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[efingart]

Just What I Needed - Chapter 24

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Frank Woods x CoD Bell

Woods rounded the corner quickly, his hand pressing into the banister as he propelled himself upward. Just ahead, Mason was taking each step two at a time.

“Fuck she’s fast! Was she always this fast?!” Mason exclaimed.

Woods didn’t respond. He was still in pain from the kick Bell had given him in the shoulder. It had come out of nowhere.

When he and Mason had brought her back to the apartment, she had been completely unconscious. Then he came back to her room, and she took him by surprise. Fully awake and ready for a fight.

At some point, she was on the ground, and her foot had landed square in the middle of his bad shoulder. If he hadn’t known better, he would have taken it personally. Just a lucky strike, he had to guess. Had to hope. Woods hadn’t had time to dwell on it because she had taken off running.

She was heading up the stairs before he knew it. Why up was anyone’s guess. It didn’t really matter. They just had to get to her before she did anything stupid. Likely she was hallucinating and thought she was somewhere else. Things could get dangerous real fast.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he found Mason there catching his breath at the door.

“Look,” Mason said, “She’s probably hallucinating. I don’t want to startle her. Hell, she might not even be able to see us.”

“Oh, she definitely could see me,” Woods said, thinking about the pain in his shoulder.

“Mason gently pushed the door open. Bell was standing only a few feet away. Her back was to the roof ledge. Hands in the air, she looked like she was talking to someone. Trying to stop them from doing something. But no one was there.

“Mason held up a hand telling Woods to stay back as he carefully approached Bell. She didn’t seem to notice him. Her gaze was fixed in front of her. The wind began to pick up, and her hair swirled around her. She didn’t seem to notice that either.

“-did everything you asked of me!” Bell wailed.

He didn’t have to wonder who she thought she was talking to. Adler. He had always had the impression that she hadn’t had time to negotiate with him. Beg for her life. That Adler just shot her, maybe even in the back. But he had faced her. After all the shit he put her through, he actually looked Bell in the eye and did it. 


“Bell," Mason said as he approached cautiously, "Adler's not here.”

Bell blinked. She turned her head slowly to look at Mason, still holding one hand up to keep the Adler, who wasn’t there, at bay. The other hand, she used to hold Mason back. But she stared at him as if he had materialized out of nowhere.

“He’s not real, Bell. I know-“

“Fuck you!” Bell exclaimed. She looked between Mason and the empty space where she likely thought Adler was standing. In a quieter voice that Woods could barely hear over the wind, she added, “You’re the reason why I’m like this.”

“He couldn’t tell who it was directed to, Adler or Mason. But then he realized Bell was staring hard at him.

Did she think he was someone else?

Bell took a step back. Even though she wasn't near the ledge, Woods knew she could bolt at any time. And if she didn’t realize where she was, she might end up accidentally propelling herself off the roof.

“Bell," Mason started again, "Even if you don't trust me. Just look around. There are always gaps where reality slips through. It's hard. It's fucking overwhelming-“

“Shut up," Bell choked out. Her voice was strained, breaking. Woods was too far to see, but he had a sense she might be crying.

“You think I’m an idiot?” Bell continued, “Maybe you were able to fool me once, but there’s no way. No way Mason and Woods would come for me. That's the reality."

“Mason’s shoulders dropped. He couldn’t hear it over the wind, but he was sure his friend just let out an exasperated sigh. Not that he’d ever let up. But the two of them were so damn stubborn they could be out here for hours.

"You don't have to believe me. But what's under your feet? Grass and dirt? Or dried rooftop tar? You know what you really feel, Bell."

“Bell muttered something in response that Woods couldn't quite catch. He saw Mason shift his weight impatiently. Mason knew what she was going through. He could commiserate with her, but his patience was always a little thin, even in the best situations.

Slowly, Woods stepped forward. He chose to head closer to where she seemed to think Adler was. As he moved, he wondered what Bell was seeing.

How many times had she imagined this?

She had so few memories she must have run through them over and over again in her head when she was alone in that prison facility.

When you’re locked up in a cell, sometimes all you have to think about is your past. And escaping. And those people who worked for Perseus had seemed intent on torturing her. They had drugged her recklessly too. They hadn’t cared a bit if she lost her mind.

Did they have her run through this over and over again? Just to torture her? What she had done to make her former pals hate her so much that they would devote so many months to torturing her. Even that blonde, Ivanova, played her part in the torture. But on that prison train, she and Bell had worked together.

What made them turn on each other?

Bell definitely saw him approach. She seemed to have forgotten about Adler and Mason. Her hard gaze was fixed on him. Woods was careful not to get too close. It was then he was sure; she thought he was one of those guards at the prison facility. She wasn’t seeing him as himself, just a hallucination meant to fuck with her.

“No,” Bell said, shaking her head. She pointed at Mason. “Him maybe, but you?” She shook her head again. Bell was looking Woods dead in the eye. “No, fucking way. Woods would-”

"Don't tell me what I would and wouldn't do," He interrupted her. His voice was firm, and she seemed taken aback by it.

Bell bit her lip. She kept her feet on the ground, but he could see her hips move as she shifted her weight. Her toes curled as she felt the rough texture of the rooftop. Her eyes widened briefly. Woods could only make an assumption about what might be running through her head. That what she felt under her feet didn’t match what she saw around her. That seeing him may have made her begin to doubt things.

Bell took a step back.

Fuck.

Woods exchanged a look with Mason.

“Lost so many people. Do anything to get them back. Mason coming back-“ He shook his head. He still wasn’t quite ready to talk about that one.

“And you? After everything you did? You’re-“

A hero?” Bell spat.

“Nah, that’s what-” Woods started. He waved his hand to indicate the city. “That’s what they say about- about people like us. But they don’t fucking know.”

They really don’t, do they? Civilians? No, fucking clue what it’s like.

If they weren’t calling him a baby killer, they were calling him a hero. He was neither. Why she thought he was going to say that was interesting. Maybe it was a word they had used, a way to try to pump her up, get her to believe them.

“After all the shit that was done to you. You could’ve- but you didn’t. Everything you went through. You’re one of us-” He said finally, gesturing between himself and Mason.

It was strange to admit. He couldn’t explore the feelings behind it at the moment, but it had been hard to say. Even though it was the truth.

Bell’s expression softened just slightly. Her hands lowered. Maybe her defenses were finally coming down.

“Look, we’re not stupid. We know everyone doesn’t see us as the good guys, right? Everything we’ve done hasn’t always been on the level, right? So, yeah if I’d have known who you were, what happened to you. If Mason had known? We’d have still come for you.”

“You’re just saying what you think I want to hear,” She shot back. But it was halfhearted.

“Bell, look, you really think they’d stand around having a conversation with you?” Mason interjected, “They wouldn’t just try to tackle you and bring you back? If you don’t believe us, fine. There are gaps where reality bleeds through.”

He could see Bell set her jaw, but she was definitely thinking it over. Allowing herself to be convinced. She was seeing the world around her for what it was, finally. He saw her toes curl up again. The way her eyes scanned the tarred roof. She looked up at the dark sky. Her eyes were focused when her gaze fell on the buildings around them. Bell turned. Carefully, she walked towards the ledge.

“Go slow. Put your hands out,” Mason warned.

He moved towards her, careful not to crowd her. Woods had to fight the urge to tackle her. Save her. But she had to see it for herself. They couldn’t force her and lose the little trust they had just built.

He watched from an unnerving distance as Bell put her hands out and touched the ledge. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding as she knelt down and leaned over the ledge to look down. Bell let out a small cry as she looked at the city around her.

It must have been unsettling as the hallucination melted away, and a whole city appeared before her. Woods moved closer. He could hear her clearly.

“West Berlin,” She said. Then she looked over her shoulder at Mason. “You came for me? I live here now?”

“Yeah, sorry we stuck you with that old man,” Mason said, thumbing toward Woods.

Woods made a derisive sound in response, drawing Bell’s attention to him. She looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time. Her eyes were suddenly clear and focused. It almost made him uncomfortable to be looked at like that.

“You good?” He asked. She nodded.“All right, can you get the fuck away from there?” He said, chuckling a little, “You’re gonna give me a damn heart attack.”

Woods helped her sit on the edge of the tub. He leaned over to run the water until it was warm and placed a stopper in.

“Put your feet in there,” He directed.

The soles of her feet were practically black. He wasn’t even sure she realized how dirty her feet had been as he had stopped her seconds before she attempted to hop in bed.

Wordlessly, Bell complied. She hadn’t said much after the roof, just followed along with him, her hand in a vice grip on his shirt. Making sure he was still there. It was something he was familiar with.

Occasionally, Mason would need a reminder as well and just reach out for his friend to give him a tap on the shoulder. Or a shove. Whatever helped to ground him. Woods knew to respond in kind. Reach out as well. It had taken some getting used to at first. Not something he was used to. His family had never been affectionate that he could remember, but he grew to like it.

The tub began to fill with water. He stopped it when her feet were submerged. The water began to turn gray and swirled around her ankles. She leaned forward to watch it change color. He knew her fascination with it was because of the drugs and that she might actually be seeing something more interesting than gray water. At least part of this evening wouldn’t be a complete nightmare for her. He grabbed a washcloth from the top of a pile of towels and dipped it in the water, then picked up a bottle filled with pinkish liquid and poured it over the wet cloth. It had a soft floral scent to it.

Woods sat on the edge of the tub. Bell was gently kicking her feet in the water, watching with fascination at the ripples created by the movement. He looked her over. The hair on the back of her head was wild, tangled by the wind.

Woods reached out a hand to comb it smooth with his fingers. He wasn’t sure how she would react, but Bell closed her eyes at the touch. Her kicking slowed to a stop. When the tangles were gone, he dropped his hand. Woods thought he heard Bell sigh, but when he looked back at her, her face was neutral.

He then leaned over the tub and reached for her ankle. She curled her toes under, likely trying to hide the fact that she was missing toenails.

“What are you, embarrassed?” He chuckled a little. Bell didn’t respond. Then he picked her foot up a few inches out of the water he scrubbed at the sole. Even her calves and shins were streaked with dirt.

“With all the shit I’ve seen- Don’t you remember jungle rot? Hell, you should have seen me when I-“ He paused. He was trying to be reassuring. Let her know he didn’t care about a few missing toenails. But he wasn’t sure it was landing.

“I just can relate, is all.”

His feet had been in worse shape than this when he crawled out of that camp at Da Nang. He hadn't even thought to be embarrassed. And really, she was just missing a few toenails. His comment seemed to relax her. She uncurled her toes, and she watched him continue his work impassively.

Soon, the towel was nearly stained black. Woods dipped it in the water and squeezed it out, dripping dirty water into the tub. When he looked back at Bell, he caught her scrunching up her nose in disgust and smiled.

So there was some of the old her in there somewhere.

Then he picked up her other foot and started to scrub.

“Why?” She blurted out. This made him chuckle.

“Maybe because you were running around barefoot?”

Bell shook her head but seemed unable to complete her thought. He gave her time to think as he finished working on her other foot. Then he drained the tub and used the sprayer on her feet. Woods washed his hands.

Then he grabbed a towel and sat back on the edge of the tub laying the towel across his lap.

“Come on, gotta dry them now.”

She didn’t move. Instead, she stared intently at her feet and the last few streams of water heading down the drain.

“I hurt you,” Bell said finally. He blinked in surprise. He supposed she had, but it didn’t hurt anymore. Stung like a bitch when she had done it.

“You just did what you thought you had to.”

She gave him a look that seemed to say she wasn’t buying that.

“You still got a lot of fight in you. Never lose it,” Woods said. He patted his thigh and she complied, propping her ankle up on the towel.

“I could have just taken a shower.”

“Thought you might have had enough of showers.”

She actually laughed then. It wasn’t a great laugh, an exhausted one if anything, but he’d take it. And after everything that happened? Good to know she could laugh. And that she wasn’t pissed off at him. Or at least not yet. Maybe when everything settled in, she would be.

He dried off her other foot in silence. When he was done, he stood up next to her and offered his good arm to help her stand. It surprised him how unsteady she was on her feet now.

Was this the same woman who had just outrun both him and Mason on the stairs?

"Come on, I know you've been sleeping for a while, but you still gotta be exhausted."

"How long?"

"About a day, brought you back yesterday morning. Early.”

She nodded. Whatever she did with this information, he couldn't tell.

Woods brought her to her bed, lifted the edge of the blanket, and helped her in. Then he pulled the covers over her.

“I’ll be right back, ok?”

Bell sat up then. She made a noise in protest.

"I'm just gonna get you something to eat," He said, thumbing over his shoulder at the door. Her eyes darted to the door. She gripped the blanket in her fists, knuckles going white. Probably an effect of the drugging making her anxious.

"I won't be gone for long, ok?"

She nodded, but he could tell it made her uncomfortable. He left the door ajar so she could hear him working away in the kitchen. Keep her connected to reality.

Mason was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich. He looked as exhausted as Woods felt.

“Want one?” Mason asked, keeping his voice low. Woods shook his head.

Mason nodded towards Bell’s door. “How’s the patient?”

"She's ok. Getting her some toast."

Mason looked at the open door.

"She might still be having trouble telling the shit that's happening in her brain to reality," He said, "It doesn't just switch off. Even when she's not on the drugs."

Woods nodded as he put two bread slices in the toaster. He knew it, but he also knew Mason needed to say it. He was the best advocate for Bell’s situation. He’d be the voice he himself had needed. A gap Woods could have filled if he had been around back then.

"We gotta stop them from drugging her,” Mason said firmly.

"Already on it. Got Park on our side too."

"Hudson?"

“He called. We had a conversation."

Mason nodded. He knew what that meant.

"Adler?"

That made them both chuckle. Adler would have to go along with it whether he liked it or not at this point. Woods had managed to be somewhat civil in his conversation with Hudson. He needed him to understand the gravity of the situation, and now he and Park were looking into alternative solutions.

Mason yawned loudly, he picked up his plate, and began moving toward his room.

"Hitting the hay?"

"Yeah, might as well, right? You got her, right? No more late-night roof excursions?” Mason joked, then he glanced at the clock, “Fuck, early morning, I mean.”

"Yeah, I got her."

The toast popped up. Woods piled the two pieces on a plate and cut them in half diagonally. Filling up a glass with water, he took both to Bell’s room and set them on the nightstand. When he entered, he noticed that she was still sitting straight up, her wide eyes watching the door, waiting for him to come back. He sat on the edge of the bed and tapped her hand, then pointed at the plate. Finally, her posture relaxed, and she picked up the toast.

“Not exactly exciting. Not sure what kind of condition your stomach is in. Last thing you need is to feel worse."

Bell nodded and took a few tentative bites of toast. She seemed to decide her stomach was fine, and in a moment, the toast was gone.

“Nothing about your appetite has changed, huh? Get you a steak next.”

One corner of her mouth turned up at this comment.

“Don’t forget to drink your water, ok?” Woods said as he took her plate and stood up to leave. Bell tensed again, and her eyes widened.

“Frank-“ She started to say but didn’t continue. He knew she didn’t want him to leave her.

It was how it was going to be with her until she felt comfortable.

“Yeah, all right, hang on,” Woods said. He left and set the plate down on the kitchen counter. He went to his room to change into shorts and a t-shirt.

“The hell are you doing?” He muttered to himself as he pulled the shirt over his head. But he knew the answer. She wouldn’t be in this situation if he had just checked his ego and come for her earlier.

But it wasn’t just the guilt, was it?

He tucked his pillow under his arm.

When he came back into her room, he stood by the bed.

“Scoot over.”

If Bell seemed surprised by this, she didn’t show it. She just shifted closer to the wall making room for him. He pulled the covers back.

“This is only to keep you connected to reality," He said, tossing his pillow against the headboard next to hers. Then he got in. There wasn’t a lot of room on the bed, so he threw his arm around her and pulled her into him.

“I’m sorry,” She said quietly. Her voice had a distant tone to it like she was drifting to sleep. Woods wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for this time, maybe everything.

“Yeah, so am I,” He said. But he could tell she was already sleeping.

Careful not to disturb her, he settled in. And soon he was asleep, too.





It was mid-morning when Bell exited her room. Woods was actually surprised to even see her up this early. He had almost expected her to sleep off the day.

But there she was fully dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. She had pulled her hair into a short ponytail. And if she hadn’t looked so pale it would almost be like the past few weeks hadn’t even happened.

“I’ll get you some coffee,” Woods said.

He folded his paper in half, laying it over the arm of his chair. Standing he walked into the kitchen. The pot he brewed that morning had long gone cold. He dumped the water and started a fresh pot. In the meantime Bell had wandered into the kitchen. She was looking at everything around her like she was seeing it for the first time.

The coffee pot made a gurgling sound as it finished brewing. Woods grabbed a mug for her from the cabinet and after pouring the coffee in handed it her. He refilled his own cup and moved back to the living room. Bell, on the other hand, was hovering between the living room and the kitchen. He could sense some hesitation in her, like her first day here.

"Come on, this is still your home."

Bell nodded and took a seat on the couch. She looked around at the stacks of books piled up on the floor.

"What are all the books for?"

"I uh-" He paused, "Thought they might help you figure out a name for yourself. If that’s, uh, something you're still interested in."

She set her mug down and slipped off the couch onto the pillow on the floor. Bell looked down at the pillow as if she just noticed it.

"You never moved it."

"Nah, I knew you'd use it again."

Bell raised her eyebrows at this, but said nothing. Instead she focused her attention at the closest stack of books. Picking one of them up she brushed her hand over the cover. It was red, old, with a linen cover. The spine had long been broken and some of the pages were falling out. Carefully, she opened it.

"You got these for me?” Bell asked, not looking up from the book in her hands, “When?"

It was a funny question since she was clearly examining the check out card.

"Been a week or two,” Woods said with a shrug, “Who can keep track of the time?"

This time she looked up at him, again she studying him with that strange expression on her face. As if she was trying to see through him. It was like she expected him to turn into something else. Or to tell her he's fucking with her.

In fact, she probably was thinking that. Still unsure about what was real around her. Still unable to trust that he was being honest with her. At first it made him angry- how could she think he was like that? But there was nothing he could do to fix it. The uncertainty was internal. It wasn't a reflection of his character. The only thing he could do was be consistent. And maybe she’d grow to trust him again.

"Hey," He said as he leaned forward placing a hand on her shoulder to help ground her, "You hungry?"

At first, she tensed at his touch, her shoulder flexed as if she wanted to shove his hand off. But it only last for a moment before she relaxed again.

Finally, she nodded.

They both headed to the kitchen. Woods opened the fridge.

"Shit, that's right.” He said as he peered in remembering now that no one had bought food in some time. There was some deli meat, maybe an egg, but not much else.

"I can make myself something-" Bell started. She stepped in front of him and looked through the fridge herself.

"What did you eat?" Bell asked.

"Uhhh," He stammered. He hadn’t actually eaten anything, yet.

"Frank-"

"What I was worried about you!" 


Bell sighed and got out a frying pan.

"Hey, you should be taking it easy."

"I'm fucking sick of taking it easy, I want to do something that isn't just sitting on my ass. What else do we have here?" She opened the pantry.

"Don't you have any food in this apartment?" She asked, though she definitely was not expecting an answer. “Get the eggs and milk,” Bell ordered him.

”Yes, ma’am,” Woods said with a chuckle. He placed them on the counter.

From the pantry he saw she picked up some cinnamon and sugar and she placed those on the counter with the authority of someone who knows what they're doing.

Bell grabbed the milk, giving him a look when she saw how the container was nearly empty. She poured it into a bowl. The eggs she cracked and added to the bowl, whisking them together with the milk.

"Is Alex here?" She asked as she sliced up bread.

"Yeah." He was trying to suppress a grin, but she must have caught him.

"What?"

"Just haven't seen you like this in a while."

"Oh, get out." She said as she shoved him out of the kitchen.

He took a seat on one of the stools and watched her work. Bell plopped the slices of bread into an egg and milk mixture. As she watched the liquid quickly soak through the bread she sighed.

“What?”

“Just not the bread I’d use for this.”

“We could go to the grocery store later. Get better food. We need food anyway.”

Bell didn’t respond. Her mouth was a firm line. She plopped some of the soaked bread into a hot frying pan. She probably wasn’t looking forward to finding herself in a crowded store full of people. It had been overwhelming for him hadn’t it? That’s why when he did go, he always shopped at night. As late as the store would let him. He wasn’t the only one.

”An all-night grocery store,” Woods added.

“Yeah? They have those?” Bell asked, her tone hopeful. She did not look up from the pan.

“Y’know, it’s only hard at first,” He said. He too was staring at the frying pan, watching the bread cook. Whatever she said, it smelled great to him.

“Getting used to being around people again. People who don’t want to hurt you.”

Bell blinked a few times. She kept her eyes on the pan. Then she flipped the bread.

“It- it gets easier?” She asked the pan.

“It gets easier.”

Bell let out a soft sigh. He watched her plate the first few slices and sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on top.

“It would be better with syrup and powdered sugar,” She said, making it clear to him that she didn’t approve of the food she made. He knew Bell wouldn’t ordinarily stand for sub-par French toast.

“And better bread. Butter.”

All the same, she cut the slices in half diagonally and served them to Woods. The next batch she wrapped in foil and put in the fridge for whenever Mason got up. Woods was nearly done with his when she finished making hers. It was still pretty good food. Nice to eat anything that wasn’t takeout for once. But he didn’t tell her that. She would probably remind him how much better it could be with decent ingredients. Some of the personality she had before, when she was Bell, when he first met her, was coming out again. Assertive and stubborn. She liked things a certain way. He wondered if this is how she had been before.

Probably.

She plated her own food and sat down next to him. She took a bite of it and made a face.

“It’s not that bad.”

“I make better food than this,” Bell insisted.

“I’ll go grocery shopping.”

She took a disdainful bite of her French toast and chewed slowly. Woods had to hold back a chuckle. She was acting like it was something truly distasteful.

“I can order something,” He offered.

“No, I’m not wasting food.” Bell stubbornly stabbed her fork at a piece of the toast, then another, stacking them on the tines. He understood what she meant. Food was still food, you don’t just throw it out because you don’t like it.

“I’ll go with you,” She said, determinedly.

“Yeah?”

“You’ll be with me right?”

“Won’t leave you alone for a second.”

“After everything that’s happened you’d think I wouldn’t be nervous about something as simple shopping.”

“It’s different. A guy pulls a knife on you; you know what to do. A crowd of people? You’re just not used to it.”

“It gets easier?”

“It gets easier.”

When she finished he grabbed her plate and his and began washing the dishes. As he scrubbed the pan, he looked over his shoulder and said, “Take a look at those books ok? You don’t have to pick a name today, but I gotta have something to call you.”

Bell only nodded in response and left him to finish the cleaning up.

When he emerged from the kitchen he found Bell sitting on the pillow. Her legs were bent, shins resting on the edge of the coffee table, and her back against the couch. She had a book resting on her knees. Next to her was a pile of books she had already gone through.

“These are some interesting books you picked,” Bell said without looking up.

Most of the books were collections about famous women. Some biographies, in case she wanted to know more about who she was naming herself after, and then baby name books. The librarian had given him an odd look when he requested those, but he wasn’t worried about what she thought.

“Just wanted you to have all the options. Or I could just call you Vicky.”

“Vicky?”

“Yeah, short for Victoria.”

“Oh.” He had only been joking, but a look crossed her face like she was considering it. Sometimes she took things so seriously it made him want to laugh. But then she might think he was laughing at her. As she thought he settled back into his chair and grabbed a book off the top of a pile.

“No,” She decided, “I can’t use her name. I’m not her-“

Bell trailed off. He gave her a curious look and so she continued.

“I had a dream about her.”

“Thought you always dreamed about her.”

“No, I mean I do, but-”

Bell was looking at him now. Her brown eyes wide, shining.

“This time I wasn’t her.”


“You want to tell me about it?”

She shook her head and looked back to her book.

”You never have to tell me anything but if you ever feel like talkin-“

She had raised her head again, thinking it over. At least she was considering it, but in the end, she said nothing.

They read silently together and new piles of books grew around them. At least they were getting through the task fairly quickly. Occasionally, Woods would read a name aloud. She would take a moment to seriously consider it, then shake her head and go back to reading. A few names they even tried out, but eventually they were all rejected. Some she said out loud, but the moment they left her lips she knew they were wrong. He thought some of them had been pretty nice. But she had to be happy with them, that’s what mattered.

They read in silence for a while. Eventually Mason got up. He grabbed his French toast and ate it cold, much to Bell’s annoyance. He did try to tell her it was good, but Bell gave him an earful.

“All right all right,” Mason relented, his hands up, “You’ve convinced me. I’ll let you make me some good food sometime.”

“So is this what you’re doing today? Can’t wait to hear your brand new name. How about Alexandra? No?”

Bell gave him a look.

“Not helping,” Woods said without looking up from what he was reading.

“I’m kidding, I’m sure whatever you come up with will be great.” He left soon after. Mason had been away from Em and David for the past few days. Em was definitely accustomed to it having been on the job herself. But it didn’t mean she had to like it. And that she didn’t worry. But Woods was glad he had called him in for help. He’s not sure he would have been able to get Bell down from that roof on his own.

Woods flipped through his book. He wasn’t sure if he was really helping her by reading too, but it felt like leaving her to do it all alone might be too overwhelming. In fact the whole idea of it was overwhelming.

How do people pick out names?

Bell shifted on the cushion. She stood up, still holding open her book in her hands and did a slow paced lap around the apartment. Having her back completely changed the feeling of the apartment. It felt warmer, more inviting. And the idea of not having to come back to a cold and empty space again? He could definitely get used to it.

“How you doin?” Woods asked, looking up and watching her pace. He considered standing up himself. He set his book over his thigh and tilted his torso forward to give his back a good crack. Bell sighed.

“That sounds good.”

“Yeah?” Woods asked, a grin spread across his face, “Want me to pick you up? Crack your back?” He wasn’t actually sure he could do it with his shoulder still healing.

“Mm tempting,” She said as she completed another circuit. She rested one of her hands on her lower back. “How do people figure this stuff out?” She groaned, “All these names none of them seem right.”

“Maybe when you find the right one you’ll know.”

“I hope so.”

“What about in those books you were reading for fun? Any good names in there?”

She stopped walking to think it over.

“Not unless you think Meg suits me. Wendy? Mercédès?”

“Nah, never mind.”

Bell continued her reading and walking. As she did another lap he heard the floorboards creak behind his chair. And then stop. She had paused just behind him. He felt her fingers rest just on the skin at the base of his neck. It made the hairs on the back of his head stand on end. With one finger she pried his shirt away from the shoulder revealing his healing skin.

“This was the thermite?” Bell asked quietly.

“Yeah, the molinya.” Woods turned to look at her.

She let his shirt fall back into place, but let her hand linger for a moment before continuing her walk.

“Can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.”

“How could it be your fault?”

“If I hadn’t said anything about Duga-“

“Hey, it was a good thing,” Woods insisted, “Hell you even warned us. It wasn’t you. It would have been worse without you.”

Bell came around and sat down on the arm of the couch just across from him.

She could never just sit could she? Always had to be on the floor, or with her feet up, or like this, on the arm of the couch.

“What you found there- the recording. That’s what I saw in my dream. I saw Victoria record it.”

He watched her closely but said nothing. Bell looked away from him, her eyes narrowed. She tucked a loose hair behind her ear. He knew that gesture, she was thinking something through, gathering her thoughts.

“She seemed like she was, um, at war with herself. Maybe the gravity of the situation was hitting her.”

“What do you think she was doing?”

“Nova-6.” Bell sighed, “There were those sleeper agents right? And all that unaccounted for Nova-6. At least at the time.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“What else could it be? Victoria cracked the programming. Драгович.” Bell looked down at her hands in her lap.

“At the very least it’s good to know she hesitated. Some humanity left,” She said with a sigh.

“Never went off, though, did it?”

“What?”

“You think she was trying to use Dragovich’s sleeper agents in the states to activate those old Nova-6 stockpiles on civilians? But that didn’t happen.”

“Right, but that was 13 years ago. What’s even the half-life on that stuff?”

“A lot longer than 13 years.”

“How do you know that?”

“Just one of those things.”

“Frank, why doesn’t it bother you? Even if it failed, she still tried it. She broke the code-“ Bell stopped short, her eyes widened, and she jumped up from the arm of the couch. “Fuck, the notebook!”

“Notebook?”

“Yeah, she had all her stuff encoded and written in a book. She put it into a safe at Duga. Fuck. If I had fucking remembered sooner-”

“Oh, we got that.”

“You did?!” Bell threw her hands up. “Why the fuck was I trying to reverse engineer the recording if you had m- Victoria’s notebook?”

“Adler, took it.”

Bell’s shoulders slumped, and she took her seat again. But she accepted this answer. They both knew that it would be difficult to convince Adler to give her anything from her old life. Especially if it contained secrets, it wasn’t completely unreasonable. Adler, personally, had good reason not to trust her. He thought Woods and Mason were being naive.

“Did you get anything else?”

“Yeah, actually, I did. Hang on.”

He stood up and went to his room. From the nightstand drawer he pulled out a photo. He hadn’t been certain when he found it, but if there was any possibility that it was hers he wanted to make sure she got it. Who knew what Adler would do with it. When he came back to the living room he handed it to her.

It was a small black and white photo. Faded. And a little burned on the edges. The photo was of two girls. The younger one looking like she wanted to run off and play. The older had a serious expression on her face as she stared down the camera.

“They look familiar to you at all?”

Bell took the picture. At first her face showed no expression. Then she passed a finger over the smaller girl in the photograph.

“Where did you get this?”

“In the barracks. There was a private room. It looked like someone had tried to torch the place. Like they were really pissed off at whoever was supposed to be in there. Everything was wrecked. But this was tucked behind the nightstand. Hidden. Like someone knew it might get destroyed.” 


Bell clutched the picture to her chest. Sensing she might need a moment he stood up.

“I’m gonna get some more coffee. Want some?”

Bell nodded.

There was no telling when that fire had occurred. It could have easily been after Solovetsky. But it nagged at him. Victoria, had tucked it away for safekeeping for whatever reason. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part but her hesistation about the recording just added to his suspicion that she may not have been a willing participant in everything. And setting fire to her room? That was an act of rage. That maybe at the end she had a change of heart. That she betrayed Perseus. He poured the coffee into their mugs and headed out to the living room. Bell was just exiting her room.

“I put it in there for safekeeping.”

“Yeah, it’s yours,” He said with a shrug. It was funny now to have confirmation that the photo was actually hers. Seeing her as a kid. Hard to think that anyone he ever worked with were kids once. Hell, they probably had the same trouble with him, imagining him born with a full beard and tattoos. ==

Bell took the mug and curled up into one corner of the couch with a different book. He took his place on his chair again, picking up where he left off.

The stack of unread books was getting smaller. They’d have to make another trip to the library at this rate. Or find some other method for name-choosing. Woods could feel his eyes glazing over. It was a lot of reading for anyone. Even Bell seemed to be losing stamina. They had depleted the coffee again and she was in the kitchen making another pot.

In his lap he had a book open about famous figures from World War II. A name jumped out at him that made him chuckle. He sat up straighter to read the passage. At that moment Bell had come back in and was setting his coffee on the table.

“What’s up?”

“Just a name I recognize.”

“Old friend?” She asked, leaning over to look at the book. He caught a whiff of something floral in the air when moved closer to him.

“Nah, no way. Come on, I was just a kid then.” He pointed to a photo of a young woman in uniform. She was smiling and standing next to Eleanor Roosevelt.

“Russian sniper. Did a tour with Elenor Roosevelt, uh the First Lady, in the 40s after World War II. I remember seeing it in the papers when I was a kid. She killed so many they nicknamed her Lady Death. What I remember is how much the papers liked to talk about how she didn’t wear pretty clothes and makeup. Kind of funny, did all that and what do the papers care about? How good she looks in their photos.”

Bell perched herself on the arm of his chair and looked at the photograph. He caught another whiff of that floral scent. It was nice. Then he realized she must have taken another shower this morning. He hadn’t really noticed until now. But he could understand it. Imprisonment kind of has a smell that sticks with you, even if other people couldn’t smell it.

“That’s her?” Bell asked, shaking him from his thoughts.

“Yep.”

“Lyudmila Pavlichenko,” Woods said.

“I’m sure I heard of her at some point,” She said. Bell placed her hand on the book moving the page to read it better.

“Probably.” He looked up and watched her read. She at least seemed interested. It gave him the spark of an idea.

“What about that for you?”

“Lyudmila? You think I look like a Lyudmila?” It was a genuine question.

“I dunno,” He shrugged,” Tough gal, tough gal. Maybe use a nickname. Lyuda? Lydia?”

She raised her eyebrows and glanced at him. Then she looked back at the page. With her thumb she covered part of the name in the headline.

“How about this?”

He looked at the remaining letters.

“Mila?”

She looked back at him searching his face for a reaction.

“Mila,” He said again to her.

“Mila,” She said back. He nodded.

“Yeah, it suits you. At least try it on. If you don’t like it, we’ll pick up where we left off.”

“No more, Bell?”

He shook his head. She was looking at the book again. Skimming Lyudmila Pavlichenko’s bio again.

He tapped her knee to get her attention.

“So what do you say tomorrow that we take your name out for a spin?”

“What does that mean?” She asked brows knitted.

“Didn’t I promise to take you to a record store?”

Mila looked uncertain. As she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

“Ok."

[acid-ixx]

ch.2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

read until the end for an author's note.

*"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 13.

i hate everything. i hate my family. i hate my father, i hate my brothers, i hate my classmates, i hate alfred, i hate this place, i hate my mom, i hate everyone.

why can't i ever get what i wanted? what do i have to do? i tried so hard to be everything for them, but why do i only amount to nothing? it's been a year, or two, i don't know. it hurts trying to remember when was the last time i saw him. saw, not talk, because he never talks to me, bruce never even looks at me. and i hate myself for trying to get him to look at me.

is he disgusted at me? does he see my mother in me? does he hate me that much? i don't know, i don't want to know, it hurts to know. i don't know why i'm trying anymore, i don't know how longer i can last in this hell. i can feel it, the longer i stay here, the more i lose a part of myself. i don't want to be here.

i don't want to pray anymore.

so if there's any god out there watching over me, then i wish for you to burn, to suffer, to go through the same thing i have been experiencing for years— all for putting me in this place. i would've been fine living in the streets with my mother. i would've been alright providing for our small family, i would've known to never get my hopes high, but you took her away from me!—

i hate you."

"master (name), are you awake? dinner is ready."

you had to shut your diary at the sound of the knock and alfred's voice.

"alfr-"

a cough, hoarse and croaky, cuts you out from calling his name. it was accompanied by uncontrollable sniffles, mucus blocking your nose from breathing properly. your room was dark, save for the lamp that lights up your bedside, where you currently were seated on your bed to write another entry, grip on your pen unknowingly harsh. you didn't even have to look at your reflection from your phone laying beside the diary to know that hiding your tears were fruitless.

salty were the crystalline droplets that streaks your face, but bitter were the emotions that had your heart ache.

you hear a sigh from the other room. before he could muster a reply, you beat him to it.

"i'm not eating dinner, alfred," you hate hearing your voice, sounding so obviously scrathy from the hours of wailing. "at least not with them. i don't want to get out at all."

"then may i at least bring them over to you, master (name)?"

his answer was final, you have no choice on retaliating and starving yourself like you did for the past few days. but it wasn't your fault that you had forgotten your body's needs. it wasn't your fault that your mind blanks itself out on the dinner table. it wasn't your fault that bile quickly crawls up your throat at hearing their voices.

you simply lost your appetite seeing them happy without you.

alfred pennyworth would never play favorite.

it was drilled into his head ever since he had sworn to serve the wayne family and its extended members— he is to serve anyone and everyone, regardless if they respect him or they do not; as long as they do not pose any danger within the manor, then he is to attend to them.

you'd think that in his decades of service for the wayne's - with all the contrasting personalities he had to deal with - he would maintain professional standards and tell everybody in the world, "i, of course, do not favor anyone within the family, i live to serve and that is truth." when in fact, he wouldn't hesistate to admit that he does, in actuality, have a favorite.

and no, it wouldn't be the eldest child, dick grayson, as much as he is alfred's pride and joy, nor would it be the youngest, damian wayne, who had been slowly correcting his mistakes. it wouldn't even be the head of the house, master bruce.

it would be you, (name) wayne, the infamous, yet forgetten child of the wayne family.

it wouldn't be a far fetch for alfred to admit that you weren't like the others. in all of the years that he served the wayne's, you were a contrast of the family.

the first few hours that he had picked you up from the police department upon the news of bruce's secret child, he knew you were more than just a child raised by the brutal streets of gotham.

you pose secrets that speak of the underground.

he remembers your seated form on the stiff chair of the interrogation room, pose unnervingly straight, as if you had solidified yourself against the metal seat. your fingers were the only signs that showed life, twiddling with each other as if it's some form of distraction.

you stared at nothing.

not even at the police as your name was called for pick up.

it took merely a signature of confirmation to dictate the future years of your life.

what's left of your belongings were given to alfred. the police officer, a woman with a kind smile then had to walk across the interrogation table to pat your back, gesturing for you to stand up and follow her and alfred on the way outside of the station, where the car was parked.

you hadn't uttered a word nor snapped out of your dreamlike gaze. not even when you were greeted with a thousand clicks of the cameras, the buzzing crowd that drowns the police station, or the hundreds of voices that yell at you to look at them.

(name) (last name), now formally adopted by bruce wayne, would be (name) wayne. it wouldn't be a shock that your sudden appearance as the child of a scandalous relationship between a prostitute and a billionaire would cause immense reactions. news would be spreading left and right, most of which were negative on your side.

he had to shield you from the crowd of photographers and journalists itching their way to the crowd to get a glance on you.

yet you didn't display any discomfort. you had only sat on the car obediently, fastening your seatbelts robotically and ignoring the lenses that unsettlingly tried to poke through the car windows to take pictures of you.

you were more like batman than you were bruce.

alfred had tried to get you communicate with questions like, "how are you over there, master (name)?" yet you would only mumble unintelligible responses to his questions without any ounce of emotion. he had to look at the rear view mirror to take in your stiff form. again, your eyes were set on nothing, even if they were casted down on the carpeted floorboards of the car.

when he had first met bruce, that child was overflowing with anger and vengeance for his parent's killer, yet you, who refused to explain your mother's disappearance, are devoid of anything.

the silence was defeaning throughout the ride. the only comfort that was provided was the rain that began to patter against the glass windows.

alfred throught you would retain the same behavior the entire day.

yet it was only when you first walked up the steps of the manor did your demeanor change, fingers immediately reaching up to hold the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it as if you were hesitant to step in.

the first emotion you had shown him was concern, like a switch had flickered you out of your trance. it was the first time in a while that alfred had to do a double take to check if what was happening was real.

"can you... hold my hand?" and it was the first time he had heard you speak, voice unnaturally scratchy from the lack of water. you stared at him with wide, doe eyes that refused to blink, waiting for answers. alfred had to gaze at your entire body to finally notice that you were covered head to toe in sloppy bandages with blood seeping through the grime-filled gauze. your shoes were worn, your clothes were ripped, and other uncovered scars littered your body.

the most conspicuous color on your shirt was crimson red.

yet you do not display pain.

a child, five years of age, had been through more than enough anguish to know how to block their pain out.

you were unlike the rest, truly, you were unwavering of the world's cruelty.

the world does not deserve someone like you.

alfred takes it in himself to always hold your hand after that.

through the mansion doors, inside the kitchen, on your way to school; whenever and wherever, as long as he had time.

even if it were filled with scars and bruises, dirt and grime, he will always hold your hand if it meant guiding you through the darkness of the manor.

you may not consider yourself bruce's child, but you will always be alfred's.

another knock on your door had you snapping out of your trance. time passed by so quickly in the manor. well, it does when you have nothing to do but stare at your diary, draw on your sketchbook or scroll through your phone. yet time would always be the quickest whenever you drown in your own misery.

"come in," you croak out, aware that it would only be alfred who would come by your room. it was long ago since you had given up on awaiting for dick's visits.

a turn of the knob, then the door swings quietly; the hinges creak, you need them oiled sooner. alfred walks in, you notice he holds a tray that contains two cupcakes and a plate of your favorite dish, but you don't notice the small box with a bow hidden skillfully from the back of the tray. from over your seat, you could already smell the aromatic herbs that flutter in the room and see the colorful frosting from both cupcakes; an already lit candle sticking in from one.

the candle at least provides just a split second of light inside your dim room; the moonlight just like your family, absent.

alfred graciously places the tray on your nightstand, on the left of your diary. your room was still too silent.

you could only hear yourself.

"master (name), are you simply going to sit there and stare? or would you rather i spoonfeed you like i had when you had broken your wrist?"

you blink it out again, oblivious to your very own hyperawareness. alfred's still here. you hope that, in the presence of darkness, he wouldn't see just how much of a mess you are. how your hands could barely grip onto anything, hair unwashed, face stained with tears, difficulty breathing through the buildup of mucus, foot tapping up and down erratically— you wished he would pretend to be blind about your suffering for just this once.

"no—" came your sudden reply, "i can- yeah, i can eat by myself."

it's harder to lie to yourself than it is to others.

he looks at you with doubt, it makes you shiver.

despite you wishing for company inside the manor, you could never be used to attention. it would never be normal for someone like you. though, you wish it was. you wish you never hesitated when someone gives you attention.

you hear your mattress creak, there's a dip on your bed. alfred sits beside you, only then did you realize just how quickly you lean into his side, craving for warmth in the solace of your empty room.

everything hurts, it truly does.

you wish you were strong enough to cease the sudden burst of tears when his one hand circles your shoulder and the other holds the cupcake with a candle near your face. and you wish that you weren't so weak in the presence of another, trying to find a semblance of your worth in their attention.

you at least try to stifle your sobs—

"happy birthday, master (name)."

— but you were always weak, yet alfred never seems to mind, patting your back to console you from your wailing.

you blow the fire out with a single promise to yourself, crying a bit more when alfred had given you a gift box, laced with a ribbon of your favorite color.

it was one of the few gifts you would cherish, fondness seeping into the cracks of your heart.

though it wouldn't erase the bitterness that fills your being either way, knowing your family is still downstairs, unaware of the anguish the torment that they have put you through— it's still enough to let you hate alfred a little less.

"alfred?"

it was your meek voice, one that was always drowned out by the sound of the dishes clanking.

"yes, master (name)?" yet alfred could always strain out the sound of anything just to hear your talk. after all, you were a silent kid throughout your childhood.

"—if i move out of this place; would promise you wouldn't forget about me?"

... (name) wayne was full of surpises.

even at the ripe age of seventeen, and in the near fourteen years of raising you, alfred could never predict your words nor your actions.

you had always said things spontaneously, carrying an aura of awkwardness in your tone, reminiscent of someone who had their personal growth (moreover their social life) stunted.

but now, with the way you had said your resolve so confidently, it felt like he was looking at a different version of you; all the more confident and resilient.

except... you were behind him when you had said that - so he wasn't really looking at you - eating the first batch of his cookies whilst he was polishing the dishes with a cloth.

when he had turned around to look at you, though, you were still the socially inept child he knows and love, sitting on the breakfast bar and twirling around the stool as you attempt to not get crumbs everywhere. you were still so young in his eyes.

it's just, the way you had looked at him expectedly like you needed his approval that shocked him. it was always your eyes that had expressed the most emotions, glazing with anticipation for his response.

he knows it when you lie, and right now, you were dead serious in your resolve.

alfred had to relax the crease on his brows before he ages faster than he already is.

"well, master (name)," he continues, turning back to wiping the dishes clean before he could fully face you. "i would fully support you in your... journey, but what warranted you to be suddenly motivated on moving out?"

alfred had finished setting aside the dishes, but he still doesn't look back.

"i mean, i thought i already told you? i have a scholarship for college but it's on the other side of gotham and...

— i kind of don't want to be chauffeured by a limo around the campus everyday, you know? so the next best thing is to get a dorm."

alfred knows it when you lie. and right now, your hesitance tells him everything he needs to know.

you may have proved a point, but that point was an entire lie. with a person name wayne flaunting across a city whilst riding a limousine, you might find yourself into more trouble than anything else.

but he had always been the one to pick you up and drop you off from elementary and halfway through your highschool life— and you never seemed to mind until now.

it doesn't take a genius to know that you had already deviced a full plan of moving out and taken it into action; all you had to do was confront the only man in the manor who had cared about you enough to raise you about your worries.

it wasn't enough to convince him to let you go, though, especially not right after an incident that had occured prior to you highschool life. if he allows you to gain independence in gotham, he wouldn't know how long you would last.

but when he looks back at you again, he couldn't bring it in himself to oppose to your whims. you need a new environment; one that provides you a way to gain independence and, most preferably, social skills. staying cooped up in a manor with barely anybody talking to you does more harm than good.

and being ignored by your own family for almost fourteen years wouldn't be a great way to celebrate your already nearing eighteenth birthday.

alfred doesn't want to admit it, but if he keeps you here any longer, you would never grow up. one person could only do so much.

he whips out a sigh, looking at you with resignation in his eyes. but you know it in yourself that he swears his life on the promise.

"master (name)," he walks over to you, eyes darting at the cookie crumbs that litter around your mouth making a note to scold you on your manner later. he sits directly in front of you, hand patting your head as you merely stare at him expectedly.

"i have raised you for almost fourteen years, it's like you are my very own child. i would never forget you." he takes your hands in his. "but you have to also promise me to stay safe out there, master (name). call me once you're there."

alfred would find a way to get you to come back eventually, even if it meant utilizing your family's neglect, which was primarily the reason why you had moved out on the first place.

he just hopes you wouldn't connect the dots and pin the blame on him once you're back and safe in the manor.

and now, it had only been months since you had gotten away from the manor. he was proud of your development, of your choice and overall, you, but he wouldn't lie and say he doesn't miss you.

he misses hearing your voice directly, the line on the phone being too blotchy to properly hear you. he misses it when he would sit on your bed as your only audience whilst he watches you paint on your canvases, drawling on and on about highschool's latest drama. he misses it when you would always be the first to taste his dishes, face lighting up whenever the food was seasoned up; now he has to constantly remind you to eat a nutritious diet, even offering to send you money whenever you mention you were short on it.

in the good of your heart, you would always decline, even going as far to deny him of any liberty to track you down and bring you a meal himself.

alfred misses you.

does he regret allowing you your freedom? not really, no. but he knows it in himself that a greedy part of him prefers it if you were would visit the manor occasionally during your vacations, at least to bond with him. but you simply chose not to, even going as far to legally change your name once you had become eighteen so you wouldn't be associated with your father's last name.

but that wouldn't erase the past you had tried to meticulously cover.

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid leaving a police station and entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

and most importantly, you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, could only be described as this palace overflowing his its abundant history and fame.

it was a castle that houses a boy who had lost his parents and became gotham's very own vigilante who stalks through the night to lessen the very evil that devours its citizens. it was the training grounds where the robins, sidekicks dressed in colorful attire, opposite to batman, were raised to be worthy enough to stand by the dark knight's side. but most importantly, it was a home for troubled children who were in their journey of their very own personal struggles.

yet even in its exterior splendour, it would always be innately overcome with loneliness.

for someone like bruce wayne, he embraces this desolation just as he embraces his alter-ego, batman, who wears a suit of black and dons an aura that demanded fear.

even if he carries the persona of 'brucie wayne' a ditsy, playboy who enjoys galas and sleeping with women every other night, he prefers solitude over the sea of interviewers who throng around him like he was a piece of meat.

it would be the only time he could focus on his countless of stacked paperworks to sign and his plans to ransack another criminal's master plan.

before winter could cover gotham in its sheet of pure, white coldness, rain would always terrorize the skies. he finds this the perfect atmosphere; dark grey clouds prevent the sun from peaking through, droplets of rain would pelt against the vast windows that surrounds his study, and there was enough background noise to block out any sounds that would pass through the door.

bruce wayne was focused on his work, and that meant disturbance wasn't allowed inside the manor. thankfully, it was a quiet, uneventful afternoon today.

in fact, it was all too abnormally quiet.

his scarred hands work through signing papers effiently and effortlessly, practiced fingers signing papers after he would meticulously scan over the paragraphs of texts that scale from business deals to partnerships to buying a piece of land. then later, once the moon rises, he would have to patrol with damian and disrupt another drug trade that had been recently dealing with children on the alleys of gotham.

that means he has to sign or reject at least half of the papers before evening falls through, so he could have alfred send them over through the post office tomorrow morning.

he was at least a quarter way through his work, though, when his flow was disrupted by a courteous knock by the mahogany doors.

he didn't have to look up or ask who it was, knowing it was alfred, his butler.

"master bruce, i have your tea ready, along with news to bare," bruce could hear the tone of urgency and a tinge of sullenness in alfred's voice. it was rare for alfred to be emotionally distressed, as he was typically the most composed out of everyone in the family.

"come on in, alfred," bruce's vocal chords were gruff, raspy whenever he's too engrossed in whatever he was doing.

but he was piqued at the news alfred was eager to share, the butler expertly turning the knob and entering with a tray that holds a hot serving of tea.

bruce stopped signing the papers, putting down his pen as he watches alfred, composed as always, place the tray down on his desk, not a single clank that was produced from the metal sheets. he watches as alfred reflexively pours him a cup of tea.

it was only after that action that the two share eye contact, alfred stationing himself to the right of bruce's desk.

if he wasn't a detective, he wouldn't have noticed the furrow of alfred's brows, which was uncharacteristic of the composed butler.

he reckons he should address the elephant in the room.

"what is it that you want to tell me, alfred?" bruce swivels his chair to face alfred, fingers tapping the mahogany desk rhythmically.

"master bruce, i figured you should have known this for quite a long time ago, but your third child had moved out on their own and now lives at the opposite side of gotham. right now, they may have been struggling to make ends meet."

huh?

"what do you mean, alfred? you're aware that tim is currently living in the manor—"

"no, master, i am talking about your third, not fourth child; master (name)."

... (name)?

ah, his... other child.

alfred looks at his seated form, expecting the befuddled reaction from bruce.

it doesn't take long for bruce to recover from his thoughts, eyebrows furrowed the same way as alfred as he leans against his chair.

"and what of (name)? why was i not updated about them?"

alfred had to stifle a groan as he then glares at bruce with what he could suppose was exasperation.

"i had already told you about their leave months ago, master bruce. you had simply waved me off whenever the topic is of master (name)." the butler's glare hardened, reminiscent of the times where bruce was scolded as a child. and like a child, he doesn't know what he had done wrong.

"i feel it is time for you to take it into your hands to deal with master (name)'s situation right now. i do not have access to their location and just like you, they are stubborn and refuse to accept any financial aid that comes to them in any form—"

to make matters worse, alfred had the gall to stop midway into his explanation, sighing and blinking unnervingly which catches more than bruce's attention.

"they would rather not admit it, but if they were to fail to pay for this month's rent of their apartment, they would get evicted from their very own living space."

at pretty much the last sentence, bruce's gaze hardened. not at alfred, no, but at the thought of you; his... forgotten child. if it was money that you need, why had you not ask for any allowance in the first place? bruce would admit that, well, it had been too long since he had last seen your face, nor even... remember it—

but you were still a child of his and he wouldn't deny you of an allowance if it meant persuing your... highschool or college dreams...?

shit, what grade are you in?

why didn't he know you moved out in the first place? wait—

"alfred, how long has it been since they had last moved out?"

"roughly six or seven months ago, master."

"ah, but having a place of your own as a minor would be prohibited by law."

"master bruce, they're eighteen. they're old enough to live in their own apartment."

eighteen years old...? how long had it been since he had last seen or heard of you? if what alfred had said was true, that the butler had attempted to reach out to him about you, then why had he not remember in the first place? you were a quiet kid, sure, but for someone like bruce, people would always not be overlooked.

it wasn't in him to easily forget, but he hates how he couldn't muster up a single memory of your face— not even your hair color nor your eyes. did you even... exist in his eyes? there was not a single memory of you that he could come up in his head.

his child was eighteen now, how could he not have known in the first place? how could he not recollect a single birthday of yours? or any celebration or gala that had you in it?

alfred's sigh snapped him out of his trance once more.

bruce looked up, seeing resignation upon alfred's face. he simply stood there, posture straight as always, but bruce couldn't wash away the shame that cages his heart when there was not a single image of you that pops up in his mind— alfred's disappointment merely worsened

the tea in his desk had long since gone untouched, but bruce couldn't bring it in himself to drink a single drop of it, even if his lips were dried and his throat was begging for even a single droplet of water.

he denies himself of any relief.

"i figure i should leave you in your own, master bruce, to at least compose yourself before nightfall. please do take your child into consideration, though, enough time has passed since you have last seen them." alfred states, as if it was a matter of fact. and it was, bruce should've known about your leave, as your father and as the man who took you in, he should've.

so before the butler could even take a step, bruce hastily stands up from his seat, pen long since discarded on his desk and a quarter of the papers are now messily stacked upon each other, but bruce pays them no mind.

"take me to (name)'s room right now, i need to see things for myself."

if bruce couldn't even remember a single instance of you, then maybe a trip to your room would be enough for him to remember.

but if that doesn't work then... bruce would a find a way, he always would.

and as your father, he needs to at least support you, even financial no matter your stubbornness? even if the shame he feels right now is so immensely disturbing, and the migraine is quickly finding its way into his head— he needs to know more about you, his actual third child.

bruce wayne needs to see your face just once.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 5k+ words. no beta, we die like jason todd with a crowbar. my least favorite part of writing the chapter is literally starting it. i had at least 5 drafts all lined up and it took me an hour in the bed to think about how should i start it. i literally hope you guys enjoy the chapter hehe, and start to yk, notice the patterns and the parallels between your perspective and bruce's perspective bec ur literally his child, u guys share some habits even if u never once talked to him lmao. the most emotionally draining scene was writing the birthday scene, i had to take breaks from typing it out hehe. bruce's descent to yandere-ism isn't as quick as dick's but it would be worst in the next chapter.

also, i hope you guys are able to notice the bad habits that the reader eventually collects because it's important for the next chapters. it would be better if anyone of u could... point them out in my asks or comments, i love rambling about it yk, and a lot of you are absolutely brilliant in making theories that are absolutely right. anyways, i hope u enjoy this chapter because this was one hell of a ride for me and i appreciate all the reblogs and comments despite me not replying to a lot of yall but u guys truly are my motivation so thank u lots :(((<33!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa, @maicenitas, @ilovvmyhusband, @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony, @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts, @darling006, @starringyau, @rosecentury, @jaythes1mp, @pi1nkl0ver, @i-thirsty-boi, @sharks-r-cool-l, @silverklaus, @samanthathanes, @traumaramacenter, @maddimoon, @anxrq, @thedarknesslord, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @lazy-idate, @googeecat44, @simpingfor-wakasa, @zvghfgn, @0patito0 (if i had forgotten to put any of u in a taglist please forgive me, it's hard to keep track !!)

[foolishlovers]

Where a Canvas Blooms by foolishlovers

It’s an Arrangement. Aziraphale knows this. He knows a lot of things, and others he doesn’t, but the most important things, he knows. He knows that the cheeky redhead in his arms smiles and purrs when he runs his fingers through his hair, knows that Crowley’s hands are rough from working outside, knows the softness of his heart. Aziraphale doesn’t know he’s in love with Crowley until he does. But it’s just an Arrangement. Is it? Part 1 of The Cuddle Arrangement

word count: 3.8k rating: T relevant tags: Human AU, Trans Aziraphale, Trans Crowley, Touch-Starved Aziraphale, Touch-Starved Crowley, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Comfort, Pining art by the wonderful @omens-for-ophelia

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #138

Damian decided he wanted to be a veterinarian in his spare time so after high school he applied to Gotham University and moved into the dorms. Alfred and his Father highly encouraged it something about getting that college dorm experience and they were pushing him to make a friend or two. He also didn’t know what to expect from his roommate Nightingale, something was off about him and Damian was determined to find out what that is.

Danny just wanted to get his engineering degree. Unfortunately his new roommate seemed curious about him. After he ran away from home he decided he’d try to make it on his own. He didn’t even try to tell his parents about Phantom, their prejudice about ghosts wasn’t going away soon and the sooner he got away the safer he’d be. He had to think about the infinite realms now and keeping their king, well himself, safe was the best option at the moment. If only the Observants could stop appearing in unexpected places to beg him to return to the realms.

[pleaktale]

"Thought ol' Jamesy 'ere found us a mermaid..."

IT'S DONE! *Everyone cheers.*

Yes, I know I forgot about his chains and necklaces but I was too far gone in the rendering to add it, sorry my lovelies... 🥺 I'll make sure to add in the next ones! 🤭

Anyway, this is BDAS! Hobie, made by @the-kr8tor

(PLEASE CHECK IT OUT IT'S SOOO GOOD!!) Extra version bellow the mark!

Just him being the most handsome men to ever exist.

That's it! See you soon!

[postazkabansiriussupremacy]

Surprise. Pt. 3 Post Azkaban!Sirius x Mom!Reader

You and Sirius have a chat.

Part One. Part Two.

Taglist: @box-of-kinderjoy @projectdreamwalker @goldenharrysworld @navs-bhat @sagestack

You aren’t sure what you expected Sirius to look like after more than a decade in Azkaban, but this is much worse than you pictured. The dirty, malnourished, manic-looking man standing in front of you is a far cry from the healthy, handsome Sirius you once knew. The sight of him in this horrid state is enough to grow a lump in your throat.

You always had complex feelings about Sirius after he was sent to Azkaban. It was easy to be angry at him for betraying everyone and causing the death of James and Lily, but you were more than angry. You were devastated, to say the least. It’s impossible to say how many nights you cried yourself to sleep. Even knowing what he’d done, it was hard to imagine the one you loved rotting away in Azkaban.

The first few years without him were hell on earth. It wasn’t long after he was incarcerated you found out you were pregnant, and whilst everyone in the wizarding world was partying and celebrating the downfall of You-Know-Who, you were curled up in a ball sobbing and wondering how in the world you were going to do this all on your own.

It was difficult, but you managed. As the years went by and Estelle grew bigger, things got easier. You were able to push Sirius out of your mind and go on without him, but not without continuous effort. With every life change and new milestone reached, you couldn’t help but wonder how differently things would be if Sirius were there too.

For Estelle, you tried your very best to make sure she never wanted for anything, but your heart ached at the thought of her never knowing the love of a father. Estelle used to ask about him (“Why don’t I have a dad?” “Where is he?” “Is he dead?”), and you were never sure what to tell her.

You aren’t proud of it, but as her questions persisted, you lied to her. You lied and told Estelle you don’t know who her father is. She stopped asking about him after that.

You don’t know why you lied. It would’ve been much simpler to tell the truth, but maybe a small part of you wanted Estelle to blame you rather than blame Sirius for her lack of a father. It felt a little stupid, but you didn’t want Estelle to hate the idea of her father. You supposed it would be easier for her to accept her father doesn’t know she exists, rather than to accept her father is a mass murderer in prison for life.

Then you got an owl from Remus Lupin—someone you hadn’t heard from in over a decade—asking to have lunch and talk. You were surprised but receptive. You assumed he met Estelle at Hogwarts and he wanted to know of her lineage under the guise of catching up, and you were half right.

After having Estelle in class and putting two and two together, Remus decided to get in touch with you to tell you the truth about Sirius.

After taking in all of the new information, you felt numb. It’s a lot to take in—learning that Sirius is innocent, and Peter Pettigrew of all people was the one to cause all of this pain.

You came home, politely asked Estelle how her day was, and barely heard her as she told you about the stray dog she found today. Too lost in your thoughts, you ‘listened’ to Estelle’s rambling for about ten minutes before realizing she was talking about Sirius’s animagus.

It had to be Sirius. Why else would there be a giant, wolf-like black dog hanging around your house?

You pretended to Estelle that you’d never seen the dog before, and maybe he belongs to some of the muggles that live further up the road. You carry on your evening as normal, quickly changing the subject anytime she began to talk about the dog, and had her go to bed at a reasonable time.

Only when you were sure Estelle was asleep did you come outside.

You suppose you’ve been staring too long as Sirius speaks up first. It’s hard to read his expression, and his voice is deeper than you remember. “I’d ask how have you been, but clearly you’ve been busy.”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, urging yourself not to cry. After meeting with Remus and immediately coming home to Estelle, you haven’t had any time to process the information you’ve been given.

There were so many times you’d asked yourself “What if Sirius were still here?” and then immediately pushed the thought away, reminding yourself he’s a horrible man. A traitor and a murderer.

Only he’s not. He’s none of those things.

He’s suffered terrible consequences that he’s done nothing to deserve, and that’s heartbreaking. The last thirteen years of his life were ripped away from him and he was sent to live in horrid conditions, just because he and James chose to trust Peter with something they shouldn’t have.

A heavy weight of guilt drops into your stomach. Sirius had done nothing wrong and yet everyone—including yourself—thought he got what he deserved by being locked away. You hardly even thought to question whether he was truly guilty or not.

Your throat tightens and your lip quivers, and you step forward to wrap your arms around his waist. You can feel the bones underneath his skin, and you sniffle, feeling a couple of tears escape from your eyes.

Sirius takes a moment to respond, a little shocked by your sudden hug and crying. He supposes it’s not unwarranted though.

He reciprocates your hug, one dirty hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapped around your torso. It’s almost strange how natural it feels. He rests his chin on the top of your head and faintly smiles. You smell good, and it’s wonderful to get such an unexpectedly warm welcome.

Although he has Remus to thank for that. If Remus hadn’t reached out to you first, Sirius imagines this meeting would be going a lot differently.

After a few moments of letting yourself cry into his chest, you finally speak, your voice cracking a bit as you do so. “You smell like shit.”

Sirius gives you a tight squeeze and chuckles quietly, “You live in a cave for a year and we’ll see how you fare.”

You purse your lips and feel more tears forming. He’s been living in a cave? Your throat feels tight as you breathe, “I’m so sorry, Sirius… For everything.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.” He responds immediately. There was no way for you to know the truth, and even if you did, it probably wouldn’t have changed anything. “…Did you know you were expecting when it happened?”

You shake your head. “No. Didn’t figure it out until a few weeks after you’d been gone.”

“I-… I can’t find the words to tell you how sorry I am.” Sirius whispers. His adam’s apple bobs. “I can’t say when, but I promise I’ll come back to the both of you.”

“I know you will.” You say quietly, nodding. You knew from the beginning he wouldn’t be able to stay, but it still hurts nonetheless. New tears fall onto your cheeks and Sirius’s prisoner robes.

You cry less for yourself and more for him. Even though he’s successfully crawled his way out of Hell, he still can’t rest. Sirius hasn’t known peace in over a decade, and there’s no telling if he ever will again.

Sirius is the first to pull away. Trying to remain strong for your sake, he clenches his jaw as he looks down at your tearful face. He uses his thumbs to wipe the tears off your cheeks, then he pulls your face forward for a kiss. You waste no time reciprocating, your hands moving to the back of his head and tangling in his greasy hair.

Once again Sirius is the first to pull away, ending the kiss too soon for his liking, but knowing he needs to go. He’s been here far too long. He kisses your forehead. “I love you, and I love Estelle.”

“I love you, Sirius.” You reply, looking into his eyes. They’re the same eyes you see every time you look at your daughter.

“This isn’t goodbye.” He says kissing your forehead once more. He steps off your property and out of the confines of the anti-apparation wards. He gives you one last look, then winks. “You look absolutely stunning, by the way.”

You scoff, a stupid grin forming on your face as he disapperates.

You stare at the spot he left from, wiping your tears away.

Realistically, you don’t know if Sirius will be able to keep his promise. You may never see him again. There’s no telling if his name will ever be cleared, but you hold onto hope, and you will wait for him.

[webdollzz]

PLEASE WELCOME...PROFESSOR!RAFE💐

INTRODUCTION ᡴꪫ‎

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who was quite often grumpy, walking into class with a cup of stale cafeteria coffee, a deep frown set on his face.

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who had a bad day everyday. that was until you started auditing his class. a pretty lil' student who was interested in the literature he was teaching. of course, he didn't completely lighten up. but he was intrigued.

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe spent a few months of watching you in class, seeing you blush and get giddy whenever he praises your correct answers and brilliant questions, he called you back to stay after class for catch up work. which is when he pinned you between him and his desk, hand on the nape of your neck as he kissed you — whispering about how long he's been wanting to do this.

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who, from then onwards, was fucking you every chance he got. teachers lounge during class hours, after class, in the library in the dusty aisle no one ventures to.

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who will sit you in his lap as he grades your paper, lecturing you for every bad thing you did. "I mean, what type of grammar is this? do you even pay attention during my classes or are you too busy thinkin' about my dick?"

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who on a good day he'll let you cockwarm him as he grades papers, immediately failing anybody with a name he recognises from the times you've cried about how they were so mean to you.

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who has a soft spot for you, and only you. it shouldn't be noticeable, but people certainly saw it. he was less bossy, less rude. he gave you extensions.

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who will take it upon himself to spank you when you have the audacity to turn in something so, so bad, that it genuinely makes him mad. "the fuck were you thinking? did you proof-read at all?!"

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who takes time to tutor you after his spankings. starting by making you write a two page essay on something, knelt under his desk with his face buried between your thighs. everytime your eyes flutter away from your laptop screen, he pulls away from your dripping pussy to scold you.

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who does genuine tutoring with you too, wanting you to actually get better so you don't fail his class.

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who, before your history class begins, walks into the classroom to leave a single rose on your desk. he's a lover at heart.

ᨳິ‎english literature!professor who uses his profession to his advantage, leaving little love notes in your bag, desk, jacket, anywhere you'll find them, and others won't.

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who signs off all notes with a very, very indecipherable '- R.C' with a sloppy, uneven heart next to it.

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who will messily kiss you against the door of his classroom, two minutes until his class begins. the second he hears the chatter from the hall grow closer, he shoves you off, wiping your lips with his thumb to get rid of your messy, smudged lipstick. he then gently pushes you towards your seat, sitting at his desk and prepping for his lecture. he then throws you glances all the way through it, making sure not to stand face forward for too long so his other, suspecting students don't see how hard he is through his slacks.

ᨳິ‎possessive!professor!rafe who leaves marks all over your neck and your thighs constantly, for people to see out of your low cut blouses and plaited skirts.

ᨳິ‎overprotective!professor!rafe who has to bite his tongue to resist the urge to saunter up to any man who had the audacity to talk to you.

ᨳິ‎jealous!professor!rafe who pounds you from the back in his office, your chest on the smooth wood of his desk. his hand reaching forwards, pulling you up to his chest by your hair. "you think some fuckin' fratboy can fuck you like I can? hm? answer me."

ᨳິ‎professor!rafe who is actually a complete sweetheart, on the inside, very, very deep down.

                                                

                                                 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

© WEBDOLLZZ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

[mel-loly]

-Thank you to everyone who is still here liking, commenting and reblogging my content, even though I'm not posting much “fandom stuff” anymore, you're still here! And I really appreciate that.. (and that makes me so happy, that as I showed in the “comic”, it moves me, so- thank you, really!!) :]💛

Also- a tip: there are also many other blogs that don't post fandom stuff, but when they do, they get more likes and reblogs than the original/other content.. So also give love to those people who have your original content, reblog, like, comment, because that's what they need! Recognition for your original content! And I know you won't regret it, and it won't hurt you to do what I said! In fact, you will be doing good and giving such love that many wanted and deserve.

A big kiss/p and a hug! Even for those who only like it when I post fandom stuff, I still love you so much, and I won't stop making this type of content, ok? I just want to give more voice to what I have to give as original, because that's what makes me happy and well ^^

-Melissa, Designer.

[romanticatheartt]

The High Lady, her General and Spymaster

🎨: artby.aika0 on IG and Pinterest

Like Rhysand, who's a High Lord and has a General (Cass) and an Spymaster (Azriel), Feyre is going to have Nesta and Gwyn at her side. We all know how I think each mated couple of acotar serve a role. Feysand as the rulers, Nessian as the warriors or generals of armies and Gwynriel as spies. I really hope these three ladies get closer and be the sexiest governors in Prythian.

How bat boys managed to/are going to have these bad bitches as their mates is beyond me. Also, Azriel... HURRY YOUR LAZY ASS UP

[gameralica]

Kiss Ryuji Day 2: Festivals

[i-restuff]

finally finished with these sibling moments edits!!! wooooooooo!!!

go watch em here

[intotheelliwoods]

Thats it this post is an @kathaynesart appreciation post. Comment or reblog if you love and appreciate Kat and her work <3

[foolishlovers]

The Anon Before Christmas by foolishlovers (E, 66k, complete)

When Crowley’s friend, blogging buddy and business partner Anathema announces her annual Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr, she is very adamant Crowley should join this year. The old-fashioned (but admittedly compassionate) man he gets assigned to send anonymous messages to every day until Christmas sounds awfully similar to the fussy bookseller that his friends adore, yet Crowley tries to avoid at all costs. But surely his friends would have mentioned if Aziraphale had taken an interest in the Bad Omens fandom as well… right? Or: An Enemies to Lovers Secret Santa Tumblr AU.

[purerae]

╭────༺♡༻────╮

YANDERE!FEM DELINQUENT X GN!READER //  PT1

req by ;; anon <3

warnings ;;  love triangle, threats (not to reader), yandere behaviour, smoking, possessive behaviour etc, reader is student council president

a/n ;; there will be another part where it’s going to be a male delinquent x reader and there’ll be a love triangle <3!!

╰────༺♡༻────╯

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who fell in love with you first yell when she saw you trudge over to her and her friends and berate them for littering and skipping class.. the smart outspoken student president matching with her, the confident rude delinquent? Its perfect!

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who notices your smile dropping but quickly coming back when she walks up to you. ‘Cute.. they’re scared of me.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who gets a bit shocked when she realises you’re not scared of her but see her as an annoyance? that’s perfect, she loves a good challenge <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who gets detentions often so she can be ‘disciplined’ by you. the teachers honestly gave up on her so they forced the student president to ‘control’ her. unlucky for you babes.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who grins when you scold her. Tilting her head with furrowed as she pretends to listen carefully to your words but all she is doing is analysing your face. Your eyes, your lips, the way you style your hair, the way how your uniform looks so tidy compared to hers. the way where she imagines it all off.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who scoffs as she sees you arguing with another delinquent, and the delinquent was one of her biggest rivals. Couldn’t you see how rude he was?! She would never do that to you!

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who shoves past the kids who make fun of you for being too ‘stuck-up’. She reassures you that she finds it cute and they’re just stupid.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who roughly threatened a girl for sitting too close to you during class. So what you guys had a project due together? Didn't that weirdo know that you belonged to her??

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who knows she’s pretty, but no one hits her up due to her criminal activities and their fear of her. She uses it to her advantage. You could be her first everything <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who gives you a necklace with her initials on it. Ordering for you to wear it. It looks expensive so you ask where’d she get it from. “Huh?! Don’t worry your pretty little head about it~ I got connections baby!”. she stole it from some random jewellery shop.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who forces you to skip a class to light a cigarette and then blow it into your mouth. You gasp loudly and she just giggles as she hears you cough up a fit. ‘So so adorable!’ 

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who love love loves seeing you flustered. constantly backing you into a wall, always making her friends sit by you in the cafeteria, winking slyly when you confront her about all of this.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANFEM!DELINQUENT who will make sure to make you hers. That pesky boy trouble maker is just a bump in her plan. No one compares to her. No one will be good for you, except her.

“Babe I barely hit him~ I just kissed his cheek with my fist!”

purerae<3

[bugoutreviewgirlie]

hey all! this is an ongoing passion project of mine and it'd mean an incredible amount to me if you guys checked it out and shared it!

[bottle-of-allay]

well hello there!

Hermit-a-day May #28 Good Times with Scar!