I OWN THE NIGHT . indp. and highly personal portrayal of AMC's the vampire LOUIS DE POINTE DU LAC . from the series IWTV﹕ almost if not ENTIRELY DIVERGENT from TVL. full lit ﹠ descriptive. w/ tendency to match length. [ MDNI. ]
muse is GAY transmasculine using [ HE ﹠ HIM ] + secondarily SHE. disrespect towards muse will NOT BE TOLERATED. i block FREELY. admin is BLACK using [ HE ﹠ IT ] .
ABOUT . RULES . DNI . OPENS . SOLOS . EXCLUSIVES .
A STUDY IN﹕ generational trauma ﹠ childhood abuse + perpetuation of The Cycle, racism, race ﹠ gender, domestic violence, queerness, religion ﹠ sex through the ages + its impact upon ones mental health ﹠ self perception, grief, eternal melancholy and the desperation that comes of it. suicidal ideation ﹠ subsequent attempts.
currently working on responses both in DMs and with responses. having a bit of a moment. personal family matters. I'll likely be editing more than socializing.
"...I do not need protection. I can take care of myself." Unprompted.
DISBELIEF SHINES WITHIN CONCEALED, EMERALD HUES as he stares the boy down.
❝ Who's supposed to be lookin' after you, huh ? ❞ Though the answer seems plain, for who in their right mind would allow their child to go wandering out in the streets at this time of night without supervision if not dead or presumably neglectful? A hand draws away his tailcoat, head turning to and fro in search of anyone who he may call Mother or Father. Instead, he finds himself sighing deeply, massaging his jaw.
❝ It ain't that I doubt that, young man, its only that I believe you shouldn't have to. ❞
KNUCKLES RAP GINGERLY AGAINST VARNISHED OAK, soon followed by the shrill groan of a door long past its prime in these hollowed halls of learning. In too comes a head of dark, neat curls in search of his superior. ❝ Professor Molloy, sir? ❞ The manila folder in his hands is brought to the forefront, as prim and proper as the clothing the younger man dons. Regretfully so, though not for very long, it covers the first two buttons undone to reveal a tightly-fitted cremé undershirt that left little to the imagination. Strikingly green eyes come into view in tandem with a gaze that belied a distant hopefulness as he draws nearer.
❝ M’sorry, ❞ The intruding student glances backwards towards the door as though reconsidering the fact that it was - more often than not - locked tight, ❝ I know it’s not your office hours , but I just.. don’t think I understand this comment you made? ❞ The paper is given, then. Thin, graceful fingers shifting though the small library confined to beige card stock soon outstretching towards him with a near bashful expectancy. He truly could not believe he was doing this. Posing as Justin Francois, a journalism major, simply because he had an encounter far too close for comfort.
❝ The impatient over achiever is few and far between, are they not? You'd play the part well, Louis. ❞
Though he heavily doubts that the Professor would deny him in these tight ass jeans, as the Vampire Armand himself had proclaimed so academically, it felt wrong. Louis Du Pointe Du Lac's moral compass was not nonexistent, merely... heavily skewed. Occasionally neglected, a more fitting descriptor. He just knew he didn't prefer to be as hands on as his husband had been with such ardent tenacity. It had been years since, and a light glamor to confuse the mortal mind had been a near juvenile endeavor for a vampire of the man's caliber, but that did not remove the possibility of being known so intimately by another that it transcends the all too human habit of denying the mind's own intuition.
As a matter of fact, so long as it did not pertain to a willfully dismissed revelation of the self, Daniel actively fought against such inclinations. So, against his reserved disposition, he bends just so over the desk in a manner that can be mistaken for mere coincidence as apposed to tactless guile.
❝ You said my language was too ' flowery ' ? Aren’t I supposed to be sellin’ this piece? ❞
INK-STAINED FINGERS RUB SOOTHINGLY AT ACHING TEMPLE, straining eyes fixated upon the screen of his work computer that flickered with the grades of his students. Same eyes are peeled away from the display upon the sudden rapping against the door, glasses that had since slipped down hooked nose now pushed back into place. It was not uncommon for students to drop in past Daniel’s office hours, certainly not uncommon for those who were seeking extra credit or endless knowledge from their Professor.
And, on the rare occasion, more than that.
❝ Mister Francois, ❞ Tone lackluster, signifying his initial displeasure at being interrupted. Though if he were honest with himself, he had stopped giving a shit about inputting the grade averages of his students an hour before then. Half of these knuckleheads wouldn’t make it as journalists. Not many gave enough of a shit to tell stories as they ought to be told, not many gave a damn about what they wrote and published and the public scrutiny that will come with it. No, these guppies would get eaten alive. Or maim each other.
‘ Justin ’ was amongst the few who showed promise in the Professor’s most blunt opinion.
Gray—green gaze paused a beat too long at the opening of the seemingly younger man’s shirt, chest exposed and cremé undershirt flattering against thin frame. A sharp intake of air as Daniel plucked the paper from his well-manicured hand. A raise of brow. An adjustment of optical frames. He skimmed over it, reaffirming within his mind the notes he had left on the margins. Leaning back in his desk chair just as his pupil leaned forward against mahogany wood, he’s admiring the view. ❝ Yeah, selling it. Not over-saturating it with purple prose. ❞
❝ You started off strong, told you as much. But halfway through, it’s like you started to forget that you were telling another’s story. People love attention to detail, but your readers are going to lose interest after an adjective is given for the umpteenth time. ❞ Eye contact reestablished, Daniel tapped the paper with his ballpoint pen. ❝ It’s beginning to sound like a forlorn girl wrote this hit piece. ❞
A sudden twinge of discomfort in otherwise apathetic gaze, a flicker of recognition though it could not definitively be labeled as such. Flashes of memory that intuitively felt as if Mister Francois was somebody he once knew. The drug-fueled haze of the seventies and eighties, questions that will remain unanswered. A feeling Daniel had gotten with every conversation with the seemingly younger man. Something washed over him then, another indiscernible feeling of which he hardly noticed.
He is no one you believe to have known. Dismiss it.
LIPS STRAIN INTO A EXASPERATED, YET FOND SMILE ... his stare carefully devoid of a certain familiarity beyond the classroom, letting his gaze drift into something heavy-lidded with an thoughtfulness reflective of the character set apart from himself. Though Justin was his own conceptualization brought to life, the work itself was most certainly his own. A C minus? Really? His defensiveness drapes itself behind a thick veil of disappointment. Unfortunately for Professor Molloy, however, he knows just what to say to find his last nerve and begin to shuffle ball change all over it.
❝ Justin. ❞ Full lips enunciate the name with the correct, nasally, inflection befitting of a French exchange student. Two Parents, both living, respectable positions and a reasonable enough income to accommodate for half his tuition. The rest of it afforded to Scholarships reserved for diversity admissions. ❝ Justin Francois. ❞ The last name he corrects as well, eyeing his Professor with not-quite-judgement. More so, piteous. As though he couldn't possibly expect an American to pronounce his name properly. His head cocks, turning the paper towards himself to gloss over a note scribbled in the margins. For him, he reads it aloud.
❝ Too much flowery language here. Are you writing a report on the recent theft at the Louvre, or a middle aged ' fangirl ' romanticizing a ' Bond-esque caper ' from a bunch of amateurs who left behind enough evidence to fill their own section in the Denon Wing? ❞ A glance upwards to he, maintaining eye contact with that droopy gaze of his as he recites the last note from memory. ❝ Please ensure your wet dreams stay in your dreams, not in the work you submit to me. Perhaps, creative writing is more your bag? ❞
He inhales deeply, cranium righting itself as his spine too realigns into the posture befitting of the dance major that Justin was. ❝ Before you came here, Professor Molloy, I've been maintaining a 5.0 GPA. Not just for the sake of my Parents, but for my craft. This class is mandatory. Too late into the year to drop it, and if I'm being honest with you? ❞ Arms fold, lean musculature straining against brown velvet, tongue peaking out to draw along the swell of his lower lip - leaving it glistening. ❝ I like you. You take yourself seriously. ❞ ' Maybe too seriously, ' says the fleeting glance towards the textured, squared ceiling indented with carvings that date it no earlier than the 1920's. A glance that shows of the smooth, brown column of his neck. Unmarked. The collar of his shirt brushing against the cocoa butter scented flesh. ❝ You take your work seriously. ❞ He pauses, green-hues searching for something in Daniel's phlegmatic gaze.
He comes to the conclusion that Armand was right about these damn jeans..
❝ And I'm hoping.. that you take me seriously. So if there's anything, and I mean anything, I can do to make you reconsider? I'll do it. ❞
SEAFOAM GREEN HUES NARROW IN RESPONSE … and all Daniel could think in that moment was how much of a pretentious shit do you have to be? The audacity, the balls on this kid to correct him on something that he was keenly aware he was pronouncing correctly. ❝ Yeah, I don’t believe that you’ve considered that the way I’m pronouncing it is also correct. It's called regional dialect. ❞ A visible clench of his jaw, the look in the younger man's eyes only further stoking the fire within Daniel's own.
Yet another reminder of why I won't be returning to Paris anytime soon. Let alone France.
A smug smirk plastered itself across the Professor's visage as Justin read the notes aloud, exhausted and otherwise disinterested expression brightening in amusement. ❝ I mean, I really do think it'd be your bag, Justin. Has anyone told you that you have such a way with words? ❞ Sarcasm laced with hints of truth in what he was saying, mouth returning to its usual position of a frown as the exchange student spoke. Something in the way he did had made Daniel lean forward in his desk chair, elbows now rested against mahogany and hands folded and head tilted, gaze scrutinizing. Dark.
Hungry.
He knew right away what kind of game the young man was playing. A considerably dangerous game for the both of them for entirely different reasons, but more so for the Professor with a penchant for such. On the rare occasion, with the ever willing student. Nose catching scent of cocoa butter along with something more woodsy, a hint of tobacco underneath. Familiar twinge in his chest once more and he is bringing a hand to rub the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the scar he bore nearing on twenty years since he received it.
Once again disregarded, dark eyes refocus on Justin.
❝ Yeah? ❞ A lick of his lips as he made his decision right then and there, standing from his chair, grabbing the wool blazer from behind it, slipping it on. ❝ Care to join me on a drive then, Mister Francois? We can discuss what you can do for me to reconsider on the way. ❞
HIS AMUSEMENT IS NOT WELL CONTAINED, plain in the crinkle at the corner of his eyes and the slight incline at the corner of his lips. The success, while entertaining in the moment, would not befit him in the long run. No, certainly not. He could see it in the Professor's eyes. The hunger to feast upon something willing, yet so distinctly naive. His punishment would not be solely in the form of demeaning verbiage, but of a petit mort.
One, muses he, of his innocence. Of his confidence. Of sense of security irreparably shattered by what sweet suffering this world has to offer. His superior, is facilitator, his protector and prosecutor all in one. The power which Daniel held over him could make his future prospects bountiful and full of academical and economical achievements or ruin him in mind, body, and spirit.
But the man would not take him educationally this day.
He pretends the gesture escaped his notice. It had not.
The danger would never have lied solely in the violation of those vital, preventative regulations put in place to prevent plays such as this one from taking place. The real danger was the man in front of him. Professors had been fired for less. Recently, the women's track and field coach had been fired for bringing his female players into bars with him. Poor man hadn't even gotten the chance to get laid then before he got himself that pink slip. Ever still, in Justin's narrow, freshly twenty-one year old mind, his Professor would not hurt him. It simply wasn't something a man of his caliber would do.
His wife was of no consequence. As a matter of fact, there were rumors of a divorce on the horizon. Young Justin would take refuge in the assumption that he would not be destroying a marriage, for you could do no further damage to an already sinking ship. And if the Professor holds no fondness for him, perhaps the fondness he holds for his job will be enough. There was no harm in this, right﹖ He lets the musings of his character was over his expression. Apprehension was a downward glare at that damning C-, letting the red ink sear itself into his retinas, traveling somewhere far away. Professor Molloy would never hurt him.
Then, he returns with a slight start when chair rolls back into its place beneath the desk, curiously missing the man who once sat in it.
❝ Juh-STEEN. ❞ He reiterates once more phonetically, both in denouncement of the all too formal usage of his last name and to piss the man off further. After all, it was what little high ground he still possessed over him. ❝ I want to tell the truths of our world as it is, not stories with no basis in reality. And I want to do it in a way that feels lived in. Humans are born with empathy, but at some point it goes with age. With hardship. ❞
It's loaded. The grab that he makes for the hard copy of his paper. Its slow, almost mechanically stowed away in the folder he pulls from his satchel and tucked back in its place as he follows. ❝ Every man for himself, as you Americans say. ❞
Louis finds himself seduced by his own tale.
Taken with it, as he was with the greying curls at Professor Molloy's temple. He would feel them beneath his fingers soon. If Daniel allows him that chance. He's not entirely sure why he deviates from the script that he had been given, but he does. ❝ My boyfriend will be in the North Quad with his troop. ❞ It's blurted clumsily, utterly tactless and severely lacking in Justin's long established self assured nature. He winces.
❝ That was good. Natural. Necessary. Please, continue. ❞
❝ This still doesn't feel right. ❞
❝ Please. Continue.. ❞
His trepidation is no longer a reenactment. ❝ Can we go out the back way﹖ ❞
I like show danlou tense reunion fifty years later every word they speak to each other and off-hand reference they make loaded with their complicated history "you didnt mention me in your memoir" "we met at a gay bar didnt we, Daniel?" two people who know each other a long time ago and trying again one last time and "revisiting the project boyish youth prevented us from finishing" etc like its a good dynamic
however I do miss the UST so thick you could cut it with a knife of the danlou interview in the book still perhaps unmatched how we periodically interrupted the narrative of Louis talking about how much he dislikes Lestat to cut to modern day Danny drooling over him while trembling and staring at his lips + Louis 100% going out of his WAY to be coy and seductive and play with him LIGHTING HIS CIGARETTE and laughing and smiling like just suck each other already omfgg. And at the Louis does at the end THANK GOD they fuck after an entire novel of foreplay like it was crazy it was somehow even gayer than the show where they met at a literal gay bar. But most importantly they're not normal about each other in any universe
Truthfully so, things had always felt uncertain. Loose ends presumably tidied, a swift departure from a city he found himself so certain would be his last. With her at his side. Something within coils - a hand grasping upwards toward something proffered. Something that belongs to he, yet remains dangled before him. Tantalizingly so, just beyond his reach. And then, it disappears.
The mind may not recall, but the body covets.
A taste he does not recall sampling sours upon his soft pallet. This time, it is he himself who dismisses it entirely. ❝ More, ❞ full brims curl before relaxing into something of a gentle apparition, ❝ always more. ❞ Gaze defers to the touch Louis had long grown ever so fond of. The way Armand, in all his trepidatious self assurance, grasped back at him as though he were uncertain the affection was his to partake. It was reserved for no other.
Armand needs him. He should very much like to believe that, without room for neither doubt nor self pity. Perhaps, that is what Louis find himself in need of. To be needed. She had needed him. And he had failed her. When Louis pries his gaze from softness undeserving, it is with shame. Not with appraisal of the apartment as asked. His eyes are unseeing, his mind working a moment too late - latching upon Armand's displeasure laced intonation. Was it directed at him ?
No. No, something to do with the penthouse. His voice comes aerated, as distant as his mind. ❝ It's ours. ❞ That anger would pull him aloft. Someone still needs him. His someone. Unintentionally, his intonation borders upon dismissiveness.
❝ That's all that matters, isn't it ? ❞ Just as the tide had taken him back to shore, soaked to the bone and clinging to his piece of driftwood, so to did the mindlessness of habit guide him to draw his thumb along a high cheekbone in a soothing brush of skin on skin before he parts entirely to waltz around the perimeter of the main room in all its bareness. It was something more than his time would have allowed. Almost unimaginable that he should have been permitted to own anything so grandiose as a multi-million dollar penthouse. His presence held a meaning in this world beyond the disadvantages posed by the shade of his skin. He was something significant. A black entrepreneur.
Something more than what he has lost.
❝ We have all the time in the world to pretty it up. Nevermind that I never could have dreamed of having somethin' like this. ❞ A finger extends towards an empty, slate wall just above where their dining table would reside. ❝ I'm thinkin' a Rembrandt? ❞
No answer is enough of an answer to Armand. And perhaps, he wouldn’t even need to get an answer, as Louis’ mind was not hard to read. Certainly, he is getting better at hiding what he wanted to hide, but that doesn’t mean that Armand is unable to pry it out if he wanted to. But does he want it? Do you want to hurt yourself deliberately when you can just wrap your entire existence up in a comfortable cloud of lies?
Can Dubai become a band-aid for a marriage that is built on ruins? Deep down inside, Armand knows that he is pulling them both down the abyss of darkness, but his world revolves around Louis. No matter how often he looked after Daniel, no matter how torn his heart sometimes feels, what will his life be without his companion?`Dull. Lonely. No, Armand couldn’t go through the loneliness one more time.
A soft hum falls from his lips. A new continent. A new beginning. And in Dubai they both might be able to fit in better. Who knows. ❝You are right.❞ Armand answers after letting out a soft sigh. Their interior will follow within the next few days, and Louis has a point. They are here now; it is their new home. And maybe those soft touches are ultimately the reason for an immediate calming of the storm that was called Armand’s overthinking habits.
❝I might’ve worried too much. You seemed very occupied by your thoughts lately, my love. I was worried you might’ve changed your mind about Dubai.❞ His hand traces over Louis’ arm in a soothing manner. But not to calm his companion, but to calm himself. Then, Armand’s gaze follows the finger to the empty spot on the wall right where their dining table would reside. ❝Yes, it could be nice. Are you thinking about The Storm on the Sea of Galilee?❞ Considering that it was a stolen Rembrandt to the general public, they had to keep it somewhere in their home. ❝It is a high risk to keep it stored.❞
Armand picks up the tablet he placed on the coffee table they already have in their home. He unlocks the screen and approaches Louis again. ❝Do you think we should hire Rashid?❞ Armand shows Louis the resumée he received as an email attachment. ❝I think we could need an assistant here. Someone we can trust. I was thinking about inviting him to have a personal talk.❞
Another thing that Louis should like to believe, that file tucked neatly behind memories of his childhood home that bore a dusty, old attic adorned in dust bunnies and spiderwebs that served as a iron clad chamber more than an archive of the De Pointe Du Lac family history, was that his mind was still his own. He, accustomed to possessing so very little as a poor, colored boy in Nola that he did not earn through the self flagellation of his own pride and person - performing respectability politics for the rich white men that kept him shackled in what they deemed to be his place in the world they defiled and plundered into submission just as they had in order to give birth to this pejorative demarcation in the first place - had only his mind to act as a barrier between the Louis De Pointe Du Lac he presented to the world and the boy who carried the weight of an entire generation of Du Lac's on his back.
His mind, as it so happened, proved to be as unreliable as the men that he had pandered to whilst they used his refined intellect and resilient nature to their benefit. Though they could no longer lash him with the cat of nine before a mob that delighted in the sanguine spray of his mongrel blood as it dotted their faces like sun kissed skin, stippled with freckles adorning their high, rosy cheeks strained by their bright smiles as they partook in him.
The men of their line suffered an affliction of the mind. As time ate away at their bodies and what little time remains for them still on this Earth, some at an age no man should have his mind betray him as swift as the deafening ' CLOMP ' of the hangman's boots upon the rotted boards of the gallows, their minds would abandon them like the hope fleeing a condemned man's eyes as the noose cast shadow over their paling visages.
But who was he now if not the devil his mother had proclaimed him to be?
Was he now no different than the hangman whose boots were paid for in the service of satiety ? His price, too, paid for in blood? Was he not the apex predator, prowling after his quarry the very moment the sun's grace disappears below the horizon? Armand's words - his very own grace, his salvation, always only half listened to - saves him from drowning in that dark, greedy pit that has taken root in his chest and laid down its foundations. ' Squatters rights ', he muses ruefully.
❝ As I said, mon cher, the very last thing I would dream of is changin' my mind about is you. ❞ His emerald gaze, cast only slightly upwards to meet the soldering embers of his companion's, reassures him that his warmth was appreciated. The subtle request to pry into ❝ You and our dream. I'm a man of my word. So, I'll always be there to play my part in its becoming. ❞
He wonders if, even under perpetual perdition of the dark gift, his mind remains his own. And now, he thinks of the pale, slate wall that was - to put it bluntly - sorely in need of a befitting adornment. ❝ I was thinkin'... The Abduction of Europa? ❞ As to why, he could not put his finger on it. But it lingers. He permits it to linger as the comfort of Armand's watchful eye and gentle affections lingers upon him.
Louis wears not a shroud, but a veil of pure white. He smiles.
Then, he concedes. ❝ But you're right, ❞ a hand securely rounds his lover's waist to draw him closer in a casual display of possessiveness, ❝ Art is made to be seen. If not by its maker, by those willin' to appreciate the significance of every practiced stroke. ❞ Though he gazes at the screen, eyes jumping to and fro with the fervor of a quick study, he does not touch it. Lets what is Armand's remain just that.
❝ Trust is a strong word. He's proven himself personable, reliable, surprisingly accommodating. After all, he is your man. If you trust him? So do I. ❞ His adoration is pressed to a strong jawline in an open mouthed kiss. Where would he be without Armand? Lost, still waiting to be found? Begging to be seen by somebody, anybody who would have him? Armand takes care of so much. It strains on his body, his mind, most importantly his patience. It is his appreciation, then, that migrates downward to a sensitive vein upon his slender neck where verbiage meets the flesh.
More spots are reserved for ocs, side characters ﹠ befitting crossovers. PLEASE NOTE﹕ exclusive is more so in reference to willingness to ship with doubles. I don't wish for anyone to feel traded for another ﹠ or less revered by me. ( Excessive amounts of doubles can also become overwhelming, I tend to allow two. )
And of course, please feel free to leave a like on this post if you wish to fill one of these spots !
⟡ Indie, semi-selective RP blog for AMC's Interview With the Vampire and Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. Blend of book and show canon. Mun is 21+. Sired by Bug. ⟡
Dramatis Personae
(Actual bios coming soon!
Click on their names to see their full bios).
⟡ Armand: the Director, a few people in one.
⟡ Alice Molloy: the ex wife of two-time Pulitzer prize winning journalist Daniel Molloy
⟡ Aurelien: book-adjacent Armand, set in an AU where both exist.
⟡ Everett: Regency historian and vampire, turned in the 1920s... even if he says he's a century older.
⟡ Denis: a show-based take on Armand's blood doll from the Interview With the Vampire novel.
The Great Laws
⟡ Thou shalt be 18+. The show is mature in content, and so is the blog! While I don't intend to write anything explicit, it will come up just by virtue of Armand's backstory. If you don't have an age listed, I won't follow back.
⟡ This blog is semi-selective. I'm not mutuals only, and I am, generally speaking, fairly likely to follow back. Though I'm also a university student, and run a Hazbin multimuse @oilpaintedstxrs, so sometimes I may be less active.
⟡ Multiverse & Multiship. Canonically, Armand has feelings for a variety of the characters, and that's true here. There might be infidelity as part of a plot, or poly ships in theme with the books, though none of that will ever be in the same continuity.
⟡ Crossover, OC, and duplicate friendly. It helps if I know the fandom, though that is not a necessity. Unless we talk first, I won't do pre-established relationships with OCs, though I love them dearly. As for duplicates, I love getting to see everyone else's take on the characters!
⟡ This blog is semi-season 3 compliant. While I'm not wholly abandoning season 3 for my portrayal, I do lean much heavier on the book than the show, i.e my standard headcanon is that Daniel and Armand had a prior relationship that ended several decades prior.
A BRIGHT YOUNG REPORTER WITH A POINT OF VIEW. an independent & personal portrayal of DANIEL MOLLOY from AMC's interview with the vampire. pulling inspiration from both series and books. almost DIVERGENT from TVL series, will only be pulling bits of info for portrayal's sake. most events from TVL will NOT be acknowledged. lit & descriptive, era flexible. MDNI.
muse is BISEXUAL transmasc using [ HE / HIM . ] any disrespect towards muse or admin will earn a hard block. admin uses any pronouns.
DISCLAIMER: themes of body horror, gore, violence, domestic violence and neglect, death, sex, queerness, internalized transphobia, religion, mature language, & mental health will be displayed on this blog.
♔ # 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 — 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 , selective / indie roleplay blog for 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝚁𝙰𝚃 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙴 from 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 / 𝐓𝐕𝐂 , book & show portrayal , (taking from the book more when it comes to S3), 𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝙽𝙾𝚅𝙰 ( 𝐬𝐡𝐞 / 𝐡𝐞𝐫 , 𝐄𝐒𝐓 , 𝟑𝟎 ,⚢ ) , newish to Tumblr rp , 18 years of rp exp in general. est july 2025. 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄. 21+
* ❤︎ single ship — reserved exclusively for 𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙸𝚂 ♡ @ofthinegrief
⟢ 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋. I do my best to bring the character(s) I love to life, I tend to stick to canon as much as I possibly can, with personal opinions and headcanons added in. That being said, I will be sticking to the portrayal of Lestat that SAM REID brings to life in the AMC series, INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE. There will be heavy references to the second and third book in the TVC series, THE VAMPIRE LESTAT, and THE QUEEN OF THE DAMNED within my writings. I will also add in THE TALE OF THE BODY THIEF upon request but I tend to leave that separate till we see this happen in the show.
⟢ 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓! I portray every era of Lestat's life and tend to keep it all in a consecutive order. Every era will have a different type of Lestat that he projects to the public. For example, Paris Lestat is ENTIRELY different than NOLA Lestat and rockstar Lestat. When sending prompts / starters you can either specify which Lestat era you'd like to interact with, or you can leave that up to me and I will surprise you.
𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓: All graphics and edits I post on this account are made by me.
♡ ( Nova is currently reading - The Vampire Armand )
(last update: May 2026)
⟢ 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎. Hi everyone! I'm Nova, this is my very first time in tumblr roleplay so go easy on me! I started roleplay on Myspace ages ago and moved to Instagram rp when the platform was born in 2010 and I have kinda been there ever since. I also am VERY active on discord for roleplay! I have been writing Lestat for a year and some odd months now and I have read 4 of the TVC books! I found myself having endless muse when it comes to Lestat so with the lack of IWTV rpers on Instagram, I decided to make the jump to tumblr rp with my beloved Louis in high hopes to get far more interactions and developments. I super look forward to writing with so many of you and potentially creating friendships along the way as well! ♡
