Bruna. 28. Bisexual. Brazil. I've got a film degree.
Sometimes I post mature content, so I'll ask to only follow me if you're 18+.
This is a multifandom blog. Expect lots of Hannibal and Star Trek. Also Vampire Chronicles. Lots of movies. There will be on occasion rock bands and singers. Also books and TV shows and random stuff.
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“I’m Lestat,” I said in a low voice. “Your Lestat. I’m the same Lestat you’ve always known, and no matter how I’m changed, I’m still that same being.”
“I know,” he said warmly.
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.”(Lestat and Louis in Prince Lestat, by
Anne Rice)
wait WHAT. She actually fucking says it in Prince Lestat? Ok, dammit I need to reread the first four again (I’ve already read IWTV) and this.
She totally does, and it’s actually the best part of Prince Lestat:
(But I should warn that, sadly, there really isn’t a lot of Lestat/Louis in Prince Lestat. There’s just a few scenes with them together.)
“I’m Lestat,” I said in a low voice. “Your Lestat. I’m the same Lestat you’ve always known, and no matter how I’m changed, I’m still that same being.”
“I know,” he said warmly.
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.”(Lestat and Louis in Prince Lestat, by
Anne Rice)
I was still sitting there staring at the entrance to the tunnel when I heard fast crisp steps approaching, someone walking steadily, heavily and fast.
“Get up, Lestat.”
I turned and looked up into the face of my mother.
There she was after all these years in her old khaki safari jacket and faded jeans, her hair in a braid over her shoulder, her pale face like a porcelain mask.
“Come on, stand up!” she said, those cold blue eyes flashing in the lights of the burning building at the mouth of the tunnel.
And in that moment as love and resentment clashed with humbling fury, I was back at home hundreds of years ago, walking with her in those cold barren fields, with her haranguing me in that impatient voice. “Get up. Move. Come on.”
“What are you going to do if I don’t?” I snarled. “Slap me?”
And that’s what she did. She slapped me.
"
—Gabrielle’s introduction in the novel Prince Lestat (Anne Rice)
