#our conversation

[poison-and-the-rose]

𝓞𝓾𝓻 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

A rare moment of bliss before all hell broke loose. I wonder what might have happened, had Lestat not been born to Darkness...

[viaticumforthemarquise]

Do you think of Nicolas more as a brother or as your son's ex-lover? What's your favorite memory of Nicolas?

Neither. Nicolas is only Nicolas. I have known him since he was born, and he didn't take on a different persona or title by merit of falling out of love or being born into darkness.

No favourite memory, no, but each memory of him is like a flash of tinsel in a ticker-tape parade: a child laughing, an angry youth yelling at his father at the top of his lungs as he refuses to attend mass, shouts and laughter from the battlements of the chateau and the windows of Lestat's bedroom, drunken laughter and singing as they attempted to bring each other home safely. His catatonic state as I helped him clean himself, the robotic nature in which he learned how to kill for the first time, and the way in which his dark brown eyes searched my face for answers that I didn't have to give. The cruelty in his smile as he spoke to the theatre after playing the violin, the well of bottomless darkness in his gaze as he and my son left each other, both of their mouths filled with proverbial blood and glass.

No favorite memory, no. He is only Nicolas. He is only ever unapologetically himself, for better or for worse.

I wouldn't ask him to be anything else.

[devilsfool]

♣ - a fading memory

The smell of wood, beer, sweat. The sound of many voices, mingled together yet muffled, blocked by a thick oak door. The fire in the corner, warming the room in ways the ones at home never could.

I remember it was small and how enamored I was with the idea of a small, enclosed space. I remember the feel of the table beneath my mortal hands. I remember the taste of wine on my tongue, dark and red.

I can't tell you what time it was or what clothes I was wearing. I barely remember what clothes he was wearing, but to be honest my eyes were lost in his expression, both fond and guarded at the same time, as though he'd begun the night with one plan of action that had somehow been derailed.

It was mortal, it was beautiful, and it was a level of quiet understanding I had only ever felt in the presence of my mother, but ah! This was openness, this was honesty, this was an inebriated sweetness I hadn't known I could achieve.

Almost gone, if I reach for it. Not the night or the idea of the night, but the details I wish I could tuck into a pocket and keep for a rainy day.

[deepseaidyll]

i wish you all the aloneness you hunger for. that big kitchen table where you sit laughing with friends. i see it happening.

— franz wright

[onlylivingforwords]

You don’t like the sea as I like it, last evening you said it’s not for you, you said that you prefer your big city or the forest. You said so many things that I can’t remember everything or I want to forget, because you are saying the opposite of what you said in the past, when we were in love, when you were planning a life for us near the sea. You don’t mention anymore our island, and the house you were building. I feel your pain but where does it come from? Why are you sad? You don’t want happiness because it’s up and down, and for you happiness is watching your plants and trees growing, you said that it’s a melody, a moment in a melody when you are singing and the moment you take your accordion and play. Happiness can’t be a woman? I asked, and you said, it can’t, because “I will never be as she wants, because of all the expectations and the frustrations, it’ll never be enough quiet for me”.

[veru-summerlover]

(D)evolution || April 2019

[a-misunderstanding-my-love]

Dear person I hate

Dear Lestat, 

You’re even more of an idiot that I thought if you thought I’d actually write anything substantial to you. 

Fuck off, 

Nicolas