#and I know who I am now and I’m comfortable with myself

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

(This one is just gonna be me thinking out loud, not really giving advice or making a point, so feel free to skip ahead if that’s not your thing!) 

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

Like many autistic people, I’d say I have special interests (intense, highly specific interests that take up much of my free time and thoughts, and bring me great joy). 

I think mine tick all the boxes, they match up with what I hear other autistic people say about their own: these interests have been loyal companions to me for years (or even decades) and I still love researching them and reading about them for hours while I do not feel that level of passion about things outside of these topics. I want to know all there is to know about them and I love going over the facts I already know. I incorporate these interests into my daily life (by writing about them and collecting things related to them), I seek them out in the media I consume (books, movies etc.) and while I don’t necessarily enjoy most social interactions in real life, I will happily talk your ears off about these topics. My brother often jokes that he never needs to ask me what I’m doing, because at any given time, no matter how impractical, the answer is most likely the same: reading articles about one of these three topics.

And yet, with all this being said: I feel like my special interests aren’t autistic enough. 

That’s a deeply irrational fear and I am aware of that. It’s not like I’m being paid to Perform An Autism™️, I’m just trying to live the way that feels natural for my brain. So it shouldn’t really matter if other people think I’m just being pretentious about having a regular old hobby… so what if they do! It wouldn’t change the way my brain works. It also wouldn’t change anything about the fact that categorizing these three topics as my special interests helps me make sense of my feelings about them. It helps me feel like they’re a valuable trait that makes me me, rather than some shameful obsession I should grow out of already. 

And yet, that doubt creeps in. So much so that I’m just realizing I wrote a whole blog post about my special interests without actually naming them! Let’s do that here. They are „Mental health and wellbeing in the lgbt+ community“, „sun safety“ and „Stray Kids (K-Pop group)“. 

A part of me now imagines you rolling your eyes collectively. „Yeah, Oliver, so you’re gay and mentally ill, don’t like to get sunburned, and are in a fandom. Big deal. None of these are autistic special interests. Heck, these barely qualify as interests.“ You are probably not actually thinking any of that. People are rarely as mean as we are to ourselves in our own heads. 

I guess I just feel like they’re not really… measurable enough to count as special interests. It should be something like trains or cars or maybe fish, something where you could memorize hundreds of different kinds of something. Something technical, something where my knowledge on it could be tested and graded. Who is testing these things? I don’t know and somehow I still feel like I’m failing the test. 

I do not have some powerful ending statement here. But I want to tell you what I tell myself: life doesn’t come with scorecards. I think that goes beyond being interested in the right things or being autistic the right way, it goes for everything. You’re not earning points for existing the „right“ way. There isn’t one right way. 

The right way for you is whatever fills you with joy. And joy isn’t measurable. My special interests might not fit the „can name hundreds of train models“ stereotype - but they fit me. They shape me, comfort me, stay by my side, like loyal companions. 

And maybe that’s enough. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[sadcupcake]

Mikaelson's Gilbert

Elena and Jeremy Gilbert have been the center of attention in Mystic Falls for as long as anyone can remember, so much so most people don't even realise they have a sister, Another Gilbert. The Mikaelsons how ever when they meet her, they can never forget her.

Part 1

My sister was always the center of attention, for as long as I can remember it’s always been Elena this, Elena that. I’ve lived my life always in the room never really being seen. I never thought that would be a good thing until today. I resented the fact that no one saw me, Always too focused on Elena. Even when she wasn’t in the room with me I still wouldn’t be seen, everyone was always too concerned with where she was and what she was doing. Now that vampires and werewolves and witches have entered our lives it has become a danger to my life, but it has given me access to a lot of information that I shouldn’t have, like the fact that Damon and Elena are conspiring to kill Klaus behind everyone’s back.

Elena and Elijah had come to a peace agreement which for the most part had worked, but now she’s breaking that agreement with the help of Damon to work with Esther to kill her children and ultimately Klaus. If you had told me when I first found out about the Originals that I would be considering saving their lives I’d have told you that you were crazy, but here I am about to knock on the Mikaelson’s front door and tell them that their mother wants them dead.

I know that they won’t want to hear it but I have to at least try right? I mean there’s no real reason why I should be doing this, they’ve done nothing but torture and try to kill my sister and her friends. But why should I care about that? What has Elena ever done for me but forget I exist? I mean when we were kids she wanted something of mine and I said no so she pushed me and I ended up at the bottom of the stairs with a broken arm and she ended up with whatever toy it was she wanted and forgot I was even there. No matter how much I screamed for help she never came. It wasn’t until our parents got home that I was taken to the hospital and Elena swore up and down that she didn’t know I ‘fell’ and she couldn’t hear my screams for help.

Before I can second guess myself anymore the front door opens and Elijah is standing in front of me. He’s the most reasonable original from what I’ve seen and always sticks to his word, even if it means finding loopholes in those agreements to get what he truly wants in the end. When I look up at him I feel a sense of calm wash over me, like in this moment this is the exact place I need to be. The sense of calm confirms my choice for me.

“And who exactly are you?” Elijah says smoothly almost like he didn't even speak the word.

“ Who I am isn’t important. It never is. I need to talk to you about your peace deal you have with Elena” All of a sudden I’m full of nerves. I didn’t think this through. He could kill me for what I’m about to say, but for whatever reason when I look into his eyes I don’t care, all I care about is saving his life.

“Please follow me inside” He says moving to the side and extending his hand almost effortlessly in one swift motion.

As I follow him into the Mikaelson mansion my heart is pounding in my chest, I’m sure all the vampires who reside here can hear it from wherever they are. It should make me terrified but it doesn’t. This mansion already feels like home to me and I can’t help but feel guilty for feeling this way. This isn’t my home and I definitely shouldn’t be feeling so comfortable here.

We enter a room off to the side and Elijah guides me to a chair, his hand on my back gently. Somehow to me he does seem the gentlest of the Mikaelsons, but I can tell that underneath that guise of the gentle noblemen there is a beast waiting to be unleashed. Once we are both sat I start

“I’m here to save your lives, your mother wants you dead and Elena is helping her” Once it’s off my chest I brace myself for the inevitable, my death. But it never comes. 

The look on Elijah’s face is hard to read at first. He looks calm, almost too calm. But underneath it all I can see the hurt. They all thought she was really back to be a big happy family again, all they wanted was their mother’s love after a thousand years.

“How do you know of this, and why would you warn us? What motive could you possibly have?” Elijah says, still trying to determine who I am, if I’m a threat to his family he’s protected for so long no matter how many times they’ve hurt him.

“I know this because I heard my sister plan it. Esther wants to meet with her at the ball to get rid of Klaus once and for all, but unlike my sister I’m not stupid the only way to get rid of Klaus is for the rest of you to go as well. There is no more white oak that any of us know of and why would Esther waste the last white oak on just one of you when she could link all of you together and be rid of the curse she unleashed on the planet a thousand years ago” I say quickly trying to justify myself to avoid a slow death. “Oh and Damon is in on it” I add in quickly trying to direct his anger onto someone other than the very fragile human sitting in front of him.

“Your sister? I can only assume you mean Elena from the information you’ve given me. We didn't know of the existence of another Gilbert” He says not even addressing the death threat. He’s acting as if it doesn’t even matter 

“ Yeah, that's me, the other Gilbert, You probably didn’t know about me because no one ever sees me. That’s how I knew about what Elena and Damon were up to, they never see me in the room before they talk about their plans” I say wondering why I’m not dead yet.

“Well miss Gilbert, thank you for your warning” Elijah says while standing up and buttoning his suit. If it weren’t for the fact that I know he’s been alive for a thousand years I’d wonder what career he had to afford a suit like that.

Taking that as my que to leave I take the chance while I still have it. While walking back to the front door the way we came I can feel someone watching me, multiple someones. Despite the eyes on me I don’t feel threatened, I feel protected almost. It’s strange really, going unnoticed all my life I tend to feel anxious and uncomfortable when I am noticed, but here in the Mikaelson mansion with the eyes of who I can only assume are the rest of the Originals I feel protected and calm, which makes absolutely no sense.

[kissboybyler]

Tucked Inside our Blankets (with your body next to me)

bylerweek2025 Day 3!! (sightly late entry) @bylerweek2025

Passage is from Mike’s POV

Prompts: Mauve, The Butterfly effect, lavender fields, Cloud 9

As I am writing this, I’m tucked inside our blankets late at night, your body present and deep in sleep next to me. And you look so beautiful and soft under the moonlight shining through the windows, your skin all velvety and your lips so kissable. Were it somebody else, I probably would have wanted to wreck some little chaos in such a moment of unguardedness, to disrupt this moment of peace so pleasantly drawn on somebody else’s features. But I can’t allow myself to do that to you. I can’t allow my selfishness to rob you of this, of this pure and delicate moment where you’re sprawled before me with such vulnerability. So I’ll opt for something else entirely.

I’ll carry you with me, if only in dreams, to lavender fields, where purity and grace lay upon the mauve blossoms. I’ll lay you down upon the flowerbeds and plant soft kisses on your temple, revelling at the openness of your sleepy face.

And I’d thought, so foolishly, that a moment such as this, would be bound to tame the storm brewing inside my chest, because i’m falling-falling-falling and there’s nothing that can can delay or stop the inevitable. And yet- and yet here you are. The mere sight of your face, the blond streaks highlighting your hair, the little freckle above your upper lip- it’s enough. It’s enough help me soar back into the sky, like a butterfly that never lost its wings.

Who said that small things can’t change the world? Well, to them I say, you’re gravely mistaken. I’d thought that kissing you, if only in the comfort of my dreams, would satisfy me, somehow. But how could I ever let go of this sweetness, now that I know what it tastes like? How can I lead a life where I’m not tucked inside our blankets late at night, your body present and deep in sleep next to me?

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay Chapter 8: Force Majeure

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader; Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Non-Con; Dub-Con; Workplace Sexual Harassment; Blackmail; Mentions of Murder; Dark!Steve Rogers; Soft!Dark!Andy Barber; Mafia/Political AU combination; Angst; Crying; (offscreen, minor) Character Death; Descriptions of someone with PTSD and Depression; Funerals; Gun Violence; Domestic(ish) Violence; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; I Killed Those Doves, Lemon.

Chapter Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; Pregnancy; Allusions to Antenatal Depression and PTSD; Discussion of a Medical Nature; Alcohol Mention; Isolation; Semi-Forced Marriage; None of this is how the law actually works.

Chapter Summary: Andy Barber keeps his promise, for better or for worse. In sickness, and in health.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Masterlist

Notes: So… it’s been a minute. Hiatus-ing on and off, appearing, apologizing, disappearing again. I know I’m a mess. I’ve officially left legal — for now, pray higher education holds — and I’m finally getting my horrible menty health under control. Turns out, if you take your meds properly, you can manage to recover your lost muse and update a fic you’ve barely touched since [checks calendar] 2021.

I’m so sorry.

I hope I can keep up and this resurrected-from-the-dead update doesn’t, you know, disappoint.

Thank you for sticking with me even though I’m terrible! I really have missed talking to all of you and am… trying to get over that guilt and be around again. Your faith in me means the world and, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.

Beta-read by my roommate, who is kinder to and more patient with me than I deserve. (love you, bestie. sending you this note via screenshot because you hate 2POV with a passion but it’s fine, we can still be friends.) There’s probably still typos, I’m useless.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

Senator Andy Barber’s Chief of Staff keeps a loaded gun in the glove compartment of every car he drives, a force of habit the Senator is probably grateful for right about now, even in absentia. While he pays for the final tank of gas he’ll need to get you both to where you need to go, you open it up and empty the clip, leave the bullets in the cup-holder save for the two you put back. He doesn’t bother questioning the sight of them when he returns, just glances at you briefly and proceeds to hand you a cup of watery, burnt coffee you almost immediately regret taking a sip of.

You drain the cup before the car’s back on the highway.

The road ahead is a lonely one, just the car’s headlights to cut through the snowy gloom. William “Billy” Russo barely speaks, the only driver half-insane enough to be driving through this particular stretch of the Appalachian Trail this late at night with a snowstorm raging all around the both of you.

You never picked up smoking as a habit, really — too devout then, too late now — but as  the suffocating silence settles in alongside the cold in your bones, you can’t help but crave one. Just one. Just something to quiet the churning anxiety and growing dread in your belly.

You risk a glance over to Billy, take in the pale white of his knuckles deepening as his grip on the wheel shifts, his eyes catching yours when he feels the weight of your gaze on him, You getting tired?

Are you?

Exhaustion feels too far away, adrenaline still holding your eyes open, anxious twitches keeping your muscles uncomfortable in the passenger seat, unable to settle down. Even the shake of your head is too cautious to be definitive, too busy watching. Waiting. Say nothing.

Not long now, he tells you by way of an attempt at comfort, eyes back on the road, Safe house is just a few hours away.

Alaska.

Not the state — though you wouldn’t mind, all things considered. The house Billy pulls up to is… nice, if made gloomy in its snowy isolation. You almost wonder how a Senator’s newly-hired Chief of Staff even manages to have an isolated “safe house” just on the edge of the US-Canada border, with access to what seemed like a completely unmanned and unlicensed border crossing — and then you decide that question isn’t even top fifty on your list of questions you’ve had about your day.

Days, even. Days full of memories of caskets, graveside services, and Senator Andy Barber — bloody and battered — practically tackling you to the ground to remind you why you’re here, pulling up to a wood-and-brick prison rather than your palace of glass and steel.

Domain. Dungeon.

The snow outside is starting to turn into a full-bore blizzard, but the house itself is warm enough to boil your blood, fire crackling in the hearth and Billy handing you a mug of something warm and medically cleared for your consumption, I’ve got good news — he’s awake, he tells you, taking a seat in the armchair across from you with a glass of whiskey in hand, He’ll want to hear from you, make sure you’re safe.

Safe. The word feels all wrong, especially here. Especially now.

You are not safe, you will never be safe, he will find you he will always find you—

A pillar of the community has fallen.

It was a heart attack, the papers said.

This is a massacre, the television blares, traumatized reporter center stage. Here you sit, in the fallout of having been too close, far from escaping unscathed. Billy reads aloud the names of those mourners and sycophants too preoccupied with the performance of grief to notice the cracks in the foundation — tragic, tragic, couldn’t have happened soon enough.

Funerals are for the living, and amidst all this death, you might almost come alive.

Heart attacks, you know, are no more than convenient half-truths for the public to pretend, but this — this lays it all bare, exposes the rotten empire of Judge Alexander Pierce as it all comes crashing down around those who profited the most as his enemies decide to draw blood from his headstone.

And all it almost cost you was Senator Andy Barber

And all you had was Senator Andy Barber

Something rises in you at the thought, a bold of lightning through your chest as you feel yourself surge forward on that unraveling tightrope beneath your feet, teeth grinding together and muscles pulsing with the force of will it takes to keep you steady, tamp down the illness and anguish aching to pour from you the moment you open your mouth you are going to start screaming and you will never stop you will never stop you will never—the sight of Billy Russo’s concerned face blurs into practically nothing as you press down the growing pulse of both panic and pain, your stomach considering the merits of emptying itself entirely.

Are you alright?

He knows the answer to that. He knows what you’re about to say — if you could say anything at all — while you press your lips into a thin line and try not to glare too cruelly at him for daring to ask you something when opening your mouth is an impossible task.

The pulse of your jaw will have  to serve as answer enough.

Still. You manage. Abdomen sore and sour and a line of tears staining your cheeks, half-crumpled back into the couch while hands that are not Andy Barber’s try to hold you up.

You’ll try not to resent Billy for the sin.

Any being mired in politics eventually understands the value of things left unsaid, a fact you have never been more grateful for until now, as the pressure on the couch beside you lifts and you catch sight of Billy Russo’s blurry figure leaving your presence — and returning shortly, not long after you manage to clear your vision, met immediately with a glass of water and a metal straw.

And then the phone rings, leaving you alone again.

Barely secretly, you’re almost glad for the interruption.

How are you feeling?

Like I just woke up from having two bullets fished out of my ribs. Andy Barber’s voice is rough, smoke and gravel tinged with pain and whatever that medical team of his pumped into him to numb it while they sewed him shut. You almost wish you had coils on this damn phone, to wind around your fingers in absentminded anxiety while you press down the waves of stomach-churning guilt you’ve been contending with since you got here — and well before then, too.

It’s a game, a dance, a ruse. You know these steps too well.

I shouldn’t have asked, you manage by way of apology, listening to the strained chuckle on the other side of the line.

Better you asking than anyone else, Sunshine. How are you feeling?

Like Hell, like I can never stop, never escape, like you’ve trapped me in a cage, like the poison inside of me is going to choke me and then I’ll finally be free, free, free—

Comparatively, or just in general?

It’s a game, always. A dance. A ruse. Andy Barber shouldn’t laugh with chunks of his left side gouged out by two bullets you can’t even remember the caliber of — but the tenor of it washing over your ears is enough to set you right.

You will never be okay again.

Give me both, Sunshine. I could use the hope.

Hope. Funny thing to have when you’re laid up in a hospital bed with stitches keeping you together, but you personally — well you’re starting to get it. Just a bit.

Worried about you, mostly. Do you know when they’ll let you out? It could almost sound sweet, the way you make yourself worry — the way Andy believes you when you do — if you felt there was any sweetness left in you at all. You ought to be grateful.

You did this, you did this, you you you you you.

Liar liar liar traitor traitor traitor coward coward coward.

You almost miss it, Andy’s response, recalling just snippets as they break through your thoughts—check for sepsis… high security… not being very accommodating… stay in touch.

To be fair, I don’t think calling outside the hospital is within their protocol, you have it in you to sound like you might be teasing him, enough to feel a ghost of a smile tug at your lips when you hear another — stronger — laugh.

I’ll give them that. If they can give me the option of recovering at home, I might give them more.

You have to laugh at that, just a little.

It can’t last.

Sunshine… There it is, your laughter cut short by the shift in his voice, the smile you’d just begun feeling okay with tugging at the corners of your lips fading into nothing.

Andy, don’t—

No. Listen to me, this doesn’t change anything. I promised you I’d take care of you this time and I still mean it.

You can’t hear yourself for the blood-tide in your ears, waves of warning screaming at you to stop, to shut up, to run run run. You should not have come here. You should not believe him. You can’t trust him. You won’t. You cannot trade one cage for another, not this time.

It’s too late for that.

We’ll talk more when I see you again.

Turns out, that’s not for a while.

Still— Andy Barber keeps his promise.

You don’t mind at first, do you? It makes sense at first, doesn’t it? Billy Russo destroys your old phone before you and he have even left the hospital, erasing all its photos and memories and contact information of law school classmates you stopped reaching out to six months after you graduated, and it makes sense. Can’t be tracked this way. Be found. Be drawn back to that cage of glass and steel high above that city you’d moved to in some vain hope your past would leave you alone in that mess of people, politics, and pain.

Can’t let Steve Rogers know you’re still alive.

Can’t let him know what you’ve stolen from him.

So you don’t mind. You don’t mind the stillness — not even when the snow melts one uncharacteristically warm weekend and the woods around you feel almost devoid of life. You don’t mind the loneliness either, more than resigned to accepting your solitude as sanctions for your sins. You don’t even mind the way Billy dictates your days with careful ease — wait, no, you do mind that.

Don’t you have a Senator to look after? You question him one day, not long after your first silent and uncomfortable drive to a private clinic where you check in under the name Mrs. Barber and meet doctors and nurses whose pseudonyms you won’t bother to remember as they test your vitals and ultrasound your belly and act proud when you lie about how little nausea you’re feeling.

This is how he wants me to do that. He barely looks at you as he responds, practically rehearsed while typing away at his phone and gesturing vaguely to the stone-faced bodyguard who’s become more of a shadow to you than your actual one.

One cage for another.

This is the price.

This is your prison. Your dungeon. The life sentence you’ve won for your work. This cell of wood and brick, of double-paned and bullet-proof windows with roll-down metal shutters and bars pretending to be wrought-iron, of eyes always watching and waiting and reporting.

Andy Barber keeps his promises.

And all it costs you is everything you are.

I should do this right. He’d told you as much. I want to do this right.

You don’t ask him if this is what he defines as right when the ring shows up on your pillow after you return from yet one more heavily guarded visit to the clinic, terrified of the day you can’t hide — and deny — this reminder of Steve Rogers, all his lies and that scratched-out marble plinth in your heart upon which you’d once laid wreaths of surrender. You don’t ask him if this is what he defines as right when Billy hands you a pen and a marriage license backdated to the night you visited Andy Barber in his hotel room and almost told him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but  the truth so help you God, your witnesses Andy’s Chiefs of Staff and officiant a name you don’t bother to question.

An old law school lecture about marriages conducted in absentia and the lack of validity thereof comes back to haunt you.

Billy Russo waits.

You sign the papers.

Andy Barber shows up six weeks later.

You’ve almost lost track of time.

It is… not a very spirited homecoming. Hardly the sort of thing a Senator who’s just survived a shooting and recovered — especially when so few were privileged enough to do the same — would earn on Capitol Hill. No fanfare, no excited extended family waiting in the wings with cake and confetti to welcome him back. Just a sleek black car winding its lonely way along an isolated drive and — as it rolls to a stop in front of the house — another member of staff rushing to help him out of the back seat.

You should be down there.

You should be waiting for him the way a good wife ought, all smiles and happy kisses and gleeful adoration. Odysseus has returned home, to banish the wolves at your door, free you from this beautiful prison and give you something like hope.

After all, Sunshine — you should be grateful.

You signed a vow, sealed with a ring — in sickness and in health.

You should be down there.

Instead, you remain at your seat by the window, knees drawn up as close to your chest as your slowly swelling belly might allow, watching. Haunting the upstairs bedroom you know you are about to share with the man you are about to call your husband — out loud, at least. In person.

Instead, you watch as Billy Russo steps into the spotlight, greets his employer with enthusiasm you haven’t seen once in the almost two months since your confinement began, haven’t seen once in the almost two months you have been silently glaring at him and his staff — all outstretched hands and a too-broad smile you don’t need to see to know is on his face.

Instead, you watch as Andy Barber looks up towards your window, as if he sees you half-hidden behind the curtain, the ghost of all that you once were a year-and-a-half ago when you managed to stand up against New York’s most dangerous and — briefly, gloriously — won.

You watch the way he frowns with his whole body, familiar with the set of his shoulders and the terrifying purpose in his stride as he steps inside. Ready for battle.

Hello, Sunshine. He looks the same. Kept the same beard. The same perfect hair. The same crease in his brow as he leans against the doorway with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his tongue pressed against his teeth and jaw flexing with either disappointment or displeasure as he watches you. No different than the man who asked you to stay in his hotel room the night you tore Steve Rogers from your heart and made your choice.

The warmth of him is a sanctuary you have begun to resent as he forces the confrontation you have imagined having a thousand times in the last week alone, the honey of his voice too much of an invitation for you to tolerate as he waits. Watches. Far enough away to let you decide if you want to close the distance, a consideration you mull over as you turn away from the window and the nothing and the hate of you, reluctantly meeting his gaze, Andy. Welcome home.

There’s hurt to him. Voice warm and wounded, fresh blood spilling into the air between you, reaching for the familiarity of before. How are you feeling? A question he knows the answer to, one he also knows you will not give voice to.

You prove him right, daring to shake your head at it, I’m fine.

Liar liar liar traitor traitor traitor coward coward coward

I’m not sure you mean that, Sunshine.

Andy… It’s a warning, a plea, a confession. Ask nothing, you want to insist, want  to scream and keep screaming and scream and scream and scream—

Andy Barber closes the distance.

You’ll never be used to this. To the thunder rumble of his voice rolling over you, to warm hands at your waist, to the way your name sounds so sweet on his lips while he lets one hand lift to your cheek and convinces you to look at him with the softest nudge of his fingers, Talk to me.

Let me out let me out let me out.

You shake your head, try to wrench yourself away but suddenly you are weak in more than body — unable, unwilling to pull yourself from the embrace you practically dreamt of sinking into — all your hate and resentment melting under the heat of his gaze. No, it’s—I’m—I’m just going a little stir-crazy, is all.

An apology. A concession. A plea. You are beating your wings against the bars of your cage and Andy Barber just… tightens his hold, tucks you against him, wraps you in the trapper’s net of his embrace and hides you. Tight enough you could almost drown in it, in the cedar and woodsmoke of his cologne, in the drumbeat of his steady heart as he near curls himself around you — sharp contrast to the hummingbird panic in your own chest, sternum cracking from the pressure, I know, I know, and you could almost believe in his apology too, if you could believe in anything at all.

I’m sorry, I—I shouldn’t be so—so what, you ask yourself before you can continue, dare stop yourself from apologizing for all that you shouldn’t have been in the first place.

You are more than this, more than her, she who languishes in this beautiful cell of a half-life she thinks she has earned. You are more than your cage and your broken promises and your guilt. You are—

Tired.

It sinks into your bones as easily as Andy does, so sure of himself and the choice and the life you had no say in him building for you, Don’t be, Sunshine. I can’t imagine this is easy for you.

I wasn’t the one who got shot.

That disarms him, at least, and you have an opportunity to smile as he lets out a laugh, lets you pull back enough to look at him, lets you stand on your own two feet with his hands at your waist again, watching you.

You can see the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, enough to steel you against the constant collapse of all you thought you once were. You never called me, after that, an accusation. A question.

I know. Fucked up of me, he admits it so readily it almost hurts to hear, until you see the flex of his jaw and the way his eyes slide from yours — guilt. You’ve been a lawyer long enough to know what that looks like — no matter how long it’s been since the last time you searched for it.

You wait.

I should have. Figured out some way of reaching you — but the Syndicate has more eyes looking for you than we anticipated. Rogers… Billy didn’t even want me coming out here, said it was too early, but I told him to make it work and so… here we are.

Billy. Your Chief of Staff. He orchestrated this? You fall into it so easily. The viper, the soldier, that arm of justice demanding answer and understanding and suddenly the light of  your interrogation is shining on him.

He can feel it too, the sharpness of your fangs as you consider sinking them into his throat, consider tearing into him and pouring out the venom you’ve built up in your veins. The look on his face is evidence of guilt, and so you wait. Wait for him to beg and plead and justify.

Chief of Staff is his official title. Think of him more as Chief of Security. I hired him after I got the news about Alex— if he notices the way you flinch at the name, he doesn’t comment —he’s been trying to make up for the funeral since.

And this is how. Not a question. But you’ll have your answers nonetheless.

Yes. Not quite. I didn’t—I should have told you, Sunshine. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry more, not with…

Not with the baby. Might as well say it. The baby. The last reminder of Steve Rogers, the proof of all that he’d done to you, all that you’d paid to rid yourself of your pain, the newest shackle of your suffering. The baby.

Andy just ducks his head in the barest of nods, Not good for your health. You’ve got Rogers on the warpath, Sunshine—had to make myself look like the gentleman from Vermont just to get here, and Billy’s still convinced there might be a drone tracking me.

So why now? Why not wait, why not hide you forever, why not seal you away and pretend you never were?

Why do you think? I need you, Sunshine.

That stops you in your tracks, your circuit around the courtroom you’d made of this argument ceasing as you fix your gaze on him properly, Andy…

The ring. The license. Those are real, Sunshine. I’d rather have done it right but it’s not like Rogers gave me much choice — we were running out of time. If he finds out, at any point, he’d…

He trails off. You don’t need him to finish the sentence. Steve Rogers’s hands wrap themselves around your throat again, the heel of his palm at your chin, forcing you to look up, up into the cold steel of his eyes, into the hate of him, the way he made it look like love—no.

Never again.

You want to believe him, more than anything. Want to believe Andy Barber left you alone in silence for nearly two months against his will, want to believe you weren’t trapped in a prison on purpose, want to believe you can still fight back.

You don’t always get what you want — no matter how much you try.

He sees it too, the way you tense, the way your hands fall to his at your waist, the way you wonder at pulling him off you and pulling away and suddenly his fingers are pressing in a little too much, suddenly he’s dragging you in a little too fast and your hummingbird heart is racing again and the blood-tide is in your ears and, Sunshine! Hey, hey, look at me, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe, you’re safe— Andy Barber is afraid.

It is the fear you forgive him for.

You don’t remember how you got here, sitting on your bed with Andy Barber holding your hands in his, a man with his heart out of his chest. Listen to me. I’ll do anything to keep you safe. I will. But if you hate this, if you can’t forgive me for this, I’ll—I’ll make something work. Just give me long enough to… He trails off. Watches you. There’s a sheen of hurt in his eyes and it makes your own well up and you could hate him for that too, the same way you could hate him for this, the shackles he’s sentenced you to, for the jury that watches you.

But you don’t, really.

You stand at the cliffside between the devil and the deep blue sea and as you look into the stormcloud eyes so earnestly fixed on you and feel Andy Barber’s fingers squeezing your own with something like hope wrapped in the curl of them, you feel the blood-tide roar past your ears as you take one step into the nothingness and fall.

I signed the papers, Andy, you tell him, choking through sentiment with the simplicity of fact, interrupting the apologies he wants to make, watching his brow first furrow with confusion and then smooth with dawning realization, barreling forward before you can lose your nerve, If I wanted to go back to him — if I wanted there to be a chance he could find his way back to me — I wouldn’t have. I would have just managed alone, would have refused to go with Billy, would have left this house, would—

—would have gotten caught back up in it. Andy finishes speaking for you, his shoulders seeming to fall from the height he didn’t know he’d been holding them at, relief calming the tide of tears that might have drowned you both as he breathes a sigh and just…

Holds you, again. A question. An answer. A relief.

I need you to trust me, Sunshine.

And you do.

[cosmos-coma]

Winter Mountain Soldier Spy - Part 5

A/N: I just can not look at this anymore lol, editing is currently the bane of me. I struggled for WEEKS with the dialogue and then suddenly 2 days ago it just COMES TO ME lmao. I guess that's just the nature of writing??

Pairing: Winter soldier!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Words: 2615

Bucky Masterlist | AO3

Like what I do? Consider buying me a Coffee!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

__________

“I…” Winter sighed, his expression wincing in pain as he fought his better judgment and pulled away, “I need to tell you something…”

Disappointment gripped your chest as he pulled away, leaving you cold at the loss of him, but you refused to show it. 

“I…” you tried and failed to keep the sigh from your voice, “Of course….” 

He nodded and took a quiet, contemplative breath, “I’m not what you think I am…” he started, “I’m… not a good man…” 

“Winter… you-”

“No-” He interrupted, low but firm, “I not- I know now that I not….” 

As quickly as it had opened, your mouth shut again and you nodded slowly. This wasn’t your time to talk. 

He took another breath, “They call me the Winter Solider…. An assassin whose name rattles only those who know which side of the gun they’ll end up on,” His calloused fingers twitched as they ached for the comfort of yours, but he knew he didn’t deserve it, “My hands are covered in more blood than I care to admit-More than I can remember… but I don’t remember much….” 

“They told me I was doing good. That we were putting the world back into order, and I believed them. The people I… ’worked’ for wiped me away regularly. They said it was necessary to keep information from their enemies, so all my memories, all my thoughts… they were shocked away until I was a blank slate again.” He shook his head, “But one day it didn’t seem to take. I don’t know if they didn’t shock me long enough or if I was just lucky- but I could still remember. All these bits and pieces— fragments of jumbled memories, they stayed with me… and piece by piece I started putting them back together.”

“I only remember the past few months well, but I see their faces- the ones I killed before. I lay down to sleep and these memories start flooding back to me. Not just old targets but people– people that I killed, surrounded by their friends and families. And I-” He sighed, looking down briefly as brought himself back to center, “I don’t know how many weeks or months they took from me-“

“Or years…” you whispered quietly, unable to hold the thought in.

His expression winced again in a sad sort of smile. It was obviously something he had considered before, but refused to give voice to, “Or years…” he confirmed with a nod, “I know now… that I’m not a good man— I never can be, but I’d do anything to not let myself get worse….” 

You nodded slowly, your fingers picking at the hem of your sleeve as you tried to process everything that was being piled on top of you. “I... Wow, okay… So, how did you end up on the road…? You were full of bullet holes….”

“I ran.” He answered simply, “I was on a mission- I don’t know how far away. My handlers for once had let their guard down and I just… ran. I remember hearing the shots, but I couldn’t tell you when I got hit. Most of them I only noticed in my last dozen or so miles… and then I stumbled into the road and you nearly hit me,” he explained plainly.

“the last dozen miles...?” You asked, amazed and confused, ‘This man ran more than 12 miles after being shot??‘ You could hardly believe it- but then again… this entire story felt unbelievable. But you knew Winter, and you knew he would never lie to you. He was always honest— sometimes to a fault- and he’d never had a reason to be dishonest with you, and you didn’t believe he was starting now. “Winter, who…Who did this to you?” You asked, trying not to sound as overwhelmed as you felt. 

He watched you for a moment, seemingly debating with himself before giving in and whispering quietly, “… Hydra.”

You frowned; you had heard that name before, though, for all the money in the world, you couldn’t seem to remember why. All you remembered was that it had left a bad taste in your mouth and a pit in your stomach. 

You nodded, and sat quietly for a moment, trying to take in everything you just heard. So you… almost hit a man, let an assassin into your car and house, stitched up his wounds, cooked him breakfast, and even let him sleep in the room directly above you for multiple weeks now. That’s… maybe poor thought on your part. 

But… on the other hand, this was Winter you were talking about. You knew him (now), and as much as he had been an assassin, he was also prey. He was hurt, scared, and cautious— constantly looking over his shoulder for the next strike. But he was also… remarkably protective.  

You thought back to the day after he arrived; how he had come out of the house looking terrified, knife held defensively in hand, because he couldn’t find you anywhere. 

You thought back to the grocery store; how his head turned at every new movement, how his hand refused to leave you, and how no matter what, he always found a way to put himself between you and the “potential threats” that walked past. 

Hell, even thinking back to your walk just a few hours ago! The way he threw his body over you in hopes of taking whatever bullet might be meant for you.

Hydra may have used him as a weapon, but he has always been a shield. All this time, you didn’t realize how much he’d been protecting you, looking over both of your shoulders, possibly even looking for Hydra itself, but you wouldn’t miss it again. 

Finally, you brought your gaze back up to him. Once again you found vivid blue eyes staring down at you, waiting in a pool of worry and fear for you to say something. Anything.

“Will they come for you…? Hydra..?” You asked quietly.

He paused, “…I don’t know. I tried to get rid of anything they could track when I ran, but… that doesn’t mean they won’t try,”  he said quietly. 

“… You never wanted to be a part of Hydra, did you…?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

Silently, he shook his head. 

“And you didn’t know what you were doing was wrong..? When they ordered you to do this…” 

For a moment his movements stuttered, but slowly he shook his head again, “No… but I still did it.”

“It’s true… ” You sighed, leaning against his shoulder just a bit before slowly reaching out and brushing the back of his hand with yours, “… but I don’t blame you.” 

All the tension immediately melted from his muscles and flowed into the ground as you finally reached out to him, his hand gently pushing back against yours, just enough to let you know he didn’t want to let you go again. 

“It’s…” you started to explain, “it was done by your hands, you’re right… and I.. don’t know the entire story, but I know that doesn’t seem like something I can argue…” you spoke low as you hooked a finger with his, “but I also know you had no choice…. Between erasing your memories, and the aftermath of your escape-“ you motioned with your head to his fresh gunshot wounds “- it’s clear that you couldn’t have controlled this…”

His throat closed up like a vice as the back of his eyes prickled with unfamiliar emotion. Despite knowing he still did not deserve it, he hooked another finger around yours and gave you a squeeze.

“I don’t blame you, Winter,” You repeated softly, “You may have done bad things in the past, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still be a good man- And all I’ve seen from you is goodness…” You whispered softly as your free hand found his cheek. Your thumb swiped across smooth skin, interrupting the path of an escaped tear.

You pulled the end of your sleeve over your free hand, using it as a makeshift tissue as you tenderly dried his eyes. “It’s okay…” you assured as his temple came gently to rest against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to rein in this foreign expression. 

The two of you sat in comfortable silence there on the porch, wrapped in each other’s arms, with only the stars to listen and pass their judgement.  However you felt no judgement this night- only the weight of it finally leaving his shoulders. 

“Come… let’s head inside… I think we could both use an early night….”

——-

Hours later- well after you and Winter had gone your separate ways in hopes of sleep, you found yourself lingering once again in the dimly lit living room.

The tiny wood stove, scarcely bigger than a microwave, thrummed with warmth and the crackle of life as it hungrily consumed the logs in its belly. The warm glow and gentle heat washed over you through the dirtied glass door, tarnished by age and flame. 

Yet somehow still it could not warm you. 

The smooth cold floor seemed to seep up to rough the soles of your feet and your already chilled backside, to settle deep within, but it was still far better than your bed. There, you had laid shivering between the sheets for what felt like endless hours, but upon opening your eyes, had barely been two.

While the outdoor furnace provided most of the house’s heat, it was awfully slow to travel the house after cold days like these. The indoor wood stove, while rarely used, was good to quickly heat up a small room- or in this case, your frozen bones. 

You sat before the crackling fire with your knees tucked into your chest, trying desperately to conserve what warmth you had. With your sleepy eyes now slowly closing and your head resting admittedly awkwardly on your knee you thought you could fall asleep then and there. But whether it was your ridiculously cold ass or the thoughts of your recent conversation with Winter, you just couldn’t seem to get there. 

Confusing thoughts ran through your mind as you waited for sleep to take you; some stressed, some worried, and some relieved, but rarely was it coherent enough to be followed. Your tired mind had moved to a state of limbo, a constant stream of abstract moving emotions, yet still conscious enough to catch yourself every now and then and begin the cycle anew. You made a small huff of annoyance as a shiver passed through you and roused you from half-sleep once again. 

Maybe you were just too cold, maybe you should’ve grabbed a blanket to sit on- that probably would have been smart of you.

In the midst of your more coherent thoughts, a tired voice mumbled your name from the stairs.

“Mmm?” You hummed, your head turning toward the sound full seconds before you managed to open your eyes. As you looked back you saw Winter standing there, backlit by the lone light of the stairwell. 

His chest was bare, the warm artificial glow clinging and contorting around his skin and allowing you to make out the dark boxer briefs on his lower half. 

You smiled softly, trying to rub the drowsiness from your eyes as you blinked slowly back at him, “Winter…” you mumbled.

He looked around as he stepped down onto the landing and headed toward you, “Couldn’t sleep…?” He asked with a gentle voice, his good hand reaching out with a lingering hesitation, before brushing away one of your many stray hairs. 

“Too cold…” you grumbled as you leaned toward his touch, holding your knees a little tighter to your chest. “Why are you up…?” 

A faint, fond smile spread across his lips as he watched your sleep-stained expression and began to pull away, “Couldn’t sleep either… then I heard the fire going inside.”

Quickly, you brought your hand up to catch his and nodded, “I’m sorry I kept you up… I just can’t seem to get warm right now and I thought this was the best bet.”

Heat flushed across his bare chest as you took his hand, something he… wasn’t sure whether to expect after the rather overwhelming conversation you had just hours ago. But still, you held his hand with all the same tenderness, all the same love, that it left a pleasant buzz rolling around his chest. 

“Aren’t you cold…?” You asked, finally looking him over in better light. His upper half laid bare, allowing the flickering flame to dance and cast shadows over the array of scars that marred him. Some seemed to slash, some stabbed, and others— like his gunshots and metal arm— puckered with painful twisted skin. It wasn’t until now you noticed that even the gunshot wounds you had taken care of just weeks ago, already looked like they had been healing for a year or more. 

You looked back up at him before your gaze could linger long on his lower half, his dark boxer briefs leaving little to the imagination, even in the dim light.

Winter, seemingly unbothered by your once over and the lingering gaze on his scars and arm, shook his head, “I don’t get cold anymore….” 

You smiled, “That must be nice this time of year…” sighing, you patted your legs, a yawn hanging off your lips as you spoke, “I guess I should get back to bed… Winter, will you…?” You trailed off in question, holding your hands up to him for some help up. 

Instead, however, after only a half second of deliberation on his part, you found yourself being lifted into the air by a pair of strong arms. Surprise covered your face as Winter picked you up with no effort whatsoever, after all you were NOT a small person. Yet even still- like picking up a stuffed toy from the ground, he held you securely against his chest. 

The fireplace crackled and popped behind you, giving voice to the electricity that ran across your skin as you were pressed into his firm chest. Pleasant heat, unrivaled even by the fireplace, raced throughout your body and instantly warmed even the depths of you. 

Though as your surprise seemed to register to the super soldier you saw his expression begin to turn nervous, and you knew he had misread your signs, “…. I’m sorry, I…” he muttered his apology with a hint of sheepishness in his tone and began to put you down, until you quickly interjected.

“No…!” You rushed, holding him a little tighter, “No…. Please, don’t let me go…” there was a certain vulnerability in your voice that even you were not expecting to hear. 

Your fingers, which had unknowingly tangled themselves amongst his long hair tugged just a bit at your request, further emphasizing your will to stay, “Please…” you whispered again. You stared into the once cold pools of his eyes as you made your plea, and once again found yourself leaning into him. 

But this time it would not be wasted, as Winter leaned in as well, his nose brushing delicately against yours as he spoke a hair’s breadth away, “I will never let you go again….”

Your heart hammered away in your chest as he closed the narrow gap, and even still as soft lips pressed firmly against your own.

Your freehand found his cheek easily, urging him not to pull away and he turned toward your room. 

With the fire now long forgotten the Winter Soldier stayed true to his word, he never let you go again and he kept you warm all throughout the night to prove it.

______________

General Bucky Taglist:

@writingmysanity @simpxinnie @goldylions @yeehawbrothers @mgchaser

WMSS Taglist:

@fanfictionreaderfan @thesarcasmqueen-22

If you wanted to be added to the general or WMSS Taglist please ask/DM and let me know!

[nitro502]

My top 3 favorite Sonic characters at different times in my life

When I was a kid:

1. Tails

2. Knuckles

3. Sonic

As a teen:

1. Knuckles

2. Tails

3. Amy

In college:

1. Amy

2. Tails

3. Sonic

Now:

1. Tails

2. Sonic

3. Shadow

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[wundrousarts]

Mini Silverborn Countdown

If you’ve been around for a few years, you’ve seen me vaguely mention a “Silverborn Countdown Challenge” several times. It’s been delayed and changed as many times as the book itself, lol.

If anyone wants sort of a low-stakes, very chill and spaced out version of this ye olde never tackled challenge to complete in the next year before Silverborn, I propose what I’m doing:

Every 3 months leading up to the initial release, I am creating one thing based on each of the books.

January — Nevermoor

April — Wundersmith

July — Hollowpox

[vaguehotels]

hey just a reminder that sometimes you have to accept that you’re going to have to have feelings without a filter, and you’re going to have to tell people that you care about them, and you’re going to have to start saying i love you. if you want affection and love and adoration you cannot close yourself off forever and ever. keep up your walls as you must to protect yourself but not forever. and if you feel like you can’t ever let them down then i’m sorry. i hope you find someone that makes you feel safe enough to start saying and feeling these things.

[h3ck]

I miss you guys. I miss all the people I used to see that haven’t updated in years, miss the dead blogs I follow and that follow me, miss the people I used to send fanmail to and receive from a decade ago. I barely know who I was then, the memories are so fuzzy and unfamiliar, but I miss it regardless. I’ve been so many people since then. Even if I may not cross your minds, many of you still cross mine. Many of you touched a cold heart at one point or another, without, likely, even realizing.

I’m glad I’ve never truly left. I hope I do not any time soon. I want to keep making little fragmented memories for a while longer.

[almondmilknosugar]

.

[supergraphicultramoderngirl]

. sigh.

[classyrbf]

IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE! — GOJO SATORU

SYNOPSIS...you and gojo get into a fight after realizing that he’s been hiding something about your relationship the entire time

INFO...gojo x fem!reader, angsty, arguing, breaking up(?), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

You slam the door to the penthouse, your heels clicking against the mahogany floors with each step. You toss your purse on the couch, hearing Gojo opening the front door and shutting it quickly. “Baby, please just listen to me.” He pleads, following after you.

“I don’t wanna hear your bullshit excuse, Satoru.” You roll your eyes, plopping down on the edge of the bed to relieve your sore feet of the heels you’ve been wearing all night to your boyfriends opening event he’s been planning for months now.

“I’m not trying to make excuses. Please.” He walks over towards you and toss your heel at him. “Stop throwing shit and just talk to me!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” You stand to your feet, glaring daggers at him. “Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? God, you’re a fucking asshole.” You seethe, narrowing your eyes. “I sat there all alone, while you let some woman feel up on you the entire night? Are you out your fucking mind?” You scoff.

“She’s just an old friend, y/n. I swear I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He shakes his head at you, grabbing onto your arms tightly.

“Oh, yeah? So I when I came up and introduced myself as your girlfriend none of your friends were looking at me like I was crazy? I know we’ve been only together for a year, Satoru, but that’s fucking low.” You pull away from him. “They didn’t even know who I was. Then you got miss prissy bitch clearly flirting with you in front of me and you didn’t do a damn thing to stop it!” You brush past him, stomping over towards the bathroom.

“Slow down, y/n! Baby—”

“I’m not your fucking ‘baby’, Satoru.” You gather all of your products from the bathroom, from your makeup and skincare to your clothes and shampoo.

“Stop for just one second.” He spins you around so you’re facing him. “Don’t leave. I swear you’re the only girl for me. I know I fucked up, I know I did. I embarrassed you, made you look stupid and I am so fucking sorry. But please do not leave.” He cups your face gently and his touch feels so inviting, but you can’t forgive him that easily. “I only want you. I only need you.”

You look up at him through your lashes, swallowing thickly as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Should’ve thought about that when you let her kiss your cheek and you smiled at her. Right in front of me. Get the fuck off of me.” You push him, rushing to grab your bag from the closet.

Gojo lets out a tired sigh, following you. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not like this. “I shouldn’t have let her near me.”

“Why was she so comfortable with being that close to you, huh?” You question, furrowing your brows as you turn to look at him. “Now that I think about it. Let me guess, you two were more than just friends.” You stand to your feet, snatching your clothes off the hangers and shoving them into your bag. He looks at you, opening his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. And from the look in his eyes, you already knew the truth. A bitter laugh leaves your lips, shaking your head in disappointment.

“It was before you! Before us! We never dated it was just a small thing between me and her!” He tried to explain. “Baby, I swear! Once I met you, everything changed. I cut her off and focused all my attention on you. You’re the only who has my heart.” He grabbed your wrist only for you to pull away.

“Clearly I ain’t the only who who’s got your dick, though.” You slam the closet door shut, turning your back towards him.

“Don’t say that, y/n. That’s the first time I’ve seen her in years!”

“Yeah? Well all your friends sure know about her. She must’ve been great in bed, Satoru. Me? Well, they looked at me like I was a fucking ghost!” You scoff. “Like I was some delusional bitch who came up to you and said I was your girlfriend!” You throw your hands up in disbelief. “You must take me for fucking joke. It must be written on my forehead or something!”

“I don’t take you for a joke! You’re my goddamn girlfriend. You live with me. You have my initial around your fucking neck! I love you and you know that!” He takes a step towards you.

“Do I know that?” You ask aloud, cocking your head to the side.

“What—of course I love you. What the fuck are you saying?” He looked at you with pure confusion.

“You’re a joke. One of your friends, Shoko, pulled me aside and told me the only reason you got with me is because your little fling ended up getting a boyfriend herself around the time we started dating. You’re a piece of shit.” You revealed the truth to him, watching him stare at you blankly, lost for words. “Think I wouldn’t find out?” You ripped off the necklace with his initial, tossing it at him.

“Yes, I was upset that she got a boyfriend but—”

“So you had feelings for her. And just to cover them up, you got with me as a distraction.” You step closer towards him. “Listen to me, Satoru, don’t ever try and contact me again, keep whatever fucking gifts you bought me and return them, sell them, do whatever because I am done,” you spoke through gritted teeth.

“No, no, no, baby. You can’t leave me. Yea I liked her before, but so fucking what? I was never in love with her, not like I am with you. I was too fucking stupid. I still am! Just give me another chance to fix this. I don’t want us to end this way.” He grabs your packed bag from your hands and tosses it on the bed.

“Let me go, Satoru.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I can’t. You’re everything to me. She’s nothing compared to you.” He sniffles, holding your hands in his. “I love you so much and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. And I’m sorry for entertaining the idea that she could even come close to you. She can’t.” His hands cupped your face, his heart pounding in anticipation as he waited to hear any words from you.

You reached up, pulling his hands away from your face. “Bye, Satoru.” You walked past him, grabbing your bag off of the bed. As much as it hurt to leave, you knew you had to respect yourself. Time and space was what you needed to think. With each step out the door, you could hear Gojo’s sobs, something you’ve never heard before in the year you’ve been with him. For the strong, flashily and confident man he is, you never once thought you’d see or him break down. Especially not for you.

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied to me about his human job?

I (542 vampire) and my husband (260 vampire) have been together for a little over two centuries. There’s a saying in the vampiric community that it takes a century for a tryst to become an enduring partnership and another century to become soulmates. I thought that was true and that Matthew (using his real name because fuck you, Matthew) and I would be together forever…until this week.

First, let me explain a few things to the mortals here. I don’t mean that negatively – I came here specifically to get the opinion of those with a finite lifespan. However, I want to be fair to Matthew as much as possible and some of his decisions are very immortal-minded.

Both Matthew and I are vampires who have chosen to forsake some of our powers in exchange for the ability to daywalk. We made the transition together on our 100th anniversary almost 115 years ago. It wasn’t an easy transition for me. I was very dependent on human blood and I spent the first twenty years in almost constant sleep as my body adjusted to running off of less lunar magic and more solar magic.

It really felt like I was losing everything. My body got physically weaker and my powers began to disappear one by one. It felt like every time I woke, another part of me was missing. One day I could turn into a wolf, the next I could barely turn into a vapor. I could command a legion of undying servants, and then I could barely convince the mailman he didn’t see me levitate down from the second floor.

Matthew, however, took to daywalking like a werewolf to a sheep farm. He barely seemed to feel the pain of losing his power, maybe because he was so much younger than me. Whatever the case, he was out all the time once he stabilized. He would be gone for days sometimes and when he came back it was with fantastic stories about the humans’ new inventions or the new structures being built in whatever town we were in.

I’m not saying I regret transitioning. Just that Matthew and I had very different experiences. It felt like he barely changed at all while my entire being got rewritten. Being immortal makes you comfortable in your own skin. I never doubted myself or my power after I turned 100. But becoming a daywalker made me feel like I was being born as a human again. It was humiliating and vulnerable. I have to admit there were times I resented how easily Matthew did it. I blamed him for not supporting me like I thought he should. I would daydream about draining a human in front of him, showing him what I thought of his fascination with them. I had all sorts of vile and vengeful thoughts. I’m not proud of the person I was and now I’m grateful Matthew wasn’t there to see the lows I sunk to.

Despite all my awful thoughts, I didn’t quit. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. I stuck with it and, day by day, things got easier.

After 26 years I began to stabilize. The benefits of being a daywalker slowly blossomed before me.  Now I can say that I am completely happy with my daywalker status and all the changes it’s brought.

I am the most mentally stable I have been since my Turning in 1482. It’s like I’m awake. The fits of rage that used to consume me for months at a time have completely disappeared. I don’t experience the same level of obsession I used to which has freed up a lot of my time that I used to spend stalking my victims.

However, that drastic of a change would be challenging in any relationship. Matthew and I ended up together because of my obsessive nature. Our relationship became strained when that part of me went dormant. He expected me to follow his immersion into the human world just as I had followed him in his revenge quest against his Master. He expected me to support him wholeheartedly and with everything I was. He wanted sacrifices from me that I used to not even flinch at before making. But something was just…different. We wanted different things. I wanted different things.

Matthew was obsessed with being the perfect human. He craved full immersion. He still makes it a point to get a human job every twenty years or so. Me? I’m happy to live off our investments and some mild mind control while enjoying the art and theater community the humans have evolved.

It got bad. Some years, we spent like ghosts in our own house, drifting by each other without a glance. Other years, it was like we were spies behind enemy lines. He would do whatever he could to thwart me and I would go out of my way to ridicule him. Our vitriol poisoned the earth. Matthew didn’t speak to me for a full decade when that poison killed off an entire town.

About twenty years ago, it all came to a head. We had a serious sit-down talk about our relationship. It wasn’t easy. What they say about teaching an old dog new tricks is sometimes true. Matthew wanted me to be as involved with the humans as he was. He wanted me to care about them like he did. I wanted him to travel with me like we used to and not just hop from town to neighboring town (which he did to maintain a human identity with references so he could keep working). When it became clear that we were at an impasse, I brought up the idea of separation.

Separating in the vampiric world isn’t easy. There are a lot of alliances and blood oaths to be considered. Over the two centuries we spent together, we became known as a unit to a number of supernatural entities that we maintain an uneasy truce with. Separating would mean creating new oaths and alliances with the same individuals. And there was no guarantee that those individuals would make new pacts with both of you. A LOT of vampire couples end up in blood feuds while separating. Neither of us wanted that.

There was also, of course, the emotional side of things. While a lot of immortals tend to only feel muted emotions (especially vampires as old as me), Daywalking had made both of us more sensitive than we’d been before. We were both attached to the memories we shared and neither of us could imagine life without the other. After 200 years together, it felt like Matthew was my right arm, and I his. When I brought up separation, we both felt it like we were discussing an amputation.

After about a year of talking, we finally reached an agreement. We didn’t want to separate, and so we would compromise. I wouldn’t interfere with any of Matthew’s human jobs for the 15-17 years if he could hold them without arousing suspicion. In exchange, he would take a year off to go traveling with me before finding another town for us to live in. In between my trips, he would go to plays and galas with me to enjoy human artistry at least once a month.

Maybe our deal was in his favor. At the time, it felt practical and fair. A year of traveling wouldn’t undo Matthew’s string of connections. We would still see each other frequently by going on dates that I liked. Matthew would get to stay immersed in the human world at the level he wanted, and I could stay within my comfort zone.

Which brings me to my current problem.

We are currently at the start of one of Matthew’s work cycles. He’s been everything from a fireman to a politician to a subway worker to a barista. He craves knowledge and connection to a terrifying degree. If it weren’t for how we move every 20 years and he goes without protest, I’d call it obsession.

This cycle, Matthew told me he was going to be a teacher. I was hesitant. While the humans have become more tolerant and less violent over the years, that doesn’t mean they will tolerate us near their young. Enough humans know about vampires that staking in the modern era is a real possibility. Matthew could incite an angry mob against us or, heaven forbid, get a vampire hunter on our tail. I have yet to be shot, but I hear that they have silver bullets that hurt like Hell.

When I voiced my protests, Matthew reminded me about our agreement. He said that I wouldn’t interfere with his jobs and he’d go to all the plays I liked. He even pointed out that, as a teacher, he could get us into high school plays and expositions. I was uneasy, but agreements are penultimate to immortals. I silenced my objections and let him get a job as a science teacher at a local high school.

When Michael has had jobs in the past, I’ve never really paid attention. One time he was a state senator for ten years and I never even heard him speak. I didn’t consider it worth my time to hear whatever his facsimile of a human would say. Real humanity is in the art they create, not in the parody Michael enacts.

But this one…I couldn’t ignore this one. Maybe it was because I was still uneasy about his proximity to human young or maybe I could sense his lies even at the beginning. Whatever the case, I watched him.

The first thing I noticed was the hours. He would go to work early and would often come home when it was time for us to sleep. When I asked him about it, he said that he wasn’t used to grading and that he had underestimated what it took to put a good lesson plan together. I visited some online forums and that’s apparently reasonable for first year teachers.

He would also sometimes go in on the weekends. He missed one of our dates because there was a “grading emergency” that needed his immediate attention. Something about a student’s test getting lost and then found and he needed to input their grade before the deadline which was on Saturday. Humans like silly rules like that so I didn’t even look that one up. I just reminded him that he couldn’t miss our dates again or else he was breaking our deal. He apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again.

Then about three months into his new job, the phone calls started. We have a private room in our house for when we need to talk without any visitors overhearing. Michael moved all his school supplies in there, saying that he needed a silent space to concentrate on his grading. Whenever he got a call, he would never answer it in front of me. Instead, he’d say “Sorry, work” and just go into his office.

I also noticed that he didn’t dress very professionally. Human fashion changes quickly so it didn’t register at first. A sweatshirt here and there slipped past me, and also the Gucci slides. When he started wearing baggy jeans and jerseys to work, I noticed. I may not be up to date on all the newest fashions, but I do go to classy events. I know what a slob looks like and it didn’t sit right with me that he was wearing that to school. When I asked him about it, he always had an excuse. “This is what everyone wears” and “It’s a theme day” or, bafflingly, “It’s spirit week!”

I tried to leave it alone. The reason we have stayed together for so long is because of our agreement to not interfere in each other’s lives. But between his hours, the phone calls, and his appearance, something didn’t add up.

Then, last Thursday, he missed another one of our dates. We were supposed to go to the Nutcracker together. Even though I prefer matinees (when the cast is fresh), I agreed to get us tickets for the evening show so that he wouldn’t have to leave work early. When he wasn’t there at 7pm, I called him and he didn’t answer. Then, when I called him again, his phone was switched off.

I was furious. I spend nearly two decades in these tiny towns so he can live his human fantasy and he can’t even show up for one two hour show? It was the first time since becoming a daywalker that I felt that angry. I was scared about what I might do, so I made myself go home to wait for him.

Only, he never came home that night. At 3am, he sent me a text apologizing and promising to make up our date on Saturday. But the Nutcracker was only playing until Friday and that would be too little, too late. To be honest, it already was. I texted him that and he never responded.

He never ended up coming home last weekend. I texted and called him probably a dozen times and he never responded. I got angrier and angrier as the days dragged by. Did he think I was someone to be taken lightly? Did he not realize that the fragile agreement between us was all that was keeping us from separation?

Yesterday (Monday), I couldn’t take it anymore. If he wasn’t going to come home or respond to my messages, then I would go to him. If he was so obsessed with this new job that he would ignore me for it, then I knew exactly where to find him.

I arrived at his school at 10am. I researched enough to know how to go to the office and sign myself in. I asked the office assistant which room Mr. Duetto was in.

The lovely young woman looked confused. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give that information out to anyone but family,” she said.

“I am his only family,” I said.

She clicked a few more keys and looked more confused. “His paperwork only shows his mother, Delilah Duetto.”

That’s right. His mother. But I still didn’t understand then.

“That’s me,” I said.

“You are not the mother of 17-year-old.”

“I’m his wife,” I said.

She was upset by that. I won’t bore you with every detail, but I had to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call the police. I may not look like someone who has a teenager, but I also don’t look like a teenager. I ended up having to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call human CPS on an apparent adult swearing she was married to a minor.

I went home and broke into his office. There weren’t any lesson plans. There were no graded papers. There were syllabus from different classes, homework with his name on it, and a few polaroids taped to the bottom of his desk of him at a party with children.

Human children. I don’t honestly know which is worse.

(EDIT: I know the child part is the worst part. I misspoke because of my anger. It’s not the humans’ fault that my husband is a pervert.)

I broke into his laptop and used that to check his text messages. He’s been texting like a high schooler. He’s been to parties with them, listened to their problems and even fabricated a few of his own. He’s caught in some sort of weird love triangle where a freshman girl likes him but his “best friend” likes her. He has texted both of them about it, promising his “bro” that nothing is happening and then turning around and leading this girl-child on.

Some choice quotes: I should know better than to get close with you. You and I come from very different worlds

To which she replied, lol maybe we should let our worlds collide

!!!!

I find the entire situation disgusting. Matthew is several centuries older than them and he definitely knows better. He’s literally wearing the sheep’s fleece amongst the flock. He has no business forming relationships with human children and even less pretending to be one of them. He’s not a baby. He is over two centuries old!

What is he doing flirting with a child? It’s vile and disgusting and I was set to kill him for it.

I confronted him about it when he came home last night. I told him that he was sick and dangerous and if he loved humans then he needed to stop immediately. I told him we either left town today or I would make sure he never set foot back in that school in a way he really wouldn’t like.

 He threw a huge tantrum over my invading his privacy. He shouted at me that I had broken my promise to never interfere in his job. He called me controlling and crazy.

I told him he was the crazy one for chatting up a child. He told me he wasn’t, she was just his friend. I asked him to read their texts out loud if he was being so friendly. I also pointed out that there was no way a 260-year-old vampire is a child’s friend.

He told me I was a hypocrite because I basically cradle robbed him (we’re almost 300 years apart.) He said if anyone was disgusting, it was me for taking advantage of him.

I pointed out that he wasn’t a child, he was over 60 and had already been a vampire for four decades. He argued that that was basically being a child in vampire terms.

I was so angry at that point that the house was shaking. I told him if he felt that way, then we could get divorced right then and there. That that was what I wanted to do anyway because I couldn’t be married to a pedophile.

He asked me if I was seriously going to start a blood feud over him immersing himself in human society. I said no, I’m starting a blood feud because he’s become every predatory stereotype humans have of vampires.

He called me a hypocrite again and told me he was leaving. He said not to call him unless I was ready to apologize. I told him that the next time he sees me, he’d better run before I showed him the real difference between us. And it wasn’t just 300 years.

When I calmed down, doubt started creeping in. From an immortal perspective, what he’s doing isn’t really wrong. I hate to say it, but most immortals don’t view human lives as significant. I know a few vampires who would say that divorcing because he’s playing with his food is idiotic.

Plus, there’s the agreement to consider. During our fight, Matthew pointed out that being a student is a job to humans. So therefore I didn’t have the right to interfere. A big part of me thinks that’s bullshit, but a small part of me wonders if he’s maybe right about that?

I also have to ask myself why this even bothers me. I’m the one in the relationship that is aloof from humans. I’m the one that’s always saying we are from different worlds (Yeah, he stole that from me) and for good reason. 

But over the years, I’ve become fond of humans. No immortal makes art like them. I may not remember my time as a mortal, but there are works that give me a sense of nostalgia. Sometimes I think I can remember being a child myself, standing in a field like in Monet painting, staring at the wheatstacks and waiting for the miller to come. 

The thought of Matthew playing with them makes me sick. It’s like even after all the years of him living amongst them, he thinks of them as props in his twisted play. It’s even worse that he’s doing this to children. 

I can’t help but think something went really wrong with my husband when I wasn’t looking. At the very least, I’m planning on divorcing him. But would I be the asshole if I killed him too?

 Separating from him will be violent and messy. There will likely be human casualties. But I don’t see any other way. So, I ask.

AITA for divorcing my husband for lying to me about his human job?

----

Thanks for reading! I loved answering some of the responses I got when I first posted this over on my Patreon (X)!

These collaborative story telling pieces are the highlight of my week. Next week's story is about a witch who wants to know if she should attend her high school reunion even though she's responsible for stripping two former classmates of their magic...

Please check that out here (X) if you''d like early access! Otherwise I'll see y'all next week :)

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? Pt 2

Part one

It was almost 2 minutes before I realized I was still dragging the crown prince behind me. I quickly dropped his hand and looked at him, not able to hide the embarrassment on my face. Listen- I’m committed to the bit. I WILL be the crazy jealous fiancé. But… I’m still human ok. I just dragged a full grown man down several halls and a flight of stairs while I spaced out thinking about how I’m gonna buy my cat premium wet food once I get back home to her.

It’s fine, I’m not flustered at spacing out about my cat, my characters just flustered because she’s been holding the hand of the man she’s obsessed with, that’s all!

“Well…. Did you still want to dine and take that walk?”

I expected him to scold me for my mistreatment of Cressida, grow irritated from me dragging him along like this. Instead, he chuckles and threads his arm in mine, and begins escorting me down the hall.

“Absolutely, have you dined outside by the roses yet? There’s this lovely pavilion that I am eager to hear your thoughts on.”

And that’s how I found myself under an impressive array of roses, all trained up and around a cozy dining area, creating a canopy of green and pink over an intimate tea table. The food was equally impressive, I had to keep reminding myself that the other me is used to this lavish lifestyle, to not gawk at the fancy tiny sandwiches and deserts.

“Well? Is everything to your liking? ”

I’m going off script here, how am I supposed to know how the villainess would react to a romantic scene like this?? If my “evil crazy” side isn’t supposed to be directed at him, and she’s usually kinda distant and unsure around him…. That means I should probably respond pretty curtly, polite, yet not really engaging. But…. I’ve already messed that up…. I guess I can be more genuine when it’s the two of us like this. He can think that this version of me is the facade, that I’m pretending to be pleasant, and then will start to see what a jerk “I” truly am when Cressida’s around. Besides…. I almost feel bad for the villainess. She really just seems like she was shy. Who knows- maybe, if given the opportunity, she really would have opened up more. It’s clear she loved the prince, and just didn’t know how to show it. So, with that thought, I made up my mind.

“It’s breathtaking! Roses are my favorite flower, and I’ve never seen so many kinds in bloom at once…. Plus the food and company leave little to be desired.”

There you go- slip in some subtle flirting! I’m not quite sure what time period this is supposed to be, but I get the impression flirting as bit more high class here, and I think I can have some fun with that.

“I’m glad, to be honest I was a bit flustered asking you to dine with me… you caught me quite off guard today, but in a good way.” He reaches his hand across the table and places it on my own, “I’d like to do this more often, you and I. I feel like the confines of our current arrangement have left us practically strangers, despite being engaged for several months already. I’m enjoying just being companionable with you, even if it’s just existing comfortably in the same room.”

Ohhhh, I know I’m the villain in this story but I can’t help but root for him- what a sweetheart! It’s so obvious he’s been lonely, I can’t wait for him and Cressida to fall in love and have a couple of kids that they’ll spoil rotten. And in the meantime…. Maybe I do have a bit of evil in me, because I’m going to selfishly enjoy this handsome man treating me to lunches under roses and reading in cozy libraries while I can.

“I know exactly how you feel your highness. Now, you mentioned a walk?”

We spent the afternoon laughing and chatting, and it felt nice to chat without worrying too much about my role. He asked me about that book I picked out earlier, and listened attentively as I caught him up with where I’m at in the plot. In turn, I asked about what papers he’s been signing, documents he’s been drafting, etc.

The only thing I had to do was send glares to any young ladies we passed, settling my hand on his arm possessively, and I saw their eyes widen and faces disappear behind fans as they whisper to one another. I can picture this illustrated in a manhwa- the nasty princess sinking her claws into the gullible prince… hopefully all these ladies will start gossiping and we can really cement this evil persona of mine now that Cressida’s here.

When we returned to our separate apartments, I explored my rooms a bit until servants came to get me ready for dinner, and I slipped back into the frigid bitch persona. The servant girls dressed me in a slightly stuffy gown, but I had to admit, I looked gorgeous. I sat stiff and straight as they did my hair, forcing myself to be the very picture of cold indifference. I then dismissively thanked them for their help, then sat there awkwardly as they stared at me like I was crazy.

Ohhhh shit…. The original story hadn’t prepared me for this. My character was a villain, yes, but a side character for the most part! How was she supposed to act towards her servants? I went over what I knew- the novel showed the villainess alone quite often, usually obsessing over Eric and plotting/stalking. It showed her with Eric, and how distant and awkward their relationship was when together. And then of course the numerous scenes with Cressida where the Villainess did all sorts of heinous things to the sweet girl. But… it never depicted her with servants, or even any friends or other nobles. Just… Eric and Cressida. Was other me not actually a bitch all the time? Am I being unnecessarily rude right now? Oh god I’m such an idiot.

The story is told through Cressida’s point of view- of course there’s more depth to my own character than I initially thought! The Villianess must be a misunderstood introvert! Unsure of how to act around her crush, she’s fiercely insecure and jealous of this new girl who doesn’t struggle the same way she does. When she notices the prince slipping from her grasp, she acts out against Cressida because she can’t bear to lose Eric!

As someone’s who’s worked minimum wage jobs and struggled with social anxiety most of my life, I try to be nice to the people just working to survive, but here I am acting like these poor women are the dirt beneath my shoe…. Ok. Um. Well they’re still standing there in shock, I can fix this….

“You really did a lovely job… my hair has never looked so gorgeous, you’re truly talented! And I think the prince will be very pleased with this choice of ribbon!”

There- I was nicer, and I brought it back to Eric, so I’m still the lovesick fiancé whose entire world is waiting for her in the dining room. I frowned as the servants scuttled out of the room with hurried excuses, all of them looking like they were about to faint. Damn it… I can’t believe I misread the relationship between us. I probably just ruined their night by being uncharacteristically rude. I’ve gotta learn their names next time…. Maybe ask them to help me eat some fancy pastries as an apology…?

I didn’t know it, but while I was lamenting how wrong I was about the Villainess’ character, the servants were all gossiping to the others about what had just transpired.

“You’re telling me she said THANK YOU!?”

“Yes!!! And then you should have seen how nervous she got! She just rambled, blurting out such a sweet compliment, and she even tied it back to the prince!”

“I had no idea how precious she was… I can’t believe I never realized she’s just shy! In a new place, all alone aside from her new fiancé…. Who I gather she’s got a bit of a crush on! Poor dear.”

“Ohh our sweet girl, I’m sure it must be hard bonding with the prince, when all you do is sit yards apart and hardly speak …”

“Well I may have some news about that… and it’s no wonder she was a bit flustered today, because I saw the two of them in the gardens today! They were both nothing but smiles- absolutely smitten with one another!”

“Such a lovely girl, and we never knew it all this time!”

Apparently, I had it backwards. The real villainess truly was a 2D, basic character. She was insecure and possessive over the prince, bullying Cressida half to remind her who Eric belonged to, half for the fun of it. But she didn’t let on to anyone about the true depth of her love for him. She didn’t gossip to her handmaid, didn’t ask the servants which dress he would like better. Simply acted as if they did not exist, hardly saying a word to them.

While I thought my blunt “thank you” was colder than they were used to, and then tried to smooth things over…. It was more words than they’d heard from me in the whole time I’d lived in the palace. They lapped it up and declared me their own shy little dove after that.

When I arrived to dinner, I realized why daily dinners weren’t exactly a bonding activity for the villainess and Eric. The table was massive, and only held two chairs, one at either end. It felt so…. Cold?

Eric had beat me there, and quickly stood up from his seat, waiting until I sat and a servant pushed in my chair to retake his own seat. He smiled at me and said,

“Good evening, princess.”

He had to project his voice slightly. It wasn’t like he was shouting or being loud, it was just the manner of speaking you use when talking to an elderly relative, clearer, and enunciating better so they could hear you.

I replied back, projecting my voice similarly, and found the conversation was, in fact, more awkward than it had been earlier. We ate our food mostly in silence, occasionally one of us would say something and the other would stop moving their utensils on their plate, listening closer as they ask,

“What’s that?”

By the time dinner was over and we each went to bed, I felt drained. I could have just been louder I suppose- but it’s so hard to keep up a conversation like that. I know we get along- we had chatted all afternoon after all. But some part of me realized it’s probably good to keep a bit of distance between us, even if I’ve rewritten things to be a bit chummier between the two of us. Cressida needs to swoop in and steal him from me… and my job is still to leave that room for her to do so.

It’s hard trying to be someone else, yet also making sure you lead the plot in the right direction- it’s exhausting! I feel like both director and actress!

It’s with this in mind that I launch myself into the softest bed I’d ever felt, and passed out. My first day as princess consort, the Yandere fiancé, complete.

While I was getting acquainted with my feather bed, Eric was speaking with the head waitstaff.

“Yes, tomorrow, would you mind adjusting the seating situation? I’d like for the princess consort and I to be closer together from now on. Yes, and ask my assistant to arrange my schedules like so, I’ve detailed it here. Thank you.”

At the same time, Cressida was recounting her run in with the prince and I to her handmaiden as she finishing unpacking and settling into her family’s guest apartments. Which, unbeknownst to me… was right across the hall.

Series discontinued- sorry my loves. Ik y’all wanted more but the good news is that I’ve seen several really talented authors picking up this idea and executing it wayyyy better than my sporadic mood writing ever could.