Theo sighed and gently kicked it towards Liam, silently telling the boy to hold it. Liam got the message and grabbed the bag, dragging it closer to him until he pulled it into his arms, the other bag on his back.
“Don’t piss me off, kid.” The man balled his fists. “Give me the bag or there is gonna be trouble.”
Theo’s body tensed as he mentally prepared himself for a fight. He knew how this was going to go, he’d get bashed, he’d pray Liam was okay and they’d lose their supplies – including the gear.
“We’re leaving.” As soon as Theo turned around, another man approached them and grabbed Liam from behind, hoisting him up and ignoring his surprised yelp. “Let him go!”
Runic just sent me gore of a child!! I'm a minor and they just declared they 'protect children' not to long ago. Ironic ain't it? Stay strong kleine Lieben, Nazis belong in the therapy room of a prison. Stay aware.
Keep it up, lieb!! I genuinely cannot care. I hope you get help and find someone who loves you and can bring love to your poor little heart.
You don't scare me, I've been on the internet for a good hot minute: gore doesn't scare me, slurs don't scare me, and I have no fear of Nazis. Hail the Aryan Race all you want, we all know you're jealous and you want attention, I'm giving you this to tell you to get help.
When : Winter.
Where : King’s Cross Station, Bristol England, Hell on Earth.
Who : Katherine E. Thorne, Bartholomew E. Thorne, Rebecca Thorne
Why : Winter Break.
Trigger : Blood, death, (physical/emotional) abuse, car accident, vomit, panic attacks.
Katie shuddered as she exited Platform 9 3/4′s, her chest tightened as from her peripheral vision she caught sigh of blonde hair --Evangeline, she didn’t know if the Slytherin had seen her, was ignoring her, watching her. She choked back a sob as she remembered Evangeline and that last time she saw her. It was the first time she’d ever been on the train and not sat with Evangeline, not bought two chocolate frogs and frizzing wizzbees, that they hadn’t chatted and talked about their adventures and problems in the castle and among their separate friends. The first time that Katie hadn’t hugged Evangeline tighter, promising to see her again in three months in this compartment, or to be nice to the younger years that were getting sorted. Their little tradition broken for just a single train ride, and it felt like a hole was in her chest. Katie hoped Evangeline didn’t see her. She didn’t want Eva to see her like this, nor any of the others so she ducked her head and pushed the cart ahead of her into the Muggle World.
Then her heart was in her throat.
Dark suit and dark eyes, the overcoat was lined in dark grey fur, polished shoes and perfectly slicked back hair. They had the same chin, her and her uncle, the same dark eyes, the same full mouth. It was no wonder people mistook him for her father, though her father was far more handsome, more rakish than this stern man with rough hands.
He was standing in the center of the platform, white gold watch and wide shoulders, staring her down. She’d only ever seen that looked in her eyes, reflected back at her from light blues when she and Evangeline had fought. She felt her pulse racing and gripped her cart
It was a long walk.
Her heart going THUMP THUMP THUMP in her ears.
Thrumming and dangerous.
He wasn’t smiling as she approached, his eyes filled with disdain and even a little hatred. There was violence in the way his hand tugged on his lapels and straightened buttons.
Her body chilled cold.
Freezing like the ice that covered the windows of Gryffindor Tower.
She was in front of him, it took a lot faster than it felt. Katie felt herself get smaller, she’d always been a small girl, light, lithe, and little. But in front of her Uncle she felt more like a bug he wanted to squash beneath his boot. He held out his arms and pulled her into a hug, at least it looked like a hug from the outside.
Her head was tucked into his chest, the sharp tang of oranges and bleach, and graphite, the acidic heat of the smell burned her nose. Katie let out a whimper as a hand went to wrap around her waist, the other appeared to cup the back of her head, cradling her, at least to outsiders. But his fingers were digging into the soft skin of her neck, gripping and grinding the bones beneath meaty fingers. She gasped when his fingers dug into her side, bruises blooming on her skin and she wiggled and managed to push him away.
There were tears in her eyes as she glared at his dark eyes, identical to her own, and he raised a hand and she flinched. The deep look of excitement make her shudder and he grabbed her chin roughly.
“We’re driving home, now.” he took a step back and grabbed her cart and moved towards the exit. “Come Katherine, it’s going to be so good to have you home.”
She wanted to scream.
No doubt she would later.
Katie ducked her head and followed.
Katie didn’t need pity.
Katie didn’t need a scene.
She deserved this, just like Uncle said.
They walked among the muggles, picking up his pace and Katie kept up. He said nothing, she said nothing. They kept silence all the way to the car and together they struggled almost comically to shove the trunk into the backseat. The pair were swearing and Katie knew that’s where she picked up that habit. Uncle Bartholomew opened the door to the passenger side and she slipped in, then he on the drivers side.
Katie supposed she ought to have seen it coming. But the consistent surprise of her Uncle was something she seemed to be never rid of. The swish of air and the resounding smack, the crack of her neck as her head snapped to the side, she looked out the window, staring into the traffic and caught the eye of a horrified woman. Blood seeped from the cut on her lip where her teeth caught and she smiled and looked back to facing forward, a handkerchief placed in her lap.
“Clean yourself up Katherine.”
“Well maybe if you hadn’t hit m--”
There was sharp jab to her side, and she let out another gasp and twitched, refusing to grab at her side.
“I said, clean yourself up, not to speak.”
“Yes Un--”
A second jab.
“I didn’t give you permission to speak girl.”
“I don’t need you goddamn--”
Katie did move this time, his hand reaching out to grab her thin wrist, and squeezed she jerked away, but he twisted her skin, only to let go to switch gears as he moved out into traffic.
“Oh but you do Katherine, I am your guardian until you turn eighteen, as is the parameters of what my brother and his wife outlined. So until then, you will listen to me Katherine. Do you understand.” his voice was even as Katie sat silent, staring out the window, unseeing and a bubble of anger and panic building in her thin chest. “You may speak.”
“I understand Uncle.”
“Good girl.”
He patted her head with a smile and they began the long drive home. It was silent except for the occasional movement of the trunk and Katie’s sharp quips about people driving and her Uncle responding in kind. Perhaps the only thing the pair could agree on was the stupidity of others driving, and the silence was only broken by a particularly egregious driver that cut them off, leading Katie to begin to hyperventilate. It wasn’t unlike a night like this that the car had flipped, the blood seeped over her eyes as she hung outside, the wind howling and her skin slowly turning blue. Her father’s eyes staring at her from the rear-view mirror and the quiet choking sounds of her mother attempting to breath.
So lost in memory was she that she didn’t even notice her Uncle reaching over to smooth down her hair until his fingers touched her skin and she jerked away, stifling a screech, and she felt her breathing become erratic. The touch was surprising, not because it was painful, but because it was so gentle. So much like how her father would push her hair form her eyes, and smile rakish down at her. God her Dad, nice in a dark blue and grey suit, and blood spilling, not a single sound outside of her ragged breathing.
“Katherine.”
His voice was so far.
“Katherine!”
It was dark.
“Katherine Elizabeth!”
So very cold.
“Katherine Elizabeth Thorne.”
Katie choked and her eyes closed and she was slipping, falling...
“MUM! MUM! MUM WAKE UP.” her voice was so light, sharp and dripping in tone of panic and fear. “Dad! Daddy please.”
There were tears freezing on her cheeks.
God her lungs hurt. Everything hurt. It was dark and it was cold.
So cold.
When was Mum going to wake up?
Dad said they would be home soon, that she had been such a good girl at the party. Why wasn’t Dad waking up, she was hurting, he said that if she ever got hurt she’d kiss it better.
Katie looked at her Dad, and noticed it, the blood, dripping from his neck, right in the reflection of the glass in the flickering drying green-light of the dashboard. Her mother said it was an expense to get an electric dashboard, but her Dad liked it, said it’d be nice and clean and that when Katie was old enough it’d be nice for her to drive around with an electric dashboard.
That’s when she began to scream.
It echoed through the crushed car, her legs were bleeding and throbbing, she was thrashing through the pair. Though the sound of her mother’s chocking and the wind that whistled.
She screamed and screamed until it was all dark.
Then it was warm.
Katie’s eyes opened, she was in bed, her head was hurting. It was dark outside and she was in her room. Grey walls, white furniture, a grey and black bedspread and her trunk lying at the foot of her bed. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and tilted her head down and closed her eyes, the world was spinning and her chest felt like it was on fire.
She stood and grabbed the glass of water left at her bedside and took a deep sip, the cool liquid settling her still pulsing hot blood. Slowly making her way from her room, she entered the poorly lit hallway and stumbled into the kitchen.
Bartholomew was there, having a glass of whiskey at the counter and reading the paper. He lifted his eyes.
“You fainted, your little panic attack happened again. Dreadful, you really ought to take medication for that.”
“Nothing is wrong with me Uncle, that’s what happens when you watch you parents die.”
“Watch your tone Katherine.” he looked at her over the edge of the glass. “You do need medication, counseling, a life. But I’m afraid you’re beyond that, you and that black witchcraft, that you pay for with your parents money. I wonder what your father would say if he knew. His precious eldest child, a witch, using dark magic. I think he might’ve just killed himself.”
Katie flinched and walked towards the refrigerator, searching for something, a firewhiskey would be nice. Anything to numb this hell for the next few weeks. Merlin and her parents above why did she ever let herself get forced back?
“Then your mother, she’d be so heart-broken. I mean she’d already lost one child, then your came along, a rightful freak. Watching your parents die, when you could’ve saved them.”
“I couldn’t.”
Katie felt the panic blaring in her chest, the warning bells that sounded like sirens and a heartbeat monitor in your ears.
“I thought you were magic. I mean, your magic saved you. Why didn’t it save my brother and his wife. Why you?”
Katie heard the clink of the glass, the chair scraping the granite and he crossed the kitchen.
“Do you think I have any idea why, maybe cause I've got the magic, maybe cause I was young and asleep and magic doesn’t fucking work like that.”
He was behind her and she cried out when a hand grabbed her head and pulled, hard. Katie felt her back hit the granite, her hips slamming harshly into the cold floor. That was going to bruise.
“I’ve told you many times Katherine, not to speak to me like that.”
He aimed a kick at her side, it hurt and she felt the bones cracking. Idly she knew how it felt to feel bones giving way under her feet. She let out a scream, the pain sprang up and raced up her skin. She curled into a ball, a second forceful smack, this one at her hip and she twitched and moved to grab it, leaving her open to attack.
Mistake.
She the the shoes bury into her lower ribs, digging into the soft skin of her stomach, she stopped moving, breathing heavily and light trying not to strain her now bruised ribs, she idly wondered if he had broke one. She couldn’t tell until she moved and at this moment she wouldn’t dare move a single inch.
Then it swung towards her face, Katie screamed this time as her cheek and lip ripped open, a crack of her cheekbone breaking and blood slipping down her face and pooling in the little dips and edges of her neck and collarbone. Her eyes were filled with brilliant white light and her breathing was ragged then she whimpered when Bartholomew knelled to grab her arm and drag up up into a limp sitting position.
“You never seem to be able to get the message now do you Katherine. But unfortunately it only seems that being hurt seems to get into your thick skull. Now are you going to be a good girl and stop?” his voice was light, mocking and in a strange way loving.
“No.”
His face morphed and the grip tightened and the punch to her stomach had her throwing up, water and flecks of what looked like chocolate dripped onto the granite.
“Clean that up, then back to your room and grab some clothing. I’ll set up a bath for you, vanilla soap is your correct.”
Katie felt that grip around her heart loosen, tears dripping from her eyes, he hurt her but at the same time took care of her. This was sick.
“Yes.”
“I’ll get out your stretching pamphlets too, I suspect you’ve forgotten to loosen out your leg. You were always stubborn, even as a child, always forgot about from the moment that brace came off.” his hands were in her hair, smoothing it down, rustling through dark curls.
“It’s troublesome.”
“You’re troublesome, just like Jeremy.” his tone was fond, “Though my brother was a little less angry.”
“I have every right to be angry.”
“I’ve made my point enough tonight, tomorrow I’ll be sure to drive it home.” his hands were still gentle as they twisting her hair from her neck that was overheated, slick with the droplets of blood and sweat. “Now up with you Katherine.” Her uncle grabbed her under the arms and she managed to get to her feet, nearly toppling and falling against her Uncle’s chest who held her tightly and aided her to her room and set her on the bed. She wheezed slightly and her Uncle grabbed a pair of sweats and a heavy sweater. “Sit tight.”
Katie nodded and as soon as he felt the room felt the panic in her chest, tears streaming down her face and she waited. Waited. Waited.
“Bath is ready!” his voice was deeper, softer.
She stood shakily, grabbed the clothes and moved down the hall, her uncle waited at the door and stopped to press a kiss to her forehead.
“It’s for your own good Katherine, you’ll thank me when you’re older and understand what I’ve done for you.”
“Yes Uncle.” her voice was soft, demure, like he always wanted it to be.
Slipping into the bathroom, she closed the door softly and began to shuck her clothes with small movements everything hurt and Katie stood in front of the mirror, catching sight of herself and face it. Head on. Like a Gryffindor. Her cheek was cut open and cheekbone broken, blood stained on her lips and dried on her cheeks and on her neck. There were fingerprints on the side of her neck, imprint of nails. Her chest was worst, bruises already blooming bright harsh colors up at her, one side of her ribs looked off and she knew that he’d broken a rib during his little fit, there was a cut and blooming bruise on her hip.
Gently Katie brushed a hand over the roughly treated skin and then went to the bath and stepped in, the heat relaxed aching muscles and blood mixing into the water until it was so faintly pink. She laid there and wondered what he uncle would do if she laid back and let go. Died, would he be upset? Surely, his favorite punching bag for the last decade or so would be gone.
Truly it was a cowards way out, and Katie was no cowards, so she ran soap over heavy aching limbs, rubbed away blood and any tremors in her skin slowly began to dissipate. Brushed her hair until it was smooth and straight at least for a little while. Then laid back, sighing, letting the water fade to lukewarm and for the grip around her chest to loosen until she knew that she’d be able to sleep tonight without a nightmare.
Getting out she pulled herself into the sweater and sweats and stumbled down into her room, it was dark and she could her her Uncle upstairs, the lick of his patent leather loafers above her and she curled up on her bed, the sheets and covers already turned down and the space-heater put on high. Closing her eyes tears began to fall and she let the sobs and the shaking lull her to sleep, she after all couldn’t do anything.
Christmas morning she was on the couch, last nights beating had her left with a second split on her lip, more bruises, though a trip to the doctors and being told of her broken rib (courtesy of a sledding accident supposedly) her her Uncle focusing mainly on her face and arms. Her cheekbone hadn’t been broken, just moved slightly and it was set right easily and there was an overlarge bandage.
So now her she was perched on the couch while her sister rattled about the gifts from her friends and one from their Uncle. Rebecca, Katie happily noted, was normal, vastly intelligent, and still a complete and utter ass. But then again, Katie couldn’t blame her, they’d been so young when the abuse started, Rebecca had grown up knowing that if she acted a certain way then she’d even up as bloody, bruised and angry as Katie. It was easy to condition an easy-going three year old, harder with a six-year old with enough chips on her shoulder to sell in a bag. Then there was the idea that generally speaking Katie was just stronger than Rebecca, emotionally and mentally, more fortitude. But in the end it didn’t matter, because Katie knew that her Uncle wouldn’t touch Rebecca, star-shine child that she was, obedient in her words and actions.
Katie stared at her lap, a new scarf in pale grey and light yellow, a book on cooking, both from her sister. The gifts were so bland, it was like she looked at a catalog and picked them at random. To her left a new winter-coat, a bar of soap, it was unreal how little though they had put into this. But the thought of even doing it was enough for Katie she supposed. They could have forgotten, but they didn’t, it was nice in it’s own neglectful way. It’s not like she wasn’t used to it.
“Thank you for the new cuff links Katherine.”
They were silver, shaped into vines, she’d always made it a point to buy him something nice. He after all took her in, paid for school, paid for food, clothing, her astronomical medical bills, her parents burial, paid for the truck driver to get jail time (friends in court were good). Did he hurt her? Yes. Did he possibly hate her? Yes. Was he awful, abusive, a total dick? Yes. Was he still the last of her family? Obviously. So she bought him those gifts and hoped maybe it would warm him towards her, at least in a way that wasn’t sickeningly harmful.
“Thank you for the book on Frost, I wasn’t aware you knew my interest in poetry Katherine.”
She flinched at her full name and smiled at her sister, “I remember you saying you liked it over the summer, figured his complete works would be okay.”
Her sister nodded and went back to flicking through her gifts.
“Did you like what you got this year Katherine?”
“Yes Uncle, they are very nice, and will be useful when i return to school.”
His mouth pressed into a hard line, “It’s very cold there.”
“Quite, the lake freezes and there is ice everywhere. It’s like a piece of artwork.”
“Do you wish you could have stayed there for your break?”
“I--”
Rebecca was looking away, it was coming, she knew it was.
She braced herself to the hit, the pain, the blood. The eternal rounds of abusive love that haunted her from every shadowy corner of the home in Bristol.
Her tears and shrieks were drowned out by the music her sister began to play from her new laptop. The pitter-patter of fingers on a keyboard the soundtrack to Katie lying on the floor, in tears.
Katie stared out the window, snowy white, cold, wind, winter.
There was pounding in her head, the dark eyes of her father, the ragged breathing of her mother, the sharp wind howling around a metal hulk, and the lightning shot pain up her legs.
It wouldn’t end.
Katie wasn’t strong enough to end it herself.
Wasn’t that just the way of it.
Where was the magic now, it was supposed to save her. She laughed, it was hallow and sad, filled with a type of regret and she hoed that once she got back to Hogwarts. Back to home, someone would hold her, and then it would be okay again.
Seriously f’d up Hannibal headcanon. Soooo f’d up...
Oh my god, I hope I’ve put in enough trigger warnings in the tags, but just in case, this discusses what became of Will and Margot’s baby, so. Yeah, be aware of that. Trigger warnings for discussion of dead babies and all that entails.
But...I can’t stop thinking about the baby inside the pig...
That baby has to be AT LEAST 8 months along. And I’m being generous here. It looks, actually, like a full-term baby, possibly even one that’s a month old. And you can’t even handwave it like “oh, when they film babies they have to use ones that are older than newborn” because they used a doll, so they could have made it look like anything. My point is, if it had been dead for any length of time, it wouldn’t be that big. It would have stopped growing as soon as it died.
Now, I’m not bothering to look up any precise dates here, because finding an actual timeline of the episodes of this show seems damn near impossible, but Margot and Will’s baby should have been approaching full-term at this point.
It seems damn strange that Mason went through all the trouble of having the baby placed in a surrogate and keeping it growing healthily for 6 months or so, then just went “ah, fuck it.” Sure, he likes to screw with his sister’s head, but I believe he wanted that child alive more than he wanted it dead, knowing the leverage that would give him over her.
In the end, I think it was just some sloppy, lazy writing, but it got me thinking of AUs where things went very differently. Like maybe Hannibal knew all along what Mason was up to (or at least had an inkling), and went back for the baby, knowing the leverage it would give *him* over *Will*
Like OMFG, can you even imagine if Will shows up for his reckoning and finds his CHILD instead?
There’s about a million different ways it could go. Maybe Hannibal sneaks back to the farm at the appropriate time, kills Mason and takes the baby. Maybe he doesn’t kill Mason, but replaces the baby with one that has passed away. Maybe finds out about the child before Margot and somehow gets Chiyoh to take the baby, IDEK, but seriously, like Will’s all ready to be done with Hannibal’s ass when he wakes up in his bed, and then Hannibal walks in from his talk with Chiyoh with that bundle in his arms, I can’t even!
Anyway, these are the seriously fucked up thoughts and feels I have, watching this show...
If I were to write this fucked up thing, would anyone even read it?
Send “Dirty Bird” for a drabble of my muse thinking about your muse in an intimate situation
Intimacy is often shrouded in tender acts and softened views of lust, but that would be in the direction of the prosaic and disinterest. Sebastian has no regard for the closeness of affection, favoring the proximity of depredation in its place. Intimacy is deconstructing another to see them at their core, far deeper than what exposed flesh can offer. In the case of Emory Light, the blond is the closest one to bring a sense of kinship in the man, but friendship isn’t obligated to evolve from similarities and interest. Attraction of intellect, not physicality; rivalry, not intimidation; respect, but always testing to warrant its worth.
This is the simplistic summary of the connection of the phoenix and the ice prince, but the details fall into a tenebrous pit, situated in the deepest sulcus of the mind that oversees the inchoate rush to the forefront.
Leather insulates fingertips that are used to the passing burns from matches and the like. Thick, black gloves bleed into the darkness of the usual jacket, leaving the only skin to be seen from the face. In a moment, though, smoke floats up to veil the pallor; however, the smell that accompanies it is not the expected tobacco. The scent is bitter, reminiscent of an unwanted chemical with a pungent zest infiltrating the nose. White wisps accumulate into a following cloud, and instead of Sebastian’s standard fire that would be to blame, it’s the impressionable youth’s element of choice that is responsible.
Against the hide of an animal, the skin of another is protected from the frost in his covered grip. Carbon dioxide radiates from the block of dry ice, completely disregarding any form of liquid before going from solid to tainted air. It’s brought towards the confined youngest, already held back against the wall of the chilled space. The metallic walls of the walk-in freezer are enough to cool the body, but there’s control still engaged to prevent the signs from showing.
Sitting at a throne, bare flesh comes in contact with a dipping temperature, but nothing near what’s between Sebastian’s hands as the comment against the tip of his tongue flicks off: How can an ice prince rule without the weight of a crown crushing all intelligible thought?
It’s at a point of coldness that when it comes to touch the scalp, it feels nothing like the arctic, burning more and more as it continues to be lowered down. The edges of the curved chunk brush at the helix of the ears, reddening their backs instantly. Strands of gold are covered by white, dampening down to desperately cover their owner, but the act of protection is useless. Red coloring of frostnip begins to pale, turning to the shade of the bone it desires to sink to.
The actions of the nervous system are watched, pinpointing the struggles of the somatic in its fight against the autonomic. Pinpricks rise from the limbs before finally a shiver ripples through them to generate warmth, but there’s knowledge that it’s a waste of energy, in spite of another impulsively following.
In the first stage of frostbite, the nerves become mistaken, signalling that what’s slowly killing them is actually warm to the touch. Their nirvana is as foolish as the one experienced by others’ consciousness. Cream shade is steady in the wake of the dying tissue, eventually bringing numbness with them. In the interim, leather-bound fingers reach out to wrap around one of the locks of hair peeking out from the crown, but there was hardly any strength given before it released fully into Sebastian’s touch. The hair drops to the lap while the body has stilled, saving its function with a lowering rhythm to the heart.
In the interim, Light’s right ear is met by the same touch, bending the upper curve away from the ice slowly before the wrist flicks, snapping the cartilage off. As much appreciation for canines is given, the technique of cropping the same part of the body must be met with similar regard. Another muffled crack is heard as the other side is made to match the first before all touch is removed.
Breath has slowed from the other, hypothermia settling in, but it is stubbornly there regardless. Good. The dome of dry ice is removed without hurry, tipped off the skull with shreds of hair embedded in its underneath surface, leaving a barren landscape on the being. Broken ears are cauterized from the frigid material before the object that caused it drops behind him, nestling itself at the foot of the spine and hips. The placement is not intended to be a primary effect, only convenient to bridge the time until water splashes down over the damage.
Without the surrounding cold, steam would still be seen from the nearly boiling liquid, running down the face and over the chest to tempt the organ beneath the ribcage to jolt its pulse into irregularity. Smoke billows up behind the former blond at the chemicals clashing, and perhaps in time it could cover the forming blisters forming across the tissue that will blacken like the plague in a suit facing him.
