the revelation that claudia’s rebirth was such a twisted and horrible moment, with louis dragging her like she was a thing, a stranger who neither of them knew but he kept saying over and over “our daughter, our beautiful little daughter” to lestat, really solidified the way she was never the main character of her own story. she was always an accessory to some or the other of louis’ whims: his guilt, his loneliness, his conflict of being a killer, his rocky relationship with lestat. there was love there, love from both her fathers, but it was never enough. lestat saw her too much as a wretched mirror held up to his own self, and louis was always too steeped in his own feelings to care enough about hers. claudia’s story truly was the greatest tragedy in this tale, treated horribly by every man around her, even her fathers, relentlessly exploited and brutally ignored, always second and never first. the only one who loved her the way she deserved to be loved was madeleine, and the moment she truly had her, her happiness was torn from her. and just before she died, she got to see someone actually choose her in her entirety, not for what she can be but for who she is, and it still wasn’t enough. she still burned alive in the sunlight. the love was there, but it wasn’t enough to save her.
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the way that one line from the new epilogue in an astarion romance is going to HAUNT me
just. what a profoundly intense thing to confess to someone.
like, just these six months of newfound happiness with you exerts a force on his heart equal and in direct opposition to two centuries of endless torment, the gnawing hunger and exploitation. this flashbulb-bright fraction of his long life holds the same gravity to him as years upon years of darkness and suffering.
in all likelihood, he hasn’t even known his lover for as long as his worst memory lasted, that year sealed away to go mad from starvation and sensory deprivation, yet he still tells them this brief time has been so fundamentally and powerfully important that the weight of even that unimaginable hell is vanishingly small compared to this present he has now and the future ahead of them both.
how am i supposed to act normal about this.
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time for skeleman
with the lack of any other info yet, all I can focus on are those Charles Lloyd-looking sunglasses. they are absolutely sending me. I feel like we're gonna fall through a tree or whatever and this stitched-up boney gentleman is gonna pop out from behind a gravestone and start serenading us with some smooth jazz on the saxophone.
or should I say...the saxoBONE???????
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Danny: Hello, I'm here for my job interview-
Alfred: You're hired.
Danny: But I didn't even say what position I was-
Alfred: You are Danny Fenton, nineteen years old, blood type AB, Libra. You are here to apply for the personal assistant position under Timothy Drake. You have five years of experience as a receptionist and a personal planner and have been unofficially bookkeeper for your parent's company since you were twelve. You dabble in fanfiction, go clubbing at Vortex- the gay club downtown, and have been one of the few people who yelled at people online for "Countdown to Legal Age" of both Master Dick and Master Tim.
Danny: .....I'm a little scared right now.
Alfred: That's to be expected. You will fit right in. Master Tim enjoys the smell of fear on his employees.
Danny: You were in the army, weren't you?
Alfred grinning: I read that your mother's family are also veterans. Your mother grew up in bases; did she not?
Danny nods: Yes, they are. This is like visiting family.
Alfred: With the proper attitude, you may become family in due time!
Danny mentally: Is he....trying to get me to marry Mr. Drake???
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Obsessed with the way that the Doctor, instead of explaining literally anything about the misunderstanding, just tries to seduce his way out of being murdered.
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