Latest Posts by pulhaaa - Page 3

c'est l'heure de manger I guess

Are we sure that eric bogosian isn't actually daniel "only went to gay bars for drugs totally not looking to get pounded in the ass" molloy?

(this is part of a larger more serious discussion about the AIDS crisis but the way he just?? casually mentions this?? in an interview??? is insane to me)

interview with the vampire if it was published in the 70s—wait

inspo under the cut

was trying to go to sleep last night when it hit me how the adoration with the shepherds scene is a refutation of AR's whitewashing her characters in real time by having vampirism take their melanin. like she very clearly associates power/beauty/mystery with whiteness, framing it as part of her allegiance to aesthetics over morality or social convention. but of course aesthetic is all about social convention, who is considered beautiful and who is not by cultural standards. in the adoration scene Amadeo's whitewashing is very explicitly linked to an intimate form of violence, a line of betrayal that leads to Armand turning his own internalized racism on Louis and Claudia.

ntm that the very fact that Amadeo's whitewashing is never mentioned aloud is what makes it so striking--Louis doesn't ask about why Armand looks so different from the painting, the differences are supposedly confined to Amadeo being "meatier in the forearms." they don't need to discuss it because they both already recognize the aesthetic strain of white supremacy that has been dominating their lives, their stories, for so long. and to top it all off you've got Lestat (the memory of Lestat, more omnipotent and inescapable than the real Lestat ever was) as the specter of whiteness, too, the mocking perfect ideal Amadeo and Louis have both been expected to modulate

it's white supremacy as a matter of course, like it was with Anne Rice's world building, except at the same time it's being held up to the light with the same kind of ruthless clarity that the show holds on Marius and Armand's relationship. which is of course also built on white supremacy (or ethnocentric supremacy in bookmand's case) and Marius's desire to create some kind of perfect vampire from the ground up, violently slicing Armand/Amadeo's perceived weaknesses by force if necessary and abandoning him for failing to live up to expectations. white supremacy and sexual violence are twisted-up threads that have always run through Anne Rice's work, rarely if ever questioned by the narrative or the characters, but the adoration painting combines and exemplifies them in a way that's impossible to ignore.

rewatched “don’t be afraid, just start the tape”. let’s see. assad zaman’s first ever episode as the vampire armand and he delivers a performance so ginormous that it can’t possibly be fit into any award receiving speech. the loumand argument is an instant loadbearing classic. luke brandon field begins committing an identity theft about fifteen minutes into the episode. the “i never said that” line at 32:20 is delivered like no other line has been delivered ever. louis tries to nicki himself. daniel tries to make a run for it but hits the wall face first. armand hits lestat up on the vamp cardo as a torture method for louis. i love you, louis. tell him i love him, armand. i love you, louis. tell him, armand. tell him! louis? louis, louis, louis! armand and daniel holding each other in a heart shape. “and then he richard pryor’d himself in front of me” armand’s fuckass glasses to accompany his previously seen fuckass hat. the welcome home liar scene. the worst part about all of this is that they all love each other. and im doing this at 5 am on a tuesday.

Missing Assad hours

Like yeah, the show hasn’t even begun filming and won’t come out til next year but I actually don’t care, I literally just miss Assad

I keep thinking about loustat and photos of drag queens and their normal ass boyfriends

Like

"the honor of a man"

listen I will rag on AMC all the live long day but i will also thank them for giving us horny eric bogosian and The Most Beautiful Man in the World assad zaman and they're gonna kiss and AMC made that happen so

Louis and Claudia, dancing in the sunlight

it's been said before but Armand putting Daniel in front of the TV when he's too busy to deal with him... he'll be such a good parent to his only fledgling 🥰

Armand dragging Daniel out of bed but having coffee ready for him is so sweet

Season 1 Claudia doodles

ppl on twitter apparently liked the sketch of this so it has gotten a little colour. daniel molloy u will live forever

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.

pressed up against your longing

Daniel Molloy has never been more relatable than when he visibly has the slow-sinking realization "Oh no, this man is about to forgive his boyfriend for all of it"

Armand: "I had never made one. The idea repulsed m— repulses me."

Armand when Louis leaves him alone for two seconds with Daniel:

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. 💀

The Vampire Armand, high school drama teacher from hell.

He always chooses plays that are wildly inappropriate for the age range of his students. "Today we begin rehearsals for A Streetcar Named Desire! What? It’s about family!"

He takes his work way too seriously and expects nothing short of perfection. A forgotten line or missed cue is treated as a personal betrayal.

He refuses to call it “the school play.” No, it’s always referred to as The Production. Like it’s a Broadway masterpiece, and he treats it as such.

His punishments for lateness or lackluster performances are absurdly theatrical. A student misses their mark? "Congratulations, you’re now the understudy for the curtain!"

For every performance, he overdresses like he’s about to win a Tony. Rather than show off high schoolers' work to a room full of parents who’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

Verbal abuse is a daily occurrence. Not modern, explicit insults, but long-winded, theatrical tirades that leave students more confused than hurt. “I can see the potential in you—it’s just buried beneath layers of mediocrity and despair!”

Don’t you EVER, under ANY circumstances, try to leave his rehearsal early. Your doctor’s appointment? Postponed. Your sister's in emergency surgery? Unimportant. A relative is on their deathbed? Armand will tell you, “The true death is the death of your commitment to art.” You’ll leave the rehearsal wondering if your life has any meaning outside of his production.

One time, a group of shunned students tried to start a revolution against him. They made the fatal mistake of trying to get him removed from his position. Rumor has it that, by the end of that semester, none of them were seen on campus again. Some say they transferred to other schools. Others claim they’ve been “reassigned” to a different universe, one where Armand reigns supreme.

Once, he made everyone meditate for an entire rehearsal. In complete silence. The only sound was the soft swish swish of Armand pacing in front of the group, whispering phrases like "Feel the despair of the character. Embody the void." It ended with him dramatically fainting in the center of the circle, causing everyone else to panic.

He tapes every performance and subjects the cast to endless replays to highlight their mistakes. He treats this like he’s coaching a national sports team. "Look at this moment. What’s that on your face? A smile? Was this a comedy? No. Try again."

If a parent tries to intervene in his unorthodox methods, he breaks them too. "Oh, you want this to be a fun experience for your child? Let me show you what happens when mediocrity is allowed to flourish." By the end, the parent is running errands for him alongside their kid.

You want to leave the production? Good luck. Once you're in, there is no turning back. You may think you’ve found a way out, but suddenly you have hooded figures following you at all times, dropping off weird newspaper cutout letters at your house, vandalizing your locker with big red letters that say “TRAITOR.” Eventually, you’ll come crawling back, begging for forgiveness.

His assistant is an eleven-year-old with a clipboard that he simply calls “Boy.” He frequently complains to him:
“Boy, where’s my iPad?”
“Boy, have you seen his delivery of the soliloquy? A piece of bread could convey more emotion.”
“Boy, what’s your opinion on arson?”
“Has anyone seen the boy? I need him to fetch something for me… yes, it’s my iPad.”

Sometimes, during breaks, they play Minecraft or Roblox together. He gets mad whenever the boy beats him at Dress to Impress, though. “There’s no way that shabby look beat my elegant ensemble!” Whenever he’s feeling extra petty, he even sends him to clean his office as punishment.

He makes a massive spectacle out of releasing the cast list: fog machines, backup music, extras in costumes, choreographed performances—an entire Olympian-level ceremony. "And now... THE LEAD! Drumroll, please!"

He regularly fights with other teachers for not prioritizing The Production. “Your physics test? How adorable. The Production is the only education they need.”

The props department hates to see him coming. He demands Broadway-level sets from students working with cardboard and acrylic paint. “What is this? A tree? I’ve seen more realistic trees in The Lorax.”

He forces other art teachers to produce props during their classes. Pottery class? Now they’re making urns for The Production.

If his stars are stuck in other classes, he silently enters the room and glares at the teacher until they release the student. “No, no, don’t interrupt your lecture on photosynthesis. The future of theater can wait.”

He’s got the headmaster under his spell, so don’t even think about complaining to them. You might have a heated argument about his dismissal of your class, but when you storm into the headmaster’s office, guess who's already there, sipping tea and laughing like they’re in on some inside joke? (Spoiler: They are.)

His biggest rival is the drama teacher at the neighboring school, Lestat de Lioncourt. They’ve been sworn enemies since preschool. Their rivalry began when they both applied for the lead role in their school play. Neither of them got the part and blamed the other for it.

He sends his 11-year-old assistant to sabotage Lestat in petty ways—keying his car, putting dark blonde dye in his silver shampoo, or mixing laxatives into his protein powder. Nothing is off-limit.

He does this especially as a stress relief whenever something goes wrong in The Production. If their lead actress breaks her leg, he’ll casually say, “Boy, I need you to go and see to it that Mr. Lioncourt’s car gets towed.”

He and Mr. Lioncourt always attend each other’s plays. Afterwards, they exchange viciously backhanded compliments: “Now this play really was something. You’ve got a way of making the audience think—mostly about leaving during the intermission.” “Your style of directing is so fresh—it's like you’ve never seen a play before.” “You must tell me where you get your costumes tailored. They were so captivating, I almost didn’t notice when half of your cast forgot their lines.”(They’d never admit it, but they are kind of best friends.)

When stressed, Armand retreats into the world of Just Dance. He’ll dash into his office, and before you know it, you’re hearing the unmistakable "Dannnceee" intro blast through the door. On days you hear "Rasputin" pumping from the cracks in the walls, run. Something's gone terribly, terribly wrong.

His idea of rewards for students is... baffling. A lock of his hair? A recitation of an original theatre piece in the school hallway? Or the ultimate honor: an invitation to witness his one-man show. "This, my dear pupil, is your reward: the privilege of experiencing true art."

One day, his students stumbled upon a recording of his one-man show. A surreal spectacle in which Armand, clad in a series of increasingly ridiculous wigs, argued with himself for three hours. The props? A lone chair, which he threw dramatically around, and a crumpled newspaper he swore was "crucial to the plot," but never actually read.

He has personalised, often insulting, nicknames for every student in the cast. If he’s feeling generous, you might get called “The Chosen One” or “The Future of Broadway.” If not... well, "The Prose Butcherer" might be on the docket. Or worse: "The Disappointment," which he says with a lingering stare.

Rehearsal speeches that drag on for hours. By the time he finishes, half the cast has nodded off, and the rest are wishing they had, too. It’s always the same: “The characters are in you, feel their pain... feel it!”

Production posters that look like they cost a fortune. Seriously, how does a high school drama department afford high-quality photo shoots? These posters are so professionally done, people are starting to ask if he’s siphoning funds from somewhere… somewhere.

Absurd warm-up rituals. Don’t even think about going on stage without going through Armand’s hour-long warm-up. This includes screaming into the void, contorting your body into poses inspired by ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, and chanting lines from Macbeth in an attempt to "invoke the spirits of tragedy."

Pre-show pep talks that are mostly threats with a thin layer of encouragement. “I’ve prepared you to the best of my abilities. You’re not just actors... you are vessels for my vision. Fail me, and you will never know peace.” (He says this in the dark, under a single flickering lightbulb, to REALLY set the mood.)

At some point, they get used to his weird antics and emotional tirades. So much so that they get seriously worried for him whenever he doesn’t flip out when something goes wrong. When a prop breaks or someone misses their cue, the cast watches in horrified silence, waiting for the explosion. But when it doesn’t come, they look at each other, unsure whether to feel relieved or more terrified.

They try to figure out what’s wrong with him and find a way to cheer him up. Was he banned from his favourite Minecraft server again? Are things not going well at home? Maybe he’s just overexerted himself? They try to be on their best behaviour, tiptoeing around him like nervous mice to make sure they’re not the ones to make him suddenly implode. Then, just as they’re about to lose hope, Armand looks up from his iPad, elated, and announces that they’ve once again made it to the regionals. The cast collectively exhales in relief, unsure if this moment of joy is worth the emotional rollercoaster that led them here.

Questionable bonding experiences. "To get a better feel of your characters' emotional depth," Armand leads the class on bizarre excursions—abandoned asylums, the red-light district, or a graveyard at midnight. If anyone dares question the appropriateness of this, he dramatically sighs and mutters, "Art is not safe."

Once, they crashed a stranger’s funeral. All in the name of "studying grief and despair." Imagine mourning your beloved grandmother, only to see a group of teenagers with notepads, hovering over the casket and asking intrusive questions like, "How does this make you feel? On a scale of 1 to 10, how raw is the emotion?"

They were, unsurprisingly, kicked out. One attendee threatened to call the police, but Armand was prepared. As soon as the word “police” left their lips, one of the students screamed “SCATTER!” and the entire group fled the scene in an unholy frenzy, leaving the wake with half as many guests as before. They still talk about it as "the performance of a lifetime."

Afterward, they reconvened at a shabby diner to process the experience. Milkshakes and waffles were consumed in abundance (paid for by Armand, naturally, as “rewards” for their "artistic dedication"). The group debated whether true grief could ever truly be captured without disturbing the family, concluding only that they had to do it again, but next time, at a wedding.

Never mind the rough start the theatre group might’ve had at the beginning of the semester. By the end, they are all trauma bonded and have an undeniable soft spot for Armand. He pretends that he’s not affected by this at all because that’s just theatre, but you can still sense it from him. When he’s dressed in all black during the last school assembly of the year and hides his eyes behind sunglasses, you just know that he cares just as much.

A while ago I made this post called Daniel Molloy, marriage councillor from hell, and I had so much fun writing it that I had to do a sequel.

Daniel being sure enough of himself to make the big reveal that Lestat saved Louis because somehow he KNEW that no matter what he did or said, Armand, the most powerful being he’s ever encountered, would never ever harm him.

Devils Minion pet play where Armand starts carrying treats for Daniel and rewarding him for being a good boy when they're in public. Even better if he hand-feeds it to Daniel, no matter who is around.

real rashid is stronger than any us marine, bro had his boss come to him and say “hey man you have the week off, i’m gonna cosplay you in a sexual way.” and then he came back to work.

DANIEL! DANIEL! HES A VAMPIRE DANIEL HE WILL KILL YOU! OH NO HE CANT HEAR OVER HIS HORNINESS! DANIEL THE DRUGS ARENT EVEN THAT GOOD!

the potentially lethal levels of emotional damage that could be inflicted upon a person if daniel and louis decided to team up and verbally tear into them together. daniel just loves feeling superior and kicking someone while they're already down and louis always figures out exactly where to dig in when he wants to make someone feel like shit

the sun.

late night sillies