#blind pig act

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"JAIL SENTENCE FOR A BLIND PIGGER," Cobalt Daily Nugget. December 17, 1912. Page 1. --- Bob Warren Will go Down For Four Months ---- Magistrate Atkinson yesterday afternoon imposed a four months sentence and a $200 fine on two transgressors at the blind pig act, Bob Warren and Tommy Smith. Warren was not finished with at that. Two other charges against him were adjourned until this morning. Three charges were laid against Smith, but only two of them were urged and he was let down with $100 and costs or three months on each of them.

Provincial License Inspector Morrison was present and handled the prosecution. District License Inspector Blackwall was also present, assisting him, George Mitchell, defended Warren, while Smith took the responsibility of his own defense.

Two "spotters," belonging to the Thiel detective agency, named Broom and Jenkins, gave evidence against the men charged.

In Warren's case, the first to be tried, the witnesses stated that they had been living with him in the same rooming house. They had purchased liquor from him on three different dates.

Warren's counsel pleaded not guilty to the charge but a conviction was registered. It was also proved that this was Warren's second offense. Не was not let off with a fine, but was given four months at hard labor at North Bay.

Tommy Smith was charged with selling liquor on the 24th, 25th and 30th of November, to the detectives, Broom and Jenkins. He committed the offense at 19 Silver street, above the old bowling alleys.

George Walker gave evidence in his favor. Smith secured an offer of bail, but Mr. Atkinson would not grant it after the conviction been made. had

[diariesofthelover]

Wayne Brothers’ Gala Girl

synopsis: Bruce Wayne’s galas are held every once in a blue moon, but when they did occur, every Gotham socialite was sure to attend. The eldest sons of Gotham’s favorite billionaire always wound up in some trouble to entertain themselves, this time the brothers’ idea of fun was a beautiful woman who looked almost as bored as them.

notes: Jason Todd & Dick Grayson x reader, 3rd person pov, little bit 🌶️, inspired by the painting above.

The Eldest Wayne brothers found themselves in the quietest corner of the gala, bored with no idea of what they can get into this time around to beat last gala’s “performance” as they would call it.

“We could set off the fire alarm,” Dick suggests lazily to his younger brother.

“What are we twelve? Most of the people here already think we’re still fifteen.”

“No, they think you’re still fifteen because you were legally dead for like four years.”

“Shut up, dickwad.”

“HER!” Dick exclaimed, “Her, her, her, her!”

“You were Robin not a fucking parrot, her what?”

“That beautiful beautiful woman right there that looks even more miserable than we do with those tuxedo vultures circling her.”

Tuxedo vultures was spot on. These rich pigs had her trapped, all trying to win her attention one at a time, attempting a better pitch than the last guy. Any kind of manners that were instilled in her from an early age couldn’t apply after the third man insisted that he was the perfect man for her, actually, the perfect man for any proper woman, brains or not. All of the men here were the exact same, they believed their money and family were enough to flatter any woman here, that having any form of a likable personality or distanct traits besides snobbery was, “not something women really wanted.”

The woman couldn’t control her eye roll after the second attempted joke was made, averting her gaze where her eyes landed on the two men who already had their bright eyes on her, Bruce Wayne’s oldest sons.

She didn’t have a problem with the Wayne Family of course, she was after all attending their gala, it was just some of the guests that she wasn’t so fond of.

“What about her?” Jason looks over to who Dick was fawning over. Jason wasn’t blind, actually his vision only got better after he was resurrected, he too thought that the woman was beautiful, maybe one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, which is why he immediately shut Dick down, knowing what he was going to try to do.

“No, Dick. No chance, leave her alone.”

“I don’t think she wants me to,” Dick replies as the woman returns his famous flashy grin with a soft smile.

Dick had been trying to get Jason…well more out there after the whole dying, coming back to life, and then out in the public eye again thing. Jason died young, he barely got a chance to live his teenage years so whenever Jay’s attracted to someone, he starts acting like a teenage boy but at the age of twenty instead of sixteen.

Dick, make every girl swoon over him since his Robin days, Grayson mastered the whole girl thing by now and is trying to be his not so little brother’s tonight’s wingman.

“Follow me,” Dick whispers to Jason, not taking his eyes of the beauty across from him.

Dick and a hesitant Jason make their way over to the group of men that were all secretly jealous of their father, probably jealous of his sons too, interrupting the lifeless conversation and taking all of her focus off the vultures and onto him and Jason.

“Good evening gentlemen, how are we doing tonight?” Jason almost gagged at his at his brother’s fake politeness, he was always the better one at socializing, his charming personality didn’t stop at women.

“Richard Grayson, boy you’ve certainly grown up since I last saw you!” An older man around Bruce’s age greets him stirring up the rest of the men.

“Dick Grayson huh, pleasure to finally meet Gotham’s new prince.”

“I hear you’re very popular with the ladies,” the group erupted into laughter, these men really love any jokes to do with a woman don’t they?

“And you must be Bruce’s other son, Tim is it?” Jason’s takes his eyes off the woman to give the man a slight scowl, he promised Bruce he’d behave tonight.

“No, no, that’s Jason the one that…” one of the men tries to begin to tell the epic tale of Jason Todd.

“Say, we would love to stay and chat but our date has been waiting for us for quite a bit now,” Dick quickly interrupts him before Jason pulls out any kind of weapon on these men and offers his hand to the woman.

She places her hand into his thinking that she’d rather be a damsel in a in distress in need of saving by a knight, or in Gotham’s case a masked vigilante, instead of spending another moment with some men that are old enough to be her father thinking about how’d she make the perfect trophy wife and the younger who simply want to get laid after the gala. As Dick pulls her away from the hungry drunken men, she offers her hand to Jason who gives her a confused and flustered look.

“If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Grayson said our date,” she says to him in the most soothing and charming voice Jason’s ever heard.

Forcing himself to snap out of this teenage haze, Jason takes her hand earning a smile from both her and his brother.

“I hope you don’t mind us whisking you away like that, you just seemed like you weren’t enjoying yourself,” Dick started, never dropping his darling smile.

“I don’t mind at all, I needed an excuse to get away from them,” the woman looks back at the men as they watch the brothers walk away with their “prize” in envy, “god they’re pathetic,” she sighs.

“Tell me about it,” Jason mumbles beside her.

“All night I’ve been surrounded by these people that only talk about their money, their jobs, their mansion and penthouses, it’s a bit exhausting, they really can’t think of anything else to discuss. It’s fascinating that they really think that’s the way to win over a woman.”

“Well I can promise you we’re a lot more interesting than that,” Dick laughs, “We also have access to all parts of the manor, how about Jason and I give you a little tour?” Dick states rather than asks earning a questioning look from Jason about what he’s planning.

“If you insist.”

Jason knew how Dick wanted him to jump into the dating pool. He frequently tried to set him up with either other vigilantes so he wouldn’t have to worry about his partner 24/7, or an ordinary Gotham citizen where Jason could escape from Gotham’s criminals and Red Hood duties to enjoy a semi-normal life. What Jason wasn’t understanding was why Dick had a chosen a woman that he was madly attracted to as well.

As Dick began his small tour of the manor, Jason stood awkwardly alongside the woman who was attentively watching his older brother and the places he showed. Jason didn’t know if he should join in or take over, make some small talk, he was sort of frozen in place and shy. You’d think that the big bad Red Hood who always had a mouth on him since he was Robin and would break Batman’s moral code would be the last person to get nervous around a pretty girl, maybe Red Hood wouldn’t but Jason Todd would.

“And this is the library, Jason’s favorite place in the manor,” Jason was snapped out of his thoughts when Dick mentioned his name, “once he comes in here you won’t see him for hours.”

“Big reader?” It took a moment for Jason to realize that the question was for him and not Dick.

“Yea, um, yes, I love literature.”

“Really, would do you love to read?” She was now fully focused on Jason who was struggling to maintain eye contact as his cheeks and ears were colored red.

He couldn’t keep his cool physically but he could try verbally, “classics,” he responded simply, not adding more to his portion of the conversation to which Dick internally sighed to.

“Dostoevsky, Shakespeare, Austen?” The charming woman tried to get something out of the boy.

“All of them, and more of course,” Jason gave her a shy smile.

She heads towards the leather chair that Jason always sits in, making herself comfortable in his spot.

“This where you sit, get lost in all those stories you read?”

Something about her sitting in his chair made his blood rush. The way that she had made it look twice the size bigger being half the size of Jason, the way she relaxed into his chair, sinking into his molding. The boy was so mesmerized he forgot to answer her question.

Dick noticed and decided to swoop in, “Mhm, right here,” Dick drags now standing over her, “he’s a very smart guy you know with all the books he reads, runs in the family.”

She slowly shifted her gaze from Jason to Dick who was getting closer and closer, “I guess the looks do too, interesting for adopted brothers,” earning a smile from both boys.

“Excuse my brother for his shortness, we usually occupy ourselves with stunts at these galas, not beautiful women,” Dick says switching the attention back onto Jason, “he can get pretty shy.” Normally that statement would earn a punch to the shoulder or at least a nasty remark but Dick was right, Jason was pretty shy around pretty girls.

Dick and the mystery woman were now smiling at Jason who was leaned against the wall, close enough to where he can see the rise and fall of her chest, but far enough from engaging the way Dick was.

Dick gently tilts her head up with his large calloused hands forcing their gala girl to look up at him, “What do you think of my brother?”

Now it was the woman’s turn to be painted red, “I think he’s one of the most handsome and intriguing men I’ve ever seen.”

“And me?” Dick pouts.

“I think you’re one of the most handsome and charming man i’ve ever come across,” she says in a sultry tone that lures the boys in like sailors to a siren.

Both Dick and Jason’s blood is rushing, relishing in the fact that this goddess of a woman found the boys to be worthy of her attraction, that nobody else at the gala was as good as them.

“Tell me something, both of you,” she starts, “why stray from your usual chaos and shenanigans to show me around your manor?”

“You’re much more intriguing than anything we had in mind,” says Jason surprisingly boldly as he moves closer to her.

“You’re the most entertaining here tonight, baby,” adds in Dick who quickly got back his confidence after a brush to his ego.

“I heard I was beautiful too,” she teased, trying to get the higher ground again.

“I bet you get told that a lot, don’t you angel? You think that’s what those pigs were telling her Jay? How much of a pretty girl she is,” It was too late though, once Dick Grayson got wound up, he got complete control, “Now you tell me something doll, did they tell you how sexy you look in that dress of yours?” She shakes her head no, any kind of witty and teasing responses wiped from her pretty head, “Aw, well that’s just wrong, Jason tell her how good she looks in that dress.”

Both eyes are on Jason, waiting for his compliment, “She looks—you look stunning in that dress,” Dick was waiting for more, he knew Jason had the vocabulary he just needed the push, “You suit my color, red’s my favorite,” now they were getting something out of him.

“I’ll be sure to think of you when I wear red again,” god she was good. Dick had to bring the power back to him and Jason again, this all quickly became a game to him, his real entertainment for tonight’s gala.

“And what if we got rid of the red,” Dick slips the strap of her dress off her shoulder causing her to shudder, he’s in control again, “how’s that look?”

“Fuck,” Jason whispered under his breath.

“I think Jason feels the same way about it as I do,” with how quiet it was in the library his whisper was heard easily by the two, “what do you think pretty, you think it’s better?”

She felt like how Jason felt in the beginning, mesmerized and stunned. From Dick talking to her so confidently and his usage of pet names, to the way Jason was losing his fucking mind over her.

“Y’gonna answer me or are you gonna keep looking at Jay with fuck me eyes?” Dick wasn’t jealous, he was trying to tease the two, get them riled up.

Before she gets to respond there’s a knock at the door, “Master Richard and Master Jason, Master Bruce requests your attendance for at least another half hour.”

“We’ll be right out Alfred,” Richard quickly answered before Alfred could barge in on the scene, “shall we?”

Dick heads towards the door as Jason and their gala girl slowly fix themselves up, avoiding any kind of eye contact with each other.

Dick stops Jason before they head back out to the gala, “You’re welcome, Jaybird.”

[paperultra]

HOME (TO THE OL’ BALL AND CHAIN)

(OR, THE PIÑA COLADA SONG)

Pairing: Chilchuck Tims x Fem!Chilchuck's Wife!Reader Word Count: 2,499 words Warnings: None Summary: Five years after leaving your first and only love, you take the plunge into the dating scene – and immediately regret it. Maybe you're too picky, but none of the men you go out with seem to fit the bill; they're too non-committal, or too eager, or too happy, or too sad, or simply just too much ... so after a particularly bad experience, your youngest makes a last-ditch effort to set you up on a blind date with someone who she insists deserves a chance. You reluctantly agree. read on ao3 | read on quotev

DATE #1: CASUAL LUNCH Estranged husband — 1 Estranged wife — 1 Everything left unsaid — as desired

There’s bacon grease on his shirt.

You can see it underneath his collar, round fingerprints staining the pale linen grey, and when he leans across the threshold into Fler’s home all you can think about is laundry day at the end of the week.

It would be rude to admit that out loud, though.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you say.

“When can I see you again?”

“I don’t know.”

Abelwood teeters forward still. “Well, don’t take too long, hear? You ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

Laughter erupts from the beer in his gut, and you laugh along with him. Abelwood is a rowdy drunk, you’ve learned, which is better than a cruel drunk or a lecherous drunk. It is not the kind of drunk that you are used to bringing home, even if he is only brought to the front door, but –

You smile, regardless.

“Goodnight,” you bid, closing the door inch by inch, your last bit of energy disappearing with the click of the lock.

You hold your breath. It takes three minutes and thirty-seven seconds for the man to leave your front doorstep, and you wait thirty more seconds after that to peek through the window, verifying that he is far enough away before resting your forehead against the door with a groan.

“Oh, boy.”

“I’m too old for this, Fler,” you mutter into the wood. “He was awful.”

Flertom lets out a sigh and closes the distance to squeeze you in a hug, pressing her cheek against your back like she’s done ever since she grew tall enough to do so. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she says.

“I’m sorry too.”

As you pat her hands and turn around to smile wryly at her, Puckpatti pipes up from the middle of the living room.

“He was a pig,” she exclaims. “Calling you by your first name! And he wasn’t even that handsome!”

“Looks aren’t everything, Puck,” you reply sharply, and she pouts, squeezing the lump of clay in her hands until it squishes out between her fingers. “He was a pig for the way he acted.”

“Well … that too.”

“He also smelled like one,” Fler says.

You detach yourself from your daughter to loosen the belt at your waist, frowning down at your dress and nice leather shoes. The dress feels just about as worn out as you do, the fabric soft and droopy from the humidity, the sunshine-yellow color less vibrant than it had been earlier this evening. The man had spilled beer on the floor of the bar and your shoes still look slightly sticky. Peeling them off just reminds you of the way he had laughed.

“Fler,” you say, “get me a wet rag, would you?”

“Sure, Mama.” Flertom turns to Puckpatti. “Puck, get a wet rag.”

“My hands are all dirty!” your youngest protests, showing her grey palms. “Mei’s closer to the water bucket.” She points to Meijack, who you now notice lingering by the kitchen.

Meijack blinks slowly, then silently fetches a rag, wets it, and brings it to you.

“Are you gonna keep trying, Ma?” she asks while you scrub the heel of your left shoe. “All these guys seem to be wasting your time.”

The chuckle that leaves your mouth is short and dry. “After this one, I don’t think so.” You glance up at your daughters and smile, straightening. “Maybe I should just take you all out on a girls’ date next time, huh? Forget about men for a little while.”

Meijack shrugs. Puckpatti nods eagerly.

“I just don’t know what’s wrong,” Flertom frets. “I’ve seen most of them at work before, and they seemed nice enough even when they were drunk …”

You shrug hopelessly and cross into the living room to sit on the couch. “Maybe it’s me.” As you lean back into the cushions, Meijack and Flertom join you on either side. “I’ve only ever been with one man my whole life. Maybe I don’t even know what I want …”

There’s a moment of silence. You look up at the ceiling of Flertom’s home, rubbing your temples and willing your frustration with yourself to not spill over while your daughters are watching. How embarrassing. Here you are, their mother, who is supposed to show them an example of a happy relationship, only for them to comfort you after another failed date. It should be the other way around. Half-foots don’t live long enough for things like this; your own mother had told you when you first left him that you should’ve just sucked it up.

Finally, Flertom speaks up. “Mama,” she starts, hesitant, and you look over to see her playing with her fingers, “Do you really want to date someone?”

“It’s been long enough, don’t you think?” you answer.

As you say so, a name resurfaces in your mind, unbidden, and the face that belongs to it. Your jaw tightens and you look down at your hands.

“Well … um … Papa wrote last week, and he said that he wanted to talk to you sometime. Just a little bit.”

Your tone hardens. “And what does that have to do with me dating, Fler?”

She flinches and her lips push out. “Come on, Mama! It’s been years, and after everything he went through, I really think he’s better now! Don’t you at least want to talk to him? You were so in love with each other before he started adventuring, and now that he’s retired from it …”

You hold your hand up, and her jaw clicks shut.

“I know what you’re getting at, Flertom,” you say quietly. “And right now is not the best time to bring up your father.”

Your daughter deflates, her cheeks rosy. “But –”

“I mean it.” Standing, you heave a deep breath and examine the cluttered workstation that Puckpatti had set up on the living room table. “Puckpatti, make sure to clean up after you’re done. I’m going to bed.”

While the girls mope, you head to your bedroom, doing your best to occupy your thoughts with work at the blacksmith’s tomorrow. You think about the chain mail you’re supposed to be making, the little metal rings to form and weave together, and hope they’re what you dream of, not self-absorbed dates or unwanted kisses.

You blame Flertom for the auburn hair and hearty laughs that plague your night instead.

��

A week later, Puckpatti accosts you as soon as you walk through the door.

“Mama, I found a man for you!”

“Oh?” you reply blandly, hand still clutching at your chest from having the living daylights scared out of it. “Who is it?”

“That’s a secret! But he’s really nice, I promise.”

Sighing, you remove your vest. “I don’t know, Puck. How did you meet him?”

“He bought one of my clay sticks.” You can’t stop yourself from frowning, despite your desire to support your daughter’s entrepreneurial spirit, and she giggles. “Oh, please, Mama, he didn’t believe my pitch. I think I just charmed him into buying it. He seems really clever!”

“Are you sure he wasn’t interested in you?”

She makes a disgusted face. “Eww! No, I told him about you and he seemed interested.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mama, you’re a catch. Of course he’d want to go on a date with you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, honey.” You glance at her before heading to the kitchen to put away the bread and cheese you’d bought. “Is he a half-foot?”

“Maybe.”

“I thought I’d met all the half-foots in Kahka Brud.”

“Maybe he just moved here.”

She looks up innocently when you raise an eyebrow at her. “And you’re sure I’ll like him,” you drawl, more suspicious by the minute. (Of what, you’re not quite sure.)

“Positive.”

It is incredibly difficult, you think with equal parts pride and concern, to say no to your youngest daughter. It’s probably why you worry about her the most. “This is the last date I’ll go on, Puckpatti. It will be on you.”

Puckpatti cheers. She hugs you as you chuckle at her enthusiasm, jumping up and down. “Yay! I’ll get a time and day that’ll work best. It’ll be great! You’ll love him!”

“For your sake, I hope so.”

—

The day arrives with a mellow sun and clear sky.

You wear your green dress with the floral details, and Puckpatti picks a necklace to go along with it, a thin, simple one that you haven’t worn in years. Flertom does your makeup and Meijack does your hair.

And as you sit in a corner of the tavern fifteen minutes early, hands nervously clasped in your lap, you wonder, just as you have with every date prior, what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Maybe he won’t show up. It would be improper, and juvenile, but then you could go home and say that you did try. Your desire for a new romance has all but dwindled completely, and as you trace the scratches on the wooden table, you wonder if it was even a desire at all.

Footsteps approach from behind. You can tell they belong to a half-foot by the weight and sound – light and small – as they come around to the other side of the table. Your shoulders tighten. Forcing a smile, you look up.

Your heart promptly surges upward into your throat before plummeting to your toes.

Chilchuck gawks down at you, eyes wide. His mouth parts to utter your full name, and you feel your lungs squeeze at how it sounds coming from him, soft from years of disuse.

“You came,” he says.

“Chil – Chilchuck.” His name is ashy and sweet behind your teeth. “What are you doing here?”

He furrows his brow. “What do you mean? The girls said that you were willing to meet up.”

“No, I’m meeting with one of Puck’s customers.”

“What? That doesn’t …” he trails off, and the two of you seem to realize the same thing at the same time.

You bury your head in your hand as Chilchuck grits his teeth.

Those scheming …

“I’m sorry they dragged you into this,” you mutter as you get up from your seat, your voice cold and flat. “I’ll be going now.”

His head snaps up. “Going? But –”

You hurry past him, dodging the hand that you know has reached out for your own.

Home is a ten-minute walk away. You can clear your head in that time, then scold your daughters for meddling, though it’s partially your fault for not questioning Puckpatti about your supposed date more thoroughly. You just didn’t think that they would try something like this.

(Or that Chilchuck would bother to go along with it.)

You pull the door open with some effort and rush out into a downpour of rain.

Your hair gets drenched before you backpedal with a yelp. Pressing against the wall underneath the awning, you look out helplessly at the soaked streets, their gutters already filling with water and debris flowing down the incline. Is … is that a drowning rat?

The storm’s earthiness floods your nose, late in its prediction by half an hour. Just your luck.

You fumble with the clasp of your necklace to remove it, not wanting to get it wet. While you struggle, the tavern door creaks open behind you.

“So you don’t even want to talk. Even after all these years, you’re going to walk away again.”

“Do you know why I walked away the first time?” The damn thing won’t unhook. You scowl, the presence at your back making your usually nimble fingers clumsy.

“No,” Chilchuck says. “I don’t. Not for certain.”

“That’s why.” With each failed attempt to separate the rings, your fingertips grow sorer, your throat thickening. He’s too close. You hate how he’s watching you fail such a simple task. “You stopped knowing, Chilchuck. That’s why.”

Underneath the sharp sound of rain, you can hear his breath hitch, then quiet.

You bite your lip and let your arms fall to your sides, giving up on trying to take your necklace off. Your chest aches. You don’t want to cry in front of him.

“So, there, we talked like you wanted.”

He stops you before you can step out into the rain.

“Wait. What … what about your necklace?” he asks hesitantly, like it’s not what he really wants to say, but merely a way to stall for time.

This time, you look over your shoulder at him. “I’ll dry it real well once I get home,” you reply.

Chilchuck’s mouth presses into a fine line. He grabs the cloak folded over the crook of his elbow, and it is then that you notice the bouquet of blue and pink flowers in his other hand. The ache in your chest flares into a raw, pulsing hurt.

“I’m guessing you’d rather not have me walk you.” He speaks evenly, holding his cloak out towards you. “It’s not completely waterproof, but keep this over your head, at least …” his voice quiets, “please.”

Wordlessly, you take the garment from him. The inner lining is warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you. “For not knowing.” His fist tightens around the flowers, and he stares at you resolutely. “I want to again, if you’ll let me.”

Ah.

You swallow. “I … I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t have to be today. I can wait.”

Breaking eye contact and looking down, Chilchuck roughs his fingers through his hair, mussing it up. The cut is the same as it’s always been, auburn bangs thick and soft over his brow. And you recognize the shirt he’s wearing, a practical, clean wool shirt that you made some years ago. He’s taken good care of it.

It’s all the same. All the same, and yet, something that you can’t quite identify has changed.

You bring his cloak closer to your chest and bite your bottom lip.

“… Give me a week.”

His entire body loses its tension.

“Really?” He looks at you like he can’t believe it, and you avert your gaze, ears warming and moving back the slightest bit.

“Give me a week to decide,” you clarify. “Fler or Mei will let you know … this is really abrupt, after all …”

Chilchuck nods. “That’s fine!” he exclaims. “You didn’t know, so I understand. A week is – a week’s good.”

You nod back, hesitant.

The rain continues its heavy downpour.

“Right … well …” you turn slightly, casting him one last glance, “I’ll give your cloak back, regardless. Don’t get sick.”

“Okay. Stay … stay safe.”

With that, you wrap yourself in the thick fabric, rushing out of the safety of the awning. The run back home smells of woodsmoke and thyme, and when you open the door to three guilty daughters and three apologies, it lingers.

You hang his cloak near the fireplace. It’s evidence of a weak resolve that you stay until it’s dry, and even more damning that you know your answer long before it is.

[ckret2]

After Mabel said she was a witch, Sprott quickly found three people with whom he was probably going to burn the witch. So, why is Gideon still alive? The whole town was sure that he was really a psychic.

sexism

Gideon's a local; Mabel's an out-of-towner

telepathy is gifted by god; witchcraft is taught by the devil

Bud told Sprott at a Blind Eye meeting that Gideon's act is "not the sort of matter the Society need concern itself with 😉😉😉 but keep that to yourself"

Gideon's too cute to burn at the stake

Gideon never used telepathy to con Sprott out of a pig

threatening to burn the witch is just a friendly local hazing ritual all the witches in town go through! Gideon went through it too! and he was barely traumatized at all!

when Sprott said "are you some kind of witch? 🤨" Gideon said, "no! teehee." and Sprott said "well, if you say so."

every couple weeks Sprott and his mob try to set the Tent of Telepathy on fire and Bud has to politely ask him to leave

... or has to use the memory gun to make Sprott re-forget about Gideon

Bud bribed Sprott with a discount car

the town tries not to bring up Gideon around Sprott and his witch hunters.

Trembley's town laws include a one witch limit; any additional witches must be chased out of town via mob. that's why the Handwitch lives outside town on the mountain.

Sprott's having an affair with Mrs. Gleeful

take your pick

[lemondoddle]

what happens when you type into the computer (BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

HELLO THE WEBSITE HAS UPDATED and different things happen when you type things into the computer on the screen. if a character/word isnt relevant the computer gives a red X. so far i've found:

stanley: takes you to an ebay search for brass knuckles, entering his name repeatedly will take you to various grunkle-related eBay searches until you get to bill's wheel of shame with much more to click

mabel: adds stickers to the set. you can keep hitting enter until the the room has been "fully mabelized"

ford/sixer: a case file on ford's extra digits

soos: a long set of notes about how soos is doing running the mystery shack

dipper: a note presumably from bill to dipper "informing" him that he can decode messages by staring into the sun. if you enter his name multiple times bill urges you to keep looking with words of encouragement as each note becomes progressively blurry and splotched with black until the entire notecard turns black

bill: this youtube video (and no it's not a rickroll)

gideon: an audio recording plays of gideon humming/scatting to the tune of "we'll meet again", ending with a whispered message of "i love you, mabel"

wendy: a note pranking you with the the 👌 emoji

mcgucket/fiddleford: the cotton eye joe music video

pacifica: a warning note about the book of bill mabel made her write

robbie: chat messages between him and thompson as they prepare to summon bill (as mentioned in tbob) with an image of their encounter

tad strange: the computer plays clips of bread being sliced set to jazzy instrumentals. this enables the glowing red button on the computer to turn green to switch the bread videos on and off at will

blendin: a message appears on the screen reading "time agent lost and presumed incompetent"

weirdmagedon: a newspaper page from the gravity fall's gossiper utilising the "nevermind-all-that-" act and stating "nothing happened" that day

axolotl: text onscreen appears: "you ask alotl questions"

T.J. eckleburg: text onscreen appears: "never mention that name again"

cipher: links to a wikipedia page about triangles

blanchin: pulls up a youtube tutorial on how to blanche vegetables

triangle: one half of a parenthesis appears on the computer ")", will also pop up with "tri harder"

dippy fresh: links to this image

mystery shack: links to a google search for confusion hill

gravity falls: text appears onscreen reading "never heard of it"

portal: text appears onscreen reading "portal.exe has been deleted. i bet you could build one"

theraprism: a notice sign appears- "in case of (coded words) do not use elevators" with a graphic of a person and a cthulu like monster on stairs

blind eye: an eye chart utilising the same string of letters- "WKHBOOVHH" that gets smaller each line, paired with blocks of color- the cursor turns into a "zoom in" tool that actually just makes the page blurrier with each click

creepypasta/horror: an entry on the urban legend "the always garden"- a liminal space/backrooms style restaurant anomaly

alex hirsch: links to a google search for flannels

toby determined: links to a google search for restraining order

dorito/chip: a dorito slowly enlarges on the computer screen and then becomes a jumpscare of a toothy bill, who periodically screams for a bit before the video finishes

love/boyfriend/romance: pulls up the parody romance novel, clicking starts an audio recording of the book

death: text appears onscreen: "life's goth cousin"

book of bill: text appears onscreen: "hide it under shirt during pledge of allegiance"

life: text appears onscreen: "life: 72% complete. now loading: death"

baby/lalala: an ultrasound of a baby bill in a womb and a message congratulating you

pines: text appears onscreen: "a good family tree"

weird: a video of weird al yankovich appears on the screen, he's confused and shouts for bill to get him out of there

waddles: links to a pig adoption website

mickey/disney: text appears onscreen: "rat.gif censored for your protection"

ducktective: text appears onscreen reading "ducktective stars in 'love, quacktually', coming to 'oi, it's the cockney channel innit?' this fall"

mason: a note from dipper about ford teaching him anagrams, plus a coded message with that technique

tyrone/clone: a picture of the janky dipper clone with a message that he's yours now

matpat/game theory: a video of matpat and a conspiracy board, he turns to say "hello internet, you're on... you're own... good luck" as he holds the book of bill

skeleton: text appears onscreen: "the one with the sword! he found you!"

scary: pulls up a parody goosebumps book "spookemups", clicking on it starts an audio recording of neil cicierega reading a section

divorce: pulls up a logo for "o'sadley's'"

music: enables you to click the dial, clicking the dial plays loud static

math: bill recounting an encounter he had with plato

conspiracy: a video of charlie day in a tin foil hat rambling about the website's previous state, holding the book of bill

okay that's enough from me, there's SO MUCH MORE that I just can't keep up with!! Happy searching!

[frogchiro]

okay wait why am i now just hearing about butcher/slasher ghost, and why am i foaming at the mouth!!!???! like ripping apart pillows, tearing down walls, doing flips—RAHHH i am officially OBSESSED!!

i read it and thought of texas chainsaw massacre, but it’s the 2006 one so like simon is an absolute menace but he sees a pretty lady who’s new to town and his cold killer heart just can’t help but swoon :((( and she’s so polite, nervous, and timid because it’s so different in this town and simon with his cursed blessed keen sense of smell

OH MY GOD BUT SLASHER GRAVES IN A SMALL TOWN DOWN IN TEXAS!!!?

so sorry if this is a lot!! 😣 i’m just a little obsessed 🤭🤭 either way, have an amazing day!! stay hydrated and make sure to eat 🩷🩷

HOW THE FUCK DID I NEVER THINK OF SLASHER GRAVES

My dear, I know that you probably expected Butcher!Ghost but I'm highjacking this ask now and writing slasher Graves because oh my god-

The setting I imagine to be in a small southern town in Texas, and I imagine it to be like one of those creepy, small southern gothic towns with the old abandoned churches, houses and old beaten up signs that say "His return is near" or "God is watching you", you get the idea.

And there we have Philip Graves who owns a big ranch passed down for generations in his family, and by big I mean HUGE. Enormous pastures, corn fields, cows, horses, pigs and all that which means he and his name is quite well know in the area which admittedly makes his...hobby a lot easier than you'd think. Graves has friends in high places and he's buddy buddy with the town's sheriff, basically the golden child of the town which means that both the police and the sheriff will turn a blind eye to the "sudden disappearances" of people, be it locals or newcomers to town.

But the thing is that Philip Graves is bored. Bored out of his mind and nothing seems to excite him anymore, not even the desperate hysterical screams of his victims do the thing anymore. Sure he definitely has the money, the looks that refined well with age, he's respected and liked in the community but the truth is-he doesn't give a shit about it.

I imagine that Slasher!Graves is an incredibly arrogant man, and while he may put on a pleasant facade, his accent a thick and purring drawl and his southern charm do the trick he's a whimsical and capricious prick who gets easily bored and when he does...Well let's just say that it doesn't end pretty.

So imagine how surprised he was when he was in town once in his pickup truck, cowboy hat low on his brow as he watched the cars go by when suddenly his eyes were caught by a bus, one of those that travel for very long distances and the only person who got out was you. To say that Philip's interest was piqued would be an understatement; what's a pretty soft little thing like you doing in this bumfuck nowhere in Texas?

A pretty young lady, seemingly around 20, who looked like a lost little lamb, but just what were you doing here? Everything about you screamed that you're obviously not from here and while he could see even from a distance that you tried to act confident, his sharp blue eyes saw right through that act-you were scared shitless and more than lost. Were you here to visit someone? Or maybe...you are running from something? Whatever the case was, you definitely caught his attention in more than one way.

You just looked...so soft, so pretty, lovely he'd even say and I'm sorry but this Graves that we're talking about would definitely be a little misogynistic :(( He's old fashioned, maybe it comes with his age or maybe due to how his pa raised him but the further he observed you the more he he couldn't help but think about how such a pretty young lady like yourself should be married off already to a nice gentleman, getting provided for like you deserve and in return takin' care of your husband too; bringing him beer, cookin' and popping out a kid or two :((

His train of thoughts got interrupted only by a loud booming voice calling out his name cheerfully and when he turned around annoyed to see who was interrupting him, it turned out to be old Michael, an old friend of his pa. He greeted him politely but when he turned around to watch you a little more it turned out that you already wandered off, sneaky girl.

Philip cursed under his breath but on the other hand he decided to just ask the sheriff about you since he knows that the man has access to all the information about any newcomers to town. It looks like his bored streak came to an end <3

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[Graphic Description of Gore]

[6.1k words] 🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼 Chapter 3 "The Vault"

The flickering ceiling lamps only exacerbated the grim atmosphere, but they did slightly help with finding your way. They also hid the majority of the massacre, but you weren’t blind to the horrific scenes of vault dwellers strewn up and skinned and prepared for processing. You’d wretched and convulsed at the sight, clutching at the wall for support and fighting back tears of terror, and if it hadn’t been for your empty stomach you would have most likely thrown up all over the ghoul’s boots. There was so much food around and the raiders still chose their twisted ways and treated the corpses of their victims, human beings, as cattle in need of rationing and preparation. It was engraved in them, you guessed, after living so long in an apocalyptic, hellish world, eating people was as natural to them as breathing. You tried to justify their actions even if they made no sense, but after seeing cut-open bellies and spilled intestines and dribbling blood as the corpses were hung to drain, you couldn’t.

No matter how difficult a life, nothing could pardon such barbaric actions, not when the cans of cram and sacks of tatoes were right there. The raiders didn’t kill and butcher out of need, they did it out of pleasure, they drew with blood on the walls, bludgeoned flesh and bone to a pulp, stripped skin bare, and let bodies dangle like slaughtered pigs.

The more gore was presented to you on a rusty platter, the smaller your pool of empathy became until there was nothing but the screaming aftermath of gunshots sounding right above your head. You still jittered, but didn’t flinch anymore, he had you, you were safe with him. His boots echoed with menace through the corridors, beckoning the raiders to their end, while your delicate bare feet glided over grime and glass and chaos.

He used you as bait once the raiders were close enough to spot you, your history with them causing a sudden urge in them to let go of their logic and self-preservation and charge headfirst into a shotgun barrel. You would have minded, but he was death incarnate with a weapon, and you were so set on restoring the sanctity of your vault, your home, that you were ready to do just about anything. He killed until there was nobody else with a heartbeat except you and him. He killed so casually, that you almost believed it to be normal.

Once his end of the bargain was done, you started searching, straining both mind and vision for that particular room with a false bookcase. You guided him past the vegetable field, through the cafeteria, and rushed past the school because there were too many bodies piled up for you to stomach. He followed with minor protests, but mostly kept quiet and alert, acting as a guard hound while you pursued the location of the emergency storage. It was only when you ended up in the residential wing with a confused noise that he spoke up.

“You’re lost, Darlin’, admit it.”

You shot him an angsty look over your shoulder, arm outstretched in front of you as the white flashlight installed in the Pip-boy illuminated the vault hallway. When you enter the first home, just the structure of it is enough to tell that you’ve got the wrong place, you scowl, but trudge further inside anyway.

“I’m not lost.” you retort, refusing to let his remarks leave a stain on your photographic memory, and pace around the tiny complex. “It should be in this wing, I just need to find the right room.”

“Whatever you say…” he hums in mock and purses his lips, then opens the metal door wider before stepping in after you. He lets you explore, his eyes skimming with disinterest over the homey aesthetic he was so alienated from that it didn’t even ring a bell of nostalgia. His sights lock on the fridge and his feet react faster than he’d thought possible. Bingo.

The self-powered beacons perched over the whey field creep through the windows and it’s enough light to scarcely brighten the complex. It would have been a haunting sight if the ghoul wasn’t with you and a timid part of your consciousness tapped at you, reminding you that he wasn’t going to be present for much longer. You hadn’t planned on dwelling on such a thought for long, but you had no clue what to do once he was gone. Left alone to fend for your life with no skills or experience aside from dry theory accumulated from years of reading, there wasn’t much you could do except live off the remnants of the vault and try to keep the garden alive.

How would you be rid of all the corpses though?

It would take years to restore everything, or at least the parts that were salvageable, you’d never be able to swap the broken windows or replace the shattered light bulbs.

You scurried off the nasty reality of your future and proceeded to kneel in front of a shoe cabinet. Your feet were irritably sore and in desperate need of protection so you sunk your arms to the elbows in the darkness, the flashlight distorting under the pile of slippers and sandals.

“You’re not mad, Mister?” you ask and turn back to find the ghoul waist-deep in the refrigerator, rummaging as a cacophony of clinking bottles and stuttering plates soundtrack his rampage. He looked almost domestic and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Cuz I haven’t found the storage yet?”

He resurfaces at your question, a bowl of mashed tatoes and a platter of grilled cram cradled in his embrace, traces of soy milk stained his lips. He wiped his mouth on his shoulder and tossed the food on the kitchen counter before resting on his elbows while flicking his tongue.

“Plenty of Pip-boys layin’ around.” he shrugs simply and rips his glove off before sticking two thick fingers in the tatoes. “Can make a small fortune outta those.” he offers you a toothy grin before licking his fingers clean.

“Please use a fork, Sir.” you grimace at his tasteless display before turning back to your task at hand.

“Mind your business, Smooth-skin.” he grunts and sinks his teeth in a thick slice of cram, scarfing it down as if he’d not eaten in days. He scoffs at your faint giggle and waves you off, too high on the idea of a proper meal to care for your coquettish snip.

You continue to dig through the assortment of old shoes, relishing his vocal satisfaction as he feasts. He chews hastily, taking breaks every few bites to wash down the food with whatever juice or milk he blindly pawed at on the fridge door. After tossing away a pair of white fluffy slippers and jamming your hand against a leathery surface, you pull out a left-footed cargo boot. It’s stuck, tied by the laces to something crammed deeper in the cabinet and you feel your way until you find its twin. Once freed, you look them over with a tilted chin and a contemplative look.

They seemed remotely your size, with a pair of thick socks they’d probably fit perfectly and they were preserved and sturdy enough to withstand some broken glass.

“You think they’ll miss these?” you raise the boots in display and ask before thinking about how stupid your question was.

The boiled corn cob pauses just shy of his parted lips and he stares at you like you’d grown a second head. The silence that befalls is one of realization with a twinge of melancholy and you avert your eyes as your mouth twitches into a small frown. The shoes are lowered to your chest and you hold them close in wordless mourning, face dimming, shoulders lowering.

“Oh right…frick.”

“They’re dead, Sweetheart.” he speaks softly, a hint of pity hidden beneath the layer of rasp. “Don’t think they’ll miss anythin’ anymore.”

In truth, you didn’t mourn the rest of the vault dwellers. They were strangers who’d shared the same living facility as you, there was no attachment there except for baseline human empathy. What you grieved over was your sanity, the solitude you’d be subjugated to and you’d grown accustomed to being alone, but after knowing the atrocities that had occurred and the reasoning for your lonesome existence, you doubted things would go well. You’d be forced to fend for yourself and there was no guarantee that another wave of intruders wouldn’t end up on your doorstep.

You picked at the soles of the boots absentmindedly, ignorant to the sympathetic stare targeting the back of your head.

You weren’t accustomed to caring for your needs, having been coercively babied all your life and lacking basic skills. The only bond you’d ever had was with your father and the knowledge that you’d eventually stumble upon his corpse riddled you in goosebumps. You dreaded that sight, eyes dampening at just the thought and mind failing to even picture such a sickening image.

You drag an arm over your drippy nose, sniffle and stand.

“Need socks.” was all you managed before hurrying to the bedside closet at the other end of the complex, hiding behind a wall and out of the ghoul’s prying gaze.

This was fine. You’d figure it out as you went. There was no point in worrying over things that haven’t happened yet, right?

You shone your flashlight into the closet's depths after flinging it open, searching for a ball of stretchy material, anything that remotely resembled a pair of socks. Shuffling came from the kitchen area, a throaty grunt, a few clanks, and the shattering of porcelain. Paying no mind to the ghoul’s ruckus, you sift through the clothing hangers, stopping only when an intricate floral pattern catches your eye. You tug at the cloth, pulling it off the bar and hooking a finger around the clothing hanger before straightening it out.

A dress, pretty and frilly at the bottom, littered with small hand-sewn red blooms, sparkling white and in pristine condition. It reminisced of better times when people reigned over a peaceful and bountiful land, when radiation existed only in the confines of nuclear factories and cannibalism was scarce and very taboo. Your dull expression softens with a doting smile as you coo over your new fit before tossing it on the bed.

Your search continues shortly after, rummaging and scanning, digging deeper until you find a small raft overflowing with undergarments. A pair of black tights and heavy woolen socks later, you pass an anxious glance at the edge of the wall separating you from your overly grumpy bodyguard before tugging the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing in there!?”

“I’m changing!” you rush to answer, shimmying out of your dirty, torn attire before sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling the socks over your feet. After taking note of the now gooey gash on your ankle, you decide to postpone wearing tights until it’s been cleaned and bandaged. You swallow back a lump of anxiety and make disinfecting the wound your top priority…once you find the storage unit that is.

“Hurry up!”

Once the boots were secured, you neatly tied them up and scurried to slip on the new dress in case the ghoul decided he’d had enough of waiting and barged over in his typical unruly fashion. It fit you so well, but there was no time to enjoy yourself, you tossed the tights over the junction of your elbow and patted down the frilly edges grazing your knees.

The world came crashing when the zipper got stuck.

“Freaking fiddle sticks…”

You tried and failed to resolve the dilemma, patting blindly at your upper back, reaching over your shoulder, and coiling an arm behind your waist. Even when your fingers did manage to find the zipper again, it was jammed and no amount of vigorous tugging helped and you didn’t want to apply more force lest you cause a tear. A small whine, dainty and annoyed, bubbled in your throat and you hung your head back and stared up at the ceiling in despair. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a jut at you for daring to find a sliver of happiness.

“Uh…Mister?” you call out, weak with embarrassment as you slowly succumb to the walk of shame. You round the corner slowly, apprehension in every step and boring a shameful visage. “I need help…please.”

Your lovely bounty hunter had sprawled out on the counter, his hands resting on his now full belly, one perched up knee swaying nonchalantly as his other leg kicked dangled leisurely in the air. His hat rested over his face, obscuring his vision as he breathed slowly, in utter bliss for the first time in a long while. The shotgun once secured on his back was tucked under his neck. The empty plates were carelessly chucked to the floor when he’d made room to lie down and now you knew what all that ruckus had been caused by.

It would have been quite the heartwarming sight if you weren’t currently wallowing in self-pity.

He rouses at your beckon, sitting up and readjusting his hat and giving you his best acid scowl for disrupting his peace. Then he notices your pained expression and skittish shifting and quirks a nonexistent brow.

“The hell’d you do?”

Ah yes, the sardonic question a parent would ask their misbehaved child after yet another minor disaster. That’s exactly what you need at the moment.

“I – ” your teeth grit, jaw tightening in discomfort. A sad puppy-eyed stare plastered on your droopy features as you stand next to the counter before reluctantly turning around and brushing your hair out of the way to expose your back. “ – It’s stuck…”

A snort of laughter fills the dim complex and you shrink in utter humiliation, fussing at his reaction like the wimpy thing you’ve been demoted to. He turns in his spot and his knees encase your frame as he slopes closer.

“Can’t even dress right.” his berating smirk nips at the back of your neck and earns a sigh of defeat.

Cooper Howard wasn’t a man to regret many things and he’d done enough awful deeds to have him kicked out of a church if he ever dared set foot in one. Not putting his glove back on, however, would be one of those regrets. When his disfigured fingers dipped beneath the hem of your dress to hold it steady as he worked the zipper free, he brushed against your skin and it was so soft that he nearly missed the feeling altogether. A pang of something awfully warm wrapped around his ribcage like a vine and he was so shaken to the core that he forgot he needed to breathe.

You felt like the past, all lovely and nice and tender, as if ripped from a time he struggled to recollect and let go of both, and you were thrust in his hands and he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do with you. All charming smiles and sugary words and naivety that had him torn between hatred and incessant thirst for more of whatever it was you did to him. So addictive yet so detrimental.

He chalked it up to lust, a guttural craving any normal man would feel when presented with a cute little thing like you. But it wasn’t that at all. It had nothing to do with any carnal human craving.

You were a gateway to what he used to have, a walking memory of who he used to be.

It made sense if your story was true. Being tended to all your life while locked in a lab orchestrated to be your private room, it would leave anyone silk-skinned, bright-minded, and burden-free. But that didn’t ease him, it didn’t falter him from feeling like he was drowning.

You were the even tune of midnight jazz, a slice of hot apple pie, and a fresh cup of Joe on a Sunday afternoon; a little piece of heaven he’d never asked for and a cruel incarnation of damnation he’d always feared would catch up to him.

“Is it fixed?” you peep, saving him from the jaws of his mind, and look back, happily unaware of his self-destructive internal dialogue. The darkness hides the strain hovering over his distant gaze. “Did you manage?”

“ ‘Course I did.” he barks and is back to normal in an instant, pulling the zipper up before letting you go. “Done.”

He makes sure to secure his glove back on and cusses out the invasive thoughts.

“Thank you so much!” you grin with glee and throttle away like a victorious toddler. “How do I look?” you twirl with pizazz, then remember the tights dangling off your arm and bunch them up in one hand in case they took away from your dashing performance. “Don’t mind those.”

The ghoul scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief at how stupidly charming you are, and slides from the counter before reaching for his shotgun. You take his reaction as a good sign, satisfied with your new, clean look, and brush down the dress with the back of your hand.

“Les go.” he clicks his tongue at you, motioning with his head before fiddling to load his weapon. “Can gawk at yourself plenty when I’m gone.”

His remark receives no pushback. You follow suit, back into the benevolent corridor with hanging dead lamps, stepping carefully next to him with Pip-boy pointed straight ahead. It felt good to not have to constantly worry over a stray piece of debris catching on your feet anymore. Now your footsteps sang in tandem with your bounty hunter’s albeit much lighter and more frequent. With eyes darting from wall to wall, you peeked into each adjacent living complex. The sting in your ankle continued, snapping at your every move and your grip on the tights hardened. Your nails sank into the material for purchase as impatience nibbled at your nerves.

Apartment after apartment. Nothing even remotely resembled the room you were looking for, but it had to be here somewhere. The vault plans didn’t lie and neither did your memory.

You nearly tripped over a stray cable while ogling a bright pink suite layered with fuzzy rugs.

“You sure you ain’t just sendin’ us on a wild goose chase?” the ghoul asks while cracking open another steel door for you to inspect, then dips his hat and lilts “Ain’t gonna shoot you, Sweetheart. Don’t need to lie anymore.”

“I wasn’t lying, Mister.” you look up at him with hurt and he keens, blinking slowly at you and deciding to leave it at that.

Whether it was due to exhaustion or that look, he wasn’t sure.

If you were this set on proving to him there was a storage full of medical supplies and provisions he wasn’t going to stop you. There was plenty of food and drink to stay a while and his current bounty wasn’t notorious enough to top a fresh bed and a full meal. The caps weren’t worth it compared to what you’d offered him and he had enough vials to last him a while before any feral symptoms started poking through.

“It’s somewhere here, I know it is, these are just the wrong rooms. But the map showed it was in the living quarters to the north. It has to be a bigger space and with a bookcase in – ”

A hand clasped gently over your mouth, cutting your ramble short.

The ghoul grips your arm and shines the Pip-boy at the end of the hallway, the tense look on his face making your stomach knot. He takes one step forward, leaving you to linger behind him and you would’ve liked to believe it was to protect you, but it was most likely to get you out of the way.

You hear his gloved hold tighten around his shotgun and bite back the need to ask him what he’d picked up that you hadn’t. You never noticed the almost silent steps that had slowly crept closer and yelped when you were roughly tossed behind him as he spun around. The shot nearly left you deaf and the bloodied kukri barely missed your shoulder, having been a hair away from the strap of your dress.

You shriek along with the gargled gasp, latching onto the bounty hunter’s coat. The loud thump that followed made you duck and wrinkle your nose.

“Oh my jeez. Oh my God!” you glimpse from behind him reluctantly, forcing your tightly shut eyes open.

The raider twitched, clutching his blown-to-bits shoulder as a puddle of blood formed beneath him. He choked for air, coughing out a storm of crimson and it made your knees weak. The smell of gunpowder was sharp and overwhelming and your head spun with a nauseating speed.

“Guess I missed one.” the bounty hunter leers and the absolute insouciance at his actions sent a chill up your spine. He unclasps the hunting knife strapped to his belt and twirls it between his fingers, then tosses you a warning glance. “Look away, Sweetheart. Ain’t wastin’ another bullet on this shit.”

The heels of his boots clinked closer to the raider convulsing on the floor and with a shaky sniffle, you forced your legs to move. The pleas of a desperate man rendered defenseless and feeble, the churring taunts of his merciless killer who squatted over his prey with blade readied. A sickening noise punched you right in the gut, so raw and revolting that you covered your ears the moment you stumbled into another suite and slid down behind the front door. Clutching at the sides of your head, fingers curled and nails delved into your scalp to ground you, you died a little inside.

The reality of your existence, the consequences for being alive hit you full force, ripping you out of the tranquility that had befallen both you and the ghoul. Peace never lasted, and neither did joy, not in a world bathed in chaos and destruction.

The two curt knocks on the door made you flinch.

“Come on out, Scaredy cat.”

“I’ll – ” with a twisted tongue and a clenched throat, you murmur out words to keep him away because you didn’t want to see the blood he was wiping off his knife. “ – I’ll be right there. Just looking…for a false latch or something.”

What a horrible excuse…but he didn’t question it and you were so thankful.

His steps crinkle over broken glass and pieces of discarded metal plates. The tension lifts off your shoulders when he leaves with a grunt. You rub at your face with a timid breath, jaw easing as your lips part to accommodate your forceful inhales. The gloom of the apartment embraced you in your self-indulgent grovel.

To imagine someone lived here only a day ago was to concede to hysteria.

He saved your life again. And still, you were left shaken and bothered and speechless and burdened by what would have happened if he hadn’t been there to rip you away from death’s claws. The possibility of there being more raiders skulking about hadn’t been a thing until this one nearly chopped your arm off. Your arm was still there though, intact and function. All because of him. A dilapidated, volatile guardian angel that looked like a grilled chicken and sounded like a fizzled-out radio station and he meant more to you than anything ever had in your short, secluded life. What were you supposed to do without him when he finally left and you were sealed into a blood-soaked, corpse-ridden underground bunker with just your thoughts as company?

You slapped at your puffed-out cheeks ferociously.

This was fine.

It wasn’t fine, but there was nothing to be done, you’d work with what you had, you’d manage somehow. You had to.

The ghoul whistled you over, loud and clear enough for you to hear even while tucked away safely in your corner. Enough spiraling. You stood and with a determined huff, exited the complex only to see him standing in front of an open door with crossed arms and a tilted head. He noticed you from the corner of his eye and nudged his chin.

“This it?”

You poke your nose inside the spacious room.

It was the vault president’s office, completely untouched and eerily still, made to resemble the quarters of high-ranking officials from the olden days. Thin sheets of wood were plastered over the walls and the floor was carpeted and clean, the large windows overlooked the fields and dining area. An elegant leather chair was neatly set behind the paper-ridden desk in the center of the room, and yellowing files peak from every single drawer and bookcase. Everything seemed organized in spotless order, even the mugs on the coffee table were arranged corresponding to their color. There were so many paintings strewn about, past vault presidents, men and women in distinct white coats, same as the one your dad had always worn, supposedly scientists.

He leaned against the doorframe as you barged inside, watching your newfound zeal with a half-smile.

You pressed the tip of your middle finger to the wall and slowly extended your other arm at a precise angle, then moved it barely to the left. With a calculative spark imbued in your eyes, you take deliberate steps and move your stiff arms mechanically as you work out the location of the hidden storage. It looked ridiculous and you were well aware as you maneuvered about like a possessed puppet, but without any tools to point the way this was your only crutch.

“Three feet to the left, diagonal to the glass case with the cat sculpture. One step back and turn to what should be west. North should be to the right, then. And…”

“There.” you state once your hand points at a particularly overdecorated bookcase. “That’s it. Has to be.” you step towards it with determination, throwing away documents and an old plastic globe until there was enough space to grab at the shelves. It creaks when you give it a solid tug to test its stability. You bite your lip in contemplation before turning back to the ghoul. “Think you can move this, Mister?”

“You better be right, Sweetheart.” he tutted, but complied, pushing himself off the doorframe before joining you. He towers over you and rests his hands against the polished wood. “Move.”

You did as told and gave him some room.

He managed to slide his fingers against the back of the bookcase and spread out his legs before letting go of a throaty groan and pulling with all his strength. Your knee jittered with the need to step in and help, but you hesitated, succumbing to your manners and letting him do the heavy lifting. The last thing you wanted was to insult his capabilities or hurt his man-pride.

The case toppled with a thunderous crash and its contents spilled over the carpet, some trinkets bounced off your boot and rolled under the desk. The wooden planks that had been hidden behind it were slightly caved in compared to the rest. A thick carving resembling a door was engraved in them along with a small rectangular shape just a few inches to the side.

This was it.

“Hallelujah.” he chuckles and kneads his shoulder while flexing it, brows raised and eyes settled on the hidden entrance and glistening with wonder. “Guess you weren’t lyin’ after all.”

You clumsily step over the mountain of books and smashed wood, arms extended for balance until you’re close enough to press down on the rectangle. With a whirling hiss, the wood slides to the side and a hole perfectly shaped like a Pip-boy appears. You stuck your hand in without a second thought, beyond impatient and on the verge of crying because your ankle was burning so intensely you wanted to just rip it off.

The door gave way with a few audible clicks and the storage lit up instantly, you guessed the lamps didn’t depend on the vault’s fusion cores, another little trickery to keep this place hidden. The power management engineers would have most likely noticed the excess electricity being used for a room that wasn’t supposed to exist. A smart move and also for nothing, everyone was dead.

The cynic in you cackled.

You were quick to rip your hand free and enter, spotting the hefty array of medical supplies gathered over a metal cart, driven by pain and discomfort and lacking the self-control to keep it a secret any longer.

“Well, I’ll be…” the ghoul gapes at the overflowing storage, pleasantly surprised and nodding to himself. “Consider your debt repaid, Missy.” he plunges his knife into a sack of tatoes and promptly empties it.

His arm swipes over a metal shelf of stimpaks, greedily bunching them up and into the sack as he licks his teeth at the upcoming profit.

When you don’t reply to his remark he finally takes his gaze off the mounds of supplies and medicine and looks to you.

You’re a mussing mess, abrupt jitters causing bottles of pills and packages of bandages to pile at your feet as you scour for something specific. Initially, he opts to leave you be and focus on his own task, but when a disheartened noise slips past you he caves.

“The hell’s got you scramblin’ about like a cornered rat?”

You wince and turn back with a trembling frown. Your search had come out fruitless, the plan was spoiled at the absence of any antibiotics and you internally cursed for not stopping by the med-bay earlier and checking there first. Then again, you needed a key card and you weren’t fond of checking the pockets of decapitated vault residents just for that. But your open wound didn’t care for your antics. Now your ankle was probably red, still oozing and by how it rubbed against your sock, it was even more irritated and sickeningly sticky.

His stern look was relentless and you sucked in a breath before speaking.

“I can’t find any antibiotics…for my ankle.” you swallow a sob like a child caught red-handed trying to sneak past a broken vase. “The cockroaches – One of them bit me or cut me I think and… And it was fine at first, but then it started getting infected and I thought I’d find something here to help, but I don’t think only spirit will help so I thought antibiotics, but I can’t find any and it hurts so bad now – ”

You halted when his jaw stiffed and did nothing when he stomped close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. The sack was slumped by you and as he glared you simply averted your eyes to the floor.

“Sit.” he commands in a rigid tone, forcing you on your rump as the coldness of the tile floor seeps through your dress. “ ‘N take it off.” the tip of his boot nudges your foot before he tugs his pants up and squats in front of you with elbows resting on his thighs.

It’s only after you slip off your now-ruined sock that he cringes in annoyance and grabs your calf to turn it for a better view. Angry red outlined the open gash and the dead skin that still clung to it was soaked in colorless stickiness. He pressed on the side of the wound, shooting down your attempt at escaping with a scalding look, and more goo was excreted.

Radroaches were clean creatures, he’d seen them grooming themselves more than hunting for food. However, being mutated by radiation did tend to add some spice to their bites and you trudging around barefoot for a good full day had only added to the accelerated decay. Nasty little cut that was.

“Stupid git.” he hisses and stuffs a hand in the sack. “Nothen’ a lil stimpak can’t fix though. And lucky for you, we hit a goldmine.” the large syringe glints under the blaring white lights and he pushes at the base to snuff out any air bubbles before lowering it to your calf. “Now hold still.”

The sight of the needle makes you stiffen, a plethora of memories flashing past your widened eyes, and you’re overtaken by such a raw desire to get away that you nearly kick him off balance in your struggle.

Too many years stuffed full of constant medications and transfusions and scalpels and cuts and taking blood samples and fucking needles. All your life you’d suffered through nothing but medical treatments and the first day spent away from such hell had you realized just how traumatizing it had all been. Obligated to just take it because there was no alternative, you were never given a choice in the matter. You weren’t ready for this again, seeing that stupid needle so close to your skin made your heart drop in your stomach.

“Wait. Mister, wait. Wait!” you grab onto the metal bars of the cart as his grip on your calf tightens painfully.

“Quit fussin’!” he all but growls and pulls you back in place once you’d made some progress in slipping away. His tolerance for your display vaporizes when you land another inadvertent kick to his knee. He lets your calf go and reaches for the back of your head, grabbing onto a fistful of your hair and jostling you still. He’s right in your face and spitting acid. “What the hell’s wrong with you?!”

“The needle.” you hiccup and wrap your sweet little fingers around his forearm. Tears swell in your eyes from both pain and fear and it does something to him again, but he doesn’t relent. “The needle…I can’t – ” you whimper and plead, crumbling in his hold. “Please don’t, Mister…”

He’s taken aback. The menace drains from his gaunt features, baring snarl gone, and his grip on your hair loosens.

“You’re kiddin’ me.” his eyes roll from you to the stimpak as if you’d said the most mind-blowing bullshit he’d ever heard. He dangles the wretched thing in front of you, watching you follow it incessantly, not even blinking. “You’re scared o’ this?”

You make a noise of displeasure and avert your face when he brings the stimpak closer. For once his mocking laugh isn’t welcomed. When he’s assured you’re not just being a brat and actually hold a crippling distaste for the needle, the ghoul pulls away with a scoff.

He thinks, rubbing his knuckles against his jaw while you sit between his knees, immobilized by his grip.

“Well shit...” he lets you go and you bonelessly slump back into the cart.

He’s not one for comfort, doesn’t know what words to use to help you overcome your dilemma; he can’t just jam the stimpak in and risk striking a bone, can’t slide it in gently because you’ll go into another fit. He could just leave…

“Look at me.” he beckoned and snapped his fingers at you. When that didn’t work, he grabbed your face and squished your cheeks, forcing you to obey by giving you a sharp jerk. He leans close enough for you to feel his breath hit your nostrils and of course, it smells like cram. “I said look. At. Me.”

Your eyes go from dazed to bulging when you feel the needle press back against your calf. A pathetic ensemble of bleats accompanies your heaving chest and you hold onto his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping you from dying on the spot.

“Shhhh – shhhh – shhh, ‘s okay Sweetheart.” he hushes you with peculiar softness, stifling your meek complaints and scolding your eyes back to his own when he sees your attention dart down to your leg. You wince briefly at the prickle and his pinkie and ring finger leave your cheek and settle at the edge of your jaw, pressing down and rubbing ever so lightly. With an even push of his thumb, the syringe is emptied. “There you go…” he gives your cheek a good pat and leans away, resting on his knees. The pack of gauze you’d carelessly tossed away in your rampage was picked up and ripped open. “The good news is, you don’t need no stitches…but how d’ you intend to survive if you can’t even use a stimpak?”

“I’ll…” you smile in pain and it’s so crooked it rivals his. “I’ll figure it out.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 4 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Masterlist

Tag list: @bountydroid @judgementdays-girl

[leolaroot]

star trek fans specifically are crazy for that. you say "im not really comfortable watching tos because of the way captain kirk interacts with women" and 900000 people come crawling oit of the woodwork to say UM ACTUALLY kirk is a GENTLEMAN FEMINIST who is ALWAYS NICE and VERY BISEXUAL! and the only people who think he acts like that are the DUMB PIG CHAUVINIST MEN who think kirk is LIKE THEM! okay im actually referring to how he constantly grabs at women esp when they're unhappy and physically restrains them. or the weird sexually charged comments he makes. or his persistent assumption of all women as available and simple things to be acquired or controlled. and sometimes they lobby back with the "well Its Made In The Sixties so of course its Dated but its still PROGRESSIVE!" okay well its so dated that im not comfortable. i cant just say to myself "oh well it was another time" and immediately become blind to whats happening before my eyes.

[snoopledrooplecheesedoodle]

Yandere Anasui Narciso X Therapist Female reader

Yep, will do. This is before Joylene went to prison and the events of Part 6 haven't happened yet. Pucci may be mentioned. I have never been to prison and am only using what I've seen of Green Dolphin as reference. Take anything that happens with a grain of salt.

Psychosis (Yandere Anasui Narisco x Fem! Therapist reader)

Tw: Sexism, mental illness, mentions of SA, murder, Anansui, obsessive behavior and other gross and suggestive themes. DON'T READ IF YOU'RE UNDER 17 (even still you're on thin ice if you complain).

The clicking of heels rings through the prison's male section as a woman walks beside two heavily armed security guards. The Green Dolphin male ward was no place for a woman to be by herself. The inmates either made disgusting comments about her and what they want to do to her, or they cursed her out and threatened to kill her when the guards leave.

The woman in question is (Y/N) (L/N) a recent graduate of Florida State University with a master's in psychology. While rather young, (Y/N) was a very bright person recommended to the Green Dolphin Street Prison by her professor. (Y/N) was very interested in the criminal mind and its workings, so this job while not glamorous piqued her interest. Sighing to herself, (Y/N) pulled down her skirt to cover as much of her upper legs as possible. Pigs. She knew none of them would have the courage to act this way when they were in a session with an armed guard.

"Listen newbie these prisoners contain some of the vilest criminals in Florida. You'll need to toughen up because your fancy degree won't be able to protect you." The male officer on your right sneered at (Y/N). (Y/N) huffed before turning to him. "I was under the impression that at least one armed guard would be nearby during a session." The guard on her left snickered mockingly, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. "You're a big girl, you should be able to protect yourself. Besides you ain't even that cute for no one to fu-" (Y/N) slapped the officer's hand away harshly, glaring in disgust. "You have no right to speak to me or any colleague that way." The left male officer's eyes narrowed into his puffy cheeks making him look like an angry bulldog. "You think you can speak to me bitch cause your hot shit?! I oughta beat you like your daddy should have."

The officer on the right looks away as the officer on the left closes in. To (Y/N) it became very apparent that the male officers saw no use of the female employees here and were threatened by her intelligence. She knew that they were masking their precious egos and wouldn't do anything. (Y/N) made no move to back away and looked the chubbier officer in the eyes. "You know projecting your own trauma onto others won't resolve the internal pain." The left guard's cheeks turn even redder as he pulls out his Billy Club. "Why you-!"

Before she was hit, (Y/N) calmly yet defiantly stares into the cop's eyes, he falters and snarls at the woman. "Fucking witch, what did you do to me?!" "Given you something to work on, now would you both kindly escort me to my patients or will I have to report to the warden for gross incompetence." Both prison guards grumbled something about (Y/N) being a "pretentious bitch" but (Y/N) could care less she had clients to meet.

It was turning night and (Y/N) had finished some paperwork on her latest client some blind man named Johngalli A. He refused to open up to her at all and kept staring at the wall. (Y/N) chuckles to herself about the irony of your statement before sighing...why couldn't she just be assigned to the women's ward? Well, time to go home and shower the day away.

Those bastard cops left her defenseless in the men's ward no less! (Y/N)'s heels being the only noise in the uncomfortably quiet hallway. (Y/N) darts her eyes left to right as she turns the corner. Once she gets out of the male ward she can walk to a gate! (Y/N) visibly relaxes at the sight of two guards at the front of the gate. She tenses back up as they block the gate with their faces obscured. "Is there a problem gentlemen?" (Y/N) asks the guards who stood like sentries before the gates of Hell.

"Oh, look at that it's princess, can't believe you survived your first day" cruel brown eyes stared directly into her soul. More cops with a vendetta against (Y/N), when will it end? (Y/N) huffs and tries to barge through the flesh barricade, only to be met with resistance. "What's the hurry pretty thing? We just want to get to know our coworker better right Lewis?" The second one pipes up causing Lewis to glare at him. "Shut it Darnell, just grab the girl!" Darnell shrugs before attempting to grab (Y/N), key word is attempted as (Y/N) does not want anything to do with these men. She elbows the one trying to grab her hard in the windpipe. Darnell wheezes and falls to the ground, (Y/N) pulls pepper spray out of her bag and sprays Lewis in the face. Lewis covers his eyes and falls to the floor hollering.

(Y/N) tries to make an escape when Darnell hits her in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle. (Y/N) curses Darnell for recovering quickly as she falls to the ground, black spots filling her vision. "Fuck that bitch is quick on her feet." Darnell gasps as Lewis gets back up their voices become indistinguishable, but (Y/N) sees them getting down and trying to take of her clothes. Tears bubble up as she tries to move away only to be forcefully held down. The last thing (Y/N) sees and hears however is pink hair in her peripheral vision and a scream of agony.

(Y/N) wakes up in the trauma care center with prison nurses fussing over the bruising on her arms. Some cops who weren't complete dicks found the woman lying on the floor with her blouse partially unbuttoned and bruises on her arms and the back of her head. Hanging above your unconscious form were the dead bodies of your would-be assaulters Officers Lewis McVay and Darnell Thompson. Their bodies were so horribly disfigured that officers were only identified by a DNA test.

(Y/N) was horrified at the news yes, she thought they deserved to be punished but for someone to play God to this extent makes the woman feel unnerved. Her boss wasn't completely terrible since (Y/N) was given a week off. In this time, (Y/N) couldn't get the question out of her mind. Who saved her?

Monday at 9 am sharp (Y/N) arrives to work, she won't let the trauma stop her from helping the patients. Also bills need to be paid and college debt doesn't make life any easier. The guard at the front gate greets (Y/N) as she walks into the prison. Before (Y/N) can make it to the health wing, the warden approaches with a stern look on his normally pleasant face. "Ms. (L/N) I hope your break was pleasant, I regret to inform you that an inmate has personally requested you to be their therapist." That was news for (Y/N) as she was under the impression that most of the prisoners in the male ward hated her. It filled her with a weird sense of hope that her progress might not be all in vain.

"Great just hand me his personal files and we'll get started tomorrow." The warden held his puppet Charlotte up to you and spoke through it. "You don't understand, he wants to have a session now!" Now? (Y/N) was stunned why was the warden being so pushy about it. "Alright, I still need the man's files." The warden smiled and handed the woman the manila file under his arm. "Thank you very much Miss (Y/N) you've done the right thing." (Y/N) walked off in the direction of the male ward without bothering to respond.

The male prison ward was a lot quieter with the lack of jeers from the prisoners, however there was a lingering tension in the air. Many of the male prisoners glared daggers at the therapist as she made her way towards the room where her next patient was waiting. Inhaling (Y/N) put on her best brave face and opens the door. Waiting for her with a bored expression was a flamboyantly dressed man with long pink hair. The patient's rose-colored eyes lock with (Y/N) an indecipherable look as he trails her form. The therapist also took his appearance in further as she made her way to your seat.

His attire was impractical for a prison, consisting of a mesh shirt with pink shoe prints attached to it, a purple stewardess hat with gold horns on it, and thigh high white boots trailing up to the skimpiest brown skirt she's ever seen. Sitting down in the seat, (Y/N) greets her patient without breaking eye contact. "Good morning Anasui, I am (Y/N) (L/N) your therapist. I cannot prescribe you painkillers or antidepressants, but I can recommend you to a psychiatrist if I decide it is best for you." Silence. Very well, (Y/N) thought, he must not be quite comfortable yet. "The warden told me you requested my services personally, is that correct?" Anasui stares at your mien before speaking in a baritone voice. "I did doctor." (Y/N) shakes her head as she looks sheepishly at Anasui "Oh no I'm no doctor, I can't afford to spend any more time in college."

"Interesting"

(Y/N) got uncomfortable, it felt like Anasui was the therapist not her. "Do you find my lack of a doctorate amusing Mr. Anasui?" (Y/N) switched to strict therapist voice, she needed to let him know that she won't bend to whatever he has planned for her. Anasui stands up from his seat and stalks closer to the therapist. (Y/N) maintains eye contact with the prisoner as he kneels down until their foreheads are touching. "Why are you here (Y/N)?" Anasui asks as his hot breath fans over the woman in front of him, his tourmaline eyes scanning her facial features for any trace of dishonesty. (Y/N)'s eyes narrowed as she retorted sternly. "That is none of your concern Anasui, please return to your chair." "I won't." (Y/n) furrowed her brow in frustration as Anasui seemed to only get closer. She knows not to reveal all her cards, yet she knows that Anasui will refuse to continue this session unless he's pacified.

"If you must know Anasui, I happened to get into my profession because the criminal mind fascinates me. Now would sit down so I can figure out how to help you?" (Y/N) glares at the unruly patient in front of her, Anasui pulls away and stands back up to his full height, peering down at her. Anasui scoffs before sauntering over to his chair and sitting down. (Y/N) sighs before scribbling down 'difficult patient' on her patient notes. Who could blame her for being a little petty with a criminal? "Alright Anasui how was your childhood?"

(Y/N) came out of the room weary and a bit defeated. It was difficult to get through to someone who looked at her as if she were nothing. The little she gathered about him were short normally one-word answers. However, the audacity does not end there as Anasui asked many invasive questions about the therapist's personal life. (Y/N) gave lackluster responses and it seemed to be the only time that Anasui paid any attention during their session, as she would meet his unwavering gaze greedily soaking up the answers. It was honestly quite creepy.

(Y/N) was not watching where she was going as she collided with a firm object, causing (Y/N) to fall and drop her papers everywhere. "My apologies miss (L/N), I must not have been watching where I was going." A deep yet warm voice spoke as (Y/N) looked up to be met with the prison's chaplain Enrico Pucci. The young flushed as the handsome man offered you a firm hand, pulling her up. He was quite handsome for a man of the cloth. "Oh no father it was my fault, I've been stressed with work recently." Pucci nods his head as he gives (Y/N) a knowing look. "The prisoners here can be quite difficult, but you must not let you stray from guiding these lost lambs to salvation." (Y/N) smiles gratefully at the encouragement from the priest. "Thank you, father I won't let, you down." Pucci waves as the woman walk to the canteen for your meal. She won't let Anasui best her.

Not now, not ever

Lunch was uneventful as the therapist ate in the cafeteria, none of the inmates attempted anything. Must still be afraid of what happened to the last people who tried. (Y/N) didn't mind the peace as she looked through Anasui's file in hopes of getting some information which might crack him. It said he was a lonely boy who enjoyed taking things apart and was sent to the psychiatric ward for disassembling a neighbor's car. Clearly some compulsive behavior that continued on in a disturbing way with his crime. When he caught his girlfriend in bed with another man, Anasui methodically killed and disassembled their body parts so "they'd never be together again". You would think that was the actions of a mentally ill individual, but the psychiatric analysis declared Anasui was perfectly sane. Well, there goes her appetite, however (Y/N) achieved interesting information for her next session with Anasui.

(Y/N) awoke in a cold sweat to the blare of the alarm. She had one of the most disturbing nightmares about Anasui looking down at her with rage and slicing her limbs off one by one as she bleeds to death. The inmate's furious expression frightened her as (Y/N) had never seen more than a neutral expression on the pink haired criminal's face. The woman wanted to avoid that terrible fate of choking on her own blood, so she was determined to get into Anasui's good graces. Dressing in a comfortable sweater and a nice pair of dress pants, (Y/N) applies a slight bit of makeup before walking out the door in pleather dress shoes.

Morning traffic was light as (Y/N) drove down to the prison with a (hot beverage) in hand. Florida's weather was not (Y/N)'s favorite as she felt sweat beats form on the hand holding her beverage. She just hoped the air conditioner was working in her office as she had some paperwork to do after meeting with Anasui. Crossing the bridge, (Y/N) showed her work badge to the officer in the front before driving to the employee parking lot. She was ready to deal with her unruly patient.

(Y/N) could feel the tension filling the room. Anasui refused to look at her and the only sound was the scribbling of her pen. Alright time to deploy new tactics, not looking up from her paperwork (Y/N) asks. "Anasui what's your opinion on love?" At this question, Anasui sat up straight and burned holes into the top of her head. "My opinion on love?" Anasui slowly asks as if he's not sure what (Y/N) just said. (Y/N) looks up with a sweet smile. "Yes, I would like to know how you feel about love. How have you felt it? Who you've loved?" Anasui looks at the therapist with an unreadable expression before he sighs. "I don't love anyone." (Y/N) raises an eyebrow before shaking her head. "That's not what I asked, I want to know how you feel about love. I doesn't have to be romantic or recent, just tell me about your view on love."

Anasui looks like he had been punched in the gut as he looked away from his therapist's calm yet curious expression. "I never loved my family." Anasui began looking unsure of himself as the woman in front of him gestures for him to continue. "It was nothing they did wrong, I just never really cared what happened to them. I never cared about anyone until I met her..." Anasui looks down at his boots as if contemplating how much to share. "Was she your girlfriend?" (Y/N) asked gently, a tone that surprised Anasui. Anasui nodded and looked up to meet the woman's gaze. (Y/N)'s face was warm and welcoming a contrast to the normally hard professional exterior. "What was she like?" Anasui flushed at the question as he looked up dreamily. "She was perfect. Tough yet kind, I felt like I held the world in my arms when I held her." His face softened as his eyes filled with adoration. "What changed?"

At this question Anasui's eyes filled with rage, the same rage that (Y/N) saw in her dream. "I found another man with her in her bed, fucking her right before my eyes. How could she be so shameless as to sleep with another when she was mine?!" Anasui raised his voice towards the end, vitriol filling his voice as his eyes grew dark and a blank expression came across his face. "I figured if that if she didn't love me anymore than she deserved to die. The man who led her astray had to go too." (Y/N) shivered as she tried to keep a neutral face at the prisoner's confession. His voice was measured and cold like a true killer. (Y/N) knew she had to get him out of this volatile head space, or she might be next.

"I'm sorry that you had to go through such heartbreak, love isn't always easy. I don't think you should give up on love entirely Anasui, there's always someone out there for everyone." The therapist hid the waiver in her voice as she felt ice shoot up her spine, Anasui's dead eyes gazed at her apathetically. (Y/N) jumped as Anasui appeared right in front of her caging her into her chair with his body, his gaze fixed like a predator observing its prey. How did he get up so fast?! Anasui observed the panic on (Y'N)'s face as he leaned into her face. "Do you really believe there is someone who is willing to love a monster like me? A murderer who killed two innocent people and feels no remorse?" Anasui challenged the woman in front of him, daring her to delude herself in believing that he was worthy of love.

"Yes, I believe that even murderers can find love." (Y/N) steadily stated placing her hands in her lap to hide how badly they were shaking. The man who put her in such a compromising position scared her to know end. She had dealt with many vile criminals that threatened her life but there was always anger, blazing fire in their eyes. Anasui was icy cold as nothing was displayed behind his eyes. His forehead bumped into (Y/N)'s harshly as he looked her up and down. "Could someone like you love me? Someone innocent and free from the cement walls that confine me?" (Y/N) brought her own face close enough for their noses to touch before speaking. "Yes, even innocent people can fall in love with criminals. It's up to the criminals to open themselves up to the idea of being in love though." Anasui's eyes widened at her action and words, she was tough. However, the fire in her eyes was something beautiful to experience firsthand. She cared enough to try to get through to him which means she cares.

She must love him

His eyes fill with an emotion he only held for one other person, adoration. (Y/N)'s eyes widen as Anasui plants his lips on her forehead and he pulls away smiling. She had never seen this man smile, except when he mentioned his ex. Her gut felt like it was filled with lead as Anasui takes her hands in his and speaks. "I think I'm ready to love again."

I think I'm ready to love again

What an ominous warning for what was to come. If (Y/N) could come back and warn her previous self not to take on Anasui as a patient, she would. However, it seems he was obsessed with her before even officially meeting. This obsession morphed from curiosity to some bastardized version of love. Some sick replacement for affection. (Y/N) couldn't continue this charade of being the caring therapist if it meant her life was in peril. She'd have to move to the women's ward or worst case, another prison entirely. Stirring the coffee that she obtained from the break room, (Y/N) contemplated her next move. Anasui is a dangerous man, who knows how he will react to her leaving? For now (Y/N) needed to lay low and make it perfectly clear to Anasui she did not love him at all.

"You're late." Anasui's voice held a tinge of annoyance as (Y/N) set her leather satchel down. The woman grimaces at the sign of a negative emotion, keep calm and everything will be fine. (Y/N) turned to Anasui and gave him a professional smile. "I don't think it's possible for a therapist to be late, if this concerns you, we can finish later." Anasui considers this and nods, scooting his chair in to be closer to his beloved therapist. (Y/N) pushes her own chair further away from the pink haired male, causing him to frown. "Anasui, you know I am your therapist, right?" Anasui gives her a dreamy look as he reaches out to (Y/N). "You are that and more my darling." (Y/N) recoils into herself at his lovesick eyes burn holes in her very soul. She needs to pick her next words carefully.

"As your therapist it is important that I maintain a distance from your personal life. I believe that it is wise for us to observe our relationship as patient and provider, nothing more and nothing less."

"Marry me."

"What?" The cold feeling of dread raked its icy fingers through your neck hairs, which stood at attention. Anasui's pink lips quirk into a confident smirk as he pulls a small black box out of God knows where. He opened it to reveal a modest ring with a small diamond. "I see no need to court properly as we already know so much about each other. I want you to be my wife and I will be your husband." "NO." (Y/N) shouted her calm facade quickly unraveling as Anasui approached her chair once more.

"No."

(Y/N) looks away from the towering pinkette in front of her, the room's energy becoming sharp and frigid like an icicle. (Y/N) had to stand firm now or she would never escape this monster "I can't marry my patient; besides you know nothing about me." (Y/N) thought reason would reach the seemingly logic-oriented prisoner, but he was too far gone. A rough hand gripped her chin and pulled her face to peer at his own misty-eyed stare. "You're wrong, I know more about you than even your own parents. I can treat you better than any other man so why do you refuse me." (Y/N) didn't believe him one bit.

"What's my favorite color?"

"(F/C)."

"When was I born?"

"(DOB)."

"Do I have a pet?"

"No but you've also preferred cats over dogs."

(Y/N) gasped and pushed herself further in her chair as the monster in front of her caged her in once more. This has to be a bluff, an attempt at besting her, she won't yield. "Anasui if you don't sit down, I will alert the guards." (Y/N)'s tone waivered as her eyes were wild with panic. Anasui soaks in (Y/N)'s terrified expression with a deadpan expression. "If you call the guards, I'll slaughter every last one of them. If you leave, I'll break out and find you." His eyes did not lie as he said this phrase, she were frightened. How unstable could a prisoner be to claim to love her after only a few visits?

Before (Y/N) could retort, Anasui slams his lips on hers muffling any cry for help. He took advantage of her open mouth to wriggle his pink muscle in. (Y/N) screamed into the kiss as Anasui had closed his eyes in bliss. The therapist lay limp as she let him have his way with her mouth, before he pulls away a sting of saliva connecting (Y/N) to this ravenous beast. "If you're not ready for marriage now we can court, just know that refusal can lead to the death of many." Leaning down to place open mouth kisses on her now exposed neck, leaving pink lipstick marks all over.

"What will it be (Y/N) marriage or courtship?"

[reve-writes]

—if i'm dead to you [1]; leon kennedy.

ʚ leon kennedy x reader | resident evil | 1,5k words. ʚ chapter two. | you betrayed him before, resulting in a failed mission and a preventable death. years later, you cross paths. ʚ angst. profanity; violence; non-canon lore; reader murdered someone; very loosely set in re4. ʚ a/n this will have a second part! i don't write for leon a lot so he may be ooc, sorry for that. i just wanted to write some lovers-to-enemies angst while being knee-deep in leon brainrot.

"I should kill you," he theeatens. You feel the hard muzzle of his pistol on the small of your back, almost feel the coldness of the metal against your skin despite the jacket you're clad in.

God, you missed him.

"Leon," you greet casually, even as you put your hands up in a surrendering manner. He presses the gun harder—a warning. One you're choosing to ignore. "Come on, puppy. We both know you're not going to shoot."

His voice is cold when he responds, venom lacing every syllable. "Do we?"

Your heart clenches, but then again you deserve every bit of anger he throws your way. His icy tone feels so much worse than any wound you've ever had in your line of work. Each words lodging deep inside you, like a bullet without an exit wound.

“Leon,” you try again. His name flows smoothly out of your lips as if you've been saying it your whole life. Even now, as he's threatening you, your body seems to remember him anyway—gravitate towards the pads of his fingers, the warmth of his torso. You thrum with the yearning to feel his skin on yours again as much as you don't deserve to. “We can talk like civilised people.”

“We're past civilised for a while now,” he retorts, but the pressure loosens. You take your chances and slowly spin on your heels to face him. A mistake on your part. Your heart swells at the sight of him. His blond hair, sweeping over his ears. The blue in his eyes, hardened from years of experience as an agent. The set of his jaw. Your hand twitches with the desire to touch him, feel his lips against yours once more.

What do you even say?

Apologising seems like a callous move. You didn't bother to apologise five years ago. It changes nothing even if you do apologise now, because you'll do it all over again. Instead of spinning more lies or desperately trying to bury the elephant in the room, you opt for the truth.

“I'm glad you're well, Leon.” You swallow, trying to clear the scratchiness of your voice from the lump forming in your throat.

His brows furrow. His gun is still aimed towards you, but his hand is trembling ever-so-slightly. “Don't do that.”

Your head tilts to the side. “Do what?”

“Try and act as if you're not the biggest fucking liar I've ever met,” he snarls. “Fuck this. Fuck you.”

It stings. Every word acts like lacerations on the fickle little thing beating inside your chest. Your hand shakes, but you flash him a tight-lipped smile instead.

“I suppose I deserve that.”

“And a whole lot more.”

A beat passes, and then two. It doesn't seem like he's going to serve you your retribution.

You're taking in his appearance and he looks at you, so many thoughts racing in his head. Too many to pick out just one. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the roiling anger in his veins—to keep the red at the edge of his vision instead of blinding him.

“What are you doing here?”

“You know I can't answer that.”

“The least you can do is answer my questions.” He grits his teeth. “Then again, whatever you say is most likely a lie.”

“I'll take my leave, then.” I'm glad I get to see you.

He kisses his teeth in annoyance. “Goddammit, ___. Are you really not going to say anything?”

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms. “We don't need to do this. I'll stay out of your way.”

“What about Tracy?”

The name brings up a clear picture. Pig-tailed brunette. Fifteen years old. Freckles dusting her cheeks. The gap between her front teeth when she smiled.

Tracy Miller.

That was the name printed on your mission file five years ago. Your mission partner was Leon Kennedy. Both of you were newbies in the field, recently recruited after what went down in Raccoon City. It was supposed to be an easy mission, anyway. You were starry-eyed, excited to spend a little more time with him, giddy for experience in this godforsaken field.

Your mission was simple. The fifteen-year-old prodigy created a strain of virus. You were supposed to bring her in for questioning. They were planning to confiscate the research.

Until you were approached by your current employer—a group of self-righteous assholes whom you've caught the attention of. You were presented with an offer, but it was never much of a choice. Kill Tracy, get rid of the possibility that the virus could ever soread. You would never say yes. Never in a million years would you have aimed your gun at a helpless child.

Until they mentioned him.

It didn't take much for you to throw your morals to the backburner when it came to Leon. He was their leverage. If you didn't work for them and dispose of Tracy, then he would die. Their words over the static of your phone are the start of this nightmare.

How sure are you that you can protect him from us?

The name Tracy brings up an image. A loud ringing in your ears. The thud of her body hitting the ground. The click of your gun as it fell to the floor, a bullet missing from its magazine, lodged in the girl's skull.

You steel yourself, echoing empty words you don't quite believe in. “I did what needed to be done.”

You walked away from him. Your shoes knocking against the docks of the lake. As soon as he's out of sight, your knees buckle and you fall. Blinking your eyes, you realise that you're crying.

You don't have time for this.

Not in the middle of an infected village where its residents can appear anytime, hurling an axe at your skull or brandishing a pitchfork, fully intending to kill. There's a mission to accomplish.

Dammit.

You're filled with contradictions. Even as you curse to yourself, standing in front of him like a deer caught in the headlights, there's a part of you that lights up when you bump into him again. It overshadows the rational part—the one that dreads another confrontation, risking the exchange of words as sharp as daggers into each other's hearts.

He immediately levels his handgun at your chest. You drop yours.

“Shit. I didn't know you were here, Leon.” This is one truth that you can offer to him.

“Am I supposed to believe that?”

You sigh, spotting a hostile in your periphery ready to lob a machete at you. “Duck.”

Even if you're the one who cried wolf, the one who once served a lie so grave on a platter without batting an eye, his body responds, immediately falling to a crouch before he can even think about it. It's how the two of you operate in Raccoon City and the countless missions that follow after that. Complete trust. That's why your betrayal feels like a thousand cuts to him.

You curse under your breath, side-stepping the machete. You swoop down for your dropped gun, shooting the infected resident three times before he falls to the ground. Your gunshot is loud, drawing everyone and their mothers out of their houses.

“Great,” Leon complains under his breath.

It's a dance you remember. The way your body so naturally presses up against him to cover each other's backs. The familiar little commands the two of you exchange as you take down enemy after enemy.

“She's just eating my bullets!” He quips, dropping an empty magazine out with one hand, the other already pulling out a new one out to reload. “Shit.”

You chuckle. Suddenly, you're back in Raccoon City again. Two naive twenty-something-year-olds keeping each other alive. Leon and his quirky comments. You and your light-hearted laughs.

The last shot rings and the two of you let out a relieved sigh.

“Great work,” he says before he can stop himself, falling into old habits.

You smile—that million dollar smile that does unhealthy things to his heart. Do it again. A voice in his head says. He frowns, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to shake off the stupor that remains after the fight.

Tracy Miller. He'll never forget the day he failed the young girl. The day you broke his trust. He swears he hates you. He wants you dead for what you did.

“You're not half bad yourself, Kennedy,” you answer.

He turns around, going to sow his rewards after all the shooting. “Stay out of my way. I won't hesitate the next time.”

The coldness returns to him. You tighten your jacket as if it can help shield you from the chill, but this is a small price you have to pay for his life. You prefer to have him absolutely loathe you than buried dead six feet underground.

You wince, walking away. “Take care, puppy.”

The nickname slips out of you and his step falters for a second. You notice—you notice every fucking thing he does bevause his presence alone heightens all your senses.

It gives you hope, a small one—one you don't deserve. Maybe. Just maybe. He'll forgive you someday.

[ ]

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Epic The Musical what if

(What if Eurylochus died instead of Polites?)

-We can say that most of the Troy saga would be the same. From (The Horse and the infant. To Polyphemus)

-The big change is during survive, when Polyphemus reveals his club and goes to strike Polites, but by a change of fate. Odysseus notices a second sooner, pushing Polites out of the way, saving them both. But Eurylochus wasn’t so lucky.

-The club killed him. And Odysseus felt a rage. This is what happens when you approach with open arms.

-Remember them changes to. “Avenge them.”

-Odysseus does the same plan as before. Blinding the cyclops. But the difference was that he felt a new burning rage. A hatred for these cyclops. They killed the blinded Polyphemus.

-They weren’t leaving until they killed the giants on the island.

-Polites pleads that they killed enough. But Odysseus berates him. Saying that his weakness is what made Eurylochus die. If they had attacked first they would have won.

-Odysseus experiences a different version of “My goodbye” as Athena leaves him because he is now acting more like Ares than a student of hers.

-Polites was against the several months they spent hunting and killing those giants

- Odysseus and his crew end up killing the giants on the island. And restocked on food. They leave the island. When a storm hits. (Basically the same result where they see the sky island)

- Luck runs out plays but with a slight change. It’s Polites suggesting that they don’t interact with the wind god. That they leave and not push their luck. But Odysseus ignores his advice.

-Odysseus gets the bag of winds. And the shenanigans ensues.

-The winds bring them to Poseidon. Who is a LOT more pissed off. Yea they killed his son, but they killed his sons. And in their brutality, Poseidon found out it was Odysseus that did it. And he is brutal. Killing most of the crew. The song Ruthlessness is the same but it talks about the difference between Ruthlessness and vengeance.

-They escape cause the wind bag.

-after this Polites actually tells Odysseus that the cruelty is what caused them this pain. That they need compassion.

-Puppeteer happens but with Polites being the one to return and he tells Odysseus that they need a plan. He was not going to leave them to be pigs like Eurylochus.

-Basically “Wouldn’t you like” and “Done for” happen the same. But Odysseus kills Circe thanks to Hermes’s giving him the power. This unfortunately means that there was no way of turning the men back from pigs.

-Polites pointed out that they could have saved their men if they had talked to her. But Odysseus points out that she was trying to kill them. And he chose them.

-Because of this, Polites speaks up. He says that Odysseus went too far.

-Fortunately Hermes shows up and helps them get to the underworld (he is the messenger)

-It’s there where the underworld saga occurs. And the underworld song has Odysseus hear Eurylochus instead of Polites.

-No longer you is the same

-“Monster” is sung but with a different inflection. Odysseus realizes he has become a monster and resolves to try and be more compassionate. War had made him lose himself

-“suffering” was the same, but “Different beast” is very different as when the Syrens were captured. They made a deal, if the Syrens helped the crew navigate passed Scylla. They would spare them.

-Unfortunately, this plan failed as the Syrens betrayed them to Scylla and they lost 6 men.

-Mutiny occurs but not because of Polites orchestrating it. But Perimedes.

-Polites tried to stop it. But the crew caught Odysseus off guard and He and Polites were captured.

-The crew killed the cow on the island of the Sun god. And of course Zeus shows up.

-But he had a twist. Since Polites had sided with Odysseus. Polites would not be killed in the crew part of the decision.

-The ship is destroyed as the result of Thunderbringer.

-Odysseus and Polites wake up on Calypso’s island. Where Polites accepts the hospitality with open arms. Odysseus is missing his wife and mourning his mistakes. Polites does help keep Ody from being suicidal.

-The events of the wisdom saga are the same, though the flashbacks are altered.

-Eventually after seven years, divine intervention does kick in. But Calypso isn’t as hard to convince to let Odysseus go. She decided she liked Polites more. And Polites agreed to stay with Calypso. Odysseus apologizes to Polites for not heeding his advice and now he’s stuck there.

-But Polites assures him that he was doing what he thought was right. The song is altered to “Don’t be sorry” he has a hot goddess wife.

-Odysseus thanks them both. Telling them he loves them both. And wishing them all the happiness.

-Odysseus then heads off with the help of Hermes.

-Odysseus eventually gets home. Kills the suitors and reunites with his wife and son.

-Odysseus receives a message from Polites. To remember to receive this return to his life with open arms.

[samalong1]

Hannibal X abused opera Reader

Written with a oc in mind but using you and such

Dead dove do not eat

Tw rape and abuse of power (not by Hannibal) murder,disgust,sucide mentioned, pig fed to pigs,use of guns,cannibalism,and Nsfw and rape

Hannibal preffered knives and similar weopons to guns. It was more intimidate along with consuming his victims getting close to another life. One that had struggles,prides,family, and memories. Ending as they bleed on his knife only to consume him.

He only used a gun once. And never again. He still had the gun in his office framed and everything.

It was for a specific man a man he once respected. The man was called Vernin. He worked hard he performed,directed,and wrote opera even having a few books about him and now worked as a professor at a university teaching others his craft.

He woudnt say he admired him but was aware of his work. So when he attended a Opera performance he was suprised to see a woman introduced as his Student.

You were breathtaking. He got to speak with you and he was pleased to be in the presence of your wits and charm.

He befriended you and while he would of done so if Vernin weren't your mentor he became acquainted to him. He didn't mind of course but he grew suspicious. You were a former student of his and he was still your mentor but his hand would sneak onto your waist and your charm and wit would pour away when he was near.

He tried to speak to you alone but not for perverse reasons but simply to enjoy your company but he'd insist on coming. The man he respected became a annoyance you were flowering as a singer and he was holding you back.

As he got to know you more secretly their was some feelings between you to. He learned that your parents died early in your childhood your mother from cancer and your father years later in a murder suicide from your stepmother.

You came from foster care, a orphan with nothing but you used your voice at first for comfort but soon you learned to flourish from it. You became well educated, you spoke multiple languges,you attended a top college, and you sang at such famous venues and in such classical operas. Your beauty aswell your bright eyes and warm skin all paired with such plump and soft body features.

He started to notice signs more often, how much Vernin dulled you. It all made sense one night when he saw him in one of his fancy parking cars in the opera parking lot, in a blind spot forcing himself on you as he cried. He knew this wasn't the first time. He knew the dullness was fear.

It took weeks. You went through so much you didn't deserve to witness his act. The act of him shooting the man he once respected in the head, he wasn't bothered to create art or a scene of his body and the thoughts of eating the man sickened him.

His body was fed to the pigs the only animal close to his level of filth. He stared as the body was eaten feeling a small smirk.

After the grieving you were much happier in his arms. You flourished you were much happier with him then Vernin ever made you. After every show he was in the crowd holding flowers and giving a standing ovation and if he wasn't clapping it was because he was lost in the smile and glimmer in your eyes.

[closed-third-eye]

you have to understand why they make lucerys out to be a bully rather than aemond who is chasing after a child and aegon who is bullying his brother and led him to his sexual assault.

Biggest fight aemond has been in his life, is been against a child, because that is all he will ever win. so how do you make person like that look cool? You cannot point to his training which took place in a controlled environment by a man who in concerned for his safety. Only thing left to do is make lucerys, aemond's victim, out to be the perpetrator of his trauma

Aemond is a nasty bully on his own, he knocks down jace's practise sword unprovoked. Bullying someone smaller and weaker than him.

He calls rhaena a pig, a girl he met that day of her mothers funeral, and provokes her into a fight. He is again a bully to someone smaller and weaker than him

He has all the kids beaten and he has the rock in his hand, if he wants to he can walk away, but he doesn't. so lucerys takes the only stand he can.

And what happens next is his mother fault, she put the idea of taking the eye as a payment in his head, and while she regrets her out burst, he remembers

Next lucerys's laughing, which while it is a complete dick move he is put down for it, called bastard, he is even beaten, he learned his lesson

Then we go to storms end where brave little lucerys goes inside Storm's end even when he knows vhagar is there so it's obvious who else is, he still walks in does his duty and tries to leave.

But he is again insulted by aemond, instead of lashing out like a child as aemond would, lucerys listens to him and defiantly says no, he doesn't hide or walk away, he could have if he wanted to and maybe results would be same, but lucerys always acted in a manner befitting his station and position.

Aemond on the other hand acts like a child, screams and runs after him, after saying"fight would be little challenge"

And then chases after him like a crazed dog and on his crazed dog.

And this is their biggest enemy by the way. This is who scares them and they think abuser of aemond all his life and the next one is who they say is the abused

now how else do you defend a murderer? Than make his victim out to be a perpetrator

I would also like to add how utterly psychotic some of these people and their arguments are, I genuinely worry how they treat people in real life at the anger they spill over fiction.

And also how much does the narrative and even his own face have to show to say he didn't think death is the right prize and that he actually was simply being a bully, his true nature.

I frankly fear these blind followers of these characters and how they speak of them, if you look at that post it's derived from false emotions, as a way to justify their nonsense.

Aemond has issues, from his mother's neglect of him which allowed his brother's abuse to go on and the added damage to his face, and he focused on the biggest one rather than them all

And to understand aemond as a person you have to take the bad with the worse, but I'm not sure any of his fans are intelligent enough to do that, I make this assumption based on things they say.

Not sure what they wanted lucerys to do in storms end, had they gone book route it would have shown aemond didn't jump him but provoked him, lucerys again is more jumpscared. And they believe he wouldn't fight because he supposedly can't win? Who has to win fighting itself is a crime for for an envoy which they both know, I'm assuming the historian aemokd knows. But also aemond generally says one thing and does the other, he's shown to be less intelligent more reactive and stupid. And when you see the type of admiration he gets, like attracts like.

[ckret2]

I honestly think that Ford is the only character in Gravity Falls that don't have moments of cruelty and unkindness... He's my favorite character because he's the one who is most near to perfection, in contrast to Stanley, who is the character most near to imperfection.

I think you can make some cases for a couple of moments—like, you could easily make a case for "standing by doing nothing while Stan was kicked out" being pretty damn cruel—but you could also just as easily make a counter argument that it wasn't really because it was Filbrick doing the kicking out and it's possible Ford was too scared to speak up and maybe he thought Stan would be fine since he'd already made globe-traveling plans and maybe at that moment he really believed that if Stan stayed at home he'd keep trying to sabotage Ford's future etc etc—like, everything he does that's Not Nice, how Not Nice it is depends on which literary analysis lens you choose to peer at the event through.

Part of this could well be due to the fact that he only got five and a half episodes; but I think the truest thing you can say about his character is that we don't see him act out of spite the way other characters do. Like, if Gideon had stolen Ford's perfect pool chair, he absolutely would have shown up at the pool in the middle of the night to claim the chair for the next morning, but he wouldn't have tried to blind Gideon with his wristwatch. If his nemesis had challenged him to mini-golf, I doubt he'd have conspired with the Liliputtians to cheat. If he was stuck in the house with an annoying pig he'd PROMISED not to put outside, he'd be more likely to storm outside in a huff and leave the pig in the house than he would be to break his promise and put the pig outside.

When Stan or Dipper want to be king of the hill, they're quick to turn to dragging their competition down; but when Ford wants to be king of the hill he tries to climb twice as fast as his competition. I feel like playing dirty to drag his competition down wouldn't even occur to Ford unless it's an "if I lose, somebody dies" situation. Winning by cheating would make him feel like he hasn't really won.

[thefeaturesof]

Agatha Christie Books in Order.

Hercule Poirot Books

Hercule Poirot Collections

Miss Marple Books

Miss Marple Collections

Tommy and Tuppence Books

Tommy and Tuppence Collections

Superintendent Battle Books

Standalone Novels

Short Story Collections

Non-Fiction Books

Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot books in order

Here are the names of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot books in order. It will help you start with your reading while ensuring the best experience.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles (1920)    

The Murder on the Links (1923)     

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (1926)      

The Big Four (1927)    

The Mystery of the Blue Train (1928)     

Peril at End House (1932)     

Lord Edgware Dies (1933)    

Murder on the Orient Express (1934)      

Three Act Tragedy (1935)    

Death in the Clouds (1935)   

The A.B.C. Murders (1936)   

Murder in Mesopotamia (1936)      

Cards on the Table (1936)    

Dumb Witness (1937)  

Death on the Nile (1937)      

Appointment with Death (1938)    

Hercule Poirot’s Christmas (1938)  

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe (1940)

Sad Cypress (1940)     

Evil Under the Sun (1941)    

Five Little Pigs (1942)  

The Hollow (1946)      

Taken at the Flood (1948)    

Mrs. McGinty’s Dead (1952)  

After the Funeral (1953)      

Hickory Dickory Dock (1955)

Dead Man’s Folly (1956)       

Cat Among the Pigeons (1959)      

The Clocks (1963)       

Third Girl (1966)

Hallowe’en Party (1969)       

Elephants Can Remember (1972)  

Curtain (1975)      

The Monogram Murders (2014)

Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot Collections in Order

Poirot Investigates (1924)    

Murder in the Mews (1937)

The Labours of Hercules (1947)

Poirot’s Early Cases (1974)

Agatha Christie Miss Marple Books in Order

Here is the list of Agatha Christie’s books in order based on their publication date.

The Murder at the Vicarage (1930)

The Body in the Library (1942)      

The Moving Finger (1942)    

A Murder is Announced (1950)      

They Do It with Mirrors (1952)      

A Pocket Full of Rye (1953)  

4:50 From Paddington (1957)       

The Mirror Crack’d (1962)    

A Caribbean Mystery (1964)

At Bertram’s Hotel (1965)    

Nemesis (1971) 

Sleeping Murder (1976)

Agatha Christie Miss Marple Collection in Order

The Thirteen Problems (1932)       

Miss Marple’s Final Cases (1979)

Agatha Christie’s Tommy and Tuppence Books in Order

Here’s the list of Agatha Christie Tommy and Tuppence Books in Order

The Secret Adversary (1922)

N or M? (1941)  

By the Pricking of My Thumbs (1968)     

Postern of Fate (1973)

Agatha Christie’s Tommy and Tuppence Collections in Order

Partners in Crime (1929)

Agatha Christie’s Superintendent Battle Books in Order

Here’s the list of Agatha Christie Superintendent Battle Books in Order

The Secret of Chimneys (1925)      

The Seven Dials Mystery (1929)   

Cards on the Table (1936)    

Murder is Easy (1939)

Towards Zero (1944)

Agatha Christie’s Standalone Novels in Order

Here’s the list of Agatha Christie Standalone Novels in Order

The Man in the Brown Suit (1924)  

Giant’s Bread (1930)   

The Sittaford Mystery (1931)

Unfinished Portrait (1934)    

Why Didn’t They Ask Evans? (1934)       

And Then There Were None (1939)

Absent in the Spring (1944)  

Death Comes as the End (1944)    

Sparkling Cyanide (1945)     

The Rose and the Yew Tree (1948)

Crooked House (1949)

They Came to Baghdad (1951)      

A Daughter’s a Daughter (1952)    

Destination Unknown (1954)

The Burden (1956)      

Ordeal by Innocence (1958)

The Pale Horse (1961)

Endless Night (1967)   

13 at Dinner (1969)    

Passenger to Frankfurt (1970)       

The Murder at Hazelmoor (1984)

Agatha Christie’s Short Story Collections in Order

Here’s the list of Agatha Christie Short Story Collections in Order

The Mysterious Mr. Quin (1930)    

The Hound of Death (1933)  

The Listerdale Mystery (1934)       

Parker Pyne Investigates (1934)    

The Regetta Mystery and Other Stories (1939)

The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories (1948)  

Three Blind Mice and Other Stories (1950)      

The Under Dog and Other Stories (1951)

The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding (1960)       

Double Sin and Other Stories (1961)      

Star Over Bethlehem and Other Stories (1965)

The Golden Ball and Other Stories (1974)

The problem at Pollensa Bay and Other Stories (1991)    

The Harlequin Tea Set (1997)       

While the Light Lasts and Other Stories (1997)

Agatha Christie’s Non-Fiction Books in Order

Here’s the list of Agatha Christie Non-Fiction Books in Order

Come, Tell Me How You Live (1946)       

Agatha Christie: An Autobiography (1977)

Top 10 Agatha Christie Books to Read

Given the number of books in the Agatha Christie series, readers generally hesitate to begin. Further, to understand the series well, one needs to read Agatha Christie’s novels in order. To ease things, the readers generally look for the best novels or books to read them directly and avoid all the hassle. So here are the top 10 Agatha Christie novels that will offer you the best mystery story reading experience.

[templeof-demeter]

Demeters family

As is with all mythology, there are different versions of myths and family trees. I will be listing the popular possibilities I have found for familial relationships to Demeter.

Her family is very important to her, to honor them is to honor her. Many have forgotten that she mothered more than one child, an easy thing to forget given modern popularities. Learning more of her family is a great devotional act!

🌾 Daughter of Kronos and Rhea

🌾 Sister of Hestia, Hades, Poseidon, Hera, and Zeus

🌾 Had children with Zeus, Poseidon, Iasion, and Karmanor

🌾 Her children are Persephone, Plutous, Philomelos, Korybas, Areion, Despoine, Eubouleus, and Khrysothemis

Who were her lovers?

Zeus, father of Persephone; is best explained and known from Hesiods Theogony;

"Also he [Zeus] came to the bed of all-nourishing Demeter, and she bare white-armed Persephone whom Aidoneus carried off from her mother; but wise Zeus gave her to him."

Poseidon, father of Areion and Despoine; when Demeter was searching for her daughter, Persephone, that she was followed be Poseidon and disguised herself as a mare- only for him to disguise himself as a stallion and take her.

Iasion, father of Plutous and Philomelos; Iasion fell in love with Demeter, and they met three times. In many versions of the myth, Zeus reacts with anger and smites Iasion for this act; often blinded by this act. In myths after, Iasion is often referred to as “beloved to Demeter” or similar phrases

Karmanor father of Eubouleus and Khrysothemis; A demi-god of harvest himself, their union resulted in more agricultural deities.

Who were her children?

Persephone is known to many of us, as she is Queen of the Underworld and Goddess of Spring. She is most known for her myth of kidnapping and union by Hades.

Plutous is the God of Wealth. He is often depicted as a young boy holding grain, in reference to his mother Demeter or as an infant.

Philomelos, also called Bootes, was the inventor of the wagon and ploughing, and is now a constellation, called Bootes, in the night sky.

Areion is in immortal horse, and was owned by various hero’s in mythology, including Heracles.

Despoine is a fertility goddess who was only truly revealed to initiates of the Mysteries cult.

Eubouleus was a hero of the Eleusinian Mysteries, associated with the pigs sacrificed and possibly associated with ploughing.

Khrysothemis was a demi-goddess associated with agriculture.