#haunting box

[the-ellia-west]

Boop!

-you’ll never know who it issss

Hmmmm

I think this is maybe Corinne, A New follower I don't quite know, Kiwi, Ves, or maybe Clever...

I'm not very good at guessing games, but that feels like something they would do...

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Halloween is almost here, bitches!

I've been asked multiple times which Vincent Price movie I recommend.

Here are some of my favorite Vincent films. If you're a horror buff, and even if you're not - these movies are amazing and I highly recommend them!!

[shithowdy]

having the whitest problem on earth: my dad got some already antique balinese masks at an estate sale 40 years ago and officially made them my problem by hiding them in a box of other masks he gave me and now i have to call museums asking who can take them because it turns out they are priceless cultural items. thanks dad.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 89

 The young justice team is in a bit of a pickle. It had been a usual mission, Klarion causing mischief again, before someone had mentioned the date. 

 The literal chaos lord had shrieked, stopping his attack, and asked for clarification. Maybe that wasn’t a good idea because one moment they were in Happy Harbour, and the next they’re somewhere else with green everywhere and floating islands. 

 And Klarion doesn’t explain- not that they were expecting him to- and just bolts into a… wow that is a very big and scary looking castle. Keep? Honestly it’s if someone combined a gothic citadel with a clocktower of some sort. 

 Not important, because they had chased after Klarion who uh… Oh no, that is a Very big entity, that is two Very Big entities that could crush them in their fingers. And they are now stuck in this place seeing as the portal closed behind them. 

 Honestly Klarion is happy he made it home before curfew! Even if he had to bring his sort-of-friends with him to make it in time. It’s not his fault, he’s not used to having a guardian, nevermind two! Not to mention siblings, which he’s now the oldest of too, so he has to be a positive influence. Like teaching them how to properly do chaos without destroying a world. 

 Oh, but this is perfect anyway, one of his dads has been wanting to talk to the speedsters anyway, and his other dad is still under house arrest for the whole, trying to take over the living realm thing. But that’s not important, he has little siblings to introduce! 

[culiehua]

[bellarkeselection]

His Compass of Harrenhal - part 2

Part 1

part 3

Tag list - @only4thefics @superintenseart @universallyrascaldreamercookie @uniquecroissant @vavafaure1994

Tossing the covers off of my body as quickly as I could I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. Daemon had a strong arm draped over my waist until I shoved his arms off of me. Stumbling out of the bed I flew to the chamber pot puking whatever was in my stomach from the dinner we ate the night before. “Y/n, what’s made you ill?” Daemon had awoken from his sleep running over to hold my hair out of my face..

“I’m not quite sure.” I croaked out once I had finally emptied the contents of my stomach and sat with my back against his chest.

Daemon rested his chin on top of my head, keeping his arms wrapped around my waist. “I’ll go find a Maester right away-“

“I’ll come with you. If this is some illness I don’t wish to pass out onto the floor while you’re away.” I snatched his wrist, halting him from going further. Together we made our way through the castle until the closest person we came upon was none other than Alice Rivers.

“You’re new wife becomes sick this morning I hear.”

Daemon grumbled still not trusting the woman before us. “I don’t have time for your words, witch. Just tell me what is wrong with my wife. You are apparently this haunted castle’s only maester.”

“Lay her on the table.” She rushed quickly clearing off her workspace before Daemon laid me down on my back and she rubbed her hand all over my stomach and lifted up my nightgown before asking me. “When did you last bleed, lady fish?”

Running a hand through my hair I couldn’t exactly recall the last time. “I don’t entirely know. Possibly two moons ago. Why?”

“If you haven’t bled recently then you’re pregnant with his wee bear growing inside your belly.” Alice points her hand at Daemon who tried to show no emotion around her.

Rolling over onto my side I grinned back at the dragon prince. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

Daemon crossed the room not saying anything before he grabbed my face and kissed me deeply until we needed air. “You will be a very excellent mother to our little dragon.” I wrapped my arms around his neck drawing him back in for another kiss until someone interrupted the kiss.

“Your grace, oh - uh forgive me.” The caretaker of the castle named Simon came into the room seeing us sharing a moment.

Daemon didn’t look at the man when he grumbled his next words. “What is it?”

“The lord of Riverrun has arrived.”

I jumped down from the table running as fast as my legs could carry me, not bothering to wait on the men behind me. I hadn’t seen a member of my family since my father had shipped me off to this place so long ago. Pushing the doors open I expected to see my very ill father but I was greeted by a young boy with curly brown hair standing in front of the large round table. “Who might you be?”

“My name is Oscar. My grandsire is Grover Tully. Praise the gods Aunt Y/n is that you?” Oscar began formally speaking until he recognized the eyes staring back at him.

I let out a half chuckle crossing the room moving closer to the boy. “Ha! So my father did mention me after he shipped me off. Anyhow, Oscar look how big you’ve grown. I remember how small you were on your first nameday. Can I get a hug, little nephew?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever get to meet you.” He flung his arms around my neck and I wrapped my arms around his neck bringing him in closer with us both laughing in enjoyment. “I’ve heard tales of the Tully daughter who decided to wield a sword despite what everyone else thinks about it.”

“Well isn’t this a happy family reunion?” Daemon sent me a smile resting one hand on the handle of his sword that he carried on his hip.

“My - my - my prince. Uh my grace - your grace.” Oscar nervously tried to address him once we had broken our hug seeing Daemon and Simon Strong enter the room.

Daemon glanced back at the Strong man. “Lord Grover is looking more hair than healthy than I expected.”

“This is Oscar Tully. Grandson to Grover Tully. He is heir to Riverun and the future Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. His grace, the king concoct Daemon Targaryen and his Lady Wife I suppose Y/n of - um forgive me my lady.”

I sent the older man a gentle smile. “He’s my nephew, Simon Strong. I’m formerly of House Tully.”

“It is an honor, your grace.” Oscar said watching the dragon remove his sword, laying it on the table and sitting down before him and only then did the nervous lad sit down too.

Daemon nodded his head in my direction. “Indeed. Lady wife, come sit with us.”

“Oh okay.” I sat beside Daemon in the next chair over.

Daemon turned his attention to the young lad. “How fair’s your grandsire?”

“Sadly he remains incapacitated. He lies in a kind of waking sleep. Unable to do much more than eat or take a drink. It is barely enough to sustain him.”

Daemon tapped his fingers on the table. “So he’s alive?”

“Yes, gods be good.” Oscar brightly smiled.

Daemon leaned forward closer to the young boys face whispering a sentence that caught us both off guard for certain. “Well my time here is short and I’m in need of an army. Perhaps you place a feather pillow over his face and speed along your inheritance - fuck Y/n!”

“What the hell is the matter with you. You’re asking him to kill a member of my family when he’s only the age of ten and five.” I smacked my husband upside the back of the head sharply.

Daemon rubbed the back of his head glancing over at me. “If he’s an old man. Why let him suffer in pain. A quick death would be better for him and his grandson.”

“I - I love my grandsire. Like a father. My own Lord father died himself a young man. Lord Grover raised me in his stead.” Young Oscar explained nervously not thinking this conversation would resort to violence.

Daemon lowered his hand from the sore backside of his head bringing the topic of war back to the table. I knew he didn't like having to wait on anything, especially when it came to fighting battles. “All very touching are you here to speak with your grandsire's voice of House Tully in the Riverlands?”

“While he still lives?” Oscar raised a brow offended at the idea. “That is not our way.”

Daemon growled in the boy's face, picking up his sword and leaving the room. “Then you're of no use to me. I can see why the Blackwoods and Brackens did not fear to start a war beneath the nose of their ledge lords. House Tully is a fish with no head.”

“Daemon.” I called his name while getting up from my chair.

He placed his sword back onto his hip only sparing me a glance before he left the room. “Summon the Blackwoods here. I require men of action to lead my host of Rivermen.”

“Daemon! Daemon, wait a minute.” I chased after the prince grabbing the back of his tunic yanking hi, backwards before he could get any further from me. “I know you don’t like to hear that you’ll have to wait but-“

He spun around on his feet getting in my face. “I hate waiting. When you’re fighting a war there’s rarely time to wait for anyone else’s help.”

“Let me get my words out before you bite my head off. Like I was saying, give my lord Father time to pass on his own time and then you might have an edge of me talking with my nephew so that he and his bannermen will follow your queen Rhaenyra. Can you do that for me hmm. Can you take a pause before you run when something doesn’t go your way?”

He grabbed my face in his hands resting his forehead down against mine releasing a breath I didn’t know he was holding in. “I suppose I’ll have to wait for our little dragon to come into the world. So this should be no different.”

“Thank you, Daemon.” Draping my arms around his neck we embraced the other in a long hug.

[hypewinter]

Between all the paperwork that comes with being the new prince of the Infinite Realms, his rouges battles and studying for an upcoming test, Danny is exhausted. So when the Justice League summons him for a favor he is very withdrawn to say the least. He rushes them along, takes care of the bad guy they point him to, then leaves.

It is only about a week later once Clockwork offers to take over some paperwork for him and he eeks out a C- on his English test that he finally gets more than 3 hours of sleep. It is then that it finally hits him. He met THE Justice League. How cool was that? ....... and then he treated them like a bother. Totally not cool. Yeah another visit was probably in order. Maybe he could bring a gift basket too.

[soracities]

traveling to see a long distance lover in a few months and we're both about 5'4.. its symmetry of the heart! its completing a matching set after 20 years! its fitting over each other like milkcrates! its our shadows lining up! its picking same-sized clothes to exchange so we can still hold each other after i go! im in love and its my scariest secret! i am in love!!!!!

anon this is..........i am..............oh my godddd 😭

[dollofheart]

in case anyone else is interested the disney store just dropped a sally slater le doll today!

[epickiya722]

I just had this thought but it's so funny to me that when you first look at Yuta and Yuji, Yuta looks like he would be the one to want to hang out in spooky, creepy haunted places while Yuji looks like he would be scared to explore those places or be like "yuck".

No, it's reverse.

Yuta is actually the one who wouldn't want to hang out in creepy places. Meanwhile, Yuji will want to bring a damn oujia board and perform a seance on said property.

[the-ellia-west]

🧥

AGHHHH THANK YOU FOR THE ASK VES!!!

🧥- 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙤𝙘 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨 𝙪𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙩? (𝘾𝙤𝙖𝙩,𝙝𝙖𝙩, 𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙨, 𝙚𝙘𝙩.)

Mangrove hates feeling restricted and is barely convinced to wear a poncho half the time so it's definitely not him

Ronan lives in a Savannah

Hm

Probably Finn or Wild, I honestly like the idea of Wild's Design either having a fur cloak or a wool sweater

(JoR doesn't have cold climates, Probably because I despise the cold and I think snow is hideous)

[ndconceptarchive]

The box art for the Game Boy Advance port of Message in a Haunted Mansion (published in 2001). The cover for the PC game is below the cut for comparison (posted on Her's website in 2018):

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Call Mom

CW: PTSD/flashbacks, BBU in general, haunted, ghosts, reference to a murder, severe chronic panic

Jameson's Masterlist (scroll down)

-

Aw, crap. Hey, Johnny, do you remember where I put that girl's number? Like, Katie, or Caitlyn, or... do you remember? Hey! Johnny! Put down the fucking xbox controller for two fucking minutes and give me a hand, won't you?

Fingers snap right in front of his face.

Johnny!

Jameson jerks in a breath that sounds like a whine, sitting straight up. The fan blows cool air over his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, cold inside and out. The air in his room is freezing, suddenly. Outside it's so dark you can't even see the trees - the power outage must still be going, there aren't any streetlights. Thanks to the clouds, no stars or moon, either.

Just darkness.

Wait, if the electricity's out...

He looks up. The ceiling fan is perfectly still above his head, even while ice-cold air keeps goosebumps rising on his arms, the hair standing up at the back of his neck.

See, was that so hard? It'll take like five minutes if we work together, I swear.

"Nat?" He mumbles. "S'at... you?"

Checked there already, actually. Checked the fridge, too, so where the hell did I put it?

He's the only person in this room.

Jameson goes from still half-asleep to fully, painfully awake and aware in a single breath.

The voice comes as clear as if it was right next to him, a voice as familiar as his own - but he has no idea whose it is. There's no one here but him - even Trash Cat isn't here any longer, probably hunting a tiny piece of plastic downstairs that he'll end up stepping on in the morning. So far she hasn't eaten any of them. He doesn't even know where she's finding them.

Johnny, come on. Let's, like, retrace our steps.

His head starts to ache more with every single word, the pain working like tendrils behind his eyes, a pressure trying to crush his skull from the inside. Something flashes, bright and almost like a spectrum of rainbow colors, in the corner of his right eye, but it won't resolve when he turns his head.

I got home from work, I told you we had a hot customer who gave me her number, and then... then what?

Jameson stares into darkness so complete it feels like it has weight. Like it's sitting on the bed next to him, like the mattress dips underneath it. A body made of memory, slowly pulling together the pieces of what's been hidden. Clawing them out but leaving deep weals across the inside of his mind, like a corpse's fingers digging into loose dirt to climb out of his grave.

"Caitlyn," He whispers, as the thought crystallizes. A memory, pure and perfect. Some sliver of whatever they broke the person he was into. Some small piece of the man who signed up. "Her name was Caitlyn, not Katie. She... wrote it on the fucking paper."

Right! Okay, so, clearly I told you her name, and then what?

Jameson turns his head, and there he is.

Hank.

His breath catches in his throat.

Hank is younger than he is, even though he was older then. The older brother, trapped in time, while Jameson - Jonathan - keeps aging. The rakish smile is still there and, Christ, Jameson had forgotten that he'd done that stupid thing to his hair - you forgot everything about him, you begged them to take him away from you so that it wouldn't hurt anymore. He's still got that one crooked tooth he'd refused to get braces to fix. That crooked tooth had been in his dental records. It was how they identified his body.

The fucking crooked tooth, the silver-colored fillings, then the DNA tests...

"No," He whispers, going for a vicious hiss, but what comes out is far too close to a whimper. "No. This is-... this is a flashback. This isn't real, this isn't-"

Maybe I left it in yesterday's pants?

"This isn't real, fuck off." Jameson shoves himself off the bed, forgetting his stupid fucking legs don't work. His knees buckle as soon as they have to take his weight.

He lands wrong on one arm and the pain spikes up through his shoulder, making him cry out in the hoarse, rasping voice that his life has left him with. "Fuck!"

He rolls onto his side, but he can't stop himself.

He looks up again. He doesn't want to remember Hank but he's desperate for one more look at his face. Just the one more time.

Just once more.

Hank sighs, raking a hand back through his hair, leaving it mussed-up and sticking out, looking ridiculous. He did that all the time. Bit his nails, too, and tried everything to stop but he never did. He wore those jeans with the ripped knee all the time, their mother had hated it. Hank, wearing the t-shirt for the band they'd gotten concert tickets for but never got the chance to see. Hank, dead for years, smiles to one side at a brother who isn't there.

The brother who erased him.

"Hank," He whispers. "Hank, you gotta-... you gotta go. You're hurting me-"

Damn. Man, it wasn't in my jeans either. Well, I'll find it sooner or later, I guess. Hank shrugs. His eyes are in shadow, not quite defined. Jameson wonders if it's because he's forgotten what color his brother's eyes were, forgotten it deeply enough that even this can't pull it back.

It'll be okay, Johnny. It really will. Hank looks right at him. Jameson's breath catches in his throat. The room is so cold the air burns as he breathes. It never gets this cold in California. It can't be this cold in California. I mean it. Don't cry yourself to sleep over this.

"I cried myself to sleep... all the time, but I don't now. I'm not-... that guy." He can barely speak. He sees his breath puff out when his lips move, and Jameson slumps back. His voice cracks, it creaks like old floors. He didn't stop crying for weeks. He didn't leave his bed. He did any drug he could find trying to not think about Hank, until he realized there was only one way to make sure he never had to think about what he'd done, by letting Hank walk home alone that one night, again. He didn't want to think about that pain anymore.

They had promised him he wouldn't ever have to hurt like this again.

They lied about that, too.

Jameson makes a sound he refuses to admit is a choked-off sob. "I'm not him, Hank. I'm not Johnny... not anymore."

Hank stands, and it's impossible. He's not here. But he holds out his hand anyway, and Jameson takes it without thinking. Hank's grip is so cold it burns, but Jameson lets his dead brother pull him to his feet anyway.

He smells like earth and ice.

"I'm not him," He whispers.

Right, like that argument ever works. Hank just grins, shaking his head. The man Jameson was - the one he had begged to leave behind - is the reason Hank will look like this in his memories forever. He's the reason there isn't another Hank, only this one, locked in the memories he wanted to boil and burn out of his own head. They're still there, though. They break through.

They never stop breaking through.

He would crawl back into Robert's cage himself if it only meant he didn't have to remember that it's his fault Hank is dead.

Tears run hot down his cheeks - the only thing in him that isn't frozen is his grief, wildfire in his chest leaving nothing but ash behind. Forests after wildfires are ghosts, Hank said once, when they were both high and everything sounded fucking important.

Jameson had called him an idiot - he remembers that now. But... he also thinks Hank was right. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can, focusing. He isn't here. Hank cannot be here. "I don't remember... remember you-... I don't want to remember you! It was my choice to forget!"

Hank claps him on the shoulder. His smile goes briefly gentle and soft. Jameson can see it with his eyes closed. Whatever you say, man. Just promise me you'll call Mom sometime soon, okay?

The pain is too much. If he can't pass out soon, he might die just from having to experience it, unending, never stopping, rising higher and higher. "Mom...?"

Yeah, dumbass. Mom. Our mother? Who gave birth to us and never lets us fucking forget it? I keep trying to talk to her, but I guess my signal's bad. Hank laughs, and Jameson's whole body breaks with the sound of that familiar laughter. The way Hank could throw his head back without the slightest bit of self-consciousness, how he'd hear that laugh across a crowded room and know it was his brother's, know right where he was.

Until he didn't.

Until nobody did.

Until the cops found what was left.

Until-

Jameson jolts again, and finds himself still lying on the floor next to his bed. He's burning up, boiling hot, pouring sweat until his sleep shirt sticks to his back and his arms feel slick with it, his hair sticking to skin. A droplet trickles down the back of his neck like a fingertip, barely touching. He rips his shirt off, then his pants, throwing them as far away from himself as he can, until he's naked on the floor but it isn't enough.

He's still sweating, still breathing in harsh gasps, fighting around the strength of his racing heart to get enough air to fill his lungs. He looks frantically around, but no one's here.

The ceiling fan circles lazily overhead.

He takes in a breath, his heart pounding. It feels like it's going to grow wings and fly away, up his throat and out of his mouth. He's still crying, he realizes only now. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can and fights tears back through sheer willpower and rage, curling his hands into fists. Just like they used to be, his fingers know - muscle memory of mittens that had kept him powerless, once. Now, he does it on purpose, and he forces them to curl through the pain.

Forces down the dream.

Wills himself to forget he ever had it.

"Four... f-four things you can see," he whispers to himself, slumping back down. His voice keeps trembling, catching, and it's everything he has to open his eyes again around the pounding headache in his skull and look. "The-... moon. Out the... window. The, my dresser... for my clothes... M-My, uh, the picture Nat p-printed of me and Allyn... fuck, the... the doorknob."

Every time he thinks he knows how much of his body can hurt at once, some nerves he didn't know existed decide to join the party. He has to breathe in and out, slow and controlled, trying to will his body to cooperate. He won't walk tomorrow, he can tell already. It'll be a day to spend in bed, or using his wheelchair. It might be a week until his body lets him walk again.

He fights back a new well of rage and despair at how well he knows the next way his body will fail him. He can't think about that right now, or the pain and the panic will spiral out of control. He might hurt someone. He can't hurt anyone, not ever again.

He won't.

"Three... things I can touch," He murmurs. "My, my... my shirt, fuck, gross, sweaty... my... my hair... the floor, feels... cold, feels good... the corner of my bed..."

It helps. He makes himself focus on this, on real things, not the nightmare of his brother.

He won't remember his brother.

He won't.

"Two things I can hear. Uh, the, there's... crickets or something outside, and-... and I can hear-"

Hank's voice whispers right next to his ear.

Call Mom.

His breath hitches.

"Not real," he whispers. "One... one thing I can taste..."

All he tastes is blood, and for one horrified half a second he's sure it's Hank's blood, until he realizes he bit his tongue in his sleep.

The blood is his own.

Call Mom.

-

[tallymali]

my tags on that last post about ppl being incapable of doing something unless enough other people are doing it that it becomes a named thing. ive been thinking a lot about how that kinda goes the other way specifically regarding abuse in kink and polyamory. like ive seen so many people think they are obligated to put up with being mistreated just bc its a thing with a name. like its a thing thats considered Normal in a certain space so if you’ve got a problem with it then you’re Not Normal. so many people reaching out for help in abusive situations ask “is this normal?” and it always makes me anxious bc..sometimes the answer is yes? but that doesnt make it good or okay for everyone?

[bellarkeselection]

His Compass of Harrenhal - part 3

Part 2 - Part 4

Tag list - @only4thefics @superintenseart @universallyrascaldreamercookie @uniquecroissant @vavafaure1994

It had been a few weeks before we had received the news that Grover Tully had died. Once receiving that letter I hadn’t managed to will myself out of my bed chambers that I shared with Daemon. Having my whole body buried underneath the covers while I just cried in a ball hearing the heavy door creak open and my husband’s voice came out into the room. “Y/n, what are you doing underneath the covers?”

“I’m not feeling well, husband.” I muttered not removing the covers off of my face while I cried. I wasn’t quite sure how much emotion I could show towards him about the passing of my Lord father.

His boots could be heard scuffing across the stone floor till I felt the mattress dip down at his weight while he crawled underneath the covers and wrapped his arms around my shaking form seeing the tears still coming from my eyes. “I don't really know what it's like to lose a parent. But I don't remember as much of my mother as I wish I did.” He gently ran his through my hair letting my tears soak his shirt with tears.

“I'm really glad you’re here. I don't want to be alone right now.” I snuff into the crook or his neck.

He kissed the crown of my head before he heard someone knock on our door. “I'm right here, little fish - Go away. We don't wish to be disturbed!”

“My apologies, my prince. Simon peaked his head inside our chambers altering us. “The Riverlands lords are waiting for you, your grace.”

Daemon and I followed Strong outside seeing all the Riverland lords and young Oscar waiting for us. I fixed my gaze only on my nephew. “Be welcome, my lords...and you have my thanks for answering my summons. I know I'm not the man my grandsire was, but I hope to begin well, and go on from there.” My very nervous nephew cleared his throat trying to address the bannermen properly.

Daemon moved away from my side shaking his fist in the air before pointing to the young lord. “Well said. One thing is clear...the Rivermen honor the old ways and abide by tradition. Here, then, is tradition. Grover Tully is dead. Lord Oscar raised up in his place. You have been summoned here to swear anew your fealty to him, and as his bannermen, answer his call.”

“And what would that call be?” A Riverlord I couldn’t recall the name of asked out into the open.

Daemon rested his left hand on the top handle of his sword that was attached to his hip. “In his wisdom, he has pledged his house, and yours, to me.”

“Lord Oscar, for generations we have been guided by the judgment of your forebears. Why should we now follow a boy, younger than my own sons, when you will align with one who will desecrate the innocent to reach his aims?” Lord Piper challenged my nephew.

Lord Blackwood pushed two other men who had chains wrapped around their wrists before the group. “I did only what was necessary, my lord. And I now deliver to you the traitor. Amos Bracken and his son.”

“No more traitor to his land. than you, Willem Blackwood.” Lord Piper scoffed at Lord Blackwood.

“I take to heart your words, Lord Piper, and I agree, I-I-I am young. And I have no love for Daemon Targaryen, unlike my beloved Aunt Y/n seems to. He has dishonored himself and the crown with his...comportment here.” Oscar turned back towards me and Daemon very slowly making me feel nervous knowing that me choosing to be with Daemon now put a target on my back against my former family House Tully. “Nevertheless, having so little experience to guide me, my best course is to defer to the oath my grandsire swore to King Viserys when he named Rhaenyra his heir. I see no reason to cast aside loyalty. no matter how loathsome I may find her representative, the prince.”

Daemon interrupted the young lord. “King. Mind your tongue, boy.”

“Daemon, don’t.” I stepped forward squeezing his forearm causing his purple eyes to drift down to meet my soft gaze.

Oscar slowly stalked over to the dragon prince getting in his face not fazed by what he had said. “Will you have our army or not? I am, in the end, a Riverman and the word of my house stands, even if certain people are unworthy of it.”

“Your Lord Oscar is bold. But he is perhaps not wrong. I may have been a touch enthusiastic. in pursuing my aims. But don't allow my failings to...keep you from supporting an upright man.” Daemon stepped beside Oscar shifting his gaze around to the other lords that surrounded them.

Lady Mallister spoke up. “Lord Oscar, we honor the old ways, as Prince Daemon says and the old ways call for justice to be done.”

“Justice has been done. They who bent the knee to the usurper have been brought to heel. And now, we unite before our liege lord...and our king consort.” Lord Blackwood yanked the two men who were his prisoners forward, eyeing his ledge lord to see if he was impressed or not by his actions.

“I accept you as my vassal, Willem Blackwood… but...I am Lord Paramount of all River Houses. And there is only one answer for the crimes you visited upon your neighbors.” Oscar raised a brow with a look of disgust to him.

Lord Blackwood wasn’t expecting that reaction from his lord. “I did only what His Grace the king required of me.”

“It is true that he made clear his base desires, but you did not have to pursue such savagery. You did it... because you wanted to.” Oscar deepened his voice in a threatening manner to one of his bannermen.

Another lord in the crowd raised his voice. “Our young lord speaks truly.”

Oscar simply declared. “Seize him.”

“God's no.” I gasped and brought a hand up to my lips briefly forgetting how we dealt with traitors in the Riverlands.

Willem Blackwood attempted to fight against his loyal lords dragging him before their Ledge Lord. “Don't fuckin' do this. Your Grace, command them. I've only served you. Command them.”

“If His Grace wishes to show contrition for his acts and to prove himself deserving of our banners he must now rectify his grievous error. Denounce your crimes...and dispense justice.” Oscar didn’t draw his sword and rather focused his eyes on the dragon prince telling him that he would be the one to take the lord's head.

“Oh, dear.” The knight who currently watches over the castle watched with nerves when my husband drew his sword and moved forward over Lord Blackwood who had been thrown down in front of him on his knees.

I didn’t realize a scream escaped my lips at the exact same time when Daemon raised his sword above his head and then lowered it beheading the man. “Ahh! D - Daemon.” I croaked with water eyes as he came back over to me, dropping his sword on the ground and just leading me inside the old castle.

“I didn’t think you’d have to see something like that. Are you - is the baby okay?” He asked me with a much gentler tone compared to the more serious one he had delivered to the Riverland Lords outside.

Placing one hand over his that was resting on my swollen belly I whispered meeting his eyes. “We’re alright, my king.”

“Good. I won’t lose my wife and little dragon if I can help it.” Daemon rested his forehead down against mine and I smiled about to kiss him till another set of doors around was flung opened by Simon Strong.

“Your Grace, my lady. Queen Rhaenyra has landed near the castle. She is requesting your presence, my prince.”

Clutching the fabric of Daemon's tunic in my fingers he pulled my head against his chest while I whispered under my breath very much terrified. “That can't be good for me.” Either she would accept me or try go feed me to her dragon.

[j-jonah-jameson-official]

Have you considered that it Is your dead wife communicating via tumblr anon asks, though? In a world where mutant people and superheroes and aliens exist? Could happen

GREAT. IT MAKES ME FEEL SO MUCH BETTER TO KNOW THAT NOT ONLY IS MY BELOVED WIFE NOT AT REST, BUT THAT SHE'S TRAPPED IN MY EMAILS.

SPIDER-MAN WOULD RAISE MY BLOOD PRESSURE LESS.