#he also was the leader of a gang of children

[ambriel-angstwitch]

Tim: Girlboss... Gatekeep... what's the one

I'm missing?

Duke: There isn't one

Tim: But I thought there was

Duke: No you made it up

[sunderwight]

Liushen AU where SY transmigrates into SJ's older brother, and subsequently nopes them right out of the slavery backstory by using his general knowledge of the story and actually being an adult in a kid's body to just leave (basically) with SJ and YQ.

SY carts them both up to Cang Qiong for the next sect trials. It's actually not all that hard, the trickiest part is getting enough to eat and finding safe places to sleep between leaving the slavers and taking the trials (SY manages just barely, with considerable help from his new little brothers.) Nobody bothers to go after them because it's before Qiu Jianluo and this style of human traffickers mostly operate by virtue of their merchandise having nowhere else to go. Chasing down runaways is an expense not worth indulging, given that most of them either come straight back or die of exposure.

Anyway, they take the trials, and as expected YQY gets chosen to become a personal disciple for the sect leader, and SJ gets chosen by the Qing Jing Peak Lord, but also as (kind of) expected (by SY alone) nobody wants SY. He's older the Yue Qi, so too old, and unlike YQ and SJ his cultivation potential isn't striking enough to make any exceptions for him.

SY, however, can't leave it at that. He's spent more than five minutes with the street kid codependency gang, so he's gotten attached to both of them. And he knows what will happen if they're left to their own devices and The Plot proceeds accordingly. (Also, they keep threatening to not stay at the sect if SY doesn't stay too, for some reason.) So with a heavy heart and internal candle lit for himself, SY heads to Bai Zhan Peak. Which is the only peak that accepts disciples by way of them turning up and refusing to leave.

SY's not much of a fighter. He actually really hates the atmosphere on BZP, he's not bad at physical cultivation (his health's pretty good in this life, ironic considering how much worse his situation was) but the random ambushes and survival-of-the-fittest stuff is just not his brand. But that's okay, because it turns out that BZP actually DESPERATELY needs disciples on the actual peak who are interested in things other than fighting and cultivating their own strength. Stuff like, filling out requisition requests for An Ding every time things break, apologizing to An Ding every time things break again, organizing schedules, browbeating senior disciples into actually teaching, educating disciples on virtually any artistic or social skill, hosting lectures on how to beat vicious beasts without just overpowering them, and etc.

Okay so some of this stuff isn't and has never actually been on Bai Zhan's curriculum but Shen Yuan is going to make this place tolerable. And stop these children from needlessly getting acid burns or lyme disease or scurvy or whatever. He keeps internally chewing out Airplane for designing a sect system that means there are a lot of largely unsupervised 12-year-olds running around the wilderness on a mountain picking fights all the time. (When he actually meets Shang Qinghua and figures him out he switches to doing it in person, of course, in twice-monthly bitching sessions that look a lot like budding friendship.)

Of course one of the worst offenders is the Liu kid, who SY would suspect was actually raised by wolves if he didn't know for a fact that Liu Qingge has a younger sister, and also the kinds of nice clothing and letters from home that strongly imply not only does he have a family, but that the family is pretty well-off. Liu Qingge is at first deeply offended by SY being a BZP disciple. He rarely fights anyone, and uses tricks and evasion tactics whenever a fight can't be avoided. And he does other annoying stuff, like pestering him about meals and baths and lecturing him on identifying dangerous plants and the early signs of qi deviation. This is not what their peak is about! He should get with the program already! Just fight stuff until you're too tired to keep fighting stuff!

Also SY's younger brother, SJ, is pure evil (at least according to baby Liu Qingge) even though his other younger brother (?) is cool and nice.

Anyway, Liu Qingge stops complaining about SY after their first mission together, where Liu Qingge doesn't lose a fight but does get into a kind of pyrrhic victory situation where he's really badly hurt, and it's SY who helps him win (correctly identifying the monster and then pointing out its weakness) and takes care of him afterwards and gets him safely back to Cang Qiong. SY expresses surprise at LQG actually being polite to him, and LQG realizes that he's been a colossal ass if people think he wouldn't be grateful to someone who saved his life, so the usual Liushen dynamic proceeds from there. Liu Qingge starts bringing SY fans he leaves behind and hunts down animals that are supposed to be useful for bolstering weak cultivation, SY invites LQG to tea and keeps the critters as pets, etc etc.

SY doesn't get the Head Disciple position, because that's only acquired via beating the current peak lord in combat and lol no. Also he's not interested in stealing it from Liu Qingge, to whom it rightfully belongs (in his mind). But that's fine, because Liu Qingge takes the position when the next generation ascends and then he lets SY exclusively handle all the peak duties SY actually likes (mainly teaching). It's perfect -- Liu Qingge gets to focus on his War God antics and occasional administration/meetings without having to deal with students his has no patience for, but the disciples of BZP don't get neglected because SY is actually teaching and organizing classes and student care. BZP hasn't enjoyed a golden age like this since it was founded!

Things are pretty good overall, but Shen Yuan knows that it's only a matter of time before The Plot shows up, and so he can't rest completely easily.

Meanwhile, the will-they-or-won't-they bets on Liushen have been going strong for a while now. The thing is, most of their martial siblings are convinced that these two are already "together", and just being circumspect about it. Those who know SY well (like SJ, YQY, and SQH) know better but think that SY's romantic obtuseness is to blame, whereas those who know LQG well (LMY, WQW, and MQF) are pretty sure that it's actually LQG's obtuseness that's the problem. Of course it's actually both of them, so efforts to "fix" matters by getting through one of their thick skulls inevitably run afoul of the other's.

An additional complication is of course: SJ doesn't like LQG (mutual), and now that he's the leader of his own peak, he wants to poach SY to come and live there. Not only so he can have one of the 2 people he trusts actually close at hand, but also because SJ also hates actually teaching the atrocious little brats on his peak, and would like to have SY come and do it for him. YQY is still a total pushover for him too, and is also now the sect leader, so YQY agrees that SY can change peaks if SY and LQG both agree to it.

Liu Qingge, of course, is a no, but he's a variable "no". He's not going to hold Shen Yuan against his will or anything.

As for Shen Yuan, it's... complicated. He doesn't really like BZP, but it's gotten a lot better than it was at the start. These days he's actually pretty proud of his accomplishments, and it's more comfortable, but it's still a rough and rowdy place with fewer creature comforts, libraries, or other appealing points than QJP. Also, if he goes to Qing Jing to teach, he can personally ensure that SJ doesn't go around persecuting any of his students!

But... SJ never lived with the Qiu family in this AU, and even though SY's not totally clear on what the PIDW backstory for SJ was, he knows he's a better guy now than the scum villain in the book was. He has a reputation for making cutting remarks, not for being an abusive snake or a lecher. SY's honestly less worried about him doing anything bad at all, and there are other people on QJP who can teach. It might even be good for SJ to promote more people to fill out a social circle he can rely on! That guy needs more friends, seriously.

And QJP really doesn't need more layabout literary intellectual types who get into pointless arguments, which is all SY would be if he went there. Just yet another nerdy scholar for the rich kids with middling cultivation that the peak favors to ignore. At least on BZP he's filling a gap.

SY is clearly torn, and the fact that SY's considering it has LQG upset, and LQG doesn't handle being upset very well, so of course they have an argument about it. SY storms off to cool his head and LQG is like, this is it, he's gone to Qing Jing Peak, I've drive him off by being too aggressive and he's probably remembering all those times I told him he didn't belong here and oh no what have I done maybe if I build him a heated bath and get him books he will come back???

Turns out that SY just went to An Ding to vent at SQH while SQH was like "I think you would have fewer problems if you and Liu Qingge just got married and my disciples could call you Shigu to your face instead of behind your back" and SY threw melon seeds at him and sulked on his fainting couch (which is always cold for some reason...)

Thus begins the Liushen Divorce Arc where SY tries to be anywhere but BZP or QJP, Liu Qingge tries to figure out what thing he can punch to fix this not-punchable problem, SJ is like "I don't see what the big deal is they should break up Liu Qingge is awful and I want my brother to teach my classes for me" like the spoiled youngest sibling he's finally allowed to be, YQY is trying to moderate this Hades vs Demeter situation and is all "well maybe SY could spend half the year on QJP and half on BZP?", and Liu Mingyan is going "I know my brother if this doesn't work out he is going to die single and pining like an idiot" and so keeps conscripting other disciples to y'know, lock SY and LQG into storage closets together (ineffective: LQG can punch through walls) or at least get them in the same room (underestimating SY's willingness to yeet himself out of windows to avoid awkward social interactions.)

By the time Luo Binghe joins the sect (as a Qiong Ding disciple), the drama is in full swing and is the main topic of gossip across most of the peaks.

[drizzledrawings]

Do you have a full master post of like your cowgirls lore, how they met, their backgrounds and situations they got in ect. I absolutely am obsessed with them.

Why thank you so so much

I’ve talked so much about them on here, but it’s scattered, and quite a lot of it has evolved lore wise

So let’s make this that master post:

Basic lore for this universe:

Set in a non specific time of the Wild West (implied to be the tail end of the era)

But with a magical twist. The folklore of things that are not quite human living alongside humanity is real, and they are hunted for their skin. It is a known fact that shapeshifters exist, and they are illegal. Though some peoples “magic blood” don’t always show itself as Shapeshifting, it can also appear as accelerated healing or acute senses. These people are generally referred to as beasts or animals

These transformations are hard on “beasts,” they take up a lot of strength to preform them, and if you’re injured in one form, it can take time before you’re able to switch. If you’re injured enough it can be permanent.

Brunette: Flora Guerra

She was born to an Italian immigrant family with strict parents, as well as the youngest daughter to five other children. When she was 16, her parents arranged a courtship with a much older man. Flora was furious, this rage culminated in her first transformation, unfortunately this happened in front of the man as well as the rest of her family. They immediately turned their backs on her, disgusted with what she was. Terrified, she fled. She hopped on trains and resorted to petty theft to make her way west, to a land she hoped would be freer than the life she left behind!

Her first big brush with the law was when she stole her horse Bandit from a man who was treating him poorly. She fled the scene but only after shooting one officer. (Thus her first ever bounty was for murder)

Her main way of making money was seducing men and robbing them blind while they were distracted by her beauty, unfortunately she picked up the wrong trick one day, a notorious gang leader, who instead of shooting her outright, brought a then 17 year old Flora back to his gang. She became “his girl” and used her looks to help him get what he wanted.

In the gang however there was one man who was like her! He could turn into a wolf, like how she could turn into a jackalope, they formed a bond, and when the gang fell apart, he was the one to get her out safely.

Ginger: Mattie (Matilda) Hayes

Mattie is the eldest daughter of her odd family. Her father and mother immigrated from Ireland, her mother dying during childbirth of her youngest child, Ben. Because of this, Mattie became the sole caretaker of him, very much raising him herself. The entire family were beasts of some sort.

Mattie could turn into a fox from a young age, her brother as well started to transform around the same time. (Though he was a cougar)

Their father, was also odd, in more ways than just beastly. He was a sour old man with a mean streak, drink had a mighty hold on him. After an incident that broke the camels back, involving hateful words and a smashed beer bottle, Mattie had enough. In a fit of rage she set fire to her father’s barn, in the aftermath She packed her bags and set to leave. She tried to get Ben to come, but he refused and told her to never come back. So she listened.

At 18, her and her horse June travelled the desert, finding odd jobs, pulling off some robberies, and failing at pickpocketing, this left her with quite a price on her head.

After a couple years of travelling by herself, the way she preferred, she ran into Flora for the first time.

First meeting:

They met as their animals first, Mattie was trying to hunt Flora but got startled by her horns.

Later on, she was trying to rob a man on the side of the road. Only for Flora to swoop in at the last moment and get the trick instead. (By “saving” the man, but picking his wallet a moment later)

That night, Mattie was nursing her hurt ego by drinking her weight at a saloon, but alas she couldn’t even enjoy her whiskey in peace, when the woman who stole her prize sat down at the bar with her.

Pissed off Mattie tried to storm away but bumped into an angry drunk, this turned into a full on bar fight. Which Flora dragged her away from and offered to patch up her wounds

They stuck together after that. But didn’t become lovers till much later

Flora fell first, but Mattie fell harder.

JESUS this is long I’m sorry

Anyways main plot:

Word gets to Mattie that her father is dead, and her younger brother has resorted to a life crime. He is being set to hang once he’s caught. She sets out to find him.

Flora’s old gang has picked up on her location, and they are hunting her down. Scared for Mattie’s safety she works with her old friend to figure out how to keep them off their trail.

The two of them have also been found out to be beasts by the law, so on top of being wanted because of their crimes, they are also being stalked by beast hunters.

Everything seems to be going okay, Mattie finds Ben, and together her and Flora help him get away from the noose, they look after him and bring them to their camp. They thought they were evading the hunters as well as the gang.

What they didn’t know was that Ben still held a grudge for Mattie leaving. He blames her for their father’s ultimate death.

He rats them out, not only to the hunters, but to Flora’s old gang. He figured that if he gave them their location, the law would let him go. They took the bargain.

The hunters and the gang ambush them, Ben leading the way.

Flora gets injured during the fight in her human form. Ben nearly kills her.

The siblings go head to head in their beastly forms, and against all odds, the fox beats the lion, killing the last remaining member of her family.

Flora, incredibly injured, cannot transform, and for reasons unknown to Mattie, she cannot switch back.

Years pass, Flora has a limp that doesn’t go away. She is never able to be her animal again. And Mattie, well, she didn’t get too injured that day, though it seems like something broke inside because she lost her human form.

They move north together, and live a peaceful life, even though it’s not quite normal. What with Mattie being a fox and all that.

A decade or so after everything, they’ve been out of the life for a long time, is when Mattie finally finds herself again. Though she’s very different to what she used to be, her human form had changed, more fox like and more wild, though still her. She can only take that form for bits at a time, but it’s something. They’re happy

If you read all of this… damn thank you!!

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (1/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: incest but they were unaware children, kissing, the angst, stalking, woman on the rape pill, drug trade ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When he needed to calm down before a meeting with clients or a brutal explanation of certain matters, he would lock himself in some room or his car, close his eyes and return with his thoughts to that summer holiday.

First he would always hear the sound of the sea, and then he would see the beach and the setting sun all around him, somewhere in the distance hearing her laughter.

It was their first and last trip together, which had obviously been his father's idea. He thought it would be a good way to cool a bit of tension in the family and invited his daughter from his first marriage to join them at their summer residence along with her partner, Harwin Strong, her former bodyguard, and their children.

The locals called their house ‘King's Landing’, because in fact the building looked like some kind of modern palace, with a huge garden, a private beach access and a small harbour with their sailboats and scooters.

He had never wondered where his father got money to buy such a great mansion: he thought that he had earned it all and the others had not and that was why they were poor.

Neither he nor his brother were thrilled with the idea: they did not want to share their toys or rooms with the Strongs, which, although they usually stood empty, were sometimes used for playing. Despite their verbal expressions of displeasure, Rhaenyra arrived with her partner and children in a large black Mercedes, disturbing, in his mind, their peace and order.

For the first few days, he simply tried to pretend he hadn't seen them: he would go for solitary hikes along the beach, looking for treasures in the sand, thinking he envied Helaena, who instead of joining them decided to spend her holiday with her friend and could do whatever she wanted.

Their mother allowed them to swim in the sea as long as they didn't swim too far away from the shore, and the smallest children, namely Luke and his sister, wore plastic shoulder pads filled with air to make them float.

Every little thing that made him better than his brother or nephews made him feel superior, so when he noticed that he swam the best out of all five of them, he showed it off by diving underwater once in a while only to emerge somewhere much further away. Their sister was most impressed by this, asking him to teach her how to do it, but he paid no attention to her.

The little squealing girls did not interest him, but Jace's face full of displeasure did.

He grinned in a way that made the eldest Strong's lips pressed together into a thin line and saw him swimming towards him.

He was sure that Jace would just want to hit him or sub him, so he prepared to put up aggressive resistance if necessary, he surprised him completely, however, by pulling his shorts off his legs.

He laughed out loud as he threw himself after him, trying to snatch it from him, fruitlessly, Aegon seeing this, shouted:

"– c'mon, hand it to me! –" He called out and indeed, Jace did so, making his opportunity to retrieve his stolen clothes move away from him towards the shore with them and Luke who also laughed thinking, apparently, that it was a very funny joke.

"– stop it! –" Their sister squealed, being the only one to stay in the water with him.

It was the first time he had felt so humiliated, frightened and lonely – although Aegon often teased him, this time it was something completely different.

His older brother came ashore, waving his shorts.

"Come and get them!" He laughed, throwing them somewhere far out on the sand so that he would have to run naked many metres before he could even reach them. His niece looked up at him, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

"– wait – wait, I'll get them for you in a minute –" She called out, moving towards the shore, getting out of the water at last and running across the sand – Aegon, Jace and Luke watched her efforts from afar, laughing loudly.

As much as he didn't want to, as much as he tried to stop himself, he burst out into a loud sob, ashamed, sad and bitter, standing in water up to his waist and not moving from his place, wanting to just drown and die.

He finally heard a splash – his niece was swimming towards him with his clothes in her hand, reaching out to him. He snatched his shorts from her in an aggressive, furious motion, whooping with his tears.

"– if you tell anyone about this –" He hissed.

"– no – no, please don't cry –"

"– fuck off –" He growled, pushing her away for some reason, furious that she had seen his outburst of despair, the fact that he was crying like a little girl.

He put his shorts back on and stepped out of the water, heading immediately towards home, paying no attention to Aegon's screams for him to come back, for them to go riding their bikes together, that it was just a joke.

He spent the rest of the day in his room reading history books. He liked to imagine that he was someone else: a great scientist, explorer, king, prince or knight. As he read stories about the great, terrifying dragon Vhagar, he thought he would like to have such a creature for himself, so that he could burn his brother and his nephews.

He answered his mother's questions about what had happened in a perfunctory manner – he knew his brother would take revenge on him if he said too much and he didn't feel like causing any more trouble.

He shuddered at night, roused from a deep sleep when he heard someone's steps in the corridor.

He feared it was them, that they were once again trying to make a mockery of him.

He rose up on his arms, terrified, when the door to his room opened with a loud creak.

"– Aemond? –" He heard her quiet mumble, even barely able to see her silhouette in the darkness he could tell she was crying.

"– can I sleep with you? –"

"– you must be crazy –" He hissed.

His reply made her draw in air loudly, whooping apparently with her own tears.

"– they took away my little lamp – Jace said I'm already big and I can't sleep with the light on – but I'm so scared –" She babbled in despair, as if this was the worst day of her life and there were big monsters lurking in the shadows of the room she slept in ready to devour her.

For some reason, what she said made him feel a sting in his heart and sympathy, through which he shifted to the side, sighing heavily, making room beside him.

"– okay, just be quiet already – come here –" He muttered, and she breathed a loud sigh of relief, closing the door behind her.

She surprised him by climbing onto his bed and immediately covering herself with his duvet, breathing loudly as if she was really scared.

"– thank you –"

"– sleep –" He commanded, turning his back to her. "– you are to disappear tomorrow morning – if anyone sees you, I will kill you with my own hands – do you understand? –"

"– yes –" She mumbled out with difficulty.

He heard her turn on her other side, but he could still feel the warmth of her body – his bed designed for one person for two proved a tad too cramped and there was no way their shoulders wouldn't touch.

Although he felt ashamed that he had slept with a girl, on the other hand her presence had a calming effect on him – the conviction that someone was beside him, her warmth and her scent, reminding him of vanilla pudding or cake, made him fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

When he woke up, to his relief, she was gone, nor had she told anyone that she had come to him.

What surprised him was that she came to him the next night and jumped into his bed as if it was hers.

"– what are you doing? –" He muttered, looking at her in shock, his favourite book about dragons in his hands.

"– I'm going to bed –"

"– you've got to be joking – go to your place –"

"– I don't have a lamp –"

"– I'll give you mine –"

"– no – this one is too big – for me to sleep it has to be small or someone has to sleep next to me – I swear I'll disappear tomorrow morning –" She mumbled, seeing him tilt his head back, closing his eyes in impatience.

"– I don't want you in my room –" He said finally. "– neither you nor your brothers – I'd rather you never came here –"

It was only when he heard how the words sounded that he thought he had exaggerated, however, he could no longer take it back – he heard her draw in a breath, her cheeks red with sadness, her eyes glazed with tears. She burst out crying, pulled herself up from her seat and ran out of his room.

He thought, returning to his reading, trying to drown out the discomfort in his stomach and the tightness in his throat with the thought that at least she and everyone else would give him a break.

He tried to focus on what he was reading, but then his thoughts returned again to her, alone, in the darkness that had so frightened her.

He remembered Aegon scaring him that there was a great one-eyed monster living in his wardrobe that would come out of there and eat him if he closed his eyes even for a moment.

He cried from exhaustion and didn't sleep for several nights until his mother, when she found out he had fallen asleep in class at school, explained to him that it had been a simple lie.

He thought with shame that she was just a child who was being bullied by them as much as he was, and although he was angry, he decided he would go and see if she had fallen asleep.

Perhaps she was being too dramatic?

He got up quietly from his bed and went out into the corridor, walking slowly to her room, which was next to his. He opened the door and looked inside, noticing to his surprise that her bed was empty; he could, however, hear her raspy, heavy breath.

He stepped inside, looking around the moonlit room, approaching her bed hearing her breathing more and more clearly. He knelt down, bending over and only then did he see, horrified, her silhouette lying on the floor under the wooden frame, her eyes clenched shut, her plump cheeks red from tears.

"– please, don't eat me –" She squealed out.

"– it's me – hey –" He whispered, touching her hand, and she screamed and slammed her head on the bed above her. She cried out loudly in pain, clutching at the spot, and he hushed her by stroking her back.

"– come here – I'm afraid of monsters too –" He whispered, and she, at his words, crawled to him and cuddled into him as if he were a teddy bear, clenching her hands into fists on his back, crying miserably.

He took her into his arms, letting her throw her arms around his neck – when he stood up with her he thought she was unusually light. He laid her down on the bed and slipped under the duvet right beside her, letting her small hands embrace his waist, her face snuggled against his chest.

Only then did he feel her whole body shake.

His hand stroked her hair until she calmed down and they both finally fell asleep in a tender, close embrace.

For the next few days when she came to him, he let her lay her head on his shoulder and read a book with him, which he kept resting on his stomach. They didn't talk then, focused on reading, his cheek resting against the top of her head.

"– can I turn the page? –" He asked, wanting to know if she had managed to read everything.

"– yes –"

She really liked the character of one of the princesses. It was another volume of the story of The Mighty Vhagar and she was the beloved of the Prince who had managed to tame this terrible dragoness. Rhaenys, for that was the heroine's name, also had her own dragon, but a much smaller one, and together with the Prince she flew in the skies.

"I wish I had a dragon like Rhaenys." She confessed to him at last, and he grunted, agreeing with her deep down, not wanting to admit it, however.

The more he got to know her, the more her presence ceased to irritate him: what he liked about her was that she respected his barrier rules. She knew that he liked silence and also that he hated it when someone rearranged or took his things. They sometimes discussed books while sitting on the terrace or walking on the beach pretending to be treasure hunters.

"Kiss your girlfriend!" Laughed Aegon, looking at them from afar, making them both turn scarlet with shame.

His words, however, made him experience a daze.

She was, in fact, a girl, on top of which, in his eyes, she was extremely pretty – her large, bright eyes were framed by beautiful dark eyelashes and eyebrows, her wide smile sweet and comforting. Her voice and touch were also pleasant, tender, her body warm as she snuggled into him at night, seeking refuge in his arms.

He thought he'd never met a girl he liked and fancied, and envied Aegon that he'd already kissed a few of his female friends at school.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" He asked her one day, walking along the beach with her, kicking various stones along the way. His niece lifted her surprised gaze to him, distracted from browsing through the white seashells she had found and wanted to take home with her.

"No. And you?" She asked curiously.

It was easier for him to tell the truth knowing that she had never had anyone either.

"No." He muttered.

They were silent for a long time, walking side by side, thoughtful.

He wondered where he was actually going with this question, his heart pounding like mad.

"And would you like to have one? A boyfriend, I mean." He asked quickly, feeling himself turn red with embarrassment – he was unable to look at her, afraid of her reaction, so he just looked around pretending to be intrigued by something.

"Well. It depends if I would like him." She replied softly.

He swallowed hard at her words.

"Do you like me?" He asked. He heard her quiet giggle beside him.

"Yes."

"So?" He continued, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, meeting her curious, bright gaze.

"What are you asking?" She asked, cocking her head, a wide smile on her face.

He was unable to get the words out.

"I can be your girlfriend, but that will mean I get to hold your hand sometimes or give you a kiss." She said finally making his heart stop in his throat.

"…but only when we're alone." He said.

"Alright." She replied lightly, undaunted, returning to looking through her shells.

He struggled to hold back a smile, feeling hot in his stomach, thinking with relief that it was simple enough and he felt satisfied.

He had a girlfriend.

For the rest of the day they pretended nothing had happened, talking to each other in passing.

What he was looking forward to was the night and the warmth of her body against his.

Indeed, she came to his room as usual as soon as she made sure everyone was already asleep and jumped into his bed making his heart beat harder. He turned off the lamp even though they were usually still both reading together, laying his head next to her on the pillow, startling her.

"– are we going to sleep already? –" She asked quietly and he nodded.

She blinked when his hand rose slowly and tentatively touched her cheek. He swallowed hard, feeling how pleasant, soft and warm her skin felt under his fingers, even in the darkness he knew she was blushing.

He pressed his forehead against hers feeling their breaths quicken, not knowing how to express what he wanted so as not to frighten her at the same time. He leaned in slightly, stroking her face with his thumb, his fingers running over her neck making her breathless.

"– may I? –" He mumbled and she nodded quickly, her fingers running over his jaw making him feel the heat rippling through his stomach, his heart pounding like crazy in his chest.

He enclosed her cheek in his palm when his lips finally pressed against hers – he was surprised by how soft, fleshy and moist they were. He pulled away from her immediately with a quiet click and grunted, twisting in his place, closing his eyes, feeling like he was about to have a heart attack from excitement.

"– sleep –" He commanded, feeling that it was too much emotions for one time. His niece answered nothing, snuggling up to him as she did every night, and he put his arms around her.

It was his first kiss with his first girlfriend.

He felt grown up, fulfilled and happy.

They spent the next few days on various expeditions, pretending that they were great explorers of scary temples looking for treasures or great tombs of old kings. They did nothing out of the ordinary apart from the occasional quick, embarrassing kiss on the lips or cheek, however, to his surprise his affection towards her grew each day.

He realised that he genuinely liked her.

She shared his passion, she was excited with him about their finds, which were most often old coins, she helped him come up with their new missions and, above all, she didn't laugh at him, but with him.

Her words, though child-like, were full of understanding and empathy, her commitment and fearless nature made her his indispensable companion, and part of him thought with relief that it would stay that way forever.

That he found his haven.

However, their closeness began to frustrate Aegon, who finally pushed him to the wall.

"Why do you keep running after her? Are you kissing her or something?" His brother asked mockingly, and he felt satisfaction at the thought of how he could answer him.

"Maybe." He replied.

Aegon looked at him in disbelief and furrowed his brows in consternation.

"WHAT? Have you gone mad? It's your niece! That's disgusting and on top of that, illegal! You can't kiss your own family!" He said making his heart stop, cold sweat running down his back.

"– after all, she is not my sister –"

"– but you are her uncle! – do you know what our mother would do to you if she found out? – you're a complete moron –"

"– I was only joking – I wanted to annoy you –" He lied quickly, feeling a wave of shame, sadness and horror run down his spine.

That day he turned on his computer quickly and, although the internet was still running very slowly at the time, he managed to read in the Online Encyclopedia that what he had done was called incest and was considered a socially unacceptable perversion, although some countries allowed marriage between an uncle and a niece or cousin.

It didn't change the fact that he burst into loud sobs, feeling like a fool, regretting everything he had done to her, that he had ever met her, that he had ridiculed himself again because of her.

"– I'm breaking up with you –" He told her the same day, making her eyes widen in disbelief and fear.

"– but –"

"– you're my niece – you can't be my girlfriend – sleep with your brother or your mum tonight –"

It seemed to him that what he said had completely broken her, because instead of saying anything, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her hands, trying to calm herself, but they continued to flow.

He felt some natural urge to embrace her, his heart squeezed at the sight of her suffering, but there was nothing he could do about it.

They were not meant for each other.

Wanting to somehow soften his words and what he had done to her, he wrote her his phone number on a piece of paper and slipped it under her door that very evening, so that she could contact him if something bad happened, but she could call only in a life-threatening emergency.

He didn't want anyone to catch him talking to her, much less Aegon.

He thought their brief relationship and break-up would be the worst and most heartbreaking thing to happen to him on this holiday, but it wasn't.

Fueled by rage and aggression that he had no way to deal with, he threw himself at Jace as he started laughing at him, pounding him with his fists, and Luke, wanting to defend his older brother, hit his head with a glass bottle lying on the sand, which smashed into his face.

It turned out that one of the shards damaged his eye, while the other cut the left part of his face.

They all started screaming, which their parents heard – Alicent, panicked, called an ambulance, while Rhaenyra packed up, took her children and left.

The doctors, to his mother's despair, said that an operation had to be performed immediately and that the eye would have to be removed: he remembered very little of this period, not speaking or looking at anyone at the time, as if something in his mind had switched off and he had lost touch with reality.

He thought only about her.

About his Rheanys.

He opened his eyes, returning with his mind to his car – he glanced at the blue-lit display and saw that it was approaching two o'clock in the morning.

They'll be here soon, he thought.

He stepped outside, closing the car door behind him, pulling a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of his leather jacket. He took one out and slipped it into his mouth, leaning over the bright, warm flame, the tip of it turning red. He took a drag, closing his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the smoke out through his nose.

Indeed, it wasn't even a few minutes before he heard the screech of tyres – several black cars drove into the square, blinding him with their long lights.

Turn it the fuck off, he thought, covering his face with his hand, taking another drag.

He heard men start to come out of the cars – most of them were tipsy dudes just doing security, however Jason Lannister, who was supposed to hand him part of the money for the contract, was their opposite.

He looked like a hipster in his jumper, with his blonde hair pulled back and beard, a suitcase in his hand.

"As much as I agreed with your grandfather. Next part in two weeks." He said.

"Open it." He ordered, blowing out smoke through his mouth, looking at him with a grin, from which Jason swallowed loudly.

Lannister pulled a key from his trouser pocket and opened the suitcase, presenting him with elegantly stacked, sorted thick files of money.

He nodded and hummed under his breath, satisfied, going around his car, opening his boot. He pulled out a fake bottom made especially for the police, underneath which was a bag containing several kilos of white powder that Jason sold through his club.

They exchanged bags and shook hands, parting without a word, not wanting to tempt fate.

He smoked his cigarette to the end and trampled the butt with his shoe, climbed into his car and started the engine, eager to get back to his flat and sleep for at least a few hours. He set off ahead with a squeal of tyres, driving out of the harbour onto one of the main streets, a complete blank in his mind.

He felt nothing.

Or at least he thought he did, until her name showed up on his dashboard display remotely connected to his phone, the sound around him indicating that she was calling him made him freeze.

Over the years she had texted him, describing her days, asking how he was doing, wishing him a happy birthday, but he had never written her back, thinking it was pointless.

He only associated her with what he could not have and what happened next.

However, the fact that she called was exceptional.

Call only in a life-threatening emergency.

FUCK.

He wanted to pretend he hadn't seen it, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to live with what he'd done if it turned out the next day that her dead body had been found somewhere in the woods.

His trembling hand rose to the button on the screen with the handset symbol on it – he swallowed hard when his finger touched it and there was silence.

"– Aemond? –" He heard her trembling, breaking voice, his heart pounding like mad – he thought in disbelief that she sounded familiar and foreign at the same time.

"– what is it? –" He asked dryly, feeling the cold sweat run down his back as he tried to focus on the road.

She was probably just drunk and desperate, he consoled himself.

"– G-God – they must have – they must have put something into my drink –" She mumbled with difficulty between sobs, her breath heavy and ragged – he felt his heart stop, his hands involuntarily tightening on his steering wheel.

"– what? – fuck – where are you? –"

All he heard for a moment was her shallow breathing and crying, saw with his eyes her face then when he told her they couldn't be together.

"– Rhaenys – focus – fucking speak to me –"

"– I – mmm – I don't know – I think... – ...I think I'm in the toilet –" She muttered, apparently losing touch with reality.

"– in what toilet? – in the club? –" He asked desperately, running his hand over his mouth and jaw, thinking with horror that someone might be about to rape her.

"– yes – in the... – ...club – like... – ...one... – ...with palm trees –" She mumbled, and he drew in the air loudly, knowing what she was talking about.

"– Heavenly Beach? –" He asked, turning on his indicator, making a U-turn even though he should have done it at the next crossroads, several cars started honking at him, braking with a screech to avoid hitting him.

"– Rhaenys? – FUCK! –" He shouted, no longer hearing her voice, slapping his hands on the steering wheel, feeling tears burning under his eyelids for the first time in years.

He felt like he was in a panic, only realising after a moment that he was breathing loudly through his mouth.

He had broken many traffic regulations to get to this place as quickly as possible.

The security guards knew him and let him in outside the huge queue, to the fury of the others waiting – he ran quickly down the stairs, hitting several guests on the way who shouted after him to be careful, the loud electric music completely deafening him.

He wondered, what was she doing here?

Walking through the flickering lights and darkness, he headed straight for the toilets, going inside with a loud slam of the door. Several of the girls inside squealed, horrified by the presence of a man in the women's washroom.

"Get the fuck out!" Shouted one of them, stepping in his way, but he pushed her away. The girl fell over and whimpered, her friend, as drunk as she was, began calling him names, threatening to call security.

"RHAENYS!" He called out, opening one cubicle after another until he came across a closed door from behind which no sound came. When hit it with his foot it opened with a loud clatter and then he saw her: she was lying on the tiles sunken in deep sleep, unconscious, her phone by her face.

Looking at her, he remembered with shame that he knew perfectly well what she looked like, because he stalked her Instagram and Facebook accounts almost every evening: at first he just wanted to mock her and her life, then, however, it helped him control which boys she was seeing.

He destroyed his first phone by throwing it against a wall when he saw a picture of her in the arms of some guy when she was in high school, his rage caused by the fact that she was able to move on and he was stuck, still with his mind in that summer.

He knew she had studied archaeology because she sometimes posted photos from excavations, showing unusual finds. He couldn't bear it when he saw a picture of her sitting next to a boy who was putting his arm around her waist, surely going to university with her.

Robb, because it turned out that was his name when he traced his profile through her friends, liked to have a good time: he'd gone a few times to clubs he'd visited, wanting to look at him from afar.

He watched him chat up strange women and, although nothing happened between them, he came to a certain conclusion.

He didn't trust him.

He didn't like him.

That's why he took a picture of him with a woman, who he put his arm around exactly as it was then, in their picture, and then asked the owner of the club, who was buying drugs from them, to post the picture on their official Facebook.

They often uploaded photos from parties, so this was nothing unusual, and the feeling of satisfaction he experienced when he saw that after a few days she had deleted all their photos together was indescribable.

He consoled himself with the thought that it wasn't because he was jealous, but because he wanted to protect her, like the good, caring uncle he had never been.

And now she, the girl he saw every day on his phone screen lay unconscious in the stinky toilet where others came to fuck and snort cocaine, vulnerable and helpless.

"– hey – hey, wake up, kid –" He muttered, trying to lift her up, tapping his palm against her cheek to revive her, with no effect.

She didn't even flinch.

He grabbed her under her hips and lifted her up, rising from his knees with her, walking out of the toilet, the two drunk girls led them away with eyes full of disbelief.

As he walked with her through the club he noticed two men standing at the bar watching him closely – they turned away, pretending to talk to each other when they met his gaze.

Were they the ones lurking for her?

Were they the ones hoping to have fun with her that night?

He felt disgust and rage at the thought, for although he didn't get into any deeper relationships, he only took from women as much as they were willing to give him.

Sex allowed him to vent and not go crazy, but no relationship was an option.

He didn't want any new girlfriends.

With one hand holding her under her buttocks, he slipped the other into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out the keys to his car, opening it remotely. He opened the passenger side door and settled her into the seat, fastening her seatbelt. She mumbled something that sounded like no, clearly thinking he was the one who had done this to her.

"– easy – I'll take you home –"

He hated Rhaenyra's new husband wholeheartedly, as he was their biggest rival when it came to drug deals, however, he had no choice: after Harwin was shot, his older sister quickly found comfort in the arms of another man who was far more dangerous.

Perhaps that was what attracted him to her.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his niece's silhouette plunged into sleep, tense, her body completely numb, her bowed head leaning against the window.

He placed his hand on her palm, clamping his fingers on her skin, his throat squeezed at the thought that he felt exactly like then, when he had found her curled up under the bed.

"– you were right to be afraid of sleeping in the dark – you don't even know how many real monsters lurk in its shadows –" He whispered – her body shuddered, but she didn't wake, her fingers tightening on his.

"– uncle –" She mumbled.

He pressed his lips together feeling a single, heavy, warm tear of sorrow run down his cheek at the thought that she was able to recognise his voice after so many years.

He parked in front of Daemon's house and lowered his window, pressing the button to wake up whichever bodyguard was there. He heard a moment later that someone had in fact appeared under the other side.

"– do you know what fucking time it is, man? –"

"– someone gave Daemon's daughter, and my niece, a rape pill – I brought her –" He said dispassionately, his free hand still clenched on hers.

"– oh fuck –" The man mumbled, and the gate in front of him immediately opened.

He pulled into the driveway and parked at the very entrance, Rhaenyra in only a bathrobe, apparently awakened from a deep sleep, walked out of the house with Daemon running up to his car. He turned off the engine and stepped outside, closing the door.

"– what happened? – how did you find her? –" She asked terrified and pale, looking at him in disbelief.

"– Heavenly Beach – she called me – she barely spoke –" He replied coldly, opening the passenger side door. Her mother immediately leaned over her, gently patting her cheeks.

"– my love? – good God –" She mumbled, stroking her hair and shoulders as if she were a small child.

"– what was she doing there? –" He asked Daemon. Rhaenyra's husband threw him a long, frustrated look.

"– she said she would be staying the night with a friend – I am as surprised as you are –" He replied impatiently, taking his niece in his arms exactly as he had before, heading home with her, her face sunken into a deep sleep lying on his shoulder.

He shuddered when Rhaenyra touched his arm, looking at him uncertainly.

"– would you like a cup of tea? – you can stay the night with us –"

After you ran away without a word of apology when your son ruined my life, you stupid whore?

"– no –" He said immediately, turning around and heading for the driver's side door, getting inside his car without bestowing another glance on her. He started the engine and began to back up, turning around, driving out through the gate back onto the dirt road.

By the time he returned to his flat it was morning, but he did not feel tired or sleepy. He was attacked immediately by the paws of a large brown dog – Vhagar, his gift of comfort after losing his eye, looked at him with big eyes and barked with rage that he had left her alone for so long.

"I know. I know. I've had a rough night." He hummed, stroking her head. His dog grumbled for another moment, whining and howling, until she gave up, returning to her sleeping place.

He pulled off his jacket and boots, lay down on his bed and unlocked his phone, going into his messages, clicking on the icon that said Rhaenys.

He scrolled through her messages, imagining as he did so that she was lying right next to him, that everything he had read she had just whispered in his ear, embracing him tenderly as she had then, that summer.

He didn't write her back because he didn't know what he should say.

He was ashamed to admit that if it hadn't been for Aegon, this would probably have gone on for a while until their parents found out and they would be completely humiliated.

He was ashamed to admit that his most beautiful childhood memory was both something disgusting and shameful, something that some part of him wanted to forget.

He was ashamed to admit that his grandfather had told him that he could forget about the University, because once you enter this world, you stay there forever.

He was ashamed to admit that he felt that it had always been too late for him, that there was no moment in his life when he could change something.

He fell asleep in the end and didn't wake up for several hours, tired and shaken; he shuddered when he heard his phone ring and reached for it quickly, thinking it might have been her again.

He swallowed hard, disappointed when he saw it was his grandfather and answered reluctantly, closing his eyes.

"Did everything go according to plan?" He asked.

"Yes."

"What were you doing in Heavenly Beach?"

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad.

Lie or tell the truth?

"Rhaenyra's daughter called me. Someone put a rape pill into her drink."

Silence answered him for a moment, from which he felt a discomfort in his stomach.

"Aemond –" His grandfather began. "– this is the last time you interfere in their affairs. Do you understand?"

He looked ahead, biting his lower lip so hard that he felt the taste of his own blood on his tongue, his throat squeezed so tightly that he felt like he had stopped breathing.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

[somegrumpynerd]

I feel like there's so much fun to be had with Nightmare and Dream being from a time where language had very different meanings, especially with queer stuff.

Like, the word queer used to just mean odd or unusual. Imagine Nightmare and gang visiting an au they're not familiar with and Nightmare points out one of the residents and says "he looks awfully queer" and the gang is like "whoaaa boss you can't say that" and he's so confused.

Girls used to be the word for all children regardless of gender. Just picture Dream off-handedly telling Ink and Blue about how he and Nightmare used to get along so well "back when we were girls" and the other two just wordlessly accept that these two ancient emotion guardians are trans and super casual about it. Bonus if this is also happening in Nightmare's gang and when it all comes out both groups have to explain gender identities to their leader.

Gay meant joyful and carefree. You could go 50 different ways with this. Killer tries to come out like "boss... I'm gay" and Nightmare is like "??? alright... I'm glad you're happy". Dream sighs wistfully and says "I just wish we could all be a bit more gay" and Ink can't decide which joke to make he just has to go lie down. Nightmare rallying his boys before a mission like "my brother believes the entire world should be positive but there must be balance, we cannot all be gay." and they share a worried look like "shit was one of us supposed to be straight??"

[dcxdpdabbles]

The Kid of Candles

Jason Todd has been living on the streets for a while now. Ever since his mom overdosed, he's been struggling to find shelter. He was doing better in the summer and fall, but now bitter winter had come to Gotham, and it was taking everything he had not to freeze to death.

There were a lot of kids like him and even more that went to sleep but never woke up after a snowstorm. Jason is still tiny, and very new, and that means he's an easier target. He has met kids who pretend to be kind in order to steal from him but he's also met some who were willing to share what little they had.

He wouldn't call them friends. Just other survivors. He is currently in a camp created by these survivors. Street kids have carved their own place on the streets simply by staying alive the longest, and casually they allow the smaller ones in for the bad weather with the understanding that the younger ones were to leave as soon as the sun was up.

He is trying to warm up next to the lit fire by one of the older street kids when a teenager stands on a little crate. The teenager starts tapping a piece of wood against a small amount of metal like they are trying to make a toast.

He's unsure about their gender; they always tell people they are not a girl or a boy, but they are the leader of the little pack of street urchins and the only ones willing to share the small blankets.

They go by Rowan, and Rowan adores campfire stories as if they were just some rich kids paying to go out into the woods and sleep in tents instead of shivering unwanted brats sleeping on rolled-up newspapers. Some street kids groan and roll their eyes, but not Jason.

Rowan's stories are the closest he can get now to books. Before, he would read and escape to the magical world found among letters away from his mother's addiction and the worsening living conditions. Books were his comfort and one of the things he missed the most from his home.

"Gather around, gather around children, and listen to the tale of the Kid of Candles!" Rowan starts, cracking their voice into a gleeful cackle. The older ones scoff, but the younger kids all turn their attention to the ringleader.

Jason moves away from the fire to sit right in front of the crate, pulling his knees to his chest as he settles. Someone takes his spot by the fire, and he hopes the story is worth the loss. "Long ago, when Gotham was first founded by Captain Jon Logerquist, he claimed to follow a bright white light that led him right to Gotham River after suffering the loss of his entire crew to a sea storm. He would have died had he not lit the last candle on the ship- a black candle. The candle attracted the attention of a unique child, who appeared on his deck among the bright light. A boy with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, and sharp teeth pulled into a kind smile."

The children gasped as even Jason leaned closer, captivated by Rowan's smooth voice. "Captain Jon Logerquist was able to rebuild his ship and return home to report the ideal location for a new city. The founding families, the Waynes, the Kanes, the Elliots, and the Cobblepots, all agreed to take the Logerquist's request and loaded their four family ships with volunteers to start Gotham. Still, they soon became lost when Captain Logerquist tragically passed along the trip. As he was the only person who knew the way, the new crew and civilians quickly panicked, getting further and further away from the location that would later be Gotham. They attempted to turn around, hoping to return home, but navigation tactics were not working. It was almost as if the waters and stars moved, wanting to claim as many victims as possible. This would later be known as Gotham's Orginal Curse."

Rowan paused to wiggle their fingers at the crowd of ten children and a few teenagers- the ones from Rowan's original gang- all made the appropriate ooooohhhhh sounds. Jason shivers as a storage sense of pressure settles around his shoulders. It felt like the city itself was listening to the tale. He wonders if anyone else felt it.

"They quickly ran out of food, and the passengers even began speaking of eating each other to survive. A young Wayne boy, one of the few who could read, found Logerquist's journal in his cabin and decided to try lighting a black candle while the adults argued." Rowan continues mimicking, opening a book, and lighting a candle. That's another thing Jason liked about Rowman's stories. They tended to act out some scenes, and it was highly entertaining.

"Just like before, a bright white light appeared before the lite black candle, and a boy with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, and a kind, sharp smile told the Waynes to follow him, which they agreed to. The three other family ships reluctantly followed when the Waynes broke away from the formation and arrived at Gotham. There, they found all the resources they needed to survive and riches beyond their wildest dreams. Since then, the Kid of Candles has appeared throughout Gotham's history, leading those who are lost to their homes whenever a black candle is lit. It is said to this day if you are genuinely lost and light a black candle, the Kid of Candles will appear but be warned, his assistance always comes with a price,"

Jason gasped as the pressure increased around him. Seriously how had no one else felt it yet? "What is the price?"

Rowan snaps their fingers at him with a sinister smile. "Death. When you ask the dead for help, they will ensure you join them as a repayment. Maybe not the same day, maybe not for years, but he will claim you eventually."

A few kids whimpered.

"Oh, knock it off, Rowan," A teenage girl snaps. "You're scaring the little ones with your stupid urban myths."

"Gotham myths are not stupid!" Rowan's gasps hurt. "They are the closest accurate account of Gotham's real history!"

"Sure, just like the Court of Owls and their Talons." the girl rolls her eyes.

"Those are real. The Court's Talons should not be taken lightly. They are far worse than the Kid of Candle. At least he is benevolent enough to help you home!"

Jason retreats to his corner of the abandoned warehouse factory, ignoring the bickering of the teenage gang. He sits with his back to the wall, his feet tucked close to his chest, and all his things squished between his body and a second wall on his right. It's uncomfortable but ideal for keeping what little he has safe and making it easier to get up and run should the need arise.

He found that the need came a lot more often than he liked. He nods off after trying to squeeze his body closely together to hopefully gather warmth.

The following day, a teenager kicks him in the side, sneering that the free space-time is over and Rowan wants him out in ten minutes. Jason doesn't have to be told twice, gathering his things and scurrying to the exit. As he passed Rowan, he offered the elder a nod of thanks, and the storyteller gave him a wink and grin.

They also press a black candle into Jason's palm. "Hey he brought me to my gang, so why can't he lead you?"

Jason smiles, no commenting, and pockets the candle without hesitation. He may need to sleep here again and doesn't think calling bullshit will be a smart move.

It's best not to offend the crazy leader. A day goes by where he panhandles out of the cop's sight, wandering around the city looking for some food, and even gets a rich guy to give him fifty bucks after asking politely, but he runs when he asks if he has somewhere safe to sleep.

All in all, not the worst day. That night, he returns to Rowan's place but is told they already have too many. Disheartened, Jason wanders to sleep under a bridge by Gotham River. As he shivers near the frozen water, he thinks of the black candle.

He has a few matches on him, and maybe the small candle can help him start a bigger fire to keep warm. Jason strikes his match The pressure from before returns making him waver for only a moment before he dares set the wake aflame.

A few seconds go by with nothing happening, and he's just about getting embarrassed for believing in a stupid urban legend when he's blinded by the brightest light he's ever seen. A floating boy with white hair, green glowing eyes, and a broad smile appears before Jason.

He screams, stumbling back to fall on his butt as the boy floats to touch the ground before him.

The boy smile widens. "Hello Jason, it's time to go home."

Jason runs, but it gives chase, throwing out directions. He attempts to do whatever it is- by going the opposite direction, but it's to no avail. Jason knows Gotham like the back of his hand and swears the streets are moving. Roads that are blocks away from each other are right around the corners he takes.

Soon, an unnatural light blue fog surrounds him, blocking his view of anything more than two feet before him. He glances over his shoulder, confirming the mist is coming from the glowing figure that flies behind him at an easy, steady pace.

He picks up his speed.

Jason doesn't understand what's happening, but he remembers Rowan's voice as he pumps his legs to go as fast as they can to the point they burn. This would later be known as Gotham's Orginal Curse."

Oh god, he's been cursed by the Kid of Candles!

"We're here. I hope you have a lovely life with your new family." The being suddenly says hand on Jason's elbow, causing the boy to trip over and hit against a large metal gate. The fog disperses like a blown-away candle, and the Kid of Candles vanishes in its smoke as the gates of Intercon turn on.

"Wayne Manor. Who might you-" a voice with a British accent speaks over the speakers, but Jason cuts them off with a frightful yelp.

"Help! Help! Please, he's going to kill me!" He shouts, eyes swinging around the new place he is. He thinks he doesn't recognize this place at all, which means he's somewhere out of the city- the outskirts. Where the wealthy live.

It would take a good two hours by car to get here, and The Kid of Candles got him here in ten by bending reality or something. And now Jason owed it something.

He owed it his death.

He crumbles into sobs, so terrified his heart feels like it will escape from his chest. "Please. I don't want to die. I don't want to die."

There is a long pause, where all Jason can hear is his own uneven breathing and the beating of his chest, before the gates swing open, and a slightly older teenager- probably around Rowan's age- is offering him a hand.

"Hi, I'm Dick. I think I can help you if you come inside."

Jason stares at the hand for a few seconds, but from the corner of his eye, he swears he sees a boy watching them and quickly takes the hand.

His right elbow has a new tattoo he never paid for. It's a burning black candle, right where the Kid had touched him. It's also the same tattoo on Rowan's right hand. Jason cries for hours when he finds it.

Years later, Jason will admit that the Kid of Candles truly did help him find a home. He would come to love Bruce like father, as the man took him in, mistaking Jason as an escapee of human trafficking, and was there to buffer the misunderstanding between him and Dick.

He would point out that Dick called him dad outside the house, and Bruce would sit his eldest down to ask if he was okay with an adoption. Dick would settle with the knowledge that Bruce didn't keep him around to fight crime, and he would open his heart to Jason as a brother.

He would grow to follow in his brother's footsteps and become Robin- after making sure Dick was okay with it- and would help his new father fight crime. When Jason is fourteen, he finds out his mother is not his biological, and he learns his real mom is still alive.

He asks Dick and Bruce for help to find her, so the three load the plane as the Waynes instead of the Bats, and thus they help put her away together when the met-up goes south.

She tries to sell them to the Joker, but Bruce overhears her and gets authorities to him in mere minutes, long before the Joker can meet up with her.

She is in cuffs and being led away from the warehouse where the Joker was going to wait for her.

In the chaos, Jason notices the glowing white-haired boy smiling at the warehouse entrance, but Jason doesn't go near it. Not even after it explodes, killing the Joker who was inside. Not even when Bruce holds them close, horrified that they could have been so close to the explosion- they were in civilian identities and needed to put up a show- but he does notice that the Candle on his elbow is shorter.

That night Jason traces the shorter melted candle and he knows he escaped death once more. He doesn't know how he knows but something deep within him knows the Kid of Candles hand something to do with it.

He would swing by Rowan's place as Robin and Jason Wayne to help them and their gang get off the streets.

Rowan would one day open a bookstore, where they would hold weekly storytelling, naming the store the Black Candle in thanks to the spirit that led them to his lifelong friends.

Jason will, however, never get over his fear of ghosts, not even when the same green fog would one night lead the neighbor's boy right to their yard. His little brother, Tim, thought The Kid of Candles was kind, handsome, and awesome (might be a crush in all honestly) but Jason will always know it was much more dangerous than meets the eye.

All things in Gotham are deadly beautiful like that.

The Waynes still have a drawer full of black candles they take out in the field, just in case.

(Danny Phantom watches Jason sleep, his protection core warming as the boy cuddles with Tim after his little brother admitted to a nightmare. He's glad they found somewhere that could offer everything they needed in a home.

A house and a home are two very different things, after all.

It reminds him of when he was alive.

A candle is flickered on somewhere in the city, and he blinks out of existence, ready to help- Steph- get away from her father. Hmmm, well, Bruce does have the space for more kids)

[thehumanwiki]

hi and welcome to

✨bullshit that has ACTUALLY happened somewhere in the Pokémon franchise✨

-a teenaged boy runs away from home because of his abusive mom only to join a crime gang funded by his abusive mom.

-the player character is given a smartphone by and with direct contact to God.

-a man cosplaying God (the same God you got a phone from) attacks you with a demon banished to another dimension.

-a suicide cult led by an evil snowflake kills like one hundred other protagonists.

-there is an entire elemental typing consisting of abused and evil Pokémon that is super effective against everything else.

-the player falls into an alternate world and one of their friends is immediately arrested for playing sports.

-in the thrilling sequel, a bunch of ghosts kidnap children in their amusement park in the Shadow Realm.

-now that I think about it there are like three different games where the player character starts by falling from the sky.

-the protagonist of the TV adaptation has died like seven times, been crucified in Paris, watched several apocalypses, and has watched SO many people die in front of him, and I don’t think he’s brought it up like, ever.

-in one game, you can go on a crusade to brutally conquer the entire continent.

-the player of one game is part of a time loop caused by a magic turtle that indirectly kills one of their friend’s mother. Or father. Depends on the version.

-the player’s adoptive father is possessed by the personification of hate and sends them directly to Hell, then tries to do it again when they get out.

-the mafia’s plan for getting their boss back after he left is to violently hijack a radio station and ask really nicely.

-a space agency’s plan for stopping a meteor form colliding with the earth is to open a wormhole to another dimension. this plan is stopped by a woman in a torn cape who destroys their equipment and robs them.

-the protagonist’s father had a godlike clone fuse his consciousness with a mouse, and fights a man who fused his own consciousness with an alien.

-the one a cult leader chose to be king of his new religion is an abused autistic boy with green hair and wearing a baseball cap.

-you literally rob people’s Pokémon in one game and you’re still the good guy. …is there a gender neutral version of “good guy?”

And now for a BONUS ROUND!

✨shit that has gone down in the Pokémon manga adaptation alone!✨

-terrorists blow up an ENTIRE port city!

-one protagonist spent two years trapped in a Dream Realm™.

-you think that’s bad? TWO protagonists are trapped in the depths of space for like six months!

-you think THAT’S bad?! FIVE protagonists are turned into stone for an indefinite time period!

-a little orphan girl is hypnotized and trapped in a suit of armor.

-they crucify the gym leaders???

-one boy is whipped in the face with a chain used to subjugate the Gods Of Time And Space and he’s literally fine.

-a father punches his son in the face and hurls him down a staircase. The American translation censors this as a lightning strike.

-this same son fell into the ocean because of an earthquake like five chapters after he was introduced.

-one of the current protagonists is basically Wednesday Addams.

-two protagonists were kidnapped by birds and raised by a supervillain.

-two villains try to destroy the environment of an entire country, cause an apocalypse, and are stopped by being trapped in a flying car which crashes.

-a mysterious supervillain saves them— SOMEHOW— and makes them fight to the death for a suit of armor. The one that survives causes the apocalypse AGAIN but dies.

-they both get brought back from Hell to save the world, and after that’s over, they turn to dust and go back to Hell.

-the supervillain who saved them the first time also summons like ten gods and dips out, never to be seen again.

In other words Pokémon is weird (affectionate).

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: spirit-raiser (mini-series)

Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and you are the witch he has chosen to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, begging, orgasm denial, fingering, p in v, no aftercare, sex magic, blood magic, potion for arousal, curses and hexes, witchcraft, possession, mediums, if you squint theres some plot, smoking, mention of death/violence/torture, mention of police brutality, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8k

A/N: hey. don't ask. this idea came to me a few days ago and i wrote it all out in like two sessions at 2am. i want to write more for this, i have so many ideas for some more one-shot style interactions. this just got so long so quickly so i had to cut some stuff. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

main masterlist | series masterlist

You did not remember leaving your door unlocked. 

The fog that settled over the smokey, portside district of Sootstone was suffocating. Despite it being only midday, the entire neighbourhood was cast into a muggy gloom. The sun could not break through the thick smog that comfortably nestled itself along the windy streets of The Warrens. The stench of smoke and fish hung heavy in the air, with sweaty dockworkers and dirty children darting between alleys. In your short journey to and from the small Sunday market, you had nearly been bowled over thrice by oblivious residents. 

The Warrens, or Sootstone Port, as it was formally known, was not a pleasant place. Home to the working class and the rotted underbelly of the city of Blackstone. The high society chatters liked to forget such a place existed, as it was simply not a charming place to think about. Most worked the ports, ferrying in the sea trade. Others worked in the Smokestack district, manufacturing metal in factories that pumped ash and soot into the air. There were also the select few who turned to other trades, such as pubs, hotels, brothels, or even those who were forced into a life of joblessness on the streets. 

The Warrens weren’t so imaginatively named. It was a clever joke among high-society gossipers that the poor fucked like rabbits and lived in their elaborate winding burrows, from which they rarely emerged for air. The people of Sootstone had accepted the insult, finding the whole metaphor rather hilarious. That was because the Warreners could take a joke, unlike the condescending crowd of high society. It could also be argued that the residents of The Warrens could not come up with a better metaphor, as most were not educated in any sense. 

Perhaps the mixture of smog and that lack of an education had finally made it to your head. You were left standing, perplexed, as your front door swung open without so much of a nudge. The lock was normally a sticky one, leaving you to jiggle the knob and slam your shoulder against the frame until it came unstuck. Never in your two years of living in the tiny flat had you ever witnessed such a sight. 

You would’ve thought it a miracle if it weren’t for the implications. 

It was true that The Warrens were notorious for crimes. Theft, assault, and murder. Even if coppers paraded the streets, they weren’t truly there to stop criminals. No, they were more interested in beating any poor innocents that got in their way. It was better to find protection from vigilante gangs who roamed Sootstone’s streets, scrapping like stray dogs over territories. As much as those uninvolved in such business were afraid of them, they also respected them. Their deeds weren’t always motivated by blood and destruction; the gangs stood to protect their communities as no one else would. 

Even if you and your surrounding neighbours were under the protection of Barnes’ Smog Boys, it was definitely still alarming to see a group of them gathered in your small kitchen. 

“Lookie who's home.” One of the men cooed at the sight of you. He stood closest to the door, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket while the other fiddled with a toothpick that hung from his lips. His blond hair was slicked back, tucked under a flatcap. Steve Rogers. The Smog Boys right hand man. Next to him was Sam Wilson, his stocky form leaning against your rickety cupboards. His gaze was fixed on a silver pocket watch he had tightly secured in his left palm, a short chain draping across his vest. He glanced up at Steve’s words, a wicked smirk crossing his lips at the sight of you. 

“Sunday market?” Sam queried, and you drew your woven basket closer. There was an unsettling sneer in his voice. 

The Smog Boys were one of seven gangs that roamed the underbelly of Blackstone. Their territories lay in the fog of Sootstone Port and the smokey streets of the Smokestack district and The Warrens. You could commonly see them stalking the streets, dressed in all black with their flatcaps and slicked back hair. They moved through the smog like ghosts, navigating the twisting streets with an unnatural ease. Some called them ghouls; others called them saviours from the fog. 

The final man, the worst of them all, was Bucky Barnes. He sat across from you, half obscured by your small dining table. He had laid a box of cigarettes and matches on the marked wood. One was smoking between his lips, his head angled down and cocked to one side, as he assessed you with a look of boredom. There was a terrifying edge of calculation in his gaze as he evaluated you. He was just as large as the other two men, with muscles poorly hidden beneath his black, tailored suit. His hair, similarly to Steve's, was slicked back, and the sides buzzed. A 5’oclock shadow ghosted his jawline, but overall, his appearance was unsettlingly neat. 

Not a speck of ash or soot. As if he had just appeared within your flat, blinking into existence rather than having walked The Warrens like any other mere mortal. 

You had never seen the man in person. No. If the Smog Boys were ghosts, Bucky certainly lived up to the name. He was an enigma, a haunting story whispered between children. He had clawed his way up to a position of power from the gutters of The Warrens, bloodshed and all. He was a notorious skirt-chaser, his handsome appearance and strong build drawing in women from all classes. Looking at him now, despite the terror congealing in your blood, you could understand the appeal. 

“Why’re you here?” You ask hesitantly. Unlike the gangsters before you, you were not pristine by any means. Falling ash had coated your shoulders, staining the tartan fabric of the mantle draped over your shoulders. Your hair was swept up under a head scarf, which was also covered in a layer of soot and dust from the smokestacks. Even your worn leather boots were not safe; mud and filth caked onto the heels and sides. The streets of The Warren had never known any type of cleanliness. 

“Come to introduce ourselves. Don’t think we’ve ever met before, ‘least I think I would’ave remembered a pretty face like yours.” Steve speaks up, a gleam in his eye. His tone is playful yet somehow cruel. The chuckle he and Sam share rattles you. The two of them were also said to try their luck with the women who crowded around, searching for the thrill of a gangster lover.

“You might’ave mistaken me for someone else… I’ve lived here two years now.” You speak with a continued caution. With precise movements, as to not brush either of the hulking men crowding the kitchen entrance, you place your basket on a nearby surface. Even the cloth that you have thrown over the items is coated in a layer of ash. 

“We know.” Sam says, twisting his body. He lifts up the cloth, inspecting the food beneath. You know it is nothing exciting—some bread, fish, and vegetables. As well as a handful of sweets you gave to the children of your neighbour. You keep your mouth shut as Sam dips into the white and red striped paper bag and pops one of the sweets into his mouth with a satisfied hum. 

Steve pushes himself off the wall, his jacket brushing against you. He was far taller than you, tall enough that he had to crane his neck down in order to whisper in your ear. “A lil’ birdy told us you’re a spirit-raiser.” 

“I—No.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting between the three men. Bucky is still silent, still like a cat hunting a mouse. The gaze he assessed you with was one of a predator, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t crack a smile as the two men beside you laugh between themselves. 

To fend off some anxious energy, you make quick work of unknotting your headscarf. Ash and dust flutter to the ground as you shake out the fabric, a frown etched across your features. You could not help but let your mind wonder to the stories you had heard growing up. You were a lifelong resident of The Warrens, only moving to live on your own after sickness claimed your mother. You father had passed long before that, lost to drink. 

“What do you call yourself then? Hm?” Steve asks, breath hot against your cheek. You flinch as he pulls a fleck of ash from your hair. In the stories, they would speak of men with their tongues cut out. Bodies that were filled with bricks, then stitched back up and sunk to the bottom of the Sootstone Port. Men were found hanged from street lights, severely beaten, with sections of skin along their thighs and chest peeled off with a blade. And those were only the bodies coppers found. 

“I prefer witch.” You correct, brows furrowing. Your head turns to look at the gangster, wary of how close his fingers lingered. Teeth bared in a grin, he blows a soft breath across your hair, the last of the ash unsettled as it floats away. You can smell tobacco on his breath—a familiar scent to you.

“I need a favour.” Bucky finally speaks up, his voice low. Your gaze snaps to meet his. 

You blink. “A favour?”

You jump as Bucky finally moves, his foot jerking as he kicks the seat opposite him. The chair scrapes across the hardwood floors, stopping centimetres before your boots. 

“Sit.” He commands. 

Sam’s hand finds the back of your neck, a soft push guiding you in the direction of the free space. You obey, your knee bouncing as you take a seat. You sit near the edge of the chair, leaving some distance between yourself and the table. As if sensing your desire to bolt, Steve sweeps up behind you, pushing the chair in until you are fully tucked in. Then, with mocking laughter, Sam and Steve take a seat on either side of you. 

“No one told me there was any issue about magic—” You begin. Steve snickers beside you, returning to fiddling with the toothpick still poking from his mouth. 

“A favour.” Bucky repeats, exhaling smoke from his nose. Sam leans back in his seat, legs spread so widely that his knee touches yours. You shrink back as far as possible. “I’m no copper. I don’t care what you practitioners get up to.”

You find yourself blinking in surprise once more. Magic was a subject that divided many, mostly due to it’s misunderstood nature. High society treated magic as another lavish hobby or skill, with some even going to private schools to turn their gifts into professions with the right licences. Of course, the people of the lower-class were banned from performing such tricks unless they were in possession of the right permits. Due to the nature of the slums being, well, impoverished, unlicensed magic ran rampant through the streets. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that an entire blackmarket of forbidden arts ran in the backalleys and warehouses of The Warren. Places where those needing particular services could find them for a much more convenient price than in the higherclass areas of Blackstone. 

You had kept your services rather secretive, never using your real identity with clients. It was a precaution to not have coppers knocking down your door in the middle of the night. It seemed, despite your best efforts, that nothing flew past Bucky Barnes. But then again, nothing seemed to fly past the gangster. He knew of every black market and every whisper of illegal activity in the slums. It would be foolish to believe he was unaware of you; however, why did he specifically sort you out? Now that was a mystery. 

“I don’t understand—” You choke out, head whipping back and forth as you look between the men. 

Bucky sighs loudly in annoyance, loud enough that you flinch back. He puts out the remains of his cigarette on your dining table, the smouldering dip leaving a black, circular mark on the wood. He digs into one of the pockets of his vest, revealing a large pendant necklace. The chain is silver, with an oval shaped jewel hanging from the centre. The silver that encrusts it in place is swirled, ensuring there are no gaps for it to escape. Sam and Steve fall quiet, any feeling of twisted amusement dropping from the room. Bucky slides the necklace across the table.

You recoil. This time not out of fear, but rather from the aura the necklace exudes. 

Goosebumps rise across your skin, and bile rises in your throat. There was a wickedness in the air, as if all the light and sweetness in the world were sucked into an empty, yawning void. The world feels still, as if even the ash outside has failed to fall. The room is cast into a sickening silence, a silence so strong that even the surrounding world refuses to push through. You can no longer hear the people walking through the winding streets of The Warren, not the clang of metal from the smokestacks or the cry of the dockworkers. 

Rot. 

It is the only word that comes to your mind. It is as if the jewel itself is rotten, potent, and putrid. An invisible smell so strong you nearly gag. Your skin crawls the longer you stare, as if you rot along with it—bugs squirming beneath your flesh, the taste of dirt in your mouth.  

“What’s this?” You asked, your voice strained. You know the blood has drained from your face. Bucky looks at you with curiosity. 

“You tell me.”

You look down at the necklace. Dread rises once more, and the chill of soil settles across your shoulders. You twist your head and your neck, feeling uncomfortable and strained the longer you gaze upon the necklace. 

There was something terribly, terribly wrong about it. 

“There’s a… a sickness… a rot—a curse.” You stumble over your words, your entire body squirming against your will. The feeling of dread swims through you; the sensation that you need to get as far away as possible reverberates down your spine. 

“Becca was right.” Steve sings somewhere besides you, but you barely register his words. 

“Where’d you find this?” You ask. The room is tighter than usual, with the rickety, peeling cabinets closing in around you. The oven screeches on its iron legs, the yellowed wallpaper crushing closer and closer. Your head falls into your hands, elbows propped onto the table. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to rid yourself of the sickly feeling. You rub your fingers up your face, pinching the bridge of your nose, then massaging your forehead

“It was given to me. As a gift.” As he speaks, you reluctantly open your eyes once more. The room has returned to as you remember, your vision less dizzying as you take in a deep gulp of air, your heart thundering in your ears. You must make a face, because it prompts him to speak once more. 

“My sister has a sensitivity. She is convinced—”

“There’s a spirit attached to that jewel.” You interrupt before thinking. Your knees bounce beneath the table, your feet shaking. Your entire being screams that you need to get away from the object. You do not care for politeness or fear of these men, as the horror in your heart you felt gazing upon the necklace greatly outweighed any potential anxieties of the future.

“Yes.” His voice matches his composure—cool and collected. Wholly unaffected by the horrific aura cast by the necklace. Bucky and his men were not magically inclined. They were completely oblivious to the calamity that sat before them. 

“The spirits're attached to you, too.” You pause, the feeling of bile rising in your throat once more. “You need to get it lifted.”

“That’s where the favour comes in, doll.”

“I don’t…?” You nearly doubled over. “Please get rid of it. I can’t—”

Barnes leans forward, slowly dragging the necklace over the wood. He slowly deposits it into his breast pocket, watching with curiosity as you sag in relief. You would need to burn this table after they left. You could still sense the rot engrained in the pores of the wood. 

“I need to speak with the spirit attached.”

Your forearms lay flat on the table, and you rest your head against them as you try to remember how to breathe. A wave of exhaustion rolls over you. Was this how they tortured their victims? Wore them down into pathetic, panting messes? Were you about to become another body at the bottom of the Sootstone port? You mumble into the fabric. “I can’t raise a spirit without a name.”

“I know her name.”

You pause, lifting your head slowly. “You want to ask her how to break it? You may know her, but spirits’re tricksters they won’t always give ya the correct information—”

“I know how to deal with her.”

You arch a brow, unsure.

“She’s a scorned lover.” Sam whispers beside you. You jump, having forgotten the two other men sitting besides you. Bucky scowls at his words—the most emotion he has shown in the entire time. 

“Everyone knows you don’t ‘ave a witch for a moll unless you’re gonna marry her.” Steve butts in, and the two men share a chuckle. 

“Shut your mugs. The both of ya.” Bucky snarls, and they both fall silent, although you can’t help but notice their bemused smiles. After a brief, tense silence, the gangster settles back into his seat, tipping his chin upward in a nod. “Morwenna Blackthorn.”

You hesitate, glancing between the three men. They watch you expectantly, relaxing back into their respective seats. Given their status and reputation, you had to presume they were familiar with the workings of underground magic. Licenced practitioners would have clients sign lengthy documents for protection in the event of a spell or session backfiring. The Warrens did not have such luxuries—if you made a mistake, no one could protect you or them from the consequences. 

You inhale sharply, placing your hands palms down on the table. The wood hums beneath your touch, the invisible vapours of the curse tickling your flesh. With a roll of your shoulders, you exhale slowly, allowing your body to relax. 

Ink drips across your vision, swirling darkness millimetres before your eyes. You stare hard into the invisible void, searching blindly through the tendrils of smoke. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your mind hums. Through the dark fog, you can make out figures—flickers of candle flames casting large, distorted shadows. Morwenna Blackthorn. Bones crunch beneath your feet, yet at the same time, you float. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your hands burn into the table, the rotting sensation tangling through your digits, pulling you deeper. 

Morwenna Blackthorn

You can see a thin line of thread hanging through the void. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

It is red; a series of knots tugged tightly intermittently. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

Your fingers grasp the fibres gently, your nail hooking around one of the tiny knots. 

You tug.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

A violent, ragged gasp leaves you. It claws up your throat, ripping at the flesh. Your entire body tenses, your spine straightening as your head snaps back. For a moment, you are suspended. You can feel her with you, her ghostly fingers stroking tenderly across your skin. She smooths over the back of your hands, slowly and gradually winding her way up your arms. She clutches your shoulders, her bones digging into your flesh.

Then, with violence strong enough that you fear she has folded your spine in half, she pushes down. 

Your body instantly relaxes, head lulling downward. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and despite the appearance being a milky white, you can see perfectly clearly. Morwenna has settled herself deep within your bones, controlling your movements like a puppeteer. You are conscious enough to understand what is happening, but you are not in control of your actions or speech.

Your mouth spread into a wide, sly smile. “Bucky, my love.”

“Mor.” The gangster greets, although he does not seem entirely pleased. You pout, leaning your elbows onto the table. 

“Not happy to see me?” You coo. Somewhere beside you, Steve shifts in his seat uncomfortably. It is the most off put you’ve ever seen the man so far. He winces as your head swings around, a wicked grin gracing your lips. “Oh, Stevie and Sam. Didn’t see you two here.”

“Mor.” The two men grumble in unison, scowling. 

“Awh. Why so glum, boys?” You whine, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand. Your movements are fluid and graceful, entirely not your own. Your hands stroke across the back of the chair, then swooshes up to meet your chest. 

You lean forward, tutting as you inspect your reflection in the glass of a nearby cupboard. “Trust you to find a pretty one in The Warrens.” 

Your hands move to unpin your mantle, a cloud of ash lingering in the air as you drop it to the floor. You sigh in relief, your fingers unbuttoning the top of your shirt, revealing the curve of your breasts. Your hands smooth down your waist to your hips; your full figure is now displayed. 

“You missed me that much, my love? That you had to find a pretty vessel for me so you could get your cock wet, hm?” You hum, sashying towards the table once more. 

“That’s not why you’re here.” Bucky replies. He seems frozen in place. The horror of familiarity. Recognising the mannerisms of someone he once knew in a complete stranger. 

You ignore his words, unpinning your hair. Thick locks unroll, cascading down your shoulders and back. You let out an exaggerated, satisfied sigh, rolling your neck. The strands frame your face, and the rich colour brings colour to your cheeks. 

“Morwenna.” Bucky snaps. Your brows furrow as you look over to him, pouting once more. “You put a curse. On the necklace.”

Your mind momentarily blanks, as if Morwenna were trying to recall what he said. Spirits often grew confused trying to recall memories, especially ones that brought them anguish. A cog seems to turn as you flash the gangster another beaming smile. 

“The necklace… oh. Did you like it? My parting gift to you? Before you fucked me over you piece of—” Your voice, once sweet and soft, deepens to a guttural growl. Your body shakes, and words cut off as you cough and hack. Your hand raises to your mouth, warm fluid leaking from your lips. You let in a shuddering breath, rubbing your fingers and palms down your chin. Blood smears across your skin. 

“You shot me, my love.” You gasp, your brows furrowing as your head tilts. “You shot me.”

“You betrayed us, remember? You were a rat—” Steve jumps in, but is quickly cut off. 

“Steve.” Bucky warns.

Your hands find your stomach, doubling over as you sob. There is no wound, no blood. Still, your hands dig at the fabric while ragged, pathetic cries leave your blood stained lips. 

“How do I break the curse?”

You shuddering sobs stop, a dreadful silence falling over the tiny kitchen. A guttural laugh erupts from you, saliva mixed with blood dripping from your lips to the floor. “The curse. The curse? I should have known… I should have known…”

Your body jerks upward, movements stiff, and jerks like a marionette doll. Sam’s face contorts into one of fear, while Steve looks horrified. You jerk forward, nearly tripping over the chair as you plunge towards the table. Your stomach smacks hard against the wood, a winded wheeze escaping your lungs as you drag yourself forward by your nails. 

“Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me?” You cry, your head beginning to twist, the angle so unnatural that it strains your neck. 

“How do I break it?” Bucky repeats, voice firm. He hasn’t so much as flinched, a wall of steel as you crawl towards him. 

“It was born in chaos, so it must be undone in chaos. I will find you. I will tear you limb from limb. I will make you rot from the inside out; maggots will grow within you; and mould will bloom in your soul. Everything will crumble to dust beneath your touch. I will ruin you until you b–b—be—”

Your body slides back, and for the first time in the entire session, you grab the reins. You search blindly for the knotted thread, tugging hard. Your body steps back from the table, muscles spasming and tense as your body locks in place. 

You tug harder, and darkness swims across your vision. Candles flicker and dance in the distance, the sun rising and falling as your body twists up and down. The smell of rot slowly subsides, threads slipping from your fingers. The scent of copper and ash is on your tongue, and your head is pounding. 

A dramatic sigh leaves you as your body slumps. You find yourself standing before the table, three sets of eyes burning into you as your own eyes roll back into place. Sam and Steve look equally disturbed as they are horrified, the blond’s mouth agape in shock. 

“The fuck was that?” Sam barks.

“I ain’t never seen a spirit session like that before, Buck—” Steve begins.

“Shut it.” Bucky barks, rising to his feet. 

There is a sickly feeling in your chest, a radiating pain across your ribcage. You barely register the gangster walking up to you, gripping your chin between his index and thumb. 

“You pulled yourself out early.” Bucky sneers. “Why?”

“Buck—” Steve calls again. With a growl, Bucky releases you, twisting around to snarl at Steve. 

“I thought you told me she was the best in the Warrens?”

“She is. Did’ya not see that shit?”

“She didn’t get me an answer—”

“Chaos magic.” You finally speak up, your voice raspy. The gangsters pause, slowly turning to face you. “She told you. It’s chaos magic. What’s born in chaos must be undone in chaos.”

Your hand raises to your face, your fingertips touching your upperlip as warm blood flows from your nose. You raise your hand into the light, inspecting the crimson liquid. Your eyes cut over to Bucky's, and he frowns. 

“Chaos magic?” He questions. 

“Sex magic.” You state, fighting the heat growing across your cheeks. Without much of a care or a flinch, you navigate your way past the group. Your shirt brushes against Bucky’s jacket, the rotting feeling momentarily settling in your stomach as the fabric brushes his breastpocket. You pause in front of your sink, knuckles white as you grip the lip. Blood continues to stream steadily from your nose, dripping into the basin. 

“You focus your thoughts on one thing; you get pulled into a trance. Take the energy, the chaos, and you focus it. At the peak, picture what you’re manifestin’. The chaos that you’ve built through the act is released at the moment of orgasm.” You explain, your gaze solidly locked onto the blood that swirls down your drain. 

“Sex magic.” Bucky hums in thought.

Steve spoke up from beside him with a snicker. “How poetic.”

—

You hated how your hands shook. If Bucky had noticed, he hadn’t brought it up. He was coolly inspecting your tiny bedroom, hands tucked into his pockets. The room had an eclectic taste, with walls covered in shelving. You collected books, objects, trinkets, or other things that helped your work. Drying herbs hung from your curtain railings, your desk cluttered with papers you had hastily scribbled notes upon. 

You ground your palm harder into the pestle, gritting your teeth as you worked the herbs inside into a fine paste. Your bed, stripped bare, had been pushed to the side of the room. It usually sat near the centre, atop a fraying rug. The rug had also been removed, rolled up, and placed somewhere in your stairway. The old wood beneath had been painted by your hand, with intricate runes, symbols, and swirls making up the general shape of a circle. You had already lined it with black salt, candles burning at each cardinal direction. At the centre of the circle, you had laid your bedding and pillows for comfort. 

Bucky had sent Steve and Sam away, the two men snickering like a pair of school boys. You all knew what was about to unfold; it was just a question of why you had allowed yourself to become tangled up in such a situation. You had done similar rituals for clients before, yes, but none of those clients had been the boss of the Smog Boys. None of them had been Bucky Barnes. 

You eyed him as he paused in front of the carved circle, mindlessly playing with the jewelled necklace that hung from his grip. The awful, dreadful, rotting sensation was dulled; you’d nearly begged the gangster to let you cleanse the object. It was a temporary relief that would wear down in a few hours, but at least you could complete your work without gagging at the feeling of it. You hurriedly poured the thick paste from the herbs into a pot, which boiled in your fireplace. It only took a couple of stirs for the potion to settle. You could feel Bucky’s eyes assessing your every movement as you poured the steaming liquid into two cups, briefly swirling each to ensure the consistency was correct. 

“Remind me what this is.” The gangster asked, closing the distance between you. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the scent. 

“A potion to help with the ritual. Some find it…hard to perform.” You say, wincing as you realise what you implied. Bucky raises a brow as you fumble over your words. “It heightens arousal and pleasure.”

“I won’t find it hard to perform.” He replies curtly. 

“I know. I wasn’t saying that—I just… from experience…” You stumble again. If only you could punch yourself in the face for this idiocy. 

“Relax, doll.” He hums, his hand finding your shoulder. You exhale sharply, lips pressed together, as your shoulders drop in response. “I can find someone else if you don’t want this.”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting it, you did want this. Maybe it was a sick curiosity, wondering if this dangerous yet handsome man could perform as well as you imagined, as well as it was rumoured. You swallow, your mouth feeling dry. “No. I want this.”

“Good.” His hand brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, and his head dips to look at you better. “Honestly, I could fuck you with or without the potion, doll.”

There is a knowing smirk spreading across his face as your mind blanks. Fucking rake. You consider if the fumes from the potion have already leaked their effects onto you both. You can feel a warmth growing between your legs. 

“It’s my job.” You mutter, stepping away. Although you’re unsure if the reassurance is for yourself or for him. His chuckle follows you as you sweep across the room, returning to your small desk. “Do you want me to explain the ritual in detail or just give you the gist of it?”

“Spare the details; just run me through what I need to do.” He responds. He has closed the distance between the both of you again, peering over your shoulder as you fumble through your things. 

“Well, it’s pretty simple.” You sigh, turning around. Your chests are nearly pressed together as you spin. You back up as far as possible, your hands moving behind your back as you grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself. "We’ll have to draw some blood with a blade and put it on the necklace to link it to our energies. It’s sigil magic, nothing you’ll have to worry about. We take the potions…”

You fade off with a shrug. Bucky smirks once more, his chin lifting in amusement, but his gaze remains solidly locked onto you. His hands go to his pockets, and his wide chest blocks your movements. You clear your throat. “The ending is more what you’ll need to focus on. When you reach… climax… you must focus all your energy on the necklace and nothing else. I will be there to guide and remind you, but you can’t let your thoughts stray.”

“What about you? What will you have to think of?” He questions, his voice low. His adams apple bobs as he swallows slowly, his tongue running across his bottom lip in thought. Intriguing question. No one had asked you that before. 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who needs to orgasm.”

“Why?”

“The curse is linked to you. Only you can break it, with my assistance, of course. I am just here to help guide you and lend you my energy. I am just a conduit for the magic, to focus it.” You explain. Thinking it was best to get it over and done with, you finally pluck up the courage to push past him. 

Your athame was already in place; the candles were lit, salt laid, and sigil memorised. There was only one thing left to do—the act. You crouch down by the fireplace, retrieving the two cups. Bucky gives you an incredulous look. 

“It tastes better than it smells.” You reassure him, handing him the saucer. He inspects the liquid once more, wincing, then shrugging in surprise as he finally downs the lot. You watch with a scrutinising gaze as he places the cup down, rolling his shoulders. 

The potion would take all of five seconds to take affect. It didn’t alter the brain or take away authority; rather, it heightened already present feelings of arousal or pleasure. The user would experience a rather euphoric sensation. Dodgy brothels often microdosed their clients with such herbs to heighten the experience. Also to hook in a new, loyal customer. Used sparingly, the herbs were fine, but they were highly addictive. 

And illegal. Most of your work fell into that category.

Within moments, you could see Bucky’s pupils dilate, his jaw and shoulders relaxing, and his nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly. His voice was strained as he spoke up, his tone gravelly and low as he cleared his throat in surprise. “Fuck. That does feel good, doesn’t it?”

You smile shyly into your own cup and swallow down the liquid. You were familiar with the taste and it’s effects. It was surprisingly sweet, with a vanilla, nutty aftertaste. As soon as it hit your stomach, you could already feel the warmth growing in your core—a delightful tingling sensation spreading up your spine and skull. 

You were quick to place your cup down and cross the room to retrieve the athame. You had to pin point your actions very directly so as not to get distracted by the hulking man looming in your room. The potion was definitely potent, because any fear or anxiety had left you. Your body begged for him to come closer, to touch you, to kiss you. Not yet. Soon. 

“Come here.” You murmur, drawing the blade from it’s sheath. Bucky obeys, wordlessly stalking towards you and presenting you with his palm. You look up at him through your lashes, gently taking his hand into yours. Your skin sings at the content, a rush of goosebumps raising across your skin. “We don’t need much blood.”

The gangster is still as you drag the blade in a short cut along the heel of his palm. You push into the mound, coaxing out droplets of blood to blister to the surface. “The necklace.”

He lets out a low, agreeable grunt as he hands it to you. The potion has helped you ignore any bad energy attached to the object. Your skin simmers as you brush your finger tips along the cut, gathering Bucky’s blood. You take the jewel, smearing the blood across the slippery surface into one half of a symbol. Bucky watches expectantly as you hastily repeat the process with your own hand, smearing your blood to complete the symbol. 

“You need to wear it.” You hum and guide the chain over his head. You know you should find a bandage or some kind of healing salve for your hands, but your attention is pulled away as Bucky grasps your hand. An involuntary whimper leaves your throat as he raises your palm to his lips, his tongue peaking out as he runs it across the open wound. The potion had definitely taken effect. Holy fuck, your back arches as pleasure shoots down your arm, blooming at the base of your skull. 

His lips kiss along the cut, sucking and licking. Your mind swims from the sensation—ideas of where else he could be putting his mouth to use. You pull your palm away, dragging it across his cheek as you cup his face. A crimson streak is smeared along his skin, and his lips are glossy from saliva and stained with your blood. The two of you clash in desperation, a rumbling groan being pulled from the gangster as his lips engulf yours. 

You can taste copper on his tongue, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his body. The two of you move in a frantic rhythm, scarcely making room to breathe. You guide him clumsily to the painted circle, the two of you falling to your knees in unison. Blindly, you find his clothing, helping him tug off the jacket and then unbutton his vest. 

His hands slip under your blouse, caressing the skin beneath. His fingers roam to your brassiere, your nipples hardening as he brushes them through the sleek fabric. You mewl into his mouth, squirming under his touch as the pulse between your legs quickens. His large palm comes to rest below your breasts, his thumb sitting on your sternum as he yanks you backwards onto his lap. 

Your lips break, and you gasp for air as the gangster continues his assault down your neck to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His stubble tickles across your neck, and he gathers your skirts, fingers gliding past your stockings to your exposed inner thigh. 

Your head tips backwards to rest on his shoulder, and loud, satisfied sighs leave you. The sensation is near blinding, your body alight with pleasure. Had you accidentally made a stronger dose in your nervousness? You had never yearned in such a way before—

“What’re you doing?” You query with a gasp as his fingers slip beneath your loose tap pants. 

Your question is answered as he strokes a fingertip through your wet folds. 

“You’re so wet.” He hums against your skin, voice strained. You can already feel his erection pressing into you. His grip on you remains firm, your back flush against his chest as he dips two of his fingers into you. Ecstasy fizzles across your skin, nails digging into his skin where you grip his arm. 

“What’re you— I’m supposed to make you—ah!” You whine, your breath coming fast as you lean harder into him. Your hips rock greedily, pushing your pelvis in time with his pumping fingers so the heel of his palm grinds against your clit. 

“Shh, doll. Relax.” He whispers, his tongue licking up the shell of your ear. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your body is locked in place by his grip. His pace increases, and the panting in your ear grows as his two digits glide in and out of your tight cunt. 

“Do you like that?” He groans in your ear. Your grinding hips are now giving friction to his cock, which twitches against your backside through his pants. You whimper in response, a short sob bubbling from your mouth as you clench around him. 

Your head lifts, eyes widening as you look down. You can’t see much due to your skirts, but you can feel the knot tightening within your belly. Your hips move more desperately, needy, pathetic moans escaping you as his pace remains steady. 

“Please—” You beg, squirming as the gangster chuckles. 

“You do like this, huh? Even if you acted like a little innocent virgin earlier.” He growls. The vibration is enough to set you over the edge, a loud cry leaving you as you clench hard around his fingers, body spasming. Bucky continues to steadily pump you through your orgasm. “Good girl.”

A continued arousal stirs in your belly at his praise. Your body slumps against him, panting and exhausted. 

“Such a good girl.” He hums again, his digits slipping out of you. You can feel the sloppy mess between your thighs, and as Bucky pulls his hand into the light, you can see the wet drenching his fingers. “I think I like this version of you. The one who makes pretty little noises while I fuck her brains out, hm?”

You’re left speechless as the gangster lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk. 

“Well, time to get this ritual over with then, don’t you think?” He says. You’re too exhausted and drunk on desire to bother replying. You allow him to guide you down, so your head is placed side-ways on one of the pillows. He guides your hips up, your legs slightly spread, and pushes your skirts to your hips. 

“You’ll have to tell me when you’re close, so I can guide you.” You finally muster up the strength to say. The gangster pulls your tap pants down, exposing your cunt fully. 

“Sure thing, doll.” He says in response. You hear the sound of fabric rustling as he pulls out his cock. 

Without much warning, he pushes into you, your arousal making it easy for his member to slide in and out of you. A growl burns in the back of his throat while you wordlessly make a fist around the sheets and blankets beneath you. 

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Bucky groans, his voice strained. “And to think you’ve been hidin’ out in The Warrens all this time.”

He sinks deeper into you, pulling small whimpers and moans from you as he finds a steady, pleasurable rhythm. His hand slides up your clothed back, pushing you harder into the pillow with a grunt. His other hand finds your hips, his grip bruising as he guides you. 

You bite down into the pillow, your pleasured sobs muffled by the feathers. 

“You squeezed so tightly around my fingers; I can’t wait to see how you’ll feel when you come around my cock.” Bucky grunted as he ploughed into you. His hand fists around your loose hair, fingers tangling through the locks as he tugs. Tears are beginning to prickle in your eyes, and your legs are wobbling from the sensation. 

“Please—” you gasp out. 

“Please, what?” The gangster asks, tugging harder. The hand on your hip is squeezing tighter as he holds you in place. 

“Please—I need to—”

“No.” He growls, tugging you upward. You fall backwards into his lap once more, his cock still inside you but somehow deeper from the angle he holds you. “You need to finish the ritual, remember? I can’t have you guide me if you’re too fucked out to talk.”

Another sob leaves you, but you wordlessly nod. You hold onto the burning sensation in your gut, the waves of satisfaction so immense that your limbs tremble. Bucky continues to fuck up into you, his cock steadily driving into you as his free hand comes to lazily swirl your swollen clit. 

You try to remember words, instructions, anything. You feel too high to even breathe. All you can do is focus on the sensation of the necklace rubbing against your back and the friction burning against your skin. 

“Focus on the necklace. How it feels around your neck.” You squeak out, your eyes squeezed shut, as you try to ground yourself. “Focus on the feeling of the chain, the weight of the jewel. Think of your blood, how a piece of you is painted onto it.”

There is a moment of silence between the two of you, only the slapping of skin and the rasping of breath. 

“Are you focused on it?” You ask.

“Yes.” The gangster cuts back. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy. 

“Focus.” You whisper, though a breathy moan leaves you. “Feel your energy flow; feel your blood seep into the stone. Picture how it will shatter beneath your power.”

His hips jerk beneath you, his finger on your clit swirling faster. Your breath comes in sharp stutters, your back arching as you find no way to escape the rising sensation. His back is rock solid behind you, his hands keeping you in place as you begin to spiral. Your pussy tightens around him as you begin to scream—

“Please, Bucky. Please!”

Something snaps between the both of you, his hips jerking wildly as he spills into you. He moans into your ear at a deafening level, his fingers digging into your thighs. You double over in pleasure, your vision briefly going black as you cry out. Sparks dance across your skin, your body momentarily alight as the power of magic flows through you. You can feel the rush as your energy meets Bucky’s entangling with one another in a fierce battle. For a second, you feel intoxicated, colours bursting across your sight as the rush of magic rests in your chest, and then, just as quickly as it arrived, it cascades out of you.

Behind you, the sound of shattering can be heard above the moans.  

Panting, Bucky releases you. You slump to the floor, off his lap. His cum drips from your pussy, thighs wet as sticky as you close your eyes, desperately trying to catch your breath. You roll onto your back, pressing your thighs together. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you look down at Bucky. He sits kneeling, dishevelled. His hair is ruffled, blood is still smeared along his cheek, and his shirt is untucked and creased. 

At some point, he has tucked his cock away, suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. His gaze is not on you; rather, it is solely focused on the necklace in his palm. You go to lift your head, but you find yourself too weak and exhausted to bother. A mixture of being too fucked out to care and the lack of energy from acting as a conduit for the ritual. 

“Did it work?” You ask the gangster, and his eyes finally pull up to look at you. His gaze wanders over your face, examining your swollen lips, the blush across your cheeks, and the areas where exposed skin remains. He cracks a grin, lifting his hand. The necklace dangles from his fingers, the large, blue jewel now gifted with a large crack down the centre. 

You let out a sigh of relief, letting your head fall back as you stared up at the ceiling. Your eyes flicker closed, a sleepy warmth prickling across your scalp. 

“Doll?”

Your eyes snap open with a jolt. 

“It’s all done? The curse is gone?” The gangster questions. You weakly nod in reply.

“Her spirit and whatever curse she held have been released.” You affirm, voice sleepy, relaxing back into the pillows and blankets. “Apologies. This type of spell drains me.”

Bucky chuckles. You were just glad you had enough sense near the end to actually guide him. The gangster appeared to be attempting to prove something with the orgasms he extracted from you. In the state you were in, you had little reason to complain. 

When you opened your eyes again, he was across the room, vest on and jacket slung over his arm.

“I’ll leave your payment downstairs.” He says, only pausing to look down at you, still curled up on the floor. You blink up at him sleepily. “Thanks for your help, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t find the energy to correct him.

PONY CLUB (PART 2)

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Some things I’ve noticed on my second viewing of “Five Nights at Freddy’s” (2023)

(Some of these are obvious, don’t @ me, I’m autistic and I had work the day I first watched the film so my brain was all over the place)

Once again, SPOILERS ARE UNDER THE CUT, PLEASE DONT READ IF YOU ARE AVOIDING SPOILERS!!!!

On my first viewing I thought that showing the security guard at the very start loosening the bolts of the chair straps was a fake out to make us believe he’d escape, but actually he loosened the bolts which is how Mike was able to escape later on

Just want to say that the opening credits are fucking cool and I love them so much

In my previous post about things in the FNAF movie, I incorrectly said there was no Golden Freddy - Golden Freddy is in fact in the film, he’s the one who goes to the house/kills Aunt Jane/is in the taxi

Following on from the above point, I said last time that I thought the cupcake was the fifth ghost child but I actually think it’s Golden Freddy to be honest - the blonde girl was obviously Chica, the boy with the bunny ears was Bonnie, the ginger boy was Foxy, and then there was the blonde boy and another boy with a top hat on. I originally thought that the blonde boy who wore the brown shirt was Freddy because he seemed like the leader, but now I’m wondering if the boy with the top hat was Freddy and the leader boy was in fact Golden Freddy (given his blonde hair)? I’m interested to hear what everyone else thinks

This is obvious but the doctor foreshadowed the ending because she told Mike that drawings are powerful tools for children to express things and understand things, and that’s exactly how Abby communicated to the gang at the end that Afton was responsible for their deaths

^side note but as an early years practitioner at a nursery/for preschool children, it’s actually true that pictures are used to help children learn things even before they can read, write or talk. I don’t know, it just interested me to be like “oh yeah that’s true!!”

There was not that much focus on Mike’s dad, like he was seen so briefly compared to his mom, which makes me wonder if there’s something to it that might be revealed in a future film. Like maybe his “dad” isn’t his dad or something? Because in the game canon, William is his father, so… I don’t know. I also saw someone else point out that in the training video Mike watched, there was a man working on the animatronics who maybe looked like the actor playing Mike’s dad, so maybe his dad worked there with the animatronics?

The film appears to be set in 2000; I’m 90% sure the security cam of Mike in the careers office showed the date as being in 2000, but if someone else can clarify or confirm the exact date then that would be great. It would make sense though because Garret presumably went missing around the same time as the ghost kids (in the 80s), so the film being set in the present day (meaning Mike would be in his 50s) would make zero sense. Also the mobile phones/computers all seem like they come from the early 2000s

Someone on Twitter pointed out that one of Abby’s drawings on her wall appeared to be a red airplane, which could just be an indication/foreshadowing of her knowledge of Garret’s disappearance (his toy airplane) but also someone else said it could have been 9/11 which….?!?! If this film is set in 2000, then that’s FUCKED

(I think it’s either a random drawing or to do with Garret’s toy tbh but the idea of her having foresight of 9/11 is fucking horrifying)

I’m still not totally sure which animatronic the gang were going to force Abby into, like it’s one with spring locks and at first I thought it might be Circus Baby but it doesn’t really look like her. It looks almost like a marionette or something? And I mean, yeah, it could be that they changed the design a bit but they literally stayed faithful to the designs of all the animatronics in the series so… you know.

Desperate to know if Matthew Lillard is aware of the fact that his DILF status has been multiplied by one hundred after this film like can someone check in on him and see if he’s alright? 💀 the FNAF girlies fans are frankly RABID about Afton

On that note, I wonder if Josh Hutcherson or Matthew Lillard have ever played any FNAF games, like were they fans before being cast or…? I really wish we could have content of them talking about the film or promoting it, but Hollywood refuses to pay their actors fairly so 🤷‍♀️

Listen, I ADORE both Josh and Matthew anyway but in this film I feel like Matthew especially stood out??? Maybe it’s just the character he’s playing but he ATE this role up (so did Josh but still)

I feel like the springlock scene was actually more terrifying upon a second viewing like at my first one I was like “that’s not as bad as I imagined” but this time I was like “holy shit he’s in agony” like his screams were PAINFUL to listen to

Speaking of painful to listen to, Freddy gave this really guttural and pained roar/scream at one point during the ending and it really made my heart hurt, it’s like the child inside of him was reliving the memory of their murder or something??? I can’t describe it but it was such an intense moment

I honest to god feel like I enjoyed it more on a second viewing and I don’t know why??? Maybe it’s just because the other people in my cinema weren’t laughing every five minutes but still.

I now have the urge to rewatch ALL of Markiplier’s playthroughs of ALL the FNAF games so… yep!

Once again begging for people to talk about FNAF because I’m not the most knowledgable on the series but I do enjoy it!

[sscarletvenus]

ptj truly created THE siblings of all time like???

one of them is a greasy depressed manic junkie, a cannibal, a trigger-happy psychopath serial killer who has committed patricide, has consistently worn sanguine biker leather and denims for almost a decade, and is the lecherous and weird and off-puttingly attractive boss of a cartel in Mexico, with quark-shattering daddy issues.

and the other one is a gentle and beautiful "gang leader" who wears old money monochrome suits and trousers, who also hates his dad, wanting nothing to do with him but cannot seem to extricate himself from being entangled with the eerie circumstances of his father's demise. he is so wretchedly honorable and empathetic and self-sacrificial while simultaneously being like. insanely manipulative. and superficially charming. his face evokes the image of golden fields of rice as vast as the eyes can see, his visage as fertile as the banks of the nile, an autumnal apple orchard. but he's also depressed and lost and disillusioned with an unhealthy obsession for an older man who got him involved with gangs in the first place.

one of them really likes red velvet cakes and fruit flavoured bubblegum while the other likes raw, red meat still pulsing with vitality.

both are so similar and so in opposition to each other. truly two parts of gapryong's whole, an intelligent evil and an arbitrary goodness. one of them is his light, the other his rot, his capacity for evil (why else would he play with women and abandon them, neglect his children, or intend to join politics?) . and you know what? these parts are not in complete exclusion of each other. we have seen jake breach moral thresholds for the one he treasures, similarly, gitae also eliminated gapryong which is an ironic justice to himself and those that suffered because of gapryong.

post getting too long so i will just end by this : i love you toxic pernicious wretched doomed by the narrative siblings. i am obsessed with you.

[garfieldblunt]

Modern Jobs I think the VDL Gang would have

Dutch - Drug Lord Prolly - but as a real answer I feel like he would Definitely be the leader of a shitty MEGA church

Hosea - I imagine him either as a therapist or a preschool/elementary teacher - Or even better, Number one Bingo Player in the retirement home

Arthur - Funny enough, I can't see him being more than a ranch hand

John - He's a good ranch owner - He, Arthur, Abi, Jack, n a few others live on a big ranch and live happily ever after

Mary-Beth - She's a librarian, author, and frequent AO3 visitor - can't convince me other wise, She has one of the best fanfictions on WattPad I just know it

Abigail - My heart and soul tells me that Abi would be an illustrator for children's books - or a stay at home mom

Kieran - My little Princess Pupcup is getting his degree in Equine science and becoming a veterinarian for horsies

Micah - Hitman or Dishwasher no in between

Bill - Gas Station clerk - Or I can also imagine him working with Kieran with the horses

Javier - Performer, duh - He does a lot of side gigs and plays at cafes on the reg - I can also imagine him being a Spanish tutor for kids

Susan - Let's be honest, she's the principal of a high school or middle school - any other answer is wrong (/j)

Lenny - He's also a writer, but he's not a fanfiction writer like Mary-Beth - I can also imagine him visiting Mary-Beth's library and reading to the kids on Sundays <3

Sean - Youtuber/ Twitch Streamer - need I say more???

Swanson - AA leader - He's also probably trying to get people to stop joining Dutch's MEGA church

Pearson - He's a chef for the Retirement Home that Hosea is bound to - He also works for the local soup kitchen

Karen - I can see her being a dance performer - not like a stripper, but more like ballet or even musical theater

Charles - State trooper at a National Park - No further questions

Tilly - I just imagine her as such a good lawyer like her husband - She's defiantly someone who can talk her client out of the death penalty if needed

Uncle - His job is to park his ass in a rocking chair and Bother John til the day he dies

[brucewaynehater101]

Do you think the bat kids ever look at how Bruce treats them or their siblings and how their own siblings treat them and

internalize that?

As some examples. . .

Tim Drake, the parentified Robin, looking at the way Batman treats Stephanie and Jason and noting down how not to act around Batman if he wants any of the progress he's made to stay

Damian seeing scars from when Batman---the so-called civilized and humane alternative to the League---brutalized Tim during training and fixated ever further on becoming his chosen heir

Duke, a gang leader himself, remembering news articles and gossip on what Batman had to say about Red Hood gang leader himself after coming under the patriarch's wing

Oh, absolutely. This isn't explored enough, but you are correct. The way that adults interact with your siblings does impact you as well. The lessons they are being taught will also have an impact on you (my therapist mentioned something about watching the abuse happening to your siblings is traumatic for you as well).

This checks out for the Batkids too.

One, your Duke example is stunning. I've never thought of it that way, but it's perfectly reasonable and understandable.

Two, the Damian one tugged on my heartstrings harshly. It's a good hc.

Three, definitely vibe with the Tim one, and I'd love to see more examples with different kids.

A few other notes to consider: Does Bruce treat batkids of different attributes separately? Are the younger kids subjected to mannerisms distinct from the older ones? The kids who have killed someone? The ones without black hair? Gender? Socioeconomic background before Bruce? Sexuality? Caffeine intake? Hobbies? Fighting abilities?

I'm not saying that Bruce would do this on purpose or maliciously (I mean... he could), but our society is unfortunately filled with biases. You have been subjected to such, and in order to combat this, we need to constantly combat these mindsets. Because of this, Bruce might subconsciously treat his children differently due to common societal prejudices combined with his strict moral mindset (and tendency to sometimes have black and white thinking).

The bat kids may or may not pick up the exact type of category Bruce has subconsciously placed them in, but they will recognize who gets affected by separate mannerisms of Bruce.

All of the kids have distinct collections of treatment styles that Bruce gives them, but they share some traits with various siblings.

Some behaviors Bruce might do: who gets hair ruffles vs side hugs, who gets lectured vs asked to report, who does he help with small injuries, how long does he stay with each kid in the infirmary, who is yelled at vs given the silent treatment, who has a space in Batman's toolbelt for their items, who does he call first for unrelated incident types, etc.

Also, this extends past Bruce as well. How does Alfred treat them? Doctor Leslie? Mr. Fox? JL? Anyone whose opinion matters to the kids will have an effect on them.

[mooncalf87]

so I have been writing the ghosts for about two years now and I have actually gotten a good handful of people asking how I write each ghost so well SO I'm going to break each character down simply here!!!!

Thor: Thors first language isn't English, so its okay to make is dialog a little silly just like in the show. He's a big tough man but he also has a huge soft spot make sure to incorporate that if need be

Sass: Sass is the youngest main gang ghost- he died at 25. He is not a wise old elder, he is closer to being a kid then any other of the main ghosts. He is still learning new things every day and is still stuck in his nearly fully developed mind, remember that!!

Isaac: he's smart! He may seem silly and goober like at times- AND HE IS- but he is also very smart. He want to Dartmouth, he was an attorney!!! He knows what he's talking about!!! He is also from the 1700s so he doesn't really use words like "gonna" or "yeah" or modern slang as much as the other ghosts do

Hetty: Despite being the character i write the most, I think Hetty is the hardest to write. She has arguably had the most character development out of any ghost- ranging from her marriage, to her children, and even her death- Hetty is constantly changing and growing very visibly with the show. Apply that to her in writing! And just like Isaac she uses old-timey words and no slang. She also doesn't like vowels

Alberta: Alberta is from the roaring twentys. The years where everyone was throwing out the old and bringing in the new! Alberta is a party girl, she's outgoing and self obsessed (which is not necessarily a bad thing) but she also cares about her other ghosts, more then I think any of us can tell. She also moves a lot, her body language represents a lot of what she is thinking and saying- same for Hetty

Flower: Flower died high, but she is still a person. I've seen lots of people, including myself, dehumanize her and treat her as some sort of puppy. She is, sometimes, like a silly little kid- but she is also a fully grown woman who can do things for herself!! Flower got into law school, she is incredibly smart!!!!!

Pete: Pete is a father. He is a parent and a protector, he is constantly guiding his troop and his family! He is the second oldest of all the ghosts and has always been the troop leader, he is constantly in the background of everything and he ALMOST NEVER chooses sides. But he isn't just a wet towel, we've seen him literally bitch punch Thor!! He is also a HUGE hand talker and is always shifting from foot to foot

Trevor: he is a bitch but he is also very incredibly smart, just like Flower. He worked on Wall Street, he went to Pen. He is much smarter then we give him credit for! He usually has his hands clasped infront of him like Pete, but he is also a hand talker! He cares a lot about everyone, especially the younger ghosts + hetty

NOW remember these are just what I make sure to apply to them while writing!!!! Remember to find your own writing style and character projections :3 you can find my ghosts fics on Ao3 under Mooncalf87!!!!

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (6/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: uprotected sex, incest obviously, smut, the angst, injection of a sleeping drug, violence, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She had felt the closeness of his body all night: his arms locked her in his embrace every time she rolled over on the bed, with a murmur of satisfaction finding with her a new position in which he could snuggle into her.

Although he kept his hand on her bare buttock, desperately wanting to feel her skin, she did not perceive this touch as sexual per se: there was a need for physical affection in him that only another living, warm body could give.

He smelled of alcohol, cigarettes, mint gum and intense, masculine perfume. This combination dulled her and relaxed her making her fall asleep again immediately even when she woke up, his touch, his presence, their bodies entwined together soothed her.

She was sure that in the morning he would wake up horrified by everything that had happened, begging her to go to the pharmacy to get the pill that would prevent any unplanned pregnancy, the effects of their ill-considered excess.

He, however, took her again, more tenderly and slowly, making her feel so good, too good, because, after all, it should feel bad, it should be disgusting, it should hurt.

But it didn't.

She was too wet, he slid into her too easily, he was trying too hard to rub against the spot from which shivers of pleasure ran through her, making her womanhood twitch with convulsions of sweet ecstasy.

She felt remorse for not standing up to him, for opening her thighs to him twice even though she had promised herself that it would never happen, that it was just her hideous deviation that she would keep to herself forever.

"Are you taking pills?" He asked when it was all over, and she froze, snapped out of her reverie.

"No." She muttered, knowing what he meant, what he was going to say.

She felt like vomiting at the thought.

He surprised her when his lips placed a warm, gentle kiss on her cheek.

"It's your body. But know that I'd like to be the father of your child. Someday. You decide when. If ever." He whispered in her ear and she froze completely, shocked.

I'd like to be the father of your child.

Someday.

If ever.

How could he say something like that?

She felt a twinge of regret towards herself that something in his words brought her a strange relief.

He couldn't be her boyfriend, her husband, but he could be the father of her children.

"I…I don't know what I'll do yet. I need to think about it." She mumbled, feeling her heart pounding like crazy, not knowing what she was supposed to respond to his words.

She heard him swallow hard, as if something hurt him in what she said.

"Let me know when you've made your decision about...you know. Please." He whispered, and she felt a squeeze in her throat at the thought that he wanted to know what she was going to do.

Whether or not she would buy the pill in the pharmacy.

She pressed her lips together at the thought that even if she complied with his request, it wouldn't change anything.

"So that you won't answer me?" She asked in a shaky voice, hearing him lift himself on his arm at her words.

"I'll. I swear I'll. Hey. Hey, look at me." He said, but she didn't believe him, because she knew he would hurt her again.

They were destined to do so.

It was just a pleasant dream, nothing more.

"I mean it. I swear. I…" He didn't get to finish because they both flinched and pulled away from each other, terrified when they heard a loud banging on her door.

"Open up." Daemon called out and they both stood up as if burned, dressing quickly.

"Wait a minute!" She said, handing him his shoes and jacket.

"Go to the toilet." She whispered to him, running quickly to the door herself when she heard him lock himself in the room.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

She swallowed loudly, trying to control her panic and opened it, looking at her step-father with big eyes. She opened her mouth, but he spoke up first.

"Get changed, we're leaving immediately." He said dryly, looking her over from top to bottom, his brow furrowed.

Did she overlook something?

Could he see what she had just done?

"But why so sudden? I'd like to have breakfast. Has something happened?" She muttered, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Viserys is dead." He said, and she froze, feeling her heart stuck in her throat.

With a remnant of her strong will she held herself up from looking behind her, towards the toilet.

God, he'd definitely heard that.

"– what? – but –"

"They called the ambulance, Alicent found him dead in his bed. Who was banging on your door last night?" He asked, and she swallowed hard, feeling a cold sweat run down her back.

She couldn't lie, she had to think of something.

"Aemond. We talked about the past." She whispered, looking at him pleadingly, asking him to leave it alone.

"Is he here?" He asked coldly, stepping inside, looking around the room. His step headed towards the toilet, and she stood in his way.

"Y-yes. He was drunk and fell asleep on the floor. You scared me, we didn't know what to do." She muttered, feeling burning tears of shame and horror under her eyelids, the fear that squeezed her lungs made her breathe with difficulty.

One more time, just this one more time let me lie, she thought.

Please, this one more time.

"Get out of there. Now." He directed his words towards the door, which opened a moment later.

Her uncle came out of there pale, trembling all over, though she had no idea whether from fear or because of what he had heard.

"Go to your mother. She needs you now. Your older brother is completely drunk." Her step-father said, and her uncle passed them without a word and left, not even bestowing a single glance on them.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, clenching her thighs together, feeling his semen begin to flow down her leg.

She took a deep breath, trying not to burst into sobs and to keep up appearances that nothing had happened.

When Daemon's hand touched her head and pulled her to him, making her hit his chest, when his arms closed her in a secure embrace, she burst out into a loud, miserable cry.

She was pathetic, she was dirty, she was worthless, a simple whore, a vessel for his seed.

He did what he wanted with her, and she allowed him to.

"We'll go to the pharmacy. We'll sort it out. Don't worry." He said, and she felt both gratitude and horror at his words.

We'll sort it out.

He knew.

Her distraught mother went with Alicent and her siblings, and she, Daemon and her brothers were to return home together. On her way out of the building she spotted her uncle smoking a cigarette, his gaze blank and absent, directed somewhere in the distance.

He heard their footsteps and turned, meeting her gaze – the way he lowered his head in shame, looking away made her feel tears under her eyelids.

Of course it had ended like that.

It was just a dream, nothing more.

"We'll stop at the pharmacy on the way. Your sister is feeling unwell." Communicated Daemon as they set off, driving out of the car park.

She looked at her uncle again through the window and saw that he was looking at her, his eyebrows arched in pain, his lips parted, as if he regretted letting her go without saying goodbye.

She swallowed hard, resting her forehead against the glass, unable to focus on Jace's or Luke's questions, fearing what would now happen to their grandfather's business.

That's what everyone was wondering now, she thought.

As they drove down to the shopping arcade near their house, Daemon stopped in the parking lot and looked at her over his shoulder.

"Are you going to manage on your own or should I come with you?" He asked, and she felt her heart squeeze with pain.

She was afraid.

"Can you come with me?" She muttered, feeling tear after tear begin to run down her cheeks. Jace touched her shoulder, terrified.

"Do you feel that bad? Did you poison yourself with something?" He asked and she nodded, looking straight into her step-father's eyes.

"Yes. Yes, I poisoned myself with something very badly."

The experience of walking into a pharmacy with her step-father to buy a morning-after pill was one of the strangest and most uncomfortable things she had experienced in her life.

The lady pharmacist looked at Daemon grimly, as if she assumed he was responsible for all the fuss, putting her into a state of utter embarrassment.

Even though she tried to stand up to him, Daemon paid up and told her to hide the pack in her backpack as soon as they walked out of there.

"Read the leaflet carefully. Do everything as it says."

"I know." She muttered, for some reason bursting out crying again, wiping her reddened cheeks with her hand, trying not to think about the curious stares of other people around them.

"Everything has consequences. It will be fine. Don't worry. I won't say anything to your mother." He said, and she nodded.

It was the right thing to do, the logical thing to do, the safe thing to do.

This was the right thing to do.

When they got home, she went upstairs to her room and locked herself in, saying she wanted to take a shower. Daemon and her brothers were waiting for a call from her mother, and her stepsisters were in classes, so she had apparent peace and quiet.

For now.

She sat down on her bed and pulled a small packet with one pill inside from her backpack. She unrolled the leaflet and started to read, but couldn't concentrate.

I'd like to be the father of your child.

Why did he say that?

Did he want to have a clear conscience?

She swallowed hard, burying her face in her hands, not understanding why she had doubts.

After all, she was so young, still going to university. How would she explain her pregnancy? What would she tell her mother? That it was casual unprotected sex with a stranger, that she could have taken the morning-after pill but was an idiot?

She wanted to call him, to talk to him, but immediately afterwards she thought that he would tell her anything so that he himself would not feel remorse, the end result being that she would be left with a swollen belly, grief and humiliation alone.

She pressed her lips together and took the tablet out of the packet, grabbing for the bottle of water standing on her bedside table and hesitated, wanting to put it into her mouth.

Yes.

No.

I don't want to.

But it's the right thing to do.

I don't want to.

But I can't do it alone.

I don't want to.

I could love this child.

I have always wanted to be a mother.

I'm scared.

No one will understand.

I don't want to.

She closed her eyes, stood up, went into her bathroom and threw the pill into the toilet, flushing it down, letting it flow along with her certainty that what she had done would have no consequences.

It will be what is meant to be, she thought, sitting down with no strength on the cold tiles, feeling an emptiness in her heart.

When Daemon asked her if she had done the right thing she said yes.

She wasn't sure if he believed her or not, but he stroked her head anyway before walking out and leaving her alone.

By the time their mother got home it was late in the evening: from what she had managed to overhear it appeared that Viserys was really dead, that he had died in his sleep, that he had not suffered and that she was to go to the notary in two days' time to hear his last will.

That was what everyone was worried about.

What share of the estate would go to whom.

She shuddered, feeling the vibration of her phone in her hand, and froze when she looked at the display.

Aemond.

He was calling her.

She swallowed hard, locking herself immediately in her room, panicked, feeling her heart pounding like crazy.

She answered the call and put the phone to her ear, hearing a noise on the other end, as if someone was driving a car.

"Yes?"

She heard him grunt, as if he was afraid of what he was about to say.

"How are you?"

What kind of question was that?

What was she supposed to answer that?

It was great sex, uncle, maybe we'll be parents soon?

"I don't know." She said, walking closer to the window, not wanting anyone in the corridor to hear that she was on the phone.

She heard him swallow hard, feeling involuntarily how difficult it was for him.

Why was she making excuses for him so easily?

"Did you…go to the pharmacy?" He asked finally.

"Yes."

"And?"

"No."

There was silence on the other side for a moment.

"No, what?"

"I wasn't able to do it. I don't expect anything from you." She said in a trembling voice. "I'll manage on my own. If it turns out that…"

She didn't finish, preferring not to say it out loud.

She heard the sound of the key turning on the other side and the silence indicating that he had turned off the engine.

"I want this. If it's going to happen. I want to be a part of it."

"It sounds right only in your head."

"No. I mean it."

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, wanting to tell him first that she didn't need his pity, but reminded herself after a moment that this was the day his father had died.

She sighed quietly, looking out the window at the courtyard of her house.

"And you? How do you feel? With everything that's happened."

"Depends on what you ask." He replied, but his tone of voice changed, becoming cool again.

"About your father."

"We knew he was seriously ill. That this was probably his last birthday."

They were quiet for a moment, however there was something warm in that silence, some kind of understanding and comfort.

"You said you didn't regret it." He said finally, and she drew in a loud breath at the memory of what they had done.

She didn't know what she was supposed to answer.

She was sad, bitter, disappointed, but did she regret it?

No.

"I still think so. But I didn't get my hopes up about anything, if that's what you're aiming for. Daemon won't tell anyone about this. He won't…"

"Why was it so right?"

She froze, feeling heat in her lower abdomen at his question.

"Since it was wrong. So fucking wrong." He continued, as if his darkest, most disturbing thoughts were pouring out of him. "Then why it was so pleasant?"

"The forbidden fruit tempts most." She whispered.

She heard him swallow loudly, drawing in air deeply, as if something in her words pained him.

"Is that what it was for you?"

"I don't know. And for you?" She asked angrily, not understanding what he wanted to hear from her after so many years of silence, after he had come to her room in the middle of the night without a word of explanation and fucked her like there was going to be no tomorrow.

"I wanted…nevermind." He hissed.

"No. Say it." She demanded, hearing him twist in his seat.

"For eight years you pretended I didn't exist, I deserve this." She said in pain, feeling a squeeze in her throat so strong that she ran out of breath.

Don't hang up, please don't hang up.

"I want to try." He said at last, so quietly and uncertainly that she barely heard him.

"I don't understand."

"I would like to study archaeology. You wrote me that if I asked you to, you would help me get into university." He mumbled like a small, embarrassed child, startling her completely.

What?

"I…well, but…there are only two months left to submit the documents. What day is today? Thursday. Are you thinking about full-time or part-time studies?" She asked, walking over to her calendar, trying to count in her head how much time they had.

God, there was a desire in him to change something.

She knew that if she discouraged him, she might soon find out that someone had shot him in the head.

"Only part-time classes are an option." He replied finally. "Is it manageable? Do they have any…requirements?"

"Passed final exams in high school, preferably in history or a language." She explained. "There are also entrance exams, but they are not difficult."

"I had the best result in the history final exam in the whole class." He muttered and she nodded, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

"Good. That's very good, Aemond. It can be done. If you want, come to my University tomorrow, we can talk to my professor about whether a personal teaching plan would come into play if you got in."

"Is there such a thing?"

"Yes, for students who are working at the same time."

"Really?" He asked, a note of hope in his voice that made her heart clench.

"Yes. Text me when you can be there, the professor has class until 3 p.m. Okay?"

"Okay."

"See you tomorrow." She said and hung up, looking at her phone screen in disbelief.

She didn't know why she jumped up and down with happiness, why she believed that things would change, that she would really get him back.

She wanted so badly to know that there was still hope for both of them.

Throughout the next day she feared he would give up and not come.

She thought with horror that he was, after all, a complete stranger to her.

What did she know about him?

Despite her doubts, he finally wrote to her.

How did he know where he was supposed to arrive?

She figured he might have looked it up on the internet and went out to meet him, intending to pick him up from the car park. When she saw his car pull into the driveway she approached him, keeping a safe distance. He got out of the car and automatically reached into his jacket for his pack of cigarettes.

"There's no smoking allowed on University premises." She said.

He lowered his hand in a gesture of impatience, furrowing his brow.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Yes. Let's go. We'll find my professor in the teachers' common room, he's just having a break between lectures." She said, and he moved behind her, looking around at the walls of the large, brick, old building from the 19th century.

"Does he know I'm coming?" He asked uncertainly, clearly tense.

People passing him looked at his face, at his scar.

She felt uncomfortable with the thought, angry for some reason that he couldn't just walk down the corridor in peace.

Was it always like this?

In the shop, in the office, in the restaurant, at school?

Everyone looking at him.

"Yes."

When they got there she knocked on the right door. Her professor, Mr Addams, was a hearty, grey-haired, rather short man with big glasses and a short, elegantly trimmed beard. He was a man of great passion and they immediately found a common language through which he began to take her on his private excavations as a help.

In this way, she managed to collect any savings of her own.

"Professor. This is my friend I mentioned to you." She said, glancing over her shoulder, her uncle's face pale and terrified, his healthy eye wide open.

Good God.

Her professor held out his hand to him, and to her relief he showed any social reflexes and shook it.

"My pleasure. Miss Strong spoke of you in all superlatives. Please, let's go to my office." He said, moving briskly down the corridor with a bundle of keys in his hand, and they moved to follow him.

Mr Addams opened the door to the room and invited them inside into a small study with a high window, all lined with wooden panelled walls, an oak bookcases filled to the brim with books, a desk and several chairs all around it.

The professor sat behind the table, sighing heavily, indicating their seats on the opposite side.

"I'm listening." He said, and she looked at her uncle. He gave her a horrified look, convinced apparently that she would do everything for him.

"So. My friend didn't have the opportunity to study because of his job. I was wondering if there would be the possibility of personal teaching plan or part-time study in that case." She said finally. The man raised his eyebrows and scratched his chin.

"Classes can be studied in part-time, but you have to do a lot of practice hours on excavations, as you know, Miss Strong. They are obligatory." He said.

"Yes, but my friend works at night. He could take part in them during the day. Right?" She asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Her uncle grunted, tense, not knowing where to look, his fingers clenched into fists.

His face then when Jace took his boxers from him, his loud sobs, his hands clenched into fists as he stood up to his waist in water.

"Yes. Yes, that would be possible." He replied lowly, trailing his fingers along the armrest.

The professor nodded.

"Well, if that's the case, then please prepare yourself for the exams. Then we'll see what comes of it." He said and rose, nodding at them.

"Is that it?" Her uncle muttered, looking at her with big eyes, as if he expected to be questioned for hours by this man.

"Yes." She replied. "Thank you, Professor."

When they went outside and said goodbye to Mr Addams they stood in awkward silence, not knowing what to do with themselves.

"If you'd like, I'll wait and drive you home." He offered, not looking at her but somewhere to the side, pretending to read something interesting on a poster hanging on the wall.

"No need. Mum will pick me up." She replied.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and grinned under his breath.

"They pick you up and drop you off like a little girl?" He sneered, making her feel an unpleasant sting in her heart.

"Ever since someone put a rape pill into my drink, yes."

His expression changed, filled with sudden shame and discomfort. He grunted and scratched his chin, embarrassed.

"Do you know who did this? I can take care of it. For your comfort." He added, as if to make amends to her for his ill-considered words.

"Larys Strong." She said, and he looked at her shocked as if he didn't believe she had said that.

"What?"

"I already told you. He was telling me about my father."

"But it wasn't him who put it into your drink, it was one of his people, right?"

"He asked me if I wanted a drink. I said no. Then he ordered water for me. I took a few sips from it and struggled to get to the bathroom."

Her uncle stared at her wide-eyed, breathing loudly through his nose, his lips pressed together in a way from which she felt fear and a cold sweat on her back.

"Son of a bitch." He hissed, running his hand over his face, turning his head away, clearly thinking of something she didn't like.

"Don't interfere. Go home." She said impatiently. He looked at her, surprised.

"And when are you going to teach me?" He muttered.

"What?"

"For the exams. I need you to help me. How do I reconcile what I have to do at night with studying if I don't know where to start?" He asked, and she sighed heavily, burying her face in her hands.

"Okay. Okay, I'll help you. I'll pass you the study books somehow." She said finally, giving in, recognising that she had no choice, that whether she wanted to or not, she had to help him get out of this life that was destroying him every day.

She didn't want him to die.

He stood over her and stared at her, his warm breath enveloping the top of her head.

"Can I touch your hand?"

She lifted her gaze to him and met his eyes, one blank, staring dully ahead, the other red with emotion, his full lips parted involuntarily in an accelerated breath.

She held out her hand towards him, and he took his from the pocket of his trousers, grasping her little fingers in his.

There was something frighteningly natural about the way they intertwined, how perfectly they fit together, how right they looked in a tender embrace.

"Walk me out."

And off they went together, walking down the University's sidewalks, holding hands as if they were a couple.

There was something childlike and naïve about it, about how tightly their fingers clasped together, how close the embrace was, how much they needed proof that nothing was over between them.

She thought it was a pathetic attempt to reclaim their lost childhood.

She let go of his hand as they stopped at his car and watched as he got in without a word, only to drive away a moment later without even bestowing a single glance on her.

She spent the rest of the day during class unable to focus on what she was hearing, pondering how she was going to fool Daemon and her mother into thinking she was spending time with someone else while she was actually helping him study.

She concluded, when she saw her stepfather's face behind the wheel and not her mother's, that it might be worth it to just stop lying.

When she got into the passenger side of the car and Daemon set off, she began to speak at once.

"I'm helping Aemond get into University."

Daemon snorted at her words, surprised, frustrated and intrigued all at the same time. She clamped her hands on the fabric of the backpack lying on her lap, dreading his answer.

"Interesting."

Is that all?

"I want to help him prepare for his exams. He has very little time."

"No."

She swallowed hard hearing him say the word coldly and confidently.

"Why?"

Daemon switched on his indicator and turned at the crossroads even though he should have been driving straight, leaving her stunned.

"What are you doing? Where are we going?" She muttered, feeling her heart start to pound like crazy with terror.

"You'll see."

They stopped in one of the busiest streets in the city: her stepfather had told her to get off, so she did, moving a moment later right behind him towards one of the pubs.

"Not open yet, mate." Said a tall, stocky man in a black suit stopping him with his hand.

"For me it is. Mate." He scoffed.

The man wanted to say something, but someone from downstairs called out to let them in.

A woman.

They went down the stairs inside: apart from them and the bartender, who was mopping the floor, a beautiful black-haired woman was sitting at one of the tables, bent over a laptop. Seeing her stepfather she stood up and approached them with a smile that was both seductive and disturbing.

Her eyes were unnaturally green.

"Well, well. Fucking Alys Rivers. The world is small." Daemon said and shook her hand in a gesture as if they had once been partners.

"What brings you here?" She asked softly, directing the gaze of her bright eyes at her, her voice melodious and deep.

The woman examined her figure from top to bottom, as if she had just been looking at something tasty.

"I came to show my step-daughter the brutality of life." He explained, glancing at her over his shoulder with some kind of pride, as if he was just about to teach his son some very manly and important things.

Alys Rivers cocked her head at his words, glancing at her with a look that frightened her.

As if she had heard of her before.

"Oh. I see. Well, I won't disturb you. It was good to see you. Give my regards to your wife." She said and returned to her seat, clicking something on her laptop again.

Daemon moved forward and sat a table at the other end of the room. She sat next to him, tense, and after a moment a man came out of the back room who had not noticed them, walking straight towards the black-haired woman.

It was only when she saw his face that she understood why her stepfather had taken her there.

He had three long scars on the left side of his face.

The man only noticed them when the woman pointed her finger at them. He nodded at them and Daemon reciprocated the gesture, looking at her.

"Guess who left him such a beautiful reminder."

On the way back home, she was silent, because that was also the state of her mind: it was empty. No thought, no feeling, no sound or word flowed through her: images from outside the window flashed before her eyes, as if she were watching a film.

A passive observer of someone else's life.

"Robert wasn't the only one. There are seven others. Most recently Tyland. They were in arrears, and Otto is very much on his word. I worked for him, just like your one-eyed uncle." He said, and she looked at him shocked.

"What?" She muttered.

"I slammed them with a baseball bat until they looked like a red tomato. They had all their facial bones broken. They looked like completely different people afterwards." He said, and she lowered her gaze, feeling discomfort, horror, disbelief.

She rarely thought about what they did to people who didn't pay them on time because she knew that if she started doing it, she wouldn't get a single peaceful night again.

"Your uncle is now his dog. The faithful hound he has raised for himself for eight years. Even if some part of him would like to run away, he knows he cannot bite the hand that feeds him. A dog can only have one owner, and that is his grandfather, even if you wish it were otherwise."

"Don't speak about him like that. As if he wasn't human." She exclaimed in pain, looking at him in disbelief. Daemon shook his head.

"You don't understand. He's brainwashed. He's trapped in his big cage and he thinks he's free. But as soon as he tries to take a step too far, Otto will react and you'll get the message from him that he's not going to university and he'll never see you again. If it was just about fucking, I'd be able to understand it. I also did… reckless things when I was your age, but you get involved, naively mistaking his euphoria at meeting you after eight years for affection that could change anything."

Each successive word from him was like needles that, one by one, drove into her heart, a bucket of cold water that made her begin to quiver, red with shame, sadness and regret.

Some part of her knew he was right.

She closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the face of a man with three scars.

He had done this to him.

How could the hands that touched her so tenderly, so softly, do such a thing?

A dog can only have one owner, and that is his grandfather, even if you wish it were otherwise.

She knew that the comparison her step-father used was cruel and derogatory, but she understood in a way what he was warning her about.

Her uncle was lonely and manipulated by his grandfather, full of complexes and insecurities that made him cling to what was safe and familiar, which if there was too much risk would cause him to withdraw.

She realised that he would never choose her.

What happened between them was pure coincidence, the result of their collision in a place and time beyond their control.

A desperate attempt to connect again.

She spent the rest of the day in the garden, watering the flowers and weeding around them, trying to calm and soothe herself. The sight of them, those beautiful, vibrant colours of their petals gave her pleasure, comfort in a state where she felt she would never experience any other joys in her life again.

The next day her mother and Daemon went to the notary to hear her grandfather's last will. Everyone was tense and sullen from the morning, knowing what it meant.

A war of influence was looming over what Viserys had left behind, pubs, clubs, businesses, more than half of their entire family's source of income.

Jace and Luke were restless, looking out of the windows once in a while, talking loudly about the fact that whatever their mother was getting, Otto would surely want to take from them by force, and they would never agree to that.

"Stop it." She muttered, sighing heavily. Baela, who was sitting next to her, squeezed her hand in hers, sensing her uncertainty.

"They're coming back!" Jace called out as he ran out into the driveway and they followed him, looking with big eyes at Daemon's and his security guards' cars.

Her stepfather stepped out of the car with a broad smile as if he was the winner of some world championship, however, her mother was pale and her face expressed horror.

"Everything. Viserys bequeathed everything to your mother in his will." He said spreading his hands as if he had received a blessing from God himself.

Jace and Luke ran up to him and hugged him as if it was the best day of their lives, but she and her step-sisters felt exactly the same as her mother.

Terror.

Everything.

Her uncles, her aunt, his second wife got nothing.

"How can this be?" She mumbled, shaking her head.

"He left them some big estates by the sea and in the city. I don't give a shit. Tonight we're celebrating, my dears, we're having a banquet!" Daemon exclaimed as he walked into their house, but she approached her mother, who was barely on her feet.

"Mom?" She muttered.

Rhaenyra looked at her and shook her head, following her husband into the house.

She knew what she was thinking about.

Otto will never leave it like this.

"Each of you will have a bodyguard assigned to you from today. We are reinforcing the security of our home, each of us can now be a target. You do not speak to anyone from that part of the family without consulting me or your mother." Said her stepfather, holding a glass of champagne in his hand, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, giving her a protracted, uneasy look.

She lowered her gaze, feeling discomfort in her stomach, having the impression that she had forgotten how to breathe.

Taking advantage of the fact that Daemon was in euphoria and he, along the other men who worked with them had made a party, she went back to her room. She lay down in bed hearing their laughter and loud conversations downstairs, not understanding where their reason for joy came from.

Did they love killing each other so much?

She shuddered as her display lit up – she reached for her phone with her hand and unlocked the screen as soon as she saw that he had texted her.

She swallowed hard, looking around, wondering if she should do this.

Everyone was downstairs, the security guards were drunk.

Maybe she could sneak out?

She knew the code to the gate, maybe no one would notice her if she went out the back door.

Uncertainty, fear and trepidation squeezed her heart, but some part of her wanted to believe that he really cared, that in a situation where all seemed lost he was willing to reach for the one thing that gave him hope.

Today he lost everything, she thought.

Can I take more away from him?

So she packed her books from her first year into her backpack and left the room quietly in her sweatshirt and shorts, not even trying to go for her shoes, heading for the stairs. Apart from one drunk, sleeping security guard and two men talking in the kitchen, she didn't see anyone.

She lay down on the floor and began to crawl forward, feeling like a commando on an important mission, seeing from a distance that they didn't hear her. She rose as she entered the dark hallway and quietly opened the door.

She lifted her gaze up to the camera facing the exit and cursed under her breath, stopping halfway.

She had completely forgotten about it.

What now?

She looked around, trying to remember exactly what the image from the cameras she had seen once looked like when she and Daemon were searching for something on the recordings.

One, two, three, four she started counting and spotted an area she was sure the range of none of the cameras included. She ran in that direction, propped a bucket lying next to her feet and struggled to climb the wall, pulling herself up with a groan of effort, leaping over to the other side, almost breaking her legs.

She hissed, falling onto her hands – when she lifted them she saw that she had scraped her skin there and on her knees.

She sighed heavily, recognising that she would survive such injuries and that they would be nothing compared to what Daemon would do to her if he found out she had escaped.

She'll just give him the books and go back home.

She breathed out loud when she saw his car around the corner, its engine and lights on. He opened the door from his side, looking at her with big eyes, and she quickly pulled off her backpack, giving it to him.

"Take this and get out of here." She muttered, but his hand grasped her wrist.

"– come here –"

"– I have to –"

"– come –"

She stared at him, panting hard, knowing involuntarily what he wanted, feeling the squeeze between her thighs at the thought that she wanted it too.

Comfort.

"– I –"

"– it won't take long –"

He closed the door behind her as she let his arm pull her around the waist – she clumsily sat on top of him, trying to make herself comfortable on his lap in such a tight space. She lifted herself up on her knees to slide her shorts off while he looked at her with a misty gaze, unfastening the belt to his trousers.

"– good girl – such a good girl –" He breathed out, releasing his erection immediately, throbbing and dripping with desire, ready to give her what she needed.

There was no time for any other kind of caress, so she positioned herself over him, lowering herself slowly onto his thick, smooth tip, feeling how wonderfully he opened her for himself, stretching her warm, moist walls.

"– fuck – fuck, baby –" He muttered, clamping his hands over her firm buttocks, panting and moaning loudly along with her, sliding into her in one, deep thrust.

The feeling of him deep inside her was full of tension, her interior suddenly stretched to the limit on his throbbing erection, which he began to thrust slowly into her with trembling, tentative slaps full of impatience.

"– ah – G-God –" She mumbled, feeling how her slickness helped him to force his way into her body again and again, filling her so wonderfully.

Why it felt so right when it was so wrong?

Her hands embraced his neck, their foreheads touched each other as his palms on her waist forced a quick, sharp, violent pace on her from which her nipples hardened, the pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen caused by him rubbing her where she needed it made her gasp.

"– Aemond –" She mewled, trying to find a rhythm with his body, rolling her hips back and forth, filling herself again and again with his swollen, hot manhood, feeling pleasant, warm tickle in her belly.

"– do you hear it? – do you hear how well you take me? – only you – fuck –" He gasped, pounding into her with loud, wet slaps of their hips, listening how her twitching cunt clicked with his every push. His hand sank into her hair as his moist lips brushed hers, inviting her into the warm, sticky kiss full of their saliva.

Their tongues licked and teased each other, intensifying their sensation, building a swift path to their fulfilment, their bodies slammed against each other greedily with their embarrassingly loud moans of pleasure.

It seemed to her that they were too ashamed and shocked by the situation, by what they were doing, and how pleasurable it was, how liberating it was, to fuck in his car against everyone and everything, the sticky juices of their forbidden fruit running down their thighs each time his cock sank into her weeping pussy again.

She was terrified that, despite the speed and brutality of his thrusts, his hands caressed her body so tenderly, stroking her hair, her neck, her back, her buttocks, her cheeks, allowing his lips and tongue to join hers in loud, chaotic, wet kisses full of their moans.

She couldn't stop the tension that was growing in her lower abdomen, the pleasant tickling in her fingertips and the clenching deep between her thighs that proved she was about to come.

"– where? –" He mumbled into her mouth, her hands stroking his sweaty, soft cheeks, letting the messy, greedy thrusts of his hips give her the pleasure she so needed, her lips parted wide as the aggressive, stupefying fulfilment full of relief shook her body.

"– here – right here, uncle –" She gasped, feeling only pleasure, only relief, only bliss.

He groaned loudly, helpless, and came hard inside her, throwing his head back, panting heavily along with her. He hugged her face to his sweaty neck, exactly as he had then, that night in the hotel room, his half-hard, pulsing manhood filling her with the remnants of his seed.

"– I think I'm in love with you –" He whispered in a trembling voice, making the sound stuck in her throat with emotion.

She parted her lips, not knowing what to answer him, thinking with embarrassment that she somehow reciprocated his feelings.

His hand slid off her head while the other continued to stroke her bare buttock, his soft erection still throbbing deep inside her as his lips placed a warm, soft kiss on her forehead.

"– forgive me –"

She only drew in the air loudly, shocked, and clenched her hands on his black T-shirt when she felt the needle jab into her neck. Her squeal of horror, grief, and disbelief sounded unnatural, as if she were a small animal being butchered.

Her body became numb, the image around her became blurred and unclear, a heavy, dark sleep descended on her mind as she simply relaxed in his arms, feeling his hand stroke her head again, his cheek nestled against her forehead all wet.

He cried.

[wasty28]

Shocked by the sheer lack of Mafia!Au in the lcf/tcf Fandom.

Why is there none? Have you seen the way Cale acts ? The way he sometimes uses underhanded methods bordering on illegal to get to his goal while posing like a benefactor in front of the society ? Kidnapping, Torturing, looting religious/official treasures ? The mere existence of the Molans in his vicinity ? The revenge for Raon act ?

When Cale said:

[SPOILER AHEAD]

"There is an unchanging fact in the world...You don’t mess with family" to the WS he was not joking.

Before learning that Earth 1 was post apocalyptic and the whole backstory I really pictured KRS to be part of some underground corporation or gang involved in shady things. What's with:

-Team leader? -That's a very particular phrasing-taking him in-with no context

-Him saying he treated his work as normal office work when it supposedly was not? In which way ?

-The whole taking the reins of the team after alluded DEATH of the team leader??? Caused by what ? Or who ?

-Flimsy flashback of them all beaten up and sore on the ground after a "mission" hasn't gone as planned ? How tf was I supposed to know they were fighting monsters !?

-The whole I didn't want to get close to my coworkers to protect them shit ? What why ?? Of what ?

-Just the general way he acts super efficiently as Cale henituse and accommodatly ignores the law when he wants(for good reasons but still !)

-That one official art of Cale posing with SUPER BUFF laded with scars ???! KRS at the back

My brain was totally going off rails, but that's not the point. What I mean is there is exceptional potential here.

Though I don't know shit about cartels, gangs, or mafiosi, I can see the missed opportunity.

Give me that modern!au that slaps.

I wanna see guns, car races, corruption, scams that chaotic energy with things going boom boom in the background, children who shouldn't be there, and Bob. Lots of Bob.

I wanna see future politician!Alberu being totally gobsmacked that this trashy young master, with a failed idol carrier due to all the rumors and scandals related to his personality turns out to be his most trusted ally for the elections and apparently has more than one hand in the underground world and cartel mafiosi also stopping human trafficking, terrorism and slowly but surely preparing for war on a continental scale on the side, is his only match in term of wits and efficiency.

And this fucker says he wants to be a slacker. Haha! Make him prime minister.

[ghostedinkheart]

Hello, don't mine me~! :3

I find it rather strange that Lilia didn't already know about what Leona was up to in Book 2.

In fact, I think that he did know. However, he left it up to Yuu and the gang to find it out on their own and come up with a plan together.

After all, Lilia has clearly shown his prowess in scouting out information several times during the main storyline.

The reason for this, could be due to his due to his cultivating nature, as well as a way for the situation to fix itself without things getting... messy.

Especially since Lilia was clearly livid, not only was his own children being threatened. The old fae clearly saw that Leona was abusing his power as a leader to achieve his own selfish goals. Over a game, no less.

His ability to step back and 'play the side character' is one of the things that I love most about him. As it also shows how he views himself in the lives of those closest to him.

Spoilers ahead.

Lilia only became a general for one reason. To protect his Princess, the woman he not only loved, but felt like he owed his entire world too.

He held no care for the glory on the battlefield. His only concern was the safety of the princess, the Land, and the people serving under him.

I'll probably talk about this more later. As I have so many feelings on this topic.