Join us in June for the third annual VamPride event, where fans of The Vampire Chronicles books by Anne Rice can show their colours and get creative! Fanfiction, fanart, playlists, graphics, cosplay, etc. – all kinds of fanworks for the books are welcome at this parade.
A variety of prompts will be given over June 7th to June 13th in order to inspire people to create. If you choose to participate, post your contribution on the day of and tag us @valenfangs so we can reblog your work or add your fics to the VamPride2026 collection on AO3. We hope to see you there!
Prompts:
1 (June 7) - rainbow // angels and devils
2 (June 8) - bayou // reunion
3 (June 9) - cigarettes // swimming pool
4 (June 10) - what can the damned really have to say to the damned? // sunset
5 (June 11) - feeding kink // disco ball
6 (June 12) - rosary // beach
7 (June 13) - Sonoma compound // parting is such a sweet sorrow
This was written for the @valenfangs VamPride event but it's like 2 weeks late (life has been lifeing and also I had to go out of town last weekend to celebrate Pride at the closest event to me, hazards of living in a small mountain town.) Anyhow sorry for the belated entry, it's just a little ficlet featuring Marius and Daniel during the events of Prince Lestat.
_______
Marius packs Daniel’s suitcase. Daniel is perfectly capable of packing it himself—though admittedly he’d probably take more t-shirts than Marius seems to deem necessary—but Marius is moving at a frenetic pace. He’s worried. About the new round of burnings, about what might happen this time all the immortals convene, about this new threat they’re facing.
Old threat.
Round and round. Same old dance.
Daniel laughs and Marius tenses, hand hovering over the suitcase, long pale fingers squeezing the pair of folded socks in his hand. He glances at Daniel, worried. Laughing at nothing is something madmen do. Daniel is better now, and has been for long enough that a single laugh should not even raise concern, but Daniel sees the fear in his eyes. Not just for Daniel. For Armand, for Lestat, for Pandora, for all of them. For what might happen this time.
We’ve survived worse, Daniel thinks, remembering Akasha, a terrifying goddess, glaring at them as she ranted and raved about her new world, admonishing all of them. Except Daniel.
She’d barely noticed Daniel or Jesse, just two new vampires loosely connected to the ones Lestat knew and loved. But for a moment her cold eyes had landed on him and he’d been entranced by her, the way her ancient limbs moved with impossible grace. The way she glowed with inhuman light so radiant it was far beyond anything that surrounded Armand or even Marius.
Marius drops the socks into the suitcase. “We don’t know what’s in store,” he says, but gently. He doesn’t want to scare Daniel, but he wants him to take this seriously.
But Daniel always has. He laughed the first time because he was giddy with the blood newly coursing in his veins, finally the creature of the night he’d longed to be, with Armand at his side. He laughs now because he’s giddy with the prospect of seeing Armand and the others again, of all of them gathering together once more. It’s hard to be afraid when you’re surrounded by powerful immortals who’ve seen the world turn over hundreds of times, who’ve faced down worse and survived.
Marius closes the sock drawer with force, shaking the dresser. A pile of rocks that had been perched on the edge fall to the ground. Marius stares at them, faintly surprised. Daniel bends to pick them up.
“Do you know the meteor that killed the dinosaurs left a line of iridium buried in the earth’s crust all across the planet?” he asks.
“Did it?” Marius asked, watching Daniel rearrange the rocks on his dresser.
“Big events leave their mark,” Daniel says.
Marius sighs. He sits on the bed next to the suitcase and examines the contents, as if worried he’s forgotten something.
Daniel leans against the dresser and smiles at him, hoping he looks reassuring instead of like an unhinged mad man gleefully facing down another apocalypse.
Marius, finally, relaxes his shoulders and smiles back.
lil fic i powered through a block for @valenfangs' vampride event. sorry i am late... sunset prompt!
bellow the cut
Dead sun
It religiously begins around March, when mortals notice that, for the first time in months, the nights only start after 6pm, but it only picks up when summer comes, around June.
The dead sleep, waiting for mortals to return home, and for the sun to cross the horizon line for another night.
Pandora jolts awake when it’s finally set. Summers are the worst. Summer always leaves her feeling fatigued, as if sleeping shorter hours did not offer her enough rest. As if their “death sleep” wasn’t just a brief unlifting of the veil of vampirism to reveal that she is just an animated corpse and has been for a long time.
They should chase the night along Europe as soon as possible. Before this melancholy becomes too strong. She needs to survive this night, instead of succumbing to her own ennui and chasing the sun instead of the moon. For her father, she must. She rises, fugue, but seeking a specific type of escape that will see her through one more night — just one more at time. If she stops and thinks of how much she resents the sun, she’ll go mad like so many vampires do.
Leaving Arjun to his crypt, she wears one of his frocks, her shape thus neither male nor female once she’s done trimming down her brown hair.
Pandora steps into the streets of Dresden to find sunlight in any way she can.
***🌛🌜***
She prowls beastlike and birdlike. Her short, jaw-length hair flutters with the soft breeze, but her bare feet barely touch the paved streets.
The sky is tinted a very dark blue, but it's somehow very purple. She dances under the pale moonlight, goddess and divine, until she feels more than hears the gaze of a woman falling on her.
The woman smells pungent and tangy like a rich merlot. Her hair is dusty and stinky, but her hands bring forth the waft of the flowers in her basket. Pandora muses, briefly, if there’s any meaning to the flowers she sells: daisies, forget-me-nots, orchids and lilac hydrangeas; but quickly abandons such foolishness. There’s never been any meaning to anything. The variety of flowers in the girl’s basket is blissfully chaotic but easily deciphered: she steals flowers from tombstones at night and sells them for cheap to visitors in the morning. She’s a carrion of a different type and that is all there is to it. They’re the most mundane type of goddesses, and that’s comforting, somehow.
Her victim is blonde, and beautiful, bringing forth the seduction of a ripe cherry. Summer comes fast with its joys, like sangria and watermelons. Pandora dreams of a night with a victim whose breath smells like strawberries.
But for tonight, the sky is cabernet, and this lady of flowers will do. She leads the girl from her equals and from life, to the gentle embrace of death. How convenient that this girl isn’t scared of walking into a cemetery in the dead of night. The girl’s mind is a waltz of confusion. She isn’t sure if Pandora is real, if she’s a ghostly apparition or if she’s dreaming of a genderless ghoul leading her deeper and deeper through rows of memorials. But who wouldn’t follow a creature this divine? They walk until they’re far — far from other humans, and amidst the dead. Communion must always happen in the privacy of Pandora’s embrace. The ritual begins with the girl’s petal-like fingers threading Pandora’s cold, monstrous flesh. The wicker basket falls to their feet. The girl licks her neck, her jaw, her earlobe, indifferent to every proof of preternatural texture. Her hands seem desperate to find out whether Pandora is a man or a woman. She palms breasts, traces the rock-hard nipples and her heartbeat accelerates when she touches uncertain fingertips to the middle of the brunette’s legs. Desire mucks up the flowergirl’s reason and lust mistakes rigour mortis for iced wine when their lips meet.
The entrance between her legs is shut, but Pandora lets the flowergirl play with its bushy outsides and with her clitoris for as long as the sky retains some tinted red. She licks the girl's neck, listens to her moans and entertains her kisses, hearing thoughts of excitement. She giggles and waits for any evidence of there ever having been sunlight to fade from the night sky before she finds it in the girl’s blood. Let the poor thing have nice things.
Dark blue with a blush of red gradients into royal purple before its final metamorphosis. The night is black, and the stars sparkle.
Her fangs itch, and she sings from her mind.
Show me the sun, my nymph. Show me the first sunset of summer, and I might let you live, she lies.
Pandora’s mouth opens like a gaping maw so fast the girl never catches a glimpse of the sharp fangs before they disappear inside her body. Her embrace is no longer lascivious or tender. She crushes the girl’s chest, collapsing ribs into lungs, crunching bones into fragments, exploding stomach onto belly. The joy of expiring under the jaws of such a gentle monster overwhelms the girl, dulling pain and whatever sense of fight or flight she has in her. Her dull screams cease amidst wheezing gasps, desperate for air while her respiratory system collapses. The flower girl knows she’s dying, but she cannot find the strength to oppose it. All she can do is let her mind succumb to the vampire’s curiosity.
And then, Pandora sees it.
Hidden behind clouds that have become purple with golden linings, framed by violet and purpura hovering above a horizon of sienna. The sun gently bows down like a halo of fire. The sun is as indifferent as ever. In two thousand years, she has never once found it gentle and caring as it had been on that fateful afternoon, when it peered through the windows in Marius’ house, to warm up his settee in his absence. She sighs as she draws one final gulp, watching it closely, or as closely as she can through the eyes of a woman whose life evades her — a girl who foolishly thought she’d see a thousand more sunsets, and thus never bothered to look at any of them, to truly see the spectacle and worship the splendor of the sun as it becomes twilight. She never truly witnessed the divine miracle of living through a festival of colours and an endless palette of hues. The flower girl dies without ever worshipping the setting sun she always took for granted.
And as she falls down from Pandora’s lips to her embrace, she drops like Christ at the arms of the pieta. Cradling her, the vampire fixes her hair. Her anatomy is monstrous, hourglass, and her belly protruding, herniated, with lung pieces and scrambled guts merging into burst ovaries. It is surprising how clean Pandora is, despite wanting to finish the night with a bloody face. She turns the girl in her lap, slashing her midsection and hearing more than seeing her innards splatter out. The night is painted red, but it widens the chasm inside her heart that has only ever grown in her many centuries of wandering. The red of blood cannot tint the sky purple for her to pretend the sun has only just set, and the nights will get shorter and longer, but they will never end.Pandora wonders if it was truly sunny that final afternoon before a vampire poured death down her throat, or if she dreamt it like the living dream of goddesses to chase.
The sky is pitch black by the time she’s done, and again the sun has been set for as long as she remembers.
The week of VamPride has ended! Thank you so much to those who participated. Remember that late submissions will still be accepted if you haven't had a chance to submit anything yet. See y'all in February for Valenfangs!
The Hand That Feeds You (3588 words) by bubblegum_blackwood
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Vampire Chronicles Series - Anne Rice
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Mael/Marius de Romanus
Characters: Mael (Vampire Chronicles), Marius de Romanus
Additional Tags: Feeding Kink, Dubious Consent, Orgasm Control
Summary:
Marius refuses food in an attempt to convince Mael to release him; it doesn't work.
I didn’t really have time to draw but I can offer this sketch of Lestat and Memnoch that I had not finished. :D The people have been yearning for Lestat/Memnoch!!! Who are the people? Me and I don’t know who else, but they must be out there
@valenfangs
Inspired by:
"He turned as if he'd just noticed I was looking at him. He stared down into my eyes. Then he bent forwards, his eyes very clear, and filled with myriad colors, and I felt his lips, smooth, evenly and modestly moist, touch my cheek. I felt a burn of life through the hard coldness of my self. I felt a raging flame that caught every particle of me, as only blood can do it, living blood. I felt a pain in my heart. I might have laid my finger on my chest in the very place.
"What do you feel!" I asked, refusing to be ravaged.
"I feel the blood of hundreds," he whispered. "I feel a soul who has known a thousand souls.""
Join us in June for the third annual VamPride event, where fans of The Vampire Chronicles books by Anne Rice can show their colours and get creative! Fanfiction, fanart, playlists, graphics, cosplay, etc. – all kinds of fanworks for the books are welcome at this parade.
A variety of prompts will be given over June 7th to June 13th in order to inspire people to create. If you choose to participate, post your contribution on the day of and tag us @valenfangs so we can reblog your work or add your fics to the VamPride2026 collection on AO3. We hope to see you there!
Prompts:
1 (June 7) - rainbow // angels and devils
2 (June 8) - bayou // reunion
3 (June 9) - cigarettes // swimming pool
4 (June 10) - what can the damned really have to say to the damned? // sunset
5 (June 11) - feeding kink // disco ball
6 (June 12) - rosary // beach
7 (June 13) - Sonoma compound // parting is such a sweet sorrow
Join us in June for the third annual VamPride event, where fans of The Vampire Chronicles books by Anne Rice can show their colours and get creative! Fanfiction, fanart, playlists, graphics, cosplay, etc. – all kinds of fanworks for the books are welcome at this parade.
A variety of prompts will be given over June 7th to June 13th in order to inspire people to create. If you choose to participate, post your contribution on the day of and tag us @valenfangs so we can reblog your work or add your fics to the VamPride2026 collection on AO3. We hope to see you there!
Prompts:
1 (June 7) - rainbow // angels and devils
2 (June 8) - bayou // reunion
3 (June 9) - cigarettes // swimming pool
4 (June 10) - what can the damned really have to say to the damned? // sunset
5 (June 11) - feeding kink // disco ball
6 (June 12) - rosary // beach
7 (June 13) - Sonoma compound // parting is such a sweet sorrow
Lestat tentatively reaches out with his bound hands, fingers outstretched, only to startle slightly when a hand settles on his, covering them and causing him to retract his fingers back into loose fists, and holds them still. It's then that he hears a soft chuckle and he imagines the playful look of amusement of Nicki's face at having made him jump with just a single light touch.
The hand covering his own moves to hold him by the wrists, joining the ribbon in holding them firmly together; there's something tantalising in knowing how little control he has in the moment, helpless to pull away or reach out with his hands literally tied, Nicki grasping him by the wrists, not even applying pressure as if he knows the hold he has over Lestat in that moment, knowing he won't do anything more than allow himself to be caught.
A delicate kiss is pressed to his knuckles and he relaxes his shoulders, not realising they had been tense in the first place. He feels the touch of Nicki's lips to his knuckles a second time, followed by another, then his breath catches in his throat when a finger is taken into the heat of Nicki's mouth. Lestat's own lips part just slightly at the sensation, a sharp exhale escaping him when Nicki starts to suck, the pad of his finger resting against his tongue.
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