#DEVOURCR

[aranostra]

@devourcr // plotted starter

Nicolas can sense Armand long before he arrives on his doorstep.

There are few vampires in the French countryside. Vampires are city creatures by necessity, but Nicolas doens’t mind the inconvenience, doesn’t mind feeding primarily on animals. Sometimes a wolf, for the symbolism of it. But even if the place were crawling with vampires, he would sense Armand. 

Armand did not make him, but he did mold him. He took the creature that should never have been created and made him capable of tolerating the world, even if he chose to do it through cruelty at first. Those years spent locked away with only visits from Armand from time to time had left marks on them both. Good and bad, yes, but Nicolas chooses the good. The bad seems very far away now.

He smiles when he sees Armand. Once again, Armand is dressed in what Nicolas knows must be fashionable now. Although Armand always wears it well, the clothing is always strange in some new way. A neckline that makes no sense to him, a shape that clings in peculiar ways, an inconceivable fabric of some make. He remembers when he was fashionable. Absurdly fashionable for this region of France, with a draper’s eye and his time in Paris. He used to care so very much about his clothing. Now he is wearing something he either found in a shop while in town or something Armand sent him; years out of fashion by now.

“It has been some time,” he says, and leans forward to kiss Armand’s cheek in greeting. He couldn’t say how much time, exactly. He learned long ago not to pay attention to that.

[stormlit]

❛ i need to talk to you. i'm at home, when you're free. ❜

it would have been easy to go and find armand, but the last place amalia had wanted to talk to him was the theatre, with its listening ears and disdainful looks. it's been a long time since she felt welcome there, since she enjoyed going. at least paris has enough other theatres for her to frequent, often with armand, that she doesn't feel its loss all too terribly. so she asks him to come to her instead, answers his approach by swinging the door open with a flick of her hand from where she rests on the couch, legs up across it and a bottle of nail polish in her hand. he lives here as much as she does, but tonight it's her domain.

❝ darling, ❞ she greets without looking up, dragging red varnish across the last of her nails and recapping the bottle, leaning over to put it on the coffee table. ❝ did you know that your coven is still following me? ❞ she sounds calm, she looks calm. but amalia has always been a predator prowling the shadows, waiting for her moment to pounce, and calmness is just a front, a misdirection. she is angry. ❝ they think they're so smart, as if i don't know they're there. as if i can't hear what they think of me, as if i can't feel them scrabbling inside my head, trying to get at my fucking thoughts. ❞

amalia nurses her grudges, always. she remembers her slights. and this is something that has been building, held to her chest until she snaps. ❝ it's been years, armand. my patience wears thin. ❞ she looks up at him now, meets his eyes. their connection has always been...intense and honest, and she needs to know. because with the anger comes hurt, too. ❝ did you tell them to watch me? ❞

@devourcr

[pluresque]

@devourcr | sc.

this is a terrible idea. he really should be keeping his distance; staying as far away from everyone as much as he can manage. he's gotten a hell of a lot better at knowing when things are about to go sideways, and it certainly feels like it now. maybe that's what he's throwing caution to the wind. if everything's going to go to the dogs, he might as well take a risk before whatever's happening happens. besides—

it's been lifetimes. ages, since everything fell apart in rome, and even longer since venice — the whole thing's like a dream, now, and not one he tries to have very often. not much point in dwelling on it, not when it's all been said and done. but it's been haunting him, since he decided to go about this revisitation of the past. unavoidable.

he'd be lying if he said nothing's changed. but enough's still the same. he steps out from the shadows before cowardice can change his mind. ❝ long time. ❞

[wastelandsrecede]

Insanity

@devourcr

Daniel felt ill.

He was dead sober, and he felt ill.

He hadn't touched drugs or alcohol since that night he woke up in the drug den that Louis and Armand had dumped him in. Armand...who was the most beautiful thing that Daniel had ever seen. Armand that Daniel desired above all things.

That's why he was ill.

Armand had tortured him. Armand had threatened to kill him and nearly done it. But in the end, the vampire had left him alive. Now he consumed his every thought, waking and dreaming.

Daniel felt like he was losing his mind.

An offer had come to him. A group called the Talamasca was intrigued that he had survived Louis, and offered him a position among their ranks. He had denied them. He didn't want to spy on vampires and research them. He wanted to be among them. He wanted to be with Armand.

Which is why he stood before the apartment building in San Francisco where he had nearly died. He lit a cigarette and watched it, day and night, for three days.

"I'm going fucking insane."

[thedevilsjournalist]

@devourcr

The last few days were a blur. It was a haze of pain and fear, of the sound of Louis' screams from another room, with a few clear memories sprinkled in. Daniel had been certain he was going to die; he was pretty sure the one called Armand was going to kill him, but for some reason he didn't.

Then Daniel was waking up on the floor of some drug den. He tried to convince himself it was a dream, some bad trip from sketchy drugs. But the wounds on his neck and the dried blood around his nose told him what he needed to know. Another few days of recovery, and Daniel decided he couldn't be in San Francisco anymore. It didn't feel safe.

The plan was to go back to his apartment, pack a bag, and leave for New York. The other side of the country felt like a good idea. It really did seem like it was working out until he checked into his hotel room and saw Armand sitting on his bed waiting for him. Daniel froze in his tracks, body completely overcome with an intense terror. The third option; not fight or flight, but freeze. He was an idiot for think that he'd actually been set free, that he'd be allowed to live. Armand was toying with him, the same way he toyed with him back in the apartment. Daniel was the idiot who walked right into the trap.

For what was probably the first time ever, Daniel was at a loss for words. What could he possibly say? Instincts took over now, freeze response taken over by flight response. He did what he should have done as soon as he saw the coffin in San Francisco; he turned around and bolted for the door.

[starlightintheirwake]

Armand said: it was avant-garde. it was french cinema. (daniel)

Yeah, yeah, every weirdo cinephile's got full wood for the New French Extremity thing. Daniel was there, too. He gets it- duh, it's right up Daniel Molloy's alley- but can everybody come off the nose in the air about it?

"I don't know, Armand," Daniel says, and picks up a DVD copy of Lars von Trier's Antichrist from the old box of Daniel's edgelord shit Armand dug up. Willem Dafoe's body double's magnum dong had been the star of the show, he recalls about that one, and not much else, "I think von Trier is just edgy." Gaspar Noe is definitely high on his own farts.

"We need to get you on some John Waters," Daniel decides. Waters has the attitude right. Taste is a terrible thing to have. "Embrace that you're rolling around in trash."

@devourcr

[minaharkerdailymirror]

In which the Vampire meets the Hunter when she's killing a werewolf and refuses to believe she's just a civillian who happened to get lucky in defending herself

@devourcr

[itsalcngstory]

There's a revolving curiosity around the unknown, camera held lightly in her grasp as she sits at an aged bench. Couples roaming around in the darkening night, the stars above just beginning to reveal themselves in the square, camera initially focused upon a nearby fountain - how it illuminates a near dim cerulean, like a beacon in the night that she can't help but add into the frame of a photo she snaps.

A little further roaming, and she catches sight of someone who catches her attention rather swiftly, resounding click of the shutter heard before she can even contemplate taking the picture. What worries her just slightly is the eye contact in the shot, a flush of embarassed crimson rising to her features when she lowers the camera and chestnut gaze catches sight of the other.

@devourcr

[sookiestackhcuse]

🐝  *  ―  𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑴 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺. | ❛ you're completely out of your element here, aren't you? ❜ asked by @devourcr

❝ What, vampires trying to take a bite out of me? That's actually right up my alley. ❞

Their kind couldn't help it when they were around her. One whiff of her faerie blood and it was like they were caught under a spell she didn't mean to cast. It took a lot of strength on their end to control themselves around her. The baby vampires had no impulse control while the older ones pretended not to be phased. She had asked Eric one time what he thought about her scent the first time they met. He admitted that all he could do the first sixty seconds of being around here was listen to the blood rushing through her veins and inhale her scent, his mouth watering only dreaming of what she might taste like. She wondered then if Armand thought the same way. He hadn't given her hungry eyes once, at least, not that she had noticed.

❝ Doesn't mean I'm not lookin' over my shoulder wonderin' if someone is gonna pounce on me and make me their next meal. I know I'm food if one of you really wants me to be. I got no allusions. ❞

[moltolavoro]

@devourcr | call !!

something lucy is learning - slowly, but she is learning - is that she can feel things more than most do. at first, she had thought it was only her imagination, that she would cry so easily because she cared too much, that her fear was so strong because she had seen too much. but they've unravelled it together, her and her siblings. the gift, it seems, provides a little more for some. empathy was always lucy's best trait, she thinks. now it's just...a little more pronounced.

she is tucked into an armchair in a library in a place she's never been before when something unknown creeps down her spine. it feels as though cold water has been poured over her. not angry, not menacing, just -- alerting. she raises her head by only a fraction before she sees him. no name comes to mind, nothing, but there is something about him that scares her. lucy doesn't know why.

the thought comes too loudly, before she can pull it back to herself. this, too, is something they're working on. lucy curls all at once, around the book, around herself, her eyes dropping, hoping, desperately, that he has not heard her. please let him not have heard her.

[untilthcyrot]

Hidden Pictures Starters! | “You’re lying. But it doesn’t matter.” ( nadja ) asked by @devourcr

Nadja did not have a real reason that she should go on protecting her maker from the terrible things that he had done, if not to innocent people over the last century then what he had done to her. He was the reason why her skin would never feel the touch of the sun again and why she had been widowed before he "gifted" her a life of loneliness and bitterness. She supposed the only reason she kept Abraham shrouded in secrecy, covered by little lies, was because of the nature of their relationship. He was her maker and being dutiful towards him ran deep in her blood, something only the sun would have to burn out of her.

She wanted to see him burning instead.

❝ What would you have me do? I hardly expect any vampire to disclose the nature of their relationship with their maker or progenies. ❞

[aranostra]

@devourcr 15﹕ sender  and  receiver  make  eye  contact  across  a  busy  room . ( antoinette )

However many years go by, there still seem to be small rooms with live music and clinking glasses, places where Antoinette will find a booth by herself where she will spend most of her night. More often than not, a man will decide that she shouldn't be alone and inflict her with his presence; and she will leave with him. Why hunt when the prey comes to you, rolls over on its back, and waits for you to sink your teeth in? And when it does, how can she be blamed for taking what's offered?

But tonight, no prey has approached her and she listens to the music in peace, tracing the rim of a glass with her fingertip languidly, when she senses that she is not alone.

Her eyes widen slightly, her pale cheeks flushing. She has sensed others before, very rarely since separating from her maker. Her impulse was to escape. Lestat had always insisted that he was one of the few civilized vampires. That others were terrifying things that might subdue or hurt her.

Which he had done, in the end. Why, after all his lying, did she still believe the things he taught her?

There is no escape without drawing attention here, though. So she lifts her head and scans the room, trying to keep her fear from her expression even as she feels her eyes dart like a rabbit's. How will she know who it is? But she does, immediately. There is no mistaking another vampire, and he is already looking directly at her.

She feels suddenly like she's become the prey, and like the prey who comes right to her, she lifts a hand gesturing for him to join her at her booth.

[stormlit]

it isn't that she means to be dramatic, really it's not. that has never been bianca's way of things. but it is very difficult to leave a small theatre mid-performance without drawing attention, especially when you are the only vampire in the audience, when the entire company knows you were invited by the director himself. in stories, vampires can turn to a gas and disappear; bianca has to settle for walking down the aisle and into the night.

she says nothing in amadeo's head. if he calls to her, she does not hear it. he knows where to find her, when he inevitably follows.

bianca's stomach still twists, as though she still had the ability to lose her lunch. her hands still clench at the echo of terror and pain she felt, lingering in that poor victim's head. and her heart, which had been filled with such hope, lies in pieces on the floor of a theatre on cité chaptal.

when he finds her, she is seated on an armchair, pulled intentionally away from the other seating. her face is impassive, her body still. who are you? she wants to scream. how could you orchestrate this torture every night? instead bianca looks up, finally meeting the gaze of this stranger wearing her lover's face.

❝ how did you think it was going to go, inviting me to witness that? and do not think to treat me like a fool. that was no fantasy. ❞

@devourcr surprise

[bledbetrayl]

@devourcr requested a ( modern day ) starter

lestat would be lying if he said seeing louis hadn't put a certain spring back into his step. was his hair still greasy? yes. was he still wearing clothes he wore the last time he was here. of course. but , he was trying now. the storm had left a wake of disaster , but it gave the vampire the push to go and get a new place. something that no longer resembled anything to the life ( to the family ) the blond previously had in new orleans.

but seeing louis hadn't fixed everything. it had made him feel better within himself. but she was still there. claudia had meant it when she said she'd haunt everyone. and lestat knew he deserved it the most. and sometimes , he found himself preferring it this way. if it meant even for those fleeting moments he could feel claudia again.

the dark skies circled around him , a low trickle of rain leaving trails down his white shirt. but this was one of the first times lestat had been outside of the walls he'd surrounded himself in. a little bit of rain would not scare him away. and definitely , not away from his first human meal of almost a lifetime. and while his sensors might not've been what they once were, lestat knew armand. maybe he would always know him, even in crowds. in a quick motion he had him pinned to the closest wall , claw like nails pressed dangerously close into skin. " what are you doing here ," fangs bared.

[roseguided]

𝐒𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄. before the ring of her doorbell, before their similar colored eyes match contact with one another. it was like a chill running down your spine & not out of fear, but in the way your soul recognizes another person very dear to you. you know when they're near, when they think of you. while armand didn't make her, sybelle did consider him her father. one father figure was lost in her mortal life only for her to gain her immortal father--how easily she had taken to him as such. even now, she can remember kissing away his tears upon discovering their turning. muttering over & over: ' i love you, armand. don't cry, please don't cry.' how angry he had been, but sybelle likes to think he's made peace with her receiving the dark gift. hearing the doorbell ring, sybelle flinches out of anticipation. quickly, her book is sat down & in less than a blink of an eye she appears in front of the door. hand turns knob to open it, dark maroon eyes widened in some surprise. ❛ dad ? ❜ asked in the same tone as her gaze, ❛ has something happened or did you just come to see me ? i'd been contemplating asking to see you in dubai- . . ❜

[ * @devourcr gets a starter ! > from sybelle monroe, post 2x08 ]

[badgebroken]

@devourcr asked: 004.   a dark bus stop lit only by street lights .

hatred that could seize the earth radiates from her body. freshly betrayed, freshly changed, she still tries to kill her own kind. the hunter tells herself she will die in service, only as a loss in battle. but he - he is known by so many she's spoken to that laurel doesn't dare try. not now. she's too green and covered in red. " i see you. " a whisper she knows he will hear. " i'm leaving your city. "