if god won't come to me, i'll go to him / prologue
Armand x gn!reader
summary: reader is tired of being locked up in their room while daniel is around, armand seeks to rectify the disobedience but finds himself being strangely more agreeable than usual
warnings: not a lot of dialogue, implications of mental illness, reader is struggling with amnesia, armand being a big fat liar about some things but it's okay because he's sweet and gentle about it
a/n: whew okay so this is an introduction to a much larger fic series i'm currently working on! it was originally longer, but i cut quite a bit out because i felt it was becoming too confusing for a standalone. there's still implications about certain things that might not make sense because you aren't inside my head, but i promise when i start posting it that everything will come together lmao. hopefully this is still understandable enough to be enjoyable <3
“You shouldn’t be out here.”
Your tired eyes flickered upward, latching onto the shape of Armand’s darkened presence looming in the archway – his appearance likened that of a mourner, lithe frame submerged entirely in thick black. He upheld his asinine game of playing mortal, gloves and contacts in place to obscure any truth of his nature. The mimic of Rashid replaced the familiar vampire you were tethered to, willing or not. It would be strange to say how it felt far more unnatural to observe Armand as human, the falsity of wide doe eyes cloaking a previously enthralling magnetism of rippling tigerseye. It softened him, somehow. With perfect midnight curls hugging the carved contours of rich amber, smoothing all severity, or concealing it – he became innocuous, startlingly young looking. It felt foolish that this unnerved you more than anything.
Mollified brown reflected your own, no less intense in their stare, minutely subdued in the presence of the reporter he had denied in quelling your curiosities of. Withholding as he had been since the first time you had awakened in their home. You caught the viscous scoff rising up your throat before it could escape. It shouldn't have surprised you that he was keeping you hidden from their guest. Even in the small amount of time you had spent locked away in the penthouse, recollection of any life before had been left cracked, webbing precariously deep into the glass of whatever thoughts you tried to rip to the surface. Any attempt at memory was punishable, a tide of heat and pressure lofty over your forehead, talons that sank into your temples and ripped you backward, swallowed by the crevasse. All you were left with was the emptiness. And.. Armand – with Louis, by extension. They were the clearest figures standing amongst the humid fog of amnesia, radiant luminescence cutting through, as though they were twin lighthouses resting on the cliff of little consciousness.
It confused you, Armand’s behaviour surrounding Daniel. There was something more than distrust and apprehension, more intimate. A glimmer of time or reality where you were locked out, a history before your existence, and was no place of yours to go prying into. It would be safer, Armand had iterated tersely, if Mr. Molloy was unaware of your presence here. You loathed to admit you obeyed simply due to the fact it felt meaningful to please him, but who could truly blame you? There was little else of significance to dedicate yourself to, and Armand took care of you. Still – an edge cut sharp separation between the two of you, a barrier purposefully built before even a sliver of your mind came paddling to the shore of lucidity. A distant version that had taken precaution, sentenced the current self to a self-fulfilling prophecy of loneliness and perceived safety.
You were fearful the conflict he pulled so easily from you would shatter the shroud.
Noting your staring and lack of retort, you wrangled the irritable thoughts into nothing before he could reach inside and catch them. Drawing focus back to the book cradled between your hands, your expression feigned indifference. He bristled from the dismissal, fingers prickling with white heat, nitrile flexing at his sides to retain composure. “I couldn't sleep anymore,” slipped impeccably from your lips. A perfectly pointless white lie he could distinguish and reprimand you for if he so wished, but he already appeared too withered to bother. Perhaps the evening’s session had been particularly taxing. “I tried. Stared at the ceiling until the room became suffocating. Figured you’d be finished by now.”
Armand inhaled, exasperated, stepping further into the living room to hover at the rolled armrest on your side of the couch. “If the room decor is not to your standards, I'd be more than willing to accommodate any changes. Or provide suitable entertainment to keep you busy.”
“That's not the problem.” You snapped, unwarrantedly stripped petulant by his blasé echo of your own tone in his response. He was still puppeteering despite Daniel's absence, weaving a narrative and locking you into a role alongside his own that you never agreed to indulge him in. You wanted Armand, not Rashid. The fact it bothered you at all only heightened frustration. “I'm not a child, you don't need to placate me.”
“Not a child..” Armand repeated slowly, voice canting in thin warning as he finally slipped gracefully from servant – from what he believed Louis required of him, into what he believed you needed from him. Caretaker, guardian, an overbearing lover. Bile curdled deep in the pit of your stomach, turning acidic as it overflowed beneath your sternum. Relief and disgust stirred catastrophically within your heart from the little victory. “yet you continue to disregard the simplest of our requests.”
You flipped the book, swallowing every sensation threatening to crawl their way up your throat. Setting it face down over your thigh to hold your place, the worn pages dragged, grounding, over skin. Occasional arguments such as these weren't new, and you couldn't help instigating. You had grown infinitely restless, bored, sequestered in a room with too much space to occupy as a single person – a constant reminder of imposed isolation. It might have been easier, you think, if you weren't at times left alone with the consistent, unrelenting blanket of absence adhered to your very being. Memory. A face you hardly recognized reflecting back from every surface, a voice that startled every time it ghosted from your lips, carrying the cadence of someone who no longer existed. Horrific nights in which Armand or Louis cradled your head between their legs and threaded clawed fingers through your hair, attempting to soothe the thrashing, obstinate turmoil of loss from a yearning brain – whispering a name they claimed belonged to you.
Guilt became a hot blade pressed to your navel, flaring unbearable warmth respiring, alive, across your cheeks. Stroked to blaze as you tumbled over the source of detachment, a thick pool begging to engulf you entirely, into a brief semblance of rationalization. You began to wonder if Armand would start to view you as heedless if you continued the little rebellions – if all tolerance he reserved for you alone would eventually run dry. It mortified you, snuffed out the roaring incandescent fire, replacing it with a different form of burning. Wintered water bit at your body, turned your lips blue as it cascaded densely over your mind and mouth, leaving you spluttering with the desire to beg for forgiveness. An elaborate path of emotion not brought on by personal volition. Him. Another presence suddenly lingering in the corner of your consciousness, uninvited, brushing lightly at the back of your thoughts and pulling them away without asking. Forcibly removing all defiance.
Your eyes squeezed shut, forehead wrinkling with disrupted agitation. You threw your head sideways, aggressively, a poor attempt at physically weeding Armand out.
“Stop. You know I’ll apologize whether or not you make me.”
“Perhaps, but your thoughts were beginning to spiral. I simply wished to speed up the process.” Your teeth found the dryness of your bottom lip and nipped into the opening, tearing at rough skin to keep the rush of argument wishing to build on your tongue. Any anger toward him for intruding sniffled pathetically at your breastbone, restrained into a more calm beast nuzzling beneath a door, waiting patiently to be let outside by its owner. The desire to rouse yourself from the gently placed docility was becoming far less appealing, exhaustion from seclusion wrestling with the remaining fight. But you wouldn't grant him full credit yet, stubbornly clinging to sheer spite, and a spark of someone else’s begrudging thrill for it flared behind your forehead.
“I might offer comfort,” He continued, amusement trickling through admonishment, as if it were the most obvious solution in the whole world. He stepped around the couch to finally perch closer, radiating stolen warmth against your bare knees. The sensation only a further attempt to seduce you into complacency. “if you would allow me in freely.”
“Maybe when you learn to ask. Nicely.”
Armand huffed, dancing about indignation, shifting his towering position to nudge his slipper against one of your sock clad feet. “Mortal ideals. Permission means risk of lingering inhibition.. a subconscious barrier. I am only capable of so much within those limitations.”
You couldn’t find any will to stuff down the self-satisfied grin splitting across your lips.
“I must be very frustrating for you then.”
“Profoundly.” He seethed back, nose scrunching over bared teeth and faux displeasure.
A meticulously bound hand found the nape of your neck, synthetic fabric finding and swiping at your dim pulse, wrangling brutal attentiveness to the contact. Your spine straightened immediately, all aspect and feeling of you rushing toward the small affection as you pressed your weight into the contact, head kept slightly bowed to maintain some final shred of dignity. It held an opposite effect, rendering your likeliness to a kitten caught by the scruff. Your eyes flickered nervously from the book resting on your thighs, to the legs blocking your view of the coffee table. If you looked him in the eye, the battle would be over. Shame of that realization felt infuriatingly pleasant brewing in your stomach. Armand’s next sigh was tinged with fond mirth – how effortlessly he could mold the situation to his benefit.
“I’m only trying to protect you.” He tried, taking the liberty to address the train of thought you hadn't vocalized. Clearly he had been poking through your mind for far longer than he let on.
The next scoff to escape, you do little to hide.
“From what? Daniel? What harm could a sick old man possibly bring me?”
His hold tightened, index teasing sharply over a prominent vein. Another empty threat.
“Mr. Molloy has..” An unnamed bite prickled through the beginning of Armand’s speech, strangely taloned, strangely gentle – defying emotions warring if you picked the words apart. The vampire almost hesitated, a funny thing, something you might force your nails into and bully open if his touch wasn’t so distracting. After less than brief consideration, the tension settled. “an innate ability to suck every living thing into his orbit. Honed the skill of kneading incessantly for information, luring with attentiveness, and being unsympathetic to the outcome. This proclivity might prove uncomfortable regarding your current state.”
He sounded.. almost prideful, layering tone with thorny resentment. Forever at odds.
“How diplomatic of you.” Weak churlishness swaddled the bite, and Armand’s fingers had a newfound interest in circling the pounding of your heart through the juncture of your throat – a small chastisement.
“You're particularly disputatious this morning.” He hummed wearily.
It was enough to entirely deflate you. Raised hackles lowered by Armand’s seamless ability to weave his entirety over your agitated bristling and coax it into pacification with perceived disappointment.
“I know,” You snipped one last time, if only to prove your capability of ceaseless quarrel if you truly willed yourself to break from his tender influence.
Then softer, quieter, fearful of dejection and ultimately aware of your childishness, uncertain of why you had felt the need to drag any of it out in the first place; “I know.. I’m sorry.” Your bleary eyes of doe swept to the tinted, mulled windows. “I really just wanted to watch the sun rise. I can't– I’m always in that room. Stay with me. Please. Daniel’s asleep, he won’t see.”
Tentatively, you offered your palm to Armand’s gaze, reaching for him. Blinking slowly from beneath your lashes, you played at supplication to the creature staring back. Your head tilted in silent inquiry. His irises flickered, reaching inward for you, body held unnaturally still before indulging. His fingers fell once more over the palpitation against your neck, fond, sorry to be departing at all – before pulling away to surrender his gloved hand. Without further word, you descended. All bordering on thin-veiled desperation, you trailed reverent fingers over the glossy texture, listening to the fabric squeak beneath the give of touch. Your thumb reached the end of the covering, the beginning of his sleeve, dusting the flawless flesh of his exposed wrist with a single swipe. You glimpsed up at him, temporarily frightened that registering such contact might cause him to rethink the closeness – that he might wrench his arm from your grasp and leave you wanting. Yet you found no reproach in Armand’s false eyes.
The contacts stole an immense length of Armand’s vibrancy from you, the sheer extent of his visceral craving ever revealing in wildflower sunsets, but his utter stillness screamed volumes. Your wish for his vampiric nature in such moments became crushingly overwhelming. To be capable of delving all of your being through the artfully guarded thread and netting of Armand’s mind and feel what he did from presence alone. To know exactly the devastating torment you instilled in him. Every hidden subject filed away pulled from their vault, held between tender index and middle, turned submissively visible in the light – clarity rendered soft in your bones.
He would never allow it.
Dwelling in the bliss of inspection, you tugged his bare hand forward, pulling it to rest over your lap. His hand, thin and deceptively fragile, flexed as you slipped the nitrile away, revealing slender fingers and unblemished integument. Veins smoothed over the back of his palm, pulsing blood and bulging with practiced movement – all human attributes you found arduous to connect him to despite the persisting fragments. His nails were unnaturally thick and lengthened, translucent glimmers, a series of pointed blades which beckoned forth curiosity as opposed to horror. The part of him you were so disturbingly fascinated by – making you fester in prodigious weakness. Everything of him flattened you with its utter severity, disjointed movement and fidgeting rendered motionless once he found home in your proximity.
The vampire loosened to the soft imploring, the dulcet olive branch for his clemency. He petaled open, a dark dahlia bloom falling over the comfort of the furniture, frame inclining to your awaiting fascination. Calm washed over him in the oscillating waves of your naturally emitted warmth. He sought perversely to meld it like macabre conjoined twins with the pilfered mimicry he exuded, only present due to the blood he had fed on prior. Armand’s head tilted, thrumming feigned consideration as he watched you. He carefully pried his hand from your grip, ignoring the low noise of aggrieved denial rumbling in your throat.
He never let your ridiculous whining last long, ceased the sound as soon as he rested his palm along the lower portion of your jaw, counting palmar creases as they met skin, bringing your focus back to him. The touch ignited the remaining vacancy that cracked devastation in your irises, alchemized it into something more starved with pupils blown wide in awe and guilelessness. Beautifully enthralled by his attention. Armand’s thumb lifted, pressing lightly into the shadowed peak beneath your waterline, cautious of his nails as he ran his pad over the evidence of exhaustion. He traversed mutely. Caressed the expressive lines around your mouth, ghosting over the expanse of your cheekbone in featherlight spectacle. Digits shifted together, replacing the touch of another, before the pad of his index tapped playfully at the swollen cerise of your bottom lip. Armand smiled thinly over his curt nod.
“Only until the sun touches the horizon.”
You were learning to bask in the small mercies he granted you.
Hi! No worries if you're not into this request, but would you be willing to write Armand and a f!reader in an established relationship, who is deeply insecure about her physical appearance? Sorry if this is a weird ask 💖💖
beauté incertaine.⠀⠀the vampire armand x female!reader.
wc. ⠀⠀950+⠀⠀⠀⠀warnings.⠀⠀theme revolves around physical insecurities. if the topic is triggering to you, do not continue reading. religion (catholicism) used as a metaphor. female reader, referred to as a girl within the text. french terms of endearment. physical touching.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀𓊈 𓋹 𓊉⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ story continues below the cut.
the mirrors inside of the théâtre des vampire were cruel, mocking up your appearance as if emanating a ghostly laugh. they multiply you, fracture your immortal body, candlelight dancing across your skin, magnifying any and all flaws of your visage. though you had once been painted a goddess, a spectacle of beauty, you felt far from one in your immortally sculpted body, bewitched by haunting thoughts of self - hatred.
you stood before one of the mirrors, shifting left and right as you examined yourself with frustrated precision. the echo of applause ghosted the corridors, a performance upon the stage. the laugh of mortals echoed throughout the ancient walls, yet you were far from humored by the performance reflected in the glass in front of you.
your reflection stared back at you like a poorly cast role. the costume itched at your coldly kissed skin, the neckline exposing the protruding veins of your ghostly complexion. you imagined the audience's eyes dancing upon you, crawling over your sinful skin. even here in the presence of a coven in which you had been loved by, you felt on trial.
“why do you not close your mind tonight, ma biche? you tend to withhold,” it was as if darkness itself started to speak, the ghostly tone of armand’s voice filling the air, his presence pulling you from your ill - fated thoughts like a gust of wind. despite the older vampire growing to be your lover, you grew a sense of unease at his ability to hear every little thought in your beautiful head; you had not realized you had let him in in a time of weakness.
you do not turn, your icy pupils locking upon his in the reflection of the damned mirror, impossibly still and impossibly young. “i do not belong on that stage,” you spoke, “not in something revealing such as this. shows too much.” silence stretched, the soft footsteps of your maître and man approaching. what you had spoke was a bend of the truth that danced inside your mind, and your lover sought to see right through you.
armand studied the glass as if it were a holy object, his auburn pupils dancing upon your corroded skin as if you were the goddess athena. “they will believe anything,” he spoke, his words calm and icy, “blood, death, miracles, fairytales. all lies, they believe, but you believe the mirror? fille idiote.”
his fingers reached out for you slowly, his sharp nails dancing lines upon your shoulder where the costume slipped and you flinched before you could even stop yourself. armand paused, cooing softly at his love. the pause is terrifying, yet fear did not bloom inside of you for your lover was careful in your presence.
“this again,” by the tone that poisoned armand’s words, you could tell he was displeased, not surprised. you dared not speak another word for the other already knew what you would say next, and you trusted him with those confessions. in the reflection of the mirror, armand’s gaze began to sharpen, yet with a dangerous focus rather than anger.
“do you know how many bodies the théâtre des vampire have buried beneath this city?” armand began to pace, his steps ticking like a lesson, “how many beautiful things that have been reduced to dust in time?” your body had become beckoned to face him, and he lifted your chin with a ghostly touch, forcing your eyes back to the mirror.
“and yet, in all that, in all the sorrow and disdain of the world,” armand paused for a brief moment, letting out a slow sigh that expressed his disbelief in your unheavenly thoughts, “this is what troubles you?” his hand began to slide from your jaw down to your throat, as if to remind you that you were beautifully his.
“you think desire is somehow democratic,” armand spoke, his thumb pressing just enough into the flesh of your neck for you to feel your heartbeat under his skinless patience, “that it must be earned through submission to life, through approval.” he paused momentarily, “but i am older than that philosophy and i find it to be pure bullshit.”
the filth of his words almost made you laugh for your own pain was comfort, yet all you could do was breathe out his name as if this were some sort of catholic confessional. armand leaned in closer, his lips now ghosting upon your ears in not a kiss, but in a comforting action. “you are beautiful, unmistakably beautiful, because you are unfinished,” the words were chaste and devastating.
you shuddered, yet leaned upon his touch like a soft blanket. “i am afraid i will hate this body forever, that i will never come to peace with it,” there was no point in hiding your frustrations when armand could already read every last bit of them.
armand’s eyes darkened with devotion, the glare sharp enough to wound your potent flesh. “then i will love you forever,” he replied simply, letting his hand slip from your neck down to your lace - covered waist as though mapping a familiar sculpture.
“forever is a long time to endure my inner hatred,” you murmured, looking away from yourself inside of the reflection of the mirror. armand did not force your gaze to return, yet smiled in knowing, soft sorrow, “i have been patient in life for 500 years. i can be patient with you for hundreds more.”
you felt his certainty settle over you like a comforting veil, a promise to your undying love despite your immortality. in the mirror, you no longer were able to identify where your doubt ended and his devotion began. and perhaps that was the true gift that inhabited the maze of which was the vampire armand.
disclaimer. ⠀⠀this is a hobby blog and may not have regular updates. i am a college student, an english major at that, and sometimes have minimal time to indulge in personal writings rather than assignments.
whom of which i will write for. ⠀⠀daniel molloy, ⠀⠀the vampire armand, ⠀⠀lestat de lioncourt, ⠀⠀madeline éparvier, claudia du lac de lioncourt ⠀⠀and i am open to additional suggestions.
what of which i will write. ⠀⠀x reader of any gender or gender neutral and well as canon ships within the vampire chronicles (minimal knowledge as of the moment, in the midst of reading the vampire lestat) and amcs interview with the vampire.
canon ships i will write for. ⠀⠀mainly devils minion and lesmand, but i am open to taking suggestions in my request box.
content of my writing. ⠀⠀i dabble within different topics and genres, including smut or other graffic content such as themes of death and mental health. warnings will be plastered within the warnings section of each published work.
what i will not write. ⠀⠀i will not write anything taboo (such as incest, pdfs) or any kinks i deem to be absurd of which will be judged depending on whether i am comfortable including those in my writing or not.
making a request. ⠀⠀requests on my page are currently open and can be found at the top of my blog. like stated above, this is a hobby blog and may not have regular updates as i am a student and have other hobbies and a job that occupies my time.
Hi! No worries if you're not into this request, but would you be willing to write Armand and a f!reader in an established relationship, who is deeply insecure about her physical appearance? Sorry if this is a weird ask 💖💖
beauté incertaine.⠀⠀the vampire armand x female!reader.
wc. ⠀⠀950+⠀⠀⠀⠀warnings.⠀⠀theme revolves around physical insecurities. if the topic is triggering to you, do not continue reading. religion (catholicism) used as a metaphor. female reader, referred to as a girl within the text. french terms of endearment. physical touching.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀𓊈 𓋹 𓊉⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ story continues below the cut.
the mirrors inside of the théâtre des vampire were cruel, mocking up your appearance as if emanating a ghostly laugh. they multiply you, fracture your immortal body, candlelight dancing across your skin, magnifying any and all flaws of your visage. though you had once been painted a goddess, a spectacle of beauty, you felt far from one in your immortally sculpted body, bewitched by haunting thoughts of self - hatred.
you stood before one of the mirrors, shifting left and right as you examined yourself with frustrated precision. the echo of applause ghosted the corridors, a performance upon the stage. the laugh of mortals echoed throughout the ancient walls, yet you were far from humored by the performance reflected in the glass in front of you.
your reflection stared back at you like a poorly cast role. the costume itched at your coldly kissed skin, the neckline exposing the protruding veins of your ghostly complexion. you imagined the audience's eyes dancing upon you, crawling over your sinful skin. even here in the presence of a coven in which you had been loved by, you felt on trial.
“why do you not close your mind tonight, ma biche? you tend to withhold,” it was as if darkness itself started to speak, the ghostly tone of armand’s voice filling the air, his presence pulling you from your ill - fated thoughts like a gust of wind. despite the older vampire growing to be your lover, you grew a sense of unease at his ability to hear every little thought in your beautiful head; you had not realized you had let him in in a time of weakness.
you do not turn, your icy pupils locking upon his in the reflection of the damned mirror, impossibly still and impossibly young. “i do not belong on that stage,” you spoke, “not in something revealing such as this. shows too much.” silence stretched, the soft footsteps of your maître and man approaching. what you had spoke was a bend of the truth that danced inside your mind, and your lover sought to see right through you.
armand studied the glass as if it were a holy object, his auburn pupils dancing upon your corroded skin as if you were the goddess athena. “they will believe anything,” he spoke, his words calm and icy, “blood, death, miracles, fairytales. all lies, they believe, but you believe the mirror? fille idiote.”
his fingers reached out for you slowly, his sharp nails dancing lines upon your shoulder where the costume slipped and you flinched before you could even stop yourself. armand paused, cooing softly at his love. the pause is terrifying, yet fear did not bloom inside of you for your lover was careful in your presence.
“this again,” by the tone that poisoned armand’s words, you could tell he was displeased, not surprised. you dared not speak another word for the other already knew what you would say next, and you trusted him with those confessions. in the reflection of the mirror, armand’s gaze began to sharpen, yet with a dangerous focus rather than anger.
“do you know how many bodies the théâtre des vampire have buried beneath this city?” armand began to pace, his steps ticking like a lesson, “how many beautiful things that have been reduced to dust in time?” your body had become beckoned to face him, and he lifted your chin with a ghostly touch, forcing your eyes back to the mirror.
“and yet, in all that, in all the sorrow and disdain of the world,” armand paused for a brief moment, letting out a slow sigh that expressed his disbelief in your unheavenly thoughts, “this is what troubles you?” his hand began to slide from your jaw down to your throat, as if to remind you that you were beautifully his.
“you think desire is somehow democratic,” armand spoke, his thumb pressing just enough into the flesh of your neck for you to feel your heartbeat under his skinless patience, “that it must be earned through submission to life, through approval.” he paused momentarily, “but i am older than that philosophy and i find it to be pure bullshit.”
the filth of his words almost made you laugh for your own pain was comfort, yet all you could do was breathe out his name as if this were some sort of catholic confessional. armand leaned in closer, his lips now ghosting upon your ears in not a kiss, but in a comforting action. “you are beautiful, unmistakably beautiful, because you are unfinished,” the words were chaste and devastating.
you shuddered, yet leaned upon his touch like a soft blanket. “i am afraid i will hate this body forever, that i will never come to peace with it,” there was no point in hiding your frustrations when armand could already read every last bit of them.
armand’s eyes darkened with devotion, the glare sharp enough to wound your potent flesh. “then i will love you forever,” he replied simply, letting his hand slip from your neck down to your lace - covered waist as though mapping a familiar sculpture.
“forever is a long time to endure my inner hatred,” you murmured, looking away from yourself inside of the reflection of the mirror. armand did not force your gaze to return, yet smiled in knowing, soft sorrow, “i have been patient in life for 500 years. i can be patient with you for hundreds more.”
you felt his certainty settle over you like a comforting veil, a promise to your undying love despite your immortality. in the mirror, you no longer were able to identify where your doubt ended and his devotion began. and perhaps that was the true gift that inhabited the maze of which was the vampire armand.
It's so sad that in the Chronicles, vampires can't eat human food. 😭 It must be so sad to never again be able to enjoy something as simple as food.
That's why in my world, Armand mixes food with blood (his favorite would probably be with spices and alcohol) and eats until he's full, because as a human, he adored food. And in Children of Darkness, vampires were forbidden to eat (because it's an unnecessary pleasure and therefore a sin), and when Lestat arrived, Armand ate for the first time in 300 years. I think it would have been peaches.
hi anon ⠀ 🦢 ⠀thank u for your message.
see, this is why i don’t think i’d find much pleasure in being a vampire because i love food just as much as the next person!! in my world, i feel as if armand would find pleasure in snacking: sort of like a child stealing a piece of candy from their grandmothers candy bowl. i think he’d opt for something sweet (like peaches!) or maybe even figs or pomegranates. crazy take perhaps .. but i just know armand would love a good cheez - it. amc series armand definitely finds pleasure in ordering some alcohol when they are out, maybe as a way to mask and fit in somehow. does he really like the taste? probably not, but it definitely makes him feel a little more ‘alive.’
grand re - arrival to tumblr ⠀ 𓋹 ⠀ requests are open.
in honor of my attempt to come back to tumblr, my requests are now open and patiently waiting for messages.
i will write x reader as well as canon ships within the show and novel series of which i am not entirely done with reading yet, having a preference towards writing armand and daniel as well as devils minion as a whole. i do write angst, fluff & smut and am open to different aspects within each genre. come say hi, ⠀xo darlings ⠀ ♡⃛
