#itwv x reader

[yesimwriting]

Stawp!

Louis and bestie reader are so cute

They would be so satc coded and go out for drinks and vacays

Also i think reader would introduce him and call him "my beautiful louis" to other people

But imagine louis getting home and texting her with a smile on his face all cute 🥰

I like the idea of the person who makes vampirism good being her, a platonic relationship, in contrast of a romantic companion.

Also i imagine this convo:

Armand: do you have to go over to her apartment every other day?

Louis: first of, we have our movie night fridays together and you know this!

Armand: its 4 a.m

Louis: duh? I got to get there while the sun is down, besides we need to pick up thai food because she does not cook and she will starve herself before turning on the stove

AND ARMAND WITH HER

I feel like after he knows her, he would be jealous of any relationships/ one night stands she might have (louis knows about them obvi! She calls him all the time 💅🏻)

Im obsessed with this concept 😭

everything about this is so perfect!! i'm so happy you got the vibe! i feel like he just needs someone to pull him out of his (slightly subconscious) angst and something about that happening through a platonic relationship is so endearing to me

they're so satc coded too, just besties drinking and vacationing and having (slightly) delusional conversations <3

also bestie reader calling him "my beautiful louis" to others is everything to me 😭 they for sure love each other so much omg

armand is definitely so messy with this 😭 he's like a cat trying to gaslight their owner into thinking they don't want attention

bc i love this sm here's an actual drabble/fic:

pls be nice writing for new characters for the first few times is so daunting for no reason 😭, also armand is a bit messy here <3

----

Not unlike daylight's earliest hours seeping through shut curtains, the haziness--the easiness--you offer him is persistent.

Louis has grown accustomed to the feeling, to the consistent warmth of your friendship, but every once in awhile the sentimentality of it all digs at him.

"This is..." You trail off, legs crossed beneath you and television remote still loosely held between your fingers. "Complex."

Louis's focus flits between you and the screen you're intently staring at. The two of you hadn't set out to watch a documentary on some nature channel, but this is far from the first time you've gotten distracted by some default program while attempting to put on a movie. "Very."

His sarcasm is enough to break the spell. You turn your head, frowning, "Don't make fun of me."

The documentary cuts to a well lit, sparsely wooded forest. The camera focuses on a deer patiently grazing on the surrounding foliage.

"I’d never," he mumbles, suppressing a smile in an attempt at seeming as serious as he needs to be for the joke to work.

You let out a sound that's too gentle to be a laugh before straightening your shoulders and returning your attention to the television screen. There's something ironically pointed about the way the peaceful background melody fades into something more sinister. Looming Danger.

The deer, alerted by some sixth sense, stiffens, its body stretching to its full, insignificant height. The camera zooms in, focusing on the deer's wide eyes and unmenacing features. "That kind of reminds me of you."

This time, your laugh is full, sharpened by a partial scoff that's as amused as it is offended. "That's the weirdest thing you've ever said to me."

The comment is almost enough to ease him. The camera pans out, allowing the audience to see the other surrounding deer. "Maybe the deer from that one animated movie."

You're quiet for a moment, thinking through the implication of the words before turning your head towards him again. "You mean Bambi?"

He had been much too old to be interested in the film by the time it came out, but the name is vaguely familiar enough. "I think so."

You blink at that, tilting your head slightly. "How do you know Bambi?"

"I don't know Bambi," the argument is a relatively flat one. Louis turns to better face you, resting his arm against the back of your couch. "I've just seen some commercials."

That only seems to confuse you further. You straighten, pulling your legs towards your chest. "Where would you have seen Bambi commercials?"

"They were everywhere when it came out in the 40's."

You don't respond right away, your attention shifting away from Louis and towards your bent legs. As far as references that remind you of his lack of humanity, this is far from a drastic one. The 40’s weren’t long enough ago to be inconceivable to you.

Still, you’re quiet, as if thinking through the potential outcomes of your reaction. You nod once. “Right."

When you look up at him again, there's a hesitant sort of curiosity behind your eyes. It's an expression Louis's more accustomed to than he wants to be, it's the way you look at him when you're reminded of the reality of the differences between the two of you.

You tap your nails against your knee. "Does it feel weird?" The question comes out with a suddenness that doesn't suit you, the stiffness of the words sharp and uncertain. "All that time--carrying it inside your head?"

For a moment, all he can bring himself to do is sit with the question. Your question. It's a simple enough thing to ask, but not a exactly a straightforward thing to answer. Especially not to you, who has yet to experience a significant passage of time even by human standards.

"Well," he starts, "You know about the way that time has impacted aspects of my memory." You watch him patiently, saying nothing to prompt or rush him as he thinks through his response. "It does make things feel different--years spent with someone can feel like moments, and moments with others can feel like eternity."

You nod once, allowing his answer to sink in. "Which one am I?"

He knows his answer before he knows how to put it into words. You’re too familiar for either.

“You’re more like a memory.”

Your eyebrows briefly pinch together at that. You part your lips, but before you can respond the documentary’s music swells.

You turn your head in time to see the coyote lunge at a deer. You sigh, screwing your eyes shut before leaning forward, You press your forehead against his arm. “That’s depressing.”

Louis could have anticipated the reaction, you’re usually more bothered by animals dying in movies than people. Still, though, your ability to find comfort in him of all things will never not perplex him.

Instead of pointing out that you’re the one that chose to watch this, he gently reaches for the remote. “Fine, I’ll put on the movie.”

----

The familiar ringing is so muted, so low, Armand's certain that if it wasn't for his enhanced senses, he wouldn't have been able to hear anything at all. By the time he's turned his head, Louis is already reaching for his coat's pocket.

Armand frowns. If the late hour and limited number of people Louis talks to weren't enough to let Armand know who the message is from, Louis's smile as he unlocks his cell phone would be evidence enough. You--it's always you.

He continues forward, allowing Louis to type out a response without interruption. Once he's certain the message has been sent, Armand begins, "It's her again."

Louis's attention shifts away from the screen. "She's my friend."

"I know," he says, voice flat, "Your best friend."

"Stop it." There's nothing aggressive about Louis's response, but there's an underlying warning pressed into the syllables, the same almost-sharpness that Louis relies on whenever Armand implies a lack of fondness for Louis's latest source of entertainment. "It's not like that."

No, it really isn't. When you first began to weave yourself into Louis's life, Armand had almost convinced himself that this was a blatant betrayal that defied Louis's usual preferences. After about five minutes of assessment, Armand realized that the two of you really are as affectionately platonic as you claim to be.

"No," it's an easy enough concession. Armand continues forward, the coolness of the night's air sharp against his skin. Their walk hasn't exactly been the most exciting night of their companionship, but it has been non-contentious in a needed way after their latest session with Daniel. "You do spend a lot of time with her."

Louis's quiet for a moment, thinking through his response in a way that Armand finds unusual. "You could spend time with us, too."

The sentiment isn't as true as Louis intends it to be. While Armand's been around you regularly enough to consider you familiar, there are a few things that the two of you want to do on your own. Your weekly movie nights, casual drinking at bars, the surprise trip to Milan. And during the evenings in which Armand is there, Louis regards him with a subtle uneasiness that if you've noticed, you know better than to mention.

In your presence, what they are may only be portrayed in the softest of lights. The facets of vampirism must only ever be suggested, alluded to so faintly that they're rendered incapable of tarnishing that darling soul of yours Louis is so determined to preserve.

"And subject the poor, little fawn to an evening with two vampires?"

Armand keeps his gaze focused on what's ahead of them, but he can practically feel the lack of amusement radiating off of Louis. "Come on," he tries again, "She's not like that."

Although he'd love nothing more than to solely resent your existence, Armand does have to give you credit for that. You hadn't so much as missed a single step when Louis revealed the truth to you, never once treating him differently. You also barely flinched when Armand appeared in your home with no warning as a way of hurting Louis during a particularly lively argument. Armand's yet to determine if your bravery is a sign of idiocy or a testament to how certain you are in your connection to Louis.

It's far from rare for Louis to feel the need to defend you, but there's a determination there that seems urging. "She asked you to come over."

Louis's hesitation, though brief, is confirmation enough. He almost stills but seems to think better of it, placing his phone back into his pocket as if that will be enough to make Armand forget that you're the source of this. "She just ended things with the boy she's been seeing."

Hm. Not exactly an interesting update, but intriguing...more intriguing than why you usually call Louis, if nothing else.

"Alright," Armand agrees, "Let's visit your puppy."

----

The apartment building you live in is far from run down. You've slowly but surely transformed yourself into one of those rare artists with a curated following so obsessed with being able to credit themselves as the discoverer of the next big thing that they go out of their way to purchase anything that you've labeled as yours. Existing at the cusp of fame has allowed you to afford a decent apartment in the city, but it's nowhere near as nice as where you could be if you'd accept Louis's offer to get you a place closer to them.

Louis knocks on your door twice. In less than a second, you're clicking the lock out of place. You're beaming as you pull the door open, "Louis."

Armand watches Louis's expression melt into one of total warmth. There's a definiteness to your friendship that Armand might envy if he understood it any better. What's so special, so interesting about you that your presence is always desireable?

Louis extends an arm, offering you the bouquet of flowers he insisted on purchasing before visiting you.

Your smile widens even further at the arrangement. If it wasn't for the information that Louis gave him earlier, Armand would have no reason to think anything remotely upsetting happened to you tonight. "I love peonies. Thank you."

You lift a hand, your pointer finger gently brushing a thin petal as you examine the flowers. After a moment, you straighten, turning your head enough to acknowledge him. "Armand, hi." The greeting is cordial yet far from cold, the way you often are with him.

"Hello," he replies. You step back, pulling your front door open as a way of inviting them in. "I'm sorry about your boyfriend."

You pause at that, parting your lips as you look back at him. Louis speaks before you get the chance to, "I told you to look sad when we got here."

It's a playful chastising at best, but you react as if Louis had really meant it. In some ways, Armand believes he did. "Oh," the sound falls flat. You walk further into your home's entryway, giving them the space needed to enter. "Give me a second, I can do better." You turn slightly, holding onto the flowers a little tighter as you bring your free hand to your chest. "I'm distraught."

Your performance isn't worthy of a standing ovation, but there's a humor there that might have been charming if Armand's disinterest in you was less inherit.

"Nice try," Louis mumbles as he wanders towards your couch. He sits down with a casualness that highlights how used to existing in your space Louis really is. "Armand wasn't up for visiting anyone and I wanted you to at least look sympathetic."

You walk past your living room. Armand watches you for a moment before following, if for no other reason than to feel something resembling Louis's familiarity. He keeps his steps even, making a point of remaining a few paces behind you.

You stop in front of a cupboard. After opening the cabinet, you have to extend your arm so fully to reach a vase Armand's surprised when you manage to grab it without knocking it off its shelf.

"Trust me," you say, exaggerating the syllables as you approach the sink, "I'm very sympathetic." You place the vase beneath the sink before turning on the faucet.

Armand steps forward, setting a palm against the granite that makes up the island attached to your sink. "I'm sure." The words are spoken so lowly they're nearly drowned out by the sound of running water.

"What did he do?" Louis asks from his spot on the couch.

You lift the vase out of the sink's basin, shutting off the faucet as you move to set the glass onto the counter. "Broke up with me because he thought he had a chance with his ex-girlfriend."

"What?" Louis turns fully at that, craning his neck to look at you.

You nod sharply, completely validated by Louis's shock. "I know." You remove the plastic binding your bouquet together. "Men are the worst." You carefully pull a flower away from its bundle before placing it in the vase. The process of arranging the flowers must remind you who brought them to you, because after a second, you amend your statement, "Except you guys. Obviously."

"Obviously," Louis repeats in a way that only feels somewhat sarcastic. "So are you...upset? Angry?"

You pause, giving yourself a moment to really think about your response. "A little of everything, I guess." You pick up two smaller flowers by their long stems before placing them in the vase. "But not crushed." You reach for a filler flower. "I don't know...it's not like I was in love with him."

Louis rests an elbow against the back of your couch, propping his head up as he watches you continue to adjust your flowers. "I'm glad you weren't." You raise your eyebrows at that. "He wasn't the right person."

"You always say that."

"And I haven't been wrong yet."

You give him another look that would be threatening if it wasn't for the underlying fondness there. "Don't start." You don't wait for Louis's reaction before returning your attention to the flowers.

Armand watches you for a moment before allowing himself to take in your apartment. This place is a known entity, but it's not exactly familiar. He's never seen anything beyond the living but he has heard you talk about a room that you've converted into a studio space.

It's not as easy as it should be to imagine a space solely dedicated to your work when touches of it seem to cover your entire apartment. Two canvases too uniquely you to be purchased are hanging behind your couch, there's a ceramic vase on your dining table that reminds him of the way you paint, and then there's the abandoned palette and partially finished canvas still on its easel.

Armand walks forward slowly, approaching the painting as you and Louis begin discussing your least favorite things about the boy that ended things with you.

Even unfinished, the project is strong in its certainty, in its style. Your brush strokes are sharp, unafraid. Next to your well loved palette, there's a small photograph that parallels but doesn't exactly fully match the partially completed house on the canvas.

"That's an idea for a new collection--the repurposing of abandoned things, places..." Your explanation is abrupt in a way that borders on shy. "It's not meant to be as pretentious as it sounds."

There's a self deprecating quality to the disclaimer that doesn't fit you. Perhaps he's stumbled onto an actual insecurity. "Does someone seeing it like this make you uncomfortable?"

"Uh," you start, confused by his own suddenness, "No, not really. As long as you know to look it as a work in progress." You tap your nails against the counter. "I--I have a room down the hall that's full of half-finished stuff if you want to look at those, too."

The offer feels more like an attempt to convince yourself that you're okay with his analysis of your work before it's been polished than anything else. The concept of your uncertainty makes Armand curious enough for him to actively reach for your thoughts.

Armand's concentration shifts onto your mind, and he's immediately thrown by the vaguest implication of resistance. Your mental defense is so feeble it might as well not exist, but the fact that it does...that you're trying to at all is almost endearing enough to convince Armand to leave you be. Almost. "Are you attempting to block me out of your thoughts?"

You blink, the blood beneath your skin rushing its way up your neck at your embarrassment. "Are you trying to read them?" When your counter question doesn't impact him at all, you sheepishly offer an explanation, "Louis taught me."

Of course he'd teach his pet a new trick.

Louis lets out a small laugh at that. "The fact that he felt it at all tells me you're better at it than I'd thought you be."

Armand's gaze returns to your painting. You've managed to find a warmth, a beauty in the forgotten. "The implication of resistance isn't the same as resistance itself."

The criticism stings, but you don't let it impact your expression. You let out an exaggerated sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly to add to your point. "Be nice, I was just broken up with. Over text."

He continues to study the painting, his mind attempting to break the piece down by individual brush strokes. "That doesn't matter to you. Not really." Armand can almost imagine the creation of the house's boarders, of the formation of each individual stone and the heavy ivy covering them. "You're not 'crushed' because you're interesting and he's not, and a part of you knows that."

The sentiment behind the words leaves you desperate to push him away. Blood settles itself beneath your chest. Your feeble mental shield returns, this time determined enough for Armand to feel its desire to push him out.

"You don't know if I'm interesting," the response is too soft, too curious to reflect your unease.

You tap your nails against the counter, the gentle clicks of them hitting the granite echoing throughout the space. Armand refocuses on the canvas. "Louis wouldn't like you if you weren't."

Something about the statement seems to ease you. Armand's reminded of how almost overly genuine your friendship is. "Thanks."

Louis lets out an almost-scoff at that, his eyebrows briefly drawing together in a display of mock offense. "Don't make me sound so shallow."

"It's less about your shallowness and more about my winning personality."

"Uh-huh," Louis mumbles, pressing a synthetic lack of interest into syllables, "Well, as long as its about you."

----

a/n this is lowkey way longer than i expected it to be but i loved this dynamic so much so if you want to see more of them pls let me know <3

[fairybonesandstardust]

armand’s definitely going to fall to his knees sobbing once he realizes that because daniel’s old he needs viagra and therefore can’t dick him down every five seconds

[cece693]

Day 3 of lestat pleaseee

Forever Muse

pairing: lestat de lioncourt x male human reader tags: lestat is readers muse, mentions of Claudia and Louis, thoughts of turning, lestat has a crush, no specific lestat was used for inspiration (can be seen as either the movie or show timeline)

The studio reeked of turpentine and linseed oil, a fragrant cocktail that clung to the air like an old, familiar ghost. You were accustomed to it, the scent of creation and frustration blending into one. Yet tonight, it seemed to mock you, curling into the corners of your mind as you stared at the canvas before you.

Another failure.

Lestat sat in his usual spot by the window, moonlight spilling over him like liquid silver. He was effortlessly ethereal, a living contradiction—sharp angles and soft curls, danger and beauty woven together in a way no mortal hand could replicate. You had tried, God knew you had tried, to capture that allure. The piercing eyes, the self-assured smirk, the way his every movement seemed to command the world to revolve around him. And yet, every brushstroke fell short.

He knew it, of course. How could he not? Lestat always seemed to know everything, even the thoughts you dared not voice. His lips curled into a faint smile, equal parts amused and indulgent, as he watched you pace back and forth like a caged animal. “It’s not fair,” you muttered under your breath, glancing at him. “You sit there looking like some fallen angel, and I’m supposed to, what? Summon the divine with paint and canvas? It’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible, mon cher,” Lestat replied, his voice a lilting melody that sent shivers down your spine. “You just lack the proper inspiration.”

Your brush hovered in midair, a sigh escaping your lips. “Oh, I have inspiration,” you said, letting your gaze linger on him. “What I lack is…God, I don’t know. Skill? Luck? Whatever it is that would make this look even half as good as the real thing.”

Lestat’s laughter filled the room, rich and warm, and for a moment, it dulled the edges of your frustration. “You flatter me,” he said, standing with the grace of a predator and crossing the room to stand behind you. He peered over your shoulder at the painting, his proximity making your pulse quicken. “But you’re wrong, you know. You underestimate yourself.”

You glanced at him, your brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? Look at it. It’s lifeless.”

Lestat tilted his head, studying the work with a critical eye. “It’s not lifeless. It’s longing. There’s a difference.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you masked it with a scoff. “Longing? For what?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned to face you fully, his gaze locking onto yours. There was something unreadable in his eyes, a depth that made you feel like you were teetering on the edge of an abyss. “Perhaps that’s a question you should be asking yourself.”

The words lingered between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. He had you ensnared, as he always did, with a power that was as intoxicating as it was terrifying.

The truth was, you had spent months trying to capture him on canvas because it felt safer than admitting the truth to yourself. Lestat was your muse, yes, but he had also become your obsession. You found yourself craving his presence, his voice, his laughter. And yet, there was something about him that felt just out of reach, like chasing a shadow in the dark.

Unbeknownst to you, Lestat found your company equally intoxicating. Your studio had become a sanctuary of sorts, a refuge from the storm that raged within his home. Life with Louis and Claudia had grown tense, every conversation teetering on the brink of an argument. He could feel their resentment festering, their plans forming in the shadows. It was only a matter of time before they turned against him.

And so, he sought solace in you. There was something refreshing about your presence, your unfiltered frustration, your raw vulnerability. You didn’t tiptoe around him like so many others did. You challenged him, fascinated him. For the first time in decades, Lestat felt truly seen.

The thought had crossed his mind more than once—to turn you. It was a selfish desire, he knew, born out of his fear of losing you. But there was also something else, a darker longing that he couldn’t ignore. You appreciated him in a way Louis never could, in a way Claudia never would. You saw him, not as a monster or a god, but as something in between. And that, perhaps, was what drew him to you most of all.

“You’re staring again,” you said, breaking the silence.

Lestat’s lips curved into a smirk. “Can you blame me? You’re quite the sight when you’re brooding.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks flushed under his gaze. “Well, stop. It’s distracting.”

He chuckled, stepping closer until there was barely a breath between you. “Perhaps I like distracting you,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Perhaps I like being the reason you can’t quite capture what you’re feeling.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. Lestat reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, and you felt a jolt of electricity at the contact. “Tell me, mon cher,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours. “If you could capture me perfectly on canvas, if you could finally get it right…what then?”

You didn’t have an answer. Or perhaps you did, but the words felt too heavy to speak aloud. Instead, you let the silence stretch between you, hoping it would be enough. But Lestat, as always, was not one to let things go. His smile turned wistful, almost sad, as he took a step back. “Perhaps it’s better this way,” he said softly. “Some things are meant to remain unfinished.”

He turned and walked back to his place by the window, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your mind racing. You didn’t know what to make of his words, or the way they seemed to linger in the air long after he had spoken them.

What you didn’t see was the way Lestat watched you from the corner of his eye, a faint smile playing on his lips. He had made up his mind. You would be his, in time. Whether you knew it or not, your fate was already entwined with his. And soon, the artist who had spent months trying to capture his soul would discover who truly was Lestat de Lioncourt.

[sarrsqz]

Back to Clarity

My tragic girl 😔

Interview with the Vampire: Claudia de Pointe du Lac x Reader

This was made with the idea of being platonic but could also be read with romantic undertones I suppose. I just wanted to give her some love because no one really talks about her on here.

Takes place in season two - Paris, 1950.

Word count: 1.2k

Claudia's hand shook as she leaned her head against it. Her leg bounced against the wooden floor, slightly heeled shoe making a soft clicking sound each time. Her skin felt colder than usual, bare elbows resting on the vanity in front of her. Her face scrunched up in irritation at the sounds of the audience cheering and clapping for those on stage.

She cursed herself as the coven played with her storyline, her insecurities. The fact that her existence was an abomination was humorous to them. They found joy in mocking her right to her face.

She had spent so long finding other vampires. Her determination constantly tested at every dead-end and suicide she was forced to witness. Finding the Parsian Coven had been a dream come true for her. A way to find true purpose. To be surrounded by other vampires who saw her as more than a child. More than their child.

But she was met with the same resistance as before. A group of centuries old vampires who saw her as a mistake. Who found pleasure in exploiting her.

The various ruffles and laced parts of the outfit she was forced to wear itched and burned her skin. She reached to the collar of the blue dress, pulling at the fabric like she was pulling off a second skin.

She craved to hear the stitching be torn out of the homemade dress. Desired to watch the fabric curl in on itself in a pit of fire, or watch it dissolve in a tank of acid. Anything to destroy any remnants of a connection she has with it.

Her eyebrows drew together, knitting in a tight line of frustration and humiliation. Her lips quivered when she finally took in the appearance of her face. The face of a teenage girl, decked out in blue eyeshadow and faux freckles stared back at her. She felt her breathing get deeper, harsher.

Her red eyes scanned over the mirror's reflection, hands stopping their clawing movements against the dress. The sounds faded out behind her. They sounded miniscule, unimportant as she blankly took in her makeup covered face. The face of a girl who should've died forty-three years ago.

Her fingers moved to her face, erratically smudging away the makeup. It smeared together, blending into inharmonious colors against her skin. Her red eyes seemed to be brighter in contrast to the ugly smudges on her face, breathing in deeply to restrict her true emotions which were threatening to break through the surface.

"Makeup pads are over there, y'know."

Claudia's head snapped over her neck, hands tensing while still being held out in front of her. You took in her face, the vulnerability expressed underneath all that rage.

You were leaning against a wooden pillar in the middle of the room, arms loosely crossed over your chest. You looked at her blankly.

"Oh, really? How quaint." She responded after a second of hesitation, voice bitter. She turned back around in her seat and crossed her arms in her lap. Her eyes refused to meet the mirror in front of her. She pushed her embarrassment down, replacing it with defiant rage. It continued to build as she heard you walking over to Estelle's dresser. "Shouldn't you be out there? Playing out those fantasies of yours?"

You pushed in the dresser's cabinet with your hip after grabbing what you need, smiling to yourself at the sound of her accent. You've yet to visit America, but it seems just as bland as the rest of the mortal run world. At least here you have some of your kind.

"I'm not on today." You placed the makeup pads on her vanity after responding vaguely. Claudia glared at them while picking at her nails. While she was desperate to remove any childlike addition they gave her for the performance, she refused to accept your aid. "I don't need your help. I'm not a kid." She spat, looking back at you as you sat down near her at another vanity. You crossed one leg over the other, leaning closer to the mirror and adjusting a piece of your hair.

"I didn't say you were."

"Felt like it."

Her response was quick, practiced. She's had this conversation before. Whether it be mortals or vampires, she was never deemed as an equal in their eyes. She learned that the hard way.

Your arm fell to the table, head turning to look at her. It was silent for a moment. Just you and her staring at each other. Her face seemed to be set in a permanent snarl.

Claudia's walls were high. They had to be. After everything she'd gone through, she had no other options but to close everyone out. Her struggles were just that -- hers. No one else understands her pain. The curse of immortality in a body that restricted growth and true experiences. Unable to bond with neither mortal nor vampire, the former seeing her as a child and latter seeing her as an atrocity.

"It's just makeup, Claudia." Your voice was soft, although detached in Claudia's eyes. "Don't let it define you."

"Oh. It's that easy, huh?" Her eyebrows shot up, egging you on in a sarcastic manner. She sat up in her seat, breathing heavily, hands placed firmly on the sides of the chair she sat on after uncrossing them.

More silence spread between the two of you. The only sounds came from the audience, entertained beyond belief at the various acts the coven put on for them.

Your face was blank, calmly looking over Claudia's defensive expression. You turned your head back to the mirror after a moment.

"You're not gonna say nothing?" Claudia asked while leaning forward more, bewilderment mixing with anger taking over her face. Her curled hair fell over her shoulders, hanging in the air while she awaited a response from you.

She waited for you to say something you couldn't take back. Something to confirm her suspicions that finding other vampires had been futile, and that no one in the coven truly respected her. But secretly, a small part of her craved your words to be the exact opposite. To find someone who could accept her -- to prove Lestat wrong.

To prove herself wrong.

You looked back at her, sitting up in your seat as well. Your eyebrows furrowed as you glanced to the wooden floor for a moment before looking back at Claudia. "It's not about them. It's about you. You deserve more than this bitterness... you know that don't you?"

Claudia's eyes widened slightly, a sense of ease replacing the heavy feeling in her chest. Her eyes scanned your face, looking for a lie, a ploy. Something to convince her to crawl back into her well-built safety net.

"Here," your voice cut through her thoughts. You reached forward for the makeup pads, grabbing a nearby makeup removal serum to place on them. "Let me help you, Claudia."

Her nails picked at the wooden chair she was sitting on. She let you wipe off the smudges, remove the ribbons from her hair -- bringing her back to clarity.

A sense of equality stemmed between you both. Claudia could almost feel her walls crumbling with each wipe of the makeup pads.

Being wrong never felt better.

[m0chisenpai]

Your itwv fanfic about loumand x reader reminded me of this tiktok sound:

R: am i being kidnapped?

L&A: No, no!

R: so, can i leave whenever i want?

L&A:..... No.

QUITE LITERALLY this is their dynamic !!

she has no idea what she got herself into, smart and so gulliable like she thinks it's all an act and doesn't realize how in deep she is

[lady-phasma]

Anne rice had beef with fanfiction and sued a lot of people because she didnt like that lestat x louis was a thing, but it was a LOOOOONG time ago and that is not the case anymore, that is why there is not many itwv content.

Thank you anon! Oh man, yeah I think she got really litigious when I was in college? Like almost 20 years ago. I know that the ramifications of that can be long lasting, especially in how people might be hesitant to write for her characters, but since her passing I don't know that Christopher Rice has sued anyone, nor AMC. I could very well be wrong about that though.

I think you might have seen this post I made:

So, that was more about the gender neutral reader more than a lack of Lestat fics in general. I like to write fics for broad audiences, really inclusive fics if I can. One "genre" that I particularly enjoy is the gender neutral reader (usually smut because that's who I am). There's something really wonderful about sharing a fic that anyone can read and (hopefully) enjoy. Female, male, enby, or no labels at all - we all want to have some sexy time with the Brat Prince. 😉

I was trying to crowdsource fics anyone knew about that were Lestat x gn!reader because at this moment that search gives me inadequate results. I couldn't find even one.

[yesimwriting]

i NEED to see Louis having the biggest crashout of all crashouts over reader. He don’t play about the people he loves in his life.

Also, Im so curious about how he reacts/talks about her without her being in the room. We know he’s caring and funny to her face, but I want Daniel to notice Louis indeed does have someone close to him in modern age and ask him about her. Will Louis show Daniel her paintings Louis has in his home? (anonymously purchased with the highest offer, just so his bestie racks in some dollars. Bc we all know bestie reader would give him her work for free)

a/n i can't put into words how much i love this. louis is so lighthearted around reader, but he becomes so deeply un-chill the second something reminds him of her mortality.

omg the interview potential is too good 😭. i love that you used the word 'notice' bc i think daniel would pick up on a vibe (similar paintings all over the penthouse, louis periodically looking at his phone and smiling, louis occasionally using phrases that feel gen-z) so when reader actually comes up daniel's like yeah. there it is.

anyways, here's a fic that explores both louis talking about reader and louis crashing out over reader and her mortality :)

----

There's something about the painting serving as the living room's focal point, and the smaller piece in the foyer, and the art work decorating the guest room. Not necessarily a style or a specific theme, but some underlying quality that conveys a sense of unity between them.

"Are you recording yet?" The prompting is small and far from an accusation. Daniel still finds himself shifting slightly, his gaze tearing away from the painting as if he's been caught staring at something not meant for him to notice.

"Uh--yes." It takes him a second longer than it should to meet Louis's stare. "That's an interesting painting."

The corner of Louis's mouth tugs itself upwards at that, not quite a smile but something that feels incredibly warm. He turns his head slightly, looking back at the painting as if to re-experience the details of it. "It's from a dear artist of mine."

Daniel's immediately thrown by the phrasing. His attention shifts away from Louis and onto Armand, whose lips are pressed together but is otherwise giving no indication of how he feels. "...An artist of yours?"

"Don't get him started." Armand's warning feels much too tired to be amused.

Louis halfheartedly glares at his companion before returning his focus to Daniel. "There's an artist, and she's..." Louis trails off, his eyebrows drawing together as he thinks through the best way to make his point.

"His very best friend in the world," Armand finishes for him, the words flat in their blatant sarcasm.

"Stop it," Louis sighs, the defense so halfhearted Daniel has to believe that this is an argument they've had regularly enough. "She is my friend, but it...it sometimes feels so much more important than that."

Okay. So Louis has a friend--an important friend--that Armand doesn't seem to like. It's hard to imagine them embracing other vampires these days, but the thought of a human girl so casually and openly important to Louis and disliked by Armand is even harder for him to grasp.

"Yes, she's like you," Louis offers after a beat, "And it's not like that. She's--like family to me." Daniel's questions are distracting enough to dull the usual annoyance he feels when Louis enters his mind. "And Armand's a lot more accepting of her than he'd ever say."

Armand's gaze flits towards Louis. His lips are still pressed together, but he's not exactly frowning, and there's something behind his eyes that almost feels thoughtful. It's not so much his expression as it is his blankness. It's a neutrality that almost feels methodical. "Clearly."

Daniel reaches for his pen. This 'friendship' seems like the kind of thing that might warrant a few rewrites of the more current chapters. He'll need extensive notes for the sake of continuity.

"So," Daniel starts, "This artist..." Louis provides your name. Daniel writes it down, making a mental note to look you up online before his revisions for the sake of accuracy. "How old is she?"

"Twenty-two." It's not the most surprising thing. They've mentioned other friends and acquaintances in passing, and they're often close to the ages they resemble...but Daniel's never seen evidence of them in their home. And Louis has never spoken so fondly of a human before.

Daniel looks at the painting again. He still hasn't been able to decipher what makes your work feel so cohesive, but he's starting to think it might be feeling. For the briefest moment, it's almost enough to make him wish there was a way to keep someone he doesn't even know away from them.

"I know," Louis says flatly, something behind his eyes briefly hardening. "But we're...careful. I ne--"

"Does she know?"

For whatever reason, the question seems to remind Louis of his fondness for you. "She knows." Daniel resists the urge to sigh. Twenty-two and willingly running around with vampires. He's not exactly in a position to judge, but it's difficult not to.

Louis relaxes slightly, his hand moving to rest against his knee. "She even knows about you."

"Really?"

"Please, they don't go long enough without speaking for her to not know anything." Another passively-aggressive comment from Armand. Still, there's relevance in what he's implying. How close are you and Louis? And why does he choose to spend so much time with you?

Daniel hums once in acknowledgement of Armand's words as he finishes writing down his last thought. "Why?" The question feels like something crafted by a very bad journalist. Daniel tries again, "Why her? What about her made you want to be her friend?"

Louis is quiet for a long moment, and to Daniel's surprise, Armand allows it to pass without any sort of comment. "When I'm around her, I can almost remember what it felt like to have sunlight touch mortal skin."

There's an affection there that's impossible to deny. If Daniel didn't think you needed to be a part of this before...

"She sounds--nice."

Louis eases at Daniel's tentative approval. "She's funny, too." He relaxes, allowing his shoulders to slouch as he leans forward. "And talented--during her gallery debut, an anonymous bidder paid a hundred-thousand dollars over asking price for her first piece." Daniel writes down the detail. "I've got more paintings I can show you later."

Daniel has a feeling this isn't as much of an offer as it is an inevitability. He agrees anyway, "Yeah, later." He turns to a new page in his notebook, writing your name at the top before drawing a bullet point beneath it. He'll need to figure out where you fit within the larger narrative. "So how did you meet her?"

----

Interviewing vampires isn't that different from interviewing humans. Not when you disregard the lack of effort it'd take them to end your life if they dislike your line of questioning and focus on the stiffness that characterizes the beginning of each interview.

When individuals, human or otherwise, are made to dissect their thoughts and memories, they tend to be slow to share until they've answered a few questions and start to feel like they're having a genuine conversation. Daniel's used to the phenomenon, used to the shallowness of the answers provided earlier in the evening. What he isn't used to, however, is Louis's irritation.

"It felt like what you'd assume it'd feel like." The answer is so nondescript, Louis might as well have not said anything at all.

Daniel's instinct is to ask for elaboration, but Louis gives him a look that feels like a warning not to. Daniel glances at his notes, thinking through his latest line of questioning. Is this...a sensitive subject?

"Don't mind Louis." Armand's responds, answering the question that Daniel has yet to ask out loud. "He's beside himself because his darling angel hasn't answered him in almost two days."

Louis turns his head to look at Armand. "I'm not beside myself." The correction is sharp, but Daniel can't help but feel like Armand might have a point. Louis straightens to face Daniel again. "It's not like her. She either answers or tells me she's going to be busy."

It's a concern that's almost unnerving to witness. "...The artist?" Louis dips his chin downwards once in silent confirmation. "She's twenty-two, she probably just forgot--"

"She wouldn't forget me." There's a harshness to the interruption that Daniel sometimes forget Louis is capable of.

"No," the response is more a result of an instinct for self preservation than a genuine attempt at agreeing with him. "I didn't mean it like that." Surprise aside, there's something interesting about Louis's defensiveness. "There are a lot of reasons for someone to not answer their phone."

Louis's quiet for a moment, his expression slowly morphing into something more neutral. He's not exactly easing, but it's a step in the right direction. After another second of silence, Louis parts his lips. Before he can actually speak, he's interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone.

Louis picks up the phone from the couch. He accepts the call so immediately, Daniel already knows who's on the other end. "Give me a minute," Louis mumbles as stands up.

Daniel sighs, leaning forward to pause the audio recording. At least Louis has a reason to come back in a better mood.

----

"No texts, no calls, you turned off your location--"

"I didn't want you to freak out."

The response only amplifies Louis's irritation. You didn't want him to freak out. What do you think he's been doing for the last day and a half? And what could possibly be so bad you needed to cut him out completely to keep it a secret?

Louis resists the urge to scoff. "What happened that was so bad you needed to keep it a secret from me?" The words are sharper than he usually is with you, and his phrasing isn't exactly fair, but he's not feeling very patient right now.

"It's not a secret--I just needed a second to deal with it before telling you." The vagueness only annoys Louis further. "I hurt my wrist." You pause, thinking through your wording, "I was out with a friend, and someone tapped the back of his car and I instinctually put my hand on the dash, and the pressure snapped my wrist."

What. "You were in a car accident?"

"No, it--" You cut yourself off with a partial sigh as you think through how to proceed. "It was a total fender bender. Josh's car isn't even totaled."

That's nowhere near as assuring as you think it is. "Thank God for that. Your arm's broken, but Josh's car is okay."

"My arm is fine." The defense means very little to him. "It's only my wrist." Louis rolls his eyes at the technicality. This is what he gets for leaving you alone. "But it's in a cast now, and in four to six weeks it'll be off."

The thought of you existing in New York by yourself, even more vulnerable than usual leaves a pit in his stomach. "I'm scheduling a flight."

"You don't need to do that." There's nothing surprising about the protest. "It's not a big deal, I've been checked out and the only thing wrong with me is my wrist." When Louis doesn't respond right away, you continue, "A lot of people break things."

Louis has never liked that kind of argument. You're not meant to be lumped into such a general category. "Those people aren't you."

The directness of the comment seems to soften you. There's a moment of hesitation, and then a reluctant sigh. "You're busy, you've got your book thing, and Armand--"

"If he has a problem with it, he can come, too." This should be enough to make the suddenness of their trip seem a lot less dramatic to you. Armand and him visit you semi-regularly, and they are over due for a trip. The thought of Armand being there might even be easing to you.

There's a brief stretch of silence, and then a careful, "You guys don't need to stop everything because I'm accident prone."

It'd be fair to argue that this isn't a result of your clumsiness. You were in someone else's car, and they weren't paying attention to the roads enough to keep you safe. Josh--you've mentioned him a few times in a variety of contexts, and Louis has yet to find a reason to be a fan. But that doesn't matter right now.

You're alone and even though you're not complaining, Louis can't help but imagine the pain you're probably in. You don't need to be lectured, and you don't need to hear anything that might make you worry about Josh. After a moment, he offers you something small, "Not your accident."

He wonders if there's a chance that you're injured in any other way. You said that you only broke your wrist, but that doesn't mean the accident didn't result in any superficial injuries. "Thanks." The word feels small. "I didn't call during a bad time, did I?"

Louis briefly thinks of Daniel and Armand waiting in the living room. "It's never a bad time to hear from you. Even when you're calling to tell me you've been in an accident."

"I considered texting, but I didn't want to give you a heart attack." He can hear the smile in your voice. "I really didn't like not talking to you."

It'd be easy for him to hold onto his worry, onto his anger, but he can't stand the thought of you being physically and emotionally wounded. "I didn't like it either." It didn't take much to hide this from him. There are so many ways in which you could be hurt, in which something could happen to you that he'd have no way of knowing about. "I also don't like the thought of you all alone."

There's the briefest crackle of static and then a soft sigh that feels like a yawn. "You sound like my mom."

"She's not wrong."

You sigh, the sound so familiar in its exasperation Louis is almost comforted by it. "You two have been on each other's side since Christmas."

The memory of meeting your mother when she came to visit you during the holiday season is one he's extremely fond of. It had been a brief shift, a small window into who you were before him, but everything about it had made him feel so normal. "I can't help that she's always right."

The crackly hum of movement briefly returns. Louis can picture you adjusting your hold on your cell phone. The thought is so tangible it only adds to the weight of your absence. "Why don't you come here?"

"Really?" He can hear the excitement bleeding into your voice. You recover quickly, the gentle static of movement briefly taking over the other end of the line. "You--you think that'd be okay? You have that writer over, and you're doing your--"

"Daniel's fine." In all honesty, Louis isn't sure if Daniel will mind another person around, but it doesn't matter. Injured or not, he can't imagine ever telling you to stay away from him. "He may even want to ask you a few things." That's true enough. Daniel was intrigued by the thought of Louis having a mortal friend. You'd be a good way at rounding out the modern era.

You're moving again. It isn't difficult for Louis to imagine you in your bedroom or on your couch, a heavy throw blanket on your lap. "I get to talk about you to a journalist?" The words are much too amused. "I'm going to tell him about the--" You're interrupted by your own laughter. "The club in Milan, with the LSD guy that smelled like--"

"Don't," it's a halfhearted attempt at stopping you, "We said we'd never tell anyone about that."

"I don't know, I think it's a story that deserves to be immortalized."

It's only an expression to you, but the reminder of the concept of permanence tarnishes the little peace the conversation has managed to bring him. Without intervention, you'll eventually vanish and leave him the sole holder of your shared memories. If he's not careful, that day might come sooner than it needs to. However, with intervention...

He pushes against the thought immediately. The prospect of turning you, of separating you from your soul for the sake of keeping you here is one that he only considers when he is at his most selfish.

Besides, he doubts he'd be able to bring himself to turn you himself. Armand is repulsed by the idea of having a fledgling, but there's a chance that he'd come around to the idea if you were the one to ask him. For all of his complaints and your shared bickering, something about the way that Armand never attempts to retaliate against you makes Louis think he might have a greater soft spot for you than he'd ever admit to.

Still, if Louis is allowing himself to imagine a completely self indulgent reality, the thought of Armand turning you doesn't fully fit into his ideal version of your transformation. Not when Armand's blood doesn't flow within his own veins. He banishes this thought more immediately than the last.

"Maybe I could be convinced to let you share that story if you agree to something."

You sigh in a way that's so incredibly telling. "You're not flying to New York to help me fly to Dubai."

Louis's not sure if he's more amused or irritated by your ability to read him. "I don't like the idea of you traveling by yourself, especially with a broken wrist."

He can practically feel you rolling your eyes. "It's this or no trip."

Louis doubts that you're extremely firm in this position, but he's willing to let you have a win. "You wouldn't do that to me."

You yawn, the sound low and tired. "Tough love."

"I'm not keeping you up, am I?" It's not particularly late, but there's a chance your body's exhausted. He'll have to read up on human injury before you get here. "You sound tired."

"The doctor gave me some pain killers for my wrist, and they make me kind of drowsy."

Great--you, all alone in your apartment, with a broken wrist, and painkillers in your system. The sooner Louis can get you here, the better. "You should get some sleep, I'll send you the flight information as soon as I have it."

"Okay." Your lack of questioning reveals more about your drowsiness than your words ever would. "Do you want me to send you my credit card info?"

"I've got it."

You let out a small breath that indicates resistance. "Louis."

There has to be a line somewhere. "It's this or no trip." He means the echoed phrase as much as you meant it, and Louis is convinced that you can that you can tell.

His hollow threat works. After a second, you give in with a small, "Okay." Wow, you must be more tired than you're letting on. "How long should I pack for?"

Louis isn't in the mood to think about your eventual departure. Fortunately, there's one topic that almost always works as a distraction. "Pack light, we'll go shopping when you get here."

"You so get me."

Louis smiles at that. "I know." The silence that follows feels a little less like a choice on your end. "Get some sleep, I'll send you the flight details tonight and I'll call you tomorrow." And then, just because he's not ready to let go of all his worry just yet, he adds, "Please answer."

"I was trying to spare you."

He doesn't doubt that at least some of your motivations were noble, but he also knows you, and he knows how you feel about his general wariness of the world around you. "That was the opposite of sparing me."

"Fine." You let out a breath, and Louis can practically feel you rolling your eyes. "My beloved Louis de Pointe du Lac, I promise to never intentionally ignore your calls again." The sarcasm in your voice isn't enough to taint the sentiment. You really do mean it.

Louis is nearly overwhelmed by his fondness for you. Things will be better, easier when you're here. "That's all I ask." You're quiet in a way that makes it impossible to not feel your drowsiness. "Goodnight, love you."

"Goodnight," you echo, "Love you. Tell Armand I said 'hi'."

"I will," he says, "Now get some sleep."

You mumble a response he can't fully make out before hanging up.

----

It's earlier in the evening than Louis wants it to be.

You're asleep in your own apartment, but it's difficult to not think about things much more gruesome than that. You kept the accident from him so easily, and you're at a greater physical disadvantage than you usually are.

You're also alone, not that you're safer when you're with others. The thought of the boy that allowed the accident to happen only adds to Louis's irritation. Josh. Josh, who crashes vehicles. Josh, who must have done something to make you think the accident was your fault in some way.

Louis pushes against the feelings. Josh, the details of the accident, the state that you're in. There will be time to deal with all of it later. He just needs to get through tonight. You'll be here tomorrow.

"It's still early," Louis's words are sulkier than he wants them to be, "We could go out for a bit."

"If you want to." Armand's response is slow and almost painfully nondescript in a way that suits the way he's been all evening.

Louis lets out a partial scoff. "What is it?" Armand angles his head to the side slightly in a display of synthetic confusion. "You've been passive aggressive all evening. What is it?" Armand doesn't respond. "Was it my worry? The phone call? The fact that I can't leave her alone like that?"

"You shouldn't have left her at all." The response is surprising enough to briefly silence Louis. "I told you it was only a matter of time before something happened to her."

The novelty of Armand almost expressing concern over you fades, leaving an unstable irritation in its wake. What right does Armand have to accuse Louis of abandoning you? Maybe if Armand didn't treat you like a puppy he didn't want, you would have wanted to live near them. "I didn't leave her--she chose not to move."

"You could have tried harder."

Louis blinks, his surprise clouding the potential anger. "Maybe if you didn't threaten her after every comment."

Armand's eyebrows draw together as if the possibility of you not enjoying your halfhearted spats had never occurred to him. "I have never once attempted to hurt her."

The distinction means very little to Louis. It's a statement that doesn't need to be made, because if Louis had sensed so much as an inkling of actual malice towards you on Armand's end, Armand would have never been allowed to be alone with you.

"We're different than her." The words are directed at Armand, but Louis's thoughts still latch onto the ways in which they apply to him as well. "After awhile, it has to be off putting to always be reminded of that."

Armand notes the thinly veiled self hatred immediately. As exhausting as it is to constantly hear about the poor saint cursed to be surrounded by such vile creates, it's even more draining to watch these sentiments impact Louis...and you.

He stands from his spot on the couch slowly, approaching Louis with slow, measured steps. "If you believe she's afraid of either of us, you are severely underestimating her."

Louis eases, the corner of his mouth tugging itself into something that comes close to resembling a smile. "You're not wrong about that." Armand extends an arm, placing a comforting hand on Louis's shoulder. Louis reciprocates the gesture, his hand coming to rest against Armand's forearm. "It's just hard not to worry."

To Armand, the response is a painful understatement. Louis worries about all that could happen in his absence, he worries about all that's wrong about his presence. Things would be so much easier if he'd get over the paranoia of 'ruining' you.

"You wouldn't have to worry so much if she was here more." Armand drags his thumb against Louis's shoulder. "Maybe this visit should be a little longer."

Louis's expression softens at that. "I'll do what I can to keep her here while she has a cast." He's never once asked you to leave, but he's aware of the temporary nature of your visits. You start missing your home and the access to whatever you need to create whatever you want. "But she starts to miss her home, and her studio."

"There's space here," Armand offers carefully, "You could give her a room." Louis's eyebrows pull together at the suggestion. "You're different when she's with you." Armand continues to trace patterns against Louis's shoulder. "And it's important we preserve that."

Louis's eyebrows draw together again, his confusion a little sharper this time. "Preserve it?"

"Human emotions are fleeting. The more time she spends away from you, the more likely she is to find more permanent relationships." Armand doesn't have to meet Louis's gaze to know that the implication has served its purpose. "And if she finds other people, falls in love and gets married, you can't expect things to stay the same between you."

Armand squeezes Louis's shoulder a little more firmly, a gesture meant to convey something comforting. "As your companion, I'm capable of grasping your relationship and even then, sometimes it's difficult to accept. Do you think some human boy would have the same patience? The same understanding?"

Louis frowns. Worrying about losing you to your mortality is a simple thing, but accepting the fact that he could just as easily lose you to change is nowhere near as easy. "I'm--I'm not going to make her do something she doesn't want."

Armand has to work at keeping his expression neutral. Louis's obsession with your free will is often a limiting thing. "Then we'll make sure she wants to."

----

manipulation is a love language, i promise <3

[yesimwriting]

thinking about accidentally befriending louis de pointe du lac who, to his credit, does his best to separate himself from you bc he doesn’t want to subject someone so kind and genuine to the world of vampirism, even if it’s only through association. but, with time, he relents and before either of you know it you’re important to him.

and with being important to louis comes armand, whose suspiciously accepting of your presence. you have no reason to be too skeptical of him, but louis’s already given him the ‘leave her alone’ speech, which armand was even more suspiciously willing to accept.

after that, everything’s all fun and games with you in your little best friend bubble until armand gets mad at louis bc armand knows the best way to hurt louis is to take you away from him.

now, whether taking you away from louis involves “stealing” you from him or killing you is really up to you and how receptive you are

[yesimwriting]

Armand is always on his ipad because hes stalking bestie reader guys 🙄 (she posts stories at partys with louis where shes dancing all cute)

Louis: armand stop trying to get in our friendship... I love you, you dont need to worry

Armand: ...yes... Thats why i was watching her Instagram page.... No other reason... 🧍🏿

a/n this is no joke the first notification i saw on my phone after putting down my ipad 😦 😭 spiritually armand and i are connected through ipad i feel it <33

i love this concept so much, the thought of armand being an ipad social media stalker is so perfect but also the mental image of louis casually looking over at armand and seeing bestie reader's stories on the ipad screen 😭

also do we think bestie reader would have armand added to her close friends/private story or do we think he's on social media in secret and she has no idea he can see her posts at all lmao

----

Your hair is down, the glittery tinsel weaved throughout the stands catching the limited lighting with your every movement. You're wearing more makeup than usual, sparkly product brushed against your cheeks and tiny gem stones glued around your eyelids.

The camera shakes slightly as you move to set down your cell phone, allowing a complete view of what you're wearing. Armand recognizes the silver sequined slip immediately. He had been there when you bought it.

After that clip comes to an end, a second one immediately takes its place. You're beaming, projecting a warmth that you've never directed at him as you turn your camera towards the source of your admiration. Louis, of course it's your beloved Louis.

The third and final video available on your story is of you and Louis again, this time Louis and you are dancing in a way that doesn't suit the environment. It's more of a caricature of a formal dance than a genuine attempt at one, but the two of you are so visibly content it doesn't seem to matter. Louis extends an arm, guiding you through a spin. The video ends with your gentle laugh.

Armand clicks out of your story, allowing his tablet's screen to return to just the general overview of your account. He should leave your profile, should leave this app all together and focus on anything else.

He taps your profile picture again.

Armand doesn't think about your features or his opinions on them very often. It's simpler that way, easier to make sure that he primarily associates you with Louis and all of the inconveniences your constant presence in their lives has brought him. But in the first video, with the camera so focused on you...it's difficult to dismiss your appearance.

The second video replaces the first, and he's once again overwhelmed by how transparent your love for Louis is. It's an affection so genuine and certain Armand's not sure if he's ever experienced anything quite like it.

"Stalker." The word is whispered much too gently to hold any weight. Armand turns his head. Louis is already looking at him, an easy smile playing at his lips. Louis always returns to him in a better mood after spending time with you. Maybe your goodness is so absolute that it's contagious.

"I was just curious about what you spent the better part of your evening doing." The response is honest enough for Louis to take it at face value. Armand had originally looked at your account out of curiosity.

Louis shifts further onto his side, his arm reaching for Armand. There's something comforting about the way that Louis's fingers bend around his wrist. "You could have asked."

He's not wrong. Louis never lies about you. Armand's sure that most of Louis's transparency comes from a lack of need for dishonesty in anything that involves you, but Armand wouldn't be surprised if Louis's candor was another way of keeping you safe. After all, how could Armand fault you for anything if Louis gives you no reason to shed your innocence?

However, Louis would never admit to this second reason if asked. Even now, with you more familiar to both of them than ever, Louis still does what he can to keep a certain distance between you and Armand. Louis may love Armand, but he doesn't trust him to never turn you into a casualty of an argument as he pretends to.

"You seemed a lot more tired a moment ago." Another true-enough statement. Louis had seemed almost asleep until now.

Louis lifts his head a little more, his free arm moving to hold up his head. "I'm getting a second wind."

Hm. Louis said that you had been one to call it a night. Maybe you're feeling a little less tired as well...would you bide your time alone by doing something like reading or watching one of those shows you love or would you go out again? Would you want to stay alone or would you seek out company?

Armand's quick to dismiss the thought. You wouldn't go out again...Louis is too careful with you when you're drunk to leave you without making sure that you're going to bed.

"You don't have to worry about her." The words are almost too relevant. Louis drags his thumb against the inside of Armand's wrist, the gesture almost too placating. "I love you."

Armand allows his eyes to fall shut. Louis's affections do mean something to him...it's just difficult to not wonder if things would feel more fulfilling if he had your devotion as well.

There has to be something that intrinsic quality that allows you to hold so much of Louis's attention. If you'd just look at him in the same way, maybe he'd finally understand it. Perhaps, if you offered him a fraction of what you give to Louis so openly, he'd no longer have to think of you so often.

"I know." Armand turns off his tablet's screen, his other hand moving to take Louis's. "And I'm not worried..." He really isn't. Armand has seen into your thoughts and he has witnessed the way you and Louis interact with each other. The love that's there is objectively platonic, and even if it wasn't so evident, Louis is too careful with you to have introduced you to Armand if he had any intentions of betraying him with you. "I know how you two are. I was just curious."

Louis drags his thumb against Armand's knuckles before laying down fully. His burst of energy seems to have been short lived. "If you're so curious, you could come out with us tomorrow. We're going to the movies and then to a club opening some promoter invited her to."

What. Armand's hold on his tablet tightens. "Some promoter?"

"A guy she met in line at the bar," Louis explains, "He was trying to make himself seem more important, you know how that is."

Yes, Armand knows exactly that is. Too many people are much too comfortable thinking about you in certain ways and attempting to turn those thoughts into reality. "I can imagine."

He's witnessed the way people treat you often enough for him to piece together what it had been like. You're usually much more perceptive than anyone gives you credit for, and yet something about that type of attention seems to taint your ability to think clearly.

"She's not unintelligent, and yet she always seems to behave like she is when she's put in those situations." Armand delivers the words carefully, keeping his tone even as a way of masking the extent of his annoyance.

Louis angles his head towards Armand, smiling in a way that feels a little too knowing. "You're worried about her."

"No." Armand forces an appropriate level of repulsion into his immediate reaction.

"Yes," Louis counters, "You like her more than--"

"I do not." Louis raises his eyebrows at the interruption. "She is a--nuisance that I tolerate out of love for you."

Louis studies his companion for another moment before giving in with an unconvinced, "Okay." Armand can feel Louis's smug disbelief, however, attempting to push the issue further right now would only make Armand seem like he cares a lot more than he does. "Are you going out with us tomorrow?"

It's the most apparent trap that Louis has ever laid for him. Still, Armand can't help a begrudging, "It seems more entertaining than staying here."

"Okay, good." Louis is quiet for such a long moment Armand almost convinces himself that his companion has fallen asleep. "She asked about you."

An uneasy warmth Armand's not meant to be capable of feeling briefly digs at him. He presses his lips together before responding, "Did she?"

"Mhm," Louis mumbles, "She said she actually missed you, because she's capable of admitting that despite your bickering, you're friends."

Armand disagrees. You've never given any indication of caring about him beyond an obligation to Louis. "Please, she could befriend inanimate objects if she wanted to."

"Then she shouldn't have to work so hard to try to befriend you."

Another point Armand can't agree with. "She's trying?"

"Yes," the response is exactly what Armand was expecting. Louis could never find a reason to blame you for anything. "And it wouldn't hurt if you tried to do a little more than tolerate her."

Louis might believe he wants more proximity between the two of you, but in reality, he views you as the one, damageable thing in his life. Too valuable and too fragile for him to be trusted with.

"You enjoy our lack of proximity." His genuineness surprises him more than it should. Louis's worry over you has yet to become a point of contention, but that's likely because it often remains unspoken.

"What? Louis stills, his eyebrows drawing together in a surprised disbelief. "Why would I--"

"She is the only thing that can be taken from you." Armand stares at the dark screen in front of him instead of permitting himself to look at Louis. They both know what he's saying is true. "She is your vulnerability, and you don't trust me with her."

Louis's lips part in instinctual protest, but the truth there seems to reach him before he can think to speak. How often has Louis warned him? Threatened him? If you do anything, if you hurt her at all, you won't mean anything to me. How often has Louis studied his interactions with you, always reminding him of how unforgivable it would be to do or say anything that would push you away?

"I am...protective of her," the admission leaves Louis slowly. Armand's more surprised by this than he should be. The only thing that's ever come close to being an actual issue in your friendship is Louis's occasionally overwhelming desire to make sure that you're never hurt. "Because of her humanity, and because of what losing her would do to me."

Louis squeezes his hand once. "And I know it can be a lot...even to her." An understatement. Louis turns Armand's hand over before kissing his knuckles. When Louis pulls away, Armand can see the determination behind his gaze. "But I love you, so I trust you." This is a more interesting development than anything Armand thought would happen tonight. "So I promise to ease off a little, if you promise to try to get along with her."

Armand's nearly thrown by the opening. He squeezes Louis's hand. "I can try." He leans away from Louis and towards his nightstand. He sets down his Ipad before relaxing back into place. "And I promise to be as careful as possible with your beloved fawn."

Louis scoffs, but the sound lacks any real malice. "If you call her that, I'm going to have to be the one to tell her to be careful with you."

Considering the amount of times you've threatened him over less, Armand doesn't doubt it. "As long as you're willing to defend me."

----

this was supposed to be shorter and i was supposed to do homework tonight 😦

[yesimwriting]

Happy new year! I wish you all a blessed 2025 ❤️

Now personally I don’t care the new years kiss tradition is about kissing your significant other, every single friend I love is getting love back from me when I’m drunk.

Bestie reader should absolutely give Louis the biggest platonic SMOOCH because he deserves it. He’d walk around with lipstick on his forehead or something, take a pic, save it for later to make fun of the level of readers intoxication.

a/n happy new year!! i'm totally the same about nye kisses and drinking, i get a little sappy and suddenly everyone in my life needs to know how much i mean to them lol i love this concept and it's perfect for the first fic of 2025!

also as a side note, going out/drinking with a vampire seems so perfect, ultimate scary dog privileges bc let some creepy man try anything and suddenly louis has a little late night snack <3 it sounds so freeing

----

The music's heavy pulse has aligned itself with your own, the base of it reverberating through your chest so thoroughly it might as well take the place of your heart. You can't bring yourself to dislike the feeling.

"O-kay." Your enthusiasm breaks the word into two. You let yourself lean into the feeling, into the fullness of your joy. "I think the regular vodka's stronger than the jello shots, because it's vodka not vodka-jello."

Louis presses his lips together in an attempt to keep from grinning too broadly. "That makes sense."

Your eyes narrow as you give yourself a moment to absorb the response. "It does," the words are much more contemplative than they need to be, "I'm so smart."

This time, Louis lets himself react. He laughs at the deliberateness pressed into your syllables. You're too out of it to think to mind his reaction. "You're drunk."

You straighten slightly as if that'll be enough to prove him wrong. "I'm happy."

Louis extends an arm, placing a hand on your shoulder in an instinctual attempt at keeping you steady. You're not exactly implying instability, but he's spent enough time around you like this to know it's better to be safe than sorry.

"You're drunk."

You tilt your head at the correction, blinking at him curiously. "For some people, that's the same thing."

"Yeah?" The word is much too amused.

You nod enthusiastically, shifting your weight from foot to foot in a way that leaves Louis squeezing your arm a little tighter. "Yeah." You pause, eyebrows drawing together pensively as you struggle to grasp your next thought in its entirety. "I love you. I want you to be as happy as I am."

"Okay." He lets out a partial laugh. You're a good, terribly affectionate drunk. "I'm very happy. I promise."

His assurance doesn't seem to ease you. Instead of moving onto a separate topic of conversation or attempting to escape him in order to track down another shot, you frown. You step back slightly before lifting your arm. "Here."

You're holding your wrist out in front of him so innocently Louis can almost make himself forget what you're offering. "That--that's really nice of you, but I'm okay."

You frown, staring up at him with wide, sad eyes. Louis sighs, his fingers gently bending around your forearm. He pulls your hand down towards your side before stepping closer to you. In an abundance of precaution, he angles his head towards your ear. "I had that boy that grabbed your arm earlier, remember?"

"My blood is perfectly good--blood." Great, he's stumbled onto this argument again. You're not looking to be hurt, but for whatever reason, you're convinced that Louis's refusal to consume your blood to any extent is limiting your friendship. "Seriously, a doctor has never struggled to find my veins."

The defense is slurred and devoid of serious logic. Still, such a consistent mentioning of something he's always trying to ignore...always trying to forget makes it difficult to focus on anything else. The blood moving beneath your skin is warm against his palms, and it--the scent of it...

It is possible to stop. Some know how to resist, how to take just enough to feel something without bringing a life to its end. Lestat had possessed that kind of control, had used it when creating Claudia.

The thought leaves him more somber than he's prepared to be. Even if he could sense that kind of strength in himself, he--he couldn't use you in that way. Introducing you to his world at all was a cruel enough act on its own, he doesn't need to taint you further.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling before pulling away slightly. He lifts your arm slowly, his thumb brushing against your wrist's pulse point. You watch him silently as he brings your inner forearm to his mouth. He presses his lips against your skin. "It's not you."

You're quiet for a second, something oddly sober briefly flickering behind your gaze. "I know," you relent slowly, "On some level, I know."

You look at him, then, with a careful awareness that often leaves him feeling like you're the one capable of looking into his mind. "But it better not be because you think your existence is some terrible burden you're inflicting onto me."

It's a warning he's used to hearing. His lips part, but before he can think of a response, the crowd around you shifts. A variety of voices blend together as they start to count, "...Ten...nine...."

"New years!" You beam, reaching for Louis's hand as you turn towards the others.

The countdown continues, the numbers oddly in sync for a bar so full of drunk individuals. The clock hits midnight, the crowd erupts into cheers.

You grin, straightening fully as you lean towards him. Before Louis can think to ask about what you're doing, you press your lips against his cheek. He can feel the residue of your lipgloss against his skin, but he can't bring himself to mind it. This isn't the first time you've gotten a little affectionate while drunk, but normally there's some warning. "What was that for?"

You shrug innocently, "New Years kiss."

You let go of him fully, halfheartedly pushing his arm off your shoulder as you start moving away from him. "Where are you going?"

"I want another shot." The response is absentmindedly thrown over your shoulder, like Louis should have had the foresight to follow you.

A part of him is glad that your back is to him. This way, he can grin openly without encouraging your behavior. "Slow down--you're in heels."

You turn at that, flashing your middle finger before continuing forward. Oh, you're not going to get the hear end of this tomorrow.

[yesimwriting]

omg yesss bestie reader origin story

a/n i LOVE creating lore and backstory omg

----

The golden rays of light cutting across the woman's face are so delicate, so hazy Armand can almost convince himself that what's in front of him is more than oil paint staining a canvas but an actual encapsulation of light.

"It's interesting, isn't it?" The art consultant's words are an unwelcome intrusion. Though Armand's gallery visits are dwindling in regularity, she's always content to obey that subconscious instinct that warns her of his otherness. She rarely says much without being prompted to. "One of the first paintings we've sold tonight and it's the artist's first gallery piece."

The painting is defined by contradiction. A partially veiled woman studying her reflection by candlelight. She's as haunted as she is content, as made up of shadows as she is of light.

After a beat of silence, the consultant continues, "...If you'd like something similar, I'm familiar with the artist and her agent. I'm sure she'd be willing to show you her portfolio or to speak to you about commissioning a piece." The consultant turns, clasping her hands in front of her briefly before lifting an arm to gesture to the other side of the room. "She's actually right over there, if you'd like to speak to her."

Armand shifts, his focus finally abandoning the painting. The artist, the stranger, defies his halfhearted expectations. You're too wanted, too distracted by a plethora of artists and consumers to feel the weight of his gaze.

Your easiness presses into him as uncomfortably as the painting's contradictions. Your being is shinier than it should be--a bright spot that nearly dulls all else in comparison.

"I'll take it." The response is jarring in its certainty.

The consultant turns her head, blinking at him sheepishly. "Sir...it's already been sold, but I'm--"

"One-hundred." He straightens, his attention returning to the painting in front of him. "Offer a hundred-thousand more than whatever's being paid for it."

The consultant's mind immediately latches onto refusal. This isn't an auction...there are arrangements, pre-existing agreements--a variety of reasons for his offer to mean nothing. However, there are also one-hundred-thousand reasons that she cannot deny him.

She's quiet for a moment, her eyes briefly narrowing as her thoughts dip away from the financial. Her mind floods with thoughts of the artist, the warmth of their limited reactions. The consultant is not overly familiar with you, and yet, some impulse begs her to find a way to keep him away from you. Armand cannot fault her for it.

After another beat of silence, rationality seems to win her over. She dismisses the precautioning guilt swelling in her chest and nods once. "I'll make the arrangements."

----

The weight of the glass in your hand is familiar enough, and yet something about the way your fingers bend around its stem makes the object feel like a prop.

You take a breath, forcing your spine to straighten as the air settles in your lungs. This isn't a performance. This is reality.

A gentle hand on your shoulder allows you to feel a little more connected to yourself. "I've never seen so many people stop to look at a first time artist's work." Abigail's practically squealing. "You've got something different than talent--you've got a quality." Your lips part, but before you can respond she squeezes your shoulder a little tighter. "And I discovered you."

She grins before bringing her nearly empty champagne flute to her lips. "Okay, now, when anyone asks what you're working on next, I want you to keep it light. We don't want to establish your branding too early. Just say you're excited to be putting together your first collection."

Great--the collection that's only common thread seems to be a vague yet undeniable sense of directionless. You nod once, downing the last of your glass's contents in a single drink. "I'm gonna get another drink."

"Okay," she hums, pulling her hand away from your arm, "Remember--light."

You nod at the instruction before walking into the crowd aimlessly. It'd be an easy thing to get another drink, to give yourself something tangible to focus on when you have nothing worth saying. But you don't feel like drinking...or breaking down everything you say about yourself to other people.

You just--you need some air.

The art gallery isn't overly full, but there's enough movement that it doesn't take much to briefly disappear. You abandon your empty glass on a forgotten table as you walk towards the side door.

There's a sharpness to the evening air that presses itself against your skin. It's strangely grounding.

A few minutes of thought, of planning, and you'll be able to go back in there and project the artist that Abigail wants you to be. She's a tough manager, but her methods work. You'll get used to it.

You sigh, leaning against a blank part of the wall. It's a good thing that Abigail doesn't want you answering any specific questions right now. It gives you--

A soft groan pulls you out of your thoughts. You walk forward, steps measured as you approach the small space between buildings. The alley is a small, dark thing that twists at your stomach.

After a beat, you lay a hand against the wall, leaning towards the alleyway without actually stepping into it. "Hello?" There's no response. Hm. Maybe the champagne's getting to you more than you thought.

You straighten, a little more ready to re-enter the building than you were before being reminded of the very real prospect of murderers that lurk in alleys just like this one.

"You're not supposed to be out here." There's a hint of unease to the voice that isn't enough to undermine its warmth. You step towards it, letting go of the wall and officially entering the alley.

From here, you can see past the piles of cardboard boxes and trash bags. There's a figure so far down the walkway the streetlights don't reach them.

Technically, the stranger is right. Even if the gallery didn't have a strict alleyway loitering policy, you still wouldn't have a right to be out here. You're supposed to be inside, chatting with other artists and critics about your vague yet niche yet artistic yet unpretentious future art plans. But there's little chance the stranger knows that.

You straighten, chin lifting slightly. "You're not either."

The sound that follows is either a scoff or a laugh. Maybe you'd be able to tell if you knew the stranger any better. As if sensing your uncertainty, the stranger steps forward. "Technically."

He's still obscured by shadows, but from here, you can make out the base of his features. You know that appearances aren't an indicator of morality, but the man in front of you doesn't look like a killer. Or at the very least, not a very good one.

A beat of silence passes. The stranger takes another step towards you. "It's cold for you to be out here without a jacket, isn't it?"

You're not sure what to make of his assessment. "Not that cold."

He takes a few steps forward. "Why are you out here?" There's no accusation or expectation in the question, just a cautious curiosity.

"I just..." The rehearsed answer feels small, shallow. This stranger doesn't know you, has no way of knowing anything about you, and yet something leaves you feeling like he can see straight through you. "I needed some air." The prospect of being perceived when you wanted a break from it leaves you uneasy. "What about you?"

He blinks, as if he hadn't exactly considered the possibility of the question coming back to him. "Also needed air."

You nod. "Cool."

"...Cool," he echoes, the word almost uncertain. "Are you sure you're not looking for anything else?"

The bluntness of the question throws you. This guy seems nice enough, but he's still a total stranger. "Yeah, I'm sure, but if I change my mind you--guy I met in alley--will be the first to know."

He's quiet for so long you almost convince yourself that you were a little too mean, but then, he tilts his head just enough for you to notice what might be a smile. "Thank God." When the joke doesn't ease you, he takes another step forward. "You just--you seem a little tense."

You're not sure if you're more unnerved by his familiarity or by how easy it seems to reciprocate. You fold your arms across your chest, fingers pressing into your arms in an attempt to create warmth. "We're strangers. For all you know, I'm always like this."

His smile doesn't falter. "Louis de Pointe de Lac."

You hesitate before reluctantly offering him your name in return. Once you do, he takes another step towards you. The light's catching him a little easier now. The more you see him, the less nervous you feel about him. "Now we're not strangers."

You drag your hands up and down your arms. "Technically." You're quiet for a second, before finally relenting. "Abigail, my manager, is just so obsessed with image, and I get it. That's her job, but mine is to pick what I make. And I just--I don't know, everything about it feels so synthetic." You sigh. "That probably sounds really dumb."

"It doesn't." He pauses, pressing his lips together before approaching the alleyway's end. He's close enough now to seem like a person. "We can talk about it inside, if you want."

The night air is rapidly shifting away from cool and towards frigid. You like the thought of re-entering the building with him more than you probably should. "Why do you want to talk to me at all?"

He studies you for a second before lifting a shoulder in a barely there shrug. You're once again unsettled by how easy you think it'd be to like him. "Beats the cold."

You return his partial shrug before walking forward. "I guess it does."

[yesimwriting]

I absolutely loveddd your piece about iwtv! I feel like the characterisations of louis and armand were spot on, and as someone whose favourite character is armand, I'd love to see where the dynamic between him and reader is going👀

We all know armand loves a challenge *cough* daniel molloy *cough*. Do you think there's some sort of romance that could be simmering underneath his curiosity about reader?

i appreciate the characterization comment! i worked very hard on their voices!!

okay, i accidentally put so much thought into this in relation to armand's characterization/my interpretation of him, so this response is only thoughts on that. however, this did give me an actual idea for a fic in which armand is incredibly cutesy and manipulative to reader after she goes out without louis, so if you're interested in that pls let me know <33

disclaimer: a lot of this is based on how i see (show) armand, but the wonderful thing about media consumption is that people can see the same source material in different ways and i'm not claiming that my thoughts on armand (even in the context of bestie!reader verse) is the only viable way to see him :))

----

this is such an interesting concept and i've been thinking about it a lot.

it's also so cool that you brought up daniel bc i think one of the most important scenes for armand's characterization in the show is the fight in the 70's where armand is much more hurt by louis calling him "boring" than any mentions of his actual trauma.

to me, armand's such an interesting character bc he's an ancient, 514 yr old vampire whose so incredibly impressive, who doesn't need to make anyone look at him, who doesn't need validation, but he wants it, he'd never admit it, but that desire to be looked at and loved is so there.

i think louis, someone who armand really values, deeming reader as someone 'special' is enough to catch armand's attention (similarly to daniel) .

however, armand is being subjected to louis's love and interest in the reader much more consistently/openly than louis's relationship with daniel, which i feel like would only aggravate any subconscious insecurities on armand's end which would make him want reader's attention even more bc what could possibly make louis's 'special' human good enough to not want him??

this is such a side note, but i think it'd add such an interesting layer of tension if technically armand saw reader first. an 'origin story' i've been thinking about is armand and louis going to an art gallery, and armand seeing reader's painting, and then reader, and impulsively placing an anonymous bid for some crazy amount just for louis and reader to run into each other maybe an hour later and become besties.

okay, back to the main analysis--armand can't express his interest in reader too overtly bc louis would clock it immediately, so he'd be subtly manipulative by letting reader stumble dangerous situations just so he can be the hero, also i think he'd talk to reader about art to try to establish a connection/relationship outside of louis.

also once he's down this path he becomes almost overwhelmingly jealous (even though reader isn't with him in any capacity 🧍‍♀️). but bc he doesn't want to alert louis or shatter the carefully curated version of himself he's crafted for reader, he "punishes" her subtly.

his number one, go to way to hurt the reader for dating/upsetting him at all is to use louis against her. armand would plant the idea of reader falling in love with a human boy, settling down, and forgetting about louis to make louis insecure. this tension would eventually come up in front of reader, and reader would have to reassure louis and probably take a break from dating for a little.

armand would also be a little mean/snarky to reader after she goes out with others (romantically or platonically) in a way that makes him look like a concerned companion. you were out all night with some boy...and louis was left pouting in his coffin until sunset...how dare you leave them him? armand doesn't allow your friendship for you to hurt louis.

in this scenario, you might be wondering what armand's end goal is bc reader is much too loyal to be with louis's companion in any capacity, but i feel like this is something he's stumbled into accidentally and now it's a little too late. oh well, he deserves his matching set.

as this progresses, something armand swears is about simply proving that he can win reader over becomes less and less convenient. by that i mean that instead of getting reader wrapped around his finger, he's wrapped around reader's <33.

also, as a side note, i think if everything finally clicked for louis near the end of the interview, when their relationship is falling apart, he'd briefly be more worried for the reader's life than upset...and then maybe after dubai divorce armand threatens reader to hurt louis and louis is like 🧍‍♀️ she tells you she doesn't like your tone of voice and you change it you know damn well you're not touching a hair on her head unless it's to take her to the salon.

also another side note, i lowkey would love to find an excuse for daniel and reader to interact. it'd be a diva off for sure.

[fairybonesandstardust]

need armand barefoot and pregnant in time for sundress season

[fairybonesandstardust]

my prediction for the end of itwv s2 is that daniel discovers that armand is alice and he accidentally reveals in front of louis and armand, that armand is alice and gave birth to one of his daughters and louis is so overcome with horniness at that knowledge that him and armand fuck and that fixes everything a happy horny ending for all

[fairybonesandstardust]

good news and bad news, the good news is i’m taking one for the team and writing armand barefoot and pregnant during sundress season the bad news is that i’m writing armand barefoot and pregnant during sundress season

[fairybonesandstardust]

heavy sigh, i’m looking up maternity clothes for armand