#solilacquist

[desiresuffering]

"you look like shit." feel like it too, if only in some of the still-familiar lines gripped hard under unforgiving hands. and he never will. forgive him. they're so far beyond such base concepts now, decades upon decades stacked on top of each other. told him then, telling him now... doesn't matter. all that matters is this, the slow drag of a sharp nail along armand's jawline, the way the breath hitches, the lips part. no time to take things slow, to linger, and yet louis can't help but fall back into the familiar routine of the unraveling. "gonna tell me you missed me?" gonna beg?

@solilacquist

depreciating the stock was never personal. like the vein between the thighs, armand knows better than most do that louis has a pattern of behavior, evolutionary traits that enable the predator to do as he does, to gorge and eat and feast upon those that cannot decipher the regimen. delaying his own hesitance with a business-like coldness. denigration and a vein where his teeth fit best, the type of glacial apathy that makes armand's skin crawl with an anger, humiliation swallowed down for favor of meeting louis' eyes with his own. the resentment is palpable as it bleeds from his apathy, the jaw tightening before armand reaches forward and puts his hand over his absent heart, as tender as he's always been; and pushes.

the bed can be felt shifting as he bears witness to louis falling across it, silk duvet pulling up from the ends, a pillow toppling off from impact. armand stands over him, a likeness to the subservience there, but only until he takes a step forward. his face shifts, then, the eyebrows furrowing and darkening as he puts a single foot up against the edge of the bed, between louis' knees. ❝ louis, ❞ armand says in a very quiet cadence, leveraging his weight to step up onto the bed, planting both feet on either side of his hips so he can stare down at him, emptied. ❝ five hundred and fourty six years will not be undone because you are incapable of seeing the beauty you covet. ❞ a sword in the mouth, a tongue as sharp and aching for blood as any blade. armand lifts a socked foot and places it directly on top of louis at the sternum, over his heart. ❝ your ire doesn't convince me. i know what you think about when you think he can't hear it. ❞

[offical-dj-bron3]

You gotta have something to strive for

You must have a “why” to your “this”

You can’t just go day by day with no point to it all

Yes, take things day by day, but take those days together as steps towards a larger goal

Everyone has their reason

For some it’s finding true love

For others it’s to serve a higher power

And for those like myself, it’s the innate human desire for freedom, independence, and the ability to live on my own terms

To attain full mastery and control of one’s own life,

To fully dictate the uncertainty that is the future

I know no greater prize

To not be bound by your past, but to be forged and refined by it into a stronger, more resilient being

To look in the eyes all the naysayers and doubters who thought you’d never be worth anything,

To stare into their souls and by the very fact you are alive in that moment,

prove them all demonstrably wrong

What’s the phrase?

“Survival is defiance” or something like that

Ah, I remember

“Existence is Resistance”

That is my rallying cry

EXISTENTIA EST RESISTENTIA

[evilanew]

@solilacquist - 13) for sender to wake up receiver by sensually kissing and biting at their neck [ ℒ ]

ㅤㅤRaj - the word has a nice ring to it despite being weighed down by remnants of colonial plundering, waking thoughts heavy with meticulous preparations for the upcoming big night, elevated vanity overshadowing the plans of mortals in this little escapade before they were to leave New Orleans. The confines of the coffin room were an abandon of silk, lace and jewels befitting such a title, all that was missing was the theft of the Koh-i-Noor itself to complete the look  (  oui, il y avait pensé…  ).  Sunlight gives way for the boon of darkness, and a soundless slumber encroaches upon the hour of natural awakening—  Except an electrifying sensation prematurely sends shivering sparks trailing along the arc of Lestat’s neck, a faint crease of the fair brow manifesting as dreams and reality merge and conflate, eyes opening for the ephemeral mirage of blonde tresses and brunet locks to give way for raven curls.  Disoriented, it takes the Maker a moment to sift through the visages of fledglings old and present, realisation setting in that Louis had opted to bestow this unique wakeup call.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ Quelqu’un est de bonne humeur… ”

ㅤㅤThe drowsy words segue into the shudder of a hushed moan with each wanton motion of lips and teeth against him, yearning hips rolling as the sound melds with throaty laughter, hands instinctively travelling for splayed digits to possessively explore the invitingly lithe canvas before him  (  c’est à lui, tout à lui  ).  A turbulently desperate hunger descends while aggressively prising at gathered fabric for the gift of shifting flesh, scant obstacles posed as a hand curves down to promptly slip into the nestled heat of the front of his bien-aimé’s trousers  (  le voilà—  ),  a heightened desire that skewed towards being a little more direct when embroiled by this haze. Limited vision momentarily swimming in brief light-headedness, it’s a feeling that would right itself soon enough when starting his night, an after-effect of their ongoing fast that impinged upon the trio’s bearing. Countenance shifting to allow further space for the other to continue, the coaxing ignition of lust unnervingly falters to segue into  scepticism, fair eyes snapping open with the abrupt formation of tension about the blond’s frame, a slight withdrawal as the other remains poised in a hover above him.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤLestat peers at that beautiful face in all its shrouding proximity, a gelid scrutiny about the gaze as it inches down to those parted lips in ragged breath, a suspension of love and treachery in the balance, a veil of antipathy threatening to flare with a darkening of features. The consideration of just how many lies had been imparted over the last few weeks  (  ou des mois?  )  wounds him, the Maker’s shift in temperament meaning he could do or say anything in that moment, options of raining down hellfire flashing before unnervingly poised eyes that lack contrition. A thumb gingerly trails over the outline of Louis’s pout before promptly quirking to slip through, meeting with the heat of that slick tongue.  “ Le roi pense que tu sera encore plus belle en utilisant cette langue, mon cher. ”  A sly smirk curls into place while swallowing down his anger, resolving to allow himself to indulge in the limitations of faux bliss.

[lorelodge]

For the positivity meme:

📝 : a mutual whose headcanons you always look out for

🏆 : a blog that deserves more recognition

🔥 : a blog that inspires your creativity

😭 : someone whose writing always hits you emotionally

@brightreporterwithapointofview wants some positivity // accepting

📝 : a mutual whose headcanons you always look out for

@serafinomostro They just... get it, y'know. John has such a well-rounded, deep understanding of Armand, and this has been driven home by not only our discussions but also their headcanon posts. Reading their thoughts on Armand has been exquisite because they not only have me nodding along, but also reassessing my own notions about him. So often when we talk, I'll go 'wait.... hold on' and end up really having to think about what they just said. Seeing them on dash always has me eye zooming because I know I'm in for Good Fucking Content. Very happy that they decided to make the leap from Twitter and join us degenerates on Tumblr. Such an insightful mun who has put a lot of intelligent thought and care into Armand, who I would consider one of the harder Rice characters to grasp.

🏆 : a blog that deserves more recognition

@licanthropic Earthie has been such a wonderful addition to my dash. It can be hard to pick up an OC of any kind, much less a female one set in the supernatural world (werewolf oc), but I think they are doing such a splendid job fleshing her out. You can tell they're very passionate about Bianca and have put thought and care into her. I love seeing Earthie muse about Bianca, post little headcanons, and plot with the assorted spoopy universes. Very excited to write with them and get to know them as a mun <3

🔥 : a blog that inspires your creativity

@solilacquist - Sam is a rare writer. Their creativity comes in so many different forms, to be honest. They write Louis masterfully and have a very vivid way of bringing him to life. But they're also very creative when it comes to threads. The "yes and..." way of writing is a bit of a lost art in the RPC. Most muns prefer plotting, and while Sam IS wonderful to plot with, they're also one of those rare people who can improvise threads. Writing with them is so fun. It has me firing on all four cylinders because I know I can leave them little crumbs, they'll pick them up, and throw them right back at me. They've easily become one of my favourite partners because of how creative they are.

😭 : someone whose writing always hits you emotionally

@evilanew - Have you ever had someone whose writing just grips you by the throat? That's Nadia. Literally reaching through the screen using words alone and violently shaking me. Whether it's OUR threads or the ones they have with Sam, Jam, and Moth (or their other partners) their writing always manages to drag me in by the collar. The fantastic thing about Nadia's writing is that it's not just angst, they're good at writing (although they've had me with my head in my hands more than once) it's their ability to elicit the full spectrum of emotion that makes them so damn special. They can have me just as easily smiling, laughing, rolling my eyes (Lestat and his endless nonsense), shaking my screen, etc. They have such a wonderful Lestat and highlight the full spectrum of his personality. I don't know, man, I'm just constantly emoting with them. Their writing on my screen is as alive as Lestat is on screen.

[immobiliter]

       “ Yeah. You do. ”

       Abrasiveness had always been a part of Daniel's modus operandi. It was the journalist in him: from the unceasing urge for answers as a boy that had no doubt frustrated his parents, to the adrenaline rush of pursuing a story and coming face to face with the obstructive forces of those at the centre of it. He'd made a successful career of slaying dragons, chased that particular high long after one night in San Francisco inspired him to get clean. If the war criminals and corrupt politicians of the world were good at one thing, it was dodging the question. So you had to come at them with an axe, cut through the crap and expose what was underneath.

       It worked on vampires too.

       The gift had not robbed him of that, but it had made those edges sharper. What was already a temper became a short fuse — at least in the presence of human company. The tremor in his hand stilled; failing eyesight due to age came suddenly into clear, predatory focus. He could lay waste to this entire room. He could make those editors and producers and television presenters rue the day they called him old or past his prime. To exist in uneasy balance with those urges was a heady feeling.

       “ Well, thanks to your spurned ex, I didn't have much of a choice in the matter. ” That was the lie he was sticking with, bitterness clinging to his voice. Daniel reached for his glass of wine. “ And I had a book to promote, so I couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity. ” A pause. “ Thank you, by the way. ”

@solilacquist / cont.

[divineviclinists]

@solilacquist asked ‘ You beginnin' to appreciate my lack of sympathy? ‘

"I always appreciated your lack of sympathy. There isn't an inch on you I don't appreciate... except that jacket." He gave Louis a once-over with a cheeky grin. "Swear I saw my father wear that same one. I know you're an old soul, but that doesn't mean you have to dress like one." A rhythmic tap of his foot against hardwood floor as Nicki scrutinised Louis' dress. "Here. Wear this. If you go into your internship wearing something so drab they will mistake you for furniture." He shrugged off his own coat and handed it to his counterpart.

[desiresuffering]

puts a ring on it ( and not the fun, life-affirming kind... or is it? )

ownership makes sense. it felt right and just to possess what was valuable and divine, even the act of coveting was made agreeable to him in his years; despite the sin of it. men did that - they owned things. they stole treasure and hid it away from the world, kept it within the bloodline to protect the sanctity. armand is no stranger to the violence that comes with the greed of possession. it is the nature of the owned thing to accept it's seizure and dust, to welcome the velvet box where it is kept and to withstand. and to keep withstanding. time making no mark, it is armand's duty to stand and be kept within a palm, on a finger, around the neck. it is not the first time louis has gifted him jewelry. it is, however, the first time he opens the box to find identical gold bands. like manacles, side by side, black velvet and a spritz of something sweet on the inside. modest. so unlike the rings louis has ever gifted him that it stands out, it makes itself known; a name, a deed, a ring - louis owns you.

louis knows. he has to. daniel's ring already on his finger feels hot suddenly, the rest growing cool, exposition of shame and morbid blush amalgamating into a turbulent shame that can be felt behind his face. how did he know? armand looks up from the ring box, the wide eyes meeting louis' with something of boyish look, embarrassed, caught and flayed upon the table. a butterfly pinned to corkboard, this vampire, his hands falling under the table like a child might, chest pressed to the edge. ❝ for us? ❞ armand parts his lips, a faint display of his eye teeth on display as he searches the face of his lover and comes up empty. does he dare to look inside? louis would feel him. he always does. ❝ have i - ❞ lips close, the seam of them pressed tightly together. ❝ are you - ❞ eyebrows come together. ❝ i don't understand. ❞

[desiresuffering]

@solilacquist

the days could be long before the azalea opened for the evening. balmy day's that languidly crawl across the sky into an indigo dusk, a feat of patience and physical exertion on the part of a mind encumbered by having to wait and then to wait some more. his evening's were made arduous under thoughts that perhaps he would never return. but louis always returned. even if he was late, he was not the kind of man to neglect the capital of his investment and no other reassurance would sooth that wayward fear as quickly, or as soundly, as that; he would return because he had to. it does not make waiting any easier.

in azalea hall, from the first through to the third floor, there are room's that only he is allowed into. louis office, the private lounge, his own private bedroom with corresponding outfits to match the wallpaper, shoes that glisten like liquid moonlight, accentuating hair ties to expose the neck and tonight is no different. when louis unlock's the door to his office, there are feet propped up on the desk, pale blue socks that reach up the pant leg, darker trouser's, a shirt to match the darker tones in his eyes. buttoned to the chin, somewhat too big on him; his chin is hidden behind the collar, his face downturned into a ledger that's much too heavy to be held in such a precarious position and it flops forward upon seeing louis. the eyes lift, the warmth returning to the deadened gaze upon contact. the skin blooms, becomes hot, a morbid splash of color across the brown face that lifts to greet him. ❝ you're late again. ❞ the shade of his disappointment does not last long. it never does. not when he's as wanting and nearing lonely as he is. ❝ you play the devil upon my heart, sir. i tire of this game. where do you go during the day? ❞