#LOVE PERPETUATED THE CYCLE INSTEAD OF HATE

[genderqueerdykes]

all of this petty fighting and squabbling between queers is never going to solve anything, no matter how much you think you're helping. and yes, it's petty. accept it already. it's not substantial. it's not real conversation, connection, or understanding. it's not helping people break down barriers- it's erecting them where they're not necessary. it is simply petty fucking squabbling and everyone needs to sit the hell down and think about this instead hurting other people so you can run away from your thoughts and emotions. this is never going to solve anything, help trans women, lesbians, gays, or any other queer people- holding other queers down does not, and i repeat, does NOT help anyone.

all of the queer elders and important figures in queer history that people on here love to say they "look up to" on here would be disgusted and sick of this behavior. you're slapping all of them in the face by undoing all of the hard work they did to try to unite us as a community. you say you love Marsha P. Johnson, Miss Major, Silvia Rivera, and Leslie Feinberg, but you actively tear queer people apart on purpose? you would make them sick to their stomachs. you are trampling all over their decades of hard work. this is NOT what they fought for.

how is being angry at your siblings for just existing helping? that's literally exactly what queerphobes do; they hate queer people simply because they exist. hating transmascs, trans men, aros, aces, bisexuals, bigender people, genderfluid people, male lesbians, female gays, and other queers you don't like because they exist isn't helping anyone. if you hate it when that is done to you, why are you doing it to someone else? being bullied or oppressed isn't an acceptable reason to hurt someone else. that's perpetuating the cycle of abuse. it doesn't matter how much you've suffered, you never gain the right to pass that suffering on to someone else. never.

you can say that fighting and holding other queer people down is for the "good" of other queer people all you want. you can say that hating he/him and male lesbians somehow helps other lesbians, and that hating she/her and female gays somehow helps other gays. you can say that hating bigender and genderfluid people somehow helps other trans people. you can say that hating aros, aces, bisexuals, pansexuals, and other mspec people helps other queers. you can say all night and day that holding trans men down somehow lifts trans women up- but it doesn't make it correct. those things are not factually correct- you're lying to yourself and everyone around you to excuse bigoted behavior. you're refusing to get past your own internalized bigotry and painting it as progressive. you want to continue to excuse abusive, bigoted behavior instead of growing past it. stop it. you're not cool or funny or cute. you're not gaining anyone's approval except that of other bullies and abusers. you're being an bigot, plain and simple.

stop fighting with your siblings and learn to grow and understand each other. move past your differences and embrace them- that's the entire point of being a community, is accepting how varied and unique its members are. getting upset at other people because they're not trans "like you" or queer "like you" is controlling and manipulative. being petty and getting upset at someone because you don't like how they identify is not a reason to abuse people. if someone is genuinely, for real hurting you, it's okay to tell them. but acting like other queer people hurt you simply by virtue is exactly what bigots do, and it's never progressive to do, no matter which queer people you have your hatred turned toward.

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

thinking about how callum started the show with violence ("take that, marshmallow monster!") and rayla ended it with love ("everything") and going completely feral

[xmimikyuusx]

but fr I'll never take it seriously when someone says "i was abused by men, I'm allowed to hate them and anyone trying to show love for men is an MRA" like you know how many of us were abused by our mothers and it's still (rightfully) considered not okay to say that women are all abusers just waiting to kill their children. If you blame violence on someones gender instead of the societal mechanisms that encourage and allow violent and harmful behaviour you're perpetuating that cycle.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A fun question your opinion: In each arc, what do you think is the theme of each arc? ( It can be a motif, messages, subject)

These are a mix of jokes and serious thoughts ^^ just to avoid the post from being too heavy overall!

The Rose-Red Tyrant:

Breaking free from perpetuating a cycle of abuse

You are your own person, not a puppet controlled by your parent/guardian

At the same time, you have to take accountability for your own actions (your background can explain your poor behavior toward others but it does not excuse that behavior)

Control that is too constrictive will only push away potential connections and experiences, keeping you isolated and complacent

Anger management classes are good for you, guys

The Usurper from the Wilds:

Let’s play fairly and be good sports!

Judging people for their merits rather than by titles or birth

What makes someone worthy to lead is noble behavior and attiude

Standing up for what’s morally right, even if everyone else seems to be against you

You have value, worth, and hope in spite of what others may tell you and put you down for

It’s totally okay to get revenge on the asshole that tripped you that one time/j

It’s technically not a crime if you don’t get caught (except Leona did, in fact, get caught)

The Merchant from the Depths:

Don’t be ashamed of your past self—embrace it, accept it, and use it as a point of reference for self growth

Be the bigger person rather than becoming a bully yourself

Let your accomplishments speak for themselves

There is no “easy way out” or shortcut; be prepared to face the consequences of your actions

Not everything is as it may seem (think about the “trick” with Azul’s contracts)

… Read the terms and conditions very carefully and think things over before you sign a contract 💀

Schemer of the Scalding Sands:

Wow, this baby can fit so much generational trauma!!

Sometimes you just miss each other’s messages or greatly misinterpret the other’s intentions (Kalim giving Jamil the benefit of the doubt, Jamil obviously being the Bad Guy and everyone else has to point that out to Kalim)

There’s a very complicated relationship between those in power and those without power; this can breed hatred for those at the top

Talent and skill left unacknowledged can fester into resentment

Institutions of higher education can and will accept monetary bribes, what are you gonna do about it?

Not everyone wants to reconcile and make friends; this is okay and should be more normalized

A Beautiful Tyrant:

You can try your best and work hard, but life doesn’t owe you anything (depressing thought, but unfortunately true)

Beauty is not limited to just one’s looks; beauty can also extend to one’s character and actions

Your worth shouldn’t come from external forces; if you are satisfied with yourself, you will always be “beautiful” no matter how you look or what losses you may experience

Public opinion and the entertainment industry are brutal af

Screw gender norms 😤

The Watchman of the Underworld:

The grieving process in general

Moving on from the past instead of fixating on it and letting the past consume your present and hold you back from a future

Learning to forgive yourself

Reaching out and making new support systems/opening up to others to help you cope

Bearing the sins of your ancestors (Shroud family curse)

The Lord of Malevolence:

Change is inevitable, all good things must come to an end; we must learn to accept them and bravely move toward the future

Love endures, transcending race (Sebek), blood (Silver), and time (Lilia)

Self-sacrificial love (Maleanor for Malleus, Lilia for the other Diasomnia boys, Dawn Knight for his own family, etc.)

Is it “true” happiness if it is a fake reality, a convenient dream?

We hate and fear what we do not understand, even though we have the capacity to

You cannot live forever in a happy fantasy world where none of your loved ones/favorite characters leave you, your trauma doesn’t exist, and everything conveniently pans out how you want it to; sooner or later, you must “wake up” and face reality (this point is particularly meta; it applies both in-game and in the real world, speaking to us players and our relationship with the escapist fictional content we consume)

Prologue: Welcome to the Villains’ World and Overall Main Story:

The power of friendship :))

Revisionist history (cuz… y’know… Great Seven and all)

We’re stronger together than alone

It’s okay to rely on others

We may be very different people from very different backgrounds, but it is still possible for us to understand one another

[daretoassume]

the self-destructive nature of resentment

you are poisoning nobody but yourself with your resentment. sure, you want to make them feel your anger, your rage, make them see why you are right, and they are wrong. you want them to know your worth. but the truth is, you are only hurting yourself. do you love yourself enough to let go of that resentment? do you love yourself enough to allow yourself to be at peace? do you love yourself enough to not get revenge?

you cannot really make other people understand something if they are closed to the notion of your thoughts and ideas. what is the point of wanting to be right when they cannot see your perspective at all? what is the point of proving yourself when all they care about is themselves? what is the point of revenge when it only keeps you trapped in a cycle of bitterness?

i have resented people before for years, wanting to show them that they are wrong and that i wanted them to know my worth. but i realized that, for them, it is probably nothing; i have been carrying the burden of anger and resentment, and they don't even care about it. so are you actually hurting them or yourself? are you actually giving yourself peace by hating them so much?

"for thinking like a victim only perpetuates victimization energy" ♱ bashar (darryl anka)

remember that if a person can influence your emotions, you are enslaved by them. imagine seeing someone you hate, and their presence has so much power to ruin your day. is it really okay for you that they have the power to control you like that? why would you willingly give someone else the remote to push your buttons? is that really how you want to live? letting someone else pull the strings while you react? their presence should not dictate your emotional state. you are putting them too much on a pedestal.

why allow someone to have such a high place in your mind when they don't add value to your life?

i didn't say don't get angry at all. i think anger is healthy. whatever it is that is pushing your buttons teaches you patience, teaches you what you need to heal from, and teaches you that you need to set boundaries. but it is only healthy if you let it out in a constructive way, without hurting anyone, including yourself. instead of letting it consume you, use that energy to reflect, grow, and take control of your own emotions.

"do not dwell on the imperfection of yourself or others. to do so is to impress the subconscious with these limitations." ♱ feeling is the secret, neville goddard

you could tell a trusted friend, journal your thoughts, cry it out, scream into a pillow, draw or paint, move your body through dance or exercise, take a walk, meditate, or practice breathwork. you could do all of them or find out what works for you. acknowledging these emotions can clarify what truly bothers you, allowing you to understand why you are triggered and what the reason is.

reflect on your anger and resentment towards others and acknowledge the fact that it will do nothing but harm you more than it harms the other person, so just loosen the grip. don't do that to yourself. holding onto resentment will only hurt nobody but you in the long run.

[miralyk]

(adding onto this bc i've had some people reach out and ask more and if i was okay, so going to make these additions transparent/public)

highlighting the tags bc i think they're important to be more open about;; since it's valentines, i'm thinking of being more earnest and progressing more on Loving art as an artist and thoughts as a person, especially for more transparent/better communication for myself and others

happy CNY! wishing u well with school and confidence, i know u don’t have high confidence being “cringe” about protocreed or pokemon, but i believe in u, let this new year be happier!!

awh, thank you so much, you're too kind—i'm always worried about annoying people and "ruining" characters especially when drawing ocs/sonas, i just want to be conscientious, haha;; i'm still surprised but happy to know people are okay w and even like what i've doodled lately, so your words mean a lot, and while i'll still always be busy, i appreciate the kindness and will continue to draw things to share the fun w everyone, ty again!

i continuously apologize for what i say/draw by downplaying and deleting my own works in favor of others' works, but it's still on me for not noticing the signs ex-friends still hid their works and refused to talk to me about the same characters to realize they were annoyed at me the entire time, so at the very least, i aspire for and want better transparent communication wrt art, it's not just drawing that's important

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War (8)

Summary: The aftermath of all her family secrets might be more chaotic than Reader bargained for when her powers suddenly start to flare. Good thing her Warlord has more than a few ideas how to help navigate it ;)

Content Warnings: Depressive thoughts, Reader mentions wanting to die; Suggestiveness, Slight SMUT; Canon Typical Violence

Author's Note: To make up for the last chapter being so short, please enjoy that flirty little bastard being a menace! ;)

Chapter 7/Masterlist

---------------

I don’t sleep at all that night. I lay there, Rhysand sleeping soundly beside me, exhausted from the events of the last couple of days. He’d barely kept his eyes open long enough to eat. I’d barely managed to choke down a few bites myself. The guilt has my stomach in a perpetual knot. I’ve dedicated so much of my life to hating this male, only to be wrong about all of it, and now I’m in too deep to even do anything about it.  I can’t go home. There is no home to go back to. My family slaughtered an innocent mother and daughter. Rhys received their heads in boxes like some sort of twisted gift. They were supposed to be allies and my father betrayed them in the worst possible way. He paid for it with his life, with my mother’s life; it should have been the end of it. Tamlin was given a mercy and he should have taken it. He should have abandoned my father’s teachings and become a better lord, a better man. Instead, he perpetuated the cycle of abuse and suffering. He encouraged me to hate these people, to covet everything they had as if they were undeserving of it. All these years I loathed our miserable existence thinking the Mother hated us and was being unjust in giving these people all these things that we were never allowed. But we deserved it! We were the bad guys all along.

I roll over onto my side to look at him. He still sleeps in his armor, knife still strapped to his thigh, sword resting against the tent pole only a foot away. He’s ready to be up and fighting in a moment's notice. Our father’s were so similar, and yet, he turned out to be merciful and kind and somehow, so startlingly gentle that I often forget he’s still capable of intense prowess. He is the only male I’ve ever truly felt comfortable with, because that gentleness came as a response to the violence he’d seen, not because that violence was never there. He’d felt the cold sting of it, and chose to be something gentle instead of returning it.

And here I am, with all that righteous anger that had kept me warm on my coldest days, choosing to return all the violence that had been inflicted on me onto others. Just as Tamlin did. Just as my father did. 

And looking at it I don’t want to be him. He ruined my mother! He took something good and kind and locked it away and used her for his own ends! I don’t even know if he ever really loved her. Why would you keep the things you love in a cage?

I sit up abruptly. Maybe he was as scared of being alone as I am. 

I can’t sit in this tent anymore! I can’t-

Rhysand jolts awake as soon as I move, hand twitching for his knife, shadows swirling off his body in response to what his sleep muddled mind thinks is a threat. “What’s wrong?”

I put a hand on his chest, spinning onto my knees so I can kiss his forehead. “Nothing, I just need to relieve myself.”

He lets me push him down onto the mat, body relaxing and pliant beneath my touch. “You sure?”

“Positive.” If he tried to follow me out now I think I really might explode. My stomach feels like it's ripping itself apart. My bones ache, my skin feels like it's stretched too tight over them. There is too much nervous energy bound inside my body. I just need to get out and stretch my legs; get some fresh air and clear my head. I will be fine if I can clear my head.

“Take your knife,” he says, eyes already drifting shut again. 

I strap it to my thigh as I slip from the tent, gulping down lungfuls of crisp, mountain air as I go. I just need to clear my head. Is finding a way to survive this fucked up world really me acting like my father? I’ve never killed innocent people. I’ve never withheld necessities or lorded my power over people. I’m just not being honest about my intentions. It’s shitty. I’m using a mating bond I’m still not wholly sure is real as a means to getting food and shelter and, hopefully, a decent helping of mind blowing sex.

Cauldron that sounds really, really fucked up.

But how am I supposed to tell him? Hey, I know that you really don’t like my family and they’ve done nothing but screw you over but I also accepted your offer to try and ruin your life and take all of your land and kinda only just changed my mind about it yesterday. And it would be really super cool if you just let that slide because I have nowhere else to go.

That would go over soooooo well. He’d be totally fine with it! 

I ground my palms into my eyes as I walk behind a couple trees to at least make it look like I really did need to go pee. There are men on guard duty, no doubt someone is going to see me wandering around camp.

My brain feels like it’s being squeezed by my skull. There has to be a way to go about this that doesn’t get me tossed out into the coming snow, while also not lying so deeply about it. I do care about him. It was a lie at first but now…

I put my back against the tree and slide down until I’m sitting on the rocky ground, head still in my hands. I don’t know if he’s my mate. There’s something there, I feel it pulling at me, even now, but I can’t give it a name. And I want to be here. Not just because of the story he’d told yesterday. When Lucien tried to get me to leave, I really didn’t want to go back with him. But how am I supposed to live with the truth? How am I supposed to look at him and see that he wants this so much more than I do, despite everything?

Actually, why does he want this, despite everything? He’d asked me why I stayed. I never asked him why he brought me here. There’s certainly enough bad blood between our families to make even a mate hesitate to bring me in.

I lean back against the tree, the rough scrape of the bark against my aching skin a relief. My body feels so strange, being around Rhysand’s magic has made it feel like there’s something beneath my skin.

Tomorrow, in the morning, I will ask him why he still brought me back. Then I will decide what to do. 

------

He certainly doesn’t make asking him easy. Rhys wakes me up with his lips on my throat, along the fading marks he’d left a couple days before,  trailing them down as his hands hike up my sweater. The heat of him against the early morning chill has my resolve slipping, all my plans slipping through my fingers as he runs his tongue over my peaked nipples.

I can’t think past the roaring in my ears; the ache in my body for more, more, more. There is nothing and no one but him as he trails lower, each kiss more forceful than the last as he heads for the waistband of my pants.

“Rhys,” I moan, voice still thick with sleep, even as my body arches under him. I want him everywhere. I need him everywhere. The stirring feeling beneath my skin is worse today, only quelled by the trail of his hands on my body. For once, my racing thoughts are quiet. If only we could stay like this. 

“Hmmm,” he hums into my stomach, just beneath my navel. There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw, the scrape of it against my oversensitive skin makes my eyes roll back into my head. “Did you want something, mate?”

“You,” I groan, hand reaching out to tangle in his hair to try and move him where I need him. 

He grins, I can feel the upturn of his lips against my stomach, but he refuses to budge. Just nips at the skin visible above my waistline. “You have me.”

Bastard! My whole body trembles beneath him. I can’t get a breath down fast enough. I need him everywhere all at once. “Need you inside me,” I bite out.

He simply hums again, hands tugging at my waistband with an inhumane slowness that makes me feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. I use the hand not in his hair to grip the mat, trying to ground myself, trying to find some semblance of control again. I’m gripping so tight my bones ache, fingers feeling like they’re breaking. There’s a tearing sound, a pricking sensation in my palm and then a gush of something wet across my hand. 

Even he looks up at that, and when I turn to look, I’m more than a little surprised to find that I’ve grown claws, and I’ve just tore them right through my hand!

“Shit!” He’s gone from between my legs in an instant, all the heat in my body leaving with him. 

I can’t unfurl my hand. Can’t retract the claws, they’re stuck through my palm with my fist closed around it. I’ve only ever grown them in anger, how the hell had I done it now?

Rhysand comes back with a towel as I manage to sit up. “I thought you smelled different this morning,” he muses.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I hiss.

“Our magic can be protective. It can hide itself if it doesn’t feel safe. I don’t think you were born with too little, I think you were born with too much.” His fingers massage my wrist, trying to find the right pressure points to help me unclench my fist. “I think that it buried itself inside you to keep you safe. And I think, now that you’re here, it’s manifesting, and like the wards, it has its own scent.”

Fan-fucking-tastic!

“Well I’d like it to un-manifest,” I hiss. “I was doing just fine without it!” There’s blood dripping through the towel, if anything it feels like my claws are burrowing deeper into my palm. I can practically feel them trying to tear right through the back of my hand.

He can’t seem to find the right spot and trying to pry my fingers out of my palm is a no go. He frowns, lifting the towel for a better look. “I’m gonna try something.”

I’m prepared for a blow from his own magic, some form of glittering starlight or shadowy darkness, I am not prepared for him to kiss me again. The sound I make in surprise is somewhere between a growl and a gasp because what the hell is he doing? But even though my head is struggling to catch up, my body is not. On instinct, I lean back to allow him better access, his tongue slipping behind my teeth. The rolling feeling beneath my skin lessens, the tightness in my palm slowly releasing. I thread my functioning hand through his hair as my body gives what I can only describe as a sigh of relief. A moment later, the claws retract and I can finally unfurl my fist.

“Flair ups can be heavily tied to your emotions,” he says, lips barely off mine. “Probably wasn’t the best idea to tease you in the middle of one.” 

It takes him all of thirty seconds to find some rags and tie up my hand, even though the blood flow is already lessening. All I can do is stare at it while he does it. This is certainly a new and unwelcome development to this whole mess.

“Is that going to keep happening?”

Azriel pops his head into our tent, unannounced as usual. “Are you two done in here or what? I, personally, cannot live with Cassian if he beats us around the mountain.”

“We’ll be right there,” Rhysand huffs.

“I’m seeing a trend with him,” I mutter. 

He smirks, “It’s one of Azriel’s many charms.” 

He helps me to my feet, holding onto me like he thinks something else might just burst out of my skin. Truth be told, I can still feel something shifting around, a prowling animal begging to be released from its cage. I’d thought it was my unease this whole time, but maybe it’s worse than that. 

“We don’t know how deep your power well is,” Rhysand says. “And if it’s never fully manifested…” He blows out a breath. “When mine first started manifesting, I shredded a whole section of camp with starlight. There was a whole twenty-four hour period where my shadows blocked out the sun. And you’re my equal so, yes I think that will keep happening.”

Cauldron boil me!

“As long as you remain calm, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I should think you would know better than to tell a female to be calm, Rhysand.”

He grins, “Well you can also spend the day making out with me, since that seems to be such a lovely little distraction with you.”

I go to hiss an insult at him but the only thing that comes out is an actual, animal-like growl. I clamp a hand over my mouth in embarrassment while he bursts out laughing. 

“This is going to be fun!” He declares.

I am not at all inclined to agree.

----

I only manage to ride with him for an hour or two before the pull of his magic makes my skin start to itch. He was right about magic having a scent. Half way through the hour I suddenly become very aware of the jasmine scent of him. It’s everywhere. In every breath. Every brush of his chest against my back, every movement of his hands along the reins. My body is hyper aware of every place we do and don’t touch.

“Getting all worked up again, aren’t we?” He purrs in my ear.

My jaw feels like it’s snapping as a set of fangs tear through my gums, spurting blood into my mouth. Somehow his magic is the catalyst for my transformation and the balm all in one. I can’t be near him and I can’t be away from him, as I soon learn. When I jump off the horse and declare I’m going to walk beside him, my claws return, in both hands this time. At least they shoot out my nail beds and not my knuckles like Tamlin’s.

The thought of him makes another growl rumble through my chest and something that feels suspiciously like fur sprouts from the back of my neck.

“Wouldn’t recommend,” Rhysand warns.

The itchiness of my skin is even worse on the ground. I feel the wards tugging at me like I’ve been tied to the glittering magic that builds them with a string.  The jasmine and overripe fruit scent of them is enough to make my nose crinkle. Apparently the transformation heightens my senses as well.

“I’m gonna tear off my skin,” I snarl, fidgeting with my collar. Why is it so itchy? Is it supposed to be like this?

He slows his mount to keep pace with me and I do not miss the grumbled complaints of the males behind us. My ears twitch every time one of them speaks, the sound sometimes like a shout and others like a far off echo.

“Breathe,” he says gently. “The more worked up you get, the worse it will be until we can find a way to safely expel it.”

I draw a shaky breath, then another. 

“Good girl.”

A shiver works its way up my spine at that.

“Now come here,” he leans so far out of the saddle he’s only holding on with his thighs, and my first thought is how we can get this little caravan to pause so I can be the one beneath him. He gets an arm around my waist and hauls me back up onto the horse and damn if that’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a male do!

“Let’s get these wards up-” I’m hyper-aware how every word rumbles through his chest, the way his body shifts on the horse. “-And we’ll find a place to camp soon enough, then you and I can work on this.”

“Make it stop,” I gently beg. “I don’t want it!” The itch beneath my skin is becoming unbearable! My claws scratch up my arms, tearing up my sweater. 

His free hand covers mine, intertwining our fingers, even as the horse begins to move. “Focus on me.”

I focus my attention on the way his body molds against mine. The way the leather of his glove slides over the back of my hand. I let my eyes drift shut, focusing on the brush of his chest against mine, the swaying motion of his hips as the horse moves over the rocky terrain. It’s not enough. Not like the feel of his lips on mine had been this morning. As if he knows it, he drops his head against my shoulder, nose brushing over the exposed skin of my throat. 

“I’m right here,” he continues. “Focus on me, just like you did this morning.”

This morning there had been a lot less clothes between us. 

“Breathe for me.”

It is a physical effort to draw a deep enough breath in; another to pull my claws away from my itching skin. He settles our joined hands against my stomach. 

“Again.”

I manage to do what I am told, just barely. 

“Good. Just like that.” His voice makes a shiver run down my spine as my mind spins with all the other things I want him to talk me through. I think I could do just about anything if he explained it to me in that rich, husky voice he was using in my ear. “Part of learning to control it is finding your center. Find a safe mental space to retreat to.”

“Like what?” There are few places in the world I have ever felt safe. Thinking about how I used to sit in the rocking chair with my mother and listen to her stories only fills me with pain now. Or perhaps a couple weeks ago I might have thought about all those summers I spent at the creek with Lucien, but now it only makes the thing beneath my skin rumble and shake like there’s some sort of animal that lives caged beneath my ribs and is trying desperately to break free. What makes me feel safe?

“A good memory, a happy time,” he lists. 

I have nothing. My eyes start to water and my throat starts to close, talons growing longer and sharper at my fingertips. I feel the give of my leather chest-piece beneath them. Everything good in my life has been a lie! Everyone that was supposed to protect me only ever hurt me in the end. None of it was ever real.

And this, this thing that could be something, that could be real, I had ruined it. I have to lie to keep it. I have to pretend that I had every right to hurt him, when it was really the other way around. The only person who had ever told me the truth, who could see me for what I was, and I had ruined any chance of it being real before it had even had the chance to start.

A sob slips out of me and with it, the tree we pass erupts in a flurry of leaves and twisting, screaming bark that makes the horse rear. The earth rumbles, random cracks splitting in the rock face, gnarled vines crawling out of them like tentacled monsters. The itching in my skin won’t stop! The more I try to trap it the more the world around us screams in protest. 

“Breathe, Y/N,” Rhysand orders in my ear. “You have to breathe.”

“I can’t!” I choke out. 

He slides his hand out of mine and brings it up against the side of my temple. It feels like a shadow unfurling from his fingertips, but the brush of it is not against my face, but inside my skull. Darkness clouds my vision from the inside out. It feels as if my brain is being emptied, piece by piece with shadows until there is nothing inside my mind but him. 

“Breathe,” he commands, the voice of a Warlord. “Now.”

I choke on each breath. 

“You are safe, Y/N,” he says, gentler. There is nothing in the world but the two of us in this dark little bubble. Nothing but the press of night chilled jasmine and calming, all consuming night. From somewhere far off, I hear music on the wind, the swell of stringed instruments pulling my attention away from the itch running beneath my skin.

“Why is this happening?” My body feels so impossibly small, yet like it’s being stretched beyond its capacity, my bones trying to tear through the confines of my skin all the same.

“Our powers can very easily get tangled with our emotions,” he explains, the hand on my temple drawing shapes into my skin. Somehow, after looking at the stitches in the tent walls, I know he’s spelling something out in Illyrian, but I’ll never know what. “The last twenty-four hours have been a lot for you, I’m sure.”

There is no room to think about it in this headspace, no twisted memories to plague me, only the music and the faint twinkle of stars for company. I let myself fall into it, let it swallow me and fill me until I feel disconnected from the pulling of my skin.

“I don’t want this power,” I whisper into the darkness.

The darkness caresses me, wraps itself around me as surely as his arm around my waist. “I know, but we don’t get a say in what we’re given, only what we do with it.”

When have I ever truly had a say in anything?

“What if I hurt somebody?” What if I am just as bad as my father in both intentions and power? If I am capable of plotting to ruin someone’s life based on a lie, how much more capable am I of turning these claws on someone else? Maybe power is passed from my mother, but that will never change the fact that I now carry the same weapons that were used to scar me, and Rhys, and probably his mother and sister. 

“You won’t,” he assures. “I’ll be right here to teach you. You can control it.”

He has far more faith in me than he should.

----

Once we’ve stopped for the night and camp is set up, Rhysand takes me by the hand and leads me out into the empty, grassy plains beneath the mountain. The knee-high yellow blades are brittle this time of year, cracking under our boots as we walk until only the smoke from the campfires pinpoints where we left the others. We’re far enough away that I won’t hurt anyone if I lose control again.

Shame flushes my cheeks. I’ve always prided myself on being the calm one of the family; always able to keep my emotions shoved deep down beneath the surface to keep them from getting the better of me. I thought I was good at it. I was wrong. It’s only been the constant brush of Rhysand’s shadows against my mind all afternoon that have kept me from tearing everything I touch to shreds. Even now, my hands ache from often my new claws have sprung and retracted from my fingertips.

I must feel about as awful as Rhysand looks. The circles under his eyes have not lessened in the slightest, and every once in a while I’ll see him start to sway, like it’s an effort to stay on his feet. The scent of his magic has lessened, the night blooming jasmine fading behind the citrus and salty scent of him. He shouldn’t be out here with me, he should be resting, recharging his own magic so he can be prepared for more warding tomorrow. According to Azriel and the scouts’ reports, we should meet up with Cassian and Mor’s group by this time tomorrow and Rhysand will need all his energy to ensure both ends of the wards are fully meshed together. 

We stop once we’re cushioned between two large hills, nothing but the chirp of crickets and the stars to keep us company. The Mountain looms dark and shadowy beneath the small sliver of the moon. 

“This looks like a good place,” he says as he finally releases my hand.

I keep my lower lip between my teeth, hands shaking at my sides. I don’t want to do this! Entertaining the idea that I have powers to train and use is foolish. I don’t need to learn to use them; I need to learn to shove them back down into the darkest parts of me where they can’t hurt anybody. 

“Let’s start with something simple,” he suggests. “Tell me where you feel your power the most.”

My hand comes up to poke between my rib cage, where the stirring and itchy feeling is the most concentrated. “Feels like something is trying to break out of my skin,” I say softly.

“The claws and the fangs could be a beast form,” he muses. “Or it could just be some shape-shifting powers you inherited from your father?”

The mention of that bastard makes the stirring in my chest feel like a tidal wave, raw energy crackling so hard and fast through my veins that I feel it crest out my fingertips. The grass around me withers and dies, the ground beneath it crackling and rumbling with what feels like the early stages of an earthquake. I can’t have powers like my fathers!

There is no shortage of pity in those violet eyes and I press my palms into my eyes with a groan. I can’t do this! It needs to stop! I need to bury it now before it runs away with me; while I still have some control over it. Because if it goes any further than this…

Maybe Tamlin was right to send me away. Maybe he did know about my powers and that was why he got rid of me. I couldn’t hurt anybody if I was alone in the woods.

Rhysands shadows drift along the floor until they can slither up my calves, rubbing affectionately against me in a way that reminds me of a cat. “It’s ok,” he soothes.

Tears stream down my cheeks. “Make it stop!” I beg. “Show me how to bury it again.”

His shadows trail higher, winding over my hips and waist, even as he steps closer, leaving barely a breath between us. “Y/N…” he shakes his head, trying to find the right words and I feel a strange pang beneath the movement in my chest.

“Please,” I whimper. “I’ll do anything! Just make it stop.”

He cups my cheek and I give myself the briefest moment to fall into the warmth of his touch.  “I know it’s scary, and that it hurts, but this is good. It has to be released. You will die if you don’t.”

Then let me. The words freeze on my tongue when a tendril of his power flicks over his shoulder, down his wrist, to brush against my cheek, but that doesn’t stop the spiraling of my thoughts. Let me be free of this pain. Let me go out before I become a monster like my father. Let that awful bastard be right; let me be useless and worthless and incapable of doing anything he could be proud of. 

As if spurred on by my thoughts, the grass around me continues to wither, until there’s a whole circle of dead earth surrounding me. The harder I try to draw it in, the wider the circle becomes. Power sizzle through my nerve endings, a fire that digs itself into my veins and when I curl my hands into fists to try and stop it, I pull weeds through the cracks in the earth, the gnarled, leafy branches reaching up like skeletal hands that wrap around my, and Rhysand’s ankles.

“Focus on that spot,” his free hand taps gently against my ribs. “Focus until it feels like you’re holding it.”

I try to imagine the power like a bowl filled with sloshing, dark liquid. I imagine myself reaching for the lip of the bowl, the cracked edges and rough wood a mirror to the one that used to sit on our kitchen table, full of apples I’d sneak when no one was looking. If I make it familiar, it feels easier to focus on. I imagine every crack in the bowl, every worn edge, focusing until I get a mental hold around the edges. Now all I need to do is tip the bowl over. If I spill out its contents, there will be nothing left inside me to unleash… right?

“Once you can hold it, focus on containing it. Imagine it like a bottle, get all that energy into the bottle, and put a lid on the top,” Rhys says like he can hear my plans.

The liquid inside the bowl bubbles and hisses as my conflicted feelings run circles through my head. He hasn’t been wrong this far, I should do as he says, but I can’t help but feel like indulging this is a mistake. I can hear my father’s voice inside my head, telling me that this is not how females are supposed to behave. 

I can feel the weeds I’d summoned dying around me. Can feel every blade of grass as if it was somehow attached to my skin. The longer I hold that imaginary bowl, the more aware of this power I become, but it doesn’t feel like control. It just feels like more things pulling at me, trying to move me in directions I’ve never decided I want to go in. 

The ground rumbles beneath my boots again as my mental grip slips, and when I open my eyes the weeds, dead as they are now, have slithered all the way up my chest, reaching for my throat like some decrypt hand. 

The air leaves my lungs in a rush and with it, the dead vegetation crumbles and turns to dust on the wind.

Rhysand should be looking at me like I’m a monster. He should be stepping away, shadows swirling, that giant sword in hand. We are supposed to be enemies and he should be looking at me like I am one. But he’s not. He reaches out and brushes some of the ruined plant off my shoulder instead.

“It’s ok,” he assures. “No one gets it on their first try. Not even me.”

That compassion and understanding makes my chest ache worse than any restless power ever has. I don’t deserve it. I wish he would treat me like the horrible creature I am. He would be better off if he tossed me out into the woods like Tam.

He stiffens and I can’t help but wonder if I accidentally said that out loud because his eyes darken as he closes the gap between us and takes my face in his hands. “Maybe I’m taking the wrong approach.” His voice is clipped, husky. 

Good, maybe he can finally see me for what I really am.

I am wholly unprepared for him to crash his lips against mine. My brain short circuits, the agitation I feel morphing into that desperate, needy thing I had felt this morning. Just as I tilt my head back, lips parting to let him in, he pulls back. 

“Let’s play a game.”

The power in my chest feels like it’s going to rip out of my skin again. 

“Match what I do and you’ll get a reward,” he explains. “If you can’t…” He takes a step back and it is an effort not to chase after him, but the message is clear enough: Matching his efforts means his hands, his lips, his body is on me again, fail to do so, and he puts space between us. It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t make me want to try, but I do. Gods I do! 

“Ok,” my voice shakes a little. In the back of my mind I still think it’s a bad idea. Maybe I will regret it in the end, but this thing between us is the only thing that makes sense. There is nothing between us when his lips are on mine. I need that distraction tonight.

He holds out a hand and a ball of shadows emerge, the tendrils of darkness crawling out from beneath his skin to form the swirling shape. “Find that spot in your chest and push it into your hand. It’s a part of you, it answers to you. Make it answer to you.”

I hold out my hand, matching his position and then close my eyes, reaching for that bowl of darkness again. Hesitantly, I tip it sideways, sloshing some of the dark liquid over the edge and imagine pulling it through my limbs. It makes my muscles spasm, my claws shooting out of my nail beds in defense.

“Breathe through it, you’ll pass out if you hold your breath.” 

Selfishly, I want to impress him. Want to show him I can. I want the reward of his lips on mine again. Want to not have to think about whether I should be doing this or that, the only thought in my head him and how good he feels. I do as he says, drawing in a breath as I keep pushing that bit of darkness in the direction I want it. It makes my head hurt, trying to focus so intently, but I’m nothing if not persistent. 

I feel the rumble of movement beneath my palm, and just when I’m starting to think that maybe I’m more capable than I thought, the tiniest, most wilted looking dandelion grows from my palm. And then immediately turns to ash. It’s the saddest excuse for power I’ve ever seen and I growl out a complaint like a literal beast as even the thing in my chest shows its disappointment.

Rhysand snorts out a laugh too, which makes it worse.

So much for powerful. 

He clears his throat as he steps back into my space. “It was a good attempt.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I hiss. “That was embarrassing.” 

He wraps his hand around my wrist and places his lips against my palm anyway, never mind that my claws are still out and drifting over his temple as he kisses right where my powers flared. “You still tried.”

I shiver at the contact of his plush lips against my skin, his breath warm against my palm. My senses are still incredibly heightened and even that bit of contact makes my skin buzz with excitement. 

He quirks a dark brow as he looks at me from where my hand is still pressed against his lips. “Try again for me?”

I nod, not trusting my voice when he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me. His pupils are blown wide, barely a ring of violet left to see. He keeps his lower lip between his perfect teeth as he watches me with an intensity that makes my thighs clench. 

Just like before, I imagine myself holding that bowl, this time, I draw a breath and tip it over, letting more of that strange darkness spill into the abyss that is my soul. It is strange to see it like this, to have some parts of it so clear and yet the rest of it is shrouded in fathomless depths. There might be anything living within the confines of my skin. I’d never bothered to look until now. 

I push it towards my fingertips, just as before. The same spasm in my muscles returns, a knot forming in my bicep that I do my best to ignore as I keep pushing my power towards my hand. I remind myself to breathe when it flares in my wrist, making my claws retract and pop back out. 

“Just like that,” Rhysand coaxes.

Cauldron his voice makes my insides feel like jelly. 

Crawling vines emerge one by one from beneath my palms, twining around my fingertips like tiny snakes. In the center sprouts another dandelion, a little taller than the last. I manage to hold it for all of five seconds before the knot in my bicep and wrist become too much and the vines and flower die together. My bones ache. How does he do this so easily?

“Better,” Rhysand praises as he places the next kiss on the inside of my wrist, his fingers massaging the knot forming there. 

“Is it supposed to hurt?” I grumble.

“It’s a process,” he murmurs into my skin, lips trailing higher, causing a shiver to run down my spine. “Think of it like building a muscle. The first couple days of using that muscle will hurt. You’ll be sore. But the more you build it, the stronger it becomes, and the less it hurts. Eventually, you’ll be able to perform bigger and bigger feats with less and less discomfort.” 

That sounds exhausting! 

I’m going to have to do this for the rest of my life? The thought sours my mood, once again turning my thoughts away from this lovely little distraction he’s been offering and back into the darkness that’s been threatening to overtake me all afternoon. 

I swear he can hear the thoughts spinning through my head as he suddenly nips at the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist. “You think you can give me one more?”

I have a headache just thinking about doing it again, but he keeps looking at me through those long lashes, the intensity in his gaze making all rational thought fly out the window. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, lips trailing higher. He’s so warm and intoxicating, I think he might be capable of making me do anything, as long as his lips remain on my skin.

I focus on that spot, paying extra attention to breathe as I reach for that imaginary bowl a third time. Maybe if I let myself relax, lean a little heavier into the warmth of his touch, and stop trying so hard to hold on so tight, it won't hurt so bad. It has been like fighting a tide all this time; if I relax, go with the wave, will that make it easier?

I imagine that darkness spilling from the bowl like water instead, letting it flow like a river. The path from my chest to my fingertips is kind of like a stream, right? The water bubbling and rushing through me. There must be something to that thought process, because, when I open my eyes, there are more vines twining around my fingers and wrist, but this time, tiny yellow and pink flowers bloom from them. There is nothing dead or angry crawling out from beneath my skin, but something beautiful and alive. My claws retract as the vines spin around my fingers.

I can’t help but grin as I look to Rhys for his approval. “I did it!”

He grins right back, the sight so dazzling I think I might just stand here for hours summoning flower after flower to see it again. “That’s my girl!”

Instinctively, spurred by the excitement rushing through my veins, I stretch up on my toes and place a quick kiss on his lips. “You’re a good teacher,” and I mean it. Whatever this is between us, I am grateful for him, even if this is all we have. “Thank you.”

He slides a hand in my hair and kisses me back. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I don’t know what it is I feel about it. It still feels wrong, or maybe it just feels different. Everything feels different these days, I’d rather not think too long about it. “Feels like I can breathe a little easier.” 

“Good.” He kisses me again. “We’ll practice some more tomorrow.”

I slide my hand into the silky strands of his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp as he rests his forehead on mine. I won’t let myself think about tomorrow, or about these new powers. There can only be this moment.

“Just promise me,” he continues, “that you’ll keep trying?”

“I might need some convincing,” I return, clinging to this distraction with every last bit of willpower I possess.

He grins at the challenge. This is the best I can give him today; the closest to the truth I can admit without laying everything bare. 

“I can be very persuasive,” he purrs and the next thing I know I am on my back in what’s left of the grass, the solid weight of him on top of me. “Maybe we should work on some self-defense while we’re at it. That was alarmingly easy.”

“The words every girl wants to hear when she’s beneath a man,” I retort.

“I just want you to be safe, is all,” he says as he kisses the tip of my nose. 

I reach up a hand and brush some of the hair that’s falling over his forehead into his eyes out of the way. He is breathtakingly beautiful under the moonlight. I wish I could paint or sketch, immortalize every glorious sharp edge of him in ink and paper. “I’m with you, how can I not be safe?”

Cauldron boil me, I mean that too.

It’s not until later that night, long after I’d fallen apart on his tongue in that field and then tumbled back into camp, nearly asleep on my feet to nestle down against his warm body that I remembered I’d meant to ask him this morning why he’d still let me in after everything between us. By now I’m too exhausted to care; maybe I’ll find the courage to ask in the morning.

-------------

Taglist:

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Thank you all for being so patient with this update! As always, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[a-d-nox]

astro hypothesis: why i think the astro community is the way it is?

ever notice how a lot of us can't let go of grudges/drama in this community? what about the supposed cyberstalking? the fake accounts? the bullying?

i've come to blame our individual placements instead of our shared synastry. gathered in one place online there is likely an usually high amount of 8h/12h people. its a spiritual community after all - 8h loves taboo things, the occult, the unknown, dark aspects of the self, etc. 12h loves spirituality, hypotheticals, learning about karmic cycles and fate, etc. neither one is a fan of secrets and prefers to look behind the veil. myself included in that - i have 8h sun, moon, and mercury AND 12h uranus.

but 8h people are often obsessive and struggle to let things go if they aren't working with their placement(s). 12h placements are our "hidden enemies" - i realize a lot of us know who is who behind the "fake account" but often we only have another username to connect to the secondary (tertiary, etc) account and no actual real life names. neither can stand not knowing what someone is likely saying about them, so they peak at those who blocked them or who they blocked with another account.

we (humanity) hate not having control - that's why a lot of us are on here in this community to begin with. we seek understanding and making the unconscious conscious. the hunger for control is what drives a lot of people, but often 8h/12h people seek it the most. we seek it because at some point we lacked it (in terms of "trauma responses"). these placements are well known in the community for going through hardships and struggles in life - that's why a lot of us react the way we do. personally, i withdraw. i am someone who struggles to say no. i will shut down and say/do whatever i must just to survive fallout - survive the day or weekend and not get yelled at or bullied. i'm not a fan of sides - i'll pick myself if i must, as imperfect, immature, etc as i can be.

social media gives this illusion that we know each other more than we do. even when it seems like someone here has it more together than another person that doesn't make it true. we have all gone through something - we all have personal stuff going on outside of this community. no one is going to always have a perfect and mature response - it's just not how life is.

no one is perfect; we are all learning as we go. at some point, if we can't forgive and grow together, i have to wonder why we are here to begin with. this community doesn't get bigger it only gets smaller when we are picking sides, blocking each other, etc. do what you have to do to protect your peace, but let's stop perpetuating hatred with anons and multiple accounts. give grace. be kind.

thanks for listening to me ramble.

-a.d.

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[licorice-and-rum]

Snape's Full Character Analysis

Okay, so I’ve already made this kind of post in my previous account (licorice-lips) but since it got deleted, here I go again because I think the world should hear more about this.

I do hate Severus Snape — and I have little to no patience for those who do and try to justify his actions with whatever. But unlike many people, my dislike for Snape doesn’t stem from “oh, he’s a child abuser” or “oh, he didn’t love Lily” but from a mix of many factors involving among other things, the way R*wling portrays supremacist ideology and its followers, the way the fandom often downplays supremacist ideology and its followers, and Snape as a character himself.

Now, I’m going to extend this essay into a full character analysis instead of just commenting on how Snape’s redemption arc sucks like I did previously because I’m feeling like it. To begin, I need you to understand how… biased R*wling’s portray of supremacist ideology really is:

J.K. Rowling is European and English (duh), which means she descends from a people who benefited (a lot and still do) from colonialism and imperialism, and both things are the basis for modern day fascism. As an author myself, it’s painfully clear to me how intrinsically close my characters and works are from myself and my own personal values. As such, it’s not such a hardship — especially if we remember how the elves and goblins are portrayed in HP — to understand how Rowling views political issues such as colonialism, imperialism and fascism.

She may not realize it but the way she does talk about the matter is such a right-wing way of tolerance to fascist thinking: as it’s very clear in Harry Potter just because of the story, the problem for the author isn’t a system of prejudice and bigotry, it’s those very few people who have become corrupted. Rowling does not identify the problem as the tree being bad when most apples — save one of two — have turn out bad. And that’s the core problem of so many things in Harry Potter but it also shows in the core problem I have with Snape’s portrayal: the way she absolutely downplays the fact that the man was a death eater for years of his life by pure and absolute conviction.

As someone who lived through a fascistic government, I’ll say it with all certainty: even the slightest support to fascistic views will propel further an agenda that will end up killing innocent people by the dozens. The truth is, even with all the undeniable good Snape did as he worked as a spy, he was a Death Eater for his conviction and at the end of the day it doesn’t matter why he chose to become one.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter that he was neglected and abused by his parents, or that he was bullied in school, or that his crush didn’t reciprocated his feelings: he still became a Death Eater, he chose to become one. And that is unforgivable. It unforgivable because it means he supported and actively worked for a system of thinking that ridiculed, persecuted, tortured and murdered hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent people. He advocated for a political view that has no regard for human life, that perpetuates the abuse he suffered firsthand — just in a slightly different direction. He didn’t just not break his cycle of abuse, he actively perpetuated it. Advocated for it.

And don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying here that the abuse Snape went through isn’t important at all: there is definitely something to be said about the preying of supremacist groups for young isolated men who feel left out and emasculated. But that doesn’t mean Snape gets to be absolved for his own choices because that’s what they were: his choices. He chose to become a Death Eater, he chose to uphold the cycles of abuse he had been a victim to not long before, he chose to protect it even in the face of people — good people — telling him that it wasn’t a good thing.

That’s my point, actually: Snape may have been preyed upon by the blood supremacy ideology as a teen but at some point, he chose to be influenced by it more than by millions of other influences around him. He wasn’t completely isolated or ignorant of the world to the point that the only influence he could possibly choose was the blood supremacy one, no: he had people telling him the contrary and still chose to follow blood supremacy. So, no, it’s not forgivable that he chose to become a Death Eater because he did know better than that, his very friendship with Lily proved it.

But because Rowling sees the system — a system whose very roots are prejudice and bigotry — as not actually the problem, we see these problems sliding down the hill of “oh, he was just a misguided boy” even if that’s not what she herself says: it’s what her work says.

The truth is, as much as some supremacist’s core reason for their beliefs are a deep feeling of inadequacy, that’s not enough simply because they’ll cause as much damage with their actions than any other supremacist that’ll become a supremacist for the hatred alone. Snape, who (for some) was propelled into supremacy for his isolation in his teenage years, persecuted and tortured and killed as many people as Lucius or Bellatrix did, the result is the same. And at the end of the day, the reason why you did something doesn’t matter as much as the fact that you did do something.

We can cry a river about how our intentions were good but that doesn’t mean that what we did was. Between our intentions and our actions, there’s an abyss, and it’s not until we crossed it that we can see whether or not they are alike. In Snape’s case, considering he genuinely believed the supremacist ideology he upheld would turn the wizarding world better, it doesn’t really matter: he still caused damage.

And he has never been redeemed because for a redemption arc to work properly, you need to

Acknowledge what happened — there’s not much Snape is liable to deny it happened because, of course, he’s always caught on the scenes we are privy to.

Take accountability for what you’ve done — which Snape doesn’t do, as it’s exemplified perfectly many times throughout The Prince’s Tale in Deathly Hollows. He deflects, he lies, he declares he had no intentions of doing what he did, but he never, not once, takes accountability for what he has done and what ended up hurting other people:

“There was a crack. A branch over Petunia’s head had fallen. Lily screamed. The branch caught Petunia on the shoulder, and she staggered backward and burst into tears.

“Tuney!” But Petunia was running away. Lily rounded on Snape. “Did you make that happen?” “No.” He looked both defiant and scared. “You did!” She was backing away from him. “You did! You hurt her!” “No – no, I didn’t!” But the lie did not convince Lily.”

““…thought we were supposed to be friends?” Snape was saying, “Best friends?” “We are, Sev, but I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging round with! I’m sorry, but I detest Avery and Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev, he’s creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?” Lily had reached a pillar and leaned against it, looking up into the thin, sallow face. “That was nothing,” said Snape. “It was a laugh, that’s all –” “It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny –” “What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?” demanded Snape.”

“It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. “I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here.” “I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just –” “Slipped out?” There was no pity in Lily’s voice.”

To make amends for what you did — I’m not even going to deepen my argument on this one, it’s clear he didn’t. Not when he hurt Petunia, not when he hurt Lily, not when he hurt anyone really, the only exception being him protection Harry after telling Voldemort about the prophecy, but that’s not overcoming any patterns here, which brings me to my next point:

To accept the boundaries that you put in place as they’re on the path to earn forgiveness — which Snape also doesn’t, as exemplified in this excerpt of The Prince’s Tale:

The scene changed… “I’m sorry.” “I’m not interested.” “I’m sorry!” “Save your breath” It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. “I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here.” “I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just –”

It’s very important to understand here that Snape doesn’t respect Lily’s boundaries of not wanting to talk to him after he called her a slur, which is also a sign of not being in a path to earn forgiveness. And forgiveness must be earned: no amount of trauma explaining our actions actually counts as an excuse for our behavior. It can explain it and thus, making forgiveness easier to achieve, but trauma doesn’t change the fact that we are responsible for our own choices and acts throughout our lives, and if we hurt someone, we have a responsibility to be accountable and make amends.

So okay, we’ve stablished that Snape has some heavy trauma to work through but that doesn’t mean he’s not liable for his own actions. Now, what we need to understand is his relationship with the Marauders. That’s a much more complicated theme, which will bring me back to Rowling and her point of view of things and how they impact her narrative and the way things are portrayed in the books.

The first thing we need to notice is that Rowling doesn’t seem much preoccupied with portraying bullying in a responsible way throughout the series. It’s clear that many of the comedic reliefs we have — especially in the form of Fred and George — are bullies in the modern, more “strict” way of seeing children’s behavior: their acts not only can be considered humiliating for some (such as Neville and other side characters in the books) but also downright cruel or dangerous. So it’s clear by her account on other similar relationships portrayed in the books that Rowling didn’t consider what Snape and the Marauders had as a bully/victim relationship.

That can be because of her age, or because of the character’s age even (they were in the 90s after all), or even a mix of both reasons, but the fact remains that she didn’t view it as bullying, so anything she writes about it will be a gross exaggeration of what she considers child rivalry. It’s one of the reasons I have the icks when anyone starts asking her for a book on the Marauders because I just know she’d butcher her way into their stories, to be completely honest.

Unfortunately, this also means it’s how Snape views it all — as something that happens between children (not saying that it didn’t cause trauma, just that he doesn’t see it as a trauma) which makes him even back up the people who do the same when he becomes a teacher, such as Malfoy and his friends. My point is that, in the building of Snape’s character, his problem with what the Marauders used to do to him wasn’t what they did but rather that they did it with him, someone Snape viewed as undeserving of it, as opposed to when someone who did deserve — such as muggleborns — were the target of said treatment:

“We are, Sev, but I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging round with! I’m sorry, but I detest Avery and Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev, he’s creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?” Lily had reached a pillar and leaned against it, looking up into the thin, sallow face. “That was nothing,” said Snape. “It was a laugh, that’s all –” “It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny –”

So the problem in the end wasn’t the Marauder’s behavior but their target — which, of course, was him.

But the origin of the Marauder’s dislike for Snape at that point ran deep and very intricately: there was a lot of reason why we could attribute to their hatred for each other, such as house rivalry, Snape’s fixation on Remus’ secret, James’ jealousy for Lily and Snape’s friendship, Snape’s inclination for dark magic and supremacist views, Sirius overcompensation for being raised in such a prejudiced environment and as such becoming a little too aggressive about it, and many other reasons. The point is, there was a meddle of everything by the time we reach SWM.

So their relationship is just as intricate and difficult to entangle. I’m not saying here that any of my analysis exempts the Marauders from what they did — it was serious and bad and something that shouldn’t have happened at all regardless of how I feel about Snape. But as I try to analyze Snape’s character in the books, I need to be very careful on how to approach this: my morals and interpretations of what happened shouldn’t come first to what Snape’s viewed at the moment and what he took from this. So at last, what I’m saying is: as much as I know that was some hard bullying going on there, Snape didn’t see it that way, either because Rowling herself couldn’t see it that way and because the time and the time’s belief’s system wouldn’t allow him to.

Anyway, if we take any only the facts, we have — James attacked Snape sometime after Snape tried to catch Remus in the Shrieking Shack, Snape also instigated fights with James, Snape and his friends also bullied muggleborns and blood traitor — it becomes very clear that we need to balance power relations very carefully here:

On the very top, we have supremacist purebloods, which are the most privileged social group at the time, which would include people like Lucius, Bellatrix, the Lestrange brothers, most of the Blacks, and others. Then, right below, we’d have purebloods who didn’t believe in blood purity, such as Sirius, the Potters (James specially), the Weasleys, the Prewetts, the Longbottoms and others. Plus, the more I consider the wizarding world of that time, the more I realize how close halfbloods who adhered to the purist cause had a place in society that rivaled the same importance with purebloods who were considered blood traitors, sometimes ranking even higher depending on the environment or situation.

Just to be entirely clear: when I say halfbloods, I’m not only talking about those whose heritage are certain (children of muggleborns or muggles with purebloods) but also to those whose heritage couldn’t be drawn back. For example, the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the account of all pureblooded families in Great Britain, is admittedly an incomplete and slightly biased and unreliable source. They didn’t list the Potters as purebloods, for example, solely on the account of, whilst the family didn’t have any muggle relatives, there were enough muggles with the last name Potter that they weren’t sure about the family’s heritage. So it’s fair to assume a lot of people we’d been presented to as halfbloods could be pureblood familys whose heritage was slightly questioned. So yes, I’d put halfbloods who stood with blood supremacy as just as privileged as a pureblood who sided against it because of all this background. Then, we have halfbloods who didn’t approve of pureblood supremacy, muggleborns, then muggles.

It’s quite understandable by the books that, while in SWM, Snape was in a clear place of power imbalance in relation to the Marauders, the truth wasn’t always this. Mulciber and Avery are quoted as the closest to Snape (and we know very well what they’ve become after school), and although I found nothing in regards to the Mulciber family, the Averys were purebloods, so I have to place Snape as being just as privileged as the Marauders within normal (normal, not exceptional) school social dynamics in relation to blood. Of course that wasn’t truth to every power dynamic presented within the Harry Potter world, such as the Slytherin conundrum for example.

Okay, I’ll be honest with you guys here: I feel like the imbalance people accuse the adults of Harry Potter of having is grossly exaggerated sometimes. Yes, Slytherin was in disadvantage in relation to other houses, and it was looked upon by them, but the point is: ancient pureblooded families, especially the ones who were knee deep in supremacist ideology, often favored Slytherin, that is a fact.

Regardless of it been productive or not, the most blood supremacists within the house, the more we’d get comments and actions against muggleborns within school grounds that would inevitably be punished by the taking of points (and by the way, Snape was not helping congratulating Draco for his own bigotry instead of rewarding Slytherins who were actually interested in studying and working hard on their grades).

Plus, Gryffindor is the house of the protagonist — of course it’ll gain some privileges for that. If it was Ravenclawn, we’d be discussing this issue with Slytherin versus Ravenclawn points. It makes no sense accusing other of having biases like that because it’s obvious we’d have this kind of biases exactly for the plain reason it’s the protagonist’s house.

Anyway, I digress: because of the points I just made about it, the Slytherin versus Gryffindor rivalry is not enough to grant James and the others such a significative upper hand on their privilege in relation to Snape, although I would argue that Snape’s pre-existing bigotry did him no favors in the adults’ eyes on that matter, so it may have.

Now, why am I focusing on that? Because it’s clear to me that, while James and the others had a clear upper hand on their treatment of Snape in Snape’s Worst Memory, it’s not so clear as people seem to believe what the picture looked like the rest of the time. And of course, I do understand that it seems very much cemented on everyone’s minds that the configuration of the Marauders and Snape relationship was always the one we see in Snape’s Worst Memory, but that’s not completely truth and there are hints of it since the fifth book:

When Sirius said James wasn’t the only one to initiate fights, when he said Snape was always trying to sneak up on James, when we learn of the spells Snape had invented as a teenager (we can half-confidently say they were for the Marauders considering Snape’s trying to use Sectumsempra on James, but not limited to them, of course), when we get to know that Snape was “always trying” to prove that Remus was a werewolf to get him expelled, among other moments.  The truth is, as much as I would like to point out the Marauders were not so bad, I can’t say this with certainty, but Snape apologists can’t say for certain they know fully the dynamics of their relationship either because even when the Marauders weren’t good people, they can’t say Snape was only a victim as well.

Or at least, they can’t say that he was the kind of victim who didn’t victimized people just like he was victimized too. And that’s probably even more reason why I dislike him, but I’ll get there. What I do know is that Snape, for his supremacist views alone, was doing a lot worse than what the Marauders were doing as teens. I’m sorry, it’s true: as much as I despise bullying, I can’t get over the fact that Snape was the equivalent of a Hitler youth child soldier in the wizarding world when he was a teenager. I’d punch him myself if I was his classmate, to be honest. Hatred aside, however, I do understand that what the Marauders did had little to nothing to do with supremacist views and all to do with being idiots, so yeah, fuck them. I’m not here to defend the Marauders anyway, just to condemn Snape (which, surprise, surprise, it’s actually possible).

Now, I dread having to go there, to be honest, but I want to talk to you guys about Snapes’ feelings for Lily. I’ve read the most grotesque and misogynistic things I’ve ever read in my life scrolling through Snape stans posts and let’s be honest here: Lily and Snape’s relationship was so toxic I would come back healthier if I went to Chernobyl than going anywhere near them together — because of Severus — and it’s actually appalling that some people doesn’t seem to think so. I’m sorry, but all the signs of classical emotional abuse signs are right there, just in the Prince’s Tale:

Belittling and constant criticism — I’m sorry, but his behavior alone says everything: you can’t treat muggleborns like they’re trash and then try to convince your muggleborn best-friend they she’s not. The belittling is in his actions. And then there’s the fact that Snape brings up accusations of Lily liking James more than once as a form of criticism as well (because neither have a good opinion of James, which is fair, but it’s still veiled criticism of Lily). Plus, his belittling of Lily’s feeling over Petunia’s hatred of her is obvious:

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said in a constricted voice. “Why not?” “Tuney h-hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore.” “So what?” She threw him a look of deep dislike. “So she’s my sister!” “She’s only a – ” He caught himself quickly; Lily, too busy trying to wipe her eyes without being noticed, did not hear him.”

Gaslighting and controlling tendencies — when he tries to convince Lily he didn’t use magic to hurt Petunia with the tree branch, or when he questions their friendship because she’s trying to make a constructive critic of his life choices (“I thought we’re supposed to be friends?... Best friends?”), or when he tries to dictate who she’ll be friends with (when they’re discussing his own friends by the way). Even if Lily doesn’t let him, doesn’t mean it’s not abusive.

Isolation of loved ones — Constantly belittling Petunia, setting Lily and himself as above her because of their magic, convincing Lily to invade Petunia’s privacy thus isolating her further, causing rifts between Lily’s friends in Gryffindor and her because of his supremacist tendencies…

Jealousy and Possessiveness — I do think this one is self-explanatory.

Humiliation and Shaming — I also believe this one is also self-explanatory.

Unpredictable or Inconsistent Behavior — This is perfectly exemplified by their conversation when Lily is pointing out about his friends’ bad influence on him. We can see perfectly how inconsistent Snape’s behavior is, jumping from deflecting his accountability, downplaying his own bad deeds, to possessiveness and jealousy over absolutely nothing Lily has ever referenced to (try not to read what they’re saying but instead just concentrate at how abruptly Snape goes from one to the other):

“…thought we were supposed to be friends?” Snape was saying, “Best friends?” “We are, Sev, but I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging round with! I’m sorry, but I detest Avery and Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev, ’s creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?” Lily had reached a pillar and leaned against it, looking up into the thin, sallow face. “That was nothing,” said Snape. “It was a laugh, that’s all – ” “It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny – ” “What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?” demanded Snape. His color rose again as he said it, unable, it seemed, to hold in his resentment. “What’s Potter got to do with anything?” said Lily. “They sneak out at night. There’s something weird about that Lupin. Where does he keep going?” “He’s ill,” said Lily. “They say he’s ill – ” “Every month at the full moon?” said Snape. “I know your theory,” said Lily, and she sounded cold. “Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you care what they’re doing at night?” “I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are.” The intensity of his gaze made her blush. “They don’t use Dark Magic, though.” She dropped her voice. “And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow, and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there – ” Snape’s whole face contorted and he spluttered, “Saved? Saved? You think he was playing the hero? He was saving his neck and his friends’ too! You’re not going to – I won’t let you – ” “Let me? Let me?” Lily’s bright green eyes were slits. Snape backtracked at once. “I didn’t m ean – I just don’t want to see you made a fool of – He fancies you, James Potter fancies you!” The words seemed wrenched from him against his will. “And he’s not…everyone thinks…big Quidditch hero – ” Snape’s bitterness and dislike were rendering him incoherent, and Lily’s eyebrows were traveling farther and farther up her forehead. “I know James Potter’s an arrogant toerag,” she said, cutting across Snape. “I don’t need you to tell me that. But Mulciber’s and Avery’s idea of humor is just evil. Evil, Sev. I don’t understand how you can be friends with them.” Harry doubted that Snape had even heard her strictures on Mulciber and Avery. The moment she had insulted James Potter, his whole body had relaxed, and as they walked away there was a new spring in Snape’s step…

There’s also the fact that their friendship began in a relation of power that met its inevitable demise once those specific conditions tumbled down: when Snape met Lily, he was all the source she had about the wizarding world, he was her only link to that part of herself she felt was so different from anyone else. Once Lily arrived at Hogwarts, this dependance quickly came to an end with Lily spreading her wings, which probably also took a heavy tool on their relationship because its foundation was already fragile to begin with.

However, I’m not saying here that Snape was this evil mastermind at nine years old he managed to consciously ensnare Lily into this emotionally abusive relationship all by his astute manipulation. Snape was a child of abuse and neglect and, as such, he never learned how to properly bond and stablish healthy relationships. Much like the child starved by love he was, Snape probably saw every and any other relationship Lily had as a threat to their own relationship, because he doesn’t know love is not finite — he doesn’t know love stretches to accommodate other people with the time. It’s not unreasonable for me to read their relationship as such, although I’m sure that wasn’t JK Rowling’s intentions when she wrote HP, in fact it’s more than possible to admit their friendship sucked even when Snape remembered it so fondly.

As a person who actually went through an emotionally abusive relationship, I can tell how exhausting it is to carry this person along and make up excuses for everyone around you who can clearly see that this friendship sucks but doesn’t want to tell you because it might make things worse. Specially if I’m talking about someone who believes the way you were born makes you inferior in some way, that shit really hurts even when they say you’re different because deep down, you know you’re not. Deep down, you know that you’re the exception over some crooked perception you somehow beat the odds of an inferior condition and that’s what makes you “special”. And it’s gross just to think about it.

Okay, so now I think I analyzed everything about Snape I’ve wanted to analyze, so I’ll end here my enormous rant about him and if there’s anything else I want to talk about when this starts to get hate, I’ll probably post a part two.

Bye, guys!

[hopeluna]

!! Fic Recs

Most of these are long fics or series and some of these are 18+ so be aware? But anyways, enjoy these works from absolute writing angels <33

Jujutsu Kaisen

Symptoms & Causes by @lostfracturess

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

Love Entries by @chuluoyi

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: series of episodes of your life with the strongest sorcerer throughout the past and present

men are so quick to blame the gods by @awearywritersworld

Sukuna x reader

Synopsis: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night.

wanna be yours by @nezuscribe

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: you find yourself in a marriage that you never wanted in the first place. your husband seems to hate you and you begin to wonder if anything you used to think of him was even true. who would have though a marriage to gojo satoru would be so difficult?

his kiss, the riot by @nezuscribe

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: the king has been struck by never-ending grief when he found out about his wife's infidelity. he has her ordered to be killed, but afterward, he is no longer the same. every night he marries a woman, and every morning he has her killed. the endless cycle continues until the night you're chosen to be his wife. instead of letting him ruin you, you tell him a story. you tell him a story that he just has to know the ending to. and so begins the story of one thousand and one arabian nights.

i'd crawl home to her by @likelilacwine

Geto Suguru x reader

Summary: the god of the underworld brings his most valued prize home at the risk of tearing the realm itself apart.

Boku No Hero Academia

@andypantsx3

Yes, her entire blog. Pls each and every series of her is god send. I cannot reccomend this to you enough!!

pretty white dress by @gaybybirth

Dabi x reader

Synopsis: You're shelving books like normal at work when a new face comes into the store. And in a small town where everyone knows each other, a new face really stands out. Especially when it's one that makes you burn in ways you never have.

FILL MY LITTLE WORLD (RIGHT UP) by @shibaraki

Aizawa Shouta x reader

Synopsis: you are employed by aizawa shouta to nanny for his vulnerable adoptive daughter eri while he’s at work. as time passes you find yourself equally smitten with them both, longing for a more permanent place in their family.

please save me by @hitoshiyoshi

Platonic!young!shimura tenko x reader

Synopsis: you save shimura tenko

Stranger Things

Not Wholly Evil by @uglypastels

Eddie Munson x reader

Synopsis: as the daughter of the Governor, there is quite a heavy prize set on your safe return home, and the captain will not let anything come between him and his bounty.

As you wish by @corroded-hellfire

Eddie Munson x reader

Synopsis: When Eddie isn’t appreciated like he should be, his babysitter feels the need to step in and comfort him.

Living After Midnight by @munson-blurbs

Eddie Munson x reader

Synopsis: Being a perpetual people-pleaser meant that you were constantly putting others before yourself--particularly your parents and the eccentric guests who stayed at their motel. But when a surly and mysterious musician checked in indefinitely, he flipped your whole world on its head.

Please do tell me if you want to be removed from this for whatever reason!!

[insert-random-account-name]

Analyze the Princess- The Witch

The Witch’s fame can be mostly attributed to her companion route, the Thorn, which is quite possibly the fan favorite. Of course, the Witch is well loved too, captivating people with her creature-like behavior, but most of the time, when you hear about her, it’s in reference to the Thorn. The Witch is one of the characters to change the most in her Chapter 3 iterations, with little of her crafty and taunting personality making it through. It is very easy to get in a pitfall with the Witch, since the choices that seem to be good wind up bad, and the obviously bad choices lead to a happier ending. Her route is intentionally designed to mess with your head, but unfortunately, people fail to realize that, and instead get frustrated that the person they stabbed in the back isn’t eager to be friends. The Witch is the perfect rival to the Voice of the Opportunist.

You get the Witch by entering the basement in Chapter 1 without a knife, attempting to free the Princess, but eventually betraying her once the knife appears in the basement. You can also get her by retrieving the blade, finding her severed arm in the basement, and inspecting it without closing the door first. This leads to a shifty Princess whose actions conflict with her words. You got so close to freeing her, then changed your mind last minute. If you’re willing to play that kind of game, how can she ever trust you again? The Witch plays, not in her own best interests, but in the interest of having her revenge. She will not be the bigger person. She will drag you down in the dirt and kick your shins. If she gets even half the chance to make you feel what she felt, she will take it, even if it means dying herself. The Witch doesn’t trust in anyone ever, no matter the situation. Her constant attempts to outsmart you lead to her actions being unreliable and, in some cases, nonsensical. 

The Witch’s route represents revenge, but also; hate. In this chapter, you get to understand the true damage when you live by “An eye for an eye”. Despite the knowledge that she cannot escape without you, the Witch will still gladly kill you or lock you up forever, because she hates you and all that you are. She throws away what could be her last chance of freedom because she can’t rest until the scales are even. The Witch savors the feeling of pain and death, as long as you are there, suffering beside her. She relishes the thought of worms feasting on your corpse, since, in her eyes, it is what you deserve. This kind of hatred is self-destructive. It is all-consuming. And in the end, all the Witch is left with is the bitter irony that she hurt herself as much as she hurt you. Or, if she locks you in the basement, the fear of someone she hurt coming face to face with her once again. 

But what happens when she does get revenge? I’m not going too deep into this one, since it ties into the Thorn, but if you let the Witch take her anger out on you, she finds the victory less sweet than she imagined. The triumph quickly fades away as she realizes that the win was handed to her on a silver platter. How can she keep hating you when you let her kill you? And if she doesn’t hate you, what else does she have?

Finally, if you attempt to slay her, she is thrilled. The Witch wants nothing more than to fight again, only this time, she’s ready. What she despises most is being deceived. A fight is the only way she can ensure your honesty. A fight lets her hate you out loud, rather than hiding behind a truce until she can backstab you. However, this cycle of violence and revenge that’s being perpetuated traps you, in quite the literal sense, as the roots of the cabin slowly close in, forcing both of you to die as wretchedly as you lived. The Witch’s chapter is deceptive, with a righteous heart.

Other parts:

The Razor The Stranger The Damsel The Prisoner The Tower The Witch The Spectre

(If you like my yapping, check out my other analyses. There's one for the voices here and my one for the narrator here)

[plurapony]

i see anti-psych getting thrown around a lot in endogenic spaces.

I get it. You don't actually have the disorder you wish you had and professionals tell you this. So, you're anti-psych. But.

Being Anti-Psych and perpetuating that online is Not Okay.

You see there's this thing called generational trauma, and that at its core usually is a scenario where someone has trauma and mental health issues and instead of going to therapy, they have children. And then the cycle just continues and continues.

The only way to break this cycle is therapy, and because generational trauma THRIVES on anti-psych mentalities, many of the people who want to break the cycle struggle.

To give a personal anecdote, my mother hates therapy - she has never been to therapy and she will never. she also questions anyone who seeks out therapy (including myself) and tries to convince them they are better off without it. my mother also has extensive trauma and mental health issues and as a result my mother has been one of my main abusers throughout my life.

Therapy is NOT always easy or straightforward I GET IT

there is really good therapists, but there still is therapists that aren't good. by the time i realized that i needed a proper therapist i had gone through extensive trauma and my therapist was severely under qualified to deal with me and ended up crying in front of me after a particular rough session.

i was put off from therapy for a really long while after that and probably would have called myself "anti-psych"

but then my mental health issues got so bad i ended up in a psych ward and i was forced to have a therapist. and through her, i have healed SO incredibly much. i can see now how incredibly important therapy is to individuals with trauma but also to the loved ones of those with trauma. i can see how therapy really does stop the cycle of generational trauma and abuse.

Encouraging others online to be anti-psych especially in a space with vulnerable young people with trauma is inexcusable.

it is so fucking harmful and i hate you all who do it i hate you SO FUCKING MUCH

[fromxxthexxashes]

I know people wanted Eddie to yell at Helena (me included, but that was mostly because I was projecting my own desire to yell at her) and I think a lot of us came out of 8x13 with the consensus that it was in character for Eddie to confront his mom in the way he did.

And I’m thinking more and more about it, and it also showed so much growth on his part. Because he has yelled at his parents in the past (“Eddie Begin”) and nothing really came of it because the emotions were way (understandably) too high. Now though, he didn’t yell at her (even if she more than deserved it, as did Ramon btw), instead he marched into the house confidently, armed with a bitchy comment because he’s Eddie and no one does perfectly timed petty comebacks quite like him, and was calm and gentle towards Helena.

How does this show growth? Eddie is already generally a very level-headed, kind, and gentle person, which is why the way he confronted Helena was in character for him. However, the growth comes in not letting his mother manipulate him, not letting her guilt trip him, and instead setting clear boundaries and recognizing how harmful she and Ramon have been to Chris and Eddie.

Helena is an emotionally manipulative person, and Ramon is right there with her. Ever since they took Chris, they have been using Eddie’s emotions, pain, trauma, mistakes, etc. (god I HATE the Diaz parents so much). They’ve used Eddie’s insecurities and Christopher’s hurt to keep them apart. It shows tremendous growth that Eddie was able to just blow past Helena’s attempts to manipulate him into not getting his son back instead of allowing her barbs to ferment and cause even more self-doubt—as a continuation of the self-love things that’s been going on since 8x06.

This whole episode was about Eddie recognizing that his parents were perpetuating the same toxic cycles for Chris as they did with Eddie. He never wanted to be like his parents. He wanted to break the cycle. And he did. This episode was him finally allowing himself to admit “I’m his father. I’m what’s best for him. And these people who stole my childhood from me don’t get to steal my kid and steal his childhood too.” This was him saying “You hurt me, and you were hurting my kid, and you don’t get to do that anymore.”

Even though I think Helena and Ramon deserve so much worse and deserve to be cut off from Eddie and Chris, I don’t Eddie would do that (love and family are so very complicated). But I do think it was pretty powerful for him to see the cruelty she and Ramon threw at him and didn’t rise to the bait. He gave her kindness in return and showed her that he was the bigger person, all the while admitting that he and Chris don’t need either of them.

[brynnsasha191]

Something I've been feeling has become a trend for the past few years in Movies/Shows is this need for every single villain to have a sad backstory or redemption arc to make the audience justify their horrible actions all in the name of "complexity" and "nuance", and while it's a good thing sometimes and gives us very interesting characters there's a point where the actions they try to justify by giving the villains sad backstories are outright disgusting.

There's no way on earth I could ever ever ever defend and support a rapist character, it doesn't matter if he has the saddest backstory ever, I genuinely can not do it, the way people make Aegon be this sad boy victim neglected by his parents and that's the reason he is why he is, fuck no!

It makes me sick to my stomach when I see other women online say "my baby is just a victim of the system" you dumb bitch, he perpetuates the system himself!!! He had his own children fighting on cages like animals, who knows how many of those children were the product of rape given how he got away with raping the maid after Alicent forced her to drink the moon tea and not tell anyone, it gave him permission to do it freely over and over again, that's why I hate Alicent as much as I hate him, she's a disgusting person that doesn't deserve to be seen as a victim either, she refused to marry her only daughter to a guy she knew would treat her a million times better and instead chose to marry her to her rapist son just so she could strengthen his claim to the throne, subjecting Helaena to the same cycle of abuse she endured. Fuck her and fuck her rapist son and fuck everyone who supports them.

YES. ON SO MANY LEVELS, YES. I've said multiple times before, in regards to another fandom but it's true all around, that I'm so sick of the villain with a tragic back story trope. I'm sick of it, I hate it. Stop making excuses for abusers, having trauma doesn't give anyone an excuse to put more trauma back into the world. Every single villain these days has a tragic backstory and I'm done with it. Aegon and Alicent are not poor abused babies, they are abuser villains.

It also seriously pisses me off when people say that Alicent married Helaena to Aegon because she was a traumatized baby who just wanted some control over keeping her daughter safe, as if Viserys didn't want to marry Helaena to a gentle and good boy. Alicent may see them as savages but at least they aren't rapists who pay to watch children fight to the death. Helaena would've been happy with Jace. And at least in the show it's obvious to me that Helaena has love for Aegon but it's a very toxic and one sided love.

As much as I love Luena and Jacela, if anyone had a brain they would've married Jace to Helaena, Luke to Baela, and Rhaena to Aemond or Aegon (maybe not that one because Rhaena deserves better) but instead Alicent married Helaena to a boy who even she claimed had a habit of drowning in cups, not looking out for family, and was short sighted. When Aegon raped Dyana, Alicent gives Helaena a big hug in a boohoo-we're-both-poor-women-suffering-at-the-hands-of-men way. As if Alicent hadn't gotten greedy and married her daughter to a rapist to spite her husband and step daughter.

You're completely right. Aegon is an abuser who deserves no sympathy whatsoever. He's a wealthy man who has been allowed to get away with everything, his entire life. But he had slightly neglectful parents so boo hoo he gets to make women and children suffer while his mother enables it. And people say that if he wasn't neglected then he wouldn't have been like that....😐 really??? We're using the nature vs nurture argument for a rapist? It shouldn't matter, he's still a disgusting rapist. Stop defending him or his mother

Aemond is a child murder and a kinslayer, Daeron is a war criminal, Aegon is a rapist. Funny how the only crimes the daughters of Viserys I ever committed was being women.

[strayheartless]

genesis has eye bags because he always stays up late and he’s insecure about them

Hi! I am extremely sorry this took sooooooo long to answer. I have no excuse, i genuinly forgot it was in my drafts for so long🫠. Apologies, I am a useless worm!

***

If you ask Angeal and Sephiroth - hell even Zack!- They will tell you that Genesis always looks annoyingly good. In all the time Angeal has known Genesis he can't ever think of a time where Genesis didn't look completely perfect from top to bottom, and Angeal has known Genesis for a long time. There is no point is asking Cloud because he's always of the opinion he's dating literal celestial beings, and therefore cannot be trusted to give an accurate observation of how his fireiest partner looks. At least not one thats grounded in reality at any rate.

The reason being is that Genesis would rather be burned at the stake than admit he was self concious about the dark circles that perpetually sat heavy around his eyes. He would quite literally sooner be squewered by Sephiroths sword ( no he doesn't mean that in the fun way.). The problem is, it's not always easy to hide them. He's tried every technique in the book and While his lovers may be easily hoodwinked, Genesis knows they are there.

And he hates them.

The simple answer would be to go to bed earlier, get more sleep, maybe look at his computer screen less instead of typing out whole thesis worth analysis of LOVELESS at two o'clock in the morning. Alas as much as Genesis has every intention of doing those things... he never does. Instead he leaves his paper work to the last minute, gets pulled into a paralysing state of doom scrolling, or simply stares at the cieling as the world passes him by while he listens to music and detatches himself from reality for a little bit.

If he didn't have to work this wouldn't be a problem. if he could convince his brain that the day wasn't ruined for any other kind of productivity when Lazard dismissed them, then maybe (just maybe) he could do things in a reasonable way.

instead he's stuck in the endless cycle of thinking staying up late will keep tomorrow far away from him...

Goddess he's fucking tired.

Gen Reaches for his make up box by the sink. He hasn't slept again of course. He was too busy arguing with some idiot online who thought Act three of LOVELESS was a puritanical critisim of sex before marriage, when it very clearly wasn't. By the time four o'clock had rolled around it had felt like a waste of time to go to bed. So instead, Genesis had made some coffee and kept on scrolling in search of another argument.

Now, as he realised he had no foundation or concealer left, he was regreting his decision.

"Fuck," he muttered, feeling the panic rise into his throat and choke him. "Fuck Fuck Fuck, no no no no, this can't be right." He drags everything out of the bag in seach of some magical new bottle, but there isn't one. He can't hide the circles under his eyes without them, and he doesn't want to deal with the lecture he knows he'll get when 'Geal see's them.

he starts crashing around the bathroom, desperatly looking for something, anything to help cover them. He Checks Sephiroths make up supplies, but its just eyeliner and some dark eyeshadows.

Cloud had a Cover stick in his bag but when Gen opens it, it is A.) three shades too pale, and B.) literally worn down to the dreggs and possibly out of date. Fuck.

The crashing around seems to be heard from the next room, as Gen hears footsteps aproach the ajared bathroom door.

"Gena?" comes the croaky croon of their resident puppy.

Genesis has to pull back from the urge to lunge for the door and slam it closed.

Zack stands in the entry way, blinking tiredly and looking concerned. his hair is endearingly messy. Maybe a year ago that would have grated on Genesis, but now it was one of the things he loved most about mornings with Zack.

"Babe, what are you doing up?" he asks, clearly only half awake.

Genesis doesn't look up, nor answer. If he does he knows Zack will see his eye bags. If he does he knows he will likely start crying. neither option is preferable, so he continues to stare at the floor.

The footsteps come a little closer. Zacks slightly scarred feet come into his field of vision. Genesis vaguely notes he's still wearing the nail polish Genesis put on his toenails a week ago for fun. Zack had never ben one for self conciousness. He could be annoyingly upbeat about everthing; his looks included. If someone complained about his fashion choice, he would grin and wear the clothing anyway. If his hair was a mess, he'd brush it off by saying he wouldn't die from it.

It was terribly annoying, and made Genesis seeth with envy sometimes. He wished he could be that Blazé about his looks.

"Gen, you okay?" Zack touched his shoulder. He became a little more concerned when Genesis flinched at the touch.

"Hey its okay," he said kneeling by his partner. "Whatever it is we can solve it together,"

Genesis tilts his head away as Zack ducks to try and catch his eye. He was hoping his hair was casting enough of a shadow to hide the offending bruises.

Zack reaches out however, turning his face towards him so he can get a clear look and check theres no tears. There isn't but its a close call. Maybe it was just better if Genesis admit defeat. This wasn't some deluded fan after all, it was Zack.

He lets his chin be led to meet Zack's gaze, wincing as he waits for the judgement to be cast.

"There's that pretty face," Zack coo's obnoxiously. He's obviously trying to make Genesis laugh but it falls flat, so again he asks, "Gena what's wrong?"

"I-" Gen's throat feels sticky. "I could not rest..."

"Okay, but why are you crashing round the bathroom? did you have a nightmare or something?"

Genesis tried to turn away again but Zacks hand was still on his chin. he looked down instead.

"I was... looking for my concealor,"

"At four in the morning?" Zack puzzles. "What for?"

"Can't you see the dark circles that have marred my face?"

Zack tilts his own head a little. The resemblance to a confused Alsatian puppy are truly startling as his mused spikes flop with the movement. Genesis feels a surge of unreasonable irritation at the sight.

"Oh for goddess sake Zachery," he snaps and jabs at the bruises under his eyes. "There! are you blind?! They are entirely impossible to miss!"

"I see them dude," Genesis grits his teeth at the casual nickname but Zack either doesn't notice or doesn't care He persists. "I guess I'm just wondering why its an issue?"

Genesis Rolls his eyes. Of course! Of course Zack would be so blindly uncaring about these things. After all, if it were his own face he wouldn't care. But Genesis cares, which is why he shoves at the younger man growling:

"As foreign a concept as it may be to you my love, some of us have insecurities!"

Zacks expression shutters a little as his own annoyance flares. He had always found Gen's outbursts difficult to handle the most out of all of them. Despite loving him fiercly, it was simply the mark of inexperience that meant Zack reacted more to Gen than the others did. Angeal had known him long enough to know how to handle his temper, while Sephiroth and Cloud were used to handling people who's ire was easily triggered. Zack, by comparrison, was the odd one out.

That being said, he most be learning, because he did not rise to the bate as he normally would.

"I have insecurities Gen," he speaks calmly and evenly, taking purposeful breaths to sooth the irritation. "I get that your upset, but I'm just trying to help,"

Genesis deflates a little at that. Goddess he really was exhausted.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, "Just go back to bed its fine. I will be fine."

"I'm not leaving you to stew on the bathroom floor birdie,"

"I'll be fine,"

Zack lets out an aggravated sigh.

"Look," He shifts a little so that Genesis is facing him properly. "I get that you feel self concious, and I'm not saying its stupid cause its not. God's know I know what kind of lecture Angeal will probably give you about staying up late, but Gen I'm on your side okay?"

It was Genesis' turn to look confused.

"I get not sleeping." Zack elaborates. "you're looking at the king of late night thumb twiddling here sweetheart. I don't sleep most nights, I know I have dark circles and yeah, Gen, I feel self concious about them a lot of the time,"

Genesis blanched a little in suprise.

"You do?"

"Yup," Zack nods. "But I'm not the only one either. Angeal may be all high and mighty about sleep schedules but he'd have conniptions if he knew that none of the rest of us sleep properly. Cloud's usually awake until three most nights; Seph's only asleep right now because he's been awake for the past week and finally crashed, and me? I'm admittedly awake because you are but I'm usually lying in bed trying not to fidget so much because my brain's still wide awake,"

He sighs and rubs at his eye's like he's the one thats been up until four.

"I haven't had a proper night of REM sleep in weeks dude." he grumbles, and Genesis can see them now, the rings that sit heavy around Zack's own eyes like he's been punched. They mirror Gen's own, and its almost... comforting to know he's not alone.

"I apologise puppy," he reaches out and rubs a thumb under Zacks eyes. "I believe I have some eye masks that can help reduce them if you like?"

Zack snorts and catches the hand to kiss it. Genesis softens considerably at the move.

"Tomorrow, right now you're coming to bed,"

as they pick themselves up and return to the bed, Genesis thinks about the how he has been handling this insecurity of his. He feels a little lighter knowing that its something he'd not alone in, but there is also a little shame in realising he has been hiding it from the people who are supposed to love him in spite of his flaws.

He wanted to think this was a turning point in his feeling's of inadaquacy surrounding his appearence. Maybe it was, but he also knew that tomorrow he would go out to buy more Concealer before his press conferance on tuesday. He wasn't quite ready for the world to know that he was a mess underneath his fair facade.

But maybe a baby step was all he needed to stumble down the right path.

Sighing he turned over to cuddle into Zack's side as the other man moved to get comfortable. He craned to lay a kis on Zacks neck and got a forehead kiss in return.

[gl1tchr]

I hope Invincible tv show goes more into Argall because I always thought he started to idea of conquering other planets trying to spread the Viltrumite mindset. Thinking about it more it’s also fitting that Nolan officially stopped that and Mark made Viltrumites a force for good I find it kinda poetic

‼️‼️MORE INVINCIBLE SPOILERS‼️‼️

Anon you have the good ideas and thoughts and I like you never go bald

Absolutely. From the perspective of the story being about patriarchy, the ending is literally just Mark breaking generational cycles of toxic masculinity and becoming a male role model.

Argall - DEAD. Represents the weakness and failure of patriarchy to protect men and is a warning that the Viltrumites refuse to acknowledge, rather, they dig their heels in and insist he was killed for traitorous reasons rather than *very legitimate ones*.

Nolan - The second generation that perpetuates the ideology of the men before him. Must face a great ego death and reckoning to shed his negative ideas, and actively harmed his son under the guise of helping him, so blinded by violence and hate that he couldn't see smashing your sons nose through his face isn't a good idea and it's not very nice to do that

Mark - The generation that breaks the cycle. He refuses hate and the doctrine of the Viltrum Empire, he loves to concede to his girlfriend/later wife because he *knows* she's much smarter than him and he loves that about her. He has a daughter instead of a son, this ALSO breaks the cycle of their lineage being male-dominated, and Terra goes on to take Mark's place. He becomes Emperor and never grows a mustache, the very symbol of masculinity the Viltrumites have built their entire aesthetic on. He rules with peace and has helped both Viltrumites and Humans evolve towards a utopia.

Invincible. Is about. Patriarchy 🙂‍↕️