Wake Up.

The fact that Assad Zaman auditioned for what he thought was just the role of Rashid The Human, then was told “actually, you’re playing one of the main characters, an incredibly complex and fucked up 514yo vampire with layers on layers of deceit 😃 he’s also a fan favorite, no pressure!”, had a little freak out, and then proceeded to give us The Performance of All Time

oh arthur...

armand hyperfixation so bad it’s got me listening to random ass 80’s music on some random spotify character playlist made for him

dunno if I like this sketch or no

i love when characters lie to themselves in the complete privacy of their own minds

I need to see the “your wife counting down your thrusts” scene in s3. Daniel has a flashback of him and Alice fucking and he thinks that she’s the one who’s looking at him bored and probably counting in her head but then it switches to Armand just sitting there bored out of his mind while he counts Daniel’s thrusts out loud: “1,2,3… come on boy is that the best you can do? Fuck me harder, faster.” And Daniel is shaking, sweating, crying out of pure humiliation. He wants to satisfy Armand but Armand is cold towards him, making fun of him and continues to count Daniel’s thrusts until they finish finding enjoyment in Daniel’s suffering.

At a point Armand considers to flip Daniel and ride him so they can finish faster but he wants to see how long Daniel can last.

something like that

WHAT?! It's morning! I lost time. Things got a little heated— With a boy! Things got heated with a boy. I was at home picking lint off the sofa! I said to join us! The night's gone. The room's soiled and once again, I'm here with mop and mindlessness to clean it up. So the room got dirty, so what? I'll clean it up. No, I clean it up! You make the mess and I clean it up! Mark it on the calendar, align it with Ursa Major. Louis' tri-annual FUCK OFF and find me with apologies to follow. I'm sorry. SEEK comfort in the arms of lowlifes and unfortunates, and broken children, fine. Oh, fine! The fine that doesn't sound fine— But REVEALING our nature to a reporter you met in a bar ten hours ago? What if it was published? I was having some fun! You don't have enough to fear from Paris? I was in the middle of ending things, when YOU— YOU'D have been passed out on the floor next to him, Louis! Out on your feet from the drugs you stuffed him with! Oh, this is boring! You're boring! YOU ARE SO BORING! And here come the drugs. Colorless. Up the fangs, down the throat. Flavorless. Dull! Into the heart and off with the fingers, feet. Dull! Dull nights! And wallowing brain. Dull weeks, dull months, DULL AS FUCK! Suffocation by the world's softest, beige-est pillow! The ten hours I spent with that boy were more exciting, more FASCINATING, than DECADES with YOU! Oh, there it is! The half-blank, half-apocalyptic look! But what does it mean tonight, huh? Does he want to lick my boots or chop my hands off? Is it the gremlin or the good nurse tonight? Huh? Okay. Okay, perhaps. But am I as boring as the blather committed onto the ferric tapes of your fascinating boy? "Oh, it's so, so hard to be me." "Picking lint off the sofa?!" "It's so hard to kill humans." "I can feel their feelings as I drain them." You sat on your hands and put your ear to the wind. "Everyone I know wronged me." Okay. Okay, let's wake the boy up and let's try you. "I'm the vampire Armand and my daddy vampire groomed me into a little BITCH!" "My brother he tossed himself off a roof!" "Vampires who murdered my daddy made me pretend I didn't have a dick for 240 years." "My sister buried me alive. My daughter was my sister was my throw pillow. Well, he wouldn't look at me kindly. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat." I talked shit about him the whole time. So what?! THE NAME!! The name! Unuttered in our home for 23 years, said over and over again until it was pounding in my brain like a hammer. Our problems aren't about him. And you threw her name around just for cover, but it always circled back to him. I loved her. But SHE didn't love YOU. Not like he did, not like I have. I know. I know! Yes! I know. Thank you for saying it. It's all creeping back. Paris and the, uh, what, what, what? But there's... all of it coming back. There's, uh, Paris. Paris. Can you hear that? Can you hear that, hm? Can you hear her? She's calling me.

if there is one thing i love about book Armand (and possibly show Armand but i need to see more evidence) it is that he is a petty little hater. he practices haterism as an olympic sport. Night Island was the architectural equivalent of standing by the wall at a party with your boyfriend while both of you look judgmentally over the rims of your drinks at the rest of the guests like "ew."

the head tilt brothers