#esurientcourt

[taleswritten]

@esurientcourt sent “if you need a breath of fresh air or a change of scenery, i know a place we can go.” [Your choice!]

People, sometimes, make Louis' blood boil. No matter where he and Lestat go, there's always some racist asshole that makes Louis want to rip their throat out with his fangs.

An urge that every fiber of his being fights to resist. He can not, he will not, stoop to their level. No matter how much he'd love to see them fall from their pedestals, he must turn the other cheek and ignore it. A blood bath will do him nor Lestat any good.

Something easier said than done.

He's seething, staring down the man who had dared to act as if he is all high and mighty. Like Louis is beneath him. Lestat's presence is strangely calming. How is it that they jump back and forth from fighting so viciously to calming each other?

If it were not for Lestat, he may have lost it already.

Perhaps there is some sick twisted part of him deep down inside that knows they will get what is coming to him. The man he is glaring daggers out will not have to worry about his wrath but instead Lestat's.

Even if he tries to get Lestat to let it go, he will not be able to. This Louis knows as a fact. He will only slip out when Louis is deep in a book and kill the man for daring to disrespect Louis.

Maybe he's hoping for that.

He hates thinking like that, hates this dark side of him that he can never fully squash down. It flares up from time to time like a flame that refuses to go out.

It is only when Lestat speaks to him does Louis turn his gaze away from the other and over to Lestat. As much as they fight, he always seems to know just what Louis needs and right now, he needs away before he finally gives into those dark urges.

"Yeah." Louis tries to make sure his voice is firm and not shaky with anger but he's not so sure he is successful. "Let's go. Anywhere is better than here."

[rejectory]

@esurientcourt: “Let me make this as... monosyllabic as possible.”

“ Yeah, I won’t hold my breath. ”

[heunmoor]

@esurientcourt REQUESTED A STARTER from here .

" 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 ? " he prods , expression hidden in the crook of the blond's neck . THE STILLNESS THAT ENCASED THEM WAS BUT A MERE MOMENTARY LAPSE IN THE THUNDEROUS WORLD HIS MAKER CURATED . " when you are up there on stage , do you think of this ? "

[aranostra]

@esurientcourt // "You have always enjoyed people fighting for you. You like jealousy. You like knowing people want you. And I fear my jealousy is a beast I find difficult to tame." [For Louis]

Lestat, for Louis, has always been a strange mirror held up in front of him. Distorted, of course, but a mirror. The way Lestat sees him has transformed him many times over, for better and for worse, always irrevocably.

He can't exactly argue. He's always liked being admired--that voracious need for external validation he felt as a mortal has never entirely left him. He relied on Lestat alone for a time, and that had almost destroyed him.

In fact, it had destroyed parts of him. Made him forgive unforgivable things. Made him beg and plead and cry in ways he never would've thought himself capable of. It makes his stomach turn even thinking about it.

"Maybe I do want to be wanted. Maybe I would get something out of seeing you fight somebody off who looked at me the wrong way." He smiles, a little. "I'm pretty sure I would. But I wouldn't have given any of them a second look if I'd been enough for you. You had me. Much as I argued with you. Much as I could be difficult or distant. I lost myself in you, and I would've been okay with that. I would have."

Louis shakes his head. "You think I don't know your jealousy? I know him better than I know you. How many times did that beast drag me back to you? And I come back, and I give you what I can, and we get too comfortable, and then what? Then I'm supposed to humiliate myself, bring myself low over and over, so you can entertain yourself with somebody who loves you less."

He clenches his jaw for a moment. Maybe he shouldn't say anything more, but there are too many things he hasn't said.

"But even then, if I'm willing to do that, I can't have a single interest outside of you. I can't have an emotion outside of you. Your jealousy isn't limited to other men, it's expansive, Lestat. It encompasses everything. I have to give you every part of myself, and if I do, it's still not everything you need. You build me up and up and up, tell me I'm special, tell me I mean something, then you take it all away and I feel so goddamn small."

He looks away and a red tear escapes from the corner of his eye. Only that, though. He won't let it be more than that. "Of course I want to feel wanted. You fill me up with that feeling, then you crush me back down. But I'm supposed to forget all those times you treated me like I was an inconvenience to you. It's always poor Lestat, he loves so much, but he loved someone who won't give him any love back. Is that how you remember it? Was I this broken, angry, vulgar thing you took in, and if only I hadn't been so broken, everything would've been fine? Am I the antagonist, and you the leading role of our tragedy?"

[itsalcngstory]

“Thanks for the beignets, Anne! Now, you better have a fun and safe night, ok? Don’t need to see you all over the local news.” There’s a shared laughter that escapes her, bag held close as she finally departs from a rather late shift at the restaurant. It’s dark in the city tonight, beyond the few partying wanderers and occasional street lamps and string lights from balconies illuminating her way home. A typical night of strangers drinking, celebrating, whatever had their spirits up.

She’s just finished giving a beignet to a rather favored saxophone street player when she goes to turn to continue walking, nearly colliding with the taller stranger.  “Couyon - Sorry, I’m so sorry, i - “

@esurientcourt

[thanklessindubai]

Armand didn't know if Lestat's question was a dig at his appearance, but the worry caused him a twinge of bitter self-consciousness, taking him out of the moment. Lestat still took his hand. He didn't have it in him to be prudish. (Had he ever?)

But the merest mention of food made him hungry. It had been a while since he'd had a proper meal -- he couldn't bear to drink deeply of his victims at the casino, and now that place seemed so far away.

Talk of food had overlapped with the sight of the driver and a mischievous fire filled his eyes -- he was sobering up and growing frustrated in this game of endless transport. Would it end if he ate the driver? Perhaps he didn't want it to end. He wasn't taking proper advantage. And the driver wasn't the one he wanted to taste.

"I could eat."

Armand followed him into the car, but on all fours, creeping, predatory -- the audience would shout at Lestat, look behind you, the Thing was following close. What a reveal: it was the purple geisha all along. And now look at Lestat, sitting there like a whore. No one would feel sorry for him if the monster had its way.

He knelt at Lestat's feet, wickedly intimate, with a wildness in his eyes and the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I'm ready, Lestat. Show me your world." His voice was pure lust and simmering violence.

"Hm." Head tilts curiously. "Have you been keeping fed? Your lips look..." A flutter of his gaze to them, back to the eyes. Away. Taking a hand in his, he leads them back to the door and the car idling outside.

"Not recently, I hope. Plenty of room for more?" At the passenger door stands the driver opening it to let him in again for which Lestat does not wait for Armand's response. He finds his seat again and leans back, legs splayed in the roomy interior.

[operahouses]

Rich,  dark  woods  lined  the  walls  of  their  bedchamber,  their  intricate  carvings  illuminated  by  the  soft,  flickering  light  of  a  single  candle.  The  deep  burgundy  velvet  drapes  were  pulled  shut,  hinting  at  the  sunshine  outside.  Ornate  tapestries,  depicting  dramatic  historical  scenes,  enhanced  the  room's  moody  yet  luxurious  atmosphere.  Instead  of  a  traditional  bed,  their  room  featured  two  elegantly  crafted  coffins,  placed  side  by  side.

Til  death  do  us  part.

Louis,  though  clearly  tired,  took  great  care  in  assisting  Lestat.  His  movements  were  slow  and  deliberate,  his  usually  sharp  eyes  heavy  with  drowsiness.  He  yawned,  lips  smacking  together  as  he  helped  Lestat  button  his  night  shirt.  Despite  his  own  weariness,  he  remained  focused  on  Lestat,  adjusting  the  fabric  with  a  tender  touch.

Les,  with  his  golden  hair  falling  in  gentle  disarray  and  his  features  softened  by  the  day’s  end,  looked  dreamlike  in  Louis’s  sleep-laden  fog.  Beautiful.  You’re  beautiful,  he  thought,  blinking  slowly  at  his  companion  like  a  purring  cat,  utterly  pleased. 

He  stifled  another  yawn  and,  with  a  sleepy  smile,  nudged  his  forehead  against  Lestat’s  shoulder.  “Wanna  share  a  coffin  tonight?”  Louis  asked,  voice  tinged  with  the  exhaustion  of  the  day.  “Cravin’  a  cuddle.  Envie de toi…”

@esurientcourt ~ a domestic starter | lestat de lioncourt

[rejectory]

@esurientcourt *

❛ so. dorian gray. that you? ❜

[thanklessindubai]

@esurientcourt

"familiarized myself with youtube" 😭😭😭 [x]

[rejectory]

@esurientcourt: “i am the monster in your story.”

does it have to be with his underbelly under lestat’s spidered hand?

❛ i didn’t mean it. ❜

lestat’s hipbone sticks him like a knife. home, it says. the cogs of their ankles are locked into each other and the coffin’s pried open, lid to the side and off the longitudinal stars running his ceiling view.

❛ shit, you say plenty you don’t. ❜

[aranostra]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

  bold what applies, italics what sometimes applies, strikethrough never applies.

. FLAWS .

moody.   short - tempered. emotionally  unstable.    whiny.    controlling.   conceited.   possessive.  paranoid. lies. impatient. cowardly.   bitter. selfish.   power - hungry.   greedy.   lazy.   judgmental. forgetful.   impulsive.   spiteful.  stubborn. sadistic.   petty.    unlucky.    absent - minded.   abusive.     aggressive.   childish.   callous.    clingy.    delusional.   cocky.    competitive.    corrupt.   cynical.   cruel.   deranged.    egotistical.    envious.   insecure.   insensitive.   lustful.   delinquent.   guilt  complex.   reclusive.   reckless.   nervous.    oversensitive.

.    STRENGTHS .

honest.   trustworthy.  thoughtful.   caring.  brave.   patient.    selfless.  ambitious.  tolerant.   lucky.   intelligent. confident.   focused.   humble.   generous.    merciful.   observant.  wise.   clever.  charming.   cheerful.   optimistic.   decisive. adaptive.   calm.   protective.   proud.    diligent. considerate.  compassionate.   good  sportsmanship.    friendly.   empathetic.   passionate. reliable.  resourceful. sensible.  sincere. witty. funny.

.    SKILLS  &  HOBBIES .

art.   acting.    astronomy.    animals.    archery.    sports.   beach  combing.    bird  watching.    blacksmithing.    boating.    calligraphy.   camping.    candle making.   casino  gambling.    ceramics.    racing.   chess.    music.   cooking.    crochet.    weaving.   exercise.   sword.    fishing.   gardening.   ghost  hunting.  ice  skating.   magic.   engineering.    building.   video games.   inventing.    leather working.   martial  arts.    meditation.   origami.   parkour. people  watching.   swimming.    puppetry.    pyrotechnics.    quilting.   reading. collecting.   shopping.     socializing.   storytelling.    writing. traveling. dancing.   exotic  dancing (watching).    minor  /  major  potion  tricks  and  trinkets.   billiards.

tagged by: @vilestblood (thank you!)

tagging: @esurientcourt, @thedevilsjournalist, @rejectory (louis), @hopedefined, @itsalcngstory (sara), @dead-blondie, and anybody else who wants to <3

[prescitia]

Esurientcourt ---> Prescitia

[aranostra]

A shiver goes through him, and he could blame it on Lestat's touch, but really it's that he hadn't even meant to say it. And he could argue that he hadn't really. That slight abstraction, giving him distance, making it easier.

Lestat's so damn intense, though. So ready to pour out all his emotions onto Louis at once. It's overwhelming. Smothering sometimes... But not now. Or if it is smothering, right now Louis doesn't mind being smothered. Maybe he'd let Lestat crush him down into nothing with all his gravity, if that's what Lestat wants. Maybe he'd lose himself and not even notice, because Lestat takes up enough room for the both of them.

"I don't doubt it," Louis says. Because whatever Lestat's love is, Louis believes in it. Maybe it's too big for just him, but he believes in it. And he likes the way Lestat is smiling. He likes the way he touches him and kisses him and chose him. He thinks about that man he was the first time they met, and how foolish and jealous and repressed he was, and Lestat saw through all of it.

Stop thinking, Louis. Get lost in this moment.

Keeping eye contact with Lestat, he leans back just enough to get out of his shirt and jacket, let them fall to the floor. Then he moves back in, gripping Lestat's shoulder and the back of his neck to pull him into another kiss. Let that quiet Louis, that insecure Louis, that introspective Louis rest. If he is Lestat's, then Lestat is also his and he'll make his claim.

Somehow he says. Still. Exhaustion becomes him in the sweep of fondness. Somehow..

In love.

Patience has its rewards, and for him a feast! The ease of joy flows freely tonight, guiding touch to the sweet plush of his beloved's lips.

"Oh, mon cher..." He breathes against them, pallid fingers at the workings of his shirt hem to untuck it from the barrier of his slacks. Affording him free reign of the skin beneath, the pads of his fingers ghosting airily over the expansive curve of his lower spine.

In love.

In the slanted kiss of hearthlight brilliant emeralds become chartreuse, the olives ripe on the branch a spring bud bursting into its bloom. How apropos for his Louis.

In love.

A breath quivers between them, half of, before he sets his lips upon him. Hands unrestrained in their delving search for everything and nothing, finding answers and questions and answers again and he has touched him a thousand times in the recesses of his mind but never so gentle. Never with fear and awe and humility.

Breathless, he parts, nose brushing nose and giddy again he smiles.

"I love you, Louis. Never doubt that." God, the Devil, the Purpose, the grandiosity and brevity of life, himself but never this.

[rejectory]

that sound right there is the whorehouse special. a put-on for the patrons as they getting they shrunk pink dicks worked, which they gotta be lying down for and the girl vacuuming her cheeks overtime, full olympic, so they can see any past the bowling pig gut roiling with an oceanness at her.

this the kinda performative dumbassery louis pays his ladies for; on more than occasion has them coached for. he doesn’t do the coaching himself and would sooner pluck their throats out than have them within a five-mile radius of imagining him sucking dick.

but he knows from their nasty thoughts they have. lestat’s. sometimes they get off to it.

to make these sounds means to be pussy for hire, but lestat he believes. reason be damned, he does. lestat sounds modulated after a wet dream snatch, cloudy, deepthroat, like everything louis wants bottled. big thinkers got audio preservation to figure out next.

he’s on fire. he holds his dick at the root to make it not stand up straight.

❛ s’dry. ❜

he sounds so fucked up he wants never to speak again.

love, lestat keeps saying in louis’s insides. my heart.

the on-repeat pleasure of it is like murder. he can’t watch, but there’s nowhere to hide and ride out the rest. if he closes his eyes, he’s the one in a cage, magnified through the celestial eye of an observatory.

first-time awkward—the hell’s wrong with you?—he slides the hand he’s got left and gets his fingers stuck in the always gossamer of lestat’s hair. fixes pressure points into the rubbed-banknote powderiness behind lestat’s ears. he instructs downwise; open, slide, come the fuck on. down to the tonsils so louis can expand his vocal range.

he wonders how he tastes to lestat, smells to lestat. he’d been in those musty pants all night through azalea smoke, an impromptu kill and an oil change. he wishes lestat had one more mouth so they could—-

louis exhales like he ate something hot, blowing off the literal steam out a tight-lipped expel.

he wishes lestat wasn’t born stingy and would read his mind already. undress. undress, motherfucker, undress...

Mercurial is as mercurial does, forgive him his daliances through the absence of mind and don't ask again, Louis. He can give you no better answer when standing on the eroding cliffs and you with your pickaxe whittling away. Hasn't he given you all that you have ever asked for? Suffered your shame and the association of it, your stones, your chains?

Give and take, Louis.

With the patience of a saint no less. And here he is nestled between those thighs and eager to please, to placate, as he always is, entranced by the raving beauty of him. The furrow of dark brows, sneer upturning lips belying his disgust, the unabashed desiderate gaze dogged in its possession of him.

Impatient Louis.

Lips purse shhh.

The crackle of the fire takes precedence, pale hands spider to the waistband of loosened slacks, hook belt and all to tug by lethargic centimeter. Over the perfection of toned by toil hips, the bulk of powerful thighs, past the cockeyed steer of parted knees drawn briefly together; a sight in his peripheral that sets his mouth to watering. To pool around his ankles.

Reverent, he takes the heel of a shoe in his palm, unlacing each strand to cast it aside. Rinse, repeat. Unblinking in his hold of lidded eyes. Clothing discarded in a heap well away from either's reach.

He reaches for the hand entangled in his hair, dislodging finger by finger to bring them to his lips. Kiss the pad of each, the palm, the wrist.

Patience, Louis.

Moving now to place his worship against the skin of his calf, nose brushing the low laying valleys of muscle, his cheek pressed against the solid bone of a knee, tongue delving hot over the solid steel of thigh.

Hands glide over the supple skin of hips, pressing hardened nails to the give of them, pulling him forward to the edge of the chaise. Teeth leave fast fading marks, rising to behold his lover in half naked glory. Disheveled, pissed, enamored. Lestat smiles.

"Mon amour." Knuckles drag a pathway north along the broad swatch of his upper thigh, wrist twisting, palm skyward, feather light the back of his hand down his abdomen. Something savored in the hitch of a leg against him, the sharp breath held in his chest.

The pad of his index traces upwards where thighs meet, up to the base of Louis' half mast cock, pressing into the underside to tease along his length. Base to tip, across vein. Encircle the shaft in an ethereal grasp, stroking leisurely and brief.

"Mon cœur." Head lowers to the Adonis belt of him, cheek pressed against his need, head tilting to kiss the hardening shaft and he exhales a sound of want against velvet. Index returns to the base of his cock, retracing its pattern to the tip, a loving pause at the glistening slit to meet viridian eyes as his tongue reaches out to meet it. Flattening, cradling the head in the curve of it, and he closes his lips around to suck. The tip of his tongue plays along the crease, wetting the bead of pleasure budding until it dissipates on his tongue. At the back of his throat.

He moans at the taste of him.

[jessiebites]

SHE KNOWS HES IN HER HEAD. Jessie can tell by the way he's looking at her, a sense of unease washing over the young vampire's whole being. A flash of a field , a blonde woman running in front of her whilst the long white dress flows behind her. That blonde woman reaching for Jessie, throwing herself into the redhead's arms to be spun around like a top. Over and over again, the years go by the but the running, the romance, the flower covered atmosphere does not change.

Jessie smiles gently, reveling in the kind memories before it sours. The walls being put back up again, made of stone, unable to move in the direction that Lestat wants them to.

Emily would be fifty now. The last she saw him was shortly after she turned, and it wasn't as pretty as the light memories make her remember them. She knows that. But she'll pretend like it went like the movies — a romanticized ending where they kissed goodbye and Jessie set her free. Emily was a bird amongst wolves, she just didn't know it when Jessie went back to visit one last time. "Somewhere between Nashville and Memphis." Jessie answers honestly, then rocks on her heels. "Are there more like us here?"

The temptation is always there, to reach out and pry, peel back the mask so many wear to protect their innermost selves. Knowing without earning bores him. He is not the newborn abandoned in its cradle, testing its new life, any longer. Answers will come in time and that is the delight of the game.

His eyes have never left her, riveted by her silhouette and the occasional light that ignites her ruby locks into flames and grazes sidelong into irises as vibrant as the leaves he dreams of in front of the backdrop of a warm summer's day. Glimpses of her in her mortal years, these moments of brilliance. She must have broken her lover's heart.

"Your fiancée..." Tongue rolls with it, grin slipping between the cigarette held to his lips. "Where is she now?" Patience, strange one. Answers in time.

[aranostra]

Louis closes his eyes, draws a slow breath. He wishes he could conjure up something. Anger. Love... Sadness, even. He just feels empty, unable to care enough about himself to reach out for comfort.

He could really use some comfort.

"I meant..." He opens his eyes, but does not look at Lestat. Instead, at the broken glass. He thinks about how beautiful everything seemed that first night, so long ago. He remembers seeing that again through Claudia. But there is no feeling to accompany the memory anymore, now that he's driven her away.

"It's not about you." Repeating the same words that had angered Lestat. "I know it affects you, but it's not about you. Not everything I do is about you."

@aranostra asked: the words came out wrong. (from louis)

"And how else did you intend them?" Madness walks their halls, eggshells at every turn, and a shit in his coffin every other night! The resentment blooms before it roots and sends the glass in his hand shattering into the hearth, regret at the loss of it's beauty stoking the fires of his indignation.

"When I have suffered sixteen nights, Louis! Sixteen nights of your dispassion! What other meaning could you have possibly had‽"