For the next five questions my muse can not tell a lie.
What if it was all three put together, hm? -long, heavy sigh-
Fine.
I took you because the very first time I caught sight of you my heart stopped, I swear it did. The emerald of your eyes held me enthralled, the depth of your despair penetrated something vital and the damage was irreversible. You may not know this, but I followed you for nights before I finally approached you and in that time I could look upon no other. I became obsessed with the idea of having you, of possessing you. Still, I could not yet tell what precisely I wanted from you. Would I suck your soul down into that sweet oblivion, or would I pluck you from mortality to be forever by my side?
Even as my fangs sunk into the delectable yielding flesh of your mortal throat, I still did not know. Sure, I had made up my mind to make you mine, but could I follow through with it? You were so succulent, your mind so tantalizing that I briefly fantasized about killing you, but the thought of it was unbearable. I needed to have you. Alive. Immortal. My lover.
So you ask why? It could not possibly be that I was irretrievably in love with you.
Tag Archives: HEADCANON ACCEPTED
A Vibrating String in Slow Motion
New head canon. Vampires can see this.
Lestat, what is your favourite piece of clothing at the moment?
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.
What’s the most precious item you have of the vampires you follow? Not the most expensive, the most precious.
Much to the chagrin of the Vatican: We possess the alleged Veronica’s Veil.
A rather priceless item in terms of its value, if indeed there proves to be any true authenticity to it. Verification will provide evidence to the existence of several entities all at once. We could hardly resist laying hands upon it. Otherwise, it might end up with all the other religious relics that the Vatican has locked away.
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.
My First Kiss with Louis
Anon,
Louis,
….this one’s for you. Enjoy.
We were in the thick of Summer. The hot, sticky Louisiana air hung stagnant in the air, bringing with it the putrid smells of the swamps and Plantation. Though the suffocating heat did not affect us the way it did mortals, Louis and I were not impervious to it. It made me antsy. I paced about the house restlessly, picking up objects to examine them, only to put them down immediately. Louis was in the parlour, hunched over a letter he was composing to one of his fellow bourgeois, slave-driving compatriots. He was thrumming his fingers on the tabletop as he worked. Now granted, it was a very small thing and in retrospect shouldn’t have been enough to start an argument as big as it did, but he had been doing it non-stop for hours. HOURS! It was driving me crazy.
thrump-thrump-thrump
I tried my best to ignore it.
thrump-thrump-thrump
Really, I did.
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.
Snow: November 7th, 1760
She’d been looking out the window for hours, book balanced upon her belly, when the first pains came. By now, she knew not to panic, that there would be time before anything of consequence might happen. She did not bother to call the girl to her rooms to help her, but set the book down beside her and placed her hands upon her swollen belly, closing her eyes against the cutting tremors.
It was cold for November, far colder than it should have been. The ice in the bowl in her room had to be broken each morning so she might rinse her face, the frosty water underneath turning her fingertips blue with cold.
The contractions increased faster than she’d been prepared for—this child was a month before its time, eager to arrive in the world, and she knew already that it had little patience. When the midwife found her way into the bedroom (called for by the girl who’d heard her groans), she was already in a deep squat near the fire. The older woman made quick work of her clothing, removing much of it so that she stood before the flames, her swollen breasts resting upon her naked belly, her hands down between her legs and touching the crown of the child’s head.
Her heart pounded as he slid from her body: another boy, another disappointment. But he was so small; that was all she noticed as the girl took him to clean him off, the water now warmed over the fire, his body pink underneath the smears of blood and white.
It was only then, after the placenta had also exited her, that she noticed once more the chill in the air, the gooseflesh upon her skin. The old woman wrapped her in a dressing gown after gently wiping off her thighs, her purple and bruised flesh, leading her to bed and pulling blankets and furs up around her.
“Wait.”
One word she uttered as the girl started to take the infant out of the room, his mouth wide with cries. The girl muttered something about the wet nurse, but she shook her head, her arms stretching out for him.
As that wide mouth latched upon her nipple, she sighed. He was different in her arms than the others had been. And, though he was tiny and wrinkled as any other newborn, she knew with one look that he would favour her—unlike so many of the others.
Her eyes wandered to the window, her fingers trembling as she held him.
It had begun to snow.
What was it like making love with Daniel the first time after he was turned?
It was altogether new and yet incredibly familiar. I had lost the touch of his thoughts, the unspoken flow of love and desire, but had gained the way that the blood flowed between us and the communication that came with that. The confidence with which we could now touch each other was new, because there was no danger now that I might harm him through inattention, yet all of our knowledge of each other on an intimate level still remained. His new strength and heightened senses made the experience completely unique, allowing us to pull responses from one another that neither of us had displayed previously. It was a night for revelations.
The way that his fangs broke into my bare skin that first time was and remains one of the most intoxicating, heady sensations I have ever experienced. Take from that what you will.
I-want-my-IWTV 
