Tag Archives: HEADCANON ACCEPTED

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vagabonddaniel-recordedarchives:

Maybe my worst sin: I fell in love with a murderous monster. Sometimes I could taste his victims’ blood on his lips when we kissed. I could smell them–their sweat, their cigarettes, their godawful perfumes and colognes–lingering on the clothes he stole from their still-warm bodies. And instead of pulling away from this vile, murderous creature, I pushed closer. Caressed his shoulders beneath their shirts, kissed his mouth that still burned with their life. I saw a great evil and instead of running away, I crawled inside of it. 

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treehuggery:

midwestern vampires who smoke clove cigs in church parking lots and try to ignore their hunger pains as they watch students from the college in the next town over stumbling out of local bar, alcohol in their bloodstream

midwestern demons with yellow eyes and bloody teeth walking along deserted highways in the early hours of the morning, their pupils reflecting the headlights of cars with passengers who feel fear grip their hearts as they pass by

midwestern witches who wear muddy boots and garage sale rings and who always carry salt in their bags, who drink river water and pour circles of whiskey on the underbrush and feel hundreds of hands on their skin

midwestern ghosts who dwell in the basements of abandonned farmhouses and rip old wallpaper from the decaying walls with misty fingers and trancelike eyes

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thelionscrimsonclaws:

This is the seedier side of literature and sometimes when it’s late, I cruise the streets until I find him….sprawled in some dusty corner of a well-used bookshop with pages draped over his bare arm, a glazed look in his eyes, high as a kite on Chaucer or Fitzgerald, and a trail of crumpled bills leading to the counter. As I pick up his inert body and walk past the shelves, dog-eared, greasy, stained pulp novels that have seen things, call me ‘Sugar’ and put their wares on display to tempt me. I keep going with his weight in my arms. For him, I cannot give in.  It’s fortunate that I love him so…..even though he’s an addict.  *shakes his head*

Source: weheartit.com

♨ for something that relaxes my muse

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a-misunderstanding-my-love:

//(answering in third person b/c jetlag)

Nicolas is often soothed by two things: music and the kill. Oddly enough, both are also capable of creating chaos for him, but as he tends to always live in chaos, that which is brought on by the embrace of the kill and the music–both of these have the power to enfold rather than disperse. 

The secret is in the rhythm. Both contain motion and movement–the repetition and the secret thudding music inherent in the kill echoes that which he finds within the music and can succeed in pulling him back from the edge on many an occasion. 

♛What did our little apartment in Paris smell like to you? I find myself reminiscing on this tonight and cannot fully recall… perhaps you might remind me.

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a-misunderstanding-my-love:

Betrayal and distrust. 

Go fuck yourself, Lestat. 

♛Ooooh burn. You know, for Louis v. 1.0, you lacked his penchant for literally setting me on fire, but you always knew how to do it figuratively.

It might have smelled like that after I was forcibly kidnapped from it. I was always the one who brought flowers in and swept up. It must have smelled awful without me, your doting maid.

Least favorite person(s) to play Coven Game Night with, explain with details.

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vagabonddaniel-recordedarchives:

All right, buckle up: 

Armand is great to have on my team when we’re playing team games: pictionary, Cranium, games like that. But when it comes to games with bankers or score keepers, he’s been known to cheat. Also, he and Lestat are impossible when they’re playing against each other. 

Lestat likes to win, and when he’s not winning, he likes to argue the rules and twist them into something that might benefit him. 

Louis is just unbeatable about poker. That’s his super power. He’s also damn good at Scrabble. So is David Talbot. 

Marius is great at board games and strategy games, but not so much with video games. He just slams his buttons around. Even if it’s not a fighting game. Even in Mario Party. Marius is also not awesome at pictionary, which is ironic, I know. 

Sybelle hums a lot. A lot. No matter the game, no matter whose turn. It’s either an unconscious tick or a genius strategy to drive everyone else up the wall. If so, it works. 

Gabrielle tries to take prisoners. Even in Monopoly. Even in Ticket to Ride. She actually hijacked my train route from Little Rock to New Orleans once, claiming that she was “robbing” the train and stealing the route. Yeah. She doesn’t fuck around. 

*FLEXES FINGERS* THAT POETRY THING IS GONNA TAKE A LOT OF THOUGHT AND A LOT OF WRITING BUT TOMORROW (for real this time) I’M GONNA POST IT BECAUSE THAT SOUNDS FASCINATING AND I LOVE POETRY AND I’M GONNA TALK ABOUT HOW LOUIS LIKES POPE BUT NOT POE, LESTAT LIKES KEATS AND BYRON BUT NOT SHELLEY, AND PANDORA’S GOT A CRUSH ON EDNA MILLAY AND EVERYONE ELSE. DANIEL’S MEH WITH POETS BUT REALLY LIKES JACK KEROAC.

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EXCELLENT I KNEW U HAD TO BE SUMMONED LIKE THE ETHEREAL GODDESS OF LITERATURE THAT U ARE. TAKE YOUR TIME.

please accept this bucket of kittens as a down payment.

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Lestat shows up to the alley and they all just grab one of the bowling balls that they place has to borrow, but Lestat takes out that velvet one and Louis looks into the camera like the office and no one tells Lestat until after his third strike and the ball is an oily greasy mess

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#COVEN GAME NIGHT #HEADCANON ACCEPTED

^BEHOLD, A RED VELVET BOWLING BALL. [X]

I honestly tried and tried and could not improve her story other than making the ball red fucking velvet bc YOU KNOW he would want it to be red fucking velvet not blue! like of course, but i bet it is blue in the fashion show bc blue balls are hilarious aren’t they?

(Also Lestat is the biggest cheater and uses the Mind Gift to knock down the pins his ball doesn’t hit and they all groan bc he is getting all these cheat strikes and the alley has to award him the top slot on the chalkboard)

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thelionscrimsonclaws:

a-misunderstanding-my-love:

thelionscrimsonclaws:

a-misunderstanding-my-love:

thelionscrimsonclaws:

My temper is extraordinarily foul this day….approach with caution.

Don’t make me regret whatever horrible thing happens to you if you do.

Oh, my lord the harecatcher. So frightening, so intimidating. 

Bring it on, you piece of shit. 

I pity you….don’t ask me to elaborate.  *turns away and goes back to writing, ignoring you and your cry for attention*

Excellent. The feeling is mutual. 

Non, I don’t think the feeling is mutual….far from it.

I was always meant for something greater and I was going to obtain it one way or another. You provided the catalyst…descriptions of Paris and beyond, the spark that became a wildfire inside me. I had to go and I would have done so with or without you.

You, who attached yourself to the illiterate, ignorant but hopeful youth that I was. You, who disgraced your father and dashed all his hopes for you. You who clung to the shadow of greatness that was Mozart for mere scraps. You who dissolved your dark thoughts at the bottom of a bottle every night. You who languished in obscurity and petty jealousies.

I dragged you everywhere when I should have let you lay in that elaborate sarcophagus you’d already created for yourself long before we were ever really close, waiting to die….so that you’d earn your adoration after your early demise. “So sad, so beautiful, such a promising life cut short!”

And THAT is why I pity you…second fiddle! You are petty, jealous and malcontent with anything and everything you ever wanted! I was too much for you and when I tried lifting you towards greatness with me, you backhanded me with your “madness” that was an utter lie! You weren’t mad! You were only more fully yourself…..even more the pitiable soul and when I saw this, I knew there was to be no help for you on this Earth that I could provide to satisfy you, toxic creature!

Spare me the poisoned words that would drip from your lips in response. They are so much mist against my coat. The cold breath of an angry ghost against one whose mind is currently the father of Winter, of Death. You cannot hurt me any longer, even when I can spare you a memory.