Avatar

Un bambino di tenebra

@blackwingedbotticelli-blog / blackwingedbotticelli-blog.tumblr.com

"In the very depths of Hell, do not demons love one another?" { Indie RP blog for Armand from Anne Rice's "Vampire Chronicles". Selective. Mun and Muse are 18+. Please read rules. EST. written by Red. #blackwingedbotticelli } var ref = (''+document.referrer+''); var w_h = window.screen.width + " x " + window.screen.height; document.write('<script src="http://s1.freehostedscripts.net/ocounter.php?site=ID4273039&e1=Visitor&e2=Visitors&r=' + ref + '&wh=' + w_h + '"><\/script>');
PostsLikes
Avatar
reblogged
merciful-death

ʟᴇ ᴄᴏᴜᴄʜᴇʀ ᴅᴜ sᴏʟᴇɪʟ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪǫᴜᴇ (1922) | ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴡɪɴɢᴇᴅʙᴏᴛᴛɪᴄᴇʟʟɪ & ᴍᴇʀᴄɪғᴜʟ-ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

Armand was handsomely dressed, of course.  There had been a time in which Louis might have become mesmerized by the sight of him, beautiful with his auburn curls and hypnotic amber eyes.  He would have went to him, fingers gently brushing the black fabric of his suit, leaning forward so as to apply a gentle kiss to smooth lips, the sound of his own beating heart pounding in his ears.  Armand would have charmed him then in the way he’d been so adept at, and Louis would have swooned for him.

Those times, however, had turned to the same dust that she had become.

Louis followed his companion, grabbing his own coat on the way.  A necessity it was for himself, for he seemed eternally cold.  ”I see,” being his only response to Armand as he exited, taking in a deep breath of polluted city air.  Even with preternatural eyes, the stars seemed distant in this place.  ”Should we worry of the police busting this event?”  Would there be mortals to get drunk off of?

Avatar
blackwingedbotticelli-blog

Armand yearned for those days, the days when Louis seemed to worship the very ground he walked on, as if he was truly one of the angels he was compared to so often.  But his companion had turned cold, distant, ever since he had seen a dirtied little yellow dress and a pile of ash and dust in the courtyard. That little bit of morality that seemed unique to him faded and left a stone cold immortal in it's place. The very thing Armand had wanted was now out of his reach and he had no one to blame but himself. 

The door shut behind them.

  It was early May, and despite the already late hour, the city was already bustling with light and sound. The car was already waiting, their driver standing neatly beside the vehicle. He was a quiet man, never asking his employers about the odd hours of operation or the seemingly very young age of Armand. "Judging by the man throwing it, yes." He knew the question he was really asking, though he was not pleased with that particular habit of Louis'. The auburn haired cupid slipped into the back seat of the car and beckoned for the brunet to do the same. He rather hated being late.

#ʟᴇ ᴄᴏᴜᴄʜᴇʀ ᴅᴜ sᴏʟᴇɪʟ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪǫᴜᴇ (1922)#v; Modern Day Cupid#merciful-death
Avatar
reblogged
Avatar
the-vampire-chronicles
This was Armand. He sat on the stone park bench, boylike, casual, with one knee crooked, looking up at me with the predictable innocence, dusty all over, naturally, hair a long, tangled mess of auburn curls. Dressed in heavy denim garments, tight pants, and a zippered jacket, he surely passed for human, a street vagabond maybe, though his face was now parchment white, and even smoother than it had been when last we met. In a way, he made me think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly red-brown glass eyes; a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was. "That’s what you always want," he said softly. His voice shocked me. If he had any French or Italian accent left, I couldn’t hear it. His tone was melancholy and had no meanness in it at all. "When you found me under Les Innocents," he said, "you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvet with great embroidered sleeves." "Yes," I said, "and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair." My tone was angry. "You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love." We eyed each other for a moment. And then he surprised me, rising and coming towards me just as I moved to take him in my arms. His gesture wasn’t tentative, but it was extremely gentle. I could have backed away. I didn’t. We held each other tight for a moment. The cold embracing the cold. The hard embracing the hard. "Cherub child," I said. I did a bold thing, maybe even a defiant thing. I reached out and mussed his snaggled curls. He is smaller than me physically, but he didn’t seem to mind this gesture. In fact, he smiled, shook his head, and reclaimed his hair with a few casual strokes of his hand. His cheeks went apple-perfect suddenly, and his mouth softened, and then he lifted his right fist, and teasingly struck me hard on the chest. Really hard. Show-off. Now it was my turn to smile and I did. "I can’t remember anything bad between us," I said. "You will," he responded. "And so will I. But what does it matter what we remember?" "Yes," I said, "we’re both still here." He laughed outright, though it was very low, and he shook his head, flashing a glance on David that implied they knew each other very well, maybe too well. I didn’t like it that they knew each other at all. David was my David, and Armand was my Armand. I sat down on the bench. "So David’s told you the whole story," I said, glancing up at Armand and then over at David. David gave a negative shake of the head. "Not without your permission, Brat Prince," David said, a little disdainfully. "I would never have taken the liberty. But the only thing that’s brought Armand here is worry for you." "Is that so?" I said. I raised my eyebrows. "Well?" "You know damned good and well it is," said Armand. His whole posture was casual; he’d learned, beating about the world, I guess. He didn’t look so much like a church ornament anymore. He had his hands in his pockets. Little tough guy.
#;musings
You are using an unsupported browser and things might not work as intended. Please make sure you're using the latest version of Chrome, Firefox, Safari, or Edge.