desertfangs

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Armand in the backyard burying Denis in a little shoebox

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i would know him blind

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Lestat in Memnoch the Devil

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You've done Lesmand mermaid vibes once which you know I loved so how about a flip where Marius finds an injured Mermaidan and nurses him in his bathtub? 🤧💗💗

For Marius/Daniel week ~ deep waters

might make this into a fic some day . . . stay tuned . . .

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I love the cozy vibe they always give me

I could use a hug rn 😮‍💨

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basically this is how the devil's minion chapter went:

Armand: "I will chase you around the world now, you better start running."

Daniel: "omg wait are you flirting with me???"

Armand: "yes obviously I'm flirting with you."

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the plathtic fangth thtay ON during thex

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shopping buddies (with bff necklaces they got at claires)

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Kings.

Thinking of releasing this material as a poster or more articles, remember that you can support me and encourage commissions here, ♡.

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The Surface of the Abyss

Drabble written for Marius/Daniel Week (@maridaniweek).

Day 5: typewritten notes / deep waters

Marius holds in a breath he never needed to take as he reads the typewritten page. With an exhale of some small relief and a hum of consideration he places it back on the pile of typed paper next to the typewriter. It sits on it's own little desk in the corner of this chaotic room. This is where Daniel has taken to spending his nights obsessively working on his little miniature towns and cities. The space is dominated by a huge dining table, a little too big for the room really, which is two thirds covered in a growing cityscape. Models in progress and all kinds of other crafting materials and tools litter the rest of the table and every other available surface in the room.

He's certain this is a good sign, this page imprinted with the uniform, boldly inked markings of a typewriter. He had placed the (already rather outdated) device here in this room a number of weeks ago. He was uncertain that Daniel would take any interest in it, so single minded is he about his models these days. Most nights, the good nights, he gets up and makes his way straight to this room, silently starts his work. Marius isn't sure what it means, this obsession. He cannot deny that his mind seems a bit more... ordered while he works on this little world. So he has encouraged it.

It is surely an improvement on how he spent his nights before, staring into the space in front of him, or gazing blankly, and seemingly uncomprehendingly, at the huge television in the lounge, on the occasions he allowed Marius to sit him in front of it. Marius has tried reading to him sometimes, it was clear that he wasn't really following any story he read though, just contentedly absorbing the sound of his voice if anything.

And still, on the nights he does not go straight to work on this project of his, he may not move at all, he can just lie for hours in the dark in in his below-ground room well after the sun has set. On those nights, despite his stillness, his mind is often a chaotic whirl of images, his heart sometimes races at a concerning pace... As he works on the models, on the other hand, sometimes memories surface all the same, but his mind seems in a calmer state, the memories have a little more context... it's almost a narrative. And he thinks that may be just what he needs - narrative. After all, Daniel is a story teller. That was his vocation before knowledge of their kind consumed his mortal life.

And for Marius narrative has always been something that has kept him grounded when the weight of time presses down on him, when he feels he may be swept up in it's unrelenting currents, might lose himself entirely in a bewildering new century. The exercise of recording has always calmed him, helped him to put things in order. Countless thousands of pages he's written over the years, most lost or burnt...

He saw the typewriter in Daniel's mind one night as he worked away – that's what had given him the idea, the image of his long, elegant fingers clacking away on a typewriter in a motel room, absorbed in transcribing from a tape, the memory continued on and suddenly he froze, a spike of panic going through him. He had the sense that he was being watched, staring at the empty blackness of the room's window for a beat, hitting stop on the tape player and forcing himself shakily to get up and close the curtains, staring distractedly for a little too long at the quiet parking lot before pulling the thin curtains shut. Sat back in front of the typewriter, lit a cigarette with unsteady hands. The thought cut off there as Daniel put the model in his hands down to search the cluttered table for a particular tube of paint.

For the next few nights, after making sure that Daniel was fed and settled with his models, Marius went out alone to hunt the second hand stores of the surrounding area for the right machine. Marius himself had used a number of typewriters off and on throughout the years, he always liked the satisfying clack of the keys. The staccato press of his fingers on the machine so different from the flow of a stylus or quill, for a time he had been enchanted with them. He didn't bring any of those machines with him to this dwelling, now he has a rather cutting edge word processor in a humming little plastic box of a computer in the study upstairs, and pen paper of course, when a more individual touch feels appropriate. But he thought that it might be best for Daniel to try using what he's most familiar with, so he went looking for an electronic typewriter like the one he saw in his memories.

After three nights of searching the cluttered little second hand shops in nearby towns he spotted just what he was looking for, an old Selectric typewriter. A similar model to one he had himself some years ago - sitting on a low shelf surrounded by colorful board games in battered boxes. It even had a couple of ink ribbons with it. He made the purchase, insistently overpaid for it, and spirited the little machine back home.

He wasn't sure how to approach it, how to get Daniel's attention. He brought a little desk down from upstairs and set the machine on it in a corner of the room, without saying a word. Daniel was undisturbed by the activity. He was on the floor, working away at gluing the parts of a minute little house together. Marius crouched down in front of him, studying him gravely, this spare, pallid boy-man, surrounded by crafting detritus as he was, sticking his tongue out as he concentrated on his work, seemingly oblivious to his presence. He cleared his throat, which did not draw his attention in any noticeable way. He started talking to him anyway. He knows some part of him hears him, he just chooses what he pays attention to.

"Daniel, I found this in town – this older model of typewriter, from your time. Quite a lovely machine. I thought you might like to put down some of your thoughts," done gluing the house, he turned his back to him, went up on his knees to set it down on the empty part of the table to dry, "I'll leave it in here, by the door, if you feel like using it. It might help you... make sense of things... put them in order perhaps," Marius continued to study him intensely. Daniel had turned his head, so that Marius saw a side profile, as he stared off into space for a moment. His mouth momentarily quirked into a cynical little smile before he went back to assembling another building.

He had tried this with Amadeo too. Of course, his mind was locked to him after he turned him, and he went through those periods of awful, withdrawn silence. Those silences frightened him so, not knowing what troubled him or how he could help him. Marius tried forcing him to record his thoughts in ink on paper, in the hope that it would ease his solitary suffering, in the hope that in reading what he wrote that he would know how to help him. And he thinks it did help him, even just the exercise of it, at least for a short while...

It helps that he can see the content of Daniel's mind, but the lack of order disturbs him, flashes of faces, swirling colors, noise rising into a cacophony before dying away. Often Armand is there: clad in denim like a youth of this time and looming over him in some dim, ruined place, staring at him with those huge, steady and ever mysterious eyes through a crowd, just flashes of images, and fragments of thought and sound, all a jumble. Marius has rarely seen anything surface from before the boy's fateful interview with Louis, that gentle and thoughtful creature who put his world to ruin in a single night. But here on this page – he has gone back and written of his youth, in fact of that first spark that ignited in him that lost passion to record the stories of others. And he has written it with such clarity! Clarity the likes of which he has scarce seen this young immortal capable of. He's sure that this is the key to restoring him to some kind of lucidity of mind - putting some order to the events of his life. Connecting this child on the page with the powerful yet confused creature he has become. This is perhaps a start.

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losing my fucking mind reading memnoch what do you MEAN lestat is pronounced "Le-' stät." do you know what umlauts do to an a??? that says lestairt. i'm trying it in every american accent i can muster and it all sounds wrong. maybe boston??? also dropping a pronunciation guide in book 5 is CRAZY behaviour. anne really was just doing anything

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bluebeard’s wife

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fellow marius lovers, please rise 💕

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Born to don't wanna. Forced to gotta

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Armand Ship Fest ~ Louis/Armand

free day ~ a cosy little scene for you!

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Marius/Daniel week!

Day 5: typewritten notes / deep waters

Don't tease Daniel, he worries too much 🥺