#you know what a child's brain think when their caregiver is a piece of shit ?

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

Hakkai could've ended up like Taiju (to an extent ig) but he didn't.

He didn't because Mitsuya saw him beat up that kid and stopped him. And became his friend, someone he can relie on, someone who welcomes him in his home

Taiju didn't have a Mitsuya. Or any meaningful relationship really. He did what his father did – because that's what children do, copy what they see – and beat up those kids. And his siblings.

And no one was there to stop him

No one was there to show him another way

[mlobsters]

supernatural s4e19 jump the shark (w. andrew dabb, daniel loflin)

episode should be titled 10 more reasons to hate john winchester

seinfeld s5e22 the opposite - dedee pfeiffer as victoria

another tiny role on seinfeld that i know well because i saw them all enough and at a time when my brain was better at recording things.

okay but also? i think i know her from cybill?? which i probably haven't thought of since the 90s. and sometimes i wonder how i originally knew actors like say, alicia witt and christine baranaski and something like this drags it up from the depths

cybill (1995-1998) dedee pfeiffer as rachel blanders

okay but back to dean getting shat on. dear old dad wanted to give one of his kids a normal life and take him to baseball games and go camping that didn't involve killing monsters. aw, that's nice. except for all the gross child neglect of his kids he was supposed to be fulltime sole caregiver of. granted he didn't get involved in this kid's life until sam was away at college so it's not like the nice things happened simultaneously to the neglect. still hate you, man. and the recap made sure to remind us of how john treated sam's going to college.

that look sam gave adam after dean loses paper scissors rock was cute. was feeling the sibling vibes.

also got me considering the logistics of man sized ventilation inside this random house.

sam giving this kid the dad and dean no friends no life routine is something. remember this little exchange at the gas pump:

s1e6 skin:

SAM: So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life? (DEAN shrugs.) You’re serious?

DEAN: Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.

SAM: You’re kind of anti-social, you know that?

but also harkens back to when dean was just trying to keep everyone alive while the other two were hellbent on self destructive revenge. which dean has been selling sam is just like dad and that's why they don't get along since then, but i'm not quite sure i buy that.

from s1e22 devil's trap:

Sam: We want to kill this demon. You used to want that, too. Hell, I mean, you’re the one who came and got me at school! (Dean scoffs) You’re the one who dragged me back into this, Dean. I’m just trying to finish it!

Dean: Well, you and Dad are a lot more alike than I thought, you know that? You both can’t wait to sacrifice yourself for this thing. But you know what? I’m gonna be the one to bury you. You’re selfish, you know that? You don’t care about anything but revenge.

that line about being the one to bury you lives rent free in my head.

i mean, i get what he's putting down in regards to his revenge quests, but i don't think there's a lot of similarities outside that. maybe because i like sam and john was a child neglecting piece of garbage. that is definitely a big blinder for me 🥴

i'm sure people enjoyed all that uh, excessive wound fingering and such with sam.

but my issue is those very significant cuts through his forearms and he's all fine and dandy in the next scene. he'd have some wicked number of stitches. and i guess nothing major was cut. just fleshy bits that dean can sew back up? i know, medical accuracy is way way WAY down on the list. but when they focus on the volume of blood he's losing so rapidly, i can't help but start to think of the logistics! anyway, made me think about hannibal's big ass scars in a similar place from matthew brown.

okay but also the kid has a point, of the ghouls were only eating dead people, was it really that important to be killing them?

that turned out a lot more therapeutic than i expected. and somehow i didn't know that fate of adam so i was actually surprised. i always am glad for dean to be working through some of his dad issues. sam is full of questionable choices these days. i'll give it to him, the writers, whatever. he really does sell that he's earnestly truly trying to do the right thing. but everything is a flaming pile of shit anyway.

DEAN I mean, I worshipped the guy, you know? I dressed like him, I acted like him, I listen to the same music. But you were more like him than I will ever be. And I see that now.

SAM I'll take that as a compliment.

DEAN You take it any way you want.

i mean.

anyway. okay i liked this episode even though i'm nervously looking at the time with how close the end of the season is and here we are off killing some monsters like it's any other week. this felt like an earlier to mid season episode. quality dean and sam time, daddy issues on blast.

and forever grateful shoutout to supernaturalwiki.com, the documentation is immaculate, found the episode with the bury you line in it in under 5 minutes.

[a65232-joshywoshy]

16

     Penny and Rachael sat on Rachael’s couch. They were confused, annoyed, frustrated, and angry. They sat and tried to process the events of the day. 

     "I can't believe we got fired. Just because his face went all weird. As if it was our fault!" Penny groaned.

     "Yeah. It's weird. We'll have to look for jobs again." Rachael stared out the living room window, soaking in the view for what was soon to be the last time.

     "I hate him! Fuck him! Fucking Howard!" Penny was growing increasingly angry.

     Rachael was both interested and afraid of Penny's angry side. She had only seen Penny like this a few times. There was an intense power within Penny that Rachael could feel. That power radiated out from Penny, so much so that Rachael was in awe. Had Penny been angry at Rachael, the feeling would have been different. But watching Penny's emotion without being its target meant that Rachael was free to watch the emotion flow outward from Penny without worry of upsetting her more. Rachael could be herself and revel in the expressiveness of someone else.

     "I'm sorry." Rachael said softly.

     "It's okay. You don't need to apologize." Penny took a breath. "It's so aggravating that we were just fired on a whim, you know?"

     "Yeah"

     "Five years of being a fantastic employee and it means nothing to him. We're just flushed down the FUCKING toilet." Now Penny mocked Howard. "Oh. I don't like what happened to my FAAACE. SURELY this must be YOUR FAULT. UGGGHH!!!" Penny slumped back against the couch again. "I want a drink. I just want a fucking drink. Drown out this piece of shit."

     Rachael remembered the rules that Veronica had texted her. They had clearly stated that Penny was not allowed to have any alcohol at any time for any reason. Penny had been an alcoholic for a few months, long before Rachael had met her. Veronica had just come into Penny's life shortly before and helped Penny through that time in her life. They had both agreed that alcohol was not a real solution, and that had eventually resulted in one of their first rules. 'Under no circumstances is alcohol allowed. Wine, beer, margaritas, and all other alcohol have been deemed off limits due to their long term health effects on Penny.'

     "Penny, alcohol isn't allowed. Ms. Veronica said so. It's in the rules." Rachael was sure to speak soft and gently, while making sure to still have some seriousness to her tone.

     "FUCK THE RULES! I don't care about the stupid little game she likes to play. I'm mad, I want a drink!" Penny got up off the couch.

     "Where are you going?" Rachael asked. She knew Penny was serious now. There had to be some way to stop her. Penny wasn't in a rage, but Rachael had seen this mood before. This mood meant that Penny would probably over-indulge in whatever she could get her hands on for the next few hours. Ms. Veronica wasn't around to keep her in line, either. 

      "I'm going to get a drink!" Penny grabbed her purse and walked towards the front door.

      "Penny, if you do that, I'm going to tell Mrs. Veronica on you." Rachael stood to face Penny.

      "I don't care, Rachael! Tell her all you want. Bye." Penny left the house. She wasn't angry with Rachael, but Rachael reminded her of work at the moment. She wanted to remove all traces of her former workplace, if only for a short time.

      Rachael was slightly surprised. Penny could be this way sometimes, but Veronica seemed to know how to dial back and redirect this side of her. Rachael, as more of a friend up until this point, only knew how to be less aggravating towards her. It was time to let Veronica know what she had done.

      Hi, Mrs. Veronica. It’s Rachael again. Penny just left to go get alcohol. You told me you wanted to know when she broke any rules. Also, she just spent the last 10 minutes cursing.

      Rachael hit send and waited for a reply. She got a soda from the fridge, then plopped back down on the couch.

      Hi, Rachael. Thank you for letting me know. Please tell me if she has any alcohol on her breath when she gets back, or if she drinks any tonight. I don’t have any issue with her BUYING alcohol. I have an issue with her drinking it. We’re still working on her alcoholism slowly. Going to buy it lets her get off some steam. Drinking it is what I’ll punish for. I’ve given away a fair amount of alcohol that she’s bought and never drank. That’s okay. 

     Okay. Thank you, Mrs Veronica. I just want to help do what's best for her. Also, we both just got fired from work. So there's that.

     Oh no! I'm so sorry, Rachael. If there's anything I can do to help, let me know. 

     I will. Thank you.

     The text conversation ended. Rachael started to call Penny, but thought better of it. "She needs to let off steam. Wait. Be patient," she thought out loud. Rachael went upstairs to start repacking her things again. Waiting was hard for Rachael to do sometimes. She worked hard to occupy herself with repacking things and cleaning a few messes around the house. Half an hour or so had passed when Rachael heard the front door open again. Half an hour was just enough time to get to the store, pick up something, then drive back. Penny was back. Rachael went to meet her at the door.

     “I’m sorry I told on you.” Rachael said softly.

     Penny stood in the entryway with a wine cooler in her hand. The bottle was still full and unopened; Rachael had glanced at it while walking towards her. Penny looked calm now.

     “It’s okay, kiddo. I’m glad you did.” Penny stepped inside and sat the bottle down on the floor. After a pause, she hugged Rachael. “No drinks for me. I just wanted to get away for a minute. Drinking is a slippery slope. A slope I don’t need to start sliding down. Especially now. You’re so important to me, Rachael. I don’t want to do anything to hurt our relationship. I don’t trust myself when I start drinking. That’s no good for either of us.”

      Rachael returned the hug, squeezing twice as hard as Penny had.

     "Thank you for loving me so much, Penny. How can I help you feel better?"

     Penny sighed. "Get me a new brain?" She smiled weakly.

     "Sorry. I only have one." Rachael smiled back. “Maybe one day we can swap them. We could take turns inside each others head. That’d be cool.”

     Penny's phone buzzed. Rachael heard it, then waited to see if Penny would answer it. Penny ignored it. Rachael suspected that Veronica was checking on her directly. She hoped that one day Penny would check on her like that, too. The thought of having someone in a caregiver role who oversaw her actions was thrilling. She was a little jealous of Penny being looked after, though she was more concerned about why Penny refused to answer her. Penny ignored her phone because it meant trouble, most likely. Just like a child, Penny thought she could avoid getting in trouble if she ignored the adult. Surely she knew the futility of doing so. Veronica would be here this weekend, which was only a few days away now.

     Penny moved the wine cooler to the kitchen counter, then went into the fridge for a cold water bottle. Rachael's phone dinged. Veronica had texted. 

     Penny is ignoring me now. This isn't a punishable offense, but since she's jobless, there's no good reason to do that. This will be handled this weekend.

     Rachael responded with a quick Ok. She knew Penny was in a lot of trouble this weekend and she was only making it worse. Rachael watched Penny plop down on the couch again, still ignoring her phone. Rachael sat beside her and put a hand on her leg.

      "You don't seem to be taking Miss Veronica's rules very seriously at all. You're not answering her, either." Rachael waited for a reply. There was conflict on Penny's face. Her past self would have drank, ran, and hid from it all. Drown the feelings of misery, doubt, and worry. The newest version of Penny fought back. She wanted people to help her, but old habits were still so easy to slip into. Reach out and ask for help. Accept the help. There was no shame in being helped. Penny’s old self screamed at the childishness of being helped, but she was actively learning how to redirect that energy.

      "I'm sorry." Penny looked down at her lap and tapped her fingers on her legs idly. She wanted to be better. There was solid reasoning behind the silly game of authority that Veronica and Penny played, too. The past was dark and scary, but avoidable in the future. Penny was making good strides towards positive changes in her life and the dynamic that she and Veronica shared was part of that. Maybe Rachael could be, too.

     “It’s okay. I love you. I’m sure the rules are hard to follow all the time. I mean...” Rachael realized that Penny could have taken a condescending meaning to that. She quickly corrected, “The rules can change priorities and make you feel like they’re no longer important.”

     “Yeah.” Penny looked at Rachael and smiled. She saw only love in Rachael’s face, even though the words stung a bit. “I love you too, kiddo. I need to keep my priorities in order. Things happen, we put on our big girl panties and deal with it… in the right way."

      "I want to make a 'big girl panties' joke right now, but I'm not going to. I'm," She raised her hands to make air quotes. " 'mature'. But yes, you're right. We deal with it in the right way. I'm proud of you. No matter what."

      "Thank you. Well… I guess we should start packing. Do you want help?"

      "No, thank you. I want time alone to think about what I'm doing next. And I don't want to bother you with what I want to do. You're probably not in the mood for me to be a crinkle butt after today, are you?"

      "You're right. I'm really not."

      "It's settled, then. If you want to talk, call or text me. I want to be present for you," Rachael sighed. "even if 'present' isn't in person." 

      "Thank you. I guess I can pack, too. My lease is up soon anyway. Thank you for looking after me."

      They both went upstairs to pack up Penny's suitcase and Penny left soon afterwards. Rachael was alone in the house now. Rachael could feel an eerie presence once Penny had left. After finishing a good amount of packing, she decided to take a shower, then get ready for bed. Her pajamas tonight would be a tshirt and diaper. Nice and comfortable, but not too babyish. Picking this particular outfit invited self acceptance, but didn’t leave much room to invite self loathing. After her shower, she put on her pajamas for the evening and got into bed. Penny’s scent still clung to her pillow. Rachael wrapped her arms around it, breathing her fragrance in as she closed her eyes. 

     Outside, the moon lit up the back yard. The presence from before came back. It was less eerie this time. Somehow, it felt the same as a friend coming to visit. Familiar, yet strange. Just as before, Rachael felt something bump her, but not on her skin. It was an emotion inside her head again, but not her own.

     Greetings

      ‘Sal?’ she thought to herself. She opened her eyes and looked around the dim room. At first, she didn’t see anything. Her bedroom was just as it was before. She turned on the lamp and looked at the ceiling, floor, then back to the wall opposite her. Two large, transparent eyes looked back. Rachael jumped at the sight, then recognized them. “Sal!” 

     Friends. Reunion. Celebration.

     “Why are you here? Are you okay? And… you’re real!”

     Then an emotion washed over her that was so familiar. A warm, caring comfort. The ability to trust an individual completely. A relationship where dependence was rewarded. 

     Mother

     Rachael felt another emotional surge within her. These emotions felt rich, nearly overpowering compared to Sal’s. Different than Sal’s. A larger presence. Two more eyes popped into existence. They were transparent as well, sized roughly three times the diameter of Sal’s. They were almost larger than the wall. With the eyes came emotions so vivid and rich, they were like words.

     Hello. I am mother of the one you call “Sal”.

     “You…” Rachael was afraid. She replayed her time with Sal in the holodeck in her head. Sal never hurt her. Surely… his mother, apparently… would not either. As Rachael placed a little trust in this new set of eyes, she could feel Sal’s mom trust her as well.

     You escaped my offspring from oblivion.

     While nearly the same as words, Rachael was sure that some of the mother’s words were getting lost in translation. It was still incredible that they could communicate at all. “Yes. I help those in need.”

     Gifts, I send merrily to you. Suck time is dreams but dreams make fake reality reality.

      Rachael was completely lost at the last part. Just as she did with Sal, she repeated it aloud, with mental pictures of what she thought it meant. “Suck time is dreams?”

     Apologies. Language is difficult. Pacifier time.

     A glowing purple pacifier popped into existence at the edge of the bed. “Suck time is a pacifier. Okay. ‘Is dreams’?”

     Pacifier make dreams. Wonderful dreams. Try.

     Rachael was hesitant to take a pacifier that seemed to come from a different dimension. She often tended to err on the side of caution. Still hesitant, she looked at Sal and his emotions urged Rachael to try it. Carefully, she picked it up and looked at it. It was slightly warm to the touch and seemed to emanate some kind of energy. Slowly, Rachael put the pacifier in her mouth. It had a hint of chocolate on the teat.

     Her bedroom dissolved and suddenly she was on the bridge of a starship. A dream. But in the dream, she didn’t see a pacifier in her mouth. She reached for her mouth anyway and the pacifier was still there. Present, but invisible. Just like the machine at work. Rachael pulled it out and her bedroom was back in an instant.

     Pacifier make dreams. Dreams make fake reality reality.

     Sal’s mom seemed to sense Rachael’s confusion already, so she rephrased.

     Dreams are not real. But not real, changes the real. 

     “What? Not real changes the real?" Rachael was lost as to what this could mean. And what did that have to do with dreams or a pacifier? She was going to continue asking questions, but Sal’s mom suddenly changed mood. There was a sudden urgency to leave. They had to go away. It was urgent that they go home. 

     You'll see us again in your dreams.

     Then they were gone. No presence, no eyes, no emotions besides her own.

     "You'll see us again in your dreams." She thought that was a bit cryptic, among all the other things Sal's mom had said. It had been a long day. Maybe this pacifier would help her get some good sleep. She laid down and brought up the covers. As she turned off the light, the pacifier seemed to glow more brightly.

     "Let's see what these dreams are all about." Closing her eyes, she popped in the pacifier and was back on the starship.

     A short woman with curly red hair stood in front of her, smiling. To her side, a large brown bear stood with its arms behind its back. It spoke. 

     "Hello, Captain. We've been expecting you."

--------

[mossrotts]

[[MORE]]

man it has been just. a rough year. like, OBVIOUSLY. for everyone. but like, jesus.

last october my ferret of several years and just, boy real close to my heart, was very old and got cancer. he got horrific tumors, some of which were able to be surgically removed, but ultimately we had to put him down the day before halloween.

we thought his much younger companion was struggling with greiving and ended up getting a new ferret, but when it wasn't going away and was getting worse we took him in and found out he had cancer as well. no chance of operation. i know he was with us and surrounded by our love his last days but i can't describe to you the struggle of forcing him to eat and take his meds and watching his violent and speedy downward spiral. went he can no longer keep anything down we make an appointment to put him down, but he passed away late december before that time arrived.

my dad collapsed in the shower in january. he never truly comes back from this. after some misdiagnosis, it is confirmed that he has brain cancer. multiple tumors. the last months with my ferrets felt like a sick trial run leading up to this.

months of 20-hr round trips, abusive family members, mourning, chemo. doctors telling us he'd have a couple years, then saying one year, then months, then weeks. he passed away end of may, literal days before he and my mom were making a move to utah so he could be around family.

helping my mom with arrangements, helping her with moving.

then months of struggling at work where i am a caregiver--corona scares, people quitting or getting sick and so much pressure putting on those remaining. continuation of contact with abusive family.

my dad's funeral was in september. days before a stray cat we sometimes see wandered into our house with an obvious injury. vet appointments to take care of this.

after the funeral and another vet appointment, we find out the cat has fiv (feline hiv). they ask us right there if we want to put him down. we determine he'll have a good quality of life at least for awhile and choose not to. we make an appointment for our other cats to see if they've contacted fiv from contact.

we find they thankfully have not. but literally during this appointment my roommate gets a call and find out their stepdad has passed away. he was a piece of shit but we drive out to california, my roommate does what they can, and we come back.

i;d probably be in debt if not for the help of a friend that i need to figure out how to show my appreciation to. but anything i've saved is gone, got nothing for my name change and top surgery rn. can't see a therapist for lack of funds rn and depressed as fuck.

we've been back for a couple weeks now. back in time for halloween, but i've felt so disappointed and, idk, kinda guilty that i haven't been able to celebrate? like i'm HERE goddammit. no immediate emergencies, i'm here, but it doesn't feel like halloween and it's not fair.

maybe that's why i'm writing this out, trying to contextualize it. year of tragedies on top of a pandemic so of course i'm low and tired and burnt out. it's okay it doesn't feel like halloween.

and maybe that has to do with what i like halloween to be?

i think celebrating halloween for me is celebrating creativity. enjoying media, enjoying the content that my friends produce, the influx of artwork and stories--even though it's not the child version of 'magic in the air' or 'anything can happen' during the spooky season, it's still a version of that. there's magic in knowing i get to explore the creativity of others, to see their worlds and imagination. not to mention revisiting the nostalgia of media i've enjoyed before. and share my own!

in my own track record, october is the time i create the most. but i've done nothing this month. no completed art, nothing written. nothing created.

i haven't gotten a chance to see as much of what my friends are doing, i feel like i'm in a constant state of catching up, i haven't watched any of my favorite movies, didn't get to read a new book, haven't done any of the autumn recipes i generally like. didn't even get a chance to carve my pumpkin. didn't create.

and i'm working with that guilt, i know it's not fair to blame myself. and logically i know that's just how this year's gonna be, in the long run it'll be okay that this year wasn't celebrated.

but at the same time it just. sucks.

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: The Rebellion of Adrien Agreste, ch. 8

Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Luka Couffaine, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Kagami Tsurugi, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Luka Couffaine, Lila Rossi/karma, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/aneurism, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Kagami Tsurugi, Plagg & Tikki

Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Lila Rossi, Jagged Stone, Plagg, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine, Penny Rolling, Anarka Couffaine, Rose Lavillant, Juleka Couffaine, Kagami Tsurugi, Alya Césaire, Chloé Bourgeois, Wayhem, Nadja Chamack, Nathalie Sancoeur, Sabine Cheng, Tom Dupain, Tikki, Fang, Principal Damocles, Caline Bustier, Ms. Mendeleiev, original minor character, Alec Cataldi, Lila Rossi’s Mother, Sabrina Raincomprix, Roger Raincomprix, Mylène Haprèle, Le Gorille | Adrien Agreste’s Bodyguard, Nino Lahiffe, Nooroo

Tags: Lila Rossi salt, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Teenage Rebellion, Swearing, Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Crack Treated Seriously, Lila Rossi’s Lies Are Exposed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Luka Couffaine Needs a Hug, Paparazzi, Parentification, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Needs a Hug, Gabriel Agreste Needs an Aneurism, Uncle Jagged Stone, we’re all queer here, the spirit of punk is sometimes just being allowed to be yourself, Kagami Finds Her Groove, punk rock fashion, Savage Kagami, Marinette protection squad, Good Parent Sabine Cheng, Good Parent Tom Dupain, Protective Kagami Tsurugi, Protective Luka Couffaine, Bisexual Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Pansexual Luka Couffaine, Sharing a Bed, Pet Names, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Instagram, Bullying, Social Media, Anxiety, Makeover, Hugs, will cure your acne, Face Punching, Bad Ass Juleka Couffaine, Rumors, Protective Juleka Couffaine, Protective Adrien Agreste, Lawyers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Holding Hands, accountability, mental health, Jagged Stone’s well-paid pet shark, How to Make the Evening News, Sexy eyeliner for days, one fish two fish Lila is a screwed fish, How to have fun and piss Gabriel off, Fuckery, sweet litigious karma, Alya sugar, lawyer shark doo doo doo doo doo doo, Schadenfreude, Bad Ass Alya Césaire, Gaslighting, abuse denormalization, Jagged likes his lawyers like he likes his pets: toothy af, Blood in the Water, Everything you didn’t know you wanted and some things you did, Gabriel Agreste is shark bait, Denial, Consequences, Principal Damocles salt, caline bustier salt, the impotence of Gabriel Agreste, snarky Nooroo, lies and the lying liars who tell them, Lila’s brain is a narcissistic hellscape, Lila’s mind is built like an Escher piece, Alec Cataldi salt, Adrien Sugar, wholesome salt, Fu Salt, Kwami Shenanigans, Nooroo is a little shit

Summary: The Parentification Computation

Notes:  Luka’s characterization is somewhat based on a conversation with some folks  about the possibility of Luka having Atlas personality due to parentification, which is basically the impact when a child has to act as a parent, sometimes to their own parent but also to their siblings.

AO3 link

Chapters 1-2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

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Adrien had felt a bit guilty when he took advantage of the rush to return to the suite to disappear to transform—he knew they’d worry, since the Akuma was likely going to look for him, but he had to help Ladybug defeat it.

The Akuma sucked the color and joy out of whatever it touched, the power turning into clothing and accessories that resembled Luka’s. It made an odd amount of sense, if the Akuma was a fan upset by Adrien’s fake relationship. So far it had leather pants, ornate boots, a leather jacket, kohl around its eyes, black fingernails, and hair that was black with… rainbow tips?

As Chat Noir got closer, he realized he recognized the person under all that.

“Wayhem?”

The Akuma turned toward him, face contorted in a sneer. “That’s Fade-Out to you! No one else can be happy until I am! Give me your Miraculous!”

He’d figured it was a fan, but had never imagined Wayhem would be the one, that he’d harbored feelings like that for Adrien. He’d been completely blind to it. What else had he been blind to?

Chat barely dodged when Fade-Out tried to grab him, then was pulled out of danger by Ladybug’s yoyo.

“I think the Akuma is in his glove,” she said as Fade-Out tried to find a way up to them.

When Chat peered, he could see on his right hand was a black fingerless motorcycle glove; embossed on the back was Adrien’s face. It was probably the face from his life-size cardboard cut-out he’d signed for Wayhem after he’d acted as Adrien’s body-double when Gorilla was Akumatized.

“So I need to let him get close enough to touch me, make sure I hit the glove.”

Ladybug frowned. “It’s too risky. Let’s see what we get with Lucky Charm!”

A red-and-black postless pillory fell into her arms, and she grimaced at it.

“I guess we need to immobilize him?” Chat asked.

Ladybug sighed. “You know my Lucky Charms aren’t that simple, chaton.”

She glanced around, seemingly looking for an answer, then pointed at a road sign, the one to rue du Chat-qui-Pêche, the smallest street in Paris—or, rather, the narrowest.

“The pillory will just barely fit in there, and with the drainpipes…”

Chat grinned. “Shall we pillory an Akuma, m’Lady?”

It took less than a minute of cat puns to get Fade-Out chasing him, and the moment the Akuma was in the alley, Ladybug snapped the pillory around his neck. His forward motion was halted so abruptly when it caught on a drainpipe that he lost his feet and wound up with his hands splayed on the pavement. Chat was able to Cataclysm the glove quickly and with no danger.

Then it was just a matter of Ladybug purifying the Akuma, unlatching the pillory, and tossing it in the air to release the Miraculous Cure, and Wayhem was on his hands and knees in the tiny street.

Once they’d fist-bumped, Chat turned her way. “I’ll handle the young man—I’ve more time before I detransform.”

Ladybug smiled and nodded, then yoyoed away.

Wayhem was staring up at him in dawning horror. “Oh, no. I was Akumatized?”

Chat offered him a hand. “Yeah. You okay?”

Once on his feet, Wayhem leaned against the wall with a sigh. “It’s so dumb. I was just a little jealous. I didn’t— Well, there’s this guy who’s a model, Adrien Agreste?”

He nodded, figuring he was expected to.

“Well, I was a ridiculous fanboy for a while, and kinda obsessive, and then he asked for my help when he was targeted by an Akuma. We became friends. And he… well, he just announced he has a boyfriend.”

Wayhem winced, rubbing his neck, his expression embarrassed.

“I didn’t even know… that was an option.”

Chat patted his shoulder; he felt badly that Wayhem had gotten caught up in this, but it was over and done with—and Adrien wouldn’t go back and fake-date Lila even knowing this.

“Honestly, maybe it wasn’t, though. You don’t know how he met his boyfriend or the circumstances,” he finally offered.

“I know.” Wayhem sighed. “It was just a moment of disappointment, you know?”

“And Hawkass took advantage.” Chat offered him a smile. “Just try to be happy for your friend, then. There’s someone out there for you.”

That got a little smile, just as the Miraculous beeped at him.

“That’s my cue to skiddoo!”

He gave the boy a little salute and was gratified when he got the same back, then he vaulted away, back toward the hotel.

Once he found a place to detransform and give Plagg some cheese, he snuck in and back to the suite, only to find Luka in the midst of pacing, Marinette and Penny looking concerned, and Jagged looking a bit irate.

When Luka saw him, he immediately stopped, and something in the older boy’s body language eased. It struck Adrien suddenly that Luka had been worried, something he hadn’t figured would happen.

“Sorry, wound up getting stuck downstairs. Figured I’d stay put until the Ladyblog put out the all clear.”

“Same thing happened to me,” Marinette offered.

Luka dragged his fingers through his hair. “It’s fine. These things happen.”

Jagged snorted. “You’re not fine, kid. You’re a bloody mess. Practically chewed all the polish off his nails. It was like when Penny misplaces me, only worse.”

“I don’t misplace you,” she muttered. “You wander off and terrorize people with Fang.”

A glance at Luka’s nails confirmed Jagged’s words, though. Most of his black nailpolish was gone.

“Oh. Well, we can get the spa folks up again. I kind of want mine done, too,” Adrien commented.

Luka frowned, then nodded. “Sorry… I just… I’m responsible for Juleka, and you both went missing, and the Akuma attack, and…”

Marinette stood, putting a hand on his arm. “Hey. You’re not responsible for me, or for Adrien.”

“But I’m his boyfriend now.”

Adrien blinked. “Is that how it works?”

Maybe it was—sometimes in movies and TV shows that was how it worked.

“No.” Penny’s voice was almost deadly. “That’s not how it works. You’re not his caregiver.”

Luka looked uncertain, like he was ready to argue.

Jagged scowled at him. “Nope, kid. I know Anarka’s a free spirit, but you’re not responsible for the world.”

Marinette offered Luka a hesitant smile. “You’ve got an independent boyfriend, Luka.”

The smile Luka attempted back looked very feeble.

“I’m sorry I worried you, Luka,” Adrien said, scratching the back of his head anxiously. “Most of the time my father keeps me shut in my room and forgets about me. So I didn’t think to let you guys know… but I didn’t have my phone on me, either. Whoops.”

Jagged turned the scowl on Adrien. “Okay, that’s gotta be addressed, too. So not okay. Social media blitz.”

Penny gestured to the computer. “You have a picture to post, anyway. Might as well fire some shots while you’re at it.”

Marinette and Luka exchanged a dark look, and then Luka drew himself up. “Okay. Your dad’s an asshole. Let’s air some dirty laundry?”

Adrien grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[cherryfloyd-blog]

Jimmy Page - Behind Closed Doors

There are so many cookie crumbs to this story and I truly put as much research into this as my brain could handle. What started as a fun idea, soon turned into a late night adventure of notes sprawled across my bed, snacks to keep the energy going, glasses on; with a pen sticking of my mouth as I thumbed through as many pages of literature that I could get my hands on. There are several parts of this but for the sake of remaining unbiased I will keep it as straightforward and simple as I can. There has been a rumour floating around for fifty odd years, that Led Zeppelin; more specifically Jimmy Page, had made a deal with the devil. In this article, I will break down the events that have lead people to believe such things. In the end, it will remain impartial and will be open to interpretation which we can discuss further.

 To begin, let’s talk about Jimmy’s growing idolisation and obsession with Aleister Crowley, famous for being an occult leader and magician. For more back story, Crowley was a British occultist who became known for pioneering the practice of black magic (or magick as he would call it). Aleister called himself Beast 666 and wrote literature on black magic and the occult, making him a major cult figure. He joined a few popular organizations to begin with, but ventured off into his own self created philosophy. Crowley believed himself to be the prophet entrusted with guiding humanity into  the Eon of Horus, thus founding the Religion of Thelema. 

(Below is the logo of Thelema)

Pictures of Crowley have since been discreetly used in pop culture, as if a small tribute. For example; The Beatles featured Crowley on their album cover art for Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club, he can be seen in the back row, if I’m correct. Building off of Page’s affinity for Crowley, which began to noticeably build by the mid to late 60’s, Page financed to own a bookstore in Britain which specialized in selling publishings of the occult and black magik. Needless to say, Jimmy was in deep at this point but still only scratching the surface of infatuation. The bookstore was named “The Equinox” which was also the name of a book that Crowley himself had written on the occult and magic. To this day, Jimmy Page has the second largest collection of Crowley memorabilia and literature, which is no small expense. His bookstore is now closed, but back in the day had been in stock of some very pricey and hard to come by black magik publications.

Another thing I found interesting, was Page being heavily influenced by very iconic blues artists, such as Robert Leroy Johnson (okay, maybe not that interesting, everyone in rock cites him as being the backbone of rock n roll today) nonetheless, Johnson died at the age of 27 from unsolved and suspicious causes. He never became famous while he was alive, but rumour has it that Johnson had also sold his soul to the devil in return for fame, at a crossroads, which Robert mentions in a few songs. A very small, unrelated tidbit of information, but it makes you wonder if our rock star idols gave up more than a normal life, to become internationally loved and recognized.

Around the year 1970, Jimmy had supposedly asked the band to perform a ritual with him, one that would bring them power and something along the lines of everlasting life? I know right, no biggie, just dabbling with some dark forces. Anyone that knows black magik, can tell you that spells like this are not something to be taken lightly or messed with. John Paul Jones was allegedly the only one to not take part in this pact, which you’ll later realize why that makes all of this so much more strange than it already is. If you think about it, had they made such a pact it would make sense. Robert Plant has made it to the list of top 100 best singers of all time in Rock history, not only that but made it to number one (1). Jimmy Page? Well he’s seen as a god and legend by almost every guitar player in the modern world, and has been ranked number two, only one spot behind Jimi Hendrix. John Bonham has been recognized as one of the best double kick drummers in history, quite literally, every drummer looks up to him as also an almost god like figure. As for John Paul Jones? There is no doubt the man is wicked talented, but not nearly as talked about or famed. We can all acknowledge the man has serious talent, and yet seems to be left in the shadows of his peers.

The first evidence of this pact can be seen with the album Led Zeppelin III, between the end of the last song and the paper label is the outro groove written into the vinyl was “So mote it be” on one side and “Do what thou wilt” on the other. The are basic phrases that are the core of Crowley’s belief system. By this point people were determined that Jimmy had become a member of O.T.O , and organization and cult who’s most influential and iconic member was none other than Crowley. More about the organization can be read about in a link below, but it should be noted that they have four pillar rules; one of which is to not speak of the organization to others or discuss the practices of which they studied. A rule, that Jimmy Page is believed to have broken at one point.

The second piece of evidence was apparent with the release of Led Zeppelin IV, when symbolism became a driving force. Inside the album is a painting of the hermit (a powerful tarot symbol), later in life Jimmy would refer to himself as being something of a hermit despite being a major public figure. The album provides no title, and shows no band name on the cover, but on the inside are four brightly printed logos across the sleeve. From left to right, these symbols represent Page, Jones, Bonham and Plant. Page has said in interviews that the symbols (for the most part) were taken from Rudolf Koch’s 1955 Book of Signs. Plant’s symbol is probably the easiest to decipher - as it is the feather of truth and courage, from the origins of Egyptian goddess Ma’at. John Bonham’s is believed to be either a drum kit, or the symbol of trinity of a family unit (meaning father, mother, child). John Paul Jones, which was likely picked by Jimmy, was the a celtic sigil for confidence and competence. However, Jimmy’s logo has always been the hardest to breakdown and figure out. While most people believe his logo represents saturn (which controls the Capricorn sign, Jimmy is a Capricorn so it would make sense), there is a certain level of mystery behind it. Page has famously said he will never tell anyone what it means. Thought Plant has once said that Page revealed the full meaning of all four signs, including a detailed discussion of what Zoso meant. Admittedly, Plant expressed he was too drunk to remember by the next morning, and when he had asked Page about it again, page replied with saying he couldn’t/wouldn’t discuss it. Now this could very well be Jimmy’s antics, or just general mysterious persona, or perhaps he simply cannot discuss or reveal information. Perhaps, this is the one of the four pillar rules of O.T.O that Page had broken. Jimmy is an all around very private person, who very rarely, if at all, talks about his religious or spiritual beliefs or practices.

It is worth noting that Sandy Denny (pictured below) of Fairport Convention, the voice on The Battle of Evermore track, was given her own sigil. The logo is translated to Godhead or the power of female.

According to Pamela Des Barres, Pages girlfriend of this era, has said that at this point Jimmy got very deep into the studying of Crowley, and had even asked her to search San Francisco and Los Angles for Crowley memorabilia. She had not fallen short on this task, and managed to dig up some very impressive artifacts, manuscripts, and even “magical” robes that Crowley has worn. In 1970, around the time of the ritual, Page had dropped a large chunk of cash to acquire Crowley’s mansion, Boleskine, located on Loch Ness. The home, once owned by Crowley, had a large history of suicides and an even bigger turnover rate of employees as they found the home to be no doubt inhabited by dark entities. Regardless of what one may believe, the house holds a sinister vibe. Page later sold the home in 1992, and had actually been very wary of ever living there and had left the estate in a caregivers possession. Of the 22 years that he had owned the house, he only spent 6 weeks in total living there. In 2016, the house unexplainably burned down. (pictured below is Jimmy at the mansion) 

 Now this next part is where shit gets bonkers, so to speak, the rest so far has been rumours and back stories and alleged encounters. Just a man with an obsession, and depending on your personal beliefs, you may find that he took his practices too far. Perhaps his intentions were pure, but looking at his life in general, what did Jimmy have to sacrifice to become quite literally a noteable person in history. Well let’s see.

Introducing Kenneth Anger; a fellow Crowley disciple and filmmaker, drug taker and subversive. He spent most of his time drawing magic circles, burning incense and chanting spells in Enochian - trying to do a real ritual exorcism. Plans for his film Lucifer Rising began to fall apart when Bobby Beausoleil (lead actor) - had to quit. Bobby, who later stole rough cuts and cameras from Anger would soon regret this. To take revenge, Anger supposedly made a talisman to curse Bobby. Within a year, Beausoleil had ended up convicted of murder with a life sentence for the murder of Sharon Tate as part of the Manson family murders. Wild, I know. Possibly just a coincidence, or even just a tall tale.

Cue Jimmy Page, who had agreed to do the soundtrack for Angers film, and the music Jimmy had produced is exactly what you’d expect. Dark, eerie, and perfect for a film of satanic proportions. Some of which can actually be heard in the intro for “In The Out Door”, his melancholy and devilish sound coming through in the song “In The Evening”. Kenneth and Jimmy had a love/hate relationship, and what started as a mutual appreciation and dedication to Crowley’s practice and image, soon turned to ugly turmoil just as quickly. Anger moved into Boleskine, where him and Page shared a love for Crowley memorabilia. However, as their friendship deteriorated, Anger was asked to leave the Crowley mansion. At the height of Led Zeppelin’s career, Jimmy had pulled out of the film project in 1975. Allegedly, Anger soon stated that he had cursed Page and Zepp with a major spell, a spell so big that it took all of Crowley’s teachings he could muster up, to cast upon them.

 Almost immediately, the band started to experience turbulence and the eventual downfall of their career as one tragedy after another struck them to the core. Robert Plant was in a car crash, plunging off a cliff in Greece in 1975, nearly killing himself, his wife and his son Karac. Which meant cancelling the Physical Graffiti tour and having to record in a wheelchair. The make up tour was littered with negative events starting with Plant getting Laryngitis. Followed by ticketless fans in Cincinnati rioting and storming the gates. In San Francisco, manager Peter Grant and John Boham had gotten into a fight with Bill Graham, and nearly beating a Bill Graham employee to death. Both Grant and Bonham narrowly escaping serious charges and incarceration. Karac eventually fell ill, and no amount of money would make him better, as doctors had no idea what was wrong, by 1977 Karac had passed away and the tour was cancelled. At this point, Plant had quit the band and music in general in response to Page and Jones not showing up to his sons funeral.

Around this time, Page was nearly comatose on a daily basis due to a crippling Heroine addiction, and Bonhams alcoholism was raging out of control, becoming increasingly violent and unpredictable. In 1978, Sandy Denny, the goddess of the Battle of Evermore, drunkenly plunged down a flight of stairs; breaking her neck and died. The tip of the iceberg was the incident that occurred in September of 1980. Handlers had tucked Bonzo into bed after a band rehearsal, following a night of heavy drinking; assuming he would be okay, he’s done it a million times before, right? But as well know, John tragically died in his sleep from asphyxiation. It’s worth mentioning, that in the middle of all of this mayhem, John Paul Jones had remained completely untouched. While the loss of Karac and Bonham had affected John, being as they were family, he was never really directly affected. Could this be because he stayed as far away from the pact as possible? Could these events be natures way of taking something, in return for giving something such as power? Is this all the work of Angers alleged curse?

Robert Plant once addressed these very claims, as some people point fingers at Jimmy being the cosmic reasoning behind the passing of Karac and Bonham. Though, he says it’s a cheap shot. This is what Plant had to say about the matter - “The comments about how it was all connected with Jimmy’s dalliance with the dark side or whatever, that was cheap. I’ve never shared the preoccupations with him and I don’t really know anything about it. Fate is already written”. I suppose it has less to do with whether Page “sold his soul” and more to do with the possible repercussions of playing against nature, and whether such practices have a domino affect. The piling strange circumstances does make one wonder how involved Page really was, and how much the involvement took a toll on the band. Just how much of it can account for Led Zeppelin’s massive success, to the point of making history in music forever (everlasting life?). At the end it could all very well just be a bunch of mumbo jumbo non-sense. I am curious as to what you all think, feel free to leave comments or shoot me a message!

*Note; Do not take this too seriously, it’s all speculation and open for interpretation. Below are some interesting sites that I used in my search!

Resources:

https://forums.ledzeppelin.com/topic/15027-jimmy-and-crowley/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aleister_Crowley

https://carwreckdebangs.wordpress.com/2015/06/09/aleister-crowley-jimmy-page-and-the-curse-of-led-zeppelin-when-myth-magick-and-weird-facts-collide/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ordo_Templi_Orientis

https://zososymbol.com/

[dreadhaus-literature]

{A/N} Waiting on the Sun to Rise.

Oh how I wish that ol’ sun would rise~♫

I wrote a bit. {Points down.} It’s nothing special, 2nd POV just ‘cause idk what’s going on with anything again and it feels weird to try and write dedicated pieces when stuff’s off. {Waves a hand in a circle.} Said it before, but this time I’m trying not to let it keep me from writing. Used to use that as an excuse to not write or do anything but I keep saying if I keep that up I’ll literally never do anything and I’m in my 30′s, now.

I’m ready to do stuff. And so I’m gonna do stuff.

I’ve been reading “The Writer’s Process” by Anne Janzer, which was recommended to authors who want to know how to prep for writing seriously, sort of like a “how to get started writing novels” 101 book. It had really good reviews on Amazon and I’m on Chapter Five right now. It’s only about 200 pages long, if that, but it’s honestly really useful. It’s got good tips on balancing work/personal life with trying to write (like you have to actually dedicate time to write, can’t just expect to write a novel on wishful thinking) or how to help stimulate creativity. It includes tidbits and tips from psychologists who have done studies on the best way to tackle creative processes like writing so you can get the most out of your writing; it’s really been a helpful tool. The chapter I’m on right now talks about tackling procrastination, lmao, and how to self-discipline--which I have said is one of my biggest problems. I make excuses, I find reasons to not write, I let myself get distracted, but I’ve been saying all year I’m tired of looking back on the year before and spying all the wasted time and just sighing @ myself.

There’s no excuse other than me being lazy and/or making excuses. The older I get, the less forgiving I get with myself about it.

My 20′s I am now realizing was really not a good time for me to try and get published, I’m sort of allowing myself a pass because now that I’m out of that decade, I realize I was working through a lot of shit. I was still dealing with abuse into my late 20′s and while no one’s life is perfect I recognize that I wasn’t in a good enough headspace to dig deep and write well. My emotions are 97% of my writing and they weren’t right. Now that I’m in a better place in all aspects (still working on the living situation, but got less than a year to go, there) I can shelve the self-reflective work and start trying to make something of this talent and imagination I’ve got.

I don’t really know where this aggressive, “I am going to write.” mojo has come from. I mean I’ve always, always known I wanted to be an author but it was sort of a hobby more than a career. I wasn’t taking it seriously and there’s probably lots of reasons for that--

1. Was dealing with depression and teetering on finding any self-worth enough to try to make something of myself. 2. Been told from a young age that I was not good enough and to give up/not bother trying because I won’t make it. 3. Afraid of failure and the resulting, “I told you so”‘s.

So yeah. I just hid behind fanfiction and sprinkling my OC’s and plotlines through fandom work, which allowed me to express what I wanted to express without fear of failure or putting myself out there. But that’s not enough, at least...I don’t know. I’ll always have a heavy preference for writing for FL and Monica and stuff, but I treat that like...hm. Almost like a treat? It’s a treat for me. To give something of myself to someone I love very much. Her reactions will always be my favorite.

Stepping outside of that, though, fanfiction stopped being enough for me a number of years ago. It was too confining, I had so many ideas and characters and themes and stuff I wanted to put out there that I didn’t want to work in a confined space anymore. Y’know that saying, “Of course you’re uncomfortable and unhappy where you are--you’ve grown, you’ve changed, you are no longer that person. It’s time to move on.”

I feel that.

It was like wearing a pair of shoes that were too small. Yes, I could wear them and get somewhere, but not the distance I needed, and wanted to go. My hopes of being published haven’t gone away. I’m scared to try still, lol, I know my writing’s good, it’s the one thing I know I’m good at, but the way I want to do it is different than the norm. In a way, selfishly, I feel like Christine. She was one of the only people writing paranormal romance when she started, and she’s said how she had to push and push to get her publisher to take a chance on her work, that she knew she had something good and she didn’t give up on it. And now, we have the Carpathians. ♥ I’m somewhat in the same boat with wanting to write 2nd POV. I’m totally capable of making a heroine and giving her a name and backstory but I know what I like to read when I read fanfiction. 2nd POV. It’s more personal, it resonates, and tbh it helped me through some really difficult parts of my life. I want to return that to my readers. To give them that personal immersion that 2nd POV provides. But those aren’t the books that are published.

I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t have a novel finished or anything, lmao. I just, it’s one of my fears. That I’ll write this novel in 2nd POV and not be able to get it published...but I suppose I should cross the first part of that particular problem before anything else. Can’t fret about being published if there ain’t shit TO publish, DOT.

I’ve got a few novel ideas. Milano hasn’t gone away, lol. He still lurks about, like he’s just waiting for me to get my ass in gear and actually write his book properly.

...I really did sort of just use Yu Yu Hakusho to sort of write my own practice novel of Milano’s, lmao, if I’m being honest. I mean I did also want to go the hipster route and write for Yusuke because he was so under-loved in the community and I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t subjugating favoritism but truthfully I wanted to let Milano loose. I was proud of him, proud of the story and world I’d created around him, and I needed an outlet for it and was too young to know what to do with what I had. Was fucking 18 years old, fresh out of high school, and in way over my head honestly. Now that I’m matured, older, and my ADHD isn’t kicking my brain around like a pinball machine, I think I can do him proper justice.

So yes, Milano, I will still be writing your novel. Just uh, don’t ask me when. Baby steps.

I also have Bram’s story that I wrote 20 some odd pages of outline and prep work on, that I fully intended to novelize. And I still think I have something there, so hold onto your obsession, Bram. You’re up on the board, too.

The most recent idea I had was for a series of novels, called Help Wanted. It actually started from the most recent story I wrote for Monica, where she delivered those specialized herbs to Milano. I essentially work in a service industry and it got me thinking about how I like to take care of people, that you don’t typically see that in romance novels. Usually the heroine is the one being taken care of and while I won’t object to that, I also like to do the taking care of. And it’s not an itch I get to scratch a lot, when I read. So I have been tossing around this series of novels where the heroine of each book is a caregiver of some sorts, taking care of the love interest in some way, shape, or form.

For example, the idea I came up with today was for a human nanny (the reader) who gets hired by a vampire to take care of his child after his wife was staked/murdered. The vampire is hopeless as a father and needs all the help he can get, and his child needs a proper caregiver. The nanny comes highly recommended and to make matters worse, when shown a list of potential caregivers the child picks her out of all the other candidates. The vampire is wary of allowing a human in his home but he’s rewarded when his little one flourishes under the love and attention the new nanny brings. Can the vampire come to trust and love one of the very same who killed his late wife?

Another idea I had was for a bubbly housekeeper/caregiver who comes to care for a depressed zombie/undead. The undead can barely take care of themselves and the caregiver was hired by a Wellness Committee, who keep tabs on supernaturals (think like child or elder protective services). The undead wants nothing to do with life but can’t die--but maybe, just maybe, with a little bit of TLC from their caregiver they can learn to live again. Happily, with the one who truly saved their soul.

Obviously don’t judge me too harshly, I’m literally like two days into this idea, lmao. It’s rough around the edges, like super rough, but it’s something that speaks to me. It’d be sort of like the Carpathians as in like, a shared universe, with all sorts of different love interests per novel--it’d be paranormal so there’d be monsters and demons and ghosts, weres and mers and just--maybe even superheroes! Or that could be a spin-off series or just--

See it’s just a lot and it’s all brand new and I’m still working all this out.

BUT! What’s exciting to me is that I have ideas, still. I still want to write, I’m still living in this creative, imaginary headspace and I’m still wanting to share that world. I think I’ll just always be this person, and that’s not a complaint. I’m glad. Imaginary places got me through my childhood and tbh it’s what’s getting me through this hectic shit we call adulthood.

I’ve been saying, all year, that I’m going to keep going and I’ll probably keep saying it. I’m still working a lot of stuff out, still figuring out my writing process and I need to get back to writing every day (I did it for the first three months of the year so I know I can do it) so that when the time comes for me to sit down and write for Milano, for Bram, for Help Wanted--

That I’ll still be ready to go. 💕

[ryik-the-writer]

Rumbelle fic: A Sitting Deal

A Sitting Deal 1/6

A03 LInk

Rating: T+

Summary: With the threat of a rent increase being held over her head, Lacey E. French makes a deal with Mr. Gold to babysit his three-year-old son. Soon however the town troublemaker finds herself getting close to her landlord and son...which just can’t be good!

Note: for my Rumbelle Secret Santa recipient @of-princes-and-savages based off the prompt: Hey, who’s kid is this!

 I’ve admired your blog for years and I’m so glad I got you this year! I really hope you like it! 

Special thanks to @thatravenclawbitch for ‘parental advice’ and @pissedoffatouat for the convos and helping me name this damn thing!

“Hey! Who’s kid is this!”

The exclamation came from the one and only Lacey Eloise French (though a total of two people in the entire world knew her forbidden middle name), who now had the Rabbit Hole’s full-blown attention.

It had been a regular Friday night for the town troublemaker: a quick breakfast of dry toast and shot of whiskey (for the hangover she received for Thursday night’s shenanigans), a quiet afternoon of sneaking chapters in Storybrooke’s undersaturated selection of books (because Lacey E. French was not about to let anyone know her secret passion of reading), and a routine evening of flirting for free drinks and pool hustling so she could make rent and buy more cheap bread and whiskey for the next major hangover.

Yet the weight of a pair of pudgy arms wrapped tightly around her stocking-clad thigh changed Lacey’s night—and life, as she would soon find out—forever.

Her eye twitched when she looked down at the curly haired something or other wrapped around her leg. Who the everlasting hell would let a kid into a bar?

She looked around for a frantic parent—though she knew good and well she wouldn’t find one. Anyone who would bring their kid into a place like the Rabbit Hole was obviously a subpar caregiver at best. Probably someone who had kids before they were ready and used precious moments to wallow in their regret rather than use that time to hone some decent parental skills.

“Hey…kid?”

A pair of large glassy brown eyes looked up at her, and Lacey felt a strange jolt in her gut.

Now, Lacey didn’t hate children, but she sure as hell didn’t like them. Kids were loud and sticky and hyper, and they required a certain softness that Lacey just didn’t possess.

Still, there was one clinging to her like a drunk would a toilet, and she couldn’t deny that she was just a bit concerned. What if he was fleeing a kidnapper, or what if his parent was drunk off their ass and bleeding to death somewhere?

“Are you…” she paused. What did you say to crying children? Wasn’t there a stranger danger law she was supposed to help uphold?

“Bae!”

Lacey tensed, and this time not from the tiny nails sinking into her flesh.

She knew that voice all too well, even if it was being released in one syllable. She heard it sometimes in the echo of her apartment building when her neighbors were behind on rent.

In a moment, a pair of shiny black shoes were in front of her. A pan up from said shoes revealed a well-tailored suit, and finally the intense glare from one Mr. Gold—Lacey’s landlord and the town nightmare.

And he was staring at Lacey like she had just keyed his car.

Beside him was Chuck, the manager of the Rabbit Hole, scared for his life.

“What are you doing to my son, Miss French?” he inquired, his voice low and as dangerous as venom.

It was on the tip of Lacey’s dried tongue to tell him to back the hell off, she hadn’t done shit. But when she looked down at the boy once more, she noticed that she had subconsciously threated her fingers in the boys impossibly small curls—a sort of subconscious coping mechanism to comfort the distressed creature in front of her.

Then the other thought: when the hell had Gold gotten a kid?

Lacey French and First Name Unknown Gold were hardly close, but they had a few run-ins through the years. Sideways glances on the streets in the middle of the night, brushes of the skins as they picked up food at Granny’s. Little things that didn’t really mean anything or added anything to their non-existent relationship.

But when Lacey stopped to think about it, she wondered if it was something.

At the moment she hoped that little something was enough to stop Gold from calling the cops on her for assumed kidnapping.

“I…bugger off kid!” she hissed, carefully prying the boy’s hands from her hip.

The boy obeyed and turned his face into Gold’s pants leg, the man instantly cupping the boy’s curls as Lacey had.

“Oh, Mr. Gold!”

Lacey looked up to see Crystal the day bartender bounding towards him.

“I’m so sorry, I looked away for a minute!”

“A minute is all it takes,” Gold growled. “for my son to get kidnapped, or to run out and get hit by a car!”

Chuck was quiet, but his eyes were fearful.

“I know, I’m sorry—”

“You can forget that extension on the rent.” Gold said, turning to Chuck. “We’re done.”

Lacey flinched at the tension in the bar. She was hardly friends with Chuck are Crystal, but they never gave her grief about her tab or the fights she would start over unpaid pool bets.

It was that semi-form of respect that made her stupidly speak up.

“And you don’t think it’s your own fault for bringing a toddler into a freaking bar?” she snarked.

Gold turned to her, a warning in his eyes. “What was that, Miss French?”

Lacey knew the warning, knew she would suffer greatly if she told him just what she thought. But damn it Lacey E. French spoke her mind and held nothing back.

“I’m just saying, don’t push your kid in front of a car unless you’re sure it’s not going to hit him.” Her tone was steady, but she did lower her gaze down to her pool cue. “And don’t bring your kid to a bar unless it soberbility day or something.”

She heard one of her opponents hiss. She was about to get it.

But Gold only stared at her, his expression dark and exhausted. Even under the muggy light of the pool hall she could see the bags weighing down his eyes.

Maybe it was his sheer exhaustion that kept him from bringing down his full wrath—or perhaps it was the child clinging to his leg.

Either way his repercussion came in the form of a very quiet but very damaging growl.

“I suggest you mind your own business, Miss French, and.”before you find yourself in trouble that even you can’t get out of. Consider your rent raised as well,”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” she shouted.

Gold didn’t answer, but instead picked up his small son, unstably limping out of the much quieter bar with the boy’s face nestled deep in his shoulder.

Lacey managed to keep a stone face until he exited the premises, but as soon as the door closed behind him, she took her pool cue and splintered it over the nearest bar stool.

“Son of a bitch!” Lacey snarled, kicking away the splintered pieces away with her heeled boot.

“You’re going to have to pay for that, Lace,” sputtered Chuck.

Lacey turned an exasperated look at the bar manager. “I’ll break another one over your fucking face!” she hissed, storming out and throwing a middle finger over her back while her pool buddies howled with laughter.

Outside the cool night air did little to settle her foul mood. Why did she ever try to help anyone when she knew she’d get stabbed in the back seconds later?

“Fuck!” she yelled, rubbing her barely insolated jacket to keep her arms warm. She thought about what she could do as she hustled down the street. She could swallow her pride and ask her dad for a loan, but she be damn if she admitted she needed anything from him. Granny had always made off-handed remarks about “needing some damn help” around her diner, but Lacey would rather be homeless than serve the assholes she played pool with in a short skirt for little to no tips.

There was a time when she didn’t have to worry about making it day to day. She once had ambitions—had dreams, even. She wanted to travel, to get a degree, to have a library. She wanted to have something bigger than a life of pool hustling and drinking…

Like Belle did.

Lacey’s bitterness mulled over as she thought about her twin sister. One would think they weren’t sisters at all by the way they acted. Lacey was always the troublemaker, the rebel without a cause who lived in each moment. Belle was structured, always planning a head even when both their futures seemed uncertain.

They’d never been friends or overly close the way some sisters were, but there was never any bad blood between them.

It wasn’t until the day Belle whisked herself away to Boston for college that Lacey was hit with a crushing realization: her only sister was gone, and for her own benefit, would probably never return.

Now Lacey craved those scattered phone calls she made every other month. Her life was good. She’d even started dating her grumpy but whoafully intelligent ex-physics professor. Her life was good, and Lacey was happy for her, really. But she missed her. Because with Belle around, somehow Lacey thought everything would be alright.

Lacey sighed. Where was that ray of hope now?

Just ahead she could see the end of Mr. Gold’s Cadillac come to a stop at a red light. Her blood boiled at the thought of his impassive smirk and judgmental eyes. What gave him the right to go around screwing up her life?

And screw up someone else’s life at that.

When did Gold get a kid?

A kid who apparently had to go with his pop on dangerous business ventures.

It was odd, and while Lacey could give a hoot less, she wondered why Gold hadn’t hired a sitter or sent him to Storybrooke’s sole daycare.

Then again, most people were terrified of Mr. Gold. Who’s to say the same courtesy didn’t extend to his son?

Lacey puzzled on the matter as she reached her apartment and kicked off her heels, fishing a half bottle of wine from the back of the fridge.

The alcohol buzzed through her quickly, tainting her thoughts and filling her brain with mixed messages.

She wouldn’t have her rent by the morning, that much was apparent. And somehow she hoped Gold would be too busy with his son that he wouldn’t be worried about her not having it in on time.

Lacey blinked, the thought refusing to flow away along with the alcohol in her system.  

A father with a business to run and a kid to take care of.

Could this be the end of the terrifying Mr. Gold?

Well, Lacey though with a mischievous sip of her wine, there was only one way to find out.