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send đ for a random & very useless nicki fact / @bledsaint
Nicki hates yellow M&M's. There is literally no context or reason for it. He's basically dating a yellow M&M so you'd think they would be his favourite but no. Fuck that M&M specifically, says Nicki.
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anyway if lestat isn't alex's maker then @bledsaint is bc she is already band mom! <3
â I said that I would come back soon. â
"You did. Of course you did. I..." He feels silly now, in retrospect. It is not impossible that she had closed her mind to the cacophony of human voices, his but one among the mortal fray. Is that why she had not responded to his panicked calls for her? Not because she was leaving, gone, but simply to quiet the noise. And her not being there when he woke, not an intentional disappearing. Not a desire to put space between them, to distance herself. Too much and never enough. A line of blood drawn across a beautiful finger in the style of a wedding ring.
The beach as the sun made it's descent. The absence of her, startling and confusing. And he could not find her, not his fledgling. Her mind ever quieted in her escape, from him. She loved him but not enough to stay. But that's not this. That's not now. He blinks at her, as she takes his face in her hands and tells him it's ok. She came back. She was always going to come back. "I'm sorry," he whispers. People leave, he wants to say. I thought maybe I made you leave. Her eyes search his, and he lifts his hands to hers, nodding slowly.
"You were gone."
Just a day, back in time for the sun to tease orange and pink. They're both tired, drawn to the sleep that is threatening to overwhelm, but his emotions did so instead. Panic, anxiety, fear. And then, relief. Surprise, to see her. He thought he might never see her again. "The note, I didn't see it. I'm sorry," he says again, and drops his hands to wrap his arms around her slight frame and crush her to his body.
you always need an audience.
"Me? Never, cher." He laughs and winks at her. "I do love to be seen, no? That's the whole point. Me on the stage, the lights, the costumes. And you in the seats, watching, clapping, enraptured by my stage presence. I cannot act to an empty room. I feed off the audience, even if it is an audience of one." He grins, and tips her chin up, leaning toward her from his spot on the wooden crate. "And more than that, I need someone to read the other lines. Humor me? If I do well, they'll let me keep the part, and we'll be able to afford to go to the theater ourselves."
â can't you hear yourself? â
He's  bound  to  go  out  into  the  wild  and  get  himself  killed.  He  doesn't  care.  Not  at  this  point.  A  girl  matching  his  daughter's  description.  Her  name.  EVERYTHING  about  her.  Sure  there  are  plenty  of  little  blonde  girls  but  his  gut  is  telling  him  that  THIS  is  his  daughter,  but  the  location  is  sketchy.  "For  the  first  time  in  years  I  am  thinking  more  clearly  than  I  have  about  anything.  If  there  is  even  a  chance  that  my  daughter  is  still  out  there  then  I  ahve  to  find  her.  You  understand  that  right?"  He  doesn't  care  if  he  has  to  make  his  way  through  infected  or  hunters.  The  military  who  abandoned  him.  They  will  all  crumble  under  his  feet  if  they  get  in  his  way.
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NYMERIA DELAROIX: IâLL STAY UP WITH YOU. I DONâT MIND.
she might not mind, but he did. somewhat. any time kit had the opportunity to feel like a burden to someone else, he would. even if she wasnât tired, even if she was up late most of the time, staying up because he might need someone to sit with seemed an almost intolerable idea. but he did want that. which is why, instead of arguing the point further, kit gave a small nod, ushering toward the kettle still sitting in its place on the stove. âif thatâs the case, would you like some tea? it might help me get to sleep a bit later,â it never did, but he always hoped. @bledsaint.
â itâs not your fault. â
[insert the marvel opening theme here] / @bledsaint
she feels misunderstood sometimes. partially due to her brain working the way it does and partially, perhaps, due to her age. she is always oscillating between youthfulness and old age; she is always oscillating between having seen too little of the world and too much of it at the same time.
she wants to stomp her feet sometimes, like a kid having a temper tantrum. wants to insist: but it is! can't you see?!
if she hadn't made the choices she's made, a lot of things would be different now. and because no one's invented a time machine yet, the consequences of said choices were - and are - hers to carry.
(and even if someone had, through the miracle of miracles, invented a time machine, flori figures things would likely play out as they had, regardless.)
"i know that mwanandeke kindembo said to remember to blame no one, including yourself, whenever some calamities fall upon you but in this instance, i'm going to have to disagree with the kind sir and with you."
@bledsaint âŚ'd đđđđ đđ đđđđđđđđ âŚ
lestat has been shunned from the crumbling chateau he calls home for the afternoon, not that he minds very much. he bursts out the door & into the sweet - smelling, earthen air ; the rain from the previous day has left everything damp & glittering with dew. lestat runs away, away, away from that dark, dismal dungeon as fast as his little legs can go, beaming in the soft sunshine, eager to meet a friend.
       â      salut, nym - m - me - meria !        â      he calls to her with a sweeping wave, bounding through tall grass & small, yellow dandelion flowers. he plucks some as he passes, reveling in the satisfying wet pop they make as their roots are pulled from the dirt. by the time he reaches nym at the center of the sunny field, he's gathered a proper bouquet in his muddy palms.
       â      you l - l - l - look well, b - bu - but, you're m - mi - miss - missin - ing something, i think . . .        â      clumsily, brows knitted in focus, tongue poking from his lips, lestat twists & ties the stems together until he has fashioned a crown the way his mother had showed him years ago. it's an ugly crown with stems & flowers poking out at awkward angles, but it is indeed a crown. bashful, a tad embarrassed, lestat laughs at his attempt.       â      i can ma - m - make you an - no - nother, if - f you like.         â      Â
