i have to resist the urge to tell my friends & loved ones i love them like every single time i see their face and i know i’m being weird about it, like i’m not supposed to say it as often as i do/ in front of as many people, but i genuinely don’t understand how i’m supposed to not say it when it’s all i feel. and it makes me sad too bc that makes me think maybe i feel it stronger than most people? and that can’t be true but like how is everyone else not BURSTING to say and express it.
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self indulgent got concept.
Ned brings Jon home, Cat hates the boy, everything stays the same... until Robert Baratheon is charging through the halls of Winterfell looking for the babe, ready to butcher the poor thing where he lay helpless in his cradle.
in a matter of moments Catelyn learns three things:
The babe was never a bastard, Ned had only lied to her to protect Jon, and that she would die before she let Robert lay a finger on the babe she'd previously wished death upon.
cue Catelyn Stark snatching Jon from his cradle, holding him, protecting him, loving him as she would her own son, risking it all to keep him safe, all care for herself thrown to the wind.
like they say, what a mother's love holds no bounds, and what it makes her capable of had no limits.
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two tragic lyrics that sum up my familial pain:
“your mother wouldn’t approve of how my mother raised me but i do, i finally do”
“he had the same first name as my dad and myself and i hate that i hated it”
like really and truly a shot to my heart, the agony of the trauma of youth and looking back as an adult and understanding your childhood self on the basis that you hated the bits of yourself that your parents and grandparents gave you of themselves and you did this for so many reasons: for acceptance from others, for rejection of your family, for fear of being cast out by accepting those parts, that perhaps your individuality was compromised, perhaps your only value was in those bits in the first place rather than parts of the people that loved you that deserved embrace. and that now, as an adult, you regret ever having felt that way, you wonder if it’s too late to express how thankful you are to have those parts, to carry them with you, to have them engraved in your being. it fucking hurts, man. to be so proud of something you once viewed with such disdain, and wondering if there’s ever a way to go back and attempt to let your family know it means so much to you, to erase all the shame attached to your youth and return that love and hope it means the same as it could have back then.
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