Viktor You Deserved So Much Better From Everyone Around You 😭

back at it again, here's mr trauma mc daddy issues

A lot of people ask me what my biggest fear is, or what scares me most. And I know they expect an answer like heights, or closed spaces, or people dressed like animals, but how do I tell them that when I was 17 I took a class called Relationships For Life and I learned that most people fall out of love for the same reasons they fell in it. That their lover’s once endearing stubbornness has now become refusal to compromise and their one track mind is now immaturity and their bad habits that you once adored is now money down the drain. Their spontaneity becomes reckless and irresponsible and their feet up on your dash is no longer sexy, just another distraction in your busy life. Nothing saddens and scares me like the thought that I can become ugly to someone who once thought all the stars were in my eyes.

are you a philosopher

boy im dumb as shit

As the kingdom’s best archer, you were cursed so your arrows would never hit again. But you just started shooting other things—rocks, sticks, shoes—and somehow, it works even better. Folks call you "The Arrowless Archer."

one of the greatest tragedies in life is that you will always be loved more than you will ever know. someone in class finds your presence inviting and warm, even if you’ve only ever exchanged a few words with them—maybe none at all. someone on the street loves your smile and it gets them down the next few streets. someone you used to be friends with still wishes to fondly call your name. someone you used to be friends with five years ago would give anything to be in the same room as you today. someone who regularly comes into work is disappointed when you aren’t there to brighten their day. someone missed you today. someone noticed you were gone. someone loves you when you’re there; someone loves you when you’re nowhere to be found at all. you think you have always disappeared when you’re no longer in the picture, but you’ve never left the frame.

Realizing that your childhood wasn’t gentle, wasn’t safe, wasn’t what it should have been is not just painful, it’s disorienting. You grow up and suddenly the things that felt normal start to rot in your memory. The silence at dinner. The sharpness in your mother’s voice. The way your father existed more like a shadow than a person, and now you’re old enough to understand it. The generational ache. The damage passed down like a family recipe, spoon-fed until it tasted like home.

But where does that leave you?

Because now you’re the one with shaking hands and soft words, trying not to be bitter, trying to be kind to people who never learned how to be kind to you,trying to heal while still making excuses for the people who cracked you open and maybe they didn’t mean to hurt you, maybe they were hurt too. But it still hurts.

And no one warns you about the guilt. How you’ll feel selfish for wanting to be angry, how you’ll sit with your grief like it’s something you stole, how you’ll wonder if you’re allowed to say “that wasn’t fair” without sounding ungrateful for the love they tried to give.

I'm tired of being the bigger person, tired of swallowing the screams just because they loved me in their own way.

Because sometimes love, if it’s careless, can still leave bruises. and I’m still tracing mine like a map, trying to find my way out of this mess they never cleaned up.

What they don’t say is how the storm doesn’t knock on the door. It gets into your shoes, climbs into your lungs, you try to smile but your face doesn’t know how, you try to speak but your throat is filled with water and people keep telling you it’ll pass but what they mean is: "they hope you survive it"

they mean: "please stay long enough to see the sun again" and you nod because it’s easier than saying “I’m already gone.”

But you keep walking or crawling, or dragging yourself by your own breath. You make it through a minute and another and a thousand more. You don’t even notice the moment the storm starts to pass. You just look up one day and the sky is…not clear, but softer.

You laugh and it doesn’t feel like lying.

You cry and it feels like release, not drowning.

And no, you don’t remember how you survived. You don’t remember each battle you had with your own mind or the nights you wanted to disappear.

but you’re still here and that means something, even if your voice trembles, even if you don’t know what comes next.

You stayed.

You stayed.

You stayed.

idgaf if my parents are disappointed in me I'm not impressed by them either

Mai and Zuko got married, obviously, and the first thing Mai did when she moved into the Palace was adopt a cat. She named it “Your Honor”, simply so she could go around the palace shouting

“Zuko, I can’t find Your Honor! Zuko, do you know where Your Honor is? Zuko, you have to get Your Honor down from that tree! Zuko, Your Honor is terrorizing the turtle ducks again.”

Not “Only my reading of canon is correct” or “Interpretations are subjective and all valid” but a secret third thing, “More than one interpretation can be valid but there’s a reason your English teacher had you cite quotes and examples in your papers, you have to have a strong argument that your interpretation is actually supported by the text or it is just wrong and I’m fine with telling you it’s wrong, actually.”