#yes she could at least tell Moxxie hes her husband and she should know they both trust each other i get it ❤��

[insomniacfoxu]

seems more like to me that y'all WANT Millie to have cheated on Moxxie

[trashogram]

Ugh the Exes and Ohs episode....>< I will forever be pissed about that and the portrayal of Crimson and Moxxie. I can let the whole Mafia background with Moxxie slide....just a touch, but it honestly could have been and should have been done better.

Crimson....UGH...I do not buy him as a Mafia Boss, not after that episode and how STUPID he was portrayed....don't even get me started on the later episode....

And Moxxie's mother she was done WORSE than him! She didn't even really get a face reveal or any actual lines!

I see Moxxie as this sort of...middle ground between both Blitz and Millie. In the sense that, Blitz has a sad past/upbringing whereas Millie has a relatively(from what we see anyway) good past/upbringing with regards to both of their families.

So now this leaves Moxxie right? Within what we saw of S1, he was the well adjusted of the 3 imps, there was this balance between them. So his backstory could have reflected that and honestly the Mafia life can actually work in this regard. That life as far as I've researched, is complicated, it isn't a complete this way or that way.

Crimson= He's the rough, tough and ruthless cutthroat mobster of an imp who knows what it takes to survive in Hell....but with regards to raising his son? His love isn't....part of that. He doesn't know how to separate what he should do as a parent vs what his job entitles him to be. That isn't to say he doesn't care for Moxxie, after all he's clearly taught him to be self sufficient with weaponry, how to defend himself and so forth...because it's clear he was trying to raise him with the Mafia life.

Moxxie's Mother= ....Still waiting on an official name. Now opposite end, she's the caring and sweet imp from Wrath, who fell for the sweet charm of her husband. She's the main love anchor for Moxxie, raising him to be more courtesy and not jump the gun so to speak, or not be as ruthless as his father wants him to be as. So she gets him into musicals and music, things like that, how to cook and so forth.

So Moxxie's parents are on two extreme ends and the result as Moxxie grows....is well...him being a balanced/well adjusted imp compared to both Blitz and Millie. He's not a violent hardcore beat down like Millie goes, but he's not a flagrant asshole like Blitz is.

Both of Moxxie's parents should have been alive, I will forever hate what they did with Moxxie's mother....because what we're shown of Moxxie, with him cooking, singing, liking musical theater and so forth.

....Yeah I'm not buying that Crimson was the one to introduce those things to him. No...sorry, that's not happening. It was Moxxie's mother that introduced those things to him, but we're never shown this...at all and it's hard to believe with how young Moxxie was, that Crimson wouldn't have been able to raise him to be like him.

You're gonna tell me within 2 decades(or near it given Crimson inducts his son into the Mafia and I'd assume Moxxie would be at least in his 20s at that point), that Moxxie DIDN'T turn out like his Father? No I'm not going to buy that he wouldn't have.

So yes, Moxxie's parents....both of them should be alive and it honestly should again contrast with Millie's parents and Blitz' parents. In that while Millie's parents seem to have a positive/good relationship(at least from what we garner) and Blitz parents seemed to have a horrible one(at least from how Cash treats his young son, so I can't imagine that they have a positive one).

So Moxxie's parents....their relationship isn't like a positive one, but it's not like a complete trashfire either. They love eachother, but it's not perfect(in comparison to say Mox and Millie, which shows that he's the balance of the two, able to maintain a good relationship compared to two extreme/opposite ends) because they fight about particular things.

I think this picture from LittleMissChi(HB Animation Lead) sums up their relationship...at least for me.

It's clear here, that they care for one another, but at the same time...this is just another repeat performance with Moxxie's Mom, having to patch up her husband and him just...brushing it off as if not big deal. So you could potentially see that while there is a relationship, it's not fullproof, it's complicated...it's grey.

Compared to again...Millie's parents and Blitz' parents.

Again this shows that Moxxie is the middle ground imp of I.M.P compared to the others.

.....Anyway I'm going to stop here, because I've realized I've done this long rambling, so apologies about that.

Here's TL;DR: Moxxie's parents were wasted(especially his mother) and so was his backstory.

You bring up a very good point — Crimson murders his wife when Moxxie is little, so how does he turn out the way he does? Do Viv and her crew think love for theatre, cooking and general prissiness are passed down through genetics and that’s enough to negate Moxxie’s mom’s influence or are they implying that Moxxie’s flamboyant interests and behavior are inherent to men who like other men? With Viv’s beliefs, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter >_>

[walkingshcdow-a]

Title: A Walk in the Garden Summary: Stolas and his Father walk in a garden paradise once more. AU Notes: This is for an AU I’m writing with @mytisanes. In it, Stolas, Blitzo, their children, and Moxxie and Millie are posing as humans in a sort of “Witness Protection Program”. Stolas and Blitzo are “married” and I love everything about this AU. Please note, according to Stolas’ page on the HB wiki, he’s a fallen angel.

They walk together through the garden, father and son. It’s been a while since you could see the resemblance but today it’s clear the father must have had the same dark hair in his youth, the same blue eyes. After all, his children are all in his image.

Stolas folds his hands behind his back to resist the urge to touch. It’s been so long and he wants to know that this is real, that he isn’t baked out of his mind with Loona, celebrating the end of exams for them both. The ground beneath him is soft; the grass springy under bare feet. Maybe this is real. It’s quieter than usual, mid-morning. He looks around for Blitzo or Octavia or Loona; even for Millie and Moxxie next door. He and his father could be alone in the neighborhood, in all the world, for all he can tell. Stolas walks with his father at a leisurely pace and every so often they stop and he tells him a little about the story of how the vegetable garden was started for a project for Octavia’s school or how Loona kept him company with merciless teasing as her snipped roses for Blitzo or how, when he’d come down with the flu, Blitzo and Moxxie and Millie all pitched in to keep the garden flourishing without his constant attentions. He strokes his Demonic Flytrap, which he smuggled seeds from Hell to Earth because he’d developed this subspecies himself. His father says nothing and smiles, hard to read. Stolas gets that from him. It’s a trick he learned in his youth, how to smile without revealing what kind of smile it is. It terrifies him to see his father make such a face. He gestures to the deck, the one that Blitzo insisted on building and only let him help to build because Millie had been too pregnant to help and the girls had homework and he would have rather put up with Stolas’ chipper questions than Moxxie’s because at least Stolas’ came with compliments and other things you didn’t tell your father, even if he was omniscient...

“It was a spectacular weekend,” he tells his father. “Just the two of us, making a home of this  place. The girls are begging us for a pool next. We might say yes, but we haven’t given in just yet. It’s hard to deny them anything.”

“It’s always hard to say “no”,” his father says. “You’ve set good boundaries with the girls. I wish I’d set better ones with you and your siblings.”

Stolas blinks and then his eyes narrow. He didn’t expect such candor, so quickly and he doesn’t trust it. Stella used to set traps like this for him, before the fighting lost any veneer of civility. He used to fall for it nearly every time, trusting in her love for him, like a fool. Why trust his father’s love now?

“You set very firm boundaries, Father,” he says. “I can’t imagine what a ‘better’ boundary would have looked like.”

“Clearer,” his father amends. “I wish you all had understood that I didn’t stop loving you just because I told you “no”.”

“I think I understand that now,” Stolas says. He flexes his wings, which he has not worn in thousands of years. They ache with atrophy, trembling a little as he stretches. Will they carry him if he tries to fly? For how long? Will Via have hers, too? Would she have had them anyway, even if they hadn’t ended up here? He imagines her flying and imagines all his panicked rules for safety if and when that happened, smiling sheepishly. “Being a parent grants you a certain perspective.”

“Some of your brothers are parents now, too,” his father says. “It doesn’t guarantee understanding.”

“Yes, well, Luci’s always been a bit stubborn. There’s a reason he reigns over the ring of pride.”

“You didn’t claim a ring for yourself.”

Stolas shrugs. It had been a wise choice on his part - to have some of the power and some of the glory without all of the responsibility and all of the corruption. He wishes he could say it was foresight. He remembers Stella’s ire when he chose the grimoire over a ring of Hell as his spoils of war. You could have been so much more, you pathetic piece of-

“I preferred my freedom,” he says. “I wanted to study....Science, magic, all of creation. Even during the war, I didn’t want to fight. I wanted… this.”

He looks around his garden and sees a set of four bicycles leaned against the siding, shoes scattered by the glass sliding door, the giant plastic recycling bin Blitzo sometimes leaned him over when they wanted to show off for the neighbors. How does he tell his father that this life he’s made is better than anything even the Lord of all creation could have given him?

“You couldn’t have had it in Heaven.”

It’s a statement of fact, but Stolas dares to peer into his father’s face. There’s an ounce of regret in his eyes, making them shine with unshed tears. He will not get an apology. He’s too old and too content to want one, but he tries to cast his memory back to streets of light. What place did a muddy garden have there? And what place did something so alive and lovely have in Imp City?

“I couldn’t have had it in Hell, either,” Stolas says, shrugging. “I suppose I’ve always envied humans. Their lives are brief, but they’re theirs. They live to their accord and they love, my word, do they love as deeply and freely as they choose.”

“You weren’t always unhappy with the choice made for you.”

“No, but matches made in Heaven don’t fare so well in Hell.” A pause. “Why is it that a match made in Hell works as well as mine and Blitzy’s does?”

His father stops walking and sighs slowly, steadily. He looks at Stolas, who only cocks his head.

“Love works in mysterious ways,” his father says.

“So do you.”

“My son, I am more knowable than the power of love. You’ve seen the cosmos: is love common? Does it fit neatly into the sciences you so love?”

Stolas is quiet.

“You won’t take me from him now that....” He lifts his wings feebly. “Or Octavia or Loona or... “

His father puts a hand to his shoulder and it calms Stolas quickly. It quiets him, at least, and that’s something that Blitzo would tell anyone who asked (or didn’t ask) was a challenge not for the faint of heart.

“I will grant you eternity with them.”

“Here?”

“If you wish it.”

Stolas ponders. He thinks of his palace with its hundreds of rooms and how much closer this little house has brought them. He imagines Loona bossing servants around, Octavia searching familiar walls to find unfamiliar portraits, Blitzo picking fights at royal balls or dodging unwanted glances, burning his first marriage bed even though it’s also the first place he made love to Blitzo, too, and trying to convince all of Hell that they were really a happy, blended family, even if his ex-wife tried to kill him for it. He isn’t a half-bad speechmaker. Maybe he can say something to keep the peace, but the other Goetia will not love his family as he does. There would be whispers at best; more assassins at worst. Blitzo deserves to relax enough to take only jobs he wants, not ones he has to take. And the girls… they deserve the world, even if the world is a muddy garden and a little house in the suburbs.

“We cannot return to Hell.”

“No.”

“And your angels won’t welcome Blitzo and Loona into Heaven.”

Stolas’ father winces.

“Nor you. Their union has spoken to me about fears that reformed princes might reclaim their thrones.”

“And if I wanted my throne? And used that power to demand all Heaven accept my husband and daughters?”

“Could you have done such a thing in Hell?”

Again, Stolas is silent, a resounding no.

“Things are going to change,” his father said. “In time. Lucifer’s daughter has a project in Hell that will do great things for people of all realms.”

“That half-way house?” Stolas makes a skeptical sound. His father shoots him a look.

“I am as proud of Charlie as I am of Octavia,” he says sternly enough to kill Stolas’ laughter. “Your niece will do great things and you and your family is a shining example of what is possible for angels and demons, what might come next.”

“I have so many questions-”

And that is when the beach ball hits Stolas squarely in the nose. He opens his eyes to find himself lying in one of the deck chairs above the garden, book open across his chest.

His father is gone.

“Nice shot!” Loona says, bumping Octavia’s shoulder.

“Dad,” Octavia says Stolas groggily sits up. That hadn’t felt like a dream and yet… “Blitzo says the pool company is coming to measure the yard in fifteen minutes.”

“I thought Blitzo and I told you no to the pool…”

The girls exchange  glances that say one thing very clearly: ‘Oh, shit’ before dashing around the side of the house. Stolas doesn’t know which of them had called the pool company or how much they had promised to pay, but as he shuffles to his feet, he tries to grab onto the dream as something real once more, wiggling his shoulders in search of the weight of wings. He could have sworn he feels something when he hears Blitzo yell from the front of the house: “Who the fuck called the pool company?!?”

He smiles before going inside. Maybe this is what paradise is, massaging your husband’s shoulders as he curses out the pool company you didn’t contract while saying, “Oh, Blitzy, we did say maybe…. We should have set clearer boundaries with them… but since they took the liberty.... It will do wonders for the resale value of this place and I do so enjoy the sight of you in a bathing suit...”

Yes, maybe this is paradise - the paradise they deserve at any rate, and, my, what a wonderful thing to deserve…!

[sending-the-message]

Case #2- Youtube's Most Mysterious Vlogger Part 2 by JacobMielke

(Note: this is an update to my second case. To read Part 1, click here )

For the first two days, Moxxy didn’t answer my texts. Unusual for her, because she is very much a phone in hand kind of gal, but I let it go. Everyone needs space sometimes, right? On the third day she didn’t show for our coffee date and I tried calling her phone. A recorded message told me the number was disconnected. Then I began to worry. On day seven, after spending every minute I could at her favorite hangouts in hopes of seeing her, I decided something was definitely wrong.

I went to the police station to file a missing person's report and ended up making a fool of myself. We’d only known each other for about a month and a half and I’d yet to learn her address or any of her family’s names or even her last name. All I had was a defunct phone number, first name (Molly, which she hated, hence why she went by Moxxy) and description. I hoped that would be enough as Moxxy’s red hair and distinctive tattoos (of things like pokemon and Linda Blair’s face) stood out in a crowd, but apparently not. Without more information, there was nothing the police could do, though the sergeant promised to keep an eye out for her.

It didn’t matter anyway because I realized that night this was something the police couldn’t solve. They dealt in the material and their monsters were flesh and blood villains who followed the strict rules of the physical world. My monsters were more unpredictable.

I’ve never been the type to pay attention to dates unless I need to, and when I got home that day, I looked at a calendar for the first time in about a week. Then it clicked. The day Moxxy stopped texting me was July 11th, 2015. The anniversary of Scott Eric Cranston’s murder. And we’d wrapped up the case of Opperyke, the ghostly Youtuber, the week before. Or so I thought.

It was a hell of a coincidence, and I was rapidly losing my belief in coincidences.

I did fret at first that maybe I was wasting time chasing a supernatural explanation but what else could I do? Though I called myself an investigator, I wasn’t trained in any way. If the cops couldn’t find her, how could I? But I was the only one who could put the supernatural clues together, and I had to do something, even if Moxxy’s disappearance turned out to be a horror more suited to the world of police and sex traffickers and psychotic murderers.

The first step was to comb through the data we’d collected and see if there was anything relevant. It was a long shot, but thoroughness is a virtue. I made a to-do list on a sheet of paper (yes, I know that’s ridiculous given the context. I have mild ADD and a physical list helps keep me focused) and at the top I wrote the name of Opperyke’s hometown. Maybe I could find his address or family.

Next I opened the copy of Opperyke’s last video to see if he’d mentioned anything that could lead me. I’m not ashamed to admit revisiting the video filled me with dread. The last time I watched it, I had disturbing nightmares that turned out to have real world implications.

And that was before I knew I was watching and listening to a dead man speak.

I played the video but something was wrong. The image distorted, breaking Opperyke’s face into dozens of different colored lines on the screen. The audio was completely shot as well, just sounds and tones. I was about to click away when I heard a more discernible voice. It was quiet, but it clearly wasn’t Opperyke’s. I rewound that part again and again at maximum volume, trying to make it out.

“...how did...where...you and...I...help me...me, please!...Jacob!”

It was a woman’s voice. With the distortion, I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure it was Moxxy… but come on. It was Moxxy. I think anyone would have known the same in my shoes.

I didn’t know how, but there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in my mind that Opperyke was responsible for Moxxy’s disappearance. What baffled me was the sheer scale of the act. As a rule, ghosts are mostly harmless. They can barely work up the energy needed to open a door. For one to kidnap Moxxy, even if it’d somehow been in her exact location when it happened, defied reason.

Of course, that led to a possibility I really didn’t want to consider: maybe Opperyke wasn’t a ghost at all.

It wasn’t difficult to track down Opperyke’s next of kin. There weren’t many people living in Marietta, Ohio with the surname Cranston and I tracked down the Facebook profile of Melinda Cranston, Opperyke’s mother, within minutes. She didn’t post much; most of what I saw on her timeline were memorial posts for her deceased son and husband (how horrible for her to lose her son and husband in so short a time) and the occasional shared pie recipe. She wasn’t very cautious with her personal information. Her “about me” section contained her address and phone number, among other things.

I called her number and she answered on the first ring, which wasn’t nearly enough time for me to overcome my social anxiety.

“Hello?” Her voice was raspy and I hazarded a guess that she was at least a two pack a day smoker. That, or she had laryngitis.

“Hello, Ms. Cranston. My name is Jacob Mielke, I’m an author and I’m researching your son for an article I’m writing. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions?”

There was silence on the other end of the line and I almost thought the call dropped before Ms. Cranston angrily retorted: “My son’s tragedy is not some piece of gossip for you vultures to jump on. He isn’t a gimmick, or an urban legend, or a true crime story. He was a person. Can’t his memory get any goddamn respect?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Cranston, I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“This is the real world. What you mean doesn’t actually mean shit.”

“Please, this is important. Someone’s life is at stake and I think your son may be involved.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Please, I want to know your son’s secret!” I don’t know why I blurted that out. It was an even more inappropriate thing to say to a grieving mother than the rest of the conversation (which was poorly handled, in hindsight). But it worked. Ms. Cranston was silent for several moments and when she spoke again, the anger was gone from her voice.

“Why did you say that?”

Things started to piece together in my head. “I think you know why. You’ve heard your son say it before, haven’t you?”

“That thing is not my son!”

“I know. I think it took my friend. I need to know more about it. Maybe if I figure out what it is, I can stop it. Maybe I can get her back.”

“I’ll tell you everything I know. Do you know where I live? You have to come here. There’s things you need to see.”

She refused to give further information than that over the phone, so there was no choice. I bought a Greyhound bus ticket (which wiped out my savings due to the short notice) for the next day. I called off work and told everyone I was going on a fishing trip. It was a tense journey and the longest part of it, Chicago, IL to Cleveland, Ohio, was spent in the company of a young man who didn’t believe in showering more than twice a month and had spent the entire previous night at a rave (and if I had to wager a guess, I’d say they raved in a sauna).

I had to hike part of the way to the Cranston house once I’d exhausted every possible public transportation option. When I got there, I found the door had been marked off with police tape. I spotted a man walking his dog on the road and asked what happened.

“Melinda Cranston had a heart attack. She called 911 and when the ambulance got there she was already dead. Damn shame, she was a great lady.”

Ms. Cranston was getting on in her years. It wasn’t unusual for a woman her age to suffer a cardiac arrest. As for the timing, well… coincidence? You know, that circumstance that I was sure didn’t actually exist?

Someone knocked on my motel room door later that night. There was no one there when I answered but a book was left in the hallway. It was bound in purple faux-leather and the first page identified it as Melinda Cranston’s diary. Someone had scrawled on the page: DO YOU WANT TO KNOW MY SECRET?

Some of the pages were marked with post-it notes. I turned to the first one.

Dec. 20th, 2012 One day until the end of the world apparently! I’m so glad Scott doesn’t believe that nonsense. He still insists something major is going to happen but at least he’s not throwing away his savings or anything foolish like that. Misty from down the street said…

I skimmed through the rest of the entry, which read like a love letter to a neighbor from a closet lesbian. Interesting, but not what I needed. I turned to the next posted page.

Dec. 21st, 2012 The world didn’t end! What a surprise! Not a thing happened… though Scott doesn’t seem to think so. He says that on days like this one, different worlds are closer together and sometimes things can come through. Like Halloween, I guess? I don’t know. He’s watching too many weird movies or something.

Feb. 3rd, 2013 I thought Scott let his little fantasies go. He didn’t talk about them at all last month but today he said he found a place where something came through. Apparently he was in Noonan Park walking the trails earlier and he found some creepy stone house or something. I swear, I don’t know how his mind works anymore.

There was something in my room with me. Call it my sixth sense or whatever, but I could tell I wasn’t alone. It came with the diary, I was sure of it.

March 13th, 2013 I’m so worried about Scott. He doesn’t talk, he barely eats. He just stays in his room all day. Lately he’s been talking about doing all the things he always wanted to do, like skydiving or starting that video channel of his. Should I talk to a doctor about this? I’m so scared my baby’s going to take his own life. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened.

May 20th, 2013 There was someone in Scott’s room last night. I woke up and needed to pee and while I was walking down the hall I heard him crying. Someone was talking to him. They asked if he wanted to know a secret.

That was the last entry in the diary. It was enough to piece together a rough estimation of what happened. Scott had a fixation with finding entities from other dimensions and believed something would happen on Dec. 21st, 2012 that would allow those entities passage to our dimension. He also believed he tracked down a location where one of those entities crossed over, a house in a park. Smart money was on him being correct in his theory, only the entity he found followed him back. From the sound of it, it was malevolent enough and strong enough to kill him and perhaps others (like Ms. Cranston).

There were still things I didn’t understand, like why did the entity carry on Scott’s dream of having a Youtube channel? And why was it leading me to the house in the park (it was clear to me by now this was the case)? If it wanted to kill me or teach me it’s “secret”, why the convoluted plan? It was strong enough to kill a human being and abduct another (I refused to believe she dead. Her absence didn’t make sense unless she was alive). Couldn’t it just come to me?

I looked up directions to Noonan Park. It was about ten miles from the motel, easily reachable on foot. I’d follow the trails and find the house. Whatever came next, I’d deal with it and hopefully at the end of the tunnel, I’d find Moxxy. Alive and safe.

The story of Mielke Investigation’s second case will conclude in Part 3. Read about our first case here . If you’d like updates on when the next posts are up, follow my author page here .