#these people are so entitled and self important

[goose-smoothie]

Those who hate Alana have no idea just how important she is to the series, and by dismissing her as some annoying female character, they fail to engage with the deeper themes.

The bottom line is that Alana and Will are foils.

Alana is shown to be an empathetic character, functional empathy, which is juxtaposed against Will's pure empathy. She sees the best in people, whilst Will sees the worst, as he sees all. And yet, despite being able to think like others, the person who can connect to people isn't Will, but Alana.

And this informs so much of the story, as when Alana empathises with someone (ei. Abigail) she is imaging what it would be like for herself to be in that situation. She has a sense of self which anchors her, whereas Will imagines exactly what it is like to be that someone, and consequently loses himself in it. But this is how Alana's empathy makes her blind, as she is still viewing those situations through the lens of her own morality, reactions, biases.

She uses her empathy to empathise with the victim, while Will's job was to use his to empathise with the killer.

Alana and Will both seek to understand Hannibal. Alana may have gotten closer physically, but it was Will that ultimately succeeded.

Both are driven for a need to be in control, and this is arguably the biggest thing that drives them both. Alana watches Mason chokes for several seconds before offering to get the nurse, as she wanted to remind him who was the one that truly held the power. Will immobilises his victims and suspends them like fish caught. It's this need for control that makes them both unable to let things go. It's this need for control that makes their war with Hannibal personal.

Both are self-righteous, seeing their anger and actions as justified. Alana is critical of people when they don't share the same opinions as her or behave in a way she does not agree with. Will is rather entitled, expecting everyone to be available to him on his time, and he isolates himself as other's can't disturb his peace if he's alone. That if they do disturb his peace, they brought it on themselves.

They are both martyrs.

And then, of course, their differing approaches to dealing with Hannibal. Alana, responds rationally (morally), which is irrational (not pragmatic), that Hannibal be apprehended, whilst Will's irrational response (pragmatic, and personal), the rational one, was to kill him.

(Yes, it is revealed later that Will rejected Hannibal knowing that the man would give himself up, but he could have done this during Mizumono, and again in Palermo. Instead, he waits eight months, and does so only after he fails to kill Hannibal, and Hannibal saves him, and he has a change of heart, so the above point still stands.)

Both are compassionate. Both have a habit of adopting strays and caring for the wounded bird (see: Will's many dogs and adoption of Abigail and Georgia. see: Alana advocating for Will and treating him like he's fragile, Alana falling into bed with Hannibal after he pretended to be so hurt by Will's betrayal, her swooping in to save Margot from her brother). They, unlike Bedelia, do not kill because they see vulnerability as something that needs to be snuffed out. But they do believe themselves justified.

And then there is the descent into the dark parts of themselves. Alana may spend much of the second season on a high horse, but in the third season she finds herself driven by revenge, much like Will had been in season 2. She even helps to serve up Chilton to Dolarhyde in season 3b, despite suspecting that Will just may place the final nail in the man's coffin. She is just as responsible for what happened to him as Will is, and when confronted about by Chilton, reacts much the same as Will does when faced with accusations; by standing there impassively and not acknowledging them. Chilton even comments on it, the fact that her face does not change, that she shows nothing.

Will is blinded by Hannibal--or shattered, as the proverbial teacup--and is hardened upon waking. Alana goes through much the same process (being literally shattered), only a season later.

"Then you have to evolve, Alana. You have to spill blood."

And it's not Hannibal that pushes her to embrace the dark parts of her, but her own need for control, having to rectify a plan she made that went wrong. Will, restrained and powerless, may have said those words, but it was only an affirmation of something Alana had already known. She incites a massacre and makes a deal with the devil because she made a mistake and wanted to save Will, and at no point does she show remorse for it, and the only regret she demonstrated, was that things did not go as she wanted them to.

Whilst Will had been balancing on the edge and was arguably pushed at Hannibal's behest (but that would be a different analysis), Alana's awakening came as collateral to Hannibal's obsession with Will. She cannot directly blame Hannibal for any of her choices to kill, as the choice to kill Mason (although certainly encouraged by Hannibal) had always been Margot's. And Alana helps her, not because Hannibal manipulated her into doing so, but because she loves Margot and saw to gain much from Mason's death. She, just like Will, finds enjoyment in reducing those who had reduced her, as Will had done with Freddie and Chilton, she had done with Mason, who spent much of season 3a making lewd and inappropriate remarks about her. And she shuts him up, with an eel in the throat.

Alana and Will are both fishermen, choosing to bait their prey instead of hunt, choosing to pull the strings whilst encouraging others to do the dirty work for them (Alana uses Mason to hunt for Hannibal, she offers Chilton up for Will to use to bait Dolarhyde). She and Will both get away with their crimes as they committed them to arguably bad people, or committed them with enough plausible deniability that they don't seem immediately responsible. They get away with it as they use other peoples' biases against them (he by playing the damsel in distress, and she presumably by playing the injured innocent).

"You're the roper."

Alana sees her darkness as a tool to achieve a goal, but refuses to acknowledge these parts as herself, perhaps as she fears it, perhaps as her need for control makes it difficult for her to accept that there are parts of herself she cannot subjugate. Will had feared it too, but by the end of the series comes to embrace it, the thrill, the rush, the sense of power it gives him. For him, it's a liberation. For her, we never got to see the realisation of it as the series was cancelled.

Both Alana and Will find darkness within themselves, and both find themselves embracing said darkness, to survive, to win, to dominate by taking away their prey's power. They don't do things in halves.

(But the irony of all this is that as long as there are other players on the board, they'll never truly be in control. And thus, the game continues.)

Despite being free to run around in the BSHCI, she's just as much a prisoner there as Will was, her focus almost obsessively on Hannibal. She threatens to take away Hannibal's comforts in his cell, as even behind five locked doors, she's not really the one in control. And she knows it. She removes all of his books and toys to assert her power, and all it does is piss him off. Like poking a bear. And then, she makes a mistake and ultimately has to flee to avoid Hannibal's wrath. Which puts her entire family at risk, all for her ego. And don't think Will is without an ego. His is simply a bit, quieter, until it's wounded.

And then we have her playing God with Jack as they need to control Will, her replacing Will's place at Jack's side. They play games with two predators, thinking they can control the outcome, thinking they can contain the chemical reaction of Will and Hannibal clashing once again, thinking that this time, they could actually kill Hannibal by using Will as bait.

And we know if there were to be a season 4, that it would focus on the Alana-Hannibal feud. And what depths do you think she'd sink to to protect her family? How do you think she'd react once she'd been pushed far enough? Hannibal threatened to take away her wife and child, don't you think she'd then go for Hannibal's family (Will)? She's compared to Will by Chilton, the man whose role she arguably took, throughout season 3, and just like Hannibal and Will, she does not show remorse for those caught in the crossfire of their battle. As Bedelia stated, it's 'pay to play', and Will already lost his family to the game. It's only logical that she continue to follow the same path.

Also I love that in the third season they start dressing her in orange and red and high contrast suits. Bright colours to warn predators, to warn prey, like a snake (also lets not forget the Will-Mongoose comparison), instead of the dark blues that blend in. And I miss the cane. Plus her kill count by proxy certainly rivals Will's (by proxy). Don't discount one of the best characters in the series.

Really poorly written analysis but the points are all there.

[ilikekidsshows]

Saw this on FB :

When you protect your child from the consequences of their actions, you are not teaching them that they are loved.

You are teaching them that they are above the rules.

They lie, they cheat, they hurt others. And you step in to smooth things over. You blame the teacher, the other child, the situation. You believe you are being their fierce protector.

Let's call it what it really is.

You are not protecting them. You are crippling them.

You are raising a child who believes they are entitled to special treatment.

A child who never learns accountability because someone else always cleans up their messes.

A child who will be utterly unprepared for a world that operates by cause and effect.

Love is not about shielding your child from reality. It is about preparing them to navigate it. Sometimes, the most loving thing you can do is let them face the music, learn from their mistakes, and understand that their actions have real-world consequences.

Author: Arsalan Moin

And this say a lot, like A LOT, about how Tom and Sabine raised Marinette and we've seen what kind of person Marinette become with this kind of parenting method.

A lot of Mari stan said Marinette is OOC in s4, someone even said Marinette has become OOC since s2. But that's not true, we've seen hints of it in previous seasons. Thanks to her parents who always cushion her, she become a very entitled child. It's also the reason why she never think of Cat Noir when he's not present. How her love for Adrien is merely a surface level and she never tried to get to know her "love of her life". How her jealousy always get the better of her, that she would even went along with her supposed bully to humiliate a girl. That's because she always took things for granted.

You've pointed this out, a lot has pointed this out before the maripologist become so vicious that they'd shut up every critical blogs that dare to pointed out their angel's mistake. It's sad how this fandom become so toxic though, it used to be so wholesome, you can't even have a different opinion even with the tag. They'll come at anyone, attack them, bully them . The maripologist has become like a cult and it scares me.

Thank you for being here and giving space for people like me who still want to discuss about this show but too scared to go non anon, bless you!

---

The thing about coddling parents is that the idea that they’re leaving their child incapable of dealing with hardships doesn’t even cross their mind because they figure “well, I’ll definitely always be here to help them so they don’t need to learn!” A lot of parents are probably also partially thinking that surely their child will have a good life, since they are taking such care of them.

The crew behind Miraculous also seem to think this type of parenting is good, and also “parent” their creation the same way. Of course Marinette doesn’t have to deal with hardships on her own, that’s so unrelatable, all children with good parents are never held to any standards of behavior or responsibility. It’s like the crew has a dartboard in their office for “how will Marinette deal with her next hardship” and do a lottery for who “wins” the important job of being Marinette's emotional support dispenser, and they forgot to put “she bucks up for once” on there. And yet they still insist she never relies on anyone in the Paris special when she has to make her life seem harder than Shadybug’s.

Someone commented on my post about how Marinette is very attached to boys who are in love with her, not because she feels anything back for them, but because she wants these boys to validate her, because nothing short of worship is enough for her bloated yet fragile sense of self that Marinette shows some signs of narcissism. That had me thinking of the pseudopsychological concept of “main character syndrome” where a person’s sense of self and their self-importance is fractured in a specific way where they treat their life as a story and themselves as the protagonist of said story. Having this type of approach to your life is seen to share a link to narcissism, and that makes me think: Marinette acts like she’s aware of the fact she’s the protagonist and she gets validated for acting like this because she’s actually right.

I’m not sure what the fandom was like before I joined between seasons 3 and 4, but I've never been in this fandom without having to worry about Maripologists. It feels like they've always been here and they’ve always been obnoxious. I will say they've been getting bolder after the retool started catering to them, and, since more and more of the reasonable people are leaving the fandom, their numbers have started to appear bloated.

Someone has to balance the scales. I guess that someone is me: some weird amphibian with an impeccable hairstyle.

[ladyofchroyane]

i think one of the more annoying behaviors of elia stans is that they feel they are justified in inserting themselves and her in discussions not about them or her.

if i’m discussing rhaegar and lyanna then i am discussing them. leave the other woman outa this

[batsplat]

Laguna Seca 2008: Valentino Rossi comments on his qualifying, where he secured second place on the grid.

Press:

"I start thirty seconds earlier. [Room laughs.] No, I'm quite happy - in a way, is a good job, because we put quite good simulations for understand the tyres. I think for tomorrow, will be a hard race for everybody, because also for physical, is difficult for everybody. And also for the tyres is quite critical, but anyway start from the first row in second place is quite a good target for us. In the last races, we struggle a little bit more in the practise - now we are in the right way so we try to make a good start and a good race."

Interview:

Q: "Okay, Valentino, obviously important to be on the front row again." VR: "Yes, is very important to be on the front row again, especially because we come from some races where we struggle quite a lot in the practise. So is a good result, is a good position for start tomorrow... and also with the race pace, we are quite good and we have to do some small [modifications] but our rhythm is not so bad. So we wait for tomorrow, we see for the conditions, we decide the tyres, and we have two or three small problems that maybe are possible to fix - and we try, we try for tomorrow." Q: "Do you think you'll be able to catch Casey?" VR: "For me, looking at the pace, at the rhythm, will be difficult. But we don't give up."

[kenyummy]

✰ 04. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 04. fantastic four.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: had to wrack my brain to remember what math i was learning in seventh grade LMAO . sometimes i forget damian is just a little guy in like seventh to eighth grade. crazy. and please let me know if there's any mistakes with pronouns/gender!!! i want to keep this open to everybody so im always trying my best ❤️

also ive realised how chopped harry is in the comics after taking my rose coloured lenses off. basically he and mj have their look in the ultimate spiderman TV show (in my eyes anyway, i kind of just described their appearance based off tgat lmaooo)

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

School has never felt so bland for you. Sure, it was never your favourite thing in the world—except for maybe biology—but you'd think that discovering a whole new world in your last year would make it a little more interesting.

It didn't.

It's been three weeks since you crash landed here in Gotham. The most you'd gotten from your family was an awkward "how are you" occasionally, and a lot of staring.

You'd only shown yourself as Spidey a few times to the public, but never stayed for those pesky news reporters shoving their microphones into your face. You'd never liked interviews, anyway.

The only highlight of your long days were MJ and Harry. You'd gotten over the initial shock of Harry being in love with you—convincing yourself that it really wasn't you he liked; it was this world's original you. (Though—that fact still lingers in the back of your mind whenever you talk).

Apart from that, school truly was uneventful. Your kooky art teacher was the only one of whom you actually liked, and it seemed the education here was rather lax. Uncaring. Not good for your future, surely—but you wouldn't have a future here, and you're sure this [name] Wayne will be just fine.

Speaking of schooling—the people here really seemed to hate the Gotham Prep kids. More than what a petty rivalry should be—it was pure malice.

Harry was especially adamant about this.

"They're all dumb, entitled rich kids who use daddy's money to get whatever they want, you know." He stabs his fork into a dry cut of chicken violently. Then points, accusatory, at MJ—who already presents a sneer to him. "And don't you start lumping me in with them—you know I'm not like that."

Her face twists, but soon she grins cheekily. "Okay, fine. Yeah, you're totally not, otherwise nobody here would like you one bit. And who doesn't love Harry, huh?"

"Oh, be quiet," But still, he smiles—damn his head is big. He glances over at you. You're picking around at your soggy broccoli with a frown. "Hey, [name]. Don't two of your brothers go to Gotham Prep?"

You look up at your ginger friend, head tilted to the side before it clicked. Oh, right. Tim and that young boy—Damian, if you remember correctly. Tim barely ever went to school if your diary was still accurate, and Damian had little choice but to.

(Doesn't seem like he'd be the social butterfly type, though.)

"Yeah, they do." You nod, still fiddling around with that vegetable.

"Not that I'm not glad that you're here—but why don't you go to school with them?" MJ leans forward in her seat. "I mean, isn't it easier for siblings to go to the same school?"

Your eyes widen for a second.

There's a few ways you can go about this.

One—you tell them everything you know about your other self. About how you never felt included enough to ask. How you never spent time with them. How it always felt like everything and everyone else was more important than you. How you suffered silently—begging for their attention for years like a house pet becoming a stray.

Two—you could tell them you have absolutely no idea because you have none of your memories of anything from the past years of this life—how you don't even remember all your siblings names half the time.

Or three, and your personal favourite—you can just lie.

It doesn't take a serial genius to figure out which one you chose.

"I guess I just didn't like the rich private school vibe they had going on." A smile falls over your lips. "Plus—you guys were coming here, so it gave me even more of a reason to attend, you know?"

You're not entirely sure that's true. But—if these two were anything like the Harry and MJ you know—then this would probably be right.

Judging from their smiles, your detective skills haven't failed you yet.

"Man!" MJ lolls her head back, groaning. "Can't believe I'm friends with two rich kids who get to choose which school they want—the beat down public or sleek rich private."

"Don't go dissing this school just because you're jealous of their uniforms," Harry snickers, pressing his index finger into MJ's cheek. She huffs and slaps him away.

"Silence, nepo baby. Your dad is basically Lex Luthor if he wasn't bald."

Harry looks more confused than offended at her comment, "Okay, but my dad isn't an evil mastermind plotting against a red and blue suited superhero."

You press your lips together thinly and look to the side, eyes focused on anything but him. Oh, Harry—if only you knew.

Damian Wayne had never truly seen the point of highschool.

Raised by assassains all his life—he had little room, time, and desire to learn about all this nonsense. While he enjoyed arts and fine literature—he couldn't find it within himself to care about the American Revolution, or whatever other ridiculous thing happened in history.

His maths teacher was absolutely, indubitably pathetic. Always on his phone as he assigns mountains of homework (because he never bothers to explain the complex materials they're given) on the latest subject—whether it be those blasted simultaneous equations, or to factorise useless monic trinomials. Even calculating tax and interest on the stupidest of cases.

Damian found himself sitting in the corner of his class in silence, staring down, bored, at the book in front of him. He truly hated math. There's so much real work to be done—crime to fight, plotting organisations to take down.

But his father, as always, is unmoving in his conviction that school is important. For Damian especially, anyway; Drake can skip as often as he likes because he's a senior already. Truly, ridiculous.

For Damian, and—oh.

You.

Bruce always seemed especially insistent on you two going to school. Even when everyone but him knew you skipped every few days and simply come home to wait.

Wait for what? For them?

His brows furrow. Suddenly, the black and white equations on the sheet blur and he zones out. Thinking.

You always did. From the day he'd walked into the manor, you were always there. Unconsciously, he'd notice it. A trait of a good assassin is that they can spot everyone in the room.

A trait of a great assassin is that they can spot everyone inside and watching.

Always, you were watching. Those pitiful stares. Desperate like a unloved pet. If he cared a little more (if any at all), he would've felt sorrow for your state.

Always wanting, but never asking. Never taking. Simply waiting for it all to come to you. He would never understand it. He would never understand you.

He would never understand how somebody could allow themselves to be so weak.

Like everybody else—when he first entered the manor, he proposed to fight you. Assuming—being the child of his father, like he was—you were worthy. That you were strong.

He doesn't know how he could've been so wrong. You immediantly reacted, gasping and clutching your face. He'd nicked it with the edge of his blade after he unsheathed it. You looked at the blood dotting your fingertips, then back at him, eyes wide.

Immediantly, Bruce rushed to his side and pushed him behind his larger, imposing figure—telling you to not interact with him because he's different to regular people. Different to you.

He watched you storm off from behind his father's legs; anger practically blaring off your figure.

Later—he happened to overhear you and Grayson talking quietly. Telling you to not be too hard on Damian, because he's troubled. That he's had a difficult life. At first—he was a tad offended—but that offence could not compare to the absolute fury burning in your eyes.

Though, it all melted away when Grayson's hand ruffled your hair. Like a little kid, you stared up at him, soft and starry-eyed as you unconsciously murmured you'd forgive your new little brother.

Damian dry-heaved. You were so goddamn weak.

So weak, and so normal. Everything you did was completely regular. You were on the same wavelength as the civilians he saved from burning rubble. The same as people who walked down the street, talking about their favourite Justice League member. Who cowered in fear in front of villains—to be saved by those heroes. By him.

You were nothing, and yet everything he could never have been.

(What child does not long for normalcy?)

Damian always thought you were rather helpless, regardless of how regular you were—and seeing you with that bullet lodged in your shoulder—he was right. Not being able to dodge something like a bullet—there was no wonder you never become a vigilante. There was no wonder you needed to be protected.

... Though—he began to think back.

Who did? Protect you; that is.

Whoever it was, they did a pretty awful job at it.

Damian strums his fingers against the hardwood table rhythmically. Face blank but mind running rapidly.

It couldn't have been Todd. No—he seemed to be in a frazzled state of mania when carrying your bleeding body in your arms. Perhaps he too, believed you were safe with the rest of his family.

(Oh how wrong Todd was—he looked livid.)

... Grayson?

No. When he's not in Blüdhaven, he is almost always with the other vigilantes within the family. Not here nor there, and certainly not close enough to protect you.

Not Drake. He never cared enough, despite everything. Not Cain, either. Though the silent protector type—she had too much on her plate to worry about you as well.

Gordon and Brown had their own families to worry about.

And his—your father? The Batman? There was no time for a regular child like you in the Batman's life of vigilantism. Whom he sworn to protect in his crusade now lay bleeding out in his great failure's arms.

...

Did you truly have nobody?

...

Damian couldn't really imagine it. He'd always assumed you had many friends to fill the void that yoir family left with their civilian clothes. ... Perhaps you did. He wouldn't know.

You are his only half sibling. In this world, only he is truly your brother, and you are his only older sibling. Does that not give him the slightest of responsibility?

He'd always been taught to keep everybody at arms length—even his own family. The whole world is out to get the Demon's grandson, then he must fight it. But his father taught him differently.

To protect those who cannot protect themselves—to keep those he cares about safe at any cost.

What of you? He does not care for you in the way an ordinary sibling should. Seeing you so weak, defenceless against him—must mean you trust him in some way.

(It's hard for him to fathom being able to feel so unprotected in a world he was taught was trying to extinguish him at every turn).

Regardless of how you don't belong—or how frosty you act toward your youngest brother—he has a duty.

No matter how hard you try—you can never sever the blood you two share. The others do not have this duty—but he does, because in the end, you are his. None of the others bothered, so Damian must.

You are everything he could never be, he has realised. But in the end, you are blood. It runs thicker in the veins than any water, and that is one of the most important things to Damian.

Seeing that same blood—his blood—spill out of you carelessly—that is a sight he will never bear witness to again.

Damian was the first one out the door as soon as the bell chimed in his ear. His bag slung tightly around his shoulders and textbook under his arm; he rushed into the familiar sight of a sleek, large car.

He shuts the door as he climbs into the backseat (Bruce said he was still too short to sit in the front, much to his son's displeasure). "Hello, Pennyworth."

Alfred glances back at him through the rear view mirror. "Good afternoon, Master Damian. How was school?"

"Same as usual. A waste of time." He clicks his seatbelt shut as the car begins to move. Alfred only hums, keeping his eyes trained on the road.

"I'm unsurprised to hear you say so. I do hope you understand why exactly, you are enrolled in school, however. And why Master Bruce is so adamant about your attendance."

Damian knows. He's always known, because it has been drilled into his head like a mantra. Talia and Ra's Al Ghul weren't math teachers—and most of his time really was spent training and sparring to be the best he could be.

He was not illiterate, nor stupid. Rather smart, actually. However, he didn't exactly learn algebra and chemistry with the League of Assassins.

He grumbles. "I know, Pennyworth. Father cannot seem to stop reminding me that all these things are far more important than stopping the endless wave of crime in Gotham."

If he weren't on the road—Alfred surely would've given him a nasty look. "Master Damian, please—your sincerity is positively slaughtering me."

Damian rolls his eyes, opting to stop this fruitless conversation and look outside the windows instead. At the outside world—the sky already paling to deep auburn shades as they drive through the endless roads.

He watched all the cars moving past; hurrying to get to their destination. Each with their own story and reason for being there. Every single one with their own thoughts and worries. Some with children, others with pets, and some with piles of groceries.

All with their own, individual lives. Including him.

A bus, too. It stops for a moment at a sheltered space, then drives away, leaving a few people standing under the shade.

An elderly lady with a man, presumably her son, walking away with her. A woman with frizzy red hair and freckles dotted over her nose. A few schoolkids—some his age, some older. Clearly from the public school on the other side of Gotham, if only to judge from the scantily clad clothes some of the older students wore—

Wait, is that you?

He sits up—the car slowly coming to a stop at a red light. His eyes don't leave your figure as he presses his nose against the window; observing.

You look around at the people that pass by you—gripping your bag close to your side and rushing into the nearest alleyway.

He waits for a few moments. This red light feels rather long—but what feels longer is watching and waiting for you to come out of that alleyway.

You never do.

Even as the car begins to move once more, driving past the intersection, he crawls as far back as possible to even get a glimpse—but you never show.

Just today, he had decided to be the one to take up the mantle and protect you. Just today, during a boring math class, he has decided that since you are his blood, he must keep a helpless civilian like you safe.

And now you're gone. Are you dead, or something?

(Deep down, his stomach twists at the thought.)

"Pennyworth, pull over." Hid voice is more taut than he had imagined. "Now."

Alfred looks back, glancing at the streets around. He doesn't question the young boy, simply doing as he is asked and pulling over to a deserted parking area.

When he has parked the car, he turns around and sees Damian slipping his Robin mask on—somehow already fully suited up.

His eyes widen, "Master Damian, what—"

"I have something to do. Let Father know I will be back home late."

Opening the door, Damian rushes out and pulls out his grappling hook, swinging onto the nearest building's roof and looking around.

He spots the alleyway you'd run into. It is still. Absolutely no movement nor any looks from passer-bys. He rushes across the roves towards where the dark side seeped into the crack of the buildings.

Maybe you'd taken another way out?

But looking at the alleyway now, it's more like a dip between the buildings to stand in more than anything. It was blocked off on the other side.

So where...???

He drops down, landing on his soles and squinting as he stares around into the dark. There's nothing.

No people, nor bodies, and certainly not anything to indicate anybody was ever here.

Except...

He glances at the wall. Theres a white cocoon-esque oval webbed to the wall. Those same webs he'd seen all that time ago—from that spider. That would show up then leave immediantly. Never staying for longer than they had to.

Dodging all of his and Batman's attempts at asking who you were, and what you were doing in Gotham. Always swinging away into the distance before they could be subdued.

Now, he stares at their ball of webbing and wonders if it truly is an arachnid he's dealing with.

He pokes it, looking it up and down. Then, he sees it. Through the small holes in the webs and the translucent, silk-like material—he finally sees it.

Your bag.

He tears off the webbing faster than he can think, getting the sticky substance stuck to his gloves and clothes; he barely even notices it. He grabs your bag and stares it, swallowing hard.

His mind buzzes with an unfamiliar staticky feeling and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach. Despite all the noise in his ear—his brain is able to comprehend one singular question.

... What did that arachnid do to you?

Clothed fingers digging deep into the leather fabric of the bag—clearly worn down and fading. Old. He would get Father to purchase you another. ... When he sees you next. Because he will.

His jaw clenches hard.

Damian throws the bag over his shoulder and grapples up—swinging onto a building roof and running across.

Running for what, he isn't sure. But what he is sure of, is that once he gets his hands on that arachnid, it will not be kind.

To find out what happened to you—that is his duty as your blood sibling.

He decides that in this life, he will be your protector. In the next, if he is ever given a chance to be normal like you—he will become a doctor. Or perhaps a painter. Or a poet. Maybe he will ask you to help him decide when he finds you and that arachnid.

... Yes, that sounds good.

You cut through the cool wind as you swing through the city. Grinning widely underneath your mask—you don't think you've ever been so happy since you landed here.

You're sure nobody will take your stuff. Even if they do, you could always just get whatever else you needed again. You were far too excited to dwell on the small stuff right about now.

Landing on a rooftop, crouched—you walk down the wall of the apartment complex, and look around for civilians. As he told you—the streets around the back of the building were practically deserted.

You count the amount of rooms from the side, up and down.

"Row 5, Apartment block... 2..." You hum, and nod to yourself.

You tap your necklace and the nanobots all crawl off your body, leaving you in your regular clothes. You land safely on the balcony of the room you were given.

You smooth out your flared jeans and take in a deep breath. Then, you bring up your knuckles, and knock.

The glass screen door opens before you can say fantastic.

A small pair of arms wrap around your torso and knock you backwards—you fall on your ass and let out a loud laugh.

"Spidey!!! [name]!!!"

"Is that who I think it is?!" You tease, eyes squinted upwards and the young kid buries into your stomach. His giggles are muffled by the fabric and he squeezes you so tight you'd be inclined to choke—if it wasn't you. "Frankie!! How's my favourite Richard?"

"I can't believe you'd say that, [name]. That hurts." A familiarly sweet voice speaks.

"Sue!" You grin, taking in the sight of the blonde and her husband by her side. You get up—Franklin stumbles behind you—and crash into her arms.

She chuckles, patting your back and smiling down at you, "I missed you too, [name]. You always manage to find yourself in the strangest situations, don't you?"

Reed cradles his chin, "Well, we were technically the cause of this distortion in reality, Susan—"

But seeing the expression on both your and his wife's face; he stops himself. Only smiling sheepishly. "My apologies. It's great to see you again, [name]. I didn't think we'd find another familiar face in a different universe."

"You're getting better at this, Reed." You lift yourself from Sue's comforting cradle and grin brightly up at him. "I didn't think I'd see all of you guys again, either. When you all disappeared for so long—I was wondering if something bad happened."

"Hah! Ta us? You kiddin'? Ya more bug-brained 'den that spider that bit ya!"

"Ben!!!" You go flying toward the rock-encased man and wrap your arms around his comfortingly tough neck. He spins you around and lets you down with a loud laugh.

"'Ey kid, how're ya? Heard ya tackled ol' matchstick 'ere outta the sky!" He slaps his rocky chest laughing—in the corner of your eye, Johnny stands behind him, unimpressed.

He walks up beside you, swinging an arm around your neck and snarks, "Yeah—well, Spidey's always been known for catching people off guard, huh? Creepin' up when you least expect it."

"You're making [name] sound like a villain, Unc!" Frankin, who had found himself attached to the side of your shirt, sticks out his tongue.

Johnny recoils, face falling in pure horror as he dramatically points at the young boy, "UNC??!! I... I'm an Unc now...??? I'm not even 19! I can't be an Unc!!!"

You burst out into laughter at the genuineness of Johnny's expression, watching as he freaks out about being "old". Sue and Reed roll their eyes—while Ben is there with you, laughing his ass off like he'd just gotten a home run on Yancy Street.

Franklin looks at your laughing expression and starts giggling along—jumping up and down beside you with sparkling eyes.

"Stop laughing, [name]! We're the same age!" Johnny points, accusatory. "If I'm an Unc, you're a...!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm cooler than Uncle Johnny anyways, right Frankie?" You grin, picking up Franklin as he cuddles into your neck.

"Mhm!" He nods eagerly.

Johnny sends you a blazing glare, lips pouted out. "You and me. We're—" He gestures to the two of you. "—gonna have some issues, here. Okay. Everyone knows I'm the cool Uncle."

"No, that's Benny!" Franklin points to Ben.

The look on Johnny's face shifts into utter disbelief—Ben falls out of his chair laughing wildly.

"Gosh, I missed you so much, kid." You pull at one of Franklin's cheeks and chuckle. He stares at you in awe for a few seconds, before hugging the side of your head and giggling.

"I missed you too!"

That same warmth fills each crevice and pore of your body, as you huddle close to your dear friends and let yourself feel at home for this small moment.

Meanwhile, in the dark of night, a pair of azure eyes watches, sharp and unnerving in the back of your skull.

You notice it. Of course you do. Your mind is tingling with that buzz—but you want to enjoy this night of nothing but home, even if only once.

taglist: @hello-bina @cosmosluckycharms @1abi @yhin-gg @insideoutjulie @bluepanda08 @omnivirgo @vanessa-boo @dind1n @welpthisisboring @lunaetiicsaystuff @marsmabe @atanukileaf @findingjaxx @4mrplumi @bunniotomia @lostsomewhereinthegarden @bat1212 @gaychaosgremlin @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @randomlyappearingartist @cxcilla @spidermanluvr444 @cruzerforce4256 @mybones537 @xjesterxjacksx @nirvanaxx1942 @djpuppy-kittens @br33zy-blizzardz @moon0goddess @0sunnyside01 @mei-simp @redsakura101 @the-dumber-scaramouche @wizzerreblogs @lovemiss-vale @deathbynarcisstick @allycat4458 @wonmyheart @luckyangelballoon @one-piecelover @hartwyrm @horror-lover-69 @maria-trisha @4rachn3 @galaxypurplerose @duskeras @coffeeaddictxd @lithiumval @kaz-playz

tsglist is closed, sorry! but do try and keep up with updates thank you!!!

[nataliaphantomhivesblog]

people are entitled to their own opinion, but genuienly thinking Elizabeth is a selfish character missed the whole point of her character and it actually drives me lowk insane.

I know that the introduction of her character can be harsh to digest because of how overbearing she can be and because she broke Ciel's ring that holds deep importance but:

She wasn't aware about the importance of the ring, and when Sebastian pointed out, she immediatelytook accountability and started to apologize.

She cried profusely, realizing how much history and emotional importance the ring held, her pain was as sharp, literally suffering in o!Ciel's place.

Even when o!Ciel tells her that it's okay, she cuts him off with a "but" again, fully willing to admit her mistake.

Elizabeth always goes an extra mile to make our earl smile, and she admits to Sebastian that sometimes she can be overbearing, but thats such a human mistake and her heart and intentions are always in the right place.

She is constantly attentive of o!ciel and worried about his wellbeing, she is able to tell when something is off with him.

She also struggles with crippling insecurities.

As a young lady of the Victorian era, Elizabeth finds herself torn between society's expectations and her family's ideals.

Desperate to appear beautiful and graceful for o!Ciel’s sake, she deliberately wore low-heeled shoes (a choice deemed childish for a girl her age, looked down upon by other girls) knowing full well that he wished to be seen as mature.

In quiet devotion, she diminished her own stature beside him, all to lift his pride.

But her lineage demanded strength. Forced to train with a sword, she carried the weight of duty, yet secretly loathed her own power, fearing it made her less of the delicate noblewoman she longed to be.

Her insecurities are so complex because while they root from how she feels her fiance needs to percieve her, they also stem from the expectations and oppresive ideals of society of how a woman should be.

Her sword training, a secret defiance of gendered expectations, should have been a source of confidence. Instead, it became yet another fracture in her self-worth.

Every swing of her blade felt like a betrayal of the "perfect lady" she was supposed to be, even as her lineage demanded she master it.

She hated her own skill, not because she lacked it, but because possessing it meant she could never fully be the dainty, unburdened girl she thought Ciel needed.

But when our earl is in danger, she doesn't hesitate, pushes away her deepest insecurties, all for o!Ciel.

She shows him her "uncute" apperance, she unravels infront of him completely.

A girl laid bare, willing to be seen as uncute, as flawed, if it means protecting him.

And when o!Ciel sees her strenght, obviously, he reacts positively to it. He doesn't see her as less, he doesn't hate her for it, he quickly accepts this part of her.

Literally zero disgust in his bones as he does so. (he's so gentle with her augh i love them)

And since o!Ciel accepted her, she started to unravel her strenght and didn't hide it as much.

Can we also talk about how Elizabeth was ready to resort to violence when she thought o!Ciel was cheating on her with Sieglinde? But when Sebastian steps in and explains the real reason behind their situation, not only does Elizabeth apologize, she immediately takes Sieglinde’s side

we love a girls girl !!!

She even goes a step further, offering her help and friendship.

Something worthy of mention is that she is never limiting herself to just her bond with Ciel, but always reaching out to form genuine connections with others.

And now everyone assumes she's selfish because of this....

And now they call her selfish? A traitor? As if she hadn’t spent her entire life bending over backwards just to make o!Ciel feel safe and happy.

Imagine dedicating three whole years to someone, selflessly, without expecting a single word of praise...only to discover it was all built on lies. How could anyone blame her for feeling betrayed?

On top of that, her entire life, since infancy, was shaped around the role of being a fiancée, just as r!Ciel was forced into becoming the Phantomhive heir. (the role o!Ciel took over instead).

Not only does she feel hurt by o!Ciel lying to her, she feels lost. Identity wise she is is crushed and feels she failed as a fiance for not telling the difference between the twins.

How is that fair? She spent years dedicating herself to his happiness, only for the foundation of her existence to be ripped away.

And even after "siding" with her fiancé, she is clearly unhappy. Not only because she knows r!Ciel and Undertaker are up to no good, but because she also understands why o!Ciel lied to her all those years.

She questions herself, she realizes the very reason why o!Ciel kept his identity a secret.

And when she realizes that if o!Ciel would've been honest about his identity back then, she would've expressed dissapointment, and that immediately makes her drown in that guilt.

And now, that truth consumes her: not only does she fail as a fiance, she feels she fails as a human too.

It is pretty clear to me that Elizabeth is torn and confused, heavily manipulated by r!Ciel and a lifetime of being groomed into the "perfect fiance"

Her entire sense of self was scripted for her, and now that the lie has collapsed, she’s left drowning in the wreckage.

I can’t claim to know Yana’s exact intentions, but this much is clear: Elizabeth is intelligent, fiercely compassionate, and, when the moment demands it: fully capable of making the right choice.

Will she forgive o!Ciel? Almost certainly. While the pain of his lies may never fully fade, the story makes one truth undeniable: Their bond, though built on deception, became real through those quiet moments of understanding and mutual acceptance.

Lets not forget that where r!Ciel weaponized Elizabeth’s deepest insecurities, o!Ciel was starting to dismantle them. 

one exploited her fears of inadequacy as the "perfect fiancée," while the other, despite his own deceptions, gave her the space to simply exist as herself.

And Elizabeth? That brilliantly perceptive girl currently drowning in betrayal? She will remember. She’ll piece together the truth, not just about them, but about herself. 

Anyways, I love Elizabeth and y'all should too!

[niabrooks2003]

It’s Time to Defend Taylor from Win or Lose (2025)

I don’t normally voice my disagreements with how people ingest media in a public manner. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. HOWEVER…too many people are coming after Taylor from Pixar’s Win or Lose (2025) and ion like that so…

With TV/film suppressing so much Black Girl representation, seeing Taylor, Kai, and Rochelle as a part of the main cast was exciting! This rant will be about how viewers have reacted to just Taylor though, concerning episodes 5 and 6.

Get cozy because there’s a lot to unpack here. Here’s your SPOILER ALERT!

I thought Taylor and Yuwen made a very cute couple. I love how they depicted what it’s like falling in love during your awkward years. Yuwen was very sweet with Taylor and it was clear Taylor brought out the best in Yuwen (as confirmed by Kai).

Of course, their relationship comes to a rocky patch when Yuwen becomes jealous and insecure when he sees Taylor and Tom interacting. For these interactions, keep in mind that they are portrayed from Yuwen’s perspective. Taylor eventually calls things off when Yuwen purposely catches Taylor off-guard to pitch the ball, which causes Taylor to miss and the other team to make a run.

On social media I have seen the cutest edits to this imaginary couple. I’ve also seen some sad ones. In almost every sad one, Taylor is casted as the villain. The comments are even worse! Many place the fault on Taylor for hurting Yuwen, or worse, cast her off as “the worst girlfriend AND big sister”. They have massacred my poor Shayla despite her getting just as hurt, if not more.

Let’s break it down:

1. In episode 6, we are introduced to the “real” Yuwen. The Yuwen we see is outwardly very cocky, self-assured and sometimes aloof. Yuwen deals with social anxiety and insecurity by hiding behind a “Class clown” persona. He relies on humor and positive attention to thrive among his peers. We also see his inner child, who is very sweet and portrays Yuwen’s real feelings.

2. Episode 5 and 6 give a more detailed look into Taylor. She is a great softball player and gets along well with her teammates. It’s shown that Tom and Taylor are good friends. Pre-relationship, Taylor and Yuwen can be seen sharing easy banter with each other. I think it’s important to note that Taylor never instigates such banter and only participates at Yuwen’s insistance. Taylor is also held responsible for her younger brother, Ira, during the games (More on this later).

3. Taylor is well aware of this from the jump. On their first date to the movies, she explicitly assures Yuwen to just be himself. And he does — as best as he can, anyhow.

Yuwen eventually opens up to Taylor and reveals his “inner child”. A very touched Taylor reveals her “inner child” in return. In doing so, they both share a personal secret: Yuwen shares he is very insecure, while Taylor shares that she gets nauseous when nervous.

Claim #1: It’s Taylor’s fault for hurting Yuwen, he’s obviously insecure and she knows this!

Aht aht! Wait a min… let’s refute this ridiculous opinion (because it’s important to realize that these comments are JUST OPINIONS)

Obviously they are just kids, but let’s give a little bit of credit here. Kids can go through amazing growth in interpersonality and emotional intelligence. Yuwen is shown to struggle with letting his guard down, but he made an active decision to do so with Taylor. Taylor recognizes this and returns the favor. It’s a hugesign of mutual trust. To keep that trust, you’ve got to work at it. 

The first incident that lead to their breakup occurs at school. Tom hands Taylor her dropped cell phone and the two engage in a conversation. While Yuwen is shown to be initially irritated, it quickly turns to crushing insecurity and leads to Taylor pushing him away after he butts into the conversation with an ill-timed joke. If you pay close attention to Taylor’s expression, tone, and what is being said to Tom, it is clear she is concerned for Tom. During the conversation it is revealed that something might be wrong with Tom’s brother and it is somehow related to Tom’s academic troubles (which eventually leads into Rochelle’s storyline). 

Now, Taylor doesn’t yell at Yuwen, she doesn’t scream or accuse him of being a jerk. All she asks for is that Yuwen can be serious at times. Which is fair. It’s clear that Tom’s brother is a sensitive topic, and even though Yuwen isn’t aware of the situation, he unfortunately chose to give into his insecurities and push the clown narrative, despite Taylor’s initial warning (the push away).

After a dramatic, emotional montage of inner child Yuwen and inner child Taylor fighting and crying, it jumps to the night of the championships. From Yuwen’s perspective, Taylor angrily brushes past him on the way to the field, leaving Yuwen hurt.

However, in the episode prior, Ira’s perspective shows that Taylor in fact reaches out to Yuwen in an attempt to understand why Yuwen is being aloof and clearly upset. Yuwen, retreating to his humor shield, mockingly repeats Taylor’s request to “use your words”. Taylor tells him he is being rude, and he shoots back that Taylor is being rude, still upset over her reaction at his jokes towards Tom at school. Yuwen is then shown to be the one walking away from Taylor as she confronts her brother. Yuwen is shutting Taylor out.

But before yall come and say it’s because Taylor hurt his feelings, remember that Taylor was just as hurt after their argument. She is literally crying in the car on the way to the game. Leave my poor girl alone, she has feelings too!

Now to the actual game.

Earlier in the episode, Taylor enlists Yuwen’s help in practicing her catches, as she’d like to be catcher one day. Yuwen initially doesn’t take Taylor seriously (out of concern of course), but when Taylor get’s upset and expresses frustration, he finally gets with the program.

While in the pit, the team notice the animosity between the couple and Tom decides to spill the tea Taylor told him and announce that Yuwen’s acting the way he is because he is insecure. Okay a few things to unpack here. First, Taylor is sitting with her headphones on, so she doesn’t know Tom has announced this. Second, remember Taylor and Tom are close (platonically), I assume this was a private conversation (perhaps as a way to apologize to Tom on Yuwen’s behalf) that went down after Taylor and Yuwen’s argument. 

Yuwen takes the slight very hard and retaliates by sharing to the whole team that Taylor wants to take Rochelle’s place as catcher, but he voices doubt that Taylor is no where near as good as Rochelle for it to be feasible. Taylor hears (since Yuwen is speaking with an increased volume) and takes off her headphones to fix him a glare (but doesn’t say anything). But before, she is sitting there looking heartbroken.

So, when the coach asks for a temporary fill-in for Rochelle (she is absent atm), Taylor volunteers. The coach decides he wants to be stupid and asks if Taylor thinks she’s a better catcher than Rochelle (despite NOBODY wanting to volunteer for the catcher positon except Taylor). He dismisses the dumb comment at Taylor’s pointed expression. This hits hard since now that is TWO people instilling or voicing disbelief in Taylor’s catching capabilities, despite the hard work and success that’s being put in! 

Yuwen’s not done though. In another insecure attack, he picks fun at Taylor and discretely reveals her secret by “encouraging” her not to puke if she gets nervous in front of the whole team. It backfires though and the whole team regard Yuwen coldly. Taylor, always forced into being the bigger person, just tells Yuwen “I’ll see you on the field”. On the field, Yuwen refuses to listen to Taylor’s pitch signs, which leads to the eventual missed catch. 

Taylor is through. Rightfully so. She’s visibly upset and frustrated towards Yuwen’s behavior towards her because Yuwen is refusing to communicate and show nothing but animosity (plus, he’s broken her trust by intentionally sharing her secret to the whole team) So, she ends things, and walks off the field.

Claim #2: Taylor is the worst because she treats Ira horribly!

Honestly, it’s giving yall just want an excuse to hate on Black girls. I feel like I didn’t see this opinion until after episode six, soooooooo, the math ain’t mathin if yall are just really defensive of Ira.

Episode 5 is told from Ira’s perspective. Ira is Taylor’s imaginative little brother who accompanies Taylor at softball meets (probably due to her parents just dropping him off with Taylor). Taylor is left to look after him while playing the game. Despite her slight annoyance (which I think is justified), she still cares deeply about her brother (i.e. replying to Ira’s complaints and announcements during the game). 

In a move reminiscent to Nico and Bianca Di Angelo (but, you know, without the total abandonment and death), Taylor starts hanging out with Yuwen, which doesn’t bode well with Ira. In Ira’s eyes, Taylor is the only one who gets him. So he decided to roll with the “Bleacher Creatures” after they show interest in him. 

Taylor voices her concern with that fact and pulls their mom into it when Ira shows disinterest in her warnings. Taylor is justifiably worried about her brother hanging around the kids that obviously cause some trouble. She even tells Yuwen about it, and he agrees to talk to Ira. The timing is a bit unclear, but I assume that the movie date had happened just before that (with Ira spilling about Taylor’s boyfriend happening before that — whew, work with me here!). So the next morning on the school bus, Yuwen’s attempt to fist bump Ira (Ira chooses to lick Yuwen’s fist instead ) was also Yuwen’s attempt at bonding with Ira at Taylor’s request.

But before yall come with the: “but she yelled at Ira before the game!” 

She is upset with Yuwen and Ira chose to interrupt… what did yall think was gonna happen?

Taylor is frustrated. She has been put in the position of having to read between the lines and make decisions for people and she’s tired.

Ira was able to come to terms that what he did with the Bleacher Creatures was wrong by himself. When you have an older sis calling all the shots, it can be difficult to decide on your own. It’s a moment of growth for Ira.

I’m not dismissing that Ira’s feelings got hurt about his sister distancing from him, but Taylor is her own person as well. 

In conclusion, Taylor’s actions are justified and she is also a victim in this scenario, not just Yuwen. Insecurity should not be an excuse to hurt your partner. I hope Yuwen talks to Taylor and they make up, but yall better recognize that Yuwen hurt Taylor too. 

And that Taylor deserves just as much love.

[politicalprof]

The Declaration of Independence:

I usually only post this on July 4, but on "No Kings" day, the Declaration of Independence. If you've never read the whole thing, you should:

"In Congress, July 4, 1776

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America, When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor."

[endless-ineffabilities]

be young, be dope, be proud

dynasty heir Aemond x heiress reader

a/n: randomly and carelessly drafted after a night out, so don't even ask me what this is. title obvi from Lana. also, I feel like the setting here is an acquired taste. so, enjoy? 💁🏼‍♀️🤍

themes/warnings: spoiled rich assholes, New York/modern references, language, clichés galore, Targs are like the Kennedys if that whole family was pure evil and Rep, SMUT, angst between brats who clearly want each other, also—you're kind of a hypocrite

main masterlist

The estate reeks with old money: marble columns, ancestral portraits, and a long dining table loaded with crystal and silver. Chandeliers try to warm the place, but it's all cold opulence. Outside, the gardens are cut and tamed to show that even nature has a price.

Your father always brings the family along to stately dinners up there in Westchester, with the usual crowd in attendance—the Targaryens, the Velaryons, the Lannisters—the whole lot.

Between them, they could probably purchase every building in Manhattan without creating a single dent in the bank.

Hell, maybe they already have. Generational wealth truly is the gift that keeps on giving.

You've tried to distance yourself from it. From people whose words drip poisoned honey and condescension. Being waited on like new order royalty.

But who are you to talk, when your father's lineage traces back to the fucking Mayflower? You and them are one and the same—filthy rich and borderline insane.

It is nearly impossible to maintain a steady sense of self, to have ample room for personal growth, when everything, every single thing, is handed to you on a silver platter. There is no tension there, no struggle, no need to exert any effort.

Failed your courses? Your father donates a building to the university. Aemond gets several DUIs? His great-uncle is a Supreme Court Justice. Aegon nearly burns his friend's house down while throwing a bacchanal-themed party? Let's just say that friend is grounded. For a week. Oh, the horror. Their family had many other estates, in many other places anyway.

When there are no real repercussions to your actions, you will feel like you can do just about whatever you want.

Burn the world down, for all you care. You can just buy a new, better one.

Granted, not everyone in your circle is an entitled egotist. There's Helaena, who strangely enough, does not possess a single self-important bone in her body, unlike her aforementioned brothers. Jace, who spends most of his time getting involved in political activism, for the side that his magnate grandfather Viserys steadfastly opposes.

You'd always sit beside either of them in these dinners, for the sake of your sanity. Unfortunately, Aemond and Aegon are never far. Especially Aemond—who occassionally stares you down as he sits across the table. Aegon, seated to his left, whistles at you. "Hey. Hey so... are you still slumming it with the art crowd?"

"I'm sorry?" You narrow your eyes at him. He didn't even say hello or mind if I cut in? as Jace was telling you about attending the DNC rally.

Aemond watches you again, so closely it raises goosebumps along your arms. He's been stealing glances at you ever since you arrived with your family. And you've been openly shooting glares at him when you sense it. Him and that steely one-eyed gaze of his always gets under your skin.

Aegon sneers, and you think how it's so in character of him. "You still live in Brooklyn? Cosplaying as a normie?"

"Fuck off, Aegon."

You've been living in Brooklyn for the past year, trying to finish up your Masters from Barnard. You would never hear the end of how this is the most redundant and useless thing, especially from people like Aegon. It does seem contrived, daddy's little heiress playing at being a scholar at Columbia, but at least you are doing something.

Besides, you have no desire to take over your family's empire. If anything, you want to branch out, maybe take on Jace's proposal on starting a charity foundation together.

"Aegon! Do you know how messed up that sounds?" Jace comes to your rescue, but you know it'll be for nought. Aegon's brain is too warped, too silver-spoonfed, to recognise his folly. You used to feel sympathy for the guy—this life is all he's ever known, and it isn't as if the adults around him ever set a good example, so can you blame him?

Used to. Now, he just annoys you. You grew up the same, but you are not like him, aren't you? So did Hel and Jace. So did Aemond. And Aemond, while still an asshole, is at least someone you can tolerate. He's vicious when it comes to his ambition, but he's genuinely smart.

He's cold and aloof, but he is also capable of tenderness.

You would never readily admit to anyone how you know this about him.

And he's staring you down, once again. You immediately know it's him when you feel someone nudge your shin under the table.

You eye him warily. What do you want?

He raises his eyebrows. Nothing. Just missed you.

At least that's what you're picking up from him. Why wouldn't he miss you? You're probably the best thing in his life right now. He should be so grateful you're still giving him the time of day, especially after everything he's done.

Aemond nods ever so subtly, the gesture meant for only you. You already know what he's getting at, but you don't feel like caving just yet.

It's another long moment of tuning in and out of your conversation with Jace, but Aemond's unspoken question lingers. When you deign to look at him again, he tilts his head to the side. Let's go.

He knows to leave first, and he stands and excuses himself from the table. Barely anyone gives him any mind, the adults debating passionately at the farther end.

You wait one whole minute, your heels tapping impatiently under the table. Then you follow suit.

"I need some air. Might have a smoke or something," you mumble to Jace. He wouldn't want to tag along, the scrunch of his face revealing how much he loathes the habit.

"Just the one," he tuts, raising a finger.

You roll your eyes fondly. "Okay, dad."

Aemond has just lit a cigarette when he hears you come in. The door to the private library lets out a tiny creak then shuts without a sound. He faces the window, his back to you. But he knows it's you. He can almost hear the derision in your exhale. A hint of your unmistakeable Guerlain scent is present in the room.

When you draw closer, he sees the ghost of your reflection on the glass, a mirage perched atop his shoulder. He thinks of the age-old visual of having an angel and a devil on either side. You would be the angel, and the devil... would probably be his own self.

The side he fights to keep buried. He knows you see it, and hate it, but you want him anyway. You let him have you anyway. And these stolen moments with you are the only times when he is truly free.

Without a word, he offers a cigarette to you, his hand moving with a smooth, practiced form that makes it feel like he's not just offering you a smoke but issuing a silent challenge. He lifts his lighter, an intricate, expensive thing engraved with his family crest, flicking it open with a soft metallic click, then holding the flame steady as you lean in.

He can't help but admire how beautiful you are as the glow illuminates your face.

"Do you ever get bored?" you sneer, folding your arms as you lean against a shelf. "Sitting there all night with that smug, 'yes, I agree with all of this' look while your family drones on about the 'sanctity of tradition.' Like a good little heir."

Aemond raises an eyebrow, barely looking up from his cigarette as he takes a drag. You sure have a habit of getting right down to business. "Funny," he replies smoothly. "For someone who 'hates' tradition, you play the part of Daddy's obedient little princess pretty well. I saw you batting your eyes at every gray-haired councilman at that table."

"Oh, please." You roll your eyes, heat flaring in your cheeks, though whether from anger or the way his gaze always seems to pin you in place, despite your best efforts, you can't say. "I'm not doing it because I like it. I don't sit there pretending I'm better than the rest of the world."

"You don't?" He cocks his head, his lips quirking into a wry, infuriating smirk. "Could've fooled me, princess. All I ever hear from you in these dinners are 'Oh, absolutely' and 'Oh, that's so interesting'—like you'd just die if they didn't think you cared."

"Wow, okay, says the guy who spent twenty minutes nodding along while they debated the tax breaks for HNWIs. Planning to cut yourself some more slack there, hotshot?" You take a quick, sharp puff, the smoke billowing out of your lips as you continue your tirade. "You're a damn statue, Aemond. Most of the time, you don't even say a word, and yet somehow you sit there looking like everyone should be grateful you graced them with your presence."

He takes a step closer, and his voice drops. This is something only you can do—you get to him, you hit him where it matters. Or, you're the only one he allows the privilege of doing so. "And you hate it, don't you? You hate that I don't care what they think. That I'm not actually here to impress anyone."

Your laugh comes out bitter. "Please. You don't care because you're so convinced they already think you're perfect. You don't have to impress anyone because you're Aemond Targaryen, right? The perfect heir to a glowing legacy."

"Better that than playing the poor, tortured rebel." He's so close you can count the facets of the sapphire in his socket, a dangerous gleam flashing behind them—another outlandish, excessive thing only a billionaire's son would think to do. "At least I'm not pretending I want to burn it all down while running around in the same circles as everyone else. Tell me, do you actually care about the policies Jacaerys painstakingly explains to you? Or is it all just for show?"

"You don't know me, Aemond."

"Oh, but I do. In fact, I think I'm the only one who knows the real you."

You clench your jaw, craning your neck up to look at him. How ironic that he literally has to look down on you too. "Unlike you, I actually feel something about all this. You sit there like you're above it all, and it's pathetic."

"Pathetic?" He lets out a low, humorless laugh. "You want to talk about pathetic? The only thing pathetic is you standing there acting like a revolutionary when you're just like the rest of us."

"At least I want to get out. At least I want to make a goddamn difference and—"

"Then do it," he says, his tone mocking, as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your face. "Get out. Run off, make your big escape. Show everyone how different and special you are, princess."

"Oh, right," you shoot back, trying to regain some of your moxie after his unexpected retort. "And leave you to taint my image after then?"

He scoffs, the gesture dismissive, almost cruel. "You wouldn't be here if you actually had the guts to go through with it."

Aemond may be a pretentious asshole, but he's right, and you know it. "You know what, Aemond? What if... I tell you that I like it. The power, the status, all of it. Is that what you want to hear?"

He smirks. "You'd be adrift without it. You'd be lost without all this to complain about." His gaze drops to your mouth, as if he could already guess exactly how a rendezvous like this is going to end.

How it always ends.

You feel your breath hitch, your pulse racing even as you grit your teeth against the draw of him.

"Don't look at me like that," you snap, trying to keep the upper hand. You should leave. You know this, know you should storm out and leave him here with that damn arrogant smirk on his face.

Call it a truce, and do it all over again next time.

"What's wrong? Afraid you'll do something you'll regret?"

The challenge in his tone has you seething, heat blazing up your neck. "You're insufferable, you know that?” You try to sound as furious as you feel, but your voice wavers, and the corner of his mouth tilts in a dark, smug smile.

"Then leave, princess." His eyes flash, daring you, mocking you, yet he doesn't move back. "Go on. Show me that strength you keep talking about."

The words are meant to push you away, to test how much you can take, but they do something else instead. They push you over the edge, sending you surging forward before you even know what you're doing, fisting the front of his pristine shirt and yanking him down to you.

Your mouth meets his, all anger and fire, biting at his lips as he smirks against you, welcoming the aggression. His hands find your waist, pawing at your gown, pushing you back until you stumble against the bookshelf.

You try to hold onto the anger, to use it to keep yourself in control, but the way he kisses you—rough, possessive, familiar, with a hunger that seems to match yours—makes it impossible. His hands slip to your hips, fingers digging into you with a desire that you both pretend doesn't exist anywhere but here, in the dark corners of your little meeting places.

"Stop," you gasp for breath, pulling away for just a second, trying to steady yourself, but he follows, his mouth trailing down your jaw to your neck, biting down just enough to make you groan.

His fingers slip beneath the slit of your dress, finding bare skin. "Then tell me you don't want this."

Your head tilts back involuntarily, the blissed hitches in your breath becoming frequent. You should tell him to stop, but the words never come, not with his fingers tracing up your thigh, the pressure of his lean body against yours, the electric shiver that races through you as his mouth tongue dances with your own.

You give in, letting your anger melt into something messier, something that's been building between you both for so long you don't know how to unravel it. Your hands move to his white-blonde hair, pulling him closer. His hand slips higher, while the other is braced against the bookshelf behind you.

There's nothing careful about it—gone are the dynasty heirs who are unfailingly curated and perfect and genteel in the public eye. It's all frantic, hands grabbing, mouths clashing, neither of you willing to let the other take control but both of you giving in to the heat. He yanks your dress up, lifting you and positioning himself between your legs, his breathing rough as he makes quick work of his belt. Then he lets his trousers and underwear drop halfway down his thighs, and his cock springs free, pressing on the draped material of your gown, which you hurriedly bunch to the side.

It's like a sick power play when he takes two fingers and plunges them past your soaked entrance, right to his knuckles. All without breaking eye contact.

But neither has the upper hand. You and Aemond are one and the same.

"Seems like you're ready for me, princess."

"Mhmm, aghh—" He hooks his fingers inside you, hitting that damned spot. "Just fuck me already."

And when he does, his cock practically propping you up against the bookshelf, it's fast, chaotic, your movements nothing short of needy and desperate, as if you're both trying to prove something to the other. You don't care about the priceless first-edition books that rattle precariously behind you, nor about the way his fingers dig into your flesh that guarantee bruises that will show tomorrow. Right now, you're past caring, past pretending that you actually ever cared about anyone but yourself.

And maybe... Aemond.

His groans come out unrestrained against your neck, his tongue flicking over the droplets of sweat, as if he can't bear you being any less than perfect.

Only he can taint you, only he can see you broken in and fucked out like this, your lipstick smeared to the side of your mouth. That same shade of rouge littering his cheek, his jaw, the collar of his shirt.

No words are exchanged, as if they've been used up in your twisted version of foreplay from earlier.

All he offers is, "Fuck, baby, I'm close," as his hips continue in its assault, his hands buried in the softness of your arse, keeping you in place.

"So am I," you counter.

He falls apart inside you, his cock sputtering while lodged deep in your clenched walls. The near-animalistic growl he lets out brings you to your climax, your forehead falling against his as your entire body is rendered limp in his arms.

When you finally pull away, flushed, your heart still racing, he looks at you with that same arrogant smirk, and you can't help but feel the distaste rising back up.

"Still think I don't know you?" he murmurs, smug satisfaction written all over his face.

You glare at him, pulling your dress back down, refusing to let him have the last word even as his expression uncharacteristically softens as he gazes at you, making you want to pull him close and kiss him again. Gentler, this time.

"This can't happen again," you force out your usual lie.

"That's what you said last time, princess."

Vhagar taglist: @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @joyismm @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @all-for-aemond @alokaaaaa @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @inesdiary96 @weirdblob21 @lonelyladyghost @tssf-imagines @nurtargaryen @paula-lkr @queenofshinigamis @breezyjin @empfm @amanda08319 @unrealwinchester @optimizche @seamaiden @spoffyos @subliiminals @believeinthefireflies95 @ex0tic-vgh @anukulee @mrsmunson-harrington @romyfe06

[xenodelic]

Someone came onto one of my posts and started saying stuff like "real animals can't talk / post on tumblr / whatever". Typically anti-otherkin stuff. I looked at their blog briefly, expecting a typical troll. But instead I found, a legitimate blog, of a vaguely left leaning person. They were reblogging stuff about ableism, and trans rights, and children's lack of autonomy in our society.

And i just think, it kinda proves to me that a lot of self proclaimed leftists and progressives don't actually have any sort of core values that drive their political views. Because someone who is against ableism and transphobia and removal of autonomy, sounds like someone who has the core value of accepting people for who they are, no matter how unusual it may seem.

But, clearly, they don't. Because they were going out of their way to bully nonhumans for our identities, and trying to rhetorically argue us out of existence. We don't fit their understanding of the world, so they felt compelled to make rude comments. This person does not actually align themselves to any core values of respect and tolerance, they've just decided that they know which groups deserve it and which don't. And furthermore, upon deciding we don't deserve it, that they're entitled to bully us (presumably until we agree to conform)!

Which is, fundamentally no different than right wing politics. They've also decided they know which groups deserve acceptance, their pool is just narrower than the average leftist.

This is all to say, that it's very important for us all to examine what our core values are and why. Why do we tolerate certain groups of people, and not others? Why is it important to be inclusive, and to not bully people? How do I respond when I encounter someone I don't understand, or someone that makes me viscerally uncomfortable? Can rights be revoked? What rights are unalienable and why?

Having a core set of values to guide you will help you not make a fool out of yourself when you encounter someone or something that don't fit your current understanding of the world. If you encounter something that doesn't fit your understanding, then it's your understanding that should change.

[fitchersvogel]

Remember that insanely arrogant and anti-intellectual screed about how "enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor"? For all their rhetorical posturing (of which @carriesthewind did a fantastic analysis), that writer clearly doesn't know what "academic rigor" actually means. It's not just that they're wrong, it's that they're wrong in a way that perfectly demonstrates exactly how wrong they are.

So, Ariaste seems to think that "academic rigor" is about YOUR passion, YOUR enthusiasm, YOUR hyperfixation, YOU YOU YOU, it's all YOU AND YOUR FEELINGS. But the baseline for calling something "academic" is that it passes peer review. All publishing (fiction or nonfiction) goes through editors, but academic publishing has one necessary extra step: it gets sent out to other experts in the field, who evaluate whether the work is following the right disciplinary protocols, is using evidence reasonably and responsibly, and is meeting the professional standards of that field. Academic work is a very specific conversation, and if you want to participate, you have to prove--and keep proving--to other experts that your work is up to snuff. That's because academic texts are speaking with a particular weight and authority, which is a serious responsibility. Peer review is quality control.

You can't practice as a master electrician or a lawyer or a rabbi unless you've fulfilled the requirements specific to those jobs, as determined by credentialed experts in those fields. It is simply not your call: "academic rigor" is something academics get to define, because it is our term for our professional standards. Unlike Ariaste's self-centered FEELINGS, real academic rigor is a collaborative process that requires formal input from other experts.

So, some people on my dash are reading John Green's book Everything is Tuberculosis, and are enjoying it and learning a lot; all the reviews I've seen, including from professional epidemiologists, are very positive. But no one--including Green--is using the term "academic rigor," because this book is not being presented as an academic work! It is, by all accounts, very well-researched, thoughtful, and conscientious, and an excellent and accessible discussion for a general audience. Green doesn't need to meet academic protocols, because he's not writing for academics. That is not the conversation he is having, and it is unfair to apply that model of evaluation. Explaining specialized material to a wide audience is important and necessary work, and creative writers and journalists often excel at it; many academics... do not. They're different skill sets, that follow different rules, for different conversations. Correct labeling is what matters here.

You can't call an Italian sparkling wine "champagne," and you can't claim "enthusiasm" is the same as "academic rigor." They are different things. Champagne, like academic work, must adhere to particular standards in order to get that label. To someone who knows nothing about wine, champagne and prosecco might seem identical. They might be equally delicious, and can be appreciated as such! But taste is subjective; "this wine is/is not from the Champagne region" or "this did/did not go through peer review" is not subjective. And anyone selling Italian wine as "champagne," or saying "my PASSION is equivalent to professional expertise," is making a fraudulent claim. They are mislabeling their work to claim an authority to which they are not entitled. It might be out of ignorance, not a malicious attempt to deceive, but the effect is the same.

Now, in my field (folklore), we place a high value on "tradition (or culture) bearers": people from a folk community with a great deal of specialized knowledge of that community, like, say, a longtime participant in a fandom. This "vernacular knowledge" is specifically sought out and respected within folkloristics--we literally cannot do our jobs without it! But when I publish an academic piece, my work will have to be sent out for review by other folklorists, to make sure that it is engaging appropriately with the discipline. If I want my work to be taken as a serious entry into that conversation, I have to follow that set of rules.

Succeeding under that rule set is extremely difficult without high-level training. It's not impossible to acquire knowledge, especially if you have access to a university library, but engaging with that knowledge on par with our professional norms requires a lot of guidance from people in the field. And the best way to get that is through a formal graduate program. Of course, access to those programs is limited in all kinds of unfair socioeconomic ways, and there are lots of passionate, talented people who would make great scholars, but never had the opportunity, which sucks. But that is a different conversation.

It's uh, interesting, that so many people who spout this line are whining about humanities academia. Like, I'd imagine that even Ariaste understands that a "passion for medicine" doesn't entitle you to perform heart surgery. Reading lots of books is necessary for professional expertise, but it is not the only thing: you need immersion in the community of other experts, to agree to a specific and enforceable set of standards, and to have your work formally approved, to claim that level of authority. Not seeing literature or history or folklore as deserving that level of professional analysis sure says... something about how much you value them.

[woradat]

Hall of Record

SUMMARY – You both don't like Sentinel, that's probably why you two get along (pre-time)

PAIRING – tfo starscream x reader

NOTE – I accidentally deleted the inbox. sorry for that🙏🥲 also can't remember which Starscream you asked for. So I made a sequel instead. sorry again

The vestibule of the Crystal Spire was designed to inspire reverence.

Everything about it—arched ceilings like interlocking wings, polished alloy tiles reflecting the soft glow of Prime-glyphs, air tuned to vibrate faintly with a solemn harmonic hum—screamed “wait quietly and feel insignificant”

You had complied, at first

You sat where aides were meant to sit: not in the center, but near it, just enough to suggest presence without audacity. Your datapad hovered silently beside, its auto-scroll halfway through the fifteenth version of a speech that would never be delivered on time. You’d re-checked it thrice, corrected a typo Alpha Trion had typed on purpose (“to keep you alert” he claimed) and were now idly calculating how many cycles of their life had been sacrificed to ceremonial delays

That’s when the voice dropped in like an elegant knife “He summoned me with the word urgently. That was… three minor tectonic shifts ago”

You looked up

Starscream stood just inside the threshold, arms crossed lightly, wings angled just-so in what could only be called bored martial readiness. His armor gleamed in polished red-silver and trim—not gaudy, but formal. The kind of clean that said “I was born to be looked at and I know it”

“You’re here for Sentinel too?” you asked, feigning surprise

“Unless Vector Prime has suddenly developed a taste for melodrama, yes”

Starscream approached with the gait of someone who had been trained for battlefield grace but had repurposed it into something far more dangerous: elegance laced with sarcasm “He told me it was urgent. That word has no meaning anymore. I think Sentinel just uses it when he wants you to feel guilty for blinking”

You just gestured to the empty space beside them “Join the abandoned”

Starscream sat down—well, not sat, more like lowered himself with performance-grade disdain. He settled his wings carefully, like a peacock folding his pride beneath himself

“Highguard, and now glorified bench ornament” he murmured “A glorious descent”

“If it helps, I’m fairly certain this bench has heard more strategic insight than most command chambers”

Starscream smirked, optics narrowing “A bench never interrupts. A bench doesn’t say ‘let’s circle back’. A bench doesn’t think it’s entitled to a monument for every half-decision”

“Are you referring to Sentinel?”

“I’m referring to every one who’s ever used a twenty-minute story to say no” He tilted his head a little “But yes. Mostly Sentinel”

You relaxed a little more. This wasn’t the first time you’d shared a delay with him, and each time, the Starscream you found was different from what the records suggested. Less self-important, more dry. Less soldier, more survivor with a gift for critique “You’d think for someone who talks so much, he’d eventually run out of things to say”

“He doesn't run out” Starscream sighed “he loops. Like a badly-coded audio file. By the time you realize he’s repeating himself, he’s already declared victory”

You leaned in just slightly “You ever considered breaking protocol and just... walking out?” Starscream gave you a look—mock-horrified “And be vaporized by the weight of Prime disapproval? No thank you. I may be brave, but I’m not suicidal”

They both snorted at that. Quietly. Like two students laughing behind sacred scrolls during a lecture they’d heard ten times before “You’re not what I expected from a Highguard”

Starscream arched a perfect brow “And you speak like a Prime’s scribe but don’t flinch at sarcasm. We all wear masks, darling”

“Mine just has a file index attached”

“And mine’s classified”

There was another silence, but this time, it wasn’t the bored kind. It was the kind that settled between people who got it—whatever it was—and didn’t have to explain themselves further. Somewhere in the distance, a door creaked open and immediately closed again. Probably a decoy

Starscream sighed theatrically “Well, at least if the planet collapses while we’re waiting, we’ll die seated”

“There are worse ways to go”

“Like under one of Sentinel’s monologues”

You almost chuckled at that remark, almost “Remind me to archive this moment. We might need it for morale”

“Make sure you file it under Delayed Diplomacy and the Art of Not Screaming”

The meeting chamber echoed like a canyon full of bureaucracy and ego—Sentinel’s voice bouncing off the walls with the smug inevitability of an avalanche explaining its purpose to a valley. Measured. Smooth. Loud in all the wrong places. He was on his third rhetorical flourish now—something about reconstruction being like the alignment of celestial gears. You stopped listening two metaphors ago, when Sentinel had compared civic trust to photosynthesis

You sat by the main table, stylus in hand, screen glowing in your palm. But the datapad hadn’t captured a single useful point for at least half hours. Instead, it displayed a single, looping phrase written with mechanical calm

Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t scream

It was less a note and more a spiritual chant. A written attempt at not flinging the stylus across the chamber and shouting “Define ‘unity’ without using the word ‘unity’!”

Across the room, Starscream leaned against a pillar like a statue carved from disdain and premium alloys. His wings were tilted back in a posture of supreme detachment—carefully calculated to look effortless. But you caught it—the minute twitch in his left optic, the tell-tale tic of someone questioning their life decisions in real time.

Their optics met. Brief. Dry. Miserable in perfect unison

Incoming message: Starscream

"You’re taking notes?"

You just adjusted the angle of your pad just slightly, revealing the message repeating like an ancient curse. Starscream made a choking sound—somewhere between a laugh and a gasp—then immediately disguised it as a dignified throat-clear. Reader would’ve applauded the acting if they had any energy left to give. Sentinel, oblivious as a comet on rails, kept speaking. Something about foundational reintegration protocols "gliding into place like constellations charted by destiny"

Starscream took that as his cue to sidle closer, each step elegant and illicit, like someone slipping poison into a chalice during a religious sermon

“You must be the most patient being on this entire planet” he murmured, voice pitched like a scandalous secret

You didn’t bother looking up. Just raised a optics ridge “I work with Alpha Trion. I’ve sat through lectures that started before sunrise and ended after philosophy itself gave up.”

Starscream exhaled softly—half impressed, half horrified

“So this is all just… muscle memory to you?”

“Spiritual trauma response, more like”

“Still. You’ve lasted longer than I have, and I’m technically immortal” Their shared look was one of withering solidarity—two burnt-out orbitals circling the same dying star

“He respects you, you know” Starscream said next, optics flicking toward Sentinel with a wry glint “Told me once you temper the tone of his judgment”

You snorted softly, a sound so bitter it could etch metal “Is that what it’s called now? I always thought I was the only thing standing between him and total rhetorical combustion”

“Exactly. You’re like a stabilizer coil for his ego” He paused, mouth curling in amusement that didn’t quite reach his optics “Or maybe a very refined lightning rod”

“Funny. I always assumed you were the lightning rod” You offered a smile thin enough to slice circuitry

Starscream bristled—visibly, wings snapping upward like the feathers of an offended falcon

“Please. I’m the storm. I don’t attract catastrophe—I deliver it in curated bursts”

“Modest, too”

“That’s one vice I never cultivated”

At that moment, Sentinel turned—gesturing toward them mid-sentence with the theatrical flair of someone who absolutely believed his audience was riveted. Neither of them had a clue what he’d just said — Immediately, both straightened, faces settling into masks of attentive professionalism. You looked almost interested. Starscream looked like someone doing an excellent impression of sobriety

Sentinel, of course, continued uninterrupted

Starscream leaned in again, voice softer now, more amused than conspiratorial “You know.. I’ve seen lesser mechs melt down after two kliks with him. Anyone who can sit through this entire speech without leaking coolant should have a statue”

You didn’t miss a beat

“I’ll settle for a nap. Possibly a mild coma”

“Pff. If the Primes don’t canonize you, I will”

“Do I get a halo or just a plaque that reads ‘Martyr of Moderation’?”

“Why not both? Gilded wings, stained glass, a shrine funded by public weeping”

They exchanged another look—this one laced with amusement rather than despair. And maybe—just faintly—a flicker of actual camaraderie. Mutual suffering had welded stranger bonds before

After that brief exchange, it could almost be said that you and he had become… close. Or at least, closer. The reason was painfully simple: the two of you shared a very particular kind of empathy—one with a single, specific name: Sentinel. Yes. You both are tried with that mech. He smiled too much, talked too much, and always managed to make both seem like a virtue

At first, your conversations with Starscream were short—sharp, pointed remarks passed like notes in a forbidden class. They were, inevitably, all about Sentinel. But, somehow, over time, the topic shifted. The insults came less frequently, replaced now and then by dry observations, or comments that weren’t quite complaints. Conversations that… weren’t entirely about gossip. One could even call it development. Or the faint shimmer of something resembling friendship

Starscream, for his part, became a frequent visitor to the Hall of Records—always with a reason. At first, they were plausible. He was there to borrow old tactical archives, he said. For research. For study. And then he’d linger. Just long enough for a few sharp words about Sentinel, and then he’d be gone. Only to return again. Always with a reason

The Hall of Records was always quiet

Not the eerie kind of quiet, nor the brittle hush of tension. Just stillness—the kind that knew its own weight. Ancient. Intentional. Like even the walls were thinking

Starscream didn’t belong there. Not really. This was a space of scholars and scribes, of archivists who measured truth in primary sources and argued over the placement of glyphs. He was a blade. A warrior of the air. Trained to slice through warzones, not scrolls. And yet—he had found himself here again. Not summoned. Not ordered

He wasn’t assigned to anything near this sector. But his wings carried him anyway, with the same sort of ease as when he used to patrol the skies—only now it was polished corridors and soft-glowing archives beneath his step

He told himself it was because the area was peaceful. That the air was better here—cooler, calmer. But he knew better

He always knew better

You was where you always were at a low console near the central atrium, surrounded by softly hovering text-columns and half-folded hologlyphs, digit dancing across script like you were conducting a symphony only you could hear

Starscream paused at the archway, lingering just outside the threshold like a visitor to a shrine. You hadn’t noticed him yet. Not unusual. You got like this—hyperfocused. It was part of what made you tolerable in meetings. Even when surrounded by the most pompous minds on Cybertron, you somehow managed to cut through noise and find the thread of meaning

Starscream didn’t speak. Not immediately. Instead, he watches from a distance—just a moment longer than necessary

The slight furrow between your optics. The absent way you tucked your digit beneath a datapad when lost in thought. The way your mouth moved when you reread something you didn’t quite agree with.The way you tilt your head slightly when concentrating — He’d seen soldiers review combat logs with less intensity

And then, without looking up “You’re here again” A beat. Still no eye contact. Just the calm click of glyphs shifting beneath their hands

“What is it this time? Lost on your way to an ego-polishing ceremony?”

“Charming as ever”

“I try”

The moment he passed the entry arch, the energy field swept over him, verifying his clearance. It always took a fraction longer for him. He was Highguard—technically not bound to this sector, not required to be here unless summoned

“You always look like you’re communing with ghosts in here” You didn’t flinch. Just tapped to pause the scroll, finally glancing his way “If I am, they’re better listeners than most living bots I know”

He gave a low hum—half amused, half... something he couldn’t name

“That includes me?”

“If you want it to”

The seeker stepped in further, arms behind his back like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. His wings twitched once—barely noticeable. In another mech, it would mean nothing. But for him, it was a crack in the composure. He leaned against a nearby terminal—deliberately not the one you was using, because leaning too close would be obvious. So he pretended to be interested in a wall display about 13th Prime and the history of arm-mounted documentation scrolls. For six whole seconds

“How long have you worked? with Alpha Trion?” he asked suddenly

You blinked. That wasn't one of his usual jabs “Long enough to memorize how he deflects questions with parables”

“Impressive. I usually skip to the part where I nod and pretend to understand”

“And how long” he added, more lightly “have you been the only one in the building who doesn’t flinch when I show up?”

“Probably since you stopped scaring the archivists on purpose” Starscream gave you a sideways look—something between amusement and a challenge, circling a console like a cat pretending not to want attention “So I was terrifying”

“You were theatrical”

“Same thing”

You turned back to the screen, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of your mouth. A giveaway. He saw it. Cataloged it. Filed it somewhere between unexpected warmth and probable danger

None of you say anything else

He stood there. Reading. Occasionally making a dry remark, occasionally not making one when he could’ve—choosing, instead, to let the silence sit between them like something living. Breathing. And he realized, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this—this silence—felt nothing like the ones he’d trained to survive. It didn’t weigh him down. It didn’t ask him to prove anything. It just… allowed. He glanced at you again, which weren’t even looking at him

Good, he thought, and wasn’t sure why

Because if they had been—You might’ve seen the flicker of something soft at the edge of his mask. And that wasn’t a war he was ready to name just yet

Eventually, when he learned there was a logbook keeping track of all visitors to the archives, you swore you could smell smoke. Something burning. Something that was almost certainly not part of Starscream’s internal cooling systems working overtime to keep his core temperature down. "How often does Sentinel come here? " He wouldn’t ask. He definitely wouldn’t ask that. It would sound… unprofessional. Too personal.

And yet he noticed the tiny cleaning little drone tucked into the corner of the room. He remembered that it never used to be there before. That had to mean something

Starscream shouldn’t care. He didn’t care. He had no reason to You was capable. Professional. Untouchable, even. And Sentinel? He was just—Sentinel. Predictable. Loud. Ambitious to a fault. The kind of mech who saw people as pieces

“He doesn’t deserve to be near them” Starscream muttered under his breath. Then stopped. Why had he said that? He leaned against a cold pillar outside the Hall, arms folded tight. Watching the faint glow through the archive’s frosted walls It wasn’t just about Sentinel. Not really Lately. It was about how your voice changed ever so slightly when Sentinel was around. How you laughed less. Smiled thinner. Became… smaller somehow — less yourself? And maybe that was what bothered him most — That Sentinel took up so much space, even when he didn’t deserve it. That you let him

“It’s not jealousy” Starscream muttered. As if saying it would make it true “Just concern” Sure. Concern that tightened his chestplates every time he walked in too late. Concern that made him linger in doorways, listening for voices he didn’t want to hear. Concern that had no place in a soldier’s heart, least of all his He exhaled. Vents shivering just slightly

“They deserve better” “They deserve my company” And that was the moment Starscream realized—he might be in trouble

There was something different about the way Starscream entered the Hall of Records that day

He didn’t glide like he usually did—that controlled, weightless drift he favored when he wanted to seem above everything, including gravity. No elegant sweep of wings, no dramatic pause to let the ceiling lighting glint off his plating. No, this time he strode in—sharp-footed, deliberate, like he was walking into a courtroom to deliver closing arguments and maybe strangle the opposing counsel

You noticed it immediately. How could you not? He moved like a stormcloud pretending to be a weather report

“He was here again, wasn’t he?”

The question came without preamble—dry, low, too casual to be innocent

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. Starscream rarely did when his mood soured. And today, his tone carried the brittle edge of someone carefully taping over a cracked vase while denying it ever broke

You didn’t even ask who “he” was, didn’t need to

“For a moment” you replied calmly, not looking up “Dropped off a datapad. Nothing unusual”

“Oh, nothing unusual” Starscream echoed, as if savoring the taste of a word he fully intended to spit out. He came to stand beside you, one servo bracing on the edge of the console—just close enough to loom slightly, just far enough that he could pretend not to be hovering. His claws tapped against the surface. Not idly. In rhythm. Like punctuation for unsaid thoughts

“He stays longer every time” he added, eyes narrowing “Must be due to those exceptionally urgent files only you can decipher”

You said nothing at first, simply continuing to sort scrolls with the calm, methodical care of someone pretending you hadn’t been waiting for this exact conversation all morning

“He’s asking about the structural histories of the lower tiers” you said evenly “It’s academic. Not personal”

“Mmhmm. Of course. I’m sure he leans that close to everyone while consulting architectural records. It’s probably his… scholarly posture” Starscream’s wings flicked sharply behind him—betraying what his voice tried to conceal. He hated how transparent he was around them. His body gave away everything. Always had. You glanced sideways at him—just a flick of the optics

“You seem annoyed”

“Annoyed?” he repeated, too quickly “No, no. Don’t be ridiculous”

He gave a breathy little laugh, dry as static. The kind that didn’t reach his optics “Why would I be? I thrive on being replaced as the regular nuisance in your life”

“If that title matters so much, you should’ve shown up more often”

“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to schedule my dramatic entrances” he snapped, mouth curling “Next time I’ll file a formal request to interrupt your charming little cross-referencing rendezvous”

There it was. The flare of sarcasm like a flare from a jet’s engine—meant to distract, to blind. But you just blinked

“…You’re jealous”

“I’m not jealous” Starscream shot back—instantly, defensively, too fast to be believable even by his own standards.

There was a pause. A long one.

The air between them tightened—not tense, exactly, but warped, like something delicate was bending under the weight of something unspoken. Then, more quietly, more bitterly

“I’m rightfully suspicious”

“Suspicious of what, exactly?”

“Of how quickly he’s managing to dominate your attention with nothing but pomp and an overdesigned chestplate” Starscream crossed his arms, optics flicking toward the exit before snapping back, like he was already planning his next retreat. But he didn’t leave. Not yet.

You smothered a laugh, then failed to hide the smile “He does have very shiny plate” offered innocently.

Starscream scoffed. Loudly “Mm. Yes. Very polished. Very overcompensated. Probably waxed his plating with the tears of lesser intellects”

“Do you monologue like this every time someone uses the hallway?”

“I just thought this was our filing system” he muttered. His voice dropped a note there—not sarcastic, not angry. Just… quieter. Not quite sulking. Not quite joking. Something else. Something uncertain “It still is”

“Then maybe I’ll leave a few bootprints next time” he said “Stake my claim. Mark the territory. Make it clear who was here first”

You tilted your head, amused now “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yes” he said proudly “But I do it with flair”

“Want a plaque?”

“No”

“Just… maybe a heads-up, next time you plan on loaning out your attention”

His tone was light. But his optics weren’t.

You saw it then—the smallest flicker of something unguarded. Not possessive, exactly. Not romantic, not fully. But something adjacent to it. The kind of ache you don’t name out loud because if you say it, it’ll make it real. And Starscream didn’t want it to be real. Not yet

He straightened with practiced elegance, spun on a heel—and began his exit like a prince dismissed from a court he hadn’t asked to join in the first place. But— He glanced back. Just once. Just long enough to see if you was watching. You were and Starscream? He despised how warm that made him feel. How visible. How stupidly, stupidly seen

And still—

He didn’t look away

[eggroll-sama]

I’m sorry but this comment towards Kuras by Leander is so funny to me:

Leander: Besides, unless you’re actively dying he’ll make you wait in line all day like everyone else…

Now I’m imagining Leander cutting in front of a long line of people, some that have been waiting more than an hour, and when Kuras opens the door and realizes he wasn’t there the last time he checked the line he’s like, “your injuries aren’t so bad, you can wait in the line like everyone else” and sends the LEADER OF THE BLOODHOUNDS to the back of the line and Leander internally is like >:( but externally :D and starts networking making conversation with Lowtowners around him to pass the time.

Isn’t Kuras just practicing common courtesy here??? Leander, you aren’t entitled to cutting an entire line of people because of your feelings of self-importance. Not to mention, you’re undermining the other people’s time and physical problems, your injuries aren’t above the other citizens..??? And arguably they may need Kuras help more because they don’t have power or the money, and poverty is proven to be a source of trauma like 🤦‍♀️

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing a "Narcissistic" Character

Narcissist - an entitled and sometimes arrogant and manipulative person who primarily views other people as means to their own ends.

Some narcissists might come across as unpleasant, but others are charismatic and engaging until you cross them.

A covert narcissist like this might shift from acting like a charming adult to throwing a temper tantrum when they realize you won’t give in to their demands.

You might find you encounter more narcissists in fields centered around competition or winning.

For example, a well-meaning entrepreneur might come across a competitor or colleague with an extremely inflated sense of self—and this might present speed bumps for both parties.

Similarly, family law and divorce lawyers come across many people exhibiting narcissistic traits in their personal lives and must negotiate with that in mind.

As a caveat, although you might be able to accurately theorize as to whether or not someone possesses narcissistic tendencies, you should leave diagnosing someone with an actual narcissistic personality disorder to a professional.

Key Narcissistic Traits

You can spot narcissistic traits if you know what to look for specifically. Some qualities to keep in mind to identify narcissism:

Innate sense of entitlement: Everyone wants things to go their way if possible, but narcissists expect them to at all times and at all costs. The average person is willing to compromise and anticipates delayed rather than instant gratification in many scenarios. A narcissist, by contrast, expects everyone to be a willing contributor to their happiness all day, every day, no matter the extenuating circumstances. Psychologists call this endless drive for gratification at the expense of others “narcissistic supply.”

Inflated view of self: It’s one thing to be confident, it’s quite another to think you’re the most important person in the room at all times. Someone with narcissistic tendencies expects everyone to treat them like a king or queen. They often fall into delusions of grandeur and bouts of self-mythologizing to justify why people need to bow to their whims at all times.

Lack of empathy: Narcissistic abuse is common due to the lack of empathy such an attitude engenders. When someone considers their needs above anyone else’s, it makes them less likely to understand other people and more likely to hurt others to get what they want.

Prone toward manipulation: If you’re dealing with a narcissist, expect them to pull out manipulative tricks to get you to do what they want. This might mean gaslighting, belittling, or outright lying to you in the interest of throwing you off balance and getting you to succumb to their demands.

How to Negotiate With a Narcissist

Navigating the negotiation process with a narcissist might be difficult, but it’s definitely doable. Remember these tips as you advocate for yourself with someone who cares more about their own ego:

Iron out concrete details. Before entering a negotiation scenario with a narcissist, sit down and ask what you want out of the negotiations. Try journaling or filling out a worksheet to help you figure out your needs. You can also rely on third parties to help you do this more effectively. For example, if you’re trying to leave a narcissistic spouse, your divorce attorney can assist on this front.

Play to their narcissistic tendencies. To get what you want from a narcissist, sometimes you have to give them what they desire most: adoration. Of course, you can merely feign this sense of awe—stroking their ego with the knowledge you’re only doing so as a negotiation tactic. For example, suppose you’re in law school dealing with a narcissistic professor who has a track record of grading final exams unfairly unless a student praises their teaching. In this scenario, you could tell them you appreciated their lecture or you listened to their podcast as you leave class one day to get them on your side.

Practice emotional detachment. Negotiating with a narcissist can get ugly. Devaluing and abusing other people is one of the central tools in a narcissist’s arsenal. Especially if you’re in an emotional situation already—like a divorce case—it’s paramount to try to practice as much mindful detachment as you can. Remind yourself their words do not define you or reflect reality. For that matter, in this scenario, you can also rely in part on other parties to do your negotiating for you—that’s a major reason people pay attorney’s fees in the first place.

Stand your ground. Even if you grit your teeth and stroke a narcissist’s ego to get a concession at times, it’s important to stand your ground and maintain your sense of self. Always negotiate like you matter—because you do, regardless of any abuse they might hurl your way. Narcissists, at their root, are often very insecure—and your self-awareness and confidence can trump these insecurities in a negotiation scenario. Remind yourself you are strong and your own well-being is your first priority—this way, you can leave interactions like this knowing your pride and your feelings of self-worth are still intact.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[yermes]

I wasn’t meant to be understood 🍈

Music:

↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟

Pick a meme

123

↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟

Disclaimer: please take what I say with a grain of salt and not as the gospel. I just want to share some ideas of practicing and giving advice using the medium as often as I can with school, work, and my own personal studies and practice. But I am working on sharing my notes soon so that will be exciting! Liking and sharing does a lot 🥰

↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟

Feel free to stick around for a while **⋆**

↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟

The cards 🃏 

Pile 1 ⭐️

Star, moon, knight of pents

You are in a huge dreamer phase, and you are about to take a step, the step only has to be meaningful to you. People don’t know what your inner world looks like nor are they entitled to it. Be meaningful with yourself for yourself, peoples advice are suggestions with no insight into you as an individual while professional advice is nice for sure and insight into anything is important the steps, you need to make sure what is happening feels right and you can actually fucking achieve dreams with your steps. You are in a very day dreamy part of your planning, you have the idealized version of what you want to do but you have little direction and few people to lean on, ultimately you are the only person you can lean on. The inner world is rich and vast, you will know what to do when the opportunity presence itself. Do your own personal research, think about what is actually best for you, mentally physically and spiritually. Be present in decision making, consider yourself because god knows no one else is. Show up for yourself everyday and even if no one can understand a dreamer it can’t stop you from dreaming.

Pile 2 🌈

King of wands, ace of cups, magician

Lots of emotional manifestations, not always a good thing but its something that definitely happens. Lots of tears, lots of emotions, lots of your own emotional turmoil turning into a self fulfilling prophecy, have you thought that your hang ups on the external and lack of comfort with the internal is giving you negative confirmation bias of the world around you. Our biases shape our perception of the world and you are making it all seem like a scary place but babe it all starts with you beginning to learn about yourself. All of the thousands of people you will meet throughout your life will have a different perception of you, but there is only one you. And there is only one person with unlimited access to your inner world is you, don’t weep for the fact no one can ever look in be happy that you are your own private space.

Pile 3 💥

Tower, two of swords, the devil

Imagine thinking you have all your ducks in a row and then everything goes to shit, I mean what else is supposed to happen. Getting all your ducks in a row has never been your M.O, you are more like a chaotic murder of crows. Shit will fall apart, do not let it shake you, the way shit hitting the fan affects you and how it triggers your own personal trauma is sacred to you, you owe grace to nobody. When you are struggling through a hard time fear not of your external facade care only for the internal world which is forever being shaped by being and experiencing. Be aware of how others respond for their perception of your outward appearance means fuck all, again, take care of the internal and spiritual. YOU CANNOT MANIFEST IF YOU DO NOT START OVER, YOU CANNOT REACH THE SPIRITUAL IF YOU ARE CAUGHT UP SOULY IN THE PHYSICAL. It is all about balance.

↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟

Extras: 🌾

Personal/ updates:

Treating brain samples tmrw

↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ↟ ⋆ ❅↟ ⋆ ❅↟

[baldudiable]

The Sun & your father

In astrology, the Sun sign represents the father. Your father may embody positive or negative attributes of your Sun sign. In any case, the sign in which your sun is placed indicates his possible behavior and its influence on your personality.

If your Sun is in Aries

Your father likely taught you to stand up for yourself. He may struggle to keep his emotions under wraps. In fact, he might express them violently, instilling fear in you. Your need to become strong likely stems from this.

He imposed restrictions on you, which explains your discomfort in the face of orders or limitations.

Your father is an ambitious man who has succeeded and reached the top of his field. Maybe it isn't the case, and he hasn't accomplished anything significant. But he goes after what he wants, and expects you to do the same. He likely supports your endeavors and makes sure you have everything you need to succeed.

if you Sun is in Taurus

Your father is either extremely hard-working or, on the contrary, very lenient. He either fought to give you a sense of security or threatened it, often through his irresponsible search for pleasure. He can be good at managing resources or squandering them.

If he is serious, he ensures that your family is secure and comfortable. He may encourage you to pursue lucrative paths to live lavishly. Quality is of utmost importance to him; he wants nothing but the best.

He may be very generous with his possessions or very selfish; perhaps out of fear of lacking in the future. His focus on money and security made these priorities for you. He can remain in unpleasant situations for too long, fearing the loss of the stability he fought to achieve.

If your Sun is in Gemini

Witty and sociable, your father makes friends everywhere he goes. He enjoys being surrounded by people he loves. If not, he may prefer pursuing his interests and honing his many skills.

An intellectual, he is constantly learning and sharing knowledge. He's a jack-of-all-trades who has always encouraged your curiosity. He's probably a confidant who wants to know all of your secrets.

If he is more detached, he can be standoffish and focused on intellectual matters. His personality is multifaceted, making him very unpredictable. It may be hard to understand him at times. He might also struggle to stay grounded.

If your Sun is in Cancer

Your father has turbulent emotions. He may express them openly or on the contrary, keep them locked away. Either way, his intensity is always felt.

Your vulnerability was encouraged or discouraged because it made you susceptible to meanness. He might be domestic and solitary, feeling threatened by the outside world and its demands.

Alternatively, he may work a lot and spend little time at home. If that's the case, you might wish he were more present to provide emotional comfort. If he embodies Cancer energy positively, he may display a more maternal side and be a good listener who tries to maintain a close relationship with you.

If your Sun is in Leo

Your father is open about most things. While he may be warm, he can appear arrogant.

He may be typically masculine: strong, assertive, and self-starting. He enjoys controlling his environment and, at times, you. You may submit to him out of fear.

Creative, he always applauded your inventiveness and made sure you had the right tools to improve. His support fostered a sense of confidence in your abilities.

His generosity and love may sometimes feel conditional. He can feel entitled to people's time, energy, or resources and may think highly of himself, struggling to accept criticism.

Proud, he rarely admits to his shortcomings or accepts help from anyone, leading him to remain in difficult situations for more than necessary.

If your Sun is in Virgo

Your father is very hard-working. He is so focused on work and responsibilities that he often forgets to take care of you. He is either all over the place or has everything under control.

He might struggle with anxiety as he carries the world's burdens on his shoulders. He often sacrifices himself and his needs, feeling best when being useful. His selflessness often complicates his existing problems.

He can be controlling. He often micromanages and criticizes you because he feels his way is best. His overbearing presence might make you feel insecure and inadequate.

If your Sun is in Libra

Image is of utmost importance to your father. He knows how to maintain appearances, often going out of his way to please people and or put them at ease, even at a personal cost.

He is a networker who taught you the importance of having strong connections with people you can rely on. He encourages you to share and cultivate harmonious relationships

Alternatively, he may have been selfish and focused only on himself. He may have avoided his responsibilities, expecting you to meet them. This might have led you to act oppositely by always putting others' needs first.

If your Sun is in Scorpio

Your father is a mystery. He may rarely talk about himself, leaving much of his story untold. You might have indirectly heard about the trauma he experienced, though he avoids discussing it openly. There's a lot about him that you don’t know, and you may not feel comfortable enough to ask.

He may have suffered betrayal from people he loved, making him guarded and suspicious. Alternatively, he could have been the one to break someone’s trust, engaging in deceitful behavior. His aura is intense and commanding, often challenging the energy of a room; people may become quieter or shyer around him. He might react strongly to minor situations or maintain control over his emotions. In any case, the intensity is always felt.

He may infringe on your boundaries, wanting to know your whereabouts and activities, questioning your friends, or blatantly invading your privacy.

Alternatively, if he isn’t the secretive and distant type, you two may be close. He is your confidant; you feel safe to open up without fearing judgment. This closeness, though, might make it difficult to distinguish yourselves from one another.

If your Sun is in Sagittarius

Your father may have trouble staying still. He might frequently travel or move, collecting stories and memories. He is likely a scholar or intellectual who loves sharing knowledge. He encouraged you to excel and to strive for constant improvement.

He might be religious, spiritual, or philosophical—a strong believer in something bigger than himself. Your upbringing may have been one of extremes: either highly restrictive or remarkably free. Either way, it has made you averse to limitations of any kind. Your father may speak his mind freely, believing that the truth sets you free, or struggle to express hard truths.

People often turn to him for guidance, sensing his wisdom, or he may offer it unsolicited. He might seem lost or indecisive, constantly exploring new paths to find his purpose. This restlessness could also manifest as absent-mindedness or literal absence from your life.

If your Sun is in Capricorn

Your father may not have allowed you to enjoy childhood. He might have pushed you to become self-sufficient early on, perhaps to help support the family. He discouraged fun, instead valuing your seriousness and maturity.

While you know he feels deeply, he may act tough and avoid expressing his feelings. Providing financial support might be his way of showing love.

His absence forced you to take on responsibilities, shaping you into the responsible person you are today. Your father likely had to sacrifice his youth to focus on productivity. He wants you to avoid similar hardships by building a strong foundation. If work isn’t his primary focus, family sure is. He always makes sure your family's needs are met.

If your Sun is in Aquarius

Having the Sun in Aquarius often points to a father who struggles to show emotions or build deep connections with his children. Aquarius energy, especially in family dynamics, can feel distant and unapproachable. Your father may prefer relationships that require less emotional investment, focusing instead on his work, social groups, or societal issues.

He is more logical than emotional and may have encouraged your intelligence and sociability as a child. This likely shaped your focus on friendships and self-reliance rather than seeking emotional support from him.

If your father isn’t the detached and rational type, he might treat you as an equal or a friend. He likely takes an active interest in your experiences and supports your choices, especially if they align with his value of personal freedom. He is probably unconventional in some way, and this uniqueness is something he admires and encourages in you.

If your Sun is in Pisces

Your father may struggle to truly see you. He is often too preoccupied with other matters to connect with you, making you feel invisible or unloved in his presence. He may have been absent during your formative years or might still be.

While he is undoubtedly sensitive, he may not know how to express it effectively. He could have tried to shape you into his ideal vision, becoming frustrated when you asserted your independence. This challenging dynamic might have pushed you to distance yourself from him, seeking relationships where you feel more valued and understood.

Alternatively, if your father embodies Pisces energy positively, he might be your confidant, someone you can trust with your secrets. He may encourage you to pursue your wildest dreams and offer unwavering support. Even so, he may find it difficult to trust your decisions entirely, often giving unsolicited advice or attempting to micromanage you.