youmustdotime

[youmustdotime]

What are your pronouns?

Apologies for taking so long to answer this. If I’m being truthful I have been panicking over it a bit.

If you want the true answer, it is that I am not sure.

I have rejected my femininity for so long, finally being alone and sitting with my thoughts and confronting it is terrifying.

I have used he/him all my life and yet I do not feel as though I am a man at all. But it is all I know. The fear of changing is just as potent as the fear of never being who I truly am.

I know there is another version of me that sits deep in my soul that wants to be seen. To be acknowledged and loved. I don’t know if I can ever muster up the courage to let them free.

Sorry for the long winded-ness of this response.

I think, for now. He/him could work. I do not mind she/her. Not at all. It fills me with a bubble inside my chest that is so euphoric it’s near overwhelming. I do not mind feminine terms like “ma’am” or “miss” to be used when referring to me.

I still have a lot to work through and think about.

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this wip barbie loves playing with elaborate wigs and drag makeup in her spare time🫶🏾(getting the base colors down)

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im so livid i used the wrong theyre.

all these white people reblogging their little posts like "it just doesnt sit right w me that Those People are saying armand is basically white...hes a victim too!" meanwhile the sinister racists being invoked are predominantly Black fans pointing out. again. that armand. directed a lynching oh my god its beyond belief . its beyond belief!! no one said he was white they said he had power, on every level including social, over louis and claudia! if you cant understand antiblackness as the principal contradiction vis a vis race in iwtv you have fundamentally and maliciously missed a crucial element of the show. i could illustrate with evidence that the show deliberately constructs and then brutally disproves the expectation that a former victim of abuse and target of racism naturally prepossesses some form of solidarity with other victims but what's the point! literally what is the point.

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people Love to look at a relationship with a distressingly obvious power imbalance and say “well, they’re both bad” when the person being routinely manipulated controlled and degraded does things that are upsetting in isolation

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The feminist pervert is a lonely but righteous path.

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claudiafic set in 1.05 has been posted with what courage i know not

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please donate to nour. he hasn't received a donation in several days and desperately needs around fifty dollars to procure food and diapers for his two infants. any amount helps!

verified / paypal

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free man of color in NOLA. free. man of color. in NOLA……

all these white people reblogging their little posts like "it just doesnt sit right w me that Those People are saying armand is basically white...hes a victim too!" meanwhile the sinister racists being invoked are predominantly Black fans pointing out. again. that armand. directed a lynching oh my god its beyond belief . its beyond belief!! no one said he was white they said he had power, on every level including social, over louis and claudia! if you cant understand antiblackness as the principal contradiction vis a vis race in iwtv you have fundamentally and maliciously missed a crucial element of the show. i could illustrate with evidence that the show deliberately constructs and then brutally disproves the expectation that a former victim of abuse and target of racism naturally prepossesses some form of solidarity with other victims but what's the point! literally what is the point.

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I gotta be real, we can't keep saying "wow how is the website so racist that's sad" and keep not changing our behaviors to actively address that 😅 we can't all be shocked, appalled, and "not racist", yet the overall environment is the way it is. Our actions are not reflecting our (supposed) beliefs!

This is why I'm always telling y'all to gauge just how often and much antiblackness you're willing to tolerate. Because every time you don't speak up or act; every time you choose to bypass the opportunity to LEARN how to spot what is wrong-

Every time you see a piece of art or creation that leans into, has covert, or even overt antiblackness and you let it slide because "it's just for fun"-

Every time you aren't willing to tell your friends or peers "hey, that wasn't cool" when they say or share something you know is questionable, but you don't want to make the space "uncomfortable"-

Every time you choose not to support a Black creator or person speaking up on mistreatment (without further research) because "you're not racist but you don't like drama and they sound aggressive"-

Everybody bypassing the issue adds up. No, you don't have to fight every battle against racism, but a majority of you aren't trying to fight any (for reasons you should reflect upon!) So what's stopping racism from propagating? "Why are there weeds taking over my garden?" "Did you pick them?" "No I'm just saying I'm angry about them!" 😐

And when you aren't willing to vocally kick Nazis out the bar, what type of bar do you end up with? 👀

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tbh me personally i don’t think it’s a bad thing or a failing or whatever that louis always saw claudia as his daughter even in their brother-sister era bc that’s just. normal. my mum still calls me her baby even tho im a hair from 30 and have lived on my own for over a decade. i think the problem was that louis didn’t treat her like his adult child. he kept information from her and made decisions that affected her on his own bc he wanted to protect her from the reality of their situation and keep her blissfully unaware. mostly bc he thought she found some semblance of happiness/contentment with the coven that she clearly didn’t have with just him. bc as far as he knew, she wanted to stay in paris. she said as much when they first saw the lestat painting and again when she finally opened up about her traumatic experience with bruce and asked louis to be there for her induction into the coven. sure, she didn’t love being baby lu but she didn’t express a desire to leave, not even the coven let alone paris entirely so louis figured she was still more content here than anything they’d had before (which he was hurt by but that’s a different convo, my empty nesting princess) and wanted to maintain that for her by keeping her in the dark about the potential danger. but that wasn’t fair, she deserved to know what was going on, even if it meant giving up potential happiness in paris to find safety elsewhere. that wasn’t louis’ decision to make for her.

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Lambingan 🫂

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as someone who was/is in the mdzs fandom and is just now getting into iwtv, i know exactly what you're talking about in your previous posts tags and i wish there were more fics that had loustat with that specific dynamic bc whewwwww it would be perfect for them and paired with the religious guilt that louis feels it would be *chefs kiss* 🤓

IT WOULD BE SOOOOOOOOOOOOO GOOD OOMF!!!!!!! especially where they are now, like when they get back together. it owuld be so fucking good. ugh hold on i have to show you i fear. warnings for implied cnc below, more under the cut ///

“I used to dream that you would come get me,” Louis admits into the phone.

“You did?”

“Yeah. That I’d be sitting here, on the ugly sofa that he put here, and you woulda had enough and you’d storm in and take me with you.” He huffs out a laugh. “Ain’t that ridiculous?”

Lestat doesn’t laugh with him. Louis’ laughter peters out. “Even when you thought I was—”

“I don’t know,” says Louis. “I guess. It wasn’t… I didn’t want to go willingly, I couldn’t’ve, I, I hated you so much. But in this—dream, or nightmare, I couldn’t ever decide which one, I didn’t have to choose because you didn’t give me a choice. You just took me.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Lestat says softly.

“Yes you would,” Louis says. “You did it to our daughter.”

Lestat’s breath crumbles. Louis waits for him to cry or throw a fit but he doesn’t. He stays silent on the line and somehow doesn’t make it about himself at all. Who are you and what have you done to my husband, Louis thinks, except that’s not right either. Lestat used to be so good at listening to him, in the beginning. When they used to be friends. Louis supposes he forgot that a husband could be a friend.

“Sorry,” Louis eventually breaks the silence, right before correcting himself, “I mean, I’m not sorry. But that’s not the same thing. It didn’t serve anything to bring it up.”

Finally, Lestat speaks, “I am the one that is sorry.” A pause, like the next thing is harder for him to say. “You were right to bring it up.”

They listen to each other breathe. Regular breathing is the human habit hardest to drop. They need to, because it keeps their borrowed blood pumping most efficiently through their bodies, but a few breaths an hour could maintain well enough. Yet for both Louis and his much older maker, that is still too unnatural.

Lestat again. “What happened after I—took you?”

Louis picks at a loose thread in his bedspread. This was usually the part of the dream where Louis had a harder time pretending it was a nightmare. “Have you heard of Stockholm syndrome?”

“Non. Peut etre… is it a disease in Sweden?”

“Nah.” Louis’ mouth twists to avoid a smile. A disease in Sweden. “In 1973,” and he pushes himself to keep talking despite Lestat’s stilted breath, “this woman got kidnapped. And then when they found her, the cops and the court psychologist or someone, whoever, they ain’t like her response, or didn’t feel like she was fucked up enough for them, so they said she must’ve gone crazy and fallen in love with the man that kidnapped her. Something about the high emotions? It’s not, it’s not nothing serious. But when I learned about it the first time, I thought of the dreams I had where you came to get me.” He takes a deep breath. “I’d never last more than a day, in the dream, before I let you fuck me.”

“Oh, Louis,” Lestat murmurs.

“It would’ve been easier if I didn’t want it. If you forced me.”

“That I know I would not do,” Lestat says quickly.

“Sometimes I wanted you to.” He gnaws on his bottom lip. “Force me, I mean.”

“Then it would not be—” He stops and inhales sharply, like it just connected for him. When he continues, his voice is rough as stone. “Louis.”

“Lestat,” Louis says. It’s so nice to say his name out loud in this apartment and almost forget to feel fear. God, to think he didn’t know why his body used to freeze when that other man said Lestat’s name until just a few months ago. Lestat, Lestat. That, he’s almost certain now, he really did not want.

“How did you imagine it, Louis?”

“Are you hard?”

“Yes,” Lestat answers, swift and unapologetic. It never took Lestat long to get going for him.

Louis doesn’t know why, and he doubts he ever will, but he asks Lestat, “can I see?”

“Do you want a picture or—”

“You can video call,” Louis says. He slithers down his bed until he is entirely under the comforter with only the top half of his head exposed.

When the FaceTime request comes through, Louis accepts it with shaking fingers.

The camera opens on Lestat’s eye. It takes him a moment to fix it, mumbling in French about complicated technology, and then the top half of his face peers into the camera like the phone is too close to his face.

“Hold the phone back a little so I can see your whole face,” Louis tells him. “Not that far, just—yeah.”

The angle isn’t perfect, and his jaw seems to take up half the screen, but Louis feels a sudden rush of need soar across his body and mind. Lestat sends him photos, and sometimes Louis sends Lestat a passage from one of his many new therapeutic books, but this is their first time video calling in real time. The last time Louis saw Lestat’s expressive face cycle through its many expressions was in New Orleans. He realizes Lestat hasn’t seen him at all since then; Louis is not one for “selfies.”

Lestat’s eyes flit over what shows of Louis’ face as if he only has minutes to see Louis’ forehead and eyebrows. Louis ignores the flutter in his chest.

“Louis,” Lestat says. It’s one thing to talk to him; it’s another thing to put that with his face. His voice sounds deeper. Louis almost forgot how the bass in his voice vibrates the very air around him, and how it seems to vibrate Louis with a shiver halfway across the world. “You look beautiful.”

Louis fights a smile, thankful Lestat can’t see his mouth, and rolls his eyes. “You can barely see me.”

“But I can see you,” Lestat says. “Not just in my fantasies.”

“Yeah?” Lestat nods. “Which one made you hard?”

Lestat’s eyes dilate. “Yours. Where I take you and fuck you.”

Louis didn’t expect that it would—It’s one thing to—He takes a deep breath. “Show me?”

Lestat lowers the phone until Louis sees that he’s lying on an all white bed with a plush white robe on. He’s been living in hotels these days, bouncing around cities to meet the musicians and producers from any song he likes in his Spotify recommended playlists. No one in Dubai yet, as far as Louis knows. He doesn’t ask. Lestat, who sat in perfect silence for years at a time in the past eight decades, doesn’t say.

Louis can’t lie. His mouth waters.

It’s so big. Not just big but large, something formidable, honest to God terrifying at first glance. Louis wonders how he ever took it, never mind how many times he took it dry.

After the terror, Louis feels with perfect clarity as all the blood in his body rushes to his dick. He doesn’t get hard all the way, not in ages, but this is still the hardest he can remember in recent memory. Lestat’s cock is full and demanding and his balls, fuck, Louis wants to get them in his mouth and suck, gentle first and then messy when Lestat gets close and then jerk his big cock off onto Louis’ face until he comes all over him, start new like that, baptism by come.

It’s been a long, long time since Louis experienced arousal like this.

Lestat wraps his hand around the root and rubs the underside of his cock with his thumb. Louis shivers.

“What are you thinking about?” Louis asks.

“What you told me,” Lestat says.

“Tell me,” Louis says.

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i hope everything gets easier for trans women

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you used to be able to play games on cartoonnetwork.com . . . now every company's website wants to give you spyware and spread corporate propaganda but I REMEMBER when you could play a BEN 10 adventure game in-browser without so much as giving away your e-mail. people's heads should be on pikes for this

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i have got to feminize ldpdl

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as someone who was/is in the mdzs fandom and is just now getting into iwtv, i know exactly what you're talking about in your previous posts tags and i wish there were more fics that had loustat with that specific dynamic bc whewwwww it would be perfect for them and paired with the religious guilt that louis feels it would be *chefs kiss* 🤓

IT WOULD BE SOOOOOOOOOOOOO GOOD OOMF!!!!!!! especially where they are now, like when they get back together. it owuld be so fucking good. ugh hold on i have to show you i fear. warnings for implied cnc below, more under the cut ///

“I used to dream that you would come get me,” Louis admits into the phone.

“You did?”

“Yeah. That I’d be sitting here, on the ugly sofa that he put here, and you woulda had enough and you’d storm in and take me with you.” He huffs out a laugh. “Ain’t that ridiculous?”

Lestat doesn’t laugh with him. Louis’ laughter peters out. “Even when you thought I was—”

“I don’t know,” says Louis. “I guess. It wasn’t… I didn’t want to go willingly, I couldn’t’ve, I, I hated you so much. But in this—dream, or nightmare, I couldn’t ever decide which one, I didn’t have to choose because you didn’t give me a choice. You just took me.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Lestat says softly.

“Yes you would,” Louis says. “You did it to our daughter.”

Lestat’s breath crumbles. Louis waits for him to cry or throw a fit but he doesn’t. He stays silent on the line and somehow doesn’t make it about himself at all. Who are you and what have you done to my husband, Louis thinks, except that’s not right either. Lestat used to be so good at listening to him, in the beginning. When they used to be friends. Louis supposes he forgot that a husband could be a friend.

“Sorry,” Louis eventually breaks the silence, right before correcting himself, “I mean, I’m not sorry. But that’s not the same thing. It didn’t serve anything to bring it up.”

Finally, Lestat speaks, “I am the one that is sorry.” A pause, like the next thing is harder for him to say. “You were right to bring it up.”

They listen to each other breathe. Regular breathing is the human habit hardest to drop. They need to, because it keeps their borrowed blood pumping most efficiently through their bodies, but a few breaths an hour could maintain well enough. Yet for both Louis and his much older maker, that is still too unnatural.

Lestat again. “What happened after I—took you?”

Louis picks at a loose thread in his bedspread. This was usually the part of the dream where Louis had a harder time pretending it was a nightmare. “Have you heard of Stockholm syndrome?”

“Non. Peut etre… is it a disease in Sweden?”

“Nah.” Louis’ mouth twists to avoid a smile. A disease in Sweden. “In 1973,” and he pushes himself to keep talking despite Lestat’s stilted breath, “this woman got kidnapped. And then when they found her, the cops and the court psychologist or someone, whoever, they ain’t like her response, or didn’t feel like she was fucked up enough for them, so they said she must’ve gone crazy and fallen in love with the man that kidnapped her. Something about the high emotions? It’s not, it’s not nothing serious. But when I learned about it the first time, I thought of the dreams I had where you came to get me.” He takes a deep breath. “I’d never last more than a day, in the dream, before I let you fuck me.”

“Oh, Louis,” Lestat murmurs.

“It would’ve been easier if I didn’t want it. If you forced me.”

“That I know I would not do,” Lestat says quickly.

“Sometimes I wanted you to.” He gnaws on his bottom lip. “Force me, I mean.”

“Then it would not be—” He stops and inhales sharply, like it just connected for him. When he continues, his voice is rough as stone. “Louis.”

“Lestat,” Louis says. It’s so nice to say his name out loud in this apartment and almost forget to feel fear. God, to think he didn’t know why his body used to freeze when that other man said Lestat’s name until just a few months ago. Lestat, Lestat. That, he’s almost certain now, he really did not want.

“How did you imagine it, Louis?”

“Are you hard?”

“Yes,” Lestat answers, swift and unapologetic. It never took Lestat long to get going for him.

Louis doesn’t know why, and he doubts he ever will, but he asks Lestat, “can I see?”

“Do you want a picture or—”

“You can video call,” Louis says. He slithers down his bed until he is entirely under the comforter with only the top half of his head exposed.

When the FaceTime request comes through, Louis accepts it with shaking fingers.

The camera opens on Lestat’s eye. It takes him a moment to fix it, mumbling in French about complicated technology, and then the top half of his face peers into the camera like the phone is too close to his face.

“Hold the phone back a little so I can see your whole face,” Louis tells him. “Not that far, just—yeah.”

The angle isn’t perfect, and his jaw seems to take up half the screen, but Louis feels a sudden rush of need soar across his body and mind. Lestat sends him photos, and sometimes Louis sends Lestat a passage from one of his many new therapeutic books, but this is their first time video calling in real time. The last time Louis saw Lestat’s expressive face cycle through its many expressions was in New Orleans. He realizes Lestat hasn’t seen him at all since then; Louis is not one for “selfies.”

Lestat’s eyes flit over what shows of Louis’ face as if he only has minutes to see Louis’ forehead and eyebrows. Louis ignores the flutter in his chest.

“Louis,” Lestat says. It’s one thing to talk to him; it’s another thing to put that with his face. His voice sounds deeper. Louis almost forgot how the bass in his voice vibrates the very air around him, and how it seems to vibrate Louis with a shiver halfway across the world. “You look beautiful.”

Louis fights a smile, thankful Lestat can’t see his mouth, and rolls his eyes. “You can barely see me.”

“But I can see you,” Lestat says. “Not just in my fantasies.”

“Yeah?” Lestat nods. “Which one made you hard?”

Lestat’s eyes dilate. “Yours. Where I take you and fuck you.”

Louis didn’t expect that it would—It’s one thing to—He takes a deep breath. “Show me?”

Lestat lowers the phone until Louis sees that he’s lying on an all white bed with a plush white robe on. He’s been living in hotels these days, bouncing around cities to meet the musicians and producers from any song he likes in his Spotify recommended playlists. No one in Dubai yet, as far as Louis knows. He doesn’t ask. Lestat, who sat in perfect silence for years at a time in the past eight decades, doesn’t say.

Louis can’t lie. His mouth waters.

It’s so big. Not just big but large, something formidable, honest to God terrifying at first glance. Louis wonders how he ever took it, never mind how many times he took it dry.

After the terror, Louis feels with perfect clarity as all the blood in his body rushes to his dick. He doesn’t get hard all the way, not in ages, but this is still the hardest he can remember in recent memory. Lestat’s cock is full and demanding and his balls, fuck, Louis wants to get them in his mouth and suck, gentle first and then messy when Lestat gets close and then jerk his big cock off onto Louis’ face until he comes all over him, start new like that, baptism by come.

It’s been a long, long time since Louis experienced arousal like this.

Lestat wraps his hand around the root and rubs the underside of his cock with his thumb. Louis shivers.

“What are you thinking about?” Louis asks.

“What you told me,” Lestat says.

“Tell me,” Louis says.

[youmustdotime]

claudia