#tueurloup

[musecraft]

🪐 — gabrielle starter for @tueurloup ;

CITIES INDUCED CLAUSTROPHOBIA after so long spent instinctively avoiding all signs of human world. but then, toledo could hardly call itself a city. more a squat little collection of mismatched buildings huddling together at the shallow end of the least great of the great lakes, & gabrielle surveying the decidedly underwhelming skyline with apprehension as it approaches through the window of a rather gauche tour bus. & cast in the glass as magnified reflection looming over it all is her son, standing behind her to dress & prepare for his show.

the injuries that appeared so dire only the evening before have already healed — at least on the surface — but she suspects that there is still some sensitivity in the deepest tissues surrounding what had been the worst of them. but lestat has always been a deeply committed performer, so the show must go on. & gabrielle will attend the concert tonight because her son asked, but the apprehension at the prospect reveals itself in the somewhat rigid set of her shoulders. ❝ will there be a place for me to watch from backstage ? or must i be as one with the audience to appreciate the full experience of the vampire lestat. ❞

[oracultist]

"I leave quite an impression."

a slurred giggle escaped amos's jaws before he had the chance to attempt seriousness , twisting on his heel to face the vampire with blown pupils & glitter sewn curls.          ❛             how humble of you !            ❜          the immortal shouted over the music , the base seeping into his bones & reverberating through his core. this particular club was packed , everyone rolling on something , or like amos , a lot. it should be shameful , admitting that being this high was one of the only ways amos could combat his grief. you'd think after centuries , the loss of a loved one would fade. if anything , that emptiness only seemed to grow.

amos blinked against the harsh lights of the dance floor , the man before him wavering in & out of vibrant colors , so fluid it was hard for the oracle to discern what was strobe or aura. a wave of chilly unease arched through him , as it always did beneath the sharp gaze of a vampire , but his neck rolled to the side instead with a crack , ignoring the warning of danger to arch himself closer with a wide grin.          ❛             hey .. holy shit , i do know you , don't i ?            ❜          his brain was a jumbled haze , but he recognized lestat. not from the set he'd done at the concert venue a few days ago , but from decades prior.

amos's occult shop in new orleans had long since shut its doors , but back in the 1920s it had been thriving. they'd crossed paths many times , though amos vaguely recalled lestat having two people by his side back then. here , he was alone. time had a horrible way of robbing you , didn't it ? amos blinked & swayed on his heels , the room going muffled as the dj moved to change the next set of songs , leaving the immortal to shake a bump onto his thumb & inhale with a groan , returning his attention toward the vampire with a dimpled grin & flushed cheeks.          ❛             word .. word of warning. i told you back then , too , but my .. blood tastes fucking awful. i wouldn't try it.            ❜          

@tueurloup

[cur4tor]

with lestat, he feels vulnerable in a way he doesn't usually. when he's sensitive, when he feels his heart vibrating on his sleeve, he feels naked. exposed to the rest of the cruel world, waiting for them to judge. lestat makes his vulnerability almost bearable, something that doesn't feel like static beneath his skin. he draws circles over lestat's bare back, eyes closed as he seems to sink further into the bed. '¿eres real?' kit questions, because every moment with lestat has felt like a dream, so far. 'you feel real, but . . . i want to be sure,' @tueurloup.

[monstruosite]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐈𝐒  𝐀  𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓  ⸻  𝑭𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮  𝑰𝑵  𝑨  𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬  𝑾𝑨𝑹.  although  you  love  me,  sometimes  we  meet.  things  can  get  𝖚𝖌𝖑𝐲,  𝒃𝒖𝒕  𝒘𝒆'𝒓𝒆  𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍  𝒂  𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒎.  𝗪𝗘  𝗔𝗥𝗘  𝗔𝗡  𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗬.  𝗧𝗛𝗘  𝗕𝗥𝗔𝗞𝗘𝗦  𝗔𝗥𝗘  𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡.  𝑩𝑼𝑻  𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻'𝑺  𝑾𝑯𝒀  𝑾𝑬'𝑹𝑬  𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹  𝑨𝑵𝑫  𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻'𝑺  𝑯𝑶𝑾  𝑾𝑬'𝑳𝑳  𝑾𝑰𝑵. { @tueurloup + @monstruosite }

[devourcr]

@tueurloup continued from here !!

he swings wildly between wishing lestat away and pleading for his return. if only he could banish lestat from the city. lestat, the infected wound of paris and armand, ever the surgeon, would carve him from it for good ( never come back. stay, don't leave me. ) he's like a parasite that's crawled its way under his skin and the elder vampire can't stop thinking about him. he'd never been so willing to fall on his knees to plead with another creature to love him while likewise yearning to tear him to shreds and light his pieces aflame.

like a bird of prey, his eyes refuse to move, a turn of his head following lestat's every step. when he smiles, it's twisted in a cruel pride. ❝ the boy? he doesn't belong to you anymore, lestat. ❞ taunting, almost sing-song from the sweet-faced vampire. the blond looks ready to pounce on him. fitting, if he's the cat and he's the rat, isn't that right? ❝ i thought in all your travels, you'd forget. ❞ armand displays mock sympathy, clasping his hands behind his back as if unafraid of whether or not he deems it appropriate to spill blood. armand has plenty to spare.

❝ he's mine now, safely tucked away. ❞

[cainmoved]

emerson didn’t look over; instead, he let the cigarette burn down in his hand as he considered what to say. strangers used to make him uncomfortable until he became the stranger, & then suddenly the monsters lurking in the shadows became people concealed away from the light. he hesitated, his bony fingers twitched against the cigarette as he considered taking a drag to prolong his silence. he didn’t owe him anything, but he felt as if he was being watched, making his skin crawl & his heart pound against his chest.

swallowing, he finally turned his head. his face was unreadable and calm to the point of being inhuman. emerson then tilted his head, not out of curiosity, but a deliberate stillness that he always carried on him like a second skin. “ you think i’m hidin’ somethin’? ” he asked, voice low and steady. “ i ain’t got nothin’ to hide. call me an open book, if you will. ” the cigarette reached his lips with a sharp inhale, then a slow exhale of smoke into the night air.

a crooked grin pulled at the corners of his lips. “ if you ain’t about readin’ then i ain’t got no time for you. ” riddles. emerson only spoke in riddles when he didn’t want to be understood. if @tueurloup were clever, he would pick up on the game or read between the lines.

continued from here.

[griefseason]

saving  yourself.      a  concept  nicki  has  always  struggled  with.     it  seemed  easy  for  people  like  lestat  –  finding  the  drive  ,  the  purpose  ,  the  willpower.      nicki  had  found  a  passion  in  life  &*  been  punished  for  it  –  not  so  dissimilar  to  lestat  &*  his  abandonment  of  christ.         their  difference  is  nicki's  unwillingness  to  desert  his  violin.         his  inability  to  free  himself  from  the  dredge  of  depression  that  coats  his  mind  like  a  thick  tar.         alcohol  does  nothing  but  make  his  limbs  even  more  useless  in  their  attempts  to  surface  himself  from  that  tar.      yet  here  they  sit  ,  sharing  ale  &*  wine  &*  dreams  that  nicki  cannot  imagine  coming  to  fruition.      

as  flesh  meets  ,  he  looks  towards  lestat's  hands  –  relishes  the  coolness  ;  the  connection.      here  ,  he  is  touched  kindly  –  here  ,  he  is  loved.      he  is  expected  to  be  nothing  but  himself  here  with  lestat  –  but  how  can  you  be  what  may  not  be  worth  existing  as  ?        lestat  would  not  love  him.       perhaps  the  willingness  to  be  more  would  come  from  lestat's  love  of  him.        it  does  not  fill  the  void  in  his  chest  ,  but  it  warms  the  edges.       

❛    &*  if  the  shadow  is  oneself  ?    ❜      he  enquires  gently  ,  gaze  squinting  towards  @tueurloup.        keep  your  eyes  on  the  sun  ,  he  tells  himself  ;  lestat  is  sunlight  incarnate  –  an  ounce  of  reprieve  from  the  dark.       stay  close  to  him.       warm  yourself  ;  bathe  in  the  light  ;  hope  you  might  reflect  it  like  the  moon  you  are  –  save  yourself.        ❛     suppose  you  cannot  understand  that  concept  –  you  have  never  been  a  shadow     . . .     always  a  light.    ❜ ▐  ( con. )

[kissmedcadly]

@tueurloup — cont. from here !

there comes a heavy sigh, like the fact that he's not going to turn that unseasoned little man into dinner is the worst possible thing he could have said. "—you got any friends who might take care of it?" it's not like she knows what kind of connections he has, really — he could know any number of people, totally normal or not. 

not her business.

idly, she flips through through a few albums, maybe gets distracted by a copy of razorblade romance. "'cause if i gotta hear about this dude one more time, i'm gonna— try to give myself a lobotomy or somethin'."