#select some condition or problem

[theworstcreature]

The mentally ill urge to test out my acting skills by faking a breakdown and seeing how far I can convince people I’ve gone just to study their reactions (and also see how long before it gets to me and it stops being a bit)

[s-4pphics]

candy crush. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you’re too sweet, and ellie hates it. 

WORD COUNT: 4.3K

WARNINGS: recordshopmanager!ellie, crumblcookiebaker!oc, hurt/comfort, ellie’s a cunt, ocs too sweet, FLUFF?? FROM ME??? HUHHH, crushing, slight suggestive thoughts

A/N: idk where this came from lol

Ellie’s reorganizing the vinyl selection when a delicate hand lands on her shoulder. “I know your miserable ass doesn’t enjoy company,” Dina hisses in her ear, purposefully hushed, “But you got company.” 

Ellie’s eyebrow quirks with confusion, leaving the earplug that blasts Head like a Hole to dangle over her shoulder. Her eyes glaze over the semi-filled shop, narrowing in on every face until she locks eyes with you from behind the guitar displays. The eye contact only lasts about 1.5 seconds before Dina smacks her leg. 

“Don’t look. You’re gonna make it weird.” Dina quietly snaps from beside her, occupying her hands with some misplaced records. 

“You know her?” 

“I see her around sometimes. I think she works nearby,” Ellie catches her smirking from the corner of her eye, “… I think she likes you.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“I’m dead serious. She’s been staring for the past 10.” 

“At who.” 

“At you, dipshit.” 

Ellie can’t help herself. She takes one experimental glance in your direction; discovers you typing away at your device with a black mask pulled down under your chin, bottom lip trapped between your teeth with worry. Your apron and tiny name tag indicates you probably work somewhere close by, but she can’t pinpoint where. You’re too far and her vision is failing.

“Get her numbe—“

Ellie’s head whips to face Dina, “If you don’t shut up, you’re fired.” 

“Abuse of power,” She snarks in return, “C’mon! She seems so—“

“D-Do you guys have any acoustics for sale?” 

You’re a ninja, for sure. Both girls' heads snap around to face you — who stands a bit too close for Ellie’s liking — phone desperately clutched to your chest and eyes wide as a doe. Mainly locked with Ellie’s before they drop to your name tag.

Crumbl. 2 shops down. 

Fuck. 

“Why, yes!” Dina says excitedly when Ellie doesn’t reply, “Most of ours have been used, but they’re still in great condition. Are you interested in renting or purchasing?” 

“Purchasing… I think.” 

“No problem. I can show you some that we have on display, and if you don’t like those, we have some stocked in the back!” 

Ellie’s forehead creases. Dina has never been this active in making a sale, let alone interacting with any customers. Ellie is always the one who’s forced to pick up her and Riley’s slack in the shop. She catches the light traces of disappointment that overtakes your expression at Dina’s interjection, but eventually, you’re led over to the guitar displays.

Ellie sighs in relief. 

That brief exchange gave Ellie everything she needed to know. She doesn’t find gratification in denying proposals at work, but after months of being hit on by a multitude of customers — the men particularly piss her off— she’ll be as stern as she needs to be to get the point of denial across. Sure, it makes her look like a cunt to the general public, but she’ll take that over being chased after on the clock. No questions asked. 

Ellie assumes that you’ve found what you needed because on your way out, persistent stares are thrown in her direction up until your departure. She dodges them with mastery. 

She would hate to have to embarrass a strip neighbor. 

Three days later, you stumble upon the record shop once more. Dina isn’t here to save Ellie this time, and Riley’s passing time in the break room. Your uniform is lightly dusted with white, presumably flour, and your mask is down, phone clutched to your chest like it holds all your secrets.

Your mouth drops open around a small smile when you approach the service counter, but Ellie interrupts before you can greet her. 

“What can I help you with?” 

She assumed her annoyance would be guarded by professionalism, but your smile drops at its corners at her tone. A light flinch that Ellie prays is enough to deter you from spending your breaks here. 

It doesn’t. Your eyes still shine like the star that you aren’t. 

“I, um… I actually wanted to talk to you. If that’s okay—“

“Is it regarding the purchase you made a few days ago?” 

Dina slid Ellie a notice on the down payment you made for your used dreadnought since you weren’t able to pay in full. The scolding she received about “taking care of you” whenever you returned made her teeth grind together. 

“N-No. I just—“

“I’d appreciate it if we kept the conversation about that,” Ellie uses the scribbles on her notepad as a distraction, “Did you have any questions regarding the instrument? Or if you’re interested in taking part in the lessons we offer, I could redirect you to Riley. She’s in charge of—“

“I just wanted to see if you were… interested in sampling out some cookie flavors I came up with? I’m a baking and pastry student and—“

“Look,” The tip of Ellie’s tongue sharpens into her cheek, irritation evident when you two are eye-to-eye. “I’m not sure where this proposal is coming from, but frankly, I’m not interested.”

The drop in your expression doesn’t stop Ellie’s relentlessness. 

“I don’t know you, and I don’t know why you thought I’d be a good candidate for… taste-testing, but I’ll politely decline. No thanks.” 

Her declination doesn’t sound polite in the slightest; quite snippy and condescending from your perspective, and it forces your windpipe shut. Only for a second before a strangled gasp leaves your lips. You’re not sure if it’s out of shock or lack of breath, but it aches in your lungs all the same. 

Ellie’s glare sends holes through your back as you rush towards the exit, the small bell singing through the store and alarming your leave. 

All Ellie can hope is that you got the message. 

It’s a new week, and therefore, a new Crumbl cookie line-up. Dina won’t stop raving about the carrot-cake cookie which doesn’t resemble a cookie at all. It's tiered and way too soft and stacked with icing that’s sweet enough to rot teeth from the gum. 

It reminds Ellie of you, for some reason; Somehow still managing to be a nuisance without trying. 

Even more so now since Dina’s been using her 45 to walk down and see you. To talk to you. Dina has yet to cough up what about — not that Ellie cares. It’s just weird that you two suddenly have so much in common after knowing each other for all of two days maximum. Whenever Dina clocks back in, she tortures Ellie with dramatic retellings of your stories. 

It’s Thursday; a quiet day for the shop that Ellie uses to her advantage when the sun is at its peak. Searching through cheap magazines and playing Candy Crush on her phone. 

What a time for you to come barreling in. The formerly enjoyable shriek of guitar suddenly sounds like nails on a chalkboard at your appearance. No longer are you in all black. You’re in a sundress. An orange one. You look like a popsicle. 

And you bear gifts. Ellie’s mood turns even more sour when she sees two bright yellow gift bags with smiley faces on them and a tray filled with coffee stuffed in your hands. 

“Good morning!” 

You’re smiling, gleaming, and Ellie’s nose turns up. She plucks one of her earplugs out and closes her graphic novel. 

“How can I help you?” 

You set your bag down on the display case of her prized arch top, and she sighs in exasperation. Annoyance sparks when she notices one of the bags has her name on it, flowers and hearts and sparkles surrounding the tag. 

“Can you not put your belongings on the displays, please? I’d have to clean up after you since none of my employees will.” 

You’ve already moved your bags and exclaimed apologies before Ellie could finish her sentence. She’s seconds away from shoving her earplug back in to tune you out, but you’re fast. Persistent. She hates it.

“I’m really sorry about that,” You say gently, and Ellie shrugs you off, “I, um. I-I came to, uh…”

Ellie blinks rapidly, “If you’re here to apologize for last week, don’t bother. It’s not needed.” 

“Not at all! Well, I’m just… I wanted to drop by and—“

“You’ve gotten quite comfortable with just… dropping by. Have you realized that?” 

Ellie’s squint is harsh and scrutinizing, and sorrow overshadows the light in your pupils. 

“Since it’s obvious that you’re not understanding me, I’ll put it like this,” She leans a bit over the counter, front fully pressed against the glass and palms resting on the stainless steel, “I’m not interested in anything you have going on. Stop using your breaks as an excuse to come see me. I don’t wanna go out with you. And I don’t want to do a taste test. Drop it already.” 

Ellie watches your lip quiver with a harshness exclusive only for people like you, tears welting in your eyes and your fingers pinching at the hem of your sundress. Insecurity is practically seeping from your pores, and your gaze drops shamefully to the floor. 

Ellie’s just about to tell you to kick rocks when the STAFF ONLY door swings open and exposes Riley. Her break ended 20 minutes ago. 

“Hey! You’re early!” 

Ellie scoffs, “No, you’re late—“

“Not you. Be quiet,” She waves her off and smiles at you, who’s smiling back at her with guised genuity. A complete 180 from the you seconds ago. Since when were you and Riley on speaking terms? Friends?

She jogs from behind the stand, “Dina told me you weren’t coming til 3!” Riley throws her arms around your shoulders, and your hands tremble where they rest on her forearms. “Are those the goods?” 

“Yeah!” Your voice sounds heavy. Like you’re guarding a breakdown, “I-I had some time so I stopped by a little early.” 

“I got some to spare til Dee gets here. Hang out with m—“

“Actually!” You intervene shakily, “I have some other drop-offs to make. I really appreciate you guys doing this for me.” 

“Are you sure you can’t stay? Watch me get my Food Network judge on?” Riley suddenly points in Ellie’s direction, “Who knows. Sourpuss might even pop a grin once she tries one.” Ellie’s cheeks run red-hot.

“Sorry, Riley. Maybe next time,” You’re already wobbling towards the exit, “But, please call and tell me what you think! Dina, too! Any feedback is appreciated!” 

“I’m sure they’re delicious, Monster!” Riley compliments playfully, “Text me when you’re home!” 

When the door shuts, Ellie sees Riley’s back stiffen at the sight of you frantically wiping your face through the glass. 

“What the fuck did you do.” 

“I didn’t do shit. She’s loitering.” 

“Lo— Oh my fucking god, you’re an embarrassmen—“

“No, she is. Taking up space for no fucking reason to come and see me. She’s loitering—“

“You’re blowing a fuse over fucking cookie samples?” Riley stares at her like she’s nuts, “And not to burst your self-centered bubble, but I told her to come. She’s been asking all the stores on the block if they’d like to taste ‘em.”

Ellie pauses, expression softening only slightly when Riley continues, 

“I told her you don’t like chocolate, so she made a peanut butter version for you.” Riley shakes Ellie's special, slightly smaller bag as a means to taunt her, and the freckled girl’s face burns red. Glows even harsher when her friend throws in, “You cunt. She’s a sweetheart. Not everyone is fucking obsessed with you.” 

Riley leaves Ellie to simmer in her discomfort, slamming the break door shut. The day seems to drag on longer than usual. 

-

-

-

Ellie’s organizing the break room when she comes across her small baggie that Riley left behind. She would’ve expected her friend to take them home after Ellie’s dramatic blow up, but there it sat on the counter, untouched and jeering. 

Tempting enough for her to rest the broom against the counter and inspect its contents. Wafts of cinnamon and peanut butter hit her through the small opening of the bag, and her heart gives a squeeze. The cookie is iced to perfection — an entire scenery on the light brown canvas. So many flowers and trees and the blue hues of the sky; almost too much detail. It looks printed on. 

You’re artistically talented and the cookie smells divine. 

One nibble wouldn’t hurt. She’s sure the damage she caused is already irreversible. 

But when she cradles the carefully swaddled cookie, a small note falls from beneath the bunched cling wrap. She knows she shouldn’t. She should really, really leave the neatly folded piece of paper where it lays. Down the cookie. Trash the bag. 

She takes the cookie and the note back to her seat at the table. The cookie isn’t what she unravels first. 

“thought I’d make you a separate batch. Riley gave me the heads up about your chocolate disdain. I’m too paranoid to ask for your number in person, so I thought I’d use bait instead. I hope it’s convincing enough. Please let me know if it’s decent. Thank you for tasting.”

Signed with your name and a smiling heart with wings. Ellie’s heart shatters, remaining shards dangling from the rim of her ribcage. She can already see her friends glaring through her chest when they visit the apartment to berate her tomorrow morning. She already knows what they’re going to demand from her, but she’s three steps ahead. 

She ate the entire cookie in two bites right where she sat. It was delicious. Almondy, not too sweet, gently spiced. Probably the best she’s ever had.

Ellie has never been to Crumbl before. 

The viral spot is always bustling — too crowded and filled with loud teenagers with a sugar rush for her taste. Plus, she’s already on the clock when they first open. But the record shop is closed on Fridays. 

She put an extra bit of care into her appearance. She doesn’t recall the last time she did her hair. Half of it is pinned up and her button-up is neatly pressed. Jitters rustle in the pit of her stomach and her forehead is a bit damp, mainly because she can see you through the goddamn window. 

In uniform, you stand at the register with the same beaming smile from last week, talking and giggling with your coworkers, and Ellie instantly feels guilty. Your day seems off to a great start, and here she is… About to ruin it. She almost turned around at the thought. 

But the small bell above the door blares loud, and your bright smile drops once you recognize her, and with that, her stomach. Ellie mentally notes the bags forming under your eyes and the tension in your shoulders. It looks like you haven’t rested for days. Her heart squeezes. 

Your movements turn robotic; stiffly perched on the sides of the iPad stand as your thumb works on the screen. You haven’t looked Ellie’s way since. She approaches the counter with her tail between her legs, fidgeting with her middle finger. 

“Um… hey.” Ellie’s quiet. Out of place. Afraid. 

“What can I get for you?” 

Even with the stiffness, you somehow still manage to sound as soft as a cotton ball, but Ellie’s body locks. The scenario hits her like a brick wall; she’s doing exactly what she accused you of doing to her last week. Bothering her at fucking work. She should’ve never come to your place of business to coddle her ego. She feels like a hypocrite. You certainly see her as one. 

“Um… A cookie?”

“… What flavor.” 

“Uh… peanut butter?” 

You swallow thickly, voice hollow, “That’s not on the menu for this week,” You point towards the display of cookies that were big enough to feed a family, “These are the six we’re serving until Sunday. You can also look at the menu on the screen.” 

Ellie follows your pointing finger. How the fuck does this place work? Weekly flavors? What the fuck does that mean? She quickly examines the names of cookies that flash across the screen: raspberry cheesecake, pink velvet… Mom’s recipe? Odd name for a dessert but she lets it slide. 

“W-What’s your favorite?” 

You’re a baker, for fucks sake. You’d have better taste than anyone, better than her, she’d painfully admit. 

She watches your fingers clench around the screen, tapping mindlessly. 

“Um… raspberry cheesecake.” 

“I’ll get a dozen.” 

“O-Of the same flavor?” 

She shrugs like it’s obvious, “… Yup.” 

You give her one skeptic look before tapping at the screen. “It might be a little wait. About 15 minutes. Do you mind?” 

“No.” 

“Cash or card?” 

“Card, please.” 

More tapping, “That’ll be $41.65. Swipe or tap whenever you're ready.” 

A financial dent over a box of cookies was not on her bucket list. You hand her the receipt, and before you can rush to the kitchen, Ellie exclaims, “When’s your break?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“W— um, when’s your break?” 

Your coworkers are suddenly very interested in Ellie, all four of them eyeing her like venomous hawks. Her cheeks burst into flames. 

“Um… I don’t think that’s any of your concern.” 

And you’re right. Anything involving you is short on Ellie; it was never her business, but a burning in the pit of her stomach desires to learn. Needs to catch you at the right time to give you a proper apology even though she doesn’t deserve the time of day. She doesn’t know what to say. 

You use her floundering as a scapegoat and hustle behind the slamming doors. Just as Ellie rushes to leave empty-handed, one of your employees — Abigail reads across her name-tag, keeps professional, but Ellie’s skin burns with the fire in her eyes. 

“We’ll have those right out for you,” monotone, but gruff. It makes Ellie wonder if you told any of them about her — she doesn’t doubt it. 

“You can wait outside.” 

One stiff nod, and Ellie’s booking it until her feet plant on the packed sidewalk, nearly bumping into a couple with interlocked hands. It takes 25 minutes for the box of cookies to be rigidly placed on the lounge table by another employee. Ellie scurries into her truck with a boiling face and pulls out into the road. 

When she makes it to her apartment, she eats three mini cheesecakes in one sitting.

She sees why they’re your favorite. 

The following week was filled with glares and curses from Dina and Riley — your newfound friends, evidently. They have a way of making Ellie feel like a worthless dunce. They both have rubbed in the tales of you being a thrill to be around; the life of the party whenever they hang out. 

It makes her nauseous. And sad. 

But her sadness swiftly shifts to bewilderment when she catches you smoking near a lamppost after closing. Still in your uniform with a bag over your shoulder, pants dusted in white, proof of your labor. It’s dark out, the only illumination coming from the light stood tall above you and the orange gleam of your cigarette. The sight shocks her. You didn’t seem like the type. 

Maybe that’s where Ellie went wrong with you: constantly assuming… who you are. Your desires, your intentions with her, her friends. She’ll admit her wrongs, of course. 

But it has to be to you. 

Ellie scares you when she approaches, inhaling the nicotine a bit too roughly because you start heaving. Shoulders hunched and jumping with every cough. 

“Uh — fuck, I’m sorry! I-I thought you could see me coming! I didn’t mean — fuck —“

You’re still choking, but you hiss in between, “What the fuck do you want!” 

“I’m just — I’m sorry about —“

“You’re not — cough — you’re not sorry! You made your point clear. I don’t why you keep — cough cough — following me. I left you alone like you wanted!” 

“I DON’T WANT THAT!” Ellie shrieks in panic. 

It’s a heavy-handed admission. A weighted confession that was said too aggressively given your flinching away from her. She takes an instinctive step forward. 

“Your cookies… tasted fucking incredible. I’m also an asshole.” 

The drag you take from your cig while she rambles is almost comedic. Brows cinched at the middle of your forehead, gauging her. You’re not convinced, but you’re not fleeing like the first time. She takes a leap, and a large step towards you. 

“I feel really… really bad,” Ellie’s much quieter, eyes unwavering and the softest she’s ever shown you, “I shouldn’t have… said all that. To you. I’m just so used to being harassed at work. I’m sorry.” 

Maybe nicotine calms you. Your body language isn’t as taut compared to when Ellie first initiated conversation, and your eyes soften at her reasoning. 

The rasp from your timbre melts her skin like butter. “I didn’t know you went through that. That sucks.”

Ellie shrugs, “I didn’t know you were… nice.” 

She made the mistake of attempting playfulness, “Maybe ‘cuz you wouldn’t let me talk.” You snark while ashing. 

“I’m sorry.” Ellie implores. 

You take one last drag before stomping out the flame. “Me too. For bothering you.” 

Ellie cringes at your choice of words, but nods in acceptance. “Are we, uh… okay, now?”

A small smile grows on your face. It’s cute. Makes your cheeks puff out like a hungry squirrel. 

“We’re good.” You extend a fist out to her, and she connects her own at the knuckles. 

When they drop, Ellie nervously stares at her shoes, “Do you want a ride home?” 

“I’m alright, thanks.” 

“C’mon, I don’t want you waiting out here by yourself.”

You pause before asking, “What’s the catch?” Your brow arches mischievously.

Ellie doesn’t hesitate, “More of those cookies.” 

A giggle escapes you. Soft and airy like a feather. Ellie feels a tight clench in her chest. A thumping from her ribcage. Has your smile always been this vibrant? She mentally kicks herself for not noticing before. 

Ellie escorts you to the passenger's side of her passed down pick-up: opens the door for you and makes sure you’re buckled in before starting it up. She learns you’re a metalhead when she cranks the radio to the highest volume. 

… How quickly can crushes develop? 

Two months. Ellie’s spent two months finding every excuse to spend time with you. She welcomes your visits to the record shop and silently thanks the heavens above when you call after her shift to talk about your day. Listening to your rambles about customers and their weekly cookies has become the highlight of hers. 

She’s also found comfort in watching you fail at playing guitar. You’re adorable whenever you strike an incorrect chord or break a string. She’s more than willing to guide you through your trials: late-night invites to her apartment to practice. One of your goals was to learn how to play the entire Vanara soundtrack. 

Ellie assumed she simply enjoyed being in your space. She does, but something shifted between you during one specific session. It was past midnight, and Ellie could tell you were getting tired. She innocently suggested for you to spend the night so you wouldn’t have to Uber at such a late hour, and you graciously accepted her offer. When you started to get comfortable on the couch, she tuts in disapproval and invited you to share her bed because it was more comfortable. 

What a mistake. 

After showering and changing into comfortable clothes, you both crawled into bed and swiftly drifted off. When Ellie’s eyes opened the following morning, her heart immediately traveled up to sit in her throat. If anyone told her she’d wake up with you completely sprawled out on top of her with your warm breath hitting her neck and her arms wrapped around you, she wouldn’t have believed them. She was completely frozen beneath you, but not for the reason she’d assumed. 

Ellie was scared to wake you up. Ellie was scared you would move away from her. 

She was pulled between waking you up and pulling you even closer. You were soft and warm and you smelled like her cinnamon body wash. A literal human cookie. She caressed your back as delicately as she could, and you nuzzled into her shoulder with every swipe. She hoped the harsh thrashes from her heart wouldn’t disturb you. 

They didn’t. 

You took a piece of Ellie when you left her apartment that morning. She’s not sure which part you stole, but she hasn’t felt the same since then. A pull towards you that’s electric, sparks her to life, keeps her up at night. Whenever you’re away, at work, not next to her, she’s desperate to pull you close. To breathe in the natural scent of you. 

Evidently, crushes develop rather quickly. 

“I thought baking was supposed to be fun.” Ellie huffs from where she lays on her bed. 

“It is fun! My favorite past-time, actually,” She watches you pace around her bedroom, guitar still strapped securely around your shoulder, “It’s just stressful when you have chefs constantly breathing down your neck. It’s so hard to be creative because they nitpick everything.” 

Creating a menu is much harder than Ellie assumed. She’s become the person you’ve come to whenever you’re fired up from classes, ranting and raving about the apparent dickheads that judge your creations. After testing your recipes for as long as she has, how could anyone turn down a dessert from you? 

You’re such a hard-worker. Focused, determined… pretty when you’re brainstorming. Pretty when you’re talking… Pretty when you’re smiling. Standing. Staring off into the distance. 

“Hm.” 

It’s all Ellie can say. She’s been trying to mask her rampant stares at your bare thighs for the past… however the fuck long. They look so soft. So pliable. So easy to stretch and pry and yank at— 

Her guilty pleasure went from collecting Pokémon cards to gawking at your legs whenever you wear shorts. 

Ellie’s definitely crushing. 

Crushing very, very hard. 

[camilaswife]

Brighter days ahead

finnick odair x reader

Content warnings: angst, death, cursing, miscarriage

Brighter days inc.

Thats what the agreement paper said in front of me said, it had some terms and conditions that I didn't bother reading, I just signed it and waited for my turn. My left ear started ringing so I gripped the side of my head thinking the pain would go away. I slightly heard a nurse call my name three times so I raised my hand as best as I could, she came over to me and told me that they were ready for me.

The nurse took the agreement paper out of my hand and lead my wheelchair to a hallway where I heard a young girl in another room crying because she was about to get her memories erased, everytime I came here to do the same, I would play this fucked up game where I would guess what or who each patient was going to erase from there memory, I never did get the answers for any of them though, I just guessed and left it for my imagination.

I had come to this clinic many times in my life, the first time I came here was five years after finnick had passed away, the next was a year after that to erase the memory of winning the 69th hunger games, the memory of all the people in the capitol, those filthy heartless motherfuckers, I had even erased the memory of katniss and peeta, not wanting to remember anything at all from those torturous years of having to put on a facade for all the people, from all of those years of being used and sold for your body without any one's permission.

All I wanted was to live like that never happened, I wanted to only remember the good in my life, the peaceful. Which is why I never got rid of the memories of finnick, he was the only peaceful thing in my life...

The nurse stopped in front of a locked room to scan her work card, a robotic figure came out of a hole in the wall that was closed and said "stand by for biometric identification" it scanned me and spoke again.

"Access granted. Welcome back, sunshine" it said before going back into its place, the locked doors of the room opened into a dark hallway. The nurse walked me into the hallway as bright lights turned on revealing some sort of dome like place we were in. She led my wheelchair to a desk looking station and turned on the screen in front of me.

"WELCOME BACK, SUNSHINE" it read in big bold letters, the screen changed to say that I had four memories left, I already knew which ones were left but nonetheless I wanted to relive them in a way.

"Alright, it says here you have four memories left, which one would you like to watch?" The nurse asked me politely. I lifted up the clutch I had in my lap and struggled to open it before taking out a note that said "all of them" and handing it to her. She nodded and set the memories up for me to watch, four crystal balls came out ot a tube that was connected to the desk like place.

"Okay, it's all set up for you to watch, just press this button to select the memory you want to watch and I'll be in the next room if you need anything okay?" I gave her a slight nod before she left, my less weak arm reached out and pressed the first memory out of the four.

"NOW PLAYING MEMORY ONE."

The first crystal ball rolled from the tube to a holder in front of me, projecting the memory.

"Finnick I don't think I can even handle this shit." I tell him as I try to fix my too tight corset that barely let me breathe.

"honey, we'll be out of here soon enough so you can get that thing off of you." he brought a warm hand to my arm and rubbed circles softly into it. we were at a meaningless victor party that was nothing more than a place where rich assholes would spew about their so called "problems" to people like me and finnick who had to go through hell and back to survive.

"Well I need time to go by faster. Finnick, you know that I hate these things and that I would rather rip my own head off than have to talk to these motherfuck-" I was interrupted by a man who was one of the men who insisted that I should be their "lovers" before, how delightful.

I greeted him with a fake warm smile as he said hello to me and finnick, trying my best to put up that familiar facade.

"Do you mind if I steal this beautiful young lady for a moment" he said in a tone that said "you have no choice to say no".

Finnick's charming smile faltered a little but he covered it up with a chuckle. "Well it's not up to me is it? What matters is what the lady says" he turned his gaze to me, looking worried. I looked back at the man and made an excuse.

"I apologize but I have some other people I have to introduce myself too, maybe on another occasion we can talk private-"

"They can wait. Now come, I'm dying to have a private conversation with you" the man interrupted yet again, he started tugging at my arm to leave. I looked back at finnick but just as he was about to follow us so I could quickly get out of the situation, a pretty young lady came up to him making him turn to her and right when he looked back to where I previously was. I was gone.

The man took me to a room I didn't know existed in snow's mansion, he sat down on one of the couches and patted the spot next to him, signaling for me to sit down.

"Oh come on don't act shy." He said in an annoyed tone. I walked over and sat next to him, putting some distance between us, he quickly put his hand on my leg.

"So do you still do let people have the pleasure of your company?" His hand went further up my leg, that familiar feeling of disgust came crawling back just like all those years ago.

"n-no i don't actually, i don't do that anymore" I said looking straight down at the floor, i wanted to do nothing but stand up, punch him then tell him to fuck off, but i wasn't gonna risk the lives of my family like that. he lifted his hand off of my leg and brought it up to my chin, lifting it up so my eyes would meet his. He got closer and closer to me and i just froze. "maybe if i don't move he wont do anything" is what i thought the entire time he got closer to me.

"What a shame, i would've loved to have your... services, at my disposal" he said before leaning in completely to kiss me, my hands went in to tight fists on my lap, slightly clutching the silky dress i was wearing. his other hand went up my waist and started roughly gripping it, i just sat there, frozen, doing nothing to kiss him back or lean in to him, and the psycho bitch thought i was into it.

his hand that was on my waist was going to attempt to slip off the strap part of my dress before he got interrupted by the door opening, and i didn't have to turn to know who it was.

"do you need something finnick? can't you see we're busy?" he said an a arrogant tone to finnick. i sat there looking down at the floor to cover up the fact that tears were welling up in my eyes, praying to whatever was out there that finnick could get me out of this like he always did.

"My apologies, but president snow is requesting to see the lady and well you can't say no to that now can you?" the man stood up offering me a hand that i didn't take. i stood up and quickly walked over to finnick, not saying a single word during this interaction. His warm hand went and grasped my hand before intertwining his fingers with mine, as we walked I finally spoke up.

"finnick, it was gonna happen ag-" he stopped walking and said "no, I would never allow that to happen to you ever again, I'll always protect you, okay?" I nodded, feeling comfort in his words.

"just stay by my side, sunshine." he gave me his charming smile and I gave one back. He leaned in and gave a quick soft peck to my lips, giving me comfort even in these situations

"MEMORY ONE, DESTOYED" the robotic voice spoke again. My hand went back and chose the second memory.

The soothing sounds of the waves took over my ears as i laid in the soft sand with my head on finnick's chest, hearing his heartbeat and breathing. it was a perfect moment.

"finnick?" I asked, my fingers making circles on finnick's side. he replied with a soft hum.

"I- um..." he sat up slightly, hearing the worry in my voice.

"Honey, you okay?" I nodded slightly and sat up.

"F-finnick I'm pregnant." I said tears threatening to spill. His mouth slightly dropped open, his sea green eyes softening. He immediately pulled me into a tight bear hug but quickly loosened it a little to not hurt me, relief washed over me in a wave. Finnick was never the type of person to get angry but I still had that nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that he was gonna leave me and not want me anymore.

"W-we're gonna be parents? Together." He said with his face buried in my shoulder and his arms gripping around me like his life depended on it. I nodded against him and hugged him back even tighter than before, we were finally going to get to be happy together... until we couldn't anymore.

MEMORY TWO, DESTROYED. I didn't want to click the next memory, I knew what was happening after that and I've been avoiding it ever since he passed away, but yet unconsciously, my hand reached out and pressed it.

NOW PLAYING, MEMORY THREE.

"Finnick!!" I shouted as I sat on the bathroom floor, tears rolling down my cheeks. I looked at the blood on my hands in shock, why? Why was this happening to me? To us? Why is it that when we were finally going to be happy it gets fucked over yet again?

Finnick ran to the bathroom and pulled the door open immediately seeing me on the floor crying, but most importantly he saw blood, on my hands, smeared on the floor, he instantly knew what had happened. He sat down on the floor next to me, pulling me in and stroking my hair as I buried my face into his chest.

"Honey, shh, it's okay. I'm here for you" he said trying his best to soothe me. Tears had rolled down his face onto my hair as he kissed my head, rocking me back and forth.

All that was going through my mind was "how could this happen" I mean, im perfectly healthy, I hadn't drank at all, everything was fine, until life decided to fuck me over again.

After a while, i cleaned myself up and went to bed, or at least tried to, with finnick. My head was on his chest, hearing his breathing and heartbeat just like the day I told him I was pregnant. My sniffles and finnick's breathing were the only thing occupying noise in the room, we didn't have to say a word to comfort and understand each other.

I was only three months pregnant when I had the miscarriage. Three fucking months in. I didn't understand and I still don't understand how I lost the baby if I was healthy and well, but I just guess it was fate. But if it was, honestly, fuck fate.

MEMORY THREE, DESTROYED.

For the last time, my hand reached out hesitantly to choose the last memory, I too, a deep breath as the memory started.

"Finnick watch out!" I screamed as a mutt tried to jump on him, he quickly stabbed it's head with his trident, I ran to the ladder where we were supposed to escape in but a mutt quickly tried to attack me, I stabbed it where the heart would be with the long blade of my sword.

I quickly ran after peeta to climb the ladder and once a made it to the top, I thought I was safe, waiting for finnick and katniss to come up as well.

I saw katniss climb the ladder so I gave her a hand lifting her up until i saw finnick climbing a couple seconds after her, a mutt jumped onto the ladder and pulled finnick down making him hit his back and land in the water.

"FINNICK!" I screamed katniss doing the same after me, his agonizing screams were all I heard and suddenly my sobs started coming out as I screamed his name multiple times.

I said his name over and over again in a piercing scream as I clutched my chest, but it was already too late for him, through my buzzing ears I heard katniss say "nightlock, nightlock, nightlock" before throwing the holo into the water making it explode, I fell back before katniss was pulling me up and and pulling me to go.

That day is the day that I never wanted to remember, that day was the day my happiness ended. I loved him with all of my being, and I would've sacrificed myself for him, I didn't want to remember finnick in a torturous way, I didn't want to remember him and be sad. So I didn't. I remembered all the special moments we had in secret, all the times we would lay on the beach or our bed and just be with each other, with no other worries. That's how I wanted to remember him. The one thing from his death that i will hold onto forever though, is that from what I saw, he mouthed I love you to me before what happened, and maybe it didn't happen, maybe I'm just in constant denial. But I was gonna hold on to the memory of him saying I love you to me forever, even in death...

MEMORY FOUR, DESTROYED. YOUR SESSION IS COMPLETE.

The lights faded to black as I closed my eyes, savoring my last moments, my last thoughts. Maybe in heaven or wherever you went after you died, I would reunite with finnick, and finally get to have peace together, for eternity.

Or maybe we would meet again in our next life at a studio where our eyes would meet again and feel that instant spark as completely different people...

[freezerbunny-sims2]

Fully Underwater Lot Tutorial

@creida-sims @kitkat99

UPDATE January 2025

There is now a much, much easier way to do this. This version of SimPE now includes a tool to change terrain geometry. To edit the terrain in SimPE, go to Tools/Neighborhood/Neighborhood Browser and load your neighborhood. In the Resource Tree, select Neighborhood Terrain Geometry (NHTG) and select the only resource in the Resource List. In Plugin View, click Terrain Editor. It's very intuitive, but basically, you can edit the terrain under a lot to make it be underwater. You can also delete the road with the Road Editor.

I'll keep the old tutorial for archival purposes, but unless you can't or don't want to install this version of SimPE, it is pretty much obsolete.

Some warnings and disclaimers

1. This is not a beginner tutorial. I have tried to explain with as much detail as I can, but still, if you just started playing The Sims 2 I recommend trying out other building tutorials first.

2. I have tested it but there's always a possibility that some new problems will come up. Follow at your own risk. Backup your neighborhoods before trying this. Test it first in a new empty neighborhood.

3. These lots are roadless, so they require specific gameplay conditions to avoid breaking immersion (pun intended).

4. They will behave like normal lots in the sense that sims can walk around and do anything as if they were on land. There's one big problem to consider: when sims go fully underwater, their hair and some parts of their clothing might disappear visually.

So this is more useful for structures that sit above the water, shallow water that doesn't reach a sim's head or, with some modifications, small islands surrounded by water. So unless you want bald mermaids, I don't recommend this for sims that live underwater.

5. If you use Voeille's hood water mod, reflections will look glitchy in lot view, because this is technically not a beach lot. The only solution I found is enabling "Lot view ocean reflections" in RPC Launcher. Otherwise you'll have to deal with glitchy reflections.

6. Before following this tutorial, make sure you know the basics of creating, editing, importing and exporting SimCity 4 terrains. Written tutorial by SimEchoes here, video tutorial by loonaplum here.

Software and mods used

The Sims 2 FreeTime expansion pack (required for the modifyNeighborhoodTerrain cheat)

SimCity 4 (required) Hood Replace by Mootilda (required)

Lot Adjuster by Mootilda (required)

Portal revealer by Inge Jones (required)

Voeille's pond and sea water overhaul and RPC Launcher (optional, see disclaimers)

The Sims 2 Apartment Life and Bon Voyage expansion packs (optional, for "walk to lot/work/school" options)

Cheat codes used

moveObjects on/off

modifyNeighborhoodTerrain on/off

1. Creating/editing a terrain in SimCity 4

1.1. You can edit an already existing terrain or create your own from scratch. In both cases, you need to keep two things in mind: If you want the usable area of the lot to be underwater, such as making houses for mermaids or a coral reef, make sure the water is shallow. No more than a few short clicks with the terraforming tools in SimCity 4. This is because The Sims 2 live mode camera won't go underwater, so making the water too deep might make it uncomfortable to build or play the lot.

If you goal is to build a structure mostly above water, like a ship or an oil rig, you can get away with making the water a bit deeper, but not too much. I've noticed that sometimes the lot terrain tools stop working correctly if there a hill that's too steep.

1.2. Once you've created the terrain, you will need to add a small island on the area where your lot will be. I know it seems contradictory, but trust me, it will make sense. Create and name your city. Use the terraforming tools in city mode to make a tiny island of about 6x2 squares.

1.3. On the island, use the road tool to place a straight road that takes up 4 squares. Then, using the street tool (the last option), place two short streets at each end of the road.

Streets will disappear in TS2, only roads translate to roads in ts2, so why do we place them? Well, placing a street at the end of a road will get rid of the rounded end bit in TS2, which can't be used to place lots. This will be important for the placement of the lot and to make sure the edges of the lot are underwater. If this doesn't make sense yet, don't worry, it might make sense later.

1.4. Save the terrain. Don't exit SimCity 4. Copy your new/edited sc4 terrain from your SimCity 4 folder to your SC4Terrains folder in your Sims 2 documents directory. It is usually

"C:\Users\YOURUSERNAME\Documents\EA Games\The Sims 2 Ultimate Collection\SC4Terrains"

1.5. Back in SimCity 4, we're going to make a second version of this terrain. Remove the roads and streets you made before, with the bulldozer tool. With the level terrain tool in Mayor mode, carefully remove the island, so it's on the same level as the bottom of the ocean/lake. Don't change anything else. Save, exit and copy this second terrain to your Sims 2 SC4Terrains folder. Make sure you rename the file to something different from the first one, like adding "no roads" to the filename. You should have two terrains by the end of this step. One with the small island and one without it.

2. Editing the terrain in The Sims 2

2.1. Open The Sims 2 and create a new neighborhood using your new terrain. Something to keep in mind: if you want the terrain to be a subhood of another neighborhood, make it a subhood from the start. You will not be able to move the lot once it's finished, since it will be roadless. I don't recommend decorating the neighborhood for now. Leave it empty until the end of this tutorial.

2.2. Place the smallest empty lot (3x1) on the island.

2.3. In neighborhood view, open the cheat console by pressing Control + Shift + C, and type

modifyNeighborhoodTerrain on

To quote The Sims Wiki:

"This allows you to alter the neighborhood terrain by raising or lowering it. To use this cheat, be in the neighborhood view, then enter the cheat "modifyNeighborhoodTerrain on" (without the quotation marks), and click over the area you would like to change. To select a larger area, click and drag the cursor to highlight the desired area. Press [ or ] to raise or lower the terrain by one click, press \ to level the terrain, and press P to flatten terrain. When you're finished, type “modifyNeighborhoodTerrain off” in the cheat box (again, without the quotations)."

If you use an English keyboard, these instructions will probably be enough for you. If you don't, I recommend first testing the cheat, because the keys for using this cheat are different in other languages. For example, in my spanish keyboard, the question marks are used to raise and lower the terrain and the º/ª key flattens it.

Another aside: When you select an area using this cheat, a green overlay is supposed to show up. Some lighting mods make this green overlay invisible, like the one I use. If that's your case, you kind of have to eyeball it. Remember that one neighborhood grid square in TS2 is equivalent to 10 lot tiles, or the width of a road. I recommend getting a mod that allows you to tilt the neighborhood camera on the Y axis, which will allow you to have a bird eye's view of the terrain.

2.4. Flatten the terrain around the lot so it's at water level. This cheat won't allow you to edit the terrain inside the lot, so you have to edit the terrain around the lot. Make sure there is plenty of flat underwater space around the island. You should end up with something like the picture above. The water will have some holes, but don't worry, those get filled with water the next time you load the neighborhood.

2.5. Enter the lot and place any object on it. Save the lot and exit the game. This is so LotAdjuster recognizes the lot in the next step.

3. Expanding the lot with Lot Adjuster

3.1. Open Lot Adjuster and select your neighborhood and lot.

3.2. Click "Advanced…". Check "Over the road (only enlarge front yard)". Use the arrows to add 20 tiles to the front yard. Click "Finish" and "Restart".

3.3. Select the same lot again. This time, check "Add and remove roads". Uncheck the road checkbox for the front yard. Add 20 Tiles to the back yard, 20 tiles to the left side and 10 tiles to the right side. Check "Place portals manually". You should end up with a 60x60 lot, which is the biggest size. You might want a smaller lot, but unless you know what you are doing, I recommend starting with this size. You can shrink it later. The goal of making the lot this big is making sure the edges of the lot are underwater. Click "Finish" and exit.

4. Moving portals and flattening the lot

4.1. Make sure you have the portal revealer by Inge installed in your Downloads folder before the next step. Open your game and load your neighborhood. The lot should look something like the picture above.

4.2. Load the lot. Delete the object you placed before. Place the portal revealer on the lot near the mailbox/phone booth and trashcan. It looks like a yellow flamingo and you can find it in Build Mode/Doors and Windows/Multi-Story Windows catalogue. You will notice that when you select the object from the catalogue, some yellow cubes appear on the lot, and when you place the object, the cubes disappear. After placing the portal revealer, pick it up and place it again. This will make the yellow boxes visible again.

So what are those yellow boxes? They are portals. They determine where sims and cars arrive and leave the lot. The ones on both ends of the sidewalk are called pedestrian portals, and in the street, one lane has portals for service vehicles (maids, gardeners, etc.) and the opposite is for owned cars and carpools. You can see the portal's names if you pick them up. Make sure not to delete any of them.

Now, since this is going to be a roadless lot, ideally there won't be vehicles in it. This means that the lot would ideally be accessed through walking only. In community lots, this would not be an issue if you have the Bon Voyage expansion pack, which allows sims to walk to lots.

In residential lots, you might run into some problems. Service NPCs always arrive on vehicles, and unless your sim owns a vehicle, the carpool and school bus will always come to pick sims up for work/school. It might break your immersion to have a vehicle show up underwater or on a ship. There are many options to avoid this: having sims work on an owned business instead of a regular job, not having kids on the lot, making the kids homeschooled, avoiding calling service NPCs… it depends on how you want to play the lot. For example, my icebreaker is a residential lot, only adults live there, some sims live in it temporarily and none of them have a regular job.

All of this is relevant because we're going to move the portals. Where you move the portals depends on you. Think about how you're going to use the lot. In my icebreaker, I placed the car portals (which won't be used) underwater, on a corner of the lot. I placed the pedestrian portals on the ship, to pretend that the walkbys are part of the crew or passengers. But for now, just move the portals, mailbox/phone booth and trashcan to a corner of the lot. To be able to pick up the mailbox/phone booth and trashcan, use the cheat moveObjects on. Delete the street and sidewalk tiles using the floor tool (Control + click and hold left mouse button + drag).

4.3. Flatten the island with the level terrain tool. Save the lot. Almost done! Don't mind the hole in the water, this will be fixed. You will notice that in neighborhood view, the island is still there. This is because the neighborhood terrain under the lot hasn't updated. I don't know why this happens, but it does. Normally, moving the lot would fix it, but we can't move this lot using the game's tools. Instead, we are going to fix the terrain with Hood Replace. Don't exit the game yet.

5. Updating the terrain with Hood Replace

5.1. Create a new neighborhood using the new roadless terrain. Make sure it has the same type of terrain (lush, desert, etc.) as the first one. Again, name it "NO ROADS" or something similar. Exit the game.

5.2. Open HoodReplace. On the left column you will select your "NO ROADS" neighborhood. In the right column, select the neighborhood that has the underwater lot. Check these settings: Replace terrain, replace road, and versioned backups. Leave everything else unchecked. Click Copy.

5.3. Open The Sims 2 and load the neighborhood to check if the changes worked. That concludes the tutorial. At this point you can shrink the lot if you don't want it to be so big. Remember to move the portals to their final placement when you're done building the lot. Also keep in mind pedestrians (walkbys) always walk by the mailbox, so keep the mailbox accessible for sims.

If you're going to have multiple underwater lots, I recommend making them first, and decorating the neighborhood after. Doing this in an already existing neighborhood might be more difficult, mainly because, if you made any changes to the terrain using the modifyNeighborhoodTerrain cheat in the past, they might get reset when using Hood Replace.

[alpaca-clouds]

Worldbuild Differently: Unthink Religion

This week I want to talk a bit about one thing I see in both fantasy and scifi worldbuilding: Certain things about our world that we live in right now are assumed to be natural, and hence just adapted in the fantasy world. With just one tiny problem: They are not natural, and there were more than enough societies historically that avoided those pitfalls.

Tell me, if you have heard this one before: You have this fantasy world with so many differnet gods that are venerated. So what do you do to venerate those gods? Easy! You go into those big temple structures with the stained glass in their windows, that for some reason also use incense in their rituals. DUH!

Or: Please, writers, please just think one moment on why the fuck you always just want to write Christianity. Because literally no other religion than Christianity has buildings like that! And that has to do a lot with medieval and early post-medieval culture. I am not even asking you to look into very distant cultures. Just... Look of mosques and synagogues differ from churches. And then maybe look at Roman and Greek temples. That is all I am asking.

Let's make one thing clear: No matter what kind of world you are building, there is gonna be religion. It does not matter if you are writing medieval fantasy, stoneage fantasy, or some sort of science fiction. I know that a lot of atheists hate the idea that a scifi world has religion, but... Look, human brains are wired to believe in the paranormal. That is simply how we are. And even those atheists, that believe themselves super rational, do believe in some weird stuff that is about as scientific as any religions. (Evolutionary Psychology would be such an example.)

What the people will believe in will differ from their circumstance and the world they life in, but there is gonna be religion of some sort. Because we do need some higher power to blame, we need the rituals of it, and we need the community aspect of it.

Ironically I personally am still very much convinced that IRL even in a world like the Forgotten Realms, people would still make up new gods they would pray to, even with a whole pantheon of very, very real gods that exist. (Which is really sad, that this gets so rarely explored.)

However, how this worship looks like is very different. Yes, the Abrahamitic religions in general do at least have in common that they semi-regularily meet in some sort of big building to pray to their god together. Though how much the people are expected to go into that temple to pray is actually quite different between those religions and the subgroups of those religions.

Other religions do not have this though. Some do not have those really big buildings, and often enough only a select few are even allowed into the big buildings - or those might only be accessible during some holidays.

Instead a lot of polytheistic religions make a big deal of having smaller shrines dedicated to some of the gods. Often folks will have their own little shrine at home where they will pray daily. Alternatively there are some religions where there might be a tiny shrine outside that people will go to to pray to.

Funnily enough that is also something I have realized Americans often don't quite get: Yeah, this was a thing in Christianity, too. In Europe you will still find those tiny shrines to certain saints (because technically speaking Christianity still works as a polytheistic religion, only that we have only one god, but a lot of saints that take over the portfolios of the polytheistic gods). I am disabled, and even in the area I can reach on foot I know of two hidden shrines. One of them is to Mary, and one... I am honestly not sure, as the masonry is too withered to say who was venerated there. Usually those shrines are bieng kept in a somewhat okay condition by old people, but yeah...

Of course, while with historically inspired fantasy settings make this easy (even though people still hate their research), things get a bit harder with science fiction.

Again, the atheist idea is often: "When we develop further scientifically, we will no longer need religion!" But I am sorry, folks. This is not how the human brain works. We see weird coincidences and will go: "What paranormal power was responsible for it?" We can now talk about why the human brain has developed this way. We are evolved to find patterns, and we are evolved (because social animal and such) to try and understand the will others have - so far that we will read will in nature. It is simply how our brains work.

So, what will scifi cultures believe in? I don't know. Depends on your worldbuilding. Maybe they believe in the ghost in the machine, maybe there si some other religions there. You can actually go very wild with it. But you need to unthink the normativity of Christianity to do that. And that is... what I see too little off.

[cusackswhitehair]

Hey diva, if you've got the time, could u maybe whip up some Hoarder Alex HCs (romantic or platonic, idm!!) with reader who's a crybaby/super anxious? Like at first he finds them annoying but they're so kind to him that he starts to rlly appreciate them? Ty in advance!!! ^^

//Desc: Asks like this are sooo cute dude, I’m shedding tears😢😢 No matter how big of a jackass Alex is, don’t think I don’t see those cracks where it’s obvious he just has a lot going on…most of these things would be easily avoidable if he wasn’t so…him. But there’s nothing a shaking bundle of anxiety can’t fix, he quite literally will forgot about complaining about his trivial nothing burger of problems! He’s got a sweetheart to calm down and nurture. Thanks so much for requesting as always!! \\

⋆𐙚₊˚ 📢 Hoarder Alex with Crybaby! S/O 💐 ⋆𐙚₊˚

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Why, isn’t that just nice? Not only does he has to endure inhumane conditions, dragging and shoving his property about and has to worry about pesky intruders, thiefs! Cutpurses even!! Now he also has an inescapable though engraved into his mind. The first time he had encountered you, you told him you were trying to get trough, and you can’t swim and that you REALLY can’t swim—but not so fast you little pickpocket! He just spat the classic talk and shooed you off, like all the others…something he really didn’t expect was for you to start shaking like a leaf, sobbing, like you were ready to fall onto the floor and roll around. What a damn fusspot.

It became all the more infuriating when you had the audacity to come back later and apologize!? It made him want to tear his hair out! He was being a jerk to you and you apologize!? Oh… After (probably days of) rethinking the situation, he went out of his way and told you that “maybe…you weren’t trying to get your grubby hands on my properties…maybe.”

Your stay around the Uncanny Streets made him realize countless things, one; you’re terrible at managing stress (look who’s talking) and two; you’re disgustingly nice-hearted, even if that sometimes costs you a tear or two. He finds himself thinking about whether a certain hoarded item would make you feel happy, would this tile he kicked off and put away from The Hub make you whine a little less?

Don’t underestimate the might of a hoarder! No matter how smaller he is compared he is, he will pick you up to either comfort you or to distance you from someone bugging you, yelling “THEY ARE NOT INTERESTED, FLY OFF!!” rather calmly.

He might be a nitwit, but he’s a proper one at least. It didn’t take much time for him to learn you and the signs of you getting close to your breaking point. Don’t feel comfortable talking (especially if you’re selective mute) in a situation? No matter, he’ll get you those extra ketchup packets and demand a new burger withOUT pickles! Currently breaking down into an anxiety attack? He will personally escort you out of the space, no matter how many people he has to kick off to manage to do so.

Alex is very considerate and shielding, and when it comes to his most carefully kept jewel, his sweetheart, he will easily blow his stack…But the thing is, he’s not a good fighter. A highly enthusiastic one? Sure, however in the majority of the cases, you’ll be the one getting him out of that deuce of a mess he gets himself into while blindly trying to protect you. He’s unfortunately the type of guy who will jump into your arms, screaming like a girl whenever he’s spooked.

You really are the apple of his censor bar. Alex deep down loves doing small things for you — that will make your nerves soothe, but when you do stuff for him? Lord does he swoon! That ugly, bubbly, warm feeling in his stomach used to bother him when he looked at you, all too clammy, not for the weak. But a smile…and less fussing makes it all worth it.

He tries to make his living space (yeah, that dump) as comfortable as possible. Since the ship wreck is quite a dark place, so dimmer, warmer lights were a given. He always jumps in to absolutely destroy anything around the makes you on edge. He would also hoard a bunch of things just for you. “Oh, tesorino! I’ve got us some weighted blankets!”

He has never had to be delicate with anyone — with anything for that matter. The hoard will be there whether if he’s tossing things on top of it like a brute or if he’s laying on top, like a proud lion. With you though, he knows he has to walk around the edges and reassure you. Baby’s first relationship that requires compassion.

Cuddles. When you’re not crying like a fussbudget and he’s not ranting into the sky about absolutely nothing, that silent language the both of you understand — is cuddling. It doesn’t matter if it’s a little hand holding by the bridge or you with your legs and arms wrapped around him like a monkey on a tree, quietly sobbing into his sweater, he eats it up like the finest meal, all the time. Especially when it’s totally uninterrupted, his tail wrapped around your leg under the covers when you two are sleeping, it makes him feel like he’s doing something right.

If it ever gets to a point where you would have a panic attack, first of all he would panic. But don’t take him for a sissy, he’ll try all the methods in his repertoire. Sometimes, he’ll ask the most outlandish questions to get your mind off of your anxiety and more on the thought “what the hell is wrong with this guy”. “QUICK! NAME FIVE THINGS FROM MY HOARD YOU KNOW I’D NEVER GIVE AWAY—alright, all off them, I let you off easy there.”

————————————————————————————

[two-entire-bits]

Deaf Outsiders Headcanons

I'd like to preface this by saying I'm hearing, and I've only been studying sign language, deaf history, and Deaf culture from a Deaf professor for the past couple months, and I do not know everything. I've researched the medical backgrounds for the genetic conditions and injuries mentioned, but some information might be incorrect and/or I might've misunderstood some things. If it is or I have, please tell me! I don't mean any misinformation or disrespect and I apologize if I cause any offense.

These also include some other disabilities!

Some world-related stuff:

There's no deaf schools in Tulsa, but the Oklahoma School for the Deaf was founded in 1908 so the time periods would hypothetically work out

In this alternative story there would be a deaf school in Tulsa and the Curtis brothers would all attend/have attended said school

I know it's Gallaudet University, but before 1986 it was a college

For the Curtis family: all of them are deaf. I think they'd have Autosomal Dominant Non-Syndromic (DFNA) deafness, maybe a variant in the MYH14 gene, which causes those with the variant to progressively lose their hearing within the first 3 decades of their lives. The Curtis parents taught their boys how to sign ASL, which they'd use at home, speak English, which they'd only use for hearing people, and lip read, also for hearing people, to an extent when they were young. The Curtis parents encouraged their boys to talk in sign as much as possible, but also were very upfront about ableism and how the world is built for hearing people.

Ponyboy:

Completely loses his hearing around 7-10

He's good at talking but doesn't like to, and very good at lip reading so he can watch movies

He still likes to write and caught onto English spelling and grammar quick

He often carries a notebook around to write in but mostly writes quick in ASL's grammar

He also uses it to write things to hearing people when he doesn't want to speak

He signs REALLY fast, he has a lot of things to say and good motor skills and sometimes even his parents have to ask him to repeat himself

Lexicalizes words all the time on accident

Signs to himself all the time, especially when he's alone

Likes to try and figure out what the actors are saying in movies and figure out the plot without the dialogue and sign along with the lines he can follow

VERY visual storyteller

Darrel:

Completely loses his hearing around 12-15

He can talk and lip-read very well, which he doesn't prefer but it's useful at work

Always kind of dreamed of playing football at Gallaudet, but always knew it wasn't really possible

Also signs to himself, but only when he's alone

Soda:

Completely loses his hearing closer to 3-5 and struggles with speaking compared to Darry and Ponyboy.

He always had hard time understanding English, and that plus being deaf and dyslexia contributed to him feeling stupid and dropping out of school (especially compared to Ponyboy)

He and Ponyboy talk in tactile sign at night before bed when everything's dark

His parents told him "Darry" rhymes with "Dairy" in English when he was really young and half the time he just signs "milk" instead of Darry's sign name to tease him. He got Pony in on it too

Johnny:

Hearing, but has apraxia of speech and selective mutism

His parents hate him for it and sent him to public mainstream school anyways

The Curtis parents taught him ASL after they met him

His apraxia and mutism contribute to why his teachers "give up on him" and to him having to repeat a grade in addition to other learning problems he was having and struggling to get the material quick enough for the curriculum

One reason why he was so scared in the hospital was because his hands were so burned he couldn't sign

Steve:

born with x-linked recessive deafness to hearing parents. His mother carried the gene and passed it to him

An especially good driver because of this

He goes to the same deaf school as the Curtis brothers and met Soda when they were in grade school, same as the book

Doesn't know how to speak English and doesn't want/care to learn it

When he was younger, he almost got caught stealing a car's hubcaps because he didn't realize how loud it was until he was telling the gang later about how the owners came outside and spotted him and Two-Bit told him that they probably heard the clattering of the metal hubcaps on the tarmac

Two-Bit:

Hearing, but his mom and sister (Tammy) are both deaf, he just didn't get the gene

Speaks English and ASL fluently but still stutters while signing because of motor skill issues

Purposefully messes up his grammar or signs sometimes just to annoy Tammy

Dallas:

Born hearing, but has Ménière's disease because he was jumped or in a car accident (something that wasn't his fault) when he was around 13-15 and the head trauma caused bleeding in the inner ear and his hearing is fluctuating at the time of the book

He's scared and angry because it'll get better and then worse and he never knows how or when it's going to change

He gets annoyed by the tinnitus and dizzy spells, and will often hole up somewhere when he feels a vertigo episode coming on and won't leave until it's over

The Curtis parents start teaching him basic sign and things to expect and things to know if he ends up permanently loosing his hearing, but he stopped trying to learn anything after they died

On one particularly shitty day when he didn't realize how loud he was being and Two told him he was yelling and he got so pissed at everything and that he didn't even realize he was being loud that he punched Two in the face

He's angry that it was something he could've stopped, that it happened when he wasn't actively looking for a fight or driving recklessly, or that it wasn't genetic because then he'd have someone/something to actively hate and blame. He never found out who jumped/crashed into him

Bonus: Socs!

Marcia:

Acquired hearing loss due to a recent head injury while barrel racing

It's not too bad at the time of the book, but they don't know if it'll get worse or not yet

She's not too worried about it, but every once in a while when she thinks about it a lot she gets really scared about what will happen if she loses her hearing permanently

She's scared she'll have to quit dance

Her mom kept her in high school and got her hearing aids eventually when it got worse

When she starts dating Two-Bit, it's another reason why she gets along with his mom and Tammy so well

They help teach her some basic sign and about Deaf culture, and kind of quench any fears she had about not being able to be happy/live if you're deaf because she didn't know anything about being deaf

Once she's learned enough sign to have conversations, she starts taking her hearing aids off at their house

Cherry:

Hearing

She was there when Marcia crashed and comforts her when she gets really worried about her future, but she doesn't really get it or know much about it

She wasn't rude about the way Pony pronounced things or later that night, when she was waiting for Ponyboy to write out what he wanted to say at the Drive-In and he got tired enough he didn't want to have to speak, which really surprised him

Bob:

Hearing

Knows nothing and could not care less about d/Deaf and generally disabled people

Thinks he can make Johnny talk if he beats him hard enough (partial motivation behind him and the Socs jumping Johnny before the book)

He knows Marcia's losing her hearing and is kind about it

Rolls his eyes sometimes when Marcia asks Cherry to repeat herself

Randy:

Hearing

Has no clue how to deal with Marcia's crash or her losing her hearing

Just tries (key word) to comfort her but doesn't do much else, just kind of goes on as normal

Similar to Bob, he'll get annoyed if she asks him to repeat himself too many times but feels a little bad about it

Paul:

Hearing

Learned some signs when he was friends with Darry

He didn't care to remember them when they stopped seeing each other

Felt "betrayed" when Darry said he dreamed of going to Gallaudet to play football because Paul just always assumed they'd go play together at some hearing mainstream college and he doesn't want to "learn all that shit" or "be around those kinds of people that much" just to play football at the same college as Darry

Bev:

Hearing

Knows about Marcia and says she doesn't care, but every once in a while she'll say something or make a joke that's just rude and shitty

Like Bob and Randy, she also doesn't cut Marcia a lot of slack if she doesn't hear something one of them says (Cherry is pretty much the only one that does)

She purposefully tries not to think about Marcia's future because she knows she'll get really upset about it, cos she thinks (and pretty much all the Soc's and hearing population, including Marcia) being deaf means you can't live or be happy

[abbyfmc]

A Yandere girl/fem as a mother.

I've always seen stories about yandere men and women, in which it's depicted how these characters feel a crazy love for their partners or crushes, but I've rarely seen these characters in a family role, unless it involves incestuous situations (which I won't do in this post, since writing incest is not my strong point).

Parents (not necessarily biological) are important parts of most humans' lives (and I don't say all of them, since not everyone is raised by their parents, unfortunately). Some are terrible and do all kinds of harm within their reach (and many unfortunately don't accept their mistakes until it's too late); others are practically absent; but there is another kind of parents who love their children and would do anything for their well-being, even going so far as to endure terrible situations so that their children can live happy, healthy and safe lives and have a good future, even if that means that the parents have to walk through hell.

Whether biological or adopted, she will love you with all her heart infinitely.

A yandere mother doesn't have to be married or dating someone, as she can easily be a single mother. You can be her only child, just as you can have more siblings.

Whatever the case, she will love you deeply.

For a yandere mother, things like your sex/gender, political ideals or sexual orientation are not important (in the sense that she will not discriminate against you for any of that).

Something that influences the upbringing (and yandere mothers would not be the exception) of children is the socioeconomic status of the parents, which can be lower class or working class; middle class and upper class. The lower class is the one that has the most problems to access quality services such as health, edition and incolding food; The upper class, on the other hand, has greater resources, facilities and better conditions to support one or more lives. The middle class does not have so many problems to access basic services, but they also do not have so many resources to be considered rich. There are people who refer to the middle class as "poor people with money."

A Yandere mother will do whatever she is in her possession so that you are well next to her.

A Yandere mother will not be afraid of working on whatever, as long as you are well.

A Yandere mother will make sure you eat well and take care of your health responsibly, although she won't be upset about taking care of you herself.

A Yandere mother will always want to know everything about you. She wants you to tell her your problems; about your likes, dislikes, hardships, feelings, and everything that happens to you.

A Yandere mother is someone you can't lie to. She'll always be watching you.

A Yandere mother will always know where you are, who you are with, and what you are doing.

A Yandere mother will always protect you from danger. She would put HERSELF in danger so that no one hurts you.

A Yandere mother would be capable of sacrificing others for what she considers "your well-being."

A Yandere mother isn't afraid to kill others for you.

She will appreciate every display of affection from you; whether it's a hug, a kiss on the cheek, a smile or even a simple "I love you" it will make her very happy.

She would be selective, protective and controlling when it comes to meeting your friends, but she would be even more selective regarding your partner or love interests under the excuse of protecting you.

If you are her biological child, she will have loved you since she conceived you or since she held you in her arms after giving birth.

A Yandere mother will not have aborted you under any circumstances (except VERY specific dangerous situations) and will not accept anyone convincing, forcing or obliging her to do so.

Your yandere mother will have told you that she took great care of herself during her pregnancy, because she was terrified of the scenario of miscarriage and someone making her lose you.

Let's be clear; a miscarriage is a traumatic thing for many pregnant women (or, well, all of them). Some go on with their lives; others fall into a depression that only a few recover from, while others commit suicide. It's something extremely heartbreaking for them, and a yandere mother would be no exception. She would be emotionally and psychologically devastated, knowing that she lost her child and she would be devastated to know that her baby has died, and will never come back.

If the yandere mother is your biological mother, she will describe the pregnancy and your birth as the best thing despite the pain of the moment.

If you are adopted, your yandere mother will tell you how she met you, where she found you, and how happy she was to have taken you into her arms.

If she is getting divorced, she will not let anyone take you away from her, fighting to the death for your custody.

A Yandere mother will not tolerate bullying of any kind. She will do anything to get justice for you, including killing your bully and his family; or publicly destroying them through connections.

A Yandere mother will be able to beat up your bullies and make them beg for forgiveness, all for daring to hurt you.

If you are disabled, your yandere mother will be even more overprotective.

No matter what happens, your yandere mother will do her best to keep your life safe.

Has someone abused you? Mommy will seek justice for you, whether judicial or by her own hand. In addition, she will ALWAYS trust you and support you no matter what happens.

Have you gotten lost or disappeared? Mommy will search for you thoroughly everywhere and won't rest until she finds you.

Are you very sick? Do you have a terminal illness? Mommy will do whatever it takes to help you live, such as going into debt to buy expensive medicines or treatments; taking care of you day and night; stealing medicines; donating her own organs to you or killing others to steal their organs for your transplant.

However, a parent's worst fear is seeing their child dead. Knowing that their child is gone, that they are no longer here and that they could do nothing to prevent it is heartbreaking, whether the cause of death was a serious illness, an accident or a murder; the death of a child is SO heartbreaking that it can cause depression in parents (especially if the child was very young or died in a very unfair and painful way). Some parents move on; others end the relationship or get divorced, sometimes blaming the other; some blame themselves; some go into states of denial; many fall into deep depression and some even commit suicide. Each case is different, but the pain in all of them is quite strong and horrible.

A Yandere mother would be no exception. Your death would be her worst nightmare.

She would go crazy after your death.

If it was due to an illness: she will remember EVERY moment of your illness with bitterness, pain, sadness and helplessness, because she knows that despite trying all the treatments and care to save you, she could do nothing but watch your mortal decline.

If it was an accident: She will blame herself for not having acted quickly and for not having prevented it.

If it was a murder: Obviously she will feel helplessness, anger, pain, frustration and sadness for not having been there to protect you or save you. She will feel guilty.

If it was suicide: She will feel guilty for not having supported you enough with your problems. Depression and sadness will consume her.

A Yandere mother won't be able to bear losing you. She'll feel completely empty and without a purpose to live.

Your yandere mother would miss you very much. Her heart would be heavy with sadness if you were to die.

It is likely that after having found answers or justice for you, she will end up committing suicide or feeling a minimum of peace for having managed to get revenge on those who have once hurt you.

However, something I almost forgot is that a yandere mother will have to teach you values ​​and discipline you. She will set rules that she wants you to follow, under the excuse that she does it to protect you or out of love.

A Yandere mother will not tolerate disrespect, otherwise there will be punishment.

-The End.

What do you think about it?

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hello! do you think percy would be a good minister of magic? i have been reading a fic that explores this path for the character that's amazing but i was wondering if what we know about him in canon would really allow him to be a good one

No, I don't think he'd be a good minister. Or that the position would be good for him.

Listen, I like Percy, I honestly think he's an interesting character, and I like his arc (even though I wish the ending of it would've been a little different) but that guy is not minister material.

Percy as a minister would be pretty similar to Fudge. He's a bureaucrat who'd be constantly chasing the approval of other influential people (he'd have his limits, but, he'd still do it). He is not particularly charismatic, and while he is intelligent, he's not the wisest. Specifically, because he chooses to be blind when it suits him (like, not realizing something is up with Ceouch Sr, because Percy got to do the job he wanted).

Percy idolized Crouch Sr. Percy as a minister, especially if we're immediately after the war, is going to crack down on all Death Eaters like Ceouch Sr did. Percy was out for vengeance after Fred died, and I don't think he'd be sated once the war is over. He'd 100% use his position to make life difficult for anyone associated with the Death Eaters and improve his own family's standing. What I'm saying is that he'd be pretty corrupt. Not that he'd see it as corruption, that's just how the ministry is and always was, and he'd see no issue with it because the ministry is perfect in his eyes.

(Also, I would've actually preferred seeing him step away from the ministry, at last for a bit post-canon. I think the environment there is doing Percy no favors, frankly. Him going back to work in the ministry post-canon is like going back to the abusive ex that gaslit you)

Yes, he had an arc, but his arc wasn't about seeing the faults in the system at large. I mean, I don't think he really sees the problems with the ministry as an organization.

Even post-canon, he'd think (like most characters, to be fair) that the problem in the ministry was the specific people there. That if they replaced some of the people in power, Death Eaters and Voldemort wouldn't be an issue again. He wouldn't consider that the problem is the system itself and how the ministry operates (part of that selective blindness I mentioned). It means that, just like Fudge, when Hermione or someone would come to him like: "yo, there's a problem with how this works" he'd say: "that's impossible! that's how it always worked! We can replace the person in charge and that'll fix it" and call it a day. He could be convinced to add some reforms for the sake of muggleborns, but I don't think he'd come up with them himself. And maybe he could be convinced to get the dementors out of Azkaban under the right conditions but I won't hold my breath for it.

Percy loves rules and bureaucracy, and he adores the ministry (as an organization) the way it is. He isn't going to be the solution to the WW issues.

Also, I think Percy is the kind of boss who'd be a horrid micromanager, and that is a potential recipe for disaster in the ministry. He just likes when everything is done to perfection and how he thinks it needs to be done, so he'd constantly check on his subordinates and annoy the shit out of them. I don't think he'd survive more than one term. (Hermione, might also do this as a minister — one of the reasons I'm not a fan of her as the Minister of Magic either)

Do I think his tenure as minister would damage the Wizarding World? Probably not. It'll stay more or less the same. He'd be pretty efficient in getting what he wants done, but what he wants is probably not what the Wizarding World in Britain needs.

(Though, he might just be chosen/elected because they don't seem interested in actually solving their issues, yk?)

Do I think he'd be a good minister? Not particularly. He'd be there for his term(s), not change anything big, and keep the status quo more or less intact. History would remember him as an okay if forgettable minister (like Fudge would've been remembered had Voldemort not returned in his term). Like, I think he'd be better than Fdge in certain aspects (he has more of a spine), but, like, that's a pretty low bar.

[vile-wizard]

In my sick and twisted Severance-but-not-really AU this miiiiiight be how things pan out.

I'm envisioning Severance being part of the condition to have a miraculous and the Tsurugi company is basically doing a classic child soldier plot. I suppose the miraculous themselves would be like a tech/magic hybrid with the magic coming first and the tech being built to harness it. You 'activate' the jewelry and from that point on become your severed Superhero self.

Gabriel is interested in Severance and he's using his miraculous to create monsters to fight (helping Tomoe by creating problems for the superheros to 'save' ppl from). Gabriel's real goal is to perfect Severance technology, find a way to remove and implant consciousness, and put his comatose wife into a new body. Adrien knows this and Gabriel basically gave him to Tomoe to use as a show of goodwill since they're working together (that's why he has the Cat Miraculous). Marinette is a company intern that gets selected to be Severed. Alya is anti Severance wants to help Marinette expose the whole system as corrupt.

At some point both CN and LB will get suspicious of Severance and try and take down the company or something dramatic like that. I'm still thinkingggg. If anyone has any ideas let me know. I wanna incorporate Kagami and Felix and 'integration' as well as the different uses severed employees can have.

[drdemonprince]

Do you think nonmonogamy is “more evolved” than monogamy

evolution doesn't work that way, it is not hierarchical and no creature is "more evolved" than any other. evolution is merely a matter of fit to one's environment. when natural variation in a organism meets environmental conditions in such a way that causes certain traits to increase the odds of survival, evolution happens. if the circumstances that determine survival change, then different traits are selected for. no set of traits is "better" than any other inherently.

presuming that what you actually mean is something like "are nonmonogamous people more ascended than monogamous people", no. no group of humans are more ascended or evolved or morally superior than any other. human beings are just animals doing things that grant them social affiliation and (to a lesser extent) pleasure. none of it is moral or immoral, it just is. some humans have always aspired toward monogamy, some humans have always been nonmonogamous; we need not assign a moral value to this any more than we might to the fact that some people generally have firm bowel movements and others tend toward softer stool.

i resent the idea quite common in these conversations that nonmonogamy has to be superior to monogamy, almost as if to justify its supposed excess and deviance. it's just a thing people sometimes do. it is not spiritual, it's not political, it's not a solution to anyone's problems, it is another problem, another challenging, interesting social dynamic for one to navigate, and one that many of us wind up having to navigate at some point in our lives regardless of whether we want to. because it just happens. nonmonogamy, like celibacy, birth, disability, or death, is just a fact of human life whether we like it or not, and it will touch our existence in some way if we are in relationships to other people. i'm nonmonogamy neutral. it's just a thing. it's just part of life.

[thissying]

The 22-year-old Lulham is the first sim racer to be selected by Verstappen for this. "Chris has a long track record at Team Redline, Max's sim racing team," Raymond Vermeulen says to Motorsport.com. "Max thinks highly of him, because he always provides good feedback when setting up the virtual car. Last year, he invited Chris for a private test. He got in and had good speed from the first lap, even though the track conditions were very tricky at that point. That made it clear to us that he has a lot of talent and can handle the transition from the sim to the real GT3s well. We then started testing with him more often.

[...]

Verstappen will not be present at the debut of his own GT team this weekend. After all, he has to compete himself at the Bahrain Grand Prix. When Motorsport.com asks Verstappen what he expects from the first appearance of Verstappen.com Racing in the GT World Challenge Europe, he says: "It's always difficult to say anything in advance because you are dependent on the BoP, but the goal is to be the best Aston Martin anyway." Laughing: "No pressure, guys! On the other hand: it's only a good thing if there is a bit of pressure, right?"

"We're competing in the Gold Cup, but the reference is the top. That is what we have to compare ourselves to," says Verstappen, who has every confidence in his driver line-up. "They have tested a lot. That certainly won't be the problem. We have tested at all the circuits we are going to and gathered a lot of information. Now it's up to them and the team to get the most out of it." Verstappen says he will follow the performances of Lulham, Vermeulen and King closely, even though he himself is driving in Bahrain. "I have a live connection, so I can keep a close eye on everything," he says. "There will undoubtedly be some room for improvement after the first race weekend, but the most important thing is to keep making progress. I am very curious to see how they will do."

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/769066328777703424/im-pro-choice-but-im-also-anti-eugenics-it-can?source=share anon, you're not pro-choice. you can't be "pro-choice except if you choose wrong, then i take away your choice." the whole point of pro CHOICE is that is purely up to the pregnant person's judgment, and that you respect their right to know themselves, their own bodies and their own situations better than you do. if you believe you should be able to take away someone's choice when they use it in ways that you don't like, then you don't support that choice. you don't believe it's THEIR choice. period. eugenics is systematic. individual people choosing not to continue a pregnancy are not performing "eugenics" on their own bodies. it's a stupid-af argument when right-wingers use it against black women choosing to get abortions and it makes no more sense applied to disability. a government sterilizing disabled people, a thing that has happened in the U.S. in living memory, is eugenics. individual pregnant people deciding they do not want to use THEIR OWN BODIES to carry a specific disabled life to term is not eugenics! and in fact it's way more eugenics-adjacent to treat AFAB people like brood mares for some larger cause, who are obligated to continue being pregnant if the fetus meets X, Y, Z, conditions. go ahead and advocate, if you want, for why some fears some people might have around having a disabled child might be unfounded, why you think they should consider giving their pregnancy a chance even with a scary fetal diagnosis. (though i think the other pro-choice anon's point is apt that a lot of people doing this aren't as informed as they think, like people who think down syndrome is nothing but intellectual disability, or people who think that abortiong autistic fetuses is a real thing that is currently happening. so make sure you aren't spreading misinformation, and also keep in mind how much this particular talking point is beloved by anti-choice propagandists and ensure you're not getting your info from them.) you can do that, you can privately side-eye all you want. but if you think the government needs to do something about the "problem" of disability-selective abortions, you stop being pro-choice. there's a famous noam chomsky quote that being pro free speech is specifically about speech you despise, that even dictators "support free speech" for views they like. and i think abortion works the same way. if you can't support the right of someone to make a decision that you disagree with, then you don't really believe they have a right to choose.

--

[kedreeva]

why are there no breeds of peafowl, only morphs? other fowl like chicken and pigeons have hundreds of breeds, and other domestic animals like sheep or dogs have hundreds too, but how has not a single breed ever arisen in peafowl? don't breeds just happen by propaganting chance mutations? has nobody ever found an unusually sized, shaped or feathered peafowl AND decided to propagate it?

Birds like chickens and pigeons have been extensively bred by the millions, which allows for a lot of different mutation chances, and there's a vested interest in propagating breeds for purposes. The same with cows and sheep and cats and dogs- they've all had selection pressure from humans toward different purposes. Animals that can survive better in heat, animals that can survive better in cold. Animals that produce more milk or more meat, animals that can herd better or guard better, animals that have different personalities for companionship, or even just that look cool for showing them in competition.

Peafowl don't have that selection pressure, and don't need it. They aren't bred for production, they're not able to be shown, they can't do any jobs, they aren't good companions (hand raising them like I did Bug can actually result in massive behavioral problems). I don't know that there's never ever even once been any mutation outside of color and pattern ever in all of history, but I do know that there aren't any currently, and that is unlikely that breeds will be developed for a lot of reasons.

And a lot of game birds are like that. They take space to raise even a few of them, they're finicky about breeding unless you meet their conditions, they have a specialized diet (even though it can be "commercialized" they do better with finer tailoring of their nutrition).

Propagating a new mutation of any kind generally takes space enough for several enclosures (500sq/ft minimum per pea enclosure), and creating a new BREED means having space, money, and time, as well as the ability to handle what's likely to be a couple hundred animals in order to make a BUNCH of individuals with the trait and then cull the ones that don't meet the standard, and you do that over 10+ generations. 10+ generations in peafowl would take 30 years and that's IF you get exactly what you want every first breeding year of every generation, when hens only produce around 30 eggs Max and typically 6-8, with an average of 4-6 babies. And people really really really do NOT like culling peafowl, and it's hard enough to find homes for the normal ones, much less any project mutations that haven't been proven out healthy. The last type mutation was a gene that caused the train feathers to be floppy and let me tell you, everyone hated that and I'm pretty sure the guy that had it pop up at his place decided not to try to make more after people expressed vehement disgust.

So, honestly there just hasn't been a need to develop any breeds, and it takes a really long time to do and there's just no one who wants to dedicate their entire life to making a peafowl breed when the wild species is just fine for every purpose people own peafowl for.

What we DO have is subspecies/localities. Pavo muticus has three well known ones (imperator, muticus, and spicifer), but cristatus also has a few, like singhalensis, the Sri Lankan subspecies. These are localities that have slightly different colorations/patterns, and some may have slightly different type. The average person would probably not be able to tell the difference (and honestly even a knowledgeable person may not know they exist much less how to tell the difference), because it's generally not a huge difference, but they're still genetically distinct enough to be a subspecies.

I think at the end of the day it's all of that stuff I just talked about

But it's also that people breeding peafowl just. believe they are perfect already. Because they are. They don't need to be anything other than what they are.

[robertreich]

From Robber Barons to Bezos: Is History Repeating Itself?

Ultra-wealthy elites…Political corruption…Vast inequality…

These problems aren’t new — in the late 1800s they dominated the country during America’s first Gilded Age.

We overcame these abuses back then, and we can do it again.

Mark Twain coined the moniker “The Gilded Age” in his 1873 novel to describe the era in American history characterized by corruption and inequality that was masked by a thin layer of prosperity for a select few.

The end of the 19th century and start of the 20th marked a time of great invention — bustling railroads, telephones, motion pictures, electricity, automobiles — which changed American life forever.

But it was also an era of giant monopolies — oil, railroad, steel, finance — run by a small group of men who had grown rich beyond anything America had ever seen.

They were known as “robber barons” because they ran competitors out of business, exploited workers, charged customers exorbitant prices, and lived like royalty as a result.

Money consumed politics. Robber barons and their lackeys donated bundles of cash to any lawmaker willing to do bidding on their behalf. And when lobbying wasn’t enough, the powerful turned to bribery — resulting in some of the most infamous political scandals in American history.

The gap between the rich and poor in America reached astronomical levels. Large numbers of Americans lived in squalor.

Anti-immigrant sentiment raged, leading to the enactment of racist laws to restrict immigration. And voter suppression, largely aimed at Black men who had recently won the right to vote, was rampant.

The era was also marked by dangerous working conditions. Children often as young as 10, but sometimes younger, worked brutal hours in sweatshops. Workers trying to organize labor unions were attacked and killed.

It seemed as if American capitalism was out of control, and American democracy couldn’t do anything about it because it was bought and paid for by the rich.

But Americans were fed up, and they demanded reform. Many took to the streets in protest.

Investigative journalists, often called “muckrakers” then, helped amplify their cries by exposing what was occurring throughout the country.

And a new generation of political leaders rose to end the abuses.

Politicians like Teddy Roosevelt, who warned that, “a small class of enormously wealthy and economically powerful men, whose chief object is to hold and increase their power,” could destroy American democracy.

After becoming president in 1901, Roosevelt used the Sherman Antitrust Act to break up dozens of powerful corporations, including the giant Northern Securities Company which had come to dominate railroad transportation through a series of mergers.

Seeking to limit the vast fortunes that were creating a new American aristocracy, Congress enacted a progressive income tax through the 16th Amendment, as well as two wealth taxes.

The first wealth tax, in 1916, was the estate tax — a tax on the wealth someone accumulated during their lifetime, paid by the heirs who inherited it. The second tax on wealth, enacted in 1922, was a capital gains tax — a tax on the increased value of assets, paid when those assets were sold.

The reformers of the Gilded Age also stopped corporations from directly giving money to politicians or political candidates.

And then Teddy Roosevelt’s fifth cousin — you may have heard of him — continued the work through his New Deal programs — creating Social Security, unemployment insurance, a 40-hour workweek, and requiring that employers bargain in good faith with labor unions.

But following the death of FDR and the end of World War II, when America was building the largest middle class the world had ever seen — we seemed to forget about the abuses of the Gilded Age.

Now, more than a century later, America has entered a second Gilded Age.

It is also a time of extraordinary invention.

And a time when monopolies are taking over vast swathes of the economy, so we must renew antitrust enforcement to bust up powerful companies.

Now, another generation of robber barons is accumulating unprecedented money and power. So once again, we must tax these exorbitant fortunes.  

Wealthy individuals and big corporations are once again paying off lawmakers, sending them billions to conduct their political campaigns, even giving luxurious gifts to Supreme Court justices. So we need to protect our democracy from Big Money, just as we did before.

Voter suppression runs rampant in the states as during the first Gilded Age, making it harder for people of color to participate in what’s left of our democracy. So it’s once again critical to defend and expand voting rights.

Working people are once again being exploited and abused, child labor is returning, unions are busted, the poor are again living in unhealthy conditions, homelessness is on the rise, and the gap between the ultra-rich and everyone else is nearly as large as in the first Gilded Age. So once again we need to protect the rights of workers to organize, invest in social safety nets, and revive guardrails to protect against the abuses of great wealth and power.

The question now is the same as it was at the start of the 20th century: Will we fight for an economy and a democracy that works for all rather than the few?

We’ve done it before. We can — and must — do it again.

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER FOURTEEN: TRIPE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, child abuse and more (check the tags)

Read after the cut

-

By some sense of duty, or else an undug tendril of guilt, Will volunteers himself to oversee your evening routine alone. You allow him this, being in scant possession of what slim tolerance has borne you through Hannibal’s accompaniment thus far.

Will proves himself to be far less involved than the other man would have been in his stead. He leans against a wall with the nonchalance of a prison warden as you shower blood and spend alike down the receiving drain, allows you to pad into your bedroom, towel-wrapped, to select a clean nightdress and sanitary products with his head turned nobly aside.

You cannot determine if his distance from you is through respect for your condition or some lasting dislike of you, neither of which holds entirely true.

More likely it is that he does not see you as his child, yet, nor quite with the equality of a lover.

Still, as you get into bed he cannot help but come to you, uncertain as he his of his purpose.

“Will you give me a goodnight kiss?” you ask, part in bitter jest, and part in annoyance with his indecision.

That a man can fuck and beat you in throes of black delight and still skulk about like a repentant sinner would have confounded you in the days before you became accustomed to such duality. To what end, and upon what strength the latter side subsists is now the greater puzzle, for it is this that drags its heels and restrains Will from his full devilry.

“Well?” you say, brusquely. “What are you waiting for? Dad’s permission?”

Will gives a hard laugh, one hand kneading the back of his neck.

“I admire your commitment to the part, but you don’t have to keep it up so seriously when it’s just you and me.”

“I promised I would,” you remind him. “Why can’t you? You had no issue kissing me in front of Hannibal. I don’t see why it’s a problem now.”

You see Will’s fingers go to the bridge of his nose, wanting the guard of the eyeglasses he’s neglected to wear.

“It’s not genuine,” he says, flatly. “The only reason you’re asking is to manipulate me.”

“So what?” you say. “Scared that it’ll work?”

“Not scared, no.”

“Sure you’re not.”

There is something hysterical in your tone, the cut string of a trapped and weary madness.

Will examines you, aware of the power play you’re attempting over him, intrigued by it, despite himself. Attracted, even.

His gaze is like a stone in the sun, all heat, all black, all blue.

He knows what revulsion you must push past to test him like this, still slightly high from the forced euphoria of fucking, and the drugs. You’re beyond consideration of the consequences, irrational, barely attached to the tongue and teeth that bite at the air in their ire.

Still Will hangs from your words like a pilgrim knelt before an oracle, dependent on your answer.

“Haven’t you had enough of me kissing you tonight?” he asks.

Sniffing, you turn to face his gargoyle shadow on the wall.

“So it’s a no. You’d make a really terrible father.”

“One...”

“Not my name.”

So Will says it, gently, and you roll back towards him, your heart quick and high behind a rail of bone with the thrill of his appeasement.

Your truce, the union of flesh: they’ve altered Will, for as he looks at you a second time his pupils are the chasms between worlds, wild and deep.

Kneeling up on the bed, you make a trellis of both hands through his curls and clutch him to you in an ungainly kiss. Will stumbles in the force of it, his arms spilling about your back so as not to fall upon you with all his weight.

You gasp against his lips with eagerness to take what he has taken, to fallow the rose flesh of his inner mouth, the lathe of your tongue churning. Will is too surprised to kiss you in return, but as you hitch one leg after the other upon his hips you feel the vine of him against your groin, wanting you again, as always.

You think of him fucking you now, pinning your wicked hands with the nail of his fist as he thrusts through a sheen of blood. Though you despise him still, your loins smart with interest in engineering the act rather than merely suffering it as ever before.

At last Will returns your kiss, but briefly, and with a knowing restraint before he lays you back upon the bed again.

You grasp at his face in an attempt to reclaim his lips. He pushes you lightly away.

“Hey,” he grins. “You made your point.”

“Oh?” you say, coolly. “And what is my point?”

“That I like kissing you. That I want to kiss you, whether Hannibal’s here or not.”

“Right,” you say, twisting a corner of your quilt around one finger for something to do with your hands. “But you never would have picked me. Like, if I was in one of your FBI classes. If I was your student. Would you even have noticed me?”

Will laughs again, with a startled unease, as though the notion is foreign to him.

“Starting affairs with students isn’t exactly my style. I turn up, I teach. That’s it. I don’t get personally involved. Or didn’t, till now. Letting people get close is... uncomfortable for me.”

He glances down at the bunch of quilt in your closed knuckles. Unlike the ever-tactile Dr Lecter, he makes no attempt to take it away.

“So how come you got so close to Hannibal?” you ask. “Didn’t you say you had reservations about him?”

“He saw me even when I was making an effort to turn away. He and I have commonalities I can’t ignore, and enough differences to keep me wondering who he really is. There’s a lot even I don’t know about him, and there are times I wonder what I’m doing letting him in.”

You’re on the verge of another question as Will steps sharply back from the bed.

“We can talk more tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll still be here in the morning. But if you want my thoughts about Hannibal then it’s only fair that you tell me a little about you in return. If this is going to work long-term I need to know who you are.”

Then he goes over to the light switch and closes you in behind a shutter of night.

*

 

You’re roused from the saccharine heat of your bedcovers the following morning by Will rapping on your bedroom door. His face appears in the crevice between it and the frame as though wary to trespass, the broken spell of your desperation in his eyes.

“It’s so early,” you whine, noting the bare line of sunlight beneath the curtains. “And I feel like death, thanks to you and Dad. Can’t I stay in bed?”

“Hannibal just rushed out to an emergency appointment,” says Will. “One of his patients is having some kind of crisis, so it’ll be just you and me for a while. You want coffee? I was about to make some.”

An apology, you think, something to alleviate the swaddled and perspiring misery of your comedown.

“Sure,” you say, weakly. “Black, please. Sweetener, if there is any. The low calorie version.”

Will’s brows rise.

“You think Hannibal keeps that around?”

Reflecting on the little paper sachets that had been favoured throughout high school you say, “Ha. I guess not.”

Within twenty minutes you’re sitting up against your pillows, one hand gripping a delicate, steaming cup, the other soothing your stomach through which bites the first monthly cramp.

Will takes a nearby chair, eyeing the bars on your window as though assuming your daily view through the glass.

Though you loathe him still in his unpredictable oddities, you’re keen to make closer yet the allyship you’ve struck up with him, watchful though he is of that very attempt. If he will not help you escape, then a friendship at least may fortify the sanity you fear will leave you in this quasi childhood.

Will doesn’t seek your regression quite as Hannibal does— a cantankerous teenager is as young as he perceives you, the sick girl that never grew up. This house, then, is a Neverland in reverse, a sumptuous den of brutal sex.

Closing your eyes against such thoughts, you take in your coffee, each dark mouthful a long-acquired taste. You remember forcing back cup after cup of it, trusting it over plain water in the belief that it would burn calories as you drank.

Suddenly you’re acutely nostalgic for the days spent in your childhood room, scrolling through online threads of ailing young women in a community of mutual suffering.

It occurs to you that you may never feel so entirely comprehended without judgement as you were there again. You understand Will rather more through the thought, his convergence with Hannibal a relief to so lonely a monster.

“Tell me about ‘Dad’,” you say, into the silence. “You said you would, last night. Like, who even is he? Where did he come from?”

Will blinks, stirred up from his own brooding thoughts. In the dreary daylight he has the face of a beautiful invalid, all its angles skirted in shade.

“Hannibal’s from Lithuania, originally,” he says. “He had a younger sister, Mischa. She died a long time ago. I don’t know the finer details of what happened to her. She’s the only family he’s ever talked about, and even then it’s been bare bones.”

You sit up straighter, envisioning a young girl with Hannibal’s eyes, and none of his appetite.

“Huh,” you say. “That makes a lot of sense.”

"Hannibal would disagree. He doesn’t put much stock in the past making him who he is.”

“Seems kind of a weird thing for a therapist to say. He’s always digging into mine.”

Will looks at the floor, as though distinguishing some new pattern from the grains in the carpet.

“Hannibal views himself as... separate from other people. Being that he acts outside of ethics and the law in his own profession, I’d guess that what’s between us isn’t his only secret.”

“I’ve tried to tell you,” you say, tapping your coffee cup with bitten fingertips for emphasis. “I’ve known this for so long. But since you’re going along with his games how can you even judge him for whatever horrible things he’s doing?”

“Without knowing what he has or hasn’t done,” says Will, slowly, “I can’t say that I do.”

He gets up from his seat and paces before the window, his hands gesticulating like pigeons frenzied into startled flight.

“You assume that what I’m trying to learn about Hannibal—the core of who he is—is something ugly. But that isn’t what I’m afraid of. It’s the possibility of him lying to me. I don’t know if I could forgive him for that after the bond we’ve made. After what he encouraged me start with you.”

“You shouldn’t trust him,” you say, urgently. “Don’t. You don’t need him.”

Scoffing, Will says, “Jack seems to think I do. Alana— she’s convinced I’m one nudge away from disappearing so far into a case that I kill someone without even knowing it. Hannibal's the only one that doesn’t think of me as broken.”

You consider informing him of his suspected encephalitis, that Hannibal surely withholds this truth and more so as to keep his favour.

In the end you retain your silence; better that Will discovers the manipulation alone and behold how he has been misled upon this trail of darkness.

“Enough about me,” says Will, abruptly. “I know that someone hurt you, long before Hannibal. Before me. Someone you've never forgotten.”

Alarmed by the twist in conversation, you stammer, “I— I already told him some of it. I said I didn’t remember. But I was lying about that. I just don’t know if it was only one, long night, or it happened other times. I don’t know which is worse.”

You pause, slightly breathless. Like a portent from the white lips of some phantom you know that you must tell Will the truth, adhere him to your weeping heart with empathy for you.

“I was just a little kid,” you say. “And he was an adult. Nearly family— I used to call him Uncle Lee. Hannibal probably told you that. Anyway, I got my ‘wrong’ feeling about him way before he did what he did. Like I knew it was coming. Then he came into my room alone one night and... it happened.”

You put down your coffee cup, almost knocking it from the bedside table with the shaking of your hand. Will comes away from the window at once, dragging his chair to your bedside to listen. He neither speaks nor looks into your eyes, aware that you can bear neither without faltering.

“He touched me,” you say, “and the whole time I couldn’t even face him. I don’t even remember what I felt. Maybe I didn’t feel anything at all. Just stared at the ceiling or whatever. He did stuff to me that changed me forever. I felt like a tiny old person in a kid’s body, after that, knowing about things I wasn’t supposed to know.

“And the worst of it was still having to see him after. My parents— I tried to tell them, but I couldn’t get the words out. They just thought I didn’t like him. So he came back to the house, now and then. Never saw any consequences.

“I’ve always wondered if I was the only one, or if there were others. He was a plumber, or something; he could have access to people’s daughters anytime he wanted. Just walk into their room and... you know. I think maybe he did do that, a couple of times. Who knows.”

Your restless fingers pick at the gold embroidery on your bedspread, working it loose from the velvet. One of Will’s hands folds over yours, gently holding them still.

“What I always think about is how he treated me, afterwards,” you say. “I tried avoiding him, but it didn’t always work. One day he cornered me at the top of the stairs— my parents were in the kitchen, so it was just me and him.

“I must have been maybe twelve or so. Not far off thirteen. My body was changing. I was growing up. He said, ‘you’re getting a little chubby, you know. You ought to do something about that before you look like your mother.’

“Then he smiled at me, and just walked into the bathroom like there was nothing wrong with what had just come out of his mouth, or what he’d done to me all those years ago.”

Inhaling an unsteady breath, you try, with dubious success, to smile.

“So now you get why I’m like this. And knowing it wasn’t my fault, that Leland Frost is just a predator... it doesn’t fix anything. Like, where do I go from there?”

“He injured you,” says Will, softly. “And it may never stop hurting. But you can recover. No matter what you believe, it is possible. His shallow cruelty is not your compass. You don’t have to live on the basis of an insult.”

Scowling, you pull away from Will, trapping your hands under your armpits.

“How can I change when I’m reliving what I went through every day? Why does Hannibal think this’ll heal me? Why do you? Oh, yeah. You don’t.”

“I want it to,” says Will.

You snort dismissively.

“Yeah, yeah. Not so long ago you would have punched the air to see the back of me. You don’t want to share Hannibal with anybody.”

Will leans back in his seat, arms folded; it takes a moment for you to register that he is, by some subconscious impulse, copying your posture.

“I’m not sharing Hannibal with you,” says Will. “I’m sharing you with him. And I want to do that. You knew it before I did.”

His gaze snaps to yours, more arresting than his hands on you had been.

“You’re more like me than I cared to admit. Hannibal was right about that. And though everything about you should repulse his sensibilities he finds you adorable. You clearly don’t appreciate it, but there it is.”

You yearn to deny him, to condemn this speech as sophistry, but you are silent, as much a congregant to him as he has been to you.

“Leland Frost tore you down because he saw that you were growing up and away from him,” says Will. “He knew that one day you’d have a life, and achievements, and people that really cared about you. He was going to fade out of your world, and he couldn’t stand not leaving a mark.”

“I just don’t get it,” you whisper. “He loved me. Why did he do it?”

Will shifts his chair even closer to the bed so as to lean into you, his expression tender, tragic, sombre with a father’s sympathy.

“Leland never loved you, and that’s no reflection on you or your worth. It makes him weak, that he could throw away the relationship he had with you over an urge.”

You don’t have the strength to rage against the whited sepulchre in Will, not when he speaks the truth you’ve always yearned to hear from another. Pain winds through your body, throat to gut, great, twisting pulses, as though eviscerated on a blade of past.

What advice would Will give for you to survive what he and Hannibal have done, and will do?

Nothing. Not a word. He knows that the structure of the home, even comfort from those that afflict you has changed you in so short a time. Your desperation to be gone from him he senses, too, and with it your lust to be loved.

Will holds your hand for a long time before he speaks again, on another subject quite as dreary as the last.

“When you said it’d been years since you...”

“Since I last had my period?” you ask, touching your stomach through the sheets. “Yeah. It has been.”

Your body, the betrayer, making a scarlet banner of your betterment through cruelty.

“I never wanted it to come back. Having it again means I’m not as sick anymore, and that’s like... messing up for me.”

Will's head tilts, his face carved up by the shadows thrown from your barred window into a lattice of snow.

“Failing to die is barely a failure at all,” he comments.

You shrug yourself further under your bedcovers.

“It is if what’s happening to you is something worse,”

“Is it always so bad, being here with us?”

Will’s hand rises. Doesn’t quite touch your face. You turn your head away, but not cruelly; he’s not a bad man, you decide, only contorted so utterly from the ways of his fellows that he is some creature other, or from before, the flint-armed hunter of the caves.

And like such a creature, he seeks your answering affection for want of some warmth in the dark beginning of the earth.

You allow him to kiss your forehead, clumsily, inclined towards him as though you were not both aware of the fiction that allows this contact.

He can only guess how far you’d run from this, had you your chance. How readily you’d betray him.

*

 

You’re much recovered by the time Dr Lecter returns, having been hydrated and energised by a selection of unnamed supplements Will had you take with lunch; there is a cure for every ailment in the makeshift laboratory of the kitchen, it seems.

Hannibal discovers you at your usual perch of the parlour couch, writing in your journal with a blanket tucked loosely around you against the October cool.

Will stands to greet his companion, setting aside a book you’d offered him from your shelf to peruse, its cover depicting the bloody half-brain of the sun on a desert horizon.

“I didn’t expect our charge to be in such high spirits,” says Hannibal, with unmasked surprise. “Thank you for caring for her this morning, Will. I’m aware that whatever time you can spare for us in the midst of an investigation is very precious.”

Likely aware of your eyes on him, Will says, “I’m glad I stayed. I appreciated the company. How’s the other patient?”

“Suitably quieted. I doubt that I’ll be called away again on her behalf. Still, I made the most of the journey home.”

Hannibal reaches into a shopping bag looped over one arm and produces from it a wrapped package of fresh meat, marbling the paper with blood.

Grimacing, you say, “Ew. What is that? Looks like an organ.”

“It is. I’ll be making trippa alla romana tonight. It’s an Italian dish made from cow stomach. Don’t turn your nose up till you’ve tried it. Have I served anything to you yet that you haven’t enjoyed?”

*

After dinner, all three of the household recline, full and talking lazily before the fire. Had your company been any other than your abusers you would almost be content, for having been allowed to leave the table after a valiant half plate you are not so guilt-soaked as you’d have been had you finished it all.

You had, in fact, disliked the meal, a first in Hannibal’s house. The thought of the organ, plucked from the rib of a butcher’s shelf, had struck bile to the back of your mouth from the first bite.

A cup of chocolate, warmed to a froth and unadorned with cream is set in your hands instead, which you drink in feline licks to make it last.

Will’s phone shrills abruptly in his pocket. Frowning, he glances at the lighted oblong of its screen and starts at a familiar name.

“It’s Jack,” he says. “I’d better take this.”

He promptly exits the room, speaking with clipped tones into the device.

Alone with Hannibal, you become acutely aware of him looking at you, not quite with suspicion, but not so far from that.

"I see that you and Will are becoming close,” he says, at last. “I’m glad to see it.”

Humming vaguely, you snatch up the journal again and weave your pen about in a pretence of writing.

Hannibal says, "Still, it saddens me that—for all your pretty words of promise—you display a lesser willingness to befriend me.”

You do not answer, pressing your pen so hard against a page that it blots through to the other side.

"Put your journal down a moment, Little One,” says Hannibal. “I’m speaking to you."

Without looking up, you answer, "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You needn't say anything at all. It's your behaviour I wish to change."

In a flounce of irritation you throw the journal upon the floor, its spine creasing.

“I do what you say, and I don't fight you anymore,” you say. “Isn't that daughterly enough?"

"For the purposes of your treatment,” says Hannibal, “it is not. You remain closed to me, parted only by narcotic aid. I'd prefer you to open to me of your own volition. With Will, you prove yourself increasingly capable of that.

“I’ve given you all you’ve asked for, and more, and yet you show little gratitude. I wouldn’t wish to remove these luxuries for you to appreciate my endeavours.”

You look at him, then, this man both jealous and performing jealousy to groom you into his concubine, and in looking see that he will deconstruct your room into the barest cell, should he not have his way.

"I do appreciate what you’ve given me," you hastily protest. "I do, Daddy. You don’t have to take anything away. But I— I just don’t know you the way I know Will.”

“But you do,” says Hannibal, rising to sit beside you, a dangerous proximity. “That’s why you are so afraid of me, is it not?”

You begin to object, trailing off at the sound of approaching footfalls as the younger of your captors returns, listing in the churning swell of stress.

“It's the investigation,” says Will. “Another doll’s been found. Savannah Belmont. It’s too soon to be the Lover’s kill. He has a cool off point between each abduction.”

Hannibal straightens in his seat, rapidly alert.

“A copycat, then.”

Will nods, his throat tightening. His eyes touch your face briefly, and you offer him a small, close-lipped smile, an extension of comfort from across the room. His shoulders drop from their rigid line, and when he speaks again the frantic note in his voice is tempered slightly.

“Definitely a copycat,” he says. “The Lover disposes of the dolls by throwing them into rivers like garbage. No attempt to lay them to rest. Savannah was put on display, placed in a chair on a dirt bank as though she was waiting to be found.

“Both killers meant to degrade their victims, but only the copycat’s is implied to understand and accept that humiliation. Savannah Belmont died aware of her inferiority in the eyes of her murderer.”

You find yourself sitting on your hands to prevent them from betraying your agitation with their unsteadiness. Your leg, however, you cannot control, the right foot gyring an inch above the floor.

Hannibal eyes it without speaking, folding your reaction into the lengthy tome of his mind.

“The victim’s stomach was missing,” says Will, turning to pluck a bottle of whiskey from a nearby cabinet like some bronze fruit. “That’s new. The Lover’s mutilations are all with the purpose of fitting the bodies of his victims inside their silicone casings. He has no surgical skills.

“This new killer obviously has expertise. Savannah’s stomach was cut precisely from her body with the clear intent of taking it as a trophy.”

“Her stomach?” you repeat.

You feel the heaviness of meat within you and are chilled by the coincidence.

Hannibal could not have known what the copycat would take to reference it, could not have known of his existence to begin with, and yet as you glance at him under your lashes you don’t quite trust the seriousness of his expression, his eyes gleaming dimly as tarmac in the rain.

“You mustn’t worry, Little One,” says Hannibal, turning to lift you up onto his lap. “The Lover can’t hurt you. We will protect you, always.”

He settles your head against his chest, which resounds with the slow beat of his heart and the machinery of organs digesting his own rich meal.

The monster knows of your renewed distrust and is unthreatened by it, declawed and tooth-filed as you are by his influence over you and all the passageways of the world you’d otherwise cross in your escape.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Daddy,” you mutter, against his shirt, and the warmth of Hannibal’s palm cups your buttocks with a tormenting friction, both threat and tease at once.

While you hate him—are in terror of him, always—your form is increasingly enamoured by his touch as though it knows that it must be so, or die.

“No need to thank me for performing my duty to you, Little One,” says Hannibal, into your ear. “For you belong to me, and to Will, and you must never forget it.”