cannot believe that 'yelling at your boss when he repeatedly almost gets you and your crew killed and lies to manipulate you into staying when you try to leave, is not emotional abuse, actually' and 'there is such a thing as a mutually toxic and unhealthy relationship where both parties are incredibly shitty to each other - and this is obviously where Ed and Izzy stand until S2, when it becomes blatantly abusive' is a controversial take. But as this is Abuse Apologism And Ableism, The FandomTM, I really should not be surprised
Just.
I was deep in physically and mentally abusive relationships in my teens/twenties - including relationships that started out with mutual toxicity and bad decisions on all sides, but which became outright physical & mental & other sorts of abuse with myself as the victim. I know my shit.
I suppose I can see where 'Izzy emotionally abused Ed' comes from IF people give literally the most uncharitable interpretation to Every Single Scene, and assume Izzy shouts angrily at Ed and negs him all the time rather than this being how he acts when he's incredibly stressed by circumstance caused directly by Ed and at the end of his fucking rope? Which, as we see in S2... Is not the case.
It's not freaking emotional abuse when you're shouting at your boss who keeps almost getting you and your crew killed. Even if this is NOT a kind or productive way to help Ed deal with his mental health, considering that Ed's actions have consequences that he repeatedly and blithely ignores, it's pretty fucking justified!
It's not freaking emotional abuse if your boss OPENLY LOVES MAIMING PEOPLE AND IS MORE THAN HAPPY TO BURN THEM ALIVE and you encourage that, while upholding his right to not kill with his own hands. Even if he has private breakdowns after the fact because he suffers from black-and-white thinking, dissociates himself from any wrongdoing, and is afraid of his potential to become 'a monster'.
Are these choices helpful? No. Are they kind? No. Is Izzy demonstrating Model Citizen Behaviour? Definitely not.
But it's sure as hell not emotional abuse. And it doesn't justify the physical and emotional abuse Ed puts Izzy through in S2.
Nothing you say can 'make' him hit you. If he chooses to hit you (or... choke you out then repeatedly mutilate you and pressure you to commit suicide and makes you constantly live in fear for your life and the lives of people you care about) he makes that decision himself. Yes, even if you shouted at him first. Yes, even if you were arguing. Yes, even if you were in the wrong in that argument. Yes, even if he has a Tragic BackstoryTM and mental health issues. This shit shouldn't be controversial.
the whole "dark fiction" discourse is just incredibly useless imo esp bc its always paraded by people who arent actually against it but are against of doing it ""wrong"". and by doing it ""wrong"" they mean art by people they dont like for one reason or another lmfao.
remember when I posted about the time I dreamt about a new olivia rodrigo song that was all about hating yonny? anyway I recreated it to the best of my abilities. I present to you Yonny Song (as it was called in my dream) (sped up because I didn’t want it to go on for too long)
I’M NOT GOOD AT GUITAR I’M NOT GOOD AT GUITAR ESPECIALLY WHEN RECORDING MYSELF PLEASE HAVE MERCY I’VE ONLY BEEN PLAYING FOR LIKE HALF A YEAR IDK WHAT IM DOING I KNOW THIS IS AWFUL BUT THE YONNY SONG HAD TO BE RECREATED. At the very least the messiness matches up with the vibe of the song, someone losing their mind over Yonny From Pikmin Existing isn’t gonna sound good
also the lyrics!! (they can be kinda violent considering the song is about yonny dying just be warned lmao)
actually. the specific phrasing that boy Kevin wants to kill older Kevin with "I must disassemble him, piece by piece, so that everything inside of the Old Kevin comes out. Only then can the New Kevin truly begin." is so incredibly the idea that to heal from trauma and "improve" you have to destroy every "wrong" part of yourself, that everything "tainted" by it has to somehow be replaced by something untouched (which isn't possible)
I love cannibalism as a form of love language, like yea I love you so much I’d like to eat your heart so you’d live in me forever or I want you to devour me whole with your kisses cause there’s no better home than the tip of your tongue.
[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day3, part of the More Mouths Series]
[content warning: blood, graphic violence]
The beast listened to strange voices in the passage outside its cell.
“By the Valar, what is that?”
“One of Sauron’s werewolves?”
It crouched in the back of its cell head cocked toward the heavy door trapping it. With a sniff, it tested the air for the familiar scent of orcs but found only elves. It knew the scent of elves, remembered feasting on elvan flesh when the orcs were done with them. Sinking lower in its corner, it waited for the elves to do more than quickly glance through the barred window in the door. Hunger gnawed at its stomach but it could wait.
“No, look at the eyes, the hair.”
An elf peeked through the window again, dark face and hair popping into view for a moment before retreating again. The beast closed its eyes and laid its head down on its forepaws. If it pretended to be uninterested, asleep, perhaps one would venture inside.
“No, you’re not saying—you’re not saying that’s Lord Glorfindel! Sauron killed him!”
“We don’t know that.”
It listened to the breathing, the shuffling of boots in the passage.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
“We can’t leave him like this.”
The scrape of metal as the bolt holding the door closed was pulled aside.
It exploded into motion as the elf opened the door to its cage—but too soon.
The door was large and heavy and the hinges stiff with rust and grime. Pushing it open took great effort and the elf was struggling for every inch of movement when the beast slammed into the other side. The stone walls echoed with the force of the collision and the creature’s infuriated snarling as it caught its prey.
The elf at the door cried and fell back, trying to get away as a scarred arm thrust through the gap in the door. Blood oozed from the limb, the skin torn off by the rough stones on one side and the sharp edge of the door on the other. Claws grasped his shoulder, slipping under the armor and piercing through the mail like it was cheesecloth. He screamed in pain and terror as the beast jerked him forward, slamming him against the doorframe over and over as it tried to pull him into the cell.
The beast howled when a dirk slashed down into the muscles of its forearm. The second elf had come to the first’s aid. It hadn’t expected that. The orcs were always quick to abandon anyone unlucky enough to fall into its clutches, unwilling to meet a grizzly demise, too.
It tugged the caught elf once more. Driven almost mad by the sweet blood in the air, it bit at nothing, snapping its broken teeth together with brutal force. Between hunger and pain, however, it couldn’t figure out how to get the door open wide enough to drag the elf inside. The bulk of its own body blocking the door from swinging further.
The second elf yelled in fury as she hacked into its flesh, the blade biting nearly to bone.
With a final, frustrated scream, it released its would be meal and retreated to the back of the cell, limping on the mutilated limb. Tucked into a corner, bleeding against the wall, it watched the window, weary of the elves’ retribution.
The unwounded elf threw her whole weight into dragging the door closed before the beast recovered and attacked again. The latch screeched as it slid into place, once again locking the threat away.
On either side of the barrier, the elves and the thing-which-once-was-an-elf panted from exertion, shock, and pain.
“Let’s get to the healers,” the uninjured elf said, helping her fallen companion to his feet.
“We need to tell our captain about this.”
“Healer first, then I’ll report this: who knows what Sauron turned that into. I’m not letting you die from some dark magic.”
The beast listened to footsteps retreat down the passage.
a kiss on the corner of the mouth, hoping for more but expecting nothing — because how can she? how can bernadetta ever assume? she is scared, always so scared, and not of yuri—no, never of yuri—but of trespassing where she may not be welcome because she would sooner bury herself than do that to them. a repulsive thing like her has no business yearning. (they have already suffered too much.)
so after what feels like ages in some nerve-wracking limbo, of fidgeting with her armored bear stuffy, bernadetta finally ducks her head to peck its fluffy snout. she does her best not to choke and sputter as she flips the plush around and nudges it against yuri's face. ashen eyes squeeze tight, awaiting their verdict. another heart-stopping laugh at best, a noise of irritation or disgust at worst? she can survive either way, she thinks, all because it's yuri.
a kiss on the corner of the mouth, hoping for more but expecting nothing ╱ another kiss prompt
Their laughter is birdsong, head twisting to press a proper kiss back to Sir Bear Stuffy's snout. How sweet of her; how silly of her. If she wants one for herself— if she wants anything, really, that they can provide, and even if she wants what that they cannot— Bernadetta need only ask. Yuri would do anything for her if she asked.
“Bernadetta~” they hum her name with a small, secret smile, a hand coming to rest on the plush's head to gently push it down. Yuri has to tease— it is as expected as the rising and setting of the sun or the pushing and pulling of the waves— affection woven into the lilting syllables of their amusement.
The mockingbird presses the back of a hand dramatically to their forehead, shaking their head. “Look at me, Bernadetta,” they moan in exaggerated despair. “So lonely that I have to turn to a stuffed animal for company!” Even then, they cannot hide the curl at the corner of their lips. “If only someone could help with that, hm?”
Slowly— always slowly, always with enough time to let her get away, if she wanted to— Yuri leans forward. Reaches a hand up tentatively to cup her face, head tilting in silent query. How could she not know by now? She would never be unwelcome, not when it was she who accepted them back into her life with such open arms when they had been prepared to face the gallows.
For all the grace she has extended to them, they only wish she would offer even a fraction of it to herself.
“You can ask,” they murmur, holding her gaze. And maybe there is a part of them that needs her to ask, a part of them buried under all the confidence they'd built up as walls that needs to hear her say it, just to know for sure. “Anything— ask me for anything. The answer will always be yes.”
Y'all do know you can't make Jason be NOT white without changing his whole character, right?
For other characters, yes, because their physical appearance are not that influential in their story, on how they are viewed by people, on their personality formation — you can have a black/asian/indigenous/arab/brown/latino/etc Nico and yes, the hate he gets will have a undertone of racism but at the same time nothing significant on his story, motivation or personality will need to change. This is also true for other characters: Clarisse risks repeating the "aggressive WoC" stereotype but the character itself doesn't change.
This isn't true for Jason, whose main character trait is how he is perceived by others and how he showcases himself to others based on that perception. (specially with how little effort Riordan put on him besides making him perfect-er Percy who's somehow also weaker and less important than him).
Let's not pretend a black, Arab, indigenous, Asian, Latin man, etc, in the USA would ever be treated with the universal reverence Jason gets from New Roma, you can't have the illusion of perfection and most of all, of invincibility they have about him when you see him suffering racism or xenophobia in the middle of a mission. Nothing in his life has ever gone wrong, that's his image, destined to be king, he is supposed to have no weakness on his peers eyes.
He is not trying to prove people wrong, he is trying to prove them right; he isn't worthy despite their prejudice, on the contrary, he only tried to make himself worthy to fulfill their expectations. He can't be a woman or an immigrant or have a visible disability or any other thing that strays him from a perfect ideal by western society standards, and be that same character.