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.”
Tag Archives: HEADCANON ACCEPTED
concept: willy wonka and harry potter take place in the same universe
the ministry of magic haaaates Willy Wonka“Mr. Wonka,” Dumbledore smiled warmly, looking down into the Pit from his podium. The members of the Wizengamot muttered disapprovingly, shifting in their seats. Willy Wonka, clad today in a bright magenta suit and tophat, beamed cheekily up at them from his chair, his silver-gloved hands cradling his chin.
“Mr. Dumbledore,” He replied brightly, with the barest hint of a lisp.
“I trust you know why you are here?” Dumbledores question was crisp and businesslike, but the twinkle in his eye gave away his amusement at the situation.
“Not at all! I’ve nary a clue,” Wonka wiggled his eyebrows. Dumbledore audibly stifled a laugh.
“You are accused of improper use of magic, improper use of muggle artifacts, and several counts of using magic in front of a muggle,” Dumbledore reminded him. He conjured a projection with his wand. Displayed in grainy sepia was Willy Wonka, arm around a boy of around 10. Behind his back, he twitched an ash wand, and machines in the background around them whirred to life, producing all manner of sweets.
The projection ran its course and collapsed, and Dumbledore stowed his wand back inside his robes.
Wonka smiled and fiddled with his hat.
“How do you plead?” Dumbledore asked, leaning forward eagerly for what would surely be an amusing trial.
“Not guilty on all counts,” Wonka said, perhaps a tad smugly.
The members of the Wizengamot muttered amongst themselves. Not Guilty? Impossible!
Dumbledore hushed them quickly. “Explain, if you would. We have, after all, quite a mountain of evidence.”
Wonka stood and brushed a bit of dust off his suit. He tipped his hat mischievously. “Of course,” he grinned.
“Firstly, use of magic shall only be considered improper whereby it is applied to cause harm or applied recklessly. All magic used in my sweets is rigorously tested for both safety and taste. It is not used to cause harm, but to bring joy.” Wonka paused to adjust his jacket.
“But surely,” Dumbledore said, leafing through his notes, “you cannot deny that you illegally charmed several thousand muggle artifacts?”
“Ah, but I can,” Wonka said, now twirling his cap in his hands. “Muggle artifact refers, of course, to any muggle made object. But, you see, I built those machines, each and every one. They are not muggle machines at all, but wizarding machines, built by a wizard. The factory itself, as well. You could argue that, as machines are a muggle invention, I still broke the rules, but then I could argue that every wizard dwelling with any charms applied to its walls is in violation of the law, as muggles were the first to make bricks.”
The Wizengamot glared silently. He was right, of course. Violating the spirit of the law was not illegal if one followed the letter.
“And the last charge? These are definitely Muggle children, are they not? No magical talent, raised in muggle society?” Dumbledore straightened his glasses and peered down at Wonka, his eyes still bright with intrigue.
“Not at all,” Wonka grinned, placing his hat back on his head. “You see, the ticket system was not nearly so random as I pretended. The tickets were charmed, they would only becomes visible to children with magical heritage. All the children chosen were second generation Squibs.” Wonka bowed low, as if he were finishing a particularly well executed play.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, it seems no laws were violated after all.” Dumbledore stifled a grin at the groans of angry disapproval from the Wizengamot.
“But he very clearly violated the intent of the rules!” Spluttered a large, rather red faced wizard in the second row. “He’s just…cheating! He’s cheating!”
“Ah, this is true, but he did not, technically speaking, break any of the rules. He did not expose muggles to magic, nor enchant muggle made objects, nor improperly apply magic anymore so than any magical confectioner. I’m afraid we have to let him go.” Dumbledore smiled gently and put away the rather thick file with Wonka’s name embossed on the cover. For the brief second it was open, a list of hundreds of charges with “Not Guilty” inked beside them was visible. It was carried off by a house elf, and the Wizengamot began to file out until only Dumbledore was left.
“You’re a very clever man,” He called down to Wonka. “We could use you at Hogwarts, you know.”
“No thank you,” Wonka called back, grinning. “Skirting the law is far more fun!”
//Apologies if I’m remembering incorrectly, but didn’t they give Mojo to an older lady to take care of him, and they sometimes visited…?
You’re right, yes, they did do that in canon, but there is fic in which they eventually brought Mojo to live with them in their home, around the clock, until he grew old (I assume they still dumped him on the little old lady when they went on trips and couldn’t bring him along). So I’ve accepted it as my headcanon ;]
[X]
tfw no bfI’m just saying, Nicolas drank himself to sleep every single night after Lestat disappeared.
Rose Fisher and the Orphan Boy
At first it was strange to her how some funny symbols on a page could spell out letters, and then even words. When anyone read to her she was sure it was a form of magic, that they were tapping into something she couldn’t access yet. She wanted to learn. She wanted to be magic too.
@roselioncourt sharing a little slice of sweetness of kid!Rose!
I can’t help but feel as though Louis would’ve liked Leonard Cohen- for his melancholy songs and poetry. Such a shame he passed away.
I would have to agree… I’m not familiar with most of Leonard Cohen’s pieces but the ones I know, I definitely think Louis would find very relatable.
This performance of Hallelujah by
Hillary Clinton (Kate McKinnon) was deeply touching to Louis, I’m sure…
The fact that Anne Rice sued people for writing fanfics is so hilarious to me when i think about how much Lestat would love fanfics.
He’d be so delighted to find out he had fans sitting in their bedrooms writing about him.
He’d walk into the living room with a lapto grinning any time his favorites updated, and Louis would try to leave right away. Louis would beg him to stop while he read them out loud.
#Headcanon accepted!
I have a headcanon that Lestat’s French accent comes through when he’s drunk. Just thought I should share.
He always has a slight accent, but yes, definitely more pronounced when he’s drunk! #Headcanon accepted.
f1stofhydra: #omfg#louis would just gently put him in the coffin#and climb in beside him#shoosh him gently
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
benji frequents twitter and loves harambe memes
#headcanon accepted.
[^Benji’s twitter icon.]
I-want-my-IWTV 