#you wouldn’t fuck Beatrice? shame I WOULD

[plposting]

The Layton smash or pass blog is so sad to me bc it’s like: *character that is an npc and not conventionally attractive and old* *a million passes*

So sad I need y’all to think more with your smash button more for that acc

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 4

Will

Cult girl attends her grandmother's funeral and is approached with a highly unorthodox last will and testament.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: emotional manipulation and abuse, verbal abuse, death, slight emetophobia, body-shaming, ED mention, pregnancy and family planning

There was no use recounting anything from the leading up to the funeral. You spent that first night wine-drunk, munching on foie gras, watching Arrested Development and diagnosing each character to the best of your psychological abilities. You remembered cry-laughing at the same jokes you had memorized, and reminiscing on all the insane shit your own personal Lucille Bluth pulled on you. That was the highlight of the week. It was all downhill from there. 

Firstly, you were sick. That Sunday, you wrote it off as a hangover. Then, the hangover returned with a vengeance, just to add salt to the already open wound of having to pretend to mourn your abusive grandmother. At least the physical pain would give your acting an air of sincerity, you thought. 

Hannibal dressed in a solid black tux: it was almost uncanny to see him outside of any of his normal checkered suits. You selected a plain black dress and a strand of pearls.

The funeral was to be held at the same country club Anna’s wedding was held. Your grandmother was like a pharaoh, insisting that the empire she built know that even in death, she reigned supreme. The country club was her pyramid. 

Anna asked if you wanted to say a few words. As much as you wanted to get up and tell all her country club friends about the time she reported you as an abducted child at age twenty-two when you refused to leave your boyfriend and move back in with her, you knew that it wasn’t in good taste. You racked your brain for any story that could be considered remotely funeral-appropriate, but none came to mind. 

You spent the entire funeral trying not to roll your eyes too obviously at the stories of abuse her country club friends somehow remembered fondly. Your soul just left your body throughout the entire process and you were unsure if it would ever return. 

All things considered, it could have gone much worse. Then, it did. 

The beginning of the end was when your grandmother’s estate lawyer pulled you and Anna aside to conduct the reading of the will. He showed you to a side room, then excused himself before closing the door behind him. 

“Hello, [F/N].” Liam greeted, trying to cut through the awkward silence that came with first seeing each other after four straight years. “I’m very sorry about your gran. She was a great woman.” 

You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Lee. I appreciate it.” 

“No she doesn’t.” Anna muttered. “And it’s Liam.” 

“I don’t mind ‘Lee’.” Liam contested. “My mum called me Lee. I actually quite like it.” 

Anna was in one of her ‘I’m so upset, please ask me why’ moods. She sat on one of the heavy armchairs with her legs crossed and eyes to the wall. You weren’t going to bite. 

Liam wasn’t so cautious. “Princess, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” She pouted, not even dignifying her husband with a look. “I just think it’s interesting that I put the funeral together all by myself and someone couldn’t even be bothered to speak.” 

You shot Liam a look that said ‘way to go, jackass’. 

“Yeah,” You said, sitting down in an adjacent armchair. “That must suck.” 

Anna glared at you. “You really have nothing to say? Really?” 

You tensed up. “Let’s see, which charming anecdote would you have me tell? How about that time when she made you wear a fat suit for an hour after you complained about how the low-carb ice cream tasted like chemicals?” 

Liam looked in shock at his wife. “Did she really?” 

“Once.” Anna confessed, holding up one finger. 

You turned to Liam, as if you were sharing some hot gossip. “That was all it took to give her an eating disorder when she was thirteen.” 

Hannibal was just a fly on the wall. Anna noticed his lack of reaction. 

“And I bet Hannibal knows all about this, huh?” Anna said, throwing her hand in his direction. “Because he just needs to hear all of our private family business, right?” 

You stood up from your seat. “First of all, I take offense at the implication that my fiancée isn’t family.” 

An evil smile spread on Anna’s face. “But he wasn’t always your fiancé, was he, [F/N]?” 

“Holy shit, you cracked the code.” You said, flatly. “There was a point in time when Hannibal and I weren’t an item. Real shocker, that one.” 

“You know what I mean.” She sneered, then approached Hannibal. “Dr. Lecter, is it true that before you and [F/N] became romantically involved, you were her therapist?” 

Liam looked scandalized. Hannibal was just as put-together as always. 

“That is true.” He said, feeling no shame whatsoever. 

Anna turned back to you. “Now don’t you think that’s just a smidge unethical? For a therapist to date their much younger patient?” 

You narrowed your eyes. You carried yourself with the lightness of a woman who finally had the moral high ground. “So you want to talk about what’s ethical, huh? I suppose that means you’ve told Liam about pineapple.”

All the blood drained from her face. You crossed your arms and held your head up a little higher. 

“That’s what I thought.” You grinned. 

“Look, could we just pretend to be a normal, functioning family for ten minutes?” Anna pleaded, as if there were anyone other than herself to blame for provoking an argument.

“That’s on you two.” Liam, rightfully, pointed out. He gestured to himself and then to Hannibal. “Neither of us have said anything.” 

The estate lawyer must have gotten his juris doctorate alongside a master's in impeccable fucking timing, because that was when he decided to make his entrance.

"I'm sorry for the wait, everyone." He announced. "And I'm sorry for having to pull you aside in your hour of mourning. Usually the last will and testament is handled through email to the beneficiaries, but your grandmother was quite adamant it be approached this way."

"That definitely sounds like her." You said, exchanging glances with Hannibal. You'd talked about this for what felt like hours the week prior. She was going to pull some last-minute bullshit to humiliate you from beyond the grave. Give all the inheritance to Anna and leave a snide comment about you in a legal document. You knew it was coming. All you could hope was for it to be quick.

The lawyer pulled an envelope from his briefcase. "She specifically asked for her two living grandchildren and their significant others to be present."

"Did she say it like that?" Anna raised an eyebrow. "Or was it more like, 'Anna and her husband, and [F/N] and her therapist'?"

"Mrs. Young," Hannibal said, taking your hand. "Until you tell your husband about pineapple, you aren't allowed to judge us."

Anna glared at you. "What the hell? He knows, too?!"

"Yeah." You answered. "I tell him everything."

"Okay, who or what is pineapple?" Liam interjected. "And why do I get the feeling I'm the only one not in the know, here?"

"That's cause you are." You confirmed. "And you have your lovely wife to thank for that."

"Everyone!" The lawyer called out. Clearly, he'd seen his share of dysfunctional families. "Please, let me just read the will and you can continue arguing afterwards."

"Y'know what? Fair enough." You said, crossing your legs. "Let's rip off this band-aid, shall we?"

The lawyer opened the envelope and produced a single page. He cleared his throat.

"I, Beatrice [L/N], being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath all my worldly possessions-" He began reading the long first sentence. "Including but not limited to, a collective sum of $45 million, the family home and my shares of the country club, to the first of my granddaughters to give birth."

You expected nothing. You expected something. But you never could have expected this.

"Can you please read that last part again?" You asked, unsure if what you heard was the result of a stroke.

"The entire inheritance goes to the first one of you to have a baby." The lawyer clarified, trying to make it sound like a reasonable arrangement.

"That makes sense." Anna said, nodding.

You looked at her, dumbfounded. "How in the fuck on fire does that make sense to you?"

"Well, the money would be going to a good cause." She rationalized. "To raise the baby, right?"

You shook your head. "No, this is insane. Grandma has always had this weird obsession with bloodlines, and now she's trying to incentivize us to carry it out."

"What happens if neither of us can, y'know?" Anna asked.

The lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose. "If neither granddaughter is willing to produce a child, the entire inheritance will go to the Eagle Forum, so my ungrateful grandchildren can learn about family values."

"She hated the Eagle Forum!" Anna objected. "She wouldn't dare."

"She absolutely would." You pressed your fingers into your forehead. "That's upper-class white moderates for you. And she doesn't have to be around to see when they name a fucking wing after her."

"The Beatrice [L/N] center for denying women bodily autonomy." Hannibal said. "It's quite fitting."

"[F/N], we can't let that happen." Anna pleaded. "We can't let Eagle Forum get a penny of that money."

"Why the hell not?" You said. Though on principle, you agreed, you knew this was just another one of your grandmother's power grabs. At the end of the day, she chose to leave her money to the Eagle Forum. And it would be her name on that check, not yours.

"Oh my god, you actually hate babies more than you hate conservatives." Anna stood with her mouth agape.

"Don't put words in my mouth." You snapped. "I don't hate babies. I hate grandma for trying to threaten me into having one. I hate grandma for pinning us against each other and making sure it stays that way."

"What do you have against giving me a little niece or nephew, huh?" Anna folded her arms.

"I'm fucking done." You said, throwing up your hands. "This will be the last you ever see of me."

Of course, that's what you said the last time.

[keyofjetwolf]

What was your first?

So a horse walks into a rehab and says “ouch”. And not a lot. Then a great deal. While also saying nothing. It’s BoJack, in rehab, and going about as well as you might think!

“The Stopped Show” may not have been much about BoJack, but “A Horse Walks Into A Rehab” makes up for it by being 99.9% BoJack, setting aside the brief appearance of the other characters to set their stages for when we get back to them. Diane’s in a shitty motel, Todd’s in a seedy alleyway, Princess Caroline has her porcupine baby, and Mr. Peanutbutter continues to deliver cheer while everything around him burns AND drowns. I’ve now touched base with them about as much as the season premier, and we’ll get busy ignoring them.

As I said, BoJack is the star today, and we continue his quest for ... what, exactly?

Trying to pin it down, that “what is BoJack looking for” question, it’s a lot harder to answer than I expected, which marks another instance of me fucking myself, GOOD JOB ME.

I initially said “punishment”, but that isn’t true, or a least, is too easy. BoJack wants accountability for his actions -- which is a very different thing than punishment -- but he wants it in a way that also absolves him from having to do any work to rise above it. So you’d think he’d love this, the constant claim in rehab that he’s powerless. It seems like the answer to everything, a blanket pass to excuse his behaviour because he’s powerless. Why doesn’t he? I’m not sure I’m entirely clicking with the heart of that, so come with me as I have a poke at it.

For one, I doubt very much rehab would begin and end with “you’re powerless, oh well”. Addiction is some nasty business, but in and of itself, it’s a symptom, not the problem. That in mind, we swing back then to BoJack having to put in the work, only now it’s with the removal of his favourite coping mechanisms.

I think what he was hoping to get out of rehab was more along the lines of “Vodka is a naughty irresistible siren who topples even the most noble of men, but if you cross your eyes and click your heels, you’ll be free from her spell forevermore.” And yeah, no.

I think we get some of that in how, for a while, rehab seems to suit BoJack.

To the point I very specifically said to Doc as I was watching this, “Oh shit, did BoJack just become even MORE insufferable?” He’s okay so long as he has the comfort of the scripts and the regimented plant therapy and the same hike every day. When he starts to get fucked is when he has push further, when he has to work harder, when the treatment demands MORE.

“I notice you tend to deflect when I ask you about the source of your addiction,” his therapist says, causing BoJack to immediately deflect, first with a joke and then, when that doesn’t work, attacking the entire system. Getting to the root of his problem is the last thing BoJack wants, to the point where the entire episode ITSELF is one giant deflection. I made a joke in passing up there about our passing moments with each of the other main characters, but that’s actually it, that’s the heart of this episode.

Each of these are efforts by the episode to deflect what’s going on NOW, tempting us with something shiny and interesting, if only we’d take the bait. I ONLY JUST MADE THIS CONNECTION WELL FUCKING DONE SHOW

And of course, there’s Jameson’s story, which is part deflection, part contrast. She’s intended to appear at first like someone BoJack can relate to, a Sara Lynn Pt. 2 that he wants to save and in whom he sees so much of himself. In equal parts, he’s the adult trying to guide her and the force enabling her, and I’d have to do a bit more thinking on whether I thought his success with her was about him walking both sides of that line, or Jameson just, at the end of the day, being lucky. Either way, it’s also not really about her, so much as BoJack talking a really good game at her, while giving her all the tools to make the worst choices.

Which is, I think, where the episode finally settles. BoJack’s choices have been his own, but they aren’t made in isolation. Throughout this episode, we get moments, presented in reverse chronological order, that could on their own answer that key question: When was the first time you drank?

To settle your nerves to get through a scene everyone was counting on you to nail?

To fit in with the cool kids at high school?

To win your father’s approval?

What’s brilliant to me about each of these flashbacks is that the further into the past we go, the more willing we are to absolve BoJack. In the first, he’s a professional actor required to kiss an attractive and consenting fellow professional in the course of a performance. Nervous? Makes total sense. Getting plastered to do it? LESS SENSE.

The high school one is the most damning, which I adore. BoJack’s the butt of some light bullying by the jock, and I don’t mean to completely dismiss that it sucks, but the remainder of events before he starts in on the beers shows he’s hardly an absolute social pariah. And even if he were, once he begins to drink, BoJack doesn’t just become the life of the party, he becomes cruel (demonstrating quite well that jokes aren’t his only tool of deflection). Worse, that he KNOWS he’s doing it, but cares more about his positive attention than their negative. Still, BoJack’s a kid and peer pressure is a hell of a thing. This isn’t a good look, but it’s also not damning, if he’d come to learn from it. 

Now we jump the line to, I’d guess, ten or eleven year old BoJack, who walks in on his father having an affair with his secretary, but too young to recognize what he’s seen. Butterscotch can’t take the risk though, so he effortlessly manipulates little BoJack into getting drunk and passing out, then uses BoJack’s shame about it to keep him quiet on the whole evening. UNDER THE GUISE OF BEING HIS FRIEND AND DOING HIM A FAVOUR BY THE WAY. No question, Butterscotch is a son of a bitch, and the only thing BoJack did wrong here was crave his parent’s love.

Even with the high school one being a little more grey, they’re all pretty cut and dry. Remember that we’re following the thread of “When was the first time you drank?” and to land on the answer “When my unrepentantly dickish father lied to me to save his own ass” puts a pretty solid punctuation mark on the whole affair. Addiction may not be at fault, but Butterscotch Horseman is. Case closed, we can go home.

BUT WAIT WHAT’S THIS

Right at the end, when you think we’re done, there’s one more flashback. A party of some sort, possibly New Year’s. The house sounds empty, there’s only the looping of the record player, stuck repeating the same five seconds again and again and again. Butterscotch and Beatrice are passed out drunk, judging from the empty bottles around them. Was it a good party? A bad one? She has her back to him and they’re about as far apart as they could get while still remaining in the room, but also, nothing’s broken? It’s impossible to know.

What we do know is that BoJack, aged about where we saw him in the “Free Churro” flashback so maybe seven or so? Very young, at any rate, and he’s alone. There doesn’t appear to be anything in the room for a child, so it’s probably fair to say he wasn’t included in the festivities. Did he have something to do instead? His own party maybe? Friends to play with, someone to watch him? Did he even get dinner? From what we’ve seen, “no” is a much more likely answer to any or all of these.

AND NOW THE FIRST TO PUNCH YOU IN THE HEART

Tiny BoJack knocks back several gulps of vodka (like a fucking pro, may I add), then crawls onto the couch next to his unconscious mother, pretending for just a few minutes that she’s cuddling him until he, too, will fall into a drunken slumber.

RIGHT SO WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO WITH THIS JESUS WEPT

Had you told me “Just wait, seven year old flashback BoJack is going to muddy the hell out of this” I wouldn’t have ... okay, well, I know the show, so I probably would’ve believed you, but I would’ve been preemptively grumpy.

This isn’t his fault! But it is! This isn’t his parent’s fault, but it super super is! Nobody MADE BoJack drink the vodka, as the scene goes to great lengths to show. There is nobody to tell him to do anything at all. Beatrice is three fucking sheets to the wind, she has no idea he’s there and he could have pretend cuddled all night AND stayed sober. Did baby BoJack, like adult BoJack, take the drink to calm his nerves for an expression of physical intimacy? Would baby BoJack have even known that was an option? Remember, this is framed as the answer to the question “When was the first time you drank?” Not “took a drink”, but “you DRANK”, the phrasing of which I think is important. It’s all about the root of the problem. What I get out of that question is then is “the first time you drank to numb yourself”.

Baby BoJack is looking at this disaster, this mess that is his every day no matter how many party hats and streamers you stick on it, and he wants anything else at all. So he turns to the easiest thing he knows will take it away the fastest. The situation isn’t his fault. The opportunity isn’t his fault. But the response IS, in a way that EVEN AS I SAY IT, makes me feel shitty.

CONGRATS BOJACK HORSEMAN FOR MAKING ME SEE A LITERAL CHILD SLAMMING BACK VODKA STRAIGHT FROM THE BOTTLE AND MAKING ME GO “okay, but”.

SEASON SIX SHOULD BE A WALK IN THE PARK

[missnight0wl]

You know what I wish JamCity had done? If Jacob went to Wizengamot for endangering Hogwarts before the story began, and MC was there to witness it all. They have seen their brother cornered, shamed, their name smeared, and it just gave them a fear of courtrooms and Wizengamot in general, hence why they are so irrational and nervous about appearing in WIW's case, even as a mere witness.

I see your point, although I have to point out that it’d require some changes in the story overall.

See, the thing is that MC knew basically nothing about Jacob’s past. At the end of Y1, they didn’t even know why exactly he was expelled.

Until Y5, we had no idea about Duncan’s death. I imagine that things like that would be discussed during a trial before the events of the game.

Don't get me wrong, I don't necessarily think that we shouldn't know a little more from the beginning. But my point is that we're basically talking about re-writing things at this point. Sure, you could say that MC wasn’t present during the whole trial or something, but still - it means some additional work. And the thing is that the Wizengamot plotline could make perfect sense without changing a single thing except for the recent chapters – just make it about Jacob, not MC.

Here’s a quick recap. In Y6Ch15, we were attacked by the Wizard in White. In Y6Ch17, Moody told us that the WIW didn’t finish us off because he was allegedly “scared off” by Jacob. It was implied that Jacob is trying to catch the WIW or whatever. A bit later in Y6Ch17, we found this Black Quill:

Now, what the WIW might reveal during the trial?

1) That he wasn’t scared off by Jacob when he attacked us at the Lakeshore.

2) That Jacob wasn’t trying to catch him after this event.

3) That Jacob wouldn’t even have reasons to try to stop him because they’re both members of R. In fact, there should be a proof for that because R sent Jacob the letter asking for the meeting.

4) Considering that the meeting between R and Jacob might’ve happened around the time of Rowan’s death, it also implies that Jacob had something to do with Rowan’s death.

Sure, Jacob could try defending himself, saying that the letter was fake or whatever, but it’d be his word against the WIW’s. Jacob could be totally fucked because of this trial. Personally, I’d be more than happy to see it, but the game forces MC to be worried about Jacob, so they should be losing their stupid mind right now.

I mean… it’s all there in the game already. Just fucking use what you’ve already written. But no, let’s make this problem super artificial and irrational. Because I agree with you that it is irrational.

Hell, even in the recent chapter, MC finally revealed that R is still active and that they’re investigating it with Moody. And what was Chiara and Charlie’s reaction to that? Totally chill.

I don’t see why it should be any different with that stupid leader thing.

MC’s friends: Why didn’t you tell us R wants to make you their leader?

MC: It was so soon after Rowan’s death, I didn’t want to worry you more. I don’t want to have anything to do with them anyway. That’s why the Wizard in White attacked me to take me by force. Beatrice witnessed the attack, and she can confirm I wasn’t willing to go with him. Dumbledore also knows that I was attacked. Moreover, Mad-Eye was there when I told the Wizard in White that I don’t want to be their leader. Besides, it was him who suggested that I shouldn’t tell anyone about R’s plans. Isn’t that right, Mad-Eye?

MC’s friends: It’s okay, MC, you don’t have to explain yourself. We know you don’t want to have anything to do with R – they killed your best friend after all. And if Mad-Eye told you not to tell anything, he had to have good reasons, right? But we’re friends, so you could tell us anyway, just so we could support you.

BOOM! We have witnesses, and we can totally make it Moody’s problem, not ours. Done. Why we’re even still talking about it?

[darling-has-a-smol-heart]

🌻 tell me whatever you'd like, i would love to listen <33

THANK YOU HACE I LOVE YOU SM--

After ages of thinking, i decided i want to nerd about Bojack horseman.

You don't need to read all of this essay, just the chance to actually PUT these thoughts somewhere makes me happy <3

*rubs hands*

OK SO

CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE CHARACTER ARCS

I am trash at wording so don't be surprised if this is poorly redacted.

(A LOTTA SPOILERS AHEAD)

Bojack is by far the most relatable character in the show, for me at least. It's funny how this series teached me how to make relatability via struggles. I've never seen such an accurate representation of depression, and some episodes hit real close to home- for example, the "Stupid piece of sh-t" monologue at the beginning of the episode of the same name. They don't dramatize it, like OTHER SHOWS DO- (Yes 13ReasonsWhy I'm looking at you), and paint an accurate picture of how this illness holds Bojack back from being the better person he wants to be. His relationship with his mom was... Interesting to say the least.

The old Sugarman Place episode was haunting. Showing how the abuse from Beatrice's father shaped her into the person she ended up being. And how the cycle of abuse painfully repeats for generations. Her brother's death, her having to deal with his mother's grief and depression alone since her asshole dad didn't do sh-t to help the family move on after Crackerjack's death, and her mother's eventual and tragic lobotomy.

Just,,, Jesus this show.

Another thing I love about it, is how it made me understand that it was okay to emphasize with Beatrice, but one needed to understand that it didn't justify all the horrible abuse SHE put on Bojack, forever hammering in his head the "Don't stop dancing" motto.

Now, back to Bojack cuz BOY this is going to be a long essay.

The moment i knew this show was special was in season 2's "Escape from LA" another 'fuck-your-mind-up-and-move-on' episode. The things Bojack did were so terrible that- I mean i couldn't believe it. I was thinking all along "Nah, he wouldn't do it, he's the protagonist, he can't be THAT bad-"

AND THEM BOOM.

The mf almost sleeps with a 17-year-old and the show slaps you in the face with the realization that THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED-

Something that makes me laugh are the consequences, not because they're stupid or anything like that. But were painfully accurate.

I think my mind was as anxious as Bojack's. Once the ACTUAL truth about his involvement in Sarah Lynn's death, and the cycles of abuse of power in his relationships came to the public eye, came what I expected: people actively shutting him out, insulting him, giving him those horrid judging looks,,, urgh- i felt that. (That second interview that revealed everything could have gone better, but it also could have gone worse. They didn't even explore the Escape from LA incident, or Gina's strangling in Bojack's opioid lash out.)

But yeah, once after the events of The view from halfway down (THAT I'M NOT EVEN GOING TO COVER CUZ OH GOD I WON'T FINISH) things start,,, looking up? Sure, Bojack gets arrested for trespassing (even though he affirms that he thinks it was for a but if everything) and he spends a good time there with the other inmates, they participate in plays, and even Bojack himself admits that he would go as a volunteer once he was out of jail.

I thought the consequences were going to be WAY worse, but when you look back at it you go: "Huh, well that wasn't that bad-"

Now, the final episode.

I LOVE the relationship between BJ and Mr. Peanut butter. The lad finally decides to dedicate time to himself and to not to worry about his marriages. You just gotta love this dog.

Then, Princess Caroline.

I LOVE HER OK?

Her entire character arc about being a mother and finally letting go of his codependency on Bojack was magical.

Seeing the roots of her impulsive "i have to take care of everything" attitude through the 6 seasons allowed me to see her grow, change. Seeing her triumph and fail (very painfully sometimes, man).

In the final scene with her it's so wonderful to see Bojack cheering on her, and Princess Caroline openly admitting she won't work with him anymore. And both just, dancing peacefully to the vals, accepting that their relationship is over with such big smiles... *Sobs*

God. This. SHOW.

And now, good boy Todd.

I kind of relate to him too, and it gives me hope to see him being so independent after everything.

After Bojack ruined his Rock Opera so he wouldn't leave, after he also rescued him from that Improv cult, after all of the good, and ALSO the bad. He leaves.

He goes to make his new life, with his girlfriend, in a new apartment, and now in a good relationship with his mom. It's so wholesome I love Todd sm-

And even after actively pushing back from Bojack, he's still there to support him and cheer him up, even backing off so he doesn't get pulled into that again.

His words in his final scene always stuck with me "It was nice while it lasted right?"

Perfect.

And now,,,, Diane.

Holy cow where do I even start.

I do agree with most fans about how she wasn't "as good" in the first season, and how that changed in season 6, where we see her in a more domestic environment.

Now, I always loved Diane. I emphasized a lot with her struggles of being a writer (those episodes made ma laugh), not appreciating the little things we have, and wanting to do great things but- not- quite reaching it.

I always found interesting how she never let go of Bojack until it was "too late"

They always brought up the worse in each other, two people with the same unhealthy coping mechanisms isn't exactly a good combination.

I teared up when she moved out with Guy and actually learned to trust the feeling of safety, after a whole life of being used to abuse, that was everything that made sense to her. But it didn't have to stay like that. It was hard for her to start taking her antidepressants again but she did and she got better! (Shame Bojack pushed her into breaking point-)

The last scene, of her, of Bojack, of the entire series, I always rewatch "Nice while it lasted" for this scene only.

She confronts him on how he called her before he almost drowned in a pool. She thought he was dead, she thought it was her fault for not saving him. But as Bojack said "It was never her job". But he always made her feel like it was.

Oof... You can't actually fix that, can you?

Diane's "You can be grateful for the people around you, even if they weren't meant to be in your life forever" hit me like a truck. It actually helped me to learn to cut ties, that it was okay to be grateful, to not forgive horrible things, to move on and wish the other person the very best.

And then they sit, staring at the night sky, Catherine Feeny's Mr. Blue starts playing.

And I am bawling my eyes out.

That moment of silence, when there's nothing to say, when you both understand that this is it, and there's nothing else to do than to admire the night.

God. THIS. SHOWWWW,,,,

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

And lastly, thank you so much for this opportunity Jace, i love you so much <3

This series has helped me a lot (like you have <33) and I'm just so happy to share my nerdiness of this show <3

[c-hristy]

Rehabilitation - Part 3 of ‘Addicted’ 《Charlastor AU》

    She felt cornered and ducked back into her room, trying her best to shut the door behind her. A familiar tentacle shot forward and grabbed onto the door, nearly pulling it off its hinges. Bea let out a squeak as Alastor came into the room, her climbing up onto her bed and put a pillow in front of her.

    “Beatrice,” His voice was light and airy and yet she could still feel the static in the air, “What is going on?”

    “Nothin,’ daddy, just some stuff between me and Mags. You don’t have to worry about it!” Her eyes widened and she tried her best to smile at him, “We can figure it out.” His smile twisted brighter and his head tilted and she knew she was in for the long haul if she didn’t just fess up right then and there. Bea held her hands out, motioning toward the mattress, “Alright! Damn! Sit down, I’ll explain it.”

    “Wise decision, honeybee.” Alastor sat on the edge of the bed in a flourish of sigils that disappeared as soon as the radio dials did.

    Bea sighed, running her hands through her hair and leaning back against the headboard, “Okay, so a few weeks ago, Vox and I were just watching some videos on his phone. He got up to grab his charger since he was running low -”

    “A charger for his phone?” Alastor interrupted.

    “No, a charger for him. Vox doesn’t eat, he has to charge,” Bea waved her hand to change the subject, “Nevermind on that. But he got up to go get it and then he got a text from Valentino asking where ‘the girl’ was. I was nosy,” Bea shrugged sheepishly, “And read the rest of the messages. He was demanding the radio demon’s daughter - they’d apparently made some sort of deal and Vox’s whole plan was to entrap me so that I would well -” She shifted uncomfortably, “Fuck either him or Valentino.”

    Alastor’s face remained composed, even though she could see the burning fury starting to build in his eyes. The pupils began to take on faint dial shape and she crawled down the bed, placing a hand on his forearm.

    “So I left him. I didn’t want to do that - be involved in that and it really hurt me, so I ended up telling Mags.” Bea shrugged then, her face twisting into something that was akin to the look in his eyes, “And so she did it. To complete the deal for my sake, I guess. I didn’t want her to! I didn’t ask her to!”

    They both heard a faint noise come from the hallway and both of their ears flicked toward the sound. 

    “Margret Grace Magne!”

    Bea’s face paled, “Ah, shit.”

    Charlie’s face was about as red as her cheeks as she burst through her eldest daughter’s bedroom door. She flipped on the light and zeroed in on Maggie, who was just freshly showered and now huddled under her blankets. Her phone was in her hand and from where Charlie was, it looked like she was scrolling through a book.

    “How can you be so calm right now?” Charlie’s voice was sharp as she walked closer to the bed, a touch of magic swirling around her head and forming the horns that she so very much tried her best to hide.

    “I’m not,” Margret gave a weak smile, setting her phone down, “I’m really not. I’m just a really good actress.”

   

She was just faking it - she had to be faking it - he couldn’t possibly feel good -

    Charlie’s eyes burned red and Margret pushed her blanket down her body, shivering slightly at the feeling of not being encased in her own safety. Her mother morphed in front of her - no longer was she shorter than Maggie - she was taller and her horns were fully stretched, eyes a bloody red.

    “He will pay for this -”

    “Mama! I made the choice - not him.” She scrambled off the bed and stood in front of Charlie, eyes wide, “Please don’t!”

    Charlie stared down at her daughter, gritting her teeth, “He shouldn’t have decided to mess with my children in the first place.”

    Margret couldn’t move out of the way fast enough and was nearly tossed to the side by her own mother as Charlie made her way through the estate. Alastor and Bea witnessed her storming out and Al nearly made the attempt to follow her; Bea gripped onto his arm before he could.

    “This is her battle. Let mama do it.” He looked down at Bea; his daughter’s one eye was faintly glowing with a dial and the other was halfway gone into its sclera, “She knows what she has to do.”

    Margret followed Charlie through the estate and down to the entryway. Franklin was just leaving the kitchen, a bag of chips in hand as he watched his fully formed demoness mother race from the house with Maggie hot on her heels. His eyes glowed brightly for a second and he tossed the chips down, sending a shadow to his room to grab his camera - this was going to need to be broadcasted.

    Charlie was focused on one place in particular - the studio. She knew that Valentino would still be there. Where else would be be, after fucking her daughter? The thought settled more burning rage into her mind as she ripped open the door that led into the studio.

    The receptionist barely had a moment to speak before Charlie whirled on her heel, turning to her daughter, “Where is he?”

    “Penthouse.” Margret murmured, pointing toward the elevator that was off on the right, “The right one.”

    Charlie didn’t pay the receptionist any mind as she turned and marched toward the elevator, waiting until it came to the bottom before pressing the button that would lead to the top. It dinged that she needed a passcode - her eyes snapped up to the demoness at the desk.

    “Passcode,” Charlie growled, feeling Margret shift to get onto the elevator with her.

    The demoness squeaked out a series of four numbers and Charlie typed them in, the elevator closing and the pair being shot upward to the penthouse. 

    “Mama, please, don’t.” Margret tugged on her mother’s shirt, eyes wide, “Don’t do this.”

    “I will protect my children. No one will mess with you. Any of you.” Charlie turned to look at Maggie, her hand reaching up and smoothing back her daughter’s ears, “You’re my daughter, Maggie. As your mom, I’ve gotta do what’s right.”

    “Mama, I don’t want you to hurt him, it goes against everything -”

    The elevator dinged.

    “So be it, sweetheart.” Charlie smiled weakly, the bloody red to her sclera diminishing into a soft yellow for a moment, “He hurt you, then I’ll hurt him.”

    Margret frantically reached out, “No, he didn’t hurt me! He was gentle and it wasn’t -” She shuddered, face paling, “It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t bad and I hate that. But he didn’t hurt me. We made a deal and it’s airtight.”

    “Tell me about the deal,” Charlie and Maggie stepped out into the hallway so that the elevator could head back down to the ground floor - it wasn’t like the demoness at the desk could call any sort of police to remove Charlie and Margret.

    “I’d do it with him once and he could record it but he’s not allowed to broadcast or show it to anyone. He can only have the one original copy and that’s it - it’s on an SD card that I watched him upload it to.” Maggie’s breath shook funnily, “It’s a solid deal and nothing will happen.”

    For a moment, Charlie wanted to believe her eldest. To just take her and leave; head home. Make dinner and pretend like everything was normal. After that moment, however, she shook her head, the red replacing yellow in a rapid fire as she pulled away from Margret and stormed down the hall to the doorway that was on the right. 

    She thought it polite to knock so she did the opposite and tore the door off its hinges. Charlie stepped inside, growling slightly at the form of Valentino, who was previously just resting on his sofa, now shot up and staring at the Princess of Hell.

    Her face widened in a grin, “You hurt my daughter.”

    Valentino’s face matched hers, his grin much more easygoing, “You can’t hurt me.”

    “Says who?” Charlie’s grin grew wider, “I could tear you limb from limb.”

    “The deal that she and I made protects me from -”

    “It doesn’t protect you from anything.” Margret spoke up from the doorframe, gripping tightly onto her sleeves, “I told you I had protective sigils but I forgot about them when making the actual deal. I wrote them on my hand but I still forgot. You’re not protected from anything.”

    His gaze narrowed and the grin diminished, turning into a sneer, “You bitch -”

    He lunged forward at the same time as Charlie. The blonde quickly gathered the upper hand - she was still eons older than Valentino and so much stronger than him. Margret watched with saddened eyes as Charlie and Valentino fought on the ground, her mother’s claws digging into Valentino’s flesh and her teeth mere inches away from his throat.

    “Mama, don’t kill him!” Margret watched in horror as Charlie got closer to ripping his jugular out, “Don’t!”

    “She can’t kill me - she’s no angel,” Valentino growled, trying his best to push his hand out of her grip so that he could try to fight her off him.

    “My father was an angel,” Charlie’s face twisted, her eyes bright as she wrapped her one hand around his throat, “Did you forget about that?”

    Margret watched as horror fled across Valentino’s face - and then watched her mother rip her way through his chest and violently pull his heart out.

    “I think this will teach you to stay away from my daughters,” Charlie hissed, squeezing the heart. Valentino gave a pathetic whine, “Do I make myself clear?”

    Before he could respond, Charlie sharply pulled the heart away from his chest and Margret closed her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to watch. She heard some shuffling and then she peered her eyes open, doing her best to avoid the mess of a still gargling Valentino on the now stained carpet.

    “Where did he put the SD card?” Charlie asked Margret, hands on her hips. She no longer wore her horns and Margret felt shame worrying its way into her stomach.

    “In the drawer,” She pointed to the nightstand by the couch, “I can’t destroy it. In the deal -”

    “Maybe you can’t,” Charlie pulled open the drawer and rifled around, pulling out a small SD card, ��But I sure can.”

    Margret watched as Charlie shredded the small piece of computer storage in her fingers and then tossed the remnants onto Valentino. The healing process would not be fun for him - Margret knew that growing a new heart wouldn’t be fun.

    Charlie stepped over him on her way out, not even bothering him a second glance. She took a deep breath and looked up at Margret, now returned to her normal height.

    “It’s going to be okay. Nothing else should come of this - he should have learned now! Don’t worry.” Charlie reached out for Margret and the taller blonde flinched away from the sight of her mother covered in blood.

    “Yeah. It’s going to be okay.” Margret murmured, giving Valentino one last look before the pair headed back toward the elevator. 

    Franklin peered out from behind a potted plant in the hallway, grinning. The camera had recorded it all - he turned it off and set it in his pocket before entering the apartment. 

    He leered over Valentino, the severely wounded demon glaring pathetically up at the maniacally grinning blond. Frankie held his hand out and crouched, tightly gripping Valentino’s hand and shaking it forcefully.

    “You just got dunked on!” Frankie cackled and then dropped his hand, leaving a bruising kick to Valentino’s side before making his way out of the apartment, the feet of his unicorn onesie now stained with blood.

[swishandflickwit]

Lucifer — lucky star 1/1

Summary: In which Trixie is nervous for a presentation and Lucifer offers her a lucky charm.

Ratings: General Audiences

Words: 666

Warnings: Post-reveal. Established relationship. Get yah floss out this is pure Fluff.

AN:  I was watching Singin' in The Rain to pass the time and I totally forgot about how sweet this song was till it came on. And I know I just posted Lucifer & Trixie but I was starstruck inspired, and couldn't resist! *heart eyes emoji*

Also on ff.net | AO3

Other writing

The Devil’s Lucky Number series: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII | XVIII | [ XIV ] 

“That’s the sixth sigh this morning,” Lucifer drawled as he dithered at the stove. “What’s gotten into you?”

“School sucks,” she grumbled.

“Can’t argue with you there,” he sympathized. “What fresh torture have they inflicted on you now?”

Grimly, she replied, “Public speaking.”

“Oh! We use that quite frequently in Hell,” he grinned. “Such delightful torments you humans come up with, I—”

She glared, and he had the sense to affect chagrin. In lieu of an apology, he slid a steaming stack of pancakes in her direction, and all was forgiven—even if she did sigh again.

He rolled his eyes.

“It can’t be that bad,” he teased. “You certainly have no qualms talking my ear off!”

“This is different,” she whined. “It’s forced humiliation!”

“It’s three minutes of your life.”

“It’s so stupid!” she wailed, and when her eyes rose to meet his, he was alarmed to find them welled with droplets. “Why do I have to talk about how rainbows are made? No one cares! And if they’re so curious they should just Google it!”

Beatrice rarely cried, and the sight of her tear-stained face settled ill in his gut and sent unpleasant twangs through his chest.

This simply wouldn’t do.

“How’s about I pick you up later?” he asked softly. “Would you like that?”

It had become a tradition for them, on such days, to drive to the Santa Monica Pier and gorge on sweets before he deposited her onto her doorstep.

(Unbeknownst to her mother, of course)

He breathed a sigh of relief when the waterworks stopped, a fetching grin replacing them as she jumped from her stool, cheering, “Thanks Lucifer!” before running to her room, passing a confused detective along the way.

“Do I want to know?” she asked.

Lucifer only smiled.

“I didn’t bring you here just for ice cream, you know,” he said once they finished said treat. “I’ve something for you.”

“Did you scare my teacher into stopping my speech?”

His laugh was loud enough to startle them both.

“I like your style,” he smirked appreciatively. “But I don’t think the detective would approve of that method. No, I wanted to give you this.”

He held out his hand wherein lay a grey rock. A tad bigger than a marble—it was rough, ugly and wholly unremarkable.

Baffled, but ever polite, she ventured, “Thanks?”

He chuckled again and curled her palm over it. “Close your eyes.”

She acquiesced easily.

“Picture a light, the brightest that ever was conjured. Brighter than all the suns, moons and stars combined. Do you see it?”

“Yeah.”

“Now imagine it covering you, as a shield or beloved coat would—a protection against the harshest of elements. Now,” he unfurled her palm. “Open your eyes.”

She did, and the sight that greeted her made her gasp.

“I know the saying goes, ‘eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth’ but,” he grinned. “I’ve always been rather partial to, ‘a star for a star’.”

The rock’s ugliness faded to something rather too resplendent for mere words to describe. Beatrice looked at it in wonder, her own gaze shining when she asked, “Is it really—?”

He nodded.

“My stars have always given me the greatest comfort,” he shrugged. “I thought it might aid you in your endeavor tomorrow, in the hopes that it will offer you the same.”

She threw her arms around him, and like all the times before, Lucifer froze.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and her sincerity bled into his chest and calmed the raucous of his heart so that he found himself melting into the embrace.

“You’re most welcome,” he murmured, and thought, without quite meaning to, that though most of his stars were lost to him—

They paled in comparison to the one he held in his arms.

“Why is she suddenly so excited for her speech? What did you do?” Chloe shook her head, mystified. “Give her a pet rock? She won’t leave anywhere without it!”

Lucifer only smiled.

AN: I know I overwork this storyline but like, we don't have enough Trixie & Lucifer stories, and that's a damn shame!  

Speaking of—YA'LL, come over now (and talk me down) just reached the 400 kudos mark. That's! fucking! insane!!! to me right now because that's the most I've ever received in any fandom like smfh YOU GUYS ARE THE LITERAL BEST AND I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH. I love you Lucifam, it's a damn good honor to be a part of this community. I hope to continue generating content just as much as ya'll continually bless me with your appreciation. You guys are amazing. Lucifer is amazing. I'm so happy to have found this tv series seriously. Blessed.

The Devil’s Lucky Number series: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII | XVIII | [ XIV ]

[beatricemillerstory]

Beatrice Miller

 Chapter Five

 Thursday 7:23 AM

 Bryce Vallerea stares out his dining room window into the window of Beatrice Miller's kitchen while drinking a cup of double-bagged black tea. He always liked the way that the strong black tea would sting the back of his throat and he would have to sip cold iced water in order to soothe it. He likes his little moments. He likes his alone time.                But he can’t help but wonder what happened with his wife. Why had she not come last night? Why won’t she answer his calls? Why would she feel the need to stay away?                He knew that she had seen him staring out the bedroom window, but she didn’t know that he was watching for Beatrice. Did she? He tries to shake the thought from his head. The last thing he wanted to do was acquire feelings for another person while being married to the one he loves the most. He has an obsession with the human body. He thought to himself, ‘I can’t help it!’                But there is something about Beatrice’ amazon-like beauty that just makes Bryce sweat in all the right –                A man is walking up to Beatrice’ door. ‘Who is he?’ Bryce thinks to himself. He leans closer to his window trying not to touch it with his greasy forehead. He watches Beatrice slowly open the door. She talks to the man for a moment.                Abbey.                ‘She did stay over at Beatrice’’ He thinks to himself, relieved that that was where she was all night. Not relieved that she is…”Jumping into this man’s arms!”                Bryce grabs his jeans and runs across the street.

  A long time ago…

 Jimmy was a sweet little boy. Everybody liked him. He was always polite, always helpful, and wouldn’t hurt a spider. He was by-far the ideal son, child. He lived in his childhood home with his two brothers and his sister. His father worked too much, and his mother drank too much. It was normal at that time. Jimmy was also in love with the girl who lived in the unit across the way – Beatrice Miller.

Jimmy would never forget her name. Jimmy would never forget the fact that she was just like him. Quiet yet strong. Shy yet kind. He was in love with her because she always seemed to be his perfect match. There she stood, holding her father’s hand just waiting for him (her asshole father, Jimmy thought) to pick her up and put her in the truck to go grocery shopping. Jimmy would long to be in the truck with her.

Jimmy knew that Beatrice’ father did things to her that was very unchildlike but what was there for a boy to do?                One day, Jimmy walked over to the house, knowing that it was her birthday, and brought her two cupcakes. One for her. One for him. Blue for her. Pink for him. He knocked on the door and her father answered. He let Jimmy in and told him to meet her in the family room as that was where she was…reading.                Upon entry to the living room, Beatrice’ father offered for the two of them to play a little game. Her father told him that they were going to play house. He sat them both down next to the new dollhouse that Beatrice’ mother had gifted her for her birthday. Beside the dollhouse were two little chairs. The kids sat one in each chair. Beatrice’ father told Beatrice to kneel down in front of Jimmy and pleasure her husband. Beatrice did as she was told. Jimmy didn’t think anything of it until Beatrice’ father told him to take his pants off. Jimmy took his pants off. But he didn’t understand why. Beatrice then proceeded to tug at his little Spiderman underwear until Jimmy started to realize what Beatrice was going to do. Jimmy had seen it happen to his older brothers too many times not to realize where this was going.                Jimmy pushed passed Beatrice and ran back over to his house. Jimmy was a fast runner and could feel Beatrice’ father try to grab him, but he bust through the door before he could grab Jimmy. Bursting through the door in fear, Jimmy grabbed his little sister Abigale and his oldest brother. On the way back to Beatrice’ house, Jimmy told his siblings what had just happened and that it was Beatrice’ birthday.                Jimmy’s brother ran through the door and grabbed Beatrice. He then gently placed Beatrice with Jimmy and Abigale, who would take Beatrice to their house. From the streetway, Jimmy heard from behind him, “Don’t you touch me you little fuck! Get the fuck out of my house!” It was Beatrice’ father. Jimmy looked behind him to see his brother stumble out of Beatrice’ house and continue to stare inside. Beatrice’ father came out, his face sun red, and stared into Jimmy’s brother’s eyes. Jimmy’s brother lunged at Beatrice’ father and started to hit him in the face screaming, “Don’t you ever come near my family again! I’m taking Beatrice until her mother gets home!”                “I wouldn’t count on that!” Beatrice’ father retorted. “I’ll be by later to pick her up! She’s my daughter!”                “Fuck you, old man! If you come near my house, I will call the police and they will take care of you themselves. Allow this to be a warning you piece of shit!”                Beatrice’ father just stared back at Jimmy, breathing heavily, his puffed chest becoming puffier. But then he just turned around and said, “fucking kid,” and slammed the door behind him.                “Are you two okay?” Jimmy’s brother asked them upon entry into their house.                “Yes,” Jimmy responded.                “Where did he touch you?” Jimmy’s brother asked.                “He didn’t touch me.” Jimmy responded. Jimmy’s brother then looked over at Beatrice and asked,                “Where did he touch you?”                To which Beatrice replied, “Today?”                Jimmy’s brother stood slowly in the middle of their living room and said, “after our game tonight, we will come home and I would like to talk to your mother.” Beatrice responded by nodding along. “Okay!” Jimmy’s brother’s face lit up from anger and shock to glee, “it is you’re your birthday and I think it’s time to celebrate!”                Beatrice’ face went from shame and looking at the floor to evolving into glee as well. Jimmy figured no one had been excited for Beatrice on her birthday since…well…ever. Jimmy and his sister, Abigale put their arms around Beatrice’ shoulders and took her into the kitchen where Jimmy’s mother was already preparing a cake for Beatrice. The Hill family was always good for a last-minute celebration.                “Hi, Sweetie!” Jimmy’s mother said to Beatrice excitedly. “I heard it was your birthday! Your cake is almost done! George, can you go get Beatrice’ birthday gifts from the playroom please!?” Jimmy’s mother called to Jimmy’s other brother  – Jimmy’s mother had thrown together a lavish birthday celebration for Beatrice in a matter of minutes after finding out that there was drama in her home. Jimmy’s mother also knew very well that her mother wasn’t there with her. She was very good at masking the concern in her voice. “Now, Beatrice, you just sit here with Abigale and enjoy some strawberry juice while I finish up.”                Beatrice smiled at Jimmy’s mother and said thank you. Beatrice turned back to Abigale and together the girls talked about their friendship bracelets. It was like Beatrice had completely forgotten what had just happened.                Jimmy’s mom came around the kitchen counter and grabbed him and his older brother by the arms, pulling them gently into the family room.                “What happened?” Jimmy’s mom asked.                Jimmy told her what happened between them. Jimmy’s brother told her what happened with her father. Jimmy’s brother also told their mother about what he was going to do when he came home from the arena and together, they would all talk to the police. Jimmy’s mother agreed.                “That poor girl.” She said. “I want her to stay here as long as she needs. She can always sleep in Abigale’s room. But I want to talk to her mother.” She said.                “Good luck with that,” Jimmy’s brother said, “she’s never home.”                “Oh, I’ll wait as long as I have to.”

  Thursday 7:25 AM

 “Can I help you?” Beatrice says to the man standing in her doorway. Her excitement of the thought that it was her husband rapidly dissipated at the realization that it wasn’t.                “Are you Beatrice Miller?” The man says.                After a second of thinking about whether to answer, Beatrice says, “Yes.”                “Okay. I know this is going to sound totally crazy and I know you may not believe me but,” the man looks down at the ground and takes a deep breath. Beatrice straightens her back and feels her peripheral vision looking for some sort of defense but allows him to continue. She doesn’t feel the same fear that she usually gets from men. “My name is Jimmy Hill. And I lived next door to you when we were children.”                Beatrice squints her eyes and stares into his. She knows exactly who Jimmy Hill is, but in her mind, Jimmy Hill is dead.                “Who’s this?” Both Beatrice and the man named Jimmy jump at the sight of Abbey suddenly standing behind them. She stretches her arms out through a yawn and makes eye contact with Jimmy. Her expression goes from lazy and half-asleep to aware and frightened. Recognition crosses her face and quickly moves towards the two of them, Beatrice grabs hold of Abbey’s hand and says,                “He says his name is,” Beatrice holds her breath, “Jimmy.” She doesn’t see the need to include his last name as it is the same as Abbey’s maiden name.                Tears fill up in Abbey’s eyes and suddenly she runs at him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and starts to scream, “Jimmy!” She pulls away from the embrace and puts her hands on his face, gently caressing his tight beard. “But I…I don’t…what…how…”                “I know this is a lot and it seems insane,” Jimmy says, Beatrice standing in shock at this reunion, “Can we sit…and talk?”                “Yes,” Beatrice responds as she turns around to fill the pot of coffee, “please make yourself comfortable.”                “I don’t,” Abbey says, still in shock, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to ask.”                “I don’t expect you to know what to say,” Jimmy says and Beatrice, though her back to him, can hear the pain in his voice and the obvious lump in his throat.                Suddenly, Bryce plows through the door at an alarming rate, staring at his wife holding the hand of a man he’s never met, at Beatrice’ dining table. “And who the fuck are you!?” Bryce shouts.                “Bryce,” Beatrice says, “Can you come in the kitchen for a moment?”                “No, it’s okay Bee,” Abbey says, standing. Beatrice can tell that Abbey fears Bryce in this moment and allows her the space to take her time. Beatrice goes back to preparing coffee. “Honey, this is going to sound really weird. But this is my youngest big brother, Jimmy.”                Beatrice notices the silence from behind her and turns around to witness the scene playing out in her dining room. She looks at Bryce and can tell he doesn’t know what to say but he breaths heavily and he allows Abbey to guide him to the chairs at the table.                The two men shake hands and Jimmy says, “I know what this looks like. But I’d like to explain myself.”                Abbey and Bryce nod their heads and watch Jimmy as he begins to tell his story. Beatrice brings four cups of coffee to the table with all the fixins, rests them down on the center of the table, and takes a seat at the last available chair.                “Abigale.” Jimmy starts. “Beatrice.” He looks between the two of them. “I remember the last day that I saw you both. It was a terrible day…”

  A long time ago…

 Jimmy didn’t feel right about leaving his little sister and the girl next door after what just happened, but it was Jimmy’s first time joining his brothers’ team and what better joy is there to a twelve-year-old boy than to find his footing in the family sport? He had to go. So, he looked into his mother’s eyes and said, “Please take care of them. We will be back soon.”                “Of course, we will be fine. Your father will be with me the whole time.” His mother responded.                Jimmy didn’t want to leave. But he had to. But he also knew that Beatrice’ mother would be home later that night for the confrontation that would follow and was sure he would make it back in time to be there to support Beatrice.                His brothers all gathered their packs and uniforms into the cab of the truck and took off down the road. The brothers all talked about the plan, what Jimmy was to expect, and how they were going to win this kick-off game and really make a name for themselves. It was also the first time that a scout would be at the game to watch Jimmy’s eldest brother play. It would be the scholarship that would change their family’s life forever.                An hour went by, driving down the dirt road but all Jimmy could think about was Beatrice. ‘How could her father do that to her?’ He thought to himself. Disgusted at the thought, he shook it away and listened in to what his brothers were saying.

The boys pulled into the parking lot of the arena and did their good luck chant together. It was the first time that Jimmy was included in the huddle and he soaked in every ounce of enjoyment he could. Finally, he was a part of the team.                The game was boring. It was as if the other team was tired and just wasn’t in it to play. But that didn’t stop Jimmy’s brothers from playing their hardest and he even saw the scout be impressed by the plays that his brother created. He wrote a lot down on that clipboard on his lap.                By the end of the game, Jimmy’s brother was shaking hands with the scout and they had big smiles across their faces. This was good. Things were good. But then the boys came back together and remembered, at the same time, what it was that they would be going home to. They hung their heads in remorse and packed the truck back up.

“What is this jack-ass doing?” Jimmy’s middle brother asked. There was a large truck following closely behind. The truck looked familiar – in a small city like the one they lived in, it was easy to tell who was who by just looking at their vehicle, but with the bright headlights it was hard to tell for sure.                The truck passed by them, slowing to match speed beside them, and then backed off again, being sure to tailgate them once more. The truck hit the back of the boys’ truck and Jimmy let out a “Woah!”                “It’s okay!” Said Jimmy’s older brother, the driver. “We just need to stay calm and we’ll be home. We’re almost there.”                But then the strange truck did it again, hitting them, and Jimmy’s brother steadied the truck on the road. The boys stayed quiet, none of them knowing what to say or do. The truck just kept on hitting them, pulling up beside them, hitting them, pulling up beside them.                Then the truck gave them one last final blow and it sent Jimmy and his brothers spinning. Their truck went up in the air and in seemingly slow motion, the brothers all looked at each other and they grabbed each other’s hands. Jimmy thought in that moment that they were joining to pray, though they’d never been to church. Jimmy was in shock. They were in shock. The items in the truck all spinning around in the air until the truck finally came crashing upside-down in the ditch on the other side of the road.                Jimmy opened his eyes and noticed first that the engine was no longer on. Secondly, he looked at his brothers who both had their eyes open but there was a lot of blood everywhere – dripping down their upside-down heads. Jimmy noticed a gash in his oldest brothers neck and to his right, he noticed his middle brother’s chest had a metal rod sticking out of it. It took a second, but Jimmy recognized it as the gear shift.                Jimmy looked outside and saw the strange truck sitting idly by, still on the road. The lights of the truck shining on them. Jimmy checked the pulses of both of his brothers and started to scream quietly at the realization that their hearts were no longer beating. They weren’t breathing. They were dead. Jimmy watched as he saw the man get out of his truck and so he took off out the back door on the driver’s side. Jimmy dove into the field that stretched into darkness beyond the truck and watched the man shield his face as the brothers’ truck exploded into a fury of fire and debris. The force drove Jimmy to fly into the air and land on his backside meters from where he was just standing. He screamed into the sound of the explosion, watching as the man got back into his truck and sped off into the night.                Jimmy didn’t know what to do. He sat and watched his truck burn. The fire enraging into something he’d never seen before in real life. He could feel the heat of the fire pushing into his face and so he buried his face into his sleeves.                Jimmy sat for over an hour without a thought in his mind. He just stared at the truck and watched as it fell apart, parts of the truck falling to the ground. He started to cry. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Then he ran off into the field. He didn’t look back once. He ran and he ran. He couldn’t get the image of his brother’s dead eyes looking back at him. He cried and he ran. He kept running because he realized something at his young age,                ‘Why would I go back? What is there for me? Nothing is going to get better for a very long time. No one needs me. Just keep running.’

JR McWilliam

*-Stay tuned for the next Chapter of Beatrice Miller...coming soon. We’ve made it! Please ask questions and tell me what you are expecting so far so that I can know where you’re at. It’ll help me weave a far more tangled web. Muahaha! Projected date for Chapter 6 - May 25th, 2019

[wickednerdery]

Title: Parted Love Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Crimson Peak Pairing/character: Sir Thomas Sharpe/Reader Rating: FRM Summary: “The perfect parting gift.” Notes: I THOUGHT this would a be quick follow-up to another one-shot, but I was wrong again...it’s long, lol! Hopefully worth it though, haha! It’s based on this headcanon by @creedslove, though I’ve made some adjustments to suit my desires/needs, lol! This one is dark, the “Reader” is a dark character...it’s smut with a fair amount of angst, mentions of violence, and the Sharpe’s childhood so head’s up on all that and, yup, there’s a “Read More”!

The moment you set foot on the property your travel boots turn red. Not the shade of fresh blood, but blood found in long-dead creatures. With an annoyed breath you unstick yourself from the clotted Earth and carry on towards the house. It looks all the worse for its years, blackened with rot of wood and soul. Whatever light it may have had centuries ago is long gone, it’s just decaying stone now.

“Madame!” The carriage driver goes to get down. “Perhaps I should go with you.”

“Nonsense,” you smile back pleasantly, letting red and black crawl up your dress. “There’s no one alive left to hurt me.”

“But this place, Madame. They say it is -”

“Haunted? Cursed?” You laugh. “Do not fret yourself with the dead, my friend, the danger always lies with the living.”

You leave him with that, carry on into Allerdale Hall. It’s red. Red all over. Sunken in, drowning in its own lifeblood. The black moths have taken over, but you merely bat them away as they greet you like an old friend. You’ve no trust or patience for the elevator - always a temperamental thing, once delivering you and Lucille right into the brutal hands of her father...even he’d struck you more than once on that occasion.

The shattered banister catches your eye, causes a pause as you inspect the dried blood coating spikes of wood. The girl must’ve hit hard; Lucille must’ve cursed that it wasn’t her head that struck. Without further detour you carry yourself up the many stairs, down the creaking halls, to the nursery.

It’d been small when you were a child, it’s smaller still now. You remember how you and Lucille huddled in a corner, giggling as your latest capture struggled to breathe in its jar. Lucille would take your hand as, with morbid fascination, you watched the last moments of another thing’s life. Sometimes she would brush a hand across your ankle or knee, always thinking herself so clever even though it was you who allowed it.

Thomas was also there. Always. Sometimes watching, often times looking away. He would work so hard on his many little projects, presenting them to you two as if the greatest kill on the greatest hunt. You would give him cheek-kisses as reward and he’d be so joyous he’d happily sit with you both just to remain close the rest of the time.

With boots you nudge aside broken jars and wind-up toys. Stained mechanic blueprints and floor boards. All to get to the one new thing in the room...a workman’s table covered in more sketches. Some for toys, some for the house, and many for the machine Thomas described back in America. He made himself an office, a respite. His devotion to his project was whole and genuine. His devotion to the girl must’ve been equally so. No wonder he never made it out alive.

“Oh Thomas...” You sigh, the house groans and bleeds. “Why didn’t you accept my offer, you poor fool?” You know why. You go to her room next.

It’s a massacre. Living creatures feed on dead ones, glass and blood spatter the floor, scorch marks spread towards the bed due to an unattended fireplace. It’s a curse this place didn’t burn to the ground as it sunk.

At Lucille’s mirror you pull pins from your hair, jab them into the frame for safe-keeping. Fingers undo coat, toss it across bed...dust and moths plume at the disturbance, but you attend the high collar of your gown. The house sighs, crimson weeps from the walls, as you spin and tip yourself back onto the bed. It wails and even you give up a cough as the air attempts a choke.

You watch moths skitter on the ceiling, swat flies from their attempt to pester, then sink hands into black and blue sheets. Your eyes slide closed as you fall back on memories. The childhood ones where you all explored and shared each other, finding a tenuous balance between enjoyment and jealousy, pleasure and pain. The more recent ones...the ones in America with just Thomas.

Stale blood and dust fill your nostrils on the inhale, his name falls out on the exhale. You think on his strikingly sad eyes, that quiver of his lips, as he’d begun to fall apart before you. Hand brushes across your neck and chest, remembering his hands. His teeth, his lips, his tongue as it did what even reluctant predators do...lap up the blood. A breeze curls at the hem of your dress, runs gooseflesh up your legs.

He’s there, but you don’t see him. Even if you were to open your eyes, you wouldn’t. Can’t. He doesn’t want you to...for shame, for fear of startling you, for his inability to apologize. He shifts between regret at dismissing your warning, your offer, and pure desire to be in the world of the living with you once more.

Layer by layer you gather skirt up around your hips, exposing yourself to the room. The house. Him. “Thomas...” you sigh, letting fingers burrow into soft curls, just brushing clit. You imagine his fingers teasing you, his hands spreading you as you set legs all the wider apart. There’s a sigh in the house that you swear sounds like him...Him calling to you. “Thomas,” you call back as chilled air caresses you again.

Thomas watches, wishing he could come back to you. For you. To join in the pleasures you indulge in now and ones that will surely come after. He moves closer, watches you shudder as if touched by him. He whispers your name again and this time you arch.

It’s not enough; you shift back, fully on the bed, bend and spread legs like the wings of a butterfly...or a moth. Fingers return to clit, encircle and rub, as your other hand slips past to graze entrance. It catches the first trickle of juices, spreads them up and back down as you increase pressure on that sensitive bundle of nerves buried in public hair.

Memories of your last time together cling to the spirit and, while unable to get aroused as the living do, he still feels it. The tingles of pleasure throughout, that tension of muscles, how he’d overheat in the throes of passion. He feels it all even as his new form lacks the signs of arousal. Thomas reaches out to touch...

You give a cry as pure ice hits your thigh, shocks a flood from your core before you slip two fingers inside. You imagine Thomas’ eager tongue dipping in, swallowing you down, as you direct him by the hair. You can picture him, with focus you can almost sense him in the room - the smell of his cologne, the sound of his panting, even the feel of his soft skin against yours are all there, somewhere, begging to be with you now.

If only he could enjoy the wantoness of you. Fingers working fast, furious, over your clit as others dive into glistening wet cunt. Two fingers, then three as you groan and gasp. Tentatively he moves closer, shifts over you. A black moth lands between your breasts and you bite lip so hard it leaks blood. He whispers your name in your ear and the familiar growl of it seems to reach you.

“Thomas...fu-fu...” Your legs snap close on your own hands like a trap, toes curl, as sheer will drives you past the edge and over it. Your hips lift high, sex brushes freezing air, and you to cry out a string of curses as the orgasm floods hands, thighs, backside, dress, and bed. You land in a puddle of yourself, curl up to the side as the moth flutters off. “Fuck...” you shake out groans, lick bleeding lip, then sigh. “Thomas...fuck....”

He knows it’s as much a curse at him as it is for him. He settles beside you, watches your ribs rapidly rise and fall, hears a single sob of his name. The peace doesn’t last long; you sit up, breathe deep, and then let out a blood-curdling scream of rage. If only he could hold you, tell you it’s okay...That it’ll be okay.

Flying from the bed you smash the mirror to pieces with bare fists before going to the vanity next, tossing it completely. The only thing that stops your rampage is Lucille’s entomology toolbox. Scissors and knives and pins...and women’s hair all braided and wound up. Delicate fingers pluck out a pair of scissors with hairs caught between blades before you shove the rest to crash and splinter on the floor.

No. Don’t. He begs as you spread blades like you did thighs. Dangerously wide. His eyes flash away as you run finger across, leaving a thin line of blood behind. You set a blade to your arm, then close both with a flick of your hand and set point to your chest. Please don’t. Don’t.

You take a deep breath, but change your mind. Death is the easy route. You bury the scissors deep into the wall, then pull out to watch the crimson flow from the wound. You impale again; this time you leave it in. Wet clay oozes around the weapon. Was this what Thomas looked like at Lucille’s hand? An impotent, stunned, slow-bleeding thing?

Thomas sighs with you, looks on as you gather your coat, pin up your hair, and flit out of the room. The only way to keep up with your glide through the house is to dissipate, watch everything at once. Watch you flutter on as gravity carries the remnants of your arousal down into your boots, as moths pester you to stay and scarlet clay slicks everything in attempt to delay your exit.

Once back outside you take a deep breath, gather yourself together and readjust your social mask. A sweet smile is forced on as you approach the carriage. Then something gleams out the corner of your eye and finally earns the house its win over your determination to leave immediately.

Stepping off the bloody path into raw muck you find it. A ruby ring. The Sharpe ring; the one Beatrice Sharpe once wore, then Lucille. The one you heard the girl wore after marrying Thomas only to lose it in battle. Your smile goes genuine as you crouch farther into clotted clay and pluck it from its spot. It looks rotted, black and red, but a wipe of your dress and it proves as stunning as ever.

You slip it onto your finger...the perfect parting gift. The house seems to shudder, groan, in anger. This ring is not yours to take.

The man you’d loved, the one who loves you still, looks on, forlorn. That ring should’ve been yours from the start, he can only hope it will not curse you to the same life and death as Lucille and himself now.

I LOVED doing with this one as much as the previous one...though this might really be the end now, haha! Still, I thoroughly enjoy writing a darker reader and exploring a sort of darker sexuality that comes with that. Also, haha, ghost smut is a fun new thing to write! :D  I hope all you out there enjoyed it too…and please let me know if you did! Bless @creedslove for inspiring this, hope you like it girly!! (And never be afraid to send more Sir Thomas Sharpe - ghost or otherwise - headcanons to me, lol!)

(Gif found on Google)

Tagging those I think would be/showed interest: @welcome-to-fangirl-hell, @zoesmama2024 @chibiyanai @wadeyourebarelyalive @ktonastya @brightstarmara @rizzo87 @creedslove @kandomeresbitch @carydorse @cheshire-cat-is-my-spirit-animal @littledeadrottinghood @tentacles-and-coffee @tarithenurse @magikat409 @acupofhotlatte @carydorse​

[capitanogiorgio]

1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 11, 13, 14, 15, 16, 22, 28, 35, 39, 41, 43, 44, 55, 58, 67, 68, 70, 84, 85, 87, 88, 91, 93, 99 : GOOD LUCK 👍

1. Three teams you like 

Juventus, AS Cannes (and Valenciennes FC) and Liverpool

2. Three teams you do not like 

Inter, R Madrid and Nice

3. A team you can’t tolerate and you do not even know why

idk… I usually have a rugh idea why I don’t like a team of football especially if it’s at a “can’t tolerate” level. So no idea.

4. A team that surprised you in recent years (negative way or positive way) 

Actually the Spurs. I’ve never followed them apart from reading results or other relevent articles. They’ve progressed and have a strong team. There’s also Liverpool who has come back being a serious contender for titles, Klopp’s has done wonders.

6. The thing you dislike the most about your club or NT 

For both Italy and France it’s the lack of patience of the fans (and I know I can lack some at times). For France NT it’s especially that kind of French mentality that I’ve seen countless times : if we win, we’re the best, we’d known all along we would win but the minute they lose everyone’s like “Of course, french in sports are always so inconsistant, overpaid brats, smh, I knew we’d lose.” and stuff like that and it drives me mad.

For Juve, it’s that lately, there’s this big clash with the spirit of the club and a huge “marketing ideal” for lack of better term : the new logo, billion years away from the historical one, the huge rise in seats prices and a disdain for the ultras who pretty much are the only one who sings at the stadium and it just look like a big enterprise being run for maximum profit forgetting parts of what is essentials to the club in the process.

8. The one time football made you so happy you couldn’t stop smiling for days 

The first time was Italy NT’s win in 2006. I felt invicible at 10 years old. I had spent a whole month being teased at, Italy being insulted at recess, some kids not speaking to me because I was the only one supporting Italy and being shamelessly vocal about it. I spent all that journey on my own, even my parents thought it weird and I was devastated french TV wouldn’t show all the games of Italy NT or when my parents didn’t let me watch because I had school in the morrow. I was also very sad because I was being transferred in another school when I knew nobody and I’d lose all my friends because the school was in the neighbouring city. I learnt that the day before Italy - Germany and gosh, I cried and I cried again at the late goals of Grosso and Del Piero. It helped lessen my dramatic 10 year old self. And then the final, when Italy won I was so happy. I had to hid the remote control so my parents wouldn’t turn off the TV because they didn’t understand the point of watching since France had lost but I argued. I couldn’t tear my eyes of all my heroes lifting that golden cup and the next day when I faced everyone at school that had told me Italy was shit and would never win all month long. Biggest smile on my face. Three days later my mom took me to the sports shop and bought me the 4 stars jersey and I still have it today.

The second was when Cannes, while in 4th division, beat Saint-Etienne right for my birthday in the round of 32 of the Coupe de France. It was super cold and it went all the way to the penalties and we won and it was the first time I saw the stadium full, completely full with about 12000 people. It was magical. At the end there was a pitch invasion and players celebrated with fans it was amazing. We went to win against Plabennec and then against Montpellier, another Ligue 1 club ! We went up until the quarter finals but ultimately lost to Guingamp. But that feeling was… Amazing.

9. The one time football made you so sad you cried for days. 

First there was Cannes getting sent to 7th division. I thought it was so unfair since the owners had done fuck all while the team gave their max. There was Alex leaving Juve the way it happened. And more recently it was Italy not qualifying for the World Cup and Gigi leaving Juve. Gosh that one was a hard blow I spent the whole week crying from his press conference to the game and after.

11. Five players you really admire purely based on football

Giorgio Chiellini (what ??)

Paolo Maldini

Thierry Henry

Eden Hazard (saw him twice when he was in Lille and it was already a recital)

Iker Casillas

13. Five most underrated players in your opinion

So many qzesrdtfygu ! Any GKs and Defenders go there. For having many OM fans in my acquatainces and being up to date with their club as a result, I’d say Hiroki Sakai is really underrated. Unpopular opinion but Pippo Inzaghi was constantly underrated for saying his goals are easy and he’s lucky and he doesn’t know how to play. I said what I said. Danijel Subasic, my good peeps and that’s the truth. Hm Olivier Giroud and Hugo Lloris ???? ANYONE ???? (that counts as a two for one package). And as a very great and Scouse philosopher once said : “Gary Neville is the most underrated player”

14. Five most overrated players in your opinion

Ronald, Titbot, Rami (and even more since the world cup win), Ratmos, Müller (sorry Garance)

15. Name 3 most despicable figures in football in your opinion (coaches, players, owners, companies, anyone…)

UEFA and FIFA tbh.

16. What makes your favorite coach better than other coaches?

He screams like a metal rock star ! And he’s super intense :

Also because he’s done a tremendous work winning 4 Coppa Italia, 4 Scudetti, getting to two UCL finals and keep the team hungry for more !

22. Favorite Left Back today

Me of course aqzesrdtfqzesrdtfyghj ! Ugh today ? I’d go with De Sciglio (he’s polyvalent)

28. Your dream eleven

Buffon, Maldini, Chiellini, Scirea, Gattuso, Pirlo, Giggs, Beckham, Del Piero, Inzaghi, Vieri

35. Favorite tactical formation

4-3-3 or 3-5-2. Although my first love in managing games was the 4-1-2-1-2. Or as I like to call it : 4-4-2 losange !

39. A moment in football that changed you as a person. (e.g injuries, trophies, or transfers)

It’s honestly quite a rollercoaster when you’re ten years old to see your heroes win the world cup and then learn a week later that your favourite team is going to Serie B. I didn’t understand. That was the first time I really read all articles and papers I could find on the matter, even going to the public library to look at the ones I couldn’t buy and try and read everything to understand.

There was also Riccardo Montolivo’s injury just before the 2014 World Cup and Laurent Koscielny’s injury before the 2018 World Cup. I saw both happening in front of my very eyes and I felt awful, I almost wanted to cry. Injuries at such a time are, truly, the worst thing. And Montolivo wasn’t left alone by injuries afterwards and it breaks my heart.

Also, that 2005 ucl final like. The d r a m a (tm)

41. A player you are ashamed of loving

No shame, no regrets, just love !

43. Your achilles’ heel. The player who is your weakness.

Gigi Buffon (and Pippo Inzaghi)

44. Which team did you support the last time two teams you hated played against each other?

None, I wished for a draw aqzesrdtfygu

55. Three players from past generations you wish you had seen

Gaetano Scirea, Giampiero Boniperti and George Best (and Lev Yashin)

58. Most undeserving winners you can think of

Portugal at Euro 2016. They had the crappiest run and yet…..

67. A rival player you wish had joined your team

MON-TO-LI-VO, Icare about nothing ! Otherwise, although he’s a milanista through and through, would have love Gattuso at Juve, see how it would have been.

68. The time you really thought about leaving football

I never wanted to left but I had breaks. It especially coincided when I was playing football myself and the club’s environement was shit. I received insults just because I was 100% at training and dared tackle the ball away from the starlette diva of the team and the coaches didn’t bat an eye. Spent a whole year like this before I had enough and changed club.

70.The best transfer decision your club made

Just saying but buying Andrea Barzagli from Wolfsburg for 300k was like. Genius.

84. A player you wish you could’ve known in real life because you really think you guys could’ve been best friends.

I’d go with Andrea Pirlo, my good bitch I love dearly

85. A player who you want as your partner (lover, boyfriend, husband)

Pippo Inzaghi or Alessandro Del Piero.

87. Five players who others find attractive but you just don’t see it

Max Allegri for Beatrice Icardi, Luka Modric, Griezmann,

88. A player you think you totally would have had a crush on if you were born in another generation

Probably George Best and Paolo Rossi

91. A player who you think has the worst sense when it comes to fashion

Pretty much all players who lived the 90′s and early 2000s. But like… Gigi Buffon always delivered….. looks™ lmao

93. Top 5 bromances that you swear by.

Giorgio Chiellini and Leonardo Bonucci bitch !

Pippo Inzaghi and Bobo Vieri

Dejan Lovren and Mo Salah

Rino Gattuso and the Dickheads™

France 98 is a whole bromance by itself

99. The 5 most attractive players in your club and NT

Juve : De Sciglio, Matuidi, Bernardeschi, Dybala and Chiellini

France NT : Samuel Umtiti, Raphaël Varane, Blaise Matuidi, Benjamin Pavard and Nabil Fekir

Italy NT : Salvatore Sirigu, Ciro Immobile, Mattia De Sciglio, Federico Bernardeschi and Giorgio Chiellini

Thanks !

[andreas-hangout]

@hotchocolatedictator (not tagging you for the game, just I feel like you might enjoy sending me some asks about the wips below!)

Oops, forgot to add the titles (and the summaries hehe), my bad!

Droplets (of blood) - “As it so happens, Nikki’s a really good detective when it comes to all supernatural phenomenons in her city. Unfortunately for Nikki, she’s also a vampire. It’d be a shame if someone found out... right? And it’d be a bigger shame if that someone was her lifelong enemy... right? It’s not like they’re going to like, get along or anything...right?”

why are there so many fucking yokai in my house - “Hanami’s the granddaughter of an onmyoji, an exorcist of sorts. But Hanami’s really more interested in how she’s going to get by as a student than any yokai shenanigans. That is, until she unexpectedly finds a ghost in her school’s toilets. Then, things get... Weird.”

and i was running far away - “She didn’t mean to fall in love with a god, she really didn’t! But here she is. Now... now what?”

i frankly wish i wasn’t here right now- “Average uni student Beatrice accidentally summons a demon. That’s how average uni student Beatrice finds out that she’s an angel, actually. Great! ...Except there’s people who want to kill her, and her demon friend’s not being especially helpful.”

let’s take over rome! - “Lavernia and her friends are trying to stage a revolution. It doesn’t go particularly according to plan.”

how did i end up in this fucking mess - “You’d think for once in my fucking life, things would’ve gone well. But no! of fucking course it didn’t! I wouldn’t be Ethan if things went *well* in my life, would I? First the ghosts, then teenage emotional bullshit, and now ghosts again?!”

mildly autobiographical bullshit - “After so many years, it feels strange to walk in that little Ligurian village again.  It’s like she’s back in her childhood. The smells are the same, the sun is the same, and her nonna’s trenette al pesto are the same.”

Tagging anyone who wants to! (Déso Kabbal j’avais pas vu que c’était un tag game et pas un ask game et que j’avais pas été taggé.e)

ok @belphegor1982 m'a tagguée pour vous révéler mon âme parce que mes titres de wip sont souvent vraiment nuls, et comme elle j'ai clairement trop de wips donc je vais tagguer @kaantt @garnetrena @sherhaanks et c'est déjà bien.

Aussi j'ai décidé de faire que les wips qui ne sont pas en train d'être publiés, donc pas d'Atropos ou autres

rdv sous le cut les bozos

Keep reading

[lux-i-fer]

In Sickness and Hell

Synopsis: Sickness never bothered Lucifer until it got ahold of Chloe.

Ao3 link

Rating: T

Notes: Oh my god guys I'm so sorry it's taken me this long!!! I've been super busy with my health, family health, vacation, and about 5 million other things, but I did it! A big shoutout to my beta because I deprive her of sleep about 5 days of the week. This was thrown in in a rush so be sure to check my paragraphing! ALSO SPECIAL NOTE: THERE IS ONLY ONE CHAPTER TO GO!

Chapter Number: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Dan always had had a few choice words to describe Lucifer Morningstar. Egotistical, pretentious, asshole; really the list went on. But he’d always supposed there was more to the club owner than just shallow smiles and mindless sex. Sometimes he would catch when his charming smiles twisted into ugly snarls or how his eyes bubbled with more than lust. There was something about the man that just seemed off. Dan wasn’t sure what exactly made him feel that way, but there was certainly more to him than he liked to let on.

Watching Lucifer talk to the nurse outside of Chloe’s room all but proved Dan’s theory.

He stood as he normally did; with a type of stiff-backed elegance that only came from cold, old money childhoods. Except there was nothing elegant and expensive about the scene at all.

Lucifer’s clothes were heavily creased and stained. The boot print on his chest and bruises on his jaw that Dan had been so proud of earlier, now seemed to sneer at him in disgust. A sharp kick of regret drove through his stomach.

The bruises were too purple, the dirt stain too prominent for Dan to be proud. What he had done wasn’t justice, it was brutality.  

He scoffed at his mounting shame. What the fuck was wrong with him? When had he begun to tolerate and feel pity for Lucifer Morningstar?  

From his spot around the corner, Dan studied the shadows under the club owner’s eyes. They weren’t dark and sickly like he would have thought, but more subtle and haunting instead. A passerby wouldn’t have noticed them, the hospital staff might not even notice them, but Dan did. And for some reason they unsettled him.

But that wasn’t what tripped Dan up the most about the situation, because clinging to Lucifer’s waist was none other than Trixie.

His long musician fingers tapped out melodies on the top of her head, in a way that a stranger might think it as endearing.

But Dan wasn’t a stranger and the motion just seemed out of place for a man who believed dogs and children were one in the same. Still, Dan watched as Lucifer let Trixie press her cheek against his hip and squeeze him tighter than what would be classified as polite.

A shudder ran up his spine and Dan finally made his way towards them. Honestly, the whole thing was so surreal that it made him feel like he was in a parallel universe.

As he neared the group, he caught snatches of the nurse’s speech.

“--s Decker is receiving blood and extra electrolytes just to make sure she’ll remain stable. The nurses believe the shock was caused by a mixture of fatigue, prior blood loss, and some sort of severe stress. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you Mr. Morningstar?” the nurse asked him almost accusingly.

Before Dan could stop himself, the question tumbled from his mouth. “Chloe went into shock?”

The nurse turned with bland amusement painting his features, to look at Dan. “Yes Miss Decker went into shock about twenty minutes ago. Fortunately it was an easy fix and she should be stable now,” he glanced from Dan to Lucifer. Dan didn’t miss the way his eyes traced the path from his bandaged hand to the bruises that stained Lucifer’s skin.

“As I was just asking Mr. Morningstar, do you know of any kind of stress Miss Decker could have had between 9AM and 12PM?”

Lucifer shifted his empty stare from the nurse to him and Dan couldn’t help but get another chill.

“Panic attack. Mid morning.”

Even though the words were meant for the nurse, he caught the double meaning.

The nurse was oblivious to the threat, of course, and scribbled it down on a bleached white note pad. He gave his required send off with forced cheer, but not before making note to tell them both that as soon as her IV finished, Chloe could be released. Without another word, he disappeared into the mass of medical staff, leaving Dan alone with Lucifer and Trixie.

They stared each other down for a few tense moments until Trixie interrupted it.

“Daddy can we stay here?”

Dan tore his gaze from Lucifer’s and to his daughter. She still clung to the other man like a lifeline. Her hands twisted into the expensive fabric of his shirt, adding new pathways to the roadmap of older wrinkles.

“No baby. Look I know you want to make sure Mommy is okay but I’m sure Lucifer wants to get some rest too.”

Trixie’s face twisted into a pout and refused to let Lucifer go. “Please?”

There was a tiny pang of jealousy that rang in Dan’s chest at the sight of his daughter clinging to another man. No amount of newfound respect for Lucifer could ever make that jealousy go away. Trixie was his daughter. He loved her so much. It was supposed to be his job to protect her, but lately all he seemed to do was hurt her.

“Trix,” he said, sterner this time.

“No.”

Lucifer laid his palm flat on her head. “Darling as much as I love seeing you rebel against your paternal figure, your father is right.”

“But what about you? Maze said you don’t look like you feel good,” she turned to look at Dan again, “Daddy, Lucifer’s sick too. We can’t leave him here.”

Lucifer sighed. Dan could tell his patience was wearing thin.

He tried to cajole her again. “Lucifer is only going to get better if you let go, honey. He can’t get better if you won’t let him go anywhere.”

“Daddy we're at the hospital, they can help Lucifer,” she said, rolling her eyes, “but if we leave he'll be all alone! Nobody should be alone when they’re sick.”

Lucifer was about to open his mouth when a familiar shadow silenced him with a hand on his shoulder: Maze.

A spark of recognition flashed behind Dan’s eyelids.

“You,” he accused.

Maze raised her brows in amusement. “Me?”

Memories of glances over his shoulder, dark tinted windshields, and paranoia flooded his mind. The whole time it was just Maze. She was his shadow that afternoon in the precinct; watching. He suppressed a shiver.

“You stalked me all afternoon, what the f--” he saw his daughter’s eyes widen, “ freak,” he quickly amended.

“What a valiant save, Daniel,” Lucifer muttered sarcastically.

Dan ignored him, but he couldn’t help the crashing wave of relief the remark brought. He would take snarky asshole Lucifer over solemn, unnerving Lucifer any day. There was something reassuring about the way the robotic respect was slowly changing back into his purposefully annoying personality. It was weird; Dan never thought he would miss basically anything that Lucifer ever did.

Maze shrugged from her spot at Lucifer’s side. “I’m impressed that you noticed in the first place, I wasn’t even topless.”

“Why in God’s name were you following me?” he asked in utter disbelief.

Lucifer carded a hand through his hair in annoyance “Saying things in his name isn’t going to get your bloody answer any faster, you know. His name isn’t some premium code.”

Maze barked out a sardonic giggle.

To Dan’s slight horror, Trixie joined in.

Dan was not the religious type. His parents were strict Catholics and ever since he was eighteen he’d always held a small kernel of resentment for all of the forced mass sessions. But that did not mean that he needed Lucifer’s own traumatic experiences rubbing off on Trixie; it was bad enough that his parents frowned upon Chloe’s atheism. He didn’t need Trixie going to Nana’s house and telling her that she was best friends with Satan.

Oh God, Dan could just hear the wine glass dropping out of his mother’s hand now.

Maze gave one last snort before sobering up. “Anyway I came out to tell you that Chloe’s awake.”

Immediately, all humor drained from Lucifer’s eyes. His shoulders strained with an invisible weight and the remaining mirth seemed to drain away.

Trixie, on the other hand, lit up like a Christmas tree. She smiled slyly up at Maze, who returned it with one of her own wolfish grins.

Finally, Trixie pulled away from Lucifer and both him and Dan let out a breath neither of them knew they were holding.

Immediately, one of Lucifer’s tics took over and he began smoothing out the creases in his shirt. Apparently it took more than exhaustion to shake that level of OCD.

Trixie sighed dramatically and tugged on Lucifer’s wrist impatiently.  

“Beatrice--” he said, clearly caught off guard.

“Come on you’re taking too long,” she whined and tried to pull him in the direction of Chloe’s room.

He offered a few weak protests, but ultimately allowed himself to be swept away by the seven year old, leaving Maze and Dan alone in the hall.

Maze grinned and arched a mocking brow at him.

Dan glanced around. “What?”

The bartender just shrugged, “Nothing, just wondered if you were getting your panties in a twist over Lucifer and Chloe again.”

“Why would I do that?”

Maze glanced at his bandaged hand and gave him a look.

Dan covered it with his other hand. “Look,” he said defensively, “I got mad the first time--”

“And the second, and the third--”

He glared at her and continued with a little more force, “--but I don’t hate the guy.”

Maze crossed her arms and looked him over. “Could have fooled me.”

Seeing how the conversation was going to end, Dan scoffed and brushed past her and stepped into Chloe’s room.

The scene he walked into stopped Dan in his tracks.

Lucifer hovered around the foot of the bed, his hands fiddling with his cuffs as he paced back and forth.

“You’re certain you’re all right?” he asked timidly.

Chloe sat propped up on the bed with Trixie pressed into her side.

“Lucifer, come on you know the answer to that.”

He took an uneasy step closer to her. “Humor me Detective.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, alright? It was just shock, it happens to everyone.”

The rest of the conversation fell on deaf ears. Dan stood stupefied. Lucifer Morningstar did not do quiet. He did not act soft and he certainly had never been described as timid.

His shoulders were slumped, the perfect posture seemingly thrown out the window.

It was all too surreal for Dan when he realized that in some way or another Lucifer had always been like this. Maybe not to this degree, but the traces of it now stood out in his mind.

Before, Dan didn’t have a word for the emotion that he often saw in Lucifer’s eyes. He’d always passed it off as something simple, like lust or annoyance, but now he knew that it was far from that.

Whether he liked it or not, Lucifer Morningstar cared for Chloe Decker. And for some reason, Dan was okay with that. It was as if the proverbial glass had finally shattered.

After this blew over, Chloe was going to sign the divorce papers. Then he would sign them and that would be it. There would be no argument, no dramatic change of heart. This chapter on their life would be over in the matter of a week. The rings would be taken off and hidden away and slowly the rest of Chloe’s things would disappear from their house. And soon enough their house would turn into his house; wedding pictures swiped off shelves and the dress gone from the closet.

It would be polite smiles over break room coffee and late night cases. They would fall into comfortable silence but at the end of the night, Dan would go home alone and Chloe would go home to Lucifer.

There would be secrets whispered between silk sheets that he would never know and new recipes he’d never taste. Maybe there would eventually be a new ring on her finger; a new last name pasted over his.

Dan would never know because this was where their lives diverged.

And for the first time since the separation, Dan was okay with that.

Lucifer was an ass, but deep down Dan knew he would take care of both Chloe and Trixie.

Maybe that was why he found the strength to clear his throat.

The conversation in the room halted as three sets of eyes turned towards him. Unconsciously, he covered his bandaged hand once more.

“Uh, I’ll stay here if you want to go get her release papers,” he said to Lucifer.

The man in question stopped his pacing and glanced at Chloe. She looked confused, shifting her gaze from him to Dan. Clearly Lucifer had forgotten to mention him.

Silently, Lucifer gave her one final lingering look before squaring his shoulders, giving his cuffs one last tug, and heading for the door. Before he disappeared completely, he turned back towards Dan with a small, thoughtful smile.

“Thank you.”

Dan just nodded, knowing that somehow, he’d made the right decision.

Turning back to Chloe and Trixie, he sighed.

Trixie gave him one of her bright gap-filled smiles but the guarded expression Chloe had worn since Dan had come in hadn’t left her face.

He offered her a bitter smile that she didn’t return.

With the same precise steps Lucifer had worn into the linoleum, Dan made his way over to Chloe’s bedside.

Her blue eyes were still misty with sleep, but the question sat plainly in them. The last time she had seen him, he was a punch away from being escorted out of the hospital. She had every right to be questioning him.

“Hi,” she finally said, letting her questioning tone bleed through.

Dan couldn’t stop his smile from falling, “I’m sorry.”

Chloe’s frown deepened and she patted Trixie’s arm. “Trix-babe would you go see where Maze put your backpack?”

“ Mommy,” she whined, clearly not forgetting the last time she’d left the room.

Dan tried to step in once more. “Daddy just needs to talk with Mommy for a minute, okay? It’s going to be boring anyway, I bet Maze is way cooler.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Dan watched as his daughter crawled from the bed with a heavy pout and didn’t say another word until she was out of sight.

“Dan look if you’re here to give me more shit--”

“I’m letting Lucifer take you home.” It took everything he had to keep his voice low.

“What?” All of the fire in her words had vanished.

Dan drew in a deep breath.

“Chloe I know we thought that maybe the separation would help us--help me, ” he amended, “But it didn’t did it? I love you but we can’t keep doing this. It’s not good for us and it’s definitely not good for Trix. I feel like if we don’t stop it now--” his words caught in his throat, “we’ll just end up hating each other. I care about you too much to let us get that bad.”

Chloe’s eyes were wide, “Dan--”

“I wasn’t there. I was never there when I should have been, I know. That’s why I’m letting you go. After this blows over I’ll sign the divorce papers, I’ll move on. And that starts with letting Lucifer sign you out. I think he’s a dick, but he’s a dick who tore himself apart to take care of you. Hell, even now I wasn’t here when I should have been. So Chloe,” Dan’s voice broke, “I love you, but that will never be enough to fix us.”

Chloe sat speechless, unshed tears glimmering in her eyes.

Finally, she gave a stiff nod, “I think I’m ready to let you go too.”

With shaking hands, Dan pulled his ex wife into a tight embrace, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Bye Chloe,” he whispered into her hair.

“Bye Dan,” she rasped back.

As Dan pulled away, he felt an imaginary door close on the dream that was his marriage and nightmare that was his separation. But not without opening a new door that would lead to his bittersweet future.

[paper-ink-and-coffee-rings]

Fractured - I survived © paper-ink-and-coffee-rings 2018

‘What am I afraid of? You kill me Doc, you really do. You ever think that maybe you chose the wrong profession?’ Alex Carlton lay slouched comfortably in Jerry, the red tattered beanbag she named and claimed.

 A stress release ball was thrown into the air and caught repeatedly, receiving a squeeze on alternate throws. Alex focused a little too much attention on it for her therapist’s liking, but if it kept Alex calm then so be it.

 Dr Mona Lavazza, a young woman with the scalding glare of an English Schoolmistress smiled and clicked her pen, noting that Alex avoided the question. It was the 3rd time now.

 ‘No. I quite enjoy what I do’ Mona, she insisted on her patients calling her that, adjusted herself. Alex deemed the stress ball no longer amusing and placed it next to the potted aloe vera on the stand by the window.

  A glance at the clock told her that there was 5 minutes left. Despite Alex’s funk and avoidance of questions, some progress was made. Alex was considering going out with friends soon without family supervision.

 The responses to questions about the incident were less hostile and she’d shown remarkable progress with the anxiety it gave her. It was only recently that Alex had been left alone at home without fear for the first time in a year.

 Now she was taking runs past the beach and even stopping to photograph it. ‘And why do you need to photograph the beach Alex?’ Mona had asked. Alex replied simply that the more she looked at it the more it made her want to go down to it.

 ‘Is it a rewarding career? Do you think I have what it takes?’ Alex stopped slouching and sat as straight as she could in the beanbag. The office Alex was sat in was styled more like a Youth Club rec room.

 Sometimes it was more comfortable than the 4 walls of 13 Ocean Drive Terrace.

 ‘I think you do. You’ve been through a lot Alex. You’ve struggled and lost, you’ve overcome and here you are, on the road to a better you. It takes real courage to even step outside after what you went through’.

 A dark look fell across Alex’s face like a shadow. She got up and stretched until she felt her neck crack. It was oddly satisfying. ‘Don’t praise me for being human and getting on with life’.

 ‘Alex, I’m here to help you. Please sit back down, there’s still time left’ Mona gestured for Alex to have a seat and tapped her notes with her pen.

‘Alex we have made a lot of progress and we’re almost there, we just need to-’.

 ‘Remember. I know’. Alex sat down on the sofa this time, curling her legs underneath herself while she tangled her fingers into knotted dark curls. ‘Well, the thing with Amnesia is Doc, as I am sure an educated lady like you knows, means that you can’t’

 Alex took her frustration out on her hair, the short blonde mop that made a disappointing ponytail when yanked back. ‘You don’t think that I’ve tried? I’ve spent 2 years a prisoner to myself. 2 years of knowing that I know but not knowing what I know’.

 Mona noted carefully what Alex was saying, noting more the body language on display. Alex as now leaning forward, hunched over herself almost, right leg bouncing as she pulled on the small pony.

 ‘Alex I’m worried that you’re expecting too much’ Mona removed her glasses and ditched her notes. ‘You have been walking this road for 2 years now and by no means is the end in sight, stop expecting so much all at once’.

‘From who?’ Alex helped herself to an orange from the bowl beside her elbow.

 ‘From yourself. Alex you do this each time. You start off great and the moment we make a little progress, you clam up and go back inside and then get really angry at yourself for doing it’.

 ‘You want to know what scares me?’ Alex watched as Mona nodded encouragingly, reminding Alex that she was in a safe space.

 ‘Do you want to know what I want Doc? I want to know who did this to me’ Alex tapped her head with two finger in a hard gesture.

 ‘I’m scared of my mind because it’s hiding the truth from me’ Alex felt her shoulder itch. ‘I’m scared that the reason I can’t remember is because I don’t want to remember. But I can’t think of a single reason why I don’t want to remember’.

 Mona leaned forward and coughed softly into her fist. ‘That’s good Alex. You’re being open. You are addressing your fears and you’ve just vocalised them. That was a major step. And we will find out, it will take more time. But we will find out what’s stopping you’.

 ‘What if I’m a horrible person? Deep down inside I’m so horrible that the only way for me to be reborn was to have my skull bashed on that beach. To wipe the slate and most of my mind clean. What if that’s the reason? What if I know that and that’s my brain self deleted?’.

 The orange was peeled in silence to allow for reflection upon Alex’s statement. The recorder lay on the small formica table picked up only breathing until Mona stood and called time. Her feet echoed as she moved past the sofa and opened a closet.

  ‘Alex I have something for you’. Alex cocked a brow and eyed her therapist. ‘I know it’s unconventional but I want you to try it. I think it would be good for you to get back online. If it makes you feel in control of something other than college and work then great'.

 ‘No way’ Alex’s voice rose. ‘Mona I can’t do that. Are you insane? I can’t do it. The last time I went on there I was faced with the Spanish Inquisition about it. The media, followers, strangers. Vultures’.

 ‘Alex it is okay for you to talk about it. It was not your fault and it is not shameful. You have done nothing wrong and you’re not a victim. Take that power back’. Mona handed Alex a small hand held camcorder. ‘Take it back with this’.

 Alex glanced at Mona’s outstretched hands. If Alex was a cartoon character waves of uncertainty would radiate off her in squiggly little lines.

 ‘I want you to document you story. Your recovery and all of the obstacles you face and fear. If you get into old habits it gives you that control you don’t feel like you have. Go back to your followers, be in control of what you do and what you don’t want people to know’.

 Alex didn’t accept it immediately. She just stared at it. ‘I don’t want to’ she looked up at Mona. ‘I don’t need to record it. I don’t want to look back’ Alex cradled the peeled orange as if Mona would take it of her.

 ‘Just try it. Okay? Name him’ Mona thrust the camera on Alex. ‘Make him your friend. Tell him things. He’s a great listener and he can’t tell anybody if you don’t let him. Talk to him. Be the Alex of before, keep or delete. Choice is yours. It will be great for managing anxiety’.

  ‘You don’t know the Alex of before. You just know the Alex of today. The Alex that can’t remember, places, people or stupid little things that have no business in your head but there they are’ Alex juggled the camera and the orange, a frown carved into her face.

 Mona opened the door. ‘Show me. I know that she is still there. Use your camera and talk to it. It’s your homework. I’ll see you next week. Have a good week and stay safe’.

 Outside waiting was Calum, Alex’s older and only brother. ‘Ah, she comes bearing gifts’ Calum’s enthusiasm was ignored. ‘She also comes with a face that’s trying to curdle milk. What’s wrong?’

 Alex looked at Calum for a moment then got into the car without a word. Calum eased himself off the bench outside with a groan.

 ‘I didn’t warm up enough before training Gloria Cardle, I hope your session went better’. Calum shut the door and waited for Alex to belt up.

 ‘It was alright’ Alex split her orange and handed him half when he reached for the camera. He knew better than ask if anything had come back to her. It had been 2 years and parts of Alex’s life was still lost in biological cyber space

 ‘Isn’t there a clause against personal trainers talking about clients outside of work?’ Alex munched on the orange and kept the camera in her lap. ‘We have a charger for one of these don’t we? She never gave me one’ Alex finished the orange.

 Calum cracked his knuckles and combed a mop of hair like Alex’s while she settled herself. The two were strikingly similar in appearance save for a difference in build and height. ‘Yeah I think so, it’s probably in the attic. If we put any more shit up there it’s going to collapse’.

 Both of the Carlton siblings, like their mother Lorna had heads of dark blonde curls. They were also green eyed with rather sharp looking noses and thin lips

 ‘That’s the first I’ve heard of such a clause. And I won’t be talking about it again because nobody wants to know about a menopausal lady working out’ he checked his appearance with a little too much energy.

 ‘My God you’re so vain’ Alex looked over in mild disgust. ‘I bet you use half of

Beatrice’s make-up bag you self loving fuck’ she brought her seatbelt across her

chest until it clicked into place.

 Calum’s car was a used Nissan Primera and made far too many noises for it to be running.

 ‘How is this car still on the road? She farts more than Dad after Taco Tuesday’ Alex was waiting for the first noise the minute Calum’s keys were in the ignition. Alex didn’t have to wait long.

 ‘I will not have you talk shit about Stella, she’s like my wife I’ll have you know’ Calum

had defended Stella against Alex’s remarks on more than one occasion. She had no

choice but to jump in. Alex was no longer allowed to drive since her brain injury.

 ‘Also I am not vain. If you looked this good you’d want to look at yourself. You hungry Al? I’m starved and I really can’t be bothered to cook. Holly’s? he suggested as he checked the path was clear for exit.

 ‘Pick me up something from Holly’s, but drop me home first. I have homework’ Alex held up the camera. ‘Please don’t ever threaten me like that again’.

 Calum hit the brakes and jolted Alex off her seatbelt. ‘Excuse me?’ his eyes darkened.

 ‘Don’t ever mention your cooking to me again. Starving people wouldn’t even what you make’ Alex’s face didn’t hold. She cracked a smile then half heartedly. It was met with Calum’s middle finger as he drove them towards home.

 ‘I take it your camera is the homework. It will be good for you. A distraction’ Calum side eyed the camera then turned back to the road.

 ‘Mom and Dad left for Washington about an hour ago. They’ll be home Wednesday night and would like a phone call when you’re free’ he tapped his fingers off the wheel to a beat Alex couldn’t hear.

 Alex merely nodded and played with the camera. ‘Just you and me then’ she turned the camera on herself and flipped the panel so that she could see what she was looking at. Her face stared back at her with burning curiosity.

 Calum drove the rest of the way in silence leaving Alex to stew in her thoughts. When they arrived home he slowed to a crawl near the front door step, the gravel crunching loudly under each tyre.

 ‘I want a slice of Holly’s Blueberry Crumble’ Alex said as she stepped out of the car and fished deeply in denim pockets for her keys. Calum nodded in approval at her choice of desert.

 ‘I’ll be back in about half an hour okay? I want you to lock that door. I’ll open it when I’m back. The 4th girl in 2 weeks has vanished. All of them look like you and all of them have been from neighbouring towns. I mean it Alex. Lock. That. Door’.

 ‘Are you serious? What kind of sick-’ Alex was cut off by her phone buzzing. ‘I’ll be upstairs when you’re back. I’ll lock up, I promise’.

 Calum drove off as Alex locked the door and made sure the back door was locked too. ‘Hey puss’ Alex scratched a fat tabby cat and went upstairs to her room.

Sitting on her bed Alex held the camera up again and switched it on, staring right into the camera she cleared her throat and took a moment to gather what she’d say to it.

 ‘My name is Alex Carlton and I survived’.

[psychicninja90]

“I think you should kneel before your king.”

“With all due respect,” Lucifer flashed a knife-edge smile, “which is none, you’re not my fucking king.”

She narrowed her eyes and Lucifer took a deep breath. Be careful, he thought.

“And king? Wouldn’t you be the queen?”

He chuckled as he felt the heat of his anger and the thrill of his fear pass through him.

Why was she here? As the First Demon, her ability to traverse plains was unique to her. But her arrival was unusual. Lilith’s presence unnerved him and a frisson passed over his skin. To still his shaking hands he gripped the bottle too tightly as he poured. However when he faced her, he laid on his most charming smile.

“Hell is my birthright. I offered you a partnership, then you left. I’m simply taking back what is mine. God usurped the throne from my fatherthe True Devil when—“

“Yes, yes,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Look, Lilith, if you want Hell’s throne, just take it. Believe me. Although I suppose I miss the actual chair, I don’t the job.”

The demon quirked her eyebrow and frowned, but said nothing.

“You can even change the upholstery, if you like. I must admit that crushed velvet is a bit cliche and heh, hell to clean out the ash, but leather is so uncomfortable in heat.”

“Regardless,” he waved his hand dismissively again, “feel free to take it. It’s no insult to me. In fact if it pisses off my Dad, please do it.”

Slowly he swallowed the last of his drink and he clenched his jaw. With an electric fury in his eyes, he turned toward her. The light bent around him and the shadows shook. The air trembled with power and Lilith still stoic, if closely observed twitched and shifted her weight back.

Lucifer grinned cruelly. Defensive. Good.

“But never presume,” he rumbled low, like a storm on the horizon, “to order me again.”

The atmosphere returned to normal and he heard Lilith exhale. Satisfied he turned his back to her and walked away hoping she would take the hint and leave.

“I’m not afraid of you. You’re not the “Devil” you once were.”

“Oh really?” He said with an air of nonchalance.

“Yes. I’ve heard you’ve gone soft. That you have a family. A wife. A daughter. I’ve even heard you have a little brat on the way.”

It was Lucifer’s turn to twitch, but he quickly threw on a tight and dangerous smile when he looked at her.

Her smile was all teeth. “It would be a shame if something happened to them.”

With a feral growl, he sprung at her and caught—air. His chest heaving he spun around to find her out on the balcony, half veiled in shadow.

“This is my only warning. Don’t get in my way.”

With a whoosh she was gone. And Lucifer stood alone hollow dread growing in his chest, as the thoughts of her threat, his family rushed in his mind. He didn’t even care what she wanted. She had threatened to hurt them and worse, she could.

Chloe. Beatrice. Their Little Morningstar.

The fear froze him to the spot and the only coherent thing he could say was a quiet, breathless:

“Shit.”

“I think you should kneel before your king.”

“With all due respect,” the protagonist flashed a knife-edge smile, “which is none, you’re not my fucking king.”

[magpiewritingthing]

the imposed rhythms of the passing time / 1

Part: 1; baby steps, baby brain, baby danger

Collection: the imposed rhythms of the passing time

Overall Summary: He's a hypocrite, slating dead-brained idiots for being obsessed with how genetics are involved with the outcome of children, and yet he can't stop thinking about it himself. Mostly, if either he or Mel are to blame for Josh's seemingly-sudden turn of mood.

--

A study(?) of Bob and Mel Washington.

Warnings: mental health issues, semi-graphic animal death, child abuse mention, vomit mention, semi-graphic child death (imagined)

Other notes: i have... many headcanons about Bob & Mel

Before they’d had Josh, Mel wanted a dog. She used to have a whole pack of them, she’d said, when she was younger. She and her two older brothers would walk Newfoundlands, Border Collies, German Shepherds, Labradors, Poodles, and Chihuahuas -- every shape, every size, each loved. She’s never mentioned what happened to the ones that died, or even that they did, and from what Bob knows of her father, he doesn’t have to stretch his imagination. It’s best to just let her avoid it, he thought. No point digging up the dead things.

They had a dog, just as Bob was getting his foot in the door with low-budget but “original” horror shorts at film festivals. Mel was busting her way into the writing world, even though Bob had considered it a small pool -- literary analysis, but it scratched and still scratches at the old status quo, and Mel’s not stopped spilling the truth yet. No-one can turn her down.

The dog, a “charming” Yorkshire Terrier named Beatrice, was the first dog they’d owned together. She would be the last.

Not that Bob blames Mel, because it was an accident, and they’d both thought she was properly house-trained (apartment-trained?) by then, living with them for three years. But as soon as Mel, by then two and a half months pregnant with Josh (and they’d agonised over names! boys’ names, girls’ names, names for twins!), said she was going out to do window-shopping and recharge her brain, Beatrice had shot out the door-- If Bob was being honest, it had taken the dog a good number of seconds, perhaps a minute, gauging Bob’s detachment from the world at that current time-slot, and considering the long trek from apartment door to parking lot where the shared, cheap car stayed. And then the little bitch bolted, faster than Bob’s molasses-slow startlement, easily outpacing him. He’d thought she’d come back, so no, he didn’t rush. It wasn’t until he was halfway between open door and parking lot, still hearing the little thing yapyapyap for Mamma & Favourite Dog Parent Washington, that he’d heard their shared car rev it’s engines, and a horrifying thought clicked, complete with the sound of a working Polaroid, in his mushy head.

A yelp. A crying howl. Car stalled. Car started to ease off the body. More whimpering. The car door slammed. And just as Bob turned the last corner of the stairs -- bolted the rest of the way down, stomach full of french toast and orange juice in his throat -- he caught the first high notes of Mel’s screaming echoing off the otherwise empty parking lot walls. He threw up near Edwin Colger’s parking spot. Guy was a prick, anyway. So there’s a little sicky-sicky in his parking spot, so there’s some orange juice with eggy-and-toasty bits in it, so what--

It was easier focusing on spite rather than his pregnant wife’s agonised grief. And how instantaneous it was. And how she blamed herself. And Bob, too, though she never said it out loud. Maybe she should’ve. Maybe he should’ve owned up to it, at least, to feeling guilty.

But ain’t that the thing? Easier saying nothing than saying anything, nevermind confessing. It’s amazing either of them got to know one another. But-- well, that was different. And wild. And terrifying.

Children are a whole different kettle of fish. Shit, they’re not even fish, are they? That’s one of his shitty “Dad Jokes”. Capital J. Mel says it really stands for “Jackass”. You know, lovingly.

Of course he’s still worried about accidentally letting one of the little rugrats loose and accidentally letting one of them get fucking squashed to car-pulp, baby lungs squeezed out like the body’s a tube of toothpaste. So it’s either the baby buggy or the child leash. “Harness”. Whatever. It keeps Joshua from running into the streets or going near unfriendly-looking dogs or toppling off a road or down a hill or getting easily snatched up--

Experience with reality has not prepared either of them well for parenthood.

A small mercy is that Josh doesn't mind being picked up and carried around, abandoning the need for buggy and child harness altogether. And honestly? When Bob’s not fearing for his young child’s life and health, he’s enjoying this parenting gig. His film crew and actors love Josh, saying he’s the cutest thing since sliced bread. As though sliced bread’s cute, but whatever, Bella’s a bit weird, but nice at least.

But those are only the things that Bob and Mel can control. Don’t squash your kid. Don’t let ’em take a dangerous tumble. Certainly don’t fucking hit them, or you might as well set yourself on fire, because then you’re not even human anymore.

But bullying at school? Teachers’ indifference? Nature it-fucking-self? What can they do about any of that? What could they possibly fucking do?

Nothing. Not really.

“You know how when--”

Mel looks at him. No, glares. He’s drunk. And when Bob’s drunk, he’s an obnoxious asshole. Rambling asshole. Miserable asshole.

“--when some motherfuckin’... those kindsa mothers, and fathers--” Yes, she knows. “--talk about the fuckin’... genetics between kids and the parents?” Mel thinks they’re smarter than that: that they know that it’s nature and nurture but choose to use whatever argument they like to discredit the worse-off people. And people are just shit. “Makes me fucking boil, M.”

“I know, Bobby.” She could tell him to fuck off to bed. Thank fuck that the kids are sleeping over at their friends’ houses. No need for this fucking noise.

“But,” he pipes up, finger in the air, and leaning over the arm of the deck chair, closer to her as if anything else could hope to compete with his presence, “I think sometimes they’re right.”

About what, she doesn’t know. She gives up pretending to read. Maybe she could just go for a swim. Bob can’t swim. A bit too terrified of more-than-knee-deep water. She should be too, she thinks. But fuck that.

“How so?” Entertain him.

“It’s my fault, I think.”

And then she looks at him then. Indoor pool lights and overhead fluorescents wash him out to ghost-pallor, leaving the dark bags under his eyes a stark contrast. His eyes are glassy, and red-veined, a splotch of pinky-red particularly prominent in his left eye, nearest the bottom eyelid and outer corner of his eye. Always there, first.

“It’s my fault. About Josh.”

He swipes a thumb under his right eye. It pushes out a strained tear. He says he’s never been able to cry properly.

“Bobby...”

“It is.” His voice turns reedy, almost child-like and high. “If I weren’t-- God, Mel, if I’d tried getting better, he wouldn’t need to, would he?”

He’ll deny it, but he wants comfort, a crushing hug. She’s much the same.

“We don’t know what it is,” she says, parroting their numerous prior conversations that’ve gone the exact same as now. Sometimes it’s Mel who blames herself. Sometimes it’s Bob. “And it’s no use trying to blame ourselves, is there?” A hand on his cheek, palm against the tear track. Another tear follows, sluggish. Sluggish like brainwork. Sometimes it’s both of them.

“I know.” They both do. “But--”

Shame, mostly. And Josh is more important, anyway. It's amazing either of them are basically invisible.

She doesn’t kiss him tonight. But they lean together, forehead to forehead until Mel drags them both to bed.

The night’s too long.

[idornaseminary]

Chapter Two-Hundred Four: Enzo and Natasha

Enzo cast the patronus not a minute after he left his meeting with Beatrice, heading up the stairs in a blind fury. The doe galloped around him happily, curious as to what its master wanted from him.

“Den. Now.”

And with a wave of his wand, he sent the demand.

Natasha had been sitting in the Astronomy room once again, alone, contemplating what they were going to do about Ibori when she received a surprisingly harsh and demanding patronus. Even by Enzo’s standards, it was gruff, but she knew that if something had the Frenchman that worked up, she needed to go meet him immediately. So she stood, brushed herself off, and headed towards the Den.

Enzo paced back and forth in the Den, feeling like every one of his limbs was being possessed slowly, one at a time; he was losing control, and if he was alone much longer, he feared what he might do. He felt an anger course through his fingertips, and he gripped onto the fabric of his shirt where he crossed his arms; they would do something reckless if he did not keep them busy.  

The Cucurrion drew a deep breath as she watched Enzo pace angrily across the room, once the portrait opened. She didn’t know what had him so worked up, but it wasn’t good.

“Enzo?” she said, her voice a bit slow and an eyebrow raised.

“Close it,” he snapped, not even looking up from the carpet when he heard the voice.

She blinked slightly but shut the portrait behind herself, making sure it fully closed before setting her eyes on the Aquilen again. She didn’t speak, just waited for him. No need to risk him getting any more upset than he clearly already was.

He finally looked up, observing her confused expression. He could not blame her; he was not usually warm, but even he could feel a change in his tone. One he had not heard in a long time. It was distant and dark and violent. 

Finally, he spoke. “You find me desirable, do you not? You must, otherwise, you would not have tried to fuck me at the beginning of the year.”  

“I...what?” Natasha said, struggling to process what he was saying for a moment. She wondered what had happened to cause this sudden change, but it was clearly something bad. It took her another moment to respond properly, but then she said, “Yes, I suppose I do. Enzo, what’s going on?”

“So it would make sense that someone would want to be with me, right?” he asked, completely ignoring anything beyond her ‘yes’. “It is not an incredibly ridiculous assumption to make?”  

Natasha continued to be completely confused, but Enzo was so distraught she knew it was best to just follow along as best she could until he gave her an explanation.

“No, it is not a ridiculous assumption. I’m sure there are plenty of people that might want to be with you.”

He snorted, his teeth grinding together so hard that he could hear them groaning against each other, seemingly on the verge of shattering. He turned away for a moment, his breaths raging from his nostrils louder than a dragon’s.

Plenty of people…

He felt tears sting his eyes then - hot, angry tears. “Why, then, would she run around on me? Why does she think I’m not worth being with? Why am I not good enough for her?” He said it towards the window, his back to Natasha, almost as if he were musing to himself.  

Natasha’s green eyes widened slightly at Enzo’s words, finally piecing together, at least in part, what was going on.

“Enzo…” She cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable and not knowing what to say. If he was looking for comfort, she was by no means the right person to ask. If he needed something to take his mind off it...that might be another story. But she wasn’t going to initiate anything.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, letting out a deep sigh. “From my perspective, she seems to care about you a lot.”

“She doesn’t!” he roared, his fist finally slamming against the wall of the Den, creating a hole where drywall once was. He could already feel warm blood on his knuckles, but he could not feel the burn of the cut.

This is what happens, Enzo. You let her in. She saw who you are - who you really are, and she was disgusted. So disgusted that she would rather be with a perverted old man. She hates you. She thinks you are tainted. You are tainted. No one wants you.

Every word that rang through his head was in his mother’s voice, ricocheting off the hollow of his skull. His hands went to either side of his neck as if to hold it in place. He turned his back to the broken wall, sliding down until he met the floor, bowing his head in shame.  

Natasha flinched slightly as his fist collided with the wall, crumbling it and undoubtedly tearing his skin the in process. All she could do was watch as he stayed there for a moment before turning and collapsing to the floor in a heap of emotion, something she had absolutely no idea how to deal with.

How do I keep ending up in these situations?

But despite her urge to just leave, and let Enzo deal with this himself, she couldn’t. He was...well, he was her friend, and she needed to help, however, she could. So she slowly and silently walked over him before moving down to her knees directly in front of him, resting one hand on his arm.

“Enzo,” she said softly, trying to get his attention so that he wouldn’t sink into whatever spiral of thoughts he had undoubtedly started. “Even if you’re right, if she doesn’t care, there are a lot more people in this world than just Melanie Winter. There are people that care about you, and plenty that will treat you a lot better. So don’t let this turn into a lifetime of self-pity, just because of one shitty girlfriend, or whatever she was.” The words felt incredibly awkward, and not like her own; she was fairly certain she was quoting some sort of self-help article that McKayla read out loud at some point, but she hoped it still helped.

Her words sank into Enzo, and although he did not believe a single one, he felt less like he was going to shatter as Natasha spoke softly to him - something he did not know she was capable of. With his head still bowed, eyes closed, he reached up, grabbing the wrist of the hand that rested on his arm, hoping it would stop his relentless shaking. It did not. 

Natasha bit down on her lip when Enzo grabbed her wrist. She felt bad for him, really believing that he didn't deserve to have Mel cheat on him, or whatever it was she did exactly. But she didn't know how to help him. Not in a way that would actually help.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked him quietly, already out of helpful advice. But she'd resolved herself to being kinder, so she would offer whatever support she could, even if it was ungainly and uncomfortable.

“Eventually,” he finally said, still trembling like a leaf. “Eventually.”

He did not know how long they sat there in that position, but it was a while. Enzo was no stranger to anger, but this was one of an entirely different brew. This one crept up from a dark, sick part of his heart, and it wanted blood.

Still, as the minutes ticked away, he felt the beast slowly crawl back into its shell, growling hesitantly before silencing completely.

The worst was over, and it was due to Natasha’s presence.

“Thank you.”