and our hands, the color of a savage harvest @monbellemonstre - Tumblr Blog

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"𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐- 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗? 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕? 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚕 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖? 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝?" - M.A. 8.11

⋆ ⁺₊ ⋆ ⁺₊ ⋆ Cared for by Jamie / 30+ (she/they) / MINORS DNI ⋆ ⁺₊ ⋆ ⁺₊ ⋆ ⋆⁺₊Rules ; canon muses , crossover muses ; Verses ; Interest List ; Prompts ⁺₊⋆

spinning threads for the tapestries of Fate with: taleswritten ; strxgxi ; eladead ; ourstoriesunfold ; meerawrites ; brightreporterwithapointofview ; symphonyofmalice ; devourcr ; molloyed ; withlingeringrespect ; vampvoices ; minaharkerdailymirror ; evilanew sanguisprince ; 2ndhalflife ; cursedviolinist ; knot-ee ; bratxprincexlestat

⋆⁺₊⋆ Drafts: 65 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Activity: Very High ⋆⁺₊⋆ Discord For Mutuals: mo.nighean.donn (just let me know who you are)

THIS SIDEBLOG IS NOT SPOILER FREE. ALL FOLLOWS WILL BE FROM THE URL: somethingbcrrowed.

CONTENT WARNINGS AND RULES UNDER CUT FOR MOBILE.

Well, hello my babies.

I've secured all of my accounts, BUT thus far haven't been able to get back into my Disc. It's not a security issue, just having technical difficulties for lack of a better way to describe it. Fingers crossed I can figure out a way because not being able to randomly message my moots about fandom things is KILLIN' ME SMALLS.

I miss talking to youuuuuu allllllllllllllllll.

I'm also juggling/dealing with a lot of other things in my life at the mo', so I haven't been around really at all to work on anything, and I apologize for that. Sincerely, the anxiety has been legitimate this past week or two. But just know that I am still here, and I plan to come back the moment life eases just a little bit.

With that being said, I may be making a few muses Exclusive. I think I'd rather do that than remove them altogether, so that is what I will do. As for the OCs that I had planned to add, I still plan to add them- I just don't know when as drafts and asks will take precedent whenever I'm able to fully return.

#ooc #cw ooc #Jamie Speaks #cw personal #personal #Spotify #Why The Long Face ; My Pretty Baby

monbellemonstre

My Discord was hacked. I'm... having a day right now.

monbellemonstre

Unsure if I'll be able to get it back at this point. Stay tuned and block the account if you have to in the meantime. They got into a few other platforms so I'll be on cleanup duty for a while. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO MESSAGED ME!!

I honestly wouldn't have noticed as quickly without the influx of notifications on various platforms.

#ooc #cw ooc #cw personal #Jamie Speaks

My Discord was hacked. I'm... having a day right now.

#ooc #cw ooc #cw personal #Jamie Speaks

This Or That Tagged by: @brightreporterwithapointofview ( thank you lovely! xoxoxoxo ) Tagging: @ourstoriesunfold (Viktor or Fin)

pessimist / optimist

villain / hero

tears / stoicism

sci-fi / fantasy

ocean / forest

vengeance / justice

straight / queer

console / pc

city rat / country mouse

kinky / vanilla

minimalism / maximalism

silence / communication

faithfulness / infidelity

alcohol / sobriety

extrovert / introvert

single / taken

victim / perpetrator

awkward / smooth

sunrise / sunset

manga / anime

anxious / carefree

apartment / house

masochist / sadist

iphone / android

sweet / savory

morning bird / night owl

neurodivergent / neurotypical

comic book / novel

clubbing / staying in

monogamous / polyamorous

knife / gun

sexual / asexual

smoking / no smoking

standoffish / approachable

natural / dyed

medicated / unmedicated

shy / confident

#brightreporterwithapointofview #Dashing Games #The Vampire Armand Muse #// some of these got a side eye dskflghalghal #its just queue and me

Louis observes as Daniel takes it all in and that, more than anything else, is what delights the immortal the most. The way the boy's eyes widen, then soften and the way his attention flutters here and there as though he's afraid if he doesn't look at everything fast enough it might vanish. Louis recognizes that look immediately, feels something coil tight and satisfied in his stomach at the sight of it.

He wore that expression once himself a lifetime ago. His fingertips shift absently against the back of Daniel's hand as he repeats the name, green eyes fixated on the mortal rather than the expanse around them.

"I've been coming here for a few years now, on and off. Ever since we first came to Paris." He answers in a hushed voice, still close enough to Daniel that their arms are gently pressed together. "And I take photographs, when I can. When the light feels right. Mostly landscapes, sometimes faces or figures… Moments people don't realize are worth keeping until they're gone."

His gaze flickers briefly to a pair of lovers laughing over a shared glass of something that only looks like red wine, then back to the mortal. "Sometimes I write poetry. Badly, if you ask Claudia." A smile curves his lips. "But it helps me make sense of things."

There's no false modesty in his tone as he speaks, only honesty, and after he answers Daniel's questions he turns fully toward him, angling his body so that the alcove curves behind them. "You're easy to talk to, Daniel. Most people fill the silence because it makes them uncomfortable, but you let it breathe. Makes a man forget he was ever supposed to be careful."

#brightreporterwithapointofview #Louis de Pointe du Lac Muse #v: savagery and seduction ; amc (circa 1946)#◤𝒟𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝐵𝑒 𝒜𝒻𝓇𝒶𝒾𝒹 ♡ 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒯𝒶𝓅𝑒◥#its just queue and me

sanguisprince

The blood is all consuming, all encompassing. The rest of the world simply fades to background noise, as if it has suddenly become empty of music or color and the only thing with meaning, the only thing letting him know he is alive, is the blood in his mouth. From Armand's arm passed soft lips, a tongue lapping at the would, drinking of him the way a babe might drink of their mother, nurturing and sustaining. It the first decent meal he's had in a while and it is rich and potent and seductive.

His body reacts as much as his mind does - goosebumps and a shiver without the cold, warmth pooling low in his belly, as everything that ever was passes between them. The sharing of blood is both intimate and sexual to Lestat and always has been. Nothing has changed in their time apart. Armand is touching him, his hair mostly, and he can feel every place they connect, each individual strand of gold against the elder's skin.

He is speaking and Lestat slows, but he doesn't pull off, not right away, eyes shut. He does, however, moan against his skin, and it vibrates through him into Armand and then finally, he unlatches his mouth. Violet blue eyes flicker to Armand's, and Lestat bites his own thumb and closes Armand's wound, leaving behind only smears of blood. Once, Lestat would have licked them clean. His cheeks are flushed, his skin warmed.

The color has returned some, and he looks more human than he has in a long while. He licks his teeth, realizes he is still holding onto Armand's wrist, and he let him go, chasing the taste of him with his tongue. "I didn't mean to," he replies, voice husky. He turns into the hand in his hair, like a cat might turn into being pet, eyes closing for a moment as he seems to come down from the swoon of feeding, the effects of the blood.

He is dizzy with it still. Perhaps he should be embarrassed, but he isn't. Armand is inside him, outside of him, touching him, and for a brief moment the unending agony of loss, the indefinite disquiet of being alone is gone. For a moment, he's not thinking about Louis nor the years spent without him nor the masochistic hope he harbors that he'll come back.

monbellemonstre

Armand can feel the way that the hunger ebbs, the way the air shifts as Lestat releases his arm properly after the feeding. The warmth of the exchange still thrums beneath his flesh, tingling and alive despite the loss, resembling a resonant echo that lingers long after the sound has faded. A chord, strummed in intimate ecstasy, still vibrating in the air around them.

His fingers remain threaded lightly in the younger immortal's blonde curls, feeling the way the scalp warms with heat and the faint tremor that dizzies Lestat after the feeding. It's familiar. It's dangerous. And, to Armand's dismay, it's comforting.

For a long moment he says nothing, merely studies the other's features with an attention that borders between reverence and machination, watching the way the blood softens the sharpness in his eyes, the way it restores color to his cheeks that had minutes before been hollowed by neglect. Armand has seen him like this before in another century after older wounds, and he always finds it beautiful the way Lestat seems to find himself ruined in precisely the same ways.

His thumbpad brushes almost unconsciously along Lestat's temple, a ghost of a touch that might have been affection in another life.

"You have never done anything by accident, Lestat de Lioncourt," he murmurs, not unkindly. "You know Louis cannot hear your pain and yet you are loud with grief and careless with yourself, with your thoughts…" A slight pause where his hand gently falls away from Lestat, from the contact between them that had been decades in the making.

"If not someone who might ease that suffering, I wonder, who else might you have expected? Who else might you have hoped for?"

#sanguisprince #The Vampire Armand Muse #⛧✞︎𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕗𝕪 𝕄𝕪 𝔹𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕟✞︎⛧#v: there are worse things i could do ; amc (circa 2025)#its just queue and me

brightreporterwithapointofview

Mortal. Daniel mouths the word in an echo of Armand speaking it. He'd suspected, of course. From the moment the other had been able to enter Daniel's thoughts without opening his mouth, he'd known something was different about Armand. It would have been a remarkable coincidence for someone with inhuman powers to work at a place called Théâtre des Vampires and not be a vampire. But to hear confirmation, that word that put a world of separation between him and Armand...

The gentle rub of soft skin against the inside of his wrist sends a shiver down Daniel's spine. It's the openness and intimacy of this act that finally makes him feel brave enough to reach over with his other hand to place it on top of the one Armand has upon his wrist. Not attempting to pull it off, simply placing it there. It's odd, the lack of heat coming from the other man. Yet he feels warmth of another kind- the flush from himself at allowing himself such physical contact, to be so bold.

I don't think I'm capable of keeping you out Daniel admits, without speaking. He doesn't mean that he doesn't possess the abiility to keep Armand out of his mind. No, rather that he has been so drawn into Armand’s orbit that he has no strength of will to do anything but welcome him in. Into his thoughts. Into his space. Into whatever part of Daniel this creature wished.

“So…the plays. The blood. It’s…real?” A part of him doesn’t want to know. To remain blissfully ignorant to the truth before him. But he’d come here wanting to know the theater, its troupe, its Director. Facing the overwhelming reality that he’d stepped foot into another world entirely was essential to true understanding.

“You said you push mortals away from the truth. But I’m standing here, with you and…you haven’t tried to get rid of me.” Daniel can’t help but wonder why. What made him the exception? Or were there other young men like him in the depths of the Theater who’d been equally drawn in by the power of this place and its Director?

monbellemonstre

Oh, how beautiful it is when the fragile architecture of the mortal's mind doesn't shatter beneath the weight of wonder and impossibility but settles there like a puzzle piece clicking neatly into place. That is what seals it. The acceptance doesn't come with denial nor hysteria, nor the frantic bargaining that the immortal has learned to expect, nor the scrambling backward from the abyss and looking for the nearest exit. Instead the acceptance comes with a sharpened curiosity, something bright and dangerous and excited.

Armand can feel it bloom immediately, a quickening that makes his own suppressed hunger for blood and the touch of flesh stir more sharply than it has in decades. Perhaps longer. He longs for possession in its truest sense, to keep and to shape, to witness what this beautiful boy might become if allowed to burn eternally.

The immortal draws in a hitched breath at the thought, not because he requires it but because in this moment he is the closest he has come in centuries to losing control. The lack of heat between them is undeniable now but the intimacy warms him as if his blood might run hot within his immortal veins. Armand's amber gaze drops to where their hands meet before rising intentionally slowly, the chill of his skin contrasting exquisitely with the boy's warmth and he does not pull away. Instead he shifts closer, closer still, until his body is nearly flush with Daniel's own.

'Yes,' Armand confirms softly without speaking, the words trickling into Daniel's mind like warm water for only the mortal to hear. 'It is real.'

He feels the coven's attention prickling sharply like needles along his spine as their Maître steps dangerously close to shattering the principals of the Great Laws. And still he leans in and turns his head so that his mouth hovers just beside the mortal's ear, so that as he speaks his breath glides over the heated skin and feather-light whispers of his lips brush against the shell of Daniel's ear.

"You are still here because I find no hysteria in your mind, nor a desire to expose us." He murmurs, eyes fluttering closed briefly as he speaks into Daniel's ear. "I only see longing, and patience. And a mind already willing to accept the impossible. To accept me." His voice is pitched low, lower than any human register could withstand. "If you wish to know this world you must ask the proper questions, but remember Monsieur Molloy... the truth has consequences."

#brightreporterwithapointofview #The Vampire Armand Muse #v: savagery and seduction ; amc (circa 1946)#⚜𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑀𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝐹𝒶𝓈𝒸𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔⚜#𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕀 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕂𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕐𝕠𝕦 ; 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩'𝔰 𝔐𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫 #its just queue and me

brightreporterwithapointofview

"Ah, shit, I'm sorry," Daniel said with a grimace when he heard that William's parents had passed, the regret and sympathy in his voice genuine. Daniel's mother was alive, but some days it didn't feel that way, with how distant she'd become. Emotionally first, then mentally from the medications she took, then entirely from...who could say, really? The weariness and apathy which life had given her? And Daniel genuinely had no idea if his father was still alive, or not. He knew the sting of not having parents in your life, even if the circumstances were different.

The green of William's eyes gleam in a way that, had Daniel not been on a mission, would have had him weak at the knees. That intense gaze coupled with the casual flirtation, the way he referred to Daniel as 'cher', called him cute...Daniel wasn't immune to flattery, and William had a magnetism about him that would be so very easy to become lost in. Rare was a guy who could make Daniel truly interested in a way that wasn’t purely transactional. But there was something about this stranger… But Daniel was on a mission, and he refused to get distracted so easily.

There it was again. That little bell inside his brain- though this time it was more like an annoying fly, buzzing around, but never landing. A girl. A girl? Yes- no. He didn't know about any girl. Did he? Daniel tried to concentrate, tried to rack his brain for any concrete memories. But it was like sand slipping through his fingers- the more he tried to grasp onto it, the quicker it fell away. Until he was left wondering why it had sounded familiar to him at all.

Shaking his head, Daniel tried to refocus. He hated feeling like this. Like he was missing something incredibly important. Sure, he'd lost time before, after getting high. But this...this felt different. In the midst of his confusion, one other detail had stuck out to Daniel about the story William had told him. "His...significant other? Wouldn't that have been his wife?" It was such an odd way to refer to a man's wife that he couldn't help but catch it. The emphasis his guide had put on the words couldn't have been coincidence. A queer man with power and wealth in New Orleans in 1917? It sounded impossible.

"And he just left the buildings here to fall into ruin, to deteroiate into...this mess?' Daniel continued to question, gaze shifting as he took in the block of rowhomes once more. In a city such as this, why would this Lestat choose to not have anything restored? There would have been enormous profit in it, if the area had ever been fixed up. It didn't make any sense.

"Any rumors about what happened to the orphan he took in?"

monbellemonstre

William can feel the fissure this time, the reverberations that sound as a horsefly to the youthful mortal's senses but to his own it filters through in fragmented words. Sentences all out of order and rearranged, half syllables here and broken vowels there. A proverbial beehive of articulations. 'My daughter was my sister.' The only things that he could properly translate from the cacophony of sound reverberating around inside of Daniel's mind before the familiarity slipped away leaving only confusion and the memory of bees buzzing.

William would find himself genuinely impressed with the memory manipulations if he weren't as equally interested in gently prying those fissures open to see what lay beneath. Especially with the way the pretty mortal says the word 'wife', as if it should be the more obvious term to use because how can William possibly have meant anything else. It causes William's gaze to flicker downward briefly and his feet to bring him closer.

So close, in fact, that they would be touching if he merely shifted the positioning of his arm. He doesn't, not yet. He doesn't want to frighten the mortal away this soon, not before he's had the chance to delve a bit more deeply into that beautiful mind and not before his teeth have had the chance to sink into that beautiful scar... He can feel his fangs aching, threatening to descend with every moment that passes between them and he knows that the intelligent thing to do would be to end this now. It would be to excuse himself and go drain the nearest criminal he can find in the Quarter, but instead he stays right where he is. Tempted and longing and ravenous for the thick, hot liquid that is currently pulsing through Daniel Molloy's veins.

A smile appears instead, and a sound of amusement escapes between his parted lips as Daniel continues on with his assessment of the information William has given him, feeling something close to immense delight at the audacious judgement in the mortal's gaze as it shifts around them to the burnt, hollowed out husks of the homes.

"I meant what I said, cher," he reiterates, "Monsieur de Lioncourt never had a wife. He did, however, have a male companion that for legal purposes is listed as a secondary owner and business partner. He also had endless pockets and plenty of influence in the Quarter." He says, knowing very well that a queer man in a place of power with immense wealth in 1917 was entirely possible, should the aforementioned queer man possess the mind gifts given by the Blood. Or know his ways around witchcraft... Or perhaps had acquired some very good blackmail.

"Their daughter, the orphan, is rumored to have died in Paris in 1950, but again... hearsay." He continues, and though the information is lacking quite a few details it's entirely genuine all the same. "After that the homes here were left as a memorial to her, I suppose. The deeds to the properties changed to specify that they must remain as they are. No rebuilds, no sales... It was around 1965 that another contract was drawn up for the properties here and on Rue Royale, same as the last, the signature slightly different despite the name never changing. Lestat de Lioncourt."

#brightreporterwithapointofview #William Lejuene Muse #v: blackbird singing in the dead of night ; tvc (circa 1974)#᯽𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕓𝕚𝕣𝕕 𝕎𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕒𝕞᯽#its just queue and me #long post

// psa //

Bonjour mes chéris,

A few things: the first is that my activity should be getting more frequent after the 22nd (my birthday). I'm still here and still working on things when I can! Life is just life-ing right now. Nothing has been dropped or forgotten unless I never got notified of its existence.

The second thing is that I'm going to be editing my muse list as well as my crossover muse list. If someone you're writing with is taken off of the list, please know the thread is NOT dropped. We can continue it as per usual. It just means that I won't be accepting anything new in the future for that muse. Don't worry, none of the primaries are being removed.

The third thing is that I'm adding two more OCs (original characters) alongside of William to my Vampire Chronicles muses. Their bios will be works in progress, as is William's, because after a certain point their backstories can be changed to fit the narrative of the thread or interaction.

Also, this song:

#ooc #cw ooc #Jamie Speaks #Jamie tries like hell to write and finds it difficult #// I have like 10+ drafts that legitimately just need another line of dialogue or another paragraph of context to make sense COME ON MUSES #// COME OUT COME OUT WHEREVER TF YOU ARE #Spotify

Armand doesn't answer at once.

The boy's words land with more force than the defiance of opening the packet of Pizza Spins before his digestion has settled, more than the crunch of the snack food between his teeth, more than the reckless proof of autonomy the boy offers without apology. The phrase 'maybe they've had to practice to show their emotions' lodges itself deeply into his flesh like a splinter of wood, irritating and stinging. The next, 'why kill yourself trying to keep it up?' a careless kindness masquerading as a philosophy that thickens his throat with a sentiment he doesn't readily recognize, though it's familiar all the same. And then the curiosity of 'do you not remember anymore?'…

The apartment seems to recede, the ambient noise dulling and the flickering of the television flattening into light without meaning or purpose, their surroundings returning to the gray space that lingers between thoughts. The immortal remains seated, cross-legged in posture and composed in expression while beneath it something broken shifts and stirs awake.

No filter at all. How intoxicating that absence is.

He studies Daniel with renewed attention, no longer an unwitting outlet for his rage-fueled curiosities spawned from the depths of Louis' cruelties and adulteries, no longer a subject to be dissected. Now he looks upon this youthful mortal named Daniel Molloy as a phenomenon, free of any calculation or bitterness. There is no self-editing, no brace before speech, no rearranging of sentiments and opinions into shapes that might be more palatable. Daniel Molloy simply exists, loud and bright and untethered with honesty that feels almost obscene.

Fascinating does not even begin to cover it.

Armand's amber gaze drifts downward to where blood still stains the boy's shirt, annoyance combined with regret twisting cold in his stomach. "Some memories are not lost," he murmurs, his voice quiet as the scenery attempts to shift but cannot. "Some are taken from us as children. Beaten out of us slowly, day after day, until what remains feels less like forgetting and more like a mercy." The voices that attempt to manifest are muffled even though they are shouting, the colors and shapes distorted as if painted into a glowing hue of prismatic confusion. As if perhaps gazing at something from beneath murky water.

Armand does not often speak of the brothel, does not often speak of his Maker, but Daniel's question has stirred something inconveniently precise. "I remember certain things," he continues quietly. Two of them come into view, floating as projections onto a domed ceiling. His parents, fuzzy but identifiable, dissolving into the ether moments later. "My mother's hands. My father's voice. Their faces. I remember their names, and… I believe I remember my own."

A pause.

When had his eyes become rimmed with watery crimson? He blinks and the vampiric tears slither down his cheeks humiliatingly. It still doesn't prevent him from lifting his gaze and meeting the boy's own directly. "So when you ask me whether I remember a time before the disguise, you misunderstand the order of events. To me… The disguise came first."

#brightreporterwithapointofview #The Vampire Armand Muse #v: wake me up when september ends ; 9/7/1973 #cw captivity #cw blood #cw mind control #cw telepathy #cw telepathic manipulaton #cw violence implied

sanguisprince

Lestat cannot deny the warmth that blossoms in his chest upon her request. This is something she asks only of him, not Louis. In this particular instruction, he is the one true teacher, and it has proven good for their relationship. Together, they bond over the hunger that defines their nature, the otherness of their immortal existence, the way they transcend humanity and it's rules. Hunting is both sport and necessity, and unlike Louis, Claudia enjoys it.

She is a pouncing lion cub, all teeth and claws, proud and encouraged by his presence. Lover's Lane or the park or a back alley in the Quarter, there is no shortage of places to find a meal and she comes to him for it. It is something between them, something special. He cannot read her mind, nor can she read his, but in this they are in agreement. He raises an eyebrow and smiles, just barely, at her words.

She looks small in the armchair.

She is small.

It doesn't matter. "Would you like that?" He reaches out and pushes a strand of hair from her face, before his grey and violet gaze falls back on hers. He smiles properly. "Go tell Daddy Lou that we're going out. And get your coat."

monbellemonstre

When Uncle Les reaches out and brushes a wayward curl from her forehead to tuck it behind her ear, she feels that strange squeezing sensation deep in her chest. It's the same kind of sensation she had whenever her mortal auntie had been particularly loving or attentive, and when she feels it now she can't help but lean into it just a little bit. Not enough that it might be embarrassing but enough that she's sure he notices whether he speaks on it or not.

His smile is reflected on her face, sitting wide and brightly animated and despite how strikingly different they look from one another, in this moment she does resemble him. Her Uncle Les. The one who taught her how to hunt properly, for humans and all. Not just the rats and cats and fish that Daddy Lou loves so much that she herself can't truly stomach. She supposes it tastes just fine, the animal blood, but there's something lacking in it. Almost like it's not quite enough to keep their kind going, not like the human blood can do. Human blood makes her feel dizzy and powerful and alive! No silly alleycat is ever gonna compare to that.

The moment he agrees she lets out a soft squeak of excitement and claps her hands together twice, slipping off of the chair and bouncing in place, making her dark curls dance around her face. Then she's encircling his waist with her arms, hugging him as tight as she can manage and burrowing her face against his shirtcloth. Just as a child would do to a parent.

"I'll go tell 'im now!" She says enthusiastically, already withdrawing from the hug and headed toward the staircase with that preternatural speed she inherited from her Maker. "Daddy Lou! Uncle Les is takin' me huntin'!" She calls out as she goes, though she still seeks him out to tell him face to face. It doesn't take her very long to get her coat and slip on her shoes after that, fastening the buttons of the coat right around the time she rejoins Uncle Les downstairs.

"Ready!" She announces as she comes to a stop in front of him, pulling on a pair of gloves so that her fingernails aren't quite as noticeable. Generally speaking it's the first thing people notice when they notice something's different about her, besides her eyes. "Where are we goin' first, Uncle Les? The park? Riverside? The Quarter?"

#sanguisprince #Claudia de Pointe du Lac de Lioncourt Muse #v: family portrait ; amc (circa 1918)#𓆸𝕄𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕥 𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖༺๑ஓ #◤─•~𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕕𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕝 𝔻𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣~•─◥#its just queue and me

for a singular heartbeat, the world stills. realization dawns as perspective comes into focus. despite centuries passing and power growing, despite the restrictions and the restraint, armand has been found wanting. and then… lestat laughs.

it bursts out of him in a peal so bright, so reckless, that it almost sounds jovial. too loud for the room, too sharp for the moment as it echoes off of the glass and marble and steel. his head falls back, curls spilling, throat bared, that pale scar gleaming along pallid flesh like a vein through marble as he staggers half a step forward, almost like the words themselves have intoxicated him more than any steeped blood ever could. he is close now, closer to armand than he has been in decades, the air between them shifting as if the universe itself can sense the proximity.

"fashion me into something new- ahahahahaaaa! ohhh, mon cher, do you know how many times i've heard that?"

he is still laughing softly, sounds of amusement escaping between words, "from magnus. blood and fire et voila, a vampire." a hand lifts, gesticulates grandly toward himself once before falling back to his side. "nicki tried, too, pauvre amour, carving at me with his despair until there was nothing left but Renaud's and the stage. you tried once," he gestures once again to armand, only this time their proximity makes it so his hand brushes the elder's shirt with intention. the contact is unmistakable before it vanishes and his hand is at his side once again, another little chuckle escaping. "paris was your atelier, non? candlelight and rules as whispered prayers. hunting. chasing. destroying... and louis…"

the laughter wavers, stutters out at the name formed on his lips. as the memories form in his mind. memories of silence and cruelty and shameful misunderstandings. of weeping throats with flesh split open and poisoned blood. the illicit substances laced through his veins tilts the world once more.

(failure. lover. devil. savior. prosecutor. rockstar. joke. corpse.)

a weapon or instrument stuck back together to be utilized and shaped according to another's wishes, according to another's expectations and disappointments. no. there is no more laughter now. and for just a moment, as lestat gazes at his former paramour, the intoxicated glitter in his crimson-lined eyes flickers to reveal something haunted beneath. something dangerously close to a young mortal man locked in a tower, a terrified fledgling abandoned, a lover who has never known how to love, a man with nothing of value left to lose.

his head tilts, mirroring armand's earlier gesture, and in doing so he negates another inch of proximity between them. his smirk returns in defiance of the prismatic misery reflected in his wintry violet-blue gaze. "so go on. pick up my pieces and remake me. i dare you. just... make sure you don't change me too much, oui? i have an image to maintain."

#devourcr #Lestat de Lioncourt Muse #v: i see hell in your eyes ; amc (circa 2025)#⛧✞︎ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟✞︎⛧#its just queue and me #cw blood #cw intoxication

Armand doesn't withdraw his hand as Daniel glances at it. To the contrary, his fingers curl just a fraction as they slip around the boy's wrist. A slow gesture. A deliberate gesture, as though he wishes for the mortal to feel the decision being made in real time. The patience and caution displayed as Daniel steadies himself against the bloom of pink along his cheekbones before speaking only stokes Armand's adorations, recognizing that caution immediately as genuine interest rather than hesitancy. His thumbpad shifts, brushing the fragile place where Daniel's pulse leaps beneath the heated flesh of his wrist as the boy's scent perfumes the air around them.

When Daniel asks his earnest questions Armand's gaze sharpens with interest rather than retreat. He tilts his head slightly as a sound of amusement escapes him, dark curls slipping forward and his amber eyes capturing the lamplight.

"I do it often," He says softly before meeting Daniel's gaze once more. "With the troupe. With mortals who come too close to the truth and must be guided away from it. But rarely do I enjoy it as I do with you." A curve touches his lips, almost teasing in nature. It's the first time he's used the word mortal in favor of the word person, a subtle change but just as intentional as the touch lingering feather-light around Daniel's wrist. "And no, it is only effortless when the door is open." His thumbpad traces a circle around the thrumming hollow of the boy's inner wrist.

"With most I must push. Gently, or not. But you… invited me in." He steps closer now, enough so that there is no ambiguity left between them. Close enough that the mortal can feel the slight chill emanating from him in place of where body heat might naturally be. "You were already listening when you arrived. Already reaching. Wanting to be known…"

A teasing curve to his lips becomes unmistakable as he feels the ancient hunger stirring, as he feels it begin to coil inside of him. The desire for both blood and flesh causes that fluttering mortal pulse beneath his thumbpad to thrum at the back of his throat. His fangs ache to descend but he does not allow it. If Daniel is showing such restraint, then who is he to break his own? Still, his voice reverberates through Daniel's mind and leaves traces of that hunger in its wake all the same. 'I did not have to force my way inside of you, Daniel.'

taleswrittenblogmoved

The anger fills her and it is almost overwhelming. He still treats her like she's a goddamn child and she hates it. It's not her fault she's stuck eternally in a child's body, does he have to treat her like one too?!

Nevermind that she is very much acting like one with the way she lets out a frustrated 'ugh!' and stomps her foot at him. "Fuck you, Uncle Les!" She spits out with venom lacing her tone as she turns to the body with a scowl.

She could ask Louis to help her and he would but she doesn't want to bother him so she huffs and kneels down to grab the dead body by his ankles and drag him towards the incinerator.

Once she is there, it takes some effort to get the body in and she grumbles under her breath the whole time, muttering less than nice things about Lestat.

monbellemonstre

"Comme j'ai dit, t'es vraiment pas mon genre!" He calls from the hallway in response to the venom spilling from his prodigal daughter's lips, the tone carrying casual boredom with the hint of a smirk. The expression drops immediately, however, as he makes his way through the hall to stand in the alcove at the far end of the manor that faces the courtyard.

He trusts his prodigal daughter to dispose of the corpse, he wishes her to suffer this punishment of disposal, but likewise if she genuinely struggles with it due to her stature he will step in and assist. He will never allow another teachable moment to pass without mentioning it, of course, but still he will assist if necessary because she is of his Blood. If she needs him, loathe as he is to admit it, he will be there without hesitation.

As the sounds of Claudia ridding the home of the rotting corpse begin filling the halls he listens closely, hearing each and every time the corpse's skull slaps against the stairwell, the sound making him wince. It will take more chemicals than he cares to subject his senses to in order to in order to get the remnants of blood and flesh off of the wooden floorboards.

His expression shifts into a small, almost affectionate smile as he sees Claudia appear in the courtyard below, watching her through the window as she goes through the process of getting the corpse into the incinerator. It takes time and he sees how frustrated it makes her, but he remains where he is. Watching. And when he sees her seem to sense his presence above and glance upward that smile grows a bit, and he nods just so, letting her know that he is pleased.

Then he turns from the window and makes his way back into the heart of the home, stopping when he comes to Claudia's bedroom door. His wintry gaze scans he expanse, nostrils flaring, senses unfurling as he attempts to discern whether or not she has kept anything else she was meant to dispose of. He sees nothing but the scent of death lingers heavily here, and he knows there is a likelihood she has something else tucked away somewhere he cannot readily see.

@taleswritten

#taleswritten #Lestat de Lioncourt Muse #v: family portrait ; amc (circa 1920s)#𓆸𝕄𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕥 𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖༺๑ஓ #◤─•~𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕕𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕝 𝔻𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣~•─◥#cw blood #cw death #cw corpse #its just queue and me

content warning: graphic depictions of rough sex, blood and some gore below the cut, depending on your definition of the word gore. proceed with discretion.

Abdominal muscles flex taut as his beloved's hips lift, as they chase after the immortal's length with each withdrawing thrust, as his paramour practically begs for his own ruin and oh. Oh! How Lestat wishes to give him precisely that! And this word, Maitre, one he had at one time loathed and resented but now... NOW!

#strxgxi #// ilysm bestie #Lestat de Lioncourt Muse #v: i see hell in your eyes ; tvc (circa 1975)#𝔽𝕖𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕 ℝ𝕦𝕟 𝕀𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 ; 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒱𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒'𝓈 𝒜𝓅𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝒸𝑒 #ஓ๑𖤝𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔉𝔢𝔩𝔩 ℑ𝔫 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔚𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔪𝔟𖤝๑ஓ #nsft #enn ess eff doubleyou #erotique #cw blood #cw gore #cw biting #cw violence #its just queue and me

blightbitten-deactivated2026031

CULTS, KNIFE CRIME, THEFT, MURDER, WORLD DOMINATION! Prompts inspired by fictional villains and toxic dynamics.

cw: gore, violence, usfw.

“But tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, my blades will thirst again.” “Everyone who isn't us is an enemy.” “Come to me, Father. Set my flesh to your unholy purpose.” “You're angry. Good. Anger can save you when everything else is gone.” “Oh, shut up, you little fool. Praying for the gods to have mercy on us all? The gods have no mercy, that's why they are gods.” “I itch to peel you, to split your skin, to see your skull shine in the light.” “The healer has the bloodiest hands.” “All that I am belongs to the pursuit of creation. You chose to constrain yourself. I must climb to the heights only understood by gods.” “You want to rule? This is what ruling is! Lying on a bed of weeds, pulling them out, by the root, one by one before they strangle you in your sleep!” “Duties, duties, duties. Patrolling and saluting and following and bowing and scraping and 'yes, sir, no, sir, rip and cut your throat, sir'.” “Give me a reason not to cut you to ribbons.” “I've always found the idea of death comforting.” “You would deny me my life.” “I choose violence.” “I’d never been so happy as that moment as I held hands with Death.” “I think it's easy to mistake understanding for empathy - we want empathy so badly.” “The mathematics of human behavior... All those ugly variables.” “A mad dog understands the yank of the leash and the hand of its master, but it cannot be an equal. 'You' can be my equal.” “I look forward to your show of power.” “Do not slouch before me, boy.” “I had to put up with you for years; isn’t that punishment enough?” “It's risky but - erm - safe!” “And he shall cast upon you curses, confusion, afflictions, rebukes, for you have forsaken me, and he shall reign over all of your empty corpses.” “Knowledge is power.” “Power is power.” “Let me clear up some mysteries, then. We share so much history.” “Your daughter will die in this cell, and you'll be here watching when she does.” “Your Gods have forsaken you. This is your God now.” “Yours is a family set upon self-slaughter.” “You burrowed too deep, little rabbit.” “Pity, I thought you'd be more powerful.” “I feel an endless nausea, that only goes away when I'm killing.” “I'm a contemptible blood-pervert.” “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning.” “We are the wolves.” “Are you all right now, or is today a ‘I will wed you with a delicate veil of blood blooming over your white curls’ kind of day?” “It is a trifle, a foolish dream, just as your past fancies.” “Beg that I succeed. For I have seen the Throne of the Gods, and it was empty!” “What happens to you now is your own doing.” “When your enemies pursue, you vanish. When they become complacent, you harass them. When they are weak, you strike in earnest.”

#// prompts and starters #prompts and starters #nsft #cw gore #cw blood #its just queue and me

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