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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Whatever charge you may have against him, it must be withdrawn.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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anolyso · 3 years

Text

Utena thoughts...about 2 weeks later

I've been putting it off for way too long and so most of my thoughts stopped being fresh. On top of watching way too many analysis vids post-watch, but still I do at least want to put my 2cents of Revolutionary Girl Utena out there for the world.

Utena is perhaps one of the most famous "magical girl"/shoujo action shows out there for not only it's transgressive themes of relationship abuse and low-key pretty much being the poster girl for like actual feminist perspective on/in anime...but also just doing it all in both a heavily allegorical and understated, yet super over-the-top stylish fashion

But that's it's reputation preceding itself, is Utena worth while all these years? The answer is Yes, but it also really shows it's age and budget in pacing and repetition, tho as an appreciator for "behind the scenes" compromises in art, it's more showcasing Ikuhara's talent in working around both taboo and long-form budget constraints with just well-thought out and iconic imagery that - while episodic and formulaic - is just very good at filling the 39 eps with feasts for the eyes.

Utena broadly is about tomboy Utena with memories long ago after her parents died being "saved" by a princely figure like a princess...except she's so enthralled by the nostalgia that instead she becomes a full on Prince herself and receives a dueling ring to fight in the Ohtori Acadamy secret duels for "engagement" to Rose Bride Himemiya Anthy.

Utena is divided between 4 arcs, only the first and last being Manga adapted from hearsay:

1: Student Council Saga

2: Black Rose Saga

3: Akio Ohtori Saga

4: Apocalypse

From back to forth I'd say that Akio + Apoc is more just escalation into the finale while Black Rose being anime original comes off as a glorified side-character study which while complementing the secondary cast, feels like one of those Anime movies that has to say "but if you don't watch this part, it's pretty much optional for the main plot" despite it also actually introducing the most important antagonist within it's margins.

More importantly, it's the Student Council (arc and the actual people) that lay the foundation but also a large part of the show's focus which ironically puts Utena in the background until like almost the finale and some in-between developments, so it's less "Utena (and Anthy Himemiya)'s story" until the very end, but more like a showcase of how fucked up the system at large is (pin in that).

By the Council themselves is:

Kyouichi Saionji: The biggest jobber, like actually introduced as the most despicable loser ep 1 and proceeds to be a complete arrogant joke for the rest of the show. Honestly in another shojo "love" story, they'd find some way to redeem him but semi-compellingly they turn him into like an Aqua-lad type pathetic brat with an inferiority complex to the actual Student head

Miki Kaoru: the naive "nice, non-threatening soft boy" that also just never actually listens to the girls around him. Probably adds more complexity to the whole patriarchal idea on analytic reflection since yeah, the whole "nice guy finishes last" plays up better when the kid comes off as that "ally" energy of wanting to save Himemiya from being the Rose Bride but also low-key won't actually not just do the duels and win her cuz he's that sorta wishy-washy hypocrite. Arguably the least hateable guy in the cast (minus mascot Chu-Chu)

Juri Arisugawa: TRAGIC LESBIAN TRIANGLE LOVE. Probably the biggest point to of both "not-explicitly homosexual" but also really freaking obvious since her entire story is her girlfriend stealing her "boy crush" when actually she was crushing on her and being pretty much frustrated throughout her story as pining most of it. It's quaint by today's standards but also like damn girl, get over her she was like the worst back stabbing bitch (literally if Black Rose counts)

Nanami Kiryuu: SPEAKING OF QUEEN BITCH, it's been a long time since I've watched a High School girl bully and honestly it's kinda refreshing. If Miki is "soft-boy uwu" Nanami is a brat that gets her come-uppance often, featured prominently as an anime only with the MOST filler/comedic episodes but also not low-key, being the most out-spoken actual brother complex ironically spins perhaps the biggest twist and ironic relationships of "I love my brother but not-like-that but also like-that" by the end. Mostly comedic relief but I find her inclusion to actually add a lot more to juxtapose...

Touga Kiryuu: Big Student Council Prez himself, the first arc antagonist and also a strong foil to Saionji and later a stepping stone for Akio. Touga is THE image of a Princely Playboy Heart-Throb that in any other Shoujo romance would have the main girl win him over from all those "other girls" despite him being apathetic if not outright manipulative of them. Good thing Utena is better than that and really puts a spotlight on just not-actually-ok his power hunger for "the power to bring the world revolution" that leads him to heavily objectify Anthy, arguably even more than Misogynist Trophy Girlfriend beater Saionji, since he doesn't even see her as more than a means to an end despite professing and looking the Prince part but lacking all the actual virtues.

The Student council matters more since they're characters and subsequent tragic flaws are the ACTUAL meat of the show and on second rumination actual shows more how fucked up the system/gender dynamic/power hierarchy is since - while it blatantly fucks over Juri who can't just outright say who she likes - also show almost it's own sub-text of Masculine failings: Saionji desperately clinging to being TOXIC MASCULINE™ and completely falling short underneath Touga; Miki's "nice boy" act belying him trying to replace his low-key nostalgia for his sister (also a bitch, but apparently was more like Nanami in the manga); and best yet Touga being the quintessential "Prince in all but actual behavior" by emulating a cutthroat and Machiavellian world view but coming up empty because well, he's just an illusion of a prince...but that leads in way more to the big finale piece where I'll reintroduce the actual story's main trio

Utena Tenjou: Tomboy Prince with brain empty except for lesbian thoughts. Honestly probably what every western "STRONG INDEPENDENT WOMAN" archetype wishes they were since while having very tomboyish personality in athletics, blunt speaking and also VERY oblivious to the actual plot for REAL DRAMATIC IRONY, but also never actually demeaning her being feminine partially due to her love of an childhood prince and how she maintains her relationship with both her friend Wakaba and later Anthy. Honestly mostly a plot device after S1 until she gets ACTUAL development by the very end and instead kinda bumbles her way into undoing the entire REVOLUTION OF THE WORLD. I kinda wish she felt either more cognizant or at least felt like she was developing/properly rebuking the rest of the cast's power obsessions but I guess that's for the movie.

Anthy Himemiya: Actual Trophy Wife with a dark secret (darker than ski- wait no that's terrible scratch that). Set-up very much as an immediate princess in distress while also being the most femme Yamato Nadeshiko, Anthy being the Rose Bride as a literal prize who acts and behaves as whom she's "engaged" with desires while otherwise being quiet, wry, mysterious and noticably submissive, by the end it actually plays up into THE BIG REVEALS of just how abused she's been into a hopeless acceptance...like y'know actual abuse victims.

Akio Ohtori: Grade A Antagonist, probably the most insidious I've seen a villain in a while, Akio is notable for, back in 1997, being perhaps the big go-to of actual deconstructing the facade of a whole shoujo genre's "hots for a teacher/sexy man putting the moves" and highlighting how actually exploitative and abusive a person like that really is. Being Himemiya's brother (somewhat justified in the manga by both being a weird Sailor Moon-esque reincarnation of gods/godesses of Dios), despite how much of his motives are runing the background and how the entire back story is uh...brought up in like barely in the last arc with little lead up (some scenes feel like they'd be a full melodrama season and they just have like 1 scene in the final arc episodes) he manages to one-up Touga (in the plot as well) by instead of "just" objectifying girls, not-just-flat out saying Utena looks best as a princess, but y'know the fact that he is implicitly yet constantly exploiting and victim-blaming Anthy for her own suffering for "the power of Dios/Revolution of the world" turns it on its head

I've spent all this time on characters but in truth a lot of the meat of the show relies again on the Council Members fleshing out the issues of system leading to outright divorcing "being a Prince" (heroic altruistic virtues) and "being a man" (considering like all but maybe the comedic relief have some deliberately misogynistic behavior) and beyond just the plot (or rather character) synopsis, the talent goes far more in how it's framed, the symbolic/allegorical shots, the repetition adding a good episode formula flow to character showcases, probably the most "tasteful" allusion to uh...*ahem* sexual abuse that so many other edgier/prentious shows fumble. Both in how intimidating yet understated it's foreshadowing is until they hard-reveal it despite never explicitly naming it even tho it sends Nanami into hysterics

Really it's both a massive blessing and reason for it's cult beloved status for it's aesthetics but also it's burden, for being a full 39 episodic season by season character development study of everyone BUT the main trio except for snippets and the very end that makes it greatly appreciable as a legitimate work of art.

What I wanted more to say however (long overdue) is that a large part of following is, visibly at least, western feminist critiques and yes while it almost seems like Utena fits the "deconstructing patriarchy" story like a glove...it's weird how almost none of them actually can give a good historical account of actual Japanese female/gender/sexuality norms nor Anime contemporaries actually were. Like Tenchi Muyo and Berserk came out the same year (Cardcaptor Sakura the next) and despite how you can "feel" the influence in lots of modern shows like SHAFT's signature visual imagery cuts or many WESETERN shows having straight scene references to Utena....almost no one has a similar feel to Utena until like Princess Tutu comes out.

Really tho probably should've watched Utena and then Tutu because while it's undeniable that Utena is a major pillar of shoujo re-codification - what with everyone before Utena was saying they thought it'd be like a Rose of Versaille or Lady Knight rip-off...whose laughing now? - it's almost like there's a missing link between it and it's major western fanbase (probably with what few anime did get overseas, this one probably rose to the top), or how very noticeable there IS an influence on it's genre in Japan

Almost none of the big analyst fans actually know A) it's not "a deconstruction of Magical Girls" since despite Ikuhara working on Sailor Moon just before this, almost none of the tropes line up and instead more with Shoujo genre as a whole. or one of the major inspirations was Takarazuka theater.

And this is not to dismiss how inspirational it is to it's western fandom, but while I am notably cynical towards placing things on pedestals, there's probably something about cultivating the whole pop-culture feminist reading commune with people making weird time-loop theories while kinda most of it is just filling in a mad-lib mostly thanks to Ikuhara just keeping things on the vague and letting the audience take away their own perspective.

Again, most of the show is completely sub-textual or visually/symbolically depicted and never stated nor properly defines it's weird key words (End of the World, Revolutionize the World, Power of Dios, Rose Bride, all things said constantly but never really said what they "mean". But that's also perhaps its charm, in it's allegory and very Death of the Author approach, it has definitely allowed it's fan theorizing and appreciation to flourish so there's something there for that.

Ultimately I'd say Utena the TV series is great more so for what it isn't...or rather I should say it's great for not just subverting Shoujo tropes and archetypes for the Japanese audience but also that despite dealing with some very serious and heavy subjects in obtuse and perhaps understated ways for the time, people have allowed it to be put on it's pedestal because they can easily fit it in themselves.

Honestly though, not that a more "straight forward" approach wouldn't detract from Utena but I will say that the movie, Adolescence of Utena, is very much the best encapsulation of what Utena strives to be (for another big blog post) and while the TV series has plenty of time and flexes it's directorial muscles with budget constraints and season pacing UNrestrained, the movie will trim a lot of the fat

#long post #Revolutionary Girl Utena #I haven't actually done my Anime thoughts in a while #Maybe I'll keep this on my main blog this time #I wrote this mostly on facebook tho if I wrote it here first I'd better integrate images probably #anolyso's media time #uh...except now that's on my main blog

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tothemeadow · 3 years

Text

Commissioned by @oozyhxney

Tanjiro x Reader x Kanao

- You’ve been such a naughty brat, haven’t you? Too bad Mommy and Daddy don’t plan on being easy on you... -

warnings: NSFW, Mommy/Daddy kink, oral sex, leash and collar, degradation, slut shaming, spanking, ass play, choking

words: 1.5k

(a/n): It was specifically requested that this be a AMBW/AWBW, so this is for all my black beauties out there!

How does one beg for forgiveness?

Get on your knees, cry out for mercy, kiss your masters’ shoes? What about being positively broken and left a shuddering, crying mess?

“Fucking slut,” Tanjiro says, tone low, gravelly. Normally, he’s chipper and bleeds kindness, but when he gets pissed… Well, his bright personality throws itself out the window and gets replaced by this. You choke on a breath as he yanks on your leash, the tightly fit collar around your throat digging into the skin. “We literally pay you to give us all of your attention, and this is how you respond? Tsk.”

You want to bite back, argue that it was nothing more than mindless flirting at a nightclub, for fuck’s sake. The whole point of going out with your friends Mitsuri and Shinobu was to have fun, and you’d be damned if you didn’t take the chance to kick back and relax. However, as the late-night crowd usually goes, people become bold, wild; before you even know it, you were on the dancefloor, swaying your hips enticingly to the heavy bass reverberating throughout the club.

Vague memories flash through your mind; blaring music, the sweaty crowd, a sea of blue and pink lights filling the heavy atmosphere. There was a guy grinding against you, grabbing your hips and murmuring about how he wanted to take you home. You barely remember what he looked like, much less what his name was. Iggy? Iguana? Iguro? You don’t know, and frankly, you don’t care.

“She’s biting her tongue, dear,” Kanao murmurs. You wince as she lifts her foot and presses her heel into your back. “You want to say something, right? Don’t give us lip.” The pressure of her foot increases, making her heel dig in even further. “Admit you like to whore around, and we can all get on with our day.”

“I never said anything,” you hiss. “And I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tanjiro chuckles. Craning his neck back, he glances to the ceiling, sucks on his teeth. “Not only are you a slut, but you’re a mouthy bitch.” Dropping his head back down, he looks to you with dark, hungry eyes. “Two people aren’t enough for you, huh? How do you think that makes us feel?”

Okay, okay, so maybe Tanjiro and Kanao do pay your time and your wonderful body. They’re a disgusting rich married couple who had too much free time on their hands, plus they were open to the idea of having an open marriage. That being said, they took an interest in you and decided to make you theirs. It’s all a part of this little “relationship” you have, and, if you’re being entirely honest, knowing that spending time with others makes their blood boil has you tingling with excitement.

“Oh, so having others drool all over you is perfectly okay?” Kanao drawls. Removing her foot, she steps around you, her heels clacking against the floor. Standing next to Tanjiro now, it’s easy to see that they’re the epitome of a power couple: dressed to the nines, clear skin, luxurious jewelry hanging from their ears and wrists. Their very aura screams wealth and power, and it’d be wise to tread lightly around them.

However, you like to give it back as much as you like to take it.

“If this is the reaction I get from Mommy and Daddy, then yes,” you purr. “I love it.”

Tanjiro scoffs. “Everybody wants to take a ride on the black horse these days, huh? Stupid slut. You won’t be happy until you have everyone’s cock inside you and fucking you stupid, huh?” Again, he tugs on your leash, but this time, he does it hard. You’re left sputtering for a breath, your eyes nearly bulging out of your head. “Kanao, I say it’s about time we teach our brat some manners.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Kanao says, a slight sneer coming to her face. Taking the leash away from Tanjiro, she tugs you to a stand and directs you over to the oversized bed. “Get on your hands and knees,” she barks. “Mommy is gonna teach you what happens when her precious baby decides to act like a fucking slut.”

Before you have a chance to say anything in return, Kanao abruptly brings her hand down on your ass. The sharp smack rings throughout the air, leaves you entirely breathless. Despite her small stature, she’s strong, and she isn’t afraid to remind you of it. So she does it again and again, switching between your asscheeks and making you cry out in pleasure filled pain. Your entire body jerks at her ministrations, your fingers digging into the duvet, your back arching.

“Well, why won’t you look at that,” Tanjiro hums. “Not so mouthy now, huh?”

In that moment, you’re grateful that your dark skin doesn’t give away your blush. Heat bubbles in your belly, travels to the tips of your fingers and your toes. Your whole being is on fire, and both Tanjiro and Kanao know it. They know the effect they have on you, and goddammit they’re so smug about it.

Shuffling onto the bed, Tanjiro casually takes his place before you. Fingers hooking onto the O ring of your collar, he forces you to gaze up at him. The look in his eyes is dark, intense. The set of his jaw makes his muscle tick. He’s practically bleeding with controlled anger, but little amounts of it are spilling. “Since you want cock so bad, take it for yourself,” he sneers.

Glancing downwards, a lump grows in your throat at the sight that greets you. Tanjiro’s cock strains against the sleek fabric of his slacks, looking almost downright delectable. The fact that he’s already hard over your misbehavior sends delicious tremors down your spine.

Tanjiro tugs on your collar. “What, are you just gonna sit there and stare? Choke yourself on my cock, you filthy slut.” With a huff, he undoes his pants and yanks out his cock. The head is already flushed a pretty shade of red; precum oozes from the tip from your prolonged attention. Flicking your eyes upwards, you’re met with an utterly sinful look on Tanjiro’s handsome face. “Well, what are you waiting for? Suck Daddy’s cock.”

You don’t have to be told twice.

Surging forward, you eagerly take his cock into your mouth; you moan at his heady taste, the pleasant weight of his sex against your tongue. Oh, as much as you love being a brat, you adore having Daddy gaze down at you like this, eyelashes fluttering and bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Oh, fuck, does he look so damn good like that. Slipping further down his cock, you lap at the vein underneath, hollow your cheeks.

“Shit,” Tanjiro hisses. Fingers abandoning your collar, they wrap around your neck instead. “Like that, you damn slut. Come on, gag yourself.”

“Don’t tell me that you’ve already forgotten about me,” Kanao suddenly murmurs into your ear. Her soft hands shamelessly grope the swell of your ass. “You really are that eager for cock, huh? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s a shame I can’t rail you whenever, huh? I bet you’d fuck yourself silly on my cock.”

Kanao’s words leave you dizzy. Moaning around Tanjiro’s cock, you arch even further into her touch, silently begging for more. What’s more, Tanjiro’s grip around your neck tightens, directing your attention back to where it matters. He’s got his cock down your throat, inching his way further down with each bob of your head. Before long, he’s muttering curses under his breath; placing his other hand on the back of your neck, he holds you still as he bucks his hips into you, a loud moan ripping itself from the depths of his chest as he fucks your throat.

Behind you, Kanao sucks on her teeth, obviously unamused with her husband’s behavior. Now, she isn’t competitive, unlike Tanjiro, but when it comes to sharing you, her attitude can take a surprising turn. A squeal erupts from your throat as her fingers dip into your sopping cunt. You haven’t really realized just how wet you were until that very moment. Spurred on by your reaction, she quickly thrusts her fingers in and out, the sinful squelch coming from between your legs stoking the fires inside your belly.

“Fuck, fuck, baby,” Tanjiro groans. “Just like that for Daddy. Your mouth is so hot, oh my god-“

“I wonder what would happen if I do this,” Kanao purrs. Without saying another word, her tongue swirls around your asshole. You keen around Tanjiro’s cock, your pussy clenching around Kanao’s fingers. A fat drop of slick pushes its way past her fingers, coats the insides of your thighs.

“Our filthy slut likes this a lot, huh?” Tanjiro pants. “Dammit, I wish I had a camera…” Moaning around his cock, you catch his eyes, sending him a silent taunt. Tanjiro has the audacity to chuckle. “You’re in no position to be bratty, slut. Now be a good girl and let Mommy and Daddy have their fun.”

“That’s right,” Kanao mutters. “Be a good slut and take it.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #tanjiro kamado x reader #kanao tsuyuri x reader #kamado tanjiro x reader #tsuyuri kanao x reader #tanjiro kamado #kamado tanjiro #kny tanjiro #kanao tsuyuri #tsuyuri kanao #kny kanao #commission #oozyhxney

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janetbrown711 · 3 years

Note

"you've always been strong for me. let me return the favor." Angelina 2 to William 🥺

To say William woke up feeling refreshed would be the most obvious lie of all time.

His first thought in his painfully groggy head of his was of his location. From what he could sense, it wasn’t familiar. The beds felt cheap, nothing like the royal silk sheets he had gotten used to at the palace.

His second thought was of Lena. He couldn’t feel her presence, which caused him to snap his eyes open and look for her.

This third thought was remembering what had happened.

Freeing Wakko. Hurting his arm. The attack.

He tried sitting up but a wave of pain shot through his whole body and he was forced to sit back down. However, he looked across the room and saw her.

Lena was in a bed across the room from him, and it hurt his neck to look at her, but he couldn’t look away. He had never seen her with so many bruises and bandages around her in his life. It broke his heart.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” The familiar voice of his childhood best friend, Helloise Nerz, spoke softly. “How are you feeling?”

How was he feeling? Almost every inch of his body ached and hurt, his wife somehow appearing worse than him, and he was miles and miles away from his children, who he already missed terribly.

“Right... poor question,” She apologized. “How much do you remember?”

He thought a moment.

“Last thing I remember is passing out on your doorstep,” He said. She nodded.

“Good, because that was the last thing that happened,” She said.

“So... what’s wrong with me, doc?” He joked a little. Helloise chuckled.

“Nurse. Scratchy is the real doc, I’m just the assistant,” She remarked.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Helloise. I’m sure you could run this place if you had to,” He said. She snorted.

“You’ve got a terribly sprained arm that I noticed was already bandaged, but you’ve made much worse, I presume from carrying her highness. You also have a torn ligament in your right ankle, minor frostbite, and numerous pulled muscles throughout your legs,” she read off of a chart.

“And Lena?” He asked.

“Broken rib, a minor concussion from what we can tell, fractured fibula, severe bruising on the face, minor frostbite, and blood loss from a severe wound in the right shoulder we cleaned and stitched up.”

William looked at his wife again.

“How long have we been asleep?” He asked.

“Three days,” She said. William blinked.

“Th-three days?” he asked.

She sighed. “William...” she sat on the edge of his bed.

“The whole kingdom thinks you two are dead, and honestly, you two are lucky to be alive.”

“What? Why? How? What about Yakko Wakko and Dot? Are they alright?” He tried sitting up, but the wave of pain reminded him not to.

“Well, her majesty the queen threw a funeral two days ago. They said attackers stormed the castle in the night and killed the two of you,” She explained.

“But what about Yakko Wakko and Dot? Are they okay?” He asked.

“I haven’t heard any news of the three of them, so they should be alright with the queen.”

“If you could consider being with the queen alright,” he muttered.

“Right... She wasn’t the best mother, right?” She remembered. He shook his head, sighing. Just then, a low grumble came from across the room, and Lena began to stir.

“What... where... Will..?” she mumbled as her eyes slowly opened and she took in her surroundings. William wanted nothing more than to rush to her side, but the numerous injuries Helloise had informed him about kept him where he was. Instead, the good nurse went over and started evaluating and explaining the situation to her.

“D-dead..?” Her face went pale as a ghost. “That means... They’re with... we have to go. Now,” She looked at William, and started climbing out of her bed, nearly collapsing immediately if it hadn’t been for Helloise catching her.

“Your highness, you can’t. You need to recover,” She said, laying her back down.

“I can’t leave them with her- I can’t,” She shook her head.

“Lena...” He said softly. She looked at him for a moment, before lying back down and looking away, her expression mostly unreadable. Just then, the doctor came in.

“Oh goodie, you two are awake,” He said, but he quickly read the room.

“Er... how are you two feeling?” He asked. William shrugged, while Lena remained silently looking away.

He then pulled the nurse back outside to talk for a moment, promising it wouldn’t be long. William nodded and let them go, and his eyes went to Lena.

She wouldn’t look at him, even when he said her name. Something was deeply, deeply wrong. William wished he could read her mind, though he did have a few guesses. For one, the kids.

William knew they were resourceful and clever, but he honestly had no idea what Angelina was going to do to them now that they were out of the picture- especially if she thought they were dead.

It sent a shiver down his spine just thinking about it...

“So... your highnesses... what can you tell us about the attack?” The doctor reentered and asked.

“Oh god... where to start?” he chuckled nervously.

“If you aren’t ready, it’s totally fine,” Helloise sat on the edge of his bed. “We just... well... the people are curious. You are supposed to be dead after all.”

“Of course,” William said, before taking in a deep breath and beginning.

.o0o.

It had been a tense week. William had been mad at himself when he had sprained his arm. He was a knight, dammit, he was supposed to be trained to be better than that. Now it meant he had to postpone any of his own mini training lessons he was giving Wakko and Yakko until later, which he knew Yakko would be suspicious of. He always had a habit of picking up on their anxiety and carrying it with him like it was his responsibility too, which was upsetting for multiple reasons.

Some of Angelina’s lessons were extremely difficult to try and undo.

At least Wakko was trying to be optimistic about things. After he had broken him out of the tower, Wakko was spending a lot more time with them as a family, suddenly talking to them a lot more than he used to, which William took as a good sign, seeing as he desperately wanted something to look on the bright side about.

Dot was happy too, of course, as she was just glad to have Wakko back too. She could hardly tell everyone else was anxious, she was only four after all.

When the first window broke, William had been up in a flash, and despite his injury, he grabbed his sword anyway.

“William? What’s the matter?” Lena had asked.

“Go back to sleep, my love. I’ll handle this,” he kissed her head, leaving their bedroom.

He walked through the halls, surprised at just how silent everything was. Still, he kept his guard up, not allowing himself to relax for even a second.

“...this castle is huge! Even with the map she gave us,” a disgruntled, not-too-far off voice said. William ducked behind a curtain for cover.

“It’s a quick mission though: grab the king, grab the queen, and grab the kid if there’s time to spare,” A lower voice shrugged, and William felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him. Immediately, he burst out and attacked one of the men, and they quickly began a sword fight.

Unfortunately, William found himself evenly matched by his opponent and realized he was surrounded by allies, some that were even taller than him.

He was kinda screwed.

Still, he fought and parried and swung and blocked with a valiant effort, though the pain in his arm burned more and more and it was evident he was becoming weaker. His opponent saw this, and got behind, and he brought down the handle of his sword onto his arm, and William dropped his sword and fell onto the ground, growling in pain.

“Remember, queenie said no blood on her carpets or tapestries,” The tallest reminded his attacker, who was now pointing his sword at his face. “Tie him up. With the strongest removed, we can work on getting that queen and the middle boy,” He ordered, before taking a few and leaving.

Wakko.

William growled, and swiped his feet out from under him, causing his attacker to fall to the ground. William then began fighting with his bare fists against the men who tried jumping on and fighting him next.

However, the numbers were too large, and before William knew it, his wrists were tied and he was captured.

“Alright, move it, princey,” one of the men kicked him. William gnashed his teeth, but they planned for that, as two of the men held him down, and a third quickly put a muzzle around him.

“There, now that should get you to behave,” He grinned, pulling William up, and the three men forced him out of the castle, and into the back of a carriage, where he was locked in and left.

He tried kicking the door open, but it must’ve been solid wood because he got nowhere, and all he ended up doing was exhausting himself.

William was alone for quite an amount of time, and he tried everything he could to break free of his restraints but nothing was working. He cursed his stubbornness that caused him to sprain his arm- if it hadn’t been for that he was confident he would’ve been able to take down the six men. He was a knight for god’s sake- he was supposed to be able to protect his family.

He was supposed to be able to protect his family.

After a long moment of silence and stillness, the door opened and Lena was thrown in next to him, and William caught a glimpse of the outside and noticed it was snowing lightly.

He didn’t dwell on that, his eyes falling onto Lena, who looked horrible. Tears were streaming down her face as she looked at him, slowly and painfully crawling her way over and lying against his chest. William did his best to hug her with his hands tied.

Neither of them could say a word, but both knew exactly what the other was feeling, and they did their best to embrace and comfort each other.

Then, the carriage began to move.

They didn’t capture Wakko.

Despite everything, William sighed a breath of relief.

Silently, the couple rode for hours, not knowing where they were being taken or why or who was behind any of this, though they had a few guesses.

William was just glad he still had her... even if it wouldn’t be for much longer.

He loved her with his entire being, nothing would ever change that, not an evil queen, and not even death.

However, his mind quickly went to his kids.

Wakko was alive- at least, he hoped. The attackers said they couldn’t get blood anywhere, hopefully, that meant they just ran out of time to find him and he was okay.

But if they were killed, William had no idea what Angelina would do to them. They would have no protection from her now. They could be hurt, or worse...

William hugged Lena a little tighter.

After an hour or two of riding, the temperature inside the carriage got notably colder, the snow outside picking up.

William prayed for a miracle.

They continued riding on, William even drifting to sleep at one point, when they were suddenly jerked awake. there were shouts from out of where they were, and William and Lena sat up best they could, though Lena was in a lot more pain. Suddenly, the carriage lost control, and started to skid and slide, though William and Lena had no idea what the cause was- but it didn’t matter because not before long, it crashed into a tree and everyone was thrown into the air, and landed with a crash and crack.

William winced at the sound, closing his eyes but when he opened, he saw it-

The doors were busted open.

Quickly, William scooted out, gesturing for Lena to follow, but she was closing her eyes and cringing in pain, and William realized she had injured her leg in the fall. Knowing they didn’t have much time to run, he carefully got her out, having her arms go around him with the tie, and having her hold herself up best she could with her remaining upper body strength as they ran into the woods, as far away as they could manage, also while looking for something they could use to untie their hands- and also a hiding place for when the attackers began to search.

Luckily, William was well trained in tracking so he did his best to make sure his footprints in the snow made zero sense and were misleading at best, praying they wouldn’t be able to follow, but he didn’t know who or what they were, so it was hard to be certain.

Eventually, William and Lena made it to a cave and they hid in there for a while, With William finding a particularly sharp rock he used to untie his hands, remove his muzzle, then untie Lena, and remove her muzzle.

“William,” she said with teary eyes.

“Lena,’ he replied, becoming overwhelmed with the desire to hug her, but noting her injured state, he instead just pressed his forehead against hers, and she did the same, placing her soft hand against his face as she cried softly.

“We can’t stay here for long- a bear probably lives here,” she said.

“Just for a moment, we need to rest- figure out where we are, and what our next move is,” He said.

“We’re so far from home... how are we going to get out of this?” She asked.

“I... I don’t know, Lena,” He admitted. “But we will, I promise.”

They stayed hidden for quite some time, having only one close call when one of the tracker’s voices was close enough for them to hear, but William was ready with the sharp rock in case he got too close, but he never did, so they were alright.

Well- alright, considering everything that just happened.

Eventually, the sun started to rise in the woods, and it slowly dawned on William that the coast was clear, and they were free to go.

But... free to go where? They had no idea where they were- were they even in Warnerstock? They could be in foreign lands for all they know- a place where they didn’t even speak the language and they could be killed for sneaking in and-

Wait. Lena was the Princess, and knew all the languages of the neighboring kingdoms, and would likely be given aid. William was panicking over nothing.

However... Lena was looking rather weak. She lost a lot of blood, and her injuries were only pilling up.

“Where do we go?” Lena asked as he was looking at her.

“Well... I don’t think we can go home... as something tells me your mother was behind this...” He stroked his chin.

“You’re telling me,” she huffed, before wincing in pain.

William snapped. “I know a place where they can’t refuse us,” he grinned.

Lena blinked. “William... Acme falls is in the middle of nowhere and perhaps one of the first places they’d go looking for us if we were missing,” she frowned.

“Well- not unless your mother wants us to be dead. Then she wouldn’t have to or want to look anywhere,” he said. “It’d be just like it was when we had just gotten married.”

“When we just married...” Lena trailed off into the memory, a look of sad nostalgia written on her face.

“Look... I’m going to go and try to figure out where we are, so we can head to Acme. Will you be okay if you stay here?” he asked.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” she tried to joke, but William knew she hated it. He kissed her forehead.

“I love you,” He said. “I won’t be long.”

“I love you too, Wiliam,” she replied, and William ran out of the cave.

It took about an hour, but eventually, William discovered that yes, they were still in Warnerstock, and found the direction they were to go to if they wanted to go to Acme Falls. It would be quite the trek, especially if this snow continued to fall, but he had determination on his side.

He was not going to die here, nor was he going to let Lena. He would carry her in his arms if he had to, simple as that.

.o0o.

“So... yeah. We hiked for hours to reach here, the strains and pulled muscles and frostbite are from trekking through the snow, and that’s how we got here,” William finished his tale.

“Oh William... that’s terrible,” Helloise looked at him sadly.

“That does explain a lot... you two should really be getting rest now, yah?” Scratchnsniff remarked, reading over their charts one more time.

“Rest, yeah...” he nodded slowly, though sleep was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to go back to the palace asap, and kill Angelina, and get his kids back. He was confident Lena felt the same.

Though... they wouldn’t be able to do much good in this state... especially without a plan.

“We’ll leave the two of you alone... you’ve been through a lot,” Helloise said.

“Thanks,” he gave a weak smile, which she returned.

His eyes then went to his wife, who still wasn’t looking at him, staring intently at the ground and wall.

“Lena, my love, what’s the matter?” He asked. Lena snorted.

“That’s your first question?” She snarked.

Okay, that was on him. That was a pretty dumb question.

“What are you thinking about?” he tried again. Lena crossed her arms.

“It isn’t fair...” she said. William sighed.

“I know it’s not fair that-”

“I’m not talking about my mother o-or the attack- I-i’m talking about you,” she snapped. William paused.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Lena sighed, wincing at the pain.

“Damned broken ribs...” she muttered.

“I meant... It’s not fair. Time after time after time I end up hurt or crying or abused- it isn’t fair. You’re always so strong William, it pains me. When is it my turn to be strong for you?” she said, wiping away tears and trying her best not to cry.

“Lena...” William reached out to her as much as he could, his arm nearly touching her pillow. Lena continued to look away.

“I’m serious. No matter what happens, you’re always so strong and so brave and comforting. I just- I feel so inadequate,” she whispered.

“Lena, you aren’t inadequate,” He said softly. “You’re just...”

“Damaged?” she said, matter-of-factly. “Don’t pretend it isn’t true- I know what my mother has done.”

“Lena, I don’t care. I love you,” He said.

“And I love you- but... I just... you’ve always been so strong for me William. I want to return the favor, just once...” She looked at him.

“Lena, we’ve both lost so much... this shouldn’t be something we measure or keep track of,” He said, and Lena placed her head where his hand is on her pillow.

“I miss them, William,” she whispered.

“I miss them too, my love,” he whispered back. Lena kissed his hand.

“We’ll get them back, Lena. I promise,” he said. Lena nodded, kissing his hand again and closing her eyes.

“I promise too. No matter what it takes, we are going to get our babies back.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

#my fics #angelina 1 lives au #queen angelina ii #william warner #angelina warner #hello nurse #dr scratchnsniff #tw blood #tw kidnapping #tw muzzles #angst #feels #long post

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ravs6709 · 3 years

Text

Kwami Sitting- Alya and the Kwamis

Alrighty, major spoilers from Gang of Secrets! Like, major.

But yeah, I've been having feels for that entire episode and because there was the reveal, it means kwami sitting! So here's some kwami content featuring platonic alyanette. Mentions of food.

Ftr, I made the zodiac kwamis all use they/them pronouns, though I don't think it ended up being too relevant in this fic. The main ones though do have genders.

Enjoy!

•~•~•~•~•~•

It had only been a day since Marinette had revealed her identity, and Alya liked to think that she was taking the news well. After all, that was Ladybug, the superhero that she'd wanted to unmask for so long, until she realized that it would hurt more than help. She still couldn't believe that she also happened to be her best friend.

But it made so much sense though. Both Marinette and Ladybug were strong, courageous, intelligent, and incredibly good friends. It explained why Marinette was always late to class or making excuses.

It also explained why she looked so broken. Because she wasn't just Ladybug, the only person who could undo the damage caused by Shadowmoth. She was also the Guardian of the Miraculous. She was someone who hated lies, but had to lie in order to keep everyone safe.

But she told her secret to Alya, and Alya vowed to help ease the burden that she was carrying.

"See this?" Marinette pointed to the large pink box, before it expanded to show dozens of coloured bottles. "This is where I keep the miracle box. And this is how I open it."

She then pressed down on a bunch of the bottles, before a drawer opened.

"Woah!" Alya gasped, before remembering that Marinette had been defensive about the dollhouse. "It took you less than a day to make that?"

"Uh... yes?"

"That's so cool!"

"Focus, Alya." She picked up the miracle box. "Each of the miraculous are stored in here, but the kwamis don't have to stay inside of it. And-"

She was interrupted by both her and Alya's phone buzzing. There was a notification about an akuma attack.

"You go, I'll look after the box! I'll also cover for you in case your parents come!" Alya told her, and she nodded.

Marinette transformed- woah it looked so cool!- and made her way to the roof. But before she left, she turned back to face Alya.

"If things get dangerous, I might have to come for one of the miraculous. Keep your phone in case I need to text you."

"Got it! I won't let you down, Marinette!"

Even though she would be missing out on a chance to film for the Ladyblog, this was an opportunity to properly meet the kwamis! She'd seen glimpses of them before, but her priority had been comforting Marinette over her curiosity. But now she actually had the chance to meet them all.

"Alright!" She called out. "You're all under my watch now! Can you like up so I can figure out who is who?"

She knew about the main miraculous, and some of the others, but she wasn't prepared to see just how many kwamis there were. She only recognized four. Trixx, Tikki, Wayzz and the bee whose name she didn't know. Others looked vaguely familiar, like the snake, horse and dragon. But she didn't know there was one for the pig, rooster, tiger (wait were they for the zodiac?).

"Ooh, you're Alya, right!" The pig kwami asked. "I'm Daizzi! It'd be really cool if you were my holder!"

"I told you, she's already taken!" Trixx replied.

Alya looked at the two kwamis. Were they fighting over her? It took all of her willpower to not scream, only because she didn't want Tom and Sabine to hear and get concerned. Then she'd have to explain why she was screaming, and Marinette's sudden absence. Yeah, she definitely should not do that.

"I'm very flattered that you'd like me as your holder, Daizzi" she said instead. "But as Trixx said, I'm taken. I like being Rena Rouge."

The other kwamis began to introduce themselves, and a brief summary of their powers. There was so much to take in and she wished she could talk to someone else about it, but knew that she couldn't, and wouldn't ever betray Marinette's trust like that.

After that, she sat on the bed and pulled out her phone. The kwamis were insanely old, so they'd probably be well behaved, and she could start writing down notes for her next Ladyblog article.

Or well, that's what she thought. Apparently all those years of living meant nothing, because as soon as she got distracted, she heard something fall to the floor.

It was a good thing that Alya had two devious sisters that had a tendency to cause destruction, otherwise she'd be fuming.

But because she had the experience, all she did was casually look back at her phone as if nothing had happened.

"Oh," she began, faking sweetness into her voice. "I was planning on getting you all some snacks, but I guess not."

The twins were starting to grow old enough to not fall for the tactic, but she suspected that the kwamis would. As expected, they turned towards her with wide eyes and sad expressions. They whispered amongst each other, before they moved to start cleaning up.

Trixx seemed to be participating half-heartedly- he probably knew what she was trying to accomplish, he was perceptive like that.

"Okay, what are your favourite snacks?"

She already knew that Trixx liked fruit, but she was not prepared for the variety of foods listed. Pollen liked peppers, Wayzz liked drinking tea, and there was a lot.

"Okay, I can't say that I'll be able to get food for all of you, but I'll do my best. Wayzz, I'm leaving you in charge."

She figured that since Wayzz was the previous guardian's kwami, he would be the wisest.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Alya took a deep breath, then tip toed down the stairs. The bakery wouldn't have everything, but taking a large variety of stuff would be weird. If it was just sweets, it'd be fine. But to take fruits and crackers and popcorn? She had to sneak the food back upstairs.

She looked into the kitchen and didn't see anyone.

"I haven't seen you in such a long time!" Sabine said from the front. "How have you been?"

Perfect! While they're distracted with the customer, I can get what I need.

Surprisingly, the kitchen raid went better than she'd expected. She managed to find even more food, and was able to carry it upstairs with ease. When she opened the trapdoor, the kwamis all beamed.

There was also no damage, fortunately.

"Before you eat," she said, chanelling all her authority into her tone. "I'm going to set up what we humans call a movie. Let's watch the Ladybug and Chat Noir movie."

It was easy to access it, since she already bought it online with an account. She got comfortable then started the movie.

The kwamis were fixated on the movie, impressed with the animation and the capabilities of the computer. However, there was a slight problem.

"How did they get the idea of the miraculous so wrong?" Baark asked.

"Remember, humans don't know that we exist. They have very little to work with," Wayzz answered.

Except that the others ignored him, and started critiquing the movie even more. Alya groaned. She was never going to be able to enjoy the movie again without thinking of the conversation going on around her.

•~•~•~•~•~•

There were footsteps on the roof, and then the trapdoor opened. Alya didn't look back at Marinette, even when she detransformed.

"Oh wow, you're good at this," Marinette remarked.

Alya only hummed as a response, and reached for the last of the popcorn. "I like stole a crap ton of food from the kitchen though. Hope you don't mind."

"Are you kidding me? I haven't seen them sit still in ever!"

Alya felt arms wrap around her from behind, and she smiled. "I told you. If your load gets too heavy, I'll carry it with you. Even if it's by doing something as simple as babysitting these cute kwamis."

"Thank you Alya, thank you! I don't know what'd I'd do without you."

"I love you too Marinette."

•~•~•~•~•~•

Ml taglist- @subrosasteath

Want to be added/removed from the taglist? Just let me know!

#ml spoilers #kinda #alya cesaire #ml kwamis #marinette dupain cheng #platonic alyanette #ml #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #fanfiction #ravi writes a thing

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the-lightning-strikes-again · 3 years

Text

Posting this for @pilotkinkade in response to their recent post made here, regarding concerns about VLD and how it includes white savior complex or potentially smears Allura’s character with that complex. I’m not reblogging directly because this is a long response lol. Thank you pilotkinkade for chatting earlier; I hope you find this post interesting at least and would be curious of your thoughts in return!

---

I do agree with your general sentiments, that VLD takes on a disquieting savior complex throughout a good portion of the show, even more so than in previous Voltron iterations. For me, it feels most apparent in the way that Voltron as an all-powerful machine in VLD is piloted by its second generation.

To compare: In the original OG alliance (Alfor, Zarkon, Trigel, Gyrgan, and Blaytz), multiple major races were represented, functioning as one to save their own collective galaxy from threats. So even among the OG paladins, there were checks and balances (maybe Zarkon had the strongest military skills personally, but Alfor had the alchemy, etc.), with mass racial diversity. This seemed like a pretty innovative and cool addition to the Voltron franchise. The s3 finale also clarifies that, unlike VLD’s second-generation, all of these paladins were leaders of their people. This meant they had political and legal authority/experience that an average warrior or citizen wouldn’t.

By removing that whole structure and retrofitting Voltron with (mostly) a group of unprepared teenagers from a single planet entirely uninvolved in the universal conflict, it created a lot of strange hierarchies...

We see much of the known universe raise up people who had zero prior experience with war, and little to no military or diplomatic training, as well as very little awareness of the traumas or people groups involved in this war. (Shiro is possibly the exception here.) But suddenly, all of these paladins also had unfettered, largely unquestioned access to ultimate power to carry out whatever vision they felt was right in the moment. Because simply “might is right,” we see even highly experienced commanders like Kolivan become castrated in authority compared to Team Voltron. Various alien groups express upset or side-eye Team Voltron’s well-meaning actions but obvious insensitivity to/ignorance of their problems or fears. Even at the paladin-level, a princess trained to fight and lead is subordinated to a boy with zero leadership training whatsoever (which is very different from previous iterations where Keith was actually very competent, more experienced, and wanted to be a leader).

And when Voltron plays the unchecked judge, jury, and executioner across the entire universe, the new paladins as a whole also do not have the political or legal authority the OG pallies did in the boundaries of their own galaxy. The second-gen paladins are not authorities of their people or representative of the people groups affected in the war they’re now leading. The OG pallies built the actual legend of Voltron in less than 28 decaphoebs, clearly going beyond their 5 nations to help others suffering from natural disasters or unknown needs, which might raise some eyebrows perhaps because we don’t know what all that entailed. But while we see that the Voltron machine eventually got celebrated, the OG pallies are never shown personally soaking in some kind of savior celebration…

(Photo ID: Alfor says, “Why I joined up this band of scoundrels, I’ll never know.” Trigel responds, “Because we’re the only band of scoundrels that would have you.” Third screenshot is of the paladins celebrating their alliance win by themselves.)

…compared to second-gen paladins (or some anyway) who pretty clearly soak in the love and prestige they’ve received based off the historical and legendary precedence of the OG alliance’s work:

(Photo IDs: Lance taking selfies with aliens excited to be around paladins. A second screenshot of Lance daydreaming about being a universal savior, stomping on Zarkon, planting a flag to mark ownership, and having Allura stare up at him in worship.)

In fact, a lot of the pro-Voltron war propaganda relies heavily more on recreating the legend already built for them, than on the actual competency or experience of the current paladins:

(Photo ID: Pidge complains about the war propaganda scripts, “This isn’t even factually accurate.” Coran replies, “Well, this is the Legend of Voltron, not the documentary of Voltron.”)

On that note, we even see the scripts reverse who is actually the most competent or capable of performing.

(Photo ID: Coran says, “Ladies and gentle-aliens, bear witness as the Paladins of Voltron attack Zarkon’s base to save the helpless Princess Allura!”)

Coran’s script, however well-meant, pretty massively infantilizes Allura as someone who needs to be saved by an external force, rather than mentioning her as someone who is an active and critical ally of the Voltron paladins in this war.

Unlike Coran’s script, Princess Allura isn’t helpless. In terms of the second-generation paladins, she’s has the most war-time experience, and is also the one that the paladins lean on constantly to create a meaningful connection with other people groups who are otherwise hesitant about Voltron.

(Photo ID: Allura speaks to the Balmeran people, “Balmerans, this is Princess Allura. You don’t know me, but I am here to help. I know what it’s like to watch your home planet die.”)

Allura is the successor to the Altean monarchy and a direct victim of the OG galaxy wars. So unlike other second-gen paladins, she has some semblance of legal/political authority that she was actively trained for, as well as personal skin in the game. She is ultimately the only paladin who has experienced a mass omnicide of her home and people, similar to other victims of the Galra regime. She also still accepts the authority of her father, whose AI tells her in season 1 to be prepared to sacrifice everything to undo his mistakes.

We see Allura from that point onward functioning under that directive from her father and king—to sacrifice everything she has to end Zarkon’s regime. One could potentially make the argument that, within this structure, Allura might suffer from a certain subset of “white knight syndrome,” in which one feels they’re worthless if they’re not sacrificing for others. If I have my facts right, it’s a different psychological state from white savior complex (in which I define white savior complex as “when someone outside the issue at hand barges in to make a change that may or may not benefit the recipient, simply to make themselves feel better or appear useful, without regard to the recipient’s wishes or real needs”). But I feel even the comparison of “white knight syndrome” gets dicey. Because Allura is shown as acting happy without necessarily sacrificing things (in fact, she acts progressively depressed s7-s8, the more she has to give up intrinsic things about herself or her identity). But when Allura chooses to assist or sacrifice, the sacrifice she makes has a very relevant and functional impact for the people she helps.

In season 1, she chooses to sacrifice herself to save Shiro. Shiro was, at that time, the Black Paladin and leader of Voltron, so Allura saw herself as functionally the less important of the two to save since she did not pilot the universe’s only weapon against Zarkon.

With the Balmera, she similarly chooses to act because the Balmerans themselves acknowledge they are entirely out of options, and also because the Balmerans (and the Balmera itself) accept her help she offers. At this point in time, she has already established a deep personal connection with them by virtue of their shared trauma of losing their home planets.

(Photo IDs: Shay says, “We’re lost! All are trapped with no chance for escape!” Allura says, “We can’t give up.” Shay responds, “But what can be done?” The group realizes the Balmera is regenerating beneath the ship, and Shay wonders why. Allura says, “The Castle!”)

Here, Allura assumes that the Castle—which is powered by a Balmeran crystal itself—could be regenerating the Balmera. But a Balmeran elder corrects her:

(Photo ID: A Balmeran elder says, “Not just the Castle, but you, as well.”)

So Allura did not even recognize at first that she was in any way a part of the solution to the Balmera regenerating.

Regarding the Balmera act itself, I’m not sure it satisfies the conditions for a white savior complex? I’m curious about your thoughts here, because I guess I saw it happening differently, from a witchcraft perspective...

We know from both Coran and Shay that originally, Alteans were one of the historical races who sacrificed some of their own energy to replenish the Balmera when seeking a crystal:

(Photo ID: Coran saying, “In the days of old, when Alteans were given the gift of crystals from a Balmera, we would repay its sacrifice by performing a ceremony. A sacred Altean would re-infuse the Balmera with quintessence. In this way, we had a symbiotic relationship.”)

We see that Balmerans were a voluntary part of this energy exchange by virtue of their unique connective powers (which is likely why we see them kneeling and activating said powers during these ceremonies).

Shay herself seems to indicate she is highly aware of these old ceremonies:

(Photo ID: Rax says, “Everyone comes to Balmera and takes, but gives nothing in return!” Shay says, “In the past, those who took the Balmera’s crystals would replenish her with energy. It was an equal exchange.”)

Shay agrees that the ceremony itself involves a sacred exchange of life force.

So I would argue that in this case, the Balmerans are not kneeling to Allura specifically or worshiping someone—it seems to be just the imagery associated with magical spells/magical transfers (where one object in the middle is the main conduit/focal point, and the other objects surrounding help to create and sustain the spell/protective barrier, etc).

One of the basic practices in real-world witchcraft is casting a magic/ritual circle. The circle creates a space where the spell, ritual, or form of protection can be performed. Forgive the stock image, but here’s just a super basic example:

(Photo ID: A magic circle in the form of a pentagram, with a candle in the middle, compared to a screenshot of 5 Balmerans surrounding Allura in the form of a pentacle, creating a sacred space with Allura glowing in the center.)

The five points in particular mimic standard pentacle-based ritual circles designed to create a sacred space of some kind. We do see various configurations of witchcraft imagery used in other instances throughout the show, such as when the druids have to help Haggar sustain her spells:

(Photo ID: Haggar centered in a magic circle, surrounded by druids helping her complete the ritual. Haggar kneels against the glowing symbols to complete the ritual.)

I think, similar to the druids that Haggar relied upon to help her complete a spell, it can be argued that the Balmerans were an active part of the regeneration spell with Allura. We see across the entire Balmera that they magically connect to help sustain the energy transfer, because it’s a planet-wide, massive undertaking:

(Photo ID: Balmerans activating their connection to the Balmera in the middle of the sacred ceremony to regenerate the Balmera.)

To me, it felt like the Balmerans were necessary to complete this ceremony--without their agreement to this energy exchange, and without them connecting to the Balmera to assist the transfer, Allura might not have been able to connect her life force and transfer power to the whole planet.

And to complete the ceremony, Allura herself kneels as well, just as Haggar did and just as the Balmerans around her do, in connection with the Balmera:

(Photo ID: Allura kneeling alongside Balmerans to complete the ritual.)

(Which means she’s technically kneeling to at least three other Balmerans in front of her.)

So I think the kneeling imagery would not correlate to some white savior complex event as suggested.

One other thought I had is that I feel help from a “white savior” is often haphazard and pushed onto recipients regardless of their thoughts or real needs. In comparison, we know that the Balmerans were willing to try this spell with Allura and accepted her idea of attempting the ancient ceremony. The only person who expressed hesitancy is Coran, who warns Allura that this attempt could kill her.

(Photo ID: Coran warns Allura, “To heal an entire planet, it could take more energy than you possess.”)

I do think it could again be argued that Allura seriously undermines her own value and worth in an attempt to help everyone, no matter the cost, which potentially gets more into white knight syndrome born out of trauma than white savior complex born out of privilege. She snaps back at Coran for being concerned about her well-being, and then she proceeds to enact the ceremony, not knowing for sure whether she’d live or die. But Allura also knows that her life force is uniquely tied to Voltron and that she is the only one with this kind of connection to the Castle ship’s battle-class Balmera crystal—all of this makes her a very powerful capacitor in a lot of ways. Which is why she looks like this after the ceremony:

(Photo ID: Allura having collapsed in Shay’s arms after regenerating the Balmera, but her physical features are not otherwise affected.)

And not like this:

(Photo ID: A screenshot of an Altean named Petrulius from season 6, whose features are distorted after having had the life/quintessence sucked out of him.)

So to me, it seemed that Allura was enacting an ages-old, magical ceremony approved by and wanted by the Balmerans—simply on a scale that no one had ever before attempted. And it’s likely that no one else would or could attempt it, because Allura is the single character in the entire universe whose personal life force is tied to Voltron’s regenerative energy (by virtue of Alfor’s alchemy on her as mentioned in episode 1). It’s an even deeper tie to the whole machine than the transient bond between paladin and lion. No other Balmeran or Galran or Altean had that kind of tie in their life force. Likely, even Alfor would have died if he’d attempted this act himself without being connected to an infinite power source.

And after Allura saves the Balmera with assistance from Balmerans, we also do not see her like this with the Balmeran people:

(Photo ID: Lance soaking up a savior fantasy as previously mentioned in this meta.)

Instead, post-Balmera resurrection, we see it’s actually not even the Balmerans themselves who thank Allura. The Balmerans simply convey the will of the Balmera, which Allura cannot hear:

(Photo ID: A Balmeran says to Allura, “Yes. The Balmera lives. It thanks you.”)

So backing up for a second, I do think there are much larger issues happening in the narrative with Voltron itself, with the unequal power dynamics of having young, inexperienced people from a single planet make and enact all the big universal decisions. But in the instance with the Balmera, it seemed like Allura was openly welcomed to help save the planet, using magical ceremonies as approved by the Balmerans themselves for millennia, and that the Balmerans were not passive in those ceremonies but a necessary part of their success.

In general, Allura doesn’t seem to embody the “white savior complex” vibe at all to me, unlike some others in the show. Even in season 8, when Allura planned to make The Really Big Sacrifice, she asked her team to keep her actions a secret. She literally didn’t care for any respect or acknowledgment or prestige in exchange for sacrificing her life. She was doing what needed to be done because she was, once again, one of the few who could even perform at that level:

(Photo ID: Shiro says to Allura, “Most of them won’t know the sacrifice you made so they could live.” Allura replies, “And they’ll never need to.”)

(As an aside, I would argue that it was entirely unnecessary that the narrative would demand Allura sacrifice herself at all when she was literally standing in the universe’s seat of power alongside other powerful beings like her own father or the billions of other magic-wielding dead people, because apparently the lines between life and death blur in that space.)

(I also think there are some questionable “master race” vibes in the VLD universe in general, given that it forcefully pushes, even against the wishes of Alteans themselves, that Alteans are the only ones who can wield the big power to do big things. It’s clear that other groups and beings can wield magical abilities, but the larger narrative very oddly pins the “purest quintessence/bluest blood” back on Alteans time and time again in later seasons, leaving Allura in basically a no-win, no-help-available situation until other Alteans come along.)

So yeah, I hope something in this meta might help settle some concerns about Allura as a representation of white savior complex? Or at least that this would open conversation for further discussion about what could be done in future iterations to avoid that messaging. Because yeah, I agree with you that the unquestioned savior complexes in this show are a topic that can and should be discussed! And also that, despite early world-building to suggest otherwise, the narrative especially in s6-s8 pushes that Alteans have a “purer/more alive” life force compared to any other race or form. Which is just…hm. Like, the master race vibes of all that are weird and definitely not even inherent to the Voltron franchise. (In previous iterations, humans, Galrans/Drule, and Alteans could all perform incredible levels of magic. For example, in Dynamite Voltron, Keith, Lotor, and Lotor’s siblings had all been taught magic.)

There’s definitely some weird images and unnatural power dynamics in VLD at times. It seems like more often than not, the narrative does strive to make Allura sacrificing something the only viable resort for anyone ever. In those circumstances, I’m just not convinced that she herself functions as an embodiment of white savior complex, by virtue of her behavior in those instances. But it’s definitely weird that the narrative places so much weight on her when the larger Team Voltron narrative is supposed to be about found family and strength in unity.

(If you read this far, thank you! Sorry I’m not succinct.)

#Voltron #Voltron meta #Voltron critical in ways #Allura #Balmera episode #discussions of white savior complex #I ultimately state that Allura doesn't seem to meet the basic behaviors for that #but the show does get into some strange master race stuff in terms of abilities #and we do see several iimages of white savior complex throughout the show by virtue of some other characters #which idk why that got dropped in without at least a reflection on it #like I can handle problematic stories but prefer it when they know they're problematic lol #in VLD it felt like I was supposed to be cheering for those issues #that I wasn't supposed to question it or that I was supposed to actually connect with that fantasy #I feel like this is a really interesting topic because in other iterations there were other Voltrons #as in more people had similar machines #which I feel like helped to control the savior complex inherent in manning a powerful weapon #and in fact one iteration goes as far to say that voltron ISN'T special at all #which surprises various characters #Just a very different vibe from VLD entirely #I'm really fascinated by that #Anyway thanks for reading my rambles!

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

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Gladly Be a Fool

Fandom: A Discovery of Witches Pairing: Phoebe Taylor/Marcus Whitmore Rating: E Word Count: 2883

Summary: The missing scene after Phoebe and Marcus stumble into his bedroom in episode 4.

“Is this alright?” Marcus asks, despite feeling Phoebe’s calf wind around him like the heavy scroll on an antique gilt frame—the kind of thing they surely have in the vaults at her auction house.

“Completely,” she says against his throat before leaving a lingering kiss. “Does it seem like I think this isn’t alright?”

“Just checking.” He laughs at himself, scoffs with his eyes shut. “It was only that you looked a bit disoriented when we…”

“Flung ourselves onto your bed?”

Phoebe’s bold. He suspected, even with her backtracking after kissing him by the cab, and he enjoys it immensely.

“Yes. Forgive me. Occupational hazard.”

Smiling, he bends his head to her neck. She tilts her head to make space for him. The hum of blood beneath the surface of her skin is more intoxicating than the red wine, less than the creep of her fingers unbuttoning and spreading his shirt. He wishes he were wearing something smarter; blue plaid isn’t his go-to seduction look. However, he didn’t foresee this when he darted to Phoebe’s office earlier. That just toppled into dinner, from dinner into a lovely stroll while they discussed his taste in music to the soundtrack of her laugh, from playful conversation to the kiss that left him longing on the sidewalk, to her surprising call, to, finally, the supreme pleasure of holding her body in place with his and the prospect of imminently warming his cool sheets.

“Are you saying you’re trying to assess my health? In other words, play doctor with me?”

“I don’t think it’s playing doctor when I actually have the qualifications,” he argues between kisses, meandering up to her cheek, then her mouth.

“I suppose I have been acting out of character. Do you think that could be a symptom of anything?”

Phoebe pushes at his shirt and Marcus lifts one hand and then the other, slipping free of the sleeves so she can toss the garment aside. He lifts his head and cocks it.

“I’ll keep you overnight to make sure.”

He doesn’t think he’s offered her anything unusual, and yet she clasps the back of his neck and leads him through a kiss the flavour of gratitude and relief, intense desire welling just beneath. The last thing gets him harder than anything. He presses his groin to her thigh, wanting her, hating his jeans.

Reminding himself that he’s a thinking being, a centuries-old intellect, not just a creature of primal hungers like the one Domenico described, Marcus defers briefly to his brain. The verdict there is that Phoebe’s feeling reassured by his implication that he’d like her to stay the night. She’s inquisitive, attempting to decipher him since they met, holding back even more questions than she asked. Amid all her uncertainties where he’s concerned, his invitation is solid. A promise that predicts the next eight or so hours of her life. He decides he can appreciate that craving for a knowable future. By job and genetics, they’re perhaps both more comfortable with the past.

“I really can’t believe I called you,” Phoebe confesses, working on his belt. “I’m normally not—”

“Liar,” he teases. His hair’s in his eyes as he stares smugly down at her. “A woman who dresses entirely in red is definitely a woman who makes the first move.”

Now to get her out of all that red. Remembering his other guests, Marcus moves swiftly to his feet and closes the bedroom door. He jerks his thumb towards it and mumbles about a friend staying with him as he returns to Phoebe’s waiting arms. His heart doesn’t so much beat as somersault, watching her skate her dress up her legs—presumably, the better to wrap them around him. He feels flushed, imagining forgetting the clothes and just pounding into her.

“Technically,” she pants as his hand skims her inner thigh, fingers trailing along the lace hem of the slip beneath her dress, “the call was the second move.”

“Well, I’ve got to make one of the moves.”

“You really should. Unless it takes you a while to get going. Hamilton six times…”

Grinning, Marcus shakes his head at her and feels for the line of her underwear at her hip. He starts to tug, then wriggles his fingers under the band instead. As he slides his hand down to cup her, he fits his lips back over hers. Phoebe sighs shakily into his mouth as his fingertips glide through her arousal. He applies a gentle touch, tracing her with a surgeon’s finesse.

Before he can ask her which move this qualifies as, she’s opening his fly, her ring scratching against his zipper. The kiss opens up, growing harsher, teeth grabbing lips, her tongue pushing into his mouth then his into hers, until she’s gripping his cock and he’s sunk a finger inside her. He curls, she palms. Between their obscene sounds, he recalls the neat click of her typing as she brought up Lot 42 on her computer. It makes Marcus smile to himself. Then, he dives deeper into the kiss and into her, adding a finger, coaxing a broken moan from Phoebe that vibrates across his tongue.

He raises his head and her hand with it, fingers twined in his hair, because he’s honestly not sure she’s taking in enough oxygen. She might be breathing heavily, but her hand doesn’t quit, fingers encircling him as she pumps faster. Feeling his hips begin to rock as he seeks satisfaction, he realizes he’d better distract her.

“Hope my hands aren’t too cold.”

Phoebe laughs breathlessly and does stop dragging him to the edge for a moment, but then she reaches for his hips with both hands instead, pulling his jeans and underwear down.

“I think I’ve stopped noticing,” she says.

“Am I boring you?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Not like that,” Phoebe tells him. Then, “Yes. Yes, like that,” as he pulses his fingers shallowly and drags her clit in urgent circles beneath his thumb.

“You can have the first move,” he cedes. “I’m claiming credit for the first one of these.”

But he’s got to actually get her to orgasm before that claim’s really worth anything, so he continues what’s making her squirm. With his other arm, he drops from his palm to his elbow, freeing his hand to unbutton her dress from the top. Her chest is warm where he brushes his lips. He exposes more skin, then the lacy neckline of her slip. Being disappointed by too many clothes is a modern man’s insanity—what does it for Marcus are these layers, needing time to strip and reveal, this thick feeling of anticipation drawn out. He watches the dainty gold pendant bob against Phoebe’s throat as her breath hitches. Groaning, he leaves her buttons for now and grabs the hand not in his hair, interlocking their fingers and pressing the back of her hand into the mattress.

“Almost there,” he murmurs to himself, but Phoebe squeezes her eyes shut and nods rapidly in response as the nails of her other hand bite into his naked hip.

Her legs tangle around his and tense when she comes; the leverage pulls him in as her hips jerk up from the bed. He was trying not to grind his erection into the satiny fabric of her skirt, but it’s too late for that now. The contact has him kissing faster over her collarbone and up her neck, sucking where her pulse throbs until Phoebe moans, clamping even tighter around his fingers. Marcus clenches his jaw hard and rests his forehead on her neck, wondering if that was just a spike at the end of her orgasm or whether he compelled her into a second.

When her hand loosens against his, he draws back to look at her in the yellow light coming through his windows from the street.

“Not too cold,” she says, smile slack and easy from the wine and the release.

“Good.”

The word is no louder than the rustle of bedding as he withdraws his hand and braces himself over her again. He stares admiringly down at her. She just makes him feel… like he’s really glad he didn’t pawn the miniatures investigation off on Miriam.

Holding his eyes, Phoebe brings her hands to her chest. Her smile turns sly as she runs her fingers along the open front of her dress until they encounter the next fastened button. She undoes it. Marcus’s gaze leaps from her hands to her face and back. He grins, hanging his head, at her ability to do this to him. She knows too, because she doesn’t speed up. She takes her time all the way to the very last button. When she sits up to shrug out of her dress, he does as well, kneeling between her thighs as she does a little hop to whisk the skirt out from underneath her. She casts the dress aside.

Marcus takes a long breath through his nose, studying Phoebe in her short sheath of white silk. She’s wearing a bra under it—white, ribbed, unlined—but he can see her hardened nipples. While he stares, she unclasps her necklace and lowers it onto the closer of the two nightstands. The chain trickles through her fingers.

“Not the watch?” he asks with a grin when she’s touching him again, hands on his sides, moulded to his ribs.

Phoebe shrugs, barely glancing at her wrist.

“Didn’t think it was really in the way.”

He gives her a considering frown and kicks his legs out from under him, peeling his clothes off. She looks slightly shocked, mouth open in a scandalized smile as she does her best to keep her eyes on his face. Shame.

“Is that all?” he wonders.

“I guess I just like knowing what time it is.” She pauses. Goes on. “So much of the past is identified so indistinctly. Paintings or jewellery by year, some artifacts by decade with our appraisers’ best estimations. The possible timeframe only gets broader the farther back we go. Things travel through time… objects… but we lose details. Maybe it’s silly, but sometimes it amazes me that I can know the time down to the second. I think time is underappreciated.”

“Now that,” Marcus says, leaning in until their lips almost touch, “was a much more interesting answer.”

“Coming from you, I take that as a compliment.”

He’s not positive that was a compliment, but he kisses her anyway. Though he can feel her smile like she might say something else, his hopefully-charming insistence wins her over and her mouth seals to his with more certainty. He groans into it, cupping her cheek to angle her head as he deepens the kiss. He misses her hand wrapped around his cock and yanks expressively at the blanket to either side of her hips. Phoebe shifts back against his headboard, curving her legs out of the way. The second he has the covers whipped down, he catches her behind the knees and pulls her back to him, laughing. Marcus’s smile is broad as he settles between her legs. He traces the neckline of her slip, ignoring where the hem’s scrunched up above her hips, revealing her white underwear, for the moment.

“Did you think about me when you put this on this morning?” he inquires, fingering the lace.

“I didn’t know you’d be coming in. To the office,” she clarifies when he jauntily raises an eyebrow.

“Hmm. That’s not exactly what I asked.”

Marcus kisses her shoulder, heading towards her throat. He slips his hand under her ass to keep her in place as he grinds down with his hips.

“I take care in my appearance,” is all Phoebe seems willing to concede.

“And that appearance is very lovely.” He can feel her arousal through her underwear and rubs against her more precisely, dying to bury himself in her. “So very lovely,” he pants against her skin.

“You’re being very charming for someone who’s already got me half naked.”

“Oh, I never turn it off.” He flashes an enticing grin.

He can feel, and hear, her heartbeat, then his cock twitches eagerly and they’re in another scramble—the first was to make it to his bed, this is to get her out of her underwear and him inside her. She takes care of the former as he stretches to fish a condom from the drawer of the nightstand. If she asked, he would say truthfully that he was thinking about her this morning. The way he pleased and flustered her when they met by suggesting she should be the one in charge of the auction house was in his mind when he ventured to the shop, guiding his hand as he tossed the box of condoms into his basket alongside the coffee creamer and eggs he was bringing back to Sophie and Nate for breakfast. The thrill for the rest of them might have been the discovery of Matthew and Diana’s miniatures; the thrill for Marcus was doing everything he could to provoke a smile out of Phoebe Taylor.

Pressing inside her, he inches the white slip up her stomach with every gasp. Her fingers grip the back of his neck, her eyelids lowered, her parted lips bumping his as they share air. Marcus thrusts shallowly once he’s all the way in and Phoebe shifts her hips, widens her legs; they adapt to each other.

His hands caress her skin more insatiably the more of it he bares. He can feel the goosebumps under his fingertips, unable to count them because she’s rocking her hips with his, driving him deeper. Phoebe intervenes with the slip, stripping it off over her head, then her hands slap to his back and they kiss hard as he bucks into her. Marcus absorbs her high whimpers, refusing to break the kiss. Fuck, she’s incredibly slick around him and he badly wants this to be as good for her as it is for him. He hooks his arm beneath her thigh and folds it up. The moan that leaves Phoebe is almost enough to stand even his heavy, floppy hair on end.

He dips his head, tugging at her nipple through her thin bra. He can feel her wristwatch against the back of his neck as her fingers comb into his hair. Not everything’s been removed; so many pieces of her. She thinks he’s evasive and mysterious, but he’s sure he doesn’t know the half of it with her, and that excites him. Phoebe in his bed excites him. He lets her pull him back into a messy kiss and allows his eyelids to flutter open ever-so-slightly, stealing glimpses of her. This room is full of mirrors, but most are hung just a little too high on purpose because it isn’t really his reflection Marcus wants. He doesn’t need his own face looking back at him, he doesn’t need two nightstands for all his shit.

Breathing harshly through his nose, he catches the wine they drank downstairs, her gin at dinner. There’s the scent of night air and the faint hint of the perfume she must have put on this morning. He smelled it at her office earlier, but at the time it seemed a little too—as Phoebe defined their first kiss—forward to ask if that was for his benefit, like the later uncovered silk slip. She’s as irresistible when experienced through this sense as any other.

“F-faster,” she directs, bowing her body against his, and he is happy to oblige. He loves her sweat. He’d be perspiring himself, if he weren’t what he is.

The present rides him as he moves quickly in and out of her. This is fast, him and her, for something he thinks is more than a hookup. Two days to get them from his cold hands to her heat under and around him. One dinner, one walk, one call, a multitude of kisses. He is so, so into her.

His hand finds and grasps her hip, heaving her up to stroke inside her differently while pinning her thigh to her stomach. She cries out and he knows he’s got her.

“Good god, Phoebe,” Marcus breathes into her ear.

She shudders and shakes, clenching around his cock. He switches to long strokes as she climaxes, powering through them, trying to last if only to extend the present, here to play time’s own game. All of his seconds are Phoebe sighing and catching her breath and being so vibrantly human beneath him. He finally finishes with one of her hands kneading his shoulder, the other on his cheek. The orgasm ripples through him, muscles taut as his hips snap to hers and push until he’s empty.

He almost doesn’t want to pull away, but he’s being stupid. He swaggers unhurriedly over to the bin to chuck the condom, smirking back at Phoebe, who he’s caught watching his ass, as he thought she would be. She rolls her eyes with a certain fondness while she takes the liberty of rearranging the pillows that are propping her up.

“You know what would be great right now?” Marcus asks as he rejoins her.

“What’s that?”

He waits until she’s looking at him dead on before he grins.

“A little Duran Duran.”

#my writing #A Discovery of Witches #ADoW #Phoebe Taylor #Marcus Whitmore #Marcus x Phoebe

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spiders-hth-is-an-outlier · 3 years

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Possibly a big ask to get just out of the blue but: what are your Supernatural season opinions? Which one is your favorite? Least favorite? Did you watch long enough to have showrunner opinions? If yes, which showrunner is your favorite and which is your least favorite? If no, which season that you haven't seen most tempts you to get back in the Supernatural trenches? Answer exactly as many of these questions as you want to. Carry on.

You know, I am not sure how long this Ask has been sitting here, because my Tumblr notifications are borked -- I hope not long? If long, I apologize, I wasn't ignoring it on purpose!

Okay, so I have more than the average number of Supernatural opinions, probably, but I'll try to keep this to a dull roar! Inside Me There Are Two Wolves: one of them believes that only the original five seasons of Supernatural are worth defending in any way, the other really, really loves seasons 11 and 12. The Kripke Era had a lot of problems, particularly in its treatment of women as bodies without agency and its treatment of Black men as literal predators, but also for all its flaws, it had a kind of coherence and narrative drive that comes from being the product of a dude who obviously cared about it and had something to say. Taken on its own, seasons 1-5 are a brutal and compelling story about the traumas of being men in a universe that's been absolutely destroyed by its Fathers: on almost every level, it's about these abandoned and brutalized boys discovering that their entire reality is the product of an abandoning and brutalizing God, populated by authority figures who are universally demanding and arrogant, but also completely fucking useless. It's quite literally about Sam and Dean trying to hang onto their souls and their own agency when everyone around them wants them forced into shapes formed by conflicts that fell into place at the beginning of time. It's hard to remember, but back then even the Lucifer plotline was about that! It was about the damage fathers inflict on sons! Things were about things, in the Kripke era!

Then we get to the Gamble era, and. Woof. I actually -- don't hate 6 and 7? Like everything Sera Gamble touches, those two seasons are kinetic and memorable and funny and weird and hit some really, really great emotional beats. There are Some Problems, but Gamble was saddled with a pretty dire job, trying to find a way forward after everything about the series really had effectively wrapped up in Swan Song, and I think she did an okay job. People got mad at her for killing Castiel, but you know, damn, I give her this: that was a storyline. Like, this character who was fresh out of the cult he was raised in becoming disillusioned by how messy normal life is and deciding that maybe people need better authoritarianism instead -- the way he's driven to take too many risks by the fact that he's abandoned and desperate -- Crowley as a legitimately scary villain while still being charming af -- and the tragic resolution of Castiel being torn apart by both his hubris and his heroism. It's actually really good. I understand why people didn't want what Gamble was serving up -- and I'm able to like it because it was undone later, you know? -- but she really did commit to a full season of character arc and saw it all the way through to an earned ending, and I gotta respect that.

I genuinely hate seasons 8 and 9. I think everyone is a dick, particularly but not exclusively Dean, to the point where I just find it a bummer to watch. I mean, you get Benny, and I love Benny. You get, I dunno, bits and bobs of decent episodes, but overall they are very fucked up seasons in my opinion. So Carver era is on thin fucking ice with me, but I do think you start to get a rebound in season 10 with the Mark of Cain stuff, although I wish they'd managed to keep Cain around longer. All the really good Claire stuff starts happening, which is nice because Claire, but also because for once the show is really letting itself go back and deal with the mess these protagonists leave behind them constantly. Castiel and Claire have maybe the most interesting non-Winchester relationship on the show. Oh, and Rowena shows up around here too, right? Love her. So the back half of Carver, 10 and 11, are starting to really gain traction for me. The world is building outward, secondary characters are starting to be genuine characters in their own right, the politics of Heaven and Hell get a little richer and more interesting. The show is really starting to feel like it takes place in a universe, which is great because we love the Frigging Winchesters, but they shouldn't be the only thing going, right? We have 15 seasons to get through! Season 11 is basically bracketed by what are probably my two favorite Supernatural episodes: Baby and Don't Call Me Shurley. (I think I'm the world's only living Metatron fan; I fucking love that little dude.)

Dabb takes over in 12, and I really, really, genuinely love season 12. I fucking love Mary. There are so many episodes I adore -- Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox is a special favorite of mine, and I remain pissed off that the Banes twins never made it to recurring status, bluntly that feels wildly racist to me -- probably the best three-episode streak in the show is Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets to Regarding Dean to Stuck In the Middle (With You), three just almost perfect episodes. So I was poised to really love the Dabb era. I wanted to! My body was ready!

And I do really love the first chunk of season 13, the Widow Winchester arc. Obviously I'm a romantic, love that for me, but it's just also really good? The acting, the writing, the psychological complexity of Dean wanting Jack to be Bad so he has an outlet for his anger and Sam wanting Jack to be Good so he can retroactively parent himself and raise a Lucifer-tainted child who isn't crippled by self-loathing. Billie's great, and it looks like she's going to start being one of the major powers of the universe. Unfortunately -- with the occasional exception of this or that solid episode -- that's kind of the end of Pretty Good Supernatural. Season 13 kind of unravels; season 14 always feels like it's looking for itself (which is a bummer, because I wanted very much to care about Michael); season 15 is, idk. Idk about any of it, it's all pretty pointless. I feel bad complaining on some level, because the show's been on for like fourteen years at this point! It's kinda justified in feeling a little worn out. But the reality is that the later seasons systematically undo all the expansion that had excited me earlier -- the Wayward Sisters crew pretty much vanishes when the spinoff isn't picked up, Naomi and the angels stop doing anything, Crowley's gone, Mary's gone for much of it. We're just kind of futzing around with monsters who don't seem to matter (very much including Lucifer, who hasn't mattered in ages) and a lot of Jack, who. I try not to shit all over, because I know he's a popular character, but I find him just ungodly boring. Everything in the last two and a half season just feels like it's headed nowhere in particular, and also it bored me. The Empty deal is just sadness porn; it doesn't have any resonance or meaning in terms of Castiel's character, it's just him agreeing to die for his kid, which is okay, it means he's a loving dad, which he is, but there's no conflict there, ergo no real drama. It's just mean; it happens because it'll make us sad, and no other reason. Rowena is the only strong secondary character left, and her ending also doesn't feel particularly relevant to her, it's just a generic Sacrifice to Save the World. Everything just feels like they're autogenerating plotlines, rather than letting the actual needs and drives of the characters shape the narrative. So while I have this weird split personality with Carver where I either hate what he's doing or I love it, most of the Dabb era is just. There. It doesn't make me feel anything except kind of tired and embarrassed. Which is a bummer, because I have an inexplicable fondness for Dabb, probably just because of how much I love s12. I wanted to love his seasons! I did love his first season! I feel like maybe something happened when the CW rejected Wayward Sisters? I know that was kind of his darling, and it feels like maybe losing that kind of sucked the joy out of him, and he's kind of checked-out by the end. That's genuinely just my guess, however.

That's Professor Milo's Intro to Supernatural Studies, don't forget to fill out your course survey on the way out!

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evelhak · 4 years

Text

The Princess and The Pauper AU part 2

Catra’s ride seems to be the kind of person who looks real cool until she opens her mouth.

But they can’t seem to not flirt all the way to the neighbour kingdom and Catra figures, what’s the harm, since she really isn’t the princess, she can seduce a hot guard if she wants to, right?

They even end up stopping at some party and dancing, because we can’t leave THAT out.

When they reach the castle, Catra is in for a big disappointment, of course.

It sure is a problem, and in her head Catra is begging Bow to find Glimmer fast and get her out of here because she’s been stupid enough to fall for a princess, even if she didn’t know any better.

And Adora’s parents are totally Mara and Light Hope (in some form?). Though Mara is still dead. : /

They have awkward dates like walks in the garden and Adora can’t help but wonder why the “princess” seems like a completely different person now, since she already had thought she was totally awesome.

Adora thinks that they’re both more comfortable in a less formal setting and attempts to cheer Catra up by taking her on an adventure, which works and they start becoming closer again, and sometimes Catra forgets to wish that Bow wouldn’t make her wait for another day.

Of course there’s no way to skip this epic song:

I mean what could be cuter than Catra giving emotional support to her emotional support cat?

Then they have a ball and it’s one of those things where you start to believe the lie yourself! The night is magical, and they have the outfits from the future vision because those seemed like a good fit. Catra makes her outfit from some old rags she finds in the castle, so she doesn’t have to wear Glimmer’s gowns that are so not her and don’t even fit that well.

But guess who barges in??

Lord Prime of another neighbour kingdom! With Queen Angella. Obviously Prime is behind Glimmer’s disappearance, and has informed the queen that her daughter has been found dead and one of the suspects is the person pretending to be her at the moment.

Also Prime has suggested the queen should marry him, and he’ll take care of her kingdom’s problems, since he has something better than magic, which is technology ofc.

Prime takes Catra to the same place where he keeps Glimmer (if he might still have use for them both) and it’s a crystal cave underground (or something like that). Once Catra finds Glimmer she finds a bunch of other people are with her too, including Glimmer’s dad who was supposed to be dead, and also Prime’s twin brother Hordak, who explains to them that his brother is planning to take over all the kingdoms. The reason magic is fading in Glimmer’s kingdom is that Prime convinced Adora’s kingdom to protect their magic by shielding it somehow, which disrupts the natural flow on magic. The crystal cave goes underground between all three kingdoms’ borders and keeps the magic from mingling, and Prime mines the crystals for his experiments because he can only touch crystallized magic.

Catra confesses that she was supposed to use Madame Weaver’s energy sucking necklace on Glimmer. She says that she used to fear that the world was like Madame Weaver said, that people couldn’t be good, but now she thinks that instead of the people she met, Glimmer, Bow, Adora, she was the one who failed to be a good person. She knows that if she disobeys Madame Weaver, she’ll find Catra, so she gets it in her head to use the necklace on herself. Maybe the others can bargain with Madame Weaver to get them out of the cave once she comes to punish Catra?

But the necklace doesn’t suck energy, it controls minds! (Obviously.) Prime has been exporting mind-controlling jewellery all over Glimmer’s kingdom but it wasn’t until he used it on the queen who had a magical connection to the crystals that they would start working. However, now the queen has agreed to marry Prime and is mind-controlled by the ring Prime gave her. Madame Weaver came upon one of Prime’s necklaces and had figured out Prime’s plan. However, unlike Prime, she knew that the princess was actually even stronger than her mother, so she modified the necklace so, that she herself would control everyone once the princess was wearing it. After what Catra does, Madame Weaver withdraws her magic and Catra ends up being controlled by Prime and attacking everyone.

Meanwhile Bow and Adora have run into each other while looking for Glimmer and Catra, Bow explains to Adora the whole wrong princess thing, and I didn’t work out the details, but they end up finding the crystal cave and everyone just when Catra puts the necklace on. Hordak recognizes his brother’s work in the necklace, and Adora saves Catra by getting it off of her.

Glimmer feels a connection to the crystals and ends up being recharged by them, getting back her old teleportation powers that were lost when the magic started fading.

Everyone retreats to another castle in Adora’s kingdom to plot against Prime. Also, they have time for this song, of course!

Then they hear (not sure how) that Prime is making citizens attack Glimmer’s home castle so that it looks like an uprising when the queen is killed, and Prime takes over, and since Hordak has figured out they can stop the attack by freeing the queen from the ring, Glimmer and Bow start rushing into action with her reawakened teleportation.

Meanwhile, Adora goes missing. She has gone home to convince Light Hope that it was wrong to shield their kingdom’s magic. (Mara died doing it/trying to undo it, ofc.) She finds Mara’s old magical sword that she apparently used when shielding the magic and I dunno how exactly she figures out what to do, but she needs to undo the spell in the crystal cave, because, well, something like this just needs to happen, I didn’t spent too much time thinking about this part. ^^’

Glimmer, Bow and Catra come after her too late, but they figure out what she’s doing and that she’s probably in mortal danger. Catra tells Glimmer to take her back to Madame Weaver’s place, before Glimmer and Bow go save the queen.

In the end Catra convinces her to give her magic, because, well, freeing the magic has been what Madame Weaver has wanted all along even if it’s for completely selfish reasons. So she gives Catra an elixir that should make a person strong enough to survive the burst of energy from the crystal cave. And she has a spell to take Catra there.

But Adora has already broken the spell when Catra gets there, and is unconscious. So, Catra needs to do some mouth-to-mouth action with the elixir. Which shouldn’t be funny or hot when you’re about to die, but Adora is Adora.

Everyone is saved and I don’t know what they do to Prime this time, I’ll leave that up to your conscience. :’‘D

Everyone is free to marry whom they choose and Catra is free from Madame Weaver.

She travels for a few months before she understands when she was the happiest and comes back.

And one more song!

THE END

It was a tiring trip but doodling this made it worth it.

I probably forgot to mention something, and the story is full of holes but I didn’t want to dwell on the details because I was just amusing myself and to be honest I enjoyed imagining the songs the most... ^^’

PART 1

#spop #princess and the pauper #spop au #spop barbie au #catradora #glimbow #sorry not sorry

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wanderingchocolateeclair · 3 years

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Can you tell me more about Tsuganu's twin sister? And their parents? I wanna knowwww~ (specifically so I can finally match a name to the face and maybe write Tsuganu's sister and family in my stuff)

Ahhhh!!! Of course, thank you so much for asking about them!! You know how happy this makes me to be able to ramble about my characters!! Tsunagu’s family is one that I actually have some more set info on them because they were some of my first proper family ocs that I made.

I dunno whether you saw my post from earlier with all the family photos, but if not I do recommend doing so since they have their designs and everything!! They give a rough idea to what Tsunagu’s sister, mum, dad, niece +nephew look like!! And eventually I plan on making another one of those little character info posts for her like I did with Hana, Mao and Yuna. But for now imma ramble and give you some headcanons and basic info on his family! :)

His twin sister is called Ai!!(Which I’ve mentioned before in some of my writing)

She has twins! One daughter, one son!

They are quite the rich family and they do fancy things.

They come from a family that has roots to an ancestry of psychic based quirks? (A long long time ago) So like, manipulation, telekinesis, telepathy, etc. (This links into some stuff with their quirks and some other stuff, like if you remember one of my headcanons about jeanists gut feelings? Yeah, that was a while ago)

This is their dads side of the family, their dad has a manipulation based quirk which allows him to manipulation and control the things that he touches (not majorly, but enough to make quite a difference, and it undoes itself as soon as he lets go)

Their mum is quite the lovely gentle lady.

Her quirk allows her to create different fabrics from the fiber and sugars that she consumes (it works quite similarly to Momo’s quirk I guess?) however overusing this over the years has caused her to be physically quite fragile, weak and easily ill.

She is an absolute bundle of sunshine though! Unlike his dad, which may or may not be obvious in that drawing ahaha

Ai has a basic telekinesis quirk, just able to move rather small things normally, but in a stressful situation can move a lot heavier things.

Activating her quirk alongside Tsunagu’s could be absolutely catastrophic. But it’s also kinda funny. Watching as everything is flying everywhere and just chaos it’s great.

Ai’s husband works as a rescue hero? Like, he helps to find people who are stuck in rubble and stuff like that. His quirk is basically like echolocation, he can produce a sound and use it to pinpoint where objects are.

Ai works in support. She loves making things and just inventing little things in general.

Their mum used to (still sometimes does) work in fashion due to her quirk.

Their dad used to be a hero, but then an accident happened that caused him to lose his sight in one eye and he had to retire. But he did get (somehow?) roped into working with the police for quite a while and is now retired....and constantly grumpy.

The twin kids are meant to have streaky brown hair but I forgot to change it in my drawing so sorry bout that.

Ai is very cheeky and mischievous. She gets along very well with Hana in terms of teasing their brothers like crazy.

Goodness me. They all love Shinya. They know about his past as well, and this actually made Tsunagu’s dad tear up when he heard it. His mum had already been crying but they immediately accepted him as part of the family.

They’re always respectful towards his own respect to his family, though, and are quite overprotective of him to others.

The first conversation Tsunagu had with his mum after introducing him just went like:

“Hm, you are my son now. Tsunagu get out of here. I’ve replaced you, he is an angel!” “Wh- you’ve replaced me with my own boyfriend?” “Oh? Do you hear something? Nevermind, dear, let’s get you some tea.” “Mother!” *polite snickering*

Shinya finds it incredibly sweet.

Oh, by the way, ectoloadersnipe are family friends. They went to UA with Tsunagu’s cousin and were close friends so that’s how they know each other.

Ai is best mates with PL. Like, come on, they just spend the whole time tinkering while their husbands politely chat over tea!

The twins love “uncle Shinya” and the first time they called him this, both him and Tsunagu almost had a heart attack out of shock.

Some info that’s actually really important to know for some of my posts actually, which I think I’ve mentioned very briefly before (and will come up in ‘A Frayed Thread of Hope’👀):

Due to dormant psychic-based quirk genes that have been passed down over generations, they have this danger sense that is basically just an incredibly strong gut feeling when something bad is about to happen. This feeling gets worse as it gets closer to the time of said bad thing. However, if they manage to guess roughly what is going to happen (not in full detail, just like ‘oh something is gonna happen to so-and-so) it clicks and though the feeling doesn’t go away, it’s more like a confirmation of what’s going to happen.

Also, these things happen. It’s not some sort of gut feeling that may be right or wrong, they’ve never been wrong. That’s what the difference is. And that’s why they always have to follow it.

Another thing from these dormant quirk genes and them being twins in this case, is that Tsunagu and Ai have a connected sense of physical pain and a couple of other things of the sort. Not fully, but slightly, and they are aware of it. So when Tsunagu gets injured in work, Ai feels a much smaller version of this pain and it’s a very sure way of knowing if the other is in trouble.

Though, it is rather funny when Ai was pregnant, or when it’s that time of month...because wow Tsunagu is such a weak little noodle when it comes to handling those things and he wishes that Ai didn’t have to feel that much pain....in a slightly sympathetic but also definitely self-pitying way 😂

(There are a lot of funny opportunities here.....but also plenty of angst that may or may not be already planned out...)

And there we go!! Sorry it’s rambly but I also ran out of things to say for tonight...I know for a fact that I have plenty more, but they’re probably too specific and I’d have to actually have them pointed out first so I can remember them aha

@ohpleaseiwillendyou thank you so so much for asking! These are my characters who I have spent so much time on designing and coming up with, so when people ask about them it really makes me happy and brings me confidence about them :)

~Eclair ❤️

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everything-laito · 4 years

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Hey i love your blog and every analysis of laito you write :) i have a question because i've been rewatching dl rn. So in ep 4 where laito and yui are in church, the dialog in which laito explains that praying and believing in god will neither safe nor help you, has been really bugging me. Reason is because he says it with such a serious face and tone in his voice that i keep wondering if there was a time where he actually believed in god himself and stoped doing so because of obvious reasons?

Omg thank you so much! I’m so glad you love my blog! Hehe I love writing analyses about this guy, he’s so interesting :’)

You raise a very interesting point, and it seems that you like paying attention to the small details, which I love! Now, to answer your question! Analysis under the cut!

The simple answer, is no, I don’t believe that he believed in god at one point specifically. However, I do believe that him “believing in god” is analogous to Laito’s jealousy of Yui; his inner cravings of wanting to undo the sexual abuse he went through. But, before I get into explaining, let’s pick apart the context of the scene first!

I believe the point that you’re talking about is when he approaches and grabs Yui at the church altar, after she pushes him away and causing his hat to fall off.

“You seriously believe in Him? You think that He will help you if you believe. Are you stupid, or are you naive? Maybe you’re both. Either way, you’re simple-minded. I find your innocent appealing, Bitch-Chan. However… There is nothing to believe in , and you need to do more than pray to accomplish something.”

“But I will still pray, and I will still believe!”

“You’re at your best today, Bitch-Chan! I will now expose the lust that lurks inside of you.”

I bolded the portion that you may be talking about. He calls Yui innocent and naive, simple-minded, and innocent for believing in god. From my many past analyses, I have mentioned how Laito projects himself and his issues onto his victims. In this case, he goes from belittling Yui’s belief in god to then abruptly saying what he’s going to do to her: “expose the lust.” This might be an interesting topic change, but it is definitely deliberate, in my opinion. Although Laito is a master of topic changes to avoid certain feelings or confrontation, he is also a very deliberate man; riddling his speech with double-meanings. In this case, belief = purity, and Laito wants to make it so Yui doesn’t believe in anything but him (by the end of his route in HDB at least), since he wants to project and have control over someone. When Yui is being stubborn and says she won’t give up on her beliefs, he takes it as a challenge. We know he likes it when people resist, and he considers Yui a challenge.

I believe his serious tone and demeanor in this scene is caused by jealousy. We know Laito can be a very jealous person, whether it’s a part of his facade or not. I believe he’s jealous of Yui and how care-free she was before she was caught in his web. I think that he says that beliefs won’t save her because it was what he has learned. He thinks he’s too far gone and beyond fixing, so he projects his issues on others to make himself feel better (again, traditional bully/power insecurity response here) or as an indirect revenge on Cordelia for making him this way (I use “making him this way” loosely though; although most of his facade is Cordelia’s fault, it was also the setting in which he grew up in).

He probably wishes he believed in something more, considering he’s linking it to Yui’s innocence. He wants to have his “purity” back, since he never asked to be abused in the first place (I mean, nobody has). He says that he’s gonna “expose the lust” inside of Yui to try and break her (and in HDB, he pretty much does).

He says, “no one has ever been saved by their belief” at the end of the episode too, which I find interesting as well. What does he mean by “saved”? Saved as in being helped out? Saved as in the more religious sense, as in going to heaven? No, I believe he means “saved” as in that believing in something, whether it be a religion or not, doesn’t save people from any kind of harm in the world. Nobody’s immune to anything; that’s just a fact. Even if you isolate yourself your entire life, you’re still susceptible to mental health issues, for example (since hardcore isolation is never good—we’re social creatures after all). Laito probably believed in something at some point. My guess is probably Ayato, when they were kids. Maybe even Cordelia, at one point, since he did view her as his mother for the longest time. Cordelia broke that trust in the worst way, and now he’s beating himself up because he probably blames himself for all the things Cordelia did.

As for Laito specifically believing in god, I know all the Sakamakis are like “pfff believing in god? Lol we’re vampires” (which idk how being a vampire has to do with practicing a religion lol; maybe cuz they’re sacrilegious symbols??? Idk) so might be an x to doubt for practicing a religion. But this was super fun to think about!

So, lovely anon, with your attention to detail and curiosity, you have made such an interesting take on his character, I commend you! Thanks for poking at m’brain! Hope you enjoyed :)

-Corn

#Laito sakamaki #laito #sakamaki laito #dialover #dialovers #analysis #sakamaki raito #raito sakamaki #dl #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers analysis

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

TLTNL- THE SLUG CLUB

James took the book from Lily, their hands lingering for an extra second on each other. It didn't seem possible, but somehow every new year of their sons school added an extra layer of worry, and this one was no better. With only more worrisome details for whatever the Death Eaters were planning, the parents terror could only grow when Harry would figure it out.

For now though, they could at least hope the rest of his stay at the Burrow and his soon train ride held no excitement, so James still continued with high spirits.

Harry spent a lot of the last week of the holidays pondering the meaning of Malfoy's behavior in Knockturn Alley. What disturbed him most was the satisfied look on Malfoy's face as he had left the shop. Nothing that made Malfoy look that happy could be good news.

"I entirely agree," Sirius couldn't help but dejectedly say, there wasn't much of a funny spin he could put on that.

To his slight annoyance, however, neither Ron nor Hermione seemed quite as curious about Malfoy's activities as he was;

"They what?" They all demanded, sure they'd heard wrong.

"Let him finish," Harry soothed, though the look on his face showed it wasn't going to end much better.

or at least, they seemed to get bored of discussing it after a few days.

"It is now a good thing Molly never let them join the Order," Remus rolled his eyes. "After the third meeting they'd probably stop attending."

"Be fair, they don't know what we know, which is there is something going on," Lily halfheartedly defended. "They just know that for the past five years Malfoy's been a rotten child, they've just witnessed one of his acts this time."

"They should have believed me when I said it was something more, how else was I supposed to figure out what Malfoy was up to if I couldn't bounce ideas off of them," Harry huffed.

Hermione impatiently agreed as much when he brought it up again. She was sitting on the windowsill in Fred and George's room with her feet up on one of the cardboard boxes and had only grudgingly looked up from her new copy of Advanced Rune Translation.

"I'm still amazed you can accomplish that at all," James smirked.

"Why would she even bring that in there and expect to get any work done?" Sirius agreed.

Reminding there could be any number of things they just didn't know about.

Ron suggested Malfoy could have broken his Hand of Glory.*

"When on Earth did Malfoy have that?" Sirius demanded, clearly thinking he'd missed something.

"I told Ron Malfoy took an interest to it the first time I was in there, maybe Ron thought I meant his dad did buy it," Harry offered, though they'd never actually seen him use it in school.

Harry repeated Malfoy's instructions of keeping â€˜that one' safe, making it seem Malfoy had a broken set of something. When neither of his friends responded to him again pointing this out, Harry insisted with his dad in Azkaban, Malfoy would want revenge.

"I can't see even Borgin and Burkes having anything to help with that though," Remus disagreed. "Revenge against who? Azkaban? The Ministry? You?"

"I would have said the first seemed the most likely, what with the 'it's never been done before' bit Narcissa offered, but just last year there were massive breakouts, so that doesn't seem the problem," Sirius sighed.

"Voldemort's gotten others into Hogwarts if he was the target, and Malfoy's also a student, so that shouldn't be it either," Lily agreed while trying not to bite at her lip.

"And I can not for the life of me imagine what a sixteen year old could do against the Ministry of Magic, even they're not that incompetent," James sighed.

"You're missing the part where this was originally Voldemort's idea," Harry insisted as he felt sure they were missing the mark on all accounts.

"Yet Malfoy's clearly pleased to go along with whatever it is, not just following orders, so it must be something he'd be for as well. Revenge is the best we've got to go on as far as motive," Lily patiently reminded.

Harry couldn't help smiling at them, they'd already offered more for his idea than his two friends, and it felt nice to not be so dismissed.

Ron was baffled what Malfoy could do about any revenge, and Harry agreed in frustration he didn't know, he was clearly up to something serious.

Sirius look muddled, like he wasn't sure what the response he was supposed to give for that was. His preferred joke was most certainly in poor taste, but it would be crass of him not to do it at this point!

Then he saw Harry look to him, almost genuinely concerned at even the hint of a pause, so Sirius finished as if there hadn't been one, "I wish I could still help out with this pup."

Lily gave the obligatory groan and Remus made to flick him in the ear, but all of them had an almost relieved look about them. At least they didn't look like they were counting down how many times he had left to do that.

His father was a Death Eater and-

Harry broke off, his eyes fixed on the window behind Hermione, his mouth open. A startling thought had just occurred to him.

"And that is?" James encouraged when Harry got a rather dissatisfied look on his face for this thought occurring to him now.

"That Malfoy's a Death Eater," he sighed.

There was a pitying little pause at the look of resignation on his face while Sirius nodded slowly.

"Guess you already put that together from what Narcissa said. I wish it was more surprising, or rare honestly, for that megalomaniac to be using anyone and everyone he wants." It was an even more depressing realization his own little brother was hardly older than this Malfoy kid when he'd suffered a similar fate, and likely as undo-able a task from what they'd heard. Sirius couldn't come up with another reason for why he'd desert his lifelong dream other than getting a job he couldn't handle.

Hermione anxiously demanded what was wrong, Ron nervously asking if it was his scar.

"Can't even blame him, after last year, that's the first thing I would have thought to," Remus sighed.

Harry slowly said aloud his idea Malfoy was a Death Eater.

"Actually, why would you have put that together considering you didn't know what we did," James couldn't help but jump at this leap.

"You guys just agreed it isn't so crazy," Harry said defensively at once.

"Because we know it's true," James agreed, "but you haven't exactly seen a lot of experience with it, or had it confirmed before that. You were just chatting about his dad and what he could be up to."

Harry just huffed and muttered, but waved his dad on, knowing he'd have to explain himself to his friends in a few moments already like he'd already been doing all summer.

There was a silence; then Ron erupted in laughter, reminding Harry he was only sixteen, You-Know-Who would have to be crazy.

"Age has never been a factor for him, it's what you can do for him," Sirius scowled.

Hermione agreed it was highly unlikely, where had he come up with that?

Harry reminded how in Madam Malkin's he hadn't let her touch his arm, he must have been branded with the Dark Mark.

"I, didn't even notice that," Lily's brows shot up in surprise, before she corrected, "though joining the Death Eaters doesn't automatically mean you got a Dark Mark. I'd think that was only for those he's marked as worthy, not of every single one."

Harry chose not to argue back since she didn't call him crazy outright for it.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, clearly unconvinced, while Harry went on Malfoy had shown Borgin something, and it seriously scared Borgin.

"I could scare the pants off of him without pants!" Sirius agreed without the hesitation this time, but as his friends winced slightly and Harry gave a softer laugh than usual, he needlessly pointed out, "You keep invoking my name, I can tell how much you'd been missing me."

Harry grinned at him again, though he'd willingly admit he'd have liked to have his godfathers opinion on this at the time as much as anything.

It was the Mark, he knew it. He was showing Borgin who he was dealing with, they saw how seriously Borgin took him!

"He'd treat him nothing like me!" Sirius insisted while Remus flicked his ear again.

"To Harry's credit, Malfoy did show him something and he seemed much more likely to back down," James agreed with that logic, never not astounded how his son so easily put such things together they'd only given passing thoughts to.

Ron and Hermione exchanged another look.

Annoyed, but absolutely convinced he was right,

"It's not usual you've got to deal with that with Hermione and Ron," Remus sighed, already exhausted by this ongoing argument he could feel brewing.

Harry snatched up a pile of filthy Quidditch robes and left the room; Mrs. Weasley had been urging them for days not to leave their washing and packing until the last moment. On the landing he bumped into Ginny, who was returning to her room carrying a pile of freshly laundered clothes.

She warned him to be careful in the kitchen, there was an excess of Phlegm around.

"What a kind warning," Sirius couldn't help but snicker.

Harry smiled and thanked her, promising he wouldn't slip in it.

Sure enough, when he entered the kitchen it was to find Fleur sitting at the kitchen table, in full flow about plans for her wedding to Bill, while Mrs. Weasley kept watch over a pile of self-peeling sprouts, looking bad-tempered.

Fleur was explaining more wedding plans. They'd narrowed it down to two bridesmaids,

"Who were the other options besides the two sisters?" James wondered at that.

"Hopefully not past girlfriends of Bill's, that wouldn't do him any favors," Sirius smirked.

"Sirius, I'm advising you I don't care how far in advance, don't ever bring that up in your own wedding, it will get you cursed," Lily promised, wanting to smack him herself for the stupid suggestion no matter how much he was joking.

"Padfoot seems to have an unfortunate ability to attract violent women," James pleasantly noted.

"I imagine they were far less violent before they met him," Remus rolled his eyes. "Lily's the only exception I've met."

and their dresses would be pale gold, Ginny would look horrible in pink of course.

"Why?" Harry asked in confusion, thinking Ginny wouldn't look horrible in any color she chose.

"I'm not going to let Lily explain that, no one else cares," Sirius loudly said.

She scowled at him even more than before, honestly wanting to smack him herself now just for thinking she would, she hadn't really a care for that sort of thing.

"You're only proving Prongs' point," Remus happily reminded him while James ignored them anyways.

Mrs. Weasley loudly interrupted at the sight of Harry to explain they'd be getting Ministry cars to the train again tomorrow and Aurors at the station. Harry asked if it was Tonks again, to which Molly explained Arthur said she was already positioned somewhere else.

Fleur inserted Tonks had let herself go, while gazing into her own reflection in the back of a spoon.

"You really can't blame those girls, thinking her so vain, when every time she's been mentioned this summer she's talking about herself and doing that," Lily sighed.

Mrs. Weasley tartly cut in Harry should have himself ready, no one needed the usual last minute scramble.

Indeed, their departure the following morning was smoother than usual. The Ministry cars glided up to the front of the Burrow to find them waiting, trunks packed; Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, safely enclosed in his traveling basket; and Hedwig; Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon; and Ginny's new purple Pygmy Puff, Arnold, in cages.

"The Weasley's really do have the most interesting names for things," Remus cocked his head to the side, thinking Arnold the most mundane thing that could be given to a purple ball of fluff.

"Remember Ginny named Pig to, so as of now it's all her fault, and she seems to have no consistency on how wild they get," Sirius chuckled.

Fleur gave him a double kiss goodbye. Ron hurried forward, looking hopeful, but Ginny stuck out her foot and Ron fell, sprawling in the dust at Fleur's feet.

"What a lovely sister," James noted.

"Growing happier by the moment I never used to have one," Sirius agreed, making Lily flush in surprise and decide not to put extra salt on his plate at lunch, for now.

Furious, red-faced, and dirt-spattered, he hurried into the car without saying good-bye.

There was no cheerful Hagrid waiting for them at King's Cross Station. Instead, two grim-faced, bearded Aurors in dark Muggle suits moved forward the moment the cars stopped and, flanking the party, marched them into the station without speaking.

"There is such a thing as taking your job-" Remus cut himself off with a nasty look at Sirius, who looked disappointed his friend hadn't slipped up.

Mrs. Weasley, seemed a little flustered by this austere efficiency.

"I can't really blame her, it just sounds odd to need security for the short walk it is onto the platform," James agreed.

An Auror even tried to guide Harry straight through the barrier by his arm before Harry snapped he could walk on his own as he jerked his arm away.

"So ungrateful for someone trying to hold your hand," Sirius nodded.

He pushed his trolley directly at the solid barrier, ignoring his silent companion, and found himself, a second later, standing on platform nine and three-quarters, where the scarlet Hogwarts Express stood belching steam over the crowd.

Harry really couldn't help a nostalgic smile as that image lingered in his mind, and he really did wonder for a moment why he'd feel like it would be so long before he saw it again. He still had another school year left of course to be missing such a thing.

Hermione and the Weasleys joined him within seconds. Without waiting to consult his grim-faced Auror, Harry motioned to Ron and Hermione to follow him up the platform, looking for an empty compartment. Hermione reminded they couldn't they had to go check in as Prefects.

Harry admitted he'd forgotten.

"Poor thing is probably going to forget that next year as well, it is odd to get used to," Sirius sighed, it had always thrown him off when Moony did it, and then Prongs as well in their last year.

Mrs. Weasley was hugging everyone goodbye, before Harry made the impulse decision to ask Mr. Weasley for a quick word.

"Well this is bringing back an unpleasant flashback," James grumbled, but tried to ignore Sirius shifting in unease as well for the reminder of when this had last happened.

Mr. Weasley, who looked slightly surprised, followed Harry out of earshot of the others nevertheless.

Harry had thought it through carefully and come to the conclusion that, if he was to tell anyone, Mr. Weasley was the right person; firstly, because he worked at the Ministry and was therefore in the best position to make further investigations, and secondly, because he thought that there was not too much risk of Mr. Weasley exploding with anger.

"Well you're certainly not wrong on either account," Sirius burst out with surprised laughter.

James couldn't get the same enthusiasm for realizing what Harry was going to tell him, it was too depressing to once again here his son turning to someone else who should have been him.

He could see Mrs. Weasley and the grim-faced Auror casting the pair of them suspicious looks as they moved away.

Mr. Weasley interrupted Harry's starting by asking if he was finally going to learn where they'd really disappeared to when they were supposed to be in the back of the shop.

"I'm not really surprised they didn't fall for that," Sirius agreed.

Harry was surprised he knew otherwise,

"I'm more shocked than anything Harry thought they did," Remus snorted.

but Arthur interrupted to remind he was the same man who had raised Fred and George.

"He's got you there," James agreed.

Harry admitted to that, and Arthur said he was ready to hear the worst.

"Oh don't say that, he'll actually be getting it," Lily sighed.

Harry again tried to explain they'd seen Malfoy and decided to follow him under the Cloak- Arthur again interrupted to ask if there had been an actual reason, or just a whim?

"Honestly the second," Sirius pointed out while Harry tried to scowl at him without admitting he was right.

Harry insisted he'd done so because he thought Malfoy was up to something, and then explained the rest. Arthur took it in silence, contemplated for a moment, before saying slowly he doubted You-Know-Who would allow a sixteen year old-

"I'm almost glad that's not as common place in their time," Lily blinked in surprise for that response from him.

"Voldemort also doesn't have the swollen ranks he does in this time," James reminded pityingly. "Now he's got massive followers every which way, from all we've seen though, he really may not have more than his circle. I can almost see where Arthur's coming from."

Harry at least felt better hearing that explained, but it didn't make him feel better everyone kept calling this such a crazy idea when he knew he was right.

Harry shot back no one really knew what Voldemort would do.

Mr. Weasley slowly explained that when Lucius had been arrested, his mansion had been searched, and the Malfoys had been stripped of everything that could be dangerous.

Harry insisted they must have missed something, and Arthur agreed in a tone that implied he was only humoring Harry now.

Harry's scowl increased, this was as maddening as last year! Hadn't he proved himself more than a paranoid child! He should be taken seriously about this!

"Relax Harry," James tried to sooth with a look Harry couldn't quite identify with. "You've come to him with a hunch, and he's at least listening to you. Come back again with a bit more proof, which I know you'll get during your year, and I know you'll get something done."

Harry did relax just a bit, hoping he was right, and missing his dad's smile increasing.

There was a whistle behind them; nearly everyone had boarded the train and the doors were closing.

Harry hurried to the train as it began chugging along, while Mrs. Weasley called after them he was coming to their house for Christmas, the train began picking up speed as she continued, moving along with it, for them all to be good, the train was rounding the bend now as she nearly jogged to keep up with her final warning to stay safe!

Sirius honestly wanted to laugh at the woman again, but the look on Lily's face promised he wouldn't be allowed without getting an earful. She was grateful someone was still looking after her boy.

Harry waved until the train had turned a corner and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were lost to view, then turned to see where the others had got to. He supposed Ron and Hermione were cloistered in the prefects' carriage, but Ginny was a little way along the corridor, chatting to some friends. He made his way toward her, dragging his trunk.

People stared shamelessly as he approached. They even pressed their faces against the windows of their compartments to get a look at him.

"Suppose you should be grateful they're not all following you around like Collin was yet," Remus sighed.

He had expected an upswing in the amount of gaping and gawping he would have to endure this term after all the "Chosen One" rumors in the Daily Prophet, but he did not enjoy the sensation of standing in a very bright spotlight. He tapped Ginny on the shoulder, asking if she'd like to find a compartment.

She returned she had to find Dean, but she'd see him later.

"Ouch, getting dismissed all over the place this year," James winced.

"What a sight to behold, little Ginny dismissing the Great Chosen One," Sirius agreed.

Harry found their teasing only mildly less annoying than the staring and chose to ignore them just as well.

He felt a strange twinge of annoyance as she walked away, her long red hair dancing behind her; he had become so used to her presence over the summer that he had almost forgotten that Ginny did not hang around with him, Ron, and Hermione while at school.

"Was she really around that much? You hardly mentioned her more than normal," Lily asked in surprise.

Harry chose not to answer, still in a clear bad mood for the gawkers it seemed.

Then he blinked and looked around: He was surrounded by mesmerized girls until a voice behind him called for his attention and Harry turned in relife to find Neville,

Sirius inhaled deeply, and this time Remus swooped in and jammed his finger into Sirius' ear, causing him to yelp in protest but thankfully not again be able to shout about one of Harry's friends showing up. Sirius rubbed at his ear and called Moony a killjoy, who decided he'd rather be that than Sirius, killer of ears.

with Luna right behind him.

"Luna's back," Sirius said pointedly to Remus, though thankfully he kept it at a decent volume, his hand still protectively on his ear.

"Thank you Sirius, that's quite interesting to know," Remus gently pandered now that he wasn't shouting it.

Harry greeted them gratefully, asking how their summer had gone. She replied very well, already clutching a copy of the Quibbler which promised a free pair of Spectrespecs inside. Harry asked their magazine was still going well, having a fondness for it after giving an interview last year.

"To Rita Skeeter though, we just can't forget that part," James wrinkled his nose at the reminder.

"Worth it," Harry shrugged, it had done him much more good than harm for once.

Luna happily agreed circulation was still up.

Harry offered they should go find seats, and the three of them set off along the train through hordes of silently staring students. At last they found an empty compartment, and Harry hurried inside gratefully.

Neville told they were even being stared at, because they'd been with him.

"Congratulations, they're getting what Ron always wanted," Lily rolled her eyes.

"Hope they enjoy it," Harry sighed.

Harry reminded they were staring because they'd also been at the Ministry, the Daily Prophet had made that clear.

Neville had thought his Gran would be mad about that publicity, but she'd been really pleased, saying at long lost he was living up to his dad.

All five of them made agitated faces at that, honestly wishing Neville would stop being compared to his parents as much as Harry wished the same of late.

She'd already bought him a new wand. He pulled it out and showed it to Harry, proclaiming it as Cherry and unicorn, one of the last Ollivander had sold, as he'd vanished the next day.

"Blimey, Neville's already getting some better luck for his life," Remus winced for the reminder.

Then he shouted for Trevor to get back here.

"Glad to know at least that toad won't let a joke die," Sirius chuckled.

And he dived under the seat to retrieve his toad as it made one of its frequent bids for freedom.

Luna asked, while detaching a pair of psychedelic spectacles from the middle of The Quibbler, if the D. A. meetings would continue this year.

"That's actually a good question I hadn't thought of," Lily agreed at once.

"Won't need to will we, unless we actually manage to get another teacher like Umbridge who refuses to teach us," Harry shrugged, very much hoping his luck wasn't that awful.

"Well yes, but who says you can't still use it to help along students. The classes in general are still majorly behind on most basic curses, as was apparent by Fred and George," Remus reminded.

"Plus study groups actually make doing work more bearable," James agreed.

Harry was a bit surprised they were all so encouraging of an idea that hadn't even crossed his mind, and honestly regret just a bit not continuing with it. Though he wasn't sure how it would have even been possible, considering his Quidditch practices and upcoming lessons with Dumbledore would honestly make his schedule as hectic as last year.

Neville thumped his head under the seat, coming out with a bit of fluff in place with disappointment on his face, saying he'd liked the D. A. He'd learned loads.

Luna serenely agreed it had been like having friends.

"Well that was depressing," Sirius said with chipper what everyone was thinking.

"Surely she has friends," Lily tried at once to say positively as if to the girl herself. "She's been known to hang around with Ginny."

"She said friends plural though, making me wonder how many others besides Ginny," Remus muttered.

This was one of those uncomfortable things Luna often said and which made Harry feel a squirming mixture of pity and embarrassment.

"She's rather good at that, I should be taking notes," James agreed.

Before he could respond, however, there was a disturbance outside their compartment door; a group of fourth-year girls was whispering and giggling together on the other side of the glass, all telling each other to go ask him!

One of them, a bold-looking girl with large dark eyes, a prominent chin, and long black hair pushed her way through the door. She introduced herself as Romilda Vane, and offered he

could come sit with them! She finished in a stage whisper, her eyes on Neville's bum again poking out of the seats and Luna in her psychedelic glasses.

"Romilda clearly has no sense of fun at all, not immediately asking what was going on in there," Sirius scoffed.

"Why would they think Harry would want to sit with them anyways," James scowled. "Who wants to sits with brats two years below them."

Lily honestly wanted to tell James he was being a brat by saying that, but she couldn't disagree with him either.

Harry coldly returned those were his friends, and after an awkward pause, she said okay and left.

"Hopefully that taught her right quick about opening her mouth," Remus rolled his eyes. Confidence could be as much a hindrance if not used correctly, which he'd had seven years to watch.

Luna once again displayed her knack of embarrassing honesty by stating people expected him to have cooler friends.

"Who says they're not cool, I'd hang out with them," Sirius scoffed.

"Harry did," James reminded with a chuckle, thinking this wasn't far off from how his last year had started. If Neville's plant spit up on everyone again and Cho came around it would get eerie.

"I learned my lesson," Harry said smoothly.

Harry at once said they were cool! They hadn't been at the Ministry with him.

Luna beamed at him, telling that was very nice to say, before going to her magazine.

Neville quietly reminded they hadn't faced him though, coming back out with his toad in hand. His Gran kept going on about how that Harry Potter had more backbone than all the Ministry of Magic put together.

"Well that's true," James puffed up his chest with pride.

She'd give anything to have Harry as a grandson.

Sirius made a deep snarling noise, well to aware of the feeling your parent wished to replace you, and wouldn't wish that on anyone else! His noise of disgust was echoed throughout the room, Lily couldn't keep going for a moment she was so depressed anyone could think that about themselves!

Harry laughed uncomfortably and changed the subject to OWL results as soon as he could.

James made a little noise of sympathy for Harry though, he had heard Sirius say much the same and had just as quickly himself diverted the topic, there just wasn't much you could say to that.

While Neville recited his grades and wondered aloud whether he would be allowed to take a Transfiguration NEWT, with only an "Acceptable,"

"Highly doubt it," Remus frowned, mind still lingering on other things.

"Did he at once tell you that? Surely he mentioned his better grades," Lily tried to cajole out something positive of that.

Harry distractedly said no, but he hadn't been listening in great detail to what Neville had been saying either.

Harry watched him without really listening.

Neville's childhood had been blighted by Voldemort just as much as Harry's had, but Neville had no idea how close he had come to having Harry's destiny.

None of them had forgotten this, but they'd been happily side stepping that in the hopes it wouldn't bog Harry down. Clearly it was going to now though.

The prophecy could have referred to either of them, yet, for his own inscrutable reasons, Voldemort had chosen to believe that Harry was the one meant.

Had Voldemort chosen Neville, it would be Neville sitting opposite Harry bearing the lightning-shaped scar and the weight of the prophecy. ... Or would it? Would Neville's mother have died to save him, as Lily had died for Harry? Surely she would. . . . But what if she had been unable to stand between her son and Voldemort? Would there then have been no "Chosen One" at all? An empty seat where Neville now sat and a scarless Harry who would have been kissed goodbye by his own mother, not Ron's?

Lily was near tears by the end of this, and James wasn't feeling much better. Their conviction to change this path Harry had been on suddenly put a cold spin on in it like they'd never have believed. What if they did stop this from happening to their family? Could they still guarantee the same for Neville, put this fate on someone else? Were they condemning another child to this life just to save theirs?

James refused to let himself linger on that, he'd find a way to save his family, Neville, the whole bloody world if he had to! He wasn't going to let this happen again, and he wouldn't hear a thing about it otherwise!

Neville noticed Harry's distraction and asked what was wrong, and Luna inserted she thought there was a Wrackspurt going around.

"Didn't she already mention those?" James demanded with more force than the question called for.

"Not that I've heard, unless you're thinking of the Nargles that were never explained," Remus said lightly.

James hardly heard him any more than he'd realized he'd asked a question.

Then she explained Wrackspurts were invisible, they floated into your ears and made your brain go fuzzy.

"Who knew there was an actual reason for the way Sirius was," Lily halfheartedly poked fun. It really was impossible to get on with just twenty minutes without something depressing dragging them all down of late, even the thought of trying to preserve their own future was doing it now.

Sirius was so distracted he didn't even have a response for her.

She flapped her hands at thin air, as though beating off large invisible moths. Harry and Neville caught each other's eyes and hastily began to talk of Quidditch.

"Which Harry is Captain of!" James burst so loud it was as if he was actively trying to see how loud he could say it.

Harry managed a half-hearted laugh for him, and James kept listening feeling just a bit better he'd managed to shout about something good again.

The weather beyond the train windows was as patchy as it had been all summer; they passed through stretches of the chilling mist, then out into weak, clear sunlight. It was during one of the clear spells, when the sun was visible almost directly overhead, that Ron and Hermione entered the compartment at last.

After greeting them, Ron delivered the news that Malfoy wasn't doing prefect duty.

"He what!" Harry wasn't the only one to shout in surprise, but did keep going, "I didn't even know you could do that."

"I've only known one to," Remus frowned uneasily, "and she had Maledictus, though I don't know what kind. Could barely keep up in the corridors she was so sickly, she certainly didn't want the extra Prefect duties."

Harry had no clue what that was, though understood enough by that to understand it was a sickness you wouldn't want, so instead keep going with determination, "this is proof then! Malfoy is up to something! There's no way he'd give up that power otherwise," he finished with his fist in his hand to prove his point.

"Calm down Harry, nobody in here disagreed with you," Lily half scolded why he was being so adamant about this.

"Right, sorry," he muttered, backing down at once but that triumphant look lingered and James kept going despite his friends still muttering curiously if there could be something else going on.

Harry sat up straight, interested. It was not like Malfoy to pass up the chance to demonstrate his power as prefect, which he had happily abused all the previous year. Harry asked what Malfoy had done when he'd been seen, and Ron said the usual, before demonstrating a rude hand gesture. It wasn't like him, well that was, he did the hand gesture again,

"Was that really necessary, I'm sure we got that all on our own." Lily rolled her eyes.

"He's had his fingers threatened for months, let him enjoy his free range," Sirius chuckled while wagging his own.

but why wasn't he out there bullying first years again.

Harry agreed it was odd, his mind was racing. Didn't this look as though Malfoy had more important things on his mind than bullying younger students?

Hermione pointed out he'd probably preferred the Inquisitorial Squad, and Prefect seemed a bit tame in comparison.

"Not really that crazy," James agreed. "It's almost like he's been demoted after abusing so much power."

Harry looked offended, like he thought he was being dismissed, but forced himself not to snap at him. He was being crazy, they knew something was going on, he didn't need to go shouting at everyone like they were his friends trying to tell him otherwise.

Harry began to disagree before he could expound on his theory, the compartment door slid open again and a breathless third-year girl stepped inside.

"What were you going to say?" Sirius asked.

"Exactly that, I think he's got better things to do this year," Harry sighed, already feeling he had no care for what was fixing to happen and would much rather focus on what he'd been interrupted on. "I was still debating how much farther I was going to keep going though. I trust Neville and Luna of course, but wasn't sure if I was going to tell them what I saw on holiday yet."

"I don't see why not, they know about as much as you do on Malfoy's front, and since you're own friends are driving you nuts, I'm sure at least Luna would have indulged hearing you talk about it," James pointed out.

Harry nodded his agreement, now looking even more agitated by whatever this interruption was.

She was holding out two scrolls of parchment tied with violet ribbon for Neville and Harry. Perplexed, they both took the scroll addressed to each of them and the girl stumbled back out of the compartment.

Ron asked what it was, and Harry explained it as an invitation, not inserting, from Slughorn.

Neville nervously asked why he was invited, as if expecting detention.

"Neville's clearly a name in this future, if to a lesser degree than Harry without all the press. I'm sure Slughorn's heard of his parents anyways," Lily said without surprise.

"Why was Slughorn on the train though?" Harry demanded, he'd been right to be annoyed by this, it seemed pointless already.

"He does it every few years or so, scope out new students and invite the older ones in early, a way to reconnect over the summer before school even kicks in," Lily shrugged.

Harry said no idea, which was not entirely true, though he had no proof yet that his hunch was correct.

"Hasn't seemed to stop you yet," Sirius chucked.

He took the opportunity to ask Neville to come with him under the Cloak, so they could spy on the Slytherin Compartment on the way there.

"I completely forgot now Luna and Neville know about your cloak, as well as Ginny if she didn't before," James blinked in surprise.

"Least Neville's getting a new experience out of this," Sirius grinned.

This idea, however, came to nothing: The corridors, which were packed with people on the lookout for the lunch trolley, were impossible to negotiate while wearing the cloak. Harry stowed it regretfully back in his bag, reflecting that it would have been nice to wear it just to avoid all the staring, which seemed to have increased in intensity even since he had last walked down the train. Every now and then, students would hurtle out of their compartments to get a better look at him. The exception was Cho Chang, who darted into her compartment when she saw Harry coming.

"No love loss there eh?" James couldn't help but tease.

Harry didn't even change colors for this, just shrugged while his mind lingered on other things.

As Harry passed the window, he saw her deep in determined conversation with her friend Marietta, who was wearing a very thick layer of makeup that did not entirely obscure the odd formation of pimples still etched across her face.

Lily couldn't help but frown severely for that. "Honestly, was Hermione's curse permanent? That's well going beyond what the girl deserved, making the decision she did. Did she really ruin another girl's life with that?"

"I really don't think so, it was fading, slowly," Harry shrugged. "Certainly at the end of last year even that wouldn't have hidden it as well, so I'm positive given another month it'll be gone."

Lily still looked a bit tart, but couldn't hold it onto her forever so long as Hermione hadn't.

Smirking slightly, Harry pushed on.

When they reached compartment C, they saw at once that they were not Slughorn's only invitees, although judging by the enthusiasm of Slughorn's welcome, Harry was the most warmly anticipated.

Slughorn jumped right to his feet, his velvet-covered belly seemed to fill all the remaining space in the compartment. His shiny bald head and great silvery mustache gleamed as brightly in the sunlight as the golden buttons on his waistcoat.

His reaction to Neville was just as cordial if less bouncy.

They didn't need to ask how Harry felt about this, his unimpressed look spoke volumes. He'd no more cottoned onto all Slughorn could offer from Dumbledore's and their own explanations than decided he wanted to master potions.

Neville nodded, looking scared. At a gesture from Slughorn, they sat down opposite each other in the only two empty seats, which were nearest the door. Harry glanced around at their fellow guests. He recognized a Slytherin from their year, a tall black boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes; there were also two seventh-year boys Harry did not know and, squashed in the corner beside Slughorn and looking as though she was not entirely sure how she had got there, Ginny.

"Ouch, how'd Ginny end up in there and not Ron?" Sirius asked.

"I've no idea, but she doesn't seem any more pleased with it than I was," Harry said with a bit of sympathy, wishing he could swap places with Slughorn to at least let Ginny breath a bit.

Slughorn began introducing everyone for those who needed them, starting with Blaise Zabini in their year, of Slytherin.

Zabini did not make any sign of recognition or greeting, nor did Harry or Neville: Gryffindor and Slytherin students loathed each other on principle.

Lily clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes while the boys grinned.

Then there was Cormac McLaggen, perhaps they'd crossed paths already.

Harry then imitated his mother, rolling his eyes heavily and not at all enjoying the sensation telling him he'd rather forget this one all over again.

McLaggen, a large, wiry-haired youth, raised a hand, and Harry and Neville nodded back at him.

That was Marcus Belby who was thin and nervous-looking, gave a strained smile while Slughorn finished they both knew this charming young lady.

Ginny grimaced at Harry and Neville from behind Slughorn's back.

"As welcome a greeting as Zambini's from that," Remus snickered

He had them all sit down and offered them food he'd brought along, the trolley's tendency to stock licorice wands wasn't good for a poor old mans digestive.

"Considering the man's favorite treat is Crystallized Pineapple, I wouldn't hold him to that," Lily said with the same old indulgence she'd used for seven years when speaking to Slughorn. She couldn't believe how much she was enjoying hearing about him again interacting with a new round of students, she felt like she could have been in there chatting along with the whole thing. It was all too easy to picture the man wagging his finger in reprove at her for giving that away already.

Belby accepted what looked like half a cold pheasant from Slughorn, who began asking him about his Uncle Damocles, who'd gained an Order of Merlin. Did he see much of him?

Unfortunately, Belby had just taken a large mouthful of pheasant; in his haste to answer Slughorn he swallowed too fast, turned purple, and began to choke.

Slughorn calmly vanished it with the spell Anapneo, pointing his wand at Belby, whose airway seemed to clear at once.

Belby gasped, his eyes streaming, not much of him.

Slughorn agreed he was a busy man, what with inventing the Wolfsbane Potion.

"Well this conversation just got a lot more interesting," James muttered while Remus shifted around, not sure how to feel about that being brought up again. Considering it had last been spoken of ruining Sirius' life because of him, not ecstatic, but if he could actually find a way to make that a routine part of his life...

Belby, seemed afraid to take another bite of pheasant until he was sure that Slughorn had finished with him and halfheartedly agreed.

"Frightening the kid into not eating, this man really knows how to push buttons," Sirius huffed.

He admitted his didn't get on with his uncle very well, so he really didn't see him at all.

His voice trailed away as Slughorn gave him a cold smile and turned to McLaggen instead.

"And that's Belby gone from the group," James mimed pointing his wand at nothing and blowing it away.

"Because he doesn't keep in contact with an Uncle? He might still be really good at something even so," Harry defended.

"Doesn't have many proper connections though, to get him many places," Lily reminded. "Or he's not yet realized he should be mentioning those."

Slughorn turned towards Cormac then, saying he knew he spent time with his Uncle Tiberius because he'd seen a picture of the two hunting nogtails on his desk in Norfolk.

"Fascinating creatures, I think they should be studied much more than they're given the chance," Remus began babbling at once with a sad little frown that hunting them was such a popular sport.

"You can only run one off with a pure white hound, and they're known to curse the farm they locate to by suckling on a mother pig, but I'd love to see more studies of the extent-"

"Just remember if you bring one of those home, I can't run it off," Sirius rolled his eyes before waving James on while Remus continued muttering to himself.

McLaggen at once agreed that had been great fun, Bertie Higgs and Rufus Scrimgeour had come along as well, before he'd become Minister of course.

Slughorn beamed he knew them as well.

"I think McLaggen just became his new poster child," James scrunched up his face at this kid somehow managing all that, though trying hard not to yet judge him as pompous as the rest of the Slug Club ended up being. Lily of course never went the same way, so he was trying to be mature here.

now offering around a small tray of pies; somehow, Belby was missed out.

Harry huffed and muttered he wished he'd noticed that before he'd swallowed his own.

It was as Harry had suspected. Everyone here seemed to have been invited because they were connected to somebody well-known or influential, except Ginny.

"I'd consider Arthur well-known and influential from what little we've been able to hear about his life," Lily rolled her eyes.

"Maybe Slughorn recognizes he made a mistake missing him and won't do it again with the first female Weasley in seven generations," Remus shrugged.

Zabini, who was interrogated after McLaggen, turned out to have a famously beautiful witch for a mother (from what Harry could make out, she had been married seven times, each of her husbands dying mysteriously and leaving her mounds of gold).

"Right," Sirius grumbled while making a face.

It was Neville's turn next: This was a very uncomfortable ten minutes, for Neville's parents, well-known Aurors, had been tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange and a couple of Death Eater cronies. At the end of Neville's interview, Harry had the impression that Slughorn was reserving judgment on Neville, yet to see whether he had any of his parents' flair.

All five of them were shifting uncomfortably by the end of this, all knowing Neville didn't need anyone's validation to know how good he was without his parents constantly being brought up, and wished the world would realize that same as Harry.

Slughorn shifted towards Harry last with the air of a compere introducing his star act. He contemplated Harry for a moment as though he was a particularly large and succulent piece of pheasant,

"Lovely mental image," James' scowl increased, he could still distaste Slughorn even while cheering in the background better this than hearing Snape again.

and began with his title of him being the Chosen One.

Harry said nothing. Belby, McLaggen, and Zabini were all staring at him.

When Harry didn't respond Slughorn kept going, saying there had been rumors for years about him, that terrible night, word already was out how extraordinary he was.

Zabini gave a tiny little cough that was clearly supposed to indicate amused skepticism.

"I don't need a Slytherin in the conversation to know when I've heard such loaded dung thank you!" Sirius snapped.

Harry tried for an awkward laugh that couldn't get through, no matter how many times this was mentioned it just wasn't easy to hear.

An angry voice burst out from behind Slughorn, telling Zabini he was so talented with his posing!

Slughorn chuckled comfortably, looking around at Ginny, who was glaring at Zabini around Slughorn's great belly.

"Ginny really is just growing better with every mention," Sirius smirked, cackles smoothing at once at least someone in there would keep them on their toes.

He warned Blaise should be careful, he'd caught this young lady performing quite the Bat-Bogey hex. She wasn't to be crossed.

"Concurred," James needlessly agreed while Harry smirked without surprise.

Zabini merely looked contemptuous.

Slughorn went right back to Harry, open endedly saying the Prophet had been saying a lot, though it was known to make a few mistakes,

"Tiny, minuscule ones, wouldn't even notice them, why bother," Remus snipped for this being so dismissed.

but there was no doubt he'd been in the thick of it all with the disturbance at the Ministry.

Harry, who could not see any way out of this without flatly lying, nodded but still said nothing. Slughorn beamed at him, calling him modest, but there was no need to downplay the sensational stories, of a fabled prophecy even-

Neville interrupted to say that had been smashed, no one had heard it.

"Thank Merlin for Neville," Lily sighed in relief, she'd hug him right now for getting Harry out of that no matter how unentinally.

Ginny agreed at once, the Prophet was just making up things as usual with that Chosen One nonsense.

Slughorn seemed undeterred, looking to both of them with just as much interest they'd been there to. Both of them sat clam-like before his encouraging smile.

"Not going to get a great story out of this one," Sirius sneered.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll forget our invitation along with Belby's," Harry said dully without any real hope.

Finally he agreed how things could get away from people, why Gweong Jones, of the Holyhead Harpies, had just been telling him-

Harry's good mood swung back at once though, for no reason he could tell, he could just imagine for some reason at least Ginny got a kick out of that conversation.

He meandered off into a long-winded reminiscence, but Harry had the distinct impression that Slughorn had not finished with him, and that he had not been convinced by Neville and Ginny.

"A crying shame, I know I'm done with having him around," Sirius mocked with a smirk at Harry.

"Thank's Sirius, it's about time," Harry smiled.

The afternoon wore on with more anecdotes about illustrious wizards Slughorn had taught, all of whom had been delighted to join what he called the "Slug Club" at Hogwarts.

"Really couldn't have picked a worse name," Remus crinkled up his nose.

"Don't know what you're talking about, it speaks volumes about it's members already, certainly the head fat slimy git," James happily tuned Lily in to many of their jokes growing up with this. She merely rolled her eyes and ignored them.

Harry could not wait to leave, but couldn't see how to do so politely.

"I'm starting to regret the fact you even have manners sometimes," Sirius sighed, he knew he'd walked out of there long before this part with Prongs right behind him.

Finally the train emerged from yet another long misty stretch into a red sunset, and Slughorn looked around, blinking in the twilight. Amazed it was sunset, he set them all free, though gave McLaggen in particular the invite to come see him soon for a book on nogtails he'd mentioned. Everyone else except Belby were departed by name.

As he pushed past Harry into the darkening corridor, Zabini shot him a filthy look that Harry returned with interest. He, Ginny, and Neville followed Zabini back along the train.

Neville sighed gratefully that was over, what a strange man.

Harry agreed while asking Ginny how she'd wound up in there.

Ginny shrugged he'd seen her hex Zacharias Smith.

All of them whooped with further laughter, that story just got ten times better.

They remembered that idiot Hufflepuff from the D. A.

"Hard to forget someone with a nose up his own arse," Sirius agreed.

He'd kept on and on asking about what happened at the Ministry and in the end he annoyed her so much she hexed him.

"Perfectly reasonable," James agreed.

When Slughorn came in she'd thought she was going to get detention, but he just thought it was a really good hex and invited her to lunch! Mad, eh?

"Best reason he's ever invited anyone to those things!" Remus disagreed.

Harry loudly said it was better than being invited along because of a famous mother, his eyes still on Zabini's back.

"I'm glad you agree Harry," Sirius said with such enthusiasm he didn't even take his crack at pointing out the two had essentially said the same thing.

Then he stopped, an idea occurring to him, a reckless but potentially wonderful idea...

"You seem to get those a lot," Lily sighed.

"I blame you," James happily told his wife. "Whenever I got them, a corridor just got filled with all the suits of armor in the castle. Whenever you got them, you put yourself in the hospital wing for a potion experiment, so it's really all you he gets it from."

"I resent that," she halfheartedly defended, "I never went about spying on anyone for fun, that was far more up your alley!"

"Fine then, he gets it from both of you being insane," Sirius happily inserted. James seemed satisfied enough to go onto the actual idea while Lily made a face at him.

In a minute's time, Zabini was going to reenter the Slytherin sixth-year compartment and Malfoy would be sitting there,

"Why on Earth would you think that?" Remus blinked in surprise. "Does he hang around with Malfoy often? You well know the students don't get their own compartments by grade and house."

"I saw them all in there all the other years, they tended to band together," Harry defended. "Sorry I've never mentioned it before."*

thinking himself unheard by anybody except fellow Slytherins... If Harry could only enter, unseen, behind him, what might he not see or hear?

"Them all congratulating themselves for being part of the an elite human species. Idiots." Sirius told Harry in disbelief.

"Or something like what Malfoy's up to," Harry said pointedly.

"Narcissa made it clear this was top secret information, Bellatrix was surprised when Snape knew," Lily reminded. "So Malfoy's not likely to be blabbing it around."

"I didn't know that at the time," Harry reminded. "I just wanted proof of what he was doing."

"You might get something then, you are fairly good at picking up on details," James went on curiously.

True, there was little of the journey left, Hogsmeade Station had to be less than half an hour away, judging by the wildness of the scenery flashing by the windows, but nobody else seemed prepared to take Harry's suspicions seriously,

Sirius at once insisted, "I'm telling you, I'd totally believe you!"

"I know Sirius," Harry said quietly, trying to force a laugh again, but now all the more determined he could pull off something he was sure the Marauders would approve of, no matter how much they thought it a goofy idea at the beginning.

so it was down to him to prove it.

Quickly telling the other two he'd catch up later, he slipped on the Cloak and hurried away before either could ask why. Darting after Zabini as quietly as possible, though the rattling of the train made such caution almost pointless, the corridors were almost completely empty now. Nearly everyone had returned to their carriages to change into their school robes and pack up their possessions. Though he was as close as he could get to Zabini without touching him, Harry was not quick enough to slip into the compartment when Zabini opened the door. Zabini was already sliding it shut when Harry hastily stuck out his foot to prevent it closing.

He angrily began smashing the door repeatedly on Harry's foot.

Harry let out a hiss of breath in remembered pain, shifting his foot uncomfortably, and ignoring the almost pitying look of those around him. He didn't want to hear what better idea they would have come up with to avoid that happening, but Sirius gave it anyways. "It's too bad you didn't bring an extendable ear with you, or even just manage to leave a crack in the door they wouldn't have noticed. Then you could have stayed on the outside and avoided this problem of actually slipping in."

"You lot just come up with the best strategies sitting around comfortably in here," Harry grumbled, though admittedly he was just as sure they would have come up with that on the spot, they'd trained their minds to think up such on the spot lies and solutions, as they so constantly reminded him.

Harry seized the door and pushed it open, hard; Zabini, still clinging on to the handle, toppled over sideways into Gregory Goyle's lap, and in the ensuing ruckus, Harry darted into the compartment, leapt onto Zabini's temporarily empty seat, and hoisted himself up into the luggage rack. It was fortunate that Goyle and Zabini were snarling at each other, drawing all eyes onto them, for Harry was quite sure his feet and ankles had been revealed as the cloak had flapped around them; indeed, for one horrible moment he thought he saw Malfoy's eyes follow his trainer as it whipped upward out of sight. But then Goyle slammed the door shut and flung Zabini off him; Zabini collapsed into his own seat looking ruffled, Vincent Crabbe returned to his comic, and Malfoy, sniggering, lay back down across two seats with his head in Pansy Parkinsons lap.

"That right there was almost worth the price you going in," Sirius laughed heartily, imaging all those dumbfounded expressions for this happening.

"I'm now regretting not pulling more stunts on the train like doors randomly opening, would have been a kick," James agreed.

"Best we didn't, wouldn't want the trolley lady giving us hell if she caught us," Remus pointed out. "She might have withheld snacks from us," he finished with a horrified look.

"I wouldn't put it past her to tell McGonagall though, so I guess it's best," Sirius sighed.

Harry lay curled uncomfortably under the cloak to ensure that every inch of him remained hidden, and watched Pansy stroke the sleek blond hair off Malfoy's forehead, smirking as she did so, as though anyone would have loved to have been in her place.

Lily in particular had a crude look on her face, that sounded like a punishment, pampering such a toerag.

The lanterns swinging from the carriage ceiling cast a bright light over the scene: Harry could read every word of Crabbe's comic directly below him.

Malfoy casually asked of Zabini what Slughorn had wanted, and while still glowering at Goyle he answered their new teacher was just trying to make up with well-connected people. Not that he'd managed to find many.

Malfoy was clearly displeased with that information, demanding who all had been invited?

"Not him? Oh, the horror!" Sirius managed a simpering impression of a teenage girl.

"The horrifying part is, he might have actually got one the year before his father lost so much favor," James crinkled his face in disgust.

McLaggen from Gryffindor, Zabini began listing off,

"I didn't realize he was a Gryffindor," Lily said in surprise.

"Shows how much Harry pays attention to even his fellow students in his house," James shrugged without much concern, though there hadn't yet been anything wrong with him, it was still annoying he'd been a prime example of everything wrong with that Club.

-Malfoy agreed he had a big Uncle in the Ministry-

Belby, from Ravenclaw, Zabini continued-

Pansy referred to him as a prat.

"Been liking him more and more lately on principle," Remus rolled his eyes.

Zabini finished with the last three Gryffindors.

Malfoy sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy's hand aside, demanding Longbottom had been invited!

"I really am glad Neville outranks me on the scale of his outrage," Harry shook his head.

Zabini indifferently agreed he assumed so, since he'd been there.

Malfoy demanded what about Longbottom had Slughorn interested?

Zabini shrugged.

Malfoy went on to sneer about Potter, that was obvious, him being the Chosen One.

Then Harry sighed without surprise that had come soon after. He'd have to be sure to mention to Neville he wasn't in fact the person Malfoy hated most though, perhaps he'd get lucky and Neville would put Malfoy in a dress and feathered hat for him next.

That Weasley girl though, what was so special about her?

Pansy pointed out a lot of boys liked her, obviously watching Malfoy for a reaction.

Harry felt his blood start boiling at once at the idea, that was ridiculous! Of course Ginny was good looking, but surely Pansy was just being her usual pugnacious self!

Even Blaise had mentioned how good-looking she was, and they all knew how hard he was to please.

"Her exact sentiments as well I'm sure," Sirius rolled his eyes while Lily giggled a bit at the expression on her sons face, he looked far more agitated by this than she would have thought. He really must have grown fond of her over the summer.

Zabini coldly replied he wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor no matter what she looked like.

"Well at least he won't turn out like his mother," Remus snarked.

Pansy looked pleased. Malfoy sank back across her lap and allowed her to resume the stroking of his hair.

"Allowed her," James couldn't help but repeat that like speaking of curdled milk, it really was odd to think of Malfoy having a girlfriend.

Malfoy decided he didn't think much of Slughorn's taste in all, a shame, as his father had spoken of him highly in his old days. Slughorn probably just hadn't heard he was on the train-

Zabini cut in to point out Slughorn didn't seem to have an interest in Death Eaters, Nott hadn't gotten an invitation either.

"The one good thing that man has going for him," Sirius sighed.

"As if they need a way to make more connections," James agreed solemnly.

Malfoy looked angry, but forced out a singularly humorless laugh. Deciding who cared then, he was just some stupid teacher.

Remus went wide eyed in mock concern. "Of course! Now next time, try backtracking before you go out of your way to show how much you care, it'll come off much better."

"Why couldn't you be on the train again Moony," Sirius muttered.

Malfoy yawned ostentatiously before declaring he might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what did it matter.

"Considering I already had my fingers crossed he wouldn't be there this year, I refuse to get my hopes up again," James grumbled.

Pansy indignantly demanded what he meant by that, ceasing grooming Malfoy at once.

He just smirked when he told he'd soon be moving on to bigger and better things.

Harry perked up with interest in the conversation again, easily distracted from picturing Ginny releasing a few more Bat-Bogey Hexes in this compartment again. This was exactly what he'd been in there to hear!

Crouched in the luggage rack under his cloak, Harry's heart began to race. What would Ron and Hermione say about this?

"Probably dismiss it again," Harry pessimistically answered himself.

"They haven't dismissed anything love," Lily patiently corrected, clearly determined to stop him griping about this. "They just need more to go on than you. It's not that they don't believe you, they know you're right, they're just not as convinced it's as terrible as you seem to think."

Harry looked simmered at least, though not at all comforted he hadn't found himself as wrong as he found her right.

Crabbe and Goyle were gawping at Malfoy; apparently they had had no inkling of any plans to move on to bigger and better things. Even Zabini had allowed a look of curiosity to mar his haughty features.

"Praise Merlin!" Sirius mock raised a glass.

"I'm not thankful we don't have to hear about him more, as if we needed to hear of more smug expressions," Remus told him with an obvious look Sirius happily ignored.

Pansy resumed the slow stroking of Malfoy's hair, looking dumbfounded.

Clearly enjoying the attention, Malfoy continued his mother wanted him to complete his education, but did the Dark Lord care about N. E. W. T. grades? Of course not, it was about service and devotion that mattered when the time came.

"I really hate it when he's not wrong," James sighed.

"At least he's right in all the wrong ways," Sirius said with mock chipper.

Zabini scathingly returned Malfoy thought himself a fully qualified wizard to be doing anything like that.

Malfoy returned maybe the job he was going for didn't require a fully qualified adult.

James hadn't meant for his voice to go so quiet at the end, but he certainly hadn't been expecting Malfoy to bring up something so casually that had reduced his mother to tears and pleading.

Narcissa hadn't been joking when she'd said Malfoy was eager to be doing this. Maybe not anytime soon, but even then Malfoy was impling whatever this job was wasn't far off in the future.

Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with their mouths open like gargoyles. Pansy was gazing down at Malfoy as though she had never seen anything so awe inspiring.

The moment was broken by Sirius snorting viciously and snapping, "here I thought she'd get that expression any time she tried to look in a mirror without breaking one!"

"Those poor deluded kids have no idea what they're hearing," Lily gave a resounded agreement.

Malfoy then chose to change the subject by pointing out he could see the castle in the distance, and got up to get his robes.

Harry was so busy staring at Malfoy, he did not notice Goyle reaching up for his trunk; as he swung it down, it hit Harry hard on the side of the head. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and Malfoy looked up at the luggage rack, frowning.

"Uhoh," all five of them muttered in unease. Harry was pinned with five against one, that wouldn't be a friendly fight even with his slight advantage of getting the first surprise attack in.

Harry was not afraid of Malfoy, but he still did not much like the idea of being discovered hiding under his Invisibility Cloak by a group of unfriendly Slytherins. Eyes still watering and head still throbbing, he drew his wand, careful not to disarrange the cloak, and waited, breath held. To his relief, Malfoy seemed to decide that he had imagined the noise; he pulled on his robes like the others, locked his trunk, and as the train slowed to a jerky crawl, fastened a thick new traveling cloak round his neck.

Harry could see the corridors filling up again and hoped that Hermione and Ron would take his things out onto the platform for him;

"I have no doubt they'll grab Hedwig for you," Lily distractedly agreed, wishing he'd get out of there already, but knowing he had to wait anyways for them all to leave. It was only a slight relief Malfoy hadn't noticed anything, but they were all acutely aware now how much trouble Harry could have potentially gotten himself into, and it wasn't much fun now.

he was stuck where he was until the compartment had quite emptied. At last, with a final lurch, the train came to a complete halt. Goyle threw the door open and muscled his way out into a crowd of second years, punching them aside;

"It's good to know they really are as terrible as the one they follow around," James rolled his eyes.

Crabbe and Zabini followed, but Malfoy had to wave Pansy out, saying he wanted to check on something.

Pansy left. Now Harry and Malfoy were alone in the compartment. People were filing past, descending onto the dark platform. Malfoy moved over to the compartment door and let down the blinds, so that people in the corridor beyond could not peer in. He then bent down over his trunk and opened it again.

The others perked up with interest at once, thinking that would have been worth it if they could know something so early of what Malfoy was up to, while Harry sank back uneasily in his seat, not at all getting a good feeling about this.

Harry peered down over the edge of the luggage rack, his heart pumping a little faster. What had Malfoy wanted to hide from Pansy? Was he about to see the mysterious broken object it was so important to mend?

He was not expecting the spell Petrificus Totalus to be shot right at him.**

Sirius was so surprised a spell had come out of James' mouth he accidentally drew his wand and shot a hex right back at him, causing the book to sail away along with his glasses.

"Really Sirius? Was that necessary?" Remus asked him as James scowled and summoned them back.

"You were just as thrown by that as I was!" Sirius defended.

"Least I didn't try to throw him across the room for it," Remus rolled his eyes.

Lily had yelped in surprise and tried to jump away from James, they'd all startled hard at a spell of all things coming out of his mouth!

"Bloody hell, I take it back!" James groaned as he gazed at that and back to his son, unphased by his best mate, eyes only on his kid. "Don't you ever do this again without backup!"

Harry just nodded with a resigned expression in place, he wasn't looking forward to the shock wearing off and all of them realizing he'd just been bested by Malfoy!

Without warning, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry, who was instantly paralyzed. As though in slow motion, he toppled out of the luggage rack and fell, with an agonizing, floor-shaking crash, at Malfoy's feet, the Invisibility Cloak trapped beneath him, his whole body revealed with his legs still curled absurdly into the cramped kneeling position. He couldn't move a muscle; he could only gaze up at Malfoy, who smiled broadly.

Lily groaned and put her face in her hands, while the boys as well looked miserable for how this was going to go. Harry would be lucky to leave with tentacles on his face, for all the revenge Malfoy could give of the past few train rides.

Malfoy jubilantly declared he'd known as much, he'd heard Goyle's trunk hit him and seen his shoes when he'd come in.

"Pity he's really not as stupid as he looks," Sirius ground out, clutching his wand tight and wishing more every second he could retaliate in some way against someone who deserved it.

He continued Potter hadn't heard anything he cared about, but just for good measure, he stamped hard on Harry's face. Harry felt his nose break; blood spurted everywhere.***

Harry couldn't help but cover his nose now, his face still leary of what was to come next, while James hissed in outrage for an extra moment before noticing this part was almost done. He couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

That was for his father. Malfoy dragged the cloak out from under Harry's immobilized body and threw it over him, deciding no one would be looking for him until he was back in London. Guess he wouldn't be seeing him around.

And taking care to tread on Harry's fingers, Malfoy left the compartment.

Not, most definitely not!

"Of all the cowardly, black-hearted things to do!" Sirius snarled in outrage. "He's just going to leave you there!"

"I- what's going to happen to me!" Harry demanded in a panic. It had certainly been funny enough to do the same to Malfoy back at Nine and Three-Quarters the past two years, but not at Hogsmeade station!

"I, honestly have no clue, never tried," James groaned as he passed Sirius the book, no one looking forward to finding out.

HPHPHP

*The Hand of Glory and this are both guilty of just randomly inserting things that apparently should have been common knowledge. Zabini hangs around Malfoy though he's never been mentioned since his sorting, Malfoy just apparently has a hand of Glory though it was mentioned all of one time in book two Malfoy certainly didn't own. I feel like this was one of those moments JK just made up something on the spot and obviously by this point didn't have a chance to go back and put in, leaving me unable to help noticing both of these would very obviously be important later. One out of two was.

** I think JK meant Stupify, as that one paralyzes you the way you are, where as Petrificus Totalus has all your limbs snapping together before you do the same.

***Four people to do with that Prophecy have their noses broken. Voldemort doesn't have one, Neville got his broken last year in the Department of Mysteries, Dumbledore by Aberforth all those years ago, and now Harry here. If something had happened to Trelawney's nose, I would have thought it was some curse of Prophecy type thing for this to happen.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #HBP #HP #Marauders #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter #The Life That Never Lived

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