Again, in no particular order:
1. His intelligence. The way he is never content unless he has figured something out or discussed it from every aspect matches my own, and although we may both occasionally annoy each other, I would not be without our discussions for the world. Daniel has a fierce curiosity and a razor sharp wit, as well as a surprisingly large repertoire of literary and other references, which includes classical works as well as the twentieth and twentyfirst centuries. He is always able to take me off guard.
2. His fearlessness and his seemingly effortless ability to face the world head on. Though never cruel, he pulls no punches, either with himself or with others, and is not prone to the self deceptions or elaborate rationalisations which so many of our kind seem to have espoused. This more than anything gives me confidence in his ability to withstand the passing of the years without breaking under their burden.
3. His strange but indomitable sense of humour. Daniel can find something to laugh at in the very worst of situations, and even the smallest of everyday actions may be imbued with a strange kind of wit. I hope it may make his immortality easier to bear, as merely being in his company has made mine.
4. His beauty.
5. His ability to love me. As much as I’ve chided him for his morbid romanticism, I must nevertheless be grateful for his decision to run towards the monster, as it were, rather than away from it. Had he chosen otherwise, I would doubtless have remained as I was – unknown, unloved, unloveable, a drifting revenant preying on humans but hidden from them, until eventually I ceased to desire life.
Tag Archives: damn you and your perfect headcanon perfection
If scientists could develop an artificial blood that could sustain you would you use it? would you stop killing completely or alternate them?
Part of the pleasure isn’t just in the blood…it’s the fine art of killing, the thrill of the hunt, the struggle, the thoughts that only my fangs in an artery can conjure. Nothing artificial can replace all of that.
Besides, I no longer thirst like some newborn fledgling and I am discriminating in my tastes. I hunt big game. The gators that lay in wait beneath the still waters, the widows in the crevices, the asp in the grass…the truly vile souls that you never see coming and will never be brought to trial.
They vanish without a trace and you want to know why? I’m the boogeyman’s boogeyman….and I’m hiding under their beds.
I may be fiction but I like to keep it real, baby!
My temper is extraordinarily foul this day….approach with caution.
Don’t make me regret whatever horrible thing happens to you if you do.
Oh, my lord the harecatcher. So frightening, so intimidating.
Bring it on, you piece of shit.
I pity you….don’t ask me to elaborate. *turns away and goes back to writing, ignoring you and your cry for attention*
Excellent. The feeling is mutual.
Non, I don’t think the feeling is mutual….far from it.
I was always meant for something greater and I was going to obtain it one way or another. You provided the catalyst…descriptions of Paris and beyond, the spark that became a wildfire inside me. I had to go and I would have done so with or without you.
You, who attached yourself to the illiterate, ignorant but hopeful youth that I was. You, who disgraced your father and dashed all his hopes for you. You who clung to the shadow of greatness that was Mozart for mere scraps. You who dissolved your dark thoughts at the bottom of a bottle every night. You who languished in obscurity and petty jealousies.
I dragged you everywhere when I should have let you lay in that elaborate sarcophagus you’d already created for yourself long before we were ever really close, waiting to die….so that you’d earn your adoration after your early demise. “So sad, so beautiful, such a promising life cut short!”
And THAT is why I pity you…second fiddle! You are petty, jealous and malcontent with anything and everything you ever wanted! I was too much for you and when I tried lifting you towards greatness with me, you backhanded me with your “madness” that was an utter lie! You weren’t mad! You were only more fully yourself…..even more the pitiable soul and when I saw this, I knew there was to be no help for you on this Earth that I could provide to satisfy you, toxic creature!
Spare me the poisoned words that would drip from your lips in response. They are so much mist against my coat. The cold breath of an angry ghost against one whose mind is currently the father of Winter, of Death. You cannot hurt me any longer, even when I can spare you a memory.
Do you think vampires are better than humans?
I think that we are designed to be supreme predators, our instincts finely tuned, our bodies and minds honed to withstand time…with some caveats below. I think that we are often silent witnesses to the passage of time….how history repeats itself. If we’re looking at it from a physical standpoint, then yes…I think we’re superior.
Now on a mental, spiritual level, I need to elaborate.
Sometimes, I do think we’re better than humans. Aside from our occasional squabbles and naturally solitary nature, we live in relative harmony with each other…whereas human beings are slaughtering each other in the streets if they don’t like their ideas, lifestyles or perhaps even how they look. The more civilized and advanced humans become, there is an equally savage and primitive reaction. There is an acute misery in the human condition. How that precious time, that finite lifespan, is often squandered, utterly wasted. They spend so much of their time worrying about petty issues, things that affect themselves right now and then burying their heads in the sand over global issues..things that can affect the long term, future generations.
Yet vampires have their drawbacks. We are often trapped within the confines of our time and have difficulty transitioning out of being echoes of our own pasts. We become the moral dictators, making our own judgments on who lives and who dies. We can be contradictory creatures….say one thing, do another. That solitary nature that I referred to earlier, makes us incredibly lonely…but enduring the company of another for centuries is often difficult because of our core, contrary state of being. We have a constant need for new blood and use our fledglings as crutches, to guide us through life because we are so easily lost and stray from the traditional paths. Because time moves differently for us, we can become completely absorbed in a single moment, a solitary object….glance up and months have passed. We can retain vast amounts of information but we are without practical application….sometimes what we carry with us, makes us lose our minds. We become walking revenants or spectres. There is also a cognitive dissonance for us and often, our beliefs and attitudes are quickly outdated, antiquated. For humans, it’s adapt or die. For vampires, we needn’t really adapt for us to survive…but it makes it hellishly difficult for us to live among our prey if we don’t keep up appearances at least.
In humans, I admire their ingenuity, their creative spark, the ability to adapt to each new situation and their tenacity for life….to persevere despite enormous challenges that threaten their very existences.
So in short, the answer is that each has it’s benefits and drawbacks. I can’t rightly say that one is superior to the other….I often believe that we are the dark mirror, reflecting the shadows of humans. We’re symbolic….hunger and primal lust disguised as gentiles in our fashion and finery. Our immortality and physical attributes are what all humans strive for….to live longer, to become stronger, to obtain and retain more information, to become more while we long for just a little more humanity….to feel as they do, to love, to create and move through this world with a bit of wonder at it’s fragile beauty.
Do you regret missing so much of the 1900’s? The 1920’s, 30’s, 60’s and 70’s especially?
I think I could have dazzled in the 20′s and 30′s! I would have thrown lavish parties that lasted for weeks, mingled with writers and artists of the era, delighted in the spread of Jazz, and made another fortune running gin, whiskey, rum, moonshine and vodka up and down the coast. I would have rubbed elbows with Capone, Maranzano, Luciano….perhaps they would have even given me some sort of nickname hmm?
As for the 60′s and 70′s, it was quite the tumultuous time….I don’t really care for much of the fashion but I would have found a great deal of enjoyment in the art and music. I would have also been a regular at Studio 54 and then CBGB’s (in the eighties, I did visit CBGB’s often when in NYC). I would have thrown myself into music and probably would have started recording much earlier than the eighties. The drug culture was interesting as well and it might have been fun to experiment a bit more….I would have loved meeting Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, David Bowie (Ziggy Stardust phase).
However, the aesthetic of these eras have lasted throughout our brief history, thanks to the leaps and bounds made in preservation, and aside from the dead, we can revisit each as often as we like.
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.
OH MY DEAR LORD WHY WOULD U DO THIS!!! #RIGHT IN THE FEELS
All I can do is sit here with my mouth open, going “Oh!”
Beautiful, indissectable (not a real word, but in this context, I mean that I am unable to dissect this down to its parts).
BONUS POINTS for never mentioning a name, and not needing to!
This is the kind of memory that would best explain where their pain as a ship truly comes from. Even more sad is that Lestat was so naive to say such a thing, but it sounds perfectly in character. Maybe by saying it, he thought it could be made truth ;A;
That soul-piercing gaze – yes… that’s the Lestat I fell in love with in canon, the one Nicolas fell for, the searing real Lestat stripped of his masks that anyone who falls for the real Lestat falls for, too ❤
☤ why would you even go to a hospital?? Also have u had blood from a blood bag and is it the same as fresh? Can u microwave it or does it get all yucky and congealey?
☤:the last time my muse went to the hospital and why
First of all, I would never drink blood from a blood bag. It is not fresh. That, my friends, no matter how the hospitals may spin it for you mortals, is dead blood. And I’m not drinking dead blood. Not on your goddamn life. I’ve done it once or twice in my immortality–and that was one or two times far too many.
You need to understand that dead blood… It’s like if someone gave you rotten vegetables, I suppose, or meat that has almost turned. Sure, you can find a way to eat it, and sure, you probably won’t die–you may get a stomach ache, or feel nauseous–and sure, it will keep you alive. But it isn’t going to be a pleasant experience.
But the last time I was at the hospital?
Last Tuesday, actually. The young woman who lives down the block from us collapsed on her bike outside at approx. 3am–since we were sitting on the balcony, we heard and saw it happen. Taking her there myself was far faster than calling the paramedics, so that was what I did.
If you feel the urge to call me ‘hero,’ I won’t object.
-smile-
Has Armand ever really scared you? Can he now?
vagabonddaniel-recordedarchives:
Are you kidding? Of course he has. I was out of my mind with terror the first time I saw Armand. I knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of. Well, I thought I knew. Turns out I vastly underestimated his capacity for cruelty, but I knew enough to fear for my life. Only an idiot with a death wish wouldn’t have found Armand absolutely horrifying. (Yeah, yeah, I know, many people are convinced I was an idiot with a death wish. Maybe they’re not wrong. But I wasn’t that stupid.)
Seeing him in the crowd, or sitting on the bus, or walking down the street filled me with so much terror that my blood turned to icy slush and I couldn’t breathe. He scared me to death. And I was very, very sure he was going to kill me. Every time I caught even a snatch of red hair or a glimpse of ivory skin, I thought I might die.
So yeah, he scared me beyond words.
Of course, that didn’t last. Things changed pretty quickly. He started to plop down beside me and ask questions, to demand conversation no matter the hour: “Why did man go to the moon again?” “Explain the rules of baseball, Daniel.” “What is a hippy?” And gradually, I stopped being scared. I got lost in the conversations, got sucked in, found myself captivated by this creature whose curiosity and intelligence were unlike anything I’d ever encountered before. God help me, I started to look forward to his appearances, and the fear abated.
Now he has the capacity to frighten me in different ways. I don’t fear him. I do fearing losing him to ash and dust. I fear breaking things so completely between us that there can be no reconciliation, no good terms to be reestablished. I fear making him loathe me down the marrow of his bones so that that hatred can never be eradicated. I fear living in a world without him.
But I am not afraid of him anymore, and never will be again. I know his black heart too well.
When did you first come across a copy of IwtV? What did you think of it?
I’ve probably read it before Lestat got his hands on it, which is quite amusing when you think about it. It must have been a few years after publication, because I found it in one of the secondhand bookshops that I grew quite fond of. I was looking for some old editions of my favourite classics when a shabby paperback copy inevitably caught my eye – the word “Vampire” shining with bloody letters.
Don’t think I was startled by it, no, by all means no. The stories about vampires were quite popular since late 19th century and most of the time they got everything wrong about us, therefore I saw no danger in them. But out of curiosity I picked it up and after reading the first two pages I decided to buy it. It seemed to be something different.
The nameless vampire and nameless reporter boy. How could I possibly foresee that in a few years I will meet both of them and that the latter will become a fledging of my fledging and now my companion? But I digress.
You can imagine, my friend, that as soon as Lestat’s name appeared on the page I suddenly saw the book for what it was. A very real memoir disguised as popular fiction and very well protected by the modern attitude towards mythical creatures. From this point I drunk every word greedily, looking for other names, for secrets I feared to be revealed. I was both astonished and disappointed.
To see how well concealed Lestat kept the knowledge I shared with him was both comforting and painful. To see how he disregarded my advice and made a mistake of turning a child so young…! I found it outrageous. To see Armand, my dear Amadeo, described by Louis, to see him every bit as charming and tempting as he used to be, and yet so entirely different… It broke my heart. To see my dear Lestat treated so cruelly and suffering so awfully… Oh, reading this book was an absolutely infuriating experience.
But not quite as infuriating as reading Lestat’s novel, I must say.
He started it. I had to set the record straight.
Top 5 Things You Like About Armand
vagabonddaniel-recordedarchives:
In no particular order, as they come into my mind:
1. His curiosity. His thirst for knowledge is as insatiable as my own. He wants to take the world apart and see how it ticks, and that’s a desire we share.
2. His laugh. It’s rich and boisterous and damn hard to get out of him sometimes, but I will walk through hell itself to make him laugh.
3. The twisted, strange way his mind works. He may not be the enigma he wants everyone to believe he is, but he sees the world from angles I never would. (Insert short joke here.)
4. How he looks good in everything. Yeah, he usually trims his hair short and puts on a crisp suit and manages to look every bit the young professional. But since I’ve known him, I’ve seen him wear any number of outfits. Acid washed jeans, corduroy bellbottoms, cowboy shirts and boots, torn denim vests, skin-tight mesh shirts and leather pants… Whatever he wears, he pulls it off. He is a chameleon, able to blend into any time or place with ease. It’s kind of incredible.
5. His overpriced, fancy-schmancy basil mint shampoo. It’s not a very strong scent but it lingers on his pillows and shirt collars. I hated it at first but I’ve come to associate that scent with home.
I-want-my-IWTV 