#for s/a wednesday

[paulinedorchester]

Hastings, September 1945

(By way of explanation, last month I went to a concert that included an excerpt from Béla Bartók's Duke Bluebeard's Castle. This is an opera that really suits the present pop-cultural moment: as you can undoubtedly guess, it's a horror story, and just think of all the horror films that are being produced these days! I can't find a linkable video that I can really endorse, so if you can look into it yourselves if you care to. The point, however, is that the following has been knocking around in my mind ever since then.)

‘Sam,’ Andrew begins. She looks up. ‘There’s something that I’ve been wanting to say. It’s a bit awkward, though,’ he adds.

‘Yes? Do go on, please.’

‘Well... what I want to tell you is that this is your home now, at least for the time being, and that I want you to, um, to feel that way.’

‘Oh, Andrew, I do!’ Sam exclaims.

‘The trouble is,’ Andrew continues, ‘it can’t really be that way, because after all it’s Dad’s house, so if you wanted to... I don’t know, replace the wallpaper... well, I don’t think... ’

He trails off into silence.

‘I do feel quite at home here, Andrew,’ Sam assures him, ‘and I wouldn’t want to change a thing.’

‘All right.’

‘Actually, though, there’s something that I’ve been meaning to ask — about the house, I mean.’

‘Oh — yes?’

‘I ought to have asked your father before he left, but it slipped my mind,’ Sam goes on. ‘You’d be quite likely to know as well, though, I would imagine.’

‘Yes? What is it?’

‘It’s just... what’s in the second storey?’

Andrew’s face changes — closes rather, Sam thinks.

‘The attic,’ he replies.

Sam has the distinct feeling that she’s not meant to pursue this subject any farther.

‘Yes, I’d rather assumed that much,’ she tells him. ‘But what’s in the attic? The door’s locked,’ she adds.

Andrew pauses for a brief moment before he says anything more, glancing down at the table and looking, Sam thinks, as though he were deciding what, if anything, to tell her.

‘You must never, ever go up there, Sam,’ he announces solemnly. He looks at her intently now, his face as somber as his voice. ‘I tell you this because I love you and I want to protect you.’

It occurs to Sam to laugh, but also that, were she to do so now, it would likely be a nervous laugh. But then she sees that Andrew’s eyes are sparkling, and when she does begin laughing she doesn’t feel nervous at all.

‘My mother kept her painting studio up there,’ Andrew explains. He’s not quite merry, but he is smiling, and the solemnity is gone. ‘All of her supplies are still there — Dad never got rid of any of them. A few dozen paintings, as well, that she never sold or gave to anyone. They’re not even mounted. We can go have a look if you like. I’m surprised Dad locked the door, but the key’s in my desk.’

[a-s-fischer]

She is off the loom, and I am now twisting the fringes!

[angelz1251]

Happy Wednesday March 22!!!!!

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔄𝔡𝔡𝔞𝔪𝔰 𝔉𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶 (յգգյ) 𝔡𝔦𝔯. 𝔅𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔖𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔡

[car1y-quinn]

Morticia: it’s so nice to have the two of you over for dinner! It’s just like back during your nevermore years, when we had Enid over during the summer! Oh! You two would be at each other’s throats over the smallest of disagreements. And now look at you! Sitting side by side. At least now it won’t end with Enid tackling you to the floor, before she yanks your braids!

Enid blushing: oh…

Wednesday banging her fist on the table: Mother!

Gomez whispering: Tish… phrasing!

Morticia embarrassed: oh my… that is not what I was implying!

[tornado1992]

The world does not deserve some things.

It doesn’t deserve destruction, hate or cruelty.

Sonic has known this for quite a while, being some sort of fighter for nature or a so called “protector” of it by a lot of people, he’s not so sure about that though.

Just as the world can be beautiful it can become dreadful, the world gives origin to everything in it, and that everything is part of the world itself.

The people that live in it are the part that shows the contrast the most clearly, just as some inhabitants are kind, take care of each other and enjoy the wonders it has to offer, there was a few of them that seemed to spite everything that wasn’t like them, everything they didn’t like, and everything that wasn’t theirs. Sonic knows that, he’s been fighting that enough time to be named a protector.

All things considered, to him the world still meant kindness, endless opportunities, adventure… and it meant freedom.

Then it meant something else.

Between all his fighting and running, he met and befriended a lot of the ones that called him a hero before he could even process the title, some of them energetic, some hotheaded, and some unbothered, they reminded him that even if there was despair or tragedy, the world he knew and loved was still there.

At least it was there to him.

Getting to know all the world meant getting almost as much deception and anger as happiness, every new place meant new sceneries, new ways, and new people, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Even if it meant taking all the damage himself, getting to know everything personally was better than blindly trusting anything he was told, he knew it was worth it; he confirmed it when he went through one of the worst parts to find the absolute best one.

The place wasn’t even bad looking, the nature growing harmoniously beside the artificial work, it gave a peaceful kind of vibe, the people seemed kind and respectful, kids playing and chasing each other while adults looked out for them from afar, even welcoming him with open arms not caring if he was a stranger, “a united and caring community”, no sight of conflict or cruelty came to view, they didn’t seemed to have any hate in them. Only kind words and even warm chilli dogs greeted him. He thought this was the kind of place he would fight for.

That thought lasted less than an hour.

It really doesn’t take much longer than 10 minutes to completely change your perspective of a so called perfect community when after thirty minutes of an apparent peaceful environment you notice the sick looking child they suddenly chase down the woods so he doesn’t “steal their food and gives them bad fortune”. Sonic gives them a full minute of doubt, doubt to himself as what he’s hearing and seeing, because that can’t be right, because it must be a mistake. What reason could there be for a kid to “give bad luck”? Why would a kid need to “steal” food? And why would he be called a “curse”?

Some villager takes a long four minutes to explain the reason for all that, falling down to “that mutant was born with two tails”.

Sonic spends the next five minutes looking for the kid, and restraining himself from committing several crimes.

He had to focus, ending a full village’s whole career can wait, what cannot wait is the fox kit that just ran away from a group of kids leaving a trail of blood behind him. Even in the thick forest tundra it’s easy to see the big droplets of blood on the tree branches, the ground, and the tiny bush that kept trembling.

That’s where he found him.

A fox kit, didn’t looked any older than two, but by what he heard he could even be four. He looked way too tiny to be around four.

Big baby blue eyes greet him, a glassy sight, sorrow, confusion and sadness behind them.

The moment the fox noticed the speedster he tried to run, but the bush was too thick around him, and his back was facing a big tree log, he was trapped, the kid flinched every time he moved towards him, whined whenever Sonic rose to stand, and even started silently tearing up while curling around his tiny bruised body when he tried to reach for him. This kid thought Sonic wanted to hurt him.

How much does a kid has to suffer for his first reaction to some one approaching him being to cry, tremble and try to protect themselves?

Sonic can’t decide what enrages him more, the matted brown fur that surely must mean a long time without proper care for it, the bruised skinny body that trembled every few seconds as if it couldn’t stand by itself, the obviously recent bleeding nose that made the fox kit whimper every time he breathed, or the so clear loud sound of an empty stomach.

This was the result of long period of abuse and neglect, and by the way the kid hugged his twin tails while crying, Sonic would even call it torture.

Sonic couldn’t help him without getting close to him, but the kit wouldn’t let him near him without flinching. Putting the kid through more distress was not an option, but leaving him alone wasn’t one either, and the kid needed help, so he stayed. Sitting beside the trembling bush, taking watch in case some of those hollow hearted villagers came back while thinking of a way of helping the kid.

This is not the kind of help Sonic is used to offer, but he cannot just leave the kit alone. Even if he didn’t know anything about taking care of younger kids, even if his first aid kit was almost empty in his plane far away from him, even if the fox cried at the very sight of him, Sonic won’t leave him alone.

He doesn’t remember feeling like this before. Frustrating, he remembers some adults calling it, a feeling of helplessness, anger, and even sadness that consumes one self through the impossibility of effective action, in his case, the impossibility of helping.

And so he found himself, frustrated, sitting on the forest ground while rubbing his eyes with his hand, who knew, frustration is stressful; he kept at that for a few long minutes, until he felt a slight touch in his back. Finding those big blue eyes when he turned his head, a tiny gloveless paw patting him gently, careful with his quills but yet touching them, trying to comfort him.

This kid could barely stand, was obviously scared, at the verge of tears, and hurting from the beating the other kids gave him; and he was trying to make Sonic feel better.

It was clear now, they didn’t seemed to have any hate in them because they put all the cruelty and hatred in a kid, an innocent, tiny, and so kind hearted kid. The same village that greeted Sonic with kind words and offered him warm food was willing to let a literal toddler starve, if he wasn’t killed by the village’s youngest inhabitants first. All over something that wasn’t even bad, it wasn’t even his fault.

That won’t do.

Looking less distressed than before but still trembling wasn’t an ideal state to approach the twin tailed kit, but again, the kid needed help, the most urgent now being probably first aid, but Sonic sadly knew that the thing that would calm down the kid more would be something to eat.

Sonic offered him a smile, an attempt to soothe him, standing as slowly as he could not to scare the kid, and running as fast as his legs allowed him to return with four chili dogs was the game plan, managing to startle the kid a little bit with his rushed return, with the most difficult part of the plan being convincing the kid that the food was for him, that he could eat, that it wouldn’t hurt him, that Sonic wouldn’t hurt him.

Words might be useful to communicate that, but they just might, this kid was obviously casted away from society, who knew since when, he might not even understand him, well, if he used words that is, for now he hopes his smile would do (that and him eating a chili dog himself so the kit would know it’s safe).

It took a while, but it seemed like the fox’s empty stomach finally convinced him to eat, his hands trembling as he grabbed the supper, eyes getting a different kind of teary as he took his first bite, his twin tails wagging as he devoured his second chili dog.

Sonic wasn’t much of a baby person, sure they were cute and all he didn’t saw the big deal, all babies were the same. But seeing this little kid, a hurt toddler, starting to smile and wet his eyes over something as simple as warm food.. while a part of him was burning with rage, another part of him couldn’t help but think that he wanted to see this kid truly smile.

He wonders how could anyone see this kid with anything but love.

So he stayed around him, always with a smile, but even bandages, chili dogs, and big smiles couldn’t help much with the kids perspective of the word, much less the perception of himself.

The only world the fox knew before Sonic was a merciless one, rejection, hate and cruelty being its main traits, with bad people who would hunt him down, hit him and hurt him because he was the bad one, just for existing in the same time and place as all of them, but not being the same as them. He believed he really was the bad one for some time.

Sonic wouldn’t allow that for any longer, so he took the best part of the world with him and never planned to return it.

His life wasn’t the ideal deal for a toddler, he couldn’t give him a traditional family structure, a roof over his head, or a warm bed, but he also didn’t trusted anyone else to take care of him, he didn’t trusted the world to take care of him. So he would take the job himself, this kid wouldn’t go a day without warm food, he would never lack shelter, and as long as Sonic was around, he would always protect him.

But Sonic still was a hero.

Sonic fought and ran, ran and fought, and when the running and fighting from him alone seemed like not enough, the kit didn’t even doubted risking his own life to help him.

After a life of suffering, as little and scared as he was, at barely four years old, he still wanted to protect the world that wronged him.

The world doesn’t deserve this kid.

But it was the world itself that gave Sonic the title of protector, guardian, and hero; he knows there are things worth fighting for, far more than the things that wouldn’t deserve any kind of protection.

He won’t deny the title, ever.

Because even if some day everything around him comes down, everyone gets mad and bad, and his own hope is questioned, he’ll still have a reason to fight.

After all, this kid is his world.

[diwns]

on wednesday we wear 🎀

[nowlander]

Some people say Wednesday's Gomez ↑ isn't handsome enough, because they met the Addams in the 90s movies ↓

Some people say the 90s movies got the characters wrong because in the 60s show, the Addams were spooky but harmless...

While a niche group likes to remind us that the Addams started as a bunch of evil and ugly characters

Don't gatekeep the Addams. Every incarnation is valid

[t00thpasteface]

actual exchange while "trapper" and i were in our dorm last night. yes she did leap up into the air like that. our brief R&R solved nothing and we're already going right back off the deep end

[blue-ravens]

[bbreakingbenjamin]

𝕳𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔 🖤👋🖤☠️

𝕵𝖔𝖊𝖞 𝕵𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓 & 𝖂𝖊𝖉𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖉𝖆𝖞 13 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕶𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌! 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖟𝖎𝖓𝖊, 2011.

[paulinedorchester]

Hastings, August 1945

This takes place during (a reimagined version of) ‘The Hide.’ It’s a highly preliminary version of something that may or may not end up in a future story. It contains a very subtle preview into my official WIP (new OC!), but it’s way out of sequence in the Victory Roll universe, so for the time being, at least, it’s a Tumblr exclusive.

Andrew isn’t going into marriage as some sort of wide-eyed innocent. Foyle knows that much. He doesn’t know who any of those girls might have been (excepting one, apparently). Not sure that I want to, he thinks.

He’s in no position to disapprove, though. He knows that as well. At some point he’s going to have to tell Andrew about the consequences of that fact. Sooner rather than later, to judge from what’s in the Brighton papers today.

On the other hand, he can’t help wondering how well prepared Sam is for what’s ahead of her. How much would a vicar’s only daughter — nearly twenty-six years old now, been away from home since early in the war — but her parents were no longer young by the time she was born, products of an earlier era, her father tried to prevail on her to return home in 1940, kept talking about ‘moral hygiene’ — how much would she be likely to know about, well, physical intimacy? Perhaps he ought to ask his sister-in-law to sound her out. They’d got on well when Pamela was in Hastings on war business, a couple of years ago.

The point, however, is Andrew. Surely, as his father, I have a duty to offer him some sort of guidance. And indeed, he has noticed Andrew looking at times, not as though he’s getting cold feet, but pensive and, yes, faintly worried.

They play chess that evening: badly, both of them. A hot day has turned into an uncomfortably warm night. Foyle is distracted by the day’s news. Sam has gone to Brighton overnight and wouldn’t say why, which has left Andrew unsettled. After a bit more than an hour they agree to a draw.

‘I’m beginning to understand why the Yanks like ice in their drinks,’ Andrew remarks.

His father offers one of his upside-down smiles. ‘A few years ago, when... ’ he begins, then stops abruptly, realising that he’s come dangerously close to a blunder. Though it’s quite possible Andrew knows about that by now, he thinks. Still... ‘Well, a few years ago I met an American soldier who told me that he wanted to come back to England after the war was over and go into business, selling plumbing and heating equipment. Perhaps he’ll do refrigeration as well.’

Andrew laughs.

‘Andrew,’ Foyle goes on. ‘If there’s anything at all that you want to, um, discuss — well, look, you’ve only to say so.’

Andrew’s smile fades a bit. ‘Thank you,’ he replies, and then falls silent, looking into the near distance.

The next day dawns cooler, with a hint of Autumn in the air, almost. Andrew meets Sam’s coach. She is cheerful, she holds his free hand as they make their way to Stonefield Road, but she won’t say what took her to Brighton — only that she wasn’t able to accomplish her errand, and that it’s perfectly all right for now, but she’ll have to go back at the end of the month, after the wedding.

‘I’ve already made an appointment,’ she says, and then abruptly changes the subject. ‘I stopped with the Milners,’ she tells him. ‘Clemmie — the baby — is perfectly lovely. And you know, I’m beginning to quite like Edith. She’s a bit of a pepper pot, I suppose, but I get the feeling that she’d be an awfully good person to have on your side if there were any trouble!’

After supper is put away Andrew goes upstairs for a time. Then Foyle hears his son descending the stairs very slowly, as though so preoccupied with something that he must remind himself to take each step.

Reaching the ground floor, Andrew remains in the hall for a moment, lost in thought. Then he moves to the sitting room doorway and stands there uncertainly.

‘Sam’s visit to Brighton — go well?’ Foyle asks.

‘Oh — well, she had a pleasant time, apparently, but whatever it she went there to do, she wasn’t able to do it. I still don’t know what it was. Said she’d have to go back after we’re married.’

‘Hm.’

‘Dad, um, you said last night... ’ Andrew trails off, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

‘What’s on your mind, Andrew?’ his father offers after a moment.

Andrew makes a visible effort to gather himself together.

‘Is it true,’ he begins.

He breaks off, then starts again.

‘Is it true that it hurts girls the first time?’

Foyle tries to hide his surprise.

Not girls, then, he thinks. Women.

[positivelykirby]

you would not believe your eyes

if I found a completed comic in my wip folder

[darkblue-tennesseee]

don’t mind me just thinking about how Joel considers his way of loving “gentle, steady, nice and slow”

[s-aint-elmo]

i am not immune to a gelphie dynamic. i am extremely vulnerable to a gelphie dynamic. i will follow a gelphie dynamic into a suspicious wine cellar, my jester’s hat jingling gleefully all the while

ID: a set of digital sketches of wednesday addams and enid sinclair in various sets of the casual clothes they wear in the show. in each, enid beams brightly while wednesday either deadpans or glowers at her or the viewer. one: enid giddily leans far into a seated wednesday’s personal space, nose almost touching her cheek, while wednesday, cheek propped up on a fist, leans away and regards her with a subtly raised brow. two: enid and wednesday sit side by side in their matching snoods, wednesday with one leg propped up and enid cross-legged, her head on wednesday’s shoulder. three: the same as two, but with enid’s finale scars added. four: enid playfully sits astride wednesday’s lap, arms around her neck and visible leg kicked straight out, while wednesday supports her with both arms around the waist. five: a collage of the reference pictures used for each pose with an accompanying link each. end ID.

[sage-nebula]

Thinking about how Tails was raised by Sonic, so he has an excellent read on Sonic's moods (to the point where Sonic can lie to just about everyone re: his feelings except Tails), but he also knows Sonic well enough to know that Sonic doesn't like to talk about things that are bothering him. Not that Tails won't ever ask, of course, because he wants Sonic to know that if he ever does want to talk, Tails will be there for him. But he knows well enough to not expect anything to come out of him asking. He's used to this pattern.

But also . . . Tails is a fixer. He's a solution finder. If there's a problem, he solves it, or does his best to. So if Sonic is feeling down, well, talking it out won't make Sonic feel better. And it's true that Tails can't fix the actual problem if he doesn't know what it is. But he can do other things to make Sonic feel better. Like for instance, Sonic goes to sleep feeling kind of bad one night, and wakes up the next morning to find that Tails has repaired the outsoles of his shoes to give him better traction / provide better support when he's running. Or Tails will make him cocoa the exact way he likes it without being asked, seemingly out of the blue, or will take his library books back for him and check out a couple more that he knows Sonic has had his eye on.

Just little things like that. Little things which don't solve whatever the actual problem is, because he doesn't know what the actual problem is, but that make Sonic feel cared about and loved even if neither of them say those actual words. (And if Sonic asks why Tails is doing this, Tails is like "just felt like it" because if Sonic doesn't want to talk about his feelings, that's fine—but that means Tails gets a free pass not to talk about his, either.)

Sonic takes care of Tails, but Tails takes care of Sonic, too. They're good at looking out for each other.