#I really do think it’s the right medium for me

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ stargirl interlude: chapter ii.

wnba!paige x pop star!azzi. men & minors dni.

⋆ 🪩 masterlist.

synopsis: azzi’s one of the industry’s fastest rising stars—a notorious ice princess. she doesn’t pay much attention to the internet, so she’s caught off guard when she finds out who her biggest fan is: world-class athlete paige bueckers, publicly losing her mind over her.

cw: implied mental health issues, fluff, first date, medium burn?, young girls rediscovering themselves and their desires, slight angst, mentions of faith.

notes: hi, my doves. let me know if you enjoyed this. sorry this is a little sad, but azzi is a product of childhood fame. love you. can't wait to see you in my inbox.

II: SECOND SKIN.

“i’d like to work on something different. something that feels more like me.”

azzi watched as her manager’s brow rose, sensed her mother's gaze boring holes deep into her skin. she steadfastly ignored them, focusing instead on the condensation dripping down the plastic body of her iced blueberry matcha. 

the head of the label sat across from her. he was a stout man with a pinched face. it always looked as though he was struggling to breathe. he was kind though, had seen many a pop legend come and go, and seemed to have a soft spot for her ideas, usually called silly, when she presented them to katie on the car ride home.

“you don’t feel any connection to what you’re doing now?” he asked her, and azzi blinked back into the moment.  

“i think i did at some point but,” azzi pursed her lips, then let out a flow of air, “i’m not feeling myself in any of it. i look at the lyrics and open my mouth and nothing comes out. at least nothing i’m proud of.”

the man sat back, green eyes unnervingly bright. she focused on the liver spot that pulled across his neck, mind running as she tried to remember his name. it was something rather clandestine. micheal? murray? 

“what do you feel yourself in?”

azzi looked up from beneath her lashes, her cheeks haloed by her unbrushed curls. she was only in a midi black dress, the straps thick and the neckline square. along her collarbones lay a thin diamond chain with a silver, cursive ‘a’ pendant that swung forward every time she readjusted herself. her feet were encased in faux-leather flats, the small, needlework rosary tattoo she’d gotten on a whim dark and visible.

“i’ve been listening to a lot of indie rock. red hot chili peppers, smashing pumpkins, the teenagers. i like the way i feel when i listen. there’s more room in the writing to sing about what i’m going through, big or small. i’m—” she hesitated. “i’m tired of being a sexy baby.”

“indie rock, huh?” the man said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “i didn’t think kids knew of red hot chili peppers these days.”

azzi smiled, her two front teeth shining white and new. her mother, who had been holding on for a rather impressive amount of time, finally gave her input.

“but she’s not a rockstar, max! she’s a pop star.”

oh, so his name was max. yes, very clandestine. max rolled his neck over to one side as he glanced irritably at katie, his jaw working before he responded. 

“i get that, katie, i really do.” azzi tried not to laugh and took a sip of her matcha. “but reinvention is how these girls stay alive in this world. azzi’s right. people are not looking for the sexy baby thing right now. i mean there’s always an audience, but azzi’s demographic has grown with her. and if she wants her growth to be noticeable, i think it's smart to play up a different image other than discovering that you have a body and desires for the first time.” 

huh, azzi thought. go, max.

he looked back at her, eyed her drink. “need another?’

“sure,” azzi said, her voice quiet but her resolve strong. 

they got up. they took a walk.

⟡

azzi pushed three thick sprays of salt water through the nozzle and into the back of her throat, her nose burning as california brine coated the muscles. then she texted paige. 

» hey, paige. just wanted to touch base about getting coffee this week.

her arms burned when she pressed the meat of them into the metal strings of her bass guitar. she shined it earlier and its teal corpse stared at her, reflecting a distorted image of her face as it begged her to touch it—to raise it from the dead. she felt the feeble spirit of her thirteen-year-old self in the marrow of the instrument, and she focused she could hear her too.  

she hated the message once she sent it. she sounded so out of touch with what it meant to be a young girl, a cool girl. while she waited for paige’s response, her eyes roved over the other girl’s instagram. she cataloged what she knew of her already: she was twenty-five, two years to azzi’s twenty-three, and a well-loved prodigy. she frequented texas, dallas to be specific, due to her current contract. she flew back and forth to new york, apparently helping to coach teenage athletes in her spare time. 

azzi liked that, that the goodness of her heart gave her a reason to plant her feet on new york’s rat-run ground. azzi sometimes worried that she wasn’t good, not even a little bit. 

she lingered on a candid of paige in the pews of a church, the light streaming in through the thin stained glass adorning her with mock sainthood. azzi wondered if it would matter to paige that god tended to put a frog in her throat, that she had removed his hands from around her neck and thighs and was trying to sit next to him without flinching on most days. maybe they would never get there. 

» hey, azzi. yeah, i’m still good for coffee. 

azzi smiled. i wonder if you know how good you make me feel, she thought and then was immediately embarrassed. 

» that’s really good to hear. 

she paused, then sent another message. 

» sorry about saying “touch base”. it was weird.

the response was swift.

» nah, it wasn’t. 

azzi wondered if she should leave it alone, but if she was going to coffee she may as well ensure it wasn’t too awkward. she raised her arms, ignoring the indentations in her skin, and snapped a picture of her guitar. the steel of its strings gleamed; the teal paint seemed to cry. you could see her shadow reach across it. her leg was bent, but visible—tender from her weight being shifted across it for several hours.

» trying to learn how to use her again » going a new direction with my music and i’m kind of really scared 

too honest, she berated herself. paige didn’t seem to think so.

(paige didn’t think so at all. her crystal blue eyes had fallen on the reddened skin of azzi’s knee, on the thin strip of darkness made by the bend of azzi’s leg and the crush of her thigh. her mouth watered, and she redid her ponytail to regain some self-control.)

» u have a voice like an angel, azzi. some things are just meant to be. 

» God knew what He was doing. 

she capitalized God, azzi noted. her mouth twitched into a smile. she liked that. it was a good detail.

» i’m not that religious, but since you are i guess you would know. » sorry that sounded mean, but i don’t mind it. your faith, i mean. please don’t feel bad.

a moment passed and then,

» i don’t know, i just trust. » and i didn’t feel bad. ur not a mean girl. 

azzi laughed out loud then. 

» it’s my desire to know vs my desire to trust, she said.  » see you tomorrow, paige

her phone buzzed one last time. 

» can’t wait. i’ll be looking for u. 

azzi took a deep breath and closed her eyes. she thought hard of california, saw her father in the waves with a hand around her arm—the bone thick with baby fat. she heard something, someone. 

she touched a string. it sang.

⟡

the morning light came in sharp, cutting the shop into bright angles and long shadows. the windows were too clean, the floor polished to a dull shine. it smelled like scorched milk and antiseptic, something artificial masking something else. the kind of place people pretended to not mind, with its ten-dollar oat lattes and plastic baristas. the kind of place azzi used to think she liked.

she had dressed without thinking—well, no. she had thought about it quite a bit, but it was a good fantasy.

a strapless smocked top, tight across her ribs, the fabric shifting when she moved. faded jeans, loose at the hip, cinched with an old leather belt. they slouched low, soft, and worn in the way vintage denim should be, brushing against the tops of her boots. she carried her jacket in one hand, twisted around her fingers like an afterthought. her hair, loose from whatever styling had held it the other morning, fell in soft, uneven spirals. she’d drawn up the top with brown butterfly clips to prevent it from getting into her eyes. 

she looked like someone caught between selves. not quite undone, but close.

her fingers traced the rim of her mug, nails chipped down to uneven edges. the heat of the ceramic barely registered. paige was watching her. not in the way people usually did—calculating, expectant—but with a slow heat closer to patience. like she was trying to understand something. azzi often felt like a ghost within her own body, but now, someone was gazing at her,  not through her.

paige sat with her legs apart, elbows resting on her thighs. it was the kind of posture that helped make her look present without seeming too comfortable. the light made a halo of her, just for a second.

she wore a white, slightly oversized button-down, sleeves rolled up just once—as she did it absentmindedly, not for style. the fabric looked soft; it seemed the kind that came off better the more it was worn. beneath that: dark wash straight-leg jeans, fitted enough to hint at her strength but relaxed to a degree that spoke to her disinterest in the semantics of fashion. they fell heavy at the hem, half-swallowing her vintage nike cortez sneakers. a simple chain encircled her neck, barely noticeable except when the light caught it. a cross, just simple metal.

the image instilled a sense of wonder in azzi. she wanted to ask about it, if it meant anything.

paige grimaced, picking up her vanilla latte with two shots of espresso. "twelve fucking dollars?" she muttered. "for this?"

azzi watched her, something soft developing in her chest. she slightly recognized this feeling. it was like rediscovering a language she'd forgotten she knew how to speak. it began to bleed through her, raw and unfiltered. she worried that it would stain her shirt.

"so," paige said, her voice slipping through the lo-fi hum of someone’s terrible 2010-esque playlist, "tell me something."

azzi blinked. the overhead lights buzzed, too bright, catching on the fine gold chain around her throat. her small scorpio pendant shifted when she swallowed. 

“um, let’s see. i'm twenty-three," azzi started, her words falling into a practiced rhythm. "born in virginia, but lived in california for a while. i miss it there. uh, oh. my favorite color is pink. i have a birthmark shaped like texas on my left hip.” 

paige took another swig of coffee and then looked her dead in the eye. she raised an eyebrow. "you giving me teen beat facts?"

azzi suppressed a smile. she shrugged.

paige leaned in, elbows on the table, hands loose but steady.

"something that doesn’t exist in a press release." a pause. "give me the real you, please."

the words settled between them. the moment stretched, thin and expectant. something about it made azzi want to look away.

she didn’t.

“um,” her voice was quieter now, “i’m terrified of spiders, but i don’t ever want to kill them. i’m allergic to fake gold, and my ears swelled when i got them pierced as a toddler. i can’t cook or bake, but i have a good eye for presentation. i haven’t really written or performed anything i’ve liked in over two years.”

the last bit took her by surprise, but paige’s eyes only softened. she leaned back and swallowed down the remnants of her drink. she put it down and tilted her head, her blonde hair shifting with the movement. her mouth seemed electric as she spoke. 

“i want to take you somewhere. come with me?”

they ended up at a small ethiopian restaurant.

it was tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store, where the scent of berbere and spiced butter pulled at the air before the door even opened. inside, the walls were warm-toned, lined with woven baskets and paintings, the floor covered in persian rugs softened and faded by years of footsteps. it hummed with low chatter, the clink of metal trays, and the occasional burst of laughter from a group in the corner.

azzi looked around, a little mesmerized. "this is beautiful."

paige watched her, further endeared. "yeah."

they sat on the floor, low cushions pressed against their backs, a tray of injera and slow-cooked stews set between them. the place was packed, families and couples and groups of friends leaning close, tearing pieces of bread with practiced ease. 

it was intimate in a way that surprised azzi—hands reaching, sharing, dipping.  food was so respected here; the art of the meal and family so centered. she followed paige’s lead, watching her scoop a piece and fold it with practiced ease.

azzi’s first bite made her eyes widen, then flutter closed. "oh my god."

"right?" paige grinned, watching as azzi eagerly took another bite. it was so good, flavored in a way that stuck to your ribs. this was the kind of food you could taste long after you’d left the table.

they stayed like that, across from one another but intersecting as their hands met in the warm rivers of heavily spiced sauce and pots of yellow rice.

at some point, azzi got a bit of sauce on her chin, then her cheek, and paige, without thinking, swiped her thumb over it only to smear it across the bridge of her nose. azzi let out a startled laugh, brown eyes crinkling, and paige smirked.

"you missed a spot."

paige watched as azzi lifted her phone, angling the camera to capture the streak of sauce on her cheek, then her nose. she stuck out her tongue, crossing her eyes in one, then tilted her head slightly, lips parted to reveal her american girl teeth, a mess of curls cradling her face.

"these are so cute," she murmured, voice warm as she tapped through the shots. "i never get to have food on my face."

and it was clearly meant to be funny in an offhanded way, but then azzi’s face flickered—like she’d just realized something. a small thing, but a thing that felt bigger, heavier. her throat tightened, and she hurried to blame it on the spice, but she could tell that paige saw through it, saw the way her fingers flexed like she didn't know what to do with them.

under the table, paige found her hand. squeezed. then, casually, she tore another piece of injera, scooped up some stew, and lifted it to azzi’s full lips—the skin a deep pink and swollen by the flame of peppers.

"here, mama," she said, voice easy. "try this one."

azzi took the bite, chewed, and swallowed. she exhaled, slow. paige didn’t let go of her hand.

before they left, the owners took a polaroid for the wall of customers. azzi insisted they take two, so they could have their own. in the photo, azzi was mid-laugh, eyes bright, sauce still dotted on her nose. paige stood beside her, relaxed in a way she didn’t even realize, watching azzi like she had a secret within that she didn’t know yet.  like she always had.

they didn’t decide who would get to keep it officially, but it ended up in the back of azzi’s phone. a pale copy sat in paige’s gallery. azzi pocketed the second polaroid, running a thumb over the glossy surface. something shifted inside her, loose and warm. 

later, on the train home, she tucked her legs beneath her in the seat and hummed under her breath. a melody had given birth inside of her—new, half-formed, and fighting. words came to her unbidden, stale lyrics made better by the fact that she was trying again.

she murmured into her phone’s voice memo app. she held up the phone to paige’s mouth and asked her to speak. paige smiled, tender with joy, and protested that she didn’t know what to say.

“it’s not the real thing,” azzi assured her. “you can say anything.”

paige hummed and then,

“will you get another coffee with me?” 

azzi grinned, her body trembling. she lowered her feet to the floor and leaned over until her head fell onto paige’s shoulder. she picked up paige’s hand and turned it over so that the pale palm was open and exposed. she traced nine letters into the skin.

yes, please.

paige closed her hand and kept her there. 

azzi hummed from the station to her apartment. even the clink of her keys into their designated bowl seemed on-key. 

it was a song. her song. the first in a long time. she could’ve sobbed. 

thank god, she thought, that i remember how to sing.

⟡

voguescandinavia: azzi fudd has a new approach: “i want to keep going to places where i don’t know anyone or anything. i tend to find myself there.”

a black and white portrait accompanied the tweet. azzi's face was slightly turned, wind-blown wisps of her natural curls catching across her cheekbone. her expression was borderline intense, almost vulnerable—eyes looking slightly off-center, not quite meeting the camera.

she wore a simple white tank top, and her skin was slightly tanned, with shadows and bits of sand dusted along parts of her face. the background was indistinct, a blurred landscape suggesting openness, motion. her gaze penetrated.

it was silently understood that she wasn’t performing, but truly present.

the reception was overwhelmingly kind, warm. but only one mattered.

trending simple and proud:

pbueckersofficial: angel falls short but swear it’s her true form 🩶🎙️

on her private account, her heart to mouth filter had failed. the same picture, quote retweeted but with different wording: 

pbuckets5: i want to run away. make a world of just you and me. somewhere between the city lights and the way you breathe—i'm desperate to understand everything.

her teammates' immediately lit up her notifications.

karnold: girl what is happening  aubrey: wait what.   janaaa: oh. drewbuckets: paige poetry era??

azzi, almost half asleep, saw the public thread. smiled. then quote-tweeted:

azzi35: i'd like to stay on earth for another coffee with you 🕊️

the internet imploded. 

username: they actually hang out?!  username: paige bueckers and azzi fudd interacting again??? this is not a drill  uconnsports: we're witnessing history  ⤷ username: who is the intern running this page lmfao username: the way they're speaking about each other?? its giving legacy love story i fear karnold: y’all don’t you worry, we got somebody checking on paige cause she may actually be dead idk

and trending worldwide: #bueckersfudd2028.

⟡

azzi went to sleep. in her dreams there was a stage, but no microphone. azzi opened her mouth and extended a hand to the sole person in the audience. from her mouth burst three pink butterflies. 

teach me, they said with every pump of their wings. please, teach me.

the woman stood from her seat. her hair was so blonde it was almost white. she looked at azzi with her sharp blue gaze, touched her own throat, and then stepped forward to press into azzi’s skin. the heat from her fingertips spiraled up into azzi’s mouth until she felt so warm that she thought her bones might melt into ash and milk. 

the woman cupped her cheek. from her heart a beat; from her mouth a word. 

azzi, she said. her mouth was closed. God himself opened your mouth and placed music on your tongue.

azzi, she said. sing.

© hcneymooners.

[clegfly]

HAUSISISI YEAH… HONESTLY THOUGH ITS SO FUN TO READ. JUST…. GOING THROUGH IT AND SEEING JUST HOW BAD IT TRULY IS IS. IS SO FUNNY. LIKE GOD DID YOU PLAY IT. DID YOU PLAY THE GAME.

Also youre so right this scene made me SO upset because it showed me that occasionally the manga can be REALLY good and extremely impactful if they try. But they categorically outright REFUSE to try in favour of fan service which is so bad

Also elephant in the room but. The manga was ALWAYS destined to fail unless the author REALLY understood the source material and tried REALLY hard, and even then it wouldn’t have worked because omocat stated explicitly like. God is it. 11 years now?? 11 years ago that omori’s story just DOESNT WORK as a manga, they tried themselves and just couldn’t.

Of course they meant that in regards to the PRIMARY medium the story would be expressed in. With how good the game was I totally get wanting to test out more mediums!!! And that’s when I think the manga’s at its best, when it’s trying to twist and experiment aspects of the story to create really cool, haunting or emotional scenes. It’s only ever really done that twice though… and it’s yet to move me emotionally like even slightly. Mari and omori’s little scene at the end of chapter four is the only thing that has come close to actually making me feel in the manga because it was new, and it was SAD.

That’s why they should utilise these scenes more, focus on adding instead of removing- because what will make the old fans emotional is seeing moving scenes they’ve NEVER seen before, that they don’t expect. The manga could NEVER replicate final duet because that scene is not only from a well paced and well written story, but also relies heavily on its medium. I’m confident that, if the manga actually put effort into its writing, it could make its OWN scenes that stand out and work BECAUSE they are from omori the manga, and not omori the game. But they don’t try. The try every… what, four chapters? To include a cool scene, and then go back to a horrible rehash of the original game that could be so, so good. Honestly I think the manga should have been a spin-off or something about one of the other characters because at least they wouldn’t be bastardising the original game this badly.

ANYWAYS sorry for the quick manga rant HHSUSJSUS I really hate complaining about things but GOD it just grinds my gears. Like. So tempted to study the manga art style and make my own out of SPITE at this point

Plus a smaller thing about this chapter that put something into perspective for me and REALLY irked me about it- this chapter had a warning going in about omori’s content and themes- which is a good thing!!! Except. This is. The first fucking chapter to do that, because it is the first one that explores these themes. The FIRST.

Like I’m sorry but this a: feels way too late to be warning audiences that the story theyre reading is going to contain these subjects, in my opinion the manga should have made it clear from the get go that these themes were involved Because they are such a MAJOR part of the game and it’s story. Like SUCH A MAJOR PART. You should NOT be telling audiences this late!!!!!! Though I suppose nobody who hasn’t already played the game would be invested in this slop but. Still. This is something the game did effectively by putting in its description and a compulsory screen at the very start of the game. It feels weird to only tell people NOW since it’s going to be so heavily involved in the story

And that brings me to my second point b: its GOING to be so heavily involved in the story. “GOING to be” because This is no joke the FIRST FUCKING CHAPTER to discuss one of the game’s main themes. I. Am I losing it????? Am I fucking losing it????????? This is the FIRST CHAPTER omori stabs himself. WHAT. WHY. WHY DID YOU WAIT THIS LONG TO ESTABLISH THIS????? WHAT????????

THIS IS MEANT TO BE SOMETHING CLEAR AND DEEPLY INTERTWINED WITH THE GAMES NARRATIVE FROM THE GET GO. LIKE WITHIN THE FIRST HOUR OF GAMEPLAY. IF THE MANGA ACTUALLY CARED ABOUT THE GAME’S PACING EVEN SLIGHTLY, THIS SCENE WOULD HAVE BEEN IN. CHAPTER FUCKING TWO. BUT ITS HERE. SIX CHAPTERS OVERDUE. I AM GOING TO SCREAM EXTREMELY LOUD

AND THATS NOT EVEN THE WORST OFFENCE THE MANGA HAS IN TERMS OF HANDLING TYE MAIN NARRATIVE. WAIT UNTIL I TELL YOU ABOUT HOW THEY. NO. FUCKING. JOKE. PUT THE TRUTH SEQUENCE IN CHAPTER FOUR. CHAPTER. FOUR. AND FUCKED THAT UP TOO!!!!!

YOU CANT SEE IT VERY WELL BECAUSE IM HAVING STORAGE PROBLEMS SO MY CAMERA ROLL QUALITY GOT NUKED BUT. THIS PHOTO DEPICTS MARI FALLING DOWN THE STAIRS. THATS RIGHT. IT DEPICTS THE MAIN TWIST OF THE STORY IN CHAPTER FOUR. CHAPTER FOUR IM LOSING MY MIND IM LOSING IT IM GOING TO BASH MY HEAD AGIANST THE FUCKING WALL

IF YOU WANT TO BE FAIR YOU CAN SAY YOU COULDN’T REALLY TELL WHAT WAS GOING ON WITHOUT CONTEXT BUT I DONT WANT TO BE FAIR. THIS IS NOT SOMETHING YOU SHOW YOUR READERS IN THE FOURTH CHAPTER. THE PHOTO IS LIKE THE FOCAL POINT IN BOTH THESE PANELS SO YOU ARE LOOKING AT IT. WHY OH WHY WOULD YOU ACTUALLY SHOW HER FALLING. WHY NOT SHOW LIKE ANY OTHER TRUTH PHOTO. THE VIOLIN MAYHAPS. HELL EVEN SHOW MARI HANGING!!!! THE READERS ALREADY KNOW SHES DEAD SO YOU COULD MISLEAD THEM INTO BELIEVING THE WHOLE NARRATIVE SUNNY AND BASIL SPUN AROUND IT EARLY ON BY PLANTING THEORY BAIT LIKE THE GAME DID BEFORE PULLING THE RUG OUT FROM UNDER THEIR FEET BUT. NO. THEY JUST STRAIGHT UP SHOW IT TO YOU. IN CHAPTER FOUR. SOMEBODY PLEASE SEDATE ME

OH AND DONT GET ME STAFTED ON THE FACT THAT ITS FROM SUNNY’S PERSPECTIVE INSTEAD OF BASIL’S. DO NOT GET ME FUCKING STARTED. IM DONE IM DONE RANTING AND RAMBLING AND SCREAMING I HAVE SPENT HALF AN HOUR JUST RAGING ON THIS POST BSJSJSJSJSK. GOD I FUCKING HATE THIS FUCKING MANGA

Okay manga chapter eight is out is this a good time to mention that I made a bingo card for this. YEAH. Gonna go read it and return with my results unless i got nothing right in which I will not post them out of SHAME

[honeyxwildfire]

// Wolf & Scarlet WIP //

[copper-sands]

starting to think that maybe it's a good idea to stop forcing myself to create and take a break actually

[moe-broey]

One thing they don't tell you about the Senshi tulpa that WILL inevitably manifest in your mind to tell you to eat better is that. Every time I make myself a coffee via kuerig instantly, I can hear him. Lamenting the fact that I have become so accustomed to convenience and ease that even a standard coffee machine has become foreign to me. I am thinking about how to make coffee without use of a machine in the first place, I am wondering where my french press went, I can see him. In my mind. Showing me how to make coffee in The Dungeon. Dungeon Coffee.

[marshbarks]

this is smth thats not gonna make sense to most ppl who follow me but 'm Thinking again so tag rambly

[loverboybrightsideghost]

if superman 2025 isn't a good movie i will recover i'll be fine i survived not liking maws that much but BY GOD will i be disappointed for the rest of my life until i die

[unproduciblesmackdown]

Full Tech Day One pic today from kiko laureano (denizen of skid row / ensemble) & video (that's four seconds of "ya never know" playing over the static image) from & ft. marcia milgrom dodge (director / choreographer) double captioning "there might be puppets in this musical ;)" & "Well Shake my hand! Come see LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS @guthrietheater featuring @actually_will_roland's hand!"

[stardusteyes]

I have to say, I did have some doubts about Ariana Grande's casting as Glinda at first, (though I was always certain that her singing would be killer) but after watching the trailer, I am now more or less convinced that she will do a great job

[rawliverandgoronspice]

nothing is funnier than seeing huge masses of gamers having One Major Complain about a game that's about to come out and repeat it over and over as THE deal-breaking thing, meanwhile you (gamedev) are like "buddy that's not even in the top 3 of things that are wrong with this game you're all gonna forget it was even a thing that bothered you by the time you actually have the controller in your hands"

[gingerbreadmonsters]

wow the $30 date tickets really did kill obey me for good huh

[desperatecheesecubes]

Man the thing about comics is that it’s SO hard to find the parts of fandom that aren’t like, policed. There is a truly absurd amount of people who decided that other people are enjoying the fandom wrong and that they should be really loud and sometimes aggressive about it.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

hang on are cougars like panthers

[itsclippingbinch]

the more i think about these adaptations the more annoyed i get. what is with this way of thinking that in order for things to be more mature and meaningful they need to be stripped of joy and swathed in grayscale? how do these clearly capable creative teams keep making projects less profound and competent than the original children's media they're trying to build upon?

[daytura]

[from stream] I suppose it should be no sorrow that my declining romantic interest is related to his propensity to clarify his epistemic voids.

Christ on a stick, I'm really laying it on thick here. Fine! I feel sad reading some of webdev guy's opinions. It does interrupt my work and design ideas. But I'm not going to just slam the door in his face. It's whatever! Everyone's got an opinion!

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

I am BEGGING people who write narrative fiction podcasts/audio dramas to lay off the arguments. I realize that it's going to happen if characters with beef are in a tense situation. I also realize that in an audio medium, most of the storytelling is done through speech, so building and resolving tension is often going to happen through hashing out issues. I also also realize that arguments are fun to write and give you an opportunity to come up with cute quips.

HOWEVER.

You have to have conflict AND RESOLUTION in order for an argument to be satisfying. Arguments are interesting for the same reason plots are interesting: something's wrong, and the audience wants to see how it works out. But what I keep seeing are these argument loops, where:

The characters (who don't get along well) are in a tense situation.

They disagree on how to tackle the issue.

They argue.

They fail to either convince each other or find a compromise.

Someone says, "Alright, alright! Can we stop arguing? There's a real problem here!"

They focus on the problem for about thirty seconds.

They disagree on how to tackle the issue.

They start sniping at each other again.

...repeat ad infinitum, ad nauseum until either a) they stumble through a solution, b) deus ex machina resolves it, or c) something worse happens that makes the argument irrelevant. And, like, it's not a huge issue if this happens once in a while. But it gets really, really exhausting to listen to after the third "Stop arguing! Let's focus on the problem!" or so, just from the sheer repetition.

It also gets really exhausting if it's toward the middle or end of the story, and the characters have spent a lot of time around each other but somehow still haven't learned how to adapt to each other's way of thinking, especially if the story clearly wants to think of the characters involved as friends, romantic partners, or allies. If these people have lived in proximity to one another for months and have ostensibly gone through some character development but are still putting crisis situations on hold for a lengthy argument based on personality conflicts, what are we even doing?

And if the argument just stops without actually resolving, why am I, the audience member, bearing witness to it? I don't want to watch people spin their tires in the mud for hours. Show me a little of that, and then skip to the part where they get a traction board and get out of the ditch. I want meaningful resolution, even if they find a different thing to disagree about next time!

This isn't a callout for any one show in particular (there were a couple that prompted this), and I'm sure it doesn't only happen in podcasts. I suspect the reason it's sticking out to me here is because I can't skim ahead in a podcast like I could in a book, and there are no visual cues to focus on like there would be in a film or TV show. But it's still frustrating.