//okay but honestly how cool would it be if Louis’ dark gift was empathy all along??? Like, he obviously had the hardest time getting used to killing- harder than pretty much any other vampire we know of. And like, we know that when vampires feed, they kinda connect with the spirit of their victim- but what if Louis could do that without feeding? Like, he can’t read their thoughts, but what if he could feel their souls? What if he truly does have “the gift of knowing others’ suffering”???
And Lestat brushes it off like “lol ur just an emotional fledgling, chill out” and then Louis never ends up telling anyone about it lol and doesn’t bother mentioning it to Daniel bc he doesn’t think it’s important
This is really interesting, and Armand and Vittorio can do this to an extent, so it does exist in universe that you can kinda feel people’s souls/auras. It’s also telling when Armand mentions how Louis can spellbind people by accident haha. So yeah I could totally see him having some other version of telepathy that isn’t strictly verbal and maybe just never know how to articulate it.
“The Temptation of Amadeo”
commission for @morganeskylar 💙
I did my best to reconstruct the infamous artwork that Marius paints in TVA, according to the description in the book and additional materials by Anne. The garden with flowers is my addition because it seemed fitting for something done by Marius. 😉
Was it Lestat the one who dolled Claudia up and made her look like a grotesque rococo statuette? Was it Claudia herself, in a fit of frustration against her childish body and face? Or is it just a visual metaphor about the (un)human condition a la Marius “what are you saying my paintings are so fucking subtle” de Romanus? Pick your fave.
All I know is that this is my fourth attempt at uploading this and I SWEAR TO GOD TUMBLR APP mh
Alright, here’s the story behind this one: Daniel bought Louis this sweater as a gag gift, thinking it would be hilarious, but Louis didn’t get it and wears it around anyway. Lestat looses it every time he sees Louis wearing it.
Armand could feel the extra energy as he came through the carriageway into the back garden. Not completely sure what it was, only that he could sense them moving in the flat, and there was something sweet and playful and innocent infused in it, thrumming beneath the presence itself. Lestat was home, he could feel that as well, and Louis. Their energies were different from each other, each palpable and distinct. Lestat felt bold and loud and vivid, Louis soft and sweet and comforting. Lestat was a popping champagne bottle, the splatter of paint on a Pollock canvas, a firework in the night sky. Louis was a gentle hand on your back, reassuring whisper in your ear, the slow and seductive pull of dawn.
I’m here, he told them as he ascended the stairs. He wondered if he should let himself inside, or knock, but instead put his hands in his pockets and waited.
But then Lestat’s face was in the window, his eyes glittery and excited, skin darkened by the recent trip to the sun. The door opened on its own, Lestat’s doing, and it was instantly obvious that he’d chosen to use his mind because his hands were full.
Before he could speak, Lestat extended one arm out, in his hand a single German Shepherd puppy. Three others wiggled against his chest and he cooed in French at them. “Here,” he said, and thrust the one into Armand’s chest. Armand grabbed it instinctively, somewhat bewildered but immediately charmed by the warmth and purity radiating from the creature. “I named this one Armand.”
The spike of anger and reflexive venomous response that usually came out in these moments were quelled by the gentle life in his hands, and he looked away from Lestat to stare at it. It was kicking its legs and squirming but he gave it a little scratch behind its ear to calm it down. It stopped moving and looked at him, eyes so shiny and black, and responded by licking his face. Armand ducked his head so that Lestat wouldn’t see his smile.
“Come inside, I want to close the door. Don’t let them out,” Lestat said, and backed away to make space.
He saw Louis then, when he cleared the doorway, still snuggling his namesake to his chest. Sitting cross-legged on the velvet couch, Mojo curled up beside him, a solid black puppy in his hands. He was scratching its ears and smiling at it and…
Strange ache in his chest, because he’d never seen that look on Louis’s face before.
“Where did all these puppies come from?” he asked. Louis looked up at him as if waking from a trance, like he’d been too absorbed to even notice Armand had arrived.
“Turns out Mojo is a lady,” Lestat said. He plopped down on the floor in the center of the room and took turns giving each puppy pats on their heads. They climbed on his legs and chewed on his shirt.
He held his puppy away from his face to inspect it again. It tilted its head at him and whined, and… strange ache again as he realized how unusual it was, and how he was straining to remember last time he’d held an animal this close. At home, in Kiev. They could never keep pets in Venice. He felt cold all over for a moment before pulling it to his chest again, feeling its warm little body settling against him and hearing the fluttery little heartbeat.
“What are you going to do with them?”
Lestat shrugged and picked one up, rubbing his face against its chubby, furry belly.
“Why don’t you give one to Daniel? Maybe you can win him back.”
Lost Photographs from Daniel’s Missing Luggage, or,
Glimpses of an Unlife
I’m taking stupid photos at SFO when all the televisions flash red for breaking news. Jeez, I think, another bombing or political scandal. We’re being warned about graphic footage. Huh. New York’s getting two more inches of snow. Well, that sucks.
I must be dreaming, because his face—that’s Armand’s face on the screen!
This is wrong.
The footage is shaky and I can feel the panic threading its way through my body as I watch, helpless, when he screams something at the plaza. Even though I don’t know what’s going on, I know it’s him. It’s the way his hair curls when there’s snow on it, and it’s when—it’s wh—
New York’s getting two more inches of snow and, and they won’t—everyone is staring at me. Everyone, and they—it’s just two more inches of snow in New York. Have I fucked up? Did someone see my fangs—New York’s getting two more inches of snow and the footage keeps looping. I’m being yanked backwards and someone’s shoved me onto my knees and the floor slams into my jaw and suddenly I hear screaming.
It’s me. I’m screaming. Daniel Molloy is now screaming at Gate 7. Daniel Molloy is now screaming at Gate 7. They’re cuffing me and I can’t—
“FUCKING—TURN IT OFF!” I scream at them in ugly, gulping sobs, and someone gags me with a leather strap and one of them figures it out and tries to call on his walkie talkie but they won’t turn me away I can’t look away that’s not what he’s supposed to look like he doesn’t like the cold but now he’s burning.
Daniel: I wasn’t THAT drunk last night!
Marius: You were flirting with Armand.
Daniel: So? He’s my boyfriend.
Benji: You asked him if he was single.
Marius: And then you cried when he said he wasn’t.
I-want-my-IWTV 