#also Armand thinks Daniel’s old man body is hot and Daniel thinks it’s hot that his twink predates the Protestant reformation

[wafflehouseyuri]

Armand and Daniel being mutually embarrassed by their real/perceived age gap is so important to me like they’re both mortified to have a post divorce boy toy

[nightcolorz]

What would the book characters think if they meet their show counterparts?

I think book Lestat wouldn't like show Lestat at all but he'll have the hots for everyone on the show immediately

Book Daniel would be in shock that his show version is old in human years, that's like, his worst nightmare, he'd have a mental breakdown over it, meanwhile book Armand would love to know show Armand held on so long before giving Daniel the dark gift and his beloved got to live a full life before becoming a vampire

Book Armand would also obsess about show Armand's adult body

Book and show Louis would NOT get on, show Louis would just not stop going "A WHITE MAN???" He would also call the book version boring (and dull, and beige pillow like...)

I loooooveeee this question I actually think about this all the time 😭😭. So so hilarious to me I want to put the book characters and the show characters in a cage match.

I think Show Louis would hate book Louis bcus book Louis is like the embodiment of his flaws in a way 💀💀 he’s like everything bad about show Louis in 4K. Show Louis reacts to book Louis the way he’d react to the Christmas carol ghosts showing him all his fuck ups. What’s funny to me about the race change is that show Louis’s ancestors were slave owners, and if he was born in the 1700s he’d likely have been a slave owner, so meeting wet cat book Louis who is him if he was just a little bit older and way whiter and realizing how terrible he is would be a mind fuck. It’d be like meeting his shitty great great great grandfather who also has his same taste in poetry. On the other hand I think book Louis would be equally as aghast by show Louis being a pimp as show Louis is about book Louis being a slave owner 😭. Book Louis’s moral problems r largely religion based and I think he’d be confused and startled by how little catholic purity standards matter to show Louis 💀. But book Louis is also very polite and southernly passive aggressively pleasant and soft spoken to strangers so I think any kind of altercation that could occur would be very one sided 💀. Show louis is like wtf wtf is this what is wrong with u and book Louis is reading his book silently and frowning.

if book Daniel met show Daniel he’d instantly go into cardiac arrest and die from agony before show Daniel could give him the older self “don’t do drugs u wild youth” inspirational talk. Exactly what u said 💀 its so funny that they made show Daniel old bcus of how afraid book Daniel is of growing old

And YES on all the Armand thoughts loolll. I feel like book Armand and show Armand r the only book vs show characters that would get along. I think book Armand would be veryyy envious of show Armand 😭 bcus show Armand is Book Armand if he was morally stronger, made decisions more soundly and kindly, was an adult, and had giant pecks. He’d would definitely be star struck over how show Armand didn’t turn Daniel until he was an old man and he’d probably go into a insecure self hating spiral from seeing his (perceived) stronger and better and sexier au self. I think also, show Armand would be very kind to book Armand. I get the impression that as a teenager show Armand did look and act more like book Armand does, and he’d react sort of like “this is me if things went more wrong and I was still the teenager that haunts me, look at him hes trying his best” I think show Armand would admire book Armand’s endurance and his self sufficiency (that show Armand doesn’t have) and be kind of like, well if tiny cherub me can live like this maybe I can to. But I think the key to the Armand’s getting along better then the other characters would would be how both Armand’s r so mentally ill and so existential and religious that talking to some alternate version of themselves would not phase them and probably would be like common occurrence of the week 💀

Show lestat and book lestat would hate fuck 💀l think book Lestat would go into a “you hurt my Louis 😰 JAIL jail for 100000 years” spiral, but then eventually get himself together and be like “yknow what I also am evil and have problems who am I to judge” and he’d remember that he is super attracted to men who look like him but are older and smarter and start stripping immediately. I think both lestats would be mad about seeing their flaws reflected in each other and express that by crazy self cest fucking and then lie on the floor together doing each others eyeliner and crying

thank u for the ask this is my favorite thing lol

[indelicateink]

the Interview with the Vampire kink meme continues to be everything

there's been a scorching HOT loustat fill today: The Interview

a bouquet of thanks to @vampire-dove for maintaining this anon kink meme for us.

i'm going to share some of the prompts going on over there. please go add more. please fill prompts. these vampires cry out to be put in Situations.

Prompts [5/?]:

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Seduction, Vampire Turning, Drunk Sex, Marriage Proposal

"Parallel universe.

"In 1905, Parisian brothel owner Lestat de Lioncourt keeps his ungrateful brothers and father, and his frail mother, in comfort despite hating his life. When his new acquaintance, wealthy American Louis de Pointe du Lac, comes on so strong, he starts to think life could be different. There is an air of the preternatural about him, but Americans are probably just like that?

"Vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac searches for a new life in the old world and finds a handsome man with a most agreeable disposition who he wants to convince to become his companion. Life certainly wouldn't be boring."

--

Armand/Daniel Molloy

"Minimal or no Devil’s Minion before 2022. Armand turns Daniel out of spite, but Daniel takes to vampirism immediately and revels in his newfound strength and immense power. And Daniel is so psyched about this new un-life that he kisses Armand, who kisses him back passionately. He then fucks Armand all around the penthouse and gives him the best dick he’s had in centuries. Armand is terribly confused by this intense, feverish passion between them, over thinks it, and flees out of self-preservation. and naturally Daniel gives chase!"

--

Claudia/Madeleine, Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Alternate Universe - Royalty, Weddings, Competition

"Royal wedding au. Now that she's in her thirties, Claudia's parents are putting their foot down: as their only child, she will be inheriting the throne, and she's going to need a partner as strong as she is. They've lined up candidates. It's tradition.

"Claudia has never forgiven Lestat for not using his magic to bring back her first love, Charlie, years ago, but he hopes he can make amends by introducing her to a beloved fellow countrywoman from his homeland who was…exiled…for being…a traitor?? Louis wants to know what the fuck is wrong with Lestat's head."

--

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Extremely Dubious Consent, Hallucinations, Episode: s02e01 What Can The Damned Really Say To The Damned? (Interview with the Vampire TV 2022)

"While traveling Europe with Claudia, Louis hallucinates(/fantasizes about?) Lestat forcing himself on him.

"Can be violent or just disturbing, can be physical assault (I know the hallucinations don't work like that but we can suspend our disbelief) or not include touching at all. Up to you how aware Louis is that the hallucination is his own mind torturing him. The important part is that Louis is really messed up and can only get off while also punishing himself. Bonus points for Lestat being in his bloody post-Mardi Gras outfit, throat slit and bleeding and all."

--

Armand/Lestat de Lioncourt Accidental Marriage, Accidental Bonding, Dubious Consent

"1795 AU. The Great Laws this, The Great Laws that. Magnus never told Lestat that when another vampire overpowers you with a bite soon after your turning, your body imprints on them and you become vampire-married.

"After Armand attacks Lestat at the party, Lestat finds himself craving sex with Armand against his will. He is determined to be strong! Gabrielle rolls her eyes a lot."

--

Louis de Pointe du Lac/ Oiginal Male Characters, Armand/Original Male Characters Serial Killers, Recreational Drug Use, Creampie, Felching, Rape/Non-con Elements, Service Submission, Under-negotiated Kink, Humiliation, Drugged Sex

"Louis gets lost in the high and never cleans up/finishes draining his hookups to kill them. Louis isn’t going to fuck him when he’s like this, but Armand dutifully cleans up Louis’s sloppy seconds to feel closer to his maitre.

"additional tags: unnegotiated bdsm, nonconsensual drugged sex (armand/louis’s half-dead hookups), nonconsensual blood drinking (armand/louis’s half-dead hookups)"

--

Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Pregnancy Kink, Crack Treated Seriously

"fantasy m/m non-omegaverse vampire au in which ppl of any sex can get pregnant if they're fertile and are someone who has a uterus because reasons!

"lestat can bear children. louis desperately wants kids. lestat and louis knew when they got married they were not on the same page: children were a hard no for lestat. not having them was a dealbreaker for louis. they really should've sorted that out before they eloped.

"years later louis has one foot out the door when lestat bitterly caves, to louis's single-minded delight. gabrielle and armand are quietly appalled.

"five times louis got his husband pregnant and one time lestat volunteered the idea.

"(i am begging you on my knees for this fic please and thank you)"

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Only Human chapter 2

here on ao3 or read it below

Louis feels like he’s moving in slow motion.  His entire body feels hot and cold.  His step father-in-law is dead.  How on Earth is Lestat going to take the news?

Gabrielle is looking at him expectantly.  She’s striking in a crisp pants suit, with her hair cropped short.  She’s into her fifties now, but she’s aged gracefully. Like always, she’s beautiful.  There isn’t a single sign that she’s a grieving widow.

Well, her and Marius had been married ‘for business’.  Lestat once told him that they had wed so they wouldn’t have to testify against each other in the event something happened.  Apparently, their business was up to no good.  Louis hadn’t wanted to know much more about it.

“Louis, where is Lestat?  We’ll tell him together.”

Louis nods.  “Right.  He’s in the studio.”

Lestat had a recording studio in their house, because of course he did.  He said it was necessary if he was moved to create.  Louis had told him being a rockstar was going to his head.  

Gabrielle ends up in front of him, leading the way.  She opens the door to the basement studio without knocking.  “Lestat?”

Lestat is wearing his red silk house robe and matching pajama bottoms.  His hair is in a snarl, falling out of the ponytail he put it into.  He’s been working on a song for the album the last few days, but hasn’t been able to get it right.  Satan’s Night Out was Lestat’s band, and they had released a few singles that hit big.  But Lestat is the front man and creative force behind them.

They were even thinking of changing the name to The Vampire Lestat.  Louis thought the vampire thing was overplayed.

“Gabrielle,” Lestat says and moves away from the guitar he was strumming.  (Louis thinks it’s weird how he calls his mom by her name, but he’s never brought it up.)  Lestat plays piano, violin, and the guitar.  Louis had always secretly found that impressive.  He sees Louis behind her and smiles at him.  “Mon cher.  What’s wrong?”

Louis doesn’t know how exactly to tell him.  “We have to tell you something.”  

Louis hesitates; Gabrielle rips off the band-aid.  “It’s Marius.  He’s been murdered.”

/

The good thing about being part of the press is knowing how to avoid them.  Daniel manages to get Armand out of the house before the vultures show up.  Marius de Romanus is–was, Daniel has to remind himself–a popular artist.  His style was Tintoretto meets Botticelli.  Rich assholes loved him.  He was also quite famous as an art collector, and ran many galleries.  

Daniel is pretty sure Marius and Gabrielle are using the art gallery to launder money, but he hasn’t looked into it.  He wants to, but these are his in-laws.  He has to play nice.

Armand’s head is leaning against the window and he’s looking out of the car, barely blinking.  Daniel isn’t quite sure what to do here.  They can’t go to Marius’ home–it’s the scene of a crime.  Murder.  

He’d gotten that much out of Bianca, who had finally stopped crying and went into survival mode.  She was making calls, trying to handle the possible press.  She had gathered Sybelle and Benji and said she was taking them to a hotel.  She had said the entire family should meet there.  Daniel agreed, even though he had no real desire to see Lestat and Gabrielle at the time.

There were some weird ass daddy issues with Armand, Lestat, and Marius.  Daniel knows better than to bring it up though.  

Daniel takes a different route to the hotel than Bianca, hoping any gathering press won’t know who to follow.   Daniel had to marry into old money; the de Romanus family has been around since before the fall of Rome.  Old, Italian money.  Hell, Marius still had a family estate in Venice.  

Of course, Bianca gets them the Tower Three bedroom suite.  

Daniel doesn’t know how she manages things like that, other than as one of Marius’ adopted kids, she has access to more money than god.  Though technically, Marius had ‘adopted’ her when she was already legally an adult.  A fresh, young, twenty-one.  It was around the same time he adopted Armand.  

And there was something weird there, something Armand had offhandedly remarked about once.  He’d said that Marius’ was protecting Bianca from her family.  But when Daniel had questioned further, Armand had shut him out. 

There’s something rotten in Denmark, or what the fuck ever.  

Daniel once researched adult adoption.  Alice’s new husband had been thinking of it for the girls.  Alice had wanted to know his opinion on it and Daniel had told Alice to tell her husband to go fuck himself.  

One of the things he remembered is you can’t have had sexual contact with the adult you wanted to adopt.  And given what he’s seen, the body language he’s clocked, there’s something there.  Or there was.  Armand knows, without a doubt.  But he’d never tell him, so Daniel never asks.  

The car arrives to the Plaza.  Daniel grabs his and Armand’s bags.  He’d had to pack both in a hurry.  Armand had just sat in silence, like he does now.  

“Come on, boss.  I can’t carry the bags and you.”

Armand glances over at him.  Blinks his eyes.  They're wet again. He wordlessly slips out of his seat and walks around to stand by Daniel.  He’s out of it, moving like he’s still in a trance.  Daniel signals for a bellhop to come take their bags.  

He winds an arm around Armand and handles checking them in.  He leads Armand to their room; they take the Tower bedroom with the round bed.  Armand likes the round bed.  Daniel thinks beds are meant to be rectangular.  A circle is just wasting space.  

Armand immediately slumps onto the bed and curls up to his side.  Daniel tugs off Armand’s shoes and slips out of his own.  He crawls up behind Armand and wraps an arm around his waist.  Usually, it’s the other way around when they do this.  Daniel doesn’t really have a preference; he’s just happy to have Armand touching him.  

Daniel presses a gentle kiss to the nape of Armand’s neck.  “Your wicked step-mother is going to be here soon.”  

He’s never understood Armand’s dislike of Gabrielle.  She’s hardly warm or maternal in the slightest, but then, Armand hardly needed her to be his mother.  He was a grown man by the time Gabrielle and Marius married.  

Daniel suspects it’s out of some feeling of offense on behalf of Lestat.  Gabrielle never mothered him, but he still adored her.  Probably to an unhealthy degree.  It always struck Daniel as a little Freudian.  Not that he bought that Freudian crap; every psychologist he’d ever talked to hated Freud.  

Whatever weird oedipus complex they had going on, Daniel was firmly looking away from it.  He did not want to see. 

Armand lets out a small sigh and pulls Daniel’s arm around him tighter.  “Can’t you just get rid of her?”

“Lestat’s called a family meeting,” Daniel fills Armand in.  

Armand bristles.  “Who gave him the right-”

“Hey, relax,” Daniel says and nuzzles into Armand’s neck.  He runs a soothing hand up and down his chest.  “He’s family; he has the right.  You all do.  I mean, except me and Louis.  We can’t call meetings.  We just have to suffer through them.”

Armand says nothing.  Daniel kisses his shoulder.  “You wanna get out of this, I’ll make something up, okay?  You don’t have to deal with this now.”

Armand shakes his head.  “No, I can’t hide.  Everyone will think-”

Armand doesn’t finish the sentence, but Daniel gets what he’s putting down.  And Armand would hate to be seen as weak.  Especially in front of Lestat and Louis.  Daniel squeezes him tighter.  

Armand’s entire body heaves as a sob racks out of him.  His hands grip unto Daniel’s arm.  His grip is so tight his nails are leaving indentations in Daniel’s skin.  Daniel doesn’t mind.  He’s about to try to say something comforting, when Armand hisses out “I hated him.”

“I know.”

“And I loved him.”

“I know.”

Armand turns around in his arms and buries his face in Daniel’s chest.  “Aren’t we supposed to be fighting?”

Daniel runs fingers through his hair.  “Nah, you were right.  Whatever it was.”

Armand pinches his side.  It hurts.  “Ow?”

“Don’t acquiesce out of pity, Daniel.”

Jesus fucking christ.  He didn’t know where to start with that.  Better to just clear things up and move on.  “Baby, I came over to surrender before I heard about your dad.  You’d win regardless.  You always do.”

Armand tilts his head up and looks at Daniel for a second then smiles.  “I believe you.”

“How gracious of you.”

Armand snuggled back closer to him.  “I want to know who killed him.”

Daniel barely knew anything, not even how Marius died.  Gabrielle had most of the information and she’s going to share it at the family meeting.  

Family meeting.  Ugh.  Daniel hates them.  Rich people are a special kind of evil.  Not that he can complain, he married a billionaire.  Not a millionaire, which could have been forgivable.  No, he married an honest to god, richer than some countries billionaire.  Anyone with that kind of money is evil.  Daniel knew this and still dove right in.  Turns out he’s okay with a little evil.  

“The police will figure it out.”

Armand snorts.  “The police are idiots.”

He’s not wrong.  

“Shit.  We gotta think about how we’re going to handle this with the press,”  Daniel says.  He’s a reporter; that means they’re all going to look to him to make the press go away.  

Armand shakes his head.  “I don’t want to think about it.  I don’t want to think about anything.  Help me to not think, Daniel.”

Then Armand is kissing him with a desperate edge, and Daniel kisses him back until they need to breathe.  Daniel positions Armand to sit on the edge of the bed with his legs splayed open.  Then he drops to his knees and helps Armand to not think.

An hour later, Louis comes to knock at his door and tell him everyone has arrived.  Daniel shares a private look with him, one someone who only comes from outside this word could understand.  

“How’s Lestat?”  Daniel asks.  Marius had adopted the guy and fully embraced him as a son.  Armand had some issues with it all.  

“Like you’d expect,”  Louis says.  “You know, he never got along with his real dad.  So he says losing him wasn’t so bad.  But Marius…Lestat loved him.”

Daniel rubs his face and sighs.  “So did Armand.”  

Daniel had never warmed up to the guy.  Louis seemed to like him okay.  But there was just something about him that rubbed Daniel the wrong way.  Hell, the guy hadn’t even got upset when someone Daniel’s age proposed to his son.  That had to be some sort of red flag, right?  Normal fathers would have a problem with it.  

“Let’s keep them from killing each other in there,” Louis says, almost smiling.  “You know how they are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel agrees, knowing damn well if Armand wants to do something he won’t be able to stop him.  

Armand comes up to join him.  Daniel instinctually reaches down and twines their hands together.  It’s just a family meeting.  They can get through it.

Everyone here was family.  How bad could it be?

[apoptoses]

I know I’m a WHOLE week late to this but last week kicked my ass in so many ways and I’m just getting the chance to have a proper break and take in the madness that was #vckinkweek. The good people of tumblr TURNED tf up and it makes me so damn happy 🥹 I had to start wth Red, Violent Red because of course I had to 🥹

You really said “fuck it, let’s just give DA everything she’s ever wanted”. Impact play! Dirty talking! Breeding kink! Riccardo flashbacks! It was so insanely hot and intense, I’m absolutely obsessed and I know I’ll be coming back to this one whenever I’m in need of a comfort fic (because Armand begging for Daniel’s cock IS extremely comforting to me thankyouverymuch). I can’t thank you enough for taking what was only a half formed prompt in my head and turning into nothing short of biblical smut. 

Like how am I supposed to move on with my life when this line exists: “He keeps thinking of what Daniel had said, that now that he’s dead nothing belongs in this part of him. It’s just a home for Daniel’s cock. Armand lets out a desperate sound against his lips at the thought and sinks straight down until their hips meet.” I’m scandalized yet so soft!!! Armand wanting to be consumed by Daniel as much as he wants to consume him is truly one of the pillars of their relationship. He fucking loves to boss Daniel around but more than happily crawls on the floor for him whenever he has to. And that’s why they work so well together. Your vision!!! 🤌 🤌 🤌

Moving onto Lift Up the Receiver... jesus christ lmao. THEE Night Island fic we needed AND deserved. The vibes were immaculate, so cinemanic (I mean... clearly!). Decadent, delirious, hot as hell, SO 80′s. And YES that had Spader!Daniel written all over it, and boy did the mental pictures delivered. Daniel in the white suit with his exposed chest and long legs in full businessman mode, acting all snarky while obviously horny as hell lmaooo CRUELTY. I’ll never be free from this Daniel now and I need SO MUCH MORE OF HIM!! You can truly see why Armand loves riling his ass up and can never get enough of him. And I loved how palpable the shift was from your other fics with Daniel in his early/mid 20′s vs. this one here where he’s clearly in his late 20′s/early 30′s. I will literally never shut up about this. SO GOOD. That’s my man right there!!!

Just had to let all that out before properly sinking my teeth into the Riccardo/Armand oneshot now. I’m so excited!! Will be back with more as soon as I can!

You did it again fr fr xoxo DA ❤️

dungeon anon i missed you so much during kink week!! i'm so glad you're back and catching up!!!

I just loved doing a fic where Armand submits but then also dominates in the end, like he really does it ALL there. And I think about that bit, about his body only being a home for Daniel's cock all the time. All of his functions are useless! The only organ he needs is his heart and the rest of him is just for a lover's pleasure, for Daniel's pleasure in specific, and how mind blowing must that be for both of them to think about? It's intimate and obscene.

I absolutely plan on doing more with Armand willingly and happily submitting so be patient, it'll happen ♥

I'm so thrilled that out of anything, you noticed that Daniel read as slightly older in the Night Island fic. Because I wanted that! He's not just Armand's sugar baby now, he's his business partner and he's running the hell out of this island during the day while Armand sleeps. He's a little more weary, a little more serious and snarky, but still head over heels for this hot little 500 year old boyfriend who won't stop pestering him.

And he's super fucking hot in his Miami get ups. Spader in Pretty Pink- that's the wardrobe. Linen suits, salmon pink shirts half buttoned. He's very Miami Vice, upgraded from sugar baby to sugar daddy in his own right, and how could Armand NOT come into that office and jump him?

Please come back when you read the Amadeo and Riccardo, I want to hear your thoughts ♥ I loved writing it and I love your takes and the details you pick up. So I'm eagerly waiting for your commentary.

xoxo

[intervieweird]

CARAVAGGIOVAGABOND:

“ I UNDERSTAND YOU. ”

Daniel lays on the bed, four fingers of whiskey full, plied with a fifth of vodka and the stirrings of something frothy in his stomach. He figures he’s got enough booze fermenting in him to make a brewery.

He puts out his butt in the ash tray, burnt to the filter and bland as the scratch in his throat. Everything else in the room swims as he stirs; a blurred wave of neutral tone and unexpressive landscape paintings.

But not those eyes. Those eyes stay right where they are.

“Yeah?” He asks, pleasantly slurred and sluggish, moving his limbs mechanically on the bed to turn and face the creature watching him from the chair. He feels good now. Real good. Warm and tingling all the way to his toes, though the way his brain is having trouble keeping up with his eyes tells him he’s going to feel it in the morning. He just can’t mix his spirits like he used to. “And how’s that?”

caravaggiovagabond: @intervieweird cont. from [x]

The dimly lit, unspectacular hotel room isn’t exactly Armand’s usual preference, but currently he’s given little choice but to follow wherever his current obsession leads him. Tonight, that just so happens to be by his bedside, the young man lying charmingly inebriated across the bed.

To see Daniel in such a state is also not Armand’s preference – he would much rather that he was active, coherent, and fit enough to be dragged from pillar to post all over the globe. Those plans, however, are quite clearly foiled as it’s looking very much doubtful that Daniel will be able to travel even to the bathroom unassisted, never mind anywhere further afield. He dips into the mortal’s mind for just a moment, morbidly curious, but soon pulls away again, the dizzy, room-spinning stupor clouding his thoughts not at all a pleasant experience to him even secondhand.

With a sort of languid, animalistic grace, the vampire slips from the chair that he’s taken up residence in, half-crawling to the side of the bed where Daniel now faces him and crouching beside him at eye level, both arms folded on the mattress near the man’s face, his marble cheek resting against the thick, baggy sweater clothing his own forearm.

“Because we are kindred spirits,” he murmurs, cool, iron-scented breath a sigh against Daniel’s heated cheekbone, amber eyes fixed on him as one fingertip emerges from the cradle of his folded arms to prod at Daniel’s shoulder.

Armand is like a crooked creature, skewed limbs unfolding, too long. A monster. A monster crawling from under the bed and slipping under his skin like an itch. It’s a trick of the eyes, Daniel knows. Mortal eyes; eyes made of cells dying every second. He remembers what Louis told him once, how the undead moved too fast to process with the feeble chemical impulses of the human brain. Maybe it’s the old, primitive vestiges that are telling him to run, run, flight sparking in the dull grey matter, clogged with fatigue and poison.

But Daniel doesn’t run, and he wonders, distantly, why.

He turns towards death at his shoulder, a frown on his face as he fumbles for his glasses on the nightstand.

“Quit poking me.”

His vision blurs, sets, settling into a fixed image of that beautiful damned boy. Daniel peers at him, curious, and he wonders if Armand hears the catch in his throat, the fine movements of the muscles, the ache in his jaw as he feels it clench. “What makes you say that?”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

“Don’t you feel it?”

The words are barely more than a whisper; seductive, addictive, persuasive, a gentle smile twisting the corners of the boy-demon’s mouth upwards at the other’s tense reserve and slurred reprimand. He stops, his fingertip resting only gently now against Daniel’s arm as though in rebellion, staking a silent claim.

“I feel it, Daniel. Your heart sings for me.”

Armand’s sharp fingertip is removed from his arm, slender hand sliding across the mortal’s prone chest to clutch the sheets on his far side, using them as leverage as the boyish frame pulls itself effortlessly upwards. He kneels beside Daniel on the mattress, leaning over him until tangled, auburn curls almost brush his cheek, staring down at him with that frighteningly preternatural, chestnut gaze as though he’s the most fascinating specimen of human life.

His demand is unspoken but nonetheless powerful. He will be taken notice of. Daniel will listen to him.

“Sometimes you run so far and so fast that I almost start to believe you don’t want to be found. Almost.”

Does he? Does he want to be found? Sometimes, no. Sometimes he’s felt the safest in a Fresno flop house or Amsterdam bordello, red light winking at him through the vinyl slats, an unfriendly demon eye, haunting him like his own vision of the devil.

And sometimes - sometimes he’s slumped over a payphone, coins rattling like his fingers on his last pack of smokes, and he calls Armand to take him home.

And isn’t he here now? Didn’t he come? Daniel doesn’t recall the push and the pull, doesn’t remember where the knot of their tug-of-war finally crossed the mark. Armand finds him anyway, in the Waldorf-Astoria or slumming it on a bench in Hyde Park. And as far as he runs, doesn’t Daniel also let him?

“You think?” Daniel growls, scratchy-timbered and aching for a glass of water. But his hand finds its way to touch that cheek - so fucking glacial, his fingertips brushing against a cold steel hull, for all the perfect flesh didn’t give. A chill runs up his arm, to touch this thing looming over him. This beautiful, awful thing. He laughs, low and throaty. “Maybe I should buy a submarine.”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

His beloved’s short-tempered quips might be more painful to hear, were it not for the fact that Armand knows (perhaps even better than Daniel himself does) just how besotted he is. Even were it not for the promise of the Blood, he knows that Daniel could not turn away from him now even if he so desperately wanted to. Their lives and fates have become so intertwined – after all, how could Daniel turn his back on the one person who understands him more than any other?

The reporter’s hoarse laugh has a wry, little smile blooming on Armand’s face all over again, the touch to his cheek pleasantly warm. He turns his head so that those brave fingertips catch just barely on the corner of his lips, dangerously close to teeth that could rip them off without hesitation. He wonders, if Daniel came face-to-face with a wild jaguar would he try to pet that, too?

“You know I could buy that for you too if you really wanted,” he husks against the prone fingers. “But wouldn’t you be terribly lonely all the way down there without me?”

With lazy, feline grace, he topples over, rolling across Daniel to tuck in against his side, writhing his way close beside the boy and resting his pretty, auburn head against Daniel’s shoulder, pressing so tightly against the inebriated young man that he has no choice but to pay notice.

“You could just love me instead, Daniel.”

It’s a strange kind of heaven they make together.

It takes no thought for Daniel to fold around the boy in his arms, to breathe in the copper curls, the slight body crushed, crushing - against him. Armand is so slender, so terribly, deceptively delicate. It’s almost a tragedy, the two of them embracing like this in the wan yellow light, midnight minutes ticking away like so many hours of his life.

“Of course I would.” Daniel murmurs into his hair. Muscles spasm at the corner of his lips, but it’s no smile. “I’d go crazy.”

His hand tremors.

“I would. I do. You don’t need to give me anything. Except the one thing you won’t.”

He regrets immediately, pang like a hot knife cutting through his gut. His stomach cramps, a shiver twisting through him as he swallows back bile. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he wants to say. I didn’t mean it, he wants to confess, and hold that cool body closer against him. But he did mean it, all his wretched viciousness and bitter hooch breath. He meant it, like he meant it all those times before.

“So do it. Goddamnit, why won’t you do it?”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

As quickly as he’s enveloped by the docile affections of his lover, they’re whisked away again as the age old argument once more raises its ugly head. He feels a strange, rather hollow sense of loss as the easy domestic bliss crumbles around them, Daniel’s hand shaking against him with all the bitterness and animosity that the young man can muster towards him.

Face betraying his disappointment, even though the regret underlying Daniel’s brash reaction is prominent against his mind, Armand pulls back, disentangles himself from the embrace as though it’s a punishment, sitting instead straight-backed against the headboard.

“I’ve told you so many times before, Daniel. The answer hasn’t changed. The answer will not change, regardless of how many times you ask me.”

Sad doe eyes glance reluctantly towards his companion, a frown disturbing the otherwise smooth flesh between his brows.

“I couldn’t bear to live with your eternal resentment, my love. Why can you not trust me when I tell you that this - whatever you think it is - is not what you want?”

If you loved me, you would not ask of me the one thing that I cannot give you.

“So you can bear to live with me dead? The fuck am I supposed to feel?” Daniel leans forward, coils of bedsprings protesting against the shift of weight. His feet swing over the side of the bed, barefoot on the whorls of carpet. His back is a faceless, unfriendly plane to Armand, slouched over his knees in as his head bows into his hands.

He can’t bear to look at Armand. He can’t bear that too-knowing, mournful look. Ages old.

“I’ve heard this before.”

From Armand, from Louis, too. It’s no gift, you don’t want this. But Daniel does want it. He can’t help but want it, this singing, killing blood in him. Only in drops! Agonizing, evil drops that Armand would dole out as he saw fit. And what did Armand care about agony it put him through? It’s a selfish, unjust thought. But he still thinks it.

That honeyed voice slithers into his mind, same as it always had. Daniel knows it so well now, he can hear it whispering things to him in the electric pulse of his brain, in the moments before sleep - in his dreams - in his nightmares - when he wakes. He hears it, knows its timbre, its faint accent and the way it sharpens when Armand feels pain, or rage, or the way he’s feeling right now.

“I’m tired.” He sighs. His body aches, and he’s dizzy even when he presses the palms of his hands to blackness against his eyes. And he’s tired of this fighting. Tired of hurting, tired of being hurt.

“I want to go home. Take me home, Armand.”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

In an act of uncharacteristic vulnerability, Armand stays rooted to the spot, moving only to pull his knees upwards to his chest as though trying to make himself smaller, as though wishing he could disappear altogether. He feels chilled right through to his bones by Daniel’s bitterness, the hateful burning of tears already working behind his eyes.

“You don’t know what you are asking me for,” he hisses defensively, his whole posture mimicking that of a coiled viper. “You have so many beautiful years, Daniel, and you would squander them away to become… this!”

In one whip-quick, agitated movement, he gestures towards his own being with one hand before pulling it back in towards himself, covering the palms of his hands with his sleeves protectively.

“Death is better than this, believe me; I’ve seen both and I know which one I would choose - which one any of us would choose - if given my time again.”

Face pinched with pain, he drags his sleeve across his eyes briskly where vicious red begins to well up from his tear ducts, leaving coppery stains smeared across the white cable knit, the evidence of his shame. Truthfully, he can’t even think of turning Daniel, of making him cold and distant, his stomach twisting with some strange, foreign anxiety at the idea alone. He wants to obey Daniel’s wishes, to take him home and forget all of this nastiness, but he CAN’T, the atmosphere too oppressive, choking his voice as he forces it out.

“Don’t you think I realise the consequences of my choice?”

“God damn you!” He grates, suddenly explosive. He moves with combustive, kinetic energy, hand swinging like a mallet against the bedside radio, plastic pieces imploding with a clatter against his fist and falling with a muffled thump against the motel carpeting.

“How the hell can you be what you are and tell me you love me, you son of a bitch.” He rounds on Armand, rage whiting out the image of the huddled, wounded boy curling into himself on the ruined bedspread. “What kind of sick nerve you’ve got. Maybe it was better when you let me starve in that cesspit. At least I came to terms with croaking it. Now you’re killing the both of us. So do the fucking vampire bullshit already. Put me down like a dog. Is it better now, Armand? Is it really any fucking better? I don’t want any goddamn twilight years! I want all of it! I want to be with you!”

His face is feverish, wild and glistening. For all the unsteady, gut-roiling omen of his liver, Daniel holds his ground. He boils with blown-out pupils, sweat pricking at his temples and chest and the soft flesh under his arms. “I want the blood. I want it. What’s the point without it?”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

It’s impossible to suppress an overtly human flinch as the radio goes to pieces and he can’t help but stare at the action bitterly, desperately wanting to reciprocate. One small, white hand balls into a fist, desperate to lash out, but no matter how badly tempted he is, he won’t – he could never put Daniel in harm’s way and with his preternatural strength, there’s no promising his safety were Armand to lose his temper.

“Stop it! STOP IT!”

The hoarse cry boarders on a scream, both fists slamming down either side of him on the old, worn mattress, undoubtedly adding a few more broken springs to its collection.

“How could you do it to me? Why are you doing it to me?”

Staring up at his lover balefully, he can’t stand to hold his anguished stare for long, burying his blood-streaked face in both hands, unrestrained sobs wracking his body now. He isn’t sure what’s worse – Daniel’s rage or the incessant reminder that someday, Armand will have to let him go. He isn’t ready for it; he isn’t sure he’ll ever be ready for it. And as much as it breaks his heart, the thought of cursing him for all time is still inconceivably worse.

“Why isn’t this enough for you, just as things are? Am I not enough for you, Daniel?”

Even Daniel flinches, eyes shuttering like from the flash of a camera bulb. His head turns - involuntary - for only a split second, but he feels stung; wounded by Armand’s naked despair, wounded that even this isn’t enough.

His hands hurt - every fiber of him hurts - a live wire, raw and ragged and sparking. That’s Daniel Molloy, boy-reporter: a ruined man, shorting out and burning himself up from the inside. Is this enough for you? He thinks. Enjoy before your warranty expires.

“Stop it, Jesus, you’re gonna — ” Daniel grimaces, blinking away the sight of Armand on the bed like that, so fragile and so monstrous. He isn’t sure what he meant to say, what words died in his throat as he half looks away, embarassed and ashamed by the nakedness of feeling. "Don’t you dare ask me that. Don’t you fucking ask me that. It’s not the same.”

Light pulses behind his eyes, pulls on the nerves woven through the lattice of his skull like the fistful of a careless child, and he brings up a hand to squint away the pain.

Fuck. Fuck.

“This isn’t some ‘til-death-do you-part’ bullshit vow. Don’t you have any idea what it’s like?” Daniel leans into the pain - it’s pissing him off, sharpening the edge. He offered an out - he did. And he knows it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t real; it was just some half-assed excuse, too tired for this familiar old fight. But Armand wouldn’t let this of all things die, and Daniel found his second wind. “Don’t come at me with pretty words about mortality. I’ve heard it before, from you and Louis and Keats and Neruda and Shelley. It’s all the same.”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

After everything that he’s lived through, consensually or otherwise, Daniel is the only one who, in this day and age, could possibly rip such unfiltered feeling from him – intentionally or otherwise. The intensity of this - of what they are - has such a habit of racing from 0 to 100 in milliseconds; entwined as lovers one moment and a raging war the next. And for what? All because Armand loves him more than Daniel thinks, than Daniel could ever comprehend. Even wretched and enraged, Armand could never bear to part with this and trade it for some cold, dead imposter.

“Then why won’t you listen?” he begs. “Do you think that we all say it for the sake of our hea-ealth?”

His voice, though reedy and underdeveloped, has always been so clear. Now, it is broken with hiccuped sobs and jumping like a scratched record.

“Of course I know what it’s like, I’ve been on both sides, haven’t I? And believe me, I would take death first. I would take death one thousand times before this!”

If it was so simple, if he thought that he could live with himself for it, of course he would change Daniel. But he knows that to do so would be a date worse than death. All of it, from the process of creation itself to the loss of the very essence of Daniel’s humanity… he can’t. He curls in on himself, arms coming to wrap loosely around his torso as though trying to comfort himself, the fight suddenly seeming to drain out of him and leave him helpless instead. He wipes his sleeves across his face and then leaves his wrist there to cover his mouth, to stifle any further cries.

It’s so much easier to be angry. It’s easier when Armand is angry, too. But this - this wretched, hiccoughing misery - Daniel doesn’t know what to do with this. How small Armand looks, folding in on himself in a kind of helpless resignation. Armand - giving up ? - he doesn’t know what it is, but the wrongness of it makes him angry.

How’s this any better? Daniel thinks. Living off crank and cough syrup. Not eating, not sleeping. He hasn’t seen the sunlight in weeks. This isn’t being alive. This is barely being human.

Where the hell do we go from here? It’s as much a thought for himself as a challenge, bold-faced; direct - to Armand. Where the hell do we go?

Daniel stares at him, bleary-eyed, barefoot among the broken things.

“Quit it,” he says lowly. “C’mon, just — ” Just what? Now that’s bad writing, building the suspense without fulfillment. This makes for the shittiest story. Daniel has always loved speculative fiction; worlds parallel to their own, something just close enough to see the reflection of what you know. But something different, something bigger than the awful, looming monotony of an ordinary life. It had been so goddamn simple to transcribe Louis’ words, to insert himself only in the spaces left in-between. “The boy” wasn’t really him, wasn’t really Daniel so much as it had been the world. The audience’s oeuvre into this fucked up, violent, beautiful other life he had tumbled into.

But he’s living it now, or - living alongside it. That’s worse. To be so close to feel it and never to break inside. No matter how many times Daniel might beat his fists against the shell, no matter how it fractures - how Armand fractures - he can find no purchase. And each time, he finds himself slipping, loose and unstrung, falling deeper and deeper into the void. Don’t you see, Armand? One of these days, I’m not going to get out again.

He doesn’t want to write this story anymore. Not now, not that it’s his.

“Goddamn you. So just kill me already. You’re doing it anyway. God damn you.”

Daniel’s fists clench and unclench, casting long, distorted shadows in the shitty light of the flophouse room. He sits again on the bed with the creak of the cheap metal springs, hunched and sullen next to the figure of the wounded boy weeping silently beside him. Daniel says nothing else, staring hollowly at the stain in the peeling wallpaper, imagining it resolving into the shape of a long-legged insect with fractal wings and the smell of blood.

[claudia1829things]

"CAMILLE" (1936) Review

"CAMILLE" (1936) Review I am about to confess to something many might regard as sacrilegious. I have never regarded Greta Garbo as one of my favorite actresses from the Golden Age of Hollywood. I had nothing against her . . . personally. But I realized that I could barely recall any of her movies that were personal favorites of mine. Because of this, I was very reluctant to do a re-watch of one of Garbo's most famous films, "CAMILLE".

Produced by Irving Thalberg and directed by George Cukor, "CAMILLE" is based upon the 1848 novel and 1852 play "La Dame aux Camélias" ("The Lady with the Camellias") by Alexandre Dumas, fils. The movie told the story of Marguerite Gautier, a woman of low-class birth who rose to become one of Paris' top courtesans. Debt-ridden from helping friends and suffering from tuberculosis, Marguerite hopes to attract the attention of an aristocrat named Baron de Varville as her next "client" at the opera. However, just as she manages to attract the Baron's attention, Marguerite meets a young member of the bourgeois gentry named Armand Duval and instant attraction flares up between them. The attraction eventually develops into love. But external influences - including Marguerite's debts - threatens their potential for happiness. I have not seen "CAMILLE" in a long time. A long time. There is a good chance I have not seen it since I was in my early twenties. But something . . . I have no idea what . . . led me to watch this film after so many years. In the end, the only regret that I managed to feel was that I had ignored this movie for so long. Did I have any problems with "CAMILLE"? Perhaps a few. I noticed that the movie's narrative began in 1847 and ended roughly a year later. I think. Considering the story's setting, I found it surprising that the narrative never touched upon the political upheavals that swept throughout Europe between early 1848 and early 1849. In France, the upheaval was known as the French Revolution of 1848. During this event, the French king Louis Philippe I was overthrown in February 1848. Four months later, many Parisian workers had unsuccessfully risen in insurrection against the conservative Second Republic government. I realize that "CAMILLE" is not a political movie. But considering the film's setting and the fact that one character had plans for a diplomatic career (Armand Duval) and another was a wealthy aristocrat (Baron de Varville), I found odd that the topic of political upheaval was never touched upon. I also had mixed feelings about the costumes created by legendary Hollywood designer, Adrian. I realize that the man had a reputation for creating some of Hollywood's most memorable and famous costumes. But . . . I do not know. Oh, yes I do. I think Adrian should have stuck to modern day costumes. His period costumes were not bad. Some of them have actually impressed me. A good example would be this particular costume from "CAMILLE" - namely Marguerite's dark velvet riding habit:

I also admired how Adrian managed to re-capture the fashion for men during the 1840s:

On the other hand, I had problems with some of the gowns worn by Greta Garbo, like the one shown in the image below:

I was inclined to complain about the sequins featured in the costumes, but I discovered that they had been worn as part of fashion for thousands of years - including the 19th century. But I have other problems with the above costumes. One, they looked as if they came from some cheap costume warehouse. And two, Garbo looked as if she was about to be consumed by the voluminous amount of material used to create those gowns. Or could it be that Garbo lacked the figure for the fashions of the mid 19th-century? No . . . I do not believe that is a good excuse. I am certain that Western women of the 1840s came in different shapes and sizes as they do today. It is possible that Adrian had simply failed to design Garbo's costumes in a way that would fit her perfectly. As a high-priced courtesan, Marguerite Gautier had the funds to purchase a wardrobe filled with clothes tailored to fit her. I do not think that Adrian took the time to fit Garbo's costumes. Or perhaps she did not give him the time. Otherwise, I cannot think of any other complaints about "CAMILLE". If I must be brutally honest, I think it is one of the best love stories I have ever seen in a motion picture, hands down. Ever. I was surprised that Alexandre Dumas fils, the son of the man who had written classics such as "The Three Musketeers" and "The Count of Monte Cristo", had written "La Dame aux Camélias" when he was roughly 23 years old. And screenwriters James Hilton, Zoë Akins and Frances Marion did a superb job in adapting Dumas' story. "CAMILLE" could have easily developed into one of those sappy love stories in which only external forces stood in the lovers' way. And yes, Dumas' tale featured those "forces" that stood in the way of Marguerite and Armand's relationship - Baron Varville, Marguerite's bank account, her friends and Armand's father. But there were other forces in play. Namely, Marguerite and Armand. Between her passive aggressive personality, penchant for evading the truth and an inability to handle her finances; Marguerite had put herself into a situation that made it nearly impossible to have a genuine romance with Armand, let alone anyone. And poor Armand. I could say that he was completely faultless in this romance. But he was not. Armand was naive, hot-tempered, rash and a bit too stubborn and proud for his own good. Considering the state of her health, I do not believe Marguerite's romance with Armand was destined to last very long. However, I feel that it were not for their personal flaws, the pair could have enjoyed more time together than they actually had. Many still regard Greta Garbo's performance as Marguerite Gautier as her finest performance. As I had hinted earlier in this review, I have only seen less than a handful of Garbo's movies. But I cannot deny that she gave a brilliant performance as the cynical, yet warm-hearted courtesan. Although Garbo was a healthy looking woman most of her life, I do admire how she utilized body language and facial expressions to convey Marguerite's questionable health and languid lifestyle. I have always suspected that Robert Taylor was one of the most underrated actors in Hollywood history. He had been in Hollywood for two years by the time he shot "CAMILLE". Many critics tend to focus on Garbo's performance when discussing the movie. As I had pointed out, she gave a superb performance. But so did Taylor, as Armand. He did an excellent job in conveying Armand's character from a very naive young man to someone who is a bit more cynical and mature. And yet, Taylor made sure to retain Armand's temper and stubbornness. Another excellent performance came from Henry Daniell, who portrayed Marguerite's "client", Baron Varville. Daniell not only skillfully conveyed Varville's cool and arrogant nature, but also the character's slight infatuation with Marguerite and the pain he experienced in facing the reality of Marguerite's true feelings for him. Laura Hope Crewes, famous for her role in the 1939 Best Picture winner, "GONE WITH THE WIND", gave a very entertaining performance as one of Marguerite's closest friends, a veteran courtesan named Prudence Duvernoy. It is a shame that Crewes never earned an Oscar nomination for her performance. Her Prudence is a skillful mixture of friendly warmth and a mercenary nature. "CAMILLE" also featured first-rate performances from the likes of Lionel Barrymore, Rex O'Malley, Leonore Ulric, Jessie Ralph and Elizabeth Allan. I was astounded to learn that "CAMILLE" had earned only one Academy Award nomination - Greta Garbo for Best Actress. And she lost to Luise Rainer's performance in "THE GREAT ZIEGFELD" . . . much to the surprise of the Hollywood community. Hell, I am not only shocked that "THE GREAT ZIEGFELD" had also won Best Picture, I am flabbergasted that "CAMILLE" did not even earn a Best Picture nomination, along with nominations for the leading actor, a screenplay nomination or a Best Direction nod for George Cukor. How did this travesty happen? A superb movie like "CAMILLE"? The discovery of the limited amount of acclaim that "CAMILLE" had earned back in late 1936/1937 really convinced me how irrelevant that the Academy Awards truly are. Thankfully, movie fans still have the movie to enjoy for years to come, thanks to George Cukor's superb direction; a great screenplay by the likes of James Hilton, Zoë Akins and the legendary Frances Marion; and a superb cast led by the iconic Greta Garbo and the excellent Robert Taylor.