it's not queerbaiting it's saving the world

We need a big chart where we rank all tumblr users most impactful developmental trauma and illnesses of the mind so we can use it to determine who has senior authority when arguing about anime characters

when you think about it teenagers of the next generation will never get to experience a cw show with 7+ seasons and 22 episodes per season. they will never know what it's like to be insanely obsessed with a mediocre show with mediocre writing and mediocre acting (with one really good actor carrying the show on their backs). they will never know the feeling of fighting weekly in the trenches for your ship only for the writers to screw you over. they will never be so increasingly disappointed by the worsening writing choices as the seasons progress and they will never know what it's like to watch the worst series finale after investing years into a show. and that is the biggest tragedy.

grounding tips for the stressed aspiring tyrant: acknowledge 5 people you can sway to your cause, 4 methods you can use to persuade them (2 violent, 2 nonviolent), 3 people in positions of moderate power you can manipulate and usurp in order to gain access to 2 powerful institutions to destroy, and 1 foundational lie

it’s unreasonably funny to me that armand showed back up after going to a support group with written apologies to make amends to the people he wronged and saying he worked on himself but we also know that we’re getting machete armand sometime in the next three episodes

What? 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. To seek comfort in the arms of lowlifes, and unfortunates, and broken children, fine—Oh, "fine." Fine. That doesn't sound like fine—BUT REVEALING OUR NATURE TO A REPORTER you met at a bar 10 hours ago! What if it was published? I was having some fun! We don't have enough to fear from Paris? I was in the middle of ending things when you—No, you'd have 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, FLAVORLESS! Down the throat, Dull. Into the heart, Dull. And off the fingers, feet, and wallowing brain! Dull nights, dull weeks, dull months, dull as FUCK! Suffocation! By the world's softest, BEIGEST pillow. The 10 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 wanna 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—it's 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, Louis de Pointe du Lac—" There he goes again, coming home. "It's so hard being me!" You sat on your hands, and put your ears to the wind. "Everyone I know wrongs 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. MY SISTER! She buried me alive!" "But the vampires that murdered my daddy made me pretend I didn't have a DICK for 240 years!" "My daughter was my sister was my throw pillow, when 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? What the—it's—all of it, coming back. There's, uh, Paris. Paris—hey, can you hear that? Can you hear that, hm? Can you hear her? Is she calling me?