#mothmage fic

Like Real People Do

“If you’ve found a gray hair, lover, it’s because you don’t take care of yourself.” Daniel looked down at the hair, silver between his fingers, that had been like an unpleasant wake-up call to reality. “It’s because I’m old, Armand. I’m getting so old.” Behind him, Armand scoffed. “Daniel, you’re twenty-seven. Don’t be ridiculous.”

For the MerMay prompt: lighthouse (+selkie), Marius/Armand

Daniel Molloy finds himself stuck in a storm with a strange old lighthouse keeper who spins the strangest story for him...

November, 1981. Miami-Dade County Courthouse. Daniel spent a day in the sun without Armand. It was strange to him, being out in the world. Like a real person, like someone who existed outside of the Night Island, outside of Armand.

Armand/Daniel, Devil's Minion Era, Renaissance Faire “These aren’t costumes,” Armand said, standing on his toes behind Daniel to hook his chin over Daniel’s shoulder. “They’re custom made. Finely woven linen and hand-spun wool. This is how men dressed in my time. In my youth.” Daniel blinked, looked at their reflections with new eyes. He tried to imagine them in Venice, in a crowd of other people dressed like this. But it was hard to see past the hyper-modern bathroom around them, past the acrylic-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Armand smoothed a hand over the front of his shirt, let it linger above his heart. “I almost dressed you in red,” he said, quietly.

On AO3

Armand/Lestat/Marius, R63/genderswap Armand bit back a smile, reached out to place her hands on Lestat’s waist. She dragged a finger up the corset-laced back of the dress, relished in the way Lestat sucked in a breath, shivered under her touch. Lestat spun back around, ever the impatient brat. She looked down at Armand, eyes wide and dark. “It’s a beautiful dress,” Armand said, sweetly. “Yes,” Lestat agreed. “I know.”

on AO3

Armand continued to study him, ignoring his ever-increasing confusion. “How did you come to be wearing this?” he asked, reaching a hand through the bars to curl around Daniel’s locket, the amulet with Armand’s blood.

The back of his hand brushed against Daniels’ chest, and he leaned into the touch. Armand’s fingers were warm, like he’d just hunted. “You gave it to me,” he said, studying Armand, in return.

He saw no recognition in those amber eyes. A face Daniel knew better than his own, and it looked at him like a stranger. He tore his eyes away, unable to bear it.

Armand sat, slowly. “Why are you doing this?” Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know. I am, though.” He opened the box. “Happy birthday. Should’ve grabbed candles. Oh – hang on.” He dug his lighter, one of those new plastic lighters, out of his pocket and held it up, lit. “Here. Make a wish.” Armand’s eyes were golden, reflecting the light. Slowly, he leaned in, blew out the flame. Daniel grinned. “Hope it was a good one.” He offered the fork. “Here.” Armand ate, slowly at first and then half the cake. A little bit of raspberry syrup dripped down his chin. It looked a bit like blood. Daniel forgot, sometimes, that blood should disgust him. He wondered if it disgusted Armand.

ok, this is like. more than one line. but -- close enough.