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csphire · 6 months

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The mystery that's a part of Dammon's appeal and a solution to preserve it.

From this clip posted by Frazer Blaxland, provided to me by northlandcleric I'm starting to understand where his voice actor is coming from and can even respect it.

But it's also a really brilliant idea for his romance conflict and/or character arc. The thing is, Larian could keep some to most of Dammon's history and motivations a complete mystery. By simply having him struggle, dodge, or even outright refuse to open up about his past and present.

They could drop little ominous clues. Scraps of paper are found during his missions or around his tent in camp with drawn symbols not even Gale can recognize. For his character arc missions, he needs our help to collect a few mysterious items from various sometimes dangerous and highly guarded locations. But the problem is he won't tell you what they are, he refuses to show you them or admit why he needs them. They all just go into this peculiar box of his which he works on out of view of the camera. Much like when he was preparing a fix for Karlach's heart. It could cause the device inside to glow and make some chilling sounds that make us question our decision to keep helping him.

If that wasn't bad enough, there are odd things he mumbles to himself in passing you can't quite make out. We could have a cutscene where we catch him continuing to work on this mysterious device that he quickly hides away.

He could occasionally disappear from the game. As in, he's not available as a companion for a day here and there. He warns you this could happen beforehand and not to worry. Or there is simply a note he's left behind.

I should be back in a day, possibly two. - Dammon

When he comes back, and we ask where he went, he tells us he can't say. Sometimes, he comes back shaken or injured and still won't tell us what has happened or what's wrong.

His story is filled with all kinds of little things that would pique our curiosity and cause us to wonder and yearn for answers.

Perhaps the items he collects look to be transfered into a special locked chest at camp near his tent that he says is private and to not touch. And if the player doesn't listen, picks one surprisingly low roll lock, and opens it regardless, it provides zero answers. It contains just a few mundane, possibly sentimental items. What do these items mean? It doesn't matter, at least not yet, because it was a duplicate box. A temptation. A test to determine if Dammon could trust you, and you just failed it. Upon opening his chest, and violating one of his boundaries, he leaves the party and disappears forever. Or better yet, the game suddenly ends, and the credits roll.

What the hells happened?

We'll never know but we just messed up big time.

Why do I think this idea is perfect for him?

One Frazer wants him to be a man of mystery. Okay, that's valid. Here is your mystery, another paycheck, and more acclaim Frazer.

Two, because it's already set into Dammon's character somewhat. Upon minutes of knowing us, when he speaks of his time in the hells he outright admits, "I hope to forget most of it."

Again, that could be the issue the player character has with him. He simply doesn't want to talk about his past, his trauma, and possible sins. He wants to focus on the present and future with you and/or Karlach. Dammon can be a rather private and guarded character. Why is he like that? It's another mystery.

Being with him as a friend or lover is a complete leap of faith.

Perhaps he actually did, or was made to do, something horrifying and possibly unforgivable. If he confesses, maybe he fears it would destroy our warm view of him and the better person he wishes to be now. Maybe something unspeakable has happened to him, and he doesn't want to be an object of pity. He could be a god, a devil, a Great Old One, or something else in disguise. He could be from the future or an alternate dimension. Or maybe he's entered into an infernal pact of some kind that's bound his tongue on the whole matter. The list of what his secrets are can go on and on.

Then as his love interest or just friend, do we accept that he has a few secrets and respect his boundaries? Do we keep our hands off his metaphorical Pandora's box? Or do we break things off with him for refusing to trust and open up to us? Better yet, he could choose to break it off with us eventually or even leave the party for good if we keep pressing and again, open that chest of his.

This would allow us fanfic writers to go wild with theories. The fandom as a whole will debate over which ones seem more plausible. None of which the developers at Larian will ever confirm.

Parts of his past will never be explained to us the player.

Finally, after he's collected the last thing he needs, and fiddles with it after he places it in the box, it just winks out of existence. Maybe dramatically, it hums, levitates, and glows first then poof! A real "Stand back!" like it's going to blow up moment.

After it's gone, Dammon drops to his knees, shivers, and lets out this huge sigh of relief, maybe even laughs next. Make it a touch maniacal? Sure, that would make us sweat over if we did the right thing in helping him. Make us squirm Larian, please.

The important thing is, that whatever problem Dammon had is over... or is it?

The player character can ask him if he can now explain himself. If a friend, he'll just shake his head and thank us. If we have low approval with him, he'll just shake his head and apologize that he still can't speak of it and ask us to, yet again, drop the matter.

But if he's our love, he'll ask if we are sure we want to know and if we can keep a secret. If we vow to, he will lean in and whisper something into our character's ear. We the audience won't know what he's told our character. But at least now there are no more secrets between him and the one(s) he loves.

We just get to watch on as our character's eyes go wider and bug a little in shock as he whispers away. When he pulls back, we can choose to rush and hug him. So tight with an expression of utter belated fear of all that could have gone wrong on our character's face. Or we could choose to break up with him because whatever our character heard has damaged the relationship beyond repair.

Now that the player character knows everything they can consummate the relationship. Why now? Because full disclosure is sexy, and so is a good slow burn.

Oh, and remember those sentimental items? After telling us about his completed mission to our character, he finally shows us what's in that locked chest that had been a test of trust. The one we decide to respect his wishes and leave alone. He finally opens up about his past a tiny bit and talks about why each item he kept in there was so important to him. But of course, most of his trinkets will not be related to his time in the hells or his mysterious now completed task.

Later on, we can ask, "What in the hells were you thinking, taking all that on?!"

Dammon's response? He gives a sheepish shrug and says, "I think you know why. Everything is in order now. That's all that matters, my love. Thank you for trusting, helping, and believing in me."

To just a friend player character, who tries yet again for an explanation, Dammon will only offer, "Just know everything is in order now. That's all that matters, and you have my deepest thanks."

Again, to be clear, we the players are still kept in the dark. It will be only our romanced player character that will know what happened, and there could be an option to whisper Dammon's secret to others. That temptation could always be there among the dialogue options when speaking to the other companions. But kissing and telling will come with consequences. Anywhere from earning a large chunk of disapproval with Dammon to him outright breaking up with the player's character and leaving the party. Maybe he tells all to Karlach too or maybe not, it could all depend on your and Dammon’s relationship with her.

But no matter what, Dammon keeps a majority of his mystery.

Frazer is hopefully happy. We'll be happy.

Everyone. Can. Be. Happy!

If you agree, please consider sharing this to help bring it to Larian's attention. Feel free to discuss your thoughts in the comments below too.

Let's get Dammon into a starring role as an origin character and romanceable in a DLC to help feature the Artificer class!

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bunnieroth · 8 months

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#gyjo #jojo sbr #johnny joestar #gyro zeppeli #from my vamp johnny/wolf gyro au #tumblr plz lemme post this one I’m so nice I swear #being so in love you need more than just a taste do u get it.#blasting “You always eat the one you love” by scary bitches is CRITICAL to understanding this au ok #my art

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strawurberries · 1 year

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i loved your post about vash and reader’s stretch marks. i was wondering if you could write something where the reader is afraid of getting fat, so she skips meals or replaces them with water?

Missed Meals

Summary: Vash notices a change in his companion's behavior. Worried, he decides to confront her.

Authors Note: I'm glad you liked my other post! I hope you like this one as well (though I'm a little nervous because I got stuck writing this and I'm afraid it came out bad). Also, just want to add, I've struggled with eating disorders before (not from self-image but more like Vash's "I don't deserve to eat") so I understand. Everyone is beautiful in their own right and deserves to eat!!! Love all of you guys!!

Warnings: Self-hate, eating disorder.

It started off small; giving her bread to Milly instead of finishing it off, ordering a lighter meal instead of the usual hardy one she adored, and sometimes she simply said, “I’m not that hungry”. But actions like hers always lead to a slippery slope, one that tends to wrap its dirt-crusted nails around its victim and drag them into an early grave. She had never been someone who ate enough to feed an entire village, but not even she could survive on sips of water and the guilty crumbs she rarely allowed herself to consume. After a while though, it became natural, second nature to head off to bed while the sun still hung in the sky, claiming that exhaustion outweighed her hunger��which, she supposed, wasn’t all a lie.

The best lie, she had been told once, is the one that includes the truth.

Now, she recalled that advice as she sat at a table in the back of this dingy town bar. What should she say? What could she say? Recently she had been using up all her excuses left and right, the hunger in her belly growing and the pain in her heart becoming ever more sharp. The group had decided to stop by a local bar before heading to the hotel for the night, nearly everyone complaining about the rough day that had been forced to suffer through. And, to them, a drink was something they were eager to welcome. She, if she hadn’t been too preoccupied with her stomach pains, probably would’ve ordered a whiskey to clear her head of every annoying little thought.

She opted for water though. The least she could do was drink water; she owed it to herself, and so she honored that obligation. Throat parched, mouth achy; the water tasted amazing.

The bar erupted in a shout as someone tripped, roaring laughter drowning out the domestic conversation of her table. Too loud. Vaguely she heard someone mention dinner—she cringed. She did promise herself that she’d finally eat a crumb or a bite tonight (after nearly passing out yesterday she became all too aware of her weakness). She wasn’t dumb, she knew she’d have to eat eventually, that she’d wither away—but one more night, one more meal skipped, it couldn’t do any more harm, right? Besides, from what she had seen on the menu, the foods were all greasy, full of fat and carbs, and wouldn’t help her figure at all.

I just want to look pretty, she reasoned, skipping a meal tonight will help that. God forbid she ate too much and all her progress disappeared: letting that baby fat back under her chin, the muffin-top around her waist, or even the extra flesh on her belly? She’d rather die than let her body look like that again, much less look worse. It terrified her to her core. She needed to look good, and that meant, to her at least, that she must be skinny, thin, and agreeable. Starvation is a small price to pay for beauty.

A waiter slowly started to make their way across the room, eyes set on her table.

I need to go.

She stood up, giving a small smile, “I’m gonna head back to the hotel.”

“You’re leaving already Miss?” Milly asked, “it’s still early enough for one drink! C’mon!” She raised her glass and grinned, “look! Mr. Wolfwood and Mr. Vash are already enjoying themselves!”

Drunken giggles erupted across the table.

“Oh Milly,” Meryl sighed, “let the girl get her rest. God knows we all need it.” She waved her hand with the flick of her wrist, “if it wasn’t for the trouble you’re all bound to cause, I would’ve already left myself.”

“Hey!” Wolfwood barked out, “we’ve never caused trouble a day in our lives. . . well, can’t say much for Needle-noggin’ here.”

“It’s not my fault!” Vash cried, “trouble finds me! I always run away from it!” He sobbed into the table, “can’t a man catch a break?!”

Wolfwood laughed and patted him on the back, “it’s all God’s plan, my friend.”

“Well he sure does have a stupid plan!”

With a smile and silent wave, she slipped out from the table and weaved through the bar, the happy expression quickly falling off her face. I’m tired, she thought to herself, ignoring the biting air of the night. A dull ache in the pit of her belly made her stop for a moment, really tired. . .

She barely remembers getting back to the hotel, much less how she managed to get dressed and settled in bed before that wretched knocking woke her up. With a skip of her heart and a rapid smack of her arms to get the blankets off her cold body, she jumped out of bed and reached for the gun she had tossed on the floor. One smooth movement and she delicately wrapped her fingers around the metal. She didn’t even think about the possibility of her friends needing help, or perhaps just room service making their rounds; the only thing on her mind was the fact that she wasn’t prepared to die that night.

“Who’s there?” she grumbled out, ducking to hide beside the door, back to the wall. She rubbed lazy circles into the metal, finger twitching every so slightly over the trigger. She had never been the greatest shot, nor the most eager to kill, but she would do what had to be done if it came down to it.

“Vash.”

She blinked, sleep-clogged mind getting dunked into a vat of mean, old reality. Her situation hit her upside the head and she resisted the urge to put her face between her knees and groan about how dumb she is. Instead of wallowing in her stupidity (which, if you really think about it, wasn’t the worst reaction she could’ve had), she sighed, “oh.” A spike of relief shot through her like a summer’s breeze on a warm day. Shoulders relaxing and muscles begging to be sent back to bed. . . only, she wasn’t tired anymore. I’m not sleeping tonight, am I? Her heart still beat like a drum, thumping in her chest like no tomorrow, and her body—taunt and tense, ready for a moment's attack; that’s how she’s survived this long, by being prepared for every situation no matter the outcome.

“Can uh. . . can I come in?” Squeaked out Vash.

She cursed and opened the door, wooden creaking echoing throughout the hotel hallway, letting her occupied hand hang by her side, “yeah, sorry. What’s the matter?”

Vash stood in his usual clothes—red coat, ridiculous pants, and bulky boots; his gloves though, she noticed, he wasn’t wearing gloves. He gave her a small smile, “sorry did I scare ya?”

The smile made her less mad about the ordeal, kind and small. He never smiled too widely or genuinely, just enough to show that he cared, that he knew what happiness looked like—though she knew that he thought he’d never be able to obtain happiness, a faraway dream is how he described it to be. Oh, how if given the chance, she would give him all the joy he would ever want.

She shoved that thought aside.

“A little,” she raised the gun and gestured with it for Vash to come inside. “Why are you up so late?”

He slid into the room silently, walking over to sit on the edge of her bed, “couldn’t sleep.” he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

That was a lie. She could tell. “Want to talk?” She locked the door and once again tossed her gun next to her bed, hoping it wouldn’t go off from the rough handling. “Or jus’ need someone here?”

“Just talking, if you don’t mind.”

She nodded, “a’right. How was your day?”

He smiled, “good. You?”

“Peachy.”

The conversation died off.

Neither of them really knew what to say—unspoken words disease the heart and kill the soul, making the tongue bloated and thick. She, not knowing how to comfort her friend as her mind wandered from her own problems to the world’s in general, and he wasn’t sure how to get his point across.

Silence.

Vash cleared his throat, finally collecting his words, “are you. . . okay?” The question hung in the air sourly, sucking any sense of comfort out and churning it into an uninhabitable room of misery. He flinched, as if the mood of the room was hurting him physically. “You’ve been acting a little different lately.”

She leaned against the door, hoping the action would give her the confidence to either run away or admit her inner-thoughts.“Hmm? Fine, you?” She turned her gaze away. Could she run? No, he’d catch her in less than three seconds and her trying to slip out of the room would be an admission of her guilt. But she really didn’t want to talk about herself. She’s doing okay, isn’t she? Just a little tired, anxious, and sad. . . but she’ll get over it. Besides, it’s not like she’s dead yet.

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

Oh how painfully awkward this all was.

The bed squeaked as he moved to get into a more comfortable position, “I have some leftovers in my room, from dinner, if you want any.” He tapped his leg with his fingers, head angled slightly to watch her expression.

He knows.

Those eyes, no matter how much of a kind smile or goofy aura he carefully crafted to show everyone, his eyes gave away every part of his secret-self. The part of him that was scarily intelligent, observant, and abnormally calculating—a man smart enough to play dumb and a man strong enough to be kind. That part of him is what interested her so, the gravity that pulled her attention to him everytime he entered a room.

He knows.

With a defeated sigh she rubbed her shoulder and walked over to the bed, shoving herself behind him to lay back down. If she had to bare her soul to him, the least he could allow her to do was to be vulnerable while being comfortable. He moved slightly to allow her more room, facing away from her as if her very gaze would burn him. “I’m not hungry,” she gave one last effort to cover her lie, to toss her truth out the window in the hopes that it would be buried in the sand.

“You said that yesterday too.” He stared across the room, back rigid.

The sands never work in your favor.

“Huh,” she faced the wall, “guess I did.” The blankets were scratchy, old, and ratty, but she pulled them up to her chin nonetheless. She was tired now. All her adrenaline had poured out of her mouth, dripping onto the creaky wooden floor, seeping into the ground beneath.

“And the day before.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

She closed her eyes, knowing she had finally been caught in her web of little half-truths. “Haven’t had the stomach to eat anything lately.” Perhaps she could escape this somehow—even though she knew it was futile, part of her accepting the fact that he wouldn’t let this go—, make him run away and stop caring, God that caring! It annoyed her to ends she had never seen before, yet she loved it so. If only he didn’t care, she clenched her fist into the blanket, then this wouldn’t have happened. And it’s not like she’s dying! Nor is she killing herself or drawing blood, she’s only skipping a meal every once in a while.

“I don’t. . .,” Vash trailed off locking his fingers together, “I don’t mean to pry, but you’re starving yourself.” He sat the words quickly, sharply, and promptly, as if he was afraid of them and needed to throw them out of his mouth as soon as possible.

All lies come to an end.

“I know.”

But wouldn’t it be nice if they could live forever?

He bit his lip. “Why?”

“You’re prying,” she snapped.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

The conversation died off.

She didn’t mean to sound so rough and uncaring—the opposite of that gentleman—but a fear had struck her heart and she couldn’t stop it. The only way to feel okay, to be okay, was if Vash stopped caring, stopped worrying, and walked out of the room without a second glance (no matter how much that would hurt). Only he had the power to alleviate this anxious pain but she knew she would never allow her to wallow in misery alone.

What did Wolfwood say? She thought to herself, misery enjoys company?

The air turned from sour to stiff, oppressing; like a hand had come to clasp her throat, fingers digging into flesh and muscles spasming as they tried to escape the hold, only it was fruitless.

“Sometimes,” Vash’s voice cut through the air, peeling the layers of devilish emotions back. Slowly he shuffled down to lay next to her, on his back, hands laced over his chest. “I feel like I don’t deserve to eat. . . how can I allow myself to eat when I know how the people I failed, the people I let die, will never be able to enjoy things like that again? And, really, I think part of me hopes I’ll die from starvation, so I can take an easy way out.” He paused and let out a shuddering sigh.

She didn’t move.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, and you don’t have to tell me, but I understand in part. And if you ever need anything, I’m here. Okay?”

Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to care? And why did she want to accept it so damn bad? If he had never noticed, if he had never looked at her with those eyes, if he had never met her—then she’d be living in her little palace of warped perception like a Queen of nothing but barren hearts. A ruler of her own land, a lawmaker who bows to no one; only this man had come into her secluded little kingdom, raided the halls of the castle, and whisked her away to feel the sun. It hurt her. To know how delicious the outside tasted, yet know how her soul felt safer within her prison.

“Do you think,” the words died in her tongue, nervousness making her numb. To hell with it, he already figured it out. Might as well bite the bullet.“ That I look pretty?” she whispered.

Silence.

Oh, that was a mistake, wasn’t it? The silence hurt in her ways that she didn’t even know could hurt.

Vash choked on his own spit and coughed, “w-what?”

Suddenly she wished the silence was still there.

Of course he’d have a reaction like that! She’s ugly, big, and broken. Why did she think it’s run out any different? “Nevermind.” She buried her face into the blanket, biting back a rumble of sobs in her throat; eyes stinging gently.

“No! No! You—you just caught me off guard! I think you’re beautiful, really.” He turned over frantically, hand awkwardly hovering over her shoulder as he talked into her neck.

“You wouldn’t think the same way if I was bigger,” she curled into herself, “if I was fatter.” She aggressively wiped her tears away, “and skipping a couple meals isn’t too bad if it’s for a good reason, you know?” She wasn’t sure if she was believing herself at this point.

He was silent.

“No matter what,” he twiddled his thumbs, ears turning red, “I think you’d still be beautiful. If you were taller, shorter, thinner, bigger, only had one leg or, um, like lost both eyes or something—” he heard her lowly whisper an audible “what?”, “I’d still think you’d look amazing. And, if anyone says otherwise, they don’t deserve you.” He hesitantly set a hand on her shoulder, rubbing comforting circles, “no matter what, I still cherish you.”

Her voice cracked, “thank you Vash.” His words didn’t convince her entirely, but still, they were nice to hear.

He hummed. “I know my words aren’t going to fix everything, but we can start here, if you want?”

She let out a bubbling sigh, trying desperately to keep her tears away in order not to embarrass herself further. “I'm scared.”

“That’s okay, I get scared all the time. I’ll be right here for you, the whole way.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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sunriseindigo · 8 months

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cringetober day 9: rarepair

minrose…. PART TWO‼️‼️💥💥💥💥💥

#cringetober 2023 #sparrow.png #danganronpa despair time #drdt #min jeung #rose lacroix #minrose #drdt min #drdt rose #drdt fanart #fanganronpa #i’m trying so hard to post this. tumblr plz be nice to me thx xoxo :3 #if u guys remember the og minrose post. i’ll love u forever

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tardigrade-gaming · 21 days

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Fuck it. My first Tummy tuesday.

@lilithtransrights @catboybiologist @petzah394

#tummy tuesday #tgirl tummy tuesday #This is my first time posting a pic of myself online so plz be nice >w<

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almostpoetic0-0 · 1 year

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The concept of Damian growing up with a Muslim shower(bidet) as he grew up in a Arabic country and just talia packing him an empty bottle(if yanno , yanno) and telling him to use this to go to the bathroom in his European tour or however he really to the Manor, with a separate Muslim shower attachment (for when he get to the manor for installment) as well and like poor bby dami confused and asks his mother if it is a training exercise and Talia just freaking longs sighs and says that the west doesn't have Muslim showers like us and they u paper to clean there butt and

DAMI JUST HORRIFEID LIKE NO WATER ???

AND LIKE HES WILLING TO BEG UMMI NOT TO SEND HIM. And then he's like but my FATHER(baba) would not be stupid enough right he must be rich enough to use water to "do the stuff right " and once again he is disappointed

And like in the background Jason had his dip already sneaks into the league to like steal a Muslim shower for himself (he grew up on the street he has to feel clean or ptsd yanno) and Ra's is so proud that ATLEST SOMEONE from the west cherises cleanliness and doesn't even care abt hurting Jason (he's like a scientist showing of his discovery) like HERE U WANT ONE TAKE IT,I HAVE A GOLD PLATED ONE TO TAKE THAT TO. Like just Muslim shower appreciation bro and Eastern culture to but mostly Muslim shower

Also the food don't get me started on that bby used to having whole a** chilies but like he's comes to USA and EVERYTHING IS SO BLAND W H Y. He has to call his mother and ask her with increasing desperation if he can come back and to at least send him a cook he is a prince after all.

Everybody at the Manor is confused abt him not eating food and putting hot sauce on everything because that's what he has been led to THE HORROR. Alfreds British and even after all that colonization BY TRADING FREAKING SPICE through the subcontinent their food is still pretty bland and Dami is so salty abt this to Alfred

Dami: Ummi these people don't even know what seasoning is, Ummi. Plz is this punishment for the time my tiger ate your dress mother. Father(baba) doesn't even know how to install a Muslim shower Ummi

And talia amused on the inside and telling to preservere and think of it as training

And just yeah a biracial person guide to THE WEST

I would like LOVEEEE to read a comic written by a Eastern writer about Damian having to adapt to the west and that being harder then any training cus he like are these people senile or poor to wipe ther butt with paper and to think that mandi (pretty sure there might be veggie options in this to) is just orange friend rice to them like where is the FLAVOUR 🤌

#damian al ghul #talia al ghul #ras al ghul #the al ghul are morally grey here not villians #eastern culture appreciation #the eastern food appreciation #but most importantly MUSLIM SHOWER APPRECIATION #im sick and tired of using a bottle on airports #im just a desi gal sadly living in a westernised world #might not be from middle east but im from south east asia so eh desi is desi #also jason todd but like just a smidge #jason todd #damian wayne centric #damian wayne #also not meant to offend anyone #ITS MY FIRST WRITTEN POST ON MY OWN AND NOT JUST RE TWEETING IT BE NICE #im sensitive #plz 🙏

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nightcolorz · 6 months

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ARMAND IS NOT A MINIMALISM GIRLY I STG

my bad if this is an old news take I'm not sure, but I needed to get it out there regardless cuz I've got big thoughts.

So,, at least from what I've seen the perception around the state of the Dubai situation in amc iwtv is that Louis seems super miserable and "off" in the penthouse, and based on what we know of him in the books and in the show he is definitely not the type of character who would enjoy living in a sterile prison like minimalist hell, he likes coziness and warmth and humanity--which yes agreed. So the fair assumption to make is that since Louis doesn't enjoy his living situation, and he is living with a sterile off-putting ancient unknowable vampire who's cold personality aligns with the aesthetic of the penthouse, this probably means Armand is the orchestrater of this life style and is likely keeping Louis there despite his unhappiness.

I disagree!! With this!! I think assuming that Armand would hold someone prisoner is not out of line, but assuming that Armand would hold Louis prisoner in a house *like that* is just very unlike him. If Armand was the mastermind manipulator behind the penthouse prison that shit would be lavish, it'd be decked out. Louis would be so spoiled it'd be borderline ridiculous that he would ever want to leave. Armand is not beyond imprisoning his lovers, but he is beyond bad taste, and he knows home decor like a mf. His love language is essentially providing the people he loves with as much lavishness and belongings as they could possibly want until they hate him for it. Sugar daddy king. In devil's minion Daniel was arguably being kept against his will, yet he was being kept in a beautiful incredibly rich island mansion with every mortal possession he could ever want. Armand would not create the penthouse!! He would never stoop so ugly. I could only see him doing smth like this if he was furiously hateful of Louis,, like absolutely despised him, and idk about u but I do not get that vibe!! They definitely seem strained, but Armand very clearly wants Louis to be taken care of and protected.

So if armand is not designing the penthouse, who is, is the question now.. Well,, Armand may not be a character who builds a lifestyle with the intention of self restriction, dullness, and a lack of indulgence that feels prison like stale self isolating and full of agony, but you know who would? I wonder which vampire chronicles character would create a penthouse designed so that he can access as little stimulation joy or lavish possessions as possible, in the style of the monk, alongside an ethical yet plainly grotesque system of blood feeding that doesn't take human life. I wonder who would do that.. it couldn't possibly be Louis...the character who in the books denies himself new clothes or a nice house or technology because he "doesn't deserve it". Yah it's a mystery really. Lmfao.

I think Louis has built a prison of his own making bcus he sees himself as some sort of needy unhinged beast that needs to be caged in a scary under stimulating tower for the betterment of society. And Armand is assisting him begrudgingly under marriage and love obligation. The theory that the penthouse situation feels like watching a caged animal bite on its bars is one I agree with, but not for Louis, for Armand. Armand is restless bro he is on edge Louis is in his god damn self hating priestly self flagellation elementttt. They r both miserable and trapped but I think it's much more mutual then is often recognized. Throughout the season Louis is in control ASF and I don't think that was just an act. I'll see myself out now lmfao

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