#isabelle eglee

[biilodyfangs]

[carmillas-vampiric-rage]

guys they're so beautiful I'm actually in tears

[lezstat]

(img from genevieve dunne on x)

they could’ve been the most fashionable unhinged vampire besties ever. but nooo the coven had to go and choose The Horrors instead😔

[firespawn]

I made a quiz so you can find out which coven member are you ?

Any one here who is interested can go take the quiz and please tell me your results if you don't mind sharing it with me.

I would love to know which member you got. 😘💕

[persepinas]

By the way? Eglee? BITCH IT IS ON AND YOU ARE NOT READY FOR THIS SMOKE. (Literally lmao enjoy burning you beautiful asshole)

[thevampireglee]

top image: IWTVWriters on X/Bluesky

okay I am in autistic overload right now

————————————————————

“Isabelle Eglee used to work the red light district of Pigalle”

The concept of Eglee having been a sex worker occurred to me early on when I started working on my version of her backstory, and I felt it was corroborated by the above images seen here at her vanity (original picture posted by @Genevieve_Dunne on X); apparently, that was in fact the writer's intention.

————————————————————

Compared to some of the others, Eglee's backstory is a pretty hefty paragraph; it seems that whoever was in charge of writing it had some fun, case in point her being a sex worker and having a run in with the "The French Ripper", Joseph Vacher.

However, from what I've researched about him, he was never in Paris? (Assuming there's not a part of the backstory that says she left Paris) He stayed in the south-eastern parts of France, hence "The South East Ripper". But then, the real Thomas Anderson wasn't murdered (by vampires or anyone), so there's nothing wrong with some creative license.

Also his inclusion kind of confirms the timeline I've given Eglee, so that's a plus for me.

————————————————————

"That vampire was Gustave. But as he drained the blood from her, Isabelle had just enough will left to (...) and it was enough to (save her life/make her his—I'm really not sure; probably save her life is closer.)"

So this seems to say that Gustave is her maker.

(assuming that name of the vampire there is Gustave, it's blurry but it looks it to me)

I'm not exactly keen on that idea, and I don't quite think it's supported by the show either, but I think I will use the concept for my @tdvzine fic as it already involves Gustave and will help flesh it out; in my main series however, he will not be Eglee's maker—but he might just be her maker's maker.

————————————————————

That's my best guess of what it says, considering I was looking at my phone screen like this the whole time:

If anyone is able to decipher more/correct me, please share!

[inthiseverymoment]

silhouettes emerging: chapter vi

“Don’t You Want a Lark Whose Every Blood Cell Sings Your Name?”

🎶turning time! every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end🎶

iwtv oc x armand, this chapter ~2.2k

sing it with me now I KNOW WHO I WANT TO TAKE ME HOME (the vampire armand) I KNOW WHO I WANT TO TAKE ME HOME (armand de whatever) I KNOW WHO I WANT TO TAKE ME HOME (armanddd) TAKE ME HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOME

chapter v fic masterlist chapter vii

Twenty Twenty-Three (The Next Day), New York City, United States of America

“We’re back with the vampire Isabelle de la Rue, who last left us in Paris with her hope to be turned by the vampire Armand in order to ensure he could never supernaturally manipulate her again. Which, it should be noted, does not rule out your garden variety gaslighting.”

They were back in Daniel’s living room, equipped with the same recording gear, new wine glasses of blood, and a day’s worth of reflection before getting back to the story at hand. Isabelle let out half a scoff and took her seat once more; clearly, today’s conversation would not be any easier.

“You’re right, it doesn’t, made very clear by the crux remaining the same even when I had to shift my stories a hell of a lot in order to safely tell them to a human therapist. I eventually realized that was futile; our emotional experiences as vampires can be so caught up in our nature that it’s hard not to feel alone in how to deal with it.”

“Starting off cheerily, I see.”

“Hey, man, you started it.”

“I want to know,” Daniel began, “how it worked-if it did work that time. You weren’t turned yet, so he could still read your intentions; why wouldn’t that stop him?”

She was quiet for a moment, a small smile blooming up from the longing part of her that still existed somewhere. It was time to tell this part of the story.

“Because none of what I told him was a lie.”

~

Nineteen Thirty-Six, Paris, France

Through all her years of performing, Isabelle was not used to spending much time at a mirror after a show. The placing of each curl and ribbon came beforehand, when she gave herself the almost ritualistic escape of becoming something else for a night. But now, here she was, after a performance that had rid the world this time of an abusive factory supervisor, standing in front of her dressing room mirror.

The usual post-show hum of muted audience chatter as they left, castmates’ lipsticked voices in her ear, and laughter from all the coven regarding that night’s slip-ups and audience reactions was a comfort to her intermittently sparking heartbeat. Her makeup had just started to fade into her skin, her jewelry was glittering hopelessly askew, and she basked in the post-performance glow that tended to be carried long into the morning.

She always felt her most beautiful like this.

Despite her certainty in all that had passed over the preceding months, a small part of her still felt anxious in the need to be so, tonight.

Then there was the sudden, melting warmth of a hand on her back.

“Something is on your mind, love,” came Armand’s whisper as she looked into the eyes of his reflection. “Tell me.”

“Not here,” she murmured, and no sooner had she than Armand nodded and turned away with clear intent and hope for her to follow. They ascended the stairs, but not before Isabelle caught Eglee’s gaze, widened her eyes in wordless communication, and received an encouraging wink. More time had passed since their conversation, with the addition that the romantic nature of the newcomer’s relationship with the maître was no longer denied, and the house manager-having guessed her human friend’s plan-seemed to be delighted at its finally coming to pass.

Maybe.

Depending.

As she and Armand made it to the top of the stairs and went down a hallway to his room, Isabelle absentmindedly twisted the ring that her character wore. It had been a gift; the jewel itself was no ordinary burgundy stone, but rather a small glass circle filled with Armand’s blood and embedded into the golden band.

“So that,” he’d smiled, “when you’re swooning in your false lover’s arms, you will not forget how it all began.”

She and Gustave had had a laugh about the melodramatics of it when she’d told him at rehearsal one day, but she secretly cherished it, this constant reminder that her attention was valued. As she had learned more and more about Armand and his past, her deeper understanding of all that lay behind his wistful eyes and measured words made her quite adept at reading him; her heart went out to him more and more, and she now could hold a constant drop of this person she adored.

“The gossip of the coven,” Armand said as he closed his door behind them, “is growing with every week you are not one of them. I still cannot think of any situation here worthy of you, but time is passing quickly and the Great Laws still hold. Is this the source of your pensiveness? Do you have a preference as to who becomes your maker?”

Although this was asked quite intently, he was also shuffling through a few papers and putting them into a drawer. After taking a steadying breath, Isabelle placed her hand over his on the desk, waiting until he looked up to meet her gaze.

“Indeed I do.”

A thousand thoughts widened Armand’s amber eyes, and he lifted a hand to her face in something like incredulity.

“Truly?”

She nodded, and a moment passed before he feverishly turned away.

“I cannot. I will not. You have heard, I am sure, every reason that I have sworn never to make another, never to doom someone-especially someone like you-to this eternity.”

“I’m going to be doomed anyway,” Isabelle said, fully levelheaded. “You said it yourself on that very second night-my being turned is the only way to survive, and I’m not going to give up on life now, not after finally experiencing so many reasons to stay, reasons that I always knew existed and have been working for all my life. Those reasons-a community, a dream career, a true romance, and a real impact that I’m still figuring out-they have their many thorns here; all the rest were willing to kill me to preserve the status quo, but you alone broke that, you alone were there from the beginning. Someone in this building will have to be my maker, and I truly, truly want it to be you.”

Having looked out the window through this monologue, unable to face her but watching her in the reflection of the glass, he now turned around as he processed this last statement.

“You were turned without a say in the matter,” she said slowly. “The horror that happened to you…that is not how things should be, and it’s not how things have to be. I have some odd, stubborn hope that this-that this doesn’t have to be a curse. So if there’s going to be one moment that changes the state of my existence forever…”

She had tentatively approached him throughout this, every word of her planned seduction having been forgotten the second she stepped into the room, and all that was left was earnest compassion and an irrevocable longing to be close to him. Breathing intently, Armand allowed her to take his hand.

“...If everything comes down to that moment, I want it to be one of love.”

His chest hitched. She didn’t know how much she’d expected her entreaty to truly affect him, and how much he’d let it show if she did, but she saw it all plainly now. Isabelle knew for certain that they shared a yearning to be seen fully and loved wholly, and this was the core from which every word lifted.

“I could die now, or I could spend an eternity reckoning with all that happens here…I never thought I’d be comfortable with the idea of immortality, but-”

His hand came to her waist, almost trembling, almost as if holding onto her would mean holding on forever to the words she spoke-

“I’d gladly take forever if it was here with you.”

He let out a breath, so close to her that she could nearly taste a warm, metallic, somewhat sweet combination of blood and cigarette smoke.

“A companion?”

This proposal was softer than she had ever, ever heard him speak before, and she nodded, hazel eyes almost glowing with pure emotion.

“Entirely, my love,” she answered. “Intertwined in every cell and every breath.”

Armand slowly kissed her jawline, drawing a breath of anticipation, then pulled away to look her in the eye. The intensity there told her that something in him had wanted this too, had been waiting for her to ask, had been longing for the chance to give himself permission.

Shoulders finally relaxing, she nodded again, each of them finally letting themselves somehow smile in wondrous disbelief. The grip both his hands now had on her waist grew more certain as he pulled her in, kissing her soundly as one arm looped around to pull her ever and ever closer. She tangled her hand into his hair, eagerly massaging those dark curls free from the gel that held them; each was an arpeggio that she had longed to play from the very first moment. The blood ring was still cold on her hand, and when Armand realized that it was this ring currently twisting itself further into his hair, he let out a sigh that made any remaining worry in Isabelle completely melt away.

Slowly, deftly, Armand’s kisses worked their way down to the base of her neck, and a thrill went through her every nerve. This was the top of the sky, and there was no chance of stopping her freefall now; it was the most untethered, most intoxicated, most free she had ever felt, and she didn’t know how it could possibly become any-

Then there was the gleam of his fangs, and the shock of a sting, and the pulse of her every burden and beauty flowing into him, breath by breath. She gasped again and again as she felt the blood leave her, head cradled by Armand’s hand as her forgotten black lace veil fell from her hair, leaving them both tangled within. The office was small and didn’t necessarily lend itself to the  most luxurious of turning conditions, and Isabelle soon became aware that she was sitting on top of Armand’s coffin, head spinning both with the loss of blood and the need of him near her again. He was looking down at her as he sliced a nail through his forearm, eyes heavily lidded in reaction to however it was she appeared at the moment, and Isabelle blinked in the vague sensation of her own blood trickling down her chest and into her gown. They’ll have to clean this, said some faraway voice in her head, soon blown quite away by the second phase of the turning.

Armand had sat beside her, solemnly presenting his wrist, which she gingerly took into her hands before pressing her lips to the wound. The moment that the blood hit her tongue produced a high, musical cry in the back of her throat; this was the headiest of wines, this was strawberry and melted chocolate and four fateful pomegranate seeds, this was honeysweet and indigodark and Armand, Armand, Armand. She gasped it in, drinking with her eyes rolling back, and kissed along his wrist every few slurps in complete devotion.

All this time, while it still could, Armand’s voice caressed itself into the contours of her mind. That’s it, my own, my everything. That’s it, my belovéd, my one; I know you deeply, I love you madly, I am yours alone. And you, you my lark, you my precious songbird…you shall be entirely mine.

With this last thought, he pressed his wrist further into her mouth for the final push, nearly gagging her on the warm sweetness of his blood. She replied telepathically as much as she could with a rhythmically repeating I love you, I love you, I know you, I see you, I love you that kept in time with their now-synced heartbeats; he would no longer have that access to her mind after this glorious night, and she made certain that the last he’d hear of her thoughts would be everything he’d ever wanted.

Her eyes, still hazel but truly glowing now, opened with a vision that was suddenly sharper and more clear than she had ever had before. She laughed in joyful surprise, entirely high on blood and lust and newfound power. Armand, with a wicked and utterly fulfilled grin, swept her up into his arms and kissed her deeply, lifting up her flowing dress and hooking her leg around him until they were-

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

“Aaaaaaaaaaand fade to black,” Daniel interrupted into his microphone, pressing his spacebar with a strong and barely-contained clack.

“...Sorry, what?”

Isabelle blinked and realized that she had been near tears this whole time, thoroughly lost in the memory.

“Why would you-”

“I’m sorry,” Daniel said, a bit shaken. “The story should come first, I know, and I can tell you that it always does with me. But this is…I don’t know. Our memory lanes are crossing, Isabelle, only with a few key differences.”

She was quiet for a moment, still coming back into reality, and then it dawned on her what he really meant.

“Wait-”

“Yeah.”

“You two were-”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. There’s a story there too.”

“Oh!!”

“Right,” he said, moving to his door and grabbing a jacket before turning back to her. “You wanna get lunch?”

[padremax]

Puedes participar de la Misa de este martes, siguiendo este enlace:

Ofrecida por las siguientes intenciones:

~ En Acción de Gracias a Dios, nuestro Padre, por la intercesión:

- del Espíritu Santo, por la Renovación Carismática Católica en Maracaibo.

- del Sagrado corazón de Jesús por una intención especial de la Familia Tulli Durán.

- Jesús de la Misericordia por las intenciones y salud de María Isabel Texeira, Doris Velasco y Heberto Hernandez.

- de Nuestra Señora de Coromoto, por los que laboran en el Hospital Coromoto.

- de la Virgen del Rosario.

- Virgen Desatadora de Nudos por las intenciones de Mario Andrés, Víctor Hugo, Yanet Rosa Durán.

- por el cumpleaños de Eglee López.

- Por las intenciones de: la familia González Parra, la familia Parra Díaz y la familia Vidales Morisco.

~ Pedimos por la salud y recuperación de:

• enfermos del Covid-19 y por los que trabajan por su sanación.

• Mons. Jesús Enrique Hernández, Padre Danilo Calderón, Padre Alberto Gutierrez, Hno. Thomas Smith, Flor Navarro, Emma Cleotilde Zabala y Maria Galindo.

• Marianto, Susana, Francisco Puentes, María Urriola, Jorge Negrón, Rosario Rivera, Antonio Guerrero, Marcolina Quintero, Valentina Paulovich y José Alejandro Delgado Rodríguez.

~ Por los bienhechores de nuestra Parroquia, del Seminario, de la Fundación Cura de Ars y Fundación Comedor Santa Ana.

~ Por el descanso eterno de:

+ Gisela Martínez (aniversario).

+ Iván Arecio Higuera Miranda.

+ Oswaldo Salerni Marini.

+ Vitelio Alfonso Piña Bueno (11º año).

+ Aldo Sergio Miguel González (9º año).

+ Rosa Esther Mondol Puello (1/9).

+ Elena Romero de Padrón (3/20).

+ Manuel Villegas Barreto (4/9).

+ Oscar Eduardo Zambrano (4/9).

+ Claudio José Hernández Urdaneta (4/9).

+ María del Rosario González (4/9).

+ Ricardo José Caste (6/9).

+ Antonio José Cordero Ball (1/30).

+ Huilan Nelly Maruja Ball Berci (14/15).

+ Nora Montiel de Russo.

+ Giuseppe Russo Graziano.

+ Alexis Raúl Bracho Martínez.

+ Hérmilo Paez Ávila.

+ Carlos Alberto Ortiz Ochoa.

+ José Gregorio de la Rivera.

+ Alexandra del Pilar Yánez Quintero.

+ Chichi Quintero.

+ Bernardo Larreal Herrera.

+ Nelson Enrique Sthormes.

+ Luís Marín.

+ Jorge Romero Martínez.

+ Sili Hernández Belloso.

+Animas del purgatorio más necesitadas.

Para anotar intención de misa, escribe por whatsapp o SMS al +58-424-6293617‬. Para transferir ofrenda voluntaria a la cuenta de Max Güerere, C.I. 10.918.893, BOD # 0116-0103-1500-2623-9345.

[carmillas-vampiric-rage]

my beautiful gorgeous wife eglee. please just give me one chance

[inthiseverymoment]

taking a moment to yell abt this thread https://x.com/iwtvwriters/status/1879306863461671268?s=46&t=vAqkejrlH5sgjQBJDqJLIw

because WOW!!!! WOW WOW WOW!!!! the sheer amount of intention and care and love and detail that goes into this show absolutely floors me

also the fact that eglee’s first name is now canonically isabelle…and my oc isabelle was written to be close with her before i even knew…fate… (…shameless plug go read silhouettes emerging…)

i love you iwtv i love love love you iwtv

[thevampireglee]

isabelle eglee: the ballet years

[thevampireglee]

me: all right I’ve got my zine fic mostly outlined, don’t have an ending yet but I’ll decide once I start writing

my brain: here’s a totally different idea that you are now gonna be fixated on

me:

my brain: and it has a clearly defined ending!

me:

…incidentally, does anyone have any casting ideas for Santino?

edit: nvm—Antonio Banderas

yep, isabelle “daddy issues” eglee would definitely want to fuck this guy

[thevampireglee]

Isabelle Eglee

(Betsy Joslyn in a commercial for the musical “A Doll’s Life”, photos by Martha Swope)

[will-the-ghosts-go-away]

First line (I’m 98% sure): “Isabelle Eglee used to work the red light district of Pigalle, but she grew tired of the world’s oldest profession.”

Next couple lines (not very sure): “But not the men, mind you. She loved the men.”

top image: IWTVWriters on X/Bluesky

okay I am in autistic overload right now

————————————————————

“Isabelle Eglee used to work the red light district of Pigalle”

The concept of Eglee having been a sex worker occurred to me early on when I started working on my version of her backstory, and I felt it was corroborated by the above images seen here at her vanity (original picture posted by @Genevieve_Dunne on X); apparently, that was in fact the writer's intention.

————————————————————

Compared to some of the others, Eglee's backstory is a pretty hefty paragraph; it seems that whoever was in charge of writing it had some fun, case in point her being a sex worker and having a run in with the "The French Ripper", Joseph Vacher.

However, from what I've researched about him, he was never in Paris? (Assuming there's not a part of the backstory that says she left Paris) He stayed in the south-eastern parts of France, hence "The South East Ripper". But then, the real Thomas Anderson wasn't murdered (by vampires or anyone), so there's nothing wrong with some creative license.

Also his inclusion kind of confirms the timeline I've given Eglee, so that's a plus for me.

————————————————————

"That vampire was Gustave. But as he drained the blood from her, Isabelle had just enough will left to (...) and it was enough to (save her life/make her his—I'm really not sure; probably save her life is closer.)"

So this seems to say that Gustave is her maker.

(assuming that name of the vampire there is Gustave, it's blurry but it looks it to me)

I'm not exactly keen on that idea, and I don't quite think it's supported by the show either, but I think I will use the concept for my @tdvzine fic as it already involves Gustave and will help flesh it out; in my main series however, he will not be Eglee's maker—but he might just be her maker's maker.

————————————————————

That's my best guess of what it says, considering I was looking at my phone screen like this the whole time:

If anyone is able to decipher more/correct me, please share!