a magnificent evil

They say he sold his soul to the devil

[divineviclinist]

𝐹𝑜𝓇𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝑀𝑒 𝐹𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝐼 𝐻𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝒹…

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı. an independent & selective rendition of The Divine Violinist, Nicolas de Lenfent from Anne Rice's The Vampire Chronicles. AMC based with heavy inspiration from the books. --- est.   2025. 25+. Potentially triggering content present. Minors DNI. - ©

[ Eternally Bound ]

☀️ 𝕾𝖚𝖓 & 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓 🌑: @evilanew & @solilacquist

Companions (affil.): 🎻- Lestat de Lioncourt (@sanguisprince) 🎻- Gabrielle de Lioncourt (@musecraft) 🎻- Armand (@serafinomostro) 🎻- Marius & Viktor (@threnodique) 🎻- Daniel Molloy (@molloyed)

[ The Great Laws ]

🎻 Basic RP etiquette is appreciated. Basic human etiquette is required. Don't be a dick etc etc

🎻I write Nicki as a queer man of colour. My focus is on Nicki in all his virtues and foibles. He's a complex man, and I intend to treat him as such.

🎻 I have a Discord on request. I adore talking about our blorbo's and require writing partners who match my enthusiasm. This doesn't mean I expect insta-replies (answer at your own pace). However, I am exclusively interested in forming long-term partnerships.

🎻Dead Dove Content present. That's it. That's you're warning. I don't tag triggers. Super NSFW stuff isn't present on this blog (generally), but as a courtesy to those who sneak Tumblr while they work I will tag saucy things as #nsft

🎻I lean toward third person, present tense. I write when I'm able. My length varies from one-liner to novella. However, my sweet spot for optimal turnaround time is 2-3 paragraphs.

🎻Main verse, post-canon, my main verse for Nicolas is his resurrection au. This verse takes place from the 1970's to present and is workable in post-QOTD timelines as well. @evilanew (Lestat) & @solilacquist (Louis) are my exclusives for this verse but it is otherwise open for any and all mutuals.

🎻Mains & Affiliates is something I adore. For me, it's the key to world building & collaboration. While I am not currently practicing exclusivity with canon iwtv muses I don't generally look for more than 1-2 of the same muse unless I am certain the dynamic will be unique from what I already have. My affiliates will receive most of my time/attention. If we have written/plotted extensively & this is something you are interested in please reach you ❤️

[ Archives ]

carrd.⋆𝄞⋆ headcanons ⋆𝄞⋆ pinterest. ⋆𝄞⋆ memes. ⋆𝄞⋆ promo.

[chicalepidoptera]

I loved you first

[evilanew]

ㅤㅤ(  ‘ un peu près de mon oreille ’  )  “ I thought you liked… ”  (  ‘ je peux seulement comprendre quand tu t’approches ’  )  There’s a delayed oscillation of the timbre of slurred words, vision a little dimmed on account of the embedded swelling… although by his estimation, this may possibly be how mortals generally viewed the world, over two centuries of detachment from that state of humanity giving the blond pause in reconsideration. Lestat stills as the night air of Paris intermittently pulses and dissipates from recollection, an echo of themselves standing together in the cobbled rue, shaking off the memory which had seamlessly stitched itself into sequence as an odd form of comfort before a brooding storm - the hazy glow of lamplight, destitution present in the periphery of alleyways out of immediate view, a boulangerie preparing batches of bread for the following morning, a clumped trail of horse manure left in the wake of carriages. But none of it mattered, fixed iridescent gaze having trailed over the man whose cunning grin teetered upon his lips, droplets of wine clinging to his breath as the vampire tempted fate by merely remaining in his company, adoration and happiness to be punished—

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ Pas grave. It does not matter. ”  The Maker shakes it off with a disconcerted smile that falters around the edges, frame shrinking away to bring the back of his head to tentatively rest against limp reddened pillows, blotchy stains and a crack upon the ceiling indicating that there has been a leak of some sort in recent days, every inch of the paltry space loudly proclaiming its loyalty to poverty chic. There’s a cessation in the squeaking, a fair brow raising in Nicki’s direction as if proving a point, a faint upward curl of the lip highlighting a means of contempt with the mere suggestion.  “ I can smell the room and their fucking from here. I do not know which is worse. I cannot stomach setting foot in it in this state, putain de merde. ”  That latter proclamation takes him aback as he hears himself, features pensive in its underlying meaning, a palm resting against his stomach as the tip of the index fingernail toys with the edges of a scarcely healing wound - on another night, the thought of draining the couple in the midst of heated passion would have abundant appeal, but perhaps there had been a reason for such disinclination—  An inwardly aimed sway of the temples.

ㅤㅤLestat doesn’t care to reflect or be alone with his thoughts, a  means of care  distraction required hence contacting the fledgling in the first instance, the attempts of healing his wounds without partaking in the other’s blood having proved challenging despite them having an understanding, Nicki’s underlying long term fears respected no matter how deflating. The blond simply appreciated him taking the time to come  (  …insérer une blague grivoise  ),  damp hair engulfed by the scent of cheap shampoo where rivulets of crimson had swirled down the shower drain, towels tossed on the dull tiled floor reminiscent of the cleanup of a crime scene.  “ But just because I am not enjoying myself, that does not mean others cannot. In fact, I encourage it. ”  The irregular rhythm of the springs start up again with the discordant thudding of the headboard, a pinch sharply forming at the elder’s brow, eating his own words as features rearrange in acrimony. Glancing at the other, the hand raises for knuckles to lightly rap below Nicki’s shoulder, a few taps culminating with the gesture poised against skin, gently caressing the spot as a subtle means of wordlessly saying thank you, line of vision darkening with a huff of laughter.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ Alright, perhaps we should kill him… ”  Gingerly rolling onto his side with a pained heave, the Maker’s voice lowers in juvenile humour, urging his friend to lie down alongside, conspiratory as a spark of playful excitement weaves its way through, bruised features lighting up as if continuing their commonplace Conversation.  “ It is a crime that he does not know how to satisfy her after so many bouts. I have never had that problem, of course. ”  A toothy grin, the elder content to sink into this divertissement in the face of the greater perils that loom.

[divineviclinist]

“I have seen you in worse states, or have you forgotten our final days in Auvergne. Stuck between excitement and sorrow. I have never seen you so--”

Juvenile irritation distracts as he watches the his Wolfkiller with a hint of a frown. Shaking his head, Nicolas bumps his wrist against Lestat’s hand, pushing it away from the wound. “Stop. You will make it worse.”

Typical. Same as their Auvergne days. Too restless to let anything heal properly. It was a wonder he wasn’t more scarred. Back then, of course, there was little for Nicolas to do beyond some wine and gauze- makeshift bandages made from clean linens and anxious hands trying not to tremble as they sewed skin back together. If no other good could come from their damned existence at least there was this. Blood that healed faster than any salve. His nails slice through bruised skin, though great care is taken not to show pain. Blood trickles out. Slow and thick. Conservative droplets peppering the dash before his wrist heals. A product of his own injuries coupled with an inconsistent diet, no doubt. He knows it bothers Lestat, that he is now allowed to partake. As if he thought bloodsharing would heal every inch of him, flesh to soul. Nicolas knew better. Nothing had changed. He still tasted of rot and despair. The long sleep having slowed an inevitable decline.

The moment passes as the gash knits itself back into place. Both vampires all too willing to ignore the knock of past sins. A comfort arises. 

Brief flashes of Parisian scents and sounds mixing with their current reality. All that was missing was the Parisian sewage slipping through the seams of their single window. A fireplace when they had the money for wood and the red velvet cloak for when wine was deemed more important. Isolated from the world in their one bed flat. Neither the laws of France nor wary eyes of suspicion could touch them. Safety against everything but their own damnation (and, oh, how sweet and willing that damnation was).

They were as far from those naive young men as time could take them, but how could Nicolas deny Him this.

Stubborn. A bottomless well of need, even as a boy. Desire for another overwhelming all common sense and self-preservation. It was not enough to lie next to each other, occasionally revisiting the old familiarity of curved hips and soft skin. No, not his Lestat. He must gaze and fawn and worship in the blind hope that an ounce of his affections will be reciprocated. Nicolas, in all for his infinite understanding, acquiesced every time.

Come closer. Closer. I cannot hear you from so far.

He rolls against his bruised side, arms slipping underneath Lestat, and pulling him into a close embrace. “Mmm… now you’re talking. Just him. The poor girl has suffered enough.” He kisses the elders forehead, noting the hints of iron mixed with an artificial floral scent making for an interesting perfume. Lestat’s next words bring a bellied laugh. A mirth that only Lestat can extract. He clicked his tongue, chastising Lestat with exaggerated gusto. “Oh! The revisions keep coming. Lestat de Lioncourt. Master of all. Came out of the womb ready to fuck. There is no lying to me. I remember you doe-eyed and all. Eagerly awaiting my instruction.” 

“There is no lying to me. I remember you doe-eyed and all. Eagerly awaiting my instruction.” Hand pressed on his Makers chest, gently pushing him back, rolling their bodies until his own hips rested on top. Legs intertwine with great care, the violinist doing his best to avoid the most grievous injuries. 

Tell me where it hurts. Tell me how I can make this right.

“Shall we give them a lesson? You eat him while I fuck her.”

[darknessmolten]

". . . and you shared it with her, the lord's son giveth to the lord's wife his great gift, the Dark Gift. Those who live in the castle share the Dark Gift --never were they dragged to the witches' place where the human grease pools on the ground at the foot of the burnt stake, no, kill the old crone who can no longer see to sew, and the idiot boy who cannot till the field. And what does he give us, the lord's son, the wolfkiller, the one who screamed in the witches' place? Coin of the realm! That's good enough for us!"

- Nicolas to Lestat, The Vampire Lestat

[divineviclinist]

📱TAHNO N NICKY

@seabiscuit sent📱for 5 unsent text messages, and 1 sent message from my muse! / accepting

[ Tay-tay | 1:11 | unsent ] 🖕🖕🖕 [ Putaine | 21:50 | unsent ] I can still taste you. It lingers like a poison. [ Tahno | 4:13 | unsent ] Meet me at the Checkers in a quarter hour. [ Whore | 2:35 | unsent ] You know what I want. [ Tahno | 5:00 | unsent ] It's quite tonight. I miss you. [ Big T, Little D | 1:15 ] Meet me at the pub. You know the one.

[fruitgravies]

i spy the light going out of your blue eyes

insta • twt • bsky

[divineviclinist]

Nicolas getting interviewed by Daniel and being the least helpful out of spite.

"No, he was always eloquent."

"The monks taught him to read."

"He immediately took to vampirism."

"It's more of a sip than bottle." "That's not what I asked." "But you were thinking it."

[divineviclinist]

Another thing to consider is Daniel getting ahold of one of Nicki's plays or compositions, he last surviving relic of his theatre career, & grilling him on it

[divineviclinist]

Another thing to consider... nicki having been "recruited" by Talamasca.

[bodythieved]

A PRIVATE REIMAGINING OF DAVID TALBOT FROM ANNE RICE'S VAMPIRE CHRONICLES UNIVERSE. EXTREMELY DIVERGENT. EXPLORING DEATH, REBIRTH, SPIRITUALITY, & EVERYTHING PARANORMAL. BOOKS & AMC'S IWTV -FLEXIBLE IF YOU ARE ! please read. / template edited from @cavalierfou.

[divineviclinist]

Bounce, bounce, bounce. Twirl. Overshare. Is basically Lestat's go to first date

[divinerpresources]

What's my reputation? What do you think when you see my URL?

[divineviclinist]

this must be very confusing for you right now.

"That's... one way to put it." Breaches hung over their only chair, what remains of a shirt (torn to threads), and a blonde boy that was standing in the dead center of their flat, naked as the day he was born. "There's a story here, non? One that requires one, by the looks of it."

[endiness]

[eladead]

@cursedviolinist ; @ghostscribes ; @divineviclinist

[solilacquist]

" what is memory, if not a haunting? "

an independent and selective roleplay blog for louis de pointe du lac. primarily amc’s interview with the vampire, with selective influence from the vampire chronicles. portrayal blends show canon, book canon (where applicable), and personal loathing interpretation. mature themes will appear, including (but not limited to): horror, blood, violence, gore, religious trauma, moral corruption, and toxic relationships. follow at thine own risk.

[divineviclinist]

Nicolas getting interviewed by Daniel and being the least helpful out of spite.

"No, he was always eloquent."

"The monks taught him to read."

"He immediately took to vampirism."

"It's more of a sip than bottle." "That's not what I asked." "But you were thinking it."

[divineviclinist]

Another thing to consider is Daniel getting ahold of one of Nicki's plays or compositions, he last surviving relic of his theatre career, & grilling him on it

[divineviclinist]

Nicolas getting interviewed by Daniel and being the least helpful out of spite.

"No, he was always eloquent."

"The monks taught him to read."

"He immediately took to vampirism."

"It's more of a sip than bottle." "That's not what I asked." "But you were thinking it."

[chasiufan]

last conversation

[divineviclinist]

She was, Nicolas reminded himself, the most successful predator of them all. Her ability to glide through any terrain combined with a predatory instinct- coming as natural to her as music came to him. He had not heard her. He never did. Gabrielle simply appeared as an apparition of her environment and disappearing before anyone could raise a brow. An unsettling nature that left the mark of intrigue well into his undead life. He rose from the rivers banks, squeezing the excess water out of his curls. Forever unruly, they draped across the sides of his face.

"You're staring."

@threnodique / gabbi