#THE WAY YOU DREW NEO HAS ME WEEPING | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

taiey · 4 years ago

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*takes long sip of lemonade*

OK, so.

Obviously Smirke was wrong; not just the whole ‘balance’ thing that he himself repudiated shortly before his death, but his theory of 14 separate fear entities hanging out in wherever-who-cares—side note I guess Leitner was wrong when he said it wasn’t another dimension? sounds like it was—was empirically disproven by the events of 160.

So we’ve known that for a while. If you squint over at the third set of blobs up there, you’ll see the minimum necessary alteration to Smirke’s theory to fit: where they’re basically separate entities, but stuck together a little bit. (The five of ‘em are standing in for all 14-or-15, that part’s not meaningful.)

But no one actually thinks that, least not that I’ve seen. The only major theory I’ve seen at all about the entities is the “fear soup” one, which shoots way past that to... honestly I don’t think I fully comprehend that theory and I can’t ask for further clarification but it seems to be just full-on everything-is-one-thing,

It gets at something important that the neo-Smirkean ignores, which is that they have a lot in common. They can all kill you. They all tend to prey on isolated people. They can all do mind control. Every encounter with an avatar has some degree of suffering so someone else can watch. They all reach out to places and people and objects, of which a surprisingly high proportion are books. They can all warp the rules of physics, make you feel helpless, in pain...

But I think it misses something important too, which is that there are differences, and there is structure. There is a reason that Jane Prentiss identifies the wasp nest and her broken-toxic friendships and the ant infestation and her blackhead trypophobia and worms squirming out of sodden ground as all part of the same song of all-consuming ‘love’—while separating out literal spiders (and fractals) because webs are “not the song of the hive”. There is a reason that never-human Breekon and Hope identified the Circus as “our own kind” (as opposed to meat, “shifting writhing spiral things”, or “the spider”) not because it was a group, or because it travelled, but because they were anonymous.

There’s a reason a mummy from Fourth Dynasty Egypt and a soldier from America’s Revolutionary War could show you the connection between games of chance and the dead that cannot die; why a book in Lancraig and a band in London and a ghost ship off the coast of Japan show a connection between omnidirectional human violence and music; why men desperate for love find themselves piles of beetles and weeping maggots; why Jordan Kennedy smelled the same scent as Jane and John Amherst burned; why Simon Fairchild fell in love with the sky and off of a ladder two centuries before Robert Smirke was born then proceeded to find the same joy in skydiving, giant monsters throwing people out of cable cars, giant monsters in the depths of the ocean, gianter monsters in the infinite void of space, ‘a lot with religion’ (probably involving giant monsters, considering), and, once he found an angle (giant monster) on it, overpopulation.

I could go on about this for a while (everything about the literal spiders! the buried and sleep! the buried and being-slightly-too-warm! honestly wish the desolation was less synonymous with fire!) and I honestly enjoy this facet of the show. So I’ve been trying to articulate how I feel it works (anenomes? starfish? a human body? amoeba-with-long-list-of-criteria? the ‘colour’ thing has never worked for me) (trying to convince myself that being impossible to articulate clearly was evidence in my favour) and eventually settled on [pause to scroll all the way back up] blobs. but like, morphous blobs. labelled ‘compass rose’ because i drew the blobs right after 183 and i am nothing if not self-aware, ok XD

I wanted to say—there is a lot in common and a lot different. There is a label-able set of blob-protuberances and there could be more. There are things that are 90% one blob and 2% of five others and that doesn’t mean those fears are all equally important in it. There is too much holding the fears together to pull through only one, but too much differentiation for pulling on one area to drag the whole of it through eventually. Even in the apocalypse when “the old divisions don’t mean as much these days”, that old list still “does have its use when it comes to conceptualising these things”.

In conclusion: blobs. ♥

#the magnus archives #tma #meta #mine

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urielsgate · 7 years ago

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Old Works - My Vampire Chronicles Affair

Just thought I would share something I wrote for a VC collaborative work back in 2009 . Truly enjoyed slipping into Armand’s wicked and yet quite irresistible mind, dark schemes and damaged personality. So yes, I plead guilty: always had a soft spot for the auburn haired cherub. Always will.

NSFW - Yep, you have been officially warned.

ANDANTE CANTABILE

Candles, sweet, pungent wine and rippling satin.

My nostrils caught the familiar blend as soon as we entered the grand salon. I closed my eyes and absorbed each scent lapping at my skin in warm, sensual waves. It was the ancient fragrance of lavishness, the golden ghost of a time and a place when happiness had seemed perfect and eternal.

I took a long breath in and slowly drifted my thoughts and gaze upon Lucas. The ghastly pallor of his Bauta played a striking contrast to the austere elegance of the long dark mantle and obscured any trace of amazement as he took a full circle to measure the sumptuousness of the venue. The heavy opaline Venetian chandeliers had been brought back to their ancient glory and it wasn’t to the artificial violence of modern electricity but to the suave light of hundreds of pure beeswax candles and to the exquisiteness of a Baldassare Galuppi’s harpsichord concerto that the soft grace of the mythological-themed frescoes reverberated across the plaster vaults of the palazzo. “Pretty high-class shit, huh?” He concluded and I wondered whether the remark was meant to strike me as smart or whether that was just some trivial attempt to sound downright offensive. Whatever the case, I was not impressed. “Old money.” I mumbled moving away from him. “Something, my dear, you are forevermore destined to contemplate from a great distance indeed.” “Well, you never know. I could still marry some rich Italian chick and join the club.” He pushed his mask back to better study the place. All around us swelled a pulsating multitude of brocades, almost unbearably vibrant colors and deep red laughing mouths glistening underneath the eccentric masterpieces Venice’s most celebrated mask artists and costumiers had fashioned exclusively for the event: the Grand Masquerade Ball della Marchesa. I swam across this perfumed sea of blood, smiling behind my funereal camouflage every time the tender, inviting warmth of a masked figure pressed against me through the dark fabric of my cloak as I slowly moved deeper into the crowd. I felt Lucas cursing under his breath behind me. He didn’t seem to enjoy the occasion as much as I did – our promenade among the most decadent nobility of Venice.

“Don’t worry, Lucas.” I turned back and whispered close to his ear. “No one here knows you’re just an unsophisticated debutante.”

“I guess they don’t know much about you either, right?” Through the gaping sockets of his mask his eyes gave me a rather apathetic glance.

“Be practical, Lucas. They know what I need them to know.” I bowed to the few familiar faces I recognized behind the peacock feathered masks as we walked slowly toward the heavily gilded Neo-classical mirrors paraded at the far end of the salone. And there we were, side by side, the boy and the vampire, both silently gazing for a fleeting moment at our reflection frozen within the golden framed surface. Lucas grabbed a Murano glass chalice from the buffet and snorted bitterly over the rim. My eyes indulged for a while on the suggestive sight of his partly exposed throat as each avid mouthful of wine he took dangerously magnified the darker outline of the veins pumping beneath his olive skin.

“Gently, Lucas. How about savoring the few gratifications life’s got to offer instead of punctually flushing them down your system all the time, hm?” The truth is I was quite thirsty myself.

“For the record, this is how I enjoy life.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand.

I was getting quite bored at this point and made no mystery of it. I walked away and left him there on his own.

“Where are you going?” The perturbed tone of his voice almost completely muffled by the sudden outburst of laughter mounting from the group of rather inebriated damsels now dancing and giggling between us.

I didn’t even mind to stop nor turn back. “The time has come to let the Bauta teach you her precious lessons, Lucas. Enjoy the party. From this moment I plan to do the same.”

I caught the cascade of invectives oozing from his thoughts and chose to ignore it completely. Or so I liked him to assume.

I directed my steps toward the narrow gothic-moresque stained glass windows where, amidst her panoply of exotic cushions and devoted courtesans sat the venerable host of the evening. As soon as she raised her gaze, la Marchesa smiled to me in invitation.

“I would recognize those auburn locks under any disguise.” She laughed gracefully. “Come my child, let me see you. Come and give me one of your kisses.”

I untied the mask just for her and leaned to gently brush the softness of her aging cheek with my lips. She smelled of expensive cosmetics, rose and honeysuckle cologne and liqueur. Pure Italian patrician blood. Powerful, elegant and inherently devious.

“Good evening, mia Signora.” I murmured.

“And a very good evening to you, my dear. What a pleasure to have you among us tonight. Ah but you’re cold, come and sit with me for a while.” She patted the seat beside her.

I obliged and sat with her on the sofa, acknowledging her guests with distant politeness. “I wouldn’t have missed your Ball for anything in the world.”

“Ah, you’re tongue is almost sweeter than your face. I wish my nephew was as adorable as you are. Look, there he is, with that horrible woman he imported from America.” She sighed. “Tragically, my Giovanni never developed good taste in anything.”

Indeed. I knew him quite well, the handsome and dissolute Giovanni. He had introduced me to his lovely aunt some months before and everyone apparently assumed he and I knew each other either from university or some other conventional contingency. The truth was quite different, of course. I had met him at one of those private gathering where humans surrender to their most licentious instincts and perform what they perceive as an emancipation of the flesh and the senses. The sad but I must say also rather entertaining truth is that this appears to be nothing more than yet another desperate delusion mortals need in order to endure the insignificance of their existence. For a while I enjoyed this sort of speculations – I sat in a dark quiet corner of the room and observed the spasmodic amalgam of bodies coupling like famished animals, the respectable wife disheveled by the crude, powerful thrusts of a perfect stranger under the close scrutiny of her consort, the despotic politician sobbing his pleasure under the vicious castigation inflicted by some well-remunerated street boy, until the place was drenched with the thick smell of sweat and semen, which inevitably left behind the unmistakable and inexorable fragrance of their despair.

I smiled to Giovanni and he raised his glass in response and I wondered if he planned to introduce his latest American trophy to his little secret itch for younger boys. La Marchesa gently held my hand and drew closer, lest others overheard her whispered confidences.

“Let him have his fun while he can. I know all too well how and when decency should be restored.” She gently smiled to me.

How I loved her practicality. Her status and prestige would not compromise to nuisances such as sentimentalism of any sort nor compassion. It fascinated me to realize she had lived all her life without even wondering what regret was. What a superb teacher she is. I know Venice and I will miss her terribly.

Couples were swinging to the hypnotic cadence of some modern composition and as the conversation now coasted toward more unexciting subjects, the arrangements of an imminent wedding, the restoration of a villa near Chioggia, the ever so fashionable rumors about common enemies, I felt the time had come for me to escort Lucas away from the curvaceous nymphet who ever so generously fed him a couple of her pretty colored illegal pills. Once again I embraced la mia Marchesa, kissing her under the reproachful eyes of her most intimate friends and, politely, took my leave.

I followed Lucas and the girl outside. The white pebbles along the garden paths glowed beneath the torches flickering radiance and the night smelled of moist grass and mint. For a while I watched him fooling with the girl until she left to go back in, possibly to fuel their psychedelic cocktail with a couple of wine glasses. Others came, all boys this time, they started to chat and laugh and eventually offered Lucas some more oblivion in the form of a joint and he quickly forgot about the young lady’s graces he nearly planned to probe in not so platonic terms. His mind was a spectacular mess and it took all my determination not to laugh out loudly when, in the end, he realized who the dark, motionless shadow sitting on the stone bench under the weeping wisteria tree was and shuffled his way to meet me.

“Hey.” He waved.

“Hello, Lucas. Are you having fun?” Luckily, the Bauta screened the quivering smirk on my face and I made sure the tone of my voice didn’t betray the slightest shade of amusement. He was gloriously stoned.

“Yeah, great party.” He crashed on the bench. “Look. Huh… I’m slightly drunk, I think.”

“Drunk? Lucas, you’re delirious!” I lost all composure and laughed openly. “Don’t worry, I’m not in the mood for admonition. I’m not your guardian, remember?” I admit I stressed the last sentence with deliberate malice.

“Cool.” He crossed his legs and began to torment his mask. His hair had fallen loose from the black velvet ribbon I had personally fastened at the base of his neck and I could only partially see his face. “I’m reading your book again, you know.” He said.

Yes, I knew of course, but pretended this left me placidly indifferent. Which ultimately was the truth.

“Can I ask you something?” Suddenly his eyes flashed with a boldness I rarely had noticed before.

“Go ahead.”

I felt his stare travelling down on me. “From what I gather, I’d say you used to be the kind of guy unlikely to turn a cold shoulder to whatever kinky leisure got in your way, you know – at least until you joined that coven of vampire freaks.”

I lifted my mask and arched a brow. “You do realize this doesn’t sound like a question at all, don’t you?”

“No, no, I mean, yes. Look. Let me put it this way, ok? The thing is no matter what the books *don’t say* about it, I know for sure vampires enjoy sex even more than mortals do. So I reckon you must be like Lestat and Louis when it comes to…”

I smiled. “Fornication?”

Oh I loved the chaos storming across Lucas’ hallucinated brain. “Well, you do, right?” He laughed and leaned closer.

“Is this some sort of drug-induced incoherent proposal, Lucas?”

He blushed fiercely and straightened his back. “Christ, wait, no, that’s not what I mean!”

I laughed and made a small gesture with my hand as if to say ‘go on, I’m not going to dismember you just yet’. Lucas took a deep breath before giving it a second try.

“Ok, here it is. I know you like to act cool and detached but if you think back on when Marius sent you to those brothels – and you had plenty of chances to experiment different stuff there, right? – Well, I was just wondering,” He paused and smirked. “What did you like the best—girls or boys?”

Somehow I knew where this was about to lead and so I simply told him the truth.

“As a matter of fact I enjoyed both. Immensely. However, if I must take sides, I’d say my preference goes to the games I played among the soft-eyed male youths who ever so skillfully initiated my body to endless ways to receive and deliver pleasure.”

Lucas bit his lip and mentally revoked fragments from those passages our passionate philanthropist David Talbot has so scrupulously collected a long time ago.

“I like that part of your story.”

“Yes, I can see that. However let me warn you: words can offer only partial, nebulous impressions of what reality is, Lucas. You should have been there to fully appreciate the rigorous training I underwent.” I gave him a slow, knowing smile.

“Hm…” The sinful young one chuckled. “I wish someone made a movie about this.”

Now. That was quite a fascinating consideration.

________

After the ball we wandered the city, mingling with the vivacious crowds of Campo Santa Margherita, listening from the Ponte della Donna Onesta to the exuberant recitation of a Carlo Goldoni’s Commedia and finally roaming the caliginous silence of the deserted alleys near the Arsenale until we both craved to return to the quietude of the island.

I helped Lucas stepping out of his outfit and then closed the door of his room behind me, leaving him to deal with the all too human consequences of a night of excess. I went downstairs and partially disrobed, still reflecting on the conversations we had exchanged. And just when I was about to seek my beloved armchair and the comfort of the fireplace, a sudden gust of intoxication overwhelmed me. It didn’t take any effort to figure out where it came from. I lifted my gaze toward the ceiling, sharpened my senses and smiled knowing all too well what my young guest was up to in the intimacy of his bedroom. I closed my eyes and pushed my perceptions until I could almost envision his figure leaning against the headboard of the bed, the muscles of his abdomen tensing under his probing fingers, his mind quickening once again the torrid visions of my initiation within the brothel walls Marius had delivered me to.

I didn’t fully realize the potential of the game I was playing until I unlocked my most intimate memories to let them flow from my mind into Luca’s in a torrent of vibrant visions. I pulled him with me in a backward journey across the centuries, leading him to the dim-lighted voluptuousness of that Renaissance harem and resurrecting its beautiful host of boys and the enticements of their kohl-adorned gaze and ruby, ever smiling lips. I guided his hand to the soft dark curls at the root of his organ and tortured him some more with the spectacle of supple limbs surrendering to my will and caprice. He felt, as I revoked it, the hot tightness pulsing around me when the boys let me ride them until pearly tears of pleasure dripped slowly down the perfection of their inner thighs. And then, as I pushed his fingers down the throbbing need between his legs, he envisioned me, a mortal auburn-haired adolescent, withering under the ministrations of the prettiest boy of the house. Lucas gasped at the sight of me sustaining this Adonis’ powerful domination, this splendid creature who triumphantly laughed like a young god above me and pressed my wrists into the perfumed carpets, grinding at each deep thrust his sculpted hips hard against me while others softly whispered my name and claimed my mouth and nipples, their fists vigorously pumping till the very last drop of bliss was drained out of me.

I knew I was pushing him to the proverbial limit. I sensed Lucas’ blind lust gushing thick and feverish through his blood stream, yes, I could almost smell it as his hand worked faster and faster toward deliverance.

He came with a loud, delicious cry.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. I sank back into the embrace of the armchair, pressing my tongue on the small wound freshly carved in my lower lip in a rush of impulsive fascination. How long it had been since I last savored the taste of achievement. I felt magnificently inspired. Not even I could have predicted such a heartening finale to our first official night out in Venice and now an entire constellation of potentialities shone before me as I mused upon the tantalizing prospect of turning Lestat’s rustic and impetuous protégé into perhaps my most ambitious project.

I lazily moved my hand downward and acknowledged the consequences of my little experiment with an idle caress.

I could already foresee more entertainment to come.

#vampire chronicles #vc fandom #vc fanfic #the vampire armand

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