u know what’s wrong with tumblr now?? too many kids who weren’t here for glee. y’all have no idea. none of u understand the suffering we went through. the hell. the endless war. u come in here and u try to start The Discourse but u dont get that we already made these mistakes. we already had the discourse and its done now. its over. its all over and u should let it stay dead but u wont and that’s why we all hate u
I was not here for the days of glee but please relay that fandom history
its not history, its blood. i still see it all over this website. the vague posts. the deactivated urls. where do u think the word problematic became popular. where do u think the representational anger started. glee was the hungry gaping void that consumed us all. it said watch us and find yourself. there is someone for everyone. santana is a lesbian and kurt is gay and brittany is bisexual and quinn, god knows what quinn is, she’s straight but we have her say things like “you were singing to finn and only finn, right?” and artie is disabled. mercedes is black and our outlet for body positivity. we are all oppressed by something and we are different and we are outcasts and we are you.
and we fell for it. we watched glee and we related to its characters and we fought its wars until it was too late. until it was nothing but a distorted picture of a parody of reality, a cracked mirror in which our souls were sucked and encased in glass. finn outed santana but it’s fine because he had good intentions. sam was supposed to be gay but we’re bringing blaine anderson in for that instead. the q in quinn is for queerbait. brittany was maybe raped but it was a one liner so who really knows. will schuester was a horrible fucking adult and should never have been allowed to care for children. finn, the white straight boy, did everything wrong but it was narratively presented as right. we turned on each other. klaine vs kum and finchel vs faberry. santana fought everyone so brittana stans fought everyone. character vs character, ship vs ship, blogger against blogger. we fucking hated each other. there was no glee fandom. there were character fandoms and ship fandoms and that is it and our mottos were all fuck glee.
we won every popularity contest, every online poll. we voted our fingers to the bone. we created art and wrote fanfic and made such excellent photo manips they were published in newspapers. we were prolific. we were consumers of the hell we created and we just kept producing more in a fucked up dystopian fandom chain of supply and demand. don’t get me started on the rpf. dianna wore a likes girls shirt on tour and made a statement an hour later revoking it. some people still say heya is real but it’s like a breath of the wind, a sound so bare i can’t quite make out the words.
u asked for history. theres no history, only rage and pain and regret, the image of anonymous with a grey face and sunglasses telling u to kill urself because u thought artie was a dick for calling brittany stupid that one time. this website is a reflection of the hole glee left when it finished taking all it could from us, when the void could not consume anything more, and the posts on it now, the social justice “discourse” that is just giant piles of steaming, unsifted, unrefined shit is from those who refused to learn from us. the history is here and it followed us and we can never ever escape it.
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I have this thing called ‘I consider this person my friend but I don’t know if they consider me theirs’
there should be a word for the emotion you feel when someone who is your friend but you don’t know they consider you their friend says to someone else, in front of you, ‘yeah this is my friend’ and your heart gets really big and sparkly but you have to play it cool
A psychic vigilante who can alter peoples brains with a single touch uses his power to deliver the ultimate punishment upon evil psychopaths: empathy.
as long as they stick to the evil ones, i guess that’s okay by me? probably sucks to be them, though, haha.
fuck, what a terrifying power. imagine if they just went around ‘curing’ people at random. “hey, this person on the bus has the aura of a sociopath, i’d better give them empathy so they don’t do murders.” a couple hours later: a surgeon has a sobbing breakdown in the middle of a tumor removal because oh shit this is a human being we’ve got flayed open here and it feels so wrong.
all proud of themself for ‘fixing’ people, the vigilante leaves devastation in their wake. people with adhd keep taking their usual meds, not knowing why they’ve gotten so excitable lately, and end up addicted to amphetamines. autistics find no joy in their special interests anymore, and don’t know what to do with this terrifying onslaught of metadata in every face and voice, nor why their senses seem so dulled; when they describe their new symptoms to a therapist, the conclusion is early stage schizophrenia, but antipsychotics don’t help.
the vigilante doesn’t realize what they’ve been doing until they try to help their next door neighbor, an elderly woman soldiering along despite a number of deteriorating conditions. they notice she’s got depression too, and think, “well, at least i can help with that part.” one touch, and her brain chemical balance is restored. the dull fog of apathy and executive dysfunction is blown away by winds of clarity and self-direction.
clear-headed for the first time in years, she takes stock of her situation, gets in her car, and drives off a bridge.
the vigilante succumbs to self-doubt, their internal monologue full of melodrama about ‘playing god’ and ‘meddling’ and vows to give up heroing. they remove their glove for one final act: they touch their own head, intending to delete their power. but as soon as they reach for their mind, it becomes apparent: the narcissism that allowed them to think they had the right to change minds by force. what if they just took hold of that and… *pop!*
“oh!” the ex-vigilante says, and starts to laugh and cry at the same time. “i should’ve done that first. why didn’t i do that first?”
several years later, now in posession of a freshly minted psychology degree, the former vigilante begins a new life as a counsellor. on the palm of their power hand, to remind them whenever they take the glove off, is a word tattooed in bold type:
just moving along like everyone else 