#I don’t know the context and I don’t wish to

[artist-issues]

do you think that it’s bad for a people group to keep thinking about the impact slavery had on them in the past?

I think the only utility in it is learning your history: that mankind is depraved and can sell and buy one another, and treat one another like less-than-human, and so watch out for the signs that a society is starting to blur the line about what makes a human a human in the image of God.

and that’s it.

I have a friend who said something really good about this when we went to Togo. After we visited the historical site where the Togolese sold one another to the colonists and saw the places where those people were treated like hated cattle, we were discussing the topic. But my friend just sat there and didn’t join in. And we were all kind of wanting her to, because her family has lived in our hometown for generations, and our hometown was on the map at the historical site where the Togolese were sold out of. So you know. Odds are, her ancestors were from there, where we were standing. Or at least they suffered the same fate from ports like it all up and down the African coast. We wanted to hear her thoughts in particular. But she didn’t say anything.

And afterward I was nagging her about it, I was like, “you have to say something in moments like that, we all want to hear you!”

And she (is not your ordinary person) just laughed at me and said, “I knew it! Every time one of you said something (about the historical site and the slavery topic) it was like you would glance at me to see what I thought or if I was passing judgement. But why should I have anything to say? I don’t speak for everyone else. Especially people who died hundreds of years ago. It’s horrible, and it’s sin, but that’s (slavery’s) not me. That’s not my identity. It’s not yours either. Just look at what God’s done since then.”

I wish I could introduce everybody to this friend of mine. You’d see she’s like that all the time. I’ve known her for almost ten years now and she’s one of the most insightful, chill, wise, fun (she can quote all of Barnyard and SharkTale) people I’ve ever met in my life. I think she was totally right about this (she’s also been right about everything we’ve ever talked about, for context.)

I’m quoting her because if anyone had a right to be thinking about ancestral slavery any type of way, it would be my dear friend. We were standing in the place with a high likelihood of being where her specific greatx grandparents were stolen from their homes and brought to this country as slaves. But she thought about it healthily instead of unhealthily.

I mean we don’t do this when our family-history has a good, prosperous chapter in it, right? When your great great great great grandfather builds a thriving company from the ground up, and generations later the wealth of your family still speaks to the prosperity he had—but if you try and say, “I know about sacrifice! I know about hard work! My grandfather went through all this stuff to build this company!” Most people would roll their eyes at you and tell you you’ve been privileged, that just because your grandfather experienced and lived through some major stuff, that doesn’t mean you’ve earned the right to claim that major stuff. You didn’t go through those experiences.

That’s what we do with positive family history. But with negative family history, what’s going on? Why do we make that our whole identity? “My ancestors were slaves!” and then we don’t say “so that gives me authority to speak to this/so I know how it feels/so I deserve [this-or-that]” but we live like we’ve somehow inherited what happened to them.

And we haven’t. We just haven’t. We haven’t. It’s part of history. It’s not part of our experience.

When we went to that place in Togo they lowered me down into the hole the slaves were lowered into under the colonist’s house’s floorboards and had me squat there, in the dark, for just fifteen minutes, unable to stand up or stretch out or see, while they explained from the floor over my head that I should also be imagining that I’m naked, surrounded on all sides by crowds of frightened grieving people in the same predicament, packed in so close that we can’t even move sideways, either. And other horrors, of course, like the fact that there’s no bathroom, their own tribespeople helped put them in this hole, and the food only came from the hole itself, so if you were furthest away from it in the dark under-the-floor-of-the-house crawlspace, you could just starve to death because it never reaches you. You hope the other sufferers around you are kind enough to pass you food, but you don’t all speak the same language because you’re from different tribes all over the continent. And this is all before you’re even put on the boats away from all you’ve ever known. Just fifteen minutes, I curled up where they were forced to curl up.

Guess what I learned?

That it was just fifteen minutes.

That what I experienced in the moment I could get closest to their suffering was still nowhere even close to what they experienced.

That nothing in my life has ever approached imaginable levels of that suffering. And it’s arrogant and misguided to claim it as any part of my identity. That level of suffering is foreign to me.

And thank God it’s foreign to me.

If you want to claim other sufferings, be my guest. If you want to say, “I’ve experienced a feeling of not belonging as I waited in the line at Wal-Mart,” or “I’ve experienced my teacher using a slur to refer to me,” or “I’ve experienced the grief of a lack of justice” go for it. But it’s not the same as what they experienced.

Our ancestors who suffered through horrible things, do you think they’d want us to be going around, making our whole lives about their sufferings? Making all of our value-judgements on stories we’ve been told about what happened to them? I mean, geez, in fantasy movies when the defeated villain raises his son to burn with a lust for revenge, we think of that as a bad thing he did. He should’ve let his son grow up free, not saddled him with your hatred over experiences he was blessed enough not to have. But we don’t use that same understanding when it comes to unhealthy thoughts about our enslaved or abused ancestors.

It’s not “no thoughts at all.” It’s “think rightly.” What happened to them was an atrocity, and it should never be repeated, and if we see the seeds of that atrocity cropping up in others’ minds or our own minds—specifically a tendency to view one another as less-human-than-ourselves—we should nip it in the bud.

But we shouldn’t make that the crusade of our lives. It’s just turning yourself into a ghost. What happened to them isn’t happening to you. Live your life as if good has happened since then. You get to have friends, loves, communities, where your skin color or language or where you’re from doesn’t get to be the one thing that defines you. They didn’t get to have that. Don’t shackle yourself to an experience you never had; don’t assume that’s what your ancestors would’ve wanted you to do if they could somehow see a vision of you in the future.

It’s just common sense.

Now.

For everybody who wants to reply, “What are you on about, people groups today may not be enslaved but they are still dealing with the f***ing consequences of slavery!!! They’re still dealing with prejudices and racism and!!!” Knock it off. That wasn’t the question. The question was “should people groups who were enslaved still think about it.”

If you wanna ask me “okay then, should people who have ancestors that were enslaved/abused/massacred/discriminated against/ARE being discriminated against themselves in the present-day—should THEY think about it?!” then roll up and ask me that. But it’s a separate question. And I’m tired of this grandpa

[qvigleys]

yet again i find myself crying over misty quigley!

(rant incoming because her character means so so very much to me)

i actually cannot tolerate misty slander sorry not sorry. i can recognize some of her moral flaws, of course. but no character in this show is perfect, just like how no human in general is perfect. my love for her is mostly based in how much of myself i see in her, so a lot of this is definitely very biased, and is all just opinions.

the very first scene we see her in is her loudly cheering for a team she’s barely apart of. she is quite literally on the sidelines, yet she shows no jealously or resentment towards those that are fully involved. she’s just genuinely happy to be there, and have some resemblance of closeness to girls her age. don’t even get me started on the phone call scene??? (i will get myself started actually) she is so outwardly bullied, and it is so incredibly sad. bullying is unfortunately just the reality for so many people - myself included, which just makes it all the more real and raw. something that really stood out to me especially was the line about misty wishing someone would do anal to her, and then proceeding to call her “too ugly to find a victim”. SO HEARTBREAKING AND SO REAL. the pure look of defeat on her face actually makes my soul shatter into a billion pieces, because i know that feeling all too well. and the fact that she latches onto crystal so quickly is likely a direct product of not having very many - if any - friends. or at least that’s how i’ve found myself functioning. someone shows her the smallest bit of affection, care, and attention, and she grasps onto it so incredibly hard. to the point where she finds herself sharing her most personal and serious secrets, that she very clearly did not plan on sharing. it was almost automatic for her. she spilled her guts to the first person who would genuinely listen.

her canon backstory so far is very minimal, so a lot of this is just speculation and my own personal thoughts, but i do truly believe misty has very deep familial trauma. shauna’s line in one of the recent episodes about someone or something having warped her (misty) really stuck out to me. specifically the way she starts it with “your parents”, and proceeds to say that someone must have done something really bad to her. this could very well explain so many of her character traits and actions throughout the show.

whenever anyone brings up the rat scene, or her destroying the black box, all i can think about is the fact that we have no context behind either of those!!! the rat scene, while off-putting, could have a much deeper meaning and history behind it that we just don’t know yet. which is why i find it so unfair that people see that one scene and form a negative opinion about her. they’ll see that and call misty a horrible psycho, but then watch taissa be directly responsible for allie breaking her leg and showing next to no remorse, and draw no conclusions from that. (this is not taissa hate - i love tai dearly) as for misty destroying the black box, do you realize the things she must have gone through/must have been feeling in order to even feel the need to do that?? and it’s not like she would have known everything that would proceed to happen over the next nineteen months. it’s not like she wanted people to die, and get eaten, and for them all to descend into madness. i believe she finally thought she could be useful in the wilderness. she would finally have a role to fill, and have something to be good at. something people would praise her for. an environment where people would finally appreciate her, and what she had to offer.

i don’t think it’s fair to judge misty so harshly, while praising other characters (and ignoring/defending their obvious flaws) who have literally done equally as heinous things. after all, this is a show that is literally rooted in cannibalism and forest cults!!!! pick your favourite character that has most definitely done atrocious things, and move on. let’s all hold hands and be nice to each other please and thank you!!!

okay rant over!!! (if you actually read this whole thing you seriously deserve a medal. this is all gibberish, and incoherent nonsense that has been brought on by my insane hyperfixation on misty quigley. there was probably nothing of substance in that whole rant. anyways thank you :-))

[sparkleobserver]

Since you worked on an early version of karmageddon and did some partial work on Sparklecare do you have any advice to aspiring webcomic creators like myself? I’m not really good with writing or coming up with complex ideas

Hello!! Advice on webcomics and just in general… I think people have asked Kittycorn before and from looking over her blogs recently it feels like she kinda gave fucking nothingburger advice at times. So here's my advice, under the cut mainly just because it’s long. I will tag the main Sparklecare tag with this specifically because I know there are a lot of people who want to take elements of it for themselves and make their own things, too. :] Other than that, I've stopped using the main tag and won't be using it.

So, not even webcomic specific related at first:

Don’t be afraid to take inspiration! Don’t be afraid of seeming unoriginal! If there’s an element of something that you like, steal it! Obviously try not to do it 1:1 or whatever, but if you’re working on your own original story, chances are that it will end up different than its original inspiration anyway. 

To quote a common proverb: “There is nothing new under the sun.” 

People get super hung up on making something 100% original. You can’t! As harsh and blunt as that sounds. Don’t worry about it. As long as you aren’t maliciously lifting huge chunks of things, it’s okay.

Okay, so, another thing. Not every idea has to be super complex. If you want it to be, sure! But not every story has to be something sprawling or deep. Sometimes your ideas may not add up into something massive, and that’s alright! Even simpler stories can be very engaging! 

I do think, if you’re making something much more complex, it is probably helpful to try and work out at least some base things before you start. Some people can get away with coming up with things on the spot, generally I just don’t think it’s that easy for everybody. Having at least a skeleton structure of what you want to happen will be very useful.

Do not be afraid to get feedback from people on your ideas! Don’t be afraid to ask people, “do you think this makes sense”? Fanfiction writers tend to have beta readers, for example. I think it can help to have people you at least check ideas with now and then. Having fresh eyes helps so much with catching things you might miss otherwise.

Okay, so onto actual webcomic advice:

I mean first of all, I think the big overarching sentiment is that like.. do what you want, yeah. That's valid advice. Don't be afraid to make what it is you want to make within reason (gestures to KC), don't worry about an audience right away. The right people will find you eventually, although you should definitely consider what audience you’re aiming for and what boundaries may be needed ahead of time. Try to be patient, yeah? A lot of things don’t explode completely overnight.

BUT like. Kittycorn said squeak never expected Sparklecare to get so big or whatever. Not her fault, but I think there’s something to keep in mind with that. I really think it is important to be aware and remember that anything on the internet that's public can get popular or viral. like. At least mentally prepare yourself for the possibility. Especially because there’s a real chance that people will go against your wishes or interact when you don't want them to/create context you don’t want. This reminds me of anecdotes about Disney show creators getting shown porn of their stuff and being told “hey, this will happen” ahead of time.

This is all I really have right this second. I know damn well later today after I’ve already posted this, something will hit me that I haven’t said, haha. I may make a bigger post later on if I think of more to say, but for now, I hope this stuff is useful! And I wish you good luck and fun in your endeavors!

[nonbinarykai]

Saying Nya wasn’t assaulted by bizarro jay and then going “well technically nya must have also assaulted jay then” when one of the contexts of the situation was date??? Is absolutely insane behavior actually.

Yes kissing someone without consent is assault. Especially if that person is pretending to be someone else you know in order to gain your trust.

The difference between Nya kissing jay in s1 and apparently in s2 (have no idea what you’re talking about btw) is that they were already flirting and ON A DATE. Yes I don’t think being on a date means they are in a relationship but it does implying a romantic setting where kissing could be ok.

Oh and also she literally had to in order to reverse the effects of the fangpyre venom on jay. That was her only choice.

Nya was grabbed by bizarro jay and kissed under the impression that it was jay. she had no idea it was another person who took advantage of the fact he looked like jay. That is blatant assault. And to go “oh well nya kissed jay on a date so it’s the same” is extremely gross and very victim blamey!

In fact jay only being concerned with the fact someone kissed his girl and not the fact nya was assaulted is extremely worrying!

And none of what you said changes the fact that jay is still out here tackling and trying to punch people for “mocking” his supposed girlfriend being kidnapping, yelling at people for “kissing his girl”, attacking Cole during the love triangle. And being entitled afterwards. All things you have said during this conversation are things he has done. Is still painting the picture of an extremely insecure entitled boyfriend.

All of this without even TOUCHING skybound. The season where he tries to force her to love him. Says they have to be together because of the reflection. Reads a book by a misogynistic man to try to “woo” Nya over and follows the advice. Makes multiple wishes by nadakhan to win her over despite knowing how dangerous that is. Etc etc

“But he’s a teenager! He’s immature! He’s stressed!” None of that should excuse his actions? He’s still responsible for lashing out and targeting people over nya (something he does up until crystallized mind you) and literally physically attacking people because of it. Zane’s also a teenager during this time and you don’t see him acting this way about Pixal at all.

I’m sure you have good faith but I cannot in good conscious continue a conversation further with someone after they try to argue that a female character being kissed completely against her will by a man who’s taking advantage of the fact he looks like someone she trusts is the same as a girl kissing a guy who’s been flirting with her on the cheek during a date because she had no other choice. That’s really inappropriate and gross behavior. And it shows me that there’s not going to be any real attempt to understand the problematic behavior behind jays actions. Just a desire to justify and defend jay. I don’t see any point continuing this, nor would i want to after seeing the assault comment. Have a good day.

hey not to be aggressive or anything but are we actually trying to blame jay for the love triangle in season 3 right now

[buttered-toasty]

This image is endlessly delightful to me. The first instinct is to say, as my friend put it, he has handfuls. But waist is lower down. Tits are a smidge higher up. Celebrimbor you have handfuls mostly of ribcage. Also he is yapping as if this is a normal part of conversation. Annatar looks like the colony rats in his lab just developed new, never before seen behaviors. If I walked into a room and saw this I would audibly say “that’s enough of this room for today” and turn around and walk back out. Clearly I am interrupting something, though what that something is is anyone’s guess.

Also there is obviously something queer going on here but it doesn’t even matter. We have transcended the use of queer in reference to sexuality and gone back to its original meaning. They are so fucking strange.

.

.

Goes without saying this image has boundless template potential and I WILL be doing this to my OCs

[thatskindarough]

I don’t have a title for this one

[inkyrainstorms]

Martian Stan AU - Aftermath & Discovery

The Beginning (1), Aftermath (2) (here), next

Extra! (The Apology)

Ford didn’t know how long it took for him to pry himself off the floor, but it felt like hours later when he managed to trudge his way upstairs, eyes burning and throat raw. There was new blood on his knuckles, and Ford couldn’t remember if it was Stan’s or his own. He’d tried to scrub the blood off of the portal, but most of it had been too high and Ford was so tired.

He couldn’t fall asleep in the basement, he chanted to himself, again and again and again and it only occurred to him once he stood swaying at the top the of the stairs, that is didn’t actually… matter, anymore.

It didn’t matter what Bill did, or didn’t do.

The portal was broken beyond repair. His brother was dead.

The journal is gone. his mind whispered insidiously, and he couldn’t remember if he’d always been so cruel to himself, or if it was a byproduct of Bill. You got what you wanted, Sixer. How does it feel?

Ford hobbled to the bathroom as fast as he could manage, and hurled his guts out into the toilet. When all that came up was acrid bile, though, and Ford wondered idly when we he last ate. It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered, Ford decided firmly, hands clenched on either side of the porcelain bowl so hard that they looked bloodless in the harsh white light. It didn’t matter what he felt, or didn’t feel.

Not anymore.

The journal was gone. That was a good thing, it meant that the portal could never be rebuilt again. Stanley made an honorable… he. He’d made an honorable sacrifi—

Ford hunched over the toilet and heaved again. Nothing came out.

Impossibly, time kept moving.

Ford was left drifting in the current, from room to room, machine to first aid kit to paper to specimen to paper to circling the door of his lab again and again like an anxious sentry. He didn’t process any of it, and eventually, the door was the only thing left in the house that felt truly real. It was the only mystery left that Ford could pay any real mind to, and most of the time he wanted nothing more than burn the whole thing to the ground.

Sitting against the door, head leaned back and staring at the ceiling, Ford searched his mind for something. Anything.

A plan, a goal, fuck, he’d take the will to actually get out of the house and get groceries despite the constant chance of being watched at this rate. There was near nothing left to eat in the cabinets that wasn’t rank with age, and Ford knew he was wasting away like this.

But there was nothing. No part of him cared.

He knew he’d always had the wildest aspirations as a kid and as a young man, that he’d never stop reaching for bigger and better heights, but the light had blinded him with its promise, and now he’d fallen. He’d fallen so far.

He’d said Icarus didn’t flap hard enough, when Fiddleford tried to warn him of his own hubris all those weeks ago. Now he was just glad he wasn’t an English major, because it had taken him all of this just to realize that Icarus had found the sun, been embraced by the promise of warmth, and burned for it.

Trust no one.

Ford traced an idle finger against the freshly bandaged burn on the underside of his hand.

And no one should ever trust you.

…

The worst part, Ford thought to himself as he brewed another pot of coffee and searched for a clean mug, was the uncertainty of it all. There was a grief in loss, of course, but not knowing could be so much worse.

Stanley could still be alive out there, among the creatures of the Nightmare Realm, all alone. He could be dying. He could be dead. He could be sitting on the other side, waiting, hoping Ford could open the portal and bring him home—

Ford slammed down the sole clean  coffee cup he had left hard enough to startle himself, and then sighed.

He’d have to go clean up the remains of the portal, eventually. Before he fell asleep and Bill…

Ford poured out the coffee and leaned heavily against the counter as he took a sharp swig. It burned the whole way down. 

What did he have left that Bill wanted? What reason did Bill have to keep him around if his research was beyond saving, if he couldn’t be threatened or tortured into complying anymore?

The next time he fell asleep…

Ford didn’t know what’d happen to him, and despite everything, damnit, Ford didn’t want to die. He couldn’t let Bill win, couldn’t become another footnote in the history of the world because he was just another one of the poor schmucks who fell for Bill Cipher’s lies.

Taking another gulp of liquid courage, Ford pulled his coat tight around himself and marched to the door of his lab before he could talk himself out of it.

Forget not sleeping in the lab. Ford couldn’t sleep at all until he found a way to sever Bill from his mind for good. Project Mentem had been a bust last he’d checked, but it was worth another shot. What else hadn’t he tried? There was something… a protection spell? A charm?

Ford contemplated his options all the way down the stairs, one hand keeping him steady on the wall while the other held his mug. 

He still wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted yet, or what his next step was, but Ford could do this. He just had to secure his mind, like he’d planned, and then get rid of the blasted portal once and for all. Nothing had changed.

Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed. Nothing, nothing, except that Ford felt hollow where there must’ve once been something warm and vital in his chest. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel warm again. He didn’t deserve to.

Ford remembered a detail about sleep deprivation, as the elevator neared the basement level again and his heart dropped in time with the doors hissing open. Hallucinations were a common byproduct of the resulting sensory overload and exhaustion. They could take auditory or visual form, though visual hallucinations were a more common symptom by over 52%.

That was the only explanation he could conjure for the faint singing that echoed through the dark, cavernous sub-level before him. 

“It’s not real,” Ford whispered to himself, hands a vice around the coffee mug. He felt cold. “Auditory hallucinations are an expected and well documented symptom to experience in conditions less dire than these. Focus on your intellect, Stanford. Focus, focus, it is not real.”

For a long stretch of time, seconds, or perhaps minutes, Fords feet were glued to the floor of the elevator. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he said or did, the singing, or the static, remained steady and quiet. 

It wouldn’t go away unless Ford made it. 

Finally, Ford forced himself to creep into the basement, and then the control room to set his mug down on the desk. The music was louder now, more distinct here than it had been before. Had Ford left a radio on down here? Was that it?

Holding his breath, Ford crept around the trashed room, checking behind spare sheets of metal that had been propped up against the walls, kneeling to look under the control panels, and then behind them too. All the while, the music droned on, buzzing and humming and settling under his skin like an itch. 

-any- wind blows—

It got louder as he neared the very back of the room, the words filtering through the humming static and becoming clear. Ford couldn’t deny it anymore. That was a voice. He shivered hard, jolting like ice had been pressed to the back of his neck, and hurried forward. 

-really matter to me… To me. 

There was a pile of debris, in the back of the control room, farthest from the door where he’d entered. Stanley must’ve crashed into it, when Ford and him had been… when he’d…

-just killed a man —a gun against his head…

Ford slowed his pace, staring down at the dented metal plates and machinery that had fallen loose in a heap on the floor, the stray wires and screws jutting out of the mess every which way. Slowly, Ford sank to his knees and pressed his aching palms onto the cool floor beneath him.

He could hear the singing now. Warbling, staticky. Familiar.

-Life had just begun, and now I’ve gone and thrown it all away.

Ford choked on his next inhale, thin and trembly as it was, and searched through the wreckage with wide eyes. 

There. Nestled between a dented panel with half its screws undone, and a jumble of wires and smaller panels of sheet metal, was the source of the sound. 

For a long, long moment, all Ford did was stare.

Oh mama… oh ohh oh. Didn’t mean to make you cry.

If I’m not back again this time tomorrow…

Ford’s hands trembled as he reached out, carefully prying the radio out of the scrap heap and holding it up in the dim light.

Carry on, carry on…

As if nothing really matters…

The voice faded out. Static.

Ford set the radio down on his lap, gently, as it would shatter into a million pieces otherwise, and pressed a trembling hand to his mouth.

“Stanley?” Ford choked out, and it was like trying to breathe glass. But he had to know, he had to, because— because…

He sat there, dully staring down at the radio Fiddleford had cobbled together months ago, when they’d still been in the implementations stage of the data and blueprints they’d collected, when the preliminary tests had begun. A device to send and collect waves and other information from beyond this dimension without actually opening a rift.

And here it was. In Fords hands, dented and scratched and still whole despite everything. Ford had turned his sights completely to the portal before the it’s completion, since Bill had deemed the entire endeavor a waste of time and energy and an ineffective outlet for his genius.

Fiddleford must’ve completed it, back when he was still just as enthralled in the project as Ford was. He missed his old friend, but Fiddleford was likely back home by now, in California to try and reconnect with his wife and child. As bitter as Ford was, he hoped Fiddleford was successful. His old friend deserved as much and more. 

There was no reply to Ford’s question, except, Ford brought the radio to his ear and strained to listen through the faint static. Was that… humming? 

Doo- doo doo, yeah, no poindexter, I‘m done, man. That’s the last song of the evening, I’m not paid for overtime. 

Moses, wish I were getting paid for this.

Ford jumped, wincing at the sudden burst of noise loud enough to make his ears ring, then processed what Stanley, because that had to be Stanley, had said.

“Stanley! Where are you? Are you in the Nightmare Realm? You must be… what sort of method did you find to transmit your signal? Are you al—“

But Stanley continued speaking as though he hadn’t heard him. A thrill of irritation  went through him. Was Stanley ignoring him? Was this some kind of petty revenge tactic?

When’d that song come out anyway? ‘75? 

He hummed.

Sounds about right.

Ford shook the radio and bit back a growl, before he remembered that the technology in his hands was damaged and sorely in need of a repair and upgrade, and loosened his grip again. He set it down in his lap.

“Stanley, I need you to take this seriously, please, for once.”

Wow, that song was everywhere back then, wasn’t it? I remember thinkin’ Ford probably liked it when it came out, wherever he was. The nerd was probably in college.

“Stanley?” he tried again, but he wasn’t expecting a reply anymore. Stanley soldiered on, rambling about everything and nothing and Ford could almost hear the smile in his voice if it didn’t sound so tired. 

Hell, where’d I first hear it? Must’ve been over at a gas station in… eh, Kansas? Somewhere over there, the big ol’ middle states. 

We sure aren’t in Kansas anymore.

Ahh, those were the times. Me, the open sky, and so, so much dirt in my hair. Seriously, where did the dirt come from. I roll around in one haystack and suddenly i’m fishing filth out of my hair a month later.

Stanley went quiet again, before he laughed. 

Aw man, I actually like this story. Buckle in folks, and I’m taking us back to that weirdly cold summer day in Kansas, where I had to steal 5 prized chickens. For some reason.

Look man, when someone pays you a hundred bucks and tells you he wants chickens, you don’t ask questions. 

Anyways, I’d been-“

For the past few… well, it had to have been days since Stanley fell through the portal by this point, if Fords state was anything to go off of, Ford’s mind had been eerily blank. He’d been a hollowed out shell of his former self, a ghost in his home and life that held onto the living plane by only the barest threads and pure spite.

It was like a switch had flipped. Ford’s fingers drummed on the outside of the radio as he forced himself to his feet, mind whirling at a hundred miles per hour and making calculations and theories and discarding some and contemplating others, and he was nearly jittering as he walked out of the control room entirely. He’d need to find a way to secure this side of the portal from Bills influence, recollect his journals, and then, he was bringing his brother home.

He stopped just before he got into the elevator and turned around to stare down the wrecked portal that loomed overhead. The once perfect inverted triangle, now ruined and warped nearly beyond recognition.

He grinned in a way that was more just like baring his teeth.

“You may be a god, Cipher, and you may think you can control me, but never forget. I am a scientist.”

The portal stood dead as it had been, but Ford didn’t care. He whirled around and stalked into the elevator. He felt more awake than he had in days. And he had research to collect and a demon to banish.

Stanley was still talking, as the elevator began to shudder and rise, and Ford’s adrenaline shot began to ever-so-slightly wane. Something about… attack pigeons?

-And when I finally think I’m in the clear, I duck around one of the hay bales and come face to face with, and I’m not kidding here, a cow wearing heavy duty armor, like a helmet and shit the guy in ‘Nam would wear. It even had holes for the ears!

There was a strange sound then, and Ford realized with a start that it was coming from him. He was laughing. It wasn’t even than funny, really, but something about Stan delivery made Ford wheeze. 

When was the last time he’d laughed? It must’ve been before this whole thing started, when he’d been with Fiddleford or B—

The laughter died in his throat. Oblivious to Fords inner turmoil, Stan kept on jabbering.

And there I was, 5 chickens smuggled into my coat and in my bag —and if you’ve never tried to carry 5 chickens, never do, it’s hard as hell and not worth it at all— staring down ol’ Bessie. 

And then, because this fucking farm couldn’t get any weirder, the cow started moo-ing like it was setting off a tornado siren, and all the other cows in the whole place started mooing in sync too. It was fucking terrifying man.

They must’ve been calling the attack pigeons, because those suckers came back, and they started dive-bombing my sorry ass, and really, that was when I reached my limit.

I dove into the hay bale like a damn football player going for the end line, and even though it was by far the itchiest thing to ever happen to me, it saved me from death-by pecking so I’ll take take it. 

The itchiest, of course, save for my stint in Albuquerque.

Ford could almost imagine Stan shaking his head as he paused again. With a start, he realized he was still smiling.

Just. Don’t try selling pillows in Albuquerque is all I’ll say.

Stan gave an audible shudder. 

So many feathers… And itch powder. The itch powder didn’t help. 

Ford couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out of him at that.

Tags! (I’m sure I’m forgetting someone, pls tell me if you want to be on the list! Or just follow the tag that also works) @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @pleasantartisanhottea @littlelilliana15 @empressofsamoyeds @pinesfamilycatsau

Super Epic Secret Surprise!

[petercaths]

I definitely agree that both he and Sarah are at fault for the break up of their marriage. My argument/venting out frustration, however, is mainly about me not agreeing with what a lot of people on Reddit say Jack did wrong.

As for the jate of it all, I think there’s a lot of nuance here that the show doesn’t explore because they seemed to have no time/desire to actually properly write Kate.

But, I mean you can pick it up based off basic context clues:

1. Cassidy is presumably not living in California, so when Kate goes to see , she’s breaking her parole (though this is pure speculation).

2. Kate told Cassidy the truth about everything after she promised Jack she wouldn’t. And if Jack were to find out about Cassidy at all, it would risk exposing what Jack would definitely see as both a problem AND a betrayal (a solid conclusion to draw)

3. Kate is broken after the island too, and in many ways her friendship with Cassidy IS her coping mechanism. It makes sense that she wants to keep it to herself.

But at the end of the day, all of this is kind of irrelevant because Kate’s lie is a cop-out for Jack to self-sabotage and find a way out of their relationship before he causes more damage. I don’t think Jack for a minute thought that Kate was cheating on him, and I don’t he cared that she was helping Sawyer (he’s literally never cared about Sawyer before or after that one moment), and outside of Cassidy knowing the truth he probably wouldn’t care about that friendship either.

And Kate knows this , which is why she moves onto the real issue, which is Jack drinking as his coping mechanism. Something that , I would argue , isn’t really a completely a secret given that Jack does it in front of her and she isn’t surprised. Also , she throws his addiction to pills in his face at the airport scene; I imagine this was something that was slowly brewing over time, and that Kate was choosing to ignore it because she didn’t want to give Jack the boot.

I really wish the show had given us more of them together so we could draw better conclusions, Unfortunately , s4 was made during the writers strike, so we will never know what the writers originally intended for their relationship to look like. But , given context clues, pattern of behavior, and even the endless details within the episodes themselves, this is what I’ve made of it!

Jack Shephard rant.

I’ve been down the Reddit hole over the past few weeks, and seen a a lot of posts I fundamentally disagree with in regards to jack. Primarily having to do with the thinly veiled sexism of the early 2000s, and how this gives way for a ‘nice guy’, or ‘abusive asshole’ interpretation of Jacks’s character.

I mean do I understand the criticism? Sure. It’s an early 2000s show that definitely feels dated in a lot of its material, and Jack is part of what represents that. Though, I do think people who run with this and try to pin Jack as some abusive asshole are kinda seeing something that’s not there. Calling him a nice-guy is kinda crazy to me, given that the narrative consistently punishes him when he’s wrong.

The two biggest complaints I’ve seen are his reaction to Sarah cheating, and Phuket. Both pretty valid things to call him out for, because he was in the wrong. But they also happens to be two things that— again— the narrative punishes him for. I mean, he goes to jail because of his obsession with who sarah is cheating with, and he gets the shit beat out of him in Phuket. These are not narratives that allow any positive context for his behavior. He was wrong, and he suffers consequences.

Then there’s the argument that Jack is controlling towards his partners, which I don’t fully agree with. We only see him be controlling WHILE he’s with someone with the girl in Phuket, which— again— is wrong, and presented as such, and he gets the beating he deserves for it.

However, when it comes to other relationships…

Well, Jack’s issues with Sarah don’t stem from an obsessive need to know her every move while they’re together. If anything, the problem is his negligence of their marriage because he is always working and fixing things at the hospital. And when he’s not able to fix a case he’s consumed by, he turns to his troubles at home and tries to fix that. Because he will always need something to fix.

Similarly, his issues with Kate aren’t that he’s controlling her. They’re that she’s lying to him, and he knows she’s lying to him, and he doesn’t like that. It’s insecurities and jealousy driving him up the wall because he wants a life with Kate, but the island is calling him, and he’s seeing signs and doing things that underline how he isn’t right for her or Aaron. But what’s most important about this scene, is that Jack does let go. Not in the way Kate wants him to, but in the way he thinks is best for her and Aaron, at least in that moment.

Anyways, I don’t even know how to conclude this whole essay. The point is, Jack is far from perfect, or even far from being a healthy or mentally stable individual. But he is not abusive, lol. Sorry , I’ve just seen at least three reddit threads trying to say he was, and I needed to rant somewhere.

[ducktracy]

had some thoughts regarding the bastardization of Porky’s legacy in recent decades and thought they were perhaps interesting enough to relay here

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

[frameconfessions]

I hope the protoframes remain relevant even after this story arc for the Drifter concludes, but I also recognize how complicated things would get with how many characters they could keep trying to make stay relevant, leading to a Konoha 13 Naruto type situation where we have too many relevant characters from Umbra & Ordis all the way to Kaya Velasco.

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[oh-shtars]

Hello fellas!!!

Look at all your sonas all in one place!!! 💖💖

@annymation @kstarsarts @uva124 @gracebethartacc @emillyverse @rascalentertainments @tumblingdownthefoxden

All of you look so great! With all the unique character designs and all the sparkly shiny stardust-

Hold on-

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Star dust-??

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[violentdelightshavevioletends]

FINALLY LIAMS MYSTERY ICE EXPLAINED!!!

[toniodarling]

never get into Ace Attorney this repeatedly does irreparable damage to me

I CAN’T STOP QUOTING THIS MEME ALL THE TIME FOR NO REASON I THINK I’VE BEEN CURSED WITH A VOCAL STIM

[story-book-sillies]

Anxiety so bad my chest feels heavy

[peachyykira]

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