Very much not a writer, but I'm really enamored by the idea that post mind-wiping, the reason that so many of Daniel's relationships/ his marriages didn't work out was because there was this hole in his life, this feeling that nothing was enough. It's a theme I've seen explored in a bunch of devil's minion fanfics, that he was subconsciously searching for Armand all those years. What if there were other ways that this manifested, like instead of just this feeling of discontent, there were also things that popped up that were inexplicable.
- Bursting out into hysterical laughter when watching David Cronenbergs The Fly. He can't explain to his wife why it makes him laugh, but it takes longer than she's comfortable with for him to calm back down. That night, he dreams he is stuck in a web, crying for help. A vibrating shadow creeps towards him, large orange insectoid eyes unblinking.Ā
- He's at another boring cocktail party his editor insisted he go to, something something publishing, something something good for his 'image'. One would think his 'image' was dead and buried along with a few grams of coke and a scathing exposƩ on the newest tech billionaire of the month, but who was he to say? Much to Amy's consternation, he doesn't get much mingling and shoulder rubbing done, as she finds him hours later, staring wordlessly at a big painting near the back of the party. Daniel doesn't even like art, is he really that committed to single-handedly tanking all the good-will she's scraped up over the past few years? He lets her drag him away, pushing a glass of sparkling grape juice into his hand and waxing aggressively poetic about the imprint's acquisition of another promising young writer. For the rest of the night he bows and scrapes to all the appropriate investors and media outlets. But the whole time a small part of his attention is still there, in the corner, inexplicably stuck on the visage of a young boy in a painting.
- He can't stand the sight of blood. When Kate is born he can't even be in the room. His wife is angry, embarrassed, but not surprised. Daniel is, however. Years of wear and tear on his body has left him littered in little scars, a nick here, a tear there. Blood is not a foreign substance to Daniel Molloy. But there's something about the smell, about the sight of it bright and cutting against the crisp white of the hospital bed. The overwhelming scent of copper makes his head swim, and if he focuses just hard enough he can hear a man's voice saying his name, tone soft and sweet.
I don't write but I wanted to get these out of my head! Every day I get closer to doing a tiny comic with these two just to make them do things I want to see.
