#thevampiremariusderomanus

[perladivenezia]

😍

Send 😍 and my muse will say something they love or admire about your muse.

"It is a long list, you must know." She said, a soft smile on her lips "Your hands, I love, and the look on your face when you are deep in thought. Your resilience, but more precisely how nothing manages to erode or even dent the proud line of your shoulders. Your imposing and noble bearing, that seems to signal some innate right to command any room you walk into. How your presence works that uncanny, baffling effect of slowing time down and make everything feel right. So truly strange."

#thevampiremariusderomanus #//we could be here listing things all day #controlling and prideful and she loves him for it lmao

[auburnandamberangel]

💋

The clock has stroke midnight into the new year. Send me 💋 if you would kiss me:

"Right answer there," Smiling up at Marius. "I might have to hover though."

#thevampiremariusderomanus #The clock has stroke midnight into the new year. Send me 💋 if you would kiss me. #//hello 💖

[complicitsacrilege]

chamomile ⇢ what kind of things do you like receiving as gifts

"I do so love commemoratory gifts given to celebrate even the smallest of occasions. Or gifts given for the simple fact that I was thought of at the time."

#{ god this got lost in my inbox for like 2 weeks RIP } #{ thank you for your patience! } #asked and answered #thevampiremariusderomanus #intheblood

[uncivilcivilservice]

“put ur Spotify on shuffle and write down the first lyric of the first ten songs that come on, post the poem that results” (character playlist edition)

Tagged by @monstersinthecosmos (thank you!)

Devil's Minion Playlist

I can't run anymore, I fall before you

Here I stand, helpless and left for dead

My love are you the devil?

Dare me to jump off of this Jersey Bridge

Turn around

And I'd give up forever to touch you

Looking out across the nighttime

There were nights when the wind was so cold

Tell me again about how it hurts

You know better babe, you know better babe

Armand Playlist

There is a wall in my life built by you

Dearly beloved, for your entertainment

I remember the minute, it was like a switch was flipped

Don't fret precious I'm here

You can run, you can hide

To all things housed in her silence, nature offers a violence

Give me a reason to believe that you're gone

When I was a child I heard voices

There's rotten things left in me

I don't wanna talk right now

I'm an angel? Tell me what you mean by that

Daniel playlist

Cut my life into pieces

Out on your own, cold and alone again

When I was a child they'd ask me where it hurt

Hey little boy is your daddy home? Did he go and leave you all alone?

From birth I'm stained, a creature, all of us one in the same

I can't run anymore

Could it be different? Did I ruin the day?

My grip on secrets slipping while I'm speaking in tongues

Oh, oh I'm getting older

And I'd give up forever to touch you

Marius Playlist (shorter playlist so only 5 lines)

Sweetheart you look a little tired, when did you last eat?

Don't fret precious I'm here

Be still my love

I, I have known love before

I made another mistake

Tagging: @desertfangs @covenofthearticulate @airazor65 @teethingpains @dontbesylly @fangsinclay @thevampiremariusderomanus

#This produced... interesting results haha #not sure there is much by way of a cohesive poem here #But there are some interesting patterns and themes #but yeah my marius playlist only has 12 songs so that didn't feel right #gimme more Marius music plz #But this was fun! I am cringing at some of the songs that came up lol #vc #ask game

[the-apostates-martyr]

@shittyravencarcosa @this-writer-needs-coffee and @fenicenera83 all tagged me in a game!

5 Songs I Actually Listen To

And I'll tag @thevampiremariusderomanus @artificial-absinthe and @beautifuleverevolvingmonster

#Spotify

[artificial-absinthe]

Current top 5 songs.

Tagged by @nosferatu-pvssy

(I must resist the urge to post more than 5)  Excuse the delay .

1. Fly Away by Alexander Veljanov

2. And crayon toxic twins by Feeding Fingers

3. Praying mantis by Onism

4. Ecailles de Lune by Alcest

5. Вечность by Otto Dix

I can't say I interact with those I follow as much, but im going to tag beings that I'm curious about their musical tastes, based on the posts of their blogs .

@ohblushblushblush @ruskeptical @the-apostates-martyr @thevampiremariusderomanus @amne-chan @tendermiasma @theblogginggoth @darija-morgan @le-cabinet-du-garei

#ARTificial Absinthe #Music #Goth #Gothic #Oniric Music #Dark poetic Music #Metal music #Darkened #Gothic rock

[caravaggiovagabond]

@thevampiremariusderomanus cont. from [x] 

Armand gives a soft whine, audible only to immortal ears, and tosses his russet head against the bed sheets, rubbing his face into them as though even the soft cadence of his own voice is grating on his ears.  “Was fun at first. ‘s always fun at first,” he clarifies in a regretful mumble. His voice is uncharacteristically slurred and rough as it takes on a heavier suggestion of that old eastern European sharpness thanks to the alcohol’s influence. “Then this part happens.”  He rolls over slowly once he realises that the bedroom door has been closed again, thankfully shielding his eyes to the harsh yellow light of the hallway. Still he squints as he blinks up at his maker from within the collar of Marius’ much-too-large shirt, large amber eyes trying to focus on him.  “Why are you back so early?” And then, after a beat, “You smell nice.”

#thevampiremariusderomanus

[the-vampire-reporter]

Marius and Daniel by @superhiki

@thevampiremariusderomanus

#thevampiremariusderomanus #marius/daniel

[perladivenezia]

Thevampiremariusderomanus + Hosiery & Exhibition

[Send me a muse/url and a word and I’ll write a sinday drabble]

Marius looked at her as she sat before her vanity, brushing her hair and still in her nightgown.  She could feel his gaze on her even without looking, but she had to find him out of the corner of her eye —discreetly so, as to scare his eyes away— to figure out the intention behind the stare. She looked at her with a pleased and placid expression, with the gentle contentment and appreciation of one who contemplates the reflection of the moon on a quiet lake, surrounded by the soothing whispers of the night. As if for this sole moment, nothing was wrong in the world.

A little smile pulled at her lips. It wasn’t the first time she had caught such a look in his eyes and it filled her with joy every time; to know she could bring him solace, despite the grieves weighting in his heart. Ah, but she could give him more than just solance.

She stood from her ottoman and walked toward the bed parsimoniously. There was no hurry now in their long and slack nights, transcurring one after another in the lazy way that the summer follows the spring. From his seat near the bedroom wall, Marius had a clear view of her as her hands found the open, loose neck of her nightgown and carefully slid it off her shoulders, allowing the garment to pool at her feet. The shift in Marius' expression was subtle but significant. She had his full attention now.

On the bed laid her clothes for the night and she sat next to them. She picked one long, white stocking and slowly slid her foot in, the silk embracing her skin as she pulled it up over her calf and her thigh. Then, under Marius' attentive gaze, she did the same with the other stocking. Next was the two white ribbons that would serve as garters. She picked them from the bed, but then, instead of fasting them herself, she looked at Marius. She held her hand towards him, the ribbons dangling loose from it.

“Come here,” he said in a low voice. She stood from the bed and complied

She took one of the ribbons from her hand and tied it with ease to her thigh. Then he picked the other, but this time his hand slid between her knees and picked up her leg, guiding her foot to the armrest of his seat. She giggled softly, unbothered and rather intrigued by the position she found herself in now. Marius’ fingers curled around her ankle and then travelled up, neatly smoothing down the silk and fondling the skin beneath. His skilful fingers made quick work of the provided ribbon once more, fastening the garter just a bit too tight in a way that made the pliant flesh of her thigh look even plumper. His hand moved past the fabric and squeezed the naked skin while he applied his open mouth to the inner thigh, to the turgid flesh above the snug ribbon he had just tied there.

#//this is set in Dresden btw #//not as kinky as it should be. maybe i will write another one... #thanks for the request hope you like it! #private affairs #vignettes

[auburnandamberangel]

Continued from here @thevampiremariusderomanus

Armand studied Marius' face, reading so much there. After all how could his maker hide anything from this close a vigil, those blue eyes drinking him in just as his brown orbs fuelled by the blood alcohol did. The starry eyed gaze he craved far more than he'd ever admit. A stare of adoration that didn't find him wanting. Or atleast that's what he let himself believe once more. Both of them disarmed in a way. Not expecting a real reply to his question, he wasn't that drunk...yet. "More in general then."

The accompanying smile warming him like the sun, not reading anything other than the fact Marius possibly found himself sweet right now. Nothing to ride rancour, too intoxicated to be vexed. A cherub in this moment by name and nature. If cherubs had histories of ritual massacre and minds like a man trap. The touches up his back, concentrating on that spot between his shoulders welcome. Armands hand still snuck in between buttons moved lightly in time with Marius' caresses. Small circles with delicate ringed fingers on that fine chest.

"More drink and questions with it?" Watching his maker hold the bottle. "Necking." He said suddenly. "-from the bottle." Armand added with glee in his voice, how very uncouth of the elder. How typical he would make the meaning a double entendre. Feeling a blush to his cheeks.

#thevampiremariusderomanus #marius♡armand #drunk meme #send me a 🥃 + a question for my muse to answer. if they refuse to answer they have to take a shot. #//these two drunk equals progress!!

[obediencess]

for @thevampiremariusderomanus​

The radiant day was for lessons, for preparation, trips to the market. It was for ambling across the piazza after the whims of the younger boys, picking up bolts of silk for drapery and the precious pigments the Master would need ground into perfect paint. Riccardo handled all of these things with the finesse of a boy who had grown up among merchants; he knew how to speak their language, and how to drive a bargain as hard as they. The money didn’t matter, he knew. The Master didn’t care about expenditure, but Riccardo was proud to lay the finest Venice had to offer at his feet for a fraction of its usual price. They all came to know him, the little prince who had grown a head in the five years he had been under Marius’ roof, they dreaded the sight of his charming grin which set all the flower girls with their handfuls of wilted hyacinth and iris into fits of giggling.

 In the palazzo, his reputation was equally formidable. The cooks no longer got away with using over-ripe fruit or old meat. He knew all the boy’s names and greeted them all each morning, rattling them off in his bright, musical voice. And they each crowed back in small choruses of his name. It was to Riccardo they came when they were sore, or worried. They brought their small troubles, their petty disagreements, and he soothed and settled them. In the evenings as they ate, he played them songs, agile, scarred fingers plucking the strings with a grace and agility afforded him by the best teachers Venice had to offer. Riccardo oversaw the little ones as they began their smaller tasks, copying from Marius’ work, or from life, adjusting their chalk and providing fresh vellum for them when they inevitably made mistakes. He was the first to climb the scaffold, unafraid of the height, to prepare the Master’s palette for the evening, careful to match his pigments from the previous night’s work if he had run out of paint. In some ways, all of these acts were expressions of Riccardo’s gratitude: he would never take for granted the life Marius had given him. In his fitful dreams the palazzo slipped like cloud vapor from between his fingers. 

He was haunted by the thunderous clack of the looms, the lightning crack of the silk merchants switch against his swollen knuckles. He could not be trusted with the intricacies of the weaving the fine, iridescent threads, clumsy boy they had hissed after him when his small fingers proved too imprecise, small, but trembling with fear of the lash. He was swiftly assigned among the ranks of the unfortunate Tintori, his fingers scarcely touched the fine, heavenly soft thread. They were forever turning the great, long lengths of silk around poles and immersing the braided tails in boiling dye. His small fingers, cracked and dried from the heat were so stiff at day’s end that he could no longer feel them. In that place he had nevertheless glimpsed beauty for the first time. The brocades, soprarizzo and cesselato velvets, in rich indigo and midnight and scarlet. His eyes held all that his hands couldn’t, and they hungrily consumed these rich colours. He came to learn their names, their qualities, and even to admire them in the boiling vats, cascading in thick streams from the threads as he turned each thick rope with raw fingers and hefted them once more into the vat. He would live and die among such colour. He had nightmares on his cot of falling into the boiling vat and drowning in lungful's of hot, vivid indigo blue. And when he woke, coughing in the dark, he imagined the blue tributaries of veins on his hands were streaks of dye. The nearest he had come to such fine things before Marius found him was a length of soft ribbon, which he had held against his cheek when his hands failed to register it. He would not go back. He could not go back. He would become invaluable to his Master, and then such a return would be impossible. He would be worthy of the small price Marius had paid for him. 

It was of the dye he thought this night, high on the Master’s scaffold, setting Marius’ palette for him with all the rich colour’s he required for his newest work. The carmine he had made himself, testing the fine cochineal pigment against the back of his hand in the market the day before. It was so vividly, beautifully red, like the fine velvet cloak his Master wore. (Riccardo often had to resist the urge to reach out and feel the cloak.) He knew it to be the same pigment, made of the same dye. He could see these subtle differences and similarities in colour that his fellow apprentices could not. Blue to them was blue. Blue to Riccardo was Ultramarine, Egyptian Blue, azurite. Before he could read Latin, or write his own name, he knew the names of these colours, these pigments, by their stirring in the great silk vats. He could discern one from the other by their slight tonal differences. He recited them under his breath as he carefully loaded paint onto Marius’ palette, hazel eyes ever rising toward the painting itself to ensure they were mixed correctly. 

The distant sound of the younger student’s, laughing, talking over their work, was little more than ambiance to him, high in the crow’s nest of the scaffolding. He should have known by the softening of their voices, their deferent greetings, that Marius had come, but the task had absorbed him utterly, and when he was at last satisfied with the palette, it was toward the painting, a magnificent fresco, his attention turned. He didn’t dare touch it, though he raised a hand to ghost shy of the features of a beautiful, unnervingly real young man draped in the Greek style, as if he expected to feel warmth coming from him. It was only the shifting of the boards beneath his feet that alerted Riccardo to another presence. Startled, gasping audibly as he whirled around, he dropped the palette. It clattered against the railing and fell to the level beneath them. Riccardo’s face blanched. He knew better than the others that these paints were expensive, and more than that, they were time consuming to properly produce. He slapped a hand against his forehead, smearing a few streaks of Celadonite green paint against his brow, its dull, mossy, transparent luster shining against his olive skin. “Maestro,” he breathed. “Forgive me, I did not hear you. Please, I’ll retrieve it and set it for you again. It will only take me a moment.” He didn’t dare meet Marius’ gaze, afraid of what he might see there: wrath, disappointment, annoyance, benevolence. Or, perhaps far worse: understanding, kindness, forgiveness, patience. 

#thevampiremariusderomanus

[thelostboylonelyworld]

Why Did The Author Kill You Off?

Plot Twist: You Didn't Die

Maybe the story starts with the hero finding out you died, or maybe you're dragged off screen just before a gunshot. Or, possibly, you suffer a wound that no mortal could possibly survive. Then, in the hero's most desperate hour (or just in time for sequel bait), you'll reappear to save the day. Something makes you stronger than most, or perhaps there was simply a grand, miserable sort of miscommunication regarding your status. Nonetheless, just about everyone will be happy to see you, and more than happy to hear the story of how you survived. Just hope that the author won't make a habit of this- otherwise no one will know what to do when you die for real.

//😱🤯😱🤯😱🤯 Wow! This quizz discovered the past/reborn of my Caim!🫠🌹AmaZing!🤩

Tagging: @claudiaindarkness @aeternalis-aelia @hauxtedbeauty @of-ivory-and-gold @thanaredreamtof @thevampireforthesetimes @thevampiremariusderomanus @justjudan247 @lumen-in-tenebris-iii @vitanya-sergienko @ofmercy @leducdeorleans @laiddownwiththedevil @sangcreole @jesscmy @beautifulsavagegarden @house-of-slayterr @honeyandpineapple

#about character #caim levore #thelostboylonelyworld #quizzes #about caim #About Plots; writers and characters #🌼💕🥰

[the-immortal-armand]

📖

August 4th, 1826 

found tucked into the crevice of a wall outside of a once grand palazzo

I know that you will never read this - so it’s more for my own sanity than it is for you... Venice is not the place it once was. Oh, the streets are in the same place, some even have the same name. The canals are the same - but different - darker. The industrial age has polluted them, the crystal clear water is now murky, particles of the air floating about in the water. 

The palazzo... it was rebuilt. 

But it is not as grand as yours. It may have the same structure, but it is not warm, not inviting. There is no laughter within the walls, no friendly conversation, the smell of paint. It is not our home. I do not know why I returned, hoping for some shred of the past still to be here.

Even Bianca’s home is gone, torn down in favor of something larger, more grand. My heart breaks, Maestro. It breaks because nothing is the same, and it is clear now that it never will be. You are gone - beyond my reach - for now. I know that if I were to try and join you, you would be furious with me. But I ache, Maestro. 

I feel so alone.

Here in this place where I had never felt alone. Surrounded by love, laughter, joy. Now there is only sorrow, tears, and pain. 

I must forget you.

But I cannot.

I must forget you if I am to survive.

But my heart is stubborn. 

You know this, how many times did I scream at you that you could never tear me from the walls of the palazzo? That you could never bar the doors against my rage, my passion? 

Those doors were slammed shut - barred - locked - and I rail against them, beat at them - but you do not answer. 

Maestro - 

It hurts, Maestro - 

Please, make it stop. 

If there is one thing you can do for me, Maestro - interfere in but one small way from the Beyond...

Make it stop.

#thevampiremariusderomanus

[the-apostates-martyr]

People I'd like to get to know better

Tagged by @shittyravencarcosa @artificial-absinthe and @akab0mb so thank you!

Last song: Someday by Nickelback. Yes. Shit up

Favorite color- grey. Usually medium smokey grey

Currently watching- America's Next Top Model because I'm reality TV trash

Last movie/show - Home Alone, for the first time

Spicy/savory/sweet- salty!

Last thing you Googled - a local thrift store to see if it was tied to a church

Imma tag- @thevampiremariusderomanus @fenicenera83 @rijinks @this-writer-needs-coffee and @immortalsarcasm

[the-queen-of-the-damned]

Rebirth

@thevampiremariusderomanus

When she said it, something in his chest fluttered: together.  

He barely knew what it was like to be without her presence in his life– these decades were nothing compared to the centuries he kept her safe, adored.  

The sweetness in her voice was confusing to him, though.  It made her seem like a vulnerable woman, the opposite of the cold one who sat at the end of their table and told them her terrible plan of extermination and rebirth.  Maybe this was a ruse and he was being played like a fool.  This did occur to him, and he knew she was not above such a game.  Not the Akasha he knew.  Not the regal Queen who had manipulated him his entire immortal life.  The one who had cruelly revealed that even after 2,000 years she never cared about him.  He would not let himself become that fool.  Never again.

But she had never touched him before and her hand on his chest made him feel… exalted. It made him swell with a tenderness that pushed aside, at least for now, his wariness, his hurt.  Outside the cloud of his own bitterness, Marius could see the despair in her eyes and hear it in her voice.

There was a war pulling him in opposite directions: love and hate.  

“It’s only been 35 years,” he told her gently.  So that was what she was: a spirit given form.  He knew such spirits existed because he knew Gremt, he knew his own sister in the Blood Hesketh.  Processing her words, he nodded, “Yes, Amel is gone from you.  He has his own body now, and his own voice.  This place is the new home of our kind.  Your children gather here under one roof and we offer friendship and protection.  Do you really not remember what happened that night?  What is the last thing you remember?”

All she felt was confusion. She clasped her hands before her tightly, eyes darting around wildly. Yes, she knew Amel was gone. But then - how was Marius here? She frowned, looking at him. “His own body? How is that possible?” She asked. “How are you still alive? All of you?” Her children gathered under one roof. Again. Friendship and protection. “Are they my children? Are they not Amel’s children?” 

Her upper lip curled as she looked over him slowly. “I remember... arguing with you all. Lestat - he -” She looked away from him. “He betrayed me. You all - all of you turned against me...” She looked over the horizon, taking in the cool night air, straightening slightly. “With the Witch. You all sided with the Witch.” She shook her head, disgust in her tone.

“Then... darkness. I felt... I felt the attack. Felt the dizziness, and I couldn’t take a breath. The darkness just - it went on and on. And then I could hear things... little things, then I could make out shadows...” She turned to look back at him. “And all I could think was that... I needed to open my eyes. I needed to wake up. I felt like I was trapped. And before I knew, I could feel the earth beneath me again. I was here...” She gestured around.

#rebirth #thevampiremariusderomanus #akasha and marius

[caravaggiovagabond]

7. Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

Character Development “Hard Mode” Meme: send a number & character to my ask box  and I’ll write an answer/headcanon in reply. 

I like to work on the assumption that vampires can dream in their death sleep, so in Armand’s case yes, absolutely. I think that the palazzo and Marius burning would be obvious ones that are bound to make an appearance, but working along the lines of something a little bit more niche - I imagine there’s a decent chance that his attempted and consequently failed turning of Riccardo would be a very frequent one. He was never the same after that. It’s bad enough to accidentally kill your best friend, but the scene which followed where it was too late to save him was particularly gut-wrenching. I believe it to be a big contributing factor as to why he was so hesitant for so long to make any fledglings of his own, I think it would be very difficult to face after associating the act with that trauma. 

For bonus points - I think that the Riccardo-centric dreams would be likely to then morph into Daniel-centric dreams, given the fact that those are the only two occasions where he attempted to make another vampire, and neither of them worked particularly well for him. 

#// thank you! <3 #thevampiremariusderomanus