wolfkiller

hello hello i'm so sorry for going silent out of nowhere, life and work have been a bit insane lately, so i haven't had the brain power to write or be on here much! this is going to echo what my darling @fanatiquee said but i'm not heading into a hiatus or dropping lestat by any means, i'll just be a bit vague on here for a while. and i miss you all! mutuals feel free to get in touch on discord (and send me a message here if you don't have it!) i hope you're all well <3

ok this is from a thousand years ago (my fault) and of course the answer has always been YES, and INSANELY, but in light of the most recent episode. now we get a visual <3

^ man who said it was "of course" totally fine if his lover wanted to sleep with other people, because he was already doing that himself and in fact advocated for it

Morgan was deep in his thoughts and he didn’t notice the man immediately. He was brought out of his trance when he heard him speak. A curious brow rose in response. “And what taste do we share?” Perhaps it was the choice in location with its aesthetically pleasing architecture and rich culture. 

“Perhaps it is the both of us, after all the sun is setting.” The shadows stretched themselves thin at this hour as the sun painted the sky in shades of orange and fuchsia. It was like witnessing a painting in action but not even the most beautiful work of art could compare to the real thing. “What is your name?” 

Though he had not apprehended Lestat until he opened his mouth, the young man had not startled. Instead, he drew his attention slowly from the dying light of the sun, splashed over the tiled rooftops, to lay it upon Lestat. “I have seen you,” Lestat explained easily, and turned from the city to lean back against the railing, and gaze upon the young man properly. “All over the city. In the theatres. Outside the galleries, and the coffeehouses. Leaving as I arrive. Arriving as I leave.” 

“Where else can I go?” He asked Lestat, sincerely, saddened. Indeed, he was alone and aimless, now, once more, left to navigate the ruins of a home he had maintained for centuries, whose ways were the only ones he knew––all else forgotten, buried––whose methods were written on his bones. What was he without it? Where could he go? Grey ashes, clinging to the ragged clothed in irregular patches, smeared and ugly and unremarkable amid the old dirt, were all that remained of the grand bonfire that marked an absolute end to this cult, in which he had sent several of its rebel members to an excruciating end. Armand haunted its ruins as he haunted Pairs; lost. Lestat’s image burnt his eyes, and so he looked away, down, to the dark ground that was thick with shoe imprints. You have taken everything from me, or will you be content no sooner than having taken this as well?