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hazelfoureyes · 2 days

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A Doe in Fall (part 10)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds 📍

Part 10 Good Deeds

Alastor takes you out as promised, but work/hobbies call him away. Not that you mind, you have your own hobbies to pick up.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, references to racial violence, reference to a word that’s now very much a slur, Hate for Aubrey, inaccurate portrayal of how easy it was to drink, oh yeah murder, mentions of a dismembered body, bloody shoes, physics hijinks with a corpse, these idiots in love, gators aaaaaye baby, domestic fluff?? Kind of?? Did I do it?!」

I think about Emmett Till often. Though his heinous murder came after the time this story is set, what happened to him wasn’t an isolated incident. So it is referenced here in a sense, because I can’t stop thinking about him when I think about racial violence in the south both what it looked like before and what it looks like now. I don’t say anything explicit and change the act, but it is still important to warn you. If you don’t know about the tragic death of Emmett, here’s a site with links to articles and essays. Be careful, it is awful and his deceased and battered face will come up on some links, as his mother wanted the world to see what they did to her baby. It’s an image I cannot forget and I rightfully shouldn’t. I know it’s off to have such a heavy topic before this love story but this case is the kind that would motivate such a killer as Alastor, and I don’t want to miss an opportunity to remind us of Emmett’s short life even if it’s done in a silly fanfic surrounded by nonsense. So forgive me for perhaps an odd real life addition, I’d be disappointed in myself for not addressing it when Emmett has been on my mind every time I think about the era someone like Alastor could have lived in. An era that did exist and people did live and suffer in. An era not far removed from us, my father was alive when this happened.

Part 10 - Good Deeds

minors if you interact I will interpret that as a deep hate for me as a person so MDNI 👌🏼

“I’ve got to speak with the valet, go on ahead and find a table you like.”

You didn’t want to do that at all, but knew Alastor wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want it. Well, he didn’t really ask, did he? He was certainly in his element, the shining and towering hotel every bit as pristine as his own public image.

It was as if every head in the room spun around to look at you. Everyone’s hair freshly styled, jewelry shiny and heavy, clothes immaculate. Your dress was lovely, no doubt, but no one looks at the elephant in her tutu at the circus and proclaims, “A ballerina!” This was, rather obviously, not your scene.

Alastor had presented the dress to you so sweetly, though. You woke up to find it hanging on the closet door hook, the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He had either waited for you to fall asleep to hang it or woken up before you for just the reason. It was red, his favorite color for you. The latest fashion, loose and straight. No corset. The neckline showcased a large, flat bow.

“Partly a gift for me,” he had said as his hands slid down your sides when you had gotten dressed, “Such softness shouldn’t be hidden behind rigid boning.”

You settled into a large seashell shaped booth, the back coming up and over like you were the speck of sand yet to form into a pearl. The table was small, a glittering pattern under its shiny veneer. Everything was…glistening. Even the darkness past the windows seemed to be sparkling back at you. A few people turned to look you up and down, smiling and beginning to speak to their group before even turning back to them.

You could wither, or bloom. So you learned back as if you were bored, legs crossed and feet gently shaking with anxiety or boredom, you hoped no one could sus out which.

It was so odd. In your usual haunts, newcomers were greeted with curious smiles and maybe the tiniest suspicions. You were being picked apart to the bone by sharp stares and even sharper tongues, no matter how silent their jabs were to you.

“They’re probably jealous.” Your head snapped up, when had Alastor made it in? “They look at you and know, ‘oh, that’s the kind of woman my husband would rather have a conversation with.’” You laughed, you absolutely could have stolen the attention and more from at least one of these women’s husbands.

“Perhaps they recognize these earrings, gone missing from their jewelry box earlier this year.” You weren’t above accepting a woman’s stolen jewelry. It was her husband's fault anyway, might as well enjoy it.

Alastor’s finger came to your chin, lifting your face further into the light, “Give em a good look, darling. I want them to eat their hearts out.” The blush that swept across your features was so fierce, the difference in temperature between your cheeks and your arms caused a chill to run down to your shins. He took a seat beside you, scooting up close and flashing that smile. A smile that had you chasing him into dark alleys and grabbing dead men by the ankles.

A waiter came by, placing a drink in front of Alastor and asking what you’d like. You were so used to being in such spaces with the kind of men who answered for you that you didn’t reply immediately. When Alastor brought his drink to his lips, you realized it was you who was expected to speak.

“Oh! A corpse reviver please.”

The man smiled and left with a nod. Alastor choked, hitting his chest with the fleshy part of his palm, “That was intentional, wasn’t it?”

You danced in your seat, “I’ve never been somewhere that has the stock for it that I was…allowed to order what I want.”

Alastor set his drink down and leaned back, shoulder pressing into yours teasingly, “I can’t imagine anyone disallowing you a thing.” With a sigh, you reminded him of the things you did to get your marks drunk and off their guard. You were surprised when he nodded like he remembered. “I saw that! You would sit so quietly on their laps. I remember thinking you were much more boring than you had initially made me believe.” You recoiled, and he shot you a look, “Who stalked who first, hm?”

With a huff, you let it go. You weren’t actually sure the answer to that anyway. Focus let free from Alastor, you began to notice the looks were back. But no longer cutting into you, but wide and devouring. A few smiled at Alastor, some tipped their heads to him and offered a look of recognition. “Aren’t you popular.”

“I haven’t been out in awhile. They’re probably curious.” He took another sip, “Should be, atleast.”

A prideful smile slid up your face. You uselessly tried to mask it by licking your teeth.

Something that happened when in public with Alastor that was unlike you was the tendency to become small. Not shrinking to provide him space; it was a turning in of your shoulders and touching of your knees in a subconscious effort to curl into a little ball of joy. Actively fighting the tug, you leaned back and opened your chest. An exercise in mental focus.

“It’s weird. How you can be friends with my kind of people and….well, whatever is happening here.” Your hand waved at the room before you both.

“My friendship with these people compared to our friends at the dives is…. A light bulb compared to a fire. One was manufactured to fit a need, one exists somewhat naturally.”

Tall and slim, body flat from collar bones to knees, a slip of a woman entered the room and you felt a shift in the atmosphere. Her hair was short and pitch black, fashionable to say the least. A few heads turned, a few upturned lips shifted into sneers. Side glances, hushed words, intentionally heard huffs. You turned to Alastor to find his face was as confused as your own.

“Who is that?” You said it low, not knowing if she was friend or foe.

“That would be Mrs. Aubrey Debreaux. Popular socialite and frequent hostess.” A sip of his drink, speaking about her like a character in a novel. “This icy reception is news to me though. She’s usually the life of the party.”

“She’s a real wet blanket now…Your circles seem really fickle. Always a bit of gossip.” You realized as soon as you said it that, well, that was the point. Alastor needed the gossip, and, well, he clearly enjoyed it.

“That’s what the wealthy do. Gossip and pretend the drama is as stressful as someone looking for their next meal.” Swirling his drink absentmindedly, his eyes followed Aubrey through the hotel bar. When you asked if he knew everyone there, he said it was his job to know people.

“Your job is in radio. You host a show, Alastor.” You laughed through your nose.

“Well, my other job.”

“I’d call that a passionate hobby.” Your hand came to rest half on his and half on the booth bench low and hidden, not wanting to monopolize, but he quickly took it and held it on the table. Another struggle to keep your shoulders from drawing inward.

The room moved on, forgetting you both were there and eventually about Aubrey too. Or so you had thought. When you drink was starting to mellow you, you turned to Alastor to admire the view. You’d come to enjoy that silence, the kind that only existed between people comfortable enough to know they didn’t need to entertain each other to enjoy each other’s company.

He was scanning the bar still, elbow on the table as he rested his chin there. From a distance of space or familiarity it could be seen as boredom. But up close and personal, you could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes.

“Golly, when in Rome!” Alastor hooted and grabbed you by the hand with one of his and carried his drink in the other, “Let’s go gossip. Bring your drink.”

He pulled you into a group of four people in a circle talking. They opened and let you both in, smiles warm. A clamor of excited ‘how long has it been’s, ‘how are you’s, and ‘you look well’s.

You’d expected him to ask for gossip like he’d said, but realized that’d be pretty conspicuous. Instead he waited, and when Aubrey passed by one of them rolled their eyes and he had his opportunity.

“What’s that look for?” He asked.

Everyone got quiet and passed a glance between them. Finally a woman in a beaded dress and finger wave bob piped up.

“She reported a young boy touched her on the street.” Alastor watched Aubrey cycle through the groups as the friend spoke. “Grazed her hip with his hands, made a comment about white women as he did it.”

Alastor’s head whipped back around. “He got taken away that night.”

You gasped, hand coming to your mouth in sincere horror, “Just for touching her? Is he still in jail?”

The woman’s lips pursed together, no one looking at you.

“Bless your heart. He didn’t touch her and he didn’t make it to the jailhouse, sugar.”

Suddenly the way everyone was looking everywhere but at each other sunk in.

Panicked, you looked to Alastor. His expression was still, like the calm waters of a deep and foreboding bay. What horrors lie underneath? His tongue wiped across his teeth, and you reached out to take his drink from his hand. The action snapped him out of his daze for a second, expression softening a tad as he nodded a thank you.

If he shattered that glass now, people would remember. And when Aubrey went missing they may recall Alastor’s dramatic reaction. You knew his smiles intimately, the ones that were true and the ones that were illusions. The expressions of joy and the mask for his rage. The smile painted on his face now was nothing short of shallow.

You spent so many days in a bubble with Alastor, shielded by his grace or by the accepting and illegal circles you ran in that you sometimes forgot the reality of life. A dark privilege you hadn’t seen until you were the one looking naive for once.

That’s right. The world was a bad place, of cruelty and injustice. Not just for you, or for parts of you, or for sides of you. Not just for women with smart mouths or a love of dance. No matter how safe the comfort of your friends and the dark halls you all commiserate in, no matter the like minds and mixed complexions of your peers, you were all just one cruel voice from being dragged into the night. Just a single accusation from being a whispered story in a glittering hotel bar. A headline no one would write.

And some of you would be mourned more than others.

You took a second, blinking rapidly to dry your eyes.

“Apparently, she did it to get Hubert to leave his mistress’s apartment and come home.” A short man whose name you never got took a drag of his cigarette, “Worked. He’s been yapping all week about the state of New Orleans society and the importance of protecting the fairer among us.”

Alastor was quiet still, lips tight. You’d seen the photos in his home. You’d never discussed it, no need. Things can’t become normal if you’re always pointing them out. Plus, that was his piece to share.

“Glad to see most of us here aren’t too keen to welcome her. I’d hate to have to find another bar.” Someone said, glancing around the room. “George just started making my martinis right.”

“Care to dance?” Alastor abruptly turned his entire body to you with a slick swivel on his heels.

You nodded, offering small polite goodbyes and setting your drinks back on the table before turning to him.

His open palm was outstretched and offering you a dance. You spread your hand over his and felt him hold you firmly before pulling you into him.

He held you so close, much closer than anyone else on the dance floor. A scandalous lack of distance between you two. Quiet, Alastor’s eyes were distant. You were in front of him but he wasn’t seeing you. You let the song carry on a little longer for appearances before sighing into a smile.

“Why are we dancing when you have work to do? You have your tools.” Looking up at a man was rarely a view you enjoyed but the way his eyes slid down his nose and landed so sharply on you made it worth it. A look that said he’d devour you if he didn’t adore you so much. Your hand snaked behind his back to touch the hidden outline of this trusty little knife. He briefly wondered if this could be considered foreplay, the way he felt your hand on his lower back and running over his weapon. Much more intimate than he’d ever let anyone else be.

As your bodies swayed, the lights slid across the curve of his eyes and lit that bright honey brown color like a diamond twirling in the sun. The facets of his irises mesmerizing you.

How terribly did you love him?

How far would you fall for him?

“This would be a long one. You’d be waiting… could be a couple of hours. I need to be out of sight before she leaves.” A chill. Oh, you’d forgotten for a second, Alastor was a killer. He didn’t do it for ‘justice’ alone, he enjoyed what he did. Immensely. His voice had a note of giddiness and anger that didn’t mix well, but was oddly arousing.

“Correction, I’d be dancing for hours. Drinking. Letting handsome men waste their money on me.”

“Oh? Can they buy me a drink, too?”

You brought up your pointer finger, “You remind her of her humanity, and I’ll get a man to buy you a drink.”

He linked his finger with yours. “I’ll need to give her special attention. She’s earned it.”

You loosely understood this wasn’t attention like you’d be given. This was attention that ran opposite affection.

“I’m not here to be in your way, Alastor.” A quick kiss to your hand, one you hoped no one else saw. While no one here would be bothered by Brady, you still wanted to keep some semblance of confusion on what you two were to onlookers.

His laugh was louder than you expected, a few heads turning, “Impossible. I’m always going wherever you are, dear.”

Would you never get up again?

“I’ll stay at the bar. If they close, I’ll just go to Beth’s.” Your fingers lingered in his, “Be careful. The best good deeds are done in the dark.”

A kiss to your nose. So gentle despite the topic. You could imagine it, the violent death of a woman. You could hear the sounds. Hers, his, the knife’s. A pang of guilt set in before you could remind yourself why this woman was going to die. A tiny smile settled on your face, he offered you a gentle command in return, “Understood, honey. Be safe.”

You let him kiss your hand again and bow out of the dance. You were doing it, it dawned on you as you watched him walk away. Truly kissing him goodbye at the door as he went off to work. The closest you’d ever gotten, atleast.

He stopped by a group and said some quick goodbyes, apologies for leaving early, and left the hotel bar.

You knew he had killed women before, Alastor was all for equality, but a part of you worried. Women tend to scream louder, and be heard more often, than men. A man screams and people just…keep walking. What would he do? Where would he do it?

With a sniffle, you let the jealousy of just what he would need to do to get her alone flutter away. Taking a seat back at your table, you sipped your drink and watched the others dance and chat. How odd, they could sway in such large places with big windows and bright lights with no fear of cops. Your scenes were dark, dusty, never seeing the sky.

“He left ya?” One of the earlier women came by, someone you vaguely remember him nodding a ‘hello’ to at some point in the evening.

Thankfully you were still quick on your feet. “Well, we came separately, of course we’d leave separately.”

A laughed, “Of course.” She leaned down, touching at your hair for a second, curiously, “Don’t hold your breath. But, it is nice he got you in here, huh? Must be a treat for you.”

Your own laugh was just as abrupt as Alastor’s earlier, your hand coming to hide your smile. All you could muster was a nod. Yes, you stood out. Yes, you didn’t fit in with these people for many reasons. But, it wasn’t your first time in nice spaces. First time not pressed into a man who’d been made to believe he was more important the whole time, but still.

It took two more drinks for Aubrey to leave. But there was a problem. As she was trying to bow out of the room, a man kept hooking his fingers under the loose belt of her boxy drop waist dress.

With practiced skill, you took note of where her eyes lingered on him, how her hand came to his arm but didn’t actually press him away. Not earnestly.

The pushy man saw it too, every little soft ‘no’ was a half ‘yes’. And Aubrey seemed to like that. It was almost ironic, given what she had done, how she egged on the younger man before her now by pretending she didn’t want him. His hand landed on her hip forcefully, her hand on his chest gingerly. He leaned in close, she pulled away barely.

The next act was the most classic to women of your era. The false exit.

Aubrey whispered something, he nodded eagerly and his many hands returned to himself.

She smiled at the back of everyone’s heads, as nearly no one would look her way, and she slipped out the doors.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shimmying as you slid from your booth. Barely a step away, you leaned back and grabbed the last sip in your glass. You swished it around your mouth like listerine, and swallowed it. Before you got too close, you pinched your cheeks until your eyes began to water.

You’d just found a way to make yourself useful.

“Whoopsie Daisy!” You giggled, shoulder colliding with the man’s chest as you stumbled past.

“Watch - ooh, hey,” the free hand that had come to keep you from getting closer quickly softened, curling around your waist. The same hand that’d just been on the socialite. You were sure to look up and sigh into him, your breath soaked in alcohol. “You okay, doll? Had a bit too much?”

With glassy eyes you nodded, closing them and letting your head nod lazily, “I lost my thing!” You laughed, hitting his chest.

“Your what? I happen to be a thing.”

How quickly he forgot his target when easier to pick fruit appeared.

“No, silly!” A practiced hiccup, “my little…”

“Your little…?”

Your fingers wiggled in the direction of your hip.

“Purse!” A beaming grin. He asked if you needed help finding it. “Well, how else am I gonna get another drink!” The hand on your waist fell to your hip and slunk lower.

“Oh well, I could help ya with that.” He leaned in, looking around first as if he had a secret, “I have a room upstairs.”

You tutted, “No no, I am a married woman!” He lifted your left hand, turning it over in a dramatic search for a ring. “Well, engaged…” you diverted your gaze. He lifted his hand to his brow then and scanned the room like a sailor to the horizon. “He’s working late.” You whined.

Why did his kind of man always want the taken woman? Did they think the chase was more meaningful then? Did they feel like they’d won some tug-of-war with an invisible, unaware opponent?

Maybe they were hardwired to hoard resources.

You let him seat you at the bar, and when he ordered you a drink you asked to know your savior’s name. William.

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Alastor was none the wiser, smoking a cigarette under the streetlamp just off to the side of the hotel awning. He didn’t smoke often before you, but he found the lure of sitting on the porch passing a pill between you both too hard to fight. And soon enough the habit grew from a drinking pastime to just… something to do with his hands.

As Aubrey appeared, waiting for her driver to retrieve the car, Alastor tossed the butt to the street and walked up on her.

“I’m quite cross with you, Aubrey.” His tone was smiling as his hand slid behind her neck and tugged her away from the safety and lights of the awning.

“Oh! Alastor, I’m actually waiting for my car.” She struggled to keep up with his pace in her heels, weakly pointing back to where the valet had stood earlier. She resisted a little, the palm on the nape of her neck silently shutting her down.

“Nonsense. We have business together.” Alastor let his hand fall to her upper arm as he yanked her into the closest side street. “I hear you’ve been a very bad girl.”

Aubrey huffed, pulling back against him once, then twice, but ultimately acquiesced when she could see his car down the street.

“Fine, you can drive me home then.” A misplaced giggle, her survival skills dulled by ego.

He tossed her roughly against the car, hand gripping her face tightly. She tried to say his name, but his hold was so firm her jaw was locked.

“You’re going to get into my car now.” Alastor’s eyes had lost their pupil, an expanse of a seemingly endless dark brown in the heavy shadows left by the lamp’s light. When he let her face go, she rolled her eyes and pulled open the back seat door.

That wasn’t what he had meant, not there, but he closed the door behind her and got into the driver’s seat. He hadn’t brought the tarp tonight, not expecting to need it, so maybe the backseat was his best option regardless.

When he pulled away, she reminded him he didn’t know her address.

“I’m not taking you home. I told you. I have a bone to pick with you.” Alastor found himself incapable of putting on a ruse for her. His patience was entirely lost in his unraveling anger.

“Oooh? A bone, you say. Well, well.” Aubrey leaned forward onto the front seat, hands snaking down his shoulders and chest so she could nip at his ear, “Finally letting me have a ride.”

He had to set his right hand in the darkness of his lap to hide the tremble, a disgusted rage manifesting in uncommon ways.

As her fingers found the buttons of his waist coat, Alastor struggled to see the road in front of him. His vision was going white, and then red. His blood pressure was so high he was nearly blind.

And when two hot fingers broached the small space between buttons of his dress shirt and touched the bare skin of his chest, the car came to an abrupt halt. The force threw her into the backseat.

Alastor slammed the front seat door shut before opening the back and caging her in. “I can’t stand another second of your existence.” She crawled backward, making room for him. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Aubrey settled her back against the opposite door, “Oh, the petit mort.”

His head hung low in frustration, a growled “No, the big one.” as he raked his fingers through his hair to keep from punching his own car seat.

“So I’ve heard.” She pulled up the hem of her dress slowly.

“For fucks sake Aubrey! I’m not using double entendre!” His hands wrapped around her neck. “Must I really remind you of what wrongs you’ve committed?!”

A brief panic finally came, “Wrongs?? Excuse you.”

He could have sworn the snap in his brain had been audible to her as he lost his last bit of patience.

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“Excuse me.” You settled back into the seat, having taken a bathroom break to down some water in secret. You weren’t trying to actually end up blacked out.

“Anyway, that's how we secured the riverside house.” William leaned into you. You tried to sip your drink and found it empty, having managed to finish it absentmindedly while he rambled on about himself earlier. As you stared at him you let your eyes lose focus and drift into plans for the morning. You’d like biscuits. Alastor had some sausage he’d picked up the other day, maybe a little gravy and some eggs. It’d be like a Sunday meal nice families ate after church. You assumed. Out of the peripheral of your daydream you saw him tap the bar twice and hold up two fingers. “Charge to 1033.” He said. With the clarity of someone who wasn’t pretending to be drunk you quickly held up three.

William shot you a confused look.

“One for my darling.” He made a show of looking around, the bartender pausing. You gave him a confirmation nod, “Three, please.”

“And is he in the room with us now, Helen? I’m beginning to think he’s imaginary.”

It seemed a fine enough name to give him.

“No! But I made a promise. Or…,” you returned the lean, head resting on his shoulder, “are three drinks a little steep for you?“ With a huff, he pulled out a pair of C notes and set them on the bar. The bartender nodded, reaching for the top shelf. You whistled at the sight. Too much money for the total seven drinks he’d ordered, if you weren’t somewhere Alastor frequented you’d have slipped them under the lip of your stockings when the man wasn’t looking. He was charging the room anyway, the large bills were just for show…

“One reviver for the miss, one brandy for the sir, and a rye whiskey neat for the beau.” The bartender set the drinks down on red napkins. The whiskey sat between you both, and after a beat you realized you hadn’t actually told him what to make for Alastor. And come to think of it, your last drink hadn’t been a reviver at all but a brandy ordered by William.

“Ya know I stood up another woman to help you,” he said it into your cheek, stealing your attention by breaking your line of thought. His arm around your shoulder curled to hold you closer, “Don’t I get a reward for that?”

His breath reeked of sickeningly sweet brandy, the taste sticking to the back of your throat. Your head tilted back so you could look at him down your nose, right hand coming to rest on his thigh.

The heat of his body was radiating through the fabric of his pants and made your stomach turn. How many hot and sweaty bodies had you had the pleasure and displeasure of touching?

A smirk painted your face, remembering seeing sweat sticking to Alastor’s forehead the last time he fucked you. What had you done for that reward? Ah right, the somehow shocking act of not withholding praise for how well planned out his greenhouse was. How impressive he was to you in so many ways. You could have lingered on that recollection, on how Alastor set down his coffee and kissed you. And how he didn’t stop until you were both left undone and flustered. But movement stirred away the pleasant memory to bring you back to an unpleasant reality.

His hand roamed down your arm, uncomfortably warm palm on your exposed skin.

“Oh, I know you did.” You said.

William chuckled, absolutely no idea what you were talking about and not particularly giving a shit. “Did I mention I have a room here?”

“Ten thirty three.” You repeated.

He looked genuinely shocked, “How’d you know that?” The man was absolutely mystified.

“I— you just…,” your mask slipped in the face of such abject stupidity, “Lucky guess.” William drank his brandy slowly, mentioning you should bet on the ponies together. You nodded.

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Alastor didn’t care for strangulation. It took so much time and wasn’t particularly satisfying. No pleading, no screaming, no blood and gore. Just…. someone flailing beneath you and turning purple. Boring.

He brought up the accusations before he began to squeeze, and her panic transformed to relief. “Oh that?” She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, “Are you really miffed at me about that?”

“Yes, Aubrey! You condemned an innocent child to a horrid death!” His hands loosened, all of his neurons firing off to feel pain in his own heart.

She rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t call them children. You seem so upset, hun. Did you have a mam-?”

The rest of the word was barely squeaked out of her, he couldn’t let her finish it. He wasn’t sure what face he made. But whatever it was, it scared her. The carefree way she’d been handling the interaction finally died, and he could register actual fear in her eyes then.

But the rage just … withered. How many children had his mother loved and doted on before her last, much kinder position? How many Aubreys had she raised. It was nothing short of an overwhelmingly violent sadness that laced his finger together around her neck and tightened, the full weight of his body coming down to crush her airways. He wanted such sentiments to be smothered out of the world like the air in her lungs. If he killed enough, could he make a dent in their influence? He could try. For her. For his mother.

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“Ya know, I could take real good care of you. If that’s what’s stopping you from coming upstairs.”

With a deep breath, you gulped the drink halfway down. “Your fella doesn’t need to know. I could even get you your own place, you could wait for me there when he’s late with work. Have dinner ready. Slip off my shoes like a good girl.”

“Trust me; you’ve got a better chance of her smacking you with your shoes than slipping them off like a maid.” Alastor was resting his elbow on the bar behind you, head leaning on his hand. “Hey doll. That one mine?” He pointed at the glass.

“Oh? Alastor is the fiancé?,” William gave off a snide laugh as he was interrupted, Alastor standing up and walking to come between you two, “This guy?! Everyone knows he’s a frigid bitch. You must be a dive alley-cat if you’re—,” Alastor’s fist connected with the man’s jaw, eliciting a sickening crack. He needed both hands to keep himself from falling down with William as he was knocked back out of his bar stool. Alastor’s feet slipped on the spilt brandy, causing him to seize the stool for momentary support.

Alastor took the glass of whiskey with his non-dominant hand and downed it. He cooed, “Top shelf, Georgie?” The bartender nodded. “Good choice. Picked a worthy sucker, sweetheart. Ready to peel?”

You watched William try to stand, glass stuck to his palm. He did manage to get on his knees, shouting at the staff who stood motionless and unphased behind the counter. They didn’t say anything at all, oddly, until Alastor extended his swelling hand to you.

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Alastor flashed his signature smile and guided you out of the hotel bar. You only got a few steps before quickly running back and snatching one of the 100$ bills from the counter. William would’ve taken it back from the bar anyway. What a waste!

When a waiter offered Alastor a warm and familiar look you had to wonder, did people really not know what he did in the darkness of the New Orlean’s alleys? Did a part of them not feel some kind of debt to him? Or was he just painfully friendly when socializing?

“Just to be clear,” Alastor let the doorman open the lobby door, “It’s not the accusation of sex work that compelled me to sock him. It’s the implication you’d be cheap.” He waved the valet from the car and opened the door for you, “If you chose to sell your companionship at true worth, his daddy’s money couldn’t even buy him a kiss.”

“Aww,” you smiled at him through the thin windowpane, “Would you really be so cavalier about such a job if I did?”

“Would I? Gosh that’d make retirement much quicker for me.” He slid into the driver's seat and the door shut with a sharp ting. As he took hold of the wheel he reclined to let his hand settle behind you on the backrest, and then you three were off.

“Oh by the way, Aubrey’s in the backseat.”

You turned slowly, first coming into view were her tiny, shining silver shoes. Your eyes kept traveling; stocking covered calves and then the bottom of her dress just past her knees.

Alastor’s coat draped over her torso and shoulders caused you to flit to him, confirming his jacket was gone, and back to her.

Her face looked like that of a sleeping passenger.

No blood.

When the car was a few blocks from the hotel, you leaned back and lifted the jacket. Her abdomen was clean, the white of her dress pristine. At first her neck seemed clear of cuts or abrasions until you rode past a streetlamp and a beam of light revealed the slowly forming collar of bruises.

Special attention.

For a hair of a moment you began to gently cover her again, before remembering her crimes and dropping it on her unceremoniously.

“Trunk not good enough for her?”

“Got interrupted. Booked it back to you.” He shook his head and patted the seat in tandem.

What luck that just as he felt sure she was too far gone for revival, he let go over her neck and sat up in time for someone to notice him. Fishing in his jacket draped over the seat, he found his cigarette case just as—

“What exactly are you two doing?” An officer was flashing his light through the passenger side back window.

Alastor froze, Aubrey motionless between his legs and a cigarette dangling unlit between his lips. “You startled me, officer! We were just canoodling. But she’s gone and fallen asleep before the main event.”

The officer’s brass light shone down but couldn’t reach the dead woman’s face past the shadow cast by the car door and glass. “She alright?”

Alastor’s eyes drifted down to the deceased socialite, “Truth be told sir, she’s had a bit too much of the giggle water.” Fishing your lighter from his waistcoat pocket, he lit this cigarette before setting the jacket over Aubrey like a gentleman.

“Alright y'all better get lost. Tell your moll this ain’t ladylike.” The officer tapped the window with his knuckle and when she didn’t stir just left with a huff.

Alastor was quick to leave the backseat and drive off, circling around at the next block to head back to the hotel.

“Is… everything alright?” You asked, very obviously concerned.

“Peachy! I just said we were necking before she passed out drunk.“ he leaned over and kissed your cheek, “Anything exciting on your end?”

Patting his leg you beamed up at him, “Always so quick on your feet! I don’t know why I worry so much.” His face lit up and you wanted nothing more than to launch into a praise filled rant that fueled his smile. But, you moved on to the question at hand. After a moment to think, you remembered ‘the best good deeds are done in the dark’. “Nope! Just got tipsy on William’s dime. An odd woman did touch my hair…,” you recounted every second, leaving out why you chose William, to Alastor. You hadn’t meant to, and he hadn’t actually asked, the evening’s events just seemed to flow out of you. The way he always added little comments and nodded made it feel like a conversation and not just you rambling.

When the car was pulling into the driveway, you asked Alastor if you could drive it behind the house. Puzzled, he put it in park and let you sit between his legs. You started slowly, but quickly began to accelerate. As you approached the house you turned sharply to the left, right side tires ever so slightly leaving the ground. A sharp correction to the right to straighten out. One of his hands clutched you at the waist, the other gripping the seat.

He tried to form some kind of words but they came out a jumbled and panicked mash of sounds as you barreled toward the greenhouse.

You slammed your foot on the brakes and Aubrey flew off the back seat and hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Ha!” You slapped the wheel, “I’ve been wanting to hear that sound the whole drive!”

He used both arms now to squeeze you appreciatively, “You’re just the bee’s knees.” Alastor nuzzled into the back of your neck, truly feeling his heart flutter. You made him skip a beat. So many days and nights not even imagining such a pairing.

The best scenario he could think up was a partner who wouldn’t ask questions, who didn’t care to know, who was maybe a little too naive but otherwise capable. Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t dared to think someone would exist who could support him.

And not just in the killing, which was a hurdle of course, but the other parts of him. The little sacrifices you made for him without complaint.

What did he do for you, he worried. Your body was his on the occasions he wanted but never did you ask for him. You shared the housework equally. Yes he drove you around but your skills with the car were still new. Insignificant things, like making your coffee when he awoke first and waiting for you after work. With the detective still looking for connections, he couldn’t even properly introduce you or flaunt you around to his circles.

Like a flash of lightning taking down a tree, insecurity shook him. What on earth was keeping you there? Of all the people in New Orleans, how was he any more worth your time than the next?

If anything, he was nothing short of troublesome. His hold on you twisted from thankful to desperate.

Even the lovely evening out he had promised you, he��d left you alone in a strange place. A stranger had bought you more drinks than he had.

“Would you like to go to the woods with me tonight? To dispose of Aubrey?” His lips swiped across the fabric of your dress as he said it.

The sudden advancement into his hobby took you by surprise. You hugged his arms against you, “Really? Are you sure?”

“If you don’t want to…”

“Is that what I said?”

“Well, no….”

“Don’t put words in my mouth! I absolutely want to go!” Your arms squeezed his.

He chuckled into your shoulder and gave your hip a pat, “Let me get her packaged up. You go rest your feet and I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go.”

You watched from the kitchen, the light he hung from the greenhouse ceiling setting the entire space aglow. When he finally emerged, his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his hair was falling into his face, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose before he could push it back into place. He waved from the porch, and when you made it out to him he was already pulling out small bundles.

“We’ll bury the pieces in separate places.” He dragged out a small trash tin with the lid already clapped down. “And this goes into the water.”

The packages were like Tommy’s, but smaller. They fit easily into the trunk, and beside them he snuggly fit the metal bucket.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The Ford was parked down a dirt road far from sight, taking a parcel at a time and a shovel, you followed him into the woods.

You had to ask, why not just his land? Wasn’t that safer? Easier?

“Well, a skull found out here is easier to act shocked about than on my property.”

The ground was still soft, but you could imagine it was rock solid in winter. “Isn’t this dangerous? Aren’t you slowed down in the colder months?” You kept your eyes open wide, adjusting to the pitch black of the forest. The trees were too close and too full still to see the stars. But soon they’d brown and die, revealing the sky’s light. Revealing Alastor.

“Eh it’s mostly busy during mating season because the hunters come out in numbers. But in general I avoid being here in the very early morning hours.” He paused and you reached out for the shovel for your turn, “It’s not too bad overall.”

“They mate in fall. It’s almost fall now.” You widened your stance for balance and began to dig.

“Yeeees but I’m not alone!” He chirped.

“Fine… just, don’t come out when I’m not able to join you. Just wait or, I don’t know, burn them or something.” You tried to dig fast, wanting to spare his injured hand another turn.

“Very ineffective, brings too much attention and the body never burns all the way. It’s still identifiable in many cases.” Alastor said it quickly, as he’d had nearly a lifetime to think of these things and test them.

You huffed, “Well, fuck. Okay. Still.” You leaned over and offered your index finger, not looking at him as you did. He laughed before wiping his hand clean on his pants and hooking his with yours.

A small scream erupted from you, startling him. Your short heel sunk into the dirt when you leaned to lock fingers. The sudden loss of balance startled you. “Sorry… flat shoes. I need flat shoes…these are gonna be the death of me.”

Alastor’s hand came to his heart, pounding in his chest, “Of us. My heart nearly stopped.”

You dug many holes, all of them quite small in radius, just wide enough to slip in what you needed to. After each was deep enough by some standard you didn’t know, he would untie the twine around the package and let the contents spill out and down into the little cylinderical pocket of dirt.

The first package had her hands. Then next was her feet. Her arms in pieces and then later her legs. The hips, the chest and shoulders, and finally, her head. You were grateful for the darkness, not wanting to see her face now that it was no longer attached to her body.

The brush was so thick and the woods so dense that you found it hard to distinguish the burial spots once they’d been filled in and covered up. He explained most people came out there with a purpose, not really noticing some disturbed dirt here and there. It’s not like they’re people sized.

“You’re just something else, ya know that?” You said it into the shadows and didn’t see him wince. But you somehow, accidentally, knew to clarify, “I’m always so impressed by your way of doing things. You’ve really thought it out well huh? I know I should worry less but it’s hard.”

Because of the shade you didn’t see the way his shoulders relaxed. You never made him regret your inclusion.

Alastor carried the bucket as you slowly made your way through the darkness. You could hear the sounds of bugs, though you couldn’t see any. The water surprised you, his arm coming to stop you from walking into the bayou.

“In winter they’ll get really still, so I slow down then too. But we still have time, it’s not too cold yet for them.” He took off the lid, the smell of copper blossoming from the tin.

With practiced moves, he tossed the viscera as far as he could into the small inlet marsh of the river.

Within seconds the water frothed and rolled with the snapping of powerful jaws.

“Gosh they’re so neat.” You said, reaching out into the darkness for his hand. You couldn’t see him looking at you as you watched the prehistoric animals dispose of his crimes.

He wanted to kiss you. To confess every little happiness you filled his formerly hollow chest with. But he held back. He knew better. He’d tried before, once. When he thought settling was better than nothing. It ended terribly. It was better to just exist beside you for as long as you’d entertain his company. If you knew, he thought, of all the futures he imagined with you, you’d just feel tied down by his hopes. You weren’t a small bird he could hold in his home.

You promised to not get in his way. The least he could do was not cage you with his love. He wouldn’t hold you back.

“Alastor.”

“Yeah?” He said dreamily.

“I think… ” You fought the urge to scream at the sensation between your toes, “Aubrey dripped into my shoes.”

Alastor yanked the bucket away from you, the angle he haphazardly held at it with a single finger to hold your hand having caused the liquid remains to leak out.

“Ankle boots. Ankle boots, no heel.” You muttered, the shoe rinsed off in the water with a paranoid speed now squishing under your sole. The action was enough to draw attention to your shore, long and round snouts moving toward you in the night as you got rid of Aubrey. It was time to go.

The drive home was dark and silent. The bucket and tarps rinsed with the gas can full of water he always kept in the oversized, custom built trunk. It had taken longer than you had realized, which just brought up renewed worry for his sleep schedule.

When you finally made it home and into the bedroom, he mumbled it was too late to shower. A coordinated grumble between you that you’d both just wash the sheets in the morning. Alastor sat on the end of the bed and bent down, your hand coming to his shoulder to stop him.

Exhausted, aching, and quite confident you smelled of sweat coated dirt with the tiniest hint of dead Aubrey mixed with alive William (blood and brandy, respectively), you lowered yourself to your knees. You untied the waxed laces of the right shoe, made of a shiny brown leather, and slipped it off.

Alastor felt his throat tighten as he had to blink to keep tears away. You always seemed to listen when he spoke. Really listened, even when he was just being playful. Another tiny sweetness piled onto the mountain you were currently burying him under. Another ounce of inadequacy tipped on his self measured scales.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Hush, I don’t have to do anything.” You said it and he laughed breathlessly knowing he’d heard it before and praying he’d hear it forever. “I want to.”

You set the left shoe beside the right. When you didn’t stand but instead stared at him patiently, Alastor undid his pants and lifted his hips to push them down. You folded them neatly beside his shoes. Feeling up his legs as if you couldn’t see them there in front of you, you found his sock garters.

“Keep the socks, please. It’s getting chilly.” He undid his shirt and folded it on his lap.

When he was in just his underwear and socks, you looked up at him and wondered if he knew. That this was the closest to expressing “I love you” you had ever been. The act itself perhaps far louder than any words could be.

Sitting back, he patted between his legs like he had in the car. As you sat, he undid the buttons down the back of your dress. Why were so many women’s clothing items made in a way that required two people?

In the mirror above the dresser you took in the sight. When the dress fell to your waist he kissed your shoulder and met you in the reflection.

“Quite a pretty couple, if I do say so myself.” He rested his chin where he had just kissed and smiled at you. “What did I do to deserve your attention?”

“Affection,” you corrected. “Aubrey got attention.” He nodded slightly. “I think it’s karma.” You watched his brow arch. “You’ve earned me. Whatever that means, or looks like. We were put together for a reason.”

It was the sappiest thing you’d ever said and a year ago you’d have laughed in someone’s face for saying it. If a character in a novel spewed it out in a confession you’d have closed the book. But you meant it. Every single word was part of the fact this was supposed to happen. The idea that any timeline existed where your paths never crossed gave you the shivers.

Alastor closed his eyes, exhaustion catching up quickly as comfort opened the door for it. That didn’t make any sense to him at all. Why would anyone, god or the devil, give him something good just for the sake of being a good thing. He was very plainly bad. There must be a catch. That fear he felt before, the fear of wanting something too much, reappeared. Turning its ugly head to him as if called by name.

Why? He could feel something, someone, setting their sights on him.

When he opened his eyes, you were there still, looking at him. A smile too sweet. He felt the compulsion to tell you to run. That if this was his karma, it would end the way he deserved. And he didn’t deserve happiness. He didn’t deserve you.

But instead he leaned down, lifted your dress, and unclamped your garters. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to cling to what good he had now. Even knowing he couldn’t possibly get to keep it. His fingertips delighted in rolling down the delicate nylon. He watched the red stained end loosen around your toes, a mental note to burn them before he continued his undressing.

“Lift your hips, my love. I’ll get you all ready for bed.” As he pressed forward and bent into you so he could slip off the stockings he turned to look at the you in front of him, “And I’ll keep you warm.”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #human alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin alastor #alastor #fanfiction

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whenmemorydies · 2 months

Text

See this?

Carmy is about to pull this shit. He is really about to go in and likely blow up one of the only good relationships he has left from The Beef. After yelling at Tina from the pass. After stressing out everyone and their fucking dog cos he thinks this is acceptable behaviour if its all in service of a star?

This part of 3x03 Doors was such a jagged scene for me because of a few things (including what I've said above). What else got me:

Tina is someone Carmy knows, that Carmy loves (go back to their scene in 1x08 Braciole talking about Mikey. Go back to Carmy's soft "hey Tina you go ahead, you take the night off okay? I got you.");

Tina is an older woman of colour who has made the commitment to skill up so that she can work at The Bear after working at The Beef. Carmy has seen the work she has put in but in this moment, he pays none of it any mind. Imagine being T. Imagine how that would feel. Imagine how it would feel knowing all we know after watching Tina's journey in 3x06 Napkins. The thing is, Carmy doesn't need to know all of T's backstory to know his behaviour is unacceptable. The fact that he knows some of it and proceeds to act in this way is just more evidence of his white privilege showing its ass.

Carmy does not have the self reflexivity here to look at his young, white, male self yelling at this older WOC and see how fucked this is: how he's become another white guy in a litany of white men barking at workers of colour, not seeing Tina for the whole human she is but reducing her to a means of production. The racial dynamics on this show are so evident but don't get talked about nearly enough. I know the writers have crafted those dynamics on purpose because as beautiful a character as Carmy is, he's also a product of his environment as a white chef trained in a highly racially segregated field. This has repercussions for his relationships in season 3, particularly with the BIPOC characters in his life. @november-rising speaks about Carmy's behaviour in relation to Black women's experiences of love and professional recognition devastatingly here. Read their post and the reblogs.

While this shit made me so mad this season, it was also in character - as I've said here - for a white guy trained in fine dining to revert to established patterns of behaviour. Though, I'm gonna need the writers of the show to show US that they did this on purpose and have Carmy ATONE for this shit in season 4. Otherwise, what kind of redemption arc will this man have? This shit is hurtful to the BIPOC characters and BIPOC viewers of this show in no small part because white men the world over have a LONG history of using BIPOC people as a means of production and as a means of production alone. If you're unsure about this, please go look up the Transatlantic slave trade. Please go look up the history of colonial indentured labour. Please go look up The British East India Company. Please look up the forced labour regime in the modern prison industrial complex. Please go read a fucking book. And no I'm not saying Carmy is responsible for the slave trade (LMAO please hold fire if this is where your mind is going). I'm saying BIPOC folks carry with us a long ass history, an intergenerational history of this shit. But guess who else does too? White folks. So don't act like they dont.

This shit is also hurtful because we know how respectful Carmy can be. We’ve seen him in seasons 1 & 2. We know he knows what being a practical ally looks like (even if he may not have the language to name what he was doing) when he made sure to bring the staff of The Beef with him to The Bear and invested in them accordingly. We know he loves and respects them, none more so than Sydney. But there were so many times where he did not act like it in season 3. And when folks have got histories - not just personal but cultural too - as long and as loaded as we ALL do, actions account for a lot. What you do is the shorthand for who you are in the world, whether you like it or not.

Ok back to the scene.

Who comes in and simultaneously saves Carmy's ass and ANOTHER of his relationships? Who protects Tina and keeps the kitchen from exploding AGAIN?

Who supervises her sous chef like a fucking pro?

Sydney. Sydney. Sydney.

And who knows that he's in the presence of greatness but doesn't know how to articulate it cos he's not integrated, not by a fucking long shot. Who needs to attend some anti-racism training along with Al-Anon and therapy (so he can get the benefit of understanding his role in this system and get a better understanding of his own mind)?

Yeah you Carmen, you.

Better get on that shit before you lose the woman who is the beat to your whole heart another means of production to a chef who's going to pay her better, give Syd insurance from the jump and total creative control. Just saying.

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #the bear meta #the bear season 3

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pillarsalt · 6 months

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hi! i was wondering your opinions on how hrt affects the body? i hold a lot of radfem beliefs but i am trans (taking testosterone). would being a woman to you have to be completely about chromosomes? for example, trans men years on T do not have the same genetic makeup as cis women. same with trans women on E, their genetic makeup would be very different to cis men, and would more correlate to cis women. does this factor in who you consider female/male or having experience as women?

Hi there, thanks for reaching out.

Firstly, I think you may be a bit confused. Taking exogenous hormones does not affect your genetic makeup. Your dna will stay the same unless you're exposed to something extreme like radiation - this is a good thing because dna mutation is bad for you and causes cancer! Your genetic sex is immutable, a person with XY chromosomes cannot have their dna altered to have XX chromosomes instead.

Hormones will affect the expression of your genes, for example turning on facial hair production in women who are taking testosterone. This is why those patterns of facial hair, even in women, differ from person to person. The genes for it were already there, but hormone replacement therapy uses the endocrine system to change what signals get sent to your genes to tell them what features to express.

Beyond chemically induced genetic expression, there are particular physical features in males that do not occur in males, and vice versa. This is a feature of the /ancient/ evolution of sexual reproduction. Despite the variety of metaphysical beliefs about identity and personhood, the truth is that humans evolved to reproduce between two sexes, and human beings cannot change sex. Every cell of your body has your sex encoded within it. This affects us physically in many ways. I and most feminists believe that this fact should be irrelevant to any person's ability to pursue their passion, be themselves, and love who they love. Even so, recognition of biological sex is something important. This is really critical in a medical context. For example: men who receive a blood transfusion from a pregnant or recently pregnant woman have an increased risk of death by transfusion-related lung injury. Another example: tracheostomy tubes differ in size depending on sex due to dimorphism in average tracheal diameter. A women who is reported as a male risks considerable injury by having a male sized tracheostomy tube forced into her windpipe. A considerable amount of medications differ in dose effectiveness and side effects based on biological sex. Something as straightforward as a heart attack has different symptoms depending on if the patient is female or male. Denial of biological sex is dangerous, and as it stands, medical science has not advanced enough to change the biological sex of an individual. If you are born male, you will stay male for your entire life. You say that a transwoman who has taken estrogen is more genetically similar to a woman, I'm sorry but that simply isn't true. A male person will always be more genetically similar to other males than to a female person.

Determination of sex is very simple, it's about the easiest genetic test to do. They have kits for high school classrooms to try out ffs. We need to leave the "meaningful sex change is possible through medical intervention" thing in the past, all we accomplish with that is giving people false hope and an unattainable goal to fixate on. Sex is real and immutable, I wish it didn't matter, but it does.

And why it matters is, maleness and femaleness have become inseparable from certain stereotypes and assigned qualities by societies in human history. Overwhelmingly, the male people subjugate the female people. Since men, male humans, discovered womens' ability to give birth could be taken advantage of, it was capitalized upon. And this is the foundation of patriarchal society. Religions were founded to justify this as the will of god. To deny that women have historically been persecuted due to their sex is, well, misogynistic. There is no "woman feeling" that makes us targets for child marriages, FGM, trafficking/prostitution, and other horrors from the minute we're born and even before. No, it's the sex we were born with that makes the world think it can decide our fate. In fact, the way that people treat male children differently from female children is so different so early, that we are genuinely unable to study human behaviour unaffected by gendered expectations. This is what feminists are talking about when they discuss "socialization". There is not a single man on the planet who knows exactly what it's like to see the world from a woman's eyes, no matter how feminine that man is. Womanhood isn't something you can achieve or acquire through effort: you were either born a woman or you weren't, just like you were either born with detached earlobes or not. It's so simple.

All that to get to my final point: Yes, I believe the definition of womanhood comes down to biology, because anything beyond that is a meaningless stereotype. Women can do anything, be anyone, look any way they want, go through any experience they do. The one thing they have in common is that they are female adult human beings. There is not way to fail at being a woman or do it wrong, you just are. Womanhood is the experience of having been a female person in this world, and nothing else. There are certain things only female human beings need, like abortion and female contraceptive rights, access to spaces where we can be safe from our subjugators (male human beings), and the ability to define ourselves and fight for our collective rights.

(At this point you may object and point out that male people who identify as trans women are also subject to violence and scorn from men: unfortunately that is often the case, but this does not make male people who identify as women, well, female. We need solutions for them that do not involve requiring women to sacrifice our comfort and safety for the sake of a particular subset of men, because of the inherent risks involved and the fact that women do not owe men anything even when those men have it bad.)

One last thing: my opinion is that prescribing exogenous cross-sex hormones is unethical (so are all elective cosmetic medical procedures but that's a post for a different day). I understand the distress that gender dysphoria inflicts on people, however the ill effects of hrt are too numerous to condone. The huge increase in risk of stroke with estrogen, heart disease and uterine atrophy with testosterone, and the way that trans medicine studies are notorious for losing followup with patients after a year or less... it's short sighted and frankly, financially motivated. The amount of trans patients who are prescribed hormones without access to an endocrinologist, it's honestly infuriating. People deserve the best care possible, not lab rat bullshit where they cut you loose when it's not working out. I won't judge anyone for what they do to themselves to cope with distress, but I want everyone, especially girls, to be aware of the lifetime effects medical decisions may have, and that you also can find happiness within yourself without hurting your body.

Thanks again for your question, be well ✌️

#ask

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tthistimenextyear · 3 months

Text

Another AI Tarot scammer

lol I found another creator on here who has been using AI in their tarot AND astrology post. I want to expose them but I want to use this as a learning opportunity as well

Easiest way to identify AI is:

The frequency of post on a person's page: if they are posting tarot, which is divination that requires a lot of mental and spiritual power, EVERY 2 DAYS, they are lying and definitely use AI or are superhuman.

The robotic and repetitive nature of the text: it doesn't flow like human speech, and the grammar and spelling never has errors. No personality in the speech no matter how many ways they break up the text and add cursive writing to distract, it's AI

The cards used to read are put in weird places: what I mean by that is most true readers put their cards used in the top and then read based of what the cards provide. They tell a story or feelings. AI readers(scammers more like) have the reading based off each card. So if they have the fool, 10 of pentacles, and the tower, they'll do the reading for each individual card. That's because that's how AI reads tarot based of the cards you give it. No one in the real world reads like that!

Using AI pictures: not always! But most of the time if you are using AI to write the pictures are AI too. I will say there are some Awesome creators that use AI pictures but that's all! Their readings are infrequent and they aren't robotic.

The first letters of each of their posts are always in first letter capital case: ex: Cards Used For Reading. ChatGPT defaults to this case structure most humans capitalize the first word, usually the phone does, and then lowercase for the rest of the words. The consistency of that reads like AI.

Any way here are some tips to spot AI readers. These usually give them away. And if you are wondering what my credentials are to ID these people. I have a degree in Applied Linguistics and I'm obsessed with Natural Language Processing (personal hobby of mine). I love learning about AI as much as I love learning about Tarot. My autistic pattern recognition is also a plus 😭

If you want to test it out yourself go to these post, copy the cards or titles and ask Chat GPT to give you a reading. It will be near identical lol!

AI can be used for cool things but tricking people into reading your soulless tarot and astrology reading isn't it. Please stop for the sake of the community. It's not the way to go. Also block me now if that's what you're going to do so I don't have to see your post! @obsidian-pages777

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joleenjackalope · 6 months

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So I have some Lenore thoughts, I like the idea of her a lot. But I don't think she's worth her price. So here are just some of my thoughts, as well as my doodling out some of those thoughts. I don't think she necessarily needs all these things, it's more that I let my internal rants about how she could be better guide me out of my art block these past couple days.

Part of why people pay more for collector dolls is because they have some type of attachment to them. Either being a Monster High character they already love, from an IP they love, or even the Off White had some brand recognition. (just not from me) And I felt like Lenore COULD have been the lady in white/weeping woman ghost story that just about every town has.

That being said- What is with the glitter tears?? If she had a unique sculpt that actually had a downturn on the brows and a sad face, and actually LOOKED like a weeping garden ghost, that alone would have made her more appealing!

Then why unpainted accessories? Why one big unpainted accessory her main focus? I like the vines (I didn't go very detailed here) but either paint them or make them smaller. (What I did) But if you want me to believe that the doll is WORTH $75 then you need to show that some actual care and effort went into her manufacturing and paint her damn accessories.

I just wanted an excuse to draw the spider. I don't like the human face but I only like a few of any of the MH pets anyway. so...

Put her damn hair up. Just like with the accessories, show me she is WORTH her price.

All of the above combined, the collector dolls stray further away from the High school aspect of MH and although Victorian/period fashion isn't necessarily my thing, I know a ton of collectors would have loved her looking like a ghost who's been haunting for a long time. And since she's not a character that's being portrayed in the high school - a collector doll would have been great! There's lots of adult/non-student characters.

Mini notes- I didn't draw patterns for her clothing, but the pattern on her dress as is would have still looked lovely on a bigger, fancier gown. I didn't do full body and I have no notes on shoes. They're not my specialty. And I would have appreciated her not having a full white sclera.

Also, line art for this piece is available here, tag me if you color it! I'd love to see. ♥♥♥

#monster high #joleen rambles #Lenore Loomington #MonsterHigh

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wuxiaphoenix · 3 months

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Worldbuilding: Outliving Emperors

There’s a common tendency in a lot of fantastic fiction portraying long-lived races or individuals interacting with shorter-lived types. It often defaults to, “they have a mindset of slow and patient consideration in the face of Problems. After all, they have plenty of time.”

(Until, of course, they don’t, and the Evil Overlord obliterates lots or possibly all of them.)

It’s a valid way to portray a fantasy race, I guess. But I think it misses a critical consideration of sapient life. And that’s pattern recognition.

To boil it down - if you’ve lived a long time, and you pay attention to what’s going on around you, sooner or later you will recognize when things are about to go nastily sideways. The river-folk down there and the mountain-folk up there have had a new generation grow up without bloodshed; sooner or later some young buck out to make a name for himself is going to dig up the old feuds all over again. Or, we’ve had three years of bad harvests in a row, I bet the nomads think we’re weak now, let’s watch for raids. Or (and much worse), this guy is making speeches about a Glorious Past and Restoring the Nation to its Rightful Place in World Affairs... right, time to duck, world war incoming.

If you’ve had time, you’ve seen things happen. If you’ve had enough time, and survived it, and even a little breather afterward, you can sift back through the history leading up to When All The Maps Got Arrowy, and try to see what set the whole mess off. So if you see similar precursors go off again....

Slow and patient consideration might not actually be your preferred plan. Instead, you might opt for, find the bastards and shut them down, fast.

Someone slaps you? Walk out now, no matter what anyone else thinks. Squatters on your land? Find them and toss them out on their ears so hard they bounce. Sabers rattled your direction? Make it absolutely clear there will be heavy weapons firing back - as soon as fired on, not “two years later after we’ve deliberated it to death”.

Because if you’ve lived for a while, and you anticipate living a lot longer - think about it. “I’ll be a slave for a decade, then die,” is bad. “I’ll be a slave for a century, and that’s only if they let me die-”

Yeah. That’s worse.

With a long lifespan, the number of Bad Things that can happen to you automatically increases, just by virtue of your being alive to have them happen. Why would you want to give any avoidable Bad Thing a chance to happen?

Wouldn’t it be possible that an elf, cultivator, dragon, or other creature who might live centuries, might actually be quicker to act than regular humans?

I have found this in one fantasy setting. In Lejentia, by Flying Buffalo Games, the Aelvan Nations finally beat down and imprisoned the Hyl Sudiar (Hellish Seducer) and the demon who possessed him, and breathed a sigh of relief. Some centuries later, said demon persuaded another person to become the next Hyl Sudiar... and the Aelvan Nations declared war immediately.

Human kingdoms: “Whyfor you do that?”

Human kingdoms a few centuries later, after despite all efforts the Hyl Sudiar’s armies have conquered half the world: “...Oh.”

I have to think about this, given I have a story that has at least one nearly three-hundred-years-old vampire, and a somewhat younger cultivator who has still outlived three emperors and is working on a fourth. (Zhengle, Jiajing, Longqing, and Wanli, if you’re interested.) They’ve seen threats to their people. They know, over and over again, what it is to lose people to the actions of evil men. What it is to live on, while those you love die, and it never stops hurting....

Long life might not mean slow and deliberate action. Just a thought.

#creative writing #worldbuilding

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basichextechml · 2 years

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Wet Braids and Ribbon Ties

Wednesday Addams/Fem!Reader

Rating: Teen // 2.4K Words // No pronouns used for reader, but implied Fem, Soft as hell, Teen for graphic jokes and it being somewhat suggestive at the end, Wednesday being someone emotionally vulnerable, Makeout sesh

A storm brings you closer to Wednesday than you’d ever thought it could.

---

Pattern recognition was a necessary trait of human evolution, and essential for the continued survival of any species. Those that came before you had used it to scavenge food, tame animals, create languages, and form communities. Sure, you were still doing these things, but it was less urgent, society collectively pushing past those base instincts to refine such senses. Vaguely, you wondered if your ancestors would be a bit disappointed that your brain’s neocortex was being used to psych yourself out over the sight of braids. While they were trying to figure out what berries and fruits wouldn’t kill them, you were worrying about Wednesday Addams and her twin braids that seemed to haunt you. Though, you guess it wasn’t their fault that you had pavlov'd yourself into associating the hairstyle with pretty brown eyes and a penchant to make your heart race.

It was all made much worse by the storm that had been rapidly approaching Nevermore. Again, ancestors fighting for their lives in the elements- while you were fighting for your life at the sight of Wednesday with water droplets clinging to her lashes.

Wednesday’s investigation into the murders around the town had all but halted, all her leads running dry. The Sheriff wasn’t responding to her evidence, and Xavier hadn’t made any moves- but she still felt a pull in her chest, like something was missing. She had requested (demanded) that you follow her to the Gates mansion to poke around once more. Enid had vehemently rejected both of your requests to follow.

“What time are we going then?” You ask, leaning against her bed frame as you watch her fill up a bag with flashlights, rope, and a first aid kit.

She zips the bag shut in finality, “Tomorrow night, after curfew. We’ll have to walk, so wear a jacket.” It seems she never got over the time you wore a tank top in 45-degree weather and you kept putting your freezing hands on the back of her neck.

“Isn’t there a storm coming, though?” She raises an eyebrow as if asking ‘so?’, “We don’t know how structurally sound that place is, what if it floods?”

Wednesday lets out a quiet huff, lips pursed in a thin line, contemplating your words. Finally, she concedes. “You’re right, be ready to leave at 4. I’ll meet you in front of your dorm.”

Okay, yeah that seemed more reasonable-

“4? Like four in the morning?” You questioned incredulously, arms crossed in front of your chest.

There was a ghost of a smile at your confusion, an inherent pride to it. “I thought you wanted to beat the rain?”

While Wednesday had pavlov'd herself into being associated with the debilitating symptoms of falling in love, you also came to associate the girl and her long, dark braids with the troubling feeling of everything going wrong at once.

---

Stupid Pavlov. Stupid neocortex. Stupid pattern-seeking brain.

Due to years of evolution, you were now trudging through cold sheets of rain in a forest with the girl you liked looking for clues on a murder investigation at 4:48 in the morning. Your boots making contact with the mud made terrible squelching noises as you both slowly made your way back to Nevermore, the only sound between you being that of twigs snapping beneath your weight.

This endeavor had resulted in nothing, it was a long shot if Wednesday was being honest. She had already found the evidence once in the basement, and it had been moved when she came back. Why would the perpetrator come back to the home? She had no clue- but she had nothing else to go on, and was feeling a bit -to her disgrace- defeated. While she was in the middle of looking around the basement for the umpteenth time, the storm predicted on the forecast came early, The house, just as you had predicted, began flooding, cutting her even deeper.

Now, with no fruits born of her labor, and your cold hand in hers guiding her through the dawn of a new day; you were slowly and surely going home.

As the lights of Nevermore Academy shone through the thicket of the forest, you both continued on your leisurely pace, despite the pouring rain. You both were already wet, running would do you no good now. Despite the shiver that ran down your spine at the nipping cold, you were fine with staying outside a little longer.

“I’m sorry,” Wednesday said suddenly. The apology nearly made you stop in your tracks, looking at her in disbelief. Never had Wednesday apologized to you- for anything.

The look on your face, as if you weren’t trusting the words she was saying, snapped at the strings of Wednesday’s heart. Enid’s words come back to haunt her, tearing into her about her inconsiderate nature. She’s sure you’d been made to feel that way as well. It was confusing. She should feel overjoyed at the misery of others. But seeing you by her side, being soaked head to toe by the rain, chilled to the bone? She was just as miserable as you.

“I’m sorry.” She reiterates, knowing fully that you heard her the first time.

“You don’t have to apologize-”

“I do.” The words are biting, and that does stop you in your tracks, inadvertently stopping her as well. Wiping the rain from your eyes, you look down at your interconnected hands. This was the longest you had ever touched her. The longest she’d ever let you touch her. “I have been… Selfish, as of late. And for that, I apologize. I am single-minded, I put you in danger, and I…”

You watch with a hitched breath as she avoids eye contact. This is difficult for her. Her shoulders are rigid, her mouth tense, and her hands twitching. The rain pelts down on you both, and you suddenly feel like you’re the main characters in a film.

“I believe I’ve hurt you, so I’m sorry.”

She looks terribly beautiful, hair sticking to her face in waves, her lips, and her nose the brightest red you’ve seen on her, doe eyes big with her eyeliner running from the rain. You simply squeeze her hand thrice. As unhealthy as it may sound, you had already forgiven her for anything she had done long ago- and you’d continue to do so, as long as she kept dragging you around with her hand in yours.

“Thank you, Wednesday. I accept your apology.” And, again, you mean it. Pulling her a bit closer, just so your shoulders knock together, you begin your journey once again. “Now come on, I think we should both get dry before we die horrible deaths from contracting pneumonia.”

“I believe we have conflicting ideas on what constitutes a “horrible death”.”

“I’m sure we do, Wednesday.”

You both gingerly sneak through the door and through the foyer, tracking mud on the carpet up the stairs. Wednesday makes you stop once you get to the top, and take off your shoes so you don’t track the mud back to the dorms- so Principle Weems doesn’t suspect you two. Though, you think it’s a lost cause because you’re both the number one suspects for anything slightly off that happens.

Your dorm is closer, and quietly, in the early morning embers, you usher Wednesday into your room, locking the dorm behind you.

The single dorm you resided in was smaller than the rest, the space easily filled up by your belongings. But you wouldn’t be caught dead asking to switch, you liked having your privacy- a rarity at a boarding school.

Wednesday is already making herself at home, leaving her shoes at the door and shrugging off her coat and scarf. “You can shower first.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, doing the same. Wordlessly, she takes your own jacket from your hands, spreading it on the floor next to hers. The space heater you have for nights like these is already cranked on high.

“Yes,” Wednesday confirms, sitting down in front of the machine, “I just need some time to think.”

“Alright, I’ll be quick.”

You’re true to your word, grabbing your pajamas and heading to the bathroom. The shower feels nice on your frigid skin, and you make sure everything is still organized for when it’s Wednesday’s turn. An extra towel is left on the sink once you’re done. She’s sitting in the exact spot you’d left her, the lines troubling her forehead just as prominent. You search through the black clothes in your closet, pulling out a pair of sweats and a matching sweater with some socks, and tapping her shoulder. “Your turn,” You mumble, presenting your offering.

Her fingers linger on yours, the shadows and movements emphasized by the low lights in your room. The clothes are held away from her still-wet body, and she gets up, closing the bathroom door behind her. As you hear the shower start again, you put your towel on the floor, mopping up any water that had dripped off of her.

This evening hadn’t gone as you thought it would’ve. It was like that morality test, if an oncoming train had its brakes cut, and you had to choose between crushing six people or one, what would you choose? You, of course, were all seven people- you would die either way. That made Wednesday the train, didn’t it?

Before you knew it, the door to your bathroom opened again, Wednesday stepped out in your clothes, using the towel you’d given her to scrunch the water out of the ends of her hair.

Your mouth felt dry like you were at the dentist getting a tooth pulled, and they had to suction all the saliva from it.

“Do you have a brush?” She asked. Getting up from your spot on the floor, you flitted around your desk, grabbing the one you’d left next to your vanity mirror. Holding it for a moment, you contemplated your next words.

“Could I do it?”

Time stood still in your dorm, fingers nervously pushing over the prongs on your brush as you awaited a response.

Wednesday felt warm. Swallowing her tongue and sitting down on your bed, cross-legged. “You may.”

Her hair was long and thick, pitch black as the night sky, and softer than anything you’d felt before. She smells faintly of your shampoo, and you find yourself light-headed as you gingerly rake your fingers through the ends of her hair, ridding it of any tangles. Starting at the ends, you slowly brush through the damp hair, working your way up. It’s longer than you had initially thought, undone of its iconic braided style.

Wednesday felt nearly naked with her hair unstyled and wet in your hands. The brush working against her scalp treated her so tenderly. As if you would rather walk through the fires of hell than yank against a strand of her head. She licked her lips, eyes suddenly watery. She had forgotten what tenderness had felt like these past few years. She believed she didn’t need it. Maybe she was wrong.

Using your nail to part her hair in two, you push both sections over her shoulders, and the bed creaks as you get off to sit in front of her.

The girl who avoided your gaze when apologizing earlier is gone, and instead wholly intent on looking at you as you finger comb through the section of hair on her left shoulder. Deftly, you split it into another three, even sections, slowly beginning to put together her signature braids. Wednesday watches as your lashes flutter while you concentrate, enamored with how you lick your lips and twitch your nose. You’re engrossed in her. Sitting here in your clothes, letting you do her hair, she must be equally captivated.

You get to the end of the first braid before you notice an issue. “I don’t have a tie,” You announce, pouting.

“I left them in the bathroom,” Wednesday says, already getting up. But you stop her.

“Wait-” And you're leaning over to your desk, rummaging through the top drawer. Pulling out two strands of black ribbon, you’re back in your spot in front of her. She’d seen them in your hair before. Setting one down in your lap, nimble fingers keep her braid in place while the other positions the ribbon. Soon enough, she had a perfect little bow tying the braid together. You start immediately on the next one.

Wednesday Addams has bows in her hair.

Once you’re confident they’re even, you lean back, eyes immediately shooting up to her neglected bangs. Taking the forgotten brush, you lean in. Much closer than necessary for the task, but instead of pushing you away, she tries to see if she can feel your breath. Rounding off her bangs, you discard the brush for a final time, hands coming up to finger curl the longer ends, framing the hollow of her cheeks perfectly. Your hands settle on the curves of her jaw.

Her pupils are blown wide, eyes narrowed dangerously, and you feel like a meek hare in front of a desert viper. You’re sure her venom would sting, and you’d be happy to let it flow through you.

She lets her fangs sink into you, pulling you in until her lips connect with yours. Unlike her demeanor, she was soft against you, hands coming up to the nape of your neck to keep your lips flush against hers. The warmth of your sweater and your hands and your lips are too much and not enough, and when you finally pull away to catch your breath- cheeks hot and eyes lidded- she finds you irrevocably adorable. She understands why Anaconda kill and eat their mate. If you don’t stop looking at her like that, you’ll undoubtedly meet the same demise. Wednesday finds herself pushing you down, pillows cushioning your fall as you lazily bring her back into your embrace.

As the clocks crawl forward, you both stay the same, warm and flush against one another. And as the clock strikes 8:30am, you’re both broken from your reverie.

“Good Morning everyone,” Principle Weems sounds from the intercom, “Due to the storm, faculty has made the decision to cancel classes and extracurricular activities for the remainder of the week. If the storm lets up, this schedule is subject to change. Stay dry everybody!”

A bit late for that.

“We’ll be staying here.” Wednesday decides for you both, already pulling you back in. You kiss against her jaw in agreement, fingers pulling apart the bows in her hair.

---

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please consider reblogging, I'd really appreciate it! As always, my asks are always open to talk ^-^

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1CbNa8jneefleLKCK98HHC?si=1c7e5b671ae14e42

#Wednesday (2022)#Wednesday imagine #Wednesday x Reader #Wednesday Addams x Reader #Wednesday fanfic #my fics #all of my Wednesday fics so far have been written in the wee hours of the night

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coralinnii · 1 year

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Hello!

Do you take request??

If you do, can i request a reader who can mimic people's voices?

With rook, riddle, the tweels and any character you like!

MC who can mimic voices feat: Riddle · Rook · Floyd · Jade genre: mild fluff note: gn!reader, no pronouns used with reader, unspecified relationships,

I might be too outdated to understand that. I'm so sorry ^_^"

I typically just do up to four characters in a post so it's just the requested ones :)

At first he wasn’t impressed. I’m sure that there’s a spell that can alter someone’s voice to change or mimic someone else (like Floyd’s deep voice in Book 4). But, when he found out that was your own talent was when he realized how impressive that actually was.

Being the son of well-owned physicians, he’s fascinated by your capabilities as you showed how you mimic voices he thought were beyond your assumed range. He watched you in awe as you parroted the voices of your friends, chuckling when you matched their mannerisms (it’s uncanny how you could match Ace’s voice while giving off that mischievous aura of his)

You smiled at Riddle looking so giddy with your vocal skills, like a child visiting a performance for the first time (you kept that thought to yourself though).

Like the Housewarden he is however, he does warn you to not use your skills for any pranks on campus. He doesn’t want to see you get in trouble for mimicking someone and scaring someone you shouldn’t be. Definitely do not mimic his voice or it’s definitely off with your head.

"I see the fruits of your effort. Some students could learn from you"

He’s definitely fascinated by your talents. He’s intrigued by your vocal prowess and if your mimicry is perfect enough to trump his recognition abilities, he’s absolutely floored by you. To think someone may be able to trick this huntsman, what a tricky lyrebird you are.

Rook wants to observe you as you speak, he loves seeing the way you reach vocal capabilities that few can do. He watches your lips, your throat, your diaphragm, completely enamored by your voice

With your consent, he would like to see the limits of your skills. How well can you mimic animals? How about vibrating noises? How loud can you go with a certain voice or how high?

Be sure to tell him you need a break because you have piqued the hunter’s curiosity. In all honesty, he could probably listen to you for hours, be it your acts of mimicry or simply your natural voice.

“Marveilluex! How exciting it is to hone one's craft.”

You went ahead and showed Floyd something fun. Good luck to you.

Floyd is going to have a field day with you and your skills, asking you to copy his voice, Jade’s, Azul’s, Riddle’s, everyone. He might even pull up videos of random people to see if you mimic voices from a video. He wants to see how high you can go or how low. This man is giving off “kid in a candy store” energy

Like with Rook, be sure to tell Floyd when you need a break. Also feel free to decline his requests, especially when he asks you to say embarrassing things in Azul’s voice for him to record on his smartphone.

He would absolutely bug you to teach him your talents. If you choose to help him learn, you just created the most annoying thing on NRC for a few days before Floyd eventually gets bored.

If you choose not to, Floyd will get pouty and would probably bug you for a while until you either give him or give him a good enough reason. He will still ask you to keep mimicking voices for the fun of it.

“Whoa, how did you do that? Do that again!”

Color him curious, that is an unexpected talent you have there.

Sound travels differently in water so seeing this skill is very intriguing to Jade, reminding him of those mimicking birds or seals he’s read in books before coming to NRC. To realize a human is capable of such abilities is a delightful surprise to him.

A recurring pattern, Jade would also ask you to demonstrate your vocal range to him. He observes the way your voice reaches what was assumed to be ranges beyond you and pitches unlike your typical tone. It was very entertaining to watch.

Jade wishes to talk more about your skills, how did you perfect your skills? Does it put a strain on your vocal chords? How long can you maintain a voice different from your own?

This new discovery strikes Jade’s fancy. He can’t help but to compare you to the legendary sirens, of how they entice those who stray too close to them with their voices.

“I keep finding myself surprised by the surface land. What an intriguing person you are”

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #rook hunt #rook x reader #floyd leech #floyd x reader #jade leech #jade x reader

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myemuisemo · 3 months

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In approaching the first chapter of The Hound of the Baskervilles in this week's Letters from Watson, I initially felt that I was sort of cheating as I know I've read this more recently than middle childhood. Then I read the first chapter and realized my memory of the story consists of a vague impression that it has a moor and a dog. Oh well.

Mortimer's staff being referred to as a "Penang lawyer" reminds us that when you live in a colonialist society, the mindset is everywhere. The staff is presumably made from Licuala acutifida, a sort of cane native to China, southeast Asia, and Pacific Islands. By 1889, when the novel is set (five years after the date on the walking stick), British Malaya had been under direct crown rule for a couple decades. The Brits had owned Penang since at least the secret Burney Treaty of 1826.

Dr. Watson's initial wrong guesses provide a window into his world and preconceptions. My first reaction was "how did he think hunt rather than hospital when he himself has medical training?"

Growing up in the genteel countryside would explain "hunt." But Charing Cross Hospital, then located just off the Strand, would have been only about two miles from Baker Street. How do you miss a large hospital?

There might be a titch of snobbery in play, as Watson did his residency at much, much older Barts (St. Bartholomew's). Barts dates from the 12th century, while Charing Cross Hospital was an early 19th century upstart. Watson also went for additional training at the military hospital at Netley.

Watson really puts up with a lot, though.

James Mortimers' publications focus on the idea that illness stems from throwbacks to a more primitive state, an idea also applied to criminology of the day. Through 2024 eyes, this is unlikely to be a good thing, but let's see where Doyle goes with it. I have faith in Holmes due to his love of that book that attributes much of human civilization to non-white world cultures. (Coveting Holmes' skull reeks of phrenology, but I can't believe this was meant as an appealing trait.)

After being informed that Sholto was based on Oscar Wilde, I'm wondering which of Doyle's acquaintances was the pattern for James Mortimer (who is not addressed as "doctor" because he's a surgeon; it's a British thing).

While Holmes describes Mortimer as "amiable" before meeting him, he does not find being described as "the second highest expert in Europe" all that simpatico. There's some impatience in Holmes' chapter-ending request that Mortimer explain why he's there.

At this early stage, I dislike James Mortimer. It's partly the nature of his publications, but also the false humility of calling himself a "dabbler in science" when he in fact has publications, an award, and a degree. It's dabbling to collect bones or bugs or whatever and be perpetually working on a treatise that never gets finished or published. It's not dabbling when you have official recognition within your chosen career for your research.

So what is Mortimer here about?

#sherlock holmes #letters from watson #the hound of the baskervilles #hound of the baskervilles

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catwouthats · 1 year

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I want to preface this by saying I have a really good pattern recognition and took a film class before .

I NEVER WANTED TO LEARN THIS INFORMATION OR HAVE THIS THEORY!!

Anyways, because people are confused about the theory of Gabriel somehow having the second coming of Christ (and also why I think some of the book of Revelation will be included in Good Omens 3), I thought I’d put my evidence here.

Once again I’d like to formally apologize and this is your last warning.

You will lose all sanity past this point just like i did.

(TLDR; only read what’s in bold and look at the pictures)

When it comes to why I think season 3 might be based off of Revelation slightly, there isn’t that much evidence. (Unfortunately there is more evidence for the other part.)

First of all we have Metatron mentioning the second coming of Christ before they get on the elevator. Now for those of you who don’t know the second Coming of Christ is part of Revelation! (Also, Metatron did not bother to try and stop Gabriel from leaving… which I find suspicious…)

Where “Christ 2.0” is mentioned in Revelation? Well the Revelation is not straight forward. Some think of the Second Coming of Christ as whom was mentioned in Revelation 14:14-16 (in this chapter he comes down from the heavens and chops off heads) and some think of The Second Coming of Christ as who was mentioned in Revelation 19:11-16 (in this chapter he comes down from the heavens and helps put two of the false prophets in hellfire). For Chapter 14, they call the being “the son of man”, which is the same title people use for Jesus. For chapter 19, there is “King of Kings, Lord of Lords” tattooed on his thigh, which is what some people call God.

Luckily, considering the main point of Good Omens is to show that love and life matters most, I don’t think they will do exactly what those chapters say.

Neil also said that he got inspiration from Genesis and Revelation here: https://www.tumblr.com/neil-gaiman/728173029401788416/hi-neil-gaiman-i-would-like-to-know-if-good-omens

Side note, another reason I feel they will use some of Revelation:

Now on to the Unfortunate truth. Proof/foreshadowing that Gabriel will have the Second Coming of Christ. (Again I want to formerly apologize to both the fandom and Neil Gaiman.)

So what started this is Chapter 12 of Revelation. In chapter 12 someone is pregnant in the sky/heavens/space and gives birth to a special child. Before that child is eaten by a monster, an Angel comes in and takes the Baby away and brings the baby to God. This is why I think this is the same being as the second coming mentioned before. He was taken care of by God and raised in Heaven.

But he was also born in space…

And unfortunately for us ineffable bureaucracy is in space. And although they aren’t human, there are actually a lot of references throughout Good Omens 1 and 2 that associate Gabriel with birth and sex.

But before i get into that, I want to preface all this. I know this might upset some of you all because you might also have had the head cannon of them being asexual. To that I say, don’t worry I don’t think anything sexual will actually happen. They are kind of dumb (when it comes to human affairs) supernatural beings whom can perform miracles. A lot of this is just dramatic irony used to make us laugh and to possibly hint at the future.

So here is all the evidence of Gabriel having a kid so far (I will edit it if more comes up):

1) When he says he was there for the creation/birth of Eve in the garden. Why in the world would that be an important thing to mention? For what reason did God want him there? Why did God want him to see how to make a human?

2) The fact he is the same Angel who delivered the message to Mary that she was pregnant with Jesus. You can see this in Luke 1:26. While, this is not mentioning Good Omens I feel it is important to point out. Also, I think it would be funny if Mary was able to pull an Uno reverse card (and a +2 card because it would be the 2nd coming) and tell GABRIEL that he was gonna have the child.

Not to mention there are even more similarities between the two of them (which I mention later.) I think it shows them as having something more in common rather than just being in eachother a story…

3) The fact he was also there for the “birth” of 3 of Lot’s kids. Yet another moment of human creation that God insisted he’d be a part of.

6) The tomatoes falling in front of him as he walked to Aziraphale’s Bookshop (they did a close up which usually is a “pay attention” sign) because apparently tomatoes are a sign of fertility. (Also if you look at the extended edition of Gabriel’s arrival you will see that the tomato pile seeming bubbled up like it was multiply as he walked by.)

Not only that, but some studies show that tomatoes can cure infertility. And considering we know that angels do not at first have any reproductive organs, I think it’s safe to say that this symbolism could show how he is no longer infertile. (Link: https://www.nicswell.co.uk/health-news/tomatoes-and-fertility )

7) Everyone assumed he was a stripper that Aziraphale hired. Nina thought it was Aziraphale’s ”naked man friend” he hired. And the people around him even took pictures of him nude. They didn’t even bother to call the police they were in such awe.

The fact that they didn’t call the police or weren’t really disgusted (but rather many were quite turned on if you look at the symbolism) is very interesting to me. It reminds me of the story of Lot in the Bible. Two Angels visit Lot (in sodom and Gomorrah) and a huge crowd of people forms outside his house. The angels were so charismatic and hot that everybody wanted to do them, and that is why they were crowding around Lot’s house. I wish I was joking, but I’m not!

8) All the people that flirted with him at the ball to which he said something along the lines of “I learned something new about this body last night in bed” and also “want me to show you?”

As my friend on tiktok (cloverthegrand) said “something something Gabriel was [probably] purposefully made to be very attractive to attract a partner to fulfill the second coming requirements.”

9) He likes hot cocoa and chocolate is sort of an aphrodisiac, which is something that supposedly “turns you on”. And yes, chocolate is still a symbol of love even without it’s aphrodisiac qualities.

(Link: https://www.simplychocolate.com/learn-chocolate-aphrodisiac )

10) When they have sushi (fish), Gabriel is always(?) there. When they are in he restaurant in season 1 and at the Ball in season 2. Fish is a sign of fertility in a couple cultures like in judaism, some Native American tribes, and Celtic culture.

(Links: https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/an-abundance-of-fish/ and https://www.atshq.org/fish-symbolism/ )

11) This is quite controversial, but the fact that Gabriel planned basically to show up to beelzebub completely naked is quite… odd. He probably doesn’t understand the complexities of this and what it means (or would mean to humans), yet it is still an odd flag that I feel could show us a hint. And once again, I would like to remind you all that this is not me saying that they aren’t asexual. I still firmly believe that they are both aroace spec because they are/were Angels!

12) The “I’m in the fly” on the bottom of the box that Gabriel brought is also quite funny to me. Gabriel and Beelzebub sure did not get the joke, but I know some of the audience (including me) had one Hell of a time laughing at that dramatic irony/pun! And once again it is another this that associates Gabriel with the creation of kids.

13) “Everyday” being beelzebub and Gabriels song -despite also being described by Terry and Neil as an apocalyptic song- is also interesting to me. I feel it could show that somehow their love and their romance is the start of this second apocalypse or maybe even the center of it. It’s slightly scary to me that Neil didn’t wait to use Everyday for season three, yet instead started using it here for a romance.

14) All the good luck symbolism for Gabriel. Gabriel got really lucky the season. Whether with a Aziraphale and Crowley and his memory or how everything around him went. It was as if it was perfectly planned. And it was! There were a lot of symbols for good luck, always surrounding Gabriel to make sure no harm came his way (such as the Garlic, onions, cabbage, and plum tree at Gabriel’s arrival. Also the color blue, hearts, and lions.) I feel this shows just how important and essential Gabriel is to SOMETHING. Something probably bigger than he knows.

Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I remember Neil Gaiman once saying on Tumblr that he made Gabriel more of a character in season one of good omens because he was important to the next part of the story. This season definitely showed us just how important Gabriel really is (to my unfortunate mental decline.)

15) Cows. This one isn’t that big considering it is just two framed images of cows in the background while Beelzebub and Gabriel order at the bar, but I included it anyways. Cows represent fertility and strength (yippee 😐)

16) Gabriel is wearing the same blue at the Ball as Sitis(kind of) and as The Virgin Mary! They all have big blue thingy. This shows they are similar… somehow (*cough* miraculous births/“births” *cough*)

Bonus: The Proof is in the Pudding!… or at least the side dish. Here is some evidence from the extended editions/cut scenes:

A) In the extended edition of Gabriel’s arrival:

Aa) Lemon symbolism. In the extended edition, you can see an old man holding a lemon, while standing in front of a pile of tomatoes on the table. The pile of tomatoes then later, bubbles up, as if multiplying, and falls down on the floor, overtaking him and his lemon. lemons can symbolize loyalty to one other person in a sexual or romantic relationship and they were also used as a form of birth control, but consider the tomatoes -what fixes infertility- went past that man I think it’s safe to say that is no longer a thing.

Ab) Flowers. Honestly this is not that important because flowers have many different meanings (I mainly did this for fun; not all of the flowers support this theory). But mainly people use flowers to give to someone they love. Also, flowers in General (specifically Lilies and Roses) are commonly associated with the Virgin Mary. Let me quickly go over the flowers/plants in this shot that I could identify.

Black eyed Susans - encouragement, motivation, endurance, and justice

White Roses - purity, youthfulness, innocence, eternal loyalty, and new beginnings

Yellow Roses - friendship and joy

Pink Roses - elegance, refinement, sweetness, and femininity

Green Roses or Green Chrysanthemum? (I can’t tell which it is from a distance) - chrysanthemum-good fortune, rebirth, renew, and good health. Rose-renewal, fertility, growth, abundance, and rejuvenation

Eucalyptus - strength, protection, abundance, and the division between Heaven and Earth

Wreaths - not a flower I know, but they do symbolize some important things. Fertility, life after death, life, and Jesus dying and coming back

(Links (This is not all of them because I got tired): https://fiftyflowers.com/blogs/flowers/rose-color-meanings#:~:text=White%20roses%20symbolize%20purity%2C%20youthfulness,for%20weddings%20and%20romantic%20occasions. And https://blossmcart.com/blog/chrysanthemum-meaning-and-symbolism/#:~:text=Green%20chrysanthemums%20symbolize%20good%20fortune,love%2C%20longevity%2C%20and%20joy. )

Ac) THE HOSE POORING WATER INTO THE PURSE! OH MY GOSH DID THIS SHOT SURPRISE ME IN THE EXTENDED EDITION! Also they even did a close up of it so you know it’s important! This is on the nose fornication. The hose representing a pp, the purse representing somethings that “purrs”, and the water representing… human male milk. The hose fills up the purse and makes it wet in these shots.

This could just be them showing more of how everyone is thirsting after Gabriel, but than again… why specifically Gabriel? And why something so specifically representing conception?

B) In the cut scene at The Ball

Ba) The nut allergy. In one of the cut scenes Justine has a nut allergy and asks Gabriel if any of the appetizers have nuts in them. I love to interpret this as them saying they are a lesbian because of their emphasis on all nuts. I especially love this because (assumingly) the people before them were flirting with him and they weren’t (probably because he looks like a male human.)

Bb) The fact Gabriel has no idea what nuts are and asks what they taste like. It seems very innocent in the scene, but if I saw that scene back to back of the “I learned something new in bed last night” I would definitely assume that was on purpose for many reasons. And considering all the other times Gabriel is associated with sex, I think I am gonna interpret it this way. He is a very innocent Angel though (literally).

[EDITS: The bit on the side (more evidence that I unfortunately can’t add imagery for because I’ve reached my limit on this Tumblr post):

-the pornography bit in s1

-the fact Gabriel is sort of fixated on having a nice body (exercising, looking at the statue of himself)

-the way his statue holds a cross the similar to how The Virgin Mary holds a cross in images (at least at times where she is holding one)

-The fact that there is also a lot of imagery of the Virgin Mary putting her hands cross over her chest, which is similar to how Gabriel does when Aziraphale and Crowley ask to hold his hands in s2

-him “being a Virgin” being the butt of a lot of the sexual jokes. I put being a virgin in quotes because I actually have a very depressing theory about this. He most definitely did not just miracle genitals right before seeing Beelzebub, otherwise the Angels would’ve gotten a notification as he was leaving that he did that considering they were looking at his file. That means he’s had that for a while. We know he has something down there because of the crowds reaction to him being naked after he puts down the box.

-Neil said “we will never know” when asked if Gabriel made “the effort” down there… this isn’t evidence I just find this hilarious (Link https://www.tumblr.com/neil-gaiman/725238480054239232/hey-neil-i-dont-know-if-this-question-has )

-Neil offered the name Gabriel to someone that was naming an incubator in their lab https://www.tumblr.com/neil-gaiman/727942479466430464/i-need-help-naming-lab-equipment-i-work-in-a-lab

Do I think all of this evidence means Gabriel will give BIRTH? Not exactly, I mean he could just miracle a child by pulling of one of his ribs and gathering Star dust around it to shape the body. However, I do think there is a high possibility that Gabriel will somehow raise or make The Second coming of Christ (or just any child) in Good Omens 3.

And on the contrary, to all of what I said, some of the other angels and demons could also be associated with fertility (ex: stars, sand and fish as symbolism for fertility. Aziraphale has scenes with stars, sand and fish). However, in my opinion, it is not to the degree that Gabriel is associated with things like sex, birth and the Virgin Mary. He is CONSTANTLY being associated with it (even if it’s not on purpose) throughout the series. They could just be making sex jokes with Gabriel because it’s funny (and because it’s John Hamm who is/was apparently a sex symbol), but we’ll never know until season 3 I guess!

I doubt this all will help in my plea to be not weird on tumblr, considering I shared the evidence now, but it’s better than sounding like somebody who just said “archangel Gabriel mpreg” just for the fuck all.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable bureaucracy #good omens gabriel #gos2 spoilers #go2 spoilers #gos2 #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens theory #good omens 3 theory #archangel fucking gabriel

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