Hey That's You

Hot take, while I do think aging Daniel up was a good choice in that it opened up new avenues of exploration (and a potential DM amnesia plot!!!) I don’t think it actually was necessary to fix DM because maturity differences weren’t the real core of DM’s relationship problems.

Their flaws are still the same—old Daniel is still blunt and somewhat insensitive, stubborn and reckless and Armand is still controlling, condescending, melodramatic and above it all. These flaws were causing some tension but they weren’t insurmountable.

Old Daniel and B!Daniel also aren’t that different—Daniel at 20-24 is constantly scared Armand will kill him and still pushes back against him verbally with sarcasm and bite and expresses any and all frustration every chance he gets (it’s part of why he remains entertaining) just like 69 yr old Daniel.

This is only compounded once book Daniel realizes he’s not at risk of dying and has Armand just as wrapped around his finger as vice versa. Show Daniel is just a little more wrapped up in cynicism and hides his softer parts compared to B!Daniel who balances it out better imo, he’s not necessarily more mature.

They love each other’s “flaws” they acknowledge each others negative traits but mostly enjoy them. The actual core to their countless fights was the age old human wants to be vampire/vampire sees it as a curse dilemma. (Yes DM ran so Twilight could tip toe softly lol).

I think B!Daniel was absolutely 100% fair in feeling like Armand was treating him like a pet dog and would move on and not mourn that long if he died (even if this absolutely wasn’t true—we know this) and Armand wasn’t helping by belittling him when he did return home and not actually communicating that he did care that well.

However, that’s already been solved in the show—the second major problem (and break up causer) is an extension of the the initial one—Armand feels too unnecessarily guilty about the turning (and thinks Daniel hates him) and leaves—Daniel feels abandoned (and thinks Armand preferred him mortal).

I think a maturity difference issue would be more reasonable and less silly than their actual relationship problem which is weirdly banal given how weird they are everywhere else but nothing’s perfect.

‘If you breathe in, then I breathe in.’

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. 💀

getting compliments from npcs on my horse is so satisfying; yes, I brush him before and after every ride, he gets endless pets and treats, I love him, Thank you for noticing <3

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

love when there’s like 4 people online and we keep reblogging the same posts from each other. literally just 4 bitches hanging out and telling each other “exactlyyyyy”

Ppl on the Disco Elysium subreddit are going crazy after the mobile game was announced

What Eric sees in his dreams every night

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.