#(yes i know there's ways of reading them for free)

[rin-solo]

Finally, I am happy to present to you my ...

EPIC: THE MUSICAL | ACT I [Character Design project]

I have been working on these for a long time and I am very happy with how these turned out. I am a huge fan of visual character design and I simply needed to do a full lineup.

Act II will follow shortly (it is all done except for Ithaca Saga, which I will add as soon as it drops.) Please enjoy, and read below for some thoughts and background on some of my design choices!

TROY | CYCLOPS ft. Odysseus, Athena, Eurylochus, and Polites

With Odysseus, I really wanted to emphasize his free spirit in this era and mark him as Athena's warrior, so I gave him a special belt and some armbands that represent her (this was inspired by some of @mircsy's work). He also has heterochromia; his left eye is green, representing his cunning, wisdom, and spirit; his right eye is gray, representing his ruthlessness and warrior side.

I simply love Athena in purple/gold. Her mask is a symbol of her invulnerability and comes off only during "My Goodbye" when Odysseus tells her that she's alone. Her cape can also transform into wings, and her eyes are actually golden without the mask.

I had to give Eurylochus his large anime sword (it's just as heavy as it looks but he likes it that way because that means no one besides him is strong enough to wield it ... I imagine Eurylochus can bench press at least Odysseus' and Polites' weights combined. He and Polites are also wearing variants of Odysseus' armor, indicating that they belong to the same army.

Listen, I can vibe with Eurylochus' giant sword but I draw the line at Polites with glasses, sorry. He still gets the hairband, of course. He's also dressed more casually, and without a weapon, because of his pacifistic outlook. He's the physically weakest among the trio by far but also still an inch taller than Odysseus (it's fine, Odysseus is still like 5'10, his friends are just all so freaking tall...)

OCEAN ft. Aeolus, Poseidon, and Odysseus

Not gonna lie, I LOVED designing Aeolus' outfit. She's playful and mischievous and loves to hang out in the clouds all day; her outfit is probably made out of clouds let's be real. Also yes, her image on the windbag moves to make cheeky faces.

Poseidon I cannot imagine without tentacles anymore thanks to @gigizetz's "Ruthlessness", idk it just fits him so well. He definitely got all dressed up to go and sink Odysseus' fleet that day, he has a reputation, you know? And he just likes the shiny gold and accessories; the ocean is full of them so why wouldn't he?

Since breaking up with Athena, Odysseus lost her belt and armbands. He's still wearing her brooch because he couldn't bring himself to fully throw that away as well yet. Polites' hairband around his wrist reminds him of what he's fighting for and what to live by ... for now (Poseidon is about to ruin this man's whole career...)

CIRCE | UNDERWORLD ft. Circe, Hermes, and Tiresias

I wanted to give Circe the "witch" vibe while putting a Greek spin on it and I actually adore her design. She seems both immortally youthful (something I aim for with all my god designs) and motherly. There she was, gathering some herbs when a bunch of strangers crash onto her island ... Oh well, at least this man was a good man this time.

Hermes is kind of just Hermes. I wanted to keep him shaded, a bit impish, and definitely up to no good. He's wearing the contrasting colors on purpose, by the way. And yes, his hat can fly on its own ... But for it to do that he'd have to actually be willing to show his face which he seldom does unless he really trusts you.

Tiresias is a soul, so he has the same kind of ageless youth as all my gods (something that goes for souls of dead people too, since I like to think they get to appear at whatever age they want after death.) He's looking a bit regal since he's a prophet, so I imagine regarded highly, even in the Underworld. Instead of the blindfold, his hood covers his face, adorned with a symbolic eye to identify him and his skill.

***

Well, that's it for ACT I, friends, I hope you liked these! I will upload ACT II asap. Please comment and/or tell me your thoughts about my designs! And feel free to ask any questions you may have! I would love to talk more about these.

[mushynka]

Okay. This is my first fic ever so please read this 🫶

This story is intended for mature audiences (18+). Please note that English is not my first language, so there might be some language errors or awkward phrasing in the text sometimes. Feel free to correct me in the comments. I am still learning english so pls. try not to make too much fun out of me. Additionally, this story may not strictly follow the events as depicted in Marvel films or comics and contains creative deviations. I kindly ask that you do not copy or redistribute my work without permission. Yes. I know it's cringe lmao. Enjoy anyway!

Title: "Building a Future"

Words: "3000" (idk exactly)

Characters: Logan Howlett (Origins) x Fem. reader

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long, flickering shadows across the cabin’s rustic interior. You sat by the fire, the soft light from the flames dancing across the room, your legs tucked underneath you. The storm outside was fierce—rain pelted the windows, and the wind howled through the trees surrounding the cabin. It was the kind of night that invited quiet moments, the kind where the world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you.

Logan, or Wolverine as most people called him, sat opposite you, sharpening one of his knives with a focused expression. He had removed his shirt hours ago, the heat from the fire mixing with the thick layers of tension in his muscles. You couldn’t help but admire the way the flickering light highlighted the intricate scars that lined his chest and arms—reminders of his past, of the battles he had fought, both external and internal.

He glanced up from his work, catching you staring. His lips twitched in a half-smile, a familiar teasing look in his dark eyes.

"What?" he grumbled, though there was no real irritation in his voice. "You don’t need to be that fascinated by my scars. I’m not exactly a masterpiece."

You smiled softly, pushing yourself up from the couch and walking toward him. "Maybe not, but I find them... telling," you said, sitting down beside him. "They show your story. Your history."

Logan sighed, leaning back against the armrest of the chair, his steel-blue eyes meeting yours. "It’s a history I’d rather forget sometimes."

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. His arms, though tough and weathered, still felt reassuring, like home. Logan’s past had always been a complicated subject between you two, and you knew it wasn’t something he opened up about easily. But you didn’t mind. You were patient. You understood that not everything needed to be spoken for it to be real.

The silence between you stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet where two people could simply exist together, where being with someone was enough, even if the world outside seemed chaotic and uncertain.

"You ever think about... the future?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan didn’t answer immediately. He took a deep breath, his shoulders shifting as if he were preparing for something difficult. "The future," he muttered, staring into the fire. "Not much use in thinking about it. It always seems out of reach."

You nodded, understanding what he meant. Logan had lived a life of endless turmoil, and thinking about a future—about stability, about peace—was a luxury he’d never had. The idea of planning for something long-term seemed almost laughable to him. But you could sense that, deep down, there was a part of him that longed for it.

"I think about it," you admitted, turning your head to meet his eyes. "I think about us... a future where we don’t have to hide, where we don’t have to fight every day."

Logan’s gaze softened, his expression unreadable for a moment. "You mean, like... kids? Family?" he asked, his voice hesitant, as though the word was foreign to him.

You smiled gently, feeling the weight of his words. "Yeah. I don’t know. It’s just a thought. But... I want a family. Maybe not now, but eventually. I want us to have something real."

The idea hung in the air between you like an unspoken promise, delicate and fragile. Logan shifted uncomfortably, his usual guarded demeanor slipping just a little.

"You know my... situation," he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. "I’m not exactly father material."

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. "Logan," you whispered, "I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be you. You’ve already proven how much you care."

He turned his hand over to hold yours, the roughness of his calloused fingers in contrast to your softer skin. His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if reassuring himself that this moment wasn’t a dream.

"I’m not sure I’m built for that kind of life," Logan admitted, his voice rough but tender. "I’ve never really had the chance to think about it."

You leaned in, your lips brushing the side of his neck as you whispered, "You don’t have to decide now. Just... know that I’d be happy with whatever we build. Together."

For a long moment, Logan said nothing. But you could feel his body relax beside you, a slight exhale escaping his chest. He wasn’t saying yes. He wasn’t saying no. But for once, he wasn’t shutting down the possibility.

As the night wore on, you found yourself drifting in and out of a comfortable sleep, your head on his shoulder, your fingers laced with his. The rain began to slow, the winds calming to a gentle murmur. But the warmth between you two remained, a quiet promise of something that might one day be, even if it was only a distant hope.

[adamnablelittledevil]

on the subject of vampire polyamory specifically in relation to Lestat, Armand, and Louis, I think people are forgetting that there's a difference between an open relationship and a throuple. All 3 of those vampires are pretty poorly equipped to handle an open relationship with Lestat "I don't like sharing" de Lioncourt probably being the worst equipped, however I do think that the three of them could probably manage with a poly relationship where all members of the relationship are dating all other members of the relationship and the relationship is closed.

Thank you! Speaking of relationship configurations as a whole, this is so true. Polyamorous and open relationships are not necessarily the same and people tend to generalize them so much. It's the same with pan and bisexual people, it's not because you're into every gender that you're into every single person. I'm personally all for freer relationships (polyamorous, open, non-exclusive, any and all of them), I keep the door open and yet never used it because there was never a need for it, but it's still open if that changes one day. It's just about not being controlling for me. I feel really weird about trying to police each other's actions, bodies and feelings. So, I'm like, as long as there is love and respect, we're free to follow our heart wherever it takes us. I don't see having more than one parent, kid or friend as a problem, so I don't know why romantic love would be any different. For me, the problem is that it is hard to fall in love, be lucky enough to be reciprocated and accommodate a romance with all the other aspects of your life in the little time humans have with one person, let alone two or more individuals. Also, the risk of pregnancy, diseases etc. Now, vampires that live forever, can't get sick or pregnant? It makes perfect sense.

About Loumandstat, I can definitely see what you're saying. Specially for what I've read on the books so far. I don't know in depth how the chronicles will end, what Rolin will choose to do and if that's logistically possible on a show with only 7-8 episodes per season (I do believe they work miracles with the little time they have, but it's still not the same as having 13 books), but I think there's enough argument to support giving it a try or at least leaving it open to interpretation if they want, even if they don't do it with the main three (or four) characters.

Not to mention they're vampires and I find the idea of living forever with only person and love narrow-minded, limiting and unrealistic (same goes to gender, sexuality and norms in general). It's way more convincing to me that feelings would evolve and relationships would expand over time. I also believe many of their problems come from having just one person to be the lover, friend, therapist, parent and mentor all at the same time.

Ans you can't have one individual playing all the roles in your life... This usually makes things implode and they end up going from one person to nobody and complete loneliness. It just never work, no matter how compatible they are. You need multiple people to spend eternity with and all the love you can find: platonic, familial and, yes, maybe even romantic.

[f1-stuff]

You mentioned omegaverse in the surreal DC reblog where he’s commenting far too much on Charles’s smell lol and it made me wonder if you’ve ever considered writing omegaverse Charlos? Do you have any interest or not so much your thing?

Love your work <33333

Hello! ❤️ I didn't used to be into omegaverse very much tbh, but something clicked in the last couple years and I started to vibe with it a lot more. I actually did start to write an abo charlos fic, that's also a Victorian-era royalty arranged marriage situation (woo that's a mouthful 😂), but I haven't added much to it in a while...

The funny thing is that I find myself forgetting it's abo while writing bc there's so much else going on, and then I have to throw in a line about someone's scent asghfjlslsdk. But anyway, I'm gonna share a little more of it now just because I feel like it's been a while since I posted a fic or a snippet...

“Charles.”

Impatience has crept into his mother’s voice by the second utterance of his name, and yet Charles still takes the time to finish the page he’s reading before clapping the (dreadfully boring) book shut and looking up at her expectantly. As usual, she doesn’t look particularly amused by his stubbornness.

“Charles, I was thinking that perhaps you and I should stay away from the palace for an additional month or so.”

“What?” he frowns. “Why?”

“To rest,” she suggests. “It’s been a very tough week, and you still don’t look well-”

“Maman,” he sighs, rubbing his temple where a headache is starting to form. Of course, he won’t tell her that. “I feel fine. And I’m ready to go home. We already missed Uncle’s birthday. We are not missing Papa’s.”

His mother doesn’t reply. It’s not the first time she’s brought it up, and it won’t be the last, but Charles isn’t losing this particular argument. Not even if he has to escape back to the palace himself. A week away from his father in his poor condition is already too much to bear, let alone the prospect of more time apart.

Charles and his mother’s retreat to their country residence had been unavoidable. The ‘very tough week’ in question is Charles’ heat, which had been brought on early due to the stress he's been under, caused by his numerous advisors' renewed efforts as of late to convince him to sign the regency order. No doubt they’ll be hoping that now, weakened by five days of fever and delirium, he’ll feel further compelled to relinquish his power to a regent in the event of his father’s death before he’s come of age.

It’s never going to happen, and his mother doesn’t need to try to protect him by hiding him away for a month either. She, along with everyone in that damned palace, treats him delicately enough as it is. Ever since he’d presented around eleven years old, he’s been wrapped in cotton wool. But just because he’s an omega doesn’t mean he isn’t perfectly capable of standing up for himself. In fact, he can’t wait to be free of the silly protective measures that were put in place almost seven years ago. The moment he’s crowned, he’s doing away with all of it.

“Really, Charles. I hope you’re not upset we had to come here. You know that it’s for your own safety-”

“Yes, maman, I know,” he interrupts, then sighs and aims a small smile her way to soften his exasperated tone. “I’m not arguing that. But I don’t need any more time to recover. It isn’t as though I do much more than this in the palace, anyway.”

Reading books, painting, playing piano and chess - there isn’t much more that he’s allowed to do. The other activities that his brothers partake in, like horse riding and archery, aren’t permitted for him, nevermind that he performed them just fine before he’d presented. That argument has never worked to convince anyone to grant him allowances because it’s not really about whether he’s capable.

“Well...if you’re certain.”

“I am,” he says, firmly. His mother nods.

Good. That’s settled, then. She speaks again before he has a chance to reopen his book.

“The other thing I’ve been meaning to discuss with you - your uncle has invited the Sainz siblings to come and stay at the palace. You met their two eldest when you were very young, but I’m sure you don’t remember.”

“No,” Charles confirms, intrigued. “Who are they?”

“Their father is a Spanish duke, and his son, Prince Carlos, is just a few years older than you. Unlikely that he will ever inherit the throne, but it is a distant possibility.”

Ah. So a marriage prospect, then. Charles bites back a sigh. From one prison to another.

“You should get to know him better,” his mother says, reading his expression.

“Why?” he asks, just to be difficult. He knows very well why.

“Because. Your Uncle Thierry thinks it’s a good idea.”

Well, if his uncle thinks it, then so it shall be.

Charles sinks further into his chair, grabbing the book he’d set aside and reopening it pointedly. His mother takes the hint. (The book may be a dull one, but at least it serves its purpose as a conversation ender superbly.)

****

“Monaco could be a very important chess piece in future conflicts,” Caco explains, leaning against the table to address his young cousin. “It is under the military protection of France, and having the force of France at our disposal could be instrumental in quelling potential unrest.”

Carlos Junior looks up at him from his seat at the desk, notes of skepticism in his expression. He doesn’t make an objection just yet - his cousin would not be telling him this unless it had come from his father directly.

Caco sets down a piece of paper in front of him. It’s a drawing of a young man who can’t be more than eighteen, his boyish features evident even in sketch form. The other thing that is undeniable is his beauty, a sense of mischief and innocence dancing in his eyes that has Carlos wondering if it’s a faithful representation.

“Is he this pretty in person?”

Caco simply gives him a look, not dignifying that with a response. “That is Prince Charles, heir apparent to the Monegasco throne, seventeen years old. In the next few weeks, you will study everything there is to know about him - his favorite novels, plays, composers. You will brush up on your French-”

“Wait, wait, cousin,” Carlos interjects, blinking in confusion. “What does a prince have to do with me?”

“That omega...” Carlos’ gaze shoots up to his cousin, brows raising. “...has everything to do with you.”

Ah. That changes things, indeed.

“As I was saying,” Caco continues, sighing. “In order to keep the prince safe, he’s been kept sheltered from his father’s court for years, ever since he was a boy. Thus, when he does make a rare public appearance, such as at the opera or ballet, his mere presence causes quite a stir.”

Carlos’ eyes return to the paper in front of him, his gaze tracing a path over the prince’s nose and settling at the elegant curve of his lips.

“You must win his favor before anyone else has the chance,” his cousin says. “The first visit in a few weeks’ time will be vital. We can afford no mistakes. But always remember, you are first and foremost a Sainz. Do not forget the reason behind all of this, no matter how ‘pretty’ his face.”

Carlos tries to bite back his smirk, but likely fails from the look his cousin sends him.

“Charm him, Carlos. Make him smile. God knows you are good at that. The rest will be up to fate.”

[alleiradayne]

I haven't said much personally about Veilguard besides sharing my Rook and a few other silly things, but I do have a couple thoughts now that I'm so very far into my playthrough (halfway at about 50 hours).

I know the music hasn't hit like some hoped it would. I agree that it is not as good as Inquisition. That's still my favorite OST of the series. I understand BioWare wanted a new composer for the next game because each game has had a different composer. But given how very connected Inquisition and Veilguard are, I disagree with that premise and thought they should have stuck with Morris, and not only for that reason. He's a fucking musical genius.

All that said, I do enjoy Zimmer's and Balfe's work on this OST. It's not bad. I was shittalking the main theme for weeks after it came out but when you mash it up with the actual opening of the game, it fits. And I like all the softer versions of it, the less complicated takes with less instrumentation. And there are other tracks that call back to Inquisition. No, I'm not referring to the cameos where Morris's actual tracks were used. I'm talking about Zimmer/Balfe's new content where they threaded callbacks to Inquisition. Once I finish the game, I'm going to do a much deeper analysis of the Veilguard OST, but for now, I'm enjoying it as I play the game (I don't want to listen to the OST before I finish the game itself).

A couple other thoughts in shorter form:

The combat is fun. Compared to previous games, it's dynamic enough that, while there are patterns, you still have to be on your toes. Yes there's the rock, paper, scissors of get rid of armor, get rid of barrier, then spam left click/spells. But you know what, compared to the previous games, I'm enjoying that. It's a nice change of pace. I'm also playing a Mourn Watch Death Mage, so there's some nice flavor there.

Skin texture sucks. It's too smooth. It gives everyone a cartoonist look. I hate it.

Hair is fucking gorgeous. I just wish there were more styles I liked.

The story and quests are fantastic.

I find the dialogue to be a fun balance between seriousness, camp, and exposition.

Now on to my biggest fucking complaint about the game so far and given what I've read (without spoiling anything), I'm ultimately going to be disappointed in the long-run by the romances. My mage committed to Emmrich and I love him. He's wonderful. Read on for some spoilery-ish facets of his romance.

SPOILERS

He's an artist. Both with his magic and his words. He's sophisticated and overly romantic in such a respectful way. Rook's interest in him takes him by surprise because I believe canonically there's an age gap (that I headcanon away), but it's adorable. Plus, graveyard dates. He's very Gomez Addams but without all the public displays of affection (which I also headcanon away because fuck that noise).

END SPOILERS

My last point in the spoilers section about Emmrich's romance is my biggest complaint of the game. There's very little actual romance! And it's because you can't roll up to your companions at any given time and open a dialogue with them. There's no open conversation option. You only get to talk to them if they have a time-sensitive marker or a quest marker on their icon on the map. No free smooches on the ramparts!

And the romance moments we do get are so few and far between in a game that is absolutely massive, not in terms of map size this time, but in terms of content. There is so much good content (as opposed to the shit side quests of collecting 10 bear asses in the Hinterlands of Inquisition). The side quests all feel directly tied to the area's story so they all feel worth doing. We're never doing dumb shit like drawing constellations in the sky or finding shards through tranquil mage skulls (don't ever forget that they used the skulls of mages forced into tranquility specifically for this purpose).

Now I'm not through the whole game yet, but I'm hearing and seeing that there's next to no nudity. Given that on top of the lack of open convos and sparse romantic content, I'm bummed. I still love Emmrich, and I know I'll enjoy the others when I do get to them (because I plan on it). But damn. I was hoping for Desk Scene (iykyk) levels of spice outta this crew.

That's it. Halfway through the game and this is how I feel so far. I'm thoroughly enjoying the game and will continue to binge it. I have Rooks planned for the rest of the companions, too. Femme elf rogue crow to romance Davrin, femme qunari warrior lords of fortune to romance Harding, femme human shadow dragon rogue to romance Neve, femme elf warrior veil jumper to romance Bellara, masc elf mage grey warden to romance Lucanis.

I'd like to see your thoughts!

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hello! This is my first time requesting sorry if it’s bad .. but could you write one where reader used to be in a bit of an abusive relationship so when she got with Donna she wasn’t used to the kinda of care and sweet things she would do for her and doesn’t understand why Donna would do anything like that for someone like her. Then one day maybe they are out at the duke or something and reader is talking to an friend and Donna gets jealous and quiet on the way back and reader starts to get very anxious thinking Donna will do something to her like her last relationship. When they get home Donna is acting kinda weird and immediately goes to the basement after a little while of Donna being gone reader goes to confront her about it and then donna goes a little bit crazy and hits her fist on her workbench and then when she comes out of her little episode she’s you crying and feels really REALLY bad about it.

You can end it with smut or fluff I’m good with whatever. So sorry my grammar is buns I suck at writing and I love your story’s to I read them all the time!❤️

Yesss!!! Welcome to the requesting world!!! Thank you for your request and support!!! I'm sorry if it's a bit dark, and I have to say I didn't put smut due to the plot, but I hope you can enjoy it the same way!!! Sorry about the language mistakes!!!!

Demons of past, demons of mind

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, dark themes, mentions of abuse, Donna being Donna, mental health issues, slighty dark Donna, fluff

Word count: 7,930

Summary: You have your demons, she has them too...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

You never liked masses.

It's not that you had anything against the Black Gods or Mother Miranda, it's just that meeting the whole village, enduring those curious glances and unconsciously looking for signs of any threat weren't your favorite way to spend the time.

Staying alone in that big mansion wasn't the best option either. Besides, you knew that she didn't like the idea of ​​abandoning you. You couldn't be ungrateful. You would always do anything she asked of you.

Miranda's words slipped through your ears as you curled up on one of the first benches. You didn't want to be far from her. Villagers like you were supposed to be scared and respectful of the authorities of that place.

For you, the Four Lords weren’t an imminent danger, or at least they didn't make your chest knot or make you feel dizziness. Yes, you feared them, but that was long before you knew the true dangers of that place.

Knowing all your neighbors could be considered an advantage, it could seem cozy and comfortable, but in your case it wasn't exactly like that. As a young girl, barely 23 years old, you had been through too many hardships and none of them had to do with the influence of the Black Gods, or at least that's what you thought.

Your eyes danced around the crowd as your body slowly shrank. In your head you followed the witch's words, trying to count the time left until you were free again. You weren't scared, but without the lady in black at your side, you didn't feel safe.

“May the Black Gods protect us,” Miranda said, ending that sermon.

Everyone in the church repeated those words of liberation, forming a murmur that accompanied the movement. You had to assume that, of course, everyone present had better things to do than listen to Miranda's words since they wasted no time in getting up.

Before you could really be aware of everyone who had come to the old chapel, you stood up, getting closer to the altar, where the Four Lords patiently watched the walk of their flock.

A smile of relief ran across your face as you stood next to her, next to the veiled lady, with your eyes expectant, wanting to go home. Her head turned to you, silently, but surely with a smile under the black cloth.

Lady and doll stood up from their seat, walking slowly towards you.

“Wait a moment, Donna,” Miranda said when the doll maker had already let your arm hook into hers.  “I have something to tell you.”

You, disappointed, looked at her invisible face as she lowered her hand to yours.

“Your cupcake can wait outside, right?” the witch said, looking at you, making you feel those grey eyes on your chest, those eyes always covered by a golden mask.

“Wait for me, (Y/N), I'll be right there,” the lady whispered in your ear, letting your hand go and indicating with a gesture for you to go out.

You didn't insist. Being with Donna was always your priority, but to be honest, you weren't too interested in Miranda's affairs, you were much happier not knowing what she was up to that time.

You sighed as you nodded, slowly walking out of the chapel, away from the crowd. It would only be a moment and there was nothing to worry about, right?

In an attempt to distract yourself, you looked up at the sky. The clouds, as always, were as black as the Gods, as black as your past, dark, impenetrable, constant...

You sketched a smile as you waited, as you watched people slowly walk away, without paying attention to you, just as you liked to live. Questions and rumors were never to your liking.

“(Y/N),” a voice you recognized instantly, took you out of those thoughts of relief.

You hoped to have given up your torments, but that day had an unpleasant surprise in store for you.

Automatically, your head lowered to the snowy ground, showing an absurd respect that your body maintained even with the new circumstances.

“Becca,” you whispered without looking at that girl in the face.

“I see that you continue to get lost in your thoughts,” the girl sighed, approaching you with a smug smile. “Pathetic.”

“C-Can you leave me alone?” you asked in a small voice, feeling the girl's steps in the snow as a countdown to suffering. “I don't want to talk to you.”

“Of course, you don't want to talk to me, you never wanted to, right?” the girl said, crossing her arms. “I always had to force the words out of your mouth, how rude.”

“I-I have nothing to say to you, Becca,” you whispered, noticing how sweat began to accumulate on your hands.

“Oh, me neither,” she said mockingly, tilting her head. “I'm glad I don't have to put up with you anymore.”

“W-Well, then... what do you want?” you asked, your whole body stiff and tense. “You left me.”

“If I remember correctly, you provoked it, (Y/N),” Becca insisted, spitting out her words in an unpleasant way. “You never knew how to treat me properly.”

“Was it my fault?” you asked, backing away, drawing out some courage, the little you had left. “You made my life a hell.”

“Because of you, (Y/N), I see you still haven't learned to be assertive,” the girl murmured, shaking her head. “Luckily for you, you don't owe me anything anymore. My new girlfriend is better than you.”

“Do you hit her too?” you asked, with your tense gaze fixed on the ground.

“She behaves much better than you,” your ex hissed, blinking petulantly.

“I feel sorry for her,” you whispered, turning your head to the chapel door, wishing she would appear to save you.

“What did you say?” Becca asked, grabbing your arm tightly, causing the painful memories of your relationship to immobilize you. “You're still stupid. You may not be mine anymore, but I can still…”

“Hey!” a scream caught your attention.

Just when you thought you were about to receive another undeserved punishment, the girl let you go, surely, seeing the lady in black behind you holding the Angie doll, owner of that shrill voice.

“Donna,” you sighed, breaking free from Becca's grip and cowardly running to take refuge behind the lady.

“Who are you, stupid?!” Angie asked, with a demanding tone. It was impossible for you to tell if Angie was speaking, or Donna was the one demanding answers but you didn't really care who it was.

“Lady Beneviento, I...” your ex-girlfriend murmured, moving away from you. “N-Nobody, I'm nobody.”

“You're nobody? Fine, then get out of our sight,” Angie said, gesturing towards the road.

The girl shook her head as you tightly grabbed the arm of the woman in black, who remained motionless, threatening.

“I'm sorry, my lady,” Becca said, quickly fleeing the scene, causing the puppet to laugh triumphantly.

“If you come near her again, I won't be so kind, stupid!” Angie shouted while laughing amused. “Look how she runs, Donna, you scared her.”

“Mm,” the lady murmured discreetly, turning to look at you. “(Y/N), lasciami.”

“I'm sorry,” you said nervously, realizing that you were holding your girlfriend with excessive strength, due to fear. “T-Thank you…”

“Thank you? Why? Who was it?” the doll maker asked, grabbing you gently and starting to walk, finally returning to the mansion.

“Nobody,” you murmured, finally finding the comfort of her body very close to yours as the village grew ever further away.

“You're lying to me,” the lady said, walking slower, looking at you, surely, with a frown.

“No, I...” you stammered. “It's just that...”

You didn't want to lie to Donna, but you never dared to talk about your past with her. Not out of fear, but rather so as not to remind the hell you lived through.

“Who was she, silly? It seems you knew each other,” Angie said, insisting, just like her owner.

“Yes, well, the truth is that she is... my ex,” you finally said, lowering your head without releasing the lady, who turned slowly, but didn’t stop walking.

“Your ex,” Donna repeated with a sigh, looking at you out of the corner of her eye through the gaps in her veil.

“She wasn't nice to me,” you said with a weak voice due to your horrible memories, with the pain of her slaps still impregnated in your cheeks. “I know I hadn't told you much about her, but I just didn't want to remember and…”

“So she was the reason you were crying when I met you,” the lady said, with a voice apparently devoid of emotions.

“Yes,” you said dryly, getting closer to the lady, who, apparently, understood your concern, surrounding you with her arms as if she wanted to protect you. “I didn't expect to find her again.”

“Do you want me to kill her?” she asked, making a shiver run down your spine.

“What?” you asked scared. “N-No, of course I don’t,” you said, shaking your head effusively, moving away from her. “No, Donna.”

“Hey, if that stupid girl hurt you, why don't you let Donna punish her? She'll do it gladly, right?” Angie said, with a sinister voice.

You regretted thinking, for a second, your answer.

“No, um…” you said, blinking a little nervously. “I don't want you to hurt anyone.”

“Mm, as you wish,” Donna commented, impassive at the idea of ​​finishing off that girl, something you still hadn't quite gotten used to.

Donna was a Lord. After all, the lives of the village were at her will.

“The past is the past,” you murmured after a tense moment of silence. “I like the present much more,” you said as you sighed in relief, leaning back against the lady, who nodded elegantly.

“A very wise phrase,” she said, kissing you through her veil. “You know I would do anything for you, tesoro.”

“I know,” you said with a tender smile, not having the capacity to thank her enough for that protection, that promise of not letting anything, or anyone, hurt you ever, ever again. “It will be better if we forget it, okay, darling?”

“Va bene, your wishes are my commands,” she said, interlacing her fingers with yours. “Let's go home, it's cold today.”

“Yes,” you said, thanking the affectionate gesture, her sinister closeness that was so different from what you had experienced before.

Yes, Donna was dangerous, sometimes even terrifying, but she loved you. She really loved you.

During that quiet walk, you began to remember. You had said that the past was better off far from you, but you were only fooling yourself. That previous relationship was still very present in your memories.

You were never a normal girl, you were a bit withdrawn. It's not that you hated people or anything like that, you just didn't fit in. The villagers never isolated you or considered you a freak, and maybe that was your downfall. After years of voluntary solitude, you met a girl, a girl you fell in love with almost instantly, Becca.

It was your first relationship, an explosion of new emotions that at first made you seem like the happiest girl in that sinister place. Time passed and everything seemed perfect. But you had read too many stories not to start seeing similarities with the behavior of that girl who claimed to love you.

Like in that children's story, Becca began to neglect her lamb costume, revealing the dark fur of a fierce and hungry wolf. At first, they were just absurd arguments, ones in which you always seemed to be at fault.

You remembered the sleepless nights, wondering if you had really done something wrong to disappoint the girl you loved, if you were guilty, if you hurt her without realizing it. Acknowledging a guilt that you didn't fully understand became a habit, it became an easy way to stop the wolf from roaring.

But time didn't improve the situation, quite the opposite. That submission increased to the point you no longer asked yourself what you had done to deserve a scolding, accepting the reality of her words, bowing your head and asking for forgiveness.

Being so young, your character was deformed, turning you into something like a slave to her thoughts, her desires, a rag doll to be ordered around and tortured whenever she wanted.

Your friends began to be a problem for Becca. She herself urged you to abandon those innocent walks with the village girls, to put aside the only people who had always understood you. Of course, this unhinged behavior didn’t go unnoticed by your best friend, since she was the one who tried to open your eyes.

It didn't matter that you began to believe she was right, since, because of Becca, you stopped hanging out with her. Controlling you was her greatest hobby, torturing you was her only way to spend the time.

Submissive and obedient, you pleased that disguised wolf as much as you could, although as the months went by, you stopped receiving anything in return.

The screams, the senseless threats became routine. Every time you weren't with Becca, she acted, she marked your skin with slaps and warnings, making you believe that you were to blame for the blows you received. Your vision of reality didn’t change, even though your life was hell.

One day, Becca left you, she abandoned you. You remember the screams, the cries, the pleas. At that moment you were unable to see the level of pathos you were in, begging your tormentor for a second chance.

The pain, the suffering of having lost her was too great, you spent weeks crying inconsolably. Your parents were busy weaving and making fabrics, and your personal problems were of no importance when it came to helping them. Becca was a lovely girl in their opinion.

She was always a wolf in sheep's clothing, capable of deceiving even the shepherds, even the people who were supposed to take care of you.

You were crying as you walked, as you breathed, you were almost unaware of where you were going. It was not an ordinary commission. Those fabrics weren’t for Luiza or the Lupu family, no…

The landscape was changing and deep down you felt that you should be afraid, but you weren’t. The pain and the tears were much stronger than the fear of your destination, the Beneviento House.

The rumors about the lady in black didn’t sound in your head, you could only hear Becca's screams and insults. So much so, that you arrived at the house at the waterfall without being aware of the danger you were in.

The sobs accompanied the first encounter you had with the veiled lady, and, somehow, they aroused her curiosity. Chance was never your best ally, but, it seems that at that moment, it decided to grant you a favor.

“Those beautiful eyes don’t have to cry…”

You remember that whisper, that hoarse voice speaking through the veil, that voice unknown to the village, those hands that wiped away your tears. You always knew what she was, that she was a dangerous woman, that she was sick, that she was dark and soulless. Well, at least that's what it seemed to you.

Donna Beneviento, fourth Lord, seemed to take pity on your soul, something no one did, something no one had bothered to relieve. Your body, torn apart by tireless crying, yielded to the offer of tea, of telling her the reason for your tears.

So you did, or at least, you made it clear to her that a breakup was the cause of your problems. She didn't seem to give any importance to that, but she did to something, which, according to the lady, was terribly unusual: you didn't tremble in her presence, you weren't afraid.

That involuntary behavior granted you a second chance, granted you the love of someone you shouldn't love, who was cold as ice and dangerously disturbed. It didn't take you long to realize you were wrong.

Donna was quiet, but kind, attentive. The Angie doll was funny and eloquent, thus forming the counterpart the Lord was missing. Love arose from the ashes of your soul, which revived like a phoenix, hoping the fire would burn your past as well.

She was… beautiful, simply beautiful. Her complexes about her appearance were stupidity to you. Her deformed face was beauty itself, and you let her know that.

Laughter, whispers, kisses, caresses… Thus began a very different relationship, one in which you felt good, too good. Sometimes, just sometimes, you didn't feel worthy of so much affection, you didn't feel you deserved Donna, to calm her desire to love someone as pathetic as you.

After a few wonderful months with the lady in black, you finally realized. The sheep costume Becca was wearing became invisible. All those mistakes you thought you had made became injustices, all the slaps you thought were fair became abuse, mistreatment.

You regretted having cried for Becca, but, luckily, you would never have to face her again. To think that, perhaps after that unfortunate encounter, Donna protected you, was much more than you thought you deserved, even if her way of protecting… was kind of abrupt or sinister.

“Are you okay?” the lady asked closing the door of the mansion and removing her veil, a gesture you adored.

You nodded uncertainly, letting the lady's intense gaze stare into your eyes and her hands cup your face. It wasn’t easy to deceive her, you should know that.

“Your words tell me one thing, but your gaze tells me another, tesoro,” she said, with a tender voice, while her caresses comforted your nerves. “Please, tell me what's wrong.”

“It's nothing, Donna,” you said, lowering your head, joining one of your hands with hers. “It's just that meeting h-her… made me nervous.”

“I see,” the lady whispered, bringing her lips closer to yours, kissing you slowly. “She hurt you bad, vero?”

“Yes… but, but I prefer to forget about it,” you said with a fake smile, in case the desire to get revenge came back to her mind.

“It seems that it's hard for you,” Donna commented, with a slightly colder look. “Do you have doubts?”

“No!” you squealed nervously, shaking your head and making exaggerated gestures with your hands. “No, Donna, don't say that. I love you, and only you. Sometimes the past just hurts, that's all.”

The lady stared at you for a moment, but sighed in relief, coming closer and stealing another soft kiss from you, giving you a tender smile.

“Well, now you're with me, I'll protect you from pain, amore mio,” she whispered lovingly, wiping away a tear that was starting to run down your cheek. “Come, I'm going to prepare something for you to relax.”

“Thank you, darling,” you said with a sincere smile, expressing the love, the gratitude you had for the lady in black, the extreme fidelity you would always have for her.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Angie interrupted, separating you comically. “Less cuddles, that doesn't make anyone happy. (Y/N), silly, all you have to do to be happy is play with me.”

You both kissed again, looking at the doll so she would growl angrily. Afterwards, the lady in black came down to prepare one of her relaxing teas and you had no choice but to spend some fun time with the doll.

You were grateful for all her love, her understanding, her sweetness, but your demons kept whispering to you, telling you that it wasn't fair, that you didn't deserve that special treatment, that love, those kisses, those caresses...

Luckily you managed to forget about your problems. Donna was lovely, she would always do everything possible to remove the sorrows from your soul, but with Angie... with Angie forgetting was much easier, since diverting attention could bring unpleasant consequences, like a scream in your ear, or, in the worst case, a bite.

The rest of the day passed like any other: glances, smiles, kisses, moments of quiet reading on her lap… Did you really deserve all that? You didn't think it possible.

“What are you doing?” you asked affectionately, when Donna moved to her desk, studying some papers.

“Mm, I'm going over my research,” the lady commented, concentrating on those essays written in elegant handwriting, with words that, unfortunately, you didn't understand. “There are too many mountain plants.”

“Oh, plants, of course,” you said amused, leaning down to kiss her cheek and earning one of her irresistible shy laughs. “Is it Mother Miranda's thing?”

“No, I've always found the power I have over these kinds of plants interesting, I want to know everything,” she explained, making you shrug with an amused laugh. “Look at this, it seems like a good essay to me.”

“Okay…” you sighed, taking the paper and frowning amused. “Um, Donna, I'm sorry but… I don't understand,” you said scratching your neck.

“Oh, certo,” she said, shaking her head and gesturing for you to sit on her lap. “It's part of my research with the new variety that appeared at the gardener's house.”

“Wow, so you don't only make dolls…” you said, stealing a quick kiss from her.

“To be honest, I prefer dolls,” Donna commented, leaving the papers in order, sighing tiredly. “Although I haven't worked on them lately,” she said in a different tone, frowning.

“I-I think that's my fault,” you said with a weak voice, knowing that you were the biggest distraction.

You couldn't be a nuisance or disappoint her in any way. Any mistake on your part was a cause for absolute sadness.

“Mm?” she murmured distractedly, not paying much attention to your self-accusations. “Perché?”

“Well... I'm always distracting you,” you said in a serious tone, with sincere apology. “You should pay less attention to me and more to your dolls.”

Donna turned her head with a confused look, but smiled, kissing you in a slightly wilder, deeper way, making you almost lose your balance.

“I like dolls more than plants,” she whispered in your ear, in a terribly sensual way. “But I like you more than dolls.”

You blushed, shaking your head as you comically ran away from her excessive affection, one that, you thought you didn’t deserve.

“You always say those things,” you murmured with a purr, playing with your finger on her chest, controlling your breathing. “You make me blush.”

“If I didn't, I would be doing something wrong,” she commented amused, brushing your hair away from your face, enjoying the touch of your skin.

“Oh, so I... am I doing something wrong?” you asked worried, making her move confused. “I-I can change, really.”

“What are you talking about, tesoro?” the lady questioned, studying your nervous gestures. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, I...” you whispered embarrassed, looking away.

No matter how much time passed, your fears were still very present in your mind.

“Hey, (Y/N), you're shaking,” Donna whispered, taking your cold and shaking hands, looking at you scared. “Tesoro…”

“It's okay, Donna,” you said with a fake smile, removing your hands and looking for something to divert the lady's rational curiosity with. “What’s this?” you asked, reaching out to grab what looked like an old fashion magazine.

“Um, I think a catalog,” Donna said, being distracted by your clumsy actions and taking a look with you. “It's amazing, (Y/N), sometimes I don't even know what's in this house…” she sighed amused.

“They look like dresses,” you said, commenting on the images you both saw. “I didn't know you liked fashion.”

“N-No,” Donna said, gently shaking her head. “Not much…” she whispered, turning the catalogue over. “My mother used to enjoy sewing patterns. I suspect this magazine was hers.”

“Did your mother know how to sew?” you asked curiously, finally diverting your shaking hands from her head. “I guess like mother, like daughter, huh?”

“Mm, yes, you might be right,” the brunette said, glancing at you briefly as she turned the pages. “She was very good at making dresses, a-although she didn’t h-have much time to do so.”

“Look at this one,” you said quickly, masterfully keeping poor Donna from losing her mind, like every time she mentioned her past. Seeing her out of it was something you couldn’t stand, and you couldn’t control either. “It’s beautiful.”

“This one?” she said, distracted again, settling you on her lap. “Do you like this dress?”

“Yes, it’s simple, but elegant, I’d like to have one to wear it for you. Would you like that?”

 Donna smiled with a shy blush on her skin, looking away as she nodded.

“I would like you to do it... to make yourself pretty for me...”

Luckily, there were no problems that day, or that night. Everything had gone well and, as always when you went to sleep, you reviewed all your dialogues and actions with the lady in black, looking for some mistake, something that could make her angry. As for a long time, as always since you were with her, you found none.

Getting used to that kind, loving and selfless treatment was something that would take a lot of time, and effort, to accept. Becca's influence was still too great in your mind and the only thing you wanted, the only thing you would do anyway, was to forget about it.

The next day, everything seemed normal, although somehow, you noticed a certain nervousness in the lady in black, as well as an unusual urgency to return to the village to pay a visit to the Duke.

You knew she was up to something, and even though Donna was reluctant to let you accompany her, it was difficult for her to refuse your request.

Your demons were right, you didn't deserve her.

"I love walking with you," you whispered as you hung on her arm, walking slowly towards the village, feeling the warmth of her body, her protective presence next to you.

She laughed affectionately, kissing you through the black fabric. Of course you preferred her bare lips, but those discreet kisses outside the mansion, even in front of curious villagers, climbed the ranks.

“Wait for me here, tesoro,” she said when you reached the carriage while you politely greeted the merchant, who did the same with a greedy smile.

You rolled your eyes, pretending to think about whether to accept her order or not, but finally nodding, walking away from her, holding her hand until she let it go by inertia. It was becoming more and more evident that the lady had something up her sleeve, and you dedicated that moment of solitude to imagine what it was.

“(Y/N)?” a girl who passed in front of you, and whom you recognized instantly, stopped, looking at you with a smile.

“Ivana,” you said blinking several times, seeing, for a long time, your best friend in front of you. “Is that you?”

“It seems so, I could ask you the same thing,” the amused girl said, coming closer to melt into a loving hug with you. “(Y/N), I'm so glad to see you, it's been a while since... well, I haven't seen you around here.”

“I was at mass just yesterday,” you said, feeling comfort in the arms of your old friend, but separating shortly after. “Didn't you see me?”

“Um, no,” she said, frowning. “I guess we can't see much from our secluded spot,” she explained, something that made you nod.

“It's true, I was in the front row,” you said, scratching the back of your neck.

“How brave,” she joked, giving you a nudge. “Although, judging by what I've heard, I'm not surprised.”

“What are you talking about?” you said curiously, to which the girl turned her gaze to the Duke and the lady.

“I don't know what to say, (Y/N), there are rumors. They say you have something with Donna Beneviento,” she whispered in a low voice, pushing your back to get you a little away from them.

“The rumors aren't wrong,” you said blushing, glancing sideways at the lady, who seemed to be studying some fabrics. “I've been living with her for almost a year.”

“And you're alive? I mean, I don't think that...” your friend whispered, with a cautious tone.

“Of course I'm alive. Listen, Ivana, Donna isn't like people think,” you said, clearing the black shadows that surrounded the lady.

“(Y/N), they say she's a dangerous crazy woman,” she murmured, looking away from you.

“Donna's not crazy, she's sick,” you said annoyed, frowning. “B-Besides, that doesn't matter because she really loves me, she treats me well and she's not comparable to... you know...”

“Well, that remains to be seen,” Ivana said, with a distrustful tone. “Hey, I'm really glad you ended things with Becca, really, but I don’t know if you've chosen the right replacement.”

“She's the right one,” you hissed, clenching your fists, nervous about her lack of trust in the love of your life. “Donna is good, loving, kind and treats me well. Everyone says she's a monster, but they're wrong. Becca was a monster.”

“Oh, well... you're right about that, I mean, at least I know what Becca was like and her... well, I don't know her,” your friend said, without taking her eyes off the lady. “I-If you think you're okay with Lady Beneviento, I guess I have to support you.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, grabbing your friend's hands caressing them in a friendly way, with a warm smile. “Your support is very important to me. Maybe we should meet someday, and we can talk about it better.”

“I wanted to hear that for over two years,” Ivana said, changing her gaze to an amused one. “Maybe you're right, there's only one way to know... you, me, beer, Luiza's house…”

“Sounds nostalgically fantastic,” you joked, making both of you laugh in amusement, without letting your hands go.

Ivana's laughter faded in an instant, looking at something behind you, over your shoulder.

You shouldn't be surprised, since, behind you, was the lady in black, with the same calm, but threatening posture.

“Donna,” you said, approaching the lady and grabbing her arm, forcing her to take a couple of steps forward. “Look, this is Ivana, she's my best friend.”

“Hi, Ivana!” Angie squealed, waving effusively and getting out of her owner's arms. “What's up?”

“He-Hello,” the young woman stammered, greeting the doll back cautiously.

“It's been a long time since we last saw each other and…” you commented, but after doing so, the lady pulled away from your grip in an unpleasant way, indicating to the doll to get back up.

“Hey, silly Donna, I was chatting!” Angie protested, rudely silenced by the lady.

“Um… I'm sorry, Ivana, she doesn't talk,” you said embarrassed, moving towards the lady, who walked away without waiting for you. “We’re in touch, okay?”

Your friend nodded as you ran to the lady's side, with a cheerful smile, happy to have met Ivana.

“Hey, Donna, honey, wait,” you said running after her with an exaggerated gasp.

The lady turned to look at you, but it was for a very brief moment, as she continued walking, completely silent.

“W-Well… and… how was it with the Duke? Did you get what you wanted?” you asked as the tension began to fall on your shoulders slowly.

There was no answer, something that made you nervous. You were already in her territory, normally Donna would have said something, anything, but not that day.

“Donna, is something wrong?” you asked worried, taking her hand, catching her off guard.

The lady in black growled unpleasantly, breaking away from your grip again, walking faster.

“Donna, honey, what's wrong?” you asked nervous, more and more nervous.

She walked quickly, with Angie tugging at her dress, trying to get her attention for something. Donna didn't pay attention to her, and neither to your calls.

“Donna, wait,” you said agitated by the fast pace, with your heart beating so hard in your chest, that at any moment it would burst out of it.

Anxiety had already formed in your body when you entered the mansion. You knew something was wrong, you were sure, but you didn't know how to face it.

“Donna…” you whispered, moving closer to her as she removed her veil.

Her gaze was colder than an iceberg, and she looked away too quickly for you to interpret it.

“Donna, darling,” you said hastily, grabbing her by the shoulder before she walked away again. “W-Wait…”

“Lasciami,” she hissed in a dangerous whisper, moving abruptly so your hand would leave her body. “Non toccarmi.”

“What? Donna, please, what…”

Before you could finish your question, the lady growled again, quickly walking away towards the elevator hallway, descending to the basement without another word.

Confused, nervous, with your whole body shaking due to bad memories, from what that behavior evoked in your mind, you looked everywhere, searching for an answer.

“Uh-Oh…” Angie murmured, returning from the hallway.

The situation was strange; Donna had left her doll upstairs.

“A-Angie, what's wrong? What's wrong with her?” you asked, nervously playing with your hands. “Why is she acting like that?”

“I don't know,” the doll said, scratching her head comically. “She seems angry.”

“Angry?” you asked, approaching the puppet, who nodded slightly. “Is it that…? Did something happen with the Duke?”

“No,” Angie said, thoughtfully. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“T-Then…” you murmured, controlling your tremors, coming to a terrible conclusion. “It's because of something I've done… right?”

“What? You? What did you do?” the doll asked, dropping onto a couch.

You followed her, thinking that at any moment you were going to explode with anxiety.

“A-Angie… Was it my fault? I just… Oh, Gods, isn't it because I…? Did she get upset about Ivana?” you asked out loud, not finding any other reason that could explain her attitude.

The doll shrugged, making the tension almost unbearable.

“You and Donna don't share a mind?” you asked curiously, glancing at the elevator hallway.

“We do,” the doll said, in a passive tone. “But before you ask, no, I can't know what she's thinking. She learned a long time ago… how to put it, not to let me get involved in her business.”

“W-well, then I guess I have to talk to her. If I've done something wrong…” you said, getting up from the couch with a nervous gasp.

“No!” the doll screamed, standing in front of you with her arms outstretched. “No, silly!”

“Why not? I have to know what I did wrong,” you said, dodging the doll and walking back to the elevator.

“No, silly, don't go now!” Angie shrieked again, running to your side with her hands on your legs. “Wait a bit and she'll just get over it…”

“I…” you said confused. “Fine,” you whispered, glancing at the hallway and walking away, to which Angie sighed in relief.

Listening to Donna's inseparable companion was always the best option, but that time, that damn time, minutes passed and nothing changed. The brunette showed no signs of life, she was downstairs.

“I'm going down,” you said, throwing away the cards you were playing with Angie and getting up from the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey, am I talking to the walls? Leave Donna alone, you idiot,” Angie said, following you again.

“It's been more than an hour, no... I can't just leave it be,” you said, shaking your head and opening the elevator gate.

“Wait for me!” the doll shrieked, sneaking past you as you pressed the button. “Silly, it's not a good idea... come up, please.”

“No, Angie, if she's in trouble, I have to do something,” you insisted already in the basement, walking quickly to the workshop.

“You'll be in trouble if you disturb Donna now, stupid, listen to Angie, Angie wants to help you,” the doll said, pulling your dress.

You ignored her, opening the doors of the workshop.

The lady in black was sitting at her work table, staring into space, not moving. She didn't even turn her head when she heard you enter.

“Donna, Donna,” Angie said, pulling at her clothes. “Hey, Donna, don’t...”

“Taci,” the lady hissed in a hoarse, dangerous tone, making the puppet run back to your side.

“(Y/N), go away...” the puppet whispered, pushing you towards the exit.

Once again you ignored her advice, approaching the woman in black with a slow step, almost clumsy because of your nerves.

“D-Donna, my love…” you whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder, a hand she pulled away with a sharp movement. “Honey, please…”

The lady didn't even look at you. She kept her eyes fixed on a seemingly unimportant place in front of her.

“Listen to me, I… I don't know what I could have done to offend you, but I beg you to forgive me, or at least tell me what…” you murmured with your voice broken by her indifference.

A loud bang made you step back, frightened. The lady in black hit the table with excessive force, causing several objects to fall to the floor.

“You want me to tell you what you've done…” Donna hissed, slowly getting up, her knuckles white from the strength with which she clenched her fists. “What have you done!? You dare ask me what you've done!?” she shrieked, making you retreat even further, being chased by her.

“Donna…” You sighed somewhat scared, burned by the fire that emanated from her furious, unhinged gaze. “I don't know what you're talking about, I…”

“You don't know anything, do you? You never know anything,” she growled, with a nervous tic that revealed her crisis. “You're always the submissive and poor (Y/N). How good and quiet you are, tesoro… Is that how you do things? Do you deceive people with that pathetic attitude and then stab them in the back?”

“Please, no…” you murmured in a weak voice, crashing into a wall, cornered in front of Donna, who kept stabbing you with her gaze.

The memories, your demons, your feelings… Everything dangerously resembled moments from your past, terrible moments.

“Please, no,” the brunette mocked, tilting her head with an unpleasant grimace. “Porca puttana!” she shrieked, hitting the wall with her fist, right next to your head.

You closed your eyes, breathing heavily and shaking your head. Tears traveled freely down your cheeks.

“Do you think you can do this to me, (Y/N)?” she hissed, not noticing your fear, your crying or your nervousness, with a threatening, delirious voice. “I turn around for a second, (Y/N), one fucking second! And what do I find? My girl flirting with a whore…” she said almost in your ear, with a look of hate that pierced your chest.

“No, it's not what you think,” you said with your voice distorted by tears, closing your eyes to receive her punishment, the punishment you always deserved. “She's…”

“You bitch!” Donna shrieked, hurting your heart and ears. “You're mine! Do you hear me? Mia!” she shouted closer and closer, with furious breathing. “Who do you think you are to cheat on me?”

“I haven't cheated on you,” you sobbed, covering your face instinctively.

“Liar! Bitch!” the lady shouted again, grabbing you tightly by the collar of your dress, shaking you roughly. “You're a slut! You don't even deserve me to fuck you out of spite!”

“Shit, shit,” Angie muttered, walking nervously through the workshop. “Donna, stop!”

“I should have listened to them, (Y/N). They were telling me the truth,” Donna said with a nervous laugh, loosening her grip. “They knew what you were, that you would cheat on me! I was fool enough to want to surprise you and make you a fucking dress… Vaffanculo!”

“No, no!” you screamed desperately, with your legs shaking, threatening to fail. “No, Donna, I love you!”

“You don't love me!” the lady shrieked, shaking her head, trembling too, completely out of her mind. “They know it, they tell me so...” she murmured confusedly, blinking erratically, alternating angry growls with delirious laughter. “Yes, they are right...”

“I'm sorry!” you screamed, letting your legs give out, falling hopelessly to your knees at her mercy, bowing your head. “Donna, forgive me! I have failed you, forgive me!”

“Oh, you admit it, how bold,” she growled, looking at you with contempt.

“I haven’t done anything! But, but if I have, I apologize... Donna, forgive me, please, I will do anything for you to forgive me!” you sobbed in desperation, clinging to her legs, dragging yourself pathetically, as you used to do with Becca.

“Ugh, lasciami, troia,” she hissed, pushing you to the floor, looking at you with a disgust that could make you faint. “Don't touch me, do you hear me?”

“Please, Donna! Forgive me! I beg you!” you shrieked, crawling to grab her ankle, something she prevented with a soft movement. “I'm sorry! I'll do anything to remedy my mistake! Anything!”

Donna shook her head, trembling, putting a hand on her forehead, as if her head hurt.

“Ok, that's enough, silly Donna,” Angie said, standing in front of you, as if she wanted to protect you. “Calm down, Donna, come on…”

“N-No… they… they talk to me, they whisper to me…” she said nervously, covering her ears while she moved nervously, as if she didn't want to hear invisible voices. “They…”

“They aren’t here, Donna, I’m here, look at me, look at me, come on, it’s Angie, your Angie…” the doll said, trying to calm her demons.

“Angie… tell them to shut up… make them stop!” the lady screamed, twisting on herself while you cried against the wall, with your knees on your chest.

“We’ll do it together, come on,” the doll said, moving her arms to distract the lady. “Recite, recite, Donna; it’s your favorite… Sempre caro mi fu quest’ermo colle… Come on, come on, you know it!”

“E q-questa s-siepe, che da tanta parte…” Donna muttered, pronouncing with difficulty.

“That’s it! Go on, go on, they’ll shut up,” Angie encouraged, glancing at your pathetic figure. “Dell…”

“Dell’ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude,” she whispered, breathing, miraculously, calmer. “T-They've stopped…”

“Of course, good job, Donna,” Angie said excitedly, jumping up and down on the floor.

The lady made a gesture of pain, panting nervously and blinking, as if she didn't even know where she was.

“What…?” she asked disoriented, looking at you and frowning. “(Y/N)?”

“Look what you've done, Donna, you fool!” Angie shouted, running to your side. “Hey, hey, it's all over now, (Y/N)”

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry, I'm sorry…” you repeated over and over again, unable to look the lady in the face, covering yours with your hands as your tears soaked your clothes. “Forgive me, Donna…”

“(Y/N), I…” she murmured, bending down, still breathing heavily. “Amore mio…”

“Don't, please!” you squealed nervously, backing away when Donna reached out a hand towards you, twisting you around to defend yourself from a possible punishment. “Don't hit me anymore…”

“Don't hit you?” Donna asked, shaking her head and struggling with your hands. “(Y/N), please…”

“You're stupid, Donna! You've lost your mind again!” Angie snapped, pointing at her in an unpleasant way. “You scared her!”

“I don't… Gods… no…” the doll maker stammered unable to calm you down. “(Y/N), no… I don't…”

“I promise I won't see her again, I promise,” you sobbed, letting her take your hands away from your face. “I know… you don't have to punish me, I'll do it myself…” you said nervously, looking for a solution to the problem, one you always had with Becca.

Nervous, ignoring the lady's grip, you got up, looking for something in the workshop, something that would make you pay the penance for having made her angry.

“What are you doing? Hey, no, don't do...” she said, approaching nervously when she saw you with scissors in your hand.

“I'll cut my hair, okay? I won't be pretty for anyone this way,” you said with a pleading laugh, grabbing a lock of hair, ready to pay for your mistakes.

“What?! Have you gone crazy?” Donna asked, running to snatch the scissors from you. “(Y/N), please stop... doing that...”

“It's the least I can do to make it up to you...” you sobbed, struggling with her, without success, she was always stronger than you. “It's what she would want...”

“She? What...? Gods, (Y/N)...” the lady sighed, leaving the scissors and grabbing you by the shoulders. “You're talking about your ex, right? Did she do this to you?”

“I deserved it,” you said with a broken voice, with a sore throat. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry…”

“Basta, basta, per favore…” Donna pleaded, breathing nervously again. “I didn't want you to… Gods, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… I've lost my mind and I don't… cazzo… what have I done?” she lamented, putting her hands on her head.

“Screw things up as always, although I must admit that it is her fault for insisting,” Angie said, looking at her hands.

“Oh, cazzo…” Donna hissed, struggling with you to be able to hug you. “Amore mio, please, forgive me, I beg you… it wasn't me… I just… Gods… I'm not okay and… Oh, tesoro, please, I beg you… look at me…”

You obeyed, looking into her eye, at the extinguished, disappeared sparkle of rage.

“I just got jealous and… I lost control…” the lady explained, wiping away your tears while you were unable to utter a single word. “I never wanted to hurt you. I would never hurt you… I'm not like… her…”

“What a way to show it,” Angie said ironically, making you wake up from that nightmare.

“Aren't you going to hit me?” you asked, calming your crying, your fear.

“I would never do such a thing… you have to believe me,” Donna whispered, dragging your body towards hers, falling to the floor, cradling you, feeling her tears on your skin as well. “I'm so sorry, (Y/N), you should never have seen me like this… I'm sorry…”

“Donna…” you sobbed, letting her arms hug you, arms that you no longer feared, but that scared you, too much. “Donna…”

“Listen to me, I didn't mean to tell you those things… it wasn't me… if anyone deserves a slap, it's me,” she whispered as she cradled you, repentant, terribly hurt by her madness. “Come on, hit me.”

“What?” you said, looking up and shaking your head.  “No…”

“Do it, I deserve it,” Donna insisted.

Before you could refuse for the second time, a dull noise echoed in the workshop. Angie had taken that request as her own and had crossed the brunette's face, leaving her speechless.

“Ouch! Angie!” the lady shrieked, with a hand on her wounded cheek.

“She would never do it,” the doll said, amused, managing, after a while of suffering, to get a smile out of you. “(Y/N), are you okay?”

“Y-Yes, I think so,” you murmured, letting her affection pass through your skin, her apologies being heard by your ears. Becca never apologized.

“I told you that you shouldn't come down,” Angie said, while the lady lamented with her forehead next to yours. “Donna is sick and sometimes she hears voices that tell her horrible things. She is a jealous fool, but I swear to you by Giovanni Beneviento, my creator, that she loves you, and that she would never hurt you. I give you my word.”

“I…” you whispered, also calming the lady's crying. “You weren't upset about my friend?”

“Yes, but... I'm a stupid jealous thing... you have to forgive me... you have to...”

You cut her off with a kiss.

Maybe together, you could put an end to your demons.

[galadhir]

i think that there was a fanwriter named Nemis that wrote a lot of fics about E/C? i liked those fics!

My memory has never been good and after 20 years away it's completely unreliable, but still, that name rings a bell. I vaguely remember her being a nice person that I was aware of but never really interacted with because our areas of interest didn't quite intersect.

i hoped the show would give some spot to Celebrian … and instead. lol.

Indeed! I can just picture the show writers turning their noses up at the thought of writing Galadriel as a mother. She can't be a mother! Whoever heard of a mother being interesting? No one would think it was cool for Galadriel to be an actual queen and seasoned diplomat and seer, with a husband and a child.

Not to mention that Celebrian can't be interesting at all because she dies as a damsel in distress, so she must be a wimp all her life (ignoring the fact that everybody dies in distress.) People can't imagine that her life could have been interesting before that :( Sexism and failure of imagination again.

it would be interesting to see if anyone else had my idea … of course i have not read all the Galadriel/Celeborn fics out there so if someone has those, feel free to drop!

LOL! I'm sorry to end up dropping my own fics on you, but it sounds like you might enjoy my Oak and Willow

(Ignore all the tags, they were auto-imported from Henneth Annun when that archive backed up all its stories on Ao3 and then shut down.) And you can probably ignore chapters 1-4 if you're just in it for the C/G romance. They are world building for Doriath and setting up Celeborn's position in his home, with Thingol, Melian, Luthien and Daeron.

I originally started out intending this one to be a Sindarin history of the world, from the rising of the sun and the moon. But it rapidly became the story of C&G in the First Age. If I had known it was just going to be their love story against a backdrop of the events of the First Age, I might have left off chapter 1 at least, as that was setting up something I didn't actually write in the end.

But it is more or less what you're talking about. So if you're interested, you might like it :)

oh that's interesting, may i ask if it's still online? my beef with peter jackson started muuuuch later with the hobbit movies, but i like to see how other people reacted to the LOTR trilogy when it comes out

Yes, Battle of the Golden Wood is on Ao3 too - also imported from HASA (Henneth Annun Story Archive, which was the place to post elf fanfic back in the day.)

I agree with you about the Hobbit movies! Way too much bloat. There was the occasional nice thing in them - I enjoyed seeing Beorn's house and his bees, for example - but almost everything that PJ put in was grotesque and unfunny and unnecessary. The Hobbit would have made one great film, but there just isn't enough story in it to stretch to three.

as for what you say … i think that that's the current approach of Warner Bros, with its War of the Rohirrim stuff or whatever. i'm not enthusiast about it at all and i would probably complain about it too,

I know what you mean. I'm not enthusiastic either about a Rohirrim spin-off because it seems like they've picked the most low-effort story imaginable. Yes, you can use props from The Vikings and Game of Thrones. You can probably crib story lines from Bernard Cornwell's Anglo-Saxon stories. Have we not seen enough pseudo-early-medieval stories already?

I would have liked to see something we haven't seen before! (Which doesn't mean I won't at least check out the first season. But my hopes are not high.)

i do not want to be mean but btw i do have the feeling that a lot of rop fans are mostly migratory dark romance fans

Oh, the Reylo folks from Star Wars? That would actually make an awful lot of sense. They certainly behave like them. I managed to avoid them by being in the Kylux fandom at the time, and the Kylux fandom was numerous enough to just block them all and carry on doing our own thing regardless. Also a good time :)

it's lowkey … limitating? flattening? because neither galadriel nor sauron fit into this archetype and i do think that forcing them in this dynamic … just doesn't make them sauron and galadriel anymore? but i digress

I know exactly what you mean. I've mostly spent my fandom life in slash (m/m) fandom and there is a migratory slash fandom which is the same. If a pairing gets big enough then the msf will arrive and reduce it to a set of tropes and stereotypes, and then move on to the next big thing as soon as it arrives. In that case, you just have to wait for the next big thing and hope there is someone left still writing to pick up the fandom once they've gone.

Yeah at this point i do honestly wish that everyone can write its own retelling of lotr and publish it.

At least there is the opportunity for us to do it in Ao3, even if we're not allowed to make money on it. We can do it for love :)

Hoo, boy. I am definitely going to unfollow the Celeborn tag again, since it's full of Haladriel shippers arguing that Celeborn stans are harassing them.

I'm not getting into whether that's true. I have no interest in Rings of Power, and as far as I am concerned, Halbrand does not exist in Tolkien's world. I can't be somewhere where people mix Amazon's fanfiction with actual lore.

Also ship wars are not for me. I was a massive Celeborn defender during the release of the movies, and I wrote several novels worth of fanfic then. I think I'm spent.

Still, as a Celeborn fan I thought the Celeborn tag would be a great place to go to find stuff about Celeborn. How could I have been so foolish!

My poor lad! Not even his own tag is about him. Which is exactly what I should have expected, now I come to think about it.

[seyaryminamoto]

Fic-to-Art #44: Zuko and Katara meet Hotaru

This time around, my Patrons chose these two scenes from the prompt I offered them... and that prompt was "Hotaru", our tiny firefly herself <3 drawing her continues to be a challenge pertaining how to ever make babies look cute, but I hope she looks alright this time!

These two moments take place not too far from the other, but it's worth noting that Katara and Zuko don't get to see Hotaru at the exact same time. Thus, I figured I'd take advantage of the opportunity... and draw Sokka and Azula introducing their little one to their respective siblings. This will be an emotional chapter (lots of those coming up), but I do hope that these moments of happiness will be a good way to soothe the pains caused by our very intense angst from the current chapters... to be specific, this is chapter 378, so we're not that far away!! Just gotta wait a bit longer!

A part of me took joy in this specific prompt... the fandom has an abundance of "uncle Sokka" and "aunt Azula" content, be it with them together or not, while Zuko and Katara (also while together or not) happen to be the ones who become parents first. This often relegates their siblings to a secondary role, and too often there's either implications or outright accusations that these two just aren't fit for parenting. I don't really remember seeing much, if any, content where Zuko and Katara are the uncle and aunt instead... thus, I figured this would be a fun switch-up that, ultimately, doesn't mean any of these four aren't fit for parenting (Zuko's already a dad, Katara will be a mother someday in the future!)! It just means that Zuko and Katara get to bond with little Hotaru and be supportive siblings! And everyone's happy and wholesome in the process!

At any rate! I hope you guys like it, and as ever, if you'd like to be part of the creative process behind these pieces, a $1 pledge makes you eligible for suggesting art prompts and voting for the winner, as well as reading Gladiator snippets 6 days before the next chapter releases!

[tblsomedoodles]

I recently met Jennika in the idw comics and now i have Family Web thoughts.

(i had said a while ago that i probably wouldn't add Jennika or Venus until i knew more about them. Well here we are. for jennika at least. Still haven't met Venus (if she's even in the idw comics. everyone else is so i kinda expect to see her at some point) but i have a way of adding her in as well, which i might do regardless.)

I'm not sure i have words enough today to explain my entire thought process on Jennika here, but i'm going to certainly try. under the cut b/c it might end up rambling

Jennika is the turtles' bio little sister born months after their disappearance. I'm not sure if Lou knew about her before everything went down (i'm thinking not since i'd imagine it was fairly new news to even Mama and she just didn't have the time to tell him.)

Her Spider traits are visibly subtle unless she is actively showing them off. Her eyes are red (and can be entirely red w/ a bit of a glow like mama's spider eyes) and her teeth are pointed. She can also stick to surfaces (which she does a lot) and she might do webs like mikey (i'm still debating that one.)

Jennika grew up fairly isolated b/c Mama already lost her other four and she didn't want to risk loosing Jennika as well. She had tutors for everything. She excels in dance class and when she showed interest in martial arts, she was given a teach and excelled in that too.

She idolizes her mother and, having grown up being told about her older brothers (and promises that they would be reunited one day) she idolizes them as well. Well, she idolizes the versions of them she's mentally imagined over the last 12 years. So meeting them in person would be a bit of a shock since she was expecting four perfect brothers and, instead, got four goobers who think that even frozen pizza is a delicacy.

She can already use her mystics pretty reliably (via a mystic conduit like the boys' weapons). Hers is basically just shadow clones that she can (maybe) mystically switch places with when needed.

She usually hangs out on the ceiling of mama's office when she's not in classes. But, once she turned 13, was finally able to convince Mama to let her help a little more directly. Since then she has posing as Mama's assistant (though mama insists that she must use a clone if the task is anything other than standing next to Mama. Jennika doesn't always listen to this rule.)

I might have more, but i can't think of it right now. so just enjoy some concept art for the turtle's little sister, i guess.

[rotisseries]

the amount of people on that post who straight up don't fucking get what I mean when I say "conflict free fluff" is an actual nightmare

[jeannefostergoriot]

Different Beast

Oooohhh so these are the sirens! Okk. Fun take

“My real wife knows I’m not scared of the water” yeah for know. You know Ody, of all the fears, this one is the one that makes the most of sense for you. Also you’re extremely good at theater cause your voice sounded genuinely scared.

“And my real wife knows I don’t have a daughter”, yeah, the point where I called the bluff

“We are the man-made monster, we won’t take more suffering from you!” Chills. Perfect. Him singing with the crew. All of them being done with it.

Oh, that’s how he knew. An abandoned ship. Ok. Clever.

(Also I wasn’t sure we were out of Underworld and since when but ok I guess)

And wow the genius of just deciding to read her lips to see if he can get information. Bravery.

And he did learned the lesson from the Cyclops. Don’t let a foe at your hands roam free. Good.

I loove the character development, the evolution, the fact that yes, he kills the monsters this time, even if that means becoming a monster.

And he answered his question from “Just A Man”: when does a man become a monster? When he has no other way anymore. That’s what the crew is saying now.

Ok, so on advice from @permanently-stressed I went to listen to Epic in order, from the live for the release of Wisdom Saga.

Reaction per song in the reblogs

[mayo-is-an-instrument]

I made a boo oc!! I'll make more drawings to use them for when I start making "serious" YouTube videos :3

[skibasyndrome]

So one thing I've always loved about uni/studying/learning new things is when you have different subjects or different tiny dots of knowledge and slowly, as you learn more and more, those tiny splashes of knowledge are becoming less isolated, and you realize that it's all connected and - at least with my subjects being in the humanities - you sort of “unlock” this new perspective on a certain aspect of the human condition. And like, that's fun enough and - if I'm being honest - probably my favorite thing about studying already as it is, BUT NOW, now that I've finally gotten back into writing as a hobby this is just ANOTHER dimension for me to expand that knowledge into and to use that knowledge for. And I am absolutely living for it. So happy to be back on my bullshit and so happy to be at a place in my life where these two passions of mine fit so seamlessly together and one passion benefits from the other and vice versa

[mr-independent]

you know, its not brought up in fics often but ted is extremely well read. he doesnt brag about it, but hes read everything from f scott fitzgerald's b sides to ayn rand's doorstoppers to the sixteen book Ender series, etc etc etc. Ted reads about as much as we see Beard reading (which. in my head is a trait that was passed on, a new focus to sharpen the mind and keep him out of trouble and his mind off drugs, something Ted offered up as a coping mechanism for when his own dad died, a way to have fun and adventure and escape without ending up in jail like Ted himself had a handful of times before, scaring the bejeezus out of his ma.)

this turned into a mini fic and i lost my train of thought but point is, Ted reads So Much and more people need to pick up on this in fics please and thank you.

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Wednesday | Tagging @thesingularityseries @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @strangefable @nightbloodbix @aceghosts @madparadoxum @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @euryalex @sstewyhosseini @detectivelokis @purplehairsecretlair @jinfromyarikawa @shegetsburned @clicheantagonist @locustandwildhoney @fourlittleseedlings @poisonedtruth @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cassietrn @wrathfulrook @jacobsneed @voidika @harmonyowl @henbased @schoute and anyone with something to share <3

Sharing another snippet from Chapter 10: Calahan and Leslie's first meeting. A rocky start of a bromance. Sprinkling some Mary May x Hartley breadcrumbs in there, too. <3

Hours after discovering Harker passed out on the side on the road among two other dead Resistance members, Calahan found himself parking his truck in front of the Spread Eagle. Arguably, he had never needed a drink more. Not only had he lost two recruits, no matter how difficult they had proven themselves to be, while the third was still recovering from the Bliss bullet he was hit with, but he had discovered his biggest fear to be true: Sabrina was in the hands of John Seed, just like Hudson. He couldn't come up with any other explanation for what Justin had seen on that road after Charlie's group had ambushed the bastard. The woman sparing a life, the child in the car, every detail he had received from the woozy teen further confirmed his theory about the identity of the woman John had with him. And Savannah. His gaze darkened at the thought of the kid that called him uncle anywhere near that goddamned bunker. "Gray wouldn't allow it. She would fight like hell.", he whispered to himself as he finally exited the Eden's Gate truck he had recommissioned from a capture party recently. "Rest in peace, NOT, fuckers.", he said out loud as he slammed the door shut and turned in the direction of the bar. A couple of minutes later he was sitting in his usual seat inside, nursing a glass of whatever liquor Mary May still had in stock after John Seed had his men confiscate her main stash few days back. Bastard is quickly climbing up my shit list. Calahan didn't care much about what she was serving him as long as it took the edge off, calmed him down after finally getting news on Sabrina and her sister. His eyes fell down on the handmade rainbow bracelet Savannah had gifted him few weeks back, something he hadn't taken off since she had tied it around his wrist with the biggest grin on her freckled face. It was another reminder of what needed protecting, why he fought as hard as he did even before the Reaping's start. Why he argued with Whitehorse so often, why he lashed out at the damned Peggies as a result, why he didn't give a single fuck about protocol when it came to the Project. As he ran his fingers over the white beads that spelled out his actual name, not "Rookie", he told himself this is what Joseph should never get his claws into: the innocents he could so easily poison with his deadly ideas. And yet John had done just that- gotten his hands on Savannah, too. Where are you, Tiny? You better be alright or he will be paying in blood.

"Something's on your mind, Rookie. I can tell.", Mary May stopped in front of him. He let out a dry laugh, "Just the usual bullshit, gorgeous. Don't worry." "You sure?", she eyed the way he was gripping the glass in his hand as he willed his anger to settle down, to retreat, "You seem out of sorts. I've seen that look before, you know, then seconds later you were punching a customer." "He was asking for it." "Didn't say he wasn't. But still… what's up?", Mary May raised an eyebrow and leaned against the bar, her hand coming to rest on top of his. Calahan found himself unable to process the unexpected touch after months of her ever only being annoyed with his flirting. He opened his mouth, wishing all his worry would pour out as easily as she poured his next drink, knowing she was good at listening to people. Her soft blue eyes assured him of it in that moment, hinting that maybe she actually cared for him. Was willing to hear him out. But the words never came, instead the bell above the door chimed, putting an end to the brief moment between them as she returned to her post to greet whoever had entered. Calahan didn't bother turning around, instead he released a tired sigh and took another sip. He reveled in the familiar burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat, in the promise it would get him closer to feeling numb, even for a short while. "I will be damned.", Mary May exclaimed suddenly. Her tone made him look towards the bar's entrance sharply, his hand immediately reaching for his pistol on instinct in anticipation of trouble. It took him seconds to register the sight in front of him, seconds where he wondered if he was imagining things, if the liquor was hitting him harder than expected. Certainly that was the only explanation for seeing John Fuckface Seed standing in front of him. Before he could think twice, he practically flew from his chair, almost knocking it over as he charged at the bastard. His hand wrapped around his neck before he slammed him into the wall next to the door with all his might.

"Where is SHE?", Calahan screamed, the anger he was struggling to keep under wraps escaping at the unexpected appearance of the man that fucked with him daily. The man that paraded Hudson on his broadcast as a cautionary tale for what's to come. The man that he suspected had Sabrina and an innocent child as prisoners, too. Deep blue eyes stared at him in confusion, betraying his panic. Good. You should be afraid. "I'm-", the bastard tried to croak out, the force of Hartley's hold on his windpipe made it impossible for him to get anything else out. Calahan knew he had to loosen his grip, that he'd get no information from a deadman, but his hate for the Seeds had reached a boiling point with the missed opportunity to save Sabrina still fresh on his mind. "CALAHAN! Stop.", Mary May pulled at his shoulder, trying to bring him back from the edge, at the same time the man grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back swiftly. "I am not JOHN SEED.", came out as a frustrated shout as he restrained him, the words making Hartley blink in surprise, his face no doubt mirroring Mary May's. "Let go of my arm, bastard, if you don't want me to break yours.", he gritted out and whoever the man was finally released his arm. "Rookie. You okay?", Mary May whispered as she put a hand on his bicep, her gaze a mix of shock and concern. "He attacked me, m'am. And you're asking if he's okay?" M'am? Fuck me. Definitely not John Seed. Calahan turned around, scanning the man that stood in a defensive pose in the doorway from head to toe. The dark hair, beard, blue eyes… he could pass for John's fucking double. "I will be damned.", he parroted Mary May's words from earlier, "Who the fuck are you?" The stranger rubbed his throat before answering, "Detective Leslie Parish. I'm here looking for, well, you." Calahan couldn't help the shocked laugh that escaped him, "Isn't my day just getting better and better?", he returned to his seat and pointed to the chair next to him, "Sit."

Mary May sprung back into action, retreating behind the bar as she addressed what she considered now a potential customer, "Anything to drink, Detective?" "Whiskey. On the rocks, uh-", Leslie responded in a low tone as he sat down and rubbed his face, "Sorry, I didn't catch your name…" "Mary May." She wasted no time pouring him a drink which he downed immediately the second she put it down in front of him. "Thank you." "Now you've officially passed the test. Definitely not John Seed.", Calahan spoke up, making the detective next to him laugh. "Sorry for almost choking the life out of you.", he added and reached a hand to him, "Deputy Calahan Hartley, though most call me Rookie." The man accepted the handshake with a raised eyebrow, "You're new to the Sheriff's?" "No." "Should I call you Rookie, then?" Calahan paused, not many had bothered to ask him that question, not since Sabrina had shown up on her first day months ago. "Calahan or Cal would be nice." Leslie nodded, "Noted." "I gather you're aware you look like a certain someone?", Mary May interjected. "My last few days have been hell. Fuck, the moment I arrived in your beautiful County, I had a shotgun pointed at my face. Lost count how many times I had to explain to people I'm not John Seed, or say I'm not related to him or his brother in any way." "Have to admit, it's kind of a challenge not to punch you in the face, no offense.", Calahan eyed him with curiosity, "Why are you here?" "I planned on visiting someone when all hell broke loose. Haven't managed to find her yet." "Who?" "I thought if anyone would know where she is, it would be you, Deputy.", Leslie took a deep breath, his blue eyes filled with worry as he muttered, "I'm looking for Sabrina Donovan. She used to tell me stories about you anytime we talked over the phone, then people mentioned your name as the one in charge of things out here, and it all clicked. I knew who I had to track down." Well, fuck me, ain't that a plot twist.

"I don't know what to say, aside from that I'm looking for her as well. Have been for days now.", Calahan took out his zippo, flicking it open and closed in attempt to soothe his nerves. "Where is she, Calahan? What happened?" "You might need another drink before I tell you that story." Leslie's eyes narrowed while Mary May poured him a second glass. "What happened?", he repeated in a low tone. "On the first we got called in afterhours by the Sheriff himself, Sabrina included, weren't told much about why until a Federal Marshal walzed in announcing we'd be arresting Joseph Seed. He was so giddy, too giddy." "Sabrina didn't tell me anything about the cult, how serious things were…" "Sounds just like her, too independent for her own good.", Calahan gave him a sad smile, before continuing, "So, we flew over to his compound, entered the fucker's church while he's holding a service in the middle of the night. Like what the hell, right? Sheriff had decided Sabrina would have the honors to slap the cuffs on him. At the last second, she backed away, all frantic, saying something's wrong." "She's never afraid of arrests. I've known her for years. She has chased down all sorts of questionable characters… not once have I seen her flinch.", Leslie's face darkened, but he didn't say anything else, waiting for more. "My thoughts exactly, but this family, Detective… They're different.", Calahan lowered his voice, "The second we walked in John fucking Seed was eyeing her with interest. Got even worse when she hesitated to arrest his brother while the Marshal lost his shit at the delay. I jumped in, cuffing him. We managed to escort him out… but his people refused to let him go, crashed our chopper." "Sabrina… is she dead? Is this what you're trying to tell me?" Hartley shook his head, "Last time I saw her, she was alive. I insisted to get her out, to help with that fucking seatbelt. Joseph's men were all around, took away the others from the chopper. Sabrina demanded I run, promising she'd be right behind." He was close to losing his cool at the memory of that cursed early morning.

Mary May put an ashtray in front of him then, whispering, "I'm making an exception this one time." Calahan gave her a grateful smile, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag of it before adding, "We never reunited, I bumped into the fucking Marshal instead, bastard left me to drown after we tried to make a run for it and a freaking plane sent our truck flying off a bridge." "Fuck." "Yeah. A good samaritan saved me. Dutch. Helped me get back on my feet, offered we start a resistance seeing how the cult has everything on lock down and no help is coming." "Good call, with everything gone to shit." He nodded, "We had a mole, you know. Fucking Nancy. Loyal to the "Father", as Joseph likes to call himself. Didn't get us the reinforcement Whitehorse asked for." "And Sabrina?" "Have been looking for her ever since the goddamned Reaping started. It's what they call this shitshow. "Reaping". Think they're saving our souls, that the world is about to end…" Leslie looked lost in thought as he uttered out, "I saw John's broadcast with the other Deputy." Hartley lit another cigarette, his anger bubbling as he kept reminding himself the man in front of him wasn't John, despite how much he resembled him. "Yeah, he has Joey. Has been calling me daily too, railing me up with her capture, but hasn't said anything about Sabrina." "I went to her house. Cult trucks were parked at the front, no sign of her or her sister, it's why I've been trying to find you, Calahan." "I might have something, but I doubt you'd like it. I sure as hell didn't. Are you sure you're ready?" Leslie downed his drink, "Yes." Mary May winced, "Yeah, maybe avoid saying that word," she gestured to his head, "with that face." "Sorry.", he sent her a knowing smile.

"Earlier today, a trainwreck of a recruit showed up here with his buddies, claiming he has intel on John's next move, was planning to ambush him. I didn't believe it, so I turned down their invite." "Something tells me they were right?" "Sadly. Hour or so later, I get a call from the youngest guy, saying they have him, listing off their location before he went silent. I drove there and found quite the bloody scene." Leslie's hands formed fists on the bar. "Bastard killed two of the three guys, slashed their throats, the one that contacted me got shot with a Bliss bullet, but he's recovering." "Bliss bullet?" "Potent shit. It's a drug the cult makes, knocks you out in seconds, the things they use it for… pure hell, Detective." "How are things this bad?" "They've been preparing. Joseph claims to see the future, you know. Visions from God, he calls them. When we showed up at the church, he said he knew we'd come, that we'd try to take him away, but "God" won't let us." "Fuck, and Rina didn't think to tell me any of this. Assured me it's all fine.", Leslie muttered in frustration. "She does that a lot, doesn't she?" "Who shot Harker with a Bliss bullet?", it was Mary May that spoke up, her voice curious. Calahan took a deep breath, revealing what he had planned on keeping a secret. "Sabrina.", he said quietly, glad the bar was empty. "What the fuck, Rookie?" "She saved the bastard, gorgeous. He has her sister, from what Harker told me." Leslie slammed his hand on the bar, "Savannah. Where are they?", he got up from his chair, but Hartley caught his arm, stopping him from storming out. "Sit down, Les. As much as it pains me to say this, to be the voice of reason… we have to be rational about this."

"I should have come with her.", he said darkly, but followed Calahan's advice. "I've been down that road, too. Thoughts about what I should have done keep me up at night. But if I know one thing about Sabrina… she's resourceful, resilient." "She is.", he smiled. "I don't know for certain where she could be, it kills me to think he dragged Savannah into that bunker.", his fingers touched the bracelet again absently, "But we can't storm it, not with how much manpower and resources he has, not without a solid plan or people we can rely on, especially when we have no eyes inside to be sure she's even there." "Fuck. I- I know you're right, Deputy." "He hasn't mentioned her once, Leslie. Not once in the radio calls to me, she's not in the broadcast, it's like he doesn't want people to know he has her. Anytime I ask about her, he dodges my question." "He's planning something." Mary May looked between the two with a unreadable expression, "You don't think he turned her?" "Fuck no, Mary May. You know Sabrina. I just told you she saved Harker." "Fuck.", she pursed her lips, "Rookie, I know the games John plays, how he breaks people. And after Nancy… what if Sabrina's on his side, too? Maybe has been all along." Calahan shook his head sharply, "She's not turned. She's not a fucking Peggie. I know her." "Fine. For what is worth, you know I trust your judgment.", Mary May crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a stern look. "Peggies?", Leslie seemed lost in thought as he asked that. "Project at Eden's Gate, Peggies for short. It's what locals call Joseph's men." "Noted."

Hartley took a deep breath, putting out his cigarette before he turned to Leslie, "Look, I know there's not much to do right now about Sabrina, not without more information… but seeing how you're here, that you found me, maybe it's all for the best. I sure as hell can use another helping hand against the Project." Leslie's eyes darkened, a look of determination coming over his features, "Your battle is now my battle, too, Calahan." "Good.", Calahan raised his glass for a toast before asking, "You got a gun, Detective?" Leslie nodded, "My service weapon.", he opened his leather jacket, showing off a holstered pistol. "We're gonna get you more serious firepower ASAP.", Calahan pointed to the gun, "You had to use it yet?" "A few times. The "Peggies" are everywhere. Even tried to take over the motel I was staying at. I tried to help people along my way here as much as possible.", he said the nickname with uncertainty. "Learning fast. The only good Peggie is a dead one, Les, because chances are they'd try to take you back to John's bunker or dunk you in the river to cleanse you.", Calahan's voice became lighter, "Hell, now that I'm thinking of it, you have an advantage, if you ask me. They see your face and start to wonder if they're not about to shoot their precious leader, giving you an extra second to strike." Leslie chuckled humorlessly, "What a way to spend my vacation days. I will keep it in mind." "Is Abeline okay?", Mary May questioned, her tone laced with worry. "She was when I left, she's a fighter. Who do you think pulled that shotgun on me? Never have been more confused in my life. She went from wielding a gun to making me coffee." "Good old Abby.", Mary May laughed, "Thank you, Detective. For looking out for our people." Her words made Leslie look away, "Just doing my duty." "We got a shy one on our hands, gorgeous.", Calahan slapped him on the back as he got up and headed for the door, "Come now, there's some people you need to meet." Leslie finished his drink, muttering a quiet "thank you" on his way out. "Leslie." Mary May called out before they could exit, reaching under the bar and pulling out a Spread Eagle branded hat that she threw at him, "Might want to cover your face as much as possible. Spare yourself a "friendly" welcome or two."

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Ughhhhhhh I hate writing and I hate not writing and I hate myself