Louis’ ‘Master and Margarita’ t-shirt. It came from this fascinating website called Out of Print Clothing, where they put old book covers on t-shirts. He pretended to be unimpressed by the gifts, but he wears them often.
They are all too small for me, but they smell like him.
Tag Archives: devilsfool
“devilsfool is kind of scary. I think it might secretly somehow actually be Lestat behind the screen. It’s pretty incredible.”
OOC; -flutters with emotion- Oh my gosh, you guys. I am floored. Thank you so much!
Zzz
Send me “Zzz” and I’ll write a drabble about a dream my muse has had about yours!I dreamt of you the other night. You were running from me, which is always infuriating in whatever form it takes, but this time you were faster than I was, so much faster, truly pushing your abilities to the limit in an effort to escape me.
I could not tell if it was a game or a dire need for escape—I knew only that I had to catch you, had to wrap my arms around you and devour you, drink you down until I knew you would never run again.
But it was you who found me. Grasping me from behind, your hands on my belly, your mouth already on my neck, your eyeteeth breaking the skin there and stealing what I will always freely give, if only to you.
You know I despise playing the victim. But for you? For you I would die every night, taken again and again, as long as it is those hands and that mouth upon me.
As long as you have stopped running.
Who in your OTP asks the weird questions in the middle of the night and who hits the other in the face with a pillow
Louis asks the weird questions AND is more likely to hit Lestat with a pillow. Come on, you know Lestat gives ample reason at any given moment which would earn a pillow shot.
The truly weird questions tend to happen in the wee hours before dawn. The pillow smacks happen far more often—as in, whenever a pillow is at hand.
*psssst fanfic request
Zzz [♛ a dream about ourself, then! Perhaps a dream from childhood? Maybe a recurring nightmare…]
Send me “Zzz” and I’ll write a drabble about a dream my muse has had about yours!Open doors are frightening, aren’t they? Open doors are equated with permission, often for things we did not want nor desire.
He always asked that the door be left open. “Why do you close your door against me?” There was no answer—how does one respond to that?
It would begin with the light caress of fingers, soft and deceptive on the back. Not even under the bedclothes at that point, no, merely something anyone might do to comfort a child.
When he reached the thighs you knew it was too late. There was no deterring, no turning back. Up comes the nightdress, and the caress, still soft, moves forward to darker territory.
How often before it became a habit? How often before one could close the eyes and pretend it wasn’t happening?
This is the nightmare, though, isn’t it. Not the moment of culmination, no, not the moment of union or even the little death. The beginning. The deception of soft hands, calming voice, all used to soothe.
I still have it, some nights.
Not often, thankfully, but it never really left.
It starts with an open door.
It’s so much more fun if we do pictures with shirts off. Fuck this ‘topless Tuesday’ shit.
I-want-my-IWTV 