#the important thing is to be held accountable for the pain you cause

[nieves-de-sugui]

I need to put my thoughts somewhere so here goes.

I'm currently watching this show on netflix and I have thoughts. I am super intrigued with it so spoilers ahead for the people who might happen to be watching it.

Ok so, I just watched the most recent episode and I am a little sad they decided to have Kang Ho get back his memories like this. One of the things that I liked about this show is that despite having the typical corruption storyline they seemed to be going/exploring a different outcome when they had Kang Ho's mom burn all the evidence. Which I was intrigued by. The kdramas are all about vengeance and justice, however this show is about good intentioned people making bad choices in the name of revenge or pursuing justice. Kang Ho's mom wanting to save Kang Ho from this revenge plot he's put himself into (that has cost him his life and happiness). Trying to correct the mistake she made when she forced him on the path of becoming a prosecutor.

It seemed to me like they might explore another way out, by letting the past be in the past and learning to move on with Kang Ho's current condition. There's enough to unpack there, and also the whole exploration of living with someone with a disability. How much Kang Ho and his mother have hurt each other, how much they love each other, and how to find happiness in such a complex family situation.

I would have loved for Kang Ho to get his memories slowly. I still hope he does, and doesn't revert back to being who he was a 100%. Hopefully he gets them back gradually and, combined with his most recent memories he can learn from his past mistakes and learn to understand his mother more. I hope they end up having a few heart to hearts by the end of the show.

I really love how they show how even with the best intention mother can be bad. We see it in how Mi-joo doesn't tell the truth to her kids about their dad. In Mijoo's mom who wants to save her from a fate similar to hers, but doesn't listen to her daughters wishes. In Samsik's mom too.

Anyway, all this to say that for me this show is about healing. And Kang Ho getting his memories back implies we're gonna spend more time with the revenge/corruption plot line. Which is intriguing and all but I hope it doesn't eclipse the main part of the story. Which is about learning from our past mistakes, stop thinking we know better than others (and hurt them I the process) and enjoying the present in whichever shape it comes.

I hope this show sticks the landing because it could easily become one of my faves. So fingers crossed! 🤞

[jo-com]

🎧₊ ꪆৎ ˚⋆. ➛ The other Woman

Charles Leclerc x Fem!reader x Alexandra Saint Mieux

Summary: You’ve grown tired of the baseless rumors that you’re ‘the third party’— worst part is, Charles and Alex doesn’t defend you.

Genre: A little SMAU, Angst, Poly established relationship

Fc: Alexa Demie

Note: there are some grammar errors and this is not proofread also I figured i do an angsty fiction bcs i always write about fluff and just wanted to switch things up! Hope you enjoy thiis!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist. (Part 2)

─────── ─ ⋆˚࿔☕️ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆─ ───────

Your heart clenched from sorrow as you scrolled further down the comment section— a mixed of different emotions coursing through your mind stream, making your heart and head throb with the growing pain.

Every hurtful banters went straight through your heart, as if they were knives; stabbing you in the most gruesome way.

The tears that you tried to held back is now pushing their way out of your eyelids, ready for them to fall down your porcelain cheeks.

As you red more— the feeling of discomfort subdued your thoughts and was in need of comforting.

So that’s what you did. Finding comfort in something or someone.

You hurriedly exited twitter with shaky hands and went straight to your contacts, ready to find the three of your’s group chat.

Expecting them to make your heart at ease and say nothing but endless affirmations.

…

➛ Message

…

Or so you thought.

You let out a heavy sigh— the stinging sensation in your chest won’t stop and was aching even more with each words that they replied with.

The hurt in your heart caused your pent up tears to pour down your cheeks, making a stream of profound sadness evident in your complexion.

You didn’t get why they were like that to you, i mean they did care even if it were a little, but saying that you’re overreacting is just crossing the line. If it were about them, they’d be all over the place. Things really are just different when it comes to you.

As those thoughts clouded your mind— the fear of being abandoned popped up. Planting an uneasy feeling grow deep in your heart.

…

The following days, you’ve avoided them like the plague— canceling their calls and making excuses whenever they ask you to go out, dismissing them with your lame transparent reasons.

But they didn’t buy it and kept on chatting you in all of your social media accounts.

Even after flooding your messages they still wouldn’t stop, and the same goes with your feelings. The hurt will always stay and keep on following you.

Those days also got you to rethink whether or not your important and do they even have a place for you in their heart. Earning a lot of sleepless days and silent cries; all alone in your own embrace.

The only two person who’ve known about your messy state were lily and alex.

Unlike the two, they were nothing but supportive and was giving you the comfort you needed in the first place. You wished that Alex and Charles was like that;

…

But instead of mopping around all weak, you’ve decided to take Lily’s offer in going out.

Unbeknownst to your two lovers of your whereabouts— still hurt from your previous conversation.

…

Miss.yn

Liked by Lilymhe and 12,789 others

Miss.yn Out of sight, out of mind💋

Tagged; @Lilymhe

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Username1 ATE THAT DRESS UPP

Lilymhe just wow🤤🤤

Miss.yn Love yaa!!

Username2 they could never make me hate u!!

Francisca.cgomes invites when??

Miss.yn Next time, i promise

Francisca.cgomes 🙄🙄🙄

Lilymhe i wanna go again😢

Miss.yn I know u miss me already🤭

Lilymhe i always do though??

Alex_albon weirdo.

Comments have been restricted

…

After posting your pics and not even 30 minutes have passed when you’ve received countless text messages of Alex and Charles.

…

After that, your whole world seem to be falling apart.

You couldn’t even count the days where you just laid in bed and only stared at the ceiling waiting for the hours to past.

Neither Alex and Charles chatted you after. Leaving a big hole in your heart— a hole that only they can fill.

The break up was a stupid idea but it was either that or stay with a relationship that doesn’t value your feelings. They’ve hurted you, not physically but emotionally and you had every right to be angry.

You just wished that they said something to even comfort your tearing heart.

That’s all you wanted from the start. Words of affirmation and comfort from the ones you love.

Was it too much to ask?

…

Hi i am back, sorry for not posting in a while, i really had this writers block that just couldn’t leave😓😓 hope you enjoyed this angst though!!

[grapejuicestyless]

What A Waste

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: You and Harry swore that you would one day marry each other if you were to grow up and not already have a lover. Yet, when the time comes and the two of you are wed, Harry cannot let himself enjoy it.

ANGST

I’m standing at the alter, hands clasped together and eyes looking towards the door at the end of the aisle. Yet my hands do not shake, and my cheeks dk not ache with the pain only a genuine smile can cause. My heart does not pound out of my chest because I am not in love. The girl coming down the aisle is nothing more but a pawn in the grand scheme of things.

Maybe once, I would’ve held those feelings towards her, but our blood has since ran cold. Any fond memories tainted by our final goodbye.

She wasn’t very interesting to look at. Maybe, at least if my heart couldn’t love her, I could have something nice to look at. Something delicate, pretty. But her lips were pouty and her eyes held clouds over them. There was nothing attractive about the solemn face that hid her beauty.

When her hands hold mine, and her face is just inches from my own, I find it within myself to recite the vows I’d written for her. Carefully constructed to sound like a true loving husband, but with no true emotion that not even she, in her most oblivious state would ever have accounted for.

When she read hers, I saw her hands shaking. Her lip trembling and the furrow in her brow as she stumbled on her words. How embarrassing, how nervous she was. Acting like it was all real. Finding a way to make theater into reality.

How softly, she told me she would. Love me forever, take care of me and support me from the sidelines. Even softer, she mumbled about how even when she was riddled with arthritis, sick and tired, she would still twirl my hair the way I lived when we were children. When I kissed her, I felt nothing. When I pulled away, her smile could have fooled me. How genuinely happy she looked. But I remember the way she left me, and I remember how it could never truly be real. And I remember why I hate her, how I could never love her. Not even a little bit, not even at all.

…………………………………………………………………………………

“H?” She calls me by the nickname she gave to me when we were younger. I don’t realize that even now, twenty years later her mind had still clung to it as if it would be any importance to her anymore.

“Don’t call me that.” I’m bitter, I hate the way it sounds so sweet on her tongue. I hate the way her smile falls when I reprimand her, and most of all I hate the way I’m forever bound to her. With all the money in the world, nothing could separate us, no matter how hard I tried.

She rubs her arms, wearing her fluffy pink pajama pants and a shirt thats reads, “We think Harry had the X-Factor” so cracked, it almost doesn’t even read correctly anymore. The words die on her tongue, look at what I found? I see her enthusiasm melt away. When her eyes drift to the unmade bed and her feet start to move, I speak again.

“No.” Her confused face infuriates me. How could she not understand the justification of my cruelty.

“Your room is down the hall.” The one with the squeaky mattress and dusty floorboards. The one with photos of my old house, with the old garden and the old cats. It’s empty and the heat doesn’t work very well. But the cold from her heart wouldn’t mind it, truly.

I hate how her hair lingers on every surface. I hate how her perfume wafts into the bathroom while I shower. And now, more than all, I hate how she looks at me with rounded eyes glossed over almost too innocently.

But she is not an idiot. We both know it. Silence speaks volumes, I know she pieces together the puzzle as she walks away. The shirt hanging loosely off of her shoulder and her face hidden from my view. She never looks back. She doesn’t say goodnight.

…………………………………………………………………………………

“Do you think we’d be soulmates in another universe?” I ask, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. The fresh England summer air hot and humid. I say it with dirt on my skin, grass stuck to my knees. I pull at the ribbons in her hair and watch how she smiles. We were only children then. Fourteen and convinced we were all grown up.

“Why not in this one?” She asked honestly, looking at me with so much truth in her eyes, I believed her. And the way her hand fit into mine, I could feel my heart pounding. And I knew then, she was the one for me. The way my body reacted, how quickly my heart pounded so violently, I thought it might burst from my chest. Too young to be kissing and too old to not think about it, we stare at each other in the wet grass in the backyard and wait for the final sunset to disappear into the horizon, my eyes looking into hers and her hand in my hair.

For a long while, I believed what she did. We were soulmates, we were bound together. Always by my side, always encouraging me. She makes shirts for my family while I start my career. She helps me rehearse my songs and her voice makes me believe that it should be her on stage, not me.

When the band is formed, and One Directions fate is sealed into greatness, I spend the last summer of normalcy singing in the fields and holding her hand like real good friends would. Her hand in my hair again, twirling it between her finger and her thumb. I want to kiss her, but the smile on her face makes me too nervous to. I think she has the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. I think she is the prettiest girl I’ll ever see.

“When we are twenty eight and not married yet, will you marry me?” She asks me in the last week of that August. It confuses me, it’s such a random age. It’s so young. But the idea of getting to be with her forever makes my cheeks flush.

“Why twenty eight? Why not forty?” She laughs, says something on how I’ll find it silly. For a girl with as much potential as her to wish for something so silly.

“I want to have a warm house with a soft bed. A dog and two cats and children. I want two boys and a girl. I want a white fence to keep them in from the street and little family trips where we can all laugh and be happy. And with all of that, I hope I am a writer still. I hope I have critically acclaimed novels and a Nobel Peace Prize.” And I don’t think her dreams are stupid. And even though her dreams are so hard to make real, the way she dreams about it out loud makes me believe it will happen to her.

When we leave the grassy field that night, I have no idea it will be the last I’ll see of her for a while. All I know is in the morning my mother has a solemn look on her face and a letter in her hand. When she sits me down to read it, all I hear beyond the violent ringing is my mother telling me she is gone. She left, only leaving behind her empty promises and a tainted memory of what I once believed to be something so pure and precious.

I don’t see the letter. Maybe if I had, I would have known it was in her father’s handwriting. And my dear Y/n hadn’t left me because the beating of her heart lost its rhythm in me, but because she was forced away into a house that would never be her home.

…………………………………………………………………………………

“God, you are a self-righteous prick.” She huffs, quickly untying the apron from her waist, letting the blue and yellow fabric fold over her hips and be discarded on the shiny tile floors. Not yet scuffed from the lack of dancing. Never truly loved. But I wouldn’t know what the difference was. I stopped learning how to love when love walked out on me.

“And you must be a victim!” She sticks out her tongue and groans, rolling her eyes and walking down the hall. The lights are dim, candles burning. It’s her own touch. She claimed she hated the big lights. The smaller ones made it much more homely. I didn’t care enough to fight her then, but as I stumble around I wish I had.

“I gave you everything! I gave you a roof to live under. All the money on the goddamn earth and all the glory! And yet you are ungrateful!” I spit at her with venom I don’t even know I possess.

“Oh my god, you don’t even know me!” She turns, and her eyes are crazy, hair wild. “My own husband doesn’t even know me!” She says it like it hurts her.

“Don’t call me that.” I tell her firmly. I try not to look at the rock on her finger, how it taunts me.

“What does it embarrass you? I hope it does. I hope all of your friends tease and taunt you for marrying the girl you never wanted, but had to have!” She laughs then, stepping closer to me, her finger in my chest.

“I will not let a loveless marriage strip me of my heart and my soul. You can hate me, but you should know better than to think you would have any power to strip me of my humanity.” She said it with such power, her voice shook with the same fierceness she felt in her bones. And yet, her anger didn’t lead me astray. For the first time in our loveless marriage, I felt a twinge of guilt for the innocent girl who I let bleed so gruesomely on the floor of our own home.

“Believe it or not, I am not the cruel witch you make me out to be. I am a woman, the same woman who loved you all those years ago. I still dream of having children and cats and a dog. A damn white picket fence! But, what a waste! Our agreement! If it could have at least given me that, or god forbid it had brought us together! I am still the same woman who loved you, and it is clear to me you are not the same man. You are bitter and I pity you because you must be so unhappy to feel the need to be that way.”

“And what else? Do you still dream of a medal in your honor for your writing? Or has that woman finally grown up to smell the roses and see that the world isn’t always built just for her.” I should’ve backed down, the moment she showed vulnerability, but for some reason I could not shut my mouth. I needed the last word.

“I outgrew those dreams the second I married you.” If my heart wasn’t shattered completely then, it had been now. And why? Over some words a girl I claimed to hate had to share?

“What a shame too. A book full of stories of us destined to the fire on our wedding night. And even if I were to write again, who would read about how you broke my heart? And how I continue to let you stomp it out until there is nothing but the dust that remains.” When she leaves, her dress sways behind her. She’s wearing my sweatshirt and she has the same white ribbons in her hair she had all those years ago. She never really did lie to me, did she.

She was only a girl. Ribbons tied into her hair and a white dress with lace so frilly, it resembled her wedding dress. A dress I never appreciated. I wondered if I looked into the old box of photos of the day we were destined for failure, if I would find any photos of her in all her innocence. Or, if that same smile she greeted me with before she knew me would be tainted with the same hate I bred inside of her through my own negligence.

I regret every feeling I’d ever felt towards her. How I called her plain, uninteresting, unlikable. The realization of this guilt hits so hard, it is undeniable. I feel this way because I have succeeded. I have crushed the heart of a girl who continued to love me through my greed. And I know I have succeeded through the look in her eyes and the frown lines by her lips. The lines that once represented deep smiles gone in an instant.

She only solidifies what I know when I see her suitcase by the door. Practically empty, nothing in this house is truly hers. She has gone from one loveless house to another, not yet finding her home. Not yet living her dream.

“You don’t need to divorce me, but I can’t stay. Not now. Not when I still love you. I can’t come back until every piece of you is gone. Maybe then, your insults won’t hurt so much, and we could get along.” She smiles softly, but it’s so fake it hurts my heart.

I don’t stop her, but I wish I had. This house isn’t a home without her. If I could change it, I would. I still loved her, and thats what makes it all sting so much more. The tormenting, the pain and the tears. All a result of two soulmates bound to be together, yet one of them refused to let it happen.

I hope she’ll come back soon. Sooner than last time. And I hope her heart still yearns for me. I’ll propose to her for real this time, not just under circumstance. And when she walks down the aisle, I’ll shake just as badly as she did the first time. And we can laugh about our experience in our first try at rekindling our flame, and we can finally have a house with a fence and two boys and a girl, a dog and two cats. And she can write about how wonderful her life is and win every award there is to win. And I will stand beside her like a good husband because I love her.

I will spend each hour she is gone wishing for her to come back. For the ache to ease itself. And what a waste. If only I could write a good song about it without ranting and going off into small tangents. If only I could’ve done it right. If only it could have brought us together.

[mychlapci]

Please, the “I didn’t know I was pregnant”, Dratchlock style, “everyone is dumb, ESPECIALLY RATCHET” edition:

So, I had this idea/dream where Dratchet was a thing right after Drift was rescued, up to the Deadlock stage (then, they lose sight of each others until MTMTE).

Ratcher get sparked back in Rodion, he tries to tell Drift but he just became Deadlock… somehow some senators finds out about Ratchet’s state and they terminate it because “medics can’t have sparklings..” (something about losing focus on the care of their patients, especially if they are self centered, pompous pricks).

Ratchet is crushed but theres no time in war to mourn.

He and Deadlock keep bunching into each others, Deadlock notices how Ratchet’s act around sparkling or younger bots… one day he asks if Ratchet had ever had sparklings (cause he remembers a long list of messages, all saying “I’ve something important to tell you!!!).

Ratchet answers, dead serious: Medics can’t have sparklings.

Somehow, Deadlock understands.

Skipping forward, to the very epilogue of LL, Ratchet and Drift are fragging freely, they’re both old as balls, and sadly, can’t get sparked.

At some point, Ratchet gets a little too frisky even for Drift, but they don’t really worry about it. Rodimus join, and everything seems fine.

After some time (cause off course, their pregnancies last fucking years), after a very intense coupling with the ambulance in the middle, Ratchet feels strange, his abdomen start cramping and his pussy hurts… they all think it related to the intense fucking, but after some time, pacing, confusion and panic from Rodimus and Drift, Ratchet pops out first one, then another sparklings… the sparklings are small (still way bigger than whatever Ratchet has been putting up his valve), and Ratchet’s platings never bowed out, and his last reframe was already rounder and softer…

They’re all very confused, especially First Aid, who can’t believe how little maintenance Ratchet does on himself.

ooOOoh that's what i'm talking about baby. Ratchet is perfect for this... He's old and he believes the abortion he had to have back at the start of the war might have straight up sterilized him (the autobots couldn't have had their best medic incapacitated by carrying, after all, so it would make sense they'd take the ability from him in the first place...) so he wouldn't worry about leading a carefree sex life with Drift. Besides, Drift has it in his charts that his transfluid is weak. Rodimus, though? Oh, Ratchet definitely didn't take Rodimus into account.

mhmmm I can imagine them all exhausted after some really intense, messy interfacing and Ratchet is panting more than normal... He feels odd cramps down in his abdomen, valve gushing. He noticed that he'd been much wetter today than normal but maybe he just begrudgingly admitted to his speedsters that he's missed them during his shift and didn't think much of it. Drift sees him wince but Ratchet just brushes him off, tells him they just might have gotten a little too rough with it, even if they all know that that's not true. They didn't do anything out of the ordinary...

After a while the pain just gets unbearable. Roddy and Drift want to call First Aid but Ratchet insists he's fine. Maybe he even tries to get up to prove it but he ends up doubling over himself, and then the first sparkling slides out of him with a single strong push, accompanied by a puddle of birthing fluids. Drift and Rodimus are speechless. Ratchet just pushes again and its twin falls out of him in quick succession... the pain finally stops and he's left staring between his legs, at the freshly birthed babies, wondering. What the fuck.

First Aid probably bursts into the room shortly after – either Drift or Rodimus or both have called him in secret because Ratchet really didn't look fine. He sees the birthing fluids covering the floor and the bed and the two sparklings held shakily in Ratchet's hands and he just sighs. Doctors make the worst fucking patients, man. How could he have not known he was pregnant? He's lucky the sparklings came out relatively healthy because at his age, having a complication-less carriage was a one in a million chance.

[fraugwinska]

Chapter 1 - Overture

Overture (noun) 1. music: a piece of music that is an introduction to a longer piece, especially an opera 2. rhetoric: a communication made to someone in order to offer something 3. approach: an approach made to someone in order to discuss or establish something

Tags & Warnings: Demon summoning, Murder, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Cannibalism, Blood & gore

She had studied the accumulated books and scripts for months. There was no room for a single mistake, so the last two weeks alone were for reviewing and practicing the procedure.

Her work had called multiple times, she knew she was running out of her bosses patience, but she knew it wouldn't matter anyways, after tonight. Stanley was a pain in the ass, but there were enough desperate dancers around looking for an extra shift, and she knew she wouldn't need the rest of her bank account balance, as meager as it was. Not after what she was about to do. She finished packing her bag, a burgundy leather messenger bag she found at a flea market when she was fourteen. The one her mother bought for her.

Two-and-a-half pounds of fresh, high quality venison? Yes. Red chalk? Yes. Coarse pink salt? Yes. A dial radio? Yes. Correct summoning circle? Yes.

She took a deep breath, held it in until the oncoming shaking ceased.

Don't think about it too much. You are prepared. You can do this.

Her apartment seemed so big without all her stuff. She left only the barest furniture, the rest was donated, except for a few personal, important things. A photo of her mom. Her graduation pin from the academy. The hunting knife of her dad. A map of the south forest. The book that planted the idea in her mind. She threw on her forest green, oversized parka, and without looking back, closed the door of Apartment 13 for the last time.

The cabin was wet, dark and cold. After placing down her bag, she started promptly on getting a fire going in the fireplace. She needed light, best before sundown. The shed was full of old wood, but the lack of upkeeping had caused the roof to leak and it got so wet it barely worked. Frustrated, she decided to get the old, rusty axe and sacrifice two of the chairs in the house, which helped to get the fire going. Then it went back to preparing and reviewing everything she needed to do. Since she disposed of her phone, she relied on her wristwatch – half an hour until midnight.

She had already measured out and drawn the summoning sign in red chalk, checking the old book after every stroke if it was accurate and precise. Now she took the pink salt, drawing a circle large enough for her to comfortably stand in. She brought more than double her estmiate. It would be fatal if there was a break in the circle, so she packed extra to make sure she didn't run out.

Quarter to midnight.

She rushed out of the cabin to retrieve the meat she brought – she had stored it in a plastic bag outside, since it was almost winter and the temperatures were cold enough to preserve it nicely. Inside, she unwrapped it, steadying her increasingly shaky hands. She had to stop several times, breathing and focusing. She placed the meat neatly on the only clean serving plate she found in the cabin kitchen and sat it down in front of the summoning circle. Her hands were lightly coated with blood.

Five minutes to midnight.

She unpacked the radio and hesitated. This was the trickiest part of the process... Her book – a diary from the 1960's, became almost unreadable after detailing the previous procedures, as if the author wrote the instructions while having a stroke. From what she was sure to have deciphered correctly, it had to be placed in the middle of the summoning sign, but after that it was guesswork. Would he appear instantly? How much time would she have to get in the salt circle?

She decided to not risk anything ad placed her bag with her remaining belongings in the salt circle. Almost solemnly, she walked to the mystical looking sign. Another look at her watch -

Half a minute to midnight.

You are prepared. You can do this.

She put the radio down and jumped.

He was at Rosies, sipping tea with her when he felt a familiar pull.

„Oh my...“, he cooed, a sudden feeling of forgotten excitement rushing over him. The tall, slender belle sitting on the loveseat next to him lifted an eyebrow in curiosity.

„Are you quite alright, friend?“, she mused.

„I'm afraid I have to cancel our get-together early, my dear, and leave immediately. A human is summoning me.“ Rosie laughed, her blackened eyes wide in amazement. „It must have been decades since you were last called from the living world. That is quite auspicious.“

His grin, although wide and gleamimg, streched even more as static surrounded him and he faded.

„Auspicious indeed.“

She stood rigid. Muscles tight. Breath forcibly controlled and flat. Eyes darting around the salt circle. Her jump into the protective circle hadn't disturbed even a single grain, so she was safe.

For now.

Though, nothing had happened. She heared nothing but the low crackling of the fireplace. Ten seconds later, still nothing. Her mind raced. She hasn't forgotten anything, has she? No. No, she did everything the diary told the reader to do. Was it the wrong kind of radio? Was it the wrong time? Did she draw the sigil incorrectly? Or maybe she was supposed to say something? And why was the crackling of the fire getting so loud?

No.

That was not the fire.

With increasing dread, her gaze turned to the radio, which was now glowing red and emitting a frenetic hum. The needle danced, from left to right, until it it stopped at what she read as 66.6 fm.

Then came the darkness. Like somebody blew out a candle, the fire in the fireplace went out, not even emitting smoke. The only light came from the window, tinting the small cabin room in a ghostly shade of moonlight, and from the illuminated dial of the radio, which now played a strangely distorted, dainty tune. A tune she was eerily recognizing... 'You're never fully dressed without a smile' from the musical Annie. She didn't dare to moke, or speak. Fera or reason, she didn't know which, whispered in her ear to stay still.

Aaaaaah, my dear! What a glorious night!”

Shivers ran violently down her spine as the voice appeared, distorted by the radio.

“Glorious, I say. Well, well, well, it has been a while since someone dared to call on me.”

The red chalk started to beam, strange green symbols and onyx shadows grew like weed out of the summoning sigil. She froze in horror as the shadows formed a tall, lean figure. Colors of every possible shade of ruby red materialized into tufts of reddish and black hair adorned by grotesquely shaped antlers, painting a red, sophisticated but tattered pin-striped coat on the slowly forming body. From what seemed to be burgundy smoke, a cane formed, on it's top sat a strangely shaped, almost alive looking microphone, which was swiftly catched by long, clawlike fingers. And then he finally stood - in all his frightening glory - in his sigil, heay-lidded and eerily wide grinning with razor sharp, yellowish teeth. The Radio Demon. Alastor.

Her saliva turned to glue, swallowing got almost impossible as she stared at him. Sure, she had prepared for months for this moment, and she thought she was at least barely mentally equipped for his appearance, but right now, she felt awfully foolish to even have thought that she'd ever be ready for this sight. Praying to herself that the salt circle would actually do something – anything really to protect her until she finished, she took a shaky breath and forced her face to remain unmoved.

„Th...thank you for... answering my call.... sir.“ She didn't recognize her own voice. She sounded hoarse and strange, as otherworldly as the demon in front of her, who tilted his head in curiosity and chuckled darkly. Crimson irises focused on hers.

„Ah, such good manners! A rarity nowadays, as I've heard. The name's Alastor, little doll, but I'm sure...“, the tall figure chatted non-chalantly, eyes now pinning the diary beneath your feet in an odd sense of recognition, „you already know that and maybe a little more. So, let's continue the pleasantries, I am just too curious – who the... audacious soul is that's calling on me?“

Her skin felt too tight. She mentally steadied herself, reminding her to stick to what she rehearsed, over and over and over like a mantra for the past months.

Be polite, be demure, be direct, be specific.

„My name is (Y/n), sir.“, she said, her voice a little more assured now.

„A beautiful name, my dear, delectable even. (Y/n)...“ The radio demon repeated her name as if it was dripping from his lips, dark like syrup, thick and almost sounding hungry. She pushed that terrifying thought away. With a smirk, he gestured to her setup, slowly blinking as his red glowing pupils searched her own eyes.

„And I see you've done quite the research, preparing for this little welcoming? I am flattered.“

„I hope my offering is to your liking.“, she recited and barely bowed her head at the meat in front of his feet. His eyes followed her gaze, and widened in satisfaction.

„Well, look at that! Color me surprised!“, he exclaimed, the static in his voice buzzing even louder as an imaginary audience OOOh'd and Aaaah'd, „You really did your due homework, little kitten. I indeed do appreciate a good taste of venison, and this seems to be an exquisite selection of, what ist it? Tenderloin?!“

With a snap of his fingers, the meat disappeared into thin air, leaving only streaks of crimson blood on the polished plate. He glanced at her mischievously. „Well then, since you've paid my fare, we can get to business.“ He snapped again and a plush, velvety red wing chair appeared in which he swiftly settled, hands folded neatly on his lap and staring expectantly at her.

Be polite, be demure, be direct, be specific.

„Yes sir.“, she croaked, quickly clearing her sore, dry throat. „I need help. Help beyond anyone can give me. So I called on you, sir... Because... you are the only one I can think of to help me.“

The demon's grin widened a bit. His eyes twinkled in the moonlight with an impish glee.

„And what, my dear, naive doll, makes you think I would help you instead of just ripping your delicate little throat to shreds right here and now?“

His words felt like needles, prickling her skin almost raw in fear. Exactly what he wants, she thought.

Be polite, be demure, be direct, be specific.

„I hope I can offer you something of worth in return for your help, sir.“

The radio demon seemed to think about it, then waved his hand casually. „Very well, state your case, then. If I find it worth my while, maybe we can come to a... mutual agreement.“ Clearly amused, he watched her as she once again steadied her breathing.

„Thank you, sir.“ With trembling hands, she slowly, carefully, reached down to her bag as she continued. „ I need your help to... disappear. To make it like I never existed. To make everyone I've ever met forget I was born.“ She took out the tattered photography of her mom, laughing happily into the camera, and placed it in front of her for the demon to see. His ears perked at your statement, a brow quizzically shot up.

„This is my mother, sir. She had me when she was very young. My father left before I was born, I've never met him. She is... the most selfless woman that I know.“ The more she talked, the steadier her voice became. „She gave up everything for me – her dreams, her money, her happiness.“

She sighed, exhaustion and nervousness feeding on her energy. Keep it short. You can do this.

„She married when I was 9, a wealthy man, but... he abuses her. She keeps being with him, because she has nothing to fall back on – no career, no friends, no money. He practically owns her, even if she would leave him... He would hunt her down and drag her back. So...“

A shudder ran down her spine, she readied herself for the final request.

„I want him dead. I want...“

The radio demon leaned forward in his chair, his yellowed teeth glistening with his saliva.

„Go on, my dear?“

The static became almost unbearable, her ears hurt and her head became fuzzy.

„I want him tortured, humiliated and killed. And I want everything of me to be erased from this life with him. I want my mom to.... be free, from him, from me. I want her to finally be happy, and safe, as long as she can.“

The cabin fell in instant silence. It felt like outer space, she could not even hear her own heart beating. Was that... normal? She hung her head, nervously waiting for his answer while sorting her thoughts through the deafening silence. Would it be condescention? Anger? Frustration? This was the end of her rehearsed speech. From this point on, the monster in the cabin would decide how she could proceed, if at all.

His sudden, echoing laugh broke through the unnatural soundlessness, so unexpected it startled her, almost making her trip over her bag as she took a step back to stabilize herself.

„Careful now, we wouldn't want your pretty salt circle to open too soon, darling. I must say, that is a most unusual request. I'd even go as far to say I'm endeared by your little speech.“

The demon pushed himself off his armchair, carefully twisting his cane in his fingers as he stalked her, creeping closer with every sentence.

„It's an elaborate request you have, sweet (Y/n), much more than other souls came to me to bargain for. Yet you still have to offer me something in exchange, and I'm most interested in what you think I would trade this small favor you're asking me in for.“

He stopped inches away from her pale face, his polished, pointed shoes almost touching the pink grains of her protective circle. His eyes widened when she met his stare, suddenly a sense of what he could only describe as unwavering and unbreakable resolution in her features.

„I don't have anything except this: I can and will give you my life and body to consume. And my soul and loyalty to do as you please after you kill me.“

This human was something different. She was so... unusual. His shadows buzzed in sheer excitement, a cacophony of thoughts. He ignored them all. She was young, maybe in her early twenties, but she seemed almost vintage, like an old wine in a modern bottle. She was pretty, in a non-conformative, niche way, with a most intruiging voice despite the apparent dread in it – an almost melodious sound, with hints of smoke, sugar and spice. She was also exceptionally polite, well spoken and complaisant – he of all people appreciated these oh so rare traits.

Most of all, he could literally taste her fear on his tongue but yet she stood there, so composed, so unmoved, almost as if she was made out of white marble. By now he usually would have mortal men shiver in terror, foolish mobsters crying in fear. He had pulled every thread he usually did to frighten the feeble minds of humans, to grind them under his increasing pressure and make them make the mistake of taking a rash deal. His constant growing static alone would've shattered the little sanity common goons would have had by now, but the only thing he had seen her doing was the slight tremble of her fingers and the jump of surprise at the sound of his voice after his forced silent void. Her face was unmoving, and that intrigued him.

Ah, and then her request. Most unusual. In the decades he traded favors for souls, with the living or the dead, it has always been for selfish causes – fortune, fame, power, revenge. Of course he obliged, knowing he would get the better end of the deal anyway. The people who called on him were cocky, little wannabes, people who were under the ridiculous misconception that they were destined for something special, that they were equal or above the demon they so senselessly called upon. They thought they could trick him, that they were smarter than and could evade him. He found it laughable, really.

But she...

He knew that she knew. That she came here, called on him, not in foolishness, but knowing full well that he would demand everything she offered him. And the cream on the sugar, she did it all too willingly! Ha, she even promised loyalty, not forced, but given. He really had to refrain himself from gleefully snickering.

As unexpected as it was, and as much he hated to be called by the living, he was more than glad he followed the strange but familiar pull to the overworld. How she would really accustom to hell, and to him? How fast would her brave, earnest facade break? Or would she surprise him again, and become a usable asset to his collection of souls?

Oh, he was over the moon, yes. This one would be so much fun.

Her stepfather moaned in agony in front of her feet. The heavy metal pole felt cold and smooth in her hands. He offered to punish him, but she refused. She had to do it, he had to know it was her. Had to feel the weakness, the shame, the helplessness he made her mother feel. She was surprised of how numb and empty she felt with every hit he took, void of things normal people would feel – compassion, pity... She only felt the cold disgust she always felt in his presence.

His blood dripped from the end of her pole onto the forest ground. She had aimed for his legs first, then his arms.

“You fucking bitch, you worthless piece of shit, just like your whore mother you are...”

He couldn't finish his tirade as he clawed the throat of her stepfather, carefully and precice – not lethal, but severe enough to cut his ability to speak. He tuttet at the writhing man, stepping back to her side, his eyes full of mocking condenscation.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Now now, good man, didn't your mother teach you it's rude to interrupt a lady? Please, darling, continue.”

He bowed generously to her, and again her hands lifted the pole once more. His shadows hummed in satisfaction around them both.

“This is for all the times you forced yourself on her.”

The pole hit it's target with full force. He screamed bloody murder as she pushed it even harder into his - or what once were - his privates. Her face remained blank, her stare fixated on his face. She knew with how heavy he bled, she had to end it once and for all, and quickly. The demon behind her chuckled, a dark smirk on his lips.

“I think we should come to an end, my dear. Our friend here has some places to go.”

She nodded slowly, for the first time since he brought her farce of a parental figure she tore her gaze away from the writhing figure.

“Yes sir. And... thank you.”

She gave him something she hadn't done in a long time. She even thought she wouldn't be able to.

She smiled.

The radio demons grin twitched, as if in surprise, but he just tilted his head, and she turned around again, her face falling back into an indifferent expression. She stepped up to his head and he gargled as if he wanted to say something as he looked up to her, the lights in his eyes rapidly fading.

“Remember this moment when you see me in hell, Frank.”

The sound of his skull cracking under the force of the metal rod was sickening and obscene. His body stopped shaking, and then, he was gone.

The demon laughed as if he just heard a funny joke. He placed his free hand on her shoulder, the other swinging his Cane in sheer delight.

“Ah, dear (Y/n), i really do admire a gal with a knack for theatrics! Makes every ordinary moment so much more entertaining, don't you think? And now...”

His shadows roared in delight, static and dark, inky flames surrounding them both. He almost tenderly placed his fingers under her chin and turned her expressionless face to his, dimly lit by his own, ruby glow as the ground slowly swallowed them.

“...it's time for dinner.”

Next Chapter >>

[ammyamarant]

I loved Dorothy's Vision because it showed how, if someone isn't held accountable every step of the way and reminded of empathy and humanity, even the best of intentions can create horrific things and destroy the lives of those you meant to save. How tunnel vision, even if the desired result is based on love, can cause horrible things to happen to innocents and can make it easily corruptible by outside forces.

Dorothy created an existence strife, pain, and torture for her subjects, out of a naive need to see her mother again. It's so tragic, knowing she could have not done these things and not ruined lives. Not killed people. But she did, and she has to face the consequences of it.

It's an important reminder, that good people are capable of horrific things if they lose sight of empathy and their humanity.

[witchthewriter]

𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐙𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ platonic, gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

Warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse, talking about chronic pain

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ    

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿  

・You had cursed whatever maker there was that you weren't born a Healer.

・And even though other grisha had tried to help you, they all said the same thing: it was untreatable. Not like a broken bone that could be mended, or a scar that could disappear

・It was a pain that was caused in childhood and left untreated for too long. Damn abusive parents, you cursed almost daily, as you pushed through the pain as soon as you woke

・Nina had searched far and wide for treatment

・She had been your best friend since your first year at the Little Palace. You weren't even in the same order, but something about her was magnetic. And she always knew how to make you laugh.

・You tried to keep your chronic illness as hidden as possible. But some days were just too difficult to navigate. Your bones ached, your back was sometimes so sore that you couldn't leave the bed.

・Even the Darkling himself came to see you when you missed a few classes.

・He brought all the physicians that the King would allow. And they all said the same thing.

"Too much damage from childhood. If they were brought to a healer then, they would be healed. But now ... we can only give small things to help."

・When you found that out, you cried for three days and never left your rooms.

・The best tonic that was created lulls you a bit but somehow takes away a lot of the pain. Not all of it. But you can carry on like everyone else for a while. The problem is running out of it.

・You always wanted to be like the other grisha - able to perform your duties without retched pain coursing through your body

・The Darkling doesn't send you on missions, that hurt you so badly but he had you trained in other parts of war, like how to shoot, but more importantly the mind games.

・And then people started to notice that you were different

・It was the Darkling himself that said you were special and unique, and that anyone who said a bad word against you would be held accountable.

・Nina takes you on little adventures and no matter where you are, she always has the tonic on her, in case of emergencies

・Sometimes you need to rely on a cane, and you can't walk long distances easily, but Nina couldn't care less. It makes you feel useless, but she constantly tells you how much worth you have

"Even if you weren't grisha, you have so much talent, and light and power. There is no one else like you. Please, keep going. Take it day by day."

・Whenever you're apart, she'll send you letters so you have something to look forward to. And she always brings back gifts from her journeys. You treasure each and every one of them.

・Even though you have chronic pain, and it affects your abilities - it actually doesn't mean you're useless. Not at all. In fact, even Zoya respects you. You knew how bullies worked and had no problem standing up to them.

・Everyone in the Little Palace makes sure you're okay. Because grisha look out for grisha.

・You spent a lot of time with Bagra, who told you riddles and stories. Prompting you to seek answers for yourself.

・She helped you think.

・You became a very sought out person for advice and wisdom. Especially when the war broke out. You were one of the most important people besides The Darkling and Alina as somehow you knew both of their secrets.

・You were too good at mind games.

[lirri-eats-eyes]

okay so like. i do personally agree that seven doesn’t need to come back to the main group, and that although she can’t meaningfully be held accountable for her action/inaction when she was a child and when she felt like she had no other choice, i feel like that’s irreconcilable with the fact that six and her immediate family have always been her priority, which directly led to zenith’s Literal Entire Culture being wiped out, and obviously no matter how much closure phoenix gets, she’s still probably never going to look at seven the same.

additionally, while being alone with no one but the boat, seven can be assured that she will neither be hurt and laden with so much responsibility, and she’ll never be the cause of so much hurt again

THAT BEING SAID; in the event that seven wants/needs to reunite with any of the hunters, please consider the comedic potential that is the fact that the character (human character, since dog is old as dirt and has probably seen some crap, making what seven did small beans to him) with the least baggage with seven is. thorn/mica.

this is hilarious for several reasons, not least being the fact that thorn is canonically just one of the most unbearable people alive. even with his friends — especially with his friends. phoenix zenith, and dog, his three current closest friends, are all people who found him annoying as hell at first. during that scene in the cave with the blind cave elder, they’re all side eyeing him hard because they know if their plan hinges on being polite, he’s going to be the lvp for a while. imagine being seven and to try and ask for forgiveness from people who hate your guts, your mediating method of communication is this guy whose superpower is being a pain in the ass. unreal.

additionally, that’s not even getting into whatever their relationship was before that. thorn is the guy who liked — and then got rejected by — seven’s brother, who is now dead. don’t you think their relationship would have been awkward before all the seer stuff as well? like, thorn also had that hatred of magic, and saw seven’s power as creepy before she revealed all that stuff. and i definitely think that out of him, six, and phoenix, thorn was the one seven felt least close to out of the group.

now that six is dead, by the way, how do you think that’s going to go? i got the notion that thorn was a bit angry that seven “let” six die, but i think all of them can sense that six was her initial priority and that if she could endure six’s survival while letting them all die she would which is…also awkward…but yeah, it means that can’t really be something thorn resents her for. furthermore, six was her brother, and what was he to thorn? a close friend? a failed romantic prospect? i just can’t see a world where thorn decides that six was not as important to seven as he was to him

so the last kicker is this: imagine being seven fireborn, and you’re walking up to who is probably the most irritating person ever, a person with whom you had a lukewarm and awkward relationship before, with whom the only thing you have in common is your dead brother, a guy who he had a crush on and who he got rejected by. you go up to him and call him by what you think is his name, but he goes “actually, i changed my name,” and when you ask him what his new name is, probably not expecting the former secret name of your now-deceased brother when he was a child and when you first learned that entire tribes of people would have to die for you to plan to save the world, he says “it’s mica.”

[kariachi]

Morning fic! Post-OV, Ben and Argit, good deeds and shocking competency.

~~

“Benny, sign this.”

When it came to dealing with Argit, you quickly learned those were the most worrying words you could hear. Ben had nearly lost out on a percentage on his likeness the first time the con had caught him tired, same story with Gwendolyn. It was precisely the sort of near miss that made you immediately come to attention anytime the words came out of his mouth. Just to be on the safe side, Ben threw a suspicious glower his way as he took the tablet that’d been shoved under his nose.

“The fuck are you up to this time?”

“Work.”

A likely story. Warily, Ben scrolled to the top of the mass of text and began scanning through. His expression softened and face screwed as he went along.

“Proposed amendment to…,” he muttered under his breath as he went. “Account for and acknowledge…non-Earth native… Dude, are you petitioning to change the ADA?”

“Amend,” Argit said. “Right now it’s all based on Earth tech before the the whole alien thing went public, and assumes everybody involved is human or working with Earthen limits.” Face still contorted, Ben turned his attention to Argit, resting his elbows on the dining table- and someday he really was going to have to find a way to keep the Levins from breaking into his house.

“Okay… And you want to fix that?” It wasn’t that Argit hadn’t done a good job so far in his stint as mayor, much as it pained him to admit the fucker was doing more good than harm and after everything with the Rooters he was clearly better for the job than they’d ever expected before, but Ben still wasn’t passed being shocked every time he did something that was solely for his own gain. Especially something like this, that affected more than just his town and his voters.

“Already getting real tired of people not being able to leave town ‘cause their shit ‘doesn’t count’,” came the explanation with ears held partially back and a crinkled nose. “There’s some mobility shit you can make an argument for, but I want it clearly in there, and nobody came to Earth just so they could get told to retire their service animal and get a damn dog that might not even fucking work for them.”

Ben hated situations like this- where his reasonably suspicion of nearly everything Argit did hit against pride in who he was becoming without Servantis’s mind-altering holding him back and making him worse, and then again against the constant surprise that came with him being anything less than completely corrupt and ineffectual as a politician. Sleezy and corrupt, yes, but then he pulled shit like this and the educational buildings that were under construction. Worse yet, he was probably right. Ben didn’t actually pay attention to this sort of stuff, his focus on more overt things like preventing major clashes and acts of violence. He pretty much always managed to get blindsided by reminders that aliens and non-humans didn’t necessarily automatically get the same rights and protections humans were afforded, and that laws may need to be amended beyond even that to accommodate them.

Sometimes he found himself thinking back to his Dimension 23 version, and breathing a sigh of relief that he had the likes of Kevin, Rook, and yes even Argit to bring that sort of thing to his attention.

“You should run it by Gwendolyn,” he said, cutting off Argit’s answering glower quickly, “you know she’d help, and between the two of you this’ll be law within the year.” Argit huffed, but nodded with a begrudging noise.

“A’ight,” he said. “Still, sign it. Want your name on there first, put that fame to use.” Snickering, Ben nodded. It wasn’t the first or last time, and another reason he had to be careful what he signed anymore. But everything seemed in order as best as he could tell, and he’d check in with Gwen to make sure it’d been run by her in a few days. And it was a very important cause.

With a pleased smile that earned one in kind, he scrolled back to the bottom and put down his name.

[scoobydoodean]

I see this held up as major proof of Dean's badness, but couldn't it also be proof of Cas having faith Dean can get past anything without Cas having to change his behavior? The way it's structured the onus is on DEAN to work through it, not others to change or make amends. ---- CASTIEL: You know, Dean, he – he feels things more acutely than any human I've ever known. So it's possible he could work through this. One day, he may explode and let it all out and breathe deeply and move on.

I see what you mean in a general sense, and it's extremely possible that Cas is thinking about his own past fights with Dean and Dean forgiving him, and from the perspective of the critique you have in mind that you're refuting, I agree. But of course deancrit casgirls will forever insist that Cas has never in his life done anything harmful to Dean either accidentally or on purpose, so any time Dean might dare try to hold him accountable for anything, he's actually just making shit up and being toxic and controlling, so here Cas is just apologizing for his own abusive relationship. You can only get their take by being deliberately obtuse/disingenuous.

That said, the context of that line (from 15.13 "Destinty's Child") is Cas answering soulless Jack's question about whether Dean will eventually forgive him for murdering Mary.

CASTIEL: Hey, Jack. JACK: Cas, you know what's good about being dead? CASTIEL: Uh, as I recall, very little. JACK: Well, when you come back, you – you really get into all that life is. Hot, cold, sweet, spicy, funny, scary. CASTIEL: And are you? "Into it"? JACK: I want to be. But I don't... feel things the way I used to. Before I lost my... CASTIEL: Your soul. JACK: I used to feel things. In my bones. It was glorious, and sometimes unbearable. But I felt them. Now, I understand joy or sadness, but... I know those things aren't in me. I understand why Sam and Dean were angered by what happened to Mary... CASTIEL: By what you did to Mary. JACK: Yes. I see that I've caused them pain. And it's clear that things have changed. Especially with – with Dean. Will he ever forgive me? CASTIEL: You know, Dean, he – he feels things more acutely than any human I've ever known. So it's possible he could work through this. One day, he may explode and let it all out and breathe deeply and move on. JACK: How long will that take? CASTIEL: I don't know.

And yeah—I have seen people refer to Cas's little speech here as "condoning child abuse" and other bullshit. Because how DARE Dean not forgive soulless Jack for murdering his mother (something soulless Jack is unable to actually really acknowledge he did). I mean clearly any time someone murders your mom because she made them mad and threatened their sense of security by asking if they're okay and saying their concerning actions can’t stay a secret… That’s just natural understandable stuff! You need to forgive the person who murdered her instantly and if you don’t idk you’re kinda overreacting don’t you think? :/ I mean your mom probably deserved it kind of anyway for reading the room so wrong and talking about getting a person help. And I mean if you don't forgive the person who killed your mom or do anything trying to stop them from hurting more people you're really a child abuser... toward an adult... who murdered your mother in cold blood and is unable to even understand why it was wrong in any sense other than an intellectual one like he read it from a book... preferring to refer to it as "What happened to Mary" instead of acknowledge it as something he himself did because he was mad and felt threatened—which is what he circled back to in "Jack In The Box" too. It's only when Jack gets his soul back that he's able to actually feel true empathy, acknowledge his real actions and the gravity of them, and give an actual sincere apology. Because his soul is actually important—something this fandom refuses, by and large, to notice.

Anyway, this fandom's take on Mary's murder and soulless Jack vs. regular Jack is overwhelmingly a bag of wet third grader vomit and feces so what can one expect?

[m34gs]

For the Fun Questions to be Asked post: 1, 14, 22, 28, and 38.

Hey friend, thank you for the ask! (from this post)💜💜💜

I'm going to put a cut since some of this stuff is a bit long and some of it is a little heavy.

1.What are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

This was a hard question, but I tried to make sure it wasn't just negative things. I wanted at least one positive one in there.

Before I moved out, my parents used to take us to church every weekend. When I was very small, around 5 or 6, we were praying the Lord's Prayer (aka: Our Father), and our family always held hands when we prayed. Lots of the families around us did, too. I saw an elderly lady next to me who had no one's hand to hold, and I had a free hand, so I offered it to her. She was very happy when I did that. Afterward, my father told me that I made her happy and that was a good thing to do. Since then, even though I no longer attend church or practice the same faith, I still try to reach out to people who seem lonely. I may be shy and more introverted, but I find that it's not hard to overcome that when I see someone who looks lonely and wants some company. And seeing someone smile is worth it.

Around the time I was 9 or 10, I was climbing trees with my siblings. My mother told us specifically not to, but the trees looked climbable so we did. I fell down the tree, and one of the really small branch that had been pointing upward stabbed into my left leg, and a piece broke off inside my leg. I was, of course, crying and in pain. My dad did not help me. He yelled at me to stop crying, told me to push the branch out on my own, and, when I couldn't do it, told me to wait for mother to get home (she was coming back from grocery shopping). I went downstairs and sat on my bed with my leg above the covers so I didn't get them dirty and read a book until my mother came home. When she did, I showed her my leg. She immediately was upset and got tweezers to pull the debris out of my leg and clean it. By that point my leg was numb in that area. She cleaned it and put a bandage on. Then she asked my dad why he would tell me to take care of it on my own, since he should have known I wouldn't be able to get the twig out. He said "I knew she wouldn't be able to, but I didn't want to deal with it". When I think back, there were a lot of instances that led me to think my health and body weren't important, but that was one that stood out the most. It's a large part of why I struggle so much with asking for help from others and something I have been actively working to overcome, especially this past year. I still have a long way to go, though, so I beg the patience of the people around me who care and want to help me that they don't become upset when I am hesitant to accept that help.

When I still lived with my parents, even when I was a child, my mother would confide her financial worries in me and would cry about how dad didn't seem to be so careful with money all the time and it caused her anxiety. Because of that, I can sometimes be very hesitant to spend money and I get very anxious if I don't see certain minimums in my bank account.

14. what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

Join a D&D group. It just looks so fun and I love fantasy stories and games like that. But, I don't know a lot of people who play and I get really really shy about doing things like that with people I don't already know.

22. Say 3 things about someone you love

I have many people I love, but, @kimium, you are one of the ones I cherish most, so I will make these 3 things about you!

You're a kind person who has a strong sense of justice.

You have honed wonderful skills in writing and drawing and I love every fic you've ever gifted me with my entire heart. (And the Chuuya you drew me is on display in my room!)

You're my Tea Expert, direct line to the Tea Gods, and I do my best to follow your teachings (lol💜)

28. Do you collect anything?

I collect many things! I like things. Not in a "let me flaunt my wealth" or "I'm going to buy excessive amounts of things and be wasteful" sort of way, but in a "this brings me joy and so I will collect it". I collect manga, novels, enamel pins, art prints (especially fanart), and stickers! I used to collect porcelain dolls, but I currently don't really have space for that and I kind of fell out of that habit after a while. I still have all my old ones, though!

38. Fave song at the moment?

Vortex by JAWS. It's entirely your fault, friend. I love it too much. It scratches the brain itch so well.

[paramorearchived]

June 27, 2007

Transcript:

redemption. it's a long story.

re-demp-tion |riˈdemp sh ən| noun 1. the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil : God's plans for the redemption of his world.

there is something that has been on my mind for a while, now, pertaining the song, "Misery Business". i haven't really known what to say about it or how to say it... but honestly, after talking to the guys about it, we feel like what's important is that we try. (whether it sounds "cool" or not). it might get a little personal but here goes nothing.

(in a week or so, i'm going to take this next paragraph down... so read up while you can, if you like details).

"Misery Business", like we've explained before in interviews - and even in past LJ posts - is a true story. the song was written at a time in my life that i felt very bitter towards a girl, who i still haven't forgiven, for a lot of things that she did a few years ago. until this person came into mine and my friend's lives, i had no idea what power someone could have over another. i watched her use sex to manipulate one of my friends, in particular, to the point that none of us - in our little circle of friends - recognized him. he went from being someone so innocent and joyful to becoming someone who was shut off from everything. needless to say, it hurt. not only because he was a close friend but because i felt that i was in love with him. (i know, you can't be in love when you're this young.. right? whatever). either way... the pain that i felt, i decided to hold inside. i thought that if people knew how hurt, angry and bitter i'd become, they'd think i was a bad - or worse, a weak - person because of it. (now, to keep this from getting any longer or any more personal, i'll finish this part of the story by saying... he eventually decided that the relationship had nothing to do with love and after that discovered that our friendship was becoming something different. we sorta fought it for a while because we figured it wasn't smart to start dating so young, especially after what all had happened, but fighting it just made it harder and the next thing i knew, we were an item. (no one uses that term anymore, really...)

i can remember exactly where i was and what everything looked like around me when i was writing the lyrics. i forced myself to relive some of the very vivid memories that i have of the times he dated her. i don't think anyone can understand how awkwardly dark those times were at such a young age. but i do. to finally explain my side of the story and feel freed of it all... well, i was so angry and so happy at the same time. every word i wrote was like a thousand weights lifted off my shoulders. no more burden. what i didn't realize, as i wrote some of those lines, was that while i was escaping one burden, i was also giving myself another.

"but god does it feel so good... to steal it all away from you now. and if you could then you know you would. cause god it just feels so... it just feels so good."

i'm ashamed to say that, although i'm a believer in Jesus Christ and i claim him as my God, when i wrote those lyrics i wasn't addressing him. i was using his name casually. in vain, to be blunt. if you know much about the Christian religion (which i'm not too fond of addressing my faith as), you'll probably know that one of the ten commandments is "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord your God in vain"... it goes on to say, "...for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes his name in vain." As a believer in Christ, that last part scares the hell out of me. i don't want to be held accountable for being the cause of so many people using his name in vain. you don't have to believe in what i believe and no one in Paramore is ever going to go around forcing our faith into people's lives... but believer or not, i might have led some of ya'll to believe that i take my saviour lightly. and i don't.

God brought me through everything that i say in "Misery Business". i believe that i am a stronger person because those things happened in my life. through that situation, i learned so much. when i sing that song now, i'm not the same person i was when i wrote it. when i sing those lines that i used to sing in vain, i mean them in a different way. i don't want to opportunity to be held responsible for causing a lot of people to use my God's name in vain. so, whether or you not you believe in Christ. whether or not you care if it means something when you say God. just know that as for me, when I am singing those lines, i'm telling God that it feels good to stand up for myself and be victorious after long months of confusion and pain. i don't hurt the same way anymore.

sorry this was so long winded. i know we don't usually speak out about our faith. mostly, because our faith is personal to us. but i really felt like i needed to say something, before it was too late. thanks for reading. the guys aren't responsible for whatever mess this post could possibly get us into, hayley

[littleonekitten]

A new conclusion has been made:

I’ve only ever been in love once..and I’m scared no one is ever going to love me again. I only know how to be loved one way, so If I date someone new I’m going to be consistently be comparing them to my ex, down to every nutshell just be use I don’t know how to be loved differently. I don’t know how to be loved without him, or with someone knew. I know I wouldn’t accept that “new love” the same as I did before. I don’t miss my ex because of my ex. I miss him because of the way he showed me love, he took every broken piece and held it all together, gently glueing me back together. I think that’s the reason I still cling to him, it’s because I’m still convinced he’s the only option.

He’s the only option, even though I know deep down we could never be together. We could try over and over again and it just wouldn’t work. I knew my needs and wants and he didn’t. He wants everyone to be a big happy family, and I don’t. I want my relationship separated from my friends and family because when it all comes together it gets messy. I tried to explain it to him and he never understood until the end, where I predicted our break up and how it was going to happen and he still wouldn’t have believed me. I tried. I tried the damn best I could. I offered support, I always over communicated, I swallowed my pride and apologized for things and did things I didn’t want to do but I did it for him, because he was the most important thing and I valued our relationship more then anything. It got to a point for him that I wasn’t worth it, or he’d tell me reassurance but never any action. If I am shown that I’m not wanted, I will not be there. I think the hardest thing about a break up and seeing them slowly not want to work on it, and fall out of love. It hurts being the one to break up because I was cornered and I knew he wasn’t going to do it. It hurts still loving him after all of the pain and hurt. I guess love is really the most powerful feeling. Of course- there’s lots of other reasons we wouldn’t work out.. but I think the main reason is.. we don’t want to change ourself for each other and that’s the hardest part, there’s this need to be true to yourself and your goals and ambitions as a young independent woman, and yet the need to conform into something else for love. It’s hard being independent in that way, it’s a standard honestly. Yes, you can fall in love but you can’t compromise anything because he should love you for who you are “don’t change for a man”! And no, you don’t need to grieve or cry over it, your respect for yourself will always be more important and higher then anything “so stop wasting time, he’s not worth it”. I think being hyper independent stems from not being open and vulnerable, while also caring too much about what other think about your personal life, I often feel my need and sadness for love is often attacked my by hyper female independence, which yes can cause a lack of team work and vulnerability and protection.I hope I can find someone where I don’t have to feel like I need to protect myself around… I felt like he wouldn’t compromise, or if he came back ( if you love someone set them free type thing) I don’t think he would want to change and work, and put in the work and the consistency and the taking accountability. I also want to make it clear that this wasn’t a one off thing, he’d apologize, and do it again. It was a pattern, and that pattern he chose not to break. I fought the world for him, but there comes a time where the patterns aren’t changing, the behaviour isn’t changing after talking about it and not being heard or validated, enough is enough. I still love him, but he doesn’t deserve it after how much he hurt me, and I don’t know what to do about that, because everyone deserves love. Even if it’s someone you least expect or didn’t want anymore. Everyone says I shouldn’t love him anymore because that gives him power. It gives him excuses and leeway to do anything he wants because he knows i’ll always love him and use it to his advantage. I will always be tied and attached and love him because he was my first love. As I am looking back on it since it was my first love ( it wasn’t for his and he dated more then me which gave us different outlooks) I understand now how I could’ve came off in certain ways in love intensity and commitment, but I wouldn’t have known and understood if we didn’t separate.But you live, learn and experience. I guess that’s life though right? Idk. I feel like we are soulmates that just can’t be together.

I’m lucky to have met someone who loved me like he did, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced with someone, and something I’ll always remember and cherish. I’m lucky to have met a soulmate, even if fate separates us for immortality.

If our relationship was a trope it would be

“He fell first, She fell harder”

If our relationship had a cause of death it would:

“death by drowning”

[bookishfeylin]

Evil AU- From Ao3

@darklordofspring I'm tagging you because I'm not sure if you saw this on Ao3 or not but either way... I'm posting another Feylin ficlet on tumblr :)

If anyone already read this on Ao3 then y'all know I wrote this because Tamlin as a villain is so BORING in canon. Let him be actually EVIL, please.

Feyre raced through the streets of Adriata, not daring to look behind her. He was close— too close. She couldn’t let herself be caught, the information she carried for the rebellion against Tamlin was far too important to fall into his hands. And Cauldron only knew what he’d do to her.

Pausing to catch her breath, Feyre wiped away the tears that were trailing down her cheeks. The male she loved was gone. Whatever Rhysand had done to his mind had destroyed Tamlin and all he stood for. Now… he was a tyrant. And Rhysand was away in the Day Court, with the rest of the rebellion, unable to fix Tamlin’s mind as he tried to change back after Tamlin had—

A sound behind her caught her attention, and Feyre realized she was still being followed by Tamlin’s soldiers. She started running again, still scared, still uncertain.

She’d been away visiting Helion in the Day Court to practice her spell cleaving skills with him when Rhysand had decided to “prank” Tamlin and cause this whole mess in the first place. Since then, she’d been working with the rebellion brewing in the other courts in an attempt to stop Tamlin, and fix his mind. So Feyre hadn’t run into him yet, she hadn’t seen her husband in months. But she’d heard stories—second hand accounts about what he was doing, how he was running his court.

Feyre had wondered about the limits of Tamlin’s power, and he’d never been very forthcoming about it. She knew, obviously, that he could shapeshift, and that he could shapeshift other people and warp the environment around him, as he’d shapeshifted his sentries into wolves and as he’d displayed bits and pieces of his power to her when he was still cursed, like changing the large table they’d first ate at to a small one, and lighting candles with the snap of his fingers. But she’d never put two and two together to realize how objectively terrifying it was that Tamlin could not only warp his body, but warp everything around him. And everyone. 

Rhysand, currently, was stuck in the form of a rabbit, and similar things had been said about anyone who had tried to fight Tamlin so far. He’d changed people into animals. Multiplied people’s cells to give them cancers—and a slow, painful death. He’d changed the air in another person’s lungs to water, drowning them where they stood. 

And while there were other daemati in addition to Rhysand, such as Feyre herself, Tamlin was the only known shapeshifter. Feyre’s shapeshifting abilities only extended to her own body, and compared to what Tamlin was doing, were next to nothing. She was incapable of reversing his actions. Perhaps it had taken Tamlin abusing his power for everyone in Prythian to understand just how much he had, how much he held back on a day to day basis. 

Pushing aside those thoughts, Feyre continued to run, only to feel something graze her calf, sending a searing pain up her leg. Unwittingly Feyre tumbled to the ground, hissing as she hit the stones below her. Looking to the side to see what had hit her, and feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion, she was horrified to see that it was an arrow—an ash arrow, coated with some sort of substance. They’d drugged her. 

The footsteps were close now, but Feyre could barely concentrate. She had to get up, had to move, but her body wouldn’t listen. She could barely crawl. The world was spinning, and her arms were shaking, and she could barely move…

Feyre collapsed again just as the footsteps reached her, and the world went black.

~~~

The first thing Feyre registered, as she slowly came to, was that she was laying in something soft. Something soft and warm. Then came the fingers gently carding through her hair, tucking a few rebellious strands behind her ear, and a very familiar earth-and-honey scent. Her mate. 

Instinctively she turned to her side, nuzzling into Tamlin’s chest, seeking out his warmth. Feyre felt him chuckle.  “I knew you missed me,” he mumbled, his tone almost smug. 

There was something wrong about this, something… something Feyre needed to remember. But she could worry about that later, and she was content to stay here and let him pet her, surrounded by his scent and warmth and—

Then the memories came back: Adriata. The rebellion. Tamlin.

Feyre opened her eyes and shot up, surprised to find herself back in their bedroom, laying in bed alongside—

Alongside him. Tamlin had the audacity to play with her hair and sleep beside her as if she hadn’t just been kidnapped by his sentries in Adriata. As if he wasn’t about to torture her for information. Looking down at herself, Feyre realized she had some sort of silver necklace around her neck. Closing her eyes, Feyre briefly tried to reach out with her magic, hoping to use her daemati abilities to at least buy her time to escape, but Feyre found it impossible. It wasn’t just a necklace, then—it was a power dampener. Practically a collar. And Tamlin had put it on her.

Shivering and refusing to meet his gaze, Feyre pulled back out of the bed—or she tried to, at least, before he grabbed her arm, his claws sliding out, before she could leave fully. “Stay,” he commanded, and Feyre finally looked up at him, truly looking at her husband for the first time in months. 

His hair was short, now, and he was wearing a soft, white nightshirt and pants. A small part of Feyre was glad that he looked healthy, at least, if she ignored his piercing red eyes. Whatever Rhysand had done to Tamlin had changed his eye color, from the soft emerald green Feyre had grown to love to a harsh crimson, worsened by his current glare.

Feyre cringed and looked down again, and he let go of her arm before crossing his. “Where, exactly, were you going?”

Away from you, Feyre wanted to say, but she held her tongue, remembering the stories she’d heard about Tamlin’s newly vicious temper. After deliberating for a moment, Feyre spoke up. “I was going to protect myself. I know of the torment your prisoners go through, so I wanted to prepare myself for the inevitable.” He raised an eyebrow, though his glare had lessened. “You don’t need to be afraid of me, Feyre.”

Shivering, still, Feyre asked, “Why not?”

Sighing, Tamlin grabbed her shoulders, holding them surprisingly gently as he slowly stopped her from shaking. Then he moved a hand beneath her head and used a single knuckle to tilt her face up to look at him. “You are my wife, Feyre, not my prisoner.” For a moment Feyre let herself breathe, sighing in relief. Then Tamlin spoke up again. “Why have you been running from me, all these months?”

Feyre bit her lip, not sure whether to lie and appease him or speak the truth and risk his temper. Tamlin answered for her. “I want the truth, Feyre.”

Looking down, Feyre said, “I’d heard what you were doing to people, what you’d let yourself become. I didn’t know what to think or expect.” Slowly, Feyre met his gaze again. “Why are you hurting people, Tamlin?”

Instead of answering, Tamlin simply gave her a strange, almost predatory smile. “I’m letting go, Feyre. I don’t have to control myself every moment of every day, anymore. I don’t have to struggle not to hurt everyone else. I do what I want.”

He almost sounded genuinely happy about it. Almost. But it still didn’t answer her question. “But why, Tamlin? Why are you hurting people? Why are you trying to take over Prythian?” It was a question everyone in the rebellion was struggling to understand. Rhysand may have messed with his mind, may have made him violent and twisted and cruel, but power hungry? It didn’t make sense.

“For you, of course.”

What?

“I’ve told you before that I hate being a High Lord, Feyre. I don’t want to rule Prythian for myself. I’m going to give Prythian to you, and to any future children of ours. I’ll simply enforce your rule, ensure a peaceful reign for you.” Then Tamlin smiled, as if his plan wasn’t insane. “And the best way to enforce peace is through force, Feyre. Obedience or punishment.” Tamlin said it so simply, as if he wasn’t being borderline barbaric. 

Feyre shook her head. “I don’t want to rule Prythian.”

“Of course you do.”

“No, Tamlin, I really don’t.”

He simply titled his head, then laughed. “You’re so funny, Feyre.” Then he slowly pulled himself out of the bed, and he gestured for Feyre to do the same. “Get dressed, Feyre. I have some things to show you.”

Not wanting to risk his temper, Feyre did as he said.

~~~

It was minutes later when Feyre found herself following Tamlin as they snaked through the walls of Rosehall. Their once beautiful home had been transformed to a nightmarish estate, and the servants that always seemed to be chatting happily now cringed in fear away from them, though a few of them gazed hopefully at Feyre. What had Tamlin done?

Tamlin had grown quiet as they got closer to their destination, and looking around him Feyre saw the throne room before them. And there, on his knees and between two sentries, was Lucien. Feyre hadn’t seen Lucien in months, either.

Tamlin growled as he caught sight of him, and Feyre noted that even the sentries cringed at the noise. Then the strangest thing happened. It seemed that reality itself was… warping. Changing. 

Black cracks began to form on the ground, slowly spreading out from where Tamlin stood, and in the cracks Feyre saw small, twinkling lights. Like stars. Between them the floor itself seemed to… melt, almost, suddenly becoming less solid, like mud, almost. Including where Feyre stood. 

“Tam,” she called out, trying to get him to stop, to calm down, to fix whatever he was doing.

Tamlin looked back to her for a moment, and blinked, as though remembering she was here with him. 

Then the ground re-solidified beneath Feyre’s feet, and the cracks disappeared as reality seemed to reorient itself. In front of them, both Lucien and the sentries sighed in relief, as though something horrible had just been averted. Feyre was sure something had been. 

Then Tamlin spoke, and his words were like ice. “You were going to take Feyre away from me.”

Lucien just jutted out his chin, his shoulders back, eyes defiant. “You have no proof of anything, High Lord.” Lucien practically spat out the title, and Feyre found herself taken aback, for a moment. Tamlin and Lucien had always been close, and in the century she and Tamlin had been married, Lucien had only ever used Tamlin’s title jokingly. 

Tamlin growled again, and Feyre noted the fangs beginning to form at the sides of his mouth. “My sentries caught you conspiring with the rebellion to get Feyre back. Perhaps you’d like to see the notes they found?” 

Lucien went pale, and he seemed to slump even closer to the ground.

Tamlin extended a finger, and Feyre realized that his hands had grown claws again. “You’ve betrayed me, Lucien. And I don’t tolerate betrayal.”

“Tamlin, please,” Feyre interjected, hoping to stop whatever he was going to do. 

Tamlin and Lucien both ignored her, and the latter spoke up. “So kill me, then. Punish my disobedience, High Lord.”

But Tamlin simply chuckled, something cold that made Feyre’s stomach twist in on itself. “You would wish for an easy punishment, wouldn’t you?” Lucien went paler, if he could, and tried to back away, only to be caught by the sentries again. Tamlin spoke one final time. “Death is far too easy for what you did. I’m interested in something more… satisfying.” 

Then Tamlin reached forward and waved his hand, and Lucien crumpled to the ground, beginning to shake and groan. Feyre ran forward to try to help him, to pull him up, but Tamlin grabbed her arms again, holding her back. 

Feyre watched in something akin to horror as Lucien began to scream—and slowly transformed into… something. Tamlin’s transformations had always been instantaneous, had always been hidden in a flash of light, but this? He was purposely prolonging it, purposely letting Feyre and the sentries watch how grotesque and painful transformation could be, purposely using his power to torture Lucien.

Lucien screamed again and Feyre turned back to Tamlin. “Stop this, Tamlin. Please,” she begged.

But he merely looked at her, raising an eyebrow, even as Lucien continued screaming, even as his scream changed to something more… animalistic.

He wasn’t going to listen. Still restrained by Tamlin, Feyre turned back to Lucien, watching in horror as his limbs seemed to elongate, as the bones within them seemed to snap and slowly fuse back together, as his muscles and joints contorted and as grey fur slowly cut through his skin. 

Feyre turned aside, and vomited. Tamlin held her, rubbing slow circles into her back as Lucien’s screams morphed to moans, and as his moans changed to whimpers. Then he was done, and the room was silent.

Turning back around, Feyre found herself staring at a pool of blood—with a large grey wolf in the center. Lucien.

Blinking back her tears, Feyre curled her hands into fists. “Change him back.”

“What?” Tamlin asked, incredulous.

“Change. Him. Back.”

Tamlin snorted. “Why should I? He needed to be punished, for what he was doing.”

“He was looking out for me!” Feyre pleaded. “He thought I was in danger, Tam. That you were endangering me. Because you are .” Tamlin recoiled, snarling, but Feyre continued. “You got so angry about seeing Lucien that your magic began to rip apart reality, Tamlin. You’ve been changing people’s forms as you see fit. How long before you do that to me?”

“I would never,” he hissed. “You are my wife, my mate, my love. I would never harm you, Feyre.”

“Then prove it. Change him back right now.”

Tamlin’s claws slid out again, but he balled his hands into fists regardless, before looking back at where the wolf that had been Lucien was laying on the floor. He waved his hand, and—

Nothing happened. 

Feyre turned back to Tamlin. “Change him back, Tamlin. Now.”

But Tamlin merely raised an eyebrow. “I am.”

“I don’t see his transformation,” Feyre said, knowing she was pushing Tamlin’s limits—but not caring, anymore.

But Tamlin gave her that same sickly grin, again. “You said I had to change him now, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So I’m changing him now. Or more accurately, his transformation back is beginning now.” His smile was still cold as he added, “It’ll take a few days to complete. He's changing back cell be cell. Tissue by tissue. Organ by organ.”

Feyre gasped. Lucien’s transformation just now had seemed painful enough when dragged out for a few minutes, but dragged out over several days? It was torture, pure and simple.

“Tamlin, please—”

“I’ve done as you asked, Feyre. But I won’t do anything more, no matter how much you plead.”

Feyre closed her mouth, unable to believe what she was hearing. This wasn’t Tamlin—not at all. He would never torture his best friend for days on end, like this. Rhysand what have you done? 

Feyre had to fix his mind, had to undo whatever damage Rhysand had done. But Mother only knew how she was going to do it.

[moonwize]

Hello! If you're seeing this randomly, this it is a post that will be linked to a Shadow Work related post on my Main Account @daarlingdatura. If you're coming from that post heyy!! this is my side account lol. Since it's such a long breakdown I figured most people probably weren't going to want to read it- though I thought some might benefit from it. So here it is:

ACCOUNTABILITY + SHAME SHADOW WORK RANT?? 12.22.22 ©daarlingdatura

This may not always be well received by some, but in today’s age accountability can seem- overwhelming. We see even innocent mistakes get blown unfairly out of proportion. This is a deeply confusing & in some ways even validating way of doing things. Validating because, if we are hurt we are validated and others will rally behind us- validating also because the older generation's LACK thereof accountability. In fact, the older generations associate accountability with shame- and this is where the dark side of accountability can come into play. It can become a point of ego, of victimhood.

Desiring to always be correct (or in some cases an overwhelming guilt for any small mistake made), this is where we follow in the footsteps of our ancestors. We all remember what it feels like to have our tiniest mistakes highlighted and put under a microscope by our parents, peers, or teachers- meanwhile in a reversed scenario accountability is thrown to the wind. It simply never gets discussed again and YOU are in the wrong for having an issue with THEIR behavior. This is a deeply embedded cycle in most of us, and it is now playing out on a mass scale. NOW, This is not to say I think accountability culture is bad. In fact, people SHOULD be held accountable. It’s important however to do this in a way that is appropriate and well suited to each situation. Nuance is important when dealing with accountability. We tend to want to categorize things into either bad or good. This white & black thinking is detrimental to the learning process of others. When we approach others and shame them for their mistakes & dog-pile them with insults & negativity it takes away from any real lesson being learned. Instead it creates a dynamic where you are now victimizing someone- further validating their OWN lack of accountability while you act like an asshole. It can be easy to want to hop on the bandwagon- to want to join in, because it feels invigorating- your anger is validated. You can project your pain and your traumatic experiences onto this person. I believe that a struggle with accountability can often be linked to a lack of acknowledgement. When someone’s trauma has not been acknowledged- when THEY refuse to acknowledge their own trauma… it becomes a fight. A competition, the goal then is to maintain innocence & to be validated by others in some type of way- OR to invalidate others in order to feel empowered or create a power dynamic in which YOU are in control. We must look at our relationship with vulnerability. I believe that vulnerability is a large part of accountability, this is a huge reason people can struggle to apologize. It can be viewed as a weakness or create a perceived sense of inferiority. It’s important to ask yourself why accountability causes you to feel inferior- why it brings shame, guilt, anger, regret, avoidance, etc… This links all the way back to the way that we can be so hard on ourselves. Feel like the smallest mistakes are our biggest failures, and forget that mistakes pave the pathway to success. We all act like an asshole sometimes, we all get shit wrong sometimes. By accounting from and LEARNING from those experiences we can give ourselves the opportunity to grow as a person and continue climbing the ladder of success. We cannot repeat the same cycle of the older generation, nor can we allow a mirrored overly judgmental approach that lacks in self awareness become the way we handle these things. In order to truly heal from the shame brought upon us by the older generations we must give each other the space to learn and heal. That is not to say we should compromise our boundaries for those who harm us. That is not to say that we cannot be angry, or feel negatively towards those who abuse us. Etc... 



[winter-tospring]

How strange, to grow up and go through school years with every day new experiences and memories and pains and lessons, and not talk about it with your family, keep it to yourself, but know every day is rich with things you'd like to forget, and then, watch your siblings go through school years and grow up, and not know anything about their pains and lessons, because they don't tell you, just like you didn't tell the ones who were there before.

You know every day is rich for them, but you don't know of what. Years pass, and what have they learned? What have they felt? It feels like my years were so full and yet all I know from my sibling is almost emptiness. I watch them grow up, and reach the age when I started reading about feminism, when I went vegan, when my compass turned and recentered, when my choices became more mine, and I don't know what's in their head.

I knew them better as a child, I had memories with them then. I knew what they liked and what they joked about. I made them laugh. But I don't know who they are now. Parents are just scared when they say they know you cause they've always known you. It's precisely because you see someone grow that you can lose the thread, cause you're attached to their beginnings. We change and we become new, different, new people to ourselves, and new people that others have to be introduced to again.

It's like my sibling left in the mist, without my noticing, it took its time but it didn't matter, it still feels like I wasn't prepared. What has all this growth brought that I couldn't see? Did some thoughts plague you incessantly too? Did you not trust me then? I'm the eldest and I thought I'd help you through all I did alone. You didn't want me to help you with homework. You didn't tell me if you had any problems, and I understand, I did the same, but I hoped you'd have a friend at home. I tried to teach you things but I think I was new at learning them too, I just hoped you'd have less to worry about if I explained before you had to wonder or got manipulated.

I don't know how to untie this knot. So much time passed and I don't know what you've been feeling. I feel like I've missed secret important things. You didn't want to say, so why should I feel bad? We had our time of being close and then I shrunk inside, and you hugged me when I couldn't ask it of anyone. I met my wife and I didn't tell you. I met so many hearts close to mine and I did tell you, but I was leaping forward and knew I needed more than how little you could understand then. It was okay. Wait, I did tell you when I met my wife. I remember running down a rocky hill, phone in my hand, telling you her story was in a book now.

When I was depressed, I tried to explain, I sought some comfort, and I think I got some, but it made sense you didn't understand all of it. You're always shorter than me in my head, and the version of you now is an update I have to make each time we say your name. I don't blame you, yet you're old enough to be held accountable. It hurts to be stuck here. I wish you'd kept your own voice, so it wouldn't haunt my instincts when we start to talk.

I'm sorry, and yet I'd do it again the same. What else was there to do? I was patient and I helped where you let me. Gave space where I wished I'd been given some, and defended you cause I had more words. Now I'm protecting me. I'm sad, but thoughts don't change that what matters to me has to come first. I wish it was easier to understand, and that around you people cared. They're not helping, and I feel like I can't help anymore. You've got words but what's their point if you don't want to hurt anyone and you're fine with taking the hits? I drew lines when I realized I needed to have my back. I didn't want you to not be included in my team. I thought I'd protect you on my side.

There's no resolution today, it hurts. I wanted you to like me, and I feel like you're just wondering why I'm ignoring you, what you've done. It pains me to have to, it pains me I probably look like I don't care. And I can't fake anything, that'd be worse, but I feel like our calm was stolen from me.