we own the night

[petaltexturedskies]

Anaïs Nin, Henry and June: From "A Journal of Love": The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1931-1932

[unicornspwnall]

Interview with the Vampire | 2.05

[danielmlloy]

cruelty doesn't suit daniel as it may others. he had tried it on, at one point, only to watch a woman sob as a consequence of what he had done. it was painful. it hurt. not just him, but other people. so though daniel may be mean - an angry recovering addict with sarcasm leaking from his every pore - he was not cruel. he could not say the same thing about lestat, or even armand, who ended up betraying louis, not just once, but twice over seventy years. can daniel claim that they did not love louis? no. but love can be cruel, too, and louis, in daniel's opinion, as seen enough of it to last a lifetime.

daniel watches louis with a gentleness so rare that daniel can't remember the last time it happened. eyes glance over louis' features, ultimately meeting his compelling yet sad green gaze with his own. 'there's intimacy in everything a lover does, if you squint hard enough,' after hearing louis's story, daniel thought that the man deserved something more. freedom. love. intimacy without pain. whether he could find that in daniel, that was up to louis. hand flexes, raises an inch, falls back to his side. only after daniel takes a breath does it finally lift and land on louis's neck, his thumb brushing against the other man's jaw. he'd like this to count as comfort. he hopes it comes off that way - he's never really been good at that sort of thing. 'you want me to help you unlearn all that shit, i'll help you. you want me to shut up and just be here, i will,' brows furrow a bit. 'personally, i think you've been through enough,'

[1132rueroyale]

to reflect on his relationship to cruelty brings louis no joy. for he's doled it out to all those he has cared about most in this life. he fears too often that those who come after will suffer the same fate. louis had lost paul, abandoned grace, disappointed his mother. he'd killed lestat and terribly mistreated armand– and the worst of all, he had failed claudia. had put her second time and time again, had denounced her, even. he'll regret that moment for every second he has left, even as they stretch out forever before him. and that's to say nothing of the cruelty he's shown to daniel. maybe it was only really that once– when he had picked through the other man's brain and exploited the painful memory. but he still regrets it keenly.

and yet, here they are. daniel comforting louis, who is still unsure if he deserves it. but this kindness is as water to the man dying of thirst, and he laps it up gratefully. he smiles wanly at the observation. 'hard to avoid, i suppose,' he says, 'when you're up that close. intimacy, i mean.' the little flicker of movement in daniel's hand doesn't go unnoticed, but louis will let the other man come to him. and even though the touch is not unexpected, louis finds himself blinking, surprised at the way it affects him. it inspires something a little nervous– maybe even shy. he realizes that so often in their interactions, he's acted as an elder. a superior being. someone with something to teach. but to have daniel step into that role... someone he can learn from. he feels so young, suddenly. a soft smile. 'i've been through a lot,' he concedes. 'so have you. and we'll both go through more.' a hand skims along daniel's forearm. 'i have no interest in you shutting up. in fact, i think i've probably done enough talking for a while.'

[iamcode]

Angela Sarafyan

[paradigmarchive]

Angela Sarafyan. Los Angeles, California. November 2023

[danielmlloy]

LOUIS DE POINTE DE LAC: I WOULD LET YOU RIP ME APART IF IT MEANT LOVING YOU.

he sees the world differently, now. cities painted in the color red, heightened sense of sight and smell allowing the man new perspective. everything is different. even daniel has changed, shedding a previous skin and growing another, somehow even thicker than the last. though one thing remains the same, he supposes, and that's louis. a constant in, not just the life of daniel molloy, but the afterlife now, as well. they stand close, sunglasses removed from vibrant eyes so that they may see each other clearly. and they do see each other, daniel thinks. maybe too well. 'same old louis - always letting your lovers tear your heart out so they can hold it in their cold, dead hands,' daniel didn't want to be one of them. he didn't intend on breaking off bits and pieces of louis and then calling that violence love. earnestness touches bright irises, only enough for louis to notice. 'your devotion doesn't have to end in tragedy every single time you decide to give it to someone, you know,' @1132rueroyale.

[1132rueroyale]

louis wonders, sometimes, if he knows any other way to love. to be loved. has he not sought chaos ever since lestat? had there not been self destruction in those years before, when he'd forced himself never to look his desires– himself– in the eye? there is a part of him that knows that the ways he has been loved have been flawed– barbed, even. and he gave as good as he got, sometimes. but another part of him feels, really and truly, that to love is to be ripped open. if not by the hands of the lover, then by the hands of god. time. whatever force there is beyond all of this– the mere creatures roaming the earth. and even as daniel teases, chastises, louis can't help the fond little smirk that forms on his lips. ever sardonic, his daniel, even when he is being gentle. 'maybe,' he concedes, 'yes. but there's an intimacy in that, isn't there?' he finds himself experiencing a sudden warmth– an odd sense of security, just to have daniel in his space. a solid body next to his own. 'i suppose it doesn't. but it has so far.' louis shakes his head, a far away look clouding jade eyes. 'it's all i've known. difficult not to get used to.' when he looks back up at daniel, it's a tired thing. a weary smile for the man who has heard it all. every little part of him.