#to start up the violence again and then get killed!

[tianlavellan]

what she says: anders deserved better

what she means: anders had to take a hard decision and, while everyone can see it differently depending on personal ethics, his development and moral dilemmas from that point were disregarded because, in the narrative thats being pushed onto us, the ‘angry fighter for freedom' character has no place. Its not surprising that in the default world state, the mage hawke has not only killed anders but he also violently despises him; and several times we are reminded of how he 'single-handedly' started the war. Never mind the inherent abuse in the circles or the straight slave work that its presented in the kirkwall circle; good mages would have never rebelled, good mages seek help from the merciful chantry, good mages stay quiet until... until a /bad mage/ seeks answers through violence. Anders' life is nothing but the tale of the nice opressed, who smiles and gently corrects; and the mean opressed, who speaks up and ACTS. Once he becomes the Mean Opressed, his narrative ends. Theres nothing else to his character, he is Done, he will not evolve past that. In Dragon Age 2, most characters become, at some point, a monster: fenris and his markings, merrill and blood magic, isabela and her stolen book. Anders' monster is not being an abomination: is daring to fight with the same violence that was shown to him, to his people. We aren't shown any more of his development because right after his stand, we can kill him. We can abandon him. We can kill him, again. We end the game. His storyline has no closure; its made so we can comfortably hate him and never get to see his real drives and ethics. And thats why he deserved more.

what she also means: my son..... my be aut iful feli ne son..........

[hyperions-light]

hey I was planning another post today but instead let’s talk about how much I love that there’s not really a ‘good’ ending to the companion plotlines in Veilguard. It reminds me of Leliana and Alistair’s plotlines in DAO in that what you choose says more about the player/protagonist than anything

I just finished Isana Negat a second time, and I did the other ending and I thought it was just as good. Like, yeah, Harding does deserve to be angry! They did fucking get everything taken away from them! It’s so painful and horrific; yes you can, and should, be mad! But also Harding prioritizing her very real love for and compassion towards other people is not wrong. It’s just different! It’s just Rook’s friend/lover asking them for advice, and Rook giving it! You know, like in real life except with huge magical rock giants

And okay I’m never going to kill Illario because I think it would make Luca really sad and he has enough problems, Whoops I misremembered this, I don’t think you can kill Illario actually. I love that for Luca <3 But yk, I’m probably still not going to imprison him. but I can see it! Because the cycle has to end, right? The violence and infighting of the Crows endlessly attacking each other over power is part of what allowed the Antaam to get a foothold in Antiva, because there was like a double agent or something (if I’m remembering right from Tev Nights). Some kind of ending needs to be made to this endless violence. And I suppose it depends on how retributive Rook is, which is a great question to ask of the player (one that is asked repeatedly throughout the game). It’s not like Illario didn’t do anything, you know! He probably deserves punishment. But Rook, as they always can at various points, can be merciful, can choose absolution. Wow no, I’m glad I was wrong I love it more like this.

And oh boy, I LOVED the ending of Emmrich’s quest, don’t even get me started! Like!! I thought it was going to be ‘well obviously we HAVE to save Manfred’, but how Emmrich talks about accepting his death and his sacrifice convinced me! I was like alright man, this is a real choice! I actually did make him a lich last time (made a lot of sense from a Watcher perspective, imo) and not only was the cutscene sick as hell, but the follow-up was so funny and I got some really sad Spite dialogue which fucking wrecked me. It was great— seriously, his plotline is one of my favorites in the whole game.

And Davrin’s! I’ve already expounded at length about how much I like his quest line and how it ties into the Grey Wardens, but I really think both of his options for the griffons are so workable, because you know the Grey Wardens, especially under Antione and Evka, aren’t going to hurt those little guys again! But also the scenes with Eldrin are so endearing, and Davrin’s hope for a brighter future for them is so sweet and genuine. It’s hard to pick! It’s about Rook's perspective!

Neve's I'll admit I don't vibe with as much just because of the like 'trust the authorities' angle, but i haven't tried saving Minrathous yet and I think it would be sooooo involving as a Shadow Dragon especially. Because that's what they're fighting for, right? That better Minrathous where they CAN be sure that if they send the insane cultist lady to prison she’s going to stay there? But there’s always the practical consideration of people’s lives being at stake NOW, of Neve needing her friends safe NOW. And just killing Aelia ensures she will never be an issue again. So I can see both angles for sure

And Taash ;-; oh, Taash. I haven’t posted about them that much yet because they make me very emotional and it’s hard to organize thoughts like that. But I really love their quest, and their struggle to define themselves. And look, I know people wanted the option to tell them they could be both, but like as a person who has lived a similar experience, it really feels sometimes like the world is making you choose. It can feel like you’re not enough of either thing for anyone. And there are parts of your identity that you will have to make a choice on, and I think it’s trying to speak to that. I did the Rivaini one, and it’s like… well, they’re embracing the culture of Rivain, but it’s not like anyone is ever going to look at them and NOT see a Qunari. You can’t get away from that. What you choose to do in response is a real dilemma and I think that if you engage with the text genuinely you can see what Trick was doing. Also, there is a really great dialogue from Rook that I think gives more context to the discussion; they can say that they have been many things, and it’s important to take what works from each experience and make it part of yourself. So I don’t think Taash’s plot is trying to make them throw away any of themselves, just defining priorities. (Sorry, that got long. Feelings, opinions about that one)

And I don’t think Bellara’s is obvious, either, especially with how they involve the Nadas Dirthalen in her personal plot. This is a thing that is really emotionally and culturally significant to her, but at the same time it is part of what hurt her brother and ultimately took him away from her. She’s really preoccupied with not causing harm by her actions; she spends the whole game worried about it! And even though Rook doesn’t see the dangerous elements of the repository, that doesn’t mean they’re not there. The puzzle quest you can find in Arlathan proves that other people besides Cyrian were taken in by Anaris. And also, there’s the plot thread they briefly touched on in the last game which is that the culture the Dalish have built, that they have RIGHT NOW, is not wrong. But it’s also important to remember history, even if it’s unpleasant or could be dangerous, which is another thing you can discuss with Bellara during the game. So there’s no wrong choice! It’s just about Rook and Bellara and what’s important from their perspectives.

Anyway it was super refreshing to have these kinds of choices! It reminds me of the best character choices in DAI and DAO, especially, and I’m so happy they carried those things forward and improved on them.

[newtsniffles]

BETWEEN YOUR EYES

the jackal x oc

chapter one

WARNING: this fanfiction will contain mature scenes, violence, and coarse language.

word count: 1.6k, a short set-up chapter. enjoy!

if you enjoy this fanfiction, please don't forget to interact.

CHAPTER ONE: ONE SHOT, ONE KILL.

Grace McCarron loved the smell of coffee. Especially in the early mornings when the sun hadn’t risen and the streets were still wet with last night’s rain. It irked her though, how people could be so loud at such an early hour. Couldn’t people just be quiet? Talk at a normal volume, it was only the hour of six. 

The blonde’s fingers rap against the counter in a steady rhythm. Her expression reads neutral as she watches the customers enjoying their breakfasts, discussing work projects and gossip. It was all so mundane, every word they said was capable of drawing a yawn from her lips. Nobody is interesting this morning.

With a sigh, Grace reaches under the counter for the remote, flicking on the television in the corner. Her head tilts, blue eyes sparkling with intense focus at the headline written across the lower third of the screen. 

Manfred Fest assassinated.

Grace’s eyes narrow, something interesting. Her attention is only being drawn away by the sound of a customer waiting to order. A young woman, brunette, she’d be mid-twenties. 

‘It’s horrible isn’t it?’ The woman says.

‘I’m on the fence,’ Grace admits. ‘What can I get for you?’

‘A latte, please… You don’t think it’s bad?’

‘That a fascist offended somebody and got himself killed? Not really.’ Grace presses the coffee, clicking it into the machine before foaming the milk. With practised expertise, she fills a takeaway cup with the espresso and milk, creating lines of art on the top. 

‘I don’t know much about foreign politics,’ the woman taps her card.

‘Take it from me, be glad he won’t be the new German Chancellor.’

Grace’s attention is brought back to the screen as the customer walks away with her latte. A single sniper shot from a distance of over three kilometres. Impressive. More than. The corners of her lips tilt into a small grin, leaning back onto the counter with crossed arms, she watches the news report.

It had started raining again, like it usually did in London. The sound of tires driving over the slick roads was comforting to Grace. Red brake lights reflected in the puddles by the footpath, headlights and street lamps casting a warm hue despite the darkening sky. She loved the rain, the sound of it pattering against whatever surface. However, it did make it hard to get a decent line of sight. Her lips quirked slightly, a lover of challenge. One blue eye closed, a glint of thrill in the other as it stared through the scope of a personalised sniper rifle. 

Sleeping with the blinds open, Grace could never understand it, but it certainly helped her in this case. The target laid across his bed, his thumb scrolling across the screen of his phone. The lights in his apartment were on, everything visible. He was so stupidly vulnerable. She could’ve shot six times over by now, but would there be any fun in that? Her finger taps against the trigger as she recalls the deviance of the sleazy man. The world would be better off without him.

BANG. One shot, one kill.

Grace pulls her head back from the sniper, standing up, she starts to pack down the rifle. Her eyes don’t leave the window of the now-deceased target as she unscrews the barrel, packing it all into a case. She hurries downstairs, unlocking her car and driving off swiftly. Chances are nobody would find him until morning, but it is still safer to get away as quickly as possible.

The internet cafe was practically dead at this hour, a lone stranger or two.  It had started to rain outside again, Grace could hear it on the roof, see it on the windows. It was also a Wednesday, unlikely that it would be busy. She plugs a USB into one of the many PCs, accessing Dark Core.

Access Chatroom:

Username: xxxfOxTROT22971x$

Password: ************

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___ job complete.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___he will not bother you anymore.

FPOxENT779X___thank you.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___yes.

CRTVDSTRYR*1908 one new message.

CRTVDSTRYR*1908___Big admirers of your work. Have project we think will interest you. Superlative remuneration.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i don’t work for money.

CRTVDSTRYR*1908___What do you work for?

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___enforcement of consequence.

CRTVDSTRYR*1908___There is a man who needs to face consequences.

CRTVDSTRYR*1908___Can’t talk here.

CRTVDSTRYR*1908___Will you meet in person?

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___where?

Grace sits back in her seat, her finger traces her bottom lip as she waits for a response. This was an odd one, but they seem insistent. For them to know of her work, they had to have communication with sources she had helped in the past.

CRTVDSTRYR*1908___Will make a transfer of good will. Location attached.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___tomorrow morning.

Logout.

A sum of $10,000 has been transferred to your account.

A transfer message has been left.

Grace shuts down the computer, taking out the USB, she packs it into her handbag. Her lips quirk as she exits the internet cafe. Something new, something interesting, a potential challenge. This calls for a stop at that delicious dessert bar down the road from her apartment, a nice meringue or maybe some ice cream would do.

For once the sun was out in London, albeit only slightly, but it did still make Grace look less ridiculous for wearing a cap and sunglasses. She notices a woman sitting on the park bench, must be her. Her black coat flutters behind her in the wind as she sits beside the other woman.

‘Who are you?’ Grace asks.

‘Irish?’ The woman responds with a question.

‘And you’re American.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why am I here?’ Grace leans back against the park bench, crossing her legs. ‘What did he do? Was it assault, did he hurt the kids…?’

‘Ulle Dag Charles.’

‘UDC… the River man?’ 

‘Yes,’ She answers.

‘I don’t see how exposing the rich is a crime,’ Grace grins. ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve wasted my time.’

‘If he releases River, it’s not just the rich who fall. All secret networks will be exposed, you’ll be discovered.’ The woman turns to face Grace, trying to get a look at her expression. She quickly realises it’s impossible with the cap and the darkly tinted glasses. ‘You’ll go to prison for a long time.’

‘If that’s the case, hidden networks of paedophiles, rapists… it will all be exposed. You think they’ll go after little old me?’

‘I think even after exposing the rich, they’ll still have the power, and they’ll still be protected.’

‘You’re very insistent,’ Grace observes. ‘Why me?’

‘Because you always get the job done.’

Sighing, Grace looks up at the cloudy sky, the sun peaking out slightly. She sucks in a breath of the fresh park air before responding. ‘This job is a bit harder than the others…’

‘Which is why we’ve hired a second… professional, such as yourself.’

‘First, you ask me to eliminate a man for wanting to expose the rich, and now you tell me I’d have to work with another person?’

There is a silence that passes momentarily between the two women as they stare each other down.

‘River is good for nobody. You will go to prison.’

‘No, I won’t.’ Grace smirks knowingly. ‘Who is the other person?’

‘He is one of the best, alongside yourself.’

‘Who is he?’

‘I don’t know his identity…’ She answers. ‘He took out Fest.’

‘Ah.’ Grace’s lips immediately quick upwards, a grin taking over her expression. She stands up, hands in pockets, she stares down at the woman still sitting. ‘And what do they call you?’

‘Zina.’

‘Zina… I don’t kill innocent men. Give me one good reason to take this job, and not because of River.’

‘...’ The American woman sits there contemplating for a moment, her mind working a million miles an hour. ‘You don’t have to take the shot. We need you to… babysit.’

Grace lets out a loud chuckle, ‘babysit?’

‘It seems our other hire is caught up in a few… troubles after the fest situation. We need you to ensure he gets the job done, and if he fails to, you step in and finish it.’

‘Well… let’s hope he doesn’t fail.’

‘Is that a yes to the job?’ Zina sits up straight.

‘He is aware, I assume?’

‘He will be made aware.’

‘Get me in contact,’ Grace turns around and walks away, her coat once again billowing behind her.

It was another early morning, three days after Grace’s meeting with Zina. She sat behind the counter at the cafe, it was a very quiet morning. A Sunday morning, not many were up and about. She opened her laptop, plugging in her USB.

Access Chatroom:

Username: xxxfOxTROT22971x$

Password: ************

**&525marTinGuerrE^$___who are you?

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___should i not be asking you?

**&525marTinGuerrE^$___i do not need babysitting.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___ah.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___the other ‘professional’

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___nice shot.

**&525marTinGuerrE^$___refuse the job.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i don’t think i will.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i get bored sometimes.

**&525marTinGuerrE^$___then stay out of the way.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i do the job i’m hired for.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___don’t get into trouble, and i won’t have to step in and clean it up.

**&525marTinGuerrE^$___i don’t need anybody to clean up.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___a little birdy told me otherwise.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i am not the enemy.

**&525marTinGuerrE^$___i don’t work in teams.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___there is a first time for everything.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i’m not here to steal your job.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i’m here to cover your ass so you can get it done.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___you said you don’t work in teams, that means you have no connections.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___you will fuck up, you will go to jail.

**&525marTinGuerrE^$___Munich.

**&525marTinGuerrE^$___i will send the hotel details.

xxxfOxTROT22971x$___see you there.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

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taglist: @ysabay @blue-and-yellow-jjk-pjm @fawkes5050 @our-future-is-up-to-us-2 @itszara-theurbanwitch @wintercrows @rosie-read-that @kpopgirlbtssvt

[zigrethsnotebook]

[OVERWHELMING KISS]

Bill x Reader

words: 623

tags: sfw, violence

a/n: sorry guys, i think reader snapped in this one... oops. Also, I guess the Bill ones are just all one story now, so read the other ones first? or don't, I'm not the boss of you. (oh and lmk if you think i shouldn’t tag this as sfw lol)

You woke up to the same chaos all over again. Eyeballs floating around, stacking more and more people to his throne and Gideon Gleeful now dancing in a little cage with a pained expression on his face. Bill, however, was nowhere in sight.

Bored already, you watched Gideon for a bit until you called out to him. “You can take a break, you know?” The kid didn’t stop. “No, I can’t! Bill ordered me to keep dancing.” “But he’s not here.” Gideon didn’t listen to you and continued his dance. You sighed, kind of wishing Bill was here.

He hadn’t shown himself to you once since he kissed you. That was two days ago. You laid back down. It was kind of impossible for him to avoid you completely while keeping you chained to a wall next to his throne. But that didn’t mean that he had to face you. You only ever caught his voice, some yellow glimpses if you were lucky.

Eventually, you heard that familiar voice again. He was talking to one of his maniacs who had informed him that ‘Dipper’ and ‘Mabel’ were free or something. Whoever those two are. When the nightmare creature had left the pyramid again to do god-knows-what, you decided to tempt fate.

“Bill!” The air in the room went still. “You’re a giant coward!” The room was deathly silent, even Gideon’s dance went quiet. In the blink of an eye he appeared in front of you - gigantic, seething and glowing red. “WHAT?” His voice echoed through the hall. Somehow, it didn’t scare you anymore. You were getting bored with this. With him.

“You’re a coward.” There was no need for you to raise your voice as you stated this simple fact. Bill wasn’t having it though as he yanked you upwards and towards him by the chain around your throat before flinging you backwards. Your back hit the wall with a dull thud and your motionless body fell to the floor.

Bill’s eye widened in shock as his body transformed back to his yellow, tiny self and flew towards you. “No, no, no…” His voice was tiny as his hands hovered over your unmoving form. He didn’t know what to do, panic seeping into him at the thought of having killed his favorite human in a burst of blind rage.

A soft groan left your mouth as you came to. Dull but intense pain spread from your back and neck outwards, leaving you breathless and unable to get up. Bill’s eye watered, relief flooding his mind at your obvious signs of life, when he pulled you into a sitting position. You cried out in pain as he moved you to lean against the wall.

When you opened your eyes you saw Bill, holding you by the shoulders, crying, pathetic. He moved his hands from your shoulders to your cheeks and sobbed once before transforming his eye into a mouth again and leaning in quickly.

These few seconds of believing he had lost you left him so helpless that he couldn’t stop himself when he realized you were okay. Or, well… alive. Bill kissed you, this time truly meaning it and putting all the emotions he tried to shake these past two days into it.

It was intense - good - but intense. You could taste the tears he had shed and felt him quietly sob into the kiss. It left you feeling breathless and seeing stars, which could have also been from your injuries now that you thought about it.

You wanted more of this. Something real - raw emotion. You also wanted to see him like this more often. Pathetic. Vulnerable. Starting today there was nothing you wouldn’t do to achieve this new goal of yours.

[rhiannonsknife]

Just wanted to maybe request an addition to the Stockholm!Rhiannon and raise you Yandere!Rhiannon.

Rhiannon, who kidnapped you not because you witnessed a murder but because she needs you. Maybe she wants you to watch her kill someone, maybe it gives her a rush?

She keeps you tied up, and maybe one day you call her crazy, or say that she needs help and she gets so angry that she kills someone and then blames you for it? Convincing you to stay because it's all your fault that she killed that innocent person and look at what you've done to her.

I love your writing so so much, could I maybe be 🍁 anon?

— warnings: yandere!rhiannon. she’s insane in this one, guys. kidnapping. canon typical violence. obsessive!rhiannon.

rhiannon didn’t kidnap you out of revenge or because you witnessed something you weren’t supposed to -she kidnapped you because you’re hers. in her mind, it’s not even a question of morality; it’s a mere necessity. she didn’t even have a proper reason to take you, except her growing obsession. you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, bumping into her at night, after one of her kills. you couldn’t have known, the blood hidden under her rain coat.

there was no reasons that would justify the fact that she had to have you that night, only the adrenaline from the kill and the need to be yours the way you’re hers already.

she keeps you tied up at first, but not in the garage where she keeps most of her victims (you’re not a victim to her, after all). somewhere personal, somewhere that feels like her. she wants you to associate your surroundings with her presence. she tries her bedroom, at first, but the way you stay up half the night, exhausting yourself by banging the back of your head against the bed frame to make some noise soon pisses her off too much to keep you there. so, she settles for the living room instead.

when she does untie you (on good days), she’s extra vigilant, watching your every move. you can feel her eyes boring into your back no matter where you are; whether she has ran you a bath to clean yourself up or allowed you to move through the space because you stopped feeling your legs from all the sitting.

after a while of your unwilling stay (she refuses to call it what it really is.), rhiannon starts introduce you to her violent nature, not just as an observer but as an accomplice in her mind. she wants you to watch her “work” because it’s the ultimate expression of who she is.

by then, you’ve obviously put two and two together and realized that she’s the killer on the loose that everyone’s been looking for. you’ve also noticed that she really seems to have some fucked up kind of soft spot for you: in all the time you’ve been here, rhiannon has not once laid hands on you (except for when she first took you). she’s been surprisingly gentle, instead.

that doesn’t make it any less terrifying when she returns home to you exhilarated, her clothes stained with blood, her breath heavy. she smiles wide, kneeling in front of you to explain in graphic detail how much she enjoyed it. “i did it for you. doesn’t that mean something?”

the first time you try to ignore it entirely, to draw your eyes away from the crimson that’s staining her clothes and is still dripping from her hands when she runs them through your hair. yet, when it becomes a frequent occurrence that she confesses her kills to you, you can’t hold it together forever.

the first time you call rhiannon crazy, her expression freezes, and you know you’ve struck a nerve. she doesn’t lash out at you immediately, but later that night, she returns with blood on her hands all over again -more than usual.

“you did this,” she accuses, her voice trembling with faux heartbreak. “you made me feel like i wasn’t enough, and i needed to prove myself. don’t you see? this is all your fault”

it’s the first, yet by far not the last time rhiannon does this: she plays the victim often, lamenting how “difficult” you’re making things. she tries to convince you that the outside world could never compare to all that she’s capable of doing for you.

“you’ve seen what i’m capable of. do you think anyone else would protect you like that?” she asks while serving you dinner she’s cooked.

through all of her madness, that soft spot for you is still palpable: she’ll sit beside you while you sleep, stroking your hair, whispering how much you mean to her or surprise you with gifts she’s stolen from her victims -a necklace, a watch, something she thinks will make you feel special. “look what i got for you. do you like it? say you like it”

if you ever dare to defy her, though, she becomes cold and calculating. she might isolate you for hours or days, refusing to speak to you while you remain tied up, just to make you beg for her attention. on the flip side, when you comply or show her even the slightest kindness, she becomes overwhelmingly affectionate, showering you with praise. “see? that’s how it’s supposed to be. just us”

any mention of someone else, anyone who isn’t part of this imaginary ‘us’ rhiannon has created (whether a friend, family member, or stranger) sends her into a jealous spiral. “why are you thinking about them when i’m right here? what do they have that i don’t?” she’ll start making veiled threats about cutting off any potential ties you have to the outside world. “if they cared so much, they’d already be looking for you!”

at this point you’ve learned to tread carefully, where a single wrong word can send her spiraling into either rage or despair. and yet, as she crouches in front of you after another kill, her eyes wide with the kind of devotion that suffocates, you feel something snap inside you.

“why are you doing this?” the question tumbles out of you before you can stop it.

rhiannon’s lips part, surprise flashing across her face. clearly, she hadn’t expected you to speak. then, she leans in a little closer, her breath warm against your face.

“because you’re mine,” she says simply, her smile curling into something sharp, like this is the most logical conclusion. “you’ll see that eventually. you have to”

as she brushes her bloodstained fingers down your cheek, the realization sinks in that she’s not just convincing you. she’s convincing herself of this, too.

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving part 4

Rating: Fine, no sex or explicit violence

Warnings: You get followed at night

Summary: You’re being stalked, but Ghost is innocent this time! Sort of.

Word count: 3,006

ao3 link

TNR was the fucking worst.

Trapping cats wasn’t so bad, and neutering them was grim, but releasing them absolutely sucked. You hated having to release them back into the streets. Yes, the shelter was full, yes, it was the responsible thing to do, but you just felt rotten. You still had haunting dreams about that big orange doofus that you’d never seen again. He’d never been brought into the shelter; you’d never seen him adopted or fostered, and it bothered you.

But it was the best you could do.

So, you were out in the cold, setting up cosy traps with straw- not blankets; they’d freeze- and covering them with tarps in the darkest, shadiest alleyways, which always seemed to be where you found yourself looking for cats. Last time you were in a place like this, you’d been accosted by a soldier pointing a gun at your heart, an experience you weren’t keen to repeat. Then again, you had gotten Soap out of the deal. Though there were some heavy strings attached to that cat.

Ghost.

That man always seemed to be nearby, just out of sight but never out of mind. The fucker really did live up to his name, constantly haunting you no matter where you were. You were fairly sure that he hadn’t broken into your apartment over the last few weeks, but you could never be sure. You’d done the classic spy trick of placing a hair over the door, and it hadn’t been moved, but you had an uneasy feeling that Ghost was clever enough to notice it and replace it.

No matter where you were, you always felt as though there was someone watching you. You were constantly looking over your shoulder, sleepless, with nightmares of Ghost breaking in, though you’d always startle awake before he killed you.

So, not only did you have the unease of being in a dingy alleyway, as well as the general upset that came with TNR, but now you had the further fear of Ghost being somewhere nearby, watching, waiting.

At least you were almost done, having set up the last trap, your fingers stiff from the cold. You shoved your hands back in your woolly mittens, said a silent prayer that you wouldn’t catch any rats, and then set off for home.

And there it was, that overwhelming feeling of being watched. You’d been wondering when Ghost would show up, when he’d make another grand entrance like a cartoon villain, and here he was. You couldn’t see him, of course, but you could feel an ominous presence, one that made all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you were fucking sick of it. You grabbed your phone, then pulled off one of your mittens with your teeth so you could actually type.

‘Subject: Stalker

STOP FUCKING FOLLOWING ME.’

You pressed send so aggressively that you almost dropped your phone, then shoved it back into your pocket, pulled your glove back on, folded your arms across your chest and shoved your numb hands into your armpits as you stomped down the streets. What was it about you that made Ghost so obsessed with you? What could you have possibly done to draw such attention? God, if only he would get hit by a bus. Or step on a landmine. Whatever it took to give you some peace.

Apparently, even the mere thought of peace was enough to magically summon the man, your phone vibrating in your pocket. You’d already predicted that you’d see the caller ID of ‘Ghost’ on your screen, and so you did. Infuriating. You clicked the lock button to reject the call, but the second it was rejected, it started up again. You could have blocked him, but you had a feeling that he had an endless supply of burner phones, so you picked up.

“What.” You were surprised to hear that level of venom in your own voice. On the other end of the phone, you could hear the slam of a car door and the rev of an engine. Then, there was that familiar voice. “Stop walking.” You hadn’t intended to do what he demanded, but you were so puzzled by his words that you stopped in your tracks. “I- what?” His voice was calm, “Listen.” “For what?” “Footsteps.” You huffed, “What the fuck are you on about now?” “Do it.” You’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted to throw your phone into the gutter, but you resisted the urge. You listened.

There was nothing at first, just the silence of the street with the noises of the city in the background, but then you heard it. The scuff of a shoe on pavement. You pursed your lips, leaning your weight on one foot, “So you wanted me to know that you’re following me? Great. Thanks.” “That’s not me.” “What?” “Listen carefully. Walk to the end of this alley, take one left, and then another left.” “Ghost-“ “Do it.” You could feel an uneasiness in your gut. If Ghost wasn’t the one stalking you, then you had a bigger problem.

Christ, you had one stalker already, and now there was another one? The fuck kind of vibes did you put off? Adrenaline crept through your veins, your muscles tensing, and you clutched your phone a little tighter as you sprung back into walking, trying not to look too much like you were fleeing, not wanting to trigger a chase you’d most likely lose, “Okay. Who is it?” “I don’t know.” “What do you mean you don’t know? How do you not know?” “Keep walking.” You chewed the inside of your cheek. How was it that your safety lay in the hands of the man who was stalking you? “Left.” “What?” “Turn left.”

As commanded, you took the left, dismayed to see that it was an empty street. This didn’t exactly feel any safer. You were hoping for a brightly lit, well-populated street. You swore that the footsteps were closer, and your heart had crept further up your chest until it was in your throat. There was nothing for you to do other than keep walking, so that’s what you did. You walked slowly as though you were having a casual chitchat with a friend, even though you knew it was obvious how uneasy you were by the tension in your body. “Left again.” At least this alleyway was a little brighter, though you couldn’t see what exactly was supposed to be any safer about this place.

“You see that CCTV?” You looked around the street, and your eyes landed on a bulky-looking street camera perched over a closed vape shop. “I see it.” “Now, repeat after me. ‘You can see me on the camera?’” You didn’t question him, obeying his command yet again. “Oh, you can see me on camera?” You upped the charade, waving at the camera, “Hi!”

You could hear an engine now. Thank fuck, you could hear an engine. That meant there would be a car, someone else in the street! Let them come closer. For the love of God, let them inexplicably turn down this dead-end street.

The headlights of the car illuminated the street you were on, and you had to resist the urge to leap up and down and scream for help. Instead, you just waited. The car was far too fast, doing at least 40 in what you were pretty sure was a 20 zone, and you began to wonder what kind of trouble had found you now because your luck seemed to be fucking awful as of late. Then it hit you. You knew who was in that car. There was no one else it could possibly be.

You weren’t surprised when Ghost got out of the car, dressed in black trousers and a dark jacket, that same skull balaclava on, but you were surprised when he pointed to his car. “Lock the doors.” He didn’t stay. Instead, he immediately stalked off into the dark, leaving you to contemplate what on earth had just happened. He knew you could drive, right? He had given you the keys to what was presumably his car and then fucked off. What was supposed to stop you from stealing his car?

Of course, you didn’t. You had immediately gotten into the passenger seat as directed, but you still questioned the sanity of Ghost’s actions.

What were you supposed to do in this situation? It felt like you’d jumped from the fire into the frying pan; you’d escaped whatever creep was following you in the streets, and now you were trapped in Ghost’s car. At least it was warm. It smelled surprisingly nice too, at least it was nice until you recognised the scent. It was the one you’d caught lingering in your hallway. Another mystery solved.

That settled it then; if Ghost was allowed to pry through your apartment, you were allowed to pry through his car. The centre console was bland enough, like every other car, it had a few pound coins in for the trolleys and a packet of gum. You took a piece, feeling a little vindictive as you did. Then, you went for the glovebox, curious to see what you’d find inside.

You should have known you’d find a gun in there. You’d never seen one before; it was like finding a rattlesnake in there; you didn’t even want to go near it. Was it even legal for him to carry it in public? Right beside the gun were more weapons, half a dozen throwing knives, scattered on top of the car manual. You were beginning to regret this; everything you found was just making you more uneasy; what was next, thumbscrews?

Thankfully, it wasn’t so terrifying; in fact, it was pedestrian- a plain black leather wallet. It would have served him right if you stole it from him. However, that wasn’t your style, so you contented yourself with nosing through it instead.

Ghost seemed to be a fan of physical currency; there wasn’t a single bank card in there, just notes and a lot of them. Apparently, the man was flush. There was one card in there, though. Rigid plastic, you could feel it through the leather. It had been neatly tucked in the card slot, so you hadn’t seen it at first. You were quite excited as you wiggled it out the slot; this could finally give you some information on the man, something other than the fact he was a fucking psycho in a military uniform.

You should have figured all the useful information on his ID would have been scratched off. His picture had been gone over so aggressively that there were deep indents in the plastic from whatever he’d used to scratch it away with. Ruined the point of identification, in your opinion. There was a shiny metal chip at the top, probably what he used to get around wherever he went; no doubt he was infamous enough that he didn’t need to show full ID. Yet, not all the details were gone. On the left-hand side, there was a veritable treasure trove of information. His birthday had been removed, but everything else was intact.

‘LT.

##/##/##

189cm

S.

Riley’

You could practically feel the veil being pulled back; little by little, you were beginning to know the man. His height was no mystery to you; the man was huge, but now you had a name. ‘S. Riley’.

You were so engrossed in trying to figure out what the S stood for that you didn’t notice him until he was opening the driver-side door and getting in. You startled and dropped both wallet and ID, caught in the act of rifling through his things, the glovebox still wide open. Ghost was breathing heavily, as though he’d been running, slamming the car door behind him, and resting his hands on the steering wheel as he leaned back in the seat, his eyes closing as he rested it on the headrest, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he took off his gloves and tossed them into your footwell. You were still frozen on the spot, but your eyes darted to his hands, seeing the split skin on his knuckles.

“What the fuck did you do?”

The question spilt from your mouth without you meaning it to, but there was no catching it now. He grunted, flexing his fingers, “Wanted to know who was following you.” You shifted in your seat, eyes flicking back and forth between him and the contents of his wallet in the footwell, “I assume you found him?” “I did.” You chewed your lip, “You didn’t kill him, did you?” “‘Course not.” You looked at his knuckles again. You weren’t sure if you believed him or not.

“Had a good look?” You’d been hoping that question wouldn’t come up. You bent down to pick up his ID and wallet from the floor, tucking the ID back in the card slot, “Yeah.” He gestured to the glovebox, “Put it back then.” You carefully placed it next to the knives, then closed the glovebox, sealing its secrets within once more.

It was impossible to know whether he was angry with you or not; he always looked as though he was half a step away from murdering you, and the balaclava never helped you decode his emotions. With his eyes closed, there was even less for you to see, though now you could see that he did have annoyingly beautiful lashes. His eyes snapped open as he straightened up and reached for the keys, putting his seatbelt on, and you quickly averted your gaze back to the empty street as you buckled your own seatbelt.

Ghost turned the keys in the engine and started off down the street without another word to you. It was a stark contrast to the speed he’d come hurtling down the street, practically a crawl, even using his indicators as he rejoined the main road. It became quickly obvious that he was driving you home; of course, he would know the route, stalker that he was. You decided not to complain, instead quietly texting your colleagues to let them know that you were safely homeward bound.

The silence ensued until he pulled up outside your apartment block, pulling the handbrake and unbuckling himself, “Come on then.” Naturally, he would want to escort you back to your front door. It was really fucking weird, actually, the whole gentleman act, as though he hadn’t just beaten a man half to death in a dark alleyway. You didn’t voice these thoughts, of course, instead quietly getting out of his car and back into the cold night air.

He was silent until you reached your front door, leaning against the wall as you unlocked it, “You got that deadbolt?” You jiggled the keys a little, the lock stiff, no doubt from him using the picks too often, “You should know I haven’t.” “Why not?” The door finally opened, and you walked into your apartment, “Time, money, effort.” He followed you in, resting his arm on the doorframe as he watched you take your shoes off, “You install it, or I will.” You were too tired to argue with him, putting your shoes on the rack, “If you’re so concerned, you install it.” Soap had come over to greet you now, rubbing against your legs before doing the same to Ghost. “I’ll be here tomorrow night then.” “Fine.” If you were going to be stalked, you were at least going to get some free labour out of it.

With your coat off and on the rack, it was time for him to leave, and you turned to face him, arms folded over your chest, “Goodnight, then.” He tilted his head at you, “What, not going to ask any questions?” “About what?” “You don’t want to know what the S stands for?” You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, “Were you actually going to tell me?” His mask shifted around his mouth as he smiled, “No.” You rolled your eyes, “Right.” He shifted so his shoulder was against the doorframe, folding his own arms, “No thank you?” You grimaced, “Really?” “I was a knight in shining armour tonight.” It was strange; you were still scared of him, yet you didn’t fear bantering with him, “Go on then, give me the lecture about being safe and not going out at night and jog on.” Ghost snorted, “Like it was anything to do with you. Cunts like that will always find a reason to creep on a woman. Doesn’t matter what they’re doing.” He reached into his jacket pocket, and brought out a small canister, holding it out to you. You raised a brow as you took it, “Deep heat for muscle ache?” “You didn’t want a taser.” You frowned at the spray, “So you got me muscle spray?” “Perfectly legal to carry around. Y’know, for sudden muscle aches. I would advise against getting it in your eyes though. I imagine it would burn worse than pepper spray.”

It only took you a second to cotton on to his meaning. You looked at the spray again, “Worse than pepper spray, huh?” “Keep it on you at all times, yeah? Never know when you’ll have random pain.” He winked at you, which might have been more surprising than him giving you a weapon, then bent down to pet Soap, who was still noisily purring around his ankles, “Good to see ya, Johnny. Keep our girl safe.” There it was again, Johnny. The man was an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a murderous psychopath with a penchant for cats. He picked Soap up and handed him out to you, and you took the squirmy cat, holding him tight against your chest so he wouldn’t bound out into the hallway. Ghost turned to leave, but he leaned back to give you one last note.

“Simon.” “What?” “S is for Simon.”

[pureshoney]

something shifts in his understanding the longer abel studies her face. he'd learned to navigate his world through violence and control since he was a young boy; he'd learned to swallow darkness young, learned to wear it like a second skin; she was trying to find her way through it with jokes. and while he can't find a way to put himself in her shoes because he doesn't get it, he's trying to understand that maybe the humor as a coping mechanism isn't naivety, but it's her way of trying to survive with her world suddenly being turned upside down. supposes it's her form of survival, just a different kind than his. "that's not-" he exhaled sharply, frustration showing again. "the men in my world don't just kill. they'll turn you into an example; they'll take their time. the postman isn't going to torture you for information. the politician isn't going to make sure you disappear so completely that even your dental records won't identify you. they'd make sure i found you in pieces." "i did get over it, don't try and psychoanalyze me. i dealt with it. processed it and moved past it," the muscle in his jaw jumped, and the set of his shoulders made it clear - push this topic further, and she'd find herself talking to a wall. "yes, sarah with the golden retriever is mine. has been for months," the admission comes reluctantly like each word was being dragged out of him. "she's former the special ops. the dog too." green hues never leave her face as she processes, can tell she's starting to see the depth of his involvement in her life, how far he'd gone to protect her while keeping her in the dark. how much he'd invested in her safety while pretending to keep his distance. something dangerous flicked across his features at the mention of giving her a gun - the idea of her needing one made his blood run cold. however, her grip on his hand anchored him, making it impossible to retreat behind his usual walls. able found himself tightening his hold instead of pulling away. "you don't understand what you're signing up for," voice softened, almost pleading. "i've spent almost everyday since i met you trying to keep these worlds separate to keep you safe. and now you're sitting here talking about guns and self-defense like it's that simple," homes thumb traced absent patterns on her hand, a gesture of affection that betrayed his weakening resolve. "i don't like the thought of you having to defend yourself, having to carry a weapon because of me."

she got the strong feeling that anything she said on the matter of his rather ugly and bald bodyguard was going to be picked apart by abel, but she stood by her statements -- the man was a dead ringer for pitbull. "there's room for anything if you make enough space", femme remarks, but ultimately decides to let the topic go. they had more important things to discuss than a man who could have killed her yet didn't. "abel, any man could kill me. you know that don't you? it doesn't matter if he's standing by that door or if he's a damn politician or post man." maybe if abel had thrown all of that at her the first time they spoke she might have run the other way, it was more than a little surprising to hear that his men had every single piece of information about her and her life. "for what purpose? i work from home and i figure skate in my spare time and you know that, so why bother sending people out to dig all of that up on me?" he was very clearly the more minacious of the pair, having someone follow and study her daily trip to the coffee shop seemed like a true waste of time. grazing her teeth across her bottom lip ainsley studies him, listening to his words and trying to taste the truth in them. "abel . . . nobody ever gets over that type of trauma, you might have been able to push past it and learn from it but it still happened." if he didn't want to deal with it or discuss it with her ainsley was okay with that, people coped with grief and personal issues in their own ways after all. but she strongly doubts that he just brushed himself off as a kid and moved on like it had never happened. "plus there's nothing wrong with trusting people, with knowing them and finding support in them — your dad made a bad choice and it cost him his life but isolating yourself can make that happen too, right?" people said it was better to live in ignorance but ainsley disagreed, if there were people aiming to harm her she wanted to know about it whether it was a comforting thought or otherwise. "the lady with the blonde hair? the one that talks to me about her dog? she's yours?" it shocks her to realise just how smoothly that person had integrated themselves into ainsley's life, how she'd seen that car and honestly thought nothing of it ; assumed it was a new neighbour or someone visiting family. why did abel go to all of that trouble? it definitely wasn't the right time, but ainsley felt herself wondering if he cares about her more than he feels comfortable voicing. "it's not on you though, abel. it's on me", redhead argues tenderly, refusing to let his hand go from hers. "i know you're used to being in charge, having all of this responsibility on your shoulders but i'm here, i'm here right now and i promise, i'll do everything i can to make sure i'm safe. you want me to take self defence classes? bring one of those . . . guns into my home or carry one with me? i'll do it, okay? but it's not all on you baby, it never was." after all, wasn't she capable of making her own decisions? knowing the truth and how much effort abel had gone to in ensuring she was safe the very last thing ainsley wants is to throw it away, to be yet another person he refuses to let in because of his past and his present. "i'm not going to walk away and now i know all of this about you i'm not going to let you push me away either."

[waterbearable]

like. i don’t even think it’s better necessarily, but if the only person with actual buy-in on the hunt aside from lottie was van (i don’t really buy tai as having committed here, she’s just going along w van which i think does repeat old patterns), then why not just to subdue lottie from the start? like i GUESS it’s some attempt to suggest groupthink but as soon as lottie starts trying to pursue shauna why would you make it seem like you’re also trying to get her? like i could see at least a couple of them trying to subdue lottie, lottie+van trying to fight them off, chaos/giving into the violence ensues. idk it just does not work for me and the outcome...ehhh

(more in the tags srry but for my non-yj folks cw for mentions of ideation, overdose, addiction)

[silentsockfeet]

with the obvious addendum that act 3 isn’t out yet and we can’t form true opinions until the show’s officially done, i’m still really feeling like it could have maybe benefited from a third season. they’re hitting all the right plot points and those moments are full of really intense emotion, but everything in the middle feels so underwhelming in comparison and so much of it still feels rushed to me. idk

[sskk-manifesto]

What a good episode. Maaaaaan

[morninkim]

decided Wren and their world's version of Elle had a kinda toxic romantic/horny fling during that campaign's timeskip - excerpt from the thing i'm writing for it under the cut

(idk if this getting posted anywhere since it is uh. definitely smut. and i don't have anywhere to appropriately and comfortably post that atm. but mostly just using it to practice writing again and i liked this little bit so sharing it hehe)

[pumpkinrootbeer]

sometimes I think about how the game that completely changed how the general public viewed pixel rpgs, has a breathtaking soundtrack that has completely escaped it's original circle, has lines like "It's you!" "Despite everything it's still you", changed so many people's mind about empathy in video games, was damn near revolutionary in how it used game mechanics as part of the story and literally fucked with the code of your computer, uses the game code as a means of storytelling, has secrets people still are trying to unravel to this day, and has a boss fight so mind-blowing people still talk about it and for so many people it's ongoing legacy is Kanye West likes...., selfcest, and that time it killed the queen of England. And I love that. good job team

[jackklinemybeloved]

if u were to make a character for neverafter what fairy tale would u base it off of????

Oooo this is such a good question. I’m not super familiar with the original source material of a lot of fairy tales and I wasn’t super into the genre as a kid, so I don’t know a ton of characters that I would be really drawn to.

The first thing I thought of when I read this question was the velveteen rabbit? Which I know isn’t a fairy tale, but it was the first children’s story I read as a kid and remember going “oh this is pretty messed up and horrifying and sad.” And I think there’s horror potential in the kind of body horror of being an inanimate object that was worn down and nearly burned alive, and then coming alive. And while it has horror potential, that story and that character have a lot of heart, and I think that would make for an interesting character dynamic. Plus fucked up little guys with hearts of gold are one of my go tos when picking my fav d20 characters

Either that or Robin Hood because eat the rich.

[tieflingkisser]

Body-cam video shows Illinois officer fatally shooting Black woman in face

White deputy Sean Grayson shot Sonya Massey, who called police in fear of a home intruder, after boiling water dispute

Massey, whom her daughter confirmed was paranoid-schizophrenic, had called police because she thought someone was trying to break into her home. When police arrived, they began looking into Massey’s home with flashlights, a neighbor, Cheryl Evans, told the Guardian. Evans wondered why police had not knocked on her door, as they typically have done in the past when searching for suspects. Eventually, Grayson, who is white, and his partner entered the home where they began speaking to Massey. After an initial discussion and request for Massey’s driver’s license,Grayson spotted a pot of boiling water on the stove and ordered Massey to remove it to avoid starting a fire. In doing so, Massey asks the officers – who visibly distance themselves from her as she goes to handle the pot – why they moved away from her. “Where you going?” she asks them. “Away from your hot steaming water,” Grayson answers, with a laugh, before Massey responds: “Away from the hot steaming water? Oh, I’ll rebuke you in the name of Jesus.” With his gun drawn, Grayson closed the distance between himself and Massey, who was beginning to kneel behind a counter with her hands up. “You better fucking not, I swear to God I’ll fucking shoot you right in your fucking face,” Grayson warned. Massey can be heard saying, “I’m sorry,” as Grayson continues to advance. “I’m sorry,” she says again as Grayson fires three shots, striking her with a bullet below the eye that exited from the back of her neck. As Massey lay dying on her kitchen floor, Grayson says he’ll go get his medical kit to render aid. “That’s a headshot. She’s done,” Grayson says before going to get the med kit. As the pair stand there with their guns still drawn, Grayson says: “I’m not taking a bullet out of her fucking head,” then points out that the water from the pot had reached his feet. “What else can we do?” Grayson asks his partner. “I’m not taking hot boiling water to the fucking face.”

[...]

Massey’s death carries on a troubling legacy of racial violence in Springfield: Massey’s family said she is a descendant of William Donnegan, a Black man who was lynched by a white mob but survived during the city’s infamous 1908 race riots that took 17 Black lives over a two-day period in mid-August of that year. As a result of the violence and carnage, a group of white and Black Americans banded together to create the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). Massey’s family said that the irony of having to reach out to the NAACP for help after her killing is not lost on them.

[selineram3421]

здраствуйте можно сделать реакцию на ревность аластора

Translated:

Hi, can I get a reaction to Alastor's jealousy?

Yes.

Jealousy Headcanon 1

Alastor X Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ platonic to romantic, violence, all caps in bold italics = SOUND EFFECTS, implied torture/murder, gore? eyeballs, possessive? Alastor wants all of your attention ⚠

Alastor has never felt jealous! How absurd of you to think that! Hahaha! Ha... Who is that demon taking up your attention?

He always had your attention.

You could be talking to the Princess but still focus on him.

Hell, you could be checking in a guest and still keep up with his tale of the day.

But now it was quite odd.

There was a demon coming by the hotel, not to see if they were interested in the cause but to use up his friend's precious time.

Even now the beastly thing walked up to the check in counter and started up a conversation with you.

He watched from the bar.

"Hey! I see its dead as ever in here.", the dragon demon grinned as they leaned on the counter.

"Not true~", you had replied. "I checked in four new guests!"

Yes, you had a knack of persuasion. Able to convince many to do almost anything. Sometimes even him.

"Oh yeah? How many sinners walked in?", the scaled creature leaned close.

Far too close for his liking.

"I just told you how many.", you replied and placed a finger on the dragon's snout, pushing them back as well. "Personal space."

He didn't like this demon.

Everything about them set something off. Their manners, their way of speaking, the way they move-

"Oh come on, I don't bite sugar cake~", the beast took your hand and kissed their way up to your elbow.

The way they t̵̬̥̻͂̿̈́ȏ̴̒͠u̸c̷̈́̊̆́̓͘h̷e̴͒��̖̖͂͋̎ḑ̴̣̋͜ you.

"Nope!", you yanked your arm away and held it close. "None of that.", you laughed nervously with an uncomfortable smile.

It looked wrong. Your smile should be a happy one.

"I said I don't bite!", they laughed and tried to grab at your arm again. "You know I'm messing! When's your break?", they leaned over the counter, still trying to get at something to pull you closer. "I know a good bar to go to, or we can go to the club! I'd like to see your ass in something a little less-"

"Ew, no.", you rejected and backed away.

"Come on!", they started to climb on the counter. "Its just one time! I'll even help you get in and out of your clothes.", they grabbed onto your sleeve.

That's ENOUGH!

He quickly shadow traveled and snatched the wrist of the dragon.

"I believe they said no."

The beast growled with a sneer before looking at him, freezing up once realizing who had their wrist.

"I was just joking man. Haha..", the dragon looked between him and you. "I understand! I'll back away. The slut is yours."

"Excuse me!?", you said angrily.

His antlers grew, the low static that hummed now raising up in volume.

"₵₳ⱤɆ ₮Ø ⱤɆ₱Ɇ₳₮ ₮Ⱨ₳₮?"

"The slut-"

SNAP

He held the demon's snout shut as they screamed and cried over their broken wrist.

"Now, there is a no killing rule in the hotel.", he said and then grinned menacingly. "But that doesn't apply outside."

His smile widened after seeing the panic in their eyes.

"Dear.", he turned to face you. "Has this guest overstayed their welcome?"

You stared at the beast with such a terrifyingly hateful glare.

"Yes they have.", you replied, crossing your arms. "I'd like to keep a souvenir, for memories."

And then you gave him that lovely smile.

"Alastor, do you think you could get me a dragon eye or two? I hear they make nice details to things."

"I'll make sure to get them.", he released the demon, only for his tendrils to take hold of them. "I won't be long.", he reassured, lifting up your hand to kiss the back of it.

He saw you blush before he 'escorted' the demon outside.

After finishing up (and calling Niffty to clean up), he returned with two freshly picked dragon eyes.

You thanked him with an odd little gleam in your eyes. No doubt your mind jumping idea to idea of what you could create with them.

Now with the pest gone, he would have your attention again.

Just like he wanted

"Thank you Alastor. I'll be able to make something interesting with these."

"I can't wait to see what you make this time."

Perhaps he'll ask you that question sooner than later.

Of course he has to prepare everything to properly court you.

I am using a website to translate requests. Please let me know if I have translated anything wrong.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@willowaudreykeyes @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @lbcreations-blog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[cntloup]

Ex-Husband!Simon saves you angst, domestic violence

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

It doesn’t feel right. He knows you’re not alone. So he calls you again. 

“Hey. Is there someone in the house?” he asks as soon as you pick up. 

“No, Simon. Are you still at the door?” you ask timidly, keeping your voice low. 

“Yes. Because I didn’t get a clear answer. Why the fuck are you whispering? And whose truck is it?” he retorts, voice getting louder as his frustration grows. 

“It’s for a friend. I borrowed it for a few days to move some stuff.” you lie, holding back sobs.  

You desperately want to tell him. You want to scream at the top of your lungs for him to save you. 

“Who are you talking to?” an unfamiliar voice asks you angrily. 

“Wait! Who is that? Open the door right now or I will fucking break it!” Simon shouts through the phone. 

“Si, he’s gonna kill me...” you say shakily followed by a loud a scream, then the line dies. 

Within a millisecond, he starts kicking the door open... one... two... three... four kicks and the door comes off its hinges.

He follows the sound of your screams. 

Finally, he steps into the room and the moment his eyes land on the man (if one can even call him that) who has dared to not only lay a finger on you but is beating you up to the point of you passing out, he only sees red. 

Simon runs towards him, grabs him by the collar and throws him on the ground. 

He puts one foot on his chest and bends down to throw countless punches in his face while shouting insults at him. 

Simon only stops by the sound of your groaning and that’s when he realizes that he’s beaten him unconscious. 

He rushes to your side and lightly slaps your cheeks to keep you awake, noticing the blood on your head.

“Hey, dove. Stay with me, please. Keep talking to me, yeah?” he coos while delicately lifting you up in his strong arms and that’s when you finally feel safe after so long. 

“Simon, he’s a fucking monster. He wouldn’t stop beating me.” you sob in his chest, words slurred due to the numerous beatings you took to your head. 

“I’m here now, love. You're safe with me.” he says, bending down to carefully place you in the car seat. 

“Keep talking, love.” he remarks as he gets into the car. 

You continue explaining what happened as best as you can in your state in between groans and winces of pain while he drives you to the hospital.

And on the way, he calls Price to ask him to clean up the mess.

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