Just found it’s Armand’s birthday and feeling really very emo about Daniel celebrating it
Dear Anon, I am so, so sorry it's taken me so long to reply! I wanted to write a mini-fic to go with this, but I've been really exhausted lately, so it took a while but here it is!
(Psst, also, your ask inspired me, and I want to expand this little ficlet and eventually post it on AO3, so keep an eye out! For now, this is what I have <3)
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10 November, 1974
"What do you mean you don't know?"
Armand sighs; it was meant to be tired and admonishing, but the corners of his lips tick up, and the sigh is coloured by the alarming fondness he has developed for the boy.
"It means that, 500 years ago, people had more pressing things to do than keep track of birthdays, such as fighting for survival amongst sundry wars and plagues and famines. So no, Daniel, I do not know when my birthday is."
"Jesus, you're making me sad, man."
Armand scoffs. "Celebrations of life are for the living."
"Uh-huh, sure. Well, I'm living, and I wanna celebrate."
For the first time in this inane conversation, Armand is given pause; he tips his head to the side, tries to parse Daniel's words, the boisterous yet earnest look in his luminous green eyes. He's not sure he succeeds.
"You wish to celebrate... me?"
"Well, yeah?" Daniel frowns, like this ought to be obvious. "You're weird and insane and fun, that's definitely worth celebrating. Plus, hey, the deal was, I keep you entertained and you don't kill me, so that counts, right?"
Armand blinks. "Yes. Of course."
Fascinating.
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11 November, 1974
"Happy birthday!" Daniel croons, his grin hooking his mouth wide, green eyes bright and glowing with pleasure between dark eyelashes.
He holds out a small packet, haphazardly wrapped in colourful paper; a hint of pink dusts his cheeks, his heartbeat quickened with excitement and nerves; he smells sweet with it.
Slowly, Armand takes the packet from him; it's light, and when he turns it over in his hands, it emits a quiet, gentle rattle.
"Okay, birthday tutorial: at this point, we usually say 'thank you'."
Armand shoots the boy a glare and makes one of his knees bend for his insolence, throwing him off-balance; Daniel yelps, then laughs, like Armand isn't...
Slowly, Armand slices through a piece of sticky tape with a claw, carefully unfolds the wrapping paper (it's blue, with pictures of colourful streamers and coriandoli on it); Daniel wiggles, shuffles his feet.
"Come on, man, don't have to be so careful, it's not like you're gonna be keeping the wrapping paper!"
Armand blinks, looks up, feeling rather caught.
"I'm not?"
It's Daniel's turn to blink. His eyes are so luminous, almost... almost like a vampire's. When Armand skims his mind, he is flooded with a wave of affection and warmth and sadness and... something he can't quite put his finger on. Daniel is feeling all of that towards him.
"Uh, I mean, sure, keep it. You're the boss," Daniel says, trying to cover up his moment of pause.
When was the last time somebody gave him a gift? he wonders, the thought so fierce it bumps into Armand's brain all on its own, like an insistent puppy. Armand presses his lips together. It's been... a while.
He finishes carefully peeling the paper away; beneath lies a cassette tape in a plastic case. Daniel is biting his lip now, a tingle of nervousness spreading across his body. Armand opens the case; the tape is a generic one, with a label that was clearly applied carefully, yet still ended up being slightly crooked.
To Armand, from Daniel, 1974, it says simply. Armand passes a careful finger over the cassette, feeling out its contours and edges and grooves. He wishes to commit it to memory, every atom of it, and that's before he even hears what is encrypted in its lengthy spool of magnetic foil.
"It's a mix tape," Daniel blurts out, as ever unable to let silence sit outside of an interview. "Uh, you know, a bunch of songs that I thought you might like and that... that I like. And wanted to give you."
Oh. A recording of a moment in time; of thoughts and connections webbing things together with intangible string. With sound. With music. With music of Daniel's time. A fragment of Daniel's very mind, captured and enclosed in this piece of plastic, wrapped up in colourful paper and laid in Armand's hand.
Armand has been given gifts before. A long time ago, he used to receive plenty, though they perhaps counted more as... payments. For services rendered. Once that part of his life ended, so did most of gift-receiving. The occasional token here or there, most given to secure his good will or out of custom. He has never received anything quite like... this. Anything so strangely worthless yet overwhelmingly invaluable and treasured.
He traces his finger along the cassette tape's ridge again; across from him, Daniel's pulse is fluttering, his thoughts racing, a frantic, buoyed loop of Does he like it, does he like it, does he like it?
"I like it," Armand says quietly, then looks up, meets Daniel's eyes in earnest. "I like it very much. Thank you."
The smile that breaks out across Daniel's face is radiant. Armand's chest flutters with light.
GUYS WE DID IT! MY FIRST LONGFIC IS DONE! WHY AM I KINDA SAD??
I know it's early but with NYCC this weekend I wanted to have this baby done and in the world before we all get bowled (ha ha) over by whatever shenanigans take place there.
Thank you so much for coming along on the ride with me! And if you've been waiting until this story was complete to read it, I hope you enjoy it!
CHAPTERS:
The Latest Stupid Thing in His Long, Long List of Stupid Things (2025-08-04)
Stop Thinking About Vampire Sex (2025-08-10)
Man Cannot Live on Vampire Kisses Alone (2025-08-16)
All Those Moments Will Be Lost in Time (2025-08-23)
The Love of a Monster Who Only Has Eyes For Him (2025-08-30)
A Bright Young Reporter With a Point of View (2025-09-06)
I Never Pass a Comfortable Night (2025-09-12)
Dannyboy Molloy is Back, Baby! (2025-09-19)
Lord and Master of His Own Fucking Island (2025-09-27)
The One Truth That Will Remain Until the Heat Death of the Universe (2025-10-03)
Epilogue: Armand is Telling the Truth (NEW; 2025-10-08)
TEASER:
@LeonardMichael: Tonight on the show, two-time Pulitzer Prize winner and bestselling author Daniel Molloy drops by to talk about his new novel “Interview with the Vampire”. What does this experimental hard right turn into genre fiction mean for the former journalist? #WYZL_ATL #InterviewWithTheVampire
“Former journalist!” Daniel shouts at his phone. “Are you fucking kidding me!”
“Daniel, what is it?”
“Leonard fucking Michael, that’s what! The motherfucker I’m on with tonight. Former journalist. Man, that asshole only got his job because his father owned the fucking station in the eighties.” Daniel glances up from his phone. “Hey, babe, can I eat him for—holy shit.”
Yeah.
Daniel’s brain has just malfunctioned. Every single coherent, ranting thought about that fucker has flown out of his head. Because standing on the other side of the kitchen island is Armand. A jet black halo of curls, warm amber eyes, and a sinfully knowing smile.
Because he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and Daniel’s old AC/DC shirt.
Yeah… that old AC/DC shirt.
Armand lowered his eyes and spoke softly, "You want to know if what Daniel wrote about me is true?" "Yes, Armand; I would love to know." Came the reply from Daniel's friend, a little condescending, but that was alright, Armand didn't mind. A quick gaze at Daniel proved him to be only mildly amused. How far would he allow Armand to go then? "I could do a small demonstration. If you're curious."
Life's milestones warrant a party. Like, for example, selling 20 million copies of a book. There is no reason not to throw a party. There is no reason not to invite every person Daniel's ever met. There is no reason for Armand to show up. But that is besides the point.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 3/5
Fandom: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Armand/Daniel Molloy
Characters: Daniel Molloy, Armand (Vampire Chronicles)
Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Nipple Play, Body Worship, Coming Untouched, Anal Fingering, Fingers in Mouth, Restraints, Spanking, Punishment
Summary:
Something has been stalking Daniel ever since Divisadero Street and, while it refuses to show itself, it can still use its powers to interact with the young mortal. But, for some reason that Daniel can't seem to understand, it only seems interested in pleasuring him in new, impossible, and highly creative ways...
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
It’s not how Daniel expected to find him. Ever, really. Even at his lowest, shaken up by Daniel’s little coup d'etat in Dubai, he’d been panicked but somewhat put together, at least compared to this. This is gone off the rails right off the deep end. Did anyone actually arrest him, or did he break in for this little tableau? How dramatic do you have to be?
“Hey, c’mon.” Daniel says, snapping his fingers. “Let’s go, pal. I’m busting you out of here.”
armand spirals and daniel gets tapped in to pull him out of it. it's not exactly the maker-fledgling reunion he prepared for.
NEW FIC: RETROSPECT-Ch.1: Dulce et Decorum est Pro Patria Mori (Daniel)
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At the end of the world when the war has taken all it can and left the living more shattered than the dead beneath the soil, two broken souls find solace in each other. One an American soldier tormented by the friends he watched die in his arms. The other a French resistance fighter trying to find purpose in between the waves of doubt and grief. All things are clear in retrospect. And it is in this quiet practice of reflection that these men find comfort, genuine love, and the ability to live once again.
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I had no business going to college but my parents sent me anyway. Poor as we may have been, it was their way of getting me out of town. Getting me as far from them and the family reputation as possible.
Out of sight, out of mind.
And that’s what it felt like here, lying in bed drenched in my sweat and misery while Mr. Leiboweitz played his stand-up piano in the apartment off to the left of mine.
“Mazurka in A minor,” I had guessed correctly on yet another sleepless night. We’d ran into each other in the cramped winding stairway of the centuries old Parisian whitestone. “The song you’ve been practicing.”
“Say the full name, boy. There are many mazurka’s.”
Opus seventeen. Number four.
Light and flighty on the keys near the middle and toward the end where it truly took on the warmth of its Polish heritage. The unique folk sound carrying with it an anguished weight now. A somberness dancing on the keys alongside the jubilance whenever Arthur—Mr. Leiboweitz—played at the strike of eleven-thirty each night.
Rolling my head to the side, I stared out my bedroom window.
Bathed in the muffled melody that was both too loud yet, at times, inaudible.
The city outside was just waking up for rounds of rowdy drinking, sequestered midnight rendezvous, and late night matinees at the theater; shows that were tame enough to pass decency laws but too morbid or raunchy for the eyes of children.
It was June now.
1946.
A little over eighteen months now.
It was funny to think of it that way. Not a sort of funny that’d intentionally make you laugh, although I did, at times, laugh at how quickly time passed while I still felt frozen in time. It was the kind of “funny” you’d describe some odd happenstance like someone pulling you back from the curb just before a car came barrelling by at a full clip. Funny like “what are the odds?” kind of humor but in a sobering sort of way.
Eighteen months since the end of Hürtgen.
Nineteen since Sledge was blown sky high.
Zero since I’d gotten a decent night's rest.
Like I’d said, the mind was funny like that.
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Special thanks goes out to @caelumwingstar, @odi-et-amo-666, @certaindreamchopshop, and my good friend Brie for giving me the gentle nudge I needed to get the ball rolling on this. I've always had a morbid fascination with the history of WWII and what life was like immediately after the war so it was only a matter of time before I wrote something like this. Thank you for making that a "sooner" rather than a "later." lolol. Much love and thanks to you all. 💜
