#scoundrcls

[o188]

It had only taken a second. Matthew had barely squeezed the trigger. Barely blinked. The other man isn’t as new to this, isn’t clouded with hesitation over morals and religious upbringing. Dominick Carisi Jr. had entered this place knowing someone was going to die --- intentions set but stomach a mess, regardless. He’s scared of becoming like Matthew, of being able to pull the trigger without holding his breath. He’s scared of the day he doesn’t cross himself, the day he finally goes cold from doing this too often. The man on the floor, now a corpse, had been a music teacher. A teacher who took advantage of students of all ages, some of them as young as ten. He’d smiled through court, snarked his way through interrogations. There was no doubt he’d believed himself to be untouchable. The jury had taken days because there wasn’t enough evidence because a few testimonies were weak. Too many of the parents didn’t want their children to go through the trauma of court. A clusterfuck from beginning to end --- the not guilty verdict twisting Sonny’s spine in a way that couldn’t be fixed by simple means. No. Sonny was out of shape from the moment the gavel slammed to when his body hit the floor.  Dead. He’s dead and he’s lucky their positions aren’t switched. Matthew had been swift, dutiful. Perfect. A though that has Sonny suddenly swallowing as one of those red hands reaches towards him.

“ Closer. ” He hears himself say it but he’s transfixed. Matthew may as well be something biblical before him, something that makes his knees bend until they hit the floor. His own gun clatters onto the carpet next to him, forgotten. Everything --- even the body is forgotten for the sake of this spiritual moment.                                                           ( @scoundrcls / cont. )

[skvtewitch]

@scoundrcls​

Oliver brought his tea to his lips, taking a satisfying sip before placing the cup down on the table. “How has your magic stuff been going?” He asked the other, readjusting his clothes. Since it’s been cold, he had been making due with layers of various animal printed long-sleeved sweaters, but always looked like he walked out of some older woman’s closet. Somehow, Oliver managed to make it work, even with the dark eyeshadow and eyeliner he wore that he couldn’t remember if he applied it earlier this morning or two days ago. Eternally tired college student with some sense of fashion was a look he was into lately.

[wandchoosesthewizard]

@scoundrcls  liked and we plotted

Grindelwald’s plan has failed.

He knows, because the token he wears around his neck, burns hot for a brief moment, warning him.

He had not believed it possible - not imagined that Gellert could fail - but still he had committed the action plan for such an emergency to memory. He has no information - so he cannot know what has happened. The obscurial might have died. Gellert may have been exposed. Or captured. He may have upset the boy - or injured the obscurus. Now that it has happened, the avenues for failure spring up before him like daisies. The plan was the same for every eventuality.

Leave his home - he cannot he found there, nor can it appear he left peacefully. As he marches through his own apartment, his hand waves about, upturning tables, shredding paper and portraits, vials of his own blood especially drawn for this exact purpose daubing the walls. As he pulls the door closed - one would be forgiven for mistaking him for dead… If not dragged away dying.

It was after that, of course, that the variations came in. He was to hide - to find out what was happening and to react and to resolve.

His involvement could not be discovered - in case he was required to return to his post. And so, as the rain pours - he walks. He’ll need to find a temporary base to work from. He sticks to the busy avenues, the main streets - his staff… or at least, what once was his staff - will use the alleys and the side streets as much as possible to slip around undetected and while it would be easier to move there - he’d be too easily detected.

Finding an abandoned building, some time later, he slips inside. It will do until the morning comes. Until he can get a copy of The Ghost and find out what’s happened. Until he can make his next move.

He ventures deeper inside, away from the windows, seeking isolation from the outside - before settling down - casting a magical fire to allow his clothes to dry and his hands to get warm. He’s been sat there a while when he hears movement and stands. Gellert has his wand and while he can certainly cast a whole flurry of spells unaided - he would rather have had the security of a wand by his side. He’s not foolish enough to call out ‘ hello?’ But he does venture closer to investigate.

[shcsallrightnow]

@scoundrcls

With a lunch tray balanced precariously on her knees, Abigail glumly picked at the mush she’d been informed was meatloaf. She’d seen meatloaf -- hell, she’d made meatloaf -- and what she currently was staring at was not meatloaf. Nevertheless, her hunger won out and she lifted her cutlery with pale, trembling fingers. Her medication was slowly turning her into a zombie.

After Hannibal’s betrayal, Abigail had managed to escape and return to the airport, but unfortunately, Jack and his agents had been waiting for her. And naturally, once she’d informed them of Hannibal’s intentions, she’d been locked away without a key. Nobody had believed her. It wasn’t as if she had physical proof of Hannibal’s crimes, but she knew she wasn’t crazy. He had been the man on the phone.

The cell door clicked open then, and Abigail cringed, lifting her bleary eyes to take in the sight of her latest orderly. The BSHCI tended to rotate its medical staff, but as of late, Matthew Brown had been there each and every day, tending to her various needs and without much of a word. Truly, it was better that way. Abigail hated being dependent on anyone.

“I wasn’t really hungry,” Abigail lied in reference to the tray. “You can take it now.” Watching him with her sharp, shrewd eyes, she placed the meal aside and folded her hands. “Have you been assigned to me or something? It’s kind of unusual to have the same attendant... Or at least, it is for me.”

[drdumaurier]

@scoundrcls replied to your post:

Consider the comma like a natural pause in speech, where the em-dashes are interruptions. Like if a person is excited, and goes “Woahwoahwoah wait– what?” or indications of stutters in “N-no, please,” it shortens the ‘sound’ or stops it completely without stopping the sentence. Does that make sense?

It makes a lot of sense! That’s how I’ve used it (or tried to use it), but I wasn’t sure I used it properly, so thanks a lot!!!

@chasingparamasturbatoryillusions replied to your post:

Yeah! And I think, like, typically if you’re going to use a said verb and add action to that, you use commas instead of an em-dash, but other than that. It’s more about the feel of the thing.

When it concerns action, I think for now I’ll stick mostly to the commas, but I might try to use em-dash sometimes if it feels right. 

[flawedlouise]

{ from here } @scoundrcls

The statement was offered as a husky growl as Louise pushed through the front door, stumbling as she reached the steps leading to the entrance. Pausing mid stride, her gaze sharply lifted to the voice that addressed her and she snapped her response. “Who asked you?” Sweeping a glance over him, she focused for a moment on his orderly uniform and her shoulders slumped, fixing him with an apologetic frown as she fished in her coat pocket for her crutch. “I didn’t mean it like that…" Tucking a cigarette between her lips and lighting it, she huffed a deep breath of the smoke and canted her head to view him curiously. 

"Do you think even half of the men locked up in there have the slightest clue what they intended? That they were coherent enough to consider the consequences of their actions? That’s what intent is, isn’t it?” Glancing to her feet, she breathed a laugh and shook her head, taking another drag. “I’m sorry. I had a disagreement with one of your guys inside.”

[cellarmonsters]

@scoundrcls

“Never knew I’d have the trickster God himself visiting over some tea,” the young man shakes his head, though, still poured the Earl Grey into their guest’s cup, just as Amelia titters gently behind a hand. “Now dear, Lowkey has been a great friend to my coven for centuries! Those offerings were not of waste, boy,” she chides him gently, coaxing the god to have another biscuit topped with sprinkles. Sam’s own baking, of course.

[valadhxfndr]

⌘ - FATE SOUGHT || @scoundrcls ( cont. )

⸻   “…what the fuck just happened there?”

Golden, amber eyes glare upward to look at Vidarr, a long finger tapping twice on the slowly burning cigarette hanging off of his long digits, ashing into a dirty ashtray. His eyes widen as he shakes his head, “you Norse fuckers really have no sense of personal spheres, huh? You’re late, you know,” and he points the cigarette towards the seat ahead of him, throwing a half-hearted punch with his free hand on Vidarr’s hip.

“Know I’ve got luscious locks much’s yerself Vidarr but amn’t about t’ let you mess it up just ‘cause you’ve grown a jealous heart for a man who can rock red. Rooster’s got to look presentable for the hens. Now… what’d you wanna talk to me about?”

            Expected nothing LESS; That with how the fae was quick to struggle away from the touch, Vidarr jerked into a chesty swell of a chuckle before it turned into a heave of a groan the moment he slid himself into the booth where he finally had a good look onto the other. Same old, same old. There he was, the rugged red-head whose charms were a little worse for wear—then again, it wasn’t like Vidarr was looking for some sweet little Friday night DATE.

            “Look good for the HENS,” Vidarr hummed then, eyes darting momentarily to make sure someone was coming to tend to them in the damn place that seemed like it had seen better days—him and the place both, really. And HIM too. 

                        “------ and how’s that working out so far?”