Dreamsp023 - Dreams

snape chalk pastel

Soy una persona autista. Normalmente me pongo los cascos incluso cuando estoy con amigos o familiares. Eso me provoca un sentimiento de culpa al pensar si estoy siendo contradictoria: “¿Estoy haciendo esto porque me siento incómoda con mi familia?” La realidad es que no. Mi familia es de las pocas personas con las que me siento a gusto, segura. Con ellos, todos mis fantasmas pasados, todas mis heridas, sienten lo que es el alivio, lo que es el bienestar, lo que es estar tranquila. Ahí sé que no todo es hostil, y que, por lo tanto, no es necesario estar en alerta.

Ahí es cuando pienso que quizás no es una contradicción, que más bien es un acto de supervivencia. Como un puente que une dos necesidades que, a veces, no saben funcionar juntas. Una necesita protegerse, quiere estar a salvo y a gusto, y aunque se encuentre en un lugar seguro, solo sabe actuar de la única manera que ha aprendido: aislándose, permaneciendo en la intimidad, en las sombras. La otra necesita amor, no quiere estar sola y disfruta de la compañía.

La música se vuelve un ritual, un intento de calmar un momento abrumador, una forma de abrir una puerta entreabierta. A veces solo llego a asomarme; no quiero abrirla del todo por el miedo que siento. Algo me susurra y me aconseja. Ese algo me dice que aún no es seguro abrirla por completo. Es una voz que probablemente parte del miedo, una advertencia disfrazada.

Es una lucha constante entre mi necesidad de estar conmigo misma, de intimidad, y mi necesidad de conectar.

Soy tan sensible que, a veces, interactuar con otros se me hace demasiado. Interactuar se vuelve una lucha por ser vista, por pertenecer a los lugares en los que mi cuerpo está, pero no los siento como propios. Es una lucha de identidades, de querer ser vista por alguien verdaderamente, ya ni siquiera sé por quién. Lo busco desesperadamente: puede ser un familiar, un amigo, o quizás solo quiero ser vista por mí misma.

Solo quiero ser vista, y no a través de fragmentos de otras personas. No quiero que mi identidad se forme a partir de cada señal de rechazo que recibo, a veces disfrazadas de comentarios inofensivos, otras veces simples miradas, y en las peores ocasiones, señales claras de que no quieren que forme parte de ese lugar. También está la ansiedad de no saber qué hacer con eso. ¿Qué puedo hacer? Lucho, ¿pero para qué lucho? ¿Qué busco exactamente?

En esos momentos me siento como el monstruo de Frankenstein. Ese monstruo que ni siquiera tiene nombre y que, como un niño pequeño, camina torpemente a la deriva. Una criatura hecha de partes ajenas, incompleta, tan extrañas que hasta a mí misma me cuesta comprenderlas.

Cada rechazo dibuja una nueva identidad. Una identidad creada sin consentimiento, armada con pedazos de otros, que ni siquiera son propios. Una identidad formada por comentarios que resuenan como ecos, por prejuicios que desfiguran partes de mi identidad, por palabras degradantes que hacen daño a mi autoestima. Que se acumulan en capas para construir una narrativa condenada desde el inicio a vagar en busca de pertenencia, amor, comprensión, como si ese fuera su único destino, ser incomprendida desde el principio.

El deseo de buscar una identidad propia se hace presente y no se detendrá hasta que lo consiga

Happy birthday to Severus Snape! the edition is done in Shuffles

I’m not a big fan of Dali's paintings, but the way this man writes and his sketches are much better than his paintings for far. I absolutely love it. I have his tarot and it is a mix between a compilation of his sketches with collages. As a tarot reader, I love doing tarot readings with his cards, inspire me a lot.

Salvador Dalí Snake charmer 1966

My problem with Lily and James being seen as a super couple has nothing to do with Severus Snape but rather with the fact that when we look at the relationship between James and Lily through a feminist lens, it’s hard not to notice some pretty glaring issues that go beyond just whether or not they’re an “OTP” couple. Sure, on the surface it might seem like a story of two people finding love amid all the chaos, but scratch beneath the surface and you see a whole lot more about toxic masculinity, objectification, and the erasure of a woman’s agency. James is celebrated as this charming, rebellious “bad boy” with a roguish smile, while Lily gets stuck playing the role of the sacrificial, moral compass woman—someone who exists largely to balance out and even redeem the male narrative. And honestly, that’s a problem.

James is shown as this complex, active character who’s constantly surrounded by friends, enemies, and drama. His life is dynamic and full of choices—even if those choices sometimes involve manipulation and deceit. He’s the kind of guy who can easily slip out of confinement with his Invisibility Cloak, leaving Lily behind in a narrative that, over time, turns her into a background figure. This dynamic isn’t accidental; it’s reflective of how our culture often values male agency over female independence. Lily, on the other hand, is repeatedly reduced to her relationships with the men around her. Instead of being a person with her own dreams, opinions, and friendships, she becomes a symbol—a kind of emotional barometer for how “good” or “bad” a man is. Her character is used to validate the actions of others, which means her individuality gets smothered under the weight of a trope that’s all too common in literature: the idea that a woman’s worth is measured by her ability to tame or save a troubled man.

This isn’t just about a lack of depth in Lily’s character; it’s also about how her portrayal reinforces harmful gender norms. Lily is depicted as this kind of sacrificial mother figure—a person whose primary virtue is her selflessness, her willingness to suffer and sacrifice for the sake of others. While selflessness is often celebrated in women, it’s a double-edged sword when that selflessness is the only thing we see. Instead of having her own narrative, her role is defined by how much she gives up, not by what she contributes or the inner life she leads. And it’s not just a narrative oversight—it’s a reflection of a broader cultural pattern where women are expected to be nurturing, supportive, and ultimately secondary to the male characters who drive the action.

What’s even more frustrating is how Lily’s isolation is used to further the narrative of James’s redemption. Over time, we see Lily’s network of friends and her connections outside of James gradually disappear. It’s almost as if, once she falls in love, her entire world is meant to shrink around that relationship. And here’s where the feminist critique really kicks in: this isn’t a realistic depiction of a balanced, healthy relationship—it’s a story that subtly suggests that a woman’s fulfillment comes from being dependent on one man and his circle, rather than cultivating her own identity. Meanwhile, James continues to be portrayed as this larger-than-life figure who’s got a whole world beyond his romantic entanglement, a world filled with vibrant interactions, rivalries, and a legacy that extends beyond his relationship with Lily.

Another point worth mentioning is the way in which the narrative seems to excuse James’s less-than-stellar behavior. His manipulation, his lying, and his willingness to trick Lily into situations that serve his own interests are brushed off as quirks of a “bad boy” persona—a kind of charm that, in the end, makes him redeemable because Lily’s love is supposed to “tame” him. This kind of storytelling not only normalizes toxic masculinity but also puts an unfair burden on Lily. It’s like saying, “Look how amazing you are, you’re the only one who can fix him!” That’s a dangerous message because it implies that women are responsible for managing or even reforming male behavior, rather than holding men accountable for their own actions.

The imbalance in their character development is glaringly obvious when you compare how much more we learn about James versus how little we know about Lily. James is given room to be flawed, to grow, and to be complicated. His friendships, his rivalries, and even his mistakes are all part of what makes him a rounded character. Lily, however, is often just a name, a face in the background who exists mainly to serve as a counterpoint to James’s narrative. Her inner life, her ambitions, and her struggles are rarely explored in any meaningful way, leaving her as a one-dimensional character whose only real purpose is to highlight the moral journey of the man she loves.

It’s also important to recognize how this kind of narrative plays into broader cultural ideas about gender. When literature consistently portrays women as the quiet, isolated figures who are only valuable in relation to the men around them, it sends a message about what is expected of real-life women. It suggests that a woman’s worth is determined by how much she sacrifices or how well she can support a man, rather than by her own achievements or personality. This isn’t just a harmless trope—it contributes to a societal mindset that limits women’s potential and reinforces gender inequality. The way Lily is written reflects a kind of “tamed” femininity that’s supposed to be passive, supportive, and ultimately secondary to the active, adventurous masculinity that James represents.

At the heart of the issue is the lack of balance in their relationship as depicted in the texts. The idea that Lily “fell for” a man who was clearly not a paragon of virtue is problematic, but what’s even more problematic is how her role in the relationship is so narrowly defined. Rather than being seen as an independent character who makes choices and has her own voice, she is constantly portrayed as someone whose existence is meant to validate the male experience. Even when the texts mention that Lily had her own issues—like hating James at times or suffering because of the way their relationship unfolded—it’s always in a way that underlines her weakness compared to James’s dynamic, active presence.

Looking at the broader picture, it’s clear that this isn’t just about one fictional couple—it’s a reflection of how gender dynamics have long been skewed in literature. Male characters are given the freedom to be complex, flawed, and full of life, while female characters are often stuck in roles that don’t allow them to be fully realized. This isn’t to say that every story with a sacrificial female character is inherently bad, but it does mean that when a character like Lily is reduced to a mere symbol—a moral compass or a measure of male worth—it’s time to ask why and what that says about the society that produced that narrative.

So, what’s the way forward? For one, we need to start reimagining these relationships in a way that allows both partners to be fully fleshed out. Lily deserves to be more than just a side character or a moral benchmark; she should have her own narrative, her own dreams, and her own agency. And as much as it might be appealing to think of James as this redeemable rebel, it’s equally important to hold him accountable for the ways in which his behavior perpetuates harmful stereotypes about masculinity. A healthier narrative would be one in which both characters grow together, where mutual respect and equal agency are at the core of their relationship.

In the end, the story of James and Lily, as it stands, is a reminder of how deeply ingrained gender norms can shape the stories we tell. It’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of allowing toxic masculinity to go unchecked and of confining women to roles that don’t do justice to their full humanity. For anyone who’s ever felt frustrated by these imbalances, there’s hope in the idea of re-writing these narratives—of pushing for stories where both men and women are seen as complete, complex individuals. And really, that’s what literature should strive for: a reflection of the messy, beautiful, and often complicated reality of human relationships, where no one is just there to serve as a prop in someone else’s story.

Ultimately, if we can start imagining a world where characters like Lily aren’t just defined by their relationships to men, where their voices and stories are given as much weight as those of their male counterparts, then we can begin to chip away at the outdated tropes that have held us back for so long. It’s about time we celebrated the full spectrum of human experience—and that means giving women like Lily the space to shine on their own terms, without being constantly overshadowed by a “bad boy” narrative that has little to say about their true selves.

Snirius flirting stage. They are really normal

I love how the Marauders fandom is like everybody is perfect the way they are, they can be black, brown, white, fat, skinny, tall, short, everyone is pretty. Except Snape, no no no, he cannot be pretty, he has greasy hair, you cannot be pretty with greasy hair

Yusuke Kitagawa Fanart made with watercolor (2022) an old fanart

Inspiration: Innocence, Osho Zen tarot card

Persona 5 takes inspiration from the theory of archetypes by Carl Jung's and the book "Tarot an the archetypal journey” a book that combines the theory of archetypes and the symbolisms of the Tarot.

Yusuke in the game is related to the Emperor's card, as a tarot reader, I find it fun to look for what other tarot cards that would define him.

Innocence is a card that describes a person who lives life like a child but without begin one. The innocence of children is beautiful but ignorant. It will be replaced by distrust and doubt as the child grows up and learns that the world could be a dangerous and scary place. However, this innocence shows a person who has lived a full life and his intellect and acceptance of changes make his vision of life like that of a child.

Yusuke's innocent attitude does not arise from ignorance, arise from his sensitivity, knowledge and acceptance of his life.