past me: canon is sacred I must carefully fact-check everything to make sure it is canon-compliant
present me: canon is a box of scraps in a cave I’m gonna tear that shit apart throw away 90% of it and out of the good bits build something absolutely beautiful and amazing
Notes: SO I wrote this listening to the Bioshock soundtrack, so as an homage we’re naming the fic after this. And this is the song Antoine is playing! Anyway this is gross and I’m your local fandom nuisance, SARRY.
Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Vampire Chronicles – Anne Rice, Vampire Chronicles – All Media Types, Låt den rätte komma in | Let the Right One In (2008), Let the Old Dreams Die Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Armand/Daniel Molloy, Eli/Oskar (Låt den rätte komma in) Characters: Armand (Vampire Chronicles), Daniel Molloy, Eli (Låt den rätte komma in), Oskar (Låt den rätte komma in) Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood Drinking, Mind Games, Armand can’t decide if he likes these two or wants to kill them painfully, Spoilers for Let the Old Dreams Die, Mortal Daniel Summary:
Venice, 1982. The air above the Grand Canal grows electric as two breeds of blood drinkers meet. Rare enough as it is for any one of their kinds to meet, Elias and Armand must come to terms with the other’s existence and decide whether allowing it to continue won’t be a mistake.
Can what they have in common bridge the ocean between their immortal experiences? Will their treatment of mortal, and once mortal, companions lead to a clashing of principals that evokes Armand’s darkest creeds? Will Daniel ever get his fucking Atari back now that these brats want to play with it all the time?
“Just so, one loop over the other, then under and through…” he said, the laces of Claudia’s shoes forming into a bow under his nimble fingers. “And pull tight, ma chérie. Simple as that.” Without a moment’s hesitation, her little fingers tugged the laces back open and tried now, for the very first time, to tie them on her own.
They sat on the carpet, her body curled forward in concentration, whispering the directions again to herself as he smiled down above her. He reached out and tucked a stray golden curl behind her ear and she spared him not one bit of attention.
In the warm light of the lamps, I watched them from across the room. We had been together now for some four years, Lestat and I. In that time, I had rarely seen this expression on his face. When he seduced his victims it was with rapt attention, his tongue flicking at his fangs imperceptibly to them, so vulgar to me. He would slink towards me catlike after killing and it was similarly intoxicating. I would let him take what he wanted, and there was lust for him, his wandering hands and whispered praise, but was that love? It left me satisfied, guilty, confused.
This was new, he was patient with the child, embraced her not to consume but with compassion. Their laughter lent a sparkle to the space I had shared with him alone. Together they brought things out of me I assumed I did not have.
“I did it!” said Claudia, her face upturned to him brightly. “Bravo!” he applauded with polite clapping as if at an opera. She shifted position, undid her bow and busied herself with tying it again.
It was in that moment that he glanced at me, his smile still tender and gentle, I felt my heart trip and stop for an instant. He waved me over and I came, entranced. He gestured for my foot. “Oh no, it looks as if,” in one fluid motion he hooked a finger in and opened my shoelaces. “Papa Noir’s laces need tying, whatever shall we-”
“Me,” said Claudia, starting already for the laces. “I’ll fix them for you.” I felt Lestat’s hand on my ankle, his nail lightly stroking my skin, then move up, squeezing my calf as we watched her together. That was the moment I fell in love with him.
I, uh. Haven’t posted any drabble offers or memes for probably about a year, so I’ve no idea what challenge you’re referring to. I’m sorry, but I hope that you like this little bit anyway!
Louis always took longer than Armand did to wake. Armand could have used that time, spent it, but for what? What purpose, when the being by whom he marked his place in the world still lay dead? Instead he would lie nearby, almost immobile himself, and observe. Little things intrigued him, at first. The fan of jet lashes across a sheened cheek, the shadow cast wavering with the gas-lamp’s flame. The warm light and that movement all combining to make Louis look something other than a corpse. In Paris, he’d believed so dreadfully that Louis was not dead. By weeks and months, he began to learn the signs, and the lack thereof. To differentiate a twitch of eyelid from a wayward air current, a move to wakefulness from wishful imagining. And then he began to learn more. A fly’s weight was not enough to disturb the torpor their kind remained in during their personal day-lengths. An insect could buzz about Louis’s ear or crawl over his skin, tolerated and unnoticed. Insignificant. The curling hair was deader than dead, soft and smooth between Armand’s fingers, utterly unbothered when he stroked it or twisted it into fine plaits to puzzle his love upon waking. The cold flesh… Cold, cold, soft cheeks and chest and lips he could touch for only a moment. Their kind could defend themselves, if need be. A deep, reptilian thread of self-preservation ran through their back brains, keeping them alive even when they seemed empty and lost to all, and it was… Violent. Fascinating. When Louis’ claws slashed Armand’s wrists, when his white hands crushed his throat, when his lovely ivory fangs rent Armand’s trespassing mouth, it all felt like hope.
Other, More Considerate People: I like to keep my story as close to canon and ship-free as possible so everyone can enjoy it. 🙂
My Self-Indulgent Ass: ‘Sup, assholes, here’re all my implausible OTPs, their future children, a bunch of OCs that play prominent roles, and all my sexuality headcanons are in effect.
“To understand this fic you’ll need to refer to page 15, side A of my Extensive headcanon timeline of the entire history of this character and everyone he ever met, the contents of which are helpfully provided absolutely nowhere.”
“behold as I construct the precarious scaffolding of this story from discarded tumblr shitposts, my id, a dream I had once, poorly concealed psychological projection, the abstract concept of the way it feels to look out at the sea, and a bunch of dumb jokes I couldn’t stop cackling to myself about. oh, but it’s fanfiction.“
This is only one side of the phenomenon: you have antis demanding that fanon content educate people, then that adults in fandoms take care and protect children, and what does it all tell you?
These teenagers are being left alone on the internet and are projecting the parenting they’re either not receiving or are not receiving as they need on perfect strangers on the web. They legit believe that they can make the internet space they like safe by demanding that the adults in it become their surrogate parents.
Sorry, random teenager on the internet, I’m not your parent, I’m not your teacher, and nobody owes you anything. Fandom is not a safe space. Internet is not a safe space.
It’s okay to have fictional characters do problematic stuff. Really, it is. Fictional characters are there to tell a story; not to be perfect paragons of virtue.
“Yeah!” some people will say. “It’s fine as long as you show that it’s problematic!”
And I’ll say: No. You don’t need to always do that either. We can’t expect writers to point out every moral misstep a character makes.
It’s okay to have characters do something problematic, and it’s okay to assume that the readers can see why it’s problematic on their own.
The number of notes on this that say “No, you have to moralize, because readers are stupid!” is… disheartening. So what? We have to treat everyone like toddlers just in case someone happens to get the wrong idea about some fiction? If random fanfic (or any other semi-anonymous online content, for that matter) is a major determiner in someone’s life, they already have bigger problems than any fic could affect.
How about this: if someone pays me to write, they’ll get a say in what I write. As long as I’m writing for my own pleasure for free, I will write what I want.
Another suggestion: if you need moral guidance, stop reading fan fiction and turn to victorian children’s literature! Very helpful in encouraging good morals in the young!
I-want-my-IWTV 