#things i experienced

[ratcontrolledracecar]

father forgive me for i have sinned. i have once again put on a show for background noise and got too invested

[spookberry]

Shhhh theyre thinking

[crowiin]

welcome to the world

[liimonadas]

so i've been playing a game

[mobius-m-mobius]

#he's actually a comedian

HUGH JACKMAN as LOGAN HOWLETT // WOLVERINE

[oblique-lane]

Who are you, ugly face?

A scene from my fic...

[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.

[technically-human]

This happened, it just wasn't relevant to the plot

[dirtytransmasc]

I'm just imagining Sevika charging into battle not knowing where her girls are. she hears whispers from the battlefield that Isha is dead and that Jinx is gone. taken. captured. surrendered. she doesn't want to accept either. she almost refuses. and it's in the back of her mind that she has to live so she can find her girls, and at the very least, remember them.

and she almost dies. she thinks that there might not be anyone to remember them. to find them.

and then she doesn't. she doesn't die. and one thing leads to another, and she's on the council. and....

she still doesn't know what happened to them.

and then Vi, the girl who, justifiably, hates her guts, comes back. and the look on her face all She needs to know Jinx is gone. but she can't accept it. she can't.

she demands to know what happened, in a clipped, gruff manner, not displaying much care, but her eyes are teary and her gut is churning.... and Vi just says they're gone.

and all Sevika can do is whisper "... both?"

and she doesn't wait for an answer. the face is enough. "how?".

the answer kills her.

she walks away. murmurs an apology over her shoulder.

she doesn't know what to do with the feeling in her chest. her fingers trace over the carving in her arm.

[cthulhum]

does anyone realize how crazy it is to have the actor of a mostly headcanoned queer ship say the fans were never crazy and they were right all along after 10+ years of everyone just absolutely going nuts over the said queerbaited ship

[ratcontrolledracecar]

wish me luck i have to go defeat the final boss of bad web design: my doctor's email portal (fuck you kp.org emailing system)

[lotus-pear]

i miss them......please come back........please come home :((

[astearisms]

fionna and cake drawings before and after watching the episodes so far. it’s nostalgic and somehow cathartic and poignant and relatable and—it just started

[arcticclimes]

Something something Fitzjames and Hodgson are two of the most dandy-ish characters in The Terror but they're also two of the most dangerous; they've both been to war, both do the greatest damage to Tuunbaq using the weaponry they were trained in by the navy (Hodgson with the cannon and Fitzjames with the congreves), and Hodgson is also the one to kill the Inuit family, directly connecting the violence of imperialism with the gentlemanly facade it likes to use.

[daftpatience]

my three puzzle solving boyfriends

[quaranmine]

collapses on the floor and Dies