I learned in my political science class that all major famines in the 20th century and onward have been caused by oppressive groups or political situations restricting access to food, NOT natural causes like crop failure
This is literally the point that Indian economist Amartya Sen made that won him the Nobel prize in economics. As a child, he survived one of the several Bengal famines that were organised by the British colonisers in India. He developed his theory on famines, which is that they were more about distribution of food rather than production or availability of it
I think it’s interesting we don’t call the Dust Bowl a famine. That is probably down to the whole American exceptionalism thing. We’re not allowed to talk about how this country uses hunger as a cudgel to beat us.
if armand left bestie for marius (a likely scenario considering the fucked up dynamic he has with that man) would bestie forgive him fairly quickly because she knows about his past or would he have to work for it?
wait. this is such an interesting scenario to think about.
marius has a way of pulling armand back in. even though armand is now older and wiser, the psychological affects of grooming don’t automatically disappear. armand is so used to wanting to please marius, that it would be so easy for him to fall back into that relationship.
but after like a week of being alone with marius, armand would start to feel so restless and anxious. he isn’t with bestie, and he isn’t supposed to follow her around like a guardian angel.
armand not only missed her, he’s genuinely driving himself crazy imagining everything that could be happening to her while she’s alone. and the thought of her finding someone else makes him want to throw up.
so eventually, armand ends up on bestie’s doorstep. he tells her that he can’t live without her. it’s so incredibly vulnerable and emotional, bestie can tell that he’s being honest.
this would be so hard for her. she can’t tell him that everything is okay and that they can pick up right where they left off, but she isn’t willing to send him away either.
eventually, she decides to treat him like a friend in need that just left an abusive relationship. she tells him that she’ll always have love for him, and that he can stay. however, she also makes it clear that they’re not back together because he really hurt her by leaving.
armand would make a big deal about being committed to proving that he’ll never hurt her again, no matter how long it takes.
i also like the idea of armand sleeping in bestie’s guest room one day and having a bad dream. bestie overhears distressed sounds coming from the other room, so she carefully knocks on the door.
armand wakes up, surprised and still so upset. bestie crawls into his bed to comfort him without thinking. he latches onto her as tightly as possible, burying his face against the side of his neck and tangling their limbs together so that he can feel her every breath.
he tells her that the worst part about being away from her was not knowing where she was or if she was okay. he tried watching her through her thoughts, but it wasn’t enough.
ang then armand tells her about something horrific that marius did to him either centuries ago or very recently. bestie would feel sick. she’d spend so long consoling him until he falls asleep on top of her.
they’d get back together eventually, but bestie wouldn’t immediately take him back. however, she would be there for him as a support system the second he needs one.
armand doesn’t have a family or close friends that would take him in as he tries to get out of a difficult relationship. even if they’re not together, bestie would still want to be that for him, a safe place he can go to when he has nothing else.
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: angst, blood, getting rid of body (sorry Daniel 😬), Louis being burnt, Armand's past, sad reader, drug, addiction, suggestive but no sex or anything other than a brief shower together
𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕: being there when Armand and Louis argue in San Francisco, Loumand x female reader, italics are actions and thoughts
𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: Loumand x female reader, (more Armand than Louis) italics are actions and thoughts (bitch about me writing x fem Louis and go on my block list)
𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 1,821
[ 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑵 ]
-𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒕-
Armand had left you alone for but less than a minute to get Louis out of the sun, coming back carrying him like a bride on their wedding day, but he stops as he sees it: your mouth covered with blood as you sob. The boy, he's gone; you drained him dry. "I- I tried not to, but he smelt so good, Armand. I-"
Armand's eyes shake a bit, but he takes a deep breath and calms himself. He knows you aren't his fledgling, but you need him now, especially since Louis's practically given up on any responsibility for you. "Give me a moment with Louis, Little One...Don't drink the old blood." He speaks through your thoughts, nice to have someone so old and experienced who cares so deeply for you as you do for him.
"What happened to Louis?" You speak back to him through your thoughts, worried this is your fault. That you did this as you look at the massive dent in the wood flooring where Louis' head had been slammed down, the boy's body starting to smell, making your nose scrunch with displeasure. "Gross." You think as you move away from the corpse.
"Old wounds of the mind, he will be fine." He answers you about Louis; he's still jarred that you were so protective of him. He's proud, but he won't say it; he's had followers before, but not one that acted like that. You somehow see him as a whole, someone to love and defend, not just a master or maker to appease. Armand places Louis's charred body on the shared mattress.
"You'll help me tend to Louis and clean up the body; we will burn the tapes." He comes back out, walking towards you, grabbing a washrag on his way over, wetting it, and wiping your lips and chin. He looks so radiant right now; maybe that's cause your high off of what was left in the man's body. "Is he always so beautiful?"
"I appreciate your praises, though you are still horrible at safe guarding your thoughts. It will come in time, but you should try harder." He passes you, passing the colorless body over the tapes, turning it on as you both begin to clean. Louis goes on and on about Lestat and Claudia, Claudia just to get back to Lestat.
As much as you did enjoy learning about your maker, you can see Armand fighting his urges to crush the tape recorder with a single blow. You stop cleaning and move over to him, running your nails gently up his arm to his chest. "Armand, don't torture yourself with this."
"No, I- I must know. I must, not only because I need to understand the importance of such obtuseness but also for you. I need to know where Louis's head is at because, unlike Louis and his recent nonsense, I do care for you."
"Are you mad I drained the reporter?" Your voice soft, asking softly and kindly. Fingers gently picking a piece of hair off his shirt.
"Not particularly...but we can find somewhere to put him, plenty of addicts in the area...but that said, you need to control your hunger." He grabs your chin between his forefinger and thumb, making you look into his piercing gaze; something about him just made you fall for him more. Maybe it's just the drugs, it's the sadness, or the resilience despite it all.
"Louis spoke of a man grooming you...did he mean?" You cut yourself off, not wanting to say the words as you want to hug him but don't want to be pushy.
"Louis says more than he should, but yes." His jaw tightens, and he puts his hands over yours on his chest. He can sense your want to hug him, see it in your eyes. Armand likes the way you're asking him to touch him without a word. Not even Louis asked him; no one ever has. You are an enigma, a truely cavity inducing sweet one. He pulls you into his chest, breathing in your hair, closing his eyes and squeezing you tight before letting go.
"Louis will be asleep for a bit. I'll dispose of the body; stay here. Do not answer the door unless I speak to you through the gift." You nod, and he shakes his head. "Words, Little One."
"Yes, Armand." Your eyes watch his as you watch him effortlessly take the smelly body out; it makes you want to retch, but you also feel dizzy from the coke in the man's system. You clean mostly all of it up, then you sit, spacing out til Armand gets back. He speaks to you telepathically, but you don't hear him when he gets back, still spaced out, so he comes in on his own.
"Armand! Armand...put me in my coffin." Louis weeps, and it breaks your trance. You want to help him, and you race over to the door to be with him, but Armand beats you to it.
"Calm. I will handle this." He enters the room, picking up Louis and bringing him to the coffin.
A small moan leaves your lips as a smell wafts through the room, rich like an old whiskey...Armand's blood; he's feeding Louis to help heal him. "Settle." He reminds you through your mind as he hears the small noise through the wall.
"We listened to the tapes. All of them twice...Lestat, Lestat, Claudia, Lestat..Lestat, Lestat." He says, feeding Louis from his own veins, which makes you struggle to pay attention to his words. The sound of Louis drinking is revving the hunger inside you.
"What if the boy stumbled his way to a publication? What then? Lestat strolls past a bookstore, your book displayed in a shop window, and buys himself a copy. Reads your nasty embellishments and comes chasing after you again...after her." He rips his arm from Louis's lips, causing the smell of his rich blood to permeate the room again, hitting your nose.
"If you want insanity back, escape from this 'prison of empathy' that I've 'locked you away in'...All you had to do was ask, Louis. But know this...she will stay here with me; I won't allow you to drag her around like an unwanted pet. My final act of service before I leave you to yourself...I know where he is." Louis stops whimpering and coughing to listen. "I found his voice among the many."
"No..." Louis says, kind of out of breath, tired.
"I told him I was with you..." You hear Armand call to Lestat, Louis disagreeing again. "I told him you were thinking of him, again."
"No." Louis whimpers, shaking his head.
"Yes...I'm here..." You hear a man's voice you've never heard before, but it must be Lestat himself. The voices overpower your mind, and you whimper. Similar to the way Louis is getting overwhelmed, holding your head in pain. Armand's eyes shoot up to you as he speaks for Lestat to Louis.
"Louis...Mon Cher, you wanted to say something to me? Why are you ill? What's happened to you?" Armand stops before finishing. Maybe got lost in the voices, maybe like you did? Louis brings his hand up to his face to bring him out of it.
"He's my maker, He's nothing more."
"You left us for Death, Louis. Will we be on suicide watch for the next thousand years? Will you keep abandoning her the way you do? If so, tell me now, and I will gladly have her as my own but quit treating her as a pet; she's meant to be our companion, our lover. You asked her, begged her, actually, to take the gift. You've pushed her so far away she only sees you as maker, not lover. You're cruel to her...Don't blame us, especially her. When you do this, you punish us both. Have I not atoned for my part in...Paris?"
Louis says nothing and clenches his jaw again with annoyance. "I will finish cleaning up, and she is hungry, in need of something more filling than the blood of a young, drugged boy." He stands, closing the coffin and making his way over to you.
"Come. Let us both wash ourselves of the blood." He grabs your hand, pulling you with him to shower, undressing you and gently pushing you into the shower before doing the same for him. He's rather beautiful still, the drugs starting to wear off; you just see him, a diamond created by intense pressure.
"What's your opinion of me?" He asks, tipping your head back to wet your hair. Armand's heart yearns to get closer to you, but he's guarded for a good reason.
"You're just, or seem to be, resilient... a sea of pain...a sweet man twisted by hands he never asked to touch him." His hands almost freeze for a moment; you haven't known him as long as anyone else, yet you seem to know the most, the water turning pink with blood as he helps wash it down. He looks at you with awe and shock; you grab the loofah to do the same for him, but again there's that same moment of hesitation where you wait for a slight gesture. It's okay. You wash his hands, his arms, careful but thorough like you care.
As much as he loves Louis, Louis didn't ask. He didn't look at him. Louis looked around Armand while looking through Lestat colored glasses. Armand bit his bottom lip on purpose, letting it bleed before kissing you. His fingers threaded in your hair, not sexually, just physically wanting closeness, to feed you, to sate your thirst.
You kiss him back, tasting the blood, sucking on his bottom lip every time his lips came back to your own, and you could at that point pool into a puddle on the floor. It feels safe; neither of you want sex, only just to show eachother love. He almost wishes he'd've made you his own, but he'd die before he gave up the sound of your soft thoughts in his head.
After you both dry, you get into your sleep slip dress, blushing as his amber eyes follow your movements. Your eyes find him the same as he puts on his pajama pants, leaving his chest bare so you can warm yourself against him, always running a bit cold for some reason? You both crawl into his coffin, your head pressed against his heart, almost able to hear every break it's ever gotten, every mend, crack, tear, and weld. You lace your fingers with his and kiss him briefly before closing your eyes sending a single thought to him, "Je t'aime, Armand." He smiled, his heart swelling, bursting as he heard it more sincerely than anyone else he's had in his life. You don't want him to replace someone else, be a master, or a leader; you want him...Arun. Not Amadeo, Armand or Maître. Arun.
Warnings: minor religious themes, excessive descriptions of Dōma's rainbow eyes because I'm obsessed with them.
Tags: light angst┇ learning to love ┇ touch-starved
⤷ Dōma starts copying happy couples to understand love. Somewhere along the way, it stops being an experiment.
The first time Upper rank two, Dōma pays attention to a couple isn't even because he's interested, it happens purely by chance.
He's sitting on a bench in the town square, absentmindedly rolling a coin between his fingers. The night stretches peacefully over the village, wrapped in a dark blanket torn apart only by the trembling glow of paper lanterns and the few oil lamps still burning outside the shops.
There are far too many people around him for his liking, children running back and forth, vendors calling out to advertise goods that probably nobody needs, and conversations blending together until they become one endless murmur.
It's boring, far too boring.
He's about to leave when something catches his attention, a young man buys a flower.
It doesn't look particularly beautiful. In fact, several of its petals are bent and the stem is slightly crooked, enough to make Dōma wonder why anyone would spend money on something so unremarkable.
The young man, however, doesn't seem to notice those little flaws at all. He leaves a few coins on the stall with a smile that's impossible to hide and, the moment the flower is in his hands, he runs toward a young woman waiting several yards away.
She doesn't even need to look at it properly for her whole face to light up. She accepts the flower with flushed cheeks before wrapping her arms around his neck in an embrace. Then they continue walking as though that exchange had been the most ordinary thing in the world, yet from where he's sitting, Dōma can't seem to look away.
He frowns slightly, unable to understand what he's just witnessed. The flower has no real value. Anyone could pick one just like it from a field without spending a single coin, and yet that young woman's expression had changed as though she'd just received the most extraordinary gift in the world.
But if there's one thing Dōma has learned from watching humans, it's that the best way to understand them is never by asking questions, it's by imitating them.
A slow smile spreads across his lips.
You aren't expecting any visitors that night. In fact, you're convinced you'll spend the rest of the evening completely alone.
You've just finished setting your gear down on the table when an icy breeze slips through the open window and a cold breath brushes against one side of your face.
"Hello, darling," Dōma murmurs with a small smile while you jump and instinctively reach for the hilt of your sword.
"Dōma! Warn me before you come in," you complain, pressing a hand to your chest, where your heart is pounding. "And please, use the door."
"Oh my, I'm sorry," he says, tilting his head, though he doesn't look sorry in the slightest. "I'll do that next time."
You can't help letting out a sigh before smiling, there's something about Dōma that keeps disarming you. His questions are strange, yes, and the way he watches other people can be unsettling at times, but you never sense any malice behind it. If anything, he seems like someone trying to solve a puzzle whose rules everyone understands except him.
You turn around, eager to take a long bath and wash away all the grime you've brought back from the mission you finished that very morning, when you hear a soft clearing of his throat behind you.
"Here."
Dōma awkwardly brings out the hand he'd been hiding behind his back without you even noticing.
You take the flower, confusion written all over your face.
You hold it between your fingers for a few seconds, turning it slightly as you study the bent petals. There's nothing special about it. It's an ordinary flower, the kind anyone could find at the very first stall in the market, and yet when you look back up at Dōma, you find him watching you intently.
"Thank you," you murmur, unable to hide the smile on your face. "But… why are you giving it to me?"
"Oh?" Dōma places a hand over his chest, his eyebrows shooting up. "Can't I give a flower to my beloved?"
"Dōma."
"Fine," he sighs dramatically, leaning against the wall. "I had an idea."
"That never ends well," you narrow your eyes, and Dōma flashes you an amused smile.
"This morning I saw a man buy a flower," he begins. You raise an eyebrow but stay silent, letting him continue. "It wasn't pretty, but he still gave it to the woman he was with, and she smiled before hugging him."
His gaze drops to the flower you're still holding between your fingers before slowly returning to your face.
"Humans are so foolish. They're satisfied with anything."
"Excuse me?" you snap, but Dōma raises a hand before you can continue.
"I just thought it was curious. The flower was something insignificant, and yet she smiled as though he'd given her the whole world." Dōma's rainbow eyes lock onto yours, stealing your breath away. "I wanted to see if you'd smile like that too."
You stare at him for a few seconds, completely bewildered, ignoring the blush warming your cheeks before a quiet laugh slips out through your nose.
"You're hopeless."
"So… does that mean it worked?"
A few days later, he does something else that completely disarms you, this time while the two of you are walking through the town center.
Beside you, Dōma walks with his hands tucked inside the sleeves of his haori, taking in everything around him with interest. The conversation, as always whenever you're with him, drifts wherever his latest whim takes it.
He swears the dog lying in front of the butcher's shop has exactly the same expression as the baker on the corner whenever someone asks him to lower the price of bread.
A few minutes later, he points at a particularly long cloud and insists it looks like a giant fish trying to swallow the moon.
Before you can answer, he changes the subject again to complain that someone painted a door blue even though the entire building is red and, according to him, "it completely ruins the harmony of the street."
You never know how he manages to connect one thought to the next, and you're not even sure he knows either.
Even so, you end up following the conversation with quiet laughs and resigned replies, because arguing with Dōma is almost always far more exhausting than simply agreeing with him.
That's when you feel the faintest brush against the back of your hand.
Dōma's fingers have just slipped carefully between yours. He gives your hand a light squeeze for a few seconds before continuing to walk as though he hasn't done anything out of the ordinary, and it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for most people, but Dōma isn't an affectionate person.
You keep walking for another couple of steps, far too surprised to do anything else, until you finally come to a stop in the middle of the street.
Dōma barely turns his head toward you, patiently waiting for you to speak.
"W-What are you doing?" you stammer, far too flustered to keep yourself under control.
His gaze drops to your intertwined hands.
"I saw a couple walking like this yesterday."
As he answers, he threads his fingers a little more securely through yours, studying the gesture with the same curiosity a child would have while taking apart a toy just to figure out how it works.
"You're still doing this?" you complain, even though your heart is racing.
"Of course, darling," he says with a cheerful smile. "You're my beloved."
You open your mouth to answer, only to fall silent. You're starting to hate how effortlessly he leaves you speechless.
Over the following weeks, the "experiments" continue.
One night, after returning from an especially long mission, you find him waiting for you, sitting on the wooden fence surrounding your house. He absentmindedly swings one leg while holding a small paper-wrapped package in his hands.
The moment he sees you approaching, he jumps down and holds it out toward you.
"For you."
You frown slightly before unwrapping the package, It's your favorite dessert.
"You saw that with another couple too?" you ask, surprised that he remembered something like that.
Dōma nods without the slightest hint of embarrassment.
"Yes."
He stays silent while watching your expression so intently you can almost feel the weight of his gaze resting on your face. He doesn't seem interested in the dessert at all. The only thing that matters to him is finding out whether the result will be the same as it was with the flower.
You end up smiling without meaning to, and he smiles too, confirming that the outcome is exactly the same.
Another day, the two of you are walking along a forest path when a gust of wind tosses your hair into disarray. You don't notice until you feel careful fingers brushing a strand away from your cheek.
You immediately look up, and Dōma pulls his hand back with a small smile that makes his eyes close.
Another day, the cold catches both of you off guard while you're walking through the village. Without warning, Dōma stops in front of you and reaches both hands toward your neck, making you flinch.
"What are you doing?" you murmur.
"Don't move."
With a level of concentration that seems completely unlike him, he straightens the scarf wrapped around your neck, smooths out one end that had folded over, and makes sure it's covering you properly again.
Dōma takes a step back to admire the result. "That's better."
One day, this whole situation of being Dōma's guinea pig becomes a problem.
You've grown used to finding him waiting for you whenever you come back from a mission, to listening to one of his ridiculous observations while the two of you wander aimlessly hand in hand, to him showing up with a flower, a dessert, or some other completely unexpected little gift simply because, according to him, "a couple did the same thing the other day."
And the touches, those damned touches.
The way his fingers seek out your cheek to wipe away the tiniest speck of dirt, the habit he's developed of brushing his knuckles against your face whenever he manages to make you laugh, the absentminded circles his fingertips trace over the back of your hand while you walk together, even the way he's started resting a hand against the small of your back every time you cross a crowded street, as though he's afraid of losing you in the crowd.
Dōma is only trying to understand humans. He isn't doing any of it because it comes naturally to him.
You try to repeat that to yourself over and over every time your heart skips a beat when he threads his fingers through yours or leans in to brush a strand of hair away from your face with a gentleness you never would've expected from someone like him.
As soon as he finds the answer he's looking for… he'll stop asking you questions, and once he stops asking you questions, he'll stop bringing you flowers, stop holding your hand, stop waiting for you after your missions, and stop stroking you affectionately whenever he gets the chance.
You don't know if you're ready for when that day comes.
The path leading to the shrine is completely deserted.
At this hour of the night, the only sounds are the murmur of the wind drifting through the treetops and the soft crunch of gravel beneath your footsteps. The stone lanterns lining the path cast a faint glow over the steps, enough to paint your long shadows between the torii gates leading to the main shrine building.
With Dōma, silence has gradually become something unusual. The two of you walk side by side while he absentmindedly observes the shrine, the paper streamers swaying in the breeze, and the wooden prayer plaques where worshippers leave their written wishes. You, on the other hand, are only aware of him.
"I don't understand why we pray so much to a deity that doesn't exist," your voice breaks the silence without warning.
Dōma lifts his gaze toward a small row of ema gently swaying beneath the shrine's roof.
"Because they like believing someone's listening."
"And does that work?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
"It doesn't matter whether it works," he says, pausing briefly as he runs his tongue across his lips. "They just need to believe it will. Humans like taking shelter in that whenever they want to escape pain."
Dōma falls silent, simply watching the wooden plaques for a few seconds before starting to walk again. You follow without saying anything, letting the silence settle between you once more.
When you reach the highest point of the shrine, you decide to stop. From there, most of the town stretches out below you, dotted with tiny lights that are still glowing despite the late hour. The air is colder here, and a gentle breeze stirs a few loose strands of your hair.
You rest your forearms against the wooden railing, and Dōma comes to stand beside you. It doesn't take him long before he turns his face toward you.
"The way you're looking at me is starting to worry me," you say, unable to bear the silence.
The corner of his lips curves ever so slightly. "Which way?"
"That way," you reply, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye with a faint frown.
When you finally gather the courage to meet his gaze, he's looking at you exactly the same way as before. There's no trace of the teasing smile he usually wears when he's trying to get under your skin, nor that childlike look that's always accompanied by endless questions.
A knot slowly forms in your throat, there's something in his eyes that makes your skin prickle.
He looks vulnerable.
Beneath the silver light of the moon, his eyes seem to lose any resemblance to those of a human being. The colors melt into one another as though someone had spilled paint across his irises, catching flashes of pink, gold, and turquoise every time the breeze stirs the branches overhead.
They're beautiful eyes, unreal, so mesmerizing that it's easy to forget they belong to a demon capable of painting an entire forest with blood.
A creature for whom you're betraying the Demon Slayer Corps.
"Are you going to answer me?" you ask almost in a whisper, unable to stop your hands from trembling.
"You're very beautiful."
Your lips part slightly, once again unable to find an answer ever since this whole madness began. For weeks you've learned to trace the origin of every one of his gestures, but this time, you can't.
The compliment hangs between the two of you, as fragile as the silence that follows it.
Dōma doesn't look away, the moon continues reflecting in his eyes, making their colors shift with every slight movement of his head. The pink fades into gold, then an almost crystal-blue appears, one you've never noticed so clearly before. He's beautiful, painfully beautiful.
You wonder how many people have died staring into those same eyes without ever realizing they were the last thing they'd see in their lives, and yet right now, you can't find even the slightest trace of cruelty in them.
Your heart pounds so hard against your chest that you wonder if he can hear it too, he probably can, demons hear everything.
You lower your gaze for a moment, unable to endure that intensity any longer. Before you can gather your thoughts, though, you feel cold fingers slipping beneath your chin.
Dōma gently tilts your face back up with a tenderness that contradicts the strength you know he possesses.
"What's wrong?" you ask, your voice coming out far shakier than you'd intended.
He takes a few seconds before answering. His eyes deliberately wander across every corner of your face, as though he's trying to memorize it.
"I had an idea," he says, just like he did that night weeks ago.
"That never ends well," you joke weakly, playing along.
The shadow of a smile briefly crosses his lips before disappearing almost as quickly as it came.
"No," he says, slowly shaking his head. "This time it's different."
His thumb absentmindedly brushes along the line of your jaw in slow caresses that send butterflies fluttering through your stomach.
Dōma's gaze slowly drops to your lips.
"You're very beautiful," he repeats, this time in a quiet voice.
"You already said that," your lips begin to tremble beneath Dōma's attention.
"It's not enough, darling."
His lips find yours with an almost reverent slowness, as though even in that final moment Dōma is still wondering why he feels the need to do it. You've kissed Dōma far too many times to be surprised by a gesture like this.
You know the coldness of his lips, the faint sweet scent that always seems to linger around him, and the carefree way he leans down whenever he feels like stealing a kiss from you.
But this kiss isn't like any of the others.
It's not one of those absentminded kisses while he calls you "darling" with that insolent smile, it isn't one of those fleeting kisses he shares with you before disappearing among the trees as effortlessly as he arrived, nor is he trying to make you react or see what expression you'll make afterward.
Dōma lingers against your lips for a moment that seems to stretch far longer than it should, motionless at first, as though that simple contact alone is enough to quiet every thought that's been stirring inside him for weeks. Then he deepens the kiss.
His thumb strokes your cheek while his lips move against yours with a gentleness that slowly unties the knot that had been tightening around your chest.
Your fingers end up clutching the collar of his haori, while Dōma's leave your cheek to carefully slide down to your waist. His touch is still cold, but it no longer startles you.
His mouth parts yours as his tongue slips inside, turning the kiss into a scorching one that draws a soft moan from your lips. With insulting ease, as though you weigh absolutely nothing, he lifts you off the ground. The movement is so smooth that you barely have time to let out a small gasp before finding yourself sitting on the shrine's wooden railing.
He immediately steps between your legs to keep you from losing your balance.
Dōma tilts his head and finds your lips again and again, like a thirsty man incapable of pulling away from the only source that can quench his thirst.
When you're finally running out of air, you're the one who breaks the kiss just enough to take a shaky breath.
Dōma remains in front of you, still far too close, one hand resting on your waist while the other is still caressing your cheek, as though he'd forgotten to pull it away.
His white hair, always immaculate, has become slightly tousled from the wind and from your own fingers, which are still gripping the collar of his haori. A few loose strands fall across his forehead, casting soft shadows that soften his features.
His rainbow eyes are just as beautiful beneath the moonlight, but now they seem darker, deeper, like the surface of a lake after someone has thrown a stone into it and the last ripples are beginning to fade.
Dōma's lips are slightly parted, faintly flushed after your long kissing session.
He looks so beautiful that it steals your breath away.
"I think I was wrong," Dōma says, his voice rough enough to send a shiver down your spine.
"About what?" you murmur, still dazed from the kisses.
"I thought I was learning how people in love behave," his hand slowly leaves your cheek to find yours. "But it's been a long time since I needed to watch other couples."
Your heart skips a beat. "Dōma…"
"I don't watch what they do anymore, it's boring." His eyes return to yours. "All I think about is wanting to do those things with you."
Tears blur your vision as all the weight that's been building on your chest for weeks suddenly disappears.
Dōma tilts his head in confusion. "Are you crying?"
A shaky laugh escapes you through your tears.
"You're an idiot…" you murmur so affectionately that the words lose any intention of sounding like a reproach.
Before he can ask why, you close the little distance still separating the two of you and bury your face against his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him. Dōma goes completely still, surprised, before cautiously wrapping his arms around you in return.
"Ah," slips from Dōma's lips. "This is… interesting."
His chin slowly comes to rest on top of your head, and you let out a small sound of confusion.
"I used to think it was silly that you smiled whenever I did things like this," he says, his eyes remaining fixed on the darkness surrounding the shrine. "Now I'm the one doing it."
Warnings: predator/prey, stalking, noncon oral (r receiving), death (not reader), mentions of blood and mutilation.
There’s a monster in the woods, it lurks in the shadows, sends a chill down your spine that settles deep within your being that paralyzes you. Whatever it is, it preys on young women, gruesome scenes to be discovered when dawn breaks.
Fear grips your village, women of all ages locked away before dusk with the hopes they won’t be stolen from their beds instead. Everyone longs for the lost sense of security, living with this looming threat they don’t know how to deal with.
You feel it worst of all, living alone with no one close enough to care if you stay out too late, nobody to walk down the lonely roads while the twisted shadows of trees without leaves elongate into gnarly figures on the worn pathways.
The seclusion of your house feels much less comforting now, sitting on the very outskirts of your village that now makes you curse being such a recluse.
Every creak of the old wooden house settling brings a startelement and the flickering flame that makes shadows dance along the walls tricks you into seeing a body that’s not there.
Stalking wasn’t really something he liked to do but when the village he used as a food source started locking away their beauties, what was he to do? Your house was so conveniently along his path too, he meant to eat you sooner but how skittish you’ve become has been amusing to say the least.
As much as you quake over the monster that terrorizes your town you still stay up so late, reading a book by the candlelight and biting at your thumbnail over whatever scene you’re reading captivates you.
Your mannerisms and habits have caught Douma’s interest so he’s taken to watching you simply live, dwelling within your solitude. He finds it interesting how you rationalize the frost on your windows he creates to give some indication of his presence, looking at it in thought then writing it off as an off-season chill. He would think you were toying with him if you didn’t stiffen at the slightest noise out of place.
Every creature he’s ever encountered was so dreadfully boring but he grows fond of this little dance you’re unknowingly a part of. Douma wants to accelerate the pace. How will you rationalize if your neighbors just up the street are discovered mutilated while your home is left untouched? It brings a twisted smile to his face the night he visits you and you vehemently refuse to leave your home.
Do you count yourself lucky that your home was spared or think it coincidence? How many bodies does it take to shake you to your core? Douma counts five, one for every night of the week, oh he wishes he could’ve seen the look on your face when you’d heard all the women that surrounded you fell prey but somehow you were left safe.
You don’t leave your home completely dark after that, is it because you think if you give the illusion that nobody's home your luck won’t run out? It’s almost laughable, oh how interesting he finds you.
I think I’ll keep you, he thinks to himself when he finally comes from hiding, standing tall in the offensively tiny room of yours. He knows you’re awake, can hear your heart thundering in your chest while you hide under the covers.
His footfalls are light but each floorboard creaks when he approaches your mattress, tugging away the covers with little resistance wearing a smile that actually meets his eyes for the first time. You shake like a leaf in turbulent winds until you see him for the first time.
The monster that slaughtered your neighbors was only a man and one of the most beautiful you’d ever seen. It’s a sickening feeling that settles in your gut, the things he’s capable of and you can only think of the superficial.
You flinch when the back of his hand strokes your cheek, making his lips part in a soft laugh. His nails are long but he’s careful not to knick your flesh, opening his mouth further to speak and revealing elongated canines that don’t belong to humans.
“Expecting something else?” He questions like it’s obvious what you’re thinking, voice so smooth with a playful lilt that his touch feels almost comforting. Douma leans over you now, crouching next to your bed while he pets soothingly at your hair. You haven’t breathed a word, the silence stretching for what feels like hours.
But that’s fine with him, he’ll draw out that voice he’s sure is just as beautiful as the rest of you.
He tosses your covers away completely, leaving you only in the thin fabric of your sleeping robe; reaching to unfasten the knot that holds it together but your hand wraps around his wrist. He raises his eyebrows at the action, chuckling softly when he peels it away and crawls onto your bed.
“If I wanted to hurt you,” he drawls slowly, watching as you crawl up your bed to lean against the wall, cornering yourself when he comes closer, “I already would have.”
If it was meant to be comforting you’ll never know, coming off as more of a threat while he touches your body, groping up your thighs. He’s splitting open the fabric in his venture upwards until you’re only covered by your hand bunching the parting fabric close to the apex of your thighs. Even then he coaxes your hand away, pushing your legs apart to reveal your slit, glistening with wetness when bathed in the sliver of moonlight that fills the room.
He gasps dramatically, wide smile on his face again when he moves to lean downward, keeping you from closing your legs by pressing one of his palms to your inner thighs. “I’ve waited long enough, be thankful it’s a different taste I want.”
You whimper at his words, fresh tears stinging at the corners of your eyes when his face inches toward your cunt, the urge to close your knees together growing ever stronger until the tip of his tongue parts your folds. Both of your bodies tense, Douma gasping out, gripping both of your thighs so tightly his nails dig into your skin that earns a pained yelp that he pays no heed too.
He lets out a groan, flattering his tongue completely to lick a long stripe up the expanse of your pussy, rolling his eyes at the taste of your essence. Your hips twitch when he passes over a protruding nub, licking over it again to earn the same reaction, smirking as he finds you trying not to enjoy it.
He’s loud, embarrassingly so and it makes you want to cover your ears, sickened by how he slurps and groans between your thighs; you feel even worse that you’re drawing closer to climax the more he works at you. Your back arches, fingers coming to push at his head when the feeling grows stronger but he groans out, vibrations reverberating through your cunt and pushing you over the edge.
The sound of your pleasured cry makes his shoulders slack, massaging at the backs of your thighs while he laps up your cum, sucking your lips before pulling away. His chin glistens when you finally focus on him, fixing your clothes and pulling you into his lap like this was some tender moment.
Your body is stiff against him but Douma pays it no mind, petting your hair as he presses a kiss to your temple. It’s unbearably quiet for a long time before he breaks the silence, practically purring in your ear, “you taste so good.”
It feels like eternity when he finally removes you from his lap, settling you back into your bed as he’d found you, cupping your cheek with a smile you find more sinister than sweet.
“I’ll be back for you,” is all he whispers, leaving like he was a welcome guest with a promise to return. You feel even more on edge than when he first pulled the covers from you, rolling around in your bed until the sun rises and bathes your room in rays that don’t abate the cold emptiness you feel.
There's a monster in your village but the cold chill of fear that he instills in his other victims doesn’t apply to you in the same way. He eats you too, devours you whole but never like the others, coming to you when he hungers carnally. You’re special, his favorite meal that satisfies him in ways no one else ever could, your screams in ecstasy music to his ears in contrast to the ones of horror he always elicits from others.
You think better of running, you know he’ll find you. You’re his favorite, after all.
Shout out to the awesome Ideasbyhungry on tiktok for this rewrite! I just had to turn it into a mini comic (and also added sasuke in there for a more dramatic effect lolll!)
Don't get me wrong Sakura sadly is not win this fight, but Itachi definitely underestimated the mind of a teenage girl
content warnings: su*c*de implications (in reference to a mentioned book character), slightly creepy armand, very very very lonely and probably depressed reader, (while it's more subtle here, there is meant to be some toxic/codependant undertones to their dynamic)
main masterlist
pt 2...coming soon
a/n: didn't think i'd be writing interview with a vampire fanfiction but here i am! i was largely motivated by @0220611 who has written a beautiful series of armand fics that i've fallen in love with and inspired me to write more.
this was originally intended to be a super long one shot but i think this wrapped up in such a natural way that i might split it in two so let me know if you'd like to see that and i'd gladly tag you!!
this is my first time writing armand so please, let me know how i did and if you think this is accurate to his character!
Loneliness was never something that sat well with you. It settled in earlier than most, a silent companion that clung to you before you were even old enough to be considered a teen. It was subtle, whispering—like a gust of wind you don’t realize is there until it’s gone.
In the beginning it was manageable, but as you grew older, it seemed to chisel away at you until you felt…half.
Half-made, half-done, half-seen. Half a soul.
It became a parasite. One that only offered you one thing: questions.
Were you created to always contain this soggy, half-baked soul or was it to your own self-failing? Was there a way to cure this loneliness or was it simply in your creator’s intention for you to die the same way you lived—shrouded in nothingness?
The worst thing about this parasite, if you were made to pick, was that it did not wait for the perfect time to make itself present. It lived through you as a constant, ebbing and flowing with its own intensity while never truly fading away.
If anything, it favored the inopportune times to embolden it’s presence, reminding you of your loneliness in those times in which you were not alone.
On a terrible date where they claimed you were ‘easy to talk to’ when you were never even given the space to open up. When you were with your family as you were interrupted time and time again, forced to start your story over before eventually giving up. Sitting in cafe’s with your group of friends, running your finger over the rim of your coffee mug as you tried to keep up with the conversation.
That’s when you saw him.
Or more he saw you. You wouldn’t take notice of his presence for another half hour.
Mysterious figure that draped himself with a subtle regality in an armchair across the room. He seemed to have a way of asserting his presence while still blending in smoothly into the foreground—like the glows of sunset hiding in a painting.
It wasn’t until he stepped out of his painting that you saw him. Amber eyes that found you with an newfound intensity, a gentle intensity. Just like his presence, beckoning in your attention without ever demanding it.
He rose from his chair and found a pace to the counter, his eyes never removing from you. Something about his gaze—you removed your hands from your mug and straightened your spine. But you didn’t smile. Your face felt utterly paralyzed until the moment he turned away from you and faced the counter.
Just like that…it might as well have been all in your head.
You still felt it though, his presence. He stood only 10 feet away like a looming figure despite the fact that you only saw his back.
“Did you hear me?”
A cold splash of water—your attention was torn away from the figure and thrown back to the conversation before you.
You hadn’t even realized a degree of a smile sliding onto your lips until it fell away. “I’m sorry what?”
“You’re always so distracted,” one of the three in front of you laugh. Not maliciously. “We should get a bell for whenever you space out on us.”
The rest of them chimed in laughter. Not maliciously. Never maliciously. It was always pointed enough that it stung, but soft enough that you could never protest it.
Convinced you’d be making something out of nothing, you let it be nothing. Kicked it under the rug and smiled.
“What did I miss,” you tried, moving back to running a finger along the rim of your mug absentmindedly.
“We were talking about books we’ve been reading.”
And in a rare moment, the attention was turned to you, the conversation awaiting your response in a way that invited you heart to unfurl with warmth, chasing away your parasite.
“Oh! Well uhm, it’s about a woman that finds a library after she’s died and in each of the books is—”
But the moment is cut all too short, all too soon. Interrupted.
“Wait! That reminds me of this movie I was watching just the other day, oh my god it was crazy…”
It didn’t take much longer for that warmth be shaken away as your parasite crept back in. With a stretched-thin smile, you looked down at your (probably cold) cup of coffee with a lack of surprise.
“Hey,” a small voice whispered. From beside you, your friend leaned in as the other two continued on their own rambles. “You know how excited she gets. Don’t take it personally.”
You feigned a smile. “Yeah, I know.”
There was a flicker of something in her eye that felt like pity in your own eyes. “I’d love to check out your book when I get the chance.”
A beat of silence passed between you two and for a minute you didn’t say anything before deciding on something else entirely: an out. “I’m gonna grab some napkins. I forgot to grab a coaster.”
You didn’t wait for a signal or some sort of acknowledgement of your statement before you pushed out of your seat and carried yourself to the counter to sit in your thoughts with the absent mind you mutely floated through life with.
You had even forgotten about your mysterious figure up until his oddly appropriately fitting voice appeared at your side.
“Your book sounds very fascinating.”
It was strange. In any other scenario in which a man, no matter how attractive or intriguing, appeared so suddenly at your side, you would have been startled. You would have jumped back and eyed him up and down like a stray cat to a human.
But you didn’t.
He settled there next to you like he belonged there, like there was always a space for him and it was just a matter of time before he filled it.
You looked to him and there it was again—those amber eyes that signaled something inside you. Something so corporeal and maybe even spiritual. A hook casted through your very being and dragging you closer the moment you met his eyes.
“You heard that,” you questioned with a surprising ease.
“I try not to eavesdrop on conversations that aren’t mine, but…” he paused, holding you at the end of his every word, “you intrigued me. Tell me more about your book.”
His voice floated over to you with such a gentle air, but the impact did exactly the opposite. It came down with a crack—splitting you open so that you laid bare and exposed before it eventually…cradled you.
“It’s about a woman who finds herself alone. She’s overdosed on her anti-depressants and she’s stuck between life and death which comes in the form of a library.”
The words pour out of you with little inhibitions or fears, as if this man was siphoning them out with just his words and that glint in his eyes.
He beckoned you to go on. “And you had said there was something special about the books within this library?”
You hummed in soft approval. “Each one shows her a possibility. A different life. The what-ifs behind every single life choice that would have set her on a different path.”
He observed you in such a way that you felt paralyzed if you even dared think too hard about it. He seemed to listen as if you were telling your own life story.
“And how does it end,” he asks, tilting his head in a curiously prying wonder.
“I don’t know. I never finished it.”
A beat of silence rolled between you two.
“You never finished it?”
You shake your head. “Still sitting on my side table like it did a year ago.”
A deeper shade of wonder swirled in his eyes. “How come?”
Another beat of silence. Not in the conversation, but in you as you pondered just how honest you wanted to be with this stranger.
But something in you felt as if this truth you were holding onto was already released to him the moment he approached you at that counter.
“In truth? I’m scared.”
He blinked. “Of what?”
“Scared…” you echoed, “that I won’t get what I’m searching for in this book.”
“And what are you searching for?”
For the first time that entire evening and in what felt like years, you smiled. It was intended to be cynical, yes, but some part of you felt the long awaited dose of dopamine, endorphins, and serotonin flood your brain as you did it. “An answer to one thing all human beings secretly fear, I guess.”
Something in your answer lingered between you and the man—translated to understanding and laid out as a silent truth. He knew the words you didn’t speak and somehow, someway you trusted that he knew its meaning.
He didn’t attempt to summon a witty reply nor did he ruminate heavily on your words. He simply let them live and let his next words form something new.
“Your friends disregard you. You are worth far more than that.”
Those were the words, from the wide variety exchanged in those long minutes, that startled you the most. You felt as what was left to be carefully controlled in your expression fall away and your breath was snuffed out from your lungs.
You couldn’t even find a response in you before you turned back, seeing them rise out of their seats to leave the very coffee shop you seemed to forget existed.
Then he said your name. Speaking it like song of praise, the sweetest wine with a bitter end. “I do hope I see you again.”
You don’t quite remember walking away from him. As if the memory was too devastating for your heart to bear and it was wiped clean from your head.
“Who was that,” you friend questioned as she held the door open for you.
You turned back once more, only for a moment as his eyes stayed on you from behind obstructing glass. “I don’t know.”
The only think your brain could piece together in whole was the one thing it ever seemed to summon in your soggy, half-baked soul: a question.
But this time it was a new one. A question that brought your soul to life with the beams of a burning sunrise over a depressed night.
How did he know your name?
Loneliness was never something that sat well with you. It settled in earlier than most, a silent companion that clung to you before you were even old enough to be considered a teen. It was subtle, whispering—like a gust of wind you don’t realize is there until it’s gone.
In the beginning it was manageable, but as you grew older, it seemed to chisel away at you until you felt…half.
Half-made, half-done, half-seen. Half a soul.
It became a parasite. One that only offered you one thing: questions.
Were you created to always contain this soggy, half-baked soul or was it to your own self-failing? Was there a way to cure this loneliness or was it simply in your creator’s intention for you to die the same way you lived—shrouded in nothingness?
The worst thing about this parasite, if you were made to pick, was that it did not wait for the perfect time to make itself present. It lived through you as a constant, ebbing and flowing with its own intensity while never truly fading away.
If anything, it favored the inopportune times to embolden it’s presence, reminding you of your loneliness in those times in which you were not alone.
On a terrible date where they claimed you were ‘easy to talk to’ when you were never even given the space to open up. When you were with your family as you were interrupted time and time again, forced to start your story over before eventually giving up. Sitting in cafe’s with your group of friends, running your finger over the rim of your coffee mug as you tried to keep up with the conversation.
That’s when you saw him.
Or more he saw you. You wouldn’t take notice of his presence for another half hour.
Mysterious figure that draped himself with a subtle regality in an armchair across the room. He seemed to have a way of asserting his presence while still blending in smoothly into the foreground—like the glows of sunset hiding in a painting.
It wasn’t until he stepped out of his painting that you saw him. Amber eyes that found you with an newfound intensity, a gentle intensity. Just like his presence, beckoning in your attention without ever demanding it.
He rose from his chair and found a pace to the counter, his eyes never removing from you. Something about his gaze—you removed your hands from your mug and straightened your spine. But you didn’t smile. Your face felt utterly paralyzed until the moment he turned away from you and faced the counter.
Just like that…it might as well have been all in your head.
You still felt it though, his presence. He stood only 10 feet away like a looming figure despite the fact that you only saw his back.
“Did you hear me?”
A cold splash of water—your attention was torn away from the figure and thrown back to the conversation before you.
You hadn’t even realized a degree of a smile sliding onto your lips until it fell away. “I’m sorry what?”
“You’re always so distracted,” one of the three in front of you laugh. Not maliciously. “We should get a bell for whenever you space out on us.”
The rest of them chimed in laughter. Not maliciously. Never maliciously. It was always pointed enough that it stung, but soft enough that you could never protest it.
Convinced you’d be making something out of nothing, you let it be nothing. Kicked it under the rug and smiled.
“What did I miss,” you tried, moving back to running a finger along the rim of your mug absentmindedly.
“We were talking about books we’ve been reading.”
And in a rare moment, the attention was turned to you, the conversation awaiting your response in a way that invited you heart to unfurl with warmth, chasing away your parasite.
“Oh! Well uhm, it’s about a woman that finds a library after she’s died and in each of the books is—”
But the moment is cut all too short, all too soon. Interrupted.
“Wait! That reminds me of this movie I was watching just the other day, oh my god it was crazy…”
It didn’t take much longer for that warmth be shaken away as your parasite crept back in. With a stretched-thin smile, you looked down at your (probably cold) cup of coffee with a lack of surprise.
“Hey,” a small voice whispered. From beside you, your friend leaned in as the other two continued on their own rambles. “You know how excited she gets. Don’t take it personally.”
You feigned a smile. “Yeah, I know.”
There was a flicker of something in her eye that felt like pity in your own eyes. “I’d love to check out your book when I get the chance.”
A beat of silence passed between you two and for a minute you didn’t say anything before deciding on something else entirely: an out. “I’m gonna grab some napkins. I forgot to grab a coaster.”
You didn’t wait for a signal or some sort of acknowledgement of your statement before you pushed out of your seat and carried yourself to the counter to sit in your thoughts with the absent mind you mutely floated through life with.
You had even forgotten about your mysterious figure up until his oddly appropriately fitting voice appeared at your side.
“Your book sounds very fascinating.”
It was strange. In any other scenario in which a man, no matter how attractive or intriguing, appeared so suddenly at your side, you would have been startled. You would have jumped back and eyed him up and down like a stray cat to a human.
But you didn’t.
He settled there next to you like he belonged there, like there was always a space for him and it was just a matter of time before he filled it.
You looked to him and there it was again—those amber eyes that signaled something inside you. Something so corporeal and maybe even spiritual. A hook casted through your very being and dragging you closer the moment you met his eyes.
“You heard that,” you questioned with a surprising ease.
“I try not to eavesdrop on conversations that aren’t mine, but…” he paused, holding you at the end of his every word, “you intrigued me. Tell me more about your book.”
His voice floated over to you with such a gentle air, but the impact did exactly the opposite. It came down with a crack—splitting you open so that you laid bare and exposed before it eventually…cradled you.
“It’s about a woman who finds herself alone. She’s overdosed on her anti-depressants and she’s stuck between life and death which comes in the form of a library.”
The words pour out of you with little inhibitions or fears, as if this man was siphoning them out with just his words and that glint in his eyes.
He beckoned you to go on. “And you had said there was something special about the books within this library?”
You hummed in soft approval. “Each one shows her a possibility. A different life. The what-ifs behind every single life choice that would have set her on a different path.”
He observed you in such a way that you felt paralyzed if you even dared think too hard about it. He seemed to listen as if you were telling your own life story.
“And how does it end,” he asks, tilting his head in a curiously prying wonder.
“I don’t know. I never finished it.”
A beat of silence rolled between you two.
“You never finished it?”
You shake your head. “Still sitting on my side table like it did a year ago.”
A deeper shade of wonder swirled in his eyes. “How come?”
Another beat of silence. Not in the conversation, but in you as you pondered just how honest you wanted to be with this stranger.
But something in you felt as if this truth you were holding onto was already released to him the moment he approached you at that counter.
“In truth? I’m scared.”
He blinked. “Of what?”
“Scared…” you echoed, “that I won’t get what I’m searching for in this book.”
“And what are you searching for?”
For the first time that entire evening and in what felt like years, you smiled. It was intended to be cynical, yes, but some part of you felt the long awaited dose of dopamine, endorphins, and serotonin flood your brain as you did it. “An answer to one thing all human beings secretly fear, I guess.”
Something in your answer lingered between you and the man—translated to understanding and laid out as a silent truth. He knew the words you didn’t speak and somehow, someway you trusted that he knew its meaning.
He didn’t attempt to summon a witty reply nor did he ruminate heavily on your words. He simply let them live and let his next words form something new.
“Your friends disregard you. You are worth far more than that.”
Those were the words, from the wide variety exchanged in those long minutes, that startled you the most. You felt as what was left to be carefully controlled in your expression fall away and your breath was snuffed out from your lungs.
You couldn’t even find a response in you before you turned back, seeing them rise out of their seats to leave the very coffee shop you seemed to forget existed.
Then he said your name. Speaking it like song of praise, the sweetest wine with a bitter end. “I do hope I see you again.”
You don’t quite remember walking away from him. As if the memory was too devastating for your heart to bear and it was wiped clean from your head.
“Who was that,” you friend questioned as she held the door open for you.
You turned back once more, only for a moment as his eyes stayed on you from behind obstructing glass. “I don’t know.”
The only think your brain could piece together in whole was the one thing it ever seemed to summon in your soggy, half-baked soul: a question.
But this time it was a new one. A question that brought your soul to life with the beams of a burning sunrise over a depressed night.
Children of Darkness era Lestat would be so personally offended by Armand and Bestie developing a relationship. I know that none of them were living a traditional, puritanical life by that time period’s standards, but everything was so much stricter for women back then.
Also that’s basically his sister, so he looks at Armand and is like “you and a girl that I held as an infant?!??!” Bestie just sighs and tells Lestat that he was also basically a baby then, so small that he was only allowed to hold her while sitting down to make sure he wouldn’t drop her. He’s doing too much 🙄
Though, in Lestat’s defense, having someone you care about be romantically involved with someone that’s centuries old and lowkey an evil cult leader would stress anyone out 😭
I know some people said he didn’t need to bring that up, but anyone who’s read the books knows this is EXACTLY something Armand would do 😂. He is sassy and petty as HELL
note: talks of depression and unhealthy coping mechanisms, violence (not towards reader), weird and cute Armand (aw), Sant*ago is a Warning (but he gets his comeuppance), like 60% plot and 40% Armand i'm so sorry
It had been a month since you awoke from your stupor. Three months since Dawn had passed. Three months of betrayal left to fester and destroy what little trust you found in yourself to have.
It was difficult to discover how well your coven operated in your absence. As expected of a vampire his age, Armand had done an exceptional job ensuring no one from your coven lacked a purpose.
His approach to leadership and how calculated he was in managing everyone took a considerable amount of weight off of your shoulders. It was all you had wished for when you were still a coven leader.
"Boss? " Missy's irritating recognizable voice broke through your inner thoughts.
"Yes, Missy? "
"You looked kinda dazed for a second…do you need some re-? "
"No. " You cut Missy off. And before she could start apologizing, you signed for her to stop.
"I think the best thing for me right now is to be alone. " You said, calmly.
"O-Okay, boss. I'll let the others know not to disturb. " As she turned away, she quickly added. "But if you ever need anything, just let me know! "
You gave her a glance and nothing more.
The sound of the door closing behind you felt like a weight being lifted from your chest. As much as you loved every one of your original coven members, Missy was exceptionally well versed in smothering. Her efforts of reverence would be better put to use when it came to disposing bodies or teaching the fledglings, but no. She saved her most fervent acts of devotion to you.
You rubbed your eyes, shapes and colors bursting behind your eyelids. You could sense a presence approaching your room, and solemnly rose from your seat and opened the door before they could knock and worsen your mood.
"Why, hello. " Santiago grinned. You slammed the door in his face.
He began to laugh behind the wood as you returned to your chair facing the window. Santiago, the lead actor of the Theatre, was awful to deal with. He consistently attempted to undermine your authority with your original coven, and in all honesty you could have tolerated the disrespect if he made more of an effort to appear blameless.
"I simply wanted to chat, O Great One. Or, was that O Fake One? I've heard whispers that your acts of greatness in the wild wild west were nothing but-" You ripped open the door, unable to stave off the urge to prove him wrong at any cost.
"What do you want, Santiago? Isn't there an audience that needs to be squawked at? " He breathed out a laugh, and the metallic twinge of iron and unwashed gums permeated your nostrils. You fought to keep an unwavering mask while he spoke.
"Squawking? Is that all you beileve we do here? "
"I think that's all you do here, Santiago. I will ask once again, what do you want? "
He leaned against the door, prompting you to put more effort in keeping it as closed as possible. "Join me for a little hunt. It'll be nice to get out, wouldn't you agree? "
You squinted your eyes, tilting your head. "Not five minutes have just passed from you accusing my status as coven leader and now you want me to hunt with you? Is there something in Parisian blood that makes the vampires here so bold? "
He winked. "No, I'm afraid that's all me, darling. " He offered a clawed hand to you. After a moment of just looking at the appendages, he let it fall back to his side. You turned your head the side as he had the gall to lean in close to your face.
"Should you ever decide to leave without the company of your followers, new or old, " You almost gagged at the inhale you heard him take, close to your scalp. "I will gladly be there to show you the wonderous sights of Paris. "
You said nothing, felt a faint smile cross his face before leaving. You remained in the doorway, frozen. Not in shock or fear, but in utter repulsion at the idea of Santiago being your companion or coven member in any capacity. The brief thought of meeting with Armand to discuss Santiago crossed your mind, but you purged it.
Despite how you would have preferred to see Santiago cast out from the coven, you knew that the Theatre needed an act. And you had no interest in being on stage.
—
You were sitting on your throne, from one of the countless dens you had established with your coven. Dawn was sitting at your feet, her hair was on fire, but she didn't mind. There was a bleeding heart in one hand, in the other was a dagger.
You stabbed the muscle, and instantly woke. Panting, you sat up, dishelved and sheets stained with your blood-sweat. You thought of beckoning Missy, but decided against it.
"Go back to sleep. "
There was a figure in the corner of your room. Despite it being day outside, you couldn't make out their features, nor did you recognize their voice.
"Rest. You need rest. "
Your eyelids became heavy, but you fought as hard as you could.
"Rest. Please. Nothing will happen if you go to sleep, I promise. " The voice sounded desperate, clawing at the walls of your mind to drift off.
"Why? " You tried to ask more, do more, but your limbs began to shake. Your hands were vibrating and your brain screamed that you needed to lay down.
"Rest. Now. "
Your head hit the pillow and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. When you awoke, your bedsheets were clean.
—
The rest of your days and early dawns were spent engulfed in paranoia. You were not prepared to face your combined coven, and the comfort your room once brought you was ripped from you that night you dreamt of Dawn and the figure in your room.
Missy tried to reassure you (in her own special way, of course) that she kept watch of your room all day, and no one could go in or out without her seeing. Aside from the fact that you didn't want her to be so close to you, there was a voice telling you that someone else was watching you.
Knock! Knock-knock! Knock!
You sighed at Missy's silly 'password' reverberating through the room. It was a tactic that she had installed to make you feel more safe. If anything, it just made your tolerance for her lessen.
"Hello. " Santiago purred. You almost managed to slam the door in his face, but he seemed to have learned from his last visit and even went as so far to let himself into your room.
"Santiago! Get out! " You yelled.
He ignored your demand, standing in the middle of the room, appraising the furniture and trinkets sprinkled throughout the space.
"I will admit, I didn't take you for a sentimental. "
"Get. Out. Now. " You spoke through gritted teeth.
It was only when he grazed a finger along one of Dawn's necklaces and said, 'I didn't take her for a liar, either' that you leapt to where he stood. He was clearly caught off guard, and shouted when you dug your nails into his shoulders. You threw him to the ground, still keeping your hand embedded in him. He hissed and clawed at your wrist, but the pain didn't register.
You dragged him all the way to Armand's office, disregarding the stares and worried conversations floating from the coven. Wrenching a hand free from his flesh, you swatted at Santiago's face, stunning him for a moment, and then pounded on the door.
Armand opened the door, mouth partially agape as if he was going to say something about being disturbed. He didn't manage to do so, as you barged into his office, a squirming and hissing Santiago in tow.
You flung Santiago into a wayward corner and turned to Armand. He looked curious and deeply confused. You gestured to the vampire cowering in the corner.
"This is your coven? This is who you have allowed my coven, my blood, to fraternize and familiarize themselves with? The way you have allowed this-this fiend to-"
"Fiend?! You drag me out by my wounded shoulders for several minutes and I'M A FIEND?! " You snapped your head towards him.
"You shut your mouth. You are not allowed to speak, no, BREATHE, until I am done talking. " You pointed at Santiago's disraught face and instantly watched your words come to fruition. Faint gasps echoed from behind you as you faced Armand once more.
His expression was briefly impressed before hardening into his usual stare.
"I assume Santiago has..overstepped. I extend my deepest apologies, I will see to it that his actions will recieve proper punishment. "
"Do it right now. " Armand tilted his head. You continued.
"I want to see what your idea of punishment is. I want to see what you’re going to do to him so that I can do something much worse. " Your voice lowered to a whisper by the end of your demand. Armand didn't move a muscle for a moment, a dark glint flickering in his eyes before he nodded. You watched as he made his way to Santiago's squirming form.
Still mute, Santiago tried to physically beg for mercy from his master, but Armand telekinetically lifted him from the floor.
"I see you tried to make yourself known in places you were not wanted. A familiar tale from you, Frances. A stage for a younger man, a whole play for your own ego, two loves when most are satisfied with one. " Santiago's eyes burned bright with hatred at Armand's words. Your bloodlust was threatening to boil over, and Armand could sense it.
"It is a wonder why I have not destroyed you like I did your maker. " His palm produced a ball of flame, and he brought it close to Santiago's face. You could see that the older man's expression was twisted in fear, and a smile almost broke out across your face.
The flames lightly burned the right side of Santiago's cheek, the only sign of acknowledgment from him was the lightest shaking of his hands.
"They are as much of a coven leader as I, Frances. No matter how little we see of them, or how merciful they are. Longevity is a sign of power, and you will do well to remember that we are the oldest beings in this building. "
Your fangs poked out as Frances' screams echoed throughout the Theater, the smell of burnt flesh lingering for days afterward.
—
Missy began to distance herself after treating Santiago's wound. She screamed at you for the first time, hysterical that you deferred to Armand rather than her for retribution.
'AFTER ALL I'VE DONE FOR YOU, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! '
'DID YOU EVER EVEN LOVE US?! LOVE ME?! DAWN?! '
'I hate you. '
You made no move to stop her as she permanently moved in with the rest of the coven. The room felt tens times lighter without her nearby.
The self imposed isolation got worse. Without Missy, no one brought you fresh kills, no one kept you company. Several decades, centuries with your girls, your supposed 'family', and not one of them came to see you despite all of you residing under one roof. You hunted after the coven did, disposed of the bodies in the same way they did, but you still felt empty. The hunt lost all of its exhilaration without someone to share it.
After one particularly chatty evening after opening night of a new play, you heard a soft knock at your door. Not a secret password, not an angry pounding, just a polite tapping.
You opened the door to Armand's face. He had a small bouquet of flowers in his hands. You flickered back and forth from the buds to his features, a small grin slowly forming on your lips.
"What is this for? "
He handed over the bouquet. "For opening night. Every member gets one. "
You shook your head, inhaling the petals' sweet scent. "No, they don't. I would've heard Cassandra's thoughts from here. " At his frozen expression, you explained. "Cassandra was our resident botanist, she's always loved plants. " You smiled fondly at the memories from your time with your coven.
Armand watched your eyes go misty before you asked. "Why are you giving these to me, Armand? "
"I wanted to stave off your sadness. At least for a moment. Similar to Cassandra, your melancholy has a way of traveling far. " You were stunned at the thought of your loneliness making its way all the way to Armand.
"Thank you. It wasn't my intention to make my self pity so..permeable. " You smiled, but one that didn't quite reach your eyes. His hand found your own.
"The troupe has been very curious about you. Would you like to finally meet them? "
"He won't be there, will he? "
"Ever since his unfortunate decision and subsequent consequence, Santiago has made the choice to step away from the spotlight for this particular play. Missy has taken over for him in the meantime. "
You hooked your arm with his, cradling the bouquet in the crook of your arm. "Missy? Oh God, I'm so sorry for the diva you've had to deal with. "
Armand simply laughed. "Don't be, we have the expertise. She's actually quite the actress, you know. "
"Oh, believe me, I know. " You smiled once more, and it felt like the first real one you've made in a while.
author's note: hello! :D i am so sorry for the sudden disappearance, idk wth happened, but i hope ya'll enjoyed reading!! i hope to continue working on my other wips, but we'll see :') depression is really doing me in, but i'm doing much much better <3 (also, the scene with the figure was inspired by Obsession, in case anyone was wondering)
note: talks of depression and unhealthy coping mechanisms, violence (not towards reader), weird and cute Armand (aw), Sant*ago is a Warning (but he gets his comeuppance), like 60% plot and 40% Armand i'm so sorry
It had been a month since you awoke from your stupor. Three months since Dawn had passed. Three months of betrayal left to fester and destroy what little trust you found in yourself to have.
It was difficult to discover how well your coven operated in your absence. As expected of a vampire his age, Armand had done an exceptional job ensuring no one from your coven lacked a purpose.
His approach to leadership and how calculated he was in managing everyone took a considerable amount of weight off of your shoulders. It was all you had wished for when you were still a coven leader.
"Boss? " Missy's irritating recognizable voice broke through your inner thoughts.
"Yes, Missy? "
"You looked kinda dazed for a second…do you need some re-? "
"No. " You cut Missy off. And before she could start apologizing, you signed for her to stop.
"I think the best thing for me right now is to be alone. " You said, calmly.
"O-Okay, boss. I'll let the others know not to disturb. " As she turned away, she quickly added. "But if you ever need anything, just let me know! "
You gave her a glance and nothing more.
The sound of the door closing behind you felt like a weight being lifted from your chest. As much as you loved every one of your original coven members, Missy was exceptionally well versed in smothering. Her efforts of reverence would be better put to use when it came to disposing bodies or teaching the fledglings, but no. She saved her most fervent acts of devotion to you.
You rubbed your eyes, shapes and colors bursting behind your eyelids. You could sense a presence approaching your room, and solemnly rose from your seat and opened the door before they could knock and worsen your mood.
"Why, hello. " Santiago grinned. You slammed the door in his face.
He began to laugh behind the wood as you returned to your chair facing the window. Santiago, the lead actor of the Theatre, was awful to deal with. He consistently attempted to undermine your authority with your original coven, and in all honesty you could have tolerated the disrespect if he made more of an effort to appear blameless.
"I simply wanted to chat, O Great One. Or, was that O Fake One? I've heard whispers that your acts of greatness in the wild wild west were nothing but-" You ripped open the door, unable to stave off the urge to prove him wrong at any cost.
"What do you want, Santiago? Isn't there an audience that needs to be squawked at? " He breathed out a laugh, and the metallic twinge of iron and unwashed gums permeated your nostrils. You fought to keep an unwavering mask while he spoke.
"Squawking? Is that all you beileve we do here? "
"I think that's all you do here, Santiago. I will ask once again, what do you want? "
He leaned against the door, prompting you to put more effort in keeping it as closed as possible. "Join me for a little hunt. It'll be nice to get out, wouldn't you agree? "
You squinted your eyes, tilting your head. "Not five minutes have just passed from you accusing my status as coven leader and now you want me to hunt with you? Is there something in Parisian blood that makes the vampires here so bold? "
He winked. "No, I'm afraid that's all me, darling. " He offered a clawed hand to you. After a moment of just looking at the appendages, he let it fall back to his side. You turned your head the side as he had the gall to lean in close to your face.
"Should you ever decide to leave without the company of your followers, new or old, " You almost gagged at the inhale you heard him take, close to your scalp. "I will gladly be there to show you the wonderous sights of Paris. "
You said nothing, felt a faint smile cross his face before leaving. You remained in the doorway, frozen. Not in shock or fear, but in utter repulsion at the idea of Santiago being your companion or coven member in any capacity. The brief thought of meeting with Armand to discuss Santiago crossed your mind, but you purged it.
Despite how you would have preferred to see Santiago cast out from the coven, you knew that the Theatre needed an act. And you had no interest in being on stage.
—
You were sitting on your throne, from one of the countless dens you had established with your coven. Dawn was sitting at your feet, her hair was on fire, but she didn't mind. There was a bleeding heart in one hand, in the other was a dagger.
You stabbed the muscle, and instantly woke. Panting, you sat up, dishelved and sheets stained with your blood-sweat. You thought of beckoning Missy, but decided against it.
"Go back to sleep. "
There was a figure in the corner of your room. Despite it being day outside, you couldn't make out their features, nor did you recognize their voice.
"Rest. You need rest. "
Your eyelids became heavy, but you fought as hard as you could.
"Rest. Please. Nothing will happen if you go to sleep, I promisd. " The voice sounded desperate, clawing at the walls of your mind to drift off.
"Why? " You tried to ask more, do more, but your limbs began to shake. Your hands were vibrating and your brain screamed that you needed to lay down.
"Rest. Now. "
Your head hit the pillow and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. When you awoke, your bedsheets were clean.
—
The rest of your days and early dawns were spent engulfed in paranoia. You were not prepared to face your combined coven, and the comfort your room once brought you was ripped from you that night you dreamt of Dawn and the figure in your room.
Missy tried to reassure you (in her own special way, of course) that she kept watch of your room all day, and no one could go in or out without her seeing. Aside from the fact that you didn't want her to be so close to you, there was a voice telling you that someone else was watching you.
Knock! Knock-knock! Knock!
You sighed at Missy's silly 'password' reverberating through the room. It was a tactic that she had installed to make you feel more safe. If anything, it just made your tolerance for her lessen.
"Hello. " Santiago purred. You almost managed to slam the door in his face, but he seemed to have learned from his last visit and even went as so far to let himself into your room.
"Santiago! Get out! " You yelled.
He ignored your demand, standing in the middle of the room, appraising the furniture and trinkets sprinkled throughout the space.
"I will admit, I didn't take you for a sentimental. "
"Get. Out. Now. " You spoke through gritted teeth.
It was only when he grazed a finger along one of Dawn's necklaces and said, 'I didn't take her for a liar, either' that you leapt to where he stood. He was clearly caught off guard, and shouted when you dug your nails into his shoulders. You threw him to the ground, still keeping your hand embedded in him. He hissed and clawed at your wrist, but the pain didn't register.
You dragged him all the way to Armand's office, disregarding the stares and worried conversations floating from the coven. Wrenching a hand free from his flesh, you swatted at Santiago's face, stunning him for a moment, and then pounded on the door.
Armand opened the door, mouth partially agape as if he was going to say something about being disturbed. He didn't manage to do so, as you barged into his office, a squirming and hissing Santiago in tow.
You flung Santiago into a wayward corner and turned to Armand. He looked curious and deeply confused. You gestured to the vampire cowering in the corner.
"This is your coven? This is who you have allowed my coven, my blood, to fraternize and familiarize themselves with? The way you have allowed this-this fiend to-"
"Fiend?! You drag me out by my wounded shoulders for several minutes and I'M A FIEND?! " You snapped your head towards him.
"You shut your mouth. You are not allowed to speak, no, BREATHE, until I am done talking. " You pointed at Santiago's disraught face and instantly watched your words come to fruition. Faint gasps echoed from behind you as you faced Armand once more.
His expression was briefly impressed before hardening into his usual stare.
"I assume Santiago has..overstepped. I extend my deepest apologies, I will see to it that his actions will recieve proper punishment. "
"Do it right now. " Armand tilted his head. You continued.
"I want to see what your idea of punishment is. I want to see what you’re going to do to him so that I can do something much worse. " Your voice lowered to a whisper by the end of your demand. Armand didn't move a muscle for a moment, a dark glint flickering in his eyes before he nodded. You watched as he made his way to Santiago's squirming form.
Still mute, Santiago tried to physically beg for mercy from his master, but Armand telekinetically lifted him from the floor.
"I see you tried to make yourself known in places you were not wanted. A familiar tale from you, Frances. A stage for a younger man, a whole play for your own ego, two loves when most are satisfied with one. " Santiago's eyes burned bright with hatred at Armand's words. Your bloodlust was threatening to boil over, and Armand could sense it.
"It is a wonder why I have not destroyed you like I did your maker. " His palm produced a ball of flame, and he brought it close to Santiago's face. You could see that the older man's expression was twisted in fear, and a smile almost broke out across your face.
The flames lightly burned the right side of Santiago's cheek, the only sign of acknowledgment from him was the lightest shaking of his hands.
"They are as much of a coven leader as I, Frances. No matter how little we see of them, or how merciful they are. Longevity is a sign of power, and you will do well to remember that we are are the oldest beings in this building. "
Your fangs poked out as Frances' screams echoed throughout the Theater, the smell of burnt flesh lingering for days afterward.
—
Missy began to distance herself after treating Santiago's wound. She screamed at you for the first time, hysterical that you deferred to Armand rather than her for retribution.
'AFTER ALL I'VE DONE FOR YOU, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! '
'DID YOU EVER EVEN LOVE US?! LOVE ME?! DAWN?! '
'I hate you. '
You made no move to stop her as she permanently moved in with the rest of the coven. The room felt tens times lighter without her nearby.
The self imposed isolation got worse. Without Missy, no one brought you fresh kills, no one kept you company. Several decades, centuries with your girls, your supposed 'family', and not one of them came to see you despite all of you residing under one roof. You hunted after the coven did, disposed of the bodies in the same way they did, but you still felt empty. The hunt lost all of its exhilaration without someone to share it.
After one particularly chatty evening after opening night of a new play, you heard a soft knock at your door. Not a secret password, not an angry pounding, just a polite tapping.
You opened the door to Armand's face. He had a small bouquet of flowers in his hands. You flickered back and forth from the buds to his features, a small grin slowly forming on your lips.
"What is this for? "
He handed over the bouquet. "For opening night. Every member gets one. "
You shook your head, inhaling the petals' sweet scent. "No, they don't. I would've heard Cassandra's thoughts from here. " At his frozen expression, you explained. "Cassandra was our resident botanist, she's always loved plants. " You smiled fondly at the memories from your time with your coven.
Armand watched your eyes go misty before you asked. "Why are you giving these to me, Armand? "
"I wanted to stave off your sadness. At least for a moment. Similar to Cassandra, your melancholy has a way of traveling far. " You were stunned at the thought of your loneliness making its way all the way to Armand.
"Thank you. It wasn't my intention to make my self pity so..permeable. " You smiled, but one that didn't quite reach your eyes. His hand found your own.
"The troupe has been very curious about you. Would you like to finally meet them? "
"He won't be there, will he? "
"Ever since his unfortunate decision and subsequent consequence, Santiago has made the choice to step away from the spotlight for this particular play. Missy has taken over for him in the meantime. "
You hooked your arm with his, cradling the bouquet in the crook of your arm. "Missy? Oh God, I'm so sorry for the diva you've had to deal with. "
Armand simply laughed. "Don't be, we have the expertise. She's actually quite the actress, you know. "
"Oh, believe me, I know. " You smiled once more, and it felt like the first real one you've made in a while.
author's note: hello! :D i am so sorry for the sudden disappearance, idk wth happened, but i hope ya'll enjoyed reading!! i hope to continue working on my other wips, but we'll see :') depression is really doing me in, but i'm doing much much better <3 (also, the scene with the figure was inspired by Obsession, in case anyone was wondering)
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