Toulouseluce



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    —if there’s an antennae or something I have to fucking adjust but, Louis de Pointe du Lac please tell me you can fucking hear this—

    Louis is too shocked to respond immediately. The voice is faint, but it’s not hard to extrapolate when he’d been listening to it dissect his entire undeath for the more tumultuous part of the past month. All he can blurt, both out loud and through the connection, is, “Daniel?”. Lestat squawks something from the shower.

    Thank fuck, Daniel answers, bright with relief. Then a moment of long silence.

     

    So. Slight, uh. Hiccup.

     

    Louis takes the confirmation with all the grace of a brick shattering through a window. “No,” he says, “no, he didn’t.”

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    05 Jun 2026

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    The droning hum of Louis' boredom is going to drive Armand mad. Instead of accepting it, Armand seeks out the kaleidoscope chaos that is Daniel Molloy's mind to learn why he's so special, so fascinating, so interesting.

    Every city he finds him in, he learns more before he makes Daniel forget. Every city, Armand grows a little more addicted. And every city, Armand does something he's not supposed to do -- falls a little more in love and eager to give Daniel the memories of who they are together.

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    05 Jun 2026

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    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.

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    04 Jun 2026

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    For a second, the cool air of the fan hit the skin of his neck like a balm. A shiver ran down his back and Daniel thought it was relief, from the heat, the itchiness, the stares. It was actually the beginning of the end, and Daniel just had no fucking clue.

    “What is that?” The voice, his voice, broke the stillness. Cut through it. Swiftly, elegantly, leaving no bloody mess behind. Lestat sounded mocking, sharp, like he'd wanted it to hurt.

    “What?” Daniel turned back around to face him; continuing to show him his back, the fragile bend of his neck, felt too dangerous.

    “On your neck. What is that on your neck, Daniel?”
    __________________________

    Years after that disastrous interview in San Francisco, Daniel Molloy is working as a music journalist in Los Angeles and is tasked with interviewing rock 'n' roll's newest enfant terrible, Lestat de Lioncourt.

    It wouldn't be an issue, if it weren't for the scar on his neck. Two rows of teethmarks, the gnarly outline matching that of Lestat's husband's mouth.

    A second chance encounter for Daniel. A second chance at uncovering the dangerous, dark memories he has forgotten, or been made to forget.

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    04 Jun 2026

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    Okay, he thinks to himself. You could be mistaken. I mean, come on, there's no possible way that Peter Parker is—

    Except.

    The more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes.

    The unexplained absences. How he started falling asleep in his class when he'd been nothing but a model student beforehand. The lack of any asthma attacks for the last few months. The sudden disappearance of his glasses. The so-called Stark internship.

    Aw, dang it.

    Peter Parker is Spider-Man.

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    02 Jun 2026