#monstroum

[prescitia]

@monstroum asked: that was wrong of me , and i know it . / from louis !

"Suddenly he is a man of reason." Inexorable! Obstinate! Inconsiderate! Selfish! Pietous! He questions the very foundation they have built upon. Lessons he has graciously imparted on a disobliging mind bear no fruit. It rots at the roots.

"You continue your impulsive acts thinking only of yourself. Damn the consequences and damn me!" Breath drawn and held until the throbbing in his skull subsides, exhaled in a lofty sigh.

"We will clean your mess together. Comme d'habitude."

[heunmoor]

@monstroum INQUIRED: are you ready for the real party ? / from santiago !

𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬 , almost akin to a chortle as smoke trapped itself in the base of his throat and silenced any words that may have come to his tongue . TAKEN OFF GUARD IN THE BACK ALLEYWAY , lax form transforms into a taut arch before loosening once more . santiago . creeping in the shadows , 𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 . just santiago . no golds , or blues , or crimson spewing from neck to blooming white cloth . santiago . santiago . not ..... not him .

" i didn't know there were any festivities going on after the show ? " he posed it as an inquiry , fingers twitching once before allowing the cigarette to fall to his feet and smolder away . SERENE SILENCE NO LONGER WALTZING THROUGH HIS MIND . an edge now set at his throat , keeping him on his toes . careful , louis , don't slip now . " 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 ? "

[lechroniques]

@monstroum : “You're just very bad at explaining.” from Ferris.

“Did  you  ever  consider  that  perhaps  you’re  just  incompetent  in  the  realm  of  listening?”  Lestat  is  a  spitfire  with  a  temper  that  paralleled  his  own  father  at  times,  though  he  shot  back  with   ᴵᴿᴿᴵᵀᴬᵀᴵᴼᴺ  thinly  veiled  in  a  layer  of  calm.  Silent  agitation,  a  tilt  of  the  head  paired  with  lips  pressing  into  a  thin  line,  the  corners  of  his  mouth  sliding  upwards  into  a  forced  grin.

“Your  heightened  senses  are  clearly  useless,  and  rest  assured,  I  won’t  continue  to  waste  my  ᴮᴿᴱᴬᵀᴴ  when  it  does  nothing  but  fall  on  deaf  ears.”  Petty.  Catty,  even.  Though  he  cared  very  little  about  being  polite  when  the  other  was  nothing  more  than  a  crude,  pedantic  individual  in  the  eyes  of  the  vampire.  The  stench  of  disrespect  made  his  nostrils  flare  as  he  sucked  in  his  breath.  

“Find  someone  else  to  assist  you  if  you  insist  on  behaving  like  an  untrained  dog.”

[cultfic]

⎯ @monstroum, dr. lecter : “ you can always talk to me. ”

it's been requested by bureau hierarchy that, for holden to reinstate his position as occasional field agent, he undergoes therapy for the mandatory period of a month ⎯ longer if deemed necessary by his psychiatrist. and here he sits in dr. lecter's tastefully decorated office, hands folded over his lap as if an inexperienced schoolboy facing his tutor despite his years spent analyzing minds himself. ❝  i, uh .. well, i suppose you want to hear about the panic attacks?  ❞ he smoothes his tie, ❝  i'm sorry, this is new to me, i've never been to therapy before.  ❞

[vampien]

(@monstroum),‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎santiago said:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" hell's better than this shithole. "

" you're lucky no one else is around to hear you say that. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎there's a playful raise of her brow, one that when thrown in the right direction, creates an enticing aura about her.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎there's parts of her waiting to be deconstructed, like the performance in privacy that she seeps into, opting for dramatics over vulnerability‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(and when the two mix, maybe she's truly as close as she can be to her true self),‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎but it's hard for her to pull apart, what part of her is performing to santiago and what part is true expression?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" come on now, you don't mean that.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎you preform to applause every night, and you're very good may i add, i would know. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎one leg falls over the other, an act of ease as she offers him a gentle smile‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(she can feel it, a genuine compliment, and slowly any anxiety of a one-on-one conversation, with transactions voided, becomes a bit simpler). ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" you know i used to come see you before i turned?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i loved it, every second‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎so why the long face? "

[wolfkilermoved]

@monstroum ( LOUIS ) said : ❛  21 .   a  kiss  on  the  cheek .

most would deem it pathetic , the way his slow beating heart flutters over the simplicity of this touch . but most have never known louis , nor loved him , nor have they —

they are taking things slow . a perfectly modern phrase for these perfectly modern times in which time now reigns in abundance . in the distance , the sounds of his thousands of fans is slow to dissipate , wholly uneager to let the grandness of the night go . and were it any other night he would be more than tempted to indulge them , but . . . louis is here , pressing a chaste kiss to the high arch of his cheek and smiling that little smile that makes the world feel as though it's just for the two of them . louis is here to offer his congratulations and nothing more , and lestat is ( will be ) alright with that . of course , this does not prevent his responding smile from being positively soppy nor does it keep his hand from lingering at the delightful curve of his elbow . " always kind to me , mon cher . "

[nycterent]

@monstroum ( harvey dent. )

everyone's talking about harvey dent. it's something that even bruce, still half-holed up in the tower most days, can't ignore. gordon can't do it all on his own, and—well. dent may speak out against the bat, but that's something bruce can work with. he's never needed that kind of support. he's built all this to function outside of it.

he asked gordon, and all gordon said was dent believes what he's saying. if we had about twenty of him around, maybe things would finally get done. that's about all you can ask for in gotham. so bruce sits, gaze flickering around the room to take it in. the window. the desk. harvey himself. "thanks for agreeing to see me."

as if any politician in gotham would say no to an ask from the prince of gotham. but it's still polite.

[desolades]

INT. THE WATCHTOWER NIGHT

@monstroum  sits  by  the  window,  his  face  barely  illuminated  by  the  dim  light  of  the  lantern  hanging  from  the  ceiling,  soft  warm  tones  cut  sharply  at  his  face,  half  shadows,  half  light.  But  what  is  there  to  see  in  the  light?  Unremarkable  details,  hands,  knees,  chin,  all  the  fleshy  bits  that  make  a  person.  Except  they  don’t  make  a  person  at  all.  The  structure  of  a  man  then,  the  external  configuration  of  a  tangible  being.  What  is  below,  inside,  the  light  can’t  unveil.  It  remains  a  mystery,  left  to  blind  guesswork  if  one  is  bold  or  stupid  enough  to  try.  He  would  know  about  that.  There  are  swamps  in  those  depths,  a  mire  that  might  swallow  the  self.

“  What  is  there  to  be  faithful  to?  ”  says  the  man,  or  the  mouth  of  the  man,  opening  and  closing,  moving  under  command  to  create  words.  The  smell  of  coffee  warms  the  room  as  the  pot  heats  up  on  the  kitchenette,  its  fragrance  is  rich  and  dark,  the  essence  of  life.  It  warms  him  from  the  inside,  as  if  he  were  already  sipping  it,  his  tired  bones  waking  up  with  every  taste.  

What  is  there  at  all?  Nothing,  comes  the  edge  of  a  blunt  answer,  nihilistic  and  defensive,  a  wounded  thing  determined  to  never  be  hurt  again.  Everything,  a  quieter,  weaker  part  of  him  sighs.  It  is  the  longing,  its  underground  tunnels  running  deeply  inside  of  him,  looking,  always  looking,  always  digging  as  if  somewhere  under  all  that  rubble  he  might  find  what  he  lost,  what  most  insist  he  never  had.  

But  there  is  something  else  too,  isn’t  there?  Like  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  as  he  pours  the  coffee  into  two  mismatched  cups.  A  hum  in  his  ear.  Faith  has  little  room  to  govern  when  ownership  is  called  upon.  A  meal  already  claimed  by  an  entirely  different  beast,  a  meal  savored  and  protected  for  so  many  years.  That  one  is  a  different  kind  of  longing,  the  longing  of  drool  dripping  from  sharp  teeth,  pooling  inside  the  open  jaws  of  a  famished  wolf,  reaching,  slowly,  gently.  You  don’t  take  food  from  a  wolf’s  mouth,  not  when  it  has  been  left  to  starve  for  so  long.  

“  Faith…  feels  too  big,  my  thoughts  run  a  little  more  earthly.  ”  he  smiles  apologetically,  offering  the  cup  to  his  guest.  “  The  forest,  the  mountain,  the  things  we  have,  what  we  can  be  grateful  for,  that  we  must  care  for.  ”  The  things  we  had,  the  things  we  lost.  That  too  is  a  kind  of  faith,  strong  and  blind  enough  to  rival  any  priest.  Belief  in  things  that  are  not,  that  never  were  to  begin  with,  belief  against  all  logic,  all  sanity.  Hope  with  no  place  to  go  and  no  one  to  claim  it.  A  solitary  church  of  one,  praying  to  a  made-up  god.  Madness,  says  the  blunt  voice.  Love,  murmurs  the  longing.

It  is  love,  he  knows,  and  it  is  pointless.  Faith  is  just  a  self  inflicted  wound. 

[toprayarc]

there's something rumbling in the streets. kicking around in the sheets. black, and blue, and as real as a bruised eye. a split lip. some gross, unsightly thing, that mari dai thinks she ought to carve right open. unzip to its bones. peel back layers, until the grotesque rears its ugly head. she heard it through the grapevine. crooned sweet between the lines. she followed it home; crawled inside its mouth. looking for nothing but trouble, and tussles, and tough guys to send flying— first rule of fight club: don't talk about fight club.

"i explicitly told you not to say my name." — @monstroum, the narrator.

second rule of fight club? ... well, now this one she'll have to stick around to find out. "touchy." mari's lips make the shape of an O, before licking clear to a smile. a bat of her lashes nearly seems innocent, mild, a naive indication to brighter futures— are you fooled? "relax," a foot props itself underneath the bar stool, fingers dancing around the rim of a glass. scraped knuckles, as evidence, marr tanned flesh. "i'm not breaking any r — rules, am i? just having a conversation, and as far as i know—" darkened gaze flickers, focuses, and fixates. "that makes me just as innocent as anyone else here."

[cranetm]

❛ was it worth it? compromising yourself for money? ❜ / from harvey dent !

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖆𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖓 2022 𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 ╰┈➤ accepting

❛ money? ❜ he scoffs, red - rimmed eyes squinting in disbelief. even with his mind in shambles, crane remains all too capable of delivering a lecture. ❛ always so small - minded, dent. you have to think of the bigger picture. ❜ scarecrow. ❛ funding. funding is everything. how else am i meant to do my research? ❜ all that matters is the development of his toxin; the progression of fear itself.

❛ but i suppose you would struggle to understand the risks necessitated by true progress. ❜

[hostiae]

paris always sounds better than it looks. a lesson learned every time he's turned to the city ( every time disappointed in the eventuality of its facade crumbling down ). oh, how easy it would be to blame it on the city itself, and not the grease-painted coven. lestat attempts to dig a grave for the shame that comes with his foolish — was it naivety? delusion? desperation? — he would have happily never returned to the théâtre des vampires' territory. even prior to nicki's death, he saw nothing for himself there and no sense in returning. just as his remains were forever entombed, so was his desire to come back.

until after the failed murder attempt.

lestat attempts to keep his relative calm, a breath forced through his nose as santiago addresses him. in another time and another life, he might have complimented the younger vampire's appeal to the audience but instead, his presence is sharp nails on a chalkboard. a shame only to them. lestat has every intention of digging his heels in, in fussing over every word in the script, and prolonging every rehearsal until they want to sentence themselves to the sun instead.

santiago can offer scathing reviews to his work, he can try to bruise his ego and lestat will take it with gritted teeth. if this were more than a farce, he was certain he could tear all eyes from santiago on stage. but he goes a step too far when he mentions them.

( his louis. his claudia. )

he slams santiago into the wall, the force of the shove reverberating through the walls, resulting in shattered glass on the floor. ❝ oh, you have yet to see my temper, monsieur, ❞ through gritted teeth, his fangs are extracted. he catches the brief fear in the other's eyes and wants to capitalize on it. even as his fingers wind around his wrist, lestat's grip doesn't weaken. ❝ i'll remember where i am as soon as you remember who i am. ❞

oh, but he does know the danger he's in. and just as quick as his temper flared, he releases santiago, his hands softening as he smooths the other vampire's vest condescendingly, ❝ and once you do that, i'm sure sharing the stage won't be as unbearable for either of us. ❞ the smile on his face and the politeness dripping from his tone is laced with venom.

❝ after all, this miserable little show must go on. ❞

( @monstroum // continued from here !! )

[sadiestics]

@monstroum,  continued from here;

" madam doyle ! " jonathan exclaimed , startling himself with the high volume of his own voice . he had halted their climb up the wooden staircase to look down at the heiress , watching her features flicker under the flame of a candelabra . his friends had told him ms. sadie doyle knew plenty about the occult , that she was familiar with the peculiar hungers of that mansion's owner and what they implied . but mr. harker had become increasingly frustrated with the woman's nonchalance . HORROR LURKED WITHIN THOSE CORRIDORS ! how was she not fearful ? how was she not alert ? how had she found the time to fix herself a drink ? white locks of hair fell over jon's right eye , reminding him that the past was , in fact , real and that it had left the most UNPLEASANT MARK ON HIM . he took a deep breath , attempting to put himself together lest he say something unpleasant to his companion . " you have made it perfectly clear that you do not share of the same apprehensions nor precautions as i , but please , " blue eyes widened at her in the darkness , the shivering flame causing the young man to appear more somber than he had meant to . " if you must speak then let it be in prayer . "

having been more interested in the glass clutched between her fingers than in their ascent up the creaky mansion stairs, sadie does not see or sense jonathan's sudden stop, and bumps rather clumsily into the back of him.  she balances precariously between two steps, free hand flailing out towards the bannister to steady herself.  "mister harker!"  she parrots back to him,  "you almost made me spill my martini!"  emphasis on the word almost, for to waste even a drop of gin or vermouth is a mortal sin in her book, and she only ever sins when frank is around.

"the only prayers i know, darling, are wholly inappropriate for this kind of situation."  a too-long pause, as though to ensure that the double meaning of those unsuitable invocations is properly understood by her present company.  "if you don't mind my asking,"  and it's pity if he does, because she does not care.  "why exactly are we exploring a mansion that gives you such a case of the heebie-jeebies?"

[cultfic]

⎯ @monstroum, the narrator : “ what the hell were you thinking? ”

he can still make out the wailing sirens in the distance, heart racing, disheveled but the tie still hangs from his neck while his slippery grip tightens 'round the suitcase handle. ❝  c'mon, just ⎯ open the freakin door will ya?!  ❞ crazed glance cast sideways as he forces his voice to keep low lest the neighbors decide to sneak a peak. ❝  i can't go back to my place. just lemme crash here for the night, man.  ❞ he knows the guy from fight club ⎯ not that he competes himself but he likes to place a bet every once in a while. and they're on good enough terms that he gave him his address once over a late night drink. ❝  cops got no reason t'come snoopin in here. i'll be outta your hair in the morning, i swear, just .. lemme in.  ❞

[cranetm]

he can feel the rage simmering within harvey like the wavering of a distant fata morgana. a promise of unbearable heat. it's betrayed through his pleasure— subtle, yet stunningly sadistic, despite everything. crane simply wishes he would come to terms with that. perhaps with time. once gotham really gets into his bones. the doctor manages a little smirk of his own, head bowing, though his cold, tired eyes remain pinned on dent. ❛ oh, harvey... do you truly think so low of me? ❜ with a wrinkle of his nose, crane shakes his head. no acknowledgment is made of the conditions at arkham. it simply is not necessary. abuse there is all too common; but crane has endured far worse.

❛ there is no payment you could give me to change my diagnoses. but what a dreadful implication... that one so honorable as harvey dent would be willing to bribe a lowly criminal such as myself. what would the good people of gotham think? what would they say? ❜ he leans forward, cuffs clinking, voice cruelly soft. he wants to see the spark in dent's eyes. he wants to see it explode into flames. ❛ perhaps you should take some time off. get your head checked, before you make any other absurd offers. ❜

harvey tilts his head , trying to disguise the anger which threatens to tighten his jaw . jonathan crane had always known what buttons to push ; the district attorney's hand slowly made its' way all the way down to his pants' pocket and found it there : HIS SILVER COIN . cold and trustful and fair . as soon as his thumb brushed over the dollar , dent found his footing again . " but i'm having so much fun focusing on your failings . and let me tell you , crane , they are a'plenty . " there it was , the dimpled smile , the steady stare ... the face of a new gotham .

the fingers of his free hand drummed against the table . he wasn't there to point and laugh at crane's misfortune . dent , as always , was there to try and fix things . " if you're willing to testify that all those mobsters you claimed to require treatment at arkham were actually of sane mind and that you were ㅤ─ ㅤ " he gave jonathan a knowing look . " mistaken in some of your diagnosis , we might be able to provide you with more comfortable conditions here at arkham . " eyes shifted across the visiting room . harvey thought he saw some rust on one of the tables . but he couldn't be sure . there was a very good chance it might have been dry blood .

" can't imagine it's been easy being locked up in here . but i mean ... you already knew what you were in for , right ? "

[wolfkilermoved]

@monstroum [ LOUIS ] sent : [ GUIDE ]: in the process of guiding the receiver through a crowded place, the sender’s hand protectively grazes against the small of their back

if there is one thing lestat finds he detests about the latest modern age , it is the noise . fervent and obsessive , the humans seem to revel in being louder than all the rest : their machines , the constant , insistent buzz of social media , the plastic vanity of their night life . . . it can all occasionally be too much to bear . and yes , though he is , on a frequent occasion , guilty of encouraging it , he still goes back to the quiet life of the good vampire when all is said and done . so it was more than a shock to learn his dear louis - book-ish , prudent louis , has allowed himself to become quite comfortable in these bursting at the seams settings .

a breath shudders out of him , cool against the warm flesh of the surrounding crowd , making heads turn and mouths gasp in recognition . they had both already eaten , ravenously consumed what felt more like a peace offering than shared pleasure , so there is no fear in that , but the hunger is more gluttonous these days - forever famished , an unhappy throb along his gums that must be sated by rats and the odd stray who's owners are found to be more spiteful than he . and then : louis's hand to his back , prompting him through . discouraging any lingering , no doubt , but light and loving and causing his muscles to stiffen . he is quick to glance over his shoulder , questioning and confident that he will not be led astray . not in this crowd , anyway .

" apologies , mon cher . i will try to be quicker . "

[nycterent]

@monstroum left a message: of course i want the truth, but only if you want to tell me. ( harvey. )

this is an embarrassment on multiple levels.

bruce is vaguely aware of that. the implications of ending up at the district attorney's office at this hour. awful. but he saw the light on. moreover, the bat has been quietly observing harvey dent from afar. they both work the night shift even when they shouldn't, so he made a bet. he's still deciding if he won or lost the bet. would it have been better to find no one here at all?

he has a feeling harvey knows that there are things you can't let go of even when you go home. thoughts that circle like vultures, waiting to swoop down and peck at the soul. this is one of those nights. so here he is, jacket half-soaked, hunched despite himself. on some level, he can feel the bite of the cold, but it barely seems to make it as a real sensation. it feels like it belongs to someone else, another bruce wayne standing in harvey dent's office.

"there's a lot to tell. or nothing, i guess." what's there to tell? that he gets like this sometimes. that he has for years. there's a few old articles about a teenage bruce wayne out there stealing cars. how he crashed one once. how lucky it was that he wasn't hurt. the untold half of how alfred sent him to the same set of therapists again and again, bruce sullenly tapping his foot under leslie thompkins' observant gaze, refusing to even make eye contact. "it's the same story everyone tells about me, i think."

even with the bat to pour all of his energy and time into, it doesn't feel like enough.

because past the bat, he's still bruce wayne. it comes back to that. every moment, every bit of it—it rests there. the gravestones that he tends to every few months, tending to it with a son's dedication.

someone has to remember. he has to. contingent on remembering is, of course, the inability to forget. he can't just sit there waiting in the mausoleum that is wayne tower.

bruce reaches up, a stiff motion that he half-worries might betray the bruises and the ache, to brush a few strands of hair back out of his face. but it might just as easily look like an awkward motion. like he doesn't know what to do with his hands.

"the truth," he says, and it's a sound like a half-choked laugh. "alright. the truth is that i needed the company, and i didn't know who else to go to."