#YADDA YADDA FOR A DECADE

[jtthompson]

Also from a fandom POV it's such a shift! Less material from the source to work with. Fewer scenes to gif. Fewer character driven moments to use as a starting point for art/stories. Fewer minutes of dialogue to analyze.

Fewer chances for the show writers, directors, costume designers, lighting designers, actors, etc etc to play. To get weird and do something off the wall because why the hell not?

It's less for the original creators AND the fan creators!

I miss you filler episodes i miss you 20 episode seasons i miss you monster of the week format i miss you character development i miss you self contained episodes i miss you tv that isn't a long chopped up movie

[numbuh424]

The facial acting of these two is soooo good. Their "let's work together to catch Kira" handshakes, except one is Light with his memories of being Kira (on the left) and the other is him without (on the right).

There's a silent declaration of war going on between the two on the left. L is grinning. Light's smile doesn't reach his eyes. An unspoken "I know you know that I know" passes between the two of them.

On the right, that undertone of animosity is gone. Light's expression is genuine, and L can clearly tell. L is searching Light's eyes for Kira. He's not smug anymore because he can't find him.

It's the exact same scene shot-for-shot and yet it's totally different in almost every other way.

[heterocaine]

currently researching the economic and sociopolitical scene of 1950s america. thank you children's heterotopia for making me have twenty tabs open now

[dafpork]

it is my firm stance that Porky and Daffy are strictly Porkysexual and Daffysexual for each other. HOWEVER. as a Woman Liker i do enjoy occasionally passing down my Woman Liking onto Daffy. incredibly surface level but i've been wanting to draw Daffy flirting with some sort of '40s pinup gal and then you just see Porky grabbing his hand and begrudgingly dragging him away. good stuff

👆 good stuff

[seraymerichateblog]

did i have my meltdown abt coomer guys drawing shadowheart as a boring smooth-faced anime waifu instead of a real looking adult woman on here too or was that twitter-exclusive

[nickssidewitch]

😈 Exposing the NDA Accounts ~ Part Two 2️⃣🧨

I told y'all I know what I'm doing. Whoever unfollowed because of my little shenanigans, come back! 😭

Obviously, y’all saw the straight-up lies made. and you also saw the (horrible, immature, stupid) rebuttals made by those who are a part of the whole NDA scheme.

So, I have a part two to add some updates.

After they were freaking out to me about posting Part One, they came flooding to my DMs with anger and feelings of betrayal, and how I lied to the, and how they were crying, and yadda yadda yadda...

The accounts are @dollysturniolo @coolasice01 @munchingmini

The “Chris” account was so mad 😭 So I was like “Okay, let me see proof.” I asked for concrete proof, which I specifically requested a photo of them all together with Dolly or the girl claiming to be Matt’s girlfriend. I framed it like "As long as you have a third-party (who would be me) to verify that you're telling the truth, then people are more inclined to believe you. The logic behind that is that when you want people to believe a secret you’re spilling, whether it’s the full truth or a full lie, you need an outside source to verify everything, kind of like an intervention.

There were some hiccups before I got what I wanted. It was the obvious liar tricks pulled right out of their hats, like "She's insecure about the way she looks so she won't give you anything", or "My hair looked bad in that photo so I put my hoodie on and it won't be obvious", or yadda yadda yadda.

But I didn't give a fuck. I pressured until they gave me the photos.

So, I got my photos. And dear God or whoever's up there in the universe, they were the worst pieces of evidence I have ever seen.

The first photo I got was of the boys, excluding Nick, and some friends when they were obviously still young and in high school. I recognized Matt's ex Nicole next to them, not that that's relevant, but it provides extra context to the photos. Keep in mind, the characters like Dolly and Chris and Matt have all claimed to have known each other for almost a decade, so this checks out time-wise.

"Chris" blocked out Doll's face because she's insecure... or whatever.

However, that image was easily traceable and I reverse-image-searched it and voila: It popped up on Pinterest as an old throwback photo from their Snapchat. And I saw what she looked like.

And that is not Doll, that is one of their high school friends that even popped up in one of their earlier, now-deleted, vlogs. Dolly is British, and the girl doesn't have a British accent in the videos I remember seeing her in. It was straight-up American, and especially Bostonian.

Also, all of the characters claim that Doll is much older than the boys'. My thing is, if she's much older than them, it would be weird of her to hang out with them when they're 14-15 year old teenagers. But let's gloss over that since the "characters" gloss over how weird that is too.

There's another photo too. This one took a lot more convincing to get, but I finally got it! It is a picture of her and Chris. "Chris" posted and deleted that picture fast, so I had to be fast AS FUCK to get a screenshot. I'm impressed with myself.

Now, here's the the thing: Maybe if you're looking at it on first glance, or if you aren't wearing your glasses, or if you're just not a Chris girl, then that photo seems convincing.

But please use your eyes. That photo is a real photo with real people. It can't be reverse-searched. But why do I say it's not Chris? Because it is doctored. Like obviously.

Now I'm impressed by Doll- or whoever's- tech skills because by gosh it looks pretty good. But as someone who knows a thing or two about editing photos and figuring out what's real and what isn't, it was pretty obviously fake.

The photo was a pic of Chris masked over an actual man's, maybe AI was used to mask Chris's face over the actual guy's, or maybe it was FaceApp, or just some really good photoshop.

God he's fine as hell. You know what Doja Cat said about noses.

Here’s some pics of Chris. Now let’s compare them, shall we? 🥰

The eyes are the main giveaway. One eye looks normal with a reflection, while the other has no pupil, and the reflection is not where it should be based on the positioning of the photo and where the main lighting is coming from in the photo.

The tip of this man's nose is longer than that of Chris's.

The real Chris's cupid's bow and arch is wider than that of the man in the photo's.

The real Chris's mustache stops more centimeters away from his lips compared to this man's. The hairs of Chris's mustache and facial hair in general are darker than those of this man's.

Chris has a square jaw while this man's jaw is triangle shaped, and no, the hoodie isn't obscuring anything. Even if the hoodie is removed and you see that bit of shadowed jaw, the angle of the jawline is different than that of the real Chris Sturniolo's.

There's other miniscule details, such as the way the hair fibers of her hair over his face are fuzzy rather than obvious strands which should be obvious since its a dark substance over something light, the hairs create a shadow on the man's face rather than creating actual lines as hair usually does, his hand literally not Chris's hand as it is fuller than Chris's, and the shadows are not where they should be in this photo based on the lighting and angles.

There's a lot more things we discussed in details such as Chris's kinks which, based on tarot, were all lies.

I mentioned how Chris is a submissive, chain-using, piss kink foot lover... which are all very untrue.

So, yeah they're faking it. 😭😭 I'm super curious of how they're gonna try to explain all of this. Let's stay tuned. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Again, sorry for causing y'all anxiety with those fake kiss-ass posts. I won't scare y'all like this again LMAO.

[carlyraejepsans]

light cannot exist without darkness yadda yadda anyway kinda sucks that in order to have clever, subversive social commentary in storytelling you also need to have possible decades of an established cultural canon of Trope That Sucks Ass

[artbyblastweave]

Haven’t read many comics, but I’ve started reading stuff you post about, so I’ve read immortal hulk and 20th century men, and am going to start ultimate spiderman. Do you have any recommendations?

Here's a few that run the gamut from "quasi-foundational" to "I personally thought it was neat:"

Superhero:

Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons- the comic every superhero comic published since the 1980s has had to reckon with in some way, and which half the genre spent the 90s trying to emulate.

Superman: Birthright by Mark Waid and Lenil Yu- the bespoke canon origin story for Superman that was canon in the early 2000s through the twenty-tens. Remains one of the stronger attempts to do a retelling of his origin.

Batman: Year One by Frank Miller and David Mazzuchelli- a four-issue storyline covering Batman's extremely early career in Gotham.

Batman: The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller. Conceived as "The last Batman Story," features a fifty-something Bruce Wayne after he comes out of retirement to fight against an enormous crime wave against the backdrop of incipient nuclear war with the Soviet Union. This is the other grim and gritty superhero deconstruction that half the genre spent the 90s trying to emulate, and although it hasn't aged as well it's a useful read for context.

Runaways by Brian K Vaughn and Adrian Alphona. A marvel-universe excursion about a group of six teens and tweens who learn that their parents are actually a coven of incredibly powerful supervillains functionally running the entire west coast. They proceed to, well. This was one of those franchises that got zombified and pingponged between different creative teams, but the Vaughn parts are pretty strong.

Ex Machina By Brian K Vaughn and Tony Harris: The world's first and only superhero stops one of the twin towers from being destroyed and parlays this into a successful bid for mayor of New York.

Invincible by Robert Kirkman, Corey Walker and Ryan Ottley. Son of the most powerful superhero, yadda yadda, if you'd dodged awareness of the amazon adaptation I'm not sure how

Astro City by Kurt Busiek, Brent Anderson and Alex Ross- an anthology set in a constructed superhero universe, alternating between one-shots and longer arcs covering an enormous cast of characters over the settings 80-year internal chronology.

Rising Stars by J. Michael Strazynski- follows the rise and fall of the Pederson Specials, 113 children who were granted superpowers in utero when a meteor exploded over their home town-narrated decades later by the last of their number standing.

Marvels by Kurt Busiek and Alex Ross. A retelling of the first 30 years of the Marvel Universe from the perspective of photojournalist Phil Sheldon. On top of being an excellent story it's useful as a recap/primer for much of golden and silver age marvel.

Kingdom Come by Mark Waid and Alex Ross. In the future of the DC universe, A jaded Superman comes out of retirement after the superhuman population balloons out of control and causes a nuclear detonation as a consequence of their cavalier approach to heroics. Unfortunately, his old-school approach isn't much better...

DC: The New Frontier by Darwyn Cooke. Retells the founding of the silver-age justice league against the backdrop of the red scare and following the collapse of the golden-age superheroic community after world war two.

Non-Superhero

Bone By Jeff Smith- Lord of the Rings by way of Mickey, Donald and Goofy. Three cartoon-creature cousins are run out of town and into a remote valley that's the site of a sprawling fantasy epic.

The Walking Dead by Robert Kirkman and Charlie Adlard- The zombie comic. There really hasn't ever been a runner-up

Monstress by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda. Steampunk Dark Fantasy thing about a woman forced to share a body with a horrifying elder-parasite thing. Hard to summarize. If you thought RWBY handled the Faunus with insufficient gravity and thoughtfulness this is a good comic for you

East of West by Jonathan Hickman and Nick Dragotta. Weird-west alternate history where the U.S. balkanized after the Civil War. In the resultant cyberpunk urban-fantasy dystopia, three of the four horsemen are attempting to end the world; Death has defected and is attempting to stop them, in the hopes of reuniting with his missing wife and child.

Once and Future by Keiron Gillen and Dan Mora. A seventy-something retired monster hunter breaks out of her nursing home and press-gangs her hapless academic grandson into helping her prevent the return of King Arthur.

The Department of Truth By James Tynion and Martin Simmonds: In a world where reality is affected by consensus by collective belief, a deep state organization works to prevent conspiracy theories from being willed into existence by weirdos on the internet. Notable in that it's very visibly an exercise in trying to grapple with the uglier implications of the postmodern "reality-shaped-by-belief" tropes present in works like American Gods.

Saga by Brian K. Vaughn and Fiona Staples. The indie comic everyone wouldn't shut the fuck up about. Star crossed lovers attempting to navigate their mutual defection from two star-spanning empires locked in an eternal galactic turbowar.

Chew By John Layman and Rob Guillory. Tony Chu is a police detective with the power of Chibopathy- the ability to gain psychometric impressions from whatever he eats. Kept on retainer to partially cannibalize the corpses of murder victims to find out who killed them, his abilities ultimately see him drawn into a bizarre conspiracy surrounding an outbreak of bird flu that killed millions and resulted in the criminalization of poultry products.

Atomic Robo by Brian Clevenger and Scott Wegener The high-octane adventures of action-scientist Atomic Robo, an android constructed by Nikola Tesla in the 1920s who runs a think-tank of science-heroes. Described as "applying the Indiana Jones model to every other field of study." Very fun comic.

We Only Find Them When They're Dead By Al Ewing and Simone Di Meo: follows the exploits of a freelance crew of miners who work to extract tissues from the corpses of gigantic humanoid entities found floating in space, and their captain's heretical goal of being the first to find a living specimen.

Literally Any Comic Written By Kyle Starks, including (lightning round time) Rock Candy Mountain, Old Head, Sexcastle, Kill Them All, Assassin Nation, and Fuck this Place/I Hate This Place (title dependent on retailer squeamishness)

This list isn't exhaustive but I've been typing for a really really long time here

[aoifethephoenixqueen]

I LOVE this screenshot so much!! Let me explain:

This is it. This is the moment I fell in love with this man.

A coworker suggested bg3 to me months before I got it. I finally broke down and got it because I was on medical leave as I recovered from surgery. I was bored and going out of my tiny little mind with nothing to do. I was not in a great place mentally when I started my first run. I am naturally a sunshine kind of person and love to smile and laugh, neither of which I had done in weeks. I have to say it is a freaking miracle I made it past the Nautiloid. I was so disgusted by that freaking ship...but my coworker warned me about it so I pressed on. The ship crashed, and I got Shadowheart back with me.

AND THEN...

There's this weird swirling purple thing on a rock.

Me: Hmm. Interesting

Game: It could be dangerous.

Me: Oh well, I'm out then. Those brains with legs about took me out sooooo see ya. *makes it all of about 10 yards from the portal before slowly turning back because I am a curious creature*

*touches portal and hand pops out....yadda yadda yadda...succeed roll and starts yanking on this random arm which funny enough it attached to a man*

Me: The hell is going on he...Oh damn. He's...quite attractive. (Mind you, I'm still playing completely straight-faced.)

Gale: Hello. I'm Gale of Waterdeep

Me: I have no idea where that is but sure.

Gale continues talking and we come to this moment (pictured above)

Gale: Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?

Me:

He brought sunshine back into my life, and I am forever grateful.

......He's also about 90% like the man I've been dating for nearly a decade, so.....I guess I have a type.

[possiblystancest]

I always imagine when they were teenagers Ford always had Stanley riding him because he never wanted to bottom but also he was never good at keeping up with Stan's energy. Ford is very smug abt Stanley being a pillow princess now (also bla bla bla nuance of Ford being more attentive and involved correlating with his growth as a character and Stanley not having to do all the work for their relationship anymore yadda yadda)

YES-

Stan always had more stamina/energy than Ford when it came to fucking- and he wouldn't lie, Ford also liked that he got to watch all of Stan's facial expressions when Stan was riding him (definitely scribbling down at which points did Stan shudder, when he moaned and when he came,,,for science) so Ford enjoyed acting as if it was Stan's idea to ride him (it technically was but Ford certainly gave lots of push to it)

Now, seeing Stan as a pillow princess, Ford has to chuckle- occasionally asking Stan if he's lost his game in the decades away.

But, Ford also internally thinking "Oh God, I missed out on SO much by constantly making Stan ride me" when he's fucking Stan into the pillows and blankets nestled around Stan's body- it just adds onto Ford's worship of Stan (like, when they're boating around is when that added body worship kicks in for Ford. Growth but in a sex way too xD)

[tanadrin]

BHT makes me sick! Took me a lot of trial and error to figure it out. It’s legal in the US but not Japan.

just fyi cause i can see getting a bunch of asks in this vein and i wanna head this off, i'm not gonna respond to individual asks about individual experiences with specific food additives, for two reasons: one, personal allergies or reactions to food additives are outside the scope of what i'm talking about. if you have a citrus allergy then lemon juice is indeed a deadly poisonous food additive; this is not the same as saying that in general lemons are a poison. two, i had to endure about a decade of a family member credulously reading headlines about various dietary and wellness fads, cutting random foods out of their diet, and then proclaiming that they felt a thousand times better and had more energy than ever and it was all due to this one food they had stopped eating, and they couldn't believe how sick it used to make them, yadda yadda--all of which is to say i have seen firsthand that people are also really lousy at carefully distinguishing cause and effect when it comes to their diets and how they feel. and since i don't know you, or your diet, i cannot possibly see what benefit to this discussion free-floating individual anecdote would bring.

obviously don't eat things that you personally are allergic or sensitive to. don't eat foods containing tyramine if you're on an MAOI, either. anaphylaxis and hypertensive crises and shit are real bad for you. uh. msg probably isn't giving you a headache, that shit is likely a combination of psychosomatic BS and confirmation bias, but even if you think you have ironclad proof, don't tell me, i don't care.

[benjingler]

Post canon dunmeshi like mmm a decade later, Thistle is recovered enough due to Mithrun saying what works and what doesn't work yadda yadda plot hole plot hole

So Mithrun is like "it'd probably be good for him to get out and adventure. It helped me." And some argue against that but Falin says it'd be fun to have a travel buddy.

Cue Thistle and Falin shenanigans.

Thistle also gets history lessons on what he missed during him 1000 years of trapping himself in the dungeon. Falin and him go to museums and such.

[starlitcircus]

Bwuuuuhhh okay, spiel about OC i'm cookin' up to. I don’t know. Gauge interest?? I've only ever played an OC on Tumblr once before, and even then he was still connected to an established universe, so i'm a little bit very much apprehensive LOL

So he's a Magical Boy. Kinda. I think he calls himself a superhero, or a vigilante, something along those lines instead, because he's also a ~40/~50-something year old depressed, gay radio host. (Still workshopping the job, but i'm feeling something broadcast-y.)

When he was young, his sister became a Magical Girl and he always looked up to her and thought she was the coolest person in the world. He wanted to be like her and always watched her from the sidelines as they grew up. After a while, it started to dawn on him that this shit's WAY more dangerous than its made out to be in cartoons and comics, and he watched his sister slowly become less concerned with her civilian life and grow more and more Aggressively Selfless until she ultimately sacrifices herself in some big calamity.

And, like, it works. Everything's fine. For a good long while. Decades later, he's a grown-ass man with a radio gig, several failed relationships, and a dead sister he has to keep making excuses about because of secret identity bullshit.

And then he starts hearing her voice in his head, like a conscience. He kinda thinks he's losing his mind, but it's literally actually her. It's Magic, I Ain't Gotta Explain Shit. And then yadda yadda he inherits her powers, with a bit more of an angry, spiteful edge to 'em, and calls himself Heartbreaker.

Also, his faceclaim's H.ank A.zaria cause i'm gay and i've got a thing for him. If you were wondering about some of the stuff in my bookmark tag, there you go lol

[mercymermaid]

obligatory 2:30 am willry ramble (cw mentioned homophobia, nothing big)

In the beginning, they were best business buddies, friends that met in college and hit it off immediately, yadda yadda yadda. They found their respective ladies, got married, had kids, and decided to put their little restaurant plans from back in college into action (fuck fall fest).

There wasn't anything super special between them at the time. They were loyal to their wives, and saw each other as nothing but best friends, the type you'd sleep with in the same bed, no homo style. They'd seen each other nearly naked in the springlock suits, shared the last bottle of beer, all that normal bestie stuff.

Then their wives fell right out of the picture. Death, divorce, whatever it was, it left both Henry and William reeling, both lacking that figure that you're supposed to cherish and love until the end, their respective families now left with a gaping, person-sized hole smack in the center.

In an effort to rebuild and move past, that closeness evolved into something slightly more intimate. Resting together on the couch turned into cuddly naps, trying to figure out how to bake (as the men in relationships that sparked at latest in the 70s) turned into a partner activity, and where they'd work on opposite sides of their little workshop before, one would find himself massaging the other's aching back while watching over his shoulder and criticizing his work.

They never put a name to it, nor did they even try to. They were drowning in paperwork and business and robots and dealing with angsty teenagers and hyper children, so they never bothered to realize what had sparked between them. It felt perfectly normal, and with how popular they were in town, everyone assumed the same. In a time where homosexuals were looked down upon, it'd be foolish to assume the most successful businessmen in the area would fall to such sins.

It was great, until, as it always does, shit hits the fan. The Bite of '83 happened, and William spiraled right into the deep end. He changed. He became colder, more distant, and while at first Henry tried to brush this off as deep-set grief, it only grew and grew. No matter what Henry tried, he couldn't prevent William changing.

Then came Charlie's death. It hit Henry straight out of left field, as you'd assume the death of a child would, and now he was left scrambling for nothing, left to rot in the middle of a raging ocean with no driftwood to hold onto. William was the same, though rather than an ocean of despair, he was in the burning pits of insanity, and while Henry kept swimming, desperate to save himself from drowning, William embraced it, drinking the flames and allowing the blaze to scorch him from the inside and out.

Opposites attract, usually. After all, at first, William was the stuck-up, charming, professional British man, with a resting bitch face and a face so pale, it looked as if he had never seen the sun, while Henry was boisterous and outgoing, the dad friend, Southern and tanned from a life in the sun.

But when Henry eventually put together the pieces as William's mind fell further apart, not even the basic laws of physics and fate could rescue them. By the time he figured out the whole story, the place in his heart reserved for his best friend had filled in, gone with no trace left behind besides a faint grief of what they once had.

William's heart, on the other hand, had shattered. His youngest son was dead, Elizabeth was dead, Michael had abandoned him, and all he had left was what Henry used to be to him. Internally, as he was killed and burnt and killed and burnt time and time again, he didn't know what he wanted. As regrets rotted and festered for decades alongside him, all he could think about was that he wanted to feel Henry's hug again. He wanted to rekindle what they once had, even if deep inside, he knew damn well it would never happen.

When Henry created the fake restaurant to lure William in, it was... an emotional disaster. Obviously, it tends to be such when the culmination of decades of death and revenge and disaster all go up in literal flames, and you see your long-gone children one last time, but when you place two former lovers in a room, one that's moved on and one that's glued to his spot, it doesn't go well. Henry felt no remorse, because what he saw in front of him as the temperature rose wasn't the man he cherished. It was a monster, from the same pits of hell that William fell prey to. But what William saw was the same man, unchanged and undefeated, exactly the same as what he had once loved, and as Henry's speech rang out through the restaurant and Cassidy prepared herself to play god, he wasn't scared. He was broken.

okay yeah idk what that was i hope it was coherent 😭

[inthiseverymoment]

silhouettes emerging: chapter iv

“Dried Cranberries and Upswept Guilt”

some musings on and continuation of those really really weird twenty-five-ish hours.

iwtv oc x armand, this chapter ~2k

welcome, one and all, to Daniel Molloy Criticizes My Writing. also we're REALLY GETTIN INTO THE PLOT NOW WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. that one bit of 2x02 sure was a ride huh

the last two lines are indeed a tuck everlasting reference bc who am i if not a ride or die for the third most perfect book/musical adaptation of book of all time (third only to les mis, bc obviously, and great comet, which also has something close to a reference in this chapter) (oh i forgot there’s a poto reference here too)

enjoy! like rb comment share all that jazz

chapter iii fic masterlist chapter v

Twenty Twenty-Three, New York City, United States of America

“Perhaps it was everything I’ve feared wrapped up in everything I’d hoped, or perhaps it was the opposite. But then, at least, at last, I had the chance to find that out for myself.”

Her long and prose-abundant recollection having reached a solid stopping point, a somewhat winded Isabelle nodded to herself and drank from her wine glass of the blood that Daniel had poured for them both.

Incidentally, she wasn’t quite sure of its origin, and wasn’t quite sure whether she wanted to know. Dried cranberries, sunflower seeds, kale-a health nut. Poor thing, all that work just to-

“Okay,” came the interruption of her mental sommelier practice. “A lot clearly happened in those twenty-five-some hours, beautifully told, if you were ever to meet Louis I’m entirely certain you’d just turn-of-phrase each other to second death, yadda yadda. Question. About how much of that, looking back, do you think was utter bullshit?”

This was not a question she was expecting.

Knowing Armand, it should have been, but it was a stab in the moral compass to admit that part of her wanted to keep that memory as romanticized as it currently appeared.

“I mean,” he went on, “gaining the respect of all-powerful vampires by completing a few Shakespeare quotes, the one leading them all protecting you specifically for unknown reasons, the whole tied-to-a-chair cliché, the ‘soaring violins’, the singing?”

“...To be fair, those all-powerful vampires are also trademark annoying, semipretentious theatre kids. As am I.”

“There was someone, you know, who was also of entertainment value to them and it still didn’t save her.”

Silence.

A very, very long silence.

“I’ve thought about her every day since the papers came out,” Isabelle eventually said, “and nearly every hour since reading your book. Some combination of genuine heartbreak with white guilt with relating to her struggle to be seen as all she knows she is with hating myself for having ever associated with those that allowed that to happen, let alone those who orchestrated it, I-I do. I think about Claudia constantly, and I never even knew her, so I can barely imagine how the loss must feel to Louis. Madeline, too-the mentions of her in your book had me wishing to know her as well. There’s your typical vampires-killing-to-survive horrific, and then there’s…truly, unfathomably, unforgivably horrific.”

Daniel nodded solemnly.

“Madame de la Book of Morals reconciles with having loved the man who, decades later, directed the slaughter of-”

“I never told you that I loved him.”

This she said soft, quick, low, and received a magnificently executed eyeroll in reply.

“The fucking Orpheus and Eurydice reference? The kiss that apparently had an audience captivated? That whole trust schtick?”

“All staged. Improvised, and yes, felt in the moment, but staged. No, Mr. Molloy, I did not immediately start a committed relationship with an ancient vampire in the twenty-five hours since meeting him directly after his coven tried to kill me.”

“Good for you. Now, tell me again how much of all of that was even true.”

“I…it’s a rough discernment process, for sure. You were there with Louis, helping each other remember things that Armand had made you forget. There’s a certain haze to memories that had been tampered with, but it’s hard to tell with that day specifically, because all of those heightened circumstances put things in a different kind of haze anyway.”

Isabelle remembered sitting in her new and empty apartment once she had finally gotten away from the coven years later, combing through every journal and every memory of every moment of her life in search of that off feeling and making herself sit with each of those memories until the truth of them finally came back. It had taken months-or longer, she had lost track of time-but she’d rather have wasted the rest of her eternity doing that than lived a lie.

“There was also a certain way that it seemed Louis had acted,” she continued, “when what he was telling you had been planted-did you notice that in me at all, just now?”

“Not really. And as for storytelling demeanor, there’s a lot of reasons it seems different this time,” Daniel considered, “because the Louis that I met in Dubai was a far cry from the Louis he described himself as in New Orleans, Paris, even San Francisco. You, though…as you tell your story, I can see the naïve, outspoken, bright young actress with a point of view materialize again. Is it the self-actualized vampiress or the anxious girl that’s the facade here?”

She blinked, clicked her tongue, and took another long sip of blood.

“You’re very good at your job. Neither of them is a facade, though. I am one hundred and eight years old, Daniel, going on one hundred and nine this December, and if there is one thing I despise it is inauthenticity and the expectation of it in others; everything that I have been was real and still exists in me. I have not changed from one type of person to another, I don’t even like to think about people as types of people-I’ve never really entirely transformed, we just react to our surroundings. And if we’re lucky, and intentional about it, sometimes we grow. I hold just enough compassion for my younger self to still call her my own.”

In response to this, he just looked at her for a while, clearly on the edge of laughter.

“What?”

“If there’s one thing you despise it’s inauthenticity, and yet-”

“Okay, look-”

~

Nineteen Thirty-Six, Paris, France

“Interesting,” Armand murmured against her lips, which still burned in the glow of the contact and the spotlight. “I suppose a few folks do enjoy something similar to a happy ending.”

“Give them just one per show, perhaps. We don’t want to let them get too comfortable,” Isabelle joked. She was floating. She was falling. She was-

“‘We’?”

She pulled ever so slightly away to look him in the eye for a moment, and, remembering themselves, they ran hand in hand offstage and ducked into an alcove.

“Well,” she said, half out of breath, “what exactly were you planning on doing with me after this ‘grand rescue’?”

Asking this, she started to come down from her stage-lights-and-dark-curls-induced high, now realizing that she was somewhat stuck and yet somewhat thrilled about it, but Armand took her hands and started to whisper-

“The Great Laws still stand. In order to remain alive, you’d have to keep remaining alive-that is, one of us would eventually have to turn you. There’s usually a hierarchy that new members must work their way through, but if I must justify your staying to the coven as a catalyst for ticket sales, we will not have to wait to write you a role of your own-this Death and the Maiden concept is something that I am sure Sam could run with-”

Then there was a scream.

On instinct, Isabelle broke away from Armand and went to the wings to see what had-

…Oh.

To her horror, in those few seconds, the vampires had taken some other poor soul for their sacrifice-she sickened to wonder whether they kept ‘extras’ downstairs-who was now being dragged onstage, soon to be devoured by Santiago in her place.

I was supposed to die, but because I had to go and be a big ham about it, some other innocent person will be killed.

She began to scream and moved to run back onstage, but Armand came from behind, held one hand over her mouth, and secured her waist with the other arm. He whispered to her again, more urgent now:

“This is what we are. This is what we must do. If this is not how you wish to live, I will bring you to rest with not a single ounce of pain, but it would pain me to do it.”

“It would pain you…” came her hand-muffled, dazed reply. “What makes that any different than that person out there, or any of the rest you’ve overseen the killing of? You’ve known me for one day-”

Then the vampires were taking their bow, to a cheering audience surely wondering where their pair of ‘young lovers’ were in the lineup, but Isabelle could see behind them now.

And behind them was a body, mangled beyond recognition, motionless on the stage just long enough for the image to be burned into her mind forever before a trapdoor opened and it fell through with a large clunk. The audience roared with oblivious excitement, the coven members smiled more brightly than ever, and the trapdoor closed again, having claimed another entire life of quirks and memories and flaws and dreams.

Isabelle screamed, truly screamed this time, drowned out by the crowd.

She then pushed Armand aside, bolted from the wings, and vomited.

In what could not have been a physically possible amount of time, he was suddenly near her again, holding her hair back as if it was a bad batch of seafood and not an act of his coven’s that she was sickened by. With a flick of his hand, the door to the room they were now in closed and locked as she wiped her mouth and sobbed.

When she stumbled backwards, his were the only arms to fall into.

“I have, in fact,” Armand said with shocking tenderness, “known you for longer than a day. Those of us with the Dark Gift cannot deny our ability to hear thoughts-it is something like your mortal people-watching. And, night after recent night, I have heard the melodic strain of a soul calling out to be seen. I have heard musings, wishes, and arguments such that I could barely believe they all came from one source. The Théâtre des Vampires has been greatly in need of something lately-this position I hold was not necessarily my choice, and I often find myself longing. So, I searched through the newly arrived voices of Paris…and I found a lark.”

She could only wipe away a leftover tear, considering him with every remnant of mental alertness she had left after such an endless night. Try as she might to keep the victim’s mangled body in her mind, her heartbeat was indeed slowing; she was comforted without consciously wanting to be.

“It is not typically in my nature to bring this curse of eternity onto others. If it is not in yours to join, that is-”

“What if I added a condition?”

She nearly surprised herself with these words, and very clearly surprised him as well.

“A condition?”

What Isabelle had seen the past two nights was horrid beyond comprehension, but it was undeniable that she had, at times, found it beautiful beyond imagination. Her options were to give up entirely and die without ever getting a chance to build her own life, or to try to ease the harm done by this coven from the inside while allowing herself to enjoy being apparently beloved in some way or another.

And if she needed to go, there was a whole world waiting, and eternity to find herself in.

And the only way to secure that that she could think of in this moment was-

“Let me choose the victims.”

Armand’s eyebrows raised, and he tilted his head back as if to say, “explain.”

“I have met some lovely people since I first arrived in Paris,” Isabelle began, regaining a bit of composure, “and some absolutely awful people, people in power who use it only to cause hurt. Yes, it would be shitty to play God like this, but as long as your species-which-well-our species, soon, I suppose-must drain others to survive, we may as well be intentional about it.”

As he listened to the end of this monologue, Armand seemed through a flicker of the eye to become relieved-it is in her, she’d take to this better than we all thought-and an almost boyish glee cracked through his expression. He kissed her birthmark once more, then her palm, then her wrist.

Unconventional as it may be, Isabelle thought with a smile, this could be the new beginning I’ve always hoped for.

Although she did not want to live forever,

She wanted to live.

[winged-self-indulgence]

Sacrifice!MC where I blinked and suddenly I had 1.7K words of whatever this is. I am definitely going to edit this later

It was dark, wherever you were. Wherever those masked cultists had brought you.

Shadows hid the dilapidated surroundings, held back only by the truly impressive array of Bath and Body Work candles and the scarce moonlight shining in through the shattered roof. Still, it was barely enough to illuminate the room you were in, but you could tell what it was. Or at least, what it used to be: the remains of an old church chapel. A burned-out husk of its former saving glory, with broken statuettes of angels strewn across the floor and the disfigured images of saints left dangling on the soot-stained walls. What little stone that hadn’t been obscured by decades of ash and grime was completely covered in layers of fresh graffiti. Pentacles, upside down crosses, magic staves, someone’s brave attempt at an ouroboros encircling a moon. Whatever cult had taken you; they clearly hadn’t been at this very long.

You strained against the ropes binding your arms to the corners of the low altar, but they held. Your fingers were bruised raw from struggling to untie the knots, but every time you felt the loops give one of the cultists would march over and redo them with a sort of nervous efficiency. Eventually you’d given up, vowing to at least wait until they left. Even if you’d managed to escape, you didn’t fancy your odds against five other people. Especially when one of them was holding a knife.

It was a strange instrument, a scarlet blade jutting out from an obsidian-black hilt. There was a pommel at the end that looked as though something had been carved onto it. Though you were wary of the blade, it didn’t seem like they were planning on killing you with it. You’d heard something about a sacrifice, demonic affinity, and yadda yadda unlimited wealth, insane riches, convincing their ex to get back together, etc. etc.

So, these clowns, whoever they were, planned to leave you tied up in this gross place as a snack for some demon? Fuck that. As soon as these weirdoes were gone you planned on getting out no matter what, even if you had to chew your bindings off. That still didn’t stop the thrum of panic when the one with the knife ran its edge over your throat and added your blood to the strange symbol encircling the stone slab. Finally, they called out for something in clumsy Latin while the other four made low humming sounds that reminded you more of being in a yoga class than at the center of a diabolical summoning ritual.

Perhaps they didn’t want to stay and watch you get eaten (cowards. At least commit to the experience). Perhaps leaving you was part of the rules. Regardless, soon you were alone in the dark and about to resume your struggle when one of the candles in the corner flickered. You froze, heartbeat ratcheting up when the flame sputtered once, twice, and then died.

As though that was a signal, every single candle in the room began to die. One by one, a cascade of inky blackness and scented grey smoke invaded the temple. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to force yourself to stay calm, to breathe normally. There had to be a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe it was the wind-

You gave yourself a mental slap before the thought could complete itself. That was literally how people died in horror movies!  

“Ha, it worked!”

You shrieked at the strange voice, eyes promptly darting to the source whereupon another scream began to build up in your throat. Up in the rafters crouched a monstrous creature, all red skin and short horns that curled up into pronged tips. Black, bat-like wings stretched upwards, partly blocking the moon. A nasty snarling smirk curved across its thin mouth, revealing rows of sharp teeth and a line of drool dripping from the corner.

The creature jumped down, landing right at the side of the altar, salivating at your prone form while your mind struggled to make sense of this impossibility. You flinched away from the taloned hands, grimacing in disgust when the – demon? Demon – stuck out a slimy tongue and dragged it up the side of your face as though it were savoring you.

“Stupid little humans,” they cackled. “So ready and willing to believe anything from a creature they don’t even understand. If all it takes is a few empty promises, I’ll soon have legions of human servants willing to sell their souls to me–!”

“Ah, I wondered what was going on.”

Like a radio being switched off, the demon above you went silent. No, they literally froze in place. Terrified as you were, an irrepressibly curious part of you couldn’t help but crane your neck as far as the ropes would allow in order to peek behind them and see who was speaking.

They…looked normal. A tall, masculine frame draped in relatively casual clothing. Chestnut brown hair covered most of their face, fading into mahogany at the edges, and revealing only a pair of plump lips stretched in an easy and undoubtedly dangerous smirk. Aside from the black choker around their throat and the array of rings decorating their fingers, this person looked completely ordinary.

Yet, as soon as they spoke, the demon that had been menacing you just a scant second ago began to back away, nearly tripping over their own feet and wings to put distance between themselves and the lazily approaching figure. “L-Lord Zion! I only uh–! I was just…! Th-This was simply a test, you see!”

“Hm?” The person – the other demon? – cocked their head, the smile never leaving their face. Now that they were closer, you could see that the thing moving behind them was a tail. Spade-shaped and blood red as it flicked back and forth in lazy arcs. Those fingers, heavy with silver jewelry, were tipped with viciously sharp talons that they raised to tap their chin in a mockingly thoughtful manner. “Go on.”

“I-It was to see how easily humans could be manipulated!” The other demon stuttered, eyes darting around the room for some escape. When those eyes landed on you, your heart sank as you realized exactly what was going to happen a second before they spoke. “In fact, I was planning to give you this sacrifice! Consider it a token of my loyalty!”

The demon – Lord Zion they’d said – turned to you as though they had just noticed your presence in the room. Your eyes met through the gloom, and in spite of your fear you couldn’t help but think that their eyes were beautiful. Burning coals, molten flame encased behind amber, a heat that threatened to devour you whole. Those eyes widened through the haze of hair, and in a second the demon was looming over you with the toothiest smile you’d ever seen outside of a shark.

“Well, well, well,” they cooed, admiring you with the sort of fervent obsession one might give to a work of art. A hand brushed through your hair, across your temple, before cupping your cheek. “What have we here? Aren’t you precious, hm? Aw, did that mean demon frighten you, little human? There, there.”

The words and tone were condescending, but you weren’t exactly flush with options, and at least this demon didn’t seem inclined to eat you. You winced when their hold on you shifted, and their wrist brushed against the open would on your neck. Like clockwork, their eyes snapped to the line of blood sluggishly pooling in the hollow of your collar.

“Oh you poor thing,” the demon tipped your head to the side, the strength behind a single finger making it clear that you wouldn’t have been able to resist them even if you’d wanted to try. “Let me…”

A surprised whimper broke past your lips. A long tongue trailed its way up the side of your throat, lapping over your skin as though your blood were some delicious treat. Honey-sweet instead of the tang of bitter copper. Those lips latched onto your flesh, nuzzling and nipping while you thrashed and struggled to tamp down the unholy noises emanating from both of you. The sounds of sucking, saliva, lips smacking, you would have thought the demon was enjoying the finest of meals if not for your own high-pitched moans, wails, and pleas.

Finally the demon pulled himself back with a gasp, a feral grin carving his face in a truly infernal mien. “Oh. Oh, I am never letting go of you, Dove.”

“D-Does that mean I’m free to go?”

Your face erupted with heat. You’d forgotten that the other demon was still there. Judging by the irritated expression that crossed Lord Zion’s face, they’d forgotten as well.

They exhaled a long, loud sigh, and then snapped their fingers. In an instant, a bubbling mass of shadows rose beneath the demon’s feet. Slowly, exponentially, they began to sink into the murk like quicksand. “Let me see,” Lord Zion hummed thoughtfully. “You planned to overthrow me, attempted to manipulate humans in my name, and even used my symbol as part of the ritual? All while believing I would never learn of your weak attempts to usurp my throne? For your crimes, you ought to be tortured and slaughtered in front of my court.”

“M-My Lord, I was only–!”

“However,” Lord Zion cut them off, lips twisting in a sadistic smile. One that gained a hint of softness when they looked at you. A clawed finger played with a lock of your hair, twisting it gently before moving to undo your bindings. “Your one redeeming outcome is finding my human for me. So I shall be merciful in return. Pick one.”

“One?” The demon stammered, now only a head straining to stay afloat above the burbling gloom. “O-One what?”

“I said I was planning to kill and torture you, didn’t I?” Lord Zion said placidly, finishing with the ropes and hooking their arms beneath your exhausted body. You leaned against them, unable to even complain about being held bridal style. “So pick one. Think carefully though. Neither will be quick.”