#IT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS LONG

[on-leatheredwings]

me: haha ill just do this quick baby trapping fic haha

me days later: is approaching 4000 words

[dark-night-star-light]

I think Bay's poll helped me understand why I think the first arc was peak Spirit Animals.

In short: it has lows. It has plot twists. The stakes feel real. And the character moments are truly outstanding.

In a traditional three-act story, at the end of the second act, the protagonists are supposed to be at their lowest point. And the Spirit Animals authors did something even cooler with this concept. They added in a fourth act.

Think about the end of Against the Tide and Rise and Fall. I adored those two endings so much. If we apply the three-act story to the first series, Against the Tide is clearly a low. So, that's the end of the second act then, right? It can't get any worse, can it?

You expect the protagonists to dust themselves off. To never lose hope and to keep making progress until they finally defeat the big bad for good. And that's how it seems to be going in Rise and Fall. Until the writers pull an absolutely brilliant twist on you and the protagonists hit a low that is somehow lower than the first low that once again ups the stakes. Because now all hope is entirely lost. The situation has never looked so completely bleak.

So this would actually be more of a four-act story. We have the first two books (the first act): relatively innocent, adventurous, kind of formulaic. Then Conor (and then Meilin) makes a decision at the end of Hunted that makes you go. Oh. This is real. They aren't just going to spend the rest of the series collecting silly little trinkets, one per book. Now it's more than just a silly little quest story.

Then comes the second act. The stakes rise through books three, four and five, as the protagonists go through some truly earth (erdas?) shattering things. They seem to be making progress, and that's when they hit the low at the end of Against the Tide.

You expect that to be the low. For the protagonists to pick themselves up and never fall back down from there. But, no, you see, the next act is only one book. Just Rise and Fall. And this is where the writers show you how truly abysmal the protagonists' situation can get. It was bad, but it can get worse. Now they have to fix it, once and for all.

And then of course, there's the final act, also one book, The Evertree. The rallying, the fight, the climax, and the defeat. All is well, and the evil is defeated, even though they hit not just one, but two major lows.

But the Wyrm arc has nothing like that. There's a plot twist, sure, but it doesn't have any impact on the plot. Shane is the leader of the Redcloaks, sure, but what does that mean? It doesn't up the stakes. It doesn't contribute to any lows or highs or anything at all. In terms of plot, it hardly changes anything. Same thing with Kirat being Tarik's nephew. Sure, it's a cool little Easter egg, but what impact does that have on the plot? Honestly? Nothing. Think about the plot twists in the first series. There are two major ones: Meilin having drunk the Bile and Shane being the real Devourer. What do you notice about these two? Well, they both directly impact the plot, and both of them also directly contribute to the two major lows I pointed out. The Wyrm arc has nothing like that absolute brilliance.

As a result, each book just feels like a repetition of the previous one. Quest, fight, quest, fight, quest, fight, quest, done. Yes, Abeke loses Uraza, a definite low. But that's Abeke's low, not all of their lows. There are four protagonists. Yes, Greenhaven falls, a definite low. But what personal impact does that have on our main characters? Not really anything. All the people affected are random side characters. Tragic, but we as the audience don't really feel it, the way we feel Abeke and Meilin getting captured or the talismans getting stolen. And it makes the Wyrm arc feel flat and boring.

Okay, so the plot twists are boring and don't do anything to increase the stakes. Fine. Plot isn't everything, ever. What does the Wyrm arc do for our characters? Well, one in particular is presented to be a completely different person than in the first series after appearing as a mysterious figure for the majority of the arc. Are we going to do anything with that? Oh, what's that? He's dead before any interesting dynamics can be formed between him and the main characters? Okay, that's unfortunate, but what about the others? Oh, the spoiled brat that's related to Tarik does a complete 180 in the span of a handful of pages because of an amulet? Uh, okay. Well. That, that doesn't mean this arc is irredeemable! What about the girl from the historically oppressed nation that tried to colonize the entire world summoning the symbol of hope and peace for said nation? What might we do with that? Give her a stereotypical girlboss arc instead of exploring the ins and outs of the immense pressure she canonically faces from the entire country's populace? Oh. Oh. Okay, but there's that kid that breaks traditional gender roles and is scorned for it, similar to one of our own protagonists? Surely that will be an interesting thing to wri- Oh, he's tossed aside the moment his spirit animal is taken from him and that's the end of that? Hm.

This is very different from our first arc. Rollan, Meilin, Conor, and Abeke are each given likable qualities and flaws that directly relate to their upbringings and dictate their decisions very well. Over the course of the story, they form an incredibly heartwarming bond that you genuinely want to see more of. As an extra layer of genius, they even mirror each other in terms of flaws and arcs. At the end, when they all act like kids and race each other and poke fun at each other, you feel like it's earned. Like you truly watched them become what they are. It's incredible character writing and I adore it. But it was not replicated well in the Wyrm arc.

Add in all the nuance and gray morality, outstanding worldbuilding, and a couple of other things, and the first arc stands out as some of the best story-telling I've ever seen. In a children's series. The Wyrm arc is a long way to fall from that standard, and it really, really shows.

[ashoss]

patrol is fun :DD

[goldensunset]

did you know? if you do your laundry you can get your clothes back

[whataduck]

whatever, go my slugcat

[miserye]

i'm so happy rn

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A nine-page digital comic featuring Jimmy and Curly from Mouthwashing. They're out of uniform, wearing casual clothes. The comic is done in sepia tones, with the only colors being the blue of Curly's eyes and the green of Jimmy's speech bubbles. There are also four featureless people representing their other friends.

The group of friends are gathered while Jimmy sits away from them.

Friend 1: He doesn't like sweets.... Friend 2: So what should we do for a cake then? Jimmy, attempting to light a cigarette: Why don't we just make it out of his fuckin' whey protein powder? You know Curly just LOVES that chalky crap. Friends pause, staring at him, before getting excited: (all caps) That's a great idea, Jimmy!

Jimmy then chokes on his cigarette and looks around at them all, momentarily shocked.

Friends: That's so smart! It'll be SO funny! He'll LOVE that! Jimmy, holding his limp cigarette and smiling smugly: heheh. guess I am pretty clever.

There is then a montage of him baking the cake with the whey powder, including him absently dropping cigarette ash into the batter with an "oops". Then they all wait in the dark, party decorations up with a shadow cast under the room's door.

Friends: Shh!! He's coming! Jimmy: (all caps) Shut the fuck up!! Curly, opening the door: Hullo? Friends: SURPRISE!

Curly flinches and yelps before he takes in the scene and smiles. Jimmy is holding the warped cake and smiling and everyone is wearing party hats and laughing.

Friends: Happy birthday Curly!

Two of them go up to Curly, putting a hat on him and patting his back.

Friend: Hope you like the cake!

Curly goes to cut the cake with everyone watching. He is smiling, while Jimmy stands next to him, staring blankly. As soon as the knife hits, the cake collapses in a poof of powder with a long fart noise. Curly's eyes bulge and Jimmy's eyes widen before they both burst out laughing, Curly pushing the cake away as he leans over the table, wheezing, while Jimmy throws his head back to cackle.

Curly, looking up at him: (all caps) What kind of cake is this?! Jimmy, holding up an "ok" hand: Choco-caramel whey, budd-o.

Curly wheezes, tears in his eyes. He then passes out cake and speaks indistinctly before sitting down.

Curly, smiling at Jimmy: -- sounds pretty brilliant, yeah?

Jimmy looks at him sideways, anticipating, as Curly raises his fork to his mouth. He keeps leaning closer as a shadow forms over his face. Curly takes a bite, smiling. Pauses for a moment. And then releases a huge cloud of whey powder, at which Jimmy starts cackling again.

end ID]

~~~~

every time i think about that cursed whey powder cake from curly's fondest memories, i just imagine a re-enactment of the cinnamon challenge but with whey protein powder.

so here's a NINE PAGE COMIC leading up to that <3

[tojisteddy]

Cry Baby | 1.4k words (gawd damn), 18+ mdni, smut with a little plot, dacryphilia, daddy kink, meanie!simon, age gap (Simon’s 34, reader!mid-late twenties)

Simon Riley is used to making people cry.

Whether it be from heartbreak, his tall and muscular build in addition to the mask scaring children, from being too blunt, cursing men & women out, making them feel too good when he’s stuffed them full of his cock— he was used to the tears.

But you, you were an anomaly.

Sometimes you’d cry when Simon was being too mean, cry over a good movie— tears would brim to your lashes when he’d kiss you after you two would make up because you were stupid in love with the brute. But sometimes you’d hold it. A trait that Simon hated because it was like he was dealing with a different person.

He knew you were off when the two of you went shopping (for your closet of course) and you didn’t say much except ‘I like whatever you like Si.’ You’d be in and out of conversation, ‘hm?’ and ‘what’d ya say?’ constantly leaving your mouth. He’d already known you we’re past your limit, but you wouldn’t say a word. Usually by the first or second day you’d fess up on your own, voice horse, gripping at his shirt, big brown eyes averting his own because you were too embarrassed. ‘can we- can we talk? just for a bit?’

His cute princess.

But now, a week had passed. He expected to hear those heart aching sobs after he heard you telling off your younger German shepherd, Fish (yes, Fish) to ‘let go’ and ‘it’s mine, Fish!’ He’d found the dog with your favorite worn out sweater, now ripped and tattered, in his mouth as he laid on the couch. Not a peep came from your lips. So the man was forced to push you to talk. Not an issue. He’d done it before.

“Got somethin’ y’wanna say t’me?”

You glanced over at the older man. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest and looking at you dead on. You shifted on your feet. You hated when he stared, it was like he was reading you like a book and tarring out the pages for good keeping.

You went back to getting the dog food ready for their last meal of the day, “nope.”

Stubborn. Simon found it funny sometimes when you picked up some of his traits, that included that stubbornness that popped out when you were agitated. But you weren’t supposed to be like Daddy, no, you’re supposed to be better. Simon would make you better.

“Don’t be hard headed swee’ art. Y’know better.”

He’d practically pushed you into a corner with his words alone. It wasn’t just intimidation, it was a clear warning. You needed out. So you spoke whatever words were at the forefront of your mind.

“Then I just don’t have anythin to say to you.”

The man was dumbfounded, head tilting to the side in awe. He didn’t expect that answer of all things and you casually went to go feed the dogs like you hadn’t said anything. A deep chuckle fills the silent walls of the kitchen.

Cute little thing. Loveable thing. His babygirl.

You didn’t wanna cry? Didn’t wanna talk? Fine.

Simon would fuck it out of you.

“Wait- hmph- w-wait Daddy I don’t-“

“Y’talk now? Thaaa’s a shocker.”

“No- I- s’tooooo much Daddy! I don’t like it like-nnnggh this!”

Simon rolled his eyes, of course you didn’t like it. It was when you felt undeniable, inescapable pleasure. He’d have you in a headlock, all of his weight completely pressed against you, rolling his hips as his girth stretched out your sweet pink walls. The room was completely filled with your moans and the smacking of his balls hitting your ass as he bottomed out with each stroke.

How many times had you cum already?

It didn’t fucking matter if tears weren’t coming out yet. And he wasn’t just aiming for those regular small ‘feel good’ tears, he needed those belligerent sobs that made your throat hurt. The blonde liked to call it ‘regulating emotions.’ When you couldn’t do it yourself of course Daddy would help. What else was he there for?

Your eyes were at the back of your skull, long manicured nails clawing at his arm and trying to get ahold of yourself. You felt delirious and you’d only cum twice but Simon kept pushing you like he wanted something out of you. The truth, you shook your head at your own thoughts. No way, you were fine. This was— god, the bastard, the ghost himself was dragging himself in and out of you, in and out, harsh and slow. Just so you could hear the squelching of your sopping cunt and get you completely embarrassed and moaning at the sound.

“Si- let’s- a break— mmmgghhh- we- oh fuck daddy- break? annngh p-please?” You whined out.

“ ‘Nd why would y’need a break when you’ve been a lazy fuckin bitch this whole time?”

A military man who could lie in an instant.

He hadn’t told you to do a single thing tonight but he needed a reaction out of you. He scuffed, pulling his strawberry red dick out of you with a loud ‘pop’ and turning you on your side. Throwing one of your legs over his shoulder and straddling your other thigh. He slapped his aching tip on your drenched hole, there you were clenching over nothing.

“Didn’t wanna talk this whole time but now ya got shit to say.” Simon slammed every fucking inch of him inside of your oh-so tight cunt making him throw his head back. “The fuckin nerve of ya.”

“I- wait-“

“-Thought ya were my good girl, but you’re just a stupid slut for daddy’s cock.”

A hiccup.

He looked down at your pretty face and- oh. there it was. There it fuckin was. That sickeningly adorable trembling pout on your two tone lips, real tears spilling out of your eye ducts and meeting the pillow as he repeatedly slammed into your gushing walls. Was it sick for him to crave it? Yes. But the big guy couldn’t help himself, he loved seeing pretty girls cry for him. Even better when he had a good reason to get it out of you. You felt the knots in your stomach building, even worse as Simon pressed a hand on your stomach as his dick poked out. A string of grumbled curses leaving his mouth at the feel of it.

You gasped, pushing at his abdomen, “Daddy nooo- it’s really too much! I- I-”

“—Nuh-uh. Stop fightin it and give it t’me. Give. It. To. Me.”

Your orgasm was harshly yanked out of you, screaming at the top of your lungs— thank fuck you two lived in the middle of the woods. You’d finally let that week old sob out of your throat, fat salty tears spilling out at everything because you really did feel everything at the moment. All the sadness was now washing over you like a wave mixed along with the high of cumming. An insane combination.

“Therrrre you go pup. Creaming all over me, all while bein so. damn. pretty. Want my cum baby girl? Hmm? Shit baby, you wanna feel full with Daddy?”

You couldn’t even find your words, just pulling at his hips to feel him deeper inside you. And it was so warm, so- loving when he came inside you, Simon making sure you took every drop till you couldn’t anymore. He cupped your face in his big hands, wiping away the tears that continued to fall. So fuckin cute. He’d sit you up, still on his cock of course, leaning back with his propped up arms and peering down at you.

“Gonna tell me what’s wrong or it’s still not for your Daddy t’hear?”

You sniffed, big brown puppy dog eyes looking up at the man full of scars.

“E-everyone-“ you let out a shaky breath, “everyone’s so damn mean Si.”

And you went on and on about your completely shitty week, from your job, to missing the train right when you needed it to Fish ripping apart your favorite fucking sweater. And Simon was there, attentive but silent, listening to every word uttered. Wiping away the stray tears with a thumb and pinching your cheek. His silly girl, adorable princess. Held it in for nothing, as if he wouldn’t be there to comfort you. Silly, silly girl. He’d fix that too, but for now—

“Want me t’take care of ya? Hm lovie?” His lips met yours, fitting the two like a missing puzzle piece. You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing the blonde man closer and pressing yourself against him. You didn’t say a word. You didn’t have to.

He snickered against your lips, “Course ya do, baby, course ya fuckin do.”

a/n: kinda on Simon kick. Also the gaggery of my last post about him. Thank you guys so much. You probably won’t read this again but reading while listening to Cry Baby by SZA or Janis Joplin>>>

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