#so that they can amuse themselves with/hurt him and use him as a scapegoat for anything that goes wrong

[befuddled-calico-whump]

one more because I wasn't expecting the singer's emotion in this line

Gay Pirates by Cosmo Jarvis punched me in the stomach without remorse

this is in the first thirty seconds and I was like 'oh whumpy line' but it gets better

AHHHHHH

[elekktra]

so i‘ve started rewatching succession and I have thoughts. @garliclesbian and i were talking about it when watching the s3 finale: how it’s a brilliant commentary on how an abusive family situation, you get so caught up in the machinations of power, get so used to the Machiavellian logic of what are you trying to take from me? what’s the angle? (what do you have in your hands?) that you lose track of who‘s actually pulling the strings. the roy siblings never forget who‘s making the rules, but they forget that the puppet master is a player, as well. and as the audience, so do you. we focus so much on how logan made the kids believe that to come out on top, to have something you have to take it from someone else, that someone else‘s power is your powerlessness, in such a Lockeian logic of man being a wolf to man, that they fight each other like dogs, that they are wary of each other even when they should know better. it’s quite typical of narcisstic abuse: you pick a scapegoat and a favorite, and you have them fight each other always in what they think is a fight for who comes out on top, but really none of them will because the point is in the diversion: if they are busy tearing into each other, they can’t see that the game was never designed to be winnable. the point of the game is the game. and so they fight and push and maim and it never gets them anywhere, they are treading water, and every action they take gets them further and further from each other and thus further and further from actually seizing any power for themselves. it’s classic fucking game theory, it’s a prisoner‘s Dilemma in which the doors are locked and the room empty and of course they‘ll never cooperate. they can’t. to maximize gain you sell out the other player. but he sells you out, because he can’t fathom a world in which you don’t. you’ve both been taught that the other is a wolf. you are each other’s wolves. and so neither of you wins. the only move is mutual cooperation, and yet it’s the least likely to be taken. because when you’re right down in the middle of it, what could be seen as less rational than to trust a killer? and why does this work? because you can’t talk. because you are prisoners locked in different rooms and being fed the same fucking story. because your dad has you locked in a perpetual state of fight or flight, and to hesitate, to think, to talk is to die. and of course the only option is to break the door and work together. and it’s only when the siblings begin to do jsut that that they see that logan never wanted any of them to win. the game was rigged from the start because of course it was. logan says, i win, and it’s only then that they, that we see what should have been clear right from the start: logan‘s been playing the game all along. and we should have known from the pilot: ken does it all right. he does the work and picks the major, he plays by the rules and when they get him close enough to actually come out on top, logan changes the rules on him. because the fight is only amusing when no one comes close. it’s only when he sees ken on that cover that he thinks, how dare you? what are you trying to take from me? because logan had a logan, probably, he‘s been weak and hurt and tired, and he’s made himself the big man, the untouchable man. of course he‘ll never give it up. because when your whole entire life is power for the sake of it, power to keep the fear at bay, when you’ve learned that all that keeps the wolves outside is a leviathan, the act of letting go is to bare your belly, to surrender. and you think that to be vulnerable is to be dead, already, because all you know is wolves. it’s brilliant because the game keeps itself alive: you learn that people are wolves, and so you become a wolf, and then, you treat people like they‘re wolves, and that’s what they become. logan made them wolves. and now that they are wolves, he can not let them win. and it’s so clever, because isn’t that the crux of locke’s leviathan? if people are power hungry wolves, is the ruler not a wolf?

[when-a-humble-bard]

in which Geralt learns that Jaskier uses him as a scapegoat, but has his limits. Geraksier. First kiss. (warning for noncon touching by handsy patrons mentioned). Unedited. 

It’s safe to say that Geralt is surprised when it’s Jaskier that wants to leave first.

The bard grabs his lute from where he’d left it propped up in the booth seat opposite of the Witcher, scowling darkly and with far more force than the bard usually showed the instrument.  Geralt arcs an eyebrow at him, but Jaskier doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m leaving,” he says. “I’ll see you in the room.”

“Jaskier.”

The bard stops and looks up. There’s a surprising fury in his blue eyes, his brows pulled low, and for a brief moment, Geralt wonders if he’s upset with him. But then Jaskier’s expression softens ever so slightly, and Geralt realizes that it’s not about him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Jaskier shakes his head. “It’s fine, Geralt. Enjoy your drink. Don’t finish early on my account.” Geralt’s gaze narrows slightly, looking for signs of the passive aggression the bard sometimes utilized when he was upset. But underneath his anger, he seems sincere.

“I’ve never known you to be one to turn in early,” Geralt says in response.

Jaskier averts his gaze. “Yes, well. First time for everything. I suppose the performance took more energy out of me than I’m used to. A rowdy crowd and all that.”

Geralt frowns at the blatant lie and looks at him properly. Not only was Jaskier’s performance tonight certainly not his most lively, nor the crowd notably rowdy, but even if they had been, Geralt had been traveling with the bard enough to know that Jaskier usually thrived when those things were true. Geralt takes in a deep breath, and then freezes.

Because there’s a faintly acrid scent underlying Jaskier’s usual smell of honeysuckle and cedarwood. Geralt is all too familiar with it, though he isn’t used to smelling it on Jaskier. Fear.

“Jaskier,” Geralt practically growls when the bard goes to leave again. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier swallows and shakes his head. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself over. Just a few overeager patrons with… the wrong idea in their heads.”

“Who?”

“Geralt.”

“Who, Jaskier?”

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth quirks upwards. “What, are you going to attack them for me?” he sounds amused. And something else—something softer—that Geralt can’t quite place.

Geralt, for the life of him, can’t find anything remotely amusing about this situation. “Maybe.” Jaskier looks taken aback, and opens his mouth to reply, but Geralt cuts him off. “Did they hurt you?” He takes another breath, but there isn’t the tang of copper to the air. Which means the bard isn’t bleeding.

“I—no,” he says quickly. “Perhaps they wanted to when I first refused their advances. But tell them you’re with a Witcher, and they usually back off.”

“Usually?”

Geralt doesn’t miss the slight flush to the bard’s neck. Nor the way his grip on the neck of the lute tightens. “They wanted, ah… some kind of evidence. A show, of sorts, given that I’m a performer.” Jaskier says the word with so much disgust, he has a feeling the bard is using their words and not his own.

Geralt’s brow pinches together in confusion. “What does that mean? We entered together, and most of the songs you played tonight are about me.”

There’s a glimmer of something almost like mirth to Jaskier’s eyes. “So you do listen to me when I sing.” Geralt looks at him. Jaskier holds a hand up in surrender, then uses it to rub the back of his neck. “I’m afraid that you may be missing the… implied meaning.”

“I don’t understand.”

Geralt had learned over the years that there wasn’t much that could make Jaskier blush. And yet, Geralt can see the slight tinge of pink darkening the bard’s cheeks. “Not ‘with’ as in solely travel companions, my dear Witcher. ‘With’ in a more… romantic, sensual sense.”

Oh. Oh.

There’s barely a beat before Jaskier is rambling ahead. “Which I don’t say to make you uncomfortable, Geralt, it’s just sometimes easier to claim that to people who may want to pursue certain advances with me and would otherwise not take no for the answer it is. You’re an intimidating person, after all, and I know that it’s perhaps not the most moral thing, to lie and drag you into it no less, but it has proven to stop rather enthusiastic hands from—”

“You said they wanted a show,” Geralt says, frowning. “What did you mean?”

“Wha—um. I claimed to be with you in that… romantic sense… and rather than taking it at face value, as most others do given all the other evidence, they wanted some… demonstration of proof.” The flood of embarrassment gives way to that flicker of anger from earlier. “I would prefer to not repeat their unwarranted suggestions.”

“Like a kiss?”

“Something of that nature. But you don’t need to worry, Geralt. I would never.” Geralt is startled by the way that statement—said with so much conviction—makes his stomach sink to his shoes. Jaskier didn’t want to kiss him.

“Oh.”

“I would… I’d never violate your desires that way,” Jaskier continues, and it makes Geralt blink. The bard is looking at him earnestly. “You know that, right? I may say that we’re together occasionally, to get the enthusiastic hands to keep to themselves, but… I can stop doing that too, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

The next question is spilling past Geralt’s lips before he can think to stop it. “What if I do desire it?”

Jaskier freezes, his bright blue eyes widening. “I… what?”

Geralt swallows and reaches for him, taking Jaskier’s hand in his own. “You said you wouldn’t kiss me because you don’t want to violate my desires. What if it wouldn’t be a violation?”

Jaskier’s eyes get impossibly wider. Geralt can feel his own heartbeat in his throat and hear the thundering of Jaskier’s in his ribs. “Are you speaking hypothetically?” The question comes out strained.

Geralt gently tugs Jaskier closer and the bard is all too willing to stumble the step or two that exists between him and where Geralt is sitting. “Do you want me to be?” the Witcher asks, risking a bold glance up.

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice sound somehow even more strained, but he’s pliant and willing when Geralt tugs askingly on his waist and brings the bard to straddle his lap. Jaskier swallows and Geralt’s gaze flickers to the bob of the Adam’s apple before looking back up.

Geralt snakes an arm around the bard’s waist to keep him from falling off. He leans forward, their noses barely brushing. He feels Jaskier brush his hand against his jaw before leaning his forehead against Geralt’s.

“Stop me if it’s too much,” the bard whispers.

The gentle touch and gentler words make Geralt ache. He releases a breath and closes the distance.

[mellometal]

I know I said I don't associate myself with the Panic! fandom anymore, but this is something I have been ACHING to talk about. This is some bad timing, since it was Brent Wilson's birthday recently (yes, his birthday is July 20th, NOT August 20th; source: I've been following him on Twitter for five years and he's actually said this), but this is going to be about Brent and the whole situation with him.

Warning: What I'm about to say about the situation with Brent Wilson (original bassist) is heavily biased, since I do stan him. YEAH. I STAN BRENT MATTHEW WILSON, THE ORIGINAL BASSIST OF PANIC! AT THE DISCO. CRY ABOUT IT. STAY MAD. He's one of the ONLY members of Panic! At The Disco (past and present) who I give a fuck about, besides Ryan Ross, Spencer Smith, and Ian Crawford.

Trigger warning: This will be talking about arrest, jail, drugs (doing and selling), weapons (guns), childbirth, parenthood, and some other things. If these things are triggering for you or make you uncomfortable in any way, you do not have to read this post. Consume media that sparks joy for you.

Disclaimer: I don't know Brent in real life, I'm not in his circle of friends or people he's closest to (like his wife Taylor, his parents, his brother Blake, his in-laws, his irl friends, coworkers, etc.), and this is not me acting like I do. I don't know what his life is like outside of Twitter. The only contact I've ever had with him has been on Twitter, but it was pretty limited.

My thoughts on this situation are MY opinion, any possibilities in my thoughts are just theories and not proven to be true, and I'm not trying to excuse whatever he was allegedly charged with.

Just for the record, I am willing to have a civil conversation with anyone who hates Brent. The minute you attack me or anyone else who likes Brent, or a whole bunch of you start circle jerking about how much you hate him, you're getting blocked. If all you're going to bring up is the shit Brent did when he was in his late teens instead of adding anything useful to the discussion, you're getting blocked too. I already know about that. It happened back in 2004-2006. They were all still kids, to a point. Brent has changed quite a bit since then. The whole "Hate on Brent Wilson" bandwagon is stupid, toxic, and I refuse to jump on it. I've never jumped on it when I was in the Panic! fandom, so why would I do it now?

Remember, without Brent bringing Br3nd0n Ur!3 into Panic!, your precious Br3nd0n wouldn't be successful today. JUST SO YA KNOW. (I'm very salty right now, if you can't already tell.)

If you would like to know about what happened with Brent, a few months ago, he was arrested on (alleged) drug charges and illegal possession of a weapon, along with a traffic violation and something to do with a probation violation too. He was set to go to court back in March for his sentencing, but that's the most recent information I've found. I don't know what the fuck is going on at this point. I don't know if he's been sentenced, if he's doing anything alternative like rehabilitation, nothing. (The reason why I said they're alleged charges is because I don't know if he's even been to court for sentencing or anything like that.)

People's reactions were mixed. Some actually LAUGHED and made a whole bunch of jokes about him being arrested (that's fucking insensitive and cruel). Some felt bad for Brent because he just became a dad (yes, he's a dad, but I'm not posting any pictures of the kid out of respect for Brent and Taylor). Some were shocked. Some weren't surprised (how and why????).

My reaction? It was pretty mixed. I was shocked. I thought I was having a fever dream and what I was seeing was fake at first. When I realized it wasn't fake, I was crushed. I felt absolutely horrible for Brent, Taylor, their kid, and all their loved ones. Like, I care about the guy a lot. Obviously.

Ironically, the band members and/or group members I stan are either the black sheep or they're just not as popular. Or they're the fucking scapegoat almost EVERYONE attacks for the stupidest shit. Brent's the black sheep as well as the scapegoat of Panic!, for example....and I would say that Ian is another black sheep too. Not for any negative reasons. He's simply not as popular, due to the fact he was only in Panic! during the Vices era for a short time. He's underrated as FUCK. I'm one of the black sheep in a lot of places [except for friend groups], even in my own family, so it explains why I stan Brent still.

I just want to say that selling drugs and doing drugs aren't inherently bad things to do. This doesn't mean that I'm for kids doing drugs and selling them. Absolutely not. I want people who do drugs or sell drugs to be treated like human beings. I also want them to be able to seek help easier without the judgment or being treated like a criminal. Personally, I don't do any of that, but I understand why someone would. (This kind of thing hits home for me.)

As far as the whole weapon thing is concerned (it was a gun), I personally don't like them and we need better gun control in the United States. I don't think I'd trust anyone who owns a gun because of the possibility that they would hurt me or worse in an argument or something. I've seen my abuser threaten to pull a gun out on my dad when I was a kid. Thankfully it wasn't loaded, but still. It was scary. I wouldn't own a gun because I'm autistic, mentally ill, and I'm afraid of what I might do in certain situations. If someone wants to own a gun for protection, hunting, target practice, or to collect them, fine. BUT YOU DON'T NEED A HUGE ASS GUN THAT THE MILITARY USES TO GO HUNTING OR FOR TARGET PRACTICE. I don't like them, I don't want one, I don't trust myself with one, guns scare me, and I want better gun control in the United States. It terrifies me that people openly carry. I understand that's the Second Amendment and all, but it doesn't change the fact that it terrifies me. As long as you're responsible with that kind of thing, I don't really care.

I don't know what Brent's reason was for (allegedly) owning a weapon (maybe for protection or something?), but it's none of my business.

In my opinion, this is all stupid shit. There are people who have done horrible things and they're STILL free people, but oh, god forbid you do or sell drugs! THAT'S bad. /s

Here's my response below. I'll type out everything, except for the disclaimers and what he was arrested for. I will start from the fifth paragraph on the first screenshot and continue from there. This is so anyone who has a hard time reading any of the screenshots can read them easier.

(My response was from around the time it was announced that he was arrested. Just so you know.)

First screenshot, fifth paragraph:

First off, I just want to say that this situation is a fucked up one for anyone to be in. I would never wish this on anyone. Especially because now, there's a baby involved, so this makes the situation worse. This is pretty difficult for me to put into words without coming off as bitchy or anything like that, so if I get bitchy here, I apologize.

Second screenshot, fifth paragraph:

I don't know what caused this mess to begin with, but I do know that Brent and his wife Taylor just had a baby a couple months ago (when I was typing this out initially). While it's a good thing for them, it can be assumed that this is also a very stressful time for them.

Combination of third and fourth screenshots (These are pretty much only theories; not facts, and they will be broken up into paragraphs): 

The pandemic most likely isn’t helping their case. Las Vegas is a HUGE city and I’m sure A LOT of people there are REALLY struggling right now in all aspects. Maybe Brent and Taylor are struggling to pay off hospital bills or whatever (to put this into perspective, the average cost for hospital childbirth in Nevada is around $21,239, according to CBS News). The average salary for an accountant in Nevada is anywhere from $34k to $150k, and that all depends on education, experience (how long you’ve been in said career), certifications, and any additional skills. Take into account any other necessities they have to pay for, like their mortgage, bills, insurance, etc. 

Let’s say that they did manage to pay everything else off, but they’re struggling to pay the hospital bills from when they had their baby. (Having a baby is fucking expensive in the United States, regardless of whether there are complications or not, and regardless of whether you have insurance or not.) Let’s say they’ve tried every single option out there, but nothing seems to give still. Maybe the drug selling was a last resort on Brent’s part. (As I’ve said, I don’t know the full story.)

The whole subject of drug paraphernalia hits home for me. My parents both did drugs when I was a kid. I’ve seen it a lot growing up. My dad was, in the past, in and out of jail for drugs and other things that aren’t relevant here. I’m not sure if my mom was in and out of jail for the same shit, but I know for a fact my dad was. Y’know, because he told me. ANYWAYS. 

I get it. You gotta do what you gotta do. It’s not something I’d do personally, but I understand why somebody would do it. I wouldn’t treat them any differently. Maybe they’re selling drugs or whatever to keep themselves from losing their homes, put food on the table for their families, help pay their bills, pay for their education, whatever. It could be a number of things.

Fifth screenshot (people’s reactions to the news and my thoughts on them):

Now...let’s move on to how people are reacting to the news. There’s a lot of mixed reactions. A lot of people feel bad for Brent, especially since he and Taylor just had a baby a couple months ago (as I was typing this). Some people “aren’t surprised” because they were never fans of him in the first place. Others think this is amusing. I’ve seen some people who are solely involved in celebrity news (similar to TMZ) making jokes about the situation, which to me, is appalling.

Let me tell you something. It doesn’t matter if you’re a fan of Brent or not. This shit isn’t funny or cute in the slightest. It sure isn’t funny or cute to anyone who is being affected by the situation, which includes Brent himself, Taylor, their son, and all their loved ones. Like, full stop. Have some decency. Y’all are fucking gross. You can dislike Brent all you want, but he’s a real human being who fucked up. Personally, when I first heard the news, I couldn’t believe it at first. I thought I was having a fever dream. That is, until I looked it up and actually found that it was true. I was CRUSHED. Why? Because Brent is one of the last people I’d even expect to get into this whole mess. 

Sixth screenshot (my thoughts):

If I’m being honest here...like, BRUTALLY honest, Brent needs to be put in REHAB, not jail. For anyone who has been here (on my Instagram) from when I used to dedicate this account to vintage Panic!, you know how I’ve never said anything but kind things about Brent. From the few times I’ve interacted with him a little bit on Twitter and from how I’ve seen him interact with others on the site, Brent is one of the sweetest people ever. I’m being genuine here. He’s a good guy who fucked up and did some dumb shit. Does that make him bad? No. Then again, as far as I’ve read about the current situation at hand, it’s too early to really determine anything. None of us know what caused him to have drug paraphernalia or anything else that he was arrested for in the first place.

Seventh screenshot (wrap-up):

I’m gonna wrap this up here. My heart aches for Brent, Taylor, their son, and all their loved ones. I hope that everything gets straightened out, all sides of the story come out, and that Brent can get his shit together again. Like he had been doing since he was kicked out of Panic!. I wish everyone involved nothing but the absolute best right now, given how fucked up the whole situation is. (Just to clear up any confusion, when I was referring to Taylor, I’m NOT referring to Taylor Swift or any other celebrity with the name Taylor. I’m referring to Brent’s wife.) 

If you’ve read this far, thank you! If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I’ll try to answer as best as I can.

Have my thoughts on the situation changed since February - March of this year? No.

I think that Brent needs some kind of help. That's why I mentioned rehab. It's obvious to me that's the kind of help he needs. I don't believe jail is helpful in certain circumstances (like drug charges, traffic violations, and other nonviolent crimes)....at least in the United States. They treat people who do drugs and/or sell drugs like they're subhuman. Yet there are people who have committed violent, deplorable, horrific crimes, and they're still free people. Funny how that works. I'm not too educated about how the jail system works in other countries, so I can't exactly tell you how I feel about that system on an international standpoint.

Brent should be with his wife and child. I hope the guy gets his shit together again. I believe Brent WILL get his shit together. Genuinely. I would never wish anything bad on him.

I don't crucify Brent like a lot of people in the Panic! fandom do. The only reason I would hypothetically do so is if Brent actually committed violent, deplorable, horrific crimes (i.e., chomo bullshit, trafficking...like, extreme shit) that would warrant him being locked up and I'd drop him completely at that point. OBVIOUSLY I DON'T SEE HIM DOING ANYTHING LIKE THAT. EVER. THAT'S JUST HYPOTHETICAL.

Anyways....have a good day, y'all.

[boat-dock]

“Me Again” chapter 1

here’s my Hosie fic that’s a continuation after 2:16 where the Mikaelsons put Hope into a new body until they can figure out how to wake her up. 

The rumors spread like wildfire throughout the school the moment that the Mikaelsons set foot on campus carrying a coffin. Josie heard the news within 5 minutes and in 7 she was running through the halls towards her father’s office, the super squad hot on her trail. The door was locked which normally wouldn’t have been a problem, she would have used her magic to open the door, but she didn’t have it anymore. She felt like she was missing a limb sometimes, but maybe she needed to figure out who she was without magic to learn who she was with it. 

Lizzie opened the door. It basically flew off its hinges, revealing the room packed with Hope’s assorted family members, some Hope recognized and some she didn’t, but the elephant in the large wooden box polished to a shine, with an ornate M carved on the top sitting where her dad’s desk should be. She didn’t have time to contemplate where her dad’s desk went.

Josie’s emotions got the better of her as she rushed into the room and she blurted out,   ” Hope isn’t dead she’s just asleep,” the thought of Hope in that coffin made her sick to her stomach, especially since it was all her fault. The guilt stopped her from sleeping at night, it also managed to stop her from getting out of bed most days, which just left her with a lot of time to think. “ please don’t do this,” her voice was shaking and for a moment she feared showing this much weakness in a room filled with the most vicious creatures to ever walk the earth, but she couldn’t stop herself. 

“We know that Josie,” Freya answered, being the only Mikaelson in the room that knew her personally,” but you have to trust us. We would never do anything to hurt her.” Josie knew she was right. 

“Kids you need to let us handle this,” her dad said, in an entitled voice, like he’s forgotten just who’d been the ones protecting the school and fending off all the monsters, and surprise it wasn’t the adults. “Please give us the room,” 

“No way, if this is about Hope we have a right to be here too,” Landon spoke up and they all pushed further in the room, shutting the door behind themselves. 

“Let the kids stay Ric, they obviously care about her too and what’s the harm,” Josie didn’t recognize the man who spoke up for them but he had his arm around Rebekah so if she had to make a guess she’d say he was Marcel. 

Her dad looked like he wanted to push this but Freya spoke up before he could,” Let’s get started. Where’s my niece Alaric?” as he moved to open the bookcase and get a still unconscious Hope, Freya turned to talk to the pretty brunette, small in stature, standing next to the coffin,” Davina will you prep the body?” 

Much to everyone’s surprise, the coffin wasn’t empty, inside lay an unconscious young girl with dark skin, dressed in clothes from an era that Josie couldn’t place but she knew it definitely wasn’t recent. Kol removed her from the coffin like she weighed nothing and laid her on the ground. Davina lowered to the ground so she was kneeling by the body, and placed her hands on the girl’s head. She closed her eyes and started muttering to herself. 

Her dad appeared with Hope in his arms but she was quickly taken by Rebekah and placed in the coffin. She closed the bottom half so only Hope’s face was visible, and she started murmuring,” Don’t you worry about a thing now darling, you are going to be just fine,” she touched Hope’s hair lightly,” and this old box is much comfier than it looks I promise, very spacious.” she was laughing slightly now, and Josie couldn’t understand how. Here she was putting her niece into a coffin because no one could figure out how to wake her up and she was laughing. 

“You can’t just do this,” Landon spoke up, his entire body was tense, clearly distressed by the sight of his girlfriend like this, and Josie couldn’t really blame him. “She doesn’t need to go into that box, we can help her, we can wake her up,” he was close to screaming now and had definitely caught the attention of all of her family members. 

It seemed like none of them were going to answer him so apparently Mg took that as his queue to talk,” so I think we’re all ignoring a very important thing here. Is Hope British?” Josie slumped against her sister, this was all too much. 

Lizzie seemed to be thinking the same thing,” Oh my god someone hit him for me,” she growled. Kaleb was more than happy to oblige by giving Mg an annoyed smack to the back of the head. Kol was laughing to himself but Rebekah didn’t find it nearly as amusing. 

“I’ve been called many things in my life but a Brit!” she exclaimed making a face,” I should eat him for that,” 

“Peace sister,” Freya interrupted, she was lighting sage and waving it over the body of the unknown girl,” These children know not what they say,” she and Davina were prepping the body, but for what? How could this random girl help wake Hope up? Freya has a thousand years of acquired knowledge and power if anyone can figure out how to wake up Hope it would be her. 

While Josie’s mind was spinning trying to figure out the Mikaelsons plan, her friends seemed to be stuck on the whole European accent thing. “Where are you from then?” Raphael asked. 

“Everyone just be quiet please,” Lizzie hissed. 

“We’re from Mystic Falls,” Kol answered. That wasn’t news to either of the twins, they’d grown up on the stories of this town, watered down of course, but as they grew they figured it out for themselves. However, Kol must have noticed the shocked looks on the other’s faces,” I thought you were supposed to be teaching these kids Ric. I guess they’re failing history class,”

“We’re ready,” Freya stated standing, effectively ending the conversation. Josie leaned forward in her seat. Her heart was in her throat, this was on her, whatever happened to Hope was on her shoulders. Hope was in this state because she was trying to save Josie, from herself, from all the black magic she’d consumed and Josie had done this to her. Some dark alternate version of herself, but still her. 

Davina moved to the far side of the room to stand by Marcel, leaving Freya alone to do the spell. She placed her fingers on Hope’s temple and began chanting, Josie didn’t recognize the spell, which was strange once you’ve learned the basics you can recognize them in most spells. She could pick up bits and pieces of words that she recognized, but none of these words were familiar to her. What kind of magic was this?

The body of the ground seized, and then sat upright, eyes flying open in panic and confusion. All of her friends shuffled around her, muttering and watching this new player in their strange game of chess. “What’s going on?” she gasped looking around at all the people around her,” Aunt Freya?”

“I’m right here sweetie, just breathe,” Josie’s heart beat out of her chest, and she brought her hand to her mouth as the realization of what had happened washed over her. “You’re going to be a little disoriented for a while but it will get better,” 

“I don’t understand. What’s going-” Hope stopped mid-sentence as she saw her body in the coffin. She scrambled back, sliding on the ground away from her body and her family. Josie could only imagine how strange this all was for her,” What the hell is this?” she screamed. 

Hope lifted her new arm up into her line of sight and examined it. Her fear seeped out of her as the pieces clicked together in her mind. “Your body is compromised, Hope, so we put you into this one until we can figure out how to wake you up,” Rebekah said and Hope sucked in a deep breath, before picking herself off the ground and going to the mirror. For a body that wasn’t Hope's, the look on her face was Hope to a T, concerned but curious and somehow completely pissed at the same time. 

She paused for a moment examining her face and her hair,” we can’t just do this. I can’t just take over this woman’s body. What’s going to happen to her?” Hope exclaimed, unlike the rest of her family she was not ok with living inside someone else’s head. 

“She’s completely safe, her mind has been tucked away and when we get you back in your body she will go back to normal.” 

“Trust us, Hope,” Marcel started with a grin,” this is much better for her than where she was before,” Josie wasn’t sure what he meant but she didn’t like the way he said that. But by the look on her face, Hope had figured out whatever he was trying to imply. Instead of confronting whatever was going, Hope turned back to the mirror and brought her hand to her teeth. Her back was to Josie, so she couldn’t see what Hope was trying to do. 

After a moment she was satisfied and turned back, now ready to pick a fight,” Please- please tell me you didn’t dig this woman up from the garden and stick me in her body,” Hope was trying her best not to scream, she was physically shaking as she spoke. Josie’s mind spun, everything they said went over her head but she imagined that was a good thing. The silence that followed was the only answer Hope needed,” Oh god I’m in the body of a criminal,” 

Hope wrapped her arms around herself, making herself smaller. “She’s not a criminal, she was a scapegoat for a family of criminals,” he said it so nonchalauntly like it didn’t matter. 

“That’s horrible,” Hope exclaimed.

“That’s politics,” Marcel responded,” but once you’re out of her head, her sentence is over and she’s a free vampire again,” 

A lady Josie hadn't even noticed standing in the corner spoke up for the first time,”Besides, you’ll like this more than the other option, one of the crescent wolves volunteered,” 

Hope paled and her eyes widened,“You’re right Keelin I do prefer this plan,” things settled after that, everyone started cleaning up and preparing the coffin for travel. The super squad stayed pushed back into the corner, staring at Hope like she was the new monster they needed to fight. Hope turned from them, refusing to meet their eyes. Josie’s heart hurt, this was all her fault and Hope was suffering the consequences right now. 

After everything was ready to go, Freya turned back to her niece,”It’s time to go now sweetie,” the way she said it implied that Hope was leaving with them. Hope made a face, she didn’t like this suggestion either. 

“Wait- wait I’m not going with you, not right now,” Hope stammered. The room was tense, it was Hope’s will against her family’s and Josie couldn’t imagine the fallout. The Mikaelsons all exchanged glances, like they knew this was coming. 

Freya sighed, resigned, and Kol looked like we wanted to say I told you so,” We figured that’s what you’d say love, so you can stay but under one condition.” 

“And what’s that?” Hope asked. 

“Absolutely no monster hunting,” Rebekah answered, crossing her arms.

 Hope surged forward, upset,”No that’s not fair, I have to protect this school” she waved her arms motioning to everything around her desperately. 

“That is not your responsibility Hope,” Freya said,” and besides if something were to happen and this body died, the original owner would die and you would get sent back to you’re original body,” 

It was Hope’s turn to be resigned. Her aunt made a good point, she lost half of her defenses and the one she still had she had no clue how to use. She was effectively a baby vamp. The school lost its best defender too, they would have to learn to handle the monsters without her. Without Josie too, Hope always told her that Josie was stronger than she knew but right now her magic was just too unstable, she was too unstable. Leaving the school undefended was just another thing Josie could add to her guilt list. 

Hope’s family left after a long goodbye filled with hugs leaving them all alone in her dad’s office. For the first time Hope turned to face her friends, she wouldn’t meet their eyes. She curled in on herself, making herself smaller, it was the smallest Josie had ever seen Hope look, which was strange considering that this new body was taller than Hope ever could be. 

Josie wanted to go to Hope and take away all the sadness and discomfort in her eyes, but Landon spoke up before she could,” Will someone tell me what the hell just happened,” he yelled. His words shocked Josie but they made Hope shrink into herself even more. How could he do that, couldn’t he see how shaken she was right now. Him yelling would only make this worse. 

Hope turned and ran from the room, barely stopping the tears from rolling down her cheeks. Josie remembered all the hurt Hope had been through as a child, how she dealt with it all alone, choosing to push people away instead of letting them in. Josie couldn’t let that happen again, after all Hope had done for her, she couldn’t let her go through this alone. So she followed her from the room, leaving everyone dumbfounded, hopefully her dad could explain everything, but right now Josie didn’t need to know the logistics she just needed to know that Hope was ok.

Hope was much faster than she used to be, she disappeared quickly and Josie went all the way to her room without ever catching sight of her. Hope’s door was closed but unlocked, so when Hope didn’t answer Josie let herself in. Hope sat with her back turned on the bed, she’d changed from her period clothing into comfy clothes that suggested that even though it was still early in the morning Hope had no plans of leaving her room.

“Hey are you ok?” Josie asked slowly making her way across the room. 

Hope turned to her putting on a good face,”I feel like I should be asking you that,” she joked lightly. 

“I’m serious Hope, “ she pushed, stopping a few feet away from the bed,” It doesn’t take a genius to tell you’re upset,” 

“I’ll be fine,” Hope said, finally turning to face her, her face softened when she saw Josie. She sighed ,” Come here Jo, you look like someone just kicked your puppy,”

She wanted to laugh but she just didn’t have it in her, instead she just moved and sat across from Hope. “I’m so sorry Hope, this is all my fault,” the words spilled out of her. She’d been carrying this guilt for so long, she just needed her to know, not that an apology would make this any better. 

“It’s ok Jo, I knew what I was getting myself into when I went inside your head,” she shrugged her shoulders and met Josie with a soft smile.

Josie scoffed, unable to believe what she was hearing,”You can’t just do that, forgive me, I don’t deserve it,” 

“Then it’s a good thing that you don’t get to chose when you’re forgiven,” 

She reached and grabbed Josie’s hands in her own, trying to make her feel better, but Josie couldn’t handle it. She pulled away and made to leave,” I better go, I’m sure you want to be alone,” 

She was halfway to the door, desperate to get back to her room and hide back under her covers, letting herself drown in her guilt again, but Hope seemed to have a different plan,”Are you planning on going to class today?”

“No,” Josie whispered. Truth be told she hadn’t been to class since she became herself again. 

“Well then why don’t you stay here with me,” she asked,” we don’t have to talk or anything. I just have the feeling that neither of us should be alone right now.” 

[morsking]

took the time to finish new vegas’s dead money dlc. it was extremely unnerving and stressful but also a beautifully haunting experience. i really loved the cast in it even if half of it was plotting on blowing my head off at any given opportunity.

eljiah embodies the worst of the brotherhood of steel. he’s a more extreme and violent version of the brotherhood’s self-righteous mission to collect weapons of mass destruction and keep them to themselves, convinced that they know how to best use it. the brotherhood isn’t perfect, far from it. but they’d never nuke the surface because they understand that’s what got them where they are in the first place. elijah is diabolical, but the worst part is you can understand his logic. the idea of starting again, wiping disaster away and rebuilding is incredibly tempting. the problem is that elijah was so scarred by conflict and loss and purposelessness that it caused him to break and fall into a pit of desperation. he would be sympathetic if he weren’t such a manipulative, vindictive, and arrogant bastard obsessed with the past to the point where he emulates exactly what he hated about the brotherhood: that he resorts to ideas and resources from the old world to solve problems that the old world created. he betrayed, disfigured, and used christine, his own apprentice, for his own near-sighted goals, and that alone was evidence that neither he nor his intentions were in any way good, despite his own beliefs. killing the population of the mojave using the cloud and enslaving the survivors to create a new nation kept orderly by an iron fist was cruel and barbaric, so i locked him in the sierra madre vault. if he wanted the remains of the old world so badly, then he can stay in them for the sad and brief remainder of his life.

but what’s also really good is how the story revolving around vera, sinclair, and dean domino ties to the major themes of fallout. domino’s greed and jealousy blinded him into blackmailing vera, a struggling terminally ill drug addict. all vera wanted was a life that was better, and instead she was stuck between an envious asshole who cared nothing for her, an obsessive lover who idolized her without actually appreciating her in a healthy manner, and a rapidly decaying physical health. domino’s material greed and sinclair’s emotional greed destroyed vera and the sierra madre, just like the greed of nations for oil and weapons destroyed the old world. to say nothing of the think tank’s scientific greed in being perfectly willing to destroy innocent lives for their own research. 

dog and god were a very amusing duo. they’re the schizophrenic dissociative personalities of a mutant traumatized from being dipped in fev and losing the sense of comfort, safety, and purpose given to him by the master in fallout 1. dog is the aggressive, hungry, and infantile personality while god is the calculating, clever, deductive, and self-restrained mature personality. they are both in conflict at all times because one wishes to obey elijah (like a dog), and one wishes to be in control of himself and above all things that could restrain him (god). it’s clear god cares for dog because god tells you he considers dog a brother, but dog cannot let go of his desire to obey and be cared for. the best outcome for either of them is to merge into a brand new personality: they must let go of themselves. 

christine is probably the saddest of the three companions of dead money. she trusted elijah enough to want to follow him out of the brotherhood in search of freedom and reform, and instead she a prime witness to his crimes across the wastelands. she had to leave veronica and then find out the only other person she could’ve trusted in the brotherhood of steel was an absolute bastard of a person. he used her as scapegoat and she was then viciously experimented upon. she lost her ability to read and right, and even speaking what’s on her mind is difficult. then she’s caught in one of elijah’s traps AGAIN and dean domino throws her in a broken auto doc that destroys her vocal cords. she wanted elijah to give her purpose and ironically, he took and took and took from her until the only purpose she had was vengeance against him. bonding with her when she can’t even speak until near the end of the dlc was so heartwarming. she, a lesbian, will hold your hand if your character has perks that lets them interact romantically/sexually with npcs of the same gender or if you have power armor training from the brotherhood. it is a very rare moment of gay solidarity and comfort in video games. it’s such a shame you can’t tell her you’ve met veronica or that you can’t tell veronica you know what’s happened to christine. you should be able to reunite them because they deserve to give closure to each other and reconnect. sadly, christine has let go of the brotherhood as well.

all of these characters are people who have been scarred in different ways but will hurt each other and by extension hurt you. whether out of greed, desperation, or an inability to let go they are too stuck in their own traumas and inner conflicts that they forget they can help each other move on from those things. the best ending possible involves you helping dog and god, christine, and dean domino in moving on from what’s happened to them. elijah cannot change, and that’s why you either kill him or lock him in the sierra madre vault. but they can, and you can as well. that being said killing dean domino but sparing dog and god and christine also works just fine because dean domino is an asshole who blackmailed a dying drug addict but hey. 

like i said, dead money is just a great story all-around. i can’t wait to see what we get up to when i start with honest hearts.

[kiruuuuu]

Glaz/Echo oneshot in which Echo refuses to apologise for something, uh, unsavoury. (Rating T, chaotic nonsense, ~1.4k words) - written for @magehir​!! 💞💞

.

“You pissed into my closet.”

Echo immediately loses track of the complicated equation he was working out in his head and feels the sudden urge to bang his head against the tabletop. Looking up, he’s presented with an inexplicably disgruntled Glaz looming over him and glaring. All that’s missing are his hands on his hips to complete the nagging housewife aesthetic. “Are you nuts? I did no such thing.”

“You’re very welcome to come home and smell it yourself. Is that why you were gone so early this morning? Because you didn’t want to be forced to clean everything?”

“No. I was gone early because that’s the time we go to work, Timur, though I suppose I can’t expect you to know this seeing as you’re never on time.”

“What?” Indignation warps Glaz’ features into an even more alluring grimace. There’s no way Echo would ever admit it, but Glaz looks stunning when he’s angry. “I’m always punctual!”

“I highly doubt that, considering you always get up more than an hour later.”

“That’s because you take forever with your stupid hair. You get up with messy hair, comb it, and then very carefully mess it up again.”

“Not true. I don’t take that long. And besides, it’s not stupid.” He chances a quick glance around to look for the nearest reflective surface just in case there really is something wrong with his hair. When he comes up empty and turns back to their argument, Glaz seems even more unimpressed. “You were late today. So there’s that.”

“Yes. I was late because I had to throw all my clothes in the wash because they stank. Because you, as I said, pissed into my fucking closet!”

“Don’t pin this on me, are you sure you didn’t do it yourself?”

“Of course not! Why would I do that?”

“Well why would I do that? Just the fact that you’ve been yelling at me for five minutes is reason enough not to.”

“Maybe it’s payback for the time I threw up all over your favourite trousers. You do have a vindictive streak, you know.”

“But I already forgave you for that. That’s long settled.”

“Yeah, because you made me buy you a new pair.”

“Which you chose based on which ones made my ass look best.”

“Can you blame me? Have you looked in a mirror while wearing them? Wait, I have a photo somewhere…”

And while Glaz is tapping away at his phone, Echo heaves a sigh and turns to Mute next to him, intending to complain some more when he realises that everyone in the workshop is staring at them, except for the young Brit who nonchalantly keeps tinkering with one of Smoke’s gas grenades. Zofia, in the process of pouring herself a glass of water, apparently abandoned her previous activity halfway through without setting the bottle down, and has created a small flood on her side of the room. No one around her seems to have noticed.

“Haven’t argued in public before, mate”, Mute murmurs distractedly as if he could read minds.

That actually explains a lot. Echo considers addressing the room but figures a statement like this is normal or maybe a reassuring at least neither of us has threatened to break up yet wouldn’t improve the situation. Not with how appalled Mira already seems to be.

When Glaz shows him the evidence, accidentally navigating back to the gallery and revealing about a hundred secretly snapped photos of Echo, he can’t even muster up the energy to be angry.

.

“I don’t ever want to argue in front of other people again”, Echo says without interrupting his head massage. Glaz is curled up on top of him, petted into a content, catatonic state, and so it takes him several seconds to reply.

When he does, he stretches first, pressing closer to him and rubbing his cheek against Echo’s chest. It’s so freaking adorable he considers abandoning the topic in favour of just snogging until they can’t breathe but freezes when Glaz sleepily mutters: “Shouldn’t have pissed in my closet then.”

His irritation is back full force. “I didn’t fucking -”

“How do you know?”

“- what?”

“Really, how do you know? We both can’t remember much after Dom got the gin out. How can you be so sure it wasn’t you?”

“You know what, maybe it was Dom. He did stagger home later, but that doesn’t disqualify him.”

“Don’t pin this on other people now.”

“He’s a perfectly viable option! I admit that it’s unlikely you yourself did it, but that doesn’t -”

“Besides, you’re Asian. You already don’t deal well with alcohol.”

Echo’s eyes begin hurting from rolling so hard. “Seriously? We’re doing stereotypes now? Then explain to me how I managed to drink more than you did. You’re Russian after all, you should have vodka running through your veins.”

“But just because I’m Russian -” Glaz stops mid-sentences, re-evaluates and seems to belatedly understand. He turns in Echo’s embrace so they’re eye to eye. “I take it back. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Echo purses his lips in anticipation of a kiss, maybe some more, a sweet locking of lips turning sloppy, or even just Glaz pushing a hand under Echo’s shirt to run his finger over warm skin, but instead Glaz just looks at him expectantly. “Hm? What is it?”

“Don’t you also have something to apologise for?”

“What do you …”

“My closet.”

Due to the ensuing fight, they miss most of the film they were watching and restart it, only to get caught up in a discussion about whether they’ll order or make food, with both of them being too lazy to make anything but too indecisive to agree on any takeaway. After realising they still have leftovers, they gorge themselves on an adequate amount of stir-fry rice and end up much the same as most evenings: Echo gaming at his PC and Glaz stretched out on the couch, sketching and letting the TV entertain him in the background.

“Why do you always argue with me?”, Echo wants to know over his shoulder during a particularly long matchmaking queue. Frowning, he corrects himself: “Why am I the only one you argue with? You rarely do with your team or your friends.”

Glaz doesn’t even look up. “Because with you, I don’t feel like I need a filter.” And when Echo doesn’t respond, he adds an amused: “I know you’re blushing.”

.

“Honestly, it’s a good thing you can keep up with Glaz in drinking or else the Russians would’ve long lost what little respect for you they still have”, Bandit announces cheerfully and slaps down a Draw 4 card.

As usual, it’s only the two of them left in the game, due to Echo’s superior skill in strategy and probably Bandit’s cheating, the other guests having congregated in the kitchen and leaving the two of them to battle it out. “What do you mean?”, Echo wants to know and increases his hand size to whopping 10 cards with a sigh.

“You’re terrified of mistreating him in front of them, so they think you’re proper whipped. Which, if you ask me, isn’t even far from the truth.”

How very dare he. Just because Echo convinced his guild to adapt their raid schedule to Glaz’ liking doesn’t imply - “Why do we even still invite you over?”

“No idea, especially after I was so drunk last time that I ended up pissing in Glaz’ closet.”

Echo’s eyes snap up in disbelief. He opens his mouth, ready to tell this little sack of shit exactly what he can do to himself, but it’s at that moment that Glaz enters the room again. Perfect timing. He waves him over with a: “Timur! Come here. And you, Dom, repeat what you just said.”

Bandit’s genuine amusement shifts into mild concern. “Please don’t. I just told you I wouldn’t take the blame for you, didn’t you listen? No amount of money can make this right – if you urinated all over Glaz’ clothes, you should just admit to it and apologise.”

And while Glaz starts yelling at Echo about bribing others to be his scapegoats, while Echo is utterly dumbfounded and merely gapes at the audacity, Bandit puts down another Draw 4 and winks at him.

[leafinthebreeze]

Characteristics of Narcissistic Mothers

“It’s about secret things. The Destructive Narcissistic Parent creates a child that only exists to be an extension of herself....

Because her abusiveness is part of a lifelong campaign of control and because she is careful to rationalize her abuse, it is extremely difficult to explain to other people what is so bad about her. She’s also careful about when and how she engages in her abuses. She’s very secretive, a characteristic of almost all abusers (“Don’t wash our dirty laundry in public!”) and will punish you for telling anyone else what she’s done. The times and locations of her worst abuses are carefully chosen so that no one who might intervene will hear or see her bad behavior, and she will seem like a completely different person in public.

She’ll slam you to other people, but will always embed her devaluing nuggets of snide gossip in protestations of concern, love and understanding (“I feel so sorry for poor Cynthia. She always seems to have such a hard time, but I just don’t know what I can do for her!”) As a consequence the children of narcissists universally report that no one believes them ...

She violates your boundaries.

Your property may be repossessed and no reason was given other than that it was never yours. You have never known what it is like to have privacy..  She asks nosy questions, snoops into your email/letters/diary/conversations. She will want to dig into your feelings, particularly painful ones and is always looking for negative information on you which can be used against you. She does things against your expressed wishes frequently.  Any attempt at autonomy on your part is strongly resisted.

She favoritizes.

Narcissistic mothers commonly choose one (sometimes more) child to be the golden child and one (sometimes more) to be the scapegoat. The narcissist identifies with the golden child and provides privileges to him or her as long as the golden child does just as she wants. The golden child has to be cared for assiduously by everyone in the family. The scapegoat has no needs and instead gets to do the caring. The golden child can do nothing wrong. The scapegoat is always at fault. This creates divisions between the children, one of whom has a large investment in the mother being wise and wonderful, and the other(s) who hate her. That division will be fostered by the narcissist with lies and with blatantly unfair and favoritizing behavior. The golden child will defend the mother and indirectly perpetuate the abuse by finding reasons to blame the scapegoat for the mother’s actions. The golden child may also directly take on the narcissistic mother’s tasks by physically abusing the scapegoat so the narcissistic mother doesn’t have to do that herself.

She minimizes, discounts or ignores your opinions and experiences. Your insights are met with condescension, denials and accusations (“I think you read too much!”) and she will brush off your information even on subjects on which you are an acknowledged expert. Whatever you say is met with smirks and amused sounding or exaggerated exclamations (“Uh hunh!” “You don’t say!” “Really!”). She’ll then make it clear that she didn’t listen to a word you said.

She will claim not to remember even very memorable events, flatly denying they ever happened, nor will she ever acknowledge any possibility that she might have forgotten. This is an extremely aggressive and exceptionally infuriating tactic called “gaslighting,” common to abusers of all kinds. Your perceptions of reality are continually undermined so that you end up without any confidence in your intuition, your memory or your powers of reasoning. This makes you a much better victim for the abuser. Narcissists gaslight routinely. You’re oversensitive.

Once she’s constructed these fantasies of your emotional pathologies, she’ll tell others about them, as always, presenting her smears as expressions of concern and declaring her own helpless victimhood. She didn’t do anything. She has no idea why you’re so irrationally angry with her. You’ve hurt her terribly. She thinks you may need psychotherapy. She loves you very much and would do anything to make you happy, but she just doesn’t know what to do. You keep pushing her away when all she wants to do is help you.

She has simultaneously absolved herself of any responsibility for your obvious antipathy towards her, implied that it’s something fundamentally wrong with you that makes you angry with her, and undermined your credibility with her listeners. She plays the role of the doting mother so perfectly that no one will believe you.

Narcissistic mothers infamously attempt to damage their children’s marriages..

To you, she’ll lie blatantly. She will claim to be unable to remember bad things she has done, even if she did one of them recently and even if it was something very memorable.  Your conversations with her are full of casual brush-offs and diversionary lies and she doesn’t respect you enough to bother making it sound good. For example she’ll start with a self-serving lie: “If I don’t take you as a dependent on my taxes I’ll lose three thousand dollars!” You refute her lie with an obvious truth: “No, three thousand dollars is the amount of the dependent exemption. You’ll only lose about eight hundred dollars.” Her response: “Isn’t that what I said?” You are now in a game with only one rule: You can’t win. 

On the rare occasions she is forced to acknowledge some bad behavior, she will couch the admission deniably. She “guesses” that “maybe” she “might have” done something wrong. The wrongdoing is always heavily spun and trimmed to make it sound better. The words “I guess,” “maybe,” and “might have” are in and of themselves lies because she knows exactly what she did – no guessing, no might haves, no maybes. 

This need is a defining trait of narcissists and particularly of narcissistic mothers for whom their children exist to be sources of attention and adoration. She has always pouted, manipulated or raged if you tried to do anything without her, didn’t want to entertain her, refused to wait on her, stymied her plans for a drama or otherwise deprived her of attention.      

Older narcissistic mothers often use the natural limitations of aging to manipulate dramas, often by neglecting their health or by doing things they know will make them ill. This gives them the opportunity to cash in on the investment they made when they trained you to wait on them as a child.

She manipulates your emotions in order to feed on your pain.

This exceptionally sick and bizarre behavior is so common among narcissistic mothers that their children often call them “emotional vampires.” Some of this emotional feeding comes in the form of pure sadism. She does and says things just to be wounding or she engages in tormenting teasing or she needles you about things you’re sensitive about, all the while a smile plays over her lips. She may have taken you to scary movies or told you horrifying stories, then mocked you for being a baby when you cried; she will slip a wounding comment into conversation and smile delightedly into your hurt face. She wants you to know that your pain entertains her. She may bring up subjects that are painful for you and probe you about them, all the while watching you carefully. This is emotional vampirism in its purest form. She’s feeding emotionally off your pain.

A peculiar form of this emotional vampirism combines attention-seeking behavior with a demand that the audience suffer. Since narcissistic mothers often play the martyr this may take the form of wrenching, self-pitying dramas which she carefully produces, and in which she is the star performer. She sobs and wails that no one loves her...  

She’s selfish and willful.

She has to show you that you can’t tell her “no.”

She’s self-absorbed.

Her feelings, needs and wants are very important; yours are insignificant to the point that her least whim takes precedence over your most basic needs. Her problems deserve your immediate and full attention; yours are brushed aside. Her wishes always take precedence; if she does something for you, she reminds you constantly of her munificence in doing so and will often try to extract some sort of payment. She will complain constantly, even though your situation may be much worse than hers. If you point that out, she will effortlessly, thoughtlessly brush it aside as of no importance...  

If you criticize her or defy her she will explode with fury, threaten, storm, rage, destroy and may become violent..

For all abusers, fear is a powerful means of control of the victim, and your narcissistic mother used it ruthlessly to train you. Even adult children of narcissists still feel that carefully inculcated fear.   

Not all narcissists abuse physically, but most do, often in subtle, deniable ways. It allows them to vent their rage at your failure to be the solution to their internal havoc and simultaneously to teach you to fear them.

She resents having to take care of you.

Narcissistic mothers also abuse by loosing others on you or by failing to protect you when a normal mother would have. Sometimes the narcissist’s golden child will be encouraged to abuse the scapegoat. Narcissists also abuse by exposing you to violence. If one of your siblings got beaten, she made sure you saw. She effortlessly put the fear of Mom into you, without raising a hand.

Narcissistic mothers are often simply childish. If you refuse to let her manipulate you into doing something, she will cry that you don’t love her because if you loved her you would do as she wanted. If you hurt her feelings she will aggressively whine to you that you’ll be sorry when she’s dead that you didn’t treat her better. These babyish complaints and responses may sound laughable, but the narcissist is dead serious about them. When you were a child, if you ask her to stop some bad behavior, she would justify it by pointing out something that you did that she feels is comparable, as though the childish behavior of a child is justification for the childish behavior of an adult. “Getting even” is a large part of her dealings with you. Anytime you fail to give her the deference, attention or service she feels she deserves, or you thwart her wishes, she has to show you.

She doesn’t ask. She demands. She makes outrageous requests and she’ll take anything she wants if she thinks she can get away with it. Her demands of her children are posed in a very aggressive way, as are her criticisms. She won’t take no for an answer, pushing and arm-twisting and manipulating to get you to give in.

She shed her responsibilities to you as soon as she was able, leaving you to take care of yourself as best you could. She denied you medical care, adequate clothing, necessary transportation or basic comforts that she would never have considered giving up for herself.

She also gave you tasks that were rightfully hers and should not have been placed on a child. You may have been a primary caregiver for young siblings or an incapacitated parent. You may have had responsibility for excessive household tasks. Above all, you were always her emotional caregiver which is one reason any defection from that role caused such enormous eruptions of rage. You were never allowed to be needy or have bad feelings or problems. Those experiences were only for her, and you were responsible for making it right for her. From the time you were very young she would randomly lash out at you any time she was stressed or angry with your father or felt that life was unfair to her, because it made her feel better to hurt you. You were often punished out of the blue, for manufactured offenses. As you got older she directly placed responsibility for her welfare and her emotions on you, weeping on your shoulder and unloading on you any time something went awry for her.

she will sometimes project even though it makes no sense at all. This happens when she feels shamed and needs to put it on her scapegoat child and the projection therefore comes across as being an attack out of the blue.

She seems to have no awareness that other people even have feelings.

She’ll occasionally slip and say something jaw-droppingly callous because of this lack of empathy. It isn’t that she doesn’t care at all about other people’s feelings, though she doesn’t. It would simply never occur to her to think about their feelings. An absence of empathy is the defining trait of a narcissist and underlies most of the other traits I have described.

She’ll also blame you for your reaction to her selfish, cruel and exploitative behavior.

Narcissists are masters of multitasking as this example shows. Simultaneously your narcissistic mother is Lying. She knows what she did was wrong and she knows your reaction is reasonable. Manipulating. She’s making you look like the bad guy for objecting to her cruelties. Being selfish. She doesn’t mind making you feel horrible as long as she gets her own way. Blaming. She did something wrong, but it’s all your fault. Projecting. Her petty, small and childish behavior has become yours. Putting on a self-pitying drama. She’s a martyr who believed the best of you, and you’ve let her down. Parentifying. You’re responsible for her feelings, she has no responsibility for yours.

In part, these women foster dissension between their children because they enjoy the control it gives them. If those children don’t communicate except through the mother, she can decide what everyone hears. Narcissists also love the excitement and drama they create by interfering in their children’s lives. Watching people’s lives explode is better than soap operas, especially when you don’t have any empathy for their misery.

The narcissist also uses favoritism and gossip to poison her childrens’ relationships. The scapegoat sees the mother as a creature of caprice and cruelty. As is typical of the privileged, the other children don’t see her unfairness and they excuse her abuses. Indeed, they are often recruited by the narcissist to adopt her contemptuous and entitled attitude towards the scapegoat and with her tacit or explicit permission, will inflict further abuse. The scapegoat predictably responds with fury and equal contempt. After her children move on with adult lives, the narcissist makes sure to keep each apprised of the doings of the others, passing on the most discreditable and juicy gossip (as always, disguised as “concern”) about the other children, again, in a way that engenders contempt rather than compassion.

The end result is a family in which almost all communication is triangular. The narcissist, the spider in the middle of the family web, sensitively monitors all the children for information she can use to retain her unchallenged control over the family. She then passes that on to the others, creating the resentments that prevent them from communicating directly and freely with each other. The result is that the only communication between the children is through the narcissist, exactly the way she wants it.

As a last resort she goes pathetic.

When she’s confronted with unavoidable consequences for her own bad behavior, including your anger, she will melt into a soggy puddle of weepy helplessness. It’s all her fault. She can’t do anything right. She feels so bad. What she doesn’t do: own the responsibility for her bad conduct and make it right. Instead, as always, it’s all about her, and her helpless self-pitying weepiness dumps the responsibility for her consequences AND for her unhappiness about it on you. As so often with narcissists, it is also a manipulative behavior. If you fail to excuse her bad behavior and make her feel better, YOU are the bad person for being cold, heartless and unfeeling when your poor mother feels so awful.

https://themindsjournal.com/characteristics-of-narcissistic-mothers/7/

[1to800]

In the same world

Genre: Angst [some fluff]

Pairings: Donghyuck x Reader - One Sided Jaemin x Reader [Fem! reader]

Words: 6.5K

A/N: This isn’t historically accurate at all - the clothing and living quarters are all from every ancient time period you can conjure up and there has never been a Prince Na in Bakjae, or in any of the korean dynasties so please don’t take this as a history lesson ㅠㅠ

Based on this prompt from @nctangst and her follower! Amazing blog with amazing angst content~ check them out ^^

Lee Donghyuck was not the average peasant. He was much worse than that because he was a traitor as well- one who was stripped of all his wealth and prestige because his family had betrayed the royals. That was the claim of the officials who so adamantly prosecuted him using the as scapegoat, for their own crimes.

There was a time in your life where you had no fear, no strategy; a time when you believed that if you, the crown princess, said it, then it had to be true. You had foolishly bounded up to the wolves exposing everything important to you having neither a sword to threaten them with or a shield to block the incoming burst of fiery arrows. “I’d trust him with my life! He’s not a traitor, they’re innocent!” You proclaimed. So the men turned to the king and had him make a choice. Was the crown princess going to be executed as the grand master of treason? Or was it just going to be one, insignificant, small noble family? The Lees came forward and admitted to the lies. All of the lies. Donghyuck’s mother shakes her head signaling for you to stay quiet, his father yells over your plees saying it was him all along. It was solely his idea, his greed, his ambitions. If the king had any mercy, Nobleman Lee begs him to please spare his only son.

The king had mercy, but the king had no power. The most laughable, miserable, and helpless situations happen because the person at the top doesn’t have power, and this situation was no exception. All three of the Lees, and their whole household, including the innocent servants, children, and slaves - were sentenced to death.

Putting your own life on the line, you grabbed his hand that night of the massacre and ran for it. Ran further and faster than you ever ran before, tripping over your damned dress and tightening your grip whenever he tried to let go. Your breath exploded in loud bursts out of your mouth, sweat pouring down your pristine face, the forest trees yanked expensive golden pins out of your hair, but you never once looked back. Tears slipped down your face as you heard the cries of his parents being slain in the distance, felt the sobs elivate and then depress his shoulders as he fumbled for footing in the forest - but even then, even with him yelling “Princess! Princess please stop! This isn’t right!” - you kept going.  There was no way you were losing him too. It was your last desperate attempt to pay the Lees back for giving you the breath in your lungs and the tingling in your fingers and the veins through which your blood boiled. It was really treason this time.

When you see him leaned against a tree deep in the forest behind the Jaseondang*, you know it was well worth it. He’s 18 now, leading a completely different life as the adopted son of a small village doctor. The tragedy happened 4 moons ago, but as long as you were still in your royal robes and he was in his tattered garments, the guilt may never die down. His family had done everything for you, given their souls so you could keep your head attached to your neck. But just because you were breathing, doesn’t mean you were living. You thought about him every day, reunited with him and his colorful silk hanboks in every dream. You reminded yourself that back then, he had given you everything, and all you had given him in return was his new name paired with an abominable status.

“From this day you’ll live as Haechan.”

“What about my surname, princess?”

You hesitated. Lee would be too dangerous, even to be uttered around him. You knew the smartest and most cunning men of the empire were out to find him, if his face paired with his surname triggered even a slight memory of his presence within the noble households he’d be sliced down without hesitation. “No surname.”

It was humiliating for him to hear those words; you knew as soon as you saw his eyes fall to your feet and the corners of his mouth fold into a deep frown, but he couldn’t - wasn’t allowed to question it.

You smoothed your cold, shaky fingers against his beautifully tanned face. Even when he was a nobleman’s son he had a complexion of a farmer, and to you it was the most beautiful color in the world. Others laughed and asked him if the Lees had picked him up under a bridge. One icy glare and a simple flick of your wrist had them dragged out of you palace and unable to return to your favor. Even as tiny children, you had loved him from the tips of his dark hair to the bottom of his colorful shoes. All the amber droplets and copper trinkets he gifted you could never compare to him. They’d hide themselves in shame at the sight of him, just like you hid your bright red face. 

“Don’t be too sad. Hae means my sun. Chan means I will sing praise to you. You are my person. No matter what our ranks are, I’m always under your sky.”

“Haechan!” You hunker down right beside him as he startles awake from his mid day nap. “Did you wait long?” You ask, handing him a bundle of palace food, staring at the way his eyes light up at the gift. He hugs it close, like it’s treasure, and you have to mentally chide yourself for tearing up. The things he used to eat with you at your table so confidently because he belonged, was now something akin to a foreign treat. He was not supposed to live this life. This was not his destiny.

“Thank you,” he leans over to give you a soft, lingering kiss on your cheek, causing you to immediately grin and plant your forehead onto your knees, wrapping your whole head with your arms in an attempt to hide your giddy smile.

“How did you get out today?” Haechan chuckled, setting the pink bundle aside and pulling at your arms, somewhat forcing you to look up if you didn’t want to look like a turtle without a shell. - “don’t hide your beautiful face, princess” he adds, just so he can see the pretty roses blossom on your cheeks and fill his heart with warmth. Without waiting for a proper answer, he pulls you in. Although you topple into his embrace, very ungracefully, he shifts so that you’re comfortable and doesn’t mention the fact that a princess should move better than you. He never mentions it. That was one of the reasons you felt like you could actually breath around him and not suffocate like when you were under the limitless expectations and calculating gazes of your home. His eyes only held softness, endearing fondness, maybe slight amusement at most. It made him the breathtaking glow in your stark world.

“The palace is busy with preparations for the Spirits festival. Gotta put up all the charms so that the cursed spirits don’t wander in and... and bother...” The king. Everything in the palace was centered around the king.

“Your father,” Haechan finishes, his arms unconsciously tightening around you.

There’s a silence after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. Ever since that day you’ve never gone in to see your father. It was neglecting your duties, and he could have had any of his other children come to greet him in the morning, but he insisted it was you. You were always the favorite crown princess, the one he had out of love. Even if you took the life of his beloved first queen, you were the bundle he held in his arms, the little girl he spoon fed making sure every grain of rice was perfect and sweet, the blessing that received the grandest birthday parties with every possible gift imaginable. Even as his borders were at war, one word that you were sick had him riding back so he could sit next to your bed and pray. You loved the king, you had looked up to him, respected him, only wished the best for him; so when he betrayed you, it hurt that much more. As much as you loved him, as much as you respected him, as much as you wished he was well, in one moment you wished he hurt, ached, suffered to that extent.

“You must forgive him, princess.”

“I could never betray you like that,” You answer with vigor in your voice, flames igniting within the dark irises of your eyes.

You feel him shake his head, feel his chin slowly rest on your shoulder as you lean into his chest again, relaxing. “It was not the king’s fault. If he had chosen me and my family over your life, I wouldn’t have forgiven him, not even after death. He did what he had to. He lov-”

“Stop.” Your voice is so used to giving commands that it hardens and Haechan immediately closes his mouth. Your eyebrows come together as you realize this and sigh, releasing some tension that had been building up within you. “I mean... please stop, Donghyuck.” You rarely used his name, but you wanted him to know that you weren’t worlds apart from him. You were right here, where you belonged. His eyes widen in surprise, and he looks around “please be quiet, princess!”

“It’s just you and me here! If you want me to be quiet in my own land, you have to make me.”

Haechan lets a loud drawn out sigh escape his lips, shaking his head as if he were thinking ‘here-we-go-again’ but you don’t mind. And when you turn to place light kisses on his jaw, he looks down to change your destination like he doesn’t mind either.

You’re enjoying the warmth encircling you, about to nap while leaned against his chest when you feel him open his mouth and inhale, as if he were about to shoot the loaded stone that he loaded onto the slingshot a long while ago. 

“What if you never saw your father again?” Haechan asks, solemnly. The small content smile dancing on your lips slowly fades. You’ve never thought about the possibility before so you tilt your head to the side.

“Do you mean to kill him?”

Haechan stiffens. You quickly laugh, but he doesn’t take the joke lightly and promptly flicks your forehead. Only he could do such a thing. You glare because it stings and pout because he won’t kiss it better, instead preoccupied with looking up to the sky that’s obscured by heavy branches shedding their colorful leaves.

“I mean... what if we never had to see him, or the palace walls between us ever again? What if we could just... take off?”

You close your eyes and imagine it. A world where status didn’t matter. Where the title of “wanted criminal” didn’t hang above Haechan’s head, debilitating him forever. Where people didn’t use you for your influence in every way they wished just to throw you out. Where you didn’t have to keep your neck stiff for some and bow for others just to survive in the depraved cage of living, breathing, plotting monsters. “Will we be together forever?” You ask, hesitant, but not ever wanting to stop imagining it. The possibility of it alone fills your heart with unimaginable bliss, a happiness so tangible you almost taste it like western molasses on your tongue.

“Yes,” Haechan whispers softly, lips skimming your fingers that he’s delicately holding in his calloused hands. You miss when they were soft, when they only knew the curve of a brush and the spine of books, not the dirt that rooted herbs or wood that started fires for medicine. “I promise.”

It’s getting late and you’re sure that your father is moments away from sending out a whole battalion to find you, and they will no doubt find you if that were to happen. “I have to go back.” Back to strict rules, unrelenting gazes, and empty spaces where Donghyuck used to be. You can still draw the courtyard where he’d close his eyes and count, his little black bokgeon* fluttering in the wind. You always hid in the same place so you could admire his back, and hear his voice practically screaming the numbers so they were well audible over the chirp of birds or the howling of the wind. In retrospect, Donghyuck was the most intelligent child in the land, so he probably figured out you always hid right within reach, but he’d never capture you. Perhaps he was teasing, perhaps he just loved letting you win - the triumphant grin splitting your face and bunching your cheeks in the most beautiful expression he’d ever seen.

Those characteristics never seemed to fade, even now. Haechan still only worked around your happiness. He could have demanded you go with him or simply get up, turn around, and leave - he knew you would drop everything to follow immediately if that were the case. Yet, he didn’t capture you. He let you stand in your comfortable, extravagant hanbok and weigh your options. And you? You were still a fool. You’ve never struggled in your life for anything that was given to you; leaving with Haechan meant he had to farm, provide, work. And then cook, clean, take care of a child, all while watching you live in a home that was about as big as your recreational tea room - hoping you didn’t regret it. “I’ll think about it.” You were still selfish. Wanting to watch his back, making sure he was always by your side, yet refusing to put yourself out in the open. But you two were still hopelessly in love, and it seemed like that fact would never change no matter how hard time or circumstance or fate wanted to destroy it.

“I knew the princess was clumsy, but I didn’t know you could fall out of the sky.”

Na Jaemin smirks as you blink up at him with wide saucer-like eyes. You scrunch your face into a plea and start rubbing your hands together, begging despite the awkward situation (in which you hop over the tall wall and land right into his surprised and strong arms) “please!!! Tell everyone I was with you the whole time! Please!”

Jaemin, prince of Bakjae, smirks, “and what do I get out of it, Crown Princess?”

“Anything!” You answer, a little too quickly.

“Anything?” he smiles “okay!” he answers too quickly too be comforting as well. “Then I ask for your hand in marriage.”

It turns out, that even without you swearing to listen to his wish, it was already decided to happen anyway.

“Father!” You screech and his servant hisses at the disrespect. You were not supposed to raise your voice at him, the one appointed by the heavens, but so help your soul and let lightning strike you because you were not marrying Na Jaemin. “You could sell any of my sisters to the kingdom of Bakjae, why is it me? Is it because you are cross with me for neglecting my duties or because you don’t want to see me?” You know you’re being unfair with him when he sadly steps down from his throne.

“Leave us.”

With one word they all back out. You want to laugh at the irony. He had gotten more powerful in the past few years, but when you really needed him to be, he was nothing. A puppet on tightly coiled strings that slapped you across the face.

“Father, I can’t! Have you no shame? How will you face the punishment of heaven!” You scream, stomping your feet in a tantrum - one unlike any of the ones you threw as a child. Tears well in your eyes but you bite your tongue to draw blood instead. “What will the Lees think from the afterlife? You can’t kill them twice. You can’t break your promise twice!”

You were supposed to be Donghyuck’s. From the very start you belonged to Lee Donghyuck. It was what your father, when he was just a prince and not even next in line for the throne, had promised his friend Lee before the two of you were even conceived.

“That’s enough.”

Even when questioned. Even when attacked by your vicious words and nasty snarl, the ruler of the nation refused to raise his voice. The man who could claim that heaven bent for him, could not win over you, and you understood that better than anybody else. But you also knew that living the life the Lees have given you shrouded by unhappiness and power hungry animals is not an acceptable choice. You couldn’t waste their sacrifice like that. The ‘what if’ solidifies into a decision in your mind, rooting itself into you like it’s always been there. And maybe it has been.

“I’m sorry, father.” He looks genuinely startled by your suddenly calm demeanor and starts “daughter I-”

“I get it,” you cut him off, once again pushing the limit but knowing he won’t do anything about it. He can’t if it’s you. He set no boundaries for you as a king, but the place you were in did; the walls of the palace closed in on both of you and set the unfortunate circumstances with so much force you couldn’t win if you were in here. They called it ‘tradition’ - things have ‘always been like this’ since the beginning of dynasties, but you called it a prison with prisoners waiting for poison to be sent down to them. An open cage was still a cage until you flew out of it. The notion of freedom gave you so much tranquility that your shaking halted and your chin lifted on its own so you could stare definitely at the dragon on the king’s bright red robes. “I will wed Na Jaemin. But please let it be after the spirit’s night. I want to see that you are okay and the demons will pass through this world without harming my family.”

“Of course!” The king nods, enthusiastically.

You turn to leave straight away, but not before turning around, “There was never a morning when I didn’t wish to see you father. Lee Donghyuck would want me to forgive you. For him, I do. I will see you tomorrow.”

Your father, the highest of the nation, brings his hand up to his bearded chin and covers his choked voice, “thank you, Crown Princess.”

“Your welcome, your Highness,” you let the door roll closed and wipe the single droplet free-falling down your cheek, “and I’m sorry, father” you whisper.

Your servants beg and plead and reason with you. They ask that you please, for the love of the King and everything high in the sky, to P L E A S E stay with Na Jaemin the whole entire night while you’re out in the capital city for the festival. Of course, like the great princess you are, you nod and smile and even wink at your wary personal guards who were also supposed to stick to you at all times of the outing.

“Are you that much of a troublemaker, princess?” Jaemin asks, pulling you close to his body and out of the way of a passing cart.

“Where did you hear that?” You snort, narrowing your eyes and yanking your arm out of his strong hold. If he was offended, he doesn’t show it, instead splaying that cute and good-for-nothing smile on his handsome face.

“When we were young you were always causing trouble with that one nobleman’s son and I was always getting you out with my innocent smile.”

“I can’t believe you’d call your own smile innocent like that, I bet your nickname is the humble prince,” you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. He has character, and instead of being utterly offended by your straightforward words he laughs like you told an amazing joke.

You lead the way through the crowd, at home in your own city. In the meantime, Jaemin studies your face and marvels at how mature you were now, yet how you remained almost exactly the same from his memories. All his fantasies about meeting you again finally came true and he almost couldn’t believe you looked exactly like every single one of his loving daydreams. Your face scrunches like your concentrating on something, maybe a past memory, and Jaemin wants to somehow get your attention and make conversation. Get to know you more.

“How is that nobleman doing now, anyway?”

You swallow and then shrug, “he’s dead.” The words taste absolutely acrid in your mouth, and you can’t believe you have to fake indifference at the one thing that still stabbed your heart every hour of every day and sent pulsing waves of pain to every part of your body.

“That’s...” you watch Jaemin’s face as it contorts in a mix of emotions, and it surprises you. “that’s a shame,” he whispers, patting your shoulder in genuine condolence. You purse your lips, “yeah well... treason gets you killed in this country.” The words drop like stones and you hold yourself back from hysterical laughter because of the incongruity that is your life.

“Let’s forget about it,” you say, skimming the crowded streets for a familiar figure, even a wisp of his hair to signal your time to lose all the annoying tails following you.

“Let’s. Come. I’ll buy you some treats?” Jaemin states as he half drags half ushers you through the street. It wasn’t really an invitation nor was it a request. You suppose you should go along with it though, if anything to thwart suspicion.

“This is what you meant by treats?” you ask, dumbfounded and slightly sad that you didn’t actually get anything sweet to put in your mouth. Instead, your hands are filled with expensive hair ornaments and decorations to hang on your already opulent hanboks. As if reading your mind, Jaemin pops a round ball of hardened sugar into your mouth and laughs making your mind unwillingly flash to the charms your mother would put into a pocket and shake for your amusement. It was such a pretty and carefree laugh, and the way he looked at you proved the uncomfortable inkling you’ve had since you were young. That maybe, just maybe, the prince of Bakjae actually did love you. Maybe he wanted this marriage, purposed it even, despite knowing how stubborn you were about staying single until death. In another world, in another life, if you had decided to stay within your class and within the small little universe you knew called royalty, maybe you would have loved him back and been a happy queen.

Your face must have softened around their hard edges because Jaemin’s breath hitches and he brings his perfectly smooth hand up to gently grasp your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts your head so your face shines under the full moon and panic strikes you instantly.

Haechan watches the scene unfold from a corner, his leg propped up and arm hanging lazily. His fist clenches out of instinct, eyes burning from under the satgat* that’s used to mask his identity. Serene and literally shining amongst a sea of languidly moving people, you’re framed against the prince of another land. He can’t deny that the picture looks so right - like it was meant to be. He can’t give you that anymore. Expensive gifts and exquisite snacks and the best of the world was not his to present to you, but you deserved that and so much more.

“Please don’t kiss me,” you almost cry out, and some passing girls giggle at your silly request.

“Humm? Who said I wanted to kiss you?” Jaemin asks, picking a pin from your hand and smoothing it into your silky hair.

You let out a sigh before your whole face flushes like that of the flames lightening the red lanterns. “Forget that.”

Jaemin puts his arm around your shoulder and turns you around, walking on like nothing happened, “I could never forget anything about you, princess.”

You wanted to give yourself bonus points for being an absolute genius. Losing Jaemin was a hard feat, but alas, you did it. That was the power of love, you believed. First, Jaemin bought you masks. It was convenient that the two of you were on a ‘date’ during the spirit festival because masks were a huge part of the night. They were supposed to scare away the evil spirits, but usually scared old people and bystanding children more. Running with a mask gave you a sense of conformity with the crowd and the confidence not to get caught. So you make a seemingly harmless suggestion:

“Let’s play hide and seek! Just like the old times.”

“Okay,” Jaemin agreed readily, confident in his abilities as a renowned hunter. He plays along as if he were used to it, but in reality, the two of you had never played hide and seek before. He knows you’re thinking of that noble, but he could care less. The noble was dead, and he was the one here now by your side. He could wear whatever mask you wanted him to, as long as you kept him close.

You lose him in a heartbeat, knowing he would stay amongst the people and not venture back around the palace and through thick woods. Moonlight doesn’t help as much as you’d like, but you hum in delight at the thought of being in Haechan’s warm arms. A branch snaps from afar, but you try to think nothing of it, carefully observing your falling footsteps while willfully ignoring the shivers that run up your spine, drying the thin sheet of sweat that seeped through your icy skin. You try to hum a happy song, grasping for the lyrics, but they get mumbled as goosebumps pop up on your flesh, the sound of thin, wispy, almost laughter-like wind scraping up leaves jumble your thoughts. You tell yourself it’s just the wind, but the uncanny shifting of air around you makes every hair on your body stand up and stick out like it’s drawn by another being.

ehheHEhheHHEHEehhe

Your blood hardens and your neck strains from your body tensing up suddenly. You don’t want to die, “Haechan-ah!” You take off from your spot, legs bolting into action, hand scattering trinkets and coming up to clutch your long skirt so you don’t fall, breath harshly squeezing through your windpipes. You feel like a bumbling idiot- lost in the forest with nothing to protect you. The pops of fireworks that are meant to ward off evil are faint and far behind you; you curse under your breath because it’s likely all evil has converged on the quiet and peaceful shadow world behind the palace. The only place without humans to shoo them away.

“HAECHAN-AH PLEASE!” You sob, the tears and snot and fear, sheer- raw - bitter terror racking your body; it makes you heave for breath greedily, but it’s never enough. “Please I’m scared!”

A flash of white juts out from a thick clump of branches and clutches your shoulder, sharp prickles lead to dripping blood and you whimper.

In an instant, there’s the harsh snap of a bow, the strangled crying of an unholy creature, and then the fizzling sound of dark smoke. You turn and look down behind you to find a scatter of leaves and an arrow with the bright yellow and red talisman stuck to it. You don’t need to turn around to know who took the shot. Instead of moving you collapse onto the cold ground, but Haechan’s there in an instant, holding a white cloth to your shoulder in concern. His face is equally as messed up, if not worse.

“It was a virgin ghost,” Haechan whispers, “it’s gone now, my princess. It’s gone and will never return.”

“W-what happened to your face?” You ask him, finally coming to your senses after noticing the small cuts and wounds all over his soft cheeks.

“Nothing,” Haechan grimances from pain when your finger brushes one of the deeper gashes, “just some branches that were in the way. I found you, so now I’m okay.”

“I did this to you. I’m so incompetent and clumsy and always so so so stupid. I never did my duty right as a princess how could I ever be a good wife? How will I make food for you or mend your clothing or teach our children when I could barely get by my lessons wi-”

Haechan leans down and shuts you up by molding his lips over your own. You whimper and practically melt at the sudden warmth that seemed to blanket you like soft down. “I can do all of that and more for you. Just teach our children to be as loving and caring and passionate as you, and I’ll do all the rest. So marry me.”

“Hyuck-” You were so flustered you accidently let his real name slip out

“Run away with me,” he insists, eyes shining intensely under his long, tousled, filthy hair. You see hundreds of emotions flow past his face, twitching each muscle into an expression of the turmoil within. Most of all though, you see that in his eyes, the dominant feeling is his fear; the fear of rejection, the fear that you’d say no and pick the easy life of pampering, wealth, and a full stomach.

“I love you,” you whisper, grasping the bristly rough shirt which hurts your hands that have only ever been laid upon silk, “I’ll be with you forever.”

Haechan’s eyes crinkle into a smile, this time letting his whole face show his relief, unveiling his euphoric state. He’s leaning down to close the distance between you, and your eyes are half-lidded, closing, when something makes him tense in your arms, and your brought to attention by the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

The blade flashes like a falling star under the crisp light of the autumn moon, and you’ve never heard the voice sound so frigid before.

“I guess the dead really can come back on a full moon,” Jaemin spits, venom laced in every word, especially dead.

“Prince Jaemin!” you gasp in shock as drops of Haechan’s blood splatter onto your blue hanbok. He squeezes his eyes shut in pain, but refuses to open his mouth to utter a sound. Or perhaps he can’t because the blade sits so close and so precise that even gulping would cut open another slit.

Jaemin’s eyes turn round with surprise when you make to reach for the killing edge of his sword, and he quickly retracts the weapon from Haechan’s neck allowing the crouched male to quickly stand and draw his own.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jaemin asks, and his bodyguards pull their bowstrings taunt, aiming right for his head.

“Please, let him go!” You get on your knees, something that you’ve not only never done before, but was also absolutely unacceptable as the favorite crown princess. Nobody denied you what you wanted, so you didn’t know the meaning of desperation until this very second. You finally understood that it was a mix of helplessness, a suffocating rag shoved down your throat, and a sense of smallness all rolled into one punch to your gut.

Jaemin knows you’ll never learn to move on and love him, he’ll never have you if he kills Donghyuck. Jaemin shifts his gaze from your beautifully messy face to look at Donghyuck who looks so utterly broken at the fact that you, you who were fit to sit on the throne and adorned with all the shining stars in the night sky, had to be rolling in the dirt for him. Jaemin realizes there’s only one thing he can possibly do.

“I won’t kill him, princess.”

You sigh, about the hug his feet and literally kiss them in gratitude.

“But then I’ll have to kill these two guards. Because they know you committed treason by letting a sinner live. One who should have died four cycles ago. Then I’ll have to search the whole city for anybody who’s seen his face and kill them all, so you can run off with him. I’ll clean up the capital, and you’ll still live as a criminal’s wife. No money for medicine if you’re sick, no doctors or nurses to help deliver your children, no warm feather blankets on cold days and no food to fill their hungry little stomachs. When you slowly realize you can’t live like that and come to despise the person who used your young heart to whisk you away when you were naive, in a spur of the moment, when you can’t stand the person who made you suffer because of their own selfishness, I’ll be the King of Bakjae and you can come to me. Only then, when you want me to, I’ll kill him.”

Haechan drops to his knees like Jaemin’s made the sky crumble on his shoulders and the clouds stack upon his head. Jaemin ignores him, instead turning to his guards. “Kneel.”

They do so immediately, their king’s wishes were their commands. You feel your heart rip apart because the two people who were simply doing their jobs were about to be murdered for your own transgressions. If you could, you desperately wanted to take their place and be punished instead.

“Wait.” Haechan’s voice is weak, void of any emotion. Jaemin stops mid swing with almost freakishly scary control.

“You’re right,” Haechan lets out a small, defeated laugh. “I was stupid. I was filled with selfish desire-”

“Wha-”

“Princess. You can’t live like that. The more I thought about it, the scarier reality became. You really won’t ever get used to this life. It’s hell. I survived four years because I had no other choice, but you will miss the palace. Even with all it’s terrible rules, it was still a roof over your beautiful head.”

Donghyuck looks up at Jaemin who nods, a mutual understanding seemed to pass and something close to respect shone in the young prince’s eyes. He stands up straighter, with dignity, and tightens his grip on his sword so that when Haechan throws himself into the blade, it holds steady.

“NO! LEE DONGHYUCK!” 

The scream rips out of your vocal cords and rubs your throat like harsh sand. Jaemin quickly lets go of the hilt. “No... no no no, please.” Haechan’s lithe body crumples and you barely catch him in time. His eyes are closed, but he lets a few words slip past his mouth, clumped with blood and despair and tears, “I love you, my princess.”

“I love you. I love you Lee Donghyuck, my Haechan. I love you. In the next life,” you break your rush of words to let out one loud sob, allowing him to rest on your lap despite the sticky liquid gushing over your chima* “let’s be born in the same world. Let’s both start out in little homes right next to each other in a peaceful farming village. Let’s both fight and bicker and kiss and have children without walls surrounding one or the other.”

Haechan tilts his head weakly in a nod, “promise.”

Jaemin says it’s a terrible idea, and he’s absolutely right, but you will not stand for anything else. Jaemin at least had the courtesy to suggest burying him right there, and stacking rocks to make a grave, but you won’t have it. “Give the his adoptive father enough money for a nobleman’s funeral.”

“People will suspect who he is and you’ll be suspect to a crime, princess. This is what he wanted to avoid.”

You glare at Jaemin for questioning you and grit your teeth, “I demand he has a proper funeral or I’m biting my tongue and swallowing poison, do you understand me, Prince of Bakjae?”

That’s how you and your new husband ended up ending the grand wedding ceremony earlier than expected. It flustered the kings, but you were no regular princess, and it was expected you’d screw one thing up so you took the glares and whispering from the present nobility as a grain of salt. It started raining, and the people called it a blessing. The new wedding was approved by the gods and finally, finally after the long drought the heavens had opened their gate of life. You knew it wasn’t so though. You knew that because you couldn’t cry on such a joyous occasion, because you couldn’t let tears stream down your pretty made up face that was the focus of everybody, the heavens were doing it for you. They were letting the tears fall on your behalf. They were letting him know that he was not going away on a happy day - that all the tears in the whole land were going to fall for him.

“Has he left yet?”

“His crate is circling the city, it will pass the palace gates soon.”

“Let’s go.”

Your servant who had raised you as a baby steps in front of you out of genuine concert for your standing in the palace, but you don’t even make to glance at her. You will not look at any obstacles in the way.

“What good will this do, princess? Your father is being kind by letting your treason slip past the cracks, please don’t make more drama.”

You want to slap her. To pull her hair out and throw her outside and make her stand in the harsh rain asking her to withstand it alone. Asking her if she could manage to do that. How could people be so cruel? So unfeeling? The fact that Donghyuck was making his trip to the afterlife itself was immobilizing and agonizing enough, but you couldn’t imagine him doing it alone. “I do not regret what I did, but I will regret it my whole life if I don’t send him off. He needs me there.”

“PRINCESS! PRINCESS!”

Right on cue another younger servant runs in and the others shush her for making a scene, but you immediately ask her what happened.

“His cart... Haechan’s cart has stopped in front of the palace and won’t budge! It’s stuck!”

You rush past them, out into the blinding rain, and straight past Jaemin who doesn’t have to ask to know where you were headed while still in your wedding attire. Only one thing. No. Only one person could move you, the princess of a whole entire nation, like that. The gates open per your request and sure enough the cart is still. None of the wheels broken, all mighty men at the handles trying to shove or pull it along. They halt their action and back away, commoners whispering and hiding their faces in the dirt at your presence.

Your hand comes up to touch the tightly sealed box, “I know you wanted to see me one more time, right?” There’s no response, and you know you shouldn’t have expected one but the silence and the pouring of rain burden your heart with crippling misery. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay, so go.” You take off your elaborate outer robe and Jaemin watches from inside the threshold of the gate, shocked at your behavior. It was extreme, even for you - but a part of him thinks he understands. That was the person you were, the person who was willing to give up one of the most powerful and comfortable positions in the land for love. Perhaps that was why he, and that person Lee Donghyuck, had fallen so completely for you. The purity of your love, the great expanse that was your heart, the ocean’s mystery that was in your eyes and the slice of mischievousness hidden in the corners of your lips made you the king’s, Haechans, and his favorite princess.

You drape the heavy silk cloth on the nicely finished wood and pat it one more time so it stays in place, “don’t get cold, and don’t get lonely. We’ll be together again. Remember?” You watch him roll on, the lingering remains of his warmth in your fingertips and his promise to be born in the same world ringing in your mind like the bells and trinkets he gave you as happy noble children.

*Vocab

Jaseondang -  [the court for the royal princes and princesses]

bokgeon - [headwear for young male nobles]

Bakjae - [one of the three kingdoms of Korea before they were unified as Koryo and taken over by the Lees’ Josen]

Satgat - [A conically shaped hat worn by commoners - mostly farmers or monks]

Chima - [skirt part of a female Hanbok - hanboks are traditional clothing]

[oh-wow-i-have-nice-cheekbones]

Abuse In Gymnastics or My Thoughts After the Larry Nassar Trial

*Warning - discussion of mental, emotional, and sexual abuse, suicide, and injuries*

I am currently a gymnastics coach, and I competed in gymnastics for 6 years. My mom competed at the collegiate level of gymnastics, coached for almost 40 years, and owned her own gym for 30 of those years. Unfortunately she sold her gym and moved to another state 2 years after I started gymnastics, and I ended up in a gym where I went through hell for the next 4 years.

I fully realize that I am one of the lucky ones. I have never had a coach, assistant, physician, therapist, or teammate, touch me in any way that I felt was sexual or which made me feel uncomfortable. As far as I know, none of my teammates have either. I am not trying to compare my experiences to anyone else’s, I am only writing this to explain that abuse doesn’t only happen at the higher levels of this sport. Every single one of my teammates went through severe emotional and mental abuse, as well as endured improper coaching which has permanently injured the majority of my team, all girls under the age of 16. The abuse was so severe that I actually attempted suicide at age 14. I also have a difficult home life, and I was the oldest girl in the gym, which is probably why (to my knowledge) none of my teammates were affected to that extent. I can only hope and pray that’s true.

As a person who has been in and around gymnastics for years, and who grew up hearing about the sport from my mom, I had heard quite a bit about Dr. Larry Nassar. His name was an immediate recommendation for any technique or treatment that could help gymnasts, since my mom, like most coaches, believed he truly was a good doctor. I was absolutely horrified to hear about the accusations brought against him. I never doubted his victims, but I couldn’t understand how such brazen abuse could go unnoticed or unpunished for such a long time. The shock of the news combined with my personal experience and my teammates’ experiences have caused me to seriously reevaluate my opinion of this sport and it’s governing body. The proudest day of my life was the day I completed my training and received my coaching certifications, but now that I know the truth about the organization I received them from I feel only disgust. I find it incredibly ironic that the certificate I have for completing a course on how to keep children safe from sexual predators is digitally signed by Steve Penny, a man who enabled a sexual predator. When all of the information on Larry Nassar came to light, I began to seriously reconsider my decision to start a career in gymnastics. For weeks I cried and wrestled with my conscience as I watched the sport I love be exposed for what it truly is. I’ve come to the decision that I will keep coaching, and I will fight from the inside to tear down this corrupt institution so no child ever has to suffer abuse in the name of gymnastics again. And that starts by telling my story. Right now I am too afraid of the backlash to name anyone publicly. My current job depends on a good recommendation from my former coaches, some of my friends will disown me, my family will be angry with me, and I doubt that anyone I know will believe my story anyway, so until I work up the courage to go public I won’t name anyone involved. I realize this probably makes me a coward but I don’t think I could survive the consequences right now, and I have to consider my own mental health.

When I first went to this gym, I naively thought all coaches were like my mom - honest, hard-working, kind, fair, well-trained, and respectful of their students. Unfortunately my new coach was everything my mother was not - she was cruel, manipulative, unprofessional, ignorant, lazy, and cared only about winning competitions. She was abusive to everyone, but the fact that I was new made me her scapegoat. She repeatedly told me that I was not as good of a gymnasts as her other students, and that I would do horribly in competition. When I outscored them, she punished me by completely ignoring me for weeks, not giving me equal equipment time, and making me use the same equipment as girls nearly half my size, all of which forced me to coach myself and work with my mother at home. She noticed me looking at my mother in the observation area, and she reported to the gym owner that my mother was a disruptive influence. My mother was called into the owner’s office and reprimanded so harshly that she cried the entire way home. Afterwards if I so much as looked at my mother I was either yelled at or punished with conditioning. I continued to win competitions, so my coach changed tactics. She would make the other gymnasts sit down and watch me preform, then tell them that was the example of what not to do, and that my routines were bad because I didn’t listen to her. I was afraid of a certain tumbling pass, so she made fun of me for being afraid and told me I was a failure because I couldn’t “just throw it.” She would often tell me to try it and make everyone stand around and watch while I stood in the corner and cried, or attempted the skill, stopped mid-way and fell, often very painfully. Other times she would punish my teammates with conditioning until I tried the skill. These tactics were pretty effective with the younger girls, but I watched them all injure themselves trying skills they weren’t ready for. When I received private tutoring from another coach, she exploded. She took me aside to tell me that I was lazy, disrespectful, cowardly, un-talented, a bad influence, and that I should quit the sport because I would never make it at the next level. She said that since I made the decision to get private tutoring and her coaching “wasn’t good enough for me” she would never coach me again. I worked out on my own with absolutely no feedback for the next few months until I was able to move to the next level and away from her.

The damage of that year on all of us was indisputable. Out of a team of 14 girls, 10 quit the sport for good. My parents took me to a doctor because I was having dizzy spells, nausea, insomnia, and some mild panic attacks. When my doctor heard about my coach she informed us, with a horrified expression on her face, that I probably had depression and anxiety, and that I should leave the sport and begin counseling immediately. I begged my parents to let me stay, hoping my next coach would be better, and they agreed. I never had any counseling, and the only thing I learned was that I should keep quiet about the abuse unless I wanted to lose the sport I loved so much.

My next coach was a good coach. She was firm, but fair, and I really liked her. She had been warned that I was a troublemaker, and it took me months of hard work to live down my reputation, but eventually I did. One of the biggest problems was our spotter. He was a living personification of toxic masculinity - muscular, tall, stupid, misogynistic, emotionally constipated, terrified that someone would make fun of him for being a cheerleader because that wasn’t a “man’s sport,” and with a tendency to wear nauseating amounts of cologne. I suspect the cologne was to hide the smell of the alcohol, but every now and then it bled through anyway. We privately called him the Hulk. He found my mental blocks and fear of back tumbling incredibly amusing, and constantly made fun of me for it. He called me condescending nicknames, “scaredy-cat,” “meow-meow,” “chicken,” and “sweetheart.” He always complained when I needed a spot, although that was literally all he was there for and otherwise he’d just be sitting on a mat watching. He had a reputation for being just a little too slow to catch the girls he was supposed to be spotting, and several of them ended up with badly sprained ankles. He once promised to spot me and then backed away, expecting to be able to say, “See? You did it all by yourself and you didn’t even need me.” I panicked in the air and landed hard on my head, shoulders and feet, hyper-extending my knees and both my ankles. They still hurt to this day, and the only hope for any relief is to have both of them completely reconstructed. I reported him to the gym owner, who made some flimsy excuses and promised it wouldn’t happen again. He never apologized and I had to continue to be spotted by him even though he had lied to me and completely lost my trust. From then on I never did a skill with him that I wasn’t fully confident I could do without him. That resulted in a lot more painful falls and repeatedly spraining my ankles. I got to the point where I would hurt my ankles, put on a brace, take some over-the-counter pain medication, and keep going. Going to the doctors was useless when they always said the same thing, and medical care in America is pretty expensive. I started having panic attacks in the gym, some so severe that I nearly blacked out and my teammates and coaches said my lips were completely blue and my face as white as a sheet. On On the days I wasn’t having panic attacks I would excuse myself to go to the bathroom, cry, vomit, wash my face, then go back out and keep going. This was nearly every time I went to the gym, and I was there 3 hours a day, 4-5 days per week.

We got a new conditioning coach around then, and he was arguably the most abusive and tyrannical coach we had ever had. Even the other coaches were afraid of him. I watched them talk to each other about how helpless they were to protect us from him with tears in their eyes. He was one of the slyest, most manipulative people I had ever met. Whenever the gym owner or a parent was watching he would be sweet and encouraging, but as soon as they looked away he would turn nasty. He made us do far too many repetitions of harmful exercises, and laugh if we cried or complained. He gave no mercy to anyone, whether they had been sick, or were injured, or tired. Once when I was having bad menstrual cramps he called me off the floor and told me to rest because I looked sick. That’s the only time I ever heard of him giving a break to anyone, and I was terrified of what he expected in return for that favor. Thankfully he never came to collect. He worked us till we were exhausted, and it was a common thing to hear about the girls going to the bathroom to vomit after the hour-long conditioning was over. My group of older girls helplessly watched him time and time again yell at the little girls until they shook and cried. All we could do is was comfort them afterwards. The final straw came when he yelled at an 8 year old asthmatic for slacking on cardio until she had a panic attack. We all knew she could have died, so we discussed it on a group message, forgetting that the gym owner’s granddaughter was among our teammates. The very next day we were taken into a closed room by the gym owner and lectured for nearly 20 minutes of our practice time. We were told that the gymnast in question had shouted at the coach and he had calmly reprimanded her. She was brought up in front of all of us and forced to tell us the “truth” of what happened - a version in which the coach was completely innocent. We were told how much he cared about us, what a good coach he was, and how the entire thing was the gymnast’s fault. She even made the bizarre suggestion that we had misinterpreted the entire incident because we had eaten unhealthy foods like French fries before coming to practice. (For the record, I had a protein-packed salad. Can’t get much healthier than that.) Then to our shock, she turned to the older group of girls and informed us that she had read every single one of our text messages. She called us rude and disrespectful troublemakers, said that we needed to hear “his side of the story,” and even said, “I assume your mothers’ haven’t raised you to be respectful, but my children know better than to talk about adults that way.” We left that room with the knowledge that no matter what was done to us, we would never be listened to because of our age, and the woman whom we all loved and trusted like a grandmother had read our private messages - rantings between friends which we never thought would see the light of day. We never trusted her or her granddaughter, whom we had considered a friend, ever again. We never texted on a group chat, never talked about anything more personal than the weather unless we were sure no one was watching. I worked up an meticulous code system so we could talk about things under the guise of talking about a television show. The coach received a long apology for the “abuse” we had put him through, and was given free reign to do whatever he wanted. And he did. He set up a conditioning exercise which involved over 50 back walkovers in a row, after which the entire team had back pains for months. That and the other medically insane exercises he had us do destroyed my physical health just as thoroughly as my mental health.

In the 6 years I competed I had a broken tailbone, a concussion, a dislocated elbow, 3 permanently frozen vertebrae in my spine, countless sprained ankles, knees and wrists, and I had already attempted suicide once. I finally had to quit gymnastics because of the pain. Every tendon in my feet and ankles are over-stretched. I have constant pain in my neck, back, shoulders, ankles, and feet. If I sit in an odd position my knees hyperextend and cause me pain.

But I’m not the exception. All my teammates are just as bad off. Of the original group of 14, only one is still in the sport, and she’s in crutches right now. The worst of all this is that we weren’t Olympic level athletes. This wasn’t a matter of sacrificing everything so that we could compete on the international stage. We were low level gymnasts with no chance of ever making it past low level optionals (level 6. There are 10 levels, then elite, which is what you see on television.) The most impressive thing any of us would ever win is a plastic trophy at a meet with maybe 100 kids and their parents. This was supposed to be fun, and there was no reason to push us that hard.

Gymnastics is a sport that requires a lot of love and dedication, and I’m not exaggerating when I say many of us would rather die than quit. In my darkest days I considered ending my life many times, but I never seriously considered retiring. We lied to our parents, lied to doctors, lied to ourselves, made excuses for our coaches, and forgave the unforgivable, all because we loved gymnastics. Bad coaches take advantage of that love and they use it to manipulate us. They know we’ll put up with just about anything, so they do whatever they want to us. And worst of all, many of them make us believe they care about us. At the gym where I was it was a tradition to hug your coaches goodbye before you left for the day. The lady who emotionally abused me told me she was just trying to make me a better gymnast. The man who made fun of my for my fears said he was just trying to push me to overcome them. The man who screamed at us and pushed our bodies to the breaking point told us that we were all “awesome” and he loved coaching us. He blatant flirted with the older girls, telling them how pretty their makeup was, how nice their hair looked. The woman who snooped through our private messages and told us we couldn’t believe our own eyes is the same woman who payed my competition fees and let me come to practice for free when my dad lost his job. She said she loved us, she gave us Christmas gifts every year, she always greeted us with big smiles and warm hugs. We all ended up with something akin to Stockholm’s syndrome - we loved and trusted our abusers. Even now I am almost as afraid of hurting them as I am afraid of the consequences of speaking up. But I know I have to.

After hearing about Larry Nassar I wondered what would have happened if one of our coaches crossed over the line into sexual abuse. We had emotional and mental abuse just not sexual abuse. But what would have happened if that coach had called in that favor and expected sex from me? Would I have tolerated that too, in my haze of depression and fear? Would I have stayed quiet to stay in the sport I love? If I had chosen to tell someone, would they have believed me? Or would I be taken into that room in front of all my teammates and forced to tell a lie in which I’m the villain? Our sport has gotten far to comfortable with 0 accountability. A gym can hire anyone they like, regardless of their qualifications. The Hulk knew so little about gymnastics that he couldn’t even name all four pieces of competitive equipment, yet he was allowed to work with the highest level gymnasts in that gym. The only place uncertified coaches are barred from is the competition floor, and nearly every meet I’ve been to had uncertified people on the floor anyway. There’s rarely ever any inspections - the whole time I was in gymnastics the only organization who ever inspected our gyms was the fire department.  USAG, our governing body, puts out articles and courses on preventing abuse, yet they enabled the most prolific pedophile in American history. Part of me wants this nightmare to all be over but it can’t be. We have to stand up and fight this. We cannot let the brave young women who stood up to Larry Nassar be forgotten. There’s no “quick fix” that will work. We have to tear down this corrupt system that allows adults to prey on children with no consequences. We have to demand accountability, expose hypocrisy, punish abusers no matter how good of a coach or doctor they are. No amount of benefit is worth allowing children to be molested. And if saving even one child means the entire sport crumbles tomorrow it’ll be worth it.

[piratekenway]

*boots down the door* HAPPY BIRTHDAY. For a prompt, what do you think would happen if Diana of Themyscira existed in the AU where Anakin spends a decade on Earth as amnesiac John Foster?

so I’m going to smash these two AUs together, bc I just love this idea and I’m gonna make like Victor Frankenstein, OG sleep-deprived desperate college student, and create A Monster.

title from P!nk’s “What About Us”.

title: we are rockets pointed up at the stars

--

The first time Diana of Themyscira meets Anakin Skywalker, he’s not Anakin Skywalker just yet. Anymore. Whichever. She doesn’t really know, per se, because she’s never had the opportunity to change her identity from the bottom-up—underneath Diana Prince and all her other aliases is Diana of Themyscira, princess, goddess, Amazon, and that has never changed.

Not the same way Anakin’s identity has changed.

What he is when she meets him, though, is a bright-eyed college student, in a Columbia hoodie, weaving in and out of the crowds and looking up, up, up at the ceiling.

She steps deftly to the side before he can bump into her, but it’s too late, his knee knocks against a bench and he goes sprawling anyway with a squawk, his papers flying.

Her mouth quirks upward, in a smile, and she bends down. “Do you need any help?” she asks.

“Please,” he says, and the two of them rearrange his papers and his things into some semblance of order quickly enough that he can still catch up with his friends. “I’m—so sorry, I didn’t see.”

“It’s all right,” says Diana. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

He huffs out a breath, scratches the back of his neck. He’s young, she thinks, he’s never seen anything worse than a failing grade, a dead pigeon. He’s so young. “Yeah,” he says. “My friends dragged me here, I couldn’t really turn them down. Not after they said there was an exhibit here on space.”

The space exhibit, right. Diana hadn’t been responsible for that one, hadn’t even planned to go see it, had only just swung by the museum after talking to a donor because she’d wanted to check on an artifact being exhibited, but it fascinates her, nonetheless.

“Your friends have good taste,” she observes. “They’ve a rock from the moon here, did you know?”

“I know, that’s partly why I agreed to come here,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to go to space, it’s like—we were meant to be out there, y’know? Exploring, discovering, pushing the final frontier.”

“So you’ve watched a lot of Star Trek?” says Diana, amused.

He ducks his head and laughs. “Yeah, I have,” he says. “And—shit, I forgot. I’m John.” He holds his hand out. “I’m a physics major.”

“Diana,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’m a museum curator. Not for this one, I live in Paris.”

“Oh, so you’re with the Louvre?” he says, letting go. “That’s nice. All I know is that the Mona Lisa is there, so.”

“Yes, that does seem to be the main draw for many people,” says Diana, with a huff. “We do have an exhibit on clay work from Ancient Greece right now, in case someone can drag themselves away from the Mona Lisa for long enough.”

“Ancient Greece?” says John, evidently trying valiantly to keep his interest on something that’s not related to space. His eyes keep straying upward to the ceiling, tracking the constellations painted above them. “That’s—uh, pretty cool.”

“And clearly something you’re not interested in,” she says, sardonic.

John, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah, sorry,” he says. “Most of what I know is from Professor Duke’s Philosophy classes.”

Diana can’t help it, she winces in sympathy. “I’ve met him a few times,” she says. “He’s very trying.” Which is an understatement, Duke is a rich white old man, and in Diana’s experience, those tend to be set in their ways, at the very least, which Duke is. Stubbornly so, even.

John sighs. “He’s an asshole, sorry,” he says.

“I’m well aware,” says Diana.

“Foster!” someone calls, and John startles, turns to look. “Foster, oh my god, get your ass over here and cover for us so Matt can touch the artwork!”

“He’s flirting with a girl, isn’t he?” someone else says. “Jesus Christ, it’s like Matt and his girls all over again.”

“I gotta go,” says John, with a huff of laughter. “I’m looking after some freshmen today, they’re going to get in trouble if I’m not there to terrify people.”

“You cannot possibly be that terrifying,” says Diana. It’s true enough, John might be tall and broad, but he slouches, smiles, speaks with a self-deprecating edge to his voice.

“To you,” John chuckles. “Hey, listen, do you have a pen? I’ve got some paper here.”

--

Patricia Avery is an accomplished lawyer, a woman of great renown amongst the lawyers of New York for her great integrity and her steel backbone, her compassion for the needy and her drive to do the right thing, no matter what.

She also, Diana has found over the course of their acquaintance, can be easily talked into an informal meeting with chocolate ice cream. So, well, she has good taste as well.

“So how’s your case?” says Diana, as Patricia digs a spoon into her bowl of ice cream. “I hear it’s taken an interesting turn.”

“I loathe Reyes with all my heart,” says Patricia, pleasantly. “Every time I see her it makes me weep for our legal system that she’s on track to taking over the DA’s position.”

“You have to admit, she did have a point,” says Diana.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” huffs Patricia, with no real heat behind her tone. Her client, a witness and accomplice to a crime, isn’t having the best time of it in court right now, what with Reyes poking holes in her testimony and sowing doubt in the poor girl’s head and in the jury’s. “I swear, though, Reyes just wants to see her behind bars. And she deserves better, Diana, you know that—she’s already been kidnapped and brainwashed into being an accomplice, she doesn’t need this too.”

“I know,” says Diana, sympathetic. She could offer her help, she knows, her lariat still hangs in her apartment, but she cannot interfere in this even to help. It would hurt Patricia’s case, more than help.

Patricia sighs. “Reyes is gunning for her,” she says. “She wants a convenient scapegoat, and the worst part of it all is, the press is going along with her. You’ve seen the narrative they’re putting out.”

“You can change that,” Diana points out.

“I’m trying,” says Patricia. “But sometimes—I don’t know. I feel like it isn’t enough.” There’s something underneath her voice, the truth of her identity lurking underneath her sharp clothes, the grief of not being enough (never being enough) to effect any change, no matter how loud she shouts, how hard she pushes. “Senator or lawyer, sometimes it feels as if I can’t shout loud enough,” she says, quietly.

Diana’s hand rests over Patricia’s. The woman startles a little, surprised, but she doesn’t flinch away. “You are,” says Diana, with conviction. “Patricia. Padmé. You have made your voice loud enough in the pursuit of justice that even the deaf can hear it. You can change this narrative in the press, you can drag the truth out into the light, you can give Reyes a run for her money. I’ve seen you do it, over and over. I know you can do it now.”

Patricia stares at her, then, slowly, nods.

“Thanks,” she says, quietly. “You always know what to say to pull me out of a funk.”

“Don’t mention it,” says Diana. “You always pay for the ice cream, anyway.”

--

The second time Diana meets Anakin Skywalker, he’s earned his PhD, and it’s a year before Greenwich, before SHIELD, four before the Justice League forms, in the Avengers’ absence. He’s still not Anakin, not yet.

They meet, again, at a museum, and this time he doesn’t go sprawling in front of her.

“I’m here with Selvig this time,” he says, and his eyes are still bright, though they’re wiser now. She thinks of New Mexico, and desert sands. “How are you, anyway? I haven’t seen you in years.”

“I’ve been busy,” says Diana. “I heard you were in New Mexico.”

“Yeah, that,” says John, with a little huff of breath. He looks up once more, searching for something. “That was—wow.”

“Wow is putting it one way,” says Diana. “So. Norse gods?”

“Classified my ass,” says John, shaking his head. “Yeah, apparently. Thor was—uh. Nice.” He rubs the side of his neck, smile turning soft and sad, and Diana knows loss and longing, when she sees it. Has felt it herself, still does sometimes.

She watches John for a long moment, and says, quiet, “Come with me.”

--

She tells him: “I lost someone, once.”

She tells him: “It will always hurt like this.”

She tells him: “He may not come back.”

“He will,” he says.

“But if he does not?” she asks.

“He will,” he says, with a desperate note. “I’ll find him, if he doesn’t. But he will. I didn’t—” He stops, shakes his head. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. “I really am. But it isn’t the same, he’s going to come back.”

He’s so young. And yet.

Diana touches his elbow.

She tells him: “I wish you both more time.”

[truthofherdreams]

hopelessly a lover (and that will be the death of me)

OR Rosaline is so good at pretending to be in love, she even fools Benvolio.

part one out of three (part 1, also on ao3)

It doesn't keep Rosaline up at night per se, but the thought lingers on her mind until comes morrow, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She tries to distract herself from it when she wakes up, reading a book through breakfast and keeping her mind elsewhere, but Benvolio is to arrive early and there is only so much Rosaline can do before her thoughts wander back to him. It, of course, gets even worse when Benvolio knocks on their door.

The excuse is a well-rounded one, that of visiting Friar Lawrence for details about the wedding ceremony, and so her uncle doesn’t bat an eyelash when Benvolio asks for Rosaline to join him for the morning. She would even bask in the perfection of the scheming, were it not for the way she analyses his every movement a little too much.

There is no pretending in front of Friar Lawrence, for he knows the marriage not to be a loving one. Still, Benvolio stands closer to Rosaline than he would have only a few weeks before. He glances her way every so often, and it unnerves her until she wants to scream - about that, and how his fingers keep playing with the fabric of her skirt. She doesn’t think he knows he does it, which makes matter even worse. This casual familiarity he has around her, this nonchalance when it comes to playing his part.

It is only when he escorts her back to the carriage, after a long but unfruitful conversation with the clergyman, that Benvolio comments on her behaviour. “Is something the matter?” he asks, stopping her with a hand around her wrist.

Rosaline forces herself not to jerk back at the warmth of his fingers, or at the concern in his blue eyes. She was indeed uncharacteristically silent during their meeting with Friar Lawrence, and it could surprise more than one person. That it concerns Benvolio, on the other hand, is most bothersome. She doesn’t want his worry, or his questions, because they come from a place of caring, and Livia’s words keep dancing in her mind.

“I am tired, is all,” she lies effortlessly. “He was hiding something, was he not?”

Thankfully, her question is enough to distract Benvolio, and things are a little easier from there. That, the thinking and the plotting and the scheming together, Rosaline can handle. That is something she can go through without fear of what to come next, without dread for Benvolio’s actions and words. They agree to share a light meal together in the Montague gardens, close enough to a chaperon not to get Rosaline into trouble but isolated enough to speak their mind without spies around them.

Benvolio accompanies her back home after lunch, kissing the back of her hand softly before he disappears around a corner. Rosaline lets him go, staring at the street in front of her but not truly seeing it. Her mind starts racing again, going through and analysing every detail of the day, every interaction, every brush of his fingers against her hand.

She sighs and gives up, only to groan her frustration when she enters her room and finds Livia sitting on her bed. Her sister looks up at the sound, questions in her eyes to which Rosaline only replies, “This is all your fault.”

Livia’s smirk has no right to be this wicked.

 …

 Rosaline is certain her uncle loves to see her suffering, for he organises yet another outing the following day and dismisses any complain she has on the matter. Rosaline still tries to make a case for herself, if only because the previous night was too hot for her to sleep comfortably and she would enjoy one day of peace and quiet, but there is little to be done against her uncle’s stubbornness. So Benvolio arrives at the house after lunch and, along with a couple of guards and the nurse as a chaperon, invites her to the local market.

She wishes Livia were with them, if only because she has an habit of forcing Benvolio to buy the most ridiculous and useless trinkets for her, which is entertaining enough. She still despises Benvolio, even more so than Rosaline does at this point, but Livia has always been one to use new opportunities to her advantages. Especially when those opportunities present themselves as Montague golden coins.

But Livia is otherwise busy with answering to their aunt’s every whims today, and so Rosaline has no other choice but to put her hand on the elbow Benvolio offers and to follow him outside the house. It is a hot summer afternoon, and so they keep to the shadows of the streets on their way to the market, neither of them bothering with conversation. Rosaline forces herself not to analyse this too closely once more, and instead dresses a list of things she needs buying. She would very much like a new pair of earrings for the wedding ceremony, and perhaps even a necklace for Livia. She also needs fabric for a dress, though she does not particularly look forward to wearing it.

“You are quiet once more, my love.”

Rosaline swallows down the groan that threatens to escape her mouth at his words, and instead plasters a smile on her lips. “I thought you liked me better submissive, my lord.”

It isn’t fair on him, she knows, even more so when he sucks in a breath at her words. He has never done anything to repress the fire within her, nor shown annoyance at her temper. If anything else, he might as well be the first man to enjoy it, and to even be amused by her bouts of passion, instead of judging her lack of manners.

Benvolio slows down then, just enough for Rosaline to look up at him and see the seriousness in his eyes. “I like you as you are, fair Rosaline,” he tells her, poorly hiding the hurt in his voice. “Be not afraid to be opinionated to your heart’s content.”

There is too much truth to his word, for he indeed likes her, and that frightens Rosaline more than she would like. She finds herself self-conscious of her every action once more, forcing a smile on her lips before she pulls on his arm to start walking again. Still, her body sways closer to his with each step they take, even more so when they leave the empty street and walk into the crowded market place. This seems to please him, if the smile ghosting his lips is anything to go by, and Rosaline wonders if he would be so bold as to wrap an arm around her waist and keep her close, were it not against all rules of decency.

As it is, he only follows her around from stall to stall, grinning every time her fingers caress a particularly beautiful necklace, every time she raises an earring to the side of her face and ask for his opinion. He may be a man, but Benvolio also is an artist, his tastes more refined that she would have thought from a Montague. Rosaline has no doubt that he would not let her buy something unflattering, even more so when he is the one paying.

She is comparing two pieces of fabric - one the Capulet blue, another one a more neutral beige - when Benvolio stands straighter by her side, his body turning stiff and awkward in an instant. Rosaline doesn’t have time to ask what the matter is, for his unusual behaviour is followed by a, “Greetings, dear aunt,” that has her breath catching in her throat.

Rosaline knows very little of the inner politics of the Montague clan, but she is no fool. Lady Tessa Montague is even more ruthless than her brother, and cares as very little about Benvolio. The reasons as to why everyone seems to despise the younger Montague are still a mystery to Rosaline, and an unfair one at that - as far as she can tell, he always was the scapegoat of the family, even as a child. How anyone could act in such a way with their own blood, Rosaline has no idea - at least her lady aunt has her reasons, no matter how biased.

“Greetings, nephew. Capulet.”

Rosaline takes a deep breath before she turns around, not even bothering with hiding her sarcastic smile. Some battles are worse fighting for, and making it clear that she despises the older woman is a hill upon which Rosaline is willing to die. “Greetings, m’lady,” she replies, messing the title on purpose with just enough of a servant’s accent to make the other woman squirm. “I was just telling Benvolio how lovely this colour look on him, wouldn’t you agree?”

She barely glances back at the stall of fabrics as she grabs one scarf, a vibrant blue piece, and turns around to wrap it around Benvolio’s neck. His eyes are a little wider than usual, even more so when he too notices the colour, before a smile settles on his lips once more. He even lets her tug on the ends of the scarf, as to pull his face closer to her, so only she can hear his little snort of laughter when she winks at him.

“Yes, indeed,” Lady Tessa replies, and Rosaline doesn’t need to look over her shoulder to hear the irritation in her voice, as if the lady had just swallowed a particularly bitter lemon. “Though I am always partial to crimson fabrics myself.”

“Oh no, m’lady,” Rosaline goes on, tugging on the scarf once more. “The blue of the fabric only brings up that of his eyes. We wouldn’t want the magenta to hinder his features.”

“Magenta is pink,” he whispers to her in a breath as to not be heard by his aunt. Rosaline can only reply with a snort of her own as the silliness of the situation, for of course he would know every shade of colour that exists. And then, to his aunt, “Who am I to deny my beloved the chance to gaze into my eyes at her leisure?”

Maybe they are taking it one step too far this time, but it is worth the grimace on Lady Tessa’s face as she battles not to say anything rude in public. It is only a matter of minutes after this until she bids her goodbyes and tells her nephew she will see him at home, before she gathers her skirts and leaves them. Rosaline lets out a breath of relief that Benvolio mirrors, his turning into a chuckle when she pulls at the scarf and it slides off his neck.

“That was interesting,” is his only comment as he hands a few coins to the seller.

It takes Rosaline a few moments to notice his gesture, and by that time he is already draping the scarf around her shoulders and smiling proudly to himself. “Though I have no doubt it does wonders to my eyes, blue is your colour.”

How he always manages to buy her things before she can stop him, Rosaline has no idea. She complains mildly, even if it is no use, before she follows him to another stall. It is yet another hour of wandering before she buys something for Livia and they agree that it is enough socialising for one day.

The way back to the House Capulet is not as silent, for they keep discussing one particular marchant they met on the market place, selling instruments neither of them had ever seen before. Rosaline admits to taking singing lessons when she was younger, but her voice could never compete with Juliet’s skills. Benvolio narrates one particularly colourful night in a tavern that had involved way too many tankards of beer and Mercutio losing his voice for an entire week, much to the dismay of both Montague boys.

As it turns out, talking to Benvolio is not as impossible as Rosaline would have liked to think. He is charming and amusing, and has a talent with words that turns any story into an epic tale of friendship and loyalty, until Rosaline finds herself mourning men she never met.

Before she knows it, they are back where they started, her uncle greeting them in the entrance hall even though he looks like he would rather be anywhere but here. Benvolio bows to him, ever the proper and respectful gentleman, before he delicately takes Rosaline’s hand in his own. He bows to her too, and she startles at his lips grazing against the back of her hand in a barely-there kiss that leaves her skin tingling even after he lets go of her.

“It was a pleasure spending time with you, as always.”

His words are polite and proper, but the gleam in his eyes speaks of more than a simple outing - amusement and companionship, jokes at his aunt’s expense shared in a whisper. And when Rosaline mirrors it with a, “The pleasure was all mine, dear betrothed,” of her own, it is with sincerity in her words and in the slope of her smile.

Benvolio stares at her for a few moments longer, tilting his head to the side as if to truly see her for the first time. A shiver runs down her spine, for this look speaks more than a thousand words, and for she is afraid of what will come out of it.

 …

 Rosaline is only left wondering for a few hours, for the sun is not quite set yet when pebbles are thrown at her window and dread fills her stomach. She slips out of bed and into a dressing gown, caring very little about her state of disarray as she walks toward the balcony. The warm summer wind caresses her cheeks when she opens the window, but she cannot blame the weather on the layer of sweat between her shoulderblades at the sight of Benvolio looking up at her from the gardens.

He smiles, tentative and charming, and it makes Rosaline want to scream. “What are you doing here?” she hisses instead. “If my cousins find you, you’re a dead man.”

Which would resolve many of her problems, though Rosaline has no doubt Escalus would simply marry her off to the next Montague in the line of succession. They care very little about her, but just enough to make sure she will produce an heir for both families. A dead Benvolio would be of no help to her, and she would only be wed to a man she tolerate even less.

“I needed to see you.”

She winces, and curses him under her breath. “You will see me come morrow, Montague. Go home already.”

Benvolio, of course, doesn’t listen to her. Instead, he decides to favour his cousin’s flair for dramatic gestures of affection, moving closer to the house as to grab the vine that runs down the outer walls. No small amount of protesting makes him stop until, with laboured breaths and a smirk, he hauls himself up and over the railing of her balcony. His feet are loud when they land on the floor, panic rising within Rosaline as she grabs his arm and pulls him closer to the window as to be hidden by the heavy curtains.

“Do you have a death wish?” she whispers at him. “My family has killed yours for less than that.”

And they both know it. For a Montague man to be found in the bedroom of a Capulet maiden, would be the worst of offenses, worthy of death in a matter of minutes. No one in her family would care much about their betrothal, when her reputation is at play. She knows Montagues to be careless, but she expected Benvolio to be more level-headed than this.

Alas, there is nothing much to be done about fools in love.

For a fool Benvolio is, his eyes shining in the moonlight and his lips stretched into a lazy yet endearing smile. He moves closer to her, until she forgets about her uncle and cousins, until she forgets about her reputation, until she forgets about everything but the warmth of his breath against her mouth and the adoring way he looks at her. Perhaps it is how Romeo had Juliet falling so deeply and so fast for him - with easy charms and a smile, with this way of making you feel like you are the only one in the world and no other woman matters. And perhaps it would work on Rosaline too, were the situation different. In another life, another time.

“I needed to see you,” he says once more. “I would suffer a hundred deaths by a hundred Capulets, if it meant a few more minutes by your side.”

Her breath catches in her throat, and Rosaline dreads what is to come, what she will do in but a few moments. She is not a cruel woman, but his actions and words call for cruel repercussions that she can no longer avoid.

“Benvolio…”

He grabs her hand, the delicacy of his touch a sharp contrast to the hard calluses on his fingers, and Rosaline forgets to breathe. She knows what is to come, and yet she is hardly prepared for his lips on hers, for the chaste kiss he offers. A shiver runs down her spine before Rosaline finds her wits again and, with her hands on his chest, pushes him away.

He blinks at her, confused, before his eyes harden as the gravity of her actions settles down. Benvolio is at lost for words, long enough for Rosaline to breathe a simple, “Don’t.” that breaks her heart as much as it does his.

“I don’t understand,” is his only reply at first. Rosaline doesn’t know what to say to this - doesn’t even know if there is anything to be said at all. “I thought…”

“You thought wrong, Montague.”

His mouth opens in disbelief, yet no words come out of it. She reads the storm of betrayal in his blue eyes as he takes a step back, her hand slipping away from his grasp until it falls back at her side. Rosaline braces herself for the fight to come, for the explanations she could have done without.

“All along… You were only pretending.”

“Yes. You knew it. You agreed to it,” she reminds him, in a voice she hopes to be kind. She thinks back on their interactions, ever since they agreed to the wedding and started putting on the act, and wonders where exactly she became a much better actress than she thought to be. For surely she believed that she only fooled people into seeing what they wanted to see, that the lies only worked because people were willing to think them in love. Perhaps she was wrong, and offered a much better show than she thought. Perhaps Benvolio took her sarcasm for something else entirely.

“You were convincing,” Benvolio replies, unable to hide the hurt in his voice. “Even more so than you give yourself credit for. You should take pride in this.”

“Do not put the blame on me!” She lets out a puff of breath, willing herself to calm down even as anger rises within her. “Do not act like I was misleading you, when you knew from the very start that this was all an act!”

“Have your feelings toward me not changed during the weeks spent together?”

“Changed, yes. I hated you, and I no longer do. But we both knew this wedding to be a loveless one, and it is but your own fault if you were led to believe otherwise!”

Benvolio turns his head, avoiding her gaze. She wants to lash out at him, wants to tell him how unfair it is to expect so much of her when she can only give so little. She wants to blame him for everything, for putting her into this situation, for forcing his feelings on her. She wants to fight him, until she stops feeling guilty for not loving him back. She wants this, and so much more, but finds herself losing her momentum when Benvolio sniffs pitifully.

There is no ignoring the lone tear rolling down his cheek, nor the way her own stomach twists painfully. For it is not his fault, nor hers, if he loves her yet she can’t return his feelings. Rosaline reaches for his hand, willing to apologize - for her crude words, if not for matters of her heart, but he snatches his hand away before her fingers graze his skin.

“I do apologise for the mistake, my lady,” he tells her, stiff and serious. “And for the discomfort it may have caused you. I will do my best to leave you to your own devises from now on.”

“Benvolio…”

“I shall see you again during our next public outing.”

She wants to protest, but it wouldn’t be fair on him, on either of them. Better let him lick his wounds in peace, instead of making it worse with hollow promises and empty words of comfort. So, even though Rosaline has so much more to say, she lets Benvolio go down the vine, lets him disappear into the shadows of the garden, until she is left staring at a bush of roses, and then at the stars.

She doesn’t know how long she remains like this, minutes or hours, glaring at the moon as if it is the cause of all her troubles. The night is warm yet she shivers when Livia enters the room and calls her name, and it is only when her sister gasps that Rosaline notices the tears in her eyes and on her cheeks, the broken pieces of her own heart that no embrace from Livia can mend.

[mujehan-a]

talk about the relations of your muses with other muses ( brotps, otps, fwb, anything included! ), which you love to death!

— i assume you mean with other people’s muses and not other muses of my blog ( tho i have a lot of canons abt those too ) lmao okay lisTEN THERE IS...QUITE A BIT. these are just so brief tho...so if any interests you, feel free to ask about them more. under the cut bc there’s so much. i don’t want to constantly mention ppl in the post so if anyone interests you let me know

the ones you’ll notice a lot is ships i have with @plvnetarium​ ( lmao a majority is with her uvu check her out ).

daehyun/wonho

started as fwb but daehyun developed feelings he was unwilling to admit to

daehyun is REALLY afraid of feelings because he doesn’t like the feeling of commitment

but he fell in love with wonho and he’s really scared that he’s gonna fuck it up

he wants to be able to love but he isn’t sure how....asjnsdfhb

jongin/caelus

oh my fucking god

listen

caelus almost killed kai then didn’t and kai wasn’t happy so he hunted caelus down

and it was just hot fucks

until FUCK emotions....then they just got really emotional over each other

a criminal and a cop, okay???

hot office sex....in dark corners; kai looks like he’s been brutalized but really, just hickies and caelus is just a really PASSIONATE lover

they broke up and jongin cried his eyes out...

they also have a lot of personal issues....lmao

rowan/luna

okay, these two...are so bros

they love to taunt caleb together or at least, rowan thinks luna likes to watch him taunt caleb

caleb fucking hates rowan

wonho/haru

shit

wonho hATES IT WHEN HARU IS STANDING

bc he’s short af and haru is tall af....want to fucking smack haru

makes him sit and it’s hilarious but cute???

wonho just has a height complex

taewon/hyuk

maknaes on top bros

taewon is learning how to be an evil maknae from hyuk ( lol )

if given the chance, the hyungs stand no chance against these two

taewon ( despite being victim to a lot of wonho’s pranks ) can be a force to be reckoned with

archer/hyuk

it’s been a while since i visited this ship lol

it happened spontaneously

but it’s cute??

lol sex in the locker room, mundane things !!

like...

just spending time with each other on down times uvu

shiori/pluto

shiori cried over pluto’s injuries and pluto made fun of him lol

jk, but like wow

it’s so cute??? like shiori’s just so scared of catching feelings but he caught feelings for pluto

and was like “i can’t” and left pluto

then regretted it for-fucking-ever

came back...

pluto would get hurt to get shiori’s attention lmao, shiori hates it

not anymore

pluto always has 100% of shiori’s attention

they’re always trying to get the other turned on...pluto wins a lot

jisoo/jae

the TRAVELING PAIR !! i think

a pilot and an immortal who’s traveled the world

arranged marriage that may not turn out so bad??

jisoo thinks jae’s v interesting and cute uvu

luhan/yifan

so this may have been a bit of a crackship lol

it hasn’t really carried over from @scapegoatisms

but it was a...really interesting one

that luhan actually caught feelings for yifan in their little fwb relationship

dabin/yukwon

yukwon loves the dog more, dabin just stopped giving a fuck

but really, he’s hurt by it

he won’t say anything tho...

he can’t hate the dog

he doesn’t want to blame yukwon

this was probably his own fault tbh

dabin/teno

ANGST

on both their parts bc they hate sharing and so they all suffer alone

and everyone around them can see it

teno almost died and dabin’s angry abt it...

dabin and teno are parents for x-out tbh

carina/titan

supersoldier power couple

the two would kill for each other ( and the team )

titan lost carina once ;; and carina would rather she die than watch her friends die

they love each other so much?????

they were also v chicken about confessing so when she ‘died’, it only confirmed their feelings for each other.

carina/janus/titan

best friends uvu

three musketeers of the alpha team

they’re v close with one another

without janus, carina probably wouldn’t have ever confessed tbh

riley/janus

the persistent one vs the stubborn one

riley is afraid of getting hurt so he shoves janus aside at the beginning

but janus is persistent and knocks down riley’s walls

btw - janus breaks riley’s heart...

what’s it with breaking hearts with me and angel and our ships...

almost all our ships have broken up at some point in their relationship....

hyesung/hanbin

fell in love with her idol

an unlikely relationship lol

hanbin ended up in front of hyesung’s apartment ( she was a stranger at the time ) and passed out in her bed...

they exchanged mixtapes and are only just confessing to each other

barry/shin/takuto

SCIENCE BROS

okay but takuto ( shin’s son ) savages barry at any time possible

shin does it too

save barry

but they care for each other A FUCKING LOT

sachi/astra

they hated each other -- more like sachi hated astra’s guts bc he’s annoying and distracting

but she starts to realize her kitchen is just so EMPTY without him

like it doesn’t feel complete without him around???

asksdfjh

yongho/aries

another ship that broke up then got back together

lol

at first, it was v abusive and yongho was just being used

so when yongho finally woke tf up and dumped aries, aries also woke up

yongho couldn’t really leave aries behind?? like aries was the only person he’s been with seriously

and like, he’s seen aries at his SOFT moments when he wasn’t being struck...

aries changed for the better and went to ask yongho to give him a second chance uvu

they both needed the time to heal and come to terms with themselves

aldus/johnny

so cute?

idek how to really describe this

there was a special connection, albeit i haven’t written much of it

for them, silence is golden but it was better for each other

bc when johnny became a vamp, his hearing got really sharp ( as he was deaf before )

and aldus’ voice was v soothing??

andy/europa

princely couple / rich couple

scared the waiters / waitresses a few times fighting for the bill

honestly, that’s the only thing they fight about

but also love issues???

andy doesn’t want to get hurt but he gives and gives and gives

europa on the other hand is distrustful...ish

but andy is willing to just give his everything to europa???

visual couple, okay?? have you seen europa’s fc ( sf9′s rowoon )

casper/wren

ATLA AU

THEY BOTH LOVE ANIMALS???

haven’t written much but like wren and casper are just so in love with animals and they’ve developed this bond over them

uvu

even in atla au, they have an animal shelter together

victoria/briggs

kingsman bros

they also complain to each other about their idiot coworkers who make their lives harder

drinking buddies

honestly, they can be so badass together

rollo/hyperion

he bribed her with food lol

actually, it started with a fight; like he tried to kill her employer

then SHOCK !!  she can feel his toUCH???

their relationship is just so intimate and based on touch?

they’re also super in tune with each other, they always know what’s going on with each other, even when apart???

julian/briggs

merlin was a douche

put the two people who can’t really do emotions together

told briggs to teach julian emotions and social etiquette

and told julian to teach briggs how to shoot

bonded over the fact that they hate their new ‘mission’

intak/shinwoo/jun

poly!!

stared with just jun and intak’s denseness / refusal for emotions

actually, the entire thread that started it was v cute and i loved it

intak’s slow discovery that maybe it’s okay to open up to jun and shinwoo

so he’s this emotional and vulnerable person with them???

but also like...he’s discovering all these new things

so like a kid in an amusement park, his eyes just sparkles whenever jun and shinwoo brings him to places he’s never been

there are so many more..

aldus/corvus ( i think i have a lot more ships with angel than i’ve listed here tbqh )

taewoo/siwon

taewon/seongwoo

esther/mingun

junha/myou, odessa/myou, daehyun/myou ( lol )

vita/briggs, vita/hiro ( i might have gotten the name wrong )

[sapphirenut]

What I Find Most Amusing

It’s so easy to ride the fence on everything.  If you never make a choice (that sticks) about where you stand then how do you know you're not standing in dog crap? If you are forever flipping the script on people, are you just trying to freshen things up, like changing the sheets on your bed, or are you so flighty that you don't even know your own mind? I have always considered it something of a character flaw that I'm never on the fence about things. I'm either one side or the other, but there is always balance.  It's either black, white or monochrome with me and I know that makes no sense, but I'm an artist so lighten up. 

I choose life.  I choose happiness and peace.  I choose what is hard for other people to choose and I make the painful and powerful decisions to speak out against those who are full of bitterness and evil, who hurt others and try to (if not succeed) publicly humiliate the ones they claimed to love/befriend if their rules and conditions are not met. 

Unconditional engagement with others need not be hostile!  I'm a peace loving person by nature, but I have no tolerance for liars, manipulators, users, cowards and two-faced gossips who just look for a way to start trouble in the lives of others.  Why?  Why would anyone choose that lifestyle? 

Blame.  That's the reason.  They need a scapegoat for their horrible behavior so they find someone to blame and make themselves the victim of some glorious intrigue that has rendered their life miserable.  Then they talk bad about other people who do that. 

Bollocks!  I'm nobody's victim, buddy.  I take full responsibility for my actions, whether they are accepted or not.  I am the one who wrote my blog and I'm 100% responsible for the words I used in it. I was not a victim of anyone's treacherous plans or devious schemes, I was a willing participant out of sheer, morbid curiosity if nothing else.  I wanted to know how the badly written, poorly translated book was going to end. Now I do.  It ends with me having no part to play in it, thank blessed Jesus, and the only victims here are the young and truly innocent.   

Playing people off against each other for attention is a sign of mental illness.  I know a few people who need to get immediate help.  I will no longer be pushed around like a pawn in the game though, just let that be said, but I will not cower down in my home, change my habits, and hide from the world simply because ANYONE said so. The very idea amuses me to no end. 

I will not stop writing my blogs because anyone gets offended by it.  Stop looking! Stop trolling!  Stop creeping!  Stop making up fake Facebook profiles so you can see what I'm doing. Just ask me what I'm doing.  I have never lied about anything, why would I start now?  I sure don't want any of y'all back in my life, but I hate it that you think you need to sneak to find out what's going on with me.  You know I post some of the stupid stuff to get a rise out of y’all, right?  Gah, you’re so easy because you know you’re guilty and dead WRONG!!  Oh and did I mention you’re self-absorbed narcissists that think EVERYTHING has to be about them all the time?  Uh the Earth revolves around the sun, Buttercup, not you.

Yeah, incidentally, that was Jerry on the motorcycle earlier.  I wasn't with him nor did I have any knowledge of him going over there until he got home several hours later.   Hope he didn’t scare anybody.

Ahem.  Clean up your front porch.  I won't make the recommendation again.

[archfallen-ramiel-adramelech]

By Demons Be Driven || Para || Adramelech/ Moloch

“Little King, Little King, let me in...”

Moloch froze and turned on his heels to see Adramelech standing there peering curiously at him. Time again had seemed to cease around them, somehow another vision being passed. “What the hell do you want?”

“Oh, I’ve come to check up on some things, check up on -you- and to make sure those loose lips are still sealed.” The expression was devilish, that was apparent and it was as though the archdemon himself was even suspicious.

But Moloch already sealed off his memories to outsiders after Aaron. It wasn’t a trick he was used to as a demon but he was sure to quickly make use of this tool knowing how Adramelech was gunning after him.  “There’s nothing to check up on. I’ve kept your fucking secret, now go away.”

“Moloch... Moloch....” The archdemon began to pace in front of him, the still dangerous curiosity lingering on his features, “How do I -trust- a demon? How do I -trust- Wrath? Is it true that everything you do should bring about anger and spitefulness? How do I know that doesn’t include myself? I’m not impervious to sinning myself and anger... wrath... -revenge-... I think that’s my whole premise considering my history.” Adramelech stopped and faced the King, a book manifesting in his hand as he watched Moloch’s eyes grow wide. “I found these in your throne room. You’ve been studying. Smart. Getting to know me without... getting to know me.” Adramelech smirked, “I don’t like that you know me so well without talking to me more first or knowing how much I meant it when I said I’d take your throne from you.”

“I didn’t say shit to anyone. Go fuck yourself.”

“You didn’t?” he chuckled, amused, “I guess I just have to do my own research. You know what’s great about casting visions? It’s either in such a short time that you miss nothing or... just like right now, you look distant, daydreaming, and time just seems to pass before you and you miss it. That’s what’s happening now. And I’m walking up to you, my palm on your forehead and I look inside your demon head, searching for any little fuck up, any little lie you just told me, anything at all that I wanted. Oh, and... what’s this?” He begins to laugh lightly, “You are really trying to put up blockades? You know I can tell if those are up, right? Most people would just walk on by and not even question, not even know they are there... but there it is.... Tearing it down....”

Moloch started to panic, having a hard time not showing it considering what he could lose, “Stop it before I fucking kill you....”

“...Piece by little piece... brick by brick... Whatever truths you have will start to show themselves....”

“I said stop!” Moloch’s eyes flickered to black and he attempted to blast the archdemon back-- but Adaramelech just stood and laughed.

“This is a vision! If you’re going to do that, you’d need to snap out of it. Unfortunately, this is important and... “ he shrugged, “I am the master of visions, so.... Oh... wow.... Really, Moloch? It was what? A couple hours? And you ran -straight- to Aaron. Fuck, you’re a dick. But that’s fine.” The book disappeared, “You know why? It looks as if you’re trying to pin misdirection on me when it’s really -you- trying to misdirect. You’re known for your lies and manipulation. I don’t think Aaron or anyone for that matter would forget that. That’s why.... I’m... sticking to our little agreement. You snitched. And you aren’t taking the fall like I said to. So... I feel the need to strip you of your throne.”

“FUCK YOU!” Moloch growled demonically, “You can’t and you won’t- and I swear to fuck if you do something--”

“---Or what?” he interjected. “Look at you parading around here more like Pride than Wrath. You’re just as soft as your dad, Moloch. Falling for Aaron, falling in love with Lucifer’s host, getting married... For fuck sake’s, you were in Purgatory for almost a year and you come back for a weekend romp in a cabin? You’re not even fit for leading Wrath anymore.”

“Excuse me?! I’m more King than most of the Kings in Hell! I’ve achieved more than any of them and I’m not done! I’m A GODKING!”

“Please, spare me the tears. You broke our little agreement. And -now- I have to punish you.”

“I’ll KILL YOU!” Moloch swung a clawed hand, but it went right through the vision.

“You’re so clever but so -dumb-. Did you forget you’re having a vision? I mean,” he chuckled, “I already told you and you’re -still- trying to attack me. How stupid is that?”

Moloch was enraged, trying his hardest how to break out of this state but nothing was working. Poofing out was useless. Attacking, obvious. 

“I might, -just might- be merciful, though. I -really- need you to take the fall, Moloch. Take the blame, be the scapegoat, and perhaps I’ll let you keep your throne after all. There’s just the little problem of you already letting Aaron see inside your head. But easy enough, if you can hide nasty little secrets, then you’ve hidden these. Don’t worry, I already gave them to you, the problem here is that you may just end up believing it was you since you remember them. After all, what’s more important, fucking Aaron or the throne?”

Moloch’s eyes widened and the black faded out of them.

“You’re a demon, and... sure... one of the best ones anyone’s seen in a long time. All of Hell loves you and fears you. But you’ll need to harden up now. “

Moloch just stared at Adramelech, not wanting to give the archdemon the satisfaction of besting him, but here he was, helpless as he knew how this turn of events would go. And if there wasn’t going to be new events to be pegged on, the older ones would surely damn his relationship. But he was too proud to beg, too defiant in his anger. Part of him wanted to as he did to Aaron, plead, show him the hurt this will cause him. Maybe Adramelech was right... he had become too filled with a humanity from being with these people. Being out of Hell for extended periods of time. Revenge on this archdemon would be so sweet once he could figure it out... but the part of losing what he had... weighed on his shoulders.

“Now, go forth, my little king. You won’t remember this, I took away the memory all together. But fuck up--- and I’ll surely make you recall it.” 

And just like that, Moloch was standing in the hallway, dazed, confused, and remembering assaulting Lysandra.”No.... no, no, no... it... how... How could I have....?”