#lechroniques

[sangcreole]

@lechroniques sent: you wanted happiness. i can’t blame you for that.

Ah, there it is. The breath that had been held, stifled, for two centuries at long last released from the depths of Lestat's lungs. It isn't the suddenness of the words that strike Louis as they shatter the comfortable silence shrouding their little parlour. No, not the words, but something in his lover's voice; a strain around the consonants and a twinge of the old pain bleeding out betwitxt each syllable.

It stuns Louis enough to lift his gaze from the pages before him and seek that twin flame of melancholy in his maker's eyes. It pains Louis to recognize the heartache in his expression, the deep wells of sorrow pooling in those beautiful eyes with which Louis had fallen in love so very long ago.

This is the closest Lestat will ever come to an apology, and part of that realization absolutely enrages him. I never wanted happiness! he wants to scream. Even as she plunged the knife into your flesh, I didn't want any of it!

"I wanted..."

I wanted to know you, even as I loathed you. I wanted to know your secrets, and your cruelties, and your terrible vexations with this world. I wanted you to love her as I loved her and I wanted you to pay the price for ever having given her to me.

Oh, he cannot bring himself to say it, cannot bear to dredge up those old bones and make the distant nightmare real by speaking it into existence. That has always been the most difficult part for them, hadn't it? If they say it out loud, that means that it happened.

"It hardly matters," he finishes the thought with a gentlemanly nod.

There are nights he feels like digging the canker from his heart with his bare hands, but this is not one of them. Lestat's guilt is not Louis' cross to bear and he'll be damned if he placates a single drop of that incarnadine sea of guilt.

Only...only the harder he tries to concentrate on his book, the more aware he becomes of Lestat's presence in the room. The relentless thud of his heart cries out to him like a child until something in Louis breaks, too.

"I was happy." He relents after a moment. "Despite everything, I was happy. If only for a while."

[coastercrushed]

@lechroniques sent in: ❛ there is something deeply wrong with you. ❜

mapplethorpe can't help but laugh out loud at lestat's comment, head falling backwards. like he hasn't heard the one before. tongue presses at the inside of his cheek, raising his eyebrows with amusement. hair flips into his face as he turns his head to look towards lestat, obviously very amused by this.

"you're one to talk," a playful shove towards his shoulder with his own, arms quickly wrapping around him. he'll lift his feet off the ground, making it difficult for lestat to walk forward. "maybe there is something deeply wrong with you because you want to spend your life with me. freak." he'll press his lips against his shoulder, smirking. he doesn't mean it. he's just teasing!

[deadph0bic]

@lechroniques sent in: ❛ I know I have no right to ask you this, but truly, what is going on with you? ❜

she can't help but jump slightly whenever she hears lestat's voice. she had been riding on the carousel, round and round. she didn't necessarily know what to do with herself, you know? whenever you were attached to the hip with someone for the last nineteen years and suddenly they were gone? well, you can't necessarily blame her. ever since kevin had dusted outside of the park the night prior, the pink princess didn't know what to do or necessarily how to feel.

a hand comes up to rest on her chest as if she was trying to stop her dead heart from pounding. "oh, dear. i, like---....totally didn't hear you coming!" of course not. she was lost in her own head. her features were exhausted, bewildered. she'll blink rapidly, head tilting to the side. "i don't know what your talkin' about," she'll scoff, playfully rolling her eyes. she doesn't know why her first impulse is to lie but she did it anyway. she didn't want anyone to worry about her.

"just---....it's nothing. honest. just, um---...adjusting!" without kevin.

[heunmoor]

@lechroniques REQUESTED A STARTER from here .

" 𝐢'𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 , 𝐥𝐞𝐬 . " his retort was light , brims quivering against a will not restrained in the slightest in regards towards his maker and his theatrics . " we're going out to watch a film , WHO IS GOING TO SEE ME IN GLITTER IN THE DARK ? "

[walkeddeath]

📐 + 6’2

there were no long-ish hair male figures we ignore that but i do fear he is getting bullied for more than being fr*nch.

[sanguilt]

His   time   in   Europe   only   makes   him   think   of   him.   Paris   specially   became   a   source   of   his   dreams.   He   had   thought   of   visit   it   with   him   one   day,   perhaps   using   his   luring   ways   to   get   him   to   stop   being   secretive   and   show   him   a   childhood   home   for   Lestat   had   bare   witness   to   the   falling   of   his   own.   The   death   of   Loius   de   Pointe   du   Lac   who   now   finds   himself   missing   him   more   than   ever.   Lestat   is   alive   though,   he   has   to.   He   is   not   sure   and   his   mind   often   plays   tricks   with   him,   showing   him   like   he   used   to   be   and   others   as   the   last   time   he   saw   him,   pale   and   eyes   blank   of   life.  

Other   times,   he   is   dressed   as   fine   as   ever,   piercing   eyes   that   saw   through   him   as   sharp   as   t   he   first   time   they   made   contact.   "Are   you   real?"   He   asks   to   the   figure   beside   him,   does   he   wish   for   him   to   real?   Does   he   wish   for   Lestat   to   find   him   and   end   his   life   for   what   was   done?   Or   perhaps   he   wishes   for   his   love   to   return   to   him   and   forgive   him   for   leaving   him   alive,   although   barely   but   with   a   chance.   Green   eyes   look   over   and   he   looks   so   alive   then,   that   perhaps   he   is   looking   at   a   memory.   But   Lestat   never   wore   the   same   outfit   twice,   this   one   was   new.   "Are   you   going   to   kill   me?" @lechroniques

[roseguided]

𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄, 𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅. even now some two hundred or so years later she remebers the first time she saw him. how intrigued he was of her, how much he desired her blood after being given a taste. he hadn't changed in apperance, but with the times she is only somewhat unknown to. even still, she imagines he's the same as he was then. she'll find pleasure & amusement in finding out. sitting across from lestat the woman wears a happy appearing smile that allows fangs to peak through from behind plump, rose tinted lips. as if the vampire queen was happy to see him. ❛ oh, lestat, ❜ she'll coo in a gentle tone bordering on loving. it was somewhat of a tactic, one she was aware of completely but akasha was always excellent at hiding it. akasha needed the measure of him before she could proceed forward. hand reaches out to brush, caress, the back of her hand against smooth, chilled flesh of the mans cheek: ❛ you're still as beautiful as the first night you came to me. ❜

[ * @lechroniques liked for a starter from claudia or akasha ! ]

[sangcreole]

@lechroniques sent: this doesn't mean anything.

"Are you so sure?"

A single dark brow quirks upwards, too fast for mortal eyes but just enough to send Lestat his impression. The creature in his lap seems to mirror Louis' amusement, his bushy tail beating once, twice against the cushioned upholstry before he nuzzles his snout back into Louis' lap.

Truly, Louis hadn't meant to let the beast jump up on the couch with him during his evening read, and he certainly hadn't consented to getting shed all over his lounge pants, but...well, there are worse feelings than the weight of a soft, warm creature across one's lap. And Mojo was extraordinarily well-behaved, after all— no nipping, no barking, no incessant scratching. Truth be told, he has more manners than Lestat himself.

Another scratch behind the ear, and Louis can't help but smirk at the sudden rapid thud of his tail, like a heart beating out all the stiflingly unconditional love that only a dog could possess.

"If I didn't know any better," Louis positively drawls. "I might have thought it meant he favors my presence over yours."

[stlispenard]

cold, sender places their jacket over receiver's shoulders. / Nicki.

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS / @lechroniques

renaud has a new play. that means longer hours at the theatre, particularly for his actors. lestat is his hostage on this night and while nicolas enjoys watching him on stage, he eventually slips away. in the morning they will find a bottle of wine missing from one of the dressing rooms. since there are no witnesses, but still a handful of potential culprits, nicolas is not worried about being discovered. he takes it and brings it with him above the stage and through a small hatch onto the roof. he likes to escape there when he is no longer needed and when lestat is too busy to walk home with him (or when lestat’s flirting with the actresses becomes suffocating enough that he needs air to keep himself in check). 

     nicolas sits on his coat and warms himself on the alcohol. the winds are becoming harsher now but he stubbornly ignores the fact. if he gets drunk enough he will hardly notice it and paris will change in front of his eyes. it’s an ideal distraction from monotone existence and the dullness of paris in the day time. he likes seeing only the lights and catching only fragmented pieces of music in the distance, hearing people call out for each other in the nearby street, laughing and talking together. it’s more tolerable then.

     by the time he hears someone else making their way upstairs, he has been dozing off for a little while. lestat’s golden head of hair pops up in a way that otherwise would have made him laugh. it feels like a dream seeing him there in a blur through long eyelashes. “lestat,” he mumbles, blinking his eyes open simultaneously, “renaud finally let you go huh?” 

     he looks to the bottle that is nestled in-between his thighs, keeping it from tipping over and spilling. “there’s some left for you, if you want it.” nicolas doesn’t wait for a response before he’s extending it towards him. what is mine is his, or something or other. lestat gives a laugh that makes nicki’s heart skip a beat at how tender it sounds echoing in the night. he raises his brow at him, “what is it?” he asks although he knows it’ll be ignored. lestat is already coming over to sit next to him, taking off his jacket to place it around nicki’s shoulders while commenting on how cold it is and how his mouth is practically blue. 

     “blue?” he questions him, feeling dizzy now that he’s got lestat close and his warmth and scent all around him, the most familiar aroma in the world to him. his mouth twists into a small, amused but skeptical smile, “it’s too dark out here for you to be able to tell.”

[coastercrushed]

❛ oh, don't be cute. ❜

he'll bat his long eye lashes at the vampire, impish smirk spreading on his features as he looks up at him. ah, you've fell for his trap, lestat! you've called him cute, which in turn has boosted his ego. something that should be avoided so his head doesn't get too big. black painted nails move to walk up lestat's arm with a smug hum. "no, i can't stop. i won't stop,"

he'll turn on his heel, skipping to the side slightly. "i was born to be cute, i fear. sorry not sorry," // @lechroniques

[deadph0bic]

@lechroniques sent in: “Will you help me paint my nails?”

siobhan can't help but blink rapidly before she let's out an excited squeal as she happily claps her hands together. she enjoyed lestat's company, much to mapplethorpe's chagrin. even though lestat spent the majority of the time talking about mapplethorpe ( whenever they weren't gossiping about some of the other ghosts in the park, obviously. ) so he really didn't have anything to worry about. they both just so happened to enjoy fashion and beautiful things! why wouldn't they mesh well?

without hesitation, she'll gently take lestat's hand into her own to inspect them. "oooooh. you've got beautiful, strong nails, lestat! already pointed yet perfectly rounded at the same time. i don't think you'll need my help at all!" though, a content hum leaves her, thumb softly going over the top of his hand as she thought carefully over color options. "what's your opinion on a midnight blue? or, yanno---....a lazuli lapis color. i think it would look beautiful on you and make your eyes pop."

[osolitas]

⦗  ❝  𝑖 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝘩𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑.   ❞  ⦘ ⸻  @lechroniques  ...  ❴ 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓. ❵

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄   of his fingers give away any vague indicator of his thoughts, the thick page he was turning slipping from between them to rest with its brothers in the old, dusty book. Shortly after, he resumes, scanning the page, turning it, searching for  ...  something   ...  and now he doesn't remember.    ❝   Is that so ?  Silly me.   ❞   It's an idle grumble, the  petulant  response of a man that doesn't appreciate being told that he's wrong ⸻ and that doesn't truly believe that he is.

He shuts the book between his hands with a muted  thump,  and places it back on the shelf in his rightful place   (  what  is it that he's looking for ?  a recipe for ... ?  ),   and picks up another, beginning the slow scan of the pages anew.   ❝   Pray tell, then, how the story goes, since it's seems my mind's  rewritten  it ?   ❞    He isn't wrong. He  knows  he isn't wrong; but he'll certainly allow Lestat to believe he is, if it will leave his mind free to search for this  ...   (  lamb ! )   lamb recipe in relative peace.

[heunmoor]

𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬 , she had been the sun before the earth was swallowed by darkness . below his own , AND HIS SISTER'S , and all of his line that became hymnals to weep in the comfort of a favored embrace . the sole de lioncourt in a bloom of de pointe du lacs .

@lechroniques INQUIRED: ❛   console .   comfort  my  muse  as  they  cry .

his little firefly . the last of his innocence , his humanity , withered with her . " do you think she'd like it ? " a rasp rattled his lungs , ECHOING IN THE BACK OF THROAT , crimson dewing emerald hues . " make sure someone upkeeps it ..... yellow roses for her , always . " 𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚍𝚞𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜 , the loss of time and the sun itself seducing him to his knees .

[violinisten]

     “well, if you say so, then perhaps i am cold.” 

     angel he calls him and it feels like mockery from his saintly mouth. nicki wants to laugh and accuse him of profanity, however he knows better than letting it be a catalyst for a fight he is too drunk to participate in. he studies his profile as he drinks — the straight line of his nose, how he places his mouth on the rim of the bottle before he tips back his head, the grotesque way his throat throbs as he swallows. if he’s cold or exhausted it barely shows, he looks smooth and light as a feather. he can’t keep off a grin as he watches him throw the bottle off the roof like a pebble into water. nicki might have stopped him, but he is, as always, too busy being charmed by his childish antics. he scrunches his nose at him when they hear the woman in the distance, “she’ll get over it.”

     a pleasant shiver travels his spine when lestat beckons him. in a split second lestat manages to cure him of his ridiculous smugness and false confidence and turn him into a tame thing. nicolas doesn’t need to consider whether this is something he wants, it is something he is willing to beg for. sober and drunk and in any other state of being. he leans into him, nose briefly brushing against the side of lestat’s face before lestat turns to kiss him. it is languid and soft, mouth melting seamlessly into each other and he is warm again. the contrast between the temperature of their lips brings a odd, tickling sensation that makes nicolas hum contently. 

     nicolas reaches for the fabric around lestat’s shoulder, clutching it tightly with one hand, making sure it keeps both of them covered and warm. he shifts his torso to bring them closer still. if he was any less drunk and any less dizzy he’d probably move more convincingly and straddle lestat’s lap to give himself full and access to his lips. having him kiss him is a reminder of how desperately he needs him close. kiss me again and again it’s the only way that i’ll live.

     the wine tastes better on lestat’s tongue than it did minutes ago. fresh on his breath. he’s sure it does nothing to deter him from kissing him back more greedily, mouth slagging a little more, wanting and wanting. it’s dangerous for him to yield this completely, but it is also impossible for him not to. panic can wait — at least until they are panting and breathless. then he can tip back his head to seek out lestat’s eyes and ask him:

     “aren’t you too tired for this? you don’t need to do this just to humor me.”

i. ... @violinisten.

𝓛ong   hours,   and   a   lack   of   sleep   with   the   Parisian   skyline   stapled   behind   them,   outlining   their   adventure   through   a   city   infested   with   anything   and   everything   you   could   dream   of   …   for   better   or   for   worse,   that   is.   It   was   disgusting   and   exciting.   Beautiful   and   disastrous.   He   didn’t   ever   want   to   leave,   even   if   it   felt   like   he   was   slowly   killing   himself   trying   to   accomplish   something.   What   that   something   was,   he   wasn’t   entirely   sure,   but   it   felt   like   freedom.   At   least   he   had   Nicolas.

Nicolas.   His   darling,   beautiful   Nicolas.   Lestat   was   sure   he’d   never   seen   a   creature   more   holy   …     that   sort   of   melancholic   beauty   seldom   found   anywhere   except   within   strokes   of   oil paint   on   the   beaten canvas   of   some   great   artist.   Even   here,   shivering   and   chilled   to   the   bone,   drunk   off   stolen   wine,   he   was   smiling.   His   smile   seemed   manic   and   sombre   all   at   once,   like   a   sharp   and   sudden   pain   you’d   come   to   expect.   It   is   so   painfully   easy   to   adore   you,   Lestat   thinks   as   slender   fingers   drape   a   thick,   fur   lined   coat   around   the   other   man’s   shoulders.

“I   know   what   your   lips   look   like   in   the   dark,   mon   ange,   you’re   freezing,”   he   says,   with   their   limbs   quickly   becoming   intertwined   into one as   he   settles   upon   the   rooftop.   Lestat   doesn’t   hesitate   to   steal   a   swig   or   two   of   what   was   left   of   the   wine,   and   really,   it’s   almost   impressive   just   how   much   Nicki   had   managed   to   go   through   in   the   time   he   was   away.   Not   that   he   himself   was   any   better,   of   course,   but   it   was   a   noteworthy   thought.

The   bottle   was   then   emptied,   and   swiftly   tossed   over   the   edge   of   the   roof   with   only   the   briefest   of   pauses   before   the   silence   was   shattered   against   the   pavement.   An   old   woman   promptly yelped,   hurrying   down   the   road   as   she   muttered   obscenities   that   got   lost   in   translation against the   wind.   All   he   can   do   is   laugh.   Laugh,   and   stare   at   what   seemed   like   a   piece   of   divinity.

“Come   here … ”   They   really   were   two   very   simple   words,   the   inflection   filled   with   every   little   thing   he   wanted   to   say,   but   didn’t   dare   when   they   were   so   scarce   on   time   as   it   was.   𝐼   𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑   𝑦𝑜𝑢.   𝐿𝑒𝑡   𝑚𝑒   𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚   𝑦𝑜𝑢   𝑢𝑝   𝑎𝑛𝑑   𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝   𝑦𝑜𝑢   𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒.   Lestat   could   feel   his   own   eyes   betraying   him   in   that   moment,   teeming   with   an   unfettered   adoration.   

For   as   cold   as   the   boy   was,   his   lips   were   like   velvet   ⸺   as   soft   as   ever,   tasting   of   port   wine   and   brandy,   all   the   sweetness   of   fresh   fruit.   Warmth   flooded   every   inch   of   his   skin,   and   whether   he   would   burst   or   melt,   he   just couldn’t   be   sure.   𝐼   𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒   𝑦𝑜𝑢,   𝐼   𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒   𝑦𝑜𝑢,   𝐼   𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒   𝑦𝑜𝑢.

[sangcreole]

@lechroniques sent: do you want to go home now?

This had all been Lestat's idea, of course. Though Louis himself is not at all unfamiliar with the many bars around town, he considers them better for hunting than for any date night.

This bar is different, though.

A little quieter, off in the Garden District and away from the swarms of tourists. It's open mic night, and the young woman currently on stage is a little too drunk and a little too flat, but there's a rasp to her voice that Louis finds himself falling into as he cradles his whiskey.

Louis can't remember why he had protested so vehemently against coming out tonight. Perhaps it's old muscle memory, simply to dig his heels in, no matter the request. Perhaps he's afraid. Afraid of spending too much time together, that they may grow to resent one another. Afraid to move forward and build a life atop the ashes of all they had known. Afraid to admit that in this brave new world, Lestat may be his only anchor.

No matter the reason, Louis is perfectly content in this singular moment, on a date, in the year of our lord 2024, with Lestat de Lioncourt.

Do you want to go home now? he asks, and already Louis can read the anticipatory disappointment.

"No," Louis says kindly. "I'd like to stay a while longer, if that's alright."

He claps as the woman on stage finishes her ballad, then turns and allows his hand to gently grasp his lover's arm.

"You should go up there." Nodding toward the empty spotlight, he allows himself to smile just a bit. "Go and sing. For me."

[stlispenard]

dance, sender sticks a hand out to receiver and invites them to dance. / Nicki.

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS / @lechroniques

     nicolas sits in the window sill while the sun sets behind him. reddish, pink skies becomes the backdrop to his mellow playing. he rests his chin against the violin, angled carefully so that he can still watch lestat in front of him. lestat rehearses something or other for tomorrow’s performance, speaking his lines to one of nicolas’  nonresistant books. occasionally his tumbles make nicolas laugh and, when they do, he has to cease playing to avoid the violin producing a discordant sound. then nicki dramatically pouts at him and tells him to stop distracting him from his work.

     lestat is and will always be distracting. he could sit perfectly still and somehow find a way to draw away his attention; his hair would catch the light just so or his mouth would be paused in some oddly delicate shape that’d make him yearn. that is his power. nicolas wonders how many boys and girls leave the theatre each day thinking exactly the same. lestat, how alluring you are. tonight he moves around their room in neat little patterns and after awhile nicolas realizes that he’s dancing. he pauses his playing to ask if he needs him to play something different.

     to his surprise lestat shakes his head and looks at him with an oddly unintelligible expression. nicolas brow arches, but he only has time to be offended for a second. lestat not only stops his movements, but he walks to where nicolas it sitting and extends a hand towards him. again, nicolas can only laugh in disbelief. “is this some jest that i fail to understand?” he asks, but while he sets aside his bow and violin. after a moment he realises lestat’s hand is not going to drop back down again. when he asks if he wants to dance, he replies, “are you being serious?”

     “are the young lovers getting married in this one? or is it a masked ball?” nicki asks, trying to recall the many scenes he’s read aloud to him. nicolas reaches for his hand but rather than politely accepting it, he uses it to pull lestat closer to him. he never smiles the same with anyone else and the smile he wears, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, is something quite rare and soft. “can we even keep the pace without any music?”