#character ;; alice morgan {malignant narcissist}

[sweetbitterbitten]

lips quirk in feather light dread. there is fogginess to her feral today; like a fox meandering in mist, munching away at the obscured discarded and dead. a manner of mirage that hides the hacksaw in hand. “how you are just  b e g g i n g  for the opportunity to be  b a d  .”

“you might as well admit it to yourself at least, if not to me.” - Alice Morgan

it is to bait to answer at all, to answer with any kind of specificity. she could mean a million things, she could mean anything. so he simply says: “admit what?” if she means to coax more words from him, she will have to give more herself.

[sweetbitterbitten]

continued from here

reclined longways across some dreary divay she stretches one long leg in a lift, ankle rotating to observe the catch of light on a slick new shoe at the end of a striking pantsuit. she has shopped, perhaps she has sliced. desires drift in and out of focus, from material to physical to diabolical, in but a blink. for now she cools her heels, content with ruining the solitude and pervasive silence of his evening. tiny treasures in the trash heap of the world. “how barbaric. i have far better table manners.”

[sweetbitterbitten]

@threecardtrick​ continued from here

he touches the ticking part of her insectile mind, the mechanism in the temporal lobe that lashes with a lizard like tongue. the undisputed drag of her attention full and entire - and never in a way that brings anything but the very worst of every outcome. expression twitches, something half dead and damaged yet still haggard and hungry on the side of the deteriorated highway. an alien-esque inhumanity that slithered from the very first percolation on the planet. she is only id...in designer digs.  “huh...” tongue prods inner cheek, tracing tip of sharp incisors before clucking with rabid reluctance. “suppose i’ll just have to... pin your eyes open. so i can slice them in half. won’t i?” can’t have prime ministers seeing even a suspected  S P E C K  of her.

[sweetbitterbitten]

❝ If you didn’t grow up like I did then you don’t know, and if you don’t know it’s probably better you don’t judge. ❞ ( to alice )

"a substantial lack of knowing is a judge's only prerequisite."

[sweetbitterbitten]

cont. from here

wind whistles in between teeth; a teasing hiss turned out at his reply. he truly has no concept - the depths of her depravity - not even with a solid taste; spoon slipped and shoved lengthwise down his gullet. g a g g e d .  “oh, i don’t know... ask  N I C E L Y .”

[sweetbitterbitten]

“knife or gun. G O .”

[sweetbitterbitten]

neck touch (for alice)

Neck: Dislike/Hate/Disdain

she tips her chin inquiringly, eyes quick flints cracked against coal. “looking for evidence of past punishments, are we?” the bruises were barely visible under the strained violet night.

[sweetbitterbitten]

unasked for starter for @threecardtrick she is sour wine and slash of red. all the nasty things hidden under your bed. he wouldn’t have noticed, meeting run so late...the absence of guard dogs. not a bark or a whimper to be heard, all sleeping peacefully in some storage closet or kitchen cabinet. no worse for wear but all sufficiently bound. so hard to get any privacy these days. she is a blot, a stain when the light switch shows her perched daringly on his divan, two wine glasses well in hand. “comfy couch, minister. pop round - have a sit. close the door and lock it, that’s a good lad. don’t make me upset these...” she raised them like white flags. “their color would clash with the silk seat cushion.”

[sweetbitterbitten]

❝ would you change who you are , if you could ? ❞ ( for alice )

“dearie me, minister, are you looking for a sliver W O R T H saving?”

[sweetbitterbitten]

[ knife ] for alice, for that time she just like. snuck into his bed lol

[ knife ]  your muse using a knife in bed, whether for threat or actually cutting mine.

“wellllll helllllllllllllooooooooooo H A N D S O M E.” the blade feels like a child’s blanket. familiar and all so sweet. despite the ability to shave a baboon's arse. she has hands raised, wiggling in the sparse light, playful at his punt of brutatlity. “if you were trying to turn a gal off. wrong move.”

[sweetbitterbitten]

[ lit ] ( for alice )

[ lit ] your muse lighting a cigarette , spliff , etc. for mine .

“generic, if gentlemanly.” magic trick of man, producing fire at the drop of a hat. she accepts it all the same, never one to waste a flame. “bet you can do better.”

[sweetbitterbitten]

my alice muse just said “my my, you’re toothsome.” to holden while watching mindhunters. help.

[sweetbitterbitten]

@patriiiarch

She turns up, as always; an unexpected package in crooked doorways. A wolf in cat’s clothing. A shark in sheepskin. Vixen among the venison. There are a rare few, a certain breed that she visits with any regularity. The stimulating Stokers, Hannibal and his hareem. But none so delightful as the demented and darling Addamses, whose hearth and home is ever open and inviting to her whirlwinded run throughs. Winking to the mammoth guard and groundskeeper as she breezes past, shedding coat, scarf, AND glove in her wake - she calls out to the house at large, lofting up into every dark corner and echoing in every crevice.  “I’ve violets for the ancestors and spirits for the living!” She cries, shaking the rare vintage as if in a wave; a wild metronome, too fast and out of time. “And a possible BODY for the children to BURY in the trunk of my CAR! Climb out, climb out, Auntie Alice is come!”

[sweetbitterbitten]

🗑️ ( for whoever )

[to the beastmaster, from the magpie] you can pretend i’m her. i’ve a blindfold that will serve nicely.[to minister, from malice] it would be so unerringly easy to ruin you. i think you’d make a very fine mess. but then the game would be done, and i’m so enjoying playing.

[sweetbitterbitten]

[ open ] ( the perfect gentleman! )

[ open ] your muse opening a door for mine .She is as welcome as the plague and twice as pretty. She always fancied white. Superb backdrop for painted canvases. Pristine and freshly pressed, as all doctors in uniform were. Making her meld into the very walls. Unnoticeable, except of course for those compelled by manners to admit her entrance. Or exit. She flashes a too bright smile. 

Too sharp to simply say thanks. Shark in what should be safe waters. But he doesn’t notice, leaving her behind with long, quick strides down the hall, phone to ear, hushedly ordering those on the other end: to up security. To tighten restrictions. Far too late for all that, Minister. Despite his fear, his boy is fine. Tumble from his motorbike is all. A few scrapes and bruises. Nothing worse for wear. The only item which disconcerts, is the stuffed bear, found in the crook of an unconscious elbow - wishing the young lad, a speedy recovery.