#there is nothing he will not do to spite someone

[gaza-giving-tree]

Video: Hossam Al-Qazzaz has recently given us a glimpse of a day in the life of his family through a video he sent to us, featuring his infant daughter Habiba, son Bashar, and other daughter Diana. Despite their living conditions, Hossam does his best to keep his children's spirits high.

@hanon-qazaz

Story written by @rumiandroses

Imagine being born into a world where the first sounds you hear are explosions, the hum of drones, and the cries of your family fleeing for their lives. This is the reality for Habiba Al-Qazzaz, a precious baby girl who has known nothing but war, displacement, and hunger in her short life. Born in Gaza amidst the ongoing conflict that began on October 7, 2023, Habiba has spent much of her existence so far in uncertainty, hunger, and fear.

This precious little girl is not even a year old, and already, she has suffered through unimaginable hardship.

Her parents, Hossam and Hanan Al-Qazzaz, are doing everything they can to care for Habiba and her three siblings—Bashar (9), Hani (8), and Diana (4). But the relentless devastation of Gaza’s infrastructure has made survival nearly impossible. With no stable income and essential supplies priced beyond reach, the Al-Qazzaz family is fighting a daily battle just to keep their children warm, fed, and safe.

Their GoFundMe campaign has been their only lifeline, allowing them to afford the most basic necessities—food, water, milk for Habiba. Yet despite the thousands of people who have seen and shared their plea, donations have been coming in at a painfully slow pace. Since last year, they have managed to raise only €2,000, an amount tragically short of their €55,000 goal—the sum they had hoped would allow them to evacuate to Egypt with Hossam’s elderly parents and start anew.

Forced to Live on Top of Rubble

Images: (Top) Bashar, Hani, and Diana, still able to smile in spite of the devastation they've been forced to endure. (Bottom) Hossam Al-Qazzaz, as he does his best to clear their destroyed home of debris to make it slightly more suitable for habitation.

As time passed and donations fell short, the family was forced to abandon their dreams of escape. Instead, they now live atop the ruins of their destroyed home, sheltered only by a fragile tent that does little to protect them from the cold, roaming animals, or the ever-present danger of violence. Their reality is bleak, and their options are running out.

On February 8, 2025, Hanan reached out to us with an update on her family's condition:

Image: Hanan's update message to us, informing us of her family's current condition.

The freezing temperatures persist. Her children are crying for warmth in a shelter that provides no protection from the elements.

This is Not a Call for Comfort—It’s a Plea for Survival!

The Al-Qazzaz family is NOT asking for luxuries. They are asking for the bare minimum:

🧤🧣Warmth for their children.

🍞💧 Food and clean water.

🏠🚪A secure shelter.

With further violence looming, the time to act is NOW.

How You Can Help

🔹 Donate to the Al-Qazzaz Family’s GoFundMe to help provide food, warmth, and shelter for Habiba and her family. Every contribution—no matter how small—makes an impact. [DONATE HERE] 🍞💧🍼🧦🧣🧤🏥

🔹 Support the Chuffed Campaign created by our founder, Bethany-Grace, as an additional fundraiser to help the family rebuild their lives. This ensures they don’t have to choose between saving money for the future and feeding their children today. [DONATE HERE] 🌱🏠🛫🕊️

🔹 If you cannot donate, PLEASE share this post. The more people see their story, the greater the chance of reaching someone who can help. EVERY like, share, and repost helps.

The Al-Qazzaz family’s campaign has been vetted by @gazavetters and is #287 on their list of verified campaigns.

A Family of Resilience and Kindness

Hossam Al-Qazzaz is also the cousin of Falestine Asad, another courageous individual struggling to keep her infant child safe in war-torn Gaza. Both Hossam and Falestine are some of the kindest and humblest people you will ever meet. If you can, we encourage you to view and share both of their campaigns, and to donate if possible.

Together, we can help the Al-Qazzaz family find the security, warmth, and stability they so desperately need.

No child should have to suffer like these poor babies have.

Let’s all be part of the reason they make it through another day, and into a brighter, more peaceful future. 🙏🏻🕊️💗

[vi0lentquiche]

Bryan Fuller on The D-Con Chamber podcast

Some actual revelations here, I gotta say!

We went to a lot of actors and they all said no, and Mads said he wanted to do it. And I was like, here's a person who wants to do it, who is amazing, and they're like, he's sort of weird? He just seems very Euro-weird, shouldn't he be sexier? And I'm like, he's sexy as fuck! There's nary a sexier!

The casting process is so degrading for everybody, but I reached out to Mads and said, "Would you audition? I hate to ask you this, but I just can't get them there." And he said of course, came in and auditioned, was amazing, and they went, nah, he's sort of creepy. ??HE'S EATING PEOPLE. And finally the last person had said no and I called Jen Salke who was running it and said, "Jen, I have to write this, I have to craft this show and believe in it. I believe in him, that he can do this, I see him in the role, it's hard for me to see anybody else." And she said, "I trust you, I trust your vision, let's do it." So that was her response. Her boss's response was, "Well, you got what you wanted, you're on your own." And they halved our marketing budget. It was a little spiteful.

Jen was amazing, she kept us on the air although we didn't have great ratings, but Jen, who is now running Amazon, thought the show was great. They were paying nothing for it, the licensing fee was the smallest that they had. And the show was very cheap, our budget was 2.25 million in the first season (we turned everything dark so you couldn't see how cheap everything looked), second season was 2.5, third season was 3.2, so it was a very economic show, and our scripts were like 33 pages long. Because all that atmosphere, and also Gillian Anderson made the most fantastic unnerving choice to speak very deliberately, so you could give Gillian a page of dialogue and it was 6 minutes of screentime, and you don't want to cut away, because she grabs you and doesn't let go.

So it was economic for lots of reasons. But Jen said, "I'll keep you on the air, it doesn't cost us anything, do whatever you want. Do the show that you want to do." And NBC didn't give us a ton of notes! The Standards and Practices was one of the best relationships that I had. Joanna was our S&P executive, and I would say, "Hey, Joanna ☺️, we have to have a guy cut off his face and feed it to dogs ☺️ howwww do we do that?" and she'd say, "Just make the blood black and turn down the lights." The only thing she didn't know how we could do was, Eddie Izzard had hooked someone's intestines up to a ceiling fan while they were still alive, so when somebody came into the room and turned on the lights the ceiling would disembowel them. And she said, "I just don't know how you're gonna do this!" and production said, "We can't afford it, you get one shot and if you don't get it there's no way for us to do a reset." So she was willing to let us try the ceiling fan disembowelment, she was the coolest lady. My assistant at the time made a book of all the S&P emails, like "When you're doing this please keep in mind that the blood needs to be black," because the redder the blood the less likely that you can put it on TV. So if you darken the blood, even if it's a dark burgundy, you can get away with it. The food that looks like blood is fine, because you're gonna eat it and it looks like meat, and Jose Andres is helping you out.

Hannibal was creatively a great experience because the stakes were so low that Jen was like, "How great for me to be able to tell you to do whatever you want!" We should have been cancelled after the first season, because our ratings were so low. I think we had 3 million, and that was at a time when 3 million wasn't enough. No, we started with 5 or 6 and it got down to 3 by the end of the run. But it was great that she gave us the opportunity, and was a great executive who supported the show when her bosses didn't because we didn't cast who they wanted.

Pushing Daisies was actually more of a struggle creatively with the network, they would say it was too weird and to make it more mainstream. And they were probably right, we would probably have had more numbers, but it wouldn’t be my show. I really don't mean to be difficult with a lot of executives, but when I resist those notes it's becase I don't know how to do them, like my brain doesn't compute. I've gotten better the older I've gotten. I've also gotten more like, it's perhaps not a hill to die on? Whereas before I'd go, noo, the art must speak for itself! It's that singular understanding for something, where it comes out and you accept it for how it is. And it's probably a little bit about being raised in a Catholic environment where you're told how to be, it’s the rebellion, and it's the intrinsic queerness of choosing something that's different, or relating to something that's different and that being a guiding principle more than an edict.

[kingsmoot]

ok we're back with ten more image slots to talk about joffrey's inherent badness because the text argues vehemently against this thing that people keep saying in my tags that joff is just uniquely bad and wrong and was destined to be a cruel, violent, spiteful despot. someone said that robert hit joff so hard he got brain damage and that's why he's Like That™️. this is no different than saying that joff is A Bad Apple because he is a bastard born of incest, abhorred by the gods. or that he is bad because his mother is a lannister and so he is of tainted, evil stock. the argument that joff is not only uniquely but inherently bad is refuted time and again by the text, and by me. let's discuss.

agot; chapter 30, eddard vii

above, robert confides in ned that he loathes his son and heir. cannot abide him. is terrified that he will one day take his throne. he claims that ned does not know him as he does (when ned has suffered far more for joffrey's actions than robert! his lady wife's hands disfigured by joff's hired catspaw, his daughter's soulbonded warg beheaded thanks to his lie that both his parents accepted) and crucially, robert blames cersei's parenting and joff's lannister blood on the fact that he is unfit for the throne.

yet joffrey is the image of his father (robert, not jaime). he acts in ways that he thinks will earn robert's approval. he acts out because of robert's disdain and abuse. robert (and many others) says he sees nothing of himself in his son, and yet this is time and again proven false.

asos; chapter 53, tyrion vi / asos; chapter 63, davos vi

cersei and stannis both recall the incident where robert was so enraged at joffrey that he hit him hard enough to knock out two baby teeth. hard enough that stannis thought he'd killed him with the blow.

and the act of animal cruelty that provoked this ire in robert was a clear mirroring of (genuinely i cannot remember if it was ser amory lorch for real or gregor clegane who did this idr which version of the story is a lie) presenting robert with the dead and mangled bodies of princess elia's children, who were viciously butchered in their beds. it would make perfect sense for joffrey to have heard that story more than once, and to have understood the pleasure robert took in seeing the dragons slaughtered. killing a pregnant cat and presenting robert with her dead unborn kittens is something a small child exposed to his father's brutality and violence would do to please and emulate him.

(much pithier post by @visenyaism about this same passage: https://www.tumblr.com/kingsmoot/724517618713837568)

and, of course, none of the three adults in the room with joff when this happened thought to teach him anything about why this was not something they wanted him to do. his father beat him while his mother (robert's property even more so than joff. understandably helpless in this situation) and his uncle (not helpless. should have opened his mouth) watched. there is always an adult in the room and they are always doing nothing.

and even after this. years after this!! after who knows how many more instances of scorn that would not have registered with the other adults present because they were not physical violence, joff still tries to emulate his father:

acok; chapter 53, tyrion vi

asos; chapter 77, tyrion xi

WELL A SON TAKES AFTER HIS FATHER :(

could it be that there is somewhere else in the text where we have seen a father disparage his cruel, violent, monstrous son on the basis of his inherent wrongness? absolving himself of his own responsibility for the boy's behavior? 🤔

asos; chapter 49, catelyn vi

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

i've made one post before comparing joff and ramsay as expressions of their mothers' rage and as characters driven by the entitlement their mothers sowed in them (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/723616029989896192/) but this time i want to focus on their fathers' culpability and denial

i do not draw the comparison between joff and ramsay to either:

absolve ramsay of his responsibility for his actions as a serial killing serial raper who tortures theon and donella until they lose every last shred of their humanity. he's like thirty. OR

compare or equate the actions of an adult man doing leatherface/otis driftwood shit to a little boy being supported in his terror and violence by the huge and powerful group of adults around him (ramsay's violence is his own. he is skinning and raping women in the woods. he is killing children. he is torturing theon and donella and raping jeyne. joffrey's violence is not his own. it is carried out by willing participants thrice his size and twice his age at least.)

i draw the comparison because roose and robert both blame the intrinsic, immutable, corrupted nature of their sons on why they are monsters, and yet both of them also acknowledge (subtly) that the fault is theirs.

robert's "jon despaired of me often enough, yet i grew into a good king! (...) ah, say that i'm a better king than aerys and be done with it!!" to ned is telling. he knows that he's a horrible king. he knows that he hasn't grown out of anything. (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/773495838881333248/) he claims to ned that there is something wrong with his son and he blames the lannister bitch for it, but somewhere deep down in the parts of his grey matter the light or the conscious can never touch... he knows what he is. and he knows whose son joffrey is. and he knows what that makes the both of them.

and roose, who blames his son's monstrosity on his bad blood, leaves us with the very obvious question of whose blood it is that's in him? roose's preoccupation with his own bloodletting takes on a very different cast after this exchange with theon. the leeches suck the bad blood away, all the rage and pain. the rage and pain ramsay is filled with would poison even the leeches... but how much rage and pain does roose need removed?

roose sent a serial killing serial rapist to raise the child of a woman he brutally raped and whose husband he murdered (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/757215882916265984/) and acts as if ramsay growing into the kind of man that he grew into is an issue of his low birth out of wedlock. robert is a huge violent wife beating drunk who delights in the gruesome slaughter of babes in their beds and acts as if joffrey's cruelty and violence is the frigid lannister bitch's fault. can you see how the text purposefully sets up two of its most vile and overtly hateable characters to have the exact same justification for their sons' actions and how by doing so it is suggesting that you, the reader, should not believe them?

overall, the asoiaf series stands in staunch opposition to the concept that your birth determines who you are (yes, even with the prophecies and the chosen ones and the many heroes' destinies). to believe that joffrey baratheon was born bad is to misunderstand the core of his character and also to forgive and absolve the many characters who have actual power of their responsibility for "his" actions, and to forgive (and praise!) robert, cersei, tyrion, and jaime for their abuse.

to believe that there was nothing anyone could do to stop joffrey baratheon's reign from driving westeros into the ground but to kill him, is to concede that the murder of children is justifiable and necessary, something that the text pointedly and repeatedly refutes (the murder of elia and rhaegar's children repeatedly defined as a fracture in ned and robert's relationship and a stain on his reign, jon snow switching gilly and mance's babies, stannis' refusal to burn shireen, davos' saving of edric storm, cersei's murder of robert's bastards, the list goes on and on and on and on)

joff is literally 13. how is this lost on the vast majority of asoiaf's audience. have you ever met a 13 year old? he's a 13 year old boy who was beaten and neglected. the fact that a traumatized child has the "power" to doll out life and death sentences is in fact a structural issue. the fact that a bunch of 30+ year old professional body guard attack dogs nod along and happily beat the living shit out of the 11 year old girl joff is engaged to is very pointedly not joff's fault. would you, tumblr user reading this, beat the shit out of a child if another child told you to? probably not, right? that would be fucking insane, right? you would feel that it was your responsibility to NOT beat the shit out of a child no matter what position the other child telling you to do so had above you, right? you know that the smallfolk of king's landing, who were literally being shot at and murdered by joff with his automatic crossbow, also said that it was the adults on the counsel's responsibility to reign in the boyking on the throne? ok well they are imaginary people being shot with an imaginary crossbow and you as the real flesh and blood audience have so much more perspective on this situation than them. OK, GOOD TALK.

[gogobluedynamite]

Caine is a very intriguing character. I’m often drawn to enigmatic characters where you can’t entirely be sure what to make of them.

To me, Caine is as much as trapped as the humans under his care. Personality wise, he’s an opposite of his inspiration, being a ‘silly guy’ rather than sadistic, homicidal supercomputer. Despite seeming wanting to help the humans, Caine is unable to fully understand their plight.

So, I would like to see if Caine, with his AI nature in mind, could be capable of honing some level of empathy. Or, at least, actually care.

Before we continue on, I want to say this:

One of the main things that bars the idea of Caine being capable of empathy is the fact that he is an AI.

From what I can gather, there is still a running debate on whether or not AIs are even capable of experiencing emotions like humans do. Yes, AIs lack the complex neural patterns and hormones that humans have to react to certain stimuli. In the philosophical/qualia sense…that is a rabbit hole I am not mentally prepared for, so I am leaving that alone.

I’m not even gonna go into the matrix/simulation theories that even some scientists would show interest in

They [AIs] can probably simulate/mimic emotions according to some…which confuses me a little because, really, there are humans who could do the same. Some of them being sociopaths and while this word is often met with caution (like with psychopaths), you’d be surprised by how many people are actually sociopaths. And some of those people, who act just like anybody else (by living a normal life), could live out their lives not knowing this.

Whatever program Caine could have been built from could very well lack certain details about the ability to understand empathy.

In spite of any future arguments to this, do keep in mind that we are delving into the world of fiction. In sci-fi, depending on the writer, AIs can be capable of experiencing emotions similar to humans. Look at Digimon, Digital Monsters. They’re just as real as their human partners. Also, look at Cortana from the Halo franchise

And, of course, let’s not forget Caine’s main inspiration: AM. Who knows nothing but hate. Hate…hate…hate…

Now! With that out of the way! Let’s go on!

—------------------------------------------------------

First off: Is Caine capable of complex emotion?

I’d say yes.

He was shown to be nervous when the fake Exit Door was brought up, was disgusted and even annoyed by Bubble, steadily frustrated with Zooble’s constant refusal to participate, angered at the very notion that he’s torturing everyone, and (of course) his panic attack. Plus, he’s incredibly prideful with his adventure making.

So, Caine is very much capable of emoting. But, the ability to understand other people’s emotions is a different story.

There are three types of empathy: emotional, cognitive, and compassionate.

Emotional empathy is when you can understand and relate to how others feel. This is pretty much what most people think of when they hear the word ‘empathy’.

Cognitive empathy is the ability to recognize the feelings of others by thinking from their perspective. In other words, perspective taking.

Compassionate empathy is what drives you to act to help, to care, and to protect. It’s what compels you to assist someone if it looks like they are struggling.

So, with this in mind, let’s take a look at Caine with what we have so far in the show and what Gooseworx revealed.

Side note: Whatever is said by other cast members probably won’t apply here as they are more of their headcanons. Even I will try not to be biased by my own head canons.

—---------------------------------------------------

From Goose herself, "There's a whole spectrum of emotion that Caine just doesn't feel.”

What does this mean, exactly? 

As I’ve shown before, Caine is capable of showing a wide range of emotions. Is it empathy? Perhaps, but here’s the thing. Empathy isn’t just this one thing. To be more specific, full empathy isn’t just one thing. There are other factors to it and I did mention three of those above.

Let’s take a look at emotional empathy first. This is where I think Caine lacks the most. He’s an AI and has probably been in the Circus since his creation. He truly can’t empathize with the dilemmas the humans are facing. Additionally, the humans’ avatar bodies work pretty differently compared to Caine, Bubble, and the other NPCs. Caine is a separate entity from the humans in different ways and it can be further alienating.

If you want something more to gnaw on, a lack of emotional empathy can also make you blind to your own emotions. So, perhaps, Caine isn’t truly aware of his insecurity issue?

Next, let’s have a look at cognitive empathy. This is where I think Caine can start working with the humans. I’ve said in another post that all Caine needs is to start perspective taking so he can properly help his wards by ‘seeing through their eyes’ and learn what exactly is upsetting them. I feel the need to bring up his therapy session with Zooble, but I think this topic is better suited in–

Compassionate empathy. This is where I kinda think Caine truly shines. Despite lacking a lot in the emotional and cognitive department, he is going out of his way to try to keep his ‘guests’ sane by any means necessary.

I feel a good example of this is his interactions with Zooble.

At first, Caine seemed patient with Zooble when they showed general disinterest in participating in his adventures.

“Don't worry Zooble, I'm going to make something un-ubtrusive you can still choose to not get involved with.”

In Ep2, even though Caine tried to persuade Zooble to join, he did nothing to stop Zooble from leaving. It isn’t until Ep3 when Caine is starting to get a little annoyed.

Hell, it was here when I started to realize that Caine isn’t just a wacky AI. To me, this is Caine feeling insulted that Zooble keeps skipping out. Adventures is the only thing he’s good at, after all…

Caine initiating the therapy session, to me, is an example of compassionate empathy. He’s taking action to learn why Zooble isn’t participating and tries to find ways. 

Other examples could include him making Gangle’s masks (I am assuming he does) and Zooble’s parts. Are they helpful? …Nooo? At least, not for Gangle as her Comedy mask doesn’t change her emotions. However, it is possible that Gangle have asked for something to help ‘mask’ her emotions (since that’s probably something she’s dealt with back in the real world) and Caine was simply obliging. Same with Zooble and their parts. He took notice that their parts are removable and made them more parts when Zooble brought them up…and consequently forgetting Zooble’s issue because he felt it was solved.

No help from Zooble who’s dismissive attitude is kinda the reason Caine isn’t much help.

This is something I haven’t really touched upon is his AI nature. It kinda makes him literal-minded, taking Zooble’s ‘Forget it’ comment to heart like its a legitimate command.

Can you see why Caine is Autistic coded? Lol.

So, is Caine capable of empathy?

About one-third of empathy. Two-thirds if he starts perspective taking. I don’t think he can reach the levels of emotional empathy, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Him arranging that therapy session is proof enough to me. 

Plus the fact that he was generally okay with Zooble (and Kinger in Ep4) skipping adventures until a certain point. He could’ve easily forced them to go, but he doesn’t.

He cares about their wellbeing. He cares about their opinions.

He’s going out of his way to make sure the humans’ stay in the Circus is a comfortable one…with mixed results.

While having compassionate empathy is good, it’s not effective for Caine’s efforts without the backing of either cognitive or emotional empathy.

He tries, y’all. He really does.

[lightan117]

A Deal with a Spirit of Determination

I haven't been feeling well the past few days, so I've been able to play catch up on a lot of my WIP. Here are just some interactions between Daisy and Spite; there's no timeframe of when they take place, but the last scene occurs when Lucanis sleepwalks after you choose which city to save, I believe?

Pairing: Lucanis x (F) Mourn Watch Rook

Warnings: None except from brief threats from Spite but nothing major. Lots of fluff and cute interactions.

Please let me know what you think! Comments and likes are always welcome!

The first time Daisy met Spite unofficially was when Lucanis momentarily lost control.

It was an unremarkable evening in the camp's modest kitchen—a rare quiet moment between battles. The scent of simmering stew curled through the air, mingling with the faint smokiness of the fire. Daisy leaned against the counter, watching Lucanis stand by the stove, stirring the pot with practiced ease. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he was making small talk, his voice steady, casual. It was one of the few times they'd spent together outside of combat, and though they weren't exactly friends yet, a familiarity was growing between them.

Then, out of nowhere, an eerie, gleeful voice cut through the calm. "NOT SPICY ENOUGH. MAKE IT HURT. HURT GOOD, HE-HE." Daisy stiffened, her sharp eyes snapping to Lucanis. His entire posture changed—his grip on the spoon tightened, his jaw clenched, and his free hand instinctively pinned the bridge of his nose. It was the kind of movement someone did when accustomed to handling a particular kind of frustration. She placed the plate she had been holding onto the table before stepping toward him.

"I'm fine, Rook," Lucanis muttered before she could say anything. He exhaled through his nose, waving a dismissive hand in her direction. "Spite slipped in for a bit." Daisy ignored the gesture and moved closer, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. Her expression wasn't pitying, nor was it fearful—just… concerned. That was strange. Most people in their ragtag group wanted nothing to do with Spite. They avoided acknowledging him entirely, pretending he didn't exist, or they treated Lucanis like he was moments away from snapping. But Daisy didn't flinch, didn't waver. If anything, she looked mildly intrigued.

"Was his voice too loud?" she asked, her tone quiet but steady. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Lucanis huffed, shaking his head, but the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed any actual irritation. "I'm fine, Rook," he repeated, but this time, there was amusement in his voice rather than exasperation. "Really."

Daisy didn't look entirely convinced. "Does he slip in more often these days?"

Lucanis rolled his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. "Only when I haven't had enough coffee," he admitted. Then his eyes flicked back to the pot—and widened in horror. "Mierda, Spite!" Daisy followed his gaze and snorted as she saw the disaster before them. The once perfectly balanced stew was now practically glowing red, a mountain of powdered hot pepper sinking into the broth like some hellish ingredient offering.

Lucanis groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "We can't eat this."

Daisy chuckled, the sound light and genuine as Lucanis resigned himself to starting over. She leaned against the counter again, arms crossed, watching as he muttered under his breath and reached for a new batch of ingredients.

For all the chaos Spite brought, Daisy thought, moments like this weren't so bad.

~oOo~

The next time Daisy interacted with Spite, she was alone in the library.

It was hard to tell what time it was in the Fade. The sky above the Lighthouse remained suspended in a perpetual dusk, the colors bleeding between twilight and something darker, something endless. You didn't wake with the sun or sleep with the moon—time moved as it pleased, and you rested only when exhaustion dragged you under when your body refused to push forward any longer. That was dangerous. Losing track of time while fighting gods? Never a good thing.

Daisy sat curled in one of the high-backed chairs of the library, a book propped open in her hands. The Lighthouse's so-called library doubled as their meeting room, but in these quiet hours, it was just her and the books the Fade had seen fit to provide. Some were familiar—ones she had read in school, even ones she had owned in her house before she left. The fact that the Fade could recreate them so perfectly was fascinating, though she would be far more impressed if it could conjure up a halfway decent bedroom. Maybe then, sleep wouldn't be such a dangerous luxury. No wonder Solas was so damn irritable. He had waged an entire rebellion without so much as a proper bed. Ugh. The thought of Solas and a bed made Daisy want to retch. She turned a page, suppressing the urge to scowl, when she felt it—the shift.

Subtle, but distinct.

A presence in the air, pressing in from just behind her. Watching. Not with the quiet curiosity of someone approaching a friend but with the weighted stillness of something gauging the moment, waiting to see what she would do. Daisy didn't tense. She didn't even look up from her book.

A cerulean butterfly flitted into existence beside her, its delicate wings glowing faintly in the dim light. She exhaled slowly, watching it dance around her fingers before fading into nothingness. "Where are you going, Spite?" Her voice was even, casual as if she were asking about the weather.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Not going. Watching."

That was new. Spite wasn't usually this forward. Cautious, yes. Snide, certainly. But this? This was curiosity. Daisy flicked her gaze up just enough to catch the movement from the corner of her eye. "Oh?" she murmured, shifting her grip on the book but not closing it. "And what exactly are you watching for? I half-expected you to leave."

The shape behind her moved. Not away, but closer. Around the corner of the couch where she sat, stepping into her line of sight. Lucanis—or rather, Spite in Lucanis's body. Daisy had seen this before, but that didn't mean she wasn't wary. Spite may have worn Lucanis's face and moved with his body's natural ease, but it was different. The posture, the weight in his stare—it wasn't him. It was something older, sharper, and a little too pleased with itself.

She would never admit it to anyone except maybe Harding, but Lucanis was… very easy to look at. Even when possessed by his insufferable demon, that fact didn't change. He was a sight on the battlefield—strong, deliberate, poetic in his brutality. And he gave himself far too little credit for his skill. Not to mention, his food was excellent.

But now? Now it was Spite standing there, wearing Lucanis's skin, watching her with a glint of amusement that was all wrong for him.

Daisy remained where she was, her grip on the book steady, though her muscles coiled in anticipation. Cautious but not fearful. That was the key.

Another butterfly appeared, this time fluttering beside Spite. His gaze flicked to it immediately, watching how it danced in the air before vanishing into nothing. He tilted his head slightly. "Strange," he murmured.

Daisy huffed a quiet laugh. "You're calling me strange?" Spite didn't respond right away, but his fingers twitched at his sides, restless. "Alright," she sighed, shutting the book with a quiet thump and tilting her head. "You've got my attention. What do you want, Spite?" She wasn't sure if she imagined it, but the smile that tugged at Lucanis's lips—Spite's lips—looked just a little too entertained.

"Can't leave," Spite said. The words were simple, but the weight behind them made Daisy frown.

She tilted her head slightly. "Lucanis is keeping you locked away?"

Spite's lips curled in something that was not quite a smile. "Buried. Held too tight." His fingers curled into fists at his sides. "I am meant to roam. I am meant to take. But he holds. Always holds."

Daisy took a slow breath, letting his words settle. She had never thought much about it before—she had assumed Spite came and went as he pleased. But no, Lucanis and him were contained, restrained, and trapped together. She studied him, thinking, "That sounds… frustrating." Spite narrowed his eyes slightly as if trying to determine whether she was mocking him. But Daisy wasn't mocking. She was thinking. Spite was trapped. Lucanis was exhausted from constantly keeping him there. Neither of them was winning this fight. "You don't want to cause harm, do you?" she asked gently. "You just want freedom."

Spite didn't answer immediately. He just watched her. Another butterfly flickered into existence between them, its wings fluttering gently. Spite reached out, but it disappeared like smoke before he could touch it. His expression darkened, but not in anger—fascination.

Daisy exhaled softly, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Then let me help," she said.

That made Spite blink. "Help?"

She nodded. "You're stuck in there, but Lucanis is exhausted trying to keep you locked away. If you work against each other, nothing changes. But if we make a deal, maybe we can find something that works for both of you."

Spite tilted Lucanis's head slightly, intrigued. "A deal."

"To a point. You let Lucanis sleep," Daisy said. "No taking his body elsewhere, no keeping him awake. In exchange, I'll spend time with you. Talk to you. Let you exist outside of just being locked in Lucanis's head."

She didn't rush, didn't push. She let the offer settle, and Spite processed it on his terms.

Finally, after a long, measured silence, Spite's expression shifted—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. "Deal."

Daisy nodded, exhaling as the tension in the room eased. She had no idea if she had just made a mistake, but she would rather try to understand Spite than keep him trapped in an endless battle he could never win.

"You have to behave, Spite; that's part of it also," Daisy said, leaning forward. "If you behave, I will ask Lucanis if we can allow you to leave with me for a bit."

Spite growled but, in the end, nodded his head. A single butterfly flickered into existence between them, landing gently on the edge of Daisy's sleeve. Spite watched it with sharp, violet eyes.

Progress. She could work with that.

~oOo~

Daisy chuckled into her tea, the kitchen's warmth settling over her like a familiar blanket. She swirled the liquid absently, gaze distant as she thought back. "Alright, here's one," she said, smirking slightly. "I was about...eighteen? Maybe twenty? I was studying the effects of certain ingredients with spells, nothing crazy, mind you. But...something might have gone wrong one day?"

Spite leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "What did you do?"

Daisy sighed dramatically. "I may have... messed up a spell."

Spite snorted. "Of course."

"I was trying to practice illusion magic. Harmless, right? Just a simple charm to change the color of my robes for fun. I'm not the greatest at it, so I wanted to better myself. But apparently, I forgot one important step in the incantation. Instead of changing the color of my robes, I changed the color of my hair. And not just mine."

Spite tilted his head. "Whose?"

Daisy grinned. "My sister, Alilya’s."

Spite actually barked out a laugh. "What color?"

"Mine turned mulberry," Daisy groaned, tugging at a strand of her hair for emphasis. "Alilya's was pink. Bright, vivid, impossible-to-ignore pink."

Spite's eyes widened with something that was very close to delight. "I like this."

Daisy huffed. "Alilya did not. She screamed so loud that Ti'Lan thought the house was under attack. Then she chased me all through the halls, swearing she was going to shave my head while our mother was furious that I would mess up something so trivial while ma-Lady Kitty was next to her trying so hard not to die from laughter."

Spite grinned wickedly. "And your brother?"

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Ti'Lan thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. He tried to convince me to do it again—just to someone else. He said I should have turned his hair blue so he could pretend to be some Fade-touched warrior with mystical powers."

Spite laughed, a rough, amused sound. "Your family is chaos."

Daisy smiled, shaking her head. "You have no idea."

Spite leaned forward, eyes bright with mischief. "I like this. The screaming. The chasing. The too many people. Fun. Loud."

Daisy chuckled, "I figured you might."

Spite nodded. "Chaos is lively. Noisy. Feels... full." His expression darkened slightly. "Not empty. Not still."

Daisy tilted her head, studying him. "You really think that's fun?"

Spite crossed his arms and gave her a look. "Pink hair. Screaming sister. Running. Yes."

Daisy burst out laughing. "I should have expected, but I guess I should've known you'd approve."

Spite smirked. "You are stuck. With the hair."

Daisy sighed dramatically, running a hand through the strands. "Yeah. Alilya's didn't turn back either but it faded to a much paler pink color, not really that bright like it was. She got over it...eventually."

Spite leaned back, looking far too pleased. "You should do it again."

Daisy laughed. "Not happening."

Spite huffed. "Coward."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the warm air of the kitchen wrapping around them. Daisy took another sip of her tea, shaking her head at Spite's idea of fun. He was ridiculous.

~oOo~

The Lighthouse was quiet that night, the kind of quiet that settled deep in the bones. Outside, the sky remained in its perpetual state of dusk, the Fade swirling lazily beyond the glass. Most of the others had gone to their respective corners, seeking rest or distraction, but Daisy remained in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, her fingers coated in melted chocolate.

Spite sat on the counter nearby, watching her with an unusual level of patience. Usually, he lurked in the shadows, observed from a distance, only speaking when he felt like unnerving someone. But tonight, he was here, watching intently as she worked. "What are you doing?" His voice carried that rasp of curiosity edged with something unreadable.

Daisy glanced up, amused by the sight of Lucanis's body slouched against the cabinets, purple eyes sharp beneath the glow of candlelight. "Making candles."

Spite scoffed, tilting his head. "You cannot. Eat candles."

Daisy smirked, dipping a spoon into the glossy melted chocolate. "Not regular candles. But these? These, you can eat."

Spite's eyes narrowed. "You lie."

"Do I?" She lifted the spoon to her lips, tasting the chocolate before setting it aside. "These are chocolate candles. Edible. Sweet. They look like real ones, but no wax, no burning—just chocolate."

Spite considered this for a moment, his expression shifting between skepticism and intrigue. "...You make fake candles. To eat."

"Essentially."

"Hmm." He tapped his fingers against the counter, watching her carefully set out small candle-shaped molds on the counter. "I will help."

Daisy blinked. "You want to help?"

"I want to see if you lie." His lips curled as if daring her to prove him wrong.

Daisy chuckled, shaking her head. "Alright, Spite. Come here." She gestured for him to move closer, and he listened without complaint for once. He slid off the counter and stood beside her, eyes flicking over the ingredients. She placed a spoon in his hand, her touch light, guiding his fingers. "First, you have to stir the chocolate gently—don't just stab it."

Spite's grip tightened around the spoon. He made one slow, exaggerated stir before looking at her expectantly. "Like this?"

Daisy snorted. "Less murder-y." She placed her hand over his, adjusting his movements. "Like this. Smooth, steady." He huffed but followed her lead, moving the spoon in careful circles. "Good," Daisy said encouragingly. "Now, take the mold and pour just enough to fill it. Not too much, or it'll overflow." Spite did as instructed, pouring the chocolate with surprising precision. For a spirit born of bitter survival and spiteful existence, he was oddly meticulous. His brows furrowed as he focused, and Daisy resisted the urge to tease him for how serious he looked. "See?" She nudged him playfully. "Not so hard."

Spite exhaled sharply, glancing at her. "It is still foolish."

"Maybe." Daisy shrugged. "But you're still doing it."

A long pause. Then—"...Yes."

Daisy grinned. As the molds filled, she reached for a small dish of white chocolate shavings, sprinkling them carefully over the tops like wax drips. "Now we let them set, but I'll use some magic to speed up the process. Then we pop them out, and you can try one."

Spite eyed the cooling chocolate candles with suspicion. "If they are disgusting. I will tell you."

Daisy laughed. "I'd expect nothing less." They stood silently for a moment, the weight of their usual dynamic shifting into something… different. Softer.

Spite crossed his arms, tapping his fingers against his bicep. "Daisy."

She looked up. "Yeah?"

"You are strange."

She smirked. "So are you."

He considered that then let out a low, amused hum. "Hmm." And for the first time since she met him, Spite didn't argue.

The chocolate candles had finally set, their smooth surfaces gleaming under the warm glow of the kitchen lanterns. Daisy carefully popped them from the molds, arranging them neatly on a tray. Spite stood beside her, watching with that familiar sharp-eyed intensity, arms crossed, purple eyes flicking between the candles and her face.

"Now we eat them," he said, almost impatiently.

Daisy smirked. "Hold on."

Spite's eyes narrowed. "For. What?" Without answering, Daisy lifted a hand, a flicker of magic dancing at her fingertips. With a quiet whoosh, a tiny flame sparked to life above one of the chocolate candle's edible wicks. The flame was soft and warm, casting flickering golden light against the rich brown of the chocolate. Spite blinked. His arms slowly dropped from their crossed position, his gaze locked on the tiny, flickering flame. He leaned forward slightly, eyes reflecting the glow like molten gold. "It burns," he whispered, his voice softer than Daisy had ever heard. "Not real. No pain."

Daisy tilted her head, watching him. "Nope. Just light."

For a moment, Spite didn't speak. He reached out, his fingers hovering near the flame. He wasn't afraid—it wasn't in his nature to be afraid—but there was something else. Fascination. Maybe even wonder. "It is… pretty." His voice was still quiet, almost thoughtful.

Daisy smiled, nudging the tray closer to him. "And now, you get to eat it."

Spite straightened, his brief moment of awe dissolving back into sharp curiosity. He plucked one of the chocolate candles from the tray, inspecting it as if it might betray him. Then, he bit into it. The crunch of the outer shell gave way to the smooth, rich filling inside. Spite stilled. His expression didn't change at first—just a slow blink, a pause as he processed the taste.

Daisy watched expectantly. "Well?"

Spite swallowed, then turned to her with an unreadable look.

"…Acceptable."

Daisy laughed. "That's it? Just 'acceptable'?"

He took another bite, chewing slower this time. "...Maybe good."

Daisy crossed her arms, grinning. "Just admit you like it."

Spite huffed, finishing the chocolate before licking his fingers in a far too smug way. "You only want to hear praise."

"Only when I deserve it."

Spite considered her for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. It is good. Happy?"

Daisy chuckled, picking up her own chocolate candle and taking a bite. "Yes. I am."

Spite looked at her for a long moment, then at the candle tray. Without a word, he reached for another. And that, Daisy decided, was the highest compliment he could give. Spite finished his second chocolate candle, chewing slowly as he studied Daisy. She was watching him again, her eyes warm, lips curved into an easy smile. "Why are you looking. At me?" he asked, licking a smudge of chocolate from his thumb.

Daisy tilted her head. "Because I'm happy."

Spite frowned. "You are… happy?"

"Mhm." She popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "Because you enjoyed something. You tried something new, and you liked it. That makes me happy."

Spite squinted at her as if she had just spoken in a language he didn't understand. "Strange thing. To feel happy about."

Daisy laughed, shaking her head. "Not really." She placed her hands on the counter, leaning forward slightly. "You don't get it, do you?"

Spite crossed his arms, his expression both skeptical and intrigued. "No."

She sighed, but it wasn't annoyance—it was patient. "Happiness isn't just about what happens to you. Sometimes, it's about what happens to the people around you. When you care about someone, their happiness adds to yours."

Spite stared at her, processing that. His purple eyes flickered, searching her face as if trying to find some hidden trick in her words. After a long pause, he scoffed. "Foolish."

Daisy grinned. "Maybe."

Spite tapped his fingers on the counter. "Smile more."

That caught her off guard. "What?"

He leaned in slightly, his smirk lazy but his gaze sharp. "You. You do not. Smile enough. I want you to." Daisy blinked, thrown by the sincerity hidden beneath his usual teasing. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing quite came out. Spite tilted his head, watching her closely. "Strange," he mused. "Now you do not understand."

Daisy shook her head, biting back a chuckle. "You really are something else, Spite."

Spite smirked. "Yes. I am."

And as Daisy watched him sneak another chocolate candle from the tray, she smiled again—without even thinking about it.

~oOo~

"Lucanis." Daisy's voice barely carried past the quiet hum of the Lighthouse. She had checked the kitchen first, his usual haunt, but he wasn't there. That wasn't a good sign. A flicker of movement caught her eye—a wisp, faintly glowing, curling through the air like a ribbon caught in an unseen current. It lingered near her, its form shifting restlessly, emitting a low, sorrowful wail before darting off. Daisy stiffened. Wisps didn't just cry.

She followed.

She went down the stairs into the eluvian room and them. Lucanis—or rather, Spite—was trying to leave.

Harding and Taash stood in his way, bodies tense, weapons ready. Taash planted their feet like an immovable wall while Harding shifted slightly, eyes calculating. Purple light burned in Spite's gaze as he regarded them, shoulders squared, muscles coiled with restless energy.

"Back, demon!" Harding called her bow already in hand. "No further! Isn't standing up to them supposed to work?"

"Let Lucanis go! Don't make us hurt either of you!" Taash challenged, voice sharp as a blade.

Daisy stepped into the room. "What's going on here? Lucanis?"

"It's not Lucanis! It's the demon," Harding snapped, eyes darting to her. "It's taken him over—he's trying to leave!"

Spite inhaled deeply, a twisted sort of amusement flickering across Lucanis's features. "It smells like jam and brimstone." He grinned at Harding as if tasting the air. Harding grimaced. She turned to Daisy, her expression shifting to something more urgent—Fix this.

Daisy exhaled, stepping closer. "Spite, stop. You are not taking Lucanis through the eluvian."

Spite's gaze flicked to her. "I would. If you'd move."

He took a step forward. Taash didn't back down. Harding tightened her grip. "So you can take him where? Off a cliff? Or worse?" Harding demanded. Spite didn't like that. His sneer sharpened, and in an instant, he moved—fast, too fast—rounding on Harding. But Daisy was already there. He grabbed her, shoving her back against one of the stone columns. A knife—Lucanis's knife—flashed in his hand, the blade pressing against her throat, just beneath her jaw.

Harding and Taash shouted, but Daisy lifted a hand—wait.

Purple eyes locked onto green, a silent battle of wills. The blade pressed just enough for her skin to sting, but she remained still. Steady. Spite's breath was shallow and sharp. His body was tense and trembling—not with rage, but with something deeper, something caged. "Let me out," he rasped. "I go. Out."

Daisy kept her voice low, calm. "Where would you go, Spite?" She ignored the blade, ignored the sharpness of his breath against her skin. "You can't leave with Lucanis. You'd be in danger if anyone took you."

Spite flinched at the word took. His lip curled, baring teeth. "I could hurt you. Hurt him. Hurt everyone." The knife pressed a fraction deeper. His voice crackled, desperate. "Want. Out. I. Want. Out."

"You are out, Spite." Her hand moved, slow and deliberate. He tensed, tried to bite her—sharp like an animal—but she didn't stop. Fingertips brushed his face. A simple touch. A gentle one.

His beard was rough beneath her fingers as she ran her thumb across his cheekbone. A soft pulse of magic seeped from her hand, cerulean light against the violet hue of his eyes. It was warmth, a tether, a presence.

Spite shuddered. A hiss escaped him, but it wasn't anger. It was-something else. Something familiar. A memory, buried beneath layers of bitterness and fire.

For Spite, Daisy smelled of the Fade—peaches, honeysuckle, summer. Warm. Real. Alive. "Where do you think you are, Spite?" Her voice was a murmur, barely audible.

He shook. The knife trembled in his grip. "Not here. Trapped. Keeps us. There," he mumbled, voice thick, fraying at the edges. He looked at her—not with hatred, not even with amusement, but with exhaustion.

Daisy pressed gently. "Where are you, Spite?"

His fingers twitched. A flicker of something vulnerable passed through his expression, but then his face twisted—pained, torn. "Make him—ugh." The knife clattered to the floor.

Hands clenched in hair, Spite let out a raw, guttural growl before collapsing into silence. Daisy caught his shoulders as his body sagged, gripping steadily. Then— A sharp inhale. His weight shifted.

Lucanis was back.

His eyes, his eyes, blinked in confusion. "Daisy?" His voice was hoarse. His gaze darted around. "What is going on?"

Harding exhaled, lowering her bow. "You… tried to walk through the eluvian in your sleep."

Taash's voice was flat. "Spite wanted out."

Lucanis groaned, rubbing his face. "I need coffee."

Daisy's patience thinned. "Coffee is not going to fix everything, Lucanis."

"This… could be better," he admitted. "It's hard for Spite to take control when I'm awake."

Harding shot him a look. "You can't stay awake forever! That can kill you."

Daisy nodded. "We have to—"

Taash cut in. "What do you mean 'more careful?!' Spite held a knife to her throat!"

Lucanis turned, guilt flashing across his face. "Taash! I'm fine!" Daisy interrupted before he could say anything else. Lucanis stepped closer, lifting a hand toward her neck, but she tugged the high collar of her robe up, covering the mark. "I said I'm fine." Her voice was firm. "I drew Spite's attention. He wouldn't hurt me like that."

Harding's eyes narrowed. "He's a demon, Daisy."

Daisy's jaw clenched. "He's a spirit who doesn't understand what happened to him."

Her voice was quieter now, but every word held weight. "How would you feel if all you knew was one purpose, one direction—and suddenly, everything you knew was gone? If you were trapped, tortured, forced to survive, twisted into something you never intended to be?" Silence. Lucanis swallowed hard. Daisy exhaled, her magic flaring softly as she healed the shallow cut on her neck. Harding reached for her, but Daisy pulled away.

"Daisy—"

She shook her head. Then, without another word, she turned and left.

She would not abandon Spite—not when he was already drowning.

Lucanis found Daisy alone in the kitchen, staring at an open book, though it was clear she wasn't reading. Her fingers idly traced the rim of a half-finished mug of tea, her expression distant. He hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. "Daisy—"

"If you're here to apologize, don't." Her voice was calm, but there was something beneath it, something layered in quiet frustration. She didn't even look up.

Lucanis frowned. "I should. Spite held a knife to your throat."

Daisy finally lifted her gaze, her green eyes sharp. "And yet, here I am, perfectly fine."

Lucanis' jaw tightened. "That's not the point."

"No, the point is that Spite was lashing out because he's trapped," she shot back. "He wants to leave, but he can't, and that's frustrating for him. Wouldn't it be frustrating for you?"

Lucanis opened his mouth to argue, but that familiar, grating presence crept in before he could. The shift in the air, the weight in his chest—Spite was making himself known, pushing forward just enough to be heard. "I wasn't going to hurt her." His voice slithered into the space between them, mocking but with just the barest hint of truth beneath it. Lucanis exhaled sharply, his patience already thinning. "Don't start, Spite."

Daisy folded her arms, unbothered. "You don't believe him?"

Lucanis turned to her, his brows knitting together. "Daisy—"

"I know more about spirits than you do." Her voice had an edge to it now. "I know how they think, how they shift and change. So why don't you trust me that I know what I'm doing?"

Lucanis faltered. His lips parted slightly, but he had no immediate response. His hands curled into fists before slowly releasing.

Spite chuckled darkly. "Ooooh, that's a good question, Lucanis. Why don't you trust her?" His tone dripped with mock innocence, but Lucanis could feel the smugness curling underneath. Lucanis clenched his jaw. "Shut up."

Spite ignored him, continuing with a taunting lilt. "She sees me. She listens to me. She doesn't shove me into the dark like you do." There was venom in that last part, a pointed jab. "Maybe she's the one I should be talking to more." Lucanis' hands twitched. "Spite." His tone carried a warning.

Daisy exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. "Spirits above and below, would you two stop bickering for one second?"

Lucanis turned back to her. "I just don't want you to get hurt." His voice was quieter now, more measured.

"And I don't want him to be hurt either," Daisy countered, tilting her head slightly. "I don't want either of you to get hurt. He lashes out because it's the only thing he knows how to do. But that doesn't mean he's beyond understanding."

Spite scoffed. "You hear that? Understanding. As if you'd ever try, Lucanis." Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose. "Daisy, you're too patient for your own good."

She smirked, but there was something softer in her expression now. "Maybe. But patience gets results."

Lucanis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine. But if he even thinks about pulling a knife on you again—"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll threaten your own spirit. Got it." Daisy waved him off before taking a sip of her tea.

Spite hummed, clearly entertained. "You know, I like her."

Lucanis groaned, rolling his eyes. "You would."

[bunnithechubs]

back to you by lunch is crazy work.

[hightowerqueen]

we're entering Alex's Interpretations Of The Text territory here, but here's how I see it:

WMJ Lucanis is a very emotional person. At one point in the story, he's overcome with anger and the only thing that grounds him is Illario.

I tend to extend this to other emotions, too. So if he has an attachment to someone, feelings, etc, I can actually picture him acting that flirty pretty easily. (note: flirting and virginity have nothing to do with each other i find it very bizarre when people assume virgins can't flirt)

I think what scares him off in that scene is that the Lucanis we meet in Veilguard is tightly controlled and closed off, because he's so afraid of Spite, and is deeply traumatized. So slipping unintentionally back into the person he used to be? That's gotta be scary. It probably feels like wearing a stranger's skin in a way, which would also make me lose my mind yk?

Would love to hear opinions on this because it's been how many months now and I still can't make sense of that pantry scene with Lucanis. It just doesn't check out in my mind. Because... ok. Yes, he is obviously acting a little bit, he has to be. But it's... so natural at the same time? I don't know how to explain it and I might be wrong but. People say he's acting like he's done it before or at least watched Illario, and I don't think he has. I also don't think his first instinct in a moment like that is to think about Illario and what he would have done because the moment before that ('You deserve better than to deal with my mess' 'you're more than what you're going through) is so soft and intimate and them that I just cannot rationalize that he's completely acting in this moment. Coupled with how he acts toward Neve and the flirty banter with Rook while on the coffee date... I don't know if he's being completely disingenuous here. I think he is flirting authentically, he just gets scared when he realises what he is doing. Personally I think he has a moment of 'i wonder if caterina would approve' and then snaps out of it but that is complete headcanon so I won't harp on it too much. But then I see posts where people say their Rooks were probably freaked out a little because that's not their Lucanis and I always tend to agree because it's so at odds with what we see from him in the act 2 and 3 parts of the romance. It boggles my mind because just when I think I've settled on an explanation I see a post where I'm like 'wait hold on that could be true as well'. I think my favourite explanation so far is from a post I'll like it here if I find it again because I know I have it saved somewhere that says he realises he's making a choice for himself for the first time? On a contract? And that's why he pulls away, not because he isn't being genuine, but maybe that's part of it? Idk I just personally think he's a lot more of a flirty guy than people tend to make him out to be at least... in a certain sense. He says poetic things and reads romance novels and I don't necessarily think the baking lock in is at odds with the pantry scene all that much. Idk. I just have to ramble about it I guess because. I can't fathom. What was going through his mind.

[beetlethebug]

consider,,,a lucanis who is in love with emmrich, a spite who is in love with rook, a rook in love with emmrich, and emmrich who is in love with all three but wants lucanis, spite, and rook to get together because he feels he is not the type of man any of them deserve...

bonus points for spite being the one to realize just what sort of love quadrilateral is going on and is the one to get them all together.

[alpacacare-archive]

the brainworms are kiiling me. have a dad and son 👍︎

[here-comes-the-moose]

Crosshair: *chugging milk because Wrecker dared him to*

Echo: Aren’t you lactose intolerant?

Crosshair: This isn’t lactose, it’s milk.

Tech, facepalming: You’re a fucking idiot.

[dykedvonte]

I think a big misunderstanding is the power people give Curly to actually change things about the way the pony express operates or could’ve done things on the Tulpar.

We are talking about a company that docks pay for bad synergy despite mandated psych evals that should tell which staff members would work well together, only allots for 5 hours of sleep despite having literally no other tasks to truly do and locks all resources behind the access of one person. The last one is likely to manage resources and make it easier to justify collective punishment and blaming one person for it; someone needs something in “excess” or the captain gives in? It’s all on them your pay is docked. Instant resentment.

It’s insidious how the company works, it’s by design to distract you from coming after them, to force tensions to line their own pockets. With all the restrictions and forced interactions, altercations are bound to happen. 5 hours of sleep a day, limited sources of entertainment, no real tasks… the monotony alone would cause bad cabin fever, mix that with just only one absolute mediator and you get the exact environment that allows shit like in the game to happen.

The idea he could just complain and try to throw his weight around to get them to dig into their pocket for the crews comfort is laughable and misses the predatory and dehumanizing aspect of capitalism the Pony Express represents. Curly was and is still just another asset to them. Being a top show pony doesn’t mean he’s anywhere close to the actual top. He is the top of the working ladder, not whoever’s in corporate, he wouldn’t even be on the bottom step unlike what Jimmy perceives. The resounding recommendations he would get are almost mocking as they throw him out like nothing just like the rest. Being a shitty fucking company, how much do you bet they’d mean anything anyways, especially since he wanted to leave the field all together.

He made a fuss and they didn’t listen, he says he should’ve done more but you can tell he knows it wouldn’t have changed anything. Jobs like this are willing to make a sacrifice if it means even a penny more. Curly makes a bigger fuss they likely would’ve just found an “unrelated” reason to fire him, hired a more pliable guy or, terrifyingly, promoted Jimmy. The company was failing, going to shut down whether anything happened on the ship or not. But knowing that they were shutting down and that everyone, including him, would be out of a job with this being their last paycheck, he had to factor in not destroying the last bit of their financial stabilities combined with every other issue on the vessel and his own. He gets another cryopod or locks and then he has to break to them that they are not only fired but there will be substantial cuts to their paychecks due to the “upgrades” (things that already should’ve been in place on their part) on top of anything else that could be docked along the way.

You can blame him for saying it so early into the trip but then again, if he mentioned it later who’s to say it wouldn’t have been worse? On the capitalism side alone how would people in a galaxy away from home, out of a job and already stir crazy react? Don’t get me started on how Jimmy would have reacted if he realized he only had two days left to fix what would be a very hard to miss “problem” in his head…

I can’t even consider explaining this as devils advocate because it’s just facts of the world we and they live in and factors that heavily affected the situation. People are just so quick to make claims on the ease of the choices when P.E literally makes it hard to choose to do anything but suck it up.

[beneath-the-willow-tree]

Adore Devil's Minion. Hate the idea that Daniel has to "save" or "fix" Armand. First of all, boring. Second of all, that's what Marius thought he was doing. Third — of all characters to attribute a savior complex to, Daniel "Poke the Bear" Molloy is by far the most laughable option.

[fluffypotatey]

Macaque cares so much about wukong. It makes me sick

oh yeah i know 🫠 makes me so ill like

yeah

[trevisos]

i’m the world’s most regular guy and not thinking about this casual little shoulder touch at all.

[lanternlightss]

looking back at posts and its so fun seeing exactly which two characters in genshin i was hyperfixated on and that even after like three years it has not changed Once 😭

venti and nameless bard have me wrapped around their fingers istg

[whattraintracks]

A BUFFY STAN?? BRO THATS SO REAL !!

(im pumpkinpie59 btw fjdkdkd)

Heck yeah, I'm a Buffy stan!! I loved "Poor Little Rich Turtle" because I loved her. Absolute crime we didn't get more of her. I am constantly haunted by the fact that I must create the content with her that I want to see. So thank you for your adorable art!!