#But this is why I say you have to let people be wrong

[ducktracy]

it's seriously so.. Something that i've had multiple people tell me that my posts are the first they're hearing about The Day the Earth Blew Up.. WHICH IS WHY I'M BEING AN OBNOXIOUS SHILL!!! some theaters have early releases as soon as TODAY (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) so please please be sure to check your local theaters and listings!! take a friend! take your family! in doing so you not only spread the message that people want to see more traditionally animated films, you not only convince WB you don't want to see movies that are glorified shoe commercials, you not only convince WB that they are dead wrong for attempting to write this off for tax purposes, but you get a pretty dang good film out of it, too! let director Pete Browngardt and supervising producer Alex Kirwan tell you the same 👇

personally, as someone who works in animation, i'm very against the messaging of "IF YOU DON'T WATCH THIS YOU ARE SINGLEHANDEDLY RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY FAILURE THAT COMES. YOU ARE MURDERING THE ANIMATORS". i find it condescending and unprofessional, and it only alienates your audience further. nobody should be forced to watch something they dont want to. especially when most (if not all) of these problems come strictly from above.

HOWEVER: you have absolutely nothing to lose by watching this.

you can feel good about supporting a film that almost didn't make it and helping to contribute to spreading a message that we want more films like this. you get to bask in the satisfaction of proving the higher ups wrong, that we DO want movies like this, we DO want traditional animation, we DO want to support the artists. but the best thing of all is that you get to enjoy a traditionally animated film on the big screen again

knowledge or investment of the characters and series is genuinely, in my eyes, irrelevant. i sincerely think it has elements that can be appreciated by anyone--even if, again, it just comes down to the satisfaction of doing a good turn and showing your support for animation. there is absolutely nothing you can lose by supporting it, but so, so much you, these workers, and the medium of animation as a whole can gain. if you have a spare hour and a half within the next few weeks, get out of the house, grab a friend, grab your siblings, grab your significant other, or just grab your own company and chill out with a gorgeous and funny and heartwarming and history defying movie. it's no small miracle that something like this exists in the current climate of the animation industry. don't you want to say you could play a hand in experiencing that miracle?

[justauthoring]

More Than You'd Think.

Summary: Surely, you were just some random daughter of some random employee of Sylus'. And surely that meant Sylus thought nothing of you. But, when faced with danger, you learn just how wrong you are.

Pairing: Qin Che / Sylus x F!Reader (not MC!)

Word Count: 2,849

A/N: Some angst and then fluff to make us all feel better :)

TW. attempted sexual assault, violence and brief mention of death (not reader or sylus)

"My father will be right out."

"Thank you... Y/N."

Your gasp is barely concealed, a soft shutter leaving your lips as you glance up to meet Sylus' eyes. He's already staring down at you, his usual air of confidence obvious as he stands before you with his shoulders held high. There's a small smirk on his lips, while his heavy-lidded gaze stays focused on you.

You make a strong effort to remain strong, but you hadn't the slightest clue Sylus, the leader of Onychinus and your father's boss, had any idea who you were. Let alone your name.

It's not like this is the first time either of you have spoken but any conversation between the two of you has never been any of subtance. More often then not, it was you telling him you'd fetch your father and him humming in response.

You don't miss the slight quirk of his lips as you react to that realization, shifting on your feet. "You're welcome, sir," you offer, lightly bowing your head.

Despite your shock, you're not foolish enough to think that Sylus knowing your name means anything. Your father has been working under Sylus for a long time and therefore, you're fully aware of the power that Sylus holds in the N109 zone.

Not to mention, you've grown up in the N109 zone you're entire life. You're fully aware of how dangerous people like Sylus are, even without your father's warnings.

"Please," Sylus offers after a short moment of silence. His voice is light as you meet his gaze, and the smirk has softened to something a little more sincere. "Call me Sylus, Y/N."

You're sure you're hallucinating what's happening in that moment. Because there's no way the leader of Onychinus is allowing some random daughter of one of his men call him by his first name.

Surely, you're going crazy.

"O-Oh," you find yourself stumbling over your words. You're not even sure what it is you're trying to say as you're saying it. "Well, th-then, um, Sylus--"

"--Sir!"

Halted at the sound of your father's voice, both you and Sylus' attention is shifted behind you. Your father comes rushing to the front of the office, looking out of breath and panicked.

"My apologies," he breathes, offering a bow. "I did not mean to take so long."

Sylus waves him off with a simple gesture of his hand. "It's fine," he assures with ease, "shall we?"

He gestures back towards the direction your father came from, the warehouse in which your father has set up what Sylus had come for today. Knowing that you're presence is no longer needed, you step back, with the intetion of moving towards the front desk.

"Y/N," your father calls, making you pause. You try to ignore the way Sylus' noticeable gaze falls on you in response, focusing on your father. "I need you to go pick up a package for me. Davie should have them ready and I'll need them for tomorrow."

Nodding, you change your direction, heading to grab your coat. "Sure thing, dad."

You expect that to be that, distantly hearing your father call for Sylus to follow him. Yet, once again, you're stopped by a voice; this time, Sylus.

"You'd send your daughter to grab a package on her own?"

Lips parting, you spin back to Sylus, confused. By the expression on your fathers face, he's just as confused.

"Y-Yes, sir," your father nods, obviously unsure of why Sylus cares. "Y/N often gets packages for me. It's... too hard for me to make the trip anymore."

Sylus frowns. "Surely you realize how unsafe it is for someone like your daughter to be walking through the N109 zone alone."

Your father seems stunned. To be fair, so are you. But, to save your father from stumbling over his words and making a fool of himself, you decide to brave Sylus' weirdly placed concern.

"It's alright, sir--Sylus," you assure, offering a gentle smile. "I've done it plenty of times. And I can protect myself if needed."

Sylus looks skeptical, his eyes running across your figure as his face twists in... concern? You're not sure and it's too much for you to even try and begin thinking about, so you choose not to. With another reassuring, polite smile, you finish pulling your coat on and step towards the door.

"I'll be back in a bit, dad," you smile at your father, before turning to Sylus. "Good luck with your meeting." You offer a short bow in response, and with that, you make your way out, unaware of Sylus' gaze that follows you.

Or, the pair of dark black eyes that follow you the second you step outside.

-

"Thank you, Davie. I'll make sure my father knows about the hiccup with the order."

"You're welcome there, Y/N." Davie smiles at you, "you sure you'll be okay heading home? I didn't think I'd keep you that long."

You just smile, brushing him off. "Not to worry, Davie. I'll be fine. It's a short walk."

Davie only hesitates a moment longer before nodding, offering you one final wave as you turn to make your walk home.

As you make your way back home, you pull your coat closer around yourself, keeping your eyes peeled around you in case of anything. You'd brushed it off to Davie, but realistically you were a little nervous walking home when it was already this dark out.

You hadn't expected the favour for your father to take that long, and you can't help but think about what Sylus had said before you'd left. It wasn't like you had thought he was wrong, but you'd been assured by the daylight and the fact that you had grown up in the N109 zone all your life.

Danger was something you were used to. It didn't mean it didn't frighten you though.

Your hand holds the small knife you carry with you at all times tightly, trying to hum quietly to yourself as you walk, pace fast.

You can't help but let your mind wander to how hard Sylus behaviour had been earlier that day. You weren't sure how the man treated other daughters of his employees, but you convince yourself he probably just had some sort of gentleman code he upheld. Sure he was the leader of a dangerous gang, didn't mean he was terrible in all aspects.

He'd never been anything but kind to you, even if conversations had been brief. Your father running behind today had just presented him the opportunity to speak more, and if anything, he'd just done it out of kindness.

His concern about you walking through the N109 zone alone? That was probably just because of the well-known knowledge of how dangerous N109 was and the fact that if anything happened to you, it would impact your fathers work.

Which would impact Sylus.

Yeah. That had to be it.

Shaking your head of silly thoughts, you take a sharp left, only to pause at the sight of a shadow up ahead. You instantly stop, feeting freezing beneath you, as you stare at the figure. You can't quite make out distinguishable features, but the build is clearly that of a man.

For a long, silent moment, the both of you stand there. Then, he steps forward.

You instantly step back, only to hear approach footsteps behind you. Your head snaps to the left, heart falling to the pit of your stomach when you see a man heading your way. A look to your right tells you another man is coming from that way too.

Breath hitching in panic, your eyes widen as a voice calls out;

"Well, hello there, pretty lady."

It's the man in front of you that calls it out, voice sickeningly sweet and promising nothing good. Feeling your body start to shake, you grip your knife tighter with your right hand, your left holding the pack and take a step back.

The man in front of you steps into the light, letting you see the lecherious grin on his face.

Swallowing thickly, you eye him for one long moment before turning around and breaking out into a run. You make it only a few steps before you feel a hand grab your shoulder, yanking you back. You don't waste a second, pulling the knife out from your coat pocket and swinging it at the man.

He dodges it, barely, but then the two other men reach you. They flank you on either side, and your arm swings out wildly, package falling to the ground with a bang as you let out a cry.

You manage to knick one of the men on the arm, him crying out in pain in response. It causes him to stumble back, giving you a bit of reprieve to try and break free. You strengthen your efforts into attacking with your knife, trying to ignore the fear radiating through your body and focus on the fight rather than flight.

But then, the man who you'd seen first, manages to grab your wrist. His grip pinches, fingers digging into your wrist as you try to pull your hand away.

"Stop!" You bellow, "no!"

It's useless. The men are stronger than you, especially with the two of them. And it doesn't go beyond your notice that the one you'd stabbed is getting back up too.

The two men overpower you, squeezing your wrist hard enough something pops and the knife clatters to the ground, leaving you completely defenceless.

Your arms are grabbed, body yanked forward until you're pressed against a wall. Pain radiates from your back where you're slammed up against the brick wall, a groan leaving your lips. It doesn't stop you, though, your hands striking out to push the man off of you.

"Fucking bitch," the one you'd stabbed bellows, striking you across the cheek. The punch stings, and you're sure your cheek is a bright pink as a result.

"This could've been so much easier for you," one of the men huffs at you, grabbing you by the chin to pull your gaze on him. "If you'd just submitted like a good girl."

Ignoring the rapid race of your heart, you narrow your eyes at him. "Fuck off."

Face twisting in anger, he grabs the wrist they'd sprained earlier, slamming it against the wall as you scream out in pain. It throbs in pain, strength leaving you as you try to fight back the tears that threaten to fall.

Your other wrist is pressed against the wall as well, and then something glints in your gaze.

"Now, stop fighting us or we'll really hurt you."

Eyeing the knife, the first tear slips past your defences, your vision blurring as your eyes water. It occurs to you then you really won't be able to fight your way out of this. Your only weapon had been taken from you and now you were the one with a weapon held against you.

"That clear?"

Swallowing thickly, you nod, inhaling sharply.

"Good," the man holding the knife grins. "Let's get started then."

A whimper leaves your lips as he steps towards you. His two henchman, one of them being the one you'd stabbed, hold you against the wall, grips never relenting as the main one stops in front of you. He drags the tip of the knife across your cheek, your body trembling as he continues down across the length of your neck until he reaches the collar of your blouse.

It occurs to you then that in your scuffle, you'd lost your coat.

"Please," you find yourself begging, bravo gone in face of your vulnerability. "Please don't."

"Too late, pretty lady," the one you'd stabbed leers at you. "We're going to make sure it hurts."

Letting out a sob, you weakly try to break free. It's useless.

The sound of buttons popping is all you hear as you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the cold air hit your bare skin. The main man cuts away at your blouse like it's nothing, until you find your entire upper half bare, with nothing but your bra covering your modesty.

Sniffling, you feel your muscles freeze the second you feel lips press against your skin. The men lean into you, as if breathing you in, as you feel like you might throw up.

"Let's get this bra off," one of the men breathes against your neck.

You feel fingers slip underneath the strap of your bra and your breath hitches.

And then, you hear a cry of pain.

It startles you, eyes snapping open in confusion. For a second, you're not sure if you're the one who cried out in pain. But then, you realize that the man with the knife is no longer in front of you.

The men holding you seem just as confused, but before either of them can do anything, the one you'd stabbed is swept up in a mist of red and black and knocked back. He goes flying, your eyes widening as he lands againts the ground a few feet away from you, landing right on the shoulder you'd stabbed.

In the next second, the same mist takes the one to your right and sends him flying similarly.

You fall to your knees in an instant, legs giving out beneath you as you hold your throbbing wrist to your chest. You're terrified and baffled, not understanding what's happened.

And then, your answer steps in front of you.

Sylus steps in front of you, his gaze soft as he stares down at you. As he crouches in front of you, he's taking his jacket off of his shoulders and moving to wrap it around you. He's careful, making sure you know he means no harm as he covers you.

"S-Sylus?"

Your voice comes out small, broken. Sylus just shakes his head.

"Give me one second, Y/N. Then I'll get you out of here."

He stands back up, turning towards the scattered men on the ground before you. He instantly makes his way towards the main guy, towering over his cowering figure.

It seems Sylus' power really is something that precedes him.

As you sit there, pressed against the wall and cradling Sylus' jacket, it doesn't escape your attention that Sylus does more than just hurt the guy who'd held a knife to you. His other two henchman are hurt more by Sylus, but left for the two men who'd been standing back quietly waiting for Sylus' que. As Sylus turns back to you, he sends a nod at them.

It's clear what that means.

"Can I touch you?"

Blinking, you meet Sylus' gaze. He stares down at you, gaze soft and reassuring, making sure to keep his distance so as not to scare you.

Slowly, you nod.

-

Sylus doesn't take you back home.

Cradled in his arms, Sylus carries you all the way back to his place. When you quietly ask him about your father, he assures you that his men will inform your father of your whereabouts. You don't argue more than that.

Now, in Sylus' living room, you're wearing one of his shirts and sat on his couch while he bandages your wrist.

You've been otherwise silent until that moment, still startled and not really sure what to say. Sylus doesn't pressure you either.

But as you watch him finish bandaging your wrist, you find yourself speaking up.

"How did you know?"

Sylus glances up at your question, raising a brow as he meets your gaze. "Mephisto," he expains, using his head to gesture to his right. You follow his direction, eyes falling on the crow perched on a table across from you. "I can see through him."

You nod, even though you don't fully understand.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get there," Sylus breathes. "They shouldn't have even been able to touch you."

Blinking, you stare down at him. "Why do you care?"

Sylus, to your surprise, seems shocked by your question. His eyes widen briefly, lips parting and it's the first time you've seen him unsure.

"Why wouldn't I care?"

"I'm just the daughter of one of your employees," you remind, shaking your head. "I'm nobody."

Leaning forward, Sylus shakes his head. "You could never be nothing." Then, pausing, he sighs. "I've... tried to make my affections for you obvious, but clearly I wasn't obvious enough."

Eyes widening, you blink back at him.

"You're not just some daughter, Y/N." Reaching forward, he slips his hand into your not sprained one, threading his fingers through yours and squeezing. "And no one will ever hurt you again."

The tears that well in your eyes are out of your control. As your lips begins to tremble, you stare down at Sylus.

"I was so scared."

You're pulled into his arms, head pressed against his chest as he envelopes you completely. Despite everything, the touch doesn't scare you. Instead, it fills you with an overwhelming sense of safety and assurance.

You let yourself fall into Sylus' embrace, clutching onto him.

[regressionschool]

Trigger [an ABDL Hypnosis Story]

The café was comfortably lively, a gentle hum of voices and the occasional clink of silverware against ceramic filling the space. Sunlight streamed through wide windows, glinting off the water glasses, and the air smelled of fresh coffee and warm pastries.

Molly sat across from Dave, stirring cream into her coffee with small, absentminded motions. She had barely touched her croissant, only nibbling at the edges while her thoughts drifted. Dave, on the other hand, was cutting into a stack of pancakes with practiced ease, unfazed by the conversation unfolding between them.

“I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Molly said, shaking her head slightly. “Like—Emma just… lets it happen?”

Dave chewed, swallowed, and lifted his coffee cup. “It’s not really ‘letting,’ though, is it? It’s what she wants.”

Molly made a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “Does she? Or is it just what he wants?”

Dave arched a brow but didn’t respond immediately. He took another bite, letting the syrup soak into the pancakes before cutting another neat square. “She seems happy. I mean, she always said she wanted something different, right?”

Molly’s fingers tightened around her cup. “Different isn’t the same as being put back into—into toddlerhood. That’s not just a ‘different lifestyle,’ Dave. It’s… regressive.”

He shrugged. “And?”

“And��” Molly exhaled sharply, setting her spoon down a little too hard. “And I just don’t get how she could want that. Like, really want it. No responsibility? No autonomy? Just being put in—” she stopped, shaking her head. “It freaks me out.”

Dave took a sip of coffee, watching her over the rim of his mug. He didn’t argue, didn’t tell her she was overreacting. That wasn’t his way. Instead, he let the silence sit between them for a beat before saying, “I think it freaks you out because you can’t imagine wanting it. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Molly frowned. “I didn’t say it was wrong. I said it was scary.”

Dave tilted his head slightly. “Same thing, in a way.”

Molly opened her mouth, then shut it again, glaring at her croissant like it had personally offended her. She didn’t like that—when Dave did that thing where he made a point without actually making one. It left her feeling unsteady, like she had to defend herself when she wasn’t even sure what she was defending.

She pushed her plate away slightly, leaning back in her chair. “I just keep thinking about it. Like, if that can happen to Emma, could it happen to anyone? What’s the… trigger?”

Dave chuckled, shaking his head. “Molly, you say that like it’s a virus or something.”

“Well, isn’t it?” she shot back. “One day, she was just our friend Emma, and now she’s…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “She’s in nappies, Dave. Full-time. And not just that, but he makes the choices now. What she eats, what she wears, when she sleeps.”

Dave tapped his fork against his plate thoughtfully. “She let him.”

“That’s what scares me,” Molly admitted. Her voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “That she let him. And she’s fine with it. More than fine. She’s… content.”

“Would it be different if she wasn’t?”

Molly blinked. “What?”

“If she was miserable,” Dave said. “If she hated it. Would you feel better?”

She scowled. “That’s not the point.”

“I think it might be,” he said, and for the first time, there was something pointed in his tone. “If she hated it, you could see it as something being done to her. But she doesn’t. So instead, you have to deal with the fact that she chose it. And that makes you uncomfortable.”

Molly crossed her arms, looking away. “It should make you uncomfortable too.”

Dave sighed and set his fork down. “I don’t know, Mol. Maybe I just don’t care as much as you do. It’s weird, yeah. But people do weird things all the time. If it makes her happy, why should it matter?”

Molly shook her head, staring out the window. Outside, people walked by with shopping bags, strollers, coffee cups in hand. Just… normal people. People who weren’t Emma.

She could almost see her in her mind—Emma, giggling, dressed in something soft and pastel, clutching a stuffed animal. Not a woman anymore. Not in the way she used to be.

Dave studied Molly for a long moment, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his coffee cup. The tension in her shoulders, the hard set of her jaw—it was all so familiar. The same reaction he’d seen before, whenever Emma came up in conversation.

He sighed. “You know, it’s funny.”

Molly frowned. “What is?”

He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping just a fraction. “You keep talking like you don’t understand. But I think, deep down, you do.”

She scoffed, opening her mouth to retort, but Dave cut her off with a single phrase, low and deliberate:

“Little minds don’t worry.”

Molly’s breath caught. For a second, nothing happened—just a flicker in her expression, a slight widening of her eyes. Then, like a ripple spreading across the surface of a pond, something shifted.

Her lips parted, her brow furrowing in confusion. Her fingers, which had been tense around her coffee cup, suddenly slackened, as if the very concept of holding it had become too complex. She blinked rapidly, her gaze unfocused.

“Wh—” Her voice came out small, uncertain. She shook her head, strands of hair falling into her face. “Whazza…?”

Dave sat back, watching as it unfolded.

Molly’s posture sagged, her body language morphing from sharp and guarded to something looser, more instinctual. The weight of her own thoughts—thoughts that had moments ago felt so heavy, so complicated—seemed to vanish.

Her expression flickered through confusion, then something closer to frustration. “S’fuzzy,” she mumbled, bringing her hands up to rub at her temples. “Don’—I don’ get… um…”

Her tongue tripped over her own words. Concepts unraveled like loose threads, slipping through her grasp. Even the sentence she’d just started—what was it supposed to be? What was she even trying to say?

Her eyes darted to Dave, wide and almost pleading.

“Davey,” she whimpered.

He hummed. “Yeah, Mols?”

“F’eels weird,” she murmured, shifting in her seat. “Dunno—s’diff’ent. Ev’rything all… ‘spicy’.”

Dave tilted his head, amused. “Spicy?”

Molly pouted, frustrated by the word she couldn’t quite find. “Mmmm, not spicy, but—y’know! All wiggly ‘n’ tingly ‘n’ funny.”

As if on cue, she let out a sharp gasp, her hands darting down to her lap. A slow warmth spread beneath her, soaking into the fabric of her jeans, pooling against the seat.

Molly let out a breathy little whimper as the last remnants of adult thought crumbled. “Uh-oh…”

A dark patch spread beneath her, creeping outward, the undeniable hiss of her accident filling the air.

Dave chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “That’s okay, kiddo,” he said lightly. “Little girls don’t worry ‘bout things like that, remember?”

Molly blinked up at him, her bottom lip wobbling, the lingering ghost of something wrong flickering across her features before fading into soft, placid contentment.

She wasn’t an adult anymore.

She wasn’t supposed to worry.

She didn’t worry.

Dave sighed, shaking his head with a good-natured chuckle as he glanced toward the café staff. A few nearby patrons had already started whispering, their eyes darting toward the growing puddle beneath Molly’s chair. He caught the eye of a barista, offering an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about this," he said smoothly, his tone warm but firm, the way a responsible caretaker would explain a toddler's accident. "She’s still getting the hang of things."

The barista, a young woman with tired eyes and a sympathetic expression, only nodded. "Don’t worry about it," she murmured, though her gaze flicked toward Molly, who was now squirming in her seat, fascinated by the way the damp fabric clung to her legs.

Dave turned his attention back to her, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face. "Alright, Mols," he said gently, slipping into the comforting role she now expected of him. "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?"

Molly only giggled, tilting her head up at him with big, unfocused eyes. "Mmmkay, Daddy," she lilted, the title slipping past her lips effortlessly, as if it had always been that way.

Dave’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, but he didn't linger on it. Instead, he rose, moving around the table and helping Molly up. Her legs wobbled slightly, unsteady now that her adult coordination had slipped away.

As she stood, the full extent of her accident became clear. Her jeans were soaked, clinging to her thighs, the damp material darkened almost entirely down to her ankles. She looked down, blinking slowly at the mess, but there was no shame in her expression—only mild curiosity.

She poked a tiny finger against the wet denim. "Squishy," she declared with a giggle.

Dave grinned, ruffling her hair. "Yeah, kiddo. And that’s why we wear proper protection, huh?"

Molly giggled again, her gaze unfocused and dreamy. "Mmhmm!"

Dave led her toward the back of the café, past the staff-only sign. No one stopped them. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, so confident, so sure of his authority over her. Maybe it was the way Molly so clearly wasn’t in charge of herself anymore, her small hand tucked securely into his, her posture loose and trusting.

Inside the staff restroom, a sight that would have mortified Molly just minutes ago now greeted her without a flicker of concern—

An adult-sized changing table.

Dave patted the cushioned surface. "Up you go, kiddo."

Molly obediently reached her arms up, letting him lift her onto the table without a second thought. She kicked her legs idly, her soaked jeans sticking to her skin, a little pout forming on her lips.

"Wan’ dry," she mumbled.

Dave chuckled. "That’s the plan, sweetheart."

With practiced ease, he peeled away her jeans, the damp fabric clinging for a moment before slipping free. He balled them up and set them aside, then made quick work of her sodden panties. Molly didn’t react, other than giggling as the cool air hit her bare skin.

She squirmed as he wiped her down with a warm cloth, but it wasn’t from discomfort—it was the way a toddler would squirm from tickles rather than modesty.

Then, he pulled out the final piece.

A puffy, pastel-colored Pampers—one big enough for her, decorated in soft patterns that made it impossible to mistake for anything grown-up.

Molly’s eyes widened, but not with the resistance she might have once had. No, this time, it was delight.

"Ooooooh!" she cooed, her fingers twitching eagerly.

Dave smirked. "Like it, baby?"

Molly nodded enthusiastically, reaching out to poke at the plastic shell as he unfolded it. "Is crinkly!" she giggled.

He lifted her legs effortlessly, sliding the padding beneath her before securing the tapes snugly at her waist. The thick bulk forced her legs apart slightly, and when he patted the front, she let out a soft, happy hum, wiggling against the plush comfort.

"There we go," Dave murmured, smoothing her shirt down over the top of her new, much more appropriate underwear. "All fresh."

Molly beamed up at him, wiggling her toes as she enthusiastically poked at the front of her new padding, fascinated by the way it crinkled under her touch.

"Dis is way better!" she declared, giggling as she gave the front a few experimental pats.

Dave laughed. "I thought you’d see it that way, princess."

Then, he picked up her jeans, inspecting the soaked fabric with a smirk. "Well, kiddo, looks like you’ll have to go without these for a bit."

Molly didn’t even blink.

If anything, she giggled, swinging her bare legs with delight.

The Molly from before—the one who had argued, who had frowned and questioned—was nowhere to be found.

She was just Mols now. A little girl in nothing but a crinkly diaper and her soft shirt, giggling as she prodded at the thick bulk between her legs.

[scoupsakakitty]

Cover Up | idol!S.coups x idol!Reader | angst, fluff

The golden glow of the evening sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows as Y/N sifted through the rack of clothes her stylist had sent over. The award show was just two days away, and every outfit seemed louder and bolder than the last.

Seungcheol sat on the edge of their bed, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through his messages. But his eyes kept flickering up to her. She was humming softly to herself, holding up a sleek black dress to her frame before shaking her head and moving on to the next one.

She was beautiful, no matter what she wore—but that wasn’t the problem tonight.

“Cheol,” she called over her shoulder, “are you even paying attention?”

He looked up quickly, straightening as she turned to him with a grin. “Yeah, of course.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Liar. Don’t worry, I’ll make you pay attention soon enough.”

With that, she disappeared into the closet to change. Seungcheol’s stomach twisted slightly. He knew she was going to look stunning—she always did. But he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had been building all evening.

When she stepped out a few minutes later, his breath caught in his throat.

The dress was short, its black fabric shimmering faintly in the light. Cutouts along the sides and back revealed smooth skin, and the neckline dipped just low enough to make his heart race. Her long legs were framed perfectly by the sharp heels she wore, and she stood confidently in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps as though she hadn’t just completely robbed him of his ability to think.

“What do you think?” she asked, spinning to face him.

Seungcheol swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words.

“You’re… you look good,” he said finally, though the tension in his voice betrayed him.

Her eyebrows knit together. “Just good? It’s for the red carpet, Cheol. My stylist said it’s perfect for the theme. Bold, modern…” She gestured vaguely at the dress. “Eye-catching.”

“It’s definitely eye-catching,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

He stood, running a hand through his hair as he crossed the room. “Y/N, don’t you think it’s a little… much?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Much? What do you mean?”

“It’s short,” he said bluntly, gesturing toward the hem of the dress. “And tight. And the cutouts…” His gaze drifted to her sides, where the fabric revealed smooth lines of skin.

“That’s the point,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s supposed to be bold.”

“But do you really need to show this much to be bold?” he shot back, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

Her jaw tightened. “Seungcheol, this is my job. I’m an idol. People expect me to dress like this at events.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, pacing a few steps before turning back to her. “I know it’s your job, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. You’re my girlfriend, Y/N. I don’t want everyone else looking at you like that.”

Her mouth fell open, and she stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” he said, his voice firm. “I don’t like it when other people stare at you, okay? You dress neatly most of the time, and I love that about you. But this—” He gestured at the dress again, his voice rising slightly. “This feels… wrong.”

“You think my dress is inappropriate?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“For me, yeah,” he admitted. “It’s not just about how it looks—it’s about what it makes me feel. I don’t want other people seeing you like this. I want you to cover up.”

Y/N blinked, her lips parting in shock. “Cover up? Cheol, do you even hear yourself right now?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, his words tumbling out before he could stop them, “maybe something that covers your knees. Or something with buttons up to your neck—”

“Buttons up to my neck?” she repeated, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why not?” he shot back, his frustration mounting. “I want you to look like you’re mine, not like you’re on display for everyone else.”

“That’s not how this works, Seungcheol,” she said firmly. “I’m not yours to control. I love you, but you don’t get to dictate what I wear or how I present myself.”

He fell silent, the weight of her words hitting him like a punch to the chest.

“It’s not about control,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I just… I hate the thought of other people staring at you, thinking they have the right to look at you like that. It’s not fair to you, and it drives me crazy.”

Her expression softened slightly, but her stance remained firm. “Cheol, I get that you’re protective. I do. But you have to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

“I trust you,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

“That’s not something you can control,” she said gently. “I’m an idol. People are always going to look, no matter what I wear. But none of it matters, because at the end of the day, you’re the one I come home to.”

He stared at her, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the words.

“I have so many plans,” he murmured finally, his voice almost a whisper. “So many things I want to say and do to show you how much I care. But when it comes to moments like this, I just… I can’t say anything right.”

Her expression softened further, and she reached out, taking his hands in hers. “You don’t have to say the right thing, Cheol. You just have to trust that I love you and that nothing—no dress, no event, no cameras—will change that.”

He let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t mean to be like this. It’s just… hard for me sometimes.”

“I know,” she said, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around him. “But we’ll work on it, okay? Together.”

He nodded, resting his chin on her head as he pulled her into a hug. “Okay. But for the record, I still think you’d look amazing in something that covers your knees.”

She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “Noted, Grandpa. Now, do you want to help me pick out accessories, or are you going to keep pouting?”

He chuckled softly, finally letting go of his frustration. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As she stepped back to grab her jewelry, Seungcheol watched her with a small smile. He didn’t like the dress, but he loved her—and that was enough to quiet the storm inside him.

[lynleaf]

coping and caring for littles with RSD!

what is rsd?

(r)ejection (s)ensitivy (d)ysphoria is an experience of intense emotional pain caused by perceived failure or rejection. in short, it is a heightened sensitivity to rejection. this condition is linked to adhd because it is believed to stem from disregulation of rejection-related emotions and behavior. although it is linked to adhd, it can also come from other forms of neurodivergency, ptsd, bpd, and other conditions.

in littles, this can look like:

🍀 intense negative reactions to angry, indifferent, dismissive, or annoyed tones of voice directed at them

🍀 overperceiving or "inventing" threats around them, can lead to heightened anxiety or sudden mood changes

🍀 adverse reactions to having structured caretaking (a.k.a "firm hands"), being told what to do, or being disciplined

and can result in:

🍀 fussy littles

🍀 impure regression

🍀 emotional and physical shut downs or social withdrawal

🍀 outbursts, tantrums, or fits

🍀 negative self-talk, rumination, and defensiveness

if you are a little with rsd, here are some ways to manage (even while regressed)!

- giving yourself positive affirmations

"i did nothing wrong", "they are not upset with me", "i am loved and seen", "my opinion is valued and i matter"

- counteract your immediate response to perceived negativity. if someone says something in a rude tone, think of other possible reasons they may be upset.

"they are not upset because of something i did. they might not be feeling well, they might be having a bad day, or they might be stressed or tired right now. the way they reacted to me is not my fault"

- write down what happened, how it made you feel, and some ways you can make yourself feel better

- think about what is in your control and what is out of your control

e.g. you cannot control someone else's emotions, but you can control your breathing

calm your amygdala

- take big deep breaths

- practice identifying something in each of your senses

"what can i hear, what can i see, what can i smell, what can i taste, what can i feel"

- remove yourself from the situation if you can

take a brain break, go to a quieter location, watch a video of something you love, listen to a song that calms you

- hug your plushies!

- use a pacifier or chew toy

if you are a carer for a little with rsd:

- be patient! your small may not be able to idenitify why they are feeling or reacting this way in the moment. sit with them and don't rush them as they process their emotions

- if they are being fussy or verbally combative, it is valid to feel overwhelmed or stressed. remember that above all else, you are in control of your body and how you choose to respond. keep your voice level, avoid using aggressive language, speak gently, and reinforce positive talk

- ask them how they are feeling and listen to them. let them explain their emotions, even if they seem irrational. what they feel is real to them! validate their feelings

- help your little figure out ways of coping that work for them. give them options

"do you need some quiet time alone to calm down? would you like for me to hold you? how about we watch your favorite show? or we can play something together! you can pick!"

this is something that i have struggled with all my life, and it seems to be heightened when i'm regressed. i hope this helped others struggling or who know someone struggling, at least a little bit! <3

if you have rsd, remember:

the people in your life want you to be there. your friends care about you! you are not a bad person because you made a mistake. everything you do doesn't have to be perfect, you are human! and you are deserving of love no matter what. <3

[nymphaura777]

YOU CAN’T FAIL IN MANIFESTATION, PERIODT.

Okay, I need yall to stop acting like manifestation is some kinda school exam where you either pass or fail. That’s NOT how this works. You literally cannot fail at manifesting, never ever, istg.

The only thing that happens is you either persist or you let your doubts take over the control. That’s it.

And yet, I see so many of you saying things like:

"what if I’m doing it wrong? What if I ruined everything? What if my negative thoughts manifested? What if I fail? What if I don't do the methods and all correctly?"

Bruh just CHILL. You didn’t ruin anything. Negative thoughts don’t just magically erase everything unless you start feeding them like a stray cat and believing in them more than your actual desire and make them your dominant thoughts. Your brain is literally testing you cause once your mental diet was full of negative thoughts, doubts, fear of failure and negative beliefs so how can it all change at once?

It’s like, so do you really think you’re going get what you want? Okay, let’s see how you handle THIS doubt, THIS insecurity, THIS limiting belief you’ve been carrying since your 5th birthday....

And if you let that mess get to you and start wavering, thats where people mess up. Not because they “failed.” But because they started making all those things as their dominant thoughts.

For example: I'm planting a plant in my garden, so many times weed comes out along with the plant...so would you remove that one single weed or let that weed grow in the whole garden and let it destroy your whole garden's soil fertility?

Similarly, if a doubt/negative thought comes to you so would you sit all day thinking about it or would you let it go and move on?

Ik your answer, obv the second one right? Then why not applying in real life? You know you're not doing it "right" or "wrong" it's just doubting and being stuck in doubts and let the anxiety rule your mind? Cmon be smart.

Next time you catch yourself thinking, "But what if I’m doing it wrong?" slap that thought OUT. You CAN’T do it wrong unless you stop believing in your power.

The only difference between people who get their manifestations and people who don’t is only PERSISTING no matter what.

Cause Manifestation is Literally Just About Persisting

You decide what you want. You stick to it. And you don’t let anything convince you otherwise.

Even if the 3D is showing you the opposite. Even if your mind is screaming doubts at you. Even if it looks like nothing is happening.

Because guess what? It is happening. Every thought, every affirmation, every time you choose your dream reality over doubt, its always happening

And if you stay loyal to what you want, it HAS to come true. It’s literally law, so stop saying that I have failed or am I doing it wrong. PERSISTENCE IS THE KEY.

[seat-safety-switch]

If you want a fast way to destroy your life, why not try boats? They're insanely expensive, require a lot of maintenance, and you'll probably never use it all that often. All this is great if you're rich, but what about us poor slobs? Good news: they make smaller boats.

For many years, I've been visiting my buddy's rural abode. As part of the accoutrements (that's French for "bullshit,") the run-off every spring forms a pretty decent slough on his property. Sure, it's gross, and full of bugs, but sometimes a duck comes by and floats in it for a bit. And it's that duck that gave me the idea.

You see, my local hobby store has been selling remote-controlled boats for years. Not too many people have been taking them up on it, being as I live in a landlocked province where every available artificial lake is gated away and patrolled diligently by micro-fascists who want to make sure you're not having the wrong kind of fun. As a result, their stock of yellowed, decaying, dusty remote-controlled boats that have been sitting on the shelves since the 80s were ten percent off this week. I couldn't fit a sloop in that slough, but I could probably fit a – hold on, let me check the box again – Radio Shack Wetland Invader® 2000.

Friends, this was the best afternoon of my life. For a short moment, I understood exactly what it was like to own a boat. The feel of the salt air in your face. Experiencing nature with the flick of a thumb producing a manhood-confirming amount of scale horsepower. Getting to whip shitties in a public location without the cops coming to bust you. And then the batteries ran low, right in the middle of the slough. My boat was broken, and I was unable to retrieve it.

We're hoping the duck will come back before the fall hits again. I've been leaving old saltine crackers around the place, in the hopes that one of them will land and at least push the damn thing a little bit closer to shore. My friend has suggested buying a second boat to use to bump the first one out, but that's easy for him to say. He owns his own lake.

[rafesweetie]

i need to know more about prissy and ruthies drama omg!

okok i’ll share the origin a bit !! <3

so, as we hopefully know, prissy is a girls girl to her core! it doesn’t matter their popularity or whatever, prissy is supporting every girl that walks her way. that included ruthie, at the start, so they got along for a bit. that made rafe veeeery happy, because they could go on double dates n such!

but there’s an instance where prissy walks in late on a conversation at the country club. she had left rafe, top, and ruthie alone to get a drink for her and a whiskey for rafe. all she catches ruthie say is “kiara carrera”, and assuming ruthie is as sweet as she is, and is only saying good things, prissy says, “oh, kie? i love her, she’s so pretty and nice!” as she sets down her drink.

ruthie visibly has a snarl on her lip as she rolls her eyes. “i’m sorry? you’re friends with that broke-ass bitch? rafe, you allow this?” prissy is lost at this point, confused as she glances up at rafe.

rafe, as much as he loves prissy, cares a lot about his reputation, and doesn’t want prissy messing it up. so he answers, saying, “uhhh, shit, i didn’t even know about it. we’ll have to talk about it at home,” only you know that he’s lying, that usually he does let you hang out with kie, the only pogue he tolerates.

at home, you’re instantly asking rafe what that was. he’s answering, talking about how “you can’t associate with pogues anymore” and “you’re gonna dig yourself into a hole if you yap about how much you adore the pogues in front of the wrong people.” you’re glossy-eyed the entire time, very confused.

“but i like kie,” is your meek answer.

“i know, baby, but this is important, okay? i’m trying to help you. can you do this for me?” and you nod. because as much as rafe is controlling sometimes, he’s always right for the most part.

you distance yourself from the pogues, listening to your boyfriend. ruthie has started to be less warm around you anyway, it seems one positive mention of the pogues flipped a cold switch in her brain. she’s not even bothering to talk to you about why she’s mad, and you don’t have a chance to explain that you’re not associating with the pogues anymore.

the next time you see the pogues is at the beach. rafe had brought you along to sit in the sand with him while his buddies surfed, and you were happy to come along and tan. conveniently, you’re set up right beside the pogues. you give them a smile and wave, unlike all the people around you who are whispering about them and glaring at them.

as the pogues are leaving a little while later and you’re all packing up to leave as well, ruthie, who’s already in the car, decides to scare them a bit and drift the car around the pogues and their things. in the process, the most devastating thing happens — she runs over a turtle hatch. you rush to go check on them, but rafe holds you back. you’re already tearing up.

“ruthie, oh my gosh— did you know what you just did?” you ask.

“yeah, who cares? they’re just turtles,”

that turns your upset expression into anger. “i— i’m sorry, ruthie, are you kidding?” ruthie’s head is turning back and forth at kiara, who’s now yelling too. “those were baby animals, and you just killed them! and— and everyone was so happy to see them, and they had a life to live, and you were a stupid asshole and you ran them over! and kie—“ she cuts off your rambling the minute that name leaves your mouth.

“ohhh, it’s all over kie, huh?” she sighs. “honey, i’m sorry i killed your little turtles, okay? is that what you want, an apology? want me to apologize to your girlfriend too, hm? you’re a sweetheart, truly, for pretending to care about those dumb animals— and the turtles too, i guess. don’t worry about kie, she’s a big girl, she’ll be fine.”

the obvious fake-kindness and patronizing tone makes the first tear spill.

“rafe, you really picked a sweet one,” ruthie continues, looking up at your boyfriend, still holding you from behind. “a pogue-loving ditzy cunt, you just won the lottery,” she says sarcastically, batting her eyelashes and smiling.

he says nothing, because if he argues then suddenly he’s not full-kook anymore, people will think he’s defending the pogues, when he just wants to defend you. he holds you tighter as he moves you to his side. “c’mon, let’s walk home, yeah? we’ll take the pretty way home,” he mutters, dragging you and your teary face away.

from there on out, you’re constantly attacked by only one girl for two simple comments you made. you’ve never been in a fight with anyone, let alone another girl, and you’re unsure how to act. but thank goodness that for now, until it escalates, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with some dick from rafe.

[dokyumms]

only you know the way that i break

pairing: dk x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff?

word count: 1.4k

cw: insults are made towards reader, self hate, dispatch are lowkey stalkers

a/n: a request done for 💌 anon! it legit took me 2 hours to find photos omg... this probably wasn’t enough fluff but oh well 😔

you know you shouldn't be on social media right now, but you can't help it.

somehow, dispatch caught you and seokmin on a date. you were sure you took all the precautions- wearing a mask and cap, seokmin posted on weverse that he was staying at home, and just about everything to make sure no one was suspicious of him going on a date.

but alas, the second you and him take off your masks to take a bite of pizza at a park, you hear a loud shutter noise followed by a lot more of them.

it wasn't really the fact seokmin was on a date itself- he'd mentioned months before he had a girlfriend- it was more so the fact no one had seen your face before, till now.

only hours later, “DK GIRLFRIEND REVEALED” is trending on twitter. you’ve been fearing the public’s opinion for a long time, and even after all the years of preparing for it, you’re still not ready for the immense amount of comments that are made about you.

it's not that you're severely insecure, your boyfriend definitely made sure of it, it's just that fans are crazy and will say anything just to get their idol to break up with anyone that's not them.

you know what they say are probably projections of all sorts and reading the comments will only hurt you for no reason, but something's pulling you, a sudden need to know if they approve of you anyway. are you objectively good enough for seokmin?

so now you're in the bathroom, sitting against the cold tile wall, and scrolling through an endless sea of posts about you. some people love you. they say you're pretty, beautiful, totally dk's type, but it's quickly overshadowed by waves of hate.

people are quick to analyze and dissect everything about you. from the way you dress to how you walk, they have something negative to point out. you didn’t even know someone could see this much just from a couple photos.

you already sense the familiar tightening of your throat, but you keep reading. one post catches your eye in particular.

“doesn’t everyone notice how ugly dk’s gf is compared to him?? LMAO… must’ve bribed him or smth 💀 but seriously, this girl is a nobody. no wonder it took so long to get a look at her, i wouldn’t show my face in public if i looked like that.”

the post has 10.5k likes, and you don’t have to look at the replies to know if others agree or not. there’s another post right after.

“OMG DOKYEOM WHY ARE YOU DATING THIS THING…???? PLS WHAT HAPPENED TO STANDARDS 💔”

for some reason, you can’t look away. you forget everything seokmin’s ever told you about haters and start to really consider what they say. who were you anyway? why did it take so long to let yourself be revealed? why was seokmin dating you?

you put a hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sobs that come out. your boyfriend’s probably on the couch, looking through these same posts. maybe he’s realizing the same things you are.

more cries come out. they’re heavier, filled with disgust and agony. you’re disgusted by yourself, not even willing to get up, afraid of what you might see in the mirror.

you start to spiral, and suddenly, you’re making up comments about yourself as well.

it’s not long before someone knocks on the bathroom door.

“babe? are you okay in there?” seokmin calls out in concern. you can imagine his face, brows slightly furrowed and lips pulled into a tight line as he impatiently waits for your answer.

you try to answer, but it only comes out as another sob. seokmin doesn’t wait again, opening the door hastily.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he asks, embracing you, still on the floor. it’s warm, full of love, and it almost makes you sob more. why you? what did you do to deserve him?

“don’t call me that,” you mumble quietly as if it hurts to say. he almost pulls away, “what? why?”

you can’t get out a single word, but your mind fills up with every reason possible, making you sob more. the only thing you can do is hand him your phone, twitter still opened.

he doesn’t let go of you, keeping an arm wrapped around you as he takes your phone. based on his reaction, it seems like he somehow hadn’t seen these posts. he gasps, gripping you tighter.

“what… why would people say things like this?” he asks in frustration, putting the phone down. “please don’t tell me that you believe them.”

“seok,” you manage to get out. “they’re right, i don’t understand why you’re dating-”

“don’t finish that,” he cuts you off, sounding the most serious he has in a while. “y/n, i love you. i’ve loved you before this whole idol thing, okay? you’re not a nobody, you’re so much more than that. i promise,” he starts.

“you’re perfect for me, these people don’t know anything about you. they don’t see everything you do for me, your beauty, all the memories we share, but i do, okay? i see you and all the things i love about you.” he holds your face, forcing you to look at him.

“i don’t want you to listen to these people because they’re blind, y/n.”

you look at him, searching for the lie behind his eyes, but you don’t find it.

“you promise?” you sniffle.

“with my whole heart.” he promises, leaning his forehead against yours and giving you a chaste kiss.

and maybe just for a bit, your mind is quiet, absent of the comments from before, only full of love for the man who’s in front of you.

[jubileebloom]

As much as I appreciate the people defending Ford in the wake of TBOB's release, and discussing the importance of avoiding victim-blaming and being aware of a person's environment, there's something specific that rubs me the wrong way about some of the things I've read.

The thing about abuse is that takes agency away from its victims. This is actually something that broadly applies to different forms of trauma, as I've just been going over in one of my classes on Adolescent Development. My professor for that class specializes in trauma-informing and training, so she has an entire unit on trauma as part of the syllabus, and one of the things she emphasized was that giving people agency and control over their own choices is critical to helping them recover from a traumatic event.

When it comes to Bill's possession of Ford, the lack of control is even more literal. Ford literally has his body puppeted by a demon, and his mind altered as well. Others have taken agency from him to a lesser extent—Stan limiting his choices in education, Fiddleford potentially using the memory gun on him, as another analysis post I can't find did a really good job of breaking down—but it's not as all-encompassing as Bill's abuse, and Stan and Fidds both make better choices later in the series. Bill refuses to.

But I'm getting off topic. My point is, Ford's loss of agency is one of the most crucial pieces of his character arc. It's why he lashes out so strongly when he returns home, against his will, to find that his identity has been stolen. It probably factors into his need to be the "hero", to be the one to defeat Bill. And even though he ultimately isn't that "hero", and he does let the Mystery Shack continue to operate, he does ultimately get more of a choice in the matter. He chooses to go along with the plan. He chooses to go with Stan on their long-overdue adventure.

But there's something else he does too. He apologizes.

Why is that so important? Because in regaining his sense of agency, he also undertakes the accountability that goes with it. He isn't solely to blame for everything that happened to him, or even necessarily every choice he made, but he did make bad choices.

And that's the thing that bothers me about some Ford analyses and defenses. Some people go too far and say that Ford isn't to blame for anything that he's done. Not only is that untrue, but it is once again stripping him of his agency. He is an adult capable of making his own decisions, and ergo capable of making bad decisions. And we need to accept that, without infantilizing him or blaming everyone else around him.

One of the things that compels me so much about Gravity Falls is that is generally does strike this balance pretty well, of personal agency vs. external circumstances. (There's also an excellent analysis post out there somewhere about Dipper and Mabel's agency, how the show doesn't force them to fix the problems of their predecessors or burden them exclusively with saving the world, but does still let them have agency and power in the fight and in Stan's recovery.) There are so, so many things that happen to the main cast that are mostly outside of their control, and also bad decisions that a lot of them have made that cannot be excused, at least not fully, by their circumstances.

And the beautiful thing about that agency is that these characters are also able to use it to become better people, to regain control over their lives, to take back power after it was taken from them. But you have to let them, and that includes letting them be people who messed up, owned up, and worked to make it better.

In fact, I think the reason that Ford is so quick to own up to his mistakes when it comes to Bill is because that's one of the ways he's taking back his power. He's incredibly stubborn when it comes to holding other grudges, but with Bill, he readily admits to Stan and Dipper separately that he's made some "terrible mistakes", to use his words. And he isn't to blame for falling for Bill's manipulation—Bill was the one actively manipulating—but no, he should not have summoned him to begin with. That doesn't make him deserving of anything Bill did to him, but by admitting to the mistakes he did make and working on a way to defeat Bill, it's letting him take back some amount of control in the whole situation. He can't make Bill change his ways, but he can own up to and correct the things he did wrong.

He does overcorrect a bit; I do think he blames himself too much for "falling for Bill's flattery." But generally, I like how he also doesn't try to blame Bill for every single thing that went wrong with the whole portal deal, like he (initially) did with some other situations, especially everything with Stan.

Anway. Let Ford make mistakes. Let him be wrong sometimes. Let him have his agency.

[gemmablue-blog1]

I recently started a brand new adventure of being a “shipper”. I believe this is karma because I judged those who were obsessed with Taylor and Travis. 😬

I have fallen hard into my shipping era and it is not for the weak. It is so mind consuming I at times worry for my mental health.

Hi my name is Gemma and I am a Lukola shipper. My god, the chokehold Nicola Coughlan and Luke Newton have on me should be studied. I cant help but be in complete awe of the relationship they have. These two humans share an undeniable other-worldly connection. I have never seen anything like it, the way they look physically different in the presence of one another is something else, their whole existence changes. They shine brighter, they appear more at ease and just blissfully in-tune with one another. Like they physically look different around each other (in a good way) it is wild, I am completely mesmerized. If they are not a couple or never become one, it is really unfortunate because what they have is rare and special. Many will spend their whole lifetime searching for what they have.

I was kind of late to the shipping game so I joined TT to assist in my obsession and do my research. It was fun to see all the edits of the WT and join in on some lives to dissect some clues Nicola was dropping that they could possibly be a couple. I have to admit at times the dissecting was a little “creepy”, but I was still watching! So obviously I wasn’t that creeped out, I was just letting others do the dirty work so I didn’t come off creepy.

But then the “adjacent” shippings began and it all just became a game of “who is right”. Don’t get me wrong, I want my ship to be right but the constant attacks between the different groups of shippers has become toxic and it is unnecessary. Why can’t we just stay in our belief lanes, we’ll be much happier. Isn’t it best to all stay in our own little ship bubbles and just have some light hearted fun?

Then there is this whole side of people preaching a moral high ground and demanding people to stop their shipping… why? Because you think that shipping is going to hurt/ruin Nicola and Luke’s relationship? I am almost certain fans views, beliefs, words, shipping etc. has no effect on Nic and Luke’s relationship, it will only affect how they share it publicly. We are not that important. Then we have the people who feel that they need to defend Nicola and Luke from whats being said or shared, is that needed either? Celebrities don’t need your defending and they don’t ask for it. And sometimes in defending it actually makes things worse. There is no such thing as the best fan award.

Personally, a lot of Lukola blogs I have seen on here have been as respectful as they can be in sharing their thoughts and opinions. They aren’t out there spreading hate towards Nic and Luke, if anything I see them just wanting the best for them. Even if I don’t agree with everything they say, I move past it, it is very rare for people to see things 100% the same, especially when we actually know nothing to be definite. What I do see is just plain hate in their ask calling them names and even demanding they “shut down this blog now!”… Why? Because they believe something you don’t? Notice when I talk about blogs I only have reference to Lukola ones, because those are the ones I read because I am a fan of Luke and Nic and their relationship. I don’t go to ones who are part of other ships and try to convince them of other things, there is no point, thats what they want to believe and be a part of and thats their right.

Anyway, I am in no way above sharing my opinions on the Lukola situationship, and would like to share some thoughts. If you have made it this far and are not a Lukola or will be offended by things I say about the “adjacents” stop reading because all it will do is anger you and most likely prompt you to send me a hate message. Nothing you say will make me stop shipping them.

My beliefs are:

Without a doubt Nicola loves Luke and is highly protective of him. This girl was ready take on a bee who was threatening her buddy Luke. She was not playing. I love that interview, she was so distracted because Luke was being threatened by a bee he is supposedly “allergic” to, that she even moves herself closer to him so she can defend him better 😩... The interviewer is like “i feel like a third wheel” 👀. I can’t, could this be any cuter. We have seen many instances where Nicola has defended Luke directly and indirectly, because you fiercely protect those you love. I feel everything we have seen from her (non-professional) stems from that protectiveness she has for him.

Then there is Luke towards Nicola. I am sorry anyone who says this man is not completely infatuated by that woman is lying. He is an awe of her. Just look at the tapes for evidence, when I said earlier about looking physically different, Luke is literally night and day from what he physically looks like in the presence of Nicola to not. You can’t convince me that man is not madly in love with that woman.

Antonia. I am not a fan. Yeah, I have tried to take the mature approach and be like “oooh she’s young” “i don’t know her” “people hate her for no reason” “accept she is with Luke”… blah, blaaaah, blaah. No, Antonia wants to be noticed. She has done stuff to troll the fans of her supposed bf. The insinuation post are purposeful, with intent to rile up the crowds. Anyone who says otherwise is lying to themselves. All she has done is cause more harm than good to Luke, shouldn’t a good gf want to do the opposite? She should have used her extra social media exposure to her advantage of showing off her talents and work, but instead she chose to post pictures to prove she was in the presence of her famous bf. You shouldn’t have to try so hard to prove you are in a relationship with someone. Isn’t it interesting that any time Luke and Nic could possibly be linked together, an ambiguous pic drops to hint she is/was there. Why does she have to stay so hidden? Those who say it is to keep their relationship private, then why does she try so hard to publically prove she was there? I am done trying to be mature, the only things I have to go on for my decision to like people I dont personally know is the public image they present, and I don’t like hers.

Jake at times can seem to be stirring the pot, but he has used a lot of his extra exposure to highlight his career. Just through his socials I have come to realize that he is a very talented young actor. I do not believe Jake and Nicola are a couple, it is that simple. I think they were somehow linked together, and then just went with it because of certain cicumstances. I do get frustrated at times because I do feel the dating narrative is pushed by Nicola and it is frustrating to me because I have to read Jakola BS. But then I remember that Nicola is a sassy queen and that’s why I love her and move on. The fact that some can’t see the satire being shared by them of the relationship, is confusing to me. But, we all believe what we want to believe. I do think Nicola and Jake are good friends.

The parallels between Luke and Nic’s lives at this point are too coinsidental to make me believe it’s 100% truth. Both of them date young 20 year olds and receive hate for dating them. Not only do they receive hate for dating but for hanging out with them in their friend groups and get blamed for being immature or creepy because they choose to party or vacation instead of being a grown-up. 🙄. Nah, something just isn’t adding up for me.

Listen, I really know nothing about these people. I just love Luke and Nicola’s love, I just want them to be happy together forever and ever, is that such a bad thing? In the grand scheme of things is it really that bad to want people to be in a relationship that you feel will make them happy…isn’t that shipping? I will be rooting for them until i’m dead and buried.

Until the wheels fall off. Lukola forever ✌🏻.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey Raven! 👋 I don't get all the vitriol about the lack of consequences of Malleus's OB. Twst has never given any serious consequences to any villain so far. Riddle, Leona, Vil and Idia have also tried to kill Ace, Ruggie, Niege and the whole world respectively. Rollo tried to wipe out all magic from the world which would kill entirety of Fae or potentially other magical species. Fellow was involved in human trafficking. None of these people faced any serious repercussions for what they did. If it was done before but not now I would understand the frustration. Among all OB boys Vil & Malleus are the only ones who apologised. Also you mentioned in your book 7 finale post that you were surprised about the lack of death and destruction because of Malleus's UM. But I'm more confused as to why you were even expecting that. Malleus's UM was never meant to cause death or destruction in fact it was precisely to avoid those sad occurrences he decided to use his UM. So it's no wonder there were no deaths or serious property damage out side of NRC. We have already seen Silver as baby sleeping for 400 years by fairy magic and being completely fine. Only danger was the loss of autonomy which thankfully was stopped. Malleus literally had a part of his body mutilated which is the most on the nose consequence we have seen. Yes it was necessary to stop him still doesn't change the fact it is mutilation. Plus I don't think post OB flashbacks were meant to shift the blame to the bv senators. Even though I don’t like them their actions in universe make sense. I think all flashbacks merely explain the OB boy's past experiences and circumstances. It doesn't justify there actions in present only provides an understanding of their motivations and character. Life doesn't exist in a vacuum. Malleus's flashbacks merely explains why he is the way he is now. It doesn't rights his wrongs. People are shaped by their experiences and circumstances. Since not many people can relate to most OB boy's circumstances it becomes hard to empathise with them. I am NOT saying people should not criticise or dislike a character. Just saying that lack of accountability & consequences isn't something unique to Malleus. Lack of control over our my life and circumstances is something I have been dealing with since i was born so I know from experience how suffocating and hopeless it feels. Even if someone understands it doesn't change of help my situation whatsoever. I relate to Malleus feelings about his own situation. It doesn't makes his decision right but I understand his thought process. People can understand other but still dislike them. Understanding does not equals to justifying. I hope I didn't offend any one. My sincere apologies if it came across as such.

Have a good day or night Raven!

Before I get to sharing my commentary, I'd like to make a quick clarification. "Vitriol" (cruel and bitter criticism or outright insulting) is a very strong word to use here. I don't doubt that some people are vitriolic about the ending. However, to label most or all critique as "vitriol" detracts from the discussion, as it paints those not happy with it as blindly hating on Malleus and ignores any plausible points they may have. Let's acknowledge the entire spectrum of reactions, including just... plain disappointment and everything in-between that disappointment and vitriol. It's not all coming from a place of blind hatred or refusing to understand him, some of that critique is very much coming from a place of understanding but still disliking the outcome.

I can't speak for everyone, but I personally haven't seen many people claiming "Malleus and ONLY Malleus should be given severe consequences." Twst has frequently been criticized for the lack of serious consequences for ALL of its OB characters (and its Halloween event characters). I particularly find Playful Land distasteful because they casually never address what happened to the non-NRC victims of the operation. And notably, Idia came close to *checks notes* oh yeah, letting monsters out of hell and causing an apocalypse. Just because Malleus is currently being discussed--as he is the most relevant--doesn't negate the fact that past OBs + Halloween characters were critiqued in a similar way. Few people are denying that the other OBs also did terrible things and only got off with a slap on the wrist. We're not conveniently ignoring past sins, it's just that we're talking about the most recent one now. (Few corrections to some points brought up on this topic though: I believe Riddle apologized as well; it's also NOT canon that wiping out magic would kill fae or other magical creatures, simply because fae are more inclined to magic doesn't mean losing that magic kills them.)

I'm aware that Malleus's intent was not to harm anyone with his UM, and that his UM only put them to sleep. However, I just cannot suspend my disbelief. Even if he didn't mean to hurt people or to cause damage, there surely were potential issues with 20,000 individuals falling asleep mid-whatever activity they were doing. The scale is large enough for there to be a non-zero chance that someone wasn't accidentally injured or even killed. Swimmers? Drivers? People cooking? What about those with preexisting health conditions like sleep apnea and diabetes? And even if we accept that Malleus magically suspended their bodies in stasis, isn't magic limited by one's imagination?? Malleus doesn't strike me as someone who understands a lot about health conditions, technology, etc. How would his magic know to stop cars (something he admits to never having ridden before in A Firelit Sky), to cease bodily demands for care, etc.? The latter (ie bodies atrophying from lack of sustenance) is even mentioned at least twice by the Shrouds as potential threats to their wellbeings. Why would they bring it up multiple times if not to insinuate a fear of consequences??? Yes, Silver was able to sleep unageing for 400 years, but we cannot be certain that magic is the exact same as whatever Malleus was using, or that their imaginations worked the same way. I would find this less surprising if they actually explained how it is that everyone was without injury, like having the Shrouds confirm that the lack of sustenance was not a real issue. Them not addressing the theory at the end only makes me suspicious. If it wasn't a problem to begin with, why even have them mention it more than once? At that point, just don't include the dialogue implying this at all.

I think to just chalk it up to "the only danger was the loss of autonomy which thankfully has stopped" is minimizing potential issues that could result from this. Realistically, it would be a huge problem that the (future) sovereign of a country took such a drastic move; this would surely affect relationships with other nations so I find it strange that this isn't really touched upon. (A similar issue was mentioned by fans with Leona's attempt on Malleus's life in book 2, but again, we're discussing Malleus here because he's most relevant; the lack of realistic consequences for the other characters is an entirely separate problem.) They did bring up Malleus's grandma apologizing and condemning her grandson's actions, but that doesn't go in enough detail--how are the other nations reacting to this??? And again, bringing back the 20,000 statistic--I also find it strange that the writing only mentioned a group of people who loved Malleus's dream magic and make zero mention of any people who were traumatized by it?? Like, you'd think at least a few people would have felt upset, violated, or even confused about the matter??? That's not even counting all the NRC students we had to shock awake, some of which cried or had emotional breakdowns over it. It's strange how the narrative ONLY focuses on reassuring us that Malleus's actions didn't actually affect anything when, given the numbers, it would have, at least emotionally/mentally/psychologically. And how come no relatives were mad about what happened to their kids? NRC (and RSA, I presume) have the children of many prominent families in attendance; you’re telling me none of these people got upset or tried to retaliate? Even though we know some of them take extremes (looking at you, Mrs. Rosehearts)?? 'm not saying I want Malleud to have harmed anyone or to be made a public enemy; I want a more balanced understanding of the consequences of his magic. Like, why isn't there also... I don't know, mention of therapy or social support being provided for those experiencing shock after waking up from the dreams? To help them get back on their feet? I would have accepted even the off-handed mention of something like that.

Again, I'm not speaking for everyone here (I know that some people find damaging a horn to be a "good" way of regulating his unchecked magic), but personally I was pretty squicked by that. I agree that Malleus should have limits placed on his power, but I think it should have been done through some other method like... I don't know, Maleficia magically "grounding" him or something. (Like maybe we struck the horns but it didn't actually chop anything off; his grandma places a spell that limits what he can do afterwards?? Or maybe Malleus himself permanently sacrifices a ton of his magic to Lilia in order to revive him.) I wince a little whenever I see Malleus with that broken horn because I can't help but think of a real-life animal with an equivalent injury. A cat that's been declawed, a ram with a broken horn, a bird with its wings clipped or its beak blown off, etc. It makes me feel really bad for him 💦

I think a lot of people see the broken horn as being the most "severe" of consequences because a part of Malleus was essentially broken. It's visible, unlike mental or emotional scars, and the sad truth is that people are quick to condemn something that's easy to see rather than something that's not (ie potential psychological fallout or trauma). None of the other OB boys have to walk around with a physical reminder of what they did, so Malleus is perceived as being the "most hurt" in the eyes of the fandom. I'm still not entirely sure what the effects are in-universe though??? Like how does this impact his everyday life, what spells is he still able to use, does the area hurt, does it affect his balance or other aspects of his life?? He doesn't seem particularly bothered by it, but that's probably due to the time skip + for plot convenience; it would really help us better understand the fallout if the next main story update elaborated. Malleus is unique in that he was also never previously held accountable for his actions (outside of book 7). Endless Halloween Night, his general lack of genuine effort to listen to his peers when they tell him off or try to explain why he messed up, actual attempts to harm civilians or mages he knows are less powerful than him... None of it results in real consequences. At most, he gets scolded a little but doesn't truly learn from that scolding, so he's doomed to repeat the same mistakes. It feels like part of the reason why people want Malleus to "face the music" is because he never had his privilege previously challenged. People are too scared to due to his magical might and social status--and now, when he's set before the world's stage, is the most likely time when he'd actually have to look in the mirror and reflect on his past mistakes. Not only the OB, but also his hubris in general. Some people also just feel that Malleus will not grow as a character (as he has demonstrated issues with this outside of book 7) without facing the other repercussions of actions he directly took. No one's calling for Lilia to permanently die because they want to see Malleus suffer. They're saying that if Malleus ended up doing no harm to anyone or anything, if Malleus doesn't have to face Lilia's mortality (the thing he OB'd over), will he really have learned anything in the end? Is there anything pushing his current beliefs or challenging him to change? There's a difference between calling for "more punishment" (which I think is what's being conflated here) and "more accountability". I think most want the latter, NOT the former. Most of us don't want Malleus to be harmed or ostracized further--what we do want is for him to realize that he messed up and to think long and hard about what he can do to make amends. The scale of what he did was grand, so doesn't that also warrant he make up in a similar way? One party and apologizing to a fraction of the people he affected is only accounting for some of it. (For example, I would have personally wanted him to formally address everyone he impacted, not just NRC.)

Mmm... The OB flashbacks are definitely meant to explain, not excuse, the related boy's actions. If it were only Malleus's flashback in isolation, I would have perceived it as such. However, it wasn't just that flashback. It was everything else in the narrative explaining away any potential issues resulting from his magic. It wasn't a few details either, it was several. When you add them all up, it creates... this feeling that the narrative is pushing HARD for you to feel a certain way about Malleus specifically. No other past OB has had so many details thrown our way to reassure us that the OB boy actually did as little damage as possible. We weren't explicitly told the destroyed rose maze was fixed in a jiffy with magic, or that no students were injured when Riddle OB'd. We weren't explicitly told that Ruggie made a full recovery and bears no grudge against Leona, or that his victims healed very quickly. We weren't explicitly told that Azul shoving tentacles down people's throats didn't traumatize any mobs. Etc. (And to be clear, I've shared my own complaints about how easily the other OBs were forgiven too, particularly Azul with customers flocking back to his restaurant.) The opposite is true for Malleus, so that it feels a bit,.. much. We are explicitly told many things and then nudged to not worry about them.

My own issues with the flashback in part stems from worries with the fandom reaction to it. Malleus has historically been a character that the fandom is EXTREMELY protective of, so much so that people are willing to push the onus onto anyone but him. I've literally seen fans blaming Lilia for Malleus not having social skills rather than accept that Malleus being awkward is a combination of factors (factors which include Lilia's enablement but also include Malleus's own learned complacency + not understanding humans). When the flashback opens with the senators blessing Malleus, it (unintentionally) presents fans with an easy target to redirect their anger and pin the blame on. Even if the Twst universe doesn't push all the characters to hate the senators and blame them for Malleus being the way he is, the fans certainly will.

To summarize: very few people are saying "Malleus and Malleus ALONE is experiencing a lack of accountability and consequences." A lot of the current focus on Malleus is because he is the most recent OB, operates on a much larger scale than the other OBs, and has a history of not receiving consequences in other incidents. None of this negates previous critique lobbed at other characters who got off with little or no consequences.

I hope that helps you understand why some Twst fans have such different opinions regarding book 7's conclusion! I also hope that this doesn't diminish your own enjoyment of book 7 or of Malleus's character in any way, just shows you an alternative perspective. I can tell from your passionate words that his story really resonates with you (and there are many others that feel the same!), so that makes me really happy. I wish you guys nothing but the best; please give your lizard boy all the adoration!

[deadinsidewithglitterontop]

I think I might be the only one in my class that is openly against the use of AI in any type of project, cause 98% of my friends and classmates seemly to just gave up on using their brain capacities and use chatGPT on their pieces and essays.

Recently I was doing a group project with some friends of mine - we were supposed to read a text and write a essay about it. We were a group of three so we divided what each one of us would read and write so none of us get overwhelmed with our parts, and for some reason I was having a hard time doing my part, I don't really know why, I would read and read and read and understand the text and know what I needed to write down but for some godamn reason I couldn't write. I was going through a block.

When we were getting close to the day we were supposed to turn the project in, my friends were asking me why I was taking so long to finish my piece cause it never took so long for me to finish an essay and it was only my part that was missing to completely finish the project. I answered that I didn't know why I was having such difficulty writing this but I was still trying to finish my part - and then my friends suggested I used chatGPT to write my piece.

The worst part is that they know my opinions about AI and its using on academic projects, and even if they were just trying to be helpful and find another solution for me csuse they could see that I was getting frustrated with that project, suggesting that I use chatGPT to finish an essay I know I'm pretty capable of writing is the equivalent of them punching me and kicking me in the guts.

I voiced my displeasure in their suggestion but they said that there might not have any other way to do it if we wanted to turn that project on time. I know that they didn't mean it in a bad way but I felt my intelligence and capacity being doubted at the simply fact that the first thing they suggested me to do is to use a chatbot. They still tried to comfort me saying that "the teacher won't notice, there's no problem in using it" ... my dude, when I say that the anger that I felt at that moment was enough motivation to put my thoughts in order and quickly finish writing my part of the project myself to prove that I am intelligent and capable enough to write essays better than any AI could.

Is not about using it to finish you projects quickier, is about letting a chatbot do a mediocre work for you knowing full well that you are capable of doing it and doing it good, but still choose the easier and poorly option instead of giving your best on a thing you know you're very much capable of doing, even if it doesn't ends up looking how you wanted it to look, but YOU did it, you but your brain and back and time and effort onto it.

Of course people could argue that using chatGPT is easier and quicker and could save a lot of time and work, but we have a brain and we're supposed to use it. Using AI to basically write your homework for you to me is like saying that you stopped using your brain altogether. Congratulations you just gave up on learning new things by yourself and doing things on your own and now need a chatbot to give you wrong information about a chapter of a book you could've well read and write about it if you just use 1% of your brain capacity.

when someone mentions using ai at me like chatgpt i physically feel my body recoil and my opinion of them rapidly decrease like in the sims

[oracle-of-dream]

A Forbidden Drink

You looked at Jake next to you, sleeping soundly. His breaths were deep, and he snored with a soft smile on his lips. You shook him. "Jake, wake up." He groaned in response, waving you away. You shook him harder. "Jake, something went wrong. Get up." He pulled the covers over his head. You could hear the blood rushing to your head as you hit him with your pillow. "Get up!"

Jake shot up, eyes wide. "What's going on?!"

"I still know who you are! Jake, you said I'd forget all this," you whined.

Jake looked down and fiddled with the comforter. He moved the pillow onto his lap, out of your reach. "Don't get mad—" You gritted your teeth, expecting the worst. You were a vampire now and were going to outlive all your friends. You would watch everyone you loved die and have to start eating people. "I got scared and didn't bite you..." Jake raised the pillow to cover his face in case you were ready to hit him again. When he realized you hadn't hit him, he continued, "I moved to bite you. But when I saw you lying there with your eyes closed, I couldn’t do it… So I pretended. And then let you fall asleep."

So you weren't a vampire—that was good news. "So what now? I just find my friends and walk out, right?" you asked.

Jake gripped the pillow again. "Not exactly. I ended up falling asleep instead of getting Sunoo to erase your memory. And as part of the erasing process, he’s supposed to give you orders to go home to your bed. There’s nothing wrong with knowing about us, but my brothers might come for you."

You frowned. "Orders? Come for me?"

"Vampires can hypnotize humans with our voices, but not nearly as powerfully as Sunoo can. I can only strongly suggest something to you, and you can resist if you’re strong enough. Sunoo’s hypnosis is pretty much unbeatable. You can't help but do what he says. I was going to tell him to send you home and for you to forget everything… And if my brothers find out that you’re out there and know we exist..."

You tried not to be creeped out by the fact Jake could tell you to do whatever he wanted, but the thought was there. “So, why can’t Sunoo just do that now?”

"Well… maybe. I don’t want you to forget me. It’s nice having a human friend. It makes me feel almost normal. Since we sleep all day normally and wake up when the sun starts to set, I should be able to sneak you out." Jake climbed out of the bed to peek out the door. He waved you over. "I don't see anyone, so let's be quick."

You followed Jake as he led you out the door and down the hallway. Passing the door where you’d first met Heeseung, the door he’d pinned you against was ajar, but the room was completely dark. You felt a strange sensation as you approached the door. It was like a voice tempting you to enter the room. You knew you had to go, but a peek wouldn’t hurt… Your body slowly drifted toward the door as the smell of roses enveloped you.

Jake noticed you and gently pulled the door shut. He mouthed a name, “Heeseung.”

You shifted to the other side of the hallway, away from the door. The voice fell silent, and the smell was gone. You thought about your friends again. Hopefully, they made it out okay, and none were his playthings. You reached the edge of the staircase, which overlooked the large living room on the first floor. It was still a mess from the party—sunlight poured in from the windows below. 

You started down the stairs when Jake let out a sharp hiss. He was still in the hallway, looking at you on the stairs. "Come on, I don't know this place," you whispered.

"I can't." He put his hand toward the light but pulled it away before he could touch it. "Someone must’ve forgotten to close one of the curtains. I'll go the other way around." Jake turned around before walking back down the hallway. "I'll meet you downstairs."

“I can’t go with you!?”

He shook his head. “You’ll just get lost. Stay toward the front of the house, and don’t wander off.” 

You sighed before continuing down the stairs. Alone. The whole house seemed abandoned now. Seven vampires lived there; six slept as you tiptoed around their home. Now that everything was in the sunlight, you could see the dust covering old furniture. A large portrait of the seven boys hung above the fireplace in the living room. One was sitting, and the rest were standing around the chair. The one in the chair was Jungwon. Next was Jay behind him. Then there was Sunoo; he looked a bit shorter in the painting. Heeseung was there, hanging off of Jake. There were two more that you recognized but hadn’t really spoken to: Ni-ki and Sunghoon, if you remembered right… They all looked almost the same as you’d met last night but with slight differences. Their hair colors and styles were different, and their clothes looked old Victorian-style. 

You reached the bottom of the stairs. The only sounds in the house were your footsteps and your heart beating in your chest. The house was warm with light, but it had a certain coldness to it. From the living room, there was a straight shot to the front door. You made your way there until something moved out of the corner of your eye. You held in the urge to run for it and turned to see Jay lying in a corner near the door with his eyes closed. You stepped toward him, and his head twitched at the sound of the floor creaking beneath you.

That's a no-go.

There were a few more hallways you hadn’t explored last night. One path could lead to a back door. Or it could lead to another one of the brothers.

“Down here!” You heard Jake call you from down a hallway.

The same hallway where you'd bumped into that sharp-eyed man, the brother who didn't seem too interested in you. The last you'd seen him, he knocked you off your feet and yelled at you like it was your fault. The hallway was dark and cold, but a whisper came from there. It called to you, beckoning you forward. Following the whisper, you walked blindly—deeper and deeper, following each turn. It was a long walk in the dark, so you had to put a hand on the wall to guide you. Your eyes played tricks on you, seeing moving shadows in the darkness. They laughed at you, pointing crooked fingers as you stumbled blindly. You kept focused on the path in front of you. The voice was getting louder as you got closer. Eventually, you made it to a massive open room.

“Jake?” you called. You could hear water flowing, like a waterfall. Without the wall's support and suddenly robbed of strength, your legs gave out under you. You were forced to crawl on the floor toward the sound.

"Not quite. But you’re safe here. Come closer to me," a woman called. "I’ll protect you." Her voice was so sweet and relaxing, like a mother to a child. You crawled desperately. You didn't realize it earlier, but you were sweating heavily, and your throat was dry— even swallowing hurt. She sensed your thirst. "I can give you sustenance. Come to the fountain. Drink deeply." The sound of running water was closer now, getting louder until your hand hit a stone. The sound of the water under you made you put your hand out, reaching for the water—just a sip would be enough. The dehydration was unbearable. Your hand found the top of the wall and felt water splash onto it. A fountain! You used both hands to catch the water and brought it to your dry lips.

It was delicious, sweet, and had the sting of fresh raspberries. You wanted more. You needed it. You drank more handfuls, feeling the relief wash over your body and cool you down. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you'd gotten, and you couldn't stop drinking. The water dripped onto your clothes, but it didn't matter to you. You just needed more.

"Y/n!?" Jake's voice came from behind you. You wanted to turn, but you couldn't stop drinking. The water wasn't as delicious as the first few drinks, as it started to taste more like iron and was getting thicker. Your stomach hurt, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop. "Y/n! Stop drinking! Please!" Jake sounded so far away, like a fading memory. But you felt his hand land on your shoulder. He managed to pull you away from the fountain. You looked over your shoulder to see Jake. His face was blurry, but you could make out a concerned expression.

“Who turned on the lights?” you muttered.

"Y/n, how did you get here!? You shouldn't drink that! Shit! This is bad!" Jake scooped you up and carried you away. You felt the fountain call you, begging you to stay and drink more, but you felt sleepy and full. You drifted to sleep in Jake's arms as the smell of iron lingered on you.

You opened your eyes slowly, holding your stomach and slowly sitting up. You were in a bedroom with light pouring in from the window. The room was familiar, but—wait, you had already seen this. You looked over, but Jake wasn't tucked under the covers with you this time. There were voices outside the door, muffled, but you could hear them.

"Jake, what the fuck is the matter with you!? How could you let a human stay here!? And you let them walk around unsupervised!" One angry voice spoke; it was Jungwon.

"I'm sorry! It wasn't supposed to be like this..." Jake responded.

"So what do we do with him? Kill him?" Another voice asked, this one deeper and colder.

You stood but quickly fell to your feet. Your stomach protested moving so much. Pushing yourself to your feet, you reached for the ledge of a nearby window. You grabbed onto the curtain to support yourself, but it tore free. As light started to seep into the room, it was almost blinding. You stumbled as you lost your balance, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

The bedroom door burst open as Jake ran in. "Are you okay!?"

Jungwon motioned to Ni-ki. “Get the window covered.” The tallest nodded as he arranged the curtain back up.

Jake helped you under the covers. "You should lie down. A lot is going on right now."

"Like, what?"

Jake looked at Jungwon. "What do we do?"

Jungwon sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "We have to watch him. We don’t know his reactions to the fountain yet. Tell him."

Jake turned back to you, sitting on the bed. "Okay, this is a lot, so just listen." You nodded, waiting for Jake to begin. "Because of my irresponsibility in properly taking care of you, an incident has occurred," Jake said as he occasionally looked at Jungwon for approval to continue. "When you walked alone in the house, you found a fountain and drank the liquid in it, right?"

You nodded. "I did. I think I drank a lot." Your stomach roared in agreement with the statement.

"You did. And that's not good—we think. The liquid you drank was blood—special blood. And a lot of it. I can't describe it well, but we can only drink from it once a full moon." Jake touched your shoulder. "So, because of that, there might be side effects."

You tilted your head. "Like?"

Jungwon ripped the band-aid off. "You might be like us now, a vampire. But not completely since you were interrupted before finishing that informal ritual you’d started. You’re lucky to be alive or even sane right now. We can't risk you exposing our existence to the people. But you have a life outside of here, which is an issue because people will come looking for you."

"We can still kill them and hide the body," Sunghoon shrugged.

"He just said it would bring more humans to our home to look for us. Could we even risk that? We can't exactly move the fountain, and if they find it..." Jay shook his head as if the thought haunted him.

"That won't happen. And we're not killing. I'm sure y/n will work with us, right?" Jungwon asked, raising his eyebrow at you. You swallowed hard. It was a lot of information, but you didn’t have much of a choice. Jungwon spoke again. "So? What's your choice?"

"I'm with you. Please, don’t kill me," you mumbled.

Jungwon smiled. "I wouldn't want to do that either. So let's try to get along. You can use the room if you want it. Jake will give you a tour, and you can pick out another room if you don't want this one."

"This one is perfect."

"Great. Jake, give him a tour. He's your responsibility for now since he's your fuck-up. I'm going back to sleep. I'll see everyone when it's sunset," Jungwon commanded with a soft yawn as he walked out.

The other brothers left the room, leaving just you and Jake. Jake smiled like a dork. "Welcome to the family, I guess?"

You punched him. Hard. "Jake, what the fuck!? I might be a vampire, and you're cracking jokes?"

Jake rubbed his arm with a pained expression. "You should watch your strength! If I were a regular person, my arm would've broken. And I'm just trying to lighten the mood..."

You let out a yawn. "Well, what now?"

Jake giggled. "We sleep now. It's still daytime."

It was probably around noon. "Why do we have to sleep now?"

"We sleep during the day since we can go outside at night. That's why everyone was in such a bad mood since I woke them up in the middle of the day." Jake patted your head. "You're already tired, right?" His voice had a soft tone with a subtle bass to it.

You’d just woken up a moment ago, but your eyes could barely stay open now. You grabbed Jake's shirt tightly. "Did you just—" Your head fell against the pillow as you fell into a deep slumber, your hand still attached to Jake's shirt. Waking up for the third time in that house was the same as the first. You'd hoped it was all a bad dream, but seeing Jake sleeping next to you confirmed it was all real. You were sort of a vampire now—a member of a household of handsome men who were brothers. The room was still and quiet, too quiet. You needed something to make noise. Even the sounds of passing cars or people on the street would be okay. You escaped the bedroom without waking up Jake and started to explore the house. House was the wrong word—mansion fitted it much better. You passed Heeseung’s room from before, but you could see clearer into it now. Another vampire power was night vision, you guessed. Heeseung was lying in bed, sleeping. He was way too handsome, even while doing nothing.

As if he could feel you watching him, you heard his voice in your head. "Like what you see, little Mr. Curious?" You almost jumped. Your head whipped around to see where that voice came from. When you looked back into the room, Heeseung stood in the doorway. He had a low-cut shirt and a draping cardigan with baggy pants on. "Looking for something?" he cooed. He stepped out of his room. His scent was heavy, a mix of rose petals and chocolate. "I haven't had someone this cute in the house for a while, and now that you're staying, we can play a lot."

You stepped back. "You gonna drink my blood?"

"You're a vampire now, even if I did," He got closer. "You could drink mine, and we'd be even."

"I'm wouldn’t do that to anyone—"

Heeseung sighed in boredom. "Suit yourself. But you can only live like that for so long before it gets boring just drinking from the tap. It's way better from the source." Heeseung poked his nail into one of his fingers and let himself bleed a little. "You don't want to try? Not even a little?"

The smell was metallic but also had a subtle hint of something else. It was enticing… Your mouth watered. That feeling of intense dehydration came back, but now you also felt like you hadn't eaten in days. You wanted to bite Heeseung’s finger off. 

Heeseung sucked his teeth at you as he pulled his finger away. "No, no. Don't let your hunger control you. Take it easy. Let only a little out at a time, or you could bite off more than you can take," Heeseung warned. He put his finger toward you, letting you smell his blood. "Taste some, no tricks."

You hesitantly moved to grab his hand, but he pulled away.

"No hands. We use our mouths for food. You’ll learn Jake's a lousy teacher. So you can learn from me," Heeseung smirked as he moved his finger back to your lips. He poked them, getting his blood on them. Your tongue instinctively darted out to taste it. It wasn't as good as the fountain, but it was a close second. You wrapped your lips around Heeseung's finger and sucked gently. "Ah, there's a good boy," he moaned. He moved his hand, forcing you to follow it to his waist. You ended up on your knees, sucking his finger while he watched with a playful look in his eyes. "You're bad at sucking blood, but I can teach you better. Let me." Heeseung took his finger from your mouth, much to your dismay.

You almost jumped at him as the urge to pin him to the wall and bite his neck seeped into you. Your heart pumped, and your fingers flexed. Or you would’ve jumped at him if you could move. But it felt like an invisible weight was stacked on you. You couldn’t get up…

"Oh, how scary. Are you trying to fight me? Don’t you think we should be even? You tried mine, so I'll try yours." He leaned down, sniffing your neck. "Fingers are for you since you’re still learning. Only the adults can get big bites. And since Jake fucked it up, I'm your first time. I'll consider being gentle." Heeseung stroked your cheek. "So hold still." There was more authority in Heeseung’s tone; he compelled you to stay. When he bit into you, there was a rush of ice-cold pain as you felt the blood drain out of your neck slowly. It hurt at first but then shifted into something more pleasing. It felt good. Heeseung shifted, laying you on the floor, putting his hand on your waist to pull you in as his other hand laced his fingers with yours.

You moaned embarrassingly loud. The sensation was nothing like you’d felt before. And Heeseung made it feel so intimate between you. Heeseung pulled away, his teeth red and his mouth agape. "You taste good. Really fucking good—better than anyone I've tasted. Maybe since you turned recently?"

Heeseung went down for seconds, but you started resisting. "Obey." His voice rang in your mind. The invisible weight on your body intensified, keeping you completely still.

Just as he was about to bite you again, there was a snap at the end of the hall. "He said that's enough. I'm fine with you feeding off him consensually, but let's not do anything we'll regret, Heeseung." It was Jay, standing near the stairs, leaning on the wall.

Heeseung chuckled. "Jay, you've gotta try him. He's delicious."

Jay shook his head. "I'll bite if he offers. You're taking your lesson too far here. Don't do anything to make things more difficult."

Heeseung let you go and turned to you, his eyes softening when he looked at you pinned to the floor. The pressure that kept you on the floor relaxed. "I'm sorry about that, y/n. I didn’t mean to hurt you there… You can forgive me, right?" Heeseung couldn't look at you while he apologized. His cheeky attitude was gone, as his body slightly shook. He didn’t even have that cocky grin anymore. He didn’t wait for an answer before retreating to his room.

Jay approached you, offering you a hand. You took it, and he pulled you up so easily, you felt like you were floating. He wiped a finger on your neck, tasting some blood that was there. “Don’t want to get your clothes dirty, do you?”

"Jay, is it normal for vampires to drink each other's blood?"

"We don't normally do it since we're all brothers. Feeding can be a bit intimate. But I heard some vampires would feast on each other to survive. But those were usually extreme cases." He waved you to walk with him. "I want you to be a little cautious. Since you're not our brother, some might be interested in you. In a less than innocent way."

You tilted your head. "So you don't drink from each other because you're brothers?"

Jay nodded. "We’re not brothers in the sense that we’re all born from the same mother. But we’re brothers still, so pretty much. And we haven't had another vampire here in a long time. The last one was a girl that Jake got close to. When she left, she did some damage to everyone. But Jake felt it the most. He hasn't bitten someone since then."

You remembered. Jake said it had been 100 years since the last time he'd bitten someone. It must've been pretty bad.

Jay continued, "Anyways, that's history. We should figure you out. But let's eat first…

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part seventeen: dream a little dream of me

word count: 1.6k

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff

sixteen | seventeen | eighteen

The second date should’ve felt more awkward. It didn’t.

Alex had picked a science museum of all places—not exactly romantic on paper, but the look on his face when he pointed out the replica Mars rover was too earnest to judge. He had this habit where his whole face would light up like a lightbulb the moment before he got excited about something, and Y/N had already learned to clock it like a warning siren.

“So, technically,” he was saying, hands jammed in his jacket pockets as they strolled past a massive display on deep-sea robotics, “the algorithms used for this submersible’s sensor mapping were adapted from AI software developed for self-driving cars.”

“Technically,” she echoed, teasing, “you should probably just work here.”

He looked sideways at her with a crooked grin. “I applied when I was sixteen. They didn’t take me.”

“They’re clearly still recovering from that mistake.”

He tried to play it off cool, but she caught the slight flush of his ears.

She liked him more than she expected to. Not in the way you decide to like someone—more like how you step outside one day and realize the air smells like rain and suddenly, you’re soft and open and all the windows are down. He was like that: unexpected and quiet and warm around the edges.

They made their way through the rest of the exhibits in no particular order, weaving between dwindling crowds of families and groups of students on field trips, neither of them in a hurry. He let her take her time at the forensic anthropology section, where she ran her fingers along the raised edges of a reconstructed skull, and she let him lose himself in the physics wing, where he explained, with ridiculous enthusiasm, why the double pendulum was so cool. It was there that the nickname Professor Albon was born.

At some point, he took her hand. It wasn’t a big deal. He just did it naturally, without hesitation, like it had already been a habit, and for a moment, that simple touch made her feel warm all over.

They ended the night sitting cross-legged on the floor of the museum café, long after it closed, surrounded by vending machine snacks and a half-solved crossword puzzle she’d found in her bag. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a dim glow over the abandoned chairs and tables, but neither of them seemed eager to move. They laughed about everything and nothing, the kind of laughing that came from being tired but happy, the kind that made her lean into his shoulder without thinking.

"Okay," Alex said, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against the page. "Six-letter word for ‘illuminates or clarifies’?"

As she took a moment to think it over, Alex watched in his periphery as she counted off the letters of her word on her fingers. "’Explains’ fits," she mused, popping a peanut M&M into her mouth.

"Hmm." He scribbled it in. "Not bad. Maybe I should keep you around."

"Yeah, yeah," she nudged his knee with hers, grinning. "You just like me for my crossword skills."

"Wrong. I like you for your crossword skills and your terrible puns."

“My puns are great, thank you very much.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

He liked her brain. She liked how funny he was. They made a good pair—two academically overworked people who laughed at obscure engineering memes and played footsie under café tables without meaning to. When they said goodbye that night, he kissed her like he was trying not to smile through it. Like maybe this could really be something.

It felt easy.

And in the days that followed, it stayed easy. He texted her every night.

alex: Made the Mars rover jealous. Can’t stop thinking about you.

Y/N: did you just say that unironically. because I might have to stop seeing you on principle.

alex: Too late, I’ve already added you to my will. You get the Lego Technic collection.

Y/N: wait nvm i’m back in

They made time. Even when they both shouldn’t have.

He’d bring her coffee before her class–something with cinnamon and oat milk in it. He’d scrawl dumb physics jokes on the lid just to make her roll her eyes. She started keeping his schedule in her head without meaning to. She knew which nights he had his advanced systems class and which ones he spent buried in the lab. He’d text her when his simulations crashed at 3AM. She’d send him memes about courtroom drama tropes in return.

He had an engineer’s sense of humor—dry, sneaky, often deeply specific. It took a while to catch on, but once she did, it felt like discovering hidden easter eggs in his sentences.

“You know,” he’d murmur as they lay back in the grass near campus, watching clouds roll over like they weren’t chilly out here in the autumn breeze, “you statistically reduce your lifespan by two minutes every time you eat instant ramen.”

“Cool. So I’ll be dying a noble, sodium-rich death then.”

He turned his head toward her, smiling with closed eyes. “Hmm, a martyr.”

“A hero.”

“Buried with your books and MSG packets.”

She shoved his shoulder. He let her.

On Thursdays, she’d sit outside his lab, cross-legged on the cold tile floor with flashcards in her lap, quizzing him on his presentation slides about failure analysis and impact resistance.

“Okay, explain to me like I’m five—what is a stress-strain curve and why should I care?”

“Because,” he’d say, crouching in front of her with a smirk, “it tells you how close something is to breaking.”

“And that’s relevant to your research…?”

He gave her a confused look, until it turned sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m… not entirely sure about that bit, actually.”

She started looking forward to the moments in between—the walks across campus, the shared bag of chips while sitting on the hood of her car, the ridiculous voice memos he sent when he was overtired and delirious.

They kissed in stairwells and library corners and once,perhaps ill-advisedly, on a park bench in the middle of a thunderstorm. The rain had soaked through their clothes, cold and unrelenting, but he had just looked at her and said, "I think we should be stupid about this," right before he leaned in. It was impulsive and dramatic and made her laugh until she had to cover her mouth, their faces inches apart. Her hair was soaked, his glasses fogged up, and they almost dropped his backpack in a puddle, but the moment stuck—sharp and golden and untouchable.

They talked about future dates like there’d be dozens of them—bookstores they wanted to browse together, a tiny Thai place he swore by, a stargazing night he promised would be “scientifically optimized for romance” depending on the cloud cover. She rolled her eyes at that one, but her heart still fluttered.

They were still in the sweet spot—the space between maybe and more, where everything felt bright and possible. 

It wasn’t perfect – but it was promising.

The third date was dinner—some hole-in-the-wall Thai place with flickering neon signage and laminated menus stained with old curry thumbprints. He’d gotten lost on the way and sent a flurry of frantic texts.

alex :) : I passed the restaurant. Twice. There’s a cat staring at me through a laundromat window. I think it’s judging me.

Y/N: be strong. you can beat the cat.

alex :) : Negative, Sargeant. It’s very confident.

He’d arrived breathless, slightly damp from a drizzle, and holding a single packet of Skittles “for your efforts,” he’d said solemnly. She called him an idiot. He looked delighted.

That night, they talked about things that didn’t matter—TV shows neither of them had finished, foods they pretended to like for the aesthetic, the sheer horror of Alex’s undergraduate group project from hell (“We had a guy who thought duct tape was a structural solution”). 

And then, slowly, they talked about the things that did matter.

Like how she used to want to be a journalist when she was little, because she thought it meant you got to ask as many questions as you wanted and never had to apologize.

Or how he still wasn’t sure what kind of engineer he wanted to be—just that he wanted to make things that didn’t break when people needed them most.

“You know,” he said, nudging his glass in slow circles across the table, “you’re not what I expected.”

Y/N looked up. “Is that a good thing or, like, a 'you’re secretly a serial killer' kind of a thing?”

He smiled. “It’s a good thing. Really, really good.”

By the fourth week, they had a rhythm. It wasn’t just dates anymore—it was Hey, want to walk home together? and I saved you the last chocolate chip muffin, but only because I like you more than I like muffins. But barely.

It was him reaching for her hand without thinking, her resting her head against his shoulder on the bus when she was too tired to hold it up.

It was a shared Spotify playlist for when studying is ur 13th reason.

It was early Saturday morning sun filtering into her apartment while they quietly read their own books, his socked foot nudging hers on the side of the couch almost every ten minutes.

It was good.

But between the sleepy smiles and the shared muffins and the texts that kept getting longer instead of shorter, the truth was that they both had dreams. Big ones. All-consuming ones.

And no matter how much you wanted something—or someone—there were only so many hours in the day.

a/n: one of my more favorite chapters! an unfortunate lack of lando though :/ what did you think of it?

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hello again !!

Because I love your work I'm here again...

So, I was thinking about little dark g!p Donna x fem reader, and like reader live in village her whole life, and one day she went to the church yk, and Donna can't keep her eyes off her, she literally fell in love with her, so Donna was insecure about herself so she just watch her, admire her (stalk) from afar... One day she gets hurt somehow so Donna save her, offer her a new home....

After some time, they became really close, but donna's feelings just became more stronger so she started giving her a small poets to express her love, and when y/n mention she's in love with someone, Donna lose her mind thinking her only true love, love someone else so she's just distance herself.

Y/n notice, so she tried to talk about it with Donna, and then Donna just crush out and say something like "DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW WHY? BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU AND I CANT IMAGINE LIFE WITHOUT YOU"

and theeen they kisssss, and Donna ping y/n against a wall yk what I mean💋

SORRY IF THIS IS COMPLICATED, ALSO I HOPE U UNDERSTAND, I AM STILL TRYING TO IMPROVE MY ENGLISH

Also A little late but happy birthday to you !

Yess!!! Hello again, friend :D!!! Thank you for your request and words!! You're so kind!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))

A dark angel

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem!! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, angst, dark themes, dark Donna, Donna's POV

Word count: 8,693

Summary: I love her, but she'll never be mine...

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

Always the same prayers, the same gestures…

My siblings and I remained silent behind the shadow of the woman who gave us a second chance without asking our permission.

Lords, protectors, monsters… The ways those villagers called us repeated themselves in my head like terrifying whispers. I never liked people, I never liked company.

No matter how hard I tried to force myself to believe that something had changed after Mother Miranda's intervention, I was only fooling myself.

Despite being Lord, gaining terrifying powers, eternal life, and being embraced by the infinite kindness of the black priestess, I never felt different. Before, I was Donna Beneviento, the only surviving daughter of a noble family who had lost her mind; now I was Donna Beneviento, Lord of the village, doll, and nightmare maker.

I knew what people said about me, the fear my presence generated, the doubts in their eyes when they looked at me, when they saw the black veil covering my shame. They said I was a monster, and no matter how many times I looked in the mirror, the scar on my face spoke for itself.

Maybe my sick mind found some pleasure in the change, thinking that Mother Miranda's divine intervention was a good thing, something that would allow me to stop being that sad and lonely woman, but I was wrong.

Perhaps it would have been better if the priestess had let me die that day; at least that way, I could be with my family again, with my little sister. But the Gods had other plans for me. They played on my insecurities, changed my body at will, but, again, I couldn't complain; I had a new family.

Being Lady Beneviento really wasn't so bad. I had everything I wanted, even though I never asked for it. My doll Angie came to life, and I had the power to play with mortals if I got bored.

But something inside my head begged, pleaded for something more, something to end this eternal loneliness.

“Well, my children, before we return to our duties, there was someone who wanted to make an announcement, isn't that right?” Mother Miranda's different tone brought me out of my thoughts.

The sound of footsteps on the altar was the signal I was waiting for to leave that place and return to my quiet, solitary routine, but something stopped me, something prevented my legs from moving.

“Yes. Thank you, Mother Miranda,” a sweet voice penetrated my ears and made me turn my head sharply with curiosity.

“Mm,” the priestess murmured, stepping back a little to allow me to see where that heavenly voice was coming from.

One step, two... Little by little, something rose toward the altar, something that... was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

A young woman, no more than twenty years old, stood in the middle of the place, allowing me to see, something that kept me standing still, frozen: her face, her hair, a nervous look... Something beautiful, truly beautiful.

Her dress moved with her steps, and hands that seemed tremendously soft played nervously. A beautiful girl, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, stood inches away from me.

I didn't know every single villager, but... how could I not realize that such incredible beauty existed? My mind began to study her delicate body, the perfume emanating from her hair, her bright, dazzling eyes…

 “Well, you know me, I'm (Y/N),” the young girl began, causing my mind to process her name, dazzling with her gentle words. “I just wanted to announce that I finally have enough materials to start my artisanal tea business,” she explained, the trembling of her hands betraying her shyness.

After the silent approval of the rest of the villagers, the girl took a small tea bag out of her pocket, waving it playfully.

“Um… it took me a long time to get everything I needed, and I hope you all can enjoy it,” she continued, but I was no longer listening.

My eyes studied every curve of her body, her chest. My hands longed to caress that silky mane, my ears longed to hear her voice every day, every hour, every minute, every second.

Everything blurred around me, except for her, an angel in the darkness, beauty standing out among the monsters.

A cold draft made me shake my head slightly and frown. My body felt light and my hands empty. When I woke from that little reverie, I realized the problem.

“Oh, tell me, silly, do you give away free samples?” a familiar voice said, my doll Angie, who, surely taking advantage of my absentmindedness, jumped out of my arms and ran toward the girl, snatching the tea bag she was waving.

I grew nervous, walking quickly toward the puppet, who laughed amusedly while the young woman backed away in fear.

“Look, Donna, look what I have,” Angie said, running towards me again, proudly displaying her trophy.

“Angie, give it back to her,” I whispered, picking up the tea and making a show of giving it back, hiding the trembling in my own hands.

“Oh no, well...” she said, looking directly at me with a fake, nervous, scared smile. “Please keep it, my lady.” Her hands traveled to mine, gently pushing them against my chest.

Her touch frightened me, causing me to push that softness away from my hands with a gasp. Her fingers burned against my skin, teasingly tickling my body. I couldn't bear it with fortitude. I was scared. I was scared to have her so close to me, to feel her skin against mine.

“I'm sorry,” (Y/N) apologized, taking a step back, confused by my attitude, or perhaps scared to know who she had touched.

I glanced at the small bag trembling in my hands, and with no other choice, I nodded imperceptibly, finally stepping down from the altar, unable to avoid giving that beautiful girl one last look.

Despite Angie commenting on every detail of the mass, as always, the walk back to the mansion was silent for me. My doll's voice didn't reach my ears; my senses were too busy remembering, re-forming (Y/N)'s image in my mind.

“Hey, silly Donna! Are you listening to me?” the doll asked as I set her down on the floor, finally reaching the safety of my old mansion. “Donna!”

“Silenzio,” I ordered with a growl, pushing the veil away from my face. “Will you be quiet for a moment?”

“Quiet? You silly Donna...” the doll hissed, making me glance at her briefly in reprimand.

Nothing, I didn't want anything, or anyone to stop my mind from thinking about her, that tea girl.

Sighing, I sank into a dining room chair, the tea bag in my hands. I brought it to my nose, inhaling the sweet scent of wild berries, bringing an involuntary smile to my face. She smelled the same; it was like holding her in my hands.

“You're welcome for the free sample,” Angie mocked, climbing onto the table and observing my strange behavior.

“She was beautiful...” I sighed unwillingly, smiling like a little girl, closing my eye to remember the sparkle in hers, her every gesture.

“Mm? What? What are you talking about?” the doll asked, comically tilting her head and gesturing with her hands. “Uh, Donna, ciao, ciao...”

“Ugh, I mean her,” I whispered, moving the bag in my hands, feeling the touch, imagining that those soft fingers had been in the same place. “T-The tea girl...”

“Oh, that silly village girl,” the puppet laughed sinisterly. “It was fun scaring her a little, wasn't it?”

“No, Angie, you shouldn't scare people,” I stammered, blinking erratically, confused by my reaction. “Not her.”

“Uh-Oh...” Angie murmured, moving a little closer to me. “Donna, Donna... you like her, don't you?”

“No, I...” I said awkwardly in my defense. “W-Well, she's beautiful, don't you think?”

“I don't know. I'm just a doll, and you're a fool,” she scolded, pointing at me with a wooden finger. “How can you like her? You barely knew she existed.”

“I don't know, but... she's so beautiful,” I sighed, resting my head on one hand, staring at the ceiling, like a child in love, my heart beating too fast. “She has a beautiful voice and...”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Angie interrupted, gesturing with her hands. “Stop, Donna, you're rambling, she's just another village girl.”

I shook my head, suffering an attack of rationality in my mind, as if I had woken from a deep sleep.

“Certo,” I finally said, standing up slowly. “You're right, Angie, it's nonsense.”

“Listen to your favorite doll, you know she's always right,” Angie emphasized, giving me a mocking pat on the back. “Maybe you need some company... why don't you call Alcina? You know she always has a maid for you...”

Angie's suggestion was always an easy way to forget, to let off steam, to feel falsely loved for a moment, a feeling that disappeared too soon, but it worked at least to soothe my needs.

But on that occasion, I found it repugnant, undignified. No, there was no maid in the castle as beautiful as the tea girl; none had that sweet voice, that dazzling gaze.

“No, I don't feel like it,” I said, frowning and shaking my head.

“As you wish,” Angie said, stepping down from the table with a gesture of indifference.

“I think I'll make some tea,” I said with a different, animated smile.

I longed to try that infusion, to know what that young woman from the church was capable of, if her products had the same beauty, the same harmony as her.

The sweet and bitter taste of the tea ran down my throat like a love potion, like a heavenly ambrosia that transported me back to her. In the dregs, I could see her smile, her gaze, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

My mind was unable to calm down when something disturbed it. My illness made me hear voices, wails, words of love that didn't exist.

I thought maybe those thoughts would disappear with time, just like when a maid pretended to be affectionate with me and I believed I might have a chance.

I'd stopped thinking that way years ago, resigned myself to loving and being loved in the same way, but I knew the feeling, the trembling of my hands when I thought of her, the smile that involuntarily formed on my lips when I remembered her.

I couldn't forget her. I couldn't stop thinking about her, about the taste of her tea. My body began to miss the sweetness of wild berries, pushing me to crave, to desperately crave that warmth running down my throat again.

Of course, I knew what my body wanted, and it wasn't tea. I wasn't interested in that liquid; I was interested in (Y/N), and I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop the sight of her eyes appearing in every doll I made, the struggle of my mind to capture her beauty in my creations so I'd never forget her.

Hardly aware of it, the obsession began to play tricks on me.

Some nights I would let myself go, relaxing with the slow, gentle touch of my hands as I closed my eye or just looked through some old clothing catalog.

The rosy-cheeked models posing there seemed to be moving, their hands replacing mine as they slowly stimulated my penis in the solitude of my bedroom.

But the made-up smiles of those girls distorted as my arousal grew and my breathing quickened. The polished nails of the hands I imagined surrounding my erection dissolved like dust, changing completely.

“Cazzo...” I protested as my mind began to form new images in my head: new hands, a new smile looking down at me, whispering to me, masturbating me.

I even thought I could smell the tea as my panting increased. It was her, the girl from the church, moving her hand up and down my body, maintaining a frantic rhythm that made me squirm. Those eyes looked at me, that sweet voice whispered words of love, of desire…

I wanted to stop, I wanted to free my mind from that impossible image, to return to the fantasies of the girls in the catalog, but I couldn't. I groaned, I protested, but I couldn't shake the shivers that ran down my spine, feeling that the end was irrevocably closer.

Finally, I released myself into my hand, feeling the wet heat of my seed on my skin, dripping through my fingers. I opened my eye, trying to catch my breath, and for a moment, just for a moment, I thought I saw her, (Y/N), in front of me, biting her lip, moaning, writhing.

Shaking my head, I got out of bed, going to the bathroom to wash the remnants of my undignified release from my hands, and the remnants of my thoughts about her from my mind. The cold water cleared my mind, but my gaze in the mirror spoke for itself.

Images of that tea girl beneath my body appeared next to my deformed face, invisible moans echoed off the walls, and my mind began to wonder, to think about what it would be like to make something so beautiful mine.

“How disgusting,” a shrill voice distracted me from my fantasies. Of course, Angie always appeared at the worst possible moment. “Are you finished? I wish I could go to sleep.”

“You can't sleep,” I whispered, clearing my throat and drying my hands, ignoring the doll. “Lasciami, Angie”

“Oh, sorry, Your Majesty,” she continued mockingly, following me back into the bedroom. “What's wrong with you? You've been acting really weird lately. Weirder than usual, I mean.”

“Weird? Me? I don't know why you're saying that,” I protested, plopping down on my desecrated bed, followed closely by my irreverent doll.

“You don't have to say anything. I know everything, remember?” Angie said, sitting uncomfortably next to me, her eyes scrutinizing me, as if I should feel guilty about something. “It's that girl again. You’re obsessed...”

“What do you care?” I asked, offended, annoyed to admit that, once again, she was right.

“I don't care,” she replied, crossing her arms. “But I think you're an idiot.”

“Va bene, lasciami estare,” I hissed, turning off the dim light in the room, trying to ignore Angie's voices, and the ones in my head. “Ugh, Angie...” I protested again when the doll turned the small lamp back on.

“Hey, if you like that girl so much, why don't you do something about it?” she suggested, involuntarily capturing my attention.

“Cosa?” I asked, sitting up in bed and bringing my knees to my chest. “I-I can't do anything.”

“Of course you can. She's still a silly village girl, and you're a lord, remember?” the doll said in a mocking tone, making me sigh thoughtfully.

“Th-That doesn't mean anything,” I murmured, feeling a wave of sadness over me.

“It doesn’t?”

“Of course! Look at me!” I shouted furiously, irrationally, pointing at my deformed face, the face of a monster. “What chance does a freak like me have?! She's beautiful, and I'm... a... a... a...”

“Okay, shut up,” the puppet ordered me.

“Angie, you're trying my patience too hard,” I threatened in a dark tone, something that, of course, didn't bother the doll in the least.

“Fine, whatever you want, keep playing with your little thing and feeling sorry for yourself, you bore me, silly Donna,” Angie sighed, getting out of bed, ready to abandon me.

“Angie...” I sobbed, starting to feel really bad, a feeling of frustration rushing over me without warning. “I'm not okay.”

“What a surprise.”

“I see her everywhere... I... dream about her, I imagine her while...” I began to confess, giving in to my irrational feelings. “I feel her, I smell the scent of her tea every second, I... I can't get her smile out of my head...”

“Then do something,” the doll said indifferently, climbing back into bed.

“N-No... I can't, I don't dare to,” I admitted cowardly, hiding my face between my knees. “I've never...”

“Who said you have to dare?”

“Cosa vuoi dire?” I asked, confused.

“I mean... well, why settle for seeing her in your thoughts when you can do it in reality?” Angie explained, leaving me even more lost.

“You mean... watching her?” I asked again, frowning and looking away. “That's not...”

“Not, what?” the doll insisted, moving closer to me, placing her wooden hands on my shoulders. “That silly girl is still a villager, it's not like she's out of your reach...”

“What are you implying?”

“I'm not implying anything. I'm just telling you what to do,” she said in a supple, haughty tone. “And you know I always give you good advice.”

“So, what do you think I should do?” I asked impatiently, crossing my arms.

“What you do best, dear Donna, lurk in the shadows...”

Angie's advice seemed childish. Lurk in the shadows? Stalk (Y/N)? Watch her? How stupid.

At least that's what I thought for a few insignificant minutes. Then, I began to see some clarity in her words. I could try with all my might, but that girl would never feel anything for me, I knew that well. No one had ever felt anything for me, at least not something they weren't forced to pretend.

The idea of ​​romance, of having someone to love, someone who would love me, sounded great, but as time passed, I began to forget it, to feel like it wasn't meant for me, that I didn't have the right to experience true love. My deformity, my different body, kept me from being a normal woman, someone a girl like (Y/N) would want to meet.

I knew it from the moment I was entranced by her gaze, by her smile. I could only imagine her, admire her from afar, never in any other way. Angie could be many things, but above all, she was a part of me, a part of my consciousness that I separated from my body, thanks to the Gods.

The idea seemed dark, but the more I thought about it, the more light illuminated my mind. Yes, the only thing I could do was not to forget her, strive to get to know her without her knowing, observe her movements in the darkness, hidden.

I wanted to know everything about her. I wanted to know what she liked, the things she hated and loved, how she walked, how she spoke, how she dressed, how she lived. The obsession didn't improve—quite the opposite—but I know it was only my fault.

Every day I walked towards the village, hiding from the gaze of others, from their shining eyes. I felt safe in the shadows.

I learned a lot from you, you know?

I knew that (Y/N) liked to sew, I knew what books she read, what face she had when she fell asleep by the warmth of a small fireplace. The smell of that delicious tea accompanied me in my observations, and my fantasies turned into increasingly vivid dreams.

I knew her routine, the small shop where she sold her tea, the exact steps from her house to her work. I began to lose my mind. Sheets of old paper began to fill with notes about (Y/N). I didn't want to forget every discovery, every new aspect I saw in her.

I thought I knew her, but it was only an illusion. My hidden body deeply longed to be discovered, longed for those beautiful eyes to look at me, but it never happened. I didn't want to be seen, I didn't want her to see the figure peering through her window, the ghost of the woman who haunted her without her knowing.

My conscience would attack me from time to time, making me feel guilty for chasing her, for harassing her. But then she would appear, dispelling any doubts with her kind smile, her polite, somewhat shy voice.

I had to feel bad, but I was unable to.

The nights were even worse. I stopped visiting the castle maids and their false, cold warmth, starting to enjoy my memories, my imagination. Thinking of her, of her hands touching me, of her body embracing mine, making her mine, was enough to calm my impulses.

But the more I did it, the worse I felt. I felt like those hands would never surround me, that the warmth of her naked body would never come close to mine, that her lips would never kiss me.

I had to acknowledge reality, but I couldn't. The crises changed. I no longer lamented my pathetic existence, but my inability to approach that girl without trembling, to do anything other than stalk her or lurk in the shadows.

It was unbearable, but it was an addiction I couldn't break.

Spying, studying, observing, thinking, imagining, touching myself, ejaculating, sleeping, and repeating, became a painful and inevitable routine that stretched on for too long.

“Che bella sei...” I murmured, watching your smile as (Y/N) attended the villagers, the gestures she made.

“Uhg,” Angie protested, turning away with a tired sigh. “Donna, I'm starting to get tired of this.”

“Your smile is beautiful...” I sighed again, dazzled by her beauty, blushing as I hid behind some trees. “Ti amo, (Y/N)...”

“Okay, okay, enough,” the doll interrupted, standing in front of my field of vision, obscuring her image. “Donna, basta.”

“Get out of the way, I can't see her,” I protested, gently slapping the doll and positioning myself on that distant bench.

“What? Are you hard already? Are you going to take it out and jerk it off out here? ” Angie said in a nasty tone, forcing me to tear my gaze away from (Y/N)'s beauty and growl at my friend.

“Ma che volgare, Angie,” I snapped, disgusted by her hurtful insinuations. “What's that about?”

“Donna, I'm sick of coming here day after day to stare at that silly girl and watch you lose your mind,” she said, climbing onto my lap with an authoritarian pose. “You're pathetic.”

“What? Take that back,” I threatened, pushing her off my body, starting to get dangerously nervous. “Take it back...” I growled darkly, standing up.

“Never,” the doll sighed, unfazed by my attitude. “Stupida”

“Non...” I hissed, my breathing becoming dangerously faster. No, I couldn't argue with the doll so close to her; she'd see us, everyone would notice. “Cavolo, Angie, this was your idea.”

“Yes, I thought you'd calm down a bit,” she replied, gesturing indifferently. “But I can see you haven't. You're losing your mind, much more than usual.”

“So what do you want me to do? I... I love her...” I said in a softer, submissive tone, sinking back onto the bench. “I can't do anything but admire her from afar, dream that one day she could be mine and...”

“Wake up, silly Donna,” the puppet interrupted, climbing into my lap and smacking me on the head, making me groan again. “Stop fooling around and act at once.”

“I've already told you, Angie, there's no way she'll notice someone like me, much less love me,” I sighed, on the verge of sobbing, feeling the fabric of my black veil dampen with my tears.

“That's nonsense,” the doll replied, shaking her head. “You're a lord, remember? You don't need her to love you.”

“I don't like what you're implying,” I whispered, confused, but knowing what her intentions were.

“Fine, but you have no choice,” she said, comically crossing her arms. “You can have whatever you want, Donna, whoever you want. She's just a simple villager; you shouldn't care about her feelings. You want it? Then take it.”

“Do you want me to kidnap her?” I asked, thoughtfully. “Th-That's not romantic at all. I don't think...”

“Do you love her?”

“Yes, of course I do,” I replied, nodding, nerves running through my body. “I love her more than anything.”

“Then take her, make her yours, she can't say no. You're her owner,” the doll finished, getting off my lap and pointing at the store. “You'd like it, wouldn't you? For her to kiss you, to caress you, to feel her close to you...”

I just nodded, imagining it all in my mind, what it would be like, how it could be so real and no longer be a fantasy. A sinister smile spread across my face.

“Yes, I would like it.”

“Then do it, silly Donna, take that stupid girl with you. She won't be able to refuse. You could make her suck you off whenever you want and...”

“Angie, please, don't... don't make it look dirty. I-I want to be romantic, to love and take care of her... She couldn't refuse me, could she? I could make her truly love me...” I rambled, slowly getting up, playing with my hands, which, for some reason, were starting to sweat.

“Oh, yes, of course, dear Donna, she'd be yours and only yours. You just have to... well, take her. Easy peasy, right?”

“Yes...” I sighed, my gaze fixed on the snow, drowning out the images of (Y/N)'s screams as I kidnapped her against her will. Those screams would turn into moans, I was sure of it. “But... but how do we do it?”

“Follow me. I have a plan,” Angie said, walking closer to the store, too close.

“Angie, what...?” I asked as I followed her, not realizing I'd already entered the artisan shop, and had found something beautiful, her gaze upon mine.

“My lady,” (Y/N) said, giving a small bow without taking her gaze from mine. “I was waiting for you to come.”

“D-davvero?” I stammered unconsciously. I think she heard me, because she frowned, confused.

“I'm sorry, but... I don't understand you,” she said kindly, without removing that smile from her face. “Was that Italian? Gods, I had no idea you...”

I knew that smile.

“Yes, yes, yes, whatever you say, silly girl,” Angie interrupted, comically climbing up onto the counter. “You were waiting for us, huh?”

“Um, well… I remember that I offered you some of my tea, and I was worried.”

“You were worried,” I sighed, my voice imperceptible to her until I cleared my throat. “Perché?”

“Um... well,” (Y/N) stammered, visibly nervous. “The truth is, I was worried that my tea wouldn't be to your liking, Lady Beneviento.”

“The tea was fine, or so Donna says,” Angie said, amused, fussing with the things on the counter.

“I'm glad to hear that, my... lady,” the girl murmured, still nervous, with that tremble in her voice that betrayed a certain fear of my presence.

You'll be more afraid, little bird.

“Oh, um... are you interested in buying something? Don't worry, I have special prices for distinguished customers.” Her merchant's tone pierced my ears, detecting a hint of falseness, of discomfort.

“Yes, yes... tell me, silly, where do you get your herbs?” the puppet interrupted again, discreetly gesturing for me to let her speak.

“Well, the wild plants here offer a lot of possibilities, but I'm afraid there isn't much variety,” (Y/N) explained, while Angie studied the tea bags.

“I see... that's because you haven't ventured into the western forest, huh?” Angie continued, while I marveled at her gaze.

“Mm, no, well... that's your territory, isn't it, Lady Beneviento?” she asked me in a doubtful tone, to which I nodded elegantly. “I wouldn't want to trespass on your property, my lady.”

“Nonsense,” Angie said, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. “Donna wouldn't mind you gathering some herbs to continue making that delicious tea, would you, Donna?”

“Mm,” I murmured, beginning to understand the doll's plan. She was certainly clever, too clever.

“Oh, well... I appreciate it because I was starting to have stock issues and... if... if that's okay with you... I'll stop by there, I'll try not to disturb you.”

“Va bene,” I said formally, hiding the trembling in my hands as I turned around. “I'll take four bags.”

“Perfect... thank you, thank you very much, my lady.”

It certainly seemed like a good plan. She'd just have to come to me, to my territory. Once she crossed the bridge, it would be the end, and my beginning. I resisted doing it, but I had to admit Angie had a great idea.

I just had to wait for that little bird to fall into my net.

“There she is,” I said, excited to see (Y/N) appear out of the snow after a long few days of waiting.

“Yeah, I see,” the doll said as we hid behind an old wall. “Okay, we just have to wait until she's distracted and... boom! You'd have that pussy just for you.”

“Angie...” I hissed at that vulgarity, and the sinister laugh that accompanied it. “I told you to not to talk about her like that. She'd be my girlfriend, not a whore, do you understand?”

“Whatever," the doll whispered. “Look, she turned around... she looks scared.”

“I'm not surprised,” I sighed, a pang of sadness in my chest.

Could she really love me? Could I force her to do it? I was desperate; I couldn't do anything else. She'd be mine, no matter what.

(Y/N) walked slowly, cautiously, probably afraid of the rumors circulating about me in the village, about how dangerous it was to enter my territory and the high probability of never returning.

After a sigh, seeing that there was no danger, the young woman began to examine the bushes there, looking for herbs for her tea, wild plants that I knew didn't exist, at least not in the way she thought, or Angie made her think.

“Now,” I growled, emerging from my hiding place and clenching my fists as Angie followed close behind, laughing sinisterly. “You're mine now...”

I walked slowly toward the girl, who seemed quite distracted, vulnerable. My mouth watered, imagining all the things we would do, how much we would love each other, everything I had planned for my girlfriend, my wife, my eternal lover.

But suddenly, (Y/N) gasped in fear.

I stopped, thinking maybe I'd given myself away, that she'd heard me.

No, don't run away, little one, don't run away from me...

I blinked in relief to see her gaze directed not at where I was standing, but in the opposite direction. Her legs moved, starting to back away, and a growl began to echo through the snowy forest.

One of Moreau's hideous creatures emerged from the trees, one ironically named Vârcolac, the local term for "werewolf." It was a deformed, rabid dog that was slowly approaching the young woman.

All my senses were on alert, but when I started to run, it was too late.

A scream of pain was the next thing I heard. That ferocious beast had pounced on (Y/N), its teeth sinking into the skin of her arm, causing her beautiful blood to spill into the snow.

I rushed forward as fast as I could, rabid, snarling with rage. No, that beast couldn't take her away from me; she was mine.

“Basta!” I shrieked furiously, standing in front of the creature, which released the arm of the young woman, who was crying in terror. “Go away!”

I knew the influence we had on those creatures; I expected obedience, and I got it. But no, it wasn't enough. That thing had hurt my beloved, and it would have to pay. The rabid dog began to whimper, to cry in suffering as I focused on making it pay.

“Gods...” (Y/N) whispered, pulling away, dragging herself through the snow with her injured arm. “Gods...”

Hearing her addictive voice, I stopped, leaving the Vârcolac alone, which fled with agonized wails, never to return.

“(Y/N)… are you okay?” I asked, crouching down next to the young woman. “Cavolo, what was that thing doing here?” As I asked, I looked at Angie, who just shrugged.

“M-My arm,” (Y/N) stammered, holding her wound. “It hurts,” she complained, writhing in pain.

“Relax, you're safe now,” I whispered, unable to believe what had just happened, soothing (Y/N)'s pain with my powers, making her gaze relax before she fainted. “You're with me now…”

Those were my last words before picking her up and taking her home, to her new home.

Healing her was simple, but watching her sleep… it was complicated. My body was asking me to do things I'm ashamed of, but luckily, I was stronger than my impulses. I treated and washed her wound while whispering words of love to her, knowing she couldn't hear me.

“Well...” Angie said, climbing into the bed. “Everything went much better than I expected.”

“Better? Cazzo... Angie, tell me you have nothing to do with the Vârcolac,” I growled nervously.

“Of course I haven’t. That slimy fish should have better control over his creatures, but hey, it came in handy,” the doll said, looking at the unconscious (Y/N).

“Handy? She... she's hurt... I was about to lose her and...” I said nervously, gently stroking the girl's silky hair, intoxicated by her tea scent.

“Don't be silly, this was the best thing that could have happened to you, Donna. You didn't have to kidnap her, you saved her life. Of course, it's much better,” the doll explained, making me realize that, once again, she was right.

“Mm... Mm...” a murmur escaped the young woman's lips, causing my head to snap towards her. “Where... Where am I?”

“You're safe, in my house,” I explained softly, continuing to stroke her hair.

(Y/N) winced slightly before rubbing her eyes with her good arm, positioning herself, noticing who was beside her.

“Lady Beneviento,” she whispered weakly, her eyes wide open, watching me.

Then it hit me. My hand went to my face, and I didn't notice the black cloth that used to cover it, but my skin. I'd forgotten about the veil, I was so afraid of losing you…

“Mannaggia…” I lamented, getting up to escape this situation. I wasn't ready to show her my hideous face, not yet.

“W-Wait…” the girl interrupted, reaching for my wrist, preventing me from moving with her burning touch. “Wait, please.”

“You shouldn't have seen me, (Y/N),” I whispered, struggling not to fall into her sweet grasp.

“No, I... it's fine, my lady... I like to put a face to my guardian angel,” she commented with a warm smile, making me look back at her slowly, to see the sincerity of her misguided words.

“I'm not an angel,” I murmured, removing her tempting hand from me, walking away from the bed.

“Well...” she said, painfully sitting down on the bed, still staring at me, scrutinizing my deformed features. “You look like an angel to me.”

“You're wrong,” I said frowning, but turning completely around.

(Y/N) shrugged with a sleepy smile, lying back down.

“Thank you,” she whispered, falling asleep again, forcing my weak body to move closer to her. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“I... don't,” I murmured, sitting next to her and looking at the bandage on her arm. “Y-You should rest.”

“Mm,” she gestured again. “I’m a little dizzy… I don’t think I can go home now…”

“No,” I said tersely, shaking my head. “You have to stay here, with me… erm… you must stay, and you can do it… as long as you want…”

“Mm… yes, you’re an angel…”

Her voice was sleepy due to my powers, but it was still divine, heavenly. She was no longer talking to herself or a client; she was talking to me; those words were directed at me. Dizzy or not, she was speaking to me; she had looked at me; there was no horror on her face, no fear.

All the horrible thoughts I had for her disappeared in an instant when my reckless hand grasped hers as her breathing relaxed and deepened. She was mine now, she was with me, but for some reason, I didn’t feel strong, I didn’t feel like holding her back by force.

I wanted to love her, take care of her, see her smile, and hear her tell me those beautiful things. I couldn't do it, I could never hurt (Y/N), and that was killing me.

When her arm healed, she would be gone forever, I would lose her, but I couldn't help thinking it was the right thing to do, that she would be much happier without me, that her smile would disappear if I forced her to love me.

At least she was mine in that moment. Maybe I could try, maybe...

Little by little, (Y/N) regained consciousness, flushing the drug emanating from my body and bringing her out of her disorientation. She didn't change much; she simply seemed much more serene, fearful, but... for some reason, she didn't seem to be truly afraid of me; rather, she seemed to want to be polite and grateful.

I cared for her, treated her with affection, with sweet words while I healed her wound, while she hissed in pain at my actions. But I was always rewarded with a beautiful smile, a sincere, grateful smile.

I couldn't fully reflect the days that passed, but they were more than one, more than two. Soon after arriving at my house, (Y/N) was able to roam freely, curious about everything there, asking questions, and being fascinated by each of my explanations.

“Mm, it's delicious,” she commented one evening while we were having dinner together, in silence, a calm, peaceful silence, a silence that allowed me to contemplate her, to see how she looked at me, how she acted without me being hidden, watching.

“Grazie,” I said gratefully, taking a sip from my glass of wine.

“This pasta has been my favorite food since I was a child,” (Y/N) said, wiping herself with a napkin.

“I know,” I said mistakenly, instantly regretting it for knowing her better than she did.

“Wow, you lords know everything, don't you?” she said amusedly, tasting the wine, complaining about her wound. “Ouch...”

“It's our job,” I said confidently, taking advantage of my status to correct my stupid mistakes.

“I see,” she said, winking at me, a gesture I didn't quite interpret, making me blink in confusion. “I thought I could do something for you.”

“Something for me?” I asked curiously, a darkness appearing in my gaze. Yes... I could think of many things she could do for me.

“Mm,” the girl nodded, carefully placing her glass on the table. “Well, you feed me, you take care of me... sometimes I don't think I want to go home,” she joked, making my face freeze.

“Then don't do it,” I said in an indifferent tone that made her raise her eyebrows before she laughed softly, shaking her head.

“Well, who knows...” she murmured distractedly after that awkward moment, which she dismissed as a joke. It wasn't. “But I would like to help you, at least... well, I know how to sew, and... I could help you with your dolls.”

“Mm, you need to perfect your technique,” I commented, slipping up again, making her look suspicious.

“Oh, really?” (Y/N) said amused, but with a slightly different tone, as if something didn't add up. “Well, I guess if you're patient enough with me, you could teach me your... perfect technique.”

“You can't sew with that arm,” I said, trying to break out of my own trap.

"It won't be forever, will it?" she joked again, raising her wine glass.

I smiled mysteriously, beginning to enter into a strange game I didn't understand, but I liked. I was crazy about her, hopelessly in love with her. That hadn't changed, it had only gotten worse.

“Here's to that, cin cin...”

As her wound healed, my hopes began to fade.

(Y/N) wasn't a simple villager; she was a young woman with a talent for fabrics, a lover of poetry, a kind, cheerful girl...

I never thought we could have so many things in common, that someone like me could get so close to someone like her without forcing her to do so. Of course, I had saved her life, and she was grateful for it. (Y/N) only meant to be kind and grateful, but it burned me. Her smile devoured my insides, made my heart race, excited me, drove me crazy.

Laughter, movies, hours of silent reading... somehow, we had established a bond I hadn't expected. I had managed to approach her without trembling and she didn't tremble when I did. She was perfect, so perfect…

Love consumed me, making me feel pain, sadness, frustration. She was just a girl grateful for what I did, nothing more. Soon she would be gone, abandoning me, and I would only be able to live on memories, on that false illusion of a shared life.

Luckily, I watched her long enough to get to know her, to know what she liked, what to do to please her. It wasn't too difficult for me to do so; she loved poetry, and I loved reading it to her, dedicating a few verses to her in small notes, or while doing her best to help me with my dolls.

I was happy, or I thought was. I would never be happy until she was mine, until she told me if she had feelings for me.

It drove me crazy, I suffered crises at night when she wasn't watching, desperately calling out her name, smashing mirrors and furniture, begging the Gods for a chance for happiness, with her.

“Anche così è stato breve il nostro lungo viaggio.

Il mio dura tuttora, né più mi occorrono

le coincidenze, le prenotazioni,

le trappole, gli scorni di chi crede

che la realtà sia quella che si vede...”

I recited one night, by the light of the fireplace, with her fascinated gaze fixed on mine. My voice trembled, but at the same time it was firm and sure. It didn't matter how much I was suffering for her love. I would suffer eternally to see those eyes look at me like that, to hear the words my lips spoke...

“Wow, it's beautiful,” (Y/N) commented, whispering so as not to disturb the peace of the moment. “What does it mean?”

“It talks about the loss of a great love,” I explained, closing the book, nervous to have her dress so close to mine, so close to me... “Eugenio Montale remembered his deceased wife with these verses, the things they experienced...”

“Oh, that's very sad,” she sighed, lowering her gaze. “Still, it sounds beautiful. Lost love is love, after all.”

“I-I guess so,” I said, relaxing a little, trying not to look at her intently whenever she spoke, to avoid seeming desperate, in love...

“Love is beautiful in all its forms, don't you think so?” she said in a casual tone, placing her legs on the sofa in a distracted posture.

“I don't know,” I answered sincerely.

“Have you never been in love? Oh, um... I shouldn't have asked that, I...” the girl said, once again recalling that cautious tone from the first days, the first weeks.

I didn't respond. I just looked away.

“What about you, silly girl? Have you fallen in love?” Angie interrupted, comically scaring us, breaking the tension of that moment, of that awkward question.

“Angie...” I hissed menacingly, while (Y/N) giggled with a hand on her chest. “Lasciala.”

“It's okay,” the tea girl said, shaking her head. “Actually… I'm in love right now, really bad, indeed.”

Her words stabbed into my chest like two sharp daggers. My whole world, my fantasies, and hopes crumbled at once. I should have known, I should have imagined that someone as perfect as (Y/N) would have someone waiting for her, someone who loved her, and who wasn't me.

Suppressing my rage, my desire to hurt her for causing me pain, I abruptly stood up from the couch, causing the girl to do the same, worried.

“Donna...” she said calmly. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine! Cazzo...” I screamed, removing her soft hands from my shoulders, which were trying to turn me towards her. “Take your hands off me, you stupid girl,” I growled, panting angrily and running towards the elevator, towards a night of inconsolable crying.

“Donna, wait.”

I didn't hear her; I could only hear her confession, her declaration of love for someone else. I'd already lost my mind, but that finished me off, brutally. Still, killing her, taking revenge out of spite, didn't seem like a good idea.

Imagining the terror in her eyes, her last breath, didn't console me, quite the opposite. Anyway, I already knew it was impossible; she would never love me, and I'd have to accept that, or I'd end up hurting her.

I decided it was best to distance myself, to cool down enough so I wouldn't feel the warmth of her presence, to count the days until her wounds healed completely and she disappeared from my life forever, before I did instead.

But I was never good at acting; my new attitude couldn't go unnoticed by her.

“Donna,” (Y/N) said, bursting into my workshop, distracting me with her unattainable charms. “I-I think I'm completely healed now.”

“Good,” I whispered, concentrating on the porcelain, not in her beauty. “Then you can get out of my house.”

“What? Um... I thought... I thought you liked being with me, I was thinking about...” she said, confused, getting dangerously close.

“No! Don't think, stupid! If you're healed, go away, you're just annoying me,” I exclaimed spitefully, breaking the doll with my hands, with the force of my pain.

“Why are you treating me like this? You're not the same, Donna, I thought that...” she said, hurt, pretending to care about my attitude.

I couldn't take it anymore.

“Why? Are you asking why?” I said, standing up from the chair with a dark look, clenching my fists tightly on either side of my hips. “Because I love you, stupida! I've been in love with you longer than you can imagine! You break my heart, you tell me there's someone you love... and you ask why I treat you like this? I don't know, (Y/N), maybe it's because I can't stand you being so close to me if I can't have you, maybe it's because I can't live without you!”

“I know,” she commented, unfazed by my madness, leaving me voiceless, colorless. “I always knew... you were there, somehow.”

“Cosa?” I asked nervously, a tear of love running down my cheek.

“I saw you far away, in the snow, watching me every day...” she explained, replacing my anger with shame. “At first I was scared, but... somehow... I knew you didn't want to hurt me.”

“You don't know anything, stupida,” I hissed, moving a little closer.

“I know what I feel,” she said firm, confident, without taking her eyes off mine. “Donna, I'm in love with you.”

“What? No, no, no, you're not going to cheat on me,” I said, pointing at her accusingly. “You told me the other night, you said that… that you were in love…”

“Yes, with you,” (Y/N) confessed, leaving me paralyzed. “I know it sounds hasty and… well, maybe you find it hard to believe, but somehow, that day, in the church… I… I don't know, I started wondering what you were really like, what was under that black, withdrawn figure.”

“Um…”

“And then… you came into my store with that silly excuse about tea… I never thought you'd dare to approach me, I'm just a simple villager,” she said amusedly, taking a step towards me.

“You're not a simple villager,” I said confused, my hands trembling when hers intentionally brushed against them.

“And you're not a monster…” she whispered, too close to my lips. “You saved my life, remember?”

“N-No... I... I...” I stammered as her arms wrapped around my waist and her gaze deepened on mine, mesmerizing me. “You don't understand... I wanted... I wanted to hurt you...”

“You'll hurt me, Donna. You'll hurt me if you don't kiss me,” (Y/N) whispered in my ear, pulling away to let my body respond, to let me thrust desperately against her, my lips crashing onto hers.

It wasn't a tender or loving kiss; there was fury, rage, shame, and passion in my movements, in the way my mouth devoured hers. I felt her smile as she reciprocated, the wetness of her tongue brushing against mine with the same force that my hands gripped her waist, pulling her against my body.

“Ti amo..." I whispered panting, catching the breath she'd stolen from me with her kisses, declaring my love for her, confessing a love that had been killing me for too long. “Ti amo...”

(Y/N) smiled seductively, not responding with words, but with another passionate kiss, quieter, but just as effusive.

My hands went wild, wanting to touch every part of her body I'd long considered forbidden. Her dress was violated by my caresses as my legs pushed her beauty against one of the workshop walls.

“I've wanted you to be mine for so long...” I growled in her ear as my fingers grazed her breasts beneath the fabric, my nails gripping her flesh, penetrating it.

“Prove it, Donna,” she challenged me... her voice was a wet challenge as my teeth sank into her neck.

Her bare skin appeared before me like a divine gift, allowing me to lie on it, caress it, kiss it, moisten it for me, so that I could devour it. But I was too anxious to enjoy the moment. I loved her, wanted to truly love her, to sink into her body, to make her mine before she came to her senses and realized what I was doing.

I took a deep breath, looking into her shining eyes and listening to her labored breathing, and without thinking, I ripped her underwear from under her dress with a victorious, dangerous, avid gasp.

“Donna,” she protested in amusement, letting her back hit the wall as I released my quivering erection from its prison. “Calm down.”

“No... you can't ask me to calm down,” I whispered in a commanding voice as I lifted her, leaning her against the wall as I entered her carelessly, feeling that warm, wet embrace around me.

“Shit... you're big, Donna,” (Y/N) protested with a moan, closing her eyes and letting herself go, letting my cock slide through her tight walls, forcing its way into her body, into her wetness...

“You’re... mine...” I responded clumsily, thrusting into her slowly but firmly, slamming her back against the wall as I held her. She clung to my body as best she could.

“Oh, yes, yes,” she moaned as she danced up and down to the rhythm of my thrusts and my indiscreet grunts. I barely had to force myself to move her; she was light as a feather, and comfortable, warm. “Oh, Donna...”

“You're not surprised,” I said with a sinister smile, moaning with pleasure as I felt her body intensely squeezing my erection, a wet, lascivious sound adorning the moment.

“I'd... heard something about it...” she moaned, too focused on the pleasure to be rational. I didn't give that unpleasant comment much thought; I had work to do.

Laughing, reveling in our first time, in truly having her physically, in feeling myself inside her perfect body, I continued my thrusts while my lips fought to capture hers.

“Donna, Donnaah!” she cried out, ecstatic as my release flooded her, causing her body to react in kind, holding me close, milking me with lust so my seed would stay inside her.

The pleasure I felt was incomparable to any other; her body was so perfect... so wet... so much better than a stupid, used maid. I already knew I loved her, but I didn't know I could feel that way: lost, madly in love, capable of forsaking the very Gods if she asked me to.

“I hope I didn't hurt you,” I said when I caught my breath, pulling out and gathering her in my arms as I brushed her hair away from her face. “I've been wanting to do this for so long... wanting to love you...”

“I know, Donna... you were always my guardian angel.”