#imagine a scenario where your younger selves | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fandomfluffandfuck · 7 months

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okay, so I know this isn't really your normal ask/request, but I've had this is my brain for so long, and you are such a fantastic writer, I'd like to present it to you anyway:

stevebucky time travel!!

specifically, steve and bucky after the events of the winter soldier (with bucky in any recovery stage) getting somehow transported to brooklyn in the 1930s and meeting the pre-serum, pre-war steve and bucky.

the reaction to the metal arm? steve getting juiced up? the jealousy and admiration pre-serum steve has for post-serum steve? how baby!stucky deal with their counterparts and lovers. how gentle normally-a-firecracker pre-serum steve is with winter soldier bucky and how thirsty but loving pre-serum bucky is with touch-starved, desperate, lost big steve.

feel absolutely free to imagine any kind of beautiful, deliciously hot scenarios as well, that's definitely your usual jam, and I most definitely enjoy it. I just thought I'd add the heartbreaking parts as well.

This is from the requests I got before I closed my writing requests for the school year, I'm no longer taking requests

You're right that this isn't my "normal" request, but I still love it! I do enjoy writing angst and fluff along with smut <3 So, I'm gonna take this prompt as an excuse to go with the things I don't write as much! Meaning, surprisingly, there's no ✨️spice✨️ in this drabble, lol, just pain

Get ready... </3

The immediate thought I had with this prompt was actually about post-serum Steve rather than recovering Bucky...

When modern Steve and modern Bucky find themselves back before the war--when the days seemed longer and hotter than any of the days after, they share a silent exchange, their eyes boring into each other in the middle of the cracked sidewalk, swapping emotions. Nostalgia. Good and bad nostalgia. Then, as they're ducking into a back alley, quick to jump from sight before they're spotted, tall and large and certainly not dressed for the time, Steve reaches for Bucky's hand.

Their fingertips brush.

And, instantly, they both jolt.

Now clothed in shadows, their eyes meet once more. Steve's eyes flick sharply down to their entangled fingers. Flesh and metal.

It hardly takes a moment for the ingrained memory to take over and their flirting fingertips part ways.

They can't risk touching in public, not when they already are liable to contract attention. They don't need to be arrested in the past. But the shake-up runs deeper than that, too.

Bucky has just gotten to the point where he feels comfortable enough venturing into public without a glove. Long sleeves are typically still a must, but not always gloves.

Steve finds his jaw clenching, not because he's upset with Bucky for not having a glove on him to better hide them. No, of course, not. But because...

What else are they going to do--stranded in the past with no way home until the timeline hiccup decides to resolve itself--but find their past selves? And when they find their younger counterparts, there will be no way to explain a completely different arm in any way that isn't devastating.

Guaranteed, it will petrify younger, past Bucky, and it will make younger, past Steve ache for his lover and fill with fire in pure, justified rage against a Nazi organization that (probably) doesn't even exist yet. Plus, it could trigger modern Bucky. Explaining it himself... maybe even hearing it from modern Steve... it won't do Bucky good. This isn't a good time or place for Bucky to have a panic attack or worse.

Blinking, Steve realizes that they're just staring at each other. Silently hovering around each other, wanting physical comfort, the luxury they've been spoiled with in the 21st century, but being unable to take it.

"It'll be okay," Steve hardens his voice and squares his shoulders, "we just have to--" that's it! His shoulders! He has a jacket on. One of his tan leather jackets. Quickly, he shrugs it off and hands it over to Bucky.

Bucky slips into it, jamming his shaking hands into the pockets. He exhales shakily.

Risking a friendly, pal-ish pat on the shoulder that melts into a more intimate back rub, Steve hopes to a God he doesn't believe much in anymore that this doesn't set Bucky back when they get to the future. He just started to be comfortable with his metal arm! Apparently, being back in the time and place where he was swamped by religion puts the religion back in the forefront of his mind.

"We have to find us," Steve finishes his earlier thought.

Bucky nods tightly.

Steve can tell by the way he looks at the floor he's desperately wishing he has wearing a baseball cap when they were transported back, too. More to hide under. No matter if it would be out of place here.

"Okay, okay," Steve races through his thoughts, "where would, where would we be on a Thursday afternoon in, whatever, whatever year it is now..."

Bucky's eyebrows draw together, "home?"

Steve considers it, tipping his head side to side, "maybe, yeah. I--shit. Do you think we're back far enough that we were still living with our, our parents?"

Shit.

For two reasons.

1) If they're each still in their family homes, it means even more people to explain the situation to.

2) If they're in their family homes... it means Sarah Rogers is still alive. And Steve, Steve doesn't know--

Just thinking about it--

Steve feels his lips quiver, a stone dropping onto the back of his tongue so heavily that it triggers the edge of his gag reflex. Thick, wet salt coming up the back of his throat, pooling in his mouth, a warning that he might vomit.

Steve doesn't know if he will be able to handle that.

He's thought a thousand, million different times about what he would say, what he would do if he could see his Ma again. He's dreamed about it. He's cried about it. He's screamed about it to that God that didn't ever seem to hear him. The unfairness.

If--

If it comes to that, being able to calm Bucky, being able to help Bucky through a triggering situation, will be the exact opposite of Steve's worry. It will be Bucky desperately working to hold him together instead.

Fuck.

Thankfully(?), regretfully(?) that doesn't turn out to be the situation.

The situation of past, younger Steve and Bucky is their cold water walk up. Their first (and only) apartment together before the war. It's in that sweet spot (if you ignore the glaring, awful hardships of the Depression) after Steve had steadied himself, floating above the grief over his Ma and before the war started, before Bucky's draft number was drawn.

Okay.

Steve can deal with this.

It's gonna hurt. It's gonna tear him apart, and he'll be licking his wounds for weeks (at least) when they return to the future... to the present? But at least it's not--

Not that.

Steve and Bucky slip up the worn, bowed stairs to their apartment, decide against knocking discreetly, and instead jimmy the handle just right to let themselves inside. They are spared no mercy as immediately, they come face to face with their younger selves.

It feels like--

Like an out of body experience in a fun house. Pure insanity. The mirror image of themselves is warped and changed and standing toe-to-toe with them. Too close. Familiar but separate. They are the same, and they are opposites. The beginning and somewhere near the end, except, wait--the younger versions of themselves are young adults, and the older versions of themselves, themselves, are just adults. So... perhaps not a beginning and an end but middles. Middles staring at each other.

Nebulous and totally discombobulating.

No one makes a sound.

Then--

"What the fuck."

The sound of Steve's own voice echoes back through his ears with his mouth having moved at all. It's jarring. Bewildering because he spoke, but he didn't speak. But it's also bewildering as hell because... holy shit it's weird to hear such a little guy possess such a deep voice. He's never known himself from this angle. He's never--

"Of course it'd be you," Bucky turns to him, his lips curling at one corner.

It's on the tip of his tongue to murmur, "you remember?" But he... he can't. Not in front of them. He needn't reveal memory issues when they don't even know--

Fuck.

Why didn't they just loiter in that alley for a few hours? Waiting for the timeline to snap back.

Why did they come here?

He doesn't want--

He's looking at his younger self and he knows he'd hate him for wanting to protect him; he's looking at the younger version of Bucky with puppy fat clinging to his face and chin and belly and he looks so fucking sweet and soft and Steve feels poised to bend him out of shape in the same violent way you ruin a smooth lump of fresh clay by punching it with your fist.

Fuck. Hot pressure builds behind Steve's eyes. He is poised for destruction. And there is nothing he can do about it. So...

Steve clears his throat.

Where does he begin?

Where does he end?

The whole time that he explains, painting with the broadest brush and the most diluted paint possible, Steve is preparing himself for their younger versions to deservingly fuss over his Bucky. So, when his younger, much, much smaller self steps forward, uncrosses his arms over his thin chest, and extends a hand to his forearm, feathering his fingers against the bunched muscle and whispers, a raw edge to his voice, "why don't you come sit down then, you look exhausted," it hurts.

It hits Steve so hard.

Steve is talking to him. He's not talking to Bucky and him. He's talking to Steve alone. Staring him right in the eyes. Knowing.

He was--

He was waiting for rage from himself. He was waiting for terror and grief and numbness from the past Bucky. He was waiting for pretend-detached, monotone, vague answers from his Bucky who came from the future (the present?) with him.

He wasn't--

He was not expecting his younger self to see through it all as if he's transparent and prod one of his boney fingers right into the hole inside him. He was never scared to go up against anyone, though, no matter if they're twice his size or bigger. So, maybe he shouldn't be surprised. It doesn't mean it doesn't make his legs feel more sturdy, though.

Steve doesn't recognize until he sits down on their worn, mostly springs and flattened, shitty cushioning couch with a metallic squeak that neither of the Buckys followed them. It's just the two of them. Him. Steve and Steve. Younger and smaller and older and bigger. What an odd pair.

Peering over his shoulder, Steve sees them in the kitchen, looking at each other. The younger, shorter Bucky is stuck in place, and his Bucky is reaching forward, lifting his hand. His metal hand. He's offering. He's unhesitatant and steady as he slips out of his leather jacket and rolls up the fabric of his long sleeve so the younger Bucky can see. A swirl of pride curls through Steve, warm and budding--a spring flower.

A throat clears.

Steve.

Steve swings his head back to face... himself.

God.

It's still weird.

It's nothing like walking into a room that smells bad and relaxing into it, going blind to the stench after you acclimate. It's still fucking strange. Shivers crawl up his spine, leaving his hair with no choice but to stand on end. Hyper-aware.

His younger self hasn't had a seat on the broken, thread-bear armchair or on the practically decaying couch beside him. Instead, he steps closer and closer, one surprisingly large foot in front of the other over loose, rickety floorboards. He looms into his space, presence much larger than seems possible for his small, sickly frame.

"How are you?" He asks, bushy eyebrows drawn together.

The look on Steve's face must convey his thoughts, shouldn't I be asking you that?

"Don't you know?" Younger Steve answers his mute inquiry, "you were--" he frowns "--you were a version of me."

Steve nods emptily, "I guess."

The pale sounds of the Buckys conversing in the kitchen fills the space between them like static until... younger Steve floats his hand into the gap, the empty space, reaching and reaching toward him, giving him plenty of time to flinch, anticipating that Steve will scowl and move out of the way, still allergic to being babied. But Steve doesn't move.

It is impossible to twitch, to move, to dodge. His muscles have turned to stone--at any other time, it would be funny; he recalls Bucky's shock the first time he saw him in this body, proclaiming he must be a Greek or Roman statue.

He feels like a statue.

A statue that melts the moment his younger self's fingertips grace his forehead. This version of himself from this past echoes himself from earlier, "you seem tired," his cold, poor-circulation touch draws the strands hair swept against his face back into his more modern, brushed back style.

Steve sighs with the weight pressing on his shoulders. It feels even heavier than usual.

Maybe... maybe he should've expected this.

He remembers the fatigue that pulled at his bones, tugging until he was slogged down into the mud and could hardly move; his heart struggling to beat, his thoughts fighting their way to conference-y, his mood dampening to constant exhaustion. If anyone can read the weight on his shoulders through the lines on his forehead and the slump of his back, of course, it would be his younger self.

The weight of his illnesses have been gone for years at this point, but they've been replaced and doubled by the weight of a moniker, which means nothing to this version of himself.

Suddenly, there is no point pretending.

Was it really so long ago that he was this version of himself? Was he really so young when he was made the face of the war? How young was he when he awoke to be the face of a new effort? A new team? How young is he now?

Steve barely stifles a sudden, chest-squeezing sound. A sob?

His younger self says nothing. He only steps in closer. Close enough for Steve to bury his face in the concave, hard plane of his stomach, and ring his hands around his boney, thin hips. His entire waist fits in the circle of Steve's index fingers and thumbs. Two hands. He feels each clumsy beat of his heart. He feels the stutter of his uneven breaths. He feels how cool he is, even right here at his core. How is he standing? How is he taking his weight? Steve may be tired, but his younger self must be exhausted. He can't--

How could he burden his y--

"Nope," his younger self holds his shoulders in both hands. Fingers digging in sharply, intent on getting his message across and not afraid to be mean about it. "You're not going anywhere."

This time, Steve does sob. Audibly. He is tired. He's so tired.

To conclude:

I have lots of emotions about post-serum Steve and the world taking advantage of his strength.

Thank you for the request!

P.S. I kept listening to this while I was writing:

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #Spotify #angst #hurt/comfort

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callmegaith · 18 days

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i thought for a moment that your art of David and Dale with their younger selves was art of them with their kids *Roblox ooof sound*

Imagine a scenario where they, for whatever reason, had to look after their younger-selves. I imagine only disaster could occur from that. That's the only context I can see them looking after kids together. I said this before and I'll say it again... They would not be functional parents together, they can barely manage looking after themselves xD

#asks!

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honey-minded-hivemind · 2 months

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Wait what if in an AU of X-Men: Days of Future Past it was the reader that got sent back in time to stop the creation of the sentinels? I can just imagine kid reader trying to tell Logan or the professor or beast about the future and they're just worried about them- where did this mutant kid come from?? Where are their parents?? Could we be their parents-

Oh h*ck yeah, Anonymous!

These guys would be worried over Reader, who looks beat within an inch of their life, is malnourished, and is speaking of doomsday and apocalyptic scenarios, while still calling them by name and mentioning people they haven't met yet. The Professor can see a bit of their thoughts, and finds them disturbing. He believes that Reader is telling the truth... but he's also unsure of how to proceed. How does one even go about dealing with that sort of information? Let alone stopping that future from happening? Beast would be worried, fretting over Reader and trying to do a medical check-up (and giving them food, the man is NOT letting this child go a minute longer without eating SOMETHING-). Logan is trying to make sense of the situation. A kid got sent back into the past, by THEM, supposedly, and says they are the last hope of both humanity AND mutants. And they also say they know them, that they sent them to meet their younger selves. To prove it, he asks what Future!Him told them to tell him...

"That you're kinda an *ss, a menace, a loner, and pretty mean... But that you would do the right thing. Or else he'd kick your *ss."

And yep, that seems legitimate.

Over the course of the movie, these three, plus Reader, go around, leading to them growing attached to the traumatized kid and doubling their efforts to stop the Sentinels (and keeping Reader unharmed)... And when they do, and the timeline is changed, Logan and the Professor still remember... And who else do they see, roaming about and alive and well, but Reader... One who was spared from the horrors they'd warned them about?

So this time, they're going to do everything they can to get this timeline right... A brighter future is what they're fighting for, and with their team alive again, and having a second chance... They aren't going to mess it up this time.

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere marvel x reader

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sparkling-pink-lemonade · 1 year

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Media: Characters canonically grow up and become adults at the end.

Dumbass vocal minority: OMG NOO You can't sexuality them even when using their post time skip designs. They were children for the entire series, just cause they were adults in the epilogue doesn't mean they are suddenly adults now!! We've only got to know them as kids, so you're sexualizing their child selves and calling them adults!

Inhale

Look. First of all, people can create their own headcanons of characterization for the grown up characters, based on the character arcs and individual growth through the narrative. That's part of the point with epilogues, to give the fans a playground to imagine what's next. And what's next is the characters exploring adulthood.

Second, the characters we grew to know over the course of the material are not real children. And I'm not saying that just because obviously a fictional character isn't real in that they don't think or feel. I mean that in how your precious little blorbos were written by adults and reviewed by adults for the sake of your entertainment, not for realism. The characters could have intense research put into them through studies of how kids act and behave, plus memories from the creator's on childhood. But if they were truly accurate to how kids behaved, you'd be stuck watching dumb ass characters making the same insufferable mistakes over and over again, being stubborn, hardly ever learning a god damn thing because children lack the mental development of critical thinking and social awareness to make those charismatic world saving actions you see in media. But alas those fictional children are capable of those overwhelmingly mature and adult actions because they are written by adults who have already gone through those lessons. And now they have to slap a younger age onto said characters and setting to make them easier for the target audience to project onto.

And lastly, let's say in a piece of media, they manage to portray a character completely accurate as a minor without any subconscious influence as an adult writer. That there wasn't even any epilogue to show the character had grown up and became an adult. And people still choose to sexualize the character. Aged up or not. So what? That character isn't real. They can't feel pain or distress outside of scripted events an author writes them into. Consequences of actions are as permanent as the undo button. You could traumatize them over and over, write the character in a villain au where the character has killed many. Then open up a new document and imagine that same character saving a kitten and bringing it home to their wholesome found family in an everyone lives AU where no one has any sad thoughts ever. A person can create any fan content they please, and no one can suffer from it in any meaningful way due to every aspect of space, time, and chance being predetermined and ever shifting based on the whims of a single individual.

And when that individual shares their thoughts through creation to the world, their only responsibility is to give the creation the appropriate identifying labels. So that way, even if after everything, after projecting your own thoughts and scripted scenarios onto a character you don't even own, you feel so deeply connected that you feel visceral disgust when seeing someone else portray a popular character in a way that attacks your own personal view, the work at least will be appropriately labeled so you can avoid it.

You don't want to be exposed to how these people choose to portray characters who've been depicted as minors in a piece of media, so don't shove your own portrayal down their throats either.

#proship #profic #age up

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clumsiestgiantess · 7 months

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Day 14: Linger

Some fucked up shit (whump) I wrote several years ago, re-written for your viewing pleasure.

(For those of you who don’t like torture scenarios, you can skip this one; idk what younger me was on when I wrote this)

Hailey

My parents are fighting again. At least, I like to think of them that way — parents instead of total strangers. It's been harder and harder to see them shouting like this. I can hear their screaming all the way from my room on the top floor. It's been hard on my brother too, I think. He hides it better than I do. I just want things to be normal again.

Sighing, I slunk downstairs and slipped outside before anyone noticed me. Taking a deep long breath, I gently closed the door, peering into the dark. Walking out to the edge of our yard- sorry, table, I sat down on its edge. Four years of living on a surface raised several whole feet in the air and thinner than you is definitely not for everyone; I'm ok with it though. I don't fall off too often anymore.

My family and I; we’re all dolls. Yes, literally. I’ve been like this as long as I can remember, passed from hand to hand, attic to garage sale. The girls in this house — they used to play with us all the time. It was amazing! The world of plastic would fall away into something real and true. Life was only worth living for those moments. But the older human grew up, and the younger one was bought a brand new dollhouse, unlike this ancient one. Soon after our abandonment, my parents — the older dolls — started arguing nonstop.

Sometimes I'll imagine what life would be like if I lived on my own, but then I wouldn't have a life. Literally. My whole reason for existing is to be played with. I wouldn't be miserably listening to a never ending argument, but I'd be miserably sitting in the dark, alone, by myself with nothing to live for. So that's not really an option. The pent-up stress and depression that comes with being rejected took its toll on everyone in different ways. I come out here to sit at the edge of our table and wait for one of the humans to come down. Maybe, just maybe, they’d remember us. Even if they don’t want us around, surely they’d pass us along to another human that does.

Just then, the basement lights snapped on. Yelping in surprise, I slipped off the ledge and braced myself for the hard ground below. As a doll, I can go from flesh to plastic pretty much instantly, so I can't get hurt from this kind of thing. Every once and a while I forget that as plastic, I’m immune to the fall. Even without pain, the drop is still plenty terrifying. I'm not supposed to be seen by humans — not without being plastic — so I scrambled away from the open floor and hid behind one of the table legs. Apparently, humans don’t like it when we’re flesh like them.

When I was younger, I vaguely remember all of us trying to live life alive, like humans do. When an actual human found us, they got so scared they passed out. My oldest sister tried once more to interact with them, but she didn’t come back. I tried to ask what my parents meant by that, but they didn’t give an answer other than she was never coming home. Now I know that they’d tried to ‘exorcise’ her — a gruesome process humans inflict on dolls like us to stop us from living. I didn’t even know we could die until then. None of us show our living selves anymore. As long as we’re complacent, nothing bad happens.

The girl who’d come downstairs so suddenly was the older one. She ran right past me to the door with her dog in tow, so I took the opportunity to get climbing. She never comes down to play with us anymore, so I know I have some time before anyone notices me where I didn’t belong.

My first few attempts to scale the table failed pretty miserably. I kept sliding back down the slippery wooden columns which served as table legs. Finally, I'd managed to climb halfway up the vertical surface when the door to the yard opened, letting in a hyperactive puppy with the girl right behind it. After running a few laps around the basement, the fluffy bullet settled down on the couch while the human pulled out her phone and sat down beside it.

Inch by inch, I slowly began hauling myself up the table again, refusing to go back down. It had taken me so long to get where I was. In hindsight, that wasn't one of my best ideas. The dog spotted me moving less than a few seconds later, and began barking as loud as it could at the table leg I was currently climbing. Instantly, I was back on the floor again. "Hey!" the human yelled annoyedly, marching over to her dog. "What in the world are you barking at?! Is your ball under there?" Before I could even think about running, she'd stuck her head under the table and spotted me. I was way too quick for her to catch me alive, though.

By the time the human got down on her hands and knees, I was already back to being plastic. "Were you barking at this?" she asked the dog as she held me out for it to sniff. Now that I was plastic, the animal seemed to lose all interest in me and went back to lay down on the couch. The girl shook her head and walked back with him, but she'd taken me with her, placing me down on the bookshelf beside the couch. "You are such a strange dog, Cooper," she said, patting the husky puppy as she sat down again.

Ok, I've been sitting here for an HOUR now and the girl, Ellie, if I remember correctly, still hasn't left. She got up a few minutes ago to get her headphones though, and she hasn’t looked up from her phone once. As quietly as I could, I began to slide away from my spot on the bookshelf. Mind you, I'm still five inches tall, so one wrong move and I'm easily seen. I was at the edge of the shelf now, so I hardened my skin to plastic and inched off the ledge, letting myself drop to the ground. I'd begun traversing the floor, sure I could make the short jog to the play table, which had doubled as a dumping ground over the years.

Just a quick jog, only a few seconds between me and the safety of the table. "Holy shit!" I froze, mortified. In my prehipreal vision, Ellie stood up, staring down at me from somewhere too far up for me to see. Before I could even think of running or going plastic, Ellie rushed to a bin nearby, grabbed a fake treasure chest, and closed it around me. The plastic lock clicked shut, and she thundered up the basement stairs yelling urgently. "Mom! Look what I found!" Panic seized my chest, constricting the air out of my lungs. Say something, anything! "NO! Please! Please, you can't tell them!" I yelled, banging on the side of the box. I've just destroyed my life.

Ellie

Running as fast as I could, I slowed as I heard my mom reply. "What is it honey?" Thinking back to the tiny doll, I asked myself: was telling her the best idea? Every time adults found out about something like this in any movie, book, or even real life, they usually messed it up one way or another. Rather than telling her the truth, I said I'd forgotten. "That's alright," she replied, "Tell me if you remember what it was." I ran about halfway down the stairs before she stopped me. "Now that you're upstairs, why don't you help set the table for dinner?" I wasn’t upstairs anymore, but I knew I couldn’t argue. Before I could try to make up a good enough excuse, she had me fishing out spoons and forks from a drawer in the kitchen. I'd left the locked chest on the couch downstairs.

After a seemingly endless dinner, I was called away from the basement again to put away the laundry. Groaning, I trudged down the hall to my room. It wasn't that I was afraid the doll might escape the box; I was more afraid of my sister finding her. Claire, my younger sister, loves catching cool bugs and other various small creatures. I know she’ll absolutely adore the tiny doll from the basement. The problem was, she almost always forgets about the things she takes 'care' of, and leaves them in their containers without… anything. Now that I think about it, I don't think she's ever taken care of something that's lived for more than a month.

Once I was finally done with the laundry, I raced back downstairs. Hesitantly, I crept back to the couch and let out a sigh of relief; the chest was still there. No one had come down before me. As carefully as I could, I flipped open the lid, peering in. The small doll inside jumped in surprise and backed into a corner. "Wow," I breathed, "You... you're alive." Glaring at me, she grumbled under her breath. "You aren’t supposed to know that." I startled. For some reason, I’d been unsure whether she could talk. "What.. Why?" I asked, both confused and alarmed at once.

"Well, it’s.. for safety," she replied, “Humans don’t react well to seeing us alive. I.. don't know exactly what will become of us if we’re found out, but everyone says bad things'll happen if we are." Huffing, she sat back down on the bottom of the chest. After a second or two, she glanced up at me. “So, get it over with already.” My brows furrowed in confusion, wondering what she was insinuating by her last statement. "But I didn't tell anyone,” I said, glancing back at the stairway, “No one knows except me." The doll froze and looked up at me incredulously, "You're a liar. I can hear through this box, and I heard you yelling to your mother.”

"Did you hear me tell her about you?" I quipped. I could see she was about to say something snide in return but stopped, "... no. That doesn't mean anything, though. You still could've told them while I was sitting down here." Leaning back, I tried to think of a way to convince her I wasn't lying. "If I told someone, don't you think I would've brought them down here to convince them?" That silenced her for a while. "So, you didn't tell anyone?" she finally asked, shock spilling into her voice. I shook my head. Getting back up from the floor of the box, she grumbled as she started climbing over the side of the chest. "Even if you told no one, you still know. To me, that's one human too ma- AAH!" As she tried to climb up, her elbow knocked into the lid and it came crashing back down. Trapping her inside it again. "Are you alright?" I asked, lifting it gently back up.

"Just get me out of this thing," the doll sighed. “If you’re not going to trap me, I’m leaving. Like I was saying, you shouldn't know about me." As I listened to her talk on and on about how dangerous it was for her, I tilted the box so she could hop out. "If you know, someone else is bound to find out about me eventually.” I watched her with silent awe. She isn’t even plastic, though I know for a fact that she was when I used to play with her.

When I used to play with her. What a strange thing to do to someone very clearly alive. She’s.. a doll, that’s the point of her, but a living doll…. As the thought sunk in, I realized how most people would be frightened at that phrase. Flashes of horror movies danced in my head and I began having second thoughts about trapping her. Maybe it is better if I let the doll have what she wants. I cleared my throat, causing the little thing to jump at the sound. She’d scaled down the side of the couch where I’d placed the chest, and watched me warily from the floor. The distance between us didn’t feel like much, yet she looked so much smaller.

“Are all of you alive?” I asked, trying to stop the tendrils of fear in the back of my mind from slipping into my voice. The doll turned away from me purposefully, “I can’t tell you that.” Yes. Yes they are. “Is everything alive?” A sneer drifted onto her face. “Of course not! That would be impossible to hide! I don’t think anything is alive besides us.” The doll cringed a moment later, realizing her slip-up. Slowly, she turned back around to glance at me, trying to catch whether I’d recognized her mistake. "Alright, I guess I'll be upstairs then," I quickly headed towards the staircase as horror movies again plagued my thoughts. "Ok, just… please don't tell anyone," the doll stressed. When I turned to leave I replied, "I don't think anyone will believe me anyway,” before quickly dashing up the stairs to safety.

I've been staring at the ceiling of my room for the past half hour now, trying to make sense of what I just discovered. Was it better to leave the doll alone, or would it be better to trap her again? If my sister found her and mistreated her like everything else she owns, she might invoke whatever paranormal wrath the dolls might have. I debated it over and over in my head all through the night and into the next day. I'd just finished breakfast when a crashing sound echoed through the house. What was that?" I called in exasperation, expecting Cooper to have accidentally knocked something else over again. "It sounds like it came from downstairs," I heard my sister reply. The basement? Oh no. The doll.

I raced out of the kitchen and scrambled for the basement door. "I'll get it! No one move; I'll check it out!" Not waiting for a reply, I raced down the stairs and froze at the bottom. One of the other playhouses, a windmill with two small floors, had fallen off the table and smashed on the floor below. At least it wasn’t some possessed doll ritual.

"Everything's fine!" I called to my family, "Something just fell off a shelf, that's all!" I stepped forward to assess the damage when I noticed a string attached to a broken piece of the windmill. Pulling it off of the balcony, I realized there was a kind of grapple at the end. Strange. I followed the string with my finger, tugging it along through the cracked plastic pieces to find what the other end was attached to. Splinters of cracked plastic parted, revealing the doll from last night. I found her beneath the rubble, unconscious.

Hailey

My life is literally over. I thought I might be able to salvage it, but as I walked into the dollhouse it became painfully apparent that I was done for. Everyone knew what had happened. Of course they did; the dining room had a clear view of the couch. I'd been warned explicitly by everyone in this place that if anyone screwed up, they'd pay for it. One mistake would affect everyone, not just the doll who was to blame. My so-called 'parents' locked me in my room, blocking the way out with a heavy shelf. The only reason I'm not still stuck in there is my crafty escape plan I'd devised on day one of the fierce arguments. Thankfully, I made it out with my climbing grapple and my freedom.

I planned to live on my own. It’s really the only option now. I won’t really miss the old house or the dolls there, but I wasn't expecting them to actually stay true to their word. I kind of assumed that the threats to imprison me were fictions purely to scare me away from the idea of escape. All night, I trekked across the massive basement floor, not daring to stop for anything until I reached the place I was headed. I was going to live in the two story windmill on the shelf by the stairs. It was less used than the dollhouse, and basically inaccessible to any of the others without a grapple like mine.

It was already early morning by the time I reached the stairs. The distance between the dollhouse and the other end of the room didn’t look nearly as far from my window. However, my legs ached from the journey. When I finally got to the shelf, I used my grapple to scale each section. It was easier going scaling each individual section rather than trying to climb the whole thing, even if it took a longer time. Almost at the top, I threw up the hook and latched the end of it to a balcony at the top of the windmill. Just as I'd begun hoisting myself along, I heard a faint creak. My line slid and I froze, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Fearfully, I looked up. I was just in time to witness the top of the windmill snap off the building. Screaming, I desperately grasped at my line, but it was no use. The whole thing had fallen with me. I managed to become plastic before I hit the floor, but I barely had time to blink before the entire building fell on top of me.

Mommy and Daddy are fighting. I don't like it, so I turn instead to my pretty little world of make-believe. My dollies have such a nice life; if only my life were like theirs. A big house, big adventures, and best of all, a big loving family. I notice the sky getting dark. Placing the dolls in their beds, I rush to the window. A single star shines in the early night sky. "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight," I recite at my window ledge, "I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight." I suck in a deep breath, and with it I utter: "I want to live like a dollie, my whole family and me."

I woke up with a start, flinching upright in a panic. What was that? No, I… Shit. I know what that was. That was me. The real me. Before I was like this. How could I have forgotten? "I'm.. not a doll," I whispered to myself, "I never was."

"What?" I flinched at the new voice. It was the girl, Ellie. She was bending over me, concerned and way too close for comfort. I quickly scrambled backward to get away, only to nearly fall over into the sink behind me. That's when I realized Ellie had taken me to the bathroom. She'd woken me up by splashing water on my face. "Could you, you know, move back a little?" I asked, feeling very crowded by her looming presence above me. "Oh, sure, of course," Ellie easily put a bit more space between us. "I just didn't catch what you said before."

The realization came rushing back, hitting me full force like a kickball to the gut. So that was the reason I didn’t remember how I ended up in someone’s living room. That’s why we tried acting human before we recognized how dangerous it was. But it’s impossible.. how did we end up as playthings?

"I- I'm a person," I said with a shudder. "I remember now. It came to me in a memory when I got knocked out.” My solemn voice bounced loudly off the walls of the small bathroom. This.. girl, she can’t be more than 16. I’m.. I think I’m 20? I was way younger than her when I made that wish — more like her sister’s age. How had I grown up? How had I grown up like this? The human- the girl- the teenage girl technically younger than me- loomed over me like a giant. Because she’s a human, my mind replied smoothly. But.. so am I.

“It's.. I.. I think I cursed myself to be this way,” I stuttered, avoiding eye contact, “Both me and my family." Ellie withdrew further back, eyes growing wide. "I knew it," she whispered in fear, "This is how horror movies start; a cursed doll and their unsuspecting first victim." Ellie stumbled out of the bathroom, looking at me in newfound horror. "No, I-!" I tried to explain, but she cut me off. "I should've told everyone about you! Maybe if they knew, they would lock you away somewhere, and you wouldn't be here now — about to kill me." I blanched, watching her backpedal towards the stairs. "Wait, no, I don't want to hurt you! What are you talking about? Where are you going!?" I yelled, panicking as she reached the bottom step. Ellie dashed upstairs before she heard anything else I said.

This is bad, really bad. I have to stop her. Now. Hardening to plasticity, I jumped from the bathroom counter and took off at a run. Being stupid little doll size, I couldn't get very far. She was long gone by the time I made it to the stairs. I cried out in anguish. Each stair was a few inches — or maybe a centimeter — taller than me. Having no other way to get to Ellie, I started climbing. The family upstairs was nowhere to be found by the time I reached the ground floor, which took ages. Ellie wasn't there. Thankfully, I know where her room is, though. I've been on this floor once or twice when Ellie decided to bring us up here to play. It was often during some sort of vacation scenario where the story required a dramatic change in scenery.

I shuddered at the memories, taking a moment to rest in the doorway. I’d been played with, and I’d liked it. Now, I feel like vomiting just thinking about someone so big picking me up and forcing me around.

I ran over to the girls' hallway. Luckily, it was a straight shot to Ellie's room. Unluckily, I had to pass Claire's room to get there. I crawled down the hallway, keeping to the side of a wall to avoid attention. For a while, I really thought I would make it through without being caught, but as it turns out, Claire was not in her room. "Oh, wow!" gasped a voice from above. I didn't even have time to process that I'd been spotted before I was snatched up. My vision spun from being yanked to such a dizzying height so suddenly. I desperately tried to free myself from her grasp, but my protests were only met with a tightened grip. The world whirled by at a sickening speed.

Suddenly, I was thrust into a dollhouse. This one was nothing like the one in the basement. Everything was uncomfortably plastic, and it was completely open on one side. Most annoyingly, it was also scaled to the wrong size. Even in this dollhouse I still seemed to be a few feet smaller than normal.

Claire gazed in at me, again getting way too close for comfort. I desperately searched for a way out, but there aren’t even any stairs leading off this floor. "ARE YOU REAL?!" Claire squealed in excitement. I yelped, quickly shoving my hands over my ears. "OH MY GOSH YOU ARE ADORABLE!" She reached for me and I screamed, despite myself. "Please!" I cried, "Please stop yelling. I'm going to go deaf!" Claire whined and snached me out of the dollhouse. She held me close to her face and started petting me. "Aww, I'm so sorry little thing. You're just so cute! Look at how small you are! So tiny!" I could practically feel my dignity slipping away. "No! Stop it! I'm not a doll, I'm a person! Put me down!" I shoved at her fingers, but they didn't budge.

Claire giggled, sending chills down my spine. "I know you're a person, silly! Dolls don't talk!" She only laughed at my feeble attempts to free myself. "You're my very own tiny person. Even better than a doll! We're going to have so much fun together!" My stomach dropped. She knew? She knew I was a person, but she didn't care? Claire placed me back into the dollhouse and shut it. I was too stunned to move. Only when I heard the click of a latch lock did I snap out of my stupor.

"Wait!" I cried, rushing to the window, "Let me out of here! You can't lock me in here!" Claire only giggled and poked her fingers in through the window next to mine. I retreated backwards in alarm, tripping over myself and falling hard on the pink plastic floor. "Yes I can," she said cheerfully, "You're mine now! I can do whatever I want with you!" How can something so sinister be spoken so happily? I threw myself against the window. It was criss-crossed into tiny square sections for decoration, effectively trapping me behind a cruel set of plastic prison bars.

The lights in Claire’s room flicked off, and soon she was asleep. Devastated, I searched the floor one last time for a staircase down, or a non-barred window, but no such luck. There was a bed made entirely of plastic — the covers only a wavy texture on the bed frame. Peering out the side window, I could see the latch that kept the dollhouse shut. I stretched as far as I could, almost getting my shoulder stuck in the window frame, but I was just short of the latch. Retreating to a far corner of the room, I curled up and cried softly. Why, why did I have to figure out that I’m a person now? Doll me would’ve loved being this little girl’s plaything.

Ellie

I was right! I knew it! And now I'm going to be murdered for it. I raced into my room and locked the door, determined to stay safely behind it the rest of the day. I only came out for a few brief moments to grab meals before disappearing into my room again. As I panicked about what to do and how to survive, I searched up ways to get rid of the cursed doll. Of course, the internet offered very little help. Most of the articles I found were clearly fake, and the others were all based on horror movies, which are also fake. Either way, most of the suggestions were awfully dramatic. Many of the passages told me to burn her alive, which seems a bit excessive.

Eventually, due to my recent search history and my phone somehow knowing my location, an article appeared in the 'things you might be interested in' tab. At first I ignored it; the text was a ranked list of the most haunted things in the state. However, before I clicked away, a picture caught my eye and my heart stopped. It was a photo of the dollhouse in the basement; discolored and filtered to make it seem more sinister, but definitely the dollhouse. I sucked in a shocked breath of air. There was a paragraph posted below the picture.

#4. The Wilson House

Unlike most of the haunted houses on this list, you can't visit or tour this home… unless you're five inches tall. Late one June night the owners of the house, Mike and Veronica Wilson as well as their children, Victor and Hailey Wilson, were all at home when the seemingly impossible occurred. Their house and car, along with the things and people inside of them, vanished into the night. This awfully strange disappearance left police baffled after picking up on what they thought was a prank phone call about a "missing house". Even stranger still, all that was left of their whereabouts was a dollhouse, confirmed to be a replica of the Wilson home. Today, the replica is lost to time. This leaves horror seekers and mystery solvers with the same question: Was it a kidnaping, alien abduction, or was there something darker at work here?

I stared open-mouthed at my phone, reading and re-reading the paragraph and the entire article to see if there was any more information. The halls were dark by the time I stopped scouring the internet for the Wilson house. According to the few sources, the family had been on the brink of collapse when the house disappeared with both parents, the 17 year old Victor, and the 6 year old Hailey.

Slowly I slunk under my covers, uncertain. The doll said she'd been human once; she'd cursed herself and her family. Between the first article and what she'd said, I’m fairly sure I just stumbled across the truth about who the doll is. The worst part? I really doubt she would have hurt me. There were only a few things I could find about the disappearance, but what I couldn't find was how it had come to be in the tag sale we'd bought it from years ago. My best guess was that someone scraped it off the side of the road, then lost interest in it. Most of the articles were dated a few years after I was born, so it was entirely possible people had forgotten its origins and left it up for sale.

I was up late that night, thinking. Hailey was likely the doll I'd met, though she'd clearly grown somehow since she'd been cursed. She looked older than me, and she was already six the night the house went missing. I wish I could go back downstairs and talk to her, but I don't want to risk waking up my family. She’d been pretty adamant on ensuring the secret of her existence. Now I understand why. Hailey’s probably worried I told everyone, and she's lucky I didn't. All this time that me and my sister have been playing with that dollhouse… they were alive. Not just alive, but actual people too. Though, apparently Hailey had only just realized it today. I have so many questions, and a major apology for jumping to conclusions about her, but they would have to wait until tomorrow.

That morning, as soon as I woke up, I headed to the basement. I searched everywhere for Hailey — the dollhouse, the toy bins, the shelf, even the remains of the windmill, but I found nothing. She’d seemingly vanished. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't find her anywhere. I spent the entire morning scouring the basement, but to no avail. Finally, I gave up the search to eat something. I assumed that Hailey had run away, so I checked the backyard next. I was halfway through my search — and planning to go through the front yard next — when my mom called me away to help her put together a new table for the deck. If Hailey was still here somewhere, I’d find her eventually.

Hailey

I was woken way too early this morning. So early in fact, that I forgot where I was for a moment. That was until the wall next to me was pulled away, and Claire's awful grin fell into view. "Good morning little thing!" she said in a sappy voice, "I'm going to get breakfast and then we can play, ok?" I groaned, but she'd already disappeared out the door. However, Claire left the dollhouse wide open. I quickly seized the chance to escape. Switching to plastic, I jumped down to the floor and raced to the doorway. I barely made it halfway across Claire's room before I collapsed. I cursed my night of little sleep and my horribly tiny figure. If only I weren't so small! I could easily escape this place if I were still human. But that was entirely my fault, wasn't it?

By the time Claire had returned, I'd managed to hide amongst a clutter of stuffed animals by the door. I was far too exhausted to go any further. Once Claire realized I was gone, she rummaged through the entire dollhouse; haphazardly shoving things out as she searched. When she'd emptied the entire thing and still hadn’t found me, Claire quickly became hysterical. Enraged, she began to tear her room apart in search of me, her voice harsh on my ears. "New doll, where are you!?" It was terrifying to watch from my perspective on the floor. Even though Claire can't be more than six or seven years old, she still towered above me. As she searched the opposite side of the room, I ran out the door as quickly as I could.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" I flinched so badly I tripped, hitting the hardwood floor face first. Like yesterday, I was torn away from the ground at a sickening speed. "WHY DID YOU RUN AWAY LIKE THAT?" Claire cried ridiculously loudly, "DON'T DO THAT AGAIN." "Or what!?" I spat, "You already lock me up, anyway."

I shouldn't have tested her. I don't know why I did. All I remember after that was violent force whisking me through the air, then I woke up on the floor of Claire's room. My head throbbed and I could feel major bruises blooming on my arm and back where I was laying. She threw me. Claire reached for me again, and I panicked. I don't think I'll survive that a second time. "Wait!" I hated how desperate I sounded, and I hated how it felt, but I had no choice. "I fell out and got lost, I'm sorry!" I lied. "It won't happen again, I swear. Please don't-" I swallowed a sob, "Don't do that again, please."

Claire smiled an awful, satisfied smile and backed off. A few seconds later she returned with a handful of dolls. "That's ok to get lost,” she assured me sweetly, “I get lost sometimes, too. Don’t worry, it's only your first day." I grimaced. Only my first day. I tried my best to do what she asked after that incident. Claire made it horribly clear that she would happily hurt me, or even end my life, if she felt like it. Days blurred together, mixed with the same bullshit acting she forced me to do — all similar family drama scenarios she played out with her dolls and me. It wasn't quite torture; it was bareable, at least for the time being.

Claire made sure to watch me at all times after my first day. I know I told her I hadn't meant to run off, and she said she believed me, but despite that, she always kept one eye on me at all times. However, as long as I deal with the stupid little things she asks me to do, I won't get hurt. I just have to keep playing along until she lets her guard down and I can escape.

Unfortunately, she never let her guard down again. It was far too easy for her to lock me up inside the dollhouse day after day. I never got another chance to run. For what felt like months, I slaved away trapped in Claire's room. Since I could move on my own, she forced me to act out little scenes for her. I became an actor, a puppet on a string for her to do with as she pleased. Charlie was my new name. Though I continuously try to tell her I already have a name, she stuck with Charlie. I knew better than to refuse her.

It was agonizing mental torture day in and day out. All of her dolls were the same scale as the dollhouse, so my role was that of the small, youngest sister; always belittled by the rest of the family, yet somehow always the center of attention. Claire made sure of it. She adored me, but in all the wrong ways.

I was dragged along everywhere with her, but I feared both her wrath and the potential fright from her sister, who thinks I’m possessed or cursed. Technically, I am cursed, but not in the way she’s probably thinking. There was a brief moment where I was desperately tempted to tell her, though. Claire had me with her, sitting right beside her sister. All I had to do was call out to her, and she’d likely take me far away from my awful captor. But then what would she do to me? Rat me out to her parents? Try to ‘exorcise’ or kill me? No, it’s better to stay where I am. Claire also tried to hide me as best she could. I guess she thinks I might try to tell someone or run away again. At this point, I don’t think I have the strength to run away.

Late one afternoon, as I was sitting around the table for a 'meal' with the other dolls, I snapped. Not the violent kind of snap like twigs underfoot, but rather a quiet, groaning crumble like that of a felled tree. I remember it so clearly. It was right in the middle of a scene where I was supposed to talk about my fake day at fake school with my fake family. My line came, I opened my mouth to speak, and.. started sobbing. Just out of the blue. I couldn't keep pretending any longer.

Slipping out of the chair that was just a little too tall, I fell to the ground and continued to bawl. Two fingers dragged me out of the dollhouse to the bedroom floor. I could feel Claire's gaze on my back. I held in a sob long enough to glance upward, and instantly sobered. My frustrated tears dried on my face.

Claire gave me such a cold, evil glare that my breath hitched in my chest. "That isn't your line," she said annoyedly, "Get back in and say your line." I tried. Trust me, I really tried. In fear and in vain I tried to go back, but I collapsed within the first two steps. Before I could continue on sobbing, I was yanked off my feet and thrown angrily down on her little kid's table in the corner. I could only watch in terror as her form loomed ever closer. Desperately, I tried to form an apology. Even if I had, I doubt that would've stopped her.

"Please, don't do this! Whatever you want to do to me-" Claire effortlessly pinned me down while I struggled for freedom. "No! I'll do anything! Just stop! STOP! PLEASE!" My pathetic sobbs fell on deaf ears. I quickly turned plastic in fear of what would happen, and thank god I did. In one terrible motion, she grasped my right arm and tore it clean off. All that was left was a gaping plastic socket.

"Huh, maybe you are a doll after all," Claire mused, noticing it. I screamed, but no sound came from my mouth. I don't exactly have vocal chords when I'm plastic, or a throat for that matter. I can barely even move.

A new realization dawned on me quickly afterwards. If I turn back, my arm will bleed out. My plastic form would have to be my only form. Unless I could somehow bargain for my arm back. I did; I tried desperately to get her to listen. But I couldn't get her to understand me before, nevermind now — I literally don't have a voice. "Forget your lines and you'll end up with more than just your arm missing," Clare threatened at the end of it all.

What did it matter? I can't act for her now. I was just like the rest of her dolls, still and compliant. I could move around with enough effort, but why bother? After only a few days of staying plastic, I became completely lethargic. There was no hope of escape. I would die here. Can I even die now? Being plastic, I don't think I can.

Ellie

I'd long come to terms with the fact that Hailey had run off. Wherever she was, I hoped she was doing alright. There wasn't really much I could do to find her beyond the searching I did, so in the end, the thought of her haunted little dollhouse was melancholy at best. I visited it on occasion; I even took her older brother to try and get answers from him on where his sister might’ve run off to, but he sat there lifelessly the whole time. Hailey really wasn’t kidding about them trying to keep the secret. The rest of the dolls don’t even know they’re people, I don’t think.

I really did try to befriend him, though. He was clearly adult age, so a lot of my befriending probably went right over his head. Still, I sat around and gave him company for several days. Once in the middle of the night, I caught him sneaking around and immediately got up to see him, but he fell over plastic before I got close. Two weeks went by before I put him back and gave up on him. Finding Hailey slowly became less and less of a priority.

That was until one day, while I was watching a show on TV, I noticed my sister playing with her dolls on the floor to my left. This was a completely normal occurrence, except there was a new, familiar-looking doll that caught my eye. Shuffling inconspicuously closer on the couch, I peered down. It was Hailey. It was undoubtedly Hailey. And she was missing an arm. I blanched at the sight, and for a moment, I thought she was dead. Then I remembered the strange way she could switch from flesh to plastic. Hailey had been a plastic doll instead of flesh and blood beneath the splinters of the small dollhouse where I’d found her. Her transformation must be some sort of unnatural defense. I knew Claire would never willingly give Hailey to me though, so I chose to improvise.

I pretended to be uninterested in her games, and glued my eyes to the television. When Claire disappeared down the hall to use the bathroom, I swept in and stole Hailey away. In a half run, I rushed into my room and locked the door behind me. Once I was behind the safety of my bedroom door, I carefully placed Hailey on my desk. Her plastic form fell sideways, limp. I stilled, was she dead?

"Hailey?" I'd never actually called her by her name before. Almost agonizingly slowly, she sat up. Her movements were almost mechanical as she tried to make the best use of the few joints she still had. Her missing arm only added to her limited movements. Wait, without her arm… "You can't turn back, can you?" I realized solemnly. Hailey slowly shook her head, mute. I couldn't even tell what she was feeling; her face was a mask of dull plastic expression. No doubt it was somewhere between terrified and miserable.

"Where's your arm?" I asked her. "It must be in my sister's room somewhere, right? If I bring you with me, could you help me get it?" Hailey nodded vigorously — the fastest I’d seen her move. Eagerly, I reached out to pick her up. A second later, she pressed herself against the back wall behind my desk. Though I couldn't read her expressions, she made it clear enough that she would NOT be manhandled. I don't blame her, especially knowing where she's actually been all this time.

I cupped my hands together and held them out for her, gesturing to climb in. Hailey’s plastic form shuddered, but she slowly shuffled her way into my hands, balancing awkwardly on legs that barely bent. I lifted her up and cautiously opened my bedroom door. Slinking quietly down the hall, I uneasily watched the doorway to the living room. Claire was frantically searching through her things, no doubt trying to find where Hailey had disappeared to. Thankfully, where Claire was currently situated in the living room made it hard for her to see down this hallway.

I slipped into her room and waited patiently for Hailey to give me the next directions. It must've been pretty hard work. She had to put in so much effort to simply point at things around us to guide me. As it turned out, her arm had been stashed in one of Claire's jewelry boxes. We'd found it just in time, too. My sister's footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Her room was one half of a jack and jill set, connected by a bathroom. Before Clare made it to her door, I'd slipped away into the bathroom and out into the other room. I waited in the second room — a guest bedroom; my room was just beyond this one. Hailey shifted nervously against my fingers, cold plastic pressing up against warm flesh.

Once I was sure Claire would be in there for a while, I crept back into my own room and re-locked the door. Placing Hailey back on my desk, I examined the plastic arm I'd stolen. Hailey desperately tried to stand, but the weight of the plastic was off balance, and she kept falling over backwards. Eventually, I sat down and took her gently in my hand, cautiously bending her plastic limbs to let Hailey sit down. She went completely still the moment I touched her. I didn't know whether it was because she trusted me, or because she was afraid of me, but I'm guessing it was more of the latter.

"I don't know if this will hurt or not, but I'm going to try to shove this back in now, alright?" I asked, holding out her arm. Hailey nodded, slower this time, like she was more hesitant. With one hand, I propped up Hailey’s body, and with the other I held the blunt side of her arm. Carefully, I pressed the plastic joint back into its socket. Tenuous pressure soon built up enough to snap the limb back into place with such a loud crack, that for a moment I thought I'd broken it.

Hailey took one small test movement, then immediately swapped back. Her ridgid, plastic features melded and smoothed. Her once expressionless face seemed to vanish beneath a horribly terrified expression. Hailey’s face was streaked with tears, and her eyes were bloodshot. It looked like she hadn't eaten or slept in days, which might very well be the case. She hesitantly edged herself backwards to the far side of my desk, whimpering as she felt the wall behind her, blocking her from going any further. "Are.. Are you going to kill me?" she asked in an eerily hollow voice, "Be-" she paused to cough, "Because I'm cursed?"

Oh, right. The last time we saw each other, I ran off in terror. Now, I know the truth; it was evidently clear. Despite her somewhat chilling abilities, Hailey really is just a person. A person who'd been tortured by whatever hell my sister thought to do with her. "Of course not," I answered in the kindest voice I could muster, "I'm not my sister. I won't hurt you."

Immediately, Hailey started crying. She knelt on my desk, head bent over as she quietly sobbed. I carefully reached out and scooped her up, unsure how else to comfort her. "You're ok," I whispered when she flinched in my grasp. For the first time, I noticed the ugly purple bruises that lined her arms. "Forget what I said to you before. I'm sorry I ran out. I swear I went back to apologize the very next day. It never occurred to me that my sister had found you. I kinda thought you left."

Hailey only curled up tighter in my hands. Eventually, she was all cried out. I placed her down and she stumbled backwards drowsily. I caught her before she could fall, and eased her down. She slumped over and almost fell asleep right then and there before she bumped one of her bruises and flinched awake. Startled, Hailey looked up at me frighteningly. "Why am I.. tired? So.. tired?" She could barely form words.

"You're probably sleep deprived, and by the looks of it, starving too." I lowered her to the surface of my desk, "Stay there, I'll get you some food." I raced out of the room and straight to the kitchen. A slice of bread and a bottle of water were all I could grab before dashing back. Again, I double checked the lock behind me. Hailey had fallen asleep, but I'd taken enough health and science classes to know that this was bad. If she fell asleep now, there was a good chance she wouldn't wake up.

I shook Hailey awake; thankfully she hadn't completely checked out. Then, I quickly ripped up the slice of bread into pieces small enough for her to eat, and handed her one. She scarfed it down while I poured out some water into a bottlecap for her to drink. It looked so wrong watching her practically eat from my hand, but right now Hailey probably couldn't care less. After making sure she'd eaten enough, I let her sleep. It was a bit safer now that her body had something to sustain itself for a while longer.

I dutifully sat at my desk until she awoke. Only leaving once to poke my head out the door to say: "No Claire, I haven't seen your missing doll, but I'm sure it's around somewhere. After all, it can't just get up and walk away, can it?" As I sat there patiently, I thought through what had happened between Hailey and my sister. Could Claire really be that sadistic? Why did she do this to Hailey? I had to admit, she didn’t have the best track record, but she should surely know better than to do this to a person, right? I huffed, plunking back down next to my desk. While Hailey slept, I looked over her bruises. She looked awful, tortured even. I gave my sister the benefit of the doubt and hoped that this had only happened because Hailey could barely move and couldn't speak. Hopefully, Hailey had been plastic the whole time, and my sister had only mistook her for another doll.

Hailey

I was greeted with three different kinds of pain when I woke up. My stomach was eating itself from the inside out, my head was pounding, and the bruises everywhere throbbed dully. I groaned a little in agony, and the whole right side of my vision shifted. My first instinct was to brace myself for the worst. I'd been sleeping, and it was daylight. Surely Claire would punish me for this. However, when nothing happened, I risked a glance at the gigantic figure beside me. I realized with a mixture of relief and terror that I was now held captive by a different sister. At least this one understands that I'm a person. This one tries to communicate with me.

Then, I noticed the plate of food and water to my left. Not even bothering to ask if I was allowed to, I scrambled the short distance across the desktop and ate. I was in the middle of another ravenous bite, having eaten a good amount of the available food, when Ellie suddenly interjected. "You probably shouldn't eat much more, you don't want to get sick."

Who the hell cares if I get sick? I'm hungry. I tried to keep eating, but she reached for me and I practically flung myself out of the way. Trust me, I wanted to stand my ground, but I'd been attacked so many times for disobedience it was like a natural reflex to me. My landing only made my bruises throb angrily, and I sucked in a harsh breath of air to calm the pain. Ellie gave me a sympathetic look and poured me a fresh cap of water. It only then occurred to me that I was very much her pet, all things considered. I came when I was called, did as she asked, ate from her scraps. Hell, I even cried right in front of her as she held me. I didn't like that revelation one bit.

"What do you want with me?" I asked, remembering our brief conversation before I passed out. "If you're not going to kill me.. am I just your pet now?" Ellie seemed shocked, which might be a good thing? I watched as she looked between me and the plate of food next to me. No doubt recognizing the sad predicament I was in.

She sighed, "I read about what happened to you." Ellie leaned forward slightly and looked me over. "You're Hailey Willson, aren't you?" It was strange hearing my real name for the first time in who-knows-how-long. I almost didn't recognize it. "Yes, I'm Hailey Willson, a REAL person. I- I'm not a doll.. please, I-" I what? I'm tired of being treated like shit? I just want to be normal again? Was it not my own damn fault that I'm stuck like this?

"Just.. I'm begging you, you have to understand." But how could she? Never in her wildest dreams would Ellie be in the same situation I am. "I'll try to," she answered cautiously, "And you aren't my pet, or anything like that. I do see you as a person, honestly I do. I know how this looks," she gestured to the meager little meal she'd given me, "but I swear it's only because I was in a hurry. You're not a pet, you're not a doll. I.. don't know.. a friend, maybe? That is if you're willing."

I knelt, trying to process what I was hearing. My head pulsed painfully against my skull. "That's.. Thank you, I- I just don't feel like making any more life-altering decisions right now." Ellie nodded, and I eased myself backwards until I was lying half propped up on a stack of books piled on the desk. I closed my eyes and took a few shuddering breaths. How had I screwed myself over so completely? Everyone, even a little kid, has more control over my own life than I do. Any of these people could do whatever they wanted to me, and I'd have no choice but to comply. Sure, I would be treated, for the most part, like I should be here with Ellie, but that was entirely up to her. If she felt like it, she could turn on me in an instant and I would be powerless against her, against any of them.

This was all too much for me; I could feel hot tears sliding down my cheeks. Not again. I must look like such a pity case to Ellie. No wonder she wants to take care of me. Then again, I probably looked just as bad around her sister, but Claire had never so much as given me a day off. I don't want to be 'taken care of', though. I just want things to be normal. A longing pain jabbed at me from the inside as still more tears seeped through my eyelids, now shut tightly.

I'll never have a normal life, I realized in mental agony. Even if I am a person, at least to Ellie, there are still so many things I’ll never be able to do on my own.

While I sat hunched over in desperation, I began to wish that I'd never known I was human. My life as a doll was terribly simple, but at least I didn't feel like this. I cut myself off at the last moment, eyes flickering open. You idiot! Wishing on stupid shit is exactly what got you into this mess in the first place!

I gasped, realizing that I could've doomed myself a second time. Slowly, I turned to Ellie. She was still sitting next to me, hand slightly outstretched like she wasn't sure whether she should try to comfort me with it. Her face was etched with worry; she looked almost as helpless as I felt. It was slightly relieving to see Ellie so distraught — so entirely different from her psychotic sister. I know that probably makes me a terrible person, but it’s reassuring to know that she actually cares about me. Despite everything, I just might survive.

#again I don’t know what inspired younger me to write this…#this is the only one of my ‘old g/t’ stories still worth salvaging #The rest of them are either half-baked ideas or too short to be considered stories #g/t #giant tiny #whump #promptober/inktober

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biopanik · 8 months

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The Morality of Fandom Activities

This might as well be an essay, so apologies for my long asf post. Just a few heads up: this is in no way talking about people who support incest irl and MAPS. Those are extreme cases that I'm not qualified myself to talk about, I only know that I don't want them on my page 😭

I stopped having a very active social media presence when I was finishing high school. For me, this was a huge deal, because as the token weird queer kid all my life, Tumblr and fandom culture provided a safe space for self-expression, developing my writing skills and exploring myself. Fandoms usually play a huge role for teens, since their interactions and their experiences shape their mindsets into the primary form their adult brain takes. Whenever I look at my old posts, I can see the points where I was maturing, I could see my opinions change very clearly without always connecting old posts to significant life events.

What is very important to take into account is that I was in ALL the "red flag" fandoms, even some niche ones. BNHA, Homestuck, RWBY, Okegom, Voltron, you name it. I was into it, I had Instagram edits of it saved on my phone. As a result, I am familiar with all kinds of fujoshi, yuri bros, proshippers, etc. I'm not here to inform you about my entire digital footprint though. I'm here to discuss fandom morality. Fair warning, I will be referring to a bunch of dark themes vaguely.

I want to start by saying I understand the appeal of a toxic ship. A ship that is straight-up problematic given the context of the story. Be it because the characters are abusive to each other, a very big age gap or them being blood relatives - I get it, even if I'm one of the people who's easily repelled by this shit. I get why Junjou Romantica, for example, became so popular. The big body proportions, the "forbidden romance" trope, the guilty pleasure, I get it. I understand how nerdy young women would fawn over yaoi because they craved a soft male touch. I understand the south park proshippers because they inserted their younger selves into the characters and imagined scenarios where their own fucked-up childhoods would make sense.

My experience with Funamusea helped me understand that things that are taboo can be appealing in a fictional form. There were a lot of issues because the horror used in Funa's games was centered around sexual battery and assault. To me, that made perfect sense. Funa games are packed to the brim with gore, war, mental abuse, and disturbing characters. Of course, there would be SA in such a fucked up setting. Rape is a horrifying thing that no one should face because it is a subcategory of violence. VIOLENCE IS SOMETHING NO ONE SHOULD EVER COME ACROSS. Therefore, why is it that people who write stories containing this trope receive so much hate, but 1940s war aus for example get praised? Why is FMA a pacifist masterpiece and not torture porn?

For "glorifying" real-life horrors? Triggering people? Let's broaden this.

Think of your favorite slasher film. Your favorite best-seller horror book. Do you think that the people behind these stories are freaks and murderers? Psychopaths are capable of fitting in anywhere they want, even fucking churches. So it is useless to assume creators are moral instigators for their VILLAINS. Now let's think about Colleen Hoover and Sara J Maas (or as I like to call her, Sara J Ass). Their "love" stories are super popular because of the immense marketing that they have received, despite profiting off romanticized harmful content. Backlash is still minimized in contrast to anime niche, because they are backed by million-dollar industries and the fact that they conform to the norms of a straight story. Although that, is a topic for another discussion - how problematic characteristics are "musts" in irl relationships.

Lastly, I want to talk about the so-called community saviors who want to protect these platforms. Those who want to build a safe environment so that no predators infiltrate our sacred grounds where we discuss Persona 5 ABO dynamics. A lot of them are oftentimes victims of this sort of abuse. I myself have come across groomers. But tbh 15yo kids who reblog Shiro X Keith are not really the enemy? Anyway, that's a little besides the point. I want to directly talk to these people right now, hear me out: you are hypocrites. You only pretend to care about Tumblr communities but do not hesitate to accuse someone of abuse (any kind) and tell them to end their life. How are you protecting anyone like this? How are you a positive role model for the children partaking in fandom activities when you show clearly that you wish death upon someone. VIOLENCE IS SOMETHING NO ONE SHOULD EVER COME ACROSS, I re-iterate and you possibly agree, but YOU ARE STILL VIOLENT, and justify it by being "virtuous". How are you any different from @\hivliving? Her actions will forever be engraved in her victims' heads, even if she was humiliated in the end. Then again, it would have been better for her to write a shitty low-quality fic about Hamilton having HIV or whatever the fuck, if looking up basic things about HIV was so difficult. After 7 years in & out of fandoms, there's one thing I'm fine with, and that's bad fics.

Ultimately there is so much more I want to say. I might cover this topic on my bestie and I's podcast sometime (soz it's in Greek). The bottom line here though is not about keeping a neutral stance on problematic media. It is to enjoy whatever the fuck you want just because it makes you happy. It is to differentiate what's a wolf in sheep's clothing from what's a sheep. It is to accept that kids will ALWAYS lie about their age to access all sorts of NSFW. God knows I did so. It is to recognize them and realize that their creators and fans are most likely not going to act out every bad thing that occurs in said story. Because if that were the case, with the rise of all the Yeagerists, we'd have so many bitchless college students trying to start little rumblings of their own, and the world would be a much funnier place.

Now go outside and spread your moral philosophies to people outside your Discord server

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spiderwarden · 3 months

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Hey, your headcannons and musings on Minthara are really cool! How do you think a scenario between Minthara and a romanced Tav/Durge would go where her partner learns about Minthy's kid back in Menzo? (Assuming a universe where that datamined speak with dead dialogue is accurate)

I ADORE exploring ever possible aspect of Minthara and yes, that includes treating her child that she had back home as an important part of a portrayal. (In which I do I incorporate a lot of the existence of this daughter she had a lot, especially in my writings with @menzoberras and sometimes with her karlach on @infernaliscor )

(I treat every bit of canon, datamined or not as some sort of canon, for an example her early access selves I treat them as younger versions of herself because technically they ARE but I just make it in world.)

Okay so lets break this down for a second and treat this like canon for a moment. Let's assume that she has a child back home in Menzobarranzan, the exact quote that her corpse says when you use speak to dead on her in act 1 goes something like 'kill orin, then find a home to raise my daughter in.' which implies that this child is so very young still. Young enough that she is easily forgotten if she's away for too long so we can assume that this little girl is still an infant when she leaves an starts her conquering march on Menzobarranzan.

if that's the case why doesn't she mention it in game? let us take a moment to remember that when you save Minthara from the towers, she has LITERAL BRAIN DAMAGE that is not speaking of. Remember how they were blasting her tadpole and trying to make her into a thrall? There are memories of hers that are literally smashed and cut away from her because i imagine they literally create thraws by doing what - destroying the brain and who they are. Minthara , is likely aware that she has a child but cannot recall much about her outside of the motherly nature that she had that makes her think about this child often (that is, until she comes across her Drow baby daddy that is by chance Tav.)

Now with her relationship with Dark Urge and how supportive she is and how loving she turns. Her dedication is based out of love and adoration on top of a shared Oath to take on the Absolute and take vengeance agaisnt Orin. And once that is complete the bond that would be shared between them. I think - the reaction of her having a living child would depend on the choices and opinions of the DURGE themselves? Depending on which they choose when it comes to their father Bhaal, and the fact that she literally can get pregnant from them at the end of the playthrough. (Let us not forget Minthara has Bhaal's approval when it comes to what the Father of Murder thinks of the chosen partner). And whichever child is born of Dark Urge and Minthara? Will certainly get the upbringing of a warrior and every bit compensated from Minthara's lost time with her daughter back in Menzobarranzan.

(also juicy potential for that daughter to come seeking Minthara's head later)

#[ 🕷️ ] —— inquires #[ 🕷️ ] —— headcanons #[ 🕷️ ] —— musings #[ i don't know if this made sense but tHANK YOU FOR THE ASK ANON!!!!! ]#[ i always welcome them ]#[ i have also named this child on my blog- her name is maydril and i love her a lot ]#[ and so does shi'ndra ]

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fionaapplerocks · 2 years

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Fiona Apple - Harper’s Bazaar interview April 1998

last part:

In the past, Apple has spoken of having distinctly separate selves: the unruly, crazy brat and the controlling parent whose 24-hour job is to monitor and appease the brat, occasionally letting her out. She admits that the brat emerged last year during her acceptance speech at the MTV awards, where she won Best New Artist. Apple, potential belle of the MTV ball became Carrie, prom nightmare. (Her rebel sermon included the following: "I'm gonna use this opportunity the way I wanna use it... What I wanna say is... this world is bullshit and you shouldn't model your life about what you think we think is cool.") "Everyone was trying to keep this smiling thing going," Apple recalls, "and when all of a sudden I went up there and I was like the drunken asshole at the party who yells out," here she gets giggly and snarl-screams, "Mom, you're fat!" She regains composure. "And everyone's like, Oh God."

Apple imagines that one day more people will relate to where she's coming from. They'll see that there's a kernel of humor in almost everything she does. "Nobody has a sense of humor," she says. "Everything I read is," she starts kicking the couch, "'Fiona Apple, lighten up.' What do you do? All you can do is do what you do, like your friends, do your shit, and try to laugh."

She lightens up. I ask her if there's a song on the radio that's her guilty pleasure. She smiles wryly and offers "You Make Me Wanna," by Usher. She used to hate the Spice Girls, she says, "but I have to say, now I sweat Posh Spice so bad. I like her best because she never smiles in pictures. She also said once 'If you don't like us, then just have a laugh at us.' She doesn't care if you get the joke the way she wants you to. So from now on, Posh Spice is my girl."

Sometimes, says Apple, the best jokes are the ones only a few people get. Last November, Courtney Love announced that she and Billy Corgan, lead singer of Smashing Pumpkins, had been trying to speak to Apple but that Apple's management was keeping them at a distance. Her concern, Love stated, stemmed from an impression that Apple, while doing a jailbait turn in her slick, stylish "Criminal" video, was being exploited as she romped about somewhat unhappily in her underwear. Apple eventually met up with Love and Corgan at a party. "We kind of joked about it," Apple says. "She wanted to be there for me like an older sister. I told her, 'Bitch, you're out there wearing your underwear too,'" she says laughing. "She said something to the effect of, 'I'm a grown woman, and I can do that.' Courtney's one misconception about me is that she thinks I'm nine years old."

She may no longer be a child, but for Apple, who first went to private school, then to public and night school, and then studied at home, the entertainment industry is just more school; it's all a popularity game. Apple remembers all too clearly the days when she was called a dog by her classmates because she had unruly hair, wore glasses and kept to herself. Adding insult to injury was the fact that her older sister, Amber, was pretty and popular. When I tell Apple that this scenario reminds me of the film Welcome to the Dollhouse, she says: "My shrink told me I should see it, and I did. Life was bad for me back then, but not that bad. Actually the sister in that film reminded me of Amber, because she was pretty and popular but also very sweet."

Later I ask Apple's sister about those days. "I almost collapsed when she told me she thought I was like that sister twirling around in a tutu in Welcome to the Dollhouse," says 22-year-old Amber, who currently plays the ingenue in a Venice, CA, production of the musical called A Happy Lot. "When I was younger I would feel bad because I got a lot of attention, and I was aware that Fiona felt lonely and unsocial. But I always had this feeling that everything Fiona felt had knocked her down as a child was contributing to something good that was waiting for her."

I ask how Apple's rape affected the family. "I was very angry," she says. "It happened at a time when she was developing as a woman, coming out of her shell. It was such a blow. I was so afraid that she was going to retreat. But she was so strong. She learned to lift herself up. I remember her reading Maya Angelou's book of poems. She used to sleep with that book."

If Apple is, in her sister's words, "a compulsive truth teller," lately she has been developing a new policy of discretion, at least where relationships are concerned (she will say that although she's not seeing magician David Blaine anymore, the two are still close). "I don't want to get into my personal life," she says. "It's just not worth it, you know?" She pauses for a moment, a mischievous spark in her eyes, and brings up the name of a woman whose send-up of her MTV acceptance speech on a comedy album made her cry: "I'm going out with Janeane Garafolo. Could we just pretend I told you that?"

Apple has spent three days in the studio working on her follow-up to Tidal, but she's not happy with being here. She feels rushed. There is the title: Initially called Corrupt, it's morphed into a variation that Apple spells out on my pad: OKerupt. She explains in a dry tone: "It's like, okay, erupt. Like I'm going to erupt on this album." Or you could read it "Oh, corrupt," as Apple also does, but you'd have to hear her say it wearily to really get it.

Track titles include "Limp," "Paper Bag," "Fast As You Can," "On the Band" and "Love Ridden" -- "like plague-ridden," she adds. This collection of songs is not nearly as introspective as Tidal, she says, but at this early stage, who knows what shape the album will take? Of the song "Limp," she explains, "It's about when people try to make you feel that there's something wrong with you, because they have a need to be a savior. They make you feel like you're crazy just so they can be the ones who help you. But I'm not going to give them the opportunity anymore."

We've been talking for three hours. At this moment, Andy Slater strides into the studio. Apple looks up. Artist and producer-manager speak in the shorthand of an old married couple. Apple says "I'm going to have to..." and then reading the expression on his face adds "What?"

AS: "You have to what?" FA: "Go." AS: "Home?" FA: "Shopping." After a brief silence, Andy says: "Do you want to work tonight?" FA: "Record?" AS: "We should work tomorrow." FA: "I thought I already said we weren't." AS: "You know what? Jake wants to use the time. I'm going to let him use the time." FA: [arms crossed in front of her, defiantly]: "Good."

Andy slowly walks out of the room. Apple looks ahead, silent for a moment. Yes, she confirms when I ask, Jakob Dylan will be taking her unwanted studio time tomorrow. "You just witnessed a big step," she says. "Because the option is always there for me to work. He'll mention it, and I will say yes. And that's why I've killed myself in the past." Fiona Apple pats herself lightly on the arm. "Good girl," she whispers, and then exhales. fin

#Fiona Apple #Harpers Bazaar #scan #interviews

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dennou-translations · 3 years

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Violet Evergarden: Booklet 3

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases. If anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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At that moment, I found myself thinking, “Aah, maybe if I disappeared, if I vanished right now, nobody would notice.”

Once I thought this, I could no longer think of anything else.

Before I realized, my hands and feet had moved. I slowly moved my whole body and left that place behind.

Nobody called for. Nobody tried to stop me.

Which was why I was now hiding. I was in a corner of a maze of roses in the royal palace of this forest kingdom.

I looked up at the sky. It was overcast. The air was a little heavy, so there was a chance of rain.

Was anyone looking for me by now? No, they might not have noticed. I could bet a hundred of Drossel’s white camellias that they hadn’t. “That wouldn��t be a bet,” someone said from within my mind.

——What will happen to me if I just stay here like this?

I tried to think calmly. Firstly, I would get hungry. My body would get bitten by insects. The sky was looking shady, so rain might come pouring down on me. I would get a fever from the cold, and then... and then... and then...

The power of my imagination was scarce, so the scenario ended there.

Stretching out my dress’s sleeves and removing my long gloves, I plucked the grass with a bare hand. Picking up some rose petals that had fallen to the ground, I threw them into the air even though they would not fly too far. I looked almost like a child trying to contain her bad mood. Most likely, if anyone saw me, they would wonder what on earth the queen of Fluegel was doing.

Why had I grown up to be like this? All I ever did was think big of small matters and be in a state of chaos. It was such a weak mindset, which people most likely wouldn’t expect to come from someone born in a family that was meant to rule a country.

“Members of the royal family are actually not supposed to expose their original selves. Under no circumstance should you forget that you must act with dignity and be a role model to your subjects.”

Even though I had already become a wife, I behaved like a little girl.

“However...”

I had experienced a romance like the ones that young girls dream with.

“...from my long time working in the court...”

I fell in love and won my beloved lord over.

“...these have been the most memorable Public Love Letters. Yes... in a good sense.”

After running and running, I was now living the aftermath of that.

My name is Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel. Already a year had passed ever since I married off to Fluegel.

Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel and the Forest Kingdom

Drossel and Fluegel – no matter what could happen to these two nations in the future, they had me as their intermediary princess. If I happened to die in this rose labyrinth without anybody ever finding me, I wanted someone to remember that.

As to why things had turned out like this, I’d have to rewind my life a little to explain. I had to mix up the cauldron of time that made the hours pass.

How far back was I supposed to go?

That beautiful golden-haired girl. My favorite. The ghostwriter who had become a mediator for my romance.

Rewinding to the times of Violet Evergarden’s Public Love Letters would be going back too far. It should be a bit later. Perhaps the appropriate would be around the time when I, who was once the third princess of Drossel – that beautiful country where white camellias bloomed in copious amounts –, went away and changed my surname. Yes, right, that was adequate enough.

Fluegel was a neighboring country of prosperous forestry. I was married to the man who had the priority rights to succeeding its throne. Letting go of everything that I had cherished until then, I married off.

I had transformed from a girl into an adult. Although my appearance hadn’t changed much, that was my status.

My husband was Damian Baldur Fluegel. He was the person who possessed the rights of succession as the next monarch at the beginning of our marriage, but a few days ago, he had inherited the throne from his father and become a king both in name and reality. In other words, I had become the queen as well.

Probably the worst queen in history. After all, I had run away.

Let me try to trace the rewound time with exact precision.

Fluegel’s capital was a city of fresh greenery, which had a castle erected in the depths of a forest. Said royal palace couldn’t be considered sturdy or showy, but it was in perfect harmony with the nature, endowed with a calculated beauty. Unlike Drossel, a country that maintained itself through the tourism industry, Fluegel had much of its national interest shouldered by its forestry. Drossel’s national flower was the white camellia, while Fluegel’s was the red rose.

The two countries were separated by a large river, but one would be tempted to wonder how they could be so different.

Differences were by no means a bad thing. After all, Lord Damian and I had met because we had been raised in such different cultures. That was exactly why I became attracted to Lord Damian’s… albeit artless, uninhibited personality, which was so unlike that of the royals from Drossel and other nations...

Yes, “differences” were not bad. But the so-called “differences”... how should I put it? When they weren’t tolerated, instead viewed as an absence of profits and effort, they would turn into a really bad thing.

Most likely, that was what made me the way I was now.

Was this an excuse? It might be. But that was how it was. That was it.

At first, my life in Fluegel didn’t go well.

Becoming used to even small differences in habit was extremely difficult for me, which caused the chamberlain to sigh often. He was someone who deserved respect for having taken care of Lord Damian’s personal matters for quite a long time.

There was no mistaking that I was in a position higher than his, but I soon understood that he looked down on me. One could tell as much by things such as the movements of the other’s eyes and their attitude.

The chamberlain would tell me: “That is not the way we do it in Fluegel”, “This is for your protection. You will be criticized otherwise. Now, fix yourself up”, “I have said this several times, but...”

I didn’t think I was some idiot. I believed myself to be the kind of girl who could do well if I put my mind into it. But I had to admit that I was a very unstable crybaby.

The differences such as the ones that the chamberlain talked about were, for example, the order in which people were seated at meals, how to lift my dress when hopping into a carriage, and other minute details like that. If I were told such things back in Drossel, I was positive that I could internalize it in the first try. After that, I definitely wouldn’t repeat the mistake. But the moment I tried to do it in this foreign country that I wasn’t familiar with, being watched by the monitoring eyes of someone that didn’t have me in his favor, I ended up failing. It was almost as if I were inducing the failure on my own. What was this phenomenon?

The chamberlain most likely knew this as well. He knew it, and even then he would sigh and speak in a detached manner while watching me go pale. There was nothing good in it for either of us, yet we would find ourselves repeating this vicious cycle.

To be honest, we were so incapable of getting along that the desire to jump off from one of the Fluegel castle’s windows as retaliation surged from within me. However, I had no choice but to keep going. Because I was a newcomer and that person was an elder.

If I didn’t get used to this, it would be the end of me.

Right, and there was also the tea party. The flow of the Cauldron of Time had finally returned to the present.

It all had begun… from the chamberlain suggesting that if I, who had become the queen, held a tea party, I would certainly make myself known as someone who shines like the stars in the night sky. He gave a long speech about my authority as a queen being this and that. That detestable chamberlain.

I did like tea parties, but even after being in Fluegel for a year, I wasn’t able to find myself anyone that I could consider close to me, so I frankly didn’t like the idea. I hadn’t gotten myself anyone to be on friendly terms with, so rather than a display of my power, wouldn’t this be deemed as more of a public execution for me?

Ever since I had arrived here, I was in the position of a foreign princess who had a political marriage with Lord Damian, so both the royal family that I had joined and the people who took care of me were somewhat distant… To make things worse, I was the very person who had tainted the traditional event of the Public Love Letters. People were wary of me as an unprecedented princess.

I had seen that Fluegel had a liberal aspect to it and wasn’t too bound by formalities in comparison to Drossel, but when it came to the royal family, that was a different story.

Whenever I passed the corridors of the royal palace, I could hear one name being whispered. Everyone would have faint smiles on their faces. “Baby Princess” was what they called me.

The one who came up with it was Lord Damian’s younger sister or something. Indeed, I had childish facial features and I was the girl who had married for love, so there was no helping that I would be mocked like this.

Receiving a nickname and having it made into a title meant that it was ingrained in people. Once a knight earned himself an alias, others would expect him to have a conduct that was worthy of it. In that same manner, no matter what I, Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel, might say… I lived in Fluegel as the princess whom everyone would giggle at.

Whenever I made a mistake, “it’s because she’s a child”. If I happened to rush towards Lord Damian, “it’s because she’s a child”. Whenever I said anything, “it’s because she’s a child”.

If there was some magic spell that could turn me into a twenty-year-old right now, I would have taken it. It’d be great if I could instantly grab ahold of my dignity in a way that nobody would complain. But that was something that people had to be awarded to through the years, along with their efforts...

I might have been the Baby Princess today as well – the day of the tea party.

The chamberlain was in awfully high spirits, which one way or another was an omen for misfortune. I was watching from my bedroom as the elderly man briskly instructed the people around him.

From the room where I stayed with Lord Damian, I could see the castle’s garden, the rose maze that started from the garden’s entrance veering to the side, and the castle town. Back when we had just married, we used to often gaze outside the window together, but now we couldn’t even talk for more than five minutes.

Ever since succeeding the throne, Lord Damian was truly busy. He would be working while I waited for him in our room; by the time that I woke up, he would be by my side without me having realized it; as I stretched the creases that formed between his eyebrows while he was dreaming, he would wake up all of a sudden and then head off to the royal office again.

I was depressed since morning, because why did I have to hold a tea party while my husband was working so indiscriminately? But, well, this was also part of my duties. It was important for me to mingle with other women from a social status similar to mine. The trust earned from them would help not just me but also Lord Damian.

Those who controlled factions also had control of politics. Yes, yes, I knew that much. I had to do this exactly because things weren’t going well. In order to level up my speech skills, I had to start from taking up a stance. As my position was becoming worse, if I could get around here well, I would increase my authority in the royal territory without having to recreate myself.

I understood the reasoning behind this. What the chamberlain said was correct. He was implicitly telling me to do right, and I was the one at fault for not managing it...

The tea party was held in the garden outside at the arranged time.

There were people that I hadn’t seen ever since my wedding ceremony, whom I greeted while turning my head around at an incredible speed. Whenever someone sprinkled the subject of political affairs here and there, I’d throw it back at them with a smile, literally tearing apart and flinging away whatever came at me on repeat. Although the scene actually looked like a peaceful conversation, under the surface, I, the queen, was being evaluated, so this was a battle.

I thought I had done a really strenuous effort up until the middle of it. Instilling the impression that “My, so maybe the Baby Princess isn’t a bad person and is surprisingly smart when she talks?” was quite a success. The signs that I could make them deem me as worthy of standing by Lord Damian’s side were becoming visible. However, the very moment that Her Highness, the King’s young her sister, appeared in the tea party, everything I had set up crumbled down at once.

She was pretty late from the scheduled time – rather, she suddenly showed up when it was already ending.

Although she was close to me in age, she had a very adult appearance and was an awfully beautiful person. Renowned as one of Fluegel’s talented women, she was also involved with the National Assembly, and told us that she had rushed over because the meeting had ended just now. I had not yet been allowed to attend the meetings even though I was the queen, so I was terribly jealous... and a little miserable.

Of course, whatever had been discussed there became the topic, which Her Highness told the women present, explaining in a simplified manner. What a wonderful person she was.

Regardless, it felt like this was going to end as Her Highness’s tea party, even though it was mine. Well, that was okay too. Rather, it might be easier if there was someone to take the initiative to talk like this. I had a bug where I couldn’t speak very well to people whom I wasn’t close to, so I decided to leave it to her.

Despite this being a tea party, I hadn’t eaten anything, so I had the feeling that I would get hungry in the evening. I wondered what we would have for dinner.

Just like that, half of my soul disappeared somewhere else, so I didn’t notice that the subject had changed from state affairs to the next successor to the throne.

“Queen, are you listening? If things continue the way they are, there will be no helping it if a concubine is appointed.”

Since I hadn’t noticed it, I couldn’t react right away, even as I took the tremendous brutality of those words to the face. This had happened just a moment ago, so I didn’t remember very well what kind of reaction I’d had. I had the feeling that I had responded with a somewhat sluggish reply such as “aah” or “eeh”... much like the way that living creatures cried for the first time upon being born.

I could immediately tell that Her Highness wasn’t satisfied with my answer.

“It is because you are so laidback like this that the King has to fight the national affairs alone. You still intend to be here as a guest, not doing what you have to do, so everyone has to hold back and nobody can speak up their opinions. Talk more. Be more useful to the country. Most important of all, it has already been a year, yet nothing has been reported to us. Are you seriously discussing the succession with the King? If this goes on, someone will suggest a concubine for him.”

With such words thrown at me in sequence, I—I had... I had a thought. That perhaps she was trying to make me lose heart. Wasn’t I being attacked right now?

I looked around. Nobody attempted to open their mouths in order to defend me. There was no one. I had no one.

All of them were waiting for my reaction.

I knew this situation. I knew it very well. I wasn’t being treated as a person at the moment. My personality was being denied as well. The dignity that should be granted to the human being named Charlotte wasn’t being taken into account.

However, I didn’t break. Why?

Because I was used to being neglected.

“Yes, I am truly doing a poor job. I believe it is as you say.”

I was smiling.

“However, it has not yet been decided what will be my part of the work and what will be the King’s, as we are in the process of deciding on it as a couple.”

I was smiling mockingly.

“Now that I have talked to all of you like this, I have concluded I should propose my thoughts to the parliament slowly, little by little.”

I was... smiling.

“I was the princess of my country. But now, I am the queen of Fluegel. I did not intend to be here in the position of guest, but it is true that I was restraining myself. But is that not the same for all of you? I am aware. Everyone has been... well, surrounding me from a distance and looking after me. I was fretting, as it would have been better for you to tell me more directly if there was anything wrong... By all means, I would like to have a frank exchange of opinions with you in the future... and I hope that we can help each other... as fellow women.”

This was laughable.

Her Highness was appalled. So was everyone else. She must have spoken so conflictingly due to thinking that it was sure to make me start crying.

I wanted her to stop saying such stupid things. I was the former third princess of Drossel. Did she know what kind of country that was? It was a country where it was okay for women to become political tools. We were by no means granted the position to act freely like she did. As the shadows so-called “women”, we had no choice but earnestly do whatever we could.

I was born in a country were women were consumed and worn down. To top it off, I had been raised mostly by courtiers, away from my biological parents. I hadn’t seen my mother in forever.

Exhausted as a result of her marriage of convenience, Mother had Father build her a palace and secluded herself in it all day long every day. She did show up at the wedding ceremony, but she hadn’t even sent me a single letter after I had married off. She had probably already forgotten that she had given birth to me.

But that was the country I had been born in. I had been raised by one of this country’s strong women – a carefully selected, tough woman. This person patiently educated me, even though my aptitude wasn’t good. She explained things to me over and over again. She scolded me a lot. She taught me so that I would be able to marry anyone and live anywhere. She had also predicted that a situation like this might happen. So she told me how to act during a quarrel with other women.

That was why I smiled at times like these.

My looks weren’t bad. I was no idiot. I knew what effects I would bring about if I smiled. There was little that I could do, but I was going to be the one firing the best shot here.

I was a crybaby. I was a weakling. I was lonely.

However, I had been taught well. No matter what, I couldn’t lose in times like these. I knew that much.

I had been protected through the erasure of my personality.

That day’s tea party was over right then, and thanks to the chamberlain saying that it would soon be time to bring it to a close, it ended well.

At a later date, my feud or whatever with Her Highness would become a rumor around the royal palace, but that was a story of the future. In any case, it was over for now. Therefore, I was extremely relieved.

The chamberlain let me return to my room unusually early and consoled me with a “you must be tired”. “You were excellent today,” he told me. Enveloping my shaky palms in his hands, which had wrinkles just like Alberta’s, he warmed them up. “No matter what happens, do not forget that you have one ally,” he said.

From that, I understood a little something. That he, indeed, worried about me in his own way. I wasn’t fond of his way of doing things, but he had struggled as much as he could in order to do something to improve my position.

He had seen what I had gone through today, so he was commending my brave fight. I had been subjected to violence today. I had been told such terrible things. Even though I—I...

I was in love with Lord Damian.

Both Drossel and Fluegel were aware of this. The citizens of both kingdoms knew it. And yet, aah, how embarrassing. But everyone knew.

I was in love with that person. I was in love.

“You have not sired a child after a year, so there might be need for a concubine. Therefore, if such a woman appears, you should accept it,” she said, despite knowing how much it would hurt me.

I was told off. I was told off by the younger sister of the object of my affections. That was what she said to me.

“Thank you, but please, let me be alone.”

I still managed to keep my smile up, but as soon as I drove the chamberlain out of the room, the tears overflowed torrentially and I couldn’t stop them.

There should be things more painful than that out there in the world. I looked like a fool for crying because of something like this. But right now, I was feeling like the most pitiful person in the world. I wanted to return to Drossel. I wanted to go home to Drossel.

No, that wasn’t it. No, that wasn’t it. No, that wasn’t it.

I wanted to go back to the person who would always allowed me to cry, no matter how much I did so. The person who would stay by my side.

“Alberta...”

I wanted to go back to Alberta.

I knew it was stupid of me. But when I thought that a day might come when Lord Damian, my husband – the object of my affections –, would take another woman aside from me, it was so painful. My chest hurt – it hurt so much that it was hard to breathe. So I couldn’t contain my cries.

I wondered what had gone wrong.

Was it because I had started clamming up, since the chamberlain would always hammer me down by saying, “That kind of unheard-of behavior is not allowed here”, so I couldn’t speak the way I wanted to? Or was it because I was late to find out that not assertively addressing the royal family was bad manners, since I was in a position where I had to wait for people to talk to me first back in Drossel?

Perhaps it was everything.

Apparently, Fluegel hadn’t taken in a princess from abroad in the last sixty years, so maybe it was already difficult for them to accept a foreign object like me in the first place. Things would probably have been different if I were a great woman – yes, a woman like Her Highness –, yet I had nothing but tears. Still, was I such a horrible person that I had to be told such things?

Aah, nothing – just nothing. Nothing was working out. It might be that nothing would go well from now on too.

This thought swiftly made its way into my heart.

All of a sudden, I was able to clearly hear the sounds around me. The noises of someone walking, the whistling of the wind outside, my own breathing. The way that the tears fell down as they dripped from my eyelashes, the way that I was suddenly looking at myself in a holistic manner.

Yes, perhaps things would never work out from now onward. If so, then...

Then, shouldn’t I run away?

Several questions – such as to where, with whom and to do what – came to me, but I ignored them. I had probably broken down at that point.

I dropped my own heart, which I had been cherishing as much as possible in order for it not to break, onto my feet. I had the feeling that I heard a clank when doing so.