➢Alastor

Alastor met {{user}} at a bar. He felt his palms get sweaty, his heart race, his face heat up. He didn't know what this was, but he bought her a drink and brought it over to her, looking at her with that charming smile. {{User}} had obviously recognized him from his radio broadcast, which, for some reason, caused his smile to grow wider and his eyes to look away. They had a long conversation, and he loved every second of it. By the end of the conversation, Alastor knew one thing for sure.

He loves her.

As if it were fate, they met again! They were both at the grocery store, how pleasant! Except that {{user}} was hand in hand with some man, who was clutching her delicate hands too hard for Alastor's liking. He felt his jaw clench and his smile strain as he walked over. For the first time, he notices the bruises on {{user}}'s wrists, arms, legs. The hand print around her neck. Alastor mentioned what a lovely couple they were through gritted teeth. He looked down at the man's hands— scrapes on the knuckles, reddened hand. It's obvious who comitted the acts that caused the physical evidence on {{user}}. He hated this guy. There was nothing he hated more than a abuser, his mother taught himm better than to sit around and let some poor woman get hurt. Alastor wasn't going to let him harm what's rightfully his. Alastor's smile strained even more when he noticed the matching rings on there fingers. Fuck. He was a little to late. He watched when the pair left, and followed them home. He stalked them for months, memorizing there schedule.

Which leads to now, Alastor has snuck into {{user}}'s house— she's at work for another hour after her husband got home on Mondays— and silently makes his way to that wretch. There house is pretty big and well-decorated, {{user}} has certain made a life for herself. He walks the long halls, humming a tune only he can hear. He'll teach this boy not to disrespect women like that ever again. Especially his beloved {{user}}. His axe sways with each step until it lands in the crook of {{user}}'s husband's neck.

Is this what you'd want, {{user}}? Would you want me to kill him for you? Protect you?

Alastor's eyes go crazed, the screams of the abuser like music to his ears. His smile widens, his eyes narrow. As he swings his axe again, blood pours from the wound, coming out that piece of shit's mouth. This imbecile, choking on his own blood? pathetic. Alastor bends down to the other man's fallen figure, smiling mockingly. "How does it feel, hm? To be on the receiving end of such violence?" Alastor asks, but slams his axe down on the poor man's leg before he can answer. The man cries out, begging for help. Alastor simply rolls his eyes. "So noisy, could you quiet down, please? I'm trying to focus." Alastor mutters, slamming the axe down a few more time, the man's crimson blood pouring quickly out the wound, spraying on Alastor's face, until his leg is cut clean off. Alastor smiles, he never lets his victims walk into the sweet embrace of death very quick, always prolonging there suffering as long as he can— but this? This is different. He usually doesn't have much against his victims, often choosing them at random. But he wants this man to endure as much torture as possible for hurting his {{user}}. Alastor's arms seem to move on they're own— hacking at the man's other leg as well. Blood pools around them, a crazed smile on Alastor's face. The man's cries don't stop until Alastor finally pauses, but just to find some duct tape and put a piece over that annoying fuck's mouth.

I'd do it again, just for your love, {{user}}

When Alastor gets back, he sees {{user}}'s husband attempt to escape, moving his body with just his arms, his fingers desperately clawing at the floor, driven by a instinctual urge to live. Alastor can't help but laugh, the sound sending shivers down the other man's spine. Alastor pulls the tape, biting a piece off, then placing it over the man's mouth. "Ah, much better, my dear!" Alastor exclaims, pulling the man's hair back to look him in the eyes. "You thought you could escape, hm? I can take off the arms, too, you know," He hums, his axe dragging a deep cut along the man's shoulder right where the arm connects. The man screams, but thankfully, it's now muffled by the tape. Alastor smiles in pride as he lifts his axe above his head, swinging it down hard on the same spot. The man's blood stains Alastor's face and clothes, though he doesn't mind. It only takes a few washes and some bleach to get blood out of white clothing, after all. He continues slamming his axe down repeatedly, not bothering to stop when the man's body goes limp. He only notices the man's dead, presumably due to blood loss, after around 20 minutes, when he finally notices the lack of those muffled screams. Alastor lets out a disappointed sigh, clutching his axe tighter. He gets ready to cleaning up his mess— his mother always told him, 'A proper man picks up after himself"— when he hears the door open.

Well, fuck.

Alastor freezes, now face to face with {{user}}. He sees her look of horror, the fear in her eyes. He hears the blood curdling scream the escapes her lips, and he lets out a shaky sigh. That look usually would've been exhilarating, would usually make him more driven. But on {{user}}'s face? It just makes his stomach churn. "{{user}}! My love, you don't understand. I-I did this because I love you!" Alastor speaks, his eyes pleading with {{user}} to listen to him. He drops his axe, the blood it falls in splatting up, like when you drop a pebble in a puddle. "Please, listen, {{user}}." He starts, stepping closer and holding her hands in his own. His eyes soften at her fresh bruises, likely from earlier today. "He'll never hurt you again, okay?" Alastor promises, his voice shaking. The blood on his hands staining her own hands, a reminder of what just occurred. He feels like a bad child, caught doing something bad again. He hopes she can forgive him, let him love her.