#i want to watch this on sunday mornings at 2am again but this time stagger into the light of day unable to function

[indelicateink]

Hi I love reading your tags on iwtv post! What would make season 2 perfect in your eyes re: louis/armand/lestat?

thanks! (i'm taking that as in general, lmk if I misunderstood/there's one in particular that pertains to your question.)

i need s2 to be fucked-up-shit o'clock on our fucked-up-shit show (affectionate). my total emotional annihilation would make it perfect for me re: our guys.

armand has done some seriously naughty shit that's going to put a major dent in their lives for the next century, and i'm hopeful we get to explore that in a no-holds-barred dicks-out blood-tears abject-humiliation existential-horror love letter to the fans.

i want sam reid to get to have the juiciest time portraying the agonizing devastation that is visited upon lestat this season (affectionate)

i want assad zaman to seduce us utterly with armand's beauty and outrageous horror (affectionate)

i want jacob anderson to melt our fucking minds as louis goes through the most traumatizing events of his life (concerned)

that would be perfect for me, for them

[scarystoriestoreadonthesubway]

Tai squinted her eyes in the rude fluorescent light of the L train as it barreled on from 1st Ave into Williamsburg.

This devastating Sunday morning hangover had been sponsored by the previous evening’s festivities: an old high school friend’s birthday party at some terrible “bridge and tunnel” bar in Murray Hill, complete with over-priced well-drinks and a godforsaken skee-ball room.

Most of the night had been a blur of “Michaels” and “Caitlyns” but one moment remained crystal-clear in Tai’s memory. She had made brunch plans with a pre-med student named Anya who taught self-defense classes on weeknights.

The two had struck up a conversation around 2am while smoking just outside the bar. Neither of them really smoked but it was a helpful habit to pick up when the need arose to escape a basic DJ’s playlist.

Tai was smitten with Anya’s wicked sense of humor and her high level of badassery that suddenly became apparent when she shoved away a bloody-faced drunk who had staggered in their direction. She then resumed her conversation with Tai without missing a beat, describing her favorite “Black Mirror” episode as the drunk idiot rerouted, moaning and shuffling after a screaming gang of bachelor party bros.

When the clock struck three, Tai was hoping for an invitation back to Anya’s place, but instead she got an invitation to meet her for brunch the next morning at some place called “Cadave” in Williamsburg.

Tai’s heart sank. She knew the truth about next-day brunch plans. They never happen. Especially on Sunday. But especially in Williamsburg.

Still, she rattled off her digits to Anya with feigned perkiness as though this wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other.  Tai said goodbye and took a car home, where she flung herself onto her boxspring-less bed and fell asleep to the sounds of her roommate and his boyfriend groaning and pounding on the other side of the wall.

They were still groaning and pounding at 8:40am, when Tai’s phone buzzed to life, lighting up every corner of her windowless room. “Jesus, they’ve been at it for hours,” she thought as she typed in her passcode, “Wonder what they’re on.”

After a moment, her eyes focused on the phone screen to read the message: “hey its Anya. 9:30a at Cadave off Bedford L.”

The hallelujah chorus rang out in Tai’s head as she ran a celebratory lap around her room. Minutes later, she was out the door, looking surprisingly fresh for such little prep time.

The hangover had only now really just hit her, as she sat on the L speeding along under the East River. At least she didn’t have to stand. The train car was somehow empty, a rarity on any line, but especially one heading into Williamsburg on a weekend. Then again, during her walk to the subway she hadn’t seen too many people either, except for some stumbling jerks slamming themselves up against a coffee shop door.

“Drunk idiots.” Tai had thought. “Is it SantaCon already?”

As the train stopped at Bedford and she walked out onto the platform, Tai worried for the first time that maybe brunch would be weird. What if she’d blown this out of proportion and Anya just wanted to be friends? Or worse, what if last night had been a fluke and today they had zero chemistry? Just two uncomfortable women looking at their watches, wasting $75 on a couple plates of Huevos Rancheros and a pitcher of Mimosas.

But on her climb up the stairs to Bedford Avenue, the sun hit her face and she snapped herself out of it. “Don’t fall back on failure,” Tai said under breath, repeating the mantra from a book her mom had given her. “Step toward success.”

Williamsburg was dead that morning. The mustachioed cyclists, big-hatted jewelry designers and marketing execs in distressed denim were nowhere to be found. Without the sounds of a single designer dog yap, or the snap of a LaCroix being popped open, the streets were silent.

“I guess it’s early,” Tai deliberated as she approached the intersection. “Maybe...too early.”

Tai was set to arrive a full three minutes before 9:30a which she knew was a bad move. It was always better to show up late to brunch, but not more than seven minutes late. That way, you don’t seem too eager, but you also don’t seem totally disrespectful.

But she remembered the mantra and repeated “Step toward success Tai. For once, just go with the flow. If this goes well, it goes well. If not, that’s fine too.”

When she turned the corner onto 3rd St, she saw a massive gathering of no less than 400 people packed against Cadave.

“Oh god,” she thought, “Look at that wait.”

As she approached the crowd, she called out “Does anyone know where the back of the line is?”

That’s when all four hundred people turned their heads and looked at Tai. And that’s when Tai realized that all 400 of them were zombies.

They raced towards her, hobbling, shambling, screaming, growling. Their arms outstretched, their filthy hands clutching in her direction, their lifeless eyes dead set on their target.

A strange switch clicked in Tai’s brain that immediately convinced her that this was real and she could either buy it and run or get ripped apart by a bunch of zombies. So she ran.

She turned tail and sprinted towards Bedford, but immediately found herself blocked by an approaching horde of undead mustachioed cyclists, partially decapitated jewelry designers and marketing execs in blood-drenched denim, limping with great purpose in her direction.

More poured out of store fronts and food trucks, all snarling and drooling behind Invisalign braces.

There was no escaping them. Tai was trapped.

For a moment, she despaired right there on 3rd street between Bedford and Berry. But as the zombies encroached upon her, she for one last time slapped some sense into herself and bellowed “I AM NOT. GOING TO DIE. IN WILLIAMSBURG!” before barreling herself into the zombie horde, back towards Cadave.

Tai body-checked a ghoul in yoga-gear and head-butted another who she recognized as once being a Warby Parker employee who was rude to her. She grabbed yet another by his leather iPad satchel and slammed him into a zombified Apple employee, leaving them both in a mangled heap. She tackled, flipped and sacked every fiend standing in her way until she ended up at the entrance to Cadave.

She tried the door handle. Locked. Of course.

Tai slammed her fists against the door again and again as the sounds of groaning and the shuffling of Toms grew louder and louder.

Suddenly, from the crowd, a voice cried “TAI!”

Tai looked back, stunned. Through the wall of gnashing teeth and gory limbs, burst Anya. At 9:37am exactly.

“Sorry I’m late,” Anya panted, gasping for air. “I didn’t want to seem too-”

“I get it,” Tai interrupted, grabbing Anya’s hand and pulling her up before they sprinted out of Williamsburg as fast as their legs would carry them, “I totally get it.”