinging on this person’s back.

So the hooded figure is this lady...shall we call her Amylkie? Does that mean she’s the antagonist of this show? Well...maybe, but I suspect the true antagonist is foreshadowed here -

So, what’s going on here? A young girl (Young Amylkie? Some other TVA prisoner that the guard is watching over? An oracle, A Norn, or a kid who wandered off from the tour group in a basilica somewhere?) She’s giving Mobius M. Mobius a...piece of chocolate. Maybe he saw a Dementor, I dunno. I suspect it’ll be a MacGuffin of some kind later. He looks pretty concerned here, which contrasts with his ‘another day at the office’ blaséness when dealing with Loki. But of course this is the eye-catcher:

So, Norse Mythology. It’s been Christiannized. You can thank Snorri Sturluson for that, but you can google all about him later. Let’s just say that he made many Norse figures into equivalents for Christian ones. Baldur is Jesus, pure and a sacrificial lamb who dies for a greater good. And the devil is...Loki. Something the Marvel comics and the MCU have continued.

Here we have a devil, dressed in green and with a distinct shape on his chest:

Hmmm...wait...I know that weird horny shape...

Ah. I’d say that cinches it. This is meant to be Loki. If you look at the devil’s hair, it also resembles Loki’s, being shoulder-length and black.

So, what’s devil-Loki doing? Laying an egg? Trying out a foot massager? For a second I thought it was a moon, but we see the moon over his left shoulder, amongst the stars. Which means this is - probably the Earth.

...Dammit; I live there.

So Earth is barren and being devoured by flames, likely caused by this Loki sitting atop of it (in a throne, no less). Aw gee, things look pretty bad, don’t they?

But wait - what’s that? Under the Earth (and, possibly, under the earth)?

It’s a plant. A shoot, to be exact.

Back to Ragnarok for a second. Ragnarok isn’t the apocalypse (something we see a lot of in this trailer - all of it seems to be exploring the end of days). Ragnarok is the fire meant to wipe out the old and fertilize the ground for the new. And after the gods have died, what happens? Well, Baldur emerges from Hel, one of the only surviving gods (hmm, seems him dying worked out, didn’t it?). He’s joined by Líf and Lífþrasir, who are the new first man and woman, who’s names mean ‘Life’ and who are pictured, usually, with plants and new life. It is they who are tasked who growing a new Yggdrasil after the destruction of the old. The previous first man and woman are Ask and Embla, meaning Ash Tree and Vine/Elm tree, so there’s a theme there.

So a new sprout, possibly a tree, growing out of the destruction of the old.

This fits with Loki’s role as understood in mythology. He checks the arrogance of the gods, including when they tried to achieve immortality (sorry, Baldur, nothing personal), and that keeps the gods at their best. After Loki is imprisoned, the gods become weak, unhelpful and foolish, and Yggdrasil starts to rot. Eventually Loki escapes and returns along with Surtur (who also resembles this figure) to burn it all to the ground. This is also referenced in Thor:Ragnarok, with Loki releasing Surtur in the Vault, a place of thematic importance to Loki and one that represents the hidden secrets and sins of Asgard). You could say Ragnarok continued into Infinity War, where Loki played an important part in aiding Thanos’ destruction, giving up the stone to protect his brother and essentially dooming the rest of the universe - but also ultimately leading to its salvation, even if, like Myth Loki, he wasn’t around to see it.

So, we see Amylkie literally start a fire in the trailer -

- in fact, this whole trailer is awash in flame -

It’s fire, fire everywhere and she’s setting them!

It’s possible Amylkie’s our big bad, but I think there’s a chance she’s either a red herring, or, much like how Loki ‘worked’ with Thanos in The Avengers, she is the pawn of a greater foe -

- a Loki bent on destruction, for some reason or other. The TVA is obviously aware that this is the case, and it seems like they might be trying to ‘fight fire with fire’ by enlisting one Loki to combat another. The villain could be President Loki, since there's evidence of 2 Lokis in that scene - or maybe that's one of many Lokis, and the Big Bad Loki is being played by Hugh Grant as Old Loki. In any case, it would appear that Loki will be coming face-to-face with the worst versions of himself, and many of them. And, if I’m right about this scene:

...Loki will likely eventually discover that even his ‘good’ timeline ended in the destruction of his people and home, plus his own gruesome and torturous death. Although I think the TVA will keep that from him, and just show him the happy parts in an effort to inspire ‘good behaviour’. Until Loki inevitably discovers the rest of how that timeline played out and realize he’s been lied to. I don’t imagine he’ll take that very well...

Damn, even our ‘hero’ Loki is burning stuff down! Does this mean that Loki is doomed, always meant to be an avatar of death and toasty destruction?

Well...let’s go back to that stained glass.

Hmmm...wait...I know that weird horny shape...

And there’s something else...the bottom of the Earth is being lit up, and not by fire. Light appears to be coming off this little plant.

What colour is this plant again? That’s right, green. Green is the colour of new life and growth and change and...hang on, I’ve heard that before, too...

Hang on hang on HANG ON... let me have a look at the shape again.

That’s...a letter. An L? For Loki? Like in the title sequence?

Wait...no, a different letter. An older letter. After all, Loki is old Norse. How do you spell his name in that again?

ᛚᛟᚲ ᛁ -

And ENHANCE on that third letter!

This, my friends, is a Kenaz/Kaunaz, or what would become 'K' in our alphabet. It is also known as the 'Loki Rune' (and the Ulcer Rune, for some reason. I suspect Odin understands why). It’s used to spell his name, but is also used on his own to represent him. Heck, it's even his Superman 'S' in the comics:

Runes are more than letters - they are symbols for concepts. So what else does it mean?

Primarly, it means ‘torch’.

And also ‘knowledge’ (ken). As well as ‘growth, change, the search for truth, decay, arrogance, elitism, feminine, kinship and creativity.’

...Okay, that’s a lot, but you have to admit it fits.

More specifically, it means ‘Mastery of the Fire’. As in, someone who has learned to tame fire so that it is helpful, not harmful. To bring light and, symbolically, knowledge.

There’s another way Loki’s been associated with fire - in the Wagner Ring Cycle, Das Rheingold, the opera that inspired much the Thor films’ aesthetic and certainly their helmets, Loki is called ‘Loge’, which means ‘Fire’. He’s usually dressed to match, too -

Many trickster figures are associated with fire. They are usually called ‘Fire-bringers’ - See: Raven, Lucifer, Prometheus, etc. They are often complex figures with a foot in different worlds, but who nonetheless help mankind with the gift of ‘fire’ - although they usually pay for it, and tend to be self-destructive.

(Side note. Lucifer means light-bringer, which is what luciferase is named after. Because it glows. Which is helpful in labs. In case someone needed to know that.)

Moving from a destructive fire-starter to a fire-bringer seems like a great character arc for Loki to take, especially given his rehabilitation in pop culture, the comics, and even wider culture. Loki has gone from being seen as an evil, deviant, destructive character to one who’s seen as a patron of the arts and creativity, of stories rather than lies. Heck, some scholars of Norse Mythology even posit that he’s the closet thing to a protagonist Norse Mythology has, so I guess that backfired, Snorri!). Being dressed in green and with the sprout clearly also being stylized after his Kaunaz, there’s foreshadowing that he’ll be capable of growing good things even out of ashes.

So, to sum up: Being ‘Satan’ sounds pretty bad, but with a little letter re-arranging like we see in the title sequence, you can be...

...practically a saint. Maybe even a saviour.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

#loki #trailer #details #meta #theories #theory #explanation #thor #tva #santa #devil #snorri sturluson whinging #christmas #fire #kaunaz #loki trailer

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septembersghost · 4 years ago

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THE DEVIL DOESN'T KNOW OR CARE WHAT KIND OF CAR THE BOYS DRIVE

VICKY, I was going to emotionally meltdown to you privately as usual, but I find this important, and it is dear to me (I mean, all of our conversations are important and dear to me, but this one has shareable context? 💕), it’s perhaps even more deeply affecting given the past decade, and recent events; its purpose has clarity that I want to hold onto for additional reasons now, so I’m posting it -

This line is monumental, it’s everything, because it’s what underscores the core of their journey, the enormous difference between the Winchesters and every single monster or agent of heaven or minion of hell or even misguided human being who tried to come after them in vengeance or dominance, who tried to dictate their fates. They don’t know or care what makes them...them. They can’t conceive of the depth of their humanity, how world-changing it is, the power of their ability to love (and, like, canonically in Swan Song, the writing went, “love as the Platonic ideal - ie: the true and essential nature of things that cannot necessarily be perceived by substantive/reflected reality because it is so much more sublime - that love is the most tremendous force imaginable, and is stronger than prophecy, death, and any religion.”)

Everything about the Impala in Swan Song is so breathtaking because, of course, it’s not really about that at all. Like the toy soldier. It’s about the boys, and the way they made their home where they could find it, in between stops at sketchy motels in forgettable towns, their home was safe on the road, the squeaky doors, the rattling vents, their initials carved in forever, because their home was each other. Falling asleep to the feel of the moving tires. Singing at the top of their lungs. Helping one another when they were injured. Laughing at bad jokes and pranks, momentary annoyances dissipating into the ether as the signs flew past. Dean knowing exactly how to handle a hairpin turn, taking assured command of the wheel, but also knowing when to surrender it, to show vulnerability in the simple act of handing over the keys. Deciding what to grab from the trunk. Rolling out into the night, and pulling up into the sunrise. Sitting on the hood and watching the stars, and not needing to say a word. This isn’t to say it’s easy or harmless or untangled, it is complicated and difficult and it can bear sharp thorns, for them and others; it is selfishness and selflessness all in the same breath; any blaze in the dark can be used as guidance or destruction. The brutal fights, the aching mistakes, the spectres of their parents, the shadows of their upbringing, the violence leaving blood on their tender hands, the bruises and whiskey-drenched stitches, the destiny meant to carve them into seraphic warriors with their personhood sapped away, all that hurt and exhaustion, it’s all part of what happens to them, but it’s not them. What makes them who they are is something God and the Devil could never comprehend, because they don’t care to know, they can’t uncover their spirits. Those intimate, innately human bonds of connection and understanding and joy don’t matter to the divine plan - which makes them matter more than anything else. The sacrifices, the fundamental, stubborn free will, all that almost unbearable love, it’s the most incandescent thing in the universe.

Michael and Lucifer don’t expect Dean to show up on the battlefield (a battlefield that is a cemetery, a war predicated entirely on powder white bones and waiting tombstones, on dying and defeat, and he rides in like a classical knight, all honest devotion and love-soaked lungs and sanctuary heart, to bear witness, because he refuses to let his brother die alone). They treat him like a nonentity, yet he’s the most shining, valuable entity in the whole world. Lucifer thinks breaking him to pieces - ruthlessly tossing him against the windshield of the car he’s never noticed, shattering it, the most important object in pretty much the whole universe because it’s wrapped up in their childhood, their enduring memories, their reunion as they learn to earnestly know one another as whole people, everything that carried them to that place together - shattering him (and his perfect face, and there are a lot of layers to the physical damage he takes there) will be enough to stop him, but it isn’t. Dean is not going to leave, Dean will never give up. Dean brings the sun with him (who’s the real morning star?). He is symbolically aligned as the sun in that scene, depicted as that light that glints from the car to the toy soldier to Sam’s eyes, the luminous presence which is enough to bring Sam back into control of his mind and soul. The montage set to no sound beyond the wind, as Sam’s memories spin faster and faster, as hope and love return to him in a rush, and he unclenches his fist.

It never occurred to them that, sure, maybe they never really had a roof and four walls, but they were never, in fact, homeless. It is true of the Impala because she’s special and iconic and cool, and symbolizes a certain happiness and liberation, the trusty steed that lets our folk heroes travel the edges of the map, but that line’s center is them. Their vitality, their resonance, their promise.

The Devil doesn’t care what kind of car the boys drive, and so the Devil has a blindspot. He has no concept of their essences. It’s why he loses. Ten years later, it’s why Chuck - as much as his megalomaniacal cruelty claims to have controlled everything, is narcissistic enough to think he knows what makes them tick - loses too. Everything they truly are is in defiance of their surface archetypes. Their resistance and resilience is astounding to everyone, and its roots didn’t grow in revenge or spent bullets, their earthen foundation is love.

I put something about this in tags on a gifset, but when Cas is sent back after Sam has thrown himself and Michael into the cage, Dean is on his knees, and Cas heals his terrible injuries (erasing the physical pain, but never removing the internal wounds), and Dean rises to his feet as he asks Cas if he’s God. And it was striking to me because I felt a link between it and the scene in Inherit the Earth where they were just so undaunted that it was practically unhinged, laughing in Chuck’s face, bloodied and with broken bones, holding each other up, still getting on their feet every time. It acts as reverse supplication. The Winchesters don’t bend to divine intent, it instead orbits around them. Celestial beings - ally or foe - stand before them in some pretense of commandment, and they choose to rise back up, because that’s how powerful their own humanity is. It’s stronger than the forces of heaven or hell.

And if we take it down to its origin in Dean himself, that’s why he’s so transformative - for his brother (we have examples for days of Dean professing his love for Sam and I could inscribe them here so easily, they’re ingrained in my remembrances, but let’s talk the reverse, since we’re looking at the constellations of Dean’s influence - no sir, not before everything; you're my big brother, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you; I don't want ten years. I don't want one year. I don't want candy! I want to trade places with Dean; it's okay, Dean. it's gonna be okay. I've got him; I see a light at the end of this tunnel, and I'm sorry you don't. I am. but it's there, and if you come with me, I can take you to it. you're not a grunt, Dean. you're a genius. when it comes to lore, you're the best damn hunter I've ever seen, better than me, better than Dad. I believe in you; it was always “one more job,” you know? one more job. then I was gonna go back to law and then my life. I guess I really understand now that this is my life. I love it, but I can’t do it without my brother, I don’t wanna do it without my brother; please, Dean deserves better. Dean deserves a life; you were the one who was always there for me, the only one; my entire life, you've protected me - from Dad, from Lucifer, from everything. I didn't always like it, you know, but it's the one thing in the whole world that I could always count on. it's the only thing I've ever known that was true), for Castiel (who, unlike Lucifer or God, is able to learn to care about everyone because of Dean, who we hear say by his own admission that this changed him, Dean as a catalyst, the knowledge that all his actions are defined by love as radical philosophy - you’re the most caring man on earth, you are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know), for Benny, for Amara, even for Rowena, for Crowley, at times for manifestations of Death themselves, for their found family members, whomever you want to include on this list (there are so many) - his capacity for love as pure as that, for compassion and forgiveness, no matter any trauma or anger or heavy burdens on his shoulders, despite all those collected scars, is such an irrevocable influence that it molds and shapes everyone around him, redefines them, unveils wild and fluorescent colors, changes events and possibilities so profoundly that predestination falls apart at his feet. He’s so beautiful they’re content to exist in tandem with whatever of him they’re allowed, whatever he’ll reveal to them, whatever shimmering facets, whatever echoes. They’re content to give themselves over to gnawing, unknown chasms of potentially chthonic places if only to know he’ll remain walking in the world.

The car is a vital component because the car isn’t only a car. It’s an extension of Dean. It’s a home because of Dean, and what Sam and Dean have shared. Dean’s woven into every golden thread of the story so transcendentally that he can never be extricated from it. Swan Song gives us this meaning without ever having to say it outright, cloaks it in metaphor, but it’s always there. The final montage at the end, “they chose family,” highlights their bravery as a throughline to their bond, and at its heart, it’s still all love. Love cannot be killed or swept aside.

Nothing ever really ends, does it?

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laora-inn · 4 years ago

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Supernatural - Destiel in 11x13, or Why this episode shouldn’t be “fixed”

Looks like Billie in the last trailer is a villain, ha? ;) Remember that in 11x02 she said Sam that she will toss any Winchester who’ll die into the Empty? Wonder if she already had a deal with the Empty that time.

Back to Destiel moments in the show which, in my point of view, are underrated by fans. Let’s talk about some episodes in 11th season, shouldn’t we?

I’ve noticed that Destiel-shippers mostly don’t like the episode 11x13, you know, the one with Quareen, who looks like Amara to Dean. Though there are some explanations of this situation from Destiel shippers’ point of view. For example, @charlie-minion, a great meta-writer, whose works I’m absolutely fond of, wrote here:

In case there were still people thinking that Dean and Amara were a good thing, real love, the show gave us an episode about “darkest desires”. The spell that Melissa was given was never about LOVE; it was about something perceived as lustful, codependent, obsessive and selfish (as we learned from Staci, Dan, and Melissa). People expecting the Qareen to take Cas’ form when facing Dean missed the whole point.

I am mostly agree with that, but this episode seems much more complex to me.

Because, you know, Dan, Stacy and Melissa look kinda familiar.

Two of them (Dan and Melissa) are in an established relationship. They even have a baby. Then the third one comes, a strong and possessive one (Stacy). She kissed Dan right after Melissa, in front of the nan cam, just to prove her right on him.

Melissa knows about danger which Stacy represents. Melissa truly loves Dan and wants him back, but chooses the wrong way to return his love. This is how we meet the witch of the week, Sonja, whose plan is not to help Melissa, but to kill ALL OF THEM - Dan, Melissa, Stacy. Looks like this witch just hates the whole world, especially people who love each other. She tries to twist their good feelings and for that uses Quareen, a creature, who takes form of their beloved ones.

I’m not saying that the parallel is absolute, but just think of it: Dean and Cas relationship, both of them EQUALS and caring for Sam, whom Dean is like a parent to. Then Amara comes. She kisses Dean to prove her right on him in 11x09 - after he saved Cas from Rowena’s curse in 11x03 and told about “not marriage, but something” with Sam in 11x04. Cas knows Amara is dangerous, he’s faced her. He also feels unloved and expendable - this message he’s got not only from Amara, but from her also. So, for the sake of being useful, especially for Dean, Cas says “yes” to Lucifer in 11x10. Lucifer, of course, promises to defeat Amara, to save the world (and Dean), although his plan is obviously not to help Cas and Dean with Amara, but to kill all of them. He just hates the whole world, especially people who love each other. Dean and Cas, for instance. He tries to twist their good feelings and for that - oh, guess what? - possesses one of them and looks exactly like him!

So, this episode is not only about Quareen Amara, but also about Lucifer and Destiel situation in the whole 11th season.

Note, that Lucifer in 11x11 doesn’t avoid Dean or reveals himself. He acts like Cas, talks to Dean, listens to him, follows him, even touches him! But he does it in a such way, that makes Dean vulnerable and almost gets him dead. Right after their meeting banshee sees Dean as her victim. And she only hunts for the vulnerable ones.

Quareen kills the victims by seducing them and ripping their hearts out. Lucifer in Cas’s vessel is obviously trying to seduce Dean, though really doesn’t care about Dean or his unwanted attraction to Amara, is going to use him as a bait, and all this crap seems to metaphorically rip the heart out of Dean. So banshee decides: oh, someone is vulnerable here. Just the way the man, who had a quarrel with his beloved wife - he was killed by banshee before.

I think 11x11 was the turning point for Dean. Not only because of confession to Casifer about Amara and his not-caring response, which made Dean vulnerable, but also because of Mildred’s words. She said that Dean is pining for someone and advised him to follow his heart. And after that he had a sleepless night. He is stuck between Amara, who scares him and basically wants him dead as a personality (she wants to devour him, but also doesn’t want it to be a non-consensual act - he is an exception for her), and Cas, whom Dean truly loves, by whom he isn’t loved back. As far as he knows.

Relationship with Cas was always painful and complex - like the life itself. Amara’s wish is to give Dean peace, to free him from all the pain, to give him “sheer bliss” - in death. She is like Cas in 4x22, who also wanted peace for Dean and saw that peace in Apocalypse.

Dean didn’t want to die back then, and his point made Cas fall. Dean doesn’t want to die now. He confessed that in 10x16, where also said, that he wanted to experience certain feelings in a different way. He was pining for someone since then - and even earlier. Of course, Dean isn’t pining for Amara.

He is pining for Cas. And it matters a lot now, when Amara is here. It’s no coincidence that Dean told about his feeling towards Amara to Cas first. Dean wanted help from the person he truly loves. Because true love can beat any evil - we know that from fairy-tales. And in case we forgot, the show Stacy was watching before her heart was ripped out reminded us (quoted from the @charlie-minion post mentioned above):

Devil: True love, all right?

Man #1: Is he gone? Like, gone, gone?

Man #2: True love can get us out of here?

Devil: Yeah.

Man #3: Yeah, I’ve been in love a million times.

My point is these lines refer to Dean and his feeling to Amara. He can be saved from this unhealthy and unwanted dependence only by true love, not by some hook-ups with strangers. He literally had dozens of them by that time, gosh, he had one right before 11x13, and that obviously couldn’t help him.

But Cas is gone, played by the Devil himself. So Dean’s confession about Amara to Casifer didn’t work, and Dean ended up with a heartbreak.

That was result of Cas’s wrong choice.

The same as Melissa from 11x13 (who is called just “Mel” by Dan, Dean’s obvious parallel, by the way), Cas trusted the wrong person.

I totally agree that relationships between Melissa, Dan and Stacy are unhealthy. They are WORSE than the relationships between Cas, Dean and Amara. At least, Dean didn’t lie to Cas, he told about Amara. And not for the single moment he wants to “break up” with Cas.

We also have a bunch of “supernatural” and metaphorical excuses for each of Dean, Cas and even Amara. ‘Cause, you know, Amara isn’t evil - just like Stacy. The real evil is Lucifer - the wicked witch of 11th season. That’s why in 11x23, after the moment Amara kicked Lucifer out of Cas and Dean had him back, he succeed to save the world, to survive and finally met his mother, the person who taught him love. When Lucifer is out, there is no problem for Dean to follow his heart :)

Still, the parallel between Melissa-Dan-Stacy and Cas-Dean-Amara remains. And it’s very clear imao. In the end, I doubt that Dan could leave Melissa either.

This episode also has parallel with Cas and Lucifer interaction. Melissa understood her mistake about dealing with the witch and tries to fix it. In some way she succeeded - she helped Sam.

Cas will show up and try to fix his Lucifer mistake in the next episode, 11x14. He will also help Sam to get out from the situation, created by Lucifer.

If it’s not a parallel to the plot of the WHOLE SEASON, I don’t know, what is it.

And this parallel makes absolutely no sense without unplatonic Destiel perception.

So, 11x13 is an important episode - from Destiel-oriented point of view.

And now let’s talk about two moments in the episode, which, I’m sure, are the main reasons DeanCas shippers don’t like it and don’t analyze it much (maybe I just couldn’t find all the meta, but still).

1) Episode 11x13 starts with Dean, who can hardly walk and has a hickey on his neck. It’s the day after Valentine’s Day, and Dean hooked up with some single lady again. And he is planning to go on.

Well, here we see that Dean isn’t so happy about his “romantic” adventures. He doesn’t feel good, spits the fast-food taken from the fridge (maybe it’s not fresh, like his appearance at all), needs a shower and isn’t interested in a case. He says that on Valentine’s Day you don’t have “to be Mr. Right, just be Mr. Right Now” - and that’s the point. He isn’t Mr. Right himself, he doesn’t have his Mr. Right (true love) with him and probably will not ever have. The truth is he is no different than all the single ladies (and gentlemen) and isn’t happy about it.

We see, that Dean is tired of senseless hook-ups. After them he isn’t fond of himself and stinking.

Later he says he’d go on, and that sounds like thing he has to do, but really doesn’t want. That’s why when he isn’t “lucky”, he also isn’t upset.

For me this scene is rather approving Destiel than vice versa.

2) Quareen looks like Amara to Dean.

Here is the point where I want to comment the statement “People expecting the Qareen to take Cas’ form when facing Dean missed the whole point”.

Sure, Quareen is a dark creature who kills people by ripping their hearts out, and for show it was safer to compare Quareen with Amara. Actually both of them mean death to Dean. Besides, we had two Destiel fights, in 10x22 and 11x03. Cas even had a PTSD after. If Quareen was in Cas’s form, we’d have one more Destiel fight in 11x13, and that’d be catastrophic. They just didn’t want to make Destiel look more unhealthy than it already was.

But the statement “Quareen takes the form of the victim’s deepest darkest desire“ doesn’t necessary mean that it should be someone whom the victim was obsessed with (in the worst sense of this word). Sam said Melissa truly loved Dan, and I believe that. Dan and Stacy could be obsessed by each other, but Melissa? I doubt. She is portrayed as basically innocent person who just made a huge mistake.

More important, Quareen said to Dean:

Amara: I understand, Dean.

Dean: Is that right?

Amara: The longing in your heart, I feel it too.

Dean: (inching towards the knife) Well that’s touching. Consider that you don’t have a heart. Qareen.

Amara: Who I am doesn’t matter. The real question is who are you?

Dean: What do you mean who am I?

Amara: You’re a mystery. I can see inside your heart. Feel the love you feel. Except it’s cloaked in shame. When it comes to this (touches her body), you can’t help yourself, so why fight it? Just give in.

Quareen told about LOVE. About longing, which is a synonym to “pining” and was used in 10th season to describe a state when somebody is praying to Cas. Cas told to Claire he can feel longing of another person.

So, Quareen feels longing too. And love. That means this creature can take form of a person, who victim truly loves. But, I think, in Dean’s case it’s not obvious, that’s why Quareen talks about mystery and shame, and doesn’t say that Amara is true love here (just someone Dean can’t help himself with). It’s not strange: Dean certainly knows towards whom he feels love, but doesn’t want someone else knows. In fact he tries to forget himself, because is sure that his feelings aren’t mutual.

I think that’s why Dean told to Sam:

Dean: You know the silver lining about being cursed? I’ll finally get some face time with Daisy Duke. My deepest darkest desire.

Sam: Seriously?

Dean: Ever since I was seven.

Sam: So Bach, not Simpson.

Dean: Eh. Guess I wouldn’t say no to either.

From the start Dean didn’t know what this curse was about. Now he is aware and LYING. Daisy Duke isn’t his deepest darkest desire, he doesn’t care for her more than for any other option Sam can offer. He says it himself. Why is he lying?

I’m sure Dean here thought about Cas and didn’t expect to see Amara AT ALL.

Quareen’s point wasn’t to go deep, to understand complex love, cloaked with shame. To Quareen a victim, who can’t help themselves, would be enough. So in Dean’s case Quareen‘s form is far aside from love. It’s the first obvious form, which has a strong influence, and that influence is really bad. Far from love.

So yes, people expecting the Qareen to take Cas’ form IN THIS SITUATION missed the whole point. But simultaneously Dean was such a person HIMSELF, and it could actually work.

I think Dean was expecting to see Cas also because of this conversation:

Dean: Honestly? You seriously think the sister of God is my deepest darkest desire?

Sam: She isn’t?

Dean: No! She can’t be!

Sam: Why not?

Dean: Why? Because if she is that means that I’m…

Sam: Means you’re what? Complicit? Weak? Evil?

Dean: For starters, yeah.

Dean is already confessed to Casifer he and Amara has some kind of connection. Gosh, he even confessed that to Sam - it wasn’t easy, because Dean IS AFRAID of Amara. He isn’t in denial of the fact of their connection. He just doesn’t like its definition, and I am totally agree with his further line: “Something happens and I can’t explain it, but to call it desire or love…it’s not that”.

Within this conversation Dean hasn’t finished the line: “Because if she is that means that I’m...” Sam interrupted him with “Means you’re what? Complicit? Weak? Evil?“, Dean said “For starters, yeah”. I think, he wanted to say something else. For example, “that means that I’m not in love with Cas. And I love him”. Whatever it would be, I consider Cas would be involved, in Dean’s mind for sure - ‘cause Dean probably couldn’t say something about his Cas-related feelings to Sam.

Anyway, I think there was a reason for Dean to be so sure that “No! She can’t be!”. It’s not fear or denial. He adjusts that something is happening, and I think he understands what love and desire are. This “something” isn’t them.

The chain of events with Quareen is the next: Dean is uncomfortable with his true “darkest desire”, he talks to Sam about the first girl he can remember, a fictional character, by the way, then sees fake Amara, who hasn’t expected to see, she talks to him about his mysterious love, covered in shame and definitely more complex than his feeling for real Amara is, then Sam stabs Quareen’s heart and Dean is like “it couldn’t be Amara, very strange, I love someone else”.

So, if it’s not Amara (accurate) and not random girls to talk with Sam about (accurate), then who the hell it is?!

I think we all know the answer.

From the point of story, to Destiel shippers Quareen looking like Amara is not bad at all. I think this episode is supposed to be a gift for us shippers, but then our own heteronormativity stood on the way and made it hard to see the whole picture.

From the very beginning this episode was full of Destiel: numerous text and plot parallels, which make ABSOLUTELY no sense without implying DeanCas as one of the main points of season 11; Dean tired of senseless hook-ups and unhappy about Valentine’s Day, ‘cause his heart is broken; Dean who wants to hide his true darkest desire from Sam by saying some crap about fictional girls; Quareen‘s words about Dean’s mysterious love, longing, and shame; Dean’s own disagreement with his “love” or “desire” to Amara whom he didn’t suppose to see; his unfinished phrase to Sam.

So no way 11x13 should be “fixed” with adding more Destiel of changing Amara to Cas. It makes no sense.

I wonder how this heavy Destiel content ended up with “Dean loves Amara” perception. The content wasn’t so subtle, you know.

Just how strong our heteronormativity could be?

And how the hell despite of that we manage to get almost canon Destiel relationship? In fact, they are more canon, then any other romance in this story.

______________________ To conclude, I have some difficulties with the tumblr usage for now, but I'd like to communicate with the co-shippers.

So, if you want to hear my opinion about or to point out any Destiel moment in the show, feel free to write to my ask. I’ll try to answer ASAP - we all are in the same boat now, so it’s important to support each other and to share our thoughts. Some kind of therapy, I’d say :)

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the-second-circle-ffxiv · 5 years ago

Text

Late night visit

'Finally', Ainu thought, when everyone – even the old butler and the viera couple, that had been moving so closely from one room to another all evening one could've almost thought without a closer inspection to be conjoined twins - had retired to rest. What an annoying house. Usually the bigger the house was the easier target it was, but not this. The amount of people and noise here reminded Ainu of Kogane Dori Markets at the time of some major festival.

So far Ainu had been trying to avoid going in at night, but since this had actually become a heist now, and she didn't have to give a damn what kind of heart attack she'd possibly cause to the roegadyn, going in covered by darkness was absolutely the best option. After she hadn't noticed any movement or notable noises in any of the rooms for half an hour after the last candles had been extinguished, she climbed onto the roof.

How considerate it had been of someone to let the sunflowers and vines grow along the walls. The houses in Ishgard were so tall and far from stonewalls or fences surrounding them, that it could've turned out to be a challenge for Ainu to get in the easiest way without the help of plants. It was also considerate of someone to keep the chimney so clean, Ainu thought, when she descended little by little, silently hopping lower while holding onto a rope.

'Ho, ho, ho', the tiny ninja, wearing all black from top to toe, thought when she emerged from the chimney. The coals were still warm, but not warm enough they could've lit the rope on fire. Exceptionally she decided to leave it on its place. If needed, it would be an easy and fast way out, and besides, nobody would notice it from the corner of a dark fireplace in a dark room. If the worst happened, she'd have a foolproof explanation ready.

Ainu sneaked upstairs and headed towards the first guest room on her left. The door was locked, but it's lock was ridiculously cooperative. Soundlessly she opened and closed the door, and sneaked closer to Dark Realm's bed, but staying at a safe distance. She hid behind the dresser, before whispering:

"Good evening, big brother."

Dark Realm opened his eyes. For a moment he didn't realize exactly where he was, or what he was doing there. Yet, the pain in his crotch when he tried to lift himself up from the bed made him remember. Dark Realm let out a snarl as he, despite the aching, jumped up and to his feet next to the bed. The candle which was left burning on the small table next to the bed had already burned out, leaving the guest room without a source of light, apart from the dim light glowing through the small window.

A small voice had awoken Dark Realm from his shallow dreams, a voice that, even being so small and quiet, made the roegadyn's skin crawl.

"Who's there?" Dark Realm growled, peering around the room without really seeing much. Then it struck in him. His whole body froze in place, and he was left staring at the wall before him. He could feel a drop of cold sweat falling along his forehead. "Ainu... Wanyuudo...", he growled, his voice being almost a whisper.

"Oh, you remember my name. How delightful", Ainu sneered. Her voice was anything but delighted, though. "I guess it goes without saying why I'm here, even for you", she continued after a short while. "Such a lamentable coincidence it was for them to bring you into this old estate instead of the hospital. For your own sake I hope you've had enough brains not to blabber anything excessive to this estate's master, especially concerning The Second Circle and its mistress."

Suddenly her tone started to sound almost like she'd been bored, but it was obvious that wasn't the case. It was pure indifference. "Since... in case you have... I'm sure you understand that would lead into some further...", Ainu let out a silent chuckle. "...measures."

"Ainu... Listen up", he started, his voice cracking slightly. "Whatever the problem is that Asagi might have, after me almost losing a focking ball to her, is something she has asked for herself. Seven hells, the long-ears could not handle me telling her nothing but truth back in the Second Circle, and hearing that truth made her send a focking lapdog after me, and now you?"

Dark Realm fixed his posture slightly, switching his weight from a foot to the other. "I haven't told the old bastard anything, you hear? Call me anything, but a mole? That I am not." Dark Realm peered around the room, in attempt to spot this little devil, with no avail.

"You don't seem to fully understand what it means to work with Asagi Homura, sweet Darkie", Ainu explained, smiling widely. "You may think you've only given your little finger to her, when you've made a deal with her. But in fact, it's your entire sorry carcass that belongs to her. If she's paid you and tells you to do your work right now, then sure as hells you don't do it in three days or a week later. Or arrive late to a meeting and make a scene in her workplace while there's customers around."

Oh, how she loved to see them squirm. First they all pretended to be high and mighty, but once you poked something sharp into their flesh and gave them a visit after nightfall, their true nature was revealed. And usually, the bigger they were the more cowardly they proved to be in the end.

"It also doesn't matter you're no longer partners with her. You still owe her to keep your mouth shut about all matters concerning yourself and her, and this debt will last until your last breath. Which, in fact, was supposed to be yesterday", Ainu pointed out merrily. "You do realize Gaspar was just sloppy. His aim was a bit off. It wasn't supposed to be a warning, but a cleaning. And it can be finished anytime, if we'll ever find out you've talked. Since you know what's even worse than a mole? A lying mole."

"To hells with the accusations, Ainu! I was only being late because I was in the middle of another job, even you must realize that. And even Asagi should realize it was a sign of fockin' loyalty to actually appear to the place without finishing the contract in hand." Dark Realm revealed his teeth as he still tried to figure where the voice was coming from.

"What's even more, I had already accepted her contract and was about to fockin' go and do the deed before she pulled it off the table, and only because of something I said. Hurt her feelings, huh? False accusations, that's what's going on! There is a liar in this, but the liar is not me!" Dark Realm let out a low snarl as his actions halted once again, and he was left staring into the dark.

How intriguing, Ainu thought. She hadn't been present when the scene had taken place, so Asagi's side of the story had been everything Ainu had got. Then again, everybody lied. The only difference was how much and about what. Though, this didn't sound like her at all. Asagi? Getting her feelings hurt? What feelings? Ainu would've laughed aloud if she hadn't been hiding.

About one thing she disagreed with both Asagi and Dark Realm: loyalty. It was baffling how lax people seemed to be about it in the west. Asagi demanding the roegadyn to leave his post for her, and Dark Realm actually leaving his post to meet with Asagi. Ultimately it was best to be loyal only to oneself. But during a contract, in Ainu's world, you were loyal to gil, and to the source it was coming from. And for what? Because of your reputation. Your reputation was all you had, and you surely didn't want it to get smeared by rumors about you being unreliable, because that would stop the flow of gil.

However, Dark Realm didn't need to know anything about all this.

"I don't give a paissa's arse about whose feelings have or have not been hurt, and who's lying more", Ainu stated chipperly. "I got an assignment to make sure you don't talk. And because I'm feeling being nice today, I'm not finishing what Gaspar started."

'And also, because you lucky sausage are dwelling in the same house with an isgardian watchdog who also happens to be my current employer, an ul'dahn ex criminal, a rabanastrian warrior in her prime and some unpredictable lominsan outpatient, it'd be too risky for us to start clashing here', she added to herself. "Just passing a message. Nothing personal, big brother. Just business."

"If you're up for it, Ainu... In case you find the time, and interest", Dark Realm started, his voice slightly staggering. "Tell Asagi I am willing to forget about this whole fiasco, and put it behind me, and continue to do her bidding... Tell her my loyalty still stands." Dark Realm's lips turned into a bit of a self-confident grin. "The only condition is that she will stop sending her minions after me, and instead send me a contract... If I see another one of hers coming for me like this, I will act upon it... And should I find myself a contract, I will find out that she has the same good will and forgiveness in her as I do. And no more words shall be spoken about this between me and her. What say you, Ainu?"

Dark Realm's body was tense, not a muscle moving. He knew very well he had just pushed his whole dick into a hornet's nest, when trying to reason with Ainu, now only to see if they would sting... He closed his eyes, and swallowed, the cold sweat still falling down his body.

Somehow Ainu managed to hold back a chuckle. She could smell a sweat of a nervous, cornered animal. "Oh, I have nothing but time", she said, the indifferent tone in her voice again. "And I'm bored, so sure, I can take your sorry message."

Ainu was quite certain Asagi would no longer accept the offer, but this could be entertaining, so she decided to do it nevertheless. And despite Dark Realm being just a muscular potato, he could still be of use if he learned his place and to stay on Asagi's leash. In the best case for himself, he could still become a decent gorilla of the Second Circle, who'd mangle contract breakers in the backroom. In the best case for Ainu, she'd be the one who could play with him if Asagi and Dark Realm didn't reach concord, and he wouldn't have the brain to back off quietly.

"Sweet dreams, big brother", Ainu called out silently. "See you soon."

While crouching, she scurried to the door, a long, black rag fluttering behind her. Ainu opened the door silently just enough that she could fit through it, slipped to the corridor and shut it behind her. She flew down the stairs and towards the fireplace, climbed back into the chimney and pulled the rope up after getting back on the roof.

This heist had ended faster than she had anticipated. She'd still have time to enjoy those pocky sticks and sake before taking a long bath and even have a good night's sleep, before it'd be the time for the dinner in this very same house.

Dark Realm collapsed to sit on the edge of his bed. His eyes wide open, he still shifted his gaze around the dark room. The nightmare in a form of a Lalafell that just had haunted his rest had disappeared, or so he hoped. The thought of surviving the situation made the Roegadyn's facial expression to turn into a maniacal grin, even though he still felt his skin crawling, and his heart beating so hard it was almost bursting out of his chest.

Dark Realm gazed towards the window, which provided him with the only source of light, the room was silent as a grave. He knew he had barely managed to make it through without it actually becoming one. The cold, hard wind still blew outside, making the Manor's roof creak and bang. To Dark Realm it sounded more like the demons dancing on the lid of his final resting place. He wouldn't sleep. He knew it would be foolish to relax in the peaceful arms of slumber after all this. Who knows, perhaps the demons still lurked around, waiting for the opportunity to take his life. He did not know if he could trust Ainu.

The chances were that placing any trust upon someone so sinister would backfire, in the most ultimate way. Dark Realm would need to put all his hope on Asagi now, the one who had already proved to be so erratic. Part of his trust he would have to place upon Horus, his partner. She would handle the situation, she would not sell out someone she held dear. Or would she?

Dark Realm moved his eyes around the room once more, every shadow becoming a twisted form of a devil. He laid down to his bed, thoughts racing inside his mind. All he could do now was not to fall asleep. Not. To fall. Asleep...

With @hangedemperor :3c

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #dark realm #ainu wanyuudo #rp #storytime #roegadyn #lalafell

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nalyra-dreaming · 10 months ago

Note

hi! i’m not sure if you saw today’s discourse on twitter but people are speculating on the alice, armand and daniel getup. what are your thoughts on this? some people think alice and armand are the same person but others think they are separate people and daniel was married to alice while still being with armand at some point. you’re one of the few people in the fandom whose opinions i actually do trust so i’m interested in reading your take on this lol

Hey!

I... just went and just scrolled over the timeline and I think I saw some of it...

So errr - thank you for your trust, I hope I can live up to it^^ - here's my two cents on this:

I do think Daniel's daughters are real, we only hear of them, but there's the helmets and I do think that the mind-wipe that obviously happened at some point happened a few years after the initial interview. I think that has likely to do with the daughters (the leaked music titles/hints would fit here) and when exactly the first pregnancy occurred.

So in my opinion this leaves us with two distinct possibilities:

Alice is Daniel's first wife. He gets his "shit" together for her, because she got pregnant. He also might confuse some of his memories of her with some of Armand's characteristics (the eyebrow standing in for the contact lenses), or events he experienced with Armand, like that dessert in Paris, because that's how brains work - they try to make sense of "what's there". It's where deja-vus come from, too. Daniel's mind has a lot of things buried it tries to make sense of, so that is nothing too surprising, imho.

Armand is Alice, the name replaced in Daniel's mind, and his daughters are actually by his second wife. That would mean that a lot of Daniel's memories and thoughts are confused though, and I'm not so sure I would lean into that, because I think it is contradicted by his career.

There's also the third possibility that Daniel's daughters (and Alice) actually never existed, and that the few items of them were planted, but that... I think that would be too far out, because Daniel would then have lived an illusory life, with repeated spell-binding and mind-wipes to keep him in it, to write his books as he did, and so on. I don't think that's likely.

Now, personally I think the show will take the route of 1).

If you know the Devil's Minion, Armand hunts Daniel all over the world after Louis attacked him (and in the show after Armand saved his life). In growing consternation and fascination, and an also quite fatal love.

We know that at some point something happens which leads in turn to someone wiping Daniel's mind. We know they kept tabs on him (the tapes turn up in his post box without postage^^), we know they are up to date on his medical issues. Louis refers to Daniel as "our boy" more than once, and Armand looks shocked when Louis quips offers Daniel the Dark Gift.

In the book, Armand only turns Daniel when he is about to die, and I don't think that will change here. If that will mean a combination of TtotBT, or QotD? We'll see. There's a lot of ways they could go.

But back to Daniel and his daughters.

We know these daughters are all grown up (and don't talk to him anymore). We know he is divorced, twice, and has had his ups and downs. These can be traced, the books exist, his career exists. His wife is mentioned in those books.

So there are decades of his life that he lived outside the "hunt" with Armand (and likely, in parts at least, Louis). Decades of his life that exist away from the vampires - and there has to be a reason for that.

For Armand to step back from his fixation on Daniel there had to be a very valid, very deep reason.

Obviously Daniel getting "Alice" pregnant would fit that bill.

Armand had wanted to keep Daniel human, had tried not to turn him. (In vain, ultimately.) Daniel becoming a father... now that would bring in a "reason" outside Armand's own reasoning that he could latch onto.

And, who knows where we are in the story wrt the reconciliation with Marius, maybe it was he who wiped Daniel's mind. But of course Armand is just as capable here.

So I think the hunts, and maybe years of relationship with Armand happened.

And then... something else happened. Maybe the frustration of being denied the blood led to Daniel leaving Armand for periods of time. Maybe he found solace with Alice. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was an attempt at normalcy. We'll see.

As a note though, because for me it kinda implied there - Armand... wouldn't mind Daniel being (having sex) with someone else, even if he were there. In the books the famous "cuck chair" is very much real, Armand gets Daniel a lot of people to have sex with.

I do not think they will go the route of Daniel being married while Armand is still "there".

I do however think that Armand is always somewhere close, has maybe interfered in Daniel's life in some aspects, too. Has kept tabs.

So that's my two cents on this :) Hope it made sense - let me know what you think?^^

>> Btw, if you are interested in a fanfiction take that is very well written, and likely very close to what we might see? I can recommend "The Forgotten Years", by @faerywhimsy and @cbrownjc - they did a fantastic job hooking into what we know already and what the books provide and merge it together. I'm reading it now, and I have a blast seeing it all fit^^.

#Anonymous #asks #ask nalyra #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #interview with the vampire #the devil's minion #armand #daniel molloy #devil's minion #the vampire chronicles #vc #vampire chronicles

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justfinishedreading · 4 years ago

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The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov

It has been at least 8 months since I finished reading this novel, and now I’m finally posting the last part of my review.

Part 3 – Margarita, Feminist Icon or Romantic Cliché?

Spoilers.

The Master, a thirty-something recluse male writer, first sees Margarita walking down the street. She has in her arms a bouquet of yellow flowers. The Master follows her, they exchange hellos and she asks him if he likes her flowers. He says no. She proceeds to throw the flowers in the gutter.

This is not a promising introduction to our heroine: a heroine who is quick to throw something away because a random man dislikes it. The situation doesn’t get any better after that; the two become infatuated with each other, and she becomes obsessed with his writing, with his “genius”, so much so that it is she who names him “The Master”. For me a clichéd classical heroine is characterized by two things: first she is young and pure, pure in spirit and body (i.e. meek and clueless). Secondly, she is hopelessly dedicated to her man, he is all she lives for. Now on the first point Margarita does not qualify, she’s a married woman having an affair with another man, not surprising considering Bulgakov’s taste for married women. But Margarita absolutely fulfils the second criteria: her main characteristic as a character is how unfailingly devoted she is to her lover.

The novel is split into two parts and if it weren’t for the events of the second then her character would be very dull indeed. In the first part most of the action is focused on the Devil’s appearance in Moscow and the chaos his companions inflict on the inhabitants of the city. We’re briefly introduced to the characters of the Master and his lover Margarita. We’re told of how she supported his writing, and how he fell into depression when his novel about Jesus Christ and Pontius Pilate was ostracized by the Russian literary scene. There’s a passage in the novel in which Bulgakov explains that Margarita married young, now years later she’s living in a nice house, she’s a woman of leisure, she has money and her husband is decent enough, so why is she so unhappy? Bulgakov argues that she clearly needs the Master, she needs to live with him in that hole in the wall apartment and share his sorrow and pour herself into his work. Well Bulgakov you missed the mark. Margarita is so insanely attached to the Master’s novel (he gets jealous that she cares more for it than for him) that it seems clear to me that what she really needs isn’t the Master but for herself to get a job as an editor. What she needs is a challenge.

The first part of the novel jumps from character to character in alternating short comedic scenes, it is only in part two that the novel starts to feel more like a novel, it is the first time that more than two chapters (five to be exact) are dedicated to the same storyline: Margarita.

In this second part, one of the Devil’s companions offers Margarita a way to be reunited with her precious lover, whom she hasn’t seen in a long time, ever since he, willingly, disappeared from her. She is given a cream and told to apply it at midnight, she does so and turns into a witch, she feels a sense of liberation, removes all her clothes, grabs a broom and flies out into the night. After a few incidents she then meets the Devil and makes a bargin with him: he offers to reunite her with the Master if she will be the hostess at his Ball for the dead tonight. She accepts and fulfils her part perfectly and in return the Devil delivers her the Master and wishes them a happy life.

I have to say the second part of the novel, which relates to Margarita’s story, is what I enjoyed reading the most, it was a thrill to follow her new freedom and sense of adventure and wonder, and frankly a relief to be following a linear narrative. Margarita is the only character in the novel who takes action, the only one to be brave enough to face the Devil, take on his challenges and gain what she wants in the end.

And yet Margarita became a witch and got involved in the Devil’s business, she’s a heroine but one who gets mixed up with unholy things, and even before that she was an adulterer. In this sense she is a new type of heroine. There is a key moment in the Devil’s Ball when Margarita has to greet the Devil’s guests who are all dead sinners. She greets a woman who is deranged and keeps going on about a handkerchief, when she was alive she worked in a café, the owner “pressed her to join him in the pantry once, and nine months later she gave birth to a boy: she carried him off to the wood and stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth and then buried the boy in the ground. At the trial she said she had nothing to feed the child with.” To this Margarita asks what about the café owner? And one of the Devil’s minions replies: “what ever has the owner got to do with it! After all, he didn’t smother the baby in the wood!”

Now in the afterlife this woman is everyday presented with a handkerchief with a blue border identical to the one she used to kill her child, every day she destroys it and every morning she is presented with it anew, she is being forever tormented by the handkerchief, by her crime. When Margarita finishes her service to the Devil she asks that the torment to this woman be stopped. This shows a higher, more complex level of compassion than we usually see in romantic heroines. It’s easy to show a heroine to be compassionate and charitable to those who are innocent and poor, but here is compassion and understanding of how a person can be driven to acts of evil, and how they can be forgiven. And an acknowledgment of the man’s part in a woman’s ruin.

So apart from the character Margarita, are there any other moments that could tell us what was Bulgakov’s attitude towards women? Well whenever there are public incidents in The Master and Margarita, Bulgakov specifies that there are women screeching and wailing, implying that women will always be the ones to loose composure first and be “hysterical”. A character, angry with himself, exclaims “An idiot, a foolish woman, a coward! Carrion’s what I am, not a man!”. When one of the Devil’s minions approaches Margarita for the first time, he exclaims “Difficult people, these women!” when she is confused by his cryptic messages, a few minutes later he warns her “No dramas, no dramas”.

And then there’s Nakedness, nakedness is an important theme, there are five instances of nakedness: 1. The Devil has a group of four minions, one of whom is a woman, and she is always naked. Her nakedness is used to enthral and surprise her male victims on a number of occasions, but she is also described as a maidservant, who later in the book kneels down and rubs the Devil’s feet. 2. At the Devil’s stage performance in a theatre, his goons offer the people money, which later disappears, and to the women new frocks and shoes, which they exchange their old dresses for and change into on stage behind a curtain. Later on as they are leaving the show the dresses disappear and they are left naked. Nakedness here is used to embarrass. 3. Margarita and her maid turn into witches and go naked, this seems to be about liberation, liberation from social restraints, an abandonment to freedom, to adventure, to mischief. 4. The new witches meet a drunk fat man by a lake. Nakedness here reflects this man’s idiocy. 5. Women and black servants at the Devil’s Ball are naked. All male guests are formally dressed, the female guests wear nothing except for fancy shoes and elaborate headdresses. Serving the party are “motionless naked negroes with silver bands on their heads”. Is it liberating that the women are naked? Or is it just an indulgence for the men to feast their eyes upon? And to make the male readers giddy? Later in the party, the women, (and only the women) take off their shoes and jump into a large pool filled with champagne and get drunk.

After hours and hours and hours of serving as hostess at the Devil’s Ball, Margarita and the Devil are about to part ways, she has fulfilled her part of the bargain and now it is the time for the Devil to fulfil his and return the Master to her. But the Devil says nothing and neither does Margarita. She has worked so hard and been through so much and is about to walk away without demanding what is right: the payment for her services. As she is just about to leave the Devil exclaims: “Correct! (…) That’s the way! (…) never ask for anything! Never anything, and especially of those who are more powerful than you. They’ll make the offer themselves and give everything themselves.” What bullshit. I don’t know how exactly but I grew up with this belief, never ask for anything, if you deserve it, it will be given. What utter bullshit. I read in a study that one contribution to men getting more promotions at work than women was simply because men had more confidence in asking for promotions, whilst women assume that if they do their work well then a promotion should naturally happen. To all women everywhere: if you want something, go for it, ask for it, fight for it.

Bulgakov was a man who wrote a lot of himself into his work, in part 2 of my review I talked about all the similarities between Bulgakov’s struggle with censorship and the Master’s plot, Bulgakov also frequently broke the fourth wall as narrator and commented on the action or wrote things like “Follow me, Reader!”. So it is no surprise that Margarita has some similarities with Bulgakov’s third and final wife, Yelena Shilovskaya, who was a married women when they first met, and during and after Bulgakov’s life fought to get his work published. It seems clear to me that Margarita is a tribute to her.

I can’t say that The Master and Margarita is a feminist text, there are subtle moments of machismo which I feel Bulgakov would not have enough self-awareness to spot, and Margarita’s character has a number of problems, such as having no personal goals or desires outside of simply worshiping the “Master”, but I can say that there is enough to make Margarita a step in the right direction, a step in between a cliché of male desire, and a feminist icon for us women.

Review by Book Hamster

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intimidatingpuffinstudios · 5 years ago

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Yet Another Public Commission!

My dudes, one incredibly kind patron has decided to gift you all with a 3700 words commission! That’s right, almost 4000 words of pure goodness, free of charge!

The pairing in this one is Daelynn/Eledwen/M!MC, and it starts sweetly and wholesomely with the family being out of a picnic with their kids and friends and ends in a scorching hot coupling sequence! This might just be one of the most explicit things I’ve written!

So, on that note, I’m going to post the first half of the story here, then the steamy half under a cut! I hope you all enjoy this!

~*~

You are sitting on a soft, comfy picnic blanket, breathing in the fresh air gently blowing away your white hair from your face. The sun is warming you with his rays and combined with the crisp breeze, your temperature is just perfect. The perfect day for a picnic.

Dana agrees with you— she is laying down on the grass a bit to your left and is patiently allowing your daughters to braid flowers into her mane. This mule is a true lady, and she has withstood everything for you.

Even now, she is going through torture in your name— your daughters are not the gentlest they could be with the old lady’s mane. And Daelynn isn’t much help in that regard.

The elven woman is sitting next to her daughters, helpfully providing them with all the flowers she has gathered for them, commenting on the patterns and color arrangements of the braids.

You chuckle softly to yourself, a slight shiver running through you— an involuntary reaction whenever you see these three blond heads put together. The twins are as rambunctious and lively as their mother. And when the little half-elves collude with their mother, even the most innocent-looking of activities can lead to disaster.

This is why the devilish trio must never be left alone, and Eledwen is usually on top of babysitting duty. She keeps the other three ladies contained, her quiet presence always a calming factor. But even your half-dragon love has her weaknesses. In this case, the weakness was DaeDae’s puppy eyes. The grey-eyed woman assured your dragon lady that she and the twins would be angels on earth. And Elly believed her— a mistake, really.

Your blue gaze turns toward the other side of the clearing, where Eledwen is sitting with Straasa, the two of them watching Morkai spar with your eldest son. Your heart swells with happiness as you take in the scene, the same happiness that fills it when you look at your elf and daughters.

Your very own family. The family you never thought you’d have— not after what happened to your mom, to Tristen. Not after everything that came after. And yet, here you are all, all the members of your little clan alive and well. Your noble steed, your women, your children. Your brothers.

When you met each and every single one of them, you felt a pull— like these people will be important to you, will become a part of you for the rest of your life. And you were right. Your intuition has never led you astray, always landing right on the mark. When you met the two women that would become your life, you thought life couldn’t get any happier.

You were wrong— because not long after you finally put the broken pieces of the world back together, you found him. Your son— a small child, alone and crying in an abandoned village, clinging to his stuffed toy. Eledwen took one look at the child and immediately knelt down to gather him into her arms.

To say that you were surprised would be an understatement— your draconic love was still somewhat uncomfortable with sudden physical touch back then, even when it came from Daelynn or you. To see her so readily hug the child, and start stroking his fine hair while her deep voice cooed at him… well. It changed something in you.

Then DaeDae got pregnant, and the twins came. Mischievous little agents of chaos, just like their mother. And so your life was complete. Between you and your beautiful, strong women, you managed to wrangle one toddler and two infants— quite well, if you may say so yourself.

Morkai and Straasa helped too—well, Straasa helped. Morkai was just standing on the outskirts, as far away from the soiled clothing of the babies as he could possibly get and still be considered to be inside the room.

He helped in other ways, though. His steady presence and sometimes insistent prodding always helped you get out of the somber moods that sometimes assailed you. He and Daelynn were always the best at helping you get out of your own head. And now the once grumpy man was teaching your son ways to beat you in sparring.

And Eledwen was actually assisting him, giving the kid pointers and little tips on how to go about bringing his father to the ground. The traitor! You’d expect this sort of behavior from DaeDae, but Elly! The scandal! Straasa was the only one trying to remind everyone that sparring was meant to be fun, and not about giving one’s father bruises, but no one was paying attention to him.

Well. You’d just have to be extra careful from now on. And speaking of being careful, you suddenly notice a suspicious absence of giggling coming from your left. Daelynn and the twins are quiet. Uh oh. You immediately snap your head around to look for them but find only Dana, her mane thoroughly braided and your blond minxes nowhere to be found. Gods, you were a fool to take your eyes off of them!

Right as you think this, your worst fears come to life— you are assaulted by two little flying half-elves, their blue eyes twinkling as they float on top of you out of nowhere, their mother’s invisibility spell finally wearing off.

You immediately reach up to grab them, but that’s a mistake too. As soon as the tiny princesses are in your arms, they attack all your weak spots— they start tickling you to the sound of their mother’s cackling, a pair of strong hands taking hold of your legs to make sure you can’t escape.

You yelp and try to protect your tender sides from the minuscule but evil fingers, but it’s no use. Your women are relentless as they go about reducing you to a broken, giggling mess. You! Giggling! The ignominy! You can even hear Dana snort at you, probably enjoying her revenge— you didn’t help save her when she was the one under attack, after all. As far as she’s concerned, you fully deserve what you’re getting.

“Daelynn! Girls! Please! I give up, have mercy!” you cry out desperately, red in the face from the laughing fir that has been all but forced upon you. Your pleas go unheeded by the treacherous women holding you down. Daelynn even snickers wickedly at you, goading her daughters on.

“Get him, girls! That’ll teach him not to pay attention to us!” the blond devil instructs her minions, and said minions redouble their efforts in tormenting you. You are laughing so hard it hurts, and it’s starting to get difficult to breathe.

Then stong, scaled arms reach down to save you, descending on the squirming elflings as if from the heavens themselves. Eledwen grabs the two protesting girls with ease, pulling one under each arm and holding them like piglets. Which is apparently highly amusing, if the burst of giggling coming from the wicked angels is to be believed.

“It’s not our fault, mama! Didi told us to do it!” they cry out in unison, their cry of innocence obviously rehearsed. Eledwen promptly hands both girls to Straasa, who is standing right next to her and smiling at your trickster daughters as if they’re the cutest creatures on earth.

He takes them in his arms and then walks away while the elflings snuggle contentedly against him, more than happy to be held by their beloved uncle Straasa. Both have declared that they’re going to marry him when they grow up, after all.

Which leaves you and your women by yourselves for a moment. Both you and Eledwen turn sharply to stare at Daelynn, who is now sitting at your feet calmly, almost imperially. Like everything is as it’s supposed to be, and she has done no wrong whatsoever.

“Finally, now you’re paying attention to me,” she smirks at you both, batting her eyelashes cutely when Eledwen raises an unimpressed eyebrow at her. Her fingers are now at your ankles, massaging them tenderly— probably to soothe them from the death grip she had on them just moments before!

“DaeDae, we’ve talked about this. Using the girls as a weapon whenever you want attention is not an acceptable use of our children,” your brown-haired lover scolds lightly, but the sadistic elf you’re in love with shows no remorse.

The blond woman shrugs her shoulders carelessly and flicks her golden hair over her shoulder with flair. She also pushes out her breasts, putting her arms under them and perking them up, looking to draw your and Elly’s attention to them. You’re sad to say that it works.

“Why not? It works, doesn’t it?” the temptress echoes your thoughts, and Eledwen sighs, momentarily closing her eyes. She can’t fool you though— you saw the way her fingers twitched as soon as Daelynn put her little show on. Her fingers twitch like that only when she wants to touch. You can understand the compulsion.

“Still trying to talk sense to the elf, Eledwen? Shouldn’t you have given up on the futile endeavor by now?” Morkai pipes up from across the clearing, and you glance over to see him putting his shirt back on. His training session with your son is over, and they are both looking sweaty and out of breath but very happy with themselves.

“You know you love me, sourpuss!” Daelynn shoots back at him cheekily, and the redhead chuckles in reply. Your son walks up to you, smiling brightly and all but headbutts Eledwen’s arm with affection as he moves to stand next to her, his mannerisms distinctly feline in nature.

The smile he gives you makes your heart go light and positively sing inside your chest. Then he notices his elven mother’s pose and immediately proceeds to groan in dismay. He glares at her, though it’s half-hearted at best, and vaguely points at the direction of her pushed-up bust.

“Mom, again?! Can’t we have one day without you flinging yourself at Dad and Mama the moment our backs are turned?!” he all but whines, putting his hand over his eyes to save himself from the cursed image of his mother making moves on the rest of his parents.

“Be a good darling and take your sisters and your uncles and head home, hmm? Your parents need some alone time, and you need to go wash off,” Daelynn instructs him with an unrepentant grin, and the boy glares at her in response.

“We really should get going. These beauties are ready for their afternoon nap, actually,” Straasa cuts in before things can escalate any further. And you have to admit— as much fun as you’re having right now, your elven woman’s display hasn’t left you cold and unbothered. Some alone time would be appreciated. And judging from Eledwen’s quiet intensity, she’s in the same predicament as well.

The golden-eyed woman runs a soft hand through your son’s hair, gentling him, and the boy immediately sucks up the attention, turning his face up to look at her. He always had a soft spot for her.

“Take your sisters home and wait for us. We won’t be long,” she quietly instructs him, and although he scrunches up his nose at that last part, he doesn’t talk back to her like he did with Daelynn. With a heavy sigh, he disengages himself from his mother’s side and moves to stand with Straasa.

Morkai is standing next to Dana, scratching between her ears and giving her what appears to be dried sweet beet paste. You can never figure out where he’s stashing the candy, but he always has some of it on him. Dana has gotten twice in size because of him!

With one final wave from Straasa and your son, the party heads back for home, your pretty mule in tow. The look she gives you as she walks away is knowing. Damn, even the donkey has your number now!

Once your friends and children are so far away that you can’t hear their voices, you brace yourself for impact— and sure enough, Daelynn flings herself at you, apparently having waited enough. You are grateful she waited this long, to be honest.

~*~

Okay, that was the first part of the story! Now comes the STEAMY PART! In case I wasn’t clear up till now:

This is NSFW! WARNING, WARNING, PROCEED WITH CAUTION!

The elf wraps her legs around your waist in a heartbeat, pushing her voluptuous body against you, and making you stay still. Her soft hand grabs your hair tightly, and she all but thrusts your face toward her breasts.

Your face gets smooshed in softness as your hands mold themselves to the full bust, kneading and pinching her nipples over the thin fabric of her shirt. The moan she lets out in response sounds smothered, so you look up to see her kissing with Eledwen, the elf’s free hand holding Eledwen by the neck as she all but devours her lips.

The sight spurs you on, and you roughly lower Daelynn’s shirt to get her peaked nippled out in the open. You don’t need more than that— you don’t have the time for it. This coupling will be quick and passionate, getting just naked enough to get what you want.

As soon as the pretty breasts are out in the open, your mouth waters for a moment before you ravenously descend on them, sucking the nipples into your mouth and teasing them with your tongue, lips, and teeth.

You are so focused on your task and lost in your elven lover’s sinful moans that you don’t notice your other woman kneel next to you. Not until her strong hand goes straight for you clothed length, gripping tightly and massaging it over the fabric of your breeches.

You moan helplessly against the nipple you were suckling, your hips instinctually pushing forward to get more of the maddening sensation. Your lips unlatch as you blindly offer up your mouth for Eledwen to claim.

The moment your lips connect, you start licking them voraciously, demanding entrance. Gods, you’ve barely begun, and you’re already going mad with desire, your shaft dripping inside your breeches and creating a mess.

She lets you in, and you go about tasting every single last nook and crevice, saturating your mouth with her intoxicating flavor. You reach out with your hand and bury it in her short locks at the same time Daelynn starts sucking bruises on the tender flesh of your neck.

Then you are unceremoniously pushed on your back, Daelynn’s strong hands pushing at your shoulders until you are flat on the ground and looking up at her wantonly. She smirks at your dazed expression and gets up, ignoring your little moan of complain.

Her hands head for her skirts, and she reaches under them— in one fluid movement, she has grabbed her underwear and is pulling it on the string that is keeping it in place. Within moments, the soft fabric flutters down her legs and pools at her feet. You can see that it is already wet with her desire.

Then your member is abruptly taken out of your breeches and exposed to the cool afternoon air, twitching and drooling pearly liquid from the tip. Eledwen’s warm hand closes over it without hesitation, playing with the glans and gripping it exactly as you like it.

Daelynn quickly stops her, however. She grabs your draconian lover by the throat and lifts her up so she can get the other woman’s breeches off. Soon enough, Eledwen’s lower half is bare— she’s the one wearing the least clothing than all three of you. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, if her flushed cheeks and foggy gaze are anything to go by.

Daelynn is on her knees in front of the half-dragon, having just taken her underwear off, and she deposits a sweet kiss to the brunette’s mount before she moves away. Then both women look over at you greedily, and you know— your time has come.

Daelynn loses no time climbing over you until her thighs are bracketing your face— she holds up her skirts to give you access, and you swallow thickly as she begins to lower herself on your face.

Before your lips can make contact with her core, however, the fingers of your right hand are firmly gripped— then enveloped by the tightest, silkiest heat. Eledwen moans lowly as your digits enter her, and you lose no time setting up the rhythm you know she likes best, stretching your fingers inside her and going as deep as you can get. You tease the entrance to her womb with the tips, and she shudders almost violently in response.

Then your mouth is put to work as well. You are lost to Daelynn’s heat, her scent, her taste— your very soul sings as you push your tongue inside her, making her moan and tremble for you as her slickness dribbles down your chin.

You’re so lost in the feeling of your women, that you barely notice that your own swollen member is left unattended and forlorn— but it doesn’t stay like that for long. Eledwen, the doll that she is, has apparently enough coherency left to grab it, and start pleasuring it in proficiently.

Which probably means you’re not doing a good enough job of driving her out of her mind. With new resolve, you push your fingers in and out of her expertly, picking up the pace and stretching your digits on the pull-out, making sure to widen her reddened opening every time.

After so many years with your amazing women, you have become quite proficient at multi-tasking. You go about pleasuring them with gusto, your mouth sucking relentlessly at Daelynn’s core, flicking and rubbing her nub with the fingers of one hand, while the other is busy burying its fingers inside Elly knuckle-deep.

And still Eledwen keeps on massaging you, her thumb swiping over the swollen, wet head of your erection, dipping her fingertips into the slit and twisting her wrist on the up-stroke. But then she decides to use her other hand as well— her strong fingers grip your scrotum firmly, and roll around your orbs until your eyes all but roll back into their sockets.

It’s too much to handle— Eledwen’s walls are gripping your fingers so tightly it’s become a struggle to move them, and Daelynn’s wild riding is stealing your breath away as she tries to get your tongue inside her as far as it can go.

The ecstasy building in your core can no longer be ignored. Saturated in the smell and taste of your women, your mind long gone and your body functioning on nothing but instinct, your muscles begin to clench and lock as magma erupts from your throbbing shaft, bolts of lightning-intense sensation shooting down your raw nerves and scorching everything in their path. You spill thickly over Elly’s fingers, painting them white with the evidence of your desire for her and Daelynn, a desire that only grows stronger with each passing year.

Your moan of ecstasy is lost between Daelynn’s fold, and you fight not to thrash as the rapture all but incapacitates you— you need to keep going, you need to please them! You need it as much as you needed your own orgasm, more than that even!

Then your wish is granted to you— Daelynn’s thighs become a vice around your face as she wildly thrashes on top of you, crying out and pushing her opening against you almost suffocatingly the moment her walls begin to clamp down on your tongue. A little explosion of slickness fills your mouth as she moans and trembles on top of you, feeding you all she has to give.

She slumps on top of you like a puppet with its strings cut, heaving and panting as she rides the aftershocks. Then it’s Eledwen’s time. Her own passage is clenching so tightly it almost threatens to break off your fingers, but she needs that one last push.

So you give it to her— you crook your fingers up, and relentlessly hammer into the spot that drives her wild. Her body freezes the moment you begin the fierce assault, and a moment passes, two— then she is locking against you as a burst of liquid bursts from inside her, bathing your fingers and palm in her essence.

She is quiet in her pleasure, unlike Daelynn— she rides your digits with gusto, panting, her red tongue peeking between her half-open lips. You can feel her pulsing, the spasms so strong that you’re amazed she’s still conscious. Then it’s done, and she too falls on top of you bonelessly.

You grunt a bit— the woman is compact, but don’t try to move her. Daelynn finally decides that the time to get off from your face has come, so she gets up on shaky legs, but doesn’t move far. She kneels next to you, and gently reaches out to remove your fingers from inside Eledwen. The half-dragon moan faintly as your hand leaves her sensitive walls, but doesn’t complain.

Your blond seductress is looking at your hand with hunger— like the white covered fingers are a treat to be savored. And sure enough, she immediately leans forward and takes them in her mouth, cleaning away all evidence of Elly’s orgasm with her voracious tongue.

You chuckle darkly as you watch her, but the sight is quickly blocked by Eledwen’s face, the golden-eyed woman crowding you and pressing her mouth against you demandingly. You open up for her, and she goes about stealing your breath as well as sharing the flavor of Daelynn’s climax.

Then you’re all done. You slump against each other, taking a moment to just cuddle with each other. A moment where you are laid flat on your back, cradling both women against your chest as your breathing finally slows and you all start to nuzzle and softly kiss each other.

You need to get going— everyone is waiting for you back home. But you can’t help but cherish this blissful sensation, where the only thing that exists is just you, your amazing lovers and the sky above you.

It has all been worth it.

#the soul stone war #Scenario #snippet #post-ending #Daelynn #Eledwen #poly routes

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