Just Call Me Jo

By which I mean, asks used to be WAY more of the tumblr economy. They used to be more common to send, and receive, and see. They were integral to the collaborative, forum-like behavior of old tumblr communities, not even to speak on the HUGE number of ask-blogs that used to exist to only be interacted with in ask-form.

jealous Alastor. jealousy, jealousy, jealousy…

what does that look like on him?

with the pride this man holds—pride that’s definitely bigger than the Pride Ring itself, him admitting to feeling something as childish as jealousy is much like pulling teeth. very sharp, biting teeth.

you’re sooner to get him to admit to eating that one sinner that had put their hand a little too low on your back for comfort than you are to getting the exact reason why. he was just feeling a bit peckish is all! and that sinner just so happened to be at the wrong place at the right time! no other reason. none at all.

because Alastor takes pride in getting what he wants and always doing so. he isn’t the type to wallow in useless emotions when he could be doing something to alleviate whatever is that’s making him feel so… off-kilter. such as seething in a darkened corner of the Hotel’s lobby—courtesy of his shadows—while you chat politely with one of the new guests. who won’t. stop. talking to you.

Alastor seethes because the Princess told him in that awkward, firm way of hers that, “No, Alastor, you can’t just eat any guest that comes in here.” and remained even firmer in her order when he refused to elaborate why the eating of the guests was even occurring. so now he has to wait and plot, red eyes narrowed and bright with malice as he glimpses the moment when you try to walk away from the conversation and the guest makes some excuse to follow and keep talking to you.

perfect. perfectly perfect as perfect can be…

Alastor watches and waits until you and the pest have made it far enough away from the Hotel grounds. then he strikes. one moment you’re nodding along politely to an admittedly overbearing sinner who can’t seem to get when a conversation is over, and then the next moment they yelp abruptly and are gone.

Alastor stands in their place when you turn to look, smile too bright and satisfied to be innocent in your experience. you’ve completely missed the long tendril of shadow that had wrapped around the yapper and sling-shotted their body across the Pride Ring.

Alastor couldn’t care less that you’re looking up at him with suspicion and light-hearted frustration as he dodges your questions of why and where the sinner went, or that you are trying very hard to hide your lovely smile, because at least now you are looking at him. your words, attention, and emotions are all his once more. nothing else could possibly matter.

he didn’t even eat anyone this time! truly, he couldn’t have been more proud of having eliminated both the pest and that cloying, icky feeling of jealousy. the reward of your undivided attention has flushed out all of the green and left nothing but the red, red, red of a hunt well done.

across the Pentagram, a certain Television Overlord is having an aneurysm over the now-very-dead body of some nobody that had somehow smashed through the thick, tempered glass of VoxTek double-pane windows of his private suite. oh well!