@velvetxghost - Tumblr Blog

Jun 21

I need children of darkness armand to be in the trenches when it comes to yearning. I just think he'd be so gross with it but also oddly endearing

children of darkness armand is such a weirdo (affectionate)

also timeline wise this is a little iffy. both lestat and nicki are vampires at this point. armand is being slightly more chill than he should be during his cult leader era for bestie specifically. all of this is needed for bestie verse plot reasons <33

----

If beings of perpetual darkness can exist, creatures that only serve the purpose of inflcting suffering onto mortals, then surely entities that belong to the healing light of daybreak must be permitted to walk the earth as well.

Armand hasn't spent much time thinking about vampirism's natural counterpart. If vampires are the demons of this world, then the person blissfully sleeping before him must be this world's version of an angel.

Perhaps that is why you seem so inclined to ruin him, some instinct imbedded into the very essence of your soul that desires to snuff out anything that belongs to the shadows.

Armand takes a step forward. The floorboards let out a low groan. He instinctually stills at the sound. It's unnecessary, but he finds himself focusing on your breathing. You sleep with a soundness that borders on grating. It's the kind of total rest that only the truly unconflicted and unafraid can achieve.

You wouldn't be able to think of him as often as he thinks of you and still sleep as well as you do. Something akin to resentment settles between his ribs. If you can't bring yourself to think about him because of personal sentiment, then you should at least worry about his existence in regards to your safety.

Maybe you feel that protected by Lestat and Nicolas. It would make sense. Both of them seem beyond committed to doting on you. Nicolas, because you're his darling baby sister. Lestat, because of his love for Nicolas and a childhood attachment to you.

For all the love they seem to have for you, neither Lestat nor Nicolas seem particularly concerned about leaving you to fend for yourself during the hours in which monsters roam most freely. They're much too preoccupied by their foolishly indulgent romance to properly care for you.

Armand continues forward, his steps silent as he approaches your bedside. You look particularly fragile in your sleep, like Armand might be able to consume you entirely without utilizing any of his vampiric abilities.

Without thinking, Armand extends an arm out towards you. His knuckles carefully brush against the side of your face. Your skin is so warm it should burn him. He's never felt closer to the sun.

The feeling is both unsettling and mesmerizing. He can't keep himself from pressing his palm against your cheek. Your breathing nearly falters at the contact. He brings his hand back to his side, but it's too late. He's woken you.

You squint your eyes open carefully, your thoughts cautious. After a second, you register the fact that he's the one standing over you. That seems to ease you.

"You're here again," your voice is heavy with sleep.

Armand presses his lips together briefly before responding, "I should not have woken you."

"It's alright," you say quickly, "I can be awake."

There's an easiness to your words that reminds him of a tone of voice he's heard you use when reuniting with Lestat after one of his performances. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," as if to prove that you mean what you're saying, you push yourself into a sitting position. You cross your legs beneath you before patting the now available space on your bed. "You can sit if you'd like."

He nods once before accepting your offer. Armand sits next to you, his feet remaining firmly planted on the floor.

Armand isn't directly facing you, but he can feel you carefully watching him. These visits seem to bring out a specific kind of nervousness in you, one not rooted in fear but social uncertainty. You dislike not knowing what to say, and you dislike being aware of the fact that his presence in your bedroom would be considered inappropriate by anyone else.

"I did not see you at the theater tonight." The comment is an attempt at polite conversation.

Armand was in no mood to watch yet another audience hold onto Lestat's every word. He has also recently fallen into the habit of sitting with you in the theater hallway as you wait for Lestat and Nicolas to finish up backstage and collect you.

He did, however, spend some time in one of the alleys between your flat and the theater so that he could watch you walk home. Lestat and Nicolas have yet to leave you wandering the streets of Paris by yourself, but Armand's sure it's only a matter of time.

"I had other responsibilities to tend to."

You nod, the motion a little stiff. "Right." He doesn't need to look into your thoughts to understand the silence that follows. You're trying to decide if asking him about these other responsibilities would be considered polite or an overreach of your unlabeled dynamic.

There are times in which Armand enjoys watching you attempt to apply the habits you consider socially correct to him. You press your lips together slightly in a way that reminds him of someone focusing on a puzzle. He likes the thought of you perceiving him as complex enough to warrant constant analysis.

Armand watches you fold your hands together on your lap as you finally settle on a question, "was your evening pleasant?"

"Fairly," he answers, "though most things feel tedious when compared to your company."

He can't bring himself to look at you directly, but he can hear a shift in your heart's steady thudding. "I'm not so sure," you say carefully, "something seems to have you in a particularly amicable mood."

You don't mean much by the comment. It's rare for anything you say to be particularly sharp unless you've been provoked in some way. You aren't attempting to subtly acknowledge his ever shifting disposition. And if you are, you're only doing so to tease him over his inconsistency.

There are nights in which Armand wishes that he could be steadfast in the way he regards you. When he's particularly overwhelmed by your kindness and beauty, he wishes himself capable of expressing his adoration openly. When he becomes overly aware of the true risk that the sentiments he can never free himself from pose to his way of life, his frustration manifests itself into an acidity that you do not deserve.

He lifts his gaze enough to look at you, you're staring at him expectantly. "Perhaps it was the reprieve from watching Lestat's performances."

You are as irritatingly protective of Lestat as you are of Nicolas, which is something Armand has thought about more than he should. Still, his response must feel light enough to you because the corner of your mouth lifts itself into a look resembling a smile.

"Amusing, dear," the words are incredibly facetious.

He frowns slightly. "I did not mean it in jest, darling."

You're quiet for a moment, your lips pressing together in that puzzle-assessing way of yours. "Whatever keeps you in good spirits."

The retreat is surprising. A part of him expected a lecture about Lestat's objective talent. Everyone seems so committed to acknowledging Lestat's ability to hold an audience hostage through body language and line delivery alone.

"No defense for your beloved Lestat?" The comment earns him another sigh. "I thought you adored him, that you appreciated any opportunity to praise his talents."

You frown at him, and for the first time since he first woke you, Armand notices the traces of drowsiness still coloring your features. "I care for Lestat deeply--"

"Evidently."

You lift your chin slightly at the interruption. "As family," the response is calm, measured, "he has practically known me since the day I was born. Lestat is as much of a brother to me as Nicki." It's an argument that you've presented to Armand before, but it's never eased him the way you want it to.

Lestat does not experience any hardship when it comes to connecting to others. Everyone that so much as looks at him seems to fall at his feet, hungry for his attention and desperate for his favor. He does not deserve to have the world wrapped around his finger and a significant history with you as well.

You will always love Lestat and your brother in an incredibly patient and forgiving way. They may be monstrous and unnatural now, but what can that darkness do to taint your perception of the boys that grew up with you? Armand is too far from his humanity and too far from you to ever be loved in that way, to ever even want it.

"So you've said," his voice feels much too hollow.

He studies your hands, carefully folded over your bedsheets. You pull them apart and then seem to think better of it, intertwining your fingers together again. "Because I mean it."

Yes, you always seem to mean what you say. You 'mean it' when you tell him that you only care for Lestat in a familial way, you 'mean it' when you tell him that you enjoy his company...and yet these claims are never enough to ease him.

This tension, this lack of certainty occupies more of him than it should. He dwells on anything from you that could be interpreted as a sign of warmth. There are times in which the uncertainty takes so much from him, Armand has to wonder if there's something more to this pull of yours. Perhaps you're a test from God that he's constantly failing, a catalyst for his eventual destruction.

He should loathe you for making him feel this way, should drain you as a way of freeing himself from your spell. Instead, he looks at you. There's such warmth behind your eyes, such earnestness. If Lestat or his beloved Nicolas wanted to make you hate him, it wouldn't be difficult. They wouldn't even need to lie to you in order to do so.

"They are both against me," his voice is raspier than it should be.

You straighten slightly before extending an arm. You place your hand over his, the warmth of your palm soothing to an extent that feels dangerous. "But I am not."

For now. The pathetic, desperate response tangles itself in the back of his throat, making it impossible for him to speak at all. The importance of your opinion of him is a secret meant to rot inside of him.

He remains silent, focusing on turning over his palm so that he can bend his fingers in between yours. He allows himself to enjoy your warmth, to attempt to absorb it in a way that his body would never be able to.

"And I--" Your voice feels a little softer now, but not any less certain, "I will not be made to be against you, either."

Your ability to see through him as if you're looking at nothing more but the shapes and lines making up a preliminary sketch that might one day become something is beyond unsettling. "That is an easy thing for you to say now, while we're alone in the dark of your bedroom."

You're staring at the hand that he hasn't let go of yet, your bottom lip just barely jutting out. If he felt more comfortable, he might have had it in him to tease you for pouting.

"That is not fair." He focuses on the back of your palm. "I am accepting of your moods, your bouts of silence, and your lack of explanation for all of it because I--I enjoy your company. I have given you no reason to think that my sentiments would be so easily swayed."

A suffocating warmth washes over him with no warning. Armand has been generally aware of the fact that you find aspects of his presence pleasurable. You never send him away, even on nights in which you're clearly half asleep; you're always an active participant in conversations with him, regardless of the topic. But there's something comforting about hearing you verbally admit it.

"You enjoy my company?" He repeats the words, a hint of amusement pressed into the syllables.

You blink, still surprised over your confession. "Not when you're egotistical about it."

Armand feels himself openly smile at the response. "Beloved saint of mine, I am more than willing to humble myself for the pleasure of your company."

You angle your head to the side slightly, giving him an openly irritated look. You attempt to pull your hand away from him. He lets you nearly escape, your fingers brushing against his. Before you can bring your arm back to your side, Armand extends an arm.

He catches your wrist with a speed that's just a little too quick to pass as truly human. The vague reminder of his supernatural abilities leaves you stiller than you usually are.

The shock isn't overwhelming, but it is noticeable. Armand does not understand the reaction. He's personally seen Lestat make a game out of using his mind gift to predict the exact color you were thinking of. It's possible that Lestat and Nicolas are intentional about what they show you, only utilizing vampiric abilities that can be presented as shiny and un-predatory in your presence.

Before he can overthink your stillness, Armand pulls your hand towards him. He presses his lips to the back of your palm. Your breathing stalls at the contact.

"They'll return soon." This is a phrase that Armand often uses to bring both of you back to reality.

Lestat and Nicolas are likely on their way back to you. Even if they weren't, Armand's time here would still be limited. Armand can only slip away from his coven for so long before his absence becomes noticeable.

You drag your thumb against the side of his hand. "But not yet."

An attempt at convincing him to stay longer, which is something you only ever try on occasion. "They are expecting to find you asleep."

"I can fall asleep quickly." He gives you an unconvinced looks. "Or I can tell them that I woke up because I was thirsty. I'm much better at keeping my thoughts to myself than I used to be."

You're gotten slightly better at suppressing certain thoughts, but if Lestat or Nicolas believe that you're lying, it wouldn't be difficult for them to confirm their suspicions.

"Fine," he says quietly, almost as if he's attempting to keep his answer from you, "I'll stay for a few more minutes."

You smile, pulling his hand towards your lap. You squeeze his hand between both of yours. "What do you do when you leave here?" He can feel you immediately regret the question. "I am not looking for specific details...or information regarding your responsibilities, I was only being generally curious."

Your uncertainty is always slightly amusing. You never seem to know what to do after saying something that could be misconstrued. "I know." You don't immediately ease. "Sometimes, I wander the streets, looking for someone to feed from, and then I return to the ground."

The answer, though vague, seems to satisfy you. "What is it like to spend so much time underground? Is it familiar to you now?"

It's rare for you to ask him questions related to vampirism or his life within the coven. He wonders if Lestat directed you to do so. He doesn't see anything implying instruction in your thoughts, but that isn't enough to dismiss all of his concern. Despite your secrecy, Lestat and Nicolas are aware of the fact that you and Armand converse on occasion. It would be impossible to hide it completely.

Still, if Lestat has instructed you to press Armand for information, he's done a poor job at explaining what kind of information might be useful. What he does after an unofficial tryst and his thoughts on living underground aren't exactly secrets.

He keeps his gaze focused on a blank spot on your wall as he answers, "it's meant to be uncomfortable."

You don't know what to make of his response but you've also decided that you've pushed your luck enough for one night, so you nod instead of asking him to expand. A part of Armand is relieved that he won't have to directly tell you that his existence is meant to be devoid of all pleasure.

"My mother used to tell me a story about a girl who wandered into the catacombs to never be seen again," your voice is strangely pensive, "but I think she only wanted to scare me enough to keep me from wandering into dark spaces."

A lot of good your mother's stories did you. He cannot think of a darker place for you than the space beside him. "Did you believe her?"

You're quiet for a moment, as if deeply reflecting on your answer. "For a little while, at least." You're focusing on his fingers now, bending and straightening each of them with such care. "Nicki got me past it eventually. He and Lestat enjoyed exploring, and I enjoyed being with them."

"How loving." You lift your head enough to give him a disapproving look. It's unfortunate that he enjoys how you look at him when you disapprove...or are irritated, or content, or overjoyed.

He likes dissecting each part of your expression, sometimes pairing things like a furrowed brow or a barely there smile with your thoughts so that he can teach himself to read you as easily as he reads your mind.

Armand wonders if Nicolas or Lestat have ever put that much thought into knowing you. The fact that they've likely never needed to, that they've never had to try twists his stomach into knots. They have so much of you, parts of you that he will never know.

They both seem to care about you in a way that often makes Armand feel something that is much too similar to nausea to not be psychological. Still, all that adoration hasn't been enough to convince either of them to make you a permanent part of their eternity.

He understands why Nicolas wouldn't try to turn you. He doesn't seem like he would have the strength or needed control to turn someone, but Lestat has made a fledgling before. If Armand was in Lestat's position, he would have turned you the moment he learned about the Great Laws, maybe even before then.

Instead, they've left you unguarded and incredibly vulnerable. If it wasn't for Armand limiting the awareness of your existence and constantly monitoring you, your life would have already been ended for your awareness of their existence.

Someone else could have also turned you at this point, permanently linking themselves to you. Armand pushes this idea out of his head as soon as he registers it. "All of that care, and neither of them have ever thought to turn you."

The comment seems to tarnish your tranquility. You still, your fingers partially bent around his thumb. "Lestat and I have spoken about it," you pause awkwardly, "it is--not the right time for me, but eventually, it will be."

There's something strange about your explanation, something a little too accepting. You have to be aware of the vulnerability they're subjecting you to on some level. "I would think the right time would be while you're surrounded by a group of vampires that believe all mortals aware of the dark gift should be killed."

You blink, lifting your shoulders in an awkward shrug. "Yes," you say stiffly, "that is a factor."

The phrasing makes him immediately suspicious. "Are there other factors?"

You let go of his hand for a moment just to reach for him again. "Well, there is an emotional component to everything."

Hm. Armand is convinced that you're hiding something. He reaches into your thoughts. Your mind is doing the little it can to try to keep specific pieces of information away from him. Lestat is hesitant to turn you because of your brother.

"I do not like it when you look into my thoughts," you pronounce each syllable carefully, with an underlying sharpness that doesn't suit you, "it is too great a sign of mistrust."

He doesn't know what to make of the second half of your comment. There are moments in which he can feel himself trying to claw his heart out of his chest for you. Of course he doesn't trust you.

"Mistrust is warranted when it is clear that you are keeping something from me."

You part your lips just to press them together again, unable to speak. After a brief stretch of silence, you finally speak, "I am not keeping anything from you that is mine to give."

That is the issue with lingering in the world that only exists when the two of you are alone together. Something or someone always tears it away from him eventually.

"Of course," his voice is barely a whisper. Armand pulls his hand away from you. He then stands, keeping himself angled towards the window he uses as his entrance point. "You have your brother to think about, you have Lestat--"

"Armand." He hates himself for stilling at the sound of your voice.

He listens to the quiet rustling of bedding being pushed out of place and the sound of your feet finding the floor. You take a step towards him, but don't attempt to come any closer. "Think about our situation from my perspective. If I say the wrong thing about either of them, you might decide that you need to get rid of them."

There's an irony in you keeping things close to your chest to keep Lestat and Nicolas safe. Nothing has ever made Armand want to rid of them more. "I could decide that anyway. They do not live by our standards, they openly violate one of the Great Laws by letting you live."

Armand focuses on the rhythm of your breathing. You seem tense, but not as afraid as you should be. "You are not going to kill me over this."

He finds himself deeply offended by your certainty. He turns to face you. "You sound so convinced."

"I have vexed you worse than this, and you did not kill me then. It would be impractacle to kill me over a lesser offense."

The hint of humor in your voice should be his primary focus. You should not be so cavalier, so dismissive of the very real threat he poses to your life. He should also remind you that your greatest offense is constant, your awareness of his nature an insult worsened with each beat of your heart. But he cannot bring himself to care about any of that right now.

You are in your nightgown. Which is not unexpected, and not something he was unaware of when you were still mostly beneath blankets. Now, you are near him, standing close enough to the window for the moon's silvery glow to reach you in an incredibly thin dress.

He can physically feel the fight being drained from him. "Amusing, dear," he borrows your words from earlier to have something to stand on, and even that is not enough to keep him from sounding breathless.

"I did not mean it in jest, darling." You smile slightly after that, the dreadfully proud smile that lets him know you think you're winning something.

He forces himself to take a step forward. "You find yourself terribly amusing."

You lift your head slightly to better look him in the eye. "Other people find me terribly amusing as well."

Armand presses his lips together to keep himself from smiling. "I'm sure."

You're looking at him with a dazzling warmth that he could get drunk off of. "I am really enjoying your company."

He feels a phantom warmth inch its way up his neck. "But not enough to share your secrets."

You let out a sigh. "They are not my secrets."

"They are a part of your life," he counters, "they involve you."

You cross your arms in front of your chest. "And the things that involve me are that important to you?"

"Yes," he answers before he knows what he's saying. Regret immediately begins to burrow itself into the pit of his stomach.

Armand has to force himself to look at you. The lighthearted humor from moments ago has faded from behind your eyes, replaced by a barely restrained warmth he could lose himself to.

"If I tell you something, can you promise that you--that you'll go on as if you never heard it? That you won't tell anyone or use it against them?"

You're watching him openly, your eyes wide and innocent. In a way, Armand is fortunate that you're only asking him for his discretion. He doubts that there's any vow you wouldn't be able to convince him to make while looking at him like that.

"Yes," he says, his voice distant, "I swear it."

You remain silent, staring at him like you're capable of seeing past his flesh and into the dark space that once held his soul. "Alright." Armand doesn't know what to make of your acceptance, of your trust. "Nicki has--he has always struggled with his moods, but because of some of his recent behaviors, there are some concerns that vampirism has amplified things for him. That is why Lestat is hesitant to change me."

What a delicate way of telling him that your brother's sanity seems to be slipping away from him. Armand is well aware of Nicolas's peculiarities. This was no secret to him, but it seems to be one to you.

Armand has always been generally aware of the fact that you've likely experienced Nicolas's moods before, but he's never let himself dwell on the potential dangers of it until now. An erratic fit could easily lead to an accident...or perhaps these fits make him intentionally aggressive. Maybe that's why this is such a secret to you.

"I am going to ask you something," his tone is sharp, urging, "and I want you to tell me the truth. I will know if you are lying, and if you lie to me about this you will lose any favor I might regard you with. Do you understand?"

You blink, your brow furrowing slightly as you try to adjust to his sudden intensity. "Yes?"

"Has he ever hurt you? Is that why you and Lestat think--"

"What?" You're as confused as you are offended. "No, Nicki wouldn't--"

He instinctually reaches for your arm, his fingertips pressing into your shoulder. "Even accidentally?"

"No, nothing similar to what you're implying has ever happened. Nicki has never and would never hurt me." Armand presses into your thoughts, sifting through your mind to confirm your story. You're telling the truth. "There are nights in which he cannot will himself to do anything but lie down, staring at nothing for hours, and there are times in which is behavior is...more erratic, but he is not violent."

Armand holds off on responding, allowing your words and thoughts to blanket him. You have not been harmed.

"I should not have told you," your voice is low, cautious.

He carefully drags his thumb over your shoulder, "I am glad that you told me." If nothing else, Armand is pleased that you trusted him enough to share something you considered a secret. "I only asked because it seemed a reasonable concern."

The corners of your mouth are angled downwards, your expression somewhere between a frown and a grimace. "I understand." There's a heaviness behind your eyes that doesn't suit you. "Nicki is good. I know you do not see him that way, but he is. He used to comfort me during thunderstorms. And he--even when he was at his worst, he could always force himself out of bed if I really needed him to. I do not want him to be reduced to his moods. He is more than that."

The use of past tense for your second point feels significant. Maybe that is why you and Lestat are so concerned. Nicki can no longer bring himself to pretend for you.

An uneasy silence falls over both of you. Armand knows that he's meant to say something, but he cannot think of anything worth telling you. Commenting on Nicolas's mental state would further upset you, and agreeing with you would seem strange and insincere.

"He loves you," the response feels a little stiff, but it's also honest.

You nod pensively. "I did not mean for our conversation to become so bleak."

The comment sits between an attempt at politeness and a weak retreat. "I asked."

"You were well intentioned," your words are kind but a little flat.

He adjusts his hold on your shoulder. "There are, at times, factors more important than intentions."

You take a second to reflect on the sentiment. "But they are still nice to hold onto."

Intentions do seem like something worth holding onto, if for no other reason than to potentially absolve oneself of the guilt that can accompany extreme action. He's sure that you believe that there's a nobility in being well intentioned, but he doubts that intention would be enough to make you look past the consequences of another person's actions.

Romantic feelings, attachment...these are things that breed good intentions and terrible consequences. "In a way."

You tilt your head slightly as you assess his reaction. "You sound particularly solemn."

Reminders of your ability to read him are always unsettling. Still, there are some benefits about you being direct about the way you perceive him. Solemness does not suit you, Armand cannot imagine you caring about a truly solemn person.

"I apologize," he forces himself to sound more sarcastic than he feels, "next time, I will try harder to be more deserving of your attention."

You let out a heavy sigh, bending your arm so you can reach the hand that he's resting on your shoulder. You bend your fingers around his forearm. "You are already deserving as you are," the words feel overwhelmingly genuine, "solemn, content, whatever you need to be."

A sharp warmth begins to burn its way up his chest. "You're very sentimental tonight."

You drag your thumb against his arm. "Well, I was pulled out of my sleep with no warning."

You're being lighthearted, but Armand does know that he often steals sleep from you. "I should let you rest."

"I did not mean it that way." Your hold on his arm tightens.

"I know." He releases your shoulder, relaxing his arm carefully so that he can reach for your hand. "I need to go."

You frown, but you don't say anything to try to convince him to stay even longer. You're likely more tired than you have been letting on.

Armand lifts your hand slowly, bringing the back of your palm to his lips. The gesture seems to surprise you, your breath briefly catching itself in your throat. He tries not to dwell on the reaction.

"I will see you tomorrow." He shouldn't be making promises to you, not when he's unsure if he'll be able to slip away unnoticed again. There's at least some deniability in his wording. He could have easily meant that he would see you at the theater while you wait for Lestat.

You ease significantly after he says it, your eyes lighting up in a way that makes all of the potential difficulty seem worth it. If he's tactful about it, he might even find the time to acquire a gift to leave on your bedside table.

"At the theater or here?"

Armand is well aware of the answer he should give you. "Coming here is easier than sitting through another one of Lestat's performances."

You smile at him in a way that could make any risk feel worthwhile.

----

new bestie verse au unlocked :))

#EATING THIS UPPPP #fic

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