-sighs wearily-
I have shared many already, have I not? But, then, you want a happy memory. There were so few in that house.
Lestat mentioned briefly in his book that I used to show him picture books of the places where I’d travelled before I was wed to the Marquis: Rome, Paris, Madrid, Athens, etc. And I do remember doing this, when he was very, very young—his little body tucked into my lap as I sat, cross-legged, upon my bed, a large book spread open before us.
He was always very taken with the colours of the paintings in the books—he has always had a great love for colour—and his small fingers would trace the images of ships, mountains, animals, running down and over the pages as I explained to him (sometimes in French, sometimes in Italian) what each place was and what it was like there.
Can you imagine it? Are you a mother? That sweet weight of his little body against my own, the smell of babyhood still in his hair, his voice forming words that were a charming amalgamation of French and Italian as he attempted, as toddlers do, to ask questions of me. The small gasps he might elicit at certain images as the pages turned, the trills of laughter at the animals, the way his body would shift as he would lean back to look in my face, as if searching to make sure these places were truly real and not some fairy tale I was constructing.
Very few of his companions are aware, I think, that that child still exists. That child is ever-present, hidden just behind the eyes of the man, waiting to be thrilled or wounded. I’d hazard to surmise that the few who see it are the ones who tend to stay by his side, despite his failings.
Tag Archives: damn you and your perfect headcanon perfection
How long did it take for Lestat to start walking as a child?
Oh, Mon Dieu. That child was a terror. He was mobile by approximately four months, a terrifying three months before any of his brothers had been, rolling and crawling as quickly as he could propel himself to do so.
By six months he was walking and was causing trouble as one could not believe, opening and falling into cupboards, climbing up into trunks (and vanishing until we could find his location via his tearful cries later), and finding his way into every mess and mud puddle and body of water he could locate.
Keeping him alive was a heroic effort in itself.
☼ (to primusdux) TO HEAR THE WORDS THAT MY MUSE WOULD WHISPER TO YOURS ONLY WHEN YOUR MUSE IS FAST ASLEEP
primusdux | 1994
Green eyes took in the sight of the other, a slow rising and falling of Lestat’s chest the only movement the other had exhibited in nearly a week now. Blue eyes stared forward, but they were soulless pits, terrifyingly vacant to the point of which Louis felt he could have drowned within them. It disturbed him greatly to gaze into them, and yet it felt fitting punishment that he do so.
Head upon Lestat’s shoulder and fingers coming through tangles in the other’s golden locks of hair, he began to speak to him as he had every night, words in hushed French. “I love you. I am sorry. I miss you. I cannot watch you fade away any longer. Come back.”
Brezairola, for darknessmolton
For: @darknessmolten
From: @devilsfool
Author’s Note: You requested a drabble with Nicolas dealing with the holiday. Well, after I sat down to write, this is what came out. I don’t know that he’s ‘dealing’ as well as he’d like to be, not this year. Also, please note below that there is a link for a video the lullaby he plays. Merry Christmas!
// THANK YOU SO MUCH!
This is perfect and you’re perfect and I wish I was better at expressing just how wonderful you are. You know, another way than being evil to your characters.
I’m so glad I met you and a very merry Christmas to you.
For merciful-death who is a great writer and amazing person.
Special thanks to @i-want-my-iwtv for her help, improvements and encouragement.
From: @darknessmolten
ooc; OMG! I love this so much. ;A; The fact that you included my random headcanon about Louis’ grandmother was so awesome of you
, and now I’m totally going to headcanon this whole thing about Silent Night.Ahhh, this is just so good!
ooc: I am so glad you like it! The song I had in mind is called ‘Es wird scho glei dumpa’, it’s sung in an Austrian dialect.
It was my first time ever writing any of these characters for real, so I’m relieved and happy it brought some joy.
So yeah, read this if you want to see me write Louis, Lestat and a bit of Armand.
#Headcanon(s) Accepted #damn you and your perfect headcanon perfection.
I was honored to beta read this, very heartwarming without veering too fluffy, with some small sharp edges, too ;D AND I ALSO SUPPORT THESE HEADCANONS ok? #perfect just perfect.
Re: Tale of the Body Thief
Lestat, an anonymous person recently asked me:
“Oh man, I was disappointed in Lestat the first time I read the body thief also, but mostly bc he came across as a lot less intelligent than I had thought and that was a huge turnoff”
And I answered, basically, that there were a lot of extenuating circumstances, and pressure, you were under in that story… so I don’t really think it was a lack of intelligence on your part and I don’t think it’s your job to try to “turn-on” your readers/audiences with every story.
But how would you have handled that question?
It’s actually my favorite misadventure….mainly because it is really the first modern tale where it’s just myself telling the story. There is plenty of cast support, so to speak, but it’s all from my viewpoint.
I know I’ve expressed before, that every vampire is a frozen drop in an icy sea of time indefinite. I’m no exception to that rule. You bet, I love modern excess and read constantly but any self-proclaimed exclamation of genius is pure vanity.
I’m clever, that is to be certain….wily like a fox and I learn quickly but how best does anyone learn? Mistakes. I may have the body and visage of a god but like all deities in mythology, I’m fallible, baby!
I started out my life as an illiterate bumpkin! I was talented in four areas; hunting, fucking, drinking, and acting. Hardly the stuff of Hawking, Jobs, Tyson or any other modern mega-mind!
It took the Dark Gift to expand my capacity for thought and to retain knowledge. I’m a great mimic. Up until my time as a rock star, I couldn’t compose Chop Sticks if you paid me. I had no time for that, man! I was a bit busy….
Imagine now, that you take this demigod, frozen in time, suffering from post-traumatic stress due to the biggest let down of his life and set down before him, a large ‘Do Over’ button. It’s bright red and glowing in the center of the hole in his life and it says, “DO NOT PRESS THIS EVER!”
Who am I? What am I famed for? The neon signs came out, lit up like Christmas in Las Vegas telling me to do ANYTHING other than press that precise button!
So of course, I smashed my fist into that son-of-a-bitch because I wanted to know! I wanted to remember what it was like! I’d tried Death and she threw me back! So how about life?And ahh I thought I knew and remembered what it was like! I thought everything I lifted from every meal I engorged myself with made me an expert in the human condition! I was so horribly naive.
And I described how dreadful it all was! The eating, the drinking, the shitting, the paltry sex, the illness, the fragility! I could barely see! I could barely move or think clearly enough to qualify as much more than some en vogue, hunky, runway model…..no brain, all body, probably a dreadful accent! Best ogled, not heard! What was I to do with all that? I was almost that country pauper again.
I needed help and I was grateful for Gretchen, for David! Without them, I would have died…in one of the most wretchedly, abysmally common mortal ways.
This mind of mine combined with the Blood and this body is a complete package that works! Raglan didn’t do so hot inside it, if you recall?
I could describe my many attributes again but to sum it all up, I’m smarter than the average bear and I love telling a good tale but don’t let the golden fleece fall over your eyes, darling! This was an extraordinary event that happened to an otherwise ordinary guy.
*winks*
Afterword: If that disappointed you or broke your heart, then might I suggest developing a crush on my brainy squeeze, David! Or Louis? I surround myself with genius to put me in a brighter spotlight. Just don’t be in their beds when I want in. I have the jealousy of a bull in the midst of puberty.
#damn you and your perfect headcanon perfection #PERFECT JUST PERFECT #tldr #tldr i know #but seriously plz read this it is #perfection
Also, look how generous he is about sharing his toys people! “Just don’t be in their beds when I want in.” <- NOTE TAKEN.
For @i-want-my-iwtv, who had “Lestat and Claudia have a teaparty with blood in the cups, Louis is not amused” for a prompt. I like Lestat and Claudia by themselves when I finished because it had a creepy/funny vibe. Imagine just before Louis walks in all =_= if you will.
I hope you like!!! 😀
From: @remarried
This is SO perfect, I can’t even!
♥u♥ Their expressions, the obvious familial chemistry going on here, the details (Claudia has a cushion for a little height! Or bc she’s the princess, probably both ;u;) the creepy/funny vibe, I love it. She is totally a chip off the old block.
You are totes right, it’s way better that Louis isn’t there, ruining the moment with his lack of humor about what constitutes “playtime.”
Memento Mori
We didn’t conceive you in the normal way one comes by a child. I wish I could say you were made in love, but the entire world knows by now that your conception was fueled by desperation–though I’d beg that, at the end of that dark and frightened tunnel was more love than I properly knew what to do with.
So you were born in darkness and desperation. But you quickly became the light around which our lives revolved.
I came here tonight intending to write a passionate discourse about your life, but all I can focus on is your absence. Do you know how keenly I feel it? How keenly we both feel it?
You no longer lie as a chasm between us, as the ghost that haunts every word we utter to each other, every stolen moment or intimate touch. But you are still there. You are not forgotten.
Tonight the flat is covered in flowers for you. They are on every conceivable surface–I went a bit overboard this time, though I’m not sorry for it. …He will chastise me a bit for it, of course, especially because it will overwhelm him, but he is the one who explained to me that we must each learn to grieve in our own way. This is mine.
Je t’aime, ma fille. Then, now, always.
Bon anniversaire.
♛What did our little apartment in Paris smell like to you? I find myself reminiscing on this tonight and cannot fully recall… perhaps you might remind me.
Betrayal and distrust.
Go fuck yourself, Lestat.
♛Ooooh burn. You know, for Louis v. 1.0, you lacked his penchant for literally setting me on fire, but you always knew how to do it figuratively.
It might have smelled like that after I was forcibly kidnapped from it. I was always the one who brought flowers in and swept up. It must have smelled awful without me, your doting maid.
poets the VC vampires read
Lestat: He cannot stand Shelley because he was dishonest in his romanticism, but Byron, who never pretended to be anything other than what he was both in his verse and in his life he adores. Keats was akin to Apollo reborn into innocence; and he reads all the French Symbolists except for Baudelaire. He enjoys Italian sonnets, Shakespeare, Sidney, Spencer, Skelton, and Heine.
Louis: loves Baudelaire. Pope is a favorite of his (“pray tell, Sir, whose dog are you?”), he enjoys the Graveyard Poets and their imagery of humans in terror of the dead and ghosts, its a feeling that he can’t experience anymore by vicariously. He doesn’t miss the fears of mortality though so he doesn’t have much patience with Poe, save for a handful of French translations of his work. Also enjoys Elliot’s sense of ennui.
Marius: Dante was popular drivel according him during the Roman days, but the longer time passes from the ancient days he grows to admire newer, but well structured verses, ones that focus more on creating a sensation than a narrative. He does have a taste for Rilke, however, and once gifted Armand with a copy of “Letters to a Young Poet”
Armand: Daniel introduced him to the beat poets, whom he has cultivated a great fondness for. Sapho, he reads out of a joy that he is the only one privileged with a copy of her full poems, not just fragments, that he stole from Marius’s library centuries ago, as just one of the rare documents he keeps for his private amusement with refusal to share with the world. He fancies his Theatre of Vampires to be similar to the poem “The Conqueror Worm.”
Daniel: He found a trunk of poems from the 50’s in his dad’s junk after he died and he was helping his mother clean the house out so she could downsize. Really, it them that convinced him to hit the road as a writer. One day he swears to himself that he’ll also make it through Erza Pound’s “Cantos” and gives with a grim laugh the remark that “at least thanks to Armand, I’ll have all the time in eternity to finish it”
I-want-my-IWTV 