Louis

[monsieurdulac]

#MONSIEUR DU LAC; independent and low to medium activity portrayal of Louis, based on AMC's iteration, but I'm heavily cherry picking. The whole decapitation/torture chamber plot didn't happen in my take, because it was stupid. This is a sideblog to @cainevesson. Loustat will only be shipped with my exclusive Lestat, because we can't leave the wife without his husband. And I'm in the voice testing stage right now, bear with me. No rules page available since I'm friends only and by that I do mean people I'm close with. They know and respect boundaries. I don't fuck with the wide fandom because wars over fictional characters are for kids and I'm too old for that.

E X C L U S I V E C O M P A N I O N S

@eladead • Lestat de Lioncourt

@bloodsalted • Dean Winchester

[eladead]

R☆ckstar☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆: to call his robe pajamas, is not entirely wrong. "Lounge wear." Lestat gifts a simpler term, but then remembers himself on the same beat. "Tenue d'intérieur." A technical correction as he grimaces at the mortal's attitude. This isn't an easy route to a meal. The vampire's fangs hardly itch to drink from someone bold enough to avoid fawning over the two. As Louis inches closer, Lestat scrunches his nose for a brief second. An eyebrow twitches when a hand on Dean's chin lingers a millisecond longer than it should have been. While Lestat is quite comfortable in the messes he and Louis have been through, he cannot help but add that particular touch to the ever-growing bill of Louis's debt. A touch that belongs to Lestat, now is going to encompass another one he will demand and bring up if his beloved argues over something unrelated. It is playful ammunition that festers in the nether of his stomach.

"A suit?" Lestat's eyes leave Dean to outline the vanishing silhouette of his companion. When Louis emerges again, Lestat scoffs. "Where is the cap with bells?" The rockstar's lips split to reveal a pearly grin. "He's got a face that belongs in a Fooleum, my love." The latter's nickname is underlined with a sharp glance to Dean in a slightly narrowed plane. The rogue mortal looks appetizing; to stuff him in a suit? A sacrifice of sorts? "He said jeans and a sweater, I am going to have a heart attack." Lestat complains, rolling his head against the back of the couch. "We are going to dine in the afterhours, yes?" Lestat captures Louis's gaze before assessing the suit properly against the beguiled, mortal backdrop.

He drags out his grimace and sighs. "It goes with his eyes, not his attitude." Lestat's cants his chin. "Put it on."

@bloodsalted

[bloodsalted]

lounge wear. fancy name for pajamas. must be what they use in paris to make themselves seem more pretentious than they already are. it's working. dean's fingers curl towards the sleeves of his flannel. a hint of self-consciousness mingled with self-esteem issues dig deeper than the hunter would dare let on. covers it up with heavy does of borderline toxic masculinity and bravado when the shitty feeling swells up too big. right now? borderlining that mark pretty fucking hard. a long glare's given to the blonde as he continues to make fun of him.

opting instead to switch his attention back to louis as the touch lingers upon his jawline, the heat of his skin radiates against the vampire's fingertips. perhaps a degree or two hotter than normal due to the color that's threatening to spread further from freckled cheeks and nose towards his neck. forest green searches emerald. whatever this feeling is settling between the pair--like attracting and noticing like--has dean's heart skip once. twice. then rush to a heavy thudding in his ears that breathing deep's supposed to quell. he knows enough about vampires to know they can hear and see far louder and sharper than humans. hell. he's come so close to being one on the permanent end of things more than once. if what he felt and sensed those times was any hint? louis and lestat could easily hear every gear his pulse picks up. listen to his breathing. his thoughts.

television static fills his mind. strangely enough?? that seems to work. darker, buried thoughts are tucked back. hidden. warded. dean's the last one to break eye contact. seeming stuck in position longer.. his body sways just a little when the touch disappears. the hunter didn't notice how his weight shifted towards louis's fingertips til he was forced to catch himself. snapping out of it--he tosses a look to lestat then back to the suit. the look says he barely caught anything he was saying. only the dining part.. that better not mean what he thinks it does. put it on, lestat demands. the fabric feels expensive when he curls his hands around the hanger's arm capturing the fabric in a -now- steady grip. "..fine.." tosses a glance towards where lestat appeared from. "where do i change?"

[monsieurdulac]

It's hard to impress vampires their age. Much harder to excite them, especially for mortals, but Dean is one of a kind. Louis can see that in his eyes while feeling Lestat's observation practically pierce his flesh. Ever the arsonist, du Lac doesn't mind igniting figurative fires if burning down buildings is off the table— a little flame of jealousy in his lover, a spark of nervousness in the man he leans closer to than necessary. Thrilling! "If we put him in something that matches his attitude, get him a chastity belt", Louis counters in Lestat's direction with a dry chuckle, deliberate the jab at Dean's apprehension. Stiff like a piece of wood. He'd burn beautifully, especially with the whiskey lacing his blood. He gestures toward the small corridor, where Dean will find a guest bathroom. "The afterhours, yes."

And then he half-pivots on the spot to subject Lestat to a pointed look, almost challenging, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. "You don't like him, huh?" Louis doesn't yet have much of an opinion, shall keep an eye on their human company whilst lending respectful avoidance of mind reading. Slow steps carry him to the couch where the love of his life lounges, the vestige of an impish smile persisting. "Give him a chance." Louis heaves his shoulders in a languid shrug.

"Maybe he's more fun than he lets on now? I mean..." Doubt crinkles his nose, hands pulled out of the pockets when he sinks into the cushions by Lestat's side. Gives his arm a little nudge with an elbow. "We could kill him at any given moment. Of course he's stiff as all hell." Speaking of who... As soon as Dean returns all dressed up, Louis' attention sways back to him, a pout of approval accompanying an upward twitch of brows. "Not bad."

@eladead

[aramblingjay]

3x01 // 3x06 insp from @un-jardin-sauvage

[eladead]

@monsieurdulac

[eladead]

R☆ckstar☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆: he is not used to Louis being gone. Not yet. Like a cornered animal abandoned over and over again, the vampire Maker nearly crumbles after he and his beloved fledgling finally mend the scorched, desintegrated bridge between them. Standing in the middle of a mosaic of their shattered lives together, Lestat glues each piece with sticky blood of his love. This unyielding, filthy love that makes him as ugly as he is now, sobbing in a swan-white bathtub, surrounded by marble and tile, gold and emerald. The bathroom is designed in their visage; the crossing elements of an impenetrable mountain assaulted by an unforgiving tornado. Their unuttered vows make every absence painful.

He wakes thinking Louis is gone. A text away, a mere phone call, and yet Lestat's mind fails as he feels his chest caving in. What happened before he retired from his rockstar years is a testament to his devastation. Lestat is a danger to other in such a state, even himself.

When cool palms of his beloved capture him, every crevice and line of Louis's hands rip a wailing cough from Lestat's chest. He jolts, as if in fear, against the touch of a phantom. Shortly after, Lestat finds some semblance of his wits and recalls that Louis is himself; the apparition of Lestat's torment is long gone with the table of all his failures. Lestat lets himself be lifted, blurry-eyed, and breathing heavily with useless lungs as he reaches up to grab onto Louis's wrists, squeezing them close. He listens to the plea, trying to move his pupils around his beloved's face. He mouths his name, unable to force a single sound out of his songbird throat.

Lestat wheezes, denting Louis's skin underneath shuddering fingertips. He is here. Himself. A gorgeous man with a voice of the only angel Lesat will pray to. Finally, he reaches up to swallow Louis into an embrace around his neck. Lestat rises to his knees, bent forward over the tub's edge to gently sob against Louis's shoulder. "Y-you are here," he repeats for himself, inhaling his lover's scent. He was outside; the perfumes of a mortal life cling to him. He has returned. He is home.

"…he is home." Lestat mutters as he speaks to his mind, nuzzling his cheek against a firm shoulder. "I had a terrible dream, my love. A dream where I let you go." Lestat's face contorts in pain and he squeezes Louis in his arms.

[monsieurdulac]

Call him paranoid, the way his thoughts instantly race in many directions. All of which lead to another pair of vampires. Well, most. Louis heard the rumors in the heads of some here and there, about how the Queen will come. And there's one consensus life shares with poetry: ancient things have violent hungers. Lestat's grip around his wrists isn't even registered where brewing rage pulls every sinew, each muscle taut. Only when that same hold loosens, Louis realizes his lover's nails dug crescent marks into skin. Quick to fade. He doesn't withdraw from his trembling, wheezing maker, instead wraps his arms around him as soon as Lestat's muffled voice rumbles near his ear.

Louis' own face twists into a scowl, the embrace subconsciously tightening and his chin pinned to the other's shoulder.

"I won't", he decidedly answers through gritting teeth, glaring at the tiles behind Lestat as if they'd shatter if he just stares long enough. That almost-hiss serves as reminder to himself more than anything else, to never ever abandon Lestat again. Or worse, kill him again. "I swear, I'm not going anywhere." Bringing one of his hands to the back of his maker's head, Louis cards clawed fingers through golden locks ; slowly, soothingly. "You're stuck with me, sorry", subtle humor swings along. Because they know very well there will be fights, things said on impulse but not genuine— temporary wishes to ditch each other. They should be over this, finally. And finally, turning his head just enough to nuzzle the side of lover's neck, words withheld since their reunion pour out of him: "Je t’aime pour toujours, Les."

[devourcr]

he wonders who he's become to louis. armand imagines what it would be like to crawl into his mind, to see himself in louis's eyes, through them, after everything. what a duplicitous, conniving creature he must have seen. not all untrue, he supposes, but he's like a carved out book, with schemer scribbled across the cover. the missing pages were just as true as what was left.

if only his scheming worked out so perfectly. while he didn't make it five hundred years without some cunning, he can't help but wonder if he should be flattered by how elaborate of a chess game louis or even daniel must think he played.

even though louis's eyes leave him for the view, armand's chin raises, a show of dominance in the conversation as he chooses to deflect as deadpan as he can to deflect from the twisted up feelings he had for what he'd done to daniel. the phantom maker and his errant fledgling.

❝ of course. i aligned it on a star chart, manifested it with a vision board, and executed it with a moving, albeit moody playlist. ❞ he chews the inside of his mouth following, internally cringing at how petty it sounded in the aftermath. ❝ i wanted him to live, louis. the entire time. but i also wanted him to hurt. ❞

[monsieurdulac]

Where Louis would've allowed for Armand's pettiness to rile him up years ago, all he now has left? A tired scoff. Much more tame a display than what burns underneath undead flesh ; the fire lit back in Paris that never went out. Lies dismantled, a transactional bond shattered, he can't deny the wound the interview's final revelation carved into his heart. Maybe Louis never loved Armand as much as he did, and does, Lestat— a part of him did love him, nevertheless. Betrayal keeps stinging. With every glance at the older vampire, so he tends to avoid eye contact. Until Armand confesses his reasoning behind Daniel, however vague. Louis half-pivots on the spot to trade the panorama view for that traitor's face, simpering, hands slipped into the pockets of his black pants which matches his shirt.

"So, basically: same story, different guy", he teases, brows creased to give that line a semi-comical finish. But his mien blanks a beat later while slow steps shrink some of the distance between them, same earnestness carrying a simple yet profound question: "Do you love him?" There are two schemers in the room.

[monsieurdulac]

Louis 🥺

"Stop pouting, get in here."

[stillkeepsinging]

what if i chose you and i chose you and i kept choosing you. what if everything changed but not us. what if you changed and i changed and i chose you anyway. what if i chose us forever.

[monsieurdulac]

@eladead

[abed-with-a-knife]

showing up to kill a man’s whole coven and rip out his spine and burn him alive. in converse high tops.

louis de pointe du lac your heart too big your swag too fire your eyes too green. they’ll kill you

[heldbynight]

I would protect

the parts of you

you learned to hide

because no one

handled them gently before

[monsieurdulac]

@eladead

[monsieurdulac]

"Every time I look at you, I am reminded that I deserve a second chance. We both do. But one rule, my love. NO KIDS."

Lestat has always had a way with words. His voice either fires daggers never missing their mark or spins sweetness so endearing that one forgets what a monster he can be. Louis lets himself get ensnared, reaching out to brush a stray strand of blond behind Lestat's ear. All while shrinking the distance between them ; little that's left, anyway. Those final words but cause him to stall. Skepticism creases his brows before surprise tugs them upward — and he snorts.

"A rule? Wow, that's..." He nods, a mock-contemplative frown displayed. "Rich, coming from the rebel himself. But okay." Now seriously, Louis' slow blink wipes all this playfulness away. "Okay. No kids." That said, he pulls Lestat into a kiss while trying not to allow for regret about Claudia take the reins.

[ombre-ame]

@ombre-ame upload

June 27,2026

#ombre-ame posts

[monsieurdulac]

@devourcr

That looking at Armand now feels different would be an understatement. After everything going down by the end of their interview, the revelation paints him in a light that causes an eye to twitch. Louis suddenly finds Armand's features appear sharper than before ; daunting, almost. But he's not scared by any means. If anything, there's an itch to slam him into another wall until blood sprinkles the same.

Clenching his jaw, arms crossed, Louis decides to avert his gaze in favor of the panorama window and the night beyond. "You broke your code for him." For Daniel. Making him his first fledgling. "Was that your plan all along, another one of your intricate schemes?"

[eladead]

R☆ckstar☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆: have you seen such a thing? Have you heard of such a matter? A mortal man with thoughts of the cheapest booze in Paris. Paris! Lestat is somewhat surprised by this lingering mind before they meet with their guest. The rest is adequately wicked.

Adorned in a velvet robe with a white collar, like Snow White gliding through the field of poppies stretching across the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, Lestat enters stage left of the penthouse living room. A mouthful for a sight, he approaches his smoking companion, trailing his cold curiosity over a man named Dean. He looks like a Dean, but it is a shame Lestat cannot tell his fledgling that across telepathically channels. Such an inconvenience, and yet, the know each other all too well. There is no need for hidden thoughts. A mere touch of a traveling hand across Louis's shoulders. A greeting of a yearning lover who has waited for so long to share a room like this again.

"You give it too much credit, mon cher. That's a wardrobe of a trawlerman." He grins, reaching over Louis's shoulder to pluck the cigarette from between his knuckles. Then, pressing it to his lips, Lestat takes a drag of his beloved's kiss from the filter. "All offense." He says right after Louis, returning the cigarette. As Louis departs from his side, the former rockstar effortlessly hops over the back of the couch to land right next to his counterpart. Finally, he assesses the Winchester right then.

"I think he's a lost cause." Lestat reclines, peering up at the joins silhouettes. A smile splits his face and his nose scrunches playfully. "But fine, you," he nods at Dean. "The guest goes first. If you had taste, what would you wear?"

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩@bloodsalted || @monsieurdulac 🥩୧ ‧₊˚

[bloodsalted]

you know what?

armand didn't quite prepare him for the sheer spectacle these two were going to be. sure. he heard stories. plenty of those. reasons why he should avoid them at any cost. drama. was one thing. mentally fucked was another. needless to say the vampire known between the three of them seems to have some sort've love/hate/what the fuck for the pair. much as armand would like to exude he gives no care whatsoever about either louis or lestat... dean knows when someone's heaping bullshit lies over lies and hoping that the person you're dishing them out to buys in. dean didn't. not all the way.

loose ends was what he was sent here for. too much money handed over to say no. besides? armand's helped him repeatedly throughout their short time knowing one another. dean's never good at ignoring what debts he feels he owes. especially with a payment slip attached. one that he should've used part of to apparently buy a new.. fit, he mouths with a question mark punctuated with a raised brow and a side glance. fit. this one's hip?! okay. that was unexpected. don't laugh.

through the curtain comes the blonde louis addressed his detest for dean's clothing choices towards. lestat. the fabled antihero of his own narrative..

..and everyone else's.

why's he suddenly give a shit about his ALWAYS BEEN JUST FINE fashion being torn apart by two vampires? why's he got a hint of warmth over his cheeks? you know what? fuck off! that's not cool! the hunter palms over his face then cups the back of his neck. some might say a fidget. some might also be right. gaze jerks to lestat at the question. first one really issued to him rather than everything stated at him. tiered lips refuse to wrap around the reply he WISHED was on lock and load so he didn't stand here like he is now. speechless. ON THE SPOT! "i--uh," think--dean--think!!! "what the hell do you wear in paris? you're wearing pajamas. and he looks like he belongs at the kentucy derby. so.. what? jeans and a sweater? a suit? some kinda old timey shit? i don't know. you're the experts. you tell me."

okay. probably not that. what's out's out! yay! okay! buy the ticket. take the ride!

@monsieurdulac

[monsieurdulac]

A man tossed into the lion's den. The vampires study him as if to contemplate how to best savor him, where to dig their fangs in, but none of that is on their minds. Is it? Louis, at least, has no care for Dean's blood when dragging him through the city of love like an accesory seems more appealing. He could serve as bait, too. Lestat's harsh commentary bleeding past this challenging smile prompts Louis to mirror the same expression. Though it's fleeting. Smoke wafts around the hunter when that vampire circling him halts by his side ; this time ensuring to blow out the nicotine vapor sideways through a corner of his mouth. "Let's hope Lestat is wrong", Louis chuckles dryly regarding Dean getting branded as lost cause.

He refrains from explaining to the man that Lestat's current attire doesn't give him any right to compare himself to the aspiring actor. Instead, he inches closer to scan Dean's face from up close— takes the liberty to reach for the latter's chin with his free hand for that purpose. Green staring into green. He can sense a rage in that one calling out to his own. The realization has him linger quiet for another beat.

"Hm, I think the brown suit's gonna do the job", Louis hums, just to vanish the next moment and retrieve said suit. He comes back ambling as if lacking every care about time, an ashtray somewhere on the way across the penthouse soon to catch the cigarette butt. "You know, Dean, this has nothing to do with Paris per se. I don't know if you ever saw the Matignon from the inside, but...", he trails off, shooting Lestat a sidelong glance while holding the suit in front of Dean. "What says your expertise, love?"

@eladead

[wicked-ever-after]

Jacob Anderson

Click the SOURCE LINK BELOW to find gifs of Jacob Anderson in Interview With The Vampire Season 1 for roleplaying purposes. They were made from scratch so please like and/or reblog this post if using, or give any form of credit.

[eladead]

// @monsieurdulac I hope you wake up and suffer like I did.

[monsieurdulac]

@eladead ; panic attack

Louis wasn't gone for long. Just attending a meeting with realtors to negotiate over an old building from the victorian period that will soon serve as the vampire's new hotel. Back to business aside from photography, he went with excitement. Subdued by the sunglasses hiding his unnervingly wild eyes ; as humans might describe them, glasses he slowly takes off the moment he steps into the penthouse. Halting by the entrance, Louis looks around with perplexity that survives barely two seconds before it clicks. He knows Lestat, how to read any room he resides in or just left. "Ssshit", he hisses and tosses the sunglasses onto the nearest surface. Follows the chaos in a hurry to find his maker and in the bathroom— an image he deep down already expected.

It hurts to see Lestat like that. Heartbroken must Louis look when he approaches the tub to kneel beside it, reach for his lover's head to cradle it in his palms.

"It's okay, Les, I'm here." Barely above a whisper, his reassurance repeats: "I'm here. It's okay! It's okay." Pads of his thumbs brush over Lestat's cheekbones to wipe blood-tear stains away, as a means to ground him. Somehow. "Look at me", follows in an almost pleading tone matching his worried mien. Whatever sent Lestat into this condition? If it was a person, doesn't matter if via phone or presence or what the hell ever? Louis is gonna make them regret it. At least that's what courses through his head to plant a rage he for now swallows, runs through cold veins like fire threatening to eat him alive. But he won't let go of Lestat ; never again.

[lioncourtz]

Lover Boy Louis

THE VAMPIRE LESTAT 03.06 | "Montreal"