#and such an invasion of privacy

[chryblossomjjk]

the way yall need to stop going to jungkooks house before he kicks your ass didhdjdkbdbd

[youabandonedthem]

[mudwerks]

(via Vending machine error reveals secret face image database of college students | Ars Technica)

Canada-based University of Waterloo is racing to remove M&M-branded smart vending machines from campus after outraged students discovered the machines were covertly collecting facial-recognition data without their consent.

The scandal started when a student using the alias SquidKid47 posted an image on Reddit showing a campus vending machine error message, "Invenda.Vending.FacialRecognitionApp.exe," displayed after the machine failed to launch a facial recognition application that nobody expected to be part of the process of using a vending machine.

"Hey, so why do the stupid M&M machines have facial recognition?" SquidKid47 pondered.

The Reddit post sparked an investigation from a fourth-year student named River Stanley, who was writing for a university publication called MathNEWS.

Stanley sounded alarm after consulting Invenda sales brochures that promised "the machines are capable of sending estimated ages and genders" of every person who used the machines without ever requesting consent.

This frustrated Stanley, who discovered that Canada's privacy commissioner had years ago investigated a shopping mall operator called Cadillac Fairview after discovering some of the malls' informational kiosks were secretly "using facial recognition software on unsuspecting patrons."

Only because of that official investigation did Canadians learn that "over 5 million nonconsenting Canadians" were scanned into Cadillac Fairview's database, Stanley reported. Where Cadillac Fairview was ultimately forced to delete the entire database, Stanley wrote that consequences for collecting similarly sensitive facial recognition data without consent for Invenda clients like Mars remain unclear.

Stanley's report ended with a call for students to demand that the university "bar facial recognition vending machines from campus."

what the motherfuck

[mzminola]

On the one hand yeah, Tim faking a temporary disability to get Vicki Vale off his back as she tries to prove he’s Red Robin is ethically dubious. But like... vision impairments are a disability, which means in continuities where the glasses don’t block out his excessive sensory input and he’s not claiming they’re a fashion statement, Superman is faking a disability every time he goes out as Clark Kent. So if we’re gonna be all “Tim wtf” we should also go “Clark wtf”.

On the much more interesting hand, asplenia is also a disability, which the writers canonically gave Tim. While he totally can be a vigilante with it, he needs to take more precautions than he would otherwise, and it wouldn’t be too hard to convince the general Gotham public that actually no, Tim Drake-Wayne being asplenic means he’s definitely not Red Robin, Vicki, what are you smoking, don’t you know how often the vigilantes get tossed in Gotham Harbor? Do you know what’s in that water?

Which means that now I want an AU in which instead of faking getting shot, Tim just has Wayne Enterprises launch an Asplenia Awareness campaign in conjunction with the Martha Wayne Foundation starting a program to get other asplenic Gothamites their antibiotics, throws a bunch of fundraisers for it, and stares Vicki Vale dead in the eyes while taking his new meds on camera.

[digital-domain]

Clean Slate

Part Two to Spring Cleaning

Alastor x Reader // word count 3.1k

In which new clothes are illicitly obtained, and quickly disposed of

Tags/warnings: yandere, invasion of privacy, power imbalance, stripping/nudity, Alastor is definitely watching you sleep

A/N: god, part twos are hard to write. But the people of ao3 asked, so you, the people of tumblr, get to share in their (dubious) reward

True to his promise, Alastor did not leave your closet standing empty. When you woke up this morning, it was already full, the wardrobe you’d collected over the course of your year in hell displaced and forgotten. You wrinkled your nose in distaste when you saw that a large portion of the space was occupied by dresses, none of which fell above the knee. Those, you were sure you would never wear. But there were other options. You donned the least offensive - a pair of black trousers and a soft, slightly oversized red sweater - and felt almost like yourself when you looked in the mirror. 

In the drama of last night, Alastor had skipped over the rest of the small drawers of your dresser, so at the very least, you still had your own socks and the rest of your undergarments. The shoes lined haphazardly along the floor of your closet had been replaced by stiff, polished black flats, slip-on pumps, and other things that looked as uncomfortable as they did unfashionable, but he hadn’t noticed the pair sneakers that lay beneath your bed. You felt a strange thrill as you put them on, like you were getting away with something forbidden. 

And then, you thought, why stop there?

Alastor tends to keep his distance from you during the day. You do see him, of course - it’s not as if you can avoid him, living in the same building - but he barely speaks to you, unless you happen to be the only two people in the room. He doesn’t seem to like the idea of sharing your company with others, or letting anyone else see the two of you together. It means that outside of your bedroom, you still have your freedom. On this particular morning, you’ve decided to use that freedom to walk out the front door. Alastor is in the lobby, and you tense slightly when you see him, but he doesn’t so much as glance in your direction. At least, not while you’re looking at him. You swear that you can feel his eyes on your back as you exit the building. But that could just be your own paranoia. It’s been very strong as of late.

You don’t know exactly where you’re going. Just that you want to end up somewhere he wouldn’t want you to go. There are plenty of places like that in Hell. Arcades, electronics stores, smoke shops that sell harder drugs out of their back rooms, bars that don’t know how to make a proper old-fashioned…you certainly have plenty of options. But of course, in the end, you find yourself at a clothing store. Not a lingerie store - that entire concept has been ruined for you, for the time being - but still not a place he’d ever visit himself. Everything here is casual, comfortable, unpolished. The opposite of your new wardrobe.

You select a soft, unassuming pair of gray sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt. When you pay for them, you decline the branded paper bag, instead choosing to stuff them into the canvas one you’ve brought with you. Once you make it back to the hotel, and into your room, without alerting any suspicion, you’re relieved. You take the bundle of cloth out of the bag, and stuff it under your pillow. You’re not stupid enough to wear them during the day, but they’ll be perfect to sleep in. The slip you woke up wearing lays crumpled in an invisible corner of your closet. You’d like to forget about its existence, but you don’t dare try to destroy it.

You don’t see Alastor for the rest of the day. He doesn’t visit your room. This isn’t unheard of; his appearances have become more frequent over the past several weeks, but there are times when two, or even three precious days go by without a trace of him. Once it’s late enough, past the time when he might call on you, you change into your contraband. It’s nothing special, nothing particularly flattering, but when you look in the mirror, you smile. When you crawl into bed, you’re almost at ease. Last night, it took you a very long time to fall asleep, but tonight, it comes almost instantly.

It does not last.

You wake up, and know immediately that it is nowhere near morning. You’re on your side, facing the wall, and you fight the impulse to roll over and check the time. You’re still half-asleep. You don’t want to move.

But you do. And once you do, the time no longer matters. The exhaustion bolts from your body. You’d like to bolt along with it, but you only manage to half-sit up, swinging one arm defensively over your body. 

You are not alone.

This shouldn’t be happening. There are clear, unspoken rules to Alastor’s appearances - only when you’re alone, never past 10pm, never when you’re in the bathroom that adjoins your room. And yet, he is here. You can see his smile and his eyes far too clearly. It’s unnatural, the way they shine in the dark. 

“I apologize for the late arrival, my dear. It’s been quite a busy day.” 

You don’t believe him for a moment. “What do you want?” You’d like to scream at him to get out, but you can’t imagine that would end well.

“Do I have to want something to visit you?” He’s nowhere near the switch by your door, but the light still flickers, a shock to your eyes. It’s quickly extinguished, plunging you back into the dark. “Perhaps I merely enjoy your company.”

His hand is curled tightly around his staff. It’s another wrong thing about this image - he usually doesn’t have that, when he visits you. Your fingers brace against your sheets. You know why he’s here. He knows, somehow, about your little act of rebellion. How he knows…oh. You don’t want to think about that.

“I don’t expect you to return the compliment,” he murmurs, “but you could at least temper that awful glare in your eyes. It’s almost making me want to look away from you.” As he says this, he leans closer, bending at the waist until his unblinking eyes are mere inches from your own. “I always make an effort to control my unpleasant feelings. If I didn’t, I might make you uncomfortable.” 

You can’t imagine feeling any less comfortable than you do now, with that terrible grin glowing before you. Your eyes are still adjusting to the darkness, but you get the feeling that he can see you with perfect clarity. 

He straightens up, and uses the tip of his staff to flick back your covers, revealing the clothes you’re wearing underneath. “You must have thought so little of me,” he sighs, “to expect to get away with such a thing.”

You fail to catch your breath before it gasps out of you. He doesn’t sound angry, but you’ve learned that the tone of his voice is a poor indicator for how he’s truly feeling. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, eyes cast down. There’s nothing else to say. You purse your lips, and wait.

“I’ve tried so hard with you,” he continues, as if he hasn’t heard you at all. “I’ve been so patient. And just when I thought I was getting somewhere, you decided to act out.” The tip of his staff catches on the hem of your t-shirt, and you instinctively tug the fabric away.

It’s the wrong thing to do. His grin freezes on his face, its appearance now closer to a grimace than anything else. He rests the end of his staff heavily on the curve of your waist - you stiffen, and raise your hand as if to shove it aside, but quickly think better of it. 

“An excellent decision,” he purrs. “I knew you had some sense. I’ve worked very hard to instill it in you, after all. I was just starting to be impressed by your progress…but it appears that there’s still quite a lot of work to be done.” His eyes flash, momentarily glowing an even brighter red, cutting through the darkness between you. “Stand up.”

He withdraws his staff, and although you want nothing more than to pull your covers over your head and pretend this isn’t happening, you instead feel yourself rising to your feet.

“Well done.” His voice is quiet as he steps forward. He’s not touching you - his hands are pulled behind his back, as they often are when he’s close to you. But you can hear his breath, make out every detail of his face despite the absence of light. “I detest being upset with you. I detest that these little things upset me at all. But it seems there’s nothing I can do about that. So.” He leans forward, and smiles indulgently. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s fix this little problem you’ve created, shall we?” His head tilts a bit further than would be natural for anyone else. “If you take those ridiculous things off, we can put all of this nonsense behind us.”

You instinctively take a half-step backwards, only to awkwardly shuffle your foot back to where it was before. The thought of changing back into the slip he gave you makes you shudder, as does the thought of how he might react when he sees you pull it from the floor of your closet, hideously wrinkled. Still, you find yourself nodding in agreement. “Now?”

“Now.” His control over his tone is beginning to waver - his volume oscillates, voice frays with harsh static. 

“The slip…” Your voice is small, in stark contrast with the angered scream you were preparing to release just moments before. “It’s in my closet. I can go”-

Alastor abruptly flicks his staff upwards, turning it into a barrier between you and your closet door. “That won’t be necessary.” You feel very small, all of a sudden. You can’t quite tell whether it’s just the way he’s standing, or if he’s truly taller than he was a moment before. There’s an awful cracking noise - his head drops, neck contorts until he’s staring at you from a truly impossible angle. “You ought to listen when I speak to you, my dear.”

The way he says this now, it might as well be a curse. It propels you back, your feet moving of their own accord. But of course, the backs of your legs quickly hit the side of your mattress, leaving you feeling even more trapped than before. For a moment, you’re grasping at stray thoughts, trying to figure out exactly what you did wrong - 

Oh. He didn’t say anything about the slip, did he? That was where you jumped in your head. But what he actually said -

Your breath catches, fists clench. You don’t want to be right. You can’t be right - he’s awful, but he wouldn’t make you do that -

“Hm.” Seeing your panicked response seems to calm him somewhat. He straightens, takes a deep breath. The terrible grin seems to shrink just a fraction. When he speaks again his voice sounds just as it always does, rolling off his tongue with the pleasant crackle of long-dead airwaves. “A delightful reaction, as always.” He shakes his head slightly, shiftily glances aside. His gaze returns to you, and there’s that familiar spark, the excitement that you’ve come to fear. “Now…” The tip of his staff catches once more beneath the hem of your shirt, and this time, you don’t even consider brushing it aside. “Off.”

What is wrong with you? You don’t know. You should have something to say, something to yell, a fist or a kick or a back to turn on him. Instead, you only manage a moment of inaction before casting your eyes down and pulling your t-shirt over your head, discarding it on the floor at your feet. You were wearing nothing beneath it. The blood rushes to your face so quickly that you imagine he can see it flowing beneath your bare skin. You can feel it, almost as intensely as you can feel his eyes burning into your face.

Your face, which you slowly, foolishly raise to look up at him.

His eyes do not wander. He is staring, yes, but at your expression more than anything else. His gaze is fixed and impassive, with much less appreciation than the night before, when you were clothed in the modest garment he’d conjured. There’s something in his eyes - vindication, perhaps - but nothing more than that, even now. His hands are behind his back, and show no signs of stirring.

“Go on.” 

He’s certainly enjoying this. But not for any reason that makes sense to you. In his mind, you think, this is fair. To make you regret what you’ve done, in the cruelest, most humiliating way possible - to him, there’s nothing wrong with it. You should have been good. Then, this all could have been avoided.

Is that what you think? That this is your fault? You’re not sure. You don’t want to think about it. You move mechanically, sliding your fingers between your underwear and your waistband, tugging your sweatpants down your legs and nearly losing your balance as you step out of them.

“Well done.” He says this, just as you stumble, just before you catch yourself, and it’s so condescending that you’re seeing red. But it’s not like you can say anything about it. You seem to have lost your ability to speak entirely. “Now. If you can manage it, I would prefer for you to look at me, instead of at your floor.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your lip. Your arms are hanging at your sides. You cross them as you look up, but a gentle glove on your wrist sends them falling. You’re glaring, but it must appear more petulant than anything else, because he only laughs when he sees it.

“Just one more thing, my dear.” He leans forward, strokes one finger over the thin cotton that clings to your hip. His touch is so light that you can barely feel it, but it’s still enough to instantly tense every muscle in your body, to straighten out any slack that was left in the posture of your spine. “These didn’t come from me either, did they?”

You shudder, and set your jaw. Speak through barely parted lips. “No.” 

“Don’t look away,” he murmurs. “You’ve nothing to fear, so long as you behave yourself.” He waits patiently until you force yourself to look into his eyes. They’re shining, and his grin, too, is far too bright, a lurid yellow gash in the dark. “If I intended to harm you tonight, you would already be well aware of it.”

Where are your hands? You realize that they’re clasped behind your back; the realization sickens you for reasons that you don’t take the time to understand. As if in a trance, you bring them forward, let them fall against your hips. He doesn’t need to say anything more - only to watch as you pry the last scrap of clothing from your body. When you’re done, you stand with your head bowed, praying that he doesn’t ask you to look up again.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything at all. Only sighs, satisfied, and lightly drags the tip of his staff up the side of your body - the outside of your thigh, your waist, your ribcage, your neck - and then presses it gently under your jaw, silently compelling you to raise your head. 

You try to summon anger to your eyes, but find that you can only stare blankly, waiting.

“I almost wish I could stay upset with you,” he sighs, letting his staff drop to his side. “It would make things so much less complicated, if I could simply refuse to forgive you…” His chest rises, falls. “And yet, I can barely stomach the thought.” For just a moment, his eyes flutter shut. His fist falls from behind his back to clench at his side. He takes another slow, deep breath. Then, his eyes slowly open, their red light dim and hazy. “No…I couldn’t let you go, even if I tried.”

You’re rigid, feet frozen to the floor as he leans over and kisses you gently on the forehead - he doesn’t touch you anywhere else, but you feel that perhaps you’d prefer that to this. You’d understand it better, at least. You’d understand exactly what you were scared of.

You don’t think he quite understands what he’s doing, either. He looks almost confused, when he pulls back. Rattled, almost as much as you are. But he quickly suppresses it, the daze in his eyes replaced with the familiar vicious spark. “You look exhausted, my dear. I would apologize for waking you so suddenly, but I’m afraid it was necessary. I’m sure you understand.” 

He stares until you nod in agreement.

“Lovely.” He pauses for a moment, then goes on with a lowered voice. “I’m sure I’ll have no need to do it again.”

Again, you nod mutely. It was a question, and one that you can easily answer.

“I certainly have no need to keep you awake any longer tonight.” He gestures to the mattress behind you. “Time for bed.”

You don’t think you’re going to fall asleep any time soon, but you still reach behind you to awkwardly pull back the covers. You do not turn around.

“Hm… ” His eyes narrow, grin twitches at the corners. “It’s a warm night, my dear. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable without anything covering you.”

There’s nothing to be done. You sit down, swing your legs over your covers, and lay on your back. Arms at your sides, although you itch to wrap them around yourself. You vaguely register that you are cold, but that barely matters. Perhaps you’re not cold at all. You could be shuddering for any number of reasons.

He leans over you one final time. “Sleep well, darling.” His eyes do not waver from your face. Nor do they blink. You’re not sure if they ever have. “You’re quite a restless sleeper…I do hope that you have better dreams tonight.”

By the time you’ve processed what, exactly, he’s just told you, he has shrunken into the shadows before your eyes, and silently disappeared. You lay stiffly on top of your blankets, and stare up at the ceiling. You do not move, and you certainly do not cover yourself, even as the chill seeps under your skin. When you do fall asleep, hours later, your dreams are cryptic, tinged in a red glow, full of shadows and whispers in voices that are almost familiar, but far too distorted to make out. 

When you wake up, you’re shocked to see that your discarded clothes are still lying on the floor. Shocked - but not relieved. It only means that the task of their disposal has been left to you.

[hellonoblesky]

Freddie Lounds you will always be famous

[ID: A digital drawing of Freddie Lounds holding a news mic labeled tattle crime and gesturing to Will and Hannibal, who are covered in blood and making out in a chair. End ID]

[evilundead]

i think we need to go back to drawing funny situations from memory. no more taking pictures/videos of strangers, give me your approximation of events in a drawing. and no i dont care if you're "bad at drawing" that makes it funnier

[nemfrog]

House tour. Better Homes and Gardens. April 1947. Mildly titillating magazine ad for shower curtains.

Internet Archive

[valkyrieeeee]

Invasion of Privacy TEASER

ᑉ³pairing; Bangchan x idol! reader.

ᑉ³genre; Smau + FF | Angst, Hurt/Comfort

ᑉ³warnings;  Sasaeng (Stalker), Home invasion, cursing

ᑉ³Authors Note; Teaser to Invasion of privacy.

Your phone, suddenly, blinked out of existence, leaving you stranded in the dark room. You stared at it, praying it would come back to life.

But as seconds stretched on, it became painfully clear that your phone wasn't coming back. Its sudden death left you exposed, vulnerable to whatever dangers lurked in the shadows of your home.

Minutes tick by, each one stretching into an eternity as you strain to hear any sign of the intruder's presence. Your breath catches in your throat with every creak of the floorboards, every subtle shift in the air. The tension is palpable, suffocating, as you wait in the confined space of the closet, your heart pounding in your chest.

And then, just when you're starting to believe you imagined it all, you hear footsteps approaching. Each footfall reverberates through the floor, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your heart lurches into your throat as the closet door swings open, flooding the small space with blinding light. There they stand—the intruder—their eyes wild with fervor as they gaze down at you, cowering in the darkness.

"You're finally here," they breathe, their voice a mixture of awe and desperation. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long."

*·˚ᑉ³ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like. © Valkyrieeeee 2024

*·˚ᑉ³ Please let me know your thoughts on this teaser for 'Invasion of Privacy'! Would you be interested in reading more? This is my first full-length work, and I'm eager to hear your feedback. Drop a comment or an ask or message :)

[tomboyjessie13]

Last fight for internet freedom - Say 'no' to KOSA -

Today is the day that they decided that KOSA should be legal, unfortunately they signed it....

BUT!

Before anyone panics, it's not the end of the world, in fact there is still a chance to stop this.

Yes, they unfortunately signed it, but it's not official yet, the reason for that is because two senators had voiced their concerns about this bill thanks to all the people emailing and calling.

And it's thanks to our efforts and these two concerned senators that the senate is currently in recess till September, and that gives us a month to keep the calls and emails coming, to make sure this bill never becomes a law. Our fighting doesn’t end here, at all.

Here's a link on what to do here:

This is our last chance people; we have until September to make our voices heard and make sure KOSA doesn't become law and Internet censorship doesn't become the norm.

We can do this!

[posts-written-by-murderbot]

best and worst parts of being on Preservation GO

Best

Dr. Mensah lives here

plenty of media

no open hits out on rogue SecUnits

people want to hire me, apparently

Worst

(almost) no fucking security cameras (and i'm not even allowed to hack the ones they do have)

guardian system kinda blows

being “in tune” with your “emotions” considered a standard adult trait

people you interact with 3+ times want to be your friend

[redstonedust]

...discord has implemented a feature that lets parents link their accounts to their children, allowing them to see who the kid has added as friends, what servers theyre in, and who they talk to. this is marketed specifically around teens. i see no possibly way for this to be misused by abusive parents (sarcasm)

[trying414]

I've said it once, I will say it again. Censorship will NEVER be equivalent to safety.

I swear this country gets more and more regressive, strict, and dictatorship-like by the day at this point. And it. Is. DISGUSTING.

I cannot wait for the younger generation to take over because they actually give a damn and know how things work.

[ssaalexblake]

sometimes i feel sorry for Thirteen for getting the rep in the thasmin ship that she's the only emotionally closed off one and the one unwilling to share herself with the other, bc okay, 13's life is more of a disaster and no she doesn't ever want to talk about it, but Yaz knows more about Thirteen than Thirteen knows about Yaz, and she could have done a little opening up as well with the deep dark secrets.

They share the Same fatal flaw. They're the same person symbolically. They are both equally guilty here, it's just Yaz is less ostentatious and the doctor doesn't question her.

They are the same, Yaz is just better at it. Arguably this isn't a competition that you want to win, but had 13's life not been such an unmitigated traumatic disaster then I assume she'd have been able to hide this all better to avoid questioning on a lot of things, so maybe Yaz is just lucky that nothing pushed her to utter breaking point.

They're mirrors though, Yaz did not offer an exchange, and i'm not saying her doing so would have worked (i doubt it would have) but... She didn't exactly consider it, either, did she? It was even 13 who approached her about their relationship, and if the Doctor is being more forward, direct and honest about That then this says something about the other person.

[samwpmarleau]

JAMIE & KEELEY            ↳ 1.03 Trent Crimm, The Independent

[whumpshaped]

i have no excuse. im sorry. but this popped into my head and now it must exist. its not even whump i just. u'll see

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, invasion of privacy

"Don't go in there!" Beck said pleadingly, quickly rushing to stand between Helle and the closed bedroom door. "Please. That's my room. It's– it's private, it's... it's where I sleep–"

"Yes, that is often the purpose of a bedroom." His desperate attempt to stop them clearly backfired, because the vampire looked even more intrigued now. "Are you hiding something horrible? Something embarrassing, perhaps?"

"I'm n-not hiding anything, just... I don't want strangers in my bedroom."

"Strangers?" Helle looked wounded. "How many bites for an acquaintance? Or do you often let strangers bite you?"

"I don't want my acquaintances in my bedroom."

"Very well." They stepped away, sighing. "There is nothing I can do but respect the home owner's wishes."

Technically, I'm renting. He didn't say it, not wanting to give Helle any loopholes to exploit. But he soon realised the vampire didn't need a loophole as he was shoved aside and they marched right in.

"Was that what you were hoping I would say?" came their voice from inside, and Beck ran after them. "Do not be so naive. I said I wanted to explore the house ful– oh. That is adorable."

"Don't touch him!" He wasn't fast enough, of course he wasn't. Before he could do anything, Helle snatched the little thing from his bed, cradling it in their arms.

"What a sweet fellow," they cooed, giving the plush bat the biggest, fondest smile. Beck stayed still, suddenly very nervous about making a move Helle didn't approve of. Would they be so evil as to hurt Boba? "You absolutely cannot tell me you were hiding him. I would be heartbroken."

"I..." He watched as Helle squished the bat a couple times, seemingly enjoying themself greatly. "N-no, I wasn't..."

"Good. What a delight to know that one of my kin has already taken up residence here. Obviously, you are not opposed to housing creatures of the night."

Housing? "Y-you don't want to stay, do you?" he stammered, still anxious about his vulnerable friend being held by such a monster. Helle glanced up and shot him a mischievous grin.

"What if I do?" They nodded towards the stuffed animal. "Does he have a name, by any chance?"

Beck bit his lip. This was so stupid. Why were they asking about a plushie he had? Why couldn't they just be disinterested? "Boba," he muttered eventually.

"Would you really deprive sweet Boba of appropriate company?"

"You are not appropriate company. Boba has no ties to you or any vampire." Oh god, this was such a stupid argument to have. But he just wanted to have this one thing, the little piece of joy that still remained in his life even with the constant pain and paranoia. Couldn't they even let him have that?

"You sadden me." They gently placed the toy on the bed where they'd found it, and Beck snatched it up immediately, holding it close to his chest. "But no, I do not intend to stay for long. Possibly a few hours." Their smile softened as they looked at him; Beck would've almost described it as sympathetic. "Dear Boba is safe from my evil ways. I promise."

The vampire rarely ever made promises, that was one thing Beck realised about them very early on... nor were they particularly trustworthy. But this time, they seemed sincere. He hesitantly nodded, still holding the bat tight. "Thank you."

Maybe... maybe Helle still had some semblance of humanity left in them.

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm