#vc fic

Happy Birthday to our beloved Ash Rice @covenofthearticulate! ♥️💝🎉

Louis and Lestat, commissioned by @wicked-felina and @nyanakin from the talented @maikuuro, based on a scene in Ash’s incredible fic The Middle Ground:

Even Lestat’s eyes are different up close; blown wide and glassy like bloodshot crystal swallowing the scant warm light from the lamp across the room and refracting it into a million brilliant pieces. They lock onto him with such frightening desperation as his fingers grip Louis’ arm so tight it hurts. Again, he kisses Louis. And again, Louis kisses back.

Marius/Mael | Rated E | 62k

The knock at the door is uncharacteristically gentle.

They don’t usually knock anyway, do they? 

Marius’s neck strains and he doesn’t bother lifting his head, sore eyes staring, waiting, for the ashamed way it finally cracks open.

Mael doesn’t say anything right away. Peers in at first, studying, before he lets himself inside. Only opens the door wide enough for his body to slip through, closing it so quietly behind him.

Angry words are right behind the gate, ready for Marius if he needs them, if Mael is going to act demure about all of it again, but he says nothing. His fingers tap nervously against a bottle that he sets down on the bench, and for a moment Marius expects him to sit there, too, but he comes closer.

Not quite in arms reach, but he sinks down to the floor by the bed, his back to the fire. It lights up the stray hairs that stick up from his head, from his fancy braids, but casts his face in shadow.

“Are you…” he begins, and stops himself. 

Marius’s stomach churns. 

His whole body is stiff from curling in bed all day, but a stubborn bit of pride spikes inside him. He pushes himself up, so that they’re eye-to-eye, tries to straighten his shoulders. 

When Mael doesn’t continue, Marius rolls his eyes.

“Am I what?”

“Are you feeling better?”

“That’s a complicated question,” Marius says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Would you like to be more specific? Do you mean from when I was ill? Or when your men hit me over the head? Or when—”

When you ignored me for days, Marius almost says, but stops himself.

“When you were ill,” Mael says quietly. “But you seemed quite upset last time we spoke. I suppose I’m asking if you’re… still upset.”

“Stupid thing to ask.”

#VCKinkFest returns July 31st - August 3rd to celebrate all of the eroticism of the Vampire Chronicles with a brand new prompt format, ready to inspire your creativity.

𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔱𝔰

Each day is assigned five prompts, including quotes from the books as well as specific concepts and acts. But all are up to you to interpret- 'collared', for example, could be a literal collar or a more metaphorical act. Day 4's quote could be about the concept of being a captive specimen, or a canon divergent fic exploring the literal contents of the quote. Anything goes!

And remember, kink doesn't have to mean explicitly sexual. Non-smut explorations of a prompt are completely welcome.

𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔫 ℑ 𝔰𝔲𝔟𝔪𝔦𝔱?

Anything! Posts can be in the form of (but are not limited to): ❧ Fic ❧ Art ❧ Meta ❧ Headcanons ❧ Graphics

No time to write a whole fic? Imagines (ex: "Imagine Armand collaring Louis at Trinity Gate..." or "Imagine if Marius had lost self control and turned Bianca before Santino arrived...") where you just write out a few sentences or paragraphs of a concept are totally welcome!

Re-posts of older works are encouraged too. Creativity doesn't have an expiration date and neither should your contributions to fandom. So feel free to reblog a fic you wrote a long time ago, or meta you feel is relevant. As long as it goes with a prompt then you should definitely share and invite anyone who might not have seen the work to enjoy it now.

Just make sure to tag your posts #VCkinkfest so that everyone can follow the tag and see them, and I can reblog them here on my page.

𝔔𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰?

Questions about the meaning of a prompt? Afraid your work doesn't suit the fest? Inbox me or send a DM and I'll do my best to help you out!

Valenfangs ~ Day 12: Bondage

Lestat tentatively reaches out with his bound hands, fingers outstretched, only to startle slightly when a hand settles on his, covering them and causing him to retract his fingers back into loose fists, and holds them still. It's then that he hears a soft chuckle and he imagines the playful look of amusement of Nicki's face at having made him jump with just a single light touch.

The hand covering his own moves to hold him by the wrists, joining the ribbon in holding them firmly together; there's something tantalising in knowing how little control he has in the moment, helpless to pull away or reach out with his hands literally tied, Nicki grasping him by the wrists, not even applying pressure as if he knows the hold he has over Lestat in that moment, knowing he won't do anything more than allow himself to be caught.

A delicate kiss is pressed to his knuckles and he relaxes his shoulders, not realising they had been tense in the first place. He feels the touch of Nicki's lips to his knuckles a second time, followed by another, then his breath catches in his throat when a finger is taken into the heat of Nicki's mouth. Lestat's own lips part just slightly at the sensation, a sharp exhale escaping him when Nicki starts to suck, the pad of his finger resting against his tongue.

[A03 Senseless]

Excavating the Past [AO3]

Daniel Molloy & David Talbot, Armand/Daniel - 4,159 words

I wrote this for the @vamptember prompt "Talamasca Storage Room" for Day 24 (I'm a day late, that's on me, I had the date for the prompt wrong in my notes! Whoops!)

This was just an excuse to put Daniel and David together in the same room and I had a lot of fun with it. I love putting Daniel in frustrating situations (who doesn't?)

This is also for @fofoqueirah, I hope I did David justice! And thanks to everyone who encouraged me on this!

Summary: Daniel turns to David Talbot for help in get something back from the Talamasca.

Short Excerpt:

“Daniel Molloy,” David said. He smiled the polite amount. “I must admit, I was surprised when I heard you wanted to chat.” 

“I appreciate you seeing me,” he said.

“Of course.” David gestured for him to enter the penthouse and led him through to the sitting room. The curtains were open wide to let in the moonlight and the view of London. The room had wood floors and wood beams exposed across the ceiling. It was decorated with antiques, Renaissance paintings, and taxidermy animals. A tiger crouched in the corner by the door as if ready to pounce. Marius would love this place. Daniel found it busy, like being in a museum’s storage room. 

“How could I turn down a visit from the boy reporter himself?” David’s lips twisted conspiratorially, as if they were sharing a joke. 

Daniel clenched his fists inside his pockets. He had only briefly met David and they’d never been in a room alone. He knew Jesse had respected him greatly as a mortal, and that he had helped Lestat when he was in peril, but he couldn’t forget the way he’d gone to Armand in a time of weakness and cajoled him into spilling his guts out for the sake of a book. 

“For the sake of our kind,” David said. “To record the tales of those who will tell them. Everyone’s story has value. I think that’s something we can agree upon, isn’t it, Mr. Molloy?”

Daniel managed not to wince.

Chapters: 36/36 Fandom: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022), Vampire Chronicles Series - Anne Rice Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac, Armand/Daniel Molloy Characters: Lestat de Lioncourt, Louis de Pointe du Lac, Daniel Molloy, Armand (Vampire Chronicles), Raglan James, Aaron Lightner, Seth (Vampire Chronicles), Fareed Bhansali, Original Characters, Marius de Romanus, Ciprien Grieve Additional Tags: Post-Episode: s02e08 And That's The End of It. There's Nothing Else (Interview with the Vampire TV), Post Current Canon, POV Louis de Pointe du Lac, I'm going to tag this, Slow Burn, even though these are established, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, dark themes, relearning each other, Getting to know oneself, Finding the truth, Canon-Typical Violence, Vampire Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood Drinking, there is a lot of crying as is canon, and a lot of talking, Reunions, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Filling out the gaps, Healing, Arguing Summary:

As the dust settles, Louis tries to find back to life - maybe to find Lestat, definitely to find himself. As with all things, this is easier said than done though, their relationship has not been likened to a hurricane for nothing after all, and the devil is definitely in the details.

Final chapter is up!! This is what we need    

They look at each other, for a long moment, and then Louis clears his throat, slowly putting the book back up, pretending to read. It’s an interesting one, this, the book that was made into a movie a while back. ‘Annihilation’.

He carefully puts a bit of tease into the words, while shoving the dread into a neat little box. With a bow. “So is your distraction worth the while?”

He can feel Lestat chuckle silently, and then a hand pushes in, under his crotch, up against his perineum through the cloth, rubbing softly.

He cannot help it, he undulates, cursing softly.

Lestat’s teeth flash, his voice carrying a rumble. “I would say so?”

Louis shoots him a look, over the top of the page that he is quite uninterested in by now.

He clicks his tongue, making his voice very much aloof. “You know what we talked about the other night?”

Lestat’s eyes flash, his hand stilling. “Yes?”

Louis licks his lips, still staring over the edge of the book at Lestat. “Well, you know, I was thinking…”

Lestat’s face transforms with an anticipatory leer. “Oh?”

Louis refuses to blush. And he refuses to hit Lestat with the book. “Yeah, so I have this thing in mind…” He pauses, his throat suddenly dry. It’s not a matter of shame, they’ve done… worse, so to say, more a matter of knowing that if he voices it… then Lestat will indulge him.

Hard, cold, like glass or metal, yet flexible and organic– and always just the edge, the maddening edge. Daniel would recognize those nails anywhere. His subconscious was straining toward that touch before the world began to imprint on the backs of his eyelids, and his desperation drew it into rapid focus. Those nails stroked, stroked, until his skin hummed with pleasure. 

The room revealed itself. Nightstand, lamp. Snowflakes drifting past the high-rise window. Digital clock flashing red numbers into the dark. And then the white figure above him, blotting out the haze of the ceiling, burnished by the distant city lights. 

“Good evening, Daniel.” 

Armand. 

He was wearing wool today— white silk shirt, dark wool pants, hair like a halo around his angelic face. He gazed down at Daniel with utmost tenderness, and as Daniel blinked blearily Armand’s fingertips slid to trace his ear instead. There was joy swelling up within Daniel– bright, boundless, ineffable joy– but Daniel wouldn’t show it. He squinted at the clock instead. 

“How long have you been here for?”

“An hour and a half.”

The numbers finally made sense– seven in the evening. Far into the dense darkness of New York’s winter nights. Daniel let his head fall, eyes drifting closed again, and Armand tucked his hair behind his ears. 

“So you just sat here and watched me sleep?” 

“Does that disturb you?”

“If that was enough to disturb me,” Daniel muttered, “I would have run off a long time ago.”

There was a breath above him— laughter. Yet warmth kindled within Daniel at the idea of Armand’s company, at being helpless at his mercy, and he hated it, for he knew Armand could feel it in his mind along with him. He glanced up nonetheless. 

The fond smile. The warm, loving eyes. Those heavy lashes low, fingers curling around the shell of Daniel’s ear.

Awake for five minutes and Daniel was already feeling like this. 

“You look beautiful when you sleep,” Armand murmured. “So innocent when you’re unguarded.”

That warmth sparked to blazing life. Daniel was aware of his pulse now, dull in his chest. The fingertips left his ear, trailing lightly over his throat instead. Submandibular, jugular. Could Armand feel his heart pounding just beneath his skin?

He wouldn’t think of this. He stared at his desk, ignoring the way those nails traced his veins in small, langurous circles. His desk, which was covered in crumpled notes, ashtray overflowing, empty beer bottles casting jewel-toned shadows where the light caught them. What had he been doing before he’d fallen asleep? Trying to write. Some fraction of some interview with someone he’d already forgotten. In his notepad, because his typewriter needed a ribbon.

It had needed a ribbon for a few months now. And the notepad was empty on his desk, and his pen had fallen somewhere beneath it long ago.

Yes.

He’d merely been waiting for this.

(S)he’s the giggle at a funeral on ao3.