Assad Found Once Again At The Scene Of Old Man Thirsting [x]

the reason i need the weirdo armand who blends drinks based on nothing but colour and feeds garbage disposals and makes weird home movies in the show is because as much as i talk about armand and the cycles of amadeo and marius they're like...the ultimate proof that he is not what anyone has tried to make him. he's not an eternal sex slave or child bride or cult leader or abusive figure. he tries to be all these things because they're how he experienced the world in his most formative years but at the end of the day he has a big heart and he wants to be loved and he wants to experience the world as it is and he wants to watch the same movie over and over again and he wants to protect those he cares about and he wants to ride jet skis and he wants to make a human boy coffee in the mornings and he wants to build a terrible consumerist island and and he wants to be a good father and

Rashid, who has finally escaped from the Dubai madhouse, shares the location with other people:

He is traumatized, Talamasca should pay him moral compensation and give him a vacation! (the main cause of his psychological trauma was not even the crazy vampires he worked for, but Daniel MOLLOY💜)

collecting sad pathetic male characters like they are stuffed animals to arrange on my bed

Physically I am a present and functioning human being, mentally I am consumed body and soul by old man vampire yaoi

the tragedy of armand in dubai is the fact that he genuinely likes daniel. yes, there is a threat there, and he hates how good at digging daniel is (as every liar despises the truth), but despite it all, for some unknown to us reason, he has an outstanding amount of sympathy for a boy he tried to once kill. that’s why at the end he is getting outsmarted and beaten. it’s because once his emotions stepped in, he wasn’t as guarded anymore (should i quote, unaware of the plotting around him because he was in love?).

armand tortured daniel back in sf, thinking him unimportant. it was louis who saved him. and yet in dubai there is a weird shift of the dynamics. in dubai it’s louis who messes with daniel’ parkinson’s and armand is the one to stop him. someone who likes to chase his mortal victims and gets the thrill out of them begging, suddenly decided that this mortal didn’t deserve that kind of a treatment. it’s louis raiding daniel’s memories and armand trying to clear the air, thinking it have gone too far. it’s armand apologising to daniel after louis raided his mind, explaining to him that he was invited there as a guest, trying to maintain a hospitable atmosphere in the house. it’s armand taking care of his levodopa transfusion and it’s armand getting weirdly intense about the last dinner and dropping that mysterious sentence “i do hope you’ll join us”, as if he actually cared.

what conclusions might be there apart from the obvious? in san francisco he wouldn’t have cared if daniel died, that’s how inconsequential he was to him, and for some reason fifty years later armand is weirdly protective of him. he still stays in the shadows, and only shows his concern once there is a crisis on the horizon. armand likes him, and for someone who never wanted the interview to happen he is weirdly drawn to their conversations and wants to actually tell him things about himself. something once again he would have never done in san francisco. if that’s all not a proof that the dm happened in between those decades, then i don’t know what is.

Reading Anne Rice seems to be a constant cycle of: This is one of the best things I've ever read. This is one of the worst things I've ever read. I'm bored. I don't want to do anything else but read these books. Whatever. This is problematic and offends every minority that exists. Educate yourself. Get a job, stay way from that character! You're weird. You're a creep even by this genre standards. You're annoying. You should die. This is so unnecessary. Why, just why? Stop repeating yourself, you have said that same thing 954869048 times now. Get to the point! This is so exaggeratedly descriptive. This is so wonderfully descriptive. I can see it so vividly in my head and love it! It feels like I'm experiencing it myself and not in a good way, make it stop! Laughs. Cries. Chills. Depression! Autism! BPD! ADHD! Dyslexia! Everyone gets a DSM condition! And some that aren't even discovered yet! And they're all amplified by vampirism! Nobody gets medication or therapy, though! The Catholicism and Catholic guilt are heavy on those people. The existential crisis is real. Whoa there, great discussion. I can relate. I hate this POV. You're my favorite character. You're my favorite ship. These two should kiss. Okay, I get it, Armand is the most beautiful creature that has ever existed. This is poetry. Those two should NOT kiss. This is so creative and imaginative, I love it. You're contradicting yourself. Nevermind, it makes sense. I take it back, I like this character now? Okay, you're just making random stuff happen without any explanation at this point? I don't even know who is who or what's happening anymore. Reads page again. Are you okay? Please, do therapy, you certainly have a lot of things you need to work on. What the hell is wrong with you? Your brain is so... something. Added stuff because I had more thoughts lol.

Daniel Molloy, marriage councillor from hell.

He’s got a 98% divorce rate. The other 2%? They’re probably staying together out of sheer spite—or fear of returning to his office.

Instead of fixing his clients’ problems, he digs up some more. Forget “working on communication.” He’s a master at uncovering your worst secrets and weaponizing them like a teenager in a text fight.

He gets a little spark in his eyes whenever he finds something new to grill his clients about. It’s the closest he gets to joy: that glint that says, “Oh, you thought that wasn’t going to come up?”

Don’t worry about him playing favourites; he’s being a little shit to everyone equally. Even the mildest disagreements become battlefields under his gaze. You’ll go in debating how to load the dishwasher and come out wondering if love is even real.

Also, don’t be gleeful when your partner is on the receiving end of his judgement. Your turn is just around the corner. The moment he catches a whiff of smugness, he redirects like a hawk zeroing in on fresh prey.

Passive-aggressiveness just gasses him up more. Every eye roll, every groan, every passive-aggressive “are we done here?”—it’s all fuel for the fire. You think you’re breaking him down, but really, you’re just feeding the beast.

The only way of coming out of his therapy still married is through fraternizing against him. But good luck. Before you can say “teamwork,” he’s found the one thing you can’t agree on and driven a wedge so deep, you’ll forget you were ever on the same side.

Probably one of the biggest mistakes you could make is trying to weaponize his own two failed marriages against him. Oh, sweet summer child. You think that’s a trump card? He’ll shrug it off like lint on his blazer and hit you with, “That’s adorable, but let’s talk about why you brought this up.” Cue emotional bloodbath.

Thinking you can charm him by mentioning you’ve read his work and thought it was brilliant? Big mistake. He doesn’t take compliments; he takes ammunition. “Oh, you read my book? Fascinating. Let’s talk about why you felt the need to bring that up. Seeking validation, perhaps?” Now you’re defending yourself for being polite.

He’s written exactly one book, and it’s the kind of thing only masochists or grad students read. Titled “Irreconcilable: Why Most Marriages Were Doomed Before They Began,” it’s a scathing 600-page manifesto on why love is an illusion and compromise is a scam.

He’ll be going off on you for one hour, and the second the time is up he’s his perfectly composed self. Nothing like hearing, “Same time next week? We’re really cracking this open!” after you’ve spent an hour sobbing and accusing your spouse of crimes you didn’t even know you cared about.

He’s immensely motionless and visibly dissatisfied every time a couple does make it out of his counseling still together. No congratulations. No “job well done.” Just a flat, “Wow. Guess miracles do happen.” The closest thing to an endorsement you’ll ever get.

If you somehow survive his sessions intact, you’ll leave with a list of issues you didn’t even know you had. Trust issues? Check. Miscommunication? Check. A sudden, inexplicable need to google “how to file a restraining order”? Double check.

His office décor is clinically neutral—beige walls, minimal art—because the real carnage happens in your emotional landscape. There’s no place for comfort here. Just two chairs, a box of tissues, and the sharp glare of his judgment.

He’s the kind of counselor who will literally pause a heated argument to correct your grammar. “Actually, it’s ‘my partner and I,’ not ‘me and my partner.’ But please, go on about how they never support you.”

He’s got a poker face so strong, even the most unhinged confession barely raises an eyebrow. You could admit to orchestrating a fake kidnapping to test your partner’s loyalty, and he’d just scribble something in his notebook with a bored, “Huh. Interesting.”

Somehow, he remembers everything. That tiny detail you offhandedly mentioned in week one? He’ll bring it back 15 sessions later, weaponized and sharper than your spouse’s passive-aggressive tone during your last fight.

His motto? “Honesty isn’t always the best policy—it’s just the most fun for me.” Because nothing says therapy like watching couples tear each other apart under the guise of “truth.”

Every session is like playing emotional Minesweeper. You think you’re navigating safely until—BOOM—he hits you with a “So when are you planning to tell them about the credit card debt?”

He’s probably got a closet full of tissue boxes because he goes through multiple ones a day. Not that he’s offering comfort, mind you. He’s just emotionally eviscerating people left and right, leaving them to weep into piles of Kleenex while he sits there scribbling in his notebook like “Another one bites the dust.”

On the rare occasion he does favour one client over their partner, he’ll join in with them to gaslight the other. If you thought your gaslighting was bad, wait until he tags in. “Honestly, that’s a perfectly normal thing to do. I don’t know why your partner’s making such a big deal about it.” Next thing you know, you’re doubting your grip on reality.

You know he’s in a good mood when he starts with, ‘So, let’s revisit that thing you were hoping I’d forget.’ His version of ‘good vibes’ is a merciless callback to the worst fight you’ve ever had. Bonus points if it involves a completely trivial topic like a burnt casserole.

He once accidentally helped save/improve a marriage, and he still brings it up as his greatest failure. “It wasn’t my fault. They blindsided me by… actually communicating. Ugh.”

He doesn’t just break you down emotionally; he’ll dismantle your hobbies too. “So you knit to ‘relax’? Interesting. Is that why your partner feels neglected every time you pick up the needles?”

Every now and then, he’ll throw in a “fun” hypothetical just to spice things up. “So, if your spouse did start an affair with their coworker, how do you think you’d react? No, seriously, let’s explore that.” And just like that, he’s set your relationship on fire.

If you’re brave enough to call him out for being biased, he’ll hit you with a “Why do you think you feel that way?” Congratulations, you just fell into his trap. Now you’re the one who needs to “explore your insecurities.”

He’s got a way of twisting even the smallest compliment into a passive-aggressive critique. “So you think they’re a good parent? Interesting that you don’t mention them being a good partner.”

No argument is off-limits to him, no matter how petty. You could be fighting over the remote, and he’ll somehow turn it into a deep dive on your inability to compromise. “Is it really about the TV? Or is it about the control you feel you’re losing in this relationship?”

He has the audacity to send you home with homework. Nothing says fun date night like sitting down to answer questions like, “What’s the worst thing your partner’s ever said to you, and why do you think they meant it?”

He signs off every session with, ‘It’s not my job to fix you. It’s my job to show you what’s broken.’ Thanks, Daniel. Really uplifting. Can’t wait for next week.

He keeps a tally on how many digs it takes for both of his clients to start sobbing. He’s like an emotional sniper, except instead of bullets, it’s a well-placed “So, how did your mother influence your relationship dynamic?”

He also keeps a separate count of how many clients had a full-on mental breakdown that week. At the end of the week, he probably leans back in his chair, reviewing the numbers with a satisfied, “Another record-breaking performance. Good job, me.”

He gets a twisted sense of joy from the whole thing. Every time someone cries, he casually slides the tissue box closer with a little smirk, like “That’s the spirit.”

He claims he doesn’t enjoy making people cry, but the smug look on his face says otherwise. You swear you caught him jotting “two-for-one cry deal” in the corner of his notebook after both you and your partner lost it in the same session.

If you call him out on the tally, he’ll act surprised. “Tally? Oh no, that’s just... uh... my grocery list. Don’t mind that.” Meanwhile, you can see “MENTY B TOTAL: 12” written in huge letters.

He has a "Hall of Fame" in his mind for the fastest emotional breakdowns. “Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Impressive, really. Most people hold out until the ten-minute mark.”

His biggest letdown of the week is a session where nobody cries. He’ll sigh heavily, jot something in his notebook, and mutter, “Well, we all have off days.”The week his tally hits zero? He might as well shut the whole office down. He’d sit at his desk, staring out the window, whispering, “Have I lost my touch? No... it’s them. They’re just repressing better.”

The reason his Google ratings are still up? It’s either fear—because who wants Daniel Molloy coming after them in a vengeful Yelp tirade—or gratitude, but of the gaslit variety. His clients walk away thinking, “Wow, our marriage was doomed from the start. Thank you, Mr. Molloy, for showing us the truth.”

There’s a rumor that he has a celebratory bell he rings in his private office for every milestone. After every couple that leaves his office divorced. Ding-ding-ding! “Another happy ending.”

Sometimes he drops subtle hints about the bell mid-session. “You know, not every couple makes it through therapy. But that’s okay. There’s… closure in accepting the truth.” And you know he’s thinking about that bell.

If he had his way, the bell would be a centerpiece of his practice. Displayed proudly behind his desk, polished to a shine, with an engraving: “In honor of irreconcilable differences.”

Please feel free to add anything I have missed. 💀

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the head tilt brothers

XV - THE DEVIL

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