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screaming-into-my-void · 2 years

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I've nearly finished my seasonal watch of Over The Garden Wall and I have some thoughts on setting in fiction I feel the need to talk at you about

Okay, so, I have watched a lot of shows, both animated and live-action, that have quite different worlds from ours. Specifically, I want to talk about the ones that don't really talk about their settings, and just show the elements and mechanics of their world.

What I am suggesting is that, if two shows have about the same amount of exposition, and both take a show don't tell approach to worldbuilding, it is still fully possible to notice when more effort has been put into worldbuilding. I think it's a sense that you get from well world built settings, independent of how much they show off about their world. I have a good and bad example here as worldbuilding goes, these are very different shows though so I'm not comparing quality. The two shows are Over The Garden Wall, and Final Space. The first time I watched Over The Garden Wall was in 2018, and after I finished it I felt that I didn't really understand the mechanics of the world. This is usually a bad thing, but it wasn't a "That made no sense" type of not understanding, it was more an "I feel like there is so much depth to that world that I've only had a glimpse of through these 10 episodes". These are very different feelings. Basically, the impression I had was that I came away with a lot of questions about the Unknown and the version of our world Wirt and Greg came from, and the mechanics and characters and all that jazz, but I also had a strong sense that there were actual answers, I felt like somewhere in one of the writers' offices there is a copy of a guide doc that has so much more specific information about the Unknown than I could ever think of, and that all of my questions were probably in there.

It's a bit of an overused metaphor at this point, but it really did feel like the show was the tip of a massive iceberg, and the fact that I would never know most of it drew me to the show like a moth to a flame. Also, bit of a side note, but the Over The Garden Wall fandom is one of the friendliest communities I have ever been in, it's that level of small fandom experience you really don't get with bigger shows.

Anyway, time to rip Final Space a new one in the worldbuilding department. I like the aesthetic of this show, I like most of the characters and the stories just fine. But the world-building is just... There's a reason this is my bad worldbuilding example.

This is a show that has a save the world plot as its first season arc. That is already a hard position you're putting yourself in, especially with a sci-fi show where many of the characters may not even care about saving the earth for any personal reason apart from it being something that they should probably do. I'll get back to the issues this causes after I go over the worldbuilding

This is also a show with mostly show don't tell worldbuilding, but you get the sense that it is stretching itself way too thin. This is a show with a very large scope for its setting and bare minimum worldbuilding, which leads to everything having very shallow feeling to it. They have a veneer of sci-fi and comedy, but that's all there is. It feels surface level, and that is really not ideal for the type of story they are telling.

Over The Garden Wall is not about the Unknown. It is primarily about the characters of Wirt, Greg, and Beatrice, with the dynamic of The Beast and The Woodsman forming more connective tissue between episodes. Most of the early episodes involve the trio interacting with the weirdos that reside within The Unknown, and later episodes (say, 6 onwards) mainly delve more into the group dynamics and relationships. Mostly by putting them under massive strain. But the main goal of the main characters never changes, Beatrice wants to undo the curse she put her family under, and Wirt and Greg want to get home. Even though characters have moments when they feel that they can't go on, when they find another way to reach their goal they are right back on it. Final Space is not about characters, it's about plot. And the plot goes from saving the world to saving the universe, essentially saving the setting. The setting we don't know nearly enough about, with characters that haven't been developed well enough to understand what personal stake they have in saving their setting. Again, aside from "it would be bad" Final Space fails where Over The Garden Wall succeeds in this aspect, in my opinion, is that not only does it not communicate it's setting as well through tone and that level of behind the scenes worldbuilding where you don't see much of it outside the fact that everything you do see moves together really well, Final Space fails at this because it puts all the focus of its story from the start on it's setting.

The audience needs to care about your setting in a save the world plot, if Final Space wanted to do what it attempted it should have gone with the most comedic option for it's setting, which is having Gary and his interactions with everyone else be the main focus, and all of the plot happening be happening slightly out of focus in the background. This massive space epic that we only catch glimpses of because the audience's main source on the world and what is going on is too caught up in trying to be likable to both the people he is romantically and platonically interested in to pay attention to the actual stakes.

This got away from me very quickly, I tore a lot more into Final Space than I meant to. I do think it's a decent show, I just have a lot of issues with the basis of its storytelling.

That makes it sound even worse

Anyway in conclusion to wrap up what has become yet another stream of consciousness post: 1. World Building can be done fully behind the curtain and your audience will still pick up that it is there

2. Plots that center around a threat to the setting need good development, but the number one priority is the characters' investment in the setting. If the characters don't care the audience won't. If your characters don't care about the plot then that can't be the main focus, their characters and their interactions with each over need to be

3. Not doing character investment or worldbuilding well while focusing on saving the setting makes you Final Space. Don't be final space

4. If Over The Garden Wall was about saving the Unknown its type of worldbuilding would not have worked. It worked because the focus was on character.

See y'all in hell, goodnight tri-state area

#otgw #storytelling #worldbuilding #over the garden wall

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walker-journal · 3 years

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At Hell’s Gates (Bea, Adam, Luce- POTW)

Participants: Beatrice Vural (Spellcaster- Fiona), Lucinda Vural (Spellcaster-Cal), Adam Walker (Hunter- Tapir)

Summary: Adam brings Nell’s skin talisman to the Vural house to plan a rescue operation into a Hell Dimension with Luce and Bea as time runs out.

Content Warning: Allusion to sibling death in the Bea resurrection plot

In a way Adam appreciated the breakneck speed of preparations, the staggering level of planning needed to even attempt this almost impossible task. Every second fussing over environment resist gear, talking to Naomi about atmospheric poisons, and running over possible dimensional scenarios with mom was one where he wasn’t thinking about Nell being tortured in hell. Eventually he just had to drug himself to sleep, as he’d be no use on the mission already exhausted.

Adam caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the windows of the Vural home. He looked like someone about to venture into a radiative wasteland or wade through mustard gas, heavy boots, sealed armor, and a gas mask hanging from his belt. In truth, even with all this equipment he was pathetically underprepared for what was coming.

But as always, Adam put on a face of stony resolution. He’d mastered the unphased action hero act a long time ago, even if his reflection had a numb thousand-yard stare that didn’t quite fit.

“So what’s the magic plan?”

The bracelet around Luce’s wrist had pinged the second Adam had crossed the boundary line, the magic a reminder of the sister she had lost. Nell had been the one who’d insisted upon the bracelets, something simple and small that they could always keep on them. She’d been so different back then. Younger. Unburdened by the weight that this town placed on its inhabitants. Luce let out a sigh and made her way to the front door, letting Adam inside. He looked like he was going to be rolling up into Chernobyl and, for all any of them knew, he would be. They didn’t know what was on the other side of those portals. And as much as Luce wanted to rush into the first rift she saw, she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave Bea here, alone, to worry and to curse her name.

Cupping a glass of water in her hands, Luce looked over at her older sister, uncertain. “I don’t know. I’m not the one with the master plan, not this time.” Not ever really. She was just here to get things done, to bring Nell home. She might have lines now, boundaries she wouldn’t cross. But she needed to bring her sister home. “Bea, you find anything in the books on how we can get her back?”

In her early twenties Bea had been worried about her breakups and losing touch with her friends, how different that was from her sisters’ lives. How different that was from Adam’s life. He was walking into war for her baby sister and the eldest Vural could not help but see the flash of the blade cutting down when she looked at him. How many people would risk their lives for Nell? Would Adam be added to the list that had lost theirs for her? Nell, of course, was worth it, but Bea couldn’t help wishing that Adam and Nell could simply lead a life that was similar to Bea’s at their age.

Her shadows swirled at her feet, agitated by the whirling emotions suffocating their mother, they clung to her ankles as she moved to grab a tome she had taken from Nell’s things. “We’ll be using her magic for this. Or at least we will be using an adjusted version of her magic,” Her voice flowed confidently through the space, coating every surface with honeyed hope that she did not feel. Is this how Luce and Nell felt when they lost her? Luce, now, had witnessed both of her sisters gone, taken unfairly from this world. In an impulsive move, Bea found her little sister’s hand, squeezing as she thought of the terror that must be drowning the middle Vural. “Adam, we will get her back.” Bea would destroy this world for her sister, if it meant she was safe. She would tear the fabric that kept this plane stable. She wondered if the universe knew, if it was prepared to go to war for Penelope Vural. Bea was ready.

Adam had always been cautioned against hope. It was a purely therapeutic emotion, meant to comfort the dread of uncertainty. Esther Walker had instructed her children that facts should be assessed only for what they were rather than what we want them to be. We are not gods. This is not Hollywood. The cold universe wouldn’t fudge the numbers just because some monkeys on a random rock in the Milky Way had feelings in their skull.

But Adam knew that not everyone grew up with their mom bluntly stating that they’d eventually lose everyone they care about in the long war. While Adam knew this grimness was Esther’s way of loving him authentically, it’d probably be cruel to give Nell’s sisters the same treatment right now.

“Hey if we got a plan anything’s possible” he assured Beatrice with a confident lie of smile. Trying not to look at the darkness bubbling at the deathless woman’s feed, Adam turned his attention to Luce briefly. “Hey uh, resident fire scientist. Any way I could get something that might give me a chance if like...there is like an inferno or something? Just a few seconds to get the fuck out?”

Adam shifted his weight, leather and alloyed kevlar creaking with the moment. “How do we get access Nell’s magic then?”

Bea’s hand slipped into her own and, for the first time, Luce realized just how changed her sister was. The familiar warmth, the heat that had always matched her own-- a source of both frustration and comfort that had followed their whole lives… It was gone now. Bea’s fire was gone. She didn’t have it anymore. She never would. But she was still here, still standing, still trying. And Luce was going to try too. She’d reclaimed her fire, she’d manage to fan the spark back into a blaze, and now that she had the power back? The least she could do was help Adam. To keep him safe. Fuck. She nodded slowly, mulling over how she’d manage something like that. Their mother, she’d made charms to protect Nell from their fire as children, back before they had total control. “I think we have something that we could use-- a necklace Nellie used to wear when she was little. Kept her safe from us, before we could control our fire.” She said, dreading the idea of going into Nell’s room to look for the charm. She didn’t want to step foot in there. Just because she could expect the same anguish that had overtaken her when she’d went into Bea’s room last year-- that didn’t make it any easier. This town, this fucking town. She’d thought that the nightmare had ended, that Bea was safe, that Nell was safe. But nothing changed here.

Looking at the book in Bea’s hand, Luce swallowed. “That’s one of Nells. I don’t know how to do what she does, Bea. Neither one of us do. Summoning, blood magic-- I… What are you planning?”

The charm. Bea had forgotten about the charm that used to keep Nellie safe from them. A physical reminder that she was different from her sister. Bea didn’t blame her for not keeping it on her as an adult. “Do you know where that is?” Nell could have thrown it out years ago, but the youngest Vural tended to know when to hold onto things that could be useful. Bea hoped that she had classified this as something useful enough to hold onto, even with it’s baggage. “I don’t know how to either, but Leah is going to help me research too,” She squeezed her sister’s hand. “We have some luck on our side, we’re already somewhat connected. Her magic is, obviously, connected to ours, but by bringing me back we’re even further intertwined. Your magic combined brought me back, so we can use that as a way to channel her too.” It wouldn’t be that simple though, there were more steps that she wasn’t quite too sure on yet. “We need something else, something to track her too, but I’m not completely sure how to do that yet, if you have any suggestions.”

Adam nodded and mouthed thanks to Luce as Beatrice spoke. He hated to part the sisters with something that reminded them of Nell but when you are about to try a longshot, anything that could ease the odds even slightly was needed. Beatrice's question brought a stab of pain as Adam stirred from where he’d sat, reached into a pocket, and withdrew a battered compass.

“Nell gave this to me, it was uh a present,” Adam’s stomach clenched at the cruel irony of being given a six months dating present by a sad fire cat. It’d been the morning after he’d taken Nell out to ask their relationship to end for safety’s sake, only for that to be the mistake that caused the disaster he’d hoped to avoid.

“It points uh,” the answer was that it pointed towards home, though Nell had cautioned that it was more metaphorical than literal. “It can take me to her,” he stammered, trying to keep his voice steady.

Shifting uncomfortably, Luce swallowed. “It’s in her room. I can…” I don’t want to go in there, not alone. But you could never understand, Bea. You weren’t left behind the way we were. “Get it. Yeah, I’ll grab it.” She said before pushing back from the kitchen table, her hand slipping from Bea’s. She lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching as Adam pulled out a worn looking compass. As Adam explained what it was, Luce couldn’t help but wonder how Nell had gotten her hands on something like that. And just how lucky they were that she had. Luce nodded. “Good. That should… definitely help.” She was dragging her feet, she knew that. Just bite the bullet. With a slightly forced smile, Luce patted the door frame. “I’ll get the necklace.”

The walk up the stairs and down the hall to Nells was a short one, but every step filled Luce with that same anxiety she’d felt every time she had walked past Bea’s door last summer. It was a dread, a fear. That no matter what they did, it wouldn’t be enough. And that all that would be left of her sister would be tucked away in a room. That everything inside would stop being a part of Bea, of Nell, and start being a memorial. A memory. She didn’t want to step foot inside that room. But she had to. If they wanted to find Nell, this was their best shot. Luce pushed open the door and forced herself not to pay attention to the potted plants on their shelves, their leaves wilting a little from lack of care. She didn’t allow herself to dwell on the desk with books still open, the bed unmade with rumpled sheets, as though Nell had just left for the day. These were all reminders of her sister that she couldn’t handle. Instead, Luce began to look for the necklace.

It wasn’t until this past year that Bea truly understood love. In a sense, she had looked at love the same way her mother did, based on what the other person could do for her. Bea had collected people for their skills, pocketed the ones who were the most useful and claimed she understood love through them. It wasn’t until she had been lost that she got just how powerful love was and even then, though she had seen so much work put into her resurrection, she hadn’t witnessed it all. She hadn’t seen the planning or the original mourning, she had not been involved in the panic and grief. She was unable to escape it here, where love twisted into melancholy suffocating them as aptly as summer heat did in the afternoon.

Bea reached out to Adam, “Can I hold it? I’ll give it back to you after.” She couldn’t take the physical piece of Nell he had left, but looking at it would help her form a plan. They were all relying on her to make a plan that would bring Nell back. With Luce gone searching, she looked at him for a long moment, considering him. “Adam, I know how much a person would do for Nell.” I know sacrifice and I feel like I’m looking at one. “Please do your best to come back to us too.” Some of that honey sweet hope had dissipated now that Luce was gone, Adam didn’t need that, not in the way Luce did. “Is there anyone who can go with you as back up?” Please, don’t do this alone.

Adam pressed the compass in Beatrice’s hand. It took Adam a bit to answer Beatrice's request. His wide distant eyes and the lost way they drifted around the Vural’s home, looking anywhere but Bea’s face, revealed the lie behind the firm set of his jaw.

It’d been a long time since Adam had felt his age. Uncertainty and finding yourself were unnecessary when you’d grown up already knowing you’d be a soldier and what war you’d be fighting in. His civilian peers had gone through heartbreaks, angst, anger, cycles of rebellion, maturation, acceptance, and reinvention. But Adam had already grown up at sixteen, when he signed away his life to fight and die in service to humanity. He’d learned how to make bombs, lethal holds, blades, marksmanship, and how to keep his head in a warzone when everyone else had been fretting about what school clique to fall in.

But now Adam suddenly felt like a child in this tactical armor. It was as if he’d finally woken up from a dream to realize the weight was too heavy for him, but it was already way too late to learn all that stuff the other kids took for granted. Adam marveled at how narrow his own knowledge of the world was.

Honestly? He knew way more about how to kill monsters than how to be human.

With bittersweetness, Adam realized that made him exactly what Nell hadn't needed, and only now that she was trapped in Hell was he an ideal partner.

“I promised Luce I’d come with her back to Earth,” was the only assurance Adam could offer Beatrice. He shook his head at the matter of back up. “I’ve got family and Hunter friends who volunteered but I can’t ask them to take this risk. Besides we need all hands on deck to deal with all the shit coming out of the Portals.”

There were times people should be selfish and this felt like a time, but Bea knew that Adam wouldn’t agree. She could spend all night trying to convince him otherwise and it wouldn't work. He was more stubborn than Nellie sometimes, which was saying something. They were the only people that could get through to each other sometimes. It reminded her a bit of how she and Felix could be with each other.

“Is it going to be that bad?” She had no idea what these portals could mean for everyone else after all this. Honestly, she didn’t really care what happened as long as the people she loved were going to be okay. “You aren’t asking them if they offered, Adam.”

“In situations like these the portals often get worse, opening wider till they let bigger and bigger things through, stuff that our weapons won't work on,” Adam claimed, suggesting perhaps that the already deadly things coming through the dimensional breaches right now were just small fry compared to what really waited in the beyond.

“Eventually we get what’s sometimes called a Hellmouth,” the Hunter said, numbly staring at a wall as the present mixed with another time where doomsday had loomed near. “Unless its stopped reality itself could be permanently fucked around here...well...fucked even harder I mean, in a way that can’t be covered up from the outside world any more. They’ll probably notice the tentacle godzillas after a bit.”

Everyone had called Dad a hero. Had he felt like this, just another expendable piece of kindling thrown on the fire to keep ‘normal’ going for just a little while longer?

“Hey uh,” Adam prevaricated with a shrug knowing Beatrice was correct. “I’ve ask people for supplies and stuff. They’ve been very generous, but actually going in is something I don’t think I have the right to ask.” Of someone that wasn’t raised to die that way, was rest that was left unsaid.

It was always the end of the world, it seemed. No matter what everyone did to fix it, something else would come and take the mantle. Bea couldn’t help but feel as though sometimes these things were inevitable. It didn’t stop her from understanding the need to fight, if anything she got that this made people fight harder, because at least they had done something then. Still to fight for a world that didn’t know you were doing it must be exhausting. “So, it needs to close or else we’re all going to die via horrible ways.” The countdown they had already started to tick faster. “I guess it's good that we have people who are going to help then.”

Her throat tightened with unsaid words of caution and unnecessary attempts to dissuade him. Bea knew the look in his eyes, knew that no matter what she did or said, he wouldn’t turn from this course of action. She was sure she would have seen the same look in her own if someone had dared to stop her before she found Nell. “I suppose giving you supplies is enough.” It wasn’t.

Bea went back to Nell’s book, hoping that skimming again would reveal something else. And it did. She looked between the compass in her hand and the word bone. “Adam, do you know if Nell’s been keeping anything she’s killed? Like the bones of a monster?” The words came out quickly, excited by the potential that laid between them now.

Adam nodded. “On our first mission together, there was an Alchemist dude who was using a Dolophage to harvest intense emotions and memories from trauma patients,” the Hunter explained, swallowing down the bittersweet feeling of that recollection. It was hard to imagine that’d hadn’t even been a year ago. “Nell forged the Reversal Talisman so the Dologphage’s powers reflected back on it when it tried to tentacle my brain,” Adam explained, poking his ears to illustrate that he’d volunteered to get fed on by the demon as bait. “After we killed it she kept its bones.”

Digging around in Nell’s room wasn’t easy. Luce had known it wasn’t going to be easy. Not when there was so much uncertainty and that sense of doubt loomed over her every move. The moment she’d heard that Nell was gone, the second she’d heard from Adam, a pit had formed in her stomach. Or maybe it reopened-- maybe it wasn’t a pit so much as it was a gaping wound, created by Bea’s death, that she’d barely been able to tend to. She hadn’t stopped to process the loss, the grief, the anger. The anger. She’d only managed to get a hold of that until it was too late. And just as she was finally coming to grips with the events of the past year, White Crest found a fucking way to open up the wounds. Shutting the dresser drawer she’d been pawing through, Luce settled down on the edge of Nell’s unmade bed.

Luce clenched her jaw as she tried to sort through her thoughts, trying to figure out where Nell might keep the necklace. But all she could think of was how much it would hurt if she had to do this for real. If she had to pack up boxes of Nell’s things. She hadn’t had to do it with Bea, they’d known how to bring her back, known exactly what they needed to do, even if they weren’t sure if it would work. But Nell was lost. Gone. And Luce had no fucking clue how she could help. Swallowing, Luce wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before her gaze fell on a simple box on Nell’s bookshelf. Luce moved towards it, apprehensive. Her fingers lifted the lid and inside were little trinkets-- magical in nature. Some of them familiar to her, others she didn’t know where Nell had even found them. But there it was. The necklace Nisa had enchanted all those years. Luce took the necklace from the box and closed the box before hurrying out the door. She didn’t want to stay in that room, didn’t want to see that place again. Not until Nell was back. Not until they were all safe.

“Hey. Found it.” Luce said as she held up the little silver charm necklace. “We might need to re-up the magic, but it should help. And hey. Might help with the tracking situation. She wore this all the time.”

Plans were beginning to race rapidly through Bea’s mind, wheels spinning so quickly that she was almost scared they’d burn out. “With that bone we could connect with her,” She mused, before grinning at Luce. “And with the necklace we’ll also be able to tell how close Adam is to her. He’ll be able to use the compass, hopefully, in the dimension to find her quickly.” With eyes brighter than they had been since Nell was gone, Bea looked between the two younger adults,“We have a plan now, a really good one, with three ways to track her. We’re going to get her back.” And the moment she got back, she was going to get the lecture of her fucking life.

Adam nodded. “Hey...thanks both of you, like I know you’d do this for Nell anyway, but I still appreciate you folks having my back on this.”

Luce leaned against the doorway, taking in the scene. Bea, determined, her old fire lit inside her with this new mission to get her sister back. Adam, weary in a way that no one should be at his age, but filled with the same resolve. And then there was her. She fell somewhere between the two of them-- somewhere between grim determination and optimism. They were going to bring Nell home, come hell or high water. Which, in this town? Either could happen. “Sounds like we’ve got a game plan then.” Luce said with a nod. “Of course, Adam. And… thanks for leading the charge here. We’re gonna bring her home.”

#POTW #Portal Combat #bea #adam #luce #divineluce #beatrice-blaze #sibling death tw

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leechobsessed · 3 years

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Walk You Home

Ella and Lachlan come face to face.

characters: Ella Sagen, Lachlan, Lysander and Leila Lonan (of @leila-of-ravens), Beatrice Viano (of @juliandev0rak), Julian Devorak, Nadia Satrinava pairing: Ella Sagen x Lachlan Lonan / Logen words: 3.7k warnings: alcohol, sexual themes

Previous chapter, etre bleu series

The palace always prepares elaborate and delicious meals, and breakfast has never been an exception. On the table before her sits a variety of fruits, pastries, egg dishes and breads, which all look and smell delicious, but she hasn’t yet found the appetite to try any of it.

She suspects that’s partially due to the aftereffects of alcohol, but mostly due to the butterflies in her stomach at the prospect of seeing Lachlan.

She had arrived only a few minutes ago and dropped into an open seat next to Julian, who immediately handed her a small glass filled with what she could only hope was Leila’s hangover cure. She accepted it gratefully as Leila introduced Ella to Lysander, the older Lonan brother. He gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement, before the countess pulled both his and Beatrice’s attention back to her with a question.

Lysander and Leila are seated next to the countess at the head of the table, with Beatrice next to Lysander, and Leila beside Julian. The seat across from Ella is empty.

For Lachlan.

Ella inhales deeply and sets about pouring herself a cup of tea, adding a spoonful of sugar and stirring it into the steaming amber liquid, watching the fine crystals quickly melt away. She raises the cup to her lips and blows gently on it, examining the spread in front of her with the subtlest of frowns tugging at her lips.

Why am I so nervous? She wants to see Lachlan, but she can’t imagine he’d want to see her, especially since she left him so abruptly this morning. Her stomach flips as she realizes he would assume she left because she didn’t want to see him.

“Is nothing to your liking, Ella? Is there something else you’d prefer?” The countess asks, ever the perfect host, her eyebrows raised as she sets her teacup back on its saucer.

“No, thank you, this is wonderful,” Ella hurries as she reaches for a muffin, smiling at Nadia. “My stomach hasn’t quite woken up yet.”

“A bit too much fun last night?” Julian asks, the corners of his lips quirked up in humor.

“Perhaps,” Ella shoots back as he nudges the small glass he had handed her earlier closer toward her.

“Leila’s hangover cure,” he explains. “It might help settle your stomach.”

Doubtful, Ella thinks, but she nods in thanks as she tips the liquid down her throat in one swift motion. As she sets the glass back down, she nearly chokes on the elixir as Lachlan slides easily into the chair across from her, smiling shyly at her before offering a greeting to the rest of the table.

Hiding her coughing behind her hand, she takes a large gulp of tea as the countess addresses the table’s new member. “Good morning, Lachlan. I’m so glad you were able to join us this morning.”

“As am I,” he answers, smiling at his host before turning his gaze to meet Ella’s eyes, making her breath catch immediately. As the conversation around the table continues, the two of them continue to stare at each other, neither one able to come up with anything to say, but unable to look away all the same.

“It’s good to see you,” Ella finally manages, blushing at how breathless she sounds. She clears her throat, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Did you um, sleep well?”

The corner of his mouth pulls upward in a knowing smile, and he lets out a small chuckle before he nods. “I did, yes. A little cold when I woke up this morning though.”

Ella’s blush deepens as she opens her mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Leila, who has left her seat to place her hangover cure in front of her brother.

“Maybe we should get you more blankets then,” she teases. “Drink this. It will help.”

He lifts the shot glass up and inspects the liquid in it, giving it a sniff, then glances back at his sister, totally unconvinced. “It seems counterproductive to cure a hangover with a shot. Especially this early in the morning.”

“It's her hangover cure,” Ella explains as Leila sighs.

“It will help,” Leila repeats. “Trust me.”

Lachlan shrugs, tipping the contents of the glass into his mouth and handing it back to his sister. “So how long until this works?”

“A few minutes. Then you’ll be good as new.” Leila says, giving his shoulder a squeeze before leaving them to return to her seat.

“You don’t need one?” Lachlan asks, an eyebrow raised at Ella in question as he leans forward to grab an apple from the fruit tray in front of him. She watches as his long fingers wrap around the apple and pull it toward him, cleaning it on the chest of his shirt, much like the one she has squirreled away in her palace bedroom. She pulls her attention away from his hands, blushing when she meets his eyes.

“I do-- I mean, I did. I had mine just before you came.”

“A little too much fun last night?”

“Something like that,” she responds, acutely aware the conversation at the table has dwindles to a dull murmur, and that all eyes are focused on them. She immediately lowers her eyes back to her plate, and keeps them there for the remainder of the breakfast-- well, almost. Every so often, she would sneak a glance at the man across from her, pleased and embarrassed that almost every time she did, his cool blue gaze was still on her.

She can sense Leila’s gaze on the two of them as well, but she chooses to ignore it.

She knows that his willingness to make conversation with her may just be to save face in front of the others. But the fact that neither of them seem to be able to keep their eyes off each other gives her a glimmer of hope that he doesn’t regret last night, and that maybe he’s hoping to spend more time with her, too.

Gods, she hopes so.

“Countess, thank you for breakfast and your hospitality, but I must be getting back to the city now,” Ella says, nodding at the countess as she pushes back from the table, her eyes falling briefly on Lachlan as she does.

“I’ll come with you, if that’s alright,” Lachlan says as he hurriedly joins her standing, pulling the attention of all at the table toward him. “I’ve been meaning to look around the town.”

He looks at Ella, as if asking permission, and she nods quickly, unable to hide her eagerness to spend time with him alone.

“That’s probably for the best. Less likely Ella will get lost on her way if she has someone to accompany her,” Beatrice jokes, smiling at Ella, though she doesn’t see it, her eyes still focused on Lachlan.

Leila laughs, standing up from the table as well. “I’ll see to it that everyone makes it home safely. I need to head to the tea shop anyway.”

Lachlan breaks eye contact with Ella to frown at his sister. He opens his mouth to protest, only to be cut off by the countess.

“Perhaps it would be best if you take a carriage into town,” she offers. She waves to one of the servants standing by the veranda doors, who immediately slips back into the palace. “I’ll have one brought around for the three of you.”

As promised, the carriage is waiting for the trio as they reach the palace gates. Opening the door, Lachlan extends his hand first to Leila, then to Ella as he helps them into the carriage. He runs this thumb along the back of her knuckles as he guides her into the carriage, eliciting yet another blush from her as she steps inside. Lachlan takes his seat next to her, and they’re off.

They ride in silence for a few minutes, both Lachlan and Ella staring out their respective windows, Ella’s hand brought to her face in an effort to hide the color that appears in her cheeks every time the jostle of the carriage sends her body into his.

Leila sits across from them, looking between them with a slight frown. She clears her throat, crossing her leg over the other and folding her hands in her lap. “So, Ella.”

“So, Leila,” Ella parrots, glancing at the magician across from her.

“Were you able to return the shirt you borrowed back to your suitor? Or will you be giving it back the next time you see him?”

Ella and Lachlan turn simultaneously to face Leila. Confused, Ella shakes her head. “Shirt? What-- oh,” she stutters as she remembers her encounter with her friend this morning, before breakfast. Blushing furiously, she turns her attention back out the window. “No, I haven’t returned the shirt.”

“I must say, I was surprised that you had brought a man back to your room, you’ve never made a habit of doing that,” Leila continues, her voice light and playful, but with an edge of mischief. “Was it anyone I would know?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

Ella sighs, shaking her head, not trusting herself to speak, not wanting to lie to her friend. She can feel both Lachlan and Leila’s eyes on her, but she ignores them both until Lachlan speaks up.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you holding onto it if it means he gets to see you again.” He shrugs, scratching at his stubble as the women stare at him. “Speaking from an outside male perspective, of course.”

Ella glances quickly at Leila, whose eyes widen fractionally at her with what Ella can only assume is realization. Guilty, she lowers her gaze to her dress, picking off an imaginary piece of lint. They sit in silence until the carriage loudly hits another bump, jostling Ella into Lachlan’s hip again. Lachlan clears his throat and finds a new subject.

“Your hangover cure works wonders, Leila. Any chance I could convince you to make me some to have on hand?”

Leila tears her gaze from her friend and focuses on her brother, her grey eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”

The carriage slows to a halt in the town square, and Ella vaults herself out of it before any more questions can be asked of her. The other two clamber out of the carriage after her, much more gracefully. Ella watches Lachlan thank the driver and pet one of the horses as Leila makes her way to her.

“Are you okay?” She asks, frowning. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

“I’m just tired,” Ella lies, shrugging.

“I’m sure you are,” Leila smirks, nudging her shoulder. “You know, you can--”

“And I have a lot to do today,” Ella interrupts. “So I should be heading back home.”

“You’re not working in the clinic today?”

“No, I have to make more medicines today.”

“Okay. I’ll be at the tea shop if you want to stop by later,” she says, frowning as Lachlan comes to stand next to his sister, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. Leila turns toward him. “Are you coming with me?”

“I thought I’d walk around town for a bit, get some fresh air. I’ll find my way to your shop later.” He glances at Ella, who has her attention turned toward the crowd on the street. “It was wonderful to see you again, Ella.”

At the sound of her name, she turns back toward him and nods, offering a smile to both of the Lonan’s before she turns quickly and hurries down the street toward the market.

She wasn’t lying; she did have lots to do today. The medicine cabinet at the clinic was starting to run low, and her own personal stores could use some refilling as well. She makes her way through the familiar stalls in the crowded market, buying ingredients she knows she’s in need of, wishing she had made a list, as she still finds her thoughts pulled back toward Lachlan.

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking this morning, and Leila catching the carriage into town with them thwarted any chance they would have had to speak alone. Ella considers seeking him out at the tea shop later, but Leila would still be there, and she didn’t want to raise any more suspicion by disappearing with Lachlan again.

At her last stop, Ella pays for the remainder of her needed ingredients, and starts the familiar walk back home, still distracted.

Twice, she almost turns down the wrong street, completely lost in thought. She turns finally onto the correct street, her hands and attention buried in her pockets in search of her keys. Finally finding them, she pulls them from their hiding spot and looks up, stopping dead in her tracks when she sees Lachlan, pacing back and forth outside of her home.

He runs his hand through his light brown hair and visibly sighs, glancing up from his feet to her front door, then both ways down the street. When he sees her, his lips part slightly, then tug into an embarrassed smile.

Immediately, instinctively, Ella smiles back, finding herself already walking toward her unexpected guest. She stands in front of him, playing with her ring as they look silently at each other, both unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she finally manages, frowning slightly. “How… did Leila tell you where I lived?”

“Oh, um, no. I asked someone in town,” he laughs sheepishly, dropping his gaze back to the street. “That sounds bad, I’m sorry, I just…” he trails off, kicking at a stone on the ground. “I.. wanted to see you again.”

“You did?” She asks, unable to hide her surprise.

“I do,” he says, raising his eyes to hers. “And I thought we should talk about last night.”

“Oh.” Ella tucks her hair behind her ear, shifting in her spot. There it is, she thinks. He does regret it. “Sure.”

“Only if you want to, I just figured it was, um, important,” he continues, pausing as she maneuvers past him, her body just barely brushing against his as she moves to unlock the door.

She turns back to face him, offering a small smile. “Would you like to come in?”

He nods slowly, following her into her home. She pulls the door shut behind him, pointing to a set of hangers by the door for his cloak, then gesturing to the space in front of them.

“This is the shop area. Or, it was when it was used as a shop. Now I only use the kitchen down here to make potions and medicines for the clinic,” she explains quickly, pointing to the open door on the opposite wall, feeling suddenly nervous to be alone with him without the confidence-boosting effects of alcohol.

“It’s a very nice space,” he says, glancing into the doorway to the kitchen, then down the hall toward the back entrance.

“It was my aunt’s.”

“I see.”

“She doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Oh.”

Ella blushes furiously, fiddling with her ring. “I’m sorry, you make me nervous,” she admits quietly, dropping her gaze to her hands in front of her.

“I make you nervous?” Lachlan laughs, though not unkindly.

Ella shrugs, his laughter pulling her eyes to his once more. “A little.”

“That’s not my intention,” he says as he holds her gaze, his lips still quirked upward in amusement. She clears her throat, motioning for him to follow her up to the living area.

She had always loved her aunt’s home, so she had made very few changes to it once Vivian moved out. The walls of the living area were soft, light green, with large windows to let in as much natural light as possible. A few different styles and colors of chairs to sit on were gathered around a large and colorful circular rug, and the room itself was filled with almost too many plants and books and artwork, giving it a slightly chaotic feel, and she finds herself repressing the urge to apologize to Lachlan for the mess.

The kitchen upstairs was seldom used, since the kitchen downstairs was much larger, but it was one of her favorite places to sit. She remembers painting the bright yellow walls with her aunt soon after she moved in, which made the tiny room feel more open and welcoming. The kitchen was connected directly to the living area, only separated by a small, round, wooden dining table with three chairs, pushed against the wall.

She directs Lachlan to the table, pulling out a chair for him, and immediately sets about making tea. With the kettle started on the stove, she climbs gracelessly onto the counter, sitting up on her knees to poke around the jars of tea leaves on the top shelf.

“I have quite the selection up here, is there a kind of tea you’d prefer?” She pokes around a bit. “I also have some cakes in the bread box over there, but they could be stale by now.”

“You don’t have to go through all this trouble, Ella, I don’t want to burden you.”

She frowns, glancing back at him from her perch on the counter. “You’re not a burden, Lachlan. It’s just tea.”

A frown flits across his features before he licks his lips, offering a shrug. “Whatever you enjoy is fine with me.”

She nods, selecting some black tea, just in case he was only being polite, and climbs back down. “How do you take your tea?”

“Usually with rum, but it feels too early for that.”

“I could use some rum,” she murmurs, pulling a clear bottle from one of the cabinets. “Especially since you want to talk.”

He opens his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the whistling of the kettle. Ella quickly sets the rum on the table and removes the kettle from heat. She prepares two large mugs of tea, leaving a considerable amount of room for the rum, then brings the cups over to the table and sets one in front of Lachlan.

“I’m sorry for leaving your room this morning,” Ella starts, taking her seat across from him. She watches him pour the liquor into his mug before handing the bottle to her. “I was… I panicked when I woke up, um, naked with my best friend's brother. Leila was right earlier when she said it wasn’t like me to spend the night with someone.”

She pours some rum in her own tea, keeping her eyes on the light amber liquid as she continues. “I was embarrassed, because I had quite a bit to drink, and I was assuming you had as well, and I didn’t want you to have to face me in the morning in case it was the alcohol talking when you invited me to your room.”

“Ella--”

“Regardless of your feelings about last night, I, um. I want you to know I don’t regret anything.” She glances up at him, at his strong jaw, his bright eyes, his lips she now knows to be incredibly soft, and her face heats underneath her freckles. “I had a really enjoyable evening with you. Even without the sex. Um, but that’s not to say that the sex wasn’t enjoyable, because it was.”

She takes a deep breath and a long drink from her mug, feeling considerably lighter after getting that all off her chest, albeit more embarrassed than she’s ever felt in her life. She sneaks another glance at Lachlan, who sits unreadable in his seat across from her, and her face flushes even more red. “I’m sorry, I just… I wanted you to know I enjoy spending time with you, and I needed to get that out before you said what you needed to, in case you don’t echo the sentiment.”

“You did?” He asks, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

“I did, what?”

“Enjoyed spending time with me.”

“I do enjoy spending time with you.”

Lachlan smiles, the same full, crooked smile that had taken her breath away the night before. “I’m… really happy to hear you say that, Ella,” he says, exhaling as if he had been holding his breath throughout her monologue. He reaches across the table to take her hand in his, and runs his thumb across her knuckles, keeping his eyes on hers.

“In, um, terms of Leila,” Ella stumbles, distracted by the skin contact. “I feel like she has an idea of what happened, I think, but I’d like to tell her anyway. Just… not quite yet.”

Lachlan nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

He clears his throat, removing his hand from hers to take another drink from his mug. “Well, you pretty much covered everything I wanted to talk about,” he says, chuckling around the rim of his drink. “I don’t regret anything, either. And I also enjoy spending time with you, even without the sex, which I too agree was enjoyable.”

Ella blushes as she laughs, standing up from the table to rinse out her mug. Lachlan joins her at the sink, setting his drink down on the counter and taking her hands. She melts into his arms as they snake around her waist, her hands settling on his chest.

“I wouldn’t mind it happening again,” she breathes, her eyes focused solely on his lips.

“Is that so?” He murmurs, leaning down toward her, slowly, deliberately, as if asking for permission. She nods once, tilting her chin up to him, holding her breath as his lips brush against hers.

It’s gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid she’ll slip away from him if he kisses her too hard. Ella pulls herself closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and fisting her hands into his hair. Lachlan moans against her lips as he presses her against the counter, no longer worried about being gentle as desire explodes between them.

All the feelings from last night resurface tenfold, no longer marred by the alcohol in her veins. He lifts her gently, effortlessly, by the waist, setting her on the countertop, allowing her a better angle to further deepen the kiss.

After a while, she pulls back slightly and smiles against his lips; not quite a kiss, but still a refusal to break contact with him. She releases her hold on his hair and lets her hands trail down his arms, resting on his biceps as she wills herself to create some space between them.

She clears her throat, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes. “I have a room here,” she says, biting her lip to hide her humor.

Lachlan laughs as he lifts her from the counter, kissing her deeply before carrying her out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom. “I was hoping you might.”

#3.7k words? from ME? who would have ever thought #they just had a lot to say this chapter idk man #logen #ella sagen x lachlan lonan #etre bleu series

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specterchasing-a · 3 years

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Down, boy! || Eddie & Bea

TIMING: Current-ish

PARTIES: @beatrice-blaze & @specterchasing

LOCATION: Illusions of Grandeur

SUMMARY: Eddie literally runs from his problems and Bea talks some sense into him.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Suicidal ideations tw, sibling death tw.

The shops and faces lining ‘Freak Alley’ flew by in colorful blurs as Eddie’s feet slapped against the sidewalk. An over-the-shoulder glance let him know that the hellhound he attracted at a nearby cemetery was gaining on him. Its size led him to believe he’d somehow lucked out and stumbled upon a runt, or perhaps a pup if hellhounds underwent adolescence. Eddie didn’t know and, in the moment, he frankly didn’t care; it could clearly still breathe fire.

Wicked heat kissed the soles of his shoes and Eddie’s next step became more of a leap. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck,” he chanted as he darted across the street. Panic set it, but it wasn’t the sole cause of Eddie’s heart beating at break-kneck speed. A laugh erupted from his chest. He liked the threat of imminent danger. No thrill on earth matched the anxious euphoria of knowing his next breath might be his last. A hellhound would make for an interesting obituary, at least, even if the local paper reduced it to an errant wolf.

Eddie skidded to a halt in front of a building, he didn’t bother to stop and read any signage that might tell him the name of his safe haven. His hand gripped the door and flung it open. Once inside, he pressed his back against the entrance to hopefully stop the hellhound from entering with force. Unfortunately, the dimwitted beast didn’t get the memo that it wasn’t welcome and launched its body against the door with considerable vigor once, twice…

Members of the crowd turned their heads toward the commotion. Apparently, Eddie was interrupting some kind of show. His eyes snapped to the stage, landing on an unexpectedly familiar face. “Nell’s sister? I thought she was in—”

Three times.

Eddie’s thoughts were interrupted when the impact of the hellhound's small, but dense, body threw the door open. The force sent him forward and into the crowd, albeit face-down on the floor. Eddie scrambled to his feet as a few of the crowd members shrieked at the sudden introduction of a wild beast. Chaos ensued as people scattered in search of an emergency exit. Eddie whipped around in time to see flames billowing from the dog’s mouth. A few seats, recently abandoned, caught fire.

In an attempt to rectify his mistake, Eddie bolted in the direction of a fire extinguisher. A moment later, the sprinkler system kicked on, drenching everyone in sight. Eddie marched closer to the hellhound and attacked it with a stream of white froth. “Fuck off!” he commanded as the beast caught a mouthful of foul chemicals. It reared back, whining as its head thrashed from side to side. But Eddie’s bright idea didn’t deter it for long. The hound stumbled forward and prepared for another attack.

Freedom was a nasty concept to Beatrice. As a child, picking flowers and stealing moments with Leah was freedom. Teenaged Bea had found parties she snuck out to were freedom. Before she died, freedom had been her secrets, she had held freedom in clenched hands, hidden from her coven and family. Now, she had died and come back, her secrets revealed and discovered. Her freedom was not her secrets any longer, so what was it?

She had thought the stage was freedom until death and rebirth. It became a cage, a spectacle that could be used to see how different she had become. Deciding to reclaim it, to allow everyone to see who she was now, that tasted like an early summer morning. It had the stillness before a busy day, it had a moment of peace in it. It tasted like the beginnings of freedom, a taste she had begun to remember and enjoy in New York.

It did not taste like smoke, a flavor that had snuck into her mouth as she performed. Smoke had no place in her show now, not now that she couldn’t control the flames. Her element was no longer fire and smoke was no longer a flavor she could feel safe tasting. She was off the stage and stalking forward to the Hellhound as people rushed out of the theater.

She recognized the man in front of the hellhound vaguely, though she had no idea how. He was trying to smother the beast with a fire extinguisher and Bea couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Of course this is how her first performance since Adam would be.

Her shadows leapt out, tightening around the beast mouth, clamping it shut as others worked around it’s paws. “What the hell were you thinking bringing this into my business?” She’d have to call Nell to help her with this.

Eddie watched in startled wonderment as shadows turned themselves into shackles around the hellhound’s paws. A muzzle of the same making wrapped around its jaws while it struggled against its newfound restraints. Smoke seeped out of the muzzle, but the fire was contained for the time being. Magic, he figured. Not cheap illusions, but actual magic.

He jumped at the sound of Beatrice’s voice demanding his attention. Eddie already felt guilty before she spoke, now the feeling consumed him. He turned to face her with an apologetic expression. As far as he could tell, they were the only two people remaining inside the venue. No one would be around to see him be reprimanded, at least.

“It chased me,” Eddie explained with a helpless shrug. “What was I supposed to do, die in the street?” For someone who wanted to say he was sorry, the words didn’t come to him. He hated that about himself, the way he instinctively took a defensive stance when he felt cornered.

The crashing realization that Nell might still be too ill to handle this hit Bea hard and fast. It was like a softball to the stomach as she remembered how grief could hurt a person’s magic, Nell could struggle to control this Hellhound and who was Bea to ask her sister to try to after everything happened? She would have to attempt to deal with herself and if it was too much, then she would call Nell.

The face of an apology with defense on their lips was something Bea was intimately familiar with. She had been that way, she occasionally was still that way, and while the familiarity softened her, a scowl had already found its way onto her face. “That is not at all what I said or implied.” Her arm swung out behind her, “This is the place you decided to run in. Did you see how many people were in here? What would the plan have been if I wasn’t here? Let the people here burn and hope for the best?” She didn’t know this man, but that didn’t stop her scolding tone. “How did you even get chased by a Hellhound?”

With each question Bea asked him, Eddie’s guilt worsened. He never meant to hurt anyone, but he seemed to be paving the road to hell with his good intentions as of late. Regardless of what he did, it usually turned out to be a wrong move. For the moment, he elected to put his pity party on the back-burner. Bea didn’t know him and she likely wouldn’t harbor much sympathy for a grown man who nearly cost dozens of innocent people their lives. For that, he couldn’t blame her.

“I was, uh, at the cemetery down the road apiece,” he answered her most recent question, pointing his thumb in the direction he came from. “It was just kinda hanging out and didn’t like that I was too.” Eddie failed to mention that he tried to film it, and that he whistled for its attention in an attempt to get a clear shot of its face. The camera he used wound up as a substitute chew toy after it slipped out of his hand mid-sprint.

“I tried to hold the doors shut,” he ventured. “If you weren’t here, I—” Eddie’s gaze fell to the fire extinguisher in his hand. What a joke. “Yeah, I probably would’ve been the reason someone died tonight.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked at Bea again. “Thanks for not letting that happen.”

A noise of frustration left Bea’s nose as she turned back to the Hellhound in front of her. Nell had a soft spot for them, it would be wrong if she just called Kaden here to kill it. It was a monster that could kill people, but her littlest sister liked them. It would hurt her to know Bea killed it without an attempt at some humane solution. She wasn’t particularly sure how to be humane to a monster, but she would figure it out.

“Are you new to this whole thing?” Bea asked tiredly. He had to be around Adam’s age, but he had none of the experience that had let Adam survive as long as he did from what she could see. Not that had done much in the end, had it? He was still gone. “Sometimes when you see something like this the best thing to do is give it space or call someone who is trained to take care of things like this.” The hunters she trusted in this town were struggling to survive or gone.

Bea leaned against the back of the seats nearest her, her exhaustion hitting her all at once. “There won’t always be someone like me there. What will you do then?” How will you survive?

Bea seemed to be at the end of her rope, and a sneaking suspicion told Eddie he wasn’t the sole cause of her weariness. He thought about Nell and the contagiousness of grief. All at once, he became less concerned with self-pity. Compared to the Vurals, he had it easy. Eddie wished he could share that with them instead of dragging Bea down with his inability to make good decisions. He kept saying he would start being better for the people around him, when did he plan on actually doing it?

“No, I’m not new to this,” he answered truthfully. Whatever he said to Bea had a chance to get back to Nell. Eddie couldn’t afford to lie to her even if the lie was easier to hear than the truth. “Tonight just sucked.”

He considered her next question carefully. “I used to know.” Again, Eddie chose honesty. Until recently, he didn’t care what happened to him in situations like what happened tonight. Live or die, it didn’t matter. Part of him, and it was a big part, still felt that way, but now people cared about him. That made things murkier. “I guess I’d die if that happened.” Despite his inner turmoil, he sounded shockingly nonchalant. “I’m trying not to be okay with that.”

For a moment, Bea almost laughed. Waves of optimism had carried her afloat that last few days, but now she felt the current shifting beneath her feet. There were only so many times she would claim that things would get better. She was exhausting herself carrying everyone else’s hope on her back, but she had tried it the other way before. She had seen what it made her and she refused to go back to that.

“You should know that you shouldn’t be doing stuff in this town alone, then.” Adam should have known, they should have forced him to take someone. Bea shook her head, trying to lose the ‘what if’ questions that did nothing but worsen her guilt.

Bea’s eyes snapped toward him, her exhaustion shoved away by the fire that entered her. She pushed herself away from the chairs, taking a step toward him. “Death doesn’t just affect you,” She whispered fervently. “When you die, you change something in everyone around you. They will never get back to who they were.”

Bea had a point, Eddie realized that. White Crest sunk its teeth into anyone who dared underestimate how brutal it could be. Anyone except him, it seemed. For all his recklessness, he couldn’t get the town to live up to its reputation. Death didn’t want him back. “Yeah,” he quietly replied as his gaze fell to the floor.

Nex thing he knew, Bea seemed more vibrant than before. As she moved closer, he couldn’t tell if that was a good thing. Eddie glanced at the hellhound’s shadow-made shackles before locking eyes with her. Bea’s warning shook him. The part about his death affecting more than just him sounded a lot like similar words of caution given to him by both Nell and Morgan. But the rest, no one had ever phrased it like that before.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Eddie said firmly. “But I don’t wanna hurt either.” He knew how selfish he sounded. For years, he relied on that selfishness when no one else bothered to prioritize him. “And no one can seem to tell me how to manage both.”

“Everyone thinks I’m perfectly content not caring whether I live or die, and I guess I can’t blame them. I even put on a good enough act to fool myself sometimes, but it’s bullshit.” His throat tightened as the truth poured out of him. “I hate feeling this way. All it does is make me miserable and piss everyone else off, which is kind of exhausting.” Eddie let out a mirthless laugh. “I’m bleeding out and everyone around me is yelling about how I’m staining the carpet.” He choked back the tears trying to form in his eyes.

“No one can tell you, because you can’t.” Bea’s voice shook as she said it. There was no reason for her to lay things out for this man, yet here she was, because someone had to. “We hurt people, they hurt us, and we hurt ourselves.” She had been hurt by countless people, she had hurt countless people, and she had hurt herself. “It doesn’t make us bad people if we can learn from it.” She swallowed, “It makes us better if we learn how to forgive ourselves for the things we do.”

Bea closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a breath. That feeling he was talking about was something she understood well. “Sometimes people don’t know how to fix your bleeding, so they find something else to focus on. Blaming you isn’t fair, but it’s how they cope.” How many people have felt like this around here? How many people did she not see or help? “I think you might want to go to therapy, if you aren’t already,” She said with a shrug. “It can help. I go sometimes.” She went a lot in New York. She still went at least once a week, when the flashbacks were bad, she went twice.

Nothing Bea said relieved Eddie of the ache in his chest, but he appreciated that she said it anyway. He was beginning to learn that, try as he might, he would never find a mystical cure for the pain of living. But, if he listened, he might learn how to cope with it. He forgave others easily, but turning that kindness inwards proved more difficult. “Does that… get easier with practice?” he asked.

For the past ten years, Eddie had been going to therapy. When Bea offered it as a suggestion, he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it makes things a little easier.” But he couldn’t be completely honest with any of the professionals he’d seen, not about seeing ghosts or anything else related to the supernatural. It felt like wearing a muzzle. When they asked about his YouTube channel, he told them it was purely for entertainment. They were always impressed by the special effects.

“Anyway,” he said, forcing himself to shift gears. “Didn’t mean to, like, trauma dump or whatever” He never did, but it was becoming harder to keep it to himself. “Is there… anything I can do to help out around here? With the mess, I mean.”

“Yeah, it does.” Bea wished there was a way to prepare people for the life that White Crest was leading them down, but there wasn’t. All you could do was tell people the truth and pick them back up when they fell. “It’s like any skill though, we all mess up eventually and you’re going to kick yourself for it. Sometimes things are going to happen and you won’t even be able to remember how to do it, but it’ll come back. It always does.”

There was a part of Bea who knew she shouldn’t be allowing herself to take someone else on, but here she was pulling someone else’s hope onto her back. Someone had to keep it safe and until they were able to, she would nurture it and treat it as though it was her own. Maybe this was her fatal flaw, the thing that would put her in the ground permanently, but until it proved as dangerous as it felt, she would flirt with it.

“Yep,” Bea grinned at him, nodding at the storage closet. “Go grab a broom. I’m going to call my sister to figure out what to do with this beastie and then I’m going to call my crew to help.” She went to walk away before pausing and looking over her shoulder, “Some days there will be too much to keep in, find people who can handle you at your worst and learn to help them too. Those people will always be with you, as long as you love them as much as they love you.”

#c: bea #wickedswriting #down boy!#suicide tw #sibling death tw #// FIONA IS A TREASURE AND I LOVE BEA WITH MY WHOLE HEART

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bookandcranny · 3 years

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Beatrice - Chapter Four

“Doc-- Petra,” she greeted with a polite nod. She wasn’t really in the mood for chatting, but she tried to relax her expression into something resembling friendly nonetheless. It wasn’t her fault she was so on edge.

“Where have you been?” the professor asked. “I came looking for you but everyone I asked said you were out sick.”

“I was, but I’m better now.”

Again and again she replayed the events of that day in her mind. At night she lay on her side staring at the lowered blinds until frustration or exhaustion or both forced her to roll over and at least try to sleep. She was still struggling to make sense of all that Dr Rappaccini had told her, unsure how much of it she should even take to be true considering how obviously unstable the old man turned out to be.

In the end she decided it didn’t matter. Whether Beatrice was some test-tube baby in the shape of a second-coming, whether she was the daughter of a mad doctor straight out of a 1970s B-movie, first and foremost she was Beatrice. She was still the girl Gianna had fallen for. There had to be some way to reach her, to free her from her father’s control.

In the meantime however, between bouts of mourning her relationship that wasn’t and fanatically drafting and scrapping plans to whisk her away from her troubled life, there was work. Now feeling recovered from whatever had been ailing her, Gianna couldn’t justify taking off any more days, not even for her own heartbreak. She allowed herself the weekend to sulk and then woke up early the next morning prepared to throw herself back into her work.

Despite her best intentions however, the encounter with Beatrice’s father still weighed heavy on her mind. She tried to let work serve as a distraction, but then out of nowhere she would look down and remember the weight and feel of a hand twined with her own, or find herself touching the back of her fingertips to her lips, light as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings, and wondering what might have happened if she’d had the courage to kiss her before her father had walked in.

The strange dreams had begun again as well. She wasn’t exactly surprised. All through the night her head was filled with visions of a feminine figure draped in green, then red as the blissful scene became dirty and blood-soaked before her eyes. Gianna would wake up gasping, grasping for someone who wasn’t there and aching down to her marrow with the absence.

Shaking herself, Gianna stepped out of the arts building and gave herself a moment to linger in the breezeway, taking in fresh air that never seemed quite fresh enough anymore. Once again she was fighting a losing battle with her impulse to brood, when a familiar voice called out to her.

“Gianna, good heavens,” Dr Bagnol exclaimed as she hurried across the courtyard.

She was acting like they hadn’t spoken in years, Gianna thought with some annoyance, when she knew it had only been… how long? A few weeks? A month? Time has been moving so weirdly lately.

“Where have you been?” the professor asked. “I came looking for you but everyone I asked said you were out sick.”

“I was, but I’m better now.”

“I asked after you for days, Gianna.”

For some reason, the old woman’s concern grated on her.

“Yep. I was out for a few days, but I’m better now. Was there something you needed?”

Surprised hurt flashed in her eyes for less than a second. “I’d remembered something I wanted to ask you about. It had to do with that thing we talked about, about Dr Rappaccini. After you left I got to thinking, reminiscing on those days when we worked together. I decided to dig up some of my old research and journals and such from around that time and I realized there were some… loose ends I never followed up on the way I should have.”

Gianna bit her lip. This was the very last subject she wanted to talk about. “I don’t know how I could help. The guy’s just my neighbor, you know.”

Petra’s eyes raked over her face and her expression grew stern. “Ah. So you did speak to him after all, didn’t you?”

“We met, briefly,” she confessed with a grimace.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you. I was out sick.”

She hummed her disbelief. “Well you look well enough now. Very well in fact. Why, you’re glowing, Gianna. And,” She paused and tilted her head to the side. “What’s that smell?”

Gianna felt a prickle of cold sweat on the back of her neck. It was true; that tea must have packed a bigger punch than she thought because, in addition to waking up feeling fully restored the next morning, her hair had also gained a vibrant shine and her skin was softer and clearer than it had been since she was a young child. She half wondered why the Rappaccinis were sitting on a recipe like that when every celebrity influencer would probably trade their left tit for the brew. But then again she supposed it wasn’t as thought Dr Rappaccini needed the money. As for the smell though, she hadn’t noticed.

“Acetone? Epoxy resin maybe?” She nodded toward the building she’d come out of. “Actually, I should probably get back in there.”

The professor grabbed her wrist. “Has he taken you into his garden?”

“Hey, that hurts.”

Her grip tightened. Petra was surprisingly strong for her age. “Gianna.”

“I barely spoke to him!” she insisted. “I only went over there once, to see Beatrice.”

“Beatrice? You mean, the girl is still alive?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that? Of course she’s alive. She’s… she’s wonderful. And she’s not like her father at all. She’s smart and sensitive and loving--”

“Gianna, listen to me,” Dr Bagnol interrupted. “Dr Rappaccini does not have any children. He has experiments. However dangerous the doctor himself is-- and he is-- whatever else is living with him in that place is far worse. This girl… you can’t trust her. You can’t trust anything she tells you.”

Gianna tore herself away from the professor, disgusted, and took several steps back. “Don’t you say that about her. Beatrice is-- I’m in love with her, don’t you understand that? Doesn’t anyone understand that? I don’t care what you think she is, I know Beatrice.”

Petra called out in one final attempt to reach her, but she was already gone.

It revolted her to turn her back so coldly on someone she’d considered to be a friend, but she couldn’t stand to listen to those lies any longer. Whatever animosity lay between Petra and the old doctor, his daughter did not deserve her spite. And the way she spoke about Beatrice was just as bad as the man himself! They acted as though she weren’t even human.

But I’m not really any better, thought Gianna. Walking home alone that night there was nothing left to keep her from these idle guilty thoughts. She might feign righteousness, but when Beatrice had gone all silent and subservient like that, she’d been unable to get past her own discomfort and defend her. Between her bizarre behavior and her insane father’s outrageous claims, it had just been way too much.

So she had left her there, abandoned.

I spent all that time building her up in my head, thinking of her like she was some perfect heaven-sent angel, and ditched the second the reality became too complicated for me. That can’t be how I act with someone I care about. That can’t be how we leave things.

Gianna charged into her apartment and wrenched open the blinds. She had braced herself for the worst but when she looked down on the terrace, there was Beatrice, watering her plants like nothing had happened.

“Beatrice!”

The woman looked up, mouth hanging open, and for a moment Gianna thought she looked hopeful. Then again, it might’ve been wishful thinking on her part. As she descended to the lower platform Beatrice pursed her lips together and looked away, focusing intently on her work.

“I-I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

Gianna glanced over at the sliding door half-hidden in greenery. “Is he listening?”

She hesitated a moment then shook her head. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t come out here very much on his own. There are cameras hidden in a couple of the planters-- that’s how he knew I was meeting with you, I think-- but they don’t pick up sound. As long as I keep working like normal I don’t think he’ll bother to check up on me.”

Gianna frowned but bit her tongue. “Well, good, I guess.”

An uncertain silence fell between them.

“I sort of thought… I was afraid I wouldn’t get to see you again,” she admitted.

Beatrice kept watering, watching drops of water roll off the waxy bell of a foxglove.

“Father can punish me all he wants but he can’t keep me away from my garden. Someone has to take care of it and he doesn’t have the strength anymore.”

This time Gianna couldn’t control herself. She scowled. “About that, Bea. You’re an adult. He can’t treat you like this. It’s sick, you understand that, right? Spying on you, ordering you around, talking about you like you’re his property. That’s not normal.”

“I know that,” she said. “But there’s nothing I can do.”

“Of course there is! You can leave!”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I mean, if it’s a matter of money or needing a place to stay…”

“You don’t get it. I’ve never even…” She trailed off, closing her eyes. She took in a deep, quavering breath. “He’s my father, Gianna. He’s all I have.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. I--”

“You don’t understand!” she repeated. The watering can clattered to the ground. “This is all my fault. I was stupid to think I could have this. Look, take a look at this plant.”

She pointed to one of the many flowering shrubs. Gianna squinted at the merry looking pink blooms.

“Um, Latua Pub-- Pubiflora, right?”

“You remembered.” She smiled despite herself, giving the specimen an affectionate touch. “It’s common name translates to something like ‘sorcerer’s tree’. Most people are more familiar with its cousin, the deadly nightshade, although ironically she’s probably the less poisonous of the two. Now look at this one.”

Gianna looked and saw blood red blossoms in a sort of fan shape. “I don’t think I know that one.”

“That’s because, officially, it doesn’t exist. It’s a hybrid species of my father’s own making, the only one of its kind. It can’t survive in the wild. It needs to be pollinated by hand because the smell of the nectar it secretes kills any insects before they can so much as touch it.” She knelt and lowered her face into the flowers’ embrace, breathing deeply. “She’s just one of my father’s many projects. And me too, I’m the same way. I’m a hybrid, a splice, a hothouse orchid; designed to be pretty from a distance but never touched. I can’t survive outside of the walls of my father’s world.”

“What do you think will happen if you leave?”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t know. Something terrible.”

Gianna leaned heavily on the railing. “Beatrice… I know you’re scared, but you can’t let him keep brainwashing you for the rest of your life. You’re not a flower. You don’t stay rooted wherever you’re planted. Don’t you want more than this?”

“You know I do,” she sighed.

“Then run away with me!” she blurted out. “We can leave all this bullshit with your dad behind. We’ll get out of the city, go somewhere where you can stretch your legs, where you can feel the earth beneath your feet, someplace beautiful and green. We can figure out the details later, just-- the way he talked to you, the way you looked. I never want to see you look like that again. It was like you weren’t even really there.

“You told me before that you didn’t want to lose me. Well I don’t want to lose you either. I care about you, Beatrice.” She felt her eyes grow wet. “I care about you so much. And I wasn’t strong enough to say so before. I wasn’t strong enough to help you. That’s why I was afraid to face you. I should’ve done something, I should’ve seen what was happening sooner.”

“No, Gianna,” Beatrice shuddered out. “It wasn’t your fault. I knew the risk when I went against my father and I took it anyway. I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I wanted to be able to touch you. I still do.” She balled her fists. “I’d take that risk again a thousand times. I will. I’ll go with you.”

-----

Day by day their plan began to coalesce. Gianna did all the research, staying up late into the night scrolling through articles and the firsthand accounts of abuse escapees, mapping routes and making plans, but it could still be argued Beatrice had the harder job of the two.

While they could see one another under the guise of her daily gardening, Dr Rappaccini had been keeping a sharper eye on his daughter than ever. The man hardly went outside as it was so finding times to meet and share their findings without prying eyes was tricky, and trying to arrange the time and date of their ultimate escape that much more so.

Then Gianna had an idea. Although the other caretakers came and went in the Rappaccini home, Beatrice remained the most consistently responsible for her father’s care, and prepared many of his meals. With her expertise on medicinal plants, it would be a simple thing to mix the right combination of herbs into his food and put him out of their way.

At first Gianna was afraid she was asking too much of her, that requesting she drug her own father was going too far, but when she cautiously proposed it as an option, Beatrice lit up.

“That’s perfect! I’ll just give him something to make him sleep for a while. I used to do the same thing with my babysitters when I was a kid so I could stay up late.”

“And there’s no chance that you might, you know, give him the wrong dosage or something?”

“It’s harmless,” said Beatrice. “I’ve known these plants my whole life, I know exactly what to do.”

In spite of all their scheming, when the day finally came, Gianna felt as much dread as she did excitement. Everything had seemed so certain, so flawless in that initial flurry of adrenalin and heady heartsick longing. Only when she was staring down the suitcase laid open on her bed did the enormity of what she was about to do strike her full-force.

It felt like just yesterday she’d been unpacking this same bag, getting ready to begin her new life in the city. But she had made a promise to Beatrice and she didn’t intend to go back on her word now. She needed for her to be safe, for her to be free. The rest, she figured, they could work out along the way.

Bag packed with some time left to kill, Gianna made a quick detour to the market a block over, where a regular vendor could be found selling flowers from a stall outside. She bought a bouquet in rich romantic hues which she hoped would make her friend smile even when she was forced to part with her own beloved garden. She knew she loved that terrace more than anything. She would probably stay there all day and night if she could, sleeping on a bed of earth with leaves for a pillow. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to be parted for too long.

Gianna was feeling more lighthearted by the time she arrived at the apartment. 6pm on the dot, giving Beatrice enough time to serve the old man his dinner and let the drug take effect. She punched in the passcode, but in place of a chime and cheery green light she was met with a low, admonishing tone. Someone must have changed the code. Perhaps Rappaccini himself had had a word with the super or whoever after their attempted date. No problem, Beatrice could just buzz her in.

“Hey, it’s me,” she said into the receiver.

“Gianna?” The break in her voice was lost under the buzz of feedback and Gianna was too silly with love to notice.

“Yup! I’m downstairs. Are you all packed?”

“Gianna… I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong? Talk to me.” It didn’t surprise her that she might be having second thoughts now that the moment was at hand, but she was confident that whatever her hesitation, they could work through it.

There was a pause, then a muffled voice in the background, a shuffle of motion.

“This was a bad idea,” Beatrice said in a near whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The intercom cut off. Growing panicked, Gianna yanked furtively on the door but the lock held firm.

“Shit. Shit!” She dropped her bag. She dropped the bouquet. She didn’t stay for long enough to see it wither and die.

next chapter

#writeblr #original fiction #horror romance #gothic #lgbt #rappaccini's daughter #my writing

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dottiechan · 3 years

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Tempest (Pt. 2)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 1624

Warnings: death, grieving

Summary: A prolepsis from 1896. There is one last goodbye Ava has to say if she ever hopes to find peace.

A/N: It’s pure angst. I’m warning you. Also part two, huh? I’m probably more surprised than you are.

Today, somewhere in the woods near Wayhaven

The gate creaks as she pushes it open, the rusty metal almost bending in her formidable grip. She is tense, shoulders taut, her muscles rebelling against the control of her mind.

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Dante was lucky - Beatrice awaited him in heaven after he went through hell to get to her. But Ava is not so fortunate. Oh no, her hell is only just quite beginning. Down she goes to the deepest pit, the last circle, without a guide, and there will be no salvation in the end. The frozen wasteland reserved for the most treacherous await her with open arms, ready to swallow her whole. Her guilt burning in her veins will not save her now. It will not keep her warm.

It’s early March in Wayhaven. The snow begins to gently ascend on the old abandoned cemetery in a slow flurry, and the stars studding the night sky have suddenly doubled. Ava raises her gaze, eyes already shining with the promise of tears as the starlight reflects in them under the gentle frame of her eyelashes.

She doesn’t want to do this. She can’t do this. But she will. For her sake.

Ava has abandoned her one too many times already, irreversibly. What is a promise kept to the dead? What is a kiss to a gravestone? She has no idea. She doesn’t think it means anything. But she cannot say no to her again. Even if she is not really here anymore.

The Wayhaven assignment, protecting Rebecca’s child, a detective no less... It has brought up so many memories she tried to bury deep inside of her. A hundred years haven’t been enough to forget even a single detail about her, and she doubts a hundred more will do anything to corrode the image of her she guards in her heart. But why did it have to be this way? She has meant to come here for decades now, but she was always terrified of what the certainty of her death reaching her with its icy fingers would do to her. Now she has no choice but to face her. Murphy is captured, the detective is recovering and assigned the title of liaison, and Unit Bravo is to be stationed here in Wayhaven for an unspecified period of time.

It’s cruel. She could read it on Nate’s face too. Knowing she is buried here, a friend to him, an old ally to them both, and something so much more to her, well, it’s enough to keep them both slipping in and out of memories. Her old friend is one step ahead of her though, as always - he’s quietly let her know the other night that he’s been here, that he’s left flowers, that he had to, he just had to, that he’s sorry. Ava sincerely hopes that the quiet and yet all the more painful, persistent reminder of her death that permeates this small town has been somewhat soothed over by this gesture in Nate, even if she knows she can hope for no such peace.

The thin sheen of stark white snow crunches underneath her boots as she walks down the path slowly after a steadying breath, her silhouette melting into the all encompassing darkness. This place is ancient compared to the new cemetery’s modern plots - she’s seen them as they’ve passed them by on multiple occasions. No, this cemetery is small, and hidden deep in the woods surrounding the little town, flanked by pine trees so tall it was hard to find it in the first place. It’s a historical attraction now, with its beautifully sculpted headstones and statues, its residents being the best and brightest of the 19th century, ground to dust and bones after the next generations have inherited the world. This is what time does to the best and brightest, to the ones that live, to humans, Ava thinks grimly, hiding behind her logic a moment longer before it will all be ripped from her hands once more. The private detective always had that effect on her, and she doubts her abilities have languished in death.

She was too good for that. Too good for the fate that befell her. Too good for her.

Thinking about the private detective sets off a reflex in her that she cannot stop immediately. She focuses her senses on instinct, her gaze cutting through darkness with ease, her nostrils filling with the rich scent of the woods even through the steadily growing blanket of snow, her ears straining to pick up her sensitive heartbeat.

But it’s only the evergreen branches gently swaying under the weight of the snow, and the howling of the wind, and the gentle rustling of nocturnal animals. and the smell of earth. These headstones, once people, are no more alive than the cold snow underneath her boots.

Ava dares a few more steps down the path, statues of angels and crosses standing silent vigil in honour of her pilgrimage, and she considers backing out and closing her heart completely and fully to the past when she sees plain pale blue flowers on a grave - the only colour in the monochrome of this grim scene. She is paralysed, her throat tightening, her feet so heavy that she feels stuck in place for a good while.

This is the path Nate took, and that single bouquet of flowers marks the destination of his visit.

Most of the people buried here have been dead for so long that no living have ever met or remembered them anymore. No flowers, no candles, no tears shed for them, no laments offered. Just mother nature smoothing over their granite foreheads with rain fingers, and sun kisses and snow breaths. And the pain of her being one of those forgotten faces tears through Ava with such a force that she is spurred into motion, wading through the snow until she’s right before the plot her detective has been confined to for the rest of eternity. Such a tiny space, she thinks as her chest constricts at the sight of the modest little grave. The white of the snow is threatening to swallow the inscription of her name, and Ava sinks to her knees, not caring one bit about the wetness of the ground seeping into her trousers, as she reaches out with the reverent fingers of a lover and brushes the snowflakes aside until she can see it all clearly, fingertips ghosting over the forbidden curve of each letter in her name that alone mean nothing, but put together... Put together, they mean her whole world.

Her world, now as cold as Ava had been towards her many times in the past, reduced from endless possibilities to a mere coffin’s size. How she wishes she could crawl in next to her and apologise to each bone before closing her eyes and never leaving her side again.

She used to do that when they fought. Of course, the private detective was very much alive then, and apologies were much easier to convey. She used to creep into their bedroom at night where she’d cry alone and pretend to sleep instead of admitting defeat. Ava used to swallow her pride and kick off her shoes and crawl into bed with her. She used to hold her close, the warmth of her back seeping into her chest as she’d mutter apologies into her hair. And the detective could never stay mad for long. She would turn in her grasp and cry until Ava kissed away all her tears.

The snowflakes burn the flushed skin of her cheeks as she kneels there, one icy palm flat against the inscription on the stone, the only movement for a long while being the stars dancing in the salty streams sliding down her cheeks.

This one last apology can never be delivered properly, she knows that. But she had to go. She had to leave London. Her work at the Agency always came first. The detective knew that, even if she didn’t know everything about her. What would have happened if she had stayed, she does not know. Information was vague back then, and hard to come by. She does not know how she died; so young still, only two years after Ava left for good. Maybe she could have saved her one way or the other. Maybe. But even if she survived the dangers of her work, and the dangers that threaten all mortal beings, even then she would be gone by now.

She was a being that should have been preserved. If Ava hadn’t been such a coward, she would still be here, and her brilliance would shine fiercely like the North Star, leading her on, adding a purpose to her existence.

Yet stars die eventually. Even if their light keeps on shining for thousands of years afterwards.

Hours pass. Ava melts into the long row of statues, her pale skin the colour of white marble, her features that of an angel’s. If anyone were to visit now at this late hour, perhaps they wouldn’t even notice her.

But there is someone out there, silent as the grave, halting to a stop only by the tree line - not risking exposure, but also unable to resist staying away. There is someone out there lurking in the shadows who could single Ava out of a thousand faces if she had to. She lingers, not ready to reveal herself, her shock turning her inside out as she watches what transpires by her grave.

And while Ava is busy mourning, she is busy welcoming back a lover she thought dead.

#dottiechan writes #ava du mortain x detective #a du mortain x detective #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #ava du mortain #a du mortain #what a ride huh?#no clue where this sudden urge to write again comes from but hey #i'm not complaining

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thenightling · 3 years

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Why I do NOT think Over The Garden Wall’s ending is secretly sad

Recently I came across a comment from someone who believes Over The Garden Wall actually has a sad ending and Greg and Wirt and doomed, that the ending is false because of the lyric “Loveliest ...lies of all.” I have to admit I was initially worried about this being potentially true too. But then I remembered a few things that reassured me. A few things made me certain the end is not false.

1. The phrase “Loveliest... lies of all”: At first this worried me too that the frog was giving a wink-wink / nudge-nudge that this wasn’t really how it ended but how the boys would have wanted it to end but then I realized something. He actually sings "Loveliest lies of all" at the start of the first episode too. So if the end is a lie so is the whole thing. So this makes the concern moot, doesn’t it?

2. “What is a story but a lie?”: Some people call fictional stories "lies" and The Unknown is a land of stories. A similar reasoning is how Marvel evolved Loki from God of lies to God of Stories in the comics.

3. The Over The Garden Wall comics are supposed to be canon: The Over The Garden Wall comics (from the same writer) indicate all the stories ended the way the afterward claimed.

4. The end scene is supposed to show how the boys touched the lives of those in The Unknown: We have been told that the ending is supposed to show how the boys impacted the lives of those in The Unknown. Why do that if only that one part is a lie?

5. It was all real on some level: The Bell still being in the frog’s stomach indicate that the adventure was at least partly true.

6. The opening and closing bookends: There are things tied together that the boys would not have known in order to imagine the happy endings for the lives they touched. For example, the fact that the gristmill (now mostly repaired) was owned by Beatrice’s family and the dog from the first episode was hers. The boys didn’t know Beatrice had a dog. The boys also didn’t know what the woodsman’s daughter looked like. We only saw her in the preview segment of the first episode. And Lorna’s ending was the most probable since Auntie Whispers turned out to be a fairly nice person (even if she didn’t think of the obvious way to get rid of the spirit). There’s a preview (in the opening segment of the first episode) that ties directly to the ending and the boys wouldn’t have been aware of either.

7. A sad conclusion doesn’t match the rest of the mini-series: All of Greg and Wirt's adventures ended mostly happily already (”O Potatoes and Molasses: The school is saved via fund raiser and the gorilla was Jimmy Brown all along,” the frog choosing his human companions over fame and fortune, the Potsfield folk just letting them go after their two friends were dug up, Adalade defeated, Lorna de-possessed and deciding Auntie Whispers is her family after all for loving her and looking after her through the ordeal, And the crazy old tea seller (who might actually be the ghost) finding love with his business competitor. So there's no real reason the ending should be false considering how far fetched the previously established stories played out.

8. Purgatory isn’t a bad place by its original definition: Yes, I’m aware that there’s a high chance the boys are in purgatory, or some place between realms. There’s also a chance they are in The Dreaming (realm of dreams and stories) or a combo of the two. But purgatory is not necessarily a bad place and you sometimes CAN return to the land of the living from purgatory. It’s not like the Dante’s Inferno video game or Divine Comedy (which is Bible fan fiction, by the way). Even if Dante’s Divine Comedy did influence Over The Garden Wall so did Goethe’s Faust (part 2 of which had a sweet ending) and a bunch of other classic stories. And purgatory is supposed to be a place between here and it is indicated that it is where forgotten stories (folktales / faery tales) must play out. And most of those were designed to have happy endings.

9. The references and homages don’t fit a bleak ending: Yes, some old Grimm Faery tales have very dark endings but the raw blue print for Over The Garden Wall comes from American folktales, vintage New England post cards, and 1920s to 1940 cartoons, which usually were whimsical and had happy outcomes. You can see the likes of Betty Boop, The Wizard of Oz, and even Shirley Temple’s Animal Crackers in my Soup in loving homage.

10. Tome of the Unknown: They were helping forgotten stories reach their conclusion. That’s why the original working title was “Tome of the Unknown.” (Which Lorna is reading in her final scene, by the way.) The fact that Lorna is reading the Tome of the Unknown (the book of stories the Unknown characters are supposed to be from) suggests that the boys actually helped these characters play out their stories like faery tale characters in an Enchanted Forest.

11. A sad ending doesn’t really match the established tone. They were mostly sweet forgotten stories and folktales too from the looks of it. If Beatrice was turned into a bird by a bird for throwing a rock why is it so hard for us to accept a witch’s scissors could turn her back? I was worried the scissors would actually mutilate her too but I think we’re just too used to that sort of thing today. Older stories were not so cynical which brings me to point 11.

12. Projecting cynicism and dark expectations: I saw similar projected darkness with some people watching The Shape of Water and thinking the end was wishful thinking even though we had already seen “The Asset” use healing powers. And Guillermo del Toro said it has a happy ending. The Rugrats aren’t dead and Angelica is not just imagining them either. Sometimes things actually just are wholesome. They don’t need to be edgy.

13. I’m aware of what was considered early in the production: Just because an author considered making something darker than what was made doesn’t mean the finished product is darker too. People also like to bring up that in the “original“ Peter Pan the boy was a villain and did awful things but that is not the version that became a beloved play and children’s book. That was essentially a prototype version that no one cared for.

14. Sequel?: Though it’s not likely the show’s creator (Patrick McHale) will do it, there were sequel considerations for Over The Garden Wall, which would require those stories to have ended the way we saw them.

15. “If Dreams can’t come true then why not pretend?” I’ve heard this lyric used to try to claim the ending is false but one could argue that all of the stories the boys encounter in Over The Garden Wall are dreams. And what is the sure way to make a dream become real? “Fake it until you make it.” In other words... Pretend. So the boys may have turned those stories (including their endings) real. Pretending and belief. Believing something strongly enough that is how you make an ideal real.

To quote Death in the novel Hogfather by Terry Pratchett.: “ THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET”—Death waved a hand. “AND YET YOU ACT AS IF THERE IS SOME IDEAL ORDER IN THE WORLD, AS IF THERE IS SOME...SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.” "Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what's the point—" MY POINT EXACTLY.” He goes on to say people need to believe in these things in order for them to “Become.”

This is how you make concepts real, through pretending and creating belief in the idea.

So in a sense what he’s really saying here can be seen as “Make it real.”

#Over the Garden Wall #OTGW

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1245

Serious question, peanut butter or nutella? Oh you are just mean. Nutella is amazing as a filling or icing, but when it comes down to it I guess I look for peanut butter more often. I love both though.

Do you prefer baked potatoes or mashed potatoes? Mashed. But baked potatoes are pretty good too; the only reason I didn’t pick it is that I don’t get to have it as often as I do mashed.

What is your oldest sibling’s middle name? I’m the eldest sibling, but my sister, who comes after me, has Beatrice as her second name if that’s what you mean by middle name.

Do you like breadsticks? Yes. The more cheesy-garlicky, the better.

What are your favorite things to spend money on? Merch or food.

Which would you rather have a new puppy or kitten? Puppy. Not the biggest fan of cats.

How old will you be on your next birthday? 24.

Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people? If it’s the combination of having to be around people I’m not too close with, like workmates, and I’m eating something that tends to be messy, like jjajangmyeon, then yeah I can definitely feel conscious.

When you opened your eyes this morning, what were your first thoughts? I fell asleep from 11 PM to around 3 AM and when I woke up then I thought “ugh, I fell asleep early again?”

What is one thing in the room you’re in that reminds you of somebody? My vape pen constantly reminds me of Andi because they were the one who gave it to me.

Could you ever be friends with somebody who was homophobic? No.

Would you ever want to be a supermodel, or date one? I did want to be one, at one point. It was all a matter of being stuck with the wrong crowd at the time lol.

Honestly, have you ever made fun of somebody so bad they cried? Probably with my sister when we were very young.

Honestly, would you rather be complimented on your looks or intelligence? Intelligence.

Have you ever purchased a pregnancy test, for yourself or otherwise? I never have.

You can get one thing, anything, for free right now. What do you pick? Why? A 1 or 2 TB hard drive. My phone has reached the stage where I’m starting to have to constantly delete shit so I don’t reach the maximum storage, so I need someplace to dump all my photos and videos in to free up my phone.

Honestly, have you ever danced naked? Nope.

What was the first illegal thing that you did? Did you get caught? I dunno...buy pirated movies? I didn’t get ‘caught’ since pirated movie stalls are widespread here anyway, so for the most part I’ve always been more concerned for them than I am for myself.

What is the home page on the computer you’re on? Technically it’s supposed to be the Google home screen, but I have an extension that shows me my to-do list for the day.

Do you like to write poetry? Nah, that’s always been my Achilles’ heel when it comes to writing.

Are your ears pierced? Yup. Surprisingly enough they’ve never closed up despite never having worn earrings (clip-ons notwithstanding) in the last 13 years.

If so, were they pierced with a piercing gun, or with a sterile needle? I’m not sure, since my mom had them pierced when I was a baby. I would guess piercing gun, though.

Do you wear makeup regularly? I never wear makeup.

Did you eat cereal for breakfast today? I never have cereal unless I’m staying at hotels. It’s just never been something I look for.

When was the last time you tripped over something? A box that was lying around in my room.

Any obsessive-compulsive tendencies? I’ll sometimes get concerned with how many times I have to flick the switch of our hot water dispenser or open and close the refrigerator door before I feel completely satisfied...but I dunno if that counts.

Who was the last person you yelled at? Technically...Angela? I was filming an unboxing video for a gift she randomly got me and I loved the gift so much I was yelling my excitement through the screen.

Why did you yell at them? ^ That.

Favorite type of apple? I don’t like fruits.

Ever seen live horse racing? No, it’s not something that interests me.

How about live greyhound racing? I don’t even know what that looks like.

What’s one thing, besides the obvious, that you couldn’t live without? The arts, I guess. I need something to listen to, to watch, etc on a regular basis.

Have you ever touched a giraffe? I don’t think so.

What does your mom call you? Robyn, or the Filipino term parents use for their kids.

What stresses you out the most in life? A particular client at work. We have a million campaigns going on for them at any given point so my life virtually revolves around that brand these days.

Do you play any PC games? What is your favorite? Nope.

If you were pregnant, how would you tell the father? Well, that would depend on the circumstances. Did we want a baby? Was it a bad surprise, a happy surprise? I can't answer this with just one idea. < Yeah.

What’s the hardest level you can play on Guitar Hero? If I’m using a Playstation controller, I can go Hard or Expert. But my finger coordination with the actual guitar controller is terrible and I fail most songs even at Easy.

What ever happened with you and your first boyfriend? There was never any ‘boyfriend,’ but my first girlfriend and I have basically had a falling out and I haven’t talked to her in months, and I expect it to continue being that way.

What’s your favorite country song? I don’t have any.

What is the worst thing a former boyfriend/girlfriend has done to you? Putting her pride and anger first even when I’m obviously in a state of disstress or breakdown in front of her. That’s some emotional rollercoaster I’m glad I don’t have to deal with anymore.

What were you for Halloween last year? Just Dora the Explorer again, which was a repeat from the year before that.

Are you feeling guilty for something? I don’t think so; at least there isn’t anything I’m actively feeling guilty about at the moment.

Are you usually quiet or loud? I think I’m in between? I’m pretty loud but I can space out at the most random moments hahaha.

How many hours do you spend on the computer a day? This question always makes me wince at myself...I guess anywhere between 16-18 hours? The only time I put my laptop down is when I’m off to bed, but otherwise it’s constantly open.

What is the show that you watched when you were little, and you still do? I don’t think there is such a show.

Do your siblings text you? Nope. We live under the same roof 24/7 so there’s been little need to text.

Do you want a small or big wedding? Big.

Have you ever searched for your own house on Google Earth? Yes, but that was when Google Earth was still super bare so I wasn’t able to see the actual house anyway, but just the general area where we’re located. I haven’t used Google Earth in years.

Who is your ex dating/talking to? I don’t know and I hoooonestly could not care less.

Ever kissed someone who smokes? Yep.

Does it take a lot for someone to annoy you? Depends on my mood. I have my moments where it’s very easy for me to get irritated.

Do you own your own computer? I mean it was bought for me, but I didn’t get it with money I earned.

Did you ever have to share a room with one of your siblings? When my brother was starting to mature, my sister and I very very briefly experimented sharing a room, but it lasted like all of two weeks. My parents ultimately just transferred our balcony to a bedroom so that all three of us had our own rooms.

What noises in the room you’re in, do you hear at the moment? An airplane is flying above me at the moment so I can hear its engine. I can also hear some crickets chirping and the faint barking of dogs.

Have you ever dated someone with longer hair than yours? Yup.

What’s the biggest upcoming event for you? I guess my second vaccine dose is kinda big? It’s happening this Friday.

What do you typically order from Wendy’s? I rarely get Wendy’s tbh, but when I do I usually go for their Baconator.

Have you ever been given a lapdance by an actual stripper? No, it’s not something I would be into.

What do you love most about yourself? Continued the next day because I am terrible at taking a survey in one go. I like that I don’t hesitate to do or buy things for my loved ones, not even inwardly. I guess it’s because my family has always lived very practically, so I want to make up for that by spoiling my friends.

Have you ever received a hickey from the last person you kissed? Yes.

What are you doing right now? I am supposed to be at work but it’s a relatively quiet day, so I’m here. I do have my screen split between Tumblr and my emails though, so that I’d be able to see if new work will come in hahaha.

What’s bothering you right now? Quiet work days always make me anxious because it makes me think if I’m forgetting about something crucial.

What was the last thing you drank? I literally just took a sip of my coffee before moving on to this question.

Be honest, do you like people in general? Depends on the situation, I think. Like when I go to concerts, I know I’m around people I share the same interests with, so there’s a sense of solidarity that goes with that. But when I’m like...I dunno, lining up to get my license renewed at a government office, I know people there are in a rush and tend to get rude, and that makes me feel a little bit overwhelmed. I don’t think this is something I can generalize.

Do you want your tongue pierced? No. Lip I can consider, but I have to pass on tongue.

Do you change your phone background a lot? I do these days, yeah.

Have you ever made someone so mad that they broke something? Possibly.

Have you ever been strip searched? I’ve been searched, but was never asked to strip.

Do you have a funny last name? Does anyone make fun of it? No, it’s an ordinary surname.

Ever have a drug overdose? What did you OD on exactly? Never.

Do you get sick of people who call themselves bipolar all the time? I get sick of people who call themselves bipolar, and of people who use ‘bipolar’ to describe someone else who just has your typical mood swings.

Describe your day so far in three words: Business as usual.

What was the most stressful project you had so far/while in school? I was once designated as a leader for a science investigative project, which didn’t make sense because science was definitely not my strongest point. Needless to say it didn’t go well and I ended up being a terrible leader. Choose one- Butterfinger, Milky Way, Snickers: Butterfinger, even though they’re a bitch to eat and chew.

Have you ever stepped in dog poop? Maybe once or twice. It fortunately doesn’t happen a lot.

What was the last thing you spent money on? I got Angela and Reena cheese tarts. The reason behind it was Jin held a VLIve last Monday and he had been eating egg tarts during the stream; and because I was happy to have watched my first Jin live, I got my friends cheese tarts hahaha. I don’t know a lot of places that sells good egg tarts so I settled for cheese tarts instead, which I think are better anyway.

Have you ever slept in the same bed with the last person you kissed? Yeah.

Is there a guy that knows a lot about you? I guess Hans? We personally don’t get to have a lot of heart-to-heart exchanges, but considering how Angela’s my greatest confidante I’m sure she has shared bits of my life to him, which I don’t mind.

Is there someone you just can’t imagine your life without? I don’t really like answering this question anymore because the people that I’ve declared ‘for keeps’ have faded out of my life at some point. I’m a lot more guarded and self-preservation-y when it comes to this now.

Do you prefer Starbucks coffee or small cafe coffee? Ooooh, both. I love coffee.

Would you ever consider getting a piercing in your septum? No.

Do you enjoy being outdoors? If the weather is nice, yes.

Do people tell you that you have an accent? I mean I’ve been told my English is strong, but my accent in particular doesn’t really get noted.

Do you enjoy watching fireworks on the 4th of July? I don’t celebrate that.

What’re some unspeakable subjects for you? I don’t like talking about my brother. Otherwise I am pretty open about everything.

Is there anyone you would take a bullet for? Several people come to mind.

Do you enjoy tanning? If I’m at the beach, sure. It’s honestly not something I have to constantly keep up with, though, since I’m already naturally tan enough. Are you a virgin? No.

Who’s your celebrity crush? Taehyung :(

Did or do you get good grades in English class? I always got pretty good grades in English.

What part of your body are you self-conscious about? Teeth, and my legs sometimes.

Are you expected to help fix Thanksgiving dinner? I don’t celebrate that.

Have you ever lost anyone close to cancer? Yes.

Do you personally know anyone who is transgender? Yes.

When was the last time you got a shot? Last month, then I’m getting my second dose tomorrow.

#survey #surveys

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juliandev0rak · 3 years

Text

Defining Moment 🧳✨

Eleven: Defining Moment — what was their coming-of-age moment? A point where everything changed?

echoes of the past event

@arcana-echoes

Beatrice Viano, she/ her

The South End, Vesuvia

12 years before the events of The Arcana, Beatrice is 14

Words: 2266

Warnings: mentions of parental emotional abuse, no specific details are given but just in case- this does deal with a child leaving an emotionally abusive household so please feel free to skip this post if you’d like

It’s now or never.

The last two years have been hard for Beatrice. With her sister gone, all of her mother’s attention has been focused on her, which has been far from a good thing. Her mother had devoted herself to Beatrice’s education whenever possible, running her tailoring business on the side. Sewing and washing the fine clothing of wealthy women had always made her mother envious for a better life, and she views her daughters as the way to do that.

Beatrice, and her sister before her, had been educated to catch the eye of an upper class, wealthy gentleman. Her mother had tried to arrange a marriage for Freya, which had fallen through, but she has high hopes for Beatrice. Her education mostly consists of training Beatrice to be a proper lady, practicing etiquette and the piano, learning to walk with poise and grace, and most of all learning how to speak correctly. “Good girls are seen and not heard” had been drilled into her since birth. Beatrice is good, she does what she’s told, but it’s still never enough.

Her mother’s corrections are swift and harsh, she is never good enough, or quiet enough, but she is smart enough- too smart actually. Her mother tells her that it's unbecoming for a lady to know so much, how will she get a husband if she runs her mouth like that? Beatrice doesn’t want a husband, she wants a friend. Since her sister left she’s been all alone in the house, not even allowed to go out to the market without her mother.

Freya had run away from home, and her mother spends every moment making sure Beatrice doesn't follow suit. The house has always been a prison of sorts, but now the warden has become even harsher. Her mother hates magic most of all, so Beatrice has to hide her abilities. It’s impossible to live here knowing that just across town her Aunt Cora has a magic shop and could teach her, if she could only get out.

Part of her feels obligated to stay with her mother, she’ll be all alone if Beatrice leaves and despite her flaws, she’s still her mother. But, deep down, she knows that the only future she has to look forward to if she stays is being married off to the highest bidder. So she bides her time.

She spends her days pretending that nothing is wrong. She practices piano, she does her etiquette lessons and works on her needlepoint samplers, but in her head she’s plotting. Her mother takes her with her whenever she leaves, and it would be difficult to slip out unnoticed any other time.

However, she gets incredibly lucky when one of her mother’s customers requests a house call. It’s too important of a client for her mother to bring Beatrice along, so she’ll have a few hours in the house alone. She begins to plan her getaway, trying to figure out a way to pack her belongings without raising suspicion.

When her mother leaves that afternoon with a warning of “Be good, Beatrice.” she rushes into action. It’s now or never, and she can’t risk losing this chance to get away. She’ll never be able to live with herself if she doesn’t try to learn how to use her magic, if she doesn’t try to make her life what she wants it to be.

Beatrice gathers her things in a hurry, wishing she knew more magic to help her with the process. On a whim she throws on her father’s old green cloak. It’s the only thing she has of his and though she never really knew him, she wants to remember him. He’d left when she was too young to remember, and he’s still out there somewhere. She’s often thought about going in search of him, but as she’s gotten older she’s realized he probably wouldn’t be too happy to see her given the circumstances.

Bag in hand, she opens the door to leave, trying not to think too much about what she’s about to do. She’s scared, she knows her mother won’t let her return if she leaves and she hasn’t seen her aunt in years so she has no guarantee that her aunt will even take her in. But she has to do it, she has to try.

She has a good sense of direction so she makes it to Center City in no time, but she has to ask for directions from there. Trying to find the magic shop without knowing its name is easier said than done. When she arrives it’s still light out and there’s a sign proclaiming that the store is open so she walks in, unsure of what’s to come.

The store is bustling, a dozen customers peruse the various shelves. She spots her Aunt Cora, who looks a lot like her mother, in the corner of the store talking to a customer. So Beatrice walks over, trying to catch her eye.

“I’ll be right with you in a moment, dear.” Aunt Cora says when she notices her approaching, she turns back to the customer then whirls right back to Beatrice. “Oh, Beatrice! Darling, whatever are you doing here?”

She excuses herself from the customer and runs over to greet her niece. Aunt Cora pulls her into a hug that Beatrice tries not to recoil from. After she deems it long enough that she won’t be impolite, Beatrice pulls away and tries to explain but she’s cut off by a barrage of questions.

“Is Ada here with you? Does she know you’re here?” Cora asks, speaking of Beatrice’s mother.

“No Ma'am, I left without her knowledge.” Beatrice explains, staring down at her shoes to avoid looking at her Aunt, but the voice of her mother reminds her that making eye contact is polite so she raises her head. “My sincerest apologies for the intrusion, I wanted to, that is, I had hoped-”

“My, aren’t you a polite girl.” Cora laughs, cutting off her stuttering explanation, “It’s ok, Beatrice you aren’t intruding at all. How about I close the shop early and we can talk? Just give me a few minutes, you can head up the stairs over there and I’ll be right up.” Cora gestures to the corner of the shop where the entrance to her apartment must be.

“Thank you Ma’am.” Beatrice resists the sudden urge to curtsy and tentatively makes her way to the stairs.

“Call me Cora!” Cora calls after her, shaking her head sadly as she watches Beatrice politely nod in response.

Beatrice opens the door to the apartment and is delighted to find it cozy and quite charming, though a bit too cluttered for what she’s used to. She sets her bag down and takes a seat on the edge of the couch. Her aunt had seemed happy to see her at least. A minute passes in tense silence until she hears footsteps on the stairs.

“You know,” Cora says, entering the apartment, “your sister Freya arrived in a very similar fashion not so long ago. Am I to assume your visit is for similar reasons?”

“She came to see you?” Beatrice asks, removing her bag from the couch so Cora has a spot to sit.

“Indeed she did, she wanted to leave Vesuvia.” Cora explains, eyeing the way Beatrice’s face tightens at the mention of her sister, “But something tells me you’d rather not talk about your sister. Why don’t you tell me why you’ve come to see me?”

“Can you train me?” She asks, wanting to get it over with. If her aunt rejects her she’d rather know now. “I have magic but I can’t, my mother doesn’t, she-”

“You don’t have to explain, I know my sister’s aversion to magic. I knew you had some ability, but is it really something you’d like to pursue?” Cora smiles as Beatrice nods, “In that case, I’d be happy to train you.”

“Thank you Aunt Cora!” Beatrice says excitedly, but a moment later her expression sobers and she continues, “Only.. it’s not just that, I would need somewhere to stay.”

“Well of course! I wouldn’t want my new apprentice to stay anywhere else! I’ve got a guest room that’s just perfect for you.” Cora grabs Beatrice’s hand and pulls her up. “Let’s go see it, shall we?”

The room is small but it’s got a lovely window and looks less cluttered than the rest of the apartment, which is perfect for Beatrice. Once she’s all settled in, her small bag of belongings unpacked neatly, her aunt brews them some tea and they talk about magic. It’s the most fun Beatrice has had in years, being able to talk about her interests freely. It’s getting dark by then and her aunt suggests dinner and an early night so they can get started on magic training in the morning.

Beatrice offers to fill a cooking pot with water and does it with her magic. “I’ve always been rather good at conjuring water.” She explains, “I can use the moisture in the air.”

“Really! That’s quite something, I’m sure we’ll be able to develop that skill even more with time.” Cora smiles, just as she reaches for the pot there's a loud pounding on the shop door downstairs. “That’ll be your mother.”

“Aunt Cora, please don’t make me go back there. I want to stay here and learn!” Beatrice pleads, grabbing onto Cora’s arm, “I promise I won’t be a burden, if I go back now she’ll never let me out.”

“Shh.. it’s ok Beatrice, I have no intention of letting my sister stifle your magic any longer.” Cora soothes. “This is your home now, as far as I’m concerned. I’ll go talk to her.”

Cora leaves and Beatrice locks the door behind her just in case. Part of her wants to know what her mother has to say, but she doesn’t want to chance her mother seeing her. She can hear raised voices but no words, and it’s a good five minutes before Cora comes back.

“It’s just me!” She calls as she knocks on the door, Beatrice lets her in and she collapses on the couch, looking quite tired. “She never gets easier to deal with.”

“What did she say?” Beatrice asks nervously, still standing by the door.

“Her exact words were quite harsh, but to summarize she’s made it clear that if you’re not home by tomorrow morning you’re.. well you’re not welcome back.” Cora frowns, gesturing for Beatrice to join her. She sits next to her aunt and allows herself to be pulled into a hug. She feels like crying, but she won’t do that here.

“I need to stay here, I have to learn magic.” She says resolutely, hoping her voice won’t break.

“With that determination you’ll go far Beatrice, and you’re welcome here as long as you like.” Cora smiles encouragingly. “Now, have you met my familiar yet? He lives in the stove.”

Later that night Beatrice tosses and turns in her new bed. She thinks she’s made the right choice, but it’s hard to know that yet. It’ll get easier, she tells herself, your magic will get better and Aunt Cora said you can read as much as you want here. It all becomes a bit too much and she starts crying despite her efforts not to. In the past she would have had Freya there to wipe away her tears, but it’s been just her for a while now, and it’ll be just her from now on.

Beatrice startles as she hears a noise in the hall and sits up in bed, pulling the covers around her in the chill of the room. She listens closely as her bedroom door knob rattles and she ducks her head under the covers, trying to hide her sniffing.

“Beatrice, sweetheart, it’s just me.” Aunt Cora says quietly, sitting on the edge of her bed. Beatrice tentatively peeks her head out of the blankets and sees Cora looking at her with sympathy. “I know how hard it was for me to leave home when I was around your age. My mother was very similar to yours in a way, that’s probably where my sister got it from.”

They sit in silence for a minute, Beatrice not knowing whether she should respond. Silent tears still run down her face and she hopes it’s too dark in the room for her aunt to notice.

“You don’t have to suffer alone, Beatrice. You aren’t alone here.” Cora puts her hand gently on Beatrice’s head and ruffles her hair. Before she can stop herself Beatrice pulls herself out of the covers and into her aunt’s arms. Her aunt hugs her, saying soothing words under her breath as Beatrice continues to cry quietly. “I’m so proud of you for knowing what you want and going after it, Beatrice. I have no doubt that someday you’re going to be a wonderful magician, but my real hope for you is that you’re happy.”

“Thank you.” Beatrice murmurs, pulling back from the hug. Her aunt smiles at her and brushes Beatrice’s hair out of her face.

“Would you like to light a candle to keep in your room? Just in case you decide to read during the night or anything.” Cora suggests, and Beatrice is glad of the topic change.

“Can I use my magic to do it?” She asks, giving her aunt a weak smile.

“But of course!” Cora says, pulling a candle from her robe pocket with a flourish. “Apprentice Beatrice, your training starts... now!”

#ask me about my masters thesis which i wrote on female education and art during the 19th century - it was the basis for Beatrice's childhood #yes yes the arcana is probably set earlier but tbh things didn't change that much #anyways.... beatrice i love you you funky little magician #you're gonna do great things my angel #just gotta suffer... a lot.. first.. uh.. yeah sorry beatrice sffdhjkkd #arcana eotp #apprentice beatrice

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chaoticdisater · 4 years

Text

Red white & royal Blue Favourite quotes

“How many times do I have to tell Y’all not to discuss your murder plots in front of a sitting president” their mother interrupts “Plausible deniability. Come on” (Pg 64)

I don't know WHO you think you're kidding, you Hufflepuff-ass bitch, (Alex to henry over text pg 69)

“‘put the turkeys in my room’ ‘No.’ ‘put them in my room, put them in my room, put them in my room -’ later that night as Alex stares into the cold pitiless eyes of a prehistoric beast of prey, he has a few regrets” (Alex and his mother Pg 76)

“’he- Oi! Not for you Mr.wobbles! those are mine!’ more rustling and a distant offended Meow, ‘no, Mr. wobbles you bastard!’” (Henry at his sister's cat, pg 80)

“Dec 8, 2019, 8:53 PM yo there's a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe HRH prince Dickhead I BEG YOU TO NOT “ (Henry and Alex over text Pg 84)

“’ the options Id like...’ he says dragging the words out. ‘they don't quite seem to be options at all’” (Henry Pg 107)

“’ christ you're a thick as it gets’ he says and he grabs Alex's face in both hands and kisses him.” (Henry Pg 107)

“‘Seventy-eight percent probability of latent Bi-sexual tendencies. one hundred percent probability this is not a hypothetical question’” (Nora pg 118)

“‘am I? do you think I'm Bi?’ ‘I can't tell you that Alex!’ she says ‘that's the whole point!’” (Alex and Nora Pg121)

“she slants a look at him ‘is this a diabolical scheme of seduction?’ she asks ‘if so, yes.’“ (Nora Pg 130)

“Alex knocks the candelabra off the table next to them and pushes henry onto it so hes sitting with his back against - Alex looks up and almost breaks into a deranged laugh - a portrait of alexander hamilton.” (Pg 132)

“‘im going to die’ henry says helplessly. ‘im going to kill you,’ Alex tells him.” (Henry and Alex pg 133)

‘”and if you fucking ghost me again, I'm going to get you put on a fucking no-fly list. got it’” (Alex at henry pg 134)

“worst of all, Henry is good“ (Alex's thoughts on henry playing Polo Pg 147)

“’I’m gonna go, Uh’ Alex says ‘say hi to henry’ Amy's mouth settles into a grim line ‘Please don't elaborate’ ‘Yeah I know’ Alex says ‘plausible deniability’” (Alex and Amy Pg 148)

‘A <[email protected]> to Henry his royal highness prince of whatever, Don't make me learn your actual title’ (Alex’s email to henry Pg 152)

‘Henry <[email protected]> to A Alex, first son of inappropriately timed Emails when I’m in early morning meetings’ (Henry’s email to Alex Pg 155)

“when he shows up to a briefing two days later Zahra grabs his jaw with one hand and turns his head, peering closer at the side of his neck. ‘is that a Hickey’ Alex freezes. ‘I . . . um, no?’” (Zahra and Alex pg 162)

“‘Do you have a last name?’ Alex has never actually offered a greeting when calling Henry ‘What?’ the usual bemused elongated one-syllable response” (163 Alex and henry over the phone)

“‘Baby’ its become a thing: Baby he knows it’s become a thing. hes slipped up and accidentally said it a few times, and each time, Henry positively melts” (Alex Pg 166)

“‘I miss you,’ Alex says before he can stop himself he instantly regrets ut but henry says. ‘I miss you too’” (pg 173)

“she flung her arm out emphatically enough to upset an entire potted cactus on her dresser and says ‘Because until now you weren't fucking the prince of England’” (June pg 177)

“‘you should try saying some of that stuff to Him’ ‘stop trying to Jane Austen my life’” (June and Alex Pg 180)

“’ is now a good time to point out henrys very hot Very rich best friend is basically in love with you?’ Alex says to June ‘hes like some kind of billionaire genius manic-pixie-dream philanthropist. I feel like you would be into that.’ ‘Please shut up,’” (Alex and June Pg 182)

“‘yes, yes, Pez, we know there's nothing you cant do,’ says henrys voice off-camera ‘no need to rub it in’“ (henry Pg 184)

“‘oh I haven't had vodka since uni,’ henry says ‘it tends to make me erm, well-’ ‘flamboyant?’ Pez offers. ‘uninhibited? randy?’ ‘Fun?’ Bea suggests ‘Excuses you, I am loads of fun all the time! I am a Delight’“ (Henry Bea and Pez pg 190)

“’yes Beatrice, we shall behave in a manner befitting the crown,’ henry says. his eyes are slightly crossed ‘don't be a tosser’“ (Henry and bea Pg 195)

“He likes taking henry apart but there's something incredibly intantament about sitting on the bed they wrecked the night before, the only one who watches him create Prince Henry of Wales for the day.” (Pg 200)

“‘So this is the gang now, huh?’ and through it all, Alex realizes with a start: he has friends now.” (Cash pg 201)

“How is a man to get anything done knowing Alex Claremont-Diaz is out there on the loose?” (Henrys email to Alex pg 203)

“yours in sexual frustration Henry” (henrys email to Alex pg 206)

“once again, how had he ever convinced himself he was straight,” (Alex pg 213)

“‘just so we’re clear,’ Alex said ‘Im about to have sex with you in this storage closet to spite your family. Like that's what's happening?’“ (Alex pg 217)

“your Brave I could use some of that” (Pg 218)

“Because that's what he would do if he were here in this palace to fall in love Henry” (Pg 220)

“Zahra doesnt even look up from her phone ‘that was my boyfriend and no, you may not ask me any further questions about him’” (Zahra Pg 223)

“If he’s some anonymous normal person removed from history he’s twenty-two and he’s tipsy and he’s pulling a guy into his hotel room by the belt loop. He’s pulling a lip between his teeth and he fumbling behind his back to switch on a lamp and he’s thinking I like this person” (Pg 228)

“You still are. Because you still bloody care so much.” He leans down and presses a kiss into Alex’s hair. “And you are good. Most things are awful most of the time but you’re good” (Henry Pg 230)

“’Seriously?’ She hisses ‘your literally putting your dick in the leader of a foreign state who is a man at the biggest political event before the election in a hotel full of reporters in a city full of cameras in a race close enough to fucking hinge on some bullshit like this like a manifestation of my fucking stress dreams and you’re asking me not to tell the president about it?’” (Zarha pg 233)

“The next slide is titled EXPLORING YOUR SEXUALITY: HEALTHY BUT DOES IT HAVE TO BE WITH THE PRINCE ENGLAND? she apologizes for not having time to come up with better titles Alex activity wishes for the sweet release of death” (Pg 237)

“History huh? I bet we could make some.” (Alex’s email to henry Pg 241)

“The pair of you share and an alarming number of traits by the by: passionate determination, never knowing when to shut up, &c &c,” (herny’s email to Alex Pg 242)

“Regards Haplessly romantic heretic prince henry the utterly daft” (henrys email to Alex pg 243)

“‘It’s math,’ Nora says ‘Math has no authority here,’ June tells her ‘Math is everywhere June’” (Nora and June Pg 247)

“Henry is tipsy and shirtless and attempting to referee” (pg 252)

“’Some times you just jump and hope it’s not a chiff’” (Alex dad Pg 256)

“Well, Alex is so in love he could die.” (Pg 257)

“He’s been falling in love with Henry for years probably since he first saw him in glossy print on the pages of j14 almost definitely since Henry pinned Alex to the floor of a medical supply closet and told him to shut the hell up.” (Pg 257)

“’Fuck off five nine is average’” (Pg 258)

“’H?’ He whispers ‘you awake?’ Henry sighs ‘always.’” ( Pg 260)

“He’s got a distinct feeling of something being pulled out of his hands right before he could grasp it.” (Pg 263)

“something rises in Alex's throat - anger, confusion, hurt, bile. Unforgivably, he feels like he might cry” (Pg 270)

“’Fuck I swear you don’t make it fucking easy but I’m in love with you’” (Alex Pg 271)

“’I never thought I’d be stood here faced with a choice I can’t make because I never ... I never imagined you would love me back’” (Henry pg 273)

“He’s in Henry’s face now if he’s getting his heart broken tonight he’s sure as hell going to make Henry have the guts to do it right ‘tell me you're done with me. I’ll get back on the plane. that's it. and you can live here in your tower and be miserable forever, write a whole book of sad fucking poems about it, whatever just say it’” (274)

“He’s in stupid unbearable love and Henry loves him too and at least for one night it matters, even if they both have to pretend to forget in the morning” (Pg 275)

“He tells his too fast brain: don’t miss this time he’s too important” (Alexs thoughts Pg 275)

“henry’s hands-on him are unhurried and soft and they make out lazily for hours or days.” (Pg 280)

“Alex sighs ‘i don't think I told you but she uh. well, when she fired me she told me that if I wasn't a thousand percent serious about you. I need to break things off.’ Henry nuzzles his nose behind Alex's ear ‘a thousand percent?’” (Alex and Henry Pg 282)

“‘Diaz you insane hopeless romantic little shit’ says the voice of the president of the united states, muffled in the bed ‘it had better be forever. Be safe’“ (Pg 284)

“hes cut off mid-sentence because Alex has stopped in the middle of the corridor and yanked him backwards into a kiss” (pg 286)

“’its funny’ henry says ‘i always thought of the whole thing as the most unforgivable thing about me but you act like its one of the best’“ (henry Pg 289)

“he takes the chain off his neck and slides the ring on next to the old house key. they click together gently as he tucks them both under his shirt, two homes side by side” (Pg 291)

“I opened my blasted mouth and said ‘because I'm not like the rest of the men in this family beginning with the fact that I'm am very deeply gay Philip’ once shaan managed to dislodge him from the chandelier Philip had quite a few words for me,” (Henry’s emails to Alex Pg 298)

“just leaving, not coming back. maybe burning something down on the way out. it would be nice.” (henrys emails to Alex pg 299)

“I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire” (henrys emails to Alex (describing how he felt when he first saw Alex) Pg 300)

“20. the fact that you have loved me all along.” (alex’s email to henry (the list of things alex loves about henry) Pg 303)

“‘Oh my god Z what is That? did you get engaged?’ Zahra looks down at the ring and shrugs. ‘i had the week-end off’” (June and Zahra pg 305)

“’you and me and history, remember? were just gonna fucking fight. because your it okay? Im never gonna love anybody in the world like i love you,’“ (Alex pg 312)

“‘I swear to god if you say I'm too young I'm gonna lose my shit,’“ (Alex pg 315)

“What did he do ‘be more specific’“ (Alex to Zahra pg 321 )

“’the president is sitting down with as many members of the office of communitcs we could drag out of bed at three in the morning’” (Zahra Pg 323)

“‘pack a bag’ she says ‘we’re going to londan’” (Zahra Pg 334)

“she (Zarha) seems confident Shaan will agree to it and willing to physically overpower him if not.” (pg 334)

“still the cocky shit head part of him is slightly pleased to finally have claim on henry. Yep, the prince? Most eligible bachelor in the world? British accent face like a greek god, legs for days? Mine” (Pg 336)

“‘youre giving my ulcer an ulcer’“ (Zahra pg 336)

“‘Im running on nothing but black coffee, a wetzels pretzel, and a fistful of B12. Do not even breathe in my directrion,’“ (Zahra Pg 339)

“He leans up and kisses the underside of his jaw, finding it rough from a full fitful day,” (pg 340)

“‘What kind of family, that says we’ll take the murder, we’ll take the raping and pillaging and the colonizing, well scrub it up nice and neat in a museum but oh no you’re a bloody poof? That’s beyond our sense of decorum’” (Henry pg 347)

“Bea seizes the pot of tea from the center of the table and dumps it into his lap ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry Pip’ she says grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him sputtering and yelping toward the door ‘so deardfully clumsy, you know I think all that cocaine I did must have really done a job on my refexes!’” (Bea pg 357)

“Henry pulls Alex close and kisses him whispers, ‘I love you I love you I love you’ and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees.” (Pg 358)

And that’s when I gave up I do have more but well I didn’t want to make this list any more

#alex claremont diaz #henry got to many names for me to remeber #prince henry of wales #red white and royal blue

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mantra4ia · 4 years

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Desires: Lucifer season 5 on Netflix

Created: August 21, 2020. Last Modified: August 22, 2020.

Preface: Alright my Lucis, here’s the sitch: it’s been a minute. Life got a bit chaotic I wasn’t able to start season five quite on time when it premiered on August 21st because I haven’t finished the great 2020 Lucifer rewatch. I’m nearly done however and should be able to jump into it either later today or tomorrow, which is why beforehand I want to — as I’ve traditionally done for a few seasons — create a desires list and keep a tally throughout the season to see how many are met. I am going to try to pace myself, not binge, and watch a single episode a day so don’t spoil me. Likewise I will tag my spoilers. Here we go... #21DaysofLucifer

Season 3 and 4 Roundout - Desires Fulfilled / Questions Answered

✔We’ve seen other demons “like Maze” and a bit of what havoc they can reek. Well sort of. To be quite frank, although it was cool to see them possess the recently deceased, it wasn’t as impending doom as I was expecting. They didn’t seem nearly as disciplined or intimidating as Mazikeen, even Dromos, more bored and desperate.

✔ We’ve seen a little more or the heavenly host in Remiel. Remi was cool, if a bit intense. Her character, and her affinity to Amenadiel was a nice foil to see how far his character has come in evolution. But again like Uriel was for Lucifer, she kind of became a driving force character device to push Amenadiel’s growth. So I wonder if we’ll get to see more of her or not.

✔ (s3) The backstory of Lucifer’s arrival in LA, finding LUX, and making a deal with Amenadiel.

✔ (s3) Cain finally went to hell, YES! Not that I didn’t like Marcus Pierce/Tom Welling, there were some great interactions there, but I just think he was a wishy-washy antagonist based on how he was written and I can’t wait to trade up for Michael.

✔ Maze finally had some happiness and attachment to this silly mortal coil and it slipped away! Why Eve why? I love Maze’s bonding with humans, Linda, Trixie, Chloe. But I love that after a Millennia of serving, and then watching Amenadiel and Linda be happy in a family unit, that she might actually make her own and my hopes were dashed.

Things we got that we didn’t even know we wanted. SO GOOD:

Season 4 ep 8: Amenadiel bonding with Caleb and confronting community violence, police brutality, and systemic racism. It was a rough episode to be sure, but absolutely needed,

Chloe talking Lucifer down and out of a self-hatred spiral and his transformation into full-fledged devil and back again.

Lucifer playing Creep on repeat while missing the detective (even after insisting in a therapy session that “he’s not a teenager playing Adele on repeat) and Mr. Said Out B**** trying to rob Lucifer and gun point and ultimately get rich. What a fun twist.

The Dan and Maze Los X’s fight. They are wicked good at laying down the hurt on the criminal element and I was wondering when they’d pair up again after dispatching Warden Perry.

The devil in a bar fight! I mean, it’s only fair since the ladies had their brawl. I love how this fight sequence was filmed in bursts of slo-mo from various angles, involved everything from fists, to tasers, knives, bottles, and the infamous pool cue, and they picked the perfect song for pacing (Jake Bugg, Lightning Bolt, could listen to it all day on repeat.)

Time for all good demons to go home / Enough, you will bow down to your king. Go home! (aka appropriate use of Devilish intimidation face)

Amenadiel vs Remi

A Rocky montage with Lucifer and Amenadiel / Amenadiel’s face the first time Lucifer drives the Corvette

Lucifer at the roller derby

Chloe the YA fangirl

Maze teaching Trixie about knives, with each handle decorated in a different toy.

Amenadiel and Chloe catching up: your father is so proud of you. Like and angel BOSS!

SEASON HIGHLIGHTS:

★ (s3) Amenadiel taking Charlotte home

★ Dan being comforted in his grief by Amenadiel

★ Amenadiel’s wrath and the brotherly duo tag team to lay the hurt on the drug dealer that got Charlie killed. It’s been a while since we’ve seen warrior angel ready to dispatch anyone in his way. And it was glorious!

★ (s3) Lucifer’s almost driving lesson with Trixie “Morningstar”

★ (s3) Maze torturing Lucifer by making him think he’s the Angel of San Bernadino

★ (s3) Amenadiel and Lina helping to dispose of Lucifer’s wings

★ Lucifer kicking Julian, Tiernan’s son, through a glass pane window

★ The goodbye kiss between Lucifer and Chloe

DIDN’T LIKE:

☒ (s3) Cain playing guitar and singing. What is he, a crime lord, a top cop, or an act that the improv club wouldn’t take?

☒ Eve. I liked Eve, but we mostly got to see one side of her around Lucifer, and a kind of floundering an confused side when she was with Maze. The side that I would have liked to see more of was the maternal side that came out when she briefly talked about Abel or was interrogated by Trixie. That made her more layered.

☒ Father Kinley. That dude is just meh.

☒ Dan’s broken heart and rebounding with Ella. Don’t get me wrong, its a good arc, but I don’t see it lasting

☒ (s3) Abel and Reese. Those were two side stories I could have done without, although they had great moments of humor. I quite enjoyed Reese’s character, and although I didn’t like Abel Lucifer’s stick-figure comic illustration of Cain fighting with him over a rock was quite enjoyable.

WHAT I TRULY DESIRE: SINFUL SEASON 5, my BURNING QUESTIONS, and SPECULATIONS

Obviously, don’t spoil anything for me, but if any of my desires end up coming true in any of the first eight episodes maybe drop me a hint in the comments...

A big time jump. We need to see the lasting impact of Lucifer’s absence. I know that time in hell works differently per that episode where Lucifer saved Chloe and almost got stuck in a loop, but we still need enough time to elapse that the impact is felt on the mortal side. Or, we need to see the passage of time through a series of events without Lucifer, like a montage of character development. At least a year or so, if for no other reason then Trixie is growing up and I actually want to see her take driving lessons with Lucifer.

Last season Maze gave baby Charlie a gift, something she’d wished she’d had growing up, and previously had alluded to the language of demons, her many siblings, and teased her mother, the mother of all demons. Will we finally get to meet Maze’s mom Lilith (or however they address her)? And, in spite of Mazikeen’s found family, she still has restlessness and abandonment issues. Will her mom finally finally bring her peace, or will clashing with her resolidify Maze’s purpose on earth?

A Decker/Mazikeen team-up or girls night out 2.0 would always be appreciated. At this point its probably 4.0 if you count the bar fight and the bachelorette party.

Will we see tougher, scarier demons, or are they just warmup to the really scary depths of hell?

Speaking of hell, more hell. Tons of hell. I want to know the minutia of all the mechanics. If Lucifer’s gotta be down there in self-imposed exile, he may as well show us around. Pour us a drink.

Will Lucifer see Cain in Hell? Not that I’m dying to see more of “sad Cain” but it would be interesting to see a more dark or desperate or cunning side to him at least now that he’s actually neck deep in torment. Or, alternatively, I’m hedging my bets that he could be a good candidate to light the fire under Lucifer’s *** to get of hell back to the earthly realm. Even in hell, I’m betting Cain would have a soft spot for Chloe, and if news reached Lucifer that Michael were trying to abscond with his life and with Chloe, it would give Cain and Lucifer one last bit of “A-Hole brothers” common ground to bond over. Like “Brothers, am I right? Go kick, get Chloe back, I’ll still have enough guilt to torture me with in a few thousand years when you get back,”

Will Lucifer fall into peril in hell of once again potentially getting distracted and stuck in a hell loop? Will his servants be satisfied with his return? Will Amenadiel bust him out.

Mr. Said Out Bitch needs a role reprise. He’s been in every season opener 2-4, we’ve gotten to know his undergarments very well. Its high time we get to know his name and story. He’s put in the work!

Amenadiel should be running LUX in Lucifer's absence. We got a tease of that in previous seasons (remember when he asked what would Lucifer do?) its time for that to come to fruition. Plus, any excuse to put DB Woodside in a suit, just because he wears them so well. It would also be interesting if, after that tragedy he’s experienced, Amenadiel will start taking after Luci. Maybe not the punishing, not yet, but wanting to seek out evil and corruption. It has been teased since s1 “fall as I did.” Perhaps he’ll start developing a taste for his bother’s line of work whereas he found it repugnant in the early days

Dan and Maze or Dan and Ella pair up. Both Dan and Maze are due for some happiness.

An Azrael reboot, when need more of her. She’s the angel of Death for pity’s sake. I don’t know if the original actress is still available or if they would have to recast, or if the character concept by Netflix would even be the same, but I need Azrael to be capable of sweet and unassuming and on a coin flip downright menacing.

More of Lucifer as a godparent, bless! And maybe a cool montage of “cousin” Trixie and Lucifer co-babysitting Charlie please.

Whilst on the subject of Lucifer and parenting, and without putting Trixie too much into harm’s way, I need to see what “I would do anything to protect that little urchin” looks like. Trixstar ride or die.

Father Frank, come back! I need a cameo or recurrent role pleeeeease.

Trixie in every episode. This is non-negotiable, much like chocolate cake. Beatrice is an all-star. In fact, I’ve decided that when Dad/God finally does show up, Trixie needs to be the one to get to know him / introduce him first. She’s been captain on the celestial cheer squad for four seasons, she’s earned this.

Who's going to see through Michael's facade first? I mean, I know that trailer shows Maze torturing it out of him, but as far as intuition goes, I've got a 50/50 split between Trixie and Linda, with an honorable mention to Dan.

If Michael is Lucifer's twin, does he have the same angelic compulsion skill set? Or something different? And will it work on Chloe or is she universally immune?

A “be like Mike” pop-culture reference. ******Spoilers: ******* all the trailers have revealed Michael already, so they owe us this for letting the steam out.

As far as pop-culture, how many movie and TV references will we get from Lucifer and ensemble this year? I expect A-game, from sci-fi to 80s action, on par with the previous likes of Parent Trap, Star Wars, Home Alone, Kim Possible, and Rocky.

Will Amenadiel’s necklace make a reappearance, even after he put it around Caleb’s neck in the morgue? Heavenly artifacts have a way of causing trouble in this show.

Will what finally learn what, if any, significance there is to Lucifer’s ring? Again, as all my fictional writings will attest, I really kind of want it to be a stolen little trinket from him Dad.

Plot twist: will we get to see Hell and the silver city all in one season, or is that too devilishly good to ask? It would be intriguing if Lucifer fell from Heaven for rebelling and now some threat like, for example, the mother of demons would pose a threat to the gates such that Lucifer was called upon to defend them. Not expecting anything Endgame level with a host of Angels popping up like sorcerers...but it is food for the imagination.

Plot twist: will Michael, duplicitous twin that he is, be revealed as the reason that Lucifer does not lie and can’t stand liars? Will be get a Michael back story? Is he perhaps the true rebellious son? see: my original fan conjecture here.

Additional links to previous recaps, roundouts and wishlists:

Season 1: Best Moments // Season 2: Predictions, Desires, Roundout, Best Moments // Season 3: Speculations, Quick-shot summary

#21 days of Lucifer #Lucifer season 5 #lucifer on netflix #Lucifer s5 desire #Lucifer Morningstar #trixie espinoza #Chloe Decker #amenadiel #trixtstar #deckerstar #lucifer s5

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rosapeachhogwartsmystery · 4 years

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You can’t keep overworking yourself like this (Reader x Orion Amari)

Masterlist (To view my Masterlist, visit my Tumblr page)

Words: 2.5k

Pairing: reader x Orion Amari

_______________________________________________________

Orion wasn’t usually stressed about something, or at least he didn’t show he was stressed. He seemed to have things in order. If you could describe Orion in one word, it would probably be balanced. It was something he always tried to teach to others too. Balance was important in Quidditch, but balance could help out in other parts of someone’s daily life too.

Some people found it odd Orion and you started dating. While Orion seemed to be so balanced, you lived a very chaotic life. You did so many things and it was a wonder you managed to do these things at all. Homework, Quidditch, spending time with friends, the Cursed Vaults, people thought it was a miracle you would have any time left for Orion. It definitely was a challenge, but you managed just fine. Orion tried to balance your life a little bit, but it definitely was hard since you weren’t going to drop anything.

Yeah, Orion mostly was calm and collected in his life. However, you weren’t always making it easy for him… He couldn’t help it but to worry about you. He knew you could take care of yourself, but knowing you were risking your life out there scared him.

Ever since the Portrait Curse caused trouble, you seemed to be having an even harder time. You seemed tired, like you were working non-stop. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were, there wasn’t a time where you didn’t seem to be working on something. Whenever you were talking to Penny Haywood and your other friends, he could sense some guilt coming from you. It was like you blamed yourself.

You always told Orion there was nothing to worry about. It was your fifth year and the workload of the year was higher. You tried to pretend everything was fine, but Orion wasn’t stupid. He knew you weren’t fine. You were overworking yourself. He tried to distract you from time to time, trying to get you to relax, but you weren’t just going to stop working on things. Whenever he expressed his concerns, you would either try to reassure him things were fine or you would just get irritated. He didn’t like where this was heading to…

He tried to talk to some of your other friends, wondering if they had noticed something too. They seemed to be concerned about you as well, but what could they do? You were stubborn and you weren’t just going to stop unless there was a good reason.

“Come on, Y/N! We really need to try harder than that if we want to win from Rath the next Quidditch match!” Skye told you after training, frowning a little.

You frowned back. “I’m trying, Skye…”

“All I am asking is you should give it your all when we have the match.” Skye said honestly.

You just sighed. You were so tired, you almost considered skipping the training. You wouldn’t do that though, you wanted to play the match and missing a training would really be bad.

Skye’s word may seem a little harsh, but she was right. You knew she was right. Besides, Skye knew you were dealing with a lot… A little part of her hoped it would talk some sense in you, but it probably wouldn’t do much.

You could feel a wave of exhaustion hit you, but you knew there was still a lot to do. You really wanted to go back to work on breaking the curse. You were about to leave the field and go to the locker room too, but you were startled when you felt someone putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N, wait a moment.” Orion said, sounding quite serious.

You blinked, not sure if you have ever heard Orion so serious before. Was he going to kick you off the team because you played poorly? Was he going to let you sit on the bench the next match? You watched everyone leaving the field, only leaving you and Orion there.

“Orion… I know I have been flying quite poorly during practice, but I promise I will be better the next training.” You bit your lip slightly.

“That’s not the only reason why I wanted to talk with you.” He said honestly.

You once again blinked. “Oh… Did I do something wrong…? If this about not spending enough time with you, I promise I will make up for that soon… I just have a lot to do and-”

“Y/N, you don’t really seem to really realise how exhausted you are… It’s becoming quite unhealthy.” He looked so serious and concerned.

“We talked about this before, Orion. I can manage things just fine.” You told him, not feeling like bringing this up again.

“I disagree. When was the last time you went to bed early?”

“I don’t know…?”

“And when was the last time you actually relaxed?”

“You make it seem like I am some sort of workaholic. I do relax….” You mumbled.

Orion raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? When was the last time?”

You were about to speak up, but Orion decided to add something.

“And I don’t count the moments you are reading books about counter curses in the Common room…”

You frowned. “Okay, okay…! I get your point. I haven’t really taken some time off to relax. I mean, I do spend some time with my friends-”

“To work on breaking the portrait curse.” Orion pointed out.

“Okay, fine… But I do spend some time with you too, doesn’t that count as relaxing?”

“Not if you keep bringing those books along and just keep reading…”

“Then what do you want me to do? Just drop everything to relax? I can’t just do that, Orion! How could I ever get those students out of the portraits if I can’t break the curse?”

Guilt.

Orion could feel the guilt coming from you again. You were blaming yourself for the curse. “Y/N, you can’t help them when you keep working like this. You need a break.”

“No! How can I ever help Penny to get Beatrice back if I take a break? What if more people get stuck in a portrait? What if one of my friends get stuck? What if…. What if you get stuck in a portrait…?” You looked down at your feet, biting your lip.

“Y/N…”

“I can’t stop working on this until the curse is broken… I don’t want anyone I care about get stuck in a portrait…” You mumbled softly before you turned your back to Orion, ready to walk back to the locker room.

“Y/N, don’t walk away…” Orion said when followed you.

“Leave me alone, Orion.” You said softly. “I don’t want to talk about this…”

“I am only trying to help you, Y/N. People are worried about you.” He said honestly. “I am worried about you.”

“There is no need to be worried about me…!” You yelled at him.

Another wave of exhaustion hit you, you were feeling a bit woozy. You decided to ignore the feeling, not wanting to give in now.

Orion wasn’t going to let you go now. No, he needed to get the message through your head somehow. Normally he would tell you not to think and just do what is right, but he knew you weren’t capable of that right now. He grabbed your hand this time. “I love you, Y/N… I think I have every right to be worried about you.”

You wanted to just pull your hand away and leave, but you didn’t seem to have the strength to do it right now. Why did you have to be so tired now? Why did this wooziness not go away?

Orion seemed to realise something was off. He could feel you were trying to pull your hand away, but the attempt seemed to be rather weak. He didn’t let go your hand and made sure he was standing in front of you. He wanted to look you in the eyes. “Y/N, are you feeling faint...?”

“What…? No…”

A lie….

Orion could tell you couldn’t focus on him; it was like you kept just staring at him. Your whole body was definitely giving it away; you were feeling faint. He wasn’t surprised by it and expected to see it happen weeks ago. You couldn’t just expect your body to keep up with you when you were constantly pushing it over its limits.

“Can I go now…?” You asked him. “I need to…. I need to work on… on breaking the curse…”

Even now, you didn’t seem like you were ready to give up. You seemed to ready to ignore all the signals your body were giving you.

“No.” Orion just looked at you seriously.

“Orion… I need to… I need to keep working on the…” Your voice was trailing off. It was like you didn’t even had the energy to speak anymore.

Orion could see the exact moment you fell unconscious. He was prepared that would happen and just caught you in his arms.

It took you a few minutes before you opened your eyes again. You still felt exhausted… You could see Orion looking at you. He seemed to be pretty calm, although, you wouldn’t be surprised if he just put up that face to keep you calm.

“Do you understand why I am concerned about you now?” Orion asked quietly.

“I…. Yes…. I do understand…” The volume of your voice was just above a whisper.

“You need to rest.” He said softly. “Let me help you to the locker room, so I can bring you back to our Common Room.”

You slowly tried to get up, but you were still feeling so woozy. Orion just shook his head lightly and then he just picked you up, carrying you to the locker room. In normal circumstances you would probably become flustered if Orion carried you. You were so tired, you just allowed him to do so.

_______

You should have known you would get scolded by Madam Pomfrey after Orion insisted you should go and see her. She had even contacted your parents. Well, you were lucky they didn’t send you a Howler… However, that didn’t mean you didn’t get any letters from your parents. They were angry and concerned you were neglecting your own health like that. If you didn’t start listening to your own body more, they would make sure you would follow a schedule to make sure you got enough rest. They emphasized you wouldn’t like that schedule.

Orion decided to help you out to make sure you would get enough rest. He wasn’t forcing you to follow his advice, but he made sure you would consider it. Also, he wasn’t the only one who were trying to help you out. Lots of your friends were keeping an eye on you too. They tried to take some of the workload of the Cursed Vaults from you. You did do most things yourself, but they would tell you when they thought you did enough for the day.

Skye had another method to make sure you would rest enough. ‘Y/N, if you don’t rest, I will make sure to tell Orion to put you on the bench during the next game.’

McNully seemed to side with Skye. ‘Seen from a strategic point of view, if you don’t rest enough, you will diminish the chances of winning the match by at least 33,3 percent.’

So, you decided to follow Orion’s advice more. It wasn’t that hard to follow; Orion would just remind you occasionally about taking a break. A part of you felt like you were slacking off, but another part of you definitely needed a break. It also wasn’t too bad since you had more time to spend with Orion. If anyone could keep you calm, then it would be Orion. His presence was always calming.

You were in Common Room with Orion, sitting on one of the couches together nearby the fireplace. You leaned your head against his shoulder, liking to be close to him. He had wrapped an arm around you, lightly resting his head atop of yours.

“How are you feeling?” Orion decided to ask once again that day.

“Just fine, just like I told you earlier today.” You mumbled back with a small grin.

“I’m just checking. As much as I like holding you close, I’d rather not have you falling into my arms, because you are losing conscious.”

“I don’t think anyone wants that to happen again. I think I got the message afterwards…” You said honestly.

“We are just looking out for you, Y/N. We don’t want you to get a real burn-out.” Orion said, rubbing his hand softly against your arm.

“I’m sorry for worrying you so much lately, Orion. I hope I didn’t drive you insane when I keep overworking myself like that.” You told him honestly.

“I have to admit. It was hard not to think about you when you were overworking yourself like that. I think I almost lost my cool a few moments.” Orion smiled lightly.

“Well, your face nor body didn’t give it away. You still seemed to be balanced, calm and focused.” You told him honestly.

“Some other people might disagree.” Orion chuckled. “But don’t worry about it. I will be fine as long as you make sure you take good care of yourself. You are very important to me.”

“And you are very important to me, Orion.” You said with a sweet smile. “It makes me wonder how worried you are about me whenever I am busy with breaking the curses of the Cursed Vaults.”

“Well, I’m not going to stop you from looking for the Cursed Vaults, but I can’t say I am never worried about you if that’s what you want to know.” Orion said honestly.

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Everyone is worried from time to time. Everyone deals with it differently and it’s important to figure out how to deal with these worries without harming yourself in the process.”

“I think I still have to figure out how to deal with these worries.” You said honestly. “Luckily, I have you and some others to help me out on the way.”

“Just see it like this; Rome wasn’t built in one day. You can’t just change your ways immediately, but after some time, you will know how to deal with it.” Orion told you honestly.

“I suppose that’s true… Behaviour is hard to change, so it takes time to learn how to do things differently.”

“Remember, we are here to help you when you need us.”

“I know and I appreciate that.” You said honestly, slowly sitting up a little straighter so you could face Orion.

He gave you a smile when you were facing him. You gave him a smile back before you moved your head closer to his. It wasn’t hard to figure out what you were planning on doing. Your lips slowly made contact and the two of you began making out.

“Hey Orion! Don’t tire Y/N out too much after they just start to feel better!” Skye said loudly when she walked into the Common Room.

You both pulled away, blushing slightly. Although, you both had a big grin on your face. Things would slowly get better; you were sure of it.

#reader x orion amari #hogwarts mystery #imagine #jacob's sibling #orion amari #skye parkin #Harry Potter Hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery imagine #hogwarts mystery fanfic #mc #gender neutral reader

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keyofjetwolf · 4 years

Text

Mostly, you’re drowning.

I won’t go so far as to say that the dynamic of the Horseman family is, on its own merits, particularly unique. It’s almost mundane, really, when you distill it to its most basic points. Beatrice and Butterscotch are your standard class romance staples: her, a bored and dissatisfied debutante, him, a blue-collar aspiring writer with dreams of The Great American Novel. They’re attracted to each other for barely any reasons that have anything to do with who they actually are, they have a fling, she becomes pregnant. They decide to get married and raise the baby, they soon come to hate the situation they’re now in, hate all the choices they make to try and force it all to work, and very possibly hate each other but definitely, at least on some level, hate their kid for “doing” all this to them.

Nothing unique, but that in no way makes it uninteresting, and I think it’s especially tragic and fascinating, the moments where you catch a glimpse from the corner of your eye, can make out the possibilities in the shadows, of what they might have been if they’d maybe just tried.

I’m not sure how much thought I’d have given to the Horseman family as a unit in this episode, even with BoJack’s mentions of his father in his eulogy, without the opening scene. I think it’s part of the episode that’s easily lost in the rest of it, and that’s understandable as it not only comes before the credits, but it feels at first glance to be completely out of step with the rest of it.

I argue, though, that it’s NOT, and is actually more in line with the rest of “Free Churro” than outside it. More on that at the end of this post, I promise I’m going somewhere with that. But first, the beginning.

We open with BoJack at an age we don’t usually visit him. I’d guess maybe about ten here? Maybe twelve? He’s young enough to be left on his own after soccer practice, sitting and shivering in the chilly autumn evening while he waits for his mother to pick him up, but very much still a child.

(Hey, anybody else ever get those sinking feelings, when their parents were running late to get you, that they weren’t ever going to show, and spend the time you suddenly found yourself surrounded by trying to figure out what you were going to do next when they just never came to get you? AHH MEMORIES.)

When someone finally shows up, it’s his father.

This is probably the longest we’ve spent with Butterscotch, at least, when it’s actually him and not him playing out some James Dean role he wants desperately to believe is him. He’s brusque and awful, and BoJack is DEEPLY uncomfortable around him from the second he gets in the car.

What I think is most important about that, though, is that Butterscotch, for all that he sucks, IS THERE. We can follow a lengthy rabbit hole down WHY, exactly, he’s there (personally, I think it’s so he has a reason to stop “writing” with a handy scapegoat in BoJack, but it can be many things), but of all the places we go, of all the things BoJack will talk about in “Free Churro”, the only one ACTUALLY THERE is his father.

And I think that’s one of the key points in BoJack’s relationships and regrets when it comes to his parents. His father, for as much as he might have liked to envision himself a deep and contemplative man, just isn’t. He’s laughably surface and simple, hating the things he’s learning about himself day by day, and turning all that self-loathing on the world around him.

SOUND FAMILIAR? Yeah, it should, it’s not really going to huge lengths to hide that. BoJack IS his father. More self-aware maybe, considerably more clever and thus with a greater capacity for cruelty, but his father pretty much through and through.

Which goes back yet again to the point about his father being a solid, tangible presence for BoJack, which I think is an incredible way to highlight the tragedy he’s attempting to process in his mother’s death. He spends all of this time and energy in trying to puzzle out what his mother’s last words, “I see you”, could mean.

Meanwhile, BoJack’s father left behind an entire novel. “Maybe he thought it would vindicate him for all the shitty things he ever did in his stupid, worthless life,” BoJack says. “Maybe it did. I don’t know. I never read it.” At the end of the day, BoJack doesn’t actually care what his father has to say, what he thought, how he felt. There’s nothing in Butterscotch that, for BoJack, holds the spark of what might have been.

Not like Beatrice.

But then, Butterscotch feels so differently about Beatrice, too. As BoJack is telling us about the parties she’d hold every week, it’s the only moment of wistful fondness he actually demonstrates. When Beatrice would dance, even Butterscotch would emerge from his study to watch, all of them separate, but bound in that moment, and as BoJack talks about it, for a moment, he loses himself in the memory. Still we never see her. Just the faintest impression of her. That’s really all she left him.

It’s the one time BoJack talks about them as something united, something approaching family,and it’s to say how they’re all drowning. It’s twisted and wrong that that’s a bit sweet, but given what we have to work with, I can understand. But I think he’s wrong, or at least, not entirely right. I don’t think they were drowning together and didn’t know how to save each other, I think they were drowning, and taking each other with them.

There’s very little I’m willing to give to BoJack, but he’s due this: he was a child. It wasn’t his job to save ANYONE.

But I do think Butterscotch and Beatrice were drowning each other, each clinging to what they had, unwilling to let go and save themselves, or allow the other even try. It surprised me, then, when I went back to rewatch this, that I found the faintest glimmer of remorse.

When Butterscotch retracts his blame for Beatrice, says that she’s doing the best she can, and that she’s doing the right thing by teaching BoJack so young that he can’t rely on anyone. Oh he never for a second thinks to assure BoJack, fuck that noise. But, even if just for a moment, Butterscotch tries to lift Beatrice above all this, and it legitimately surprised me to see. It’s such a tiny, almost minuscule drop of misfortune in all this, but it makes me think that Butterscotch and Beatrice could have pulled out of all this, that they could have made their lives different. Maybe not what they originally wanted, but SOMETHING. That they might have been able to be happy, if they’d figured out how to try for it.

Which brings me back to what I said in the beginning, about this opening not being so out of line? This isn’t just Butterscotch going on some wild rant, this, like with BoJack, is a journey. This, too, is a eulogy for Beatrice, it’s just forty or so years early from Butterscotch.

It’s good.

Down one sandwich, but up one churro!

#jet wolf watches bojack #you know if you say 'good' enough times to yourself it becomes true!

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luluwquidprocrow · 3 years

Text

what are you doing the rest of your life?

originally posted: july 16th, 2017

word count: 2,863 words

rated: gen

beatrice/bertrand/lemony

music, domestic fluff, established relationship, three people in love being outrageously precious, very little angst and no one dies!!!!, a lot of references to cake and ice cream

summary: Bertrand tries to find the song of the summer; Beatrice finds out she doesn’t have any ice cream; Lemony finds out they’d all be pretty lost without each other.

It was summer, which meant Beatrice had the windows in her apartment open wide and bought fresh fruit every single morning, so the whole place smelled like strawberries. It also meant that Bertrand was once again on his one-man quest to find the quintessential Frank Sinatra song that defined this particular summer. Beatrice, however, kept insisting that another artist was a better fit, which is why the moment Bertrand sat down with the records, she’d picked up one of the Tito Puente ones and put it on.

“You’re a cruel, cruel woman,” Bertrand had said, “insulting my music tastes.”

Beatrice had just winked at him and sashayed off into the kitchen.

I sat at Beatrice’s desk and watched Bertrand. I meant to start opening the mail, but watching Bertrand sit on the floor in the soft afternoon sunlight and pour over his and Beatrice’s records was a good deal more entertaining. I was reasonably sure he had a method he was using to sort them, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. “What was it last summer?” I asked.

“You remember perfectly well what it was last summer,” Bertrand said, grinning as he put the records into piles. “You picked it, after all.”

It was true. I did remember perfectly well. Last summer had been particularly lovely and particularly stressful. Summer Wind was a good fit for most of it.

“I still say it should’ve been Wave,” Bertrand said. “It’s much more optimistic.”

I hummed Wave while I started on the mail, so that the grin stayed on Bertrand’s face. There was a letter from the Duchess of Winnipeg, bemoaning the fact that her latest assignment was very boring without us, and that she was looking forward to when she came back to the city. There was a single photograph of a building from my brother, and I recognized it as the library. Tomorrow’s date was scrawled across the back. It was short notice, but I’d probably be able to meet him there. I wondered what he’d say, if it was a personal call or something for the organization. I certainly wasn’t ready for the latter. The more time passed, the less ready I felt for a number of things.

“You’re doing it again,” Bertrand said. He wasn’t even looking at me, instead studying the latest record he’d picked up.

“No I’m not,” I said quickly.

“You are. We said we weren’t going to talk about work today,” Bertrand said, his voice gentle, “so don’t think about work, Lemony.”

We had said something like that, but it had been very early in the morning and the three of us had been in bed, so I hadn’t been paying much attention when Beatrice mumbled it into her pillow. But she was right, and Bertrand was right, and I was probably alright.

“We’ll go with you, anyway,” Bertrand said, and then he looked at me with a great fondness in his expression that I was close to convincing myself that I deserved.

I slid the mail into the desk drawer.

Bertrand cast a quick glance in the direction of the kitchen, where Beatrice had been for the past hour, decorating a cake with the precision only she could manage, and then stood up and placed a hand on the record player.

I raised an eyebrow. “She may just kill you, Bertrand,” I said.

“I will take that chance,” Bertrand said. He lifted the needle, removed the record, and slid it back into its case. “Remember me fondly,” he continued, pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head.

A year had gone by and I still wasn’t used to how free Bertrand was with his affection. My mouth did something that seasoned experts would call a bashful smile. “I’ll do my best.”

“Bertrand,” Beatrice immediately called from the kitchen, because she had a sixth sense for when someone touched her record player, and the sudden silence was a dead giveaway, “you’d better have a damn good reason for turning off the love of my life.”

“You have a third love of your life?” I asked.

“Please,” Beatrice said, striding into the living room and carrying the cake, her purple sundress swishing at her ankles. “We’re all aware that Tito Puente is my one and only. You two are just poor substitutes.”

I grinned, because after all this time I knew when she was kidding. Beatrice’s razor-sharp wit, and the touches of playfulness behind it, was one of my favorite things about her. “Do poor substitutes get cake?”

“I want ice cream with mine,” Bertrand said absently, fitting another record into the player.

Beatrice paused as she set the cake down on the coffee table. “Do we have any ice cream?” she asked to the opening notes of Come Fly With Me.

“Is there a reason we wouldn’t have any ice cream?” I asked.

“Is there a reason?” Bertrand said, frowning down at the record player, his hand on his chin as he tried to listen to us and the song at the same time. “You know, I don’t think we should pick this one until we’re married. It’s sort of a victory song, isn’t it? And it clearly mentions honeymoons—”

Beatrice and I blinked and looked each other, both of us a very spectacular shade of red. She raised her eyebrows as if to ask me if he was being serious or just facetious, even though Bertrand had never been known to be facetious. I shrugged, not quite sure what to tell her, because I was only marginally sure that he was being serious myself.

“What I mean,” Beatrice said, smiling at me the kind of smile that doesn’t go away once you’ve started, “is that I think we might have eaten it all.”

Bertrand gasped. “I am deeply disappointed,” he said, not looking disappointed at all, or showing any recognition of what had just happened, “and to show my disappointment, I’ll have to leave and have my own musical love affair.”

“Well,” I said, “if we had heavy cream, whole milk, vanilla extract, salt, sugar, and if we were willing to wait, we could make it ourselves.”

“I am willing to wait for the promise of ice cream made by Lemony Snicket,” Bertrand said. “It’s the only thing keeping me in this apartment, beyond the fact that Frank Sinatra is dead and it would be a very boring relationship.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Lemony, let’s leave Bertrand to the memory of his other man,” she said, and she linked her arm with mine and pulled me towards the kitchen.

“Look, they didn’t call him ol’ blue eyes for nothing!” Bertrand called after us, carefully removing the record.

I stood beside Beatrice in the kitchen and pulled down what she couldn’t reach, because otherwise she would insist that climbing on top of countertops was reasonable even though it had already resulted in four injuries on two separate occasions. “Would you do it?” I asked, setting the sugar on the counter.

“Do what?”

I swallowed. “Marry us.”

Beatrice turned slowly. She looked at me, something very soft in her eyes, a sort of disbelieving hope. She looked like that a lot lately, especially when we were all together and she thought I wasn’t looking at her, and I didn’t know whether or not I liked it. I tried to reassure her.

“That is,” I went on, “I think there would be a reasonable amount of logistics we’d need to work out, but Bertrand and I have been thinking about it and we figured it shouldn’t be all that difficult, although there is a certain amount of difficulty presented in all things, but I feel as if trying to sort through them would be fairly advantageous and worthwhile this time, and—”

But she took my hand and kissed me sweetly. She tasted like the strawberries I knew she’d been eating instead of putting them all on the cake, and I closed my eyes and held her close. When Beatrice pulled back, she rested her forehead against mine. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I would.”

“That,” I said quietly, “is very nice to know. Especially because we were considering a fairly lavish proposal.”

The corner of her mouth curled up. “How many musical numbers?”

“Oh, at least three,” I said. Which wasn’t entirely true, because Bertrand and I had only planned two, but I considered our abilities to put together another one and decided it was probably feasible.

We mixed the ice cream and placed it in the freezer. While we waited for it to freeze, Beatrice put the cake back in the fridge and I took the two of them out to dinner at an Italian restaurant, where we sat at a small table outside by the river, where the warm breeze ruffled Bertrand’s hair to the extent that I gave him my hat to wear.

“A noble sacrifice,” Bertrand said, putting it on his head. “They’ll write ballads about you, Lemony Snicket.”

“Sonnets,” I said. “Beatrice will write sonnets.”

“Don’t bother me,” Beatrice said, and she dug around in her purse for a pen with one hand and straightened out a napkin with the other. “I’m already composing in my head.”

Bertrand frowned, and then pulled a pen out of the ribbon of my hat and handed it to her.

“What teamwork,” Beatrice said, and she kissed both of us on the cheek.

The meal was excellent. It involved a great deal of pasta and laughter, which was one of my favorite sort of meals, especially with the way the two of them laughed, Beatrice throwing her head back as she laughed and Bertrand’s amused chuckles.

The three of us walked along the river afterwards, and I let Bertrand keep my hat, even though I was truly reluctant to go without wearing it for too long. But it was a slow afternoon in the city that was turning into a quiet evening, and there were barely any other people out and about. The chances of running into someone we didn’t want to run into were probably slimmer than I thought.

I fell into step beside Bertrand. He laced his fingers with mine and we watched Beatrice race ahead of us like she usually did whenever she was outside, the wind pulling at her hair.

“She said she’d say yes,” I told him. “If we asked.”

Bertrand cleared his throat. “If we asked what?” he said, but I knew he was very clearly stalling for time.

“If,” I said, “we asked her to stand beside us in a formal setting in very fancy clothes and say a series of words that most people understand to be a vow of commitment and affection while surrounded by a good number of associates and hopefully none of our enemies—”

“Alright, alright,” Bertrand said, laughing a little. He smiled down at the sidewalk. “I’m glad.”

We were quiet for a while. Beatrice was still ahead of us, this time trying to tempt nearby pigeons closer to her, and only marginally succeeding.

“Would you?” Bertrand asked.

I swallowed. I wasn’t going to try to get out of it, because I had walked right into this one. “I—yes. Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would,” Bertrand said, as if it was that easy. “I have no reservations about you two. But I know how you are, Lemony.” He smiled a little, that sad, worried smile that made me sad and worried in return. “I know you’ll run if we don’t hold on to you.”

“I wouldn’t run,” I said. “And I will thank you not to point out my previous track record of doing just that, because they were all for relatively legitimate reasons.” I liked to think that I wouldn’t do it again, if the sort of situation arose where it was something I had to consider. I liked to think that marriage wasn’t one of those things, because it was something I genuinely wanted. But the uncertainties of the world sometimes made even that lovely thing seem so far out of my grasp that, if I was honest with myself, I had considered slipping away into the night so that I wouldn’t ruin anything else. It was an upsetting thing to think, but I had thought of it as much as I had thought about those musical numbers.

Bertrand looked out over the water. “Do you think I’m not scared too, Lemony? About the things we do, the positions we put ourselves in, whether this assignment or the next one will be the one that takes one of you away from us?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not that much of a fool to think that my fears aren’t universal.”

“Sometimes you act like you do,” Bertrand said quietly. “And I am under no delusion that our feelings for each other will fix any or all of our problems. But they can be a little easier to deal with that way, when you know you aren’t alone. You know that, don’t you?”

I wanted very much to believe that, but every time Beatrice or Bertrand said it, it never seemed to sink in the way it should. It is one thing to love someone, or multiple someones, to love them so much you often can’t think of anything else, but another thing to trust them and the things they say and yourself, especially when you live the kind of lives that we lived. Perhaps I did forget about it sometimes, the terrible recklessness with which Beatrice occasionally acted, how Bertrand tended to be much too quiet at times, the things all of us did when we forgot we weren’t alone. The three of us were not perfect people, not by any means, but three imperfect people doing what they can for each other in a turbulent world is sometimes better than three perfect people going through life without a care about anything else.

I squeezed Bertrand’s hand and didn’t say anything more.

By the time we returned to Beatrice’s apartment, the ice cream had solidified into something manageable, and the three of us sat down on the couch with the cake, which Beatrice had still covered with a good deal of strawberries, and our homemade ice cream, which Bertrand ate first.

“Was it worth it, Bertrand?” Beatrice asked.

“Very worth it,” Bertrand grinned. “Entirely worth it.”

If I had to pick one thing about Bertrand that I liked the most—and it would be difficult, considering there were a great number of things I liked about him—I would still probably settle on how, even though he could jest just as good as Beatrice, there was a great sincerity in almost everything he said. It was easy to want to believe him. It was easy to believe him.

“To have two people such as yourselves to face the oncoming adversity of the world with is a great relief that I don’t think I have ever fully appreciated until this moment,” I said. “And if I could spend the rest of my life with anyone, I would sincerely want it to be the two of you.”

They didn’t look surprised, and they didn’t say anything. Sometimes you get to a point with other people where you don’t have to say anything more, where everything else is just immediately and silently understood, and all the rest doesn’t matter. Beatrice took one of my hands, and Bertrand took the other, and we sat there with the fading sunset on our shoulders, and then went back to eating our cake with a little bit of difficulty given that we were reluctant to let go of each other.

Suddenly, Bertrand’s eyes went wide. “That’s it!” he exclaimed, and he scrambled to his feet, almost dropping his plate in the process.

“Hey, hey!” Beatrice said, snatching the plate from him. “Don’t be like that with the good plates.”

Bertrand rushed over to the record player. He pulled out one of the records from the piles still on the floor and put it in the player, then carefully placed the needle over it. He sat back down beside us, looking pleased with himself as the song started.

I want to see your face in every kind of light, in fields of dawn and forests of the night, and when you stand before the candles on a cake, oh, let me be the one to hear the silent wish you make— what are you doing the rest of your life?

I liked it a great deal more than Summer Wind or Wave. Even Beatrice seemed to enjoy the song, her head on my shoulder. Bertrand looked happier than anyone had any right to be, and I didn’t say anything about it, because that was how I felt, too.

“What are we doing the rest of our lives, boys?” Beatrice asked, her voice just above a whisper when the song ended.

“Staying right here,” I said into her hair.

“On this couch,” Bertrand added.

“Hm,” Beatrice said, frowning a little as she looked around the apartment. “But, you know, it might be a little too small when we have children.”

ending notes:

how many homemade ice cream recipes did I look up while trying to write this???? too many. and how many did I try???? zero, dammit.

also – summer wind, wave, come fly with me, and what are you doing the rest of your life

anyway! I have been trying to write a pretty long and very complicated fanfic with these three for the past month, but plot shenanigans have made it very difficult along with my real inability to write straight-up romance. writing is hard, cats. so I was like, ‘screw that!’ and decided I would write a non-angsty smaller fanfic to try and figure out how people even write romance. and honestly i’m still not sure.

#hey i found a much clearer version of the actual song!! i'm so fucking thrilled!! thanks youtube.#also to this day i have still not had any homemade ice cream.#asoue #a series of unfortunate events

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bookandcranny · 3 years

Text

Beatrice - Chapter Three

On a table in what she supposed was the dining room there was a floral centerpiece, dead and rotted. Freesias and baby’s breath were shriveled with blight and yet the dead petals remained frozen in place, refusing to fall. Gianna wondered if they’d somehow been preserved that way intentionally. She couldn’t imagine why, ugly as they were.

Soft footsteps padded across the tile behind her, and for a brief moment the anxiety resurfaced, seizing at her throat.

“Gianna?”

She took in a deep breath, letting floral sweetness flood her senses. “It’s me, Bea.”

Gianna was too stubborn to call out of work in the morning, but stubbornness only got her as far as until the gallery manager saw her flagging at her station and urged her to go home. The fumes from the conservators’ delicate chemistry could be dangerous on a good day if you weren’t careful, she reminded her, nevermind if you were already feeling sick. She wasn’t sick, just tired. At least that’s what she was telling herself. Still, she stopped by the drugstore just in case the faint nausea and light-headedness were indeed early signs of some bug.

On impulse, she also picked up some hair bleach and a box of dye. She hadn’t done anything new with her hair since before moving and her brown roots were starting to look more like branches. Normally this wouldn’t have bothered her except, well, for the first time in a long time there was someone she really wanted to look good for. If she was going to ask Beatrice out, first she needed to be in an attractive state of mind.

All her vanity was in vain however; by the time she’d arrived home whatever sickness had grabbed a hold of her was setting in in earnest, leaving Gianna feeling weak and off-kilter. With the last of her strength she managed to force down a couple painkillers along with a cold glass of water before collapsing into bed.

When she woke up from her addled fever-sleep her skin was clammy and cold. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and forced herself to sit up, squinting in the dark of her surroundings. Something had woken her. The sound of that finicky overhead light blowing out after she’d passed out with it still on. Somewhere in between the passing out and now, night had swept over the city, but as was its nature, faint fluorescent light still streamed in from the world outside her window. She hobbled over and pried it open.

Though the breeze made her shiver, it also brought with it the sweetness she’d come to recognize as the combined scents of the Rappaccinis’ garden. The familiar smell revitalized her somewhat. Actually, she felt remarkably improved after just a few short minutes of sitting by the window. Maybe all this was just chemical fumes messing with her head. She’d never had a problem with it before, but she’d been working longer hours lately. That combined with the recent stress, of course it would leave her feeling poorly, she thought.

Down in Casa di Rappaccini there were lights coming from every window and shadows moving before them. Gianna had never even entertained the idea of the family having company. Dr Rappaccini really didn’t seem like the kind of man to throw a house party in the middle of the week.

Gianna pushed up the screen and went to climb down to her usual spot. It was only when she was hovering with her hands on the railing and her blanket still slung around her shoulders like a cape that she realized just how bad an idea that was. She was liable to break her neck or worse trying to climb down in the dark with a fever, and Beatrice certainly wouldn’t be gardening at this time of night. She was probably inside, socializing and having fun, impressing their guests with her vast horticultural knowledge and reciting poetry in Latin or something. Though it might get her attention, lurking around outside her party on the fire escape was not the way to get a woman to like you.

She returned to her apartment and to her bed, pulling the pillow over her head as if to guard against any more bizarre dreams. After a time, she managed to drift back into uneasy sleep, while violet eyes kept a watch on her window from below.

In the morning Gianna roused to a concerned call from work, but her groggy reply was more than enough to secure her another sick day. She went back to sleep for another couple hours, woke, forced down some more pills and some leftover stir-fry, slept, and finally woke again feeling not quite recovered, but at least somewhat rested.

She staggered to the bathroom and washed her face. Her skin was oily to the touch and her eyes were bloodshot but otherwise she didn’t look too bad, she thought. Recalling the night before, she went to sit by the window and indeed the fresh air made her feel worlds better. Whatever it was that was slogging through her system, she reasoned, couldn’t be too bad. Probably just some twenty-four hour flu or something.

As she leaned her head out the window she caught sight of Beatrice working in her garden as usual and she was out and shimmying down the ladder before she could remember her decision not to.

“Hey,” she called, her voice still slightly rasped with sleep.

Beatrice looked up and beamed at her, although her smile faltered slightly to see the loose curls plastered to her brow.

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, is it that obvious?” she huffed, trying to pinch some life back into her cheeks. “I’ll be alright, just a fever or something.”

“That’s why you weren’t here yesterday. I looked for you.”

Something in Gianna’s gut twisted hotly. “You missed me?”

“Of course I did.”

It was a much more frank answer than she’d expected, and Gianna felt herself blush. No need to worry about her color after all.

“I was worried, I guess. You were acting sort of strange the day before. I thought I might��ve done something wrong.”

“No way,” she assured. Wow, I really am that obvious. “I was just sleeping this thing off most of the afternoon. I sorta thought you’d be too busy to notice, with the party you were having.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “My father was having one of his dinner socials. I couldn’t have gotten away for long either way but believe me, I would pick you over any one of his colleagues in a heartbeat.”

Gianna raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t that kind of thing hard on him? With his health, I mean.”

“He hires people for all the preparations and cleaning up after. Father can’t get out very much because of his condition, so this is how he… connects, I think. Otherwise he wouldn’t talk to anyone at all.”

“We all need to connect I guess.”

She nodded, looking away again. “He has his colleagues bring people for me too. Sons or nephews, you know. Boys he thinks would make a good match for me.”

“Oh. That’s… oh.”

“It’s sort of old fashioned, I know. I don’t really-- I don’t like any of them that way. You’re right though, we all need to connect. I used to think I didn’t need anyone else, but lately…”

Cautiously she met her gaze. Her brows were knit together like she was trying to piece together some puzzle in her mind. Gianna thought she should say something, offer some reassurance, but the image of Dr Rappaccini and his equally decrepit associates presenting her with an array of their eligible legacy offspring turned her stomach so sourly that she had to bite her tongue to keep from spewing something venomous.

Luckily or not, before either of them could speak there came a call from within the house.

“Beatrice, come here, girl!”

Gianna bristled but the young woman only turned and said sweetly, “Coming, Father!” She gave Gianna an apologetic glance and then added in a low voice, “There’s something important I want to talk to you about, but I don’t think I can do it here. Come over tomorrow?”

“You mean… like, in person?”

“Yes! Tomorrow my father is going to be out of the house from two to four o’clock. That doesn’t give us long but it’s the only time I can do it.”

Do what, she wanted to ask, bewildered and enticed all at once.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just get coffee somewhere?”

“The code for the door is 5214. Meet me here. I promise it’ll be worth your time.” She fidgeted her hands together. Her eyelashes fluttered. “Maybe I can even show you around the garden.”

Something about the way she said that made Gianna suppress a shiver.

“Of course I’ll be there,” she said. She hated to miss more work than she already had, but she doubted they would suspect anything. Even now her fingers trembled and some of that clamminess was returned to her skin, but oddly enough, she was feeling better than she had all week.

-----

The name placard next to the buzzer read G. Rappaccini. It didn’t sit right with Gianna, the conspicuous absence of the apartment’s other occupant.

Even though she knew she was expected, she felt compelled to announce herself. She pressed the buzzer and after a moment a quiet voice came through the intercom.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” she said.

“Oh.”

She frowned. “Is that still okay?”

Beatrice let out a sigh. It sounded thin and tinny through the crackle of the speaker.

“Yeah, of course, come on up. Do you remember the code?”

Gianna punched in the numbers and made her way to the apartment. At least this complex had an elevator, saving her the strain of the climb. She was feeling less shaky but at the expense of her appetite which had vanished and made her wary of taking on too much additional strain. Her heart was pounding as it was, watching the floor numbers slowly tick by and thinking about how soon the two of them would be in the same room for the first time.

Beatrice had never been too eager to meet up with Gianna outside their customary rendezvous, which Gianna had always attributed to her not wanting to leave her father alone for too long. She’d never analyzed her motivations too closely because doing so would mean having to take a serious look at her own.

The truth was, Gianna was scared. This thing she had with Beatrice was different than any relationship she’d had before, for reasons she couldn’t confidently place, and she was afraid that somehow breaking out of the pattern they’d established between them would change things, would tarnish the magic of it somehow.

Too close now to turn back, she stepped into the apartment. Right away the high ceilings and lavish spaciousness inspired a pang of envy. The furniture was antique, yet in pristine condition, everything so clean and crisp that it looked like something out of a catalogue. Not exactly homey. There were several signs of life however: books piled up on an end table in the living room, dishes drying in a rack by the kitchen sink, a stack of empty boxes piled up next to the garbage can.

There was no TV or telephone, though she supposed that wasn’t so uncommon anymore. But paired with the furniture and the sterile environment it gave Gianna the feeling of being cut off from the modern world entirely. The very idea was stifling to her.

Soft footsteps padded across the tile behind her, and for a brief moment the anxiety resurfaced, seizing at her throat.

“Gianna?”

She took in a deep breath, letting floral sweetness flood her senses. “It’s me, Bea.”

Beatrice looked different. Most notably because she was wearing canvas coveralls that seemed to be too big for her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows to make room for a thick pair of gloves. For all the times she’d watched her working in her garden, Gianna had never seen Beatrice actually dress like a gardener. It made her feel a little silly for dressing up herself. She’d, perhaps optimistically, assumed that the first time they met face to face without the span of the alleyway between them would be a special occasion worth dressing up for. Maybe Beatrice didn’t see it that way.

“Are you still feeling sick?” Beatrice asked. “You don’t look so good.”

Gianna forced a grin. “Don’t worry about that. I’m just happy to be here.”

“Here, sit,” she beckoned. “I wasn’t even thinking. I’ll make you some tea.”

“That’s okay, really. I’m not much of a tea person.”

“You’ll like this tea, trust me.”

Gianna found she didn’t have the energy to protest and soon she was sitting in the kitchen holding a steaming mug. It was far from her drink of choice, especially in the summer months, but she gave in and took a sip for politeness’ sake.

It was good. More than good, it was delicious! As soon as it was cooled enough she drained half the cup in one go. Almost as soon as she had, she found herself feeling better. Her headache was gone and nausea abated. In fact, she was starting to feel hungry.

“Good, right?” Beatrice smirked. As if she had read her mind, she fished out a box of cookies from the cupboard and slid them across the counter to her. “It’s a family recipe, made with herbs from the garden. Everything that grows there is medicinal. You just have to know how to handle them.”

“That’s incredible,” she said between bites. Now that her appetite was finally back it seemed to be making up for lost time.

Beatrice flustered prettily. “It’s not hard when you get to know the plants like I have. The garden was my father’s before it was mine, we grew up together.”

“So the flowers are kind of like your siblings,” Gianna joked.

She beamed. “Exactly like that. Drink your tea. You have to drink all of it for it to really work.”

Gianna did so.

“I know I didn’t say it before,” Beatrice murmured. “But I’m really glad you’re here too. To see you, really really see you, I can’t… there aren’t words, Gianna. It probably sounds crazy but sometimes, when I couldn’t see you, when I couldn’t speak to you, I started to worry you’d disappeared and I would never find you again. Sometimes I even worried you were never real at all. That’s why I… I was afraid to invite you over here. I was afraid to break the illusion, to lose you.”

She stared, speechless, her mouth gone dry.

“I know how that sounds, I just-- for so long my world has revolved around taking care of father. I didn’t think I could have this, didn’t think I’d even want this. Not as much as I do, at least.”

“Beatrice,” she whispered breathlessly. “I know how you feel.” She reached across the countertop to touch her gloved hand. “I know what it’s like to want something and feel like you shouldn’t. I know what it feels like to be stuck in the shadow of parents who don’t understand you. I promise, you’re not crazy, and you’re not alone.”

The girl made a wounded noise, half gasp and half whimper, and clamped a hand over her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what--”

“It’s okay.” She threaded their fingers together. “It’s okay.”

Beatrice shook her head. “Gianna, I have to tell you something. Something important. Before we get in too deep or you hear it from someone else, I want you to hear it from me. I’m not normal.”

“I know, you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“No!” she cried, frustrated. “I’m not--”

The door creaked open and she spun around, pulling her hand away. Standing in the doorway was the hunched form of Dr Giacoma Rappaccini himself.

“Ah, good,” came the rasping voice of the elderly doctor. “You made the tea. I trust you’re feeling better now, Ms Alexander.”

Gianna tensed, unsure of how to respond.

“Father, you’re home early!” Beatrice chirped with false cheer. “I’ll make you a cup too then.”

“No need,” he said with a dismissive wave of his leathered hand. He set down his bag and shut the door behind him. “I had some this morning, remember? Ah, you might’ve been out in the garden then. You have been busy today.”

She shrunk back under the weight of his stare.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, sir,” Gianna said stiffly with a hand outstretched. “I’m--”

“I know who you are.” His laugh was the sound of dry reeds in a breeze. “Gianna Alexander. I’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since you started to show an interest in my daughter. I was curious to see how things might progress between you two, but considering the circumstances I decided it might be time to intervene.”

“Father--”

“Beatrice,” he reproached. “Going behind my back? Making secret meetings? You know better than that. Apologize to our guest.”

After only a moment’s hesitation she turned to Gianna and said, “I’m so sorry, Ms Alexander.”

Gianna balked. “What? You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I’m afraid that’s where you’re mistaken,” said Dr Rappaccini. “You see, there are proper steps to be taken in situations like this. My daughter should’ve spoken with me so I could arrange a proper interview. We could’ve had dinner. It would’ve been so nice.

“Instead, I had to find out what you were doing and pretend to leave my own home unawares just to get us all in a room together. I’m getting too old to play these games with you, Beatrice. It’s disrespectful to me and it’s disrespectful to our guest.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” Her voice had become empty, almost robotic, and she cast her eyes to the ground. Gianna felt a dawning sense of dread at the sight.

“Now then,” The old man pulled up a chair and sat with his hands folded over his lap. “Shall we get down to business? Beatrice, as you know, is a very special girl. In fact she’s the product of years and millions of dollars of research.

“I’ve dedicated my life to studying the medicinal properties of plants and cross-breeding exotic species to develop into natural pharmaceuticals. Eventually I realized that no amount of remedies I could create in my lifetime would be enough to fix every inherent flaw of humanity, so I shifted my focus. Instead of searching for the perfect cure, I decided to create the perfect human being, one immune to mankind’s deficiencies. From my experience with altering and combining the genetic structures of various plants, I crafted a new, superior breed of human. Beatrice is the product of those tireless efforts.”

Gianna’s head was swimming. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dr Rappaccini smiled ruefully. “I’ve long accepted that I likely won’t live to see my quest come to fruition. It took trial upon trial just to bring Beatrice into the world, and she’s only the first step. More accurately, the first generation.”

He put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Someday, my Beatrice will be the mother to a brand new species, a new humanity. With their drastically increased lifespans, immunity to disease and disorder of the body and mind, and overall genealogical superiority, my creations will rapidly become the dominant species on earth, replacing the feeble excuse for intelligent life that exists now. And, well, with all that revealed, it’s obvious why I couldn’t let this little game of yours continue, isn’t it?”

He looked at Beatrice with an expression that was as a mockery of compassion.

“Socialization is fine, even healthy. I don’t blame you for that. It’s my own fault really, for not providing you with more enrichment and opportunities for companionship here at home. I’ll be more mindful of that going forward. In fact, if you want to continue these little play-dates I am in full support, as long as they’re supervised from here on out. Not for a while though, of course. That’s just what happens when you break the rules, my girl.”

Gianna stood up, slamming her hands down on the counter. “Are you completely insane? This is a person, your daughter, not a pure-bred show poodle!”

Dr Rappaccini spoke to her calmly, a faint amusement in his wrinkled features. “I don’t blame you for your anger, Ms Alexander, because I know it stems from ignorance. Beatrice is special but she also has a volatile, toxic nature the likes of which you can’t comprehend. She needs a guiding hand to help her control herself and make the right choice. Isn’t that right, Beatrice.”

“Yes, Father.”

Gianna stared at her friend in horrified awe. “Beatrice, you can’t possibly be okay with this.”

She didn’t move, she didn’t speak. She gave no indication she’d even heard her. It was as if she had been hollowed out, only the fragile husk of her remaining.

“You can throw as big a fit as you want,” Dr Rappaccini said snidely. “But as long as you are a guest in my home I have to insist you abide by my rules.”

Gianna glowered. She spared one last furtive glance towards Beatrice. Her chest ached. “Then I guess I’m leaving.”

next chapter

#writeblr #original fiction #horror romance #gothic #lgbt #rappaccini's daughter #my writing

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