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evita-shelby · 2 months ago

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God's Creation of Eve

aka the slight Interview with the Vampire (2022 series) crossover one shot.

for those reading fandom blind, Lestat is an 18th century French Vampire who has a rather toxic relationship with his lover, Louis(who is a black man in 1910s Louisiana)

cw: death, depression, grief, murder, cover ups

the face claim for younger!Eva is Arantza Ruiz who played a young Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz in the long cancled series, Juana Ines.

pairings: Eva & Lestat de Lioncourt, Eva x Tommy Shelby, Eva x Luca Changretta, Eva x Brilliant Chang and Eva x Jack Nelson

@zablife @call-sign-shark @justrainandcoffee @novashelby @hoodeddreams13 @thegreatdragonfruta

They had met an opera.

He thought she’d be easy prey only for the fourteen-year-old witch to turn the tables on him as his own thoughts made their way into her brain. Only vampires could communicate with each other like this and the teenage girl didn’t waste any time in taking advantage of it.

She had so much to live for, a Mexico without a tyrant, her career as a prima ballerina and adulthood in these Roaring Twenties she sees so much in her visions.

“I know what you are Monsieur de Lioncourt.” The little witch had said with a charming smile. “And I know who you seek too.”

Not a what, but a who.

A person to fill the gaping hole his beloved Nicholas had left, a person who will love him forever and be his forever.

“I should have known you’re a witch. Your blood was too enticing to be that of an ordinary human.” The blond man stills the air around him so the little witch can share every bit the universe had allowed her to know of his soulmate.

Louis de Pointe du Lac, a beautiful man with a sad soul and no twin in existence. He lived in New Orleans in a place called Storyville. Louis was thirty-three years old, had a sister named Grace, mad brother named Paul and a propensity to pay for Miss Lily at the Fair Play Saloon.

The Frenchman forgets his hunt as she shares every vision she had of this man and their happiness in Louisiana while only half paying attention to the opera before them. Lestat de Lioncourt had been there when it was first composed, he knew it by heart and would eventually share it with his beloved.

They will dance together in their bliss, they will hunt together and live in the French Quarter for several decades. And even more, he’d create a daughter to complete their family.

Claudia, a consummate killer just like him.

“I shall spare you in gratitude for this…gift.” The Frenchman had said and focused on a different meal.

Six years after all of Eva’s dreams go up in a puff of smoke. Just two years later she loses her ability to dance thanks to a fracture in her ankle, her family dies before her eyes and 1920 might be a year she might not even live to see.

Eva in her madness had used her abilities to find him and beg him to end her misery. She had done everything to forget her grief, everything she wanted done before she died and now, she wanted to see whether the vampire can bestow her one last gift.

She doesn’t know how she gets to his doorstep, but the witch does and she stands before the Vampire Lestat and an immortal Louis de Pointe du Lac.

“Why would I kill you, when I owe you my Louis?” the vampire smiled like Lucifer and instead of making her a fine dinner for him and his lover, he makes a sister for Louis and an eternal friend out of the teenage girl who convinced him to let her go. “You shall dance again, laugh again and when the time comes, find your own Louis.”

The witch had felt pain before but not like that.

Her beauty was enhanced, her magical blood allowed for her to retain her abilities postmortem and her desire for death turned to a desire for blood.

She had been twenty years old then and would be that way for the rest of eternity. Her first meal is a man who mistook her for a prostitute.

Eva ---now given a new purpose--- left her beloved homeland and lived as their sister until she felt confident enough in her enhanced abilities to find her own eternal companion.

Lestat had not wanted to until she uses the same trick she used to keep him from killing her.

She showed him the man who could make her as happy as Louis makes him.

Tommy Shelby.

He lived in Small Heath where her senile grandmother lived as well, and no one suspected it was she who was behind those deaths Campbell believed the Peaky Blinders had done. As far as the man knew, Grace was compromised on the job and not fed as she walked home one evening.

Her heart soared and beat in tandem to his when she met in person.

Thomas Shelby so full of pain that his smile looked like a grimace half the time. Her telepathy allowed him to feel understood, to be able to communicate without struggling to find the words that don’t exist yet and confide in another being how alone he felt.

Then she fed a little from him, they made love until the sun came up and he’d return at dusk without her even asking him to. He didn’t hear the shovels with her, he said.

She stopped time for him so he could sleep in peace, his family adored her and she hoped she could share her dark gift with him or take him to Lestat whom she owed this joy to.

She would’ve turned him if he hadn’t shown up bloody that night in December. The vampire witch had learned restraint and yet it failed her completely that night.

As far as everyone knows, Tommy Shelby stepped into the Cut on December 3rd ,1919.

Eva Smith returned to New Orleans heartbroken just as Claudia appeared to cover up the cracks in the foundation.

“You are leaving again, ma petite sorcière.” He said almost sadly. He hated abandonment, his own mother had left him after he made her and now he fears Eva would leave and soon enough Louis and Claudia would too.

“I’ll visit, and New York is not far for a vampire.” The witch assured him and added to make him chuckle, “Besides four coffins is too cramped for a married couple. Poor Claudia has to hear the two of you doing the dirty so close to her coffin.”

“Fine, you may go. Use the wealth the dead you still has and enjoy these Roaring Twenties you’ve been dying to experience since you were Claudia’s age.” He says not hiding his pain nor his thoughts of how he hates it when they leave him alone.

As alone as he felt after Magnus self immolated in front of him.

Her mother’s family receives her with equal parts horror and relief.

They knew what she was, though only she’d been given their family’s magical legacy, those with the blood of witches can always find other nonhumans with great ease. They know she is a vampire and most know it is better she live forever than have died so young.

New York provides great distraction from her grief and ensuing loneliness, she feasts on people who are not missed, and her coffin is not kept in a trunk in the basement, instead it is kept as a sort of joke in her parlor where people come to test her abilities.

She is the Witch of the Upper West Side, an enigmatic socialite who only comes out at night. Lestat de Lioncourt comes rarely, though more often as his marriage becomes fractures more with every strain. If he’s not with her he’s with Antoinette, same Antoinette that will be another nail in the cofffin if he doesn’t change his course.

“But you said he will be mine forever and that is what matters.” He points out and dismisses her advice with a dramatic sigh as they hunt tasty young men working for the Black Hand. They will blame the Irish or the Jews, no one will think it was the Frenchman and the Mexican woman their boss couldn’t help but stare at the opera.

Inevitably, Eva falls in love again. Another gangster, Italian with big dreams and while sixteen years her elder, loved her enough to make her dead heart beat for another again. She took precautions, considered turning him so she’d be spared the grief this time around only for him to go alone to England and never return.

It was the curse of the immortal, to outlive everyone you love.

It was 1925, Eva should’ve have been a wife and a mother by now and yet she was exactly as she was that night she awoke in the lavish guestroom at Rue Royale

Alone and with a pain with no cure.

She encounters Claudia months after Louis had come to see her hoping she’d be with her. The girl had gone on a murder spree seeking to make a companion and until she returned, the vampires had to stay underground for the suspicion to die down for good. Her departure had broken Louis who couldn’t make himself leave the house hoping for her return.

Lestat had wanted to join her in New York, but chose to stay with Louis in New Orleans. Before they parted ways again, he advised her how to comport herself with vampires in the old world and mentioned the Theatre de Vampires in Paris.

He warned her not to stay long and if she did, that her behavior never gave any of them any chance to put her on trial for their bullshit laws.

She travels before the world goes to shit again. She feasts, fucks and flees the moment people begin to suspect.

It is Paris just as the world comes crashing down in something called the Depression. The City of Lights hosts many who feel the brunt of the fall and others who survived it with the hoards of wealth untouched.

Brilliant Chang lives lavishly even if the English fucked him over so badly he had to fake his death. He loved his women, especially the woman with cash to burn who made him chase her as her humanity continued to slip away from her the longer she stayed as a guest with Armand.

Billy Chang’s opium allowed her to feel as high as he did during their little feedings, he wanted the Gift, to be her lover forever and never grow old as the world forgot who he had ever been.

And yet, her beloved Chang Chan Nan does not survive the transformation. A blessing because the Coven would’ve used it as an excuse to kill her.

It is 1933 and she makes the world believe he’d gone on a boat to China as his body burns in the house they shared for those four years.

She stays in New York City again, hating herself and starving herself until she meets another man whose blood sings to her like his predecessors once had.

He had had a wife, a lovely boring creature with no fire in her.

Eva could confirm that even her blood had been as lifeless and unsatisfactory as she’d been in life. Jack didn’t care, he’d married her to make a legacy through his children who needed the right blood to make it where their father could never.

In fact, the South Boston gangster had been turned on by the act of him being rid of his vapid wife. They had fucked as the body burned in the incinerator and her blood stained their clothes.

He had never loved her, she was a means to climb the ladder anyways.

Jack provides her with people to feed on by hunting them down for her, his loud brash personality so different from her other lovers and yet she loves him just as much as she loved those before him.

“I want to be forever with you.” He says when he returns from England in 1934 ready to take the next step in their relationship. The vampiress has drawn this out of fear of killing him, she had hoped to go to New Orleans and have her Maker give him the Dark Gift.

But, her lover and fiancé had wanted her to be the one to make him. To give him a new life where no real limit exists and he’d have no real need for a legacy when they’d live on forever.

This time, as if by divine providence, she is able to become not only his lover, but his Maker. The god he worships, the woman he will love forever and asks her to marry him after they feed together on a sumptuous feast she’d caught just for him.

Jack Nelson makes her his wife and takes her to Boston even if she can never give him the legacy he had long desired. They are the Nelsons who keep a lavish coffin for two hidden in a walk-in closet only he and she can open.

The happiness Lestat had promised her just like the one she promised him that night had finally come.

#eva smith shelby #tommy shelby x oc #evacore #peaky blinders fanfiction #luca changretta x oc #jack nelson x oc #brilliant chang x oc #tommy x eva #luca x eva #jack x eva #brilliant x eva #iwtv crossover

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laurikarauchscat · 2 months ago

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Lestat de Lioncourt 🤝 Emhyr var Emreis

Bad, bad men.

hands covered in unfathomable quantities of blood

Will forever be haunted by the many ways in which they fucked up their beloved children

Fictional man test-runs god threw my way to see if I can be normal [I cannot. Actually. So he decided the world would be a better place if I was gay.]

#lestat de lioncourt #emhyr var emreis

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hekateinhell · 1 year ago

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#VCKinkWeek, Day 4: Pet Play

I was hoping to have this one (and another) done for kink week but real life has been happening and I don't want to phone it in, so here's a 2k snippet of my Lestat/Armand pet play fic for now — just something sweet and lighthearted! 💖

“You do look like a prissy cat, you know.”

“A what?” The look on Armand’s face was comical, his large eyes widening even more, the corners of his mouth tugging down further in annoyance — truly the very image of a disgruntled feline.

Lestat couldn’t help it, he never could. Loud, rancorous laughter burst out of him, the kind that had him putting a hand over his chest to emphasize the melodrama of the moment, the kind that brought blood tears to his eyes. “A bothered petit pussycat, like some unlucky fool has just tossed you into the bath.”

Armand’s eyebrows shot up, his lips starting to twitch with poorly suppressed mirth. He seemed more entertained by the spectacle Lestat made rather than the actual words coming out of his mouth.

“Is that right?” Armand settled himself on the velvet settee beside him, the proud tilt of his head making something in the region of Lestat’s chest clench painfully.

What a princeling still, strong and poised, after everything he had endured.

“Yes,” Lestat’s laughter faded now, and he quickly passed a hand over his face to dispose of any remaining evidence of the earlier display.

“Yes,” he continued, throat constricting with emotion, “If you were mon petit chaton, I would adorn you with the most luxurious collar money could buy. I would bathe you every night and feed you out of the palm of my hand, tender little thing that you are. I would have you in my coat pocket everywhere I go, and I would once never let you out of my sight. I would gather you to my chest at dawn each night and hold you there tightly until the sunset. You would be my most beloved pet, my most cherished possession.”

Lestat ended abruptly then, breathless and acutely aware how every sentence he'd just uttered was paramount to a holy confession, a wretched love letter. He couldn't bear to look at Armand, to see the little demon feign surprise at Lestat's affection for him when it had been penned in at least five different novels for the entire world to see.

And if Armand laughed, presumed it was merely the joke of an overly theatrical buffoon? Well, that would be the worst of all, wouldn't it?

Oh Lestat, such pretty, hollow words from a monster’s mouth.

Armand shifted closer, his deceptively delicate hand coming to rest over Lestat’s much larger one, the metal of their gold rings clinking together as he leaned fully against Lestat’s shoulder,

I would let you, if that is what your heart desires. Whatever may please our Prince, of course.

More than the slightest hint of sarcasm evident in Armand’s telepathic communications, and Armand must have felt him bristle because he pressed a little kiss to his collarbone, a crumb of sweetness to cleanse away the sting.

Little Devil, Armand!

“Open it,” Lestat demanded with all the enthusiasm and intensity of a young child as he shoved the dark green velvet-covered rectangular box into Armand’s open hands.

A rare moment when his youth truly shown through, the luminance of the hallway sconces catching onto the highlights in his golden curls as they bounced against his shoulders from a boyish excitement he could not contain.

How sweet Lestat could be when he was in such a pleasant and playful mood.

Bittersweet warmth bloomed through Armand’s chest at the sight, rising in his throat to temporarily restrict his vocal cords. He suppressed most of a smile as he collected his bearings, grounding himself by listening for the chaotic sounds of life just outside the heavy front doors of the Saint-Germain house.

No need to indulge Lestat just yet. There would be time for that later.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, knowing the longer he drew out the moment, the more gratifying the reward would be later for the both of them.

Lestat, always so impatient, shifted his weight from one foot to the other in a decidedly human fashion.

No response as his large gray eyes darted restlessly from Armand’s carefully composed face to complete an extremely unnecessary inventory of the priceless paintings that decorated the entry area of the mansion and back again. The nervous, primal energy he had never quite been able to shed for any significant duration of time exhibiting itself for all to see.

‘All’ presently meaning Armand. A rare occasion to be the only inhabitant of his own home over the past week — a blessing and curse. Until Lestat had arrived.

“Nothing’s changed since you were last here,” Armand promised, placing a gentle hand on Lestat's forearm, brushing over the downy blond hairs repeatedly as though he meant to soothe an overstimulated animal.

A puppy, perhaps.

Maybe that’s why Lestat loved them so… After all, how often do we love other creatures at least in part for the aspects of ourselves which we see in them?

Lestat nodded in response, his throat making an audible click that Armand relished, the hunter in him thrilling at the giveaway of an easy mark in his midst.

A large hand came to brush against his rounded cheek, the invitation too great to resist, Lestat’s darker skin so warm and radiant from the fresh kill. Armand couldn’t help but to turn his face to nuzzle into his palm, chasing the sensation as if he could do away with the barriers of the flesh that separated them from each other.

“If you think I am a dog, then you surely must be a kitten,” Lestat murmured, appearing every bit as serious as a scientist reporting his findings to a jury of his peers. “And what divine timing that I discover this now,” he continued, nudging the box still unopened in Armand’s other hand. “Must I beg?” he gestured widely, every ounce the dramatic Lelio on the stage he had once been.

“It would do you well to beg me more often, Lestat,” Armand couldn’t resist a final provocation before he relented, stepping back for space to undo the little gold clasp at the front and pull back the cushioned lid.

It’s a thin band of rigid emerald velvet, the circumference greater than that of a wrist but smaller than a waist, and directly in the middle lay an ornate square-cut gemstone of a similar color framed in a border of gold crusted with small diamonds. A single little golden bell clipped to the center of the band below the emerald.

Certainly not… Armand furrowed his brow even as his lips curved upwards, betraying himself once again. Lestat wouldn’t be that presumptuous. Oh, but he would — if anyone would.

There’s no mistaking the object in question.

“A collar, Lestat? You would have me be your pet, in all seriousness?” Impossible to ignore the thrill that ran electric throughout his veins at hearing himself say the words, at seeing Lestat’s mouth drop open just enough to barely expose the very tips of his fangs, pupils dilating as his dead pulse quickened in response.

“In all seriousness, yes,” he whispered, his stare piercing in its intensity as he reached forward to push back Armand’s auburn hair from his shoulders before gently rubbing his index and middle fingers over the slight swell of his Adam's apple where a collar would rest. “May I?”

A formality, he must know that. How could Armand ever hope to deny him in this state? Open and yielding and giving, a merciful rainstorm after a long, savage drought. How many times had Armand fantasized over the centuries of having Lestat’s attention just so?

“Of course,” his voice sounded small to his own ears but no matter, let Lestat think that was his original intent. He cast his long lashes down, knowing what an artful portrait of submission he made with the playful shadows over his cheekbones, head bowed ever so slightly: a perfectly trained pet ready to receive its master. Claws retracted and hidden for the time being.

“My, my, aren’t you the sweetest of kittens?” Lestat’s speech held the tone of abject reverence as his fingers brushed against the back of Armand’s neck to fasten the collar into place. Armand imagined that he trembled as the band nestled snugly over his skin; the room shimmering in tones of yellow and rose, his senses crossing they often wont to in the formidable arousal of the moment.

Armand’s entire world boiling down — as it so often did — to Lestat. His touch, the gray of his iridescent eyes that brought to mind a windswept beach on a stormy night, the hypnotic call of his powerful blood, unmistakable in its scent, made Armand’s mouth ache with thirst. The sound of Armand’s own drumming heart and everything that was Lestat not a hair's breadth away crossed in his mind, drowning out whatever words the man was uttering now.

“Armand… Armand… there he is, there is mon petit chaton.” Lestat smiled then, little crinkles forming around his eyes whenever he did something so human, his mouth still moving, making the same shapes over and over again.

Armand shook his head, hoping too late Lestat wouldn’t interpret the gesture as being directed at him.

It seemed ridiculously comical all of a sudden, standing here in the foyer of his home, spellbound into silence by having Lestat in front of him, seemingly proposing they play a game Armand didn’t fully grasp, in spite of him recalling the thought he had dropped into Lestat’s mind a couple of weeks prior: I would let you, if that is what your heart desires.

They’re at the precipice of something, a notion somehow too foreign and too familiar at the same time.

Lestat’s eyes dart towards the staircase and back to Armand’s face, awaiting an invitation that even he wasn’t bold enough to presume was his for the taking. His hands dropped back to his sides, the tissue paper in the boutique bag he still carried at his elbow rustling with the movement.

“What else do you have in there, Lestat?” Without waiting for a reply, Armand offered him his most beatific smile, holding out his hand and gesturing him closer as though Armand were the one persuading a feral cat.

Lestat exhaled, a look not unlike relief brightening his features as he followed Armand up the narrow staircase to the bedchambers. “Ah, but curiosity killed the cat!” He clapped his hands, clearly pushing past whatever reserve he’d had.

“Yes, yes, so I have heard.” Every step Armand took made the tiny bell at his throat jingle, a soundtrack to the fantasy.

“You didn’t let me finish, mon chéri…” Lestat’s hand solid at Armand’s lower back, his breath cool over the shell of his ear. “Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”

#i do wish i had something complete for you guys i really tried to work on three different things but it's been such a chaotic month #i am also halfway done with lestat in a shock collar that's decidedly less cheery lol #armand/lestat #lestat/armand #armand #lestat de lioncourt #vc #the vampire chronicles #vc fic #vckinkweek #prompts

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nalyra-dreaming · 10 months ago

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Will you rank the books from your favorite to least favorite and why just for the fun of it?

... okay^^

Though... I am not sure if they can all be ordered that way, some of them are on the same level for me, in a way.

From least to favorite, with a real quick comment^^

Blood Canticle. For... reasons. Though it has its place in the arcs.

Merrick. Not this low for the Louis content, but for style and... well.

Blood and Gold. I like Marius as a character. But sometimes...

Blackwood Farm. Quinn my beloved. But... cameos. The turning though!!

Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis. Replimoids. 'nuff said.

Memnoch the Devil. Heaven. Hell. The eye. Dora's period.

Interview with the Vampire. I'm sorry Louis but ... honey...

The Queen of the Damned. Lore, lore, and POV's. And the Devil's Minion

Prince Lestat. He's back! (Hey, they wrote that on the cover.)

The Vampire Armand. Holy shit.

The Tale of the Body Thief. Spiraling after trauma, and bouncing back riiiiighhhtt back into it. Mojo!!!

Blood Communion. Talk about closing the arcs. Well, for some.

The Vampire Lestat. Milestone, lore, and the vampiric world shifting.

Not sure if the last few are not all on the same level?!

I have read all of them several times. There are things I love about them all (okay, most). So this list is probably... ever-shifting, depending. :)

#Anonymous #asks #ask nalyra #the vampire chronicles #vc #vampire chronicles #anne rice

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lord-of-the-ducks · 3 years ago

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Today is a good day. I finally got my hair cut, the dvd player I assumed to be lost in the mail came a day early, and I was finally able to sit down and watch Interview with the Vampire

I was expecting to make a bunch of WWDITS refrences and jokes, and I did, but it was also surprisingly similar to the Hannibal series. Like, way too similar. As in, if you’re gonna read my live reactions, know that there are spoilers for that show, especially the end of season 2.

Anyway, tomorrow I’m gonna cover either Lost Boys or Only Lovers Left Alive since I have the dvds for those and now that I have access to a dvd player, I wanna watch them

Enjoy!

Interview with the Vampire

I really gotta finish reading the book, but what I can say right now is that I expected it to be super straight and I was convinced that the clerk at the bookstore would judge me like “ew vampire simp” but they probably just thought I was even gayer than I look agsgudkhk

I was confused about why there was a modern bridge until I remembered that this is supposed to be told as a flashback

How many WWDITS jokes do you think I’m gonna make?

JAYWALKING? HOW DARE

Anne Rice wrote the screenplay? Huh. I’m glad it means that no one gets to try to make this straight

“What do you do?” “I’m a vampire” Louis I love you

The actor playing the interviewer looks familiar

Making a post-viewing note to say that I figured out where I knew him from and it broke me

The interviewer thinks that he’s a weirdo but he’s a whole ass supernatural being

The long hair gives me Nandor vibes

“Shall we begin when I was born to darkness” dude shut up

I’ve already complained about this in the book but can we please stop making confederate vampires? Thanks

He just opens up his shirt sguahaukhd and Lestat is in the corner watching. I bet it wasn’t even Louis wanting to die that drew him in it was seeing him shirtless

I could insert an essay about how vampire bites are inherently queer but the creators clearly know that, the music was weirdly romantic and Lestat was literally sweeping him off his feet

Oh this is GAY gay

This is even more queer than the book I was terrified that they would try to straightwash everything

Bruh Lestat just got it over with in the book here he’s making a whole date out of it

Lestat you’ve asked him if he wants to be turned like 8 times just fucking do it

I can’t tell who is more like Nandor in this situation. Probably Lestat since they’re both edgelords

Ow that does not look fun

“Happens to us all” hah nice

Where’d the blood go? I swear i’m not gonna pull a cinema sins but I was already thinking about how he’d need to clean up

I adore their vests

“When you wake I’ll be waiting for you” gay.

“My friend” oh that was a very not straight way of saying that

“I don’t wanna kill people” “Oh don’t worry I got you covered” Lestat my beloved

Dinner date??? Dracula???

Lestat juicing the rat is so funny for no reason

Insert essay about drinking rat blood from a super fancy glass

Lestat eating the rich is a vibe

Vampires can read thoughts?

Well, Lestat can

“Evildoers are easier and they taste better” Lestat is the best

Oh my god this movie is so bisexual

Nevermind Louis is more of a Nandor because they both like MILFS/GILFS

Homoerotic fight? Hell yes

Codependency isn’t good Lestat it’s abusive

I have mixed feelings about the way Louis’s slaves are portrayed in the book and the movie

Oh god Louis’s eating chickens Venom-style

I don’t like this

Dude you bit her people usually scream when they get bitten by someone

Lestat is angy

I actually adore Lestat. I hated him in the book because he was abusive to Louis but he’s fun here

Did he bite her boob?

Ok so vampires don’t necessarily need to bite someone’s neck in this version. I still don’t know where that came from

“It’s your coffin my love enjoy it” agshkdhkahu

Oh god I’m getting Hannibal vibes from Lestat is that why I like him so much?

Shit why am I getting gender envy for an actual psychopath

Did they break up? :(

Is the plague an actual plague or vampire attacks?

Oh no don’t eat the child

Lestat is me

LESTAT WHY ARE YOU DANCING WITH A CORPSE AGYASJYGJ

Lestat you didn’t

You fucking baby trapped him

I made those hannibal comparisons as a joke

“Surprise! The kid you thought you ate is alive!”

Do not turn the child. Bad idea

He turned the child

Just don’t leave it in the Bronx

She suddenly looks super fancy and put together?

“You must stop before the heart stops”

“Our daughter” Lestat shut the fuck up

Louis don’t make excuses you were baby trapped

Claudia is amazing I love her

I was expecting to make WWDITS jokes but it’s just devolved into “Hannibal but if Will didn’t betray Hannibal at the end of season 2 and they ran off and started a happy murder family”

Lestat really is just Hannibal with a better fashion sense and willingness to eat the rich

LOUIS WHAT WAS THAT TONGUE THING AGSYSGJY

Claudia is awesome

Oh no they’re fighting

Claudia’s situation is actually really sad

Lestat shut the fuck up

HELL YES STAB HIM

Ok this is very uncomfortable thing to hear from a child. I know she’s like, a lot older, but I don’t have to like this anime logic

Lestat needs to stop being so funny when he’s mad

“I’ve brought a present for you” DAMN HOW THE TURNTABLES TURN

Oh no Lestat is hungry

Claudia is giving me Guillermo vibes

Alcohol blood?

“We forgive each other then?” Don’t make me feel bad

HE DRANK THE DRUG BLOOD YESS HE DRANK THE DRUG BLOOD

I can’t remember why dead blood is bad I know it was in the book

“I’LL PUT YOU IN YOUR COFFIN” DAMN THAT WAS A RAW ASS LINE

Not them quoting fucking Hamlet

Don’t ask how I immediately knew that

Louis is the only one who actually recognizes when things are fucked up

DO NOT PUT HIM IN THE SWAMP THAT PRESERVES CORPSES

DON’T ASK HOW I KNOW THIS BUT SWAMP IS A BAD IDEA TO PUT A FUCKING VAMPIRE IN

VAMPIRES NOTORIOUSLY DON’T DECOMPOSE TAKE HIM OUT OF THE SWAMP

This is giving me Will and Abigail vibes

I like Claudia’s little cape thing

I FUCKING KNEW IT

YOU PUT HIM IN THE SWAMP YOU IDIOTS

Don’t call her a naughty little girl

He did

Oh no fire

Road trip?

Ship trip?

“We deserve your vengeance” NO YOU DON’T HE’S FUCKING ABUSIVE

Claudia has some great capes

Ok I have a lot to say about Bram Stoker but I will fight Louis for insulting him

Only I get to make fun of Stoker

Ok looks like it’s the 1880s?

She should have her hair up though.

Armand?

Are we gonna see Armand?

Oh that’s not Armand

BRUH WHY ARE YOU DANCING AHSHSUSGKK

I love Santiago

ANTONIO BANDERAS HELL YES

YEEEESSSSS

I know nothing about this man I’m just possessed by the spirit of Guillermo

Is she an actor?

Did they just kidnap some poor woman

Put her shirt back please

Oh I totally get why Guillermo wanted to be a vampire Armand is so cool

Please don’t say “no pain no gain”

Please put her clothes back

I had to lock my door otherwise someone’s gonna walk in and think I’m watching porn

“Monstrous” Yes Louis you’ve said that

Are all vampires this brooding and insufferable?

Sometimes I wish I was attracted to men just because I feel like I’m missing out

...you’re the oldest? You sure?

Don’t call him “beloved” you look like, 8, and he’s your dad

They really did quote this movie in WWDITS

“You would leave me for Armand if he beckoned you” OH BOY. I THOUGHT THAT THE QUEERNESS WAS JUST GONNA BE OBVIOUS BUT NOT OVERT

Please stop saying that Louis and Claudia are dating I was to throw up

“The world changes. We do not”

Are they about to kiss?

Please decide if she is his child or his girlfriend

Please don’t call him father and then kiss him on the lips I hate this so much

I am so confused what is going on

SUNLIGHT PIT?!?!

Jeez WWDITS took a lot from this movie

YES ARMAND

Oh wrong wall

Oh they’re dead

Ouch

Oh he’s mad

Louis really likes arson huh

This is literally the third building he’s set on fire

Oh no sunlight

Are they about to kiss? I’m genuinely asking

Bruh their faces were so close

Louis is a movie nerd adhkaduhku

Is Lestat alive?

He’s pretty stubborn about dying so far I wouldn’t be surprised

BAT

I really want Lestat to be alive

YES

Eat something jesus louisus

Oh of course he immediately says something gay

This is so gay

How long has Lestat been in that chair

Lestat has attachment issues

Interviewer has Guillermo energy

Oh my god the interviewer is fucking JD from Heathers

This is so so cursed

I do not know what to do with this information

LESTAT FUCK YES

He’s so extra akadgykfgyky

“Still whining” “Have you had enough? I’ve had to listen to that for centuries” Lestat my beloved

I had to pause I was laughing so hard

Anyway final notes: I rate this a 9/10, this was one of the most enjoyable movie experiences I’ve had in a while, but there were definitely some uncomfortable moments. As much as I consider this a highly influential piece of queer media, and it’s one of few vampire movies that make their queer vampires sympathetic rather than outright villanous, it suffers from a dangerous lack of intersectionality. People who are much smarter than I am have probably talked about the fact that Louis is literally a slave owner and that the portrayal of the slaves is as obstacles for the main characters rather than like, real human people in a horrible situation (it’s much worse in the book). As much as I loved this movie, I feel obligated to point out that it really fucked up there

Also the whole thing between Claudia and Louis made me want to throw up. I loved them both separately but the movie could not make up it’s mind about what to do with those two together.

Anyway, despite the fact that I went on a huge rant about the movie’s flaws, Lestat was what saved it for me. I hated him in the book but he was delightful here. Also, turns out that putting Tom Cruise in period dress makes me forget that he’s a scientologist

I highly recommend this movie, especially if you’re a fan of the Hannibal series

#wwdits #wwdits fx #what we do in the shadows #watching a vampire movie every day until the WWDITS hiatus ends #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #interview with the vampire

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chelsfic · 4 years ago

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I Fell into Fantasy - Nandor x Guillermo One-Shot

WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Guillermo admits to a secret desire. Nandor tries to fulfill it without compromising his aloofness.

A/N: The title of this fic comes from a song called “Days of the Phoenix” by AFI. I was inspired to write this fic by the scene in the movie where Viago talks about how he likes to make things “nice” for his victims during their final moments.

Warnings: Blood drinking, a bit of smut, frottage, pining, angst

---

Guillermo really should know better.

How many nights has he spent digging up the garden to dispose of the mangled corpses left behind after the vampires’ feasting? How many bruised, torn throats has he seen? Cracked collar bones and broken limbs? Lifeless, staring eyes?

He knows the victims are in pain before they die. He knows the vampires sometimes like to play with their food, chasing tearful virgins through the house, giving them a taste of escape before tucking into their meal. He knows it hurts. He knows it isn’t sexy.

Really. He knows.

He’s still jealous. He’s jealous when he shows up to yet another sad familiar mixer to find that nearly every other human in attendance has faded puncture wounds and he has to hide his smooth, pristine throat with a turtleneck sweater. He’s jealous when he’s forced to stand in the corner and listen to his master’s obscene, tantalizing moans as he drinks from some random human who isn’t him. He’s jealous when Nandor remarks on how tasty a victim is, licking his lips before discarding their lifeless forms like so much garbage.

He knows it’s wrong. But he gave up caring about right and wrong a long time ago, around the time he dug his first clandestine grave.

He’s wanted to be bitten ever since he was 13-years-old and he first watched Lestat turn Louis on the 18-inch TV in his bedroom. He’d paused the movie, rewinding and frantically beating off as the blood poured onto Brad Pitt’s lips. He wants to know what his master’s lips would feel like on the tender hollow of his throat. He wants to feel the scratch of his beard as he closes his mouth over Guillermo’s sensitive skin. He wants Nandor to hold him close. He wants to feel those sensual moans rumble through the vampire’s chest as he takes his fill.

He wants so much.

Whenever he feels jealousy, lust, longing... he reminds himself that he should feel grateful, proud even, that Nandor has never fed from him. Nandor sees him as more than a meal. He’s a trusty companion, a person, a...friend? This is what Guillermo tells himself. He knows it’s not a matter of taste. How many times has Nandor scolded him for looking too tempting when he blushes? Or warned him to be careful with his sword collection because he didn’t want him bleeding all over the place and testing his self-control?

Whatever his reasoning--respect, boundaries, taboo--Nandor doesn’t feed on his familiar. But Guillermo often wonders if things would be different if his master knew how badly he wanted it.

---

“Guillermo, you’re very serious tonight. Are you having to take a human shit? I can wait until after for you to do the tucking in…”

Nandor stands by his open coffin with an uncomfortable smile on his face that’s akin to a grimace. Guillermo has already helped him remove his outer layers and brushed out his flowing, dark hair. All that remains is for the familiar to hold his hand while he steps up into his coffin.

“No, master, I--I don’t have to take a shit. I’m fine,” Guillermo murmurs with sadness practically oozing out of his pores.

Nandor bristles, his eyes darting all over the room as he wars with himself over whether to press further or simply to ignore Guillermo’s stupid human moods and hope they go away.

The vampire sighs dramatically, “I think you better tell me what is the matter, Guillermo. I don’t want this affecting your work performance. You do a very poor job dusting the paintings and the window dresses when you’re sad. Now what is it? Laszlo and Nadja? Are they giving the guff to you?”

Guillermo is quiet for a long moment, looking up into his master’s fathomless brown eyes as he decides how to respond. Nandor’s whole body is tense as if he’s awaiting the guillotine blade. Maybe he should just get it out of his system and finally admit--well, certainly not everything he feels for his beloved master, but at least about his deep desire to be bitten.

He blushes, lowering his gaze as he finally answers, “I guess...I’m just a little jealous. Of...of the people you feed from.”

Nandor’s face drops into blank befuddlement before his dark brows lift upward and his lips curl in a poorly concealed smile.

“You’re jealous of my victims? I kill those people! You want me to murder you? Is this some kind of death wish thing? Because I find that really annoying!” Nandor sputters, half amused and half serious.

Guillermo’s face is burning with humiliation now and he rushes to clarify, “No! No, I don’t want to die, master. It’s just...I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to be bitten by a vampire...”

His voice fades to nothingness but Nandor clearly understands him and his face grows pensive as he contemplates his words.

“Are you bullshitting me?” Nandor questions and his tone is just close enough to irritation to cause Guillermo to shrink in on himself as he answers.

“No, master.”

“Well…” Nandor sighs and affects a look of disinterest. “It’s alright to say that sort of thing to me, Guillermo, because you’re my familiar. But you want to be careful out there with the other vampires. You could get eaten up! And then where would I be? Having to make another ad on the Greg’s List!”

“...Craigslist…”

“As I said!” Nandor snaps, holding out his hand expectantly as he moves to get into his coffin. “Now, that’s enough of this crazy talking. Alright?”

“Alright, master,” Guillermo murmurs subserviently, reaching up to release the lid and slowly lowering it, sealing his master inside.

“Goodnight, Guillermo!” Nandor’s muffled voice calls as the familiar moves around the room, blowing out candles.

“Night, master!”

Sealed in the claustrophobic darkness of his coffin, Nandor’s mind races as he tries to process this new information about his familiar. Guillermo--his little Guillermo!--would let him bite him and drink his delicious blood? No, he wants him to do it. Yearns for it. He is jealous of the people he kills just because they get to feel the sting of his fangs and the touch of his lips. Nandor palms himself through his trousers. He’s harder than he’s been in a century just thinking of it.

---

He tries, he really does. Guillermo tries to forget about his shameful admission and go back to normal. Nandor certainly seems unmoved, doing nothing to even hint that he remembers having the conversation. So, Guillermo goes through the motions, dutifully completing his chores, searching for fresh sources of virgin blood, and standing by while Nandor sates his bloodlust with perfect strangers. But now that he’s revealed his secret--part of his secret, let’s be honest--and faced his master’s outright rejection, he just can’t seem to let go of the hollow ache in his chest.

He feels inadequate, pathetic, unattractive. And sad. Mostly sad.

Guillermo might think that Nandor has forgotten all about their little chat, but the vampire dwells on it just as much as the human does in the days that follow. And it’s impossible to ignore the scent of “sad human” that’s begun to permeate the household. Nandor spends several days battling with himself over what to do. He considers killing Guillermo and starting over with a new familiar… Guillermo gets his wish, Nandor doesn’t have to confront his shameful attraction to his servant… everybody wins! But the thought of Guillermo’s sweet little face gone still and lifeless sends a foreign stab of emotion into his chest that is really unpleasant.

He could ignore the situation and hope for it to go away on its own. But now that he knows his familiar is secretly lusting after his bite, he can’t get it out of his mind. He’d avoided feeding from Guillermo for years. At first it was a matter of preserving a valuable asset. Guillermo is a good familiar, why risk slipping up and accidentally draining him? After a while, when Nandor started to fixate on his familiar’s adorable smiles, fantasizing about how his soft, little body would feel against his...then it became a matter of self-control and rejecting his disgusting, unnatural feelings for a... servant!

So, that leaves him with one option. He must feed from Guillermo...carefully. So, so carefully so as not to be overcome and either kill or ravish the poor fellow. And if he is going to bite his Guillermo, then he must make it a pleasant experience for his familiar. He can’t stomach the idea of simply ripping into his human and hearing him scream and cry with the pain of it. No, it has to be...special.

---

Guillermo is barely in the door, laden down with shopping bags, when his master’s voice calls to him.

“Guillermo! Is that you?”

“Yes, master! I’m back from the store. I got you some more of those bath bombs you like,” Guillermo answers, wrestling with the bags as he edges towards his room. “Is there something--?”

Nandor appears at his side and interrupts, “The one with the lavender? Very good, Guillermo. Ehm--why don’t you put down those satchels and come with me to my room for a moment. I have a surprise for you.”

Guillermo’s face lights up with a warm smile and he drops the bags on the floor by his closet-room, “A surprise? For me, master?”

“Just for you, Guillermo! Come!” Nandor practically skips at his side as they walk back to his room, his eyes lit with anticipation.

Nandor closes and locks the door behind them, watching his familiar take in the arrangements he’s made. He borrowed Laszlo’s gramophone and set it up in the corner. It’s playing a soft, quiet melody that floats gently on the incense-infused air. A vase of vivid red roses sits on an end table next to his fancy couch, which he’s covered in a layer of bath towels.

“What...what is all this, master?” Guillermo breathes, walking up to the flowers and burying his nose in the fragrant blooms with a smile on his lips.

“Do you like it, Guillermo? I wanted it to be--” he pulls a face but manages to get the word out “--nice for you.”

“But, why?”

Nandor steps up beside his familiar, towering over the smaller man. “I’m going to feed from you. If... if that is still something you are wanting.”

“Oh,” the word comes out on a shaky exhale and Guillermo feels his knees go weak. “I--yes, I still want...that. Thank you, master.”

Nandor smiles, baring his fangs and crinkling his eyes. Guillermo feels his heart do a flip in his chest and wonders, distractedly, if Nandor can hear his heartbeat. They’re standing so close. Guillermo could lean forward just a bit and they’d be touching. He looks up into Nandor’s eyes and finds them melted with warmth. His master has never gone through such an effort for him before. Guillermo feels like his heart could burst.

“You want to take a seat?” Nandor gestures to the towel covered couch and Guillermo snaps out of his daze.

He sinks down onto the cushions, running his hands appreciatively over the terry cloth, “This was clever, master.”

Nandor takes a seat beside him, close enough that their thighs brush together and Guillermo gulps. He’s brushed his master’s hair, helped him dress, helped him bathe for goodness sake, but he’s never felt as close to him as he does now.

“Are you comfort-a-ble, Guillermo?” Nandor asks, staring at his face with a hungry intensity.

Guillermo locks eyes with him and he sees his master’s pupils dilate, his lips part to bare elongated fangs. He gasps out a quivering breath as he fights the waves of exhilaration, lust and fear in order to answer.

“Yes, it’s...very comfy, master. Very nice, thank you.”

“Good,” Nandor responds, his eyes flicking down to Guillermo’s collar. “Why don’t you remove your woolen garment and open your collar. I don’t want to spoil your nice clothes.”

Guillermo feels like he’s in a dream. Nandor is never this...considerate. His mind flashes back to every time he’s watched his master strike out at a victim unannounced, with fierce aggression and even cruelty. It’s pathetic that his standards are so low, but the fact that Nandor isn’t treating him like just another victim to be used and discarded sends a rush of affection and hope flowing through him. He hastily grabs the bottom of his sweater, pulling it up over his head and tossing it aside. Next, he reaches for the collar of his shirt, but Nandor is there first. His long, thick fingers pluck at the buttons, releasing each one until Guillermo’s chest is visible. He pulls the collar aside, revealing the smooth, unblemished curve of Guillermo’s neck and shoulder.

“Are you ready?” Nandor asks with a hiss as he eyes his familiar’s naked skin. He’s never seen so much of the man before and he feels his cock stir with interest inside his trousers.

“Yes,” Guillermo breathes needily, tilting his head to bare his neck even further.

Nandor brings his hand up to cradle Guillermo’s head, letting his fingers sink into his soft curls and cupping his warm cheek in his palm. The pulse point at Guillermo’s throat is practically visible, his heart is beating so fast. Nandor feels his mouth flood with saliva as the rushing flow of Guillermo’s blood reaches his ears.

He wraps his other arm around his familiar, drawing him onto his lap and finally leaning in to bury his face into the warm, inviting crook of his neck. Nandor breathes in the intoxicating aroma that even the human-things-for-smelling and his incense cannot obscure. He moans loudly. He might be embarrassed if he were less overcome with the sensory feast of his familiar’s soft body in his arms and the promise of his warm, thick blood.

Guillermo mewls at the touch of his master’s mouth on his bare throat. His beard is scratchy and rough but his lips are impossibly soft and gentle. It’s like a kiss, he thinks, his heart rushing with affection and joy. Nandor’s arm around him is firm and strong. He knows that he could never hope to escape if Nandor truly wished to restrain him and drink him dry. Putting this level of trust in his master makes him feel like a tiny, frail rabbit in the jaws of a hungry wolf. A delicious shiver runs down his spine at the image. And then Nandor’s lips pull back and he feels the sharp points of his fangs graze over tender skin.

“Oh!” Guillermo cries out.

Nandor growls low in his throat but pulls back just slightly to check, “Is this still alright?”

Guillermo nods quickly, bringing up his hands to run them through Nandor’s soft hair reassuringly, “Yes! Yes! Please, master!”

He feels Nandor’s chest rumble with suppressed laughter and then there’s just the blinding, burning flash of pain that blooms as Nandor finally strikes, burying his fangs into his familiar’s soft, warm throat. Guillermo’s mouth falls open and his hands fist in Nandor’s hair as the first wave takes him.

“Shhh,” Nandor murmurs wetly against his neck, lapping the spilled blood with long strokes of his tongue. “Shhh, you’re safe.”

“Nnghh!” a pleasured groan strangles from the familiar’s throat at the touch of his master’s tongue. Guillermo squirms, his cock filling even as blood drains away from his body.

Nandor tightens his arms around his little Guillermo, pulling him flush against his broad chest and biting down once more as he begins to drink in earnest. He moans wantonly as the sweet blood fills his mouth. He’s as hard as he’s ever been and he rolls his hips against his familiar’s generous backside. He drinks and he drinks.

The pain ebbs enough for Guillermo to lose himself in the delicious feeling of connection with his master. His hands, his lips, his tongue, his teeth are all on him, inside of him, part of him. Nandor’s touch unlocks a secret room inside of Guillermo where he keeps his most tender feelings. For once he allows himself to truly feel the devotion, the affection... the love that he has for his master. It’s wonderful and dizzying. Tears slip from his eyes as he reaches his arms around Nandor’s broad shoulders, hugging him closer for as long as he’ll allow.

Too soon he feels his head start to spin and his grip on Nandor’s shoulders loosens. The vampire senses it immediately and draws back with a feral growl. Guillermo is limp and breathless in his master’s arms. He looks up with heavy-lidded eyes and watches Nandor lick blood from his lurid, stained lips.

“Thank you, master,” Guillermo whispers, snuggling into Nandor’s chest with a contented sigh. His arousal is flagging and he hopes that his master hasn’t noticed. He’d felt Nandor’s rigid erection grinding against him while the vampire drank his blood, but he has no way of knowing if that’s just something that happens every time he feeds. Whatever the case, he’s far too weak and drunk with happiness to do anything but drift along and hope that Nandor keeps holding him.

Nandor’s dead heart squeezes in his chest at the sight of his sleepy familiar burrowing his face into his chest. His plan seems to have failed. He’d wanted to give Guillermo his fantasy while remaining aloof, but instead he’s feeling an annoying rush of warm affection. Worse, he’s shamed himself by...rutting against the human like a street dog. He should push him away, or give him an order to remind him of the boundaries that are still in place. But as he looks down at the sweet smile on his familiar’s lips he can’t find it in him to spoil the moment for him so soon. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night he’d remind Guillermo of how things still stand between them.

“Will you keep holding me, master?” Guillermo mumbles, his eyes drifting shut. The human has read his thoughts!

“Yes,” Nandor replies, leaning down and tracing a barely there kiss onto Guillermo’s forehead. “For a little while.”

#nandermo #nandor x guillermo #guillermo x nandor #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #wwdits fanfic #wwdits

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princelestatdelioncourt · 3 years ago

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Ok I just need to say this.

Someone mortals mentioned Armand is more mature than I am. I am not going to rant and scream and cry as you might wish but there are some points that people I am sure missed when while reading both my book and Armand's.

And what I will say here is none to make Armand or myself better. Or like its said...Armand more mature than I am.

So let me explain, it all started with this:

“I’m trimmed in memories as if in old furs. I lift my arm and the sleeve of memory covers it. I look around and see other times. But you know what frightens me the most - it is that this state, like so many others with me, will prove the verge of nothing but extend itself over centuries” ~ Quote from Armand taken from the book ‘The Vampire Armand’

Then comments began

"Armand is more mature than Lestat. Lestat is not mature at all. Armand is fully matured becasue all he went through. Lestat was born with a silver spoon in Lestat mouth. Aristocrat. This is why Lestat will never be mature. Armand was poor and had a poor family, Armand is more humble that Lestat will be"

Oh Really? Again I am not saying Armand is not mature. Hell, how long has passed since he was born? 600 years ? Some maturity should he has that sad icon painter. But to say I am not mature and never will? Really?

Let me tell you this.... Have you forgotten I was raised poor with no food even if I was the Marquis son, with no money to even get a glass of wine? Have you forgotten how many times I was beaten by my father and brothers when all I wanted is to be happy and get away from that misery dark cold in ruins castle where I could do nothing but to stay there and swallow their words and hate? Have you forgotten by the age of 13 and 14 I had to do the duties my father should have done, which was hunting and providing? Have you forgotten how so many times we had no food and I had to go hunting everyday and good look if there was something I could get and provide? Have you forgotten that I only had 1 pair or pants, boots and shirt and slept on a straw matters and that the first beautiful garment I wore was that red clock and boots Nicolas's father made for me after the wolves? Have you forgotten I wanted to do good and learn and I was sent to the monastery and when I wanted to stay they got me back by force and took my books and locked me in my room? Have you forgotten that I was beaten repeatedly when I went acting becasue I wanted to do good making people to forget about their lives and give them happiness on that moment to make them forget about their pain? I was never happy, Never. Every time I was everything was taken from me. Even after I was given the dark gift. I was happy with Nicki and once again alone and trying to figure out things by myself.

Armand suffered as a kid, yes he did but still as mortal he had this beautiful life when Marius rescued him and he lived with him in luxury, he had food and beautiful clothes and brothers that loved him and Marius teaching him things!! He had a father and a teacher!! I had non of that, NONE. He was able to read and write and paint. Me, 21 and still had no clue how to read of write, what a shame and I had Nicki to read everything for me. No one had the patience to teach me anything but I had learned things by myself, when I went hunting, when I tried to escape, when I did things either if it was good or not, it was Me, no one else, I was trying! I wanted to do good and learn and know. I was my own teacher and pupil.

I am not complaining on Armand, again yes he has suffered, absolutely he did but so I did. He had Marius and he loved Armand and Hell just think about it how much I wished I had a father like Marius, a maker like him!! To give me the blood and staying with me, a guide!! I only had Magnus for 1 hour and what I learned from him. Go to sleep in that sarcophagus every sunrise and stop drinking before the heart stops and here is my treasure and spread my ashes. What else? What i should do? what was going on?? Why me!?? Call me reckless, brat, narcissist....whatever you want...just dont forget all I had to go through as well.

Each an everyone of us, has its own story. Maybe all of us are narcissists, possessive, brats, etc ...we all have had our own pain, doubts and we have learned from experiences and situations.

I have done some many things since that first night that I was given the blood. I went to discover, to know, to ask, to do something other than to hide in the darkness and complain to why I am this now. So many ups and downs. Surrounded by my beloved ones then left alone again. I have done some good things and some bad things but at least I have discovered. I moved on. I did something, I learned and yes I have matured.

I love you mortals, I really do but these things said are no true and you know it. I just hate some just want to see what you want and not the whole picture just because it appeals more this person or that. We all have our issues so do not judge saying someone is not mature becasue we are in a world of discovering and learning things and we will have mistakes, so we are all no mature and we will mature while discovering. Understand?

I am open to discuss this on a mature way. Ask me if you wish. I am here, ready. Go ahead.

=============

//I am sorry I had to write this. I am not disrespecting anyone. Lestat has his own pain as well. All of us love our characters so much and I understand we will defend them or discuss them becasue X reasons. I personally have been called immature and I know how much that hurts. Is not fun and for me, having this character of Lestat as part of who I am, becasue I have quite a few things in common, I felt this was while reading that. I am not trying to make this drama, I just hope that people understands that even if its only characters should not be disinterested. I dont know how to describe it so it makes sense and does not sounds like I am crazy. Perhaps all of this was said with no intention to hurt anyone and I took this to the core becasue it happened to me. I should have not interfere my life to just a characters life. But sometimes I cant. I might be just crazy. And again, I am not blaming anyone here. Perhaps just take it as if Lestat saw that and he is just writing about it. This is a blog after all and we are the owners of it and we publish whatever we want right?. So here is mine for today :-)

I love you all!!!

#I just needed this out of me...

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ive-lost-my-effervescent-mind · 4 years ago

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So I watched Interview with the Vampire for the first time

I watched Interview with a Vampire for the first time just now and here are my thoughts, in the order I thought them. The movie is like two hours long and I had a LOT of thoughts but the movie’s on hulu so if you watch it, maybe read along idk

Christian Slater looks like Logan Lerman send tweet

Brad Pitt isn't that hot ngl

What's with Vampires and the confederacy?

I mean really. Twilight, Vampire Dairies, Beautiful Creatures and now this

Ngl, flying while drinking someone's blood is pretty gay

This whole movie so far is pretty gay

They're boyfriends, I've decided it

Okay maybe Brad Pitt was kinda hot

Tom Crusie is still creepy tho

All this seems pretty tame so far, idk why it's rated R

"Now look with your vampire eyes." Stephenie Meyer wishes she wrote this line

"I'll be waiting for you." G A Y

Are they in France?

Oh no he has a conscience

Tom Cruise being the best vampire boyfriend and killing the victim for his vampire boyfriend

It's important to note that i have no idea what these characters' names are

Literally, I don't think they've been said

Did he just- is he eating a rat?

Oh, they're in Louisiana

Lestat, what a funny name

I need some blood, Lestat

Read her mind? really? The more pre-twilight vampire stuff I see the less impressed I become with Stephenie Meyer’s concepts

What's that thing on his thumb?

You may be old enough to be his grandmother, murderous old lady, but his vampire boyfriend is more than old enough to be yours

"Life without me would be even more unbearable" I said it before and I’ll say it again: GAY

Brad Pitt really said let's go to KFC

Wow they're really trying to convince us that Vampire Brad Pitt was nice to his slaves and really cared about them. Disgusting

Oh, his name is Louis

Maybe Tom Cruise is cute

Still creepy tho

Okay, NOW they're in France

Is he-is he eating her boob!?

Yes! He drank her blood from her boob!

I get why it's R now

"So I'm sitting there with blood on my titties"

I love Louis's hair, such volume

The coffee table is a coffin, how smart

There is a lot of drinking of rats in this movie

Oh, the plague, how relatable

Awww, Baby Kirsten Dunst

More rats, yay

He made her a vampire?

She's like 9. Imagine never aging past nine

Oh, it's a knife ring. How cool

Wow Claudia really likes the test of vamp blood. It's not like Lestat doesn't deserve it

Wow, she becomes a vampire and her hair is instantly curled

How nice, he's poking a hole in the nanny-juice box for her

"Our little daughter." G A Y

I appreciate this gay vampire dad content

I love how she kills every man who pisses her off. Good for her

"I want to be her." Poor baby

Claudia is fighting back. So much rage in such a small body

Oh my god her hair. It just grows back. Dear god

She cut him. Good for her

Oh no

"Louis my love" oh no oh no oh no

If this movie is going where i think it is imma turn it off

Oh wait nvm

She just wants to leave

Thank god

"Is that supposed to scare me?" This kid is I C O N I C

Lestat is a Le-Jerk

Did she kill him?

She did, she did kill him. He deserved it tho

"He belongs with those reptiles." Claudia is a savage

This is such a violent and brutal break up

Also: this movie is L O N G

Oh no, the plague, again

At least Claudia gets to go to a ball, and the opera

I don't know who this other vampire is but i sense that he's an asshole

He's so odd. But i guess you do what you gotta do to say entertained

You could say his eternal life literally drove him up the wall

Oh! The dad from spy kids

He has a card, how classy

I love how no one questions that Louis takes a kid out in high society

"A vampire pretending to be a human pretending to be a vampire." " How avant garde" this kid!

Oh my god that isn't an actress. Its an actual victum

There he is! The dad from spy kids!

They really killed her in front of all those people. Theatre these days, amirite?

How cute, they have little coffin cubbies

See Louis, every vampire has a kid

Oh wait no

He's not a vampire kid, he's an actual child that they just feed on

Vampire dad-from-spy-kids really said fuck your morality

Why does Claudia call Louis beloved. It creeps me out

It's illegal to kill another vampire. Damn

It's illegal to make a young vampire, as it should be

That being said, Lestat told them none of this!

Ofc, Louis has made yet another vampire fall in love with him. Good for him

"You...are...beautiful, my friend." G A Y

Lestat was really everyone's asshole ex, wasn't he?

Oh no! Claudia wants a friend

She's guilt tripping him. Good for her

Oh wow, he actually did it

Oh wait he didn't

Oh no, he lost his humanity

Why is she gonna kiss him

Oh good the vampire police are here to stop it

I mean: oh no! Not the vampire kid!

Armand! Do something! Save your vampire love interest!

More coffins, great

Louis's punishment is giving me "Cask of armillio” vibes

Oh shit, the dungeons has no ceiling to the sky, she's gonna burn

Poor Claudia

Oh, and also Madeline i guess

Yes Armond! Free him!

Louis for vampire dad of the year

Oh no...they're ash

Poor Louis

"So vampires can cry" See Smeyer! See!

Is that...oil?

Oh yes, yes it is. And he's covering everything with it

LOUIS REALLY SAID ALL YOU KILLED MY DAUGHTER, PREPARE TO DIE

wheres armund tho

Oh no the sun

There he is! There's Armund!

And the blood boy

Oh shit, Louis is maaddd

"But the world was a tomb to me." Damn

More rats. Great.

"The scent of death...an old death." Lestat? Is that you?

It is Lestat!

He looks like shit

Has he been sitting there since the late 1700s?

"But all my passion went with her golden hair." Still unclear if he loves her as a daughter or as something else...very creepy

Proof that this movie is gay: the framing device takes place in SF

Oh shit. It's Lestat

He's gonna kill the interviewer

Damn Lestat is salty

Oh wait, he's gonna turn him

In conclusion

All vampire content is, on some level, gay, whether intentional or not. This movie is definitely not the exception.

This movie is L O N G

the plot is kinda unclear. It’s very character driven (?)

Edward should have made Bella watch this movie in order to convince her not to be a vampire

Even though Jane is originally a brunette in the books, she’s esentially just Claudia

I started watching this movie thinking Tom Crusie and Brad Pitt are just kinda creepy middle aged dudes. It’s nice to know they were kinda cute back in the day. Still creepy tho

For some reason, I thought this was the movie where the little girl says “I see dead people”

It isn’t, in case anyone is wondering

#this movie was a trip #Claudia is an honorary member of gen Z fight me #honestly tho I wrote down alot #i just had a lot of commentary #i do suggest watching the movie tho #I gor no ads on it on hulu for some reason #the costumes were nice #i wish they kinda left the ending tho #instead of forcing lestat into the framing device #interview with the vampire

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askblog-with-the-vampire · 4 years ago

Note

Can I get uhhhhhhhhhhhhh Lantern bonfire and Jack o latern pls

Lantern: Describe how you met your best friend and what your first impressions of each other were.

Ah....this isn't going to be quite what any of you expect. Technically, I met my best friend once before this ..... but I don't count it.

Some time in the mid-1990's, I don't remember when, I was sitting at a piano bar in the Village in New York City. I'd hunted that evening. The guilt was consuming me. But the company was nice, as was the music, and mostly, no one asked questions in establishments that catered to gay men, so I favored them greatly. At some point, though, I realized the pianist, a truly stunning, lanky, raven haired youth of no more than twenty years, was gazing quite intently at me from across the room, playing as if on autopilot and staring at me shamelessly. It wasn't the first time I'd received interest in a place like that. I do not deny that I am beautiful, but his staring went beyond a typical interest. It was single minded. Almost possessed. Some of the other patrons had taken notice of his odd behavior as well, and I was not eager to be the cause of gossaip or field an awkward romantic proposal, so I took off into the night, turning down a dark residential street. Not but a minute later, though, I heard soft footfalls creeping up behind me, and I whirled around at the alarming speed our kind can, hoping to scare away the pursuer.

It was the pianist boy, staring up at me with a strange glee in his sapphire eyes. This strange, brave boy showed not an ounce of fear, and I admit I was in some awe of him, following me out like that, though I knew not what allure I held for him.

"You're my brother." He said to me, and embraced me tightly, with what I then realized was distinctly vampiric strength.

And that was how I met Antoine, Lestat's abandoned fledge, my own beloved brother in the blood, and my best friend to this day. He is as family to me, and I hold no friend dearer.

(Why is Antoine my best friend, not Lestat, you ask? Well, frankly, if I didn't love him with all my soul, I'm not sure if I'd tolerate Lestat, let alone hold him as a close friend. Also...you already know the story of Lestat and I!)

Jack O Lantern: If you could look like any celebrity who would it be?

You all want me to say Brad Pitt. But...no. Santiago Cabrera. That man is inhumanly gorgeous.

Bonfire: Describe your dream house.

Ha....Bonfire....house....I've combined those concepts before haven't I?

Anyhow, I've found that I have taken to city dwelling, so my dream house is an apartment of some kind, not a house at all. Something on the top floor of a modest 6 story or so building, that looks out over the surrounding area. And a modest one bedroom with a den would do for me. Unlike Lestat, I don't need a palace. Something airy and open, with a breeze that comes through in the summer.

The bedroom needs to have closets enough for all Lestat's clothes, of course, and preferably a big plush bed under a massive bay window with the good blackout curtains so I can sleep safely all day, but let the moonlight in as soon as I wake. And I'd like a large bathroom, something pleasant and bright, with a bathtub big enough for to to accommodate my habit of parking in there for hours! I'd want some kind of office or den for all my books, someplace quiet to retreat when I cannot anymore, covered in bookcases, and just big enough for a fireplace, a desk, and two armchairs. And a piano. I do also want a modest kitchen, though it seems redundant. I take great pleasure in cooking for my mortal neighbors. And, like many apartments, the living room and dining room could very well be one large space. That, of course, I would want decorated with some luxury. I confess I harbor a poorly-disguised disgust for the modern "minimalist" approach to decor. It's dull. And ugly. Give me gilded molding and sculpted tables and velvet and exotic fabrics and candlelight. I want a fireplace. I want chandeliers. I want objects d'arte. I want something that feels like my own time. And balconies. I want a balcony off the living room, with floor to ceiling glass doors and sweet little mosaic tables I can sit at outside.

That's not asking for too much is it? I don't want to be as opulent as some of my kind.

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paopuofhearts · 7 years ago

Photo

CLEOPATRA If it be love indeed, tell me how much. MARK ANTONY There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd. CLEOPATRA I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved. MARK ANTONY Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.

For the Halloween Prompt:

Should Percival be Antony or Julius Caesar to Credence’s Cleopatra? Alternately, Credence is Antony.

[Warning: minor scene of Credence/Grindelwald attempted noncon, defined as a creepy pass of pressuring.]

Grad school is kicking my ass so I’ve literally only managed to push all this out. It’s completely unedited and unrevised, so I apologize – but I’m way past the deadline so I feel like I need to get something out to you! I’ll probably go back over this during winter break [hopefully by then I’ll be able to focus on all this writing instead of thesis and platform and portfolio writings instead].

Annual Humanities Division Halloween Haunt!

The garish orange was blinding against the dark black background of the gaudy poster and made his eyes hurt. Furry brown bat cut outs clashed against the construction paper, fluttering off the sides as a silver cauldron of green bubbles frothed and spilled along the bottom edge. It was a horrifying eye sore – with several others posted up and down the corridor, garish pieces slathered together as if an embodiment of the holiday itself threw up all over the walls of the hallway. He had spotted a few others in the other buildings as well, dangling off community boards and hanging precariously next to unsuspecting classroom doors. He had even caught a glimpse of similar atrocities draped in the café he visited on his morning coffee run – how anything managed to make its way through the hidden labyrinths to the sacred depths of the hallowed Arts basement was anyone’s guess. No doubt there were more littering the upper levels of the Literature department as well.

But it did its job, at the very least – it pulled focus, enticing the grad students suffering through the mid semester slog of research to take a break and join the holiday festivities. It was exactly why Modesty had done up his face with a flourish of glittery makeup and shoved him out the door before taking off to her own undergraduate party with friends from her OChem class.

Friends.

Apparently he needed those.

Dress code: Recognizable historic / literary figures!

None of those awful stereotypes! No appropriation allowed!

Be creative, not boring!

The encouragement had been tacked on underneath the poster, pinned to the door of the large house across from the library on campus – a mindful afterthought that hadn’t managed to make its way to the other posters. The vivid exclamation points made his heart shudder in his chest, turning the blood in his veins to ice as his palms began to sweat.

Go as Cleopatra, snag yourself a king, Chastity suggested. She had forced him into an awful thing: a white jumpsuit made to imitate layers of linen – a “modern take” on the Prince Of Egypt adaption the Theater department had developed into an experimental straight play. He hadn’t been able to see it, but the outfits Chastity had worked on were nothing short of amazing. How she snuck one back from the mysterious void of the storage rooms, he would rather not know.

[“I made them. It’s only fair.”]

Modesty had straightened his hair, setting a golden circlet in the shape of a snake upon his brow and settling half a dozen wiry gold bracelets across his arms and wrists. She had even gone the extra mile to paint his eyes – deep, shadowy kohl and bright, vibrant blue. He was pretty sure the design was based on Elizabeth Taylor, not actual hieroglyphics. Someone was bound to tell him off – if not for the improper design, then at the very least for the fact that he was some pale pasty white kid decked out in ridiculously vague allusions to ancient Egyptian attire.

It was a nightmare, and he hadn’t even stepped through the doors yet.

But it was too late. A loud and rambunctious group of students rambled up, hands blindly reaching for the door as they raucously giggled at each other. Shrinking away, he couldn’t avoid being jumbled up into the widespread wall of costumed bodies, tossed out into the fray of the party inside. The music was blaring, a cacophony of stilted techno thumping against the walls as a woman droned in a shouted monotone. It was dark, the only lights coming from glow-in-the-dark stickers flung across the sparse bits of furniture and glow-in-the-dark paint splattered across the walls, dim purple UV lights strung up against the crown molding of the ceiling seams. It was tacky and disorienting. Trying not to stumble into some sanctimonious argument of Dracula vs. Lestat and the merits of the Cullen family, he quickly stepped into the next room.

This room was a bit brighter, though just as awkwardly decorated. Several table lamps were placed strategically in the corners and beside cheap beige chenille couches, covered in gauzy red scarves that threw the room into a bloody shade of red. Speakers were hidden beneath the tables, droning out strange atmospheric noises of wallowing and wails, reedy whistling of a nonexistent wind eerily pressing around the room. The Poe atmosphere was effective, but it had to be a fire hazard of sorts – though none of the occupants seemed to care. There was a heavy scent of smoky incense, curling wisps creeping against the darkened corners. He attempted to hide within such an alcove, tentatively sidestepping toward one such area to get a better view of the room, when a hand shot out to grab his wrist.

“Are you Cleopatra?” He spun around, coming face to face with a sturdy young woman assessing him curiously. Her short hair was done in a thick braid that barely reached her shoulders, and a plastic bow was slung unevenly across her back, the string pressing against her chest.

“Yes?” he answered warily. This was it – he was going to get yelled at, he was going to get kicked out, he was going to get –

“Great! We’ve been looking for a Cleopatra. I’m Tina – History department.” She grabbed his hand without warning, dragging him toward a corner by a tall bookshelf. “You?”

“Credence,” he said faintly, wondering why she of all people would need a Cleopatra. “Literature.”

“Even better! That’s his department too!” Before he could ask for clarification he was being welcomed into a small circle of loitering students huddled together over a book. Of course.

“It’s Minimalism. Its short, its ordinary, its mundane. The man is on an escalator for the entirety of the story,” the shorter man groused, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

“Its Maximalist! It’s a long rambling piece of nonsense full of digressive dribble!” a chubbier man exclaimed, waving his hands about enthusiastically. The first rolled his eyes.

“You aren’t even studying modern literature – “

“Post modern literature, Percy!” an energetic redhead crowed, easily slinging an arm over his shoulders. “And anyway, who cares? Where’s the fun in being stuck on an elevator? Now being stuck in Croatia – “

“Teeny!” A blonde woman shoved her way between the two, pretending she hadn’t interrupted such an important discussion as she pulled the strange woman that had kidnapped him to the other side of the circle. “Oh! You found one!”

Credence glanced at them nervously.

“Hello!” another redhead piped up. “That’s a wonderful outfit – a male Cleopatra, brilliant idea!”

“Thank you?”

“Perfect for our Marc Antony!” They pointed to The Minimalist, dressed in a deep brown leather chest plate – supple and buttery, shining smoothly as it hugged his form in all the right places. Gold paint swirled in intricate patterns threading between the golden rivets piercing the pieces together, matching the red wrist guards clasped on his arms and the thick red pteruges strips layered against his thighs, strands of golden fringe flickering as he moved. He wasn’t a history major, so he couldn’t judge the accuracy, but it was an impressive outfit that lovingly emphasizes the wonderfully sculpted ripples of muscle outlining his body.

“Percival Graves,” The Minimalist introduced himself, offering a hand.

“Credence Barebone,” he replied, allowing his hand to be taken into a gentle but firm handshake.

“This is Tina, Newt, and Theseus as our local Katniss, Peeta, and Gale,” the blonde woman continued. “My name is Queenie, and this is Jacob – “

“Hephaestus and Aphrodite,” the cheerful man cut in adoringly, grinning up at her like a lovestruck fool.

“Nice to meet you.”

“So what are you studying?” Newt asked curiously.

“Reformation literature.” Credence shifted, unsure of their reaction.

“Like – religious stuff? All that Milton and Pilgrim’s Progress?” Theseus prompted.

“I – well, technically.” Credence shrugged. “I study Reformation comedies. Like – the Country Wife. It’s a – little more – controversial.”

“Is that code for raunchy and promiscuous?” Theseus teased, waggling his eyebrows and laughing loudly as Jacob snorted. His brother – at least, Credence presumed they were related, given their matching appearance – elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“Play nice,” Tina reprimanded with a frown, before turning her attention back to him. “My sister and I study modern history. I study counter cultural movements in America during the 1970s and 1980s, and my sister studies the impact of ethnic studies in education.”

“They’re with us!” Newt clarified. “I study the effects of nature on city development, and my brother here is studying the Balkan Wars.”

“I tried to convince Percy to join me, but he stuck with his boring post modern literature,” Theseus lamented.

“Modern literature,” Percival corrected. Theseus waved him off.

“What’s your opinion on it?”

“I – “ Credence flustered, unsure how to answer such a vague question correctly without disappointing any of them.

“Ignore him. He isn’t worth it,” Percival insisted, slipping his hand against Credence’s elbow. “Why don’t we go grab a bite to eat – let him gather his manners?”

Percival threw a reprimanding glare at the man, who cackled in response. Credence could feel the heat of Percival’s hand drifting to press against his lower back, carefully maneuvering him toward what he could only presume was a kitchen. It was comforting, if a bit embarrassing. He felt a shiver trailing down his spine.

The kitchen itself was a travesty that also made him shudder – fluffy white clouds of fake spider webbing cascading across the dining table in billowing curtains, plastic spiders dangling precariously in squished upon droves. Punch bowls and jello molds upon the table held all sorts of mismatched creepy crawlers – worms, octopus’, skeletons. Chain link centipedes were plastered to the cupboards, preschool levels of artwork sloppily thrown together. Cheap junk food haphazardly thrown into grotesque displays were crammed to cover every inch of available counter space. The Art department would have a field day with such an eyesore.

At least it smelled clean – the sharp scent of fake pine and a lingering undertone of bleach creeping through the atmosphere.

“What would you like – pretzels and chips?” Percival asked dryly, raising an eyebrow at the sad excuse for food as he peered over the offerings. He leaned over a gelatin mold, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “You think they would get a little creative with the goods.”

“Picquery set up the good stuff in the upstairs office room,” someone called out behind them. They turned to see a young man in a bright blue sweater and dull orange pants grimacing as he tried to pluck a lego Cthulhu from his scoop of jello. “Abecedarians!”

“Think you should have gone with Captain Haddock if you’re using such language, Abernathy,” Percival tutted, twining his fingers with Credence’s and leading him out of the room. “Of course Sera set up her own area – come on then, she knows what she’s doing, most of the time.”

They weaved in and out of the crowd, clambering up the stairs to the second floor. There were no Halloween decorations, though there was quite a bit of commotion coming from the last room. They quickly made their way in.

Credence was pleasantly surprised to find far more tasteful decorations and treats displayed. Carved pumpkins sat grinning on either end of the lace covered table, smaller painted ones lining the tops of bookshelves. Fairy lights shaped like bats hung in loops along the walls, while a colony of paper ones spread in flight across the ceiling Fake candles were placed between books on shelves and cascaded from corners, illuminating white skulls and gray gargoyles peeking out of the shadows. The corner seams were filled with thin, knotty sticks and black vines, black roses artfully tacked onto them. Even the food was themed – a chocolate cake set like a graveyard with marshmellow skeletons, hot dogs wrapped in crisped biscuits like mummies, chocolate cookies slathered in icing with finely cut strawberries and blueberries set to look like eyes. There were so many twisted and grotesque foods Credence could hardly keep track.

“Percival, how nice of you to show up.” A tall woman slid up next to them, draped in deep red and white folds of a dress, a copper sword strapped to her back. He hair was wrapped in a shimmering metallic scarf to match. She stood proud and regal, scrutinizing Credence with a keen eye.

“Abernathy was singing your praises downstairs,” Percival said with nonchalance, pulling Credence to his side. He slung an arm around his shoulders – made slightly problematic, given the height difference neither had noticed. “Your department has outdone itself yet again.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Graves. Who’s your lovely Cleopatra?”

“Credence Barebone, English department – Reformation period. Who are you supposed to be tonight?”

“Oya, Yoruba goddess of storms. Does Credence Barebone know how to answer for himself?” she shot back, eyeing Percival with disdain. Credence settled himself, ducking his head in a way that gave an appearance of submission, but tilting it in a way that could also imply a challenge. He had plenty of practice in meek deference, but refused to waver under some stranger’s judgment.

“What do you study?” he asked – an innocent enough question, on the surface. She lifted her head, catching his game, a faint smile gracing her face as she turned her attention back to him.

“Remixed classical art. My current thesis is on the impact of Kehinde Wiley and Harmonia Rosales have on the interpretation of traditional pieces in a modern context of racial perspective. Have you heard of them?”

“Ah – no,” Credence admitted, shifting uncomfortably. She flashed her teeth, a wide smile too sharp and dangerous to be friendly. Like lightning – beautiful, but able to shred a man to pieces.

“Shame.” She turned back to Percival. “Do try the werewolf brains – the paper mache was quite an effort.”

Credence kept his head down as he watched her leave, a swirling hurricane of wild force that commanded the room. A trio of girls in the doorway parted for her like the Red Sea, giggling in awe as she strode past. A friend of Percival’s and a force to be reckoned with, and he had just blundered the whole first impression away.

“Never mind her,” his Antony said, nonchalant as he snagged a plate from the edge of the table. “We were going to open up a law firm together, once upon a time. She’s still a bit bitter we didn’t pass our LSAT.”

“We?”

“Theseus too. And Tina.” He picked at the food, taking small scoop of gelatinous brain, red food coloring dripping from the spoon. “Speaking of Theseus and Tina, what should we bring back to them?”

Credence tilted his head, nitpicking at the edge of his own plate.

“The – um – spider crackers?”

“No, come on – pick something you actually want. And please don’t say the caprese eyeballs.”

Credence studied the array on spread before them, a feast of holiday goods for the taking. His gaze settled upon a collection of cookies, dark chocolate brownies cut into circles, a dollop of sprinkle covered crème upon it, a coned chocolate kiss settled gently on top.

“The witch hats.” Percival shot him a crooked grin, wryly amused.

“A good choice.” Credence watched as Percival piled food upon the plate, bits and pieces of everything stacked high. Rather than following suit, he quietly left his plate on the corner. “Ready to head back down?”

“I need to find a bathroom.” They started back out the door, Credence trailing behind. He watched others pass by, laughing and nudging each other as they walked up and down the stairwell.

“Bathroom should be on your left.” He was pointed down a long side hallway, where several people lingered. “Come find us again when you’re done.”

The line was taking forever. He shuffled from foot to foot, beginning to grow impatient as he waited. Perhaps it would have been better to have simply gone back to the corner with his new found friends. Could they be considered friends yet? At the rate it took to get into the bathroom, perhaps they would think he had ditched them. It would have been better if only he had stayed –

A hand fell upon his shoulder, squeezing tightly.

“Well aren’t you a cute little thing.” Credence turned around, shrinking away. Before him stood a tall man with pale hair and paler eyes, decked in a toga and crowned with laurel. A Caesar – what were the odds of that?

“My apologies, where are my manners. Gellert Grindelwald – assistant professor for the modern literature department.” The man took Credence’s hand, bowing as he placed a kiss upon his knuckles. Old fashioned and uncomfortable, to say the least. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure of such a beautiful Cleopatra?”

He squirmed away, twisting out of Gellert’s grip.

“Credence,” he answered reluctantly, not wanting to be impolite. Yet his hand continued to roam, tracing across his shoulder and down his back.

“Credence. A lovely name for a lovely face. What’s a beautiful thing like you doing at a party like this, hm? Who did you come with?”

“No one.” He could feel the bottom of his stomach drop at the honest admission. The hand clawed at his belt, eager and excited.

“Oh? Perhaps you’d like some company then?”

“I’d rather not,” Credence admitted, still trying to move away. Gellert just moved closer, crowding into his space.

“A pity. Does that mean you have company here?”

“Yes, actually.”

“I can promise you I am much more entertaining than anyone else you’d meet here.”

Credence fidgeted, unsure what to do. Gellert continued to croon, attempting to convince him to leave. Several moments later, with panic flooding his veins and pulsing beneath his skin, itching to get away, he caught the eyes of his knight – his gladiator, his Antony. Gellert turned to track his line of sight, displeased at such a distraction. His face contorted with fury and disgust when he realized who was headed their way. With a sneer, he grasped the collar of Credence’s outfit, the strain on the outfit almost enough to tear it apart.

“I could ruin him,” Gellert hissed harshly into his ear. “I could ruin all of you. Now play along like a good little boy.”

The two wandered over, Percival standing tall and menacing and in need of a dramatic flair of a cape, while Theseus brooded behind with a sharp glare.

“Credence. We were wondering where you’d had gotten off to,” Percival started, leveling a cold tone as he stared unblinkingly at Gellert.

“Didn’t realize you got stuck with this asshole,” Theseus started, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He isn’t – that bad,” Credence attempted.

“He’s a fucking asshole who gets off on torture porn,” Percival growled, glaring furiously at Gellert.

“Now Percy darling, just because I didn’t invite you back to my little dungeon last Christmas – “ Gellert drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Fuck off, you prick,” Theseus interrupted loudly, shoving Percival to the side. “Leave the kid alone.”

Credence felt Gellert’s fingers dig into his back, nails scratching through the fabric. The hand clawed at his skin tightly – painfully. Credence stood as still as he possibly could, thinking of the cold marble statues outside the library, tall and unfeeling.

“He’s hardly a child,” Gellert pointed out. “What do you think, Credence – would you rather be off with these foolhardy Neanderthals, or continue our lovely conversation, hm?”

His body was frozen, heavy like lead, unable to move. He stared unblinking at the floor, wishing to be anywhere else. A beat of silence, and Theseus huffed in annoyance, nudging Percival as he turned and left. Percival frowned, but followed after, figuring it to be a lost cause. He glanced back once more, dark eyes piercing through the dim light, but Credence held his head down. Perhaps if he stayed quiet, Gellert would get bored –

“See, what did I tell you?” Gellert trailed his hand down, soft and gentle as it caressed the thin fabric of his outfit. Gellert’s face drifted closer, voice dropping several octaves into a whisper. “Now, where were we? I do believe you were about to tell me of this young Margery – “

His body blocked the hallway, and Credence shrunk back, plastering himself against the wall. Another hand found its way to his waist, a hand settling against it and sweeping downward.

In a fit of panic, Credence lashed out. His mind blanked, nerves firing too fast to keep up. Within seconds, he had shoved Gellert into the wall, pinning him there with a hand wrapped around the man’s neck. He felt wild with the adrenaline rushing through his veins as an overwhelming tempest of fear and rage tore through his bloodstream. His hand twitched and tightened against the pale column of Gellert’s throat.

“Come now, Credence,” Gellert rasped, both hands wrapping around Credence’s wrist. “Control yourself.”

“I don’t think I want to,” Credence growled, pushing harder against him. He could still feel the creeping tremors twisting against his skin, an unsettling film of disgust plastered against his body, seeping beneath his costume and into his bones.

“Mr. Barebone.” His head snapped to the side, locking eyes with none other than Seraphina Picquery herself. Her face was stone still as she took in the scene, mouth a firm line. “Perhaps it’s time you take your leave.”

Anger burned through him, a fierce spark of vengefulness blazing into a firestorm against his ribs. In a burst of blinding fury, he slammed Gellert’s head back into the wall, releasing him as he crumpled to the ground, clawing at his throat as he gasped for breath. Credence shuddered, face twisting as he snarled before shoving past Seraphina, a dark cloud bolting for the door. She watched him go, then turned her attention back to Gellert. The man smirked, chuckling under his breath.

“He’s a miracle, isn’t he?”

“Get out before I call the cops on you,” she sneered, rounding her shoulders back as she turned to the main room. “Everyone out! This party is over.”

Credence made his way to the library, the cold air biting through the whirlwind of his emotions and leaving him feeling like a naked, helpless child. Horror slithered across his skin, twined in the breeze that slid through the thin white linen hanging off of him. He stumbled into the bushes, heaving as he dropped to his knees. He blindly fumbled for his phone, dragging his body up against the brick wall of the library. His shoulder pressed against the rough stone, part of his outfit snagging against it.

Hey Cree. Chastity picked me up and took me to some haunted house they’re doing. We’re staying with Eve and the crew tonight. Hope you had fun!

He leaned heavily against the wall, swallowing hard. If he went home, he would be alone – the very last thing he wanted to be. But it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go. He didn’t have friends, didn’t have pets, didn’t have anyone waiting for him to keep the vivid memory of hands creeping up his thigh and words whispered in his ear as the world closed in on him in the darkness –

“Credence?”

His head snapped up, eyes widening as he spotted none other than Percival, stopped on the walkway before him. He craned his head and saw the others making their way across the square on the other side of the street, laughing obnoxiously as Tina and Queenie burst into song. It looked as though they had taken their leave as well – the party dying down as the clock struck midnight, as it were. Which meant that Gellert –

Another wave of nausea had him doubling over, though his body seemed to be done with even attempting to dry heave. A bout of dizziness struck him, his hands gone clammy, body shaking apart. The next thing he knew was a distorted shuffling as a pair of sandals made their way into his view.

“Credence, are you alright?” A hand made its way toward his shoulder, and he flinched.

“Alright, it’s okay,” Percival assured, taking a step back. “Take your time. Here, try to match your breathing with my counting, alright?”

His mind was whirling far too fast, skipping over the numbers being listed as he tried to think of what to do. One, Percival was here, trying to calm him down, three, but why, he had left Percival, five, had gone off with Gellert, surely Percival hated him, eight, thought less of him, ten, wanted nothing to do with him, eleven, but maybe he could redeem himself, twelve, that’s why Percival was here for him, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…

Slowly, Credence managed to come back to himself. Percival watched with a careful eye as the young man brought himself back from hyperventilating, steadily regaining his awareness. After a few more moments, once Percival had calmly made his way to thirty, Credence straightened himself, though he still refused to look up.

“Thanks,” he whispered, voice rough from – whatever had happened.

“Do you want to tell me what that was about?” Percival prompted, not bothering to skirt around the issue. He was worried, of course, and wanted to know – so he wasn’t going to ignore it. Better to be blunt. But if Credence didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t push.

“It was – “ Credence glanced up from behind his fringe of hair, wary like a caged animal.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Percival assured with a shrug. There was a beat of silence as Credence assessed the situation.

“Gellert tried to – do things.” Percival frowned, gritting his teeth as he surveyed the area in hopes to find the man walking by. What he wouldn’t do to punch that smug bastards face in –

“It’s my fault. I – I should have listened to you.”

Percival placed his hand upon his back, a solid weight and comforting warmth that guided him back to the walkway.

“Do you live with anyone?” he asked. He bit his lip, shaking his head. “I’m going to give you some options, alright? Would you like me to walk you home and stay with you, or would you like to come to my place?”

“My sisters – if they – I don’t know how they would react to someone being there,” he managed to say. Percival nodded understandingly.

“Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

“But I – “

“It’s not a problem, that’s why I’m offering,” he cut in calmly. He thought of his options, before finally caving in with a nod. “Let me call a cab then.”

The ride was a blur of lamplights flashing against his eyelids and the soothing hum of the taxi sailing down empty streets. Percival kept his distance, but let his hand rest between them, palm opened upward if Credence so chose to take it. So far, he was more content to huddle against the cool plastic of the door, leaning his head against the window pane.

Percival’s face was washed with a pale white light, brightened like a spotlight as he gazed down at his phone with furrowed brow. His fingers struck the screen in quick succession, pounding out rhetoric toward Seraphina, skipping words like stones on a lake of ice in an attempt to crack through her tight-lipped wall of excuses to figure out what truly happened. His face twisted in fury, and he finally flung the phone to the floor, unable to contain his ire.

The noise made Credence jump, head turning to see what had happened.

“It’s nothing.” Percival crossed his arms, straightening his back as he leaned against the seat. He looked almost regal – Credence could almost picture it, shifting the world away and painting in the crushed velvet and glittering gold of a palanquin, enshrining Percival in a mystic abyss of light curtains, sun shining through to offer but the glimpse of his strong silhouette peering through.

“You’re a very good Marc Antony,” he said, tilting his head to the side. The picture changed, warping in on itself, swirling into an arena. A sword as firm as his stance, solid and steady, face set in determination. Shoulders down and back, ready for whatever the world would throw at him. A soldier, a gladiator, a knight as it were – brave and steadfast in heart and mind.

[“You are a child unworthy of the grace of the Lord.”]

“Credence?” Percival’s hand came into view, gently brushing against his own in the space between them. “You’re shaking.”

“I – “ There was a moment, standing on the brink of something overwhelming, the edge of a cliff into the unknown. Terror pressed against his heart, squeezing tightly and shrinking his ribs, wrapping around his lungs so he could hardly breathe.

They slid as the cab turned a corner sharply. The moment collapsed, tension exiting is a rush.

It was over. Credence turned back to the window, watching the streetlights pass them by.

“It’s nothing.”

The corners of Percival’s mouth dragged downward, but he made no move to speak into the silence. Instead, he simply pressed his fingers into the spaces between Credence’s, filling the gaps and holding tightly. Credence bit his lip, but let himself be held. It was – nice. Too nice, perhaps. But – nice. Percival’s hands were nothing special – just as warm as his own, just as soft in the hidden places, just as rough in the calloused pads and knuckles. They were smaller, but wider – complimentary to his own, in a way.

They stayed like that, in comforting quiet, to the point where Credence began to lull off, nodding against the window as his eyes fluttered shut. But eventually, their journey came to an end. Just as he was about to dive into sleep, the car pulled to a stop.

“We’re here,” Percival muttered, clutching his hand before letting go to get out. Reluctantly, Credence did the same, managing to maneuver himself out of the car to sidle over to Percival’s side. Percival took his arm gently, carefully guiding him up the driveway and into the house. It was a nice home, to be sure – the typical American dream of a white picket fence and a small white porch.

Credence didn’t pay much attention, instead letting his mind drift.

“Are you hungry?” He shrugged, uncaring. “Alright. Well, here – sit down. I’ll grab you a blanket.”

Percival disappeared into the depths of the other rooms, leaving Credence standing awkwardly in front of a pristine leather couch. It looked far too expensive to even glance at, never mind touch and rest upon. Hesitantly, Credence ran a finger along the sewn seam of the side. It was smooth as silk, dipping beneath his fingertip – gaudy and ostentatious as a black leather couch was, it was also quite beautiful.

“It won’t bite, you know.” Percival stepped toward him, sandals shuffling against the wood floors. He carried a large pillow in his arms, a thick blanket tucked beneath it. “You can sit, it’s fine.”

Credence obediently did as told, sliding onto the seat as Percival took his place beside him.

“Do you want to talk, or just sleep?” As much as Credence wished to stay up, filling the space between them with poetry, waxing lyric on language and literature, delving into the depths of their respective fields – he was exhausted after the events he suffered through, and could feel sleep pulling at his eyes, tugging at his mind, dragging him away.

“Sleep, I think.”

“Lay down then.”

Percival gazed at Credence’s face, watching as the moonlight pouring through the curtains graced his pale face. The young man was quite beautiful, bathed in silver, curled up under soft black blankets.

He would put Cleopatra herself to shame.

Someday…

Okay first off apologies; I took this prompt while I was teaching abroad this summer, and when I got back I started grad school and realized I’d need more than one job to pay for it, so I have been absolutely swamped with work. I didn’t finish everything I wanted with this – but I wanted to post something out here, just to get it out here, so that the prompt was filled before Thanksgiving season. I’m so sorry I’m late with it.

Anyway! Gosh this prompt hit on all my academic enjoyments so I probably went way overboard on that instead of, you know, focusing on the Anthony / Cleopatra / Caesar bit in a more direct way. Like, overall I kind of followed the general plotline of how Plutarch wrote that mess of a threesome, with a hefty dose of Shakespeare’s classic tragedy take thrown in – Cleopatra gets all hung up on Anthony, tries to appease Caesar so Caesar stops going after Anthony, Anthony thinks she doesn’t love him, Cleopatra realizes mistakes were made. And then I tried to make the ending a bit happier, where they come back together and Caesar kind of just disappears. Probably too much influence and reference to cram into what I tried to keep as a light and abstract outline, so it probably ended up seeming more like it was just “woo Halloween costumes and some sad pathetic plot”, so. Apologies.

I also got really into the whole academia setting and spent way too much time dreaming up headcanons for that [wherein Seraphina, Percival, Tina, and Theseus were all Law focused undergrads who ended up failing their LSATs, so they went into grad school research with things they enjoyed most from their undergrad work, hoping to find work through that. Queenie and Newt kind of just followed their siblings along, though they’re the ones who got into grad school because they’re actually paid for their research, and then they met Jacob, who’s been doing research studies for far too many years, and foreign exchange student Gellert, who’s just all sorts of red flag levels of creepy. Credence took up grad school in hopes of getting funding to publish a textbook on Reformation literature so he can support his two sisters in their undergrad schooling, though Modesty will likely be the big breadwinner out of all of them since she’s the one going into Med school, but that’s also pretty expensive, so].

Anyway. It was my first attempt at any sort of holiday prompt type thing [the only other time I filled out a prompt was as an Anon on some Kink Meme way back in the LJ days; either way, I’m not much in on this practice]. Hopefully it wasn’t too terrible and did something for you. Woo.

#gradencetrickortreat #gradence trick of treat #potterland

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metawitches · 5 years ago

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But First, A Brief, Non-Exhaustive Tour Through My Favorite Romantic Vampire Media

Though I have been writing reviews on this blog for more than three years, I have been keeping a dark secret from you, dear readers. I haven’t really been keeping the secret on purpose, but a lie of omission is still a lie, so please, try to forgive me. I don’t think this reveal will come as much of a shock to my regular readers.

The truth is, I have a deep, lifelong love of vampire romance. I’m open minded, and can consider other supernatural romances as well, but werewolves are so packminded that I question their devotion to their beloved. Ghosts seem so thin and superficial. Zombies are interested in brains, but I want more than just a relationship of the mind. Angels and demons both have to leave their beloveds in the lurch when they get called into service by the higher- and lower- powers they serve. A shapeshifter is an inconstant lover in so many ways, how could we ever develop trust?

There are exceptions: Oz from Buffy. The medieval ghosts of Lynn Kurland’s paranormal romance novels. The sentient zombies of In the Flesh. The married angel-demon couple from Midnight, Texas, another Charlaine Harris story. And no one is more trustworthy than True Blood’s own shapeshifter, Sam Merlotte.

As a general rule, witches and wizards are the only other supernatural beings I truly find exciting, with their wide range of abilities to charm or bewitch the pants off a girl, depending on the mood.

Since I’m a witch myself, and wizards are a dime a dozen, can you blame me for looking for a little more variety in my fantasy life?

Bring on the dark, brooding vampires, who are the epitome of devoted, romantic lovers, are immortal, manageably dangerous and adventurous, definitely where they’re supposed to be during the day, gorgeous and who can share their blood. Blood which, if used in small quantities, will heal without turning a human into a vampire, but which can also make the user immortal if desired, so they can share everlasting love with their vampire lover.

What could go wrong? Don’t answer that, we all need to discover some things for ourselves.

I admit, this is a hereditary issue for me. My mother and older sister sat me down in front of the Gothic soap opera Dark Shadows in 1966, when I was 5 years old, to watch the trials and tribulations of vampire Barnabas Collins, of the supernatural Collins family of Collinsport, Maine. Collinsport was a mysterious town on the cold, rocky shores of northern Maine, just like the small towns in coastal northern Maine my mother’s family had lived in for 300 years, until my parents moved us to upstate NY.

With the amount of inbreeding that went on in the small early populations of northern New England, I wouldn’t be surprised if I share some relatives in common with Barnabas Collins. 😉 I certainly share the vampire’s love of night and inability to handle strong light.

(Yes, I live in New Mexico, why do you ask? This is why hats, tinted glasses and long summers with warm nights were invented. True Blood is a Southern Gothic for a reason. The Twilight vampires can keep their rain soaked, cold climates.)

I still have a copy with this original cover.

Dark Shadows ran for 6 seasons, through 1971. Then I moved on to films and book series, most notably Anne Rice. I received 2 copies of her book Interview with the Vampire for my 16th birthday, in 1977, because my friends and family knew me well, and I haven’t looked back since. Though the author clearly favors the character Lestat, tenderhearted Louis will always be my favorite of her vampires. He is, after all, the vampire who was interviewed.

There were other favorites through the years, such as the film The Lost Boys in 1987 and the Dark Shadows revival in 1991. There were viral vampires, such as The Strain and The Passage, descendants of Nosferatu rather than Dracula. Viral vampires are better not mentioned if you prefer your vampires to be romantic. There was Buffy the Vampire Slayer, film and series. Who could resist Angel? He was so irresistible that David Boreanaz has starred in one TV series or another continuously ever since. I definitely resisted Spike, though I know others didn’t.

There was The Vampire Diaries on The CW, which ran for 8 seasons (2009-17) and spawned 2 spin off series, The Originals (2013-18) and Legacies (2018- ). The first 4 seasons of The Vampire Diaries were as good as any vampire media I’ve seen anywhere. I lost interest when the storylines were watered down by splitting the cast to create spin offs and some of my favorite actors left the franchise, but those vampires are obviously still doing it for others.

Over the years, Ann Rice has written more than a dozen books on vampires, plus other series on other supernaturals, some with her son, Christopher Rice. She managed to make a mummy sexy. Her original vampire trilogy was turned into two mediocre films. I also had a fling with Katie MacAlister’s Dark Ones book series in the 00s, a fun vampire soulmate series. Now I notice she’s added a few installments since I last checked in with it about 10 years ago so, yay! Something else to read over the winter.

The big vampire story of the 00s was Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight book series, which my kids and I shared the way I’d shared Dark Shadows with my family as a child. The Twilight films were terrible, terrible things. I recommend skipping them. But as with so much that’s perceived to be originally aimed at teenage girls, the Twilight books have been unfairly maligned. They are full of universal themes and vivid characters.

Bella is a great character for anyone to follow and she has a romance to die for. She does so much more than have a boyfriend and a baby in her books, but even if that’s all she did, it would be enough. Navigating personal relationships is a huge part of life, and for someone from a background of abuse and neglect, like Bella, learning how to have healthy relationships when you are older is a long term challenge.

If it takes a vampire family to show you what real love, care, equal relationships and decent parenting look like, there’s nothing wrong with that. There are very good reasons why Bella’s romance is in love not just with Edward, but with his entire clan. Because of her childhood experiences, she’s in love with the idea of transforming from a human who has difficulty defending herself against the human monsters in her world, who include her parents, into a vampire who can protect herself and her entire devoted vampire family from even the fiercest of supernatural monsters. After a youth full of struggle, she finds her own power and uses it on her own terms to win a war, in addition to conducting an epic vampire romance.

There was a last, forgotten, one and done vampire TV series of the 00s, Moonlight, on CBS, starring Alex O’Loughlin, who quickly went on to become better known as Steve McGarrett in the Hawaii Five-0 revival, and Jason Dohring of Veronica Mars. Moonlight aired during the 2007-08 season, so it was affected by the infamous, endless writers’ strike which killed more than 1 show that year. It was just hitting its stride when the season was cut short.

As a vampire romance noir which explored multiple historical time periods plus the present day, it was sadly ahead of its time for broadcast TV. Plus, though the show had already been completely recast after early sample filming (except for Alex O’Loughlin), the writing still focused too much on the relationship between O’Loughlin’s main vampire character, Mick St John, and the lead ingenue human female, Beth (Sophia Myles), rather than the much more interesting and complex relationship between Mick and his ancient vampire, on again-off again wife and maker, Coraline (Shannyn Sossamon).

The show was course correcting in that direction when it ended after 16 episodes, an unusually short season in those days. I would be thrilled with a reboot of Moonlight that was done right. (It’s currently streaming on cwseed.com.)

Alas, the media deities rarely listen to my brilliant ideas, so we are subject to the slings and arrows and fangs of outrageous fortune. But just 4 short months after Moonlight went off the air, a new vampire romance rolled into town, and it wasn’t shy about telling us what it wanted. True Blood was the answer to all my vampire romance prayers.

Let’s Finally Review True Blood Season 1

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True Blood aired on HBO for 7 seasons, for a total of 80 episodes, from the fall of 2008 to the summer of 2014. It’s based on the 13-14 book series The Southern Vampire Mysteries by Charlaine Harris. The TV series was created by Alan Ball, who was handpicked by Charlaine Harris because she felt he understood what she was trying to do with the books. He stayed on as showrunner for the first 5 seasons, which were all critically acclaimed.

The TV series stars Anna Paquin as Sookie Stackhouse, a telepathic waitress who lives in Bon Temps, a small town in rural Louisiana. Sookie sees her telepathy as a disability because she has a hard time turning it off, which makes it difficult to concentrate on anything else or to have normal human relationships. As a result, she’s socially isolated, other than a few close friends and her family- the warm, generous grandmother she lives with, Adele, known as Gran (Lois Smith), and her charming but selfish, promiscuous brother, Jason (Ryan Kwanten).

Sookie works at her friend Sam Merlotte’s bar and restaurant (Sam Trammell), where she’s also friends with much married fellow waitress Arlene (Carrie Preston) and fabulous short-order cook and hustler, Lafayette (Nelsan Ellis). Her best friend and Lafayette’s cousin, Tara (Rutina Wesley), begins working at Merlotte’s as a bartender at the beginning of the series. Most of the town passes through Merlotte’s at one time or another, since it’s a popular local hangout.

Sookie’s parents died in a flash flood when she was a child, but other than that and her telepathy, her life has been normal, even humdrum. Until vampires came out of the coffin a few years ago, as far as she knew there was nothing extraordinary about the world. She still has no idea why she’s psychic.

A synthetic blood which can sustain vampires, known by the brand name Tru Blood, has encouraged vampires to take the controversial step of revealing themselves as a species to humans. Amongst both vampires and humans, some have embraced this revelation and some fear what it will mean for the future. Sookie makes her very first vampire acquaintance, with the vampire Bill Compton (Stephen Moyer), when he stops by Merlotte’s to try a Tru Blood. Bill is attempting to mainstream, meaning he’s trying to blend in with humans as much as possible, rather than living the full vampire lifestyle, which naturally disregards human manners and customs. Normal vampire ways tend to alienate normal humans fairly quickly. They can even be deadly for humans.

Vampire blood can be used as a recreational drug, so there are dealers who capture vampires, drain their blood, then sell it. Sometimes they kill the vampire in the process. In the first episode, an unethical couple lure Bill into the parking lot to drain him, which Sookie overhears using her telepathic ability. Sookie is surprised to discover how easily some silver and the promise of a tasty snack can disarm a vampire. She rescues Bill and their relationship is born.

Due to the images her telepathy puts in her head, Sookie has never been able to date human men, so Bill is her first boyfriend. His main attraction is that she’s unable to read his mind. Perhaps because they are technically dead, vampire minds are a blank to her. For a telepath who’s always “on”, this is soothing.

True Blood season 1 is a Southern Gothic, paranormal, horror, mystery, romance, urban fantasy, much the same as the book it’s based on, Charlaine Harris’ Dead Until Dark. Though the subject matter is intense, the writing is relatively fast-paced and there’s a dark comedy element to it that keeps the horror aspect from becoming overwhelming. The show isn’t as light and breezy as the books; in addition to the book’s humor it uses visuals and a heightened reality to emphasize the outrageous nature of Sookie’s world. The characters frequently comment on that outrageousness and on the ironies taking place around them.

In season 1, there’s a serial killer on the loose who provides the season long mystery arc. The killer is after young women who’ve been with both vampires and human men. Since Sookie has a vampire boyfriend and is frequently around other men, she eventually becomes one of the targets.

The show’s theme song, Bad Things, by Jace Everett, perfectly encapsulates the mood of True Blood. It’s an upbeat country song that promises an out of control romance, which plays over the opening credit sequence of each episode. Humans and animals experiencing intense situations flash by, while names are superimposed over them. The activities in the visuals aren’t necessarily even immoral, they’re just filmed in a way that makes them feel creepy, until you aren’t sure anymore what’s actually bad and what’s just making you feel bad.

Like an insidious vampire who wants to have his way with us, the opening credits act to lower our boundaries and confuse us, so that we’re disoriented and easily taken out of our normal lives. Whether we’re being glamoured, romanced, drugged or conned, the first step is to convince us to leave our previous concept of normal behind.

The first year I watched True Blood, I thought the opening sequence was the grossest, most horrible opening credits sequence ever made. Now I love it and think it’s one of the best. Is that a good development or a bad one? *shrug* I still can’t watch the maggots though. The vampires haven’t completely taken me over.

True Blood continues to lower our defenses and push our boundaries once the opening credits end. Vampires and shapeshifters are welcomed into normal society. They take part in panels on CNN, discussing legal changes which have been proposed to help or hinder their assimilation. They stop at the 7-11 to pick up a 6 pack on their way home. They have difficulty getting a contractor to come out to their rural home and need a referral from a friend. They are business owners, employers and employees. They worry about getting blood stains out of their laundry. Possibly a little more often than most of us, but still.

They sleep underground in the graveyard when they can’t make it home before dawn. It’s sort of like crashing at a friend’s house. Okay, that one is pushing the boundaries of normal human culture. There is an entire vampire culture that exists outside of human sight, but we only touch the surface of it in season 1.

Sookie is drawn into this world as she seeks to solve the murder mystery and enlists Bill’s help. She visits a vampire bar run by the ancient vampire sheriff, Eric Northman (Alexander Skarsgård) and his vampire progeny, Pam (Kristin Bauer van Straten). They learn of her telepathy and seek to use her talents to solve their own mysteries.

Shenanigans ensue for 7 unparalleled seasons.

True Blood Season 1 vs The Southern Vampire Mysteries Book 1 (Dead Until Dark)

True Blood season 1 follows Dead Until Dark, the first book in the series, closely, using the same serial killer plot as the main mystery storyline and Sookie’s romance with Bill as the supernatural focus. The book was originally published in 2001 and my 2008 paperback copy is a quick 292 page read.

Neither the TV season nor the book are my favorite of their respective series, mainly because I am emphatically not a fan of Bill Compton and eventually I start to gag over the way Sookie continuously drools over him. But they are both entertaining and introduce the world of Sookie and Bon Temps with enough suspense, heart and humor to draw you into the next book and season.

In season 1, the TV series faithfully recreates Charlaine Harris’ version of Sookie’s world, from Gran’s old but well-loved farmhouse to Eric Northman’s vampire tourist bar, Fangtasia. The series also included mainly the same characters and subplots as the book, with a few alterations. The main difference is that the TV show expanded on plotlines that were only briefly mentioned in the book, such as recreational V(ampire blood) consumption by humans, Lafayette’s off hours activities and the vampires’ struggle for equal rights.

Many of the supporting characters and their backstories are much more developed in True Blood season 1 than they are in book 1. This is an unusual difference between a book and a movie, but it’s not as surprising when you realize that the Sookie Stackhouse novels are narrated in the first person by Sookie herself. Expanding on other characters isn’t a priority for her, even though it could be aided by her telepathy. She’s basically obsessed with Vampire Bill and the murders in this book, whereas she’s known the other characters her whole life. It’s natural for her to have little interest in providing extra details, so she tells us enough, but we don’t get a full biography.

Two characters who go on to appear in multiple books are left out of the TV series, Bubba and JB du Rone. Bubba is based on a very famous real life singer, so they probably figured he’d be distracting, as he typically is in the books. JB du Rone is a sweet man-child who shares some similarities with Lafayette and eventually becomes close to Tara. I suspect the Lafayette we see on screen is actually meant to be a composite character, with many tweaks and Lafayette’s brains.

The biggest change from Dead Until Dark is the addition of Tara Thornton to the cast. In the books she doesn’t appear until the 2nd installment, Living Dead in Dallas. Several major season 1 subplots revolve around Tara, including the set up for the main storyline for season 2, and she’s heavily involved in other characters’ plot arcs as well. Rutina Wesley is such a vibrant presence that it’s hard to imagine Bon Temps without her version of Tara, so this was certainly a welcome change. With Tara comes her alcoholic mother, Lettie Mae, played by one of my favorite actresses, Adina Porter.

Another notable change is the expansion of the storyline for book character Amy Burley, played by Lizzy Caplan. She and Jason become involved with a vampire played the Man in the High Castle himself, Stephen Root, with disastrous consequences, but it’s fun while it lasts. The Amy-Jason-V subplot is particularly effective, with its psychedelic visuals, sometimes subtle violence and obsessive relationships.

The actors and the visuals drive home the multiple abuse aspects of this plotline in a way that would be much more difficult using only words. The genius of True Blood is that the writing, acting, music and visuals come together to make an entertaining, memorable show while showing the dark side of society and how that dark underbelly can bring pain and pleasure. But True Blood wouldn’t exist if Charlaine Harris’ genius hadn’t already given us the snarky, bold, scandalous world they are elaborating on.

True Blood is streaming on HBO’s websites and Amazon Prime. Charlaine Harris has a new book in her current Gunnie Rose series, A Longer Fall, coming out in January 2020. Until then, I’m amusing myself by revisiting Sookie Stackhouse.

Images belong to those who created them.

Book vs Screen Review: True Blood Season 1 vs Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris-But First, A Brief, Non-Exhaustive Tour Through My Favorite Romantic Vampire Media-Bring on the dark, brooding vampires. #TrueBlood #CharlaineHarris But First, A Brief, Non-Exhaustive Tour Through My Favorite Romantic Vampire Media Though I have been writing reviews on this blog for more than three years, I have been keeping a dark secret from you, dear readers.

#Alex O&039;Loughlin #Ann Rice #Book vs Screen #Charlaine Harris #Dark Shadows #Dead Until Dark #Katie MacAlister #metacrone #Quick Review #review #supernatural #True Blood #Vampires

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hekateinhell · 2 years ago

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That was before my time unfortunately (thankfully), but THANK YOU to the OG fans for getting us here:

I saw Armand gazing at me, I saw a faint smile on his lips, and I saw Louis standing beside him, and I saw my beloved Alain with them, gazing at me in wonder, and at his side Fontayne and Barbara. I looked at Armand. He was splendidly attired in burgundy velvet, himself once more, his fingers covered with jeweled rings as he clapped along with the others. I could not quite believe the calm, accepting expression on his face, but then he nodded. It was just a small nod, a nod no one else would have noticed, but I saw it and I saw him smile again. ~ Lestat, Blood Communion

And I love the implication that Armand is hearing Lestat think these thoughts about him, and he’s agreeing with him, and they just have this sweet, sappy moment that no one else notices.

(and thank you @xxhellonursexx for making me feel extra soft today 💕)

#1 of 5 nice things anne ever did for me #thanks mom #vc

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creepinbones · 8 years ago

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So a friend found book pages in the recycling bin

I would like to point out that these are real book pages. Have fun...

THE QUEEN OF THE DAMNED / 115 The kids were screaming outside the auditorium because there were no more tickets. They would camp in the parking lot until tomorrow night.

“Do we have tickets?” he asked. “Armand, the tickets!” Danger. Ice. It’s coming from the one trapped beneath the ice! Something hit him, hard. He was floating “Sleep, beloved.”

“I want to go back to the garden, the Villa.” He tried to open his eyes. His belly was hurting. Strangest pain, it seemed so far away.

“You know he’s buried under the ice?”

“Sleep,” Armand said, covering him with the blanket. “And when you wake, you’ll be just like me. Dead.”

San Francisco. He knew he was there before he even opened his eyes. And such a ghastly dream, he was glad to leave it--suffocating, blackness, and riding the rough and terrifying current of the sea! But the dream was fading. A dream without sight, and only the sound of the water, the feel of the water! A dream of unspeakable fear. He’d been a woman in it, helpless, without a tongue to scream.

Let it go away.

Something about the wintry air on his face, a white freshness that he could almost taste. San Francisco, of course. The cold moved over him like a tight garment, yet inside he was deliciously warm.

Immortal. Forever.

He opened his eyes. Armand had put him here. Through the viscid darkness of the dream, he’d heard Armand telling him to remain. Armand had told him that here he would be safe.

Here.

The French doors stood open all along the far wall. And the room itself, opulent, cluttered, one of those splendid places that Armand so often found, so dearly loved.

Look at the sheer lace panel blown back from the French doors. Look at the white feathers curling and glowing in the Aubusson carpet. He climbed to his feet and went out through the open doors.

A great mesh of branches rose between him and the wet shining sky. Stiff foliage of the Monterey cypress. And down there, through the branches, against a velvet blackness, he saw the great burning arc of the Golden Gate Bridge. The fog poured like thick white smoke past the immense towers. In fits and gusts it tried to swallow the pylons, the cables, then vanished as if the bridge itself with its glittering steam of traffic burnt it away.

Too magnificent, this spectacle--and the deep dark outline of the distant hills beneath their mantle of warm lights. Ah, but to take on tiny detail--the damp rooftops spilling downhill away from him, or the gnarled branches rising in front of him. Like elephant hide, this bark, this living skin.

Immortal . . . forever

He ran his hands back through his hair and a gentle tingling passed through him. He could feel the soft imprint of his fingers on his scalp after he had taken his hands away. The wind stung him exquisitely. He remembered something. He reached up to find his fang teeth. Yes, they were beautifully long and sharp.

Someone touched him. He turned so quickly he almost lost his balance. Why, this was all so inconceivably different! He steadied himself, but the sight of Armand made him want to cry. Even in deep shadow, Armand’s dark brown eyes were filled with a vibrant light. And the expression on his face, so loving. He reached out very carefully and touched Armand’s eyelashes. He wanted to touch the tiny fine lines in Armand’s lips. Armand kissed him. He began to tremble. The way it felt, the cool silky mouth, like a kiss of the brain, the electric purity of a though!

“Come inside, my pupil,” Armand said. “We have less than an hour left.” “But the others-”

Armand had gone to discover something very important. What was it? Terrible things happening, coven houses burned. Yet nothing at the moment seemed more important than the warmth inside him, and the tingling as he moved his limbs.

“They’re thriving, plotting,” Armand said. Was he speaking out loud? He must have been. But the voice was so clear! “They’re frightened of the wholesale destruction, but San Francisco isn’t touched. Some say Lestat has done it to drive everyone to him. Others that it’s the work of Marius, or even the twins. Or Those Who Must Be Kept, who strike with infinite power from their shrine.”

The twins! He felt the darkness of the dream again around him, a woman’s body, tongueless, terror, closing him in. Ah, nothing could hurt him now. Not dreams or plots. He was Armand’s child.

“But these things must wait,” Armand said gently. “You must come and do as I tell you. We must finish what was begun.” “Finish?” It was finished. He was reborn.

Armand brought him in out of the wind. Glint of the brass bed in the darkness, of a porcelain vase alive with gilded dragons. Of the square grand piano with its keys like grinning teeth. Yes, touch it, feel the ivory, the velvet tassels hanging form the lamp shade. . . .

The music, where did the music come from? a low, mournful jazz trumpet, playing all alone. It stopped him, this hollow melancholy song, the notes flowing slowly into one another. He did not want to move just now. He wanted to say he understood what was happening, but he was absorbing each broken sound.

He started to say thank you for the music, but again, his voice sounded so unaccountably strange--sharper, yet more resonant. Even the feel of his tongue, and out there, the fog, look at it, he pointed, the fog blowing right past the terrace, the fog eating the night!

Armand was patient. Armand understood. Armand brought him slowly through the darkened room.

“I love you,” Daniel said. “Are you certain?” Armand answered.

It made him laugh.

They had come into a long high hallway. A stairs descending in deep shadow. A polished balustrade. Armand urged him forward. He wanted to look at the rug beneath him, a long chain of medallions woven with lilies, but Armand had brought him into a brightly lighted room.

He caught his breath at the sheer flood of illumination, light moving over the low-slung leather couches, chairs. Ah, but the painting on the wall!

So vivid the figures in the painting, formless creatures who were actually great thick smears of glaring yellow and red paint. Everything that looked alive was alive, that was a distinct possibility. You painted armless beings, swimming in blinding color, and they had to exist like that forever. Could they see you with all those tiny, scattered eyes? Or did they see only the heaven and hell of their own shining realm, anchored to the studs in the wall by a piece of twisted wire?

He could have wept to think of it, wept at the deep-throated moan of the trumpet--and yet he wasn’t weeping. He had caught a strong seductive aroma. God, what is it? His whole body seemed to harden inexplicably. Then suddenly he was staring at a young girl.

She sat in a small gilded straight-black chair watching him, ankles crossed, her thick brown hair a gleaming mop around her white face. Her scant clothes wer dirty. A little runaway with her torn jeans and soiled shirt. What a perfect picture, even to the sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and the greasy backpack that lay at her feet. But the shape of her little arms, the way her legs were made! And her eyes, her brown eyes! He was laughing softly, but it was humorless, crazed. It had a sinister sound to it; how strange! he realized he had taken her face in his hands and she was staring at him, smiling, and a faint scarlet blush came in her warm little cheeks.

Blood, that was the aroma! His fingers were burning. Why, he could even see the blood vessels beneath her skin! And the sound of her heart, he could hear it. It was getting louder, it was such a . . . a moist sound. He backed away from her.

“God, get her out of here!” he cried “Take her,” Armand whispered. “And do it now.”

So... you may think you just read bad fanfiction.......... but sadly this is an exert from the third book in the vampire chronicles. I only know this from googling the title.

Some of my favorite things...in order of appearance:

“His belly was hurting.”

“’And when you wake, you’ll be just like me. Dead.’”

“San Francisco, of course.”

“deliciously warm”

“Here”

“...wet shining sky. Stiff foliage...”

“...a gentle tingling passed through him.”

“The wind stung him exquisitely.”

“fang teeth.”

“...inconceivably different!”

“touched Armand’s eyelashes.”

“Armand kissed him. He began to tremble.”

“Come inside, my pupil”

“Was he speaking out loud?”

“Ah, nothing could hurt him now.”

“Yes, touch it,”

“A low, mournful jazz trumpet,”

“hollow melancholy song”

“broken sound”

“Armand was patient. Armand understood. Armand brought him slowly through the darkened room.”

“’I love you,’ Daniel said. ‘Are you certain?” Armand answered.”

“A stairs descending in deep shadow.”

“a brightly lighted room”

“Ah, but the painting on the wall!”

“You painted...” ( ????????????)

“deep-throated moan of the trumpet”

“a strong seductive aroma. God, what is it?”

“His whole body seemed to harden inexplicably.”

“ a moist sound”

“fang teeth.”

“Fang Teeth”

Fang Teeth

FANG TEETH

FUCKING FANG TEETH

#wtf #book?#vampire #FANG TEETH #im sorry #long post

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