Retail Therapy – for @Necrodruidlife
To: @necrodruidlife
From: Rebness (@wicked-felina on here, yo)
My prompt was:
For my gift, I would love to see Lestat being pushy/bossy/melodramatic and Louis being clearly (but perhaps not all together obviously) into it.
Rating: Mature, nothing major, though (sorry, folks)
Words: 1591 (extra sorry, folks)
Pairings: Louis/LestatLestat was in a blissful daze…
Merry Christmas to you all!
Tag Archives: damn you and your perfect headcanon perfection
Our Conversation – Second Night
When he woke up, it was with a smile. Already unsettling enough, but he found that the smile didn’t leave so easily either. His head was always full of too many thoughts, but today was different. It was his heart that was full and his head seemed unable to hold on to anything.
Back in Paris, Nicolas had friends who seemingly fell deeply in love with someone new every week and he’d always felt removed from it all, looking on with a sarcastic sneer and that roll of his eyes that was almost as feared as the sharpness of his tongue.
What would they say if they could see him now? This wasn’t him. He couldn’t be the one to keep thinking about eyes that seemed to change their shade when passion overtook them, kisses from an all too generous mouth and feeling as if he was still set aflame just from the memory. It was ridiculous.
And who was the cause? A noble pauper, who’d already fucked more than half the girls in the village and then some. No idea of the world, but a laugh that brightened it nonetheless and a head filled with naive nonsense that somehow still showed more intelligence than all his learned friends back in the city. No wonder he was captivated. But did his heart have to beat like this whenever he thought of him?
Everything else faded into the background, the whole day and whoever he had to talk to, he barely paid any attention to it. He couldn’t focus on eating, couldn’t focus on a single thing, even the violin only distracted him for moments at the time, because his fingers hadn’t yet learned how to dance to the music that played within him now.
By the time it was dark, he still had no idea what to think and was getting a bit too much of an idea about what he felt. He sat in his chair, one knee drawn up to his chest, kicking his other foot against the chair’s legs. He was ridiculous.
Yet when he heard the sound of pebbles being thrown against his window, it only took him a moment to get up and open it up. He wasn’t surprised to see Lestat standing downstairs, as if he’d expected to see him there. As if they had arranged for it.
“Do you want to come down and go on with our Conversation?”
Nicolas didn’t hesitate. He gave no reply and simply closed the window, but only to throw on his coat, grab his violin and literally run down the stairs as he hadn’t done since he was a young boy. There had been no reply needed. The smile was back and it said it all.
The door fell shut behind him and he was already by Lestat’s side, hoping that his eyes didn’t give it all away, yet putting a hand on his hip at the same time. Oh, to hell with it all.
“Let’s talk more.”
What do you love most about Lestat?
My muse HAS to answer everything truthfully for one hour, starting now!It is impossible to expect me to give one definitive answer. To love in such a manner, it is not a matter of picking favorite traits.
I love his vigor. He’s not one to allow himself to become bored or secluded easily. He does not think before he acts. He simply does, and I have always envied him for being able to live in such a way.
I love his capacity to love others. Lestat sees in humanity all of the positives, of which I also cannot claim to fathom for myself. He sees beauty in all. There is no being in this world that he does not feel is important in some way.
I love the forgiveness that he is capable of giving.
I love his seductiveness, his tenderness, and even his cruelty.
I love him as a whole.
Nicki and Lestat snuggling after that part in The Vampire Lestat. You know the one. Nicki looks not as wild as I drew him in the past, maybe that reads as him getting the crazy fucked out.
#headcanon accepted
What was your thought process when you left Nicolas with the very people who broke him further than you did? I’m reading the vampire Lestat and was just wondering why you thought it was a good idea.
What alternative was there? Should I have dragged him around Europe with us in the search for Marius and for the answers that I did not have? What about when Gabrielle finally left and I lost all hope? Would he have gone to ground with me? Would he have been careful in his feeding habits when unleashed and roaming the countryside? And when I was rescued by Marius….when I finally looked upon Akasha’s face, would he have stood by my side?
I think not. It was he that returned to Renaud’s and it was he that formed The Theater of the Vampires! He hated the sight of me and I him but for different reasons….I hadn’t perished, the light never left me despite my descent into darkness! And he was a madman….half broken creature of dark genius! Would he have been happy to leave Paris? To stare at my face every evening and leave his music behind?
You know the answer if you are reading. Why ask me the questions to which you already know the answers? Are you attempting to demonize and damn me once more? Are you attempting to point out my mistakes when they parade themselves before me again on a nightly basis?
I have laid it bare at your feet and my sins are available at any time for you to browse and review over and over if you like. I am done with them, a tired tune indeed! Ask me no more!
I will find a way to give Nicolas purpose again but I realize that together, we do nothing but poison the well over and over until neither of us can drink.
Do you have a tag for VC facts?
Yes and No!
Lemme just explain a thing real quick tho first, there are differnt types of VC “facts,” and you might find something of what you’re looking for here anyway:
- Canon facts – facts explicitly stated in canon, like that Daniel’s eyes are violet, or Claudia’s birthday is September 29.
- Authorial facts – facts not explicitly stated in canon but AR gave us, like that Louis’ birthday is October 9 and Lestat’s birthday is November 7. Some fandom ppl accept these into their own headcanon and some ppl do not.
- Fanon “facts” – “facts,” or rather, info and stories that some fandom ppl have accepted into their headcanon that was generated in fanfic or fanworks, or wherever, like the fact that the eighth de Lioncourt was a girl.
- headcanon – what individual fans believe as true facts, which might be an original idea or from one of the above categories.
^SO WITH ALL THAT IN MIND, here are some tags* where you might find any combination of those things:
- #headcanon – collected headcanons from myself and/or others.
- #damn you and your perfect headcanon perfection – some of my fave collected headcanons from myself and/or others, usually from RPers.
- #iwantmyiwtv headcanon/iwantmyiwtvheadcanon – my own headcanons.
- #Its CANON bitch – specific canon facts are mentioned.
*and unfortunately (or really, fortunately, in my opinion), some other fandoms are mixed into my tags because as pure as I try to keep this, other media/ideas/fandoms/etc. have found their way onto this blog bc of reasons. Good reasons.
What are Daniel’s and Armand’s orders at Starbucks?
vagabonddaniel-recordedarchives:
I usually order americanos, because I like the strong scent of coffee. I can’t taste it ever again but the aroma is enough to bring back memories. Armand will order anything in a hot cup, so people can’t see how much he hasn’t drunk while we sit there for hours playing card games or watching people walk by. Sometimes he orders their weirder concoctions just to poke at them and see what they look and smell like. Last time we were there, he ordered peppermint mochca.
He also insists on doing the ordering after the time I told them his name was Lestat and a goth guy said, “Little short for the vampire Lestat, aren’t you?” I think he was flirting but Armand nearly threw the coffee in his face.
🕗 1986
Send me 🕗 and a year and I will give you a glimpse at what my character’s life was like at that point in time.
1986. You were new in the blood and full of wonder, spinning in circles as you saw each corner of the cities that we had chased each other around afresh. And more, increasingly more each night I found myself daring to be happy, letting you open me to each experience. It didn’t really matter if we lost our way on the paths we blazed through cities; it just meant more to discover with you. The nights were ours and we were equals in them at last, the sensation of your teeth breaking my skin juxtaposed with neon lights and endless possibility.
And of course, there was always the Night Island to return to; always the crash of the surf to stand in, the beach to wander at will together in intense conversation, and the gleaming white fortress of our own Villa of the Mysteries. It was idyllic. It was everything either of us had ever hoped for, everything I had denied myself and everything that I now gave myself over to.
I will never regret that time, regardless of where the future leaves us.
Happiest memory?
-sighs-
First of all, fuck you.
Second of all. Well.
It was summer. One of the more sweltering that I remember. We were at least a month into being truly lovers, not just friends, and he’d dragged me out into the hills in search of a stream. We each had a bottle of wine (or two?) and he was carrying bread, cheese, and cherries; I had my violin.
It took almost an hour to find it. Mon dieu, but it was so hot. The sort of hot that is like a curtain before you, like a wet blanket that covers your body. By the time we found the stream, we’d both stripped off our shirts, and I remember worrying my feet would have swollen in my boots.
We stripped off our clothing and immediately took to the water. Now, remember, these are cool mountain streams, even in summer. It was glorious. Bathing, drinking, splashing each other, wrestling. Then making love on the grass, our breath coming hard, our cries building until the little death, and then collapsing beside each other in happy, satisfied exhaustion.
We drank wine for hours and ate, the cherry juice staining our fingers and mouths, our lazy kisses a mixture of sweat and fruit. I remember almost weeping at the perfection of it, turning into his neck and burying my face there because I knew it wouldn’t last, that the sunlight and sweetness and poetry of it would end, as it always did.
Before we left, I remember he grabbed me ‘round the waist and kissed me, then pulled back and looked me in the eye. If you don’t know him, you can’t know how penetrating, how soul-piercing that gaze can be–he loves with perfect trust, and it’s absolutely terrifying.
“I love you. I will always love you.”
The real horror is that I believed him. Utterly.
Is there one instance in your childhood, no matter how small, where you remember a moment of great love with your mother?
Yes, and I have already detailed this in my memoir The Vampire Lestat. It was in the the days following the wolf hunt when I returned home feet-dragging like a jaded warrior, eyes haunted by ghosts of the battlefield. Gabrielle came to me as I lay curled in my room, still wearing the clothes of that blood-soaked day. She whispered her understanding, likening my fight with the wolves to childbirth. We’d both been to a special circle of hell, and we had both done it alone. There could be no greater cognizance between us than in that moment.
Of course, this was the same time she told me she was to die and my heart cried a love for her as it never had.
I-want-my-IWTV 