#pellinore warthrop i see your insides because you are just like me

[attractthecrows]

Dr. Warthrop: Will Henry I am going to hold you to my chest and bathe your hands in hot acid and then chop one of your fingers off. because I love you and you're the only thing keeping me human

Will Henry: yes sir. thank you sir. I love you too sir

Dr. Warthrop: I never said that

[attractthecrows]

LISTEN! i just finished isle of blood, can't find a copy of the last descent, but OH MY GOD their dynamic is so rich and juicy that i could milk a volume for years. If this is spoilers, sorry, i can link you to the internet archive copies that I just devoured.

but right now I'm thinking about Pellinore, who got so close to the truth in assuming that Will left their hotel in Africa to try and find *him*. He was so close! He'd finally understood Will's reasoning; he may not agree but let's be honest, they're nearly the same. But he failed to predict anyone would approach Will, or that their contact would leave him alone. And I can't help but wonder how much it ate him up before he finally found the courage to ask Will Henry if he'd used the missing bullets to kill the missing Russians, how much he wrestled with himself over the assumption that Will was looking for him when in reality Will was facing down death itself. Will was losing more and more of his childhood every minute, every day, for Pellinore. Out of a displaced fatherly devotion... that he more than took advantage of. It must hurt like hell, but he wouldn't know how to stop it; monstrumology is much more important than parenting. Until, like all things with these two, it's too late.

they love each other, they hate each other, they feel nothing for each other, they are filled with resentment, they wish the other was dead, they would kill to ensure the survival of the other, they can't live without each other, they can't live with each other, they are the best and worst of each other, they read each other's thoughts, they don't understand each other, they are narrative foils, they are mirrors for each other's reflections, they are the same, they cannot be more different, they are lonely little boys, they are hardened men, they have never been more honest than with each other, they keep lying to each other, they blessed each other, they cursed each other, they are a creator and his creation, they are one entity, they are God and Lucifer, Frankeinstein and his monster, Holmes and Watson, Penelope and Odysseus, they are each other's survival, they are each other's downfall