𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑼𝑭𝑭𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 : ⒈ ⁽ⁿᵒᵘⁿ⁾ 𝘀𝘂𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗼𝗻 𝗯𝘆 𝗼𝗻𝗲'𝘀 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗿𝗲. ⒉ ⁽ⁿᵒᵘⁿ⁾ 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘂𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿. a heavenly vintage bitten by yours truly, 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐈𝐄 ! ( he/him , 30+, dupe friendly ) ... anti's beware, this blog is dead dove adjacent. based on the 4 identities that we see of armand ∶ 𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐧, 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐨, 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 & 𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐝. a timeline that explores trauma, identity, subjugation and the horrific life of 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑽𝑨𝑴𝑷𝑰𝑹𝑬 𝑨𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑫.
I. no anti's. i am a pro-ship, dead-dove eating, toxic fic sludge drinking gremlin. there will be threads with graphic mention and dynamics related to child sex abuse/slavery/torture/prostitution/incest and mentions of abuses in general. ARMAND IS A VICTIM AND A PERPETRATOR. i do not write him as any one thing, victim or offender; he's both.
II. shipping. i do not ship with just anyone. sexual threads will be put on the back burner until i am certain our character's have chemistry, but i am open to nsfw threads, gore threads, enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies; all manner of ships. if you think something is working out between us, let's plot! i love shipping. it's my favorite threads to write.
note: i am exclusive with molloyed's daniel molloy and solilacquist's louis and evilanew's lestat. that means i do not write with other daniel, louis or lestat roleplay blogs but i will follow back if i enjoy an interpretation just to read the writing. please note that all blog-canon will be centered with molloyed's daniel molloy.
III. fandom drama is a big no no for me. i am 31 years old, i've got a full time job and i come here to write and decompress. if you are someone that regularly engages in that behavior, or someone i grow particularly anxious around, i will be soft blocking. my space is my own to curate and yours is your own: if you feel anxious around me, i'd gladly support you to unfollow.
IV. groupchats, threesome threads and 3-way character dynamics: i do not do these. i understand that dash shenanigans may push us to interact in-character to a plethora of other character's, but i am not open to these kinds of dynamics whether it be in character or out of character. please do not push, coerce or try to guilt me into it. i've had anxiety issues with the past and particularly with those who do not respect it and expect more from me than i can give: please respect that.
V. i have discord for those who i get on with/enjoy writing with. if we become fast friends, feel free to ask for it :) you'll get faster responses and darker content.
VI. i am not my character. if i put something into my reply that makes you uncomfortable as a mun, or i forget to tag something, i overstep a boundary of yours: please feel free to come and tell me. the squeaky wheel gets the grease and i'd love to make our time writing together as dyamic, and pain free, as possible. i'm also autistic and my innate form is being mute. i am not a big talker. i'm trying to work on it, but sometimes social norms fly over my head. :)
VII. i am a mult-paragraph writer. i love long threads, i love plotting! do not feel pressured to match length. i do also double space and use small text, but if that is harsh on your brain, i can stop. just hop into my im's and we can work it out.
VIII. arun, amadeo, armand and rashid are all playable character's here. this means you can ask for any of these iterations of armand! i know! you can ask for more than one as well.
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some prompts exploring the affectionate side of lust. mature audiences only; do not interact if you are a minor. add +reverse to reverse the roles. combine prompts by sending multiple at once. only use these prompts to portray consensual scenarios.
[mwah.] sender kisses receiver slowly, keeping their mouths joined even while moving inside them.
[stroke.] sender gently runs their hands through receiver's hair during sex.
[nestle.] sender buries their face in receiver's neck, planting kisses against it mid-fuck.
[safety.] sender and receiver experiment together as friends.
[held.] sender intertwines their fingers with receivers while having sex.
[steady.] sender holds receiver's trembling hands down gently against the sheets.
[comfort.] sender makes love to receiver after a rough day.
[borrow.] sender wears receiver's shirt/sweater while they have sex.
[confession.] sender murmurs "i love you" against receiver's skin.
[tease.] sender peppers kisses at receiver's stomach before dipping lower.
[worship.] sender worships receiver's body / chest / thighs / arms / back with touch, kisses, and praise.
[tender.] sender gently traces their fingers along receiver's scars.
[guide.] sender moves receiver's hand where they need it most.
[check-in.] sender pauses every few thrusts to ensure receiver is handling things okay.
[grind.] sender ruts against receiver through their clothing.
[first.] sender, being more experienced, guides receiver through their first time.
[cup.] sender holds receiver's face in their hands and kisses them tenderly.
[hurried.] sender hikes receiver's clothing just far enough to push inside of them.
[savor.] sender deliberately slows their rhythm, intent on lasting as long as possible.
[vice.] sender holds receiver close while finishing inside of them.
[stay.] sender plays with receiver's hair while being cockwarmed by them.
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a small pride post for armand's gender & sexuality !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑: cisgender, he/him pronouns, a masculine-fixed presentation with fluid elements of femininity.
𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘: bisexual with a lean towards men due to sexual trauma*.
trauma informed context to armand's sexuality under the cut:
the history of armand's sexuality is a complicated mix of trauma, misogyny and the years spent in sexual slavery. when armand was a child, his only dream was to give all of himself to his god. he yearned to hole himself up behind a wall so he could starve himself into monkshood. being enslaved and sold into prostitution changed that. he was too young to know his sexuality or his gender, or why he was a boy and what boys did, but there were instances where the loss of autonomy had a significant impact on who we know today:
i. arun being dressed up in tunic's that mimicked dresses & being made to keep his hair long.
ii. men being the ones who would prepare him for being sold to merchants.
iii. marius forcing him back into the brothel's as punishment for wanting to sleep with him (where armand found out that there were people that were neither boys nor girls).
iv. bianca solderini and the introduction into masculinity through her and marius's care.
v. the infantilization while he was in marius's care.
vi. the paris cult.
i. when arun is first prepared for the turkish buyers, he tells us how he was groomed until it hurt, his hair brushed painfully, the preparation that gives him the look of an angel; the tunic he's put in goes down to his knees, his sleeves are long and bell-shaped, and he even begins to laugh when he realizes that the merchant's believe him to be a girl. they pull up his tunic, check his genitals, and when he protests? he's hit so hard he passes out. later on, in italy, amadeo is made to dress in a way that accentuates his softer features. he even refers to himself as a poppet.
ii. throughout his journey through asia to the middle east through to europe, armand remarks how he's always being taken care of by men and boys. men groom him so hard it hurts, men put ointment on his injuries after they hurt him, boys come into the room and try to arouse him on the men's behalf, men are the force in which armand's entire life falls apart.
iii. for all of armand's history, i believe that marius paying for 3 separate brothel's to keep amadeo for a few days to work out his sexual frustrations was incredibly harmful for him. as much as he speaks on the subject as if it were simply another learning curve, the fall out from those days are huge; amadeo begin's to have behavioral problem's, he's angry, he even forces himself onto bianca afterwards, he seeks out other lovers (one that would eventually kill him and some of the other boys), he becomes drunk every day. despite telling us that he liked the people that were neither boy nor girl more than he liked the women and men, it's quite clear that being left in a brothel caused him irreparable harm. he details the way he and the boys would force themselves onto each other, struggle for dominance, that he enjoyed those types of plays. later on, with lord harlech (his first romance he sought out for himself that was completely consensual), we see the man tell amadeo post-coitus that he'd kill him if he had to (to keep him). and later, he does kill amadeo.
iv. bianca solderini plays a very important part in armand's life, sexuality wise. it's with bianca that he first learns how to pleasure a woman, how to be gentle with one, how best to bring her to orgasm. the important part that stands out is that bianca is a courtesan, not simply a prostitute like amadeo had been. she had a home where she only allowed men that she wanted to allow inside, men that made it known they knew that she wasn't to be owned - and amadeo sees it. he sees her distinct boundaries and one day, he violates her. she's precious, yes, and his only friend of the female variety, but she's still a sex woker to him and when he comes back from the brothel's, amadeo forces himself upon her. he takes a liking to her, but there is no true love between them the way amadeo loves riccardo or albinus. she's a possession just like he is and the imprint bianca leaves on him is carried into his modern life - he's attracted to young blonde women, women who are caught in circumstances where he can save them, women with gentle disposition's and men who want her in their possession. while he doesn't love her, she has a place in his heart.
v. the infantilization of armand's time with marius is forever imprinted on his psyche. he was so scared in those days, constantly trying to convince marius that he was a man with a man's body, worried about the sin of doing these things behind closed doors with marius; the sexual element of his fright that comes when there are true reminders that he was aging - ejaculating with semen, his body getting heavier, wanting to have sex, hating how he was being painted (as a very young boy), his clothes being tailored to show off the parts of his body that are thinnest and most slender. his body was meant to be controlled by those stronger than he was. his sexuality was meant to be controlled by those that had the money, those brave enough to push him in whatever direction they wanted because amadeo had no will of his own to stop it.
vi. shame dictates armand's every move. fear, shame, need to belong. he changes his beliefs and his body and his face at will for whoever is strongest, whoever can subjugate him, whatever and whoever can hurt him and his time in paris was exactly that; an extension of italy. the carefully crafted persona of civility is used as a tool to break him down and turn him into something that covers itself up, a creature that is shapeless and in the shadows. humble, walled up, starving. it's everything he wanted to be as a child and there is no pleasure in it. all these rules and religious zealotry that had welcomed him before was now just a chain and a collar bolting him to the wall. while safe from sexual assault or abuse, armand was not safe mentally. there was a significant trade off of safety for conformity and comfort.
the modern day complexities of his gender and sexuality: armand still witholds himself, almost entirely, from sex (excluding lestat in the theatre, his marriage and his affair with daniel in the 70's) unless he is hypersexual. his clothing his largely shapeless, it's picked with all the 500 years of trauma still holding up a big red sign that says: DON'T DRESS LIKE A TARGET. armand partakes in sex only with lestat, louis and daniel and all three are very much given special privileges to partake in the trauma-chameleon mask armand likes to wear for them. his trauma colors everything in his life and there is a large part of him that enjoys reenacting that trauma with men he can trust, in spaces where they can also trust him to be gentle with their trauma.
TLDR; armand is a bisexual man who leans towards men while favoring women who mirror his first good interaction he had with bianca. he enjoys non-binary, eunuch's, cross dressers, transsexuals (period typical language) and drag queen's and daniel's influence is something that brings that sexuality back to life in a very clear, cut-and-dry manner. he knows what he wants and what he doesn't want, armand can verbalize those things now and that's largely due to louis, but mostly because of daniel and his experience in the queer communities. armand would, largely, be seen as a gay man in that era. but thanks to daniel, he now knows himself to be a queer man with nuance and distinction to that label.
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Keeping an angel in your spare room. The first thing to do is make a lowered section of floor in the middle of the room. Ideally it should be round or oval, maybe egg shaped if you’re serious. Carpet the whole floor in soft material that feels nice against the skin. Don’t furnish the room. Just put in pillows and soft toys. It’s best if they’re big; maybe about as big as a person. Now all you need is an angel and a bolt in the floor.
𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 is far more complex than he could have imagined. there were politics he couldn't possibly understand in his infancy, louis, armand and lestat's stories only a few amongst hundreds. maybe even thousands. whose to know, really, the true number of undead that prowled the globe? once, molloy might have made it his mission to discover an estimation. the rebellious promise to catalogue the experience of those tossed aside like broken dolls in society pivoting to the more surreal existence of vampires. cassette tapes remained empty for so long he struggled to sort fact from fiction. reality from cocaine induced imagination. but it's here now, and still there's more. ❝ what kind of experiments can you do on the dead? ❞ there's an unease to the slow question, due in part to the amount of needles fareed happily stuck into daniel in dubai. the willingness of louis and armand to accept it. ❝ something tells me he was having a fucking blast with my parkinson's. ❞
with a squeeze to armand's hand, he urges his chin back so their lips collide. incorrigible, greedy--call it whatever armand might as he holds him there. the blood is a fever he hasn't been able to shake. the distance put between them since his turning only snapping back like rubber band, daniel making up for an agonizing lost time with his orbiting of armand. kissing him sweetly, he murmurs his next confession, because that's what it felt like, didn't it? a fledgling that prefers the taste of vampires ... well, he's no expert, but he's yet to meet another like him. ❝ it can't be just that. how long did i feed on you as a human, and now not even the ripest mortal is as filling? it's like the drugs all over again. i'd choose your wrist over the best baggie someone's given me for free. that's not normal, man. ❞ in truth, he's spent too long ruminating on their years of shared blood, weighing the idea that armand has always prepared him for immortality. grooming him for companionship even if he might deny it. it's that companionship that urges him to bring armand back from whatever brink he's found himself on, returning the favor into eternity. another kiss to his lover's skin, this time to his jaw, his neck.
daniel lifts their connected hands upwards, his own wrist to his teeth until he can slash open a wound. then, prodding at armand's lips, he rests his chin along his shoulder. the deep color of blood drips dark droplets into the bath water and along armand's stomach, turning pink with the slick of his skin. ❝ drink. i've always liked watching you feed. sometimes your memories come through. ❞ and his cheeks pinken. the eyes flutter. the soft sounds of pleasure-
with his guard already softening, the kiss comes as another surprise that manages to pull a gasp from armand before their lips even touch. inside the blood that's shared between them is a similarity of genetic make up, hunger's that can never be resolved, needs that felt like death was coming for them from under their skin, all of it amplified now that daniel was his. when they kiss, it's with a hot-blooded ferocity that quickly simmers into something softer as his lover's mouth finds his. he can feel the restraint in that gesture. how daniel's ache becomes his own when he parts his lips to sneak a taste, his tongue just barely making ground when he's pulling away - this time, armand is left wanting. his entire soul is bent in his direction, not even the eyes open until he's speaking again, waxing poetic. ❝ experiments to bring you back to me. ❞ cruel, to a point. needed. but cruel, nonetheless. there's regret there, somewhere, in the reminder that he should have a hand in these matters. that these matters only exist because pieces of him could not fully sever from him. ❝ psychological inference and psychosexual triggers. perhaps it's why you came back to me as quickly as you did. the part of you i erased wasn't gone, ❞ armand comes to cup his jaw when daniel begins to kiss at his neck, pulling him in closer. ❝ - only sleeping. ❞
the stark service of form daniel begins to inhabit is still not one armand is quite used to. worship, yes, his daniel was a pretty little thing on his knees, begging for the ardors of the flesh, the languor that came with the blood. but this daniel, made anew, was something stronger and more capable than he thought him capable of. the dark gift suits him in near entirety, blessed are the hungers and restraint he's already coming to subjugate but armand, too, is blessed; daniel doesn't let him say no. even if he could, there's a delirium starting to set in and it's almost instant the way armand's tongue meets the wound. the tender skin that's been split for him to drink from is gently lathed with his tongue, sucking at the blood that bubbles up from beneath the skin. careful with the wound but not enough - the tip of that clever tongue delves into that warm fissure, sealing his lips around daniel's foream.
armand never feels quite canny these days. up through the floor boards of his mind comes the distinct feeling that he was becoming feverish again, as though his mind was suffering a dream-like hallway - darker than he remembers. a mouthful of blood is swallowed and with it, daniel's entire being is pulled into the cavity of his soul where he keeps the aches hidden. love. ardent and pure, like silk, forbearance where their mouths meet but not where their souls meet. both of his hands come up to grasp his arm, squeezing around the wrist and elbow, pulling him as close as his mouth can fit but it isn't enough. it never is. the partition that separates them cannot even be blamed - armand knows that his hunger has been with him since daniel was just a boy. that feeling amalgamates inside his body like a warmth, spreading to his limbs, life and invigoration forcing him off with a loud, heaving pant. armand breathes heavily, the front of his teeth still pressed softly against the skin. ❝ s'good. ❞
a maddening truth to swallow, that one. silence has never made a difference between them, words have only ever been cover for the calamity that goes on under it. carefully plucked for those that couldn't catch the underlying conversation, made to blossom and ooze poison lest those around them think them affectionate. god forbid, armand muses with something of a look of restrained pleasure, what would lestat do if there were witnesses to the tenderness that grows with abandon when they're alone to their own devices? who were they when the only performance was the forbearance that comes in their dire collapse inwards? armand quietly regards his swinging feet over the edge of the stone terrace, the city as it twinkles and winks, bright splashes of oranges and reds that only bring a haze of it to the stars. ❝ i can't hide from you. ❞ is what he says, having to clear his throat after, to make room for more. armand turns half his body so that he can glance back, overcome with the old imprint of his affections. in his eyes, a reflection of the moon behind lestat. ❝ thank you for not telling them where i am. it's better this way. ❞
the indifference by which he holds his gaze is carefully kept afloat with a raised chin, each moment that passes another that urges him to leave. ❝ when i was a child, i - i would sneak off to visit the orthodox churches in italy. the stone, you see, it was cool to the touch. i enjoyed pressing my cheek to the cold tile. under all the saints, i found solace only in what was kept from me. i was not orthodox. my god was not gold. ❞ limper, somehow, the man inhales and then turns back to the city. his feet, swinging back and forth. ❝ allow me to rest my cheek. i'll be gone in a moment. ❞
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there aren’t exactly a lot of coincidences left in a world that feeds on itself like this one does. century after century, chewing bone to powder, swallowing grief whole. nothing subtle about what’s happened to them, either. their wounds scream too loud for subtlety, physical manifestos of every private terror they carry around inside themselves. wanting them humbled. wanting them hurt and stumbling and scared. it’s cruel, and it’s petty, and louis can’t help but see the hilarity in it all. because whatever ancient power-that-be keeps trying to carve pieces off of them seems to forget that armand and he are contained by vessels and histories and goddamn ancestries that have paid their price in flesh long before either of them were ever a concept in their parents’ naive little heads. a cut here, a pound there, you don’t need all fingers, you don’t need both ears, eyes, feet, to do the work that needs doing. a dull tool is still a tool. flesh and blood and pain has always been the first negotiable currency to the world that raised them.
it’s armand’s laughter more than anything that has louis huff out an impatient, frustrated breath. gentleness (slowing down, standing still) has never sat naturally in his body, his hands. every attempt feels stiff at the joints, too deliberate to qualify as soft. the gesture means more than the execution ever does, a degree of care reserved for very few, and god, he fucking sucks at this. “shut up.” armand looks at him then, and louis stills, looking down, really looking, at what he’s seeing, what everyone will see now, right alongside what armand fears they’ll all see. makes louis lower the bloodied cloth slowly, so he can focus entirely on the boy and the fear and the question laid in front of him.
“you remember that shitty little gallery in vienna? the bronze statue? i said it was reductionist, trying too hard. you told me the brutality was the beauty. i lost my temper, stormed out. bought it for our anniversary a few months later.”
mean first, tender later. every time. the curls have become living things now, serpentine, curling around louis’s fingers as he lightly brushes them through armand’s hair. his thumb smooths carefully beneath armand’s eye after, following the bloody tear track, briefly pressing the pad of his thumb into his own mouth. still tastes like him alright.
“no. you don’t. you wanna be sure, look in my head. go on.”
swifter, more perceptive in the blood than he lets on, this louis. the roots of their connection run deeper, older than either of them know and yet there feels an obscure detangling here, the very same undoing that brought them here; armand understands more than most that some creatures were simply not meant to live in such close proximity. the symbiotic nature of life aggrieves one more than the other, the grass dies if the trees foliage is too thick. the wolf goes hungry if the raven cannot fly. such is the nature of his connection to louis, a delicate balance of taking and giving - not without greed. no, the greed thrived amongst the undertaking of who they were, but not without the love either. armand can feel it, he's always felt everything louis feels. it was in the interest of louis own pride that armand pretends to be unaware, but here, when they are alone, it hums like a live wire. a barely-there vibration from his heart to whatever creature has survived in louis'. when his blood is tasted, a faint imprint of his affection can be found struggling to hide in his eye.
❝ you despise brutality because you were created within it. your cruelty has only ever made you tender, louis. ❞ armand comes to place louis' jaw in his palm, smoothing his fingers along the underside, grasping his chin so that he can turn it towards him. ❝ do you truly think i can't feel you? that i don't know what's going on in your head, even when you don't want me there? ❞ gravitational allure had it's way with his lover's taste, armand is no different. the brutality of his interests laid, quite simply, in the evidence that what he loved would survive. the pieces they sought, his need to find just who and what might survive the centuries to come, it all came at the expense of louis. louis, who only loved what might never survive. what would fold & crease, what could shatter, be torn. ❝ i feel you. ❞ a thumb comes to spread from the rest of his hand, reaching to run itself just under his bottom lip. tentative, but curious. ❝ i just wanted to hear you say it. ❞