Tag Archives: mY HEART

Leave a comment

theheadgirl:

The Vampire Lestat (1985)

I kept glancing at him and away from him, as if his green eyes were hurting me. In modern parlance he was a laser beam. Deadly and delicate he seemed. His victims had always loved him.
And I had always loved him, hadn’t I, no matter what happened, and how strong could love grow if you had eternity to nourish it, and it took only these few moments in time to renew its momentum, its heat?

The Queen of the Damned (1988)

Stupidly I stared at him. How perfect he seemed to me as he stood there waiting with such kindness and such patience. And then, like a fool, I came out with it.
“Do you love me now?” I asked.
He smiled; oh, it was excruciating to see his face soften and brighten simultaneously when he smiled. “Yes,” he said.

Prince Lestat (2014)

I kissed him. I pressed my lips to his and I held this kiss for a long silent moment. And then I gave in to a silent wave of feeling, and I took him in my arms. I held him tight against me. I felt his unmistakable silken skin, his soft shining black hair. I heard the blood throbbing in him, and time dissolved, and it seemed I was in some old and secret place, some warm tropical grotto we’d once shared, ours alone in some way, with the scent of sweet olive blossoms and the whisper of moist breeze. “I love you,” I whispered.
In a low intimate voice, he answered: “My heart is yours.”

louis + lestat. die young. love forever.

@hyperbeeb: “Now matter how hard you ship Louis and Lestat you will never ship Louis and Lestat as hard as Lestat does.” [X]

Happiest memory?

Leave a comment

a-misunderstanding-my-love:

-sighs-

First of all, fuck you. 

Second of all. Well. 

It was summer. One of the more sweltering that I remember. We were at least a month into being truly lovers, not just friends, and he’d dragged me out into the hills in search of a stream. We each had a bottle of wine (or two?) and he was carrying bread, cheese, and cherries; I had my violin. 

It took almost an hour to find it. Mon dieu, but it was so hot. The sort of hot that is like a curtain before you, like a wet blanket that covers your body. By the time we found the stream, we’d both stripped off our shirts, and I remember worrying my feet would have swollen in my boots. 

We stripped off our clothing and immediately took to the water. Now, remember, these are cool mountain streams, even in summer. It was glorious. Bathing, drinking, splashing each other, wrestling. Then making love on the grass, our breath coming hard, our cries building until the little death, and then collapsing beside each other in happy, satisfied exhaustion. 

We drank wine for hours and ate, the cherry juice staining our fingers and mouths, our lazy kisses a mixture of sweat and fruit. I remember almost weeping at the perfection of it, turning into his neck and burying my face there because I knew it wouldn’t last, that the sunlight and sweetness and poetry of it would end, as it always did. 

Before we left, I remember he grabbed me ‘round the waist and kissed me, then pulled back and looked me in the eye. If you don’t know him, you can’t know how penetrating, how soul-piercing that gaze can be–he loves with perfect trust, and it’s absolutely terrifying. 

“I love you. I will always love you.” 

The real horror is that I believed him. Utterly. 

Leave a comment

darknessmolten:

Christmas Song on Archive of Our Own

Louis and his experiences with one particular Christmas song throughout the years. Of course there’s also a bit of Lestat in there, because what would we do without him?

Inspired by one of @merciful-death’s great headcanons and originally written as a Secret Santa gift to her. @i-want-my-iwtv helped with feedback and improvements.

As I wrote to @darknessmolten:

“First of all how dare you. I love it! …Very well done. I’m glad you took on the challenge of hitting all of her prompts, and it’s clear a lot of thought and care went into this.”

Some of my actual notes while beta’ing this lovely piece, in the order that the notes appeared:

  • (<– Niiiice)
  • (oooooh I liiiike that)
  • 😀
  • (I love this paragraph ok? Like damn.)
  • (omg)
  • 😀
  • (my heart! ;A;)
  • (Hah! Great line)
Gallery

Leave a comment

wordsandroads:

These, for me, are the two most depressing paintings in western history. They were painted by post-impressionist Henry de Toulouse-Lautrec, a man who, due to inbreeding, was born with a genetic disorder that prevented his legs from growing after they were broken. After being so thoroughly mocked for is appearance, he became an alcoholic, which is what eventually caused his institutionalization and death. His only known romantic relations were with prostitutes.

And then he paints something like this which is so beautiful and tender and sentimental. It seems like the couple in bed really loves each other–cares about each other. Wakes up happy to look at each other. And I see that love and passion and I wonder how lonely he must have been. I wonder how he could paint something like this without it breaking his heart. 

Maybe they say artists should create what they know, not because its unbelievable when they extend themselves beyond their experiences, but because when they pull it off with such elegance, it’s so damn unbearable to look at. I hate thinking of Lautrec, wondering about the lovers he created and knowing it was beyond his experience. Creating something that he knows is beautiful and knows he’ll never really understand. 

Source: wordsandroads

Leave a comment

vintagesalt:

Trivia: Christian Slater was given the role of Daniel upon the death of River Phoenix, who was originally signed on to play the role. Slater later donated his $250,000 salary to two of Phoenix’s favourite charities.

Source: vintagesalt

Has Armand ever really scared you? Can he now?

Leave a comment

vagabonddaniel-recordedarchives:

Are you kidding? Of course he has. I was out of my mind with terror the first time I saw Armand. I knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of. Well, I thought I knew. Turns out I vastly underestimated his capacity for cruelty, but I knew enough to fear for my life. Only an idiot with a death wish wouldn’t have found Armand absolutely horrifying. (Yeah, yeah, I know, many people are convinced I was an idiot with a death wish. Maybe they’re not wrong. But I wasn’t that stupid.) 

Seeing him in the crowd, or sitting on the bus, or walking down the street filled me with so much terror that my blood turned to icy slush and I couldn’t breathe. He scared me to death. And I was very, very sure he was going to kill me. Every time I caught even a snatch of red hair or a glimpse of ivory skin, I thought I might die.

So yeah, he scared me beyond words.

Of course, that didn’t last. Things changed pretty quickly. He started to plop down beside me and ask questions, to demand conversation no matter the hour: “Why did man go to the moon again?” “Explain the rules of baseball, Daniel.” “What is a hippy?” And gradually, I stopped being scared. I got lost in the conversations, got sucked in, found myself captivated by this creature whose curiosity and intelligence were unlike anything I’d ever encountered before. God help me, I started to look forward to his appearances, and the fear abated. 

Now he has the capacity to frighten me in different ways. I don’t fear him. I do fearing losing him to ash and dust. I fear breaking things so completely between us that there can be no reconciliation, no good terms to be reestablished. I fear making him loathe me down the marrow of his bones so that that hatred can never be eradicated. I fear living in a world without him. 

But I am not afraid of him anymore, and never will be again. I know his black heart too well.