#(but if lestat likes a heel and he never takes off his shoes)

[apoptoses]

Considering lestat “im 6 feet tall which isn’t bad now” de lioncourt wrote queen of the damned and calls daniel tall, do you think that daniel is over 6 foot?

Ha! Well that would hinge on Lestat being secure enough to admit another hot blond guy is taller than him, and like really, is he secure enough? Or is he just saying Daniel is the same size?

I've always pictured them both as a solid 6'0. Maybe Daniel is actually 6'1 or 6'2 but after so many years of running with 5'6 Armand he's got a permanent slouch in my mind (look it's just easier to look your boyfriend in the eye or kiss him if you're already slumped and meeting him halfway). And being an 18th century man Lestat would gravitate towards shoes with a heel so standing next to each other they either even out or (depending on the shoe of the day) Lestat seems slightly taller.

(though as a lestat/daniel fucker I have some personal feelings on having Daniel be taller if he straightens up and stands right, and Lestat getting to feel off kilter and be the shorter one for once. but that's neither here nor there I suppose)

tl;dr regardless of exactly how far over six feet any of them are, if we look at armand's love life with men then he's a little shit with "under 6'0 need not apply" on his grindr bio and i love that for him ♥

[stlispenard]

CONTINUED FROM HERE / @monstroum

he strode across the stage as if it belonged to him and lestat de lioncourt was but a mere guest ( perhaps not even that ) . santiago held in his hand the script . though he followed the directions written down by the coven's maître , the vampire appeared to be more concerned about everyone's positions within the macabre scene . " -ㅤ─ ㅤwelcome , first play during day time , blah , blah , blah , enter the three defendants who'll kneel before the court in a neat little row just like ... oh ! " when the englishman glanced to his left , he realised that one VERY IMPORTANT member of tomorrow's performance was missing . two hay-filled dummies leaned pathetically against each other , half-sewn and half-finishedㅤ─ ㅤ but where was the third one ? santiago lifted his head , searching for a fellow coven member which ought to be up somewhere in one of the theatre's boxes . " sam ! it appears we're missing a dummy . " the other vampire shrugged and santiago , exasperated by his coven's lack of professionalism , turned to his scene partner ㅤ─ ㅤ oh , and how honoured he should be ! for he was face to face with lestat de lioncourt himself ! santiago had been told so much about the man and now that he saw him in the flesh , he found him profoundly DISAPPOINTING ; all of the bravado and wit he had been told about seemed like nothing more than the protests of a moody teenager . lestat did not wish to be there , that much was clear . hell , he had hardly memorised his lines ! but still , santiago pressed a hand to his chest and approached the other vampire with a small sheepish smile . " monsieur lioncourt , i'm so terribly embarrassed to even ask ㅤ─ but would you be so kind as to fill in for louis du lac ? just for this bit of the rehearsal ? " such a cruel request ㅤ─ ㅤ but santiago had been hurt by his acting partner's disdain for ( himself ) the craft ! and watching a glint of discomfort flash behind those pretty blue eyes of his would bring santiago a sick sense of joy . " if you could kneel down right ... " his free hand rested upon lestat's shoulder . " here . " suddenly he pushed the other down with so much force that all of the stage's floorboards shivered . oh , how his fingers lingered there , his nails threatening to rip through the fabric of the other's shirt if he were to tighten his grip . but santiago merely tilted his head , admiring lestat's unhappy compliance before muttering a small sarcastic " lovely " .

     santiago’s pompous strides, the click-clacking on the stage’s greasy floorboards, hits a surprising nerve in him. like a dog pissing up a tree! ha! lestat wants to laugh at his hubris and squash him under the heel of his shoe. the great laws this and the great law that, all so unconvincing from the mouth of a self-important vampire child. everything about his being is irritating but not intimidating. in fact, if they were not there to discuss the crime of vampires killing vampires, well then, perhaps, lestat might have jumped at the chance to relieve his excessive hunger by draining him for sport. 

     and lestat does fantasize about it as he recites the condemning lines written for him. he lets them eat away at him and he dances lifelessly to armand’s tune. that is his one-way ticket inside. the performance of a lifetime, lestat! lestat complies as lestat can comply to anything; he has never quite mastered the art of controlling his temper, it only takes so much humiliation to provoke it. the dummieshad nearly done the trick the second they had been brought on stage and now here it is again. 

     that smile he would pry off with his bare hands. what a hideous thing.and then that same mouth saying louis name like it is the ugliest word in the world. it is sacrilegious. he corrects him and sneers as he feels santiago’s fingers bury themselves deep into his shoulder and himself sink onto his knees: “louis. de pointe. du lac.” 

     lestat feels the strong vibration through his legs. he knows his quads shiver enough for all of them to see, but he is not well enough to stop it. curtesy of armand, who he turns his head to see, “the power dynamic here is…well, strange. you let your pet pretend he can do what he pleases?” he doesn’t wait for an answer before looks back to santiago hovering above him, “or perhaps you can and armand has lost his touch, hmm?” who of you are taking their lives? 

     he straightens his back and smiles his most devilish smile. he gets back on his while maintaining the lack of distance between them, “chéri, i know how tempting the idea of me on my knees can be, but it is in bad taste to not wait for my consent.” lestat clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and leans to his ear: “you put louis on his knees like that i will not continue to play nice.”

[meerawrites]

Last line tag

Chapter 37: The Vampire Maximillian: Auburn-haired devil.

Full story here.

CW: period typical attitudes (16th-century vampire in the 18th century), misogyny, abusive tendencies, and power imbalances.

I don't think I've ever hated a hot bastard more than I hate Maximillian in Audrey's overarching narrative. But... good stories have conflict okay, and writing =/= endorsement, and it never has inherently.

Tagged by: @gracehosborn, @sentfromwolves, @mrbexwrites, @enchi-elm & @saintedseraph (thank you) <3

Tagging: @musicboxmemories, @ghostpoetics, @malicious-compliance-esq & @itsthevoid (if you want) <3

Auburn-haired angel, fair in skin, roughly 5'6" - 6'0" with heeled theatrical shoes, brown-eyed, deceptive, seductive, charming, clever... from the French city of Toulon in the 16th century, elevated to status based on merit and family titles, but – largely merit. Maximillian is clever, an artist, a painter, and a fencer. Elevated to the right hand of the right hand of the then King of France, Francis I of France. Eventually, his superior became his lover an equal of a kind. Maximillian still, eventually took a wife and she and him had many children, he’d outlived them all… if one calls the state of vampirism living. Now, he’d traipsed across the sea, to New York, in the newly minted United States. Only – something was amiss. He wouldn’t put it past Audrey, the dark-haired vixen to run from him but even that seemed cowardly to him. He supposed he had left her, yes, but his maker had asked him to give him the blood he obliged, only for the fool to off himself by sunlight. He meant it to let her come into her own, he never really meant to abandon her – or that was the pretty lie he told himself. 

He knew of Audrey’s preferences of course, or lack thereof, bisexual-biromantic… he was the same. He rather liked the whore, in all her fallen vixen grace and dark hair and green eyes, and talented tongue. Audrey knew a thing or two of that… she knew how to lie and hide, but – she couldn’t run forever. 

He’ll consider this affair in the new world a reconquest. The kind only law abides husbands to do to their wives. For, as much as she may have taken to another man’s bed – yes, he knew of the brat, Lestat and their arrangements. Audrey was still his, and Maximillian didn’t take kindly to being denied what is his.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi Nalyra

Absolutely loving your beautiful blog, your iwtv takes and your writing ❤️

I was wondering if you have any cute Loustat headcanons you'd like to share?

Hey dear!!

Aww thank you so much, so happy you like! 💕💕

And thank you so much for this ask, loved it though I DID have to think about it a bit 😅

Tbh, I have lots of headcanons, though most of the time they develop in my fics ;)) Some book spoilers based ones, too, I guess, and in no particular order!

I totally headcanon Louis LOVING to brush Lestat’s hair, because Lestat loves it, and actually gets quite… docile (all things considered ^^).

I think Louis, and especially this Louis likes to be seduced. It’s something he can tell himself it’s not his fault when it happens, I mean it’s Lestat, right, and I can just see him becoming a shivering mess with the right attention 😈

(Whenever they live together/are together) There’s never a shortage of new books or warm coats or new shoes, even though Lestat may bitch about it

Louis‘ playlist contains everything Lestat has ever composed or listened to (and he drives Armand insane with it)

The post Merrick Blood-exchange-circle is what Louis truly considers his birth to darkness (more meta than headcanon, probably)

Louis‘ reasoning for red pyjamas is because he loves Lestat’s little drinks (and it’s sometimes messy)

Louis recreates huge and artful and yet wild and beautiful gardens in the Auvergne

He and Lestat visit that bench Lestat dragged up into the mountains regularly to make out in moonlight

They both like sharing baths/showers, purely for skin-hunger/petting/caressing pleasures

They have hilarious (and intense) quickies when Claudia enters their lives (kids, I tell ya)

Louis is a/the main source of proper relationship between Lestat & Viktor because he keeps dragging them both out to plays and makes them talk etc

Louis also makes Armand and Lestat sit down properly (eventually), which… gets intense 😇

Lestat loves to dance, and Louis loves it more than he likes to admit

Louis „confiscates“ Lestat‘s old room in the Auvergne, refitting it for the two of them

Lestat takes Louis to the witches‘ place and where he killed the wolves

Louis thinks it cute that Lestat keeps confusing certain English/French terms, no matter how old he is

The real reason why Louis refuses to re-turn a human Lestat is because he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop, he wants him too much

Louis misses Lestat in higher-heeled shoes and privately curses modern fashion

Lestat mixes their own toothpaste (yes I do think they brush) with his own blood mixed for taste in and Louis only realizes that on the ship when he leaves with Claudia (ok this one is bittersweet)

Louis teases Lestat mercilessly in regards to that obnoxious Medusa ring

if and when they share a coffin it doesn’t matter where or when they are they just… are. And it’s beautiful.

Also some bittersweet (canon) things that live rent-free in my head

in the Prince Lestat era Lestat spies on Louis at Trinity Gate … but Louis was almost as strong as Lestat then. I always figured he must’ve known (or seen it in the minds of others). And he waited for Lestat to come to him (and Lestat eventually did, to Rue Royale after broadcasting to let Louis know to come there)

Louis dusting off Lestat and brushing Lestat’s hair in/post Memnoch. That’s actually canon, since David is embarrassed when he realizes they’ve both stopped doing that (in Merrick)😭

Louis knows Lestat needs emotional support and extends it, quietly, surely, holding his hand etc

Louis and Lestat steal away from the court to spend time alone in Paris (where Lestat has (always) rented hotel rooms😈)

Hope you like!! I‘d love to hear yours 🤗💕

[apoptoses]

A Matter of Taste 2.9k Lestat/Armand (a hint of Lestat/Armand/Daniel at the end) domesticity/blood sharing/discussions of home/Benji and Daniel’s awful taste in furniture

Also on Ao3

(Wrote this sitting in traffic with nothing to do, enjoy ♥)

“So that’s it?” Lestat asked.

Armand nodded. “Yes. Monstrous, isn’t it?”

The sofa was massive, all gray fabric and enormous pillows, closer to a bed than a settee. Surrounded by priceless antiques and a hand painted ceiling imported from some crumbling chateau, it dominated the entire room. Lestat took a step back and cocked his head. Had this been Night Island it would have fit in; Night Island had been crafted to blend the best parts of 80s design and old world aesthetics. But in Trinity Gate it stood out terribly, Lestat had to agree.

Ironic, really, that Armand had invited him over to discuss home decor when he’d been thinking about what a pleasure it would be if they finally acquired a home of their own. He just hadn’t had the courage or the opportunity to bring it up yet.

“And you ended up with this sofa how, exactly?” Lestat asked.

“Benji and Daniel were adamant we have at least one thing upstairs to sit on that isn’t an antique. I asked Louis, assuming he would be on my side, but unfortunately he agreed with them and I found myself outnumbered,” Armand said with a sigh.

“So? Don’t they have their little game room for unsightly furniture such as this?” Lestat asked. “I remember that god awful leather thing with the cup holders they found on the street and demanded we drag home- I still haven’t gotten over the indignity of that, by the way. Taking home actual trash off the street as if I were Louis in that old hovel of his I burned down.”

“Not enough, apparently. They’d like to be ‘comfortable’ in my presence and as I spend most of my time upstairs…” Armand trailed off, waving his hand dismissively. “Regardless, it is done. It lives in my sitting room, where it will stay until some misfortune befalls it.”

“The fire gift, perhaps?”

“Too great a risk, the smoke would damage the ceiling.”

“True. Well, I suppose that leaves only one choice-”

Lestat turned on his heel and let himself fall backwards, collapsing into the pillows with a dull thud. He was no small man but even he felt dwarfed by the sofa, wide as it was. When he kicked off his shoes and put up his feet they came nowhere near reaching the end of it. Hideous, perhaps, but luxurious, even he had to admit. The type of thing one could fall asleep on without quite meaning to.

He patted the space beside him. “Well?”

Armand stared. “I will not have intercourse with you on the sofa in my sitting room, where all of Madison Avenue can see.”

Lestat rolled his eyes. “Number one, no one out there can see because you have enough velvet hanging from those windows to curtain even the largest stage,” he said, counting off the reasons for his indignation on his long, pale fingers. “Two, you know that’s not what I meant, you wretched little succubus. And three, even if I had, an audience has hardly ever stopped you before.”

Armand’s mouth was set in a flat line but there was a certain mirth to his eyes only an immortal with their heightened senses would be able to pick up. Of course he’d been winding him up. Anything to make Lestat look like a petulant brat.

“Get over here and lie down with me, before I go and buy Benji the matching armchair and really ugly the place up,” he threatened.

Armand rolled his eyes even as he acquiesced. There was ample room for them to lie side by side but he tucked himself in between Lestat and the back of the sofa anyways, head resting on Lestat’s broad chest. “It is comfortable, if nothing else,” he had to admit.

“Just be careful we don’t lose you among the cushions, mon petit chéri, Louis would never forgive me,” Lestat teased.

He got his side pinched for it but he didn’t bother to pinch Armand back for once. Getting to curl up with him like this was too delicious to ruin with childishness. Armand fit so neatly against his side, leg thrown over his thighs and his hand curled in his sweater; nestled in at just the right spot for Lestat to tilt his face down and kiss the top of his auburn head. Lestat ran his hand up and down the length of his back and Armand’s fingers tightened on his sweater in response.

So sweet and domestic, it was, lying together like this. A perfect opportunity to bring up the apartment he’d found in Paris.

“You know, I’ve been thinking-” Lestat began.

“How frightening. Your thoughts so often end in chaos for us all,” Armand mumbled into his chest.

Ah well. Fine. If Armand was only going to hassle him he wouldn’t say it at all.

“Mon dieu, fine. Nevermind. I’ll just call Benji and tell him you said to go ahead, get the armchair. And one those horrible gaming chairs with the neon lights while he’s at it, that would really set off the Louis XIV desk you’ve got in the corner-” Lestat pretended he was going to grab for his phone but then Armand shifted, his chin pressing against his sternum as he looked up at him. 

“Lestat, go on,” he murmured. I want to know what you’ve been thinking. Truly.

“You just don’t want another ugly chair in this room,” Lestat said, though he was struggling to withhold a smile. Impossible to be annoyed, really, when he had such a lovely little demon staring at him as though hanging on his every word. “Anyways, as I was saying. I was thinking it was time we got a home together, you and I.”

Armand arched a delicate brow. “A home?”

“Yes. Picture it, a penthouse apartment in the heart of Paris. Something small but sumptuous, two bedrooms. Just enough for you and I, and perhaps a guest if we so wish to bring Louis or Daniel along,” Lestat said. “We already have such grand homes for entertaining and loaning out. It’s time we had something just for us, something we can escape to and make just as opulent as we like. Don’t you agree?”

I already had a place in mind. Nothing is set in stone, of course, but I thought best to come with a clear vision to convince you with. Lestat opened his mind, letting Armand shuffle through the images of the apartment he’d been looking at.

In comparison to the court at Auvergne or Trinity Gate it was small, but with its antique wainscotting and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Seine it rivaled both in terms of luxury. He allowed him to see his ideas for decor as well, the silk damask bed covers and ancient, oversized mirrors that could line the walls. The great 18th century wardrobe he’d seen for sale, barely big enough to hold his own clothes, but then the second bedroom could be retrofitted into a dressing room if need be. Between the two of them they’d come up with something.

You know that I hardly need convincing. Armand turned his head, settled with his ear to Lestat’s racing heart. The worry that he might be turned down had made him so nervous for a moment. But why Paris? Why now?

“Well, why not?” Lestat asked. “I never should have pushed you away so suddenly when we first met. I should have taken you into Paris, re-introduced you properly to living amongst mortals. Taken you to the opera, to the fashionable boutiques to get you out of those old rags and into the silk and lace you suit so well. I never should have left you to founder alone.”

“It never would have worked out, long term. You know that,” Armand said quietly.

Armand wasn’t wrong. The people they were then were incapable of any sort of relationship. Armand would have dug in his claws too hard, Lestat would have instinctively jerked away. The blows they’ve already dealt each other would have been nothing compared to the pain of the slow and then cataclysmic dissolution of any relationship they might have built in their youth.

And yet Lestat fantasized about it anyway. Perhaps it was in his nature, wanting to fix something beautiful and broken despite so often being in shambles himself.

“Yes. I know.” Lestat dragged his fingers through his hair, nails skimming across his scalp. If he did this long enough Armand would drift off; he’d found that out some time ago when he’d been playing with his hair, only to look down to see him fast asleep with his head in his lap. “But just think, now we can experience all of those things in a Paris built with modern luxuries, with nary a rat infested slum to be found.”

“You put things so romantically,” Armand muttered into his chest. He’d shifted up a little, tilted his head in silent demand that Lestat massage the back of his neck. Lestat indulged him almost immediately, searching for the spot that would make him sigh and melt under his hands. 

“Perhaps I’m merely saving all of my romantic urges until I have you at home with me in the City of Love,” he said, just as Armand gave a little groan. Ah, there it was. He pressed his thumb harder into the sensitive ditch between his neck and his jaw. “What do you say? I want to hear it, that you’d like this as much as I would.”

“I would like it,” Armand said. “But I’d like to visit first and see the place you have in mind before we commit to it. And there must be some rules.”

Lestat practically beamed. Damn the rules, he was pleased enough he’d agree to most anything Armand proposed. “Such as?”

“What colors we paint the rooms. We may agree on much but there is a line between opulent and garish,” Armand began. “And who may visit when we are there.” No David Talbot. No Marius either, not yet.

Lestat snorted. “You know that I’ve been to Night Island, you’re hardly one to talk about garish when I’ve seen the heart shaped bathtub you had hidden in there,” he said. “But yes, of course. As you like. I see them more than enough in Auvergne as it is.”

Armand nodded and then, like some great jungle cat, pushed himself up onto his elbows and stretched. Then we must seal this agreement with a kiss.

There was some mischief in his gaze but Lestat hardly had time to question it, for Armand had curled his fingers in his hair and sealed his mouth to his. Armand must have fed earlier that night because he was so warm, he was practically burning up beneath Lestat’s hands as they found their way up the back of his shirt. Lestat pulled him closer, sucked his lower lip between his teeth and savored the approving sound that got out of him. When his fang pierced Armand’s lip the fingers in his hair curled so tight it ached.

It was only a little taste of blood. But it was enough that Lestat’s mouth tingled with it, that it burned all the way down his throat. He sucked at it hard, didn’t let go until he was certain that when Armand pulled away his lip would be bloody and swollen with his kiss. Even their tender moments were laced with violence, but how could Lestat help that? No one wore a bruise as beautifully as Armand did. 

He left the cut unhealed and let Armand work his way over his jaw, down the column of his throat. Soft kisses, with just the hint of teeth to get Lestat to inhale sharply and bare his throat. Not that he had a choice, Armand’s grip on his hair meant he could turn his face any which way he liked.

Normally Lestat would fight against this. They did both like a tussle, and Armand could give as good as he got. 

But let the little devil take what he wanted, Lestat decided when Armand licked a hot stripe up the length of his neck. He’d given him such a great gift tonight, agreeing to his whims about sharing a home. A few moments of control was the least he could give in return. Especially when the ache in his scalp and the sharp nip Armand delivered to his earlobe were so delicious.

Go ahead and do it already, no need to drag it out, Lestat demanded in his mind.

Armand brushed his lips teasingly against his artery, hovering there as if he might actually obey Lestat’s command. Patience is a virtue, they say came the reply as he pulled away to tug his sweater down and nip at his clavicle instead.

“Not one of mine,” Lestat muttered.

The little pat to his cheek was equal parts endearing and patronizing. Lestat had half a mind to flip them over and show Armand what a real tease was. Just as he reached down and got him by the hip Armand tugged hard at his hair, and ah, there it was. Exquisite pain, radiating down into his chest. Sometimes Armand was as slow and gentle as he was with one of his beloved victims, but others he sank his fangs in all at once, holding Lestat tight so he couldn’t scrunch his shoulder up and shrink away from it. It made his heart pound, hard enough the arterial spray into Armand’s mouth must have been overwhelming; enough that the sudden loss left Lestat dizzy and panting as he held Armand tight.

When he opened his eyes Armand was hovering above him, blood dripping from his mouth and onto his chin. He looked like a lion after the kill, Lestat couldn’t decide if he wanted to lick him clean or smear it across his skin and leave his throat bloody and red too.

“What a tragedy,” Armand said.

Lestat shifted over, craning his neck awkwardly to see what he was looking at. Beside his head was a blood stain, still wet. The pillow was soaked; some had even dripped down onto the cushion beneath him, and every time Lestat moved he only made it worse. Armand had only half healed the wound before he’d pulled away.

“You did that on purpose, you little demon,” Lestat said. “You’ve never spilled a drop before.”

“I was overcome by how beautifully you submitted to me.” A demon and a poor liar. Lestat could see the tension at the corners of his mouth where Armand was holding back a smile. “I suppose this sofa can’t remain in the sitting room in this state. That stain will never come out.”

“No, I suppose not.” Lestat sat up and neatly shoved Armand onto his back. He pulled his sweater off, discarding it before it could get stained too, and settled into the space between his thighs. “So that means there’s only one thing left to do.”

“And that is?”

Lestat smirked and licked his own blood from the corner of Armand’s mouth. “Wreck it entirely, of course.”

—

Lestat was curled up in an armchair with a book, hair still damp when Daniel came in the front door. There was nothing unusual about that. He often went out with Benji and Louis, returning home before them while they went out to feed. Perfect. Daniel could be easier persuaded to choose something nice from the furniture store. For once Lestat had every intention of cleaning up the mess he’d made. He was in too good a mood to leave Armand to deal with his coven complaining about the ruined sofa.

“Jesus christ, what happened here?” Daniel asked.

Lestat snapped his book shut. “There was an accident.”

Daniel arched a brow at him. “An accident? It looks like a goddamn abattoir in here.”

Well. He wasn’t entirely wrong. A little scratching had turned into a lot of biting, and a struggle that had left both of them so breathless they’d left their table manners behind entirely. Armand had come out worse for the wear, but he’d insisted on staying in the bath alone while Lestat dealt with the issue of the sofa.

“Yes, well, your maker can be such a wild cat when he thinks the sanctity of his home decor is being threatened.” Lestat got up and threw his arm around Daniel’s shoulders, guiding him back toward the door. 

Daniel, always a perceptive thing, was eyeing the blood stain on his collar. Lestat hardly cared. He’d abandoned the concept of shame in his youth and life was far more enjoyable for it. 

“And I’m guessing the bruises I’ll find all over Armand later will have been an accident too?” Daniel asked, shaking his head fondly. “What is it with you two, it’s like you can’t get off unless you leave the place looking like something out of the Shining.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Anyways, come, we’ll go pick out a replacement together. Something comfortable and tasteful,” Lestat said as he guided him down to the sidewalk, where he hailed a cab.

“Or something ugly we can help Armand destroy together?”

Lestat glanced at Daniel, took a little peek into his mind to see if he was joking. He wasn’t, not entirely. He had visions of Armand between them, both of them holding him with their preternatural strength as they sucked marks into his neck. There was a reason he’d always liked Daniel. Oh yes, he would definitely be invited to their little Parisian love nest once they’d broken the place in.

“Daniel Molloy, I do love the way you think.” Lestat slid into the back of the cab beside him and shut the door. “Let’s go to wal-mart, shall we? I’m sure they have something Armand would find absolutely hideous there.”