#but i just !!

[theeroticlover]

No we should not be doing this....F*uck it.....

[ninyard]

Hey, so you said to send you prompts... Could you talk about some things Neil starts to remember and how he copes with remembering?

Here’s the time where Neil remembers being waterboarded, because I haven’t stopped thinking about that. Like not even once. cw; torture, vomitting

-

It’s not long after the Foxes big championship win that Andrew and Neil find themselves in a too-big, too-fancy hotel room for the first time. Kevin is staying with them, but he’s busy doing something with Wymack for a couple hours.

They have no responsibilities, nothing to do other than enjoy a hotel room to themselves. They do what any other couple would reasonably do; they order a bottle of champagne, a couple of desserts, and they run a hot bath. Not for them both, in the beginning, but Neil’s muscles are sore after a tough practice with Kevin the night beforehand, so he decided to run it for himself. The water is perfect to touch, almost a perfect amount in the tub, and Andrew is sitting up on the bathroom counter with his own glass of champagne in his hands.

“This feels weird,” Neil comments, twisting the knob until the water ceases to spill from the gold coloured faucet of the bath. “Like it’s something couples do.”

“Normal couples,” Andrew corrects him, putting the glass to his lips as Neil removes his clothes one article at a time. “You’re cleaning yourself and I’m here for moral support.”

“From all the way over there?” Neil steps into the hot water. The steam from it has fogged up the mirrors already, and he slides down into the white porcelain, relaxing back until the hair at the back of his neck is darkened by the water that wets it.

“I’m comfortable.” Andrew says around the rim of the flute. “But if you’re not used to it I can show you how it’s done.”

“Why would I not be used to having a bath?” Neil scoffs, running his wet hands over his hair to slick it back off of his face.

“I can’t picture it,” he shrugs, but he doesn’t really mean it. “I don’t imagine you had many while on the run.”

Neil’s sweet laugh reverberates around the room. “You’re right, but it’s not like it’s hard. I lie here and relax until I get so warm that it feels like I’m going to pass out. Right?”

Neil shuts his eyes and sinks back until the water surrounds his face, his hearing muffled by its calming rumble. He holds his breath to dip his face under before coming back up to the surface. When he opens his eyes after wiping the water from them, he looks over as Andrew crouched next to him with a washcloth in one hand and Neil’s glass in the other. Neil takes the glass in a dripping hand, and looks at Andrew as he sips from the cold, bubbly liquid.

“Are you going to show me how it’s done?” He says, and Andrew waves him off. He slips out of his robe with ease, and gestures for Neil to move forward in the tub. There’s plenty of room for the both of them, and Andrew steps in to sit behind him, his legs on either side of Neil. Neil waits until he is comfortable before reaching out to place his glass on the floor, moving to rest his back on Andrew’s chest.

They don’t speak as Andrew dips the small square cloth into the water to brush it over the top of Neil’s back. Neil shuts his eyes. The only sound in the room is the movement of the water between them, and the relaxed breathing that leaves the both of their noses. Andrew’s free arm rests on the edge of the tub, and Neil reaches out to interlace their fingers together. It’s so calming, the warmth that surrounds them, the peace that comes with the two of them alone together like this, so normal and comfortable.

Andrew’s squeezes out the liquid from the cloth onto the top of Neil’s head, then, startling him from his thoughts.

“I was just about to say how nice this was,” he tilts his head to let the water run off of it. “Thank you for changing my mind.”

Andrew’s response is to mumble a sound that could’ve been misconstrued as an apology, until he dips the cloth back under the water, and does it again. Neil tried to take the cloth from him, and the tub squeaks as he moves around, but Andrew keeps pulling it out of his reach.

Andrew gives up when Neil gets a hold of it, accepting as the gesture is returned. Neil loves how his blonde hair darkens under water, and smiles as Andrew’s bangs flatten over his eyes. He’s not quite turned around to face Andrew, but he twists his back to push his hair back off of his face.

“Yes or no?” He asks, and Andrew opens his eyes. His cheeks are pink from the heat of the bath.

“Yes.” He answers, and Neil stretches out to kiss him softly on the lips, before plopping the sopping wet square of fabric on the top of his head. Neil is laughing as Andrew takes the cloth from his hair and throws it at him, flat against his face, but that beautiful and melodic sound does not last long. It does not last long, as Neil’s laugh leads him to inhale beneath the fabric, and his flinch is almost strong enough to send a tidal wave of water cascading out onto the tiled floor.

For a second, Neil is back in the nest.

For a second, the memory is hazy, something unfamiliar. It’s not a memory he’s had before, more like a dream than a conscious reminder of Evermore.

There’s Jean’s hands on his shoulders, or somewhere else, as they tended to be, holding him down with as more force as required to keep him still. Riko’s maniacal laughter scores the scene, as he takes a break from whatever words he’d been spewing to admire his work.

“What is it?” Riko says. No, it’s Andrew, in their hotel bathroom, with this look across his face.

The washcloth is in Neil’s hand, and he looks down to it, but he sees nothing as he lifts his head back up. He can feel it, though, the water-heavy fabric spread over his face, over his head, draped without a chance of falling off. He doesn’t scream, but he hears it, the gargle of a plea to stop, incoherent as he feels himself drowning.

He can see Andrew as he wraps his fingers around Neil’s wrists, to pull them away from the mouth that they’d found themselves clamped over. There’s too much water. Too much water that feels like it’s filling his lungs, and it’s around him, and it’s in his hair, it’s in his eyes. Even the hands that protect him are damp with liquid. With lungs unwilling to fill at all, he tries to kick the water away from him, but with every movement, it just comes back to him stronger.

“You’ll drown him,” A cry of English words dipped in a French accent passes in front of him. He can’t hear it properly at all. It’s too loud; the slapping of water on a surface, the sputtering as he desperately struggles out of the path of pouring. Jean’s strained words mean nothing to Riko, a worthless request that would only lead to a desire for Riko to fulfil such a thing. “The master will not be pleased if you do.”

Riko snaps back at him then, a bark in Japanese as the spilling water subsides. He lifts the towel, or the bedsheets, or the heavy item of clothing that covered his lips. One hand in auburn hair he holds Neil back. He remembers how he pulls his own hair from its root while trying to lean forward to get the water out of his lungs.

He is standing now, and Andrew has wrapped him in a dry bathrobe before dressing himself, and he is rubbing a towel over Neil’s skin to dry it. Neil catches a glimpse of himself in the foggy glass of the shower door beside them, his lips almost blue, and face as pale as the porcelain tub that had started to drain.

Andrew snaps his fingers to pull Neil’s attention back to him, and does it again when it is unsuccessful at evoking any reaction. Neil looks at him finally, and Andrew places one hand on his chest and the other wrapped around the back of his neck.

“Breathe,” he says, one word, like it’s an easy thing to do.

“I can’t,” Neil gasps, but his lungs fill with water with every fill he takes in.

“You can.” Andrew says, sternly. “Breathe, Neil.”

Neil breathes in deep, but with it, another unexpected splash from an emptying basin pours down his throat without reprieve. He doesn’t remember falling to the floor, but suddenly his hands are flat on cold tile, as he heaves in oxygen that refuses to fill his chest at all.

Andrew lets him fall to his knees, and he doesn’t touch him. Instead he kneels down in front of him, his presence noticeable as Neil struggles through flashes of darkness and water and water and water and water.

“Stop,” he doesn’t mean to say it. His words are clear now, not a foolishly daring gargle, but still he feels the stream that travels from the sides of his lips down his cheeks.

“You’re killing him,” Jean’s panic doesn’t help. It doesn’t help, as the idea of torturing Neil to the point of extinction is nothing more than a turn on to Riko. It doesn’t stop him from holding each side of the towel over his face and pulling it backwards, crushing his nose, the water held in its fibres forced to escape. Riko does not fear the threat of a life taken by his hand. He is nothing less than excited by it.

Neil knows fear like an old friend. Neil knows this slow-dance with death like a movie on replay - it is as familiar as it is terrifying. Something about this though, this twisted assault born from sick fascination with torture, it’s different. He wouldn’t say that it was too far, even for someone like his father, but truth be told, he’s never known fear like this. The scars on his chest from the pointed touch of his father’s knife, or the smell of burning skin beneath a hot iron, or the puckering hole left by a gunshot wound had nothing on the sadistic things that Riko even thought of doing. He didn’t know how long he sits, or stands, or lies in that room for, hands holding him down, darkness of black walls parallel to the wet fabric over his eyes - and mouth, and nose, tight around the edges with rogue breaths finding their way beneath water and the penetrable thing that it pours onto.

“It will be much more satisfying if you just hand me over to my father,” Neil’s coughs are wet after he vomits out the water that had made its way to his stomach. It’s not until he looks up, and Riko’s eyes are on Jean instead of him, that he realises he’s spoken in French. He switched to English while spitting out water through gargling burps and coughs. “The master will kill you if I don’t come out of here alive.”

“I will be happy at least,” Riko shoves two fingers down Neil’s throat while pulling on his hair. He wipes the watery puke that coats his fingers onto Neil’s face after he vomits again from the force of Riko’s touch at the back of his throat. The noise that leaves his lips is guttural and unintentional. “Perhaps a long and painful death will be enough of a lesson learned for you. Oh, aren’t you having fun?”

Andrew’s voice pulls him back, again, but this time he grips Neil’s face so tightly it will leave a mark. “Come back,” he says, or maybe it’s, “fucking breathe.”

Neil battles against the flood that fills his mouth with no escape. There’s no room for air. There’s no room to breathe.

“Ten minutes,” Jean says, and the water stops. “We cannot be late.”

Then a rogue breath slips through, and another, and another, and the bathroom comes back into focus. Andrew is sitting in front of him, his face still as he waits for Neil to come back.

It’s a while before Neil’s heart starts to slow, and the bath is long emptied.

A long time since Neil had had such a visceral reaction to the next, perhaps the worst part about it all is the reminder of how much Neil had forgotten about the treatment he’d endured at the nest. If he’d forgotten about something as serious as torture banned by the Geneva Convention, what else had happened? What else had his mind stored away, too traumatising to be kept in view? Riko’s proclivity to going so far as committing an act that is considered a war crime is as unsurprising as it is fitting. It angers Neil, much angrier than he’s felt about Riko since his death. He remembers it in terrible and vivid snippets; the things Jean said to him afterwards, the smile on Riko’s face as he watched Neil come back from the brink over and over and over again. He remembers drying himself off afterwards to pull gear on over his head to start their evening practices with water in his lungs and a blur over his eyes. All he had wanted to do was sleep. Jean had helped him shower afterwards as he fought through laboured breath while avoiding the spray of water.

“Where were you?” Andrew asks, quietly, as neither of them dare to move.

It frustrated Neil to be unable to find the exact location of the incident in his head. Were they in the locker room? Or had a door locked behind them, keeping the Ravens out, who pretended to ignore the muffled screams as they walked past?

“Evermore,” Neil answers, and it doesn’t seem to be the answer Andrew is expecting. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Andrew doesn’t need the clarification, but still he nods.

“Riko,” Neil looks at his hands, and they’re shaking as he flexes his fingers. “He fucking waterboarded me. And I forgot.”

A flash of unmedicated rage crosses in front of Andrew’s vision. He doesn’t seem to have the right words to say, no response appropriate enough to explain what he wished he could do to the king.

“I’d kill him if I could,” Neil rests his fists on the floor. “I wish I pulled that trigger myself.”

“And still it wouldn’t be enough,” Andrew agrees. It’s hard to talk about the nest, even with him, especially with him. They both are too aware of what happened over those few weeks, in Evermore, in Easthaven. Neil knows too well how Andrew hates how he was unable to protect him. “Talk to me.”

“He would’ve killed me,” Neil says. “He would’ve kept going if we didn’t have to practice.”

Andrew can’t hide his grimace. It’s the part about Exy that he fears Kevin or Neil will find themselves toxically invested in - he occasionally worries their investment is born from necessity instead of true purpose. He sees their passion, clear as day, but that part that fears a life without it sometimes felt like it swallowed their passion whole.

“What do you need?” He asks.

“To know he’s burning in hell for the rest of eternity,” Neil pushes himself up to a standing position, and Andrew follows. Andrew doesn’t exactly hold out his arms, but something about his body language invites him close. As Neil steps into his space, he reaches out to hold his neck, as he hovers a hand over Andrew’s chest until he nods in permission for him to place it. Neil rests him head on Andrew’s shoulder as the goalkeepers fingers hold the damp hair at the back of his neck. “I have to talk to Kevin.”

Andrew doesn’t respond.

He simply holds Neil for as long as it takes for him to ground himself back on earth.

[withacapitalp]

Okay so @lazylittledragon I am so sorry to just randomly toss this at you and run, but I COULD NOT RESIST AFTER THAT LAST MOMBIN POST!!!! For anyone that hasn't seen it this is inspired by this amazing amazing art

tw: Pregnancy and Childbirth

“Steve I can’t do this-” Robin choked out, unable to complete her sentence as a new wave of pain crashed over her. The plastic of the birthing pool squeaked under her knees as she tried to find any position that would be even slightly more comfortable, her fingers squeezing tightly against Steve’s that were trapped in her iron grip. 

“Yeah you can! Robinbird, look at you. You’re already doing it!” Steve said, completely in awe of her, acting like she was doing something special when she was just barely managing to hold on. 

He had done this for the whole pregnancy. Every little thing, every milestone, all of it a marvel to him. Like she was brilliant, special, thriving when Robin had spent most of the last nine months alternating between crying, yelling, and crying some more. All of this over something that women went through every single day. 

God she had been a mess and now she was messier than ever. 

“No, Steve, I mean I don’t think I can do this alone,” Robin sobbed, the tears she had managed to hold back all day finally breaking through. She was hurting, confused, scared, and more than anything she wanted her own mama here with her, which was really something she never thought she would want. 

One and done. One and done. She was only going to fuck up one kid. Just like her mom.

A delirious giggle cut through her sobbing, and Robin leaned her forehead against their conjoined hands, continuing to babble. 

“I thought I could, I really did, but he’s here, and he’s mine, and I can’t do it alone, Steve. I can’t do this alone-”

Because that was the scary part, wasn’t it? She was alone. She had chosen to do this all by herself, ignoring every person, including her sainted mother, who tried to convince her to wait till she had a partner. She had ignored them all, so sure of herself and her abilities, and now all she could think about was how easy it was going to be to fuck this kid up when there was no one there to help her.  

“Alone?” Steve said with a wild laugh, a slightly feral look in his eyes as he raised his free hand up and cupped Robin’s cheek, lifting up her head and brushing away her tears, letting her lean into his familiar, safe, touch, “Now who’s being a dingus?”

Robin shut her eyes against the latest contraction, taking a deep breath in, smelling Steve’s cologne as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead, holding onto her tight through the pain. He had always done that. Period cramps, headaches, flu and colds, whatever had happened, Steve had been there. 

Steve was here now. 

Steve was here. 

“Robin, you are not alone. You have never been alone, and you will never be alone,” He whispered furiously into her ear, reading her mind the way he always had, “As long as there is breath in my body, you and this baby will never be alone.” 

He had proved it over and over again. Running to get ice cream at three am, holding her hand at every ultrasound, standing in front of their 'how many times have we cried' board, kneeling here on the floor for god knows how many hours it would take to get this GD baby out. 

“You’re here?” Robin said softly into the space between just the two of them, her voice wobbling and shaky, but still alive. 

“Forever.” Steve promised. 

[saltpepperbeard]

Ed and the Aux Closet in Season 2: Bonkers Bananas Screenshot Analysis™

Hello hello everyone! So, as you may know, I've been snuffling the season 2 teaser frontwards backwards sideways diagonally etc etc, ingesting all the yummy theories everyone has been sharing, and subsequently noticing all sorts of different things.

Lately, my biggest interest has stemmed from this post by @amuseoffyre, who pointed out that it's very VERY likely that Ed was playing with his sweet, sad little wedding toppers in the aux closet. And naturally I was like oOOOAGHGGHHG, but then wanted to set out to see if I could find any more clues. And when stepping through the teaser for the umpteenth time...

Girlies (gn), what is that,,,

GIRLIES (GN), WHAT IS THAT????

Now lmao, this might already be common knowledge. Someone might have already pointed it out. And if that's the case, pls forgive, but also, I invite you to come cartwheeling along with my BRAIN GYMNASTICS HERE LMAO-

Because, I promptly flipped my shit, and then vaguely recalled someone else wondering if Ed had replaced the very obvious little mannequin/style doll handle with something more fitting to his current aesthetic. And then promptly flipped my shit even MORE, because yeah, that's a random little black skull handle, and would lead me to believe that he still actively keeps the closet a secret...

BECAUSE HE STILL USES IT.

BUT THEN LMAO, I WAS LIKE...SURELY NOT. SUUUUURELY NOT. I was like I'm over here being ✨delusional✨, and Izzy is likely standing somewhere else in the cabin. So I looked at other episodes to scope out the whole cabin, thinking he might have been standing to the left of the bed nook with those red curtains on his right, effectively putting him on the wrong side for the aux cabinet...

BUT NO LMAO--

VINDICATIONNNNNN

BUT THEN LMAO, I still had an ounce of doubt, because I was like...The little mannequin/doll oddly doesn't seem to be on that shelf in that shot??? But then I was like,,, I very much recall Ed shuffling into the closet when he was having his panic attack, and remember that being on the right side of the bed nook. And so I checked and

RIGHT SIDE OF THE BED NOOK INDEED BAYBEEEEEEE

SO ANYWAY UHHHH YEAH COOL COOL VERY COOL ED DEFINITELY SEEMED TO HAVE KEPT THE HANDLE A SECRET/CHANGED IT TO SOMETHING ELSE,,,

And it seems to be in about the same place--DEFINITELY on the same shelf and on the same side. Soooooo lmao MMMMMMMMMMMMMM :)))

And what kills me even more about all of this, is the notches pointing to him commonly being in that space/on that side of the cabin. Every single day, he's spent time over there. He's occupied that space enough to keep track of all the lost moments. He could be doing that ANYWHERE else in the cabin, and yet he's doing so RIGHT THERE.

And why change the mannequin/subsequently hide the closet away if there was nothing TO hide?

[iamfuckingsorry]

i'm sorry but like. i played the game for the first time like a month ago (and it absolutely wrecked me, it was beautiful), and i just can't stop thinking about this and i need to get it out. but like, kim, what the fuck is the deal with kim?

like, he's just such a weird little man with such a weird little collection of character traits, but also he's just so fucking perfect.

like, kim. he spent 15 years being a cop in a department he fucking hated but he just stuck it out. he is so done with teens he basically refuses to speak to them unless he absolutely has to, but he still spent 15 fucking years in that section, refusing to give up. he's proud to be a revacholian and to protect the city now, but did he feel this way when he joined the RCM? or did he join to prove to everyone that even a monkey fucker like him could be revacholian? or did he join because he got kicked out of the orphanage he grew up at and didn't have anywhere else to go? or was there a different reason altogether?

and look at him now. he's presumably one of the best cops in his precint (i'm sure he mentions something about this early on in the game but i honestly can't remember), and one that seems to mostly play fair and genuinely care, which doesn't seem to be that common at all. and he's proud of this and strives to always be professional and calm and collected even if he doesn't always fully manage. he keeps himself in check first and foremost, and seems to try to keep everyone at an arm's length and not engage in personal discussions, even though he will often indulge harry if directly asked.

and so far it all makes sense, right? he's been treated like shit all throughout his life, dealt a fairly shitty hand, an orphan, an immigrant, a homo, possibly visually impaired (has he always needed glasses? was he able to get them as a broke-ass kid with no one to speak on his behalf? or did he grow up never able to see properly, struggling in school because he could never read the board or react in time when people threw shit at him, made fun of by both teachers and classmates?), mocked and ridiculed, and he's had to fight hard to get to where he is now. and he desperately needs to keep it this way, so he works hard and sticks to the rules and keeps his distance from people, and he puts a stop to everyone and everything that people could make fun of (no, harry, you will /not/ call me kimball, you will call me Lt kitsuragi, no, harry, you will /not/ tell anyone about the ice bear fridge, i will /not/ be known as the ice bear cop). but he's also mostly a genuinely nice and compassionate person and he really cares, as long as people are at least trying to do good.

but also…

he basically wears period cosplay to work. like. for real, he clearly wears his fucking pilot jacket so often that having the RCM insignia sewn onto it was the most logical choice. he is so obviously into planes and cars (but he's too blind to be a pilot :), do you think he used to hate himself as a kid not only because he was poor and abandoned by everyone and "an immigrant" but also because not even his own fucking body would let him be what he wanted to be), he has an extremely expensive vehicle that's his, his only, and not even really needed for the stuff he does at work the majority of the time. he clearly had to have a chat with his boss at some point in time and justify this purchase and why the car should be permanently assigned to him and him only, and even if i'm sure he had a bunch of actual reasons you can't convince me that his boss and all of his colleagues weren't all aware that really, he just wanted a fast fucking car and had an excuse to get it. and clearly the higher ups like him enough to indulge him, because surely no one would be actually fooled? why would a crime investigator get it and not, like, the fucking traffic guys chasing drunk drivers and illegal racers every night?

and like, in some ways he fucking owns it, doesn't seem to give a fuck, he's who he is and if people don't like it that's not his problem. but he's also embarassed about listening to that fucking radio station. but he also drives a sports car and wears driving gloves and a pilot jacket, of course he's listen to that fucking radio station. but then he also does newspaper crosswords. like, he seems to put a into maintaining this facade of professionality, but he also really doesn't fucking care when it comes to a lot of the stuff, it's great. except for the extremely random stuff that he does care about and can get extremely flustered about momentarily.

and it feels really out of character in a way. he works so hard on keeping himself in check at all times, representing the RCM in a good light and making sure both him and others get treated with the respect they deserve. he smokes one cigarette a day to keep proving to himself he can keep his vices in check, for fuck's sake. but then it's like he just picked one (1) part of his personality where he just went like, fuck it. Fuck it, I work hard for this shit and I deserve to do what I want sometimes too, and this one fucking thing is innocent enough and safe enough, and I don't give a fuck, I deserve /one fucking thing/ and I'm gonna get it. I'm getting the goddamn jacket and the Kineema and if people have a problem with that, they can go fuck themselves. I /need/ this one thing and I. Am. Getting. It.

(it's clearly a big part of his personality, but do you think there were other massive interests in the past, or maybe there still are others he isn't as open about with? Things he thinks would undermine his career and reputation? Past hobbies he abandoned because if anyone found out, that would be the end of his career at the RCM, even though for anyone else who wasn't a stupid fucking immigrant who can't even see right it would be a funny little detail?)

anyway.

i'm just like. stay the way you are, my weird little man. you're great.

[haomnyangz]

i am once again thinking abt the aqua axelea team attack dialogue

[bloodrock-lobster]

Okay so here's a question, because literally EVERYONE gives me shit about this

note: I know skunk and weed can smell similar but that's not the controversial question here

[luneariann]

I have this vision of a drunk Dazai sending Chuuya voicemails but like, back when he was in hiding, and idk what to do with it

[stiffyck]

hello everyone please enjoy this unfinished desert duo piece 

[maychild]

listen, respectfully, i wholeheartedly believe tharn fell first and phaya is falling harder.

did we forget the first ep and the flashback to how they met before training started??? when chart was being an ahole at the restaurant, picked on tharn, and phaya had to kick his butt?? remember that scene?

phaya took tharn’s arm, dragging him out, and tharn’s look said, i’d follow you anywhere and anytime, my love.

AND THEY HAD JUST MET AHAHDJDJSJS that scene is still making me insane four episodes later

AND EVEN YAI KNEW IT AND HE DIDNT HAVE A CLUE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED IN THE RESTAURANT

i know it was a comedic scene and so easily dismissed but that is totally where everything started for them, i truly believe (in this life)

[the-kings-jester]

Truly the gayest thing I've ever heard was Arthur Lester saying 'it just felt wrong' in regards to marrying a woman.

He may not be queer but that mother fucker is coded somethin FIERCE. What the hell

[charmac]

[ward-against-blight]

First impressions of Karamelle so far:

What the fuck?

No seriously, what in the hell is happening? Everything about this makes me so uncomfy. The awful “it’s a small world” parody background music, all of the NPC’s soulless dead eyes, the weird theme park/capitalistic hellscape vibes, the LOADING SCREEN with Nana’s FACE-

And I thought going from Krysalis to Polaris was tonal whiplash

[leafatlaw]

ok so spoilers, but the way Jimmy spent the entire session chasing Scott, but it was only when Scott was in the end with Lizzie that she died first. Something something blessing, something about Scott finally being able to save his first ally

[jobackmanhorsesworld]

and in the end, you became what i cried about instead of who i cried to.

[prosebushpatch]

the slippers are made of glass because its awesome where's your whimsy, where's your basic human decency if you don't like it kindly enjoy another genre that isn't FILLED WITH impossible dresses made of moonlight or silver. I'm sorry, you need someone to explain how a glass slipper wouldn't be impossible to dance in? a glass slipper that came from a FAIRY Godmother? Are you going to nitpick spinning straw into gold, too? You sound like the people who complain about musicals having music. It's about the beauty in imagination. It's about emotion manifesting impossible things. You don't have to like it. You don't have to engage with it. but that is the Point of this genre. the slippers are made of glass because it's awesome.

sometimes that's all it needs to be.