#heme/onc

[humofnight]

I have got to get better about breakfast I nearly tanked my blood sugar (I assume) in clinic again this morning lol

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life

Part 8: The Calm Before the Fall

|Part 7: Me and You In Eternity| |Part 9: The Vows That Bind Me [Finale]| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Pairings: Alastor x wife!Reader Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, Asexual! Alastor, Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, dishes, being a simp for your partner, Asexual! Alastor, husband! Alastor. demon!Alastor School is killing me. I have like an exam tomorrow that I should be prepping for. Somehow, this was more important

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Morning of The Extermination

The bustling of preparation echoes around the hotel, crowding the once empty halls. There’s a cannibal fortifying some stray windows. Every bang of her hammer rings your ears. Boxes are being dropped and discarded all around you.

The bomb thrown from Angel Dust’s friend doesn’t help soothe the pain in your ears, nor does his gunfire. They’ve been practicing some ‘special takedown moves’ since the crack of dawn. It was the same routine yesterday, and the day before that as well. It’s a small consolation that they’re practicing outside, muffled by the hotel walls.

Another booming explosion makes you wince, and it jostles some feathers right out your scalp. With a sigh, you pocket the strays.

Lys and Heme startle, bumping into each other as they follow behind. Lys glances around, taking a step closer to the group. Heme doesn’t seem too bothered by the sound. Their eyes filter around the tacky décor of the hotel.

Heme leans closer to you, whispering. “At least there isn’t much pink here.”

You snicker into your shoulder, and wave Charlie and Vaggie over when they round the corner. Charlie grabs Vaggie’s hand, dragging her closer.

“Come meet my interns,” you say and gesture to Lys and Heme. “They’ve agreed to participate in today’s extermination. There’s quite a number of cannibals fighting, so I thought I would call for some assistance.”

“That makes sense,” Vaggie nods, shaking their hands with a firm handshake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Charlie smoothens the skirt of her dress, waving at them. “You guys all work together?”

“I was a paramedic back up top,” Heme says, waving back at Charlie. “Your cannibals will be in good hands.”

“And I was an ER nurse!” Lys gives them a thumbs up. “I never expected to become a doctor here in hell. The tuition fees are so much cheaper. I thought the fees would be ridiculously impossible to afford, but it’s practically free! A bit surprising since we are in hell—probably some kind of off-brand humor.”

“Neither did I,” you say, humming. 

Alastor insisted on paying for your education. It’s one of the very rare times when he refused to accept a ‘no’ from you. The tuition fees were being paid by him, and that was final. It’s good that the tuition fees barely dented his fortune, considering Alastor didn’t bother checking how much money exited his pocket every term.

“Shall we do names?” Charlie smiles at them. “This is Vaggie and I’m—"

“Charlie Morningstar,” Lys finishes for her. “I saw you on the TV.”

“From the commercial, hopefully.”

“From the news with Katie Killjoy,” Lys says. “You put up quite the entertaining display.”

Charlie laughs awkwardly.

You clear your throat a little. “This is Heme, and that’s Lys but we call her K sometimes.”

“You could also just go AAA as well.” Heme snorts into the air. “I certainly do when I see her in the morning. Her hair just puffs up like some kind of eldritch horror.”

“Absolutely not!” Lys elbows them. “K or Lys will do.”

“I really hope that isn’t your actual government name.”

Lys rolls her eyes, huffing. “And why would it be?”

“So…,” Heme begins, cringing a bit. “You willingly choose that name?”

“As if ‘Heme’ is any better.”

Another loud explosion jostles more feathers right off your scalp. Those go into your pocket as well. If Angel Dust and his friend survive the extermination, you will shove a bomb down their throat and smile as their blood streaks the fucking pink of your office walls.

You place a hand on Lys’ shoulders. “Yes, yes, you are both raging nerds—we get it,” you say, swatting your hand in the air. “Now be polite and say hello to Charlie and Vaggie.”

Lys and Heme both say their hellos.

Vaggie tilts her head, and some strands of her hair shift to her eyes. Charlie brushes some strands away. “K?” Vaggie echoes. “How do you get K from Lys?”

You smile at Vaggie. “If you don’t know why, then you don’t know why.”

“Well, either way, I’m so glad you’re willing to help.” Charlie’s eyes shine as she rocks on the balls of her fist. “I really appreciate how willing you are about helping out.”

Heme raises their hands in surrender. “Don’t thank us just yet.”

Lys shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “What Heme means to say is that we were offered extra points to be here.”

“It’s going to be dangerous,” Vaggie tells them, placing a hand on her hip. “Are you sure you want to be here? I mean…for extra points…?”

Lys laughs.

Heme laughs.

You laugh.

Lys grabs Vaggie by the shoulder, clutching it as she bores her eyes into Vaggie, pulling her closer. “I would do anything for extra points.”

Charlie’s smile stiffens as she peels Lys' fingers off Vaggie. She takes Vaggie’s hand pulling her closer, and turns to Lys with a smile that shows off her teeth. “I wish you luck, then.”

Somehow, you doubt if Charlie actually means that. Vaggie doesn’t seem to notice as her smile becomes a bit dopey.

Heme brings out their arm to separate Lys from Charlie, showing off their own smile. “We really appreciate that,” they say. “Thank you, your highness.”

Charlie places a hand on her chest, bringing out her hand to offer Lys a handshake. Heme takes it for her, smiling with a gentleness that would be foolish to believe. Alastor would love to witness such a sight. It seems he has trained the princess well, but your own pupil isn’t keen on losing either.

“We shouldn’t take too much of your time. I’ll let you guys go back to work,” you say, clearing your throat. “I’ll be here preparing the station inside the hotel. Lys and Heme will be smoothening the secondary site. If you need anything, we’ll be around.”

The group disperses and so does the tension. Vaggie pulls Charlie by the hand, and the filter off. She has to use the tips of her toes to steal a kiss from Charlie. Goodness! Not even you and Alastor are so unrefined to show off such cheesy displays. (Right…Right?)

You pick up a small crate of vials, hauling it off to its appropriate shelf. It’s quite heavy. Everything needs to be organized. It’s going to be chaotic once the extermination begins. Things need to be in order for quick and easy access.

The shadows below you flicker for a second. Alastor slithers out of your shadow. He doesn’t need to specifically slither out of your shadow. It could be any other shadow, but for some reason, Alastor chooses to pop out under yours anyway.

Alastor snatches the crate from you, inching ever so closer. “We wouldn’t want you breaking such a brittle back, would we?”

You roll your eyes, bumping your shoulder. The vials in the crate clink. “Thank you for bringing me here, Al,” you say. “I like this place. It’s a shame that I’ll have to leave soon.”

Alastor slots the crate when you point to the empty slot on the shelf. He summons his microphone with an annoying type of flare, using it to lean closer. “I doubt you actually think that.”

“It’s only because of the trees in your room.”

Alastor gives you a pointed look.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s your room until the trees are present,” you say, crossing your arms as you lean on the shelf. “I feel like there are animals that watch me sleep at night.”

Another loud boom has you jostling into the shelf behind you. It ruffles the feather right off your scalp. Alastor inches closer, placing a hand on your ears to muffle yet another boom.

“If you step inside, and actually take a look, then there would be no reason to be frightened,” Alastor tells you, presenting the fallen feathers with a smile that shows off the yellow in his teeth. “It’s quite a nice place for a picnic. You would know that if you got over such ridiculousness, and allow me to take you.”

“Are you going to watch television with me?”

Alastor squints at you with annoyance but still, he places his hands on your ears to muffle another boom. “Absolutely not.”

You show Alastor the most innocent smile you can produce. “Then I’m not bringing a single feather into your forest that’s in your room. Although…I am eager to go to our home where there are no trees.”

Alastor shakes his head at you.

The halls are strangely silent. If you strain your hearing, the cluster of Sinners loitering outside catch your ears. How lovely. It seems the bomb assault on your ears have ceased as well.

Alastor leans forward until his bowtie reaches your vision. It’s crooked. You reach out for it, straightening it for him. The pads of your fingers smoothen the creases of his bowtie. Your hand trails down his chest until your fingers hook on his lapels, and adjust the fit of his coat. It’s all so solid.

He pushes his fingers on your cheek to force a smile. “What’s on your mind that’s got you frowning so deeply?”

“There’s much to frown about. I’m worried about you, deerest.” You fix his bowtie once more. It’s already straightened. “Scared, if I’m to be honest, and confused as to why you would volunteer to fight Adam alone.”

“Would you join me then?”

“I would.”

Alastor’s claws dig into the wood until a portion snaps away. “Don’t you dare.”

He pushes your cheeks once more, and doesn’t stop until you show him a smile. A reward comes in the form of a cheek kiss. His lips linger on the skin of your cheek, nudging his nose closer.

“Either way, what an absolutely silly thought. This is nothing I can’t handle.”

“Silly and stupid, maybe,” you say, turning to the shelf behind to arrange a box of vials that’s already been re-arranged. “Even if it makes me a fool, I am… unfortunately …a fool who happens to be serious. A silly, silly, foolish wife.”

“I only said it was a silly thought. There’s nothing foolish about you.” Alastor places a hand on your head, patting some feather down. “I would leave if you asked me to.”

You lean into his touch, humming as you take in the truth that’s being presented to you. “And what would you do if I did ask?”

“I would take you.” Alastor’s smile softens for a moment. It’s in the way he hides his teeth, and how his smile reaches all the way up his cheeks.

“Just me?”

Alastor glances around before placing a kiss on the very edges of your lips. It causes you to bump into the shelf. A hand shoots out to press back whatever that threatened to tumble off the ledge. “Only you.”

“What else?” you say, playing with the tips of his fingers.

“We would go to our home, and I would sit on the piano, playing while you do your stitching.” Alastor traces the ring on your finger. “Later, the news will play from the radio and we’ll hear all about how the hotel toppled and everyone died.”

“Why—because you weren’t here?”

“It’s because you would be with me, eating breakfast,” Alastor says, smiling. “Then we’d have our coffee. In the evening, I would come home to you and this cycle would repeat beyond eternity.”

The pads of your thumb go up and down as you caress his face, accepting whatever truth Alastor displays for you to see. “But something tells me you can’t.”

“Yes…but I can’t,” Alastor affirms, placing a hand over your hand to nuzzle further into your palm.

“Just like you can’t tell me about whatever mess that caused you to disappear on me for several years,” you say, trying to show him a smile. It doesn’t work. “You could have at least taken me. I would have followed you to the edges of this world.”

Alastor closes his eyes and connects his forehead with yours. His lips open and close as if there are words he wants you to hear. Whatever they are, he doesn’t say them.

Did you make a mistake? The question roars through your mind. Are you saying too much? Are you displaying too much of your soul for him to see?

“My, most precious, Al,” you call out to him, forcing a light chuckle and a smile as you swat him playfully. “I think I would have even settled for a goodbye or some assurance that you were to return to me. Look at me now. Ha! Oh, how you have absolutely ruined me.”

Alastor summons his microphone. It lands with a harsh ‘thunk’ as he it to place a glaring distance between.

Oh…oh…

There’s a proud and dismissive smile on his lip—it almost hurts to see such a sight. He uses the microphone like a cane, leaning on it as he divides the space between you and him.

You reach out to touch him, trying to shorten the gap he’s forcing.

Alastor inches backwards, ever so slightly. It’s the smallest of movements, but it hits you with the gentleness of a crashing wave.

There’s nothing you can do to hide your frown. Once more, you turn your back to him, rearranging a perfectly organized set of glassware on the shelf. The glass clinks together as you move it. What did you say? Did you say too much?

Alastor studies you for a moment. His eyes flicker to you. Somehow, you’re able to give him a small and dismissive smile before turning away to rearrange another box. The cracks are beginning to show again. Not in front of him. Anywhere, but in front of Alastor.

He inches his own hand closer, tapping your fingers with the very tips of his nails.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Three taps in quick succession.

Once more, you reach out to touch him. Alastor meets you halfway, leaning into the hand that holds him. You swipe your thumb on his cheek.

“Will you trust me?” Alastor asks you.

“Not when you smile at me like this.” Both hands go to his cheek, smoothing his face with the pads of your thumb until there’s only a tightlipped smile. It’s better than whatever dismissive smile he thought to give you. “But you tell me—should I trust the Radio Demon?”

“It would be unwise to do such a thing,” Alastor tells you. “But you can trust me, and I need you to know that.”

The cheeky part of you wants to be annoying, and ask who ‘me’ is. There’s no need to question it, not when you already know. It’s the Alastor when you are with him and when he is with you.

“Why the sudden question?” you ask. “I trust you…I always know that I can trust you, deerest.”

Alastor takes both your hands, holding it in his. He presses his lips on your ring, kissing the smooth metal. “Because there is a difference,” he says. “There’s a reason why I will not explain myself to you. Not when it’s much safer if I don’t.”

He pulls you into a hug, clutching your head to press you deeper into his chest. Questions swirl around your mind but the way Alastor cradles your head, brushing your feathers ceases all questions and heeds into Alastor’s silent request. 

You snake your arm around his back, clutching the fabric of his coat to pull him tighter. Alastor leans his head on your shoulder, bending his back to fully curl into your arms.

Alastor pulls you closer to the shadows, shifting you so his back faces whatever Sinners that could walk in. He pulls you even closer, arching his back to press even closer.

You lean your cheek on his head, and the base of his ears flicker. “While the thought is deeply appreciated, I still don’t like it.”

“I never expected you to.” Alastor pulls away to pick a feather off your scalp.

There’s a box in your pocket. It would probably be safer to leave the thing in your room, but you couldn’t part with it. No…not that. Instead, you slip the ring off your finger. “I want you to keep this for me.”

Alastor’s smile wobbles, and his ears flicker for just a moment. “Ha! Is this your way of asking for divorce, dearest?”

You reach up and plant a kiss on the edge of his mouth. “As if I can ever bear to get rid of you, my love,” you say, taking his hand in yours. “It would be hazardous to wear it later, and I can’t have it falling out of my pocket. You’re the only one I trust to hold it for me.”

The ring slips into Alastor’s fingers easily. There are two rings on his finger now.

Alastor inches closer, and your back hits the shelf. “Is that all?”

You play with the edges of his fingers before intertwining your hand togethers. “I want to keep existing with you, deerest,” you say. “I want to keep doing the dishes for as long as you keep cooking for me—”

Alastor places a finger on your lips, hushing you into silence.

The feathers on your scalp bristles as he shushes you. Part of you wants to chomp off his finger for such an audacity.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

Your lips twist as you take in his words. Once more, you look away and rearrange some syringes that have already been rearranged thrice.

“You speak as if I won’t return to you, and even when I do, I won’t.” Alastor presses a kiss on your forehead. “But I shall keep the ring for now if it proves to you that it will be returned. How ridiculous you are.”

“Is that a deal, my deerest, darling, husband?”

Alastor boops your nose. “What is the worth of a deal when we have our vows?”

“Then I will hold you to it,” you say. “Afterall, it would be troubling to have to find myself a third husband.”

Alastor raises his eyebrows, trapping you between the shelf and his body. “That implies you’ve already had a second.”

“Oh darling,” you say, placing a hand on his cheek. “You are the second.”

“Am I now?” he says, inching closer. “How come I’ve never heard of this supposedly first husband of yours?”

“He was the most handsome radio start!” you tell him, flaring your hands as you smile. “But I prefer you much better. What is five years compared to decades of existing with you?”

Alastor’s smile widens to show off his teeth. “I happened to enjoy those five years with my first wife.”

You laugh, and Alastor’s eyes flicker all over your face. “Those five years were everything to me.”

“You’re doing it again—speaking as if you’re trying to convince me to stay,” Alastor says, softly. “I will return to you.”

“And I trust that you will.”

“My, most, dearest, your eyes crinkle when you smile,” he tells you. “Have I…Have I ever mentioned that to you?”

You show him your widest smile. “Does it?”

“It always has.”

Everything will be alright. The extermination will pass, and soon you’ll have that ring returned to you.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The full force of the extermination shakes the building. Every boom shakes the walls. The chandelier jerks with every shoot of the canon. Angels fly above the glass ceiling, their swords raised with flared wings.

They’re ethereal.

What makes them fly? Birds have hollow bones to lighten their bodies for flight. Do angels have similar physiologies? Do their insides bleed the same way humans bleed? The things you would do to have their bodies splayed on your table, ready for your scalpel. And those wings…Alastor would love those wings.

You place a hand on your heated cheeks, sighing with delight.

What kind of smile would Alastor show if you presented angel wings to him? Would he be delighted with your gift? Part of you hopes he will. The base of their wings should cut off easily enough. They would look grand displayed out in the living-room of your home.

The shouting and clanks of steel jostle you out of your day-dream. Cannons mixing with the bombs and gunfire are downright excruciating.

The door slams open.

Someone barges in, clutching their arm. Their forearm is missing. The cannibal strides towards you, straddling what’s left of his arm. Blood drips down and pools on the carpeted floor. The bones that stick out are jagged, as if it’s been blown off rather than sliced.

You wave him over as Lys and Heme rush to your side, and ignore their own patients.

The cannibal takes a pensive sit on the cot, showing off what’s left of his arm. Strings of muscle and skin dangle from his elbow, revealing the long-jagged bone of his ulna. Holy energy corrupts the tissues of the skin and patches of his skin droop and fall off by the second.

Right then and there, you knew that there was no saving this arm.

If the holy magic isn’t removed from his body soon, then the death of his tissue would continue to creep up his arm, and corrode the healthy tissues that remains. That is if the blood loss alone isn’t going to take him first.

How absolutely lovely! This cannibal isn’t screaming.

“Oh…goodness,” you say, trying to fight off a smile. “This is the sixth one already, and it hasn’t even been an hour yet!”

Groaning and wailing echo around the hotel. Their desperate pleas for reprieve are ignored in favor of the cannibal with the corroding arm. Holy light consumes what’s left and burns his arm like acid. The cannibal’s face contorted with pain, biting the inside of his cheek to drown the scream.

“Deep breaths,” you tell him. “Once we remove the holy light, your body should heal right on his own. That’s quite lucky, right? Had you been human, I would have needed to clip some blood vessels and cut off your nerves.”

There’s a polite smile on Lys. “Do we remove the holiness?”

The blood on his arm pools on your gloves as you take it in your hold. “That would take too much time and resources, unfortunately.”

“Then…can we cut it off?” Lys asks, and her smile turns downright sinister.

You bite your lips, letting it quiver as you hold your smile. It doesn’t work. “I believe we can.”

The cannibal gulps as Lys and Heme crowd around him. Heme takes his intact arm, pinning it down to buckle the shackles around his wrist. They move on to his head. Lys makes quick work to chain his legs, and buckle his torso with the straps.

Heme takes a deep breath and sighs with bliss. “Shall I grab the morphine?”

“There’s no time,” you say, giving the cannibal a small and reassuring thumbs up. “If we wait, there will be nothing left to cut off...just a tourniquet, please.”

“Of course.”

You turn to the cannibal, pointing to your opened mouth for him to mimic. “Say, ‘Ahhhhhhh’. Can you do that for me? Ahhhh. Don’t worry, it’s just for your safety. Ahhhhh.”

The cannibal opens his mouth, obeying the request. A cloth gets shoved down his throat as Heme tightens the strap of the tourniquet.

“Hello there!” you say, smiling brightly as you lean down to meet his eyes. “Thank you for keeping silent so far. Try and keep it up! Don’t worry, I promise to be extra gentle.”

Lys hands you the bone saw. It’s surprisingly light as you take it from her. This saw is battery operated, and every bit automatic. One press of a button, and the saw revs, its sound reverberating around the busy room.

Modern technology is so useful! Back when you were alive, amputation was done using the strength of the person.

The cannibal begins to trash around to resist, but the straps hold him down too tightly. The saw goes through the tissues of his skin and muscles. He’s screaming now, his whole body taut as you press the saw deeper into him. The bone takes a second longer to cut through, but the force of the saw eventually wins over.

The cannibal passes out.

Lys inserts a morphine drop while Heme wraps his arm with bandages. They filter off right after, the thrill on the amputation obvious in their steps.

Someone barges into the room, cutting the line of Sinners waiting to be treated. It’s a female cannibal this time. She drags another cannibal in her arms, letting the legs drag limply on the floor. The weight of the body collapses her to the ground.

You walk up to her, placing a hand on her shoulders and kneel to meet her eyes. “Hello.”

“Please,” she chokes out, clutching the body tighter. The squish of blood squirts on your coat. How disgusting. “He…Help him.”

There’s a hole where his lungs should be. It’s as if someone punches a cavity straight into his chest. This Sinner is dead, and his entrails are slipping out this very moment.

“Do you know him?” You brush stray hair behind her ear. “Come on, now. Talk to me—Do you know him?”

“Y-yes,” she says, tears spilling from her eyes. “This is my husband.”

A stray tear drips down her cheek. You brush the next one away. “Are you hurt?”

“What does that have to do with him? I’m not here for me!” She clutches your coat, wrapping her fingers around the fabric.  “Please, you have to help. The princess said you were here to help. So, help him.”

The blood staining her palms transfers to the fabric of your coat. How revolting. You peel her fingers off.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” you say with a bright smile. “You’re free to leave your husband in the deceased pile and pick up his body later. The next room is open if you can’t fight anymore. You could always pick up a stray weapon. Do whatever pleases you, but you can’t stay here.”

“…What?” Her teeth sharpen as cracks appear on her pearly white skin.

Interesting.

Had Rosie and Alastor not been on such friendly terms, you would have opened a cannibal’s insides a long time ago. It’s a shame the deceased pile will be used as food. Should you ask Alastor to negotiate a deal for one of their bodies?

Alastor … Alastor…Oh, how he would enjoy some angel wings.

“Toss her out.” You stand up and brush away the flakes of dried blood. “Tag the husband, then toss him on the pile. I wouldn’t want eyes to start appearing here. They’re rather creepy.”

You give the cannibal a small wave as inky shadow puppets drags her out the door, kicking and screaming.

Lys walks up to you, ignoring the growling wails around. There’s so much work to do—a break is taken when a break is found. “Wow,” she says, whistling. “That was harsh.”

Heme appears next. It seems they too tired of their patients. “It comes with the job.”

“Of course, I know it comes with the job. You don’t care for those you don’t care about.” Lys turns to you, smiling. “Hey doc, would you cry if we were here?”

“Probably from the loss of such amazing talent!” you tell them as if you would. Not a single tear would leave your eyes if they died. It would be deluded to think you would, but it’s quite a lovely fantasy. “I see you’ve been practicing—”

The glass ceiling shatters, and glass rains down.

You shield your eyes as Vaggie and some other angel crash to the ground on a dragon. It’s quite sad to see such a majestic creature go to waste. Should you preserve some of its bones after the extermination? Surely, Alastor would love some dragon bones…or perhaps its whole head.

Metal clinks as angelic steel crash against one another. Vaggie swipes her spear, but the angel dodges it easily.

This place is no longer safe.

“Evacuate the secondary site!” you exclaim. “Grab who you can, and…eh… just leave anyone who can’t stand on their own. Forget about the body pile. Just go!”

Heme nods and brushes stray glass out of Lys’ hair.

You grab your things, keeping an eye out as Vaggie and the angel exchange blows. Should you help her? Vaggie’s part of Alastor’s little pet project.... It’s not your fight and thus, not your problem. It seems you wouldn’t need to help. Vaggie’s wings burst forth, and uses her spear to dislodge some concrete to drop on the angel. 

A chain reaction of falling debris ensues.

It has you pressing backwards to narrowly dodge being crushed, and traps you into a corner.

Great! Lucky you. Love that.

Now, you have to climb your way out. Of course, this happens to you. The secondary site should already be prepared if it hasn’t already been run over by angels. The screams of Sinners grate your ears as you step on stray debris.

An angel bursts from the broken ceiling. She swoops down, plunging her sword through the neck of a stray Sinner. Ugh, what a waste of resources. If the cannibal was going to die in the end, then he should have just died the first time. How irritating.

You climb the rocks, dropping to the ground.

The angel turns towards you with her sword. You raise your hand in surrender.

“Are you a doctor?” The angel asks you, taking a step closer.

Fuck…

You take a step back. “Do you angels not have a rule against targeting medical personnel?”

The light reflects off the angel’s sword as she raises it higher. That’s a really sharp sword. A proper sharp sword. A sword with a very, very, sharp edge.

You’re running.

The muscles of your leg aches, and every breath you take burns your lungs. There’s something to live for. It’s not a waste of energy if there’s something to live for.

The building lights glitches sporadically. A buzz grows into the air, and tingles up the nerves of your spine. Your shadow spreads as if darkness itself urges it to grow. It climbs up the wall, and paints the whole space darker. 

The angel looks confused, taking a step back to assess what’s happening. A bright green hue streaks the edges of the shadow. Static builds. It starts off as a soft crackle until it’s all you can hear.

The symbols that carve itself in the air bring out your laughter. “Oh, just you wait until my husband arrives.”

An arm creeps out of the shadows below you. The bones are bent and the claws attached to the arm scratch the floor. A second arm joins the first one, pressing on the ground to haul itself upwards. Alastor climbs out of your shadows, and the air glitches with a sharp static. His antlers are growing, increasing like tree branches.

Blood drips out of his smile, and pools on the floor. Stitches appear on the edges of Alastor’s lips as his snarl widens to bare his teeth. Radio dials replace his usual red pupils.

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek, the blood on his mouth transferring to your skin. A blissful sight escapes you. “Hi, honey,” Alastor says, a thick radio filter glazing his voice. “I hope I’m not too late.”

Green tendrils snake up the leg of the angel, wrapping around tightly. With a harsh tug, the angel crashes on the ground, trashing against her restraints.

“Not at all!” you say as Alastor’s bone snaps back into place. Gone are the proud antlers and the radio dials that strike your core. What a shame. “Dinner’s being pesky. Can I trouble you with some help?”

“Tell me you’re alright.”

Tiny voodoo dolls creep out of the shadows. They turn their heads, and their bones creak and snap as they turn towards the angels, crawling towards her.

Alastor grabs your shoulder, spinning you to face him instead of the angel. You try to turn, but he pokes your cheek then brushes the back of his fingers down.

His gaze harshen as he looks at the angel, a cold look in his eyes. “I’d appreciate an answer, my love.”

“Just went for a slight jog,” you say and take a deep breath to calm your beating heart. You’re so out of shape that it’s not even funny. “See? Not a feather out of place thanks to you. I just need a minute to calm down.”

Alastor turns to you, and it’s funny to see how fast his gaze turns from cold and harsh to warm and soft.“I thought it was a waste to run.”

“Well, it’s not a waste if you’re running because you have something to live for,” you say as screaming replaces the radio static. It’s loud and shrill, grating your ears. A woosh of the sword, but nothing seems to connect. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the roof?”

Vaguely, Adam and Lucifer exchange blows as they duel across the sky.

Alastor smiles at you, and there’s still blood dripping down his smile. You reach out for him, swiping the blood on his lips with your thumb. It leaves a streak. “I was.”

“Help me…” The angel reaches out. Its wings and part of its legs have been bitten off. “Please… Mercy … mercy.”

“Hush now, darling,” you say, placing a finger on your mouth. There’s a smile on your lips as you bare your teeth. “Mommy and Daddy are talking.”

The angel screams louder. She reaches out as the voodoo dolls chomp their teeth into her skin.

Alastor grabs your shoulders once more, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What happened to Adam?” you ask.

He inches closer. “He isn’t important.”

The angel ceases her screaming, but the sound of squelches doesn’t stop. What a truly gruesome sight.

“You could have saved the body for me,” you tell him, pouting. “I’ve never seen the insides of an angel before…and I wanted to gift you wings. I think you would have liked it.”

Alastor presses his lips on the edges of your mouth and more of his blood transfers on you. He brushes the dirt that sticks on your skin. “This one isn’t worth your time,” he tells you. “I’ll find you someone better. One with less intestines sticking out their guts.”

Somehow, your smile becomes dopey as the taste of iron fills your senses. “Oh, I love it when you flirt with me.”

“You have a very ridiculous notion of flirting.”

There’s a loud and sharp ringing that forces you to clutch your ears.

It’s like a build-up of power. The sound grows, echoing in your eardrums. The pain forces you to your knees, and you clutch your feather to muffle more of the sounds.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Ḯ̶̝͝t̵��͝h̸͚̲̐̄ũ̵̺r̵̰͎̈́̀ṱ̷͈̉̓s̸͈͕͋̅ í̷̠͎͠t̸͚̥͋h̴̖͌û̷̧r̸̜̉ͅẗ̵͕̯́͐ŝ̴̨ ǐ̵͈̀ṱ̴̻̂̐h̷̻̄͜ǜ̵͈r̶͕̣̈́t̴͇̝̅̕s̷͇̖̈́ ḭ̷̡̈́ţ̵̔h̸͕̱̿ú̸͙̂r̴̯̈t̶͇̖̄s̴̹̆ ḭ̷͗t̸̨͑h̵̭͗̄û̵̞͓͝r̸̭͚̐͌t̸͓̬̃s̵̤̎̂ͅ

Vaguely, you feel Alastor’s hand on top of yours. He presses into your palm to help muffle the sound. His lips are moving. It’s too loud to hear him. Tears prickle your eyes as you clutch your head tighter. He pulls you closer to him, bringing you into his chest as he cradles your head.

With a deafening boom, the building explodes in half.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The dust settles eventually.

Light bulbs shatter to the ground, and the brightness of the morning streams into the broken building, illuminating the ruined hall.

The building cut in half. One large beam, and destruction surrounds Alastor everywhere. So much destruction, and loss of Sinner life that eyes begin to carve themselves on the very foundations of the walls.

Power drums through Alastor’s veins, but it would take more than one haphazardly shot beam to destroy the entirety of the Hazbin Hotel.

His wounded pride isn’t important. Not right now. Not at this very moment.

Alastor brings his hand up and down the feathers of your head, smoothening the ones that sticks out. Your shoulders tremble as he presses you into his chest, and he feels every shake under his palm.

The way he holds you, cradling your head with a tightened grip around your body, flares the wound sliced into his chest.

Every single fiber of him hopes you don’t notice. Alastor will take care of that later, and only when you’re safe and far, far, away the crumbling building. Not a second before that.

Alastor pulls you closer to him, even if the pain burns his chest. “Tell me you’re alright,” he says. “You need to tell me nothing hurts.”

It’s more of a plea than an actual demand.

He looks down at where he holds you, tightly pressed against his chest and crumpled between his legs. You’re both crouched on the ground.

Alastor pulls away, just enough to meet your eyes and not any more or any less.

Your hands press into your ears. There’s a blank look on your dusty face. He’ll clean you later. Safety first—you’re safety first, always and forever.

He trails his fingers until they hook on your chin. Alastor tilts it to force you to meet his eyes. “Come on, now,” he says. “This is not the time to be foolish. Tell me if anything hurts.”

There’s a strange look on your face as you bring your palms out in front of you. Blood stains your palms. The light that streams illuminate the space just enough for Alastor to notice the blood on your feathers as well.

It’s weird—strange, almost—how Alastor can hear the way his heart thumps.

“Alastor… oh god …Alastor,” you call out for him, voice an octave higher than usual. “I can’t hear anything. Alastor, I can’t hear. It hurts. I can’t … Alastor … Alastor—”

“I’m right here.” He holds your face in the palm of his hands, careful not to pierce you with his claws. Always careful. Forever careful. Always and forever careful.

You shake your head, trembling between his legs. “I can’t hear, Alastor,” you say with desperation. “I don’t like this.”

Alastor brushes a feather away, reveling in the way you call out for his name. “I’ll take care of that later.”

He pulls you back into his chest, pressing you deeper into him with tight arms. Even if the pain of you propped directly above his wound forces him to bite down on his lips, Alastor still holds you until you stop shaking.

He brushes his hand along your bake. It takes about ten minutes of sharp pain, and carefully labored breaths until you ease into his hold. Alastor would endure another ten minutes because he is your husband, and this is something he can handle. Even if he couldn’t, he’d still endure it for you.

You pull away, looking straight into him with eyes that shine brighter than the sun itself, and give him a bright smile. “Much better?”

A bright smile? Your smiles are rarely bright. They’re soft or gentle or wide or innocent or annoyed, and Alastor can keep on listing. They are bright, sometimes, but this is the wrong type of bright. This one barely reaches your cheeks, and your eyes aren’t crinkling.

It’s a smile for the sake of showing him a smile. It’s controlled and meant to hold your emotions.

Alastor steals a kiss from you, pressing kiss after kiss until your eyes crinkle. That’s better.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he says, pressing one last kiss. “Come on. Tell me.”

“I’m assuming you’re asking if I can hear,” you say, and Alastor nods like he did. “The ringing stopped, but it’s all still muffled.”

Alastor brings you to your feet, clutching your hand.  The pads of his thumb go up and down. It’s a habit he doesn’t fully notice. “We’re leaving.”

You’re patting your pockets.

The shadows spread around you and his own clutches your hand, pulling it possessively.

It’s easier to travel alone, harder when there’s another person. It takes a significant portion of his magic to bring another person with him. Alastor doesn’t care, not when it’s you he’s bringing.

The shadows snake up, ready to transpo—

You push him away, stepping out of his grasp. “It’s gone! I can’t find it,” you mumble, whipping your head around. “It was right here. It should be right here.”

There’s panic in your eyes as you dash to a pile of rocks. It’s in the way your eyes open wider and your mouth hangs slightly open. Alastor sees every little detail on your face, even in the dark. Anyone who wasn’t looking would miss it, but he’s always looking.

“It was just in my pocket.” You’re in a frenzy now, digging your nails into whatever debris you find.

There’s a loud snap that echoes, but you don’t hear it.

Things were crumbling around you, but you didn't seem to notice. Or was it that you didn't care?

Alastor grips your arm, pulling you away. He narrowly saves you from a light fixture crashing right on your head.

You push on his chest, right above his hidden wound. Pain flares just enough for Alastor to ease his grip, and you pull away.

There are debris that escapes your notice. You trip on them, landing on your ass with a wince.

Alastor should laugh at you. He can’t find it in himself to do so. Not when it hurts in a different way to witness your push him away so… so effortlessly. The base of his ear flickers downwards at the sight of such apathy. Alastor forces them up.

He offers his hand to you. Still, you shake your head.

“No, no. nononono,” you tell him, pushing back. “Later. It should be right here. It was just in my pocket. Where is it?”

Your nails scratch the ground as you push away whatever’s in your sight to keep digging. The feathers on your scalp sharpen as you allow your emotion to take over.

Alastor grabs your arm once more, and he doesn’t care that your frown deepens. “We are leaving, now.”

Just as easily as before, you push him away.

“Stop being foolish!” he snarls at you, even when he knows you hardly hear him. “Whatever it is, I’ll get you another one.”

“It’s important, and I lost it,” you say, still entrapped into a frenzied daze. “I can’t lose it as well. Don’t leave me…Alastor, don’t leave me. Where are you?”

There’s a sharp edge on the concrete you’re trying to push away. It slices your palm open when you push it away. Somehow, you don’t pay any mind to it.

Alastor takes your hand, and kneels on the ground with you. “I’m right here,” he says, and shows the two rings around his finger. “I’m not leaving until you are.”

You pull on his hand, but Alastor grips it tighter. “I have to look for it,” you say, weakly. “It’s important.”

There’s a handkerchief in his pocket that has his name on it. Alastor takes it out, studying the stitches. It’s one of hundreds that you’ve gifted him. Actual hundreds. He counted each and every one.

“Nothing is more important than you.” Alastor wraps the handkerchief around your hand, holding it tightly. “Late me take you, and I promise I will turn every stone in this pathetic building to find whatever it is you’re looking for. It’s not worth your life. Not to me.”

Alastor presses his forehead on your shoulder, curling into you. Shadows pool around, and it grows with his command.

You’re pushing on his shoulders, trying to squeeze out of his hold. “Alastor…no, no. Please!”

He doesn’t listen to a single word. The shadows grow higher. Alastor tightens his grip on your waist, even as you push him away.

“Alastor, no,” you beg him, still pushing on his shoulders. “It’s right there. I found it. It’s right there. Please, let me get it. Let me get it, and we can leave. Please!”

The shadows stop. They recede back into him. It heeds into your demand because your lips were not meant to beg.

Alastor peels himself off your shoulders, swiping your cheek with his thumb. “Tell me where it is.”

You point towards a flipped couch, near the edge of where the building cuts in half. Alastor places a hand on your shoulder when you try to stand.

“Stay here, it’s safer,” he tells you, and your eyes scrunch as he brushes more dust off your face. “If I get it for you, will you finally stop being ridiculous by pushing me away?”

Your head tilts as you lean into his palm, but you nod. It seems you still can’t fully hear him. Alastor goes to get it for you. It’s propped up right at the edge. It’s good that he went. You could have tripped and fell right over.

The box is smooth against his fingers, and the paint has long faded away. All this fuss for such a simple box? Alastor doesn’t understand why you treasure such an item.

He tosses it, and the box lands on your lap.

There’s relief in your eyes as you grab it, and a smile forms on your lips when you check what’s inside. You look around, eyes fluttering until it lands on him.

Alastor’s smile widens into a snarl before he controls himself. Not you—never you. He offers a hand. “We’re leaving, now,” he says. “I don’t appreciate having to repeat myself.”

A crack echoes across the walls.

You take a step towards him, reaching your hands to try and meet him halfway. Alastor will take you out of here. Somewhere safer. Somewhere that doesn’t threaten the life of his very reason for existing.

The Hazbin Hotel.

The war with heaven.

Freedom from his deal.

None of it will matter if you weren’t safe. Everything he’s done so far will become useless.

Another loud crack.

The tips of your fingers are so close. If he can just reach it, Alastor can take you out of here. He can bring you to solid ground where you will be safe. Just one step, and you will be safe.

One last sickening crack, and the floor crumbles beneath you. There’s a soft smile on your lips as the shadows claim what belongs to him.

Beautiful.

You are beautiful.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Some of you really wanted Alastor to fuck around and find out. So this is him fucking around and finding out. I have the ability to do the funniest thing ever and just…end the series here <3. Reader fell and that’s it. The end. Gosh, I really hope at least one of you know how K and AAA are taken from Lys. T___T Id be such a nerd if at least one of you didn’t huhuhuhuhu Writing for Alastor is like, just so fun. He’s such a meticulous character so everything he says and the way he says it has a double meaning. Taglist: @mybrainsautocorrect @ray-rook @valentique @qardasngan @valentique @teavibesaf @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @reikamasama @slaggylemon @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @littledolly2345 @b-o-n-e-daddy @infinitefox @ayyyyyy-vase @kny-kween @thehiddenvase @stclen-sweethearts @obessivlyonline

[wazzappp]

WERE DOING SPECBIO STUFF AGAIN BABY. Feels fucking good to get back to my roots (i get to close 50 tabs worth of research now. Delightful)

Terminators are made of a Titanium Alloy (Im going with ferrotitanium which is a mix of iron and titanium. They never specify in the movie what the titanium is mixed with so fuck it we ball baby)) skeleton contains limited amounts of Mimetic Polyalloy (fake material used for the terminator in terminator two). Mimetic polyalloy can be hard or flexible and will be used to create new structures that the iron collected from food will later fully establish. This will allow his metal endoskeleton to mimic standard growth that a regular skeleton would have growing up.

When first introduced to the foster system (medical checkups are required once entering the foster system. The police probably do some checkups on Robbie also just to make sure hes okay when they find him), medical tests show that he has anemia, so it’s  recommended he be put on iron supplements. My reasoning is any iron in his blood is almost instantly sent to work on growing his endoskeleton. That means the actual amount of iron left in his blood is pretty low (the opposite of this is hemochromatosis which is when there's too much iron in your blood). I could see him probably trying to stop iron supplements but I think there would be some side effects to convince him to start taking them again. His joints might ache or I could see child terminator Robbie saying some mildly concerning shit like ‘my bones feel hungry’. I also think he might crave foods that are high in iron. Like beef/chicken liver, canned tuna, and seafood. Idk how frequently he could AFFORD these things but yk. The endoskeleton hungers eternal  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Nanobots are used to repair wiring for his nervous system, synthetic muscular system, acts as his immune system and sometimes accelerates healing for his organic systems (organic parts of his muscular system, skin, and nerves). For the most part his organic systems heal on their own at about the same pace as a normal human person. Nanomachines/nanoparticles are fueled by glucose (if Robbie needs work done by the nanobots he might need to eat or crave sugar both before and afterwards). 

He probably has a fairly (?) normal digestive system and circulatory system. The spread of his circulatory system is just more limited because some parts of him don't really need blood. . The primary job of the nanomachines when they aren't busy healing or growing his body is to harvest as much heme iron from the food/supplements he consumes as possible so that it can be repurposed later. His immune system is taken care of by the nanobots so all he has to worry about is red blood cell and plasma production. Similar to adults, most of this takes place in his spine, ribs, skull and breastbone. The red bone marrow is stored inside these metal parts and the red blood cells are then released into his bloodstream. Plasma is created in the liver and also in bone marrow so most of that stays the same

Another fun bit about the endoskeleton:

Bones close to his skin that are in danger of being exposed (knuckles, kneecaps, cheekbones) have a very thin enamel coating to preserve the illusion that they are bones. But underneath it’s all just the same Ferrotitanium.

onto the muscular system

Muscles are laced with a Shape Memory Alloy called Nitinol. A flexible (SURPRISINGLY durable godamn) metal material made of nickel and titanium that reacts to electrical and thermal impulses. It’s already used in the medical field (I can not fucking BELIVE that this is real thats so so so SO fucking cool). Superficial muscles are more organic (80% muscle 20% nitinol) but as the muscles go deeper they become more and more synthetic (20% muscle 40% nitinol 40% titanium wiring for durability). Superficial muscles are more muscle for stealth purposes. If injuries go deeper than anticipated he will still be able to fly mostly under the radar, assuming no wires have been significantly dislodged. If he’s been injured into the deeper layers then there’s no use in trying to lay low anymore. He’s clearly in a combat situation and stealth protocols no longer matter.

ALSO I did some math to try and figure out how heavy Robbie would be with all this metal in his system. Heres the logic for my equation:

CONTENT WARNING. MATH.

About 12 - 15% of your body mass is bone. A person weighing 155 lbs will have about 22lbs of bones. One Cubic centimeter of bones will weigh about 1.85 grams.

Ferrotitanium alloy is 4.5 grams per cubic centimeter. 

The equation 1.85/4.5 = 22/x in which x is his new bodyweight. Multiply 1.85 by 2.43 to get 4.5. Because the equation must be symmetrical you then multiply 22 by 2.43 to get 53.5 lbs.

With all of the extra metal in his system, I think it would be reasonable to assume that he LOOKS like he should be about 155 lbs but his actual weight is around 250 lbs. I have. NO idea how doctors are going to deal with this.

Had some VERY FUN hypotheticals from @moosemonstrous (thank you for proofreading my insanity once again <3) about his body shedding as much water as possible and like. shriveling his organs to drop as much weight as possible before doctors appointments. But given that he is a cyborg and not an android I do think that might kill him so Im thinking??? Maybe people just assume the scale is broken.... every single time he's in.

IDK man if they have access to his wack ass file then his breaking the conservation of mass is the least weird thing in there.

OKAY YAYYYYY NOW THAT I HAVE HIS INTERWORKINGS LAID OUT I CAN DO FUN CYBORG GORE!!!!! <33

[echos-of-laughter]

Hey yall, this is my first time writing a fic! I got inspired by this post by @amazingmsme

This fic follows theirs and is Lee!Hermes, Ler!Poseidon.

Again, this is my first fic so idk if it will be the best, but I hope you enjoy!

"For once, I think you're right."

    "Uncle, darling, can't we talk about this?" Hemes pleaded, panic growing as he realized that the only exit was blocked.

    "No, darling, I don't think there is anything to talk about." Poseidon said, lipstwisting into a wicked grin as he put extra emphasis on Hermes favorite nickname.

    Hermes felt his heart racing in his chest as he saw tendrils of water slowly creeping across the floor towards him. He quickly flew into the air using the wings on his ankles and started to look for a way out.

    Suddenly, the tendrils shot forward and pushed him down against the floor. It was as if thousands of gallons of water was bearing down on him at once, he couldn't move a muscle.

    Poseidon walked towards him and spoke, "Now, I was thinking you might prefer a more hands-on approach to the torture I'm going to put you through." He grabbed his trident as he walked and grabbed Hermes wrists through the current to bring them up and away from his body, leaving him defenseless.

    Hermes eyes widened as the trident was pointed at him. "Wait! No!" He pleaded, closing his eyes and expecting pain. However, after feeling the water subside he slowly opened his eyes. He tried to move his arms but found that he wasn't able to bring them down. He looked up and found the trident trapping them in place high above his head. He looked back to his uncle who was looking at him with a sadistic grin. Poseidon slowly walked the few steps towards him and straddled his waist. He lifted his hands and started wiggling his fingers above Hermes' exposed torso, showing what kind of torture he was referring to.

    "Wait! Uncle, is this reheally necessarry?" Hermes asked, accidentally letting a small giggle slip through his lips.

    "Giggling already? I'm not even touching you!" Poseidon teased, "Also, this is absolutely necessary after what you did."

    Poseidon let his hands drop and slowly started spidering his fingers all over Hermes sides. Hermes quickly snapped his mouth shut from the retort that he had prepared in order to keep himself from laughing.

    "Come on nephew, we both know you are going to break, you're way too ticklish not to," Poseidon taunted.

    Hermes cheeks instantly went red as he turned his head away from the teasing gaze of his uncle. "Shut uhup!" Hermes yelled, kicking his feet while his wings desperately flapped to try to get away from the electric sensations coursing through his body.

    Poseidons grin instantly widened. "Why should I? Does it make it tickle more when I mention how ticklish you are?" He teased, emphasizing that horrible word every time he said it and moving his fingers to his nephews ribs.

    "Nohhahahahahahah!" Hermes burst into high pitched giggles at the change of spots along with the teasing words being directed him.

    "Now we're getting somewhere! Listen to those adorable giggles. Let's see if we can make it adorable laughter," Poseidon taunted, smile growing a little softer at the sound of his nephews hysterical giggling. He moved his fingers even further up into the exposed skin of his armpits.

    Hermes face somehow got even more red as his uncles words reached his ears. He desperately tugged on his trapped arms as he swore internally at himself for wearing a sleeveless shirt, fully exposing the skin of his underarms. His laughter ramped up as Poseidon started drilling his thumbs into the center of his armpits.

    "Nohhohoho! Plehehehehease! It tihihickles!" He tried to plead with the elder god.

    "Ha! That's sort of the point." Poseidon laughed at him. "But I don't think that it's enough. Tell me nephew, where are you most ticklish hm?"

    "Lihihike I wohould tell yohohou!" Hermes spoke through his laughter.

    "Then I guess I'll just have to find out myself. Let's see, we've tried the sides, ribs, and armpits." Poseidon mused aloud, scribbling his fingers across each spot as he spoke. "How about here?"

    Hermes suddenly burst into childlike giggles as he felt fingernails swirling all over his neck and ears. His feet kicked out as the fingers scratched along the back of his earlobe.

    "Awww, well that's just adorable but not quite what we're looking for." Poseidon cooed. He moved his fingers down to his nephews quivering belly and Hermes lunched up and started belly laughing.

    "Hahahahah! No! Nohot thehehehre!" He pleaded.

    "Better, but not quite." Poseidon said disinterestedly. He got similar reactions moving down to the younger gods hips, thighs, and knees. However, he noticed his laughter getting more desperate as he approached his nephews wiggling feet.

    "Uh oh, I think I might have found someone's tickle spot!" Poseidon sing-songed as he sat on the youngers calves.

    "NO! No please not there! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Anywhere but there! Please uncle, mercy!" Hermes tried to plead.

    "Oh Hermes. Don't you know? Ruthlessness is mercy." And with that, he dug into the soles before him.

    The legs underneath him tugged at their trapped positions as he scratched over the heels, the arches, the balls of the feet, and especially those wiggling toes. He scratched his nails over the pads, underneath, and against the sensitive skin in between.

    While Poseidon was busy with this he didn't even notice his nephews look of shock when he started. He wasn't expecting his uncle to go for his feet, but he's glad that he did. He's hoping that his uncle continues to think that his feet are the worst spot that he has, though if he doesn't stop scratching the spot I between his pinky toe and his fourth toe, he might go insane.

    "NOHOHOHO! NOT THEHEHEHRE! PLEHEHEHEASE PICK SOMEWHEHEHEHHERE EHEHELSE!" The younger god pleaded, desperately tugging on his trapped legs. He almost got his ankles out from his uncle, when all of a sudden the hands moved off his feet to grab at his ankles.

    "And where do you think you're--" He was cut off by a squeal from the wiggling god under him, followed by frantic pleading.

    "AH! No no no no no. Please please. Not there. I will do anything, just not there. Please!"

    Poseidon was confused until he looked down at his hands. They were resting on Hermes' ankles with his thumbs at the joint where his ankle met his wings. Suddenly it clicked. Water swirled around Hermes as Poseidon grabbed his trident from the ground, releasing his arms. However, his relief was short lived as his uncle then placed the trident right below his knees so he couldn't bend them or move his legs at all. He also didn't have the flexibility to reach his ankles from this position, nor the strength to pry the trident from the ground.

    "So, it seems that I was mistaken. Your feet aren't your worst spot. I should have known. These little wings of yours are just begging for some attention. I mean, just look at them flapping, it's like their asking for my fingers to tickle them!" He teased his nephew.

    "Nohohohohoho. Plehehehease. I'll die!" Hermes begged.

    "Oh please, you'll be fine. You'll just laugh, and laugh, and laugh," his wiggling fingers came up, taunting the messenger god, "in three."

    "Nohohohohohoho!"

    "Two."

    "Plehehehehease!"

    "One."

    "Uhhuhuhncle!" Neither of them knew if he was tapping out or begging.

    "Zero." His fingers struck down, raking through the soft feathers and scratching his nails against the sensitive skin.

    Hermes. Went. Insane.

    He instantly fell back and started flopping around like a fish out of water (ironic, huh?). He started cackling so loud that Poseidon flinched.

    "Dam, and to think that one of the mighty gods of Olympus can be defeated just by a few fingers wiggling against his ankles. This is just pathetic." He taunted.

    "NAHAHAHAHAHAH! PLEAHAHAHAHAHAH!" Hermes could barely get a word out with how hard he was laughing. It was as if ticklish lightning was shooting up his legs directly through his nerves.

    His laughter suddenly went silent when Poseidon shifted to scratching at the spot where the wings connected to the ankles.

    Poseidon could tell that Hermes was reaching his limits, and he didn't want to actually kill the young god.

    "Do you apologize for what you have done? Have you learned your lesson yet?" He asked, slowing down to just tracing his ankles so the young god could respond.

    "Yehehehehes! Im sohohohohohory! Plehehehehease! Just stohohohhop!"

    Suddenly the sensations stopped and the trident was pulled from the ground. He instantly brought his knees up to his chest and started rubbing the phantom sensations away from his wings, still giggling.

    A hand appeared in front of his face. He looked up and saw his uncle fondly smiling down at him, offering a hand up.

    "Are you going to survive?" He asked the still giggling god as he helped him to his feet. Hermes legs were a bit shaky so he brought him over to his throne to sit down for a minute and got him some water.

    "I don't know yet, you are ruthless." Hermes replied in his typical dramatic fashion, chugging the water that he was offered.

    "Oh please, you didn't ask me to stop once!" Poseidon taunted, rolling his eyes.

    Hermes face went red as he avoided eye contact, "well, I am the god of mischief. And, besides, games are more fun if they aren't one sided." He suddenly shot up out of the throne.

    "Wait, how long have I been here? I have so many deliveries to make! Dad's going to kill me!" He started panicking as he frantically gathered his items.

    Poseidon stopped him by gripping his wrist, "don't worry about it. I'll tell my brother that I held you up to send messages throughout my kingdom."

    "Seriously? You might just be my favorite uncle after all," He teased.

    "I'd better be," He replied with a smile, squeezing the youngers' side, making him yelp. "Now go do your job, nephew."

    Hermes danced out of the way of the elders fingers and gave him a sarcastic salute, "Yes sir! See you next time!" He said as he flew off to finish delivering the rest of the messages.

    Poseidon watched him go with a fond smile. Though he would take it to his grave, he might just have a favorite nephew.

[larstudy]

📄 21.11.2023 // Worked on my paper analysis oral, reading about acute intermittent porphyria and the heme biosynthesis synthesis pathway. I started to work on the outline for tomorrow (I see my coworker tomorrow to work on it). It was really interesting, I have to review it once more before being able to explain it but I am on the right track :))

Also, it feels better and the revision season is starting tomorrow so I have to be consistent in my work and stay motivated, which means that I have to take care of myself 🩷

🎧 Sweater weather - The neighbourhood

[talonabraxas]

I trow I hung on that windy Tree nine whole days and nights, stabbed with a spear, offered to Odin, myself to mine own self given, high on that Tree of which none hath heard from what roots it rises to heaven. — Hávamál (Line 137)

The Wild Hunt of Odin Talon Abraxas

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, one of the earliest and foremost histories of the Anglo-Saxons, who were descended from the same Germanic tribes as the Norse and broadly shared the same body of religious lore, records the following event as having happened in CE 1127:

Let no one be surprised at what we are about to relate, for it was common gossip up and down the countryside that after February 6th many people both saw and heard a whole pack of huntsmen in full cry. They straddled black horses and black bucks while their hounds were pitch black with staring hideous eyes. This was seen in the very deer park of Peterborough town, and in all the woods stretching from that same spot as far as Stamford. All through the night monks heard them sounding and winding their horns. Reliable witnesses who kept watch in the night declared that there might well have been twenty or even thirty of them in this wild tantivy as near as they could tell.

This spectral, nocturnal horde was the “Wild Hunt,” which was recorded in folklore all throughout ancient, medieval, and even early modern Europe, but was especially concentrated in the Germanic lands of northern Europe. In Scandinavia, it was called Oskoreia, “Terrifying Ride,”[2] or Odensjakt, “Odin’s Hunt.” In Middle High German, it was called Wuotanes Her, “Odin’s Army,” and in modern German Wütende Heer, “Furious/Inspired Army,” or Wilde Jagd, “Wild Hunt.”

It swept through the forests in midwinter, the coldest, darkest part of the year, when ferocious winds and storms howled over the land. Anyone who found him- or herself out of doors at night during this time might spot this ghostly procession – or be spotted by it, which might involve being carried away and dropped miles from where the unfortunate person had been taken up, or worse.[6] Others, practitioners of various forms of magic, joined in it voluntarily, as an intangible part of them (a “soul,” if you like) flew with the cavalcade while their bodies lay in their beds as if sleeping normally. Sometimes, the members of the Hunt entered towns and houses, causing havoc and stealing food and drink.

The Leader of the Wild Hunt

When accounts of the Wild Hunt mention a leader, the figure who filled this role varied greatly. In Germany, the leader could have been “Perchta, Berhta, Berta, Holt, Holle, Hulda, Foste, Selga, Selda, Heme, Herla, Berchtold [or] Berhtolt.”

However, as the Wild Hunt’s various names across the Germanic lands attest, one figure was especially closely associated with it: Odin, the god of the dead, inspiration, ecstatic trance, battle frenzy, knowledge, the ruling class, and creative and intellectual pursuits in general. Two of Odin’s hundreds of names further demonstrate his association with midwinter, the time of the year in which the holiday Yule (Old Norse Jól) falls: Jólnir and Jauloherra, both of which mean something like “Master of Yule.” The myths describe him frequently riding throughout the Nine Worlds on his eight-legged steed, Sleipnir, on quests of a shamanic nature, another theme that connects him to the Wild Hunt. As H.R. Ellis Davidson put it, speaking of the manifestations of the Wild Hunt that continued well into the Christian era, “it was natural that the ancient god of the dead who rode through the air should keep a place in this way in the memory of the people, and it reminds us of the terror which his name must once have inspired.”

Conclusion

In the body of lore surrounding the Wild Hunt, we find a number of themes that connect it powerfully with the dead and the underworld. For one thing, there’s the ghostly character of the hunters or warriors themselves. Dogs and horses, animals that were closely associated with death (amongst a great many other things), were almost invariably present. In some accounts of the Hunt, the riders can hardly, if at all, be distinguished from land spirits, who were themselves often conflated with the dead, as if the two were thought of as being in some sense one and the same. Finally, for the ancient Germanic peoples, the worlds of the living and the dead were especially permeable during midwinter, which goes a long way toward explaining why this troop of apparitions haunted the land during that particular part of the year. In the words of Claude Lecouteux, “[T]he Wild Hunt fell into the vast complex of ancestor worship, the cult of the dead, who are the go-betweens between men and the gods.”

It was as if the very elements of midwinter – the menacing cold, the almost unrelenting darkness, the eerie, desolate silence broken only by the baying winds and galloping storms – manifested the restless dead, and the ancient northern Europeans, whose ways of life and worldviews predisposed them to sense spiritual qualities in the world around them, recorded the sometimes terrifying fruits of such an engagement with the enchanted world in their accounts of the Wild Hunt.

[cykelops]

we should have had lin manuel miranda executed once he made the only mention of sally heming’s a single sentence in a Peppy song

[235antz]

a scientific exploration of vampirism- vampirism as a virus

acquired zoonotic myeloperiforative wasting syndrome (AZMWS), also known as vampirism or "consumptive anemia" is a unique virus that acts much like a parasite, in that it is a continuous infection.

its' natural host is a variety of bats entirely endemic to various areas of the old world, chiefly europe & small pockets of eurasia & the levant. in the bat host, it highjacks the bone marrow & brain- the bone marrow stops producing red blood cells and the creature must acquire new blood in order to make red blood cells irregardless of wether it would normally feed off blood or not. the creature becomes frenzied and seeks out large mammalian hosts to drink from such as cattle, sheep, pigs or humans, uniquely it is unable to make the species jump to livestock but it can infect humans.

once the virus is inside a human, it rapidly overwhelms the immune system and uses the bone marrow to reproduce and travel around the body. production of both new red blood cells and immune cells begins to slow down- in this stage the virus is still treatable but recovery is rare. at this stage symptoms include paleness, anemia, extreme fatigue, light sensitivity, loss of appetite, sub-skin bleeding (petechiae) & chills

at the second phase of infection, the virus has firmly established itself in the body & begins to attempt the jump to infecting the brain. in this stage symptoms become much more pronounced, petechiae dissappear & paleness progresses, the gums begin to recede causing canine teeth to appear larger & sharper, vitals begin to slow down- the heart & lungs become much slower, solid food is less readily tolerated- if tolerated at all- but many patients report feeling soothed by consuming heme & iron rich foods like steak

the final phase of infection is hallmarked by neurological involvement, the virus successfully enters the brain. here it slows the heart &lungs beyond audible detection, and the body becomes very cold. behavioral issues begin to show, the sleep-wake cycle reverses, patients readily begin craving blood- a subset will become irrationally aggressive & "feral". the stomach fully stops tolerating any food or liquids. metabolic activity grinds to a halt- during long, daily torpors, sufferers truly appear entirely dead. --they now entirely rely on large amounts of human blood for nutrition & subsistence, special proteins in the stomach & small intestines derive nutrition from it; the same is true if you infuse human blood directly into the veins, much like transfusion dependent anemias. regardless, this decreased strain on the organs produces an incredibly improved lifespan, the average vampire easily surviving for hundreds of years- there are rumors of some living for thousands.

vampires end up killing most of their victims due to the sheer amount of blood they need when feeding by mouth, if victims survive they are very often infected- but not always

[whomstress]

Heme no jax (A song for Jax)

First Crush Human au BunnyDoll Fic I promised with the poll on Tumblr!I've been practicing Hula dancing and learning more about Pacific Islander culture and LOVE this video and how the professional hula dancer in this moves. It's just so graceful and beautiful. And the tradition and heart that goes into it really inspired me.

SO I based my obsession of this amazing dance on my current hyperfixation lol. It's short so you can watch it or not but just know that Ragatha is pretty much dancing the same as the woman in the video and she is singing the song in it.

This very much a passion project fic so I hope you guys like it.

It was a beach day again. Caine tried not to do the same thing every day, but of all the time he’s been here, there have been a handful of days by the water. Usually by the lake, but on a rare occasion he’d heard from Ragatha, he’d take them to a room he made. A beach that only reached about a mile around in a circle. Sand, cocunut trees, and the ocean included.

Rolling his eyes, he lazily lays in a hammock under the sun with his hands behind his head and watches the others from behind. It’s been a while since he got some serious sun, and his skin was starting to look more purple than brown, which always rubbed him wrong way. They were all granted bathing suits, and they got to choose, for the most part. He chose to avoid it all together, changing into a purple hoodie and yellow swim shorts. He may be the most attractive one here, but he also had to be humble that way. He couldn’t help but chuckle at his own sarcastic thought.

He looked around at the others, as most of them played in the water. Kinger was building himself an actual sand castle to hide in, while Gangle helped him with her comedy mask intact for once. As much as he hated it, the old man actually had a good body. How did the guy always bend over, like a question mark, and have abs? Gangle, of course, was boring as hell and also sporting a jacket, but it had little cat ears and cat paws to cover her hands. She was hanging out with Ragatha as she went over her encyclopedia of ocean knowledge. As someone actually forced to have stupid animal ears come out of his head. The cutsie jacker made his eyes roll so back in his head that he actually saw black for a moment.

Ragtha, of course, had to be wearing some kind of traditional hula outfit. Cheater. That wasn't in his options. It was a long red dress with many folds that looked fluffy but sturdy at the same time and swayed with every move she made and, whatever that leafy hula hat thing was called on her head. He made a joke about weren’t hula girls supposed to wear coconut bras and grass skirts with a wink, but instead of getting flustered, she gave him a 5-point lecture that he once again only half listened to.

Ever since Caine let them know they were going to the beach Ragatha had practically been vibrating in place from excitement. He never quite paid attention to what she was saying when she’d gush about going to the beach, but since she told everyone and their mother too, he happened to pick up that one of the few things she remembered all this time was her being Hawaiian and having a deep appreciation and “heart” with the ocean. Whatever the hell that meant.

Jax understood her, kind of. One of the few things he also remembered, though he rarely spoke it out loud, was thinking in Spanish as much as English and the food he grew up with. He didn’t like speaking about, and he liked to be left alone about his past.

Not that he’d ever admit they had something in common. Her chipper attitude did get on his nerves at times, but over the years, he’d been there with the variety of characters he’d cycled through. He’d rather have her stick with him this long than anyone else. Kinger was fun to mess with, but he was also so out of it most of the time that his insults and jokes went straight over his head. When Gangle lasted longer than most, she became a new target as well.

There was always something different about Ragatha, though, that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He didn’t like to dwell on it too much, but he did learn when her smiles were fake and rarely true. Though he stayed mostly to himself today, Jax caught himself staring at Ragatha more often than normal. Not that he usually stares, but it was just that her smile was brighter than the damn sun today.

It was… weird.

And it made him feel weird. She’d directed her smile straight to him at times and beckoned him to come over to them as if she genuinely wanted his company for once. He refused every time but something uncomfortable would stir in his chest, seeing her smile fade for a moment like she was upset, he wouldn’t spend time with her. He decided he wouldn’t even entertain a thought of what that could mean, and even with the blazing sun, he forced himself into a sleep. A habit he unfortunately had to learn to do.

He slept in what could only be described as a gentle nightmare. It was the first time he broke down when he got there. The memory of that awful day and all the feelings that came with the realization that he couldn’t leave. He'd tried so many things to get out. But on that horrible, horrible day, he had a nightmare about what happened after running out of options to escape. Everyone was a monster to him, believing they weren’t real. He even threatened Ragatha with a knife he found, but she showed him he couldn’t get a cut on her, and he broke.

This is usually where his nightmare ends, but today he remembered what happened next. As everyone else backed away from his downward spiral, whispering something about "abstraction,” she walked forward. He tried to threaten her again, but she just kept coming. She tried to touch him, but he wouldn’t let her, and when he thought he was at his bottom, he heard a beautiful voice. It was gentle and calm, and even with his hiccups and heavy breaths, he could hear her through it. He listens distantly and slowly focuses. He doesn’t know when he starts to calm, but he’s mesmerized by the voice. It’s in a language he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t matter because his breath begins to even out and his head finally starts to clear. He doesn’t know how many times she’s sang the whole song, but it’s enough times he starts to notice the sounds of the first lyrics when she starts over.

Jax doesn’t know her name, but part of him coming down from his terrible high is taking in every bit of her face. Her eyes were closed, but she looked like a doll. Her frizzy red curls looked like they were soft as yarn, and her skin looked plush. He focused on her mouth and her slightly pink lips as they formed beautifully around her song. Something like a chill comes over him when she slowly opens her red and blue eyes and gently smiles at him. “Are you okay?”

He doesn't answer, but says, “One more time.” He’d never ask again; this is the only time anyone here would see him like this, including her. He says it all in his eyes, and without a word, she nods, starting over.

Jax closes his eyes and waits for the soothing feeling to come over him one more time.

“O Kalākaua he inoa

'O Ka pua mae'ole i ka lā”

His eyes snap open, and he searches for the sound to make sure he hasn’t lost it. It’s sunset, and his vision takes a hit from accidentally looking directly into the sun. As his vision clears, he finds Ragatha dancing on the beach, singing the same song she sang to him years ago. And all of a sudden, he’s back. Back to that day, back to that moment, where he is mesmerized by every one of Ragatha’s gentle moves and sounds.

“Ka pua maila i ka mauna

I ke kuahiwi 'o Mauna Kea”

The way she moves her body almost completely matches the waves behind her, as if she and the sea are dancing together. The movements are so fluid and blend together so effortlessly that it makes it seem easy, but from spying on her trying to teach Gangle earlier, he knows it's anything but. Her dress flows when she spins like a halo around her body.

“Ke 'ā maila i Kīlauea

Mālamalama i Wahinekapu”

Dancing always seemed like a waste of time to him, but watching her movements as captivating as her song, he finally understood why it was a profession. How can someone invoke such beauty and emotion with such a simple melody and sway of the body?

“A ka luna o Uwēkahuna

I ka pali kapu o Ka'auea”

And her song. so kind to the ears. It wasn’t just him. Even Kinger was completely still for once, allowing everyone to lull into a comfort they no longer had the luxury of.

“Ea mai ke ali'i kia manu

Ua wehi i ka hulu o ka mamo”

Anyone could fall asleep to Ragatha like this.

“Ka pua nani a'o Hawai'i

'O Kalākaua he inoa”

He wanted to fall asleep with Ragatha like this.

“He Inoa No Kalani Kalākaua Kulele”

Finally, she finishes with a strong movement, just slightly out of breath, and silence lets the moment of tranquility last a little longer before Cain sets off a confetti cannon, scaring everyone half to death and inviting them to a dinner. Coming back to earth Gangle and Kinger rush to her side, giving her compliments galore, and he watches her as she tries to stay as humble as possible while also showing appreciation for their compliments.

Ragatha is so distracted she doesn’t notice Jax had come closer when Kinger and Gangle started to move toward the feast. She saw him from the corner of her eye and turned to him with a teasing smile to ask, “So what did you..." She paused at the intensity of his eyes and asked, “think?”

Jax stays steps closer, her tan skin glowing with a golden light from the sunset, making her look like an angel in the light. She shuffles a little, uncomfortable under his powerful stare, her face starting to flush pink. She tries to joke, “Was it that bad?”

“What do I think?” He moves closer into her space, and she moves back just a mini step suddenly realizing how much taller he is than her. He looks at her face over like he's trying to memorize what she looked like before slowly moving to her eyes. “Do you really want to know?"

She pauses moment and then nods. Her mouth is slightly parted and he's watching her reaction when his hand moves closer. He brushes a loose curl behind her ear before dragging her fingertips softly across her cheek, making her shiver. One finger reaches her lips and he places the slightest pressure as if testing the feel agaist his skin, and she gasps. "I think," He pauses holding her in anticipation and moves in just an inch closer, but she feels like there’s no space left between them. He looks up back to her face a in a deep blush and hooded eyes and smirks just the slightest bit in pride, moving so he can whisper in her ear, “You're weird.”’

She blinks not registering anything but his hot breath against her ear when he snaps back with a with a wicked smirk and lazily walks away with his hands behind his head. “You coming, or what dollface? I’m starving!”

She’s left there light-headed and breath still caught in her chest, and it takes a moment to compose herself and her flustered nerves. What was he doing? He had never acted like this before, she questioned herself. But what she doesn’t know is that he was asking himself the same thing.

[acti-veg]

Hello, I would like genuine advice because my situation is often seen as taboo by some vegans but I would still like to try my best in the position I'm in.

I have been a vegetarian for 3 years now and was planning to go vegan gradually, I often learned vegan recipes, went to vegan cafes and restaurants, participated in veganuary, followed vegan activists...etc

The problem is even while still eating eggs and dairy (as well as lots of red beans, chickpeas, lentils, tofu, leafy greens + vitamin C to help absorption) my iron levels keep plummeting. I have been trying to take iron supplements for a year now but never managed to stop being anemic. I also have to say my period is quite heavy which doesn't help much.

I'm now feeling so tired I'm considering going pescetarian for a while to see if I manage to get my iron levels back up this year. I feel very disappointed because I had planned to consume less animal products, not more but alas it looks like my body can't follow.

I would like to know if you have any advice to lower animal suffering both in my diet and in my day to day life while being pescetarian for health-related reasons ?

The trouble with fish is that it really isn’t very high in iron compared with the plant sources you’re eating now. Tuna is the one people often cite for iron, but even that is only about 1.6 grams per 100 grams, compared to say tofu which you’re already eating, which is 5.4 grams per 100 grams. The iron in fish is heme iron which may be easier to absorb, but with much less of it available it’s unlikely to raise your iron levels at the rate you need.

I think that your focus should really be on your health above everything else right now. Have you been to a nutritionist at this stage? That would be my immediate recommendation, infusing iron is an option for people with long-term anaemia and would get your iron up far quicker than eating fish would, and lower the risk of any health complications. You need to know if there is some sort of underlying absorption issue before you can know what you need to eat to deal with it.

Focus on getting yourself healthy again, don’t make any further dietary changes until you’ve seen a doctor and talked through options with a nutritionist. Only once you’ve got a handle on things and understand what is going on should you start thinking about any further dietary changes to shift towards veganism, and in the meantime you can still be vegan in every other aspect of your life.

[cyarsk52-20]

You’re Loud and wrong

Love Mac and Cheese? You Can Thank the Slave of a Founding Father for It

Claire Barrett11/1/2022

You can thank Thomas Hemings, once enslaved to Thomas Jefferson, for bringing the dish to America.

If you’re an American who has ever indulged in a hot, delectable, creamy, comforting side of macaroni and cheese, you can thank the slave of a Founding Father for bringing the dish to America.

While historians cite the 13th century Italian cookbook “Liber de Coquina” as the first written and recognized macaroni and cheese recipe — a dish called de lasanis — the classic American side item arrived by way of France — courtesy of James Hemings.

Born in 1765, Hemings was the sixth child born to Elizabeth Hemings, an enslaved woman, and owner John Wayles. Wayles, the father-in-law of Thomas Jefferson, fathered six of Hemings’ children — making them half brothers and sisters of Jefferson’s wife, Martha, according toMonticello Magazine.

Upon Jefferson’s marriage to Martha, Hemings and his siblings —including Sally Hemings — became property of the Founding Father to be.

Not only could Hemings read and write — a rarity for the times — he was also an accomplished chef.

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So, when Jefferson was appointed Minister to France from 1784 to 1789, the notorious Francophile and “foodie” brought along the 19-year-old Hemings with the intention of having him train among the Parisian elite.

According to the White House Historical Association, “French chefs were very expensive to employ, and Jefferson’s costs regularly outpaced his income. While Jefferson may have been short on cash, he did have an abundant supply of readily available enslaved labor, bound to serve him for life. To save money, Jefferson employed French chefs to train several enslaved members of the Monticello community in the delicate art of French cookery.”

This included, of course, what we now consider mac and cheese.

From Italy to the rest of Western Europe, the widespread culinary exchange happening in courts throughout Europe at the time morphed the Italian dish into an altered version that made its way to England, called macrows, and France. It’s disputed whether Jefferson first discovered the creamy pasta dish in Italy or France, but what isn’t under dispute is his love for it.

In 1807, Jefferson purchased 80 pounds of parmesan cheese and 60 pounds of Naples-based macaroni. His last grocery order, placed five months before his death in 1826, included “Maccaroni 112 ¾ lb,” according to EatingWell. (Despite such large quantities of simple carbohydrates and dairy, Jefferson did not, in fact, die of a heart attack. He did, however, contract a nasty infection on his buttocks which most likely developed into septicemia, causing his death.)

As Jefferson’s primary chef, Hemings is certain to have mastered the perfect balance of butter, cheese and macaroni.

During his time in France, Hemings apprenticed with a caterer, a pastry chef and even as a chef for the prince de Conde.

“For an American to go and learn that … was pretty incredible,” food historian Paula Marcoux — who has recreated classic French dishes of the era at Monticello, using the same types of cooking tools Hemings would have used — told NPR.

In 1787, Hemings was appointed chef de cuisine at Jefferson’s home in Paris, supervising white servants in the kitchen among other duties. And, in 1789, despite finding out that under French law, he was a free man, Hemings elected to return to Virginia with Jefferson, enslaved.

“Family,” historian Annette Gordon-Reed told NPR. “There was a real dilemma for many enslaved people: Do you take your freedom and separate yourself from your family?”

Hemings continued in his position as an enslaved chef under Jefferson, moving to New York and Philadelphia with the latter as he served as the secretary of state under President George Washington.

In 1793, however, Hemings successfully bargained for his freedom — with a caveat.

“Hemings would return to Monticello to train another enslaved person in French cooking to serve as a replacement chef. Once the replacement chef was properly trained, Jefferson agreed that Hemings ‘shall be thereupon made free, and I will thereupon execute all proper instruments to make him free,’” according to the White House Historical Association.

Hemings began training his brother, Peter Hemings, but it would be three long years until Jefferson assented to James’ freedom.

In the 1796 deed of manumission, Jefferson wrote, “I Thomas Jefferson of Monticello aforesaid do emancipate, manumit and make free James Hemings, son of Betty Hemings, which said James is now of the age of thirty years so that in the future he shall be free and of free condition, and discharged of all duties and claims of servitude whatsoever, and shall have all the rights and privileges of a freedman.”

Of the 607 men and women Jefferson owned during his lifetime, according to Susan Stein, senior curator at Monticello, only two had ever negotiated for their freedom. James Hemings was one of them.

Only several years after finding his freedom, Hemings tragically died by suicide in 1801.

While he left no memoirs, he did leave his recipes. And America — although not our cholesterol levels — is better for them.

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[kylejsugarman]

rotation schedule for third year 😳 and in a few days i'll know which electives i got to fill those spaces in august and february. if i dont get the pediatric heme/onc elective in august, i will die. Badly.

[sanvitheartificer]

So I recently watched Hamilton for the first time on screen. The first time I saw it was actually in person, and tbh I don't recommend it, because I couldn't parse all the lyrics in the moment and couldn't see the choreography and expressions. It's actually an extremely good musical and story?? The music itself is very good and the character arcs are really, really well-plotted and anyway I get the hype more now. I've spent the last few weeks reading a fuckton of old fic, it's been fun and I've enjoyed it.

And I have SO many thoughts about Hamilton and about history and fandom and stuff >:3

Here's my mini-outline for this post:

>my understanding of historical realities

>how that relates to the choices made to frame Hamilton the way it's framed

>how that relates to the modern fandom

>sidetrack into fic that's about reincarnation and some technical problems with that

>fic idea that I'll never ever write

1. My understanding of Hamilton, the actual historical figure, is that he, like the rest of the founding fathers, was not incidentally or casually supporting slavery and other kinds of injustice. That was the POINT of the Revolution. I am so, so so very far from an expert, but I did take this really interesting class that talked about how there were essentially three parties in the American Revolutionary War: there were rich British people, there were rich American people, and there were poor American people. And the rich American people won.

My understanding of the reason for the infamous debt plan is BECAUSE it basically allowed rich people to be the creditors and collect interest, maintaining a social order in which rich people stayed rich and poor people stayed poor. Like, look at it this way: rich people lend money to the American government, poor people are taxed and therefore pay the interest on those loans, keeping them poor; rich people become invested in the success of the government, staying in power in the government, making money off poor people. It's very clever! It's also not something that I personally find admirable. 2.

I think that it is FASCINATING to look at how successful Hamilton has been. To be clear: I really enjoy the story, I find it incredibly well written and just fun. And I think part of the reason I find it easy to love is because it is in many ways about white people, telling familiar stories.

It's a story featuring actors of color, and it SAYS things about and to the experiences of people of color. But it's in large part a story about historical rich white people. I have done no research, but the only line I can think of offhand that's even directly to a historical person of color is Jefferson going “Sally be a dear put my bag down” once. She doesn't get a line, if I'm remembering correctly, just nods.

In some ways, Hamilton kind of feels like it says, “Look, people of color can have the same kind of stories that rich white people can have!” (which, to be clear, I would LIKE to be more of a thing.) To be even more ungenerous, it feels in some ways like that age-old tradition of rich people escaping the stigma of being rich by pretending they're poor, or white people in blackface. Like, sure, we'll have characters of color, but only if they're telling white stories. Only if whiteness is still centered.

And, of course, it's very much a story about social advancement and a person who starts out poor becoming rich, which is another beloved archetype that is increasingly impossible in the real world. You get to see the same capitalist story of “poor person pulling himself up by his bootstraps” but with trappings of liberal progressiveness.

Which is an excellent recipe for success, because it removes some of the stigma of enjoying that kind of story, and also genuinely allows people of color to relate in real ways to a story that historically DOES NOT make room for them in that way. Hits a lot of audiences.

I do not think Hamilton would have been commercially successful if it was about Sally Heming's story. And I don't think most audiences would enjoy it as much, because the story of “this person was personally impacted by injustice for their entire life and was not able to escape it in a big dramatic scene” is not really as easy to watch? Like stories of resilience can be so, so impactful, but. I do not think they're as fun or compelling as “this person pulled themself up and changed everything!” for me personally, most of the time. 3.

The fandom absolutely echoes all that nonsense, because fandom also centers whiteness, like, almost exclusively – at least the fandoms I've been in, and I admit that's probably in part because my tendency is 100% to center white rich voices and to enjoy those familiar stories. But it's also like... not hard to find those stories, even if it weren't my tendency. I trip over them; I don't have to try. It's way harder to find stories that don't center whiteness.

And I wonder for myself, like, what do I do about that? There's books and stories out there about Sally Hemings, I'm sure, but I haven't read them, and I don't really want to. I like the fantasy world of fandom where Alexander Hamilton is a 20-something extremely liberal trans guy from the Caribbean.

I don't think the solution is “be ashamed of what you like” but I don't think it's really enough to be like “be aware that what you like is primarily centering white capitalist rich propaganda”, either. I mean, awareness is great, but it doesn't FEEL like it's enough.

Maybe it's “cultivate an appreciation for stories that don't center whiteness and richness”?? And not in a homework kind of way or “go track down 20 documentaries about slavery” but in a way where it's like, recognize that the kinds of stories that you like and find fun to watch/read/listen to can absolutely be written without centering whiteness/richness. It would be HARD to hit some of the same narrative beats of inspiration that Hamilton hits in a Sally Hemings musical, but hell, I don't think it would be impossible to do that. (Obviously the story would not be the same, and it shouldn't be, but I'm just saying that stories of people oppressed by unjust systems can still be inspirational and fun! they don't always have to be tragedies!) It may even be out there and I just don't know it.

I think right now, Sally Hemings: The Musical would not be commercially successful, even if it DID hit the same narrative beats as Hamilton. Because it's too threatening to tell that story, in a lot of ways. But that's what I would like to do. Work towards a world where A. racism and poverty don't fucking exist and B. fandom and mass media are less racist and classist and etc.

….I'll go into fic ideas in a new post, since this feels like a complete thought for now.

[dk-thrive]

The bottomless grief. Over what? My self, my inadequacy...

Hell isn’t the psychosis. Hell is leaving the psychosis. Hell on earth is what that is. Nothing of what you’ve thought, seen or felt has been true. And you’ve thought, seen and felt with your entire being. But that’s not all. Now suddenly they’re staring at you, your husband and kids. Imploringly or angrily, I’m not sure which is worse. That’s when the tears come. The bottomless grief. Over what? My self, my inadequacy... ‘Are you normal now?’ Heming once asked when they came to visit me. What could I do but nod and cry and hold his reluctant body tightly to my own?

— Karl Ove Knausgaard, The Third Realm: A Novel. Martin Aitken, translator. (Penguin Press, October 1, 2024) 

[stressedlawsecretary]

Today's Focus

Photo credit: Mess Studio

09.25.24 - Once again the middle of the week is here, and once again I am grateful I get to work from home - in matching sweats no less! I bought my first matching set; it's Garfield and I got it specifically because it's got Pooky icons matching pretty prominently on it.

Work - I did not leave anything for myself to do at home except read some press releases; this means I'm here for whatever comes in by email but since I'm remote I doubt I'll have much work to do.

Background Noise - I am at home, for the next three days even, and so I'm mostly going to be binging my DVR. However, I have plenty of stuff I can put on mute on my tablet while I do that. I managed 17 videos yesterday, and at least a couple of them were over 2hrs long. So I'm hoping to keep some of that energy for my background vids.

Study - Wednesday is visual study day, and I have at least 4 hours of news programs on my DVR that will fulfil this criteria, along with whatever random articles & press releases I read.

Yesterday was productive, and the list of accomplished reading is long. I read 11 sections of the Jefferson Institute report on the Sally Hemings DNA confirmation, I read three articles related to climate change, I did six of Van Gogh's letters, two random articles, eight 'good news' articles, and a couple of published journal essays.

I also made some mention of following up on what I 'studied' over the weekend; now that I'm home where I left that list, I can safely say I read an article related to the Jefferson controversy, three press releases, a couple of temporarily bookmarked wikis, and like seven tabs from my phone.

Extras - Wednesday means I clean the catbox again, and vacuum; I'm doing some extra chores, but I'm off tomorrow so even more cleaning will be getting done then. Tonight is takeout; tomorrow is hunny's bday and he want homemade lasagna. This meal is an all-day affair, especially if I'm making sauce from scratch too, so that's why I'm off.

Lupinranger vs Patranger is silly and I'm enjoying it so I know I'll do more of that today; I'm not sure what hunny will want to do for his bday - that's up to him. I've been working on a longer piece this week, and right now it's running onto six pages so I probably won't write while I'm off. I might color though, and hunny got Katamari Reroll so I'm also going to encourage him to play some.

[creepyscritches]

I went to the malignant hematologist this week and honestly the most fun I've had at a doctor's office. ALL the nurses are like me (medically lol). For the first time in my life I was in a room where everyone had Raynauds and we were swapping favorite dead-finger pranks. The intake nurse said her doctor dxed her connective tissue lupus by looking at her hands' mobility and I kept saying "THAT'S not normal??" and my mother was in the bg hopelessly trying to bend her fingers the same way we were lol... I couldn't do all she could, but then again mine isn't of the connective tissue ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Idk no one WANTS to have to be at a malignant clinic, but it's really fun to see the practical application of heme/onc protocol from the patient perspective. I LOVE not having to find the answers myself lol...what a luxury to have the doctor explain it until it makes sense. :3c