#fascinating...what the hell is going on in there (my brain)

[ghostieblotts]

Okay @dr-docktor @szollibisz @smytherines thank you so much for being interested I wasn't expecting this fdkhghkks

So the reason I originally said "context it's in makes this kinda comical to say tbh" is because the au I was thinking of is in fact a My Little Pony au which I have been thinking about a lot over the past few days. (I am cringe and I am free.) Typical thing of me starting off making something just meant to be a silly quick exercise and getting completely side-tracked and taking some smaller/more specific things way too seriously.

I think I'm going to make a separate longer post now to talk about some of my ideas in more detail which you will be able to check out if you're interested, but the kinda tl;dr of the idea I'd had is this: if Curt is a pegasus in the au (which is a bit of a big 'if' - I have some fun ideas relating to it but they also require some pretty significant logistical wrangling in order to get them to work properly in a way that makes sense to me - I've also thought about the alternative of him being a unicorn), the Torture Tango presents an opportunity for Owen to specifically target Curt's wings - and if he really wanted to, he could probably do some permanent damage. And there are reasons not to have him do so (relating to the aforementioned logistical wrangling as well as things like when I would want certain pieces of information to be revealed in a hypothetical show format, whether this is too close to blowing Owen's cover, whether it properly works for/makes sense in the scene, and also whether it goes too far past a line that I don't know if Owen crosses in the show) but also. The possibility is there.

[twinstxrs]

there’s probably something deeply wrong with me because every time i see someone react to the pok gukgak interrogation scene it’s like “oh no oh my god is riz’s dad a bad guy?” when the first time i saw that scene my only thought was “oh my god is riz’s dad HOT??”

[richardgrimes]

had a dream i was supergirl and was pregnant with peter bishop's kid but it was also like i wasn't supergirl and was watching supergirl instead like how the pov of dreams change weirdly

[yikeshereiam]

it’s that time of night where I start yammering on about the chimeras bc I miss them and wish they were given the justice they deserved. 

and by justice, I do mean a fleshed out storyline that could actually handle all the burning questions of ethics and morality 

[hms-no-fun]

Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)

[cherrygarcia-07]

Absolutely no pressure, babes. Writing should be fun, not stressful!

What thoughts do you have about say…early seasons Spencer being completely whipped for his girlfriend? He has absolutely no idea how he landed this really awesome gal, but there she is, his beautiful girl, who wants to listen to him, spend time with him.

Serendipity // Spencer Reid☕️

Thank you so much for my first request🥺 your support means so much! I got a little carried away, this is definitely more elaborate than what you asked, I hope you like it anyway but lmk if you want anything a little more playful and light and I can totally give that a go too!

Synopsis: Spencer Reid has never looked for love, believing it was simply just not in the cards for him. That was until you stumbled into his life, changing his perceptive on life- and on himself.

Pairing: early seasons glasses! spencer x reader

Genre: deep fluff

Word Count: 3k

Notes/Tags: bees as a catalyst for love because why the hell not, infodumping as flirting, talks about constellations (from me? shocker), lot of references to spencer’s past bullying & home life, hes down BAD bad he literally studies what to do on a date, princess and the frog reference at the end just pretend it didn’t come out in 2009 okay <3

masterlist

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Spencer Reid had always been a man of science, not of superstitions or of coincidences of the universe. While he found stories fascinating, to him that’s all they were- stories. He believed in facts and numbers, things that were tangible and real and he never indulged in any kind of magic of destiny. That was until he met you. No amount of research, no book he threw himself into or study he conducted could ever account for just how he ended up with you. He wrecked his brain trying to calculate the statistical probability of this happening and how you could have appeared right when he needed you, but for once in his life he was stumped.

He’d never been one to look for love. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, in fact he felt it like a rock in his chest where his heart should be, heavy and aching behind his ribs as it yearned for what it thought it could never be. It was simply something Spencer believed just wasn’t meant for him. He’d never seen himself in the happy faces of couples he passed on the street, he never related to the dreamy, put-together romantic leads he’d seen in movies, rather he saw himself in isolation. In solitude. A lone star with no constellation. He was there, that much he knew, and he twinkled in his own way, but not in any way that drew attention. Just enough to show that he was alive, just evidence that he existed up there too. He had no connections around him, no story to be told and no greater picture that he was a part of. He felt more like a torch imitating a star, a false light that didn’t dazzle quite as authentically as it searched the dark for what it needed rather than just resting in what it had. Spencer had made his peace with this though- at least he thought he had. After all, the stories behind the constellations are just myths. They’re simply just things humanity had attached meaning to with no real science or history behind them, and he truly believed that.

That’s why you were so baffling to him.

It started with a bee, of all things. It was Spencer’s turn to do the coffee run for the team in the middle of a local case, his steps weighing beneath him with exhaustion despite it being the middle of the day as he dragged himself to the door of the café. He had just wrapped his fingers around the door handle and was gathering the little energy left in him to swing it open when a sudden scream rang out behind him, jolting him awake as he dropped his hand and spun to face the noise. On edge from the case, his mind rattled through a thousand dire possibilities as he mentally prepared to jump into action. What his eyes landed on, however, wasn’t any kind of crash or violent attack like he had feared, but rather a girl… swatting a bee. The panicked lump in his throat cleared as he caught his breath and watched you flail your arms in the air as you continued squealing, coffee flying out of the small hole in the top of your takeaway cup in every direction. Deciding to put you out of your misery, as it was still his duty to protect no matter how small the stakes, he took a step closer and with one heroic wave of his arm the bee was gone.

There was a feeling he couldn’t quite place somewhere deep in his chest as he took in your expression; big dazed eyes flooding with relief as they watched the culprit flew away; soft cheeks painted pink in the aftermath of the chaos; and lips parted ever so delicately as small puffs of air escaped them, before they spread into a brilliant grin that took over your whole face. Laughing lightly, you reached out and gently held his arm to grab his attention, not realising you’d had it the whole time.

“Thank you so much. You saved my life there.” Your voice chirped, though he barely registered it through the flustered rush of blood pounding in his ears.

Spencer looked down to where your hand still rested on his arm. Usually this was the part where he would recoil, politely but firmly snatching his arm back as he mumbled something about germs and bacteria and pathogens. But he didn’t pull away. Why didn’t he pull away? A beat of awkward silence passed as he stuttered internally, trying to get his mouth to cooperate with his brain as he failed to tear his gaze away from your eyes.

“It was a drone.” He groaned at himself in his head. Respond normally, idiot his brain yelled.

For a second, your brow furrowed as you bit your lip in thought. “I’m sorry?”

“It, uh-“ He stammered, painfully aware that your hand was still on his arm. “It was a drone. A male bee. It wouldn’t have hurt you.”

Nice going he cursed himself. Spencer held his breath as he braced himself for the inevitable reaction he was all too familiar with; the awkward hum as the other person pulled away, the barely masked grimace on their face at his compulsive need to drop facts at any given moment, and finally one of the many variations of ‘I’m running late, I better get going” among other excuses to stop talking to him. Except it never came.

Instead, you tilted your head to the side curiously, a thoughtful look on your face as you stared at the space in the air where the bee had been just moments ago. You were still touching him.

“Do male bees not sting or something?” You asked, the genuine interest in your voice taking Spencer by surprise.

He almost wasn’t sure what to do. If he wasn’t used to people actually listening to him when he rambled, someone asking him for even more information was practically unheard of.

“They can’t sting,” he begun, a mix of confidence and excitement at your interest bubbling up in his words, “stingers aren’t compatible with their anatomy. The stinger is essentially a modified ovipositor so it only exists on the female bees so they can lay their eggs. The stinger also isn’t needed for male bees for any defensive purposes since they have no role in defending the hive either so, uh.” His voice trailed off as he cleared his throat, his confidence dipping as he realised how much he was speaking. “Yeah, perfectly harmless.”

He sheepishly met your gaze once again, still half expecting to find that disinterested, disapproving look in your eyes. You finally pulled your hand away from his arm and oddly, Spencer found himself mourning your warmth through his sleeve and shocked himself with how much he wished you would reach for him again.

“That’s actually good to know.” His heart raced as you flashed a grin at him. “I’ve always been terrified of bees. That little fight you saw just now is a regular thing for me.” You replied with a giggle so sweet Spencer thought he should bottle it and pour it in his coffee- if he ever remembers to go in and get it.

“It’s a pretty common phobia, but actually bees have a lot of positive symbolism that contradicts people’s connotations about them.” His felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He ignored it.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Spencer noted the way your fingers drummed against the coffee cup in your hands, realising you had your drink already and there was really no reason for you to be here anymore. You were choosing to be here with him. For a moment, he felt like he’d had the breath knocked out of him and he felt his heart beat so hard behind his shirt he worried it would break out.

“Most commonly, they’re associated with hard work and community but in a lot of cultures they also represent prosperity and the circle of life. In ancient cultures they even believed bees to be of divine wisdom and they were seen as a symbol of guidance.” His cadence was suddenly a lot livelier, much more sure of itself as it evened out and strayed from the quiet shake of his words earlier.

“A symbol of guidance?” You repeated, not so subtly eyeing him up and down, adoring the nerdy way his glasses slipped down his nose as he spoke. “Maybe that’s what that bee was doing here today.”

There was a flirty undertone to your voice, not that Spencer noticed. Girls never flirted with him, or at least he convinced himself they didn’t. He’d spent far too much time on the receiving end of older girls in school pretending to like him for their own amusement and so he’d stopped looking for the signs entirely until they just began to pass him by.

“What do you mean?” He asked quizzically, his head tilting like a puppies in confusion.

“It guided you to me.”

His phone began ringing again- no doubt the team wondering where their coffees were, but he couldn’t even hear it over the ringing in his ears.

“Do you need to get that…?” You trailed off, trying to catch his name.

“Spencer.” He managed to croak out eventually. “And no- well I probably should actually, but it can wait.”

His doe eyes were blown wide, his mouth hanging open like a fish in a stunned state you didn’t yet know you would grow to love. You bumped his arm in a playful manner, holding back a smirk when his still dazed eyes darted between your face and your hand on his arm once again.

“Give me another one before you go, another nice bee thing.” You smiled softly, staring up at him through your lashes, and the invitation to teach again pulled him back to reality as he snapped into action instantly.

“This isn’t necessarily anything to do with bees themselves but have you heard of the Beehive Cluster?” He smiled fondly when you shook your head. “It’s a cluster of around a thousand stars within the Cancer constellation- described by Ptolemy as a nebulous mass. It’s named after its resemblance to a beehive, both in shape and in symbolism- the stars together in harmony like the bees.”

“That sounds beautiful, Spencer. You know a lot about the stars?” He nodded eagerly, but not smug. More like a man who was passionate about what he knew and was eternally grateful to have someone to share it with. “Well you’ll have to take me stargazing some time, it looks like I’ve got a lot to learn. What do you think?”

It was as if he’d been hypnotised, your proposal like the magic word that snapped his confidence back like elastic as his jaw dropped again immediately and he became a stuttering mess right there in front of you.

Spencer had a lot of explaining to do when he arrived back at the BAU empty handed.

Fast forward a few unfathomable months down the line and here he was, somehow lying beside you in bed watching the moonlight drape over your sleeping frame like the blanket wrapped around your waist. A heavy but pleasant feeling tugged at his consciousness, unsure whether it was from the late hour blinking on the clock or the love-drunk haze he always seemed to be in around you (though he would happily bet on the latter).

Afraid to touch you and disturb your sleep, Spencer let his eyes wander over you lovingly. His breath hitched with admiration as if it was his first time looking at you, overwhelmed and quite frankly astounded at the fact you were even here. With him. He gazed over your hands -your soft, gentle hands that pushed his glasses back up his nose with a touch so delicate against his face that he forgot about every hand that ever struck him there; your doting, attentive hands that buttoned his cardigans each morning when he was rushing too much to care about it himself; your tender, caring hands that combed through his hair as he cried into your shoulder after a case that hit him particularly hard. He let out a shuddering breath, his trance travelling to your lips, parted in your sleep and rosy like a cherub’s. Those same lips that harboured your sweet voice and that flashed your heavenly smile his way and made him weak. Those lips that reassured him that he was the only thing that mattered when he felt he was the only thing that didn’t. Finally, with bated breath, his focus shifted to your eyes that shone like the north star. His Polaris. His guiding light home, always waiting in the dark with open arms for him to fall into whenever he was lost. Those enchanting eyes that saw the beauty in everything- that somehow saw it in him.

Spencer was someone who valued his privacy and he had tried to keep the relationship to himself for a while, but working with a team of profilers and the fact he wore his heart on his sleeve meant it didn’t last very long. Before your first date he had shown up to work a little fancier than usual, like a child on their first day of school, knowing he would have to meet you straight from the office. Derek had immediately caught onto his gelled back hair and elaborate tie, embroidered with a sea of stars, and had thrown a few teasing comments his way along with his signature brotherly smirk. Gideon in a fatherly manner had straightened his tie for him before he left, patting him on the back and holding back a proud smile. The next day, when the grin Spencer wore pulled at his lips so hard it may as well have been stitched in place, his walls came crashing down and he told the team everything.

Spencer would never admit it but he’d studied beforehand, scouring the library for anything and everything even remotely romance related. As it turns out, being years below your peers your whole life doesn’t really open any doors in the dating world, often leaving him tuning out his emotions over a solitary game of chess, but he was determined to do everything he could to learn to be the perfect gentleman for you. At the restaurant, he pulled your chair out for you before seating himself closest to the door to protect you from the breeze whenever it swung open. Afterwards he walked you home, lingering close enough to breathe in the intoxicating smell of your perfume but refusing to touch you uninvited lest you think that was all he wanted from you.

Eventually, you approached your front door and you stopped for a moment, turning your head up towards the blackening sky, the stars not quite poking their pretty little heads out yet.

“What’s the matter?” Spencer asked, concerned as you sported a slight pout.

“I wanted you to show me the Beehive Cluster.” You sighed, dropping your gaze to the floor, a crease appearing between your brows that he found himself wishing he could kiss away, touched that you’d even remembered what he’d told you.

Your head snapped back up as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a notepad and pen with a small smile. You watched, confused as he frantically scribbled in silence, not daring to speak incase you burst the focused bubble he was in. After a moment, he glanced back up at you with a bashful expression, shyly holding out the piece of paper, now torn from the book.

“Until next time.” He said softly, barely audible but impactful nonetheless. Heart melting, you took in the scribbled illustration of the cluster on the page, fingers delicately tracing the ink like it was sacred.

That same drawing now lived framed on the nightstand beside where you slept, lit up by the moonlight creeping in through the curtains. The memory played over in Spencer’s mind on loop and he thought about waking you, overcome with the urge to pepper your face with a thousand kisses for every painful memory of his past you’d overwritten. For every girl that had asked him out as a joke; for every boy that made him feel inferior; for every time he had refused to let himself believe he could be in love, there was a countless amount of new memories with you. From his understanding of the world, love had always looked like something that left you in pieces more often than it put you back together. Love looked like a broken home and a broken family. Like something that only worked out in fiction and sometimes not even then. Love was a forbidden fruit hanging illuminated in an artificial light that looked just real enough to trick people into taking a bite, punishing those who dared think they were deserving of it. What he never even dreamed was that love could look just like this. Like sci-fi movie nights curled up together on the couch wearing matching mis-matched socks, or like quiet evenings spent comfortably side by side saying nothing but feeling everything. Truthfully, he never knew love could look like you.

All this time, Spencer believed it was his place in the universe to sit alone and observe, twinkling humbly from his place in the dark. He believed he was simply meant to tell the stories, not be part of one himself. Little did he know his place was beside you, his Evangeline, in a harmonious beehive all his own.

Spencer Reid had always been a man of science. But that night, as you lay beside him, he thought about the old mythological beliefs that bees were once divine messengers between mortals and the Gods- and he thought that maybe he believed it. Tears pricked his eyes as he leaned in and pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead and he found himself thanking that serendipitous bee that day for bringing him everything he didn’t know he was missing.

-

[rainrot4me]

Can we get hcs for how the creepypastas would handle a s/o with a high sex drive? (Hoping to see Toby and Brian)

✦ . jeff the killer

“You horny again? …God, I love you.”

Down for it. Always. Jeff’s sex drive is already pretty high, so if you’re insatiable? He’s all in.

Teases the hell out of you for it. Calls you “needy,” “nasty,” or his “little addict.”

Will literally stop mid-argument to grab your hips and say, “This what you want instead?”

If he’s tired? He’ll still try. You might wake up to him lazily rutting into you like “Mmhm… just use me, babe.”

✦ . ticci toby

“You’re gonna wear me the fuck out… not that I’m complaining.”

Initially overwhelmed but very into it. Especially if you initiate with surprise attacks.

You grabbing his hoodie and pulling yourself into his lap? Instantly flustered. Instantly hard.

Grins through the overstimulation: “You just do-don’t stop, huh?”

Starts getting possessive if others take your attention. “No-Nobody can make you feel this good, right? Say it.”

✦ . eyeless jack

“You’re going to kill yourself with this pace. Slow down, little lamb.”

At first? Wary. Jack’s a methodical lover. He prefers intimacy with his control.

But the more he sees how much you crave him, the more addicted he becomes.

He’ll start structuring his day around your needs: food, hydration, meds, and then you.

Will make extensive use of restraints and edging you if your drive gets overwhelming—to help you last.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

“Jesus Christ—again?”

He’ll roll his eyes and sigh, but his bulge says otherwise.

Tim likes control. If you’re constantly pushing, he’ll flip it. Tie you up, edge you for hours, make you beg.

Pretends he’s annoyed, but will fuck you hard and rough like he’s been waiting for you to ask.

Post-sex cuddles are grumpy, but affectionate. “You good now? You better be.”

✦ . hoody (brain thomas)

“Keep tempting me and see what happens.”

Secretly obsessed. On the surface? Calm. Collected. But inside? Losing it.

He’ll act unaffected when you straddle him, then suddenly flip you over and wreck you unapologetically.

Loves when you initiate. Makes him feel claimed. Wanted.

Watches your stamina with fascination. He keeps score in his head. (He’s winning.)

✦ . ben drowned

“God, you’re gonna break my stamina… and my spine.”

Horny little gremlin. He’s all for it.

He will use your libido as an excuse to pause games, saying, “One quick round,” and then spending hours with you.

Suggests weird kinks constantly, “Let’s try while floating this time. C’mon.”

If you somehow wear him out? He’ll program a vibrator that he can control to keep you busy.

✦ . clockwork

“Didn’t we just go three rounds this morning? Damn, baby.”

She loves it. Will tease you endlessly.

Calls you “insatiable,” “hungry,” or “never satisfied.”

She’s dominant, so if you’re always begging? She’ll make you earn it with a slow, torturous build-up.

Sometimes just pushes you against the wall and says: “You’re lucky I’m not tired of you.”

✦ . laughing jack

“You really want another ride, sugar?”

Absolute freak. You being horny all the time? He thrives off it.

Turns every interaction into innuendo. Eating candy? He moans obnoxiously. You bend over? He claps like a kid on Christmas morning.

Loves overstimulation, sensory play, toys, and making you scream.

He gets competitive too: “Bet I can make you pass out before you make me tap out.”

✦ . slenderman

“You are…exceedingly demanding. But I will indulge you.”

At first? Cold. Distant. Annoyed.

But behind closed doors? A demon.

He’ll draw your desire out slowly, making you desperate before he unleashes.

Will use his tendrils, his voice, his control over your body and mind until you’re shaking and still asking for more.

“Desperation… It’s unbecoming. But I find myself eager to satisfy you.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[popcornpoppypop]

Butterfly

A/N: Well, The Pitt dragged my depressed ass back into fanfic writing and this weird, depressed, little guy has wedged himself into my brain and will not leave. Be gentle, it's been a while! I have a few stories with this OC, kind of a series but not really. Enjoy!

Summary: Callie is vet tech with a silly sense of humor. Jack Abbot was immediately obsessed. When she lands herself in The Pitt from a work injury, Jack falls apart.

Warnings: Blood, medical inaccuracies, mentions of death, facial trauma, dog bite

Word Count: 3,295 (it took me and ran)

It was one of those moments  where everything had to line up perfectly to happen. The butterfly effect some call it. If Callie had stayed home like she wanted to that rainy Tuesday afternoon, she wouldn’t have gone to work and she wouldn’t have had to deal with the aggressive chihuahua and she wouldn’t have gotten bit and she wouldn’t have had to go to the ER and she wouldn’t have met Dr. Jack Abbot and she wouldn’t have flirted her ass off until his face turned beet red and they wouldn’t have gone out for coffee and they wouldn’t have slowly and completely fallen in love. She thinks about it a lot.

“So, what bit you?” Dr. Abbot asks as he pulls his gloves on with a snap.

“The most feared creature in all of veterinary medicine.” Callie sighed, mocking terror.

“What? A rottweiler? German Shepherd?” Jack looked at her with a flat expression.

“Chihuahua. Vicious little fuckers.” Callie snorted. Jack stared at her for a long beat before a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, one he was clearly trying to subdue.

“Never understood why anyone wanted one of those rats in their house anyway.” He said as he pulled the overhead light into position to examine the wound on her forearm.

“Sometimes they can be cute. But it is few and far between, at least when I see them.” Callie winced as Jack prodded at the wound.

“Well, he got you good. We’ll clean the wound out and give you some pain management, antibiotics. Can’t close it though. Dogs mouths are nasty things.”

“Like yours is better?”

“Excuse me?”

“It was a joke. I’m joking. You should give it a try.” Callie winked.  Jack stared again, almost frozen with what to do. He was not unfamiliar with being flirted with at work. Hell, Myrna said some pretty vulgar shit most days. This woman, she was something else. He couldn’t quite figure out why, besides the fact that she was stunning. But pretty people rarely interest him. 

“I, uh, will be back. With antiseptic.” He gave a curt nod, rolled his chair back so hard it flew into the wall when he stood up. He closed the curtain and stomped over to the nurses station.

“Dana you got a nurse free to clean out the wound in 7?”

“They are all taken for the next twenty-ish minutes, can send them that way when I have one.” She said, her readers falling down her nose. Jack fidgeted for a moment before growling as he ran his hands through his hair.

“What’s up your ass? They being that bad?” Dana smirked.

“No. No, that woman is just the kind of person to throw me off.”

“She was very pretty. Nice, too. But you’ve had prettier patients.” Dana looked him up and down, hands on her hips.

“No. No, I haven’t. She’s fucking silly.” Jack groaned, his frustration making his face flush.

“Silly? That’s what does it for you?” Dana didn’t try to hide the laugh.

“Fuck yeah it does. I’ll go clean it. If I’m not out in fifteen minutes, send someone to rescue me.” He grabbed supplies and headed back to bed 7.

“No use, you’re already a goner!” Dana shouted, shaking her head.

Two years later, Callie was still making terrible jokes to make Jack laugh. Others would try to get him to laugh, telling the same jokes, but he wouldn’t flinch. They were only funny when she said them.

They would talk medicine with each other often, Jack was fascinated with the difference between Veterinary medicine and human medicine. Intrigued by the creativity of it. Callie was in awe of how fast emergency medical staff had to think and move, like a well-oiled machine.

Callie was a good technician. She had been doing the job in various forms since she was out of high school. She was efficient and quick. Most days she was quick. Most days she could read a dog or cat like a book. Knew when they were going to bite before they did. Today, she was not so quick. Today her reading was off. She was tired and she thought the cute golden retriever was nice and calm and would be fine to get subcutaneous fluids on her own. The needle went in and the dog turned and took a bite at her face. She fell backwards, the dog was pulled off by her coworker. She felt the warm blood trickling down her neck.

She was confused for a moment, there wasn’t pain. She felt fine, but when she put her hand on her cheek she felt the flesh missing and the blood, she saw the blood. But the pain wasn’t there. It made her panic. Did something happen to her brain? Next thing she knew, paramedics were in front of her asking questions.

“Just get her in the rig before she bleeds out!” one of her coworkers yelled.

“I want to go to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. My boyfriend works there, please.” Was the last thing she said before she was overwhelmed and passed out.

“We got a trauma coming in, ETA 7 minutes.” Dana called out.

“I swear, I’m never switching shifts with Collins again.” Jack groaned as he grabbed gloves from the wall dispenser.

“She is hard to say no to.” Robby laughed.

“What’s coming?” Langdon asked, practically drooling.

“Uh, looks like a dog bite to the face, female, mid-thirties.” She said looking up to meet Jack’s eyes.

“It’s not her. They would have called you, it’s not her.” Robby patted Jack’s shoulder, it didn’t stop the ice from flowing through his veins.

“Damn, that sucks. That’s why I tell my kids to keep their face away from the dog. You never know. The way some people just act like dogs are stuffed animals is crazy! Maybe she’ll learn her lesson.” Langdon prattled on.

“Shut the fuck up.” Jack growled. Langdon went white and took a few steps back. The paramedics came bursting in with their patient; blood covered the gurney.

“Female, mid-thirties, vet tech was performing treatments on a patient when it attacked. Bite to the face and neck, took some of her cheek with her. She lost consciousness not long after we got there. She requested to come here. Said her boyfriend works here.” The medic said. As Callie’s face came into his view, Jack felt his knees try and buckle.

“Fuck.” Was all he could get out.

“Jack you sit this out. We got her.” Robby pushed him out of the way as he and Langdon brought her into the trauma bay. Jack followed but stopped outside the door.

“Jack! Jack, oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Liz, one of Callie’s coworkers came running up and throwing her arms around him.

“I tried to call you and warn you, my phone wouldn’t get reception in the rig. They wouldn’t radio to let you know, they were kind of pricks honestly.” She rambled.

“Liz what the fuck happened?” Jack asked, his voice strained.

“we were so damn busy today, someone called out and corporate has us on quotas and if the clinic doesn’t make them it’s a whole thing. Anyway, she thought this dog was fine to give subq fluids to alone, she does it all the time. She was off today, kept saying she was tired. He just spun around and got her in the face. God, her cheek was on the floor. Her fucking cheek!” Liz said through tears. Jack put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“It’s okay, Liz. You got her here that’s what’s important. Dana? Can you put Liz in the family room? I’ll come by when I have information.” He promised as Dana walked her away.

She was so still as they worked on her. Her face, oozing blood onto the floor, it was thick as it had mixed with her saliva. He could see some of her teeth exposed through the wound. The tear at her neck was less extreme but too close to her carotid for his comfort. He wasn’t paying any attention to what they were saying or really what they were doing.

“You know they have her.” Dana put a hand on his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t let anyone but Robby touch her. Robby and Princess.” He sniffed.

“She’s a tough girl.”

“She’s going to need reconstructive surgery.”

“She’s going to be okay.” Dana squeezed his arm. He stood, still as stone, his expression the same.

Robby came walking out, throwing his gloves in the trash.

“She’s stable, she lost a lot of blood, we gave about two units. Surgery is taking her from here. But she’s going to be okay, Jack.”

“Who’s on surgery today?” Jack didn’t dare take his eyes off Callie.

“Walsh is on trauma. Craig is on for plastics. I made sure they were bringing him in.”

“She was tired today. Liz said she kept saying she was tired.” Jack’s monotone voice made Dana wince.

“This was a freak thing. She didn’t cause anything.” Robby said.

“She was slow because she was tired because I asked her to stay up late with me. There was a stupid eclipse last night. Didn’t get to totality until 2am. She’s here because of me.” There was a slight quiver to his voice.

“No, Jack, don’t do that.” Dana grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to face her. They both know that he’s let her.

“As if she couldn’t look at the stupid fucking moon any other night.”

“Hey! This was not your fault. If it’s anyone’s it’s those damn corporations working them to the bone for fucking quotas! Hell, this is barely the dog's fault!” Dana said, trying to keep Jack’s feet on the ground.

Jack nodded, wanting to stop the talking. He wasn’t going to be convinced this wasn’t his fault.

When Callie was brought out of surgery, her face was bandaged with gauze. It had already started to swell and turn five different shades of purple and blue.  Jack felt a stab to the gut when he saw her. He could only imagine what the pain was like.

It was during the early hours of the next morning when she started to stir. Jack was sleeping in the most uncomfortable chair in the hospital, his hand firmly in hers. She groaned as she tried to open her eyes. Jack felt the slight movement of her hand and was immediately awake.

“Callie? Honey?” He smoothed the hair from her forehead.

“Jack?” She croaked.

“Hey, how are you feeling? How’s the pain?” He asked, searching her eyes for the truth, knowing she would say it wasn’t bad to spare anyone from going out of their way for her.

“It fucking hurts. My face is mincemeat.” She sighed. Jack nodded, hitting the call button and demanding she get more pain relief.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have made you stay up late. It wasn’t worth it.” He looked at the ground, ashamed.

“Hey, no. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t anyone. Just one of those things. I don’t regret it.” She tried her best to smile.

“I fucking do.”

“Naw. I got to see an eclipse, I got to see you being a big space nerd.” She squeezed his hand.

“I’m not a nerd.”

“Huge. Huge nerd. I like seeing you like that. Like…it’s what you were like before everything. A little glimpse at ‘Past Jack’. I love this Jack, but you keep that part locked up. I don’t need to question it, I understand. It’s nice when I get to see the whole picture. Besides, corporate is going to be giving me a big check when I blame this on them.” Callie huffed a laugh. Jack nodded looking at the ground, knowing her efforts to assuage his guilt were futile.

“They said it’ll be a few days until you can come home. They got you on some intense IV antibiotics.” He changed the subject away from himself.

“How bad is it?” Callie asked, her voice small. Jack hated it. She was never small. She was big and boisterous and loud and funny and all the things he wasn’t.

“They were able to graft the skin and close the wound.” Jack cleared his throat, he knew what she was really asking.

“Jack…what do I look like?” Her voice wavered.

“I honestly haven’t seen it fully since surgery. What I can see now, you’re swollen and bruised but still you.” He traced little anxious patterns on her hand.

“I want to see.” Callie straightened herself upright.

“I think you have a dressing change soon. But, usually we don’t recommend seeing this kind of thing until it’s more healed.”

“I want to see my face.” The tears were starting to sting her eyes as she fought them.

“Okay. Give me a second.” He grumbled as he got up and went to the nurse’s station.

“What can I do for you Dr.Abbot?” one of them asked, smile plastered on her face that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“I know she doesn’t have a dressing change for a little bit, but she wants to see it.” He fiddled with a pen on the desk.

“Oh. Um, I can do the change in a bit, but we don’t let them see the damage for at least two days. It’s better once the swelling goes down.”

“I know that. I do. But, she’s set her mind.” “Dr. Abbot, it’s direct medical orders from Dr. Craig that she not see herself for two days, I can’t go against that.”

“Then get him on the phone!” Jack barked, startling the nurses.

“Jack?” Robby called from the end of the hallway, gift basket in hand, “hey man, let’s take a walk.” He pulled him down the hall.

“I’m not being stubborn. She wants to see, I told her why they don’t want to let her, she wants it. I’m going to get her what she wants!” Jack rubbed his hands down his face.

“I know you’re feeling guilty about this, but man, you know how these things go. You can’t be going above doctors heads.”

“Robby, she is going to have scars on her face for the rest of her life because of me. Everyone keeps saying it’s just a random turn of events. It’s bullshit you all are trying to get me to swallow, even her. If we had just gone to bed when we were supposed to none of this would have happened.” His voice was thick with emotion.

“if they had staffed them properly, if they didn’t have outrageous quotas to meet, if they had better equipment, better management none of this would have happened. It doesn’t always come back to you. Even if she had been wide awake and full of caffeine this still would have happened because of all the other shit.” Robby stopped at the end of the hallway.

“She said she’s going to make corporate pay.” Jack sighed.

“as she should.” Robby chuckled. “Look, you need to get your shit together right now. She is going to need you now more than ever. Her whole identity is going to be different. She isn’t going to feel like herself and she is probably going to feel like her appearance is going to drive you away. Show her that’s not true. I swear, if I hear you leave her, it won’t be just me coming for you.”

“I can’t live without her, Robby.” Jack bowed his head to hide the tears.

“I know, brother.” Robby wrapped an arm around him.

“Dr. Abbot?” The nurse cleared her throat. “yeah?”

“Dr. Craig said, and this is him I’m quoting, ‘if that stubborn ass thinks she can handle it he can do the dressing change.’ So, it’s up to you.” The nurse shrugged.

“Get me the dressing change supplies, please.”

“Jack,”

“Robby, she needs to see. We know that the healing process isn’t the same for everyone. I know her. She needs this.” Jack stomped back to the room. When he entered he could see the redness in her eyes, he kept it to himself.

“Robby’s here, is it ok for him to come in? He can help me with the dressing change.” Jack tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.  She nodded, not trusting her voice.  Jack went and grabbed the supplies from the nurse and ushered Robby into the room.

“Hey kid, you scared the shit out of us.” He smiled.

“Gotta keep you on your toes. Must of have been a fun one for the med students.” Callie laughed.

“Oh Jack made sure they weren’t anywhere near you.” Robby laughed.

“I thought this was a teaching hospital? Surely this was good teaching case.” Callie shot Jack a look that could kill.

“Wasn’t going to risk it.” He stated.

“Anyway, everyone downstairs wanted you know they were thinking of you. All chipped in and got you this basket, not a healthy thing insight.” He said putting the basket on the nightstand next to her bed.

“That’s sweet. Thank you. I’m sorry he’s been extra grouchy. I’d keep the interns out of his way for a while.” Callie smiled.

“Way ahead of you.” Robby winked.

“We’re going to change the dressing now, it might sting a bit, you might feel it pull at the skin. Let me know if it’s too much.” Jack pulled his gloves on.

He gently unwrapped the gauze from Callie’s face. The cotton pads that stuck to her face gave some trouble, Callie winced as he pulled them off. The skin was sutured closed and was bruised and red. The sutures went from the bottom of her chin up to her cheekbone with a line going down her neck about three inches. Jack swallowed harder than he meant when he saw it. It looked so painful and dramatic. His chest tightened and he couldn’t speak without breaking.

Robby looked over at him, nudging him to say something, anything. When Jack didn’t move, he took the mirror and handed it to Callie. He held it down in her hands for a moment.

“Remember that the sutures need to be removed and the swelling and bruising will go down. It’s going to be very different.” Robby warned.

“I know.” Callie said.  She lifted the mirror with shaky hands and took in her reflection. She couldn’t stop the tears, she didn’t want to. They flowed silently down her face, stinging the sensitive skin.

“Dr. Craig did a great job. The Sutures are some of the best I’ve ever seen.” Robby told her, trying to give her some solace.

Jack started cleaning the wound, his eyes red. He focused on the medicine. Keeping it clean and dry. Wrapping it up with precision. He had no idea Robby had left until Callie had put a hand to his face, pulling him back to earth.

“I have to ask this question because it won’t stop banging around my brain. I know the answer, I just need to hear it. Will you still think I’m pretty with all of this?” Her voice cracked as she fought through the sobs.

Jack looked at her with shock and disbelief. How could she think he had nothing but devotion for her?

“I love you. I will always love you. You will always be the most stunning woman on the planet. This changes nothing, not for me. You have me, heart and soul. What’s left of them at any rate.” He pulled her in for a soft kiss, tender but delicate, afraid to hurt her further.

“I think that’s what the kids call a simp.” Callie giggled.

“Seriously? Now?”

“Gotta keep you from breaking down completely.” She smiled up at him.

“I love you.”

“Ditto”  

[hazbinhotei]

sense of style.

warnings: none

word count: 1106

summary: Alastor finally snaps after days of catching you staring at him, convinced you're smitten—only to find out you've just been admiring his sense of style.

alastor x gn!reader — can be read as platonic or romantic! thank you to the anon who requested this story! after writing four fics so far, i've come to the sudden realization at how often i use the same words. time to open a thesaurus i guess.

Of all the things Alastor expected in the wretched Pride Ring of Hell, being stared at so persistently was not one of them.

For days now—days!—you had been watching him. He'd feel it like an itch at the back of his head, a tingle up his spine that made his fur bristle and his grin quiver at the edges. Whenever he turned, there you were, eyes fixed on him, expression unreadable, so intense it made his stomach twist into knots.

At first, he thought—Well! Isn’t this fascinating! Perhaps you had fallen for his undeniable charm! Who wouldn’t after all? Alastor wasn’t foreign to the concept of others falling for his appeal, even if most of his admirers met him when he was more human-like. But Alastor was never one to judge, especially when the good graces favored him.

However, the more your glances continued, the more wrong it felt. You never swooned, never batted your lashes or fumbled over your words. No dreamy sighs, no pink in your cheeks. Just that look; the kind that made him feel exposed. He could never tell what you were thinking, his mind going into overdrive every time he saw your eyes land onto him with that indiscernible expression.

And now—oh, now, he was at his limit!

Bursting through the doors of the hotel lounge with a flair of dramatics, Alastor snapped his staff against the floor, a red flush creeping high on his cheekbones. His grin strained, stretched thin like a radio signal struggling to reach its audience.

“Alright! Spill it. What, pray tell, is so absolutely captivating about yours truly that you feel the need to stare at me like some lovesick fledgling?” His voice, usually laced with mocking amusement, had a sharp edge to it, and his ruby eyes burned as they pinned you in place.

He watched your head turn from your spot on the couch, those damn eyes of yours moving from your smartphone to his with confusion. But instead of looking caught or embarrassed, you just… laughed.

A bright, bubbling laugh that took him entirely off guard. His ears flicked back, his brows twitching as his mind reeled like someone scrambling to understand the punchline of a joke. What was so funny?!

“Oh my God—” you wheezed, trying to collect yourself, but the look on his face only made it worse. You waved a hand in front of your face, gulping down air before managing to explain, “I—I wasn’t staring at you because I like you like that! I was looking at your outfit!”

That seemed to take Alastor completely off guard. He blinked owlishly, his entire form twitching as if you had just rewritten reality. “…My outfit?” he repeated, stunned.

“Mhm. I was just admiring your style,” you hummed with a casual shrug, sitting up. “It’s… well, it’s classic! Old-fashioned, sure, but stylish. I like that you dress more on the modest side, too. Made me wonder where you found such clothes when most boutiques in Hell seem to prefer, uh… less clothing.” You finished with a little laugh, gesturing to his attire.

Alastor felt something short-circuit in his brain, continuing to blink repeatedly at you with wide eyes. He suddenly became hyperaware of himself; his high-collared waistcoat, the neatly buttoned shirt beneath, the long, tailored coat that hung off his shoulders. He had always prided himself on dressing with dignity, despising the scandalous displays so many demons indulged in these days. But the idea that you—a fresh soul, meaning you hailed from the generation he found far too provocative—also preferred a more refined sense of dress?

That, for Alastor, was certainly unexpected. And, dare he say it… utterly delightful!

“Well now,” Alastor’s grin stretched wide again, his previous frustration vanishing like smoke in the wind. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting such an appreciation for good taste! How refreshing.” He tilted his head, his flustered frustration melting into something far more amused. “And here I thought you were simply admiring me!”

You snorted. “I was, just not in the way you thought.”

“Hah! How intriguing,” Alastor leaned forward on his staff, eyes gleaming as he inspected you in a new light. “And what? Are you looking to refine your wardrobe as well? Perhaps replace those ghastly modern rags with something a bit more respectable?”

“That’s actually what I was hoping for,” you admitted, placing your phone down in your lap as you tilted your head at him. “I was gonna ask if you knew any good places to shop in Pentagram City, since you’re the only one I know around here who dresses like this.”

If Alastor could wag his tail, it would be practically wagging out of its socket.

“Do I?! My dear, you are in luck!” He hummed with theatrical flair, the excitement in his voice practically crackling through the air. “There are plenty of hidden gems scattered throughout the city. Places where true craftsmanship is still appreciated, where one doesn’t have to settle for the flimsy, tasteless garments of the masses.”

Your eyes brightened at his boisterous tone. “Oh, that sounds perfect! I’d love some recommendations.”

“Recommendations?” Alastor tapped his fingers against his chin, then snapped them together with a click. “Why settle for mere suggestions when I can show you firsthand!”

You blinked, realizing you had just accidentally signed yourself up for a one-on-one shopping trip with the Radio Demon of all people. “Wait, you mean—?”

“That’s right!” He beamed. “An outing! You and I, gallivanting about the city in search of proper finery. What fun!” He threw an arm around your shoulder as he sat down next to you, his grin positively glowing with excitement as the couch shook from his movement. “We’ll make a day of it. And you, my dear, shall be my most esteemed guest!”

It was hard not to be infected by his enthusiasm, and before you knew it, you were grinning right along with him. There was something surprisingly charming about him when he got like this—when the showmanship melted into genuine excitement, his sharp edges softened by an undercurrent of something almost… tender.

“Alright,” you said, nudging him playfully, ignoring the way the radio static around you buzzed in response to your gesture. “I’m down. But don’t think you can just dress me however you want. I won’t try on anything too ridiculous.”

Alastor’s grin widened, but there was something else in his gaze now—almost like he was starting to see you as more than just a wayward Sinner seeking a half-assed attempt at redemption. He simply shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “We’ll just see about that, cher!”

[chimera-dreams]

Satoru, who...

Did you ask for more fluff? I did, ehe~

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

CW: pure fluff, just fluff, no angst, only happiness | proposal, marriage, pregnancy, husband!Gojo, dad!Gojo, soft!Gojo, categorically fucking whipped Satoru, domesticity, kinda slice-of-life, mildly suggestive at the end

The starstruck boy, Gojo Satoru, who is utterly obsessed with you in every way possible.

AN: while I’m in the middle of writing an absurdly long fic, I wanted to post some shorter stuff to 1) keep my hands loose and brain active/busy, and 2) post something while I’m working on the fic to come. I won’t post much about it rn because I want to actually finish it first and not make any promises, so enjoy a lil fluff in the meantime <3 just something short and sweet

WC: 3k

Satoru, who is smitten with you from the very moment he first lays eyes on you. Sure, he's had infatuations before, but they were short-lived and typically lasted no longer than a week. A quick fascination, then poof. You, on the other hand – you are different.

And it is plain to see for pretty much everyone. He is normally cocky and outgoing, even during the little fads he’s had, he never let down his façade of bravado. You, though? You melt all his walls until he’s a goopy puddle of a blushing, giggling school girl.

He is whipped, almost to an annoying point. He rambles off Suguru's and Shoko's ears enough times for them to know when he’s about to start singing your praises and avoid him, or distract him somehow (which is a monumental task when his ditzy head is full only of thoughts of you).

Even so, they are conflictingly bewildered and happy for their friend. For him to have found someone that he is interested in for longer than a week – let alone several months, now – is a riveting change of pace. He seems so genuinely delighted any time you two interact, bubbly, dreamy sighs leaving him as hearts dance in his eyes.

He has fallen for you bad.

Satoru, who’s a stuttering disaster when he tries to ask you out on a date, and damn near collapses in relief when you’re able to decipher what the hell he’s going on about and agree to go to the new café that opened up near campus with him.

One date turns into two, then three, then a dozen more that become routine for you. You meet up after classes let out, then head to the café side by side. Or, if one is running late, you have each other’s orders memorized. You even go the extra mile and order him a sweet he hasn’t tried yet to surprise him with when he bursts into the establishment, panting like he ran a marathon. He might as well have, he booked it for the café as soon as he was free, dying to see you.

Satoru, who is somehow in even more shambles when he gets the nerve to ask you to go steady with him, despite the two of you being borderline boyfriend and girlfriend by now. He’s jittery, sweaty, downright vibrating with tense energy when he brings you to the sakura tree near the back of school that you two had laid claim on. Oh, and when you say yes? He’s certain he’s died and gone to heaven. Nothing can explain how an angel like you decided to grace him with your existence as is, let alone love him – even while you called him an idiot and said you thought you two were already dating.

Satoru, who was already protective over you when you first met, dials it to eleven after you agree to being his girlfriend. Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive, could inspire fear and respect simply by being in the room with his confident and brash nature, completely relaxed and faithful in his skill. But if, gods forbid, something happens to you? Gone is that cocksure attitude. Gone are the coy smirks and passive-aggressive taunting meant to rile others up. Gone is everything but his one track mind that focuses solely on two tasks: protecting you, and destroying whatever harmed you.

Satoru, who spoons you to his chest and watches ASMR, random videos, or movies on your phone with you 'til you both fall asleep. It became routine shortly after you began officially dating. You'll climb into bed first and decide what you want to watch while he finishes his nightly regimen, then he'll slip under the blankets and pull your back flush against his front, prop his chin atop your head, slide a thigh between your legs, and off to cozy dreamland you two go as whatever you choose acts as white noise. 

It brings him an immense amount of comfort, and though he doesn't need as much sleep as normal folks, he'll refuse to leave bed until you're awake (with the exception of any needs he might have to take care of that will only see him away for a couple minutes at most before he’s cradling you in his protective hold again).

Satoru, who salts and peppers your face with endless, ticklish kisses to wake you up, saving the best kiss for when your sleepy, pretty little eyes open: right on your lips. He always wakes up before you do, and spends hours watching your blissful, precious face as you snooze, content and relaxed like a cat with full trust in its human. The comparison always makes him smile, because he, truthfully, envisions you both as being cats all the time. Lazy ones that cuddle in the sun, your smaller form using his ridiculously fluffy and larger one as a pillow-slash-blanket. His tail twined with yours, your ears twitching as he grooms you with kitten licks, ah, the dream.

Satoru, who wants to slap a ring on your finger the very moment he can. You two spend so many days and weeks raving about your imaginary wedding that he so desperately wants to be real, setting up plans, picking out what you would want for decor, scrolling through forum boards for ideas on a wedding dress for you. He is practically more excited at the prospect of getting married than you are, eager to help in every step of the process and more. 'Let me handle all the hard stuff, baby,' he nearly begs. 

He won’t tell you the cost of anything, and insists you go all out. Get the dress you want, don't you dare look at the price tag. Choose the perfect venue, he doesn't care if it's in Japan or fucking Dubai, he'll handle paying for everyone's travel and hotel needs on top of the whole wedding. Only the absolute best for you, nothing less, everything more.

Satoru, who is a train wreck of nervous excitement, anxious anticipation, and giddy trepidation when the day comes for him to propose. He takes you to the perfect location – up a short and easy hiking trail that leads to a cliffside with the most magnificent view of the ocean and setting sun. You think it's just a sweet date trip, until you see the path of tea candles guiding you to a romantically set up picnic blanket, a basket resting atop it, waiting to be opened.

When you turn around to express your shock and confusion, you find Satoru on one knee, looking up at you as if you are the most gorgeous and divine creature to ever exist. He's confident and boisterous, as always, as he plays out his little speech about how much he adores you and wants to keep you by his side, forever and ever, but he's a shaking trash fire inside. A shivering little dog that's relieved he didn't stutter or screw up the speech he practiced a hundred times over and then some.

Satoru, who's thanking every god to ever possibly reside above (and even below) when you throw your arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder as a flood of yeses pours out of you, slurred as you ramble through your tears and tell him you love him, how happy you are, and a plethora of other things that make him genuinely the most elated person to ever live.

Satoru, who slides the brilliant engagement ring he had custom made for you onto your finger; smooth, with an inset blue diamond that shares the same shade as his eyes, nestled in with a dozen tinier crystals in vine-like spirals flowing outward from the center. Swarovski, of course. He made sure that it was all flush with the platinum to ensure it wouldn't snag on anything. 

He was practically breathing down the jeweler's neck during the entire process, needing to guarantee it’s positively perfect for you. And, when he sees the glimmering jewelry cozy on your finger, the evidence of your bond and the next step in your journey to unite as one, he knows he made all the right choices.

Satoru, who only uses the finest material for your matching wedding bands, and has the insides of both engraved with each other's names. Yours in his, his in yours. He has the same jeweler as before (poor guy) design them to have two stripes of platinum within the gold of your rings, delicate and stunning for himself and his wife.

Satoru, who's jubilant and so incredibly ecstatic that you're now his wife that he can't help but tell everyone he knows, everyday, multiple times a day, even those that were at the wedding. He just can't get over it. You're his wife, the girl he's been crushing on since highschool, the girl he swore to make his, and to devote himself to. It feels like an incredible dream, and he worriedly pinches himself from time to time to make sure it's real. 

He did it. He married you, and now you carry his name in yours, in your wedding band, everywhere he could put it to subtly (not really) show you off as the unquestionably precious treasure you are, his wife, and how overjoyed he is that he managed to catch you and keep you.

Satoru, who forgets how to function when you hold up a pair of white and pink sticks on his birthday, from different brands, both showing positive symbols. You. You're pregnant. With his baby. He swears his brain short-circuits because one minute, he's staring at you like you'd grown a second head, and the next, he has you wrapped up in his arms as he showers your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw, lips, neck, ears, anywhere he can reach, with kisses.

He's a babbling, sniffly mess as he practically crushes you to his chest and coos and preens and weeps with elation. He reveres you like a deity and he’s your loyal and pathetic servant who was blessed beyond measure that you decided to give him the gift of life. He's going to be a father, and it's all because of you.

Satoru, who completely spoils the living hell out of you during your pregnancy (as if he hadn't already been), bending backwards for you for everything. Weird cravings? He's on it. Swollen ankles and nausea? He's rushing to the store for medicine, then rubbing your feet to ease the ache. Insatiable horniness? He's your slave for you to use for your pleasure. Hormones swinging wildly back and forth? He's there with a box of tissues and his firm chest for you to beat on when you feel like you're going crazy. It's his fault you're pregnant, after all. You're doing the hard work of not just carrying his child, but of nurturing it, growing it, letting it take from you to develop strong and healthy. Of course he's going to take care of you.

Satoru, who refuses to let you do any work. You're on indefinite parental leave. From the moment you show him those positive tests, he sits your pretty ass down on the couch and tells you firmly that your only job now is to help your baby develop. He'll take care of everything else, don't even think about lifting a finger.

Satoru, who's there at every appointment with you, clutching your hand tightly as you talk to your doctor about everything you need to know. And when you have your first ultrasound, and see your fetus together for the very first time, he's crying right alongside you.

Satoru, who spent meticulous hours packing a duffel bag with everything you'll both need for when it comes time for you to go into labor. Spare changes of clothes, plenty of water, blankets to keep you warm, a couple pillows, anything and everything. He refuses to go in unprepared. As soon as it's all packed and ready to go by the 8 month mark of your pregnancy, it's in the backseat of the car. The baby car seat is in the trunk of the sleek and top-of-the-line SUV he purchased specifically for your soon-to-be family. He doesn't care that it's taking up space, or that it’s too early, he refuses to go in unprepared.

Satoru, who immediately ditches work the very instant your water breaks. Who gives a fuck if he's in the middle of something important, nothing takes precedence over you and the incoming birth of your infant. He's breaking several driving laws to get you to the hospital, but neither of you care. Not when you're panting in the passenger seat, white-knuckling the grab handle with a palm pressed to your stomach, grunting and crying out in pain any time you have a contraction. It's a miracle he doesn't get pulled over, and he's incredibly thankful (and proud of himself) for thinking of calling the hospital ahead of time so that they're ready for you.

Satoru, whose entire world becomes a blur from the second you reach the hospital, to the second you're crushing his hand in your grip, screaming as you fight to bring his baby into the world. He's letting you yell at him and blame him for the pain you're in, easily accepting and agreeing because it is his fault. 

But while your shaking sobs and shrieks of agony wound his heart beyond any possible measure, he also can't help his elation at knowing it's time, all the waiting has been worth it, every minute spent catering to your every need, want, and desire. He'll do it indefinitely, wait on you hand and foot for the rest of his life, treat you like a queen, because you deserve it and so much more.

Satoru, who's shocked by how well he's holding up when the nurse puts the wrapped up, pudgy little newborn in his arms, gazing down at the tiny being. His tiny being, your tiny being, the fragile and priceless life you both created. Looking down at his kin, his reason for being, he knows he'd do anything and everything to protect you and your child.

Satoru, who sees you, a disheveled and tired disaster, with your hair all tangled, frizzy, and astray, strands stuck to your sweaty skin, your body slack in relief as the hardest part is finally over, watching your husband hold your baby, and he thinks you're more beautiful now than you've ever been. 

You look like you’ve been dragged through hell; your legs are sticky with residue blood, amniotic fluid, placenta, and whatever else that needs to be cleaned off (though your legs are covered with a few layers of blankets to keep you toasty warm while you recover from labor), your face is a little pale and sallow, you're barely clinging to consciousness, and he's marveling at how he's never seen anything or anyone as utterly blest and sacred as you. 

A goddess amongst men, the only one the strongest man in the world would ever willingly bow down to without you even needing to ask.

Satoru, who helps place your baby on your chest, the nurse having opened the blanket for skin-to-skin contact as you feed it, and finally lets himself release all his pent up emotions of raw, unfiltered joy. Every cell, every fiber, every atom in him is dancing in overwhelming happiness. He'd do it all over, again and again, as many times as you'd let him, if it means he gets to see you this blissful and tranquil. The glow of maternity suits you like no other, even in all your unkempt and chaotic glory. 

Satoru, who can't believe he's a dad. He goes above and beyond, insisting he takes care of the baby at night so you can sleep – he doesn't need as much rest as others do, after all. He murmurs to his newborn about how much he cherishes and adores you, how much you mean to him, how you're the best wife and mommy a man could ever ask for and more. He reads the kiddo bedtime stories to help it sleep, feeds it, changes it, whatever it is that is needed, he's there and doing it. 

On top of that, he continues to be your doting, devoted, caring husband. He makes sure you're taking your vitamins, takes you to all your postpartum appointments, aids you through your subsequent depression, all of it. He's sworn himself to you for life, not just in this timeline and universe, but in any and every single one of them.

He made and said his vows with purpose and conviction. He meant every word, and upholds them like his life depends on it. Because, in his mind, it does.

Satoru, who is patient with you, and firmly commands you to not push yourself to do things you can't do while you're still in recovery. He doesn't care if he has to wait months or even years for you to be ready to lay with him again, he'll wait it out. He might not be a patient man, but for you, he'd wait until all the stars die. 

Oh, but you, darling little minx that you are, do your best to take care of him, too. Even when he urges you to rest, or not worry about it, or anything other arguments he might have against it, you tend to him in whatever way you can. Touching, sucking, rough and heavy petting, whatever it takes. You refuse to leave him alone to suffer through months and months of dryness with no relief save for his hand and the toy you surprised him with to help take the edge off.

Satoru, who can't be more grateful to you. You're more than his wildest dreams, the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect person as a whole in the entirety of the universe. He really can't help boasting about being the Chosen One, because he really is, if the cosmos decided to gift him with you.

Satoru, who swears to take care of you for the rest of your lives, and does well on his promise.

Satoru, who fights for the sake of you and your kin alone. He refuses to leave you in any way, shape, or form. He refuses to let the world be a danger to any of you. He refuses to have anything happen to his family. Nothing will tear you apart, not now, not ever.

Satoru, who loves you more than the sun, the moon, and all the stars combined.

—-—-•(-•ʚɞ•-)•—-—-

Banner by cafekitsune ♥ thank you for reading

[gallusrostromegalus]

As someone a bit too young to have seen Bleach the first time around, AEIWAM is still consuming a crucial portion of my brain cells. So imagine my surprise when I looked up Tousen, the reason you started this behemoth of an alternate universe, on TV tropes.

Among other shocking revelations...

WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE JOINED AIZEN OF HIS OWN FREE WILL IN CANON???? What do you MEAN, TITE KUBO, that the reason your Tousen wants to destroy the Shinigami is that his crush died of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE???

Who is this man and what has he done with my eternally suffering Tousen?

You understand why I had to take custody of this poor bastard.

I can respect what Kubo was going for- Aizen was right in the fact that Soul Society does suck, and the extended canon is that Tousen's crush was killed by her husband, everyone knew it, and nobody would prosecute the husband because he was a Noble. Canon Tousen is, more or less, suffering from the same kind of rage-based brainrot that is unfortunately so common these days- the idea that because a system is imperfect, or ever corrupt, that it's a good idea to tear the whole thing down/restart the universe (the real Path Of Least Harm is of course, the much more complicated and frustrating work of Dis-and-re-mantling the system piece-by-piece without leaving vulnerable people to fend for themselves, but that isn't as emotionally satisfying or fun to draw as senseless destruction, but I digress).

but his arc is only barely on the page at all, mostly after his death and contains one of the blandest and most obnoxious tropes- fridging- and the whole thing falls flat. It also fails to explore the FASCINATING angle of disability and tbh, racism in soul society- two VERY fucked up things that would very much justify his rage. But it's shonen and the series was deep in production hell at that point, and tousen was far from the only victim. I still don't know what the fuck Gin's deal was.

ANYWAY,

Notable changes between Canon!Tousen and AEIWAM!Tousen and some art under the cut:

Kakiyo is Kaname's adopted sister, and despite looking nothing alike, since they re-incarnated in soul society at the same time, they regard themselves as twins.

Kakiyo does kind of a lot in the plot before her demise- she's responsible for introducing Kaname and Komamura, teaches Zaraki and Yachiru how to read, and unintentionally helps Aizen by recommending him to be promoted to third seat in the 5th division, because she and Kiganjo were thinking about starting a family soon, and Aizen would make a good stand-in for her while she was on maternity leave.

She also gets to do a bunch of stuff after she dies too!

The characters in Tousen's name approximately mean "Necessary Scholar" and make an allusion to a legendary scholar from China who came to Japan to find the elixir of immortality for the emperor. He returns with an elixir that stops the emperor from aging, and the emperor kills him so he can't make anyone else immortal (the emperor doesn't age, but he's still vulnerable to stabbing, and gets stabbed). I thought that was an extremely fun literary allusion so I'm leaning into it- before he becomes a Shinigami, AEIWAM!Tousen took over the library run by his ans Kakiyo's adopted godparents, and ran a children's literacy program. he has a special interest in information sciences and educational methodology. even among nerds, he's a mega-nerd.

Kakiyo meets and marries Gosuke Kiganjo, who goes back to West 51 to meet his beloved's brother and the weird giant monk that runs the library with him. Kaname is immensely fond of Kiganjo, and has no qualms being the best man at their wedding. He and Gosuke are good friends for the first few years of the marriage, until Aizen gets his claws into Gosuke and slowly drives him insane.

In AEIWAM, Tousen is cursed into going along with the plan by Aizen. Aizen was just going to make Kiganjo kill him, but Gin is getting impatient with Aizen's hogyoku progress, and persuades Aizen into cursing Kaname into compliance instead with a Forbidden Bakudō: Kyuunodo — Ningyō Kugi Saiyaku (人形釘誓約, Puppet Nail Covenant)

I do keep the canon!Tousen's reputation for being pedantic, unecessarily critical and generally kind of boring. The reason for AEIWAM!Tousen's reputation is different: He is kind of a pain in the ass, because he is in Horrific Pain and Deeply Traumatized and that makes people irritable to say the least, and he deliberately cultivates a reputation for being Boring to keep people far, far away from him- and hopefully, far from Aizen as well.

An underrated bit of Canon!Tousen is that Suzumushi is not his zanpakuto. Suzumushi was Kakiyo's zanpakuto, and we see him take the sword from her coffin in the manga. Which is insane because it means HE ACHIEVED BANKAI WITH A ZANPAKUTO THAT WASN'T EVEN HIS. Dude is SEVERELY underrated as a swordsman. In AEIWAM, Suzumushi is still Kakiyo's zanpakuto, and only BARELY clings to life on the last reserves of the Spiritual power Kakiyo put into her before Kaname finds her. Suzumushi persuades him to take her up, enter the academy and bring Kakiyo's killer to justice (Suzumushi has fallen to Aizen's illusion and doesn't know who the killer is). She kind of glosses over how they bond, but she more or less crawls into his soul and supresses Kaname's native Yume-kon that would have been his own Zanpakuto spirit if it had been allowed to awaken. She did make an entirely new Shikai and Bankai for him- the chime that makes people lose conciousness is entirely new, the AOE of Just A Shitload Of Swords was Suzumushi's original Shikai. The Bankai of a space where anyone not touching the sword experiences no sensory input? Suzumushi made it first and foremost as a refuge for Kaname when the pain of the curse became to unbearable.

The biggest difference, of course, is that Kaname lives through the Aizen Arc and gets a Happy Ending: Once he wakes up after the battle, he is free, and chooses to marry the wolfman he's been in love with for centuries. Here's some art of them, finally home:

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Here are some Austrian specific quirks I think König would have <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

(PSA; I'm German, but I figured I could put down the most general quirks that we have, which I think would also apply to Austrians :) )

♡ he HATES fans and air conditioning. Like I'm talking disdain from the deepest pits of hell kinda hate.

Ceiling fans and AC are not a thing here, and literally every German looks at it with a very disapproving look if there happens to be one somewhere.

König absolutely refuses to sleep with the fan or AC on, just open a window, Liebling!

He's so upset that he can't put the window "auf kipp" :( (pls Google it, it's so hard to explain lol) like he's crushed that he can't keep the windows "auf kipp" all day.

You have a ceiling fan? Nope, not anymore. That thing is getting taken down the minute you move in together. But if you insist on keeping it, he'll secretly cut the cable to the switch.

Everyone knows all they do is whirl around dust and make you sick! He's not having it.

König acts like artificial ventilation is his worst enemy (I agree with him) and he'd rather suffocate than turn on the goddamn AC.

♡ Sundays are strictly lazy/rest days. Nothing's open on Sundays here, so we're forced to relax and not run around like headless chickens trying to get things done.

He's absolutely baffled if you have plans to go somewhere on a Sunday. What do you mean you need to run errands? What do you mean you're going out? And if you want him to come along?? Yeah, no.

His brain stops working. After the many years he's been alive, not once has he gone somewhere on a Sunday that wasn't his Oma's house for Kaffee und Kuchen.

You're not going anywhere. Plans are canceled, and you better spend the day on the couch with him.

♡ König probably misses all the beautiful old architecture Vienna has to offer. You don't quite appreciate it as much when it's just there all the time, but now he wishes he could quietly people watch in the city center :(

In my mind he's a bit of a history nerd, so he probably frequented museums and castles, admiring the delicately sculpted ceilings and wondering how people lived back then.

He'd be most fascinated by the masonry work done on the outside of most buildings. I mean, that's stone, but it's so smooth and carefully crafted.

♡ there are some very weird sayings in German that you just can't translate because they don't make sense. König is sick of having to awkwardly try to explain what they mean after he's been caught muttering one under his breath, only to realize halfway through that he looks like a maniac.

German is a very literal language, and I think he misses speaking it. We have very specific words for some things and he probably struggles to talk in English sometimes purely because the words he wants to use just don't exist.

(I'm very upset they didn't give him an Austrian accent bc it's one of my favorites, but I can also confidently say that I think he wouldn't be taken seriously at all if he had one lmao)

♡ König goes on random ass walks sometimes. Where's he going? On a walk. No, like where is he going? HE'S GOING ON A WALK.

There's no destination, you just walk. No matter the weather. Ya walk until you feel like you've walked enough. (A very German experience and I hate it)

♡ dreams of his Oma's Kaiserschmarn (me too, König, me too.)

It's basically a giant pancake that you tear into little pieces (traditionally, it has raisins too, I think) and you eat with either cinnamon sugar or applesauce (or both) and you will drift up to heaven.

It's warm, it's fluffy, it's sweet;

It's perfect for a gloomy Friday afternoon spent with his Oma and Opa 🥺

(Can you tell that I'm projecting)

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

"Auf kipp" is a very specific window position where only the bottom two hinges stay attached so you can tilt the window towards you and a little crack is open so you can always have fresh air!

"Oma und Opa" grandma and grandpa, which he loves so much, undoubtedly.

"Kaffe und Kuchen" basically tea time. You get together and eat cake and have coffee! Mostly on the weekends :)

"Kaiserschmarn" what dreams are made of.

🩷

[hey-itsdollie]

ᴛʜɪɢʜꜱ.ᐟ.ᐟ

‧₊˚ ┊ blue lock boys with thick thighed s/o .ᐟ.ᐟ

୭˚. ᵎᵎ featuring » otoya. kiyora. karasu. hiori. oliver.

⋮ ⌗ ┆cw ⪼ aged up!, suggestive themes, fem reader, thigh kissing, thigh worship, biting, licking, mainly fluff! use of pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart, doll, babe), mentions of child neglect (Hiori's back story)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Final Part! -u are here!-

── .✦ Eita Otoya

Your boyfriend Otoya didn't have the greatest history with relationships. You knew this while going into a relationship with him. Of course you didn't immediately fold and agreed to go on a date with him, you made him work for it.

There are times where you regret your decision of course... one of those times being now...

"Please babe, one picture! Please!" you scoffed, comically trying to shake your rat-like boyfriend off your leg. His arms holding onto you for dear life.

How did this situation come about? You may ask... well, it all started with your boyfriend's best friend posting a picture of his new girl on his story. Obviously bragging.

Due to the large ego Otoya has—of course it got to him—now he wants to post a picture of you as well. Much to his dismay you're giving him a hard time about it.

"No Eita! You have posted me before, your friends know what I look like." you groaned sitting on the side of his bed, actively giving up on shaking the leech off. "And not a thigh pic of all things. You're not running an onlyfans account!" you exasperated with a glare directed at him.

"Onlyfans... that's not a bad idea- ow!" you smacked him over the head a look of disgust on your features.

"Okay... okay, sorry geez." Otoya groaned rubbing his head.

There was a bit of silence as Otoya sighed moving towards his girlfriend, his hands were placed on her thighs. "Babe... you're not mad at me right?"

His eyes looked up into yours seemingly looked for some kind of sign you weren't truly upset. Your eyebrows raised slightly before you groaned, hands already being placed in his hair. "No... I just don't understand your brain Eita..."

He grinned already feeling better. "Well... you know I love your thighs baby... so thick and plump... you're gorgeous." he said smoothly as he trailed his lips up your thighs.

"Just one picture..." you muttered giving into him.

"Hell yes! You're the best babe, Tabito is gonna be so jealous!"

── .✦ Jin Kiyora

"Jin?" you call seeing your boyfriend walk out of the bathroom, sweatpants loosely hanging around his hips as he dried his dark-hair with the towel around his neck.

"Hm?" he hummed looking over at you with a blank gaze. "Come here" you sat up on the bed patting the space next to you for him to come sit.

Kiyora walked over silently sitting on the bed turning his head to give you his attention. Grinning, you moved and straddled his abdomen, your hands were placed gently against his bare chest. "How was the gym?" you questioned leaning down to place your lips against his.

The male gazed up at his girlfriend kissing her back before she pulled back. He wasn't much of a talker—she knew that—it meant a lot to him that she didn't hold his silence against him.

His hands gripped her thighs tightly moving up and down until he cemented his grip on her hips. "Beautiful... my pretty girl..." he murmured, his eyes moving up and down his girl's figure.

"Jin... you didn't answer the question." you mumbled smiling softly.

"Hm it was the same as usual, more empty than usual." he answered after a few seconds. You fully laid on him as his hands moved back onto your thighs. Grabbing the curves of your thighs as his eyes closed relaxing in the peaceful air.

── .✦ Tabito Karasu

"...It fascinating Tabito! And I got to see all these different snakes today too!"

Karasu's sharp eyes seemed to stare into your soul as he listened to you go on and on about your class. You learned and worked with animals, something you've always wanted to do, and always learned something new.

Always.

Whether it was when he had a break or simply got to check his phone you were always telling him random facts about animals. You were extraordinary in his eyes—smart and calculated—he loved you deeply.

"Huh Tabito are you listening?" you questioned noticing your boyfriend's mindless stare, it seemed one strong breeze could carry it away. Shaking his head, seemingly lost in his thoughts, Karasu smiled with a small smirk. "Yes, sweetheart I'm listening."

With a small frown you crossed your arms. "Yeah? Then what was I saying?" you questioned, staring at him unamused. "That a shark's skeleton is made from cartilage." The male replies with a simple shrug.

His hand snaked it's way onto your thigh squeezing slightly. "I'm listening sweetheart, I always do, you know that..." he mutters placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Karasu had to admit being with you helped him become a somewhat nicer individual... mainly only to you... but it was progress! "Hm, I know." you sighed laying your head against his shoulder, his hand still drawing small circles over your voluptuous skin.

In no time your daily facts continued as his eyes wandered from you and towards the people at the park. This had to be his favorite past time, his two favorite things in one activity. You and people watching, mixed perfectly for him.

Karasu made sure to tilt his head towards you, either placing small pecks on your shoulder or nuzzling his nose against your cheek. Muttering soft responses to signal for you to continue your rant like "Go on..." or "What? No way!"

Surely you two would still be at the park till late in the evening. He knew this, but he never even entertained the thought of putting a stop to this moment.

── .✦ Yo Hiori

"Yeah, just a little to the left- got 'em"

Hiori muttered his headphones on his head, one ear uncovered as his girlfriend sat on his lap. Finally, his parents were away so he could peacefully invite you over to his place.

Most hangouts/dates were just you two hanging out at his place or yours. He loved you, truly. You were simple, you listened. Most of all you were there when he needed you to be. Just like now, you were fast asleep on his lap, your thighs on either side of him as he sat in his desk chair.

The only noises filling the room was the clicking from his controller, his mumblings, and your soft breathes. It was peaceful. The complete opposite of his normal home life.

His eyes glanced down at you as you moved slightly burying your face further against his shoulder. With a soft smile he paused his game and stretched carefully, making sure he didn't wake you up.

His hands gently rubbed your thighs and hips, slightly moving under your shirt as he nuzzled his face against your head. Taking a deep breath, breathing in your scent which was mixed with his.

"I love you s' much..." he muttered knowing there was little to no chance you would hear him. "Thank you so much for being with me..."

He squeezed your thighs as his lips lingered against your head, leaving soft kisses.

── .✦ Oliver Aiku

"Oliver, I swear if you rub your stubble on me one more time."

You let out a groan as your boyfriend, Aiku was laying on his stomach between your thighs. "Huh, chill out Doll—I thought you liked my facial hair?" Aiku grinned his eyes gazing up at you teasingly.

Much to your dismay he continued to rub his scratchy stubble against your inner thigh. "Not when you do this! I swear I'm going to shave it when you're sleeping!"

"You wouldn't" he gasped playfully not taking you seriously. He laid his head against your thigh, "You know I love you Doll..." "Yeah, yeah..." you scoffed unamused.

"I do! Why don't you believe me!" he groaned grabbing your waist and pulling you closer to him. His eyes turned pleading as he gazed up at you, though you knew better than to give in to him.

"Don't even try..."

"Oh, I'm trying." Aiku laughed as he gently pushed your shirt up just to reveal your stomach. "Doll, come on..." he cooed placing his lips against your plush skin.

You sighed reaching down and pushing his hair back, your boyfriend leaning into your touch. "That's my girl..." he praised smoothly massaging your sides. His lips kissed around your stomach, some short, some lingered. Spontaneous.

"What am I gonna do with you?" you sighed letting the question hang in the air. "Love me... if you want to that is." he replied cheekily.

"I'll think about it."

©hey-itsdollie please don't copy, change, or steal my work. Thank you!

[rafeplay]

LIMERENCE !

ft. jimmy x fem!reader

tags. implied/reference rape, failed rape recovery, talk of incest and underage but not in regards to reader, public humiliation, obsession on readers part, sort of stalking, one mention of suicide, slight boot kink, just humiliation tbh..

note. waow.. don’t know what this is.. unedited and kind of sucks.. rbs n feedback always appreciated. ignore any typos!

What do you do when your rapist is the most handsome man you’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking?

He wasn’t ugly or fat and he wasn’t the tallest, but everyone has their shortcomings.

You feel like a total fraud, picking at the lint on your sweater as you listen to a girl bawl her eyes out while recounting the time her father raped her in the back of his pick-up after school.

The woman before her was gang-raped by her delinquent boyfriend’s lackeys, the man to her left is the victim of his middle-school teacher, another lady pushed out two rape babies from her deadbeat husband before she managed to get away from him.

They’re all ghosts; beaten down, so broken, and you are you.

The same as before, if not a little bit better.

In fact, you’ve stopped getting those night terrors where all your teeth fall out.

You got raped and everything just felt right.

Like he knocked something into place, dug so deep into your cunt he rewired your brain.

Your therapist said this would be a chance at community, some place to bring you comfort, like-minded individuals who have gone through all the same things you have. Circle time for victims of brutal, life-ruining—life-changing rape, you should fit right in.

But you have never felt more out of place.

Pick-up girl can’t continue, she’s choking on her words, they come out her throat like the creak in an old floorboard. The box of Kleenex is significantly lighter.

“We can move on,” says a lady with kind eyes, shifting on her chair to face your way.

They all look at you with their haunted, dark eyes, gaping black chasms that lead right to fucking hell. God. You’re going straight to hell.

“Erm..” You squeeze your hands into fists. You unstick your thighs from the plastic chair. You count to ten and try not to think about how nice he looked on top of you.

“It’s okay, honey, take your time.” She places her hand on your knee. You think of him. His hand on your thigh, squeezing your tender flesh until it came right off the bone, the way it inched up your skirt.

You go stiff and she notices, gasping softly like she has done something wrong. And she has. She’s turned you the fuck on, the warmth of her encouragement going straight to your cunt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think about—“

“No, it’s okay,” you strain to get it out, avoiding her eyes like sympathy is a highly contagious disease of some kind.

They’re all feeling bad for you when you have finally started to feel good about yourself.

Man, you suck.

“He was my boyfriend.” Your voice cracks for dramatic effect, hold the applause. You wish he was your boyfriend. “He did it almost everyday.” You wish he did it everyday. “It would be after I came back from work…” It would be great stress relief after your Friday shift, it’s nearing Christmas and everybody is crushed into the stores like cattle in free stall barns.

You open and close your mouth, unsure of where to go from here, so you stand up and the chair screeches against the ground. “Sorry… I’m so sorry—I need to go.”

You leave and it looks real.

Like you are a real victim with a real story and very real feelings. The type you see on TV, dressed in white, trembling like lambs, abhorred by the notion of anything sexual. Squeaky clean like you should be.

For just a moment you feel normal. Your therapist is not eyeballing you like a mildly fascinating organism in her Petri dish. Your friends don’t give you a funny look when you say you’re fine—great actually. Your mom is not hanging her head in secondhand shame when you refuse to file a police report, disturbed when she unearths your bloodied underwear beside the prayer book you keep tucked beneath your pillow, rosary nowhere to be found.

They mutter quietly amongst themselves.

Poor thing she can’t even speak about it, it must’ve been awful, I can’t even imagine what she went through, so young.

You can’t speak about it, you really can’t, you might start reciting wedding vows if you think about him longer than a second.

Your loneliness is like the crack in a China cup, fine and glossy on the outside but delicate from years stowed away in show cabinets, passed from bidder to bidder. He pressed golden lacquer into the seams of your fracture, put you back together like you were something worth holding, something to be used.

Stored away in your bag, a sacred place your mother has not yet invaded, is his work ID. You say his ordinary name like you’re uttering a prayer, you drag the jagged tip of your nail over his tiny photograph. His hair and beard are longer than you remember, he’s handsome underneath the scruff, a strong nose and a broad chest. The collar of his company-issued jumpsuit is half popped, and he’s scowling at the camera like it’s an inconvenience.

There’s no phone number on it and part of you is glad you won’t have to call into the company, requesting Jimmy like The Pony Express is a sex hotline and he’s their newest, youngest, bustiest doll.

You wait outside the warehouse instead. It’s a big old thing, the last of its kind, muted in colour, blending into the silver skies. You look at the horse who sits on top like a weathervane on a cathedral, oversized features and the stomach of a pudgy toddler.

Every day from two to eight you circle the block a few times, take a window seat in the cafe opposite until the staff begin to stack tables and chairs, sit at the bus stop beside the same lot of people who wonder why you never get on.

The horse watches from above, wide eyes glowing in the dark beside the moon, unsettlingly reverent, sparkling with diamond-sharp logic, like it knows something you do not, a silent witness to your dog-like devotion.

One day, you leave work early and find a truck parked in front of the hulking, metal mass. Two men are unloading it, one is old and the other is blond, but they don’t matter to you. A third steps out of the cab, your breath gets caught in your throat, scared your exhale might blow him away.

You don’t look when you cross the street.

“Excuse me?” You call out, you’re sure he hears you, but he’s choosing to ignore it. “Are you Jimmy?” You ask once you're close enough to go unnoticed.

“Depends,” he says in that voice you have heard so many times in your dreams, rough like the serrated edge of a knife. “Who’s asking?” He hasn’t looked up once, disinterested and completely unaffected while you burn just being near him.

There is a woman near those other two men, leant down amidst some crates, a clipboard pressed to her chest. Her face is white and her nose is long like the snout on a hound dog, her charcoal eyes are sad and droopy.

You wonder if he has touched her like he has touched you. Either she just has one of those faces or she can take your slot at circle time. She would fit right in with the rest of them. Herbivores hiding in long grass.

“I’m asking.” You clear your throat, he looks up at you with his lidded eyes and you don’t look away, openly admiring the colour of them, how they look in the sunlight. There are a million things you want to ask him.

Was it just me? Was I your first and only? Have you been thinking about me? Do you want a summer wedding or a winter one? Vanilla or chocolate cake? We could do floral arrangements in your favourite colour.

He seems to grow slightly antsy when you continue to stare, Adam’s apple bulging out of his throat when he swallows. He looks like he’s started to feel sick, like he’s waiting outside the principal’s office after breaking a window.

It’s different, he’s different in the day. Long gone is his barbed tongue and wolf-like smile. “What do you want?”

You.

Your fingers toy with the rounded edges of his employee card, if you hand it to him now it’ll all be over.

“Listen,” Jimmy starts, lowering his voice, “if it’s something I did, I’m sorry.” Apprehension twists his mouth into a frown, and he doesn’t sound all that sorry. “But you can’t show up—“

“Here.” You fish his ID from your purse, reluctant to hand it over. His fingers don’t brush yours like you hoped and he seems all too eager to get rid of you.

“Thanks, cool,” he says with all the enthusiasm of a funeral celebrant, tucking it into his breast pocket for safekeeping, his disengagement is a knife in your chest. You’re a stain on a shirt he has no intention of cleaning.

“Yeah…” Does he not remember you? Is there nothing about you that is worth remembering? Were you not good? “Cool.” The longer you stand there the more likely it seems he’s going to grab a broom to chase you away. “Well, bye, Jimmy.” You blink at him sadly, expectantly, longingly. This is it.

You walk away and that was it. That was it. You’ll never see him again, you have no reason to be caught lurking outside the warehouse.

You start to think long and hard on your way home about the fuck is wrong with you.

Everyone is shaped by the sum of their exposures. A product of the people you meet, the enemies and friends you make, who you go home to. Every smile, every scowl, every bad habit is the reflection of another. But to be completely fucking honest, you think you’re just like this. The root of the problem is you, it stems from deep inside your very core, a fundamentally fucked up instinct that makes life a fucking inconvenience. It turns everything into a complication and that is why you’re like this.

God, you wonder what it would be like to wake up and think about normal things like normal people who do not have this constant flurry of wrongness whirling around inside of them. You want to go through life like you’re meant to be on earth, not like an alien species that crash-landed here and never managed to get out, unable to acclimatise to the human way, not like you’re a manufacturing defect.

You want to laugh at the right moment, you want to know what everyone else is thinking, you want to be raped so badly. Again and again and again. You can’t be normal if you can’t stop thinking about the most abnormal thing about you, that just defeats the fucking point.

Your friends think it is their fault for bringing you home that night, for letting you go home all on your own, for getting drunk and leaving you sober. They feel responsible for the best night of your life and you hate it. You hate that they don’t get it. You had a good time in your own right, they don’t need to feel guilty—Or maybe you need to start thinking how they do. Like normal people. They’re horrified when they’re supposed to be horrified. Their minds are tailored to the tastes of this world, yours is somewhere else, some rotten, tumultuous, toxic planet.

Therapy is supposed to be helping you learn how to be even slightly human, little by little, step by step. But you can’t take it in small doses, you need all of this wrongness gone at once like a decidual cast. It doesn’t make you lighter, it doesn’t put a pep in your step, it doesn’t do shit.

So you keep going to wait outside the Pony Express warehouse. You camp out in that cafe all day on days off from work. The staff know you by name, six holes punched in your reward card, special access to the staff bathrooms. You’re set for stalker life.

He never comes again, but you do everyday.

The nights are getting darker, stars bleed into the sky as the sun dims, the moon is larger than usual tonight and if you weren’t so taken by the brightness you would be quicker to notice the dark figure in your peripheral.

When you finally do, you think it’s the devil, cloaked in darkness like the devil probably should be. “Oh, it’s you.” You try to hide the smile in your voice as you watch him put a cigarette between his crooked lips.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He’s unbothered in tone, indifferent in manner. It would be flattering that he remembered you if he hadn’t said it like that.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, from last week.” Jimmy’s eyes glow radioactive in the dark like tiger eyes when he lights his cigarette, the flame flickers and casts him uneven light, softening the right side of his face with a golden haze and plunging the left into shifting darkness. “You stalking me?”

“No!” You say all too quickly. “No, no… I study at the cafe opposite you.”

“Okay.” He was joking you think, making fun of you maybe, you wouldn’t be able to tell either way. “Studying the menu or what?”

That was a joke, that has to be a joke. It’s your cue to laugh so you force one out, it crackles unnaturally. “I wish, but I meant before that, do you remember me from before that?”

You look different under the street lamps, they do nothing for your skin, light pools unfavourably in every pore, the jewel-toned dress you picked out today must look washed out.

Jimmy’s lazy eyes rake up your body, and then he shakes his head slowly. “No.” Even to someone like you, it’s clear he has no interest in taking this conversation anywhere.

“It was in November, the beginning, I was on my way home, and it was late...” You should’ve done this at circle time. “You grabbed me and I let you take me, and then after you told me to walk down the block and call a cab, and I did.”

“Hm,” Jimmy shrugs, though you notice his hand trembling as he raises his cigarette to his lip, “nope, don’t remember that.”

Frustrated, you clench your fists, wondering what could jog his memory—Did he do it often? Nab a girl off the street corner so regularly that he didn’t remember a single one, faces all blurring together, the same hole with a different set of tits.

“Remind me again.”

“How?”

“Take off your jacket.” Jimmy’s cigarette gets crushed beneath his boot, he’s looking at you now. Really looking at you, and this is where it all goes pear-shaped. Your whole life is pear-shaped of course, but this is just fucking sad. You beg yourself to think it over, to think of the dozens of security cameras on this street alone. None of it seems too important when he’s here.

And then, you shrug your coat off your shoulders.

“Okay.” You’ve always been obedient because you have no reason to say no, you don’t care if he’s going to mug you, at least he’s talking to you now. At least he is looking at you.

“Think I’m gonna need to see more to know who you are,” he says, detached like there are a million better things he could be doing with his time, but he’s spending it with you. “Take off your dress.”

“What…” You’re shaking slightly in the cold, wind stings your cheeks and the tip of your fingers have started to ache.

“Take off your dress, I might know you.” Fair enough. He’d seen your ass more than your tits and your tits more than your face. It was forced into a flat pillow for three quarters of the night, between his thighs for the last quarter.

You take off your dress, edging it off your ankles. He drapes it over his arm - he’s got enough humanity to not leave your pretty clothes on the pavement.

It’s cold. The type of cold that makes your brain freeze, the type of cold that only Siberian Huskies and yetis enjoy.

And yet here you are in nothing but your cotton panties, t-shirt bra and boutique winter booties looking like the most expensive kerb crawler in all the world.

“Turn around,” Jimmy hums, his hand is cold but not as cold as you, tracing along your spine when you listen like a good girl.

From here, the horse is watching you. Seeing it all, cartoonish eyes forced in your direction. It’s late so the cars that whiz past have no intention of stopping, some houses have their lights on.

Humiliation prickles your skin, it could be the cold, but you don’t think the cold gets inside of you like this. What are you doing? What are you doing? What is mom going to think? What is dad going to do? What are they going to tell your family when you’re sectioned for Christmas?

”That’s good,” his voice comes out in a whisper, “take ‘em off and get on the ground.” Lukewarm hands slide over your hips, checking you over like a piece of meat.

“Okay,” you whisper back to him, and you’ve gone so far there’s nothing to lose, stepping out of your underwear and doing just as he says.

There’s no praise from Jimmy’s end and you don’t expect any. His stern face, his flat tone, it’s all unforgiving like this cold, hard sidewalk is on your hands and knees.

“Jesus, there something wrong with you?” He sounds surprised and you don’t know what you’ve done wrong. (You do know. You do know.) Isn’t this what he wanted? “Sorry,” Jimmy says, not sounding sorry at all, “I shouldn’t say that, you’re not all there.”

Your head isn’t entirely intact, and there is this worm hole that eats away at your insides, but you’re here. You’re here and you’re on the ground, on your knees with your cunt bared to him. Does he not see you?

The horse sees you, perpetually wide-eyed and forever watching.

Something cold, like the nose of a dog, presses against your pussy. It takes you a moment to figure out that it’s the toe of his boot, the leathery texture is wet almost, smooth and still textured, grainy. The cold is making it too hard to focus on the feeling of it nudging your swollen clit. You close your eyes and focus on anything but your hands burning on the ground, how the wind is going straight to your bones.

You’re going to make this worth it. You will. You’ve been wet for months and you won’t let it dry up so quickly, not when the cause of the leak is here to plug it up.

Just as you’re about to push back into him, grind your clit into the leather, show off how much you want him—He kicks you down, your body skids forward, elbows scraping on the cement. It’s painful, but you’re so cold, so shocked, so confused.

Quietly, you hear him under his breath. “What the fuck… Fuckin’ freak.” You don’t know if it’s in awe or disgust. He drops your coat and dress over the flat of your back, you scramble to put them on. “Why did you do that?” Jimmy asks, and he is looking at you like you’re crazy, like he’s disgusted.

You can’t tell if it’s a trick question. “Because you told me to.” It’s a simple answer, the only answer. Your chest heaves, teeth chattering as you stand on aching legs. God. It feels like your bones are fragmenting.

“Are you a dog?”

“No.” You check your pockets to find some loose change is missing.

“Then you didn’t have to do that, it’s not fuckin’ normal.”

Rape is not normal. And neither is asking seemingly nice, well-meaning girls to undress in sub-zero temperatures. But you don’t want to talk back, you don’t like to talk back, you don’t want to scare him off.

“Okay… Then, I’m sorry.”

“What…” His tone lilts in what might be confused laughter, everything you say is a twist or turn in a tangled thread he can’t quite follow. “Don’t say sorry, no, I don’t—I don’t know, just go home.”

“You’re not going to take me?” You gaze at him sadly. Wanting, yearning. “I think I’m going to kill myself tonight,” you proclaim softly, not because you want to make him feel bad, but because you don’t know what to do with yourself and he is distant enough to confide in.

“Alright,” Jimmy shrugs, he lights another cigarette, the smoke billows out of his thin lips, lined with the slightest smile. “Tell me how that goes.” Well, now you feel stupid and wish to take it back. Then, before he goes, he asks a little too casually, “Your dad touched you or something?”

“No…” You answer slowly, wondering if you should’ve said yes, if that was what he wanted to hear, gauging his reaction like you’ll be able to read it at all.

“Right.” He laughs, and his shoulders are still shaking in disbelief as he wanders into the dark like something out of a nightmare.

You look over to the horse, it tells you he’ll be back.

Considering he works there and all you thought the same, so you’ll be back alive and well.

[ssa-dado]

Breaking down Hotch's apartment layout until someone from Criminal Minds slides into my DMs with the damn floorplans

- CASE BRIEFING: HOW HOTCH'S APARTMENT GASLIT US ALL

As an architecture student, I have a very strong (borderline obsessive) interest in analyzing spaces and locations... especially when they don’t quite add up. And one that has always messed with my brain (sometimes in a good way, but mostly in a frustrating way) is Hotch’s apartment from seasons 4–11.

The transformation from the bare, depressing space in s5 to the warm, cozy atmosphere with antique furniture and clever spatial tricks later on… it’s fascinating.

But also confusing as hell.

Because one question has always haunted me:

Is the apartment we see in Season 4/5 (where Hotch was stabbed and possibly SA’d) the same one he’s living in by Season 10?

(And since I’m a visual learner, here are the pics, because this mystery needs solving... I'll try my best)

(05x01 ; 10x05 don't zoom in, you freaks)

Seems easy to solve, right? The civil number is the same! Great.

121

...But hold on - what’s this?

(07x23)

...Damn, Aaron, your mailman must be going through it - 121? 123? Pick a struggle.

So… is it the same apartment or not? Because at this point, I’m losing my mind.

- VICTIMOLOGY (TYPOLOGY)

As you all know, the starting point is always victimology—but in architecture, my go-to is typology.

So, what kind of apartment building does Hotch live in?

Because once we figure that out, we can finally make sense of all the architectural crimes committed in his apartment.

We get a glimpse of his building in 5x02, and - without dragging you through a full historical deep dive (unless you want me to, in which case, buckle up) - here’s what we do know: it looks like this...

The building looks pre-WWII, likely built in the late 1920s–1930s, or designed more recently to mimic that era.

My guess is primarily based on the architectural detailing of the ground floor - the stonework, arches, and classical elements that give it a grander, more “expensive” look - and the distinct visual separation from the upper levels.

Spencer Reid moment - you can skip it if you'd like -> This actually follows a common design principle (partly influenced by Louis Sullivan’s theories) where different sections of a building reflect their function. The ground floor, being more public-facing, is more decorative and inviting, while the upper floors (where the apartments are) are plainer, emphasizing privacy.

However, the upper levels look stripped down, almost too plain, like they went through a more recent renovation that removed some of the og character. While it was normal in the 1920s/30s to emphasize the lower level, the upper floors would still have had some kind of textured finish brick, terracotta, or even decorative stone accents. Instead, here, it looks like someone just painted over everything... a bit sad, honestly… much like the man living in one of these apartments. Sorry Hotch but it is the truth.

That said, based on the photos, I hypothesized a possible volumetry diagram and main floor plan of the apartment building, including its functions and layout.

Knowing that Hotch lives in 121 (or 123… whatever it is today), he could very well be on the first floor. Old man isn’t about to risk climbing seven flights of stairs, understandable.

(Or, if we lean into the conspiracy theory that he has childhood trauma related to fire, it’s very telling that he chose a first-floor unit, making for an easier escape in case of danger…)

Our lovely Emily Prentiss gave us a sneak peek at the ground floor interior in 5x01, which - combined with a study of the window placement on the facade - helped me piece together a small section of the central layout.

From what we see, I feel even more confident about the building’s era - especially because of the beautiful wooden decorated elevators (yes, those are elevators, not doors... check the buttons on the side)

And now, for another Spencer Reid moment, part two -> In the early 1900s, when elevators were first being introduced in residential buildings, they didn’t look like the modern ones we see today.

Why?

Because men fear change.

Just like with any new technology, people were hesitant, so architects and designers made elevators blend in by disguising them as something more familiar - often looking like grand wooden doors or classic entryways rather than the industrial metal boxes we think of today.

This same pattern happened with building structures - steel (and concrete too!) was widely adopted in the early 1900s because of its strength, allowing for taller buildings, but architects still hid the steel frame behind stone or brick facades to maintain the look of traditional palaces. Even early cars looked like carriages because people weren’t ready to embrace a completely new form.

So, Hotch’s apartment building? It’s yet another classic case of early 20th-century architectural reluctance to embrace modernity - which, honestly, fits him a little too well. The man bottles up his emotions behind the calmest face just like his home hides its innovations behind classic detailing.

I see you, Aaron. You’re not fooling me.

Now, you may be asking - "Phi, weren’t you supposed to expose all the inconsistencies in Hotch’s apartment and finally solve whether it’s the same place or if they changed it?"

To that, I say… we’re getting there.

Because before we dive into the madness, there’s something that really messes with my brain - the window placement in Hotch’s apartment.

But to even begin analyzing that, we first need to understand how a typical floor plan in a building like this would be structured. And once again, our queen Emily Prentiss in 5x01 unknowingly led us straight to the answer.

The bastard even has a vaulted ceiling - right where I believe the main distribution area (aka elevators and stairs) is located. You can spot it in the pictures near the exit signs.

Also, just a heads-up... in the diagrams, the apartments look smaller than they actually are because I was too lazy to make multiple detailed drawings. (But hey, if someone paid me - hi, CM - I absolutely would) So, for now, I’m using that as a quick reference.

Now… the interior! Or should I say… the everchanging interior.

In this issue, I’ll be analyzing the Season 5 version - I even sketched out a small section of the floor plan (which could be completely wrong, because things change every episode).

From these pics, we can see that his windows are on the opposite side of the entrance - which, so far, checks out.

But wait... look down here! Check out the window placement in the kitchen. Thanks to that little detail, we can hypothesize that Hotch’s apartment is located in what I’ve labeled as "Unit B" - aka the unit with double exposure (great for ventilation, Aaron, solid choice).

From this pic down here from the s4 finale, we also get a fun little bonus detail - there’s what looks like a tiny dryer (or washing machine?) just sitting out in plain sight. And right behind Hotch, there’s a door that, based on the dimensions, I suspect leads to a bathroom.

Enough details to sketch out a partial floor plan… and there you have it!

A (partial) floor plan of Hotch’s apartment in its saddest era: bare, empty, and drowning in case files from seasons 4–5

And seeing more of his apartment in later seasons should be a blessing, right? It should help us map out the whole thing, right?...

Right?

...Wait.

Is that... a full-ass door on the right that totally wasn’t there before?!

Aaron, you hypocrite - you shut down Spencer Reid’s physics magic, yet here you are summoning entire new rooms into existence in your apartment.

(05x02 ; 10x05)

Alright, fine... where does that door lead?

(10x20)

Hot damn.

Referring to the home office, of course… and here’s some solid proof of its placement. Now, I’m gonna… step away for a minute… process... this... architectural betrayal… but YOU - you make sure to study these pics. I’ll be quizzing you later, got it?

Alright… and now… now that you’ve hopefully been studying (and totally not getting distracted by Hotch’s shirt hanging on for dear life - OMG LOOK AT THE [REDACTED])… focus.

You nasty.

Window placement.

Where’s the home office window? Exactly... on the same side as the others in the living and dining area (you can tell by the way the light enters the room in the pic on the right)

And since you’re all very interested in the architecture (and definitely not drooling over a certain Unit Chief), let me ask you this:

WHY THE HELL IS THERE A WHOLE FIREPLACE IN HIS HOME OFFICE?!

Don’t worry - I’ll answer for you. Since y’all are nasty.

Can I just say that it UPSETS ME to the point where I’m considering a 30-day diet of just drywall that THAT MAN - THAT FEDERAL AGENT - HAS A FIREPLACE. IN HIS HOME OFFICE.

(HELLO?!?!?!?!?? Whore.)

Unhinged. Because:

1. A fireplace is quite literally a symbol of family and warmth (fun fact: Frank Lloyd Wright always designed homes starting with the fireplace! Oh, wait. You might not know who that is, so now this just sounds confusing. My bad. Anyway, he designed a lot of cool stuff... moving on). A fireplace belongs in a living room or dining area, where people actually gather. And considering Hotch’s building is old, there is no way it was originally designed to have one in a private office. That placement is categorically wrong. You’re a terrible designer if you stick a fireplace in an isolated office but not in the main living space where it actually makes sense.

2. The writers could try to lie to my face and say, “Oh, maybe the room was repurposed into Hotch’s home office.”Wrong. His apartment has a big open-concept living/dining area with the kitchen on the side. And unless his place is secretly Rossi’s mansion (spoiler: it’s not), there’s no way the original layout had a separate formal dining room. And even if it did, the fireplace is still in the wrong damn place because formal dining rooms are typically closer to the entry.

3. They could lie even harder and try to argue that Hotch having a fireplace in his office is some deep, symbolic artistic choice - like, oh, he’s so devoted to his job, he’d rather warm his ass doing paperwork than sit by the fire reading Jack a bedtime story like a decent human being. Like. Come on. He’s a family man, for god’s sake. Either give him a properly placed fireplace or JUST DON’T GIVE HIM ONE AT ALL.

(Less is more, people!!! Unless, of course, we’re talking about Hotch’s [REDACTED]... oof. Damn censorship. Right when I was about to say something deeply unholy. )

Goodbye. See you in the next issue.

Hopefully by the end of this series we'll manage to sketch down the entire floorplan

Phi.

[vaguely-concerned]

The Wigmaker Job Reread thoughts

Feat. numerous bonus general Dellamorte boys thinky thoughts, because I can’t help myself when this particular brain state comes over me I will just. keep writing.*

SO I'm rereading The Wigmaker Job and folks, I uh. think Lucanis asked Illario to come along on this job mostly because he's incredibly lonely lmao. Not entirely sure he's recognized this himself and completely sure he would not have the language, ability or instinct to convey this to Illario in a coherent way if he did, but I really do think that's what it is. (He certainly doesn’t make it easy for Illario to actually pitch in meaningfully on the job itself at any point that’s for sure!) And what’s more, I think Illario does realize it, better than Lucanis himself… and did decide to go along with it, huh. I’ll try to show my work a bit later on in the post but for now, we have a lot of rambling ground to cover, let’s get going! 

(Obligatory disclaimer that these are just my personal impressions and reflections slash barely hinged stream of consciousness and if your read on something is different that is totally fine; as usual I am mostly talking out loud trying to explain to myself what the hell I’m thinking more than anything else lol. I’m going to be touching lightly on themes of suicidal ideation and child abuse in this, but only to the extent that is already present in the short story itself. I’ll mostly skirt around the body horror elements too, if those get to you!)

— “The man who’s taken the contract is no ordinary Crow,” Felicia explained, careful to keep her voice steady. 

Ambrose uncorked the wine with a wave of his hand and began pouring it into a crystal decanter. 

“He’s Lucanis Dellamorte.” 

The bottle clanged against the crystal. A crack splintered down the glass. 

“Ah.” Goose bumps pebbled the Wigmaker’s neck. He set the decanter back on the counter and sighed. “Shit.” 

*** 

In an unassuming inn, on an unassuming road, Lucanis Dellamorte sat with a whetstone in hand, his favorite sword resting across his knees. The monotonous movement of grinding stone against metal soothed him. Seven daggers of various size and shape lay polished and glistening on a rough wool blanket at his feet.

The opening mood whiplash of Lucanis’ name being spoken only in hushed voices among the Venatori, smash cut to Lucanis sitting there peacefully sharpening his knives (this is genuinely and unironically what he does for fun. This is his idea of a good time outside of work. Give him a cup of coffee to go along with it and his day is perfect. He’s been contentedly sharpening seven daggers and a sword while Illario gets dressed. Sometimes his attraction to Viago ‘I’m going to make a spreadsheet about who to kill about this I find that relaxes me’ de Riva makes so much sense to me.)? Of course amazing the first time around, but coming back to it now that I like. Know him. No actually that is exactly who and what he is huh got it in one fhsdkj. He’s wearing a sensible neutral toned knitted sweater beneath his brooding hotboi leathers and this is what you need to understand about him.  

I wonder if we were originally going to get more of the Erimond family in the game itself, other than just the notes we do find. It’s not every day a family produces someone even Cole can’t find a good word to say about, it would be fascinating to see what else it’s capable of haha. 

— This whole description of Lucanis’ sensory hypersensitivity especially to sound (hypersensitivity, as we see later, that extends to magic, despite describing himself as being as magically adept as a brick, however that works!) taken together with his, I feel I must reiterate, sharpening his knives for fun… I know diagnosing fictional characters is a flawed premise at the outset but as far as I’m concerned and with a whole game to add to my evidence pile this man is SO autistic and if you read him through that lens it does explain some things hahaha. 

— “Any excuse to primp.” 

“Hey—I’m only here because of you,” Illario grumbled. “We should be halfway home right now. Only ‘the Great Lucanis Dellamorte’ could delay a summons from the First Talon herself.”

Lucanis set his sword aside. Illario was generally thick-skinned— except when it came to their grandmother. “Caterina can hardly complain. She’s the one who beat into me my commitment to contracts.” 

Memories of sweat-filled days without food or water came unbidden. Lucanis’s back tingled from where his grandmother’s cane had bruised his flesh for letting his guard down or fumbling his footwork. For years, he’d hated her. But his time as a Master Assassin had since taught Lucanis that Caterina’s cruelty was her way of making sure that he was prepared for this life—that he survived. 

“All that effort training and grooming us, and the old woman still won’t step aside.” Beneath the bitterness in Illario’s tone was something rotten. 

“Your time will come,” Lucanis assured him. 

“Will it?” Illario’s piercing gaze met Lucanis’s in the mirror. “People talk. You’ve always been her favorite.” 

He’d heard the rumors. For all their secrets and intrigue, the Antivan Crows were a chatty bunch. 

“My talents lie elsewhere,” Lucanis said, gesturing toward the arsenal around him. “You’re the one with the silver tongue.” 

“So, if she named you heir to House Dellamorte, you’d refuse?” Lucanis opened his mouth to respond, when he realized someone was creeping up the stairs.

. . . 

“Lucanis?” Illario pressed. 

He held up a hand and clutched the worn leather grip of his sword. Illario’s pretty-boy mask slipped as a coldness flooded his features. A retractable dagger shot out from under his sleeve.

Now we don’t have time to unpack all of that — etc. but I want this exchange here in its entirety for stuff I’ll talk about later and also hey what the hell and so on. So much going on here. Lucanis’ acts of quiet rebellion by means of a sort of malicious compliance/competence — he’s following Caterina’s teachings to the letter and getting to have some in the spirit room left over for himself. He’s found a loophole to put off going home to something he dreads in an elegant practiced way, I definitely think this is a tactic he’s employed before.to claim some bits and pieces of agency. ‘How can she complain that I’m exactly what she taught me to be?’ suppressed anger/resentment under there. 

The fact that Caterina still hasn’t named either of them as heir at this point continues to be insane, of course, as is the fact that her blatant favoritism is a matter of public knowledge to the point of ‘As you know, Bob —’ connotations and neither of them even thinking to pretend to deny it. Wild shit. If she wanted to create an environment for seething toxic resentment, she couldn’t have done it better if she’d dedicated her life to nothing else lmao. Illario: I think I should be First Talon! Lucanis: I agree (please don’t make me talk to people)! Caterina: Isn’t there someone you forgot to ask? (Would Illario make a good First Talon? I don’t know, what does that even mean, really. But as has been said many a time before it would have been a much more natural use of their skillsets and natural inclinations to have Illario in the people-facing role and Lucanis to watch his back/stab anyone who disagrees, especially if what you’re after is stability. Oh well.) 

The special element of humiliation that it is a matter of public knowledge and tactical consideration across town that you’re the least favorite child… Illario’s obsession with winning the public opinion and being able to control his own image to the outside world is ah. Perhaps understandable.

Many thoughts and feelings about how they’ve individually made sense of/created narratives around the abuse in their upbringing. I didn’t end up going that deeply into that specifically in this post but it is an incredibly important element of their relationship. 

They come back to having this conversation again at the end — everything in this story right down to the structure of it is Lucanis desperately trying to avoid something and finding it implacably still there waiting for him no matter what he does. He’s playing for time as best he can and pretending that if he doesn’t think about it it won’t happen and he won’t have to deal with it, but no matter what happens in between it will be waiting for him at the end — Illario is not letting this go, and neither is Caterina. We open with it, and we close with it; it’s inevitable no matter how you bargain or try to go for the ‘well if I’m real lucky I could just die before that becomes relevant!’ gambit. Oof. Sorry Lucanis this isn’t something you can solve through stabbing no matter how good you are at it I know that’s terrible news for you but here we are my sincerest condolences 

— So cute to see their little double act of casual smalltalk/bickering as a diversion in action already here, in exactly the same way they break it out during the café meeting in Veilguard! Courtney Woods is really good at moments of establishing character like this, showing both the brewing conflict between them and how well they know each other and the ways they can wordlessly communicate because of it all in one scene. How unspeakably comfortable and uncomfortable they are together in ways only family can manage to be haha. 

— Illario complaining that Lucanis let him get a whole outfit made thinking they were actually going to the party and mentioning how long they (not he, they, Lucanis came along for all of that) were at the tailor’s (Lucanis, implied to be very dryly: “I recall.”)... listen. Especially once you hear the banter in the Treviso market about how Lucanis once sat around waiting for six hours while Illario tried on gloves to find exactly the right pair — that is clearly Lucanis making gentle fun of him, but he is also inadvertently revealing something about himself in that he stayed for six hours to keep Illario company through that. I think coming along on shopping trips where he knows nothing is expected of him except to hang out, make light snarky comments when asked for his opinion and wait might kind of be Lucanis’ idea of a good time socially hahaha. Nr. 1 shopping wingman in Thedas. His main ‘I’ll follow you to hell and back with only light complaining’ arena for Illario. This is part of the pattern of not telling Illario the whole plan and deliberately keeping him continually on the backfoot during this whole story — which clearly, not fair to him and not a great look, Lucanis, you’re not being very nice — but I feel like this is also another entry in the pattern of Lucanis desperately craving company and not quite knowing how to ask for it nor perhaps realizing that’s what he’s up to. Also I get the sense he thinks Illario finds getting ready for missions like this and picking out what to wear fun. Which to be fair he’s probably right about, if he just didn’t also go out of his way to make Illario feel like an idiot in the process lmao. 

— At the bottom, they found an elf in a scarlet coat guarding a large steel door. She greeted Lucanis with a cordial smile. “Master Dellamorte. And . . .” 

Her friendly façade faltered as she spotted Illario. 

“Master Dellamorte the Lesser,” Illario offered with a grin. 

“My cousin,” Lucanis clarified. 

Appeased, the elf asked, “Where does your business take you tonight?”

If you wear your self-loathing and resentment on your sleeve for long enough while everyone around you ignores it as a joke it becomes an accessory! And other Illario Dellamorte hot fashion tips in this edition of Treviso Weekly. Fhdskjas the things these two motherfuckers say that they consider completely normal and sane things to say — to each other and to say about themselves and each other in public… 

— Lucanis peeked over the side. No one looked up. One of the world’s greatest wonders is mundane to these people. 

“How do they get it to float?” Illario asked, tapping his boot tip against the aqueduct.

This is so quietly sweet to me. Illario does look up, because he is also a Crow. Courtney Woods is really good at creating these under-the-surface feelings — I love the small details she puts in to emphasize Illario and Lucanis connecting over their common background, over being two Antivans in Tevinter, in being Crows, in being Caterina’s grandsons. (...and also the places those connections fail or fall short. Ouch and owie.) At a point later in the story, Lucanis thinks to look up because he hears Illario’s voice in his head making a joke, reminding him. 

Moving in tandem, Lucanis and Illario dropped to their chests and shimmied to the edge overlooking the courtyard.

Lucanis seems to value these moments of connection through common experience because they don’t require him to speak or explain himself, which he clearly finds extremely hard to the point that he’d rather not even venture the attempt/doesn’t even know how to start. These are wordless ways he and Illario know each other, intimacy/connection that’s natural and effortless where that is clearly incredibly difficult for him in many other settings — body knowledge of another person’s company with the person he (thinks he) knows the best in the whole world, the most familiar and comforting presence in his life. They were boys together, they learned how to move together, they’ve eaten at the same table all their lives. In the Crossroads when he finds the smell of coffee and home there, it’s home because Illario was there with him. Hmghfsk. Agony. Suffering.

— “So, the Wigmaker.” Illario wiggled his fingers ominously. “Tell me about him.” 

“He’s weird,” Lucanis replied bluntly. He found the moments before a job crucial for focus, but Illario was never one for comfortable silence. 

“Specifics, cousin. No one hires us to kill normal people.” 

“I gave you a dossier.” 

“Yes, but I want your assessment.” 

“I wrote it. It is my assessment.” 

“Humor me.” 

Their dynamic in this is so heartbreaking to me in that like… okay this is going to be heavily vibes based and integrating some of the things we get to see of them in Veilguard so bear with me here while I try to explain this to myself. But what Illario is trying to do here is clearly to get Lucanis to engage with him outside of the professional sphere. Of all people in the world at this point in time, I think Illario is the one single person who best knows and also cares the most about Lucanis as a human being, not about what he can do for him. He loves his cousin, he wants to know what Lucanis is thinking, he wants to be engaged with him; he’s trying his fucking damnest to pick the locks to get to the person beneath the Crow, as it were! Maybe to a Lucanis he remembers from long ago, when they were children and the connection between them was effortless and open, not yet marred by all the ways trauma and the unequal dynamic enforced on them has forced them to shut parts of themselves down to survive. I feel there’s a where did you go that I couldn’t follow and when did it happen, why did you leave me here alone, come back sort of undertone to it, both here and in The Wake. As well as in Veilguard itself, come to that! ‘That is not my cousin, that is a demon, a stranger with his face’ is a sentiment that may, perhaps, have deeper roots than Lucanis popping back up from the grave like a jumpscare. Another metaphorical/emotional truth made mockingly literal, as it were, just like Lucanis’ Freeze response and deep sense of being a monster somehow in a way he can’t put his finger on is older than Spite or the Ossuary. (Zara thought making ‘the Demon of Vyrantium’ literal would be great value for shits and giggles, and this is also a Narrative Pattern in this corner of the story, the unspoken emotional metaphors in this fucked up little family heightened and made real through the literary device of magic. It’s good stuff. Veilguard does pretty solid work with metaphors overall, honestly.) 

Meanwhile Lucanis both seems to long for that connection too (there’s a reason he asked Illario to come along with him for this even though he refuses to like. Actually give him the information he needs to actively help out particularly effectively) AND to feel threatened/inadequate when Illario asks for it. I’m not sure he entirely knows how to give Illario the closeness he’s asking for anymore, and the pain both of not being able to give someone you love what they need from you and the feeling of something being fundamentally wrong with you that you can’t understand how to do that, as well as threatening the system of values Caterina has instilled in him so deep: the job always comes first, anything that could stop you from prioritizing that is dangerous, even love. (Especially love, you only get to keep that if you do your job perfectly first.) There’s also the resentment of ‘why are you asking me for more when I already tried to give you this information/closeness in a way I’m actually capable of, if only you’d be serious and pay attention for five minutes’, a feeling of not being understood or seen. A sort of I crave your company but every time I have it it only reveals how I’m fundamentally broken despair and stuckness as well, as we see the sort of fraught irreconcilably mixed emotions in all of Lucanis’ attachment relationships in Veilguard. 

Even at this stage, Lucanis’ is a psychology held together with workaholism and ‘I’ll just bottle this all up in here and then someday, on the bright side, if I’m lucky, I will die and not have to worry about it! If I can’t see it it can’t see me and it’ll be okay’ logic, and Illario’s attempts at breaking through, born of increasing desperation, love, and justified concern as they may be, are disruptive to those defensive structures and Lucanis instinctively rejects them. (Indeed, very much in the same way as Spite’s presence in Lucanis’ psyche works eventually, and eliciting the same initial reactions in him: avoidance, distaste, fear and anger. Davrin too refuses to stop poking and back off at subtler signs, and evokes a lot of the anger and rebellious little shitness for lack of a better word that Lucanis also has with Illario. Which I think ironically is also a sign that Lucanis kind of weirdly trusts him or at least trusts that he understands the parameters of their relationship clearly, it’s one of the few places he lets himself be openly angry right from the get go.) Thus the irritable pulling away/dismissiveness, and thus Illario’s (accurate tbf!) sense of rejection and dismissal and (I think inaccurate or at least incomplete) perception of Lucanis’ motivations for it. Though, again, who can blame him for reaching the conclusions he does with what Lucanis is able to give him to work with here. And so the misery carousel keeps going round and round.  

Illario and Spite speak the same truth to him: WE ARE TRAPPED. WE NEED TO GET OUT SOMEHOW OR IT’LL KILL US. (Inferred and indirect: HELP ME) And because Lucanis’ survival instincts naturally go towards Freeze, being asked for action of that specific kind is what he’s least able to deliver, because it’ll inevitably hurt someone he loves, no matter how he moves. So he just. Doesn’t. Rook finds Lucanis trapped in a chamber deep in his brain I think has existed in a less Fade-enhancedly literal form for much, much longer than the most recent barrage of trauma. The set dressing is new, the underlying logic is old and firmly established.

Lucanis’ instinct to keep the current patterns going as painlessly or numbly as possible, to ‘keep still’ and only work within the structures Caterina has set up for them — because in his mind a flawed yet stable status quo, yes, even a toxic one, is better than the risk of unbearable and irretrievable loss and chaos at its disruption, as they have in fact experienced before under traumatic circumstances — is incredibly destructive to the both of them, and it’s born out of an incredibly deep love and protectiveness. He’s trying to keep Illario safe, in exactly the same way he thinks he’s doing for everyone he cares about by staying in the Mind!Ossuary later, but it’s a child’s/survival instinct’s flawed logic and causing so much harm in the process. Logic that indeed is inherited from Caterina, whose solution to that same logic is what Lucanis is scrambling to protect Illario from the same way he tries to protect himself (if only Illario would understand that and stop rocking the fucking boat!!!, right…). Don’t struggle against the riptide, go limp, if you try to swim against it directly you’ll always lose. (And from Illario’s point of view: well, if you loved me you’d at least try, and not just wait for it to finish the job and finally drown us.) 

In this short story you can feel how they’re trying so hard to speak with each other in the only ways they know how, with the broken mangled tools Caterina left them with, and they can’t understand each other and very soon it’s going to be too late. I’m going to go lie down on the bottom of the ocean for ten thousand million billion years. 

— More observations of the patterns between them in this generally because it didn’t fit anywhere else lol: here’s the feeling I get. Illario makes bids for connection, Lucanis seems to bluntly brush him off even as we see from his internal dialogue just how fond he is of Illario — I think even some of the more dismissive comments he makes in his head is more along the lines of the affectionate amusement we see him have around people he cares about and their foibles in Veilguard too. If you listen to how he talks about Viago and Caterina especially, there’s that same laconic observation of their peculiarities as a part of how he loves them. HowEver. He and Illario do not have the tools or understanding to express to each other that ‘oof, no, that hit on something too tender, back off’, other than to try to jab back harder and sharper. And so resentments build and deepen on both sides without ever getting any outlets. A relationship where you don’t have the right or means to say ‘no’ is never going to be a healthy one, and saying ‘no’ is the one thing Caterina has most forbidden. In other relationships Lucanis solves this by creating distance internally — Caterina is in his inner world, but she’s the outermost lock, kept further away from his deepest self. He does not resent her ‘anymore’ (he says and probably thinks. I think he might ah. Have deferred it more than resolved it but that’s just me lol), but he has protected himself from her within the means he had to do it with and found a way to maintain his attachment to her in that state. And yet he is incapable of and/or unwilling to do that same process with Illario, to let go of the closeness he can maintain there. Illario is the innermost lock of his psyche, the person who has meant the most to him and as unguardedly as he’s capable of, who he’s held the closest all this time… even after finding out what he did. 

Illario is the safest, closest relationship he has… which also means that he is the one who gets parts of all the anger and resentment and frustration that cannot be there with Caterina in particular because that would be Dangerous Territory in a multitude of ways. I think Lucanis tries to mitigate this by more deliberately pouring that stuff into his job, but it’s still down there unresolved at the core, bubbling away, the fumes rising and infecting his interpersonal relationships in subtle ways. Even the ‘read the goddamn brief Illario’ move and refusing to budge is just another version of the malicious compliance/competence as rebellion that this whole mission is towards Caterina. (Unfortunately this is how it works sometimes when you’ve had to push things down that hard for that long; it comes out with the people we love the most and who deserve it the least.) And even then it’s mostly in undercurrents moving beneath the surface— it’s something that happens in an obfuscated and buried enough way that you can’t simply break it open all at once and let air in to stop the wounds from festering. If Illario did try to bring it up directly, I do not think Lucanis at this point would be capable of staying with it, he would flinch away and dissociate/freeze and deny it was even a thing at all (be unable to recognize it as a thing at all). And Illario clearly knows this too — you get the feeling that he’s been trying and trying and trying to get through here and found no way. He’s at the end of his rope, and not just about the First Talon conundrum.

Whenever they are speaking to each other, they are also speaking to Caterina through each other because you can’t really bargain with God directly (especially one that’s known to be a wrathful god given the provocation), but there’s enough of her and her meanings fused into you over the years that it’s almost the same thing when you talk. And sometimes it’s hard to see past her to your brother actually standing there with you.   

I’m going to SCREAM Lucanis loves Illario so much that he would prefer to die, would condemn himself to hell in his own mind forever rather than face having to lose him or deliberately harm him, AND YET!!!! AND STILLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!! He is letting him down and leaving him behind and making him feel small and stupid in ways so incredibly profound and sad without even realizing it all the time. No one in this family has ever been equipped to talk about anything ever and I doubt they’re about to start now and I need to tear into something with my TEETH

Anyway. Breakdown over, on with our regularly scheduled tevinter nights reread post with slightly less anguish lol. 

— [Lucanis] clapped a hand over the mage’s mouth and slammed his skull against the wall. “Knock it off.

What does he have to go and be so casually funny for at all times. The undisputed master of the perfectly tuned in levels of comedic mild exasperation. Stop stop I already love him. 

— Illario waited with a chair and rope. 

“Sit down.” He beamed. “Enjoy a little Antivan hospitality.” 

While his cousin secured their prisoner’s bindings, Lucanis retrieved his sword from the wall. e mage was coming to. His unfocused eyes took stock of his situation. 

“I won’t talk,” he spat. “Even if you torture me.” 

“I’m too busy to torture you,” Lucanis said, and ran him through with his sword. 

. . .

Illario frowned. “If I’d known you were just going to kill him, I wouldn’t’ve put so much effort into the knots.” 

“Check his pockets.” 

“Ah—” Illario said, pulling a scroll from the mage’s jacket. “Found something.” 

The seal was broken, but the imprint of two dragons was still visible in the wax. “Venatori.”

 “Thought as much. What’s it say?” 

Illario unrolled the parchment and scanned the page. “‘Gallant brothers and sisters . . . In our veins runs true Tevinter blood, passed down from the dreamers—’” Illario’s head snapped up as Lucanis began pulling his sword from the mage’s chest. “ Careful! Remember the tanner job? You ruined my best shirt.” 

Lucanis smirked and continued extracting the blade. 

Illario took two wary steps back, then continued reading.

Unfortunately I do love it when Lucanis is a troll fhsdkj 

— Lucanis’ inner logic that he can buy the tiniest sliver of autonomy and meaning by consistently offering up a sacrifice of perfection — that’s the silent deal he’s struck with Caterina, an exchange she’ll accept as long as he doesn’t try to get too clever with it, and his subsequent panic in Veilguard when he’s too worn down to be able to perform to perfection anymore (and with that, in this internal logic, goes his right to autonomy or freedom)……….. He really does make me so so SO sad. He needed so much therapy even before the Ossuary. Some deeply entrenched ideas about the basic transactionality in even the closest relationships here. (Where I think Illario is kind of his exception to. That’s an assumed mutual unconditional love even when some terms and conditions probably would be in order actually situation for him.) 

Also I think this is a useful look at how the Crows operating on ‘might makes right’ lines could be harnessed if you’re of a mind — basically anything goes, as long as you’re good enough to get away with it and/or don’t step on enough toes that the rest of the crab bucket momentarily team up to tear you down. And Lucanis chose to use that little loophole to go ‘well you see I’d sort of like to get to be kind sometimes actually’. Which, y’know. Eccentric for a Crow, to be sure, but are you going to be the one to tell the Demon of Vyrantium himself, Caterina Dellamorte’s most speacialest and scariest little murderboy, that he can’t keep protecting servants of the households he hits because it’s making the whole team look kind of soft??? The whole business runs on ‘I’m bigger and stronger than you so don’t try any shit’, and Lucanis has successfully built up the image of being bigger and stronger than anyone who’d think to try any shit well enough to get away with it, as Caterina has achieved for their house overall. (It’s not like him sparing witnesses gets in the way of the interest of other houses or anything anyway, he’s creating potential trouble for himself more than for anyone else which I hardly think anyone would feel compelled to protest against. If it’d been something that threatened anyone else’s bottom line, a completely different story, but I think Lucanis understands the system well enough to know where he can get away with it.) And again, all he has to do to earn it is to deliver unflinching inhuman perfection at all times! So that’s not a stressful set of psychological parameters to have to function under at all, especially when you feel yourself start to fail as you’re falling apart after horrible new waves of trauma lmao

Which I think is partially also what the ‘You think I’m not good enough?’/’Are you?’ exchange is about — it’s an extremely unhelpful and mean thing to say the way he does (especially in front of other people! Other people who, to Illario, are basically strangers!), but it’s also said out of howling protectiveness and a deep recognition of this stark truth. You can get away with it if you’re good enough, and if you’re not good enough you’re dead. Something Lucanis is blithely ready to risk his own life on all the time for perfect strangers, and is completely unwilling to accept when it comes to Illario’s life! Lucanis’ love has that light element of  possessiveness/proprietariness to it from time to time — the ‘he is ours’ sentiment that both he and Spite maintain for Illario in love and in hate. I have a lot of sympathy for it because it obviously comes from a place of painfully earnest love and fear in someone who has lost people in horrible ways at a young age, but there is something paternalistic in that protectiveness too, a lack of trust in Illario to take care of himself and willingness to cross lines in Illario’s own autonomy to ensure that he’s safe. (Not healthy or anything but considering the shit Illario pulls in this game… a little bit of can you fucking blame him I’d be three seconds away from an ulcer about it at all times too going on here haha). ‘It’s okay if you don’t agree or don’t forgive me afterwards, it’s all worth it if it means you’re safe, if it means you’ll survive’. Sins of the grandma dude. Sins of the grandma. The generational trauma starts coming and it won’t stop coming. 

— I also think it’s relevant that Lucanis can count on some things from Caterina consistently, as long as he upholds his part of the ‘deal’ between them to be her perfect poor boy slash best knife who’ll never let her down. However devastating the cost of her regard and support is, it’s only Illario who’s left completely to fend for himself in this family dynamic. A little bit of what the fuck does he have to lose going on here. Lucanis, I suppose. For a long he has Lucanis to lose, but Lucanis is starting to act an awful lot like he’s not that invested in living too much longer. So where does that leave you if you’re Illario. With a very dumb plan that was never going to work, apparently. 

— While hunting his mark, Lucanis had opened the wrong door and walked into an orgy. Getting out of that had been interesting.

Nothing of substance to add here except that the mental image is hysterical, of course, and only more so after having a whole game to get to know him. Also this is just my personal read but I don’t think Lucanis would use seduction, even as a tactic on a job, by choice — my feeling is that his act as a servant in Vows and Vengeance would be more indicative of the social stealth skills he’d use when that’s what gets him where he needs to be. (Very tired service worker towards the end of their shift might in fact be the role he was born to play he has exactly the vibes for it.) 

A good assassin knows his tools, and I think Lucanis realizes that flirting, even in a professional capacity as it were, is one of his blunter and more inflexible ones and so mostly wouldn’t use it haha. If he understood someone to be attracted to him in a way that required nothing much of him actively and would somehow aid the job I’m sure he’d use the opportunity it provided well enough, don’t get me wrong, but I just don’t believe it’d ever occur to him to go there as an opening move. The theoretical understanding is mostly there, the practical application… maybe less so. He knows he’s not very good at it and so wouldn’t rely on it if he could help it; that’s Illario’s sandbox to play in. Again this is just my personal opinion, so feel free to disagree of course, I know people have a range of reads on this element.  

— His skull felt raw. The backs of his eyeballs itched like he hadn’t blinked in days. Whatever magic Ambrose was using for his creations was tearing at the seams of the Veil. 

“Something’s wrong.” 

“Yeah,” Illario agreed, zeroing in on a group of half-dressed revelers, “we’re up here, away from the fun.” 

Lucanis snapped his fingers in front of his cousin’s face. “Focus.” 

“I am.” 

“On the job.” 

“To be fair, you never told me the plan.” 

Lucanis shrugged. “Find Ambrose. Slit his throat.” 

“Sounds complicated.” 

“It will be. The Veil’s thin here. Thinner than I expected.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “One wrong spell and this place will be swarming with demons.” 

“Then let’s kill the bastard and scram. I want to see what this city has to offer.” 

“Our ship sails at dawn.” 

Illario waved a dismissive hand. “Plenty of time for some good, old fashioned debauch—” 

“I see him,” Lucanis interrupted.

Lucanis does this really nasty thing with Illario where he first pushes him away and then punishes him for being disengaged with him/what they’re doing, or asks him for something he then rejects when he gets it. (I think he has some of this pattern in other relationships too but without the punishment or idk… familiarity/presumptiveness/feeling of natural entitlement to their attention part. Illario is his brother, the attachment there is safe/established enough that the part of him that doesn’t think he’s worth someone’s attention doesn’t kick in as it does in pretty much every other relationship. He’d never blame Rook or any of the Lighthouse crew for pulling away from him that same way, that’s a deep well of ‘well yeah valid I also don’t really want to have anything to do with me tbf :/’ self-loathing waiting to open up, ‘protecting’ him from making a presumption like that or imaging himself to have rights or worth interpersonally in basically any other context or relationship at the outset. But with Illario the love is always assumed. Both ways. You have a right to me on that level, and I have the right to you. The only person he takes for granted. Because that’s family. Oh boy.) 

See also: the way he barely acknowledges Illario greeting him when he comes back from the Ossuary and more crucially as far as Lucanis might expect Illario’s perspective to be beneath any repressed suspicions, from the dead — very understandably so, considering the Dire mood and implications and ‘...where’s Caterina’ of it all, but it’s also a larger pattern he has. I think he feels such deep love for Illario that he doesn’t quite get that he also has to like. Show that deep love for it to be understood by the other party. And it sure comes across as very dismissive from the outside, or if a person is perhaps primed to have that insecurity already by the entrenched family dynamics at play. Oh boy 2 electric boogaloo. 

Buddy you are setting the person you love the most up to lose again and again and again… and it would break his heart to truly realize that, probably, but I don’t know if he’d know how to stop doing it, either. 

This seems to be all completely subconscious, to be clear. These are clearly patterns established from when they were extremely young, and it’s hard for fish to conceptualize being surrounded by water other than when the absence of it leaves them gasping and dying, I suppose.

Shallower thought: So Lucanis is also not clean-shaven here! Probably a more casual didn’t bother to shave/not quite as meticulously maintained five o’clock shadow going on as with Illario, but perhaps a tiny bit of the pot calling the kettle black here, Mr. Lucanis ‘long black leather overcoat’ Dellamorte isn’t unconcerned with looking cool, in his more restrained way. (As we all know ‘looking cool’ is the foundational base of a Crow’s Maslow’s pyramid of needs to the point that Spite went ‘can do!’ immediately upon contact with Lucanis’ soul and never stopped dhfkjs.)

— “They’re never what you envision, are they?” Illario noted. 

“What did you expect?” 

“Hair, for one. Maybe a funny little dog.” 

That got a chuckle out of Lucanis, if only briefly.

The thing is that I love these two dumbasses so incredibly much. You see. This exchange of funny little observations is a huge part of how Lucanis interacts with Rook especially out on missions too, you can see where his patterns for having close relationships come from. Also restating my point from other metas that Lucanis seems to come alive a bit with collaborative humour, that’s clearly a social dynamic he finds soothing and also engaging, a way he knows how to take an outstretched hand. Since that seems to come from his relationship with Illario when it’s at its best… pain and suffering in my heart again needless to say

— Lucanis pays a lot of attention to people’s clothes and is very good at understanding what they’re trying to signal with their outfits. Overall he’s excellent at understanding people’s ways of thinking in the abstract/from a distance, as long as he doesn’t have to interact with them directly and interpersonally. Because then he falls to absolute pieces under the slightest pressure and runs. Again the best my particular brand of autism representation probably not even meant to be representation I’ve ever seen lol. 

— Camille had just taken a sip of watered-down mulsum, when a handsome stranger grabbed her glass and downed the rest. 

“Excuse me!” she exclaimed. The party drowned out her words, but Lucanis could still read her lips. “That’s my drink.” 

Illario simply smiled. “Guess I’ll have to buy you another.” 

Lucanis groaned—not only at the line, but that it worked. Even from his position, he could see Camille was hooked. He shouldn’t be surprised. This was old hat for Illario. But it was always amazing to see what one man’s smile could accomplish.

Lucanis’ mildly baffled and somewhat begrudging admiration for Illario’s social skills is so funny. As far as he’s concerned this is some kind of black magic beyond his ken. It must be a bit of pretty privilege involved in this case tho because what the fuck how did that land. Hey whatever works Illario you spent all that time on your outfit for a reason never let anyone tell you your slutty little unbuttoned shirt isn’t serving a tactical purpose I’m not about to tell you how to do your job

the fact that Illario is in fact a very good Crow. he's just not Lucanis. that's his original sin huh. never getting away from that one.

— Do u think Illario’s move with putting the keys on the tray instead of pocketing them and going back to Lucanis is maybe one of his small spiteful acts of rebellion. Ah. Family traditions. Truly they bind us together. 

— The Lucanis in this story is so much more… contained than the Lucanis we get to meet in the game, for good or ill. In Veilguard he is constantly fraying at the seams and cracking open under all the pressure he’s under, which for sure and of course is Not Great and causes him a lot of pain and distress — but also the whole that’s how the light gets in etc. thing, it also means it’s easier for things to find their way in to him and for him to let things out. Meanwhile here, there’s more the sense of immense tension —  a harder, more determined/deliberate lack of being able to move than the total helplessness of being stuck in the mind!Ossuary, but with some of the same quality. Illario tries to get in to find him and in his way I really do think Lucanis is trying to reach out to Illario as well as he knows how, but there’s a rigidness there that stops anything from really getting through or changing. Illario’s guilt trip letter after Sea of Blood saying that control is the quality he’s always most associated with Lucanis makes a lot of sense when you read this short story, even though I think Illario is mistaking ‘control’ for ‘deadening anything too vulnerable or ‘frivolous’ until I’m just a tool that can do a job’. That letter is transparently Illario deliberately pressing down on a bruise he knows to be tender, but it feels like there’s some kernel of truth to it beneath that which makes the sting all the worse. 

— Up ahead, Lucanis spied the servants’ entrance. If he could reach it, there was just enough space to wedge his body into the covered niche above the door. Not easily, of course, but nothing ever was. 

*Resigned Lucanis voice* Nothing is ever easy. (He does literally say this word for word in one of Bellara’s quests, and in exactly the tone you’d expect haha. He is my favourite person of all time)

— Lucanis thought about securing the entrance—leaving it unlocked could raise suspicion—but chose not to in case Illario decided to work tonight. He could already hear his cousin’s honeyed excuses— But seducing a beautiful woman is work! He snorted and pushed farther inside.

I do believe a certain amount of affectionate dunking is part of Lucanis’ love language and it’s too bad that’s kind of become a sore point/unequal power balance between him and Illario because it is frequently so funny fhdakj. Also kind of sweet to see the precedent for Lucanis sort of… keeping people he loves in his head like this, the locks in Inner Demons are clearly literalizations of a process he already sort of does naturally. He listens to the Illario and Caterina in his head multiple times during this story. I’m repeating my ‘this man is so desperately lonely in a way he doesn’t know how to solve’ point for emphasis. A common affliction in many of the Veilguard main cast, Solas of course being the most egregious and ongoing example. This game has Themes and it’s sticking to them haha <3<3<3 

— The cold opulence of the place reminded Lucanis of a Chantry rather than a home. 

Very interesting observation, now that we’ve seen Villa Dellamorte for ourselves! Is all I’ll say. (*Spite voice* Home? …Smells like linseed oil and dust)

Atlases bearing the visages of past Archons held up vaulted ceilings glittering with mosaic depictions of Tevinter’s golden age. The cost of such a commission must have been astronomical—both in coin and lives. How many slaves had gone blind gilding each individual tile? How many backs had been broken from hauling and placing stone after stone? 

There was patriotism and there was obsession. Neither was worth it.

Again. Very interesting observations from a man raised in a mansion built on spilled blood and with Crow decorations anywhere you turn right down to the wallpaper haha. Tevinter/specifically the Venatori lets him indulge in some ‘clean’ anger and disdain that he can’t have back home because it’s, y’know. Home. He may not have a lot of illusions about the Crows, but he also is deeply bound to them. Lucanis will sublimate his anger into ANYTHING including turning it on himself before he lets it touch something he loves. 

— Brief detour away from the general/worldstate agnostic approach of this post to my personal shenanigans, but…. Lucanis ‘breaking into morbid nursery rhymes internally while on a murder spree’ Dellamorte 🤝 Ellaryen ‘absent-mindedly reciting funeral rites in his head in the middle of a fight to keep his rhythm and also start to get it out of the way ASAP while people fall like flies around him’ Ingellvar. Made for each other, truly. 

— Too bad we never got to see Lucanis using a garotte in the main game, that’s clearly one of his go-tos normally. I suppose trying to do stealth sections with Taash on the team is a tall order even for Lucanis Dellamorte. The Crows AXE their regards!!! ]>:D

— The dead weight of the first man pulled the second one up until they both hung around the limestone Archon’s nape like a loose cravat.

Once more, I love Courtney Wood’s writing style. What a mental image. The tone of light comedy as Lucanis 9-5s his way patiently through all these guards is pitch perfect. 

— Spread out. Lucanis mouthed the words as the guard gave the order.

This dude really is out here doing his job like it’s a video game level he’s done a hundred times before hahaha. He’d be skipping dialogue and sequence breaking all over the place if he could. (Speedrunner Lucanis for modern AU, there’s a concept anyone can have for free that’s hilarious. He does cooking videos, knife maintenance videos and insane video game speedruns interchangeably on his channel and never speaks a single word nor leaves a note through text in any of them god bless. He has three followers no update schedule goes years without making a video and has never spoken to anyone online. He is my babygirl.) 

— One for silence.

Two for surprise.

Three for good measure.

Four’s exercise.

Five for a slaughter. 

Six for the thrill.

Seven means more sovereigns.

“Eight marks the final kill,” Illario said, coming to stand next to him.

The whole nursery rhyme, and Illario coming in with the unspeakably sinister final line here, considering what we know happens not even that long after this job! Again the connection there is between them, though — they were thinking about the exact same thing, counting it out with the same old remembered words. 

“Do you still recite that old nursery rhyme? The one Caterina made us memorize during training?”

Lucanis moved to retrieve his throwing knives. “What can I say? It’s catchy.” 

“That’s a word for it.” Illario glanced at the swaying guards overhead. “You know, if the Vints ever learn to look up, you’re screwed.” 

“They’d have to stop looking down their noses.” He narrowed his eyes. “Your tunic’s rumpled.” 

Illario flashed a sheepish grin. “You weren’t the only one tussling with guards.” 

“Tussling, huh?” Lucanis shook his head. “That’s a word for it.” 

“I’m happy to kiss and tell, but shouldn’t we do something about this?” Illario wrinkled his nose and nodded toward the sticky fluid seeping out from underneath the slain guards.

My nebulous vibe has always been that they’re basically the same age with Lucanis a tiny bit older, but IMMENSE younger sibling little shit energy from him in this moment fhdksfas glorious. Sheepish grin is also a very fun look on Illario I wish they’d leaned in a bit more on that capacity for him in-game. If he read as more calculatedly bumbling it’d change some of the scenes a lot in terms of feeling, I think 

— “Never known you to have a soft heart,” Illario muttered. 

Lucanis’s right cheek muscle twitched. “She won’t talk.” 

“This isn’t Antiva. We’re not heroes here.” 

“We’re not heroes anywhere, cousin.” 

Illario rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. The Venatori already have your name. If they learn your face—” 

“I’ll grow a beard.” Lucanis smirked. “They’ll never see me coming.” 

Illario’s frustration deflated. He grinned reluctantly. “That cavalier attitude’s going to get you killed.” 

Lucanis turned the key until the bolt unlatched. “It’s served me well so far.”

a) so it’s Illario who’ll refuse to take things seriously if he doesn’t feel like it, is it, Lucanis lol, b) ‘I’ll grow a beard’ :’) well. He did. Do you think Illario thinks about that every time he looks at him now, c) owie owie owie the foreshadowing 

I think being a hero is not important to Lucanis at all, being a professional/being able to do the job is. (Being the perfect professional buys him getting to do hero things when his heart calls him to, but the role of hero itself is clearly not a priority or something he particularly wants.) 

Lucanis clearly mostly works alone — I wonder how often Illario has come along before. We know he has pulled ‘soft heart’ moves before this, from in-game banter, but probably without Crow witnesses. How much does even Caterina know about? Might be some proof in the pile of how much he trusts Illario that he’s so blatant about it here. 

— Lucanis gestured for Illario to follow as he slipped through the entryway. They stood for a moment, quiet and still, allowing their eyes to adjust. Ten paces ahead, a stairwell materialized in the shadows. eir descent was slow going. Wrought iron made for easy creaks and groans. Each step was a test of patience—and balance. Lucanis went first, showing Illario where to place his feet.

And 

“He was my cousin, but we were more like brothers, really. Always getting himself into every sort of trouble. And I was always right behind him, you know? Always.” Illario’s voice suddenly grew thick with emotion. “Now there’s nobody for me to follow.” (From The Wake)

:) ahahaha. Ha. 

Both of them independently using the ‘but we’re more like brothers’ phrasing exactly the same way too. Alright. Okay. I’m fine

— All at once, the room became aware strangers were present. One by one, they moaned a horrifying chorus of despair. Lucanis stumbled back, his mouth dry. Something inside snapped. Death’s too good for this bastard. 

Illario touched his arm. Only then did Lucanis realize how quickly he was breathing. He closed his eyes. Remember your training , he told himself, and suddenly, he could hear the tapping of his grandmother’s cane, the hard elegance of her voice. There is no place for emotion in killing. It’s sloppy. File it down. Make it useful.

Illario being able to notice Lucanis being incredibly upset when he’s too overwhelmed to register/be aware of it himself and bringing him back to himself with nothing more than a touch to the arm is not devastating to me at all. It’s fine. In Inner Demons, even Viago and Teia fail to recognize that Lucanis is about to come completely apart psychologically, but again… I think Illario really does know his cousin better than anyone in a lot of ways. (And less than anyone in other ways, but hey, that’s family for ya lol) 

Make it useful, he repeated to himself. With slow, controlled breaths, Lucanis flushed the rage pumping through his veins until he could think clearly. 

I’m actually so happy they went away from focusing on the concept of wrath/passion as the touchstone for Lucanis’ character and angled it more towards the interpersonal issues he has with anger and with his sense of self than his rage at cruelty and injustice like this — that starts to step on the toes of Anders’ narrative space as a bisexual possessed disaster without bringing anything particularly new to the equation, which would have been a shame. Also as I’ve made no secret of I love what they are doing with him in the game SO MUCH I can turn him gently around to gaze at him forever 

— “What are you doing?” Illario whispered. 

“Breaking their shackles.” 

Illario stared. “That’s not the job.” 

“Fuck the job.” 

I think Illario is the only person Lucanis would ever say that in front of at this point. (See also: his point about honesty in their line of work towards the end.) This is a BIG admission from him, that there could be anything more important than the work Caterina raised them to — than Caterina’s approval and recognition. And what a horrible hurt that must be for Illario — ‘you’re willing to risk incurring Caterina’s wrath for total strangers on a whim, and yet not for me??’. (They both seem to recognize that death is secondary as a motivator here, Lucanis would rather die than let Caterina down, that’s the easy way out, and he’s putting that on the table frfr with the shit he’s pulling here.) Also part of what makes Illario fear Lucanis is rapidly spiralling/hurtling towards the edge of a cliff, probably, this acting on impulse is clearly not an everyday sort of thing for him. We know he’s made decisions of his own on jobs before, but probably not on this scale/in front of another Crow. 

There’s going to be room for so much ‘...why could you change for them and not for me? (why are they worth choosing to live for, and I wasn’t?)’ hurt on Illario’s side towards Rook and the Lighthouse crew after the events of the game. Maybe not as much on the Minrathous route, but even there. Like he doesn’t have much of a right to that after pulling the attempted fratricide card (that’s going to be the refrain of the rest of Illario’s life huh :’) entirely self-inflicted yet awful to have to live with; the Illario Dellamorte post Veilguard story), which only makes it worse to contemplate! Fun times in viddy games.  

— A+ body horror writing going on here, of course, hate every single thing about this thanks for asking!

—To his right, Lucanis sensed Illario readying his dagger. He gently grabbed his cousin’s wrist and shook his head. Illario gawked at him, his jaw clenched. 

The Wigmaker began the walk back toward the stairs. A groaning lament followed as he passed. When he was close enough to touch, Illario tensed—as if to lunge forward. Lucanis tightened his hold, his thumb finding the pressure point at the base of his wrist. The dagger fell from Illario’s grasp. Lucanis swiped it up before it clanged to the ground. 

What are you doing? Illario mouthed. 

Again, Lucanis motioned him to stand down. 

Once they heard Ambrose climb the stairs and close the door, Illario wrenched his arm free. 

“Have you lost your mind? We had him!” 

“He doesn’t deserve a quick death.” 

“Did you forget the mess you left upstairs? What do you think will happen when Ambrose finds his bodyguards slaughtered?” 

“Hopefully he panics. I want him scared.” 

“He’ll flee,” Illario asserted. “And this contract will be forfeit. Your life will be forfeit.”

Illario ‘cousin I am trying to have a fucking INTERVENTION with you here why am I more concerned about whether you live or die than you are!!!’ Dellamorte. His cousin is seemingly losing his fucking mind and playing with the one thing Caterina values above all and possibly would sacrifice even Lucanis for: the integrity of their House among the Crows. He’s seeing Lucanis determinedly, near methodically setting himself up for death no matter what path he ends up going down. This would be. Stressful. To have to witness, I imagine.

I do think Lucanis is passively suicidal in the way that he would vastly prefer to die on a job before he’d ever have to face the impossible choice that awaits them with the First Talon title back home — where he’s forced to let down either Caterina or Illario, possibly to spend the rest of his life on something he doesn’t want and might cost him his relationship with Illario, and is unable to deal with the thought of it so he just Avoids for all he’s worth. And he’s worth a lot that way. Which Illario clearly also recognizes and might be part of this freakout — having to watch your cousinbrother casually preparing to fall on his own sword for what seems like basically no fathomable reason (for these STRANGERS and not for me!!?!?!) and not be able to get through to him no matter what you try... you know. It’s kind of just a bad time all round for Illario too. He goes and chooses to do all the wrong things about it, of course, his talent for making everything worse in every way he possibly could is unparalleled (affectionate and derogatory), but I have a lot of empathy for where he’s coming from emotionally in a lot of ways. While you exist I’m nothing, and when you are gone I am nothing. And after you come back. Guess what. I’m still nothing. Imagine that. The Illario Dellamorte story. 

(Lucanis has also seen a lot of really horrible shit on the job lately, Venatori bullshit being what it is. That stuff must start to build up after a while, him finally snapping here makes a lot of sense.) 

— “Illario—” 

But the other Crow wasn’t finished. “I thought the plan was to have a few laughs, slit some throats—not release a demon swarm!” 

“Plans change,” Lucanis replied. His gloved palm covered the door handle. 

“Well, for the record, I preferred the other one.” 

“Noted.” 

Aw. This is my main proof that Illario does in fact understand the plea for company behind Lucanis asking him to come along on this job. Possibly better than Lucanis understands that himself, which could perhaps be. Exasperating to deal with — but he did also come along and with only light complaining etc. I umm. love them both. Some more musings about how Illario has clearly been the person most responsible for/involved in Lucanis having any kind of social life before Veilguard times: 

Comment Lucanis has around some more party districts of Minrathous in-game: “The nightlife was always more Illario's thing. He said I should get out more. Fulfilling Crow contracts didn't count.” (Illario is a terrible little fuckboy murderlad but consider what he’s had to deal with over the years…braver than any us marine etc. he’s been the one trying to convince Lucanis to take care of himself and maybe even have a good time at some point for like 20 years, a monumental task we know it takes a village/Lighthouse to make headway with. A man who has had to say ‘hey we should do something fun. No not a job with extra garrotting Lucanis Maker’s breath I was thinking a party or something’ more times than any of us have had hot dinners) 

+

Lucanis, trust me! Take this contract and we’ll be the toast of Treviso. Would I lead you astray? But I can imagine your face at that question. A better question, then: Would you truly leave me to my own devices? What would I do without you? Come, cousin, it will be just like last summer. I’ll buy the wine afterwards. —Illario

Letter we find in the room in Villa Dellamorte where it’s implied Illario has been staying since staging his little failcoup — it’s right across the hall from where he’s imprisoned his grandmother btw and I have a pet theory that it’s Lucanis’ old room. Illario Dellamorte what is wrong with you (so many things).

Illario has seemingly been drinking and reading this letter — this letter that Lucanis kept after receiving it, so Illario must have found it among his belongings at some point after his ‘death’ and has also kept it around ever since — in the same room where there’s a burned letter from Zara in the fireplace, even though the house is filled to the rafters with the Ventatori and trying to hide evidence of that connection is thus uh. Well it seems a bit late in the game to be worrying about that, is all I’m saying. It lends some credence to the idea that him crossing out Lucanis’ name in the family tree and scribbling ‘DEMON’ over it probably does carry some real emotional charge and isn’t just a tantrum/uncomplicated show of jealousy. 

So historically Illario has gone out of his way to spend time with Lucanis, and he seemingly is usually the one to reach out/take initiative in that? Lucanis clearly appreciates it — he kept that silly little letter (I am INCONSOLABLE about it btw), that comment he makes about the blight-beached boat in the Hossberg Wetlands that ‘Illario and I went on a sailing trip once. The boat ended up like that one, minus the blight (paraphrased yet very dear to me)’. Social connection is a need Illario has recognized in Lucanis before and offered even when Lucanis himself wouldn’t think to ask for it, is what I’m trying to say. I think. *sigh* listen you’ve gotten this far in the post hopefully you realize I am not entirely sure what I’m saying most of the time I’m trying to nail light to a wall here please have patience with me fhaskj

— Lucanis seems to navigate by sound a lot (which makes sense, considering how much of his job happens in the dark). Spite navigates mostly though a sense of (supernatural) smell. They’ve got a lot of eye imagery around them, but sight is not actually the most central sense for either of them. Nothing more coherent to add to that just observations haha 

— you ever think about the fact that despite everything caterina is ultimately unwilling to let go of Illario, and Illario is unwilling to let go of her. Me neither. 

— “Where are the bodies?” Illario asked. 

Effe shrank into herself. “I moved them.” 

“Not by yourself, you didn’t.” He turned to Lucanis, a smug sneer on his face. “I told you she’d talk.”

Proof Illario is not in fact an idiot and recognizes the basic logistics of a matter, and why his ‘oooh I think Zara must be back in Vyrantium already how inconvenient…’ ploy must be extra ‘...uh-huh cousin’ sus to Lucanis in Veilguard fhdjask. Trying to keep his terminator grandmother safely under lock and key while his cousin is back from the dead and possibly is now a demon with his face because of you and also you have to keep track of what lies you’ve told to what people must be incredibly stressful tbf I wouldn’t be keeping a particularly cool head either 

— Back down the hall, something wet slammed against the studded door. 

Effe’s bravado crumbled. “What was that?” 

“Take her,” Lucanis told Illario. “Find the others.” 

“Other what?” His eyes darted to the elf. “ Slaves? Absolutely not.” 

Lucanis continued as if Illario had agreed, “There’s a statue with a passage—like the one we used before. It’s not far. You should be able to escape in the chaos.” 

Illario blanched. “Did you not hear me? I said—” 

“Athima will help you. She’s the elf we met earlier.” 

“I don’t give a damn what her name is. I’m not—” 

“Once Ambrose is dealt with, I’ll meet you at the docks.” 

“Lucanis!” Illario shouted. “We are not revolutionaries.” 

Lucanis inhaled, his nostrils flaring. Illario was right. The Antivan Crows were assassins, not freedom fighters. Back home, people liked to romanticize, but Lucanis knew what he was. Still, his fingers twitched. 

“They are not responsible for their master’s mistakes.” He locked eyes with his cousin. 

Illario tried to remain resolute, but it was like touching hot steel. Sighing, he cursed and turned to Effe. “Come on,” Illario snapped. 

She glanced toward Lucanis. He gave her a reassuring nod. 

“My cousin may be a snob, but he’s true to his word.” 

“Are you? ” she asked, referring to his promise about Ambrose. 

“The Wigmaker will die tonight,” Lucanis affirmed. “But you have to go. It’s about to become very dangerous.” 

How much do you want to bet Illario is going ‘fuck it’s like trying to have a staring contest with Caterina herself’ on the inside right here, with all the emotions that may involve lmao. Lucanis is getting Illario out of there before shit really hits the fan too, notably — where Illario might see mostly lack of respect for his skills/what he could bring to the fight (there’s not none of that from Lucanis’ side either, but less than I feel Illario might be imagining), I think there’s a protectiveness, an unwillingness to risk Illario when the real madness shakes loose. *Lucanis voice* I mean it’s fine if I die obviously. but you don’t get to. get in the fucking car illario  

I think Lucanis adds the ‘My cousin is a snob, but he’s true to his word’ to reassure Effe that she can trust Illario/make Illario seem less scary/intimidating to her — both invoking the familial connection and the gentle dig to show that ‘see, I trust him, I’m not the least bit threatened by him, you don’t have to be either’. I don’t imagine ‘snob’ would be particularly upsetting to Illario either so while it is another datapoint in the grand tradition that is Lucanis-led public Illario slander, this might be one of the least egregious examples of it lol. (Implied lack of skill would hit way harder than anything about their social standing, I’m imagining)

— Lucanis has such a desperate need and desire to care for someone, as evidenced by how he reacts when he gets a whole Lighthouse full of people to do exactly that and springs into action like he’s been born for nothing else. He is that predator turned sheepdog all anxiety all the time he transparently projects onto Assan in that one banter with Davrin. That instinct has clearly been deep in him all this time, waiting for the right ground to grow in. To further his parallel with Davrin in so many things, there is a big part of him that is a protector as much as the part that’s a hunter, and it has finally found its place.

And like… can you imagine being Illario seeing that. Or this. Obviously it’s the right thing to do morally but on the petty small emotional and interpersonal level. Unbearable fhjksa.  

— Lucanis felt no sympathy. They were, all of them, Venatori supporters, who either knew what Ambrose was doing or chose to turn a blind eye to indulge their own vanity. Ignorance is bliss, not innocence.

Extremely interesting thing to think for someone raised in the Antivan Crows! I do think he actually holds himself to that standard, though — he doesn’t consider himself in any way an innocent. Even in situations where he is actually innocent, like how he feels about his time in the Ossuary. It’s easier for him to conceptualize that the demons/spirits in there were as innocent as anyone else trapped down there than to accept that maybe he didn’t deserve what happened to him either.

We’re also seeing the groundwork here for one of my favourite aspects of his character: the fact that he has an enormous, nearly unstoppable and instinctive on a kneejerk sort of level capacity for empathy — something he uses to great effect as a tool in his professional life to understand and predict his targets and the people around them, and which makes him an extremely devoted friend in his personal one — and yet is much more sparing with his sympathy. Those are in fact separate mental processes! And it’s fascinating to see someone in which the divide can be so clean and stark. (Not to keep beating this particular drum, but something deeply neuroatypical going on with this man long before the whole demon thing, he’s just found his niche and functions to the point of excelling in his particular field lol. Uneven skill profile: can intuit the thought processes of Tevinter fanatics or how word spreads through a community (as seen with the inn owner at the beginning) to a T from about two casual glances and find a way to stab anything up to and including a god cloud, cannot for the LIFE of him have an emotional conversation with his brother who he’s known all his life or understand what he’s thinking, because that all falls apart at the drop of a hat when he has to actually engage interpersonally himself and understand and interpret his own feelings on top as well in real time. Relatable. Is all I’ll say.)   

— The mage’s jaw pulsed. “You think you can come into my Imperium and act as judge and executioner?” Lucanis opened his mouth to respond, but Ambrose anticipated his answer. “Don’t say, ‘ Sì! ’” 

That earned a genuine smile from Lucanis. “Normally, there’s no judgment—only a contract. But for you, Ambrose, I made an exception.” 

The Wigmaker raised a brow. “Oh? What makes me so special?” 

“You upset my delicate sensibilities.” 

It was Ambrose’s turn to laugh. 

“I thought a Crow could stomach anything—for the right price.” 

Lucanis leveled the Wigmaker with a pointed look. “Not red lyrium.” 

“Morality is not static. Right and wrong are a matter of perspective.” Ambrose’s words were practiced and tired as if he had given the same reasoning a hundred times. 

Lucanis continued his advance, refusing to engage in the Wigmaker’s rhetoric. Nothing irritated him more than self-righteous excuses. If you’re going to do something terrible, just own it.

For your bounteous amounts of fuckery you have been promoted from the ‘contract’ category to ‘enemy’ category! Congratulations Ambrose it’s your special day. Also this makes a lot of sense with how he seems to feel about Solas too. 

— Hopelessness flooded the mage’s eyes. “One day, someone will turn your work against you. Only then will you have some semblance of the emptiness you’ve made me feel.” With his good hand, he gathered what was left of the wigs, hugging the locks to his chest. 

Lucanis experienced a twinge of disappointment, kindling for rage. He expected more fight from a high-ranking Venatori. He thought of the Wigmaker’s workshop, of the prisoners, their bellies full of poison, hanging like butchered pigs in stale, suffocating darkness. “Get up, Ambrose,” he growled. “You don’t get to do that—you don’t get to quit.” 

…

Panting heavily, Lucanis regarded the creature’s collapse without joy or anger. A vermilion fire engulfed the carcass, leaving nothing but a brittle husk. The other abominations stirred. 

“You have your vengeance,” Lucanis rasped. 

But his words did not reach them. They stared, snarling and ready. He squeezed the grip of his sword, preparing for another fight—then the pressure behind his skull eased. Without the Wigmaker, the demons had no anchor in the waking world. Gradually, the abominations disintegrated into ash. With the source of their anger gone, the spirits of vengeance returned to the Fade, allowing the dead to rest. 

Only then did Lucanis exhale and let relief wash over him. 

“Contract complete.” 

Again I’m glad they didn’t go with building on that in the end because I like what they did do with him so much better, but you can see here where they were laying the groundwork for more of a ‘righteous wrath’/outward facing central pillar for Lucanis’ character here. I’m on record as adoring the internal angle/more of the focus on disrupted self, and I think they also built really well on the subtextual family dynamics going on through this story, that’s a much more fascinating angle for me personally. This instinct for/longing to indulge in stubborn opposition sure does still exist in him, though, that’s such a fun part of him to make externalized as a whole little guy riding shotgun in his soul 

— That’s one way to make a point, Lucanis thought, coming to a stop.

Have I said enough about how much I love him. Because I do. One of his early very good ‘...wtf’ moments, so plenteous and marvellous in the game itself. (Not including all the body horror he’s actually looking at here b/c it’s truly disgusting and upsetting, excellent job as always Courtney Woods) 

— Sensing its weakness and spurred on by the demons of vengeance within, the other abominations began to surround it. 

That’s it, Lucanis smiled encouragingly. Good little demons. Turning his sword over in his palm, he cut across the roof.

Lmao. It’s interesting that Lucanis has a slightly… odd relationship with spirits/demons already here, for a non-mage and someone from an Andrastian culture — he’s able to think of them sort of as a natural part of an ecosystem that you can turn to your advantage if you’re careful and respect their unpredictable nature as part of the natural landscape as it were, and he extends his remarkable capacity for empathy to them in the way that he thinks about what their motivations and drives are in the same way he does with people — ‘you have your vengeance’. The baseline Chantry doctrine about spirits is basically ‘Always Chaotic Evil, Stay Clear’, but Lucanis seems to think of them as like… fellow predators. You know the way wolves and ravens will sometimes ‘team up’ and have symbiotic relationships? Kind of like that. Which is very him hahaha I mean sure Crows hire people for things all the time and if you can pay them in just doing your job anyway… it makes a lot of sense that this is the dude who’d think to earnestly strike a deal with a spirit despite the cultural narratives he was raised with, is what I’m getting at

— Lucanis reached the docks just before dawn. Knowing Illario as he did, he passed their ship’s allotted berth to check the nearby taverns. After a quick glance up and down the harbor, Lucanis settled on the Nug Queen purely because it was the cleanest establishment of the lot. When he entered, limping and bloody, the barkeep glowered. 

“Walk out the way you came,” the dwarf instructed. He had a tawny mustache that was twirled and waxed at both ends. 

“I’m looking for my cousin,” Lucanis explained. (🥺He’s literally just looking for his cousin…)

. . . 

Lucanis prepared to leave—then he heard Illario’s silvery voice flattering one of the waiters. 

“Oy!” the dwarf called out as Lucanis staggered toward the row of booths lining the left side of the tavern. “Exit’s that way!” 

His bellowing drew Illario’s attention away from the handsome servant. Upon seeing Lucanis, he jumped to his feet. “Andraste’s holy cabbage, you look like shit.” 

“Get that man to stop yelling at me,” Lucanis said. He plopped down in the booth, taking a moment to rest his eyes, while Illario soothed the irate proprietor.

‘Get that man to stop yelling at me, Lucanis said’ is my favourite line in this whole short story and always has been fhdskjfhsa it’s just so good. ‘Illario snooze that guy for me I never figured out how to do that non-lethally’. And Illario drops everything and DOES get to work on snoozing that guy. They’re headed right for disaster but I. adore them.  

Andraste’s holy cabbage HIGH on my list of extremely good Andrastian oaths btw thank you Illario. 

I wonder if this inn was supposed to be an in-game location at some point, it gets such a striking (and hilarious) description.

‘Silvery voice’ :’) well that got lost along the way haha. I honestly think the dialogue as written in the game could have landed differently with some changes in voice direction — if the actor wasn’t doing quite so much of an obvious Ze Evil Voice performance, the read on him might be slightly more ambiguous. (His immense susness would still be the same, of course, that’s just built in structurally, but I maintain that that storyline is more about chipping away at Lucanis’ denial that he’s been holding on to for so long down in the Ossuary until it has to crack open and crumble, less about the whodunnit of it all. We know who dunnit and so does Lucanis deep down basically from the first moment, I believe, he just can’t bear it. Not unlike the way Harding deep down knows what the red shade haunting her is, but is unable to accept and take that in until she confronts it, actually! Lucanis and Harding have some parallels going on in the deep there. People pleasers grappling with how to hold on to their healthy anger. Lovers of turnips. *Lucanis voice* Everyone likes turnips.)

Lucanis shambling around bleeding and absent-minded on post-adrenaline autopilot after that utter horror show (again I sheltered you from the body horror here but. Holy cannoli) until he finds the safety of Illario and then collapsing into the booth and almost nodding off b/c Illario will take care of it he knows how to talk to people, even though Lucanis never really relaxes he very nearly does here…………. You see the trouble is that the love is very much there. It just makes everything worse, but it is there. Always. And I’m afraid not even the Ossuary could change that, even when it changed everything else.  

Like… From Illario’s perspective Lucanis just sweeps in bleeding and limping with an imperious demand after shooing him away before — because he doesn’t have the inside view that the bluntness is because Lucanis feels safe with him. This is the sort of ‘pls solve this thing I don’t understand and find overwhelming and annoying’ a child extends to a parent/attachment figure ‘imperiousness’ to me, not an order from a superior. From which I think you can read some things about their dynamic growing up, aside from my ‘Illario has been 80% of Lucanis’ social skills most of their lives’ running joke lol. 

Both of them can form surface relationships with other people, mostly with transactional elements to them — Lucanis with the Villa Dellamorte staff growing up and people he meets and helps on the job, the ‘friends’ Illario sarcastically accuses him of making earlier in the story, and Illario clearly leaving a Necropolis-sized graveyard of shallow connections both romantic and otherwise behind him without ever getting deeper into it himself, gratification and a feeling of control and competence and entertainment all in one with no true intimacy behind it — but I think Lucanis is right when he tells Rook that Illario has been his only actual friend, before them (and the team, obviously). And for all his extroverted fuckboy antics, I think Lucanis is Illario’s only real friend too, I doubt any other relationship has ever reached him at the core but Caterina and Lucanis. They have been. SO weirdly socialized, they struggle so very badly to make real connections outside the family in their individual ways, feast or famine as their approaches are. And part of that is that in their childhood they’ve been forced to try to meet their emotional needs with each other in ways that were doomed to fail; things you should get from a safe parental figure and a group of peers, community, not your brother who’s basically the same age as you and just as traumatized and psychologically malnourished. Things they will not get from the Crows, a community that is also the constant threat that ate everyone else in the family, and not from Caterina, who aside from the general cultural Crow brutality in overseeing their upbringing is too busy negotiating with the ghosts of five children, eight grandchildren by making sure her last two grandsons survive, not realizing that it means she has not taught them the first thing about how to live. Or, perhaps as likely, that is just not particularly a priority to her, she values her control over them and thus perceived control of the future and continuance of House Dellamorte way beyond their happiness. (God it’s all such a real-feeling mess because the love is also there and real, it’s just that that makes everything worse and even more tangled. Family!!!!) 

Caterina has set up this dynamic of Lucanis as the golden child (he can do no wrong and thus is allowed to do no wrong nor want anything for himself she didn’t let him have; never making a mistake in life is something that is normal to demand of yourself and possible to achieve etc.) and Illario as the fuckup kid, the lesser one, we keep him around for sentimental value of course he’s family but he’s largely ornamental lol. (Sorry about your life, Illario. I’m not sure whether being her favourite or not being her favourite leaves someone with the worse deal psychologically long-term, but your situation is particularly undignified and thankless I will grant you that.) Illario is much more faithfully the Crow Caterina raised him to be, where Lucanis uses his competence and Caterina’s personal affection for him to get to keep and protect some of the parts of himself the role of Crow should forbid. And she STILL openly and unabashedly loves Lucanis more, while Illario cannot do a single thing that pleases her no matter what he tries. Lucanis at least has Caterina’s recognition and affection, what does Illario have? What does he have that could make him anything in this Crow eat Crow world? 

Which is why Illario needs Lucanis to choose him over Caterina with an intensity and psychological urgency that again, is more like a child needing a parent to put them first or treat them like they matter to develop the sense of a worthy self. (Or Caterina to choose him over Lucanis, but that’s never going to happen while Lucanis is still alive, and probably not even if he really were dead.) Lucanis can’t give him that, because he is unwilling and unable to give up either of the two attachment relationships he has left, even if it means he has to mangle and push down his own self to maintain those bonds. He will freeze to hold on to what little he has, even when what he has also hurts him and they are hurting each other. At this point in the short story I think Lucanis wants Illario to be honest with him the way Lucanis is honest with Illario (which unfortunately also means Illario gets some of his more unpleasant sides), and Illario can’t give him that because when he tries Lucanis straight up refuses to listen — can’t listen, because what Illario is saying would disrupt everything Lucanis is trying so desperately to hold together at any cost. Again, Lucanis asking Illario for something he then punishes or ignores him for actually giving. They’ve had to be everything to each other and they just can’t be. Not even through any fault of their own, that’s just how it works. And Lucanis starts to find his way out of that during the game, make other connections that do help, but I'm not sure Illario does or will. Don’t look at me and don’t speak to me I’ll never be okay again 

- “Drink?” his cousin offered, returning with two glasses and a bottle of wine. “It’s expensive.”

 Lucanis accepted with a faint nod. 

“Some say a bribe spoils the vintage,” Illario mused while pouring, “but I think it tastes all the sweeter.” 

“Effe and the others. Did you get them to—” 

“Yes, yes,” Illario snapped, “I did my good deed for the year.” 

The two paused to sip their wine. 

Lucanis rolled the liquid over his tongue. Bribery had not spoiled this bottle, at least. 

“Camille didn’t make it,” he said finally. 

“Who?” 

“The guard captain.” 

“Ah,” Illario said, nodding in recognition. “Well, that does free me from promises I didn’t intend to keep. And Ambrose?” 

“You have to ask?” 

“Fair enough.” 

THANK YOU, LUCANIS!!! THAT IS THE THING YOU SHOULD BE SAYING!!!! THANK YOU FOR GOING ALONG WITH MY NONSENSE THAT I JUST SPRANG ON YOU ILLARIO!!!!! I’M HAPPY TO SEE YOU AND THAT YOU’RE ALRIGHT WOULD NOT BE OUT OF ORDER PERHAPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD I love him more than anyone in the world but he’s infuriating sometimes especially when dealing with Illario fhdskja. You can tell how much he does trust/value Illario because this is the first time he relaxes a bit in the whole story — the mental image of Lucanis standing there with his huge puppy eyes dripping rivers of blood onto the floorboards in his fucking… batman ass getup like ‘🥺is my cousin here’ is so. It’s so much — but again you have to SHOW that somehow too Lucanis he can’t read your mind. I think it’s what he’s clumsily trying to do with telling Illario about the guard captain, a little bit — that’s an olive branch/trying to give Illario the peace of mind he just gave to him about the fallout of the mission, even if it’s a sadder outcome — but that’s also a sign that he’s completely missed on understanding what Illario would value here. (For Lucanis someone he flirted with being torn to ribbons five minutes later would be a big deal no matter what, probably, for Illario it’s all just business. Whomst??? Oh her lol.) Illario tries to fall into their pattern of companionable bullshit because that seems to be as much as Lucanis will accept from him as a show of care, but even that Lucanis breaks him off on, with what to Illario seems like doubting his skills/ability to carry out the job Lucanis handed him (Lucanis seems to want to know for his own peace of mind more than that, tho, from my vibe here; he did make a promise to Effe). 

“That his?” [Illario] gestured toward the dark stains on Lucanis’s coat. 

“Mostly.” 

His cousin’s brows drew together. “Do you need a healer? The ship will have one, but if you can’t wait—” 

“I’m fine,” Lucanis stated. 

“All right,” Illario said, topping off his glass. “We’ll just pretend that’s wine you’re dripping all over the table.” 

“What do you want me to say?”

How many times do you think Illario has had to rock up to Thedas emergency care with his cousin like ‘well he says he’s fine and to not worry about him, which in my experience is Lucanisese for ‘I’m about to bleed out and die on the spot’.’ As someone who has now been on that side of Lucanis’ ‘*actively bleeding from the eyes* I’m fine don’t worry about me’... y’know I’m not saying Illario was right or anything (he never is (affectionate) that’s his charm) but I do have a certain amount of sympathy one does start to lose one’s mind after a while. Yeah I am making silly jests and japes to avoid talking about this part because it’s so painful to me to contemplate thanks for asking. To be serious, though: being forced to watch Lucanis do this to himself, and then being asked to pretend he can’t even see it to enable it… that’s a big ask and one you should not be making of him, Lucanis. He’s not doing it intentionally, and it’s because he is also in so much pain over this that he has no idea how to handle, but it doesn’t stop it from being fucked up and unfair. 

‘I don’t understand what you want from me/I don’t know understand how to give it to you’ and ‘So we’re just going to pretend that nothing’s wrong and you’re fine and nothing needs to change, you can keep going like this indefinitely?’ 

Illario’s gaze grew hard. “How long are you going to keep doing this?” 

“Doing what?” 

“Caterina’s bidding.” 

The wine turned in Lucanis’s mouth. “Illario. Stop.” 

“If I was in charge, you wouldn’t have to do this anymore,” he cajoled. “You could quit.” 

Lucanis stared at his cousin. “I don’t want to quit.” 

Illario sat back. The distance between them suddenly felt much wider than a table. 

“Even if it kills you,” Illario whispered. 

“Death is my calling,” Lucanis stated, matter-of-fact. “Just as yours is to become First Talon.” He smiled, hoping to ease the tension, but Illario’s posture remained taut. 

“And if Caterina disagrees? If she thinks you’re the better man for the job—” 

“I don’t want it, Illario,” Lucanis insisted. 

“But you wouldn’t refuse.” 

“It’s impossible to refuse Caterina,” Lucanis admitted reluctantly. “Only prolong her, until she sees reason.” 

He knew it wasn’t the answer Illario wanted, but it was the truth. And in their line of work, honesty was hard to come by. 

Illario exhaled and lifted his wineglass in salute. “To reason, then.” 

“To reason,” Lucanis echoed. 

The two Crows clinked the rims of their glasses together, then prepared for the long journey home

Sobbing and crying and dying. So much stuff going on under the surface here. This particular conversation clearly haunts Lucanis for a long time after, it’s where most of the Illario lines in the Mind!Ossuary are taken from. ‘You’ll choose her over me every time, even if it means death and leaving me behind alone. No matter what I do I’m never going to be good enough for her or you, no one is ever going to choose me or put me first or think I matter at all’. Delicate overtones of ‘You love even the work more than you love me’. The more mundane layers of jealousy, of being the unfavorite, the Cain and Abel of it all. The I can’t grow when you always get all the sun.  

The distance between them suddenly feeling much bigger to Lucanis… in a way I think that’s Illario’s side of ‘it wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it was the truth. And in their line of work, honesty is hard to come by’. Just for a moment Illario drops the act, he stops trying to reach out to try to find him again, to do his ‘job’ in the relationship of smoothing it over and pretending everything is fine or at least sustainable, and the distance that has slowly grown between them over the years is laid bare. Lucanis would ignore that forever if given the chance, but here Illario finally refuses to play along and forces him to feel it.

After a whole story of Lucanis being ruthlessly competent at his job to the point that he turned it into a challenge run for extra style points just because he can (and because it would be quite emotionally convenient for him to die before he has to go back to Caterina and probably be named her heir), we see him try to (avoid having to) have ONE real conversation with someone he loves and he’s so awkward. He’s reduced to pleading for Illario to stop. (There are notably no please and thank yous between Lucanis and Illario — mutually, also notably  — but that ‘Illario. Stop’ carries big helpless ‘please don’t’ energy)

I’ve talked before about the way Lucanis speaks of Caterina like she’s a weather system, or an act of God — something that can’t be resisted, only navigated with immense care and a hope for the best fear for the worst attitude. He expects Illario to have reached the same conclusion, raised side by side and in the same household as they are… but he hasn’t. They are different people by nature and the roles within the family have given them different perspectives — on what’s possible, and on what’s sustainable. It’s. hey. It’s a lot. 

— God. can you imagine being Illario when Lucanis returns from the grave with some FUCKING RANDO Caterina dragged into the house five minutes ago, and not only is he, surprise surprise, already entrenched as their favourite and they don’t like Illario (they don’t even know all the reasons why they shouldn’t like Illario yet, they just think he has rancid vibes! Which to be sure he does he’s big enough to admit it it can’t be helped the rot will out!! but STILL!!!!!), on a Treviso saved run Lucanis also lets them waltz through all the locked doors in his mind that Illario has been clawing his fingers bloody against for decades while screaming for him within the span of a goddamn afternoon’s work of Fade shenanigans. and through all of it they are *throwing up noises* FLOURISHING together whether as friends or something else in a way that practically shows like a healing glow around him. Rook ‘steal your cousin-brother (you kind of lost the right to stay his favourite when you y’know. Murdered him)’ Dragon Age swooping in to end this poor pathetic little man’s entire career in the last way he hadn’t already managed to ruin it himself. You know what. I kind of get it, Illario, that would send me finally stark raving bonkers insane too. After all that I think I too would have marched over to the ancient elven mean girls like ‘sure I’ll join you in burning down the world if you spare me some gasoline I need to do something hugely self-destructive and unwise and take everything down with me’. Obviously Illario sucks in many many-faceted and inventive ways but holy shit dude. In his shoes could you sit through the café scene without choosing violence.  

— Do I have to put in a disclaimer here that even though I have understanding and empathy for just how shitty Illario’s situation is pre-game and am expressing myself with comedic hyperbole about it, what he ends up doing to Lucanis is obviously extremely bad not justified and not okay in any way etc. and I do not endorse cousin murder as a way to solve your interpersonal problems, nevermind entrusting the task to your known mad scientist girlfriend with blood magic benefits if you did mean for it to be a clean quick death. Lucanis did not deserve any of what happened because he’s an imperfect communicator and like any of us has some less than perfect interpersonal patterns, and he’s still an intensely loveable character to me with these flaws. Is that something I have to state for the record after writing 12k+ words about him like this. One would hope not but you know. I’ve been on this site for a long time now and I am carrying around some stress fractures of the psyche about it, at least this way I know I’ve done what little I could to make myself perfectly clear in this our how dare you say we piss on the poor public square lol 

— The hilarious/hopeful thing is that I don’t think this relationship is necessarily doomed because of the very specific ways Lucanis is nuts haha, he has not willingly let go of anything he loves one single day in his life and he’s not about to start now — if Illario can bring himself to take that outstretched hand and do his part of the work I feel there could be hope for it. Not for it to ever be what it was before, of course. But to be something, still. Once Lucanis recognizes some of his own shortcomings in the dynamic I think he would try to work on that on the Forgive route at least, Illario matters that much to him. 

— rare W moment for Illario towards the end here and we simply must grant him those: Zara clearly meant to merely use him as a means to get to Lucanis, but he did seemingly somehow manage to get her properly wrapped around his little finger for real eventually. Enough for her to be very bitter about it after death, at least. Listen Zara play too close to the fuckboy fire and get burned to a crisp puh-lease this man is a professional. If he’s your amatus why is he obsessed about what his grandma and cousin are going to think of him after this and killing you mid-sentence. Smh 

— god I have said so much in this (...obviously. my face is in my hands why am I like this this is my curse), but I’m still not sure I’ve managed to get at what I was actually like. trying to say. Oh well. At least this chunk of thoughts is out of my head now, maybe I’ll get some room in here for something else and maybe even sensible for a while (doubtful but one should live in hope) 

*in a 'that's a threat' kind of way. also well done for making it all the way to the end you're a real one