The Marauders Didn't Stop Bullying Snape After The Prank. It Actually Got Worse.

daisies (1966) 🎀

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

Little pose practice

I like to think the death eaters begrudgingly took Severus to some of their parties. He wouldn’t be this at ease at them, but maybe he actually enjoyed himself.

El arquetipo de la sombra en Black Swan y Perfect Blue: un análisis desde Jung y el ocultismo

Hace un tiempo hice una reseña sobre Angel’s Egg, una película que me pareció una de las mejores que he visto en el anime desde Perfect Blue. También comenté que Black Swan, otra película que adoro y que se inspira claramente en Perfect Blue, se merece totalmente haber conseguido los derechos porque, sencillamente, es una obra maestra. Desde la actuación de Natalie Portman como Nina, hasta cómo se une el ballet, el vestuario, la música… todo va en armonía mientras la protagonista va perdiendo la cabeza hasta llegar al clímax en el que finalmente se quiebra. Es que, ¿hola? ¿La escena del baile?

Hace poco me topé con un video en YouTube que analiza la película desde un enfoque ocultista, y como loca del ocultismo, obvio, lo tenía que ver. Fue la mejor decisión que tomé. Lo que decía me recordó a una obra de Hilma af Klint, en la que aparecen dos cisnes uno blanco y otro negro, y aunque no la entiendo del todo, puedo decir que no es casualidad usar esos dos cisnes como símbolo. Hay una clara conexión entre esa dualidad y el simbolismo de Black Swan.

Hace un tiempo también vi El lago de los cisnes en directo (una de las mejores experiencias que he tenido). Era la primera vez que lo veía y no conocía la historia en profundidad, aunque me hacía una idea. La historia original ya tiene un enfoque simbólico que roza lo esotérico. Así que no es tanto cosa de Aronofsky que Black Swan tenga esa mirada ocultista: ya estaba presente en el propio ballet desde el inicio.

Como fan absoluta de Satoshi Kon (director de Perfect Blue), puedo decir que sus obras se inspiran muchísimo en Carl Jung. Paprika, por ejemplo, no solo trata sobre los sueños, también explora el inconsciente colectivo, todo a través del pretexto de un aparato que permite soñar de forma lúcida.

Así que, tomando todo esto como referencia, quiero analizar los símbolos y paralelismos narrativos entre Perfect Blue y Black Swan, dos películas que claramente beben de las ideas de Jung, sobre todo en relación con el concepto de la sombra.

Ambas películas usan el color para representar diferentes estados de una psique fracturada por el trauma. Cada color representa una polaridad, dos mitades que se contraponen. A lo largo de la historia, ambas protagonistas se ven forzadas a integrar esas polaridades.

En Black Swan, los colores son el blanco y el negro. En Perfect Blue, el rojo y el azul. Ambas protagonistas inician con uno de esos polos bien integrado. Nina es la candidata perfecta para interpretar al cisne blanco: representa la pureza, la inocencia, el control. No solo es una bailarina impecable, sino que también ha vivido toda su vida restringida, moldeada por las expectativas de su madre para ser la hija perfecta. Mima, en cambio, comienza su historia con una imagen pública pulida, siempre vestida de azul o blanco, símbolo de su rol como idol japonesa: una figura controlada y artificialmente inocente. El rojo, sin embargo, aparece como señal de peligro, de sexualización, de pérdida de esa inocencia.

Ambas viven atrapadas en una identidad impuesta por los demás. Están acostumbradas a obedecer sin cuestionarse, y su vida íntima se convierte, irónicamente, en una extensión de su vida profesional. No tienen libertad. Sus deseos y emociones están subordinados a los de otros, especialmente a sus madres, que en ambas películas son figuras dominantes. Cuando surge una oportunidad para salir de esa zona de confort, no saben cómo afrontarla.

Nina, para interpretar a la protagonista de El lago de los cisnes, debe representar tanto al cisne blanco como al cisne negro. Mima debe abandonar su carrera como idol para adentrarse en el mundo de la actuación, algo totalmente nuevo e incierto para ella. Acepta el cambio solo porque su madre le dijo que era lo mejor. Nunca se pregunta por qué. Solo lo hace.

Ambas son forzadas a madurar e integrar esas polaridades en entornos que no les permiten hacerlo con libertad. El resultado es la fractura de su personalidad. Aparece un alter ego: su sombra. Al principio, solo se manifiesta en reflejos, en espejos, pero a medida que lo ignoran o lo reprimen, la sombra cobra vida propia y empieza a actuar de forma autónoma.

Me gusta cómo esa sombra también se relaciona con su trabajo. En el caso de Nina, el cisne negro no es solo un personaje que debe interpretar, sino una fuerza que se apodera de ella. En Mima, el personaje que representa en una serie de televisión parece comenzar a tomar el control, alimentado por la mirada del público, por sus exigencias, por su juicio. Esa sombra crece a partir de lo que los otros esperan de ellas.

Ambas protagonistas deben, en algún punto, unir esas dos mitades. Y en ambas películas se representa esta integración mediante el color lila: símbolo de lo espiritual, de la transformación, de lo místico. Nina ve este color en su compañera Lily quien representa esa parte suelta, libre, sensual que Nina no puede ser y cuando comienza a alucinar, no ve a su sombra: ve a Lily. En el caso de Mima, el lila aparece al final, cuando por fin recupera el control sobre sí misma.

El desenlace es distinto para cada una. Nina muere, o al menos eso se sugiere, consumida por la perfección que logra alcanzar solo al destruirse. Mima, en cambio, sobrevive, pero no sin antes matar (literal o simbólicamente) a su “madre” simbólica, esa parte de ella que la vigilaba y la controlaba desde la sombra. Y aunque ese acto es brutal, Mima no siente culpa, y la vemos al final firme, presente, consciente de lo que ha hecho.

En conclusión, la muerte, real o simbólica, representa esa sombra que, según Jung, devora cuando no se integra de forma sana. Ambas protagonistas vivieron en entornos que las oprimieron y las impidieron crecer con libertad. Cuando algo detonó esa sombra, ya no hubo marcha atrás. Tuvieron que enfrentarse a ella, integrarla o dejarse consumir. En contextos donde no hay espacio para la integración tranquila, la sombra se convierte en fuego. Y el fuego, si no transforma, destruye.

One of the things that changed for me in my 10+ years fandom break is my view of Severus Snape. A decade ago, 20 didn't seem so young as it seems now. Who I was at 20 is nowhere close to who I was at 38.

Severus started spying at 20. It's possible that the man we see in canon is similar to the man he would be when finally free to be himself, but this time around, I can't help but wonder how much of what we see of Severus Snape is a carefully constructed lie.

I took so much as true the first time around, and this time I'm questioning all of it. Maybe he hates the Malfoys. Maybe he hates Potions. Maybe Professor Snape is just a role for him, a living performance, and he'd act totally different once Voldemort was defeated.

I can see also him, after playing a role nearly half of his life, struggling to figure out who he is and what he wants.

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.

There is a thing that deeply disturbes me about Severus' behaviour in SWM. He just wrote a very important exam on a subject that we know he loves and deeply cares about. He probably had been diligently preparing for it for a very long time, was anxious and aspiring how all the studious kids usually are. A normal teen behaviour is sharing how you wrote it with your friends – this is exactly what the Marauders do. But Severus approaches no one, talks to no one. Lily is hanging out with her other friends – he isn't invited to spend time with them, nor is he exchanging at least a couple of words with Lily personally. While she clearly has other people to chat with, Severus doesn't talk to any slytherins, not Mulcibier or Avery or anyone else. And he doesn't seek anyone out too, he just settles with reading alone like it's normal. Yes, he is introverted, but even the most introverted person would like to share such an important event with someone close to them.

It's like Severus had absolutely no one in that school who cared enough to hear about his pride and joy of writing the exam well, or his worries on getting something wrong. It's like he didn't even expect anyone to care. It is clear from everything in that scene that he is painfully lonely and largely ostracised, that him and Lily aren't particularly close at that point, and that he doesn't have any "gang" or any good friends in slytherin either.

Introducing myself

Art account: @lunap023 I am passionate about photography, I don't consider myself a good photographer, I'm just passionate about it and I enjoy taking photos

• I’m from Spain and half Ecuatorian 🇪🇨 My mother tongue isn’t english so probably I made a lot of mistakes, I’m learning here. Probably I will post in Spanish too.

• I’m studying an art degree but I’m a miss disaster when it comes to drawing, I draw once a month but here you will probably see some of my drawings, analysis about any topic that interests me or random things.

•I absolutely LOVE eneagram, mbti and horoscope (I prefer the enneagram more ) and I usually do analysis or have headcanons related to this.

•I like anime and manga more manga than anime

Fandoms : Harry Potter, I’m not into Marauders fandom but I ship and read wolfstar , sometimes I write wolfstar too, Persona 5, Death Note and adventure time.

Characters I like

Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Yusuke Kitagawa, Akira Amamiya and Goro Akechi.

I’m gonna publish this Letterboxd review because omg this movie is so great and this review express specifically how I felt when I first saw it. The setting, the animation, the entire movie is just WOW

Angel’s egg reminds me alot of the Geneis song and I have no words to describe how the song makes me feel (This is said by someone who is not currently a big fan of Grimes, because the quality of his music has worsened a lot ) I know that Grimes takes inspiration from anime and her songs It seems to be taken from a technological world like this movie.

Probably the religious symbolism of the song reminds me of the movie, which also uses religious symbolism too to talk about philosophical themes but I don’t know.

I just feel the need to put into words this feeling. This need to talk about a movie hasn’t happen to me since I saw the movie Perfect Blue lol un películon también, tremenda fumada psicológica eso sí, pero de la buena y que Aronofsky consiguiera los derechos para hacer más tarde the black swan es lo mejor que pudo pasar, es que hola? Natalie Portman en esa película fue simplemente lo mejor de su carrera.

Angel's Egg (1985) dir. Mamoru Oshii