#poor little serial killer

[kalinara]

I feel like Reva’s redemption in Obi-Wan Kenobi, already great in its own right, really shone a light on why Kylo Ren’s redemption in the Sequel Trilogy didn’t work for me.

Now granted, it was always going to be an uphill battle for me to find a Kylo Redemption narratively satisfying.  I’ve made no secret about the fact that I didn’t really think a redemption was feasible after the events of the first and second movie.  

But I’m not an immovable object.  I’ve seen good writers pull off plot twists that on paper I’d never have liked.  And sometimes, even a redemption arc can work for me.  

But let’s be honest here.  Kylo Ren did not have a redemption arc in Rise of Skywalker.  He was perfectly happy to keep terrorizing Rey with the force up to and until his super-magical mommy died for him.  And...no.  Sorry.  That really doesn’t work.

Redemption, narratively speaking, doesn’t need to be complicated.  Especially in Star Wars.  It generally happens in one moment of choice: Darth Vader saving his son, Din Djarin going back for Grogu, and especially, Reva deciding not to kill Luke Skywalker.

Reva isn’t more redeemable than Kylo Ren because her backstory is more sympathetic (even though it is),  She’s more redeemable because she made a choice.

Kylo Ren had many many opportunities for choices, and for the most part, he chose the most evil option each time.  He didn’t have to murder Lor San Tekka, but he did.  He didn’t have to kill Han Solo, but he did.  He didn’t have to torture Poe or Rey, maim Finn, defend the Starkiller, order the massacre on Jakku and so forth, but he did.  He didn’t have to hunt the Resistance to Crayt and try to massacre them to a man.  But he did.  And so on and so forth.

I think there was one time he chose not to shoot at his mom while she was floating in space.  Which, okay, maybe a fraction of a point for that.  But he doubled down afterward, so no.

The thing was though, no one made the choice FOR Reva.  Obi-Wan didn’t do some magical mumbo jumbo.  Luke didn’t talk her down.  Owen and Beru didn’t have her at gunpoint.  She just stopped.  It was a decision anyone could make at that moment, and she made it.  She stopped.

Kylo’s redemption didn’t work for me because it’s built into the privilege he’s had all along.  There was a constant assumption both within the movie (From Lor San Tekka, from Han Solo, from Rey - trying to repeat Luke’s triumph) and from fans that Kylo would follow in his grandfather’s footsteps.  Of COURSE, Kylo will redeem himself, it’s Star Wars.

It’s a guarantee because Kylo Ren is space royalty, because of Anakin.  Redemption is treated like an inheritance.  And in the end, Kylo gets his inheritance, not through his own choice, but through Leia’s actions.  And well, not every villain has a super powered mommy magically push them into being a better person.  

Reva’s not space royalty.  She’s just a woman who had been a traumatized child, who survived through holding onto her fear, rage, and hatred.  And then, as she stares down at an innocent person, having finally found the one way she could make her enemy suffer...she stops.  She looks at who she’s become and she decides to become someone else instead.  It’s much more satisfying.

There are folks who say the best kind of redemption arcs are the ones where you can follow the person afterward and watch them become a better person.  I think that’s true...sometimes.  I have no interest in Prince Kylo magnanimously sharing the bounty of his mother’s sacrifice.  (And thankfully, I don’t have to.  His redemption, and grateful reward, are much more palatable since he dies.)

Reva though?  I’d happily watch Reva do whatever she wants to do next.  Maybe she and Haja can team up and smuggle people out of Imperial hands.  Maybe she’ll pull a Mara Jade, and go out on her own...learn about who she is outside of Imperial control.  (I still think that’d be the best way to bring Mara into the Disney franchise.)  The possibilities are endless.

#Reva Sevander #reva #redeemed knight errant #obi wan kenobi spoilers #anti kylo ren #poor little serial killer

[creepypastaland]

i need to figure out how i wanna do toby

#i like seperated from the original alot besides the background stuff i think #him loving his sister and mom his important also sam is there too #toby voice id die for all women ok? #i think hed target men exclusively in my interp outside of missions but he like hates hurting girls so much #bc he thinks of his sister and his mom and sam :( #poor little serial killer

[cairavende]

Worm Arc 16 first part thoughts (through defeating Dragon and Defiant interlude) cause it seemed likely there is going to be something major happening in the rest of the arc and I might as well split it here:

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

MY BABIES ARE FIGHTING!!!!!

I might not have made the best choice in adopting both Taylor and Dragon

Ok so it's not technically my babies fighting. It's Taylor fighting simple AI Dragon created. But close enough.

Drone robot fucked up a perfectly good barbecue. That's just criminal.

I love that the robot sent after Bitch was basically designed to get fucked up over and over. Work with what you have.

Also Bitch was so willing to listen to Skitter! Not just listen but "come up with a plan like you usually do, we’ll make it happen"! She fucking trusts her so much! GAAAAAAAYYYY!

You put Skitter in charge and she is just instantly "Ok we're going to attack the Wards, the Protectorate, the PRT, and some of Dragon's robots. All at the same time. Cause I always gotta go BIGGER!"

I will give her this though - solo teleporting into the middle of the Protectorate and Wards (except for Clockblocker) and having Trickster swap her around while she just FUCKED SHIT UP? That was badass.

And throwing herself out the fucking window? TWICE? I'm very glad Trickster was on point there cause I would have fucking murdered him if he dropped my daughter.

Piggot trying to be all high and mighty and superior. Fuck off lady. You just a cop. You're like, the worst cop. I already called you out for having a full blown villain internal monologue in your first interlude. Some of the PRT might be trying to do right. Maybe. But you are just evil.

I will give Piggot one thing. She is good at what she does. It's just that what she does is not "leading the Brockton Bay PRT and Wards to better take care of the people of the city", but instead "be a terrible and manipulative person who would absolutely set of a nuke if she thought it would kill enough capes".

Also Trickster don't be an asshole. Being disgusted when Piggot admits she's fat and doesn't sound ashamed about it. Fuck off with that. She's a terrible person, there are so many better things to attack than her appearance.

Like the fact that she upset Tattletale! She made Tattletale sad! FUCK PIGGOT I HATE HER FOR THAT ALONE NOW!

Sticking a bunch of glass in some doors and riding around town on them oh my god. These are like, the scariest super villains in town. And they are door surfing. I love it.

Azazel is fucking fancy! I'm sad it got melted down in the end.

Dragon just needed a guy badly cosplaying as a DS9 starship for a few minutes and then she builds infinitely better shit than he ever could. Cause she is awesome.

Ok so I know it was technically being run by an AI that Dragon built but I'm counting it as Dragon. For one reason.

Skitter asking Azazel stupid questions until it broke was just a little sister annoying their older sister with really stupid questions! She starts off with some somewhat reasonable ones and just gets wild with it. It was perfect. That is the type of fighting I can tolerate from my daughters.

I'm a little worried about Imp clearly crushing on Regent. He hasn't had the best moral character in the past.

Wasn't expecting them to just *have* the city after beating Dragon. Definitely wasn't expecting that to happen mid arc.

“She’s out of it. Tattletale broke Skitter when she said we won” - GAY. Look sure there's lots of reasons Skitter would be distracted after hearing that the city was theirs and they had won. But Tattletale said it and there's something about a girl you like telling you "we won" that can just stop brain from working. Besides I wasn't getting enough Chatterbug content this arc so I'll find it wherever I need it.

So coming into this arc I had been making lots of jokes about Monarch referencing Skitter vs Dragon (both were controlling lots of minions, want to control the city, they're siblings cause I adopted both of them so they fight for the crown, etc) but Dragon is out of the city for now. So I really should have been focusing on Coil vs Skitter. Which is what I expect the rest of the arc to be.

It'll be fine.

I'm sure there won't be any issues at city hall with her dad. Nope.

PRT squad interlude (Piggot interlude round 2) thoughts:

Nilbog is terrifying but god his power is wild.

I had Left 4 Dead in my head the entire time. First thing they killed was a boomer. There was a spitter later as well. And they got the swarm once they shot the flare up for the evac.

PRT is endlessly badly managed. Given the unknowns they could have been more careful and used a better strategy. If they have the resources to wall off the town they have the resources to have done things better.

There is no way Thomas Calvert isn't Coil (more specifically becomes Coil). There is NO way. It has to be him. I don't technically have any proof but I know. It's him. (The way he is described, the way he talks, just everything about him. I could write up an entire post just on why I'm 100% positive he is Coil.)

I already knew Piggot was a horrible person to be running the Brockton Bay PRT and the Wards so this interlude didn't really give new information there. But it does just lock that down on an extra level.

Frank Miller's Armsmaster interlude thoughts:

I'm very sad I had to have this interlude from his perspective instead of Dragon's perspective. But I'll live.

Sucks to be this small town.

PRT failure again. It was made clear that the police of this town in no way expected the SH9. But the PRT knew when SH9 left BB and had a loose idea of their potential travel speed. And they knew SH9's M.O. in this situation of staying to back roads and hitting small towns. So every police department in every small town within a certain distance of BB should have known to be on alert. Like ya they aren't going to be able to stop the Nine, but they might be able to reduce losses a little. PRT is just bad at it's job. (Almost like Alexandria doesn't have the right priorities.)

I KNEW DRAGON WAS A TRUE TINKER! I HAD ALREADY MADE IT MY HEADCANON THAT SHE TRIGGERED WHEN LEVIATHAN ATTACKED NEWFOUNDLAND AND I'M SO HAPPY IT'S REAL!

Plugging my ears when I Was Insecure So I Made My Stick Even Longer Man talks about playing "ten by ten" with my robot daughter. Look she can do what she wants, no shame, but I do not want to hear about it from him if I can avoid it.

Of course Dragon knows about Cauldron. I should have expected that she did. My daughter is brilliant (and also maybe doesn't have a concept of privacy so gets all the information she can without explicitly doing something illegal and goes has a little bit of a "Big Sister is watching you" vibe).

#Worm #Worm Web Serial #Parahumans #Cairavende reads Worm #Taylor Hebert #Wolfspider #Chatterbug #Slugbug #Dragon #Frank Miller's Armsmaster #BITCH WAS SO GAY FOR SKITTER AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! #WOLFSPIDER WOLFSPIDER WOLFSPIDER #Also Bitch's continual insistence that they took down 3 robots and Tattletale eventually just agreeing was perfect. I love them both. #Sibling rivalry #Dragon is the much bigger older sister and Taylor is the annoying little sister. Obviously. #For real though the PRT is bad at their jobs. I constantly see them making poor decisions or just being horribly mismanaged. #And like they're cops so I'm not too surprised but still. #And it's mentioned that the Nine attacking small towns doesn't even always make the NEWS! Holy shit. #Like I know things are bad #but “super villain serial killers murder dozens in a small town” not even getting picked up by the media screams “PRT coverup”. #So fuck them. #Also from a certain point of view Sundancer killed a robot toddler. Melted it down to nothing. Clearly she is the evilest person in Worm. \

[albatris]

hewwo

I'm revisiting rental car book one and trying to muddle my way through the whole thing in order

felt like posting the little starting part <3

chapter one opening!!!! the very start of our silly miserable little trilogy :3 I'm not sure if it's too slow or not.........

ahoy taglist! @nicola-writes @saturniiforme @polyaubergine @tracle0 @goosemixtapes @valence-positive @the-one-who-makes-negative-noise @ambiguousfiction @afoolandathief @softboiled-doomdesire (new username? :O!) @mecharose @vellichor-virgo @flapuflapu @multi-lefaiye @writeouswriter @itisi-asimplegay @constellationof0rion @writing-is-a-martial-art and also @incandescent-creativity if you're interested, bc of your 👀👀👀👀's in the replies hehe :3

Nat Finch blinked awake.

He was slumped forward in the driver’s seat of his rental car, his forehead pressed to the steering wheel, his body aching like he hadn’t moved in centuries. His feet were bare. His throat burned. His head throbbed. Curled over his shoulders was the familiar softness of the blanket from his back seat, the one he’d been meaning to give to the Larsons for two weeks now. A deep night breeze leaked through the slightly-open window to his right, the cold gnawing at the dampness that clung to his clothes, to his face and hair. He felt filthy, filmy, disgusting—more so than usual.

A muddle of memories and flickers and voices fought for space in his brain, bumping up against each other and overlapping, threads escaping every time he thought he’d grasped one. He was overcome, for a single, surreal moment, by the sense he had just awoken from an exceedingly peculiar dream.

Nat Finch sat up, groaning.

In his lap, plastic crinkled, disturbed by the motion. A collection of granola bars were scattered over him, a few of them having tumbled down onto the seat next to him and the floor below. Like someone had dumped them unceremoniously over his head and just… left him like that. He squinted down at them.

He recognised the brand, vaguely—something hoity-toity and ridiculous he’d seen at the supermarket, fifteen dollars a goddamn box—but they weren’t something that had any business being anywhere near him. His bank balance barely scraped double digits at the moment.

“Who the fuck…” Nat paused, not sure what question he was even supposed to be asking. “Why the fuck…”

His attention edged upwards, to a scrap of cardboard folded neatly in two and perched atop his dashboard.

DO YOUR BEST! it read in a childlike handwritten scrawl.

Nat squinted harder. “What the fuck.”

He tried to think. His brain, sluggish and laden with fog and aching, refused to provide any context for the mystery shower of nutrition. Or the note.

Or… anything else, for that matter. He didn’t remember falling asleep; he didn’t remember stopping his car. He remembered leaving work, but it had barely been dusk when he’d left work. The trip from Stop ‘N’ Go to his apartment was fifteen minutes, tops.

It was not dusk anymore. The black outside was the pitch dark and solitude of the witching hour, and the world beyond his window was dead silent, save for the buzz and pop of a single faulty streetlight a few metres ahead and the chittering gossip of crickets. No people. No cars. No movement.

Nat’s dread climbed. He craned his neck and strained to decipher his whereabouts. The lonely light offered only flimsy, spluttering illumination—some of it splashing into his car, some of it into dry grass and mesh fence lining the side of the road, most of it merely into the rumble of gravel directly beneath it. He had no idea where he was. He had no idea why he was where he was.

The disco ball hanging from his rear-view mirror glittered at him, blinking urgently.

He shoved the granola bars off himself, suddenly feeling contaminated, sending them scattering. A strident, pulsating pain forked through every inch of his body at the movement—he gritted his teeth, letting out a hiss of air and a wince. The blanket went next, ripped from his shoulders and hurled at the opposing window in a multicoloured flurry. It crumpled to the passenger seat and Nat stared at it, prickling all over with the suspicion someone else had placed it on him. Someone else had been here. Watching. Leaning. Looming. Touching. His hand flew to the window winder and wound it, sealing the opening. Sealing himself in and the outside out.

And then he sat still, mind reeling, chest tight. Panic twisting in his stomach. He waited for his brain to kick over, for his memory to rush back, for the moment he shook free the dregs of post-sleep disorientation and went, Oh, that’s right! That’s why I’m here! That’s what’s going on! How could I have forgotten?

A minute passed.

And another.

Frozen.

Rigid.

Nat swallowed, hard. Nothing clicked into place. Nothing clicked and nothing clicked and nothing clicked. Why not? He’d left work and turned left down Rake Street like he always did. He’d done nothing out of the ordinary.

The dark outside was alive. With every flicker-out of the streetlight, it whined at his window, still trying to reach him. A tapping, a whistling, a whispering in its own made-up language. Nat. Nat. Nat. Something’s wrong. Nathaniel. Something’s wrong. The dark that should not have been there. The dark that should have been dusk.

He'd lost hours. He’d lost hours. What the hell had happened to him? The note on his dashboard just sat there, smirking. It knew things he didn’t.

Nat fought to breathe in.

Nat fought to breathe out.

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

Five things he could see were that gaudy leopard-print steering wheel cover, the smeared windscreen from too-old wipers, the radio, the hazard switch, his own hands, crusted in cracked, dried mud.

Four things he could feel were the press of the seat under him, the press of his work uniform over him, the sting of the cold on his feet, pain, pain, pain.

Three things he could hear were crickets and streetlights and dark.

Two things he could smell were the dull citrus hum of the vent-clip air freshener and the fact it was doing nothing to hide the fact he hadn’t showered in a while.

One thing he could taste was—

Okay, okay, alright. Okay. That would do it. Nat breathed in. Nat breathed out. Calm. Calm. Calm. A panic attack would help no one.

He reached gingerly for the ignition, exhaling in relief when he grasped the key still inside. He had that, at least. He hesitated, perched on an agonising threshold between hopeful anticipation and whatever reality was about to find him.

He turned.

Nothing.

He turned again.

Nothing. The car stuttered and clicked uselessly, refusing to start. Relief left him as quickly as it had arrived. Flat battery.

Nat breathed, “Ah, fuck.”

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

He twisted towards the back seat, feeling along the faux leather for his work backpack. He hauled it to himself and rammed an arm inside to seek his phone, shoving through a jumble of familiar shapes—notebook, hoodie, empty soft drink can for recycling, empty soft drink can for recycling, gum, nametag—ah, there it was.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Nat whined, his finger colliding with the power button. “Please, please, please—”

Nothing. Flat battery.

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

Nat plonked his forehead back down on the steering wheel and released a long, agonised wail.

Simmering anxiety climbed into roiling terror. Terror branched sideways into paranoia. Paranoia bloomed up through his chest and into his throat, where it squeezed tight and threatened to choke him. He’d lost hours. Anything could have happened to him. Anything could have been done to him. The dark outside mocked and laughed. The disco ball blinked its rhythmic little warnings. He could feel it all, even when he wasn’t looking.

Nathaniel. Something’s wrong. Nathaniel.

“No shit,” he muttered back.

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

What next?

He lifted his head and flipped the sun visor down to look at himself in the mirror. With no phone screen and no overhead light to guide him, it was hard to get a full picture. He tilted his head, twisted his neck, attempted to catch himself on some jittering streetlight. He snagged a few glimpses—a dribble of blood from a cracked lip here, a smudge of dirt on a cheekbone there. His shirt looked bloody, too, though that could have been more mud. His hair wasn’t sitting right, all caked together and hanging in thick clumps.

Two trembling hands lifted, the quiver partially from weakness and partially from fear, and Nat gripped at his face. Tugging along those familiar edges and curves and juts, finding them not so familiar. Finding them wrong. Hollow. Caved in. His fingertips wandered down towards his jaw—

—and along the thick, uneven mumbling of stubble that hadn’t been there when he’d left the apartment that morning.

Nat’s heartbeat tripped up. He hadn’t lost hours.

He’d lost days.

Nat breathed in. Nat breathed in. Nat breathed in. Not enough. Too fast. His chest heaved. His lungs refused to fill.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t have lost days. He couldn’t have lost days. Jesus Christ, Nat had never been the shining poster child of mental health, but he’d never lost days. He’d been God knew where for God knew how long. He’d been—his feet were bare, his hands and face were streaked with mud, someone had clearly been messing around in his car—he’d been taken. Drugged. Kidnapped. That scribbled note? He was being toyed with, probably by some deranged serial killer. And what was with the granola bars? Some kind of clue? A message?

He had to go. He had to run. He had to get help. Something close to a whimper climbed up his throat and fell from his lips. His hand crept to the door handle, and stopped.

Nat didn’t move.

He’d seen horror movies. Not many, but enough. The chase, the hunt, the twisted mind games before the inevitable kill… these were part of the fun. There was probably someone watching him right now, folded into the shadows and out of sight, waiting for him to panic. Waiting for him to make his first mistake and step outside.

Waiting for him to start the game.

He couldn’t leave.

He couldn’t stay.

Could he stay? Could he just wait it out? Someone would find him. Someone would look for him. Someone would look for him, right?

No, no one would look for him. No one would care enough that he was gone.

No, there was no way they’d let him wait this out. They would find some way to lure him out, drive him out, force him out into the waiting hands of the cold night air. Unprotected. Alone. All at once Nat felt a million eyes boring into him, leering from beyond the black, drinking in his every move. He shoved himself lower in his seat, clutching his dead phone to his chest, making himself as small as possible.

Nat fought to breathe in.

Nat fought to breathe out.

He tried a final time to reason with himself.

When he’d worked twelve hour shifts four days straight, he’d started being dogged by the idea someone had snuck a microscopic tracking device into his takeaway pizza, which he had subsequently consumed. When he’d been behind on rent for the third fortnight in a row, he’d become fixated on the idea other customers in the supermarket were reading his thoughts and laughing at him. Look at this fucking loser. Grimy hair and track pants. Can’t even afford instant ramen.

Panic and stress tended to climb on top of him bit by bit. Panic and stress tended to twist all kinds of everyday events into all kinds of unnatural, terrifying shapes. It was normal. Even the tiny, audible hints of speech pushing through the dark, giving voice to his anxiety, those were normal under the right circumstances. It was all… no, not normal. It was a pattern. Tomorrow, he’d be fine. Tomorrow, he’d understand he’d never been in any danger.

So even though he was here now, helpless and stranded in the empty night, barefoot and filthy, abandoned by his memories and surrounded by leering scrawled words and fucking rich people granola bars—he had to take this moment of clarity and hold it tight.

Tomorrow, this would all make sense.

DO YOUR BEST! the dark around him sang.

“Go to hell,” Nat spat.

And with that, he wrenched the door open.

#yeehaw. here it is. the opening of rental car book one chapter one #if it had a title it would be DO YOUR BEST! #go nat go. you funky little horror protagonist. you poor fucking bastard #rental car updates #can you blame nat for going off the rails and doing the exact opposite of what the vamps that turned him wanted #his only instructions were DO YOUR BEST #tbf there are very specific reasons nat wasn't allowed in on the plan as a whole and those reasons are #he is now part of a giant interconnected vampire hivemind and everything he knows the Garble knows #also ive already told you in some earlier spoilers what the deal is with the trail bars lmao #I'm not gonna go over it again here but its my favourite stupid detail fjdkdkdk #also idk if nat seems way too fucking quick to jump to panic and paranoia abt serial killers but my excuse is #I'm schizotypal and he's schizotypal. there #a rental car takes a left down rake street and disappears

[goatsorcery]

bug is having a horrible time in act 2. her only goals as of the end if act 1 were: get rid of the tadpole, get her memories back, and impress shadowheart. then sceleritas fel shows up and tells her that she really is a bloodthirsty murderer and she just accepts that acting like her old self is the only way to get her memories back. so she stops denying her urges and kills isobel and, as a result, the whole of last light as well. she’s honored with the form of the slayer, a piece of her old self, but it still changes nothing. she still has the tadpole in her head, she still doesnt remember who she is, and worst of all, she’s inadvertently pushing shadowheart away with her extremely violent tendencies.

#poor bug #my poor little meow meow of a serial killer #id say i hope things get better for her but i already know i plan on making it much worse #bg3 #bg3 gs #oc: bug

[theweirdartust]

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY ART.. but feel free to reblog!

And We’re back!!! The walking dead au has my heart at the moment and the other comic may be on hold as it’s taking a long time to get scenes i like but here is Antonio!

Poor babi he is a little monster but he’s trying, and Camilo is straight traumatized 💀💀

More coming soon🤫🤫

#encanto antonio #encanto fanart #encanto au #encanto angst #walking dead au #antonio madrigal #camilo angst #camilo disney #camilo fanart #camilo madrigal #encanto art #encanto #madrigal fanart #the madrigals #madrigal family #little baby turned into a blood thirsty serial killer #he is still baby tho #camilo regrets his life decisions #poor baby

[spider-man-2o99]

actually decided im letting the irrational rage Win btw. “brrhrr spider-man 2099’s a fucking beast on demon time LOL can’t wait to FINALLY see an evil spider-man being the villain of across the spider-verse--”

#talking tag #no longer being nice i am now letting the Hate and Fruitless Anger consume me #the internet cant be Normal abt ATSV mig being a brown man the internet cant be Normal abt miles in general im blowing up the sun #Is It REALLY that unfathomable to conceive that calling a canon child abuse survivor a Child-Killing Demon is more than a little fucked. #like yeah yeah Obligatory Superhero Fight and all that but claiming that whatever is going on in that trailer-- #--must somehow be motivated by. mig supposedly either being some Inherently Violent Beast (UwU BaAaAaADD Boy)-- #--who just Cant Accept That Wittle Baby Miles Is A BIG Baby Boy Now Oh Deawie-- #--OR #that CleEeEaArlYyYYY the scary violent serial killer spider-man is going to try and murder miles out of quote-unquote Misguided Justice-- #just fuck OFF already #in poor taste at best and by-and-large mostly just actively racist dog shit posted by ppl who r too chickenshit to admit with their chests- #--why they ACTUALLY hate miles morales and pretend like he somehow doesnt have MORE right to be called spider-man than mig even

[knifegremliin]

feeling so tempted to make a fake tumblr for an oc....

#🔪.text #for micah btw #my poor little meow meow serial killer #wannabe vampire catboygirl #i think it would be a lot of fun.........

[dylanconrique]

so how am i supposed to feel about shauna? cause quite frankly i think she’s a sociopath, and not in the fun, silly, goofy way.

#*and this is icarly! #yellowjackets #shauna shipman #she like.... actually disturbs me #or at least she does as an adult #literally the first scene when you flash over to real time and she's pleasuring herself to a pic of he daughter's boyfriend #AND ON HER DAUGHTER'S BED TOO #also all those poor little bunnies she's killed bc they were eating her garden :'(((( #(i'm a wuss who can't handle any kind of animal death in tv/film so this show has been fun 🙃) #not to mention how fucking deranged she was sitting at the dinner table describing in graphic detail about how she cooked it... for dinner!! #if my mother ever said anything like that to me casual while i'm eating i would first immediately stop eating and be mortified #like 'you need to go to the psych ward and you need to stay there that's some serial killer shit' #also one more thing.... #the 180 manipulation tactic she spun on her daughter when she threatened to tell her dad about the affair she was having #don't get me wrong callie is a brat but like... she's a teen?? #like this is teenager bratty-ness.. it's gonna go away with time #her mother shauna on the otherhand ehhh... long gone #sorry i just had to ramble cause i'm watching and this woman is ACTUALLY making my skin crawl

[thedeafprophet]

I may have misinterpreted the ask game by missing the operant word of blorbo, so uhhhh you can do Rory instead/also XD

hehehehe rory

ahsdhfhfhjgjghj is okay u figured it out XD

hehehehe rory

#aurora IS a poor little meow meow #yes she's a serial killer but she's valid #ask game #oc: aurora

[kalinara]

So I was reading a post on redemption arcs, and I’ve posted a lot about my feelings about them before.  And this post really brought into clarity how I feel about a lot of them.

The post read something like: “It’s a hundred times more satisfying to see someone who did terrible things, regrets them, and is forced to live with the guilt and ends up finding healing and working to make the world a better place than it is to see someone redeemed only in death.”

And while I don’t disagree with this idea in theory, I also think it’s pretty insidious as well, when we keep in mind how many of the characters that we clamor for redemption arcs for are the white male villains of the piece.

Because basically, as soon as a tv show/movie/book goes in this direction, then the character who is facing the redemption arc becomes the main character of the story.

Kylo Ren is a character often brought up in this scenario.  And I think he’s a fairly extreme example, but a good one for it.  Kylo Ren spends his first couple of minutes of the Force Awakens ordering a massacre of a civilian village and murdering an unarmed old man.  Over the course of the next three movies, he has: tortured an enemy combatant, tortured a teenaged civilian girl, assisted a genocidal regime, been a party to the enslavement of children, murdered his unarmed father, severely injured a former slave who’d escaped, tried to hunt down the survivors of the genocide to massacre them further, psychically stalked a woman, and so on and so forth.

A lot of Kylo Ren’s fans, rather understandably, wanted a redemption arc for him.  But what happens in the scenario described above?  

Kylo Ren becomes the main character.  The story will be about his redemption after all.  How does Kylo become a better person?  How does Kylo live with what he’s done?  Will Kylo be forgiven?

The Sequel Trilogy is the story of a young WOMAN, who was raised in solitude and discovers her potential.  It’s the story of a young black man, who had been a slave and child soldier, and is now free.  It’s the story of a latino man, a pilot in the New Republic who has now found himself among the leadership of the survivors.  We can criticize how the Sequel Trilogy handled these stories, of course, but it doesn’t change the fact that the central characters of each storyline in the sequel trilogy are a young woman and young men of color.

All the pretty speeches about redemption arcs aside, all this does is shift the focus back onto the white dude that fandom favored from the beginning.  It steals the story from the characters who are his victims, and gives it to him instead.  And no.  I’m not on board with that.

That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m not on board with ANY redemption arcs though.  And I think the Mandalorian, in a subtle way, is exactly the kind of redemption storyline that we’re talking about.

Din Djarin is a bounty hunter.  He’s always had reasonably sympathetic motives (providing for his covert), but he’s done some pretty awful things.  And some of those awful things were even done on camera.  He gave a BABY to the EMPIRE for pretty shiny metal armor.

He regretted it instantly, he went back for the child.  But still, he had been a man who would and did make that choice.  

Since then, we’ve been watching him gradually become a different person as more and more of his old life has been stripped away from him.  And it’s a good story.  It is EXACTLY the kind of arc described above.

We can have redemption arcs that don’t focus on monsters or abusers.  We can have redemption arcs that don’t require taking the story away from the women and men of color who are their victims in order to facilitate the story.

#gun-toting victorian governess in space #fandom woes #poor little serial killer #god I missed using my stupid star wars tags #anti kylo ren

[sxrrandomfanfics]

A Fullmetal Alchemist Fanfiction

#The only reason I wrote this was cause my friend 'Captain' introduced me to FMA:B #My current favorite character is Barry the Chopper #Goofy ass serial killer #Awful actions but goofy little guy #My first 'poor little meow meow'

[romanken]

The in unison head cock... I love my GANG

#andrew baldurs gate era #this party is so funny. three adorable serial killers using the power of poor little meow meow sad wet kitty cat eyes on wyll so they can #get away with murder

[ragingbookdragon]

Whoever decided to ring her doorbell in the middle of a midnight thunderstorm was either a serial killer or a poor soul stuck out in the rain. Either way, she still felt sorry enough for whatever poor bastard was stuck outside and decided to open the door, but her expression dropped into annoyance when she saw the man leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gazing at her. “Long time no see.” She starts to close the door and he sticks his foot in it. “Wait, please, don’t close me out.”

“Like you did to me,” she retorts, opening the door. “What do you want, Simon?”

He glances back towards the rainy street and hefts his rucksack higher on his shoulder. “To stay the night.”

“Seriously?”

“Please?” He begs and she pauses—Simon Riley wasn’t a man who begged often.

She gazes at him a moment longer before sighing and opening the door. “Clothes and shoes off at the door. Mask too. You’re soaking wet.”

“What gave you that ‘int? The rainstorm?”

Turning, she shoots him a glare. “I’m letting you stay the night despite you breaking my heart. I’d be a little less sarcastic.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, starting to strip his clothes as he shuts the door behind him. He hands her his clothes, standing in his boxers, then cups the front of himself and asks. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of my clothes shoved in the back of your closet…would you?”

“Bottom drawer in the chest of drawers.”

“You kept my clothes? Aw, you still car—” he falls silent when she glares at him. “Going now.”

As she disappears into the laundry room, she calls out, “What did you do, walk here from the base? You know Birmingham has cabbies, right?”

“I’m not wasting money to drive twenty minutes when I can walk within an hour.”

“You know you’ll get sick from this.”

“Wive’s tale. Can’t get sick from the rain.”

“Smart-ass,” she retorts, shoving his clothes in the dryer.

He comes around the corner, leaning against the doorway with a hand towel thrown over his shoulder, short blonde hair sticking up in all directions, evident he’d dried off with it.

“That is a decorative towel, not for use.” She glares at him. “You know that too.”

“You moved the other towels.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” she mutters, then looks at him, eyes trailing down to where the sweatpants hung low on his hips. “Put a fucking shirt on, floozy.”

“I couldn’t find one,” he replies with a small smirk. “You must’ve used ‘em for fuel for the fireplace.”

She stands up straight and walks up to him. “Why are you here, Simon?” Her voice is quiet, calm, waiting.

He looks down at his feet, shifts his weight and murmurs, “Missed you.”

“You left me.”

“I know.”

“You start going to therapy yet?” She asks and he purses his lips.

“SAS doesn’t exactly offer therapy, y’know that, right? Not exactly ‘ow we operate.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You know I asked that friend of yours, what was his name? Soap? He said that the SAS offers routine psychiatric care and therapy. He also happened to mention you conveniently manage to get out of it every single time.”

Simon lets out a grunt and pinches his brow. “Soap can’t mind ‘is own fuckin’ business.”

“He’s your friend. And he was also drunk.” She waves a hand. “Regardless, you haven’t done the one thing I told you that you would have to do if you wanted to come back—no, when you came crawling back.”

“I don’t need therapy. I just want a second chance.” He shifts to his full height, looks at her with a pleading look. “Things were good between us, love. You know they were.”

“Sure, when you weren’t shutting down when you were hurting emotionally or running off to God knows where when you had a mission and didn’t leave me a notice.”

Simon sighs. “I was protectin’ you. I didn’t wanna drag you into all the shit I ‘ave to deal with on a daily. I didn’t want you to have to put up with…all of…”

She gives him a hard look. “Simon Riley, what part of me gave you the notion that I ever need to be protected or sheltered from what you do?”

He swallows thickly and gazes into her eyes. “Love…you’re too pure for me. What I do…you don’t need to know the horrors I’ve committed. You’re…you’re too beautiful for such things.”

“You mean how you kill people with no emotion? How you’ve taken lives with your bare hands? How you shove so much of yourself down into the black hole until there’s no humanity left but ‘Ghost’, the hollow killer?”

Simon stares at her, throat bobbing as he replies, “I can’t drag you to hell with me, it would kill me, love. What if—”

“Do you know the moment I knew I was in love with you?” She interrupts and he falls silent. “I was sick that one day a year ago, bad sick. And you told me not to go into work, but I didn’t listen and when I came home early, I could barely walk straight.” She places a hand on her hip. “And you helped me into the bathroom. Ran a bath in the dark, lit a few candles and you bathed me. Washed my hair. Took care of me. You were so gentle and so loving. Like a priest tasked with cleaning his alter, you cleansed me and made me feel safe.”

He shifts uncomfortably but his body language is anything but repulsed; it’s soft. “You started cryin’ when I was washin’ your hair. Thought I got soap in your eyes. But you said you just felt so loved.” He smiles then. “You were like a kitten really. Could barely lift your head. So tired and weak.”

“Mhm. And then you tucked me into bed and crawled beneath the covers with me. Laid up beside me, never once acted sexual. Just…caring.” She looks at him. “Do you remember what I said to you before I went to sleep?”

“No,” he mutters but he looks up at the ceiling and she knows he’s lying, it’s his tell-tale sign.

She gives him the benefit of the doubt and closes the distance between them, lays her hands on his chest, and says, “I said, ‘This is the real man beneath all that coldness. The real Simon. The one I knew I loved more than anything. No matter what.’”

Simon shudders beneath her touch, feels weak in his knees like he might drop to his and worship at her feet, beg for forgiveness like a sinner in confession. His chest aches, tightening as the words tear violently at his chest, a reminder that he left one of the only good things to ever come into his life, all because he was too afraid to let the walls come down, too afraid to be vulnerable, too afraid to risk being hurt—because if she hurt him, he’d never come back from it. In the end, he’d felt like a fool trying to protect a damsel who never needed saving in the first place; and he was left with the realization that she’d been protecting him the entire time.

“I know what you do, Simon. I know it’s hard, even if you don’t think it is. I know that no matter how you push your humanity down into that hole that it’s still there. I know killing someone takes something from you every time but, Simon, I’m not your enemy. I love you.” Her eyes are calm, but her voice is firm. “And I will not stand on the outside of the lines under some guise of protection. You either be upfront and honest with me about everything or you leave, and you don’t come back.”

Simon knows she’s asking him to choose now, and he feels that creeping anxiety rise in his throat like bile until he manages, “Can…can we talk about everything in the morning?”

She sighs and pulls her hands away. “Yeah, I guess so. Sheets and blankets are in the hall closet. You know where the couch is.”

“You’re not going to let me sleep in the bed?” He sounds incredibly offended.

“Couch, Riley.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, but he can’t help but smile when she sets the bedding out on the couch for him. “Goodnight, love,” he murmurs as she passes, and her shoulders tense and she waves a hand.

“Goodnight, Simon.”

He sits on the couch for a few moments, watches the rain splatter against the window, the clock ticking on the wall, before he pulls out his phone and simply types, “I love you,” and sends it.

It’s quiet for a solid ten seconds before he hears, “You absolute bastard!” From the bedroom followed by, “Get in here!”

Simon gives a victory dance as he clears his throat and attempts to look innocent as he steps into her bedroom; she glowers and points to the other side. “You’re on that side.”

“You can make me,” he retorts and crawls into the middle of the bed, groaning when all the bones in his body snap and pop.

She rolls her eyes and goes back to her book, but after a moment, she shifts against the headboard, getting comfortable again. Simon lifts his head, watches her, then he moves and lays his head in her lap, his arms wrapped around her hips under the pillows behind her. Her eyes rise to the wall in front of her and she stares unamusedly at it before she switches the book into her other hand and rests her right hand at the back of his neck, gently thumbing the juncture of his spine and skull. He groans beneath her touch, shifts himself so that she has control over moving him, body going slack when she scratches her nails into his scalp.

“You’re like a cat,” she mutters, feeling his lips turn up against her thigh.

“Meow,” he mimics, and she snorts, feeling him move until his head is pressed into her stomach, face turned so she can see the right profile.

He watches until she puts the book down on her nightstand and turns into him; they gaze at each other, and his eyes gently shut when she cups his face, thumbs brushing over his features.

“You know I’m giving you another chance, don’t you?”

Simon swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “…yeah.”

“But we’ve gotta change. Or else we’ll end up back where we were before we broke up.”

“I know.” He opens his eyes and looks at her. “I’ve missed you, love.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she murmurs, bending down to press her lips to his forehead. “Doesn’t feel the same without you haunting my apartment.”

His lips turn up in a smile as she pulls back and lays on the pillows; Simon rises and crawls up her body, his nose brushing hers as he whispers, “I’ll do better for you. I’ll change. I swear it.”

“Yeah?”

His gaze turns solemn in a way she’s never seen before as he replies, “On their grave, I will.”

She smiles softly at him, pulls him down so his face is tucked in her neck, and replies, “Get some sleep.”

“I love you,” he mutters against her warm skin, arms tucked safely around her, body weight comfortably on her. “I love you more than the world.”

“I love you,” she says back, reaching up to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader imagines #simon ghost riley x reader imagine #simon ghost riley imagines #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader imagines #simon riley x reader imagine #simon riley imagines #simon riley imagine #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x reader imagines #ghost x reader imagine #ghost imagines #ghost imagine #ghost #cod imagines #cod imagine #cod #call of duty imagines #call of duty imagine #call of duty

[gremlingottoosilly]

König x Housekeeper!Reader? He was expecting some little old lady, not a college student looking for an extra side hustle to pay their tuition. He can already picture them as a housewife as they work around his mess of a place.

You're playing with the poor man's heart! When he was signing up for the weekly maid services, he hoped that it would be different people each time. Calling in for a housekeeper and a cleaner is already embarrassing enough at his grown age - there is a voice inside his head that tells him he should man the fuck up and stop being so damn difficult about watching over his own house, but having a regular maid who would know just how messy his life is...yeah, he was not having it. He needed someone old and boring, someone who, preferably, doesn't even speak German so he won't have to awkwardly master the conversation. He got you instead. You're...you're fucking perfect. In cozy and comfortable clothes, nothing that hugs your body and suggests something innappropriate - and yet every time you bend over, he can't help but imagine the way your ass must look under these baggy pants and has to fight the urge to just grab your waist and slam his erection against the curve of your hip. You're eager to work, you buzz around the messy house like a busy bee you are - there isn't much of his personal items inside, but his clothes and various gear laying around does make it a messy space. You were wondering if he is either a soldier or a serial killer, judging by the amount of weapons you got laying around...but it's better to not ask this question. You just needed some money, and the maid services are paying on the day of work - with repeating clients actually sometimes leaving you a nice tip or something to eat if you were to clean their houses at the dead of the night...it's really nice, somehow. Konig just can't keep his hands to himself sometimes. You look too adorable not to compliment on how you look - although he never dares, usually just staring at you from the corner. You're probably thinking he is afraid of you stealing something, but it's not like you really care about any of this, to be completely honest...you just want to keep your head low and get money. Unfortunately for you, Konig has a thing for housewife and domestic life. One time you were doing the routinely cleaning and it got really late - and with Konig literally having his house as far from civillization as possible, ass the buses were already leaving from the stations, leaving you stranded until the morning...and you'd be fucked or in for a very hefty taxi bill if it weren't for Konig oh so generously allowing you to spend the night at the guest room. You knew each other for a few months already, and the guy is harmless...naturally, you agree. Naturally, you never left this house without him again.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod

[multifandomfanatic02]

"My Little Partner in Crime."

pairing : father!Alastor x daughter!reader

synopsis : you spent nearly 80 years by your father's side without him knowing who you truly were. Don't you think it's about time you told him the truth? Would he despise you?

warnings : weep bitches.

word count : 3,106

          It had been 76 years since she had passed. Yet she remained in the body of a 15 year old girl. In hell, of course no one aged. Not many child sinners were often found in Hell but she was special. While she wasn't an overlord, she was a brilliant mind behind one.

           In life, [Y/N] felt she had been misplaced in the world. So many terrible things had happened at such a young age. She got by though. Through learned methods and maybe a little bit of her genes had helped too.

            She was orphaned at the age of 10 years old. Father died before she was born and mama fell severely ill when she was 10. It was an unfortunate circumstance for such a young child to be in, however it only got worse from there. After both parents had died, she ended up in a very poor fostering system. In which none of the children were treated right. It was so much worse for her.

             [Y/N] was the daughter of an infamous serial killer in Louisiana. Which did not look good to potential foster parents. If her father was a fucking psychopath, what would she be like? In a way, they weren't far off in their speculations. And they proved to be right later on.

            Her mother didn't find out about the love of her life's deeds until he was pronounced dead one eventful night. Gunshot to the head in the midst of burying his own victim. Regardless of what was said about the man, she still loved him all the years after before falling to her own demise. It wasn't like he was a crazed monster, in fact, he likely saved more people than he killed. He only went after the worst of the worst.

            It was obvious that the man loved his wife more than life itself. More than his job. It saddened her knowing that he would never get to meet his daughter. Children were never planned or even talked about between the two considering sex was kind of a sensitive topic for the both of them and for different reasons. So the one time they decided to 'experiment' she ended up conceiving. Funny enough, 6 weeks later was when he died. Neither parents had knowledge of [Y/N] presence yet.

          [Y/N] was scorned throughout the entirety of her foster community. Not for anything she did, no no. But for something her father did. No one wanted her. Regardless, she was happy that she was on her own in a way. Her 4 years in foster care were quite peaceful.

            It wasn't until she was 14 that she had been finally picked out of the system. An old man, maybe in his fifties, had come to get her. The fostering system, not wanting her to continue her stay any longer, kept their dealings with him under wraps so everything stayed out of legal documents.  [Y/N] wasn't adopted, no, she was to become his wife and to bear several of his children. Figures. What else would a man like him want in a child. Women were still known as the caretakers at the time. Nobody in this day and age was evolved like her father whom treated her mother like a queen when they were alive.

            Thankfully it never got too bad before she decided to take her fate into her own hands. She was an avid reader. Her favorite things to read were the medical books found in her room when she was in the system. So she eventually learned a thing or two. It started off with a crushed pill in his drink every morning to stave off his libido. So he was never in the mood to touch her. (Don't ask where she gets the medication, it's a secret.)

               Wearing him down slowly every day and night for the next year before his untimely death. An insulin overdose. It'd be like he died in his sleep. During an autopsy, no one would even know. She grinned ear to ear, feeling the man's pulse disappear from his neck. She took a breath before calling 911 in a faked panic tone. Convincing actually. "Hello? I n-need help. My husband isn't b-breathing, I think he may be dead. Please come save him! He can't die! I love him!" She managed to force tears from her eyes.

             Ultimately, he did indeed pass away and she was finally on her own. I guess it wasn't a totally bad set up since his property, belongings, and money went to [Y/N]. It was short lived, unfortunately. All that money that went to ballrooms and jazz music. It was paradise and worth every penny she thought. Only to die at the age of 15 from an infected fox bite. (Random, right? Just like dad's lol)

           [Y/N] had been in Hell for 76 years. She wasn't well known unlike her companion. Sticking to the man like glue after all this time. She worked well with the Radio Demon. Their minds complemented each other very well. Almost to a point of familiarity. When she first arrived in Hell, it was like she had made a big boom in the talk of the town. She was a mastermind and very talented at killing and pranks. It sparked a lot of the overlords' interest, especially since she wasn't interested in becoming an overlord herself. All she wanted was to enjoy her dark and very humorous afterlife. [Y/N] of course declined all their business proposals, even the famous Vox.

             There was one she couldn't turn away from. He was charming and the two immediately had an unbreakable connection. The connection itself was unreadable but it was there nonetheless. He made a deal with her, promising absolute protection from the exterminators and other overlords and in turn she would help with his dealings. It was a fair trade, the Radio Demon was a bit impulsive with his actions while [Y/N] methodically planned all her own dealings 30 steps ahead. And with her being 15, well, she was thought to be an easy target.

              It was actually strange, they look alike too. The same color scheme, same nose and eyes. Both shared that constant shit-eating grin and composure. The only difference between them being that he's an elk demon while she, a fox demon. It was literally just the tail, antlers, and hairstyle that set them apart.

               Overtime, the radio demon, opened up to her piece by piece. Alastor, that was his name. It didn't take to long for her to come to the realization that he was in fact her beloved father that her mom talked about oh so much. It was clear. It wasn't just their appearance but mannerisms that were so similar. Her name being the same as his mothers surely didn't help either. He thought nothing of it. Alastor didn't know, he was too oblivious to anything that wasn't himself. And up to now, it never felt like the right time to tell him, so it's been a secret.

            Turns out she wasn't the only one to have this realization. Carmilla Carmine along with many other overlords figured it out before even she. Carmilla being a mother herself felt empathy for her and talked to her whenever she needed it. Rosie found a deep love for [Y/N] herself, acting as a mother figure as well. The little darling was just like her bestie, Alastor, how could she not? Other overlords weren't as reasonable and often threatened to use the knowledge as a weapon against her. What would Alastor think? Did he ever want a child? Would he stray away from her if he found out? Often enough, the overlords who threatened her ended up without their lives by her hands by the end of the day.

         Seventy-six years, Alastor had kept [Y/N] by his side every step he took. It wasn't until his powerful fight with Vox that he decided to step away. He disappeared for 7 years without notice. It broke her heart into a million pieces but just like before in life, she marched on and kept her promise to him.

           It wasn't until news arrived in Pentagon city about this Hazbin Hotel that she'd heard Alastor's name after so long. He was working as the host of the hotel. It wasn't often [Y/N] showed emotion but this time she couldn't hold it in, tears streamed down her face. Her sturdy smile began to slowly break apart. It seemed her father was her weakness. While he didn't want to admit it, it was mutual. He left without saying a word to avoid seeing her disappointment in those little eyes of hers. He didn't want her see him so weak. In a way, he subconsciously felt he had some kind of responsibility over her.

            The walk to the hotel was nerve-wracking for [Y/N]. Seeing him after all this time felt bittersweet. She was excited of course but she was awfully upset about his random disappearance.

Knock, knock, knock

        The Princess of Hell had opened the door, to her surprise to see a red and black fox demon with a huge smile on her face. Charlie was suddenly having a flash of deja vu. Where else has she seen this before? In any case, it wasn't the most obvious thing to pop out at her. This girl was a child. There shouldn't be a child in Hell, whose cruel idea was it to send her down here Charlie thought.

          "Princess Charlotte, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is [Y/N]." She bent down pulling her dress between her fingers to greet her.

           "Just call me Charlie! It's nice to meet you too! Are you here to stay in the hotel? If so we would love to have you here with us. Especially someone as cute as you." Charlie reached out to pinch the young demon's cheeks before composing herself.

           "I actually am, among other things. I was hoping I could be of service to you." Charlie sat questioning her proposal for a second.

             "I'll gladly accept any help I can get but love, you are a child, don't you want to focus on going to heaven and get out of this place?" Charlie bent down to her level and took the girl's hands in her own.

              "Don't let her age fool you, my dear. She is a very capable demon. In fact, better than most overlords I know." The familiar radio static voice tickled [Y/N] ears as Alastor materialized behind Charlie. He smiled genuinely as he held out his arms, waiting for her embrace. Tears suddenly streamed down as she ran into his arms. The two holding onto each other as if one of them would disappear forever.

               "I apologize for my sudden departure, darling. I hope you know that I would never leave you willingly. It was the only way I could keep my side of the deal." He stroked her hair in attempt to calm her sobbing. She couldn't say anything, she had already forgiven him a while back. Alastor couldn't do anything to make her hate him.

               "Alastor aren't you going to introduce us? Who's this sweet thing?" Angel dust walked to the doors to join him and Charlie. The rest of the sinners in the lobby following suit.

              "I guess you could say she is my partner in crime. This little darling has been by my side for nearly 80 years. I owe a lot of my victories to her truth be told." Everyone stood around confused, expecting a different answer. There's absolutely no way she could JUST be his partner they look too much ali-

             "Al, is that.. is that all she is?" [Y/N] sent vaggie daggering eyes as a warning not to continue her statement. Getting the hint, Vaggie backed off and went to sit on the couch in the center of the room. "Nevermind, forget I said anything."   

              "Hey [Y/N], it's been a few months. How you holding up. Still getting into trouble I hear." Husk gives the fox demon some pats on the head.

               "It's nice to see you again Husker, I would like to thank you for looking out for me these past few years." Her grin grew looking up at the fluffy demon.

             "Just doing what the boss told me." Alastor often had souls he was contracted with look after her in his absence. There wasn't much he could do, but knowing she was safe and sound and thriving eased his cold heart. It wasn't often he found himself tied to someone. But there he was, worried for the safety of someone else. A child no less. It took a while to understand his feelings but he eventually did accept it. He cared about someone other than himself.

               Introductions to the residents went smoothly, all of them having such lively personalities she thought. What an amazing new family to have. Besides missing Mama, this was much better than what she had in life ironic as it is.

           The times were changing and everything felt still, peaceful. [Y/N] had an amazing new family and business. Angel Dust being like an amazing big brother and Charlie like an amazing older sister. However the biggest change was how close she got to Alastor. He insisted her bedroom be near his radio tower so he could watch over her. It was so out of character for the residents that have only known him since he joined the hotel staff.

              She was back to being glued to his hip. Her charm helping to gain more residents with her adorableness. It brought on a whole lot of business deals for the feared radio demon as well. Everything was perfect. Something still weighed on [Y/N]'s heart. Alastor needed to know the truth. Why the two of them have such a strong connection. And why they can't seem to ever let each other go. It's not something easily brought up in conversation. Thankfully, luck was on her side one day during one of their business outings.

           "So.. do we have a deal?" Alastor held his hand out to damaged overlord. The enemy's eyes flickered over to the fox demon, causing a distraction. Long enough for his partner to sneak a gun to the young girl's temple. Her composure stabled, a smile creeping on her face.

            "Before I agree to this deal, you are going to hear me out. Or my partner here will end the little girl's life. And you'll be pickingup brain matter off the ground." Alastor's eye twitched, returning his hands to the top of his cane. His expression eased back into his typical smile, seeing her unfazed by the imminent threat.

         "Fine. What do you want?" The man smiled seeing Alastor accept his conditions.

           "[Y/N]. I want the girl." The Radio Demon's breath hitched in his throat upon hearing the request. Never. Never in a million years, he thought. "You see that BITCH had me killed. Secretly drugging me for a year. Didn't think I would have noticed, huh? She never payed for it, she never had to answerfor her crime. Got her out of that shithole of a foster care and this is what I get?"

            He forcibly grabbed the collar of her prim and proper dress, picking her up to his face. Her ears folded to the back of her head, scowling at the man now. "You were going to make me a child bride."

         "You are a woman. You do what I say. If you don't accept my proposal, I'll tell daddy here your little secret. Won't he be surprised." Her eyes turned red at his words, both her and Alastor, in his demon form, shoving an arm through the man's chest in unison. All he felt in that moment was fear, dying for a second time.

            It took a second for the man's words to process in Alastor's head. Secret? What secret? He didn't want to pry but it was obviously tearing [Y/N] up inside. Her expression said it all. All he wanted was to know she was okay. It was time to let him know. And whatever decision he made, she was going to be okay with.

           "There's something I need to tell you."

           "Darling, you don't have to tell me anything if you are not comfortable. That fuck was just trying to get under your skin." And it worked.

             "No. You need to know." [Y/N]'s lip began to quiver in fear. Scared she was suddenly going to be a disappointment. How could she keep this a secret for so long. He had the right to know. Now. "My name is [first name] [Shared last name]. I..  I am your daughter."

                The gears in his head turned as he tried to process the new information. When something suddenly clicked in his head. The love of his life just before he died, was constantly sick and had been for a few weeks. Alastor had just thought she had a cold and constantly doted on her, trying to provide the best medicine he could.. hm.. find. She never took it thankfully. She was pregnant.

           He hadn't thought about it before now but it has come to his attention that the reason why he cared for this child so much was because she reminded him of his wife. She was careful with every decision, she was always calm in every situation she's been in, and they both had that beautiful fire in their eyes. The fire that let everyone know that they weren't going to submit to nobody. The dynamic between him and his wife wasn't much different from the dynamic between him and his daughter.

              Why hadn't Alastor seen it before. [Y/N] was obviously named after his mother. The girl was literally his mini me. He couldn't help but let a tear or two drop from his eyes before bending his knees to look at her at her level.

            "Tell me... what uh. What happened to your mother?" Alastor held the girl's cheek in his hand caressing it gently and wiping away her own tears, slightly smearing the blood on his hand.

             "Mama died of the influenza virus when I was 10. I'm sure she's in Heaven, having the time of her life." Alastor pulled his daughter into a tight embrace, never wanting to let go.

            "After all this time, I've had a precious piece of her with me. And I won't ever leave you alone again."

A/N: Yall let me know if you liked this concept, this was fun to do. I know it's kind of out of character for Alastor but I hope it healed something in y'all with daddy issues 🙏

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