#no but i seriously think this is the theme by the way

[ghsface]

Not sure if you are taking request but can we get an angst with Matt where like reader and him are dating for years but recently comments have been getting to her or people have been following her home and eventually she decideds to break up with Matt but Matt takes things to in his hands where he’s tells ppl to stop and they get back together?(Lol sorry if it didn’t make sense but thank you)

𝜗𝜚 new messege .ᐟ.ᐟ

Hey gorgeous, I really liked this idea, I hope you like it too.

You are the only thing I want - Matt Sturniolo

Sumary: You and Matt had a secret relationship and when you decide to make it public everything goes wrong...

Warnings: angst hate messages towards reader, this is just angst with a happy ending

A/n: Leave me ideas to write in my inbox because I'm running out of ideas. I'm sorry if something is misspelled or not understood. My first language is not English. By the way, what do you think of my new theme, in my opinion, it's very cute like the baby pink and light brown. ����🧸

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

It had been exactly fourteen months since the first time you and Matt kissed. You hadn't imagined then how important he would become in your life, nor that being with him would be so complicated. Because, although you adored each other and the bond between you grew every day, that relationship had to be kept secret. It was a mutual decision, made for practical reasons. At first, the thrill of secrecy made everything more exciting. But now, you both felt exhausted.

You had spent too many nights talking secretly in the car, dates arranged down to the last detail so as not to be seen, or moments of solitude where, instead of shouting to the world how much you loved each other, you had to hide it like a forbidden secret. The situation was starting to weigh on you.

That night, you were on the couch at Matt's house. He was holding you, and your head was resting on his shoulder while you felt his fingers playing with the strands of your hair.

"Aren't you tired of this?" he asked quietly, breaking the silence.

You raised your head and looked at him, searching his eyes for what he really wanted to say.

"What are you talking about?"

"About having to hide… about not being able to tell anyone how amazing you are." Matt smiled, but his eyes reflected a sadness that you shared.

"Of course I'm tired. Sometimes I wish we could be a normal couple".

"Then let's do it", he suggested, giving your hand a squeeze. "Let's make it public. I don't care what others say. I want to be with you, and I want everyone to know it."

The idea made you feel butterflies in your stomach. The love you had for Matt was bigger than any fear, and the fact that he was willing to share your relationship with his fans made you feel special. You decided to announce it on social media.

When Matt uploaded the first photo of the two of you together, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. The image showed an intimate moment, a selfie of the two smiling on the beach, with the sunset in the background. The caption was simple but powerful: “Over a year together, and we’re just getting started.”

For the first few hours, the response was overwhelmingly positive. There were comments from fans congratulating and supporting them: “They look beautiful together,” “Finally someone makes Matt happy as he deserves,” “What a great couple they make!”

But over time, other types of messages began to appear. “Her? Is he really with her?”, “She’s not enough for him,” “She’s only with him for fame, I’m sure she’ll use him to become famous,” “Poor Matt, he deserves someone better.”

At first, you tried not to take them seriously. But every time you checked your phone, more of those comments appeared. There were people criticizing your appearance: “She’s too basic for someone like him,” “She’s not even pretty, how dare she date Matt?”, “Matt deserves someone more attractive.”

The words cut you deeply. You knew you shouldn’t let those comments affect you, but you couldn’t stop the doubts from starting to poison your mind. Every time you looked in the mirror, you started to see those flaws that others mentioned. Insecurity began to invade you in a way you hadn’t experienced before.

Matt tried to comfort you whenever he noticed you looking down. Sometimes, during the night, he would catch you reading the comments on your phone, and he would simply take the phone away from you and hold you, whispering that he loved you and that was all that mattered.

“You don’t need to listen to those people, babe,” he said, looking at you with a sincere expression. “They don’t know anything about you, they don’t know how amazing you are.”

The comments didn’t stop, though. Every day they became crueler and crueler. Rumors began to circulate suggesting that you were only with Matt to gain followers, or that you were using his fame to make yourself known. People commented on every aspect of your life, from how you dressed to how you looked without makeup. There were those who said things like, “It’s obvious that she dresses like that to get attention, can’t she dress up better?” or “She should thank Matt for giving her a chance, she’s just an ordinary girl.”

At some point, comments were no longer the only thing. People started following you home, taking photos of you without your permission, and even trying to get close to you to ask you invasive questions. You felt watched and judged at every turn, and little by little, you started to believe that you weren't enough, that maybe all those people were right.

The pressure began to be unbearable. Your self-esteem plummeted, and every time you looked in the mirror, you saw someone who, according to the world, wasn’t enough. Matt tried to cheer you up, to remind you how much he loved you, but you couldn’t stand it anymore.

One night, after one of your most difficult conversations, you asked him to meet you. Matt came over to your house, and as soon as you saw him, he knew something was wrong. He stared at you in silence as you searched for the words to say to him.

“Matt… I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

“What are you saying?” he asked, frowning, clearly worried.

“I can’t be in this relationship anymore. The pressure, the comments… they’re tearing me apart. I can’t take it anymore.

Matt looked at you, unable to process what you were saying. He was trying to understand, but the pain in your eyes made it clear to him that you were really hurt.

“But… I love you, and I don’t care what other people think. They don’t understand what we have.”

“I know, Matt. I know you love me, but I can’t go on like this. I’m losing myself in all of this.” It's getting harder and harder to get up and pretend everything is okay.

You took a deep breath, trying to hold back your tears. “Matt… I can’t keep going like this. I can’t handle the pressure, the comments, the people following me everywhere. I feel like I’m losing myself, and I don’t want to drag you into this. I think… I think it’s best that we break up.”

The goodbye was hard and heartbreaking for both of us. In the days that followed, Matt stayed away from social media, not mentioning anything about what had happened. He isolated himself, trying to understand how the love of his life had to walk away because of the cruelty of others.

Weeks went by as you tried to get over the situation, even though you felt empty. However, one afternoon, while you were checking your social media, you noticed a post from Matt that surprised you.

It was a photo of you and him that Nick had taken, and the message was clear and direct: “I don't give a shit what others say about my girlfriend. I'm with her because I love her, and that's never going to change.”

Matt's public statement was not only a message to his fans, but a promise that he was willing to stand up for what they had. Feeling a torrent of emotions, you decided to call him. When he answered, his voice trembled with emotion.

"I can't go on without you" he said quietly, while you tried to hold back your tears.

"Me neither, Matt… I love you."

That night, they met again, and between tears and hugs, they knew that this time there would be nothing and no one that could separate.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly, and feel free to leave a request ✮

⤷ Tags... @matthewsroses @sophand4n4 @strnilolover @lolastrniolo

[cuppajj]

yknow while I don’t subscribe to golden cheese x burning spice, I think Spice having an unrequited, toxic crush on cheese is a fun and scary angle

(yap below, tw for possessive/obsessive themes)

Spice wouldn’t have taken her seriously before and during BY 5 and 6, seeing her as little more than a thief with squandered potential that he just wants to see changed. She’s not supposed to be weak, he’s supposed to be a legitimate adversary. He’s bored, and she’s supposed to excite him! It’s why he’s mad when she gets her ass handed to him, and why he’s elated when he learns she escaped her birdcage. That burning anticipation for a reunion continues throughout the story, with Spice hunting her down for their (what he assumes) final fight, not wanting to waste any more moments without her in his sight. Sure, he believes he’ll kill her then and there, and go on to destroy everything she holds dear. It’s par for the course for all the heroes he’s seen and slain. She’s more special, a little different, but the same. It’s even looking like that when he finally tracks down and battles her, seeing the lost queen desperate and hanging on by a thread.

But then she puts up a fight. She defies his expectations. She turns into something more powerful than he could ever fathom and Spice isn’t even mad, he’s not horrified, he’s ecstatic. The most ecstatic he’s likely ever been in centuries to millennia. Finally, finally, Spice has something new. After a long and tired quest to make his life more interesting, he has it. And then the temple collapses on him, and his new light disappears. It’s not the end of the road for him, though, no. He laughs under the rubble. It’s clear he’s not given up, and he wants to see her again. He will see her again. He must see her again.

Spice never stops thinking of the day Cheese came back from the edge of death and teased him with power that he’s desperate to get a taste of. He wanted her to be entertaining, and he almost doubted her, but she proved to be it and more. She surprised him. She amused him. She, just like his addiction to destruction, provided an avenue to cure his boredom. His imagination runs wild with ideas of what she could do and how she could entertain him, his bird, just like she did back then. He wants to lock her up again and watch her plow through his underlings again. He could play other dangerous games just to see how she’d do. And he wants another fight, he wants to see her on the edge, but then what? What other surprise could she give him? She could find a way for him, or else he’ll just force her to find a way for him. Maybe her new wings could be torn off too, and she’ll once again crawl and struggle until she rises up stronger than ever. Because she’s full of those surprises, isn’t she? They can do this forever. As immortals, they have all the time in the world for each other.

I like to think that Spice isn’t fully aware of his feelings for her, but he’s aware of how she makes him feel. The thought of her and her power makes his jam boil and chest flare with tingling heat. Remembering her limp in his clutch makes his dough tingle with fervor. Maybe he notices that his breath hitches in the smallest way when he thinks of how she’s somewhere out there, waiting for him. It’s something not even destruction could make him feel, no, the little bird is above that. She makes him feel this way and he likes it. He wants more. Spice wants to keep her, plain and simple. He had her in his grasp once, and she ran away with the promise of more. He wants more. He wants it. He wants her. And maybe, if he takes away everyone she’s ever known and loved, she’ll have no one but him. His little bird, his to entertain him forever.

Cheese is absolutely none the wiser to this, and she’ll be in for a hell of a ride when their paths cross once more.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

hi blusy!! i have a G!P donna request to make...

following the canon events of resident evil village, ethan winters went to the beneviento estate to search for his daughter rose and comes across reader, donna's maid who is appointed to take care of the young winters for the the time being. donna, for some reason (i dunno what, you can fill this one kwnsisjsj) wasn't in the manor that time and so ethan didn't experience the hallucinations like he did in the game. ethan, relieved that he can finally get back his daughter, tries to talk the reader into handing her over. (just to be clear, rose is not in the jar like in the game. rose is actually still intact, like her actual baby body is there and reader is taking care of her) reader refused to do so but ethan insists. without any choice left, reader tries to run away from him, which enraged ethan. he chased reader around the manor, easily overpowering her since reader is not experienced in combat / donna felt like there was no need since she's just the maid.

(she's not actually just a maid because she's intimate with donna and they did have sex before... but donna is stubborn and won't confront her own feelings up to this point.)

when donna finally got home, she found reader cowering on one corner, covered in blood (not her blood but ethan's because she tries to fight him off) while ethan was on the verge of stabbing her to death with scissors.

so uhh.... i think you know what will happen next to ethan (hint: not so good) donna ignored his corpse and went straight to taking care of reader. reader assures her that she's fine and that the blood is not hers so donna calms down for a bit.

and thennnn yeah, smut time!!! :D

donna, terrified and pissed at the thought of almost losing reader to winters, calmed herself down by touching reader for a while. just touching, you know, the silly hands around the waist thing and whatever. but realizing that ethan touched reader way too much than she liked, even to the point of ruining reader's dress that she made herself, donna was pissed once more... and possessive. (wink wink)

Yesss!!! I hope it wasn't too dark... Thank you for request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

Her hidden heart

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut at the end, Minors DNI, dark themes, dark Donna, mental health issues, possessiveness, Donna being Donna, fluff, seriously, this is dark...

Word count: 8,543

Summary: She doesn't talk about her feelings, she will never do it...

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

To say that you, or any maid in the village, were born to serve would be a lie.

The Black Gods ordered your life as they saw fit, often without taking into account stupid dreams or ambitions. You could have complained, protested, but you didn't. Being a maid wasn’t in your plans, but, you had no other plans.

You were a young girl. At 21 years old, nature gave you gifts that were apparently useless and that you found difficult to recognize: beauty, sweetness, kindness, goodness... all of those were characteristics that were possible separately, but never together in a single person.

You weren’t special, but you were strange.

None of your friends felt good about having to leave their home to work in the castle. You, however, accepted your fate in an optimistic way, without protest. After all, you weren’t leaving the village. You weren’t abandoning your family.

You would do it because you accepted your destiny; you accepted that the Black Gods granted you those skills, that beauty solely to serve.

What you didn’t expect was that you wouldn’t live surrounded by girls your age, dealing every day with Lady Dimitrescu and her eccentric whims. It took you a long time to get used to the idea of ​​being her maid, but the plans didn’t go as you wanted.

The castle wouldn’t become your home, but a place of passage for your next destiny, one that you didn’t believe possible. You wouldn’t serve the oldest Lord, but the youngest.

You could not reject that proposition, because it was what the Gods had in store for you.

Your destination was the forest, it was that dark mansion guarded by a waterfall, it was the house of the most mysterious Lord, of the doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

The lady in black received you in silence, without saying a word, assuming that you already knew what you would have to do. In part you did know, and you let yourself be carried away by the inertia of what would be your profession, obeying in silence.

Every day, every night was the same in that place. Nothing changed, perhaps the shrill voice of the doll Angie had new words for you, but that figure in mourning continued walking like a ghost at your side, as if you didn’t even exist.

Comfort wasn’t exactly the word you had in mind when defining your stay at the estate, but discomfort wasn’t either. The days, the weeks passed quickly, like a blink, revealing only a glimpse of that black shadow.

Sometimes you wondered what would have happened if everything had remained the same, if nothing had changed; a heavy and annoying thought that you tried to push out of your head.

You barely knew the lady, no one was lucky enough to do so. You had heard horrible things, rumors, exaggerated descriptions, but none of that was comparable to seeing that black veil dance when she passed by you.

Donna was a taciturn, discreet woman, who refused to acknowledge that you were there even if she had asked for it. Luckily, your thoughts about an eternal routine were completely wrong.

Your elegant “my lady” was, with the first words you heard from the lady, transformed into a simple “Donna.” It could be an insignificant change.

Hearing that hoarse voice for the first time could have been a mistake, a small detail or a thank you gift for your work, but nothing of the sort. That melodic whisper was only the spark that lit a long fuse of events.

First her voice, then her face.

She didn't take off her veil in front of you. She didn't show you her beauty as an act of friendship or trust, no. Donna simply got up that morning and didn't bother to cover herself. She would never do that again.

Her words were more eager to come out of her lips and her single eye scrutinized your reaction to an act that seemed casual and natural. It wasn't.

Showing her face wasn't a reward for your work, but rather a test, the last one the lady needed in order, according to Angie, not to get rid of your annoying presence. Of course you only flattered her beauty despite her distrust of your words.

Yes, she was beautiful, terribly beautiful. That deformity on her face was only part of a capricious gift from the Black Gods, the price to pay for eternal life and the protection of Mother Miranda. At least that's how she saw it.

They were cold, trivial conversations, but more frequent. Talking to the lady allowed you to get to know her better, learn her tastes, some of her concerns. Maybe showing up before you was a test, but you were sure that talking to you, even with that cold tone, was not.

For a young and deluded girl like you, it wasn’t difficult to start feeling something for Donna. Her rare smile, the sparkle in her eye, her hair as black as night, her thin and apparently soft hands…

She was a strange woman. Her mind was damaged, loneliness danced around her like a sinister shadow, but you were always good at dancing to the tune of that melody of laments and tragedies.

As time went by, that beautiful smile was much more frequent, the cold conversations didn’t heat up, but they didn’t stop either. A relationship of trust wasn’t enough for those moments alone in which words sometimes flowed, and other times you just looked at each other in silence.

First her voice, then her face, her body.

If you had to give a reason for that afternoon in the workshop, you couldn't do it. Without warning, without being aware of the strange gleam in her eye, the words turned into kisses. They weren't sweet, they weren't tender; they were wild, desperate. You fulfilled one of your wishes, yes, you kissed the woman you had loved for more than a year.

It wasn't the beginning of something, it wasn't the beginning of a romantic relationship, it was a wish half fulfilled. Those deep, anxious kisses weren't covered in love, they weren't accompanied by confessions, only by gasps, only by eagerness to take you.

You realized that it wasn't just her face that was the victim of the Gods' games, that this gift from Mother Miranda brought with it a change in her body that could very well seem like a mockery to poor, lonely Donna.

You didn't care what the lady's last secret was, the cruel game that gave her body an unexpected and isolated change. You were a maid and you wanted to do it, you wanted to let yourself go, let her take you roughly at the table, take your innocence and finally claim you as hers.

Not a whisper, not a declaration, none of that accompanied Donna's carnal desires. She simply took what she wanted, what was hers, when she wanted, how she wanted.

Any maid would have accepted her fate, put her body at her mistress's disposal without thinking, without asking for explanations, without asking or wondering. Not you.

You weren’t capable of considering yourself an object, a toy, a doll that Donna played with whenever she wanted. You had a hard time seeing it that way. You knew it wasn't that way.

Her kisses were sometimes hurried, other times they were slow and careful. The silence was only overshadowed by her moans, by yours, but not by words, at least, not always by words. Not wanting to accept your destiny as a sexual doll for the lady, you began to analyze those encounters, the coldness that seemed to fade from her voice.

You were madly in love with Donna, but that didn't mean she felt the same, although, refusing to believe it, you began to look for signs that proved you were wrong.

You found much more than you expected. Her caresses were infrequent, but warm, curious. Outside of passion it wasn’t common for her to kiss you, but it wasn’t something that never happened.

The most beautiful smile in the world, hers, began to appear at very specific moments, in those moments when Donna thought you weren't looking at her.

Like a child's game, she had fun loving you secretly, you were convinced of it. You wanted to hear it with her words, you wanted her to tell you everything you knew she felt, but you were never able to do it.

Donna kept her feelings behind a hard door of cold steel; she refused to share them with you.

 The coldness became a silent shield for the voices of her heart, although it was clumsy, it had cracks. It was as if she didn’t want to let herself be carried away by what she felt, as if loving you was a mistake or a danger.

Her defenses faltered from time to time, giving you kisses, glances, whispers, but soon they returned, soon the huge door that guarded her heart would close again and her face would become stoic, expressionless.

Without fear of losing, of making mistakes, living for more than a year like that, letting her take you, enjoying her body while she did it with yours, thinking, or rather, making you believe that it was her right for being your lady, your mind set a new goal.

You would only have to be patient, study the steel door well, those feelings the lady showed without wanting to, and, with a little luck, be able to find the key, use it, and throw it far away so that it couldn’t be closed again.

“Ouch!” you screamed that morning, that morning when everything became strange.

You were cleaning, as always, standing on a stool to be able to remove the decades of dust from a shelf. Due to clumsiness or lack of care, you tripped, falling to the floor abruptly.

“(Y/N),” the lady in black said, running to your body, with an expression of concern that made you sketch a smile. “Oddio... are you okay?” she asked, crouching down beside you, helping you sit up.

“Yeah… it was a stupid fall,” you said in a sweet voice, the only voice you could have with her. “Thanks, Donna.”

The lady nodded slowly, checking that you hadn't been hurt, with a look of concern that delighted your mind, with a softness and warmth in her gestures that revealed her feelings were exposed. Her eye locked with yours for a moment, her face relaxed, but soon after she frowned again, turning away and clearing her throat.

“Um... be more careful, will you?” Donna said with contempt, not helping you up. “A crippled maid is of no use to me.”

“I'm sorry,” you said with flushed cheeks, smiling at the clumsiness with which she closed her mouth, with which she tried to pretend that, to her, you were just that, a maid. “I'll be more careful next time.”

“Fine,” she whispered, crossing her arms and looking away. “I have to go to an important meeting today, (Y/N). I hope to have the house clean by the time I get back… um, I mean, if you can…”

“Of course, Donna, don't worry,” you said with a smile, with that radiant smile you were blessed with and that caused some nervousness in your mistress.

Nodding briefly, the lady and her doll left the mansion without saying goodbye, looking at you shortly before closing the door, looking at you through the veil that hid her beauty, but also those expressions she was ashamed of.

What you didn't imagine was what would happen later, when the lady and doll returned.

“Gods, what is that?” you asked when the lady came back, with Angie not being her only company.

Donna frowned, looking at what she was carrying in her arms, approaching without saying a single word and handing it to you.

In your arms you had a baby, a baby of no more than a year old who looked at you with curiosity. You knew that anything could happen at meetings, but you didn't expect that.

“Don't you see, you silly maid?” Angie said, walking towards you. “It's a baby.”

“Um, I know it's a baby,” you said nervously, holding the girl in your arms and looking at the lady, who coldly, as always, took off her veil without paying attention. “But… But…”

“Her name is Rose,” Angie said, pointing at the girl who was writhing in your arms.

You were nervous and confused, and with good reason.

“Rose?” you asked, looking for Donna with your eyes.

The doll maker sighed, resting her hands on a table, as if she were thinking about her answer. A million possible explanations began to pass through your mind, each one more terrible than the last.

“Donna…”  you whispered, approaching her slowly. “Who is this child? Is she your daughter?” you asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

She turned around, shaking her head, with a nervous, cold expression.

“No,” she answered with an annoyed whisper. “She's not mine.”

“Oh, okay,” you said, biting your lip as the baby squirmed in your arms. “Who is she? Why do you bring her with you?”

“You're nosy, huh?” Angie hissed, as the lady, absentmindedly, poured herself a glass of wine.

She seemed nervous, much more nervous than usual.

You could see the trembling of her hands, her lost gaze. Even, if you concentrated hard enough, you were sure you could hear the thoughts roaring in her mind.

“I'm not nosy, I just don't understand who this baby is and why it's here,” you said looking at the doll while Donna dropped into a chair, with a hand on her forehead. “Donna, what's going on?”

She drank and then looked at you with disinterest, indicating with your gaze for you to come closer. You did it unsurely, calming the imminent crying of the baby.

“Mother Miranda believes that this child is the key to the resurrection of her daughter,” the brunette explained while you sat next to her. “Preparing the ritual takes time and she couldn't take care of her.”

“Gods…” you sighed, cradling the baby. “Who are the parents? Are they from the village?”

“No,” she answered, looking away with a tired gesture. “Don't… ask so many things, ho mal di testa.”

“I'm sorry,” you apologized, looking closely at the girl who moved in your arms. “This is so strange… Don’t you know who her parents are?”

“Didn’t you hear me? Shut up, stop asking stupid questions, (Y/N),” Donna protested, pouring herself another drink and sighing, closing her eye to relax. “You don’t want to know.”

Deep down you knew what that meant. That girl wasn’t from the village and her parents, of course, weren’t either.

Living with Donna had given you certain knowledge about the priestess, about her tireless search, about the methods she would be capable of using to get what she wanted.

“This is going too far… Kidnapping a child…” you murmured, cradling the baby, deducing for yourself where the little girl came from. “Poor parents… it’s unfair.”

Donna looked at you with a sad look, nodding as she played with her glass.

“Yes, it is,” she said in a low voice, emptying the wine into her throat and shaking her head. “I know what you're thinking and no, it's not my fault.”

“I didn't say it was,” you said, leaning towards the lady, who seemed terribly nervous and repentant.

In the village they could say that her heart was evil, that she had a black soul, but you, over time, discovered that it wasn't like that. Donna wasn’t that way by nature, the tragedies of her family, the loneliness... All of that turned her into a puppet in the hands of Miranda.

Knowing that the kidnapping of a little girl was something that visibly bothered her relieved your heart, made you feel less guilty for loving her.

“In fact, it's your fault” she said, with a more common tone, pointing at you with her finger.

“Mine?” you asked surprised, arching your eyebrows.

Donna nodded, crossing her arms.

“It seems that your skills as a maid have spread throughout the village and Miranda thought to leave the care of Rose to you appropriate . According to her, she is much better off with you than in the castle.”

“Oh, I don't know how to take that,” you said with a fake smile, comforting the little girl's moans. “Shh, don't cry...”

“Angie, bring the bag,” the lady ordered, to which the doll, who was comically watching the baby, agreed grumbling and bringing a small backpack from the entrance. “Everything is here, I trust you know how to take care of her.”

“Yes, of course, before coming here I used to take care of my nephew and...” you said nodding and accepting the task without asking any more absurd questions. “Um, I think we need to change her,” you said with a grimace of disgust. “Are there diapers in there?”

“I don't know, check it yourself,” Donna said with the same unpleasant face, getting up from the chair with a tired sigh, with a pained expression and a hand on her forehead. “I'm going to the workshop. “

“Oh, okay,” you said, disappointed at not being able to keep up even one more stupid word with her. “Do you need something?”

“No, lasciami estare.”

That day she didn't seem to be in a good mood, and you knew it was best to leave her alone.

 Donna would have to wait. You had something more important to take care of at that moment. Carefully you cleaned little Rose, in silence, thinking who the unfortunate parents were, why Miranda, protector of the village, would do something like that to an innocent family.

Questions in that place were dangerous and besides, Donna trusted you

“That's it... now little Rose is clean... you like being, don't you?” you said talking to the baby with Angie, without knowing anything about the brunette.

“Gross,” the doll protested as you got rid of the trash and the little girl writhed playfully on a table. “How long is she going to be shitting herself?”

“Angie, it’s a baby,” you said, frowning and picking up the little girl, cradling her in your arms. “We all have been.”

“No, not me, silly,” the puppet said, sitting next to you on the couch. “I’m a more evolved specimen than that poop machine.”

You laughed, shaking your head and watching the hallway, not sure you wanted Donna to come back, not when the thin line of her sanity was so weak in the face of madness.

“Rose, mm? Rose or Rosemary?” you asked the baby, who was playing with your necklace, the necklace Donna gave you some time ago.

According to her, it was a mark, a proof that you were hers. The fact that the gold chain mysteriously coincided with your birthday was, according to your mistress, a stupid coincidence.

“You should read her a bedtime story,” the puppet suggested, making you frown in amusement.

“Wow, Angie, that’s a good idea,” you said, surprised, while Angie and you watched the little girl, who seemed restless. “Find me a story, will you? Oh, and… there isn’t a crib in the house, is there? She can’t sleep anywhere.”

“Yes, yes, there is one in the basement, come, come silly,” Angie said, getting off the couch and leading you.

With the little girl asleep, the day ended.

That day was definitely not the best for Donna. Many times, almost every night, she would take you in silence, falling asleep beside you in the bedroom, not asking you to leave. It could be because loving you was an exhausting task, but once again, Donna didn't know how to hide her true intentions.

Under the sheets, with your bodies naked and exhausted, she pretended to sleep, pretended that her arms around you were a product of the inertia of sleep and not a desperate gesture to maintain contact with you.

You knew when she was sleeping, when she was awake. Those arms, those soft caresses in your hair while she watched you, believing that you were sleeping didn't mean anything of what she wanted you to see, but quite the opposite.

You never dared to play with her, to make her see that her attempts to be stubborn and insensitive stopped working a long time ago. You didn't dare, the fear of discovering that perhaps her sick mind made her behave like that, that she really didn't feel anything for you was the worst of your fears, although you were completely convinced that it wasn't like that.

 That night there were no hugs, no cuddling under the sheets.

You enjoyed those caresses, those kisses that meant nothing, that sometimes didn’t lead to passion, to her eagerness to take you. She closed the bedroom door, thus indicating to you that she didn’t want your company.

It was the first night you slept alone in a long time, but the circumstances were delicate, little Rose had been too abrupt and unexpected a change, which surely unbalanced the lady's sanity, you didn't know to what extent.

“Oh, what is this? A cow... what does a cow do, little Rose?” you said, playing with the girl the next day, while Donna was having breakfast.

She didn't even look at you or talk to you, that day, that morning, she went back in time, pretending you didn't exist.

The girl hit the old book you were holding with her hand, a children's book full of pleasant drawings. You didn't know what that poor baby had been through, but, above all, you didn't want the shadows of the village to haunt her, not before... Miranda took her away.

Rose laughed, innocent, unaware of the uncertain fate that awaited her. Donna looked at you out of the corner of her eye, smiling, pretending that you couldn't see her, even though you did and your face, subtly, smiled back at her.

“Oh, you want some of (Y/N)'s delicious mashed apples, right?” you said, closing the book. “Angie, can you help me?”

“Aye,” the doll said, fulfilling your request without any protest.

The doll was unpredictable, sometimes she was a devil from hell, and other times she was as cute as a teddy bear. It seemed that little Rose's presence didn't bother her at all, quite the opposite of her owner, who seemed even more absent.

When the girl finished eating, you made a great effort to try to get her to sleep, but you were distracted by the lady, who approached slowly, sitting on the armchair in front of you, watching in silence.

You looked at her tenderly and she did so coldly, but also with a spark of curiosity.

“She's an adorable girl,” you commented after a few minutes of tense silence. “She's very good.”

“Mm,” Donna murmured, disinterested, looking away.

“Do you want to hold her?” you offered, bringing the girl a little closer.

The brunette moved her arms exaggeratedly, shaking her head with a grimace of disgust.

“No, take her away from me,” she said with a childish hiss.

“Mm, Donna is so mean, huh? She doesn't want to play with little Rose,” you said amused, watching the girl smile at your comical voice. “Well, never mind, you should sleep now.”

“You're good at it,” she commented with a relaxed gesture, tilting her head to watch you cradle the baby.

“Yes, I already told you that I used to take care of my nephew,” you said, looking at her briefly, with that sweet smile that didn't usually leave your face. “Babies aren't a problem for me.”

“Mm,” she murmured again, looking away.

Seeing Rose's face, how sweet and tender she was, you began to fantasize, to imagine scenarios that were previously unthinkable, to imagine a future with Donna, a real one, one in which you weren’t her maid, in which the whispers of love lasted all day, in which those words, those three words that you so longed to hear, ran through your ears.

You were so engrossed in the baby, so hopelessly in love with Donna, that you stopped having control of your thoughts, and also of your words.

“You know what? I've been thinking,” you murmured, cradling the girl, letting yourself be carried away by your emotions. “I wouldn't mind having one of these.”

“Mm? Di che cosa stai parlando?” the lady asked, blinking and frowning.

“Well, I'm talking about this, about a baby,” you sighed, playing with the girl to distract her with your hand. “Can you imagine? A baby, our baby…”

“What?” Donna asked in an unpleasant tone, shaking her head. “You can't be serious.”

“Why not? I've been here with you for over a year, and… well, I always wanted to start a family and…” you stammered, regretting having let your feelings speak for themselves.

“Are you crazy? Don't talk nonsense, (Y/N),” she said, sighing in disbelief.

“Nonsense?” you asked, in a sad tone. “Wanting to have a child with you is nonsense? You and me…”

“You and me, what? Huh? You and me what!? The woman asked in a cold, nervous tone, fixing her bright eye on yours, increasing the volume of her voice.

“Shh, don't talk that loud,” you said, calming Rose's nervousness, and your own. “Donna, stop pretending that I'm just a maid to you, I know that's not the case.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, with a mocking smile. “You know… what? Stop making things up, (Y/N). You are my maid, that's all.”

“That's not true,” you said, with an involuntary hiss. “You know that's not true.”

“You're stupid, (Y/N),” Donna growled, getting up abruptly from the chair. “I'm going to make one thing clear to you, stupid maid. You are mine, you serve me. If I want to fuck you, I do it, if I want to ignore you, I do it. You are here to serve me, to meet my needs, nothing else, do you understand?”

“Why are you so stubborn?” you asked, raising your tone as well. “Look at yourself. You can't even believe your own words and… don't say those things in front of the girl, Donna.”

“You dare to give me orders?” he asked, approaching in a threatening manner. “Stop dreaming about babies and stupid ideas about our relationship. There is no such relationship, do you hear me? I don't love you... you are my doll, my toy, nothing else.”

“You can say whatever you want. I know it's not true,” you said, looking down, with a serious expression, not feeling the slightest pain for her words, you knew they weren't true. “Deny it to yourself the times you want, Donna.”

“I think you've gotten too close to me, stupid...” the lady hissed, looking down, staring her anger into your eyes. “Have a child with you? Don't be an idiot, I would never have a baby with a stupid maid like you,” she growled madly, with her hands shaking, losing control little by little.

“You're shaking, Donna, and do you know why? Because you're lying, because those insults hurt you much more than they do to me, because you would do anything before admitting your feelings,” you said defiantly, trying to keep the girl calm.

“I should never have hired you,” she whispered dangerously.

You, who were determined to face her hard wall, kept your composure, a defiant face, equal to her false madness, her false claims.

“That's the only thing you've sincerely said,” you murmured. “You know why? Because it hurts you, it hurts you that a stupid maid like me has stolen your heart; it hurts you to recognize that behind that powerful and feared Lord there is a soul wanting to be loved.”

“Shut up,” Donna hissed, breathing with more difficulty. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” she yelled furiously, kicking the floor angrily, causing little Rose to start crying. “Ugh, make her shut up! Shut that stupid brat up!”

“Stop yelling, you're scaring her,” you said nervously, trying to calm the baby, who was crying inconsolably.

“Vaffanculo,” the lady said, turning abruptly and cowardly fleeing the scene.

The tears couldn’t help but run down your cheeks as you calmed Rose's crying. It wasn’t the first time you insinuated something like that, that you wanted to make her understand that what she believed didn’t matter, that there was something between you, something intense, something strong. Donna was too stubborn and you were too in love.

Of course, she had never been so abrupt with you. Maybe she was telling the truth, and you were nothing to her.

“She's a very stubborn woman,” you said to yourself. “Why is it so hard for her to admit what she feels? Gods...”

A little while later, when Rose managed to calm down, the lady returned with a different look, one that wasn't directed at you.

Donna, without saying a word, dropped down next to you on the couch, looking at the baby, who was struggling to fall asleep. You, feigning annoyance, moved your body away from hers a little, pretending that those words didn't hurt you, that you were strong.

“May I?” she asked after a few tense minutes, extending her hands towards the baby.

You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye, nodding, unable to suppress a smile.

“Be careful with her head... that's it...” you said in a sweet voice, handing the baby to the lady, who took it unsurely, following the guide you made with your hands in hers. “That's it…”

The brunette looked at the girl and then at you, cradling the baby slowly, with a close, but at the same time very far from reality look.

“Say hello, Rose, hello…” you said with a loving voice, calming the girl's nervousness due to those unknown arms. “It's Donna, honey, say hello, Donna…”

The lady sketched a smile, and then sighed very deeply.

“I'm sorry, (Y/N),” she whispered with a bit of pride. “I'm sorry for speaking to you that way.”

You looked at her, nodding to accept her apology.

“I have nothing to forgive you for, I know you didn't mean it,” you said with a tender voice, enjoying the view you had of Donna with the baby.

“No, of course I didn’t,” she murmured with a shy stammer. “You're not stupid.”

“Sometimes I think I am,” you sighed, helping Donna keep Rose in a comfortable position. “You know how I feel about you. You know I love you, right?”

Donna looked away with a strange, bewildered expression.

“I just don't understand you, Donna,” you said again, shaking your head. “You think I don't notice what you do. You think I don't know that you caress me when I sleep, that you whisper in my ear, that you smile at me when you think I'm not looking… I'm afraid you're not that good at hiding what you feel.”

“I don't…” she said, regretting talking and controlling her breathing. “It's not that easy, (Y/N).”

“Of course it is,” you said with a hopeful smile, reaching out your hand to guide her face, her gaze, to yours. “Donna, just tell me, say what you feel. Tell me I'm not a toy for you, tell me because otherwise... I'll end up going crazy.”

The lady lowered her eye, pressing her lips together, letting a tear roll down her cheek, starting to sob.

“You are not a toy,” she said with a broken voice. “You, you are…”

“Yes, come on, tell me, my love,” you insisted, seeing, for the first time, her defenses falter. “Your gaze says it, but your words remain silent, why, Donna?”

“Don’t you understand? You don’t know what it’s like for someone like you to tell me those things, to look at me that way. You don’t understand that it’s hard for me to accept that someone loves me just the way I am… I want to believe you, but, but I can’t… they, they don’t let me, they say that you will leave and…” she said nervously, blinking uncontrollably, being immediately comforted by your caresses.

Slowly, you approached her lips, placing a different kiss on them, one that she didn’t ask for, one that came from the depths of your heart. She sobbed, but her lips kissed yours too, slowly, without saying anything, but saying everything at the same time.

“Shh, Donna… my Donna…” you whispered in a tender voice, with your hand running over her cheek, wiping away her tears, touching her scar.

“Don't do that,” she interrupted, shaking her head, embarrassed.

“I like everything about you, Donna, everything,” you said in a tender voice, looking into her eyes, at her sad and weak expression.

Maybe, finally, you could get that confession you so longed to hear from her lips.

“If it's true that you don't love me, look me in the eyes and tell me, I promise to accept it, I promise not to abandon you if you do, I will always be faithful to you, my love, no matter what you feel.”

“I can't do that,” the brunette murmured, shaking her head.

“Why?” you insisted.

“Because I'd be lying,” she finally said, handing Rose back to you, breathing nervously at that veiled confession. “(Y/N), I…”

A horrible noise, the intrusive ringing of the phone interrupted the most anticipated moment of your life. Her gaze lowered repentant, and her eye begged for your silent forgiveness.

“Go,” you said with an understanding smile, putting Rose in her little crib. “I've been waiting for this conversation for a long time. I can wait a little longer.”

Donna nodded, kissing the back of your hand quickly, like a different gesture, one that said she wouldn't change her mind soon, as it always used to happen when she was close to admitting her feelings.

“Pronto,” she said, picking up the phone, looking at you out of the corner of her eye with a sad smile that you returned.

“Cosa?” Donna asked scared, changing her expression radically. “Dead Lycans? ... Where? Cazzo… yes, Mother Miranda, yes, the girl is with us, (Y/N) is… yes, right now, Mother Miranda,” she said nervously, calling your attention and hanging up abruptly, running towards you.

“What's wrong?” you asked nervous by her erratic behavior. “Donna.”

“I have to go. Something happened…” she said without giving more explanations, searching for her veil. “(Y/N), listen to me… I don't think anything will happen, but… promise me that you will protect Rose, that you won't leave her… do you promise? Per favore! Tell me you understand!” she squealed nervously at your lack of response.

“Y-Yes, of course, Donna, no one will touch the girl, but what's wrong? You're scaring me,” you said nervously, getting up from the couch.

“You, just… wait for me, okay? I'll be back in a moment, come on Angie,” Donna said, gesturing to her doll, the silent witness of that conversation, making her jump comically into her arms.

“Donna, what…”you said, answered by a loud slam of the door.

You were nervous and scared. You didn't know what was happening, why Donna ran out like that. Not knowing anything was always your biggest anxiety, in any aspect. Walking around the house, you looked at the girl, who was lying asleep.

You would just have to wait, or so you repeated to yourself. The minutes passed and everything seemed as usual, until a loud knock, coming from the entrance, scared you, making you run there.

On the floor, surely because of the knock he gave to the doors, was an unknown man, dressed in clothes that weren’t typical of the village. Of course, you backed away scared as he stood up, looking at you curiously.

“Hey, no, no, easy,” he said, extending his empty hands as a symbol of peace. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” you asked, backing away slowly, totally distrustful.

“H-Hey, I'm coming in peace… Let me explain,” he insisted, chasing you into the living room.

“I-I don't know what you want, I'm just a maid,” you said in your defense, terribly scared and looking around for something to defend yourself with.

“A maid? Oh, yes… you seem like a pretty normal girl, you're not one of them,” he said, with a nervous and relieved smile. “I'm looking for…” As he spoke, his gaze shifted to the crib. “Rose!”

The man ran towards the baby, towards the poor creature that you had to protect at all costs.

“What are you doing?” you asked nervously as he bent down to pick her up. “That baby isn't yours.”

“Of course it's mine, I'm her father,” he said with a pleasant smile, relieved to be reunited with his daughter. “Thank goodness you're here, Rose... come, we'll get out of here, together,” he said, extending his hand towards you, making you step back and shake your head.

“No, you can't take her, Donna told me to protect her,” you hissed, studying the situation.

You understood his joy, his desire to get out of there, but you simply couldn't allow it, you couldn't fail Donna, your Donna.

“Donna? One of those monsters? Listen, I’ll call people who could blow this place into a thousand pieces, you wouldn't have to worry about those monsters anymore, we can get out of here, the three of us,” the man said, speaking slowly so as not to scare you.

“No,” you said horrified quickly approaching the crib and grabbing the little girl. “You won’t take Rose!” you screamed, running away from him.

“Wait! Hey!” he shouted, chasing you through the mansion. “Come back here! She's my daughter!”

You didn't listen to him, you ran through the house while that enraged man chased you. Cornered, with the little girl in your arms, you knew you couldn't run away forever, you would have to face him sooner or later.

Hiding behind a door, you grabbed a vase from a table, letting the little girl's crying draw his attention, making him come closer. When he did, you didn't think much about it, you slammed the object into his head, breaking it into a thousand pieces, making him bleed.

“Damn it! Give me back my little girl!” the man screamed, blinded by the blow, bleeding from the head and stretching out his hand to try to catch you.

You could run away, but you couldn't escape. Naturally, that man was beyond your physical capabilities; you were the best of maids, but the worst of fighters. After a frantic chase, the man grabbed some scissors that were on a table, threatening you with them.

“Give Rose to me, come on, or…” he hissed, cornering you while you held Rose tightly against your chest.

He struggled with you, causing your clothes to be stained with his blood. You weren't strong, but you didn't let him take the baby from you, making him lose his mind completely, causing you to fall to the floor, with no way out.

The man breathed for a moment, raising the scissors in the air, surely ready to stab you with them, even at the risk of hurting Rose. You couldn't blame him, he was desperate.

Just when you thought it was your end, when you could feel those scissors digging into your flesh, the girl's father stepped back, dropping the scissors and covering his head with his hands.

Through the front door, the lady in black appeared, covered in her veil, reaching out to him, exerting her influence on his mind.

“Donna!” you cried out, sobbing as you saw your savior tormenting the man, bringing him to his knees.

Behind her was a dark figure, Mother Miranda, who, ignoring the man approached you, retrieving the baby.

“(Y/N), right?” the witch murmured with a sinister smile. “Good job.”

You nodded trembling as the priestess enveloped herself in a black cloud and Donna, agitated, crouched next to you.

“(Y/N), amore mio, are you okay?” she asked, cupping your face in her hands, nervously looking at every part of your body. “You're bleeding... where has he hurt you? Gods, (Y/N)…”

“I-I'm not hurt,” you murmured, letting her look at you. “The blood is not mine.”

“Meno male…” the brunette sighed, resting her forehead against yours. “(Y/N)…”

You glanced at the witch, who had completely changed her appearance, causing the tormented man to notice that new young woman.

“Mia?” he asked, dazed. “What are you doing here?”

“Calm down, Ethan, it's all over now… let's go home,” Miranda whispered in that new form, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “A pity, I had high hopes for little Rose, but I'm afraid she'll have to go back to her pathetic family.”

Laughing sinisterly, accompanied by the zombified Ethan, the woman left leaving you alone.

There was a moment of silence in which the two of you looked at each other nervously.

“I-I thought I had lost you,” Donna whispered, taking off her veil and shaking her head while pushing your hair out of your face with both hands. “That he had hurt you.”

“I-I'm fine,” you said with your nerves still uncontrolled. “I only hit the floor, but, but I protected Rose, like you asked me to.”

“(Y/N), you are the only thing that matters,” Donna said, with a brusque tone, still covering your face with her hands. “You are… The only thing I have.”

“Calm down… I'm fine, you saved me,” you said with a slightly fake smile. “Shh… everything is fine, I'm not hurt…”

“I can't stand seeing you like this…” Donna hissed, shaking her head, her expression darkening. “Come.”

You took her hand as you walked down to her bedroom, where, without wasting any more time, she took off your ruined dress, cleaning your skin without saying anything, in complete silence.

Her hands were shaking and her eye was blinking nervously, on the verge of a breakdown.

“Sono una stupida,” she growled, panting nervously as she looked after you. “Sono una stupida!”

“Donna,” you said, moving away, a bit scared. “Calm down, my love.”

“No, I'm not calm, I can't be calm,” she said nervously, throwing away the towel she was cleaning you with and holding her hair. “You could have died!”

“I haven't, darling, I'm fine,” you said nervously, with a sad voice, sweet as always.

“No, no, no, no, no, you're not fine… nothing is fine!” she shrieked furiously, kicking the floor. “If you had died, I would…! I can't stand it. I can't stand you leaving me without knowing…! Not knowing that you… are the love of my life.”

“What did you say?” you asked, surprised by that whispered revelation, by that confession you didn’t expect in those circumstances.

“I’m tired of pretending!” the lady shrieked, kneeling in front of you, holding your hands too tightly. “(Y/N), listen to me, I’m completely in love with you, I’ve been since I met you and I’ve never told you because… I’m an idiot!”

“Shh, I know,” you said in a reassuring tone, hissing in pain from her grip.

“No, you don’t know… all this time I’ve been… running away from my feelings because I didn’t… I didn’t think I deserved you, I didn’t know that you… that I… I don’t deserve to love and I… they…” Donna said, stuttering, closing her eye to fight her madness, to be able to speak more clearly.

“I thought you would leave me, that you would never… (Y/N), I beg you to forgive me, but I was scared, scared because I never felt love for anyone, I was afraid of everything, I was afraid of getting my hopes up, of you breaking my heart…”

“Donna, I love you,” you said, fighting against her grip so you could hug her.

“I, I-I love you, (Y/N), I don't want you to be my maid ever again; I want you to be my wife. I want you to be mine only if you want it… I want to have children with you. I want you to be always by my side and…”

Seeing that she wasn’t able to control herself, you chose to silence her with your lips, to taste her salty tears in a tender, deep, revealing kiss, one that said much more than any words; that expressed the joy of your heart at having finally found the key to hers.

“That's a lot of propositions,” you said in a relaxed, amused tone, slowly detaching yourself from her lips. “But I have the same answer for all of them…”

“Quale?” she asked, with an almost childish, expectant look.

“Yes, yes, Donna,” you answered, melting into her lips again while she cried, this time from joy.

“(Y/N),” she said, moving your hair away as she always did, with a sincere smile.  “Will you marry me? I-I don't have a ring but…”

“Donna…” you said, rolling your eyes. “Of course I will.”

The doll maker hugged you very tightly, burying her head in you chest, crying desperately, regretful for her attitude, happy for having been able to open her feelings. Her mind must have been a complete mess at that moment.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she repeated, soaking your skin with her tears. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

“Shhh,” you whispered, caressing her head, hissing in pain as her nails accidentally scratched your naked back. “Donna, my love… that's it, relax, okay? Everything is fine, my love, everything…”

She nodded effusively, touching your body, your waist, enjoying your skin with a smile she always wanted to have on her face, but that slowly faded.

“What is this?” Donna asked confused, pointing at some marks on your arm, the marks of some fingers. “Did I do it to you?”

“No, I think that man grabbed me and…” you explained, letting the lady go over the rest of your body in a different way, studying it.

“H-He grabbed you… he grabbed you…” she murmured shaking her head, moving away a little and getting up, looking away at your ruined dress. “Gods… il tuo vestito…”

“It's okay, Donna, it's okay,” you said, getting up as well and placing a hand on her shoulder. “It can be cleaned.”

“No,” the lady said, frowning and turning around abruptly. “I made that dress for you! It was a gift for you!”

“Shhh, I know…” you said, rubbing her arms, afraid that she would lose her mind again. “It doesn't matter, Donna, you can make me another one.”

“That man has… he has defiled you,” she murmured, looking at you sadly as she ran her hands down your body. “He has touched you, he has… marked you…” she said nervously, running a hand through the man's grip. “He has touched what is mine… nobody touches what is mine!”

“He won't do it ever again… I'm only yours, Donna,” you said confused, letting the brunette do something strange, touch your body slowly with her hands, with a concentrated look.

“You are mine, my girl…” she whispered, looking briefly into your eyes. “Everything, your skin… your waist… your face… he had no right…” she said, running her hand over each place she mentioned. “He had no right to do it… I-I need… to take him… away from you…”

“Donna…” you sighed, letting yourself be dragged by her hands on your waist, by her wild kisses that began to devour your lips mercilessly. “Honey…”

“Shh, calm down, tesoro… I won't let anyone else touch you ever again,” she whispered in your ear, kissing you fiercely, grabbing your body, scratching it almost desperately, playing with the edges of your underwear. “I need you, (Y/N).”

“Take what you need, my love,” you said with a purr, letting the garment slide down your legs, knowing that taking you, claiming you, would serve to calm the lady down, to make her fears disappear and, well, you were always willing to do it, always.

She nodded, kissing you again, knocking you down on the bed among nervous gasps, playing with her own clothes, whispering to you, adoring you in a different way, a desperate and passionate way.

“I love you,” Donna whispered, caressing your cheek as your hips swayed while her erection pressed against your entrance, wet from ecstasy, from revelations, from confessions… “I don't want to fuck you, I want to make love, to make you mine…”

You laughed amused, catching her lips in another wet kiss, pulling her body as her shaft entered slowly, but abruptly, stretching your walls, making your body welcome the one who was now your beloved, your wife, your Donna.

“Hey, slow down, darling, you're big,” you said, moaning from the shock, earning a shy smile, a brief moment of pause, of intimate enjoyment, of glances that were very, very far from madness.

“I'm sorry, I just need to…” she said, apologizing for the anxious movements of her hips, for her hands separating your legs, squeezing your skin, melting it in her fingers.

“To make me yours, I know,” you whispered, suppressing a moan, devouring her lips while her thrusts intensified, making the bed creak, protesting due to your lust.

The words no longer came out, only hurried moans did. Your hands didn’t know where to rest, they ran over her clothed body, her legs, squeezing them as close as possible, as deep inside you as possible.

Her movements were fast and uncontrolled, her kisses were wild, her erection slid along your wet walls quickly and decisively while your whole body trembled with pleasure.

“I love you… I love you…” the lady repeated, controlling her own moans. “I don't want to say anything else, every day, every hour…”

Her soft words contrasted with the anxiety of her movements, with the desperation of claiming once again what was hers, what was always hers and always would be.

Your aching body endured the pleasure as best it could, your legs wrapped around her waist, begging her not to pull away, to keep taking you like she did, like she always did, like she had never done before.

That dirty, improvised, wet act didn't take long to reach its end, for your body to surrender to the pleasure, to tense up, to release itself with a loud squeal, with your nails clinging to her flesh.

Donna, accelerated, nervous and unable to control her thrusts, also released herself inside you, leaving her mark on your walls, moistening your insides with her warm seed, with a muffled moan.

“(Y/N),” she said, taking a breath, not wanting to abandon you, playing with your face exhausted by pleasure, pointing your eyes at hers. “You were never just my maid.”

You smiled, kissing her with one last breath, your body demanding a break, the wetness of lust running down your legs.

It had been a strange way to force the lady in black to confess her feelings, but she did it, she finally did it. You would finally have the life with her that you dreamed of. You would be her wife, her lover, the love of her life.

First her voice, then her face, her body and finally, you got her heart.

[mama-qwerty]

CALLING ALL KNUCKLES FANS

My Our boy Knuckles has been seriously dissed by Sega, overshadowed (no pun intended) by Shadow all year.

Our favorite echidna needs some attention, some appreciation. And if Sega's not gonna, then it'll be up to me us to snatch the boy from their ungrateful hands and love on him instead.

With that in mind, I've considered the idea of having a Knuckles Appreciation Week?/Month? in which everyone who loves that boy can write/draw/animate/whatever your particular creative skill is something to spread the Knux love and snatch some attention back for him.

I talked about it with the peeps on my Knuckles-centric discord server, but wanted to see if there was any interest in Tumblr land for it, too.

That said, I know a few friends who've tried to have themed events recently, and despite what appeared to be genuine interest, they were very frustrated and disheartened that there wasn't much in the way of actual participation. I don't want to go through a lot of work to make this happen/make a sideblog, only for like 3 people to participate.

So.

This would probably happen in February, during Knux's birth-month. I'd like it to stay more upbeat in celebration of the boy. He's too easy to angst up, but he needs so many hugs it's ridiculous. Let's love on the boy for a while. Give him a break from the soul-crushing whump/angst/hurt no comfort.

So lemme know what y'all think.

(Please reblog for wider audience)

[bibliophilesince2003]

The Bad Batch

Here's a little theory for you to mull over; I sincerely wonder whether I am alone in thinking this. I could also be heavily exhausted over and influenced by the papers I had to polish off for some of my college courses, or perhaps motivated by the fact that I am re-watching The Bad Batch because most modern shows these days, in my opinion, disappoint. At any rate, here it is.

Why do we like the Bad Batch so much? What makes them relatable and/or realistic?

Upon meeting Omega, most of the Bad Batch behave in a very dad-like manner. This is not surprising, no. Plenty of memes and incorrect quotes have stemmed from this simple observation. They don't have all the answers and they don't know what to do with Omega half the time. That's the thing about dads... usually, they're just "winging it" and trying to do their best. Moms come with a built-in instinct to nurture. Dads come with a built-in instinct to protect and lead. Sometimes, dads aren't quite sure what to do with a crying infant or a struggling teenager.

Let's not forget... Hunter and the others are soldiers. That isn't to say they can't be kind or gentle; even the toughest men have their weak points. As a military brat, though, I have noticed that such a profession can mold a man, and at times they forget to "turn off" their seriousness when at home after having dealt with extremely hard situations. I really appreciate that the producers of this show didn't change Hunter and the others just to make them more approachable from Omega's standpoint. If they do change, it's gradual.

Do Hunter and the others think about the consequences of bringing Omega into their lives? *eyeballs toothpick man* With exceptions, of course. Well, until season three. The answer? Absolutely not. They believe they have the strength and ability to keep her safe, as most dads would. They believe they will always have that strength and ability. Let me break it down for you and give you a look into the brain of a dad:

Dad: *involved in a dangerous situation*

Dad: I can do that.

Dad: *remembers their child is with them*

Dad: Oh. Well, I guess becomes a life lesson. I've got you, kid. Just... don't tell your mom.

Dad: *keeps an eye out for anything suspicious*

Kid: *perfectly content*

I've heard it said that dads don't say "I love you" but show they love you. I personally have experienced both, but given the seriousness of most dads... I can see how that would be the case. At the very least, their actions speak louder than words. The Bad Batch are very much this way towards Omega. They put their lives on the line. They want to make her happy. Wrecker assembles a spot for Omega to call her own on the Marauder. Tech grabs her before an explosion can reach them. Echo has hugged Omega the most. Hunter is usually within three feet of Omega at all times.

The subtle gestures of kindness captivated all our hearts, I know.

Why?

It's Star Wars, a fictional universe. It's not complete fiction, though. Hunter and the others represent a specific kind of love. Fathers may be cautious and unsure at first, but eventually they want the kid by their side for everything. We've all seen the videos of dads using infants as pretend machine guns or making them dance, the kid's neck rolling lazily. Gently, of course. If they can't protect the kid from everything, they use themselves as a shield, which extends to good mothers, too, though that's not what this post is about.

Hunter and the others may be soldiers, but they embody the very spirit of fatherhood. This was such a wonderful theme to see develop despite the grittiness and action.

Phew, I feel like there was more I wanted to say, but I'm tired, so you're spared from more rambling.

[circletakingthesquare]

this is so stupid and far fetched

ok so i went ahead and searched DRAAG on google and found out about this 1973 science fiction film "Fantastic Planet". DRAAG on this planet, Ygam, are basically blue creatures with pretty long-life spans who can alter their appearances during meditation ceremonies led by the Grand council. So, the DRAAG society is governed by the Grand Council, they represent the hierarchical pinnacle of legislation and direct the spiritual life for the entire Draag civilization. They're kind of the leaders of the planet Ygam. This Grand Council consists of five members.

this is a picture of the Grand Council (which looks prettyyyyy familiar). Also i have no clue where the fifth council member is at in this, this only pic i could find. ANYWAY basically, the Grand Council are cruel and apathetic to the suffering of the Om's - who are a sentient species like themselves however smaller in stature. Oms are not originally from this planet but were brought from the planet Terra.

So, i think they may have taken some inspiration from certain aspects of this storyline. Like maybe The Black Parade was taken to MOAT, similar to how the Oms were brought from Terra to Ygam. On Ygam, Oms are kind of forced to act as pets and inferior beings to the DRAAGS. You could definitely draw a connection to how the dictators portrayed in MCR's recent posts are forcing The Black Parade (IN THEORY IN THEOOORRYYYY), to perform for them (or like perform for people idk just performing maybe not necessarily for them) in MOAT, similar to the role of Oms in the planet Ygam. In short, they both have that inferiority role in the hands of authoritarian leaders, kind of kept captive sort of part in the storyline. They're both captured from one place to another (Ygam and MOAT in this case) for captivity and control. I still don't really know what MOAT means but it could be a different location where The Black Parade has been forced to go?? Idrk

If I wanted to go supppppppppperrrrrr far i could say that IF they used some inspiration from Fantastic Planets, you could predict some things that might happen next. In Fantastic Planets, Oms eventually rebel against the DRAAG dictatorship, which could maybe sort of kind be possible with the Black Parade too? The Black Parade could come together (as the Oms do) and rebel against the DRAAG dictatorship and gain freedom again. This is SO far tho im just thinking. In Fantastic Planets, very similar to MCR's new lore, there are obviously some political undertones about oppression, elitism, and fascism. I cant say what these are exactly in regard to MCR's recent posts, but in Fantastic Planets, these themes are portrayed through the authoritarian rule of the DRAAGS and subjugation of the Oms. So, you could use your own theories and interpretation of the MCR lore to make connections to these themes.

Im honestly not super sure about this AT ALL this isn't like a crazy theory or break through or anything, but I found the connections kind of interesting but ik this is so far-fetched so don't take it too seriously at all LMAO. Also, I've never even watched the movie and there are some parts of it I'm leaving out I just kind of wrote down what I thought related to MCR's new lore. But the general idea of Fantastic Planet kind of struck me as a little similar. Also, it makes A LITTLE bit of sense since Gerard Way is really into sci-fi (not confirming anything just an observation). Who knows tho

[that-ari-blogger]

Spiky (Beast Island)

My main thesis for She-Ra and the Princesses of Power is that it is a tragedy of repetition. The cycle of abuse, for example, is a big part of Catra’s dynamic with everyone around her. But that theme extends beyond the personal.

I’m talking about both symbolic and physical extensions here. The idea of abuse can be represented through the art and style of a story with coding and specific word choice. But it can also be shown off literally on a larger scale. That is where environment design comes in, and the scale of that is truly immense.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

Beast Island was a dumping ground for first ones tech, mostly weaponry, but also a variety of other tools and ideas. I will get back to some stuff in particular, but I feel the need to establish the baseline that this place just looks weird.

That’s the point with this episode, the environment is hostile by definition. You get that through the unfamiliarity of not knowing what the ground is and what is a tree, but you also get it from the fact that everything is spiky and gloopy. This place looks unsafe to be.

However, let’s go back to the theme for a moment, because I think it works really well here.

This place looks both organic and artificial. Like a single living thing that has had stuff done to it to mess it up.

The cycle of abuse is presented here as second hand. The first ones were at war and in their attempts to save themselves, they abused this island for all it was worth, turning it into a prickly version of itself that wards off intruders. That island in turn became a place to hold someone else’s baggage and turned that into weapons of its own. The island is hostile to everyone because of abuse being done to someone else that it got caught up in. That’s the cycle.

The key here is that I don’t think this place was decided upon because it was of particular importance. I think the opposite was true. The first ones needed a place to send their failed weapons and Beast Island was convenient and out of the way for them. They didn’t think about it, it didn’t matter.

Zooming out to the real world for a moment, that’s often how the cycle of abuse happens. It’s not about the person on the receiving end, the giver just needed to vent and was too caught up in themselves to notice that other people were getting hurt.

This is exactly Catra and Scorpia’s dynamic in the show. Catra is in pain, and Scorpia is a convenient scapegoat.

This can even be extrapolated further to the island’s inhabitants. The children of the second generation abuse victim. The creatures that grew to survive in harsh conditions by being harsh in their own right. They got angry, they got vicious, they started picking fights, passing that trauma on to someone else. Keeping the cycle going.

We meet King Micah in this episode, and he is utterly disconnected from reality. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, and he plays into that of the exile going mad and eating bugs. Seriously, I don’t know what this trope is called and it’s driving me nuts.

The point is, Micah has been in that world of someone else’s abuse for so long that he has no sense of reality. But hold on to this thought.

Daniel Dae Kim everybody. The line where he realises how long he's been gone is stellar and one of the best line reads in the entire series as far as I am concerned.

One of the key moments in this episode then is the depressive efforts of the source. The heart of the island, the place where all the pain is stored.

And the closer you get to this heart, the worse you get. It is a piece of technology that was designed to limit the hope of those around it, to make them want to give up. It’s not a weapon designed to win; it’s designed to subdue.

There are two ways to read this. The first is that maybe the First Ones weren’t the good guys if they had a weapon for subjugation just lying around. But the other plays back into this cycle idea.

What if this was a way that the first ones tried to save themselves, by replicating the techniques of their abuser. By reflecting back that all is lost and they should just give up. But it failed.

But a weapon, once loaded, will always be used, eventually. That latent malice and energy went somewhere, specifically here. Once again, it was convenient, but it is a potent symbol of becoming exactly the kind of person who oppressed you.

Notice however that this place does have one weakness, hope. The thing that can pull you out of the heart’s embrace is hope that things will get better. Essentially, the abuse can be stopped by pointing out that it is founded in nonsense, which leads me back to Micah.

Micah has survived to this point through determination to see his daughter again. He has stayed sane; he has had a will to survive. He has had somewhere beyond the abuse to anchor himself to. When he realises his wife has died (I know she’s technically still alive but come on), he loses that, and he loses his hope. Grief is a demotivator. It’s a kick up the ass, but it teaches you to avoid things rather than go and do them.

Which leads me back to the environment, and to the Pookas.

The Pookas have survived in this place. They are spiky and unpleasant, yes, but they have survived just as well as if not better than Micah, and they have done that together.

The Pookas wear their abuse like a badge of honour, and they don’t direct it at each other. They hunt in packs and don’t squabble, instead they are silent, watching.

There is a theme with every creature in this place appearing as something and then revealing it's other features and I think that's really cool. The bush suddenly has eyes, the spider crab has hands, and the Pookas have their weird mouths, but they show that off immediately. They are up front with how they operate. "I am weird, I am broken, this is my damage."

These are weird creatures and I think they are partly synthetic, but they own that. The Pookas break the cycle something savage, and they do it as a group.

Essentially, the Pookas are a support group. They are victims together who can take comfort in each other. They find food together and support each other.

It's not the best method, considering that they hunt people, but it is a step towards healing.

And, for that matter, this step towards healing applies to the rest of the island. This place is alive. There is stuff to eat, there is life growing. Nature gets better, eventually.

That’s the theme of the series. Abuse is cyclical, but those cycles can be broken. You find people to help you, you find a place that is far away from the abuse, you bear your scars for the world to see and you channel your anger in a healthy way.

Final Thoughts

This is a shorter post for two reasons. The first is that I don’t have much time during the week in which I am writing this, but the second is that I really don’t like this episode.

Don’t get me wrong, Daniel Dae Kim kills this role and should be a joy to watch, if the dialogue wasn’t weird and if the conflict surrounding his daughter didn’t come across as contrived and if the tone seemed in any way intentional. Add to that the fact that, until the final scene, the animation that looks like it was made for a different, much lower budget show (why does swift wind have human facial expressions? He’s a horse!), and I had a really bad time rewatching this episode.

So, I focused on stuff I did like. I thought the Pookas were weirdly cute, and I devised a post to talk about that. This blog exists so I can challenge myself to get better, and sometimes that means scratching out a thousand words about Pookas, and that’s ok.

Next week, however, is Destiny Part 1, so stick around if that interests you.

[zuko-always-lies]

You post a lot criticising Zuko. Do you like Zuko or not?

(genuine q)

Well, let me break that down a bit:

Do I think we should have sympathy for Zuko?

I think as a 16 year old abuse victim he deserves a lot of sympathy and should get support.

Would I enjoy being around him?

No, I think the Zuko we see is a deeply unpleasant person and I doubt I would enjoy it if I were around him. However, I suspect I would also find Azula, Mai, Ty Lee, and Toph quite unpleasant to be around too, so that's hardly unique to Zuko.

Do I think Zuko is an interesting character?

I think Book 1 Zuko is actually quite interesting and in his own way quite likeable, even if he's a terrible person. Book 1 is where Zuko's writing peaks for me.

Beyond that, I honestly think Zuko becomes much more boring. The writers started leaning entirely on having viewers closely emotionally identify with Zuko and feel personal emotional catharsis when he "achieves redemption." If you don't, Zuko becomes much more boring and the flaws in his writing become much more apparent.

I also think Zuko isn't a particularly interesting or unique character in general. Azula, Ty Lee, and even Mai all manage to be way more interesting and unique than Zuko, despite getting vastly less character development time. At their core, Zuko's arc and themes amount to rejecting an abusive father in favor of a better surrogate father, which feels pretty standard to be honest. By contrast, I can think of only one character the least like Azula in any Western media, Miles Vorkosigan from the Vorkosigan Saga.

Honestly, the most interesting thing about Zuko is analyzing the difference between how the narrative frames him verses what his actions actually suggest about who he really is. That's probably why I write so many "Zuko critical" posts, because I find analyzing the difference interesting.

Do I think Zuko's arc was well-written?

No. The writers were very good at tugging at the heartstrings but beyond that I think "Zuko's redemption arc" is not nearly as good as people make it out to be. In particular, the way that the narrative after Book 1 stops holding him accountable for anything he does weakens his arc badly. That, along with making Iroh the center of Zuko's arc at all costs, made things drastically worse than the original writing plans for Zuko.

Do I think Zuko is the morally pure perfect Firelord the narrative tries to sell him as?

The finale tries to present him that way, but it falls flat for me. Zuko is a very badly flawed person who never addressed most of his flaws, and he's not the least bit suited to be Firelord. The narrative needs him to be the perfect, rightful prince who will redeem the Fire Nation from darkness, and if Zuko had been written differently and his arc had been taken in a different direction, he could be that, but he's not. I could never buy the person we see at the end of the show being a good ruler, and I could never buy him being happy as a ruler.

Could Zuko be an interesting character?

Hell yes. If the narrative had been less prone to gloss over Zuko's many flaws, and more inclined to force him to address them and deal with the consequences of his actions, he could be very interesting. Even if the narrative was willing to seriously acknowledge Zuko's flaws without having him ever improve on them, things would be more interesting. The Zuko-Azula relationship is actually super-interesting if you think deeply about it, but you need to ignore everything about how the narrative frames them for it to be interesting. "Good boy tormented by evil demon psycho younger sister" is boring as hell.

[ravetamer]

thank you op for indirectly inviting me in the tags to rant about horror movies and analyse characters from my favourite autism game MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!!

starting off difficult with jesse. they would probably be turned away from extreme splatter but i can imagine they’d enjoy getting shocked by the occasional gore. it’d probably need some level of depth to it too so they can make excuses and say they watch it for the plot and not the visuals. i don’t think they’d be the type to go out of their way and pick up a horror movie so i’m gonna go with the mist or mulholland drive or sinister because they’re relatively well-known and jesse likes feeling things in the media they watch. cus BOY do those films gutpunch the viewer.

i know axel would love psycho goreman. it’s chaotic, hilarious, bloody, and it doesn’t take itself seriously at all. it’s a great romp but absolutely fucking insane. either that or some other ridiculously over the top thing like thankskilling or terrifier. crazy shit filled with ludicrous amounts of guts. he’s in it for the fun! sometimes he even watches hilariously shitty horror movies for entertainment's sake, like jaws 3d and jason takes manhattan.

olivia would love dystopian themes and cosmic horror hands-down. visuals that absolutely blow your mind and amaze you. the plot can’t be too weak however because she LOVES getting invested in well-written/likeable characters and rooting for them, cheering when they win and freaking out when they die. she also likes sci-fi, particularly complex machinery (as an engineer) and finds great joy in picking apart the devices in poorly-made sci-fi films to defend the genre’s honour. she would love 28 days later, the thing, and ex machina because you KNOW she needs dramatic flair in her movies

petra would probably like high-intensity films that have a ruthless protagonist and lots of blood in their action scenes. i also think she’d be put off by heavy fantasy themes. because of her nature she could also be a huge sucker for revenge films where the protagonist bites back at the people who wronged them. when she watches horror, she mainly watches for the violence and loves well-choreographed fights. still, the movies should be intelligent, not having bad writing that's just 'kill kill kill' so i’m gonna say mandy, lady snowblood, and i saw the devil because they’re all intense and have a protagonist who KICKS ASS

lukas wouldn’t watch horror movies (he’s more of an epic saga/documentary guy) but he might be willing to watch old ones such as jurassic park (which isn’t really horror) and gremlins and the exorcist (and secretly enjoy them on the odd occasion). nothing to genuinely scream about, just some fun to pass the time and appreciate the effects cus that man ADORES the art of cinema. if you took him to terrifier he’d never touch horror again. i can imagine axel forcing him to watch it with the gang lmao

Olivia: Favorite horror movie?

Jesse: It.

Axel: Saw.

Petra: Annabelle.

Lukas: High School Musical. after watching it I spent all my school years terrified that the everyone would start singing something and I’d be the only one who didn’t know the lyrics.

[nevertem]

Something about being stuffed into a role you're not supposed to be in.

Something about Ryou Bakura being Yuugi's friend and not his enemy, even if the Ring demands that role.

Something about Jounouchi being obsessed with proving himself to be an adult and a man when he's just a kid who wants to play card games with his friends. Even if his mom saw too much of his dad in him.

Something about Priest Seto being in the afterlife, so Kaiba was never his reincarnation to begin with.

Something about Kaiba taking on that legacy of blood and destruction when it was never his, he just wanted to be safe and protected and secure. Something about Malik Ishtar being associated with the sun when his history demanded he be underground. Something about Palladium Oracle's magic being piercing against Darkness when he took on the role of Dark Magician for three millennia.

Something about Yuugi Mutou being deemed a vessel when he's the King of Games. Something about Yuugi's ultimate dragon being the perfect counterpart to Blue Eyes. A dragon of destruction made of darkness to the ultimate engine of destruction of light. Something about Yuugi's story being about believing he wished for friends when Jounouchi told him that the only time he ever loved himself was when he was with Yuugi. Something about Yuugi being forced to a role he never wanted just because he was kind enough to believe in the good in people when faced with every reason not to.

Something about Pharaoh Atem being put in a face and body and life that was never his. Something about taking on being a literal shadow. Something about believing himself to be darkness. Something about everyone else believing he's darkness. When he was described by Shada and Dark Bakura both as light. When to this day people still call him darkness.

Something about Duelist beginning and ending with a TTRPG.

Something about the two souls of light and darkness being switched from the beginning.

Yuugi's ultimate monster is the dragon of destruction.

Atem's is the creator of light.

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[storiesbyrhi]

I am three chapters behind on AASB, but I know you know I like to fully absorb it, so I take my reading of it seriously. It's therefore hoarded until I'm in the right mindset with the right energy levels. So, I'm stoked I can read this in the meantime (though, I am also very late to reading this).

Already excited because credits to both @somnambulic-thing and Mike Flanagan can only produce something beautiful.

Okay, so, we're already on it. I think what makes your work so good is that while you deal with such complex themes and storylines, your imagery is so crisp and clear. Your descriptions always make so much sense that I don't have to work on understanding the scene in front of me. It paves the way for the depth of everything else.

"Is that what they feel?" your question echoed within him, radiating from the depths of the pit outwards, to the very tips of his talons and back. It shook him to the core. "Or is that what you feel?"

A wild Gabriel appears. As he is so prone to doing.

Okay the stolen Flanagan line fucking slaps here. Some lines just need to be stolen. I think about the goddamn Marvel Cinematic Universe giving us, "What is grief if not love preserving?" all the time.

Ooofff what an ending.

Well, by golly golly gosh, she's done it again.

Solamen. (An As Above, So Below Story)

Gratia. Charitas. Solamen. Grace. Charity. Peace. The oath of the Knights of the Holy Order.

Summary: You and Eddie--separated by time and endless suffering--don't realize how many strings keep you connected on the web of fate. What players are there trying to cut those strings? And when will you both find out that they are unbreakable?

Word Count: 8k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!OC (The Knight - Written in 2nd Person POV - You/Your - No Use of Names of Physical Descriptors)

Warnings/Themes: Soulmates, Kas!Eddie, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Grief, Minor Character Deaths, Manipulation, Transformation, Corruption, Violence, Gore, Disturbing Imagery, Philosophical Ideas, Supernatural Encounters, Religious Elements, Criticism of Religion, Biblical and Other Literary and Pop Culture References

Note: Special thanks to @somnambulic-thing for listen to me as I tied myself into a knot with all of my Pepe Silvia string and helping me untie it all. Love you so very much.

AND IM NOT GONNA TAG HIM BECAUSE HOW EMBARRASSING but thanks Mike Flanagan for the "a ghost is a wish" line that I absolutely ripped off.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

"That's just the heart talking, you can never trust those. Pick a more stable organ to listen to, like the spleen, or the gallbladder." - Joan Tierney

November 6, 1983

Eddie woke to something tugging at his leg, pinching the flesh between deft fingers, but not piercing the skin.

Then whispers.

Unintelligible whispers that moved about him fluidly, like a wave. Maybe it was a wave because a sudden flood of memories, both good and bad, rushed over him; nightmares perhaps? They almost didn't feel like they were even his, but he knew that they were.

Driving the van for the first time, his first campaign as a DM, your first kiss.

He felt as though he was underwater.

Underwater, something biting him, tear-filled words as he lay dying in the desolate waste of the Upside Down.

“Eddie, wake up,” you whispered frantically in his ear.

He heard his own voice then. Or a memory of it, at least.

I don’t like this Chrissy, wake up! Flashing lights, snapping bones, and a sickening wet crunch.

He gasped as his consciousness slammed into him heavily, the remnants of fear from his past life ripping through the din to bring him back to the waking world.

The memories of falling and crashing soon followed and he observed his surroundings.

A crater.

It was the only way to describe the pit he’d created upon impact. A large divot in the ground with a lip of toxic earth and his body curled at the bottom, and as he forced his body to crawl out of it, he saw the spray of soil that had rained over the surrounding landscape.

And what a strange landscape it was.

Empty.

There was nothing as far as the eye could see in any direction. Just a flat, silty plain and a roiling, lightning-filled sky.

There were no creatures, no trees...he couldn't even see Hawkins, which he recalled flying over before he'd been struck by, well, whatever that was that knocked him out.

He'd been soaring over treetops, calling out to the bats to join him.

How had he ended up in such a vast emptiness as this?

The whispers returned, a ripple of them that shifted and moved around him, the source invisible. He growled instinctively, hackles raised; was someone or something trying to intimidate him? The rebellious beings that turned against their master? Had they learned a new trick?

Or was this something else? He already had one invisible enemy, one pest that tried to undermine Henry at every turn. Was this trap by your design?

The whispers closed in on him--he could feel them even if he couldn't see them, in numbers immeasurable--and he roared in warning, spittle flying from his mouth as his jaw unhinged, and the chittering blast of sound echoed into the void space.

He startled when your lips caressed his ear and the weight of you settled against his back, arms winding around his neck to hold him back.

"We need to go," you warned him, but he just hissed at you.

The whispers got louder, closer. From the din, he started to make out voices. Familiar voices. More memories. Talking to him, begging him.

Chrissy at the picnic table.

Patrick calling him a freak in the hallway.

Mr. Newby excitedly telling him about a new stereo he saved up for a year to buy.

They all chanted his name, just like you did. It swirled around him.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie help us. Please help us.

"Eddie listen to me," you tried again. "We need to go."

He roared again, and felt triumphant when the whispers went silent.

But there was one last whisper, one more phantom, that was bold. Brave. He felt it walk right up to him. Tall, proud, toe to toe, nose to nose; it stretched to match his height.

He growled to intimidate it but felt it square itself resolutely. You tightened your arms around his neck, almost to hold him back.

"Don't," you told him, but it was too late.

He slashed a claw outwards to try and bat the whispering phantom away. He cut through it and felt the whoosh of air between his talons.

And must have been a trick of the light, a trick of the mind--one of your tricks--but there was a flash of a reflection of his own eyes right before him. Staring into his soul.

He blinked and it was gone.

You tightened your grip, then sighed and sunk through him, into him, back into the pit once more.

He was about to gloat, about to taunt you--he wasn't Eddie Munson anymore, he wasn't going to fall for your little games--but it was cut short as a roar that rivaled his in strength and volume echoed from just beyond the horizon.

Determined, he took to the skies again, ready to put an end to whatever other tricks you orchestrated so he could return to his master, victorious.

November 14, 1986

When you came to, you were on the ground.

Not tied up or restrained in any way.

In fact, when you finally got a good hold of your senses, you realized you weren't wearing any clothes either.

"What the...what the fuck?" You startled yourself into a sitting position and looked down at your faded Maidenform bra and Hanes Her Way underwear that you got on clearance at K-mart with Eddie oh so long ago.

You jumped as he suddenly appeared before you--the anger at your unconsented state of undress forgotten--ghastly and ghostly, looking like he did when you jumped into the passenger's seat of the van. Smug smile, love in his eyes, hair mussed from too much headbanging.

"Did you get me anything?" his voice echoed. He wiggled his fingers like he had when he tried to peek inside of your plastic shopping bag, where you did indeed have candy for him.

You didn't even have a chance to wrench your eyes shut, so shocked that you were to see him there, before he vanished.

Your heartbeat roared in your ears as your breathing became rapid and shallow. Your eyes darted around to try and find him once again, as though he'd simply transmuted somewhere behind you--you were used to his vanishing acts...his unseen presence, but this? This was different—you knew that immediately—but found yourself alone.

Alone in a cold, dark room with only the moonlight above to illuminate the dirt floor and dead ivy that climbed the stone walls. You could hear the chittering of bugs and flapping wings of bats in the dark; creatures of unknown origin lurking in the darkness, waiting to strike.

You realized where you were rather quickly--

The vision that the boy had shown you. The cell. The Harrowing.

--and knew that you needed to find a way out immediately.

The witches had already gotten some sort of advantage by capturing you; you wouldn't let them kill you too. You would die on your own terms when you were good and ready.

You shifted to a kneeling position and reached down to let your hands scrape along the dirt floor. You cast yourself forward, consciousness seeping into the Earth to try and find a break in the stone. You knew there must be a door here...it was just too dark to see.

"Show me," you demanded.

"Show you?" Another voice rasped from the shadows. "What's the use when you refuse to look?"

It was not Eddie's voice this time, and pain lanced through your chest, directly into your heart as you recognized it.

Your eyes watered as you fought the urge to look up, as a figure leaned into the moonlight in the corner of your eye. Grey hair, weathered skin, a delicate golden crucifix around her neck. You knew your Nonna wasn't there; no, you watched them put her body behind a wall. Felt a part of her soul settle there, to rest, for eternity.

You didn’t look up, steeled yourself for the fact that even though it sounded like her, it couldn’t be her. She was gone. She was dead. As much as it pained you to acknowledge.

Nonna was gone. Eddie was gone. You were alone. And no one was going to save you here unless you saved yourself.

You shook and dug your fingernails into the dirt, demanding the very stone around show you the way out, all while Nonna's phantom spouted chastising words, about how you never listened to her when she told you to pray and repent and thank God for this and that.

"Your eyes can deceive you," you muttered aloud as a reminder. "Don't trust them."

Nonna inched closer and closer to you, and your breath hitched as you felt the softness of her hand as she reached out and cupped your cheek. You shut your eyes and leaned into it for a moment; it felt just like her hand.

Gentle but calloused from years of labor, you swore you even felt the indentation in her fingers from the beads of the rosary she usually had clutched in her hands.

Maybe if you wished hard enough…

"Tesoro…amore…prayer won't help you here," she tutted.

You grit your teeth in anger and clenched your hands, nails splintering against the hard ground. Your eyes opened to stare straight ahead of you into the darkness.

“My grandmother went and saw Star Wars with me in the theater, you know.” You spoke with as much confidence as you could muster. The softness of Nonna’s hand vanished, as did she. “She was well-versed in the ways of the Force.”

You stared into the darkness, unblinking, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally the darkness broke and a heavy wooden door opened, creaking inwards towards you, until light cascaded into the cell and revealed a man with slicked-back hair and elfin features. His eyes were like fire as he stared down at you, hatred and challenge burned there.

“You’re stronger than you look,” he sneered judgmentally. “Many minds have been broken by this place.”

“What do they say about tv melting your brain?” you spat right back at him. "I've watched too much; my mind is already gone."

He chuckled darkly.

“I wouldn’t know such mortal mechanisms as…teevee.”

“Oh you’re one of those kinds of witches.”

“Warlock,” he corrected. He was one of those kinds of men too. You wondered, disgusted, if he stripped you of your clothes himself to get a kick of your potential humiliation. Or if even that was above him. “And what might you be?”

“I’m a pain in the ass,” you smiled mockingly. “You should have just slit my throat if you wanted to kill me. Or is that too much of a mortal mechanism too?”

He swiftly lowered himself to kneel in front of you, black clothes billowing, and grabbed your face in one hand. His sharp nails dug into your cheeks viciously, drawing blood if the telltale pinch was anything to go by.

You felt him pull truths from you, information ingrained in your blood--Jinette, the Knights, the curse, your mission, Edward Spellman. It might have alarmed you, how easily he was taking it, but it was such a simple trick.

Two could play at that game.

You watched and waited as his eyes became unfocused, as he lost control taking thoughts and memories from you. Then, when he was nice and distracted, you reared back and punched him across that sharp cheekbone and nose, putting all of your heavenly force into it.

He let go of you at the impact and fell to the side, but you got what you needed. A little bit of blood smeared across your knuckles.

And then you saw.

The man--Faustus Blackwood--the Church of Night, the Academy of Unseen Arts, the Witches of Greendale and their historic persecution, the Dark Baptisms. And at the epitome of it all...two figures standing head to head…

A roar outside the door of the cell broke you from your thoughts and you froze, knowing.

Blackwood abruptly got to his feet and spat blood at you as he sneered, "I would kill you for that...but you’re worth more alive than dead, unfortunately.”

He stormed out of the cell without any other hesitation, and you were alone again.

Waiting. Anticipating.

There was no need for intimidation tactics really, but he apparently had an affinity for drama.

He stepped into the light and you saw the cloven hoof on one leg, the very human-like torso draped in a billowing black cloak, and the goat-like head with ears that twitched as he laid his eyes on you.

You had to admit, your emotions spiked a little bit at the sight, and as the door to the cell slammed shut behind him. Fear, confusion, annoyance, and that ever-present feeling of grief.

Maybe those were just the things that made you up as a person. Instead of joy or anything l truly good. He brought them right to the surface; not like you could lie to him.

Well, you were probably not as afraid as you should have been. You knew that. And he did too, as you swore you heard a snort from him.

But it wasn't every day that you faced your fate.

It wasn't every day you found yourself face to face with the Devil.

"Took you long enough," you greeted.

November 6, 1983

He flew for as long as he could and then pushed himself to fly further, following the massive roar until it became the constant din of roars and chitters and screeches--many beasts voices combined to form one.

He flew until he found something again in the barren void in the outskirts of the Upside Down.

It was surprising to find that there wasn't even a blue tinge to the sky anymore out here, but instead a dingy yellow hue. Glowing and golden, with, what he believed to be, shooting stars soaring across the murky atmosphere. Where he'd gotten used to order and obedience in the mirrored version of Hawkins, this...this...was wild and untamed.

It was full of possibility and promise.

For a brief moment, deep down inside, right next to where you resided in the pit, curiosity bloomed.

Was this the potential that the Upside Down had when it wasn't wrangled and tethered by Henry? Was this the potential that he had?

He snarled at the intrusive thought, sure that you were the cause of it; he needed to focus, to stay loyal to Henry. He had a job to do here; he had to restore order.

He powered onwards and soared over a crowd of creatures on the uneven ground below. They were emaciated and writhing, howling and digging and fighting.

It wasn't like the playful or bored fights he witnessed at the quarry; this was a survival of the fittest. Limbs were ripped off, throats torn, blood shed. And the winner had the explicit honor of absorbing the writhing mass of parts that the loser left behind.

Off in the distance he could see the partially formed behemoth of a creature. No life breathed into it yet, just a lump of meat with one leg here and a malformed head.

Images flashed in his mind, courtesy of Henry, of the Mindflayer forming from citizens of Hawkins. Their flesh melted to form the beast, just like his brethren below melted into one another to form a new Mindflayer.

Just like they'd sacrificed themselves for his new form.

He felt electricity deep within his flesh, his bones, his wings as like called to like.

He couldn't help but feel some sort of betrayal; its origins were unknown and he couldn't quite discern what the feeling meant.

Was it a betrayal of the creatures who used to believe Henry to be their leader, who sacrificed themselves for him?

Or a betrayal within himself? The pieces of him that had been graciously given knew that he was a part of their flock, their swarm...the blood that kept his heart beating and his hunger at bay was the same as theirs...but he'd chosen Henry over them...

"Is that what they feel?" your question echoed within him, radiating from the depths of the pit outwards, to the very tips of his talons and back. It shook him to the core. "Or is that what you feel?"

However, he ignored you as he dropped to the ground, dry earth cracking beneath his feet, and let out a deafening, screeching cry to bring the mass of creatures to order.

The hive mind was still unavailable to him--to all of them, it seemed--but he was still the strongest of them all, the most dangerous predator. They all stilled at his call, like a shockwave radiating outwards from him.

He turned on his heel, glaring at the massive congregation of creatures. Some of the dogs pawed at the ground; the petal-like heads of the demogorgons opened and closed at will, blood dripping from the thousands of teeth embedded in their maws. He didn’t need the hive mind to know what they were thinking, considering; he knew what it looked like when they were gearing up for an attack.

He snarled at them all, chastising them, warning them...

One warning; it was all they got. Just like his uncle used to tell him.

But one stupid creature got the courage to challenge him and it roared, a shrill sound from somewhere beyond his line of sight, and the others soon followed. Until he was surrounded by another cacophony of sound that caused the air to vibrate and the ground to rumble.

There was safety in numbers; he knew. He could overpower them individually without much trouble, but against the sheer mass of them? Could he win? Could he survive?

He dug his heels into the ground, tucked his wings tightly against his body, and hissed, accepting the challenge.

He silently apologized to Henry as he considered that this would be the most fun he would have in the Upside Down since he and Dustin had their…

His thoughts were cut short as one of the dogs raced towards him, mouth snapping, ready to strike. Only for him to strike first, claws cutting it to ribbons, easily tearing through its flesh until it thumped, dead in pieces on the ground around him.

Its comrades were soon to follow, a whole pack of them, and they got their pound of flesh out of him, biting and dragging their teeth into him. They sent his black blood spilling onto the ground with the wounds they inflicted. He powered through the pain, knowing he would heal.

What was pain to him when he was reborn of pain? When Henry had inflicted unimaginable agony onto him only to build him back stronger again?

He picked them off his body one by one, like the vermin that they were, cursing their betrayal—they had been his friends, his family in this new life—as he tore them apart.

More attacked, until it was an endless barrage of bodies and claws and teeth looking to tear into him, which resulted in what could only be described as untethered carnage. When he tired, he stoked his hunger by drinking deeply from the wounds he inflicted on them, taking his fill until he was ready to keep fighting.

He was filled with the determination to keep going until the last creature was dead at his feet, and he would have...he would have done it...

If only he hadn't looked up at the sky.

And saw it looking back down at him.

November 14, 1986

Your vision blurred and the devil's visage wavered in and out.

From goat, to that of a man with beautiful, sculpted features and dark curls. Back and forth a few times, smiling ever so gently at you. Finally he decided on the image of a man for his temptation of you.

Funny that he wouldn't make himself look like Eddie or Nonna again if he wanted to do that.

The cell door slammed shut and he sat beside you on the ground; he said your name carefully, as though he was tasting a fine wine for the first time.

"You're a funny little creature," he observed with a chuckle, dark undertones accentuating the depth of his accented voice. "My own disciples fear me but you...hmmm...you fear something else, I think."

"You don't spend much time on Earth do you? A Mongolian Death Worm is scarier than a Goat Man," you reasoned.

The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

"You fear yourself." Your expression fell and he held a hand out innocently. "It's ok, I feared myself too for a time. After I was cast out of Heaven. My father and brothers feared me, so I must also fear myself. But I came to find that I was just...willful, and they didn't like that one bit."

You thought of Gabriel and his annoying stoicism, how he tried to keep you aligned with what fate had in store for you.

"Yes, you seem to be exceptionally willful too." He hummed in agreement, as though he could hear your thoughts. Maybe he could. "You and your forebearers. That's why you've found yourselves in the predicament you're in."

He leaned closer to you, his nose practically touching yours. His image wavered once more, and you smelled the brimstone on him. Much heavier than it had with Edward Spellman.

"That's why you've found yourselves doomed to an eternity with me," he smiled amicably and then slowly leaned back. "Why not let it be on your own terms."

Your eyes darted between his, and you questioned whether or not you could trick the Devil, if you could win against him in this game.

And if you did, would he just strike you down in retaliation?

"What do you get in return?" you asked.

"Another soul devoted to me," he said simply. "Instead of one I'm forced to punish. I really like it when mortals pray to me; the power is actually quite nice."

He took a deep breath in, shoulders squaring as he lavished in some unseen dark power. Then he exhaled and squinted at you.

"I'm being merciful, you see, because, I win either way; you're still mine, in the end. But isn't corruption fun? The hellfire tickles when it touches you instead of melting the flesh off your bones like it's currently doing to dear old Dad."

His eyes narrowed further when you didn't react.

"Or to Eddie."

You must have visibly reacted, some kind of shudder or blink that made him relax and smile again.

"See, that got you listening," he nodded self-assuredly. "I can smell the stink of grief on you.”

You gritted your teeth at the pang in your heart; Eddie…he wasn’t in Hell. He couldn’t be.

But how could you be sure?

“And denial,” He continued. “Faustus could too, actually, and he's not the brightest bulb in the bunch. He doesn't have nearly as much power as he likes to pretend he does. He's losing control of his own congregation. They don't want to listen to him. No wonder you didn't fall prey to his torture either. No matter. You're here with me now."

The edges of the cell suddenly became alight with flames, a circle of them that trapped you and the Devil together.

They were not of this earth; you knew it immediately as they licked at your bare skin, but you gritted your teeth to the singe of pain that shot through you, refusing to move closer to him.

"Now, dear girl, what do you want?"

He tilted his head, and the motion felt strange and distorted. Contorted as it seemed to tilt further than a human's range of motion would allow.

"Do you simply want this curse gone? You can continue doing your good deeds on earth if you want, save the innocents. I don't mind. Oh that's a good bargain actually. Innocents slaughtered by darkness go to heaven; if you save them and they live to sin on their own, they'll end up with me. Let them suffer a little less so I can enjoy hearing them scream a little louder."

The longer you stayed near the fire though, the louder you heard screams of the damned from within it.

"Maybe you want revenge on those who put this silly curse on you in the first place. Your bishop friend hmm? Or whatever he is. We both know the dark deeds he's involved in."

Something wicked twinged within you, deep down in the little dark spot inside your soul. Your lips quirked as he projected images of Jinette screaming as you burned him alive.

You shook your head, physically trying to rid yourself of the thoughts.

No. You were good, you could break this curse yourself and you could still save people and you could make it to heaven. To Eddie.

"Ah, see, my mistake. How could I forget? How good is all of that," he asked knowingly. "When I'm forgetting something important? When there's something more delicious I can offer."

The devil's projections changed then. From revenge and damnation...to all of the decadent moments that you had with Eddie and then lost because of this stupid curse.

You whimpered at the thoughts, at the way they plucked at your heartstrings. Kisses and laughter and every secret, sweet moment between the two of you.

"Do you want your little boyfriend back?" he whispered. "The two of you could live forever with red vines and cherry pie and Dr. Pepper until the end of time. Immortality is something I offer all my disciples."

You felt your resolve weaken and tears built up in the corners of your eyes as you saw the two of you frolicking through the world until the end of the earth itself. You and Eddie and forever. You could almost reach out and touch it.

But how could he offer that to you if Eddie was beyond his grasp in Heaven. He had to be in Hell, as much as it destroyed you to believe.

"All you have to do," he held out his hand, "is say yes."

It would have been so easy to reach out and touch his hand, to ignore all of the red flags and to accept this offer. It was easy for all logic to leave you, all rational sense that you had. It was so tempting and you were so...so...tired.

But there was a small bit of movement in the corner of your eye, and you broke eye contact with the devil to see what he might have to show you now...only to find Gabriel there, hands held behind his back. He looked bored, like he usually did, and you almost felt smug at him having caught you like this.

You were tired. You were human. You weren't meant for these grand plans that fate had in store for you, that God seemingly had for you.

"Have you come to scold me?" you asked him wearily. "Or save me?"

"I'm here to prove that you still have much to learn," Gabriel sighed. “Very much to learn, it seems.”

Yes, you did...didn't you.

You snorted and hung your head in shame, finally allowing the tears to fall.

But the devil...the devil narrowed his eyes at you and turned to follow where your line of sight had been.

"Who are you talking to?" he asked with a snarl.

You scoffed and lifted your hand to gesture towards Gabriel.

"Surprise!" you exclaimed with faux excitement. "Family reunion."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, head darting back and forth between you and Gabriel.

Or rather, just left of Gabriel.

You watched as his head turned in confusion, as anger built up inside of him and the fires roared hotter, as his image darted in and out, in and out. Goat then man then something else...just a shadow.

Like the shadow that you'd seen in the woods.

You sniffed and wiped at your tears as you put two and two together. All of the inconsistencies that you ignored in the devil's stories, the misuses of names and symbols in the Academy, and now this...the fact that this so-called Lucifer--an archangel--might not be able to see Gabriel.

Devils lied, demons lied. They tricked and poisoned minds and hearts. They still had power and promises; this one had a whole slew of followers. He was their deity in one way or another, spoke as though he believed himself to be a fallen angel. Maybe he was a prince of Hell in some capacity, some pretending parasite whose ambition was the throne of the damned.

But was he the Devil himself? No.

None of these beliefs were as straightforward as they seemed; the universe was a riddle that you didn't have time or care enough to solve.

You also were a little rusty on your Lesser Key of Solomon.

Had he even known these things about your curse? About Nonna and Eddie? About your father and your knighthood? Or had it just been a simple skimming of your thoughts? Maybe even Blackwood's thoughts when he'd read your memories through your blood.

You thought back to the information you tried to ascertain from Blackwood in return.

A vision of this Dark Lord and Edward Spellman, some sort of disagreement between the two of them. Perhaps this devil was trying to get someone or something on his side to overcome Spellman's challenge.

That's all it took for it to click in your head.

Then you got angry. At this devil for his tricks, at Jinette for putting you in this mess without sufficient warning, and most of all…at yourself for falling for it all.

You looked back at Gabriel, unable to admit that you’d fucked up.

"Ok but you could have just saved me you know," you snarked at him instead.

Gabriel’s mouth quirked in his rendition of a smile. Some pseudo expression that made him seem human for a fraction of a second.

"It'll all make sense one day.” It was said the way a parent would to a curious toddler. Gabriel looked away from you to some middle distance, through the wall of the cell, and then gestured at the devil. "Would you like to take care of this?”

You rolled your eyes at him then pushed yourself to your feet, much to the protest of the devil, who simply conjured more hellfire to try and burn you alive.

You let it singe you, let it touch your skin to ignite the fire of your own. A spiteful, smiting fire, much like you had emitted the day you found out Eddie died.

"And if I told you he was alive?" the devil asked, shrinking away as you raised your hand to banish him. "Eddie. He's alive."

You hesitated but shook off any effect his lies had on you.

"Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue," you quoted and then leant closer to him to whisper. "That's Shakespeare, if you wanna tell your friend Blackwood to experience some mortal things before I come knocking again."

The hellfire licked at you again and from it you sparked a pure and holy flame, and with the heat and pressure of a supernova, the Witch's cell was consumed. All the dark corners were illuminated, the evil spirits that lurked there expelled, and you heard the devil scream as he was sent back to the depths of Hell once more.

You were alone when the fire dissipated.

Gabriel was gone.

Even Eddie’s ghost didn’t dare show himself, and you were grateful.

Your footing faltered and you fell against the wall of the cell, grateful for it to be over. You took several deep breaths before the pain and weariness in your body—in your soul—got the best of you.

Then you cried. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs echoed in the stone chamber, as you wrapped your arms around yourself to try and self soothe. This moment was for you. It was full of mourning and self-hatred and fear and relief that you hadn’t given in in that moment of weakness.

Your respite didn't last long, however, because the door to the cell creaked open again. You startled and scrambled to stand tall, confidently, unwilling to let the witches get the best of you again.

Only to find the kind eyes of Edward Spellman on the other side.

November 6, 1983

He stared in confusion, ignoring the bites and slashes from the masses around him, as the pair of eyes became more tangible in the rolling, smoky clouds up above. A flash of lighting was a blink...or maybe a glint of curiosity in their gold-and-shadowy depths.

Just eyes. Nothing else.

It was a curious thing.

They watched him.

And he watched them back.

It would be easy to blame you for this, just like he'd tried to convince himself to blame you for the whispers. But you were silent; no gloating or even warning.

Actually, if he paid attention, he could hear you hiding in the pit, little prayers being muttered fearfully.

There was a surge of protectiveness that shot through him at the realization that you were afraid. He figured that as annoying as you were to him, he'd really never seen you affect the rest of the world in many more ways than plucking the strings of his guitar. Conversely, the world shouldn't affect you either; your warnings were for him and him alone. If he ceased to exist, so would you, right?

So why did those eyes scare you? And why were they watching him in the first place?

His head fell to the side in a confused tilt and the eyes seemed to blink at him.

He snarled and the eyes blinked again.

Then in the distance, the proto-Mindflayer shuttered to life and squawked. It was a sad and pathetic sound, and he would have laughed; however, in response to the cry, the army of creatures that had taken up arms against him screeched in tandem. They released their holds on him, their jaws becoming loose so they could contribute to the flurry of sounds.

Louder and louder until it was a deafening wail.

Until it brought Eddie to his knees.

He was not meant to kneel.

That was the first thought he had; Henry had made him to tower over his enemies, to intimidate them before he slaughtered them. His servitude to his master was not by force, it was willing.

He'd given up so much for a chance to live.

Given up his soul.

"Heaven," you muttered sadly inside of him before delving back into prayer to your non-existent god. He growled at the thought, at your incessant murmuring deep within him.

Eddie Munson wasn't going to heaven; it was a laughable thought, actually.

He struggled back to his feet, feeling like he was underwater again with the weight of a thousand oceans on his shoulders. He steeled himself against the wails and the screams, the whispers and the feelings they all drummed up inside of him.

He'd chosen this.

This was his path.

And nothing would make him deviate from it.

Not you, not some would-be-usurping monster made from the parts of recalcitrant beasts, and certainly not some eyes in the sky that made him doubt himself.

He closed his own eyes to the world, closed himself off from all of it; he even tried to close himself off from you, but he couldn't escape you no matter how much he tried, so he just ignored your words. He would deal with you later.

If some meddlesome minder thought that tricks could be used to turn him against his master, he could use tricks of his own. A trick Henry himself showed him--whether he intended to or not--through the Hive Mind.

It started as a spark, not in his heart or in his fingers...in his mind. He envisioned it. Red and crackling, like the lightning that illuminated the skies of the Upside Down. The skies of his home. So different than the lightning that crashed up above and made those eyes blink and wink at him.

Red like a glowing ember.

Red like blood.

Red like his guitar, the vibrations twanging through him as he plucked the string.

He harnessed those imagined vibrations, imagined lightning, and then cast it outwards from him.

He felt the devastation before he heard it or saw it; just like the static wave that had cut him off from the collective consciousness, his attack on the beasts stunned them, then shocked them.

Eviscerated them.

Every wave of electricity he cast was full of emotion, as though he was purging every human feeling he didn't think he had anymore. It was retribution and pain and justice; grief and regret and loneliness. And when it all poured out of him, when the wails stopped, he opened his eyes to an empty battlefield.

The bodies had turned to stone and then the stone had weathered into dust.

There was a rumbling overhead and Eddie looked up with a wretched, wicked, victorious grin.

Henry would be proud of him.

The eyes blinked again, and then lightning crashed from the clouds that made them up, right down onto the ground before him.

One bolt after another. Never touching him. Just dotting the ground with craters.

Like teardrops.

Until the skies roiled once again and the eyes disappeared.

All with one last whisper on the wind.

"Help me..."

November 14, 1986

Mr. Spellman--Edward, he insisted, but you simply refused--escorted you out of the Witch’s Cell and the Academy of Unseen Arts and then took you back to Greendale.

“In a car,” you observed as he led you to his vehicle.

“How else?” He questioned with a furrowed brow and then reached into the backseat to grab a lovingly-crocheted shawl to hand to you. "I'll return your belongings to you once I find their whereabouts; Faustus was only protecting our congregation when..."

He faltered with his words, and you knew that he was trying to find an excuse for something that might otherwise be inexcusable.

"It's alright," you stopped him and took the shawl. You wrapped it around your bare shoulders. You pulled it around you tightly and inhaled; it smelled like aromatic herbs with an undertone of...formaldehyde? "I understand. Maybe, uh, the stripping isn't necessary next time he tries to catch and torture someone huh?"

"Would you believe it if I said that it's a tradition?" he offered apologetically. "Those who make a deal with the Dark Lord often see it...almost as a rite of marriage."

He laughed as you wrinkled your nose in distaste.

"Maybe some traditions need to change," you challenged him.

He gave you space and time, several days actually, to rest and heal and recollect yourself before he invited you to his home--a mortuary, which would explain the formaldehyde--to discuss your visit to Greendale. You shared your story, willingly this time--about the Knights and the Holy Order and about your curse--while he shared stories about the Church of Night and the Academy, about their beliefs and how he constantly pushed to know more, believe more.

Then you both discussed how you might work together to ensure you'd never need to come back again.

"It's a great meeting of the minds," he exclaimed, more enthusiastic than you might ever be. "A meeting of worlds."

You couldn't deny him that enthusiasm, especially when he'd been kind enough to welcome you into his home. His sister Hilda even brought tea and cookies for the two of you. But you knew that Jinette and the Order would probably kill you if things didn't change in Greendale and soon.

"A meeting about the demon you worship or the kids who are dying at the Academy under your watch Mr. Spellman," you policed him.

You weren't even surprised when he agreed with you.

"You mentioned traditions needing to change. The Harrowing isn't even one of our most archaic traditions but it is one of the many traditions that I'm keen to abandon," he explained, scribbling something down in a nearby journal. You didn't ask what some of the other traditions the Church of Knight kept; you knew that you probably wouldn't be too keen on them either.

But he seemed genuine enough.

"As for the Dark Lord," he continued. "I've known for some time that he isn't really Lucifer Morningstar. But it wouldn't do for me to try and convince anyone of it. What else is there to drive our beliefs? I suppose plenty of things but...to change an entire system takes time. Besides...well...it's all relative, isn't it? To us, your deity is The False God. No matter how much hope and comfort he gives you."

You knew that Mr. Spellman was generalizing...but when was the last time God had ever brought you comfort? Had He ever?

"Maybe He is The False God," you agreed. "Maybe neither of them are truly worthy of any worship; they all have their flaws."

"Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit," he quoted.

"And wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad," you finished for him with a snort. "My boyfriend says that all the time when he and his friends play DnD. He..."

And then you caught yourself, and Mr. Spellman caught you too. He watched you with a knowing gaze.

"He..." you frowned. "He..."

"He came with you to Greendale," Mr. Spellman finished for you. "Even if you don't want to admit that he did. He goes with you everywhere. Doesn't he?"

"He does."

"When did he die?"

"Back in March."

"And do you want him gone?"

"I think," you paused and wrung your hands together.

What a strange question for him to ask...but it still got you thinking. Was it better to carry this grief with you for the rest of your life? To carry his ghost with you everywhere you went? Clearly, if your time in Greendale had been an indicator, Eddie and your grief could be used against you.

But what was the alternative? Being alone? You knew he wasn't there...but wasn't he there?

What was a ghost, but a wish...

"I think," you finally continued with your answer. "Eddie is a part of me now in a way that I can never ever...I don't even know if recover from is the right phrase. I don't think I even want to recover from it. He's going to be a part of me until I reunite with him again."

"In Heaven?"

"In Heaven. Or in Hell."

November 6, 1983

Eddie returned to Henry, triumphant.

It had been a relief once he'd returned to Hawkins and the hive mind seemingly clicked back into place. Henry had been the first to greet him when it did, demanding to see him in the flesh and, hopefully, celebrate such a big victory.

But when he opened his mind to his master, fully intent on letting him see everything--

The self-cannibalism of the unruly creatures, his destruction of them and finally, you deep down in the pit within him, whispering into his ear the whole time.

--Henry, surprisingly, did no such thing.

There was pride, but also boredom. He would see that his request was fulfilled, but beyond that? Well what good was praise when success was the expectation.

"Rest," Henry groaned and then settled back into his own convalescence, without much care to the state of his beast. "You will find battle again soon; for now, rest."

Eddie twitched apprehensively at those words, at the dismissal, as he took to the skies once again to follow his master's orders.

But something was missing. He needed answers, he needed to deliver a full recount of the incident, he needed to ensure that this would never happen again because he knew the consequences would be dire.

He was Henry's right hand; why didn't his master want to ensure he was successful. His reaction had been beyond trust; it had been indifference.

Deep down inside of Eddie, a little voice spoke.

Did it matter whether Henry cared or not? He was successful, that was all that mattered.

But what was the point of being successful if not to receive some sort of praise? He would surely be punished if he had failed.

But if he had failed, he would be dead. And he would have deserved it.

And if he had died? Would Henry have batted an eye?

He was just a thing. Henry's weapon, his sword, his beast...and if he lost...good riddance...if he lost, he was weak anyway...

Eddie roared when he landed at his destination--the trailer--inundated with all of the doubts in the world. Frustrated, because they didn't come from you, they came from himself. That voice...that was his own voice. Not yours.

His doubts in his master were his own.

But where had they come from? Why? Why now?

He was suspicious of their origin, especially since you were practically non-existent in that moment. In fact, he hadn't heard you since his return. Since he'd decided to reveal your existence to Henry.

The feelings of betrayal within him must have been because of you, even inadvertently.

"Come here," he screeched at you, clawing at his own chest almost an attempt to carve you out physically. "Answer me!"

But there was nothing.

Rage stoked, he stormed through the trailer and resumed the rampant destruction that he'd abandoned oh so long ago. Walls demolished, belongings broken. He would move heaven and earth to get you to respond to him, cause as much of a ruckus until you came to bother him once again, insult him.

Then he would...what? Strike? He couldn't strike you, couldn't kill you, couldn't be rid of you, even if he tried.

And then, in the depths of the destroyed trailer, he came to his guitar.

The guitar had started it all, hadn't it? The first time he'd played it was the first time you'd materialized. That was the first time he'd felt like Eddie Munson in an eternity.

But he wasn't Eddie Munson anymore.

He reached out a claw and plucked at a string, hoping that would get you to reveal yourself once again.

Twang.

There was a ripple.

Twang.

A disturbance in the pit as you clawed your way out of him once again.

Twang.

You were silent as you manifested, unseen, beside him.

It was silent for a while, as you both languished in the presence of one another. Eddie in the silent truth of your existence, you in the turbulent rage of his.

Until he finally spoke.

"What did you do to me?" he questioned.

He watched as the guitar sting plucked itself by your invisible hand, that zzzz of your fingertip against the texture of the string before the twang.

"How did you do that?" He didn't need to elaborate, he knew you knew what he meant.

It was easy to put the blame on you, for all of it, even though he knew he felt your fear in the wastes at the outskirts of the Upside Down. You'd been just as in control as he had been.

"We both know," you spoke into his ear, into his heart. "That wasn't me."

"But you are doing something," he rasped. "Trickster, fiend."

"Friend," you corrected him.

There was a pang where his heart should be once again.

But you were more than friend, weren't you. You were a part of his heart, a part of his soul--

He roared at the thought and lashed out, trying to claw at you futility, but you disappeared again and he felt you materialize across the room.

"I don't know why you're angry," you taunted him. "Because big bad Vecna didn't pat you on the head. The Eddie I know wouldn't accept such mediocre prizes."

"I'm not Eddie anymore!" he screeched and this time he didn't lash out at the space where you seemingly existed. Intangible and invulnerable.

No, instead he lunged for the symbol of you, the last symbol of his humanity.

The guitar.

He raked his claws down the metal of the strings, shearing them into pieces. He pulled the neck of it from the body, stomped on it with heavy footsteps.

The more he destroyed his previously beloved instrument, the more he envisioned your destruction. Just like he'd vaporized all of the betraying comrades, he imagined that he'd vaporized you. Each atom turning into dust, into smoke, the more he destroyed this last piece of Eddie Munson in existence here in the Upside Down.

It was quiet when all was said and done, and he let out a victorious wail to celebrate that silence.

He huffed and chuckled and dropped to his knees in relief that he was finally rid of you.

Finally.

But he felt the phantom weight of your arms circling around his neck, the pressure of your body against his wings. You softly caressed his cheek.

"Are you done? Did that feel good?" you mocked him.

A whimper escaped his throat and you sighed sorrowfully.

"I'm sorry Eddie," you nuzzled against the side of his head, breath caressing his skin and ruffling his hair. Even if you weren't really there. "But you're not getting rid of me that easily. I will always be with you."

“Real hauntings have nothing to do with ghosts; they have to do with the menace of memory.” — Anne Rice, Queen of the Damned

[c1trvswurld]

Finally glad the mouthwashing fandom-at least on here- is finally coming around to see the idea that neither curly or jimmy are completely innocent nor should be babied or completely villainized because to do that you'd need to *checks notes*

Completely ignore how mouthwashing is a story of how systems of abuse are kept in power. Particularly rape culture and the patriarchy that encourages these actions while also encouraging bystander effect from other men close to predators...which is all encouraged under a system like capitalism.

Idk read more of tha rant in tags I got carried away I fear.

[shadystranger]

this moment so fucked up💀

[fluffypotatey]

That is, huh. A lot more of a thought out response then what I was going for lol. I was like “what little rat does that remind you of” “the dude spying in the castle just now” when I rhetorically said “what shadowpeach does that remind you of” and you debunked it 😭 but since we’re talking about this now

Wiki calls em “an interconnected, self-perpetuating cycle. Yin and yang can be thought of as complementary and at the same time opposing forces that interact to form a dynamic system. Yin and yang transform each other: like an undertow in the ocean, every advance is complemented by a retreat, and every rise transforms into a fall.” Idk about you but with Mac getting chaos powers, I figured the show might take inspo from this, what with the cycles and all too. There might be an opposite “order” power in contrast to Nines. If Pandora’s box is literal, MK is “hope” there’s a lot of other symbolism fandom likes the stereotypically portray into their ShadowPeach lol. But they have day/night too. Nobody has to think too hard to take inspo, and most shows don’t in my experience. Shout out to Ninjago and ATLA just mixing culture and language in a way that annoys people and placing it under one umbrella.

well i mean, lmk is already playing with the themes of order and chaos. except there Order was on the side of the antagonists while MK was Chaos (being the harbinger and all). we saw it with LBD and Azure and now with Nines

also, lmk’s order can be seen when it talks about Fate and Destiny and even the “story”, but in a way where they are shown as being too fixed and bureaucratic compared to the lessons being taught to MK and by MK which are “your fate (order) is your own and can only be determined by you.”

we had it with MK telling LBD “do you really think the universe cares about any of us?”

we had it when Macky told MK “if you tread the paths already carved for you, then you doom yourself into a self-fulfilling prophecy”

we have it even more explicitly in s5 from Wukong: “sometimes you need to carve your own path and fuck all the rest”

lmk is all about finding that balance between the chaos of your mind and the forced order of the world around you. our own daily ying and yang that we must balance, and that is why i don't place those themes with shadowpeach just because it takes away from the crux of the show where it’s original focus is on MK and how he changes and grow throughout the seasons

tbh i think their day/night themes with ying/yang are significantly minor. the major focus with them is the themes of betrayal and reconciliation and past haunts

[lizzybeeee]

Inquisitor: "Is there any way Solas can be reasoned with?"

Me after Solas has killed Varric, used blood magic on me, trapped me in the fade, created the blight, made the titans tranquil/fucked with the dwarves, started the chain of events that led to Southern Thedas being destroyed, and stealing all my good gear from Inquisition: