#I was mulling them over but I couldn't remember if I had them already. It turns out I don't.

[jbk405]

Wow I love the used record store I've been re-visiting for the past few weeks. They have a DVD/Blu-ray shelf, and today I got 8 movies plus the first season of Mad Men for only $21.

That's slightly more than a single movie ticket, or one month of a streaming service, and this is all mine forever.

Some of them are "used" in the sense of having been opened, but some are even still sealed in plastic so it's as if I'm buying them new.

The only flop is that the DVD for Zulu is a real shoddy copy. It's one of the ones where even though the picture is "widescreen" it's framed within the 4:3 window. Stretching it to actually fill the screen makes the resolution just atrocious. Still, for $2 can I really complain?

[tojisun]

currently obsessed with biker!simon!!!! how do you think he and reader met? i think, whatever the situation was, he was the one that couldn't get his eyes off her and started to bluntly stare??? maybe soap was with him and laughed bc he had never saw him get this serious about any girl he had laid his eyes on 😫😫😫😫

BAE I WENT FERAL WHEN I READ THIS BECAUSE YEAH!!! YEAH

ok so this is gonna be ridiculous but bear with me because im actually so obsessed with biker!simon im unwell

simon prefers using his bike whenever he’s out with his friends. there’s no use taking his car, anyway. not with kyle hitching a ride with john, and johnny taking his own car on the few occasions that he does bring someone home with him.

simon’s never had to take those things into account because he preferred a quiet end to his nights, anyway. just a shot of bourbon and a short dinner with his friends, and then he’s back on the road and on his way home.

so he’s never had regrets with taking his bike. until today, of course.

he’s noticed you since you walked into the bar with your friends, your arm hooked around one of them and your head tilted to hear them better. the others who are not engaged in a discussion with you whipped their heads around to find an empty booth and simon almost crushed his glass at the way his heart leapt when he realized that the closest empty booth in the place was the one directly beside his group’s. 

simon watched as your group moved closer, the chatter finally piercing his ears and, unconsciously, his body turned to hear you better. from in front of him, johnny’s pinched lips finally wobbled as he wheezed out a laugh, breaking simon’s focus.

“what?” simon barked out, feeling warmth creep up from his neck to his ears, half of his mind focused on the group settling behind him. 

“holy shit,” johnny said mid-laughter. “you don’t know anythin’ about subtlety.”

simon grumbled then, in denial, but now he just fully stopped caring.

somehow, as the night progressed, simon gravitated towards the seat facing yours, a spot where he had a clear vantage view of you. he’s taken advantage of the change in seating, devouring the sight you make as you giggled with your friends. devouring the change in atmosphere, now that you’ve begun to return his heated looks.

it started with curious looks, born from your friend whispering to you how simon was staring; how, throughout the night, he did not entertain all those who went up beside him and focused only on you. then your gaze shifted into something scalding. something that sent liquid fire warming simon from the pit of his stomach to the back of his spine.

mactavish sighs beside him. “just buy the lass a drink already.”

simon peels his eyes away from you to look at johnny, mulling over the suggestion before grunting out a thanks. he stands up and walks to the bar, calling out to get the bartender’s attention.

remembering the bellini that you’ve been nursing since you got here, simon asks for another flute of the cocktail and requests that it be served to you. he turns when he says this, hoping to give the bartender a clear view of who the bellini is for only to blink in surprise when he sees you standing just a few feet away from him.

“sir?” the man behind the counter asks.

“sorry. just serve it here,” simon replies, his eyes still on you. there is shuffling behind him, the bartender probably leaving to whip up his order, but simon honestly doesn’t care anymore.

not when you finally shuffle close, a shy smile dancing on your lips.

“hello,” you greet, voice a hesitant whisper, and simon feels like he’s been gutted.

you’re so goddamn beautiful, it’s catastrophic. 

simon thinks of how short you are, something he’s first noticed the moment you walked into the bar. it’s not like he’s surprised by the realization given that he tends to tower over anyone ever since he hit his growth spurt, but there is something unfurling in the pit of his stomach as he realizes how perfectly you fit in his arms. how easy it would be to just tuck you underneath his chin and slot himself around you. 

“hey,” he finally replies, his eyes roving along your features, trying to memorize the shimmer of your lips. the long wisps of your lashes. “‘m simon.”

you giggle, introducing yourself shyly, and the sound of your laughter tickles his ears, making him weak to his knees. he mouths your name, testing it out for himself and preening when it rolls off his tongue with ease. like your name is something simon is supposed to always call. 

his new favourite word.

“sorry,” you say, lifting your hand like you want to reach out and touch him, only for you to snuff out the action in your anxiousness. “i don’t, uh, come up to people i find attractive so this is really making me nervous.”

simon is aware of how good he looks – he’s proud of it even – but there is something about a pretty darling like you admitting how his looks make you nervous that sparks the desire in him to transform into something more carnal.

something more visceral.

he reaches his hand out toward you, inviting you to finally close the remaining distance between you two, and smiles when you take the offer, placing your hand on top of his palm, sending goosebumps to rise across his skin. you step into his space and simon has to stop himself from breathing you in, afraid how he’ll end up reacting when he’s taken a whiff of your intoxicating scent. 

“i’ve ordered you a drink,” simon whispers, his voice a hoarse croak.

“oh,” you mumble. “thank you...”

he notes the hesitation in your words, the bubble in his chest popping as his worry extinguishes his burning desire. “you don’t have to drink it.”

“no!” 

he startles at your reaction, his wide eyes staring back at your equally shocked ones. 

it takes a heartbeat before the two of you are breaking off into choked laughter, your body angled to muffle your giggles on the sleeves of his sweater. simon’s heart clenches at the cute display and he curls his arms around you, pulling you close until your head is pressed on his chest.

he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating.

it takes a while for the laughter to fizzle out, leaving you putty in his arms, your chin digging into his chest as you gaze up at him. simon eagerly returns your stare, his lips stretched into the softest of smiles now that he has you in his arms. he brushes your hair away from your face, warmth exploding in his chest at your happy little sigh.

“wanna leave this place with you,” you tell him and simon trembles with need. 

because he wants you to come home with him too. wants to show you how a sweetheart like you deserves to be treated. how you deserve to be cherished and pampered and revered. 

then, he remembers his goddamn harley. 

fuck. 

wait. now that he thinks about it-

“is there something wrong?” you ask, face creasing in worry at seeing his frown. 

“don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” simon replies, his mind already mapping out the roads to his place. “lemme just grab my keys while you drink up, yeah?”

you nod softly, eyes fluttering close when simon leans forward to press his lips on the top of your head, before stepping away from your warmth. he watches the way you ambled towards the bar counter, carefully picking up your new flute of bellini before turning to show him that adorable little smile that simon’s starting to be addicted to and taking a small sip of your cocktail.

the wrap of your pretty lips around the straw shouldn’t stir something so carnal in him but it does and simon gulps, well aware of the sudden thirst that sucked the moisture from his throat, before turning to march towards his table.

johnny whistles out loud when simon reaches them, tipping his new glass of beer and whooping even when kyle growls how he’s being too loud. simon would’ve sided with garrick, but his patience is running thin and the need that is raging within him is gaining strength so he ignores them both to stand beside johnny.

“keys.”

“what?”

“mactavish, give me your keys.”

“...why?”

simon holds in a sigh as he watches kyle reach over to smack johnny on the back of his head. “what the hell do you think?” 

john continues to ignore the group, his eyes trained somewhere on the dance floor. traitor, simon thinks. 

“oh,” johnny whispers. “oh!” 

he tries not to tap his foot as johnny grapples with his trousers, hitting his elbows on the edge of the table and angrily cursing in scottish, before finally fishing them out of the depths of his pockets and presenting them to simon. simon takes them with urgency, almost ripping them from johnny’s fingers, before throwing the keys of his harley to johnny and barking out his thanks.

“use protection!” johnny screams because of course he would. he’s a fucking bastard.

simon flips him off as he marches back towards you. 

you look up at hearing him call your name, your beautiful face glowing as you smile at him again.

god, he’ll never tire of seeing your pretty smile.

“ready?” he asks, masking the excitable tremble of his voice with a quick cough.

“mhmm!” you reply, putting down your half-empty cocktail and clambering beside simon’s side. he presses another kiss on the top of your head, this time no longer holding back as he breathes you in, and leads you out towards johnny’s car.

next time, he’ll take you out for a bike ride. 

because simon promises that there will be a next time.

starting to think if i might need a masterlist for biker!simon atp // edit: mlist!

[pix-writes]

for requests. . . how about an x reader where reader pegs Ford 👀? Is he open to the idea?

Oh I think we can arrange such a thing! >:) Hope you enjoy!

Ford x F!Reader | In Theory and in Practice

Notes/tags: Ford and reader have some limited past experiences, but tried to keep it a little vague. That said though, I do allude to them to be both bi/had experiences with someone of the same sex as them. Anal smut, some Dom/sub dynamics and switching.

NSFW 18+ below cut, so MDNI!

The subject comes up from you, the conversations you get into around pleasure with Ford often end up in the logical sphere, starting lightly before anything more heated can arise. It was something to enjoy about your partnership, comforting in the pragmatic and somewhat direct, open way in which Ford spoke about such things. It reduced both of your anxieties and any reservations that you had about bringing up anything that you wanted.

Your partner still got flustered, however, and you were a little tentative in how you brought up this next subject.

"I never got to try it in any of my other relationships with men, some seem to think it's not important to involve the prostate in sex."

"The prostate when stimulated gives men pleasure, so I see no reason why it should not be, um, paid attention to. I certainly haven't had any reservations when I have been on my own, in the past."

"And with others?"

Ford did blush a little at this. "In relationships with other men, yes. And with you."

"Yes, but technically it was you who was doing it, Ford." You paused to take a breath before asking your next question. "What if I did?"

Your partner looked stunned, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I'd never thought about it before?"

You ask him if he ever heard of pegging, he hadn't and you did your best to lay out what it meant, slowly, despite your eagerness at Ford's receptiveness, so far.

"But how would you...?" Was one of his questions and you couldn't help but giggle. You knew he didn't like to be on the backfoot or feel that you were laughing at his expense, but how could you not help but be amused by his perplexed expression, his innocence when it came to the gaps in his knowledge?

"Oh Ford, have I not told you yet about the wonders of silicone?!"

Ford didn't take long to mull over the decision on whether he would like to explore it, in fact, you knew him to be as eager as you were, despite never knowing about pegging before bringing it up, though none of this should have surprised you, you thought, looking back on it. Ford wasn't a stereotypical man and did not have many qualms when it came to experiencing new things. All the more reason you were excited! Though you knew that he was going to take his time with researching it, but you could wait.

As the days passed he added his small questions about what you had planned, one here, one there. He would hum and nod and maybe ask for more clarification or an adjustment. In fact, he inisted that you practice putting the strap on you ordered, once it came.

"Can I see it?"

"I think the straps are too tight, how do I-?" You were glancing around for the instructions, to see Ford already had them to hand.

"Here, like this." He gently tugs on the threads and it loosens, relieving the indents that were already appearing over your skin.

Self consciousness ate at you, unable to hide that you felt so clueless you let out a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry! This is... it just feels silly!"

"It is a little bizarre!" Ford joins in with your laughter. "But preparation makes all the difference, my dear."

Once it came to the moment, however, Ford had forgotten what a disparity there was between theory and practice! It had been so long since he had ever been in this position (metaphorically, rather than physically in the same position... but, you get the idea!) and he was starting to remember how vulnerable it can feel...

You've been working him open steadily, using plenty of lube that you kept beside you, Ford encouraging you and helping direct your movements to what he found most pleasurable, voice strained already.

He could feel that pressure and heat from how you slide in, one of your hands coming to soothingly rub at his back, reminding him to relax into it, to adjust. When he gives you encouragement to move, he can feel your form pressing into his. Your hold on him was so gentle, the tenderness made him feel like he was adrift.

He cried out as you set a firmer pace and you stilled for a moment.

"Ford?"

He groaned. "Keep... keep going, baby."

Ford reaches round to find your hand and you let him intertwine your fingers together, placing your hand further forward so the hold would be comfortable.

"You're doing so well. You know that?" You placed kisses over his shoulder before resuming your steady pace. " So good for me, Ford."

The toy that you had gotten was one that had an end that sat just inside your entrance, the pressure of it working you up. Arousal pooling in your belly as you thrust your hips into him.

He looked so beautiful underneath you, his back arched. God, he was a sight to behold. And so you told him, words spoken as you caught your breath. Knowing the words were affecting him from experience if not from the way his breathing changed, those little noises he made that you so desperately wanted to hear, the ones that went straight to your core.

You were taking your time though and Ford began to rock back into your touch, impatient.

Ford whined your name, turning his head, pupils blown wide. "Don't hold back."

It was somewhat rare that he ever got into an impatient mood, the man was unflappable most of the time. A wicked smile started to spread across your face as you tapped at his side, getting to move upwards, into more of a sitting position before grabbing a fistful of his hair, pulling him back into your chest, an arm coming to rest across his broad chest as he squirmed.

"What was that, hm?"

"Ah, please! Please, I want you to touch me, please."

"So polite." You said teasingly.

Adjusting your grip on his hair your pace became firmer, hand roaming down his chest to touch his achingly hard cock.

"That's it." Ford's moans were rising into a delicious background orchestra and you prided yourself on the knowledge that you had worked him up so much.

"W-wait! I want to see you when I- want to touch you, please?" His voice wavered, unsure of his own wants when he was so close to the edge.

"This is about you, Ford." You considered for a moment. "But you can turn around, if you wish."

It was a more awkward shuffle compared to the last, but the break in the tension didn't last long; the heat rising to your face as you saw how wrecked Ford looked, hair stuck up at different angles. Legs rising to wrap around you, the muscles there flexing against your hips. You wondered what you must've looked like to him in such a position, when the roles were reversed. Was this why he liked it?

Ford was practically melting into the mattress by the time your hands were on him again. That first rate brain of his switching off thoughts and transferring to focus on pleasure. He pulled you in so that he could kiss you, in between your praises and moans.

"So good for me, darling."

"Such a good boy."

"Fuck, cum for me!"

Eyes focused on your angelic face above him, he came. His release coating his stomach, and your hand, still firm on his cock as he rode his orgasm out with a shuddering moan.

Pulling out, you collapsed onto the bed, exhausted, letting Ford take over. First wiping you both down, then releasing you from the strap, soon replacing the end of the toy with his fingers, his mouth grazing your breast hungrily as he laid beside you.

He cursed under his breath. "Oh, sweetheart, you're soaked."

Hot kisses trailed across your skin. "You don't have to. T-this, mmn, was about you."

He tutted, a glint entering his eyes. "But I thought I was your good boy. Don't you want me to make you cum? You've gotten so wet for me."

You whimpered, answering with a nod as you carded hand through his hair, gently, this time.

[dotster001]

For Tuna:Blackmail End

A/N: for those who asked if I was still doing endings to "for tuna"....yes. I know it's been a while, but I'm slow and have depression! I'm sorry 😭

Part One Part Two Part Three Choose another ending

"Congratulations Leona! Don't blow this."

"It's dishonorable," Jack muttered as he listened to Grim and Leona outside the door.

"Heh, yeah," Ruggie said, not really listening. 

So you were going to end up with Leona, huh? He had his suspicions, Leona had to be one of the wealthier students at this school, but it didn't make the sting any less.

Grim was smart. Whatever story he would spin, you'd no doubt fall for.

"I gotta go," Ruggie muttered, walking away from the door.

"Ruggie," Jack called after him, but he didn't want to listen to what the goody two shoes freshman had to say.

He needed to clear his head. He'd never have been able to be with you. He didn't deserve you, and even if he did, he couldn't support you. Not when he was already supporting his granny, and all the kids in his area. You certainly were also capable of working and helping to support him and his family, but legally, you didn't exist in this world. It would be hard.

Especially if Leona rescinded his invitation to continue working for him after graduation. Which he would, if Ruggie "stole you".

Ruggie realized he had wandered himself over to the courtyard. He sat under a tree, leaning back with a groan. He rubbed his tired eyes, trying to get the image of you on Leona's arm out of his head.

"Ruggie!" 

Man, he must be hallucinating. You were burned in his mind, and in his ears, apparently.

He felt someone standing in front of him, and cracked open an eye. You were smiling at him excitedly.

"Can't you see I'm trying to rest?" He snickered.

You rolled your eyes. "You hang out way too often with Leona."

"Well he is my esteemed employer," he laughed. His eyes flicked over to your hands. "Whatcha got there?"

"Oh! They're dandelions. Before you come at me, they're seeding, it's too late to eat them."

"Then why are you holding them? And so gently, may I add."

You gently, slowly, handed him a seeding dandelion. Then you sat down next to him.

"Blow on it. Make a wish."

"Huh?"

"Just trust me! This is one of the only ways we can do magic where I come from!"

He sighed, but you looked so earnest. So he made a silent wish, and blew on the dandelion, just as you did the same.

"So what did you wish for?" You asked sweetly. He opened his mouth, but you grinned wickedly. "Just kidding! You can't tell me, or it won't come true!"

He rolled his eyes. "That's not how magic works. Besides, my wish is never going to come true anyway."

"Not with that attitude!"

"Not with any attitude. It isn't going to happen."

He leaned against the tree again. You sat quietly, scrutinizing him.

"Well, I wished for a man."

Ruggie snorted at your abrupt change in attitude.

"Any particular man? Remember, if you tell me it won't come true. Shi hi hi."

"Oh hush," you snorted. "Let's see, he's kind."

So not Leona, Ruggie thought with an internal, evil snicker.

"Someone who'd help me fix the dorm, even if he's already super busy. Someone who goes out for a snack, and comes back with a dessert that tastes like sardines. Someone who accidentally started my cat son on a pointless quest to find me a wealthy bachelor so that he can earn mine and Grim's love with tuna."

Ruggie blinked a couple times, slowly mulling over the clear description of himself.

"Huh."

"Yeah. Huh. Still not a wish that's gonna come true?"

He bit his lip, looking off into the distance.

"It can't come true," he tried to sound calm, but he couldn't ignore the bitter tint to his words.

You stiffened. "Oh. Any particular reason why?"

"I can't support you, Y/N. You deserve the world. And I can't give it to you."

"Well, you're thinking super far ahead. I won't even graduate until a year after you. Plus, I don't need supported. I'm a big kid. I can work."

"You deserve the world," he repeated, looking over at you with palpable heartbreak in his eyes. "And my one chance to give it to you will go away once we're together."

"Dude, you're completely losing me. What the fuck are you on about?" You raised a brow.

"Leona offered me basically a lifetime gig with him after graduation. But he's as in love with you as I am. And he's not exactly the most reasonable dude on the planet."

"So you love me too?" 

He rolled his eyes. "That's what you got from that? Of course I love you! I wouldn't fix your shoddy building for free, now would I? I'm not that good a person."

"Sure you are," you said softly as you pushed a stray piece of hair off his face.

"You're missing the point! Leona-"

"The Ruggie I know wouldn't be worried about the jealous anger of a kitty cat who isn't even dating me," you said sternly, and his mouth snapped shut. Logically, you were right. But-

"The Ruggie I know, would join me as I take a trip to Savannahclaw with the intention of blackmailing his ridiculously wealthy housewarden, so he can keep his job and date his true love."

He couldn't even remember the trip, or how it got to this specific point, but damn, were you sexy snapping at Leona about this.

"And another thing!"

"Sevens, shut up, herbivore. You're hurting my head," Leona groaned tiredly. "And my heart. Do you really think I'm this cruel?"

"Huh?" You seemed just as startled as Ruggie felt.

"Sevens, you clearly love the guy. Just cause I'd definitely treat you better, doesn't mean that I'm an ass who would punish Ruggie if you both feel the same way about each other."

He gave a pointed glare at Ruggie. "Does he feel the same way about you?"

Ruggie nodded quickly.

"There. I'm not a monster. You're a good worker, it'd be stupid to lose you over something like this. Just be careful," Leona snickered, and leaned in close, his eyes predatory, his smile smug, "you slip up, I'm going to be right there."

"Fair enough, shi hi hi," Ruggie extended a hand to Leona, the both of them participating in a handshake.

"Sevens, you two are so difficult to understand," you muttered. Ruggie turned towards you with a grin.

"Now that I have my future secured, you wanna know my wish?"

"What was it?" You asked, clearly having a guess.

He stepped close to you, nuzzling his nose against yours. "You promise it'll come true?"

You hummed.

"I wished for a box of a dozen donuts."

You turned on your heel, stalking away, and he laughed after you. "Obviously I wished for you!"

"Whatever, Ruggie."

He chased after you gleefully, for once looking forward to the future.

Tag list-@shytastemakerthing @stygianoir @leonia0 @lleoll @eccedentesiast-sapphic @supertmntgirl @cxsmicdustdreams @aethermostbeloved @krystalkiller25 @asmallbean3 @theneurodivergentdummy @candlewitch-cryptic @smilingfox22-blog @phantomgaming1920 @the-dumber-scaramouche @noidonothavetimeforthis @bontensbabygirl @xxoomiii @somany-fandoms-solittle-time @bre99 @stupidsimp @sus0daddy @a-small-tyrant @imlost-sendhelp @mizukiblogs @neech @kazumify @owlisbuffering

[danytherelentless]

A Heartfelt Goodbye

Eddard Stark x fem!reader

summary: after his wife's recent passing, Lord Stark is looking for a governess to raise his children

warnings! smut, cunniligus, p in v, pre-marital sex (big deal in Westeros), asoiaf typical sexism (if you squint)

word count: 3k

note: please forgive me if there are any mistakes or it appears a little disjointed, the editing was shaky at best

It was more than a year after the loss of his wife that he decided to take on a governess for his children.

He had refused marriage so soon after, and did not think he would ever take a wife again, and had not wanted to have a governess raise his children for it felt an insult to Cat, yet Maester Luwin had been advising him that his children would need such guidance in their lives, especially with them all being so young, and Eddard had finally relented.

He mulled over the options of Northern ladies for some time before deciding upon you. He'd never met you before, but he had known your father, brothers and some of your cousins. Your father had been one of his greatest and truest advisors during Robert's Rebellion, your elder brother one of his friends as well, and he remembers hearing much of you then, though you'd been younger at the time. Patient, caring and wise as a child. Surely you remained so as an adult? You were also unmarried which meant you had no other obligations nor children of your own to tend to. So he sent the letter to your Lord father asking if you would be suited and able to fill such a position in his household.

He received response soon enough and it was settled upon that you would be arriving to Winterfell within the next few weeks.

Your smile was the first thing he noticed upon meeting you, a kind and gentle thing which warmed him to you almost immediately.

"My Lord," you greeted with a curtsy after you had dismounted to stand next to your father and brother who had led you here.

"My Lady. I am thankful you have taken upon this position."

"It is a great honour, my lord. One I hope I shall be able to fulfil."

Robb was the most reluctant of his children to you, though that was expected and understandable as the eldest. His youngest three, however, were instantly enamoured with you, even baby Bran. But it was Jon which made him realise you were perfect for the role whom you treated well as any of his other children.

It took some time of course for the new dynamic to settle, for you to become comfortable with his children and vise-versa, but eventually, even Robb warmed to you. Even Ned himself found that he enjoyed your company. You had to ability to always make him feel at ease or give him the perfect advice for whatever situation he was put in.

He began to fall for you, which felt inevitable given how lovely you were. But he could not help the vicious guilt which he felt. It felt wrong, no matter how much time passed since Cat's passing, it still felt like a great insult to her memory, and to your own honour, though he never acted on his own feelings.

At least not until Robert called upon him when Balon Greyjoy rebelled against the crown.

He sat in the Godswood, the night before he would leave in contemplation. Many of his bannerman had gathered already at Winterfell with more on their way straight to White Harbour. He did not want to die so soon, though that was something he expected just as he had during Robert's Rebellion when he rode away from Riverrun, yet this time it felt so much closer to him. He couldn't bare the thought of Robb being made Lord so young, of his grief. Of the struggle and strife which he would face and the deceit he would no doubt face in spite of his youth. The idea of his little lady Sansa, or his wild little she-wolf Arya not remembering his face as they grew. Of baby Bram not having so much as a memory of him to place to his name.

He thought of you, of never seeing you again, of never confessing the feelings held within his heart. Though his guilt remained to an extent not as it once had, the idea of never getting to tell you made his heart ache something fierce. It overwhelmed any guilt he was feeling.

"My lord," your voice snapped him from his glum pondering.

"My lady. The hour is quite late, the air cold," he could barely see you in the darkness, the only light emitting from the lantern in your hand and the one sitting near his feet.

"I was worried for you," you confessed.

It was a normal thing to worry about. He was beneath no assumption that you felt the same as he, but he knew that you viewed him as a friend for you often spent hours drinking, exchanging stories and laughing well into late evenings together. So much so that he’d had to quietly had to expel rumours amongst the staff to the best of his ability, hoping you had not heard of them. He knew that it was a sign of the impropriety of your relationship, but he just couldn’t bring himself to stop.

"I'll be back soon enough," he found himself reassuring you.

He watches as you walk closer to him, "may I sit?"

"Of course," he spoke embarrassingly quickly.

You took your seat on the tangled roots at his side, shivering slightly as you burrowed closer into your cloak.

"You really shouldn't be out here, my lady. You may catch a chill," he voiced his concern.

"And neither should you. What sort of a friend would I be if I allowed you to wallow out here all alone?" there was teasing in your voice. He found a smile growing across his face.

He looked to you then. You looked truly beautiful in the low light of the flickering lanterns, shadows cast across your face. You seemed quite sad, though he could see a longing in your eyes has he stared at you.

He felt something get trapped in his throat, unable to say anything as he looked upon you. There was a vulnerability which always clung to you, in the way you smiled so freely, the way you spoke so kindly and could be so forgiving. He saw that in you now. Something raw. He craved it, craved you, craved you near him, in his arms. He felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach.

He craved you, completely and utterly. Entirely vulnerable, bare flesh beneath him, moaning for him. His name, not his title, he loved it when you said his name. Not Eddard, just Ned. He wanted to hear it. Now.

He kissed you instead, a hand on your cheek pulling you close to him. Regret flooded him immediately.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised, pulling away, yanking his hand from your flesh, suddenly feeling quite sick. Barely a moment of your lips on his, so sweet and true. The taste turned to ash on his tongue, however.

"That was dishonourable of me, my lady. Forgive me please. I lost myself."

"No," you grabbed at his forearm and moved closer, you leg leaning into his own, "I... I don't mind."

He looks to you then, a goddess at his side. Meant to be worshipped. It was fitting you were both sat beneath a Weirwood tree.

He feels your delicate hand upon his bearded jaw and he allows you to pull him to you, eyes closing as your lips are joined with his.

He can tell you're inexperienced, but he relishes in it. It has been so long since he'd had any company, and he wanted this. With the thought of possible death so close, he could hardly deny himself you, especially if you wanted him too.

He part from you, breathless, "I want you."

He hadn't quite meant to just blurt it out so bluntly, but can't bring himself to want to take it back. It is his truth, after all. And in this moment, it would be wrong for him to not tell you.

You seem shocked for a moment.

"I want you too," you admitted.

His heart stops for a split second before he crashes his mouth back on yours, your tongues tangling together in some dance.

He kisses you for what feels like hours before he remembers you are out in the cold, and then he guides you back to the keep and to your chambers. The walk is silent and you bump into no one, though guards trail you both outside the keep and through some of the hallways.

He is about to part ways with you and leave for his own when you grab his wrist.

"Wait. Why don't you join me?"

Your cheeks are beautifully flushed, and he can hardly refuse such a welcome invitation, though his honour is screaming at him to stop. His desires simply win over, he is a weak man for you.

He undresses you slowly, pulling away your cloak, helping you unlace your dress as you exchange kisses. You help him with his own layers, and soon you are both bare as the day you were born. He looks upon your beauty, across your smooth skin, your breasts, the mound of hair between your legs. He feels his mouth water. He would turn you around and simply sit gazing upon your naked flesh for hours, studying you like a tome of history.

He lays you down upon furs and kisses down your neck, sucking a bruise some too dark into the flesh which he may regret some the next day should he notice, yet he cannot help himself as he listens to your sweet sighs and feels were hands caressing his arms then his chest.

His lips continue down your body, sucking and licking at your breasts and listening to the melodic sounds you bless him with, hands pawing at your thighs as he further parts them. He kisses down you stomach, beneath your bellybutton and then your naval, before finding his place between your legs, eyes upon your cunt, so close to him and oh so delectable.

"What are you..." your sentence is broken by a surprised and quiet moan as his tongue parts your folds and tastes your sweetness. He licks and sucks at you observing each reaction from his place which he could. Every twitch which you body made and every sound which left your lips. Ned took one of your thighs in his hold and brought it up over his shoulder. His nose is buried in the mount of hair above your cunt as he sucks on that bundle he knows will have you see stars.

You moan and gasp, legs tensing around his head and fingers tugging at his dark hair. He cannot help but groan into you, grinding down into your sheets to attempt to relieve the ache in his cock. He resists the urge to fist his cock in hand by instead pushing a finger inside of you, curling it upwards to feel that spongy spot. You are tight and warm and so so wet. He savors every moment of it.

He curls a second finger inside of you, listening to you high keening whimpers and stretches you wider, and then a third.

"Ned!" your fingers tighten and tug harshly at his hair, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels your body tensing as you climax on his fingers. He licks some of it up before he finds himself too impatient to see your face again. He hopes he will be able to do this again so that he may taste you for longer.

You are worn, face etched with sweet ecstasy. He kisses you with your own taste on his tongue, an action which should disgust you, yet you answer with fervour, a laziness to your motions. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him into you, deepening the kiss even further till your tongue is again in his mouth.

One of your arms caresses down his body as your lips part, your eyes hooded, breathing erratic. Your hand trails over his hip before it wraps around his hard cock.

He thrusts forwards as your fist closes around his tip, jerking downwards experimentally. He wraps his own hand over you guiding it up and down as he would his own in the privacy of his own chambers on lonely nights.

He guides himself within your hand to your cunt, nudging it over your nub, toward your sopping hole.

The thought suddenly hit him hard and fast. So suddenly he jerked back slightly from your touch.

"What... what is it?" you looked concerned, eyes wide, braided hair mussed.

"I shouldn't be doing this, it's wrong." It was dishonourable and an insult to such a fine lady as yourself for him to be debasing you so. You weren't married, after all. Not yet, he thought. He could see you at his side as his wife. But you were not his wife now, and you may never be his wife.

"No, no, no! Please, take me," eyes blown wide, cheeks flushed and chest heaving with each breath you take as you tug him down so gently, "if you'll have me?" His chest clenched at such tender words.

With you begging him so sweetly, he could not resist, though there was a part of him still demanding he stop now, for this was wrong. Yet it was drowned by his raging desire which he had harboured for for so long.

He takes his position once more over you, between your thighs, and pushes himself inside of you slowly and carefully. His eyes nearly roll to the back of his skull at feeling such pleasure, and he nearly thrusts into you as a wild man would, but he resists easily enough for he knew it would cause you harm. He listened as you groaned and your face tugged into a discomforted expression, he felt himself stopping then, ready to pull out should you change you mind.

"Just slowly. Be gentle with me, please," your hands grabbed onto his shoulders, you knees farther parting to allow him better access.

He moves his hips so slowly at first, thrusts shallow and experimental, before his lips captured yours in a passionate flurry of movements. You were so warm, so wet. He knew you were most likely a virgin, a lady such as yourself. That thought only made his feel more hungry for you.

His movements continued as a slow and steady pace, before you whined prettily into his mouth and grabbed at his hip.

"You can move more," you spoke, breathless as he parted from you.

He obliged, building up his pace, pulling one of your legs up and around his waist as his thrusts became deeper and faster with each moan that left you mouth.

He could not tear his eyes away from you, from your sweat slick brow, your squeezed shut eyes and 'o' parted lips. He felt his own release build, but wanted you to finish at least once more for him, so he brought one hand between you and felt for you nub and began to rub at it, listening and watching your reaction as to what was best.

You tightened further around him, legs squeezing at his sides as you came for a second time. He could no sooner hold onto himself and buried his face in your neck and lost himself to you, thrusting without abandon as he chased after his own climax.

He came with a low groan, sucking kisses into your neck, filling you with his seed so deeply that for a moment, he prayed it would take, the thought of seeing you with child so tantalising.

He stayed within you for a few moments, perhaps even minutes, catching his breath and listening to yours.

He presses a tender kiss to your brow before pulling his softened cock from you with a wince. He was unable to look away as he sat up and eventually saw some of jus seed dribble out of you. He had to supress a groan.

"I'm sorry," he eventually broke the silence.

"Whatever for?"

He looked back at you, a goddess much to perfect for someone such as himself, worth more than ten of him, "for dishonouring you, my lady. I would have wed you before bedding you, yet I have not."

"I don't expect you to wed me, my lord," you admitted.

"Please don't call me that now. I have no right to any title after the disservice I have given you," for even thinking of getting her with child.

"You haven't. I wanted to be with you, just as much. I hope you don't think any less of me for it."

"No, I do not."

"Then we are simply two friends having a long and heartfelt goodbye," your smile is sad and small, not one of any joy or happiness.

"Is that all you view me as? Your friend?" he found himself speaking before he could stop, pulling on his underclothes.

"No, no. I... I feel for you. In my heart. I..." you paused and he looked at you, "I have come to love you, Ned. For not only the just and honourable Lord which you are, but for the loving father, and kind man. I enjoy the companionship you have offered me in the time which I have known you, and I have desired more of you for some time now."

He found himself dropping his breeches from hand and returning to your bed where you sat looking at him.

"It is fine should you not feel the same--"

"I do," he interrupted, bringing his hand to your cheek, "I love you."

You leaned into him, smile broadening across your face.

"I will wed you upon my return, my lady. I swear it to you."

He kisses you once more, a deep and long kiss filled with his love, before dressing and bidding you goodnight, feeling wrong to leave you after you had shared something so intimate with him.

Despite himself, despite leaving for war and having bedded you, confessed his love and swore to marry you though he may not even live to see you again after tomorrow, he sleeps well and peacefully that night.

He wed you the same day of his return.

comments are looked upon fondly here so don't be a stranger ;)

(please no negativity, my heart can't take it. I am a delicate soul)

[tw1l1te]

blueberry₊˚✩⊹sal fisher x reader₊˚✩⊹

(Not edited, so please forgive men if there are grammatical/spelling errors. Random thought I came up with. Please let me know if you'd like more backstory/a continuation of this!

Sitting on top of Addison Apartments was a place to think. A place of silence except the sounds of breathing and the occasional shuffling around. You haven't been up here in a while, since the fight you and Sal had a few months ago.

₊˚✩⊹

"God you're such a hypocrite. You keep telling others to take care of themselves and not isolate, but yet you don't give two shits and don't even take your own advice. Not answering your phone or leaving your apartment for over two months? Do you know how worried Ash was? How heartbroken and distant Larry became?? We thought you were fucking dead Y/n. And after all that you decide to drop by and ask 'what's up'?" Sal seethed, his tone getting more hostile by the second.

You don't think you've ever seen him so angry.

"I'm sorry Sal, I didn't mean to make you all worry. That was the last thing I wanted you guys to feel. You know I don't handle my mental health well," you murmured, avoiding Sal's eyes. You could already feel the tears streaming down your face.

"Listen I get it Y/n, but you can't just cut us off like that. You made us all husks of what we used to be. Do you know how many nights I stayed up till the early morning just staring at my phone, hoping you'd at least call?? I couldn't even remember what you sounded like until today."

"Bluebe-"

"Don't call me that. You have no right calling me that after the months of heartbreak and worry you've caused us. Every time this happens, I get my hopes up in that you won't shut us out and disappear. I get disappointed every. Single. Time. You're lucky that Larry, Ash, and Todd are such forgiving people. You don't deserve them."

You mulled over his words. He was right. You didn't deserve them. All the affection and love that they gave you all for you to throw it down the drain when you got too ill. The hundreds of phone calls from Ash. The constant check-ins from Larry over the walkie-talkie, talking about stupid shit that happened that day or speaking softly about how much he missed you. Todd emailing you every few days asking how you were holding up and if you needed anything, but eventually those emails automatically went to spam. And Sal. Sal was probably the hardest to avoid.

He sat outside your apartment door for hours, talking, pleading you to let him in to talk. He brought snacks and slid them under the door, worried if you were eating enough. Playing his guitar for you through the walkie-talkie, hoping it would soothe you or cheer you up. Sliding random doodles and letters under the door so you had something to help remind you about how much they cared about you. How much he cared for you. You kept them all under the bed in a shoe box, reading over every word and cat doodle every single night.

"I can't do this again, Y/n. You've hurt me over and over and over again. Each time I expected it to end different."

He took a pause, waiting for a reaction or a word from you.

"We're done. I don't know about the others, but don't bother writing or talking to me. I can't do this anymore."

And with that, he headed downstairs, not sparing you a single glance back.

₊˚✩⊹

You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the rooftop door creak open.

You don't look back, hoping the person would get a hint and leave.

You hear the footsteps get closer, and stopping right beside you.

"Didn't think you came up here anymore." he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

Fuck. He was probably the last person you wanted to see right now.

"I come here to think." you stated, looking out to the street and nearby houses.

"Y/n, I'm sor-" "I'm leaving." you cut him off, already knowing what he was going to say.

You've thought about your time in Nockfell and decided that it was time for you to move on. You couldn't be stuck in a time capsule forever. The more time had passed, the more it had started to hurt being here and see reminders of what had happened. Reminders of him.

"What?" he whispered, finally looking at you.

"I need to move on. I can't be here anymore." you stated, trying to keep your voice level.

"You were right, I can't keep leaving people in the dark and constantly worrying them. I'll keep doing that if I stay here. I need to be somewhere else, I don't know where, but I'll figure it out."

"Y/n. If this is about what I said, I'm sorry, I was in a bad state too. I was just so worried that something had happened-"

"Sal, please stop. I'm not changing my mind. I'm leaving tomorrow morning-"

"What about Ash? Larry and Todd? What about me?? I need you here. It was wrong of me to shut you out, to ignore you. I'm so sorry, Y/n."

You finally looked at him, right into his blue eyes.

His hair had gotten longer, choppier, like he'd tried to cut it himself. No longer in the pigtails you loved. Seems like you'd both changed.

"I need to go, Sal."

You walk away, not looking back because if you did, you wouldn't be able to leave. You wouldn't be able to leave them. Leave Nockfell. Leave him.

"I'll see you around, Blueberry."

₊˚✩⊹

[barcaracing]

lucky charm | mv1

summary: max verstappen has been your childhood best friend since the day he nearly knocked you over with his little go-kart, but some things about the dutch guy are still a mystery to you. like when he asked you to bring his dirty socks to the italian grand prix

pairing: max verstappen x childhoodbsf!reader

tw: cursing because it’s max verstappen. come on

a/n: first fanfic on this baby let's goooo

──────── �� ‧₊°

It was the weekend of the Italian Grand Prix. Nerves were running high as the drivers prepared for Monza. You had been looking forward to this since the winter break, and it was finally time to pack your things and make your way to the airport. As always, Max had organised paddock passes for you to be his guest, but now that you were actually holding them in your hands, you weren't sure if you really needed to see fast cars go zoom again.

Max and you got into an argument at the beginning of the week and things were still left unresolved as they often were when it came to you two. Looking back, you couldn't even remember what the argument was about. Max and you were hanging out at your place, playing FIFA and talking about his last race when he suddenly sounded more irritated. You were used to this and didn't think much of it, but for some reason, he kept running in circles. 

“You know, if you’d been there,” Max started, “you would’ve seen how shit the race was and I wouldn’t have to tell you about it.”

“I did see it,” you responded. “I texted you afterwards.”

"Yeah," he huffed, not trying to conceal his blunt tone. "I saw the text. Congratuling me on P3."

You furrowed your brows and glanced his way. "Something wrong?"

Max didn't bother to reply. His eyes were glued to the screen, fingers still moving on the controller, but the frown was pretty tell-tale.

"You're not–" You lifted your legs off his lap to face him. "You're not actually mad I wasn't there, are you? I told you months in advance that I couldn't make it to Zandvoort. You were okay with it."

Max continued playing, passing the ball around with no aim or reason. "Whatever," he eventually mumbled. Things got a bit heated after that. At some point, it was really just a question of who could piss off who until the matter ended with him slamming your apartment door and you storming off to slam your bedroom door for good measure. 

As expected, neither of you made the first step to apologise. It was more of a peace offering, which entailed him sending a plain text asking if you wanted something to drink with your pizza and if 8 o'clock worked for you. You replied that you wanted a coke and that you'd be there at 8. That was it, really. You greeted each other with a hug and muttered quietly sorry to each other.

Now, you were sitting in your cab on your way to the airport, still unsure if Max actually wanted you there with him in Monza. Not that it was any different to any other argument you both had, but some pretty nasty things were said, including him telling you that you might as well not come to any of his races anymore if you didn't care.

You were still mulling things over when your phone rang in your hands. It was Max calling. A small smile swept over your lips as you answered it.

"Don't tell me you already crashed."

You heard Max let out a snort. "I love when you believe in me. Where are you?"

"In the cab. Why?"

"Oh." It was silent on the other line. "Can you do me a favour?"

"Yeah, sure.” You passed your phone to your left hand. “What's up?"

You could hear Max shuffle on the other side, closing a door before finally saying, "Can you bring me my lucky socks?"

You blinked. Two cars passed as you stared out the window. "Your what?"

"My socks. The, uh, white ones."

"You're joking." You let out an incredulous laugh. "You better be joking. You have like 50 pairs of white socks."

"But I need that specific pair," Max insisted, and you frowned.

"Verstappen, in all 20 years of knowing you, you have never worn a pair of fucking lucky socks."

"I did, I just never told you."

"Bullshit. Why would you not tell me?"

Max paused hesitantly. "Because I wear them all race weekend."

Your eyes widened. "Friday to...?"

"Friday to Sunday, yeah, pretty much."

"Verstappen." You shuddered. "That's disgusting."

He had the audacity to chuckle. "I'm a disgusting man."

"Gross. Downright vile."

"Proud of it." You could hear the grin in his voice. 

“But you sweat so much,” you said, absolutely bewildered. “It’s abhorrent how much you guys sweat. You’re telling me you just leave those socks on for three days straight?”

“I don’t sleep with my socks on,” Max said defensively. “I’m not a psychopath.”

You pondered that. “Are they…mouldy?”

Max cursed through the phone. “Y/N, those socks just bring me a little luck when I’m racing. I never said they made me immune to fucking fungal diseases.”

“I still think you should get your feet checked.” You grimaced at the mental image of whatever was left of them. “And don’t ever take your socks off when I’m around.”

“Fine,” he huffed, and you could almost see him roll his eyes. "So can you get them for me or not?"

You watched another car pass. "You actually want me to bring you your stinky socks from Monaco to Italy."

"Yes."

You heaved a long-suffering sigh.

A couple hours later, you found yourself about to cross the pit lane, greeting a few engineers who were warming up outside. Your gaze wandered through Max's side of the Red Bull Racing garage, but he wasn't there. You made to turn and ask one of the engineers when your eyes drifted to Horner, who saw you and walked over.

"Y/N." Christian greeted you with a broad smile. "My world champion’s lucky charm has finally arrived."

"They sure have." You wrinkled your nose and held up an old pair of white socks. They had a slight brown, yellowish tint on the bottoms and the smell made you want to gag.

"Jesus." Horner stepped back and made a disgusted face. "Why are you– God, how did they even let you through security with those." He made a show of waving his hand in front of his face.

"Ziplock bag and duct tape," you said earnestly. "I just took them out because the bag was all fogged up and people at the gate thought I was carrying around roadkill."

"You tell me a rat died in those socks and I would believe you. God. Did you lose a bet again or what’s going on?"

Just when you were about to reply, a familiar voice shouted your name from across the pit lane and you excused yourself to go meet Max halfway. 

"You came." Max wore a wide grin on his face. He went in for a hug, but before he could take another step toward you, you shoved the socks into his chest.

"Don't ever ask me to do anything for you ever again." You were glaring at your best friend as he stared down at his chest, startled. He took the socks from your palm and looked at you.

"You brought the socks?"

You stared back at him. "Is that not what you're holding? Give them a good sniff if you don’t believe me. Fumes are probably lethal."

"You brought the socks." It sounded more of a statement this time, and you had to shake yourself out of your stupor when Max started laughing. 

"What's so funny?" You crossed your arms and watched as he couldn't seem to contain himself. Max bent over at the waist, one hand pressed to his stomach. He made to wipe away a tear and nearly choked when he accidentally breathed in the smell. He tucked the reeking socks into his suit, which was folded over at his hips, and stood up straight to face you, laughter dying slowly on his lips.

"Is this the part where you tell me I was pranked and I run you over with your car?" You deadpanned.

"Hmm." He pretended to think about it while taking a step forward. "Probably."

"This isn't funny, Max. We had to turn around the cab, and I had to go through your dirty laundry, probably caught a few diseases too, all because you wanted your stupid lucky socks, and I wanted to show you that I care because of course, I fucking care and–"

"Woah, wait," Max cut you off. "You were on your way to the airport? When I called?"

Annoyed, you nodded. "I was already in the cab."

Max's face lit up. "You were planning on coming?"

You gave him a look. "Well, yeah. I thought you wanted me to."

"I did." He nodded eagerly. "Didn't think you would."

You held each other's gaze for a moment. That was when you could see it all unfold in his eyes. It was a silent conversation, all told through your gazes.

"Look," said Max eventually and reached out to hold your hands in his. You cast a brief glance downward, registering how close you were standing to each other. "It doesn't make a lot of sense because I usually drive fucking great, but whenever you're not there, things always go wrong. Not just engine or tyre failure, but the car feels nervous and overtaking becomes a pain in the ass. Last week was shit because you weren't there."

“P3 is hardly shit,” you replied and Max gave you a pointed look. Your gaze softened and you looked away. "You could've just told me that on Monday."

He rubbed the back of your hands with his thumbs. "I know. I was just being a dick, to be honest." He gave you a shrug before clearing his throat. "And I guess, I was also too much of a dick to tell you that celebrating is just a lot better when you're there too."

You couldn't help the teasing grin that slowly took over your face. "Easy there, Verstappen. People might think you actually care about me."

He let out a scoff and pulled you toward him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to press a kiss onto the crown of your head. "Who cares what people think," he mumbled into your hair.

You hummed and wrapped your arms around his torso. "We can just tell them that you've ditched the socks because they were burning away your skin and I've become your lucky charm."

"Fucking hell, Y/N." Max laughed. "Don't you get it?" He pulled away and met your gaze with soft eyes. It looked like he was searching for something in them, so you gave the smallest nod and Max took that as his invitation to lean down and press his lips gently to yours. You felt him smile into the kiss and you realised that you were doing the same. 

This was your first kiss together, and you couldn't believe it was happening in the middle of the paddock. But no one appeared to care. It was just you and Max as it always has been. You didn't want to think about what all of this meant. Like the fact that Max Verstappen actually liked you more than just a friend. At that moment, you simply wanted to kiss the guy who felt like home to you and not worry about anything else.

Pulling away, Max pecked your lips once more. You were pretty sure both of you were already grinning like the biggest idiots on the grid, but your smile only widened when he mumbled against your lips, "You've always been my lucky charm."

****

stay hydrated pals

[rinneroraito]

it could be the alcohoL

Maybe I deserve a break. Maybe, just maybe, I need to loosen up, because things had gone painfully awry when we started putting up cameras and wiretaps in Light Yagami’s room only for them to be removed shortly.

I was so sure we’d at least get something out of it, just something to move the investigation along. First it was the FBI agents, and now this. We were at a dead end again and it just stressed me out. Every waking moment that Kira was out there sowed fear deeper into the hearts of concerned citizens, and also a cult following of people who thought he was a god.

Staring up at the off-white ceiling, mulling over the events that transpired throughout the whole investigation, I sighed. It was all that consumed me for a while, every bit of energy I had had been directed towards this case. The mattress felt comforting, but I needed something else to take the edge off just a little bit, so I got up and grabbed the telephone by the bedside table, dialing Room Service.

“Hi, do you happen to have alcohol?”

—-

L was typing away at his computer when I shuffled into his room with a can of beer. The reason why I came here is lost to me now, only remembering that I wanted to see him. I’ve already finished 3 cans and was obviously inebriated at this moment and I figured if I had a drink then I might as well just enjoy myself. An aspirin, loads of cold water, a carbonated drink and some hot broth in the morning would fix me up.

The screens glowed in his dark office, and I could see his back as he crouched on his seat, the keyboard clicking as he continued to type. His head slightly bobs up and down, left and right as he looked at his screens. I drag my feet to him.

I stood there right behind L, looking at the screens first, then down at him, or at least down at the back of his head and the nape of his neck covered sparsely by his dark hair.

“Miss Uehara, I can smell the alcohol from here,” L says, not looking up at me.

“I’m off duty at the moment, aren’t I? Don’t worry, I’ll be alright in the morning, I have a regimen for this.” I replied, putting an arm on the back of the chair he was sitting on and leaning towards the back of his head. Reaching the other hand holding the beer out to him, I asked. 

“You want some?”

“No thank you, I’d like to keep a clear head while working.”

“I figured. You’re such a workaholic, Detective. Such a workaholic.”

“Your speech isn’t slurring yet so I assume you’re just buzzed. Were you pressured by the events as of late? I didn’t expect you to be the type to drink alcohol, actually.”

“Oh, you didn’t, did you? Well, it has been stressful, but I can manage. This helps.” I brought the can to my mouth and took a long swig from it, exhaling after. “And I guess, in some way, you’re helping me, too.”

L was very much aware of the effects of alcohol and how it lowers down a person’s inhibitions significantly. The way I was approaching him right now was more daring than usual and he knew it. I drank down what was left of the drink in the can. “Would you please elaborate on that, Miss Uehara? Besides helping out with the Kira case and that small encouragement I gave you some time ago, I don’t suppose I’ve done anything of significant help towards you.”

A small chuckle escaped me as I leaned closer towards him, resting my forehead on the back of his head. I felt him shift slightly as I made contact with him, but I could still hear the keyboard clicking so he didn’t seem too distracted at all by what I did.

“Because you’re an inspiration to me and well, I like that you’re here, World’s Greatest Detective. It’s like, a biiiig deal to me that I get to work with you, you know?” I ramble.

“You speak rather highly of me, Miss Uehara, I’m touched, thank you.” He speaks in his usual monotone voice and in my inebriation and the fact that I couldn't see his face, it was hard for me to  tell if he was actually flattered or was just responding out of courtesy.

“Also, I think I actually like you, L...”

The keyboard’s clacking stopped as the words escaped my mouth. I dropped the usual honorific I called him by, likely influenced by the alcohol. He was still, and I continued to ramble on in my intoxication.

“I like the way you stare at things like you’re trying to dissect them before you, your piercing glare so intense that I feel like if you had lasers in your eyes I’d be bisected right in front of you. I like the way you daintily hold things with your thumb and forefinger, and it makes me wonder just how strong your digits are.”

He shifted slightly forwards, and I brought the arm that I had resting on the back of his chair around to rest on his shoulder.

“I like the way you eat your sweets, it’s nice to see you enjoy them. I like how I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or you’re just being blunt at times, and it sends the rest of the Task Force in a state of confusion whenever you say something.” I chuckled, pressing my cheek on the top of his head.

“I like your face, the seemingly permanent shadows under your eyes, your sharp jawlines and how long your neck is, your lanky frame… I like how you’re so smart and you know that you’re the smartest guy in the room but you give everyone the benefit of the doubt because of the way you look.”

“Miss Uehara…”

“I don’t know, Detective, maybe I do like you or maybe it’s the alcohol.” Hair strands fell off my shoulders, caressing the nape of his neck as I lowered my face on the back of his head, his hair  brushing against my cheeks. “Your hair smells nice.” I say, feeling my breath bounce off of the nape of his neck and I felt him bend forward away from me just a little.

“While I am flattered by your words, Miss Uehara, I have my reservations over accepting them due to your current state. Were the things you just said truthful and you’ve been harboring a fondness for me for a while or were they just a product of the mock confidence induced by alcohol?”

My eyelids fluttered as I listened to him and I tilted my head so my cheek was pressed into the back of his head again.

“If I remember all of this in the morning and start acting awkward around you, then you’ll know..”

“Would you kindly stand up so I can move away, please? I’ll have Watari assist you back to your room.” Exhaling slowly I did as he requested and leaned away from him. “Can I sleep on the couch over there? I don’t..” I swayed slightly on my feet.

He turns around and looks up at me, his wide eyes illuminated by the electric lighting of the monitors before us. I could swear there was a gentleness in it, but it could be the alcohol. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. I just want to know that there’s someone else within the 4 walls of the room I’m in.”

“Very well. I’ll have a blanket brought up here for you.” He gets out of his seat and walks around his chair to my side.

“Thanks, Detective.” I stepped back so I could walk to where the couch was when the rest of the alcohol I just drank suddenly hit me and I stumbled backwards. L, who had been perceptive of the entire situation, was able to grab me by my shoulders before I could lose my balance even more.

“Easy. It seems like the rest of the alcohol you drank is starting to run its course, please hold on to me and I’ll walk you to the couch.”

His grip on my shoulders was firm and secure. I leaned into him and he brought one of his arms around my back as he walked me to the couch by the other end of the room where I promptly dropped myself onto. The couch felt more comfortable than my hotel room’s bed for some reason.

My voice comes out a little ragged as I pull my feet up onto the couch.

“Hey, Detective..?” 

“Yes, Miss Uehara?”

“I still have the lollipop stick from that day we met.”

If he ever replied, I couldn’t hear it anymore as my eyes swam and sleep took over me.

[mikodrawnnarratives]

I'll be posting this to ao3 ltr when i have a good title in the works. Pls do lmk if you have any suggestions as i mull it over,

...

fuck i didn't think of a summary either UHHHHH

Summary:

It's a simple enough backstory. It followed the formula you'd expect from most prodigies pre-Supernova. Experience a traumatic event, survive, get your powers, and the rest is history. How all the heroes in this damned city advertise their origins. Like a comic book. A cheesy, edgy, comic book. At least some prodigies have the common sense to keep their melodrama to themselves. Magpie did.

Or: I gave Maggie another internal monologue that MM loves to write her renegades trilogy characters doing, 1) cuz its fun 2) I have a lot of hcs I want to get out and have no idea how Maggie would tell this to other characters in a one shot

I'll write the longer fic ltr ITS TIME FOR MAGGIE MONOLOGUE

word count: roughly 1500

If she was good at anything, it was surviving. Her bullet was proof of that.

Proof of a day she couldn't remember, but still existed. Had to exist.

A day defining her every waking moment, every breath. A day providing the reason for the smallest scar just by her hairline.

It's a simple enough backstory. It followed the formula you'd expect from most prodigies pre-Supernova. Experience a traumatic event, survive, get your powers, and the rest is history. How all the heroes in this damned city advertise their origins. Like a comic book. A cheesy, edgy, comic book. At least some prodigies have the common sense to keep their melodrama to themselves. Magpie did.

Who would she even tell? Who would even care? No one did before. It took her years to realize no one gave a shit about her case. From the Renegades’ messy crime scene analysis to the witnesses of her miraculous survival.

No double-checking for survivors. For her. They just gave up. And certainly no one could be bothered to alert the Renegades of their error when she was found.

She supposed the latter made sense, given it was still the Age of Anarchy at the time. Everyone had enough on their plates at the time. One more orphaned kid wasn't special. And never would be. Those tragedies tend to lose their effect on people’s hearts after enough of them.

Sometimes, depending on the day, her heart ached a little more in her chest to think about her sister. The occasional query, the itch she couldn't scratch, wondering what happened. If she was out there wondering about her too. Wanting her when no one else did.

Maggie never liked to entertain those thoughts for very long. They didn’t change anything. Her sister either ran away or got herself kidnapped, and neither fate spelled good things for her. Even if it was once a nice thought; the idea her sister beat those odds and was coming to get her. Especially during hard nights at the orphanage.

When a roomie couldn’t get their powers under control to let her sleep, or when another kid got in trouble and was yelled at for an hour after dinner. The orphanage would get flooded and someone would be there to hug her and tell her she doesn't need to be there any longer.

The idea that someone (anyone really, she wasn’t picky) was gonna come and break her out. A perfect rescue. Her fabled happily ever after. It didn’t lose its appeal. A pitiful, sweet lie.

A lie regardless.

As appealing as it was, she never went long without another foster family reminding her of the truth. Harder to believe more and more after each family that passed through the creaking doors of the shitty building’s structure. Each potential foster was usually already hesitant to accept a prodigy, but a prodigy thief?

One that could steal your jewelry and family heirlooms and run away to pawn it off who knows where? If you even had any left after the Age of Anarchy. Her odds were never great. Even the rare bleeding hearts that just loved to find “fixer uppers” were dissuaded. Her file only spelled trouble.

Even if trouble was a kid willing to do anything for a family, in Maggie’s humble opinion. Trouble was a kid with a treasure trove of hidden gifts she had collected over the years for the longest time, to give to her future home. A thank you for the service of accepting her. Let me gift you this part of me! Even if said “part of her” was a pearl necklace from the shop across the street.

She liked pearls.

Not that she could ever be dissuaded from stealing. Adding to her collection, she preferred to call it. The scoldings she received did nothing to change her mind, even if they each were another mark on her file. “Stealing is bad” isn't a very compelling reason to change for a preschooler, it turns out. And they were easy to ignore anyway, especially after the third. Only serving to inform how she got caught. How to do better. The occasional addition of a time out for her punishment didn’t help.

Hell, even if they did, there were almost always more important kids to pay attention to than the telekinetic. You wouldn’t want the pyromaniac to burn down the building! Or leave the infant amphibian alone for long enough to poison dinner. For the third time. The ones who couldn’t control their crazy powers yet.

They also didn't tend to be very popular choices with foster families, but Maggie could hardly feel sorry for them. Everyone in the orphanage knew ever since they could walk the Renegades were always looking for more recruits. Keeping a keen eye on the kids with potential, growing up in their own institution. If one could call such a wreck an “institution”.

And becoming one of the renegades, while not ideal, was the best escape you could get. It was for her. Even if she traded chores at the Children’s Home for chores at Renegades HQ. They, of course, loooovved her powers for clean up duty.

It paid. That kept her there. So it wasn't all bad, even if it felt like it most days. They had also attempted to get her a family but Maggie knew from the start it wasn't happening. They let her join regardless. She ran away and pawned off her collection, no point in keeping it any longer, all before her first day.

And she never went back. She never needed to, even after the Renegades found out she wasn't staying with them. She was never prodded about where she lived if not the orphanage, and they didn't need to know. It was a good enough building close by, that's all that mattered.

She remembered squeezing the bullet so tightly after finding the building, checking for any weak points nearby. She can do this. She'll be okay. She's a survivor. Mantras on repeat in her head, the bullet tight in her hand for good luck.

She knew it wouldn't be the same as it was at the children's home. Leaving meant leaving behind a part of herself forever. And she did anyway.

If the day she got her powers wasn't her first death, then the day she ran away was.

She's a survivor, she knows that much. Yet more often than not, parts of herself died over the years. Her original identity died. Whatever her name used to be, she's gone. And Margaret White survived. She survived with such foolish hope that she could ever get any semblance of a normal home. A life she should have gotten.

She would never get it. That was fine. She ran away.

Margaret White became Magpie, one of the youngest Renegades to join at barely 10 years old. She never held back her displeasure with the Renegades, all of them hypocrites. She stole for only herself, until she didn’t. And made the same mistake. Having hope. Hope that things could get better, hope that even if the Renegades were shit at their jobs, the means would justify the ends. Hope that she could do something.

And he believed in her. That annoying, cheesy nerd he… he never should have…

She gave him that helmet.

She really did think it would change anything.

And now he's dead.

And Magpie is too.

Rotting in that stadium falling apart around her, sinking into the ground as the world continued on and rebuilt without her. The coward stuck behind those stands speckled with blood, a messy paint job. Unable to look, unable to move. Died frozen in place, stiff with the endless rounds of tears burning her eyes.

Her worst nightmares brought her to that place. Where she died. Where she murdered him.

Well, she didn't technically. But it felt like it. The pit in her gut didn't change to know she wasn't the one holding the scythe.

The fault laid between her and Nightmare. Nightmare… Nova, who dared to proclaim herself as a hero now. Dared to move on. Her corpse should have laid there with him. With Magpie.

Whatever hope Maggie had left in the Renegades died that day. Any faith in their message, rotten. Not everyone can be a hero, some just aren't built for it. Relying on others, trusting others, gets you killed. She should have known better.

That day, she peeled away from the spot Magpie's breaths stopped, and told herself she would know better now. She'll be better. She doesn't need anyone. She never did. Gripping the bullet tightly in her palm, that's what she told herself as she took shaky steps to the remains of the exit. She would survive, even when everyone else died from their foolishness.

Some people aren't cut out to be heroes, even if they tried.

Some people were meant to prosper at others expense.

Some people lived, even when others died.

They died, they lost, and Maggots like her needed to be okay with that. Their loss meant her benefit. She won’t let the inverse happen.

Some people are villains, and always were always meant to be.

-

-

im so indecisive aaaaAAAAA

i also would uper appreciate it if voters explained why they picked what, it'll help a lot with deciding

[jailhouserock45]

Story Dump Time!

The first time I started to ship Caryl, me and my family had just started TWD and were a couple of episodes in season 1.

Me and my sister took a liking to Daryl (even if he was a bit rough around the edges then) and we immediately got on pinterest and started a board dedicated to him😆

It was 2015, so a couple of seasons had already been released by this time. Meaning me and my sister thought he had more than likely found and fallen in love with someone at this point, or at least had feelings for someone and we just hadn't watched it yet.

We didn't mind to spoil it for ourselves, which was a dumb move but hey🤷‍♀️

So we typed in "Daryl and" and we let pinterest autofill the rest.

The first thing that came up was Daryl and Carol.

Now, we were SO new to this fandom that we couldn't remember who Carol even was😂

So we were like "who? Which one is Carol?" And when we saw her I was like "oh my gosh, that's the abused lady! Daryl likes the abused lady?" And I mulled it over for a minute.

We saw later season photos and gifs of them, and I realized it made sense.

He was a rough gruff redneck, and she an abused woman who didn't know how to defend herself. They were both kind of broken.

I absolutely loved the idea that he would take a liking to her, and therefore try and protect her (and her being floored that someone actually cared about her, oh it made me so excited. Then of course we see that SHE becomes more of a baddie than him, but I didn't know that at the time 😂)

I started warming up to the idea of them with every photo I saw...my sister did too.

And then, we saw THE reunion hug. The No Sanctuary hug... My sister tapped on a gif of it, and when we saw it I was done.

I absolutely LOVED it. I loved them. I saw how soft and happy they both were in that gif and I was in. Certified Caryl shipper😂💯

I saw how different they both were towards eachother, and I knew that sometime after season 1, they would start to become more to eachother and I was there for it.

Me and my sister from then on became Carylers, and we got to watch their relationship blossom into what it is today.

We held out and waited and waited, hoping they would make it official...and they always seemed to be just an episode away from doing that. But it never happened...

My sister stopped believing it would happen years ago. And I'll admit, so did I.

Only recently I started to hope again.

This proves that what Caryl has, it is special. From just a few photos and gifs, I was hooked on them and I didn't even know them at that point😂 And still today, after being strung along, Caryl fans STILL have hope for them.

That's pretty impressive...

And that's it, that's when I first became a Caryler. I spoiled it for myself, but I regret nothing!

Heres to hoping years of waiting finally pays off!🤞❤️

[cryptidghostgirl]

The Land is Inhospitable and So Are We (Chuuya x Reader) (slight Dazai x Reader)

Pairing: Chuuya x Reader//Dazai x Reader

Description: Y/n left the Mafia, along with Chuuya, behind. She made her choice and it was most definitely her choice. There is no escaping the consequences.

Next Part: Coming Soon

Warnings: Angst, drinking your feelings, Port Mafia cannon stuff. You guys know the drill. I think that is it, please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 2,103

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Bungou Stray Dogs Master List

A/N AHHHHH! I am actually so excited to start posting some of my other work here. I wrote this little fic back in november (ish?? I think??) and it is what I have decided to start with in my reposting of wattpad stuff here because it is short and sad and under-appreciated on wattpad. Enjoy!

Chapter One: bug like an angel

Y/n sat alone at her favorite bar, turning her mostly empty glass of liquor slowly in her hand and watching the reflections of the dim lights in it. To anyone else, it would appear she was waiting for someone and maybe, somewhere behind those cold eyes, she was. After all, this is where they'd always come to be together, the three of them. Anniversaries were supposed to be a happy thing but in this moment, she couldn't feel anything but emptiness and loss.

"You dug your grave and now you must lie in it silly girl. Made promises you broke, so they broke you right back. Amateur. What else did you think was gonna happen?" she scoffed quietly beneath her breath before downing the rest of her drink.

With sudden assertion, she set the glass down on the bar and stood. Having already paid her tab, she gracefully put her coat on and, with a blasé wave of thanks thrown over her shoulder to the barkeep, took herself out into the cool night.

—— Did I make him a promise I couldn't keep? or am I going to be a man and do something about it?

Dazai looked around the room that had been his home for almost as long as he could remember. There were memories woven into the very fibers of the deep red carpet and the grains of the wood floor. This had been his childhood, his whole life, the only one he'd ever really known.

 Looking around, a myriad of minute details caught his eye. It was as if some part of him had already made the choice he was mulling over in his grief muddled mind and was trying to memorize it all, trying to take in every inch of it before he couldn't anymore. 

Look there, it said, that bottle of wine is empty because you shared it with Chuuya just last week. And there, that's the rose Y/n gave you randomly one day that you hung up on your wall till it dried. Somewhere in one of those drawers is a scalpel, in the back of that closet, there's a loose board that hides a scrap of Akutagawa's old coat you two found him in. There is a bit of your first coat there too, and Chuuya's from when you found him. And Y/n's she left here of course. Look here... see there... notice this... this plaguing infestation... this gap... this raw, bloodstained history you call a life.

He sighed again, turning his eyes away and running a hand through his already messy hair.

"I am so tired of this." he mumbled aloud, knowing no one was there to hear it.

Taking a step over to the dark wood dresser, he picked up a slip of paper worn with age. The pencil marks on it were blurred from the oil on his fingers, having read it again and again in the past year.

Thoughts continued to swirl around his head as he looked down at the blood soaking his frame.

"But what would I do with all this rage if I were to? Would it have a place to go?"

Dazai found his thoughts drifting to a time a few years ago. The three of them had snuck out into the night and found a bar, a little safe haven in all their madness. Y/n, mediator as she was, had smoothed out any disagreement, any anger spawned from snide remarks. Her exhileration at being out in the air that sharp January night had been all they needed. He had fed on that infectious joy of hers, a spot of light in the darkness that consumed them all and somehow, never went out. Not once in the six years Dazai had known her had he ever seen it even falter.

After dropping the drunken Chuuya safely back at his door, he had walked with her to her own room. They were less than sober themselves and Dazai couldn't help but laugh at his companion as she skipped down the hall, humming softly.

"What is it? Do I look weird?" Y/n asked, suddenly rather self conscious as she heard Dazai laugh behind her.

"Not at all." he smiled, catching up to where she had stopped in the hall, "Just a little unbecoming for the Port Mafia's youngest executive."

"Watch your tongue, dog." she joked, shoving his shoulder lightly, "I could have you drawn and quartered for a comment like that."

"Ooh, how medieval. I'm soooo scared." Dazai sarcastically responded, rolling his eyes as they started to walk once more.

"You better be, I am the notorious wielder of bacchic frenzy and hedonistic release after all." she teased right back.

"I'm too hedonistic as it." Dazai mused happily, "Your power would have no hold on me."

"That's just because no ability has power over yours which means it is cheating. I, Y/n the great, do declare my subordinate, Dazai Osamu, to be a cheater."

"Hey!" he pouted back for a brief moment before they both dissolved into giggles.

Before he knew it, they reached her door. It was an all too familiar thing to him, covered over with little notes and drawings he and Chuuya had left for her over the years that she had refused to take down for sentimentality's sake.

"Thank you for letting me convince you to do this." she said, turning to face him in the dark hallway.

Surprised, Dazai stood silent for a moment before taking a hand from his pocket and placing it on her head.

"Your hope shines in this dark place." was all he said in response.

"I've always known I was too full of feathers. My mother used to say it to me. She said it would kill me someday." Y/n mused softly, pushing the taller man's hand from her hair and holding it in her own, examining it as if it were some precious jewel.

"How do you do it?" he found himself asking, the alcohol coursing through his veins.

"It's just who I am. Plus, if you're just asking that in order to mimic me, remember: my mother was right. I'll be bent over from wishing and surrounded by false promises before long."

"You're too good for that."

"I am not good."

Y/n dropped Dazai's hand and looked up at last to meet his wide brown eyes. His frown only deepened with her gaze.

"I'm not good!" she insisted again, with a slight smile "I am full of all this rage. No one who is good should ever be as angry as I am. Besides, I know my place and I have learned to be content with it. I have learned to find the sun where it is shining."

"You're my sun." he said softly.

Y/n didn't respond but met his eyes once more and Dazai found them to be full of a grief he hadn't seen before. Maybe it had always been there and he had just never been close enough to notice.

"How do you do it?" he said gruffly, sticking his hands back in his pockets and looking away momentarily.

"Do what?"

"How do you deal with all the rage."

Y/n's eyes grew wide for a moment.

"The wrath of the devil was also given to him by god." she said after some thought.

"I never took you as the religious type." Dazai chuckled, lightening the mood slightly.

She smiled and shook her head.

"I'm not but this anger is a part of me whether I want it to be or not. I can sit and let it fester, or I can embrace it and learn to love it as it loves me."

"Aren't you afraid you'll be hated for it?"

His question came out as barley a whisper, a breath with substance.

"You and Chuuya have stuck around, haven't you?"

He turned the paper over in his hand. The backside was empty save for his name, written in that achingly familiar script that had plagued him since the first time he saw it. Dazai had never encountered another person who's handwriting suited them as perfectly as hers did. He shook his head slightly, placing the paper back down. His mind was made up. After all, she had left, she had made it out and, as far as he knew, lived to tell the tale. If she of all people could be redeemed, then why couldn't he?

——

Y/n woke up the next morning with a terrible hangover. Sluggishly, she pulled on her usual attire and dragged herself to work. Grabbing breakfast on the way, she somehow managed to make it to the office only an hour late and with her headache having subsided.

"Morning everyone, sorry I'm late." she managed through a yawn as she stepped inside, "I somehow managed to sleep through my alarm."

Her new life was no place for lies and secrets, Y/n knew that, but when your raised a certain way, things follow you. She couldn't help it and sometimes, her little lies even surprised her.

"Just don't do it tomorrow." said Kunikida, lightly hitting her on the head with his notebook.

"I won't, I won't." she hummed in response, draping her coat over the back of her chair.

As she went to sit down and start on the paperwork from her last mission, Kunikida spoke once more.

"The boss wants to see you in his office." 

"What for?" Y/n asked, looking up at him with surprise evident in her eyes. 

Kunikida shrugged. 

"He's speaking to a potential new hire, apparently he wants your opinion on the matter."

"Mine?"

"Seems like a waste of time. The man has an irresponsible, lazy air to him." Kunikida continued as if he hadn't heard her question. 

"I guess I'll go see what he needs."

Y/n knocked gently on the boss' door and did not move to enter until she heard the command from inside.

"You ask to see me sir?" She said with a respectful bow once the door was shut. 

"Yes, sit down."

Y/n nodded and moved to take the empty seat in front of his desk before noticing a strangely familiar person sitting beside it. Her eyes grew wide with disbelief for a moment before she quickly fixed her expression into a small, pleasant smile.

"What is it I can help with."

She could feel his eyes on her as she look straight ahead at the boss who took a sip of his tea.

"Y/n, this is Dazai Osamu but I'm sure you know that already."

"Yes, of course." she nodded, still absolutely avoiding the man beside her.

"He wants to work here."

"And why should you?" she asked, suddenly fixing her strangely cold attention on Dazai. 

"My, haven't you changed." he smiled back at her. 

"Your coat is different."

"And your feathers appear to have gone."

Y/n was silent for a moment. 

"Not gone, just quieted. This is my hiding place, why are you here?"

"I thought you might know one another, it appears however that you two even have a history." the boss chuckled warmly, bringing the attention in the room back on him, "Tell me Y/n, this man claims to have been a Port Mafia executive. He says he wants to leave it behind, to 'be on the side that saves people.' Can you confirm his story? Back up his intentions?"

"You never asked anyone to back up my story or my intentions, why bother with this one?"

"You were sincere." the boss answered cooly, "This one appears to have something to hide."

Y/n rolled his words over in her mind for a moment, sparing Dazai a fleeting glance before she answered. 

"Dazai and I grew up together. He was my subordinate and must have been promoted to take my position when I left. I do not believe there is any reason to not trust his intent in this situation. In fact, I had a feeling something would happen and he'd follow me someday."

"Thank you Y/n, that is all. You may return to your work."

"Yes sir."

Y/n stood and bowed once more. As she turned to leave however, Dazai grabbed her wrist lightly. She looked down at his still seated form, her eyebrows raised.

"How's that wrath of yours?" he asked with a seemingly harmless smile. 

Y/n took a deep breath before moving her hand carefully from his grasp. 

"How's your hedonism treating you lately?" she threw back and the door clicked shut softly behind her.

[imawreck]

Cargo

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Original Character

Summary: After finding the secret Hydra experiment, Steve and Bucky return to Stark tower with the cargo. The team has a lot of concerns.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of injuries

Word count: 1,382

Bucky-

The girl was compliant with any commands that I had given to her, but she wouldn't take any from Steve. The way she looked at him told me that she knew exactly who he was and, if it wasn't for my command for her to stand down, she would have gunned him down in that room without a second thought. We had cuffed her to the seats lining the walls of the jet as a precaution. Both Steve and I kept an eye on her though, both of us were almost certain she was enhanced. She pulled a goddamn bullet out of her hand without flinching. That's proof enough.

Her hand had stopped bleeding and there was already a half-formed scab over the entry wound. The bullet had lodged itself in the center of her palm, hadn't even gone through, which was hardly possible considering the close proximity the doctor had been standing when he fired the shot. We barely knew anything about her other than the name given to her by Hydra and that she was some form of super soldier weapon Hydra had been working on roughly the same time I was there.

I watched her stare at the ground the entire flight. I knew she wasn't really just staring at the floor but listening to anything and everything that happened around her. She had to be around my age, maybe a few years younger. She was small, dainty almost, with tan skin and stark white hair. I studied her Hydra uniform, much like mine, as I mulled over the events. The fabric was all black with the emblem embroidered into the shoulders. It was form fit but looked much like an older military uniform. If it wasn't for the absent expression she wore and the intelligence lurking behind her eyes, no one would ever take her as a threat. Her eyes were the palest blue I had ever seen in my life and when the light hit them just right, they glinted like moons.

She had shown us in the room that she had some sort of training and that she knew her way around a gun, and it wasn't impossible to assume she didn't know her way around various other weapons either. She also had to be well trained in stealth. I couldn't recall any missions where I had even suspected someone was tailing me. That wasn't saying too much though, considering my memory issues.

She had looked up in that moment, her eyes once more catching the light in an eerily predatory way, and she stared back at me. Her stare was void and empty, like she was a shell of a person, nothing like what I saw before when I intervened between her and Steve. She studied my face, my arms, making her way down slowly to my feet before back up again. Her eyes looked to my chest for a moment before flitting back to the ground.

My eyebrows scrunched and my brain reeled, "Do you remember?" The words were so quiet I was afraid she wouldn't hear me. Even I hadn't remembered it until I had seen her, the memory. There wasn't even a scar there. I almost thought she hadn't heard me before the slightest nod of her head caught my attention.

I sucked in a breath, "Tell me what happened."

Her shoulders tensed and she seemed to have to force the words out of her mouth, "Kazan Mission, target retaliated. Asset shot through left lung, critical condition." Her voice was flat and rough, deeper than I imagined it would be. "Target lost, mission failure." She said the last part through gritted teeth, her hands trembled as she clenched her fists.

When she looked at me again it was like looking at a different person. Her eyes were watery, but the steeliness was still there. It was different somehow, deeper almost, than when she was staring at me before. She looked like she wanted to say something before she thought better of it, shaking her head and relaxing her hands.

The intercom static caused her to jump, and the restraints groaned as she tugged against them. Steve's voice echoed through the Quinjet, "Almost home Buck, I've called in to let them know we have cargo."

I nodded even though he couldn't see me and set my attention back on the girl seated across from me. "No one we're about to meet will be a threat. Do not engage, understood?"

She nodded, shifting her gaze to Steve as the jet lowered itself onto the landing dock. She eyed him as he walked to the other side of the jet and released the back hatch to greet the rest of the awaiting avengers.

The team all stood around the jet ready to greet us when we exited. I worked at the shackles around the girls' limbs as Steve spoke to them. I was afraid meeting them all at once would alarm her, but so far, I couldn't sense any shift in her mood. I kept the cuffs on her, only releasing the chains that bound her to the floor of the jet. I motioned her forward to which she complied instantly, taking sure strides out of the hatch. She didn't even blink at them as she came to a stop behind Steve, keeping her distance. I caught her peeking over her shoulder at me as I came to stand at her side. I watched as the group tensed, watching her every move. Still, she waited.

Steve was holding conversation with Tony who was actively glaring at the girl standing motionless a good distance away. I was too far away to catch what they were saying even with enhanced hearing, but from the look on both men's faces it was a controversial topic.

Tony scoffed, throwing a snide comment towards Steve I'm sure, and made his way over to me. His face was twitching in anger as he approached but it quickly flickered to surprise as a figure stepped into his line of vision and my own.

The girl's cuffs clicked together as she side-stepped closer to my side, angling slightly in front of me. It was barely a shift in her footing, but it was enough to catch the whole team's attention. Her eyes were set on Tony, unwavering in their stare. Her feet were spread in a defensive stance despite being cuffed and unarmed. She remained stoic and didn't show any aggression towards anyone, but that one step said a million things. A silent threat.

"What is the meaning of this Barnes? Bringing a Hydra agent to the tower? Have you lost your mind?" He folded his arms across his chest and jutted his chin out. "You do realize you're putting us all at risk bringing her here."

I sighed, feeling a lick of anger brew in my chest. "I couldn't leave her there Stark, not when I know what they do to people left there. I figured that we could try undoing the Hydra programming like you're trying to do with me."

The muscle in his jaw ticked, "If it even works, Barnes! There aren't any guarantees, we know nothing about her or if she's stable enough to cooperate with us to even attempt to help her." He grumbled under his breath, "Another Super Soldier for Christ's sake!

"She listens to me. I don't know why, but she listens to me and I..." I cleared my throat and balled my fists, willing the words to come out. "I think I used to know her. I had a memory in the base, and she was in it."

Tony's jaw ticked again before his eyes drifted to the girl once more. "Take her down to the holding room and give her a change of clothes. Lock the door behind her and don't let this idiot in until we've had a chance to discuss this."

I saw her shoulders tense for a moment and her stare flicked to me. There was a hint of fear in her eyes, hardly noticeable for the second it had shown before she pulled the blank mask back over her features. I sighed, "Go with them."

Another moment passed before she nodded, watching as Steve approached her and motioned with his head for her to move. He followed her through the open doors and down the hall out of sight.

[milkycarnations]

Sneak Peek at my WIP

I mentioned before that I'm working on a Ren Hana x reader short fic. I've been working hard on it and it's already about 10k words. Since I'm nowhere near done yet, I wanted to show a little sneak peek to garner some hype for it and also encourage myself if people end up really liking it. This is only about 1.5k words of it so far and is only part of the exposition. I encourage everyone to share their concrit and tell me what they think! Divider by @cafekitsune

Over the past few days, you’d been feeling feverish. Ren tried to nurse you back to health, feeding you an assortment of medicines and soups in an attempt to make you better, but the flu you’d caught wasn’t letting up. Tonight was your night to cook dinner and you’d already felt bad enough for making Ren cover for you the last two nights. As your fever began to dissipate, you promised Ren you’d get back on track. He had enough chores to do as is and lately, he’d been doing double since you fell ill. Even with your promise, the sickly exhaustion stuck around like a fog. 

You'd dragged yourself around the house all day, mulling around while you worked and cleaned. The laundry needed folding, the floors needed to be mopped, and the bathtubs were long overdue to be scrubbed down. You pushed through it, sniffling and coughing as you went. By the time noon came around, you were miserable. Falling onto the couch, you sighed as you were absorbed into the cushions. A nap couldn't hurt. Before you could think it over, you passed out.

By miracle, you shot awake hours later. You were coated in a thick sheen of sweat, mostly due to the fever, but now partly in fear. Oh god, Strade was going to fucking kill you. It was ten minutes til six. He would never settle for something quick and lazy, so an easy bowl of macaroni and cheese wouldn’t cut it. Panicked, you scoured over the pantry, trying to figure something out. 

Could Ren get him drunk? If he was wasted off of his ass, Strade would look it over and spare you some of the pain, but ten minutes wouldn’t be enough. Tears brimmed in your eyes but you blinked them back, needing to see inside the fridge. It would take a shit ton of alcohol for him to forget it. You were fucked. 

Pulling out miscellaneous veggies and potatoes, you quickly started a broth. It took everything within you to stop yourself from vomiting across the counter. It wasn’t going to work, you knew better. The potatoes wouldn’t cook in time. The stew wouldn’t have any meat - which Strade would hate - but you didn’t have the time to thaw and brown the beef in a skillet. It wasn’t like it would be very flavorful either, given you had ten minutes.  

Strade was expecting salmon tonight, you remembered. You were so stupid. Why did you have to tell him? 

Cranking on the front burner, you turned the heat on high and chopped a carrot with lightning speed. There was no other choice, you’d have to ditch the potatoes, too. Strade would be just as unhappy if he bit into a raw potato. 

You chucked the diced carrot into the broth, which had only just begun to simmer, and began cutting the celery before stopping to toss in a few handfuls of pasta noodles. By chance, you had managed to avoid cutting yourself as you sliced the celery into uneven chunks. You checked the time. Five till. Fuck - how had you wasted five minutes already? The noodles wouldn’t be done. The carrots won’t be tender. 

After nearly mauling your fingers with the knife, you scream out for Ren. The celery plopped into the pot, splashing droplets of hot water against your arms. Then, the sound of footsteps behind you. 

“Ren, please I need-” you pivoted. It was Strade. 

A gasp was forced from your chest. The water in the pot rumbled as it began to roll. Curious, Strade picked up the small paring knife and twisted it in his fingers. A devilish grin was splayed across his face. 

“Almost done?” he asked. 

Glancing behind yourself, you found yourself unable to lie, but also unable to tell the truth. You stood there with nothing else to say. Strade drew in a heavy inhale. 

“Doesn’t smell like salmon at all, Häschen.” Strade stalked his way to you, peering over your shoulder at the stew, “Changed your mind?” 

Again, you were speechless. He chuckled, grabbing your face in his hands. 

“What a shame. I was looking forward to that side dish you make - those garlic chili green beans and mashed potatoes, maybe?” Those eyes peered into you as he squished your cheeks. He was expecting something. 

“I’m sorry, Strade.” you tried not to make eye contact. 

“Sorry about what, buddy?” he tutted. 

Choosing to stay quiet, tears continued to stream down your face. Grinning, Strade answered for you. 

“You’re apologizing for lying and wasting my time?” Tone fluctuating, you sensed that this was a rhetorical question. He gestured towards the pot on the stove, "It looks like you didn't even try."

“I’m really sorry-” you choked out, sobbing. You were unable to hold the flood of emotions back. You had already felt like absolute shit and now Strade was going to hurt you for it. It was likely that he'd drag you down to the basement, and you swore to yourself that you'd never go down there as a victim ever again. Leaning forward, he licked the tears from your cheek, teeth grazing against the skin. He pulled off with a wet kiss. 

“And what about it, Häschen? What should I do with you?” his hum rattled your bones. 

“It was an accident!” you raised your tone but spoke softly in his presence. Screaming at him would only make things worse. 

“An accident?” he pushed you back onto the counter beside the oven. The heat from the gas range made your skin itch, “A dog pissing on the floor is an accident, but that still requires punishment and training. You shock it with a collar or shove its face into its mess until it learns better. But you’re already trained, buddy. You know better. You know what that means, don't you?”

The blade of the knife glimmered in the bright lights of the kitchen as Strade pressed it against your face. The panic was swarming you. 

“Strade, puh-lease!” you begged, but couldn’t get out anything else. You were hyperventilating. It wasn’t fair! You knew better, but the only reason you’d slept in was because you were sick! On a normal day, this would’ve never happened. 

Strade launched into you and brought the struggle to the floor. As you fell, your back scraped against the cabinet. It was too much: the weight of him straddling you, the headache, the fear. In your fragile state, distress swarmed you. A gut-wrenching shriek was ripped from your lungs before you’d even realized it had happened. Strade had reared back, thrusting the blade towards your eye. Splaying your fingers, you reached out and gripped the blade of the knife with both hands. The knife sliced your palms and fingers, but it was the only thing stopping him. His face and neck flamed red, and his smile was drunk with adrenaline. He was practically drooling over you at your resistance. Instead of letting up, he pushed harder, the blade centimeters from your eye. Nothing could be more hilarious to him than your display - he was cackling. 

Fear was a dangerous thing. Unable to control yourself, you screamed and cried relentlessly, hands shaking as Strade pushed the knife down harder. Blood spilled over your face, making it difficult to attempt to hold him back. Everything was slippery and your throat was already run raw. You heard Ren’s footsteps patter into the kitchen. His typical skittish behavior dissipated in an instant at the sight of the two of you. 

Throughout your captivity, there were many instances in which you feared Strade would snap and kill you. Before, there was always a slimmer of hope, knowing that he wanted you around. At the end of the day, he had kept you, after all. This was different. You could see it in his eyes. If you let go, Strade was going to kill you. 

“Strade!” Ren cried out, worry evident. He neared close but didn’t touch. “Strade, please it’s not that serious! It was an accident, come on.” 

You knew better. Ren would be punished too if he intervened, but you couldn’t stop yourself from pleading for your life. Something about the thickness in the air had you worried. He was going to do it for real this time. It was over. 

“Ren, make him stop please!” 

The words came out between sobs. Hyperventilating only made the tip of the blade lurch closer and that made you squeal out like a wounded animal. Beside you, Ren continued to urge Strade to let you go, but it was doomed from the start. Pressing his palm against the bottom of the knife, Strade rammed the metal into your eye. It chipped against your skull - the only thing that saved your brain from the damage. The agony was blinding, and your terror multiplied that tenfold. As you wailed, the room burst into a cacophony of noise. It was so deafening, a ringing noise sounded in your ears as Strade twisted the knife and went to pull.

Something had stopped him. 

[mc-lukanette]

Marinette sat on the couch in her house while Luka was busy in the kitchen preparing popcorn. They hadn't felt like their usual creative sessions that day, so a simple movie would have to do.

Though they did go back and forth for a while on who should be in charge of preparing popcorn, Marinette chuckling recalling their "argument." "But you're the guest!" "And you're letting me in your space." "Guests aren't supposed to be doing anything." "Not in my house. We let guests do what they want, and I want to make the popcorn for you."

She finally relented to him and let him do as he pleased, satisfying popping noises going off behind her like they were the fireworks of his victory.

Granted, it wasn't like there wasn't anything in it for her. There was an akuma that day and she hadn't eaten much as a result, so she spent the time he was preparing eating a handful of nuts.

Not that she really even liked nuts. They were okay - not good, not bad - but her options had gone down ever since she got her miraculous. Chips had gone off the table a long time ago even though she enjoyed them as most did.

"Ugh," she voiced the frustration aloud, "being Ladybug is the worst."

Beyond the popping sound of the popcorn, every other noise stopped; Luka must've heard her.

He raised his voice to be heard over the popping, asking, "Does it have anything to do with what you've been eating?"

She snorted in amusement. Of course he'd notice that my diet changed.

While she'd only known Luka after having become Ladybug, she tried to hide her dieting habits from other people. Luka knowing her secret identity meant that she didn't feel the need to hide it from him anymore, even subconsciously and she just hadn't remembered that she hadn't told him about the dieting aspects until now.

Turning her head to direct her voice towards him more, she confirmed, "Yeah. I used to be able to skip a meal or two if I was in a hurry, but Ladybug can't. There are more akuma now that Hawk Moth is Shadow Moth too."

Luka tapped the counter as he mulled that over, deducing, "So being a hero burns through your energy."

"Exactly, but I can't just eat more food either."

"Because people will notice if you're playing off notes," he finished.

"Yeah. I just need to eat more... nutritiously, I guess." She raised one of the nuts to show him. "Like these; protein and healthy fat."

"Mm," Luka hummed in thought. She could imagine him nodding even if she couldn't see it.

Things went silent from there beyond the occasional sounds from the kitchen and the crunch of Marinette biting into a walnut. She'd already picked out a movie she thought they'd both enjoy, so she could just kick back and wait for Luka.

Eventually, he arrived with two separate bowls of popcorn and set them on the table, though he paused rather than pulling back to join her on the couch. She blinked, curious at the contemplative expression on his face.

"...I can cook," he said suddenly.

"Huh?" She tilted her head, puzzled by the statement. "Oh, I—I know? That's... I always thought it was great that you—"

He hunched over as he choked out a laugh, muffling it with a hand and waving his other hand to reassure her. "Sorry. I..." He straightened, running a hand through his hair before clarifying, "I was asking if I could help."

"...H-huh?" she repeated, somehow more confused than when he told her something she already knew.

He sat down next to her, looking wholly serious. "I'd have to practice and find some recipes, but I could make the kind of food you need." Her averted his gaze, looking up and to his right like he was still thinking it over. "I'll eat too, so you don't have to feel bad about it. It'll give me an excuse to eat well"

Marinette didn't even know what to say; she could only gape at him. Luka had - of course - always been wholly understanding of her role as Ladybug. If anything, he was too understanding, willing to make excuses for her absences without hesitation and always ready to pick up right back where they left off if their one-on-one time was interrupted. She liked to think she knew how to read him by now and he genuinely seemed unbothered by it. She still didn't fully comprehend how he did it all like it was nothing simply because he liked her and they were friends.

Well, she was pretty sure they were friends, anyway: friends who spent a lot of one-on-one time together, friends who shared their deepest secrets with each other, and now potentially friends who ate food together that one of them prepared.

...I have to ask, she thought reluctantly.

"Do you—" She took a breath, then tipped her head back and tossed the remaining nuts in her mouth, chewing and swallowing as if they'd give her courage. Making sure to look him in the eyes, she tried again, "Do you mean... like a date?"

The slight blush that appeared on his face gave her a rough answer. He must've only been thinking about her and making sure she knew that he was getting something out of it by eating the food he'd make for both of them. The romantic implications hadn't even entered his mind.

Still, she waited for him to respond properly, wanting to see what he said.

He shifted in place, looking from her, to the popcorn, to the movie, and finally back at her. When he opened his mouth again, it felt like an eternity until the words actually came out.

"No, but—" He offered a gentle smile her way. "If that's what you want, then..."

He'd trailed off, but she got the message. She just hoped the spontaneous giggle that came out of her didn't sound too giddy.

"W-we could give it a try?" she offered, twirling a strand of her hair and hoping that the coyness might come across. It would've been easy to confess outright, but after all of the relationship failures she'd gone through, it was appealing to try something a little slower even if her endgame goal remained the same.

Luka agreed, his smile widening as he nodded. With that, it was officially agreed upon that it would be a date. Many dates, in fact, if his promise was accurate and he'd start cooking for her regularly.

The only shame, Marinette thought, was that it'd be hard to focus on the movie when she was already imagining her future dinner plans with him.

[khayalli]

The gentle rap-tap-tap on the window startles you from the late night daze you'd been in. Blinking, rubbing your eye's, you try to clear the fog and blue light you're still lost in as you look up from the computer, having not realised just how much the dark has now enveloped your room save for the light from your computer.

"Donnie?" you ask.

He's standing outside the window, wearing only his purple hoodie. Immediately concerned by how little he's wearing and how freezing cokd it is tonight, you hurry kver from your computer to open the window. You shudder as the brittle cold sweeps in like an old friend. But then again, so does Donnie.

Pulling you into the thick of his hoodie, your face is pressed firm into the thread where the ice has settled deep deep into the cotton, like tiny frost particles, so small that your naked eye cannot see them, but so real that they summon goosbumps as they bite and melt against your skin.

"Mm, you're warm," he murmurs. His voice is low in his chest as it rumbles, like a campfire burning late before it slowly dies, snuffed out by the cool dead of the night.

"And you're freezing," you say, swiftly pushing him back to get a better look at his face.

His eyes are heavy with the weight of something he's spent far too long mulling over in a jail of his own making. A cell of himself. He does this sometimes. Forget's that he has people he can go to, people he can depend on who can help solve his problems with him instead of ruminating through the data all on his own and yet still somehow managing to come to the wrong conclusion.

The 'logical' conclusion, in his words.

"Donnie, what's wrong?" you ask. You frown at the feeling of his cold hands as they interlock with your own. You were already think about how cold it was, here in the apartment, and yet, by comparison, you're as warm as a flue.

"It happened again," he says, voice going croaky as it crumbles like chalk. His lips curve downwards and his eyes become wet with the memory of something he's already had to live over and over and over again. A reoccuring nightmare, one of a world where there's only pain and never joy; only darkness but never light; only him, and not...

"...Would you like to try and sleep here tonight?" you ask softly, seeing him slowly come back from reliving that pain somewhere deep deep behind those dark and beautiful eyes of his.

He nods, quiet and slow as he blinks back the tears and tries to maintain that cool composure he likes to wear like a shield. You wonder if he knows you've already worked out just how soft that shield really is.

"Let's get you out of this," you say, pulling his hoodie up over his head. "And into a warm bed."

Taking his hand, you toss the cold garment over onto the chair where you’d been sitting and working late, and guide Donnie towards the bed. You pull back the covers to crawl in first, and Donnie is quick to follow. He snuggles into the space between your legs as he rests his head on your chest and wraps his arms around your waist to breathe you in and feel you close.

"You're like a hot water bottle," he mumbles against your pajamas.

You consider making a joke about how cold he is, but seeing the way his eyes fall closed as he let's himself relax against you, you resort to drawing lines over the back of his soft shell instead. You feel him tense, feel him squeeze you a little tighter, and then he chokes.

"...I couldn't save him—"

"Hey, hey, hey," you coo as you wrap your hands around his head. You run your thumb against rhe underside of his cheek to try and soothe him as he shakes. "You did, though. You did save Leo. Remember? Mikey got him out!"

"But he's not the same." He trembles like a leaf lost in a tempest in your arms. "He can't sleep. He just... disappears sometimes and doesn't tell me where or why he goes. Sometimes he gets this look in his eyes like he’s not even here anymore, like he's... he's..."

"...Like he’s still trapped in that dimension?"

He sniffles. "...Yeah..."

"Donnie," you say, wiping away a stray tear as it rolls over the fabric of his mask. "Your brothers are here. All of them. I'm sure you went and checked on them before you came to me, right?"

"...Yeah."

"Leo... he might not be the same Leo as before. He just needs more time. To heal."

He looks up at you with eyes like that of a dog that looks to the moon. Loyal, loving, and hanging on every word.

"He'll come back to you. He will. You don't have to do it alone. You have your brothers. And you have me. We can help him together."

[whumpshaped]

helle's pov of this :)

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, vampire whumpee, murder, death, animal abuse/death (beck feeding on rats), emotional whump, past trauma, paranoia, dehumanisation

Well... This was it.

As Helle stared at their human's motionless body in their arms, the finality of their decision was beginning to set in. They could still stake him, of course, but that wouldn't undo it. If anything, it'd only make their actions more final.

They hated the way his warmth seeped out of his body, slipping away from them forever. They'd never see him blush again, nor would they hear the adorable pounding of his heart whenever he was nervous or excited. He was so still, and it was unnatural after having gotten used to his constant fidgeting.

But it was inevitable, wasn't it? They'd gone overboard. Beck was losing his personality, the thing that had kept them coming back over and over, night after night. This was the only way to efficiently reverse it and try again — except this would also get rid of most of his memories, all that conditioning, all the stupid little moments they'd shared.

It would get rid of the adoration. All of it; both the result of enthrallment and... and the part they'd felt was real. They'd get a squeaky clean slate, with a Beck who would barely remember his own name. They'd have to start over, from square one.

"You said you do not require magic to keep around," they whispered mostly to themself. "That was not you, was it? That was the very magic you wanted me to stop using. Will you wake up and immediately try to run?" They pulled him closer, licking up the last remnants of his mortal blood. "Should I stake you now and spare us both the heartache?"

Helle had never been one to oppose a bit of healthy struggle. They liked to see Beck scared, even disgusted. They definitely loved to see him fight conflicting feelings and shameful urges. But the thought of him loathing them like they had loathed Lady Marie was one that plagued them endlessly, making them put off the siring of a new vampire for far longer than was reasonable.

So did they want a clean slate, or did they want Beck to remember? Did they want a brand new chance at creating a deeply toxic dependency, or did they want to build on what they had already worked for and risk him bolting? It could go in either direction. They didn't exactly know how the memories of enthrallment would carry over to the afterlife, but they doubted that Beck would appreciate those fake feelings without the active involvement of magic.

They spent several hours in Beck's bed, mulling it over while holding him. In the end, they left the apartment with the body in their arms and Boba in their coat pocket.

-

Helle stared at the coffin they were supposed to bury Beck in. Well, they didn't have to. It was mostly bitter resentment that made them want to put him through the same experience they had gone through centuries ago. And yet... they didn't think they could do it.

They let out a frustrated sigh before placing Beck's body inside, telling themself to snap out of this stupid nostalgic streak. It wasn't them in the coffin this time, it was another stupid human, and they had to move on. They nailed down the lid and sat Boba next to it, vowing to finish the whole thing a bit later. Maybe tomorrow night. Just not right now. They had better things to do.

As amusing as the thought of Beck waking up in an utterly neglected and filthy mansion was, having their first guest in nearly two hundred years did motivate them to finally stop living in denial. It wasn't like their siblings had left yesterday. The mansion had been mostly empty for centuries, and it was time to get rid of the old clothes and the cobwebs. None of them were coming back.

-

They couldn't help it. They went back and packed up most of Beck's possessions before his family could've gotten to it, bringing it over to the mansion suitcase by suitcase. They couldn't bear the thought of change, the thought of Beck getting a new wardrobe, or even new bedsheets instead of the deligtfully childish space themed ones he had owned before he died.

They knew it was stupid. Nothing would really be the same now that Beck was dead, no matter how desperately they tried to pretend that if only they worked hard enough, they would be able to make it happen. But what else were they going to do? Sit with the discomfort? Think about him running away, or staking them like they'd done to their sire?

No, it had to be the same. Or– well– different, but in a good way. Different, but in a way that wasn't too jarring. Different, yet not really.

Besides, all the familiar items would surely help recover his memories; even his personality, from before he nearly lost his mind to the magic. He would be the same awkward, jittery kid they'd met so many nights ago in the alley.

He wouldn't come back wrong. Not their Beck. He wouldn't come back wanting to murder them.

-

Helle was sitting on the couch, eyes fixed on the coffin they hadn't ended up burying. It was easier this way. They just didn't want Beck to be covered in dirt and worms.

He got out soon after the first little whimper, immediately jumping on the injured rat they'd tossed onto the floor just seconds prior. Seeing him like that brought up more memories than they would've cared to admit. It didn't pair well with their already guarded demeanour — the result of multiple nights of tormenting themself with hypotheticals and worst-case scenarios.

They threw him another rat, barely conscious of how outwardly disgusted they must've looked with the display. They didn't make an effort to dial it back even when they saw Beck's hurt expression, despite it not fitting into the doomsday image they were trying to ward off.

At least not until they took a moment to really look at him.

The fact that he remembered their name but not his own wasn't anything unusual... it was the way he'd said it that sparked some hope in their soul. But then again, it could've been leftover charm, it could've been anything.

It could've been anything when he looked up at them with those huge, grateful eyes after he'd spotted Boba. It could've been anything when he flinched back from the tone of their voice, looking like a puppy that had been kicked by its owner.

It could've been absolutely anything when he called them Master without hesitation.

It would wear off. It would certainly wear off. Beck would remember more and more of the horrible things they'd put him through, and it'd pass. But just for tonight, Helle couldn't help but bask in the fantasy that maybe their darling Beck wouldn't turn out to be like them.

~

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