#i would say im sorry but im not

[theechoingasteroid]

tryna figure out how i wanna draw bentho ft. miku binder benthomaar.

[metallicaslut]

if i had to see this, yall have to see it.

[azira-fucking-phale]

[feralghxuls]

i have an ask from @demigaydemigod in my inbox rn that i was like "oh let me respond to this with a ficlet"

well. me being me, that "ficlet" is now 5k and counting and largely unrelated to the actual ask because it turned into a character study oops

[nyxx-nth]

POV: You are a starving young Gregory

[hinamie]

to moving forward

[coffinbutch]

Anything that runs on a track counts as a train for the purposes of this poll, i.e. metro, subway, tram, trolley, whatever you want to call it.

[sumbei]

Omg wait. By the time he scars his name into his skin he would've forgotten the name of his family right? But I bet if he remembered their names he would've done the same thing with them. I bet he would be mentally kicking himself as he (carved) wrote his name.

But if course, with everything on the first of darkness having it out for him, he didn't have time to dwell on their names. Perhaps, it was a good thing. You can't afford distractions if you're trying to survive.

His past was gone, forgotten. But at least he still had himself. That's all he needed really.

So we know Choi Han has been repeating his name non-stop while he was in the forest of darkness so he won't forget it, but what if we took it a step further?

What if he carved his name into his skin and made sure it scarred so he can always see it? That way he would never forget it. His name was a part of him.

Imagine- on some part of his body, be it his arm, leg, or even somewhere on his hands, are the characters 최한.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Vanny can’t explain everything in the FNAF pizzaplex..

[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.

[astronnova]

danny phantom cast explorations and thoughts :v

[mokeonn]

"But if college was free, then people would abuse that and get useless degrees" hell yeah I would! If I could go to college without debt I would make it my job to get a degree in every little thing that interested me. I'd get a doctorate in film studies. I'd have a bachelor's degree for every science I like. I'd try to learn at least 5 languages with varying results. I would learn something "useful" like coding and then follow it up with a ""useless"" degree like art history. I'd be the world record speed run holder for getting every degree possible.

But I can't afford college without going into massive debt, so instead I spent the last 5 years trying to figure out what I am passionate enough about to consider going into debt over, because unfortunately being passionate about everything is extremely expensive to pursue.

[dorkfruit]

umm….. thats not helping

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

getting used to domestic life

[papanowo]

i think dan should get to be a little weird too. as a treat

[lmadsadness]

Shockwave, thats a terrible way of saying I love you