You know what, I don't even think hating on BKDK is just being homophobic, but I also feel like people hate on it as a trend, too.
There are other Bakugou ships, Midoriya ships, m/m ships, f/f ships and by far other worse ships (if I see one more Miruko being shipped with Midoriya story at the top of the page every time I go to the AO3 tag for Miruko before I can get to the exclude option...) that I haven't seen get as much hate BKDK does.
I'll use TogaOcha as an example. I've seen people hate that ship, yeah for various reasons. Homophobia, "Toga's crazy", "Uraraka is not into girls", yadda yadda. However, the ratio of the hate is little compared to BakuDeku. For every 1 anti-TogaOcha blog, there's always like 5 anti-BakuDeku blogs.
DabiHawks is another example. Like BakuDeku, that's a M/M ship. But I don't see Twitter blowing up on how "toxic" that ship is or "Hawks is straight" or "Dabi doesn't love" or whatever.
Shoot, I have seen fanart of Dekubowl and it's nothing but the girls being reduced to mindless sex toys for Midoriya. (That is just... no...) But no one hates on that as much as they want to say "ew, BakuDeku is so gross, ew".
Again, of all the ships, BkDk does get a lot of hate. Yeah, homophobia plays a part. Yeah, Bakugou hate plays a part. Yeah, favoring another Bakugou or Midoriya ship plays a part.
But let's be honest, some people hate on it because it's just there to hate on. Some of these people cannot think for themselves at all. They see someone jump abroad the hate train and be "Let me join, too!" Even people who long dropped BNHA or never touched it do it.
Just stop, just stop. People, I'm going to ask you to start thinking for yourselves. Stop being such a follower. It's not a cute look.
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how much do i have to pay you so that you can at least ATTEMPT to add frebby fazbear into the magnus protocol
This tickles me a bit, because thinking about it, we have kinda done some mascot horror in Protocol, but whereas chuck-e-cheese is the archetypical American version, we've drawn horror out of a 90s British mascot. And I'm pretty confident which of the two is more fucked up.
Five Nights at Freddie's does interest, though - I grew up when there was quite a rich array of horror stories aimed at kids: Goosebumps, Are You Afraid of the Dark, the Point Horror books. Now it seems like a lot of that stuff have been supplanted by franchises like Five Nights at Freddie's, which is aimed at kids but marketed as though it's not, and does a lot to try and launder its intended audience. It's interesting to me, though I don't feel like I have a well-developed thesis about it.
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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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You know, Brennan Lee Mulligan talks a lot of shit about the cruelty of Game Changer, but I’m not sure Sam Reich has ever done as much violence to his players as Brennan did when he handed out those irl exam question packets with sand timers, like that was real ptsd in their eyes
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911 hit a milestone episode and instead of doing some big, crazy emergency or making it super action packed and exciting they chose to tell a story about someone finally figuring out who they are and understanding their queerness and sexuality. that will forever be so beautiful to me. they said “we see your stories and we want to tell them and we want you to know they matter.”
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⚔️ — no. better luck next time!
💉 — you bled out after being stabbed by the killer ): rip
🪓 — congrats. you’re the final girl!
🔪 — the killer gutted you like a fish
⛓️ — you’re the killer and you killed everyone :) congrats?
🪦 — you survived but the killer has driven you to insanity
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