On a scale from 1 to 10, I wish someone would say I’m an 11.
And those numbers feel like more than just numbers.
Please tell me, who are you to give me more insecurities?
And please tell me, who are you to talk about all the different possibilities?
I’m stuck wondering how to over work myself to not be myself.
While thinking of ways to make myself something better, anything else.
I wish you knew we women are more than just our appearances and features.
I wish you knew that we can be fighters or lovers or maybe even teachers.
Bless my father, for he always told me I was priceless.
That somehow I’m worth than 1,000 diamonds and nothing less.
But when you rate me, those numbers feel like more than just numbers.
And every word you say, strips me deep into gray, away from my bright colors.
As you also strip away all the confidence that I built inside lovers.
I read the Snape tag some evenings, and instead of basking in an
insightful discussion about my favourite character, I often come away from it
genuinely worrying about the intensity of hatred that some (not all) posters have for a
I appreciate that not every character can be universally adored,
and I understand that Snape is Marmite (for the record, Marmite is awful) - and amongst those who hate him are those who love to hate him (which is slightly different).
…but I do think there’s a real difference
between thoughtful critique, genuine questions, and thought provoking
conversations versus the type of baiting, vitriol and virulent spreading of antagonistic
misconceptions that the tag is mired in.
Of course, it is each to their own – if you’re having fun, well,
have at it, I suppose. …but personally, I can’t help but feel that it seems a little miserable,
petty and self-defeating - and I would argue
that those are some of Snape’s worst traits.
Which makes me wonder - have we come full-circle? There’s a rather beautiful irony in the idea
that the really passionate Snape haters have somehow embodied the most negative
aspects of his personality.
Because, y’know, that is really quite funny.
In all seriousness, why not do something awesome
with your free time? Why rally against a
fictional character when you could be embracing the series and celebrating
those that you love? Why not write an
insightful piece about your favourites, or the characters you find most
interesting? Why not draw or paint something
you love? Why not write a story, or do a craft?
Life really is far too short to be so incredibly angry. Don’t waste time on what you hate; do what you love instead. And in a world filled with hate…why not be kind? :)
You’ve never been a stellar fighter but you have talent in healing and persuasion so you were allowed to stay at the Institute. You could have been asked to leave if you didn’t serve enough use to it.
Soon you became a favored member of the Institute due to the fact you patched up the fighters privately at all hours and never spoke a word to the Clave about unsanctioned missions.
“So the invincible prince can be harmed?” you tease as Jace drags himself into the infirmary. Most times you have to drag him in while he insists his mortal wound is only a scratch. Lately though he’s come in by himself. “Back again Jace? What happened this time?”
“Ravenor scratch,” he grunts and flops onto his usual bed.
“What? Jace! Those are bad!” you exclaim and start rooting through your cupboards to find the antidote. “How long?”
“Hour, maybe more,” he groans.
“Not long, okay that’s good,” you sigh in relief finally finding the drug and going to his bedside. “Already used the healing rune I presume.”
“Course,” he mumbles and holds his arm up for you. The ravenor got him deep right on his arm. Holding his arm with one hand you bite the cork off the antidote bottle and hold it up.
“This will sting,” you warn and he nods. You pour the antidote into the wound and quickly press a clean gauze on top. Jace hisses and recoils from your grip but you hold him tight. Being a medic you do have the strength to hold your patients down. “Now in case the antidote doesn’t get into your blood stream from your wound fast enough you have to drink it too.”
“Damn,” he swears but takes the bottle and chugs the rest down. Once it’s gone he slams it down and lays back on the bed. “You’re a good healer.”
“I try my best,” you reply.
“You’re better than the others we’ve had. You’re funnier, you’re a badass, and not to mention you’re way more attractive,” he muses confidently and you blush.
“Jace Wayland are you flirting with me?” you accuse and laugh lightly. Truth be told you’ve always had eyes for the blood demon hunter.
“Yes,” he answers and reaches up with his good hand to cup your face. “I’ve tried to stay away but I can’t anymore.”
“Then don’t,” you whisper and lean in to kiss him softly.
Jace kisses with a gentle ferocity and holds your face close. It’s sweet and passionate.
Pulling away for a second you smile at him.
“No more of that now, you need bed rest. Doctors orders.” Jace cackles and you peck him quickly before pulling the sheet over and tucking him in. “Rest.”
In a year where tyranny, bigotry, and hate seems to be winning. A year where artists, rebels, and outcasts keep being taken from us…The world needs us: the freaks, queers, artists, writers, activists, resisters, revolutionaries, rebels, dreamers, creators, thinkers, poets, philosophers, deviants, outcasts, pacifists, fighters, and lovers more than ever.
Rise up and unite against the Empire, my rebel friends. ✊🏻✊🏽✊🏿