monstroum

[monstroum]

009.   a run - down motel room. (the narrator!)

no matter which state you travel to , all motel rooms have the same family of chemical odours ; i'm getting woolite with a touch of zep . i'm getting comet bleach with an aftertaste of crew furniture cleaner and maintainer ... i'm getting clorox urine remover . i'm getting lavender febreeze and tobacco ㅤ─ ㅤ i suddenly feel the urge to spit . WHAT A FUCKING SHIT HOLE . " this is nice , man . " i keep my hands in my pockets . if we were to move the furniture around , i'm sure we'd find cockroach traps , dust bunnies , a whole ecosystem of filth where only the disenfranchised could thrive . i think tyler might have liked it here . " looks cozy . " i lie . funny how most people would rather risk looking dishonest than STAYING FUCKING QUIET .

there's another smell i don't recognise right away but that i can only guess belongs to something jesse brought with him . the first word that comes to mind is DRUGS . my own voice inside my own head makes me sound like a fucking narc . i had all those ikea collectibles delivered to my door , all of the nice ties given to me on birthdays and christmas and yet , the one thing i wished for the most was a though childhood . maybe then i'd have grown interesting ... not whatever i am right now .

" you haven't been going to our support group . " what was it again ? definitively not balds united . he didn't strike him as part of the widowers coalition either . drugs . definitively drugs . he can hear tyler's high-pitched laugh in his head already . " people've been asking about you . " TYLER'S BEEN ASKING ABOUT YOU .

[monstroum]

" oh , what are they gonna do ? make me chief popcorn salesman ? how diabolical . " santiago says with a dramatic roll of his eyes . his hand goes back to rubbing his chin , ignoring the footsteps overhead of other coven members cleaning up that evening's grand finale . he's lost in his thoughts ㅤ─ ㅤ thoughts of voices with american accents overpowering all others . thoughts of theatre seats saved for people who would never show up ... santiago scoffed . it's satine's flattery which brings him back to the present ( the movement of one long pale leg folding over the other , his sharp eyes notice that too ) .

there's a slight turn of his head in order to acknowledge his colleague's presence . " of course you did . you've got taste ─ ! " he gives a shrug , as if it would be common sense to ADORE HIS STAGE PRESENCE . but the levity in his tone slowly melts into something jealous and poisonous . " sadly not everyone in the coven shares the same gift . "

(@monstroum),‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎santiago said:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" hell's better than this shithole. "

" you're lucky no one else is around to hear you say that. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎there's a playful raise of her brow, one that when thrown in the right direction, creates an enticing aura about her.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎there's parts of her waiting to be deconstructed, like the performance in privacy that she seeps into, opting for dramatics over vulnerability‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(and when the two mix, maybe she's truly as close as she can be to her true self),‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎but it's hard for her to pull apart, what part of her is performing to santiago and what part is true expression?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" come on now, you don't mean that.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎you preform to applause every night, and you're very good may i add, i would know. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎one leg falls over the other, an act of ease as she offers him a gentle smile‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(she can feel it, a genuine compliment, and slowly any anxiety of a one-on-one conversation, with transactions voided, becomes a bit simpler). ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" you know i used to come see you before i turned?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i loved it, every second‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎so why the long face? "

[monstroum]

Dream Demon, 1988, Harley Cokeliss

[monstroum]

he keeps silent while watching the creature before him squirm under his guise ( rashid himself , watching a caricature of what armand thought him to be ) . it was strange to witness this ; someone so powerful become frustrated by his own self-inflicted limitations . rashid had heard of daniel's visit , even read a couple of his books in preparation ㅤ─ ㅤ he was aware of his methods and snark , but never had he thought it possible for a sickly old man to affect an immortal being in such ways . TALAMASCA WOULD WANT TO HEAR OF THIS .

and when brown eyes glare up at him , rashid does not feel the same strike of anxiety he felt when being stared at through those old shades of amber . those eyes were his , after all ; it made armand look familiar and warm . MADE HIM LOOK HUMAN . ㅤ─ ㅤ find something to do . ㅤㅤhe is quick to bow his head and turn to leave but , though his employer is done with him , he is apparently not done speaking . rashid has mastered a neutral expression which spared him from more troublesome interactions with his employers . he recognises that armand's rage is not directed at him ; right there and then he's just a man in need of someone to speak with . " my peace is reliant on your own , sir . "

a perfectly neutral reply which would have assured him a return to the kitchen ( to scrub the coagulated blood off the cutlery ) . but he thought of daniel molloy , alone with two vampires who did not take kindly to his sarcasm and prodding ... and he thought of his talamasca supervisor inquiring as to WHY rashid had allowed a public figure to be slaughtered on a wednesday without attempting to intervene . he swallowed hard . shielded his thoughts . and , after a moment of hesitation , continued . " showing restraint when being all powerful is a manifestation of power in itself . nothing i have witnessed indicates grovelling . quite the contrary . " a moment passes . " sir . " rashid manages .

@monstroum are you certain you do not wish me to stay? / from rashid !

beating hearts that surrounded the lofty-prison only served to bring armand MISERY on crystal glassware. he's certain of it. half-slumped & DEFEATED, replaying monstrous recitation of 1973, again & again & again. LESTAT LESTAT LESTAT LESTAT. if the name pounded five decades ago, today THUNDERED: echoes ripping into an old wound & pouring salt. icy hands rip at the gloves hiding them & drop them to the table. the shedding of costume: timid gestures explode in armand's stillness. ❝ what i wish. ❞ though, exalting power over his tiny dominion broadens his shoulders & straightens his spine.

a moment's silence. though rashid would surely come with that, too. silence in his expressionless stare, silence in his tucked hands, silence in his bows. armand's squinted glare, softened by the brown shielding his truth, pushes upward through a furrowed brow. ❝ is for you to find something to do. ❞

the vampire does not wait for the man to leave, however, before emotion outpours from a quickly-falling scowl. ❝ he will poke, & prod. & he will get what he wants. does that bring you PEACE, rashid? to be in cohort with immortality. to see me grovel at insignificant hands? ❞

[monstroum]

both the shame and the frustration birthed from their current predicament caused louis to purse his lips lest he say something he might regret . HE WAS RIGHT . lestat was right ( oh , what luck that his paramour could not read his thoughts )ㅤ─ ㅤ he had been reckless and selfish and short-sighted and now a bloodied corpse stained once pristine sheets . smells of lavender and jasmin forever drowned in coagulated blood . everything louis touched , he found a way to ruin .

he figured lestat suffered from the same condition , for when he touched his face , all of louis' rage seemed to melt away and pool at his feet . he became ruined whenever under that pale preternatural gaze ( and he still refused to admit to it ) . "ㅤ─ ㅤ yeah . " he nodded his head a bit , letting his gaze linger on lestat's , still blood and love drunk . it was embarrassing to want something so much . instead , louis tried to act nonchalant about his desire ; as if that could keep him safe . " c'mon . you don't have to carry that alone . " he pointed out while grabbing lestat's forearm and gently guiding him deeper into the dark alleyways , away from street lamps and possible witnesses .

"Yes, well, 'sorry' will stop the pitchforks and torches bound for our doorstep won't it? A street away, Louis!" But he is right...there had been an attempt at an apology which soothes the frayed edges of his anger and in lessening the irritation, a bloom of pride sprouts through its heated cracks. It spreads laboriously but the hand that finds Louis' cheek is gentle, caress loving. A dreamy sigh as a peace treaty.

"Forgive me, mon cher. You fed, and that is all that matters." Unfastening the buttons of his cuffs to roll up his sleeves, he stoops to collect the sheet wrapped body, impressed at the weight of it. His Louis, in his diminished state, still able to take down a man twice his size! Shifting the stiffening corpse under one arm, he reaches over to brush a smear of blood from the corner of his beloved's lips.

"Next time, wait until they are further down the way yes?"

[monstroum]

“I wanted to be on my own. I wanted to be someone else entirely, I didn’t want to owe anyone anything, or be owed anything either.”

— Margaret Atwood, from “The Year of the Flood,” published c. 2009 (edited)

[monstroum]

he stands there , a master of his instincts , beholding the swelling floors of yet another family lost . each cut tie , each death , they all led to louis' hands . and the loss of each family member he could no longer embrace was a wound on him , left to rot in abandonment ㅤ─ ㅤ all EXCEPT ONE : one wound had miraculously begun to heal . he does not feel deserving of the gentleness in lestat's voice or of how merciful his words are . and when he reaches out to touch his shoulder , louis swallows down the cry which had been lodged in his throat since they had stepped into their old home . lestat apologises for not being able to bring claudia back and louis has to hang his head in shame .

even after everything which had happened ㅤ─ ㅤ louis could feel it in the other's voice : THE LINGERING LOVE . not only for him but for their daughter . for the family they had built , crooked and violent and doomed from the very beginning and still oh so beautiful . how could it have been a crime to have had claudia in their lives ? ㅤ─ ㅤseventy years had gone by and the only other person who could have understood his grief , who could have suffered through mourning as he had , had been in new orleans ... this whole time ! ㅤ─ ㅤ hand pressed against his shoulder , telling him it was okay . god , had lestat been there before ? had he wept ? had anyone held him ?

when lestat speaks against his shoulder , he does not hesitate ; louis immediately turns to wrap his arms around his paramour's torso , pulling him close and holding him there , haunted by the image of the great lestat de lioncourt , looking awfully small while lingering by the doorframe of their daughter's room , wide-eyed and lost with no one to turn to . louis buried his face in his hair and wished they could simply stand like that for a while ( perhaps a few years in that embrace would mend the wounds they had left each other with ) .

" you shouldn't have come back here alone . " though his voice is barely more than a whisper , louis is still surprised by how it shakes at the end . fingers sink into the fabric of lestat's clothes . he swears he can feel his heartbeat drumming against his chest ㅤ─ ㅤor perhaps it is his own ( sometimes louis cannot tell the difference ) . " i shouldn't have let you . " he sounds like himself again when he says this . the moments in which he was lost amidst blond locks gave louis the strength to pull away and look lestat in the eye . he wants to tell him he owes him nothing , that he accepts him for all of his horror and beauty , and that he only wishes he could have appreciated it and shared it with claudia while she was still there with them . " it's okay . " is what he says instead , a drawled echo of lestat's words . " you're okay , yeah ? " green eyes shift across lestat's features , making sure all parts are intact ㅤ─ ㅤ to make sure being there with louis had not broken him .

continued from here / @monstroum

    if he knew there was a chance of him dissuading louis, he might have pushed harder for them not to go. he had folded without pressure. i want to spare you the pain of it, louis, he might have said, but instead he had given a simple nod of his head and followed. you wouldn’t want me to. he understands why it is something he must do. lestat had felt that same nagging urge to go back - satisfy his longing - but it had reopened the deep gash in him; by now decades too old for there to be any satisfaction in peeling off the scab. it left him in agonizing pain.

    at least, this second time, both of them are here. lestat stands a few steps behind louis and watches as he takes it all in. it is easy for him to imagine the claudia that louis pictures there and he knows her to contrast his own. even here, where she is more tangible and alive to him than anywhere else, she is disfigured and screaming and a far cry from the lively, stubborn girl they raised. she is always the same. even here, he could not bring her back to what she was before. he had stood near the same spot as louis now and wished for nothing but to be held by him. the comfort of someone who might understand.

    louis' talking elicits something else in him other than sadness. being the selfish creature that he is, he clings onto the feeble expression of louis wanting him in paris. if not for something breaking in louis’ voice he might have let it distract him. he doesn’t need louis to finish his sentence, he knows he’s stumbled onto the horrible realisation that the room is nothing but a room in the end. he shakes his head even knowing that louis won’t see it. i know. 

    “you could still feel me because i was not dead, mon cher.”lestat can’t bring himself to say what is obvious to him: i was not dead, but she is. he steps closer to him but he hesitates before reaching for his shoulder: “i am sorry that she is not here and that there is not a world in which i could bring her to you.” he is sincere and, for all his ambivalence about claudia, he never wanted this. not once in seventy years. “i understand if you… hoped she might here. it’s okay, louis.” he comes close enough that when he inhales he feels louis’ back against his chest, “come here…” he says, pressing his mouth to his shoulder, “please.” 

[monstroum]

louis de pointe du lac

which tarot card are you ?

THE STAR. there is something wonderful stirring in the depths of your being. something within you– something latent– is sleeping there, in the cradle of your mind. creativity comes naturally to you, just as breathing or blinking. you have the capability to extend yourself through art. but are you afraid of it? creating something– terribly afraid that it will never be as good as you hope? it will never be made unless you use your own hands. NUMBER: 17 / UPRIGHT: hope, faith, purpose, renewal, spirituality / REVERSED: lack of faith, despair, self-trust, disconnection

santiago

which tarot card are you ?

THE TOWER. where is the line between awakening and self destruction? is it thin? are you walking toward it? on it? already too far gone? there is nothing more disheartening than trying to find yourself, only to learn that you detest the person you've been looking for. can i tell you a secret? you are allowed to love yourself. required to, even. how can you go forward without it? make no mistake– it is not easy. but it is essential. you will get there, and it will be warm. NUMBER: 16 / UPRIGHT: sudden change, upheaval, chaos, revelation, awakening / REVERSED: personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster

tagged: by @lamourstre bless u tagging: if we're mutuals , i think you should do it .

[monstroum]

[ PLAY ]:          while sitting together, the sender absently lifts the receiver’s hand, idly running their fingertips across the lines of their palms, mapping out every inch of their hand with slow, lazy touches. / for louis!

this is when he likes lestat the best ; with his gaze lowered and his head tilted to the side . golden hair falling elegantly over his cheek , absent-minded , peaceful , without the need to perform or entertain or outshine ... louis thinks these are the parts of his paramour he'll be doomed to chase after for all eternity : these windows of quiet contemplation in which lestat simply is . louis feels the corners of his mouth twitch upwards as sharp nails brush ever so softly over his skin . perhaps he treasures such moments because not many are allowed to witness them ㅤ─ ㅤ he wonders if , before coming to new orleans , lestat de lioncourt had ever been known for being gloomy or quiet . had he ever been bashful ? had he ever been careful ? LOUIS DOUBTS IT .

but while his digits follow the curves of the lines on louis' palm , he allows himself to imagine lestat in all of those gentler conditions . he's glad to learn that he finds him beautiful either way ㅤ─ ㅤ prideful or contemplative , lestat de lioncourt always manages to dictate the rhythm of louis' heart ( oh , what cruel maestro he is ) . " you gonna tell me you a palm reader too ? " louis finally asks with a smile . he leans closer to the other vampire as if trying to see whatever it was lestat saw IN HIM . the live band was still playing , but louis had willingly turned his back on them . lestat had unknowingly ensnared all of his attention for the evening . " well , don't hold out on me , mon cher , " he teased with a small tilt of his head . " how's the future lookin' ? "

[monstroum]

040. a dusty antiques shop full of relics . / hmmm how about an armand and santiago modern reunion

a dancing porcelain couple dressed in 18th century clothing fits nicely against the palm of his hand . if santiago were to squeeze it tight enough , he'd be able to separate the two from their loving embrace . instead , he twists and turns the small objects in his hand , observes their painted red smiles with the detachment of a bored teenager . HE'S NOT THERE FOR COLLECTIBLES . he's there because he heard a familiar voice floating in the ether , wondering about french antiques ㅤ─ ㅤ parisian . nineteenth century . THEATRE POSTERS , WAS IT ? " even after all this time , " the vampire finally spoke up . " you remain a slave to aesthetics . " it's a poorly lit area , the one where all the tiny ceramic lovers stand in a row ( like a god damn firing squad ) . and when santiago steps into the light , he appears to be as pale as the rest of the antiques store's figurines .

HE'S HERE ! after all these years , after all these advancements and treaties and wars , he was there ㅤ─ ㅤ armand , in one piece , as elegant and pristine as ever . oh , how he wished to watch him burn . santiago sets the porcelain piece down , his green eyes now glued to the one thing in the whole shop he wished to have within his grasp . " loneliness certainly agrees with you . go on , give us a twirl ! " the actor says with a nod of his head . after a moment passed , he widened his eyes in fake realisation . " or is that out of line ? i assumed all titles and ranks were burned down along with the rest of the covenㅤ─ ㅤ "

[monstroum]

a tilt of his head as he listens to roman's roast of children ; to him they are unwanted filthy things , ruining the lives of adults , complicating things , bothersome and deserving of punishment ... the smile on hannibal's lips fades away with each sentence spoken . his eyes are like hooks sinking deeper and deeper into roman's skin . HE SMELLS BLOOD IN THE WATER . " did your parents find you needy ? " the casualty with which the good doctor made these personal questions could leave anyone with a sense of whiplash . " do you think they still do ? " HE CAN SEE IT ; a small boy acting out , looking for the discipline and attention he probably never had growing up . did he hope for someone to grab him by the ear , send him to a corner , bully him like he bullied others ?

lips curve into their usual passive smile when the spotlight was turned towards him once again . he was always happy to play along . " i am not . though i do not see marriage as a necessary step in building a family . " doctor lecter explains as he takes his glass to walk around his kitchen's counter . he meets roman on the other side so that he too may have a seat . " though we often assume that children should come after we've ensured safety and resources for them to grow , i find planning for such life events to be futile , " he gave roman a knowing look . " things can always get worse . " hannibal smiled as if that thought was whimsical or sweet .

he takes a sip of his wine then , gazing at his glass after tasting its' contents , admiring its' shade under the light . without roman's prompt , the good doctor made an observation of his own . " you're not at any risk of suffering through fatherhood , " the glass clinked against the counter when dr. lecter set it down . " not according to what i've heard . well done . "

"Yeah, I'm here still. Fuck 'em both, right? Still kicking, still... you know, just doing my own thing," Roman trailed off. What was he doing? Mostly just fucking around, spending most of his time 'working on films' in LA, with the occasional trip back home when it was required of him. He was fucking good at it, no matter what Frank said. As long as Frank wasn't feeding his doubts back to Dad. The fucking asshole probably was.

Hannibal's answer about kids being a celebration made him snort, and he turned incredulous.

"No, sorry. Sorry, it's just -- annoying, wailing, fucking greedy kids would be a celebration?" Roman cast a pointed glance around the spotless kitchen. "They'd come in here and leave, like, snot trails everywhere. You'd have to make them chicken nuggets for dinner and then they wouldn't even eat them anyway. And they're annoying, did I mention that? Kids are fucking annoying. Needy, just, like, always there." Roman affected a shiver with a small noise of disgust.

"No, thank you. No offense, I mean, more power to you if you think you could deal with all that but, like, I get why people, parents, lose their shit at their kids." Looking at Hannibal, he tried to imagine him as a parent, but he couldn't decide if he'd be like Dad, impatient and prone to violent outbursts, or more like Caroline, detached and passive-aggressive. Maybe somewhere in the middle, a comfortable mix of both.

He snorted and looked away. "Hey, it's good. Have you got - you know, a partner? You're not married, right, so it's not like kids are actually on the cards for you any time soon?"

[monstroum]

also i get it daniel, i would have followed him home too

[monstroum]

i don't know if anyone cares , but i added links to my muse list so it's easier for anyone to get access to character info and whatnot without having to navigate through the slides !

[monstroum]

harvey tilts his head , trying to disguise the anger which threatens to tighten his jaw . jonathan crane had always known what buttons to push ; the district attorney's hand slowly made its' way all the way down to his pants' pocket and found it there : HIS SILVER COIN . cold and trustful and fair . as soon as his thumb brushed over the dollar , dent found his footing again . " but i'm having so much fun focusing on your failings . and let me tell you , crane , they are a'plenty . " there it was , the dimpled smile , the steady stare ... the face of a new gotham .

the fingers of his free hand drummed against the table . he wasn't there to point and laugh at crane's misfortune . dent , as always , was there to try and fix things . " if you're willing to testify that all those mobsters you claimed to require treatment at arkham were actually of sane mind and that you were ㅤ─ ㅤ " he gave jonathan a knowing look . " mistaken in some of your diagnosis , we might be able to provide you with more comfortable conditions here at arkham . " eyes shifted across the visiting room . harvey thought he saw some rust on one of the tables . but he couldn't be sure . there was a very good chance it might have been dry blood .

" can't imagine it's been easy being locked up in here . but i mean ... you already knew what you were in for , right ? "

the dig earns a subtle roll of his eyes — brief avoidance of the attorney's gaze, though he hates to give him a reaction at all. it doesn't matter, crane reminds himself. after all, arkham is his home. a way out will appear either through usefulness or brute force. ❛ moralizing will get you nowhere, dent. you know this, ❜ crane drones, tapping a finger gently against his lap.

❛ you of all people understand best how gotham is fraught with scum. suffering is a mere inevitability. a consequence of living here. ❜ if he were a religious man, it might even seem like divine punishment. regardless, the reality of his crimes is something crane understands all too well. his actions have always been calculated with some form of coldblooded clarity— sufficient awareness of the consequences that would follow. collateral damage only ever seemed like a reward.

❛ besides, if it haunts you so much, perhaps you should focus instead on your own failings... rather than wag your finger at me. ❜

[monstroum]

he tries to shield his mind ; it's embarrassing for louis to verbalise how infatuated he is with the vampire laying in his bed , but allowing such truths to be seen and heard and felt through his untamed thoughts was UNBEARABLE . he tries to pull his gaze away to look out the window ( tries to be nonchalant , as he often is , about what his heart wants ) . but when armand shuts his eyes , louis dares another glance . suddenly he becomes painfully aware of his hands , just hanging there by his sides , not holding anything ( not holding armand ) as he lays there , in his room . so he folds his arms behind him , rests his back against the wall , pins down his want .

when armand opens his eyes again he looks for him . even from across the room , his eyes remain THE BRIGHTEST LIGHT in all of paris . he speaks of returning breezes but louis cannot help but feel as if there's something else he wishes to control AND CAN'T QUITE MANAGE TO . he looks down at his feet , suddenly self-conscious .

the curtains sway ever so lightly ㅤ─ ㅤ the breeze returns and armand is lulled back into that peaceful state louis admired so much . he was beautiful like this ; with his eyes shut and content . " yeah ? " he tried with a small chuckle . " what're my intentions , exactly ? "

louis is still standing there, armand relents. he sometimes hated the way that his voice would lilt in that sing song way of his .. in equal parts ? loved it. armand shut his eyes to the world then, attempting to quiet the deeper recesses of his mind. air filled his lungs as if he were breathing ( as if he needed to. ) and then, he would exhale. breathe for a heart that has long died ? it often brought him calm, it rid him of the anxieties. he is but a reanimated husk. louis was thinking about him .. armand felt the gentle press of his mind in his own .. it was , nostalgic. it made his blood sing.

" hope it returns to me ? .. " he says softly, turning golden eyes onto his green ones. " I hope .. it returns to me.. " the words dropped from his lips evenly, a slight lilt in his speech as if he were speaking on other things. how he yearned for his dear louis. like they were. before he could speak, the breeze returns. armand shuts his eyes to feel it.

" it feels nice. I now understand your .. intentions in paris.. " he inhales.

[monstroum]

I was cursed with poetry very young. It creates extremely unrealistic expectations.

Penny Dreadful, from ‘What Death Can Join Together’

[monstroum]

santiago and lestat meet and after 5 minutes of talking to each other they both simultaneously realise why so many people describe each of them as insufferable .