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foundtherightwords · 3 days

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The Hollow Heart - Chapter 6

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

Chapter warnings: descriptions of spiders, snakes, and mice, a brief scene of dub-con toward the end (nothing graphic though)

Chapter word count: 6.2k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 6 - The Chamber Carved So Curiously

Christabel woke with the feeling that she'd had a bad dream. She tried to remember what it had been about, and could only conjure up an image of cypress trees, hundreds and thousands of them, surrounding her, stretching as far as the eye could see, dark, twisted shapes looming out of the fog. There wasn't anything particularly disturbing about them, yet the memory of the dream lingered, weighing down her limbs, tightening her chest, and keeping her mind exhausted, although she discovered, by a grandfather clock in the front hall, that she'd slept for nearly twelve hours.

In the daylight, Creel House did not improve much. It was probably because daylight could not penetrate its depth. The gloom was worsened by all the dark Victorian furnishings that must have been fashionable when the house had been built—redwood paneling, mahogany furniture, wallpapers the color of raw liver, and blood-red carpets and curtains—which swallowed up any speck of light that was brave enough to come through the tall, narrow windows. If it wasn't for the candle and matches that Kas had considerately left for her the previous night, Christabel doubted she would have found her way downstairs at all. The darkness pressed down on her eyes, making her feel as though she was going blind, so after leaving her bedroom, she'd gone down the corridor and opened every curtain she could put her hands on. Outside, the fog had lifted, to be replaced by a slate-colored sky and drizzling rain, but even the watery light was preferable to the murkiness of the house.

And it was quiet too, oh so quiet. Her footsteps struck the thick carpet with no sound at all, and the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock only accentuated the stillness. The silence constricted Christabel's throat, and she didn't even dare call out for Henry or Kas, afraid of hearing only the echo of her own voice.

She paused at the stained glass window for a moment, comparing her pendant with the bigger rose. The light coming through the glass was stained red, falling across her hands like blood. She then made her way to the first floor and down the corridor leading to the back of the house. The first two doors she opened led into a drawing room and a study, both so dark that she could only glimpse heavy furniture and tall shelves lined with books. The third was the dining room. More dark wallpapers and furniture. She'd really have to talk to Henry about updating the decorations and bringing the house into the twentieth century.

Breakfast was being kept warm on the sideboard, though there was only one setting at the table. A note was tucked under the plate, along with a grocery list. Written in a strong, large hand, it read, "Mr. Creel has gone to town on business and asked that you have breakfast without him. If you want any changes to the grocery order, please let me know. Kas."

Giving the list a quick scan, Christabel was struck by how little she knew about housekeeping. She wasn't even sure what they needed on a day-to-day basis. Perhaps Kas would be kind enough to help her.

The stillness of the house seemed to have robbed her of an appetite, so she only spread a piece of toast with some marmalade and nibbled on it while continuing to roam the house. It wasn't as large or grand as her family townhouse in Manhattan. Christabel was glad of that though. She didn't think she could be mistress of a large house anyway. At least Kas seemed to have kept his words, for everything was dusted and polished. Christabel wondered if he'd cleaned all night.

She found two more rooms on the first floor—next to the dining room was the kitchen, which opened into what appeared to be a greenhouse, connected to the main house by a covered walkway, and a parlor, with a bay window looking out into the sea, though of course the view was obscured by thick curtains. It could be a nice place for her to retreat to with her books and her music, while Henry worked in the study next door, or they could share it on cozy evenings when there were no guests. She decided this would be the first room she'd work on.

The second floor contained only bedrooms, but they all appeared to be closed off, other than her own and one at the very end of the corridor, which was locked. It must be Henry's bedroom. Christabel tried not to feel hurt that it was locked. Henry probably locked it out of habit. There was a small door set into the wall just outside this room. Opening it, she discovered a cramped staircase leading up to the attic. She expected it to be dusty and cobwebbed, but it was as spotless as the rest of the house, perhaps even more—it was clearly kept in regular use. Curiosity getting the better of her, she retrieved her candle and went up the creaky steps.

The attic was vast, taking up the entire top floor of the house, stretching back so far into the darkness that the feeble flame of the candle could not illuminate its edges. Shelves and cabinets lined the wall. In the middle of the floor was a large table with a steel top, strewn with glass vials, test tubes, burners, and other scientific equipment whose purpose she did not understand. A desk stood next to this worktop, its pigeonholes filled with papers containing complicated equations and diagrams—Henry's notes on his studies and experiments, she supposed.

Christabel tried a window and discovered they were all nailed shut. She turned her attention to the shelves. Most of them were stacked full of books on every subject imaginable, others were full of bottles of chemicals, all neatly labeled in Henry's slanting hand. Then she came to the far end of the attic, and her steps faltered.

Glass cages were arranged along the wall on sturdy steel legs, their lids secured with padlocks. Most seemed empty, filled with nothing but sand, rocks, and dry twigs. Christabel leaned closer to one, the candle held high. Did she spy some movement amongst the rocks? A twitching black leg appeared, then two, then three, and Christabel recoiled in horror when what she had presumed to be a black rock broke apart into a mass of wriggling bodies. Spiders, hundreds of them, the smallest no bigger than a sesame seed, the biggest only the size of her fingernail, crawling all over the glass to get away from the light.

And then, stirred by the light or perhaps the movement of the spiders, the other cages came to life as well. More spiders, mostly the black kind, but also some brown, smooth like a pebble, or furry, some pale like the sand they were hiding in. And there were other things as well, coiling, slimy ropes that slithered and writhed with a whispery hiss, occasionally showing a forked tongue or a rattling tail. Snakes. The cages were full of spiders and snakes.

Christabel stepped away from them, forcing herself to go slowly. The glass was thick and the lids of the cages looked well-made, but somehow, she still believed that if she made a sudden move, those creatures would burst out of their cages and lunge at her...

Her back collided with something. She screamed.

"What are you doing here?" came Henry's stern voice.

Christabel's knees buckled with relief. She leaned against Henry for support, but he stepped away, causing her to stumble. "Careful," he said, and she noticed he was holding a large cardboard box, which rattled ominously. "I ask you: what are you doing here?" he repeated.

She didn't understand why he looked so displeased with her. "I was just—looking around. I know I should've waited for you to show me the house, but I got impatient." She tentatively touched his sleeve. "Was that wrong of me? I didn't mean to snoop."

Henry's eyes glinted in the murkiness. "No, not at all," he said, smiling. "And it's not snooping when it's your house, is it? Come, let me show you."

His smile eased the knot in her stomach. She waited while he lit a lamp over the worktable, turning the wick high so a pool of yellow light illuminated some of the further reaches of the attic. He then set the box down, and, taking her arm, he led her around, pointing out the different kinds of spiders and snakes, listing off their names, black widow, brown recluse, tarantula, viper, mamba, so quickly that Christabel couldn't remember them all.

"Beautiful creatures, are they not?" Henry said. "And so misunderstood too. Their venoms can cure as much as they kill, you know. After all, they're only doing what they must to survive."

He then proceeded to tell her about each of the creature's venom, how powerful it was, what it could do to a victim. Christabel tried to muster up some interest, but found herself unable to. Back in New York, when Henry told her about his studies while they sat in the sun, under the trees of Tuxedo Park, it had been fascinating, enthralling, a sharing of mutual interest. Now, in this darkened attic, surrounded by all those creepy crawlies, the light in Henry's eyes appeared almost feverish, and he droned on and on without paying any attention to her.

"Take the black widow spider," he said, stopping in front of the cage with the black-and-red creatures she'd first noticed. "A single bite is just like a pinprick, you'd hardly even feel it. But just a few minutes, and a numbing pain will spread from the bite, paralyzing you, making it difficult to breathe. In severe cases, it can lead to seizure... and death."

Then, to her horror, he opened the lid and, still holding her arm with one hand, dipped his other hand into the cage, right in the midst of those wriggly bodies and legs.

"Should you—should you be doing that?" Christabel asked shakily.

"Don't worry, darling, they only bite when threatened," Henry said, lifting his hand out. A spider clung to his finger like a drop of blood. "Besides, they never bite me. They know I'm their master." He turned his hand, letting the spider scurry along his fingers. As it moved, Christabel could glimpse a red mark in the shape of an hourglass on its belly, and was suddenly reminded of Henry's costume at the Carvers' All Hallows Eve ball. He extended his palm out to her. "Would you like to say hello?"

Christabel shrank back, shaking her head. She could not understand the hungry look in Henry's eyes.

"No? Well, maybe this would be more to your taste then." He returned the spider to its cage and opened the cardboard box he had brought, which was shaking and squeaking. Christabel soon discovered what was making all those movements and noises—Henry pulled a white mouse out of the box, dangling it by its hairless pink tail. Ignoring the poor creature's writhing and squirming, he lifted the lid of another cage, this one containing a single, fat cobra, almost as big as Henry's forearm.

Paralyzed with fear and revulsion, Christabel could only watch as Henry lowered the mouse into the cage. The cobra raised its hooded head and appeared to be sniffing the air. The mouse, too, seemed to have sensed the predator, for it screeched and thrashed even more violently, in a vain attempt to escape.

"Henry, please—" Christabel begged. Her voice sounded thin, like that of a scared child.

"Shh. Watch."

The cobra fixed its baneful yellow eyes on the mouse. In a blur of movement, it struck. The mouse's screech was cut off abruptly, and the cobra settled back down, its head bulged, the mouse's limp tail disappearing into its mouth like a pink ribbon.

Christabel could take no more. She wrenched her arm out of Henry's hand and ran blindly out of the attic, down the small staircase, and straight into someone.

"Mrs. Creel? What's happened?"

It was Kas, except she couldn't really see him, could only feel his hands on her arms, because all the curtains were closed again, and the corridor was once more plunged into darkness. It was like escaping from being buried alive in a coffin only to find oneself locked in the crypt. Now she knew how poor Madeline Usher must have felt.

"Let go of me!" she screamed, lashing out wildly at Kas, feeling much like the doomed mouse as it was being lowered into the cobra's gaping jaw.

His hands loosened instantly. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

Christabel stepped back, trying to catch her breath. Her fear was gone, replaced by embarrassment for having run away and screaming like a child, and that embarrassment turned into irritation.

"Why are the curtains closed?" she snapped. "From now on, I want them open, day and night, do you hear me?"

She stalked into her room and slammed the door behind her. Throwing her windows wide open, she leaned against the windowsill, breathing in the fresh air and daylight until they calmed her.

The door opened with a creak. Christabel whirled around. Henry strolled in, looking as calm as ever.

"What's this?" he said. "You're not crying over some silly mice, are you?"

"No—no—"

"Good, because you know I can't stand tears." He approached her and grabbed her chin, tilting her face up into the light. "And there is nothing to be afraid of. That's just how they feed, the snakes. If the prey is not alive, they will be bored and not eat. It's completely natural."

Christabel nodded slowly. Once, during a trip to the Catskills, she'd seen a hawk snatch a rabbit from the meadow. It hadn't been upsetting one bit. Perhaps she had let the dark and stifling air of the house get to her...

"But must you keep them in the house?" she asked. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Most of them like dark and dry places, and it's too damp to keep them on the ground floor. Don't worry, the containers are perfectly secure." His face turned serious. "Still, I would prefer it if you don't wander about the house by yourself. And stop bothering Kas about the curtains. You'll just have to get used to the darkness."

Feeling irritated again, she jerked away from his grasp.

"Why do you employ him?" she asked. "He told me about his condition. It's positively ghoulish." She knew she was being unfair to Kas, but how fair was it when Henry expected her, the mistress of the house, to accommodate the servant? Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Henry shrugged. "He has his use. And let's face it, if I didn't employ him, no one would take him on, not with that—condition of his."

Christabel's irritation subsided. Well, if her husband employed Kas as an act of philanthropy, then she shouldn't be too harsh on either of them.

"All right, Henry," she said, leaning on his chest. "I promise I won't go into the attic on my own again, and I'll let Kas keep his curtains."

She nuzzled his neck, hoping for a return kiss, something comforting and reassuring to calm her down after the scare she'd just had. But Henry pushed her away—quite literally, like one pushing away an unwanted dish at the dinner table—and, with a brief "Good", went out again.

After lunch, Christabel found Kas in the kitchen. He stood up upon her entering and moved uncertainly toward the windows.

"Shall I open the shutters, Mrs. Creel?" he asked. The house seemed to have some effect on him as well, for he seemed paler, more subdued and diffident, quite unlike how he had been on the train.

"No, it's quite all right." She held out the shopping list. "I only want to give you this. I've looked it over and added a few orders of my own." As he took the list, she continued, a little stiffly, "And you can keep the curtains closed. No need to change how you've always done things on my account."

"It's all right, ma'am, I'll manage." There was a slight pause, as though he was weighing his words, deciding whether to say them at all. "And I apologize for earlier. This house can be a difficult place to live in at times. I'm sorry if I've made it worse for you."

In response, Christabel only gave him a curt nod, not wanting to show how much his simple words meant to her, much more than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

***

It took several days for Christabel to get used to Creel House and its closed, oppressive air. It no longer frightened her as it had on her first day, but she was certain she would never fall in love with it.

Kas kept his word and kept the curtains open for her, having devised some sort of pulley system that allowed him to control them from the door, so he could close them when he needed to walk through the house and open them again behind him. The daylight helped tremendously, though it showed that the house was even more neglected than she'd realized. The furniture was scratched and chipped from careless handling, the carpets and curtains were fraying, and the wallpapers were peeling in places, including a strip in the corner of her room. She was determined to talk to Henry about refurnishing the house soon, and told Kas to order some catalogues and samples from the best furniture makers and upholsterers in town, in preparation.

For some reasons, she felt hesitant to talk to Henry about such things. For a start, she didn't want to throw her weight about too much too early in their marriage, as she kept having a vague but nagging sense that Henry resented her presence. She thought she could understand it, having heard about it enough from her married friends in New York. No matter how in love a man was, a part of him always regretted marriage, always yearned for the freedom of bachelorhood. She should give him time to get used to being married.

But the other reason was that they hardly had any moment alone together. Every morning, Christabel woke up alone and breakfasted alone. Henry was away most days, taking the car with him, and when he was home, he locked himself in the attic with his monstrous creatures, sometimes even forgetting to join her for dinner. He brought back more boxes, boxes that rattled and growled and scratched and skittered, and Christabel remembered the little white mouse and stayed away. But at night, she lay alone for hours, hoping to hear him turn the handle to her door, but he never did. She was tempted to come to him herself, but shyness held her back. She'd already eloped with him, what kind of lady would he think she was if she came knocking on his bedroom door at night as well?

Fortunately for Christabel, diversion soon arrived in the form of her old things from New York. She'd fully expected her mother to have thrown away all of them or perhaps burned them in a fit of rage, so it was a pleasant surprise to come downstairs one morning and find several crates in the hallway, filled with clothes and books and even trinkets from her room. There was no letter from her mother, not even a note, but that didn't disappoint Christabel. If anything, she was relieved.

She spent several happy days unpacking the crates and putting things up in her room, finding comfort in their familiarity. Then she discovered a curious thing, or rather, two curious things.

She was putting her underthings into the bureau when she found something in its bottom drawer—a little cigar box made out of flimsy plywood, all warped and faded with age. The box contained a pair of scratched spectacles and a cheap pocket watch, long dead.

Christabel wouldn't think it strange to find some forgotten belongings here and there in the house, but these two things had clearly been kept together and hidden away, mementos of sorts. Even more curiously, upon closer inspection, she realized that the spectacles were not randomly scratched. Someone had made an attempt to carve two letters onto one of the lenses—F.B. Somebody's initials? The inside of the watch's lid had been scratched too, with different letters—P.M. The spectacles and the watch must have belonged to two different people. So why keep them together?

There was something vaguely familiar about those scratch marks, though she couldn't remember where she'd seen the handwriting before. More than that, they were disturbing, desperate. Whoever made them had clearly been anxious to leave behind some reminders of these people, whoever they were. It seemed to Christabel that those marks were made not only on the surface of the glass and the brass of the watch, but on the barrier of time as well, and at any moment, the owners of these mementos would be able to scratch down that barrier altogether and reach her from the past. The thought made her shiver, and she tossed the spectacles and the watch back into their box, and shoved the box into one of the empty crates to be disposed of. She did not want them around her.

One day, the drizzling rain stopped long enough for the sun to come out and clear the fog. Henry was out again and Kas was shut up in the lighthouse, but Christabel took full advantage of the nice weather by taking a long walk around the island, something she hadn't been able to do since her arrival. She went straight to the grove of cypress trees first, trying to look at them from the same angle from her window, searching for any sign, any irregular shape or formation on their bark that may suggest the figures she'd seen on her first night. There was nothing of the sort. The trees stood still and silent, casting a thick shadow even under the full sun. The memory of those silent trees in her dream came back like a cold finger down her spine. Christabel wrapped her cloak closer to her body and went down the drive, onto the path toward the shore, which had emerged from the low tides.

A soft jingling caught her attention, and she spied a horse-drawn wagon, bright red against the sand dunes, with Melvald's General Store painted in curly gold lettering on its side, rolling down the shore toward Creel House. This must be the weekly grocery delivery. She quickened her pace to catch up with it. The wagon drew up to the shore at the same time she did. The driver, a woman of late middle age, jumped down from her seat at the sight of Christabel.

"Afternoon, ma'am," she said. "You'd be the new Mrs. Creel, I bet."

Her phrasing puzzled Christabel for it indicated that there was an old Mrs. Creel, but she decided the woman must have meant Henry's mother, or perhaps simply that she was a newcomer of Creel House.

"I am," she replied.

"Joyce Byers, at your service," the woman said, taking off her bonnet, revealing a face that must have been pretty once, and was still handsome how, framed by two wings of dark hair shot with silver. "I have your order here."

She opened the back of the wagon and began unloading crates and boxes with an agility that belied her small stature. Christabel lingered about, not wanting to leave the first sign of outside life she'd seen in a week.

"Do you just leave them here, Mrs. Byers?" she asked.

"Please, call me Joyce. Yes, and I'll ring the bell here so young Kas knows to pick them up." Joyce indicated a bell tied to a hook planted at the start of the path, which Christabel hadn't seen on the night they drove up.

"Why don't you bring them to the door? Aren't you afraid they're going to get stolen?"

The older woman regarded Christabel for a moment or two. "Mr. Creel doesn't like people coming to the house," she said. "Besides, it's high tides half of the time. This is more convenient. We never got any complaints about stolen goods. Nobody ever comes out here anyway."

"Have you been delivering to Creel House for long?"

"Nearly thirty years now, even before it was Creel House."

"All alone?" Christabel exclaimed.

Joyce chuckled. "Like I said, nobody comes out here. When I first started working at Melvald's, there was just the lighthouse, kept by old Mr. McKinney."

"Really?" Christabel asked with interest. "Did he leave when the lighthouse was decommissioned?" Henry had told her that after new lighthouses were constructed on the Golden Gate Strait, many lighthouses along the bay were decommissioned, and his father had brought up the land to build Creel House.

Joyce's face turned somber. "No, the lighthouse was decommissioned because he left. After his son, Patrick, died, old Mr. McKinney drowned his sorrow in the bottle. The lighthouse fell into disrepair. After that one ship sank with all aboard, Mr. McKinney was removed from his post as the keeper, and the lighthouse was retired." She glanced at the top of the lighthouse, just visible behind the cypresses. "I'm surprised Mr. Creel kept the old thing when he had the house built."

"I think it adds character to the place," Christabel said, a touch offended.

"Character, yes. Except"—the older woman became hesitant, furtive—"well, I suppose it's not my place to say it."

"What?"

"Nothing, ma'am, it's probably just a silly rumor." She closed up the back of the wagon and attempted to climb back on the seat, but Christabel held her back.

"No, please. Tell me."

Joyce looked at her with pity and heaved a sigh. "People say that young Patrick McKinney died from falling off that lighthouse."

Christabel dropped her hand in shock, not just from the gruesome fate of Mr. McKinney's son, but from his very name as well. Patrick McKinney. P.M. Could the pocket watch have belonged to him? Perhaps the lighthouse keeper, in his grief, had scratched his son's name into the watch as a remembrance... But then who was F.B.?

***

Christabel was curled up on the window seat in the parlor, trying to distract herself with the furniture catalogues and samples of fabrics and wallpapers that had arrived with the groceries that afternoon, when she heard the car coming up the driveway. She expected Henry to go straight up to the attic as usual, and was surprised when he came into the parlor, looking rather displeased.

"What's all this?" he asked, eyeing the samples Christabel had spread on the seat around her.

"Oh, I was just—I've been meaning to discuss this with you, actually," Christabel said, relieved that she'd finally had an opportunity to broach the matter. "What do you think about updating the furnishings of the house a bit?"

"What's wrong with the furnishings?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Except—it's all rather dark and gloomy. I was thinking we could lighten it up a bit. Besides, these curtains and carpets and cushions could do with replacements..." She trailed off, for Henry was still scowling at the samples.

"And who's going to pay for all these 'replacements'?" he asked, finally looking at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I just received a telegram from your bank manager today, telling me I do not have access to your account. I even produced our marriage certificate, but the manager claimed that the account was under your sole name and thus could only be accessed with your permission." She had the feeling this was what he'd come in to talk to her about and was just searching for an excuse to bring it up.

"Yes, that is a stipulation in my father's will to make sure my mother couldn't touch it," she explained.

"But what if something... happens to you?"

Christabel tried not to dwell on the fact that Henry was contemplating her death barely a month into their marriage. "In that case, the money will go to my children. If I have none, it will go back to my mother if she is still alive, or to some distant cousin if she isn't."

"Not to your husband? That's preposterous!"

"You're going to have to take it up with my father, I'm afraid," she said with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's a damn nuisance, that's what it is."

Henry's growing irritation was leaving a bad taste in her mouth. "What's wrong?" she asked, trying to stay patient.

"What's yours is mine, by law. Yet if I need money, I have to come to you hat in hand like some beggar?"

"Married women are allowed to have their own assets, you know," Christabel said evenly. "Have been for nearly sixty years now."

"But I am your husband!" Henry shouted. "It is my right!"

"Your right?!" Christabel jumped up from the window seat, scattering fabric and wallpaper samples all over the floor. "What about your duties? Day after day you leave me in this Godforsaken house, you barely even look at me or speak to me, let alone spend time with me. What kind of marriage do you call this? Perhaps I should annul it on the grounds of non-consummation!" It was a bluff, but Henry's demand to own her money angered her so much that she wanted to get back at him.

For a moment, she thought Henry was going to hit her. But he only ground his teeth so hard she could see the veins popping on his temples, and he bit out, "Pay for your own damn furnishings then!" before storming out of the room. The slam of the attic door came a moment later, hurting her more than any physical blow he could have inflicted.

The parlor door cracked open, and Kas's worried face poked in. "Is everything all right, Mrs. Creel? I heard shouting—"

"Oh, leave me alone! Must you always be underfoot?" She tossed the samples and the catalogues into the wastepaper basket and swept out, not stopping to see the hurt look in Kas's dark eyes.

Back in her room, Christabel got undressed, violently yanking off buttons and tapes, heedless of the tearing sound they made, pulling pins out of her hair, throwing them willy-nilly on her dressing table, all the while trying to fight the hot tears that were choking her throat from rising to her eyes.

So Henry was no different from all the others. He was after her money, had been all along. That would explain his coldness on the train, his neglect since they came to San Francisco. All his sweet talk had been just that—talk. How stupid had she been to not see it? And now it was too late...

A knock on her door jolted her out of her gloomy thoughts. She was startled to hear Henry's voice on the other side, all gentle and sweet, "Darling? May I come in, please?"

Christabel debated telling him to go away. But what would she accomplish by drawing out the tension? After all, they were married, and she was stuck with him for the rest of her life. Best to learn to live with him. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Many married women happily handed their money over to their husbands and they were none the worse for it.

Still, she kept a cold countenance as she opened the door for him. Henry stepped in, taking both of her hands in his. "Listen, darling, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that," he said. "It's only that—when I learned about the bank account, I felt like you didn't trust me, and it hurt." He lifted her hands to his lips in a rather charming gesture of contrition.

"You should've told me that you wanted access to my account," Christabel said, determined not to let him off that easily. "I could've written a letter of authorization for you."

"No, no, it's all right. There's no need for that. It's your money, you should control it. In fact, you should transfer it to a bank here in San Francisco. That would be safer than to rely on a distant New York branch."

She was taken aback by his quick acceptance. Had she been too hasty in condemning him?

"All right, I'll consider it," she said uncertainly.

"As for your accusations," Henry went on, "I have no excuse. I have not fulfilled my husbandly duties. But I'm willing to rectify it right now."

Without waiting for her answer, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was the same way he'd kissed her right before he proposed to her, but somehow, this time, Christabel wasn't swept away by it as she had, or, rather, it now overwhelmed her in an unpleasant way. All she was aware of was how tightly he was holding her, making her corset dig uncomfortably into her hips, how forceful his mouth was, how probing his hands were. Then she felt those hands tear at her back and heard her corset strings snap.

"Damnable thing," Henry mumbled, throwing the torn corset to the floor. "Stop wearing it."

He then pushed her toward the bed, until her knees hit the edge of the mattress and she had no other choice but to collapse on her back, with Henry's weight bearing down on her. He pulled at her clothes and his own, and now his hands were roaming all over her body, his breath quickening. She closed her eyes, trying to relax, trying to remind herself that this was what she wanted. Unbidden, the memory of the hare came into her mind, and she remembered how these hands, the very hands that were groping and squeezing her, were the same hands that had snuffed out the life of that creature, the same hands that had lowered the mouse into the cobra's mouth. Sudden, irrational fear blossomed in her stomach. She struggled against Henry, but he was pinning her down with one hand between her legs and the other in her hair, and she couldn't move.

"Please, Henry..." she whispered, but either he didn't hear her or refused to answer, for the pressure of his hands on her didn't let up.

He thrust into her without warning. A sharp cry of pain was wrung from her lips, only to be drowned out by a burst of the foghorns on the bay. The pain, mercifully, was short-lived, and as it dulled, her cries turned into whimpers, while the horns droned on and on outside her window.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Henry sat up and fixed his clothes.

"There," he gasped. "Let's have no more talk of annulment now, shall we?"

He left the room without a backward glance.

It was some time before Christabel came out of her daze. Slowly, she pulled down her nightgown and sat up. So that was that. The wedding night she'd dreamed of. What a joke, a mockery of love. The pain wasn't even the worst part of it—that she'd known to expect, and it wasn't intolerable. No, the worst, most disturbing part of all was the sense that Henry had no thought for her. To him, she had no more identity than the hare or the mouse, and he'd consummated their marriage only to bind her to him, not out of any desire for her, or even for pleasure.

A chilly breeze came in through the window. The peeling wallpaper flapped, its scratching noise grated at her nerves, taunting her. Unable to endure it any longer, she jumped up from the bed, ran to the corner of the room, and savagely tore the wallpaper off in a long, ragged strip. Clutching it in her hand, she slumped to the floor, the tears she hadn't allowed herself to shed finally flowing.

After a long while, Christabel picked herself up and returned to bed. That was when her eyes caught something on the wall that sent a jolt of fear through her and dried her tears immediately. Picking up the candle, she came up to the wall for a closer look. A section of old plaster was exposed behind the torn-off wallpaper, and carved into it, in the same desperate hand, were the initials "M.M."

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer au #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #henry creel #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #kas!eddie #vampire!eddie munson

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assortedvillainvault · 2 years

Note

Hello!! >:3

I see we share same F/O from Hazbin Hotel! :DD yay!!

I’d like to ask for headcanons where S/O had snake when alive and they kinda treat him like their snake pet? (Feeding him mouses/rats, trying to find his skin or helping him “undress” from his old skin to new one)?

Thanks! Have a nice rest of the day/night!

Ayyyyy another Sir Pentious simp spotted!! Excellent taste anon, excellent taste :D

I dunno about treating him like a pet since that strikes me as kinda weird (that and I think we'd be shot if we tried to baby talk him for the adorable expressions he pulls when excited) but pulling in experience from having had snakes as pets in life? Absolutely!

Sir Pentious x ExperiencedWithSnakes!Reader:

For the most part he's pretty self sufficient - he dropped into hell over 150 years ago so he's had plenty of time to get used to his new physiology - heck he's been a snake longer than he was human, so if you treat him as a helpless invalid he's going to get snappy with you.

That's not to say he doesn't appreciate a helping hand - he loves being treated like a treasure, admire his scales more darling they're shiny~

It will take a long time of waiting before he lets you get anywhere near his shedding times. He despises being vulnerable and unpresentable, and shedding induces both. It's also practical to keep you away until he knows he can trust you: over a hundred eyes and shedding renders every one of them blind? In Hell it's a miracle to find someone who wouldn't take advantage of such a weakness.

Once deemed trustworthy though you're getting to work helping him get out of the old skin. He's over 15 feet long and it's i t c h y.

There's no 'finding' the skins once they're shed since he makes sure to collect it all up during the process. He also chucks it straight into the furnace of his airship since he's learned the hard way that Hell's magical community can use body parts, even old and shed stuff like hair and nails, as a target for spells.

That and the eggs like to dress up in it which is too weird even for him.

If you're going to feed him rats/mice etc can you PLEASE put it on a plate first?? Manners dear, this gent grew up with knives and forks and is Determined to keep using them, circumstances and lack of gag reflex be damned.

He's too big to be carried on your shoulders, but your body warmth is much appreciated, let him coil around you like a sentient beanbag so he can take advantage please.

Due to your familiarity you've been able to pick up on a lot of his more subtle body language that the vast majority of Hell misses out on. You're not even sure if he knows he's giving off the signals, but your timely intervention has been much appreciated on a few occasions.

To your delight he actually shows off more snake like habits when he's relaxed, usually with you. He absentmindedly tastes the air a lot when thinking, has a tendency to sway gently in place, and find places to literally 'hang' on his ship so he can relax the human portion of his body from being upright all the time.

He gets serious muscle cramps from forcing himself upright to mimic standing. Prideful git refuses to drop into a full body crawl as his physiology demands, but the massages you give him to ease the pain are divine.

You, uh, have tried to move him before out of habit from scooping up your previous pets. Sweetheart, love, he's nearly a metric ton of danger noodle, don't even try. He doesn't want you to throw your back out.

He first time he genuinely hissed at you you jerked back in shock and bopped his nose out of sheer muscle memory, "Don't take that tone with me!" It worked, much to both your embarrasments.

#anon this was a delight thank you for the prompt to write about our best snake man <3 #thalassa responds #x reader #sir pentious #sir pentious x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #genuinely cannot wait to start getting proper episodes of this show so we can finally get our crumbs of Sir P and horde them like gremlins

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saoirseirose · 7 months

Text

What's afterlife? (S.G)

pairings: satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary: being in this cold yet welcoming airport along with some of your close friends was peaceful, until a white-haired twink cart-wheels his way in to ruin the said paradise

contents: spoilers!for 236, implied sorcerer reader, crack, descriptions of gore, depiction of death etc.

not proofread!

masterlist

"it's getting boring" you exasperatedly sighed for the umpteenth time, glancing at nanami who flipped another page of the newspaper he found along the very quiet journey in this airport. another flip, then another. it's like time here was slower, much more longer. but you didn't mind—it was peaceful in here, no curses, no problems, no anguish, and no more deaths.

and most important, no stitch faced assholes to deal with.

you've grown to hate the ragdoll who transfigured you before you died—yes, died. nanami here beside you was the one who took the honors of exorcising you just to give you an honorable death. it was at your first mission too, your first and last.

it was stupid—you followed the 7:3 sorcerer as he doubled back to save a student that was held under execution for being a vessel for the king of curses himself. your instincts kicked in as you wanted to come and save yuuji, unfortunately for you—you grew blind to realize that you were the one who needed saving.

you were one of the first ones to be here, following junpei. the male was accustomed to being alone even before, so he was shocked when you stumbled inside the airport a minute after he was also killed by mahito.

now, there's about half of the jujutsu sorcerers you looked up to, some were unknown individuals—people who were a part of their lives. you met two women, you've learned that they were once a part of suguru's life—a failed mission he claims.

you also met geto, with nanami's assistance and introduction—you managed to get along with the sorcerer as you shared similarities. shitty environment=murdering everyone. yet you didn't take any fall, as one particular white-haired blindfold-wearing creep talked you out of execution.

satoru gojo, damn satoru gojo, if that twink didn't save your ass, you would be rotting in the deepest pits of hell instead of this airport.

"you've been here longer than we are, I'm sure you can last a few more...decades" nanami answers, eyes still on the newspaper as he switched to another page.

you grumbled at that, lips jutting to a pout. it was true, you've been in here for god knows how long, but with all these powerful people around you—you expected to have more fun, more thrill.

"but it's so boring nanamin, it's like, i want things to escalate! you know? something fun!"

oh how you regretted your words.

"blegh"

"oh for fucks sake" satoru's obnoxious voice rings in your ears, you quickly whipped your head from behind you. and lo and behold, satoru—a much younger looking satoru was hunched forward, being stared down by suguru beside him.

nanami sighs

haibara shots up from his seat beside you

suguru sneers at his bestfriend's reaction

and you rolled your eyes.

"didn't even last an hour in" you faux a gasp, placing a hand on your chest as you placed your knees in the seat, facing satoru as he ran his hands down his face in frustration

"oh yeah? how'd it feel when your organs were turned upside down? platypus-ass-looking-fucker" satoru was quick to retort, earning him a palm hitting the back of his head. he yelped, cradling the spot you hit as he turned his head towards you.

"please, take it elsewhere" nanami pleads, finally putting down the newspaper he's been reading—closing his eyes as his hand swept his bangs to the side

"oh look, his phase is back!"

"you're one to talk, blind-mice looking buffoon" you rebuked, determined to take nanamis' side, and just to oppose satoru in every way, and every scenario.

"hey come on, do you still hate me?" satoru spoke condescendingly, a pout visible in his tone as he mirrored you, hopping in to the seat, kneeling above the metal chair. even as the two of you were kneeling, he still towered you. how can you not hate him? he saved you from execution, but he's also the reason why you're here

"you think i'll forgive you easily?"

"come on, it's been like—what? a year? two? three? doesn't matter" he protests, earning a glare from you, a roll of an eye from nanami, a clueless stare from both haibara and geto.

"he set them up as a trap, sent them with me for a mission just for payback, the said mission caused their death—and he didn't even say sorry" nanami summarizes, standing up, grabbing haibara by his collar, ready to drag the cheery male out of the scene. "i suggest you also move along, this will get messy, it always does" the blonde suggests to geto who kept his eyes on satoru, then back to you.

"oh c'mon! you can't blame me! they threw away all my secret candy stash just because i left them during a mission! i never would've thought they would die!" satoru protests, justifying his petty acts

"you heard him" you emphasized nanami's words, geto perked up, jokingly giving satoru a salute before the three of them are walking away.

"hey come on, that's on the past! past is past—"

"domain expansion"

#jjk x reader #jjk satoru #jjk scenarios #i know how the afterlife works #someone pls point out my pun in the title #ive

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muldoonlives · 7 months

Text

"What the fuck happened?!"

Edward Furlong was the big kid I wanted to be in elementary school. He played a cool character in one of the greatest films at the time. I saw the teen magazines in passing while tagging along at a supermarket. He was the only young actor on the covers who didn't wear a forced grin. I could relate. That's what I constantly heard from people. "You never smile." What am I saying? I still do.

I'm not going to get into Edward's bad decisions because we all make them, especially folks in Hollywood. They have more money and opportunities to make them. Let's not forget he was a kid with money and no guidance when his problems began. Anyways, one thing I wish people would do is stop with all the goddamn complaining about his current appearance. Edward was slim as teen and in his twenties, but he was never in shape. He was simply skinny. The roles he's played have not required a fit physique. Edward isn't an action star or the leading man in romantic comedies. In an interview following the filming of "Detroit Rock City", Edward described himself as a lazy person who loves to eat.

"I love fast food. There's nothing better than eating a bag of chips with sour cream in one go and watching your stomach swell up."

It's obvious Edward still feels this way, and has no desire to be in shape.

Shit, Edward's still here while most who have lived his lifestyle aren't. To me, I think Edward deserves credit for continuing to work. He could be living off residuals because he doesn't want to leave the house in fear of being criticized for the way he looks.

I admit to not seeing most of his recent films. "Three Blind Mice", "Intermedio", and "The Visitation" were not very memorable. What I do remember about them was thinking Edward still retained his acting talent. I want to give "The Forest Hills" a view one night though. It looks pretty strange, and that's what I like.

Another thing people can't seem to get over is Edward Furlong not becoming a big star. I'm no psychic, but I feel Edward Furlong would possibly be in the same spot if he never developed any addictions. Well, he would be in "Terminator 3" for sure. His resume would be longer, but it would be filled with more movies most people haven't seen or even heard of. After T2, none of his movies were blockbusters. Independent films with limited theatre time might gain the praise of movie critics, but they won't morph you into a superstar. Edward has claimed he wouldn't mind doing big budget films, but he does prefer indies.

Edward Furlong uses the word "therapeutic" a good bit when he speaks on acting. It makes sense considering his life has never seemed to be peaceful. Why not pretend to be someone else for several hours a day? Edward Furlong doesn't care about being a famous stud. He just wants to act.

#edward furlong #aesthetics #actors

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niuttuc · 9 months

Text

New budget Commander cards: Wilds of Eldraine: White

You know these by now, we'll go color by color, mixing main set and commander set. Reprints can be included if they brought the price down under our bar or are otherwise notable. All the cards presented here are under $2 at time of writing Note that the set hasn't officially released yet, so some prices may still be inflated, and others might spike in the future. Cards will be evaluated as part of the 99, not as commanders. Adventures with off-color parts will be carted off to the multicolor section.

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This shrewd fella is white ramp! Not very good white ramp, mind you, but it's serviceable in some decks. Needing to wait a turn cycle to get the first treasure is very slow, and getting a single treasure a turn cycle at best is also not great. It has the advantage of being white catchup ramp that doesn't turn off your other catch-up ramp, but most of the time, I'd prefer to get a land that'll die much less easily, or even a Commander's Sphere to be completely honest. The card draw mode is present, but at four mana for a single card (you're giving up a treasure), it seems only useful in the most dire of times AND if you've got treasures already. With that said, it'll do the job, and I wouldn't be ashamed to have this in a deck, I just don't think it makes the cut over a rock even on a budget in most cases.

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White board wipes are so numerous these days, it's hard for one to break in more than an archetype or two, and this one also works in a crowded space. Just within the low-power board wipe, there's at least 6 different options just in white. With that said, the ability to control the power you're cutting off at is pretty great to adapt to various situations, and it's almost a strict upgrade to Fell the Mighty, since you don't need to have a target with the right power, and it can't be fizzled by removing said target. If you were playing Fell the Mighty, upgrade to this. If you are playing a go wide deck, that's too tokeny for Dusk//Dawn or it and the Battle of Bywater is missing a lot of key pieces in your meta at 2 power, give this one a try.

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Play this in every white deck you can fit it in. It is better than Generous Gift at lower powers where lands aren't doing quite as much by themselves, and slightly worse at higher power where lands are Like That. It doesn't really matter in this case, most white decks can probably find room to run both of them.

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The monarchy is great and fun. It is hard to hang on for an entire turn cycle, but in this case, you don't really care, both options here are pretty great. As Sun Titan proves again and again, getting back a permanent mana value 3 or less is quite valuable in white, especially when it doesn't specify nonland. Getting it to hand is less good, but it's a three drop, you'll be able to redeploy it if you really want. Card's great, play it if you find room for it in any deck, it doesn't really fit into most themes. (except you, monarchy decks, I see you.)

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What if you had several turns to do the fiend hunter/O-ring trick instead of one stack? If you can blink enchantments, this will just exile a creature every time, and every time you do, you guarantee the one before that will never come back. As mentioned, unlike other tricks like that, you have plenty of time to figure out how to blink (or sac) it. Also some flying and damage sometimes, but that's not why you're playing the card.

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This isn't a very good card by itself, but the unrestricted aspect of the second and third chapter can make it worth its weight. Really good with token copies of stuff and such... But the neatest trick is to make a token copy of Three Blind Mice itself. Further chapters can then copy the saga token copy of Three Blind Mice, and give you an ever-growing army of mice, sagas and anthems after a few turns. It is the slowest combo in the world... But it's fun! And it will force your opponents to react, and they need to kill all your enchantment (copies) to do so, which isn't the easiest.

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Did you know: Flash is a powerful ability. This design isn't much new, but Flash gives it an entirely new dimension. On top of being a removal option in a pinch that can stop people going off on the same turn they play their commander, the Fox can also exile your most valuable creature in the face of a board wipe to preserve it... And in the reverse, if the board is getting wiped and you have a couple mana, you can sac the Werefox to give back the creature it removed just in time for it to be caught in the board wipe, negating some of the downside of these kinds of effects (not all, that still takes two mana.) With that said, Banisher Priest isn't the best card in commander. It's more a domain of Skyclave Apparitions and occasionally Palace Jailers. Still, this will have homes.

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Generally I avoid cards that have written in bold on them in which decks to put them, but, uh, here's a couple of them. You don't need me to explain in which decks to put this, I hope.

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4 mana 4/4 vigilance that immediately draws a card then keeps doing so every turn, while making you a friend. Or spreading the Oxen around to minimize their impact. This is quite good on rate, as long as you have a wincon beyond "swinging with a couple small creatures repeatedly". Oxen block very well. You probably don't want to go too overboard blinking this card either, or you'll find out what a stampede is.

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We just had a mostly-better version in this effect in Brothers' War, Recommission. But it's still a good effect, and if you're more of an enchantment person than an artifact person, this is an efficient option.

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Reprints

The enchanting tales in white bring down the price of some pretty interesting enchantments.

Blind Obedience is mono-white as far as commander is concerned, and Extort still scales very well with multiplayer play.

Grasp of Fate is an actual good O-Ring for commander (a lot of those today). It's not for every deck, but hitting multiple things at once is quite powerful, and this reprint at uncommon after so long brought the price down to pennies, and should keep it low for quite a while.

Karmic Justice is a weirder card than it reads. Due to its specific wording, it doesn't work against most common forms of targeted removal. If you want something like that in white, look in the direction of Martyr's Bond. Karmic Justice does one thing and one thing only: Shield you from most mass artifact or enchantment removal. Nobody wants to Austere Command, Vandalblast or Ondu Inversion when a Karmic Justice is around. Karmic Justice can target lands. So if you're a deck that heavily relies on artifacts or enchantments in specific and are in white, you might be interested.

Rest in Peace is the gold standard in silver bullets. It does one thing, and it does it better than any other card. Any graveyard strategy or even incidental recursion will be completely shut off from the moment Rest in Peace touches the board and up until it leaves it. I personally find Rest in Peace to be a bit too feast or famine for my taste: either it stops one player from playing the game entirely for long spans of time because their deck rely on the graveyard, which isn't very fun, or it doesn't do much and is a waste of cardboard. I encourage you to play graveyard hate in your decks... Just maybe go with something a bit more versatile and soft than Rest in Peace. But hey, it's budget now!

These two are in the Role Aura precon, and they actually haven't fallen under our threshold yet. They're incredibly powerful pieces for the Aura strategy, but only for this one narrow strategy, and this is the first reprint for both. In over 15 years for Retether. Hopefully, their price goes down further than it already has because of this precon, once it hits the shelves in greater numbers.

#mtg #edh #commander #sleeper #long post #White #Wilds of Eldraine #Eldraine #budget #Enchanting Tales

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mymoonisalways-in-scorpio · 2 years

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Love him so much but this is really giving me 3 blind mice vibes 🙃

#stranger things #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson stranger things #hellfire club

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giggly-squiggily · 1 year

Note

my other love which has significantly increased is that for tanosuke so, last but not least, i would like to request 💜 angel for tanjiro and inosuke

i failed to restrict myself to three asks, demon slayer what are you doing to me 💀 sorryyyy <3

EKrjkajkeajrjakjreajkr MOOD! Demon Slayer just has that effect on us! And ahhh, Tanosuke! I've yet to write for these two ala ship- so this was really fun! :D I've gotcha covered friend! (And don't apologize! These prompts are so fun!)

Angel: "What happens if I do this?"

“Gagapoku!” Inosuke called, running at Tanjiro at near blinding speed. Had he held his swords in hand, Tanjiro would have dodged it- if only to avoid accidentally getting sliced.

Instead, he let the other boy tackle him dead on, sending them both flying into the dirt.

“Tangerine! Mehehehe! I’ve finally found you!” He cackled, grinning behind his bore mask. “Now- tell me!”

“Tell you what? And my name’s Tanjiro!” The brunette huffed, getting comfortable. They were gonna be here for a while. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Are you now? Mehehehehehe~” Inosuke readjusted himself so he was sitting on Tanjiro’s hips, raising his hands. “I learned of a new training method today from the flashy one- he said it was effective on all! So, tell me!” He wiggled his fingers, snickering more when Tanjiro’s eyes widened. “Are you weak to the tickly, Manjojo?”

“It’s Tanji-rohoohohoohohoho!” A squeak of giggles escaped Tanjiro’s lips before he clamped his mouth shut, squirming beneath Inosuke’s fingers. “Gehehehe! N-Noohoho, whahahit!”

“Oooohoohoho~ So you’re weak to the tickly too, Tictactoe! You and the screechy one! Mehehehhheehe!” Little puffs of giddiness floated around him as he worked his fingers along Tanjiro’s belly, just like how Tengen showed him. “Bow down to the strength of the king of mountains!”

“Yohoohohohohu knhohohohow my nahahhahhame! Ahehahahahhaha, Inohohohohosuke!” Tanjiro cracked some, giggling non stop when Inosuke’s fingers pinched along his lower ribs. “Shahahhahhy ihihihihit rihihiihihiihght!”

“I am! TiktToki!” Inosuke declared, grinning when Tanjiro arched. “Oh? What happens if I do this?” He pressed a little more into the back of Tanjiro’s ribs, making him squeal. “HAH! You sound like the muscle mice!”

“INOHOHOHOOHOHOSUKE!” Tanjiro howled in mirth, kicking his feet against the dirt ground as he tried to block out the hands. Realizing he wasn’t getting out of this anytime soon- he did the first thing that came to mind.

“Muahahhaha! Give up yet-HEY!” Inosuke yelped when his mask was torn off, revealing his surprised face. “What are you- MMPH?!” His complaints were cut off instantly when Tanjiro captured his lips with his own. Tanjiro half expected to be shoved away, understandably punched.

Instead, he felt Inosuke relax, his hands stopping in their tickly tracks as he kissed the other boy back. It was messy with too much pressure, but a kiss nonetheless. When they pulled away, both were flushed bright red, staring at each other.

“Whoa…I didn’t expect that, Tanjiro.” Inosuke sounded a tad breathless.

“You said my name…” Tanjiro smiled. Victory.

“Heh, guess that jogged my memory…hey, I’m forgetting again. Do that again.” Inosuke decided, making Tanjiro laugh.

This time, the kiss was much softer.

Candy Heart Prompts Are Officially CLOSED!

#Candy Heart Valentine Event #chve2k23 #tickle #tickle dabble #demon slayer #inosuke hashiriba #tanjiro kamado #tanosuke #fluff #I don't think about this ship alot but honestly it's so freaking cute?#Like- ridiculously cute #I love it :D

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danglovely · 10 months

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Regrading Taskmaster: S02 E02 Pork is a sausage.

*Score changes noted in parenthesis.

Prize Task: Trendiest Item of clothing.

Richard brings in a t-shirt of the Osmonds but with his face edited over them. It's a clever joke, but a complete whiff on trendiness as the Mormon sing group gradually becomes less and less relevant over time.

Katherine brings in a pair of leggings with a unicorn fighting a robot dinosaur with a rainbow overhead. This actually isn't bad; the 80's aesthetic is pretty bullet proof and it exudes a level of non-sequitarian humor that can be pretty trendy.

Jon brings in a cardigan with a a black waist coat sewn in. He impresses Katherine with it, but outside of cardigans being a decently popular item of clothing, this isn't particularly impressive.

Joe brings in his best tie with his aunt (definitely a lie) and a small vintage car embroidered on it. It doesn't look terrible but he really needed to sell this with a better story.

Doc brings in bright red waterproof converse, or what he calls "wellies with laces." He tries to sell it by saying how ridiculous they are and that's what he finds trendy.

They all sort of whiff on the category to varying degrees. Richard's is the opposite of trendy and Katherine's is the best. The other three are largely dependent on taste.

Doc: 4 (-1) Joe: 2 (0) Jon: 3 (0) Katherine: 5 (+1) Richard: 1 (0)

VT 01: Eat me. Fastest wins.

Theoretically objective task but there is a ton of pedantry involved in how much of an egg one has to consume to "eat it." None of them eat the shell, but it's pretty collectively understood that it isn't included when you say you've consumed an egg.

Doc and Joe appear to completely consume their eggs. Katherine abstains after tasting raw egg and takes a DQ as a result The issue is that Jon and Richard both lose some of their egg to the table because they crack it into the egg-cup and it isn't big enough to hold the contents.

It's not an easy question because interpreting the task to mean consume any of the egg puts Katherine back in the game, but interpreting it to mean the entire egg DQ's Jon and Richard. Greg seems to take an intent-based approach (Jon and Richard didn't mean to lose part of their eggs and consumed as much as they possibly could) and the outcome feels just.

Doc: 4 (0) Joe: 2 (0) Jon: 3 (0) Katherine: DQ (0) Richard: 5 (0)

VT 02: Make the best music video for a nursery rhyme.

Doc's music video for Once I Caught a Fish Alive is so good that I occasionally go back and rewatch it, just because it jams. Jon's horror movie version of Three Blind Mice is a close second.

I'm not sure Katherine actually completed the task because one of the requirements of being a nursery rhyme is that it's traditional and she wrote an original song.

Richard's rendition of She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain while he's generally being mean to people is interesting, if a little confusing thematically. However, I'm actually going to give the nod to Joe, who I think achieved a level of terribleness that brought it back around to good again.

Doc: 5 (0) Joe: 3 (+2) Jon: 4 (-1) Katherine: DQ (-4) Richard: 2 (-1)

Studio Task: Using this camera, take a picture of an inanimate object that looks like you. Closest resemblance wins.

Most of them got pretty close and Richard did deserve top marks here because his is the only object that, if I saw it out in the wild, I would say "that looks like Richard Osman." Doc Brown looks a little more like Marvin Humes than Katherine does the woman on the Spanx box and somehow they both look more like their objects than Jon's 3D print of himself. Joe got two points for bringing in a toaster then dressing up like a toaster. Good bit, but unless he always dresses up like a toaster there's no resemblance.

Doc: 4 (+3) Joe: 1 (-1) Jon: 2 (-2) Katherine: 3 (0) Richard: 5 (0)

VT 03: Order the following pizza for the Taskmaster: Extra large vegetarian pizza with pepperoni and bacon, and without tomato and cheese. You may not use the following words: Extra, Large, Vegetarian, Pizza, Pepperoni, Bacon, Tomato, Cheese.

The task doesn't lay out the winning condition and all of them say one of the forbidden words at least once. They decide in studio that the best pizza delivered wins it. It isn't the fairest way to grade because they all were calling different pizza places and the task specifies that you just have to order the pizza, not receive it. As such, I'll rescore based on violations + the "bubbles" bonus point.

Doc: 2 (-1) Joe: 5 (0) Jon: 2 (-3) Katherine: 5 (+1) Richard: 5 (+4)

Live Task: Using these big chopsticks, get these potatoes into your basket. You must only hold the big chopsticks on the grips provided. The big chopsticks alone may touch the potatoes in turn. Whoever has the most potatoes in the basket after 100 seconds wins.

Richard breaks the rules right off the bat. Jon gets 11/10 potatoes which is great, and within the rules, because "these" could mean any of the potatoes on stage. Doc and Joe take zeroes because their baskets fall off the stage, but they should actually come in joint third unless the task required all 10 potatoes to go in the basket (which would DQ Katherine).

Doc: 3 (+3) Joe: 3 (+3) Jon: 5 (0) Katherine: 4 (0) Richard: DQ (0)

Final

Doc: 22 (+4) Joe: 16 (+3) Jon: 19 (-6) Katherine: 17 (-2) Richard: 18 (+3)

So it seems like Jon was heavily overscored in this episode mostly because the pizza task didn't penalize mistakes. Doc probably should have won the episode where he dropped the amazing nursery rap.

#taskmaster #doc brown #joe wilkinson #jon richardson #katherine ryan #richard osman #tm regrade

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bethhiraeth · 2 years

Text

Surviving High School English- A Guide

We've all been there: It's the night before your essay is due and you haven't even cracked open the book. You are staring down at a blank word document.

English can be a very hard subject, particularly if you are taking it at advanced levels such as IB or AP. English happens to be my favourite subject, so I thought I share a secret:

99% of English is bullshit.

So, I suppose this post is simply a guide to bullshitting effectively. I am going to focus on English, but it can be applied to other humanities subjects like history as well.

Sparknotes and LitCharts are your best friends.

I get it. Reading is hard. I personally love to read, and always try my best to reads the books for class, but I get that that is sometimes not possible. So just jump onto Sparknotes or LitCharts. Both have full summaries of most classic books, and a lot of popular contemporary books that are used in schools. The page for each book also has chapter-by-chapter summaries, character breakdowns, analyses of major themes and motifs, and even essay ideas.

Seriously. Use them.

2. Audiobooks

I love audiobooks. I get at least half my reading done through them. I like using Audible the best (no affiliate link. I just love it!). You can get your first audiobook free, and they have a whole catalogue of books that are included if you are a member. Seriously, normalise audiobooks. They have saved my ass so many times when I have had to read a big book in a short amount of time. The best thing about them is that you can listen to them while you do other things. Doing chores, driving, making dinner, even going for a run. And if you have dyslexia, it will be a lifesaver for you.

3. Know a few things, but know them well

Do a close reading of a few chapters. Know examples of one motif by heart. Having vague knowledge is no good to anyone, least of all yourself. Hone in on a few key points, and know them inside and out. You can afford to do this in English. Again, Sparknotes and Litcharts are great for this. Choose one theme, and read their page on it. It's as simple as that!

4. If your text was set in/ published in a different time era, do some very basic research on that period

For example, Of Mice and Men (a great book, btw) was both published and set in the 1930's. It is set in California. This is important because many of the story's main themes and motifs are based around this. The themes of the American Dream and minority rights are very prevalent throughout the book. Steinbeck was trying to make a statemnt. And if we didn't know the social context of the time, we would not be able to analyse it. So do your research, even if it is very basic

5. If you are not sure, it is probably a reference to the Bible, or Shakespeare, or Greek Mythology

Literally. Give me any classic book, and I could point out a hundred references to these three. Your English teacher will certainly give you extra points for picking up any allusions of this sort. Once again, on both Sparknotes and Litcharts, most books have a page dedicated to the literary allusions present in them. Use. This.

6. Utilize Tumblr

It sounds silly, but you are much more likely to remember what happened/major themes if you read them from shitposts. Engage people with discussions! Talk about your thoughts on the book, ask them for theirs! There is a very good chance that practically every book has been fandomised on this hellsite. I recently had an incredibly interesting and insightful discussion about the phenomenon of Sherlock Holmes and its effect on modern fan culture. Wouldn't that make a great essay?

7. If you can find any evidence whatsoever, then to your English teacher it is good enough.

If you can successfully argue a point, then you will do well on your essay! Anyone seen that post about the person who wrote an essay that Hamlet was partially blind, and they ended up getting a really high mark for it? That is what I am talking about! Argue that Jay Gatsby was gay, that Sherlock Holmes was autistic and that Dorian Gray had ADHD. Write a whole essay proving that George was in love with Lennie or that Heathcliff is a werewolf. Claim that everyone in Pride and Prejudice is an alien. I don't care (although I would love to read the alien one!). Seriously, I have talked to my English teacher about this: as long as you can find evidence and defend your claim, it is true in the eyes of your teacher.

8. Actually listen in class

I may just be lucky, but every English teacher I've ever had has supplied the class with a lot of the information above, such as the historical context of the story.

9. Start early and over-outline

If your essay is an assignment and not an exam, my advice is to start as soon as you know what the task is! Even if you write the title, and start mulling it over in your head. Write down any ideas you have immediately, take quotes from the book, the author and even others. Once you have your ideas, outline, outline, outline! This is my greatest advice for any subject you need to write an essay for! Don't make the outline rigid, but put down all your ideas. Be silly with it, using abbreviations and swear words and memes. Just get your points down. This fights procrastination too, becuase you think you are only outlining. Once you have everything out in a rough order, all you have to do is open up a blank document and put it into formal and pretentious language. I usually find that if my outline is a bit less than half my word count, then I will be good to go once I have typed it all up. The ratio might be different for you. See what works.

And there you go! You have just written yourself a world-class essay with all of your knowledge of the book! I'm so proud of you!

I hope this has been helpful. These are the ways I personally work. If I think of anything else I will add it on.

Happy reading! (Or Sparknote-ing lol)

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narvaldetierra · 11 months

Text

Sleep is overrated

Summary: Tasha is concerned that Patterson hasn't slept for the past three days. AKA Three nights Patterson didn't sleep and the one she did.

Tags: Established Relationship. Self Sleep Deprivation. Mention of Visual Hallucination. Do not try this at home. Words: 3486 A/N: I came up with this idea a long time ago, after watching episode 3x20 when Reade sends everybody home except for Patterson. And we already saw that Kurt had to tell her to go back to her apartment to rest, so here I am. But this story is settled somewhere in season 3, before the dragonfly tattoo and after they caught Hirst. Acknowledgments: I want to take this space to thank @nachosncheeze for being my beta reader in this work and helping me to improve the translation. Without you, this wouldn't be as beautiful as it is. So thank you 💖

Like every software engineer, Patterson knew two basic truths: coffee is needed to exist and sleep is overrated. She could spend entire nights awake and working, she had done it before and those had turned out to be very productive nights. Like those nights working on her science projects in middle school, or like when it was exam season at college. She had done it for this job before too, especially since Jane had appeared in that bag in the middle of Times Square.

It wasn't something that bothered her. In fact, she really enjoyed working at night, when the lab was almost empty and silence reigned. It was much easier to concentrate that way, with no one rushing her, yelling to type faster on a code she was making up on the spot, in an unprecedented, tense situation. Patterson loved her team, they were her family and she would do anything for them, but when they yelled over her shoulder telling her how to do her work, she wished they would leave.

Thus she wanted to use the silence of the night for better concentration. She could feel the pressure coming from Reade to find Roman's location and couldn't blame him, several weeks had passed since the team had gotten back together and so far they had only done what Roman wanted them to do: racing after every tattoo, like donkeys chasing a carrot. That needed to stop. She needed to find something that would at least help them understand Roman's full plan.

As time went by, she took one and two, and three coffees. She walked around the lab to make sure to keep her circulatory system active and thus ensure that her brain was well-oxygenated and kept her alert. "Come on! You can do it!" she said to herself gesticulating with her hands in the air, "You were part of the three blind mice, you are not hacking illegally again, but you can find something that lead to Roman! You've done this too long to give up." She let out a sigh, grateful that no one had been present to hear her talking to herself, then went back to the search as if nothing had happened.

When it was 5 am she decided to take a shower before the day shift agents arrived, she was sure it would clear her head. And she wasn't wrong at all. Before getting out of the shower, she turned off the hot water so that only cold, icy water would come out to wake her. It was a trick she had learned in college: the ice water in contact with the skin works as a shock to the body, which, under such stress, increases the heart rate, thus increasing blood circulation and releasing adrenaline. In that precise instant, her mind went blank and that's when she realized how to decode a specific tattoo.

After a new day of work, the team had solved another tattoo. They should have been pleased to have done it in record time, but they weren't closer to catching Roman or Crawford. Patterson was beginning to feel frustrated, like when she found a puzzle that couldn't solve and spent days obsessing over a solution.

That's why she decided to spend another night in the lab, working in that beautiful silence, which had proved to be quite useful. She was sure it could be again, after a very much-needed coffee. A few hours ago she still had that false extra energy caused by the excess dopamine. Now that feeling had faded away and she felt so cold.

She wasn't planning to stay the whole night, just enough to get a lead. However, when she walked into the lab with her steaming mug, her smile faded away when she saw that Rich was also there.

"Oh! Patty Cakes! Welcome to the night shift. What brings you here?" he asked in his characteristic playful mood.

"What are you doing here Rich?"

"Ah, ah, ah… I asked first."

Patterson rolled her eyes and put the mug down on a table near the terminal she decided to work on. "I wanted to advance some work."

"Oh? Yeah… me too. That's what I was doing here… by no means did I forget to do that absurdly boring paperwork they ask for after every mission. I keep those things up to date. Apparently, it's a big deal. Did you know that?"

"Rich, how long has it been since you submitted your paperwork?"

"Maybe two or three–"

"Days?"

"Weeks."

"Rich!"

"I know, I know. That's why I'm here this late. Jeez! You don't have to give me a lecture about it."

"I– I wasn't– ugh," she didn't care enough to say anything else about it.

For the next five minutes, they remained silent, each one concentrating on their stuff. Until Rich's ADHD appeared.

"Do you mind if I play music?" he asked and, without really waiting for an answer, he pressed play. He didn't really care, he needed the background noise, plus it would make the tedious task of paperwork more entertaining.

"No, I guess–" she covered a yawn that interrupted her, "I guess it's ok," she looked away from the screen for just a second and went back to what she was doing.

The playlist was something without any kind of coherence, the most diverse songs were playing, going from a soft melody to an energetic song that sounded too loud for a workspace. There were just the two of them in the lab, and neither of them should have been in there that late. She was already tired, so Patterson tried not to pay attention and kept working.

"I'm hungry. Have you had dinner yet?" Rich asked after a couple of minutes.

"Not yet," Patterson replied without even looking up, focused on what she was doing.

"Shall we order pizza?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Oh, wait, I already ate pizza this week," he thought about it for a minute, then he just shrugged "I don't care, I like pizza. Do you want me to order?"

"Rich, I’m trying to concentrate here."

“Sorry, I won’t interrupt you anymore. Just– tell me what kind of pizza you like.” Patterson stared at him in silence, wanting him quiet for once. “Or don’t. Doesn’t matter. I’ll order you a cheese one, everyone likes cheese, or they should.”

Music kept playing, and they went back to work. For a few more minutes Patterson was able to work quietly, although she had a feeling that this was going to be a long, long night with Rich. When her coffee was empty, she looked for a blanket scarf to wear. She had just returned to her terminal when Rich arrived with a few boxes of pizza.

"Dinner is here!"

That was when Patterson understood that she had two options: go back to her apartment or stay the whole night there, dealing with Rich. As tempting as the idea of going to bed was, she couldn't give up so soon. So she stayed, grateful to have more than one change of clothes in her locker.

That day wasn't as exciting as the previous one, but they were able to get some encrypted files that could be of interest in Crawford's case. Thus, the team had a status meeting at the end of the day.

"Patterson, how long do you think it will take you to decode those files?" Reade asked.

"I'm not sure, looks like complex encryption. Maybe a few hours… or maybe all night."

"Alright, get on with it. The rest of you, go home to rest." Then Reade left the lab. He still had paperwork to finish before going home.

Jane and Kurt left as well, talking about dinner. After a long day, they all were tired and, unaware of Patterson's situation, they just wished her a quiet night, so she could solve it quickly enough. One by one, the lab technicians left too, until there was just Patterson and Tasha, who refused to leave her alone.

"It's ok, you don't have to stay, you can go home," Patterson said as she kept typing.

"Perhaps I can't exactly be helpful, but I can keep you company. Besides, you still need to eat and it has been several days since we had dinner together."

"I know, I'm sorry. It's been a long week, with so much work–"

"You don't need to apologize, just pick something to order for dinner."

"Right now, I could use a coffee," Patterson said and covered a yawn with her right hand. She was exhausted and had no idea where she was getting enough energy to keep working.

"Dinner first, coffee later. And don't you dare to say Go-Gurt."

"Fine," she reluctantly agreed, but when she reached out to take the menu Tasha was offering, her hand-eye coordination failed. She thought she was grabbing the menu, but her hand closed right next to it, in the air. Patterson ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip nervously and hurriedly grabbed the menu, pretending that nothing had happened, but it wasn't enough to fool Tasha.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" she turned and took a few casual steps as she looked at the menu.

"Wait– Patterson how long have you not slept?"

"So, do you prefer Chinese or Thai?" She attempted to change the conversation and picked up her phone, pretending to look for more options to eat.

"Patterson! You promised you wouldn't do that anymore!"

"I'm ok, it's nothing I can't handle. Besides, you all need me here at the lab."

"But we need you healthy, rested, lucid."

"I know, I know. It's just– one thing led to another." Those were very poor excuses, she wasn't even trying, was too tired for that. "Look, I'll finish this thing Reade asked me to do, and then I'll go to sleep, ok?"

"You should go to sleep right now."

"Tash, I mean it, I don't want to argue about it now. We can eat dinner together or we can talk about my sleep schedules, but we can't do both, I need to finish this."

Tasha remained silent for a moment, watching her, unable to believe what she was hearing. "I prefer Indian." She decided that it wasn't the moment to have that conversation, but it wouldn't be something she'd let go of that easily.

"Thanks," was all Patterson had to say. Then she ordered the food and went back to her computer to continue typing.

The next few minutes were spent in silence. Words were only exchanged when Patterson reached an impasse and had to find a new approach to get better results, and only turned away from the screen when Tasha returned with their food.

They ate the first few bites quietly until Tasha said "This isn't urgent enough to go without sleep for–" she realized she didn't know - "I don't even want to know how long."

"What if it is?" she hurried to swallow the food to answer, "What if by not decoding this in time, we miss the opportunity to prevent something bad from happening?"

"Is that what kept you awake?"

"No! Yes. Maybe– I don't know! I just know that what we do here is important, there is no space for mistakes."

"That's why you should sleep. You have a giant team of people trained to get the job done, to help you, and complete the tasks while you rest. You need to trust in them."

"I do!"

"Then learn to delegate." Tasha let out a sigh and set the food aside. She approached Patterson and took her hands in hers. "Honey, I'm not looking for a fight, I just want you to take better care of yourself, and have regular periods of sleep so that you can continue doing what you love to do."

"I know…" she admitted.

"I won't insist anymore this time, let's have dinner in peace, finish with the task assigned to you and I'll take you home to rest. But promise, truly and sincerely, that you will not do it again."

"I promise." A soft smile appeared on Patterson's lips and she moved closer to kiss her.

"Now… could you tell me how many nights you spent here? I promise I won't get mad."

"Hmm…" she hesitated for a moment, and in a barely audible voice said, "This is the third one."

Tasha had to make a great effort to restrain herself from saying anything about it, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, "Can I try some of your food?" she asked with a smile. Then she preferred to change the conversation to keep her promise.

The rest of the night Tasha focused on helping Patterson in any way she could. She wasn't an expert in coding and she knew little about encryption, but she had some basic knowledge, so she could at least take care of minor tasks. As the hours went by Tasha noticed that the blonde's yawns became more frequent, she even saw her nodding off on one or two occasions. The brunette had to hold back to keep her promise and let Patterson finish the job before taking her home to rest.

By the time the team arrived at the lab, Patterson and Tasha were a continuous yawning machine, although they managed to disguise them quite successfully. In their hands was the third cup of coffee of the day, which no longer seemed to have enough effect on Patterson. The blond felt just as tired but with rapid heartbeats due to the caffeine.

Patterson explained, without much interest, how they were able to decode the files. Then she gave them some coordinates from three places related to the new tattoos on Jane's body.

The team departed with a clear mission, leaving Patterson and Rich. They would assist the team remotely, as they always did, providing additional information about the sites they had been sent.

Stepping out into the hallway, Tasha let Jane and Weller go ahead and took Reade aside so they could talk alone.

“You need to send Patterson home,” she said seriously, steering right into his eyes.

“What? The day is just beginning, we need her here.”

“No. Reade. You NEED to send Patterson home.” She emphasized each word individually to make it clear how serious she was about it. “I know how much we need her, as much as I know you haven't slept well these past days. But Patterson has been awake for four days now.”

“That's not true, she–”

“She won't say anything because she is a workaholic and is determined to find something that gives us the advantage we need. You won't notice it on her face either because she does magic with her makeup. Still, you have to do something about it.” Both were silent for a moment. Tasha took a deep breath and got closer to him. Softening her voice, she added, “Look, I know you hate being compared with Weller but, when he was in charge, he learned the hard way that he had to watch over Patterson's rest periods. Because when she gets obsessed with something, she forgets about anything else. Even eating and sleep become irrelevant for her.”

Reade stared at her, pondering her words. He knew Patterson used to get obsessed over work, but he hadn't really thought it was that big of a deal. He look at Patterson through the window in the lab door, she was writing some numbers on a glass board. Then he felt bad for ordering her to stay the night to work, though he had no regrets if that had brought them any closer to Roman.

“Listen, you don't have to send her home right now. But unless you want her to collapse in the middle of the lab, you'll do it as soon as her speech becomes erratic or her hands have a tremor.”

“Ok, I'll keep an eye over her,” he finally agreed. Noticing that Tasha was not pleased he added, “I'll be sure to send her home to rest. And then she'll have two days off.”

With a soft nod and a smile, Tasha thanked her friend for taking her words. He was the boss and call the shots, but she would take care of Patterson, especially when the blond didn't do it herself. Then she left to find Weller and Jane.

The hours seemed to pass slower than any other day. By noon, Patterson could have sworn it was already 7 pm. She couldn't drink any more coffee, she wasn't hungry either. Everything she tried to do, took her double of time. She was cranky too.

Rich intercepted Tasha as soon as she got to the lab.

"I think something is wrong with Pattycakes."

"What? What happened?" She looked over, worried. Patterson was talking to Afreen.

"She's been a little moody. Not that I complain about it, it was a little fun. But I noticed her hands shaking too. Her handwriting is unreadable today."

"I'll take care of it."

"Is she on drugs?"

"What? Of course not!" She approached Rich to get a confident talk, "Look, she hadn't slept well. Reade is aware of this, there's no need for the lab team to know it too. Ok? You'll have to be in charge for the rest of the day."

Rich's eyes had a sparkle in them that terrified Tasha, but she was sure the team could handle anything he did.

"Hi honey," Tasha said approaching Patterson, "I think it's time."

"Oh, hi. Time for what?"

"To go home."

“I'm fine, you don't have to worry, ok?”

"I know you think that you are, but I've seen you like this before. I still remember when you collapsed from trying to stop Sandstorm too.”

“Well, that wasn't because of a lack of sleep, I had a radiotransm–”

“You hadn't even eaten that time,” Tasha insisted. She was sure that Patterson's collapse hadn't been only because of that transmitter. But that wasn't important now. “You are a super genius, but you still need to sleep. So take your stuff, we're leaving.”

Patterson didn't have the energy to keep arguing with Tasha and, although she might never tell her, deep down she liked that she cared for her that much. She left what she was doing in Afreen's hands, grabbed her things, and followed Tasha down the halls.

While they waited for the elevator, Tasha saw Reade in his office and just with signs, she told him that she was leaving with Patterson, as they had agreed earlier.

During the short car ride, the little energy that remained in Patterson's body faded away. It took her a lot of concentration to keep her eyes open. Her yawning became uncontrollable. Patterson's body seemed heavier but her mind couldn't rest yet. Somehow she kept seeing Jane's luminescent tattoos floating in the air around her. She had read about hallucinations caused by sleep deprivation before, but it felt weird to experience them.

“You can take a nap if you want. I'll wake you when we get there.”

The blonde shook her head and turned her gaze away following a floating tattoo with the shape of a flaming rose. Patterson's mind, obsessed with solving puzzles, made a series of theories about the reasons why her subconscious bring up that particular tattoo. But before she was capable to make any logical conclusion, they arrived at Tasha's apartment.

After a failed attempt to get out of the car, Tasha hurried to help Patterson to stand up. It was clear that her coordination was failing. She was sleep-drunk enough that climbing a stairway became a challenge. Tasha was sure she had managed to get Patterson to her apartment, just in the nick of time to prevent her from collapsing.

“I'll find you something more comfortable so you can rest better," Tasha offered when they got to the bedroom. She sat Patterson on the bed and made sure she was safe before leaving for the dressing room.

The blonde leaned back, lying crosswise in the middle of the bed. Her feet were still on the ground. She hadn't even taken off her boots. Resting her back on a soft, cushioned surface seemed like a divine pleasure. Patterson hadn't realized how much her body needed to rest until she did.

Tasha returned with a gray T-shirt and plaid pants for Patterson, only to find her deeply asleep. She shook her head, sighing in resignation. Then she took off Patterson's boots and changed out of her pants for the pajamas. She placed the blond on the bed with her head against the pillow and covered her with a blanket. Tasha closed the curtains to create a better resting environment. Finally, after changing her clothes, she lay down next to Patterson. Tasha hugged her, becoming the big spoon, and stroked her hair until she also fell asleep.

(Read it on AO3 too)

#patterson #tasha zapata #edgar reade #jane doe #kurt weller #rich dotcom #blindspot fanfic #zapatterson fic #3 + 1 #blindspot #sleep is important. do no try this at home #this had been in my drafts since 2021!!#william patterson #zapatterson

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