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faerywhimsy · 2 years ago

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First Impressions - Fear, Madness and Armand: Lestat with Armand in The Vampire Lestat vs. Daniel with Armand in Queen of the Damned

I couldn't think. Pages turning, paper crinkling. Soft sound of the newspaper dropping to the floor. Go back to the tower at once. I went to pass the library quickly, when without warning Armand's soundless voice shot out and stopped me. It was like a hand touching my throat. (TVL)

The fourth night, Daniel had awakened and known at once that someone or something was in the room. The door lay open to a passage. Water was flowing somewhere fast as if in a deep underground sewer. Slowly his eyes grew accustomed to the dirty greenish light from the doorway and then he saw the pale white-skinned figure standing against the wall. (QotD)

I turned and saw him staring at me. Do you love them, your silent children? Do they love you? That was what he asked, the sense disentangling itself from an endless echo. (TVL)

The voice had been gentle with a trace of an accent. Not European; something sharper yet softer at the same time. Arabic or Greek perhaps, that kind of music. The words were slow and without anger. "Get out. Take your tapes with you. They are there beside you. I know of your book. No one will believe it." (QotD)

I felt the blood rise to my face. The heat spread out over me like a mask as I looked at him. All the books in the room were now on the floor. He was a haunt standing in the ruins, a visitant from the devil he believed in. (TVL)

Then you won't kill me. And you won't make me one of you either. Desperate, stupid thoughts, but Daniel couldn't stop them. He had seen the power! No lies, no cunning here. And he'd felt himself crying, so weakened by fear and hunger, reduced to a child. (QotD)

Yet Armand's face was so tender, so young. The Dark Trick never brings love, you see, it brings only the silence. (TVL)

"Make you one of us?" The accent thickened, giving a fine lilt to the words. "Why would I do that?" Eyes narrowing. "I would not do that to those whom I find to be despicable, whom I would see burning in hell as a matter of course. So why should I do it to an innocent fool - like you?" (QotD)

His voice seemed softer in its soundlessness, clearer, the echo dissipated. We used to say it was Satan's will, that the master and the fledgling not seek comfort in each other. It was Satan who had to be served, after all. (TVL)

"You will go mad in time from this knowledge. That's what always happens. But you're not mad yet." No. This is real, it's all happening. You're Armand and we're talking together. And I'm not mad. "Yes. And I find it rather interesting... interesting that you know my name and that you're alive. I have never told my name to anyone who is alive." Armand hesitated. "I don't want to kill you. Not just now."(QotD)

Every word penetrated me. Every word was received by a secret, humiliating curiosity and vulnerability. But I refused to let him see this. Angrily I said: "What do you want of me?" It was shattering something to speak. I was feeling more fear of him at this moment than ever during earlier battles and arguments, and I hate those who make me feel fear, those who know things that I need to know, who have that power over me. "It is like not knowing how to read, isn't it? " Armand said aloud. "You're taking these things from my mind..." I said. I was appalled.(TVL)

Daniel had felt the first touch of fear. If you looked closely enough at these beings you could see what they were. It had been the same with Louis. No, they weren't living. They were ghastly imitations of the living. And this one, the gleaming manikin of a young boy! "I am going to let you leave here," Armand had said. So politely, softly. "I want to follow you, watch you, see where you go. As long as I find you interesting, I won't kill you. And of course, I may lose interest altogether and not bother to kill you. That's always possible. You have hope in that." (QotD)

Armand was speaking again, but in silence. They never satisfy you, the ones you make. In silence the estrangement and the resentment only grow. I willed myself to move but I wasn't moving. I was merely looking at him as he went on. You long for me and I for you, and we alone in all this realm are worthy of each other. Don't you know this? "This is madness," I whispered. "Is it madness?" he asked. "Go then to your silent ones." (TVL)

"And maybe with luck I'll lose track of you. I have my limitations, of course. You have the world to roam, and you can move by day. Go now. Start running. I want to see what you do, I want to know what you are." (QotD)

#Armand tells Daniel to go as vehemently as he begs Lestat stay #yet it's Daniel who determines never to leave his side #and Lestat who's the first to run from him #nik re-reads TVC #lestat x armand #armand x daniel #armand #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire lestat #queen of the damned #the devil's minion

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desertfangs · 2 years ago

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Vamptemper Day 18 - Party Favor

Prompt: "Party Favor" | Armand/Daniel | 1498 Words

It's New Years Eve, 1985, and Daniel has been dragged to a horrible party. All he wants is to be a vampire, damn it. Contains swear words and blood drinking. CW: for lots of talk of death and decay.

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Daniel kept the party horn between his lips as he leaned back on the sofa in the corner, away from the crowds. He blew on it a few times, watching the paper extend into the air and then collapse back in on itself.

It was 3 am and the combination of jello shots and whiskey had turned his stomach into an acid pit. The handfuls of chips and stuffed mushrooms he’d eaten were not doing anything to calm the storm. The cacophony of music and voices was starting to make his head hurt and he wasn’t even hungover yet.

From his position, he could see out the window of the high-rise which overlooked the ocean. He could just barely see the lights of the Night Island glittering off shore. He wondered why they hadn’t just stayed there. Surely there was enough spectacle. There had been fireworks at midnight. Then they’d have been stumbling distance from the Villa.

But no, Armand had insisted on this party, hosted by a pair of artists he’d met last year at their show. Their paintings hung around the penthouse, colorful depictions of decaying animals in fields of flowers and on the roadside with roots winding through their skeletons as their flesh rotted away. At one time, Daniel may have appreciated the ghastly aesthetic but now, he only saw in them his grim future. Rot and decay.

It was now, as of 3 hours ago, 1985. His only New Year’s Resolution was to become a vampire, something he’d whispered in Armand’s ear after they kissed at midnight. Armand had shifted from elated to miserable in half a second and stormed off. For all Daniel knew, he’d left this damned party. Maybe he’d gone back to the Villa without him.

Well, fuck him.

If he wouldn’t turn Daniel, then what was the point? Daniel would be like one of those hideous paintings soon enough. Probably left to rot in the small garden behind the villa so Armand could watch the skin slowly seep from his bones.

A young woman sat on the ottoman near the sofa and smiled at him drunkenly. She pointed to the party favor in his mouth. “Happy New Year.”

“It’s not,” Daniel said flatly. He found his cigarettes and replaced the party horn with one of those as the woman stalked away in search of a better time. He was about to get up and find another drink—anything was better than getting sober—when Armand appeared in his periphery. He was watching Daniel from halfway across the room. Armand was striking, as always, his auburn hair curling down around his pale face, his auburn eyes glowing in the dim light.

Daniel sighed. Just come here, damn you. And bring a beer.

Armand vanished into the crowd and then reappeared in front of him, two beers in his hand. He handed one to Daniel and then sat on the sofa next to him, holding one of the beers himself like he could drink it.

Daniel popped the beer open and took a swig. I hate it here.

“We can leave,” Armand said. “We need to get back shortly anyhow.”

“No, you need to get back to your coffin,” Daniel countered. He didn’t know why he was being so combative. Sometimes he couldn’t help it. “I don’t need to be anywhere.”

Armand turned away, his expression a mask Daniel couldn’t really read, but he could guess. He was tired of this fight. Daniel was tired of it, too.

Turn me and the fight will be over.

“I cannot.”

Liar.

“Daniel.”

Daniel groaned, took a long swig from the beer, and looked around. The party had thinned but there was still enough of a crowd that it wasn’t ending any time soon. He could sit here and drink until he passed out and no one would care. Hell, he could die right then and there and no one would even notice, although the artists would probably be elated to have a live model for their next work.

Armand glared at him, and then his voice came straight into Daniel’s mind. Stop being fatalistic, Daniel. There’s more to life than death.

Daniel looked around. Hanging only feet away was a painting of a rabbit, half-skeletonized, one of its eyes shriveled up as it hung from the socket, with grass growing through the corpse. He gestured at it. “Is there? Because this sure as hell seems like a party that’s got a hard-on for death.” He was too loud, misjudged his volume. A group of people who’d been chatting nearby all turned to look at him.

Daniel had had enough. He stubbed out his cigarette, chugged the rest of the beer, and stood, moving through the crowd as fast as he could manage. He grabbed his jacket from the pile on the bed and was down on the street in minutes, heading for the dock on autopilot.

Armand caught up with him quickly. “You didn’t need to make a scene.”

Daniel laughed, loud and mirthless. “A scene? That’s what you care about? You know what, you’ll deserve it when I finally croak and you’re forced to attend these parties all alone.”

“You’re being impossible.”

Daniel felt for his keys in his coat pocket to make sure they were there. The sooner he could get to the boat and get home, the better. Armand reached for the keys. Daniel tried to pull away but Armand got hold of them. He was too fast.

“Give those back,” Daniel demanded, stopping in front of an alley.

“In the state you’re in? You’ll drive into the middle of the ocean and get yourself killed.”

“Oh, you would hate that! Can you imagine! Your mortal lover’s body lost at sea, where you wouldn’t even get to enjoy the spectacle of its decay.”

Armand grabbed him roughly, and pushed him back into the alley. He forced Daniel against the wall and raised a hand like he might slap him. Daniel wanted to protest but he was too stunned, and the alcohol in his system made him slow to react. His heart pounded and he stared at him, waiting for the blow. Armand dropped his hand but his eyes burned with anger.

No, not anger.

The redness in them was blood. Bloody tears welling up in his eyes.

You think you understand what your death will do to me, but you cannot imagine.

Daniel’s pulse raced and emotions rolled over him in waves: sorrow, annoyance, love, hate, fear. Not fear of the vampire in front of him, but of the march of time, of the inevitability of a death that should not be inevitable when he had immortality so close at hand.

So don’t let me die, Daniel thought. Why couldn’t he see that it was as easy as that? God, he really was an idiot. An idiot who was now crying. Daniel couldn’t stand to see him that way.

He leaned forward and kissed the blood tears from Armand cheeks. They were salty and tasted of iron. He ran a hand over Armand’s hair, smoothing it down. His lips trailed down his cheek to his mouth and he kissed him. Armand, who still had him pinned to the wall, pushed against Daniel, kissing him back. Daniel’s tongue scrapped against Armand’s fangs and soon the kiss was full of blood. Armand made a noise, guttural and low.

His lips found Daniel’s throat and his fangs pierced Daniel’s neck, the pain quick and sharp like needles. His mouth closed on the wound and he drank. Daniel held him close, as if he could hold in him place. Daniel could feel the thrum of his heart beat in time with Armand’s. If he had to die, he only wanted to die like this, in the ecstasy of this embrace.

Armand pulled away from his throat and found his mouth again, the kiss hot and full of sticky blood. Daniel broke from the kiss and trailed his lips down to Armand’s throat. Armand made a small gash for him. The blood surged through him as he drank like electricity on a wire, setting his nerves on fire. The blood brought images too, too chaotic and quick to make sense of.

When Armand finally stopped him and eased him away, Daniel grabbed for him, tried to get his mouth back on the wound. Armand had to physically hold him back while it healed.

As easy as that and I’d be yours forever, Daniel thought.

Armand met his eyes, no longer stained with tears but still tinged with sadness.

“Let’s go home, Daniel.”

Daniel let Armand lead him back to the villa without further protest.

After sunrise, he lay in bed, picturing Armand’s sorrowful expression, the bloody tears, the grief already there for a loss he could prevent. Maybe he wouldn’t be stubborn enough to let him die after all. He clung that thought so he could fall asleep, even though he knew he was probably kidding himself.

____

AO3

First one to find the glaring typo wins, there's always one :|

#vamptember #daniel/armand #daniel molloy #armand #mortal daniel #devil's minion #queen of the damned #vampire chronicles #vc #the vampire chronicles #fanfic #armand/daniel #just make him a vampire you asshole jeez #i need that on a t-shirt or something #along with the night island merch someone needs to make #my fic

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tendertenebrosity · 4 years ago

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It’s flashback time for Consort Rill, from these drabbles. This is going to be a three parter, probably, set several months before the rest.

The room, lined with patterned tiles and bright with candles, chattered and murmured with conversation, like so much birdsong. Rill had found a blessedly quiet corner, not so out of the way that he would be seen to be avoiding the gathering, but out of the main current of conversation. He swirled his drink in one hand and nodded politely to a passing courtier.

He listened to the threads of the nearest conversation.

“Now that we’ve had to withdraw from the Western border, I don’t know how the silk exports are going to fare.”

“I know, I know. My contacts in Reshmore are getting antsy, too, and who can blame them?”

“There’s still Port Brace, after all, though - ”

“It’s just too close for comfort. Ah, Captain – care to join us?”

The new voice that joined the conversation was a light baritone that made Rill grit his teeth and tighten his grip on the glass. “Thank you. Ah, I couldn’t help but overhear. I fear that we’re all going to regret the decision not to fight that one harder.”

“Ah, who can say, who can say? One can only hope not.”

“We cannot keep letting the Empire push us without pushing back,” the voice continued. “We need to show them we won’t be bullied. They’ll never respect us if we keep dancing around full engagement.”

Rill took a swallow of the drink, wondering whether to move away. He was sick to death of this argument; in five days, everything constructive to be said on the matter had already been said, and much that wasn’t. And it was only a matter of time until -

“Doubtless the Prince Consort has other opinions, however.”

Rill sighed. “Good evening, Captain,” he said, trying to mask his tiredness. “My lady, Guildmaster.” He sketched out a bow to the rest of the courtiers, who professed their surprise and welcome.

“You disagree with Captain Armand, your highness?” the lady said, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

Rill made a negating motion with his hand. “Ah, the Captain has already heard all of my points,” he said. “It was a very long Council session. Nothing would surprise you, I won’t bore you all with it.”

Armand’s gaze wandered up and down Rill, the twist of his mouth just shy of a sneer. The Captain of the Guard cut an impressive figure; strong jaw clean-shaven, appealingly windswept light brown hair. His uniform was cut to emphasise his shoulders, the light glinting on buttons and braid. His hand laid comfortably at rest on the hilt of his sword.

“The Empire,” he said, “Needs to be taught that we’ll fight for what’s ours.”

“The Queen,” Rill said, pointedly, “Has made her decision.”

“Perhaps the Queen has been led astray by bad advice,” Armand said.

Why the hell does she like you so damn much? Rill seethed. Why? This brash, posturing idiot?

Rill shook his head, half raising a hand and turning away. “No politics for me tonight, Captain,” he said, trying to force an amiable smile. “Please. My lady, Guildmaster, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Perhaps if the Queen had better advisors,” Armand said, loudly. “We wouldn’t have needed to withdraw from the Western border at the slightest probing from Imperial forces.”

Rill gritted his teeth. “Armand,” he said. “Don’t. Good night.” He found a small table to put his glass on - he had no desire for the rest of it - and turned to leave.

He had barely taken three steps when Armand raised his voice again – this time loud enough to make nearby conversations falter as people looked around.

“Perhaps if the Queen wasn’t surrounded by pen-pushers and cowards, we could have fought and we could have won.”

Rill took a deep breath, counted to four, let it out, eased his foot carefully down to the floor. He could hear his wife’s voice in his ear, dismissive. Just ignore him, Rill. Walk away.

Well, I’m trying!

It would not help matters to answer back with insults of his own, or even to try and make a witty comeback as he left. He fixed his face into a polite, nothing smile, nodded as if Armand had said something meaningless but proper, and continued walking. Head up, no expression, don’t let him see he’s getting to you. Just walk away.

Armand’s voice rang out across the room. “Did you hear me, Rezdin?”

“I did,” Rill said evenly. The murmuring of conversation was starting to fall quiet, patchy and confused. “I find nothing to remark upon.”

Armand followed him, polished boots clacking on the tiles. He looked around the room, as well-dressed people fell back to leave a gap around the two of them, or turned their heads to see who was disrupting the gathering. “I called you a coward,” he said, enunciating clearly, raising his voice almost theatrically to make sure the whole room heard. “You’re nothing but a jumped-up little clerk, shaking in your boots for fear of the Empire. You’re unfit for Queen Talia’s hand.”

Whispering, giggling, hushed ‘oohs’ broke out around them.

Rill felt cold, then heat pass over him, as if he’d been dunked in water. Despite his best intentions, he had stopped. Come to a complete halt in the middle of a widening circle of empty, brightly tiled floor and the widening ripples of whispers.

“Well?” Armand demanded. “No argument from you? Coward?”

Whispering, whispering.

Rill licked his lips, tried to breathe slowly, couldn’t. He turned around, and was appalled to find his voice roughened slightly when he spoke. “What is it you want, Captain?”

“Fight me,” Armand said immediately, as Rill had known he would. “A man fit to be Consort would know a challenge when he heard one. Tomorrow morning, in the exhibition grounds.”

The whispering rose, shock and disapproval, excitement.

I knew he was leading up to this. One way or another, I knew it. This was the fourth such challenge – and the most brazen, and the most public.

Rill had turned the others down, as he must turn this one down. Rill had always thought that duels were foolish. Puffed-up young men battering their egos against one another, endangering their lives for no purpose but spectacle. No matter who won, it wouldn’t really prove anything – all it proved was who was better at swinging a sword.

Three-quarters of court life was spectacle, and reputation, and Rill hated that but after years of this he understood it. The only justifiable reason to accept would be if he was certain of winning and could fashion it into something good for their public image, which he definitely was not.

This was stupid, and it proved nothing, and Rill knew all that.

Rill also knew perfectly well what people were whispering. Had been whispering since the first challenge. What they’d say when he said ‘no’, again. His heart twisted in his chest.

Armand’s lip curled. He looked the part. Tall and imposing, hand on his sword like it belonged there. A man fit to be consort. Like him.

“Or are you too much of a -”

“Done,” Rill snapped. “Tomorrow, at the third bell. To first blood.”

He turned on his heel, sick to his stomach. Why don’t you just walk away when he starts, Rill?

He kept his gaze fixed ahead, half unfocused so he didn’t need to see the people looking at him as he strode out of the room. Furious with Armand. Furious with himself. Cringing at the thought of telling Tali what had just transpired – although, if he went to bed now without telling her, somebody else probably would.

He needed his sleep, after all. He had a duel to lose tomorrow.

#my stuff #Consort Rill #fantasy/historical court #emotional whump #public humiliation tw #public duel #self worth issues #Unhealthy relationship #toxic gender role stuff

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years ago

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Monument Woman

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

Warnings: None

A/N: God, I have been wanting to finish this story for weeks, but once we got out of quarantine, I lost all ambition to write. So, I’m glad I finally have enough of a cushion to get part 1 out to you guys. I won’t be following my old posting schedule, but I hope I don’t go so far between posts that you all forget about me!

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit. I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale , @ahopelessromanticwritersworld [please message me to be added or subtracted]

Part 1 – And So We Begin

“Thank you for calling Fort Jamison Historical Museum, this is Rosemary. How can I help you?” The jaunty-sounding phrase rolled off her tongue automatically with little thought behind it until she heard the wizened chuckle on the other end.

“Do you always answer your cell phone like that?” She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned as Robert Lancaster’s chuckle morphed into a hearty laugh. She couldn’t help but giggle along as she dropped her pencil and took off her glasses, setting them on the desk in front of her.

“You know, sometimes I do, especially when I’m not paying attention.” Rosemary leaned back into her chair, propping her feet up on the desk. Her free hand dropped down to fondle Banana’s ears as the dog snoozed next to her. “What’s up, Robert?”

“I’m doing some spring cleaning at the house and shop. I got quite a few boxes accumulated, including stuff I’d like to donate to the museum. When do you think you can come down to look through them? I don’t expect you to take them all, but there are a couple of items I want you to specifically have.” His voice sounded muffled over the phone as he bent down to toss another book into the Friends of the Library box.

“It’s a little slow this week,” she started as she checked the calendar on her wall. “Looks like I can come as early as tomorrow. So, if that works for you, I’ll bring the paperwork with me and we can just get it all done at once.”

“Oh, great! I was hoping you could come soon. It’s been a while since we had time to visit.” His smile was evident in his voice. “Can you do the paperwork on the computer?”

“Sure, we have the fillable PDFs.”

“Even better. Just bring your laptop and we’ll work on it as we go through everything. We can connect to the printer here and then you don’t have to worry about doing any of this at the office. By the way, do you think you’ll have time for lunch?”

“Robert, you know I always have time for you.” She smiled. They had been friends for ten years by that point and he never failed to ask the lunch or dinner question and she never failed to make time for him. Robert had been her first friend when she arrived in Michigan and the long-running friendship between the perpetual bachelor and the bold curator was stuff of area legend.

There had been speculation of a May-December romance between the two, but Robert saw the younger woman as the daughter he never had and on her part Rosemary saw Robert as the father figure she lost when her grandfather passed away.

“Want to do Phil’s or Coral Gables?” She smiled. Just as their dates were always guaranteed, she knew that their location was as well. But it was habit to ask and it never felt right if she didn’t.

“Why do you even ask the question? You know it’s supposed to be nice tomorrow, Coral Gables’ patio all the way.” The two chatted a bit longer before they hung up, returning to the rest of their respective duties. Rosemary sat up and Banana whined when she stopped petting him. Spoiled dog.

“Sorry, Baba. Work calls.” She stood up from her desk and wandered down the hall to the director’s office, knowing Helen was at her desk. The third floor of the museum was workspace for the staff and despite working there for so many years, Rosemary never failed to draw an appreciative breath at the stunning sight of the Kalamazoo River.

As she ambled down the hall, Banana’s nails clicked on the tile floor, hinting that she wasn’t alone on her journey. She smiled as she waved her hand and the dog rushed to her side. The two slowly walked to the director’s office, warming themselves in the afternoon sun that poured through the windows.

Rosemary heard the muttering first as she rounded the corner and entered the office. The stout woman was hunched over her laptop, her salt and pepper pixie cut sticking up everywhere. Whatever she was working on, it was stressing her out. Helen always pulled at her short strands when she was concentrating hard.

Smiling, Helen’s head jerked up as Rosemary knocked on the door. The older woman waved her curator into the office and leaned back. As she stretched, both women could hear a series of loud pops and they started to giggle.

“Ugh, I am getting too old to sit like this. I need a massage.” Helen groaned as yet another loud pop emitted from her shoulder. As Banana scooched under the desk to get scritches from Helen, Rosemary plopped down in one of the armchairs and it creaked in complaint. “Do you have to sit so hard? Those are collection pieces, you know.”

“Not anymore. I deaccessioned them last week into the decorative collection. Donor approved, mind you. So, we can sit in these however we want.” Rosemary grinned as she threw a leg over the arm of the ornate chair. For being so ugly, it was comfortable and not for the first time, she wondered if she could move them to her office without Helen noticing.

“That may be, but it’s not like we have money to fix something you broke because you were being too careless.” Helen raised her eyebrow and Rosemary sat back up in the chair like normal, having the courtesy to look chagrined. The director sat back.

“So, what do you need? Are you still having issues with that Gaylord order?”

“Naw, I talked to them last week, they shipped it out yesterday. Finally.” She rolled her eyes. “Robert Lancaster called me just a bit ago, wanting to donate some items to the museum. I got the time, so I’ll head to Saugatuck tomorrow to handle it.”

“Well, I know Robert is quite the collector, but do you think there are things we’ll want? I’m hard pressed to start accepting any old thing again after we finally got the collections cleared up and decluttered. I know he’s a long-time supporter of the museum, but I don’t know if I can take another ugly piece of furniture with a smile.” Rosemary laughed at the comment.

“To his credit, he said there were things we probably wouldn’t want, and I doubt he’ll be sad if I said no to some things. I certainly want to see what books he’s got for us. We have a few things in the library that probably need to be rotated out into archives for their own protection.

“Besides, I am not going to pass up a chance to swoop in and yank the rug out from underneath Saugatuck. You know that. Watching Fred get mad that I got the leg up on him adds ten years to my life.” Rosemary rubbed her hands gleefully, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“You really hate him, don’t you?” Helen laughed. Lake Michigan History Center was a charming coastal museum, but everyone agreed their curator was a bit odd. Rosemary took an instant dislike to the man when she came on Fort Jamison’s staff and over the years, their dislike turned into a mutual hatred. Like her friendship with Robert, everyone knew Fred was Rosemary’s mortal enemy and vice versa.

“God, yes! Helen, he’s a dick and greedy as hell. I don’t trust him any further than I can toss his skinny ass. I am still pissed over the diary! Mrs. Greenwich assured me that we were getting it and he slithered into the village last year and took it!” Rosemary’s voice got louder. “THAT DAMN DIARY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH SAUGATUCK, LET ALONE MENTIONS IT!”

Helen laughed harder while raising her hands in surrender and her curator stopped herself before she got too carried away. Rosemary cleared her throat and drew a deep breath. Ugh, he always managed to get her riled up even when he wasn’t around. Damn Fred.

“Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t let him get me so mad, but god. I hate him so much! So, if Robert Lancaster’s got something that would make Fred die with envy, then by god, I’m gonna bring it home.”

“Alright. I trust you as usual. But since you’re here, I want to go over a couple of things with you for this grant so I can get it out Friday.”

The two women moved on to other things and fell into discussion about the future of projects for the museum and how to fund them.

---***---

“Cripes.”

The word was accompanied by a deep groan. Agent Marcus Pike sat back in his chair to rub his eyes for the third time in less than an hour. Some intern had dumped four boxes of case files in his office and was coming back with four more. And the intern was certain there was another half dozen.

When three art pieces were stolen in Canada last year, Pike had been notified as a courtesy from his Canadian counterparts. Which in and of itself wasn’t unusual, but the notes from the agents there stood out to Pike and he realized that the details match another case he had worked on earlier in the year. And further digging uncovered almost three dozen cases dating back almost thirty years that carried all the hallmarks of this most recent one. And more importantly – they were all still open.

He had taken his concerns and theories to the Art Squad chief, Agent Maria Luisa Armand, and with her blessing, assembled a crew to explore these cold cases. Maybe with new technology and eyes, they’d get the lead to solve them all.

The dull throbbing behind his eyes seemed to get worse and he leaned further back in his chair, trying to do some breathing exercises to reduce the pressure. He let his eyes go unfocused, letting the colored light reflected on his ceiling go blurry. The stained glass propped up in his office window had been a bit of an indulgence for him, but Pike never regretted the purchase and, in that moment, the colored streaks help bring some sense of zen that he needed.

A knock on his door forced him out of his zone and he sat up to see his partner, Brenda Carmichael, waiting at the door. He smiled when he saw her and she returned the gesture, coming in to sit in one of the chairs. The two had been partners for six years and together they had solved dozens of cases and thwarted twice as much.

“Do we have a plan, Carmichael?”

“Yep. Someone is coming to get these boxes and take them to Conference D, which I commandeered.”

“How did you do that?”

“Threatened to tell Harrison’s wife that he was spending big cash on that escort he’s seeing.”

“Ouch, a little low, don’t you think?” Pike laughed.

“God no. Harrison doesn’t ever play nice, so you can’t do it with him.” She waived her hand and laughed, her tightly coiled hair bouncing as if it was laughing, too. “Anyway, three junior agents are on the job currently preparing to create the timeline and pulling all the files. Two more are working to create point of contact lists for witnesses and such. And finally, I think Armand is putting on the coffee.”

“So where does that leave you and me?” He didn’t think he’d get such a big crew to do this. Must be a slow day in other departments. “I want Fitzbender on the NSAF search and follow up, though, before I forget.

“That’s fine. And we supervise.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it for now. Until we have more material to work with. So up off your duff and let’s get going.”

Pike smiled as he pulled himself out of his chair, grabbing his jacket and gesturing to Carmichael to leave first. If they could solve these cases, it would be the biggest win in the Art Squad’s recent history and Pike really wanted to bring those pieces home where they belonged.

---***----

“Robert, you know I love you, but you have some ugly stuff here.” Rosemary’s nose wrinkled at the stuffed monkey with murderous eyes staring at her from a box. The only place that creepy thing was going was in the garbage. She moved on to another open box, pawing through the items that were housed there, pulling out a couple of potentials.

“Yeah, well no accounting for taste, I guess.” Robert groaned as he leaned over and pulled open another box. He thought he had labelled all of them for the museum, but he realized three of them got mixed up in the junk pile. “God, how did I miss all these boxes. I’m sorry Rosie, I am usually better organized.”

“It’s not a problem, Robert.” Rosemary walked over with the contents of yet another box, a bounce in her step as she realized she snagged a two-hundred-year-old map of the area that Fred would have murdered her to get for himself. Her grin was almost feral at the idea that she one upped the old bastard. “Hey, question.”

“What?” Robert had moved on to a small box on his desk that had a post-it with Rosemary’s name on it.

“What’s with all the cleaning and giving away all of a sudden? The house wasn’t like this when I visited two months ago.” She wiped the sweat off her brow and turned to look at him. He was quiet and she took a moment to really look at him.

She knew from long talks that Robert had been living in the Saugatuck area since the 1990s. He had come from Chicago, declaring he needed a slower pace and his bookstore was a welcomed addition to the downtown area. He was highly philanthropic to causes he loved, like the Fort Jamison museum.

After her Pops passed away several years ago, she seemed to lean even more into Robert to fill the empty void and he did so gladly. As she watched him shuffle about, she grew concerned because he looked more frail than usual. The man had always been on the thin side, but he looked scarily thin and a thought skittered through her mind that sent a wave of sadness through her.

“Robert, are you sick?” There was no hiding the sadness in Rosemary’s voice. When he stopped and hesitated, she didn’t need a verbal answer from him. She walked over from where she was standing and placed her hand on his shoulder, turning him around. “Robert.”

He bowed his head and wrapped his arms around the younger woman as tight as he could, and she did the same. He began to cry on her shoulder, and it startled her, causing tears to form in her eyes. She silently rubbed his back in comforting circles as sobs wracked Robert’s body. They stood there a long time before he quieted down, but even then, Rosemary refused to let him go, hugging him close to her.

He was her friend and she loved him dearly, so if he were dying, it would devastate her. Robert made a move to pull back and she reluctantly let him go but held onto his arms with her hands to keep him close. His red-rimmed eyes crushed the broken pieces of her heart. He sighed.

“Rosie.” He took a deep breath. “I met with my doctor last week and I have stage four pancreatic cancer. He only gave me a few months to live.”

“Oh Robert.” The tears started up again and she threw her arms around him. They cried together a second time and the sadness enveloped them. As she held him close, her tears made her voice rough. “That’s what spurred this on, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But you’re the only one to know right now. I didn’t want to tell anyone else until you knew.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Well, for starters, this hug is pretty good.” He chuckled a little bit. “And get some of this stuff out of my house. And then just be my friend until the end.”

“Always.” She pulled back to look at him. “But it will be a cold day in hell before that ugly ass monkey comes with me.”

The tension and sadness were broken, letting them laugh a bit through their tears. They stepped apart and let themselves smile at each other.

“Let’s get lunch and come back to this stuff later. It’s too nice of a day to miss out on the patio.”

#Agent Marcus Pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x oc #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fanfic #the mentalist

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high-fructose-lesbianism · 5 years ago

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A Subjective Ranking of all 18 Books in the Vampire Chronicles Extended Universe

18. Blood Canticle (2003)

It took me the longest to read Blood Canticle of any of the books because I couldn’t read more than about 25 pages at a time before the urge to throw the book out the nearest window got too strong. The story is bad, the characters are the worst they’ve ever been and the writing style is full-on terrible. Blood Canticle is one of the worst books I’ve read full stop.

17. Taltos (1994)

I hated the Mayfair Witches trilogy. While Taltos was at least the shortest of the three, it was a terrible conclusion to the trilogy. The Taltos are one of Anne Rice’s worst ideas. Each of the books delves more into their mythology and it gets worst the more it’s explored.

16. Blackwood Farm (2002)

A major issue I have with Anne Rice is she insists on telling these extremely lengthy backstories of characters we’ve just met who I almost never give a shit about. That’s the entirety of Blackwood Farm. It’s the backstory of a character I just met and don’t care about whatsoever. Blackwood Farm evokes the classic Anne Rice style of bad where it switches between just being insane and being fucking boring at the drop of a hat. I skimmed most of the book because it was so boring. But then I’d tune in to some insanely weird shit about intersex vampires or ghost twins giving handjobs or whatever was happening and yeah, my attention would of course be held by such insanity. But invariably, the book would drift back into describing wildly uninteresting events with too much detail and I’d tune out again.

15. The Witching Hour (1990)

The Witching Hour has a three paragraph summary on Wikipedia. It is an accurate summation of the events of the book. So then why is this fucking book 968 pages? That’s my main grievance with The Witching Hour; it’s way too fucking long. It’s the least insane of the Mayfair Witches trilogy but also by far the least interesting.

14. Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis (2016)

These fucking bird aliens who inhabited Atlantis are just the Taltos 2.0. There’s a lot of insanity and also boring backstory in this one. I skimmed the backstory of the Atlantean bird aliens and don’t feel like I missed anything. What saves this book from ranking lower is I’m a slut for the main VC characters interacting and this one did have such a thing, plus some good Louis/Lestat moments which is my other big priority with the series. Simultaneous highlight and lowlight of this book is when that one dude looses a hand but it gains sentience, breast feeds off him or something and then becomes his perfect clone. Fucking insanity.

13. Lasher (1993)

Lasher is the best of the Mayfair trilogy because there are genuine moments of horror in this horror novel. On the downside, the Taltos are as always, insane. Also, another signature of Anne Rice’s is sexy and sexualized teenage characters which there is a lot of in this book in the form of 13 year old Mona Mayfair, her affair with Michael Curry and the many scenes where this is excused, justified or even somewhat celebrated. That disturbed me and not in the way I want a horror novel to disturb me.

12. Memnoch the Devil (1995)

In terms of writing style, Memnoch is a lot better than many of the books that will rank higher than it. But this is a subjective ranking and I didn’t give a shit about Anne Rice working through her weird, religious baggage in a series that I’m reading to hear about the exploits of sexy, bisexual vampires. The majority of this book is again, a long backstory from a character we just met and I don’t care about. In this case it’s literally Satan which is a good start but Anne Rice sure has a way of taking too long describing everything which leaves me extremely bored by the narrative.

11. Blood Paradise (2018)

Blood Paradise should be lower in this list. It’s objectively extremely poor. Blood Paradise is basically the inverse of Memnoch; I really liked the story but hated the writing style. This one only ranks so high because it is a story that focuses on the lead vampire characters who are my priority. And yeah, I liked the outline for the story. It’s character-based, no major new characters interrupt the narrative and no insane additions to canon are added. Too bad the writing style feels extremely half-assed. Where usually I’m critical of Anne Rice taking way too long to say anything and focusing on unimportant details, this one is the opposite. It feels extremely rushed. A lot of major, emotional scenes that occur between characters are only a few sentences or paragraphs long. But still, at least this one gave me story content that I could just expand upon in my head instead of insane additions to canon that I’d prefer to ignore.

10. Merrick (2000)

Merrick actually might have my favourite ending to any of the VC novels. I loved Lestat resurrecting Louis from his suicide attempt and then that descends into Lestat, Louis, David and Merrick living in what seems to be perfectly happy polyamory. I totally dug that. But of course, the majority of the book is a backstory of Merrick, a character I just met and don’t care about. Also, we get a bit of David backstory which I seem to remember being him mostly creeping on some young boy who was in expedition with him. Not ideal.

9. Vittorio, the Vampire (1999)

Vittorio is a fairly effective historical horror. Anne Rice did a lot of research and it shows. That’s not exactly my interest but she did well with it. There’s also some really horrific moment where Vittorio meets a clan of vampires in an old castle who do keep humans like cattle and eat babies and stuff. The major downsides is just that this is a character who we’ve never met before and never see again. Also the fact that Vittorio is 16 and is absolutely sexualized. I’ve really grown tired of Anne Rice’s constant belief that’s in almost all of her writing that teenagers are sexy and it’s totally fine to fuck them. It makes me uncomfortable to say the least.

8. Pandora (1998)

This one’s just pretty good. I’ve no major complaints but no specific bits of it I want to champion either. Again, a lot of historical research is done which is not interesting to me but well done. Also nice to have at least one book with a female vampire protagonist.

7. Prince Lestat (2014)

Prince Lestat is not objectively better than the last two books. I rank it this high mostly out of relief. For ages, Blood Canticle was the last book in The Vampire Chronicles. So, when Prince Lestat was released, it was impossible to see this as anything other than a huge upgrade. And of course, I liked that this book returned to focusing on the lead characters of Lestat, Louis, Marius, Daniel etc. It’s still a baffling idea to have Lestat be the vampire head of state or whatever though. But oh man, that Louis/Lestat moment near the end of the book made me feel a whole lotta feelings.

6. Blood and Gold (2001)

This one is another excuse for Anne Rice to do a lot of historical research. And you know what? Better she spends her energies doing that instead of creating weird, tall supernatural beings with specific quirks that are impossible to take seriously. I like the framing of this one because it’s sort of the inverse of usual. Thorne, a new character is introduced but instead of him telling Marius his story, it’s established character Marius who tells Thorne his story. And he does this the first day they met after Thorne’s awakened after several hundred years and they’ve taken a bath together. That’s just good story structure right there. The most memorable part of this story for me is keeping a vague tally of all the people Marius fell in love with throughout the course of the story. In one 100-page stretch, Marius falls in love five separate times. This grew tiresome but I also just thought it was funny.

5. The Vampire Armand (1998)

I’m the most morally against The Vampire Armand. It’s basically the peak of Anne Rice’s love of sexualizing teens. That’s sort of the whole book. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that around the time of its publication, Anne Rice got back into religion. I think she looked over what she wrote and was like yeah okay, maybe I do need Jesus. But I dunno, I remember really liking it. It was well-written and Armand is one of my favourite characters. I think Anne Rice did actually hit the right mixture of the story being sexy, horrific and rather tragic. Also, that bit at the end where Armand eats a drug dealer’s face and heart in front of some new, human friends is one of my favourite scenes.

4. The Tale of the Body Thief (1992)

There’s a lot of good and a lot of bad in Tale of the Body Thief. I love the body swap aspect and this one has some of the best interactions between characters. On the downside, there absolutely is a 2-page description of Lestat taking a piss, he absolutely commits a rape and him turning David into a vampire was #problematic. But even there, the Lestat and David scene is really well-written and works because Lestat is an absolute piece of shit. Tale of the Body Thief is for better and worse, Lestat at his most Lestat. Still didn’t need to hear about him taking a piss in that much detail, though.

3. Queen of the Damned (1988)

Akasha is the only good villain in any of the Vampire Chronicles books. Plus, Queen of the Damned brought all the characters we’d met in the previous two books together and I was absolutely all about that. At this point in the series, I actually did care about the majority of main characters and their interactions were absolutely spectacular. Only downside is again, we get a lengthy backstory of Akasha that I absolutely skimmed.

2. Interview with the Vampire (1976)

Yeah, it’s only number 2. Because while this book is better written and the start of this whole damn phenomenon, Louis is far from my favourite narrator. Dude’s too morose and shit. Still, the writing style is exquisite and it introduced great characters. As the series went on, Anne Rice clearly ran out of ideas but because this one is the first book, that’s not the case. There’s a lot of ideas here and they aren’t even fucking insane.

1. The Vampire Lestat (1985)

I’m really only into this series because of how much I love Lestat as a character. I read Interview and thought I was done with the series. Interview was fine but I didn’t think I cared about the sequels. However, six months later when I decided to read The Vampire Lestat, I knew within the first two pages that this was going to be a problem for me. This is exactly my brand of bullshit. It’s just Lestat being a sexy and shitty person who makes out with everyone and overreacts to everything. I love him. And in the third act when it’s revealed he’s been in love with Louis all along and then Louis shows up in the present day and they reunite???? Oh my god. 16 year-old me nearly exploded. The Vampire Lestat is really the sole reason The Vampire Chronicles happened to me as hard as it did. I love this book and its ridiculous narrator/protagonist.

#the vampire chronicles #vampire chronicles #vc #tvc #the mayfair witches #lives of the mayfair witches #anne rice #new tales of the vampire #generally homosexual

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rhetoricalrogue · 7 years ago

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Inktober for Writers - 31. Final

Prompt list here. And that makes the last one, we’re all wrapped up! I swear, this one has been the most difficult thing to write, because I’ve wanted to have this huge loose end with Rolfe tied up since forever. The Boy has done a lot of growth since he first showed up with a strawberry milkshake in hand and plopped down on my sofa, demanding to be written about, and I’m so damn proud of him. I had intended on him hating his birth family forever, but he’s matured over the past year.

Warnings for past abuse, both physical and emotional.

9 Solace, 9:42 Dragon

The letter that Rolfe carried in his pocket was short, concise, and to the point. It was written on dainty, delicate stationary in a faint hand, the script as elegant as it had always been. The letter should not have weighed as heavily as if had.

Flora Trevelyan was dying. Rolfe had never had a good relationship with his mother, years of neglect and being told outright that he was not wanted had a way of putting a rift between them, but she had written him, requesting to see him one last time. He couldn’t deny her that.

Vincent and Cassandra had offered to travel with him, but Rolfe had declined. Marian was still a baby who didn’t need to be exposed to weeks of travel and his brother had more important Inquisition things to take care of, namely closing up the last of the rifts out in the desert and investigating ruins now that the threat of Corypheus and the sense of urgency was lifted. He was grateful to Ravena, who had instantly volunteered to go the second the word ruins had passed Vincent’s lips. Rolfe could do without the sunburn and sand sticking to every piece of his sweaty body, no matter how much he shook off.

But there was still a piece of him that was dreading visiting the home of his childhood, and that piece was growing louder and louder as the carriage he rode in got closer.

At least it wouldn’t be too terrible: Edward Trevelyan, the man who had claimed to be his father for the sake of public image, had died at the miserable age of sixty-eight some years ago. The fact that he had died of an apparent heart attack was the first that Rolfe had ever heard of Edward having a heart to begin with. While he didn’t mourn his passing, Rolfe didn’t take delight in it either.

Rolfe took a deep breath before he exited the carriage, realizing that his hands were shaking and his pulse was erratic. “Stop that,” he said quietly. “You aren’t a child any longer; none of these people can hurt you.” Steeling himself, he let his expression slide into a well-used mask of indifference, making sure that no one could see the rising panic as he heard whispers of ghosts telling him that he wasn’t welcome here, that bastards weren’t people, that it was better if he spent most of his time in the kitchens so people would believe he was one of the servants’ brats instead of a Trevelyan.

“You aren’t that person. You never were.” Rolfe straightened his posture, reminding himself that he was a former Chantry spy, a protector, and part of the Inquisition’s Inner Circle. The child who had been emotionally and mentally beaten didn’t walk with such purpose, or carry a dozen knives on his person. For the first time, Rolfe wondered if his penchant for carrying so many was because of this feeling, this desire to protect the boy that he had been.

Rolfe squeezed his hands into fists. It would have been better if Edward and Flora had beaten him. The way that they had ignored him behind closed doors had told him that he wasn’t even worth striking.

“Rolfe.” He turned when he saw his half-sister Claudia. Like Rolfe, she closely resembled their mother, from their dark hair and sepia colored skin. Out of the two siblings he knew to be there at their mother’s deathbed, Claudia was the safest one. He’d bumped into her several times during the years after he’d been forced into the Chantry, mainly at ceremonies during feast days where he’d been stationed to protect high-ranking Mothers. Marriage and getting away from the toxic home had done wonders for her. Her husband had been twenty years older than her, but Armand had been good to her, his maturity forcing her to grow up from the petulant spoiled child who blindly echoed her parents’ disregard for her little brother.

Rolfe hadn’t been in a good mental place when she had offered her apologies for her behavior all those years ago, but he had faked a smile and accepted her words anyway, if only to give her a little sense of peace and have an excuse to leave the conversation.

“Claudia.” Rolfe took her in: she looked smaller than he remembered. Her hair was done up in a simple bun and she still wore widow’s clothes, even though Armand had been dead for at least three years.

Claudia took a step forward and held her hands out as if she wanted to hug him, but froze as she took in Rolfe’s stiff and uncomfortable posture, retracting her hands and clasping them awkwardly in front of her. “How was your trip?”

“Surprisingly easy.” He looked down the hall where his stomach knotted and nausea rose up his throat. “William.” His hands itched to reach for the dagger hidden at the small of his back, not to use, but for comfort, the worn handle familiar and grounding.

William Trevelyan was a carbon copy of his father, from the high cheekbones and cruel looking slash of thin lips. As a child, William had been his main tormentor, taking great pleasure in letting Rolfe know that he was an illegitimate child. He would often do things that Rolfe would later get blamed and punished for, making his life miserable as often as possible.

“Rolfe.”

Rolfe couldn’t look at him for long. Turning towards Claudia, he tipped his head. “And Flora? Where is she?”

Claudia winced at the way that Rolfe had called their mother by her given name instead of a more familiar Mother, though she did look at him sympathetically as if she understood where he was coming from. Rolfe didn’t know what was worse, that she had flinched in the first place or the sympathy he didn’t ask for that she readily gave him. “She’s upstairs in her room. I can take her to you, if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary. I remember the way.”

The staircase still creaked on the second step up. Rolfe had to force himself to step purposely on it, letting it creak loudly: when he was a child, he had learned to jump that last distance if he wanted to sneak down to the kitchens after everyone had gone to bed, the cooking staff only too happy to feed him the meal he had been denied earlier as punishment for something he hadn’t done, the head cook’s arms soft as she hugged him and pressed kisses to his brow while he cried from the unfairness of it all.

Outside the door, Rolfe closed his eyes and braced himself to confront his mother after not seeing her for twenty years. If Claudia had been smaller than Rolfe had remembered her being, his mother was outright tiny. Flora had always been a petite woman, but the illness that was slowly claiming her had made her skeletal, her skin drawn tight and pinched around her mouth. Age and illness had stolen the beauty she had once prided: Rolfe remembered her hair as being lustrously thick and black, just like his, but the pale white strands that hung limply over her thin shoulders and the dry, sallow skin that looked nothing like his own was strange to him.

The woman Rolfe wanted acceptance and love from was gone. In her place was a sad, sick stranger who Rolfe couldn’t see a trace of himself in. He didn’t know whether he should be relieved or sad.

“Rolfe, you came.” Flora coughed, hands weakly going to the lace-trimmed handkerchief to cover her mouth. Rolfe noticed that it came away speckled with red.

“Of course.” Without asking, he sat down in a delicate chair by her bedside. “You asked for me.”

He didn’t jump when she reached for him, her fingers curling around his. Rolfe swallowed a hot lump in his throat at how papery and cool her hands felt. How often had he longed for her to hold his hand, to stroke his cheek? “You’ve grown into a handsome man.”

“I’ve been told that I take quite strongly after my father.” He closed his eyes, not meaning to say it, but not wanting to apologize or take it back either. “I’ve met him.”

Flora’s fingers stilled against his hand. “You have?”

“Yes.” He looked her in the eye. “Did you know who he was all this time?”

She stared back, her dark eyes still as sharp as ever. “Yes.”

He sat back. “And you never told me, even when I asked?”

“You didn’t need to know.”

“Bullshit.” Rolfe pulled his hand away and clenched them into fists in his lap. “For years, all I wanted was to belong. Had I known, I would have run away a long time ago and gotten out of your hair.”

“Your father…”

“Edward is not my father. And the only reason you slept around behind his back was to punish him for his own affairs.” He sneered. “Don’t even think of hiding behind the excuse that you were afraid of what he would say or do if he found out the identity of my father. The only thing you were afraid of was the social disgrace that would have followed after revealing Philip.”

“You’re right. And this past few months have been difficult for your brother because of your little revelation in the Winter Palace.”

“Pray, forgive me, Mother. I’ll remember to throw myself at William’s feet and beg for forgiveness before I leave.” Rolfe stopped, willing himself to calm down, to banish the biting sarcasm that stung his throat. “Was this really the reason that you called for me, is it? One last time to shame me before you die?”

“No, this isn’t why I called for you.” She sat up as straight as she could while being propped up with multiple pillows. “I’m dying.”

“Yes, you noted that in your letter.”

Flora’s breath came out in a phlegmy wheeze. “No one tells you how painful wasting illness was. The doctors say that there is something in my body, some malignant growth that’s causing my lungs to feel like I’m breathing broken glass. I sleep most days, just to avoid it. I would not wish this on my worst enemy.”

“And there is nothing that the doctors can do?” Rolfe thought of his cousin Ada, wondering if maybe he should have asked her to come with him to see if there was something that she could do. She was a surgeon, maybe she had some connections or some ability to ease his mother’s suffering.

“None, which is why I have come to you at last.” Flora reached for Rolfe’s hands, and this time, Rolfe let her. “I must confess, I have been keeping in confidence with Mother Roberta all these years.”

He froze. “No you haven’t. She would have told me if you had.”

“I begged for her secrecy, just as I begged for her to treat you as a son, the way that I could not.”

Rolfe shot up from his seat. “No, I don’t believe it. I refuse to believe it.” He pointed at her. “You had seventeen years of chances to treat me with kindness, to defy the husband you hated and to love me, but you refused to. You had twenty years after that to come to me, either in public or in secret, and tell me that you cared for me, but you chose not to.”

“Mother Roberta was the mother that I had wished I had, the mother that you could have so easily been. I mourned her death at the Conclave; you do not get to poison her memory for me.”

“That is not my intention. I just thought that you should know.”

“Fine, I know. You’ve said your piece and I will take my leave.”

“That’s not all I brought you here for, Rolfe.” The steely tone of voice was the same, even after two decades of not hearing it. “I know what you are, the role that you served in the Chantry.”

“You mean, the Chantry that you so carelessly threw me to, where it was a choice between becoming a poor cleric or a Templar?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I will give you one thing, Mother, had I not been given to the Chantry, I more than likely wouldn’t have lived past my twentieth year outside its walls. The stunts I pulled, the drinking, the sneaking around, it was a cry for attention that you so callously ignored. The gossip about the minor scandal I caused died down a month later, yours and Edward’s actions were just a convenient way of getting rid of me, just like you’d wanted ever since I was born.” Rolfe didn’t know why all of this was coming out now, perhaps it was because Flora was on her deathbed and this would be the only chance that he would have to confront her, but it felt like he was lancing a long-carried wound, relief pouring out with every word that he’d had bottled up for decades.

At least Flora had the decency to look ashamed. It didn’t please Rolfe as he thought it might have.

“It’s true. You were a mistake, an unseen consequence of a short dalliance I had to get back at Edward. I had to live with that mistake all your life, and it was something that I never wanted. Should I have treated you as I had? No, I shouldn’t have. I never loved you, not like a child deserves to be loved, and for that I am truly sorry.”

Rolfe sat back in the chair he had vacated, hot tears burning in his eyes that he refused to let fall. “Then I accept your apology, Mother,” he said quietly.

“I know your role in the Chantry was not just one of a protector. You were used to kill.” She looked him in the eye. “I need you to take on that role again. Don’t let me die in pain, make my passing quick.”

Rolfe stared at her, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Poison would be preferable, something that leaves me looking peaceful, for William and Claudia’s sake.”

He blinked. “Wait. You wrote to me, not because you intended to apologize for the way that you treated me before you died, but to ask me to end your suffering?”

She tilted her head, looking at him as if it were a simple matter. “Yes.”

Rolfe felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach. “And here I thought that Edward was the heartless one.”

“Will you do it?” Her request was cut off by a bout of coughing that wracked her body and unsettled several of the pillows she had been reclining against. “I don’t know how long I have left to live, don’t let me suffer this way.”

“You’ve thought about this for a while, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” She pleaded with him with her eyes, her hand held out towards him. “If you do this for me, I will love you.”

Rolfe leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes. “Do you know,” he started, swallowing thickly. “How long I have wanted to hear you tell me that? Do you know how many times I went looking for the type of unconditional love that only a mother could give her son, how many of my closest friends are older women who gave me that sort of care and friendship freely?”

“And I will give it to you now, Rolfe, if only you do this last thing for me.”

Rolfe opened his eyes. “Unconditional love, Mother. Given to a child without wanting anything in return. Since I have come in here, your main motive was to speak with me as if you were a client booking an assassination, the target being yourself. You haven’t laid eyes on me in twenty years, and yet you’ve never once asked how I am.”

He blinked, tears and a lifetime of longing for acceptance from this woman in front of him gone in an instant. “I married, you know. My wife is an amazing woman who for some reason unknown to me, loves me, just as I am. We have a daughter. A beautiful, healthy baby girl who I love more than my own life. I loved her the second she came into this world and I will love her until the moment I leave it and beyond. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for her and just once, just once, I had wanted the same from you.”

He stood up. “I am eternally grateful that I found my brother Vincent and that I’ve gotten to know my father. After the shock wore off at finding out that he had a son he had no idea he had fathered by a woman who had told him she was unmarried when he spent a brief moment in her bed, he accepted me. A stranger I had never known and a brother who I had no idea I had accepted me easier than the family I had. Philip’s wife embraced me the first time we met as if she had known me my whole life.

“All I’ve ever wanted was your love; why wouldn’t you love me?”

“Rolfe, say that you’ll do this for me. Say that you’ll make my suffering brief.” Flora coughed, blood flecking her lips just like the rouge he remembered her wearing all the time.

Rolfe shook his head. “No, I will not. The Chantry made me into the man I am today, bloody hands and all. I’ll not add your death to my list of sins. A mother who truly loved her child would not ask it of them.”

“How dare…”

Rolfe made his way to the door. “Goodbye, Mother. May your time in this world be short, and may you find peace walking at the Maker’s side.”

Rolfe was stopped by his half-brother before he reached the front door. “What did she say to you?”

“Things she will more than likely never say to you,” he replied. “She loves you, after all.”

William stood in his way and Rolfe fought the urge to lash out, to kick at the back of his half-brother’s knee and slam his elbow into his face to get out of the damned house, the air thick and constrictive around him. “Wait. We have never been friends. The fault in that lies with me. I…”

“Blindly followed along with your parents’ hatred of me, delighted in calling me a bastard and beating me as often as you could, knowing that you’d never be punished for it?”

William looked down. “Yes. I’ve wanted to apologize for my behavior, like Claudia said that she had done in the past. She told me that you had accepted her apology, and while I know I don’t deserve it, I’ve taken the time to think back on the way I treated you and I’m ashamed of my actions. After the birth of my second son, I’ve thought about how I failed you as an older brother. I don’t know if I can start, but I would like to make amends.”

The hot slide of tears was back, but Rolfe stubbornly refused to let any fall. “I accept your apology, William,” he said. “But I think that too much damage has been done to repair bridges I burnt long ago. I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand.” William nodded, blinking back his own tears. “I wish you well, Rolfe.”

“As I wish you and your family well. Treat your sons well, show them what a good father should be.” He hesitated, but finally clapped his hand over William’s shoulder. William’s lip trembled as he placed his hand over Rolfe’s, giving it a final pat before stepping out of Rolfe’s way.

“We won’t be seeing you again, will we?” Claudia asked, her question coming out more like a statement of fact.

“No, I don’t believe you will.” This time he didn’t hesitate, he held out his arms and embraced his half-sister like she had wanted to do when he arrived.

“I understand.”

“Your brother said the same thing.”

Claudia stepped away from him. “Have a good life, Rolfe. I know that you’re surrounded by people who love you. Maker, how I wish that you’d had that here.”

“Goodbye, Claudia. Be well.”

Rolfe climbed into the waiting carriage and knocked on the roof to signal the driver to head off. It was only then, in private, that he wept for the mother he’d had and the one that he’d wished that she’d been to him.

He never once looked back.

#rolfe trevelyan #angst #tw: emotional abuse #tw: abuse mention #MY SON #this was so fucking hard to write #just because someone apologizes for past actions does not mean that you have to include them in your life now #sometimes it's better to let go and walk away #inktober for writers #my writing

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allowed2bloud · 7 years ago

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A reaction post to this piece of trash 1. You felt great bc you just drank a junkie 2. The voice over is pissing me off, almost as much as pink haired girl fake southern accent 3.johnathan Davis should be ashamed his voice is coming out of that douchecanoe 4. He really looks like kiera knightly 5. His fake pale skin looks worse than Rosalie from twlight 6. The costume designer had to be about 15 and had an unhealthy obsession with hot topic, and had never been to a rock concert before 7. Why is it dawn and he's outside? 8. Hello. They are witches... didn't the screenwriters read the books??? 9. This David should be older.. like who cast this 10. The fucking voice over again.. I seriously hate Townsend voice 11. Again who the fuck cast these people.. 12. Ok I know I read this book when I was like 14.. so like 22 years ago, but I remember lestats creation story happening way differently... 13. Why does living lestat look like a drunk Joaquin Phoenix playing johnny cash.. 14. And why the hell is his fangs ALWAYS out... 15. Oh look.. let's take something that was a key plot point in why lestats so fucked up... except the violin player isn't a female.. uggg. Read the book 16. Oh wait... lestat doesn't play the violin... that would have been his lover 17. Why can't we stick with one color pallet for dead lestats skin? 18. Bc hiding the switch to the secret room in the wall under a trunk isn't obvious at all 19. And obviously who ever cast Townsend didn't remember that lestats is french... that accent is not French 20. I honestly think lestat has on more eyeshadow than I do 21. Awkward bdsm scene where murius says we have the same mother. 22. And murius gets jealous bc mommy didn't pick him 23. Why does Townsend accent keep changing? 24. That time Jessie was all of us, falling in love with a fictional character 25. Wtf why does Jessie get her own voice over 26. Given the sound track, why are we playing the song from ghostbusters.. 27. And then lestat looks like the genie head from pee wees playhouses 28. Well now we know where twilight stole that weird fast movement effect.. And why do vampires moving sound like snake rattles and skidding noises 29. Blending... omg his,face isn't the same shade as his neck... or his hands... 30. Again, 22 years later.. I'm pretty sure he couldn't fly until after he wakes akasha 31. And still not some gypsys violin. 32. Why is he listening to his own music? I mean yea he's a narassistic bastard 33. Why are they whispering... no one else is there. I'm seriously over changing the volume to watch this.. I'm having flash backs to 94 when I snuck out of bed to watch interview with the vampire in the middle of the night 34. His eye bruising is really bugging me.. like put some cucumbers on your eyes man. Maurius is older.. And his designer bags arent near as heavy 35. Why do the vampires all look like 90s euro trash? I mean yea they are in London so they are technically euro trash.. but it's like really bad euro trash 36. Akasha has eye teeth fangs... no one else does... why???? 37. Seriously forgot how much I love this album.. I should have just skipped this train wreck and listened to this cd.. 38. Not gonna lie kind wish i could set people on fire with the flick of my wrist.. 39. Oh johnathan Davis... you are a horrible scalper, nice cameo though, I mean it's the least they could do 40. Why do all these groupies keep volunteering to be killed.. And what happened to that girls face 41. A London goth... aka Jessie looks like a 13 year old MySpace scene girl trying to do her eye liner 42. Who the hell was the mua.. Seriously pick a foundation 43. Again.. lestat is not super man... he can't fly like that 44. Omg omg omg.. I just realized Townsend was the basis for Kristen Stewart's Bella swan.. emotionless and moody 45. Only thing the make up ppl can do continuously is make sure Jessie scratch is still there. 46. ANd seriously, disturbed would never settle for opening for this douchebag.. 47. So much manic panic 48. Townsend is not good at lip synching. Didn't he just spend a whole night listening to his own songs in his coffin? 49. Why do all the other vampires have cavemen foreheads? 50. Like were the speed movement effects done by the same people that did the matrix? 51. Hey akasha that's some pretty spiffy high school drama club stage entrance you got there. 52. Why does she sound like she's talking into a fan? 53. I know that akasha is Egyptian... but she's been a statue with out blood for how long? She really shouldn't be that tan. 54. Oh wait.. it's that one deftones song that is on everyone's bdsm dungeon play list... I loath that about this song 55. Can we please read a book.. in tale of the body thief lestats becomes human and has sex for the first time in hundreds of years... vampires don't have sex.. they are basically like the angels in dogma 56. Hey Jessie took the voice over microphone back.. 57. Why does maharets eyes glow.. she's a fucking witch... uggggg 58. Fire the make up artist... day walker lestat should not be that pink 59. Kingdom of corpses would be a great band name 60. Oh wait did lestat just realize the crazy vampire bitch is crazy and that's why she's been a statue for all these years... 61. I forget.. is that blonde baby faced thing supposed to be louis.. Bc no.. 62. Again.. 22 years ago.. is one of these chicks supposed to be Pandora or lestats mom.. is one of the guys supposed to be Armand... what was the point of having random vamps in the movie and never naming them. And if that grey haired guy or the blonde one are Armand or louis seriously read a fucking book 63. Everyone else gets bit on the neck.. Jessie why you trying to be sexy letting him bit your breasts.. 64. Townsends face looks like bad cgi. Like his eyes are black holes 65. Where the hell is maharets twin sister.. 66. Akasha has some serious ab muscles to be holding that arched back pose for so long damn girl. 67. Can we remake this and let Giles from Buffy be david.. 68. Yes bc when you become a vampire you automatically get bruises around your eyes... Seriously Jessie looks like she rubbed her eyes and forgot she had on make up 69. Maurius just seems like that creepy pedo dude.. 70. Oh and then the ending scene is totally stolen from that spice girls music video. Seriously I'm going to have to get my books and re read them all.. Bc I don't know why I wasted an hour on that piece of shit. 15 years clearly wasn't long enough.

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damnthatnoise · 7 years ago

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billy woods | Most Known Unknown | An Interview

I don’t remember when I actually sat with some billy woods (spells it with no capital letters) music exactly, but I know it was some time after the final Super Chron album and probably right around when History Will Absolve Me dropped. Since first listening to History Will Absolve Me I moved with him to the Blockhead produced Dour Candy and then of course to his projects with Elucid as the group Armand Hammer, then to 2015′s Today, I Wrote Nothing which might be his finest piece of music to date. Now on the cusp of his newest LP Known Unknowns coming, which again sees Blockhead handling a massive bulk of the production duties as well as the addition of Aesop Rock adding beats as well as featured lyrics, I sat down to exchange a handful of e-mails about the new record and life as a working artist.

While I shot questions to the incomparable billy woods last week I revisited his body of work and quickly realized that not only has the man crafted some seriously amazing music, but he is by far one of the most interesting voices out and one of my favorite MC’s/writers/thinkers creating any form of music.

Check it.

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Damn That Noise: Known Unknowns is your 5th solo studio album, and 2nd with Blockhead at the helm. What motivates you at this point in your career as an artist to keep going?!

billy woods: Hmm, I guess it's the same thing that has always motivated me to make art. You have an idea and you start working on it and then you have another idea, and so on. Obviously, now it's also part of my job and how people see you in the world, so I am sure that affects me…but yeah, it's not as though I make the kind of money that makes it impossible to turn away from this haha. Quite the opposite, if anything.

I guess the simple answer is that the art form still inspires me, still challenges me and I feel like I still have something to say.

DTN: It's been 2yrs since Today, I Wrote Nothing dropped. Looking back at the album and how our society has seemingly taken a huge shift politically what was the thought process going into the new album?

woods: Well, I should probably answer your question in multiple ways. Unlike TIWN, which was written and recorded very expediently, this record was actually started quite a while ago. I wrote the first couple songs I recorded before I left for the Fire Next Time tour in the fall of 2015. A lot of the Trump stuff, wasn't at the front of my mind when I started. So, while there is much material in there that is relevant, very little was written with Trump in mind, let alone his actually being president. Another answer is that, I tend to think in paradoxical ways at times, perhaps because this world is itself a paradox. You can say "things really never change that much" and "things are always changing, everything is changing whether we notice/admit it or not" and both things are true in their own ways. We are both far removed from being apes, and not-far removed at all. So while I think a lot has changed, at the same time, the world is still spinning, as it is wont to do. So, I don't think the current socio-political atmosphere shaped my approach to this record, but at the same time, how could it not?

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DTN: You're a young billy woods sitting in his bedroom about to throw a tape in the deck...who were the most influential artists you were listening to and learning from/absorbing styles from and or that pushed you to jump in and create on your own?

woods: Public Enemy, was the first influence, and certainly a foundational one. I really dug D-Nice too, as far as really early acts that drew me to the music. As things moved along, I was picking up most of the stuff I liked from watching BET Rap City, in the early days. MTV Raps too but I really loved Rap City. It was really low-budget in the Joe Clair, Big Lez, heyday, they would just play anything that had a video, so it was a wide range of stuff on there. It kinda had a flattening effect for me because I wasn't in New York or something so I didn't know what was supposed to be "important" and what wasn't.

The Coup's "Kill My Landlord" and Da Lench Mob "Guerrillas in Da Mist" were just as important to me back then as "Low End Theory" and "Southernplayalistic". I loved that first Cypress Hill record, 2Pacalypse Now, Eazy-E's "Neighborhood Sniper" EP, Redman "Dare Iz a Darkside" And random stuff long since forgotten like Heroes Against Hypocrisy or the Fu Snhcnickens, or The Judgement Night soundtrack which mostly sounds terrible now, but the De La song is still great. ODB's Return to the 36 Chambers was the first Wu album I really loved. I actually liked the Luniz debut album more than The Chronic, at the time, still dig it. I could go on forever with this though.

DTN: Yo. The Judgement Night soundtrack might be one of my favorite 93 era pieces of hidden hip-hop gold. So many dope combos on there! You are back with Blockhead on the boards with some assistance production wise from Aesop Rock for "Known Unknown", what is it about his and Aes' styles that drew you to build for a second record? Was adding Aes a progression from the "U-Boats" session for you?

woods: I have always been a fan of Aesop Rock's music and although I met him back in the day through Vordul Mega, I didn't know him or anything. I really got to know him a little bit just through Blockhead and we did that little song for Dour Candy, then he and Busdriver did a beat on my last album, so there was a little bit of a progression. As far as how he ended up on this album, we just hung out a couple times and he played me a some beats and I asked him for a couple. This was right when Blockhead and I were locking in on a Dour Candy follow-up and it just made sense to me. They are friends and their beats work well together. Also, I'm just an album type of person with my own work, so rather than throw a couple loose songs out there, I would rather work them into a project, assuming they fit. I don't really do social media or soundcloud or anything so, I feel like, if it's not in the form of a cohesive project it won't even get noticed.

DTN: I know TIWN was taken from a conversation you had with someone at a bar while you were dealing with a little writers block, but where does this albums title pull from?

woods: This album's title pulls from Rumsfeld's statements of course, but more so the underpinning ideas of the Johari Window, and attendant ideas. I remember Rumsfeld making those statements and thinking, how ridiculous, then looking it up later and realizing there was some real validity to the idea, not that Donald Rumsfeld's use of it was accurate or defensible. I would like to think that his loathsomeness only adds to the title's appeal.

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DTN: What are the challenges you face as not only an independent artist but also as someone who runs an independent label with Backwoodz Studioz?! You've seem to keep the release schedule tight but always releasing something that has a strong impact. How do you manage the multiple hats?

woods: Hard to answer that because it's not like I'm a really successful artist…at least not in terms of financial remuneration or critical acclaim. I'd like to think the answer is I'm doing a great job but it's perhaps more plausible that I am merely doing alright. Head above water beats drowning though.

DTN: Do you ever think artists need to set an expectation for an album or do you think you create the music, and let the listener experience it on their own once it drops with unbiased ears?

woods: Maybe I need more context for this question…if you mean, does an artist need to give a framework to people of what the album is about or something?

DTN: Yes I was asking if you think artists need to provide a framework for the next project/release so people know what to expect.

woods: Then I would say no, you don't NEED to, but you can. If you are asking something else, please clarify for me.

DTN: Once Known Unknowns drops, what is next for billy woods?

woods: ELUCID and I are almost done with an Armand Hammer LP. I'm really excited about it. Some dope producers, some great guests, which usually we don't do much of on the A&H albums, and just really different from the last one and from Known Unknowns. I always like to switch it up. After an album like this, where I was just working with one producer and it's pretty melodic, it's exciting to go do something totally left of that. Just like it was dope to come and do this record after doing something as experimental and dark as Today I Wrote Nothing.

DTN: What are the top 5 things you hate having to do when releasing new music?

woods: Hmm…I don't like any of it besides making the music to be honest. I like seeing what people think about it and I enjoy talking about it, but doing PR, trying to get videos shot, trying to get your merch pressed and delivered to stores on time, paying all the bills and wondering if you gonna see that money back…yeah, I could skip all that.

DTN: If you had to redo your career over, but do it in 1994 which rapper do you think it would resemble the most?

woods: God…I wouldn't have a career probably. My stuff would be too weird…it was too weird for everyone in 2001, let alone 1994.

DTN: Any final words you want to leave with the readers? Advise? Lotto numbers? Pizza spots to avoid in NYC?

woods: I'm just trying to keep up with my fam, really. 2016, I felt like ELUCID's Save Yourself and Willie Green's Doc Savage were both amazing projects, in totally different ways. I'm just trying to take that baton and push the pace. I'm a fan of lots of artists, whether I'm friends with them or not, but I'm competitive, just by nature. That's the only reason I'm still around, to be honest. I don't like to lose. If you outrap me on a song, I'm gonna try and make sure it doesn't happen twice. It's just how I'm wired, which is good because I'm a pretty relaxed, easygoing person and otherwise who knows if I would ever motivate to do anything haha.

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Don’t forget that Known Unknown drops June 9th everywhere, and that you can still pre-order the album HERE in various physical/digital formats, as well as pre-order it on all major digital outlets. billy woods will also be on tour with PremRock, Fresh Kils, and Henry Canyons this summer so keep an eye out for the West Coast dates!!

#billy woods interview #backwoodz studioz #Known Unknowns #Blockhead #Aesop Rock #Elucid #Interview

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margueritestjust-a · 7 years ago

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1-5 !

Questions for Canons | Not Accepting!

1. What is the biggest headcanon deviation from the canon material that you have incorporated into the way you write your muse? Why did you come up with it?

I don’t know if it’s a headcanon deviation from the source, or if it’s merely the way I interpreted Marguerite’s character, but I believe that A) she was always in love with Percy, even when she was acting snarky about him and B) she wasn’t “testing” Percy’s love for her by not telling him the truth about St. Cyr - she was overcome with emotion and claims that it was a “test” to save face. In fact, I believe a lot of Marguerite’s actions that audiences use to vilify her are about saving face when overcome with emotions that she doesn’t know how to process. Let’s start with the snark towards Percy.

The book starts after the honeymoon phase is over for the Blakeneys - literally months into their marriage. Despite being the most fashionable couple in London, you couldn’t find a stranger match. We have Marguerite who is clever and charming and talented and Percy... whose chief talents seem to be superfluous commentary, bad poetry, and a laugh with the power to irritate everyone in a two mile vicinity. Why on earth would the intelligent, charming, beautiful Marguerite St. Just marry this guy? In the book, she confides in her brother, Armand, that she’s sure people think she did it for the money, but that she really, truly loved Percy for his passionate nature. And that, after she told him about the St. Cyrs, that passion dried up and that she’s left with this buffoon of a husband who does not love her and who is not the man she loved in Paris. It is, however, clear to me that prior to their argument, Marguerite loved Percy a great deal - and perhaps continues to wistfully love him (or the memory of him) and that his change in behavior baffles her. Armand, being the reasonable, level-headed (lmao) big brother he is, gives Marguerite Actually Solid Advice that basically goes, “Well, maybe if you told him the whole truth about the St. Cyrs, you two would be okay!” and Marguerite is like, “He wouldn’t listen to me about it now; it’s too late. I messed up and I just have to deal.” And her way of dealing is by making sarcastic jibes at her husband to get him to pay attention to her because otherwise, he’s much more into his fatuous, foppish friends than her. It’s the only time Percy pays attention to Marguerite (as far as Marguerite knows) and it lets her get out some of her hurt and frustration.

Fast forward to when she tells him “I betrayed St. Cyr at the tribunal because I thought he was just going to be punished for trying to murder my brother but APPARENTLY we just guillotine entire families these days in France for one man’s crime and now I have the blood of an entire family on my soul and have been living with the guilt since.” And Percy is like, “Babe, why didn’t you tell me?” and Marguerite - who told her brother pages and pages ago that she didn’t think Percy would believe her, that she was afraid of losing him and lost him anyways, goes, “... I wanted to test your love for me.”

What.

The conversation gets EVEN WEIRDER because Percy is like “Well, I wanted you to keep explaining yourself and you didn’t” and Marguerite is like, “I just wanted you to ask me to elaborate” and it goes on for a bit and you’re sitting there as a reader trying to reconcile Marguerite-talking-to-Armand and Marguerite-talking-to-Percy. It’s a nightmare tbh because there’s so much inconsistency. So here’s what we have to bear in mind: A) Armand is the man who raised Marguerite, her brother and dearest confidant. He has never betrayed her trust and vice versa. B) Marguerite and Percy have marital issues like woah and at this moment in time, she’s justifying herself to her husband - while worried that she will lose what little of his love for her remains. (Surprise: there’s a whole lotta love there and she doesn’t lose any of it. She probably gains some because he has a SUPER EMOTIONAL moment in the garden once she’s gone to bed where he kisses all the places she’s walked and like Percy find your chill).

So here’s what I think - and it may be a deviation from canon, it may not be, it’s so unclear that I just roll with it and smile. I think that Marguerite loves Percy but when she tells him “Hey, so I accidentally got an entire family murdered” she freaks out internally and shuts down because How do you explain that? Omg my husband is going to hate me - see look he hates me! and then, by the time she’s recovered from her internal panic attack, she convinces herself that it’s too late to make things right with Percy. Doesn’t help that now Percy has chosen to freeze her out because of what she told him and has nothing else to go on. So, what’s she do? Lash out. When she’s finally forced to tell him the truth and he asks why she didn’t just tell him, she doesn’t want to admit weakness - she already looks so weak and emotional and vulnerable - so she says, “I was testing you.” As if it was some kind of intentional maneuver on her part. And with most guys, this would shame them because they failed the test. But Percy is smarter than that and he calls her bluff with “I was just waiting for an explanation.” And HERE IS MARGUERITE’S GOLDEN CHANCE to tell him how scared and repentant and guilty she’s felt but instead she continues to save face as much as she can.

Yes, she’s still prideful. Yes, this pride still leads to miscommunication. But, no, she is not some unfeeling bitch. I will fight anyone who says otherwise. Meet me in the pit.

2. Do you have any controversial headcanons that go against what is generally accepted by the fandom? Do you incorporate this into writing your muse or keep it to yourself?

Umm... I guess one HC that I have - which is actually canon, not headcanon - is that Marguerite was never a prostitute. I’ve been seeing a lot of things in the tags that indicate people believe otherwise even though there is no canon indication that Marguerite was ever a prostitute (she was the leading actress of the Comedie Francaise and her family was bourgeois). The thing that most frustrates me about this headcanon is that people who hold it tend to A) slut-shame Marguerite (and/or all prostitutes and sex workers) and/or B) hold Percy up as a paragon of virtue for not slut-shaming his wife? Like, guys. That is literally doing the minimum as your job as a husband (and as a human being). It’s not heroic and it’s definitely not more heroic than saving innocent people from the guillotine.

Anyways, my adherence to canon crops up plenty in threads, but it’s not something I’m like... making a point of showcasing? It’s just the facts where my muse is concerned.

3. What is something that was never addressed at all in the canon material that you have independently developed for your muse?

Canon - as far as I know - never addresses the St. Justs’ social status prior to their parents’ death. We just know there’s an eight year age gap between Armand and Marguerite, that their parents died when Armand was “a youth” and Marguerite was “a child” and Marguerite raised her, and that they aren’t nobility, but they’re doing well enough to be respected by all walks of society. Soooo... I’ve had to elaborate.

I’ve HC’d that the St. Justs were upper-middle class business owners - perhaps Moniseur St. Just was a merchant - whose work brought them into contact with the nobility as well as common people and whose profit was enough to send both Armand and Marguerite to school. Furthermore, when their parents died, Armand and Marguerite would be left with a sizable inheritance and a business... which they could sell or run. It just makes sense to me.

As with the prostitution HC that’s so popular in the fandom, there’s a notion that Armand and Marguerite were born and raised in the gutter, which has no canonical basis and doesn’t really make sense with either of their characterizations. So... yeah. I had to develop that on my own.

4. Have you made any outright changes to the canon material in order to write your muse the way you wanted (entire scenes you chose to omit, chapters you say never existed, things you assume were never said, etc.)?

Probably, but I can’t think of any specifics.

5. What is an aspect of your muse’s canon material or canon existence that you never had the opportunity to explore but really want to?

Marguerite’s relationships with other canon characters, Percy aside. We’re talking Armand, Chauvelin, Suzanne, Ffoulkes, Dewhurst, the whole damn League. It’s a little hard to do since... like... the fandom is a ghost town, but I’d love to explore some of these relationships somehow.

#asks #meme response #munday #;;out of espionage | {out of character}#exitiumparit

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