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apoptoses · 6 months

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It is #Molloy Monday and I am here to remind you that Daniel is featured most from 1975-1985 aka the Sluttiest Era of Modern Male Fashion.

Coming in HOT we have the cut off short shorts and cropped t-shirt or mostly unbuttoned button down combo. Daniel visited some warm climates during the chase years so I invite you to picture him in the tiniest ripped jean shorts sweating over whether or not that auburn haired lady down the street is actually Armand!!

Or going into the 80s sometimes the tops were REALLY cropped and exposed midrift and back!! Like just picture Daniel fucking around on Night Island in this, wow wow!!

But even when the pants were long the t-shirts were TIGHT, maximum pec definition through the shirt was a must.

If he didn't wanna show that much skin? That was fine because turtlenecks where IN baby!! These are basically vampire lingerie imo, covering up the most succulent part of the neck but still leaving a hint exposed below the jaw?? Armand had to have been dying of thirst!!!

(Also when it says Armand came to pick Daniel up from jail in a lawyer's tweed suit? He wasn't wearing no modern cut, he'd have been rocking the big lapels because this was the 70s tyvm)

Also important to note was that the 70s were the era of glam rock and androgyny, so picking a silky button down that looks like a women's blouse? Totally okay for men, very in style so long as you leave the top buttons undone to expose maximum chest.

Btw velour? Was IN. This is the 1979 equivalent of a juicy couture tracksuit which Armand could have snuggled right into while they were living in London.

And while the 80s sees the rise of a looser fit, that doesn't mean the crop top died or that people weren't still rocking a more form fitted jean when they were feeling casual.

This photo is from NYC in 1983 and shows that tight t-shirts and short shorts were still very much alive, just styled a bit differently! A tight top and looser straight leg jeans, or short bottom and a flowy open top took the place of all fitted looks.

Or that the mostly unbuttoned button down went away- if anything in the 80s the buttons went even LOWER and more revealing. Paired with a boxy linen suit this is essential 80s Miami aka Night Island looks.

and yeah that's spader, leave me alone, he's peak 80s here

This sweater is loose but it's got the deep V neck and a sheer knit, perfect for the beach!!

And yeah this is Sapder AGAIN but note the half open shirt, leather jacket, and jeans that get tighter near the ankle!! Classic 80s, baggy but still sexy, A+.

I SWEAR this is the last time I'm gonna use and abuse him but peep the muscle tank with the DIY cut edges on the arm holes! V neck! 80s!!!

Basically the takeaway here is that if you're putting them in the 80s and having them rock something baggy and double denim, the look still featured a tight waistline and rolled sleeves or rolled ankles to tighten the jeans. It wasn't just baggy all over!!

Here's some random images from the entire era to finish off:

So next time you're working on fic or art instead of just tossing Daniel into a regular old t-shirt and jeans consider doing some slutty 70s and 80s looks instead 😌

#daniel molloy #vampire chronicles #devil's minion #armand/daniel #vc shitpost #oops another spader adjacent post NOT SORRY ABOUT IT #he has so many early 80s movies they're easy to harvest from okay #and he's got the ash blond hair and beseeching look down #ANYWAYS i demand more daniel in short shorts art and fic tyvm #vc headcanons #apoptoses originals

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sharkenedfangs · 2 months

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— ☆ “BITTER SWEETNESS IS BEST SERVED COLD.”

loser — loser robin, won’t you please choose him for once ? being neglected hurts, y’know.

“Tell me I’m the only one then.”

“Huh?” Slightest tilt of your head, puzzled eyes deftly meeting his in the dimly lit shade of the otherwise desolate room— home, you’d call it. Not due to its particular comforts, quite the opposite, really, but the sheer familiarity that’d seamlessly wash over you when tirelessly stepping foot once more in the rundown, dusty orphanage.

Strung cobwebs precariously hanging below the ceiling, disgustingly abundant in some forgotten corners of the narrow hallways the younger orphans had stubbornly refused to clean any further— lest Bailey caught them in the careless act to then, drag them towards their private office for a good spanking. Some daring enough to daringly peer any closer, though at most, they’d instinctively shuffle back with a muted giggle and shriek before ultimately, tumbling back to join the others. Home, not because it was necessarily comfortable nor the most luxurious of places, but ‘home’ thanks to the people, the muffled laughter endlessly echoing throughout the creaking, wooden structures and the numerous, clumsy children riddled in purplish bruises and missing teeth. Wasn’t the best of the best, yet you’d still automatically refer to it as such since where else could you possibly be?

However, you suppose that someone here had subconsciously decided otherwise by the pouting look adorning Robin’s freckled features, deceptively glancing downwards in a clear display of utter disappointment on his part. Discreet shuffle of his feet distinctly reverberating along the ancient — definitely in need of some renovation or something — floorboards, progressively teetering closer to where your slouched frame comfortably rested atop their single bed.

Carefully following upon each and every one of his movements with your watchful eyes struggling to adjust to the pitiful sight greeting you; Robin— your childhood friend, foster sibling more than anything else, and maybe lover if you’d actually allow yourself to wistfully call ‘em that — lowering himself to where your feet hang along the edges of the squeaking mattress. Lovingly nuzzling his squished cheek against the inner part of your thigh, faintly covered by the fabric of your pants, spot he particularly liked to occupy. Neatly nestled between the gap of your spread legs which is— ah, sort of prime a blowjob position, but you should probably not be fixating on that certain part despite the burning heat that comes to streak your cheeks scarlet in that same, similar shade.

“Tell me I’m the only one.” Same utterance easily slipping past between his parted lips, those doe eyes of his, prettily glimmering in the golden rays of sunlight reflected against the glassy window— fuck, really, it’s not fair how he knows when to utilize that ‘puppy dog eyes’ card on you. Specially in this specific situation where your clammy hands hastily become sweaty in return, fumbling mouth unable to articulate those five, simple words he so longingly wishes to hear fall forth from your open lips. Teeth instinctually nipping at the pouty flesh of your bottom lip, furrowed brows deepening in blatant confusion as to where this desperate need of affection is suddenly coming from. Something to satisfy him— shit, something.. something, anything at all, really. Unfortunately finding none to supposedly soothe the growing wound forming in his thudding heart.

And in response to your dreadful silence, he merely insists further so that you may eventually abide to his burrowed whims. Delicate tracing of his calloused fingertips across the length of your legs, skin mainly bruised by the lack of care towards his own self, not like Kylar whose inattentiveness comes from self-neglect and petty bullying— more.. out of rebellion for the lifestyle this cruel, nameless God from above in the silver clouds has forcibly shoved upon him.

“Do you not love me?” It’s barely heard— still, you faintly catch the slight tremble in that question, visible begging of a last-resort plea. Tearful choke caught up in his bobbing throat as though your best friend was on the verge of pathetically sobbing, on the precarious edge of practically spilling out his held sorrows and burst into a childish fit of tears. Please, please— Say yes. Nothing, but yes, please?

“What? Of course! I do, Robin! Why’re you suddenly asking that? ..’Course, I love you— love you a whole lot, y’know.” Quick to frantically prove otherwise with a shake of your head, stupidly stuttering over your words of all times— goddammit, why wouldn’t you? Thought you would’ve evidently showcased it more than enough times by the.. gestures you’d make towards the orphan in the early morning of the day, before school or maybe, after— whenever you had the free time, really.

Kiss of his cheek, embrace of your protective arms snugly looped around his frame when immersing himself in another video game. Snidely offering to accompany him to the movies, tenderly holding your hand in his when returning back from the pleasant date. Little shots thrown his way as you literally stripped yourself bare in front of your childhood friend with your fuckin’ cock in his shield of vision or was that not enough to salaciously prove it? Nor the nights spent in the dark of his room, shuffling amongst the cotton sheets and legs affectionately entangled within each other all the while whispering sweet nothings in the shell of his ear. Not enough at all? “Hah, you’re acting weird right now. What’s the matter?”

What’s the matter? Truly, by now, the meaning of the act itself should’ve surely gotten through your otherwise thick-skulled, stubborn head, no? Unless you’re playing dumb as per usual— leading him towards this carefully fabricated result you’ve so attentively picked within your decisive mind. Nose burrowed deep along the edge of your thigh, fluttering lashes briefly tickling here and there before his pink, sweet tongue comes to subtly dart out and stupidly stain your pants sheer in a mess of their spit. Ah, you’ve gotta be kidding— that’s not, that’s not the place.. for— fucking.. using that sort of tactic.

“But, you also love other people, don’t you?” A subject that was never meant to be fully confronted either, perhaps a silent, unspoken agreement to never entirely bring it up to begin with, however it was bound to happen anyway. Whether or not it were to be you or Robin, it seemed he had already let go of that shared promise by then. Truthfully, he’s consciously aware that he should’ve been more upset, added some scolding here and there in the pitch of his trembling voice— yet, he can’t truly be mad at you, can he?

That’s right, the sole thing he’s merely capable of is to miserably wallow at your feet, bitterly appear to you like a kicked mutt being thoroughly neglected by its owner. Pouty lips, puffed out cheeks and narrowing eyes adoringly gazing up at you with such tender, puppy love affection despite it all because no matter how much you may possibly hurt him— Time and time again, he’d still end up inevitably crawling back to you. Pathetic, isn’t it? All he’s got, though.

“I..” Aren’t you simply proving his point the longer you remain silent? The rehearsed mutterings of reassurance annoyingly caught up within the growing lump in your delicate throat, eyes evasively directed in the other attention so as to slowly steer away from the main point itself. Ah, who’re you even kiddin’? Sure, maybe Robin meant Whitney— the stupidly persistent blonde always sticking to your sides at the crummy school, aimlessly following you around till you frantically snap back. Nosy delinquent who somehow, while being so coldly inconsiderate is also, oddly concerned in the weirdest of moments whenever they roughly tuck an arm ‘round your middle to keep you dry from the oncoming, drizzling rain thanks to their umbrella. Regularly calling you ‘slut’ with the sole exception of it being in a softer lilt and a slight glimmer present in their gaze.

Or is it Kylar, known for being a godawful freak and by god, the rumours are certainly true considering that one, unfortunate time they clumsily tried to lure you in another one of those shady alleyways— mumbling on and on about how they so pathetically needed the feel of your supple skin unbearably close against theirs, or some shit to keep on living. Even said some crazy crap about turning you into an adoring baby daddy, trapping y’a and all that. As if you’d willingly be strung up in their crazy family business, although the fleeting glimpses of a genuine, beaming smile etched upon their lips when proudly showing you their drawing does sometimes, soften whatever insane shit they’ve done previously.

If it’s not that, is it Sydney? Flailing, ol’ church kid who was once religiously devout, but seems to have taken on a new form of religion? Namely, the act of shamelessly worshipping you on their wobbly knees, the same way Robin so similarly is, currently? Golden, smooth locks of hair normally tied up— now elegantly settled upon their shoulders painted in a raven black, nerdy glasses that the gossiping students would’ve notably made fun of them for, neatly replaced by a pair of lenses to match the orange hue within their amber eyes. Pink lips that’d stutter and would cheekily kiss the back of your hand in the same manner when given the opportunity in the confines of the tranquil library.

It’s the maniac that resides in the strange woods often only coming into town to blatantly search for you. Ripped up collar angrily clutched in their hand with a look meant to kill. It’s the rich businessperson, twice your fucking age, old enough to be mistaken as your parent— lazily rolling their tinted windows down to sneakily ask you out for a secretive rendez-vous on Saturday, claim you as their pretty boy toy for the starry night. It’s the cheeky, ol’ farmer gleefully shooting you a striking grin of theirs all the while deliberately patting at your ass during farm work. Gloved palms innocently thrown up into the air in an admission of cluelessness as they carelessly carry on, whistling to themselves like nothing truly happened. It’s the giant bird flying along the clear sky. It’s the feral, black beast venturing amongst the chipped branches. God, it might as well be fucking everyone at this point, no?

So, it’s truly no surprise then if Robin were to ignorantly turn a blind eye to it all in favour of wholly placing their trust into the palms of your delicate hands instead, but is that not futile however? Deny it as he might, frantically shake his head to the dizzying thoughts occupying his echoing mind, it’s come down to the evident fact that you aren’t so loyal as he might’ve initially wished so— or that’s not exactly the correct term for it, is it? Not devotion that you lack, it’s the time and undivided attention you rarely provide him in return for his unrecognized efforts.

Prove his undying loyalty and obligation to dutifully wait for your return everyday like a faithful wife, no? And what better way to do so than on his knees, nicely nestled between the accommodating gap of your spread thighs? Smoothly followed by a fervent kiss shakily placed along the inner surface of your tender skin to then, further descend to where your— ah, shit.. Talk about good timing, huh? Already hard for ‘em, twitching bulge jutted against his freckled cheek and seriously.. why do you have to smell so good at times, specially down there. Borderline weird how he secretly gets off of your dizzyingly sweet scent, eyes instinctively rolling to the back of his skull— goddamn musk is what it is, yet he can’t possibly help himself when it’s you of all people, right? Fluttering lashes, eyes shutting close to solely focus upon the act of pervertedly inhaling you in, snugly burying his nose in the wrinkled material of your pants like an intoxicating drug itself.

“It’s alright, it’s okay..” Uncertain whether it’s meant for your quivering self, so obviously pent up and needy for him already by some mere kisses or himself, actually. Imitating that of a drooling, huffing dog in a heat with how his hips disgustingly roll forward— fucking humping his pulsing, sticky cock against your leg, smudging the already translucent stain of pre-cum present in his underwear. Ah, yet it seriously feels too good that he can’t hope to stop, y’know? Contentedly planting numerous, single kisses atop each of your sticky with sweat fingertips, handling you with such care that it would’ve possibly put Kylar— one who prides themselves for being so lovingly considerate of your needs, minus the.. kidnapping — to absolute wallowing shame.

Bad for him and yeah, he knows it— but what does he care? You’re his protector after all, are you not?

That’s alright, you’re bound to let it slip past your tight sealed lips one way or another. He’s in no hurry in making happening, even if it means spending the rest of his extensive time at your feet and on his knees.

Call it faith, will you?