♛Take a number, avocat gris (wink wink)
I wouldn’t mind being bitten by you (wink wink)
Tag Archives: lestat muse
confession: i really want you to bite me
♛ Are you an evildoer? Or merely un
amuse-bouche?
Confession: I am transgender
♛ I’m not shocked by this confession, and normally, your confessor (your religious figure, mentor, spiritual father, etc.) forgives someone’s confession with some kind of absolution. No one’s forgiveness is needed here, you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. A confession is something given from a place of guilt or shame and you should feel neither. Please don’t feel guilt or shame, forgive yourself *hugs tightly*
On a personal note, some have speculated that my mother is transgender, too. If she were to confess such, I wouldn’t be surprised. Admittedly I was shocked the first time she wanted to dress as a man, but that was a night of shocking exploration and I was somewhat emotionally drained already.
If she wanted to be called “Gabriel” and have he/his pronouns I would be more than happy to use them. Whether he physically altered himself, I would accept him, in any form, with open arms. He would probably resemble me even more than Gabrielle does now, and imitation is the highest form of flattery, is it not?
I’ve seen the transgender people step into the light in recent times, but they have always existed. You are not alone. I hope you are, or will be, comfortable in your transition and that your loved ones support you, as I would.
My confession is that love scares me
♛Love is scary, it can be terrifying. You can lose yourself in it, give your heart to someone who doesn’t deserve you. I’ll take the risks, I doubt I could live without love. My hunger for it supersedes everything else. Never forget to love yourself. We all deserve that much. Especially when certain objects of your affection do not return your love regardless of their inability or refusal to see how lovable you are.
Would you like to play a game called FMK? it would be pretty funny! :3
♛
Do you mean Fuck/Marry/Kill? Hit me, avocat gris.
Lestat has saved my life. He doesn’t know it but I adore him. I guess i’m just a silly fangirl but I cant help but feel so grateful to him (lord knows his ego doesn’t need it) and when i meet his eyes in photographs it’s as if he knows. I wish I could speak to him and thank him. But he’d ignore me if i ever got the chance, i’m a nobody.
♛ Dear anonyme,
You are absolutely not a ‘nobody.’ Haven’t you noticed how I address my readers at almost every opportunity? “So until we meet again, I am thinking of you always; I love you; I wish you were here… in my arms.” My actual published words. I adore you. Silly fangirls, serious fangirls, silly fanboys, serious fanboys, agenderfans, even the ruthless critics, all!
These “Vampire Chronicles” are my life, laid out as honestly as possible for you. Perhaps in my search for goodness, I’ve already found it in sharing my stories. With you.
Do me a small favor, Anon: please give yourself some of the love you give to me. For the courage it took to write your message, and too many other reasons to list here, you deserve it.
I’ve explained this to another person like you… I’m an actor, as you know already, but beneath the performance must lie real substance, real experience, in order to engage with you, the audience. What good is the best performance from one of the greatest actors (ME) if there is no audience? You’re needed, every last one of you. Actors feed off their audience’s reaction, though the lines may be the same, it’s never the same show twice. Even when you read my books a second, third, fourth time around, you bring different life experiences of your own, and though the plot points are the same, your reaction to it is not.
What are my books but stories? And what are stories? Experiences in someone’s navigation of life, “Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer/The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,/ Or to take arms against a sea of troubles/ And by opposing end them…”
I have always wanted you to experience my journey, be my captive audience, and learn from my example, whether I was being “good” or “bad” (or somewhere in between). Perhaps you can learn to take arms against your sea of troubles the way I’ve done, or suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune as I’ve suffered… more than one lifetime’s worth of both.
I know these stories have had an impact on you, on many. Have I saved lives? Like yours? I hope so. Killing evildoers is one way to save lives, writing is quite possibly another way. My autobiography had been intended for Louis, to give him everything I wouldn’t give him before that point. To save his life, if he was at all thinking he might end it. The fact that the novel touched so many lives in such a positive way made me want to share more. And more!
also Lestat how was it to give that one girl her very last foot popping kiss?
♛I assume you mean this – very expensive – lady of the night?
I give many people their very last “foot popping kiss.” The act is different for everyone, although I admit that I do enjoy such displays of unleashed passion, when the victim’s mind is completely swept away in the best orgasm of their lives and their bodies can no longer defend themselves against it, no silly societal shame or embarrassment, just a quivering mess of fleshly bliss.
Having Louis there watching me always adds a layer of extra thrill. Even when he was being a rebellious child *laughs* He’s much more involved and deliberate in his actions when we share now.
Add to all that the other lady of the night, unaware of what was happening so close by… and her little hand on my leg, such a skilled touch, she had absolutely shared men with her partner-in-crime before, and she knew just how to stimulate. I didn’t even know that area behind the knee was such an erogenous zone before, this old dog is always learning new tricks *winks*
Ok then, how about instead of naming 5 things you like/love about Louis name 10. Oh and may I just say I love it when you write a long wall of text. It’s a lot of reading (I love reading) but I always get to read something interesting. I just wanted to tell you that.
♛ Ten! Such limitations. Technically, adding ten to the previous five makes it fifteen, and really, that’s enough to share with the public. Some things I adore about him are inexplicable, and many things are too private to share. I’d love to tell you these of course, but bragging of such things is not worth the guaranteed retaliation for such a breach in our privacy.
So you want a wall of text? You shall have one, visage gris.
The bottom line is that Louis coaxes out a better version of myself. I don’t always do things for his approval but when I get validation from him it’s as if the sun has broken free from the clouds. I find relief in his gaze, in his arms. I want to give him everything. I hope that I mean a fraction of what he means to me.
1. His eyes: Let’s start with the obvious. I’ve often described his eye color, but what I mean to share here is about his eyes in their expressiveness. He can be vicious, he can cut me deeply with a glance. When he looks at me with lust, his pupils widen, leaving only slivers of the brilliant green. My surrender is inevitable. Of course I have to play it like I still have some autonomy, he can’t know that he has such an effect *winks*
2. The way he pleads with me not to do certain things that I am SURE will be worth the effort.
3. The way he trembles with rage rather than fight me because he is too much of a gentleman to lower himself to my level.
4. The way he says he told me so when I do things despite his advice and come crawling back to him.
5. The way he lets me apologize without degrading myself by literally apologizing.
6. The way his body seems to fit with mine in so many variations,
the way he collects himself beside me, tucking a leg underneath himself, like a panther. As if he were made for me. Fun fact: he was. (As if that needed to be said.)
7. The pride I have in him when he flexes his powers, which he does! Occasionally! He dislikes it the way mortals dislike the gym, but he’s always a little arrogant after accomplishing even the smallest thing (as are mortals leaving the gym). He’s learning to move things with his mind. Seeing his eyes light up as a vase scoots along the mantel is… it’s indescribable. I can barely contain myself from hurling myself on him and cuddling him to death at such times.
8. No one cries as beautifully as he does. Those eyelashes forming patterns wetly together… the red tinge bringing out the green of his irises even more than usual… I admit that I sometimes used to torment him into tears when I couldn’t draw the love from him I needed. That’s a bitter truth. I had issues of my own at the time. I don’t do that anymore, at least not deliberately. He cries now for different reasons, when he does at all.
9. His strength and beauty when he does fight me (or others) is mesmerizing; I think he knows it has that effect on me and uses it to his advantage.
10. His silhouette on the balcony w/ the lights of the street haloing him. Ethereal among the lush plants and night-blooming blossoms.
Papá, I wanted to thank you for eveything. You and Papá Noir, Louis, for saving me back then and for the numerous moments of love that we shared. Happy Father’s Day to both of you, although a little late. I love you eternally. -livingdollclaudia
♛ Mon bijou, on those darker nights when I feel more alone than ever, I often close my eyes, and imagine you near, nestled against Louis and I as he reads us one of your favorite stories. You were always as much mine as his, and we both belonged to you. Was it fate that led him to find you? Was it fate that forced me with burning purpose to keep you with us? I remember your scent – lavender, white gardenia, and chrysanthemums. Spring captured and reformed into the perfect little girl. We love you still.
dear lestat, if you could how would you spent fathers day with claudia? and how would you spend fathers day with your own father?
♛ Dear anon – this is a painful question… when I reflect on my own parenting, I have to compare myself to my father. Certain things were, unfortunately, passed down. Even as I tried to be the father he couldn’t be. Interestingly, he had told me little of our family’s origins, for his own reasons, and I had to hold back alot of similar information from my “children.” In my case, however, it was for their own safety. And sanity. Never made that comparison before.
Father’s Day as we know it didn’t exist when they were alive…
Of course, Claudia and I would have special occasions at the slightest excuse, so we did share many nights in celebration of our bond as father and daughter, with and without Louis’ involvement. There were some things he just wouldn’t do!
One such night might include riding out on horseback to the old plantation, she loved the closeness of being held tight to me, the rush of the speed of the animal. We would pretend it was a haunted house, and would hunt for ghosts. I might hire performers in different rooms to play out a story for her. She knew it was an act, but she loved it anyway.
Dinner together, of course. Watching her play with her food was always entertaining, especially when she would look back at me, see that I was proud of her, and then grin wide enough to show her beautiful little fangs!
When I reflect on my father, I see him as mostly an angry presence… it seemed that there was little I could offer him to earn his affection. Even when I provided well for our family (and I use the term “family” loosely here), the most I could ever get from him was a grunt of disappointment in how long it had taken me to do it. One couldn’t simply waltz into a supermarket and just pick up a few packs of prepared meats, I had to chase these things down! With tactics! And weapons!
When we were together at Pointe du Lac, my father had mellowed somewhat by age and infirmity, and we did spend some pleasant evenings together. His hands trembled when we played chess. Those same hands that had struck me countless times for the most minor infractions; it seemed my whole body was allergic to them, even in my altered state. He wanted the comfort of touch in his blindness… but I could only bear to hold his hands in mine a few times. Fortunately, Louis’ family was kind to him, and they brought out a side of him that I hadn’t seen before. He spent hours listening to Louis’ sister play the spinet. She had lost a father, he had never really had a daughter, I was grateful to her for whatever bond they formed between them.
I-want-my-IWTV 