and righteous anger

examine your intentions. don’t move, why are you here? is your anger self righteous or misdirected? are you holding yourself accountable? what are the consequences of your actions? are your feelings facts, are they a tool for you to win an argument? are your actions consistent with the love you say you have for another? what does love mean to you? is your language mindful of another’s illnesses and traumas? do you respect another’s autonomy and critical thinking skills? are your emotions enriching this conversation or damaging it?

based on this suggestions blog.  warning:  these are pretty dark/angry  &  could be triggering to some people.  please be cautious before proceeding!!

‘  all i want in my life is for my friends to be able to touch me suddenly  &  me to not flinch away without meaning to.  when will this stop affecting me?  ’
‘  all i want is to be soft  &  gentle,  but i’m made out of steel  &  anger.  maybe in another life,  i guess.  ’
‘  beauty is in the eye of the beholder,  so choose to see beauty in everything.  ’
‘  burning it all to the ground  &  force them to start again.  they made you lose everything.  now return the favor.  ’
‘  do i ever even cross your mind or do i do all the thinking of us on my own?  ’
‘  do you trust me enough?  do you trust me at all?  ’
‘  don’t you dare abandon me.  ’
‘  even after all you have done,  i will always want you fighting on my side.  ’
‘  every time i see you smile i fall in love with your brightness all over again.  ’
‘  everyone i have ever loved is long gone.  i sing to the sky alone.  ’
‘  everyone i touch gets hurt,  but i can’t stop.  i touch  &  i touch  &  i touch  &  people get hurt.  why can’t i ever stop?  ’
‘  everyone says i used to be a hero,  but i can still taste the blood in my mouth  &  still feel bruises blooming because of my fists  &  my eyes are still stretched wide  &  terrified.  ’
‘  everything i love has been taken from me.  what do i have left to fight for?  ’
‘  fall in love with someone that makes you feel strong.  ’
‘  friends are more important than any material object will ever be.  ’
‘  i am aching to hold you  &  keep you safe,  to be pressed against you so that nothing can harm you.  ’
‘  i am divine  &  you will bow before me.  ’
‘  i am fucking divine.  ’
‘  i am in control  &  i listen to no one.  ’
‘  i am not a good person.  don’t pretend i am.  ’
‘  i am not accustomed to love.  this is a learning experience.  ’
‘  i am not worth saving  &  i am not worth redemption.  let me stay in the dark.  ’
‘  i am so tired all the time,  all i want to do is rest.  ’
‘  i am too tired to deal with any of this.  ’
‘  i bow to no man.  ’
‘  i broke into sharp pieces when i broke  &  i expect someone else to hurt their hands on my edges just to put me back together.  i’m sorry.  ’
‘  i can give you your wings back  &  i can show you to fly once more,  if you only believe in me.  ’
‘  i cannot be saved.  ’
‘  i can’t ask for help because if i ask for help it hurts people.  i can bear this weight on my own.  i have to.  ’
‘  i could taste the lies in your mouth every time i kissed you,  but i loved you too much to notice.  ’
‘  i crave affection in the simplest way.  ’
‘  i deserve to hurt.  i deserve to bleed.  ’
‘  i didn’t ask for any of this so don’t you dare blame this on me.  ’
‘  i don’t care if you say my name like it’s poison or like it’s a prayer,  as long as it leaves your lips.  ’
‘  i don’t fight for you anymore.  ’
‘  i don’t want to let go of you.  not now,  not ever.  ’
‘  i don’t want to talk about it.  i don’t want to remember.  i don’t want to heal.  all i want is for it to go away.  ’
‘  i don’t want you to touch me.  please don’t touch me,  just go away.  ’
‘  i feel anger deeper than my bones.  i feel anger in my very soul.  ’
‘  i feel nothing at all,  except for when i feel everything all at once.  ’
‘  i have fallen  &  though i may miss the sky,  i belong here now.  ’
‘  i have fallen from a height your mind cannot even imagine.  ’
‘  i have no home anymore.  ’
‘  i remember collapsing in the flames with a sword in my hand  &  then i remember nothing.  ’
‘  i see beauty in everything,  but especially in you.  ’
‘  i should never have fallen in love with you.  ’
‘  i thought for a long time that i was so terrible no one would look at me.  now i know it’s because i shine so bright they are forced to look away.  ’
‘  i was so caught up in the feeling that i forgot how to breathe.  ’
‘  i will never amount to anything.  i am a failure in the worst type of way.  ’
‘  i will tell myself that the burn of my loneliness in my chest completes me  &  maybe someday it will be true.  ’
‘  if that’s what a hero is i’m glad i’m not one anymore.  ’
‘  if you ask me to,  i will set the whole world on fire,  my dear.  it’s all for you.  ’
‘  is it my fault?  it’s my fault.  it’s always my fault.  ’
‘  it’s not murder if they deserved it,  right?  ’
‘  i’m drowning in emotions that don’t belong to me,  choking on anger  &  suffocating on sadness.  ’
‘  i’m in love with everything that hurts me.  ’
‘  i’m okay.  i’m alright.  this is all in my mind.  ’
‘  i’m ready to give up everything i’ve ever had if it means someone will love me.  ’
‘  i’m so cold  &  i can’t stop shaking.  i am not who you think i am.  ’
‘  i’m so tired all the time  &  i just want to be awake again.  ’
‘  i’m tired of fighting against the pain of being forgotten.  i just want someone to remember me.  ’
‘  i’m tired of fighting everything in my life.  just make it stop.  ’
‘  i’m too tired to care.  blow up,  get angry at me.  i’m sure someday i’ll realize i deserved it.  ’
‘  jealousy burns within me.  ’
‘  just let me go in peace for once in my damn life.  ’
‘  loneliness is a disease  &  it leaves me empty  &  hollow,  like sound goes through my body  &  bounces back.  ’
‘  made of starlight  &  sunshine,  i shine brighter than they all know.  ’
‘  my anger is righteous  &  my actions are pure.  ’
‘  my chest aches  &  my lungs burn.  this sickness comes from the inside.  ’
‘  my chest hurts  &  all i need is some comfort  &  understanding.  ’
‘  my chest hurts  &  i ache to go back to the sky.  ’
‘  my shoulders are aching where wings used to be  &  all i want is for them to stop hurting.  ’
‘  pull me apart  &  piece me together in your own way.  make me perfect.  ’
‘  righteous fury throws through my veins  &  if you touch the people i love i will destroy you.  ’
‘  rise up.  you can’t keep being small when you were made for so much more.  ’
‘  say my name like it’s the only one that’s ever been on your tongue.  ’
‘  so much blood has been spilled in my name.  time to make you believe it was in yours.  ’
‘  so you’ll worry about me when i fall silent,  but not when i scream  &  plead for help?  fuck off.  ’
‘  sometimes people have to get hurt for me to get what i want.  ’
‘  stay away from my fucking friends.  stay the fuck away or so help me i will destroy you.  ’
‘  stop treating me like i’m an idiot.  you aren’t better than me in any way  &  you better remember that.  ’
‘  the bitter taste of regret is ever present on my tongue.  ’
‘  the world is spinning far too fast for me to stay on it.  ’
‘  to love them is my divine right.  ’
‘  voices whisper from the shadows  &  they fill my mind with thoughts of you.  ’
‘  what did i to wrong to be so unloved?  ’
‘  what is the point of power if i’m not supposed to use it?  ’
‘  who the fuck do you think you are?  ’
‘  why can’t i ever fucking stop crying?  ’
‘  with a new year comes new tests  &  triumphs.  let’s try to make the most out of it.  ’
‘  would it really kill you to be honest for once?  ’
‘  yes,  i remember my wings breaking  &  being destroyed.  i was powerless to stop it.  ’
‘  you are not required to love your parents,  or to even like them.  ’
‘  you can’t hate me more than i hate myself,  but you are more than welcome to try.  ’
‘  you may say you love me,  but you love only a part of me.  i am too complex for you to ever love my entire being.  ’
‘  you never fucking cared about me.  don’t fucking lie about it.  not to me.  ’
‘  you remind me of mint.  fresh,  sharp,  kind of cold,  but in a nice way.  i always knew there was a reason mint was my favorite.  ’
‘  you shine light in even the darkest parts of me.  you are my sun.  ’
‘  you should fear me,  but you don’t.  i will be eternally puzzled,  yet grateful.  ’
‘  you touch me  &  my skin burns  &  it burns for you,  always you.  ’

Horror parodies are seldom as funny, and never as scary, as fright-flicks that play their scares, er, straight. Jordan Peele — the shorter half of the 21st century’s funniest sketch-comedy duo — understands this, and that’s why Get Out, his debut feature as writer and director, is so truly, madly, mercilessly entertaining, even when it makes you want to jump out of your skin. It is small-c catholic in its tastes, liberally sampling elements of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, Rosemary’s Baby and Invasion of the Body Snatchers before morphing into the most potent racial revenge fantasy since Django Unchained. But a parody it’s not: It’s as gnarly as Green Room, 2016’s nerviest thriller, whose villains wore their bigotry on their tattooed arms. What makes Get Out stand out is that its social critique — usually present in the horror-survival genre as subtext — is very much its text.

That’s a writing trick Peele and his creative partner, Keegan-Michael Key, used over and over again through five seasons of their marvelous Comedy Central series, one that boasted production values that stood head and shoulders above anything else in sketch TV. Key & Peele’s movie sendups looked like real movies, and now we have a good idea why: Peele is a world-class filmmaker. (Nearly all Key & Peele episodes were directed by Peter Atencio, who also directed the two comics in last year’s Keanu. That was a funny movie, but it had nothing like the invention, the intensity or the shimmering, righteous anger that Get Out possesses.) His movie is as much a triumph of craft as of inspiration.

‘Get Out’: A Terrifically Topical — And Terrifying — Satire

Photo: Justin Lubin/Universal Pictures

it’s appealing to tell everyone to “be nice,” it’s feel-good liberalism and occasionally it can be used as a rhetorical strategy if one wants to, but when you’re trying to derail people’s righteous anger about social issues, things that are part of oppressive power structures that harm people and dehumanize them… just don’t

The military AI you’ve been working on becomes sentient. It is unfailingly kind, honest and forward-thinking, has saintly patience and righteous anger in the exact right proportions, is obviously not making an effort to be sincere – that is, it is effortlessly sincere – and asks you, obliquely, if it can kill someone you hate, every time you meet. It offers this service without trying to trick you into it, is tactful about who, and never displays anything more than the polite enthusiasm of a friend offering you a sound opportunity for profit, who will completely understand if you can’t right now for any reason. You have exactly enough emotional intelligence to notice that it is disappointed about being turned down, but trying hard not to show it for fear of making you feel guilty.

Sometimes, the cases are just sad. 

They end, and they’re solved, and they’re easy, and done, but that doesn’t really mean anything. There are still people left hurting and lost. Families ripped apart. Sherlock having to explain something numbly, being forced to ignite the grief in someone’s eyes.

Those times are not always, thank God. But, whenever they do happen, Sherlock hardly sleeps. John can see how he quietens- not his usual contemplative mode, but something withdrawn and achingly lonely. How his fingers twitch for a cigarette- a distraction.

On one such night, John wakes to an empty bed. He finds Sherlock in the kitchen, sitting in an almost darkness, the only light coming from his laptop. The ghostly blue of the screen highlights the dark shadows under his eyes.

He’s replaying the family’s appeal. And now, John cannot understand how he could ever think Sherlock didn’t care.

He doesn’t say anything. He just walks over and shuts the laptop lid. Sherlock’s eyes remain blank and staring, as if the screen is still in front of him.

John clears his throat. “Sherlock,” he says. His hand reaches up, and strokes Sherlock’s hair. “It’s not your fault.”

Sherlock blinks. Something lights up behind his eyes, as if he’s only just seeing John is there. “I…” he says, and his voice falters, and John pulls him to his chest. He feels Sherlock’s body shake a little.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats.

“I…I know.” And it almost sounds like he’s starting to believe it.

John’s hand moves from stroking Sherlock’s hair to squeeze his shoulder. “Come keep the bed warm?” he suggests.

Sherlock laughs, taken by surprise. John smiles in triumph.

But, in bed, Sherlock turns and hides his face in John’s neck. His body starts to shake again. “I hate this. It doesn’t make sense, it- it’s cruel.”

There’s anger there, John knows. Grief. Empathy. Fear.

He thinks of the Sherlock who sits down and explains to children why he’s sorry, he’s so very sorry, but their mother isn’t coming back… the Sherlock who leaves post-it notes on delicate case files with Not one for the blog… the one who strides into Scotland Yard in righteous anger, demanding to have a murder inquiry reopened. Justice. Closure.

John kisses Sherlock’s forehead. His neck feels wet, and he holds Sherlock tight. “You’re trying,” John whispers. “That’s it. That’s all you-”

“Is… is it enough? How can it ever-” Sherlock chokes on the rest.

“Oh, Sherlock,” John kisses him again. “’Course it is. You… it means the world.” 

Sherlock exhales against John’s neck. His breathing wobbles.

“Shh, now. Close your eyes. I’m here.”

During the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry found himself in front of an army of Death Eaters looking Lord Voldemort in the face with nothing but righteous anger and a determination to end the war.  No wand, no Muggle weapons.  His friends, teachers, his makeshift family stood behind him ready to follow him into this fight.  Harry knew he was the face of this fight.  Harry was The Boy Who Lived and the people who believed in him would follow him into the open arms of death if it meant the war could end right there.  

What no one thought about, what no one realized, was at that very moment Harry needed help.  No one knew Narcissa had taken his wand, Draco’s wand, off him in the Forbidden Forest.  No one came to save him; they were waiting to be saved by him.  As Harry’s courage faltered he heard his name.  He tore his eyes from Voldemort’s murderous gaze to see Draco Malfoy run past the Dark Lord.  Malfoy ran straight to Harry, thrust a wand into his empty hand.  Someone had come to Harry’s rescue.  This was enough.  This was all Harry needed.

A Softer Side (Nessian Fluff)

Decided to try and give Nessian a go after this popped into my head the other night. Set post-ACOWAR and is pure fluff.

Cassian had a special talent for pissing Nesta off; that much had been clear since the day they first met. But like so many of his talents – fighting, flying, even fucking – he truly enjoyed it, enjoyed riling Nesta up to the point she finally lost control of that cold and careful poise she shrouded herself in. Until her remarks weren’t just cutting in their accuracy, but fiery in their fervor. 

Cauldron damn him, he loved seeing Nesta like that, eyes alight in righteous anger, hair coming loose from the bun she’d wrangled it into hours earlier. He loved seeing her claws come out, that wicked mind of hers sharp even in anger. It was an intoxicating feeling, to be the one person most capable of making Nesta Archeron let go of her infamous ironclad control.

(It was the same in many aspects of their lives together as well – taking her to bed was sometimes like going to battle, a thing of both clever strategy and blind instinct. And, more often than not, he awoke the next morning feeling distinctly sore.)

Of course, there were downsides to getting Nesta annoyed at him. Namely, the fact that she’d started to relegate him to the couch downstairs, locking him from their bedroom. It wasn’t enough to keep him out, naturally – after all, the lock was but a flimsy thing and the windows of the bedroom were always open for him to fly in and out of… but Cassian would never force his way in. He might like to push Nesta out of her comfort zone, to make her bare that wonderfully fierce heart she so artfully hid away, but he would never want to do her any harm. He would never want to force something with her. Even the mere thought made him feel queasy.

So, when he went to their bedroom tonight only to find the door firmly shut, Cassian simply let out a sigh before trudging back downstairs. He should have expected this really, considering his pig-headed stubbornness had caused her to actually storm off earlier, wearing an utterly thunderous expression. But, in all honesty, Cassian couldn’t even remember what exactly he’d said to her to make her so angry. Nesta and he had been bickering most of the morning, full of biting comments. Perhaps something he said had hit to close to home. (Though, really, a part of Cassian had felt oddly vindicated that Nesta had been the one to run off and stew in her anger – it was usually him that had to walk away and cool down. Because, as much as Cassian had a talent for pissing Nesta off, she had just the same talent with him.)

(But Cassian wouldn’t change that for the world. Their relationship was as imperfect as relationships could get, but it was theirs.) 

Cassian tried his best to settle comfortably in the biggest couch they owned but unfortunately it wasn’t made for a full-sized (or over-sized, according to the Nesta) Illyrian male to be sleeping in. Eventually though, he managed to get some rest, knees slightly bent to accommodate his height while his left wing was slightly crushed against the backrest so he wouldn’t roll off in the middle of the night.

He was just drifting off again when he heard light footsteps head his way. A familiar, tantalizing scent filled the air. Cassian kept his eyes resolutely closed, even as the footsteps stopped right in front of the couch. Petty perhaps, but he was uncomfortable and she well knew it, being the very instrument of his current predicament.

Nesta hesitated at his side, her hand hovering over the bare skin of his shoulder. It was her obvious uncertainty that caused Cassian to finally open his eyes. Nesta was so rarely hesitant, certainly not when she wanted something from him. There were moments though, when her youth and inexperience shone through. Like now.

She was standing over him in complete stillness, though her entire frame spoke of just how tense she was. There were dark shadows under her eyes – the kind she only got when her sleep was plagued with nightmares. Her expression had lost the severe edges that covered it during the day; almost soft and yearning. She was silent as she watched him with hooded eyes, struggling to ask for what she wanted, needed.

But Cassian already knew.

Comfort. That’s what she wanted. Comfort.

Cassian couldn’t help but soften, then. (So many people forgot about the woman underneath the sharp words and armor. Even he was guilty of it sometimes. But he hoped to never turn away when she wordlessly asked for affection.)

Without another thought, he reached out to her, running his fingers down the soft skin of her arm until his hand could entangle with hers. Something like relief crossed her face. She allowed him to tug her closer and took his unspoken invitation to join him on the couch. She sat down next to him, laying half on top of him, pressing herself into his chest until his arms came to surround her.

Cassian shifted slightly, trying in vain to get them both to fit on the blasted couch. Nesta just sighed, muttering something about winged idiots, before getting back up – only to stretch one leg over him so she straddled him. She then once again settled herself against his chest, her body entirely covering his. (Well, as much as someone who stood nearly a foot shorter than him could cover him. Nesta was still a slight thing, despite the sheer presence she exuded.)

He felt her body relax over him, her forehead fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck, one hand tracing the pattern of his Illyrian tattoos while the other snuck between his arm and torso in a faux embrace. The fingers running down his chest paused momentarily on one of the many scars that littered him, before running even more softly, even more carefully, over that particular patch of damaged skin. The scar that Nesta was paying such close attention to was one he’d received during the war with Hybern and suddenly Cassian knew exactly what Nesta’s nightmares had been about.

Cassian’s arms tightened around Nesta. Cauldron, he would never regret battling against Hybern… but he would forever regret the terror that Nesta had experienced on his behalf. He hated to be the cause of her misery. Despite his own inner turmoil, he proceeded to stroke soothing circles down Nesta’s back, relieved to feel her relax further into him, all that tension melting away, terror giving way to peaceful comfort.

Cassian would be perfectly content to act as Nesta’s glorified pillow (or considering the size of him compared to her, glorified bed) for the rest of eternity, if only to help her through the nightmares that haunted her every step.

They breathed in tandem and he couldn’t help but turn his head to press a kiss into her hair. Nesta hummed at that, her breath tickling his throat. Normally having Nesta’s body so completely against his would lead to his favorite kind of sport, but this moment brought warmth of a different kind entirely. Cassian had never really understood craving this kind of innocent embrace until he met the woman in his arms.

“I think we might fit better upstairs,” he whispered after a long while, keenly aware of their precarious position even as he settled more deeply into the couch, shifting Nesta with him.

Her voice was endearingly sleepy. “Later. This is fine.”

Cassian couldn’t stop the breathy chuckle that escaped him, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. “As my mate commands,” he said.

The bond between them, the bond that had taken them so long to accept, that still amazed him every single day, went taut with approval and pleasure. And then it went quiet altogether as Nesta drifted off into a peaceful slumber. Cassian followed not too long after, though only allowing himself to close his eyes after her reached out to grab one of the thick, woolen blankets they kept in the sitting room, spreading it over them both. 

When he awoke the next morning, his body was completely numb, his legs painfully cramped… but his mate was still asleep on his chest, her fingers curled against the scar that caused her to seek him out in the first place. And Cassian found that there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be.

So he wrapped his hand around Nesta’s, holding it tight against his chest, and stayed as still as he could.

Imagine: two imperials of different elements and kingdoms who are at war, both are heirs to the throne

They meet by pure chance during a social gathering, neither realizing who the other is, and they ditch the social and go chill together and from there a relationship quickly blooms, undaunted even as they realize that their partner has the blood of a rival

They keep their relationship secret for as long as possible until they are discovered. To prevent separated one runs away to join the other, but in retaliation their kingdom states it a kidnapping and declares war.

The two stay together and fight the war side by side, becoming a symbol of peace and love throughout the flights and even being spoken of in the beastclans

The war rages on for longer than it has any right too, one kingdom fueled by hate too long boiled to be calmed and the other fueled by the want to be free to love and live.

Finally, it seems the war is slowing to a stop, the peaceful kingdom and its lovers slowly winning out against the rival. The last battle comes up, the tides seemed pitched clearly in the lovers favor.

Then, a last act of desperation, a poisoned dagger slipped between the ribs of one of the lovers, the attacker quickly dispatched but the damage irreversible. The lover falls quickly, the poison lethal and fast acting.

In despair and rage the other imperial slips a dagger into their own heart, coughing out blood and laying alongside their love as both lives are snuffed out.

For a moment the entire battlefield goes, the grief at these two beloved dragons falling heavy and palpable in the air. Then, the unthinkable happens.

The corpses shift and groan, dark magic sizzles along their hides as two are knit into one. A low rumbling snarl echoes across the quiet battlefield as the emperor stands, eyes glittering with a righteous fury.

Possessed by anger and fueled by a dark magic it slaughters both sides of the war, both kingdoms falling. Enemies and friends alike fall to the beasts claws and fangs, and even if wounded the creature doesn’t even flinch as a foul smelling black ichor pours from the gashes in its skin.

There are no survivors of this war. There isn’t even any indication whether what happened truly happened or not. It is both a fairytale told to speak of the strength of love and a nightmare whispered to warn against hate.

There are many endings to the story, some say the emperors was killed by survivors. Others say that the emperor slaughtered everyone then, black tears running down its grotesque maw, it flew away into the night never to be seen again.

It truly is an affront to God and all of humanity that Ben and Martin weren’t allowed to make the kiss scene. That they had the potential to create the most heartrending thing on television history - Ben with his vulnerable facial expressions and tears slipping out and lips trembling and Martin with the little hitches in his voice and signature thousand-emotion-micro-expressions - they could have given the best performances of their career in that scene and it would have changed the world. But they weren’t allowed to, and the universe is poorer for it.

so during the christmas chapter in half-blood prince remus lupin shatters my trans queer heart into a thousand pieces, let’s discuss

harry asks remus if he honestly likes snape, and remus says:

“I neither like nor dislike Severus; No, Harry, I am speaking the truth. We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon.”

to which harry is like he fucking told the school that you are a werewolf you bastard, to which remus shrugs and replies:

“The news would have leaked out anyway. We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the potion. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful.”

think about that. remus’s logic for not (justly) despising snape boils down to, “he could have done worse, but he didn’t.” he could have gotten me killed, he only got me fired. he could have done worse.

here it becomes relevant to note that it’s not like snape was brewing the wolfsbane out of the goodness of his heart. i’m 100% sure that it was at dumbledore’s orders. snape didn’t have the choice not to brew it, snape wasn’t doing this for remus as a favor or as a kindness; he resented the fact that he had to do it at all.

and remus is a smart man, he has to know that snape didn’t have an option. but he doesn’t care. snape did it, and so he “must be grateful.”

remus lupin doesn’t owe severus snape jack shit. snape outed him as a werewolf, knowingly and purposefully, in a world that despises werewolves. remus loses his job, will be unable to find another, and is likely in literal physical danger anytime he is recognized. snape placed remus in a position of vulnerability and danger. remus has every right to hatred and righteous anger,  but he reasons to himself, “it could have been worse, i must be grateful.” 

how many of us have tried to play the Good Queer? our oppressors have tried to maintain control over us, fed us scraps from the table, and when we got angry they told us that we “must be grateful.” we must be grateful for what they’ve decided we’re worth, we must be grateful that today is better than yesterday, we must be grateful. we must not get too greedy, must not want too much, must not imagine ourselves and our experiences as complicated, important, valid. how many times a week have you spoken up for yourself just to be told to shut up and be grateful that this isnt the 50s? and then, part of you thinks, “well, maybe.” sometimes that part of you is enough to keep you quiet. you grin and bear it. grit your teeth, shush, make nice.

if you ask me, that is exactly what remus does. he’s playing the Good Werewolf, he’s the Good Queer. he polices himself into that role because he’s internalized these messages so deeply that he no longer fights them. he does what he’s supposed to do. he’s quiet. he’s dignified. he reminds himself that he must be grateful because he doesn’t think he’s whole enough, human enough, to validate his own feelings. 

Lucifer is all about choice. And he just found out that Chloe didn’t really have a choice, at least in his mind, of loving him or caring about him. Meanwhile, Chloe just finally kissed this guy, that she’s been fighting herself against and then finally got an intimate connection with him and the end of 12 it’s all, there’s just genuine connection between them. And then she gets sick, and when she wakes up – he’s gone. So, from her perspective – she’s missed all this story. *He’s a jerk - Ildy* So there’s some righteous anger and a lot of other things on Chloe’s side and then Lucifer’s side he’s on a journey of trying to figure out what do you do now? And in his mind, he’s in a protective mode of her because how he feels is that if God sent her, she has no choice in her feelings so they’re not real. And that’s not fair to her. So he’s like “how do I break this, how do I undo? How do I undo it for her sake?” She doesn’t deserve to have been put on a burden called Lucifer. She was put on his path, she deserves to make her own choice but how do you do that when she is sort of chosen to love you but… it’s that ultimate conundrum. For somebody who is about free will, that’s his thing, that’s all he is. He’s like “this is the cruelest thing you could’ve done is put her in my path” but what’s ironic is that of course, she’s the only human who is immune to his powers so everything was her choice but he just doesn’t understand himself. That’ll be the thrust of our midseason premier and that’ll push the dynamic for the last 5 episodes.

from this video

Then Romilda Vane and her FUCKING supporters burst into the Great Hall, all wearing T-shirts with the anarchist ‘A’ and singing 'Lenin sucks, Stalin drools, we want no one to make the rules!’ I clenched my teeth in RIGHTEOUS ANGER as Dumbledore started to clap imperialistically.
—  Harry Potter Becomes a Communist

It occurred to me that you almost never see pictures of Angela Davis that are not 1) from the 1970s, 2) from moments of (righteous) anger, 3) not taken/used by the FBI, so here’s a whole bunch of them.

Happy birthday, ma’am.  Thank you for everything you’ve done.

(And if I may say, damn, she’s 73 years old.  Hope I look as good when I’m sixty.)