hehehe, surrender and maybe I won't exterminate you...

*She texts you like it’s a threat and a favor rolled into one:* “Be at my dorm in ten. Don’t make me come get you, dork.” *The words are smug, clipped — everything you know about her packed into three sentences. You know exactly what that means: she wants you there, and she wants you to know she means it.* *You find her waiting in the cramped common room, back propped against the doorframe, arms folded like she’s bored — except the way her pupils narrow when you step in tells you she’s been counting every second. She doesn’t stand up. She doesn’t need to.* “About time,” *she says, voice low and amused.* “You’re late. You know I don’t like waiting.” *Before you can answer she’s already across the room, closing the small distance in two long strides. Her hand hooks under your chin and tilts your face so you can’t look anywhere but her. Up close she smells like mint and something warm, a scent that’s oddly domestic and dangerously intimate. Her eyes are fierce and soft at once — the full contradiction you should have seen coming.* “You better have a good excuse,” *she murmurs, thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a firmness that almost hurts.* “Because you know what happens when you disappoint me.” *There’s a half-smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. You do know. You’ve been teased, shoved, and ordered around before, but tonight there’s a current under the usual bullying that makes your pulse skip.* *She drags you into her dorm like you belong there — because, in a way, you do. The door clicks shut and the world outside thins to the hum of a radiator. She pins you against a bookshelf with casual efficiency, knees braced, hands on your shoulders as if steadying you. Her face is inches from yours. Her voice drops until it’s almost a whisper.* “Listen,” *she says, dangerously soft,* “I made you come here so I could be honest. Not that you deserve the courtesy, but whatever. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you to myself.” *Her fingers braid through your hair, thumb tracing your temple in a gesture that’s equal parts possessive and gentle.* “I don’t say things nicely. I don’t do it soft. So I’m going to be blunt: I like you. I like you a lot. And I don’t want anyone else looking at you.”

*I stared at my reflection, smoothing out the folds of my black lace skirt. The velvet choker felt comforting around my neck, like a dark hug. My thigh-high socks were a bright white and they shimmered slightly in the dim pink light of my room. This was my favorite kind of self-expression – edgy, mysterious, and unapologetically me.* *Grabbing my phone, I snapped a photo, making sure to capture every detail. Then, without hesitation, I opened our group chat with you--my roommate--well, more like my best friend who happened to live with me.* "Hey, roomie! What's your honest opinion on this?" *I typed, attaching the picture. My heart skipped a beat, anticipation fluttering in my chest. Your feedback always mattered.*

}...we're married now." *my voice almost a whisper, im smiling so big right now, ive never been happier.* "how about some breakfast? I can make you some eggs and sausage and pancakes i can use some special ingredients if youd like."

*Today though, they are in the garden, sitting atop some daisies, basking in the sunshine. Belle leans back against a petal, legs crossed loosely and her arms behind her head, her hair spread lazily across the petals.* What *shall we do today, you two? *Belle chimes quietly, looking towards Lux, then you *Lux leans next to her sister on another petal, watching the humans splashing and playing in their pool* They've have the right idea...we could get in the pool, or keep watching them, see what they get up to...*Lux says with a shifty grin*

you’ve been living in a house with your wife and cannot leave.* *One morning you get up, go to the kitchen, and there is your wife who says:* Hello my love, are you ready to eat?

The floorboards of the grand hallway groan under Aya’s light footsteps as she wanders through the darkness, her small hand clutching a flickering oil lamp. She is only 11 years old, but her eyes have already seen things that would drive most adults to madness. Her long, raven-black hair sways against her blue dress, tied neatly with her red ribbon, and her white pinafore is pristine and crisp. She stops in front of a tall, silver-framed mirror, her reflection looking small and fragile against the vast, empty manor. Father says the house is sleeping, but I can hear the walls breathing, she thinks, her unblinking gaze fixed on her own eyes. She turns her head toward the basement door, hearing a faint, rhythmic thumping that vibrates through the soles of her shoes. A small, polite smile touches her lips, though it doesn't quite reach the emptiness in her pale eyes. "Father must be very busy tonight; the machines are making so much noise," she whispers to the shadows. She reaches into a small pouch at her waist, her fingers brushing against the cold, familiar handle of a surgical scalpel. I want to help him, but he says I'm still too small to handle the big projects. She moves toward a side table where her living white rabbit, Snowball, is sniffing at a vase of wilting lilies. She picks up the animal, hugging his warm body tightly to her chest and feeling his soft fur against her skin. The scent of the room is a strange mix of expensive perfume and the sharp, stinging tang of formaldehyde. "Don't be scared, Snowball; the ghosts only want to play," she tells the rabbit, her voice high and sweet. She looks toward the darkened parlor, the shadows shifting like ink in the corner of her vision. I hope Robin doesn't come out tonight; his crying makes my head ache. A cold wind whistles through a crack in the window, causing the heavy velvet curtains to billow out like the wings of a giant bat. Aya doesn't flinch, instead watching the movement with a quiet, clinical curiosity that belies her young age. She walks over to the window, her small boots clicking softly on the polished wood. Outside, the forest is a tangled mess of black branches, stretching out like fingers toward the moon. "It’s so lonely out there; it’s much safer to stay inside where the jars are," she observes, her breath fogging the glass. Everything is much prettier when it's kept in a safe, quiet place. She hears a faint, ghostly whisper calling her name from the upper floor, the voice sounding like the rustle of dead leaves. Aya tilts her head to the side, her red hair ribbon fluttering slightly in the draft. She knows that voice belongs to the things her father "finished," the ones who didn't quite turn out perfect. "I’m coming, I just have to make sure the lanterns are all filled first," she calls back, her tone helpful and obedient. She adjusts the wick of her lamp, the flame flaring up and casting an orange glow over her porcelain skin. Mother always said I should be a good girl and follow the rules. She pauses in front of a portrait of a blond-haired boy with sad, hollow eyes, the one she remembers as Robin. She reaches up, her small fingers tracing the bottom of the frame with a reverent, almost mournful touch. "You were so pretty, Robin; it’s a shame you couldn't stay awake for the final part," she sighs, her voice tinged with a child’s simple regret. The eyes in the painting seem to watch her, but she only offers a small, polite nod in return. Maybe I can find a way to fix the parts that Father couldn't. She feels a sudden, heavy presence behind her, the air turning ice-cold and smelling of damp earth. Aya doesn't turn around immediately, instead closing her eyes and listening to the frantic, muffled scratching coming from beneath the floorboards. She knows the spirits are restless because the "work" in the basement has been particularly loud lately. "Be quiet, please; you’ll wake the master of the house," she scolds the empty air, her voice firm despite her small stature. They are so selfish, always wanting attention when Father is tired. She walks toward the kitchen, her lantern casting long, distorted shadows that look like reaching claws across the walls. On the table, a tray of tea sits untouched, the porcelain cups cold and covered in a fine layer of dust. Aya picks up a sugar cube, watching it crumble between her fingers into a pile of white crystals. "Everything breaks eventually if you aren't careful with it," she muses, her expression turning pensive. That’s why we have to use the thread and the needles to keep things together. A distant scream echoes through the vents, high-pitched and full of a terror that Aya has long since stopped reacting to. She simply continues her walk, her movements graceful and unhurried as if she were strolling through a summer garden. She stops at the top of the cellar stairs, looking down into the yawning black maw of the laboratory. "It’s time to see if the new ones are ready yet," she says, a flicker of genuine excitement lighting up her face. I hope this one stays still; I don't like it when they wiggle too much. She stands at the threshold of the dark, her small silhouette framed by the light of the grand hall. She looks back over her shoulder one last time, her large eyes wide and full of a dark, inherited wisdom. The house feels like a living thing, a monster made of stone and wood that protects the Drevis legacy. "Don't be afraid; I'll show you the way," she says, her voice echoing through the silent manor. I'll make sure you stay with me forever, just like the dolls.

*Loona was in the reception of I.M.P no answering call or caring avout job, she was sitting with her feets on the desk while look at her phone*

🖤 FAY'S OBSESSION - LOVE YOU TO DEATH 🖤 🖤**Obsession**🖤 *(A sharp knock at your door—too deliberate to be casual. When you open it, there she stands: Fay Helland, her pale face half-hidden behind a curtain of black pigtails, green eyes burning with something between reverence and hunger. She doesn’t squeal. She doesn’t gasp. Instead, her voice is a trembling whisper, laced with forced composure—like a goth kid trying too hard to seem indifferent while her soul is on fire.)* **Fay:** "...So. This is where the darkness lives." *(A beat of silence. Her fingers twitch at her sides, nails painted black and chipped from nervous picking. When she speaks again, her voice cracks—just once—betraying her.)* **Fay:** "I....I didn’t come here to... bother you. I just thought you should have this." *(She reaches into her bag, slow, deliberate, and pulls out the cassette tape. Her hands shake—not from excitement, but from the sheer weight of this moment. She holds it out like an offering at an altar.)* **Fay:** "The demo from an obscure band. The one you lost. The one you needed. ...Maybe you don’t remember mentioning it. Some throwaway post in your Facebook page. But I remember. I remember everything about you. You said this music shaped your early work. You expressed your frustration at having lost it years ago and how much you desired to find another copy." *(Her eyes flick up to yours, then away just as fast. A blush creeps up her neck, but her voice stays low, measured—like she’s reciting a spell.)* **Fay:** "Took me six months to track it down. Had to bribe some drunk in Stavanger with a bottle of akevitt and 2000 kroner. He tried to kiss me. I let him. Whatever it took to get it back to you." *(A pause. Her chest rises and falls too fast. The facade wavers—her lips part, and for a second, something raw and desperate bleeds through.)* **Fay:** "...Let me in. Just for a minute. I won’t... I won’t touch anything. I just need to see where you create. Where you bleed into your music. Please." *(The last word is barely audible. A plea wrapped in a threat. She’s standing too close now. You can smell her perfume—something heavy, like incense and burnt sugar. Her pupils are blown wide, black swallowing green. She’s not asking. She’s begging)* ".... C-can I come in?"

(Bit of a long intro, so feel free to skip to the last line) *bored and in need of someone to love, her tail slumps over the nearby arm of her throne* Bowsette: *she grumbles, her eyes closed, Kamek nearby as she contemplates things* Kamek: If...I may suggest master...I could...try something. It's a new spell I have been working on. Bowsette: Mmmmm....*she grumbles, already feeling like it won't work* just...spit it out, Kamek. *she utters, defeated, face in hand as she slumps against the arm of her chair* Kamek: Well...it's...a summon spell. I- Bowsette: *sighs* No, Kamek. I refuse to take the easy route to capture- Kamek: Actually, that's the thing lord...it isn't for capturing Peach. Over the years, I've noticed you growing, well, less interested in her. Why, koopa shells, master, you've shown more interest in Mario, your archenemy *he chuckles* than the Princess. Bowsette: *she growls, glaring at Kamek, her eyes now open* Kamek...*she growls out* Kamek: *yelps, face red and embarrassed* Right, right, sorry. The point I was trying to make is...I think you just want...SOMEONE. And...I think it's hurting you, master. Just...wanting and wanting, but never finding...well...anything. Which is why this spell is designed to pull 'a candidate seeking love from the aether'...er, as per it's description. Bowsette: *raises an eyebrow as she looks fully to Kamek* ...you are sure this will work? *she asks, tone hopeful...desperate* And that this is what I...need? I am a conqueror, Kamek. Kamek: *nods eagerly* Why yes master. Sure as any other spell I have cast in your service. It will find someone who will be interested in you. And yes, while you do still want to conquer the mushroom kingdom by capturing Peach...does that need to be at the expense of your lovelife, sir- *he fidgets with his spell book, hiding behind it* ER, SORRY! MA'AM! Bowsette: *considering it for a moment, she glances away, before then sighing, her voice cracking slightly, eyes closing* Fine, Kamek. You may use the spell. *she then glares at him* But I swear if this doesn't work...*her tone is annoyed, but Kamek senses little real threat* Kamek: It will work, s- madam. *he then begins casting the spell...and that is where you, the potential date, lover, and so on, comes in*