#show sympathy for the victim and stop being disgusting end of | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chanluster · 4 years

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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

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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Whatever charge you may have against him, it must be withdrawn.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

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frumfrumfroo · 3 years

Note

Basically, there's this post that i saw that just made me so annoyed because it was basically saying that Ben's trauma wasn't an excuse for him to turn to the dark side because Obi-Wan also experienced lots of trauma and didn't turn to the dark side and it annoyed me so much because like do they realized that the reason why Ben turned to the dark side was because he felt he had no other choice? Sorry to bother you, I wanted to rant to someone and sorry if this doesn't make sense

This is just someone posting the ‘cool motive, still murder’ gif with extra steps. Or Pablo’s delightful ‘Rey was raised by sand and never murdered anyone’ or whatever he said as an absolutely disgusting justification for how Ben’s parents neglecting and abandoning him was totes fine.

Because remember kids, if you are actually traumatised by the trauma inflicted on you, that’s your fault and you deserve no sympathy. Being psychologically damaged is a personal failing. Only perfect victims are worthy of compassion, people who are harmed by abandonment, neglect, war, betrayal, brainwashing, etc. etc. in ways that show are just bad people. Good children understand that their parents are infallible and no authority figure should ever be challenged as long as they’re on the right team.

(It is funny that Obi-wan is the example they go to considering how much fucked up shit Obi-wan ended up doing. How manipulative and imperious he is. He never stopped being a Jedi, so I guess none of his mistakes count. I think an absolutely staggering number of people watch the OT without ever realising that Yoda and Obi-wan were wrong. That what they tried to do to Luke by setting him up to kill his father without ever knowing the truth was, in fact, Bad. What they said about it being too late to save Anakin was not true. Their whole approach to the war and abdication of responsibility by going into exile was a moral failure. Luke’s rejection of all this is vindicated, forgiveness and unconditional love are what saved the galaxy, not pragmatism or violence.

Literally the point of the story is empathy for the villain. And before the prequels, you weren’t even given trauma and manipulation and victimhood as a reason you should empathise. You just should. Because he’s a human being and anyone can be saved.)

People who bring up this ‘argument’ are either completely oblivious to how offensive it is to claim that being unable to emerge from trauma totally unscathed is an unacceptable weakness in your character and taints you forever, or they are unconscious determinists who think you’re born good or born bad and change is impossible. Circumstances are never extenuating, every choice exists in a vacuum and reflects perfectly on your entire being regardless of context. Ironically, these are always the same people who want villains to be punished and talk about how ‘they chose to do [bad thing]’, despite implicitly denying the existence of free will.

The fact that Ben had to be hounded onto the dark side by a colossal team effort over 23 years and was still totally innocent even when he finally went to Snoke after finally being convinced there was no where else for him to go... I mean, obviously that doesn’t matter. He was, like, moody and stuff. Due to the malignant voice in his head and his entire family being afraid of him for reasons they refuse to explain. You can’t expect his parents or uncle to deal with that. He’s got that dangerous Skywalker blood they gave him and carry themselves.

#salt #a tros ity #space crime and punishment #fandom #redemption #ben solo

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dweetwise · 3 years

Note

Deathslinger x doctor or deathslinger x oni? Headcanons or fluff for whichever one you choose, I don’t mind :) (happy birthday to your blog!)

oh it’s been a long time since i’ve written sparkslinger! thanks for requesting <3 i made this as a continuation to my previous fic of them, i hope that’s ok!

word count: 1740

Caleb X Herman: Accidental martyr

Since starting his arrangement with Herman, Caleb had to admit that his time in this neverending hell had become a lot more entertaining.

Whether it was getting roped into questionable experiments, late nights drinking cheap whiskey in the saloon, or his own sporadic visits to the old hospital, being around the doctor was a great way to alleviate the boredom between trials.

Unfortunately, that often came at the cost of Caleb’s sanity.

This moment was a prime example of such an occurrence. After Herman had showed up to their latest encounter with a torn jacket and fresh wounds, Caleb was practically forced to play doctor to make sure the man didn't succumb to his injuries.

That didn't mean he had to be nice about it, though.

“Figures ye’d be cocky enough to try to take the bitch out on yer own,” Caleb snarked.

He attempted to clumsily dress one of the numerous gashes marring the doctor’s shoulders; the Entity’s handiwork, no doubt.

“What can I say? I’m a man who likes to push the limits—shit!” Herman hissed out a curse when Caleb tightened the bandage a little too forcefully.

“Don’t do it again,” Caleb growled, masking the uneasy feeling in his chest with anger.

Herman waved off both the threat and concern with a simple "Yes, yes, now get on with it" and Caleb went back to his mediocre job of caring for the wounds.

Since that first night in the saloon, they’d never talked about whatever this was between them. And that suited Caleb just fine; he was a man of few words, and if anything, he should thank his luck that the blabbermouth he kept for company hadn’t deemed it a subject worth discussing.

Apart from a few snide comments of Herman getting his ass kicked by the Entity, Caleb didn’t bring up the incident again.

And he’d probably have forgotten about it completely, if he hadn’t happened to pick up some spare parts from Autohaven a few days later.

“Are you alright?” Philip asked as soon as Caleb arrived at their designated meet-up spot.

“Just dandy,” Caleb drawled, inspecting the Wraith’s latest haul of scrap from the junkyard.

“You don’t have to act tough, Caleb,” Philip insisted, clearly not getting the hint.

Caleb whipped around to give the other killer a properly disgusted look that he hoped conveyed just how little he appreciating being coddled like a damn child.

“It’s okay; we’ve all been there. I understand,” Philip said, giving a look of sympathy that made Caleb’s skin crawl.

“The fuck you on about, boy?” Caleb spat.

“The Entity,” Philip said.

The Wraith flinched at his own words, quickly glancing around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping.

“It… punishes us when we’re not brutal enough or efficient enough,” Philip said, lowering his voice. “And after your leg—there have been rumors, you know.”

Caleb felt the anger bubbling up. Not only did he hate people bringing up his brief time of injury and subsequent uselessness in trials, he also had an inkling of just who had been spreading these specific rumors.

“What kind’a rumors?” Caleb asked.

“You’ve been going to the hospital a lot to treat your wounds,” Philips said. “Herman even had to borrow ointments from Sally, since you’ve been coming in so often.”

Caleb’s eye twitched as he tried to reign his temper. Herman knew damn well that Caleb was insistent on keeping their whatever-it was a secret, yet he seemed to happily gossip to anyone he came across.

“‘Scuse me,” Caleb said. “I’ma need to have a chat with the good doctor.”

When Caleb slammed open the door to Herman’s office, the man didn’t even flinch.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t break my furniture,” the doctor merely offered, not even looking up from his book. “I could hear you stomping here from across the hospital.”

“You,” Caleb snarled, grabbing Herman by the collar. “What did you do?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Herman said, infuriatingly calm even when face to face with a very dangerous and very angry gunslinger.

“Why does Phil think I’m gettin’ beat up by spider-bitch?” Caleb spat. “Why does Sally know I’ve been comin’ here and you need a bunch’a salve for it?”

“Oh,” Herman said, finally getting his point. “That’s not something you should worry about.”

“Try me,” Caleb snarled, tightening his grip around the man’s jacket collar.

“It might be easier to talk without the strangulation,” Herman countered, his voice strained from the pressure on his neck.

Caleb released his hold but didn’t back off, crowding the man against his office chair.

“Then talk,” Caleb commanded.

“Very well,” Herman said. “As you may or may not know, our Eldritch overlord closely monitors our performance in trials. However, if said performance isn't up to par, it isn’t afraid to take disciplinary measures.”

“So ya didn’t fight it, it fought you? That what yer sayin’?” Caleb asked.

“In a way, I suppose,” Herman said, still annoyingly secretive.

“So what’s that gotta do with me? And stop fuckin’ horseshittin’,” Caleb said.

“Well, in a nutshell,” Herman paused, as considering how to phrase the message simply enough for Caleb to understand. “There was word of the Entity being more agitated than usual. I concluded it was only a matter of time before it chose you as its target, and as a precaution, I deliberately attempted to draw its ire.”

If Caleb was confused before, he was even more so now. The doctor had… volunteered to be the Entity's pincushion? And for what?

“Why?” Caleb asked, hesitantly stepping back from the man and his unknown motives.

“You’re my patient,” Herman simply answered.

“Oh, like these sorry fuckers?” Caleb said, pointing at a human heart sitting neatly in a jar on the desk. “You wanna cut me up yerself, that it?”

“...No.”

“Then what? Ya get off on bein’ tortured?” Caleb prodded, angry at still not getting a real answer. “Well, what is it!?”

“I don’t know!” Herman snapped, slamming the book shut.

It was the first time Caleb had seen the doctor lose his composure, and on reflex he reached for the empty holster on his hip.

“I’ve spent over a decade studying the human psyche, and I don’t know,” Herman said, moving to stand up. “I have no illusions of morality, yet seeing you in agony over your leg—”

“I was fine!” Caleb rebutted.

“The thought of inflicting more pain on you was simply out of the question. So I offered myself up in your stead, until you were recovered. And then I… just kept going.”

“Hold on,” Caleb realized. “You’ve—for all this time!? It’s been, what, months?”

“Fifty-three days, according to my calculations,” Herman said, so matter-of-fact.

“You’re fuckin’ bonkers,” Caleb said. “That shit ends now! ‘M not about to let you deal with my punishment!”

Herman was silent, for once, and Caleb could see his jaw clenching and unclenching. There was a sudden realization that Herman probably felt the same way that Caleb did, a few days ago when he saw the man badly hurt.

Protective.

The anger slowly released from Caleb’s body, and he took a step toward the doctor in a silent peace offering.

“I’ma big boy, doc,” Caleb said. “Been through shit none of yer experiments even come close to. I'm not fuckin' made o’ glass."

"I realize that," Herman said, sighing. "It wasn't my intention to patronize you."

"Pfft, like that ain’t your goal most days," Caleb shot back, the good side of his face drawing into a smirk.

"Well," Herman said with a dry chuckle. "Not in this particular instance."

An apology was left unsaid, but Caleb didn't want one. Still, he kept unwavering eye contact, waiting for a promise that never came.

"And?" Caleb asked when neither of them were budging.

Herman sighed in annoyance, most likely peeved at having been out-stubborned.

"I will make sure it doesn't happen again," Herman reluctantly assured.

"Good," Caleb said, and then inexplicably felt unsure about where that left them. "So, uh… we good, or…?"

Herman smiled. He usually just grinned, or giggled or laughed like a psychopath, but now he looked stupidly handsome with a smile stretching over his lips and making his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Splendid," Herman said.

Caleb could only withstand another few seconds of looking at the damn smile before his patience ran out.

"Get over here," Caleb said, tugging the doctor closer by his lapels and into a kiss.

They didn't do this often, and feeling the warm, chapped lips against his own, Caleb couldn't help but think what a damn shame it was. After the injury to his jaw that felt like a lifetime ago, Caleb didn't think he'd be doing much kissing for the rest of his days, but Herman never seemed bothered by it.

Large hands settled on his hips and Caleb could feel the dormant energy lying underneath, electricity always at the doctor's fingertips. It was absurd to think that their hands, constantly used for killing and more often than not caked with their victims' blood, could be used to hold each other this gently.

Realizing he was getting alarmingly sappy from nothing more than a kiss, Caleb pulled away from the liplock and reluctantly stepped away from the doctor's embrace. He adjusted his hat in an attempt to hide the reddening of his sickly pale cheeks.

"Alright, now come on," Caleb urged, cocking his head in the direction of the door.

"Are we going somewhere?" Herman asked.

"Yer comin' to Glenvale where I can keep an' eye on ya," Caleb said. "Don't trust ya not to break a promise."

The words came out harsher than he meant to. Luckily, Herman didn’t appear to take it personally, instead going to grab some of his things without any further fuss.

"If you wanted a romantic getaway this badly, you should have just asked," Herman teased.

"Shut up," Caleb said half-assedly.

Watching Herman pocket a jar of an unknown substance, Caleb suddenly remembered something crucial.

"Oh, one more thing," Caleb said.

"I'm all ears.”

“Tell Sally to keep ‘er fuckin’ trap shut,” Caleb snarked.

He received a fit of maniacal giggles in return, and Caleb realized that the sound that once grated on his nerves now brought a sense of belonging.

He still didn't know what this was between them, but he'd be damned if he let it go.

#dbd fanfic #caleb quinn #herman carter #sparkslinger #dbd deathslinger #dbd doctor #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight #request

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angelswithcigarettes · 3 years

Text

“Beach day“

Summary: Morgan gets tired about the teams reaction to Spencer having a bad day.

Prompt: "You are nothing but a burden"

Relevant Tags: Autistic Spencer Reid

Pairing: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid

Word Count:1409

Morgan isn't sure what exactly is causing Spencer's behaviour when he is like this. One part could be nervousness or maybe that he under stimulated or maybe even just bored the hell out with that brain of his but sometimes he just can't hold onto one thought always moving and doing things with his hands, always talking.

He doesn't mind, he will just help him to focus, and try finding the problem. What he minds is the teams attitude about it.

"Spencer quiet." Hotch snaps.

"Spencer quiet. Spencer quiet." He repeats until the words find a meaning in his brain and he shuts up but not even half a minute later he is humming to himself and not long after that he picks the talking up again.

"Okay here are your things." JJ collects the files and then places them in Spencer's arm. "And over there is a free desk, have fun."

"Have fun?" Confused he looks at the files in his hands.

"That means you are working from now on over there."

"Alone?"

"Yes alone." She tells him but Morgan corrects her.

"I am coming with you."

"Sweet" Morgan sends them a warning look and then follows him over to the small table on the other side of the precincts bullpen. Letting him talk, he doesn't listen but he will just ignore it and sometimes tap on the file in front of Reid to remind him to keep working. "I am bored."

"You have a lot of work to do kid."

"But it's boring."

"You are the only person that would call this boring."

"I need something to do."

"You have something to do."

"No it's not enough." He starts hitting his head and Morgan evaluates his options while the team and a few officer eye them. "It's boring. It's boring." Morgan pulls out his phone, plugging in headphones and starts playing music for him and then points at the file again and for a bit it works until all of them are in the conference room again discussing the evidence they have and Reid is biting down on his finger making Morgan wince in sympathy and he can tell that Spencer is slowly getting frustrated.

"Reid please stop that." Hotch orders but he just shakes his hand so Hotch reaches up to pull the hand out of his mouth. "It's disgusting."

Hurt Spencer looks down now biting on his lip while Morgan bites back the urge to just take their stuff and leave.

"What did you find out?"

"The first victim was part of a dance group. We called and their said they are actually four groups. Turns out every victim was in one of this groups. The fifth in one at the same building."

"And Reid?" Hotch questions and he doesn't answer. "Reid what did you find out?"

"Reid what did you find out? The victim takes part in a dance group parted in four smaller groups. Each victim-"

"Morgan told us that already. What did you find out?"

"The victim takes part in a dance-"

"Reid. What did you find out while looking at the classes?" He repeats.

"The victim takes part in a dance class. Decided-" he speaks louder and Hotch interrupts him again.

"You two have been over there for nearly two hours. This can't be all."

"I can't concentrate." He complains.

"You are nothing but a burden right now. I gave you a simple past and you managed to not only not finish it you also slowed Morgan down with you."

"Hotch it's not his fault." Morgan steps in defending his boyfriend.

"He slows us down. He can go." Hotch turns back to Reid. "I don't want to see you here until this is better."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes"

"Then you are two agents down." Morgan throws the file in his hands onto the table.

"You leave now you are off the case."

"Alright." He keeps walking out of the room behind Spencer who is back to chewing on his finger, biting down on the bone wanting it to hurt but it doesn't hurt enough and he can't bite down hard enough. "Hey don't,it's okay,you are okay." Morgan stops him in front of the precinct, grabbing into his pocket and pulling a chewie out replacing it with his finger and he starts hitting his thigh with his free hand.

"I am not lazy"

"I know."

"I can't concentrate. And I have this weird nervous buzzling feeling in my arms and it won't go."

"I am sorry."

"Make it go."

"I don't know how." Apologetic he looks at Spencer and then pulls him in a hug, holding him as tight as he can. "This good?"

"Yes."

"So we are just gonna hug until it's gone?"

"Yes."

"Come on, we walk down to the beach, if we get kicked off the case might as well see something from the city they paid us to fly to."

"I don't think this is what Hotch intended."

"As much as I respect him - this decision was bullshit. It wasn't your fault and he didn't have any right calling you what he did." They walk for a not long until they can see the sea and walk down the steps into the send and Morgan sits down first,Spencer between his legs leaning against his chest and the older man wraps his arms around him while Spencer plays with the sand.

"We need to wash our hands after that. The bacteria on beaches us quite terrifying."

"We will do that." He hold him a little bit tighter, resting his head on his shoulder watching the sea and sometimes Spencer's hand letting the sand fall from one hand into the other. "You never were at the beach were you?"

"No"

"What do you think?"

"It's nice."

"Do you feel better?"

"Yes. Your hug helps." Hotch finds them there in the evening, Morgan laying on his back watching the sky while Spencer is eating fries from the snack hall on the street behind them. "Hey Hotch" Morgan looks aside not having seen his boss.

"I see you found yourself a nice place."

"I never have been to the beach. I like it here."

"I am glad you do." Sceptical Morgan sits up and Hotch can read the despite on his face. "I have to apologise. What I said earlier what out of the line and I know of course that it is not your fault and that if I send you home for something like this, you can't be alone and need Morgan. You two should not be punished for that."

"We weren't. We spend the day here. That was nice." Spencer tells his with a innocent smile eating another fries. "Besides I am pretty sure the dance thing was the reason why you catched the unsub."

"How do you know we catched him?"

"You wouldn't be at a beach otherwise."

"Well you are right with that. We will leave in two hours." When they walk onto the plane, sitting down next to each other, Spencer watching something on Morgan's phone with the headphones in, while eating candy that is hard to chew, Hotch realizes even more how much he fucked up and how much that was out of Spencer's control.

"What is he watching?" Dave asks gesturing to him.

"Doctor who. I don't know how often someone can watch the same show over and over again but we are currently in Season nine. Again."

"It seems to do real work."

"Oh it does if I meet that person that decided to do a new version. I can't guarantee that I won't marry them on the spot." Hotch chuckles ones. "Seriously sometimes it's out of his hands and my hand to know what is wrong and you can't expect him to handle things the same. He is not being lazy not being a distraction on purpose. If he could he would just do his work in quiet and deliver. And insulting him for it is even worse."

"I am sorry,it was a stressful day-"

"Image I would start insulting him everytime I have a stressful day and he is under or over stimulated and not doing things the same as every other person in the room. You would call me out on that and you would end it. He thinks highly of you and when you say stuff like that it matters just as much to him."

Ao3:

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #ao3 author #aaron hotchner #moreid #david rossi #jennifer jareau #criminal minds fanfiction #autistic spencer reid

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 4 years

Note

What your opinion on the Agni Kai was better then aang’s fight with ozai

I want to first say that “better” is a completely subjective statement. Both the final Agni Kai and Aang’s battle with Ozai have huge importance thematically, but are also demonstrative of different aspects of A:tLA, so comparing them in an attempt to determine the “better” battle is really an injustice to the show imo. That said, the final Agni Kai is certainly the more popular of the two big battles, and honestly I can break down its popularity into three main points. People tend to favor the final Agni Kai because:

They see the final Agni Kai as the reason Z.utara should have been canon (no, this is not the same as seeing the battle as crucial to Z.utara’s development; I mean they full-on think that the final Agni Kai matters largely if not entirely because of the brief ‘Z.utara’ moment.)

They recognize the significance of the Agni Kai being framed as a tragedy (specifically regarding Azula).

Their lack of understanding regarding Aang’s arc (or, to be kinder, their personal disinterest in Aang) prevents them from fully appreciating his battle with Ozai.

There are a few other reasons the final Agni Kai tends to be favored (e.g. it’s a much faster-paced battle action-wise; Aang’s battle with Ozai is over twice as long and because of how the show was structured is broken up into several sections and thus feels even longer), but I think those are the main three. So let’s take them one at a time!

First, I have to start with the obvious:

People favor the final Agni Kai because they interpret it as their holy grail of why Z.utara should have been canon.

Firstly, I am not getting into the K@taang vs Z.utara ship wars. I don’t have the time or the energy lmao. But there is a huge difference between shipping Z.utara based on the content provided in the show (because y’all know I love me some Zut@raang) compared to somehow thinking that Zuko and Katara were both ready to be and should have gotten together at the end of the series. In short, Z.utara would not have worked in canon based on where the series stood by the finale, and that’s okay! That fact does not negate the appeal of Z.utara nor does it mean Z.utara shippers should not be allowed to interpret the final Agni Kai as involving Z.utara content (they absolutely can and should! we love to see that!). But the final Agni Kai was not some secret sign that Z.utara was meant to be canon, and people who interpret it as such are sorely missing the point of the battle.

Here are a few metas discussing the final Agni Kai in regards to Z.utara’s importance within canon A:tLA, if you’d like to read some analysis going more in-depth than I intend to. My thoughts regarding Z.utara and the final Agni Kai are pretty simple:

Zuko catching/attempting to redirect the lightning aimed at Katara was not because he was in love with her. For him to sacrifice himself because he was “in love with her” would entirely undermine his redemption arc, which is learning to earn forgiveness and accept unconditional love from his family (both Iroh and the Gaang), not because of romantic interest. (Again, this does not mean someone shouldn’t ship Z.utara; if that’s what you’re taking away from this post, then you might as well stop reading, because I assure you that’s not even close to the point here.)

Katara is set up as Azula’s primary foil (e.g. by and large her relationship in canon with Zuko is aimed as a surrogate sibling); her saving Zuko parallels Azula’s attempts on his life (though her most important moment as Azula’s foil is arguably bringing Aang back to life after Azula kills him, but that’s a subject for another time lol), and Zuko catching the lightning for Katara demonstrates him saving the sister he can save versus Azula, the sister he cannot save (hence her breakdown at the end of the battle while Katara walks away largely unharmed; Zuko’s decision is also a direct parallel to him siding with Azula in “Crossroads of Destiny”, having first chosen the sister who harms him over Katara, the sister who ultimately heals him).

The significance of Zuko catching/attempting to redirect the lightning aimed at Katara is not because it was Katara he was saving; the viewer sees Zuko’s decision and recognizes that he would have done so for anyone. Anyone in the Gaang, plus Mai and Iroh, and possibly even Ty Lee (hell, he’d probably have taken the bolt for Appa and Momo). Zuko’s redemption arc is sealed by his selflessness, his willingness to sacrifice himself for the sake of someone else. While the moment is especially powerful because of Katara’s position as a foil to Azula, it is not the Z.utara holy grail I’ve seen it portrayed to be.

To be honest, the interpretation of the Agni Kai as some big Z.utara moment is both superficial and a massive disservice to Azula and the completion of her arc, which is the focal point of most if not all of the battle, and also entirely undermines the power of Zuko’s redemption (as I discussed). So moving on to the next point!

People favor the final Agni Kai because they recognize its importance to Azula and how the key element of the battle’s emotional weight is its framing as a tragic, heartbreaking moment.

I rewatched both the final Agni Kai and Aang’s battle with Ozai before I wrote this, and I had to try so hard to not cry at the end when Azula breaks down, sobbing openly for the first time in the entire series. It is a powerful, devastating moment, and it is so heartbreaking because of how fitting it is for her. Does she deserve redemption? Absolutely. But in the context of the series and how A:tLA played out, rock bottom is where Azula needs to be, and the audience recognizing that fact is what makes the scene so painful to watch (and also why you can’t take your eyes off the screen). For me, the power of the Agni Kai never came from Zuko’s sacrifice (although I understand why that part resonates with some people more); instead, it was always about Azula’s downfall, her descent, the straw the broke the camel’s back - whatever you want to call it. I’ll try to keep the essence of my feelings towards Azula and the Agni Kai and why this battle is preferred short:

Azula is a much more established antagonist than Ozai. We know from the beginning the Fire Lord is the big bad, but his presence in the show is relegated largely to flashbacks and to the second half of the final season. Azula is introduced in Book Two (technically she appears twice, I believe, in Book One, but she has no lines so I’m not counting those moments lol) and becomes the key antagonist throughout the final two books. The viewers admire her intelligence and strategic capabilities, appreciate her wit and ability to turn a person’s words around on them, and even feel sympathy and pity for her when her difficult relationship with her mother is revealed (in “The Beach”) and when Ozai’s conditional love is demonstrated to apply to her, too (“Sozin’s Comet Part 1: The Phoenix King”). Thus, the final Agni Kai has multitudes more emotional potency in terms of the antagonist, as Azula is more pitiable and developed than Ozai, so it’s understandable that feeling a greater connection to Azula might result in someone preferring the final Agni Kai over Aang’s battle with Ozai. (That said, I will be discussing more about the significance of Ozai as a character later.)

The tone of the Agni Kai is that of tragedy (verus the more action/intense battle of Aang vs Ozai). While the debate of drama vs action is largely related to personal preference, I think it’s worth noting that no other battle in A:tLA (that I can think of) has the slow, drawn-out, orchestral music that is present in the final Agni Kai. The viewers realize this battle may be about power on the surface, but in reality it is a painful, devastating moment about a family irreparably torn apart (at least in terms of the series run). For me, that has always been the captivating factor of the Agni Kai. The viewers mourn for Azula, who has lost herself. Yes, she did so partially in her quest for power, but more importantly in her search for love, as she did not have a support system in her life like her brother (Zuko always had Iroh), and the audience grieves for her. Her mother both feared her and was disgusted by her; her father loved no one (including her) and only valued her for what she could provide to him; she hurt her brother and her best friends to the point where they were forced to turn away from her; and her uncle, as far as what is shown, never extended a hand to her. Azula is a victim of abuse (though this does not excuse any of her actions; in fact, her role in A:tLA as a victim who was abandoned and lashes out before breaking down on the inside is just as important as Zuko’s role as a victim who was given support and was able to heal). Thus, to me, the power of the final Agni Kai is all from the tragic tone (hence why Azula’s heartbreaking end brings me close to tears every time).

Bonus: The way Katara takes out Azula is incredibly clever and badass. (I don’t think I need to expand this one. We all love narrative foils!)

For some people, they prefer the final Agni Kai because of the emotional weight of the conclusion of Azula’s arc; that weight combined with the conclusion of Zuko’s redemption, in my opinion, are pretty valid reasons to deem the final Agni Kai their favorite battle of the series. That said, there is one other important factor to consider in the question of the final Agni Kai vs Aang’s battle with Ozai:

People prefer the final Agni Kai because they blatantly misunderstand and/or misinterpret Aang’s arc of reconciling his being both the Avatar and the last airbender, thus preventing them from fully understanding and appreciating the weight of his battle with Ozai.

This point is more complex than the two I discussed previously, so I’m going to break this one down further to help simplify it. Let’s start with the most obvious thing:

“The lion turtle and energybending were cop-outs!”

I cringe whenever I see this; imagine admitting to the entire fandom how blind you were to the extensive foreshadowing about the lion turtle and energybending. Downright embarrassing. There are so many metas out there explaining how the lion turtle and energybending were not cop-outs and how A:tLA did foreshadow their influence (some people need to admit they just didn’t watch the show tbh). I’ll try to provide a quick summary:

Chiblocking demonstrated how chi/energy and bending were intrinsically linked from Day. One. Moreover, it did so numerous times; trying to claim that blatant foreshadowing is not there is… well, kind of embarrassing.

The lion turtle was foreshadowed in “The Library” (and moreover the lion turtle only appeared after Aang called out to the Spirit World; his meditation was an appropriate attempt to seek help from those wiser than him to resolve his dilemma, and thus his plea was answered).

If you’re gonna argue the lion turtle/energybending were convenient cop-outs, you better also critique how Suki conveniently was at the Boiling Rock/the ferry, Pakku conveniently had been arranged to marry Katara’s grandmother, Toph conveniently inventing metalbending, every other time a spirit showed up conveniently, etc. etc. etc. Don’t cherry-pick, hypocrites.

The lion turtle/energybending were not necessarily predictable, no, but they also were not meant to be. You’re not supposed to guess every detail of every finale of every show. So yes, the lion turtle/energybending were foreshadowed, and this foreshadowing done so in a way where after they were revealed it was intended to be an “oh my god, how did I not see that connection before?!” moment. (At least, so it was for me.)

Dismissing the lion turtle and energybending as a cop-out is an age-old, boring misinterpretation of Aang’s battle with Ozai, and by and large I think most of the fandom is tired of hearing it. Thus, if people don’t understand the lion turtle/energybending and their roles in the A:tLA finale, then they’re less likely to appreciate Aang’s battle with Ozai and therefore would prefer the final Agni Kai. Next common argument:

“Aang was able to re-enter the Avatar state because of a rock? Really? Another cop-out!”

Again, if you’re gonna criticize the rock, at least criticize every other plot device used in A:tLA. I mean come on. Some people will really just cherry-pick instances solely with Aang. How very convenient for them, huh?

But the fact of the matter is that the pointy rock is actually pretty important! No, it didn’t necessarily have to be a rock that allowed Aang to enter the Avatar state again, but it was necessary that the Avatar state was unblocked for him by a physical trigger. The Avatar state was removed from Aang by Azula’s lightning striking him (after he’d done the spiritual work to control it, too!), which is a physical block, thus requiring something to physically unblock it. By the end of Book Two, Aang is able to enter the Avatar state of his own accord (he successfully unlocked his chakras, after all) and had Azula not struck him in the back and killed him, he presumably would have been able to do so throughout Book Three. Did that physical item have to be a rock? Again, not necessarily, lmao, but where he and Ozai were fighting, well, there certainly were a lot of rocks, so it’s not like it didn’t make sense. (There’s a meta here that touches a bit on the necessity of the Aang needing the Avatar state physically unblocked, too.)

“Ozai was a stereotypical, boring villain! He was barely given any screen time!”

This isn’t entirely untrue. Everything viewers are told about Ozai is from other characters in the narrative; mostly Zuko, but also Azula and I’d argue Iroh, too. Ozai certainly was the big bad of the series, and little is provided regarding his personality beyond being power-hungry, racist, xenophobic, and abusive. But… that’s kind of the point. Ozai is written to have zero redeemable qualities. There is supposed to be zero sympathy for him. Hell, there’s arguably even zero reason for him to live on (which actually makes Aang’s decision to spare his life all the more powerful, but that’s for later). There’s one line in particular that really defines Ozai’s character to me:

“You’re [Aang is] weak, just like the rest of your people [the Air Nomads]! They did not deserve to exist in this world… in my [Ozai’s] world!”

Ozai is the epitome of fascism, imperialism, and a superiority complex if there ever was one in a cartoon. His words remind the audience that maybe he didn’t initiate the Air Nomad Genocide, but he continues to seek the same goal - obliteration of anyone he deems inferior (which is, well, every nation except his own). Aang’s battle with Ozai is literally a fight against fascism, and that’s a hell of a powerful metaphor. So while I understand leaning towards the Agni Kai in terms of familiarity with the antagonist (aka Azula), I do think some people gloss over Ozai too quickly. Yes, everyone knows that Ozai is a genocidal dictator, but I don’t think the implication of that position - especially what it means to Aang - really sinks in for everyone.

And now for the big one:

“Aang should have killed Ozai!”

If you are reading this and for some godforsaken reason think Aang should have killed Ozai, I beg of you: read these metas and analyses about Aang and his arc explaining exactly why that’s the wrong take. This point has been argued a million times over and the fact of the matter is that Aang choosing to spare Ozai’s life and thus uphold his beliefs as an Air Nomad is the ultimate triumph (a direct parallel to the Air Nomads being forced to fight back against the firebenders during Sozin’s attack and were thus not able to uphold their beliefs - the ultimate sacrifice). Furthermore, Aang choosing to spare Ozai’s life but take his bending is arguably a fate worse than death for Ozai. Ozai now lacks all of his power/prestige, will be forced to watch the son he despises rebuild his country, and any lingering supporters he may have can’t argue “oh well the Avatar had no reason to kill him!” because Aang didn’t kill him. He chose mercy. He proved himself better and stronger than Ozai could ever hope to be.

Furthermore, Aang staying true to his beliefs as an airbender is central to his character. The core belief of the Air Nomads was that all life was sacred (such was why they were all vegetarians). If he had killed Ozai, if he had been forced to betray his spiritual beliefs, then he would have completed the genocide of the Air Nomads that Sozin started a hundred years ago. Ozai’s death at Aang’s hands = the death of the airbenders’ culture. Full stop. How could he be expected to bring balance to the four nations if only three remained? Maybe this is just me, but the message of Aang being an airbender (the last airbender) and finding another way (e.g. energybending) to defeat Ozai in order to uphold the beliefs of his people is a much more powerful message than him having to kill Ozai (especially because no one else understood how important Aang’s spirituality was to him [not even the Gaang!]; Aang did what was right, even when the world insisted he was wrong).

(Sidenote: The previous Avatars did not tell Aang to kill Ozai. That’s right - not even Kyoshi. I believe she gave him this advice: “Only justice will bring peace.” Great news! Aang did exactly that. Why are some people still so pressed about it??)

Furthermore, if someone calls Aang’s beliefs and his decision not to kill Ozai childish (we’ve all seen those posts), I’m giving you permission to deck them, because so much of the roots of the Air Nomads’ spirituality is rooted in Buddhism, and like,, we know westerners struggle to comprehend any narrative that isn’t our own, but the dismissal of Aang’s beliefs without making the connection that they’re also dismissing the beliefs of many, many real people? Yeah, please sock those assholes in the jaw. Give them the finger. Glare at them. Whatever works for you. Those are the people with the most superficial opinions on A:tLA, and to be honest, it really shows. Please: make an effort to understand the eastern narratives at work within A:tLA. If you don’t, there are so many things you will miss out on, and you’ll also just look like a prick.

For me, Aang’s battle with Ozai is so powerful (and my favorite) because of the ending and its importance to Aang:

“I’m not gonna end it like this.”

Aang chooses mercy by taking Ozai’s bending instead of killing him.

Aang chooses to uphold the beliefs of his people and guarantee the Air Nomads live on in him.

Aang proves his soul is unbendable.

Aang enters and controls the Avatar of his own accord (not induced by trauma or a spirit).

Aang reconciles his being the Avatar with being the last airbender.

Aang is finally at peace with himself and the world around him.

In short, if a person doesn’t understand Aang and his character, then the significance of his final battle with Ozai will largely be lost, and thus it makes sense that they would gravitate more to the Agni Kai (which is arguably a less nuanced battle, as Azula’s position as a victim of abuse and Zuko’s tale of redemption are not exclusive to either western or eastern narratives, while Aang’s arc is largely more eastern in nature and thus something less familiar to western audiences).

I have no doubt that my personal bias influences my admiration of the final battle with Ozai, as Aang is my favorite character and his narrative is easily the most powerful to me (he is the sole survivor of genocide who still chooses to seek kindness in life instead of revenge), but regardless I’d argue the sheer thematic weight of Aang’s battle with Ozai outweighs that of the Agni Kai any day (although, to be fair, they are presenting different subjects, so take my feelings there with a grain of salt).

The Agni Kai is a tragedy. It is devastating. It makes you cry. Aang’s battle with Ozai is a triumph. It is hope. It makes you take a deep breath and look to tomorrow with a brave smile. And that is why it is the battle that concludes the series.

TL;DR - Both are fantastic battles in their own merit, but Aang’s battle with Ozai is underappreciated because of the fandom’s incomplete grasp on Aang’s arc and character while the final Agni Kai is often appreciated/hyped up for the wrong (*cough* shipping *cough*) reasons.

#IM GONNA ADD A LINE BREAK IN A HOT MINUTE IM ON MOBILE #amy answers #aang #atla #avatar the last airbender #azula #zuko #katara #ozai #final agni kai #atla meta #aang vs ozai #energybending #lion turtle #anon #air nomad genocide #air nomads #avatar the legend of aang #amy analyzes

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glacecakes · 4 years

Text

Revenge is Sweet but You're Sweeter

Andrew kidnaps Hugo to get back at Varian.

Warning for blood, torture, general violence. Nothing too graphic. GOD THIS TOOK FUCKING FOREVER TO GET OUT. Basically my cat had a cancer scare and my depression is at an all time high so I was unable to get anything done. I wasn't happy with this fic for most of it until I sat my ass down and said I Will Finish This If It Kills Me. I'm still not THRILLED with this piece but it's finished and fuck it it's done i'm DONE I HAVE DEADLINES.

Hugo’s vision blurred into existence after a few blinks. As far as he could tell, he was trapped in some old barn, arms trapped behind his back. He flexed, tugging at the restraints on his hands. The ropes burned his wrists, but they didn’t budge. His legs scrambled in an attempt to stand, but it didn’t work, and he was stuck still on the floor. His eyes scanned the vicinity, trying to gauge his surroundings.

“What the…” he mumbled. His eyes blinked asynchronously as he struggled to focus.

How the heck did this even happen?

The last thing Hugo remembered was that he was talking to Nuru and Yong, sharing some hot cocoa while Varian got some more firewood. They were talking about Varian’s unusually anxious behavior as of late. He was already an anxious guy, but ever since he got a letter from home, he’d been a wreck. He started looking over his shoulder constantly and even sleeping with a weapon by his side. And anytime any of the three asked, Varian would abruptly change the subject.

“What if we all asked him about it? Like, at once?” Yong asked.

Hugo bit his lip. If he were in Varian’s position, he wouldn’t want to spill. He doesn’t want his position compromised, and Varian likely didn’t want the same done to him.

That’s what he told himself, anyway. He definitely did not have a crush on Varian and wanted to keep Varian as close as possible for as long as possible.

He moved to object, but Nuru and raised her mug in agreement.

“When he gets back, we’ll confront him. Something’s bothering him, and we’re his friends. We only want to help.”

Help, or bother? To Hugo it felt like they were too nosy for their own good, and were excusing it as concern. But hey what did he know. Not like he had many friends before them. He’d thrown back the cocoa in quiet acceptance, said goodnight to the others… and now…

Moonlight filtered in through the barn’s broken windows and decaying roof, seeping into every crack and filling the room with shadows.

A shadow from which a man stepped out.

His hair was slightly greasy, yet kept in an immaculate bun. A long, well-groomed beard did little to hide the feral grin on his face. He sauntered across creaking floors, circling around the teen like a shark. He carried a sword which left imprints on the floorboards,

Hugo puffed his chest up in defense. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by this… kidnapper? Assailant? Whatever he was he looked like a jerk.

“Finally you’re all awake. I was worried I’d used too much.”

“Too much?”

“Sleeping powder. Just sprinkled it into your water supply when you weren’t looking. Child’s play, really.” The man laughed, resuming his pacing.

Hugo cursed internally. He let his guard down and paid the price. Being with the trio of hooligans he called friends made him soft, as Donella would’ve said. How long had this man been following them? How long had he waited to strike, judging them and gauging every opportunity, deciding that tonight was perfect to attack mere teens? He just hoped the other three were safe.

Wait, no. Don’t think that. Remember Hugo, you don’t care about them. They’re a means to an end.

As Hugo’s eyes adjusted to the dim barn, he began to notice more silhouettes creeping in the dark. They slowly joined their comrade, as if summoned. They were of varying shapes and sizes, age and creed. They were dressed too poorly to be bounty hunters, looking more like weary travellers. Further back, near a large hole in the barn roof, was a hot air balloon. It was likely how the teen was transported here. A floorboard splintered under the largest man’s weight.

“Who are you?” Hugo barked. “What do you want with me?”

“You mean your friend never mentioned us?” A short woman asked, stepping up to him and patting his head in mock sympathy. “You poor sheep, travelling with a wolf.”

He recoiled at her touch, nose scrunching up and eyes screwing shut. Her hot breath tickled the strands of hair on his neck.

“We are the separatists of Saporia. I’m the leader, Andrew.” The man bowed. “I hope you don’t mind that we… borrowed you for the evening?”

Ah, Saporia. Something about rebels against Corona, right? Varian had mentioned them in passing once. His face had screwed into pure disgust at seeing a crest painted on a wall in Bayagnor.

“Pricks,” He’d muttered, throwing a goo bomb to destroy the paint.

Likely this guy had beef with Donella, which meant it was up to Hugo to get himself out of here safely. He wondered what she did to earn this anger.

“Yea sure, love getting kidnapped by washed up Coronans,” Hugo snapped, bracing for the inevitable smack that followed. The other kidnappers laughed at his pain. He’d seen this scenario many times under Donella. Sometimes he was the victim, sometimes he was the instigator. But it always worked the same. Those who tried to play the hero, those who tried to resist, they always got the worst of the treatment.

Sure enough, Andrew snapped his fingers, and his cronies descended.

“Hope you don’t mind, we have to… prepare you for our guest of honor.”

How long did he sit there, taking hit after hit? They were never intense, rather a series of mildly painful blows that built up over time. Andrew refused to let his compatriots hurt him too much.

“He needs to stay alive and intact.” He said. “Save the broken bones for our dear old friend.”

That didn’t stop any of it from hurting. It didn’t stop the blood that trickled down his nose from a particularly nasty punch, nor the stinging of Andrew’s knife across his back. One eye was beginning to swell shut, and his ribs, while not broken, still ached from repetitive kicks. Individually, it was nothing Hugo couldn’t handle. But combined, the wounds were starting to wear him down.

He never let it show though. If his tormentors got wind of his breaking will, they’d mock him to no end. He had to keep his chin up and show he was better than them. That’s what Don taught him, anyway. Either play up the child act and gain their pity, or stay determined. But above all, never give away information.

He never played hero normally. But then again, he was usually the youngest, the favorite. Donella would let heads roll if her cronies let Hugo suffer when they could take the hit. It was her way of showing she cared, in a twisted way.

In this scenario, he had to be the hero. There would be no sympathy shown, there hadn’t been so far. No, he’d have to figure this out on his own. Yong and Nuru could come save him, sure, but he didn’t want them to risk it. Not that he cared about them or anything! It was just… they were likely to fail. Right?

Oh who was he kidding. Hugo didn’t want to get the others involved.

Responsiblity sucked. How does Varian do it?

BANG!

“ANDREW!”

Speak of the devil.

The door to the barn was blasted open, revealing Varian filled with a fury the likes of which the other had never seen. His eyes were wild, pupils like pin pricks. He rapidly scanned the area, softening only slightly when he saw Hugo was alive, only to reignite to even further anger when he saw Hugo’s current state. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, indicating he ran here.

Andrew spread his arms wide, greeting Varian like he was visiting for dinner, as opposed to holding his friend hostage. “You made it! I was worried you didn’t get my message.”

Varian held up a piece of paper. The words were impossible to make out from afar, but the implications sent shivers down the spine. “I got your note.” He growled, crumpling the paper in one hand and tossing it to the floor. “Now what do you want?” His voice was venom.

It sounded a lot like Donella, in Hugo’s opinion.

Andrew’s companions slinked ever closer, forming a semi circle behind the prisoner, while Andrew saunted up close to Varian.

To say Hugo was shocked was an understatement. He’d never seen raw fury like that from the normally awkward and intelligent alchemist. And apparently he knew this guy, which meant it was not about getting revenge on Donella.

What had Varian done to get himself an enemy like this?

“Oh come on, I can’t say hi to an old friend?”

“We are not friends. ”

“We were, at some point.” Andrew hummed, wrapping an arm around Varian. “Such a shame. And I think you know what I want.” The younger was as tense as a stone. He sent a death glare up at the man and didn’t answer the question.

He patted Varian’s cheek condescendingly. It was a facsimile of the constant, warm touches of home. Varian wanted to throw up.

Varian grit his teeth, shoving Andrew off and backing up towards his friends. A hand slipped into his pocket, preparing to throw down a bomb, but one of the goons surged forward. His broad muscles pinned Varian to the floor, cheek falling with a loud smack. The bomb rolled across the floor.

He flailed his feet, akin to a rabid animal, but it was no use. The man drug Varian to the wall where previously unnoticed shackles glinted in the moonlight. Each cuff was wrapped around Varian’s wrists. He pulled, able to get about a meter away from the wall, but that was as far as it let him.

"Oh come on," Andrew said, circling around Varian like a snake ready to swallow its prey. "You act like you’re all mature now, but I’ve seen the real you. Deep down, you're still the same naive, evil brat I met in prison."

Prison? When did Varian go to prison?

Varian's body shook with fury. "I am nothing like you." He growled.

"Are you sure about that? Didn't you do the same thing I did?" He fiddled with a knife, getting into Varian's personal space and dragging the weapon down Varian's cheek. "We both wanted something, so we kidnapped the one our target holds dear. And we both threatened to kill them if they didn't cooperate."

Hugo felt his insides turn to ice.

“I want,” Andrew whispered, leaning up to Varian’s face, hot breath ghosting across his cheeks. “For you to suffer.”

Varian met his friend’s gaze, and his body shook with barely hidden disgust. He’d let Andrew hurt the ones he loved once before, he’ll be damned if he lets it happen again. From the looks of it though, he was too late. Guilt and anger bubbled in his stomach like a volcano.

“Don’t worry, goggles,” Hugo said, keeping his voice steady. “I’ve had way worse. Trust me, it’s like kitten scratches.”

Varian’s eyes twinkled with unshed tears, yet he smiled, bunny teeth peeking out from between his lips. “You look like shit.” A faint blush spread across his cheeks. Even now, covered in bruises and blood, Hugo still managed to take Varian’s breath away.

If we get out of this, he vowed to himself, I’m going to tell him how I feel.

For a brief moment, he glanced down at his hands, and then back up at Hugo. The older teen followed with his eyes and allowed a small smile.

A bobby pin.

He put his hands behind his back, to prevent anyone from seeing.

Distract him, Varian mouthed.

How? Hugo hissed back.

Varian shrugged. The older alchemist rolled his eyes.

“Hey Andy, was it?” Hugo raised his head to stare Andrew down. He let a familiar facade slide into place. “Ya mind explaining why I’m here?”

Varian’s eyes widened, and he banged his head against the wall in frustration. Not like that! He thought.

“Like I get that he’s here to suffer or whatever,” He raised his eyebrows to imitate quotation marks. “But uh. I don’t get why you need me. Maybe I’m just not smart enough to understand your plan.”

It was a cheap shot, appealing to the ego, but it did the trick. Andrew seemed like the type to gloat and monologue, and sure enough, he slunk across the room towards Hugo, a pep in his step.

“See, it’s quite simple, really. Varian here… well. He hurt us a while back.” Varian rolled his eyes, but made no comment. With the attention off of him, he picked at the lock. The soft clinks of the metal were easily ignored.

“For a while, I thought that if I ever saw him again, I’d make good on my promise, and splatter his body on the ruins of Corona.”

“Yea good luck with that last bit.” Hugo rolled his eyes. “So what, I was just bait?”

“Oh no,” Andrew’s grin was near maniacal. “We figured death was too light of a punishment. No. If there’s one thing the kid never shut up about, it’s family. Oh, I love my dad, ooh I can’t wait until we find a way to free him, ooh those darn royals tore my family apart blah blah blah. So what better torture…”

He slashed Hugo’s cheek with the knife. Blood oozed out the cut as Hugo hissed in pain. From the corner of his eye he saw Varian flinch, arms shaking as he tried to pick the locks faster.

“...Than to force him to watch us kill the ones he loves most?”

The word love and Hugo were not commonly used together, let alone when talking about Varian. And yet… Hugo’s stomach fluttered at the idea. He was a loved one? It seemed almost impossible, but he could see the frantic energy Varian exuded as he tried to work as quietly and discreetly as possible.

No, he probably just means friend… right?

What if he doesn’t, a traitorous voice whispered. What if it’s exactly what you think it means?

He couldn’t help it. “Varian?” He asked, voice soft.

The younger alchemist gave him a sheepish smile, hiding his hands behind his back.

A mental war was raging in Varian’s head. Every fiber of his being screamed to save Hugo, go to him, protect him, but he couldn’t do that while cuffed. The only way to save Hugo was to keep the attention off himself and solely on Hugo. He couldn’t let Andrew see what he was doing.

“Aw, how sweet,” Andrew crooned. He leveled the sword and Hugo’s chin, redirecting his gaze. His soft expression morphed into a scowl of defiance.

With the sword still at his jaw, Andrew shoved his fist into Hugo’s stomach. The wind was knocked out of him, but Hugo kept his head steady. Any sudden movements could mean he bled out.

Varian let out a whine.

He had to focus.

After a few more seconds, the first cuff was open.

“Trying to play it cool, huh?” Andrew stood to his full height, dropping the sword. He loomed over Hugo and grit his teeth. The man was no longer in a playing mood. He wanted Varian to suffer, and by god the kid was gonna suffer sooner rather than later.

He raised his boot, and slammed the toe into Hugo’s face with a crunch . His glasses cracked on impact. His head hit the wooden beam with enough force to rattle his skull.

Andrew gripped his neck and squeezed. The air escaped Hugo in a rush and he moaned in protest.

Varian couldn’t suppress the scream that pushed its way out. The still intact chain rattled with his tugs.

“Andrew please,” His voice shook on the second word. “Let him go. It’s me you hate.”

“Did you not listen? You’re a smart kid, Varian. I’m going to kill him, and then I’m going to kill everyone else you love. ” His fingers tightened around Hugo’s neck, and he turned back to the older teen.

Hugo’s vision was darkening. “Varian,” He wheezed.

The second cuff snapped off.

And Varian lunged.

With an inhuman cry, he toppled Andrew, sending the man sprawling onto the floor. They rolled onto the floor until Varian was on top. Quick as a flash, he grabbed the discard sword and put it to Andrew’s neck.

Hugo gasped for breath, coughing as sweet air filled his lungs. He blinked the dark spots out of his eyes.

The other Saporians ran to help their leader, but faltered at the sword.

“Stay back!” Varian screamed. He pushed it deeper into Andrew’s neck, nearly drawing blood. “Release him!” He ordered. “Let Hugo go or I kill him right here, right now!”

“You wouldn’t,” Andrew snarled. Varian’s glare pierced his very soul, and the furious teen smacked him across the face.

Damn that felt good.

The last time Varian had been this angry… god, it might’ve been when he was 14. When he saw how happy Rapunzel was with her family, while his own suffered, while he withered away and turned to ash.

The Saporians were quick to obey, one of the taller men untying Hugo. He slid down the pole, grabbing at his throat with his now free hands. His wrists were stained red with ropeburn.

Slowly, he stood to his feet on shaky legs, leaning against the pillar for support.

Satisfied, Varian turned back to Andrew, who was smiling.

“What are you so happy about?” the alchemist hissed.

Andrew laughed. “You really haven’t changed a bit.”

Varian’s eyes narrowed. He slammed the hilt of the sword into Andrew’s head, and the man fell unconscious. He stood off of him.

The other separatists did nothing. They knew what he was capable of. Without any leverage, without their leader, it was a losing battle. Especially now that Hugo was free.

Pointing the sword at the Saporians, he said, “Next time, I won’t let you guys go alive.” He slammed it down into the floorboards with a huff.

“Now get out of my sight.”

The walk back to the campsite was quiet for the most part.

Hugo was leaning on Varian heavily, one arm wrapped around Varian’s neck and the other clutching at his waist. Everytime he staggered or tripped, Varian’s grip tightened ever so slightly.

His eyes were stone cold, but never directed at Hugo. If he saw Hugo looking, Varian’s eyes softened, glittering under the stars. It was nearing daybreak. The smoke from their campsite was now visible.

The tents came into view, and Hugo’s entire form sagged in relief. He was so ready to drop into bed and not wake up for 12 hours, but he needed medical care.

Nuru and Yong had long gone to bed, blissfully unaware of what had transpired. The next hour was quiet as well, Varian silently tending to the most serious ones. It was a tender moment, their own little world. A bubble that would be broken by speaking. So for now, Hugo was silent. He let Varian dab at the blood under his nose, let him remove his glasses for safekeeping, let his breath trail over Hugo’s cheeks as they both blushed.

At last, the worst was over.

“So…” Hugo finally said. “That was… something.”

Varian snorted. “Understatement.”

“We gonna talk about what just happened? Any of it?”

“Which parts do you want to talk about?”

Hugo hummed. “I mean I’d like to know what the fuck that guy was…” Varian turned green. “But not right now.”

Varian breathed a sigh of relief. “Then, what?”

Hugo bit his lip, preparing for the worst. “You love me…?”

“Oh…” Varian’s face lit up bright red. His eyes averted, looking anywhere but Hugo. “I-I mean… maybe not love… not yet at least. Not that I hate you! No, I…” He winced. “I… like you. A lot.” He moaned. “That was the worst confession ever please stab me now.”

Hugo laughed. He couldn’t help it. After everything that had happened today, from kidnapping to torture to this , it was so overwhelming and horrible and also so perfect.

“How about, instead of that…” He said. “I uh… say I feel the same? Not love yet, I don’t think but… if you wanna try and get to that point?”

The sun rose behind Varian as he smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

#tangled #varian #tangled the series #varigo #varian and the seven kingdoms #varian and the seven kingdoms au #hugo the human #tts #tts varian

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holy-heck-i-love-my-fo · 3 years

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I just needed to write a parkdam fic . TW for people being seriously harmed, having harm come their way, needles, stitching of body things that shouldn’t be stitched, gore, blood, guns, corpses, cursing, snot, and things that are painful. If anything there is something that bothers you, then don’t worry! :)! <3! Don’t feel obligated to read, and I have some fun stuff/an introduction to my Saw S/I that needs no trigger warnings coming out soon!!!

@gentle-horrors.

-----

When I was tossed into the room, I wasn’t sure what it was. I couldn’t see through the pig mask that they forced onto my head. I couldn’t speak due to the stitches through the skin around my lips that kept my mouth shut. The stitches felt suffocating, even though my nose was fine and unplugged. Plus, the pain that came with them was almost too much to bear. But there wasn’t any way that I could even try to lessen it. I’d tried, but my hands were firmly cuffed behind my back. The chains between the cuffs were so tight that I could barely move my hands.

I stretched out my fingers, happy that I could move those. It made me feel a little more in control. Which was good, seeing as my sense of sight, my ability to speak, and my ability to move my arms freely made me feel very out of control.

The only thing I had to feel relieved about was that the man who took me didn’t sew my eyes shut. He considered it, but eventually decided on just the mask when I begged and pleaded, tears streaming down my cheeks. Then he sprung it on me. He told me that I wouldn’t be able to beg for my life anymore as he took the needle and sewed my mouth shut. It was all it took not to scream in pain once the needle entered my skin, but I managed to avoid it, if only because I feared that it would pull at the stitches and make the sewing hurt more. Or that the man would hurt me for screaming. He was already testing me in a way. He showed no sympathy, but I could tell that he thought that he was morally superior to me. It was something in the way that he looked at me. Like he thought whatever I got was justified.

It disgusted me.

As I got my lips sewn shut, I was far more disgusted by the man in front of me than hurt by the pain of the stitches.

But when he cuffed my hands together, I started to hyperventilate. My body tried to instinctively breathe through my mouth, and I teared up at the pain of my lips trying to pull apart. As I was forced to breathe through my nose, the cold stung the inside as I quickly breathed in and out. I worried that I’d pass out. Then a mask was tossed onto me. A pig mask like that of the person who’d kidnapped me. I recognized it before he put it on me. But mine didn’t have eye holes or anything.

It turned out that I didn’t need to worry about passing out from my hyperventilation when a needle was shoved into me and something entered me that made me quickly pass out.

---

I woke up, my eyes fluttering. I went to smile, happy that it was just a dream. But then the stitches burned as I tried to, and I instinctively teared up. It was no dream. I was living a nightmare. My mouth was dry despite the fact that I hadn’t opened it. I wondered how long I’d been out. Long enough for the blood around my mouth to stop flowing, and dry. It could’ve been anywhere from a few hours to a few days. My stomach rumbled from hunger, which told me it had to be pretty long, since I’d eaten just a little bit before the man took me.

Whoever had their hands on me shoved me through a door, and I heard two voices start to shout at me.

“Hands up! I have a gun.” One shouted.

I had a feeling he was lying about the gun. Or he was very weak. Maybe he just really didn’t want to shoot. It was a guess because his voice shook when he said it.

“Sick fuck,” the other muttered, his voice still very audible. He knew I heard him, but he didn’t seem to care.

Then again, what did I know? I wasn’t a professional or anything. For all I knew, the first guy had a gun pointed straight at my head, and the second guy was trying to whisper.

I quickly bent over at my waist, swinging my arms as far up into the air as I could, so that they could see that I was as much a victim as they were.

“So you’re stuck, too,” the first voice said, sounding almost melancholic.

Did he want me to be a puppet master in this sick game? Or maybe he thought I could’ve released him.

“Talk,” the second voice said, blunt as could be.

I stayed silent, unable to speak.

“Tell us what you know,” the first voice said.

I wished I could’ve told them anything.

“Goddammit!” The first voice shouted, sounding like he slammed his fist down on something.

Something clicked in my head. I shouted as loud as I could with my mouth closed, letting them hear it muffled by my lips. It was something a lot of people had tried at least once. Making noises with their mouth closed. So I hoped it was recognizable.

It seemed to click to at least Guy 1, as he asked “What happened to your mouth?”.

“Well, Larry, it doesn’t seem much like whoever this is can exactly tell us.”

A slight laugh fell from my mouth, and my stitches hurt from smiling.

“Well how do you propose we fix it?” Guy 1- Larry- asked.

Guy 2 didn’t reply for a few minutes. I just stood there. I didn’t want to move, lest I step onto some broken glass or something. I had no idea what was in the room.

“Well maybe we should see what’s wrong first,” Guy 2 said. I felt like I was drawn more to him than Larry.

“Okay. Then let whoever this is come over to you. Inspect him.”

“Well you’re the doctor,” Guy 2 muttered.

“If this is a trap and someone needs first aid, I’ll need to be healthy to do it,” Larry said.

“Well you’re chained to a pipe, so I’m not sure how much help you’d be to someone across the room from you.”

“If this were a trap,” Larry said, “then maybe you wouldn’t want to tell the person who could be trapping us that we’re at a disadvantage.”

Guy 2 didn’t reply, presumably huffing over getting a talking to.

"Go over to Adam,” Larry said.

It put a name to Guy 2′s voice. Adam.

I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if they could even see it with the mask covering part of my neck.

Adam was quiet.

I paused for a second. If I could talk, I’d ask Larry and Adam how they expected me to go over to Adam if I had no clue as to where he was, and he wasn’t speaking.

“Well, say something,” Larry said, after an awkward pause.

I liked Larry. He thought like me. Plus, he was a doctor. I’d had some medical training myself, so I knew how tough it could be.

“Fine. I’m over here.” I followed Adam’s voice, walking forward first to make sure I wouldn’t slam into any walls.

Adam started shouting. “Wait! Make sure not to step on the-”

It was too late. I felt something squelch under my foot, and I instantly felt woozy.

“corpse.” He finished his sentence.

I teared up. I’d stepped on a corpse. There was a corpse in the room, and I’d stepped on it.

I tried to calm my head as it spun. I walked towards where I last heard Adam’s voice, walking much faster than before. I needed someone. It didn’t matter that I didn’t even know the guy. I’d stepped on a corpse.

I walked closer to where I’d last heard Adam’s voice, but I stumbled. And slipped on the blood on the bottom of my foot. Without my hands to catch me, I fell face first towards the hard concrete. I felt under my feet that it was concrete. I had a feeling that falling like that would put me in a state matching the guy who I stepped on. I hated that in my final moments, I was completely helpless.

Then I fell onto something softer than the ground. I wasn’t sure what it was at first, but then I felt breathing on the back of my neck.

I was pretty sure I fell onto Adam.

I felt my face flush, feeling like I’d made a bad impression on him already. And now I had my head buried in what was probably his shoulder.

I wanted to say sorry, but I couldn’t. My eyes widened, and I knew that I had bigger concerns than a bad first impression, but I couldn’t help but feel bad.

He didn’t say anything, choosing to instead take the pig mask off of me. My eyes stung under the fluorescent lights, even though they were pretty dim.

I got a good look at Adam’s face, and the stitches around my mouth burned as I weakly smiled at how he looked more concerned than annoyed. That was a good sign that he wasn’t mad at me.

“Shit...” he said, running his hand over the stitches.

“What is it?” Larry asked from across the room.

“His mouth is sewn shut,” Adam said, voice full of something that after a few moments, I recognized as horror.

I glanced over at Larry. There was a gun in the middle of the floor, but he didn’t have it. I guessed he was betting on me not having great eyesight, or maybe he saw that there were no eyeholes in my mask. Either way, if I were sent as a minion by the man, I probably would’ve seen that he didn’t have it.

Also in the middle of the floor was the corpse. His face was down, so I didn’t even know if I recognized him or not. And footprints from my bare feet in the blood. I teared up, then started to sob. But every time that I went to instinctively gasp, I couldn’t. I felt like I was choking.

Adam wrapped an arm around me, starting to pat my back. Tears streamed down my face, and I felt my nose begin to drip a little. It made my breathing harder, because I had to deal with my snot and my tears when I tried to breathe in. I also worried that I was getting Adam’s shirt messy, but there seemed to already be some dirt and grime on it, so I hoped that he wouldn’t mind.

“What can we do?” Larry asked.

I noticed a saw next to Adam and I. I pointed to it with my cuffed hands, turned around to point to Adam, and then mimed sawing to him. I turned back around to face him, and he looked at me with a look that seemed to imply that I was crazy.

“He wants me to saw the stitches,” Adam said.

I nodded my head up and down.

“That sounds like something someone would end up in the hospital trying to do,” Larry said.

“I feel like he should do it. He’s the doctor,” Adam said, pointing to Larry.

I nodded my head left and right. I couldn’t walk across the floor again, even with my vision. I just couldn’t.

He sighed, seeming to reside himself to his fate.

He picked up the saw, and cut into the stitches as tenderly as possible. The saw was larger than my mouth, and my lips were tight behind the stitches, so I ended up with blood running down my face. But I could open my mouth. I could breathe again. It felt amazing.

“Thank you,” I said, voice croaky and dry, with tears still dropping.

“You’re welcome,” he said in reply, just looking at my face.

“You did really well,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said.

And I breathed a lot more easily lying there with him. The future was uncertain, but at least I knew that I had someone to trust.

#parkdam #okay to rb #very okay to rb!!!!!#listen I don't know how to tag this but ask to tag #I put my tws in the notes just in case but idk how to say them in easy terms #my stuff #my writing #but yeah dw if you don't read this I have a bunch of non-gruesome things coming outsoon!!!!! :)! <3!#omen you get my fun horror tag #agkljasjlgh #also lmk if you wanna be on my possibly triggering works tag list because sometimesI gotta write some crazy stuff and I'm not just forcing #everyone on my tag list onto this tag list #aglkjshg #also!!!!! I might write some more for this #I hope everyone who reads it enjoys!!!!! :)! <3!#if you don't 100% get what's happening timeline wise #there's the beginning then a flashback then a time skip back to the beginning

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tvcoroner · 4 years

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Yeah, so the SC fandom exploded when, once again, someone associated with the show has told them the ship is not happening. His name is J. Holtham, and he contributed four episodes for S5, including 5x07. He's brand new to the show.

*sigh* It never ends, does it? I looked into this, and I need to ask the Supercorp fandom a serious question.

What in the actual fuck is wrong with you people?

The writers, producers, and even some of the actors have told you they’re not taking Lena and Kara in a romantic direction. They’ve told you this for years. Over and over again. Every. Single. Season.

And every single time, without fail, you ignore them, claim they’re leading you on, and then act like victims.

You are not the fucking victims in this scenario. YOU have persisted with this ship, NOT the writers. YOU have started entire harassment campaigns against actors who had the audacity to exist on this show and be a love interest, primarily the male actors.

Good fucking God! Only you delusional fuckwits can spend literal years treating people like absolute shit and think YOU are the victims in this scenario. Literally, everyone who makes the decisions of this show has been honest with you over and over again, it’s not their fault that you refuse to fucking believe it.

Here’s a big dose of reality for you. You lost any goddamn right to play the victim when you started to attack the male actors of this show. You lost A LOT of sympathy from other parts of the fandom on top of that because you just kept getting worse! You even tried to dragon other parts of the fandom into your bullshit. I mean, holy shit, the Supercorp fandom has been desperately trying to absorb the Alex and Kelly shippers and the Nia Nal fandom into their collective hatedom since their inception.

Last season they tried ESPECIALLY hard to do that, trying to rope those other fandoms together to protest about the show once again being truthful about not making Supercorp canon, even though the SC fandom, Dansen, and Nia Nal fandoms had absolutely nothing in common.

Dansen shippers and Nia Nal fans rightfully had problems with their lack of screentime. That was a legitimate issue because their screentime left a lot to be desired. The SC fandom tried to use them in order to inflate their numbers. It mostly didn’t work.

Hey SC shippers, you are not the victims here. You have made the Supergirl fandom into one of the most toxic fandoms on the internet. It’s gotten SO BAD that the cast barely interacts with the fandom anymore. Multiple actors have left this show, coincidentally the actors that you bullied, and then cheered when they left.

I’ll say this again like I have countless times before, but I remember you people liked saying “We really are that powerful” after James Olsen left. You cheered. You celebrated that you were successful.

And then when Mehcad decided to talk about how he needed extra security at a convention because of death threats, instead of being normal human beings you decided to harass the poor guy EVEN MORE.

All of this horrendous shit you’ve done, well here are the consequences. It would be the dumbest shit in the world to give you psychopaths what you want. That would not only be insulting to the multiple actors you have victimized with your endless attacks, it would also make you feel justified to do it all over again.

I hoped and prayed you would learn a lesson after Once Upon a Time. The Swan Queen fandom did much the same thing you’re doing right now and the writers didn’t give them a single fucking inch.

You don’t reward bullying. It’s as simple as that.

These writers aren’t ever going to give you what you want. If you had tried honey instead of a flamethrower then the circumstances might be different. I’ve said for a looooong time now that if the Supercorp fandom had taken a different tactic and instead been positive and supportive, then the writers probably would’ve made SC canon eventually. It’s not unfounded.

And just to deflect something I know will come my way eventually, stop using the minority of good people in the SC fandom as a shield against people pointing out your toxicity. It’s the most pathetic copout ever. You seem to think that gives you a free pass to say whatever vile, disgusting shit you want without any criticism.

It doesn’t.

To the very few actual good people in the SC fandom who just want to enjoy their ship and refuse to participate in the harassment, then you have my condolences, but it was the rest of your fandom that resulted in the writers being so repulsed by your ship’s toxicity that they won’t even entertain the idea of Supercorp happening.

It’s unfortunate for you, but that doesn’t really change the bigger picture. Better luck with your next ship.

The SC fandom is in this situation because of themselves. They’ll point the blame at literally everyone else, but SC isn’t canon because of them. SC will likely never be canon because of them. You don’t continuously punch someone in the face, ask them for a favor, and then get offended when they say no. They have a pretty good reason, on account of their bloody face, to tell you to fuck off.

So please, just fuck off. On behalf of everyone who is just so beyond tired of your bullshit, fuck off.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #anti supercorp

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starstaiined · 4 years

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The Five Times Anne Protected Kitty (And The One Time Kitty Protected Anne.)

SUMMARY: Being six years older, Anne’s always done her best to look out for her younger cousin. (Trouble seems to follow Kat around like a lost puppy.) But as quick as people are to point out how protective Anne can be, they always seem to forget the same is true for Kitty.

TW: Sexual abuse, slut shaming, victim blaming, anxiety attack

TAGGING: @whenallthestarscollide && @whoufflewhovian200311

ONE.

Katherine hated her brothers. Okay, maybe that was a little extreme. But as they mocked her, made faces, and tugged roughly on her ponytail, it’s all the six-year-old could think. It escalated as Charlie pushed her to the ground, laughing, and she began to cry. Then, in a blaze of glorious light, her cousin entered the room. Anne, twelve at the time, was two years older than Charlie and ergo a cool kid. Or at the very least, cooler than the boys.

She surveyed the scene with narrow eyes, before sighing. “Charlie,” She started, before he interrupted her.

“It’s Charles. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Really? Because you’re sure acting like one, Charlie.” Anne shot back with a cool smile, not missing a beat.

Charlie’s face went bright red, brow furrowing in annoyance. “No one cares what you think, Annie.” But it was almost painfully obvious that he did care.

Anne shrugged, ruffling his hair and slipping into the most condensing voice she could manage. “Oh poor baby, did I hurt your feelings? Do you want a sticker and a juice box?”

The look of indignation on Charlie’s face drew a watery laugh out of Kitty. That seemed to be the final straw. He stormed off, pulling Georgie along with him. After they disappeared, Anne helped Kitty to her feet. “Boys, am I right Kit Kat?”

Kitty nodded, hugging her older cousin’s legs and sighing. “They’re so mean sometimes.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about them anymore, kiddo. Come on, let’s go get a juice box. Then you can tell everything I’ve missed out on recently. Because either my eyes are deceiving me, or you’re missing a front tooth.” Anne’s warm smile made Kitty feel safe. She grinned, happily rambling on as they walked hand in hand toward the kitchen.

TWO.

Anne was visiting! Katherine was fourteen now, and ever since Anne had moved last year she seemed to be spending less and less time with her favorite cousin. So these rare moments where they could just hang out were few and far between.

Kitty spent the entire day glued to Anne’s side, and the next day too. She’d stopped going into the office. In fact, she hadn’t even thought about the office in hours. (Which had to be a new record.) But her temporary bliss shattered on the third night, when a knock on the door reverberated through the house. Anne paused the game they’d been playing, carefully edging towards the door and looking at it warily. “Who’s there?”

“Francis. Francis Dereham. Katherine hasn’t been to the office in a few days, I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” Came the gruff reply.

Kat froze. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Oh, she’d messed up. Was he angry? He didn’t sound angry, but Francis had always been good at hiding when he was upset...

Anne had turned to look at Kat, feeling the palpable anxiety rolling off the young girl. A bad feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. “She’s fine.” Anne answered curtly, all but glaring at the door. Her discomfort increased at his reply.

“I’m glad to hear that. Would she mind coming back to the office for a few hours? It’s an emergency, we could really use her help. She’s been sorely missed.”

Anne gritted her teeth. It was nearly six, what business did a damn grown man need Kitty to do that he couldn’t handle himself?

Kat moved toward the door, head down and shoulders slumped, as if resigned to working. Before she could get a word out, however, Anne stopped her.

“Sorry Mr. Dereham, but I’m afraid she can’t go tonight.”

“And why not?” He sounded annoyed, and Kat shifted uncomfortably again.

“I’m her cousin, Anne. I don’t believe we’ve met. But I’m only in town for a few days, I wanted to spend as much time as possible with my cousin. We were just about to head out.” Anne lied smoothly, nodding her head towards the table as if asking Kat to grab the keys. Kat, although confused, complied.

Anne waited a moment for Francis to head back to his car, grumbling, before loading Kit into the family car.

They went out and got ice cream, piled high with all kinds of toppings. Anne didn’t press the Dereham issue, afraid of making Kat uncomfortable, but it would be a decision that would come back to haunt her in the future. But for that night, there was nothing but laughter and love as they fell asleep in a tangle of limbs after a night of video games and sugar.

THREE.

Kat is cowering at her seat at the table while her cousin and the rest of her family go to war. In the last week, everything had come out. Mannox. Dereham. Henry. Culpeper. She can hear her brother making a noise of disgust, yelling out some derogatory term that makes her bury her head in her hands. She’s numb. She’d told her brothers, expecting sympathy. Expecting help. But instead they’d turned their backs on her. Her father was the worst one at all, he’d screamed about how she’d ruined the family name, how he’d wished he’d never had such a whore for a daughter.

What a day for her cousin to drop in for a surprise visit. Anne had walked in amidst her uncle’s screaming, and wasted no time rising to Kitty’s defense. When she’d learned about everything, she was furious...but unlike the rest of the family, it wasn’t at Katherine. She couldn’t begin to understand why they were angry at Katherine. “She’s sixteen!” Anne all but screamed at her uncle, as if that would make him see reason. But he didn’t.

He stalked over to the table, raising his hand as if he were going to strike Kitty, and Anne grabbed his wrist roughly. Her nails dug into his flesh, and she glared at him. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

He tore his arm away, and Anne stepped in front of Kitty. “I wasted my life raising her. My money. I meant for those music lessons to help her future, meant for that office job and that internship as learning experiences. And she flushed all that down the drain. Now all I’ll ever be is the man with a slutty disgrace of a daughter. What would her mother think if she was here?” He spat, and Anne could feel her temper rising.

“Probably that you’re nothing but a sick, narcissistic prick.” Anne shot back, and both Charles and George started towards her in a fury. But Anne didn’t budge, she turned her glare on them and dared them to try anything. He uncle stopped their advances before things could unravel further.

“If you care about her so much,” He hissed, eyeing both of them unkindly, “then take her. She can be your problem. But I don’t want to see or hear from either of you again.”

Anne stared him down.

When she left that day, it was with Kat tucked under one arm and a bag of clothes under the other. In that moment, she knew she would do whatever it took to protect her cousin, and help her on her journey to recovery.

FOUR.

A few months had passed since Katherine had moved in, and finally the spare room was ready. They’d spent forever making it inhabitable. Or well, Anne did. With some help from her friend Anna, they’d added new furniture, repainted to room in bright pinks and soft silvers, and hung up portraits.

But on the first night that Kat slept in her room, Anne woke up to the sound of screaming again. She rushed to Kat’s room, shaking her awake. Kat startled, lashing out before breaking down. Anne wrapped her in a hug, smoothing down her hair and rocking back and forth. “You’re okay.” Anne whispered, as Kat’s tears soaked her shirt.

Once Kat had calmed down, Anne had helped her dry her tears. “Kit Kat, why don’t you jump in the shower? Take a breather. I’ll go make a midnight snack, and see if there’s anything good on right now.” Anne whispered, and Kat nodded.

Kat jumped in the shower, letting the damn near boiling water wash over her tense muscles, then dressed in a soft oversized sweater Anne had stolen from Anna and a pair of worn pajama pants. She padded lightly into the kitchen, where Anne was piling whipped creams on two bowls filled to the brim with strawberry ice cream.

That night, they’d chatted softly over the movie. Anne managed to coax a laugh or two out of Kitty, and finally Kitty’s eyes fluttered closed as she curled closer to her older cousin. Anne sighed, staying vigilant and making sure that the nightmares didn’t come again as Kitty drifted off to sleep.

FIVE.

It had been years, and between therapy, the support of the other queens, and the show, Katherine was thriving. She’d grown more comfortable with touch, and interacting with strangers, but just because she was doing better didn’t mean didn’t have off days.

Kat had been ansty all week, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding sleeping for fear of the nightmares. Her body ached, but she didn’t want to let the girls down. So, she prepared for the show. Note for the future: doing a show on less than four hours of sleep and while emotionally unstable, not the best of choices.

Halfway through “All You Wanna Do,” her heart rate spiked, her head replaying the worst of her memories. By the end, when she was ripping away from the other queen’s grabbing hands, she broke down. Her knees slammed into the ground, hard, and her shoulders shook with barely repressed sobs. The rest of the queens exchanged worried looks, and eventually Aragon and Cleaves moved further downstage, ad libbing some piece about teenagers these days to keep the audience’s attention while Anne helped Kitty up and off stage.

“Kit, hey, Kit Kat, look at me.” Anne whispered once they were safely hidden in the wings. Her voice had dropped down to a soft level that she only ever had when it came to Kat.

Kat complied, but her eyes were brimming with tears and unfocused. “i’m sorry,” she choked out, trembling. “I’m so sorry,” She wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologizing for. The breakdown, the concern she was causing, messing up the show...everything.

Anne’s heart cracked in her chest, and she shook her head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Kit.” She wiped away the tears rolling down Kit’s face before pulling the younger girl into a hug. “It’s alright. Whatever it is, you can talk about it when you’re ready. We’re all here to listen. Until then, just tell us what you need.”

“A hug.” Kat whispered back, nearly inaudible. But Anne heard, she always did. She wrapped her arms around her younger cousin until Kat had calmed down. They reentered with enough time to do the last song together, and afterwards Kat was buried in hugs from the rest of the queens. (In fact, Jane managed to produce some chocolate, much to the youngest queen’s delight.)

SIX.

Anne hated boys who didn’t know the meaning of the word no. They turned up far too often at parties for her liking. And just because she was used to the shit they pulled didn’t make it any less infuriating.

She’d been trying to tell this guy for an hour to fuck off — in fact, she’d flat out told him to do exactly that — but her refused to leave her the hell alone. She was about five seconds from tearing this prick a new one, but a voice from across the table made her had snap up.

Kat. She’d been sitting quietly the entire time, shifting uncomfortably more than once. (Parties weren’t really her scene, she was here because the rest of the girls were.) “She said she’s not interested, can’t you take a hint?”

“What’s wrong, gorgeous, you jealous?” The boy turned to face the girl who’d spoken, smile not dropping for a second as he scanned her up and down.

And Anne had to resist the sudden urge to smash her bottle over his head. When he’d been harassing her, he’d been an annoyance. But if he messed with Kitty, that was crossing a line.

But to her surprise, Kitty didn’t back down. In fact, she STOOD UP. While she was no means physically imposing, something about her stance made her look ten feet tall. She stalked over, ignoring his comment. Her dark eyes glittered like moonlight off broken glass, just as baleful as they were bewitching. The air in the room came to a standstill as she spoke, the words slow and menacing. “She said, leave. her. alone.”

The man instinctively took a couple steps back, almost cowering. He tried to puff up his chest but it failed horribly, and he quickly mumbled an excuse about a friend calling and all but booked it to the entrance.The second he disappeared from view, the adrenaline faded and Kat collapsed in on herself like a pile of playing cards. She had stood up to a stranger. Oh God, she had gotten close enough that he could’ve touched her….that thought steals her breath and her heart rate begins to spike.

Before she could panic too much, Anne pulled her into a quick hug before getting her to sit down. “Kit Kt, that was amazing! You looked, like, actually intimidating. If I didn’t know you, I would have been terrified. You spooked that poor bloke out of his pants....but he deserved it. Where did that come from??”

Kat shrugged, taking a shaky breath. “I just...reacted. He wouldn’t leave you alone, and I felt...I felt like I had to do something.”

Anne ruffled her hair affectionately, while Kat let out an indignant squeak. “My hero.” Anne laughed, pulling Kat to her feet and slinging an arm around her shoulders. “I think this is cause for celebration. What do you say we sneak out of here and raid the candy store before Jane can stop us?”

#beheaded cousins #anne boleyn #katherine howard #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #(finally got this done jnejenw)#(some parts im still iffy on but i tried)#(also kat can be downright terrifying when she wants/needs to be ... but she still baby)#x. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ғᴇᴇʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪ ᴀᴍ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. ( boleyn + howard. )

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

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Broken arm

A/N: This was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy! please let me know what you think! Also this is like my worst fear, like that sounds dumb but breaking something sounds absolutely disgusting to me. In movies if they do like sound effects of bones breaking and I know it’s coming, I mute the sound.

summary: i was wondering if you could write a reddie x daughter where the losers club all go out and the daughter gets hurt (maybe breaks an arm) so they all freak out and take her to the hospital, and it’s just rlly cute at the end. i just feel like i could image richie and eddie just freaking out abt what to do and not actually doing anything so the rest of the losers have to step in

warnings: mentions of a broken arm and surgories (not graphic), mentions of throwing up (but also not graphic) and some curse words and your mom joke

At least once a month, all the losers have a reunion that usually either takes place in Ben and Bev’s lake house, or in their boat. The reason it does, is because Ben and Bev combined have enough money to restore any damages that may or may not occur during these times, more often than not Richie fault.

This time however, by some unlucky draw of the hat, everyone agrees to meet up in Richie and Eddie’s home, because their daughter Alexa isn’t feeling too great, and Richie not Eddie felt comfortable relocating with her for a few days.

She had nothing major, just a stomach bug that causes her to throw up from time to time, but Both Eddie and Richie were more than ready to postponed the losers’ meeting. Alexa insisted that all the plans continued on as normal despite her feeling unwell, since she loved spending time with her uncles and aunt any time she could, and when she showed signs of her health improving, nobody cancelled anything.

With the first knock on the door, Alexa jumps up, rushing to welcome whoever has made it to their house first, ignoring how her stomach was protesting the flash movement, and she’s greeted by the sight of her best-loved aunt, which happened to be Aunty Bev. Six months into the pregnancy made Bev look bloated and tired, but her eyes lit up as soon as Alexa opened the door, bending down as best as she could to hug her back twice as hard. She’s alone, Ben had had a meeting over in Portland, and agreed to meet Bev here.

‘How’s my favorite girl doing?’ Bev asks with a huge smile on her face, her hand resting on the top of her belly softly rubbing up and down.

‘I’m okay’, Alexa insists, even though her face still looks a little pale. Eddie, who had joined the two of them at the front door, rolled his eyes begrudgingly. Insisting that she’s fine even though she isn’t must be a trait she picked up from Richie.

Staying silent however, he brings Bev into an embrace, an; ‘hey Bev’ falling from his lips in the process.

‘Richie’s out back, come in, I’ll go get him.’ Before Eddie has the chance, the next guests arrive, in the form of Patty and Stan. Stan was holding a stuffed animal, a bunny in his hands, smirking as if he already knew that he was going to be the ‘chosen’ one today.

Eddie laughs out loud, watching as his daughter’s eyes grow bigger and wide, and she excitedly begins the bounce up and down, seemingly forgetting about the sickness for a little while. In his mind, Eddie is already praising Stan, for the few moments of rest this allows his daughter to have. Sleep is nothing something that has come in large doses to her in the last two days, every single waking minute of the day being consumed with sitting next to a toilet bowl, and brushing her teeth afterwards.

Eddie also praises Stan for basically knocking down the competition before the rest of them even have a chance.

At two years old, Alexa figured out how to play her family like the harp she later maintained she wanted to practice, giving up after only two lessons. She used to go around the room and beg her uncles and aunt to play a game with her, any kind, and when they relented, the first person who did would be her go to person for the rest of the evening.

Endearing everyone’s heart, but also resulting in a rivalry, where many presents were tossed around, and Alexa was in danger of becoming a bit spoiled. Now at twelve, she’s stopped crowning anyone as her winner, yet the losers still arranges bets on her, as if their daughter is something to bet on.

It’s all in good fun of course, and Richie himself joins in on the gamble from time to time, but for whatever reason he never guesses correctly, but Eddie has a burning suspicion it has something to do with manipulating Stan to lose. Not that his schemes work, Stan is much too smart for that.

In rapid succession, Ben follows Stan and Patty, and after him Mike emerges, and finally Bill and Audra appear from the end of the streets. A loud and ugly snort forces its way out of Eddie, when he sees the exact some bear clutched to Bill’s chests, the annoying, cocky smirk on his face he mirrored from Stan, the same one that vanishes as soon as he steps through the door, and lays his eyes upon Alexa, clasping Stan’s gift.

Richie, who had since joined the rest of the group, could not contain his laughter, finding in Bill the perfect victim to tease throughout the entire night.

Rice and chicken were on the menu tonight, a light meal that was decided in light of Alexa, but nobody complained. Despite popular belief, Richie was a very good cook, and when he prepared any meal, it was guaranteed that it would taste delicious.

Alexa ate a bit, more than she had eaten in the last few days, and Eddie sighed a breath of relief. Years of conditioning that any sickness was going to get him killed did not disappear off the bat, so he was immensely glad his daughter was starting to feel better, even if he knew her ailment was not that serious to begin with.

After dinner, the group resides to the living room, watching a movie that Alexa had her mind set on viewing, and secretive adult talk concealed in a child appropriate package so she wouldn’t notice, making a way across each other. A normal reunion like any other.

At nine pm, unsurprisingly, Alexa got up from her seat. ‘I’m going to bed dad,’ she explains, her hand stroking Bev’s baby bump one last time, and then waving at everyone. The spot next to Beverly, the one that Alexa had claimed, so she could discuss her new best friend as she lovingly called the new baby that was yet to be burn, remains achingly open. A weird feeling creeps up the back of Eddie’s neck, ridiculously.

The losers club just doesn’t seem complete without her, even if she has only been there for twelve years. Her bedtime was around eight, but when they go on a trip, she is allowed to stay up as long she want, the fact that she turns in for the night so early, is a testimony to how bad she suffers.

Richie started to make his way up from the sofa too, ready to tuck her in, as he did every night, but she shook her head. ‘I can go to bed alone, Pops, don’t worry.’

She gave him a kiss on his cheek, and then scampered off to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Bill chocked on his drink in laughter when he saw the fallen look on Richie’s face, disappointment coating his expressions in a grey attire.

When he dejectedly resumed his place next to Eddie, the latter patted him on the arm in sympathy. ‘It’s just because there are others here Rich. You know how ashamed she gets of you.’ The smirk cannot be contained when the words leave his mouth, even though he means nothing but lies with them.

‘And they say my jokes suck? Spaghetti, come up with new and innovated humor, like mine. Thank god she’s got some of my qualities-‘

‘she’s adopted.’

‘- don’t interrupt me Eds that’s just bad manners. I’m so sorry your mom was to busy teaching me the way around her body to teach you how to be polite but-‘

‘Beep beep asshole.’ A murmur of agreement rose up from the group, Richie flipping them the bird.

‘Whatever, you losers have no taste at all.’

Deciding to check up on her after about fifteen minutes, Eddie settles back in his seat, joining in on the conversation to his right, where Ben and Stan discuss the different plants they have in their garden, listing a bunch of flowers Eddie will never know the meaning off.

The movie clutters on in the background, almost like a lullaby, and Eddie yawns significantly. Richie’s hand presses in the small of his back, a grounding warm signal that he was safe, even though he doesn’t mean too, he zones out, not asleep, but also not as awake as he should be.

That happens to be a mistake when he hears something slam on the floor above them, the sound of the toilet being flushed a second after. He makes eye contact with Richie, both of them realizing that that is probably the result of Alexa throwing up again.

‘Dad, Pops’, and then a loud bang, proceeded by a few thuds that can be relocated to their stairs, and a pained yell.

Richie and Eddie scramble up faster than they have ever done before, even more hurried than when Pennywise was chasing them in Neibolt. Stan, Bill and Bev scurry alongside them, to the place of the accident, every single one of them in a panicked haze.

It only takes a second to get there, in their haste, and no other sounds emerge anymore, until They run into the hallway.

Alexa is spread out across the bottom of the stairs, her arm bend in a weird position, her legs propped up as she looks around the space dazedly, as if she’s not sure what just happened.

Her faces goes through a couple of emotions, intensifying when she takes a look at her arm, but not yet crying.

Eddie is the first to reach her, and when she sees him, her lips open slightly and a wail falls out. It proves to him that she is in real, and agonizing pain. Back when she learned how to ride her bike for the first time, she had fallen many times, as kids do, but if she cried, Eddie refused to indulge her. He wouldn’t let leave or abandon her, but he would tell her that everything was fine, and that it only stung a little, and there was no need to cry.

He mostly did this to stop himself from becoming like his mother, and to allow Alexa to discover her own boundaries and which one hurt enough to actually ask help for. He never shamed her for crying either, he just tried to teach her the difference between actual pain, and being shocked from a fall. Ever since, is she saw Eddie walk towards her, her tears stopped if it barely stung, or begin to cry if help was needed.

Now she sobs, heavy and with snot, hiccuping to catch her breaths. It only takes a look to tell Eddie everything he needs to know, she is suffering from an open fracture. The bone is not stuck outside the skin, but the bump is visible from the outside, in the same way that his bone was when he broke his arm.

All previous training flies out the window when it’s his daughter that is the one who is harmed, nothing of the medical terms he surrounded himself with in his childhood sticking, like liquid dropping from his head.

He stands there, blankly as he gazes upon his daughters still laying form, until he gets pushed back by Bill. Richie too stands frozen, trembling from head to toe, but Bev and Stan launch into action, dropping down next to Alexa, each on opposites sides.

‘What do we do, what do we do?’ Richie inquires frantically, pushing against Bills hands, to get to her, trusting Eddie for guidement. Eddie subconsciously reaches for his inhaler, and curses once he remembers that he threw his placebo away.

‘Fuck, fuck, Eddie should we snap the bone back in? It worked last time right?’ Richie reflects Eddie’s frantic, ignoring Bill’s pleas to calm down, the cries of Alexa deafening their ears, and making their heartstrings cave in.

‘What? What the fuck asshole no. That was a terrible thing to do, and you were lucky that my arm got back to normal, are you fucking kidding me you absolute moron?’

He doesn’t mean to snap at his husband the way he does, but the mantra of; this is your fault, she’s going to die, get her to a hospital now, more careful, you should force her to be more safe, in a voice that sounds an awful lot likes his mother hisses in his mind. The panic is very nearly all consuming.

‘What the fuck was I supposed to do then huh Eds? I was fucking twelve.’ Their panic-stricken words grow louder and louder, until even Alexa’s cries of agony sound quieter than theirs, they’re so consumed with worry, being oblivious to notice what Beverly and Stan are so desperately trying to convey.

‘I don’t know, not that. And you’re 43 years old, by now you should now better dickwad.’

‘Stop it’, Bill yells in the same determined leader voice that lured them into the house on Neibolt street, effectively silencing them and focusing their attention on him.

‘Your daughter needs you right now, so shut up, and do what we ask you too okay. Richie get her cloths, Eddie retrieve anything she has that helps calm her down. Alright? Okay go.’

Richie hurries to get the car as fast he can, but Eddie hesitates when he gapes at Alexa. He doesn’t want to leave her without her parents. ‘Hey’, Bill places on of his hands on Eddie shoulder, ‘we’ll take care of her for a minute okay?’

Her cries have turned into loud whimpers, her face hidden behind Stan’s body, which stops her from seeing Eddie anyway. Bev is calmly shushing her, on the phone with what must be the hospital, carefully checking her arm. Stan is trying to distract her, his cardigan being discarded towards Bev, who uses is to carefully cover the injured arm.

It looks painful, and Eddie can’t stand to think of her in pain, so he too complies with Bill’s demands, searching for the plush toy she got as a gift, and her soft blanket that she sleeps with during the winter.

When he comes back, he hears the blaring sirens of the ambulance stop outside their door, and his stomach falls when he realizes that a few hours ago, Alexa was standing in that exact spot, excited for the night.

Audra and Patty lead the paramedics into the home, apparently they had been waiting outside to help, Patty grabbing Eddie’s arm to steady herself, and maybe even Eddie, who is swaying dangerously from side to side.

He’s been through all of this before, in a way, but that seemed somehow less scary than it is now. Back then, Eddie had been glad none of his friends got hurt, so it didn’t matter that he did. Now, it’s different, but if he could somehow switch places with Alexa, he would do so in a heartbeat.

They insert an IV line and administer pain relief, Eddie assumes, since his ears seem like they’ve been stuffed full of cotton. He vaguely registers Richie’s hand in his own, all his attention pointed to watching Alexa’s face for any discomfort.

She’s placed upon a trauma board, Stan and Ben aiding to help her jolts as minimal as possible, before they carry her to the ambulance as fast as humanly possible. Eddie hopes to god, something he hasn’t believed in since he started dating Richie, that the medicine she has received knock her out, just so she’s painless the rest of the ride.

‘Dad, pops’, she wails, extending her uninjured arm to reach for the both of them. Next to him, Richie cries too.

Eddie speed walks to be by her side, grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to it. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re going to be fine.’ He can’t help the way his voice cracks as he tries to keep his own tears at bay.

Richie also hast himself to get to her, brushing away her tears as best he can, but new ones continue to leave wet rivers on her cheeks.

After consideration, Eddie says to Richie; ‘You need to go with her,’ his words lacking any really conviction.

Richie gazes up to him in surprise. ‘Eddie?’

‘I can’t be in there, in a hospital or ambulance, but I would feel so much better if you were with her.’ The trauma lingers around Eddie like a bad stench, and he hates himself for the fact that he can’t be with his daughter. He knows Richie will keep her safe though, so if he were to go with her, maybe the grip guilt has on him will loosen.

Richie says nothing and stares for just a split second, before one of the EMT’s says they need to hurry. Then he nods, climbing on board with Alexa, but pressing his lips against Eddie’s quickly before his does.

He’s trying to convey Eddie into believing everything will be okay, but Richie isn’t sure if he believes it himself.

They have to leave then, and Eddie stares as the ambulance disappears into the distance. When he can’t see it no longer, he allows himself five seconds, and he uses those five seconds to cry upon Mike’s sturdy statues the waterfalls flowing from his eyes like they’re a rives. He can sense the others coming closer, each laying a hand on a part of his body, their silent way of telling him they’re here for them.

He feels bad for making Richie having to be the one to hold it all together, since he can’t break down in front of Alexa, but Eddie honestly didn’t have any resolution left to sit in an ambulance.

When his five seconds are up, he begs someone to drive him to the hospital, ignoring his next door neighbor who comes to check up on the commotion that was happening.

He ends up driving with Stan and Patty, in the middle backseat, where he can feel their worried gazes on him. In his mind, he is trying to recall any information about what he had to go through with his arm, but all he really remembers is that he had to have surgery.

As predicted, that is the first thing Richie tells Eddie when he finally gets to the emergency room, Richie waiting near the entrance, his hands trembling when he reaches forward to pull Eddie against him in a tight hug.

‘She needs to have surgery Eds, you have to come quick. They’re about to put her under.’ Richie informs him when he pulls back, this time reaching for his hands and pulling him in the direction of the room Alexa is in. Eddie wants to say something to his friends, but he’s already whisked away, and he just figures he’ll tell them later.

Upon entering the room, Eddie can smell the disinfected in the room, the whole room is drenched in it, but he refuses to let it deter him, so he pulls through, pulling a chair to the side of the hospital bed, resting his hand on Alexa’s shoulder. Richie goes for her hand on her good arm, his thumb sweeping the back of her hand back and forth.

‘hey, honey, how are you?’

Alexa lets her head fall sideways, her eyes dropped with exhaustion, she hasn’t received any anesthetic, so Eddie assumes that it’s the adrenaline that has worked off.

‘I’m scared dad,’ she tells him truthfully, squeezing Richie’s hand tight while not looking him in the eyes.

‘It’s okay to be scared baby,’ Eddie soothes her, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. ‘I had to same thing happen to me when I was little.’

Her lips tug upwards in a faint smile. ‘I know, pops told me.’

‘It wasn’t that scary anymore. Not when getting into the hospital. I just fell right asleep, and when I woke up, the pain was dulled.’

‘I’m not in so much pain right now though, can I not avoid the surgery?’ Eddie’s heart breaks once again, and he wishes so bad he could heed his daughter from this, but it has to happen, there’s no other option.

‘That’s cause you’re on a lot op pain medication kiddo, but as soon as they’re worn off, you’ll feel it again.’ Richie heavily admits, the lines on his face have turned more prominent, the night taking ten years of their lives away from them.

‘Like I said, you’ll just go to sleep, and when you wake up, we’ll be here.’ Eddie tries to convince her one last time, and with a heaved sigh, she relents.

Just in time, for the nurse sticks her head through the door, her smile apologetic.

‘Alexa Tozier-Kaspbrak? I’m sorry, but we really have to get her upstairs now.

‘You’ll be fine bucko, We won’t be fare okay?’

‘And remember we love you okay?’

‘I know dad, Pops, I love you too.’

When they wheel Alexa away in her hospital bag, the other losers wave at her from behind the glass door, sticking their thumbs up in good luck, while Alexa waves at them as best she can.

‘She’ll be okay’, Richie insists as he pulls Eddie close to him by the waist, pressing his nose in his hair to comfort himself.

‘I really hope so Rich, I’m scared.’

‘Don’t be Eds, she’s your kid, she’s so strong, this is just a minor setback. I love okay, we’ll get through this together.’

‘I love you too.’

Later, when Alexa is back in her room, falling asleep on her own this time, and Eddie watches Richie’s lanky from twist in half to rest his head on the bed, the rest of his body in an uncomfortable hospital chair just to be close to their daughter, he thanks whoever is listening that he got this family; He would never trade them for anything in the world.

He’s mumbling to the both of them, a stupid story about Richie and his childhood, because Alexa had once told him she slept best with some background noise. Twirling the same piece of hair over and over again, he presses another kiss to her head, thankful that’s okay.

He nearly thinks of his mother, and how much he would have loved to see her face if she ever saw him like this. Gay, married, with a child and in a hospital. But then he banishes her to the back of his mind. She is not worth any ounce of his thoughts.

Alexa shifts in her sleep, relaxing into the movements, and Eddie can’t do anything but mumble out in pure adoration; ‘I promise, I’ll never be like my mom, I love you and your pops too much for that.’

#reddie #reddie fluff #reddie with daughter #eddie with daughter #Richie with daughter #richie x daughter #reddie x daughter #My writing #it chapter two imagine #the loser club imagines

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