[a no holds barred manifesto]
I honestly thought about leaving. I did. It's not fun in here a lot of the time. Truthfully, I don't like Sam or Cait a lot of the time. In my comparatively short three years here, they've managed to make themselves unlikable.
And I'm tired. I'm tired of trying to refute photos and rumors. I'm tired of straining my eyes looking at reflections and areas of possible pixellation and comparing knuckle joints.
I've never been in a fandom in my entire life. That's still not my thing, even in this one. I don't think the words of Diana Gabaldon are sacrosanct. There are fanfic writers who put her work to shame on the regular, and I am in awe of them for it. I think her writing leaves a lot to be desired: it's obtuse when it should be explicitly clear, and the reverse is true as well. She's a self-obsessed show pony who is deaf to constructive criticism.
So I'm not obsessed with the books. I've read most of them. They were alright in spots, endlessly dull in others, but I've just never been a fan of fiction anyway. I prefer realism and have amassed a personal library of hundreds of nonfiction books that are my pride and joy. Facts are more fascinating to me than anyone's fanciful (and often disappointingly non-linear) imagination.
I'm not even obsessed with the show, to tell you the truth. No matter how elaborate the sets, costumes, or accents, I never actually forget that I'm watching paid actors pretending something is real. A famous actor once wisely said: "I get paid to tell elaborate lies."
But an incontrovertible truth did leak out: Sam Heughan fell in love with Caitriona Balfe, and she fell in love with him. I can't pretend I don't know; I committed that fact to memory long ago.
Equally true is how their PR fuckwits and greedy, limp-dicked overlords managed to coerce and convince them way back in January 2016 that staging a public bonfire of that love was the way to a better career.
And so we believers, knowing damn well what we know we've seen and what they cannot help themselves from affirming ad infinitum, are forced to watch them self-immolate. They do it in interviews. They do it in written word. They do it in photos. They do it on social media. They do it by allowing others to connect the dots they'd rather not. They do it by reading Tumblr blogs and deciding what to set ablaze next.
They do it to appease others, they do it to avoid penalties, they do it out of a learned Pavlovian impulse, they do it out of habit, they do it out of fear.
They need us to be compliant, complicit, and complacent... for as long as necessary. They'll block us, they'll mock us, they'll let us wither and die. The destruction must go on.
So I sit here with my glass of whiskey (Jim Beam, because the worst thing he ever did to me was convince me I could dance), full of righteous indignation. I am sick of what these two have turned into: seemingly soulless caricatures of their actual selves that we met years ago, and having allowed their public personas to belie all their truth. It was once beautiful. Still might be.
Fuck everyone involved. And listen up:
I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE, YOU TWO.
You have lost my support for your charities, your side gigs, your products, and your films. That's my choice.
But I'm sticking around for what I know is true. You really should save the elaborate lies for the pages of Outlander scripts.
I will keep writing about you as the life mates I know you are. On my blog in posts like this. In things I write on AO3. In DMs. In groups.
There will be fluff. There will be smut. There will be Applied Lip Reading.
You will not find me compliant.
I'm turning this shit up to 11.
ANTIS AND ASSHATS GET BLOCKED AND MOCKED.
kianamaiart
prguitarman
dailybridgerton
2087
turnnoffyourmind
