#AND SAY SORRY TO HIM.

[usertoxicyaoi]

"I was afraid of facing you. I can't even call you by your name."

THE NOVELIST: PLAYBACK (2021). DIRECTED BY: MIKI KOICHIRO.

[itsgonnagetinspiringsoon]

FUCK

[yardsards]

just remembered the other day a teen approached me holding a rapidly melting chunk of ice in his hand and asked if i wanted to buy a "limited edition pet rock"

[collaredkittyboy]

[toodrunktofindaurl]

"Death's child"

twitter | bluesky | insta | 🔞 patre*n

[noodles-and-tea]

Just some more thoughts on that jayvik dbh au

[11thsense]

The dead surround the living

[hanshenrykcd]

[corseque]

I realized that I could easily do the same to DAI's script, and I did that, but then I immediately created my magnum opus:

A Text File of Everything Solas Says In Inquisition and Veilguard, The Ultimate Fanfic Resource For Writing Solas' Voice*

and I fell on the floor because it made me happy.

*edited to correct a minor mishap

[zorangezest]

thanks for listening

[kendyroy]

I love how we can pretty much call this Logan “Wade’s Logan”

That’s HIS man. No one else’s. That’s his little honey badger. That’s his big boy. That’s his peanut. That’s his Wolverine.

He actually adopted this guy into his family and now he’s gonna be his for the rest of their never-ending lives.

[frags-fragzzzzz]

Hello ghost trick fandom

[mintaikkcorpse]

I fuck hard with Asexual Venom, but the idea of Venom, an alien whose species doesn't breed sexually and don't have concepts of sex, being sexually attracted to some boring sad and sweaty white guy he picked up on the streets is just so funny to me

[mobius-m-mobius]

#he's actually a comedian

HUGH JACKMAN as LOGAN HOWLETT // WOLVERINE

[hamlettheedane]

my favorite thing about will graham is that we know he does not give a fuck about the cannibalism nor do I think he’s homophobic/ opposed in general to the idea of being gay so ultimately i have to conclude that will’s biggest problem with hannibal is that he’s an aristocrat

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.