#human pattern recognition is lovely

[paintbrushofthetoontown]

your honor i swear they were talking to me

[selectedthoughts]

Intention, Power and Human Nature

You are the one who puts full intention into everything.

From the moment we give our attention to something, we often know what we want to do with it. A steady, good intention leads you towards a greater purpose—something that is not highly valued these days. People driven by a lurking, power-hungry purpose often trap those who act for the common good, binding them hand and foot. They leave them with a new version of themselves, one whose weaknesses can be exploited to gain external support in one way or another.

It remains in question whether human nature is inherently good or bad. We constantly see people who mistreat others rising to prominence, while the victims are left traumatized. This is how the world moves today: we all end up relying on hatred as a defense mechanism to protect ourselves and avoid showing vulnerability. But in truth, we rely on self-love or mutual love to reveal our true selves to the world.

For this reason, it seems that if human nature were to be inherently good—and there is still time to realize this—then a collective intention could give us a stronger purpose. The authenticity that comes from that, or from any process of recognizing patterns of self-love, would naturally emerge.

[hazelfoureyes]

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 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

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. 

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

“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

[xerith-42]

I know it seems like striking on social media might not do enough, but as someone who has been outright obsessively using the internet since I was a child to the point that it is literally woven in my soul, been active and involved in online activism for about five years, and been using social media as marketing for about the same amount of time, I can confidently say that

THIS FUCKING WORKS!!

People base their entire businesses on their success on social media. They look at trending topics on twitter and don't see bite sized chunks of culture distilled to its finest and worst moments, they see market data! They don't see you as a single human being, they see you as a data point among thousands run through a probably AI assisted system that's prone to fucking up, that determines everything they're going to do.

How they're going to advertise, who they target it with it, what the general public wants. Every single major corporation uses data from social media websites to do this. Every. Single. One. Social media is a lot of things, and one of those things is a tool for business and politics. We know for a fact that social media politics bleeds out into the real world very fucking quickly.

Even if you can't strike financially, even if you have to go to work or school to survive, striking on social media is one of the best things you can do. Even if it's quiet. People are going to notice when thousands upon thousands of users across various sites go completely dark, and even more when some of them start getting real fucking loud about this. The US Capitalist Infused Government loves sweeping war crimes under the rug once they think the general public has forgotten about their atrocities and fallen into complacency. This system has been doing this for literal centuries.

Social media is just the newest and most expansive form we as a species have developed in the ongoing invention of ways to express our thoughts about things. It's the weirdest one, that's for sure, but executives pay attention to it. They don't often seek to understand it beyond a very basic level, because as I said, they view us as numbers on a screen, not as multifaceted incredibly and deeply fucked human beings. They do not seek to understand us on a personal level unless they think the cost of it won't outweigh the potential profit.

Pattern recognition is the tool of the moment. Machine Learning. Gathering endless amounts of data so we can replicate human existence through machines. You may think that social media strikes are ineffective because social media is just on the internet and it's "not real", but it is real! You are really doing stuff! You are contributing! Even if you're just lurking! Basic amounts of engagement can make a huge impact in a busted algorithm. Maybe you're not someone who would ever be drafted into an actual war-zone due to physical or mental health conditions, but you are probably a part of a key demographic of people that businesses are absolutely hungry for.

The budding adult has always been the target of greedy capitalists basically since this system was established and continued to get worse over time. The stage of your life when you are in the age range of 18-25 is an incredibly important transitional period, followed by a transitional period every six months until you lose sense of what six months even is because you haven't been happy in eight, and if you're in the 18-25 range currently, you got extra fucked by the pandemic. The world is in a turbulent stage and we are at the center of all of it and have been since 2001. Every single social media marketing expert will tell you the 18-25 demographic of social media users is a target demographic, because they are the most prone to extremes due to a life chock full of them.

We have to remember to be human, but we have to also know how to speak their language. They just see us as numbers? Let's show them some fucking numbers. Make posts about Gaza trend on every platform you have your hands on. Even if it's just liking posts, that gives them a slight boost in the algorithm. Commenting on posts is especially important on sites like Twitter and Instagram. But across every site the most important thing to do is reblog/retweet/share/send/copy link, whatever it is for that site, it is the biggest thing that everyone, and I mean EVERYONE looks at.

From a humble artist to a head of marketing at a billion dollar corporation about to have a meeting with a barely over 21 intern about how they need to run the twitter account, to said intern bumbling their way through adulthood with a job they only feel they're good at because they've been using social media since Skype was invented. We need to be loud, we need to make sure this can't be ignored, we can't sweep this under the rug. Mass media, especially coming out of the West, has been trying to censor, de-sanitize, and keep this issue quiet.

DO NOT LET YOURSELF BE SILENCED

There are tens of thousands of DEAD CHILDREN who have been BOMBED while in CIVILIAN AREAS and that is a FUCKING WAR CRIME.

THIS IS A GENOCIDE

Say that as many times as you can. Do not let it be ignored. A silent populous is a complacent one. Use your voice, even as small as it may seem. Make noise. Be loud. Be annoying. Don't let this be ignored. Talk about it everywhere you go. Do not let this be ignored.

Sometimes even we get disconnected from the real people around us. We base our sense of worth as a person based on the numbers going up or down but instead of developing a gambling addiction we just got angry about it but still fall into it because of cultural conditioning. But even if you only have let's say, completely random example, 70 followers. And only a small percent of them will see your post. Let's say maybe 20 on average, 30 on a good day, and even higher based on the machinations of fate. That's still 20 people who took time out of their day to read something you wrote, process something you created, share a part of your experience of living.

And likely they felt compelled to share it too, therefore increasing the spread of people who feel your influence. 20 people may not seem like a lot, but that has a major impact. Now imagine posts into the hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands and even millions. Those aren't just numbers. Each and every single one of those is just another person who might have reblogged a post because someone they like shared it, or because they wanted to spread its message, and that simple act causes a single post to have massive waves of effects from simple ripples.

Don't let yourself be discouraged. Don't think your voice or your impact "isn't enough to matter." Everything counts.

Don't let this be ignored. Don't become complacent. Know that every little thing counts, and to do every little thing you can.

[whenmemorydies]

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.

[pillarsalt]

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 ✌️

[joleenjackalope]

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. ♥♥♥

[wuxiaphoenix]

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.

[sorcerous-caress]

Agape | Arnell Hallowleaf

[Bg3, fluff, romance, angst, smut, comfort, human reader, nb!reader]

You, a human, fall in love with an old elf and make terms with the knowledge that you'll outlive him. He comforts you through it.

It felt right, sitting right here, you felt strangely safe, protected.

Loved.

His legs were comfortable below you, warm. Straddling his lap, you couldn't help but lean into his chest, bury your face between his shoulders, brush your nose against his neck.

He smelled nice, safe, like the shadow of an orange tree. You've always heard people say that humans had a distinct smell that anyone but their own kind could easily pick up amidst a crowd.

And maybe they were right, for the elf you were cuddling against smelled anything but human. Smelled like nature was weaved through his skin, like ancient magic rivered along his blood.

You wondered how you smelled to him, how would a human scent compare?

Arnell's arms held you with gentleness, carefully wrapping around your human body as if you were something precious. And maybe to an elf you were, much like how your kind handled dandelions with delicate hands, careful not to accidentally ruin something with such a short lifespan.

Elves were always the subject of human enamour, for some mysterious reason the more elusive their kind was, the more intrigued humanity got by them.

Yet more than half of humans spend a lifetime without ever meeting one, and the other half were just blessed by luck to stumble upon one on a mere chance.

His hands were moving up and down your back, a comforting pace.

The wrinkles on his skin, the ageing of his face, the stray grey hairs amidst his black hair. Arnell was relatively old by elf standards, and ancient by human standards.

You felt impossibly young by comparison, even as an adult you felt impossibly small.

Yet he spoke to you as an equal, extending the same courtesy and respect to you as he would've given to another elf.

High elves didn't have the best views on humanity, a majority of them even refused to learn common to communicate with what they deemed as lesser beings. Mayflays, sparks in the wind, forever summer children who never make it to the winter.

Hugging him tighter, his hands paused for a moment. You remember reading something about how the elves share their connection to the fey, how they can sense each other's emotions, bare open their hearts and understand each other in ways no words can ever give justice to.

Your kind had to resort to the guessing game, pattern recognition and studying body language.

Arnell's hand moves from your back to your head, caressing your hair, cupping your face and lifting your chin up to look at him.

Your eyes meet his green ones and you wonder if he can recognise your emotions, you see him focusing on the small details of your expression, on the downturn of your lips.

Elves who lived amongst humans had to learn these traits, although it never clicked with them the way it did with humans, even the most experienced could still make wrong assumptions.

It was the difference between someone with a language as their mother tongue and someone who merely studied it in books. Even with endless practice, others could tell the two apart.

Humans were the most social of creatures, they needed other people as much as they needed sunlight, without it they'd wilt.

“Is something troubling you?” He finally asked, making a semi correct guess. Concern in his eyes, voice as soft as ever as he spoke those words.

You shook your head, reassuring him that it's nothing.

And maybe if he was another person, or maybe just a younger version of himself, then this would've fooled him easily. Elves weren't the brightest when it came to human social behaviours, when it came to white lies and the stubborn human ego's refusal to ever admit something is wrong.

But Arnell knew better, he was old, he has seen this song and dance many times before from your kind.

His lap was very comfortable, you thought, you never wanted to get up, or face the world outside again.

But those words burned to admit, and you couldn't connect to the fey, you merely had your lips to pour your heart content with and it was never enough.

A warmth spread on your forehead, a tingling feeling. His lips against it in a short tender kiss. The warmth trickled down into your own heart, his sudden affection spreading a sweet feeling of reassurance through you.

“It's just…not fair.” You could talk again, without the usual shame clogging your throat shut, you could speak your feelings.

Maybe he did know more about humans than you've given him credit for.

“This whole situation” you continued, “losing you so soon when we've barely even..”

Elves always warned their kind against getting too attached to humans, for their fleeting lives will have you heartbroken quicker than you could predict.

And yet, no one has warned you about having your elf partner be at the end of their long age just when you get together, watching them die and know they'll leave this earth before you.

It was always the human that left first, and now instead you're the one mourning your lover.

What a cruel joke fate was, to make it possible for the two of you to be together only at this moment of time. At the start of your life and the end of his own.

You should be happy, grateful that he still chose to spend his last remaining years with you. It's not like he didn't warn you beforehand when you kept approaching him, ignoring the implications and following your heart's desires to be with him.

And oh, how much he desired you too so, how hard it was for him to gently coax you into finding someone else, someone younger, maybe a human just like you.

Alas you were relentless, and he couldn't deny himself any longer. Your first night together, you still remember it fondly. How his breath felt against your neck, how his hips moved against yours, the twitch of his pointy ears whenever your insides clenched around him.

Time flowed like a dream, being with him was everything you could imagine and more.

And just like any other sweet dream, reality comes crashing in when it's suddenly the time to wake up.

The natural death of an elf, when the fey calls them back home, they could feel its pull. And Arnell was never good at keeping secrets, he could barely contain himself for a day before telling you about it.

He has to leave, go back to the sanctuary of his people. So he may join the cycle of rebirth and the fey may claim his soul back into its river again.

You've stopped talking for a while, too lost in your own head. Swarming thoughts of what tomorrow held.

Sitting on his lap and clinging to him as if you may trick Corellon into not taking him back if you hid him between your arms, if you hugged him tight enough, maybe just maybe you can extend his life by a year or two.

Too many emotions swirled inside, outrage at unfairness of the universe, despair at having your loved clawd out of your hand, resentment for not realising this earlier.

His eyes were still on you, his soul attempting to understand your own. And so you do the one thing you can, you kiss him.

Pressing your lips against his soft ones, melting into his arms. You feel him kiss you back just as tenderly, just as desperately, even when you pull back for a breath his lips are on yours in an instant. Stealing your breath away, indulging himself with your taste as long as he can.

Because he has you for now, this one precious human who's so worried about losing him, he has you all to himself.

He had met many humans in his lifetime, fell in love with many of them. Maybe it was humanity as a whole which he was in love with, and when he saw the flame of determination in your eyes at getting with him, he was reminded of why he fell in love with your kind in the first place.

It was addicting how you tasted, intoxicating how you smelled. The order of nature meant nothing to the chaos of your soul, the indifference of the universe could never stop your laughter. And yet humanity still danced as they were born from ash and to ash they returned.

He wanted to keep you on his lap forever, this amber still not yet fully flamed, with endless potential and unlimited creativity. How was he not the lucky one in this scenario to have you choose him, a mere old elf.

At this point of age, his own kind rarely bothered anymore, too occupied with the prospect of their new life after death to bother and still make memories with their current one.

But you breathed life into him, shared your own flame. Humanity was infectious at its core, leaving marks everywhere you went, giving parts of yourself to everyone you've ever met.

He wasn't letting go of your lips, wasn't satisfied yet. Even a hundred years spent solely by your side on his bed would never satisfy his hunger for you.

It was intense, beautifully so, until the two of you finally parted, breathless with lips flushed.

You were the first to break out of this trance, moving closer and trailing soft kisses up his exposed neck. Leaving marks on his fragile skin, brushing them with your fingertips as your lips moved upwards.

Along his jawline, up his cheek, your lips met the base of his ear. They were sensitive more so than a human's, easily got a gasp or two out of him. You softly traced its pointy long edges with your lips, a lick or two with your tongue got Arnell's arm to tighten around you. Thighs trembling underneath you with each flick against his ear.

You too, have learned more about elves by being with him than he could've expected.

A last night of his embrace, of having him lay underneath you as you moved your hips. Spoiling him one last time, having him completely fill you to the core one last time, hear him call your name one last time.

And when tomorrow comes, you'll be ready, the two of you will.

Maybe, just maybe in the far future, in 20 years or so. When you've grown, lived your life and cherished the wrinkles starting to appear upon your skin, you'll meet a familiar set of eyes in the forest.

They're blue this time around, shaped differently, even his hair is a different colour and texture. No elf is reborn in the same body, but you can see the recognition in his eyes, of being the last person he ever saw.

And you may call his name, Arnell, see him reply with a different one. The new name he was granted in this new life, witness his tale of the dream-like memories he held of his past life, of his daughter, of his past wife.

And especially, of you, the one human that saw him until the end of his life.

Maybe his love for humanity was engraved in his soul, so deep that even rebirth may not steal it away. Maybe the two of you get to fall in love again this time around, get more time together this time around.

And he will be the one to walk you to the end this time around.

[basichextechml]

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

[camkaza]

OK, I have been reading some sharing of feelings about Tim "always leaving". Could someone please explain to me apart from the break up, when did he always leave?

The break up was dumb, I understand this, I am anxious to find out how they will justify it when they get back together. Even though he is struggling mentally and I understand that you sometimes need to fix yourself before being with someone even if you love them.

However I do not see the Tim was a bad boyfriend to her throughout their relationship. He was Tim...

1. He gave her the time and space she needed to break up with Chris.

2. He did not flinch when she asked him to wait until they were intimate.

3. He went to get placed in a desk position - actual Tim I am always in the action Bradford.

4. He was shocked and upset Lucy had not told him about the 5 player trade, but when she explained her viewpoint, he realised she was right, of it is ego with such a macho guy, but he evolves and lets it go.

5. If he is so bad of a boyfriend he could have left that make a dream foundation kid to Lucy, instead he made it a team effort and personally I think that he just wanted to run a test for both of them as potential parents...

6. In fact each time Lucy jokes or not jokes about "our grandkids" or "our kids", Tim does not skip a beat and goes in immediately with "nice" or "our kids would never do that" or "you would keep loosing our kids"... For the ladies here who have had boyfriends who's souls have left their bodies at the mention of "our kids", you guys know that that Tim is a dream.

7. Being a softie only for Lucy, he knows he is.

Now the two biggens are 1. When he went home in 6x01 - was it wrong to leave, I do not know, sometimes when you leave you either want to de-escalate a situation, or you are hurt. The whole point is his trauma that he has that he does not even realise. (+ I know Kujo was thankful for that night off, that poor soul had not been fed since they started dating 😂)

2. The whole lead up to break up and actual break up. I do not even want to list or go into detail, we have suffered enough. Now here is where there is no defence. He did bad even with the whole I want to protect her thing, like Tim, we know, we love you for it but let it go, protect each other and heal each other.

A big issue I have though is people saying "he constantly leaves", "oh, he never really loved her", etc.

Lucy has grown up with therapy her whole life, she has coping mechanisms, recognition of patterns and the whole bag of tricks of psychology. And even then, she has difficult moments like any mortal human being.

Tim has had ABSOLUTELY NOTHING in terms of recognising his trauma or how to deal with it. This is something he starts learning that is why he is so surprised by it in 6x10.

This is a long analysis but then again the field is not number of words restricting me, so... 😂

I just hope that there is a good and I hate to say it but slower and therefore meaningful path to them being back together.

I think it will help if Lucy shares that she dated Nolan with Tim. Not only will it show that hey, we are all human and have not followed the book 1000 % but also I really want the comedic aftermath of that 😂

I would really hate to see a 3rd party love interest for either of them.... Let's face it they will do it even if it is "Lucy or Tim get jealous and at the end of the episode it turns out they never had any interest in the person".

I like Eric's idea of his mom coming in, maybe she helps him (aside from therapy) realise that he should be with the person he loves. Because let's face it he will need to go to therapy even after they get back together.

Ps: we all know that the break up was fabricated by the writers for plot and also to see us squirm.

I am still in the " Nathan how dare you post a pick with Melissa and Eric with an engagement ring in the background" phase.... I swear.... And the fact that Eric and Melissa participate in this "making us go crazy"....

Anyways those are my thoughts and if someone has any real, valid answers on the whole Tim was a bad boyfriend... Let me know, but please no hate.

[scrubbinn]

Mimic HRT: month 22 “sight seeing”

“All ready?”

“Yeah, how many places are we visiting today?”

“I need to stop by THEMS for the support group meeting today, and pick up recording equipment. I need to write a report of mimic behavior/sensitivity analysis by the end of the week.”

“How much have you written so far?... You haven’t written anything have you?”

“...Busy.”

“HUN! You need to actually work to keep your job!... but if you wanted to spend the whole day together and you did that stuff later. I wouldn't say no.”

“Nice try Abi. But the recorder is coming with. I've used them since I could remember, it's practically a member of the family. Now you can wait in my room during the meeting… But if you wanted to…”

“I'll stay here, I'm not feeling up to meeting your new friends yet.”

“Boo. Don't worry I won't rush you. See you in a bit. There's snacks in the fridge, don't eat any of the picnic stuff. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“So how was it?”

“It was… alright. Sorry that makes it sound like it didn’t go well. It went perfectly fine!... Just a little sad Alexis still isn’t back. It’s been three weeks now. Apparently it’s just something she ate recently.”

“So food poisoning?”

“I honestly don’t know, it didn't seem like I was allowed to pry into it. I hope she’s fine, I was hoping you could meet her.”

“…But it went well otherwise, yeah?”

“Yeah! Everyone’s super nice! I just hope I come off the same way. I’m sure they know me as the nervous wreck who works for Erian at this point. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hate-

“HUN!”

“AH! W-what is it? Oh, right, thanks. I need to stop thinking like that, huh?”

“It’s ok hun. It’s hard to stop thinking like that. Talk to me about your meeting. Was it good otherwise, besides one of them getting food poisoning?”

“Oh, yeah! It was super nice! I feel like we ended up helping out with a lot of problems we all had today. I didn’t end up talking much, but working in my field has been great for helping out with any logistical problems someone might have like with continuing prescriptions or stuff like that. 

I did notice one thing though. I, uh, well, I wasn’t talking much because usually when I’m at a meeting I get terrified of everyone looking at me. Not in an anxiety sort of way… I think, but in a, I've been spotted and need to slink off and hide, sort of way. I think it’s a mimic thing, like I don’t like to be known, you know? But this time was different. I felt a lot more at ease, even when I was the center of attention. I think it had something to do with a few people having simultaneous big changes with their AHRT. It made me realize that maybe what I hate isn’t being seen, but having humans know what I am.”

“Oh… Do you feel that when I look at you?”

“No, I know I’m safe with you. It’s just an interesting thought, is all. It’s like maybe humans are the natural predators of mimics, since they have the pattern recognition to notice strange details and spot the mimic. It could potentially lead to the origins of mimics. Maybe we were just normal animals that got hunted to extinction.”

“Uh huh… Wouldn’t there be fossil records then? Or some other evidence… Look hun, I’m happy that you’re happy, but you’ve been kind of laser focused on this origin stuff lately.”

“Well it’s important. Erian barely understood what he was giving me, I’m the only one of my kind that I’m aware of. It’d be nice to find my roots. Not to mention, he can’t even put this new Mimic HRT on the market until he actually knows everything he put into it. There’s one ingredient he apparently just found and stuffed it in there to see what would happen.”

“Hun, the more you talk about him, the more I worry about your health and your job.”

“It’s fine, my health is perfect and I don’t think I’ll be fired anytime soon. Anyway, come on, it's picnic time.”

* * *

“It's been so long since I've been to the beach. Look! Hun! Sandpipers! Ooooooh they're so cute!”

“Abi, are you good to walk around like that? I get the sand isn't going to be hard on your injury, but you're still recovering. And you shouldn't go swimming!”

“I'll be fine if I'm walking a little bit, don't worry. Now come here! Sit with me.”

“Y'know they say Kaiju sized sea creatures live here. You think I should dive in and look?”

“Pfffft! Who's they? Wouldn't there be like no fish at all if there were things bigger than whales in there?”

“Hyper city is weird, I’d believe in anything strange, like Erian being a half decent person.”

“...Hey hun, do we need to go to all these different places?”

“Getting tired already Abi?”

“Yeah…”

“I'd like to. My behavioral study on mimics is important to others, but it’s more important to me. I need to know so much about mimics. Erian is already working on figuring out the biology side of things, but I need to know how I think. So that I can make sure I'm safe to be around.”

“...So what do you think about this place?”

“It's… It's lonely.”

“Well. We're the only people here right now.”

“Not what I meant. There's a, longing, hoping that something underwater is looking back. But it isn't. I can just tell. I know when I'm being seen, I want to be seen. I just don't want to be recognized. Beaches feel weird, like I'm standing on the side of a cliff needing to jump off. The sea is nice. It's an empty void where I can pretend to be a stray clump of seaweed waiting for some fish to swim by. The prey, all looking at me, no humans around to know what I am. Huh, not sure where that image came from. Maybe mimics are amphibious.”

“You mentioned this sort of stuff before. You just know when you're being looked at. Are you ok? You're not getting an anxiety attack or anything right?”

“I'll be fine. And if I'm not fine then I know you can help, but, let's talk about something else.”

“Ok… So do you have gills or something? Also do I have to worry about you running into the ocean never to be seen again?”

“haha, I can shift gills. And no, if I went feral, maybe, but I'm still partly a slime, I'd eventually dissolve if I stayed in too long. Though, I've been losing those parts more and more.”

“I kind of wanted to ask. Are you ok with that? You came here to become a slime. Do you still feel dysphoric as something else?”

“I'm… We can figure that out later. Let's just watch the waves for now.”

* * *

“Isn’t this near your job?”

“Correct, it’s a nice little place a block away. Also I just like the name. Roost café”

“I’m not big on cafés hun.”

“Trust me, you’ll see why we came here… What do you think?”

“Well the tree is cool, and the magic fairy lights are pretty. Oh they have those little cat walkways, but there’s no cats here. Well, It’s very, cottage core. Very… You.”

“Oh, so you don't feel the aura do you?”

“Aura?”

“Yeah! Do you seriously not feel it? Mabel, the witch who runs this place, set up an aura that’s supposed to pacify any familiars and it came with the side effect of calming down anyone else who enters this place. Isn’t that amazing? Just think about all the places that could benefit from this. Imagine if the clinic had this, or restaurants, or government buildings, then people wouldn’t be so worried, it could help out so many therians!”

“I don’t know hun, I think a lot of people would probably hate having that sort of thing everywhere. Wouldn’t people hate that sort of thing? Getting emotions suppressed because it’s supposed to be safer. If I got insulted for existing and couldn’t get angry about it, I’d probably just feel awful.”

“Oh. huh.”

“Sorry to wreck your dreams.”

“It’s fine. Here, you get some snacks, my treat. Just get me some chai. I’ll find us a table to sit at”

“Ok. mwa! Don’t feel bad about the idea, I’m sure you could do something really cool if you think on it. So don’t start feeling bad about yourself for thinking about helping people.”

“No kissing! Not until I know it’s safe!... 

…What the heck am I doing, of course there’d be problems like that with an aura like this. How would I even set up magic fields in specific locations, I doubt the owner here is going to willingly teach it. I’m putting my feelings over others again aren’t I. Ever since I was told about this place I can't stop thinking about how everything would have been fine if I had an aura like this then. Maybe Abi wouldn't be stuck in a wheelchair. 

It's only supposed to affect familiars right? Wonder why it affects others like this. I think I read somewhere that mimics used to be familiars to wizards. Maybe I'm Abi's familiar now…”

“What are you mumbling hun?”

“Oh! Nothing! Don't worry about it!”

“Ok? Want a bite hun? There’s so many cute pastries here!”

“I can't eat pastries anymore, only meat. I pretty much just stick to the tea here. It's good tea.”

“That's so sad. Enjoy your dirty leaf water. I got some apple pie. Jealous?”

“Not really.”

“Mmmm, so good! This place is really cute though, Apparently you can take any of the fruit growing on the tree there. It's a little cramped but you could call it cozy. When we get a cat do you think we could bring it here?”

“I think it needs to be a cat familiar. You could start practicing to become a witch. But this place is nice I guess. I usually come here after work, you should try some of the tea here hun, it pretty much cures any migraines I get.”

“I'll stick to pepsi.”

“Well glad you like the place. I think you'd like Mabel too.”

“Oh she seemed really nice when I was paying. So… did you just want tea or was this place part of your study.”

“...I just wanted to stop by for tea. We can head over to the next place soon. You'd like it. It's called the Heart Mender boutique!”

“I don't mind staying here longer with you hun. Let's just sit a bit longer.”

* * *

“Ok, the recorder is back on.”

“Hun what happened, you can't just start freaking out for no reason and run out of the store. And your first instinct is to start documenting it, that's not healthy.

“Look I'm sorry, I just wanted to go clothes shopping, but something felt really strange, I tried to ignore it for a while. I feel bad for making a scene but I had to leave.”

“Hun, you've been panicking a lot lately, and you just take out that recorder if anything ever goes wrong. Have you talked with your therapist about this?”

“I have. Look, I’ll be fine, but right now I need to record these thoughts. please just tell me what you thought of the boutique ok?”

“...Alright. Fine. Uh, It was really nice. The one at the counter, Samara I think, showed us around the place. There were a lot of different styles and shapes for all the clothes. Like even ones that therians could wear. I bet it felt really cool for you when you saw that jacket with the four sleeves. You don’t usually have four arms but it’s inclusive and I know you like that stuff. It’s cool. I even asked and apparently the owner makes them! She sounds cool. Plus it seems like they'd be able to help you pick out an outfit. You’ve never had a good sense of style.

“Thanks hun. I can count on you to always sneak in an insult about my past self. Well, It helped calm me down I guess. Hey, uh, not part of my point, but… I don’t really go to boutiques. Is pottery a thing they usually sell?”

“Not really? The accessories, like necklaces, are pretty normal, but I’ve never seen pottery being sold in one. They’re really cute though. I love the one you bought. You could grow some bamboo in it. And Thank you again for getting me this necklace by the way. It's so cute!”

“So you didn't notice anything else?”

“Hun… If something's the matter you have to tell me. It's just a nice place. I want to visit here again.”

“You remember how at the beach I mentioned I could always tell when I was being looked at?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I could feel something else watching us. I don't know what, but something was there. Looking through the eyes of everyone. No, that's not right. Like everyone everywhere was seeing me in one place.” 

“Ok, maybe we should focus on breathing. Just calm down for a moment. Even if you're right about, whatever you're trying to say. It's still none of our business. Everyone in the shop are nice, and I don't see anything bad about the store online. Is it really that big of a problem for your new senses?”

“It's not. I'm sure whatever secrets the Heart Mender boutique has, it's their business. I just. I wish I wasn't the only mimic. I could tell whatever connection there was, it was something my instincts wanted. It wouldn't stop screaming at me that I should be the same way with my own kind. I was jealous. Whatever I felt in there, I wish I had it… Abigail, don't get near me. I could bite!”

“You won't. I just know, and you could use a hug. I wanna go back inside, they had a lot of cool stuff. I'll hold your hand while we're there, and I'll help you pick out some cool clothes.”

“...I feel so weird, in a, how can I be this dumb, sort of way. Let's hope I haven't scared anyone.”

“There's no other mimics, so you could just say it's a mimic thing and no one would know.”

“Jeez hun, hahaha, I can't just go around lying like that.”

“Hey, technically, it was a mimic thing. And turn off your recorder this time. No recording equipment remember.”

* * *

“So, the next location is an interesting one. And I think you'll probably want to wait in the car for now. And before you say anything, listen. I actually mean that this place is apparently really bad to stay in. Thayer Library is something of a ghost story. Where they say people feel the presence of something watching them”

“So, you want to see if you can feel their presence then?”

“Yep! Also it's a spooky haunted library, how could we not go here for a date! Oh! There it is, come on! Oh this is going to be great. It’s close to sunset too! Alright, let’s get going hun, I’ll go get the wheelchair.”

“Actually, could I stay inside?”

“Is everything alright? Are you feeling haunted.”

“... I think if I step inside I’ll die.”

“Oh. oh, you’re serious. Alright, I’ll be quick. Stay safe then, I’ll be right back…

…Huh, is. Is this it? It’s barely a tingle. It’s certainly empty. I don’t even see a receptionist. Is it open? I guess I’ll just do a quick read and leave. Suppose I can spend time documenting behavior. Something is definitely watching. But it’s not thousands like last time, just a few. Something big, but strangely calming. I feel completely relaxed here, like I don’t have any problems. Who’s watching? And why does it not bother me? It’s not human, so then it’s some other force, is it a guard, a curious visitor? Well I’m in a library, I guess I should read…

…I wonder if this place has any books on mimics. The books here feel like they could disintegrate with a touch, but there’s not a speck of dust on them. Maybe I could actually find some information on us. Huh, this might be my first real chance at a lead. This could be perfect! I could… Why is Abi calling? Wait… It’s already been an hour!? How?! When!? Ugh, I’ll have to come back here later. I get the sense I’m not wanted here. Maybe Abigail is right, this place could be dangerous.

There’s one more location to go to. I’d rather not head there in a bad mood. I think I’ll check out a book. Mimics surround us? Yeah I wish. Ominous title, and what are the chances I pull this book out at random… I should go.”

* * *

“Mayday, is the place closed?”

“Yeah, it's closed, apparently some sort of crime happened a while ago and they’re closed to the public. I can only imagine what anti-therian story is being spun right now. I just hope they don’t try to contact Erian’s clinic about this. They treat me like a child who needs to hand the phone over to a dad.”

“God, I hate this place, why did we even have to come here?”

“The zoo is important to visit, even if it's the culmination of everything awful in this city. I know people who live here. I hope they're ok… Do you think I'd end up living here in a tiny glass cage if I did go all the way with mimic HRT?”

“I don't want to think about that hun. Let's just go already.”

“...Sometimes when I go to the support group, someone doesn't show up, and I can always tell what everyone's thinking. The first thought is always that they went full feral, that they're stuck here, that we've been forgotten again. I always make sure to visit here every month. Just in case. It's never actually happened. Except the once. It makes me think what would happen if a colony of mimics showed up in Hyper city. Would we be accepted? Or would we be all cornered into this zoo for the sake of a fake safety that only exists in people's heads. What I would give to see this place turned to rubble.”

“Do you need another hug hun?”

“I'll be fine.”

“You could use another hug.”

“I guess I could yeah. It’s hard to stay sad when you’re around.”

“So did you figure some stuff out today?”

“Oh absolutely not, Erian is going to be pissed when he finds out I have nothing. But it was fun. And I got to spend some time with you, which is always a plus. Let’s do this again next time, and maybe I won’t be so buried in my own head. We can go to a spa or something. Some good old sight seeing.”

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Hey y'all, This one took us quite a while to write out, two weeks to write out, including a nearly completed scrapped script. Anyway, this chapter is very special to us because it uses a lot of fun locations that others have created. Hyper city is an amazing setting that has given us so much to work with and has become the perfect place to write about. We wanted to showcase some of our favorite places and if any of them interest you, you should go read where they came from.

Kaiju beach: @noreo-oreo

The roost café: @ashedink

The Heart mender boutique: @home-sweet-hive

Thayer library: @dawning-mars

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Mention list: @a-shramp, @calliecwrites, @be702, @respectfulevil, @hyacinthdoll1315

@aster-is-confused, @bloodandbrandywyne, @glitchgloop, @nyxthewary, @lunadook

[healingheartdogs]

Eevee's usually just "the bitch"/"little bitch"/"bitchtits" (all said lovingly I swear I just think it's really funny to call her a bitch because she literally is one and I have an autistic sense of humor) or sometimes "the rat"/"the gremlin".

Code names don't work for Hermes because he's too damn smart and has seemingly figured out that if we are using he/him pronouns we are probably talking about him regardless of what we call him. In general he seems to know too many random words and phrases are usually connected to him (and/or Eevee) even without him (or her) being mentioned, and if we talk in a weird way to avoid saying words he knows he has also has seemingly figured out that means we're talking about something related to him (or them). Nothing gets by him.

What are your pets’ codenames so you can talk about them without them knowing? Ours are white dog, black dog, red dog, and pointy dog.

[coralinnii]

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”

[myemuisemo]

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?

[catwouthats]

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.