When he was very small, too small to be more than a warm bundle in her arms, she had begun to whisper to him in Italian. With this child she had refused to have a wet nurse—this was the first and the only to sleep and suckle sweetly at her breast, his little milky mouth grasping at her, his hands caressing her absently, patting her gently before his eyes closed into a world of soft infant dreams. And so it was that she held him to her, softly murmuring the language of her thoughts to his small pink ears, creating within him a keeping place for her memories and her precious lost Naples.
When he grew older, too old to be held or petted, she could not help but wonder what, if anything, he had retained of her lyrical secrets. Occasionally she’d catch a slipped word in another language from his child-speak, his syntax already questionable at an early age. He seemed confused sometimes, not sure if there was a difference between sognare and rêver, mixing his tongues into an amalgamation which only she seemed to comprehend.
Already she knew: they would never understand him, no matter how good his French.
Tag Archives: damn you and your perfect headcanon perfection
In Blackwood Farm, Lestat says his name is “compounded of the first letter of each of my six older brothers’ names.” Is that true? Whose brilliant idea was that? Were you that disinterested in choosing an actual name for him?
-sighs-
This is a falsehood.
When he was very young, his brothers (not known for their kindness), told him this story. They made it quite clear to him that his parents, having no love left for him after six children, took the laziest route possible in naming him.
This is, of course, an utter lie. I’ve already told the story here of Lestat’s naming—and I’ve also explained this to him many times (he tends to accept this story as a part of his own mythology, unfortunately).
He does, from time to time, need reminding that his name, just like my love for him, was not accidental in nature. He is, and ever will be, my Lestat. Thus I named him, and thus I keep him.
And his brothers are dead. So there’s that.
(he tends to accept this story as a part of his own mythology, unfortunately).He picks and chooses his own mythology, for SURE.
Kissed
Send 'Kissed' and I’ll generate a number from 1 to 45 to determine where your muse has kissed mine and how my muse reacts!5. LipsThey’d argued again tonight, or rather, Armand had stood before him, exasperated as he pleaded with Louis to feel again, to love him, be joyous with him, whilst Louis himself had simply sat apathetic in his chair, listening more closely to the music of Frank Sinatra that played upon their radio than to his companion of years.
He’d died within that courtyard with her eighty-some years ago, and no matter how much or often Armand wished to prop up his walking corpse and attempt to appease him, little would change the fact that he now felt nothing. Louis was certain it would be only a short stretch of time before the elder vampire left him, and yet he felt nothing for that either.
It had been sudden—Armand’s lips crushing themselves against his, Louis’ eyes widening only slightly in reaction. The kiss expressed all that his companion—lover—had spoken of, yet allowed him no room to ignore.
For a quick and fleeting moment, his heart clenched with realization that perhaps in some other circumstances, they could have been happy.
My Scholar, My Victim, My Love
There is a peculiar irony that the healthiest and brightest relationship I have ever had has been wrought from quite possibly my most despicable act of depravity to date. I do not dwell much on it- possibly out of some sort of suppressed shame, but most likely because I simply do not see the point. Of course, I am thankful and quite frankly astounded things turned out as well they did, as I fully expected David to hate me from now to eternity- whenever that may be for him.
What surprises me even more is how willing I was to grant David his autonomy. And how easy it was. Almost immediately after our short-lived holiday to Rio de Janeiro, we had parted ways. It had not been sad at all. We did not leave each other on bad terms, quite the opposite it fact. Instead, we left with a profound understanding of one another and a camaraderie I confess to have never known. Even among my brothers in the Auvergne I had not felt such kinship. Especially not among my brothers. And had it ever been so simple with the others? Absolutely not.
Nicolas had been a mistake, I am willing to admit it now after so many years, hailed into the blood by his maker’s blindness and foolhardy sense of justice. Despite the love between us there will forever be a rift between myself and Gabrielle that will never fully satisfy and will always drive us away from one another. And I had all but strangled Louis and Claudia in my fear and desperation for love. But David- my scholar, my victim, my love- saw me and accepted me. Knew me for the monster I was and still loved me. Even when my betrayal sucked him down to the pits of darkness, David’s devotion outweighed his anger. I should be ashamed of myself, but I am not. I would do it to him one thousand times over.
Selfies
Her favourite gift that Lestat had given her was not, as he might hope, the cellular mobile phone with which she might communicate with him. She carried that little device purely so that he would not rail at her upon her infrequent returns to him.
No, it was instead the gift he’d give to her for her birthday (or was it Christmas?) in 2012: the Olympus OM-D camera.
With this she had begun to document her travels, to capture images of parts of the world no mortal had ever seen. She took photo after photo, enchanted by the way in which the camera could capture light, even in darkness, and by its ability to also capture her own visage and form at play within her locales.
Perhaps it was a boon to Lestat, too—she sent him emails and books filled with photos now—not often, no, but enough that her communication with him became what he might even call constant.
Sometimes she might send a photograph of herself behind the curtain of a waterfall, taken carefully at night with the use of the quick shutter and the artful little timer. Sometimes it was the animals she encountered in the canopies of trees.
But her favourite way to tease him was to send images taken with the camera in hand, turned towards herself, whatever location she’d found herself in behind her. She might, if he was lucky, offer a small smile. He had told her that these were called “selfies,” in this modern day, a type of self-portrait. Though she failed to see the allure, she knew it tickled him to receive them.
Value Me (//I hope I’m not too late for this)
What do I think about you? Where do I even begin?
You are the savior of our kind, the one who ensured our continued salvation and our new Queen. My life and that of my fledgling are in your debt.
You are one of the oldest, one of the few to have managed our extended existence without a break, without going to ground. You have my admiration and I wish to learn how you have done such a thing.
You walk the line between your mortal family who you love and your immortality. I can only hope to learn the secret to how you love so deeply yet are able to let go.
You have suffered much pain and loss and yet you continue to be positive and loving. I want to be more like you.
Our hair may be similar but the rest of our beings are so very different. The world needs more people like you and less people like me. I want to be your apprentice, to follow you through the world and maybe, someday become as admired, as strong, and as loving as you. My Queen.
The world needs more people like you and less people like me. ;A;
How would you have felt if you had a child with akasha?
Proud. I would have been proud, and I would have seen to it that there were more to follow. As desperately as she tried for an heir in our living years, as much as it wounded her heart and my pride to have nothing come of our efforts, I would have been relieved and overjoyed. Even if that child lived a mortal’s years and knew Anubis…were they alive and against me, I would still be proud.
#RIGHT IN THE FEELS #damn you and your perfect headcanon perfection
A misconception may be that people thinks he’s a hopeless emo.
Send me a misconception you think people have about my character and I'll explain if it's true or notooc; OH YES I’M GLAD SOMEONE SENT ME THIS ONE. To be honest, I feel like the super-whiny emo misconception stems partially from the movie? Because as much as I love the IwtV movie, I feel like there were some key things missing with him (which is honestly understandable with a movie adaption of a book).
The thing about Louis is that he actually doesn’t hate himself. Louis has an immense ego, which is something he himself spoke of in Interview with the Vampire. He’s such an immense perfectionist, I feel, that he doesn’t always know how to cope with his own failures. He falls into self-loathing because he honestly can’t deal with imperfections within himself. But even in his times of “brooding,” his ego still rears its head. He believed that he wanted to die in 1791, but could never let it happen. His ego wouldn’t allow it.
As a mortal man, Lestat “crushed his ego,” but once they were on an equal playing field as vampires, he began to see him differently and within his first night as an immortal, felt he was superior to Lestat. His feeding on rats was just as much a battle of pride as it was his sentimental feelings for humans.
Lestat and himself constantly get into these little ego battles, with the rats, with the Frenieres, with Claudia, with Lestat’s choices of victims, with Lestat’s every rash decision later on. Like, Louis definitely isn’t a pushover. One of the reasons Lestat made him was to be his “conscience,” and he certainly has to be an equal to serve that role.
Louis does go through periods where he just lets himself become apathetic and drift, but he never lets himself fade away and disappear.
Which I think is partially his ego and partially that he waits for Lestat to revitalize him like he’s fucking Sleeping Beauty and Lestat is Prince Charming. Honestly, they both need each other so much.I think the fact that Louis has never went to ground is a testament to his strength. And even when Lestat’s losing it, he generally remains sane and by his side until a point comes that he just can’t anymore and has to leave. Because Louis is very self-serving and capable of loving Lestat from a distance while Lestat’s doing something loony like Rowan fucking Mayfair.
99% of the time that Louis’ sitting around appearing emo, he’s just beating himself up for doing something wrong because~~~perfectionist first-born son.
Am I turning into a merciful-death reblogging blog? I’m sorry. It’s just that I agree with it so much and I can’t help but want to s h a r e.
◎ What’s the kinkiest thing you ever did with Lestat?
Put ◎ in my ask. My muse will answer any question you ask them. Even if it’s secret.
Ah, Dieu. This question. I do not know if this example fully suffices.
It was 1984, London, shortly after Lestat and I’s visit to the then-mortal David Talbot in the Talamascan Motherhouse. Lestat had insisted upon making the most of our impromptu visit to the English city, and he did indeed follow through on his whim of gifting me an overcoat, long and black, lined with fur, although I wore it only twice, both times for him.
We were to visit the Tower of London, as he suggested, but he insisted upon first getting me “proper” clothing so I should deal with the cold. To my dismay, we broke into a department store that had already closed for the evening. He thought it was wonderful fun and started shoving me around the various clothing racks, shouting loud enough that I was certain some security officer somewhere surely must have heard. He laughed and threw a bundle of clothing into my hands, insisting that I put them on for him.
As frustrating as he was being, I could not deny that the autumn air chilled me, and my loose sweater was hardly sufficient for warmth. Despite my inner acknowledgement of that, however, the two of us began to further bicker. I had stormed off at that point, wandered near the jewelry counters, when he finally pounced upon me, ripping my threadbare clothing off and insisting he would dress me himself if I would “behave so childishly;” although I still believe that it was himself that was acting such.
As with many of our arguments, there came a point in which we both tired of it, and one must understand that despite our reunion prior to the concert, the two of us truly had not had much time together at all by that point. We missed each other tremendously, but I suppose I would be less likely to admit to it than he.
I believe it was I that initiated it that time, grasping him by his lapels and forcing him into a kiss.A kiss lead to his attire disappearing, and while I was caught unawares, he had tied my hands together to some contraption on the counter with the very tie he intended me to wear. We explored one another in a way we had not in such a long stretch of time. Not even the night of our initial reunion were we allowed it, with his band mates moving about.
He’d bit into my thigh, and I do not quite recall how, but the counter behind me then slid and broke apart. It did not cease our intimacy, although moments later there was the sound of sirens and I became keenly aware of the security camera above us, as did Lestat. He put his new abilities to good use and destroyed them—but not after a jest that he should find the tapes and take them home for our personal collection. Which, I do believe he did collect, for the purpose of there not being evidence, he said. I’m certain he still has it somewhere.
We were cleaned up and out of the building before the police arrived, running about London half-dressed. I wore only that coat he had chosen up until we reached a private room where it was once more removed.
It was certainly an evening.
In The Queen of the Damned Lestat did appear on film so if vampires can have photos taken I will bet you $20 Lestat eventually adapts to take surprise selfies with Louis, then put them all together to make a half-assed video using Windows Movie Maker with the music being A Thousand Years by Christina Perri. He forces Louis to watch it with him.
He’s so damn pleased with himself.
He doesn’t just do this to Louis. Let us not speak about last Christmas.
The coven submits to participating in Lestat’s “films” to avoid his tantrums at any resistance. The finished products are occasionally humorous if only bc it’s obvious that he’s the only one really having fun.
Of course his collection of surveillance footage is a different story…
I-want-my-IWTV 