#queequeg is like okay. ill die for you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

focsle · 1 year

Note

Please say more about bi/gay herman melville? 👀

Yeah, okay! I'm putting this under a readmore cos there's book excerpts and letters and he's…a Verbose man. It's so long lol. Enjoy.

The lowest hanging fruit is of course the homoeroticism in Moby-Dick, such as in his various descriptions of Ishmael and Queequeg's relationship early on in the book. It's that relationship in which Ishmael's character is built and developed, and it's at the culmination of that relationship when Ishmael as a character slips into the background and becomes more of an abstract narrator, because his growth arc is completed. A relationship characterized with such entries as:

“Upon waking next morning about daylight, I found Queequeg’s arm thrown over me in the most loving and affectionate manner. You had almost thought I had been his wife."

and

"He seemed to take to me quite as naturally and unbiddenly as I to him; and when our smoke was over, he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me round the waist, and said that henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country’s phrase, that we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be."

and

"How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts’ honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg—a cosy, loving pair."

There's also the cheeky jerk off pun that Melville makes for an entire chapter about sticking his hands in spermaceti to squeeze the solids out (a thing that….Wasn't Actually Done as a process on whaleships)

“Squeeze! squeeze! squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me; and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-laborers’ hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally; as much as to say,—Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill-humor or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.”

Among his other works, there's the novella Billy Budd, that was left unfinished when he died and was published a few decades after his death. A common interpretation is that the central conflict between Billy and Claggart (along with the counterpoint of Captain Vere) is an exploration of homosexuality, particularly in being trapped between the heterosexual binds of society and the male-centric space of a ship (and thus the torment of it in 19th c society). Unlike the fondness of Ishmael and Queequeg, this is one of hostile conflict, with entries like:

"When Claggart's unobserved glance happened to light on belted Billy rolling along the upper gun deck in the leisure of the second dog-watch, exchanging passing broadsides of fun with other young promenaders in the crowd; that glance would follow the cheerful sea-Hyperion with a settled meditative and melancholy expression, his eyes strangely suffused with incipient feverish tears. Then would Claggart look like the man of sorrows. Yes, and sometimes the melancholy expression would have in it a touch of soft yearning, as if Claggart could even have loved Billy but for fate and ban. But this was an evanescence, and quickly repented of, as it were, by an immitigable look, pinching and shrivelling the visage into the momentary semblance of a wrinkled walnut."

But like many who point to evidence of mlmelville, I find Melville’s letters to Hawthorne the most telling about the depth of feeling he had towards another man (that I also think have a very sexual energy too).

I’ve often called Moby-Dick ‘hundreds of pages of a man unraveling his soul in front of you’. It's a book about railing against the things that bind a person's life, be it mortality, or god, or society, and Melville really seemed to be a pretty tormented fellow in this respect (and seems like he made it everyone else's problem too, looking at his own family life). And he dedicated Moby-Dick to Hawthorne.

In the summer of 1850 Melville meets Nathaniel Hawthorne while on vacation in Pittsfield. He was already somewhat taken by his writings, having read Mosses from an Old Manse and written an anonymous review (where he also assumes the alias of a reader from Virginia) that already had such eroticisms as ‘But already I feel that this Hawthorne has dropped germinous seeds into my soul. He expands and deepens down, the more I contemplate him; and further, and further, shoots his strong New-England roots into the hot soil of my Southern soul’. He forms an immediate friendship with Hawthorne, to the point that Melville impulsively buys property in the area within a month, and packs up his family's life to live there instead of New York (with his family having little agency in the decision).

Upon acquiring this home he sends a playful letter asking Hawthorne to visit him, the italics his own:

That side-blow thro' Mrs Hawthorne will not do. I am not to be charmed out of my promised pleasure by any of that lady's syrenisms. You, Sir, I hold accountable, & the visit (in all its original integrity) must be made. -- What! spend the day, only with us? -- A Greenlander might as well talk of spending the day with a friend, when the day is only half an inch long. As I said before, my best travelling chariot on runners, will be at your door, & provision made not only for the accomodation of all your family, but also for any quantity of baggage. Fear not that you will cause the slightest trouble to us. Your bed is already made, & the wood marked for your fire. But a moment ago, I looked into the eyes of two fowls, whose tail feathers have been notched, as destined victims for the table. I keep the word "Welcome" all the time in my mouth, so as to be ready on the instant when you cross the threshold. (By the way the old Romans you know had a Salve carved in their thresholds) Another thing, Mr Hawthorne -- Do not think you are coming to any prim nonsensical house -- that is nonsensical in the ordinary way. You must be much bored with punctilios. You may do what you please -- say or say not what you please. And if you feel any inclination for that sort of thing -- you may spend the period of your visit in bed, if you like -- every hour of your visit. Mark -- There is some excellent Montado Sherry awaiting you & some most potent port. We will have mulled wine with wisdom, & buttered toast with story-telling & crack jokes & bottles from morning till night. Come -- no nonsence. If you dont -- I will send Constables after you. On Wednesday then -- weather & sleighing permitting I will be down for you about eleven o'clock A.M. By the way -- should Mrs Hawthorne for any reason conclude that she, for one, can not stay overnight with us -- then you must -- & the children, if you please. H. Melville

He also writes emotional meditative ones. When he was troubled with writing his Whale, he discussed his writing woes to Hawthorne, along with his hopes of an afterlife picnic between just the two of them to shrug it all off:

“What I feel most moved to write, that is banned, -- it will not pay. Yet, altogether, write the other way I cannot. So the product is a final hash, and all my books are botches. I'm rather sore, perhaps, in this letter, but see my hand! -- four blisters on this palm, made by hoes and hammers within the last few days. It is a rainy morning; so I am indoors, and all work suspended. I feel cheerfully disposed, and therefore I write a little bluely. Would the Gin were here! If ever, my dear Hawthorne, in the eternal times that are to come, you and I shall sit down in Paradise, in some little shady corner by ourselves; and if we shall by any means be able to smuggle a basket of champagne there (I won't believe in a Temperance Heaven), and if we shall then cross our celestial legs in the celestial grass that is forever tropical, and strike our glasses and our heads together, till both musically ring in concert, -- then, O my dear fellow-mortal, how shall we pleasantly discourse of all the things manifold which now so distress us, -- when all the earth shall be but a reminiscence, yea, its final dissolution an antiquity. Then shall songs be composed as when wars are over; humorous, comic songs, -- "Oh, when I lived in that queer little hole called the world," or, "Oh, when I toiled and sweated below," or, "Oh, when I knocked and was knocked in the fight" -- yes, let us look forward to such things. Let us swear that, though now we sweat, yet it is because of the dry heat which is indispensable to the nourishment of the vine which is to bear the grapes that are to give us the champagne hereafter.”

When Hawthorne read Moby Dick and wrote a favorable letter about it to Melville, Melville replied in a way that is…undeniably emotionally and physically intense, and I think speaks of much more than just admiration of a fellow writer’s work.

“My Dear Hawthorne, -- People think that if a man has undergone any hardship, he should have a reward; but for my part, if I have done the hardest possible day's work, and then come to sit down in a corner and eat my supper comfortably -- why, then I don't think I deserve any reward for my hard day's work -- for am I not now at peace? Is not my supper good? My peace and my supper are my reward, my dear Hawthorne. So your joy-giving and exultation-breeding letter is not my reward for my ditcher's work with that book, but is the good goddess's bonus over and above what was stipulated -- for not one man in five cycles, who is wise, will expect appreciative recognition from his fellows, or any one of them. Appreciation! Recognition! Is love appreciated? Why, ever since Adam, who has got to the meaning of this great allegory -- the world? Then we pygmies must be content to have our paper allegories but ill comprehended. I say your appreciation is my glorious gratuity. In my proud, humble way, -- a shepherd-king, -- I was lord of a little vale in the solitary Crimea; but you have now given me the crown of India. But on trying it on my head, I found it fell down on my ears, notwithstanding their asinine length -- for it's only such ears that sustain such crowns.

Your letter was handed me last night on the road going to Mr. Morewood's, and I read it there. Had I been at home, I would have sat down at once and answered it. In me divine maganimities are spontaneous and instantaneous -- catch them while you can. The world goes round, and the other side comes up. So now I can't write what I felt. But I felt pantheistic then -- your heart beat in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God's. A sense of unspeakable security is in me this moment, on account of your having understood the book. I have written a wicked book, and feel spotless as the lamb. Ineffable socialities are in me. I would sit down and dine with you and all the gods in old Rome's Pantheon. It is a strange feeling -- no hopefulness is in it, no despair. Content -- that is it; and irresponsibility; but without licentious inclination. I speak now of my profoundest sense of being, not of an incidental feeling.

Whence come you, Hawthorne? By what right do you drink from my flagon of life? And when I put it to my lips -- lo, they are yours and not mine. I feel that the Godhead is broken up like the bread at the Supper, and that we are the pieces. Hence this infinite fraternity of feeling. Now, sympathizing with the paper, my angel turns over another page. you did not care a penny for the book. But, now and then as you read, you understood the pervading thought that impelled the book -- and that you praised. Was it not so? You were archangel enough to despise the imperfect body, and embrace the soul. Once you hugged the ugly Socrates because you saw the flame in the mouth, and heard the rushing of the demon, -- the familiar, -- and recognized the sound; for you have heard it in your own solitudes.

My dear Hawthorne, the atmospheric skepticisms steal into me now, and make me doubtful of my sanity in writing you thus. But, believe me, I am not mad, most noble Festus! But truth is ever incoherent, and when the big hearts strike together, the concussion is a little stunning. Farewell. Don't write a word about the book. That would be robbing me of my miserly delight. I am heartily sorry I ever wrote anything about you -- it was paltry. Lord, when shall we be done growing? As long as we have anything more to do, we have done nothing. So,now, let us add Moby Dick to our blessing, and step from that. Leviathan is not the biggest fish; -- I have heard of Krakens.

This is a long letter, but you are not at all bound to answer it. Possibly, if you do answer it, and direct it to Herman Melville, you will missend it -- for the very fingers that now guide this pen are not precisely the same that just took it up and put it on this paper. Lord, when shall we be done changing? Ah! it's a long stage, and no inn in sight, and night coming, and the body cold. But with you for a passenger, I am content and can be happy. I shall leave the world, I feel, with more satisfaction for having come to know you. Knowing you persuades me more than the Bible of our immortality.

What a pity, that, for your plain, bluff letter, you should get such gibberish! Mention me to Mrs. Hawthorne and to the children, and so, good-by to you, with my blessing. Herman.

P.S. I can't stop yet. If the world was entirely made up of Magians, I'll tell you what I should do. I should have a paper-mill established at one end of the house, and so have an endless riband of foolscap rolling in upon my desk; and upon that endless riband I should write a thousand -- a million -- billion thoughts, all under the form of a letter to you. The divine magnet is on you, and my magnet responds. Which is the biggest? A foolish question -- they are One. H.

P.P.S. Don't think that by writing me a letter, you shall always be bored with an immediate reply to it -- and so keep both of us delving over a writing-desk eternally. No such thing! I sh'n't always answer your letters, and you may do just as you please."

At some point, for reasons unknown, Melville and Hawthorne’s communications with each other cool and drop off. Hawthorne abruptly moves away from Pittsfield by autumn of 1851, though in the years that follow their paths occasionally cross. It’s also unknown what Hawthorne’s letters said to Melville over that year, as they’ve been either lost or destroyed (which I think is a very telling story in itself).

At an unknown date, Melville wrote a poem mourning the death of a man whose identity isn’t known. While there is debate, many connect it to Hawthorne due to the motifs he uses and the nature of the relatioship expressed here, and as such some believe it may have been written after Melville visited Hawthorne’s grave in 1864. It wouldn’t be published until the last year of Melville's life however, in 1891 (which again….I think can be a telling story)

‘To have known him, to have loved him After loneness long; And then to be estranged in life, And neither in the wrong; And now for death to set his seal —Ease me, a little ease, my song!

By wintry hills his hermit-mound The sheeted snow-drifts drape, And houseless there the snow-bird flits Beneath the fir-tree’s crape: lazed now with ice the cloistral vine That hid the shyest grape.’

Anyway, anyone who tries to say that Herman Melville didn't have a strong emotional/physical attraction to men is reaching way more than those who say otherwise. It's all there.

Also if you're interested in a fictional exploration of Melville and Hawthorne's relationship (though one that is grounded in the evidence of these letters), I recommend Mark Beauregard's book, The Whale. It's fun. It's melodramatic but in a way that feels very.....Melville.

#asks #anonymous

132 notes · View notes

lemonysnidget · 6 years

Text

We need to talk about Kit

or “a rant that some of my friends could probably recite by heart but I love them for just nodding and pretending this is brand new information”

Kit’s death always seemed pointless to me. As a kid reading The End for the first time, I didn’t accept that it was at all necessary or logical for Kit to die. It made no sense, even with my middle school science education.

It wasn’t until I read the books as an adult that I realized what was actually going on, and why Kit’s death only makes me more angry the more I think about it.

Please note that this meta will discuss some things that some people might not be Gucci with, so if you’re not comfortable reading about death wishes, suicides, and potential birth defects, emergency c-sections, and sad outcomes, scroll on.

I am assuming by now that you have decided that you’re okay with discussing certain unpleasant topics in a casually academic sense. Sweet. I like sharing my thoughts on this topic.

Kit’s decision to not accept the apple hybrid and choose to die does not make any scientific sense. Whatsoever. It is a medically indefensible opinion, ethically indefensible, and just scientifically completely and utterly wrong.

"The apples will harm the baby," Kit said. "There's something in the hybrid that's bad for people who haven't been born yet. That's why your mother never tasted one of her own bitter apples. She was pregnant with you, Violet." One of Kit's gloved hands drifted down over the top of the raft and patted the hair of the eldest Baudelaire. "I hope I'm half as good a mother as yours was, Violet," she said. (13.13)

This is just so wrong. Absolutely wrong. For so many reasons.

Lets start with the very idea of the scientific method, something that most people are familiar with, and Kit certainly would be as well! Kit is a woman in STEM. She helped build the Queequeg - and the ship actually works. What’s more, she writes like a woman who is extremely familiar with science inquiry, scientific ethics, and scientific scholarship. Her letter to Gregor reads a lot like the letters exchanged between scientists and researchers:

'The poisonous fungus you insist on cultivating in the grotto will bring grim consequences for all of us. Our factory at Lousy Lane can provide some dilution of the mycelium's destructive respiratory capabilities, and you assure me that the mycelium grows best in small, enclosed spaces, but this is of little comfort. One mistake, Gregor, and your entire facility would have to be abandoned. Please, do not become the thing you dread most by adopting the destructive tactic of our most villainous enemies: playing with fire.’ (11.10)

Kit is using scientific language. She implies that she may be involved in working on an antidote. The “our” could just refer to VFD, since she generally speaks about the Volunteers and a lot of other people who were not Volunteers as her associates, generally speaking about VFD in the collective - as if the accomplishments of any Volunteer are the property of the whole group. It’s not clear. But you’ve got a scientific lady, talking about science, who therefore it is safe to assume would know what I’m about to discuss.

The absence of evidence is not proof. Just because Beatrice didn’t try out her own hybrid, that doesn’t mean that that’s proof that it causes any harm. That’s not how modern science works. Besides, why would Beatrice test out the apples? There was no Mycelium on the island. Testing out her hybrid would be completely pointless. You cannot see whether or not an antidote works without also using the poison. That’s the equivalent of taking someone who doesn’t have cancer, giving them a glass of orange juice, and then declaring that orange juice cures cancer because the test subject doesn’t have cancer after drinking the orange juice. It’s shitty science. It doesn’t prove anything. Beatrice’s reasons for not testing out her hybrid have a lot more to do with just knowing what makes good science and what doesn’t.

So, Kit’s basically just saying BS.

And in any case, there is no scientific evidence that I can find using search engines of scientific journals (thank you NCBI’s PubMed!) that have found any harmful effects of horseradish, wasabi, or apples on pregnancy. There’s some anecdotal evidence on Mommy blogs that it might make your milk taste funny if you eat horseradish, but Kit wouldn’t even be able to make milk at this point, so she doesn’t even have that excuse. (I will allow that maybe in the ASOUE-verse, there is some toxic substance that somehow exists in the hybrid, but as you will see, that doesn’t actually matter.)

Now we arrive at the subject of teratogens - aka substances that can cause birth defects in infants. The most famous example of this is the infamous Thalidomide. Thalidomide is an interesting compound - it’s kind of a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde molecule. In its Dr. Jekyll form, it’s a good sedative and helped a lot of pregnant women with their morning sickness. But, a good part of the time, Thalidomide is in its Mr. Hyde form. And Mr. Hyde likes interfering with the development of limbs. But, not everyone who took Thalidomide for morning sickness wound up with babies who were miscarried or developed birth defects - less than half did. Why? Excellent question that prompted a lot of public health work by a lot of really smart scientists and journalists. Their investigative work revealed a major tenant of teratology: Timing matters. Women who took any dose of Thalidomide 34-50 days into their pregnancy (from last menstrual period) were the ones with babies at risk for developing birth defects. Taken after that time, the babies limbs were already developed enough so that the drug had no effect on their limbs.

I describe this case study to highlight a few points. Gestation progresses in a very predictable order at very predictable times. A substance could be lethal at week 4, but harmless at week 6 because the developmental processes going on at those times are different. Pregnancies are most vulnerable to teratogens during weeks 3-8. This is when limbs are forming and major processes can be derailed. Before, during the first two weeks, there’s the “all or none” phase, where either the exposure will kill the zygote/embryo or the baby will be fine with know ill effects. There are a lot of women who drink before they realize they are pregnant and then go into their Ob’s office worried they’ll have harmed the baby. If that drinking happened during the all or none phase, the doc can usually reassure the patient that her baby will be fine since she is still pregnant. After week 8, fetuses have are pretty much just fine-tuning structures that already exist. Drugs, infections, toxins, etc. that a pregnant woman consumes will have less and less of an effect as the weeks pass.

By the time of birth, a full-term infant is as susceptible to a teratogen as a newborn is. In fact, the greatest teratogen of them all (the dreaded alcohol) was sometimes given to women in labor - whether to delay preterm labor (there are now more effective drugs to do this) or to act as sedation (again, now there are better drugs)!

Beatrice 2, as her mother is in labor, was therefore at extremely, extremely low risk of having any negative consequences because her mother took the cure. In fact, with her mother dying during labor, Beatrice was at a greater risk of death without the cure! Emergency C-sections, especially when done by inexperienced people in unsanitary environments, can harm and kill the newborn. Mothers can die not leaving enough time to save the baby, who suffocates. The baby can be positioned in such a way that delivering them is difficult and should only be attempted by a skilled surgeon. Kit, who knew that she would die within an “hour” because of the Mycelium, was putting Beatrice at much, much, much greater risk of death by refusing to take the cure.

Kit wasn’t that far into labor when she refused to take the cure (stage 1) and it took hours before Beatrice was born - Kit was lucky that she was exposed to a low dose, otherwise Beatrice would not have made it. The Baudelaires are smart, and I don’t doubt that Klaus and Violet could figure out a way to get Beatrice out, but unless Klaus did a surgical rotation between THH and TE, there was no way he would have been able make the incision safely. Take it from someone in medical school - cutting into a person is very, very hard and it’s way too easy to screw it up. The sheer trauma alone probably would have been too much for any of the Baudelaires. Their hands would be shaking, they’d be using improper tools. Not a recipe for success.

Handler might not be a scientist and he does choose to ignore science at times for the sake of plot, but he’s not completely ignorant. And more importantly Handler makes it clear through Kit’s behavior that her sudden refusal to take anything that could harm the baby isn’t all it seems to be.

Kit risks Beatrice’s life many time, and exposes her to known teratogens. In just one of the three books we see her in Kit:

Drives recklessly, and acknowledges that she probably shouldn’t be driving that way, but the “I probably shouldn’t do that” is an afterthought for Kit. She’s more focused on her mission than her pregnancy. (12.1).

Similarly, Kit waterskis at night for the sake of her mission (12.10). That is incredibly dangerous for even a non-pregnant person! And she does this twice! She could have stayed with Captain Widdershins, but instead: Kit “waterski[s] toward Captain Widdershins, and, later, waterski[s] away from him” (12.10). Two extremely dangerous trips, one of which happens during the 2-3am period. That’s taking on a lot of risk that probably could have been avoided. There are boats. There is sonar. Kit did not have to do something this dangerous. But, she does.

Kit already has exposed her baby to a known teratogen! Caffeine. It’s been known to cross the placenta since 1955 (PMID: 13260344)! In the early 1970s, you can find many articles discussing its teratogenic effects! (PMID: 4737491). There are at least 1300 articles I could find about pregnancy and caffeine on PubMed, and while it’s not universally agreed upon as to what is a safe level of caffeine or what are the exact risks, there is a general sentiment that pregnant women should avoid caffeine if they’re worried about potential risks. But, here we have Kit Snicket drinking not one, but two cups of coffee in quick succession at the breakfast picnic (”[Kit] reached to pour herself some more coffee” 12.2). Kit had the option to either not drink anything or choose tea or juice - “three glass pitchers held three different kinds of juice, and there were silver pots containing coffee and tea” - but she chooses the most caffeinated and therefore most risky option and gets seconds (12.2). Odds are, those weren’t the first two cups of coffee she had while pregnant. (And before you say “ah, but what if the Denouement brother who laid out the picnic gave her decaf coffee!”, decaf is not caffeine free!)

Kit has been taking significant risks while pregnant, including exposing her baby to something that is a known teratogen. Kit deciding to die solely because the cure could harm her baby is out of character. The benefits clearly outweighs the risk, and a woman who was willing to do far riskier things earlier is not thinking about what harm could come to her child.

Obviously, something else is going on.

Kit Snicket wanted to die.

Yep. You read it here, folks. Kit Snicket committed suicide. She knew that she would die if she didn’t take the cure. She was distraught and broken, and she completely gave up.

At first, it’s a decision that’s based on doubt and guilt. Kit confesses that she isn’t sure she will be a good mother because she believes she has failed the Baudelaires. Kit wasn’t sure that she could be forgiven for her failings - by the Baudelaires or Dewey. And guilt is a major warning sign when it comes to suicide. Feeling completely guilty and perhaps believing that her death will somehow make it easier for everyone to forgive her, Kit refuses to take the apple. She would rather face death than the consequences of her failings - and that’s something that people have killed themselves over. Non-depressed people have taken their own lives because of this feeling. It’s worth noting that with Olaf, Kit is the one who brings up forgiveness - an excellent example of projection! Kit sees her own motives in Olaf’s actions, even if Olaf doesn’t seem to care about being forgiven.

The guilt is strong with this one.

Her resolution to die only grows stronger as time goes on.

Finding out Dewey is dead destroys her. She announces that “[she] cannot go on” (13.13). Kit gives up absolutely. She feels guilty, feels like she’s let everyone down, and she has lost everything. The only future she has in front of her is one where she’s stuck on an island with three kids and an infant and Count Olaf (she doesn’t know he’s dying at that point). She doesn’t feel like she has anyone to go back to. She doesn’t want to live in that future. And she then exhibits even more suicidal red flags.

Kit gives away her possessions. She tells the Baudelaires to give the ring that was hers properly to her child. She decides that she’s going to leave the raising of her infant to two teenagers and a toddler (to be fair, I’d pick the Baudelaires over Olaf as a guardian for my kid), and that “[she] could not ask for better” since the orphans “will raise this child as [their] own” (13.13).

Kit allows herself to die. Period.

Kit decides that she’d rather die than face the future. Her daughter is not enough reason for her to go on. Kit committed suicide, leaving children responsible for the welfare of another child.

That is such a shitty thing to do.

Depression and losing hope is completely understandable, but Kit’s decision is 100% a selfish one, and it’s reflective of a larger trend in her behavior. Kit does what is best for herself and her cause. It doesn’t matter to her whether or not innocent people suffer as a result of her actions. That’s what VFD raised her to do.

#kit snicket #ASoUE #tw: suicide #tw: depression #tw: birth defects #tw: medical stuff #tw: death wishes #tw: babies potentially dying #tw: forcing children into terrible situations and not even being honest about it

180 notes · View notes