Hey! I’m Avi, or Mo if you’re coming from my other blog. This is where I’m gonna post fic updates and ramblings. Just remember the blog title and you’ll be fine!
Just warning y’all now, I operate under a firm policy of talk shit, get hit (metaphorically). Why do I have that policy?
Part of it is because I am brown, and openly so, in a world that favors white people above all else. If I raise my voice in any way outside of what society deems “acceptable” I am shunned and slanted aside. Meanwhile, white people can judge me and say that I’m the one who brought this upon myself, and if I’d just kept my mouth shut about the injustices I and other POC have faced, it would be fine.
I am also afab nonbinary. I get a double shot of misogyny, transphobia, and nbphobia, from those both in and out of the trans community and LGBT+ community, as well as society at large. Even more so, I am not conventionally attractive or androgynous, and, as mentioned before, I am a POC. And the LGBT+ community has a very large racism problem, one that white LGBT+ people seem to refuse to address.
So no, I will not sit down quietly while others drive the narrative, and I will not apologize for my talk shit, get hit policy. Come on my page with hate, expect to be blocked. I don’t want you here, and neither does anyone else.
If the only thing that has kept you going was outliving Mitch McConnell, imma need yall to pick a new person to outlive and fast. Your mission is not over.
like yeah the monster is a representation of your unresolved trauma and guilt and a manifestation of the sins of your past but it's also a real creature and it's going to fucking Get you
A people who have an age-old tradition, that when warriors left home to go to war, their family that remains home prepare funeral goods for them while they wait, sewing them the clothes and preparing the tools and all that they will be buried with - to emotionally prepare them to the hard possibility that the one who left will not return home alive. If the warrior returns, their burial goods are all burned in a bonfire that is lit for the celebration of their return.
And to this modern day, mothers of the culture will tell their children "fine, but let me take your measures for burial clothes before you go" as a way of telling them that something they're about to do is lethally stupid. Sharing stories about just how dramatic their mothers are, someone tells their group of friends that his mother once actually took out a measuring tape to start taking his measures when he said he's leaving home for a work trip.
And another one goes "pfft, yeah. This one time I went to a rock concert and came back home to mom sitting on her sewing machine, fucking making me a funeral coat."
A tip for excellent writing I just learned: Don't introduce a character with their Dramatic Backstory. It makes readers go "oh alright this is the Dramatic Background Story Character" and establishes a baseline of Tragic, either for the story as a whole or this character in particular. With no contrast of light and dark, pure darkness isn't impactful, it just looks like the absence of anything to look at.
If you really want someone's dramatic backstory to hit the audience like a gut punch, let them get to know the character first. That way the dark backstory doesn't come off as a description of who they are, but an explanation to why they are the way they are. Bonus points for connecting it to something that's already been established as a part of the character - what a devastating blow to suddenly put together that hold on, that funny quirky thing that they always do is a fucking trauma response.
Lazar realises the pain his neglect has caused his daughter.
This scene is so superbly acted by Matthew (and Alisha). I am teary everytime I see it. So much emotion - that lip tremble and tremolo in his voice 🥹🥹 .
📷 Universal Pictures Abigail (2024), my GIFs
Lazar GIFs Part 1
Kristof Lazar's hair-raising entrance in Abigail. Matthew seemed like 8 feet tall and gliding across the floor. And obviously there had to b
Lazar GIFs Part 2
"I've gone by many names over the countless years."
Well, nice to meet you, sort of. Lazar is one scary vamp, and he enjoys being frighteni
Lazar GIFs Part 3
Abigail is getting in the way of Lazar's fun and daddy loses his sh*t. When you have got such magnificient dentition, you might as well show
Abigail/Adow 3
CHRIST MARCUS!
ABIGAIL!
Well that will teach them. Or may be not. Lazar and Matthew de Clermont should brush up on modern parenting techni
BTS pic
💥First Behind-the-scenes pic of Matthew in Abigail 💥
So happy the production finally shared a picture. He is much jollier than when I saw
Meet Lazar
Meet Kristof Lazar, feared and mysterious crime lord and vampy daddy to Abigail. Matthew's performance was hair-raising, he totally blew me
The tables turn, and Caleb gets kidnapped by Lazar, but Caleb is more likeable than he thought he would be, in his own very annoying way, and Lazar begins warming to Caleb just a little bit.
(no real violence, caleb is a bit of a lil shit, relatively lighthearted)
///
When Joey had escaped the mansion, she had been set on getting her life back. She had thought that after surviving that ordeal, there was nothing that would be able to derail her – but of course the world had other plans.
When she came home from her work at an ungodly hour on a Saturday, she called out, "Caleb?"
There was no answer. Although her now-honest work as a paramedic kept her out later than a regular job lately, it was not so late that he would have gone to bed already. If anything, he would have used the opportunity to stay up later than he was supposed to. There was no way he was sleeping already. She went upstairs to check his room anyway
It was empty.
She texted him. Where are you? Although he was always on his phone, she did not expect an immediate answer. Breathing out an annoyed sigh, she pocketed the phone and scoured the rest of the house to see if he was there, but he wasn't.
She felt an unpleasant worry start to rise in her. Trying not to jump to conclusions, she pushed it down again. He might just be staying over at a friend's house and had neglected to tell her, although that was not like him. He was a good kid.
When she came back down to the living room, she saw a small piece of heavy paper propped up on the dinner table against a vase of roses, both of which she could swear had not been there before.
She clenched her teeth as she approached and picked up the small card. It felt textured like faux-parchment and had an ornate ink pattern along the edges. She turned it over in her hand. The black handwriting was neat and almost pompously ornate. It simply said: You know where to find us.
Her heart hammered in her throat, the paper crumpling between her fingers.
"Son of a bitch," she gritted out under her breath, the anger masking the unfamiliar panic she felt underneath.
///
Caleb had not taken note of most of the journey. He had been unconscious. Just before the heavy truck he was in came to a rumbling stop, gravel crunching underneath the tyres, he came to. There was a sack over his head, so he had no chance of seeing any of his surroundings or gauge where they were. His arms and legs were tied, he realised as he tried to move them. Trying not to panic, he kept silent. He had seen enough action movies, that he was definitely too young for, to know that yelling and panicking did not help the kidnap victim. It did not make the panic go away though, and his limbs trembled.
The car fell silent as the engine was cut. The driver got out before the door at his feet was pulled open and two strong, thick arms hoisted him up and he was laid over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He was trembling so much, the man must surely have known he was awake, but the guy carrying him did not say anything the entire way that he carried Caleb through the cold night and then into a pleasantly warm interior.
They took a path up plenty of stairs before he was brought into a room that smelled like wood coal and really old books.
"Just put it down there," an almost velvety man’s voice said dismissively. Commentless, Caleb was put down on an admittedly extremely comfortable upholstery. The zip ties around his wrists and ankles were cut, and he flexed his limbs, but did not make an attempt to flee with his new-found freedom. There was a small pause in which nothing moved except the fire crackling before the same voice as before said in a pointed, almost impatient tone, "You can leave now."
The man who had carried Caleb in huffed and then left the way they had come, his footsteps fading slowly. The door opened, then shut.
There was no noise that betrayed movement before the same velvety voice was suddenly right in front of Caleb, way too close for comfort, and the black sack was tugged from his face and discarded. Blinking against the sudden light, he came face to face with a very tall, slim man with a narrow, angular and well-formed face.
"You look so like your mother," the man said in an almost reverent whisper.
"My mother?" Caleb asked, taken aback. The man did not answer him and continued mustering him for a few long seconds before straightening up to his full, impressive height. Looking down at the boy, he simply said, “You will be a guest here for a while,” in a much firmer voice.
Frowning in confusion at the bizarre behaviour of his kidnapper, Caleb glanced around the lavish room, seeming to be more library than anything. “Are you one of her contacts?” he guessed.
“Your mother worked for me very briefly,” he confirmed, “in a sense.”
“Who are you?” the boy demanded, looking up at his eyes with less fear than he had felt when he had been tied up in the car.
“Kristof Lazar.”
Caleb shook his head in careless ignorance. “Never heard of you. Is she the reason I’m here?”
“Astute,” Lazar commented.
"My mother will come for me," Caleb said confidently and straightened his shoulders.
A smile tugged at Lazar’s lips. "Yes, I suppose she will.”
“You want that,” Caleb noted. Lazar did not respond right away. “Why?”
"She took something of mine, and I took something of equal value."
“What does that mean?” he asked in the annoyed tone of a child who does not understand a technical term.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“I’m not worried,” Caleb protested.
A slight furrow in his brow, Lazar looked down at him. “You're foolish, child.”
"She'll kick your ass," Caleb reasoned nonchalantly.
“You think a great deal of her,” Lazar noted with a neutral expression. Despite having abandoned you, he thought bitterly. He wished he could say the same about his own daughter.
“She's stronger than a lion.”
“What lion has she killed to make you believe such foolish things?”
“You're a bit stupid. It was a comparison.”
“Your mother is not invincible.”
“Neither are you.” A sly smile passed over Lazar’s lips. "You don't scare me."
"You should be scared."
“You scrawny stick man, she will fold you like a napkin,” he scoffed nasally.
An amused smile raised the corners of the vampire's mouth, crinkling his eyes, making him look almost human, a quiet chuckle sounding in his throat.
“Some gall you have on you. Your mother's bravery passed on to you, it seems.” His smile faded, and his voice darkened. “As did her naïveté.”
Caleb went to protest.
In a split second, Lazar surged forward, his face inches from Caleb’s, his teeth bared in a row of sharp fangs, and his eyes an icy, unsettling blue, an unnatural hissing tearing from his throat.
Caleb’s whole body tensed, but he did not flinch.
Lazar’s snarl faded into a look of intrigue, his fangs almost fully hidden behind his lips. "You are not afraid,” he noted with genuine appreciation.
“You don't scare me,” the boy repeated, holding his own, clinging onto die-hard faith in his mother.
Lazar grabbed his chin and forced him to keep looking into his eyes, peering down at him with a mixture of disdain and recognition.
“Your faith in your mother’s ability to save you is gravely erroneous.”
“She will come for me.” Lazar let his face go and turned his back on him. “If you hurt me, you won't get back whatever she took from you.”
An angry snarl passed over Lazar’s face as he glanced over his shoulders. His shoulders tense, his gaze flickered over to one of the paintings on the walls. He threw another look at Caleb, his tone cold. “Read one of the books. I have things to tend to.”
With that, he left and locked the door behind him shut, leaving Caleb alone in the cavernous room with old family portraits, a strange statue of a very tall man in a hat and a small girl by his side, and old, dusty books.
///
Entering the mansion had been by far too easy. The front door was unlocked, and no guard – alive or undead – greeted her as she made her way inside. Without meeting any resistance, she cleared the seemingly empty mansion until she found herself back in the octagonal room where Lazar had spared her almost half a year ago only to lure her back here with her son as a hostage. She found Caleb sitting on a low, padded bench, holding an aged-looking animal lexicon with remarkably well-made illustrations for the apparent age of the book.
“Caleb!” In a rush, Joey crossed the room and knelt down in front of him, feeling relief flood her veins and replace some of the terror she had felt. Putting the stake she had been holding down beside her, she checked him for injuries before cupping his small face.
“Are you okay?” she asked urgently, concern etching its way onto her usually so unfazed features.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, looking just as innocent and unbothered as usual, like he was not even aware of the danger he was in.
“Are you hurt?” she insisted on making sure.
“I’m okay,” he repeated. A relieved breath escaped her, and she leaned up to allow herself two seconds of hugging her son, his arms coming up to wrap around her neck. She snapped herself out of her relief and pulled back all too soon, taking his hand. “We need to get out of here,” she said to him quietly, focusing back on the imminent danger. She turned around to leave with him, his hand still clutched tightly in hers, and stopped short.
“Joey.” The voice sent ice down her spine. She had known it could not be that easy. Tightening her grip on Caleb's hand and pulling him behind herself, she met Lazar’s gaze, who stood in front of the door, blocking their escape. The stake was gripped tightly in her other hand and raised to strike, and she held her own, but despite not backing away, there was fear behind her stern eyes.
“What do you want from us?” she asked in a firm voice.
“It is good to have you as a guest again,” he said smoothly and moved closer to them.
“Why did you kidnap my son?” she asked in a low, threatening tone once he stood in front of her, refusing to let her fear rule her despite his obvious superiority in strength and lethality. Somehow, the anger over her son having been taken by a vampire won out over the fear of being torn apart, and she could not bear to back down and be intimidated by his looming presence.
“You took my daughter from me," he hissed, suddenly uncharacteristically aggrieved, looking a little more like an animal than an aristocrat, his eyes flashing a startling blue, and his fangs showing between his lips as he spoke.
"I didn't take your daughter from you," she refuted heatedly.
“She might as well be yours now,” he hissed with venom dropping from his teeth.
“What?” A bewildered look crossed her face.
“All she talks of is you. Your meddling has robbed her of all loyalty to me.”
“You're blaming me for your daughter liking me more than you,” she asked incredulously, “and so you kidnapped my son?”
“You robbed me of the only constant in my life, so I will rob you of yours.”
She tensed. “Are you deluding yourself into thinking that will change anything?”
“It will give me great satisfaction.”
“Maybe you should spend some more time with your child instead of terrorising mine.” She pulled Caleb closer to herself and took a step past Lazar.
“You're giving me parenting advice?” he mocked, stepping with her to block her path.
“Instead of destroying my life because you can't keep yours from falling apart, you should listen to it. Abigail wanted nothing more than to have her father in her life. She told me so. I got my son back. You should too.”
“You know not of what you speak.”
“You’re avoiding dealing with her by blaming me.”
He paused for a moment, looking at Joey like she was a book to read, then leaned back. He glanced over at Caleb, who was looking between the two like he did not understand what was going on, but still looking up at Joey with unwavering trust, unaware and unafraid of any danger. He met Lazar’s eyes and cocked his head with an open gaze when the vampire looked at him. Lazar looked back at Joey. “You raised Caleb well,” he said more calmly. “He has a lot of your more admirable qualities.”
“What?” Joey asked, taken off guard by the abrupt swerve in the vampire’s tone.
He did not respond. “You can go.” He made an elegant motion with his wrist towards the door when she did not move. She did not need to be told a third time to put distance between them and Lazar. The vampire showed no inclination to follow them this time or block their path and looked after them with an almost neutral expression. On the way, Caleb leaned down to a chair to leave the lexicon he was still holding behind.
“Keep the book,” the vampire father said with a tone much lighter than before. Caleb looked at him, unsure if he was serious, but pulled the book back to his side. As they headed for the door, Caleb stopped another time before they reached salvation and turned to the vampire. When he stopped short, Joey looked at him and then glanced between Caleb and Lazar. Before he would let Joey lead him from the chamber, Caleb called, “Goodbye, stick man,” across the room.
“Goodbye, Caleb.”
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