𝒅𝒆 𝓛𝒆𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒏𝒕.
@DlABLERIE
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀contretemps⠀𝒗olontaire, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀contrechant⠀𝒔olitaire⠀⠀⸻
Joined June 2014
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⸻⠀⠀𝒍umière⠀s'éteint. ⠀⠀
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Casting bits of paper into the open flame. If each of them were a strand of his hair, a limb off of his body, how long until he is finally charred into nothingness? Three days? One week? What are the maths for a slow suicide?
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⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ 𝒕𝐡𝐞 𝖛𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝓟̲𝐀̲𝐍̲𝐃̲𝐎̲𝐑̲𝐀̲. ⠀⠀
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝒅𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒍𝒕𝒚 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 .ᐣ 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗏𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿 .ᐣ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀
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the same. Yet he walked, and he does not live. "You're selfish, Lestat. You couldn't live with the guilt of my death on your conscience, so you would rather turn me into a monster. Worse now. A monster, and a ghost. I can do nothing but haunt you."
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"You 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 have let me die in that crypt!" Cool rain and then blinding thunder. Words so spiteful they come with the raining of blood through his lips, blood sweat at his temple, angry blood tears in his eyes. Fire should have eaten Nicolas up. Sunlight should have done
"Of course I love him more than myself. And I did love you like that once, I risked everything for you!" Lestat's lips curled a little, a scowl on his pretty face as he gave the book a tug. His past with Nicolas was complicated, a ghost of feelings still there, but long since -
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You'll leave. ( Hot, and then dangerously cold. Suddenly his eyes are sober, aware of the danger he poses. ) If you know what's good for you.
Clearly not, If I'm here, bothering you. ( Raising an eyebrow over at him with a little amused smirk. )
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Stumbling, one step, two steps, then looks down at his handiwork. He cries in rage. "Now it's ruined! It was already ruining itself, I was fixing it, and now I can't use it anymore!"
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"It's not carelessness, it is an emergency—!" Crack. His fist has closed around the fragile wooden bow, eyes ablaze in sudden seizing of passion. He tugs his head away from Armand's touch, not caring how his hair may stick in the maître's hand, and scurries up onto his feet.
“For emergencies, yes. But it is not an emergency if you break it out of your own carelessness.” A light scolding, nimble fingers stealing into curls properly as he leans into his touch, “And it would be such a pity if you were left unable to play at all, yes?”
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⠀⠀⠀𝘐 𝘓𝘐𝘝𝘌⠀⠀ 𝘛𝘖 𝘚𝘌𝘙𝘝𝘌
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𝗶 𝗮𝗺 𝑺𝑯𝑬. 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝑴𝑬. ☆ trans fem portrayal of Lestat de Lioncourt, crossovers welcome mature themes, mdni
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⠀paint me a heaven of love with your bloodied mouth .
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⠀ 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘃𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲 stands silently and eerily still, only his eyes shifting as they scan the place — and the people. His mind pays half attention to rogue thoughts in the air. Y'know, 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙪𝙩. He's bored. ⠀
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drink from me, and live forever.
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⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑠⠀⸻ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀♱⠀ 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬. ⠀
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Casting bits of paper into the open flame. If each of them were a strand of his hair, a limb off of his body, how long until he is finally charred into nothingness? Three days? One week? What are the maths for a slow suicide?
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( An unimpressed hum. ) Don't you have anything better to do than bothering strangers?
I didn't mean to-- ... I apologize.
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the bindings. Something like poison in his eyes as he regards Lestat. "That's rich. That's a change. You never even loved me that much."
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"So you love him more than you love yourself." A conclusion extrapolated through jealousy and anguish. His laugh is like the crack of lightning, sharp and blinding. Fingers not letting go of the book so thoroughly trapped in his grasp—in facts, claws dig deeper into the papers,
As the first page is torn, Lestat's stomach tightens and he looks at Nicki with wide eyes, letting the other books fall to the ground in his hast to rescue the in his hands. "Nicolas! Stop!" Lestat gripped the book, trying to take it from his fledgling. "These are not mine, -
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He hasn't moved, still watching Lestat with wary eyes. Still considering to pounce. "Like the pork and the venison and the absinthe and the other wines. Dust. Nothing like blood."
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Still wearing that damned cloak. He ought to tear it off of her—rip it into a thousand pieces, wolf fur and all. With this new strength, he could—he knows he could. Instead he tears into the hem of his own shirt. Worrying, worrying through fibres. "It'll taste like dust."
﹙ half of her urged to reach out a hand，to cease the movement of fretful hands———but the line of their relationship had blurred， and lestat struggled to exist between nicki’s love and his abhorrence. ﹚ i had hoped to share one ⃯
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