Headcanon: Lestat has been watching Only Lovers Alive on repeat for the past two weeks. When he goes on his nightly walks he’s listening to the soundtrack on one of his dozens of ipods. He’s considering turning Jim Jarmusch, Tilda Swinton, and Tom Hiddleston.
This is a good headcannon. I like this headcannon. But you forgot to mention the singer, Yasmin, from the end of the film. He’d turn her in a heartbeat.
Or, well, lack of a heartbeat.
I love everything about this headcanon. Yes.
Tag Archives: HEADCANON ACCEPTED
Talk about a time you had to turn someone down (romantically, maybe Rowan?).
Well there are plenty to choose from, obviously, but yes, Rowan…
I did care for her in an odd kind of way. Though perhaps it was more the idea of her, a fiery Mayfair witch with all that beautiful androgyny about her and all that history! That was also around the time I was being haunted by the ghosts of Stella Mayfair and Oncle Julien. My mind was rather focussed, for a time, on the Mayfair’s it would seem.
As for turning her down well… I don’t say this lightly but I suppose I grew afraid of her power, and her history, and the Taltos and all of that. She, like so many other Mayfair’s was a very sexual woman in a way that only modern women can be. I felt, perhaps, that with Rowan… was the only time I was in over my head.
Is there anything you wish you could change about yourself?
Sometimes, and I truly mean sometimes with every connotation that word can hold, I wish I were more capable of being a physically affectionate creature. Not just because it would please my son immensely—and oh, how it would please him—but because, when I watch others (and I do), it is a mystery that appears…enjoyable.
So many others to whom physical affections comes easily seem so pleased by it. Perhaps my biggest example is Lestat: he is affectionate without stipulation, without condition. He believes in loving openly, and doing so physically (whether or not the objects of his affection appreciate it, as both Louis and I can attest). He believes in embracing, kissing, tackling, cuddling—all those things. Sometimes I find it hard to believe he is mine, though perhaps it is because he grew up in a home with little to no affection that he hungers for it so.
If I could find a way to enjoy such a thing, I would do it.
do you remember any stories attached the the jewels you chose to sell to support Lestat? do you have any favorite possessions currently?
There were too many stories to count. They all had belonged to my mother or my grandmother, those jewels, and, as Lestat accounted, each one had a story, yes. But they are gone. And their stories with them.
Favourite possessions? This changes from time to time. Currently, I am enjoying the camera that Lestat gave me for Christmas two years ago. I carry very few possessions with me (I carry nothing but one canvas sack as I travel), so they are few. And most of the ones I have come from my son.
I do, however, have a small anklet with a pearl on it. I’ll let you guess who that is a gift from. -small smile- I do not wear it often, as it would get destroyed in most of the places where I travel.
I want the K
3: Nose KissHe’d fallen asleep while they’d been watching a film—sprawled across the divan, his head in her lap, one leg throw half off the piece of furniture. Like any parent, when he slept she could see the face of babyhood still somewhere in the man he was now, her heart aching just a little as she stroked his hair absently. No, she would never deliver such affection were he awake—it cost her too much to do so—but in the safety of slumber she might treat him as she would have in the smallness of mortal babyhood.
She leaned over his face, gently pressing her lips to the tip of his nose. She loved him—unconditionally, irrevocably—this much would always be true.
Is it true that Lestat is actually the child of your lover?
No, this is a rumour, one that even I have perpetuated from time to time.
I wish he was. I wish he did not have the blood of my husband running through his veins.
But he does. And this is evident when he falls prey to his passions, his rages, his uncontrollable temper. All of the horrors my son is capable of come almost completely from the cruelties he learned and inherited at the feet of his father.
This is not to say that I myself am not capable of great cruelty, merely that my cruelties do not live in the spotlight of Lestat’s memory in quite the same way that his father’s do.
✦ :Fatal flaw (can you even admit to any? ha!)
Love.
Especially for Lestat. How he must glow to read that.
But, truly, had it not been for his arrival, I could have easily slipped into the monotony and everyday horrors that were life in the Auvergne, dying young and despising everything around me, the world painted grey.
You’ve seen that film, The Wizard of Oz? When Dorothy walks from Kansas into Oz? It’s incredibly trite, but Lestat’s entry into my world was like that walk from the broken, tornado-wracked house onto the golden-paved streets of Oz.
Ah, but he comes by hyperbole honestly, doesn’t he?
It wasn’t that my entire life had been grey up until him—but merely that the greyness cast upon it was so consuming as to kill me sooner rather than later.
If it weren’t for Lestat, I could walk through my immortality without a care, without a thought, without another spoken word to another creature—yet he placed an ember in my heart when I thought it was ice, worked his way in when I wasn’t looking and settled himself there nicely.
Hate me for his upbringing, the times I ignored him, the times I shut my door against him. Hate me for the times I’ve come too late to his pleas for help.
But know that I love him. And he is what breaks me down when I might remain strong.
Gabrielle has mentioned that the eighth de Lioncourt child was a girl. Do you have any memories of her?
Yes…but nothing concrete. Vague glimpses of golden wispy hair and precious smiles.
There is, however, one memory I call to mind, but I do not know it is real or a fabrication of my own making. Gabrielle was called away for some reason or another, and very suddenly thrust the small bundle of my sister into my arms. I remember nothing except that I sat very still, afraid I might somehow hurt her. I could not have been more than four or five.
IGUANA
“Tell us a funny story!”
…
I do not know any funny stories.
Oh. Perhaps this?
Lestat’s first word was “Lolo.” It is baby talk in french, but basically translates to “breast.”
NSFW Headcanon: Just because Gabrielle was a woman and often times treated poorly by The Marquis did not mean she was without power in the household. In fact, she would often use her body to her advantage when it came to swaying her husband’s decision on some of the more important matters their family had to deal with – (reluctantly, of course, but for the greater good overall.)
//A fascinating headcanon, but it unfortunately doesn’t jive with my vision of Gabrielle—but that doesn’t make it wrong, just not for me! =)
I’m of the opinion (and, again, just my headcanon) that Gabrielle would have done as much as possible to avoid sexual congress with the Marquis. As a man, he both disgusted her and was an object of pity and derision. This doesn’t mean she wasn’t the “proper wife” when the moment called for it—she was raised to be such—but that she lived her role out to the extent of her duties and rather little else.
And, since my personal headcanon runs along with one created by the amazing Brat Queen—that the Marquis sexually molested Lestat, I’m of the opinion that Gabrielle would have had as little to do with him as possible.
I’d also hazard to guess that, after she’d given him a handful of sons, she pretty much washed her hands of everything that came with being the Marquise d’Auvergne—she’d done her duty, hadn’t she?
I think that, as she grew older, she was more and more withdrawn and more indifferent to anyone besides Lestat. Some of this occurred early on, but the final hammer would have been the death of her daughter, the last de Lioncourt child (as insinuated by Mater in TVL).
Thank you SO much for this lovely headcanon!
I-want-my-IWTV 