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@fortunebuoyed​ said: ❓+ Armand

“Armand is, in every sense of the word, my concern. For a creature that brushed my life so briefly, he has a habit of sticking around. And who can deny it? I took him in out of… Well, a strategic sort of thinking, for one, but also out of love. It seems to baffle people that these two should co-exist in the mind. I wanted to save him. I believed that was what I was doing. You must understand how certain I was, to understand the depth of my error. Saved or not, I took a child and turned it into something else. So whatever this new creature is, whatever he became and will become, it is by my hand that he exists. 

I watch him with the concern any man should show his creations. He is no longer the child I knew, that boy who’d cling to my robes in fear and sorrow, who’d seek my embrace or my praise and try to win me over with earnest arguments. He is a man grown and he had to grow all on his own. I owe him a lifetime, and I cannot give it back to him. I orphaned him twice. So when he tells me he does not despise me, might even care for me, I do not believe him. But perhaps I do this, also, because that makes it easier for me. I am not above the path of least resistance. As long as he doesn’t try to understand me, I do not have to explain. As long as he does not forgive me, I do not have to face what needs forgiving. We keep a gentlemanly distance, a sense of understanding, I hope, that whatever we must speak of, we will speak of another time. 

–All that aside, I loved him. I have never made this a secret, I don’t see why I should start now. I loved that boy as I would love my own son. And I am proud of the man he has become. The world would be lesser without him in it.”

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ooc. yanno i've been deactivating blogs across the board and it never even occurred to me to delete Santino. might as well rip my soul out ig

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ooc. briefly talked abt vampires getting high elsewhere and was reminded that santino's special cigarettes are fully loaded with the equivalent of horse tranquilizer just to help him relax for a SECOND

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Reflections from the Coliseum.

Pics courtesy by Bruno Sousa

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These cards will never not be funny!

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WHAT THE FUCK IS NONCHALANT 😭😭😭 i was built to take a sword through my chest for you

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i LOVE IT WHEN REDEEMABLE CHARACTERS RELAPSE INTO THEIR OLD WAYS!!! WHEN THEY GO BACK TO THE DARK SIDE!!! TO THE FEIGNED COMFORT OF WHEN THINGS FELT GOOD!! BUT THEY LEARNED SO MANY THINGS ABOUT THEMSELVES THAT THE OLD PLACE DOESN'T TRULY FEEL AT HOME EITHER, BUT IT'S THE ONLY PLACE TO RUN TO!!!! HELLLL YEAH

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once we cross paths you will think about me forever

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There's something gloriously obscene about movies. The idea of spending a hundred million dollars and several lifetimes to create a single work of art that's not very good

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Just saying you’re probably my favourite blog I’ve ever followed. In the sense that you have too many awesome takes.

im on your DNI list

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"Don't do this, they're innocent. Don't kill them. Don't."

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Santino stood by the window and fixed his blackened gaze upon the street below. The lights pulsed and thrummed, dancing to a roaring melody. All voices in the city seemed so united in this cause, this bellow skyward. His ears rang with it as he looked down from the high tower, sitting in for whatever divinity they might imagine down below, in their sprawl. Less articulate than that were his feelings concerning the street and its asphalt. Crammed and crooked, American roads were no use in a city. If it had to be the US, one ought to give him the unending highways of forgotten deserts, racing eternal towards the horizon in a straight line. And then give him a fast car.

Armand’s cruel words snapped him from his reverie. He did not give cause to move but cause for regret. Perhaps he should not have come, waited elsewhere. Any hotel would have taken him in. Now here he stood, stung.

“What face did God wear?” He asked, imitating Armand’s flat affect. His maker’s perhaps, who certainly had done his best to devour Santino in his time. His death was not so theoretical a concept. There was no end to the love that had labored to prevent it.

“I needn’t wonder what I’d do if you died.” He continued, glacial. “I’ve already mourned you.”

And true enough, they had never found Armand’s ashes so who could say what Santino would have done. He did remember vividly, however, how the world had collapsed in on itself. How he had arrived too late, how the news of Armand’s suicide had punched him in the throat upon arrival. He remembered going mad, though briefly. How ironic, that love should flare so bombastically only in its death throes. Oh, he had been violent in those days. Violent with grief, violent with anger. One young one had dared to call it martyrdom and Santino had near forgotten himself.

' i had a dream you died. ' langorous in his wisened old age, no longer the funeral spirit in boy's clothes but a simple beastie with sharp eyes and a tired position as he lounges across the carpet; his coltish legged splayed out around a small, black tablet.

armand's fingers are splayed against the floor behind him, leaning back on those tender claws to glimpse santino's stern mouth. ' you were swallowed up by god. and in my waking, i did not find freedom as i thought i might have. only melancholy. strange, isn't it?' a lot look to his tablet, the black screen reflecting the ceiling.

' if i met my end, would you mourn me or use my ashes for lent? '

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A life without collecting trinkets is no life at all

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ooc. @perladivenezia's reblog just reminded me of the AU where Bianca finds Santino after leaving Marius and they become companions. most brutal rebound ever conceived, no doubt, but that was so real

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What I think about at work all day: I wish I had time to talk about the implications of Anne’s tendency to infantilize the characters that she doesn’t deem any longer important to the story, so that the main ones seem like the “adult” and “strong” ones in comparison.

What I can only actually think about after a double shift and a couple of drinks: Do you know what Santino’s true crime is? That both Armand and Marius seem to be suspiciously aware of his chest hair. Which means that the dude roamed the Italian underground in open robes or at least a plunging neck line. What a douchebag.