#i had a fight with my emotionally abusive parents | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

liviawildrose · 2 months ago

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𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞

written by a girl who had to raise herself.

this isn’t just a self-help post.

this is a testimony.

this is my story, your story, the story of every girl who was born into a world that didn’t know how to love her right, so she had to learn how to love herself, from scratch.

and yeah, this one’s personal.

chapter 1: what they didn’t give you, you have to give it to yourself.

i didn’t grow up in a home filled with safety. i didn’t get the lullabies, the forehead kisses, the warm presence of a mother who told me everything was going to be okay. in fact my mom used to tell it’s so irritating when you cry. gaslighting wrapped in concern. through my relatives, family, even friends (cause yeah your upbringing reflects on your choice of friends too) silence where there should’ve been love, screaming where there should’ve been understanding.

my father?

he was abusive in every form that counts — mentally, physically, spiritually.

my mother?

she didn’t hold me when i cried. emotionally absent, often cruel.

and my relatives?

they just added to the wreckage — whispers, comparisons, ridicule.

they never protected me. they never taught me how to protect myself.

so i learned to parent myself. and i have already mentioned this in my become your own mother blog so i don’t wanna elaborate more on that

piece by piece. breakdown by breakdown. there are no manuals. there is no role model. you have to do it too. for yourself, for the people who will enter your life later.

you think i’m passionate about feminism, healing, self-love, reclaiming my life, building a future where i’m powerful and safe, because it sounds good?

no. i’m passionate because i fucking lived the opposite.

i know what it feels like to grow up in a war zone and call it home.

i know what it’s like to look at others parent and wish your parents we’re even 1% like them

not safety. not love.

just confusion. fear. resentment.

that’s why i’m here. that’s why i write like this. that’s why i fight like this.

chapter 2: you can’t raise someone if you haven’t raised yourself

everyone talks about motherhood like it’s natural. like it just happens. cause let’s be real? society can’t see a woman happy, and i stand by my statement. fight me

but let me be real with you —

you can’t become a good mother if you were never mothered. like how would you know if your mom weren’t the mother you wanted? you even know what is that unapologetic, selfless, love feels like, if that concept is alien to you. how will you shower that kind of love into your child?

you can’t love a child with the kind of fierce, gentle, all-encompassing love that they deserve,

if you’ve never given that love to yourself first. (if you had a emotionally present mom, you’d know how to comfort you child too someday, cause you’ve felt it) but if you didn’t had the privilege to have that kind of bond with your mom, you’d need to develop that bond with yourself become you own mother. your own person.

this is the part no one tells you.

if you don’t heal, if you don’t raise your inner child,

you will end up repeating the same trauma you swore you’d never pass on.

and i REFUSE to let that happen.

i refuse to become another broken adult who births pain into another generation.

that’s why i’m doing the work now.

i’m reparenting myself.

i’m holding space for the little girl in me who was neglected, belittled, humiliated. i’m teaching her that she’s safe now. that she’s loved. that she’s enough. and her dreams are my dreams. and i will achieve all of them

chapter 3: love yourself like you want to be loved.

before you dream about dating someone, before you fantasize about the boy who writes you poems, before you romanticize being chosen

ask yourself: have you chosen you yet?

date yourself first.

wake up in the morning and put on the prettiest dress you own, just for you. cook yourself dinner with candles lit and jazz playing, just for you. write love letters to yourself.

look in the mirror and say “damn, i would fall in love with me too.” (call me narcissistic but say this all the time)

before you expect someone to open doors for you, open doors for your damn self.

before you expect someone to buy you flowers, plant a whole garden in your soul.

i impress myself every day.

by showing up.

by working out.

by chasing my dreams like my life depends on it — because it does.

and when i step out?

i walk like i’m the main character of god’s favorite movie.

not because i need attention, but because i earned this energy.

chapter 4: become your own best friend.

you know what hits different?

being the kind of best friend to yourself that no one else ever was.

listen to yourself when you’re sad. hype yourself up when you’re unsure.

tell yourself the truth, even when it hurts

but say it with love, always with love.

i became the person who wiped my own tears, clapped for my own wins, called myself out when i was procrastinating, but also forgave myself when i needed rest.

you don’t need someone else to make you feel seen.

see yourself.

see your pain. your growth. your glow.

be proud of how far you’ve come even when nobody else claps.

chapter 5: healing is not an aesthetic, it’s a battle.

healing is not a one-time epiphany. it’s a daily decision.

a commitment. a calling.

some days it’s bubble baths.

some days it’s sobbing into your pillow at 3am.

some days it’s digging through childhood memories and realizing you were never the problem.

some days it’s screaming, punching the pillow, grieving everything you never got.

but every time you choose to stay with yourself in those moments, you win.

you don’t have to heal everything at once.

you can’t.

but you can start.

you can return to your past with open eyes and say,

“i’m not running anymore.”

“this pain isn’t in control of me.”

“i reclaim my story.”

chapter 6: turn your wounds into your weapons.

the women in my family were silenced. they were abused. they were told to shrink. to serve. to sacrifice. they were not treated like queens. they were not protected.

and i grew up watching it.

internalizing it. almost becoming it.

but i said no.

i broke the cycle.

and now i carry their pain in one hand, and my dreams in the other.

and i’m gonna use both to change the fucking world.

i’m gonna build a career so iconic, so revolutionary, that when girls see me, they remember they can rewrite their whole story. i’m gonna use my fame, my platform, my money, to fund movements. to fight for women like me. to fight for women like you.

because my pain?

it’s not a shameful secret anymore.

it’s a superpower.

final chapter: reclaim everything they took from you.

reclaim your body.

reclaim your voice.

reclaim your name, your worth, your dreams, your rage, your softness.

reclaim your right to be loved.

reclaim your ability to love yourself first.

and listen, baby you don’t have to wait for anyone to give you permission.

this is your story now.

you’re not the victim anymore.

you’re the main character.

you’re the author.

you’re the rebirth.

you were not born to be broken.

you were born to burn through the chains and rise like the fucking phoenix you are.

you were born to be your own muse.

and how you do that? fall in love with every inch of yourself, turn your wounds into masterpieces, do things that you wanted to do, be so high in self love that you don’t even think about settling for anything less than what you deserve (aka the world) be it anything the partner, friend, family, job, career, paycheck. be so engrossed in learning new things about yourself and evolving yourself that people get inspired by you

this is my story.

and maybe it’s yours too.

but no matter where you came from —

you get to choose where you’re going.

and i swear to you: the world hasn’t even begun to see the woman you’re becoming.

i fucking love you guys mwah

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creekfiend · 11 months ago

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I wanted to make a bonsai kitten recovery post that outlines some of the stuff that I've been doing. Because I don't think that you need to ✨see a therapist✨ to start dealing with a lot of this stuff and I get really frustrated when that is the answer that everyone is constantly giving. Firstly a disclaimer, because I know what website I am on: this is a guide for things that have worked for me! I am not everyone and if there are things on here that do not work for you or even that you think are stupid, that is fine, but please do not make it my problem. If you are reading it and you're like "that sounds like it would actually be detrimental to my specific mental health because of my specific issues" then please disregard it. Use your critical thinking skills and do what you think is right for you!

My second disclaimer is that I didn't make any of this up myself; most of these are collected from various places either in therapeutic guide books or various websites about emotional regulation etc. Some of it is stuff that I have extrapolated from those places based on experience with what works for me or does not work for me. A lot of the way that I treat myself when I need to get my body and brain into a place where I can think about stuff productively is actually directly from gentle parenting guides, because frankly cptsd recovery stuff is very often like parenting a toddler. And the toddler is you. ALL THAT SAID,

The first skill that I had to get good at, that many of the other skills depend on, is to learn how to understand when I am Reacting to something. If I am Reacting it is extremely likely that that's going to only escalate the situation and make it much worse. I HAVE to be able to tell if I am Reacting emotionally to something in a way that is coming from a place of fear and panic. This is important because it involves not being prescriptive about your emotions. You could be Reacting to something that you do not logically feel is at all justified in making you feel that way and that doesn't matter! You can't be doing math equations to try to come to the answer of how you SHOULD be feeling; you have to be observing your mind and body to see how you factually ARE feeling and then respond to THAT. This can be really hard to learn how to do especially if you were abused as a child. (If you cannot think of yourself as someone who is abused as a child perhaps it would help to think of yourself as someone who simply was not taught various emotional regulation skills for mysterious reasons that have nothing to do with your parents' inadequacies.) I need to be able to glance inward and see what the physiological reaction that I'm having is and identify whether or not I feel like this is the biggest emergency in the world that needs to be addressed right now immediately! That is a sure sign that Mr Fight and Mr Flight are in the building and it is bad to make declarative statements or important decisions when that is the case. So, I have to work on dismissing them first. That is literally the first step to any of this. One of my friends calls this "fire mittens," which is to say, if you are wearing mittens that are on fire and you try to touch stuff, the stuff will also become on fire. You have to put the fire out first before you can touch other things.

Once I have determined that I am indeed Reacting and in a physiological state of fear, I have a document in my notes app that is a "what to do when you are in fight or flight mode" guide and it has several helpful things that I will try to outline here.

Firstly, the really important thing for me for trying to get back into an emotional state where I'm capable of making decisions and being thoughtful is to feel safe and comfortable. So I actually have some stuff in my document that is straight up just like "go in the blankie nest. put on this specific music album. light this specific scented candle." etc. You might want to have a specific food or drink that is comforting to you or some other sort of stim toy that helps you regulate. If there's any calming medication or supplements for anxiety that you take as needed, now is also the time to do that. Physical sensory grounding is really important for this. This is probably especially true if, like me, you are neurodivergent, but I think it is also true for everyone because we are animals! And you can't just think about it, you have to actually do it. Which sounds obvious but is the thing that has often tripped me up in the past. Once you start getting into the habit of actually physically doing this it DOES become easier though.

One of my rules is that if I want to respond to something but I am in fight or flight mode, I don't get to respond to it for at least 24 hours. I'm only allowed to respond once I've gotten myself out of fear mode. If it is some kind of comment on Facebook that has set me off, often this means that 24 hours later I realize that I actually don't want to get into it to begin with, which is great. If it's something that is pretty serious and interpersonal with a friend, sometimes that means I have to communicate to them that I'm going to take a while to process it and then get back to them. IMPORTANT: You CANNOT do this passive aggressively or else it undermines the whole thing. You can't phrase it in a way that will make your friends think that you are guilt tripping them for "making" you feel a way. It is VERY tempting to do this when you are in the first stages of trying to form this habit and you simply need to resist the urge because it will render this step worthless. I know. It sucks.

If I am feeling fearful and insecure about friends or loved ones, I also usually try to spend some time thinking about the people that I love and care about. Because often this stuff manifest for me as insecurity that the people that I care about do not care about me, or that they think that I'm being annoying, or that they are secretly thinking mean things about me. It's obviously not good for me to constantly be imagining that the people in my life who I care about are actually avatars of my own insecurity who are here to tell me that I'm secretly fundamentally unlovable! But crucially also it's ALSO not fair to those people to imagine them as that. They are not that guy, they are their own complex human beings with their own lives and experiences and interiority. So sometimes I do thought exercises where I will imagine my friends or loved ones doing things in their everyday lives and I will think about them as people and I will think about the things that they like to do and the things that they say and the places that they go, and I will try to imagine them fondly in those circumstances. This helps to remind me that they are just people and that the scary puppet wearing their faces is not real. To this end I sometimes will have a document of screenshots of things that they have said to me that I can use to reality check myself. I personally find reality checks to be essential for a lot of this. Things can feel true when they are not true at all. Things can feel wrong when they are actually true. The point of most of these exercises is to gently remind myself that those feelings are normal for me to be having, but that I do not need to let them dictate my responses.

It is crucial throughout all of this that you are nice to yourself. You can't talk to yourself in a mean way while you're doing this, or you will not get to a point where you are feeling safe enough to react from a place of not-fear. You can't make yourself feel ashamed or defensive for your emotional reactions. This is the particular area where I find gentle parenting protocols helpful. You HAVE to be patient with yourself.

Ok that's all for now bc I ran out of steam but I will try to think of more to add on another day maybe. Godspeed everyone

#dysfunction junction #bonsai kitten problems

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master-of-the-elements · 5 months ago

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Davrin: Black Fatherhood

I don’t know if Davrin’s writer did research or if his VA did the heavy lifting (probably the latter), but the way Davrin disciplines and talks to Assan is very reminiscent of how many black fathers (especially the old school ones) discipline and speak to their children especially their sons. It comes off as harsh, but it’s meant to toughen them for the reality of how the world will treat them for who they are. Davrin does it because he wants Assan to be prepared to fight monsters who won’t hesitate to kill him. It’s an interesting parallel that I hadn’t seen discussed and while I was playing the game whenever Davrin would check Assan I got flashbacks to my own life. We also see that this tough love was administered to Davrin by his uncle Eldrin, who I just knew was going to be black by that name alone (I was wrong 🥴). However, speaking from experience, that style of discipline has its drawbacks and can be abusive as it can make one emotionally stunted and unable show empathy if not balanced by compassion and tenderness shown by the parent. Rook gets the chance to remind and show Davrin this and in a way it was a little self healing as someone personally victimized by this type of discipline and never really getting that balance from my father figures until much later in life. While I do genuinely appreciate the Veilguard’s message of family isn’t always blood and can be found as is the case with Mila and Davrin, there is a missed opportunity to showcase black characters interacting with other black people they have familiarity with. I honestly think had they made Eldrin black, it would’ve been opportunity to emphasize how the this type of discipline is generational and cyclical (especially in the black community). That the next generation has to break this cycle (which is slowly happening, thank God). That’s just my two cents though 🤷🏾‍♂️

#dragon age davrin #da4 davrin #dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #black characters #black stories #black storytelling #davrin x rook #rook x davrin #datv spoilers #assan #assan the griffon #assan dragon age

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temporalhiccup · 6 months ago

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There are many different reasons to play ttrpgs, and sometimes creative catharsis is one of them.

Certainly it's a reason's Bluebeard's Bride is one of my favorite games, or why it's fun for me to play emotionally vulnerable characters in Bite Marks and Apocalypse Keys.

A couple of months ago I started playing DIE with some close friends, and a couple of new players I haven't had a chance to play with much. But it's a group that's played with each other often, and DIE has a really emotionally rich and complex premise we were excited for: "In DIE, you play a group of authentically flawed and desperate real-world people (Personas) who are sucked into a cursed roleplaying game and take on the form of heroes, villains and power players (Paragons)."

So I made a conscious decision to create a transmasc character and delve consciously and deeply into the act of catharsis. I have played trans characters before, (arguably ttrpgs are one of the ways I explored if I was trans but that's another story), but this was the first time I wanted to pull at the threads of my own confusion and sadness, trauma and regret. To work through my grief.

In real life, it's difficult to put into words the grief I am going through with my parents. It's a complex issue, but one of them is that my parents have always seen as me as their daughter, and all three of us cannot imagine me being anything else to them. My father has always pointedly interacted with my brother as a son, and has always faltered when I failed to act like the daughter.

It's hard to grieve because there are thousands of subtle nuances—their love for me, borne from endless sacrifice and hope, also places chains on me. To break those chains is to break them, to keep those chains on is to break me. I have broken myself over the decades, again and again, and there is never a shape that will please us three.

So for DIE I created a more intense caricature of fatherly trauma. Almost cartoonish in his abuse, with no room for nuance. Somehow in describing the black and white nature of this fictional father, and how it shaped my character, it's easier for me to see the shades of grey that my real father is. It's easier to find the shadows of me there too.

I realized today that in DIE, this traumatizing figure also contains the fear I had. Conditioned to be a woman, where my very existence can trigger violence from men. There are many reasons it took me so long to know I was trans, but one of those reasons was that I could not imagine taking on the shape of an oppressor.

It didn't matter that I knew many men who were gentle, loving, and kind. It didn't matter that what men are does not have to be defined by the patriarchy. Men were dangerous until I knew better. Men could betray my trust and become dangerous once they got to know me. Why would I want to take on the shape of something dangerous and harmful?

Today I explored a part of that. As an Emotion Knight my character draws upon the emotion of loathing—what better way to draw upon an aspect of gender dysphoria? To become strong, to fight, I had to give in just enough to my father's voice, its whispers from the war hammer in my hand. I had to take on his cruelty, the loathing I had for him and myself. I described the danger of falling into unthinking violence, to protect what matters to me. I was standing on the precipice, knowing I was a breath away from going too far.

All of this made it easier to see my real father, standing at the end of a corridor I will never reach. It feels like if I walk towards him, the corridor will stretch on and on, made of all the doors of all the daughters I could have been for him. One of them, any of them, would be better than what I am now.

That moment of catharsis felt breathless. I could feel myself falling towards the doors. Then I looked at the other players, and I could see all of them feeling for my character. Feeling for his pain, for his hope. Watching him stumble towards the edge. I could feel their hearts surrounding mine.

I don't remember what I said to Sherri, in character. I know I wanted her to pull my character back into this fictional moment. I know I wanted Sherri to pull me back into this reality, with her. Away from the corridor. It was enough that I saw the corridor for what it is, that I knew all its doors. That I knew they could never be opened.

This dance of catharsis feels safe. It's hard to describe how it's still fun, and wonderful, to connect to my friends' characters. To check-in and feel out if we were still having fun, trusting in the play, trusting in each other.

The game session ended hours ago, and we'll play again next week. But the corridor is still with me, and I feel it stretching behind me. I feel all its doors. When I close my eyes, I see my father's back, walking away from me.

Maybe next week I'll try walking down that corridor. Maybe I'll call out to my father, knowing he won't turn around. Maybe I'll leave it behind. Maybe I won't do anything for now, because grief takes time. I don't know.

I just know that I'm very grateful to be here, to be loved, to play. I'm grateful for the stories we tell together, and how it can help us retell our own stories about ourselves.

This story of grief is hard, but I'm grateful. It means I chose to survive, to live, to be me.

It hurts to choose myself over my parents love for me, but I'm glad I'm doing it. I'm choosing all the people who love me, who see me when I cannot yet clearly see myself.

#transgender #gender dysphoria #ttrpgs #play diaries #play culture

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juniperpyre · 12 days ago

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if james & lily survived halloween '81, raised harry, and had more kids

the first few years. got kinda long.

i've thought how about jily would raise harry if the story diverged from canon halloween 1981. i think they'd have another kid very soon, partially on purpose, kind of a "if it happens, it happens" situation, bc they're so happy to be free and safe and have their whole lives ahead of them.

but the trauma of growing up in war & having their parents die young is still present. there was no space to process these feelings. so i think, about a year and half after the war ends, when they have their first daughter, lily would get postpartum depression.

like that shit just comes!! once you are safe your body shuts down, feels what it repressed to survive. you can't stop it. it's rarely immediate, from my experience. so the huge, physically and emotionally transformative experience of growing a baby and giving birth would crack the armor so to speak. so she gets bad postpartum

the time after would be the worst part of their marriage. the wizarding world seems to be bad at mental health & the real world also was (still is) not great at treating mental illness, esp in women. i think for lily it would manifest with a lot of apathy, disinterest, seclusion, and revisiting bad parts of her life. james would understand that something is wrong, but since his parents are dead and lily's parents are dead there isn't someone to go to for advice on this super personal issue. perhaps he'd mention something to an older woman he knew and she'd be like "oh that's normal!". but it's not. james just isn't going to make it clear how bad it is, so it seems normal.

& i think he'd be understanding, except when it came to childcare. like, yes, he'd try, but i don't think he'd be able to comprehend why she didn't seem to love their children the way she had when harry was born. maybe he'd worry the dark magic from halloween '81 fucked her up. either way, he would get frustrated, probably angry, i think it would cause fights that left both of them feeling horribly, horribly guilty.

i think sirius would help a lot. he'd be the only other person allowed in the house for a while. he would understand the depression aspect better—maybe he was briefly in azkaban in this timeline—far more than james. how deep the apathy can go. maybe lily and petunia would reconnect, bc sirius says this sort of thing is genetic so james basically begs petunia for help. maybe it happened to their mom with lily, and petunia remembers.

with time to decompress i think petunia would be willing to reconnect. she took harry in, after all.

so now they have more emotional support for lily, maybe petunia babysits (look, james and lily don't know about the abuse in the canon timeline), and in the second 6 months of their daughter's life she gets better. part of that is her and james talking about their lives together without the war. bc they don't know each other outside of war. they never had to plan for that sort of life.

they decide to wait to have more kids. 10, 15 years pass before they have another. they're really happy with their two, anyway

#my hcs #lily evans #james potter #jily #everyone lives au

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a-sip-of-milo · 8 months ago

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I dunno, i just think you should be able to do something nice or loving for your siblings without being told that "that's not normal" and "you're being creepy" (two things that have been said to me on more than one occasion)

i bullied my siblings horrendously as a child. hated on them. abused them emotionally, like my mother and father had been doing to me. i'd give them a certain look and they'd all go quiet, not because i was respected but because i was feared. i told them that i hated them more than i'd say i loved them. the only time they ever saw kindness from me was when i'd get into fights with my parents over how they were treating the kids.

everybody told me this was normal. they laughed, took videos of the abuse these kids went through and posted it because "that's what it's like to have siblings!"

My younger sister has the lowest self esteem out of anyone I've ever met now. They all have mental health issues that are most commonly developed as a result of trauma, and while I know I wasn't the sole reason behind it, i played a huge part.

Seeing me again several years after I escaped was like meeting a new person, my sister said to me. I hugged her. i told her i loved her. I constantly reminded her of how smart she was and that i was proud of her. i'd buy them little presents from the store sometimes and took the time to get to know each person all over again.

i even told them about what I remembered and apologised for each individual thing, before encouraging them to tell me about what they remembered. I am fiercely protective over them now, and it pays off each time the youngest rushes to greet me at the door because she's so excited to see me.

just because it's "typical" for siblings to argue, insult each other, etc. does not mean it doesn't leave lasting scars. especially when you're young - you do eventually start to believe it, because you're being reminded of how much you're hated every. single. fucking. day.

DNI if you believe in cluster B abuse.

#npd safe #bpd safe #cluster b safe #hpd safe #aspd safe #child abuse #tw abuse #parental abuse #tw parental abuse #mental health awareness #narc abuse does not exist #abuse survivor #narc abuse truthers dni #narc abuse believers dni #narc abuse isn't real

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libellule-ao3 · 1 month ago

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Solomon Sallow & his relationship with the Sallow twins

While working on a chapter, I felt the need to organise my thoughts about Solomon Sallow’s role in Sebastian’s downfall, and how his rigid worldview ultimately led them all to tragedy.

⚠️: dysfunctional family, toxic relationships.

Solomon embodies a rigid, disillusioned authority figure, marked by his past. A former Auror, he has been so close to darkness that he became tainted by it, resorting to Dark Arts himself =>"fighting fire with fire". Traumatised and disgusted with what he became, he withdrew to Feldcroft.

After the death of his brother and sister-in-law, Solomon suddenly found himself with two orphans to raise, when he was neither prepared nor emotionally equipped for such a role.

Above all, he lacks the temperament needed to raise a boy like Sebastian: impulsive, curious, and provocative. From the outset, there is a fundamental incompatibility of character, and Solomon shows neither the emotional flexibility nor the maturity to adapt.

In truth, it never even occurs to him to try. Solomon's method of parenting is rooted in prohibition, discipline, and resignation which manifests in:

- A total disregard for Sebastian’s emotions (and Anne’s, too).

- The constant repression of Sebastian’s attempts to heal Anne, which he deems naïve or even dangerous.

- Subtle, yet persistent guilt-tripping, making Sebastian believe his efforts are not only futile but harmful.

There is no physical abuse shown in the game, but we are undeniably looking at a case of psychological violence and emotional neglect.

It’s an oppressive environment, where Sebastian is denied recognition, support, and autonomy, despite being a sensitive boy, driven by emotion, by love and hope, and trapped in an unbearable situation: a twin sister condemned, and drifting away from him.

To this is added a patriarchal model of boyhood, typical of the time: masculinity equated with endurance and blind submission to authority. But Sebastian is suffering and he's not allowed to say so. Nor is he allowed to contradict his uncle, as that would be deemed improper for a well-brought-up young man.

To make matters worse, Solomon projects a deep-rooted resentment onto Sebastian. He recognises in him certain traits inherited from his father —recklessness, stubbornness, and a tendency to drag others along in his passionate pursuits. These are the very traits he holds responsible for the Sallows' tragedy and, by extension, for the fact that he now has two children to raise.

(Note: in the game, Ominis refers to their recklessness, and I’m convinced he’s merely repeating Solomon’s words. Neither Sebastian nor Anne would ever have spoken of their parents in such terms.)

My HC is that Solomon resents his brother all the more because he was secretly in love with his sister-in-law =>a situation not unlike that of Severus Snape, burdened with the duty of protecting the child of the woman he had loved in silence. A woman who died after marrying another.

As a result, Solomon doesn’t see Sebastian as a grieving teenager. He sees him as an extension of the brother he had unfinished business with and he tries to crush him.

This projection renders reconciliation nearly impossible: Sebastian can only fail to be loved by an uncle who, deep down, resents him for being his father’s son.

In contrast, his relationship with Anne appears more peaceful... at least on the surface. Where Sebastian embodies rebellion, Anne embodies submission.

She remains dignified in her suffering, deferential to male authority, quiet and unobtrusive. She endures her curse in silence, never attempting the impossible or challenging her fate. This ‘virtuous’ resignation aligns perfectly with Solomon’s worldview and with societal expectations of women.

But I don’t think he loves her for who she truly is; he loves what she represents: a quiet, obedient, morally irreproachable girl, a flattering reflection of his authority, of the care he believes he provides.

He repeated so often that all he could offer her was the gentlest end possible, that there was no hope of recovery, that she eventually came to accept it as truth. And since the Dark Arts are unthinkable to her, she gradually surrendered to that imposed vision —a vision carefully sustained by the isolation Solomon maintains, all in the name of protecting her. But honestly, it’s just another form of toxic behaviour.

One thing must be acknowledged, however: for all his bitterness and severity, Solomon never abandoned his responsibilities. When the twins’ parents died, he could have sent them to an orphanage, and some might argue that would have been kinder, but he chose to keep them. He gave them a home and an education, despite being wholly unprepared. It even appears he continued to tutor Anne, as her magical skill suggests.

Finally, by destroying the relic, Solomon didn’t just destroy an object. He destroyed Sebastian’s last hope. The fragile thread to which he clung in order to save his sister. For Solomon, it was an act of authority, but for Sebastian, it was above all a denial of his suffering, his efforts, his belief, and his love. That's cruel!

Cornered, consumed by grief and rage, Sebastian lashed out. There were no words left. And so he brought a brutal end to years of tension and misunderstanding. But that act, far from freeing him, sealed his downfall.

🙏Thank you for forgiving any possible grammatical errors. ESL writer.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #anne sallow #solomon sallow #sallow family #hogwarts legacy imagine #ominis gaunt

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muiitoloko · 15 days ago

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hey, will you write a fic themed around a woman suffering a emotionally or perhaps verbally abusive relationship with her parents, she has too much respect and clings to the good to ever cut them off, but when she settles down with Frank, her parents are mean about it but only to her, he doesn't know, so he comes home from work mad, they get into a fight, he yells at her, and she just retreats. she doesn't cry because she knows better than to make it worse, but Frank eventually gets her to open up, because all along hes noticed the snarky remarks or her coming home from visiting them and being in bed for two days. I would totally appreciate this as it hits home quite closely, I just need some comfort from my favorite Lieutenant General.

P.S. some smut may be nice, I do believe I am ovulating 😭

Title: Daddy’s Got You

Summary: Old pain resurfaces, new tenderness blooms. Frank offers more than comfort—he gives you the safety you’ve never had.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Angst

Also read on Ao3

It had been one of those long, grey afternoons where the light from the windows looked tired and the walls of the house seemed to press in a little more than usual. You’d lost track of time, not because of laziness or neglect, but because your energy had been sapped by a call from your mother earlier in the day.

She hadn’t said anything overtly cruel—she never did, not when anyone else could hear—but it was the tone, the subtle digs, the way she could make your accomplishments sound like inconveniences, your happiness like a delusion. You’d spent the rest of the day curled up on the bed, silent, thinking maybe, just maybe, if you stayed very still, it would all pass.

Frank came home late.

You heard the door open and close, keys dropping in the dish near the entryway, the familiar sound of his boots against the floor. He was always precise, even in the quiet rhythms of domestic life. But tonight, something was off. His footsteps were heavier, sharper. The baritone of his voice when he called your name from the kitchen had a bite to it.

You didn’t answer right away. You’d been in the bedroom, halfway between getting up and giving in to the ache in your chest. By the time you joined him, his coat was still on, and he stood stiff by the fridge, eyes scanning the counter like he expected dinner to have magically appeared.

“You didn’t cook?” he asked, voice low but edged.

You blinked, mouth opening slightly. “No, I… I didn’t have the energy today. I forgot.”

Frank exhaled sharply, the sound more tired than angry, but when he turned, the tension in his face was clear. “You forgot? Jesus Christ.”

You froze.

His voice wasn’t raised exactly—but louder than you’d ever heard it. Sharper. And when you tried to explain, something in you hesitated. That same old instinct. You never defended yourself well. Not to your parents. Not now.

“Just once,” Frank snapped, “could you maybe think ahead? I’ve been on my feet for thirteen hours, I haven’t eaten since six this morning, and I come home to this?”

You flinched.

It wasn’t the volume. It wasn’t even the words. It was the tone. The tone that mirrored your father’s. That familiar, hollow ring of disappointment. And something inside you recoiled, not with defiance, but with the quiet ache of an old wound reopened.

You opened your mouth, trying to explain—not to defend, just to give him context, to tell him about the call, about how the day had drained you dry in that quiet, invisible way only your mother could manage. But the moment you started to speak, Frank raised a hand—sharp, dismissive—and his baritone cut through the room with unexpected force.

“No,” he snapped. “No excuses tonight. I had a shitty day. A long, bloody miserable day. I dealt with back-to-back meetings, a broken comms system, and a fucking briefing that went in circles for three hours because no one can give a straight answer anymore. And the one thing I wanted—just one thing—was to come home and have something hot to eat.”

He took a step toward you, not threatening, but large and solid and tired. “But what do I find?” he continued, hazel eyes flashing. “Not even a takeaway box. You didn’t even bother to order anything. You were ‘out of energy’? Christ.”

You shrank back before you even realized it, your spine retreating an inch, your mouth gone dry. You hated how natural it felt—how easy it was to collapse inward when someone’s voice hit that particular register. How instinctively your brain whispered: don’t push, don’t argue, don’t make it worse.

“I’m—” you tried, but your voice barely left your throat. “Frank, I’m sorry, I—”

But he was already turning, already walking away, muttering under his breath, “Unbelievable,” as he pulled open a cabinet with more force than necessary. “Absolutely fucking unbelievable.”

You stood there, frozen in the center of the kitchen, the cold air from the open fridge brushing your arms, your chest tight. You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t know how to say anything else.

Instead, you moved silently toward the stairs, your steps slow, careful. Each one felt heavier than the last. You didn’t look back. You knew the look on his face. Knew what came next if you pushed.

Upstairs, the bedroom felt too big. The silence too deep. You crawled into bed still dressed, curling up on your side without bothering to turn on the light. The darkness was easier. Quieter.

You pressed your face into the pillow, willing yourself not to cry. You knew it would make it worse, not with Frank maybe, but with yourself. With the voice in your head that still spoke with your mother’s cadence, the one that always said you were being dramatic, selfish, impossible to love when you weren’t smiling.

It wasn’t always like this. There had been good moments. Birthdays when she surprised you with books you actually liked. Mornings when your father cooked too many eggs and called it love. They weren’t monsters. Not all the time. That was the hardest part. You’d learned to cling to the scraps—to the seconds of kindness like they were proof that it hadn’t all been cruel.

But now—tonight—you felt small again. Like that kid who used to tiptoe around dinner tables, who flinched when the sarcasm cut too deep, who laughed when it hurt just to make sure no one noticed the bruise under the words.

The pillow was warm against your cheek. Too warm. You turned it over and stared into the dark, breathing through the ache.

You didn’t know how long you lay there, but you didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

And you didn’t cry. Not yet.

You just waited. Like always.

Downstairs, Frank stood in the kitchen with the fridge door still hanging open, the cold air brushing against his uniform pants. His jaw was tight, his hands fisted on the edge of the counter. He didn’t feel angry anymore. Not really. What he felt now was something far duller—and far heavier.

Hunger had twisted in his gut all day, but now, with a hastily made sandwich in hand and the first few bites swallowed, that pressure was beginning to lift. His headache dulled. The tight coil in his chest started to unravel. He chewed in silence, leaning against the counter, the bread dry and the ham slightly off, but at least it was something.

As he finished the last bite, the silence around him grew louder. He looked at the empty kitchen—no music, no humming from the hallway, no footsteps from above. Just stillness.

Frank sighed, setting the plate in the sink with a quiet clink. He reached up, loosening his tie with one hand, the thick fabric pulling stiffly against his collarbone. He hated that tie. Wore it because the uniform demanded it, but right now it felt like a noose.

He rubbed his temple, then glanced toward the stairs.

Christ, he thought. What the hell did I just do?

A few minutes later, the bedroom door creaked open.

The light flicked on with a muted click. The overhead bulb bathed the room in a soft, almost apologetic glow.

And there you were—curled up on the bed, still fully dressed, your form small beneath the quilt. You didn’t stir. Not even at the sound of his boots on the hardwood.

Frank’s mouth tugged downward at the corners. Quietly, he shrugged out of his military coat, folding it with practiced care and placing it over the back of the chair. His tie followed, then his shoes, each one set neatly beside the other as he moved slowly, deliberately—like he didn’t want to spook you.

He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He just looked at you. Your back to him. Still, silent.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his baritone rough around the edges. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

You didn’t respond. Frank sighed, the sound low and worn. He shifted closer, sliding onto the bed beside you, the mattress groaning faintly beneath his frame. One large hand came to rest against your hip, tentative.

He bent his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder.

“I was hungry,” he murmured, lips brushing against fabric. “You know how I get. Bloody grumpy and half-useless when I haven’t eaten.”

Still, you said nothing. Just breathed—steady, but shallow.

Frank’s brow furrowed. He reached up, his fingers brushing over the edge of your sleeve. “Sweetheart…”

“It’s fine,” you said at last, your voice faint. Measured.

But Frank stilled. He knew that tone. Knew what “it’s fine” really meant. It was never fine. It was something you said to end conversations before they could begin.

“No,” he said softly, but firmly. “Talk to me.”

You were quiet again.

His hand slid to your back. “Did your parents call you?”

Your whole body froze.

You turned your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder, surprise flickering across your face. “How do you know that?”

Frank didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. He simply lifted a hand and cupped your cheek, his palm warm, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw.

“I’m not stupid,” he said gently. “I notice things.”

You blinked, unsure.

“The way you come back from their house and spend the rest of the day in bed. The way your shoulders stiffen during family dinners when your mother speaks. How you look at the floor more than your plate.”

You swallowed hard.

Frank’s eyes softened, though the line of his mouth remained grim. “I’ve heard her. The sarcasm. The way she wraps insults in compliments. She might think she’s clever, but she’s not subtle. Not to me.”

You looked away, but not fast enough to hide the welling in your eyes. You blinked furiously, but it was there—the sting.

Frank shifted closer, wrapping one thick arm around your waist, tugging you gently against him. You didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Your body folded into his like you’d been waiting for it.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he murmured, his voice low and steady against your hair. “I came in like a bloody freight train without stopping to ask if you were alright. And you weren’t.”

Your breath hitched, barely audible. But it was enough. Frank pulled you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing firm against your spine.

“You’re not weak,” he said. “You’re not dramatic. You’re not selfish. You’re human. And no one—no one—has the right to make you feel smaller than you are.”

That did it. Your body trembled once—and then the tears came, slow and silent. Not sobs. Not hysteria. Just quiet ache, finally given room to breathe.

Frank held you through it all, his lips against your temple, his breath steady in your ear, grounding you. Not speaking anymore. Just being there.

And in that quiet, wrapped in his arms, you finally let yourself believe—for the first time in a long time—that maybe you didn’t have to be strong all the time. Not with him.

The tears didn’t stop right away. They came in waves—silent, then shuddering, then silent again—until you were limp in Frank’s arms, your cheek pressed against the soft cotton of his undershirt, your fingers curled loosely around the fabric like it was a lifeline.

Frank said nothing. Not yet. He just held you. His broad chest rose and fell slowly, the beat of his heart steady under your ear. His hand moved gently along your spine, the calluses of his fingers warm and grounding. The room was quiet but for your breath and the occasional creak of the mattress as he shifted to keep you close.

When your breathing evened out—when the sting behind your eyes dulled to a manageable throb—you spoke.

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” you whispered.

Frank didn’t respond. He only brushed a thumb across your back, patient.

“I try to be good,” you murmured. “I really do. I try not to ask for too much, not to need anything. I try to be quiet and helpful and easy to love, and still, she finds a way to make me feel like I’m some sort of... failure. Like I’m a burden.”

Your voice cracked.

“I got a promotion last year,” you said, shaking your head against his chest. “And she told me it was nice—‘if that’s the best you can do with that degree.’ I bought a car with my savings, and she said, ‘You know, most people your age already have a mortgage.’ Every time I bring something up, she twists it. Makes it sound like I’m lazy. Selfish. Never enough.”

Frank’s jaw flexed beneath your cheek.

“She always does it with a smile,” you said bitterly. “She never yells. Just… pokes. Cuts. She says things like ‘you’re so sensitive’ or ‘I was only joking’ when I flinch. And if I ever try to explain how it hurts, she turns it around. Says I’m ungrateful, crazy. Says I’m imagining things.”

You lifted your head then, blinking at the ceiling. “And I believed her for so long. I still do, sometimes. Even now, when I know better, it’s like this voice in my head—her voice—is always there, picking me apart.”

Frank was silent, but his grip on you tightened.

“I thought maybe if I was successful enough or pretty enough or quiet enough, she’d finally be proud of me. Finally say, ‘That’s my girl.’” You gave a hollow laugh. “But even when I got everything right, it wasn’t enough. It never is.”

You swallowed hard. “And I hate that I still want her approval. I hate that I feel guilty even talking about this. Like I’m betraying her, somehow.”

Frank cupped your face gently, his fingers brushing your temple, his thumb catching the tear that escaped before you could stop it.

“And my dad…” you went on, voice barely above a whisper, “he never said anything. He just sat there. Let her do it. I think he thought staying quiet was the same as staying neutral. But it wasn’t. It never is.”

Frank's eyes were dark now. Not with judgment, not with pity, but with fury. But his voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, measured, controlled.

“You’re not crazy,” he murmured. “You’re not imagining it. And you’re not wrong for feeling the way you do.”

You closed your eyes, his voice pouring over you like warm silk.

“She hurt you,” he continued, “in the quietest, most corrosive way possible. She made you doubt your own worth. Made you think love was something you had to earn. Something you could lose if you spoke too loudly or wanted too much.”

You bit your lip, nodding, your throat tight again.

“But she doesn’t get to decide your value,” Frank said. “She doesn’t get to rewrite the truth. Not anymore.”

His thumb traced the line of your jaw, tilting your face toward him. “I see you,” he said quietly. “All of you. And you are not too much. You are not a burden. You are not hard to love.”

You stared at him, trembling.

Frank leaned in, his baritone low, steady. “You are mine. My girl. And I take care of what’s mine.”

You let out a broken breath, your body finally beginning to let go.

“I’ve got you now,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Daddy’s here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The words struck something deep. The warmth in his voice, the unshakable certainty of it—it unraveled you all over again.

Frank held you through it.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, guiding you gently up from the bed. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

You moved without protest as he undressed you slowly—carefully—like you were made of something precious. He peeled off your sweater, unbuttoned your jeans, never rushing, never letting his hands leave your skin for long. When you stood bare before him, he wrapped you in one of his softest shirts—oversized and warm, smelling like him.

He helped you into bed again, then stepped away briefly, only to return with a warm washcloth and a fresh glass of water.

“You need anything else?” he asked, smoothing the blanket over your legs. “Tea? Something sweet?”

You shook your head. “Just you.”

Frank climbed into bed beside you, gathering you into his arms like you belonged there—like you always had. His skin was warm, his chest solid and soft beneath your cheek.

You tucked your face against him, your breath evening out. “I’m tired,” you whispered.

“I know,” Frank murmured, stroking your hair.

“You won’t let her hurt me anymore?”

“No, sweetheart. Never again.”

You sighed, melting into him.

And Frank—your steady, sharp-edged, impossibly gentle Frank—just held you, whispering low promises against your skin.

“Sleep now,” he said, his baritone thick with something tender. “Daddy’s got you. My good girl. My brave, good girl.”

His hand moved slowly along your side, grounding you with every pass of his palm. You felt safe. Warm. Seen.

But not tired.

Your eyes blinked open in the dim light, your fingers curling gently around the hand that rested against your belly. You stayed like that for a while, quiet in his arms, letting the warmth of his body anchor you—but eventually, you shifted, just enough for him to feel it.

Frank’s baritone rumbled low. “Hmm?”

“I don’t wanna sleep yet,” you whispered.

He didn’t ask why. Didn’t press. Just adjusted his hold, pulling you a little closer, his nose brushing the shell of your ear. “That’s alright,” he murmured. “We can stay awake.”

You hesitated, teeth worrying your bottom lip. Your heart beat a little faster. You weren’t sure why you felt so shy all of a sudden—after everything tonight, after all the ways he’d seen you unravel—but still, the question caught in your throat like something delicate.

You turned a little in his arms. “Frank?”

He looked down at you, his hazel eyes soft, patient.

You swallowed. “Can we... could you—” You faltered, cheeks warming. “Could you make love to me?”

Frank blinked once, his brows lifting just a hair, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. His hand came up instead, fingers brushing your hair away from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His voice dropped low, quiet, velvet-smooth.

“My girl needs Daddy, hm?”

Your breath caught.

The endearment never failed to melt something in you. And the way he said it—calm, assured, a little possessive—it sent a shiver through your belly that had nothing to do with fear.

Still, you hesitated. “Only if you want to. I know it’s late. I know it’s been a long day. We don’t have to—”

Frank cut you off with a soft, quiet laugh, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice laced with fondness and something far darker underneath, “you really think I’d ever say no to that?”

You flushed, suddenly shy again.

But Frank didn’t tease. Not cruelly. Just chuckled again, low and warm, his lips brushing your cheek. “That’s the point, isn’t it? I’m always hungry for you.”

He shifted then, rolling you slowly onto your back, his body settling over yours with careful weight. His hand cradled your face as he looked down at you, white hair falling slightly forward, his hooked nose casting a soft shadow in the lamplight.

“You could wake me in the middle of the night,” he whispered, “barely dressed, barely speaking, and I’d still find the strength to fuck you slow and deep until your eyes rolled back.”

Your breath hitched.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You could be crying like you were earlier, small and shaking and needing something only I can give—”

A kiss to your temple.

“—or smiling like the devil, pulling me down by the tie.”

A kiss to your cheek.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll always want you.”

And then finally—his lips on yours.

Slow. Warm. Certain.

When he pulled back, he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. Like you always had.

“Let Daddy take care of you,” he whispered, baritone thick and sure. “Let me make love to you the way you deserve.”

You nodded, breathless.

And Frank—gentle, dangerous, unshakably yours—began to undress you with reverence in his touch, like he already knew how to rebuild every piece of you he hadn’t broken but had always sworn to hold.

He started with your collarbone, warm mouth pressing reverent kisses to the curve of it, his white hair brushing against your skin as he lingered. The tip of his tongue traced the dip where your pulse beat, slow and steady, and he hummed low in his throat—like you tasted better than anything he’d ever earned.

“Such soft skin,” he murmured, dragging his mouth lower, kissing down the center of your chest through the fabric of his t-shirt. He tugged the hem up, exposing your bare stomach, and his hands spread possessively over your ribs, thumbs brushing beneath the swell of your breasts.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice thick with something close to awe. “Always so good for me. Always mine.”

He kissed your belly, slow and deliberate, lips soft against skin. Every press of his mouth built the tension low in your stomach, your breath hitching just a little more each time his warm mouth passed lower. He slid his palms down your thighs, guiding them open again, his body shifting between them with practiced ease.

When he looked up at you from between your legs, hazel eyes dark and steady beneath his white lashes, your breath caught.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured. “Open. Waiting. Letting me do this right.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling into the sheets, body already humming with anticipation.

He leaned down, lips brushing the inside of your thigh. “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart. Daddy’s here now.”

And then he kissed you. Right there—soft and warm and patient. Just one long, deliberate stroke of his tongue along your folds, slow enough to make you twitch. He moaned softly at the taste, and the sound alone made your back arch.

“Fuck, this cunt,” he groaned. “You’re already so wet for me.”

You whimpered, hips rising instinctively, but Frank pressed one firm hand against your belly.

“No, baby. Let me lead. Just lie back and take it.”

His tongue returned—this time faster, more focused, flicking your clit in slow circles before sealing his mouth around it with obscene pressure. You gasped, a high sound caught somewhere between a sob and a moan, your legs trembling as he licked and sucked with devastating rhythm.

Your hand flew to his head, fingers tangling in the white strands. “Daddy—oh—fuck—”

That made him groan into you, the vibration of it sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. His tongue moved faster now, greedy, practiced, pushing you higher with each breathless flick.

And then—his fingers.

Thick and slow at first, just one sliding into your soaked heat, curling deep until you cried out. Then another—two of them now, pumping inside you with that unrelenting pressure that made your hips rock against his face.

“There you go,” he growled against your clit, never stopping. “Taking my fingers so well, baby. God, this pussy’s perfect. So tight. So wet for me.”

You were writhing now, tugging his hair, your thighs shaking as he fucked you with his fingers and sucked your clit like he wanted to keep you pinned to the edge forever.

“Please—Frank—Daddy—I—” You were panting, words falling apart.

He pulled back just long enough to whisper, “Come for me, sweetheart. Let Daddy taste it.”

And you did—loud, desperate, full-body trembling, your fingers yanking at his hair as the orgasm ripped through you, hot and heavy. He moaned into your cunt, licking through it, his fingers still moving gently inside you as you rode every wave.

When the tremors finally eased, when your body sagged back into the bed, boneless and dazed, Frank withdrew his fingers with a slick, satisfied sound. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then up your belly, his body dragging slowly over yours.

You blinked up at him, lips parted, dazed. “I… I wanna touch you, too.”

Frank’s smile was slow and dangerous, the weight of it curling deep in your gut.

“Oh, you will,” he murmured, baritone dropping like a stone into your chest. “But not until I’m sure you’re not done screaming my name.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your open mouth.

“Let Daddy work, baby,” he whispered against your lips, fingers trailing between your legs again. “You’ve still got more in you.”

And you did.

So much more.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #frank benson x reader #frank benson

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dearmyloveleys · 1 month ago

Text

Weak Hero Class 2 : A show that hits you hard into a coma — only if you love Season 1 and Yeon Sieun. Otherwise, it's only decent (compared to WHC1).

An honest review of S2's story and writing from someone who loves WHC1

I love S1 as much as the next person (I sure hope my neighbour fuckin watched WHC1). WHC1 is just about perfect in every aspect of film making and script. While still decently directed and written, WHC2 loses much of the quiet ambiance and nuance that made WHC1 all the more poignant, as a show under the action genre. Poignant and action don’t come together often in one sentence, which is why WHC1 stole the limelight for me. WHC1 holds the most mind-boggling balance of emotions, plot, action and characters in its harsh grip.

WHC2 is really loud when it it’s loud, and doesn’t come back down to the level of rumination that makes audiences think on their own part, staring at the black screen of their device and to be emotionally affected, aka screaming crying throwing up, compared to WHC1. There’s quite a bit of telling and not showing, which makes WHC2 lose out on the charm that WHC1 had.

Fight/action choreography:

S1 is amazing. Had me on the edge of my seat. Engaging. What really hooked me about the fight choreography in S1 is that it tells a story about the character in and itself. A good fight sequence should always be able to let the audience in on more of how the character thinks and acts — How Sieun uses his surroundings as an advantage, How Suho is not only adept at martial arts, but also quick to think on his feet. How even the thug Gilsoo fights with savagery and brute strength. WHC1 found nuance in its fight choreography with characterisation.

Though the action scenes in S2 are visually stunning, and I love Sieun’s fight with Seongje on the roof (top 10 action scenes in my life in a series) there’s a point where there’s just a lot of flashbang and no real innate story like a lot of action shows out there. The fights don’t strike the balance of character and action as well as WHC1 do especially with the new characters.

They nearly achieve it with Baku and Baekjin in the finale fight — but unfortunately, we don’t spend just enough time with the duo as kids to understand why they fell out to empathise enough, just why they fight the way they do.

Gotak’s taekwondo style fighting wasn’t shown enough, and neither were his backstory and motivations. This severely bumped down the interest I had in his action sequences.

I must say, I severely enjoy Juntae’s fight scenes. He reminds me so much of Sieun and the juxtaposition of his cuddly character with his tenacity tells a very compelling character story. I am very interested in his backstory, which we don’t get. S3 perhaps?

Character writing and handling:

Everything they do with Sieun in WHC2 — perfect. Yum. Angst. Trauma. How he fights. How he lets the Eunjang Gang in. Which is why I say in my header that WHC2 hits hard only if you love WHC1 and are watching it for Sieun, because we already know well what are Sieun's motivations and feelings. If I were a webtoon fan or just watching S2 as a story on its own, characterisation and development of the new cast fall a tad bit short.

Not going into specifics, but I do wish they extended S2 into 10 episodes, just to get us to understand the new cast better. In S1, we are brought along the ride in real time on how Suho works at a barbecue restaurant part time, how Beomseok suffers from abuse and how Sieun feels so empty + dislikes his parents. In S2, much of what we know about the Eunjang Gang + antagonists are told to us via exposition and dialogue. Telling and not showing is a very big no no in writing circles, as it alienates the audience. Even if there are scenes that give us a glimpse into who they are, it’s not enough and I’m left blinking: you are like my papa

Juntae’s school room with his weeb friends and his iPad wallpaper — amazing, I want more. Why is there only a 5min long scene of that?

Hyuntak’s accident with his knee and Baku going ballistic about it — uh, I want more..? Can I? Please? Don’t give me exposition.

The writers were almost good with how they handled Baku and his relationship with Baekjin. They clearly spent the most effort and time fleshing them out. Baku is the most compelling character this season with all the scenes with his father, the Union and Baekjin. But still, it’s not enough. If I were the writer, I would have dedicated an entire episode detailing Baku's life and he will the character we follow the entire episode. We'll get to know his childhood with Baekjin, how they fallout, how he meets Gotak, a fight scene of him going out against the Union, how Gotak got his knee injured etc, right up till the present timeline.

Given more time, Baku and Baekjin's backstory would have formed a very strong literary foil against Suho and Sieun's history, as both pairs clearly have guilt and trauma from violence. Furthermore, one of the pair taught the other how to fight.

I really would have loved a morally grey antagonist which they shaped Baekjin up to be, but we don’t get anything more than his scene at the orphanage. Then he dies. (Am I just a view to you, writers?)

Lastly, the writers seem to be confused about who is the real protagonist of the season - Sieun or Baku. The writers want to build on both, but the focus becomes convoluted and it messes up the story pacing.

Story pacing (my largest gripe with WHC2):

WHC1 have the same 8 episodes duration and somehow manage to have no extraneous/unneeded scenes. Nothing more or nothing less. Every scene is impactful and matters to either the plot or characters. Right at the midway point of Ep4, WHC1 changes its arc from an external antagonist (Gilsoo) to an internal antagonist (Beomseok and Co).

WHC2 is a little confused with its pace; sometimes dawdling, sometimes fast. I found myself watching along at some scenes only because Sieun was there. Characters entered and left scenes whenever they liked, as though the writers weren't sure what to do to start or end the scene with purpose.

WHC2's quiet scenes don't hit as hard as WHC1's. The lack of in-depth characterisation for the new cast and too much needed world-building in a short span is the cause. WHC1 spent a lot of time only with Suho, Sieun and Beomseok + their antagonists, while WHC2 is rushing to explain all about the Union, the Eunjang Boys and Sieun's continuing trauma. Hence, when they go all quiet and accompany each other, there's not much emotional attachment going around. Imo, a 10 episode season is really needed for an improvement in the pacing and writing, which will make their quiet moments hit harder.

This is even a harsh comment for my standards (because I genuinely love Suho and Sieun's relationship): If the writers wanted to keep to 8 episodes, they should have removed some scenes of Sieun with Suho/reminiscing about Suho. Ultimately, there isn't enough pay-off for all the pining Sieun does and the ending is still the same (Suho returns for 3 minutes in the last episode). Removing one or two scenes would have greatly improved the focus and cohesion of other active characters who matter more in determining the finale of WHC2. Definitely a fair bit of fanservice going on.

Overall comments:

I won't say WHC2 is the worst. On its own, it's fun. It definitely does a more than decent job at reconciling WHC1 with new characters and plot of WHC2. The action scenes are its best features, which is a bummer for me, as the characters were the stars of WHC1. But we're comparing to WHC1 here — WHC1 is unbearably gentle where it needs to be and achingly harsh where it needs to be. Many aspects are concise but well developed at the same time. As a writer and someone who loves films/tv series, I find that WHC1 is truly a masterclass in nuance and writing, especially in the action genre. WHC2 unfortunately, isn't able replicate the delicate balance that WHC1 achieved with the story's highs and lows.

#a little harsh #I still love the season regardless #will be rewatching still #WHC1 will always be peak television for me #ok im done yapping for now #will probably hyperfixate on shse for the following posts #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 2 #whc1 #whc2 #weak hero class one #weak hero class two #kdrama

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stevierogersbabygirl · 1 year ago

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Teacher's Pet

Professor!Steve Rogers x problematic reader

Run-through: You were never a diligent student, but ever since professor Rogers noticed, his teaching methods changed your grades forever.

Warnings : mentions of divorce, daddy issues, drugs and alcohol

Themes : Slight angst, smut (cock warming, clothed + vaginal sex)

Your parents divorced when you were 12, giving your mom sole custody of you.

Your father was abusive, he'd emotionally abuse you and never be there for your emotional needs, and your mother tried her best to raise you alone.

But life was hard growing up without a father figure.

You were now 22, and things did not get any better.

You were friends with the wrong people, who were only interested in drugs, alcohol, and lots of sex.

You'd join in, skipping college just to do those activities, and your group was so notorious that the whole campus knew about it.

They were unable to do anything about it, as some of the guys from your gang had parents who had donated to the college for years.

It was almost the first day of the second semester in college, and you and your group planned to go as you guys always went on the first day.

You got bored during most of the lessons, until one class.

A professor resigned and was replaced by a guy named Dr. Steve Rogers.

Holy fuck, he was so hot. From his properly styled blonde hair to his beautiful blue eyes accompanied by long eyelashes, to his pretty lips, to his height, to his abs and biceps.

Suddenly you wanted to attend college again.

Once you were out of his class, you went to your gang and gossiped all about him.

They'd tease you that "Y/N will one hundred percent fuck him for grades", or "Go suck his dick after class". You laughed along with them.

Your crush on that man started to develop more and more, as you attended his classes, and only his classes.

Before and after he taught, you'd always be with your gang, somewhere else, doing something terrible.

But you just had to be in Steve's class for the eye candy.

Unfortunately, though, Steve was teaching one of the harder subjects, and your grades remained the same.

One day, Steve called you after class ended, into his office.

You excitedly went there, fighting back a smile while walking.

You went back into character before knocking on the door, and he went to open it, and you instantly noticed a slight frown on his face, while inviting you to sit down.

After you sat down in front of his desk, he went behind the desk to sit on his chair.

"Y/N, we have to talk about your grades." He said softly, with a concerned look on his face.

You were so mesmerized at first by his beautiful self, that you didn't say anything leaving an awkward silence between the both of you.

"Y/N?" He asked.

You knew this would end up like other meetings about grades. You knew you'd just fail again and didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of a man like him.

"Oh yeah, sorry, I will work on them soon, I have to go now, bye!" You said rather sheepishly, getting up and slowly walking towards the door.

"I didn't tell you to leave." He said in an authoritative voice, causing you to embarrassingly hurry back into your chair.

"Y/N. This is a serious matter, and I've heard of how other professors seem to fail to help your grades." He said in his deep, slightly intimidating voice.

The thought of Steve talking about you to other teachers instantly made your heart flutter, but you had to focus on his serious words.

"So Y/N, I've come up with a strategy. Meet me at my house this evening." He said, handing you a piece of paper with his address on it.

You looked at it in surprise.

After the meeting, you skipped the next class to be with your friends, and they'd have their chitchats but it felt like background noise.

All you could think about was the paper.

Throughout those hours, you wondered what Steve wanted to do about your studies, at his house.

Why would he even invite you to his house?

That's when you had sexually intrusive thoughts, imagining Steve doing the most sinful, sexual things to you, and it made your underwear dampen on those occasions.

In the evening, you walked through his neighborhood to find his house and you finally did, knocking on the door.

Steve opened and invited you into the living room.

You sat on the opposite side of him in the dining room.

After some small talk and as he served you some cookies, he said something rather interesting.

"I heard about your gang, all the sex and stuff, so can you tell me some things regarding it?" He said while mixing his coffee with a small teaspoon.

Your heart jumped hearing those words come out of his mouth, and you had to remove the brain fog to find an answer to it.

"Oh yeah, sure. Well, I've been hooking up with guys since I was 19, they'd pay me for it, and I'd get pregnant on multiple occasions but unfortunately aborted." You said.

You don't know why you said all of that, especially to your professor.

Steve looked at you with a face that had an emotion hard to detect and took a sip of his coffee, he placed it on the table.

"What was the biggest one you took?" He said casually, looking at you, a smirk forming on his face.

Shock filled your face, and your mouth gaped slightly open.

Did your professor ask that?

But you knew that, if you guys were about to have sex, you'd like it too.

This man knew he was extremely hot.

"Well, 5 inches." You said sheepishly, looking down at your plate full of cookie crumbs.

Steve chuckled, and you presumed it was because of the shyness.

He stopped chuckling and said quieter, "Well I'm 6.5, you okay with that?" He asked.

You looked at him, with your mouth gaped and your brain still processing what he just said.

You eventually nodded, and he patted his lap for you to sit on it.

You eventually sat on his lap, inches away from his face.

"B-but, what does this have to do with the studies?" You'd ask shyly, playing with your hair, making Steve smile.

"Well, since you like sex so much, how about you have your pretty tits out while you sit on my cock, doing all your missing assignments on that laptop you have." He said, smirking and staring into your shy eyes.

No way. No way he just said that.

But this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, lots of girls would do anything to fuck their hot professor.

You nodded slowly, looking hypnotized by his beautiful eyes.

In no time, your shirt would be pulled up, revealing your tits, while your underwear was off, and your skirt was covering your pussy as you sat on his large, fat cock, unzipped from his trousers.

You were shaking, a fog clouded in your mind, while you wrote one of your essays, while Steve had both hands on your waist, watching your every move from behind, occasionally playing with your tits

If you were almost finished, Steve would start thrusting up into you and rubbing your clit, and you knew it was worth it.

Once you've submitted, Steve would bring you to his bed to fuck you fast and, hard, and would plant kisses all over your body, showing you that your work was worth it.

You spent less time with your gang, so you'd always give your friends excuses like your mom gave you extra chores, but you were truly at Steve's house, getting your pussy filled while increasing your grades.

For the rest of the college year, you'd sit on his cock half naked, with him fully clothed only with his cock out.

Sometimes you'd request to have casual sex with him, but he'd always reject it, saying that you needed to do an assignment too, which you unfortunately accepted.

But aside from grades, before you'd start doing your assignments, he'd sometimes ask you to give him a blowjob, usually if he's had a stressful day, and you'd agree, which was so unfair.

You never got sex if you weren't doing your work, and he'd always get sex if he'd simply ask.

But he was the hottest fucking guy after all, how could you say no?

#captain america #captain america smut #captain america x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #marvel smut #steve rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers x reader #chris evans

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brights-place · 1 year ago

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Jeff The Killer with an Mute! S/O

Pairings: Jeff the killer X Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of gore, Dating headcannons

A/N: Jeff the killer dating an mute reader that me and my friends were talking long and hard about how each creepypasta would date an S/O who is mute :>>

- When you were first introduced he tried to annoy you and get you to talk smack back to him caus he wanted to fight someone since Jane was on an mission and Jeff itched for an fight

- He’s suspicious of you at first when you don't reply - Even more so that you don’t talk. But if you prove you’re not a threat in other ways, he doesn’t actually mind it all that much... JK HE DOES MIND LIKE WHY AIN'T YOU FIGHTING OR YELLING AT HIM!

- He complains and cruses you out as you just stared at him - Jeff is annoyed how you hangout with Smile dog who makes sure to make you feel comfy which makes Jeff confused since well... Smile wasn't nice to people actually nobody really was I mean they were Creepypastas they were creatures and beings that could kill

- When he tried to fight Liu since well that's whats siblings do you smacked him up top the head as liu cackled at how Jeff was flabbergasted as you stared him down

- He gets annoyed by everybody and since your silent he comes out of nowhere and hangs out with you as he says "Shut up" when not knowing you were mute cause he never knew you were mute

- Ends up going on tangents or rants about the others while you just sit there and kind of annoyed yet staring down at him making sure he is comfortable - He knows it can get annoying to just have to listen but he’s extremely grateful for the outlet. - he can bitch about his day only to turn around and find you still there, listening intently.

- Sooner or later he watches you do sign language talking to EJ, Toby, and Nina as you just nodded shook your head or just did sign language which he connected the dots quickly finding out that you were mute

- most of the time he is translating for those who can't understand you when you use sign language when Jeff can't is when he's on his missions and off to kill some people

- Other then that he would be by your side making sure your safe and are alright When he speaks he forgets that he's doing sign language while speaking whenever your near and people point it out he rolls his eyes

- He gets used to your silence and can't help but when he feels pissy just walks towards were you are in your room or in the kitchen kick open the door and grab you and lay his head on your shoulder

- He didn't understand sign language so he just focused on when you're looking at something or someone in a certain way, how your eyebrows furrow. how you squint your eyes, the way your lips curve up or downwards with something he likes and dislikes.

- He could read your thoughts and what you want to say but can't at all but try to explain in sign language to you and say's fuck it and just speaks to you as you nod your head listening. - He switches from checking to verbal confirmation to physical confirmation - When you two are out at night not doing missions you take an stroll before jeff then goes on an rampage out of boredom - You were making sure that jeff was careful when you noticed an couple watching them afar since you knew that they had an child but also knew that why you two killed the two parents cause they were Junkies and quiet emotionally abusive towards their own child so of course you had to kill the two so you brought Jeff!

- When he is on an mission his knife digging into the skin of an 30 year old couple while their daughter was fast asleep in her room not knowing about what was happening downstairs.

- You couldn't help but watch Jeff ripping the parents skin with his knife carving an smile as he turns towards you when you stomped your foot lightly two times on the floor is what you two used to say its time to go since he well he and you have your own secret language

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta headcannons #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer headcanons #jeff the killer #jeff woods #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #Jeff the killer #jeff the killer headcanon #Jeff the killer x reader

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kiwriteswords · 4 months ago

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please write about the parentification of aaron hotchner im on my knees begging

HAPPILY. GLADLY. Apologies in ADVANCE for this wild breakdown!!

According to the NIH, Parentification—also known as adultification, spousification, child carers, or role reversal—occurs when youth are forced to assume developmentally inappropriate parent- or adult-like roles and responsibilities.

Background on Hotch that we know or can assume from his very vague explanations of his upbringing:

His father was abusive (source: “…some grow up to catch them…”)

His father had affairs that everyone knew about, even his Mother, but nobody said anything. Hotch confronted his father about the affairs and followed him. (source: “...lust can be lethal….”)

Hotch’s father died when he was a teenager from lung cancer or a heart attack (source: …s1 vs s2)

Hotch started fighting his father back (source: “...did he start fighting back…”)

Hotch felt pressured to follow in his father’s footsteps despite clearly not liking the man (source: …s1 convo with Sean)

Hotch felt pressured, even subconsciously, to always guide Sean in the right direction and pushed him more than a sibling should (source: s1 convo with Sean)

Hotch married his high school sweetheart (even though the timeline on this is a little wonky)

Hotch has a son whom he very much pressures himself to be different from and carries an immense amount of verbalized and insinuated guilt with

Things that, in my mind, point to parentification being the base of Hotch’s caretaking skills and central personality (without trying to come off as too word vomit-y because as someone who has been treated for parentification and studied this deeply…IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME TO SEE HOTCH):

Despite knowing he can’t catch them all…he still has the mentality going into each case like he will, and we’ve seen him get overwhelmed by that when he fails. Oftentimes, a parentified person will feel the extreme need to be a peacekeeper. In Hotch’s case, we see him get extremely involved, oftentimes emotionally, when children or father/child scenarios are at the basis of a case. He feels the weight of this responsibility without maybe realizing it consciously.

Parentified children are given responsibilities that are not age-appropriate. Hotch knowing his father, who he probably already had distaste for, was cheating on his mother, is not a weight he should have had to carry. His father was not only careless enough to have an affair and disrespect Hotch’s mother, but to go about it in a way that everyone knew about it and likely caused a young Hotch shame, embarrassment, and the need to figure out the truth--which he did.

Piecing the puzzle together, Hotch’s father died when he was a teenager. Given that maybe he was away at boarding school when this happened, he likely felt responsibility for not being there or the need to step up. Being his father was sick, and unclear of how long he was sick, Hotch may have also had to step up in different ways for his family, like financial support before or after his death.

Hotch and Sean did not have much of a relationship growing up, according to Hotch, but I don’t truly trust him as a narrator based on Sean’s interactions with him. It’s likely they never had much of a brotherly relationship from the beginning, given the family dynamics and age-gap, but I could see Hotch feeling the immense need to guide Sean post-his father’s death.

Despite not caring for his father, he still wanted to be like him. Following in his footsteps to be a lawyer and wanted Sean to as well. He wanted nothing more than to be accepted by his father at the end of the day, something parentified children have to learn will never happen.

Parentified children often feel like their families will not make it without them, an immense weight on their shoulders. We see this both through his relationship fighting to guide Sean, but somewhat at times with his relationship with Haley/Jack.

Seeing and experiencing abuse from his father and witnessing it to his mother, when Hotch meets Haley, he likely (not saying love was not there!!) at a young age, saw the opportunity to re-write and have the perfect family. This notion of perfection and wanting things to be perfect with Haley always kind of corners him and sets him up for extreme failure. Parentified children oftentimes become perfectionists and suffer from things like OCD (not saying Hotch does), but we do see his attention to detail and how stressed he can get about these things.

This is the kicker, too; I think oftentimes, there was a polarizing force of having this “perfect” family he never got and being the “best/better” dad than he had, and his need to still PLEASE his father or live up to those dreams of being a hard worker and following in “justice” footsteps. So much so that it leads to his divorcefromh Haley, which KILLS him. It reads all over his face the failure he feels as a husband and as a father. We even hear him with Rossi get defensive, saying how much he tried. He tried too hard, and unfortunately, you can’t be both--the best agent and the best father. You shouldn’t have to be both!

Most parentified children have trouble taking care of themselves and often neglect their own needs. The man is internally bleeding for who knows how long (which having witnessed first-hand the effects of someone who was internally bleeding…there are SIGNS). He ignored symptoms and likely did not get regular testing to follow up and be sure he was okay. He wasn’t cleared to fly after his ear incident, yet did so anyways. So many things. He puts himself below the last priority on his list.

And lastly, parentified children are oftentimes chronic people pleasers. He takes on so much at work, absorbing so many other responsibilities to make things happen and not disrupt the peace of his team, that he works himself into the ground day in and day out.

ANYWAYS. This topic, I could go on forever and bring up legit case-by-case where his wounded child comes into play because for all 12 seasons he’s involved in, it comes up. Whether that was conscious or not, I don’t know…but from one parentified child to another--I FEEL SEEN BY THAT MAN.

#aaron hotchner #character breakdowns #aaronhotchner #hotch #criminal minds #parentification tw #abuse tw #aaron hotchner headcanon #headcanons #headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons

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class1akids · 23 days ago

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I guess Horikoshi thought Hawks hating Enji made no sense or something. Because he portrayed him as such a fan boy of Endavour, and maybe he thought if Hawks came to hate him, it would be anti-thesis of Endavour developing himself for the better and make his redemption arc kinda pointless?

We know that the members of Touya family, especially Natsu, had negative reactions toward Enji even after his redemption but they suffered in that same household, so it makes sense for them to resent Enji.

Meanwhile Hawks was kinda sympathetic to Shouta but besides that, he wasnt personally affected by that situation, so it was easier for him to ignore and focus on Enji's current/present situation as an individual.

Ok, I take issue with a lot of the points you made here.

,"it would be anti-thesis of Endavour developing himself for the better and make his redemption arc kinda pointless?"

First, let's not talk about "redemption" in the case of Endeavor. He himself acknowledges that what he's done to his family is beyond forgiveness, and he can only strive for atonement. Second, atonement is not done for present/future reward but to try to make amends for past sins. So Endeavor shouldn't be rewarded by anything to atone - his ledger is already very red. He needs good deeds to balance those. That's the point.

2. "Hawks was kinda sympathetic to Shouta but besides that, he wasnt personally affected by that situation, so it was easier for him to ignore and focus on Enji's current/present situation as an individual."

This doesn't make sense because Hawks is a hero. A hero doesn't need to be personally affected by a situation - they should be able to distinguish injustice and fight it. That's kind of the point of a hero. Hawks (and every single other pro-hero) shrugging off Endeavor's exposed crimes with a "this doesn't impact me" makes them all look bad, people without any moral integrity, who will protect one of their own no matter what horrible things he's done to innocent victims (sort of how cops will protect often the truly despicable among their ranks).

The fact that Hawks himself is a victim of child abuse makes it even weirder. He should be able to personally empathise with the Todosiblings.

Sometimes I see in fandom those fans who were themselves victims of DV / child abuse looking at Endeavor and thinking "I wish my dad tried to change" and that's valid. But Hawks is not even put into this kind of mental position, but rather into comparing himself to Shouto, and blaming himself for leaving his own abusive parents behind.

The point is, in Endeavor's "atonement arc", the burden is left disproportionately to the victims. Endeavor becomes a better hero (but he was already good at his job, so it's kind of pointless in the context of atonement), but he's not able to do much for his family beyond buying them a house that doesn't even get used much.

He never manages to put his family first, to step up for them in any real way. Rather, it's the family who is constantly put in a position to prop up Endeavor:

Shouto saves his life (both in the PLF war and in the final war), steps in to fight when Endeavor can't or won't (Ending and Dabi both times), catches strays for Endeavor's past behaviour (Inasa)

The family props him up emotionally in the hospital after the PLF war because the situation forces them to

If they want to try to save Touya, they have to save Endeavor with him

They are made to share the responsibility for Touya's spiral, to the point of getting "karmic scars", including Fuyumi who was a child.

And what does Endeavor do for them? How does he step up?

He doesn't. All the narrative focuses on is to support the perpetrators and give him rewards for trying to be better, while not providing support to the victims, not providing justice to the victims, not taking a strong stance on right and wrong, and certainly not rewarding them.

It's kind of a sad irony how Hawks, who himself was a child abuse victim gets character assassinated to prop up Endeavor.

#c1a asks #bnha critical

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suzukiblu · 2 months ago

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I was wondering if you had any favorite DC comics you could recommend?

I'm planning to get the comic subscription thing they have, for like a month or two and bing a bunch of stuff.

I haven't actually read many comics, I've seen some of the movies, scrolled the wiki and read tons of fanfic, but that's it.

So I figured I could kind of "catch up" on some of it, mostly so I can enjoy more fanfic 🤣 but there is literally Soo much out there and idk where to start

disclaimer: these options are going to be VERY heavily weighted towards the nineties/early 2k's, given that is when I read the vast, VAST majority of the DC comics that I have read. also effectively all of them are YJ-related or Supers-related, because those were what made an impression on me and I remember almost nothing of any other DC comics I was reading at the time.

also DEF we need a cut:

Superboy (1994) - I did not read most of the first fifty issues, I only know bits and pieces about those, but I picked it up at issue fifty and became ride-or-die for it 'til it got cancelled like fifty issues later, and while I originally read it as a teenager, it is one of the only big two comics I can say I really remember a LOT of the plot points and art and details from. Like, I was also reading Robin and several other comics at the time and I remember effectively nothing of a good eighty percent of those, despite the fact that Tim was actually my favorite character at the time. But SB94 you get to meet hot furries and go to Hypertime and get emotionally manipulated by Superman when he MIGHT be being mind-controlled, I was never entirely clear on that one and I don't know if Kon ever found out either, and also it's where Match debuted AND contains Serling Roquette, the definitely autistic teen-genius geneticist of my HEART. And Earth!Krypto, the worst/best dog ever, who is Superboy's it's-on-sight-bitch nemesis. Legit I think the dog hates him more than Match does. And Kon DEFINITELY hates the dog more than he hates Match. Match at least had a theoretical chance at making a good impression; Krypto did NOT.

Supergirl (1996) - The first superhero comic I ever read, and in fact the first issue of it was the second comic I ever bought in my entire-ass life up until that point, hah. The cover is literally my current icon, that cover just stuck out SO strongly to teenage!me that I just picked it up and went into it cold. It's honestly a very weird and somewhat hit-or-miss comic, it has the Space Girls and demonic cultist murders and at-least-technically-abusive parents that you still want to talk to as an adult and a lot of "okay so this writer has some very weird ideas about race/sexuality/religion/genetic determinism" and fucked-up shit like lying to vulnerable people about their potential to BE people so they MAYBE don't accidentally murder you and Mae/Linda being the same person but actually not the same person and also falling for a dude who is a horse but only breaking it off with him because THEY'RE not a lesbian, no I am not kidding, and also God is a recurring character. And Buzz. Buzz is there. Buzz is . . . a whole experience, there. Also there's flan, one time. The flan is kinda weird.

Young Justice (1998) - one of the VERY few comics I have read the entire run of and followed from first to last issue. I love it very much, hah. Just--it's great, it's so good, and also the girls in it DO stuff. Some of that stuff being girlbossing and going to the Olympics and fighting preschoolers with knives and not getting to fight super-hot furry babes and subverting government agencies and getting LITERALLY dressed to kill to go do a murder! Twice, in fact!! Technically that outfit gets dressed-to-kill in TWICE, there is canonically a "this is what we wear to do the murders" fit in this series!!

and relatedly, some tie-in events involving that era of YJ:

Young Justice: The Secret, which is a one-shot from the GirlFrenzy fifth-week event and is the first appearance of Secret, who I ADORED as a teenager and still have a soft spot for. Also the first time Robin, Superboy, and Impulse all work together at the same time, iirc, though I belieeeeeve they'd all worked together in different pairs at that point?

World's Finest #3 was the first time Robin and Superboy met and worked together; Impulse and Superboy I think met during Superboy and the Ravers, and I know Impulse and Tim met at SOME point but hell if I know when.

World Without Grownups ( takes place prior to YJ98; literally every adult on the planet disappears overnight and that is specifically Robin and Superboy and Impulse's problem, apparently. also Billy Batson is around and reasonably concerned about what'll happen if he turns into Captain Marvel--also known as, you know, an adult, when they are not sure about the alive-ness of any of those right now!! )

Sins of Youth ( takes place during YJ98, I think between issues 19 and 20; Justice League and YJ get age-swapped and everyone has to deal with that, and honestly most of them suck at it )

World Without Young Justice ( takes place near the end of YJ98's run, I think? reality-altering bullshit related to "World Without Grownups" occurs and I BELIEVE crosses over between multiple series )

Comics I have not read but heard were good and have been personally WANTING to read:

Death of Superman/Reign of the Supermen - technically two separate arcs, but I believe they both happened across all four then-running Superman titles; established Steel and Superboy as characters before they got their own solos and included in-her-dating-Lex-Luthor-era Matrix!Supergirl and like . . . all that that implies, basically. In her defense, she didn't know he was THAT Lex Luthor. Less in her defense, I think Lex literally sent her to like, recruit Superboy into a throuple with them and she was apparently all for the idea, it REALLY did kinda read like that.

Impulse (1995) - Impulse and Max Mercury are having a very complicated relationship in this and also the line "haven't you ever felt that way about anyone? hasn't anybody ever felt that way about YOU?" happens. So like, I feel like that's enough explanation of why I want to read it, really? Also the supporting cast is supposed to be pretty solid and I really dig a lot of the art I've seen from it. First appearances of both Cissie's version of Arrowette and Inertia happen in it, iirc.

Also like, I cannot justifiably RECOMMEND either of these because I kinda frickin' hate what I've read of them, but Titans/Young Justice: Graduation Day and the subsequent 2003 Teen Titans run contain a lot of the foundational lore that Young Justice runs on these days, including the retcon about Kon's DNA donors and Tim's "I lie to Batman" line and a writer who apparently for the life of him CANNOT write either teenage girls or neurodivergent people and like . . . everything about weird fucked-up grief responses/cloning/culting shit. It just also WILDLY slanders multiple team members, especially Cassie and Bart, and frankly it doesn't really do that great by Tim or Kon either and I do not wanna TALK about what--ANYWAY IT HAS LORE, just the actual characterization kinda all sucks and the art in TT03 was not at ALL my thing, not in the least because of how Cassie's design got SO unforgivably bad AND out of character, ughhhhh.

#gender-fluid-druid #rintalk

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