wanted to draw a meme but
they are really like that
wanted to draw a meme but
they are really like that
Bad Vampire Chronicles Aesthetics: Interview w/ the Vampires
u whining coward of a vampire who prowls the night killing alley cats and rats and staring for hrs at candles as if they were ppl and standing in the rain like a zombie until ur clothes are drenched and u smell like old wardrobe trunks in attics and have the look of a baffled idiot at the zoo.
Louis de Pointe du Lac; Lestat de Lioncourt; Claudia: Interview with the Vampire
Happy (almost) Halloween from HamilPOP and everyone’s favorite gloomy vampires (sorry, Twilight…)!
I keep hearing scuttlebutt that there’s going to be a new adaptation of The Vampire Chronicles as a television show or a film remake of the 1994 movie. Just when I think I get out of a fandom, it drags me back in. And TVC was my first BIG one. Sigh.
I still love Louis the most best always. ❣️
ALL THREE AVAILABLE NOW! If someone purchases a single figurine, I will remove the option to purchase the set.
♫Put that thing back where it came from or so help me… so help me, so help me♫ – and CUT. We’re still working on it… it’s a work in progress but, hey, we need ushers!
I wrote a little drabble and thought I’d share it 🙂 It is based on a pretty vivid dream I had from Louis’s perspective. I hope you’ll enjoy it 🙂
Interview with the Vampire
Word count: 697
It was an unusually cold summer’s
night; every now and again, rain fell that pattered on the roof and the windows
and left a thick, hazy mist in the air. Claudia and I had settled on the large,
cushioned fauteuil in the sitting room. We had discussed our arrangements of
leaving New Orleans, our arms interlinked, her head lightly placed on my chest.
At times, she looked up at me with that angelic expression, lashes gently
fluttering, painting shadows on her round cheeks. She had talked of Lestat
sharply, resentment darkening her tone. Resentment had drowned out all other
feelings she might once have had for him. I couldn’t understand, how she could
talk of leaving without the wistful ache of past bliss eating at her heart, how
quickly that dark seed of hatred had corrupted her, as if she had no memory of
peace and happiness. Lestat would soon be back, she said, and when he returned,
she would go out. I did not need to make an effort to hear Lestat’s heady steps
in the parlour, as he made no effort to conceal them. Often, I felt, he simply
could not allow us to miss his arrival, almost trampled needlessly on the stairs;
he wanted us to notice. He would barge into the sitting room, still shaken by
peals of laughter of which he would not reveal the reasons, unless asked. It
was much the same tonight, he was chuckling to himself as he entered, his grey
eyes radiant, his cheeks full, his skin warm and rosy from the kill. He stopped
now before us, shortly, the laughter chipped off and faded into a shallow
smile. His darkened face was a mask and his smile quivered as he gazed at us in
“Oh look at my sweet little family,”
he said, voice brittle. So tender, his expression, yet I noticed the hint of
jealousy that poisoned his tone. Claudia and I remained silent, she merely
tensed in my arms. He turned now, swiftly and moved towards the balcony, with
meaning in his stride. He rattled purposefully at the door and swept away, out
of sight. We could hear him hum a melody, a Spanish tavern song perhaps, but
the notes scratched at his throat, the sounds were jagged, and his fingers were
strumming an impatient rhythm onto the balustrade. The wind picked up again and
billowed the lace curtains, the candle flames stirred in the breeze, a dried
rose petal fell. The air was humid and cold and smelled of rain.
It didn’t take long for him to come
back into the room, the balcony door closing behind him with a loud thud. He
had stopped humming and he looked at us again, blankly, coldly, without a
smile. Claudia stirred, and I loosened my grip around her, so she could get up
and away. This was when he came towards me, gesturing for me to move so he
could settle on the fauteuil beside me. Claudia stood next to it now, and she
watched as he pulled me close to him, on top of him, so that I sat between the
legs he had stretched on the settee and against his chest as he leaned back. He
folded his arms tightly around me and I could feel him sigh beneath me, I could
feel his breath in my ear and it raised every hair on my body. He relaxed,
completely, his cheek against my hair, cradling me. I could feel the powerful
vibration of his voice as he spoke to Claudia.
“Listen, listen, listen,” he said,
agitatedly, as if to keep her from turning away and leaving.
he paused, “isn’t it precious?”
And then I could feel it too, the faint thudding of my heart against his arms,
his hands that he had laid now flat on my chest. It was low at first, but then
it seemed to pound harder and harder in his embrace, against the arms that
trapped me and kept me close to him. Claudia didn’t respond, she merely locked
eyes with me, her piercing gaze solemn and meaningful. Then she turned swiftly
and left without a sound.