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marsmoran · 15 days

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MARS MORAN

full name: marcus "mars" john moran

pronouns & gender: he/him, cis man

birthday & birthplace: december 22, 1982 (41); boston, ma

location: seabrook quarter

time in aurora bay: 20 years

sexuality: bisexual

occupation: owner of pinball wizard arcade

@aurorabayaesthetic

about.

drugs, alcoholism, substance abuse tws

mars is the youngest of five boys — no joke — all named marcus, after their dad marcus. it was a bizarre decision on the part of his parents, but it certainly reflected their parenting style, which could generously be called "hands-off" but could less generously be described as not giving a fuck. they were catholic enough to not believe in contraception until they had their fifth marcus and decided enough was enough.

both of his parents struggled with alcoholism and substance abuse issues, and his brothers were no help; it was every man for himself in their house, with the five of them often getting into fights over the best places to hide whenever one or both of their parents were in a rage.

by the time mars was seven, he was already fed up with his parents referring to him and his brothers by a number, so he started going exclusively by "mars" (MAR5, get it?).

he and his brothers were active shoplifters, and they were pulling mars into their schemes around the same time he'd given himself a new name. he learned how to lie and charm very quickly (the two are basically synonymous to him now), and his strategies for stealing went back and forth between distracting people because he was a cute kid and slipping in and out without getting caught. he was the runt of the litter, but he learned how to use it to advantage

he finished middle school but just didn't show up for his first day of freshman year, then never went back to school again. his parents didn't give a fuck about truancy calls, and the school he was supposed to be going to wasn't great anyway, so they never followed up. instead, he spent his days loafing around boston and, at sixteen, dealing — which he was fantastic at

he was so good that he actually managed to make a good amount of money for himself, and at eighteen he bought the cheapest thing he could find in a used car lot, packed a single backpack, and drove away

he spent three years just driving around the country, spending money pretty much only on gas, food to sustain himself, and motel rooms when he desperately needed a real bed to sleep in and a shower. sometimes he'd spend extended periods in one place, picking up odd jobs to recoup some more cash before he hit the road again. (he'd also stolen a pound of coke from his supplier before he left boston, so he also sold that for as long as he could).

at the end of year three, when he was twenty-one, he finally made it to the other side of the country in that same terrible car, which was already held together by duct tape and fell apart almost as soon as he rolled into town. he didn't want to buy a new car, so he figured he would stay a while. he used the rest of his money to put down a few months rent at a trailer park outside of town and took random jobs while also figuring out some way to find a supplier in LA so he could start dealing in AB (mostly to the rich people in AB drive, tbh)

and he just ended up...never leaving. he found he liked california, which was so unlike where he'd grown up. he went from job to job while dealing on the side, never getting caught

until he did get caught. he was meeting a buyer in the arcade, but it was intercepted by the owner, an old, take-no-shit lesbian named angie, who told him she wouldn't call the police as long as he never stepped foot in the place again

he stayed away for weeks, before he was finally compelled to go back in and actually thank her for not ratting him out. and she did almost call the cops on him as soon as she saw his face, but then his old charm kicked in, and he was able to talk her down and offer to buy her a drink

angie basically adopted him after that. she was mean, never put up with his shit, and didn't mince her words about him needing to get his life together, but that's sort of what he needed. at least he knew she cared. eventually, he stopped dealing and sort of nepo babied his way into an assistant manager job at the arcade. after a while, he was able to move out of the trailer park to ocean crest.

angie died when he was thirty-five, and for reasons he still doesn't understand, he left most of her money and the arcade to him, with a note that just told him not to fuck it up. that's failing UP, baby

he's been trying not to fuck it up ever since. he moved out of ocean crest to a little house in seabrook. he can barely comprehend how straight he's gone, but he'd be lying if he said that little, long-dormant kernel of chaos didn't tempt him to puncture his nice blanket of peace sometimes

tidbits.

a gremlin!! a liar and an idiot and a gremlin!!

he still steals shit, but has actually grown a conscience about it and stays away from small businesses. big box stores he'll swipe from all the live long day

definitely bought crypto (dogecoin, specifically). still thinks it'll bounce back. also was big into the entire gamestop sitch

BIG gamer. spends lots of saturday nights yelling at randos over discord while playing helldivers

subscribes heavily to the 'don't get high on your own supply' motto. he actually doesn't really indulge in drugs aside from weed (anymore. he definitely used to)

he hasn't seen or heard from most of his family since he left boston, but marcus 2 (who'd also broken away from their family after mars did) actually managed to track him down a few years ago. they talk occasionally

still doesn't own a car. instead he has a dumb little moped that he thinks he looks awesome on

angie's note is framed and hanging on the wall behind the counter at the arcade

connections.

pseudo uncle to @ulyflynn

spiritual cousins w/ @santiagodeleons

rat dad/rat son @aiden-stevens

former friends/was indirectly the cause of @samucl-kane's relapse

frenemies w/ benefits of @joey-madani

disgruntled employer of @maura-cortes, less disgruntled employer of @macaulaymontgomery

next door neighbor/frequent botherer of @delilahcarreno, also a last last last resort babysitter for her son

@xaviermattthews' former dealer 😬

former coworker (they shared the same supplier aslkjdfl) of @silascody

whatever this is w/ @bazhowletts

#drugs tw #alcoholism tw #substance abuse tw #aurorabay.intro

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gossiping-about-dead-ppl · 2 years

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trying to focus on encanto as a distraction to an anxiety attack is quite something

#one part of my brain: we are fucked we are fucked we are fucked we are fucked we are fucked we are fucked we are fucked we are fucked we-#the other part of my brain: ISABELLAAA YOUR BOYFRENDS HERE TIME FOR DINNER SEVEN FOOT FRAME IT WAS MY WEDDING DAY RATS ALONG HIS BACK WE-#tw anxiety #tw axiety attack #lancelot ranbles

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yourlocalsewerdragon · 2 years

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im trying to get my cousins into bsd by explaining how hot everyone is and yk what i think its working

#dragon's trash #it has to #theyre both simps. ik it.#i think if i compare at least one of them to camilo from encanto theyll watch it #SEVEN FOOT FRAME <333 RATS ALONG HIS BACK <3333 #tw caps

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labyrinth-runner · 2 years

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Light Up The Night

Chapter Four of The Prophecy Of Us. You and Bruno are reunited after years apart.

Warnings: None

Pairing: Bruno Madrigal x Reader

Word Count: ~1200

Dinner was silent as the two of you ate. You felt awkward around him, craving the closeness you had, but not knowing how to get that back. You tossed around different topics in your head, not knowing which one to start with, until you just decided to say something, anything to break the silence.

"Why did your room have so much sand?"

He paused, empanada halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"Your room. Why did it have so much sand?"

His eyes widened as his voice deepened to impart something profound. "Probably because each moment in life is like a grain of sand passing through our fingertips." He shrugged. "Or something like that. I don't know. It got everywhere, though. I hope my new room isn't like that."

"What would you want your room to be like?" You pictured the various rooms you'd seen over the years, Isa's floral fortress, Antonio's animal jungle.

"Honestly, I just want something with a bed. Maybe a couch. You know, for entertaining. Definitely my own cabinet for things. No more rats in my toiletries," he said the last part as a promise to himself.

"That doesn't sound very... magical."

"Magic's overrated."

"Do you think you'll ever get it back?"

He pushed his plate away, leaning on one hand and tapping his fingers in thought with the other. "I think... what's been broken can be fixed."

You raised a brow. "Are you saying that you're broken without magic?"

"No." He laughed awkwardly. "Honestly, this is the least amount of anxiety that I've had in years. It's kind of refreshing. But, the magic's strong when the family is strong, so if the family gets back to normal then it makes sense that the magic gets back to normal." He looked down at his hands. "Do you think I'm broken without my magic?"

You reached out to gently take his hand, rubbing your thumb along the back of his hand. "You've always been more than your gift. It's nice to have everyone actually see you for once, and not your gift."

He looked up at you, the green flecks in his eyes like a gem in the sun. "You've always seen me."

You blushed, pulling your hand away. "You're hard to miss. You know, seven foot frame and rats along your back."

Bruno looked at you with a serious expression. "In my defense, he was five. I probably looked like a mountain to him when he snuck in. As for the rats... they were good friends. Jasper and Jennifer were great actors. They won many whisker awards."

You laughed, really laughed, for the first time in a long time. You laughed until your belly hurt. After a few seconds, he cracked and joined you.

"I missed you," he finally said when the laughter subsided.

"I missed you, too," you admitted.

"I kinda figured, when I saw the shrine," he teased.

"Dolores used to tell me about these telenovelas she'd been listening to about people with names that sounded fairly similar to ours," you shot back as he sipped his water.

He choked. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mmhmmm." You smirked, getting up to clear the table. "Well, I'm sure you're ready for bed since you've had a long day and tomorrow is going to be longer."

"I was actually hoping we could maybe stay up a little longer... that is, if you're not tired."

"And do what?" You carefully kept your back to him as you placed the plates in the sink.

"There's a place on the hillside that I used to sneak away to when everyone was asleep. I've kept it a secret for a while, but I want to share it with you."

"It's getting late, Bruno..."

"It's better at night," he said, placing the rest of the dishes in the sink. "I promise, it'll be worth it."

You chewed your lip in thought. "Alright."

"Great!" He took your hand and rushed for the door. "If we leave right now, they'll just be starting."

"Who?" you asked, letting him pull you down the street and towards the hills in the distance.

You could see the toucans in the trees around you, watching as the two of you crested the hill and went towards the trees. The trees grew more and more dense, the sounds of the jungle taking over the further you went. "Bruno, where are we going?"

"We're almost there," he said, reaching out to move a wall of vines.

You stumbled out into a clearing. Flowers draped the canopy of the trees. You could see the chrysalis of a butterfly attached to a nearby branch. What caught your attention, though, were the lights.

One by one, the lights flittered around the clearing, blinking into existence before flickering back out like their own morse code. The lights skittered around you, illuminating the clearing. It wasn't until one of them flew into a shaft of moonlight that you could see what they were.

Fireflies.

You hadn't seen a firefly in years. Not since... Not since the first night you had met. You had been wandering past town that night, when you had stumbled across Bruno and a then three year old Mirabel playing with the fireflies. Mirabel had laughed when one landed on her nose. You'd tried to sneak away, feeling as if you had intruded on their moment, but instead they invited you to join them in catching the fireflies as Bruno made up stories about how they got their fire, much to the enjoyment of his niece who's favorite question at the time was 'Why?'

You turned back to look at Bruno. He was watching you, his eyes studying your every move to see how you would react.

"You remembered." The words were barely a whisper.

"How could I ever forget?"

You took a tentative step towards him. "Bruno..."

"I came here whenever I considered coming back. It reminded me of why I had left, but it also reminded me of you." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I meant what I said earlier. I know I messed up, but I didn't think I had another choice. Do I regret it? Yes, because I missed out on so much. I watched my nephew grow through the walls, never getting to meet him until now. I watched Mirabel try to make up for what she thought was a shortcoming for years. I watched you bring her books." He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," you murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Stop apologizing and start doing."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as you ran your thumb across his cheek bone.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. You stepped into him, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you hugged him close. He leaned his cheek against your head as he wrapped his arms around you. He smelled like the forest after rain, when the air is fresh, having been washed clean. You nuzzled into his neck. Around you, the fireflies flew, their light casting the two of you in a warm glow.

"We should head back. You were right. We do have a long day ahead of us." He sighed, pulling back.

You took one last look at the clearing before tucking your hand back into his and walking home.

#bruno x reader #bruno madrigal x reader #bruno madrigal #encanto #The Prophecy of us

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neonacity · 3 years

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Chapter 10: Clytemnestra

Summary:

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”

An NCT mafia AU with OT23. Summary: Working for the mafia comes with many layers. There’s excitement, violence, loss, and betrayals. Yet there’s also friendship, family, loyalty, and code. The last thing it needs? Love and all the complexities it brings.

TW: violence, death, mentions of sex, drugs, and other illegal activities. If you’re uncomfortable with any of these, feel free to skip. Author’s note: This is purely a work of fiction. In no way am I supporting all the illegal activities and behaviors that might be mentioned in the story nor am I implying that any member of NCT acts whichever way I may write them here.

Chapter 9: In Memoriam

MASTERLIST

Fic Trailer

Chapter Music: I See Red by Everybody Loves an Outlaw

----

"What did he say?"

My eyes scanned over the words written over the piece of paper for the last time. There isn't much there, but I feel like there's something crucial I was missing. I looked up at Taeyong and shook my head.

"Nothing much. But he wanted me to meet up with him."

"Did he give you an address?"

"No. Which makes it all the more strange. Unless he is planning to send another letter?" I handed him the piece of paper which he quickly unfolded to read. A slight frown settled between his brows as he went over it.

There were only two lines there, none of which really makes sense.

I will be waiting.

22:00. Black Daisies.

"Do you have any idea what Black Daisies mean?"

I shook my head, mirroring the same look of confusion on his face. I've been racking my brains about it for the past few minutes but couldn't think of anything that might be related to it.

"I honestly have no idea. He wrote a time beside it… so I am assuming whatever Black Daisies is, it's a code for a place? I don't have any idea which location he is referring to though."

Taeyong simply looked at me silently before finally folding the paper away. We were back in my room after he temporarily managed to save me from the barrage of questions I was sure the others wanted to ask when they found out the letter was addressed for me.

Every day I feel like the line I'm toeing gets more and more dangerous. Like a high strung tight rope that's ready to give up under my footing.

"You're not going to him."

I looked up to meet his eyes.

"I wasn't planning to..."

Taeyong's gaze didn't waver.

"Promise me."

"Why?"

"Because I know you'll change your mind in a heartbeat once he involves anyone you care about. So I need you to promise, even if he uses me or any of our friends."

My lips pursed and I evaded his gaze. I heard a soft shuffling of feet and felt my mattress dip as he sat beside me. Taeyong didn't need to touch me to affect me with his presence. After that brief moment of vulnerability that we shared earlier, something has shifted. I thought I will be able to put my walls up again just as easily as I took them down, but it seems like I was wrong.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Softer.

"Promise me."

"Is that an order from my leader?"

"No, it is a request from a friend."

I turned to look at him and cocked my brow to diffuse the tension in the air.

"You're ordering your noona around?"

His lips quirked ever so slightly into a smile.

"You're only one year older…"

"Hey. Emergency meeting."

"And seven months. One year and seven months. Don't forget that," I said, looking away.

A sharp knock on my door got our attention at that moment and we both looked up to see Doyoung standing on the threshold. He looked grim as he moved his gaze from Taeyong to me.

-----

Jaehyun sat at the very back of the room that had filled up with all the members after Doyoung sent his urgent message. Everyone was scattered in the expansive space which seemed a little bit smaller now that WayV has joined, some sitting on the leather stools while others made do with the floor. Jungwoo and Taeil were deep in conversation beside him while Johnny and Yuta stood next to the door, flanking the entrance with their overwhelming presence. Being the main fighters of 127, it comes natural for the pair to be on the watch regardless if it's just an internal family meeting that's happening.

...Except this is not just an ordinary meeting. Jaehyun hasn't heard the full story from Doyoung yet after he came back from his business, but he has a pretty good idea of what the issue might be. Despite being just one of the crime families under the current Don's network, NCT does follow the traditional mafia ranking within its system. Doyoung works as the Consigliere to Taeyong's Capocrimine, taking over the responsibility of being the advisor and overall gatekeeper of NCT to the outside world. His connections give him access to normal society, which means if he calls for a meeting, it is probably an issue involving the "above ground."

Taeyong walked in with an unreadable expression that made everyone fall silent in a heartbeat. He joined Doyoung in front of the room and looked over the crowd before finally speaking.

"Has anyone here given any orders to their crew about stepping up any of our activities?"

The members exchanged confused looks between each other. Mark answered in lieu of Dream, Jeno looking just as confused beside him.

"Not us. Why? What's up?"

Taeyong looked at Doyoung who grimly picked a folder on the table. The latter started reading the contents of it out loud into the room.

"Heist in Dongjak district. The biggest bank there was ransacked last week. Cops also busted an illegal racing event last night. The other day, there was an ambush on one of the strip clubs at Guro. News came around that a new drug was being sold there after a rise of reported overdose deaths from it three days ago. Businesses that should be under our protection in Seocho are being ransacked despite them settling their tariff fees with us," Doyoung looked up from the paper he was reading and swept his gaze over the room.

"That's just four of the 18 other cases that I got for the last week."

Everyone exchanged shocked looks with each other. Jeno decided to speak up, the expression on his eyes intense.

"Hyung, it's not us. We haven't done any heists since you came back from Tokyo."

Doyoung gave a tight nod and looked over to Johnny and Yuta.

"The drugs in Guro?"

"Not from us. The last ones we distributed are those we got from Japan and they're just psychedelic shots. They're clean."

"WayV…?"

"We didn't bring any with us when we landed. Our jet can only fit the crates of armory we had to transport for you guys," Kun said with a frown.

Taeyong ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath.

"Taeyong, what's happening?"

It was Doyoung who answered for him.

"There was a rise of undocumented cases that were being fed to the cops in the past weeks. According to the reports, they were done by us."

"What? That doesn't make any sense," Yuta said from his position by the door.

"It does make a lot of sense, actually. Obviously, we're hands off from all of these so they can only be done by the smaller gangs that we don't manage. And it all started after that announcement was made."

"But those rats wouldn't have any confidence to go against us. They're too small and disorganized to do this. And to even claim that they're NCT? That's just impossible."

"It is possible, if there is someone bigger asking them to act up," Taeyong answered grimly. Jaehyun watched as the man's gaze quickly flickered over to the pale female face sitting on the couch between Chenle and Renjun. That's when it clicked.

Of course, Jihoon wouldn't be too lax to actually lie low after the bombing of Anarchy. That was just the start.

"Are you sure this isn't Wonho's doing?" Ten asked with concern. "We just got word from our network in Beijing that he was peddling women from kidnappings."

Jaehyun's attention snapped to the boy then at Doyoung and Taeyong at the mention of the name. A heavy feeling quickly started to gather on the pit of his stomach as he waited for their answer.

"That's an entirely different case altogether. But you’re right. The feds caught wind that he was trafficking kidnapped tourists and now they're after his ass."

"Did he claim his case to be connected to us, too?"

"No. But because of all these other things happening, the police are definitely pinning everything on us."

"Shit," Lucas whispered loud enough for the good half of the room to hear. Jaehyun mirrored the same internally, his hands clasped together tightly in front of him.

Shit indeed.

This was all supposed to be a no brainer. He only needed to help the asshole get out of the country and then he can brush him off like dirt from his hands after. Why didn't he do it before things hit the fan? Now everything has become so much more complicated.

"How bad is it?" Taeil asked from Jaehyun's left.

"Bad enough for us to be in the 8pm news. According to our moles, the Chief of Police is going to announce the manhunt for us tonight."

The room has gone so silent and still that the air felt suffocating. If there is one thing NCT is known for in the underworld, it is the group's efficiency and cleanliness when it comes to its operations. Every job done is spotless, every loophole covered. Until now.

"Can't we pay off—"

"We can't. We already tried reaching out to all our associates within the force but they can't do anything about it," Taeyong answered before Taeil could even finish the question. "The cases have reached the public and now there's an outcry from the community. Even the police are pressured to do something."

A round of murmurs swept over the room. Finally, one female voice broke through it to ask the question nobody wanted to say out loud.

"What are we going to do?"

Taeyong's jaw tightened and he unclasped his arms crossed over his chest.

"We need to track all those gangs doing these activities and put them in their place. It's going to be difficult to hunt each of them down with their size so we will need to use most of our resources here. Reach out to all the connections you could think of. We don't need more crimes being blamed on us."

Everyone's eyes were on Taeyong as the group waited for what he's going to say next. He stopped for a bit before finally speaking again.

"And we kill Jihoon. This isn't going to stop until he's gone."

Glances were exchanged within the room as his words sank in. Jaehyun didn't want to break the silence but he knew that he didn't have any other choice but to ask the next question.

"And Wonho? What are we going to do with him?"

It was Doyoung who answered this time.

"We'll kill him, too. We've given him way too many chances already. Once we get rid of him, we take the credit and let the cops know about it. Take them off our backs for a bit. We'll take care of him this week."

It was fortunate that Jaehyun has mastered the art of keeping an unreadable facade. In his head, the words of the woman he loves echoed once again as the consequences of the situation mocked him.

"No betrayal… or death of a brother shall be held against any of you."

-----

Johnny threw his half finished cigarette on the gravelled road with a quick flick of his wrist. He scanned the length of the building from across the wall he is leaning on, gaze shadowed by the cap pulled low against his face. Of course, Jihoon would have the audacity and gall to choose a luxury apartment unit as his mistress' "hiding place" in Seoul. The motherfucker is one proud asshole, acting as if he owns any territory he steps on like the crazy psycho he is.

He's not here for him though, no. Johnny isn't the type to act out on his own, but things are slowly starting to get messy within the family. People may always credit Taeyong for being the first one to step in the line of fire when it comes to protecting the group, but Johnny is a close second when it comes to his sense of loyalty. Ever since that day he was picked up and saved from that hell of underground brawls at 17 by Taeyong himself, he made it his personal promise to do anything to protect his home.

That's exactly what he is doing now as he buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans, waiting for his prey. If his informant was correct, she should go out of the building doors any minute now.

30 seconds. 40. 56.

His eyes caught a familiar form slipping out of the main entrance of the complex. The woman was wearing more casual clothes now than when they last met at Anarchy, but Johnny knew it was her despite her hoodie shielding the good half of her face. His sharp eyes followed her, allowing her to put some distance between them before he finally pushed himself from the wall to trace her steps.

She had crossed three streets when he really started catching up with her. He waited until the traffic light turned red on the street she was about to cross before slinging his arm around her casually.

The woman stiffened instantly in his arms and looked up at him in shock. Johnny smiled casually down at her and pressed the cold nose of the gun hidden under his jacket closer to her ribcage.

"If you don't make a racket, there won't be a need for a murder scene by this road."

She pursed her lips as anger flashed in her eyes. She gave a tight nod before directing her gaze back into the street ahead.

"Good girl. Go straight then turn left. There's an abandoned building on the third alley."

The two of them immediately started walking, sides pressed closely together. She didn't speak, but Johnny could feel her anger just bubbling underneath.

He unceremoniously pushed her inside the abandoned shop when they finally reached it. She turned to him with a glare and he didn't hesitate to raise his gun to her face, cocking it slowly.

The move made her brows raise. Instead of looking threatened, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"What do you want?"

"Your boyfriend's head on a stick. When are you two going to leave us alone? Your lot is causing a lot of trouble for us already."

"Are you here to kill me then?"

"Oh no. You're here as payment. It'll be interesting to see how he reacts after we mess up one of his own."

The woman stared at him for a long moment. Johnny’s gun didn’t waiver during the stare down, his hand steady as their gazes clashed. Then, all of a sudden, she did something he wasn’t expecting at all.

She laughed.

She laughed so hard her voice rang and bounced on the dusty corners of the room. Johnny reigned in the confusion that overtook him with a frown. Is she acting to throw him off track?

The girl straightened up and looked at him with pure amusement in her eyes. The smirk playing on her lips told him that there is more to this act than what he is seeing.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry. You stalked me thinking you’ll budge Jihoon by threatening me? That’s so, so, so amusing.”

Johnny tightened his jaw but didn’t say a word. He watched as she started moving towards where he is standing, her eyes never leaving his. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she stalked him, and for the first time, he actually took a good long look at her eyes. What Johnny saw there hit him like a firetruck.

Jihoon’s madness, exactly reflected in her own gaze.

She stopped an inch away from his gun. If she moved a little, the cold metal of it would have kissed her forehead.

“You could kill me now or torture me to death and my brother wouldn’t bat an eye… In fact, he might even thank you,” she whispered softly, almost fondly. Johnny felt the hair at the back of his neck rise. His emotions must have briefly flashed on his face because her smile widened in amusement.

“Here’s one thing you don’t understand about Jihoon. He absolutely doesn’t care about anyone else other than himself. All these things he is doing? They are all for his sick fun. He is mad. Inhuman. If you want to have any chance of winning this, you have no other choice but to play the game with him.”

“You’re his sister.”

“Half sister. That doesn’t change anything. I’m just a piece on his chessboard. I would honestly let you kill me now if you want to, but I can’t. Not until I finish what I have to do.”

Johnny didn’t know what got to him but he found himself slowly lowering his gun. The two of them stared at each other, silent, for what felt like forever. Finally, she moved to walk past him.

“If that’s all, then I’ll go ahead. I suggest you find a better informant next time. Jihoon doesn’t stay in my building at all. Even I don’t know where he is,” she said casually as she moved towards the door.

“I have no other choice. But believe me when I say that I want him dead just as much as you do.”

“If he doesn’t care about you, why are you sticking with him?” he asked just as she wrapped her hand on the door handle. She stilled, her shoulders stiff. Johnny is not an ace when it comes to psychological games but when she turned to look at him again, he knew for sure that her eyes were honest despite being devoid of emotions.

That made him stop. Before he knew it, he was speaking again to ask the one question that he’s been trying to answer ever since they met at Anarchy.

“Why did you save me? Back in the club. I was standing directly above your bomb.”

For a while, she didn’t answer. Johnny thought he saw a flicker of emotion pass through her eyes, but it was gone before he could process it.

“I wonder why too.”

The door closed behind her, leaving him alone in the shadowed room.

----

Chapter 11

Tag list: @hen-marks99, @negincho, @nctisthecity

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asongaboutpirates · 4 years

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Rough Geraskier draft

Anyone want to make a proper fic out of it? It popped into my head this morning and I really like it, but I’ll never have the time to actually write it... *sigh*

Hurt/comfort Abuse tw

Jaskier and Geralt are on their way to some backwater where Geralt expects easy money. Some Sylvan is on the loose and the villagers are desperate to get rid of it, so they offer a reward for killing it. Jaskier really doesn’t want to go, but refuses to explain why. Geralt, of course, goes in spite of it and the bard gloomily follows.

They arrive late at night and manage to find a place at an inn. Geralt already senses that the villagers aren’t too friendly towards him, but he’s used to that. Jaskier goes unusually quiet, but the witcher doesn’t ask why. Honestly, he enjoys the silence.

Geralt starts his hunt early the next morning, leaving Jaskier, who is still asleep, behind.

When he comes back to the tavern in the evening, he bangs the Sylvan’s head on a table.

“I heard you were paying gold for a Sylvan’s head.”

Everyone eyes him suspiciously. It’s weird. Usually, at this point, Jaskier has them all twisted around his little finger. It has been a long time since Geralt has come back from a hunt to such open hostility. The bard is nowhere to be found.

“There’s another one.” The barkeeper is the one who breaks the silence

“Hm?”

“Another Sylvan. There’s two of them. There’s no money until we got both their heads, witcher.”

Geralt’s jaw clenches. Sure, Sylvans are an easy kill, but a bitch to find, and he didn’t plan on spending that much time in a village like this. Unfortunately, he devoted the whole fucking day to crawling through thickets, so he’s too tired to cause any trouble or even to argue his case. The villagers glare at him, all of them, so he nods, grabs the head and takes it upstairs to their room.

It’s dark in there, but Geralt’s eyes can easily pick out Jaskier who is sitting at the window and staring out in the night.

“You’re back.”

“Hm.”

The bard gets up and heads for the door, face turned away from Geralt. “I’ll run you a bath.”

Something is wrong, Geralt can almost smell it. It’s not like Jaskier at all to sit around in the dark instead of entertaining an audience, even if these villagers seem a hostile bunch. He reaches out his arm as Jaskier tries to weasel past him through the door and stops him.

“I’m good.”

Jaskier takes a step back, his face still turned away from Geralt, hidden in the shadows. “Well, you don’t smell good.”

His voice misses its spark. Geralt reaches for a lamp and turns the little wheel. A tiny spark explodes to lighten the wick and soft light floods the room. Jaskier wants to retreat to the shadows, but Geralt catches his shoulder and turns him toward him. Very gently cups he his companion’s chin to tilt his face into the light. His jaw clenches. There are cuts on Jaskier’s cheeks and upper lip. His nose is crooked. The bards’s eyes meet Geralt’s, then he lowers his gaze in shame.

The witcher keeps his chin cupped tenderly between his fingers. When he finally speaks, his voice oozes with suppressed anger. “Who did this to you?”

Jaskier doesn’t answer.

“Look at me. Look at me!” The bard slowly raises his gaze again and Geralt’s eyes search his. “Who?”

Jaskier breaks away and walks toward the window, turning his back on the witcher. “This is not your fight, Geralt. Leave it alone.”

Geralt doesn’t answer. Instead he takes of his gloves and his armour and puts away his weapons. Then he rolls up his sleeves and dips a piece of cloth into their washing bowl and walks over to Jaskier. Again, he takes his chin and tilts his face toward him. Jaskier half-heartedly tries to break away, but Geralt won’t let him. Ever so gently he washes the blood away from the cuts and from his nose. The bard watches his face, while Geralt concentrates on being careful, on not hurting his bard any further. Finally he pulls out a tiny silver box. Jaskier backs away.

“That is yours. It was expensive.”

Geralt doesn’t answer. He dips a finger into the salve inside the box that they purchased from a mage some weeks back. It is supposed to make wounds heal faster, but Jaskier always wondered if they might have been fooled. Anyway, it feels nice, the way Geralt gingerly spreads it on his broken skin. His hands are rough, calloused, but they are warm and they move as if they are handling a raw egg.

Much too soon the witcher packs away the box and takes a step back. But his golden eyes are still on Jaskier, searching for an answer. “Fucked the wrong woman again?”

The bard shakes his head but remains silent. It’s rare and it’s weird but Geralt is out of his depth. He doesn’t know how to handle a quiet Jaskier. So he watches helplessly as the bard nods his thanks, scrambles over to one of the beds and slides under the covers. His movements seem painful. He must have been hurt where Geralt can’t see it.

He hurries downstairs. The tavern is nearly empty now and the barkeeper seems bored. Geralt gets as close to him as the counter top between them will allow.

“Who beat up the bard?”, he growls.

The barkeeper shrugs his shoulders. “Not my business.”

Geralt clenches his fists, but decides not to try to beat it out of the cunt. Instead he reaches for a coin in his pocket and slams it onto the counter top. “Who?”

The barkeeper snivels and takes the coin. “Someone who has every right to do so. His father. Honestly, the queer little rat had it coming. You don’t abandon family and go off gallivanting into the world like that, you don’t. Coming back with a witcher no less.” He spits out in disgust.

It takes every ounce of self control for Geralt not to pack a punch. It wouldn’t help. He needs to finish the hunt, he needs to pocket the money and he needs to find the one who is responsible. Jaskier’s father.

In all their years together he never thought to ask the bard where he came from, how he had lived before it all. He always figured that every person’s story only belonged to themselves. But now… He goes back upstairs and finds Jaskier asleep. He lies down in the other bed, but he doesn’t sleep a wink.

In the morning, he wakes the bard grumpily.

“Get up.”

Jaskier blinks. “What?” His brain is still asleep. “What is happening?”

Geralt throws his satchel at him. “Get up. Hunt.”

It still takes a few second’s for Jaskier to process. “You want me to come?”

“Hm.”

“You never want me to come. You go to great lengths to not have me with you when you hunt.”

Geralt pauses his preparations for a second. “I’m not leaving you here.” He resumes his activities and actually leaves Jaskier speechless.

The bard still walks with a limp, but he follows Geralt down the stairs and to the stable, where Roach is waiting for them. The witcher looks at Jaskier and nods at the horse.

His companion is confused. “Geralt, please, use your words, because I could swear you just asked me to mount Roach.”

“Hm.”

“You… what now?”

“You can’t walk.”

“Are you sure about this? Absolutely sure? You never let me ride her, I…”

“Still wondering why I’m not overly fond of taking you on hunts?”

Jaskier complies, climbs into the saddle and Geralt gets up behind him. It feels unusual at first to be so close, to feel the witcher’s breath in his neck, to feel his arms around him as they take the reins. But it’s nice. It’s warm and safe and that is something Jaskier hasn’t felt since they arrived in this blasted village.

They ride in silence for a while. Geralt is fidgeting with the reins. He can face Strigas and Dragons and all that but what he is about to do now…

“So…” He clears his throat once, twice. “Your father.”

Jaskier closes his eyes. Of course he found out. Of course he did. “Son of a bitch”, he replies more nonchalantly than he feels. “End of story.”

“Hm.”

“He… I…” It’s not something that happens often, but Jaskier doesn’t seem to find the words. It takes him longer than usual to assemble them in a way that makes sense. It helps not having to look at Geralt. “I grew up here, but I never quite fit in. My mother died when I was seven. My older brother died, when I was twelve. It hit my father hard, but honestly, he always was an unfeeling bastard. And I… well, I never fit in. Always too flamboyant, always too loud, always too clever. And my old man, he… he thought that he could beat it out of me. I hoped he might have died in the meantime or that I could face him differently now at least, but… Well.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say.

They ride to find the Sylvan, which turns out to be the other Sylvan’s son and just as mean. Geralt kills it and Jaskier looks at it’s body with pity. “It was bound to become like it’s father, was it?”

“It was not”, Geralt insists. “It made it’s own choices. And so can you.”

Back at the village they are confronted by Jaskier’s father. Geralt moves to protect the bard, but he fends for himself and tells his old man off. They cash in the second Sylvan’s head and get on their way, Jaskier on Roach, Geralt on foot this time.

They make camp, Geralt lights a fire, but it still gets cold, so they huddle closer than they normally would. Geralt gently checks on Jaskier’s wounds. He apologizes. He feels like he caused all of this, but the bard assures him that he’s not to blame. Finally, Geralt leans in and kisses him tenderly on the mouth.

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fic #'tw:abuse

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aj-the-psycho · 5 years

Text

The Band of Rotten: Chapter 1

THE GENTLEMAN THIEF

Summary: A thief is spotted in London

TW: none

Ao3 Link

England, 1860

His thin shoes splashed through the muddy, crowded market of London. He quickened his run as he heard loud crashing following his footsteps. He made sure to maintain a strong grip at the satchel slung over his shoulders. The small street ahead was blocked by people and their cursed boxes of withered produce. He managed to jump over three crates of apples, snatching a fruit while doing so. He could hear the men chasing him getting closer, and that was when he found an opening; a narrow alleyway blocked by street vendors. He could slip through easily without anyone noticing.

He moved in an erratic pattern. To the left. Left again. To the right. Jump over. Left again. He tried to confuse his pursuers, and it seemed to be working. His slim figure slipped into the alleyway, running all the way to the back to find a dead end. He took a bite of the apple. It was a little sour, but it had to be good enough. Besides, it was his first bite of food in four days. He dug through the stolen satchel, trying to find any food or money. A few coins and a piece of stale bread—not the best, but not the worst he'd ever had either.

He crouched down, leaning against a wall. He hoped no one was going to find him in here. After his brief meal, he dug through the satchel again trying to find anything else that could be of use to him. He only found empty air. Turning his head to peek through the mouth of the alley, he saw his pursuers running past the alleyway, missing his hunched figure hiding in the shadow. Feeling that he was away from danger at the moment, he slumped against the wall behind him, breathing a sigh of relief—at least for now.

He pressed himself closer to the wall, folding his knees against his chest and resting his chin on them. His bony arms circled around to hug around his legs. He dared himself to close his eyes and for a second, he could relax and feel the blow of the humid air around him, the sound of the crowded market bustling with life and the muddy ground beneath him. He heard a sudden clang, making him jump away. His eyes blew open only to find a grey rat staring at him with a seemingly bewildered expression. It let out a squeak, moving its dirty pink tail slightly. He swatted his hand, so the rat scurried down the tiny sewer drain at one corner of the ground.

He must have stayed there for hours, since the next thing he realized was the street along the market had started to empty. The vendors had packed their items and walk away to their families. Ah yes, families. Virgil didn't know if he ever wanted a family. Clearly, no one wanted him otherwise he would not have end up scavenging and thieving to stay alive. Thrown away as an infant, Virgil knew deep down in his heart that something was perhaps wrong with him. He shook the thought away, finally noticing the chilly bite of the approaching nightfall. He stood slowly, unfolding his aching joints and walking out into the streets once more with hesitance. And there, on one side of the street was one of the few tents still open.

Walking over, he leaned against the wooden support of the standing tent, peeking under the heavy canvas cover. He was greeted with a frown from the girl who tends to the vendor, Tessa. Of course, the two had had their fair share of odd "coincidental" meetings. Virgil was familiar with Tessa's short temper, exploding in bursts. Though she seems kind to other customers.

"What do you want, you rascal? If you try anything, I will have Joseph look for you." Tessa fixed him with a stern gaze, squinting her eyes in an unconscious attempt of intimidation.

"Are you serious?" Virgil slyly reached down, fingers caressing a rotund plum. "You do know I have my ways to get away from these things?"

"Ah, of course," Tessa said, swatting Virgil's filthy hand away from her fruits. "I see that fresh bruise on your shoulder is an evidence of getting away with things?"

"This? Oh, don't be absurd, dear Tess. This is merely an accident."

"Don't you ever call me that again or else—"

"Let me guess, or else you will send your precious brother to find me?" Virgil gave her a challenging smirk. "Isn't it nice to have such caring family?"

"As a matter of fact, it is. Unlike you, always alone."

Virgil held his smirk, though it threatened to fall. He moved away from the tent pole, standing next to the girl. He looked down on her sitting figure carefully and his smirk deepened. He made a show of brushing away the remnants of dried mud from his saggy pants and off-white tunic, letting out a casual sigh.

"Well, dear Tess, that's Virgil Shaw for you." Virgil bit a plum which had suddenly appeared in his hand seemingly out of thin air. He smiled innocently at Tessa who stared at him, speechless. "I do hope to see you again tomorrow. Your fruits do give me the highest of joy."

He walked away quickly with a satisfied smirk, biting his plum again. It really was delicious. He tossed the intricately carved pocket watch which he had taken from Tessa's modest purse, testing its weight. You see, after being in the streets for years, stealing and the trick of hands come as a second nature. It becomes something almost as familiar as breathing, walking and living. Because that's what thievery was for Virgil; living. He could take without seeing, trick without thinking.

He moved quietly through the empty market. The lamps by the side of the streets were already lit, the fire dancing along with the wind that blew over it as it tried to force the fire to bow. He passed through a cart of folded coats, ready for tomorrow's sale. Slipping his hand as he walked, he pulled one and hid it under his tunic. His steps carried him to the edge of the city where he finds his safety every night. He found his favorite tree that stood tall among bushes and grass—the perfect cover from the elements of mother nature. He took the coat from under his tunic, admiring its thick material—soft and heavy, framing his shoulders excellently. The hood, lined with thin velvet, was perfect to conceal himself.

He climbed the tree with ease, steeping on branch by branch until he reached a comfortable height. He leaned back against the rough trunk, fingers feeling the texture of the bark which brought him much comfort. He pulled the hood of the coat up, hiding his face altogether. It had been a while since he had clean clothes. His old tunic had smelled as rotten as a dead fish and its thin, sack-like material had tear at the seams here and there. The coat was a big help in warding off the cold.

His thoughts wandered off a continent over. What would it be like if he had a different fate? He pushed his head back against the trunk, looking at the evening sky through the cracks between the thick foliages of leaves.

"How would that be like?" Virgil mumbled to himself, picking at the dirt under his nails. "What would a good life look like? Oh, I will have enough food for myself, perhaps even a roof to live under. A mere hut would be enough for me."

He remembered being in the orphanage. There were children his age there, too. They didn't seem to want to even try approaching him as if he was a disease. He tried, he really did, but they didn't want any of it. He didn't know his own last name, so he gave one to himself; a name taken from a tombstone he once saw as a child at the graveyard near the orphanage. He couldn't help but think how absurd it all seems that even his name was stolen.

In the orphanage, life was not easy, as odd as that sounds. There was a gang of children dominating the place, led by a seven-year-old boy, Huw Davies. Virgil remember himself being a frightened five-year-old cornered into a wall as the other children kick and punch and kick and punch. Mrs. Brookes, the lady who owned the orphanage, always came to help him. She was the only person who treated him kindly as if he was her own son. He had thought he might even loved her. She always knew when something was wrong, as if her brain was wired to his. He often asked the kind lady if she knew what happened to his parents or why he was left alone. Mrs. Brookes didn't seem to have an answer, so after asking a million times he stopped.

The memories he had of his childhood were a blur. Some were fractured and distant, as if he was watching the memories instead of reliving them. Though of course, he could still remember all the pain, fear and anguish he felt. He had, of course, tried to forget them and at times it worked. He wouldn't think of any of his old wounds—he wouldn't even think of Mrs. Brookes. But he would always be reminded of his past when he saw something, like a child with a toy or perhaps even men with ropes.

"Hey!"A voice was heard under the tree. Looking down, Virgil saw a man with a dark coat. His eyes were framed with thick glasses and his black hair swept back neatly. He had a leather briefcase in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. "Sir, you up there. I am sorry to interrupt your evening, but I require your assistance."

"Who are you?" Virgil set his back straight, asking the stranger with an accusing tone. "What do you want?"

"I seem to be lost. I am supposed to be at Dower Street. Could you help me find it? This map I have does not seem to help."

Virgil noticed the unfamiliar accent, raising his suspicion. He squinted, trying to get a better look of the man from the height of the tree. A brilliant idea popped into his mind. He made sure he had his knife in the pocket of his pants, carefully climbing down the tree with as much ease as he did climbing up. He tested his footing on the ground if in any case he had to run and resting his hand on his pocket, tracing over the outline of his knife.

"Help you with what?"

"I'm lost. I do not know how to navigate around the city."

"Huh," Virgil huffed, pretending to take a look of the stranger's map. "Newcomer, huh? Erm—welcome to Britain. I assume it's your first time here?"

"Yes. I came for study."

"Let's see... you want to go straight ahead on this street—" Virgil pointed at the street nearest to them— "and take a right turn by the intersection. You should arrive at Blake Street. Turn left next to a shoemaker's shop called Louis' Shine."

"Thank you very much. That was very helpful."

"Oh, and a word of advice, mate."

"Yes?"

With a smirk, Virgil winked at the stranger with feet ready to dash. "Watch out for thieves."

A second later, the stranger was chasing him down the street. Really, he was following his briefcase more than following the thief, but catching the thief would certainly help. Virgil dashed through the vacant streets, swerving through a huddle of children still playing and running outside. He toppled over a drum of wine in the hopes of distracting the stranger, causing its owner to shout at him as he passed. He continued running deeper into the city with the stranger at his heels. This seemed to have been a mistake as he saw what was waiting for him up ahead.

Prologue Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9

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jettpacks · 5 years

Text

Nat Wolff + male + he/him + blood manipulation┊ ❛ ━ hey, is it just me or do you hear My Petersburg by Derek Klena playing in the distance ? oh, that’s just Jett Hawkins, a 23 year old conman. according to my sources, i heard he can be true neutral and is cunning, but also detached. that’s probably why they remind everyone of worn out sneakers, cheap halloween masks and callous hands so much ! anyway, whether or not they’re neutral towards the supers, crystalline city is keeping a close eye on them !

DEATH TW, MURDER TW, BLOOD TW.

Downtown. It is late at night in the low sides of the city (another city) and blinking neon signs can be read from afar on a brick wall: PSYCHIC. LOVE POTIONS. PALM READING. RECIPE FOR SUCCESS.

A black slick Mercedes parks at the front and four men get out. Three of them are brutes, most likely they don’t even know how to count. Then, another man, slightly older, but very well dressed and he shamelessly shows off a bunch of golden rings around his fingers.

A woman inside, sitting on a velvet red chair immediately recognizes the visitors and shoves her kid under a trap door. UH-OH, this is isn’t good. HE DOESN’T OBEY, he is worried about his mother and as soon as he gets out, the massacre start; his mother tries to shield him and he remembers seeing blood drops flying around and then he screamed and a hit on the head left him unconscious. Jett wakes up and two men PLUS HIS MOTHER are on the floor dead, completely drained of blood and staining the walls of the shop permanently. HE... HE KILLED THEM, DIDN’T HE? The boy was only SEVEN.

Nobody wants to be responsible of lil’Jett , there were no other family members known and everybody played deaf and blind to what happened that night; so good boy goes into the system.

Cliché story: foster homes suck, he is the little and weak one, he gets pushed around; naturally he is not gonna make it because of his strength, so Jethro starts TRAINING HIS MIND INSTEAD. He becomes very observant, his thin frame helps him be quick and sly when he needs to and he discovers a particular affection towards poker cards when his caretaker and his friends fall asleep drunk mid-game. The kid sneaks into the kitchen to get some milk and to his foot stuck a Joker card, which he immediately adored.

The card became his token and little by little, snatching coins from under the couch and behind the fridge, Jett managed to buy his first deck of cards; of course they were old and a second-hand acquisition, but it was the first thing ever he got with his own money and OH BOY, he was excited.

Taking little trips very early when the caretaker was still asleep, Jett got the newspaper’s seller trust to take a peek at the Magic Corner, a magazine about basic magic tricks for kids and of course, he devoured all that had to do with cards and coins.

Time goes by and Jett is fourteen, he is tired of living under an iron fist and so, he packed his few things and left the house and the city to never go back. NOTHING AWAITED FOR HIM IN THERE AFTER ALL.

At first, he thought of heading towards Europe, an obvious choice for anybody who wanted to become a master of magic, but some bad decisions here and there caused him to run away to Crystalline City instead.

PERSONALITY & PRESENT

While Jett really enjoyed magic and overall, tricking people, his biggest passion was SURVIVING. Sometimes being a conman wasn’t enough, specially with all the competition around the city, so sometimes, he would have to end up doing some side-jobs like working on delivery ( of illegal stuff of course ) or sneaking in to make a little robbery for someone else. None of this made him proud, even though he always talks loud about his thief abilities.

Y’know, rough past and cynical attitude. Jett didn’t really know kindness through his life and it shows. He doesn’t trust easily and won’t do anything that doesn’t benefit him in some way. A True Neutral at heart.

Sleeping in shelters, couches or alleys, the boy is always on the look for his next gold and the next place he will use as temporary room. He hates feeling like a charity case and so, will rarely accept anything if he didn’t work for it or gained it in a bet.

Long ago, when his mother was still alive, he heard her talk through the phone about him “having the genes” , whatever that meant is still unknown to Jett , but he REALLY hopes is not an illness or something like that.

He is very observant, able to use the deductive method to read you up and down; is this result of his brains? His years facing the streets? Is he actually a psychic unlike his mother? Nobody knows, not even him, but THANKS GOD his good instincts, because that is what has kept him alive all these years. I’d say it is idiot’s luck.

Comrade of everyone and friend of no one, he travels so much that he hasn’t ever really bonded with someone and he says he doesn’t need it, attachments mean weaknesses and he ain’t up for having them.

He tends to accidentally guess stuff about people and to use humor as coping mechanism because he doesn’t allow himself to let the others see him hurt.

At this point he doesn’t really have an objective in life, just the day-by-day life.

His biggest phobia is BLOOD. He can’t see it, smell it or feel it. He can even faint upon the sight of it because it recalls THE tragic event of his life.

He is a good kid, but always prone to cause some trouble if possible AND IF REWARDED.

He can do some America’s Got Talent card shit, but just not AS GOOD, otherwise he’d be famous and rich amirite?? But he’s in the process of learning. He can steal your wallet and watch without you noticing, though.

Doesn’t have a phone, but the largest park during the mornings is a good place to find him, otherwise, he can be pretty much anywhere, most likely running away from something.

Recently he just escaped from the Dove prison and is pretty paranoid, scared and alone.

HE MISSES HIS MOM. Lowkey hates happy families.

Idk there’s a lot and I could go on forever, so next thing!

POWERS

Blood manipulation. He is not keen with it. While his mother tried to train him into it, he never had much of a chance to do something about it and after the horrible experience, he just decided to shut it down for good. His power exploded sometimes in moments of absolute fright or anger, causing his targets to get VERY low pressure or their blood to boil, things like that. Unknowingly to him, he has been using his power on himself to have a better resistance when running or doing parkour. HE HAS WOKEN UP COVERED IN BLOOD MORE THAN ONCE and he doesn’t know why (possible connection right here!) and the situation terrifies him. While under a calm mood he cannot control anything bigger than a rat, let’s see what happens when he gets upset!

PLOTS / CONNECTIONS ( warning, I suck at these )

Friends. He has never had them, it’s time for a change.

The Royal and the Commoner. I am a sucker for opposites. This can be either romantic or platonic!

People he has / is / will work for. Can either be shady stuff or an actual honest job! ( consider he officially just finished middle school, but is very very street smart and actually can be wise?? Has done research on his own about stuff he is interested about )

Mentors. Teaching them to do bad things? To do good things?

Bad influence and good influence. Self-explaining.

Someone that has been using him for his power??

He likes hanging out in the universities and even sneaking into giant classes to pass the time even though he hardly understands a thing.

Let’s brainstorm!

#gloryhqs.intro #violence tw #blood tw #murder tw #death tw

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