doctorwillseeyou

[doctorwillseeyou]

Louis smiled shyly but nodded. “Banana please” he told Lestat. “I really like the chicken salads too sometimes I get he ones with sauces even though I shouldn’t they taste better.”

Hannibal ordered his salad and smiled when they handed he fresh bowl over to him, he loved when he and Jill got different salads to try.

Armand grinned as they entered the office. He tried to still smile as he saw the salads on the table. It was a regular portion but for him it was a lot of food. He sat across from Daniel’s chair and waited for Daniel to sit before he opened his salad. “So you’ll take a moment from your paperwork to watch?”

@the-witch-and-her-husbands

Louis de Pointe Dulac had made the corps de ballet. He stepped into the classroom and quietly sat in the back setting his bag down as he got ready to stretch. He stared around at the other dancers, he saw the other beginner dancers like him as well as the Principal dancers, the best of the company. The teacher walked in and started instructing the warm up exercises.

[doctorwillseeyou]

I feel like some people need to relearn Genre Expectations... "Man, this tragedy sucks!!! Why didn't they just do XYZ, then everything could have ended happily!!" well, then it wouldn't be a tragedy, would it. "Man, this lighthearted teen romcom is terrible, it's so sappy and unrealistic!!" Well, yeah. If it had been gritty and dark, it wouldn't have been a lighthearted romcom, would it. Is the writing actually bad or are you just trying to order a milkshake from a Home Depot

[doctorwillseeyou]

Only fur

[doctorwillseeyou]

My dog only has one speed (Director’s Cut)

(Source)

[doctorwillseeyou]

Louis felt relaxed with Lestat holding him close, every omega wanted their Alpha to hold them and protect them. “When we have children I know you’ll look after them you’ll keep our family safe.”

Hannibal grinned at that kissing her cheek. “Yes I think we will both enjoy that darling we can enjoy each other and won’t have to worry about a pregnancy. We will be very busy looking after Louis.”

The Farm

Hannibal Lecter was the chief doctor and surgeon on an omega farm. His duties included keeping the Omega healthy and delivering the children that were always being born.

He had a highly efficient team that worked to do their best to look after the omega on the farm. He knew the owner cared very little besides what money they could make off the omega, so Hannibal did what he could.

He was in his office reviewing the tasks that needed doing that day. He was always repairing the damage that alphas inflicted on the omega, patching them up to send them back for sex.

He looked up as his office door opened.

[doctorwillseeyou]

Will nodded taking a deep breath. “It’s nice in here” he said quietly, “everyone seems happy in here.” He said kissing Mollys cheek.

Hannibal led her inside looking around. The cafe was more relaxed and had more comfortable spots for the omega to lie on. “This looks lovely.”

The Pack

@the-witch-and-her-husbands

Hannibal carefully finished the final touches to his suit smiling. He had met and imprinted on the daughter of another alphas pack, she was beautiful and perfect for him, he would do anything for Jill. Tradition dictated a ceremony where they would mark each other, Hannibal wanted a proper wedding for Jill. He had gone all out to welcome Jill into his life as his mate and mother of their future children.

[doctorwillseeyou]

Hannibal rubbed her back. “Do you want to go home? We can curl up in bed and hold each other all night?” He offered quietly.

Armand looked up as he finished the bar. “Thank you Daddy, can we have blood when we go home?”

The Devil’s Minion

‘Just one thing.’ Daniel threw Hannibal a pleading look as he went round to open the car door for Armand. ‘Please don’t tell Jil’s fathers that I brought you here, I like my head attached to my body, thank you very much.’ He smiled into the backseat. ‘We’re here! Ready, kiddos? The dungeon awaits!’

‘You bet!’ Jil returned his smile with an eager grin, reaching for Hannibal to help her up out of the back seat. ‘I’ve been dying to come here since you first told us about it! It’s…something I very much want to learn,’ she added in a quieter voice, giving Hannibal a shy but sly look through her eyelashes.

@doctorwillseeyou

[doctorwillseeyou]

NO YOU CANT DO THAT

[doctorwillseeyou]

Louis laughed softly as he kept scratching his hair, “I’m hoping it won’t take long for them o get control. They’re the easiest fledglings you’ve made, I was such a headache for you.”

Hannibal kissed her back softly smiling. He clutched Jill close nipping playfully. “How does it feel to be a vampire?”

The Menu

Hannibal Lecter was one of the top and most exclusive of chefs. His restaurant always had a long wait list and a price almost just as long. He demanded perfection from his staff both the chefs and the waiters.

His wait staff were run by Jill his efficient hostess who kept everything running so he could focus on the kitchen.

Hannibal was prepping his kitchen, he could look out into the dining room that had been styled to his taste. Jill was the only one he trusted to keep it running.

[doctorwillseeyou]

Hannibal snapped out of reverie. “Forgive me my darling a foolish man caught in his reverie.” He started to dry her off, he felt bad for upsetting her.

Armand stood and dried Daniel’s chest and hands then stood behind him to wash his back and legs.

My Bloody Valentine

Hannibal waited with Jill for the rest of their companions to join them. It was Valentines Day and he, Louis, and Daniel had arranged a true surprise for their lovers. They had a limousine waiting to drive them to the train station for a luxury trip up to a beautiful chalet.

Lestat and Louis joined them, they were wrapped around each other and smiled broadly when they saw Jill and Hannibal. “Happy Valentines Day! Jill, have you had a wonderful day?” Lestat asked as he swooped in to hug her and kiss her cheek.

@the-witch-and-her-husbands

[doctorwillseeyou]

Hannibal had one drawing finished he showed it to Jill. “What do you think?” He asked, he’d enclosed enough room for them to sit out there and put large platforms that went all the way up.

Louis stroked his back gently he was happy Lestat was resting.

In Throes of Increasing Wonder

‘Are you ready for our big night out?’ Jil winked and nudged her companion Lestat, a fellow omega and her ‘partner in crime.’

‘Of course, mon amie.’ He was grinning as he looked her up and down, comparing outfits. Tonight, their Alphas were taking them to an Alpha restaurant where they would be expected to be shown off and even perform sex acts for their Alphas in front of everyone. Louis, Lestat’s Alpha, owned it.

Lestat was wearing very little - a gold lame posing pouch that left very little to the imagination. His hair had been brushed and styled until it shone, sticking out around his head in a fluffy halo. For the occasion, his Alpha had allowed him to wear some black eyeliner.

Jilomena was wearing even less. Her ‘outfit’ comprised of thin gold chains wrapped around her body that covered nothing but rather enhanced her form. Her hair was curled and she was made up to the hilt.

Both omega were beautiful, like male and female angels. They could have passed for brother and sister.

They were excited to go in. Lestat offered Louis the end of his leash. Not to be outdone, Jil dropped to her knees in front of her Alpha, Hannibal, offering it up to him on outstretched palms.

Round one to me. She winked at Lestat.

@doctorwillseeyou

[doctorwillseeyou]

“If a society puts half its children into short skirts and warns them not to move in ways that reveal their panties, while putting the other half into jeans and overalls and encouraging them to climb trees, play ball, and participate in other vigorous outdoor games; if later, during adolescence, the children who have been wearing trousers are urged to “eat like growing boys,” while the children in skirts are warned to watch their weight and not get fat; if the half in jeans runs around in sneakers or boots, while the half in skirts totters about on spike heels, then these two groups of people will be biologically as well as socially different. Their muscles will be different, as will their reflexes, posture, arms, legs and feet, hand-eye coordination, and so on. Similarly, people who spend eight hours a day in an office working at a typewriter or a visual display terminal will be biologically different from those who work on construction jobs. There is no way to sort the biological and social components that produce these differences. We cannot sort nature from nurture when we confront group differences in societies in which people from different races, classes, and sexes do not have equal access to resources and power, and therefore live in different environments. Sex-typed generalizations, such as that men are heavier, taller, or stronger than women, obscure the diversity among women and among men and the extensive overlaps between them… Most women and men fall within the same range of heights, weights, and strengths, three variables that depend a great deal on how we have grown up and live. We all know that first-generation Americans, on average, are taller than their immigrant parents and that men who do physical labor, on average, are stronger than male college professors. But we forget to look for the obvious reasons for differences when confronted with assertions like ‘Men are stronger than women.’ We should be asking: ‘Which men?’ and ‘What do they do?’ There may be biologically based average differences between women and men, but these are interwoven with a host of social differences from which we cannot disentangle them.”

— Ruth Hubbard, “The Political Nature of ‘Human Nature’“ (via gothhabiba)

Yes.

[doctorwillseeyou]

By: Michael Powell

Published: Apr 22, 2024

Yesterday just before midnight, word goes out, tent to tent, student protester to student protester—a viral warning: Intruders have entered the “liberated zone,” that swath of manicured grass where hundreds of students and their supporters at what they fancy as the People’s University for Palestine sit around tents and conduct workshops about demilitarizing education and fighting settler colonialism and genocide. In this liberated zone, normally known as South Lawn West on the Columbia University quad, unsympathetic outsiders are treated as a danger.

“Attention, everyone! We have Zionists who have entered the camp!” a protest leader calls out. His head is wrapped in a white-and-black keffiyeh. “We are going to create a human chain where I’m standing so that they do not pass this point and infringe on our privacy.”

Privacy struck me as a peculiar goal for an outdoor protest at a prominent university. But it’s been a strange seven-month journey from Hamas’s horrific slaughter of Israelis—the original breach of a cease-fire—to the liberated zone on the Columbia campus and similar standing protests at other elite universities. What I witnessed seemed less likely to persuade than to give collective voice to righteous anger. A genuine sympathy for the suffering of Gazans mixed with a fervor and a politics that could border on the oppressive.

Dozens stand and echo the leader’s commands in unison, word for word. “So that we can push them out of the camp, one step forward! Another step forward!” The protesters lock arms and step toward the interlopers, who as it happens are three fellow Columbia students, who are Jewish and pro-Israel.

Jessica Schwalb, a Columbia junior, is one of those labeled an intruder. In truth, she does not much fear violence—“They’re Columbia students, too nerdy and too worried about their futures to hurt us,” she tells me—as she is taken aback by the sight of fellow students chanting like automatons. She raises her phone to start recording video. One of the intruders speaks up to ask why they are being pushed out.

The leader talks over them, dismissing such inquiries as tiresome. “Repeat after me,” he says, and 100 protesters dutifully repeat: “I’m bored! We would like you to leave!”

As the crowd draws closer, Schwalb and her friends pivot and leave. Even the next morning, she’s baffled at how they were targeted. Save for a friend who wore a Star of David necklace, none wore identifying clothing. “Maybe,” she says, “they smelled the Zionists on us.”

As the war has raged on and the death toll has grown, protest rallies on American campuses have morphed into a campaign of ever grander and more elaborate ambitions: From “Cease-fire now” to the categorical claim that Israel is guilty of genocide and war crimes to demands that Columbia divest from Israeli companies and any American company selling arms to the Jewish state.

Many protesters argue that, from the river to the sea, the settler-colonialist state must simply disappear. To inquire, as I did at Columbia, what would happen to Israelis living under a theocratic fascist movement such as Hamas is to ask the wrong question. A young female protester, who asked not to be identified for fear of retribution, responded: “Maybe Israelis need to check their privilege.”

Of late, at least one rabbi has suggested that Jewish students depart the campus for their own safety. Columbia President Minouche Shafik acknowledged in a statement earlier today that at her university there “have been too many examples of intimidating and harassing behavior.” To avoid trouble, she advised classes to go virtual today, and said, “Our preference is that students who do not live on campus will not come to campus.”

Tensions have in fact kept ratcheting up. Last week, Shafik called in the New York City police force to clear an earlier iteration of the tent city and to arrest students for trespassing. The university suspended more than 100 of these protesters, accusing them, according to the Columbia Spectator, of “disruptive behavior, violation of law, violation of University policy, failure to comply, vandalism or damage to property, and unauthorized access or egress.” Even some Jewish students and faculty unsympathetic to the protesters say the president’s move was an accelerant to the crisis, producing misdemeanor martyrs to the pro-Palestinian cause. A large group of faculty members walked out this afternoon to express their opposition to the arrests and suspensions.

As for the encampment itself, it has an intifada-meets-Woodstock quality at times. Dance clubs offer interpretive performances; there are drummers and other musicians, and obscure poets reading obscure poems. Some tents break out by identity groups: “Lesbians Against Genocide,” “Hindus for Intifada.” Banners demand the release of all Palestinian prisoners. Small Palestinian flags, embroidered with the names of Palestinian leaders killed in Gaza, are planted in the grass.

During my nine-hour visit, talking with student protesters proved tricky. Upon entering the zone, I was instructed to listen as a gatekeeper read community guidelines that included not talking with people not authorized to be inside—a category that seemed to include anyone of differing opinions. I then stood in a press zone and waited for Layla Saliba, a social-work graduate student who served as a spokesperson for the protest. A Palestinian American, she said she has lost family in the fighting in Gaza. She talked at length and with nuance. Hers, however, was a near-singular voice. As I toured the liberated zone, I found most protesters distinctly nonliberated when it came to talking with a reporter.

Leaders take pains to insist that, for all the chants of “From the river to sea” and promises to revisit the 1948 founding of Israel, they are only anti-Zionist and not anti-Jewish. To that end, they’ve held a Shabbat dinner and, during my visit, were planning a Passover seder. (The students vow to remain, police notwithstanding, until graduation in May).

“We are not anti-Jewish, not at all,” Saliba said.

But to talk with many Jewish students who have encountered the protests is to hear of the cumulative toll taken by words and chants and actions that call to mind something ancient and ugly.

Earlier in the day, I interviewed a Jewish student on a set of steps overlooking the tent city. Rachel, who asked that I not include a surname for fear of harassment, recalled that in the days after October 7 an email went out from a lesbian organization, LionLez, stating that Zionists were not allowed at a group event. A subsequent email from the club’s president noted: “White Jewish people are today and always have been the oppressors of all brown people,” and “when I say the Holocaust wasn’t special, I mean that.” The only outward manifestation of Rachel’s sympathies was a pocket-size Israeli flag in a dorm room. Another student, Sophie Arnstein, told me that after she said in class that “Jewish lives matter,” others complained that her Zionist beliefs were hostile. She ended up dropping the course.

This said, the students I interviewed told me that physical violence has been rare on campus. There have been reports of shoves, but not much more. The atmosphere on the streets around the campus, on Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue, is more forbidding. There the protesters are not students but sectarians of various sorts, and the cacophonous chants are calls for revolution and promises to burn Tel Aviv to the ground. Late Sunday night, I saw two cars circling on Amsterdam as the men inside rolled down their windows and shouted “Yahud, Yahud”—Arabic for “Jew, Jew”—“fuck you!”

A few minutes earlier, I had been sitting on a stone bench on campus and speaking with a tall, brawny man named Danny Shaw, who holds a master’s in international affairs from Columbia and now teaches seminars on Israel in the liberated zone. When he describes the encampment, it sounds like Shangri-la. “It’s 100 percent love for human beings and very beautiful; I came here for my mental health,” he said.

He claims no hatred for Israel, although he suggested that the “genocidal goliath” will of course have to disappear or merge into an Arab-majority state. He said he does not endorse violence, even as he likened the October 7 attacks to the Warsaw Ghetto uprising during World War II.

Shaw’s worldview is consistent with that of others in the rotating cast of speakers at late-night seminars in the liberated zone. The prevailing tone tends toward late-stage Frantz Fanon: much talk of revolution and purging oneself of bourgeois affectation. Shaw had taught for 18 years at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice, but he told me the liberated zone is now his only gig. The John Jay administration pushed him out—doxxed him, he said—in October for speaking against Israel and for Palestine. He was labeled an anti-Semite and remains deeply pained by that. He advised me to look up what he said and judge for myself. So I did, right on the spot.

Shortly after October 7, he posted this on X: “Zionists are straight Babylon swine. Zionism is beyond a mental illness; it’s a genocidal disease.”

A bit harsh, maybe? I asked him. He shook his head. “The rhetoric they use against us makes us look harsh and negative,” Shaw said. “That’s not the flavor of what we are doing.”

We parted shortly afterward. I walked under a near-full moon toward a far gate, protesters’ chants of revolution echoing across what was otherwise an almost-deserted campus. I could not shake the sense that too many at this elite university, even as they hoped to ease the plight of imperiled civilians, had allowed the intoxicating language of liberation to blind them to an ugliness encoded within that struggle.

[ Via: https://archive.today/ziQes ]

==

At the core of what they call "anti-Zionism" is the belief that "Jews control the world." Left-wing conspiracy nuts and right-wing conspiracy nuts are now collaborating, it seems.

Zionism | ˈzīəˌnizəm | noun a movement for (originally) the re-establishment and (now) the development and protection of a Jewish nation in what is now Israel. It was established as a political organization in 1897 under Theodor Herzl, and was later led by Chaim Weizmann.

Somehow this justifies slaughtering over a thousand, raping dozens, and kidnapping hundreds. And for brain cell-starved students to defend and support terrorists who would happily slit their throats.

It's hard to take the "we're anti-Zionism, not anti-Jew" thing when they intimidate and attack Jews without bothering to ask them what they think. In reality, it's just cover for their antisemitism. When they don't make the distinction, we should stop pretending it's a distinction at all.

[doctorwillseeyou]

Hannibal smiled at her gently, stroking her face softly now that both were spent and cuddly. The sounds of Lestat and Louis coupling filled the room. “Our family is safe my darling.”

Louis smiled at him and then moaned loudly. “It feels really good Les!” He clutched at him tightly, harder pace was wonderful.

Love At First Bite, Part Two

New Orleans. 1910. 

Jil laughed aloud as she sipped coffee with her breakfast companion. Her husband of some several centuries.

They were waiting for the other member of their trio to emerge, but Lestat was late this morning. ‘He’s taking his sweet time,’ Jil snickered. ‘What’s the betting we see him much before sunrise?’ This time she was speaking to Hannibal in English, practicing as they’d newly arrived in America. 

Just then, there was a noise outside the parlour. She gave Hannibal a wide eyed look of amusement that said finally.

Neither of them expected the wide eyed slightly dishevelled and sheepish looking young man that stood in the doorway.

Her look turned to one of shock. ‘Hvem er han?’ Who is he? The shock had caused her to revert to her native Danish. She looked over at Hannibal, curious now.  

@doctorwillseeyou

[doctorwillseeyou]

“Yes but a quick sponge bath on a ship is never this luxurious” he said grinning at Jill kissing her softly. “Maybe we should do this after our long voyages?”

Louis laughed as the herd of pigs squealed loudly trampling the man, he huffed and slowly climbed out glaring at Lestat. “Why’d you get me up!”

A Pirate’s Life For Me

A dark and moonless night. Low fog over the waters.

The captain of the Aquae Regina stood staring moodily out over the starboard railing of the ship. The captain was a slight but imposing figure. Long blond braids blowed softly in the breeze, covered with a scarlet headband under an impressive tricorn hat. Kohl-rimmed eyes scanned the horizon. Eyes the same colour as the endless sea.

A sash the same colour of as the headband was worn over a black brocade greatcoat, which was itself worn over a white silk shirt. Fine black velvet britches were tucked into knee-high black leather boots. A long slightly curved great-sword completed the look, tucked into a wide leather belt.

It was only when one was at the point of that sword that one would realise the imposing captain was, in fact, a young woman. And not just any young woman, but the only daughter...nay, the only child of the great Pirate King.

It was far too quiet. Captain Jilomena Festerwind tossed back her hair as she folded her arms over her chest. She kept watch over the dark waters, lit only by a waning crescent moon.

Soon she was joined by her first mate, one Louis de Pointe du Lac. He was a young male, rescued from the wreckage of a burning slave ship. He’d been the only survivor, half drowned and clinging to a bit of what had been the main mast. From that day he’d become one of Captain Jil’s most loyal crewmen.

They were now about a day’s sail from Tortuga. ‘Keep a sharp eye,’ she remarked to him quietly. The waters in this quadrant were known to be rife for trouble.

@doctorwillseeyou

[doctorwillseeyou]

Bitterness is a paralytic love is a much more vicious motivator.

Sherlock Holmes.

[doctorwillseeyou]