#What hope is there for a criminal that was forced into repentance

[breadedsinner]

I think an overlying theme across all 3 of my canon girls and their relationships is "I need to believe there's hope for you, so that I can believe there's hope for me, too,".

[sunnynwanda]

Hi! I’m reading through your master list and I saw that you asked for people to let you know if it was convenient, and it is! My only recommendation would be to add little descriptions under the links to tell us about what the story/oneshot/prompt is about so when scrolling through we know what we’re clicking on. Hope that helps! :]

Hi!

First of all, thank you for reaching out. I finally got my hands on doing this rec.

So, what do we think? I can make this the main masterlist or leave a link to it like a sort of extention (since it's so long). Everyone's opinion is welcomed. Thank you~

Hero and Villain Oneshots

Standards

When Villain barges in to kidnap Hero, they expect anything but to find Hero fast asleep on the couch, too exhausted to even make it to bed. So, taking care of them was only natural, right?

Newspaper clippings

When Villain found newspaper clippings from five years ago in their attic, they did not expect to see their own face on them. Even more surprising was the face of their spouse on it.

A dance with the enemy

The reception Hero was forced to attend proved to be an unbearable ordeal until the arrival of one particular guest.

Wedding bells 

Walking down the aisle to marry their nemesis had to be a dream... right?

Betrayal 

When Villain first met Hero, they did not expect to fall in love. What they did expect was the betrayal that followed.

Surrender 

On the virtues of oral communication or how to confess your feelings when you're an idiot.

Turn of events 

Shooting your nemesis by accident is bad enough, but when they're secretly your lover? Just Hero's luck.

Sea waters 

A twist of faith that led to the end of Villain and their Hero.

Repent

On how Hero's gift and memories turn into a curse.

Errors in translation

Hero's linguistic challenges with terms of hatred and affection.

Friends & Enemies

Two idiots stumbling over their own words or accidental confessions after a particularly rough day.

A solution *

Hero's mission is to find a solution to a problem. Or more than one.

Entertained *

Villain might just have an idea on keeping Hero entertained after their resignation.

Trouble of Mind

Hero learns that reading Villain's mind was a mistake the hard way.

Seduction Subversion *

When Hero decides to seduce Villain to keep them occupied for a night, they do not expect it to become a regular thing.

Supervillain is sick

Supervillain gets sick. Very, very sick. Will someone help him or is life about to get much, much worse for the master criminal?

[In]sanity

When Villain's lifeless body hit the floor, so did Hero's heart.

Similarity

Supervillain and Villain look eerily similar. Neither will acknowledge it.

Uccellino

When Hero uses the nickname given to Villain by their lover, their blood stills in their veins.

Creation

Villain was bored when they created life, infecting Hero's perfect creation with humans.

Reaching out

Villain does their best to push Hero away, for reasons. But will it work on Hero?

Villain & Sidekick

When the Villain falls in love with a mistreated Sidekick.

Rules to break

Rules to Villainy are meant to be broken.

[Im]balance

Villain's victory proves to be a bitter pill for them to swallow.

Making amends

Villain can forgive getting their arm broken by accident, but they draw the line at pity.

Soulitary

A prison guard's guide to befriending a supervillain.

Meet the parents

The one where Villain meets their Hero's parents, only to be faced by the greatest surprise.

Even odds

On academic rivals and evening out the odds.

Hellbent

A tale of Hero's gruesome crimes and Villain's revenge.

House of memories

After discovering their villainous past and defeat, Villain confronts Hero. Part 2 to the Newspaper clippings snippet.

Point of No Return

When the game takes a tragic turn, Hero has to make a choice.

Two to Tango *

Villain is being a little shit, leaving Hero no choice but to punish them.

In the Heat *

Negotiations gone wrong... or right.

Something Blue

Villain knew attending Hero's wedding was a bad idea, but he refused to be a coward again.

Heal me

Hero has a particular way of healing injuries, and Villain seems to enjoy it more than they care to admit.

Ruin

Waking the sleeping dog (aka Supervillain) might just be a bad idea.

Master

When Hero goes missing, Villain knows they need to find them. Little did they know that finding the dehumanised Hero would be the least of their concerns.  

Do Your Worst

Villain was stoic. Or so Hero thought, until an intoxicated encounter revealed a side of them Hero never anticipated to discover.

Spicy margarita

A spicy drink and a flirty Hero to make Villain's evening worth it.

Not his day

Being a doctor means having to treat even the stupidly stubborn Hero. And if Villain's first instinct is to choke her to death for being an idiot? Well, he'll have to manage.

Dream

When Villain takes the attack aimed for Hero, they are left broken beyond anything they've ever experienced before. Unwilling to be a burden, Villain dissapears.

New Toy

Superhero had just defeated the previous villain when the rookie villain popped up out of nowhere, looking criminally cute and flustered beyond imagination.

Bite me

Walking through an abandoned park at night was not the smartest idea, but it lead to interesting revelations concerning cute vampires and overly willing victims.

Birthday

Hero is a bit too excited for Villain's birthday.

Blow *

Hero needs cigarettes to relax, but Villain hates the smoke, so they have to get creative when it comes to helping Hero relax.

Hero and Villain Series

Wedding Date         Part 1      Part 2       Part 3       Part 4

Asking Hero to be their fake date to a wedding was not Villain's proudest moment, but it might end up being the best decision after all. Especially when their grandmother seems to approve.

True enemy              Part 1       Part 2

When Hero is attacked by someone far stronger than they can take, Villain is forced to reveal two things: their identity as the strongest villain in the history of existence and their affection for their sunflower of a hero.

Blind or Blinded      Part 1      Part 2

When Hero agreed to a blind date with their colleague’s good friend, they expected anyone but Villain to show up.

Kill me softly            Part 1      Part 2

An unexpected request by Hero that causes Villain to pull the biggest stunt they'd ever performed.

The Darkside           Part 1      Part 2 *      Part 3      Part 4

After Villain's escape from Supervillain's headquarters exposes the true nature of Hero's mentor, they have no choice but to investigate. But the things that they unearth still the blood in Hero's veins, leading them down the path of vengeance.

Done                         Part 1 *     Part 2 *

Villain is bored out of their mind, the confrontations no longer providing the thrill they crave. Hero decides to give them a different kind of rush.

The Lab Night Part 1 Part 2 * Part 3

Getting locked in a lab with your nemesis for the entire night is bad enough - but having to inhale aphrodisiacs all the while is so, so much worse.

Temptation Part 1 Part 2 *

Maybe pissing Hero off was not Villain's best bet, but they're damn sure Hero has never had a Christmas quite like this one - and neither have they.

Under the influence Part 1 * Part 2

What's a Hero to do when their Villain is drunk beyond belief and tries to hit on them?

Black hole Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

When Hero wakes up from a fever dream with a wedding ring on their finger and a wound between their ribs, they are forced to confront another constant in their dreams - Villain. Continuation for the Wedding bells snippet.

The Game Part 1 Part 2

Hero should have suspected something was off when Villain did not protest getting arrested, but who's to say they're not playing a game of their own?

Drop Dead Part 1 Part 2 *

Villain can't help flirting with Hero. Hero can't seem to take a hint.

Audio recording of my Betrayal story by Relm Works

Dragon stories 

Of dragons and princesses

When the dragon kidnaps a princess, he expects a knight to show up for her first thing in the morning. What he does not expect is that he won't be as willing to let her go.

Dragon in distress

When the news of the Princess’ kidnapping reach the Prince, he sets out on a quest to the Dragon’s lair. Except he’s not rushing to save the damsel. It’s the Dragon that needs saving from her.

The Legends of Vishaps

(Original characters)

The Escape

When Vanki is brought in front of the King for trespassing, he is terrified of being executed. But the King seems to have other intentions.

The Beginning

The day Vanki meets the King's children is the day that marks the beginning of his new life.

[straightlightyagami]

decided to make a separate poast too. Um hi I was inspired by this post about how there are not enough Death Note fics about Light being scary/the average person's view of Kira so I decided to do that. but it's about like, a criminal's view of Kira. decided to post on tumblr too. um yeah as I said. it's short (~1.5k words) and (probably not) sweet. i made sure to include a lot of Themes and Literary Devices and stuff like that hope u notice them. (ao3 link)

content warning for a lot of murder (same as canon) also religious themes

There were whispers. Rumors. Even in a facility designed to keep society safe from its worst, its inhabitants were not truly sequestered. Nor cut off enough to be shielded from forces outside it. They did not expect to ever leave – escape is impossible, there are always eyes watching – but once, in another life, they had lived in the shadows, and so could see things others would miss, hidden from the light.

The first time he heard about the thing no prisoner dared to say aloud was from a guard. The guard was new on the job, and young, even younger than himself, barely old enough to be a man. The guard had hesitated a moment after passing him and his cellmate their food through the slot, then said the words quietly. They say God is passing judgment on the scum of the Earth. Like you. Over a thousand dead in the past week. All around the world. Killers, rapists, corrupt officials and executives. All cardiac arrest. Then the guard turned abruptly and left, not waiting for a response. The prisoner shared a look with his cellmate. He may have been stupid to end up with a life like that, but not stupid enough to believe such a story. Yeah, and poorly behaved children get eaten by Baba Yaga.

The scum of the Earth. A fitting descriptor for himself, and for most of the prison’s residents, the staff included. For a member of mainstream society at least. They lived by their own code of honor. But he did not lie to himself.

A fitting descriptor for most of them, but not all. His cellmate, a political prisoner, was such an exception. He was a quiet man, in his early 30s, polite and soft spoken, rather short, just shy of a meter and sixty. He did not speak often, but his few words were eloquent. This and his demeanor and dignified way of carrying himself appeared more characteristic of someone you would find lecturing in a university auditorium, not rotting away in a prison cell. The guards seemed to afford him a greater degree of respect than they did the others. On his part, the man did not outwardly appear to judge the other prisoners for their heinous crimes (though the prisoner suspected this was more of a wise decision made in the interest of self preservation and he had to feel at least a little sick finding out what the other inmates had done). All in all, he was a decent cellmate, if a little boring due to his withdrawnness, mostly opting to spend his days writing letters. It was in the letters received by his cellmate that the second news of the Judgment came.

He was not a religious man, but the day his cellmate wordlessly passed him the letter, he spent the whole night praying. What for, he was not sure. There was nobody left who would care if he died (surely not himself). His cellmate had a wife and a child, but he didn’t need prayer. God would spare his cellmate. The same could not be said for him.

Was it too late to repent? God would not think him worthy of life, surely, if he prayed only to save his own life (did he want to save his own life?). The fact that he hadn’t done so earlier would mean he didn’t truly regret what he had done. If he lived, he would go back to his old ways (he didn’t want to. But not even he himself believed that).

Could this god even hear him? He didn’t know a lot about religion, but maybe this was not God the way the Christians thought of Him. Maybe it was a god of another religion. Why did God wait so long to interfere in human affairs? Maybe it was the work of an angel tired of the evil that plagued this world.

(He was evil.)

***

He was just about to be taken on his daily hour-long walk when the Judgment came to the prison. There was a commotion, guards running down the hall, shouts. His cellmate was sitting and looking around agitatedly.

It must be time. He wanted to die peacefully, so he lay on his cot and closed his eyes. He was struck by a vivid memory of being barely four years old, lying in his bed in a dark room, the branches on the tree outside his window swaying in the night wind, his mom brushing his hair from his forehead and singing a lullaby, her voice clear in his memory as if she was there, in that cell, sitting on his cot a few centimeters away. He wanted to follow that voice.

A minute passed. Five minutes. Half an hour. He was still alive. He opened his eyes.

The door creaked open and a guard came to take him on his walk.

In the courtyard, the bodies were arranged in neat rows and columns. It could be his turn at any moment. He looked away and at the gray sky beyond the barbed wire, breathing in the air. It could be his last time to ever go outside and stand beneath the sky. He thanked God, or whatever this power was, for giving him the chance to say goodbye.

***

Thousands of kilometers away, a seventeen-year-old boy (a person with a very different life, who always ate three meals a day, went to the best schools, had the newest computers, and washed his soft, shiny brown hair with the highest quality shampoo) was sitting at his desk in his two-story suburban house, awake far past midnight, and writing names in a black notebook. After finishing the last line on the page, he glanced at the clock, rubbed his eyes, and put the notebook into his desk drawer. The last judgment could wait until the morning; his sleep was more important. He turned off his desk lamp, climbed under the covers, and quickly fell asleep.

***

Every cell on his floor of the prison was empty. The unusual quiet was unsettling, and it felt even more cold than the usual winter. The prisoner could not sleep that night. He probably did not need to anyway. He decided to pass the time by sifting through more of his memories instead of blankly staring at the ceiling.

He thought of the day his father died. It was in early September of 1989. He had just started third grade. Again. He had received failing grades in almost all subjects the previous year, but was determined not to fail again. He spent all of that afternoon studying for his upcoming math quiz. Sometime around nine in the evening, he noticed that the apartment was eerily quiet. His dad should have been home by then. It was never quiet when his dad was home.

His mother was standing in the kitchen, leaning on the windowsill and smoking. The lights in apartment blocks were turning on and from the distance they looked like stars that had come down to Earth. The wind was still warm and gentle that time of the year, making the curtains billow into the room. His mother was still in her work uniform. Despite the premature graying of her hair and wrinkles on her face, she was beautiful.

“Mom? Will dad come home tonight?”

She turned around. The tears on her eyes were still fresh. “No. Not tonight. Not ever.”

“So he will never hurt you again?”

“Never. He can never hurt us again.” She smiled. “You are his son. But I bore and raised you. So promise. Promise me that you will be a better man than your father. For me.”

“I promise.”

What would she think of him now? He opened his eyes and stood up. If he stood at the correct angle from the tiny window, he could see a bit of the night sky. The sky was clear that night, so he could see a few stars. He hoped that there was no afterlife so his mother could never see who he was.

He shook his cellmate awake. “Promise.”

The latter groggily opened his eyes. “What? Promise what?”

There was a sudden pain in his chest. He tried to gasp for breath. Through his cloudy vision, he could see that his cellmate had gotten up and caught him, gently helping him to the floor.

I’m sorry, mom...

***

Still in pajamas, the boy wrote the name with no hesitation or change in his expression, neat black letters on the first line of the first empty page.

A gangster. Guilty of multiple counts of murder, taking hostages, and who knew what else. 

Finishing the last stroke, he clicked his pen. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the clock as he counted down 40 seconds. Then smiled with satisfaction.

[purple-babygirl]

hi im not sure if you’re taking requests so you can ignore this if you’d like, but i really liked your mafia bucky fic !! and i was wondering if you could do one where maybe someone breaks into the house and the reader has to force themselves to be big for a little bit just so they can fight them off and then she runs to the little safe room and goes little there and Bucky finds her there and comforts her and it’s just all fluffy? sorry if this is so specific i just loved the last fic sm 😅

Pairing: Mafia!Daddy!Bucky Barnes x f!little!reader

Word count: 1,958

Warnings: reader gets attacked (includes harassment and mentions of violence, cursing, guns), reader gets hurt, mentions of killing, Bucky's softness (yes it's a warning), ddlg dynamics.

A/N: I've been holding onto this one for forever now I'm really sorry for taking so long, dear nonnie🥺 it means the world to me that you liked mafia!daddy!bucky and i hope i delivered with this one and that you like it as much, love. Please enjoy ily xx💜

~

safe

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. You can do this.

It all happened too fast. She woke up to guns shooting, Bucky’s men yelling at each other before all the voices suddenly stopped and the door to their bedroom was violently kicked open.

She didn’t even have time to scream before she was dragged from under the large bed by her ankle.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. Just like Daddy taught you.

“Let go! You don’t wanna do this!” she shrieked, warning the person trying to snatch her off the floor, her leg kicking as she struggled to flee his vice-like hold.

She’d suddenly forgotten every single self-defense move Bucky has ever taught her and was thrashing in panic.

“Oh, I don’t?” the man laughed, his grip painful on her limb as he tried to get on top of her.

She screamed when he dug his fingernails in the flesh of her shin, forcing her legs apart.

“Such a delicate little thing.” He licked his lips when he drew blood, running his gun up her bare leg, pressing down when it reached her inner thigh, “beg me to let you go.”

The words infuriated her big self. If Bucky had taught her one thing that she could never forget it was how dear and precious she was.

“Do you know who my man is?” Her free foot collided with the intruder’s chin, hitting him just right for his teeth to slam together, making him groan and loosen his grasp.

“I beg no one for nothing.” She spat, clumsily standing up, rushing inside Bucky’s large walk-in closet.

“You’re gonna regret that, you little bitch!” The masked man threatened, banging his fist on the door, “I’m gonna make that man of yours weep blood over your dead slut body!”

Her breath was coming out in puffs as tears blurred her vision. With trembling fingers, she moved Bucky’s hung-up suits to the side, revealing the metal door to the panic room.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. Just a bit longer.

She could hear the man take a few steps back and she knew he was going to shoot the closet open. Her shaky fingers pushed the buttons and typed the number code, the date of the day Bucky had asked her to be his.

I feel safe knowing I have you, angel, so it’s only fit that we make it the safe room code, he'd told her with a playful shrug.

She slid inside as soon as the door moved, pushing her back against the concrete wall, trying to take her breath. The door clicked shut right before the wooden one to the closet was thrown open.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. You got this.

She let out a relieved sigh that broke into a sob as she tiredly slid down the wall, still hearing the scary man curse, bang and shoot on the safe room door.

Where was Bucky? She couldn’t hold on any longer. This wasn’t a situation she wanted to be present in. Her body started folding up, taking fetal position as her mind led her to the safer side against her better will. Even her fists closed upon themselves, tears leaving her eyes and traveling down the bridge of her nose. She was losing consciousness of her present surroundings, pictures of Bucky’s eyes spreading in her vision instead of the dull, grey walls of the room.

She was crying too loudly to hear the firing of Bucky’s gun right outside the door or the peeping of the door as it slid open once again.

“Angel!” Bucky’s voice sounded so distant. She felt like she was drowning with how muffled his calls were to her ears.

Seeing her body shake with sobs on the floor like that made Bucky want to walk out and shoot the man’s dead body again and again until he couldn’t be identified.

How dare they send someone here? How dare they violate the sanctity of his home? They were certainly not going to live another day to repeat or repent from their sins.

“Angel, are you hurt?” He kneeled beside her, gently untangling her limbs to check if she was wounded anywhere.

Aside from a couple of nasty scratches by her ankle, she was physically okay and Bucky could breathe a little better as his body sagged on the floor.

He swallowed and lifted her on his lap, signaling his men to leave when they stepped in the room to check if they were needed after ‘cleaning up’.

“Get me water.” Was all he said and they were running to the nearest fridge.

“I’m sorry, my angel. I’m here now. You’re okay.” Bucky mumbled, lips hovering over her temple.

“Dada.” Her body leaned into his warmth but her cries didn’t stop and Bucky could only hold her closer as he tried not to let guilt rip him apart.

She was like that now because of him. Had he been a normal man with a normal life, she would’ve been safer. She didn’t deserve to be startled awake only to be chased by a criminal in the middle of the night. She didn’t deserve any of the bullshit that hit her because she was with Bucky.

He kept planting kiss after kiss to her head, wishing he could go back and be there to protect her.

“Shh, you’re okay, my angel. You’re safe,” he kept telling her as he supported himself up with her in his arms.

Her cries were dying down and she was getting comfier in Bucky’s protective hold, fingers digging in his shoulders afraid he would leave again.

“Please, calm down, baby. I’m here. No one can hurt you, angel.” Bucky took her out and to the bathroom so he could take a look at her leg.

“Baby, are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked after sitting her down on the cold counter.

Instead of answering, she pressed her forehead to his chest and kept sniveling, hands clutching Bucky’s jacket. She wasn’t ready for him to let her go yet. She may be too far gone but her body knew it needed to be close to Bucky’s.

“Baby, please come back to me,” Bucky begged, tears threatening to spill from his once hard, cold eyes.

“Angel,” his thumb brushed her cheek and she finally looked up to him.

“Dada, I was so scared.” She sobbed, shaking at the memory.

“I’m sorry, my angel.” Bucky pressed his lips to her forehead, “I’m here with you, baby. No need to be scared anymore.”

“That man- he-” she hiccupped.

“You’re okay, angel. Breathe.” Bucky stroked her back warmly as she buried her face in his chest again.

He took the bottle of water from one of his men, waving him out of the bathroom.

“Here, baby, drink some water.”

She wouldn’t move. She just wanted to be close to Daddy. She was scared and Bucky was safety. He was home.

“For me, baby. Just a tiny sip.” Bucky twisted the bottle cap open, gently cupping her cheek to coax her away from his body.

His heart swelled when she leaned her damp cheek on his palm, enjoying the warmth. Her smaller hand cupped his and her eyes closed, her face further pressed into Bucky’s hand as a soft sigh escaped her lips.

Bucky bit his lip, holding back the waterworks. He should’ve been here; should’ve prevented it all from happening. His thumb brushed her chin and she opened her eyes.

“Drink a little, angel.” Bucky offered a kind smile.

She nodded, sitting up straighter, her lashes wet with tears as she looked up to Bucky, her gaze holding no blame.

He brought the bottle to her lips and she gulped down, the chilled water soothing her sore throat.

“Better?” Bucky cocked his head to the side and she nodded, sniffing.

Bucky bowed, holding his forehead against hers. He just wanted to feel her breathe soundly; wanted to make his mind stop telling him he almost lost her forever.

“Dada.”

“Yes, my angel.” Bucky pecked her lips.

“My leg hurts.” Her voice was awfully small as she pointed to the burning scratches ruining her beautiful skin. Bucky wished he could hide her between his ribs in place of his heart.

“Daddy’s got you, angel.”

Bucky cleaned her wound, apologizing with a kiss to her cheek every time she hissed. He had her tell him what happened to distract her and it worked. She wanted him to be proud so much she eagerly told him all about kicking the bad man. Tears gathered in her eyes once again when he applied ointment but she continued with her story, Bucky’s smile keeping her calm.

“Angel, you were so brave! I’m so proud of you, baby.” Bucky kissed her bandaged leg, “how did you do that?!”

“Kept thinkin’ dada thoughts.” She hugged Bucky again.

Bucky was a puddle on the bathroom floor. She was telling him she was brave like that because she was thinking of him through it all. He adored her so much he didn’t know who he was if not her man.

“I promise this is the last time you would ever have to go through anything like that,” Bucky assured, chuckling lovingly when she squeezed him harder and nodded.

She believed Bucky. She knew he could keep her safe. This wasn’t a usual occurrence, Bucky’s always made sure she was protected. She had no doubt anything would change. She trusted her Daddy with all her heart.

Bucky knew that and it scared him to death. He was scared one day he might not be up to the trust she’d put in him. He feared disappointing her; not being there for her in time. He was terrified a day would come where he might let her down.

“Never again. You’re safe, my angel. You’re always safe with me.”

Bucky’s soft lips placed a languishing kiss to her forehead. Her eyes were next, Bucky kissed her eyelids and under her eyes. Then he left wet kisses on both cheeks before pecking her nose. She smiled shyly when he pressed his mouth to the corner of hers.

“I love you, angel,” Bucky whispered against her lips before kissing her.

~

Bucky carried her back to their bed. The room was organized again, nothing was out of place and she was in Daddy’s arms. She was safe once more.

Bucky held her to his chest all night, his mind too loud to let him fall asleep. She went back to bed almost immediately though. Bucky’s presence was all it really took for her to feel peaceful enough to close her eyes and dream again.

When she moved out of his embrace in her sleep, Bucky carefully left the room and went to his office to review the security cameras footage. He knew watching the attack would make his blood boil again but he had to see what happened and how the unlucky asshole got inside his mansion.

While she already told him she’d defended herself, Bucky was the proudest seeing it unfold on the screen.

“Do you know who my man is?... I beg no one.”

The words brought the largest smile to Bucky’s lips. He was so proud of his angel; so amazed by her courage. He thought he couldn’t love her any more than he already did and he was wrong. His heart has picked the right girl and for that he was grateful. Bucky took one last look at the shining ring in his top drawer before shutting it and walking back to continue cuddling his precious sweetheart.

~~

Tags: @harrysthiccthighss, @tinystudentfirepurse, @lavendercitizen

[galatially]

❝𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞❞

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐝 x 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 2.9K

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — you'd rather have half of him than none of him at all

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, allusion to smut, infidelity, jason puts his hand around reader's neck and frightens her (didn't know what that would be tagged as)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — jason peter todd is my favorite batfamily member because he was the only one, to me, that got to be repentant and mourn the literal death of himself and the child he used to be and actively chose to be more than batman's former protégé. he chose to continue to be a son and brother to the others. i just love him, all right? also shout out to chloe x halle for being the soundtrack and inspo for this lol

i don't have a tag list but i do have a library where all of my works live,@galatially-wrote so please check it out! reblogs and comments are much appreciated ♡♡♡

divider as always by the ever awesome, @firefly-graphics

also tagging @thebatfamfanatic for liking a lot of my stuff lately! i hope you enjoy this ♡♡

There were few people in this life that you’d trust yourself with.

You’d experienced enough of the world to know that soft, delicate little girls would come out of it hardened, cynical women. You’d worked hard to stay soft, skin bare to the dragging teeth of the monsters that lived outside your door. But, like monsters are wont, they paid no mind to your efforts. No, they stalked and hunted you and stripped you of your innocence until you were hollow. No longer a girl but not close to the woman they tried to force you to into.

To the outside world, Gotham City was a black hole.

A dark chasm that devoured souls — innocent or guilty — in its wake. They never bothered to look deeper at the denizens of the glum city, paid no mind to the souls born there.

For as long as you could remember, crime was a constant in your life. You lost your mother to drugs long before she’d even been a memory. Your neighbors were criminals, whether by trade or circumstance. Either way, you learned to keep your head down. Shrink yourself until you were as buried as the tangles of weeds in the cracks of the sidewalks beneath the soles of your feet.

So when rumors of a burglar hitting houses in your neighborhood made their way to you, fear didn’t seize in your chest. What good was it to panic when petty thieves were a dime a dozen in Gotham?

Because your father was a trucker, solitude was your closest companion. By the time you were twelve, you’d been left alone so much that it was stranger having your father around than him being on the road. He’d taught you how to throw a punch and what to do when something unsavory came your way. You often wondered how nervous he was while he was on the road. Because it was just the two of you, your father tended to keep you as close as he could, gripping your childhood years with the tightest of fists until his knuckles whitened. You never had the heart to remind him that you’re growing whether you both want it to happen or not.

One night, you were home alone like always when you heard your back door open. With quiet fluency, you tiptoed down the staircase, your aluminum bat in hand, to assail your intruder. The glow of the refrigerator light bled onto the hardwood floor and you raised the bat and brought it down with abrupt force, catching their shoulder.

“Fuck!”

A sharp hiss left from between their teeth as you rose the bat again.

“You got five seconds to get the hell out of my house before I shatter your ribcage.” Your voice was naturally soft but your words were acidic.

The intruder looked at you over their shoulder, their crimson hood falling from their head.

Met with angry blue eyes and a bruised face, your face screwed up in confusion.

“You’re a kid.”

He scoffed. “I’m probably older than you, princess.” He nodded towards your weapon. “What’s with the Jackie Robinson arm? You tryin’ to concuss me or somethin’?”

Your nostrils flared. “You broke into my house, asshole. What was I supposed to do? Let you raid my fridge and come strangle me in my bed?”

He held up a hand as he slowly rose to his feet. “I’m not here to steal your shit. I was just hungry.”

You raised a brow. “Don’t you have a home or parents for that? My dad’s not runnin’ a food bank. There’s barely anythin’ for me.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” He ducked his head some. “Home ain’t really home right now.”

What was with this kid? If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to be your friend.

“So, you’re the burglar that’s been terrorizin’ the neighborhood?”

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “In the flesh.”

You sighed and lowered your arms, moving towards the wall to flip the light switch. “Look, if you want to stay here for the night, there’s a blanket and pillows on the couch in the living room. Don’t touch the TV and don’t eat anymore of my food. I expect you gone in the morning.”

He raised a brow. “Are you lettin’ me stay?”

“You said you were between places, right? Better to get a good night’s sleep here than Crime Alley.” You walked towards the little hallway that led to the living room. “Bathroom’s the last door on the left. I think there’s some extra towels in the cupboard if you wanted to shower.”

He seemed truly perplexed at your sudden kindness. “You’re really goin’ to let a criminal stay in your house overnight? What if I steal somethin’ or I come into your room to hurt you?”

“You want to stay or not?”

He pursed his lips and nodded.

“Don’t make me regret this. It’s just me and my dad and someone needs to take care of him.” You didn’t know why you disclosed that part, but you could tell it struck a chord with him. He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You need to be gone by morning.”

“I will.”

You nodded and gripped your bat as you walked towards your staircase. “Turn off the kitchen light when you’re done!”

Two weeks later, you saw him again. He was climbing out of the kitchen window of your neighbor, Mr. Tanner. As if he knew you were watching, he looked towards your bedroom window and winked. He winked! The next evening, he climbed the side of your house and into your bedroom, a sly smirk on his lips.

You turned on your bedside lamp. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see you.”

You gave him a sleepy frown. “Why?”

“Why not?”

And just like that, as easy as rain, you formed a strange friendship with him. He told you his name was Jason Todd and that he was the son of a petty thief and a depressed, drug-addled mother.

You didn’t know what to make of him. He was scruffy, but more in the way that he didn’t seem to be wearing clothes that fit; a clumsy grace to his jumps and climbs as he made his escape in the dead of the night, the faint cacophony of sirens following him home. You often scolded him for baiting GCPD the way he did but he’d just throw his head back and bark out a laugh. That was the first time you realized that you liked seeing his face soften and his eyes crinkle at the sides.

Over time, you’d found yourself growing fond of his late night visits. You both bonded over your love of gothic literature and black and white movies. He’d asked you about your family and you’d lifted a shoulder, saying that your dad was your dad and your mom had passed before you got to know her.

“What’s your mom like?”

Jason leaned back in your desk chair and looked at your bedroom ceiling. “When she’s aware, she’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. She’s got this smile, right? It’s not a full one but her left cheek will dimple and her lips will curl up just enough and it brightens her whole face.” He looked at you, smiling. “When I was little, she’d act out bedtime stories for me. Treasure Island, Count of Monte Cristo. Anythin’ with pirates and adventure.”

“She sounds nice.”

“Yeah, well.” He spun the chair back and forth. “She hasn’t been like that in a long time.”

“I’m sorry, Jay.”

“It’s my normal. I can’t really be sad about it anymore. Plus, I’ve got you now. That’s not something to be sad about.”

Your face warmed and you wrung your hands together. “Is she why you’re not sleepin' at home tonight?”

Jason lifted a shoulder.

“Come on, Jay.” You moved to the middle of the bed and sat on your knees. “We’re friends, remember?”

“Dad’s back.”

Your eyes focused on the bruise blooming along his jaw. He never spoke of his father often but when he did, your fists would clench and you’d see red. To think that someone would hurt the boy that did everything he could to keep their home and keep his mother safe angered you, made you grateful that your own father was much kinder to you.

“You want me to go give him a piece of my mind? I’ve been meanin’ to practice my swing.”

“Old man’s not worth it,” he said, chuckling. “Besides, you don’t need to fight for me. You got too much to worry about already.”

“I can add you to that list.”

Jason cocked his head and rose from your desk chair. He climbed into your bed and knelt in front of you, his blue eyes burning into yours.

Warmth crept up the back of your neck and spread to your cheeks. “What?”

“You’re kind of beautiful, did you know that?”

A nervous chuckle bubbled from your throat. “Did you hit your head or somethin’?”

His hands — callused and split from jumping fences — cupped your face and rub his thumb along the seam of your lower lip. He inhaled the gasp that left your lungs when his lips pressed against yours. Teeth clacked against each other, sometimes catching bottom lips. You didn’t know what to do with your hands so you kept a light hold on his forearm. The kiss wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even really good. But still your heart thundered in your chest and your lips tingled.

He cleared his throat when he pulled back and quickly shuffled off of the bed. “I should go.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to go make sure that Mom’s okay.” He opened your bedroom window. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

You frowned but nodded as you watched him duck into the cover of night.

Three weeks went by before you saw Jason again.

As he climbed through your window that night, you launched a pillow his way.

“C’mon, Y/N, listen to me!”

“Get out.”

Jason frowned and moved to the end of your bed. “I didn’t mean to be away for so long.”

“So you think that’s okay? To disappear for weeks? I was so worried about you!”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else you know that?”

“It’s not funny, Jay! I didn’t hear from you for three weeks! I kept waitin’ for you to show up and I even listen to the GCPD scanner on the radio to make sure that you weren’t…” You blew out a breath. “You know what? Forget it. Go home, okay? I’m tired and I have a test in the mornin’.”

“Y/N, I snuck out so that I could see you. Don’t push me away.”

“Well, you saw me. Good night.”

“Y/N…”

“No, Jason! You kissed me!” Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. “You kissed me and left and it’s been killin’ me.” You let out a bitter laugh. “And what’s fuckin’ worse is that you’re not even bothered. You just traipse back in here and — ”

Arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into the red fabric you so loved. It smelled of stale cigarettes, soap, and him.

“You think it’s easy tellin’ you goodbye, Y/N?” His voice broke. “Don’t be fuckin’ dumb.”

Your words stuck to the roof of your mouth.

Jason pulled back, his blue eyes watery. “You’ve been the best thing to happen to me these past weeks. You’re smart and caring and beautiful and I don’t know how to walk away from that.”

“Then, don’t.”

“My mom’s gone, Y/N.” Your eyes widened. “She died a few weeks ago. Overdose.”

You gathered him into another hug, tears pearling at the crest of your eyes. A strangled sob tumbled from his tongue and his arms tightened around your waist. You didn’t say anything, didn’t loosen your hold, just held him the blue-eyed boy close and let him cry into your neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“’S all right. She’s better off now. Not in anymore pain.” Jason pulled back to face you. “I’m sorry for makin’ you worry.”

“What about your dad? You said you were sayin’ goodbye.”

“He got picked up a few days later for a B&E. Fifteen years.”

You frowned. “So, what about you? Where are you goin’ to go?”

“Funny story: I met Bruce Wayne. Kind of. Sort of.”

You raised a brow. “How does a kid from Lower Gotham meet a billionaire on a whim?”

“You try to steal his hubcaps outside of a building on a Tuesday.”

You chided him for his glib response. “So, just like that he’s takin’ you in?”

He chuckled and rested his forehead against hers. “It’s hard to explain now but just know that I’m goin’ to be okay.”

“How do I know that? No one knows anythin’ about Bruce Wayne outside of those stupid society pages,” you argued. “What the hell does he even about raisin’ kids anyway?” You were grasping at straws, your mind conjuring up scenarios that could keep Jason at your side. “Do they even know what happened to his other adoptee? That Grayson kid?”

“Y/N, breathe.” He put his hands on her face and forced her gaze to his. “It’s goin’ to be okay. I’m not goin’ away forever.”

“You might as well as be,” you pouted.

“Listen to me. Nothin’ is goin’ to take me away from you, you hear me? Nothin’. I will be here for you.” He pulled you into a hug.

But what if it was?

It was always strange to you how time seemed to muddy the details of things.

Maybe it was you recently coming into your mid-twenties, maybe it was some subconscious need to overthink and overanalyze every decision you’ve ever made to pinpoint how you came to be where you were today. Whatever it was made your mind play out the vignettes of your life: your first day of school, the first time you’d visited your mother’s grave. The time you broke your leg falling from the top of a fence in a neighbor’s backyard.

Lately, you’d been replaying the events of you and Jason’s first meeting. You remember almost beating him senseless with a baseball bat. You remember the look in his eyes when you’d told him that you were letting him stay the night. It seemed so long ago now, like a dream from another life.

“Stop it.”

You kept your eyes on your finger skimming along the curve of his forearm as you answered, “Stop what?”

Jason hugged you tighter. “Whatever you’re thinkin’ about, don’t.”

You let out a tight laugh. “I’m goin’ to miss this.”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, Y/N.”

You looked at him from over your shoulder, a frown painting your features. “We can’t do this anymore, Jason. It’s not right. Rose —”

“I don’t give a fuck about Rose, Y/N,” Jason said, gruff.

You never meant to make him upset, truly, but the two of you were bound to be caught if Rose hadn’t known already. You could cry to the heavens and gods that you loved Jason more, knew him better. But you’d always be the other woman. The one that always the whole half of what he’d give.

“What about me?”

Rough hands curled around your shoulder and waist, turning you to face him. His thumb ran along the seam of your lower lip and a choked sigh left from between his.

“You’re my best friend. The only girl I’ve ever loved.”

“But that’s not enough for you to leave her, is it? In a few hours, you’ll sneak out of here and go back to Rose and where does that leave me, Jason? What do I get?” You pushed out of his hold and wrapped the sheet around your front.

“Y/N — ”

“What do you tell her when you come here?” Jason paused. “What lies do you give her when you’re with me?”

“Stop it.”

“No, I want to know! What do you tell your girlfriend when you’re coming here to f— ”

Fingers curled around your neck. You’d never seen Jason this way before, teeth bared and blue eyes blazing. For the first time since you’d know him, you were afraid of him. “I told you to stop it.”

You took his wrist between your fingers, your voice surprisingly even. “Let me go, Jason.”

As if shaken from a dream, Jason pulled his hand back from your neck, his eyes wide. “Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head and rose from the bed. “Get out.”

“Baby, I — ”

“Jason.” You let out a shuddery sigh. “Please. Just go.”

His mouth canted into a sorrowful pout as he rose from the bed in all of his naked glory. You kept a tight hold on your covering as you watched Jason redress himself and gather his belongings. As he pulled his arms through his arms through his leather jacket, he glanced at you from over his shoulder.

You knew what he wanted to say, could see it in his eyes. You tightened your jaw and squared your shoulders. “Goodbye, Jason.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so, so sorry.” You turned your face towards the door and he sighed. His feet carried him to your bedroom door, he gave you one last look, opened the door and left. Once you’d heard your front door slam shut, you dropped to your knees and cried.

Time really did muddy things up.

[omniscientwreck]

Let me combine both of your favorite things! I would love a little thing about Caduceus (in his infinite wisdom and questionable intelligence) trying to give either Essek or Caleb relationship advice that may or may not be actually helpful. Those two wizards are probably too much in their own heads to see what's right in front of them and could use a little nudge. Just imagine both of them going to Caduceus for advice on how they're attracted to the other and Caduceus just sitting there trying to fight to urge to facepalm.

Hello! Thank you for combining my two favourite things into this fic that took way too long but I'm quite pleased with! I hope you enjoy!

In which Caduceus has three conversations with two wizards fighting against a force bigger than either of them.

----------

The first of these conversations Caduceus had was expected. Gardening alongside Essek, teaching him how to sow beauty where destruction had laid waste had been therapeutic for both of them. Caduceus had never given up on the war criminal. It’s difficult to feel no sympathy for someone whose story was written across their face in blank but pleasant stares and a mask of platitudes.

The state he’d been in when they met him at the outpost had filled Caduceus with determination. He’d been as close to a wreck as they’d ever seen him and now kneeling alongside him and looking over to see a small self-satisfied smile as he observed the work they’d done, it feels like they’ve done something right. This second chance had been well earned and he has faith that Essek will continue to earn it for the rest of his days.

This Essek is determined to right wrongs, and he’s started with the garden. He pays careful attention to the plants, always asking if he’s unsure about the compatibility of certain species, and making sure to put them exactly where they tell him. When they work past the point when the sun disappears behind emerald leaves he takes off the gloves Jester had made him and digs his hands into the ground. It seems to bring him peace, it’s good that he’s found any.

Most of the time when they work it’s silent, creases pressed into Essek’s forehead. He sweats through the layers that serve to keep him safe from the heat overhead and always has to be cajoled into taking breaks or drinking water. It reminds him a bit of Yasha.

On the third day, when he’d nearly gone faint Caduceus has to intervene, “You don’t need to hurt yourself to repent you know.”

Essek takes great care to swallow and not choke on the water he’d been sipping, bad timing. The mask comes up again, “I don’t know what you mean.” he states flatly. He knows that Caduceus is smarter than that and it shows.

“Hurting yourself doesn’t change anything. It’s the creation of beauty here that tips your scales, not the destruction of yourself.”

He nods slowly, indigo eyes downcast. “I suppose you’re correct. I have much to atone for Caduceus. There is much work to be done before I will deserve any of the kindness you foist upon me.”

“Hey now, I decide who deserves my kindness. We all do.”

Essek nods again, running a dirt stained hand through his silver hair. It leaves streaks of dirt, Caduceus says nothing.

“It’s difficult to be made aware of your stark moral failings, to learn what it means to truly care for someone again. It’s difficult to care more than you expect and to know what is enough, if anything is.”

His eyes flick behind Caduceus, where he can hear Caleb explaining something to Luc and he understands more than Essek probably wants him to. “You’ll find enough.” Essek looks at him, eyes full of a delicate hope, easily shattered, “He’ll tell you when it’s enough.”

His eyes widen just slightly and a deep blush spreads across his face alongside a smile so small it’s like he doesn’t want to let himself accept the barrage of feelings it holds back. “If.” His voice is small but the weight is heavy in the tone.

Caduceus reaches a hand to cover one of his, “When. Remember, I see things the rest of you don’t.”

Essek smiles wryly at that, voice full of mirth, “Of course Mr. Clay the ever observing.”

They go in for dinner and Essek speaks up a little more, he’s a little more alive. The change is small, but Caduceus notices.

----------

The second conversation is less expected, completely unexpected if he’s being honest. Caleb arrives at the doorstep of the grove one evening around 8 months after they’d last seen each other. “Hallo friend, I hope I am not intruding.”

His smile is easier now, though still restrained by sadness. “Not at all Mr. Caleb you are always welcome here. There should be left overs from dinner, fix yourself a plate.”

Caleb allows himself to be ushered in and fussed over. He tells a few stories of the trial but Caduceus tries to steer away from that particular vein of conversation. It’s raw and it doesn’t look like he’s fully healed. There’s still one catch somewhere that he needs to loose himself from before the smile will be easy and free, before he can walk away from his past and toward the future.

“I am going to Aeor next.”

Ah.

When Caduceus doesn’t say anything he continues, voice laced with trepidation, “I am going to ask Essek to join me.” he wants Caduceus to convince him of something.

“Well, two wizards is better than one.” He eyes Caleb knowingly and the wizard squirms a bit under his gaze.

“It is just, a little strange isn’t it? The directions we are led in.” He trails off again, maybe he’s hoping for wisdom. Caduceus decides he can probably dispense something.

“You’ve never seemed like someone who wanted much to be herded into decisions to me.”

“It’s been a journey.”

Caduceus clears his dish and sets down a teapot, “It’s a journey you’re still on. One that might not have a definite end. Is it worth it to deny yourself happiness because you’re worried about whether you deserve it?”

That caught him a little off guard, copper hair shook a bit as he’d clearly gone a little further than Caleb was expecting. He likes to talk in metaphors so that he can hide from truths later, or at least pretend everything can have multiple meanings. It’s time for Caduceus to stop letting him twist words around in that expansive brain of his until the original meaning is obscured by hypotheticals.

“I cannot tell you what’s right Caleb, but if you came here for a reasonable perspective listen to the one I’m giving you.” He pours the tea and offers honey, “You will never know if you don’t go and I know you better than you think. You don’t like loose ends, not as long as there’s something to learn.”

He nods, staring into tea, they’re so similar and so stubborn that Caduceus can feel the loving annoyance usually directed at his siblings creeping in. “Caleb, stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault in the first place.” Caleb nearly interrupts but Caduceus keeps barrelling through, “Self-flagellation won’t get you anywhere, you’ll just end up with regrets and what ifs. Go explore Aeor, forget everything else for a bit. Do that thing the two of you do where you’re finishing each other’s sentences and nobody knows why you’re bothering to speak out loud because it’s obvious you’re thinking the same things.”

Caleb’s smile is smaller now, but lighter. “Ja mein Freunde, I think you will. Thank you for tolerating questions I don’t know how to ask out loud.”

Caduceus smiles back, “I think this will be good. If you need anything while you’re there don’t hesitate to reach out. Stock up on healing, you’ll need it.”

Caleb laughs at that and spends the night, before heading to Zadash the next morning, undoubtedly to clear out Pumat’s stock of healing potions.

----------

The third time this conversation is had it’s his fault. He doesn’t mean to start it, but honestly the situation is getting ridiculous and the sibling feelings Caduceus has to both the wizards are firmly cemented.

They decide to get everyone together maybe a year after the last conversation. It’s his first time seeing any of them since then and as soon as they’re all in the same room it’s like no time has passed at all. Essek had come to get him while Caleb gathered the rest at Beau and Yasha’s home in Rexxentrum. Jester wraps him in a crushing and loving hug, Beau gives him a punch that’s soft for her but still stings, Yasha offers clippings of flowers immediately, and Fjord’s hug is warm. Veth’s family is here and she looks happier than he’s ever seen her. Caleb greets him with the warmth that’s always burned behind eyes that hold less and less sorrow every time he sees him. He hopes they’ll drop it all together one day.

When they pop back into existence from the way Caleb and Essek look at each other Caduceus expects something to happen. He doesn’t know what exactly but they hold each other’s eyes in a profound way. There’s gravity to them and everyone can feel it, he’s getting tired of watching them fight it.

It seems so simple even though he doesn’t feel that kind of pull, to see where this is going. It’s feels like the days before a big storm, when everyone knows what’s coming and it’s getting a little ridiculous that you’re still waiting for lightning to strike.

Everyone else drinks, they cook and eat and tell stories. Caleb and Essek sit apart but spend the entire time stealing glances across the table when they don’t think the other is looking. Nearly always they catch each other.

Yasha plays on the bone harp, she’s gotten very good and Jester swings Veth around into a dance. Kingsley, three sheets to the wind, grabs Beau and whips her into a reluctant dance and her initial protests eventually bubble into laughter. Caleb sits beside Caduceus and Jester has switched to twirling a flustered Essek across the floor of the livingroom. It often turns to dancing with these people and he loves that they love it so much.

“As I recall you’re an excellent dancer Mr. Caleb, go cut in.”

He shakes his head, “Ah- I couldn’t. Yasha is playing and I don’t think you’re much of a dancer.” He looks over with a quirk of a brow.

“I’m sure Jester won’t mind a break.”

He coughs at that, “I ah-”

Caduceus shakes his head, “No, talking is done, this is getting ridiculous.” He puts a hand square on his back and guides Caleb to stand, “You two will weave circles of metaphor around each other until one of you drops. Go Caleb, follow gravity.”

He seems to understand, seems to accept Cadcueus’ words and as soon as he stands to full height, Essek is watching over Jester’s shoulder. She, thankfully, understands the same way Caduceus does and even sends a wink as she loudly proclaims, “Oh my gosh Essek I’m so tired, I think Caleb needs someone to dance with, go to him.” She extends her arm, releasing him, and his levitation doesn’t allow him to stumble at the abrupt change in momentum.

Essek and Caleb meet and Essek steps to the ground gracefully as Caleb holds his hand out and pulls him in.

Nobody says anything for fear of spooking the delicate peace that settles over both of them as they gently turn, but Yasha slows the music she’s playing a bit and a quiet celebration is shared in the eyes of the rest of the Nein.

Caduceus breathes a sigh of relief and Jester sits herself beside him, bringing an overly sweet juice she’d found on her travels for him to try. She tells him stories into the night, and the wizards never let each other’s hands go.

[frenchiefitzhere]

Once upon a time @teafairywithabook asked me to write a song for Vega. (This was before I was a Vega Appreciator.) And I went, "Um, I would, but you have to help because I don't think I can write for that boy." And so we cowrote this song where Vega and Warden write letters to each other and he's such a nasty, nasty boy and it's so fun to sing as him and I decided it was about time to re-release it, so...here you go! [The concept of demons writing letters popped in my head thanks to Clive.] Corresponding Demons (Lyrics by Cheri & Frenchie/Music by Frenchie)

Verse 1

Dear Warden, 

I’ve noticed

My rehabilitation has become a force of gravity to you

I’ve committed to these missives from your cloying supplication       

But I’m not sure what you think they’re going to do

If  my words are written down and unavoidable

Will they make me see my wrongs and keep you employed?

Such an aim I suppose is laudable 

But ultimately…I refuse

Oh, Warden mine, you’ve got the spine

To give me voice and listen to my side

For you to read these letters, only increases the pressure

To resist the urge to incline yourself toward me

Verse 2

Dear Jailer,

I’m writing to you        

Just as you’ve designed it

In the hopes that I’d confess my wrongdoings

“Remorseful”’s not a look I’m looking forward to               

Embracing, and for this detainee

You know hope’s not my thing

It’s true I leave my prey in varied states of disarray

As misery takes over and their minds decay

Are you just jealous that they’ve come under my sway?

If that’s the case, then, Darling, come this way…

Oh, Warden Darling, understand

It’s not really in my nature to repent  

All the beings that I’ve tormented…

Oh, believe me, Dear, I meant it

If you want the details, come and sit by me

Bridge (Warden):

Dear Vega, 

This exercise is not for you to try

To play your twisted games and toy inside my mind

I find your declaration to turn down a transformation

Belies an inadvisable intent

I won’t expect a miracle                 

You’re, after all, a criminal

You speak of gravitation

Oh, you know-it-all

Listen, I entreat you

Though we all do have to eat

To please let mercy find a seat near agony!

Verse 3

My Counselor,

It’s clear that        

This epistolary commerce  

Must have worsened your appraisal of my fate       

What a pity you can’t get me to admit

That I’ve committed any sins but wanting to consume more hate

Can you blame me for my cravings or my appetite?

I’m not quite sated by a simple rage or spite

Is it fair to charge me thus? I only feed because I must

And I find these accusations quite unjust

Oh, Warden mine,  I beg you define

Our differences now that you’ve maligned            

My heart, now , don’t you break it

There’s a plan that’s taking shape

And it sounds like now’s the moment to escape

[herherteartear]

blanket kick

précis— Peter's not the suave man he would hope to be in front of his crush. instead, he's a blushing mess that haunts his memories and causes him to take out his frustrations on his blanket. luckily, you prefer cherry cheeks over smooth lines any day.

pairing— Peter Parker x enhanced!maximoff!reader

a/n— this is my first standalone written story and my first time writing for marvel! i hope you guys enjoy thisss<3 i'm also open to creating drabbles to continue this if anyone's interested????! pls enjoy and pls comment and let me know ur thoughts!!!

there are many ways to describe Peter Parker, but none could ever wholly capture the true essence of the boy

besides the obvious stuff,, his intelligence , his insanely good looks , his teenage awkwardness,,

it was a hard feat to string along words to describe the way he carries himself , the way he is with others , the way his heart loves with the same ability a sponge soaks up water and soap

Peter's had crushes before

perhaps more than he'd like to admit

(can't blame the boy, who gave Ty Lee the right be that cute!?)

but when he sees her, his heart begins to swell and suddenly, he forgets how to breathe..

or how to think... talk. y'know normal human stuff

in all honesty, Peter has tried his absolute hardest to block out their first meeting from his memories

he doesn't regret meeting her, of course not! never would he even repent that embarrassingly wonderful day

he only wishes it would've gone a little differently

let's set the scene, shall we?

the sun was shining brightly, the sky was a Carolina blue, the clouds were the prettiest porcelain color, rimmed with lace

Peter was riding in an awfully silent car that Happy was driving to the airport. despite being terrified of what's to come,, the fight Mr. Stark had recruited him for,, the boy was thoroughly enjoying this adventure.

the car came to a stop, which did little for Peter's nerves. he gathered his courage before stepping out, eyes squinting at the brightness of the yellow sun. once his eyes adjusted, they landed on the prettiest head of hair he had ever seen

(although he did think the same for Hermione Granger)

Peter had never been on a plane before that day. but even then, his sparkling eyes stayed trained on her,, completely ignoring the brilliant private jet behind her

"oh? Happy, i thought it was just us?" her voice made Peter's ears burn. he swallowed thickly. you blinked at Peter, curious but also intrigued , you smiled.

to which Peter choked. on air. your eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"a-are you okay?"

"god, kid, get ahold of yourself."

"i-i'm okay! it's– i'm– i'm fine!" Peter quickly stuttered out.

"well, Yn, this is– uh,, what's your name again?" Happy turned towards the boy who's cheeks were now redder than a firetruck.

"oh! i'm Peter– Peter Parker. it's nice to meet you- not that i don't know you. well i don't, y'know not personally. but like from the news.. not that i believe the news! they're awful to you, but i mean i guess i do sometimes– but never about what they say about you–"

"i'm Yn Maximoff. it's nice to meet you too, Peter." you cut him off before Happy strangled the cute boy. you had an amused smile

he was cute

finally getting on the plane, Peter had hoped he would be able to sit far away from you and wallow in his embarrassment,

maybe sneak a glance or two.. imagine a couple of scenarios where he wasn't a doofus,

but that's not quite what happened.

after witnessing just how much the new kids was able to ramble,, Happy was not about to spend a whole ass plane ride remotely close to him

so he took it upon himself to make the kiddies sit together.. much to Peter's dismay.

like!!? did Happy not see how Peter crashed and burned in font of you?!

you, on the other hand,, had the opposite reaction.

being the youngest avenger, you don't get to be around people your age too much,, which isn't something you're complaining about!!

you totally made the decision to be an avenger and you happily welcomed the consequences..

that didn't mean you didn't get lonely at times. especially now with the accords and the team breaking up., things got a whole lot more lonely

your sister, Wanda, had made her choice to leave the compound. you completely understood why, but a part of you had hoped she would've taken you with her

although, staying at the compound did ensure your safety.

it was a weird time for the avenger's , it felt wrong for you to say some of your teammates were criminals

it left a sour taste in your mouth

you glanced from the window seat to see Peter nervously wringing his fingers. you frowned.

"are you okay?" you asked, gently. Peter's eyes widened and his heart jumped to his throat. he wanted to say something, something cool or aloof, something that would make up for his ranting earlier

"i've never been on a plane before." Peter squeaked out. he dropped his shoulders, rolling his eyes at himself. that was the highest pitch he had ever heard his voice. you took in his clearly anxious posture.

"lets switch seats? maybe looking out the window will help you." you stated. before Peter could quickly shake his head, because how rude would it be of him to take your seat?, you were already stood up.

"oh god!" Peter breathed. he quickly shifted over to the seat you once occupied. he wanted to put up more of a fight, but the way you were swaying due to the turbulence, made his palms sweat in fear for your safety.

"you, like, swing from buildings and stuff, right?" you asked. he turned to you with a nod. "are you afraid of heights? or do you just not like planes?"

oh god. oh. no. you thought– you thought he was scared of being on the plane. Peter wanted to shrink in a hole and hide. you probably thought he was such a baby! that he could handle swinging from hundreds of feet in the air, but a plane is where he drew the line?

but what else is he supposed to say? 'oh, no! it's not the plane I'm scared of. it's just your beautiful smile and the way you smell like cocoa that gets me sweating'

wtf.

that was so wrong in so many ways.

"um, no, no. i'm okay, just– just a little nervous, is all." Peter tried to force out a chuckle. but it come out more like a cough. you mouth formed an 'o.'

"ohh, okay." you paused before your eyes lit up. "how about we play a game? to distract you?"

"o– okay.."

"can you talk with spiders?" Peter lifted his eyes from looking at his hands hovering above yours,; he let out a much more relaxed laugh than earlier.

you took advantage of his distraction to swiftly bring your palm from underneath his and slap the top of Peter's hand. he jumped.

"ouch!" he playfully pouted. you eyes glanced down at his lips. you giggled nervously. your hand went to hover over his, him now being the one to do the slapping. "of course i can't talk to spiders! i– i feel like i should probably be able to shape-shift into a spider in order for that to happen, y'know?"

you nodded thoughtfully. "that's true.. you didn't hear this from me, but i heard there's an Ant-Man going around." Peter looked at you with wide eyes.

"no way! that's crazy! does he like turn into an ant?" you bumped his hand with yours in order to get his attention back to the game. his hand burned at the feeling

"i don't know-" you said in a singsong tone. "it's just what's being said around the compound." you quickly slid your hands to avoid Peter's attack. he huffed.

"how are you so good at this?" he knitted his eyebrows to focus on how to attack quickly without hurting you.

"it's a game i used to play with my brother and sister." you answered. Peter finally took his chance to slap your hands, to which you squealed excitedly as you had tried to move in time. Peter and you fell into a fit of giggles.

you both leaned against your seats, still facing each other. your hands fell on top of Peter's.

the brown haired boy quickly slid his hand out from under yours, not because he didn't enjoy the contact, but because he was worried you'd feel how clammy his hands were

you frowned slightly at the loss of contact.

"a– are we really fighting your sister?" Peter wondered out loud, without a second thought.

you shifted uncomfortably. Peter quickly noticed; his heart sped up and he mentally scolded himself for being so inconsiderate.

"not because i think she's evil! i mean,, i know that's what the news says.. but they also think Spider-Man's like thirty. and i'm not thirty! its just everything's crazy right now.. with the accords., i can't even imagine how you're feeling! probably terrible.. oh, g od wait, not terrible, i'm s–"

you had been watching with an endearing look in your eye. you had come to find that you enjoy watching Peter ramble.

his eyes would become unsettled and shaky, his body would begin to become more and more animated, but his voice

gosh, his voice was something you wanted to listen to for the rest of your life

but you could tell he was getting more and more skittish. so you put him out of his misery

"terrible probably wouldn't be my go-to word, it's up there though.. at least i got to meet you." you smiled softly.

Peter's eyes ran over your soft features. night had fallen, so the windows of the plan displayed an almost picturesque display of the moon and stars. the light hue of color the moon provided painted your face in a way that clouded Peter's thoughts.

with your comment of being grateful to have met him, Peter wasn't in control of his mouth for much longer.

"so pretty." he breathed. both of you guys froze.

Peter's face quickly morphed from love-sick to mortified. you blushed violently.

deciding you didn't want Peter to fall into another rant-like apology (because if you got to listen to him talk for that long in this setting, you might just drop the 'L' word) , you said,

"let's watch a movie?"

the two of you sat, shoulder to shoulder, watching Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, but being too hyper aware of their thighs pressed together and brushing hands to actually pay attention

upon arrival, both teenagers walked off the plane, sleep deprived , but with thumping hearts and dazed grins.

Peter threw himself on his hotel bed that night,, hiding under the covers

his thoughts replayed your interaction over and over (and over and over) in his head

the boy shoved his head, face first, into the stiff hotel pillow and let out a muffled groan

Peter flipped himself over, stared at the ceiling, before remembering his spouts of unnecessarily long explanations

he thrashed his body, kicking his poor blanket in frustration but most of all, out of embarrassment

he calmed himself down once his memories refreshed themselves over your gentle giggles and how soft your hands were

Peter fell asleep with cherry red cheeks and a blissful grin.

because despite those small mess ups, despite the futile way he beat his covers in humiliation, Peter treasures that day like no other.

[syllvane]

in the shadows- inej ghafa x reader

a/n: this was requested by anon but i listened to hozier while writing this so it took on a life of its own! i have never written for inej before so i hope it’s not ooc!

Your relationship with Inej blooms in secret.

It blooms in shadows and in dark rooms and in the Barrel, where such things have no business in blooming.

It blooms anyways.

“You know if you keep showing up here when you’re not working, Kaz is going to know that something is up.”

You turned around to face Inej, unable to keep the small smile that appeared off of your face.

Showing weakness wasn’t allowed in the Barrel, not for anyone and certainly not for you, for someone in such close proximity to the infamous Kaz Brekker.

And you were good at it.

You were good at being ruthless and cruel and cold and now you couldn’t even keep a smile off of your face.

Maybe this is what love does, you thought. Maybe to love and to be loved is to be weak.

And still, looking at the woman in front of you, you couldn’t imagine how loving her could possibly be a bad thing.

“I just like The Crow Club,” You lied, the smile still tugging at your lips.

Inej pursed her lips, as if she was stifling a laugh.

“You have an awful poker face.”

“Maybe I just like the company,” You suggested and she looked down, trying to conceal the smile that had appeared on her face.

She opened her mouth to respond but before she could, Jesper slung an arm around your shoulder.

“Twice in two days? I’m beginning to think that you actually like it around here,” He said, grinning.

You rolled your eyes and Inej gave you a pointed look, as if to say ‘I told you so’.

“I just enjoy seeing you lose, Jes,” You said and he did his best to look offended before the easygoing grin made its way back onto his face.

“You break my heart. Hey, Inej- where did she go?”

You looked back at where Inej had been standing moments before, though you knew that she had gone even before Jesper had said anything.

“What do you need, Jesper?” You asked him and he took a step away from you, his hands in his pockets.

“So this guy-”

“You need kruge?” You asked impatiently, more focused on getting back to Inej than anything else.

He blinked.

“I wouldn’t come to you if-”

You dug in your pocket and handed him what you had on you and he stopped speaking.

“You’re just going to give it to me? No lectures?” He asked.

You shrugged.

“If I tell you not to lose it all, will it make any difference?”

He took the kruge, ignoring your question.

“You know, you’re being much nicer than usual, I think you should hang around Inej more,” He said thoughtfully, not even registering the surprise on your face as he turned to go back to one of the tables. “Thanks again!”

You stood there for a couple of seconds in surprise before you went outside, knowing that you were most likely to find Inej there.

Though it wasn’t as busy as it was earlier in the evening, there were still plenty of people walking around, entering and leaving various establishments.

You don’t hear her when she drops down, but you still know that she is there.

Sure enough, when you turn around, the shadows melt away and there she is.

“I told you it was getting obvious,” She chided and you raised an eyebrow.

“Where am I supposed to go then? The Emerald Palace? It’s not like there would be any point though, because believe it or not, you’re the reason I come here.”

A smile appeared on Inej’s face, though she managed to conceal it quickly.

“I never would’ve guessed,” She said and although there was no trace of it on her face, you could still hear the smile in her voice. “Come on, let’s go somewhere more private.”

She led you down the alleyways of Ketterdam until the two of you were in a nicer part of town, away from prying eyes and listening ears.

Still, the two of you didn’t dare walk into the lamplight, not wanting to risk being seen, instead settling for standing in the shadows.

You always knew that if you were going to have a relationship with someone, it would have to be like this.

It would have to be secrets and shadows and deception and yet with Inej, you wanted more.

You want more. And you look at her and you want to walk in the lamplight with her, want the whole of Ketterdam to know how much you love her.

You want to damn your reputation and damn yourself alongside it all for the chance to hold her hand where others can see.

You looked away from her after she looked back at you, realizing that you had been staring.

“Sorry, I just-”

Before you could continue your apology, she put her hand on your cheek, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“Can I… Can I kiss you?”

You nodded and she kissed you.

She had kissed you a thousand times before and she may kiss you a thousand times more, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to her gentleness, the way she holds you as if you are something fragile.

You don’t think you’ll ever deserve it.

For so long, you believed that there was nothing holy in the Barrel. Profit, maybe, to some people, but not to you.

And maybe you are partially right, maybe there is nothing holy in the Barrel. Maybe everything the Barrel touches turns to rot. Maybe you’re both criminals and maybe there is no amount of forgiveness that can forgive what you’ve done. Maybe, but Inej’s lips make you want to kneel down and repent anyways.

You are unsure about a lot of things. You’re unsure if you’ll ever deserve the gentleness that she treats you with, if you’ll ever deserve her at all. Maybe you are selfish and cruel and cold and all of the things that you wanted the Barrel to believe that you are. Maybe you pretended to be a monster for so long, you actually became one. Maybe, but on her lips is a promise that she will love you whether you are the monster that you pretended to be or not, that you will never not deserve her love.

You don’t believe her promise, not fully, but you still savor the taste of her words on your lips and you take it, regardless of whether you’ll ever be worthy of it.

[sxfik]

push and pull

part I | part II

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: during a trial, a lawyer must be ready for anything. they should be able to navigate their way through any sudden obstacles or arguments. but through her time at law school, this is the first time her opponent has used kisses as an argument strategy.

or: joon hwi decides it's time to test how far kang sol's concentration can last. you know, to prepare her for the trial. no other reason.

a/n: aaa this was supposed to be peace is not known to man pt. 2 but i just had to write this today, i could not get the scene out of my head. after this will be peace is not known to man chapter 2 because ✨✨ and then a prompt request that was sent in ! this might be shorter than normal but i did leave room for a possible sequel? anyways, i hope you enjoy this <3

Throughout Kang Sol A's time in rigorous classes and with strict professors, there was one thing that was drilled through her head: be prepared for any argument. As she progressed through the ranks, it was clear that students, as well as prosecutors and lawyers, will use anything and everything at their disposal in order to win. Even if it is the lowest or morally dubious argument, if it wins them the case, they will not be afraid to use it.

Kang Sol was never the brightest student in class. She struggled to pick up the concepts as quickly as her peers; she racked her brain every time she needed to name a criminal code from memory. But if there was anything she was good at, it was preparation.

Her biggest mistake her first semester was not having a battle plan and through the minefield that was fighting against Assemblyman Ko, she felt like she was constantly rushed and underprepared. After her 1L, Kang sol took the time every day to make sure she was prepared for anything that would be an obstacle for her. She's always in class with the needed materials already printed out, her course materials pre-read and she takes extensive notes during her lectures, making sure to get even the smallest details. She wrote down anything that could make the exam easier for her. So, during study groups, she was the go-to person for notes and specifics, despite joon hwi, sol B and ji ho's innate abilities to memorize and grasp the concepts. Her contribution was her thoroughness as well as her tenacity. And maybe, that was what made her so essential to her mock trial team.

The annual justice mock trial was just around the corner, and Sol was not going to be underprepared like last time. Joon hwi, Sol B and she poured over their case files, writing their main argument, rebuttal and summary until they were near perfect. For weeks, they'd spent in the library, reading and researching everything they would possibly need during the trial so they could make their main argument as bulletproof as possible. The three of them were going to win this trial, no matter what they had to do.

That preparedness was what found Sol in her current situation, standing in the empty mock trial courtroom, standing at the defendant's side of the table while Joon Hwi had stood across from her, looking over the prosecutor's argument. Her sense of morality was her biggest blessing and her biggest obstacle in Law School. Her belief in right and wrong, and the proper use of the law, made it almost painful for her to argue the other side. But being the wonderful classmate he was, Joon hwi had offered to help her whenever he could, acting as the devil’s advocate.

Han Joon Hwi. Her beloved classmate and next to Ye-Seul, her best friend. He was there for it all: from defending Yangcrates to protecting her sister from Lee Man Ho to defeating Assemblyman Ko. As Kang sol was sinking from her past two semesters at Hanguk law school, he was the one who kept her afloat. Every night she spent at the library, on the verge of exhaustion, he would be there alongside her making sure she took breaks and took care of herself. Without him, she was sure she wouldn't have been able to pull her health up or make it through her first year.

Joon Hwi had always processed his feelings more inwardly, holding everything in and away from everyone as much as possible. During the worst of his grief last year, he would sneak out into the practice fields, running laps until he was exhausted and his breathing ragged. She picked up on what he was doing, when she saw him dip out of the library a little earlier than everyone else. She had snuck out to follow him and watched him as he would run across the fields, until he'd break into pieces on the field. For a boy who had seen her worst, who had helped everyone gain their strength to fight, it wasn't right that he suffered by himself.

So when she saw him declining into the familiar pain, when he was staring into the memorial of his uncle's donation, the man who had meant everything to him, who had died before he could repent for his sins against the law, she sat by him in silence, until he leaned onto her shoulder. If she could, if it was possible, she felt like absorbing all the pain, the regret and the anger he felt inside until he was alright.

She wasn't sure when the lines blurred between them, but her image of him shifted until she was sure he was so much more than a friend. It was as if he had a new tint of color over him, and suddenly, she found herself thinking of him all the time. Now, every time she'd laugh, she'd turn behind her to make sure he was laughing. For every little thing that happened in her life, he was the only one she craved to share it with. Every smile, every little happiness, she wanted to share it with him. Even if she wasn't feeling well, or doing anything exciting, she wanted his presence by her.

Kang Sol was always eloquent, her mind moving at 10 mph and her words even faster. She never ran out of things to say, not until she met him. With Joon Hwi, she had no way of expressing just how much she wanted him in her life, how much gratitude she had for him. He meant so much more than anything she could describe in words so she forced herself to be content with the bits and pieces she could keep in her life.

Kang Sol cleared her throat, gaining joon hwi's attention from the papers and across the room. "Let's get started?" she asked her, looking up from her papers, and up to him as he nodded.

“As the defendant…” he started, his voice echoing in the empty courtroom, voice firm and strong as he delivered the main argument. Watching joon hwi transform into his full prosecutor mode was startling to watch, his casual demeanor changing into confidence. He transformed into something else entirely, his demeanor intense and his voice sharp as a knife. Watching him concentrate and argue was magnetic and with every passing line, she felt pulled towards him. She could feel the nerves build as she watched him, his voice strong and powerful through the room.

He looked up at her, finishing his argument and it felt like the wind was knocked out of her. Sol wasn't sure if it was the fact that she had to present the argument next or if it was his darkened eyes staring into hers, the awareness spreading through her body, that made her forget how to breathe properly. For a moment, the silence enveloped them, the tension between them taut as a bowstring, despite being so far apart from each other.

"Sol?" His voice interrupted the moment as the pressure built in her chest and her throat stagnated. She cleared her throat again, shaking the gaze off her, before starting her argument. As her eyes and her voice followed the words on the paper, her body and mind were somewhere else entirely, every hair on her body aware of his growing presence, his eyes on her. For someone so hesitant to argue against the side she believed in, she was going strong until she made one grave mistake.

She looked up to him for a moment, and he was standing much closer to her now, his eyes molten as he looked up at her, standing in the middle of the courtroom, and her voice wavered to a stop. She didn’t know when Joon Hwi had moved closer, her body too obsessed with the fact that his eyes were on her to ever notice his movements.

He raised his eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk on his face. "Why are you stopping, Sol-ah?" he asked, his voice much deeper, heavy and sweet like honey. He stepped closer then, and she looked down to the papers in her hand, his gaze burning her with intensity.

She continued on with her argument, as he stepped closer and closer, until he was right in front of her place behind the defendant's desk. She looked up then, confident in herself not to waver as the words on her paper blurred together into mush. But her mind and her mouth was on autopilot, her voice growing smaller and smaller as she parroted the argument from memory, his proximity throwing her off. He moved closer then, leaning in until his face was just a breath away from her. His hands reached up to her face, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. She felt her mind stutter and her stomach bundle into knots from him being so close that she could see his eyelashes brush against his cheek as he blinded. Her eyes were glued to him, pulled closer and closer, as he laid his finger at her throat, and traced down to the base of her neck.

She shuddered out a breath then, the feel of just a finger on her skin making her face grow warm and red. she struggled to think, to remember what she was doing before his fingers traced up, up, up, towards her jaw. His hands cupped her face, bringing it closer towards him, as his thumb brushed against her cheek.

"I think-" she paused, trying to catch her breath, "I think my argument ends there."

"You think?" he tilted his head slightly, his eyes taunting and teasing.

"Yes," she breathed out, leaning closer and closer, until her lips met his. His lips were firm and reassuring for a short moment, before she pulled away. But their distance didn't last even a second as she surged forward again, kissing him with everything she had. The papers in her hand dropped to the desk, forgotten, as her hands searched for him, finding purchase in his shirt as she pulled him closer.

His hands shifted then, kissing her deeper, as his hands went to untangle her hair from her ponytail, until her hair was loose around her shoulders. His hands tangled in her hair, pushing her closer to him as his tongue brushed against her lip and she gasped, the feel only accelerating the want, the need for him.

Her mind was foggy as he drew away from her lips and down to her jaw, his frantic kisses addicting as he moved down to her neck. Joon hwi tilted her head with the hand tangled in her hair, as he left open-mouthed kisses down her throat, ones that left her panting and gasping, his mouth bruising the delicate skin of her neck.

"Joon hwi-ah," she shuddered out, as he sucked, her breath coming out in soft puffs, a moan growing at the back of her throat.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The loud noise against the door shocked the two out of the moment, as a voice inquired "Is anyone in there?" The two jumped back then, still holding on to each other as Sol looked at Joon hwi, alarm taking over her body.

Annoyance flooded his features, as he looked towards the door, his lips swollen and red from her ministrations.  He was panting, as he looked back at her, his gaze was heavy on her, and for one charged moment, Kang Sol thought of throwing caution to the wind, to pull him back into her. But he stepped back then, away from her desk, and back to his to gather his files. Sol was glued to her feet then, her hands frozen and unable to process what just happened before her rational mind kicked in, and she rushed to gather her files. She ran her hand through her hair, noticing her disheveled state in the mirror, before gathering her hair into a bun and smoothening out her clothes, trying to put on a pretense that she was perfectly okay, it wasn’t like joon hwi had feverishly kissed her until her mind was completely blank or anything.

There was silence between the two as they exited the courtroom through the back entrance, making sure to leave the room as if nothing ever happened. But before they parted, Joon Hwi grabbed her hand, looking into her eyes for a moment as if to say this isn't over, before the parted ways, leaving Sol to process what went on between them, and how she could ask for more, more, more.

[solomonish]

breathe deep, breathe clear, and know that i'm here (solomon x reader)

When the tendrils of doubt start to wrap around you, how do you battle them when your new state of existence is entirely unknown?

ao3 link here!

CW: F!MC

When Solomon finally found her stumbling through the enchanted woods in a daze, he considered scooping her up in his arms and carrying her out of the forest, never to return. Every second spent away from her sent a sharp fear through his chest. Immortal as she was, she was not indestructible, and the creatures inhabiting the woods could be unexpectedly dangerous. Even with the experiences she's had with magic, there was so much she didn't know - there was so much ignorance that could still kill her.

Instead, he settled for running to her and holding her close, tucking her into himself tightly as if trying to force their bodies to meld. He could feel her tense, then relax, tremors taking over that he knew better than to comment on. As her shoulders heaved, Solomon couldn't tell if they were sobs or gasps for breath, but he rubbed her back soothingly anyway. Eventually, her hands weakly found purchase in the back of his shirt, and he placed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.

Solomon didn't pull back until he was absolutely sure she had calmed down, and even then he took her hands in his and rubbed his thumb over Lucifer's ring. She was here, and as long as it was still on, everything was fine. Everything was fine.

Except everything was not fine. She insisted on staying in the woods until Solomon found the roots he was looking for, even after his protests and offers to leave. They walked hand-in-hand until nightfall, slowly traversing the uneven ground and looking for the small, purple flowers that marked their targets. They prepared to leave the forest with a sizable bundle of the plants, and as they crossed the final bridge, Solomon noticed MC stop and stare out over the ravine. The long shadows cast seemed to swirl with the unnatural fog settled within the cliffsides, so dark even the full moon couldn't permeate it. As silent tears streamed down her cheeks, he noticed those that fell, could.

"When will you get tired of me?" She asked, her voice small and shaking. The way she watched the fig beneath her, Solomon wondered if she thought it would swallow her whole, or maybe even hoped it would.

"What do you mean?" Tentatively, he inched closer to her. The simple suspension bridge swayed with his movement, but she didn't seem to mind.

"How many things have you gotten bored of before? How many pacts do you no longer call upon? Even some magic can't capture your attention sometimes." The sadness in her tone was palpable the more she spoke, eventually straining her voice so she could hardly push the words out. Solomon had heard pain in the voices of many, but it never hurt as much as it did to hear from her. 

Telling her how many of his pacts were one-time necessities or formed more as an impulse for more power seemed in poor taste. How many of his pacts did he make, knowing he wouldn't need them? How many demons were tethered to him, knowing they would never be called on by him again yet having to be ready just in case? Swallowing past the lump growing in his throat, he kept the questions to himself lest she think he'd ever string her along in the same way.

Of course she'd imagine magic to be boring for him when he's spent so long studying it. Even the more complicated, dazzling spells were familiar to him. But magic was ever-changing, and he was always finding something new about it to explore. Besides, he could never grow bored of magic when she was around to excite him.

Solomon didn't know how to articulate his thoughts. He just knew that he loved her, and he loved her so deeply it hurt. With still nothing coming to mind, he stayed silent. Oh, how he wished he had said something, anything to get her mind off of her own thoughts, just to share himself the heartache of hearing what she had to say. When she opened her mouth, she spoke with more conviction, looking up at him with wide, wet eyes and yet not a quiver in her voice.

"I can't think of anything I have that'll get you to want to stay."

The breath in Solomon's throat hitched for a moment. With her eyes searching his, he felt something like a criminal, knowing he had done something wrong and forced to wait for a punishment he knew would be inevitable. His silence seemed the trial, and after a moment, her face fell and she looked away. Caught between wanting to bring her gaze back to him so he could repent and not wanting to see her desolate face, Solomon only stood in place dumbly.

Giving a bitter laugh, she shrugged as if she could shake off her burdens. "I mean, you shouldn't have to pick up everyone else's discarded pieces. And against angels and demons, and even other sorcerers, I really don't compare."

Hadn't he thought something similar? During the exchange program, when he realized he was one of what seemed like a thousand people competing for her affections, he thought he knew how it would play out. He wasn't a demon, who's hulking form, unnatural charm and eerie good looks could haunt her for her entire life. He wasn't an angel that could offer her paradise and unquestionable love. All he was was barely human, the only pieces of himself she could ever like hidden behind centuries of masks and non-answers. 

When she chose him, took his hand proudly in front of all the brothers and defended her choice, he thought for sure his starstruck face and the brothers' envious stares were enough to drive home how intensely her attention was sought after. But to hear her worry over the same things - to wonder if she was replaceable when he was the one with ten people lining up behind him, ten people he knew would never let her go - was enough to force his heart to crack right down the middle.

"I'm not built for immortality, Solomon." Looking down, she fiddled with the ring on her finger as two teardrops fell on the back of her hand. He could hear despair gripping her, and he felt powerless to battle it away. "I don't want to do this alone."

Finally, he felt he could move and he took her in his arms again, holding her close to him protectively. Though he knew it to be impossible, he hoped he could block any more doubts from finding their way to her, as if his arms alone could be a shield. As he looked over her shoulder, he saw the many spirits weaving between the trees, curiously watching the intruders on their home from behind the branches. He swore he saw something else behind a trunk, watching with satisfaction as MC shook in his arms - though he had half a mind to charge forward and destroy it for daring to take pleasure in her pain, not a fiber in his being wanted to separate himself from her. Instead, he shut his eyes and buried his face in her hair, rubbing her back in an attempt at soothing her. 

"You won't be alone," he promised as the more important words got caught in his throat. 

Solomon understood her fear and the creeping feeling of being replaceable. It was only natural when you thought you had to live on such a short time limit. Time felt limited, like there was none to spare for falling in love or mourning the loss of anyone. He understood feeling as if he had to scramble from person to person in fear the time may slip away, and he knew how it felt to worry others may do that to you. He had 72 pacts and a collection of scorned lovers to prove it.

People were not replaceable, and they were never boring. Each person Solomon has ever loved has remained trapped in his heart, and humans had a desire to remember every person they've ever loved even beyond their years on earth. He wasn't sure how to tell her that she would never grow boring to him - that she would continue to evolve, because the very nature of her human being didn't change with her immortality. It was a fact he found difficult to accept himself, but people evolved continuously, even after a thousand years. Those who only live out their typical lifespan just don't have enough time to see it.

But his own stagnation compared to the world made him yearn for something, anything that might stay. MC wasn't entirely unfounded in her fears; the world would leave her behind, family and friends would be ripped from her and she'd have eternity to grapple with the pain. But Solomon knew he could never leave her - that even if she did die, he would carry her with him for eternity 

MC was everything he could ever think to hope for. It would just take time for her to figure it out, and they both had all the time in the world. He would stick by her side while she sorted things out, and he would stay there for the rest of time after. But for now, he held her tightly, hoping it was enough of a signal that he was here to stay.

[dadsbongos]

crisped

Insert Coin - Chapter 1.c / Series Masterlist

Loading everyone onto the contraption, (Y/n) was last to enter the elevator, sliding up beside Hajime and glancing around at her peers.

One of them was a murderer.

One of them would die.

Well, assuming they had all their evidence.

Clenching her eyes shut, (Y/n) ignored the doubts swelling deep within her gut, trying to ignore the creeping sense of dread looming inside the metal box going down.

Down…

Down.

down

Entering the trial room, (Y/n) wanted to toss up what little she’d eaten that day at how extravagant the whole decor was.

Byakuya might’ve liked it.

Shaking her head, (Y/n) huffed, stumbling over to a podium in the circle as the others did. Hands shaking as she gripped the wood in front of her for purchase, Monokuma began explaining the process of the trial - only serving to bunch the knots inside (Y/n)’s stomach tighter.

She finally forced herself to stand straight and look around, eyes going from her left - Nekomaru Nidai - to her right - Sonia Nevermind - back to her left. Byakuya Togami.

“Didn’t that Byakuya bastard get killed in the dining hall, huh? Then everyone there is a fuckin’ suspect,” Fuyuhiko grinned as if he’d just earned some leg up against everyone else at the trial.

(Y/n) looked over to Nagito once again, then to his hands, and back at his face.

“...there’s something I have to do.”

“BE CAREFUL! The first kill will happen tonight. Someone will definitely kill someone.”

Night-vision goggles.

Green paint.

Knife.

“Helloooo, Ultimate Bimbo, you in there?!” Hiyoko shouted at (Y/n).

“H-huh?”

“We’re asking you a fuckin’ question!” Fuyuhiko followed up, “Shove your head up your ass when we won’t die because of it!”

Nagito gave the girl a sympathetic beam, “Go easy on her, there was just a murder after all. Besides, she was closer to Byakuya than any of us were.”

Hajime quirked a brow, “We’re asking about the cases Byakuya brought in. Do you know what was in them?”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” (Y/n) shook her head, rubbing at her arm awkwardly under the stare of her classmates, “The night-vision goggles is what you mean, correct? Yes, they were in his case. He’d brought them in the event of, well, a blackout.”

“And the knife wasn’t in there, right?”

“Right,” she nodded sternly, “he’d definitely had to have found it under that table.”

“But why?” Mahiru burst out, hands on her hips.

“Well,” (Y/n) crossed her arms, brows drawing tight towards her face in slight hesitance, “Byakuya knew something would happen tonight.”

“(Y/n),” Hajime interrupted, unrolling a piece of paper from his pocket, “you’re talking about this murder threat, right?”

“Exactly,” she agreed, “he’d shown me the threat yesterday while we were planning the party.”

“By gathering everyone in one place, he tried to create a situation where everyone could keep tabs on each other,” Nagito tapped his temple, “In doing so, he tried to put the writer of the letter in a situation where they couldn’t act.”

“He couldn’t risk ignoring it, and he knew that everyone might panic if he said anything,” (Y/n) followed up, “We weren’t sure who wrote it, even now… I’m not totally certain…”

But she had a guess.

But a guess was never quite good enough.

“I have (Y/n)!” Hajime called, pointing to the girl, “During the blackout, we were together.”

“Yeah, he grabbed onto me during the blackout, so I can say without a doubt Hajime has an alibi.”

“Hmm,” Teruteru rubbed at his chin, “Grabbed onto you, you say? Grabbed what?”

(Y/n)’s brows furrowed, “My arm, and can you please keep your mind out of the gutter, a man has died.”

Once again, her gaze floated to the black-and-white photo of Byakuya. His stern, commanding face crossed out with what (Y/n) could only hope was paint suspiciously colored in the fashion of blood. Her fingers intertwined before scrambling apart, only to knot together once again. She felt her lungs shrink and burn at the sight of his picture.

He called out for her. He needed her. Right before he died, he called for her.

She doesn’t know what she possibly would’ve done to help, but she’s sure she could have. She’s sure she could’ve stopped his murder. She’s sure his blood is on her hands.

“Isn’t that right… Teruteru Hanamura?!”

She wasn’t even paying attention to the trial. (Y/n) looked over as Teruteru screamed and wailed in defiance, none of the others on his side.

A voting panel lit up the wood at (Y/n)’s podium, all her classmates’ faces illuminated with the exception of Byakuya Togami - in his stead was a dim, black-and-white likeness. If it wasn’t for Hajime, (Y/n) wouldn’t even know who to vote for.

With heavy heart and shaking fingers, (Y/n) voted for the Ultimate Chef as the murderer of the Ultimate Affluent Progeny.

Once all the votes were tallied, Monokuma giggled to himself before dragging out a large gavel from seemingly nowhere and banging down on a red button, “I have prepared a very special punishment for the Ultimate Cook, Teruteru Hanamura! It’s Punishment Time!”

Rivulets of sweat and tears rolled down Teruteru’s cheeks, his teeth gritting and grinding with absolute dread, mortification bubbling just below the skin. This is it.

His death.

His repentance.

A claw on thick chain shot out and directly latched around the criminal’s neck before dragging him violently across the floor and through heavy, metal-barred gates. They slammed shut as soon as Teruteru was pulled through.

Deep-Fried Teruteru

Battered.

Breaded.

Boiled.

(Y/n) watched, horrified, alongside her classmates on the large projection screen as Teruteru Hanamura was punished for his irredeemable crime. As he was cooked alive.

As Monokuma dismissed the teenagers, they slowly moved out of the courtroom and towards the cottages. (Y/n) looked onwards at Hajime and Nagito, brows furrowed.

"Let's cut to the chase... You're correct! It was my doing all along!"

“I was only trying to stop Nagito from murdering one of you!”

“I saw him. I saw Nagito, in the middle of cleaning duty, putting the knife under the table!”

“Byakuya was probably trying to… protect Nagito.”

“So Byakuya gave his life to protect Nagito? Even though he was trying to take the knife?”

It’s all his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault.

Byakuya Togami is dead because of Nagito. Teruteru Hanamura is dead because of Nagito.

Byakuya.

Byakuya was dead. And there was nothing (Y/n) could do.

Quietly, (Y/n) approached the boy freshly living on her mind. She tapped his shoulder, pressing her lips into a tight up curl despite his clear shock. Hajime’s eyes widened at the display before shaking his head and walking away.

Ignoring the brunette’s exit, (Y/n) spoke to the boy before her, “Hey, Nagito,” she forced her smile to be livelier, “wanna… walk back to our cottages together?”

“Don’t worry, as long as I’m the leader, I won’t let anyone become a victim.”

Then she wouldn’t either. Even if it meant giving her life… just like Byakuya.

[mnemo-li]

Calebros: A Rant About My Favorite VTM NPC

I do love the newer Vampire: the Masquerade content, but sometimes the writing leaves a lot to be desired. A prominent example is - what in my opinion is - the butchery of Calebros’ character in Beckett's Jyhad Diary.

While I do love seeing the more brusque side of Calebros’ personality, I don’t think I’ve ever recalled him being this vulgar in the original Clan Novels. He was definitely not dropping the f-bombs left and right, and even his gruff manner had more to do with dry humor, sarcasm, and keeping up the dignified image fit for a clan leader. I do realize that this series of chat is set much after his whole ordeal as Prince of New York is over, so maybe the experience really changed him. However, the in-universe explanation of his drastic shift in personality is lacking– it is most likely the result of a change in writers which led to inconsistent writing and characterization.

Here are some examples of scenes that presents his characterization in a more nuanced light.

Scene 1: The Nictuku Accusation

“They would have eaten me, I tell you!” “I believe you, Jeremiah,” Calebros said in a forced, calm tone. He was tired of nodding politely, of reassuring his clanmate. Jeremiah could be a difficult person to like at times. This was rapidly becoming one of those times. “Don’t you humor me!” Jeremiah snapped. “I’ve been coming to you about this for weeks now.” Seems more like years, Calebros thought. “And still you’ve done nothing. Nothing!” Jeremiah paced around, gesticulating wildly. There was no second chair by Calebros’s desk, and for this very reason. He mostly didn’t like guests, didn’t want guests, didn’t want to encourage them to sit down, to take a load off and stay for a while. Most anyone who had reason or inclination to visit Calebros was irate, complaining, or tiresome. Jeremiah happened to be all three presently. “That is not true,” Calebros assured him. Jeremiah snorted in disgusted. “What, then? Tell me. What have you done?” “I have considered quite carefully your report.” “Ha! Like I said, nothing. ‘Considered my report…’” Jeremiah repeated contemptuously. “This is what I think of you and your reports—” he said, grabbing a handful of papers from the nearest stack on Calebros’s desk. Jeremiah made to fling them into the air— Instantly, Calebros’s hand shot out and latched around his visitor’s wrist. Talons pricked undead flesh ever so slightly. “Believe me,” said Calebros evenly. “You do not want to do that.” They faced each other for a moment, one monstrous creature restraining the hand of another. Jeremiah’s fingers, biting into the papers, were long and grotesquely thin, little more than needles of bone. His entire body was thin and hard and covered with knots, bulging masses of hardened tissue, like an old, gnarled swamp tree. Finally he stopped resisting Calebros and returned the reports to the desk. “I’m sorry,” Jeremiah said and resumed his pacing, just as intently if less frenetically.

This is from the Nosferatu clan novel. Here, Jeremiah is trying to get Calebros to believe that there truly are Nictukus dwelling in the sewers. Calebros is, frankly, tired of hearing the folk tale especially when he has other pressing matters to deal with. Yet, even with his patience paper thin, he does not lash out at his broodmate. He is shown to be deeply introverted, anti-social perhaps, but he does not let his own nature affect his duties. As the Nosferatu primogen - as the leader of the clan - he has to listen to the concerns of his family, no matter how absurd. He knows when to express his authority, and he never abuses it. Again, no f-bombs dropped.

Scene 2: The Salt Lake

“Geez, what am I, your mother?” Emmett asked. “No,” Calebros said. “You are my brother, my broodmate.” “Brood, litter, whatever. We were both chosen to suck the old blood tit, so who am I to ask questions?” Calebros sighed. Blood tit, indeed. “That’s not how you remember it.” Now it was Emmett’s turn to sigh. “Don’t do this. Don’t get all… You always do this, get all touchy-feely we’re-all-brothers-in-the-blood, when you soak your head, blah, blah, blah…” “Make light of it if you will—” “I will. Thank you very much. Got enough salt here?” Emmett flicked some at Calebros.

This is from the Nosferatu clan novel. Here, Calebros has just came up from his meditation within the mud hole / salt lake. He is shown to be introspective and even sentimental. In terms of character voice, his more poised speaking style and inner monologue is contrasted against Emmett’s rough, colloquial style.

Other Sources

In the Calebros graphic novel, a similar scene is shown where Calebros is depicted to be trying and failing to remember his past before he became a vampire, losing his mind as he mixes up imagination with false memories. His inner dialogue in the graphic novel shows him saying:

“Do I tell him that his prince, his... compatriot?, is losing his mind? Never.”

This very much reflects his true nature. In Vampire: the Masquerade, there is a system of nature vs demeanor. According to his character sheet, his demeanor is that of a “director” while his nature is a “martyr (penitent)”.

Director: To the Director, nothing is worse than chaos and disorder. The Director seeks to be in charge, adopting a "my way or the highway" attitude on matters of decision-making. The Director is more concerned with bringing order out of strife, however, and need not be truly "in control" of a group to guide it. Coaches, teachers, and many political figures exemplify the Director Archetype.

Martyr: The Martyr suffers for his cause, enduring his trials out of the belief that his discomfort will ultimately improve others' lot. Some Martyr simply want the attention or sympathy their ordeals engender, while others are sincere in their cause, greeting their opposition with unfaltering faith in their own beliefs. Many Inquisitors, staunch idealists, and outcasts are Martyr Archetypes.

Penitent: The Penitent exists to atone for the grave sin she commits simply by being who she is. Penitents have either low self-esteem or legitimate, traumatic past experiences, and feel compelled to "make up" for inflicting themselves upon the world. Penitent Archetypes aren't always religious in outlook; some truly want to scourge the world of the grief they bring to it. Repentant sinners, persons with low self-esteem, and remorseful criminals are examples of the Penitent Archetype.

All of these quotes, if feel, matches very much with the Calebros I knew from the clan novel saga. Below are also a set quotes detailing Calebros’ inner dialogue in his graphic novel.

“As prince, only I can save them, only I can keep them from looking where they shouldn’t. A force exists underneath this city, sleeping, and it must remain so, lest we all perish.

“Augustin, my sire, left us to investigate the Nictuku, and came back to me with this information. Could this be Gehenna? The Final Nights? When the Ancients awake to devour their errant children? Can it be stopped? Should it be stopped? Everything that is done is a hope of staving off the inevitable. Why?”

“My embrace into this world was a foregone conclusion, made for me by Augustin. It is no different for anyone else. Why then do we not welcome the coming Armageddon? Exchange one world for another. It sounds almost painless, except I would never accept such a course, neither would my fellow Nosferatu. Neither would my fellow Kindred, for that matter.”

He is incredibly contemplative, and determined too, willing to fight against the inevitable apocalypse of the vampires. As long as his clan and the Kindred as a whole does not give up, does not give in the the despair of Gehenna, he too will be willing to fight for the survival of others.

Scene 3: Against a Master Manipulator

The character of Hesha is... complex. I see him as sort of a sweet-talking, cunning, charismatic cult leader. Here is a dialogue between him and Calebros.

“No harm was done,” Hesha said softly, his voice still the slightest bit scratchy from the ordeal he’d undergone. “As you say,” said Calebros, not looking up and continuing to write furiously. “You concede without agreeing.” Hesha laughed quietly. Calebros’s head whipped up. Angry words were ready on his lips, but the Egyptian’s smile was not mocking. The Setite obviously realized the weakness of his position, physically and strategically, as well as the fragility of their alliance. “Candor is important between friends,” Hesha said. “Otherwise, perceived insults take hold and fester.” “I am quite accustomed to festering,” Calebros said curtly. “I fear that I’m growing so as well,” Hesha said, squeezing one of the boils that stood raised about one of his many open wounds until the canker popped, and frothy pus ran down his arm. He laughed quietly again. Calebros punctuated a written sentence with a particularly violent period. “Your woman willfully disobeyed her instructions.” “She exercised discretion,” Hesha countered. “She blatantly disregarded the safety of my people.” “If anything had gone wrong,” Hesha said, “it would be Pauline lying torn on the ground. Your people would have faded into the night, none the worse for wear.” Calebros fumed. Probably Hesha was correct—but the Nosferatu was not about to admit as much. “I will speak with her,” Hesha said reasonably. “She has not encountered those of your clan before. She’s not aware of how strongly your predilection for…” “Cowardice?” Calebros suggested accusingly. “Prudence, I was going to say. She’s not aware of how strongly your predilection for prudence runs.” Good choice of words, Calebros thought. But, then, Hesha always chose his words carefully, always seemed to know just the right thing to say. It was discomforting in a way, how easily the Setite could alleviate tension with just a few words. Go ahead, Eve. Take a bite of the apple. Adam might like some too. But it seemed that they needed one another—and that outweighed their natural and mutual tendencies to distrust one another. Just barely.

Hesha’s actions managed to get under Calebros’ nerves, as seen in his curt speech, his furious writing, his accusatory reply to Hesha. He is angry for the safety of his clan (which, as seen from all the other sources, is something very dear to him). He is even shown to be stubborn, refusing to admit that Hesha was correct. Even still, he keeps his head rather than loose his cool completely. He also realises Hesha’s smooth words for what they are- manipulation. He is willing to compromise and form a sort of alliance with Hesha too, despite of his distrust and personal feelings.

Calebros and Ramona

I found the strange friendship Calebros had with the Gangrel Ramona to be incredibly touching, and tragic due to the turns it took towards the end (which I won’t spoil). Below are some excerpts from the Nosferatu clan novel showing Ramona’s initial meeting with Calebros and his later assessments of her character.

Neither Pauline nor the other girl, Ramona, had been subjected to the full brunt of facing a Nosferatu. Not until now, that is, when they were brought into Calebros’s presence. He did not hide his true appearance from them. And he could read the dismay, the fear and disgust, on their faces. Of the two, Pauline made the worthier attempt, attempt, to maintain her demeanor of professional detachment—perhaps Ruhadze had taught her well. The Gangrel, unsurprisingly, was not so couth. She gawked, both at Calebros and at Hesha in his current condition, and she hid her revulsion quite poorly, if she tried at all. […] Ramona looked at Calebros again, a more measured look this time, trying to see through the deformities. Good girl, Calebros thought. Young and brash, but not stupid.

Ramona reached for a calendar on Calebros’s desk, but tossed it back when she realized it was from 1972. “That’s still a whole month, and nobody knows where Leopold was that whole time. He could have gone back to the cave.” Smart girl, Calebros thought. He was leading her along the same path of reconstructing events that he had followed.

He compliments her intelligence again and again, and seems genuinely fond of her. Which I believe is why, after he became Prince of New York, he allows her a private audience with him to which he offered her a safe passage out of town which she rejects, viewing his actions as a betrayal. Below is an excerpt from what I think is the Clan Brujah novel.

The hunched form stepped forward, leaning heavily against the seatbacks as he came. Ramona kept straining to pick out the sound of broken gasps that must accompany such labored progress, but the air did not stir. "You had requested an audience, my dear. A private audience. I have gone to some pains to secure a place where we might be alone. Privacy is such an indulgence here. All too often, I find myself unable to justify the expense of importing it. And there is always someone else jealous of such decadence. But you have not come to hear of my distractions. Sit here, next to me, and tell me why you have come.”

[…]

“Calebros chuckled low, a sound like an engine turning. "No, I don't imagine you would. I will miss your straightforward style, Ramona. I find it refreshing. But already you know that there is no longer any place for you here. In the midst of battle—against the Sabbat and later, against Leopold and the Eye—we could afford certain marriages of convenience. But these partnerships will not survive the challenges of peacetime. Your associates, Mr. Ruhadze and Mr. Ravana, they found themselves in much the same position. Each has already left New York.”

[…]

“Calebros was silent for a time, letting her wind down. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you with the Eye, Ramona. And I'm sorry you will have to leave us. Believe me, I would like nothing better than to find a place for you here. I will have sore need of people who can be relied upon in the nights ahead. But you know what you would be up against if you remained here— the posturing, the none-too-subtle snubbing, the outright backstabbing. You are a rarity among our kind, Ramona. But because you are different, you will be hated and eventually destroyed if you stay among the society of the damned. Know that I will remember our time together fondly. If I can be of any assistance to you in relocating..." "No, I understand. It's 'thanks for your help; here's your bus ticket.' Well, I don't need any of your favors. I don't like the strings attached to them. And I resent the fact that you think I'm so stupid that I'll let you screw me over and then thank you for it." "Ramona...”

Again, even during his tenure as Prince of New York he is so damn eloquent, I definitely can’t fathom the word fuck ever slipping out of his mouth. He is compassionate, helping Ramona perhaps for future gains too, but mainly I believe he genuinely wants to do something right, give her the happy ending she deserves for once.

Moreover, I have a soft spot for this quote of Calebros pondering about Ramona’s nature, why she’s always so angry at the world, why every word out of her mouth sounds like an accusation. It showcases well his world-weariness, a cynical attitude that hides his concerns for others.

What have you seen that makes you so angry, so bitter, little one? Calebros wondered. Family killed? Have you been betrayed? How many times, I wonder. You’d best get over it, if you hope to survive.

So... yeah. I’d pay money to see an accurate portrayal of Calebros in a newer media otherwise I might have to write my own fanfic pairing my OC with him

[svnarintaro]

it’s too late to say sorry

update: part two is up and you can read it here 

authors note: IM IN A IMAGINE WRITING SPREE SOMEONE STOP ME PLEASE also i like using different names for the same characters im sorry :/

synopsis: hitoshi shinsou is known to be a top tier player, you only saw his as a jerk that toyed with other people's feelings, he was on his way for changing for the better; but he blew it.

word count: 1.9k words

warnings: !quirkless au! angst!!

!f*ckboy! hitoshi shinsou x reader 

him and his entire demeanour pissed you off, you were not someone that was hateful but man did this man get on your nerves. girls and guys were falling like flies case of his 'irresistible' aura, the thought made you scoff. he was just another one of those players that care for thing other than themselves and you were sick of this whole pedestal that people put them on, and him oh how you wanted to knock them down  and make them taste the reality of their destruction.

you and your best friends kendo and monoma were discussing what material you missed when you were sick on the way to the cafeteria, kendo perked up as if she remembered important information "oh also about the seating plan in chem.." you groaned and tilted your head back in annoyance, "don't tell me i'm sitting to this trust fund kid," you sarcastically pointed your thumb at the boy to your right, "shut it my dear peasant, you are a charity case to me so be grateful-" and as he was finishing up his sentence he got smack to the back of his head. "kendo that hur-" "be grateful that we haven't left you sorry butt yet." she let out a huff and continued what she was about to say as the three of you got to the cafeteria she took a shaky breath, "you kinda next to shinsou.."

you choked on air, "no no no no, i don't want o be next to a barney headed jerk-" before your rant even started you were cut off by the person behind you. "so you wanna continue talking about me behind my back or do you wanna say it to my face sweetheart, take your pick," you knew that voice, all too well. "first of all save your disgusting nicknames for a person that actually likes you." you turned your heel to give him the dirtiest glare you could fathom to show hitoshi shinsou.

"aww don't be like that baby.. i already know you'll turn around~" his smirk did not fall for a second, it only grew by the minute. "look i'm not looking to have anything on my criminal record, so if you want to keep your limbs in one piece i suggest you take my advice and piss off with my parting gift." you brought your fist to your mouth and shoved your middle finger in our mouth, and you proceeded to pull it out and flip him off and caught up with kendo and monoma who were laughing. 'they really are something else hm?' shinsou thought.

"man does he really put you in a bad mood hm?" neito teased and handed you the sandwich you wanted, "yeah she really did flip him off this time and threaten him?! i think that is the nicest exchange they've had all year!" kendo wheezed out, as you payed for your food you looked back to see shinsou sitting with his friends.

"so let's get this straight, you single handed moly pissed someone off so often they called you barney head, say they might break your limbs AND flip you off?!" kaminari screeched, while todoroki was purely confused, "did shinsou lose his ability to flirt his way out of this situation or something? cause honestly i feel like you lost you mojo a little bit." sero snorted at todoroki, "did you really have to say 'mojo'?" shinsou was just trying to figure out how to woo you now, his ultimate revenge as to get you to like him and break your heart and pummel it to smithereens.

now you had your chemistry class, and you were lab partners with shinsou, the given thought of being within a 2 metre radius of him mad you dread the class. the moment you walked in the class you saw a girl on his lap, her uniform was two sizes too tight, playing with his hair and her skirt rode up to show her red undergarments. "daddy~ can't we just skip?" you gagged at that nickname, the two of them stopped what they were doing and looked at you. the girl looked you up and down and she was obviously annoyed at your presence. "oh don't mind me i'm just a poor witness to see your panties on full display," you shrugged and made your way to your seat, "at least i have someone interested me," the girl smugly said, you rolled your eyes, "at least my coochie isn't free real estate."

the girl let out a 'hmph' and stormed out out the class, "free real estate? that's a new one." you didn't bother looking at him, and you opened your notebook and brought your data booklet out not even sparing him a glance. meanwhile the guy in front of you asked for a pen and you immediately complied and gave him one. hitoshi has never felt more offended from getting ignored and blown off again.

later in the class the teacher gave a worksheet to work on and you got stuck on a certain question and you didn't know what to do, "you forgot to balance the reaction so that's why you got the wrong answer." you looked to see shinsou looking at you, elbow on his table, "for someone who doesn't bother with class you remember a few things." you proceeded to add numbers to the elements that were written. for the rest of the class he continued to help you with your worksheet and the two of you got along for once. 'huh he may not be as bad as i thought he was.'

for the rest of the month he acted like this and it showed you that he wasn't the monster you thought he was, he was kind, considerate, funny and sweet. he avoided other girls too, "to think that you changed shinsou is actually kind of crazy, you're way more tolerable this way," you whispered as the two of you sat together and worked on some chemistry notes together, on his end of the story he was freaking out, he never felt this way, h heart was pounding out of his chest. he wanted it to stop, he was afraid. afraid of you not liking him back, he was afraid of commitment, he was afraid that he wasn't good enough for you.

"listen kaminari it is a reasonable plan, get them to like me, have them fall in love with me and boom i break up with her." for the past hour kaminari has been listening to shinsou on the phone go on and on about how he wanted to mess around with you, "they're an interesting person, they've got guts." the blond giggled, "i mean if you wanna quit the plan and hand them over to me-" "don't think about it rat."

meanwhile he was thinking about how he was so calm around you, he felt the need to drop his act and be himself around you. "looks like someone is getting attached~"

really? did he get attached? no what would be too cliché for his own good. so he sought his time to be taken by girls, other girls where were desperate to be in his attention span, "hey kaminari give me the number of every one of your flings i need to let off some steam.." shinsou needed to get you off his mind.

on the other hand you were talking to kendo, "okay look i know that i said he was trash and whatever but  he changed and.. i think i might like him." you were gushing over all the sweet things he did, all the sweet things he said, you saw all the signs that he returned your feelings. "i say go for it! shoot your shot when you can, just be careful and know that me and neito are here for you and will beat him up if he dares hurt you." kendo was really on edge with him, it was as if shinsou got possessed and she knew something wasn't right, but if he made you happy she couldn't stop you. "thank you kendo~"

it was as if a switch was flipped, the Hitoshi shinsou that you hated was back and had more playthings than ever, make out sessions in the halls, skipping classes to fool around with anyone and what hurt the most was that he was avoiding you like the plague. “he is going through a phase right now, i promise he is better than this you saw how he was weeks ago please guys you have to believe me.” you were crying in monomas room about your ruined week. you knew what was the truth and that was that you were played, you were a fool to think that he was changing for the better. “i knew he was a jerk, y/n you deserve better than this, you deserve someone that will really appreciate you, someone that won’t have to change and will be who they really are in front of you..” you looked up from lap and stared at monoma and kendo. ‘these are my people, they will never betray me.’ “i love you guys,” you declared as you threw your arms around their necks and cried your heart out. ‘hitoshi shinsou you will pay for doing me dirty like this.’

kendo forced you to stay home and rest, you were stressed and not in the head space to be at school right now. it was now lunch and kendo was livid, and was stomping down the corridor to give a piece of your mind to the jerk that broke your heart. “shinsou, i got a bone to pick with you.” she yelled at the purple haired boy, ‘finally i can see how y/n is doing’ he completely misread her words and saw them as an invitation to act buddy buddy with her so he jogged over. however he was not expecting a fist to the face, “you undeniable monster! do you know what you did to her?! you gave her false hope and you have the audacity to think that you can get anything about how she is right now?” her words truly leaked poison and showed she was not playing around, he had hurt you, and he needed to repent. “you think your pathetic superiority complex is something to sneeze at and turn a blind eye to? you think that just because you can play with peoples emotions you’re better than everyone else? well here’s what i think.” groups of people were surrounding everyone and were listening to kendo’s rant, shinsou’s heart dropped, he knew what this meant, he had hurt you. with each sentence the gap between the two got smaller until she got into his face and continued.

“it is disgusting how you can switch your act to lower other people’s guard and once they do so they are underneath your discrepancy and you crush them with no mercy,” flashes of you trying to talk to the guy you liked were flashing into keno’s head, she watched as he broke you down until you were pieces and now she was there for you as you were hopelessly trying to pick them up. a breath broke her flow of thoughts and brought her a second of peace. “stay away from my best friend.” and thats when the world stopped for shinsou, he did all of this to protect himself, he was scared cause there was a chance you could’ve liked him back but he ignored that and hurt you instead. “i’m sorry..” was all that he could say at this point. he couldn’t express anything right now, he was malfunctioning. “it’s too late to say sorry.”

[dwellordream]

“Texts about petty treason clearly depict where and how women murder their husbands, but they have more trouble explaining why women do so. Just as the murderous wife challenged the conceptions of women's legal and moral stature on which marriage and social order depended, she also posed a problem for the many writers-hacks, ministers, legal personnel (judges, justices of the peace, clerks, and theorists), chroniclers, playwrights, and balladeers-who rushed to tell and sell her story. These authors attempt to tell a story in which a wife becomes the protagonist without conferring too much authority, prestige, or sympathy on a criminal, married woman. 

For only through transgression could such women, usually wives of yeomen, shopkeepers, tradesmen, and small landowners, demand attention outside of the household and neighborhood; only thus could they become the topic of debate in legal treatises and on streetcomers, the focus of attention in courtrooms and on scaffolds; only through transgression could they command a place at the center of a popular narrative as the protagonist of the story. If killing her husband made it possible for a wife to be at the center of a story, it remained a difficult story to tell. Certainly pamphlets describe who did what to whom with ease. Yet the texts that struggle to tell the story of a wife's transgression attempt to redress it through a didacticism that restricts the narration of her motives and desires. 

Once the writers begin to explore motives, they lose control of the moral of the story, for the more the reader engages with the wife the less simple the lesson becomes. To imagine, let alone sympathize or identify with, the frustrations of a wife is to question the legal and moral assumption that in the household there is only one citizen, one legal agent, one property owner, one decision maker: the husband. Some sixteenth- and seventeenth-century texts employ an explanation for the behavior of murderous wives that we often see in today's news and in popular culture; they represent the murderer as a battered wife who resorts to violence in despair and self-defense. Contrary to reductive analyses of the early modern family and the position of women in it, these period texts suggest a popular perception that husbands sometimes beat their wives to an extent that exceeded lawful correction and prudence and that beatings put wives in "a fit humour for the devill to worke on." 

Alice Clarke, for instance, is described as having visible bruises at the time that she is apprehended and examined for killing her husband. Even Henry Goodcole, the minister who counsels her and writes the gruesomely titled The Adultresses Funerall Day (1635) about her case, sees a connection between those bruises and her actions. The beatings described in such texts include not only drunken and impulsive assaults "with the next cudgell that came accidentally unto his hand" but also sadistic, eroticized rituals, such as "tying her to his bed-post to strip her and whippe her, etc." Although pamphlets exploit the titillation of such stories, despite the coy propriety of that "etc.," they also suggest that husbands could be uncontrolled, savage, and "unnatural," and that wives, especially those isolated from friends and neighbors by shame, distance, and religious or ethnic difference, might have felt that violence was their only recourse. 

Under common law, husbands had a legal right to beat their wives; however, the limits on this right were debated in conduct literature and explored in ecclesiastical courts when members of the community feared that excessive beatings threatened the wife's life and the peace of the neighborhood. The law did not spell out the limits on discipline except to assume that husbands did not have the right to kill their wives. As Martin Ingram explains, "Domestic relations were thus on the borders of public and private morality in this period-matters to be influenced by exhortation but not ordinarily by the exercise of formal discipline." To say that domestic relations remained outside "formal" discipline is not to say that they were unobserved or unregulated; neighbors and the local community exerted informal control over marriage and domesticity in many ways, including confrontation, shaming rituals, and bringing the offending couple before the justice of the peace for "unquietness." 

A husband's authority over his wife remained legally and morally ambiguous, even if the community's scrutiny constrained him. Since a husband's treatment of his wife remained largely beyond legal regulation, conduct literature appealed to the husband's judgment, urging him to regulate himself. In one of the many discussions of wifebeating in conduct literature, William Gouge suggests that beating one's wife undermines household governance because it opens up a space between the husband and wife, revealing that they are not one flesh, not one legal agent, but two: "Now a wife having no ground to be perswaded that her husband hath authority to beat her, what hope is there that she will patiently beare it, and be bettered by it? Or rather is it not likely that she will if she can, rise against him, over-master him (as many do) and never doe any duty aright?"

The husband's violence threatens to incite a contest for mastery; once the context of violence enables the wife to enter the fray as a combatant, the outcome is uncertain. One account of a wife's reaction to a marital rape, which we might not expect to find recognized as an offense in this period, clearly shows how a wife's subjectivity is constructed as violent, as a choice of her own life over her husband's life. In her examination recorded in A Hellish Murder (I688), Mary Aubrey (or Hobry), a French midwife, describes a history of dissension with her husband because she would not cooperate with him "in Villanies contrary to Nature." 

On the night of the murder, after beating her savagely, "he attempted the Forcing of this Examinate to the most Unnatural of Villanies, and acted such a Violence upon her Body in despite of all the Opposition that she could make, as forc'd from her a great deal of Blood, this Examinate crying out to her Landlady, who was (as she believes) out of distance of hearing her.” When she insists that she cried out, Aubrey employs the strategy of the rape victim, who had to demonstrate that she had made a "hue and cry" and thus had not consented. In presenting Aubrey's compelling testimony about this assault, A Hellish Murder not only suggests limits on a husband's rights to and power over his wife's body but also constructs a subjectivity for Mary Aubrey out of her despair, her sense of grievance, and her determination to escape. 

Aubrey finally demands of her husband, "Am I to lead this Life for ever?" only to receive more threats in response. In asking that question, Mary Aubrey is portrayed as raising a voice and imagining herself as having a life separate from and in conflict with her husband's. By depicting her reaction to abuse and her contemplation of retaliatory violence, this text constitutes Aubrey as a self-conscious, speaking subject. Later, beside her sleeping husband, she thinks "with her self," "What will become of me? What am I to do! Here am I Threatned to be Murder'd, and I have no way in the World to Deliver my self, but by Beginning with him." Aubrey's subjectivity is seen not only as the midwife's deliverance of herself but as a birth that depends on a death. 

"Immediately upon these thoughts," she stoutly undertakes the murder of her husband, strangling and dismembering him, and lugging parts of his body around in her petticoat to dispose of them. Popular accounts of petty treason usually shy away from such risky representation of a wife's conscious articulation of rights that are allied to violence by their very conception. The resulting attempts both to account for the complexities of domestic friction and to achieve some sympathy for the abused wife, while keeping authority vested in the husband, however tyrannous, can verge on the absurd. 

Goodcole describes one "young and tender" wife, who, repenting after administering poison to her "old, peevish," and abusive husband, fruitlessly pleads with him to take an antidote to preserve his life. "Nay thou Strumpet and murderesse," Goodcole reports him as saying, "I will receive no helpe at all but I am resolvd to dye and leave the world, be it for no other cause, but to have thee burnt at a stake for my death." * Although the wife is executed at Smithfield, Goodcole regards the husband, in his spiteful insistence on dying, as the agent. Sarah Elston, in her scaffold confession as recorded in A Warning for Bad Woo (1678), "protested again most seriously, that she never in her life had the least designe or thoughts of killing [her husband], onely it was an unfortunate Accident; and whether it came by a blow from her, or his violent running upon the point of the sizzars as she held them out to defend her self, she could not to this minute certainly tell."

These comic moments reveal how pamphleteers who wish to portray murderous wives as penitent and pitiful must awkwardly scramble to shield them from the imputation of intending to kill, just as they are presented as shielding themselves from blows. To characterize such women as assessing their hopeless situations and deciding to take violent action to escape them, that is, to present them as subjects, is also to remove them from sympathy and to open up disturbing implications about the marital relation of authority and submission. Writers in effect displace responsibility onto the husbands, positioning them as still in charge, even if drunken, violent, and absurdly self-destructive. In representations of domestic conflict in early modem popular culture-ballads, pamphlets, and plays, shaming rituals and jokes- the wife diminishes or usurps her husband's claims to authority as she asserts herself by committing adultery, beating or bossing her husband, or plotting to kill him.

For instance, Arden of Faversham (1592), a play about an actual case of petty treason, can be seen as an extended cuckold joke. Like such jokes, and like popular shaming rituals such as the charivari, the play holds the cuckolded husband responsible for his wife's adultery and insubordination. If the husband and wife become a joint subject at marriage, then, these popular representations seem to suggest, the wife's enlargement into volition, speech, and action necessarily implicates, diminishes, and even eliminates the husband. These popular representations push the logic of coverture to suggest an economy of marital subjectivity that leaves room for only one subject. They constitute the wife as a subject only to the extent that they qualify her husband's claims to subject status by silencing and immobilizing him and casting doubt on his authority and potency. 

The fact that popular accounts of such crimes acknowledge the role of abuse in inciting women to murder challenges assumptions we still have about women's rights within marriage and the monolithic power wives who defied the patriarchy during this period. It also complicates the notion of petty treason by introducing the possibility of tyrannous household government and by suggesting, albeit hesitantly, that there arc some justifications for rebellion. Certainly, contemporary debates about the limits on conscientious submission to civil and domestic authorities have a bearing on relations within the household and the understanding of petty treason. Writers of sermons and conduct books about marriage explicitly include the situation of the godly wife in their considerations of the limits on obedience to earthly authority; they advocate a demanding balance between submission and resistance, silence and good counsel.

In those cases of petty treason that resulted in convictions and made it into print, however, the circumstances in the household did not mitigate the wife's guilt. These women were executed as petty traitors despite their husbands' inadequacies as household governors. Although juries may actually have taken extenuating circumstances into consideration when they deliberated over cases of petty treason, these texts hold the husband responsible as well as depict the execution of the guilty wife; they recognize limits to a husband's power over his wife, yet present a wife's violent resistance as ultimately unjustifiable and destructive of the political order. Popular representations make these contradictions between husbandly authority and wifely submission visible, but they do not resolve them.”

- Frances E. Dolan, “Home-Rebels and House-Traitors: Petty Treason and the Murderous Wife.” in Dangerous Familiars: Representations of Domestic Crime in England, 1550 - 1700

[silentexplorer18]

Captive Conversations: A Feitan Portor Short

Summary: You trade your life for someone you know, offering yourself as a sacrifice to the group of thieves.  When Feitan prepares to torture you, all you can hope is that it’ll be over soon.

Pairing: Feitan Portor x Female Reader

Warnings: Weapons, minor injuries, fear, poison.

Word Count: 2,800+

Note: I know the warnings sound kind of violent, but I promise it isn’t that bad!

Read on AO3 ▪ Masterlist

Kenta was foolish.  You knew not to go off stealing from criminals, but he couldn’t be bothered to listen to you.  You knew not to ask for trouble, but he welcomed it with open arms.  He was a young, foolish child.  He may as well die behaving so recklessly, ignoring your judgement, but you couldn’t let him.  He was too young to die so tragically; he had so much left worth living for.  You needed to save him.  Which is why you rushed after him when he disappeared, sure of where he’d gone but dreading it all the same.

You knew enough to know he wouldn’t live as you stood there staring at the man holding him.  Large, strong shoulders, a nearly sickly grin.  Kenta couldn’t die like this, not after one foolish mistake with dangerous people.  His mother would be heartbroken.

“Take me,” you blurted, words more reflexive than sincere.  “Take me instead of him.  Let him go.  I’ll repent.”

Somehow, you’d convinced them to agree.

The sickly grin of the larger man was quickly replaced by the uncaring glare of someone much smaller.  Though, his stature spoke nothing of the power thrumming in his core.  You could feel it in his grip as he chained you up, hanging above the floor like a piece of meat for slaughter.

He walked across the room, examining a myriad of items on a table.  You were glad you couldn’t see everything from your angle.  However, you feared the worst.  Stringing you up had to mean he enjoyed drawing out your last breath, but how?  Stabbing?  Electrocution?  Suffocation?  Uncertainty allowed the mind to run wild with possibilities; maybe that’s why he’d left you at such an odd angle, table just out of view.

“Why you trade?  You love him?” the man asked, running the edge of the blade along his thumb.  His voice was quiet, and you almost missed his words over the thrum of your own heartbeat.  Yet the question helped, allowing your mind to hone in on something rather than skitter through the infinite possibilities of your demise.

“He’s an imbecile,” you sighed, eyes downcast as you thought of him.  “But now he knows better than to cross thieves.”

He was in front of you then, faster than you could blink.  Your heart stuttered, thundering in your throat.  At least things would be over soon.  Apparently the blade was sharp enough for his taste.

“You love him?” he asked again, fixing you with an unreadable stare.

“No.”

“Then why you take place?”

The sword was in his left hand.  One correct swipe to your leg and you’d be dead in seconds.  At least it all would be over soon.

“He has someone worth living for.”

“Mommy?”  His tone was mocking, and you couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling in your throat.  It spilled over your lips before you could help it, nerves setting you on edge.

“Yes.  That’s right.”

His brows furrowed deeper, and you quickly stopped laughing.  Maybe you’d insulted him.  It hadn’t been intentional.

“You not have family?”

You shook your head ‘no,’ gaze trailing from his face down to the blade again.  Whatever he wanted from you, there was nothing worth taking.  It would all be over soon.

“Where you live?”

“Here and there.”  His hand pressed against your neck, firm grip threatening your airway.  “The streets,” you amended, feeling the pressure lessen.  He could snap your neck if he wanted to.  It would’ve been easy for him.  “I never know where I’m going.”

“You steal, too?  Like friend?”

The air felt sticky between you, too warm with your panting breaths.  It was only cooled by his icy stare.  He looked disgusted by you, bored even.

“Only when I have to.”  He watched you, and you continued.  “Which is almost always.”

He walked away then, sword seemingly vanishing.  “You know how to fight?”

“A little.”

The door shut behind him.

It wasn’t over yet.

~

You woke with sore wrists and a headache.  The dust did nothing to quell your allergies, burning through your throat and eyes.  It was then you realized that you were on the ground.  Someone must have moved you while you were asleep.  How you hadn’t woken, you hadn’t the faintest clue.

Your legs burned as you sat up, the change in pressure making them nearly throb.  But they seemed unscathed other than the numbness.  Hopefully they’d regain feeling soon.

Waiting to stand, you looked around.  The room was dark and foreboding.  The walls were high, a few jagged windows jutting out far beyond your reach.  The only other exit was the door, which you were sure your captors had locked.  Why he’d left you unscathed, you didn’t know.  Standing, you moved toward the table, the only point of interest in the room.  There was a glass of clear liquid on the table—probably water—and some crumbling bread.  Were they keeping you alive?

Glancing by the door, you bit your lip.  It couldn’t hurt to check, right?  So you did exactly that, jiggling the handle to no avail.  You moved back to the table, reassessing your plan.  Pocketing the bread, you sipped the water, throat dry from laying face-down in the dust.  The only way out was up.  Could you make it?  As high as it was, surely not.  But there wasn’t an alternative.

What you missed was Feitan lurking in the darkest corner of the room, concealing his presence while watching in irritation as your fingers ghosted the tools he’d left on the table.  Though, it didn’t matter much; you’d be dead soon enough.  He’d left the bread to prolong your suffering.  Your stomach would absorb the bread along with the poison in the cup, causing it to impact your body much slower.  Foregoing the bread just meant he wouldn’t get as much of a show.  But he’d wait for his show nonetheless, practically holding his breath to see what you’d do next.

It looked like you wanted to escape.  You kept glancing up toward the window as though it would provide an exit.  At least he’d watch you struggle to the end.  That would make up for the frustration pooling in his chest at the sight of you uncoiling the rope he’d left out.

Your hands skittered across the table, looking for the heaviest object you could manage to throw.  It had been years since you’d attempted ascending a wall, but you hoped muscle memory could kick in and save the day.

Feitan wondered what you were doing.  You certainly weren’t strong enough to escape, especially not with the poison slowly working through your body.

An item leaning against the wall, akin to a fire poker, is what you ended up choosing.  More like a javelin than a weight, you hoped the extra distance would come in handy when you threw it.  You would only have a few chances; every miss would cause a clang loud enough to draw attention.  You were on borrowed time.

Whatever happened, it would all be over soon.

The first toss was far too low, ricocheting against the wall.  It made a small bang, but you caught it before it could make impact with the ground.  Feitan mentally sighed.  What a boring way to end his day.

Your second throw was better.  He was actually a bit surprised as he watched the metal clang against the closed window.  Your aim wasn’t excellent, but you had a decent arm.  Pity you’d waste all your strength so close to the end.  It had been at least fifteen minutes since you’d taken the poison; it would start to act in your system soon.  Then he could get on with more entertaining endeavors.

A third throw had almost made it, but the metal ricocheted off the wall.  You rushed to catch it, and Feitan watched in amusement as you cut your hand, nearly slicing off a finger.  How unfortunate.  Perhaps the poison was working, making your reflexes slow.  Quite unlucky.

A forth throw sent the bar flying through the window.   You wrenched forward with the force, nearly slamming against the wall.  Your adrenaline was pounding in your ears; there wasn’t much time left to act before someone found you.

Pulling the rope taunt, you began to try to climb.  However, your arms were tired, hands raw from the rough cord digging into your flesh.  You heard a slam down the hall, heart hammering as you realized you were running out of time.  If they caught you like this, the consequences would be severe.

Please, please, please, you whispered to yourself, squeezing your hands a little tighter.  Just let this work.  Please?  You lept at the wall, using the tension from the rope to jump to the adjoining wall, making it to the ledge in three jumps.  Gasping a breath of fresh air, you wiggled through the window, feeling the glass slice against your shoulder before sliding down the rope to the ground.  With nothing else left to do, you ran.

Feitan watched with surprise.  Why weren’t you dead yet?  That much poison could’ve killed someone the size of Uvogin, yet you’d managed to scale the wall with ease, tapping into Nen you couldn’t seem to control.  Waiting long enough, he zipped after you.  The chase never tired him, sending a thrill to his core.  It was like his body was made for it.  The rush, the fear, the excitement; it was almost as pleasant as torture.

He caught you several streets away, pinning you to the spot with a swift grip on the wrist.  You shuttered under his grasp, so sure you’d at least live for a few more hours.  “You faster than I think.”

Your knees felt like they would buckle under the weight of your fear, but you did your best to resist falling.  Your death would be a show regardless.  At least it would all be over soon.

“Where you plan to go?”  His nails dug into your wrist, stinging against the skin.  “You think you can run?”

“Anywhere but here.”  His grip on your wrist tightened, and you trembled.  What a life to have lived.  What a way for it all to end.

He pulled you back toward the building, bringing you inside.  It looked like several members of the group were waiting there, lounging in the hopes of receiving orders soon.

Shalnark looked up at the pair of you in surprise.  “What happened?  I thought you were getting rid of her.”

“She escape,” he said, pushing you forward.  You landed on your knees, hands clenching in the dust below you.

“Escape from you?” Shizuku asked, glancing up from her book.  “Has that ever happened before?”

“He must be slipping,” grumbled Phinks.

Feitan looked at Chrollo, who was looking at him with as much surprise as the rest of the group.  “I poison.  She not die.”

“You poisoned me?” you whispered, hands freshly shaking again.  It should’ve been over already.

Chrollo inspected you from over his book.  “Have you trained?”

You shook your head, confused.  Trained for what?  To swallow poison?  You didn’t think so.  If you could withstand the toxin, it wasn’t intentional.

He glanced over to Feitan.  “What does she do?”

“She common criminal.  Worse than us.  Quite sloppy.”

Shizuku gave him an irritated look.  “Everybody’s worse than us.”

“She still escaped, though,” Nobunaga pointed out.

All of them were staring at you, staring through you.  The more you hoped it would be over soon, the more you feared they wanted something from you first.  You had nothing worth giving them; you didn’t understand.

Chrollo stood, walking toward you.  You resisted the urge to look away, heart rattling in your chest once again.  You’d been resigned to your death before, but they’d drug it out so long that nervousness was consuming you.  “Do you know what Nen is?” he asked.

“No.”  You overheard two men talking about it once in a restaurant, the severity of their tone suggested you leave, but you had no idea what the words had meant, so you’d eventually brushed the thoughts aside.

Feitan looked at you in surprise.  “You use to escape.  Would be much slower otherwise.”

“I–” you looked around, glancing from Feitan to Chrollo nervously.  “I don’t understand.  I wasn’t trying to do whatever you think I was doing.”

“Other than escape?” Machi deadpanned.

You looked away then, hearing Chrollo’s footsteps fade.

“I don’t need a project, but if any of you would like one, you can help yourselves.  She has potential.  Quite a bit, I’d say.”

The silence was deafening.

“If not, Nobunaga should kill her.  I’d hate for her to get away again.”

Feitan glowered.  He could’ve killed you.  Easily.  He still could if Chrollo had asked.  It wouldn’t have been hard, just quicker than he would’ve liked.  But instead he watched Nobunaga step forward, unsheathing his sword.  It wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant to watch.

You stared at the blade, gulping before looking away.  At least things would be over soon.  The agony of the unknown would finally cease.  You closed your eyes as the figure retreated from your side, hoping to avoid excess blood splatter.  The universe had led you to this point, this moment.  If you were meant to die, maybe it was time.

Your head felt fuzzy, and your tongue fell to the pattern of words you’d known all your life, the ones you barely had to focus on.  “Whatever fate has brought me here, allow this to be swift.  If I must suffer for my theft, please let it be through my age rather than the pain.  I can’t take much more of this.  I need—”

“Stop.”

The word cut through the air, silencing both you and the blade posed above your bowed neck.

Feitan’s mind whirled, though his exterior remained impassive.  How had you known to say that?  Where had you come from?  How had he managed to stumble upon another person like himself?  Could it be real?

“What now?”  Nobunaga groaned as he re-sheathed his sword.  Working with Feitan could be so frustrating.

You looked up, wild eyes meeting Feitan’s narrowed gaze.  There was something in his face that was different, though no less intense than it was before.  “I want to keep her.”

“Why?” Pakunoda asked.

“Where you come from?” he asked, ignoring the others.

All their eyes were on you.  It was overwhelming.  “I don’t know.  They found me in Meteor City.”

Chrollo almost seemed to smile.  “That explains her potential.”

“We should’ve killed the other kid,” Phinks grumbled.  He hated wasting perfectly good forms of entertainment.

“She come with me.  I train.”  Feitan stepped toward you, extending a hand to help you stand.  The sight was unnerving.  Merely an hour ago he’d tried to poison you.

“Don’t let her get lost this time,” Uvo teased, receiving a glare in return.

“Where did you learn to say those words?” Feitan asked, barely more than a whisper as he pulled you away.  You were sure the troupe was attentive enough to hear it, but you weren’t going to stop him.

“It’s been in my soul since I was young.  I don’t know why it’s there or how it got there.”  Your heart thundered in your throat.  He spoke the language, too?

“But you speak English?”

You nodded, following him down another hallway.  “I needed to learn.  My first master never tolerated confusion.”

“Is he still alive?”

You shrugged.  “I left Meteor City many years ago.”

He brought you into a room, grinning over his bandana.  The sight made your stomach turn.  “You will train to kill him.  Your first mission.”

You stopped, sending him an incredulous look.  “I’m no assassin.”

He laughed at that.  “I noticed.  But if you do well enough, you can be.  You have the potential.  Enough to possibly join us someday.”

“Us?”

“The Phantom Troupe.  The Spiders.”

You reached for the nearest wall, steadying yourself.  The day had been so much to take in.  The Phantom Troupe?  The murdering bandits of Meteor City?  “You aren’t going to kill me?”

He chuckled, pouring water into a glass.  You decided you wouldn’t drink it.  “Clearly you aren’t ready to die just yet.  It’s rare I find someone that can outdo me.”  He beckoned you closer, and you settled on the floor in front of him.

“You weren’t trying very hard.”

He nodded.  “That’s true.”  Placing a leaf on the water, he smiled.  “But as soon as we know how you need to be trained, you’ll have to continue earning your survival.”

“Will that ever stop?”  You held your hands to the side of the glass the way he demonstrated.

“Doubtful.”

Just like that, things had failed to end for you.  With the devious Spider guiding your training, you grew stronger every day.  And each passing moment he hoped more and more that you and your personality that so completely complemented his own would stay a little longer.  He challenged you every second, but you’d already earned your place.  Through whispered words that only the two of you could understand, he reminded you of that.  You’d found a place.  A person.  A life.  Yours wasn’t over yet.  He’d make sure of that.

It wouldn’t be over anytime soon.

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for reading!  I hope you’ve enjoyed!