#specific killing that he's being targeted for until it's spelled out for him). it's a darker and brutal episode which hammers home the

[chaoticbardlady99]

Lethal Woman- Chapter 6 (GN! AFAB! Reader x Astarion) 18+ MDNI

Author note- work has kicked my ass left right and center. I also deleted my draft of this chapter like three separate times until I finally wrote something I loved.

CW- mentions of still birth, mentions of miscarriage, smut, fluff (I think? Any emotional intimacy is fluff to me 💀), mentions of torture, mentions of rape/sexual assault, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, violence. (I think that may be all? Also this all looks not awesome, but I promise it’s a lot more awesome than you think and not Uber grotesque.)

It’s been mostly edited and I definitely have chapter 7 basically done so I’m anticipating being happy with my draft by Sunday. Happy reading! Thank you for everyone who likes my little self indulgent angst fic!!!!

Also- please remember I take creative liberties. A good chunk of the Nightmasks are dead canonically (RIP my guys) but for the purpose of this story, they are alive. Oh and the names are hard so forgive me for the lack of consistent spelling lmao

Chapter 7

“Ugly, wretched little thing.”

Dahlia’s term of endearment sticks to your brain like- well- an illithid parasite. You are sitting with Karlach and Shadowheart, each of you on your fourth glass of whatever alcohol you could find as the Tieflings jovially celebrate around you. You want to feel the same warmth and happiness everyone else does, but you are too busy trying to ignore the fact that Alfira and Astarion have been talking since the beginning of the party- Alfira immediately walking up to him with her stupid, beautiful face. And her stupid kind heart and pretty voice.

You liked her enough to be her friend, but now? You are struggling not to haul her off by her horns and kick her into the river in the stinking Owlbear den.

Get yourself together Rowan, it was never going to happen anyway.

“Soldier, you might want to stop burning a hole through the Bard with your eyes- Astarion can’t tolerate fire remember?,” Karlach jests and you give her a sour look.

You hadn’t really talked to Astarion since earlier in the day when he had come to your aid when Priestess Gut had a firm grip on your mind, then he fought by your side while you freed Halsin. You had split up after that, him going to help Shadowheart and Karlach and you off to support Wyll and Gale’s group. The fight against Dror Ragozlin and his crew of misfits was easy and Lae’zel evidently enjoyed getting to fight next to you for once. You wanted to enjoy the moment with your companions, your victory just in your grasp, but you had been somewhat distracted during the battle because Minthara’s thoughts had been so Gods damn loud.

You appeared to be the only one experiencing this problem- you assumed that she is specifically targeting you for a reason, but you couldn’t figure out why until she showed you a different image than the fight in front of her.

It was you, standing over a drow female in Menzoberranzan. The alley way is dark with her blood dripping into the cobblestone. You could feel Minthara’s rage- you had killed her lover.

You remember that contract now- It was one of the few you had received where it was required that the target be mutilated and you hated every second of it. Minthara was one of the few people who had ever managed to almost catch you, but you had evaded her successfully. The picture changed, she showed you a flash from Shadowheart’s perspective- it’s you and Astarion, talking in hushed voices and close to each other by the fire. The scene is far more intimate than you realized and certainly incriminating. Her voice boomed in your head.

You killed my lover. Now I’m going to kill yours.

A scream pierced the air as Karlach cried out for Shadowheart. You watched in horror as Shadowheart hit the stone wall hard and dropped flat on her face- unmoving. Karlach was at her side within seconds, trying to get her to wake up. Then Karlach pitched forward after a spell hit her. Karlach was screaming in terror at the top of her lungs and rolling around in pain. You stared at the scene for what felt like hours- rigid and mortified- until Minthara caught your attention again.

Minthara showed Astarion- fighting for his life against her as her blade nicked him and cut him superficially. Thankfully he is a lot faster than her, but your feet were moving before your brain had time to process your actions. Your rage is all consuming- every part of your body feels like it’s on fire.

Between the use of Ghost Step and Spider Crawl, you made quick work of sneaking into the battlefield. You waited for an opening- Minthara and Astarion were neck and neck, blow for blow before Minthara managed to break one of his daggers and slam the hilt of her longsword atop of his head.

Astarion stumbled backwards and fell over on his side. You tried to suppress your own nausea as you watched him struggle to get up as Minthara began menacingly moving towards him. The bloodlust in her thoughts- you could taste it on your tongue. Vengeance is in her reach, but you are not the same you when Tessa died. You will be damned if this bitch of a woman was going to torture two of your closest friends and kill the one person who has made your barely beating, locked away heart a little less heavy to carry.

You cast Evard’s Black Tentacles and manipulated them so that one vine grabbed Minthara’s right hand and ripped it away from the left- her long sword fell to the ground. You picked it up as she screamed profanities at you.

You manipulated another to wrap around her throat and it pulled her down on her knees- she faced the bridge with horror on her face as you stalked towards her with your vampiric stare. You watched as she confronted her own mortality with angry tears- her tadpole hurled profanities at you in Elvish, Drow elvish, and Common. You just smiled at her, sweetly, slowly, like you had perfected for years now.

Minthara’s tears were running down her face and she fought against the tentacles as they squeezed tighter around her throat and wrists.

The next words you had spoken in Elvish- “Say hi to your lover for me”- before you cut her head clean off her shoulders with her own weapon.

You hadn’t looked at Astarion after you had killed Minthara- you were actually too afraid to see the way he may look at you. Would he be repulsed by you? Afraid? You didn’t want to know.

So now, instead, you are stuck watching him flirt with the feminine, beautiful tiefling that you want to go and feed to the resurrected harpies (they aren’t resurrected- yet). You know it isn’t her fault- you just never stood a chance.

“Roo, really, he is barely focusing on her,” Shadowheart says with a roll of her eyes, “he keeps looking over here at you anyway.”

“Oh I’m sure he is after I brutally murdered someone in front of him,” you cross your arms, your tone laced in venom, “yeah that’s a real attractive quality to have- I am capable of brutal MURDER.”

Shadowheart goes to protest, but Karlach beats her to it.

“I don’t know Soldier, he looked pretty dazzled to me.”

You bust up laughing, choking on some of your wine.

“Dazzled, you say?”

“Razzle DAZZLED!” Karlach offers big explosive hands with her statement, “and I mean- he’s into blood so it’s not like you beheading something is all that damning. Maybe he’s really into it.”.

You choke on your wine again, this time it comes out of your nose. You are both dying laughing now, evidently the alcohol had gotten to your heads. It wasn’t because you were making fun of him- it was just the whole idea itself was so ridiculous and the fact that you can nonchalantly talk about beheading a person as an endearing prospect with these two individuals is so bizarre. Shadowheart was laughing despite herself.

Eventually the three of you make your way to the firepit and join Halsin and Gale while they smoke something out of Halsin’s pipe. You ask to try it and it burns your throat as you cough harshly. Halsin laughs hardily and says you’ve passed initiation. Shit, you don’t even remember walking over to the campfire anymore.

Another hour or so passes, Astarion is out of sight and the high has worn off. You feel pleased to see Alfira standing and talking to her friend dejectedly. Maybe he rejected her? You might be a terrible person, but you feel like you already knew that.

You feel overwhelmed all of a sudden by the proximity and warmth of everyone around the fire. You wait for the right moment to remove yourself from the situation- desperately needing a moment of peace and quiet.

If anyone notices you get up, they don’t say anything. You quickly steal another bottle of wine from beside Gale and Halsin and sneak off into the woods.

You crack open the bottle and slowly sip on it as you meander through the woods, finding the secret path to the beach that you have come to adore so much. You had been eyeballing one specific cliff edge ever since you and Astarion had found this place. It wasn’t a massive cliff, but the pool at the bottom of it is deep enough for you to jump into the water without injury. It was something your father used to do with you when you were a child. There was a river that ran outside of your little town and as you moved further into the woods, you could find a waterfall with a deep pool at the bottom. He would teach you flips and different jumps. He had deemed you the world’s finest diver right before he died- cheering you on from the ground below.

You feel warm and melancholy from the memory. Gods you miss your parents.

You drop the bottle of wine and strip down to your underwear and make your way towards the top of the waterfall.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion had finally managed to get Alfira to leave him alone. She is an adorable little creature, but she is not the one on his radar right now. Adorable does not compare to the vision you are- nor the protection you provide.

Astarion had spent the last painstaking hour and a half watching you laugh with quite literally every person in camp who has a crush on you- Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale, and even Halsin is fucking smitten now. Gods could you just stop being yourself for five minutes? Astarion needs (and silently wants) your attention to only be on him. It is absolutely crucial to his survival. Speaking of which, where the hells were you?

You were no longer by the fire where he had last seen you before he snuck into Gale’s tent to steal one of the nicer bottles of wine he hoards away from everyone. Astarion had planned on using your shared connection to ask you to meet him at your spot, but now you are nowhere to be found.

Astarion fights the urge to scream out of frustration as he treks through the woods towards the spot on the beach hoping by some miracle that you may already be there.

Astarion stops as your scent hits his nose. He walks around the corner of the rock that you both use as a landmark and freezes when he notices your clothes are sprawled across the ground and a bottle of wine is a third of the way empty. He tries to ignore the ache that is starting to consume his chest. Did you bring someone else here? Shadowheart maybe? You were sitting rather close to her earlier…

Did his three days of stubbornness really just allow you to fall into someone else’s arms?

Astarion’s sinking feeling gets worse when something flashes out of the corner of his eye.

He sneaks around the corner- reminding himself that he is merely just making sure Shadowheart isn’t being… Shadowheart?

Imagine his shock when Astarion doesn’t see Shadowheart at all. Instead, he witnesses you complete a perfect aerial twist before graciously diving into the waves below. He feels completely frozen until you break the water and laugh wildly. Astarion thinks his own heart might start beating from his chest being filled with the sound.

You jump out of the water and race back up to the top of the rock using Spider Crawl- something you had promised to teach him when you found out Cazador had never actually made him privy to the entirety of his capabilities as a spawn.

Astarion grins as he watches you once again go flying into the air, doing a backflip before straightening out, disappearing once again into the water below.

You break the surface and get back onto the shore. You pretend to bow and wave saying “thank you” and “I’ll be here all week.” It’s silly and he’s enjoying every minute of watching you just be yourself.

Astarion knows you aren’t a serious person, not really, but you pretending to bow for an imaginary crowd of adoring fans in a (not) private moment? It feels authentic to your silliness- not just when you and Karlach are joking together.

You are funny, kind, and entirely too cunning- despite what he said three days ago. Your prowess in combat is second to none and you speak a couple different languages- infernal being one of them when he noticed you and Karlach speaking it back and forth like it was also your native tongue.

Elvish is the other one and he only knew that from overhearing what you said to Minthara while he was too busy experiencing shell shock from how quickly you had gotten over to him. Oh and the hit to the head didn’t help either.

Astarion’s thoughts are interrupted when you make eye contact with him and freeze.

You look down at your semi-exposed figure and then up at him.

Astarion flashes you a flirtatious grin and sweeps his eyes up and down your body as you look at him. You are a work of art and the blush that creeps up your neck is an added bonus.

The scars on your body are numerous and varying in degrees of severity. It doesn’t make you any less attractive to him or revolts him by any means; It makes you more real if anything.

“Well hello there, beautiful,” Astarion says melodically as you walk over, “I was hoping I might run into you here.”

“Oh is that so?” you say and put your hands on your hips, teasing him “and to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Astarion smiles widely at you. He holds up the bottle of wine.

“I was hoping I may be able to drink with my most favorite companion at camp,” he looks at you with a sly grin, “but I didn’t think I’d be getting a show. You are delightfully talented in multiple faucets, Darling.”

You smile shyly at him while adorably scrunching your nose.

As you bend down to grab your shirt, you look at your bottle and scratch the back of your head awkwardly.

“I might need to apologize considering I already started without you.”

Not telling me to piss off so that’s an optimistic start.

“Hm,” Astarion hums, cracking open his bottle and taking a drink, “I’ll allow it this once. I suppose I do owe you for my… words the other day.”

“I’ll forgive you,” you say with a mischievous grin, “but for a price.”

“Oh?” Astarion purrs, “and what is your price, my dear.”

“I demand at least half of your spoils in loot.” you say with flourish and over exaggeration- you aren’t even remotely serious.

“No, no, no, “he emphasizes, his finger waving around in the air, “Never. Going. To. Happen.”

“Ugh fine, I guess I’ll just have to accept that you saved my life earlier.”

“I still think you are ahead on that front, but who’s counting really?”

“Definitely not me,” you say and cough a number under your breath.

Astarion playfully glares at you and you giggle in response.

You close the gap between the two of you and gently grab his hand, pulling him to sit down next to you at the edge of the water. Astarion pushes down the giddy feeling that arises- hoping you didn’t notice he flinched when you first went to grab his hand.

You look at Astarion and then your clasped hands- you definitely noticed.

You begin to pull away and he feels his body protest, grabbing your hand back and interlocking them again. Astarion drinks out of his wine, refusing to look at you- this is entirely too intimate. Entirely too much like the lovers he used to hate and envy in Baldur’s Gate, but he can’t bring himself to let go or stop the slight smile that creeps on his lips.

You drink out of your bottle of wine and put your feet in the water. Astarion glances at you and notes the growing grin. He feels a twinge of guilt when he thinks about his plan and how fragile your heart probably is. Astarion pushes it away. Astarion needs his plan to work and so far, it’s working.

The space between the two of you is silent- nothing but the ocean waves roaring in his ears. It’s not uncomfortable, but Astarion doesn’t necessarily know where to start. He wants to begin the process of seducing you, but he’s also unsure of how well that would play out- considering what he’s seen thus far in your memories.

“My dad taught me how to cliff dive,” you say in a melancholic voice, interrupting his thoughts “we would go all the time over the Summer when we lived outside of Daggerford.”

“I was wondering how you had managed to pull off such an impressive feat.”

You guffaw at him and then pout with a glint of humor in your eye. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Fine Darling,” he muses, “I suppose you are rather impressive in all facets.”

Your face is practically burning with his compliment. Astarion has decided he will leave out the bait and let you take it. If you give him any signal or specifically say “I want to have sex” then Astarion will pleasure you and you will see how useful he can be in return for all of your gifts- your blood, your protection.

Your company.

Whatever feelings Astarion felt over the last three days- he never wants to feel again. You have been the one and only person to be kind to him, protect him in 200 years. You treat him with respect and like a friend- not the monster he absolutely is and that you should hate him for being. It had been a very lonely three days without your company-besides, no one else is nearly as fun to converse with. Astarion hears the whisper of a previous conversation in the back of his mind.

“So what does boar taste like?”

“I don’t really have much of a reference, but better than rats and flies,” he scowled.

“Gods, how filthy was that palace?” you murmured under your breath.

Your comment had caught him off guard and he couldn’t help but bark out laughing. You had felt horrible for it- you thought he wouldn’t be able to hear you. In your defense, you had spoken very quietly. Astarion assured you that he found your observation quite peculiar and hilarious.

Astarion likes that you point out the small things and allow him to decide how much of the larger things he wants to tell you. You never push him and Astarion isn’t used to it, but he knows he never wants it to go away- to be treated any other way ever again.

“What else did your father teach you?” Astarion asks softly.

You smile, “My father followed Ilmater. He was a ranger. He dedicated his life to helping others.”

A daughter of Ilmater worshippers turned into a half-dead creature who is forced to kill by an evil vampire, Astarion thinks, I guess even the Gods have a sense of humor.

“What happened to him?”

The pause is pregnant and loud. Astarion notices the single tear that manages to escape your eyes. You clear your throat.

“He’s dead,” you whisper, “a group of Ravagers destroyed our village. They didn’t like that it was a mix of humans and Drows escaping from Lolth- and they especially hated us ‘filthy half breeds’. Made the women and the children watch as they beheaded their fathers and husbands.”

Astarion doesn’t know what to say to something that horrific. He just merely looks at you- waiting for you to continue speaking.

“He just kept telling my mom and I how much he loved us. How he’d always be protecting us,” you manage to choke out, “I can’t even tell you how many times I have prayed to Ilmater for help- only to be reminded how alone I am and that, despite being the God of Compassion, Ilmater doesn’t care.”

Astarion knows that feeling all too intimately, but he wants to hear more.

“How old were you? What happened to you and your mother?”

You are looking at him wearily now, so he gives your hand a squeeze.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to Darling.”

“I want to, I’ve just never talked about it before.”

“Well then,” he states in a flattered tone, “I’m honored to potentially be the first and only keeper of your deep, dark secrets.”

You laugh breathily while you roll your eyes at him. The smile on your face is replaced by an unreadable expression. You take a deep breath before you turn your gaze back to the ocean.

“I was 5. They sold us to a mine outside of Westgate. It was run by a group of fanatics that I can’t even remember the name of anymore,” you shake your head in disgust, “all I knew was that they were terrible people. They threatened us children to get our mothers to do anything they wanted. One of them raped my mother and ‘blessed’ her with a child.”

Astarion squeezes your hand as he feels you tense. You look at him with your teary, angry eyes and the intensity of your emotions- your grief- are written into every crack and crevice of your face. Astarion notes that you look uncomfortable, but he gives you a soft smile, encouraging you to continue. You take a big swig of your wine- he shortly follows.

“I don’t know what happened, but the baby… didn’t make it and mom developed a blood illness. It was the week before she had planned on breaking us out. I didn’t know she was dying- she told me she was going to be okay. I should have known- She gave me everything for the escape and had explained the plan to me so many times in that week she was dying that I can still recite it to this day.”

You chuckle to yourself before pulling your knees up to your chest.

“I asked them if I could have a funeral for her. They took me outside and made me watch while the pigs ate her. They told me that’s the only funeral a Drow deserves.”

“What a bunch of racist assholes,” he states.

“Oh, they were only the biggest.”

“You escaped a prison by yourself then or?”

“I did. I was 9 years old and probably one of the only people who has ever escaped that mine. I haven’t seen anyone from my village since. I went back to Daggerford one time and it was still decimated- no one ever came back to rebuild it.”

You both sit in the heavy silence. Your thumb begins to absentmindedly rub circles along his thumb- the gesture is simple, but it’s probably the softest touch he’s felt in the last 200 years that was not filled with the anticipation of sex.

“I’ve only ever had one failed escape,” you sigh harshly, “I was going to run away with Tessa because I didn’t want to go through the ceremony to be a Deathbringer, but Dahlia didn’t care what I wanted. She was too busy trying to win Obarhk’s favor.”

“How did you end up with Dahlia then? If you didn’t want to be a Deathbringer?”

You scoff and he sees the resentment behind your eyes.

“I was 13 and had been living on the streets for a while by then. I had my little tent and I had managed to convince one of the local inns to let me clean the rooms,” you scrunched up your nose, “it was gross, but decent work and they fed me once a day; let me use the baths. Sometimes they even gave me extra food and if it was cold out, they’d let me stay in a room if there was one available. I didn’t have to steal food anymore which was nice. I was actually very happy. I was saving my money so I could travel to the Underdark and hire a sword to go with me- to my grandparents- like my mom had told me to do.

“Then one day, a few of the other local boys, also urchins, had watched as I was given a decent amount of gold and a burlap sack of food. They followed me to my tent. I had offered to share and to give them some gold to help, but they didn’t want just some of it- they wanted all of it and all of me too. I thought I was going to die- the fight was brutal and they were so much bigger than I was, but I wasn’t as easy to take down as they had thought.

“Right as they had slammed my head into the pavement, right when I thought it was over- an Ilmater Priestess had appeared out of no where. She had killed them all. She came up to me, was kind to me, promised she would protect me, give me a home, teach me how to be stronger than anything else in the dark while she helps me travel to the Underdark. I was thrilled. I thought Ilmater had finally heard all my prayers. Then she took me outside of the city- I thought we were maybe going to a temple. I was so naive and stupid.”

Your voice breaks and you struggle to compose yourself- taking a shaking breath.

“She changed- the kind Ilmater priestess I had just been following to safety ended up being the Queen of Venom and a Sharran priestess nonetheless,” you spit out with disgust, “Dahlia stripped me of my clothes- she beat me, cut into my skin, threw me around. Dahlia kept telling me how ugly, wretched, small, and weak I was for hours- how she would be the only person to ever love me from now on. Then she chained me down to the floor, unmoving for I don’t even know how long in the dark. I just know when she finally came back, I was on the brink of death. She starved me and refused to give me water until I stopped asking her to leave. I stopped, but then I learnt how much worse it could be. I also began to accept that I would probably never be free again.”

“Are you free now?”

“Barely. A bit over a year ago I was assigned to the Faceless himself.”

“What changed?”

“I won the Deathbringer Tournament and Lady Thistle Thalaver, the fucking consort of all people, said that she wanted me to be assigned as her personal Deathbringer. Thistle made the point that we are close in age and it would make her happy to have someone she can talk to and protect her. News flash- I was more horrified by that than Dahlia. How the fuck does someone who is a literal husk of a person become the prize comfort pet of the Consort that is the reason you were even kidnapped to begin with,” you say, throwing your hands up in frustration, “Dahlia hated her. She was envious of her already and boy, when Thistle asked for me? I thought Dahlia might kill me and Thistle right there if Obarhk hadn’t stepped in.”

“She sounds like a sore loser.”

“ Oh she is, this grudge has lasted a little over a century or three supposedly. I can’t ever seem to get the exact date right, but Dahlia had allowed Obarhk to change her and became one of his Nightmasters because she had hoped to be his Queen and consort,” you shake your head, “it was childish- supposedly. Obarhk was going to go through with it initially, but then Thistle’s father had extensive debts to the guild and offered his only daughter as payment.”

“What a shitty father.”

“Oh the shittiest,” you agree pointedly.

“If she wanted you to help her gain his favor, why did she hide you away?”

“There are rules within the Guild for how recruits are to be treated. Obarhk plays with his cards very close to his chest and he has an absurd amount of political pull. He doesn’t want word getting out that the Nightmasks beat their assassin’s and thieves, but not their Deathbringers- it’s bad for recruitment. Guess they used to do that and damn near went extinct, not everyone is into becoming half-vampire” you shrug, “Dahlia had ‘presented’ me to gain Obarhk’s favor- not his consort’s. She lied and said I sought her out days ago, begging to get a chance to become a Deathbringer. When I was asked if it was true, I said yes, the alternative was whatever hell awaited me later. At least if I didn’t survive the ceremony, I would be laid to rest.

“Except Thistle won. Obarhk may not be particularly loving towards Thistle, but he won’t deny her what she wants if it’s reasonable. I was still under Dahlia, but now if I disappeared for days on end or came back beaten, it was noticed. A year ago, Lucia and Ghost found me bleeding out in a street with Dahlia over me- it was the first time she had done serious harm to me since the ceremony and the first time she was caught,” he watches you smile despite yourself, “Thistle wanted her to be tortured for what she had done- for creating the infamous ‘Hollow Deathbringer’ as I was called when I first started, but Obarhk doesn’t interfere with religious affairs and Dahlia claimed it was for her Sharran worship. So the solution was that I would report directly to him, Phultan, Lucia, and Lady Thalaver only. If Dahlia attempts to hurt me again, I am allowed to end her life and if I attempt to attack Dahlia, she is allowed to end my life. She isn’t allowed to send her assassin’s after me either or there will be consequences. That’s the same day I found out Dahlia had been lying to me- she is Obarhk’s spawn, not a Master Vampire. She never would have been able to get away with half of her threats if I had known, but I’m sure that’s partly why she isolated me from the Guild until I was old enough and skilled enough to compete.

“We’ve been in a very strange stalemate over the last year. Unable to find each other, but I don’t even know if I could kill her anyway. At least, not by myself.”

It was a lot to take in at one time. Your entire world is so heavily influenced by vampiric beings- no wonder you were so nonchalant about him being a spawn and him feeding from you.

Astarion will admit though, he isn’t necessarily thrilled to find out another sociopathic vampire might be hunting them- specifically you.

“Darling, if Dahlia ever darkens your door step ever again,” he leans toward you and speaks his next words with conviction, “I’ll rip her throat out myself.”

You smile at him and squeeze his hand.

“ Thank you Star, but you don’t need to do that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t listen to hypocrites- Miss ‘I’m going to put Cazador’s head on a pike and we can parade it around the city’”

You gasp, “how dare you! I felt like that would be a fun leisure activity.”

“Oh believe me, it will be very fun,” he says with a malicious grin,” but someone needs to keep you humble, my dear.”

“Oh okay,” you roll your eyes, “because I’m the one who needs humbling here. Thank you for your service kind sir, I will never be able to repay you.”

He can tell that you are done with the previous conversation- he’ll have to thank you for sharing later and ask follow up questions. Astarion has a plan to execute.

“Well of course,” he lifts your clasped hands and kisses the back of yours, “ I live to be a hero for the common folk.”

“You’re lucky you’re a beautiful bastard.”

“Why thank you, my Dear. I am rather beautiful, aren’t I?”

You turn, facing him now and you move closer- giving him a light shove. One of your eyebrows is lifted in amusement- a lopsided grin on your face. This is most definitely the moment he has been waiting for.

He leans in, your faces near inches apart and he savors how your heart begins to race.

“I must admit, I was lying to you before,” he muses, “I maybe would like to do a little more than just drink wine with you tonight.”

“Y-you do?”

Astarion smiles at the way your breath hitches.

“Well of course, I believe you may be one of the most bewitching individuals I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” he says while gently brushing your hair behind your ears, “but only if that would be okay with you.”

You look at him- there is lust in your eyes and you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. One of your canines graze your lip and a bit of your blood begins to paint your lips- Astarion fights the urge to smash his lips to yours. You search his face for deception.

“I want to. Very badly,” you pause, “but I need to be open with you. I’ve only ever been with one man before and it wasn’t my choice. That was over 10 years ago. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go completely through with it or give you some wildly fun time… it would probably be vanilla at best even if I can get through it…”

You trail off and look at the ground, gently pushing his hand away from your face. Astarion frowns.

“If you want someone who you can actually have fun with, it might be better to go find Alfira again,” you whisper woefully, “I would absolutely understand. No harm, no foul.”

Astarion’s heart breaks for you. He gently guides your eyes back to his. You look sad and dejected -like you are ready for him to get up and walk away. You are expecting him to confirm what Dahlia has always told you- that you are an ugly, wretched, little thing. Unloveable at best and absolutely unforgivably intolerable at your worst. Astarion has slept with plenty of virgins before- he knows how to say all the right honeyed words to get them to bed, but this is entirely different. This is you and your first, consensual time with a man if you choose. If you don’t, then he won’t press the matter, but leave his door wide open. Astarion is not Cazador or Dahlia- he is not going to force you.

“I don’t care about any of that Darling,” Astarion assures you quietly, “I want you, not Alfira. We only have to go as far as you are comfortable with- if you want to.”

Your eyes are wide and searching for any hint of insincerity.

“We could even try multiple times if needed,” he says jokingly, but he knows that you can tell he’s serious.

You beam at him and your posture straightens up- a new found confidence in your eyes.

“Okay,” you finally say, “I trust you. I want to try.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You would be lying if you weren’t feeling slightly anxious. The last person you had been with was Tessa and she’d been in the ground a little over 8 years now. The two of you had made a lot of groundwork in your last year together before she died. You had attempted to be with others before, but it never felt right so you could never go through with it.

This feels right. You just aren’t sure what your reaction will be, but you want him and Astarion wants you. You trust that he won’t hurt you.

Astarion pulls you up off of the sandy floor and gives you a smile, “I promise you, you do not want to try this in sand. I happen to know a very nice spot, but we are going to have to make a brief stop first.”

You smile enthusiastically and allow him to take your hand in his as he leads you back to camp.

The walk is a blur, you barely notice that Astarion had grabbed a blanket, taken you quite far from camp, and without warning, Astarion pulls you in for a breathtaking kiss.

You have to fight the urge to collapse completely into him, your arms snaking around his neck as you kiss him back. The kiss is slow, melodic and soft. Astarion’s strong arms hold you close to his chest as he picks you up before laying you down on the blanket.

You help him discard your clothes and your wet under garments. Astarion quickly discards his shirt and pants before he returns to kissing you sweetly, softly. You let your hands glide up his torso to his shoulders and let your hands fan out as you try to memorize every inch of his body. He groans with approval at the touch and when you go to touch his back- you find if you go a little too far over where there is raised skin, he tenses up.

You stop and look up at him- he doesn’t seem like he is all there.

“Star, are you okay? Are you sure you want this?”

Whatever trance he is in, he seems to snap out of and he kisses you sweetly before placing his forehead against yours.

“I assure you that I want this, that area is just… it has some sensitive spots.”

“Okay,” you whisper, “I’ll be mindful of that and try to avoid them. Is it mostly in the middle of your back?”

Astarion stares down at you and for a moment, you think he might start crying. Astarion’s face looks so raw and appreciative in that moment- as if you are the first and only person to ever take the time to listen. Maybe you are. Maybe this is just as much of a fear of his as it is for you.

“It is,” he says huskily,” I- thank you.”

You beam up at him and gently cup the left side of his face with your hand. He leans into the touch and you stroke his cheek bone with his thumb.

“Of course Astarion, I want you to feel safe too.”

Astarion kisses you with a neediness that wasn’t there before. The kisses are still soft and innocent, but a bit more urgent as his hands begin to slowly roam your body. Everywhere he touches leaves you feeling like you are on fire and you find that you never want it to stop. You are intoxicated and so wrapped up in his cologne, his lips- everything. Him.

Astarion’s lips leave yours and you breathlessly look at him. He smiles down at you and slowly moves his hands up to your breasts.

“May I?”

You shyly nod in approval. Astarion slowly begins to pinch and tease your sensitive buds with his fingers- you arch your back and cover your mouth as you whimper needily at the touch. It’s embarrassing how touch starved you are. Astarion pulls your hand away from your mouth and he stares at you through hooded eyes.

“None of that, my Dear,” he commands, “I want to hear every little sound you make.”

You blush and then are quickly squirming underneath him again as he gently takes one of your nipples between his mouth, sucking, licking, and teasing it while he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger.

You are a complete mosning mess underneath him by the time Astarion’s fingers move from your breast to your throbbing clit- earning a loud, despairing whimper from you. You need so much more- you can feel your own slick coating the inside of your thighs, weeping in anticipation.

“My, you are a very needy lover,” he chastises you as he slides a finger in,” Gods you are so wet for me already. If I had known you wanted me this badly, I would have said something a long time ago.”

“Astarion-“ you gasp as he enters another digit inside you, causing you to arch your back keening as he teases your G-spot. His other finger continues to play with your now very swollen clit and with every moan you make, he praises you. The praise alone is enough to send you over the edge.

“You are being such a good girl for me,” as he enters another finger inside.

His mouth hovers over your clit, “I’m absolutely certain the Gods sent you to ruin me.”

“You taste like the heavens,” after his tongue has been flicking inside of you in tandem with his fingers.

You come undone underneath him- your hands have made purchase in his hair, and struggle to be as gentle as possible. He groans as you gently tug him up to your mouth, kissing him, tasting yourself on his swollen lips.

“Do you want to continue Darling?” Astarion whispers as he kisses up your neck, along your jaw, and slowly nips at your earlobe.

You need him inside you and you want him to be as close to you as possible. It’s like a Dam had broken open inside you and you never want it to stop flooding.

“Fuck- Astarion,” you pant, “please continue.”

Astarion kicks of his undergarments and dips his fingers between your folds and coats his cock with your orgasm. You are speechless as you watch him slowly stroke himself, looking at you.

Astarion puts himself in between your legs and you feel him tease your entrance.

“Before I start,” he says, “you need to tell me if it’s too much and if we need to stop. You will not offend me nor hurt my feelings. We can try again another time if you want.”

“The same goes to you.”

There was that look again. Astarion grabs your bottom lip between his teeth, the neediness has certainly grown since the last statement.

You feel him begin to guide himself inside you, slowly moving until he’s bottoming out- curse words and your name leaving his lips like a prayer. You feel the tears prick your eyes at the pinching and pressure as you adjust to his size. He slowly rocks himself in and out, barely making any movement, but enough to stimulate you more.

“Are you okay?” He says with alarm, wiping your tears.

“Yes- I promise,” you say between panting whimpers, you press your ankles into his lower back to keep him there. It’s beginning to feel better and you open up through the tadpole to show him you mean it. The thoughts were probably far hornier than you meant to show him and he smirks at you.

“Cheeky pup.”

Astarion begins to make his thrusts longer as your moans became louder and more euphoric sounding. You kiss him with fervor as he pumps in and out of you, keeping a slow pace.

“You can speed up now,” you whisper between kisses, “you feel really fucking good inside of me Star.”

Astarion moans against your mouth, the kiss becoming sloppy as he teases your bottom lip between his, pulling slightly. You feel his hips begin to snap slightly harder against yours and you cry out as he begins to hit that perfect spot faster and slightly harder.

“You are so beautiful,” he says while grazing the sensitive skin on your neck, “and you feel so fucking good around my cock.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand any of our other companions looking at you sideways ever again.”

“Then give them a reason not to.”

That seemed to be enough for Astarion as he immediately goes to work leaving hickeys along your neck, your shoulders. You will have to ask him how he’s able to do it so gently.

Astarion’s thrusts inside you are getting sloppier and you have your hands dug in the earth as he slightly lifts you off the ground to get more leverage. You moan his name in between curse words and whimpers as another powerful orgasm rips through your body. You feel him stutter as you tighten around him and finish inside of you. Astarion’s pace moves to a slow rhythm before coming to a halt.

Vampire and half-vampire perks- the whole kid thing? Basically not even remotely possible.

Astarion lays gently on top of you, kissing your neck lazily.

“How was that, Darling?” Astarion asks as he looks into your eyes with concern and worry.

You gently grab his face with your hands and leave a chaste kiss on his lips.

“It was absolutely perfect,” you say, your brain foggy and swimming in the throes of bliss and your deep fondness of the man above you, “you are absolutely perfect.”

************************************

You had fallen asleep quite some time ago in Astarion’s arms. The concept of what happens after sex (normally) was quite foreign to him. Usually he was dragging people to their death after sex, but now he gets to sit and enjoy you- have you all to himself. After it had all been said and done, you had curled into one another, practically nose to nose and just talked. You caught up with each other about what the other missed over the last three days, picked the next ideal type of book to read, and how disasterous the Crèche is likely going to be considering Shadowheart is insisting on going. Lae’zel is positively miffed about it. You laugh and he asks about Minthara. You tell him about the vision she showed you, but he could tell you were holding something back. You don’t push him- he won’t push you.

You tell him about your mother- a former Lolth sorceress who didn’t align with the Spider Queen’s ideals. She was shunned by her parents when she denounced Lolth and she moved to the surface- meeting your dad. Your mother was practical and pragmatic- calculating and protective. Your father, on the other hand, was like a warm breeze on a perfect sunny day.

Astarion tells you about what little he remembers of his life as a Magistrate and his parents. You both ponder what they could possibly be doing in the world right then- pretending there is a possibility that you could find them together when this was all over- even just so he can know.

Astarion’s head is swimming with confusion. It was all very different than when Astarion had gone out hunting for Cazador.

You and him had spent at least a two and a half weeks getting to know each other extensively, spent quality time together over mutual hobbies, and you’ve even seemed to meld together as a fighting duo. You are friends- Astarion expected it to be maybe slightly different, more enjoyable than usual.

Astarion was quickly proven wrong.

This was eons different. Despite the feelings of it being tainted to some degree due to his past, it had been jaw dropping, sweet, simple, and, dare he even say it, intimate. Astarion finds that he actually craves more of you this way, but he also still wants you the way you had each other before. The shame and self-loathing are choking him. There is no way you’ll see him as something other than sex now.

Right?

Astarion honestly isn’t sure and that terrifies him. You were so kind to him tonight while you were in his arms. You respected his boundaries; you avoided that part of his body even though he didn’t tell you not to; you wanted him to feel safe with you too. You took the time to talk to him and play with his hair while he spoke about his parents, becoming a bit emotional.

Vanilla is hardly the word to describe what just happened between the two of you- it was wonderful and frightening. Astarion questions if it’s selfish to want more, to abandon his plan all together.

Astarion stares down at your sleeping face as your limbs are tangled with his. He wants to stay, but he wants to run away from you too. Except Astarion needs your protection- that’s what this was all for, wasn’t it?

That’s what compels him to leave soft kisses on your forehead and to hold you a little tighter- it’s why tears fall from Astarion’s cheeks onto the blanket beneath you when he thinks about the day you’ll end up letting him go.

#astarion acunin #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x you #bg3 spoilers #astarion romance #astarion x tav #bg3 #karlach #astarion x gender neutral reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x gn! reader

[blackswaneuroparedux]

I never admitted to anybody during my entire military service that I had been an actor. I was terrified that I would be put in charge of Ensa [Entertainments' National Service Association]. Not even my closest friends knew I was an actor. I told them I was reading English at St Andrews University.

- Richard Todd

In his heyday in the 1950s and 1960s, Richard Todd was Britain’s leading matinee idol. If you love old movies, you’ll have seen Todd in one of his starring roles in “The Virgin Queen” opposite Bette Davis, “Stage Struck” with Marlene Dietrich, or “The Dam Busters” for which he won a Golden Globe Award. He was the tough little Scotsman in the wartime weepie “The Hasty Heart” and had audiences madly hunting for hankies.

Those were the days when Todd streaked across North American film screens as virtually every romantic hero from Rob Roy to Robin Hood. Ian Fleming chose him to play James Bond in “Dr. No” in 1962, but a schedule clash meant Sean Connery stepped into the role.

Little less known is the fact that he was also among the first British soldiers and the first Irishman to land in Normandy on D Day. More specifically, he participated in Operation Tonga during the D-Day landings in Normandy on 6 June 1944.

So it must have been surreal for Richard Todd the hearthrob actor to find himself playing Major John Howard in the epic movie ‘The Longest Day’ (1962) based on Cornelius Ryan’s book. Not least because he served with Howard and took part in the fighting at Pegasus Bridge that Major John Howard was tasked to secure on D Day.

Richard Todd was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1919. His father was a medic in the British Army and, as his posting required, the early years of his life were spent in India. The family settled in Devon upon their return to England, and Richard was educated at Shrewsbury Public School, in Shropshire. The theatre was his first love, and he furthered his dramatic skills at the Italia Conti school, thereafter moving to Scotland where he helped to form the Dundee Repertory Theatre. When War was declared, Todd went to St. Andrew's University on the following day to volunteer. He was not a member of the University, but he not only convinced the selection unit that he was, but also added that he had been reading English there for six months, and that he had obtained a Cert A in his school cadet corps; a key point to being accepted as an officer. Despite success in passing off this invented career, Todd was to be disappointed by a lack of interest in him thereafter.

Becoming increasingly desperate to get into the War before it ended, he sent numerous letters to the War Office to press his case, which, in June 1940, was finally noticed.

Accepted by the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, Todd went to Sandhurst to receive his officer training. He had a very lucky escape here when he was in a corridor on the second floor of a building when it was hit by a bomb, and he was blown into the garden outside by the blast. He got to his feet in the darkness and did not feel particularly affected by it, but an examination by torchlight revealed that his whole body was covered in blood from numerous small wounds.

A spell his hospital delayed his passing out from Sandhurst until early 1941. Celebrating in London, he narrowly avoided death again when he found his usual haunt, the Cafe de Paris, was too crowded to admit him and so he went elsewhere; it was hit by a bomb that same night and 84 people were killed.

His Battalion, the 2nd/4th Battalion The King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, was posted to XII Corps in defence of Kent, where a German invasion if it came would almost certainly land. Todd was given command of the infantry in the Dymchurch Redoubt, a fort of the Napoleonic era mounting two six-inch guns.

In the event of an invasion, this would certainly have been a primary target for the enemy, and those manning it were told that, with the main defensive line far to their rear, they would be left to fight to the end. General Montgomery commanded XII Corps at this time, and his characteristic emphasis on training and preparedness led to the formation of the first Battle Schools. Richard Todd attended one of these, and the experience allowed him to run his own School when, in December 1941, he was sent to Iceland with the 1st/4th King's Own Light Infantry to be trained in arctic and mountain warfare. Returning to England in September 1942, he eventually ended up in the 7th (Light Infantry) Parachute Battalion of the 6th Airborne Division. He was among troops of the 7th (Light Infantry) Parachute Battalion who, at 00:40 hours on 6 June 1944, landed behind the Normandy beaches in a cornfield, perilously close to tracer fire.

Todd scrambled into a wood and with 150 other paratroopers reached Pegasus and Ranville bridges, vital crossings to allow Allied forces to break out from the beachheads into Normandy. They had been seized by a glider force from the Ox and Bucks Light Infantry under the command of Major John Howard, who needed reinforcements to fend off ferocious German attacks.

In his memoirs, Caught in the Act, Todd would write of the carnage, “There was no cessation in the Germans' probing with patrols and counter-attacks, some led by tanks, and the regimental aid post was overrun in the early hours. The wounded being tended there were all killed where they lay. There was sporadic enemy mortar and artillery fire we could do nothing about. One shell landed in a hedge near me, killing a couple of our men.”

Todd would go on and see action at the Battle of the Bulge and push into the Rhine into Germany. After VE day, his division returned to the UK for a few weeks, then was sent on counter-insurgency operations in Palestine. During this posting he was seriously injured when his Jeep overturned, breaking both shoulders and receiving a concussion. He returned to the UK to be demobilised in 1946. 

In 1962, Todd was given the part of Major John Howard in the film adaptation of Cornelius Ryan's book about the D-Day landings, ‘The Longest Day’ (1962). Due to the nature of cinema, it was impossible for the film to give a thorough reflection of the role of the 6th Airborne Division during the Invasion, and as such their activities were solely represented by a reconstruction of the capture of Bénouville Bridge by Howard's coup-de-main force. Although briefly mentioned, the role of the 7th Battalion in the defence of the western bridgehead was largely ignored, and so it appeared as if the defence of the bridge rested only on Howard's men.

Naturally, the omission of their fierce defence of Bénouville caused some resentment amongst veterans, not least because one of their own was championing this re-working of history. Todd, however, regarded ‘The Longest Day’ (1962) as a film rather than a documentary, and his part in it was simply that of an actor doing as he was told.

Richard Todd would never have guessed, that in 17 years since he was on Pegasus Bridge as a paratrooper that he would standing there again as an actor portraying Major John Howard who was given the order: 'Hold,… until relieved'. It had to be Richard Todd’s 'twilight-zone' moment.

The ‘relieve’ for Howard had to come from Lord Lovat and his troops, who had landed on SWORD Beach, and were legging it towards Pegasus Bridge.

Before the shooting of the scenes were started at Pegasus Bridge, the film producer of The Longest Day, Darryl F. Zanuck, had the real life Lord Lovat and Major John Howard brought over to meet the men who were going to portray them (Peter Lawford portrayed Lord Lovat). The men had not seen each other since 6 June 1944.

Photo (above). From L-R: Peter Lawford, Lord Lovat, Richard Todd, Major John Howard.

#todd #richard todd #quote #british army #D Day #DDay #Normandy #pegasus bridge #war #second world war #major john howard #parachute #battle #actor #soldier #paratrooper #the longest day #film #movie #cinema #britain

[spinningbuster98]

I must confess that, for the longest time, I did not have the best of times with Sotn.

You see for as much as people often say that this game is piss easy I used to actually have quite a bit of trouble back during my first few playthroughs. The Colosseum, Olrox, the Inverted Castle, the Clock Tower, I used to get my ass kicked quite a bit, which caused me to grow resentful towards the game.

As the years went by I gradually realised that it was mostly my fault. There was a time when RPGs were the bane of my existence, I could not get into their mechanics and Sotn's rpg mechanics were no different, moreso due to the fact that this is not a turn based rpgs but something more akin to an action rpg. I used to do some absolutely baffling mistakes. I kept forgetting what items I had in my inventory, like if I had specific armors or weapons that would be better for certain circumstances (like lightning armor to defend against the lightning attacks of Galamoth for example), I kept forgetting to use spells strategically, instead I kept trying to attack enemies with my regular weapons and sub weapons which made the Inverted Castle harder than necessary. This stuff frustrated me and when I get frustrated I play even worse

One example is my first experience against Beelzebub: I could not defeat this rotting bastard because I could not figure out how to reliably hit his head without getting pelted by his flies. I died a lot and ragequit

...then I realised I could dodge his flies by using the mist form, which I had but didn't think to use during combat encounters. And that there are a bunch of platforms in the room leading right beside Beelzebub's head. And that I could use spells like Soul Steal and Tetra Spirits to deal with him easily. Oh and that there's an Axe Subweapon right outside his room, ideal for hitting targets too high up to reach.

I, as a player, have always been shit with multiple choices. I'm the kind of player that, once he finds a solution to a problem, will keep using that solution without searching any better alternatives, and if I can't find a solution then I will keep hitting my head against that brick wall until it breaks. Sotn being a game that gives you a million different ways to approach things sort of...disoriented me you could say

But this is the reason why I've come to technically disagree with the idea that Sotn is an easy game. The game actually has several moments that can and will easily kill first time players. I'd say that Sotn is more easy to break than just plain easy

This game gives you so, SO many ways to break its difficulty in two if you have even a little sense of exploration (which is needed anyway to even progress through this game)

And I'm torn

On the one hand I technically prefer how future games will gradually attempt to better balance the difficulty, and I don't think I'd want another game that handles it like Sotn does

On the other hand however I love it when games reward my efforts by giving me overpowered tools. One of my favorite things in Classic Sonic games is abusing Super Sonic, which I love to do mainly because it's my reward for completing the games' Special Stages. You get to break the game because you were good enough to complete an extra challenge

Sotn is similar in this regard, since you usually have to either find its most game breaking tools...or they're just straight up secrets

You have to find the Holy Rod on your own if you want to break the first half of the game, you have to find Alucard's equipment in the Inverted Castle to get through that place more easily, you either have to find out on your own or look up on the Internet that you can use late game spells early on

And while most people claim that this game's difficulty is due to the developers being inexperienced with this new style...I think this was at least partly done on purpose

Do you think that putting stuff like the Crissaegrim or the Alucard Shield was an accident? Or stuff like this?

Remember: Sotn was purposefully made easier than the Classics to be more accessible, so I genuinely believe that most of this balancing was by design, in fact I think that Sotn is quite literally not properly designed to be chellenging.

Even if you go out of your way to not equip anything on Alucard to make him as weak as possible you'll find that the game just becomes frustrating, at least to me, as the enemy placement is often far too cluttered for you not to wear armor to mitigate most of the damage and bosses especially either barely try to attack you seriously (Cerberus) or their attacks barely follow any pattern and barely feel like you can reliably dodge their attacks without specific tactics. It just doesn't feel anywhere close to as deliberatly designed as the Classics in this regard, everything feels designed knowing that you're going to steamroll over everything using OP equipment

Sotn, to me, is the equivalent of a power fantasy: it's not about having a challenge, it's about doing short work of the opposition in spectacularily overpowered and flashy ways, because you're playing as the son of the Dark Lord himself and he does not fuck around (and of course Richter himself has his peculiarities though I'll probably mention him next time)

I'm personally a bit torn over how this impacts exploration: ideally you'd want to explore in a game to get more powerful in order to more easily handle challenges. But since Sotn gives you such over powered tools you can basically ignore most weapons and armors. Even stuff like Life and Heart ups can be mostly ignored, which makes exploration, partly useless

But at the same time, as I mentioned, it's through exploration that you gain some of these tools in the first place and I believe that, at its best, Sotn's exploration can actually be even better than Super Metroid's!

In that game, other than the plethora of item expansions and the mostly progression required upgrades the only truly unique stuff you can find completely on your own were beam upgrades

Here not only is it completely up to you to find the most broken weapons, stuff like the various extra powers for Alucard's transformations and the gravity boots feel more rewarding to find as they influence his movement in big ways and are generally more exciting that just having a different beam weapon

#akumajou dracula #castlevania symphony of the night #my gameplay #Youtube

[goddesstrolls]

[TW for poisoning, murder, dismemberment]

Okahni hated taking out targets in the city.

Too many prying eyes and too much light. But getting Almata's ex anywhere less populated would be more difficult, so he would just have to be careful.

The purpleblood in question had left his hive and, based on his agitated state and route, was planning on going to Almata's hive again.

Okahni's previous interceptions had made him wary, moving more cautiously and making an effort to take in his surroundings.

Ashira was waiting in an abandoned apartment on an upper floor, keeping an eye out for the purpleblood's approach. Okahni waited, clinging to a pipe above a dark, damp alley.

There came a faint sound from the gutter pipe. Two taps, then three rapid taps, a code Ashira and Okahni had established to mean the purpleblood was approaching from the south.

Okahni readied himself first, inhaling silently through his mouth as he raised his right hand. He placed his pointer and middle fingers pointing up in front of his lips, and forming a ring with his thumb, index, and pinky fingers. The Garo sign word for 'hide', but with sufficient focus it also activated a spell.

It would cloak him in darkness until the spell were dismissed, or light were shed on him. He was fairly high up, but he wanted to be certain the purpleblood would not notice him.

He shifted his position somewhat, staying on the wall with just an eighth of an inch of brick under one heel and one hand on the pipe. It was plenty steady, the brick wouldn't cave and neither would the pipe, and he wanted to have some freedom of movement.

Taking another breath, Okahni circled the center of his throat with his thumb and then drew his thumb along the bottom of his jaw, and outwards. The sign for 'speak', usually in the context of making someone speak or spill their secrets. This time, Okahni focused on Almata's voice- Activating a spell to steal it.

He'd been following this troll long enough to feel fairly confident that the idiot would fall for this trick.

Finally, he readied his dart. This time he had selected a potent poison rather than a sedative- A strong paralytic which first caused intense sweating and rapid heart rate, and then paralysis of the limbs and body. It would incapacitate him in four minutes, and kill him in ten.

Okahni had tested a range of sedatives on him during his interceptions, and felt confident that the dosage he'd chosen would work like a charm.

He spied the purpleblood's shadow passing in front of the alley entrance. He called out in a soft whisper, mimicking Almata's faltering manner of speech. Her voice came from his throat, calling the purpleblood's name.

The purpleblood's attention snapped over, and he stepped into the alley, looking around.

This was the tricky part. The alley was narrow, and hitting him with a dart in the right spot from this angle was difficult. He wouldn't have chosen this method if he didn't think he could do it, though.

Okahni threw the dart. It sunk into the side of the troll's neck near the connection to his shoulder- Right on the jugular.

Okahni also knew this troll was loud. Taking his hand from the pipe and leaning back so his own center of gravity would help keep him on the wall- Being otherwise held up by just one foot on that eighth of an inch ledge- He focused on the purpleblood and pressed the fingertips of both hands together. He formed a sort of cage with his hands, centering the form of the purpleblood below within it.

The sign for 'stop', specifically stopping whoever the sign was aimed at or was referred to after. In this case, it made the purpleblood freeze halfway through the gesture of reaching up to pull the dart from his neck. He couldn't speak, and could only do as much as breathe and move his eyes.

It would only hold for ten seconds if Okahni dropped it. He held the gesture, pain lancing through his temple.

He would have to hold it for at least a minute, if not more. The pain spread slowly, spearing red-hot through his arms and boring its way through his head. He could see the purpleblood suffering, too- Sweat breaking out on his face and dripping down his jaw, his eyes bulging as the poison took hold.

Finally, the purpleblood's eyes rolled. Okahni held the gesture for another few seconds before releasing it; It would hold for ten more seconds after that.

Exhaling slowly and carefully from the exertion, Okahni dropped down to the still-frozen purpleblood. He waited for the cage spell to release and caught the unconscious troll as he collapsed, and dragged him to the back of the alley.

He crouched between the purpleblood and the alley entrance. His shadow spell would cloak the purpleblood as well and help prevent them from being noticed.

The minutes crawled by. Okahni's limbs ached, nerves stripped raw from the ancient magic he'd used, but he was pleased to have been able to use the signs. It was the first time he'd used the sign of the mockingbird- The spell he'd used to steal Almata's voice.

Several trolls passed by the alley. One spared a passing glance but did not seem to notice anything amiss- Likely seeing only empty shadows.

After eight minutes he checked the purpleblood's pulse. He wasn't breathing and his face had gone purple, eyes half-lidded and rolled back. His heart was still beating, but barely.

Okahni waited until he couldn't detect any signs of life, not breath nor a heartbeat, and then paused to listen for footsteps on the street outside.

He rapped his knuckle once on the gutter. After a moment, another ping followed from Ashira; Confirmation that there was no one nearby.

Okahni hauled the purpleblood onto his shoulders, and scaled the wall into the apartment where Ashira waited.

Okahni dragged the purpleblood to the bathroom and hung him from ropes anchored from the ceiling before slitting him open, and letting him bleed into the tub.

While the troll bled, Okahni returned to the empty apartment and began making himself some tea. Inundated with magic, it would soothe his nerves aching from magic usage. He heated the water simply by cradling the kettle in his hands, and then brewed the tea.

Ashira watched with rapt attention, and Okahni quietly walked them through the steps- Heating the water to the perfect temperature, steeping the tea for the proper amount of time.

He'd done this multiple times, but Ashira knew by this point that he would repeat himself a lot. Learning to brew tea correctly was just the first step in learning to create one's own poisons and medicines.

The tea was pale gold in color and glowing faintly. The warm drink did indeed, soothe his aches, and Ashira had some tea too, trying to repress their expression at the taste and attempting to find something to enjoy about it.

"If you don't like it, you don't have to hide that much, at least." Okahni mused around the rim of his cup. Ashira made a face at their cup of tea.

They quietly enjoyed their tea, and then Okahni went over the poisons he had on his person with Ashira. He'd gone over them before, but now he was going over specific ones in more detail, discussing how they were made and exactly what they did to the troll body- And explaining how this was important to know when choosing a poison.

After more than an hour, Okahni got up to check on the purpleblood. A decent amount of his blood had drained, and Okahni took out one of his larger daggers to begin hacking the troll apart.

Ashira took each piece and wrapped it in waxed paper, tying it with thread to form a parcel, and stowed them in a waxed bag. Once the purpleblood was rendered completely into neatly packed pieces, Okahi used what little water remained in the pipes to rinse the blood off the tub and his hands. Ashira did the same at the sink.

Okahni removed the heaviest parts to carry himself, hiding them in various places in his cloak. Eventually Ashira lifted the satchel.

"It's good." They whispered- It was light enough for them to carry. Okahni nodded.

"Let's go."

Okahni and Ashira took their leave out of separate windows, taking different routes out of the city.

Once Okahni reached the trees, he whistled for Siima, who already wore his harness with a small box which contained some paper and a pen.

He wrote a note:

"The task is done. He will not bother you further."

He didn't sign it. He gave the note to Siima, and directed him to fly to Almata to deliver the news.

#bastdrabbles #okahni ic #okahni taraze #okahni writing #ashira ic #ashira hyderi #ashira writing #lashysdomain

[the-messenger-hawk]

A brief look at Immortality and the “Princes” in ToG-

Immortality is kinda an interesting beast in this world, because everyone is aware that it exists, but few people are aware of what exactly it entails or how to obtain it. (Up until Enryu, everyone believed that the Administrators were immortal, but he quickly disproved that.)

The Ten Family Heads and Zahard attained immortality when they reached the highest available Floor, but not because of any special power or blood of theirs, but because they made contracts with the Administrators to become so. Citizens of the Tower simply “do not have the authority” to hurt or kill them. (As a side note, it’s mentioned by Garam that Arlene is also under such a contract, which is why she could not die, but apparently V was not, for some reason. So unless leaving the Tower removed that protection, she should still be alive out there somewhere.) This isn’t common knowledge. Wangnan got ahold of this information somehow, and its discussed again on the Floor of Death, but most people don’t know the nature of the Heads’ immortality. 

(Though I am curious about the relation of these contracts to the Irregulars. The reason why Bam is believed to be able to kill the king is because contracts made in the Tower inherently do not apply to people from outside the Tower. This might be because they're a kind od spell, which also doesn’t work. But what about a being who’s immortality was not based on a contract? What then?)

But how does this tie in the ‘princes’ and are they actually immortal too? Or why?

The first thing is that I’m mostly using ‘prince’ as a shorthand for the three that we’ve seen, since we don’t actually know if that title applies to all of them. Though we’ve seen Karaka with a ring, the only character to ever be referred to by that title is Wangnan; if or how that title is shared is unknown.

-I’ll start with the Boss, since we know the least about him, so he’ll be the easiest the cover: The big thing that sets him apart immediately is that he is old. He’s from the Age of Genesis, so he’s an upwards of thousands of years old, an age range comparable to Jinsung and Dowon, if not older. He comes and goes wherever he pleases and has the resources to sneak into heavily protected places with no issue at all, and is apparently charming enough to instantly convince Maschenny of all people to change her plans to accommodate him. The Boss has a strange manner of speaking, alternating “I” and “we” when referring to himself, possibly hinting at a fractured sense of self? (He claims that he himself is unclear who he is.) -But oh, what is that on his face? Could it be a scar? (it looks like one anyway) Maybe despite the Boss's power, age, and influence, he lacks Wangnan's seamless healing abilities? (tick one little hint down on the possibly-not-immortal checklist.) Something to think about.

-Next is Karaka, the tin man with a bone to pick. Of the three, he is easily the one with the clearest goals, self-awareness, and understanding of the situation (and it made him mad). Although we don't really know how old he is, I'd estimate him somewhere around several thousand years old (1-2 maybe); old for a fresh High Ranker, but an absolute baby for a Slayer. Funnily enough, we have enough information about Karaka's abilities to have a clear answer as to whether he's immortal or not. The answer: he's not! Karaka is durable to an insane degree, and has the ability to reset himself to a previous state when he's in danger, which is a kind of practical immortality. But a lot of this can be attributed to his spelled armor, which was given to him specifically to preserve his life, and Jinsung certainly worried over that exact thing. Not only that, but Karaka has specifically separated his own heart into his World of Darkness hammerspace to protect his one weak spot. I firmly believe that if someone was able to break into that space and target his heart directly, they might be able to actually kill him for real, though that'd be insanely difficult to do (supposedly only Family Heads and Administrators have the power to get in without his permission (potentially a setup to someone much stronger than him actually testing that protection...)). So Karaka's regenerative armor abilities and durability allow him to mimic immortality, but he isn't actually so.

And lastly, the boy with the heart, Wangnan. He's probably the easiest case to argue for the immortal angle, and why the theory that says so is so believable. After all, unlike Karaka, Wangnan does not have any form of protection preventing people from attacking his relatively vulnerable parts and causing major damage to him, but continues to heal from absolutely fatal injuries repeatedly anyway. To Ehwa immolating him in his first appearance to Cassano absolutely destroying him on the Hell Train. (Though it does seem that he heals from fatal injuries noticeably faster than serious non-fatal injuries: i.e. Beta exploding his heart vs Hoaquin nearly taking his hand off. His body working harder to preserve him in those cases?) Worth noting though is that, if Wangnan is immortal, he does not seem to be aware of it at all: he knows and refers to himself as "hard to kill" but also shows that he does think he can die and fears that possibility, especially on the 20th Floor. (This is probably because he keeps suppressing his memories; Wangnan doesn't really want to know why this keeps happening to him.) As mentioned before, he is the only one explicitly referred to as a 'prince.' We don't know what this means. We also don't know why Wangnan is the only one of his kind depicted with horns, and if that has any ties to this ability, or where this ability even came from.

There is so much here about them that we've yet to find out.

#tower of god #tog theory crafting #tog boss #karaka #tog karaka #ja wangnan #tog wangnan #talksss

[cleromancy]

actually. still thinking about the stuff i mentioned in this post about like. people getting disproportionately mad at jason for mia compared to. like. any other supervillain that is *absolutely* also supposed to be somewhat sympathetic. like, thinking of two-face here in robin: year one (the dixon/beatty version).

because harveys role in the plot is adjacent to what Jason's is. he poses a clear danger to robin that makes the guardian/mentor reconsider the wisdom of having a kid sidekick at all. jason's actually there to make mia think about it, moreso than ollie, but their role as the antagonist of the story raises similar questions.

and i get that with comics in particular, your emotional reaction to what you read will always be influenced by what you see the fandom doing, and you do have... like im fairly sure the harv apologists are just like "i dont care who he hurt he looked good doing it" (and tbeyre so valid for that). and by comparison the jason legion, for we are many, are this whole scatterplot range of--some people only like him as a villain/think hes "unredeemable" (🙄), and some people want every bad thing hes ever done to be whooshed away by "pit madness" (🙄), and some people who. i have no ill will towards them but theyre fans of the new guy, the prime earth guy, and thats just a different character from my guy to the point that hes not even really relevant to ga 69-72 when we talk about it-- but nevertheless theyre in the same fandom, and the guy they like has the same name. so that can color peoples interpretations of whats on the page jf, for example, any of those factions really grates their cheese.

anyway. all that aside i do still feel like people get very angry at jason for being the antagonist--being a supervillain, even--maybe because he's so sympathetic by comparison in under the red hood/lost days (or i guess stuff the new guy's been in, if thats more your speed). like why did he terrorize mia! why did he scare her and beat her up!

and while i think the answer to that, from a character motivation perspective, is so obvious as to be. fucking asinine to need it spelled out-- the real answer is because as the storys antagonist he is there to challenge the protagonist. and in this case the challenge is not only the physical fight, its also a challenge to the question of whether or not plucky teen sidekicks should still exist in a post-death in the family dcu, where the baddies are badder and anyone can die.

r:yo was never asking that *specific* question, so lets just set it aside. thank you for your help harvey.

jason is a much easier target for reader anger than ollie because well. jason is absolutely doing something *wrong,* and he knows it, but he also has a fucking point, *and he knows it.*

ga01 was ABSOLUTELY engaging with and exploring aspects of the kid/teen sidekick trope that we know and love--mia kills a man on her test run, and the responsibility for mia being in a position where she felt like she had to do that, and the resulting trauma, is placed squarely and correctly on ollies shoulders. mias origin story meant she was never safe in her fucking life until she moved in with ollie, and now she finds out its left her with something permanent and life-changing--shes HIV+. what is safety? what is childhood? what does she want out of life, faced with her own mortality? she wants to help people. she wants to be a hero. and the way this unfolds, in the context of the dcu and how it works, you can see why ollie says yes this time. (and im so so glad he did.)

and jason shows up 20ish issues later when shes good and established to be like, "hi. you sure about that?"

and this is a chicken or the egg kind of situation where jason would not have done this to a civilian. shes a superhero. shes in uniform. there is an inherent danger to doing that and while you know that--both you the reader and you, speedy, green arrows junior partner and teen titan--nobody demonstrates it like jason "trolley problem" todd, both as the first notable dead sidekick and an incredibly dangerous, incredibly *terrifying* person. one who is *hell-bent* on *proving* it to you.

and when i say chicken and egg i mean while jason's responsible for his own actions, Ollie is explicitly responsible for mia's safety. imo blowing up the school wasn't to scare mia--it was to scare ollie. jason took the stakes of what it means to be speedy, or to *have* a speedy, and made them concrete. and that takes the concept of a plucky teen sidekick and makes it uncomfortable again because, god, she's just a kid. should she really be fucking doing this? (should her guardian really be *letting* her do this?)

(and people forget this, or purposely ignore it, but jason cant be more than 2 years older than her in this continuity, using tim as a benchmark. and i say this not because i want to emphasize that he would see mia as a peer rather than a child--though he would--or to imply he wasnt responsible for his actions--he was. i say this bc what was he doing in the supervillainy, he should have been at the club)

what i was getting at was i think rather than allowing the concept to exist in that gray area it is so much easier, so much more comfortable, to instead just be like. Well jason shouldn't have done that. he could have done it a different way. if he never put her in danger she wouldn't have been in that danger that night. and yknow all of those things are true but they don't negate the point he was making (and he was also doing more than that yk but this post is already Long lol), which was that that uniform puts a target on her chest. are you prepared for what that means?

and the difference between jason doing this, and Harvey, aside from the relative annoyingness of the people who want to condemn or exonerate them, is that. jason is not just a supervillain. he is a victim of *exactly* this thorny question. and he became a supervillain directly in response to this. you can not separate his actions here from the part where he knows what the fuck hes talking about, because it happened to him. and to make that less thorny, less uncomfortable, the focus turns away from the point he was making back to. Well he shouldn't have done it like he did it. while also ignoring that...... he did it like he did it because he knew how it felt, what it meant, to be a hero. if he didn't do it like he did it, would it have gotten through to them at all? would we still be talking about it like 20 years later?

anyway jason did such a good job posing uncomfortable questions in the narrative 🥰 im so proud of him for all his hard work!

#dc #text #he doesnt get a gold star though. only good boys get gold stars

[nochi-quinn]

legend of vox machina watch party episodes 4-6: he's just sleeping

EPISODE FOUR

I'm late bc I was watching anime and playing pokemon. y'know, like an adult.

I don't know how long the episode has had subtitles but I enjoy them

big gworl

"I DON'T LIKE IT" "I love it"

raven queen: the fuck you say to me

fran drescher raven queen

(this is hilarious to me specifically for reasons no one understands)

I was gonna say something about silhouettes

"if scanlan started wearing closed shirts - " "I would be so confused"

"TRINKET DOESN'T COUNT"

"I would say grog" "WHAT"

matt's gonna tell this story if it takes another eight years

"MONSTER ON THE TV" "don't assume - " "I SAW TENTACLES, I KNOW"

"tentacles can also be your friend"

ONLOOKER

this is hilarious now that beholders are under creative commons

"where are your knees? are your ankles your new knees?!"

"sound more ankle-breaky"

"don't you hate it when you're in the middle of a fight and you're just dissociating"

"why is he punching him in the helmet?!"

mala: that baby has more sense than vax

I love that sam and travis are always in the back going "YOU WILL APPRECIATE THE CREW"

I think I'm behind on account of being late, this is the price I pay for watching anime and playing pokemon

"I watched this with my kids and they were both super grossed out - so success"

everybody just works around will now

bill frito can do anything

POKEBEAR

I believe travis could reach that pitch

"I invented walking away"

I am forever going to be trying to figure out what nonsense choir soundtracks are singing

"reliving - HA"

"it was raven feathers"

"laura can't lose her character so I'll lose mine" liam.

"have a guest on the show? main character dies. right, robbie?"

oh I hate that one on the end

"onlooker(?)" mala: official spelling

they're just gonna make that noise for the rest of the night

"he's so cute - sorry - "

"that jump scare at the end - why" "that's why"

I can't believe travis willingham is targeting me personally

that's actually. I also had not considered that critical role is technically post-apocalyptic

EPISODE FIVE

"it's my child!" "this one lives, that can't be right"

"you can't be a baby, you're a grown-ass woman"

give her a raise

"we thank you for your tears"

"can't even pick up sticks right"

"I wish we had the courage to do an overhead" have the animators not suffered enough

"it's probably okay. don't worry about it."

I think I say this every time but I love when they just go silent bc they are also watching the episode

"that's NOT how you romance someone"

"keyleth will remember that"

aimee!

"thank you for using the body silhouette I sent you"

I FORGOT HE HAD BLACK POWDER IN HIS POCKETS

PANTSLURA

"marisha? self-doubt? no!"

critrolestats what level were they

flamesneks

I didn't know that until someone pointed it out on twitter

I'm crying AGAIN dammit marisha ray

the One Woman Wail

"you're a giant fire chicken lady man!"

"seems a little OP"

that pestle IS upside down, I'm pretty sure

"dad likes vax bc they have the same haircut"

robbie didn't know about the lesbians

this time delay is killing me

"so many youtube videos" "just fucked up your algorithm"

"is that a thermal detonator" after chetney's boat robbie only knows how to think in bombs

"I was singing about meeting a girl in line for the shitter"

"you wouldn't put the nursery in the volcano??"

animatic!

"ANIMORPHS!"

oh I love lil sketchy keyleth

"is that a cloaca?"

"DON'T LOOK IT UP"

LAVA SNEK

"maybe these are IMPOSTERS" stares in speaker assum

"it's victor"

"I'll call bryan and michael and let them know" I have only called them bryke for so long

"the voice of korra was in the Lesbians Aren't Dead episode"

the red gay and the blue gay

"tell me I'm wrong!" "I can't!"

"I know a lot about anime gays you guys"

speaking of anime gays, robbie daymond

(akechi. the joke is akechi.)

"hesitant"

none of us are over keyleth but liam o'brien is definitely not over keyleth

"kash pushing in on his girl - " "that's the worst part"

"pissjets" brb changing my twitter name

EPISODE SIX

I'll error your joining watch party

"I'm sure it's fine"

"classic comedy duo"

I still enjoy grog's expressions so much here

"my ten-year-old son loved that joke"

this is me explaining the plot to my roommate

"scanlan is the only one that gets to go full anime" scanlan just is anime

"fucking DORK" robbie understands percy

"she does get hypothermia tho"

"a hoe never gets cold" "that is the episode title"

liam's running "I peed a little bit" is finally coming full-circle

"that's how you guys look at me all the time" at least matt does for sure

FISH TACOS

grog is barely smart enough to speak at all, he can't manage telepathy

the fire plane taught her how to cuss

PORKY PIG

I love robbie's genuine reactions

the whole back row airdrumming

"he's playing the instruments" "no he is NOT"

"that's MY HUSBAND"

one unit of sphynx

"a shit spell?" that's scanlan's thing

"you're giving me notes NOW?"

kaiju fight KAIJU FIGHT

~~anime~~

"I don't like this dragon, he's a dickhead"

"I don't care about his backstory"

"he's fine, robbie" "he's gonna go live on a farm upstate? where he gets all the sphynx food he wants?"

"sphynxes live forever even if they look like they died"

that knee slide was v cool tho

honestly I had the same thought as mica

mica refuses to pronounce that name now (she's valid)

"not that long, right?" "you don't know"

marisha what is that face. are we getting an art book. I want an art book.

FRIENDSHIP POND

"you love inflicting pain" "I FUCKIN LOVE IT"

mala: Travis: i have killed and i will kill again

"it's got a lot of slap bass in it"

"he's a transformer"

you leave the shit behind in people's beds and move on

(I'm still mad at him for that)

craven edge just using grog as a meat puppet

"it all comes back to the last of us" correct

"I was such an innocent smol bean"

"I'm a purple g - I'M WEARING PURPLE"

someone draw art of alicia's hedgehog familiar

sevonth

yaaaaaay troy bakerrrrr (said in the most deflating-balloon voice possible)

troy baker is a very good actor who is up his own ass as much as it is possible for a human being to be and still draw breath

#crititag #lovmtag #watch party #critical role #the legend of vox machina #liveblog #reaction post #spoilers

[paperanddice]

Preserving corpses for burial isn't a universal tradition, but many cultures have practiced some variation of it throughout history. Sometimes its done to all bodies, sometimes only nobility or royalty, and sometimes it's done to guardians specifically to keep them animated and active as defenders even past death. Mummifying a body is a pricey and labor intensive act, so those responsible for doing it may be tempted to make it more "cost efficient," so to speak.

While the regular mummy is created by humanoid corpses and is reanimated by agents of the Lich King, other cultures and creatures have been mummified before. The Darkflame Taskmaster is a fancily named azer mummy, one of the infamous and uncommon fire dwarves. Upon death, it was wrapped in oil soaked linen and preserved, until far down the line someone or something found the body and brought it back. The wrappings burn with a purple-black flame, but are never consumed, and it carries a metal scourge that channels the heat from its burning body quite effectively. This flame clings to the target like a curse, burning the soul almost as much as it does the body.

While the lich king reanimates all the mummies he can find in the modern age, he did not develop the spells to animate these preserved bodies in this way. There are others who did so long before him, and the necrosphinx is an example of that. In the long past, when sphinxes were far more common than they are today, one of the lost empires made a practice of killing and mummifying the great beasts, seeing them as representative beings of their deity. Why they decided that meant they should murder them is lost to time, but quite a few sites of great importance to this empire have a mummified sphinx standing watch over it, as it has for many Ages. Centuries or millennia of solitary contemplation have given them plenty of time to develop complex and curious riddles, as well as develop all manner of neuroses.

Both of these monsters originate from 4th Edition D&D's Open Graves. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Darkflame Taskmaster  Double-strength 6th level wrecker [undead]  Initiative: +8 Vulnerability: Cold Burning Scourge +9 vs. AC - 10 damage plus 10 ongoing fire damage and the target is afflicted by darkflame (save ends). Each Failed Save (darkflame): The fire burns deeper into the target’s body, and the ongoing damage increases by +20 (cumulative). Saves granted by special powers don’t increase the damage if they fail, only end of turn saves. C: Burning Despair +9 vs. MD (one nearby enemy) - The target is hampered until the end of its next turn. Natural 18+: The target takes 10 fire damage, or if it’s afflicted by darkflame the ongoing fire damage increases by +20. Limited Use: 1/round, as a quick action. Blistering Heat: When an enemy engaged with the taskmaster attacks it, that enemy takes 6 fire damage. Cold Hater: The taskmaster adds the escalation die to any attacks against an enemy that dealt cold damage to it during the battle. Mortal Terror: While engaged with the taskmaster, enemies that have 120 hp or fewer are dazed and do not add the escalation die to their attacks. Each time an enemy with 120 hp or fewer attacks the taskmaster, hit or miss, it must roll a save. On a success, it is no longer affected by the mortal terror of any mummy in the battle.Resist Fire 18+. AC 20 PD 16 MD 20 HP 220

Necrosphinx  Huge 8th level wrecker [undead]  Initiative: +10 Vulnerability: Holy and Fire Unholy Claw +11 vs. AC (2 attacks, each against a different target) - 20 damage plus 20 ongoing negative energy damage and the target is affected by mummy rot (save ends both) Each failed save (mummy rot): The target’s flesh begins to rot and the ongoing damage increases by +20 (cumulative). Saves granted by special powers don’t increase this damage if they fail, only end of turn failures. Dual Hit: If both claw attacks hit during the same turn, each target is also weakened as long as it’s affected by mummy rot. C: Necrotic Roar +11 vs. MD (all nearby enemies) - 5 ongoing negative energy damage and the target is dazed (save ends both) Limited Use: 2/battle, as a quick action (once per round). Mortal Terror: While engaged with the necrosphinx, enemies that have 200 hp or fewer are dazed and do not add the escalation die to their attacks. Each time an enemy with 200 hp or fewer attacks the necrosphinx, hit or miss, it must roll a save. On a success, it is no longer affected by the mortal terror of any mummy in the battle. Mummy’s Curse: When the necrosphinx is reduced to 0 hp, it can make the following attack before it is destroyed: C: Mummy’s Curse +11 vs. PD (all nearby enemies) - 20 ongoing negative energy damage and the target is affected by mummy rot (save ends both) Each Failed Save (Mummy Rot): The target’s ongoing negative energy damage increases by 20 (cumulative). Saves granted by special powers don’t increase this damage if they fail, only end of turn failures. Sphinx’s Challenge: As a quick action, the sphinx can pose a question or riddle. Until a creature spends a quick action and successfully makes a DC 30 Intelligence skill check to answer the sphinx’s challenge, the sphinx gains a +2 bonus to attack rolls and defenses. Each failed attempt to answer the challenge increases the sphinx’s attack and defense bonus by one. The sphinx can only have one challenge active at a time, and each time it poses a new challenge the DC to answer it decreases by 2. Alternately, provide an actual riddle to your players and let them try to answer it while playing out the battle. It still costs a quick action to answer the riddle. Resist Negative Energy 16+. AC 22 PD 20 MD 22 HP 430

#13th age #homebrew #my homebrew #monster #long post #13th age level 6 #13th age level 8

[ez-ra-zed]

these ancient indigenous spirits kept telling me this random white bitch downstairs was gonna die. they kept saying "she gonn die" and it'd be kinda funny to something in my mind, and they'd go "no, she gonn die," cuz they find it mildly humrous at best not funny enough to laugh at. cuz killing these random ppl who were gonna die no matter what is what dead ppl do sometimes to steer the timeline in a different direction, when relatively, emphasis on the relatively, insignificant unless they're suffering and eventual death teaches other people an important lesson... she has sepsis and was on a breathing tube, they been saying for weeks "she gonn die" and "no, this bitch gone die"

that spell jar i made with some dead indigenous folk, asking them if we could protect them. and they be like "no, they're killing themselves anyway." so that skull shaped glass bottle i made a spell jar with, targeting two people in this house specifically which is why i made it red, with V8 and some other shit, asking if i could protect them somewhat they kept controlling my body and doing something through me, while slowly teaching me how to do it myself because its gatekept for a reason, so i can learn "im not gone do that again" when ppl accidentally die from magick sometimes but its statistically improbable right? and people might just die anyways if people didnt use demons or dead people (both) while learning about them to figure out if they're even real cuz what if they arent?

I told him I can't be physically touched sometimes multiple times, and he did it again, got angry with me and flipped out for my clearly set boundaries so I withdrew emotionally from whoever that random person is who actually means nothing to me right now, because I was explicit with not being focused sometimes when I have sexual trauma

I don't even like him. he's a fucking ogre, man, one of those slobs with blank states that can't process the words said to them, living in a delusional, embarrassing american daydream like the rest of those animalistic people who are manipulated by others, and that's how some people evolved for a long time - like thralls

& some of them need to be freed, and that involves a lot of hard lessons in the near future, throughout the next century

An estimated one billion excess deaths from climate change by 2100 is a significant amount of people. A hard lesson being taught to us by a higher intelligence that has been guiding the development of our species, teaching many to submit to a higher power - regardless - as I already do - while some "wrong" spiritual practices focus on, always submitting to learn but standing up to certain things that people worship and respect as God or godlike figures, when going through a process of individualization and self realization that many people go through, on their own, in different ways when authority figures aren't limiting them from growing into themselves, something I never had restricting me as I grew into myself

Like that untrained dog my mom dropped on my unmedicated ass, I let her grow into her personality and let her be wild while just, messing with her and having fun with her, until she'd get mad and start screeeaaaaming

She always has a different personality when someone knows her

Maybe it's cause of all of that, and her first drug was Diphenhydramine

She licked my underage at the time :( friends nostril when we snorted ketamine and she didn't tell me. she K Holed, most dogs don't accidentally get psychoactive doses of ketamine ever so lucky her for sniffing that ketamine and deciding she wanted to put that into her body for some reason, bitch was actively seeking things out I swear

Random pills on my floor I knew she would never eat like fish oil or vitamin D

I had to actively make sure no Kratom was on the floor, she always managed to find some and sniffs at the bag if it's nearby. she's a crack dog. my friend called her a crack dog

When I was underage :/ (sigh) I stole oxycodone pills from my friends parents stash, they had tons of surgeries and kept hiding those fucking pills bottles from them ... anyways, they'd be loose in my pockets cuz like ... literally retarded sometimes

that shit fell out, in my house, not once but twice both with the same person, Mathieu

we both freaked out, both times, when we see her tossing a little white pill around and playing with it while wagging her tail, BOTH TIMES enough for it to dissolve in her mouth

Again she would never seek out random vitamins and supplements. but Kratom? oxycodone? ketamine? crack dog

I would never let her do that, but the fact that she ignored other things suggests she knew, like damn

I would never

I would only give my dog nootropics sometimes and longevity treatments never like opioids

bitch was self medicating

All of them eventually, in different ways, hundreds to thousands of years into the future

When tons and tons of people start to develop OCD-like symptoms for some reason due to certain forms of education that will be deemed necessary, and those OCD quirks will be cute to a lot of people when it isn't pathologized and labeled a disorder, when it's more integrated and not dysfunctional - some people just end up with specific ways of doing things when they see the world a certain way

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

~

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights. 

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

~

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter). 

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking. 

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly. 

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

~

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened. 

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

~

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second. 

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King. 

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year. 

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

~

THE END!!

We love a cutesy/hopeful ending😌

Like always lads, you wanna write it out in full, go for it, credit and tag me✌️

Head over to This List to see what I’m working on next, and cast your vote!

#merthur #bbc merlin #gwencelot #merthur fluff #merlin #king arthur #arthur #arthur pendragon #uther pendragon #ygraine #ygraine pendragon #gaius #merlin is a smart boy who deserves hugs and praise #arthur is gay but stupid #arthur is pining #merlin with a longbow #is v v sexy #according to one arthur pendragon #gwen #guinevere #sir leon #leon #sir gwaine #gwaine #sir percival #percival #sir elyan #elyan #sir lancelot #lancelot

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

The first scenario I thought of where Gregory would need to save one of the twins is in regards to the Monty golf minigame where he is decommissioned. At first instead of Gregory going in there alone, Moon ends up in there before Sun and Gregory and unbeknownst to him it was a trap. He ended up getting trapped in the play area, as the doors separated him from his brother and the kid and trapped him with Monty. He tries to reassure his brother at first, saying that he’ll just stay near the ceiling for now until they can meet back up.

There’s silence on his end for a few minutes while Sun and Gregory plan how to get into gator golf, only for a delightful message to pop in on the watch that “MONTY CAN REACH THE CEILING”. The gator is aided by the carts as well as the rafters, which was something he realized a bit too late and he almost got slammed straight into the floor. Sun freaked out and tried to unlock the door, but again Moon was locked in and any vents that lead into that area of gator golf are too small for either to get through. Moon is rather quick on his feet, but he isn’t made to have lots of energy like Sun is and he isn’t as fast as him; He can only run for so long, and Monty golf is still very unfamilar to him. There isn’t many places to hide, not many good perches that Monty can’t reach either. So it’s pure sprinting around the rafters dodging shit Monty hurls at him, including fucking gold carts.

Gregory, though, can fit into the vent and sneaks in. And this gremlin climbs up the sides of the rafters and manages to end up really high up and out of sight right near the top of the massive bucket which most likely involved some VERY dangerous maneuvers over fast moving parts ( Moon nor Monty notice him there, as they are both kinda preoccupied). He then told Moon that he had an idea, and specifically asked “I have an idea. Do you trust me?” which made Moon really nervous because when you have to start an idea with that it’s probably not a good thing. But it wasn’t like he had much of a choice either, so he asked Gregory what he had in mind via the fazwatch conenction- yet again, completely unaware that he was there too. Busy running for his life essentially; Though Sun DID notice Gregory’s absence and almost freaked out until Gregory mentioned having a plan, though he still wished Gregory would of explained it to him FIRST before going off to do whatever it is he was doing. Gregory told Moon that he needed to get Monty to hit the target with the stuff he was throwing; Moon was... not entirely sure how that would help, being as again he hadn’t really been in gator golf too much before. And it seemed like a bad idea to stay still long enough to not only get into the air, but get Monty to throw something at him and then dodge fast enough for it to hit the target instead but he did it. Sun tried to help by keeping an eye on the cameras, though honestly all that was doing was making him an anxious mess because he was watching his brother try and dodge this massive gator that could probably kill him very easily.

Monty isn’t stupid though, and realized what Moon was trying to do. I’m pretty sure there’s an ingame report about Monty getting damaged by the bucket in the past, so I think he’d catch on before Moon knew what the plan was himself. The logical thing to do? Tear one of the shooters out of their stand and throw it as hard as he can to the next target. Before he had been only aiming directly at Moon and he didn’t notice the change just long enough that the shooter hit him and knocked him back down into the rafters. Somehow he avoided getting severely damaged, but his leg got injured as that is where he got hit and considering he was relying purely on speed that basically spelled a death sentence.

Or so he thought. Cause while he couldn’t run far, and where he did end up ended up being a dead end there was juuust enough weight from what he had done before for Gregory’s plan to work. Moon ended up cornered in an area similar to where the boss battle ends in game, though the button wasn’t there. Gregory yelled “DUCK!” before using all the strength in his little gremlin body to push the bucket off kilter. Due to the massive amount of balls in it, it only took a little movement for it to swing down. Moon managed to duck in time despite grappling with a giant pissed off gator that was most likely trying to tear out his throat. If it makes more sense, Monty was probably holding Moon off the ground to ya know tear out his throat and when Gregory yelled to “duck” Moon swung flipped around so that he was being held lower to the ground and essentially rolled out of his grip the moment it loosened, just as the rafter that he would’ve been on collapsed taking Monty out with it. It’s only THEN that Moon noticed Gregory up in the depths of the ceiling. Gregory, pleased with himself, happily jumped down- almost giving his nighttime father a stroke, but he DID catch him. After that they managed to get the doors opened, and somehow Moon was relatively unharmed and Gregory got the claws he wanted in the first place. Sun practically smothered his brother the moment the door opened because holy shit, that was way too close.

Now I want feedback about this, because it’s my first time writing this sort of idea. And of course if you want clarification I’ll try to explain to the best of my abilities!

#fnaf security breach au #twin dads au #fnaf gregory #daycare attendant #fnaf sun #sunrise #sundrop #fnaf moon #moondrop #fnaf monty #monty boss fight

[obeymehasinfluncedmythoughts]

Can we get reactions of the brothers and Undateables (Ahem Now dateables) seeing Mc being stabbed in the stomach by a high ranking demon who was trying to attack the brothers or Undateables. How'd they feel knowing Mc sacrificed their self in order to protect them? Thank you!!! Love you!!!

Thank you anon. I really mean it. I've been having a rough couple of weeks. Haven't heard that very much from anyone.

Anyways, enough mushy stuff, are they technically datables now? What qualifies as datable? Hm. We need an expert.

Wanted fluff but tbh I'm not good at it. angst because that's my life at this point. Also! I kinda changed this to MC dies whilst protecting the brother/datables. Gave me more to work with! Breaking this up into multiple parts because it's longer tho

Lucifer

This would be one of those rare statistics.

A one in a (enter some absurd number that doesn't even exist yet) chance.

Lucifer knows his surrondings. War taught him that, so he's observant and can see through most facades.

But not all.

He doesn't notice the demon dressed up as a store clerk. Doesn't see anything out of the ordinary amongst the tools that line the check-out counter and the outer pockets of his apron.

Not until he's lunging at him with a pair of scissors, obviously enchanted by the light orange glow emitting from the object.

He should have been able to step back, to pull you with him. Or to at least push you down and out of the way.

Either you're too fast or he's too slow.

You end up with scissors in the neck, jamming so deep that the point comes through the other side.

Lucifer biggest fault lies in his reaction. He immediately kills the demon in some absurdly painful way, before returning to your side.

He doesn't know what to do. Does he pull the object out? He tries, but it doesn't budge. Lucifer doesn't have much time to think for another solution because you're eyes are already starting to gloss over and the blood bubbling from your throat is suffocating you.

You die on a Devildom department store floor.

Lucifer blames himself. He doesn't understand why his attacker would use such a simple weapon if he was the original target.

He also doesn't understand why you'd try to protect him, a demon who'd most likely survive.

Never truly recovers, blaming himself for everything that's happened.

Mammon

Mammon is a dumb dumb. He's pissed off a lot of people during his long life.

Specifically witches.

So it's no suprise that one of them would be spiteful enough to attempt revenge.

The moment he even spots someone he owes money to, he'll probably try to shuffle you away and try to hide the both of you.

Might even jokingly push you behind because he knows you're not the one they're targeting.

Which is his biggest fault.

Because if he would have just hid you, gotten you to saftey instead of joking around, you would be here withering on the floor, suffering from the effects of a spell meant for him.

He'll fly into a rage immediately, showing off his rarely used second-born strength. It's a terrifying display, and despite the power of the witch, she isn't strong enough.

Your death is slow. He can't even touch you without you screaming, so the two of you sit alone, him just out of reach.

He's already alerted the other's by the time you finally begin to actually slip, but no one gets there in time. You die caressed only by the concrete pavement.

Mammon is never the same again. He swears off witches, and might even go on a revenge streak. Any witch he's ever owed money to, any witch who could have possibly helped your killer locate him, is reduced to nothing.

Everyday his heart breaks because he knows, deep down, he would have survived the attack.

Leviathan

You told him going into one of those cursed games again was a stupid idea. That putting yourself in a situation where you could actually die wasn't worth the experience of playing such a game.

He ignored you and you followed against your better judgement.

Leviathan knows he should have listened. Really. He knows, and he wants to tell you that, but you just aren't waking up to hear it.

Somehow during the last boss battle, your health went low (which was naturally lower than his to begin with), and suddenly all attacks were directed towards you.

Leviathan was quick to distract the opposition, but he was struggling too, finding it hard to balance both the boss and fetch you some sort of potion or salve or something.

He took a hard hit, getting knocked back, and before the boss could do any hard damage, you stepped in.

It was like watching one of those slow-motion moments on TV. He tried to grab you, planned on tossing you aside, but you were just out of reach.

And then you were gone.

He beats the game, fueled only by heartbreak.

His brothers find him alone sometimes after. He's sitting in his room sobbing, fixated on the main menu of the game, where a little gravestone and a familiar ghostly sprite floats.

Satan

You and Satan fight occasionally.

Most couples do. It's expected.

But your fights tend to spiral out of control.

He's the avatar of wrath, and whilst he handles his anger well with people, it becomes a completely different story with a romantic partner.

Your dispute it loud, angry, and ends with you leaving to get as drunk as possible in some Devildom bar.

Sure, you know the liquor around here is strong enough to melt rubber, but you just want to forget the way Satan yelled at you.

Your phone is blowing up by the time you're on your second drink, and the demon next to you is already laying it on thick

He's annoying, but you let him go. Demons don't shut up even if you tell them to.

But then Satan gets there. He starts trying to talk to you, a lot calmer then before, but still remaining strong in his opinion.

You ignore him, and then the guy next to you starts jumping into the conversation, telling Satan to back off. He's obviously drunk off his ass, so neither of you acknowledge him.

Not until he pulls out a knife, taking it upon himself to put an end to "the guy bothering you."

You don't even have to think. You just leap in between the two, only flinching when the blade is pulled out.

Bleeding out isn't a pretty way to go. Especially not with some demon blade, obviously created to be more deadly then any human weapon.

Satan doesn't have enough time to save you. Not enough resources. All he has is rage.

He can't even stay by your side, too focused on making your killer suffer in a million ways before he kills him off.

He'll blame himself, and everyone else will too.

#obey me #obey me! #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me luficer #obey me satan #obey me angst #obey me x mc #obey me x reader

[sit-down-and-shut-up]

time- a. hotchner

SUMMARY: you get kidnapped lol

WARNINGS: kidnapping (duh), some injuries but everyone lives, aaron being m a d, and reader being a freaking baddie

WORDS: too many 6604

A/N: sorry that it’s been a hot minute since i posted, im lazy

Aaron glanced up as the workday finally drew to a close, watching you wave goodbye to the team and stroll towards the unit chief’s office, just in time to see JJ as she ascended the steps on her way to the room as well. You started to wave, but JJ murmured something you couldn’t make out and you stopped. Aaron’s blood ran cold, and he mentally cursed himself for being naive enough to believe that things would work out for once. He turned to look at Emily and Morgan through the blinds, who’d been talking near Emily’s desk, and saw their eyes trained on you and JJ. Emily swore under her breath, then headed to the conference room with Spencer and Derek not far behind.

+++++

Aaron sat down next to you in the conference room, meeting your eyes and giving you a halfhearted smile. You returned the gesture and went back to scanning the grisly photos before you. He zoned out as JJ spoke, giving the rundown on each of the girls that had been abducted, then murdered mere hours later. The murders seemed somewhat random, with the exception that the victims were all girls in their upper 20’s. In fact, they were all 29, just like you were.

Something clicked in your mind, but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions. You could feel Aaron’s steely gaze on you, and you wondered briefly if he could tell what you were thinking. You were lost in your thoughts, to the point where you didn’t hear Aaron’s deep “Wheels up in 30.” After everyone had left the conference room, Aaron turned back to see you still staring at the photos, searching for something you couldn’t quite name among the blood spatters and empty faces. He walked over to you and gently tapped your shoulder, causing your head to whip up to face him. Realization washed over your eyes, and you mumbled an apology.

Aaron shook his head in response, saying “I’m sorry. I was hoping we’d actually get to go out tonight.” You sighed, then replied.

“Who knows? Maybe the unsub will be caught by the time we get there and we can go get dinner or something.” You laughed as you said it, but your laughter was tinged with a resigned sadness Aaron despised, wishing he could take you somewhere you’d never be forced to feel this way again. Aaron watched you for a few seconds longer, as your face darkened and you grabbed your files and left the room, heading to his office, where both of your go-bags were. He wanted to tell you so much, but wasn’t sure how to start. He wanted to tell you that he’d been planning to propose this evening, that he wanted to be with you forever. But he couldn’t.

+++++

Aaron noticed you lost in your thoughts again on the plane ride while the rest of the team went over the case. The sheer amount of bodies was enough to give someone pause. In addition, the unsub took a girl each Thursday, but never kept them for more than a few hours. Why?

The plane ride felt fairly short. You were hit with a wave of nostalgia as the plane touched down in New York, where you’d gone to college years earlier, and worked before you were transferred to the Behavioral Analysis Unit and moved to Quantico. As you walked into the FBI field office with the rest of the BAU, you couldn’t stop your mind from remembering the last time you’d been in the building, when working a terrorism case alongside Agent Joyner four years earlier.

She’d been killed immediately by a bomb in your SUV, and metal had been lodged in your left leg, cutting the femoral artery and nearly causing you to bleed out. If not for your Aaron, you would’ve died there, on the cold pavement. When Aaron came to visit you while you recovered from surgery, you managed to slur out that you loved him. At the time, he blamed it on the drugs you were on, until he showed up at your hospital room again a few hours later, to drive you home. You’d suffered hearing loss as well, and coupled with your leg injury, you couldn’t go in the field or on the plane for a while. As he helped you up and handed you the crutches you’d be relying on for nearly a year, you met his eyes and said confidently, “I meant what I said earlier.”

He’d paused for a second, before his lips spread into a rare smile, and he said, “I love you too.” You’d always known the relationship wouldn’t be easy, considering his recent divorce and your unconventional jobs, but you were fine with it. Being with Aaron was good enough.

Present-day Aaron subtly placed a hand on the small of your back, a sign of encouragement he’d adopted over the years. You glanced up at him and nodded, silently letting him know you were okay. He dropped his hand, and held it out to the new director of the New York field office: Agent Milenka, an enthusiastic but imposing woman you’d met at the Academy when you were younger. You caught Morgan glaring at her for a second, reminding you that Morgan almost got that job. Still, you knew that Morgan loved you all too much to leave the BAU for a job directing the New York field office. The team was his rock, the weight that tethered him to reality when he was at his lowest. Aaron introduced Milenka to the rest of your team, until she cut him off when he got to you.

“I know her,” she declared loudly, “I was her firearms trainer at the Academy, but she had to show me up and be better with a gun than I am.” Spite dripped from her words, but the mischievous smile on her face told you she wasn’t really upset. Aaron nodded slightly, caught off-guard by her remark, then interjected to ask where his team could set up.

Agent Milenka led all of you to an empty conference room, with the case files already arranged neatly and a blank evidence board at the front of the room. She turned on her heel and stared firmly at the team. If you hadn’t known her for years, you’d assume she was going to attempt to assert control over the case, but instead she said, “My agents have come to see this office as a family, and probably won’t take too well to the fact that I’ve called you in. If any of them give you hell, tell me, and I’ll make the devil look like a cuddly teddy bear.” She pivoted on her heel to leave, then turned back around. “Agent L/N, my office.”

+++++

You were shocked, to be honest. This woman could bring grown men to their knees, and now she sat in front of you, spinning in a swivel chair, teasing you over your obvious infatuation with Aaron Hotchner.

“Really, Milenka, I gotta get back to the team,” you sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Fine”, she grunted, making a shooing motion with her hand. “But here’s what I meant to tell you. I’m guessing you and your team want to know why it took this many bodies for me to call you in. I mean, I’d be wondering that, too. The bodies were all dumped two days ago, even though they’d all been dead for various amounts of time, so I’m guessing the unsub wanted to make sure I had to call you guys. Keep that in mind. He knows how this works.” The humor and mischief was gone from the agent’s voice, and in that moment you knew how she’d risen through the ranks of the FBI so quickly. Something about her made you want to do everything you could to solve the case as quickly as possible. She wasn’t someone you could let down.

You grimaced, then nodded, unable to say anything, and left her office, getting coffee from the espresso machine for you and your teammates as you walked back to the conference room. As you passed around the cups, Aaron watched you expectantly, obviously waiting for you to relay whatever information Agent Milenka had told you, and so you did. The reactions among the team members were the same, set jaws and darkening eyes. You didn’t know where to start with the case, until you remembered the idea you’d gotten back in D.C. You leapt from the black desk chair you’d just sat down in and practically ran to the evidence board, grabbing a red dry-erase marker and organizing the victim’s pictures from the first to the last to be abducted. You circled the eyes on some of the pictures, the hair on others, the widow’s peaks on some, and other various defining features.

“He’s working up to someone specific,” Spencer muttered as you worked. You whipped around, pointing a finger at him and downing the last of your coffee.

“Yes! Okay, so, look at this: The first and last girl are wildly different, but when you look at the chronological order of the victims, each one gains another characteristic that the next one didn’t have, like he’s working up to getting one specific girl, and kept killing those that looked increasingly similar to his real target!” You blurted the words, and watched as your teammates looked on in a mix of awe and horror, at both the board and a piece of paper Spencer had messily written on. Aaron, who was usually so emotionless, looked especially horrified, and scared. You shot Spencer a questioning look, and he held up the paper he’d shown the rest of the team. He’d taken the first letter of each woman’s name, and when lined up, they spelled out a message.

Your name.

+++++

“You’re off the case.” Aaron said, crossing his arms over his chest as you paced around the empty office he’d practically dragged you to.

“What? If some psycho is after me, I want to be the one to catch him!” You spoke firmly, almost yelling but not quite.

“If some psycho is after you,” Aaron started, sounding much calmer than you had, “I want you to be safe. Sending you out to hunt him down isn’t keeping you safe.”

You scoffed, then yelled, “As long as he’s out there, I’m not safe! If you let me help, we’ll find him faster. I can’t- no, I won’t- just sit here doing nothing while this man kills women just because he’s got some sort of vendetta against me!”

Aaron’s resolve broke down. You could tell from the way his back slumped and he pulled you into his chest. You wrapped your arms around him, basking in the feeling of calm it brought. Your anger dissipated when he held you like that, and he knew it.

He murmured, “I can’t lose you,” into your ear, and your heart broke from the way his voice cracked from fear and sadness. Aaron pulled away far too soon, and gave you a look that you knew meant to stay put, and pulled out his phone to call Penelope Garcia.

A few moments later, Spencer walked in, hands in his pockets. He looked unsure of himself, and you couldn’t figure out why until he said, “Hotch wants me to drive you to the hotel.”

You stared at him silently for a second, then mumbled curses under your breath and stormed out of the room to find your bag. Spencer put an arm out to stop you, then said, “He said he’d bring it for you tonight.”

You glared at him for a moment, before averting your gaze to the suddenly interesting polished linoleum beneath you. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t be mad at you.”

Spencer gave you a small smile, and replied, “It’s okay. You’re stressed. We all are. Hotch just wants you to be safe.”

You nodded, and he led you from the building to the shiny, black SUV parked outside. Aaron jogged out of the building towards you, and grabbed the handle of the vehicle before you could. You met his eyes, and he murmured, “I know you’re mad at me, but I need you to stay in the hotel room, okay? Lock the door, and I’ll be there tonight with your go-bag.” You nodded, and he paused a second before saying, “I love you.”

Your pride got the best of you, and you simply muttered, “I know.”

+++++

You’d been sure that the SUV’s tires were full when you’d arrived in New York, but the flat passenger tire begged to differ. Spencer pulled into a nearby gas station to fill up the tire, something you were fairly sure he’d never done before. You couldn’t help but laugh when he called Morgan to ask what to do, who responded that it would be easier for him to come fill up the tire himself. You mouthed that you had to go to the bathroom, and Spencer nodded as Morgan’s laughter came through the phone. You stifled laughter as you walked into the gas station, grimacing at the smell of sweat and cheap hot dogs.

+++++

Aaron wasn’t sure if he’d ever been so mad. No, mad wasn’t the word. Was there a word that could encapsulate the unadulterated fury coursing through his veins? He paced the conference room like a caged lion, practically screaming at Spencer and Derek through the phone.

“What the hell happened?”

Spencer was crying, he could tell that much from the muffled sobs, and Aaron couldn’t help but think that he might never see you again. He slammed the phone onto the table with nearly enough force to break it, and looked up to see Emily, Rossi, and JJ already halfway out the conference room, before he’d told them what happened. The four of them slid into the two remaining SUVs. Aaron screeched out of the parking lot, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Rossi kept shooting him worried glances he pretended not to notice.

“We’ll find her,” Rossi said, “But you need to stay calm for us to do it.”

Aaron nodded. He didn’t trust his voice to work right now. If he tried to speak, he knew he’d probably cry. He pulled into the gas station just before Emily and JJ, and a voice in his head reminded him that this might be the last place you’d ever see. Rossi hopped out of the car, giving Aaron a sympathetic look as he did so.

+++++

The team had been at the gas station for almost three hours, interviewing customers, collecting evidence, and talking to workers. Multiple people reported seeing a woman similar to who Aaron described enter the bathroom, but no one saw her leave.There was a window in the girl’s bathroom that had been broken from the inside, with blood on both the window and the glass. The forensics team ran the blood, and it was all from the same person.

Aaron didn’t need to hear the results to know whose blood it was. Spencer tried to help, informing him that she hadn’t bled out because women had approximately 4.5 pints of blood and that was at most half a pint, but Aaron cut him off. He couldn’t hear it, couldn’t listen to everyone talking about his girlfriend, the love of his life, as though she was already dead. He knew the odds, knew that she was almost certainly going to be dead within the first 72 hours, considering how the unsub had killed the other women.

He was going to find you alive. He knew it.

Because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t.

+++++

Everything was fuzzy and painful and oh my god what is that stuff coming out of your side and out of your hand and holy crap you can’t move you’re tied up what are you tied to what’s going on and-

“You’re even prettier than I remember.” The voice sounded familiar, but the only thing your brain could fully focus on at the moment was the excruciating pain. You felt a hand on your side, and then a searing pain that was somehow worse than the pain you’d already been feeling.

“You got a piece of glass in your side. I’m getting it out.”

You felt pressure on the spot, and forced your head to move so you could see what was going on.

He was wrapping your waist in some sort of bandage to staunch the bleeding. You forced yourself to look around the musty room you were in. You were seated in a chair, with your arms tied to the back of the chair by a coarse brown rope and a metal chain and heavy shackle attached to your left ankle. Your eyes followed the chain, to where it connected to a silver hook jutting from the wooden floor, which was coated in a layer of dirt.

Dirt.

You must be in a barn, or shed, or something. You definitely weren’t in New York City anymore.

You vaguely remembered what had happened in the gas station bathroom. There’d been a man waiting in the first stall, who jumped on you, shoving your head against the mirror hard enough to crack your skull. You figured that you’d blacked out, and he’d jumped the window with you in tow.

Then another memory washes over you like a tsunami, flooding you with regret.

Aaron said he loved you, and you didn’t say it back. Now, you might never get to tell him that you love him again.

+++++

Aaron removed himself from the case, leaving Rossi in charge. He knew he’d only slow everyone else down with the torrent of emotions dancing inside his skull. So now, he’s resorted to sitting in your hotel room alone, wishing he hadn’t told you to go to the hotel. He’d been crying for the first time in years.

Aaron had no clue what to do, and it gives him newfound respect for the families of abducted victims that he speaks to. He pulled the sparkling diamond ring he planned on giving you tonight out of his bag, staring at it and imagining it on your ring finger. It doesn’t make him happier, instead it just turns the steady stream of tears into a storm.

+++++

Morgan, Rossi, JJ, and Emily, seated at the silver table in the conference room, were going over every last piece of evidence they have, while Spencer made a map of the abduction sites as Agent Milenka told him the addresses. They already established that the victims were high-risk due to their above-average athleticism, and each victim was taken from a high-risk location. Spencer looked for any sense of a pattern in abduction sites, but couldn’t find one. Eventually, he sat down next to Morgan and Emily, defeated.

“So all we know is that he’s obsessed with Y/N, and that he wasn’t remorseful about the murders of the other women.” Derek sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, if he was able to subdue her, he most likely had the element of surprise. So, he probably isn’t physically strong, and needed that advantage to knock her out.” Rossi added, and Derek nodded.

Spencer looked up from the crime scene photos. “There’s no ligature marks.”

Derek nodded. “Yeah, we went over that. So?”

“Why knock the women out and transport them if you’re just going to kill them immediately instead of holding them somewhere? Why not just kill them wherever they already are?”

Emily’s mouth fell open. “Practice. So that when he had Y/N, he knew exactly what was going to happen. But he didn’t want to ruin the rest of the fantasy by taking someone else where he’s planned to keep Y/N. He wants that to be special.”

“So we know he’s going to be holding her somewhere secluded, then,” Milenka chimed in.

After a few moments of silence, the phone rang in the center of the table, and the team members all stared at it for a few moments before Derek turned to the computer next to him, where Garcia was currently on a video call with the team.

“Can you trace this call, babygirl?”

Garcia nodded. “I don’t have a trap and trace set up yet, but I can get one, honey. Just gimme one second.”

Derek’s hand hovered over the button on the receiver to answer the call, and when Garcia affirmed that she was ready, Derek pressed the button. Instantly, a somewhat timid male voice filled the room.

“Where’s Agent Hotchner? I want to speak to him, not any of you.”

The team shared a perplexed look, and Emily asked, “How do you know who is here and who isn’t?”

“The window’s open.”

JJ ran to the window, then turned. “He’s there,” she said, pointing to a man directly underneath where the conference window was with a phone to his ear.

The rest of the team sprinted down the stairs and out of the field office, with JJ not far behind. By the time they got to where the man had been, he was long gone. No one near the area said they’d seen him, either.

Derek turned and punched the wall out of rage, while Emily cursed loudly. The rapid darkening of the sky didn’t help with trying to catch an unsub, either.

Dejectedly, the team returned to the conference room, where Garcia excitedly said, “Your man forgot to hang up for a few minutes! I don’t know entirely where he went, but I know the direction he was headed!”

“Where, Garcia?” Spencer asked, desperate for a lead.

“Straight west.”

Spencer looked to Emily, who said, “Let’s go.”

+++++

The team knew the unsub needed somewhere secluded to keep you, but couldn’t figure out where. He’d been on foot when they’d seen him, so it had to be somewhat close. Or maybe he’d had a car in a parking lot somewhere? There were too many variables. They needed Hotch.

+++++

“Drink.”

The man held a cup to your lips, but you kept them closed tight. After trying to force you for a while, he gave up. Sighing, the man ran a hand through your hair, forcing your head upright. For a serial killer, he was surprisingly gentle.

“You need your strength,” the man murmured, but you looked away when he picked up the cup again. He set it down, shaking his head, then pulled a knife out of the back pocket of his blue jeans. You knew better than to scream. It was likely that he craved your pain, so allowing him that satisfaction would coax him to continue. He walked behind you, to where you wouldn’t see him. You closed your eyes, praying for a quick death, praying Aaron would find you, praying you could see your team one last time.

But you didn’t need to.

The man cut through the rope binding your wrists, then left the room. He was rarely in the room with you, and you wondered what he was doing outside of it. For the first time, however, he came back within a few minutes of leaving. You could theoretically move if you wanted to now that the rope was gone considering how long the chain attached to your leg was, but you were weak and hurting. The last thing you saw before your vision went black yet again was the man standing above you with a syringe.

+++++

Aaron was with the rest of the team, visiting each abduction site for something, anything to help the profile, when the unsub called him.

“This is Hotchner.”

“I have her, Agent Hotchner, and I treat her better than you ever could. You think what she needs is a big strong man to control her,” he mocked, “But you don’t truly love her. No one could, except me.” Although the man’s words were confident, he sputtered out the words like an old truck engine. It sounded like he was reading a script, as though he’d had to plan out what he was going to say beforehand. As soon as the unsub finished speaking, the tell-tale click of the phone hanging up sounded.

Emily, who’d been walking next to him, stopped, pulling out her phone to contact Penelope.

“Can you get the rest of the team on the line? I think Morgan and Reid are at the Central Park crime scene, and JJ and Rossi are probably still by Times Square.”

Emily could practically hear Penelope’s smile as she responded, “Can do, gorgeous.”

A few keyboard clicks later, Penelope stated, “You’ve got me, Morgan, Rossi, Reid,and JJ.”

Emily took a shaky breath before saying, “We think Y/N knew the unsub.”

“What do you mean, knew?” Reid’s voice sounded.

“He claimed that he loves her more than Aaron ever could. He thinks he knows her better than us, so he probably knew her when she used to live in New York.”

“She went to college here, didn’t she?” JJ responded.

Penelope chimed in, exclaiming, “She went to John Jay College of Criminal Justice. Graduated top of her class.”

Morgan cleared his throat, then added: “Maybe the unsub didn’t know her, but thought he did. He could’ve been stalking her when she lived here, then kept tabs on her when she transferred to the BAU years ago.”

“He probably found out about Y/N’s relationship with Aaron recently, and that’s his stressor.” Rossi added.

Emily stared into the distance. There was something off about this. The theory made sense, but at the same time, it felt, well, wrong.

Agent Milenka, who’d been surveying the crime scene Emily and Aaron were at, sauntered over.

“I know who did this.”

Aaron met her firm gaze, confused and intrigued.

“Who?”

“There was this guy she met at John Jay, didn’t talk much, but he ended up applying to the FBI just because she did. He made it in a few months after her and got a job as a forensic analyst at our field office here. They worked together pretty often, and he was never too strange, but you got the feeling there was something off. He started acting weird after Y/N’s transfer to the BAU. I ordered another psych eval for him a few months ago, and he failed. I fired him, and I haven’t seen him since.”

Aaron and Emily shared a look, both hopeful and sad.

“What’s his name?”

“Ian Foster.”

Aaron nodded, murmuring a quick thank you, then turned back to Emily.

“Call Garcia. We need all the information we can find on Ian Foster.”

+++++

Your head hurt. You were somewhere different now; the dirty brown floor had been replaced with plush white carpet, and the chair you’d gotten used to was gone. Your left leg was still shackled, but this time it was attached to a shiny metal spike in the center of the room. You surveyed your surroundings, noting the vast difference between your current location and your past one. The chain attached to your ankle was long, probably meant to give you full access to the room you were in but keep you from leaving. The walls were white and spotless, along with the queen-sized bed behind you and the dresser and vanity along the far wall. You knew you must look out of place compared to the neatness of your surroundings, with your frizzy, dirty hair and torn, wrinkled, and stained clothes. You realized that you’d never checked your holster for your gun, and in doing so, found it empty.

Great.

Sun shone through the window on your right, and birds chirped happily, as if mocking you. They were telling you that they’re free, while you’re locked in this stupid white room.

Your captor walked in soon after you woke up, and you knew he must be watching you through a camera hidden somewhere.

“Drink.”

Your eyes searched his face, trying to understand who he was, now that you had enough light to see.

“Foster?” You managed to croak out through your parched throat.

Ian nodded, then grabbed your face with one calloused hand, forcing you to open your mouth so he could pour water in, which you promptly spat into his eyes. Instead of causing him to stumble, all it did was make him laugh.

“I see you’re still as fiery as ever.”

You clamped your mouth shut, pursing your lips and staring him in the eyes until he left. After he was gone, you tried to move your arms as much as possible. Your limbs felt heavy, like you were attached to weights, but moving was somewhat possible, a little bit at a time.

For now, that would be enough. You just had to pray that Aaron could find you.

+++++

Ian Foster’s paper trail was a series of dead ends, but Penelope Garcia, being the lovely omnipotent being she is, was able to find two properties owned by his dead uncle in upstate New York that he was likely using to hold you.

Aaron couldn’t describe the relief that wrapped itself around him, like a soft blanket, when Garcia chirped that she’d found where he was. He’d refused to allow himself to think that you might be dead, and the knowledge that now he had your location was sweeter than any candy could ever be.

He wiped a tear from his eye that threatened to fall, and cleared his throat, nodding at Emily and Agent Milenka, wordlessly signaling her to join him as he ran towards the SUV they’d been using. Emily followed, calling JJ and Rossi to give them the address as she ran. The first property, an old farmhouse, was about 40  minutes away from their current location, while the second one, a pretty two-story house, was about three hours away. Hotch, Emily, and Milenka, being farthest from both locations, were driving to the house, while the rest of the team would check out the farmhouse first then meet them there.

+++++

There was this feeling, blossoming in your chest, comforting you, whispering that Aaron was on his way. You’d learned over the years that your instincts rarely lied to you, and you hoped to whatever God there was or wasn't, that this wasn’t one of the times they misled you.

So you knew what you had to do.

You acted nice every time Ian came to visit, roughly every half hour.

Then, after five visits, you drank the water he offered willingly. Gently, Ian helped you up off the ground, a gesture that would’ve been comforting had he not been a serial killer. He moved his hands until they were lightly situated on your waist, and gazed into your eyes with the crazed fanaticism of a deranged man. He leaned in for a kiss, and the second he closed his eyes, you drove your right knee directly into his crotch.

Serves him right for being dumb enough not to fully restrain you. While he doubled over in pain, stepping back, you set up for a roundhouse kick that you placed to the back of his knee, knocking him onto the ground in an ungraceful heap. While he was on the ground, you punched him in the throat with enough force to knock the wind out of him, leaving him gasping for air on the ground like a fish out of water. Sending another kick to his temple for good measure, rendering him unconscious, you searched his pockets for anything that could remove the shackle from your leg. Eventually, you settled for a wire cutter that you used to cut off the attaching chain, but your clumsiness left an angry gash in your leg in the process. Limping from exhaustion, you ran from the room as fast as you could with the pain in your side from the glass that had been lodged there and the blood from the cut in your skull dripping down your face and neck. Your head felt fuzzy and faint, and you knew you were likely to pass out from blood loss any second. You repeated Aaron’s name in your head like a mantra, telling yourself that you needed to get back to him first, then you could pass out from pain. Every part of your body ached, screaming at you to give up as you stumbled down the creaky carpeted stairs, leaving a trail of blood in your wake.

As you neared the foyer, you heard the engine of a car, along with footsteps. The door flew open, with Aaron directly behind it, followed by Morgan, Emily, Spencer, Rossu, and a few agents from the New York office. Aaron’s eyes scanned the room before settling on you, bloodied and bruised, and he ran to you, gathering you in his arms while you whimpered like a child. He whispered things in your ear that you couldn’t make out as you let the blackness at the edge of your vision take over.

+++++

Lights. Murmuring voices. Were you still in that house?

You opened your eyes to see two people, one man and one woman, leaving the room you were in. There was a pressure on your hand that scared you, and slowly, you turned your head to see the source of the sensation, and you were greeted with what was quite possibly the best view you’d ever laid eyes on: Aaron Hotchner asleep at your side, desperately clutching your hand.

“Aaron?” You murmured. He was a light sleeper, so you knew the sound would most likely wake him up. When it didn’t, you squeezed his hand while murmuring his hand again. His head jerked up, and his tired eyes met yours.

“Y/N.” His voice was filled with so much anxiety, grief, and regret that your heart shattered, as he reached up to ever-so-gently caress your face, then kissed you softly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” His words took the broken pieces of your heart and smashed them again with a hammer, until you were sobbing against Aaron’s chest. He held you, and let you cry, becoming painfully aware of his inability to help in times like this. His specialty was catching criminals, not helping people through the trauma, and he entertained the thought of asking JJ to talk to you for a fleeting moment, before deciding that he couldn’t let you out of his sight for the time being.

After a few minutes, you sniffed and lifted your head to wipe away your tears, but Aaron did it before you could. You stared down at your side for a moment, watching the blood that seeped through the bandage every time you took a breath, while you gathered enough courage to speak without your voice wavering.

“I’m sorry. You told me you loved me, and I didn’t say it back, and that could’ve been the last-”

Aaron cut you off with a kiss, murmuring against your lips, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You sat in silence with him for a while, leaning your head against his shoulder as he stroked your hair. Eventually, Aaron broke the silence.

“I saw what you did to Ian.”

You choked out a laugh despite the pain that ripped through you while doing so. “Yeah, I left him in pretty bad shape, didn’t I?”

Aaron nodded, smiling. “I’m proud of you. Most people wouldn't be able to escape a serial killer.”

“Well, I’m not most people, Hotchner.”

“That’s for sure.”

+++++

The rest of the team left for D.C. the next morning, but Aaron stayed to drive you home once you were discharged from the hospital. First, however, he dropped you off at the FBI field office to talk with Agent Milenka while he called Jessica to ask if she’d mind watching Jack for a few more days, explaining what happened to you. She practically viewed you as a sister, and after recovering from the initial horror, was happy to agree.

“Hey, Y/N! You’re alive!” Agent MIlenka called brightly as you limped into her office, bumping your crutched on the doorframe.

You chuckled. “Sadly, I am. Aaron told me it was you who figured out Foster had taken me. How’d you know?”

Milenka shrugged. “I may not be a profiler, but I sure as hell can tell when someone’s not right. The guy went almost crazy when you left New York. It just made sense.”

“But if that was his stressor, he would’ve started murdering earlier.”

“We thought at first that finding out about you and Agent Hotchner might’ve been the stressor, but it was impossible to tell when he’d found out, so we switched gears. I fired Ian a few months ago because he’d just been getting worse and worse, and eventually was a liability on cases. The last straw was him failing his psych evaluation. Maybe he felt that losing his FBI job meant he lost his last chance to be with you if he’d been hoping to transfer to your unit someday.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s around the time the kidnappings started, isn’t it?”

Milenka nodded. The two of you stood in her office in comfortable silence for a bit, until she stood up from her desk, crossing the distance between you and engulfing you in a nervous hug. She pulled away fairly quickly, most likely out of fear of hurting you, and awkwardly patted you twice on the shoulder. “Take care, Agent.”

“You too, Milenka.”

You turned to go, but stopped when you heard Milenka call, “One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Hotchner’s a good guy. Don’t let that one get away.”

You merely offered her a smile, then strode out of her office as elegantly as one can with a limp.

+++++

The ride home was nice, full of easy discussion, laughter, and a few guilty looks that Aaron snuck at your stitched-up side, wishing he’d listened to you.

You made a joke he didn’t hear, and leaned over in your seat so you could wave a hand in front of his face, calling his name in a sing-song voice.

“Aaron, you good?”

Aaron shook his head slightly, rubbed his eyes, then turned towards you. “Yes?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

You hummed in affirmation, then turned towards the window. The rest of the drive was spent in comfortable silence, until you arrived at Aaron’s house. You spent practically all of your time there. Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d stepped foot into your apartment. Aaron helped you into the house and to your shared bed, where you passed out immediately. You vaguely heard a soft whisper of “sleep well” before you were out cold.

Aaron watched you for what felt like hours, feeling pent-up stress and anger roll off of him in waves as he silently stroked your hair, grateful beyond words that you’d lived. You murmured something in your sleep that sounded suspiciously like “I love you,” before rolling over to curl against his chest, nuzzling your head against the crook of his neck. And for the first time in days, he allowed himself a smile. Aaron basked in the rare feeling of relaxation, thinking about how nice it would be to bottle up this feeling and keep it forever, until sleep finally pulled him into its soft clutches. And for once, with you safely nestled into him, he slept easily. He still hadn’t proposed, but that was okay. Now that you were safe, you two had all the time in the world.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #crimnal minds #criminal minds fluff #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner smut #Penelope Garcia #spencer reid #emily prentiss #derek morgan

[chanluster]

non ducor duco | {m}

oneshot | historical! au | gang! au | 15.2k words 

“The most notorious gang leader in Victorian London can gouge out the eyes of men, steal from the corrupted rich, and terrify an entire city, but cannot figure out a few complicated feelings with you.”

s u m m a r y >> the leader of the sons of seoul, the wanted criminal mastermind, christopher bang, has the courage to commit any deed save for confronting you, his most trusted accomplice, about his feelings. however, when opportunity arises, in the shape of an invitation to a grand seasonal ball, to take down his fated enemy, he takes you to the heart of a lavish estate, both of you unaware of actions that occur inside, and after the mission.

w a r n i n g s >> gonna be using chris instead of chan cause it’s set in 1860s london, chan is a dom of course, jisung and changbin are dumb and dumber, are also massive cockblockers, some cliché scenes cause i’m a sucker for them, sexual! tension!, gore, foul language, making out, dirty talk, aggressiveness, semi-public fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!), oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, chan has a thing for being called his korean name, whack spelling for ‘cum’ as ‘come’ cause technically that word didn’t exist in 1860s, there is a plot so there will be build up

a / n > > so i went way over the 10k originally planned lmfaoooo but i hope y’all enjoy this oneshot! i worked my ass off on it and hopefully y’all can appreciate gang leader chan in 1860s london cause honestly i’m a 100% whore for that concept

back to masterlist

IT WAS A UNIVERSAL LAW THAT ONE MUST NEVER FUCK WITH CHRISTOPHER BANG. EVER.

Whatever charge you may have against him, it must be withdrawn. Whatever he had done to you — robbed you, murdered your son, destroyed your entire existence — it did not matter. There were always limits, and trying to challenge this specific criminal would only result in your undoing.

It seemed the target, cornered before you and the very man himself, did not fully understand this order.

Chris Bang, in all his midnight suited glory, took a step towards the cowering man, the ends of his longcoat trailing him in the air. His gloved hands locked behind his back, a grave curve of his lips as he addressed his next victim. “Mr. Shaw, we know you have the documents.”

This said Mr Shaw hastily shook his head, raising his hands in immediate surrender. “Please, Mr. Bang,” he whimpered. “I have no inkling of what you speak of!”

“Don’t you dare lie!” You interjected, sliding out your knife, pointing it towards him. “We received reports of you. Don’t you dare forget the monthly checks we’ve sent for its safekeeping!”

“I was taking care of it, Miss!” He backed further, until the wall of his office stopped his escape. “They came to the office though.”

“Who did?!” You demanded, but the way Chris’s hand fisted in irritancy answered your question.

The Mayor had taken their shares. Once again, the tyrant had robbed them off their fortune. 

“Mr. Shaw,” the man beside you started. The raw, dark matter in his voice had the owner’s eyes widening in pure fear. “Who was it specifically?”

“A really large man, about seven foot for sure…God, he had cuts all over his face, slight stubble,” he answered, knees slightly shaking. “Please, Mr. Bang, I have a family, children who have not grown—”

“Why is it that whenever man is at his weakest he mentions his loved ones?” A few stray locks escaped from Chris’ raked hair, caressing the ragged scar from his brow down to his cheek. “Why do you think that I’ll suddenly take pity because you have others who will mourn your existence?”

These questions had the man collapsing, leaning completely against the wall for support. You stole a glance at Chris, wondering if he was now capable of extracting the very souls from men. “Do not keep toying with me, Shaw,” he warned, leaning in slightly. “I know you have information.”

A soft, helpless whine escaped from the owner of the building. “Then-they'll kill me,” he mumbled, looking up at the criminal with desperation. It was a shame that never worked on a man with no sympathy.

“I can kill you too,” Chris countered, and in a flash a sleek, pocket knife appeared in his gloved hand, and hovered it right under Shaw’s chin. “So how about you tell me what you know, and I can prolong your imminent end, hmm? Does that seem fair enough?”

You almost felt sorry for the man. “H-his men…” tears formed in his eyes. “His men kept calling him Carter.”

“Brilliant,” you muttered. ‘Scar’ Carter, the Mayor’s link to the crime world, the dirty dealings of London. Carter, the lapdog of the socialites. The most irritating, disgusting son of a bitch you had ever encountered.

“I see.” The knife stayed, caressing the manager’s skin. “Now I know they’re to sell the documents. The bastard is greedy.

“Question is, Shaw, where is the transaction going to take place?”

Dear God, the man looked as if he was about to piss his trousers. “The ball.” He tried to gulp, but felt the curve of the blade. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a masquerade ball in a few days, and Carter already had a client. They’re going to do the dealing there, I swear on my children!”

A harsh scoff emitted from the criminal. “You better hope for the sake of your sons that you aren’t lying.” 

“Did you get the invitations?” You asked, eyes darting around the dirtied room, the messy desks and chairs lopsided from your searching. 

“Yes, yes!” He pointed to a set of drawers. “There are two in there!”

You walked towards the destination, opening the drawers and sure enough, finding the gold-edged enveloped, addressed to Shaw and his wife. “Are your names inside too?”

“No, just the envelope, but that is not important! I promise!”

You pocketed the invitations inside your coat pocket, joining your leader’s side again. Chris, after a minute of heart-wrenching silence, stood up, freeing Shaw’s neck from the knife, sliding it within his belt.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” His eyes were still upon the man when he said, “Let us return.”

The both of you were ready to leave when you heard Shaw’s sudden protests.

“The Sons of Seoul, everybody!” He declared, almost hysterically. “Coming in, fucking everything up, and leaving as if nothing had ever happened!”

Chris paused in his tracks, a quiet stillness passing over his whole figure. 

“What are you going to do now, Mr. Bang?” He hissed, slowly sliding up. “Are you going to infiltrate the biggest ball of the season? Create a bloodbath on the dance floor? It’s what you love to do so ardently, no?”

You heard the harsh spit smack on the office floor. “Stop meddling with the business of the British socialites. Go back to the gutter you crawled out of.” The next words overflowed with hatred. “Go back to where you really came from, you slit-eyed prick.”

Your eyes flashed in shock, swerving around to see the raging expression on Shaw’s beady little face. Fisting your hands, you were ready to knock him out when you felt the man beside you move.

Chris whirled around, eyes promising a horrifying future as he pounced upon the manager.

A yelp was heard as Chris’ fingers dug at the corner of Shaw's eyes, and relished the cries of terror as with a roar of his own, he squeezed with his thumb and forefinger, swelling the balls of vision from their sockets. With a loud pop! the two eyes tore from their origins, gooey residue trailing down his face as Christopher Bang palmed the two organs in his hands.

He observed his victim bellowing in pain as he fell to his knees, hands covering his bloodied sockets. A ghostly smirk accompanied his lips. "Better slit-eyes than none at all."

You had to suppress the severe shivers that threatened to break your stance. 

Shaw broke the universal law. His undoing was inevitable.

He flung the eyes upon the owner, and turned on his heel, eerily cool as he walked out of the office, blood and goo still on his black gloves. Not a hair ruffled upon his pretty head. 

You spared a look at the victim, crying out in infinite pain, hands on his sockets still. “Do not fuck with Christopher Bang,” was all you said, before following the devil out of the building.

The afternoon London heat hit you as you exited the offices, Chris waiting as he examined the filthy streets surrounding you. People of all classes strolled by, beggars on the street asking for two-pence, children selling newspapers down the corners, and carriages riding away on the wide roads. The man still did not clean his gloves from the mess, and you pointed this out as you arrived at his side.

“It does not bother me,” he waved you off, but you brought out your leather skin.

“Bring your hands out,” you ordered. 

Chris scowled. “I said I’m alright,___.” He began walking forwards, towards your humble abode, not far away from your starting point. “Besides, whoever strolls past us, they’ll second guess their evil intentions against us.” You glanced over the strange looking fellows, scattered across the roads. “Shows I am not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “Dirty pig.”

You felt daggers glaring into you. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” you said, turning a corner, already catching sight of the docks. “I expect this behaviour from Jisung. Perhaps even Changbin, but not from you.”

“Enough with this,” the man ordered, irritancy clear in his voice. Grumbling, you walked beside him in silence, the Thames entering your vision. You wished it would have radiated a rich, clear blue body of water, but from the stench which even reached your nose, it would be impossible. The river, a dump for the sewers, the rubbish disposed daily, was a toxic mass of water, and the cause of thousands dying from drinking its contents. When you first joined the Sons you nearly drank from the river, being saved only by Chris’ rough hand slapping the cup away. You remembered you received a harsh scolding from him that day, immediately providing you with clean water after to quench your thirst. 

A small smile curved onto your lips at the memory.

“Hand it over.”

You perked your head up to see his filthy, gloved hands out. “What is it?” You asked. 

“The water.”An irritated sigh escaped him. “I’ll clean the bloody gloves.” 

Your smile grew as you handed him the leather skin. “But only because I don’t ever want to be associated with Jisung and Changbin,” he added, and you only laughed, watching the man rub the mess off his attire as you both arrived at the docks.

The first sounds heard were not of the boats bellowing at port, nor the waves lapping in underneath the stilts. 

No, all you were welcomed with was a string of curses, spat by Seo Changbin.

“You fucking bastard, how dare you—”

“Here we go again,” you caught Chris muttering, who quickened his pace, thundering to where the two of his sidemen fought, caught in a scrap.

Han Jisung’s whines were carried through the river air, burning into your eardrums. “Bin, no, I said I’m sorry—!”

When you caught up to Chris, he opened his mouth, exasperation clear in his voice. “Boys!” He exclaimed.

Immediately the fighting ceased. The boys addressed, Changbin atop Jisung, ready to throw the final punch, turned back to see his leader scowling. Jisung let out a yelp, throwing the former from him and scrambling to his feet. Changbin followed suit, a little more slowly after rubbing his side in agony.

“Why the fuck,” Chris started, pointer finger darting between his two men, “Are you both fighting again?”

Changbin, fixing his ruined locks with his hand, shot his best friend a glare. “He took my fucking scones again.” He groaned, much too loud. “God, I specifically stored them in a place where no one would find them, but this greedy pig still managed to snuff them out!”

Jisung, a slender and more comical figure, crossed his arms, raising his chin in stubbornness. “I did not see a bloody name on them! Tell me Bin,” he matched his opponent’s stare. “Did you write down your name with blood-red ink across the scones? Because I certainly did not see the words Seo Changbin scrawled on the surface!”

“Argh!” The elder of the two turned his raging gaze towards the leader, who was watching his subordinates with slight distaste. “Chris, permission to cut off his tongue for being the bane of my existence?!”

Chris only stepped past them, heading for the big wooden table situated near the gang’s warehouse. The sounds of ships sailing in the dirty waters thrummed to the port, shouting heard all around over new, imported goods. “Another time, Changbin,” he only said, bringing out a chair and sitting down, propping an ankle over a knee. “I have encountered enough organ slicing for the day.”

Jisung’s face twisted in awed curiosity, settling himself down beside Chris. “Without me?” he let out a disappointed whine, turning to you. “I trusted you, at least!”

“I was surprised myself, Ji,” you argued, raising a hand towards the aloof man as you sat opposite your friend. “I didn’t know Chris gouged out Shaw’s eyes until they were in his hand!”

“You truly are a selfish man,” Changbin complained, plopping himself on the last seat. “Alway keeping the fun for yourself and ____.”

You did not really know why your face flushed a little at his charge, but you made sure to whack Changbin in the gut, earning a pained groan from the boy.

Chris locked his hands upon the table. “Well, gentlemen, then it is time for you to join in on the entertainment.”

The two boys exchanged confused glances. On cue, you brought out the pair of invitations within your coat pocket, tossing them to the table. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a ball,” you explained, rolling your eyes at the boys tearing open the envelopes, yanking out the oblong, cartridge paper, details inked with a precise hand. “Since it does not have names, anyone can enter the estate.”

Jisung let out an excited yell, grabbing onto Changbin’s arm. “Binnie, we can actually have some fun!”

“Not so fast, boys,” Chris said, tightening his gloves. “The invitations are not yours.”

Changbin’s face immediately fell. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

The elder held out a finger, silencing the complaints, but not the quiet grumbling of his members. “As I was saying,” he continued, hands interlocking once more, “____ and I will use the invitations to get inside, with the two of you as our bodyguards.”

“Marvellous!” Jisung exclaimed, sarcasm practically dripping on his words. “Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic!”

“Jisung,” Chris warned, “How about you clean the shit off the docks instead?”

“Chan,” you murmured, causing him to glance at you. His sour expression almost softened at the word, the name which only few have ever said to him. You pondered at the time the two boys, sat to your right, tried teasing him with this name, and nearly earned an ass-beating. You, on the other hand, rather liked the way the name sounded on your tongue. 

Perhaps, you wished dearly, he liked the way it sounded on your tongue too.

The man, after a pause, averted his eyes from you, focusing them on his comrades. “You both can still enjoy the festivities, but you have to keep a low profile, because while ____ and I are socialising and distracting the guests, you both need to find Carter.”

“Is he at the party too?” Changbin propped his elbows on the table. “Lord above, I’ve been wanting to kick his arse for a while.”

“So you both just frivol away, then?” Jisung whined. “I want to drink and dance!”

“And you both will,” Chris persisted. “We all will keep a lookout for Carter and his dealings, and if any of us find him first, you report to me. At my signal, you and Changbin will break through their trade. I will be behind you as long as I slip away without anyone discovering our motives.”

You look to your leader. “There’s another problem.”

The three all turned to you. “If we are to go to the most lavish ball of the season, we certainly need to dress for it.” Suddenly, you sounded like a little girl when you pointed out, “I do not have a gown to wear for the evening.”

An eyebrow raised upon Chan’s face, while Changbin and Jisung snickered, puckering their lips. “Aww, poor little ____ has no lace to woo the rich men!”

You made to slap the pair’s arms and narrowly missed, glaring. “As if you animals have any decent attire to wear for the ball! When was the last time you wore a proper tailcoat?”

That was enough for their teasing to cease, but Changbin was adamant. “Don’t throw me in with Jisung! He doesn't even bother to shower!”

“Oi, you bastard!”

The pair were ready to fight once more when Chris cleared his throat.

“You’re right,____.”

A glance at the man who said it. “I have only seen you in stealth gear and rags, the first time I met you.” He leaned back in his creaking chair. “Perhaps it is time to flower you up a little.”

Jisung and Changbin were about to chuckle once again when you shot them a dirty look.

“I will order evening attire tomorrow,” Chris decided. “They will arrive on the day of the ball, which is adequate enough timing. 

“Now,” he declared, standing. “Are we all aware of what we have to do?”

The two boys turned sheepishly to you, who sighed and addressed the leader. “You and I attend the ball with these two fools as our bodyguards—”

“Hey!”

“____!”

“We maintain a believable facade and enjoy ourselves while also looking out for Carter and the documents. Once we find out where he is, Changbin and Jisung take him away, and we slip out of the party unnoticed.”

Chris, after a pause, nodded, a ghost of a smile upon his lips. “Good girl.”

And just like that, he left the table, your eyes a little wide and heart a little raced. 

When Chris retreated into the warehouse, the two boys turned their malicious gazes towards you, smirking much too wide for your liking.

“Do not,” you snapped, cheeks burning deeper, earning a smattering of laughter from the bastards.

“Whatever you say, good girl,” Changbin simpered, Jisung repeating the damned endearment until you hastily stood from your chair.

You rewarded them both with your middle finger before storming back into another warehouse, Chris’ words still engraved in your mind.

Just as Christopher Bang had predicted, the new attire arrived on the day of the ball. 

More planning had been explained, more additions to the grand scheme of the evening which was mere hours away. The gang was ready, but you can never be perfectly anticipated for any ideas gone amiss.

You even taught Jisung and Changbin to dance, ranging from the Polka to the Viennese Waltz, which was popular amongst high society in the growing years of Queen Victoria’s reign. They were terrible at the start, both of them always falling on each other, but with hard effort they learned quickly, almost perfecting the art of leading your partner on the ballroom floor.

You had not bothered asking the other if he wished to learn. There was something about him which made you think that he could do anything. Not once had he ever doubted your theory.

It was as if there was nothing in the world he could not know like the back of his gloved hand.

Thoughts like these were what filled you with such awe for him. Such deep-rooted pride that you worked under this man. Those thoughts did, however, curve into darker corners — when his midnight-lined eyes and raven figure haunted you in restless nights. 

You aggressively shook your head, swinging your legs over the dock. Sitting upon the wood, you watched the sun descend slowly, the stark yellows and whites of the sky beginning to darken. Ships docked and stayed, men with their filthy language and filthier intentions flocked outside, and strange women with too-tight corsets and lips too rosey, smirking at the newcomers, carrying out their own ways of living.

Sometimes, you’d watch this run-down life move on in this exact same spot, thanking the lucky stars for not being one of the boys with the weights on their backs, nor the girls with the untied top corsets. You thanked the same man, who brought you out of that hell, giving you the chance to fight all this wrong embedded in London. 

You also thanked him, especially that day, for calling you that endearment. 

God. The man was a criminal, yet you were the one being imprisoned. 

“____!”

You turned, heaving to your feet when you see Jisung running to you, packages in his hands. “Your gown’s inside!” He exclaimed, gummy smile lighting up his entire face. 

Throwing you the box, you caught it just before it flew into the Thames, shooting the boy a wary glare. “Careful,” you said, looking over the silk ribbon tied into a perfect bow upon the middle. Although there were greater happinesses in life, small ones such as new dresses had you in near giggles.

“I’ve got my very own tailcoat now,” Jisung yelled, ripping open the packaging, about to whip out his new clothing when you waved him to stop.

“Do it inside, Ji, or you’ll ruin your outfit!”

“Trust him to fuck up a perfectly new suit before trying it on,” Changbin’s voice drawled through the dock, who held a box of his own. “Also, the boss is saying to quit dallying and start dressing!”

You obliged, holding onto your box tenderly as you entered a little building beside the main warehouse, consisting of everyone’s rooms and privies. Your eyes glanced to Chris’ bedroom door before pushing open the door to yours, stepping inside to the small, yet decorated space, filled with a board of knives and bows displayed upon one wall and an erratic strokes of paint brushed along the textured surfaces, courtesy of Jisung and Changbin’s lack of motivation to finish your room. An undone bed was tucked into the corner, and a large mirror stood on its curled railing in the other corner, revealing yourself, hands underneath the package.

The sun fell further, sky being painted with dark oranges and purple and pinks, staining your bedroom the colours of soft autumn as you put your package on the bed, untying the ribbon and unboxing the whole treat. 

The first glance of the dress had you smiling in pure incitement.

You brought the dress out of its box, letting it trail free right down to your toes, holding it to arm’s length to examine the details : it was a mysterious, dark red, a colour which instantly attracted attention within the golds of the ballroom. The neck line was low, dipping just enough to tempt until it swelled over for the openings for the arms, black ruffles on the fabric to accentuate off shoulders. The intricate, midnight detail was stitched to perfection, creating a network of swirls upon the bodice before flaring out into the wider skirts. Dear God, you had never seen such an exquisite dress on any noble lady in this damned city.

Your smile grew a little wider. Christopher Bang, once again, has not disappointed. 

You turned it on it’s back, mouth parting in surprise at the silk lacing, undone and trailing down the dress, waiting to be tied and admired. Realising that we’re you to wear this, the entire ball would see your back half-exposed. Even the man you’re to be escorted with.

The thought alone made your insides sing. 

Chris had ordered this dress. He knew what he was acquiring for you, what he asked you to dare. 

Well, you were happy to oblige. Something within you wished to see his eyes blaze at you in the gown.

Closing the curtains of your room, you quickly lit up a metallic lamp, orange light leaking onto your dresser and walls.  Setting the source upon a stool, you began shedding your coat, tossing it on the bed before going to the dresser.

You spent about ten minutes on your hair, lifting locks upward and curling them into a messy bun. You brought out clips of pearls, attaching them at the back of your hair, letting the few stray curls bounce along your ears and neck.

After finishing your hair you began shedding your clothing, excitement rushing in your gut at the thought of wearing the ballgown. When you were adorned in nothing but your underthings, you grabbed onto the arms of the new dress, entering one leg into the opening before sliding the other. You raised the gown, fitting the bodice upon yourself and the short sleeves cuffing just under your shoulders. 

Looking over your shoulder at the back, it was bare before the mirror, saving your rear only with a small dip which was edged with more black lace. The laces for tightening the back still hung uselessly, begging to be entangled with their partners.

And you tried to oblige. You truly did, straining your hands behind your back and trying your hardest to tie the laces with the opposites, of creating a pattern adequate enough for the ball and announce your preparation. Unfortunately for you, your fingers refused to assist you that moment in the evening. 

Letting out an irritated sigh, you called for your friends.

“Jisung!” you shouted, hands endeavouring still. “Changbin!”

Your back still to the door, you waited for the two fools to arrive, but no one came. Again, you called their names, but to no avail, only silence answering you.

“I swear to the Lord,” you muttered, arms now starting to hurt from the stretching. You were about to bring the warehouse down with your roar when you heard the door quietly creak open, the sound of boots emitting against the floor. 

“Ah, finally,” you began as you turned around, hands clutching the bodice of the dress, ready to be irritated by your comrades when all words abandoned your tongue.

There, standing by the door, in all his midnight-tainted glory, was Chris Bang.

You hated how your eyes widened at the sight of him. 

The man always took care of his appearance, but that evening he had truly outdone himself - His infamous woollen longcoat was hung over his arm, exposing his black tailcoat, shining slightly in the flickering lamp light. His waistcoat underneath fit snug, and his white cravat tie peaked just above the lapels, caressing his Adam’s apple. His raven locks were slicked back, a few stray flyaways drooping over his forehead. The gloves were worn still, skin never exposed.

You caught his eyes flicker, something within stirring at seeing you, holding onto your dress in case it fell to the floor. The prolonging silence was shattered when you forced yourself to speak.

“Chris,” you said, because his name was the first thing, the only thing you could comprehend.

He, too, inhaled, slowly. “Jisung and Changbin...they’re outside, so they could not hear.”

“Oh.” 

Another round of silence. God, you wished you could just say something to him, anything which wasn’t a single syllable—

“____.”

You snapped into focus. “Yes?”

“Why did you call them?”

Blinking, you stumbled, “I, I just needed help with…” your hand gestured to your back. “...with the laces.”

There was an indecipherable undertone in his next words. “You could have called me.”

“You’re here now.”

Again. The world-heavy pause upon the both of you. 

A few more seconds ticked by when Chris set his coat upon the dresser chair. His eyes never left yours.

“Turn around.”

You dragged your gaze away from his as you complied, baring your back before him, laces dangling. His footsteps sounded from behind you, and his presence was felt, large and magnetic.

Leather sliding from skin, you sensed his eyes on you, taking in your illuminated skin. You had the greatest urge to shiver, but suppressed it, waiting for his next move.

A small breath hitched in your throat when Chris grabbed onto the first pair of laces and tugged them back, pulling you to him. 

Almost too conveniently, your rear backed against his crotch, and a minute noise escaped you before putting some distance between you two again. You instantly regretted the action, already missing the mere caress of what lay underneath his trousers.

“Stop fidgeting,____,” he ordered, and you immediately stilled, the tug still adamant at your back. Almost disgraceful how quickly you listened to him.

Slowly, he tied the first bow, right to the small of your back. When he started on the second, though, the first touch of his fingers against your back threw you off guard.

You should have expected this. You should have known from the start of his task that his fingers would graze your skin but each caress was like a lick of fire, threatening to singe the skin. Your breath caught in your throat, each time Chris touched you.

Those damned fingers skirted upwards, tying up the laces with such delicacy it nearly softened your stance, if only you didn’t notice his growing warmth. You realised with no small amount of pleasure that he, too, was possibly flustered.

Christopher Bang. Flustered over a girl.

You almost gasped when his hands brought a few stray curls over your shoulder, the dip of your neck exposed as he began the final bow of your gown. The process was excruciatingly slow, each little caress enough for you to turn around and—

And what?

How you desperately wanted to find out. 

Sensing the ribbon curling upon your neck, you understood. 

“It is done,” he whispered, and you shifted at the sigh which kissed your skin. God, he was so close, you were scared that if you turned around his lips—

You did not need to worry when you felt strong hands grip your shoulders, whirling you around in a sudden fashion. Your eyes widened at the close proximity of his face, his beautiful fucking face, and the warm, slender hands on your naked shoulders.

“Chan,” you let yourself say, and you swore the criminal’s eyes darkened. His grip on you tightened.

Perhaps he would have closed the distance, saved you from desperation when someone knocked on the goddamn door.

“___?!”

“Hurry up, the carriage is waiting!”

“Women, honestly—!”

You yelped at the sound of your friends bellowing behind the door. Even Chris looked a little surprised, a slight tick in his jaw as the noise grew louder.

Grabbing onto your skirts, you thundered towards the door, furrowing your brows as you twisted the knob, opening to see the same two idiots, shooting you irritated glares. 

“Is Miss Fancy-Shmancy finally ready?” Changbin drawled, propping a hand upon his hip, tails of his coat dangling behind him.

“Madame certainly took her time,” Jisung went on, sauntering into your bedroom without a care. “Might as well not attend the ball at all—”

His incessant rambling was instantly ceased when he saw Chris standing before you, putting on his gloves. His face was impassive as ever, save for the jaw still tightened.

“Oh, Chris,” he said, and started backing away to the door. “The carriage is outside.”

“Let us go, then,” he only replied as he grabbed his longcoat, strolling out of your bedroom, leaving your skin tingling and heart confused.

Changbin watched Chris exit the building, turning to you with a raised brow. “What was the Mr. Thorns-up-his-arse doing in your room?”

You scoffed at the nickname, picking up the invitations from the dresser. “He was just helping me.”

Jisung’s lips curved into a smirk. “Helping you…?”

“Stop it!” You demanded, but both of the boys could see the blush on your cheeks, even from the dim lamp light. 

“Come on, now,____,” Changbin said, holding out an arm, and hitting Jisung’s arm to do the same. “Let us follow Chris before he shouts at us for keeping you here.”

“Don’t say such things,” you cooed, looping your arms with the two boys. “He will kill you outright instead.”

Laughter emitted from the two, leading you out of the room, down the halls and soon the building.

The carriage was waiting at the entrance of the dock, horses neighing softly at your arrival. Jisung opened the carriage door, letting you climb inside. Chris, inside already, held out a hand, you taking it as he had you sit beside him. His hard figure brushed against your shoulders, reminding you of his fingers on your back not too long ago.

Just like that, you slumped against the seating. That man was truly going to be the death of you.

When the two boys scrambled inside, Chris’ hand thudded against the roof, indicating it to start riding. The carriage obliged to his command. 

The small, interwoven streets widened as the carriage rode upon the main roads, going faster with each signal of Chris’ hand. The inside was alive with Jisung gloating shamelessly over his checkered waistcoat, with Changbin giving reassurances for his “ugly face ruining the clothing.” You laughed at every jab the two threw at each other, but would tense at the erratic touches Chris’ knee would send with every shake of the vehicle. Although the many layers of skirts cushioned these brushes, the blood rushing to your cheeks was evidence enough - everything he did made you so unhinged.

Soon, the big roads led from filthy, back-to-back housing to larger homes, the further the dirty central city strayed from you. A few touches of countryside teased your view when you saw mansions, estates the size of neighbourhoods gracing the surroundings. The carriage began to slow down, as more people adorned in fine attire entered your window view, no doubt going to the same destination as the gang.

The most illuminated estate welcomed you as the carriage stopped right before its vast, colourful gardens, smattering of couples taking intimate walks along the hedges. Chris, noticing the destination, opened the door, Changbin following suit. As the former got out he held out his hand to you. Surprised by his sudden manners, you took his hand, stepping down from the carriage, careful of your skirts as they brushed against the pavement. Jisung and Changbin were right beside you, uttering the driver to come back within a couple of hours.

“Now,” Chris began, bringing your hand to his arm. “You both stay behind me and ____. You wouldn’t need invitations if you both act like our bodyguards.”

“Right behind you, boss,” Jisung chanted, counting his knives inside his coat pockets. Changbin took one of the weapons from him, sliding it up his trouser sleeve, securing it with a leather ankle strap. 

“Right.” the gang all looked at each other, silent understanding passing between all of you.

“Let’s ruffle some rich feathers.”

With your hand still on his arm, the leader of the Sons of Seoul led his gang inside of the massive estate. 

Guards at the entrance shot you grave looks as they stopped you. “Invitations,” they said. You obliged, bringing out the golden paper. They looked over, convinced, and gave them back to you.

You and Chris were about to enter when Jisung and Changbin were stopped behind you. “Protection,” Chris said, but the guards were unconvinced. 

“They need invitations too,” was their answer.

Dread, slight yet present, began to fill your stomach. Has the mission failed before it could even begin?

“I suggest you let them in, too,” Chris only said, black eyes piercing the two men with a glare. “Or my friend hosting this party will hear of this inconvenience.”

That seemed to stir the guards, for they said nothing more, letting your friends enter the estate. Jisung and Changbin made sure to smirk at the men before sauntering inside behind you.

Your eyes, upon stepping inside the main hall, were welcomed with paradise. 

Gold. gold upon gold was painted, lined, moulded everywhere, upon the walls, on the floor, on the painted ceiling, hypnotising you with its kaleidoscopic pattern. Swirls of white and silver journeyed along the walls, and the floor bore solid treasures, sculpted into the ground and shining exquisitely from the chandelier lighting. Hundreds of lords and ladies, businessmen and escorts populated the manor, either being moved by the orchestral band, dancing, helping themselves to food from the lines of dishes or simply mingling among others.

It was the chaos of the rich. A place you didn’t quite fit in.

You stole a glance at the man beside you. Even though he looked contained as ever, you felt his arm tightening all over. Perhaps he knew he did not belong in this world either.

The grim understanding was cut off when Changbin’s shrill gulp sounded from behind you.

“Scones!”

The man immediately dashed towards the food section, earning blatant laughter from his friends as Jisung stepped beside Chris. “Once he’s done stuffing himself, we’ll get into positions.” He skirted his eyes over the buzzing crowd. “I have already spotted some of Carter’s men in different corners of the hall, so we can see where they’re going to go.”

“Any signs of Carter?” you asked, already feeling suggestive eyes on your body, the dark red curves of your figure. 

“He’ll show himself soon,” Chris promised, beginning to take a step forward. “The bastard thrives in attention.” He turned to Jisung. “Make yourself scarce.”

He then saw Changbin making himself much too comfortable with the jam scones rapidly declining in his wake. “And for God’s sake, control Changbin.”

Jisung shook his head, mocking a salute before strolling to his friend. You and him were left to your own activities, and soon you felt the tug of his body, leading you further into the hall.

You looked up to see him scouring the room. His brows furrowed slightly, that stiffness felt underneath your fingertips. “Chris,” you called to him, and were answered with an uncertain stare.

“I’m alright,” he said, walking along the lines of the dance floor, looking away when he gave you the false assurance. 

You did not know what was going on. In other missions his composure would never falter — this was what he was so notorious for, being calm despite the anarchy around him. Never before had you seen him so tense.

“Stop it.”

You blinked back into reality. “What?”

“You’re doing it again,” he hissed, raking his hand through his hair. “Looking at me that way. Like I’m about to snap.”

A pout formed on your lips, looking up at him underneath your lashes. “I can sense you’re distressed.” You squeezed his arm in comfort. “I cannot help if I worry for you, Chris.” 

With small surprise, you found him soften, only slightly. “I just…” he sighed in exasperation. “I hate parties.”

You understood the connotations. Wealthy parties. The men and women who throw them. 

“And I, too,” you agreed, earning a soft snort from the man. Your heart warmed a little at the sound, and thankfully the tension faded between the two of you, not necessarily from each other but from the socialites around you.

Your heart, however, received no such rest, beating much too loud for your liking. 

The two of you took another turn of the room before a low, arrogant drawl paused you both in your tracks.

“Mr Christopher Bang.”

You and your leader both sighed simultaneously. 

Turning, you tilted your head upwards to none other than ‘Scar’ Carter, smirking ridiculously down at the the two of you. He was something out of a children’s book, the grotesque villains with wanned skin and beady looks, ready to pounce and make you disappear without you ever realising. Although young, he looked to be in his mid-forties, unkept locks and curled moustache, being played by his fingers. 

He held out his other hand, extending the smile to the man beside you. “Always a goddamned blessing to see you.”

Chris assessed his hand for a moment before he let go of your grip on his arm, slipping off his gloves. His own olive coloured hands were roughened, no doubt from years of manual labour. He took Carter’s hand, shaking the greeting in place, and the latter turned his enemy’s hold, looking over at the new image inked upon the hand.

“What is this, Chrissy?” He mused, the nickname causing the said-man’s lips to twitch. “Some flowery poetry?”

Your eyes strayed to what he meant; just under his thumb, where the joint began, was a tattoo, inked deeply in a cursive hand. It was a phrase you had never knew the meaning of, nor had you asked, but the Latin was beautiful on his textured skin.

NON DUCOR DUCO.

“Not poetry, Carter,” he only said, tracing his sole tattoo with a finger. “But something I live by.”

Despite Carter towering over the man, Chris Bang pinned him with a piercing glare. His signature phantom smile appeared on his lips. 

“I am not led. I lead.”

The giant’s shit-eating grin faltered. You could not help but let a small chuckle escape at his reaction. 

And maybe you shouldn’t have shown amusement, because when he focused his animalistic gaze upon you, you had the sudden urge to hold onto the man beside you again.

“Ah, Miss ____,” he jeered, mocking a deep bow which you did not return. “Chris’ little...protégée.”

He then held out his hand to you, and you knew it was not to shake the gnarled fingers. “Would you do me the honour of dancing with you?”

You scoffed, anger bubbling within your veins. How dare he even ask you, after all the trouble he had caused for the gang? Smirking as if it was all a little game.

Your mouth parted, ready to reject him outright when a warm hand settled on your back. 

Chris’ fingers stroked the exposed skin, skirting over the lacing, and despite the heavenly feeling, you knew what this signal really meant. 

Distraction. This would be the perfect opportunity to divert Carter’s attention while Chris joined in the other’s search. Listening to the instrumental, you realised that would spare them another five minutes.

Reigning in your fury, you offered the bastard a thin-lipped smile before taking his hand, already missing the mere touch of another seconds before.

Carter led you to the dance floor among the other dancers, you hardly radiating the same enthusiasm as the others accompanying you. The man’s other hand, one still holding yours, snaked around your waist, and you hated how it felt against your back, pure distaste staining your features as he tried to impersonate the idle lace curling that Chris did.

As if it physically hurt, you propped a hand upon his shoulder, and when the music began, the game started.

The giant kept ogling at you as the sly grin appeared on his lips. “I must say, I am very envious of Chris.”

You matched his stare. “Of course you would,” you only said, trying your best to sound like your leader, who was an embodiment of calmness. “You can never be the man Chris is.”

“Oh, I did not mean by what he is, my lady,” he corrected. “I meant by what he has.”

He pulled you to him, much to close, and you hissed as the fingers behind you played on your back. “He is much too lucky to possess a creature like you, Miss ____.”

Good God. If he endeavoured to make you as uncomfortable as possible, then he was doing a splendid job. You regretted ever listening to Chris, but for the plan, you will do what is necessary.

As if on cue, you felt dark, piercing eyes on you. By the little hairs which stood at the back of your neck, there was no doubt who watched over you, murmuring progress with Jisung as he sipped wine on a tightly held flute. 

“Tell me, sweet,” he began once more, making you lose your thoughts, turning about the room as the music went on. “Why do you work for a man like him?”

You sighed at the question. Truly this man did not know how to initiate small talk. “Why is that any of your concern?”

“Because I’ve seen you in action,” he answered, and you could not mistake the awe that threatened to expose in his voice. “You have incredible potential, my lady, and it pains me that Chris does not use you properly. You waste your efforts in a silly gang.”

His condescending speech made you dig his nails in his hand. “Careful, Carter,” you seethed, watching his face crumple in pain from your action. “The silly gang you speak of will not hesitate to obliterate your entire organisation. And neither will I.”

Rage flashed in his eyes as he grinned at your claim. “I doubt the esteemed Christopher Bang would even let you participate,” he drawled, grazing his fingers against your back. “You being his whore is enough for him.”

You parted your mouth in slight shock. The reaction quickly evaporated with pure, unadulterated fury. A lot of people speculate your true relationship with Chris, but your own demeaning always struck deep. How dare people think that you only have the power you have because you slept with the greatest criminal in the city? 

With your head raging, you sent your low heel down upon Carter’s boot, a yelp escaping the man as his dancing faltered, grip on you loosening. Fortunately for you, the orchestra smoothed their music to a close, and small applause rang around the room, you joining as you smiled at Carter’s slight groaning.

When the giant looked at you again, all his arrogance was gone, instead a face of wrath. “You bitch-”

You were sure he was going to strike, despite hundreds in the ballroom. Even your smug demeanour dampened when you saw his bear-like hand raise when its journey was paused.

Ceased completely as Chris’ hand wrapped around Carter’s wrists.

Your leader’s smile was sharp, like a decorated dagger. “Are you already creating a scene, just when you finished the first dance?”

Carter, dumbfounded by his enemy’s sudden presence, waved off the foreign grip on his hand. “You are never going to find the documents,” he crowed, glaring at the two of you.

Chris, the magnificent bastard, only kept his magnetic smirk as he took your hand, enveloping his fingers with yours. “We shall see about that,” he promised, and dipped his head in adieu, turning on his heel and taking you with him. 

You felt your heart flutter when his grip on you stayed, even when Carter stomped off into the crowd. “Bastard,” you hissed. A hum of agreement followed. 

Soon, music began to play a sensual tune, and you looked to the couples joining in the main circle of the floor. You made to leave that area when you felt the man refused to be led. 

You looked back, noticing an uncertain emotion swirling in his eyes. “The dance is about to begin.”

“So?” he merely said, hands still clasping yours. The people around you began to take positions. 

“Chris,” you got out. “You do not dance.”

A small smile enveloped his mouth at the claim. He answered in wrapping a hand around you, making you suck in a breath. You caught sight of the tattoo inked on his skin as he raised his hold on. NON DUCOR DUCO.

I am not led. I lead.

“You’re right,” he admitted. As the first tune of the violin settled in the ballroom, the man took a step. “But I let it slide on special occasions.”

You did not reply, only staring at him as you happily let him turn you about the dance floor.

Your assumptions were correct - Chris Bang was a wonderful dancer. The man already possessed a natural smoothness in his usual movement, but the way he led you across the room gave fluidity another meaning entirely. His hand on your back was an anchor to reality, keeping you from dreaming away in the skies above, and his fingers, interlocked with yours, were a silent promise that he was never letting you go. 

You were so caught up in your fantasies that you did not hear what Chris said until he called your name. 

“____.”

You perked up, raising your brows. “Yes?

“Did Carter say anything to you?” His fingers on your exposed skin began to caress you, and it took a lot within you to stay calm. “You were seething while you both danced.”

Oh, so he was watching you. The information didn’t help your nerves. “He was being his usual, charming self,” you drawled, careful of your feet. 

He paused a bit at your unhelpful answer. “I see,” he got out, index curling with the ribbon of your back. You let out a shuddered breath, not going unnoticed by the man. 

You changed the subject, focusing on the mission. “Are Jisung and Changbin still searching for the documents?”

Chris, on the note, twirled you delicately, and brought you back into his arms. “They have discovered the hideout, and have taken down half the men,” he informed, and you sighed in relief. “They’ll find what we’re looking for soon.”

“I hope so, too,” you murmured, listening to the music ascend in its pitch. 

So much finery radiated in this room. As your eyes drifted to the surroundings once more, you became slightly envious of the family fortunate enough to reside in this estate, and drink in the liquid gold splattered everywhere in the vast hall. Complaints were heard from a rather nasty woman, who screamed at a young servant for spilling wine on her oh so expensive dress, and the jewellery which glittered upon necks and ears. 

This. you hated this. Despised the wealth which accumulated in this ball, this entire neighbourhood. Not months ago you were about to die from the lack of food in your stomach. No doubt these people simply relished another one of these many balls, occurring every season.

It was the only reason the Sons of Seoul existed in the first place. To battle the ranks of the rich, and establish a sense of justice which had long faded from London.

Perhaps Chris sensed your growing disgust at the environment, for he sighed. “I hate these people.”

You nearly smiled at how similar you both think.

His touches still had you nearing closer to him as he continued, “I hate how everyone here can simply enjoy themselves without a care in the world. I hate the Mayor for letting this chaos happen as he sits back on his arse, corruption spiking under his office.”

His anger grew. “I hate that pig-headed prick Carter and all the trouble he’s brought me. I hate that he stole those documents and constantly fucks with me as if we two had not crawled out of the same hellhole.

“And God,” he snapped, pure venom now lacing his tongue, “I hate how he was touching you as if you were no one but his.”

Your eyes widened at the confession.

He groaned out in frustration, fingers tightening on your hand. “I hate how Jisung and Changbin walked in on us this evening. Despise that the moment I was about to close the distance they burst through the door, leaving me helpless. And I hate feeling helpless.”

You did not know what to say, what words to comfort him with. Not when you were thinking the exact same thing, and felt the exact same agitation, particularly at your core.

The man leaned in, eyes heavy lidded. “You know what I hate the most, ____?”

Gulping, you let out a little, “What?” afraid of what he was going to reveal.

His tongue ran along his bottom lip, fingers continuing their teasing.

“I-” he seethed, gripping your back tightly. “Fuck, I hate how ravishing you look in that dress.”

You parted your mouth in shock, blushing the colour of roses. “Why do you hate that?” you only asked, breath almost lost in your lungs as your blood began to thrum beneath your skin.

His eyes lost all dreamy light when a small curve enveloped his lips. “Because, my dear ____,” he muttered hoarsely, each breath ragged, “It makes me think of all the things I want to do to you.”

The strong hand on his back was felt much more, fingers playing with the laces of your dress. You nearly cried out in front of a hundred people over their idle play, and his bold, bold statement.

Chris relished in your whimpering reaction. “Aren’t you going to ask me?” he whispered, leaning in till his mouth hovered near your ear. “Do you not want to know what I wish to do to you?”

“What,” you rasped out, grip tightening over his neck. “What are you going to do?”

His husky chuckling nearly sent you over the edge. “I’ll find a nice little space, away from Carter and all these people,” he began, breath caressing your skin. “Then I’ll kiss you slowly, like so.” he pressed a chaste kiss underneath your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “These hands of mine will roam all over, but they will gladly trail up your legs, ____.

“And God, when my hands stop at your sopping cunt, I’ll make it cry with my fingers.” He drummed his fingers on your back. “One.” Tap. “Two.” Tap. “Three of them.” Tap. “Perhaps you’d like more.”

You whined into his shoulder, feet stumbling as you clung onto him tighter. “M-more,” you pleaded quietly, so careful to keep dancing, move along to the music. 

“Of course you would,” he only cooed in your ear, and you were scared you would collapse over his words. “Luckily for you, I wouldn’t be finished with you either.”

Your hand, clasped in his his, squeezed at his words. “Chris, please—”

“Yes, just like that,” the man mused, whirling you on the dance floor. “Just like that, you’ll beg me to send you over the edge, but I won’t let you be satisfied so easily.” 

On God and all his subjects, if he did not cease his filth you were going to come onto the floor by his mere words. You could tell Chris noticed, almost reading your mind as the ghost of a smirk widened. “Already afraid, love?”

Love. 

Dear, fucking God.

“You see, ____,” he muttered, leading you to the final round of the song, the steps of the dance going faster. “I won’t let you be satiated with just my fingers.”

And as he broke his hold on you, twirling you with his tattooed hand, he pulled you to him, one last time, crushing you against his granite chest. 

His eyes bore into yours when the last string of the violin wailed around the hall. All you could see was pure, unadulterated desire.

“I will have you writhing with my cock.”

Your eyes never left Chris’ as the music finally came to a close, gaze blurring at the dark promise. Applause scattered around the ballroom, yet your hands stayed upon his arm, the other enveloped in his.

You caught the words once more under his thumb. NON DUCOR DUCO.

Indeed you do.

“Chris,” you breathed out, waiting for him to let you go. He did no such thing.

Feeling a few suspicious eyes on you, your feet backed away from the man, hands escaping the feeling he emitted underneath your touch. 

A whine threatened to escape you when you saw his desire had not dampened. His hands shook, only slightly, and your stomach erupted into a million butterflies, journeying lower and lower. 

You wanted him. You wanted him so badly you feared you would faint on the dance floor. 

Excusing yourself, you hastened your footsteps, sending a few smiles to passerbys as you picked up a flute of champagne, hurrying down long hallways, catching a few couples leaning towards each other. When you found a grand wooden cabinet beside another door, no doubt a guest room, you slumped next to it, breathing loud and ragged, too affected by a certain man’s eyes and the hidden intentions underneath. You drank the entire champagne in one gulp, propping the flute on a servant’s tray as he rushed by.

“____!”

Gasping, you turned to the source of the voice. The voice which filled you with such unexplainable hunger you had to clench your thighs as it drew nearer.

Footsteps thudded against the carpet, and you squirmed at the sight of Chris Bang, storming towards you with a ferocity which had your knees near buckling.

“Where,” he began, voice an octave lower as he stood not a foot from you, smacking his hands against the wall, caging you with his presence. “Were you trying to lead me?”

“Somewhere where they cannot see us,” you responded, excitement clear in your voice. The ballroom chatter was still within your range, so technically, anyone could wonder down these halls, look over the cabinet and catch you both. 

The throbbing inside you didn’t particularly care. 

“And what do you want me to do,____,” he murmured, and his voice was glazed with pure lust,  “Which the world cannot see?”

“I…” slight shame tried to course through your body but the overflowing desire was too strong. Not when your tongue was not afraid to voice what was in your heart the moment you first saw him. “I want you to do all those things you said. I want you to ruin me.”

And perhaps that was all he needed, when Christopher Bang pressed his lips against yours and answered your prayers.

He was instantly rewarded with your surprised whine, drowned out by the movement of his mouth as his hands left the wall, holding onto your face. His thumbs caressed your cheeks as he led the fiery kiss, opening your mouth to let the little noises escape.

“Chris,” you tried to rasp out, but his lips refused once more as he tilted your head, gaining full access and truly discovering the sheer pleasure oozing from the swell of your lips. God, he had gone through every experience which gave him a sense of thrill, but the kiss he shared with you brought him a new, foreign high — as if he tried the drugs he had seen on the streets for the first time, and becoming addicted on the first dose. 

You broke the kiss, gasping for air as the two of you shared a carnal gaze, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm. Chris was ruthless, only sparing you for a few seconds before pouncing back in on your mouth, this time tongue playing along, asking to be let inside and slide along the inner workings. You would have been a fool to refuse him.

The moment you opened your lips for him his tongue slithered inside, sliding it along the roof of your mouth, while his hands left your face and instead gripped onto your waist, driving you further against the wall, snuffing out any distance which dared come between you and him.

A slightly moan bubbled within your throat when he began to roughen your lips, capturing your tongue before closing the seam of your mouth within his own, repeating the action until you didn’t know whether you were sane or absolutely fucking crazy.

You were sure straight after when one of his hands began sliding down. Down. He hurriedly broke the kiss, letting out an angry groan at the never ending skirts which met with his fingers. “Fuck this dress,” he cursed as he descended a little, peppering kisses upon the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, trailing until he found the hem of your skirts.

Bunching them up with his one hand, he lifted the fabric, baring your legs to the dimmed chandelier light from the main hall. His hand trailed right up to your core, a single layer hiding it from Chris’ fingers. The poor, soaked fabric could not ever compete, when the criminal, with a single finger as he scattered kisses upon your face, hooked under the lacey underwear, sliding it down your thighs. So much desperation lurked he did not even bother to slide it down to your ankles,  a chuckle rasping out of him as his fingers skimmed your upper thighs to find them dripping with the suppressed arousal.

“My poor, poor, darling,” he whispered in a menacing tone, the other hand caressing your face, “Couldn’t contain yourself for me?”

“Ch-chan,” you heard yourself say, because at this point your soul was not present, probably lurking in seventh heaven where this man was taking you. 

Hearing his name on your slurred mouth only had him plunging the first finger inside you. 

You let out an obscenely loud moan, which was immediately followed by hushing. “Don’t make a sound,” he demanded, smiling slyly at your whimpering, “Or else I stop. Understand?”

You could not nod fast enough, and he huffed out a laugh before sliding the second finger in, rubbing against your slit, drawing circles upon your throbbing skin, testing the rather sticky waters of you and your fucked out state. 

Satisfied, he delved the two fingers in deeper, pulsating against your walls until they hit a certain spot which had you crying out in pleasure. Chris’ heavy lidded warning flashed in his eyes.

You nearly cried when he began to slide his fingers out over your moaning, your hand immediately stopping him from pulling out further. “Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, pleaded like the whores you heard on the docks, but you didn’t care, did not give a single fuck when those fingers needed to be inside you again. “Chan, please, I’m sorry—”

“One more fuck up, ____, and these—” his fingers plunged back into you once more, hitching you upwards with the sheer force, “—will be back out.”

Nodding hastily, you left your hand on his wrist. Chris continued to work so deliciously inside you that it took every ounce of strength left in you not to bring the manor down with your moaning. The whimpering could not be contained, but the criminal let that slide, finding great contentment every time you begged for more.

He curled his slender fingers, acquainting himself with that same bloody spot which had you seeing stars. Your hands gripped onto his neck for stability, nails digging into his shirt. How you wanted it off, along with all the damned layers he adorned.

The way he played with your sweet spot had you feeling heavy, a pleasured ball of pain forming at your lower back. You knew you were being led to an edge, an edge you could not, did not want to escape, and when you pulled away from Chris, looking into his eyes, he instantly understood.

“Oh my, love,” he simpered, his free hand thumbing your cheek. “Does someone want to get fucked against the wall? When I’m not even finished with them yet?”

Tears lined your eyes, cunt throbbing almost painfully around his fingers. “Chan, I’m going to—ah!” you cut off, closing your eyes as you barely held on to your last grips of sanity. “Chan.”

Your weakened, fucked out demeanour had the most dangerous man in London fearing for his own senses. He wished nothing more than you screaming his name for the whole city to hear, and with you, looking at him like that…

Oh, he was definitely going to drive you over the edge.

Christopher Bang nearly carried out his promise when a shrill call interrupted you two. 

“CHRIS! ____!”

“WHERE ARE YOU—?”

Your lust-glazed stare cracked as you blinked. “Chan,” you said his name, but the man let out an enraged roar. You felt the hollow emptiness when those golden fingers were pulled out of you, sticky residue coating his skin. The footsteps grew closer, the volume of the shouting increasing. 

Chris brought out a white handkerchief, cleaning your mess on his fingers rather aggressively. “I’m going to fucking kill them,” he guttered out, making your legs tremble. To your utmost misery you felt the orgasm, so close before, fading from existence, and you made a silent vow to break Jisung and Changbin’s legs the moment all of this was over.

Speaking of the Devil, the two hastened, opening all doors and closing them till the two stumbled upon the both of you, infuriated and worryingly turned on.

Changbin looked at the deflated expression on both of yours faces. “Chris? ____?” His eyes narrowed, trying to work out the reasons for the slight electric atmosphere he suddenly entered in. “Are you both...alright?”

“Perfectly,” the man answered in a ragged hiss, sliding on his gloves again, smoothing over his raven locks. “Now why the fuck are you both here?”

The two boys did not understand their leader’s anger. Choosing to let the snipe slide, Jisung said, “We’ve caught Carter.”

That seemed to send you and Chris back in reality. Well, not really, when your core still throbbed, the pleasure fading with each passing second.

“Where is he?” Chris flattened out his coat. “Where are the documents?”

Changbin brought out a small file from inside his waistcoat, holding it out for the former. “Right here.”

Chris took the file, skimming through the contents. His previously angered expression relaxed, just a fraction, and he held onto it as he set his powerful gaze on you all. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The four of you managed to slip away easily, you trying your hardest to fix yourself after the whole fiasco in the hallway. Your heart was still running a mile per minute, refusing to calm as your mind relived the events. The original carriage which you all arrived in was now accompanied with another one, with a dark figure hunched over from the window’s view.

“We threw the giant fucker in another carriage,” Changbin said, laughing as he recalled the takedown with Jisung. “Man could not believe he was failing!”

Chris ignored his story, turning to you all as he stood before Carter’s carriage. “You three, take the free one,” he ordered, his eyes rooted on you. “I will journey home with him.”

“But Chris,” you began, taking a step towards him, “Let me come with you.”

You caught a glimpse of the desire which swirled in his eyes, not long ago, and perhaps that was why he held your arm in his now gloved hand. 

“Go,” he only said. “I have a few things to say to him alone.”

After letting you go, nodding at the boys behind you, Chris Bang stepped inside the first carriage, slamming the door shut. The metal wheels screeched as the whole thing began to move, accelerating away.

You watched the carriage fade from view, Jisung and Changbin stepping beside you.

“What happened, ____?” the former asked, the other trying to comfort you with his gaze. 

Silence was their only answer, as you turned on your heel, climbing inside your designated ride and watched the stars twinkle from the window.

The two members of the gang really tried their best.

As you all journeyed home without your leader, the pair told their tale of how they took down Carter and his men, Jisung adding exaggerated gasps as Changbin demonstrated each kill he thrust upon his victims. You offered them a few laughs, giving them your attention, but really your mind was somewhere else, specifically a midnight-tainted criminal who nearly brought you your undoing.

You were insane. Insane as you thought of him, insane as you remembered how wonderfully he had you writhing over him, just by his fingers. The mindless pondering alone had your cunt pulsating, and you deserved an award for how unaffected you acted with your friends. 

Soon, the carriage slowed to a stop, and you perked up, not realising you had already arrived home. 

You waited for the boys to exit before you stepped out of the carriage, the only light on the docks emitting from lamps and the night sky, reflected on the surface of the river. The first carriage was already there when your feet met the concrete floor, and when you turned to the man who reigned in your mind he had his signature expression, an aloof distaste as he walked over to his gang. 

“Jisung, Changbin,” he called, and the boys responded. “Lock the carriage door,” he ordered, jerking his chin towards his transport. “We will bring him out in the morning.”

“Chris, should we not throw him in the cellar?” Changbin glared at Carter’s direction. “Bastard might escape.”

He only slid his hands in his pockets, you catching the dried blood on his gloves. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, striking a step towards the building. “He’s not going to disturb us tonight. I can promise you that.”

Jisung cursed low along with you, only watching the man walk back to the bedrooms. Bidding goodnight to your friends, you followed Chris’ trail, opening the door and stepping inside the hallway.

You saw him before his bedroom door, bringing out a rusted key. His eyes slid to you as your feet brought you to your entrance. You looked back, waiting as Chris unlocked his room and began to enter.

He turned back, something dark and twisted still lurking in his eyes.

You waited, so patiently at the words you wished to hear, of him finally ruining you.

Instead, you received something else entirely.

“Goodnight, ____.”

And closed the door behind him.

Your heart dropped. 

Fell to the floor, and shattered under the criminal’s bloodied boots. 

The light of the hallway flickered as you stood rooted to the doorway, eyes staring at Chris’ door as if looking at it hard enough would get him to change his mind.

What did you know. The man is not led by exterior forces. Only by his own will.

When you gathered up the strength to the slam the door shut, you slumped against the wood, hating yourself for the tears which threatened to break the lines of your eyes. This was pathetic — utterly disgusting that you were about to cry over his decision.

But you could not help it. You were so enraptured by him. Hell, you were ready to throw yourself in the fires of damnation for him, as he whispered filth all the while rutting against you. Why had that suddenly changed?

“Argh!” You screamed, stomping over to the lamp, light now long extinguished. You relit it’s spark, illuminating the room once more, and set it on the stool before recklessly plucking out the pearls in your hair, a few tears daring to trail down your cheeks. 

Fuck him. Fuck him for making you so rattled. Fuck him for having that effect on you.

You looked into your mirror and cursing yourself for the disheveled appearance. Again, the consequences for letting yourself fall for him.

“To hell with you Bang Chan,” you cursed. 

You were about to untie your dress when your bedroom door was nearly ripped off its hinges. 

Flinching, you grabbed the dagger on your dresser, raised to cut down whoever stupid enough to barge in on an assassin at midnight.

You were met with Christopher Bang. 

And the disorder he brought with him.

Chaos reigned in his figure; his tousled locks, his star-struck expression, his rolled-up sleeves and his pandemonic eyes, all working together and against each other to create the man you had never seen in your life. 

Good God. What had happened to him?

“Chan?” You got out, dagger now brought down. He said not a single word in response as he slammed the door shut, hard enough for the entirety of London to hear. 

Instead, he imprisoned you with his stare, almost giving you his chaos. The chaos you had always shared with him since the moment he picked you off the streets.

No, he said not one word — only took the steps needed to march towards you. You could only watch with widening eyes when he grabbed your face in his rugged hands and collided his lips against yours. 

You did not even hesitate to comply, hands grabbing onto his shirt, pulling him as close as you possibly could, so afraid that he would disappear from your grip if you dared let go. With the way he moved his mouth along yours, however, already opening up the familiar workings, you had a feeling he was not going to abandon you now.

When he broke away, breathing already erratic, his hands slid down to your neck, thumbs caressing the length of your throat. “I couldn’t,” he started, and he was sprinkling kisses all over your face. “I couldn’t leave.”

“I was scared, Chan,” you confessed, fisting the material harder. “I thought you truly did.”

His eyes focused on you. Within the turmoil, there was a promise. “Never,” he whispered, leaning in. “Never again.”

And suddenly his lips were on you, and the desperation was so rooted he nearly stole the very breath from your lungs. The sheer intensity, the longing implied broke your heart to the point you attached yourself to him, wrapping your arms around him and refusing to ever let him go.

The rather soft kiss began to heat up, as Chris broke the seam of your lips, swirling your tongue in his, already receiving incoherent praise from deep down your throat, making the man smile against his lips as he continued. 

His hands slid further down, right to the small of your back, where he began to untie all the little bows he created for you at the dawn of the evening, the little touches of fire singeing you still. It was fascinating how effortlessly he loosened all the laces, fingers sliding through the patterns until one by one they fluttered down, until the dark red dress slackened around your chest. 

A small gasp escaped you as Chris, while creating a trail of kisses down your jaw, right down to your neck, grabs the dress from your sides, hitching it down until it falls to the floor. Leaving you practically naked save for the scraps covering your dangerously soiled underwear. 

Chris paused from his ravishing, taking a much too long look at your skin, glowing from the lamp light, and before he could stare any longer you brought your arms to your chest, suddenly becoming a little too embarassed to let him see you at your most vulnerable. 

The supposedly unfeeling criminal, however, nearly broke into a smile at your flustered nature, and grabbed onto your wrists, opening the lock to your breasts, peaked by his actions, and the thought of what was to come.

The soiled underwear was about to drip at this point.

“You’re exquisite,” was all he said, making you almost burst into tears at the praise. You pressed a long, heart shattering kiss upon his mouth, and he responded perfectly, hands sliding to your naked waist, each drum of his fingers like a tug towards a dangerous edge. 

Things began to take a turn, open mouthed kisses being plastered on the skin of your throat as the man pushed you back, further and further until the back of your knees hit the bed, stopping you in his tracks. His grip on your waist directed downwards, planting you on the mattress as his mouth descended to your collarbone, down and down until he licked your peaked nipple in a way that had you moaning obscenely loud. His husky chuckle resonated along your skin, still not pausing his trail until he hit the end of the dip of your cunt, barricaded by the fabric. 

The moment he looked up at you, that alone made you nearly undo yourself. By the increasing volume of your breathing, Chris seemed to realise so too.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he got out, watching you whimper at each touch caressing your hips. “Already about to come when I haven’t even done anything?”

“Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, wishing for those damned fingers of his to plunge inside of you. The son of a bitch was taking his time, making you wait knowing it pained you to stay like this. “Chan—”

His name on your tongue had him gritting his teeth, hands on each of your side grabbing onto your lace, and sliding your underwear down, all the way till it fell free from your legs and threw it across the room, forgotten when Chris parted his mouth at the moistened treasure between your legs. 

Those roughened hands steeled their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer till you sat right on the edge of the bed, cunt mere inches from his face. You could not even comprehend the insanity of this situation, that the hidden fantasies you dreamed of shamelessly were morphing into reality right before your eyes.

“So, so pretty,” he murmured, blowing a little air on your slick folds, earning himself a sucked in breath from his truly. “So pretty and wet, and all because of me.”

You let out a ragged breath, words of filth sounding so foreign on his tongue. It was not like he didn’t talk like the sailors living near you on the docks, but these dirty words and dirtier intentions, now all directed at you, made you feel so flustered, in a wondrous way you could not possibly describe. All you wanted was for him to keep singing this filth till you blacked out.

Chris, with the force of his hands, spread your thighs a little wider, and without warning broke his tongue from the seam of his lips, planting it upon your slit and moving it slowly over the surface.

That alone made you cry out in ecstasy.

But that was only a test, a taking on of foreign surroundings before truly welcoming himself, and by God, did he welcome himself in as more than a guest, when that tongue slid deeper and performed strokes which had you seeing all the stars in the universe. 

What was first slow teasing then became a starved hunt, tongue relishing in the sweet arousal you emitted, lapping it up brazenly as if he had been wanting to do this for a long, long time. Your blubbering grew louder with every lick, fisting the sheets behind you with such ferocity you were sure they’d tear. 

And if that wasn’t painstakingly enough, the man spread your legs a little wider, his tattooed hand, two fingers out, sliding straight inside you, making you mewl at the way they tightened they walls they journeyed in. Curling, just like they did earlier in the evening, they took their time finding the certain little spot which had you bringing the house down with your cries. 

“Ch-Chan, please, please, I’m going to—AH!” You rasped out, when the said-criminal found the sweet little undoing of yours and stroked your fingers along the sensitive spot, making that bundle of pleasure resonating in your back appear once more, like a low throbbing begging to be released.

His tongue had not given you any breaks, still working ruthlessly along your clit and you cried for him to give you that sweet release, to just let you come but he had not let you be satisfied this easily. No, he wanted you writhing underneath him, wanted the final ruination to be from underneath his trousers, angered as it outlined against his leather.

You craned your head back, screaming out his name because you knew all else had abandoned you. “Chan!” Looking down, his mouth very much occupied with your cunt. Your orgasm was reaching, was on the very edge, and if he kept working on you like this he was on his way to taste the consequences of his actions.

Something about that image made you want it as a reality with a worryingly strong intensity. 

“Chan, I’m going to—” you were about to warn but were interrupted by a squeeze of your thigh, done by yours truly as if he knew. And as if he knew, the two fingers began pumping much faster, harmonising along with his tongue, and the two actions at once, fucking you with that rapidity was so pleasurable that, with the first earth-shattering cry of the night, you were driven over the edge, releasing your orgasm straight into the criminal’s face.

You felt the work of his fingers slow down, along with his tongue, that with one, final lick, he retreated from your cunt, fingers still inside you as they comforted your aching core with slow, soothing strokes. 

When he looked up at you, though, with your residue mostly upon his mouth, scattered on his cheeks, and basically a bit of everywhere, that sight alone nearly caused you to come all over again. 

Perhaps that was his intentions. 

Because when he licked his lips clean of your mess, ever so slowly, as if enjoying your orgasm like a man starved, you instantly saw in his eyes that this night was not over yet. 

“Already so good, so wonderful,” he mused, slipping his fingers out, both hands now resting on your thighs. “Coming so quick even though I had been saving for the last.”

You knew exactly what he meant, but still had the nerve to ask, “The last?”

He raised a groomed brow, and that gesture was so breathtaking, more so when he raised himself slightly, so he knelt eye-level to you. “Don’t act oblivious, love,” he mused, leaving your thighs to your disappointment, but quickly diminishing when his fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt, slowly popping upon, each patch of skin being revealed like a show of your own. “We both know this isn’t how it’s going to end.”

Shivers crawled down your spine, but you only watched as the man finished undoing his shirt, peeling it off of him and throwing it amongst the other clothing. You nearly let spit trail down your chin at the sheer finery of his muscle alone, sharpened at his arms, his chest all the way down to his v-line, which dipped dangerously low. With no small amount of pride, you also noticed the large, angry outline of Chris’ cock, begging to be set free. 

The man caught you blatantly staring, and a shit-eating grin twisted his glistening lips. “You may do the honours if you’re so keen.”

Blushing, you mumbled a shut up, but was captured by Chris’ lips, tasting your own arousal on his tongue, as his grip on you led you further into the bed, while you fumbled on the buttons of his trousers, popping them open one by one when you broke from the kiss, your turn to shower him with more along the veiny expanse of his neck as you pulled his trousers down, tossing them among the pile.

When you saw the slight-stained underwear of his, you felt the familiar throbbing again, so affected by how you affected him. Noticing your apparent pride, he pressed his lips upon you in a searing kiss, peeling off any last scrap of clothing and forgetting that too among the other clothing.

And by God, when Chris Bang’s cock escaped from his underthings your mouth actually watered at the sheer size it bore. Husky laughter resonated in your ears, and you flushed the colour of blood when he caught you staring much too audaciously than he would have imagined. 

“Already fantasising about my cock?” He slurred, the tattooed hand curling stray hairs from your sweat-slick, flushed face. The way you scrunched your nose, clearly flustered by his comment, melted his stone cold heart, as he caressed your cheeks with his fingers. 

You did not answer him, only whispering his name along his skin, waiting and waiting for the man to drive that force home inside you. “Chan,” you murmured, and the name you kept saying like a religious chant, like it was the only word that mattered, was what brought him to grip his cock, directing it against your entrance, the still slick folds which grew more wet every time the tip caressed the sensitive skin. “Chan, please—”

“Please what?” He demanded, demanded because he needed to hear you precisely want you wanted. The words he practically prayed would be on your tongue the moment he kissed you for the first time this evening.

Obliging him was like second nature. “Please fuck me, Chan,” you breathed out, holding onto his shoulders, knowing you were going to need a hell of a good grip for what was about to arrive. “Please, just ruin me with your cock.”

A malicious smile curled upon his lips. “Good, good girl,” he purred, and began the descend which you dreamed of the very first night you realised you were ridiculously attracted to him.

His cock slid inside you, and with a soul-wrenching whine, was perfectly snug as the journey went on, and on, and on, until you were certain you could not take anymore, despite the man retaining a few inches. He was slow at first, making sure you were not going to be pained by this action. Although your nails dug into the granite muscle of his shoulders, you only egged him on. “M-more,” you only said, and he readily obliged, until you felt him all around you in your body, as if he had filled you up to the brim. 

“Ready?” He asked, and when you nodded, he rested his forehead against yours as gently, he began to pull out. 

You nearly whined at the lack of inches filling you up, but then he brought his cock back in, creating this hypnotic rhythm which was so unimaginably ethereal you felt yourself float amongst the clouds. Each thrust out and thrust in was a drive in and out of reality, with Chris Bang holding the tether of your survival, pulling you in and out of his mercy. 

Gradually, he began to fasten, panting as his drove into you with more force, and when the momentum hardened, you felt your soul leave your body. His cock created wonders for you, having you scream in unimaginable pleasure, and driving your nails into his back was not enough, your lewd moaning not enough given to his sheer skill, his pure simplicity in bringing his cock back and front which had you seeing stars. Hell, Christopher Bang showed you undiscovered universes, leading you across galaxies and unfamiliar cosmos, each thrust in a different vision, and when he lifted your leg a little higher for more access, you feared that you would wake the whole docks with your groaning, for this criminal, this heartless criminal provided you with the whole universe with the simple strokes of his cock inside you, and all you could offer him were screams. 

Even your reactions were pure Beethoven to his ears, relishing in your fucked out state as he gave you all he asked, driving you to the edge of the world. You, finally, clashed your lips against his, offering him sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over his face and neck, and that alone had him greeting his teeth, knowing his own release was near. You were going to die if he was not given the same pleasure as you, so you reacted with each of his touches, each of his thrusts, him practically pistoning you upon this bed which very much would break. 

“Ch...Chan…” you grated out, eyes blurring, vision completely fucked, “I’m...I-I—”

“I—fuck,” he too got out, for your last love mark painted onto to the curve of his neck nearly had him ruined. “I’m going to come, too, love—”

“Chan!” You whined, because the throbbing was there, and was so close that if the man did not send that last thrust home then it was all for nothing, everything that had ever happened will all be for nothing.

But he listened. The man who did not listen to anyone or anything listened, and pounded his cock so hard in approval that it had you crying out to the cosmos as you finally let go, orgasm spilling out from whatever space the residue could find between his cock. Your own release had Chris groaning louder than he had even done this entire time, praising you unconditionally, until the filth was cut off by a low curse, with his own release barrelling into you, some joining your spilled mess upon the sheets.

Chris let out a shuddering breath, slowly crossing his movement inside you. Carefully, when you stopped digging your nails into his shoulders, he pulled out, reaching for the blanket untouched and bringing it over you and him before collapsing beside you. Both of you breathed as if you had held your oxygen for a thousand years, chests rising unevenly. 

A silence hung over you two, heavy yet not uncomfortable, lingering in your bedroom. Chris sat up a little, using your pillows behind him as comfort as he raked his hair back, sweat-slick all over, much like you. You held the blanket right up to your chest, hair in disarray, much like your heart. The poor organ threatened to collapse at the events.

Sneakily, you caught a glance at the greatest criminal in London, staring off at the distance, mouth set in a concentrated line. He looked dashing even in his post-sex state, the lines of his chest still stark against his sweat. You truly had never seen a man this beautiful in your life. 

He turned his head to you, catching your staring, and when you tried to look away he captured his chin with his fingers, making you meet his fierce stare. Although dark, the lust had satiated, and instead held passive affection. Well, you hoped it did.

“Why do you still look away?” He demanded in a low, tired voice.

You tried to slide your gaze to the lamp, but was too bewitched by his midnight eyes. “Because you’re beautiful, Chan,” you answered, feeling the blood rush to your face. 

He cocked his head, damp curls sticking to his face. “You say that as if you are not,” he countered. 

You did not say anything then. Even so, he received your answer. 

“____,” he said in a low tone. The grip on your chin loosened, and the hand went to your cheeks, cupping your face. “You are truly flawless. Don’t make me have to make you believe that.”

A small smile hinted at your lips. “And what if I still don’t?”

His answering smirk sent butterflies tumbling once again. After a moment, as if hesitating, he then snaked his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. You were surprised when his one hand fully encircled you, while the other hand, the tattooed hand, rested upon your head, stroking your hair with his slender fingers. You did not pull away, was never going to, only wrapping your arm across his chest. 

It was the first time you had ever seen Christopher Bang hug someone in his life.

“Chan?” You asked.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you get that tattoo?”

He paused for a minute, never ceasing his fingers intertwined in your locks. After a small sigh, which you felt beneath your own fingertips, he said, “It is simply something I live by. 

“Non ducor duco. No one will lead me, love. Only myself.”

You pondered over the roots of this phrase, of the significance for the man you lay with. 

“Good,” you said after a while. “I wouldn’t want anyone leading you either.”

With that, you gave into the soothing movement of Chris’ fingers, working lazily in your hair. And while you dozed off to sleep, the criminal mastermind of the biggest city in the world pondered some more, specifically over his motto.

NON DUCOR DUCO. A phrase which had stayed true for so long no one could ever change it.

But after tonight, as you slowly dozed off under Chris’ caresses, he wondered whether there isn’t one person he wouldn’t mind being led by. 

And as he stole a soft glance at the specific person beside him, he knew. 

He knew that although he will be led by no man, there is one woman who he would, to his own shock, happily be led for. 

So, with that new, and slightly terrifying revelation, Christopher Bang went to sleep, knowing that someone had fucked with him and gotten away. 

And he was willingly going to let it happen. 

#stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #stray kids dark hours #bang chan #stray kids #stray kids oneshot #kpop imagines #kpop smut #skz imagines #skz smut #chris bang #christopher bang #skz dark hours

[oopskashish]

Hi! can I request a Harry Potter x reader fic? one where Harry gives Y/N a necklace that belonged to Lily in a way to show her how much she means to him? ❤️

Light

A/N: I am so sorry that it took me so long to write this but I was just gathering the best ideas I could think of. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Summary: After the battle of ministry, Harry gives his lover a part of his parents.

Pairing: Harry Potter x reader

Warning: almost death of someone but there are no deaths, fluff, and just emotional in a good way.

The air was strumming with tension as Y/N stood beside Harry, wide-eyed. She looked around as the Death Eaters apparated in the department of mysteries. Each death-eater had their wands at least one DA student.

Harry and Y/N whirled around to see Lucius Malfoy walk towards them. Y/N felt a hand wrap around her arm and she was tugged back. Her back met someone’s chest and she looked up to find Yaxley. She felt the tip of his wand touch the side of her neck where her veins laid.

He held her wrist of the hand which was holding her wand and twisted it, making her scrunch her face in pain, and she dropped the wand.

She was disarmed, without her wand she was an open target.

She closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself to calm down, taking in a couple of deep breaths.

A chaotic mind is the source of error.

She could hear her father practically whisper in her ear.

She opened her eyes to find Harry having a conversation with Lucius.

“Harry, we will let your friends go if you hand me the prophecy.”

Harry contemplated the thought, looking at his friends and then finally at his girlfriend who shook her head subtly.

“Don’t.” Y/N mouthed.

Harry gave no reaction to her and turned to Lucius. He thought for a moment, looking at Lucius who was looking at him with almost a hopeful expression.

“You will let my friends go?” Harry questioned him.

“Yes, I will.” Lucius says with a satisfied expression. His plan was working.

“Alright, then.” Harry casually shrugged, extending his hand to give him the crystal ball which held the priceless prophecy. Lucius smiled as he outstretched his hand to grasp it.

Just when he thought he had, Harry, accidentally of course, let the ball slip out of his hand. The prophecy fell down and smashed against the floor, the misty cloud dissolving in the air.

“Oops.”

Lucius’ nose flared with anger, just as he was about to raise his wand, a voice interrupted him.

“Get away from my godson.”

Lucius whirled around, facing Sirius Black who delivered a fantastic punch right in his jaw. The intensity of the punch made him fall on the ground.

The order members apparated in the department and started fighting the death-eaters.

Except one, Yaxley.

Yaxley had a hand wrapped around her neck, holding her firmly in his grasp. She tried not to struggle against his grip.

"I will kill her if any of you try to attack us." His voice boomed in the room, making everyone turn to him. Y/N scowled, and looked down at his hand, specifically his watch trying to think of something.

"Don't you dare." Harry seethed out, which was very unlike him. Sirius held him back before he could have attacked Yaxley.

This was a compromising situation.

Or was it?

Y/N slowly grasped his wrist, making him glance at her. She didn't do anything, knowing his grip can't go any tighter than it already was. Otherwise it would affect her in a brutal manner.

"Now, drop your wands." Yaxley said, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Y/N's hand shot up and it gripped his hair. She gathered all the strength in her body and flipped him over her head, letting his body crash on the ground. In process, his grip on her neck had loosened, much to her luck.

She whispered a thanks to her dad who got her innumerable martial arts lessons while she grew up.

"I think not." She quickly reached for her wand and she watched as he stood up to his feet.

"Scared to duel a 15 year old one?" She asks, cocking her head to side. Yaxley was looking at her with a disgruntled expression which was accompanied by loathe.

"Shut up you filthy half breed." He sneered, casting a spell which she easily defended.

All around her people were firing spells.

She was an excellent duellist, the best in her year. She had defeated numerous brilliant witches and wizards in her school but here was a man who was as cruel as he was talented.

His hexes were being thrown at her at the speed of light, and there was no way she could win until and unless she took him by surprise.

Her mind was processing all the spells she has ever learnt from anyone and everyone. She exhales as she casted a spell made by Fred and George which Yaxley, fortunately, missed to defend.

His face suddenly grew blisters which was a perfect moment for her to disarm him.

But instead of Expelliamus, she went with,

"Anaticula!"

A smirk played on her lips when the wand shined very lightly, but it was enough to show her that her spell worked.

Sirius suppressed his urge to smile when he heard the spell he and James used on countless death eaters in the first war.

Yaxley muttered some profanities and casted the cruciatus curse on her. But instead of the curse, a duck came out and it quacked around Yaxley.

"Cute duck." She smiles and before muttering, "Petrificus Totalus" and freezing the man.

She padded her way towards Harry and Sirius, careful of any spells that might hit her. Her eyes widened when she saw Bellatrix appear and cast a spell on Sirius.

She pushed Sirius out of the way and she was hit by a red beam of light which exerted a force on her, causing her to be thrown back.

Y/N was ready to take her final breaths, knowing that the curtain was of death and it will kill anyone who touches it.

But instead she landed near Harry, panting.

None of it made sense but she got up, and watched Sirius duel with Bellatrix now. Harry pulled her to side near a rock.

"Are you okay?" He hastily asks.

"Yeah. What happened-" she was cut off by a sound of crack.

They two of them emerged from their corner to find Voldemort standing there, and all the death eaters apparated to stand behind him.

Y/N forced herself not to go to him and go all Jackie Chan on him, instead she inhaled and exhaled and stood beside Sirius who was heaving heavily.

"Harry Potter, yet again we meet. Now, where is that prophecy?" He asks, looking at Lucius at the end of the question.

Before Lucius could have said a word, Dumbledore and Y/N's father apparated.

"You shouldn't have come here, Tom." Dumbledore says calmly, and gestured Y/F/N to step back.

Y/F/N did it, hesitantly, glancing back at Y/N, Harry, Sirius, and Remus.

He had been a rather close friends with Marauders, especially when it came to pranking. He wasn't exclusively a Marauder since he had a group of friend of his own in f/h/n.

The duel between the two exceptionally brilliant wizards started.

"Sirius get out of here!" Dumbledore tells him. He was about to take Harry's hand but then Dumbledore intruppted, yet again. "Don't take him."

Sirius took a deep breath in and looked at Harry.

"Stay safe, and go behind Remus."

"Padfoot, take my daughter with you." Y/F/N said.

"But I-" Y/N was cut off by Sirius who grabbed her arm and apparated back to Grimmauld place.

"Sirius I need to go there! Dad is there and so is Harry. What if something happens to them? I can't live without either of them!" Y/N started panicking.

Sirius held her by her shoulders, causing her to look him in the eyes.

"I hate this just as much as you do, but I won't go against your dad's wish. They both will be okay, Dumbledore is there. Y/F/N is an excellent wizard, don't worry."

Y/N nodded, and hugged Sirius. Sirius wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rubbed her back.

The two had gotten closer since they both cared a lot about Harry. Sirius had been keeping in touch with her asking about Harry and of course about her well being too.

Sirius, as a matter fact, was a great uncle. She remembered how he had sent an entire set of oil paints, the top quality, as a birthday gift. He had told her about her father and mother's embarrassing moments, as a result for a week she couldn't look at them without laughing.

"Thank you," she says, parting away.

"No need of that, now let's get you a cup of tea." He led her to the kitchen where he told Kreacher to make tea for them.

They sat at the dining table, both of them hiding their anxiousness.

"By the way, that flip was amazing."

Y/N laughs. "Dad made me go to martial classes for a long time. I used to cry when I was too tired to go there but he dragged me if that what it took. By the way, how did I not end being thrown at the veil?"

"Harry used the reverse spell just in time."

"I hate to leave him there, but dad just had to say that." Y/N pouted as she took the tea from Sirius, thanking him quietly.

"Your father is very stubborn." Sirius nods, pouring tea for the two of them. "Good thing that y/m/n is stubborn too."

"Oh, don't say that. Them being stubborn is a nightmare. They can go on arguing for hours what would be the dinner. In the end, there will be a Shepherd's pie and a Cornish pasty."

Sirius chuckled. "That would make a good plater."

"Oh no, I would be probably eating cake for dinner." Y/N says, dipping her biscuit in the tea.

Sirius laughs.

"I can't imagine how is it living with you guys."

"Well, quite amusing actually." She nods. "Where is mum?"

"She is at work, an emergency."

Y/N nods. Her mum was an exceptional healer, and was half of the time at work since it was such a demanding job. While her father worked as a curse breaker.

"Y/N," Sirius keeps his now empty cup in the saucer. "I am grateful for what you did today but it was a very stupid decision. You can't risk your life for me."

"Well, you mean the world to Harry. He would go mental without you."

"He would go mental without you too." Sirius says, keeping a hand on hers. "Promise me that you won't do it, if such a situation ever happens again."

"I am not going to make any promises that I might break."

Sirius was touched by the sincerity in her voice. It reminded him of his own best friend, his brother, who once saved his life during a mission in the order.

But he still gave her a pointed look.

Y/N only shrugged and she jokes. "I can't lose an uncle who gives me the best presents."

Sirius keeps a hand on his heart, mocking a look of hurt. "You only like me because I am good at giving presents."

"No but it is a big reason." She grins. Sirius smiled at her too.

The door opens and Harry comes in along with the others, looking exceptionally pale. He looked beyond exhausted as he padded into the room.

Harry had barely got near the dining table when Y/N shot up from her chair and flung her arms around his neck. Harry reciprocated the hug, burying his face deep in her neck. He sighed in relief as her scent flooded his senses, calming him down immediately. He closed his eyes, letting the tension of his body evaporate away.

"Harry, are you okay? Did that noseless bastard hurt you? I am going to break his ribs if he dares to do anything." She whispers in his ear, making him chuckle.

"Noseless bastard?" Harry mused.

She slapped his shoulder lightly. "Answer me."

"I'm fine."

"Now tell me the truth." She says, parting away. Harry sighs, looking down at the floor.

"He invaded my mind, again."

Y/N clenched her jaw. Harry reached for her hands and rubbed his thumb against her knuckles, calming her down.

He pulled away when Sirius approached him and hugged him fiercely. She looked around and gave Remus a smile who nodded back.

Hermione, Ginny, Ron, and the others were all seated at the table and were being served tea by Kreacher who kept on mumbling things under his breath.

She bit her lip anxiously as she looked for her father, sighing in relief when he came in. Y/F/N strides towards her and hugged her, holding her incredibly close to him.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"Yes dad." She mumbled into his shirt, holding him tightly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he breathes out, "I'm okay."

The father and daughter parted away, and Y/F/N hugged Harry, checking him over in a fatherly manner.

After the death of Harry's parents and when he was sent to the Dursley's, Y/F/N had somehow tracked him down and demanded that Harry will stay with him for the weekends.

Y/F/N and Y/M/N were close friends of Lily, and they wanted to make sure that Harry is alright. They knew about Lily and Petunia's relationship and thus wanted to make sure he grows up with as much love as they could provide him.

Y/N and Harry had been close childhood friends and Y/M/N made sure he get all the love he could while he lived in an abusive household. They were a family, practically, and not even Dumbledore couldn't stop them from being together.

When Y/F/N and Harry parted away, Sirius asked Harry.

"Snape didn't teach you much, did he?"

He shook his head. "He didn't teach me the actual method. He just kept invading my mind instead of teaching me how to actually defend myself."

Sirius and Y/F/N share a look, both swearing on their lives to make sure Snape gets what he deserves.

Sirius then turned to Harry. "I think you should sleep, you must be very tired."

Harry nodded, sagging his shoulders. He wordlessly took Y/N's hand and pulled her out of the room with him.

"Keep the door open!" They heard Y/F/N call out and a few chuckles from the room.

The couple blushed at that. "Don't remind me, father." Y/N said, just loud enough for him to hear.

The couple went to the room that Harry and Ron shared during the summer. Harry rummaged through his pockets as Y/N freed her hair from a ponytail and ruffled them a bit.

"Y/N?" She turned to Harry, who was holding a necklace.

"Yes, love?"

Harry sits beside her and let her take his free hand. "Sirius gave me a necklace over this summer. It belongs to Mum. I want you to have it."

Y/N's eyes widened. "What?"

Harry leaned in and kissed her cheek, smiling softly at her. "You have always been the light in my darkness, and I am sure that mum and dad would have loved you with all their heart. It would mean a lot to me if you keep a part of them with you."

Tears prickled in her eyes after hearing those sweet words and she hugged him tightly, burying her face in his neck. She sniffled, holding back her tears.

Harry nuzzled into her neck, kissing the skin there. He let her collect herself, his gentle touches reminding her that he loved her more than anything in the world.

"Are you sure about this, Harry?" She whispered.

Harry pulled away, just a little to look in those deep beautiful eyes he fell in love with. "I have been surer about anything else in the world."

Y/N smiled and kissed the corner of his lips. She parted away and turned around, gathering her hair to the side. Harry gently took the necklace, holding it as if it was made of stars.

But it was more precious than that.

He clipped the necklace around her neck, and Y/N touched it with her finger tips, feeling the carvings of the metal that had a flower on it, a lily of course.

She turned around and let him pull her into a kiss.

It was divine.

The feeling of tension left their bodies as soon as their lips, and the sumptuous feeling of unconditional love they had for each other filled them up to the brim, flooding their souls.

It was as if the sky held stars for the first time and found the meaning of happiness. The feeling was as ethereal when the sun first shined.

It was a heaven the found in one another.

They parted away, panting. Breathless smiles took over their faces as they looked at each other's lips with so much affection that even blind could see.

They laid down on the bed, embracing each other as the silent promise of being together no matter what was made.

A promise that was fulfilled even when the hell broke loose and the darkness flooded their lives. They stayed together, being each other's light.

-/-/-/-

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[noctilucentstorm]

Ghost Game Episode 3 Review

Scribbles

In the third episode Ruli is targeted by a prankster digimon whose idea of a prank is nearly killing them! And Toei’s marketing of the VBracelet has me wishing I could get one without resorting to expensive international shipping costs.

One thing I really want to clear up before diving into this episode is the genre of this show.  I’ve noticed a number of comments and reviews referring to this as ‘horror’ but I think that’s misleading.  While there are certainly elements borrowed from the horror genre, it’s probably more accurate to describe it as a mystery show (think Scooby Doo).  I mean, the into song literally spells it out in the lyrics!  Also, I’m a little disappointed in myself about how long it’s taken to figure out FACTION means FACT-FICTION.  Probably didn’t help faction is a real word in English… or at least that’s my excuse!

As always, spoilers below!

I know some people will criticise Hiro and co for letting Dracumon get away, but I actually like that they’re giving him the benefit of the doubt even if Hiro makes it clear they still don’t trust him.  I realise it may bite them later in the series, but I do appreciate heroes who choose to be merciful as default.

Characters

One thing I really like is that most of this episode is done from Ruli’s POV.  Despite her fears about what will happen to her because of the red scribble she still goes out of her way to investigate what she can, going as far as arranging a meeting with a stranger who might be able to help.  

Being from her perspective, we’re never completely sure when her reactions are due to a digimon or her own paranoia.  It’s also easier to sympathise with how unsettling this whole experience must be. Personally, I would’ve preferred it if the scenes with her friends had been substituted for a little more build up at the start, for example has she been completely oblivious of Angoramon until now or is he able to interact with the human world to some extent the way the other non-materialised digimon can?  It does feel a little like I’m nit-picking though, since this episode was such a good introduction to Ruli and Angoramon.

Interestingly, Angoramon has no desire to fully materialise until Ruli is threatened by a non-digimon enemy.  In some ways this makes sense, as I’m sure Angoramon has realised his size is going to be difficult to keep hidden and so might struggle to protect her at times. Still, I’m glad he comes around to the idea for Ruli’s sake and that she calls him out for spying on her without her knowledge (even if it wasn’t done maliciously).  I hope there’s more focus on their bond over music in future episodes, but I understand it was a bit much to try shoving into this one.

It’s also good to see Hiro and Gammamon take a backseat in this episode.  Both are helpful for moving the plot along without getting in the way of the story.  One of my main issues with Adventure: was how it relied a bit too much on the protagonist.

Finally, Dracumon may seem similar to Clockmon, since he is a clear villain, but I like the subtle differences.  We’re not sure about Clockmon’s motivation for stealing time from people other than it tastes good, but Dracumon has a specific motivation of materialising in the human world.  This episode does well at clarifying the difference between digimon like BlackTailmon and Gammamon who are fully materialised and those like Mummymon and Dracumon, who can only interact up to a point.  

Worldbuilding

It’s still not completely clear when digimon can be seen and interact with people when they haven’t fully materialised.  While Dracumon goes through people completely and seems to only be able to interact with them a little after some time, Mummymon and Clockmon could affect people immediately.  

Although not explicitly stated, I wonder if the 48 hour rule wasn’t just for dramatic build-up but also because Dracumon had to build up their belief in him before he could properly interact, or something to that extent?  Maybe it’s due to a digimon’s evolution level?  Or I could just be massively overthinking things!  It’ll be interesting to see whether the series builds on the idea further.  Next episode contains another perfect level and has a Halloween theme just in time for the holiday!

#digimon #digimon ghost game #ghost game spoilers #digimon ghost game spoilers #ruri tsukiyono #angoramon #dracmon #dracumon #ruli tsukiyono #episode 3 #review