daniel molloy

don't be scared just start the tape .

[ofreporting]

#OFREPORTING : ㅤㅤwriting blog for daniel molloy from amc's interview with the vampire. headcanon based. triggering content ahead, please mind your step. sideblog to @ofbizarre , refer to the main blog for rules.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ⁰carrdㅤ¹ ch. studyㅤ² headcanons ㅤ³ aestheticsㅤ

[ofreporting]

you said we could watch a movie. / from @tahtalard

"i mean, we can." daniel molloy scratched his jaw as he glanced down at the small television, sitting in the corner of the shitty motel room he was staying at. there was water damage adorning the yellowing ceilings and the light scent of tobacco and cleaning chemicals clung to the maroon carpet. still, the promising young reporter had managed to get armand in there to, what? watch a fucking movie? that's something normal people do, right? they watch movies together and they don't need to get high or to offer anything else besides their company and their time ... green eyes glanced at the vampire armand again. certainly that wasn't the only reason he had come. there had to be more than that, right?

eventually, daniel crouched down to take a look at the two videotapes which sat atop the vhs player. it was not much of a catalogue but, still, he had managed to get armand to visit him under these improvised pretences --- he had to give him something. "alright, so, our options are a documentary on calvin coolidge or..." his brow furrowed as he took a closer look at the second vhs cover. "a star is born with barbara streisand..." daniel cringed as he said the words out loud. for a moment, he forgot his guest who waited somewhere behind him to be entertained. "jesus fucking christ." all the young reporter could really think about was that, no matter what movie armand chose, the next couple of screen hours would be nothing short of fucking torture.

[flutedsleeves]

naked (1993) dir. mike leigh

[ofreporting]

∗ 39﹕ sender is caught following receiver . / from armand 🟠👃🟠

he is not in the nicest neighbourhood for anyone to be walking through alone at night. daniel knows this, he fucking knows it, but he also knows that, if he manages to walk past three more blocks unscathed, he'll find a nice little gay bar called liza's, where he'll manage to find some schmuck to swindle out of a couch or a few bucks or an interview or a few grams of coke or whatever the hell they've got to offer that'll help him to fight off the withdrawal chills. it's not been an easy couple of months. right now, molloy is just trying to make it through the night.

daniel takes a turn --- and he swears he sees a shadow, moving across the wall. when he turns his head, he finds nothing but trashcans and piss stains waiting for him.

a light wave of paranoia washes over him. it couldn't be the feds, they would have already jumped and cuffed him. maybe someone he owed money to? had he been followed all the way back from san francisco to san diego? the sound of his footsteps echoed against the walls of a narrow street. though he could not hear any shoe heels, clicking against the asphalt, daniel felt something on him. a presence. the particles in the air around him shifted despite of him.

the young man came to a sudden stop and spun around to face his harasser. "i've got a gun." he announced, lying through his teeth. most people who saw him slip his hand like he did into his jacket's pocket though would think twice before messing with him. though, in the darkness of the narrow street, daniel saw the bright reddish glint of two eyes, watching him unblinkingly. fucking armand. the journalist's badass front comes crumbling down in one frustrated groan. "shit, really, you again? what, you gonna stalk me across the border now?"

[sillystigmata]

Nails :)

[wordfather]

(flirting) you're beautiful btw. im going to piss you off on purpose

[ofreporting]

the moment anyone suggests daniel should interview a youtuber or a tiktok influencer he's going to get up, set his sunglasses down and walk off into the sun.

[theoptia]

Jean-Paul Sartre, from No Exit and Three Other Plays; “The Flies"

Text ID: CLYTEMNESTRA: You hate me, [...] but what disturbs me more is your likeness to me, as I was once. [...] that fever in the blood, those smoldering eyes—

[ohsunshine]

continued from here / @ofreporting

"no comment," comes roman's near-instantaneous reply. that was what gerri told him to say if things got too... nitty-gritty. not beyond roman's scope of understanding, she wouldn't say that, but if a reporter really got into it, he should decline to comment and let the legal department or whoever the fuck was paid to handle it handle it. the grown ups. whatever. it's what they're paid to do, and speaking to this reporter really is beneath him.

roman picks at the edge of the table, slumped in his chair, looking every bit a mid-thirties teenager stuck somewhere he doesn't want to be. karolina will handle this schmuck. she'll hand over the list of pre-approved roy rhetoric, read over the article before it's published, demand edits if necessary. he doesn't really need to play nice.

but then the question comes and he straightens, sulky set of his expression smoothing out into something softer, more animated. "yeah, i know her. fucked her," he says, with something approaching boyish pride. he picks at the strap of his watch, eyeing daniel's pen like he's considering stealing it from his hand.

"how'd you know her?" he rolls his eyes, slaps his forehead with the heel of his hand. dur. "you fucked her too, huh?" he snorts and darts forward over the table, reaching for daniel's pen with the speed of someone who grew up with two siblings constantly at each other's throats and who learnt that quick reflexes were the of the utmost importance. "nah, she's too good for you." eyes narrowing, he looks at daniel, rolling his pen between the palms of his hands. "why? shit, should i've hit you with another no comment?" he blows a raspberry and flicks the pen back. "whatever. it's not like it's a secret. we're... dating or whatever. blegh. seeing each other. no, that's even worse. yeah, okay, we know each other. you wanna interview her instead? i can call her, she can come by, how 'bout that?"

[ofreporting]

a deadpan stare is all daniel can really offer the roy heir as he announces the nature of his relationship with tabitha haynes. the reporter blinks lazily while lightly tapping his pen against his notebook. he knew this was a bad idea. everyone in his line of work had warned him about how difficult it was to get roman roy to say anything worth printing. he was a man child, obsessed with waving his metaphorical (and, in some occasions, literal) dick in everyone's face, as a show of power. he suggests daniel might have fucked the girl. the journalist sighs, unimpressed by the childish misdirect.

his pen is suddenly snatched from his hand. molloy furrows his brow and exclaims a small hey , which isn't loud enough to stop anyone in their tracks. it's tossed over the little man's head. daniel considers walking off right there and then. he was too old and too tired to put up with any of these theatrics but, then again, that'd make roman roy's life easier. daniel wasn't interested in doing that. so he crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in his chair, watching the kid make a fool of himself, suggesting bringing tabitha in after not being able to name what their relationship really was.

"that won't be necessary. i've had the opportunity of speaking with ms. hayes previous to this interview." daniel clarified, flipping through the pages of his notebook to take a look at some old notes he had taken. he adjusted his glasses. "she did mention that you will be enrolling in a waystar management training program soon. parks division, yeah?" he looked at roman. "yeah." he leaned back against his chair, making himself comfortable. "isn't it a bit late in your career to be attending business-kindergarten?"

[heateron]

leonard cohen, 1965.

[ofreporting]

❛ hush . raise a finger in a gesture to silence my muse . / from roman :)

he watched, with a deadpan look, as the boy before him raised a finger to his lips. the line of the computer's sound recorder went flat for a few seconds. through the power of roman roy's obnoxious tendencies, the pulse of the interview had ceased and daniel, for the second time that morning, considered doing the same to the roy heir.

the kid's childish bravado might have charmed some of his peers, but daniel molloy was not entertained by the kid's performance. not one bit. "mr. roy, if you don't want to comment on your role regarding the failed satellite launch, you can just say no comment." the reporter flashed a tight smile, emptied of any warmth or truth before lowering his gaze to glance down at his notes. he scratched the word satellite off a small list. the next topic he had planned to bring up pertained to his sister's role, or the apparent lack of it, within the company.

but as his eyes travelled along his own handwritten suggestions, something caught his eye. the words had small question marks drawn all around them as if the daniel of the past was unsure whether to bring the topic up or not. it felt like a low blow. but it was important in order to paint a picture of who roman roy was as a human being rather than as a business man. or, that was what daniel told himself in order to justify this unexpected choice.

he looked up at roman again. "are you familiar with one tabitha hayes?" daniel sat back in his chair.

[desiresuffering-a]

the hate was always meant to return. it was not an ephemeral absence, but something metronomic and quick to come up from the floorboards. armand could fathom the hate. it was the love that he could not make sense of, sorting through his memory, trying to piece together the abandonment and love like broken skin, wet with the grief of knowing that not being wanted would surely change daniel like it did him. to look upon this great, gaping wound of a boy was to know who placed the wound there and why. the blood was not even cold yet. it appeared black under the white moon and daniel, bone and shadow; beautiful and angry. an infection between them, the amalgam of unsettled hearts and dysregulated souls. ❝ no, daniel. why are you here covered in blood? ❞ the evening's crisp coolness clings to the blue-black curls on armand's head, frost crawling up the ends, a dissolving cloud of his own breath falling short; the cold from his lungs, his heart, only marginally warmer than the air itself. his tone is not caustic, but it is sharpened with a self determination to survive this interaction - preferably whole. no less of himself. he wills it, tries to guard his heart from daniel molloy but there is something so innate tender in his body that armand can only stare at him. glacial. a heart stuttering as it braces for impact.

but how can he guard himself against daniel when only he, in all of his officialdom for the role, is the only one who has successfully found the flaws in his armor? who expertly sticks his fingers under the scales in an attempt to reach his heart as fervently as he does? a longing in the way armand swallows. he dips his chin into the scarf only to lift it a moment later, regarding the sky with his eyes that are growing warm. ❝ why now? did you get bored with lestat? did louis not like your book? ❞ i hate you. ❝ you can't expect me to believe you're here out of the goodness of your heart. ❞ i love you. ❝ i don't know why you can't just forget about me. ❞ a fluctuating heart in the form of a metronome, sturdy and unending, self made containment on the feelings that are coming up, a thickness in his throat. though he needs none, the air feels especially thin. and cutting. he turns away, breathless, half tempted to be done, to run, to make use of the only survival instinct that's ever served him but he feels kept from it. tethered to the spot, as if the further away he is from daniel the less his feet move on their own. there's a panic that rises from the depth of his screamless throat, a bottom lip that shakes as he says,

❝ you're better off, daniel. you've seen what i do to people. ❞

[ofreporting]

armand speaks and daniel feels as if there is still blood pooling at the back of his throat. he swallows, only to find his mouth to be incredibly dry. whatever thirst still lives there, in his dead entrails, is not of an animal kind; not one that can be quenched through biting and ripping, but through this and this alone: armand standing before him, acknowledging daniel for the first time in what felt like a fucking century. sacred is not the word he'd ever use when referring to the vampire, but it's the first one that comes to mind.

his maker appears frailer than ever as he tries to shame daniel for travelling this far. and the reporter can't help but scoff through the smoke. "goodness of my heart? what is this, a disney movie?" he flashes a grin at armand, hoping to shake something loose off of him that is less sad. he doesn't like seeing him like this. his self-hatred shape shifts between cruelty and flagellation --- and daniel concludes that he prefers him angry. burning bright and loud and confident in his power over the world ... over him. armand's lip quivers. daniel steps closer.

"yeah, i know." the cigarette hangs between his fingers, burning slowly. "you messed up worse than anyone i've ever met." daniel never stopped to wonder what he'd do once he found armand. part of him fantasised about a big fight. it tried to think of a manner in which to hurt him, tried to plot a revenge so great and terrible he'd have to remember it for the rest of his eternal life. but another part did not scheme such cruelties. another part wondered if he was alone. if he was well fed. was he happy? was he in pain? that part tried to imagine what it would feel like to touch armand's heart --- tried to remember if he had ever heard him sigh with relief.

daniel furrowed his brow, suddenly emptied of sarcasm. "i can't forget. i won't. never again." you, he thought, i won't forget you.

tenderness threatens to overwhelm his senses, and so, molloy resists by stepping closer still, pointing an accusatory finger at armand. "you can keep runnin' from me for as long as you like, but i'm just gonna hunt you down over and over again." daniel smirks, shaking his head lightly. though he appears to be taunting armand, the reporter's eyes can't help but to desperately examine his features, trying to memorise them lest he dissipate into the cold winter air right there and then. "i got all the time in the world now, baby."

[ofreporting]

daniel being comfortable talking about his history with addiction but not being comfortable talking about the relationships which he ruined due to addiction. daniel being comfortable being self depreciative but taking issue when others try to humiliate or diminish him. daniel being very critical of his own work but becoming quite defensive when others try to offer their own criticism. daniel being rough and snarky with his friends and close ones but being ready to throw hands if anyone else tries to hurt them.

[reticent-vampire]

totally normal way to look at someone while your husband sucks you off 👍🏻

[ofreporting]

‘   You beginning to appreciate my lack of sympathy?   ‘

"listen, lestat," daniel has to take off his sunglasses and rub over his eyes. though he has immortality to look forward to, the tiredness of old age hits him like a ton of bricks every time he has to deal with lestat de lioncourt's antics. another camera lens had been destroyed because of molloy's line of questioning ; he hadn't sympathised with this documentary's subject enough during a certain portion of his life story. and sure, he was important enough to keep the producers at bay, but there was so much a rockstar's mean look could do.

this was the fifth time one of his higher ups tried to intervene during filming. money was getting bled out of them to fix or buy new equipment. the amount they had spent on NDA's alone was unlike anything daniel had ever witnessed. when he looked at the vampire sitting across from him again, the journalist did not appear particularly appreciative.

"this whole operation is gonna get shut down if you keep breaking our equipment." daniel pointed out, shrugging his shoulders a bit as if unsure of how else to approach the star of his latest project. "how hard is it to sit back and answer questions? i mean, you're a rockstar, man! you should be used to interviews!" his voice rises with outrage as he states, what he believes to be, common sense. asking lestat questions had been like pulling teeth. if he didn't appreciate daniel's tone or something felt too personal or invasive or if he just wasn't in a good mood that evening, crack went the lens, boom went the lightbulbs, thump went the fucking boom operator. it'd be funny if it didn't set them back two fucking weeks each time the great vampire lestat threw a fit!

"you don't like where things are going, though titties, pal. take five or suck it up like the rest of us." he arched his brow at the blond, widening his auburn eyes at him. "so, do you need a break?"

[ofreporting]

Smooches Daniel but really it’s a poorly hidden bite

it feels like they've been spinning under the dancefloor's dim blue lights for days. daniel doesn't know whether it's the drugs or the blood or having armand pressed up against him which is causing that strange sense of vertigo. his mouth clumsily presses wet kisses along the other man's cheek as the music grows into a frenzied crescendo. attaching his mouth to the other man's skin is the only thing keeping him anchored to planet earth. his hands grab and tug at the vampire's satin shirt, threatening to ruin the otherwise pristine tucked-in look.

he buries his face against the crook of armand's neck and bites there, too far gone to care whether this is too much public affection for a wednesday evening. all he cares about is the other man's scent and how his cold flesh burns against his lips --- molloy wants to break through the skin. leave a mark on his neck like armand has done so many times before. but his teeth are too blunt. at this rate, all he can hope to deliver is a pathetic hickey.

it is armand who grabs his chin and guides him to meet his eyes once more. if he were to tell daniel that up was down and north was south, right there and then he'd have excitedly agreed. his hands pressed against his lower back, urging him closer still. and when armand leans in for a kiss, the young reporter is all too eager to oblige. he parts his lips and welcomes anything and everything armand has to offer. he sighs, relieved to finally have a confirmation that he hasn't fucked things up yet and that the vampire is still entertained by his company despite his pupils having grown three times their normal size.

he only pulls away when a sudden sharp hot pain hits his lower lip. "what the f--" he can taste blood. and as soon as he recognises what stains his tongue, daniel locks eyes with armand. "a heads up would be nice," mumbled the reporter as a lazy smile spread across his cut lips, red now staining his front teeth. "jerk."

[nulfaga]

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Traveling lady, stay a while Until the night is over I'm just a station on your way I know I'm not your lover