#shoddy trope use

[waxdream]

I'm not a fan of how Arcane handles adopted characters.

The show is excellent, I've been enjoying it so far, however I very much believe that Powder and Vi's adoption by Vander is an underdeveloped plotpoint. The amount of fans calling the sisters, vander and the other kids a 'found family' is evidence enough in my opinion. I have nothing against the found family trope, I really love Dungeon Meshi for example, but Arcane is NOT a found family. They are an adopted family, and there is a big difference between these two things. To put it simply, an adopted family is a different kind of family, whereas a found family is a friendship group with a greater level of support and care. It's frankly insulting to adoptees to conflate the two, because many of us have relinquishment traumas among others and grow up as black sheeps in the family. I don't like the comparison because in my opinion it's like saying my family is the same as you and your bff's relationship. You wouldn't say that to a kept person.

But I digress, I'm here to talk about my dislike of how Arcane handles adoption. I consider it very tropey - orphanhood and adoption as a plot point is used to give the main two characters a 'tragic backstory', and yet the show doesn't even have the dignity to give it some backbone. I don't like little orphan annie, yet she's still an adopted character. With Vi and Powder however, you could remove adoption from the story of Arcane and it would be exactly the same story in my opinion. This is dangerous in storytelling, because it creates alleyways for stereotypes like the 'psychopath adoptee' to come into play, which has haunted media for years. Jinx killing Vander is just a played out trope in my opinion, and it feeds into the very real fears that affect the adoptee community in real life. People think we're broken, that we'll hurt and harm our adoptive family, that we're criminals or bad blood. Putting this trope into your story without the slightest bit of effort to make it seem otherwise is gross. And if you don't believe me, look at the trailer for "adopted" - a film that's coming out this year. It'll show you exactly what I mean when I say that kept people assign adoptees traits such as violent, manipulative and alien with prejudice. https://youtu.be/CILgaro5s5c?si=7fMqXV4cDzA9t43_

Along with this, I dislike how Jinx is handled. I've only seen season 1 so I don't know if this changes, but from what I gather, Silco is meant to be her new father. Her replacement for Vander. And considering how her birth family were fully involved in Silco's/vander's uprising (as shown in the prologue), I can't see Silco as anything other than a stand in for birth family. I can't see this as anything other than an estranged adoptee being led astray by birth family and turned into someone evil, someone they were meant to be because their blood dictated it. This trope is vitriolic, I can't think of any other word to describe it. I see Vi as the good golden child who stands by her adoptive parents and Jinx as the kid who wants to reunite with her birth family. I believe this show was careless with how they handled adoption - this is what comes from non adoptees/kept folk writing adopted characters. Adoptees aren't morally wrong for wanting to know their birth family, we aren't broken or sick. And yet somehow, even when adoption is used as a flippant plot point, the characters manage to fall into the same stereotypes over and over and over again.

I also hate that Vi and Powder have the same birth family. The other kids are treated as a 'boo hoo, more trauma for Powder' plot point, but ultimately discarded because they're not birth family. I know Jinx makes those dolls and hears voices, but you CANNOT tell me that if Vi had died instead of Vander and the kids, that Powder wouldn't have been way worse off. That's how they wrote the characters. To care about each other above all else. This is bioessentialism and that is a messy and more often than not dangerous view to be pushing. If they had been two adopted siblings, or perhaps Vi was Vanders birth child and Powder was adopted, I wouldn't be as mad because at least then it would seem like the writers actually put some effort into portraying adopted families as equal to birth families. As the show is though? Adopted families are treated as inferior.

So yeah. I don't like how Arcane handles adoption. It drags me out of the viewing experience, and makes the entire show seem unrealistic and cliche. Feel free to ask questions but I'm gonna be honest, I'm probably not gonna bother with season two. Which is a shame, I love the gay magic guys.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Young Azriel (twenty years old) in Windhaven. A deliciously cliche trope that’s always fun to write. You and Az are close friends, and that’s why he trusts you with a certain insecurity. And also why you come up with an interesting solution. Doesn’t mean it’s necessarily a good idea, though…

Word count: 4.5k.

Warnings: None.

These nights are cold and unforgiving.

The snow began hammering down in silent droves a couple of hours before. A thick layer of it now blankets the ground and paints the Windhaven camp a brutal white that makes you glance at the boots on your feet. Basic, brown boots that will be soaked and frozen by the time you reach your shoddy hovel of a house. You should have left at the sight of the first snowflake that kissed the ground.

But Rhysand’s mother’s cottage is warm and cosy in a way that yours isn’t. It lulls you to sit back rather than sit up, the fire crackling away in the corner and the smell of spilled ale tinging the air, Cassian’s clumsiness, of course. Your friends eyeball each other around the table, and this game of cards has been going on for too long, and you think your eyes might be growing heavy. If you don’t muster the energy to walk home now, you’ll regret it.

“I’m out.” You announce wisely, eyeing the pitiful deal of cards in your hands. You pile them atop of the table, stretching your arms above your head. The game continues around you.

Playing cards with Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel is always a little amusing — seeing them transform from boisterous, drunken fools to serious, suspicious competitors. They study each other across the top of their cards as if there are any real takings to be had by the winner — but Rhysand’s mother would have your heads if you actually gambled under her roof, so a pile of plastic buttons it is.

Certainly not an incentive to stay any longer.

You stand from your chair, earning curious looks from your three friends. To them, the night is young, at least while Rhys’s mother isn’t here to berate you about the late hour — two, three o’clock, perhaps — but to you, with an unpleasant journey across the camp still to be completed, the night is very much old and very much over.

“I’m heading home before the weather gets any worse.” You announce, plucking your jacket from the back of your chair. “Enjoy the rest of your game, ladies.”

Cassian snorts and Rhys studies his cards once more, ever the serious player, but it’s Azriel — Azriel, who places his dealt hand face-down on the table and also stands from his seat.

“I’ll walk with you.” He announces. Your other two friends don’t so much as bat an eyelash at the offer, because it’s a regular one, one you’ve heard a thousand times and one you know not to politely protest.

Azriel is your closest friend in this gods-forsaken place. And he will genuinely plunge a dagger into his heart before allowing you to brave your walk home alone.

So, you wait by the door as he shucks his jacket on, sliding warm gloves over his scarred hands. And then you’re opening the door, and a savage flurry of snow is pelting your face like it’s been waiting to attack.

“Fucking hell, close the door.” Cass grouses. “It’s glacial out there.”

As if, as Illyrians, the four of you aren’t used to the brutal temperatures. You roll your eyes at his whining and shove your hands into your pockets, before planting a boot into the thick layer of snow already on the ground. You grimace at how little protection your shoes afford you. Twenty years you’ve lived here. You should know better, be more prepared. Hopefully you can make it home before your feet turn to blocks of ice.

“Goodnight, assholes.” You call over your shoulder, and your friends momentarily break from their poker faces to return the sentiment. “Love you!”, Cassian calls, and “Keep warm!”, Rhysand reminds you, and then Azriel is following you out of the door.

“Cass is definitely losing that game.” The Shadowsinger immediately sidles close to you, his side pressed against yours. It doesn’t do much against the glowering cold, but it’s a comfort.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to hear it across the camp the moment he realises.” You breathe a laugh, curling in on yourself. Not only is the temperature simply unpleasant, but it also causes you pain — any extreme weather seems to make the ruined remains of your clipped wings twinge. You search for a subject to distract yourself from the sensation. “How come you didn’t invite Kaeda tonight?”

The name of Azriel’s recent interest has him angling himself towards you, snowflakes catching in his hair. He raises a dark eyebrow. “We’ve not moved past the casual stage yet. Certainly not enough to subject her to Cassian’s company.”

“Shame. It’d be nice to have another female around.” Rhysand’s cousin, Mor, sometimes comes to visit, and you have a few good female friends around the camp, but in your closest circle, you’re a little outnumbered.

Something that didn’t seem to matter so much when you were all younglings making mischief. But you’re adults now. Things are different. You are different.

Azriel presses his arm into yours. “If things progress, I’ll bring her to meet the three of you.”

That’d be nice, you think. To have another friend, and to see Azriel happy. See him appreciated. He deserves to be appreciated.

“And are they?” You press back. “Progressing?”

It’s then that there’s the slightest shift in his demeanour. Anyone else might not catch it — he’s the Shadowsinger, after all, and damn well guarded and cryptic and good at hiding what he’s thinking, feeling. But you’ve known him since you were mere, little runts, and you know every little mannerism.

Even in the freezing cold, Azriel blushes. Turns coy.

“What?” You urge, trying and failing to read him.

He gives a half-hearted shrug. “I want to kiss her.”

“Then why don’t you?

“I want to do it right. I don’t…I don’t want to fuck it up.”

The concern seems like a baseless one. You’re sure Azriel has kissed people before, although he’s always been considerably more reserved than Cassian and Rhys when it comes to females, and you’re not certain how far he’s ever gone. Of all the things you talk about, this isn’t usually one of them. You’re not sure why.

But you’ll help, if possible. You mull over his words as the two of you crunch through thick snow, more and more of it seeping into your useless shoes. The soles of them are worn, and you need a new pair, but you can ill afford it right now. Eventually, the cold starts to get painful, and you stop for a moment, leaning on Az’s arm as you swear quietly.

“There’s no way you’re making it home in those.” He’s totally right, of course. “I told you to get new ones.”

“And I told you, I can’t afford them.” Your toes are numb, now.

“I could fly you straight to your door—”

“Az, you know you can’t.” You sigh; the two of you have had this conversation countless times, because Az takes your safety very seriously indeed. “My father won’t like it.”

It’s not like your father isn’t aware that you’ve been friends with Az and the others since you were youngsters. But as you’ve gotten older, he’s only gotten more paranoid. The last person in the godsdamn universe he would want to think about you having relations with is any of your three closest friends. And if he so much as catches a whiff of them at your door, one of you is sure to pay for it.

Azriel knows you’re right, even if he doesn’t like it. He curses under his breath, and then his arms are snaking around you. “Alright. Hold on to me.”

“What are you…” You cling to him as much as your frozen fingers will allow. He’s always a little warmer than you are, and the feeling is pleasant. As pleasant as his scent is. So naturally, you press closer to him.

“We’ll go to the mead hall.” Azriel explains. “No one will be there now, but the hearths will still be warm. We can spend the night there, and I’ll fly you home in the morning when your father has left for the forge.”

The mead hall is where the Illyrian families across the camp congregate almost nightly to eat their dinner and learn of camp news. It mostly becomes an unpleasant atmosphere, with the males drinking too much and at least one fight certain to break out. You try to attend as little as possible, opting to eat your meals elsewhere, usually in the company of your friends, but your father sometimes insists that you accompany him and drag his drunken ass back home afterwards.

At this time of night, though, the brutes will have been long kicked out and sent home. The cooks will have followed soon after, and the only remaining presence in the long hall is the heat that filled the place. The mere thought of it is a mouthwatering one.

Unsurprisingly, it’s locked, and unsurprisingly, Azriel and his shadows get the door open as if it isn’t. He places you down in the entrance, and you’re immediately heading through to the mammoth dining hall, the warmth breathing out at you and thawing your frozen skin.

Az’s boots thud on the wooden floor after you, leaving little patches of melting snow in his wake. “I’ll get another fire going.”

You hop up onto one of the long wooden tables, first kicking off your sodden shoes and then stuffing your socks into them. You wiggle your toes, trying to generate some warmth into your pinkened feet.

You watch Azriel from across the room. The strands of his dark hair are damp and falling into his eyes, his skin cold-bitten. Sometimes, in moments like these, it stuns you how beautiful your closest friend is. You suppose it’s easy to forget, sometimes, when you’ve known somebody for so long; easy to become desensitised to their beauty. But looking at him like this, you’re sure he must have a whole line of suitors — both female and male — vying for his attention. Even if it’s something he never talks about.

To you, he’s just Az. And you can’t help snorting quietly as he so predictably scoops your shoes and socks up and places them by the fire he has lit.

A mother hen, truly.

“You should start to warm up any second.” He says, traipsing back over to where you’re sat. He slots himself between your legs, and his warmed hands cup your face. “I’m going to buy you a new pair of boots.”

“No you’re not.” You immediately quip, narrowing your eyes up at him. “I’ll buy them when my father chooses to pay me.”

You know it ticks him off — he, like the other adult males, gets a semi-decent wage for his commitment to the Illyrian army, the hours of training he puts in. You, on the other hand, might spend hours — days — helping out in your father’s forge, using the skills you’ve observed from him, and you’ll still only see the flash of a coin on a rare day that he decides he tolerates having a daughter, and that you’re not so bad, after all.

Hence why Azriel can afford a pair of boots, and you can’t. But you’ll not take his money.

So, you change the subject, relaxing into the pleasant sensation of his shadows tickling your skin, warming you. “Why would you fuck it up?”

Azriel’s face turns blank. “What?”

“You said you don’t want to fuck up kissing Kaeda. Why do you think you would?”

He stares back at you for a beat. And then his cheeks darken imperceptibly — nothing to do with the cold.

It surprises you. Az can be coy; shy, even. He’s the quietest of the three males in your circle. A pensive observer, never having much to say but certainly always having much to think about. And you know he has his insecurities, things that bother him, but he’s mostly sure of himself. Knows his power, his strength.

You’re not quite used to him balking from a subject. Becoming flustered by it.

“Has anyone complained about your technique before?” You cock an eyebrow, already knowing that no, they absolutely haven’t. Azriel has very full, kissable lips — something you’ve observed a couple of times before. In a totally platonic way, of course. Totally.

“I didn’t say that,” he lowers his gaze, “I—”

“Just go for it.” You reach up, pinching his flushed cheek between your fingers. “Jump right in and land one on Kaeda. Impress her with your kissing prowess—”

“You,” he tugs your hand away, “are so annoying—”

“The rest will naturally follow when you have your tongue in her mouth. Trust me. And then you’ll be wondering why you were worried in the first place—”

“Except that I’ve never kissed anybody before.”

Immediately, you fall still.

He may as well have shouted the words, from how loudly they seem to echo through the hall.

You stare up at your dear friend, and you blink. Wait for the punchline. Wait for a teasing grin to tug at the corner of his lips — something that very few people other than you get to witness — and for him to tell you that he’s jesting, and of course he’s kissed somebody before, and done a lot more stuff than that, too. All the stuff. Every bit of it. Over and over again—

“Let’s just drop it.” He murmurs, stepping away. You think you might have offended him with your silence, your surprise.

“Wait.” You blink, grasping hold of his arm. “Just…wait.”

He studies you. “Is it that much of a shock?”

Honestly? Yes, yes, it is. Because how did you not know this? You met Azriel when you were both eleven years old. Nine years ago. You faced puberty together and all the awkward things in between. And while you may not sit and discuss the ins and outs of your respective experiences, you simply assumed that his were progressing and evolving just as yours had. Cauldron, Rhys and Cassian stuck their cocks in different males and females every other week. You supposed you’d merely…grouped Azriel in with such things.

But when you think about it — really, truly think about it — Azriel is the only one of the three males who has never introduced another female to the group; no matter how short or fleeting their presence might be. You can’t pluck from your brain a single name he’s ever mentioned besides Kaeda — and that’s a very recent thing.

You’re still waiting a teeny, tiny, little bit for him to say he’s joking. But his cheeks are redder than ever.

“You’ve never kissed anyone.” You repeat, blinking at him.

He purses his lips. “I haven’t.”

“You’ve never pressed your lips to another person’s—”

“I think we’ve established that, Y/N.” He pivots, turning his back on you. “Just forget it.”

“No, wait, fuck, Az, you know I’m shit with words.” You reach for his hand. “Just…how come? Why have you never kissed anybody?”

His hand is tense in yours. You don’t like it. So many times, you’ve held his hand, felt his fingers fold around yours and your palms warm against each other’s. But he holds it limp, now, barely any weight to it. You give it a gentle squeeze.

He pauses. Then squeezes back.

And it’s then that you realise that’s where the problem lies — his hands. Scars.

“Az,” you sigh softly, tugging him closer to you. “Your hands are beautiful. A part of you, your story. Anyone worth knowing — worth kissing — will think the same.”

And gods, you mean the words with every tiny shred of your spirit and soul. There’s no one on the Mother’s green earth that you love more fiercely than the male in front of you. So kind, despite the hatred that’s been shown to him. So gentle, despite the brutality of your environment. He’s wiped your tears and kept you warm and shared his food and given you a place to sleep when your father has made your life particularly difficult. Platonic soulmates exist, and Azriel is yours.

He turns back to you and keeps hold of your hand. And he chews his bottom lip as he says, “I do know that. I know that not everybody is judgemental. But it’s not just the scars.”

You brush your thumb over the back of his palm. “What else is it?”

“I just simply don’t know…how. Fuck, theoretically, of course I know how kissing works. I’ve seen it more than enough. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be any good at it. I could be awful, for all I know.”

You highly, highly doubt that to be the case. “You just…practice. Until you know what you like. Until you know your technique.”

Hazel eyes study you curiously. “So���you have, then. Practiced.”

It’s rather strange, but a sudden, random slither of guilt presses down on your shoulders. Silly, because Azriel would never begrudge you your experiences — and you’ve had plenty of them, good and bad.

But in that moment, you want nothing more than to be able to tell him that you, too, have never kissed anybody. That you’ve never touched anybody or lain with anybody. That you’re just as inexperienced and clueless as he is.

But that would be a bare-faced lie. And you and Azriel do not lie to each other.

So perhaps it’s the guilt that causes you to blurt out, “Practice on me.”

Azriel blinks at you. His hand slackens in yours. “What?”

And fuck, you’ve said it now. You’re not sure whether or not you even meant to, but you think it’d be more awkward to retract the words than stand by them and ride them out. You square your shoulders. Try to seem sure, confident.

“Practice kissing with me.”

The poor male is completely dumbfounded. “You’re…my friend.”

“Yes, Azriel. That’s why I’m offering. Practice on me, refine your technique, and then you can apply that confidence to Kaeda.”

“Practice…on you…”

“I’m trying really hard not to be offended by the disgust that’s on your face right now.”

“Shit, no, that’s not—”

“You know what? Forget I said that. Dumb idea. Terrible idea. Forget I even mentioned it.”

Az stares at you. And you don’t want to balk from the eye contact, but you also totally want to throw yourself in the fire, because it would burn less than your embarrassment right now.

And then he says, “Is it a serious offer?”

You lift one shoulder into a shrug. “Why not?”

Oh, there are a million fucking reasons why not. The most pressing being that yours and Azriel’s friendship is, perhaps, the most stable thing in your life. Certainly the most precious and treasured. Rocking that is a very bad idea, indeed.

And you think, for a moment, that that’s precisely what Az is going to tell you. He has that look on his face that he usually gets when you’re about to do something stupid. The one where he chews the inside of his cheek and his eyes rove your face.

But then the word leaves him, quiet and a little breathless, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I accept your offer.”

He—damn. You didn’t think this far; suppose you didn’t expect him to actually agree. And yet here he is, agreeing.

Suddenly, you feel like you’ve never kissed anybody, either.

But you’re supposed to be guiding him here. So you sit up straight. Lift your chin. Azriel watches, eyeing you a little like you’re a creature he’s never seen before. The bewilderment on his face squeezes your heart a bit.

“Do you want to do it now?” You ask.

He swallows. And his eyes fall down to your lips before flicking back to meet yours. “I suppose there’s no time like the present.”

And there isn’t. The two of you are here alone, no background noise from Cassian or Rhysand to battle with. It’s just you and Azriel. Your eyes. Your mouths.

You realise you’re still holding his hand, and so you use it to pull him closer to you, slot him back between your legs. You’re certain he’s trembling, and you are, too.

“Just take your time.” You tell him. “Let your body lead. Do what feels natural.”

He gives a stiff nod. And pauses. “And you promise to be honest afterwards? About how it was?”

Your eyes soften. “Always, Az.”

He nods again, and then he’s sucking in a slow, steadying breath. You remain still, allowing him to make the first move, to do whatever he wants.

There’s a pause of heavy silence, and then he dips his head. Kisses you once.

It’s a quick, closed-mouth kiss. Sweet, if not a little stiff and awkward. But you know Azriel is testing the waters, deciding whether he truly wants to do this. If he surmises that he absolutely doesn’t, you’ll stop, say no more about it. You keep still and allow him to decide.

And when he pulls back to study you, you give him a reassuring smile. One that silently communicates, I’m fine, we’re fine, this is fine.

It seems to give him the little boost he needs.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Slowly, he slips his hand out of yours, and you allow him to. You watch as he inches even closer. Moves his hands up to rest at either side of your face.

When he’s cupping your cheeks, his eyes meet yours, and he whispers. “Is this okay?”

You squeeze his forearm once. “It’s fine, Az. Do whatever you feel you want to do. I’ll tell you if I don’t like anything.”

He nods, and his gaze drags down to your lips. You’re still, careful, not moving until he’s ready to. And maybe he’ll not feel ready. Maybe he’ll stop this and pull back and decide it’s a terrible idea—

No.

Azriel’s thumb sweeps over your cheek. And then he leans in and presses his mouth to yours a second time.

This time, it’s different — you can tell straight away.

It starts out slow, his lips exploring yours, moulding to the shape of them. The kiss is a caress on your mouth, and it’s a damn good start. You find yourself leaning into it. Kissing back.

For a split second, you feel Az pause. But then his hand is cupping your cheek firmer, the heat of his palm meeting the heat of your face and making you forget how cold you were only minutes ago. Az’s lips part, and so naturally, yours do the same. You kiss him gladly.

And he’s not bad at all. You’ve kissed far more experienced males with far worse technique. Azriel may be nervous and tentative, but there’s something there, lurking beneath the surface. Something that will grow with the right encouragement, the right amount of confidence.

You…you want to give him both.

But it’s important to remember why you’re doing this. For his sake. So he can comfortably kiss the female he’s interested in.

You part from him momentarily, his breath fanning your lips as you ask him, “Are you doing okay?”

“I am.” There’s a rasp to his voice. “Are you?”

“I’m doing great.”

And you are. The weight of Azriel’s hand on your cheek is surprisingly pleasant. This exploration is new, and it’s thrilling, and it’s nice. It feels…nice.

“Do you want to keep going?” You know what you want to do. “Or would you like to stop? Whatever you want, Az.”

He swallows again. “I want to keep going.”

You nod, and in gentle encouragement, you move your hands to rest at his waist. You must be imagining the slight tremor that wracks through Azriel’s body in that moment. Or perhaps it’s just a coincidence.

There’s no time to think, because he dips his head and catches your lips faster this time. He tilts your head up, applying a little bit of pressure to your mouth. Your lips part, and so do his.

Az’s tongue seems to tease the seam of your lips. And then he slides it into your mouth.

His taste invades you so suddenly, so thoroughly, that you gasp. It’s something rough and smoky. Rugged and pleasant. You can’t think of the exact words as his tongue meets yours, and nor do you care to. All you want to do is reciprocate. Kiss him.

You scoot forward on the table, lifting yourself up slightly to add a touch more fervour to the kiss. Your tongue rolls around Azriel’s, and it’s so damn good, so damn sinful, so damn unexpected.

You’re aware, somewhat, of Azriel’s hand slipping from your cheek and resting at the column of your neck. And he licks at the roof of your mouth, and at your tongue, and somehow at every part of you that has you wanting more. His lips work perfectly with yours, not faltering once.

In that moment, you might forget who you are and what your life story is, but you don’t think you’ll ever forget this — this kiss of pure, salacious, unguarded need. If this is what Azriel kisses like for the first time, you can’t imagine how he could possibly progress. How it could get better than this.

One of you makes a needy little noise — you think it might have come from him, but it lands in your mouth, anyway. And then you’re being yanked closer, and your hands are moving up to tangle within Azriel’s hair, and you’re tugging the strands and pulling him against you and kissing him so desperately that you’re sure you’re going to feel it days, weeks, months from now. Azriel’s fingers knead the back of your neck, and your legs snake around his waist, locking him in.

There’s movement. Natural, pleasant movement — you, him, both of you together, moving and shifting.

You don’t know at which point you’re lying back on the table, or which of you made it happen; but suddenly Azriel is hovering over you, his body flush to yours, too-hot parts of you meeting too-hot parts of him.

The kiss is burning, and needy, and you writhe beneath him, and he writhes on top of you, and he’s pressing against you, and you both groan.

And then Az breaks away.

He doesn’t move far — just rips his lips from yours.

You’re both panting, breathing so hard that your heaving chests touch with every breath. Azriel blinks down at you, and you blink up at him.

And in that moment, you become aware of just how far this has slipped. He’s basically lying on top of you, his body moving with yours. Your scents have changed and combined, and you both know what the earthier, deeper quality to them means.

That you got a little carried away. And this needs to stop — now.

Azriel stares down at you, panting against your mouth as your heart thunders in your ears.

“Fuck.” Is all he says.

azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden

[netegf]

Hey can i make a blurb request for neteyam? maybe forced proximity trope where they get locked in the lab accident and Neteyam gets anxious bc he hates humans and reader smooches him to calm him down even tho they’re just friends (but they secretly love eachother ofc)

breathing exercise

pairing: neteyam x reader

“Neteyam, please stop picking your fingernails.”

Under shoddy lab fluorescents that make your eyes burn, Neteyam shifts in his position on the countertop, crossing his arms with a passive, but lazy, glare.

“You put us in this mess.” He replies pointedly. “You don’t get to tell me how to deal with it.”

That stings. But you wedge your bottom lip between your teeth, deciding maybe, just maybe, it was deserved.

In fairness, you should have left when Neteyam wanted to. But there was something about the way he looked under the blue lights – so pretty. And surrounding. Like his skin had no ending. It was something you wanted to commit to memory, and the extra couple minutes you’d coaxed out of him felt worth it in the moment.

But that quickly changed when the grimace set on Neteyam’s lips.

When Norm said that everything needed to be sterile. That no one could come in or out because of maintenance on the link units. That Neteyam would be trapped here, in a place that made his skin crawl, all evening.

“Teyam…” you trail off, peering up to meet his eyes which now soften at your dejected tone. “It was an accident. I’m sorry.”

At that, the rigidness of his spine seems to crumble.

His hard expression morphs into a pout and he outstretches a shaky hand to squeeze your own in a silent gesture of reconciliation. Still, the tension between his eyebrows remains.

“I told my dad I’d meet him ten minutes ago. He’s going to be pissed.” Sighing, he runs his slender fingers through his braids and attempts to keep his attention away from the bustling laboratory behind him.

The problem is... it’s not working very well. His breathing is uneven. His knee keeps bouncing up and down. His eyes are glued down at his thigh where your hands are joined.

“He will understand.” You reassure, but he doesn’t seem quite convinced, eyes still screwed tightly shut. ���Stay calm, Neteyam. We’re gonna get out of here soon."

“I am calm!”

Now, you stare at him pointedly, and Neteyam slumps his shoulders sheepishly, flashing an apologetic smile. “Okay… maybe I’m not.”

Taking in the appearance of the scared and comically large warrior in front of you, a small smirk sparks like a conductor on your lips. You unwind your hand from his and grip the sides of his chin, drawing your warm faces closer together.

“We just need to find you a way to relax.”

“Mhm.” Yellow eyes travel down your face, stopping abruptly at the curve of your lips. “And how’s that?”

When your mouth collides onto his own, moving with fervor and electricity, he assumes the question must have been rhetorical. The burning kisses breathe new life into him – hands shoot up from his lap and find their rightful places, cradling your cheek and stroking your hair.

“How are we feeling?” You ask cheekily after pulling apart, mouth still hovering over his. So close, but not nearly enough.  

“Distressed. Very.” He has a stupid smile, laboured breaths catching hard in his chest. “Probably need more... of that.”

Then his lips are learning the shape of yours – kissing again, and again, and again. Chasing the air that calms him like it comes from within you.

a/n: ty for the request!! still getting my sea legs with them lolol 🥰💞

[selfship-confession-void]

"Isn't Enemies to Lovers proship" Nope! Here's Why (+ Explaining Strawmen)

Proship/comship/neutral/darkfic DO NOT interact!! This post is not and never will be for you, stay away from me.

So I got this question as an anon but the ask just disappeared 😭 anyways I feel like this is a good topic to tackle because this shoddy argument is thrown around a lot

Short answer: No, but it can be depending on the execution

Long answer: Enemies to lovers as a trope isn't inherently toxic, but if it's handled wrong then yes the relationship would be abusive and ergo would be proship. But just because it CAN be handled poorly doesn't mean it's AUTOMATICALLY toxic and bad on principal

More under the cut:

I've had people I've hated who I later warmed up to. Happens all the time, that's life, you're not gonna like everyone. But that doesn't mean we abused one another or made one another's life a living hell. If you're thinking about ETL (Enemies To Lovers) in the context of the Enemy being this ruthless tyrant who tears down the MC at every opportunity, ruins their life, and overall makes the MC severely harmed from their actions: yes, that is abuse. THAT relationship would be proship.

But that's what I call BookTok ETL, cause BookTok is where it's most normalized (and let's be fr, they normalize proship stuff ALL THE TIME). BookTok ETL is specifically different from general ETL cause most interpretations of the trope are written by people who know there's a line between flirty angry banter and actual harmful interactions. Any sane person who loves the trope will tell you there's definitely a limit and that it becomes gross and uncomfortable when that line is crossed.

And, what I find important to emphasize: every trope CAN be toxic if done wrong. Childhood Friends to Lovers can be unhealthy if the childhood friend in question is a thoughtless shitbag and torments the MC. Coffee Shop AUs can be toxic if it's someone harassing an essential service worker the whole time. I've experienced media that's made me love tropes I usually don't care for just as much as I've seen media do a trope I love so badly that the relationship is a cesspit mess that I wouldn't ever dream of supporting.

My point here is judging a general and inherently harmless trope just based off of the idea that it could sometimes maybe be portrayed as toxic, doesn't mean the trope is on principal bad/toxic/gross. "But what about hero x villain?"— same rules apply. If Villain is terrorizing Hero or the ones they love so badly that it gives Hero trauma or deeply negatively impacts them in a scarring way, that is abuse and no one should argue that it isn't. But the trope can also be lighthearted and sweet, depending on the way it's handled.

Now onto my second portion:

What is a strawman?

A strawman is directly defined as "an intentionally misrepresented proposition that is set up because it is easier to defeat than an opponent's real argument". The very question of attributing harmless tropes to abuse romanticizing proshippers is a strawman. An argument that's meant to seem like a "HAHA GOTCHA" to people who don't sit and think for more than two seconds on how you're literally grasping at straws. This ties into a common trend of proshippers trying to worm their way into everything.

Let me be blunt: proshippers did NOT and never have invented shipping, selfshipping, fandoms, or anything of the like. They like saying that as an imaginary "gotcha" card to the rest of us, just claiming with zero proof or evidence to have invented online spaces because that's easier to argue over than the fact that they're supporting actually disgusting things. 9/10 they just wanna piss people off and then flood them with harassment when the person points out the obvious holes in their argument (pretty ironic coming from the "we don't support harassment!" crowd by the way)

So, to reiterate and be as clear as possible; no, enemies to lovers and hero x villain aren't proship. They can BECOME proship if specific portrayals are done in a very toxic way that make the relationship abusive, but any trope can be represented horribly, so no it does not automatically mean the trope as a concept is proship. Claiming it is is a strawman argument largely used by proshippers because they're deflecting from what they're actually doing wrong and trying to grasp at straws to "epically own the stupid antis" or something like that

Ty for reading

[nerissalmao]

The Sexualization of Octolings

Hey y’all! My friend Ray suggested this lil thread essay post whatever it’s called, and I figured it would make perfect sense to do. I’ve never really made an in-depth Splatoon post before, but I’m not afraid to try. Today’s topic is.. the sexualization of Octolings.

We all know Octolings. We all think they’re cute and fun and cool, but they’re just so.. you know.. sexy. That’s not a bad thing, but it seems like it’s their whole entire species which is literally sexualized and shown in midriff-baring, skimpy outfits. I mean, come on guys. When Callie, the most wholesome Inkling around, briefly joins the Octo Party, she’s suddenly turned into the hottest dominatrix-looking rigid icon ever (a number of my friends started to crush on her after that).

It’s definitely not just Callie. We all know Marina, guys. I don’t even have to show you images to prove what she looks like, her and her love for crop tops. And Marina, as we all know, is an ex-member of the Octarian army, like all Octolings.. like Agent 8, whose Octo Expansion outfit was on the sexy side with a crop top and high-heeled little booties. And who later in Side Order wears a form-fitting bodysuit that shows off their midriff and causes several Splatoon players to meme the fact that their backside seems to be lookin’ large to death. Why is it that Marina and Eight, who used to be in the army, have sexualized attire even now? And when Callie linked up with them, she too was wearing a shirt that in certain poses accentuates her chest, and pants so loose-fitting you can see her actual underwear.

Have you seen the enemy Octoling’s outfits? Yes, they’ve got on armor, but it’s stylized as crop tops and short shorts. Not to mention that most of the enemy Octolings present as or resemble females, and their armor has the age-old shoddy trope of having extra panels for their breasts. They’ve got little booties too and look more like a dancing glam squad or sexualized warrior cosplay than actual warriors, but this is just a design choice and doesn’t affect the way they fight. A pretty weird design choice for a game like Splatoon if you ask me.

I find this very bizarre and random. Because it seems that the entire Octoling enemy brigade has some level of sexiness to them, especially the females. Every single one. But wait on a second. There’s two Octolings we haven’t covered yet. Shiver, an Octoling, has an outfit no more racier than Frye, her Inkling co-star’s. And Acht’s outfit may have a questionable thigh slit, but that’s nowhere near the typical belly-button-bearing short shorts of the Octarian army. That seems to make my theory seem dumb, huh?

Not in the slightest. See, Acht was never in the Octarian army’s fighting unit with the rest of the girlies (they were in the army and wore the same uniform, but as they were never on the front lines they seemed to be able to wear it differently, tilting it so their midriff wasn’t easily seen and wearing a bracelet instead of those tight gloves). As for Shiver, she was born into a clan of Octolings long separated from the other Octarians. Agent 8 on the other hand was once an Octarian warrior, as was Marina (she was later promoted though, but even so along with other enemy Octoling warriors was there during Octavio’s fight with Agent 3), and Callie was turned into one briefly, or something like one, despite her being an Inkling. It seems all the sexualized Octolings were once on the front lines strutting their stuff while fighting. So why is this?

Well, here’s my theory added onto another random semi-theory that I am here to share with you all. You see, in Japanese, the enemy Octolings, preferably the ones you fight, are called “Octo-Amazons”, and the Amazons are legendary female warriors. So perhaps DJ Octavio knew what he was doing with this, and it’s a sort of empowerment move that perhaps the masculine Octolings work on maintenance jobs or something given we never see them, whereas most feminine Octolings are fighters with their female-ness put on blatant display, waggling their little hips as they jump in to do battle with the Inklings. And this practice is so well-known among Octolings that those formerly in the army still tend to gravitate towards more revealing clothes even when they are free. Just a penny for your thoughts, Splatoon community.

[neon-kazoo]

Too Many Beds

(Reverse Trope: Too many beds, as seen on @out-of-jams )

Context: Hero and Villain forced to work together and need a place to stay for the night

Hero had been sent back to the car to gather their things while Villain booked them rooms for the night. Refusing to use a readily available luggage cart, Hero pridefully piled several bags across their body. They held two in each hand, two more were strapped crossbody–one resting on each hip for balance–making them so wide they would have had to step through the lobby door sideways. That is, if they could open the door in the first place, considering their hands were full and this hotel was sketchy enough to be skirting the ADA.

When Villain came back outside with only one room key, Hero could only hope that there would be two beds awaiting them behind shoddy wooden door.

Image their surprise when they unlocked the door to find not one, not two, but three beds clad in all-white linens.

Villain, ignoring the gobsmacked hero, pushed all the way into the room and made a bee-line for the bathroom. In a rather fittingly-villainous move, Villain had refused to relieve Hero of any of their cumbersome stuff during the trek up to their second-story room. The hero finally gathered themselves and their bags enough to step into the room, throwing villain’s bags on the far bed, placing their own bags on the bed closest to the wall, and sitting themselves on the bed in the middle. Immediately feeling their aching joints relax, hero fell back into the plush dramatically. They contemplated the merits of stealing some of the extra pillows to transfer to their bed before a light bulb lit up over their head. After a moment’s consideration, they stood up and started pushing the center mattress towards the one on the wall.

Mega Bed. First come, first serve.

“Hey! I got that one for me,” yelled an incredulous voice behind them. Apparently, Villain was back from the bathroom, and they were very very jealous of Mega Bed.

“You don’t need two beds!”

“Neither do you!”

“Sure I do!”

To punctuation their point, hero belly-flopped dramatically onto their claimed, enlarged sleeping arrangement.

“If you wanted more room to sleep, then you should have booked a room yourself!”

“What kind of motel has rooms with three beds anyway?!” Hero’s question was muffled by the comforter as they held their ground starfished face down over the blankets.

“This one does,” stated the villain from what sounded suspiciously far from his allocated regular-sized bed on the other side of the room.

“Obvishushlee,” the hero mumbled in reply.

“…”

The hero recognized this as a dangerous silence. The silence of plotting.

“Look, we can be adults about this-“ Hero was cut off with a yelp as they were dragged by the ankle out of Mega Bed and onto the questionably-clean carpeted motel floor. Villain attempted to step over them, presumably to claim Mega Bed for themselves, but Hero caught onto their ankle in a grand feat of revenge, thus preventing Villain from crawling into the rumpled sheets.

Hero would not give up Mega Bed without a fight.

As Hero and Villain tumbled on the ground, knocking over the lamp and accidentally turning the TV to the Spanish channel in the process, a stroke of genius hit. Hero grabbed Villain by the back of the shirt, stalling their scramble for the bedpost, playground-king-of-the-hill style.

“Stop! Stop-,” Hero shouted, then added placatingly, “I have an idea.”

And thus the Super Mega Bed was born.

[splendsay]

IT'S WIP WEDNESDAY!!!!

You already know lol

Callsign: Sunshine

!!MDNI!! Pairings: TF 141 x F!Reader CWs: Explicit language, canon-typical violence, torture, implied/referenced rape Chapters: 24/? Publishing Frequency: 4+ chapters per week Tropes/themes: Found family, slow burn, mutual pining, reverse harem

.......................................................

You wake to the smell of smoke again. Thick and fetid. 

You bring your wrist to your line of sight and squint. The uranium in your watch glows dimly, but it's just bright enough to see. Ah. It's Wednesday. Immolation Day.       The sun is still hiding beneath the horizon -- the sky outside your window a deep, unforgiving black. You sigh, half-tempted to draw the covers up over your face and go back to sleep, but your stomach lets out a yowl of protest. If it's Wednesday, it's been -- 1, 2...4 days since you've last eaten anything. A growl of frustration escapes you. Despite all your efforts to do otherwise, you'd quickly powered through your stockpile of rations after the city was sacked by rebels three months back. Your last meal of any substance had been the greasy bone meat of roasted street rat and a bouillon cube. Food -- real food -- was a rarity in Southern California these days.       That's why they burn the bodies. 

You sit upright in your makeshift bed -- a thin pile of newspapers, truth be told, and take in the dark, colorless space around you. You'd run out of candles ages ago. They pepper the room, melted to useless nubs. You lean over, fumbling in the dark for your cell phone -- your last remaining luxury, when this building had enough power to charge it. To your surprise and temporary delight, you have a charge -- 38%. Not much, but still. Without internet, you could make it last a few days. You frown, though, glancing at the screen again. You missed a call.  

  "The fuck," you mutter. You tap the phone icon and it pulls up your call log. A number you don't recognize called you just over an hour ago -- 11 pm. You know the area code, though. +44 was the U.K. Or, it used to be. You don't know much about the state of the world beyond Temecula, but you know it can't be much better or worse than this. From what little you could gather from the gibberish they published in the papers you stole from the one corner store still in operation -- some sort of third World War was waging between Russia and a country whose name you didn't recognize. It'd been years since you'd taken a history class. Any class, really. And it was hard to care about any far off land when this one had gone to such shit.     The fact that the call had connected surprises you. You stand and walk to the shoddy cell tower repeater perched precariously on the sill of your window. "Huh," you muse aloud. Its little green light blinks up at you happily. You bring the phone in front of you again, frowning down at it. What the hell. You tap the mystery number and hold the phone to your ear. It connects instantly -- but it doesn't ring.       "Laswell," a woman's voice barks from the other end of the line. You almost drop your phone, you're so startled. You recover -- barely -- and bring the phone back to your ear. 

"Hello? Hello?"

"Hi, yes, um...this number called mine an hour ago. I'm...calling you back." Your lips pull back from your teeth in a visceral cringe. Idiot.      "Sunshine," the woman says, matter-of-fact.       Your heart drops into your stomach.       "I...how did you...?"      "It doesn't matter. The United States military requests your support. Yours, specifically, Sergeant."      You bristle at her tone. "I was discharged."      The woman sighs. "Again, it doesn't matter."      Your stomach growls again. You look down at it, mind churning. "Fine. "I'm listening."

.......................................................

OH OH ALSO I started working on the Azriel x F!Reader fic -- it's going to be heavy handed with a lot of original world-building, so you'll have to be patient avec moi, but I did title it: Shade Cerulean

I'm hoping to have the first chapter published this weekend! :))

[dramalets]

🥲

Can already see I’ll be muting a bunch of popular blogs whilst We Are airs. The way people are already talking negatively about it, before it’s aired, based entirely on New being the director.

Personally I’ve enjoyed more of New’s dramas than I’ve disliked and I’d consider My Only 12% one of my tops. He almost always provides me with a clean edit and the man does friendship tropes extremely well. In most of his dramas the friendship groups have been a dominant factor and they’re always delivered well. The friends in A boss & a babe were great and, honestly, he got a better performance out of Force than Jo Jo did.

Between Us is beautiful and suffered mostly from a lower budget and some shoddy acting from support casts.

I do understand concerns about New, the endings of his shows can be poor and he sometimes gets lost in the details. But he almost always gets good performances from his casts and turns out things that I enjoy and do rewatch.

[saturnaftertaste]

who wins the psychological problems olympics, betty or cheryl?

oooh tough one! cousin v. cousin battle

to me it really depends on what you consider as their psychological problems. are we talking about how much they suffered and what psychological problems they hypothetically would end up with? or are we talking about the way the given traumas present themselves through the characters in the show?

interestingly enough despite the show running from the late 2010s to the early 2020s, we don’t get an actual mention of any dsm-certified mental illness until archie starts seeing dead soldiers post-The War and gets diagnosed with ptsd. (i don’t even remember if that was said outright but i do remember in s6 they use armchair psych terms in reference to archie’s sexual abuse from s1).

anyway a case could be made for either; our introduction to betty is of her being reminded by her mother to Take Her Pills without any later reference to what those pills might be or why she was taking them; i think it was a 50s-housewife-valium habit she was trying to pre-install in betty just to make sure she didn’t end up like polly. that being said, however, i do think that betty has, AT LEAST, some garden-variety anxiety disorder/some other mild form of clinically diagnosable mental illness - what with the pills and physical manifestation of unconscious self-harm. on the trauma end, factor in hal’s grooming of her to carry on their serial-killer legacy and the memories she repressed of her childhood, plus the fact that she was a victim of every major riverdale event (black hood, gng + THE FARM, stonewall prep death fakeout, polly’s disappearance, TBK, percival and rivervale) not to mention alice’s ways and behaviors that she was subject to. still, nothing about betty changes. the black hood and then TBK become representative of her “darkness” and what she could do if she “gave in”, but that’s always been like betty’s narrative thread, that if she ever Let Herself Go you would see Terrible Things Happen. so really, post-all this trauma, what’s really changed about betty? the answer is nothing! despite having endured ALL of this, betty remains the girl-next-door, albeit with a different job (but still an extension of her childhood interests!) whatever you want to call it - shoddy CW character work, jughead’s fucked up narrative keeping her in the girl-next-door role, or even meta commentary and the implication of Cycles in this Town, betty doesn’t change. she still wants to investigate, she still wants to date archie, she’s still the only “sane” one left. she has all this trauma, all these things that happen to her, and yet they exist outside of Betty as a being.

cheryl on the other hand has her traumas stacking like jenga. obviously her family was very much steeped in gothic horror from the jump, because even though riverdale is set in 2017, they did not bother modernizing the kind of strange context provided for the blossoms, and mind you, this is before the ghosts and the transgender twin-dolls and witches were all apparent. like from the very start there is this weird anachronism of the blossoms, who are like holding onto wealth from early colonial times and have like a house built like a crypt but also a teenage daughter who is the head cheerleader at the local public highschool (speaking of, why did cheryl and jason not attend stonewall prep?). not to say that maple syrup barons (?) don’t exist in today’s day and age, moreso that cheryl and her family contain weird multitudes. like what i’m trying to say is that cheryl’s original characterization as the mean rich girl struck by tragedy is the combination of two tropes at once - both regina george and jane eyre at once, but they exist like, separately from each other. unlike betty, however, over time the two become intertwined - cheryl hosts highschool parties at her gothic mansion. she crushes on a girl and sends her a pig’s heart . and as for the things she’s suffered. well. the weird insular nature of the blossom family makes it that her best friend and only confidante is her twin, who dies a violent death at the hands of her father, who then commits suicide, leaving her with her mother who hates her. this, then followed by the discovery of her own repressed homosexuality, plus her mother’s rejection of it, attempted murder of her and her subsequent conversion therapy at the soqm — the stakes for cheryl just keep stacking. this is also only around season 2 - we aren’t even talking about her extended family that come to visit, her stint with THE FARM, jason’s taxidermied body in the living room, the insanity that is nana rose. abigail blossom, julian blossom, the Haunting of Thistlehouse…

cheryl literally attempts suicide at the end of season one. like actively, you know what i mean? I think the key difference between cheryl and betty is that despite them literally having the same hereditary emotional abuse issues in their respective families (family?), betty is given a “normal” to return to. if her house is insane at any given moment, she can run to one of the other core four, and they help each other cope through other various insane behaviors (ie. investigating murders and leaving to cabins in the woods and whatever) and you know what they say! a problem shared among a sexually-charged almost-polycule is a burden halved! even that time penelope and hal trapped them in the woods, they had each other to go through the trials with. veronica drank poison for her. “as friends”!

on the flip side, every day of cheryl’s life is quite almost like that time the corefour polycule was trapped in the woods in that penelope tormented cheryl for the entire time they lived together. no friends, no one who knows her reality EXCEPT jason, who gets murdered by their father. cheryl never really had a normal or even an IDEA of normal to return to, because once she lost jason, realistically she had nothing left to live for. of COURSE people thought she was fucking her brother, the toxic codependency is intrinsic to cheryl’s personality and up until jason dies, i doubt she was known as anything but the girl obsessed with her brother. jason is replaced by ronnie is replaced by archie is replaced by josie is finally replaced by toni, who then is subject to all of cheryl’s insanity. cheryl, who doesn’t actually recognize that keeping her dead brother’s body taxidermied in a wheel chair is not “normal” behaviour, because she has no idea what normal is thanks to her parents’ wealth shielding them from both CPS and her peers, meaning she doesn’t have a baseline for “normal”. if alice cooper did one thing right as a mother, it’s that she was so bent on suburban normalcy for her family that it helped betty realise she was facing emotional abuse and that she needed to get out/confront alice, which is what she does several times. the blossoms’ wealth made it easier for them to isolate cheryl entirely meaning that she, now, is learning how to function thanks to toni and occasionally betty and veronica. betty can re-set every time something bad happens. cheryl just keeps stacking her stuff.

tldr: cheryl wins. by a long shot. the girl was born to be mentally ill, unfortunately. suits her though!

[fruitsofhell]

Lowkey been really fucking obsessed with the Fazbear Toddler Fun analog horror series for days now and I hate it cause it is utterly phenomenal in ways that just look goofy af to anyone who isn't incredibly in tune both with authentic recreation of niche video game visual tropes and the narrative significance of the Five Night's at Fredsy's chronology.

The final sequence of the last episode has unparalleled levels of attention to detail in replicating every ounce of old edutainment game tomfoolery, and to top it off it does not even stumble for a second in using that to tear the game's in-universe existence and the protagonist apart.

Cause its not just the period accuracy of IRL video games but the timeline of in-universe Freddy's locations and rebrands. Like it's actually a choice that the characters are based around the FNAF2 location cast, just with Foxy as well likely cause he was so iconic and The Mangle (adorably adapted as "Funtime", Foxy's little sister) wouldn't cut it. You can actually assume this is a late 90s game in context of being after the brands peak in the 80s, or honestly if you're weird like me you always got a very 90s vibe from the Toy Animatronics and assume this game was in tandem with THAT rebrand. OK OK BUT EIRHER WAY. The game as a vapid attempt at a rebrand borrows its cues from the most dramatic and vapid canon rebrand, and it makes every call back to the original tragedy sting so much more.

FNAF2's location has always been one of the furthest away from the Bite of '83 and original MCI, with the FNAF1 location existing more directly in its shadow cause it's where the story was first told even if it's ironically furthest from it. The sort of grunge and shoddiness that defines the atmosphere of the other tragedies is not present there, and its abysmally short run (canonically was only open for weeks as every other returant was assumedly for years) gives it a certain innocence and purity to it. The Toy Animatronics did not have the time to accumulate that physical and metaphorical rot which pervades the brand through the felt animatronics. They were literally retired and revived to carry the legacy of that pain, but the Toys were a genuine - and short-lived - attempt to almost fully separate.

But this all to fucking say - when the ghost of the crying child uses the games stupid little movie maker to tell the story of his death, and when he snaps the misshapen model of Fredbear atop the shiny new Toy Freddy on that stage... it's fr. It's so fr. It's so "how dare you think you can escape..." how dare you think you can run from that past while tracking prints - while not truly letting go.

It gets SO WELL at that angle of corporate whitewashing and greed that is the ONE THEME in FNAF, to the point I can (almost) forgive it for its demonization if Michael. Because he ties into it to. Oh you think it's just cute and a little messed up that they tried to overwrite the tragedy of my death? You think it's just a spooky little game to come back here, to this complete mockery and erasure of my pain? The way that you said you were sorry but I knew you never were? Like fucking christ man.

The magic of obtuse storytelling methods is how they can thread together odd symbolism and ideas into a story in a way something straightforward cannot. Stories of haunting are fascinating because it allows for the expression of harsh and terrible emotions through manipulation of symbols, and I love when internet horror takes that to the umpteenth level in the found footage/found game subgenre by twisting those symbols of the truly light and unassuming in media even when it's goofy af.

When you're dealing with death of children at a bootleg Chuck E Cheese you're most realistically going to get a Chuck E Cheese style haunting, but the point is to embrace that. Find the perversity of something that is supposed to be so light and childish being forced to bare a heavy, meaningful pain. For a model of a crusty dancing bear in a CG point and click game to be the most chilling graphic imaginable.

[sugdenlovesdingle]

I'm feeling very zen this morning about bucktommy.

Maybe it's because it's been over a week since the shoddy ending to 8x06 and it feels less raw.

Maybe it's because even if Tommy never comes back at least 8x07 gave more proof/weight (can't find the right word) about how much the relationship meant to Buck by showing how much he's struggling, something he never got with any other LI except Abby.

Maybe it's because knowing how much balderdash the interviews are with dropped plots and things that never happen mean I have no more anxiety about them.

Maybe it's because from Ryan saying that Tim changes things last minute, and Tim gaslighting fans about creating plots he himself hinted at (madney/henren tension wtf?) means again ignoring what he says in interviews and that the door is wide open for a Tommy return.

Maybe it's because angst with a happy ending it's my favourite trope and the fic I've read this week has been so so achingly good it'll keep me fed throughout winter like a squirrel hoarding nuts.

Maybe it's just because it's sunny where I am today and it's put me in a good mood.

Also, I love your blog as a bucktommy (and tarlos) fan and also an old robron fan who hasn't watched since robert left but I can still get updates here 😄.

Anyway, I'm sorry for waffling in your inbox, I hope you have a great day!

Feel free to always come waffle in my inbox anon! i didn't think there was anyone out there with the same weird mix of hyper fixations as me! bucktommy x tarlos x robron ftw! 😂

But yeah I think the door is definitely open for Tommy to return in 8B. But knowing the show won't be back until March 6th after next week, I doubt Tim will even finish the scripts before March 1st!

The episode shows Buck being sad and miserable (and LONELY!! how much time were he and Tommy spending together these past 6 months??) and wanting to reach out, Tommy wanting to contact him too, Tommy constantly being on Buck's mind and if you just take everything you see at face value, that tells you those two aren't done with each other. And then tim comes and babbles in interviews almost saying the exact opposite of what's happening on screen.

Also - I only got into the fandom after the first bucktommy kiss but it seems like these post ep interviews are becoming more frequent? I don't remember seeing Tim quotes on my dash after EVERY ep - only for the big ones like season premier/season finale.

I read that it's the journalists (and I use that term loosely) that ask for these interviews and not necessarily the show sending Tim (or Oliver or Ryan or Lou or anyone) to do them and I'm just like... what is the point? Why do we need the 'boss' to run us through every episode and tell us what to think or feel? I mean the pit of despair we all plunged into after last week's ep was mostly because of the interviews. And even then, when you pull just the quotes from them (like someone has done - i forget who) it makes it so much easier to see what exactly Lou especially was saying.

Maybe we should just decide to ignore these post ep interviews as a fandom, enjoy our fics and gifs and meta - and apparently a newfound love for mpreg (lol i don't know where this came from but you do you, guys!) this winter, and see where it's at in March.

(also, please send me some of that sunshine! it's foggy and miserable and cold here!)

[mousemonopoly]

I am so annoyed that people hate Wish. Because why do you hate it? Genuinely sit down and ask yourself what you hate about the movie.

"The animation is bad" I'm sorry, I didn't know anything that didn't make the characters look like bug-eyed Barbie dolls was bad. I am personally THRILLED to see a different animation style from Disney. Because their one aesthetic has completely dominated cgi animation for decades and it's honestly kind of boring. I love movies like Book Of Life that experiment with animation styles. And let's be clear, this movie's style is not that insanely different. It's really great to see Disney experiment with more stylized art. And hey if it's not for you, go watch one of the hundreds of movies they made with the hd bug-eyed barbie style.

"The Villain song is bad." Okay....again it's just different than a typical villain song. I think it's actually really cool that they're using a style typically reserved for characters like Kristoff and Alladin and giving it to the villain. It's interesting that they're challenging the masculine image they've created. My understanding is the character singing the song is the king and the MC's father. So this song is really exploring the pop trope usually given to heroes to show how wanting recognition for not being more evil than you couldn've been is villain behavior. And just as a side note I don't think Disney's done a recognizable "Villain Song" since Tangled. So at least this movie actually took the risk.

I mean, it's also way too soon to cast judgement. At this phase in Frozen's promo people were making insane criticisms, saying Elsa was just a recolored Rapunzel from Tangled, that Disney would butcher the Project, That the animation was shoddy, etc. I have been tired of Disney's monopoly for years and frustrated by the way that monopoly refuses to take artistic risks. Finally we have a film that seems to deviate slightly from the ever-present Disney formula and y'all are losing it.

Maybe you'll hate it regardless. That's fine, but instead of criticizing choices that are different from what you're used to, maybe ask yourself why the creators made the artistic choices they did. There is no such thing as "good" and "bad" media, but everything we see is a choice that is trying to convey the themes and ideas in the media. If you reject everything that's different you will never be able to explore other points of view.

[damnfandomproblems]

4509: Ugh. This. There was an extremely popular, fandom-defining movie released around a decade ago, and I instantly started shipping two characters from that movie because I saw so much potential for a future relationship between them (be it platonic or romantic!). The tag, however, was dead. Literally dead. Not a single post in it. I was one of the only people posting in it for a few years.

Then, a trailer for the sequel to this movie came out. It seemed like the writer wanted to put these two characters together for real, in canon. I was excited, and so were a handful of other people. Other people were confused and angry, obviously, because they wanted one of the characters to get together with someone else. But I kept writing fics.

Then the movie came out, and SHTF. Because the movie hamfistedly shoved the characters together like two barbie dolls, with the most painfully cringe tropes. One of the characters was incredibly OOC. There was no buildup, the movie just launched everyone into this weird-ass relationship where one of the characters was oblivious to the fact the other person was hitting on them, yet somehow, their alter ego seemed receptive. Really weird, not fun to watch. And fandom, of course, especially the people who didn't want the ship from the beginning because they had another ship they wanted to see, used this shoddy writing as an example to say, "see?! These two characters SUCK together! They're not a good ship!". And people who wrote that ship were attacked, including me, even though most of us had written stuff years before the canon version even happened. Even though we had, by that point, created lots of art, fics, and other works that were legitimately good, and explored things properly. But that marked the end of me sharing works for that ship. Now I just write them privately.

Posting since this is a response to a previous problem.

[shadow-warren-whump]

Ooo whumpy things okay. Recently I’ve been really feeling the hidden injury trope. Truly a classic for me I can remember little Kat searching “avengers fanfiction Tony stark hidden injury” on her family’s iPod (and erasing the search history lol). Broken ribs are such a classic for that trope but I also love a good bloody injury reveal of Oh No! My Jacket has Fallen Aside! The Blood! It is So Visible Now!

Ooh... ! Hidden injuries are so good! I love characters hiding them until collapsing and people frantically pulling away clothing to try to find it.

I don't think I ever googled it specifically, but I definitely read a lot of fanfic that users that trope!

I think my favorite use of it is "shoddy bandaging job where character thinks it's fine (but knows its probably not) and ends up getting worse so character collapses leading to team members finding blood-soaked bandages". Also. I like characters that are all "I trust you but I still don't trust you" because i love emotional hurt/comfort so it scratches that itch perfectly. So good. So good.

Thanks for your ask!!

[whumpinthepot]

Hamster Interactive Story

CYOA

Chapter 5. Sling

Previous - Masterlist

TW: belittling thoughts towards someone, dehumanization, held down, dubious forced medication, broken bones, bruises, pet trope, shoddy first aid, tiny whump, dubious handling, female cast,

Ashley’s pov

Poll Winner: Take Hamster to the bathroom to fix her up

—

The name “Ashley” reflects backwards on your name-tag in the bathroom mirror - you hardly had time to take it off after work. Hamster is crying in your hands, and you carefully lay her down on a face cloth next to the sink. 

With a few fingers holding her in place, you grab the first aid kit out of the cabinet.“I know baby girl, I know it hurts.” You make soft shushing sounds between your comforting phrases, and syringe a drop of liquid baby Tylenol into her crying mouth. Padding your manicured thumb over her lips to ensure she swallows it, you follow up by wiping any dribble off her cheeks. 

Now for that bruised, swollen arm… 

The bruising is already purple and you’re scared of aggravating it further with inspection. You don’t know where to begin, but vet bills are expensive and it’s already getting late. Your ice cream is probably melting where you left it on the floor with the groceries… But you don’t have time to worry about that. You have to stay focused. 

You have to make a customized sling for the girl, since you’re not sure if Hamster is smart enough to keep a traditional one on. You can easily picture her pulling it off in frustration. 

Hamster is still weeping, and she pushes at your fingers to try to get your hand off of her. You let go but lean against the counter to stop her from crawling off of it again while you cut small strips of bandage wrap to use. 

“I’m so sorry sweet pea, I have to wrap it up. My poor baby, I know, I know, its okay.” You speak in a soft sing-song voice, shushing her continually while you shift your hand underneath her back. She cries out like a tea kettle when you sit her up, and it makes your guts twist up in guilt. 

While apologizing a dozen more times you wrap her arm with the thinned bandages and swaddle it against her chest to hold it in place. 

Hamster’s hot tears land on your hand, tightening the knot in your stomach, and her crying dissolves into brief gasps of air. You stroke her back with two fingers and encourage her to breathe before getting her a syringe filled with water for her to drink from. She takes a few hasty gulps, then shoves it away from her face. 

Picking her up carefully, you look for any further injuries while her whimpering starts up again. She appears to be more or less okay, save for a few minor cuts and bruises, though she’s quivering and covered in clammy sweat. 

The poor thing is really exhausted… 

You don’t know how else to make this better for her, and your mind thinks of a million things at once. 

— 

More than one winning result may be used!!

(Tag list under the cut)

Thank you @verkja for fixing up my grammar <3

Tag list: @frogkingdom @verkja @whumpsday @octopus-reactivated @marvel-gt @rsitb-second-account @fallen-grace-smd @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @kyp-the-spacekiwi @dramat1ques @ilasknives @hollowgast1 @whither-wander-whump @redd956 @zobodahobo @alittlewhump @blackrosesandwhump @angst-after-dark @sandygarnelle @copperyote @kim-poce @mayisreallygay @smoll-stace @demondamage

[mariacallous]

Your use of Reaction Images from the new Feid is inspired. Do you have any particular take on the new season? Personally I thought it was a bit melencholy and less campy that I would expect from a Ryan Murphy show (I know he didn’t write or direct this one).

I think it had some interesting things to say about the complex real life and media trope of the Gay Best Friend, and the resentments that build on both sides of that relationship but also the joys of it, but the structure and timeline of everything was kind of off putting.

Thanks for reading! Love your blog!

Aw, thank you!

My sister and I were talking about the series last night, and here's where we landed:

-The story or narrative was vague and/or undecided. At no point did Murphy and the others writing and directing ever decide, really, how they felt about the characters involved, and, by extension, where the audience is supposed to land or approach the characters. There's a difference between "these people are flawed and complex but ultimately we should be [sympathetic/unsympathetic] towards them" and "they're complicated and flawed!"

-The characterization, and indeed the writing in general, was very clunky and...not great. Lots of cliches, lots of stereotypes, lots of generalities, and at times the characters all had the same kind of voice.

-There was SO MUCH Telling as opposed to Showing. It was the only way viewers would be given any kind of indication what sort of stake or element was involved. It was lazy and detrimental.

-There were also what felt like Obligatory Virtue Signal Moments put in because it was expected or necessary and then things could progress. The sexism/misogyny element which kind of gets introduced in the first/second episode gets dropped very quickly and is almost never referenced again. The homophobia and Gay Best Friend element is mentioned sporadically throughout, with the heaviest concentration in the James Baldwin episode) but doesn't really come to any conclusions about how we're supposed to feel.

-The pacing and timeline *were definitely* off-putting - I think the jumping around was a detriment (especially because a lot of establishing moments for the friendship of the swans and Capote were scattered about). Starting with La Cote Basque 1965 was the wrong choice, because you have the explosion up front and then have to figure out how you're going to build up and progress from there. There's also, because of the Telling versus Showing, a lot of build up for certain events and moments, which don't pay off or get pulled off - the Black and White Ball is an example of that, I think.

-Additionally, the shifts in the kind of framing for the show hurt it - the first two episodes are a conventional set up, then you have the shift to the black and white documentary, then you're kind of back to the conventional set up, and then the last two episodes are weird dream sequences and kind of shoddy conjecture?

-As much as I like Molly Ringwald and Demi Moore, choosing to include/elevate Joanne Carson and Ann Woodward to this extent was a poor choice, as was not including what I feel are the more actual interesting swans (Pamela Harriman, my personal fave, as well as Gloria Guinness and Marella Agnelli) and making Babe the primary Swan wasn't necessarily the best choice.

-So much time was spent on Babe's cancer and Truman's alcoholism, to the detriment of fleshing out literally any and all of the other characters and stories, and both of those story elements were handled poorly.

-The James Baldwin episode was probably my least favorite because of how all-around bad it was, which is really unfortunate because there could have been potential there.

-Going into this series, Murphy and the others seemed to have made what my sister and I are calling the "Somehow, Palpatine returned" choice, aka the Marvelization Maneuver. In order to really follow along, you either had to be familiar with Truman Capote and the Swans and 1970s New York society, *and/or* have read Laurence Leamer's book, which the series was inspired by. So much was not explained or depicted, and so you have a higher bar to clear to engage with the material. And if you do have that background, because of the other choices, you would be disappointed because you *do* know the background and saw what was chosen to be used.

-I also think that an emphasis on the aesthetics versus the story was involved, which is also unfortunate.

I was excited and there were moments I *did* like, but there was a lot to be disappointed about.