#it's okay they're mostly a metaphor

[scribefindegil]

Can't believe I have to put plot-relevant tomatoes in this fic. Terrible.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

pinning to the workshop corkboard: you've heard of winston "i'm cassandra" billions clairvoyance concepts for fun & profit, hear also of winston billions sphinx concepts (you must be This understanding of what he means to proceed)

[comicaurora]

Nick Bostrom's "Fable of the Dragon Tyrant," which CGP Grey adapted into a video, left me feeling unsatisfied, and I got a certain unsettling vibe about the entire story.

I don't think it was the dragon's lack of agency, that just makes it an unusually traditional Western dragon.

You're a master at picking narratives apart to figure out why they don't satisfy. Do you have any insight, opinions, or cracktheories about why this story might be unsatisfying to some folks?

Probably because it's a very unsubtle metaphor casting the dragon as death, and death itself as a cruel, malevolent beast devouring and subjugating humanity for its own whims. This is very much intentional on the part of the writer. The paradigm of the story is that the dragon is huge, terrifying and incalculably cruel, and everyone lives their lives in the shadow of its terror or are just too deluded to recognize that it's COMING TO EAT THEM OH GOD

Intrinsic in this metaphorical structure is the idea that the dragon, aka death, is an artificial imposition on the natural order, and if we just got rid of the big ol' mean dragon, everybody would live forever and be fine. Accepting that the dragon exists is framed as a sign of desperation or even cowardice. This is an understandable read when facing a monster that only SEEMS timeless and inevitable (like LeGuin's thoughts comparing the current state of capitalism to the historical acceptance of the divine right of kings) but becomes bizarre when applied to something as legitimately factual as biological death. It's not even framed as unnatural death - the dragon specifically gets sent mostly old people. The metaphor is very explicitly about trying to frame death from old age as a big horrible dragon that everyone only thinks is unstoppable.

I get what they're going for here. The purpose of this story is to make the audience question if death is a true inevitability or if it can be fought, staved off, even defeated. But in the process, the story frames the systems of the world that have formed around death - doctors, pallative caregivers, will executors - as macabre gears in the machine dedicated to the genocidal cruelty of feeding the dragon.

In the dragon tyrant framing, these people only exist to make the rest of the world more okay with flinging themselves down the gullet of the dragon and to streamline the process by which everybody dies. By casting death as the enemy, everybody whose jobs are based on the compassionate act of comforting and aiding people suffering from loss become reframed as collaborators with the incalculably evil enemy, and everyone who's ever accepted their own death becomes a loser. This is a deeply cruel way to frame people who dedicate their lives to helping people through one of the hardest and most tragic aspects of life.

Damn, that's fucked up. Look at this eloquent idiot, explaining why we should be okay with letting a big dragon eat us because it's the natural order. Clearly he is wrong and it's not debasing at all to want to stay alive and not get eaten by a big dragon. This is a fallacy of false analogy: death is like being eaten by a big mean dragon. All his arguments look ridiculous when applied to getting eaten by a big mean dragon, therefore they must be ridiculous when applied to dying when your organs start failing because they've been running nonstop for nine decades and biological systems accumulate wear and tear like literally everything else in the universe.

Entropy increases; systems break down, from DNA to planetary orbits. Successfully shoot down the dragon and you'll end up outliving everything you thought was eternal, even the stars. The goal of immortality isn't really to personally witness the sun exploding, it's to have more good time. It's to make your twenties last into your sixties. It's to keep your back painless and your vision good for longer. We want to postpone the story's end as long as we can, and so we extrapolate "more time" into "I never want to die, I want to be young and healthy and hot forever" even though "forever" doesn't exist. To look to "forever" is to understand that your culture and language will drift, your home will eventually crumble out from under you, your shoreline will erode and change, your climate will transform, your tectonic plate will subduct or shatter, your moon's orbit will slow and tidally lock, and eventually your sun will start burning helium and cook your planet. You don't want "forever" to look like that, you want it to look like your twenties felt. But at that point you aren't fighting the Big Mean Dragon That Eats People, you're fighting the ocean and the biosphere and the earth and the stars, trying to hold them in place against entropy so your immortality can have an equally immortal world to enjoy it in. No, this argument doesn't want true immortality, it wants their twenties to last longer. But it can't admit that.

Back to the story. There's a condescending and spiteful tone in the narration. Death (being eaten by a big mean dragon) is OBVIOUSLY awful and we should all be fighting as hard as we can to make it stop happening. Even a child can see it.

The story even helpfully adds a lengthy moral explanation at the end, in case you didn't understand that the dragon was the inevitability of death and we should dedicate all our resources to figuring out how to make a big rocket and shoot it.

"Nobody should ever die" is generally understood to be a childish dream with extremely obvious and unpleasant consequences that would turn its realization into an unending and waking nightmare, and once out of the confines of easy metaphor, the story tries to act like that wasn't what it was just saying. But its more realistic proposed substitute, "It would be great if people could live longer and have more healthy, youthful years in them," is probably the world's most uncontroversial statement. This story frames it like a bold revelation that the world will attempt to beat down and crush out of a misguided acceptance that Big Mean Dragon comes for us all. It's a morality fable whose conclusion is "I hope science improves the length and quality of our lives, potentially even to the point where we never have to die at all," which has been the number one goal of huge swaths of science since the invention of agriculture. This is not a bold or controversial take. It's just being written as though we're all looking at the naked emperor and pretending he's wearing pants.

[thefreakandthehair]

steddie | rating: m | wc: 955 | tags: established relationship, use of cake as a metaphor, they're so in love your honor | art credit: @firefly-party

Eddie Munson celebrates two birthdays every year: the day he was actually born, December 19th, and the day he woke up in the hospital, April 8th. Funny enough, the latter is usually a bigger celebration. Family and friends that no longer exist in separate groups come together with all of Eddie’s foods and drinks, small gifts and sometimes, a bigger gift from the collective.

Try as they might, they’ve yet to top the Metallica tickets. 

But today is Eddie’s original birthday. December 19th— the one that’s usually swallowed up by the holidays, the one that really doesn’t mean all that much to him because, well, compared to waking up after saving the world, why would it? The last few celebrations have been tight-knit, mostly just himself, Wayne, and Steve either at Wayne’s trailer or the tiny little apartment Steve and Eddie managed to find for themselves. 

This year, it’s just the two of them with no one to blame but Mother Nature. A blizzard drops nearly three feet of snow over northeastern Indiana and no one is going anywhere, least of all Wayne whose getting up there in years. We'll make up for it later, Eddie assures him when he calls with a stream of apologies. 

How can he complain though? Wayne will make up for it, he’s snowed in with the love of his life, and the apartment smells like his favorite pasta sauce, the one he knows takes Steve hours to simmer. So no, he’s not disappointed. Not in the slightest. 

“Sorry your day got snowed out,” Steve sighs, plopping down onto the couch and draping an arm along the back of the couch, toying with the ends of Eddie’s hair. “I did get you a surprise though.” 

Eddie’s brow furrows, knitting tightly above his nose. There’s been no mail for two days, and their apartment doesn’t exactly lend itself to keeping secrets. “A surprise? What kinda surprise?”

“Well,” Steve smirks, confident in the way that always makes something stir in Eddie’s chest. “It’s not a birthday without a cake.” 

He’s so fucking lost. 

“A cake? We’ve been snowed in since Sunday and I would’ve smelled you baking in here. Also, I would’ve tasted it already, or at least demanded to lick the spoon so— wait, what are you doing?” 

Steve stands up and walks around the back of the couch, just behind Eddie. “Just close your eyes, okay? Or do I need to blindfold you?”

He can hear Steve’s smug grin without even seeing his face and now it’s not just his chest stirring. Eddie shifts I’m his seat. 

“No, no I can just close my eyes. Put a pin in the blindfold idea though.“ 

With his eyes closed, all he can do is imagine what the rustling is behind him, scenarios that will never compare to the sight he sees when Steve gives him the all clear. 

“Okay,” Steve says, his voice now coming from directly in front of Eddie. “Open.”

Very funny, brain, he thinks. My entire life since the demobats has to have been just one long, final burst of dopamine before kicking the bucket because there’s absolutely no way this is fucking real. 

Steve’s standing in front of him, shirtless, in nothing but some of the tightest shorts he’s seen Steve wear since the time he blindly walked into Scoops Ahoy asking for rum raisin and instead, got a fucking show. They’re dark maroon in hue with the word Cake printed in white script across the entirety of Steve’s ass. Moles litter his skin from the base of his neck down the flesh of his thighs, and the small indentation in his lower back is highlighted by the low waistband. Barely noticeable cuts in the sides expose what looks like black lace detailing. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie groans, unable to stop himself from reaching out and touching the soft, cotton material. 

“Yeah?” Steve looks over his shoulder with a knowing smile. “You like it?” 

Eddie fingers trace the font and he doesn’t even dare to blink. If it is a coma dream, he doesn’t want to risk waking up. “Do I like it? If I ever say no to that, Steve, take me into a field and off me because I’ve been replaced by the body snatchers.” 

Steve laughs and Eddie pulls him in closer, one hand on Steve’s hip and the other working its way up Steve’s thigh and beneath the fabric.

“Y’know,” Eddie starts, swallowing with a dry mouth around the lump in his throat. “There’s just one little problem with this birthday cake.”

“What?” Steve looks back over his shoulder again, this time confused. 

He gives his right cheek a light tap, just enough to relish in the way the plush flesh moves. “It’s not finished.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it need?” 

“You know I need my cakes frosted. And c’mon,” he leans forward and presses a kiss to Steve’s hairy thigh, just below the hem of the shorts. “Where’s the candle?”

Steve turns with a teasing grimace. “Did you just compare your dick to a candle?”

“Sure did. Is it working?” He smiles with his bottom lip between his teeth as he stands and places both hands in Steve’s hips. 

“I can’t believe it, but yeah, it kinda is.” Steve’s eyes flicker down to Eddie’s lips and back up. 

Eddie can barely get his thoughts in order, placing both hands on either side of Steve’s face and kissing him between words. 

“Best.” He kisses his forehead. “Birthday.” He kisses his nose. “Ever.” He kisses his lips. 

They make their way back to the bedroom and no one can blame him for leaving Steve’s ass littered in purpling hickies and love bites. 

It’s a cake, after all.

art by @firefly-party to celebrate @sidekick-hero's birthday today! here's a little collaboration to honor our favorite Cake Enthusiast! Sandy, we love you and hope you have the absolute best day. go give her some love, everyone!

[inkskinned]

something that stuck with me once, way back in middle school when i was still learning how to write - my teacher said "writing shock and tragedy is easy, it's humor that's the hardest."

i have been up and down the halls of academia. i have the fancy degree and the experience in publishing. i think i paved most of my own road with the little bricks of sorrow i had stored inside of me. i know i did it mostly with works that are blisteringly lonely. i know why we write like that. it's lifesaving.

but yeah, i mean. i also know how much people think that "sad" media is the same thing as "good" media. our human desire to connect is so hard-pressed that we immediately latch onto any broken themes. the bullied kids and the tales of inspiration. people keep saying things like "glass onion" and "everything everywhere" weren't actually good. because, you know, they're. happy. or happy-ish. happy enough. and we only value art if it's grimdark-adjacent.

do you know - people still consistently whine at me that my writing would be so good if i just capitalized things. i used to flinch. i get kind of a weird, vindictive little rush these days - i get to say thank you for the comment! i have chronic pain and this is how i conserve my hands so i can write more during the day :) grammar isn't real anyway! and now they're trapped in the room with me, you know? i get to pull out my map and show them how grammar is not the same thing as good writing.

writers have this thing. we scratch at our insides, constantly, prying our lives apart into splinters. prying the splinters apart into atoms. when we combust something into poetry, we control it. it cannot hurt us if it exists outside of us rather than burning a hole through the bottom of our lungs. it's not a wonder to me that so much of what i make comes out like a death gasp. i spent a long time at the bottom. i keep going back, too. when you're down there for so long, the only thing you can exhale is fumes.

but humor is hard. humor needs timing; which i can't promise in a paragraph. i can kind-of force it through careful spacing, but i have no idea how fast you're reading these things. humor needs a somewhat awareness of your audience, when really - anybody could be looking. humor needs us to understand what the joke is, why it's a joke, and to think - ha! that is funny. in tragedy, everyone understands the metaphor of a kicked puppy. in humor, you need to introduce them to the concept of a dog.

and forget about positivity. forget about anything not made for adults explicitly. every time i see a well-made children's media piece, i feel fucking horrible for the creators. most of the time, people see children's media as being sort of "not worth" applause, even though i'm pretty sure they have to work twice as hard. i have no idea how hard it must be to not be able to have your character just say. "well, fuck." something about a message of peace or friendship or caring - for some reason, that makes the media not for adults. like, okay. i'm pretty sure my father actually, out of all of us, could use a good book on how to control his temper and talk about his feelings.

but whatever. i write a short story about my ocd, and how it's fucking killing me. it gets an award. it gets published. i write a short story about my ocd, and how i'm overcoming it, and how my days are getting lighter and starting to flourish. i keep getting ghosted. no response. it just is lacking... something.

is this it, forever? you can be an artist, okay. but the trade off is that the things you make - if they're happy? if they're joyful? people will say it's stupid and pandering. you bite your nails off. you file your teeth. you hear something inside of you breaking.

the other day in a writing group, someone i'd thought of as a friend said: "you write so much better these days! i love what you make when you'd rather be dead."

[c-rowlesblogs]

Heya! Just as a heads up, the image captioned "Blue Birch Marsh, 2024 by Jef Bourgeau." that you reblogged is AI generated, it's a bummer

ARGGHHHHHH thank you for letting me know. I considered myself good at spotting AI images, but they're getting extremely sophisticated. Ugh ugh ugh.

Edit: I found the artist's website and I'm watching a video about his work to double-check that it's actually AI, because the descriptions I've found of his work have some nuance to them: https://detroitmona.wixsite.com/artgarage/video

Edit 2: lmaooooo okay, I found his instagram (@jef_bourgeau) and his stuff, at least as far down as I was willing to scroll, is very clearly wholly or mostly AI-generated. And the statement in the description of each post is instantly recognizable as AI weasel words:

“As Jerry Saltz notes, Bourgeau has been at the forefront of embracing new technologies to push the boundaries of art, from the 1980’s to the present day. His willingness to explore and adapt to new tools has allowed him to stay innovative and relevant, making him an exciting figure in the contemporary art scene.”

Well. Bourgeau’s unwillingness to note which AI tools he is using to create each piece seems to me like he’s trying to have his cake and eat it too: taking credit for these pretty, dreamlike images and presenting them as his innovative, boundary-pushing artwork, while not outright admitting to his many adoring commenters that a computer generated this stuff from a paragraph of description and keywords.

lol @ this exchange in the comments of the piece above:

a metaphor for endings. Give me a break. Like all AI artists, He’s trying to sound poetic while interpreting a computer’s hallucinations like a fortune-teller reading a bunch of scattered oracle bones.

And just for fun, some obvious AI mooshiness from another piece on his IG:

[kelsonius]

What I find really interesting about Dungeon Meshi is how it explores the role of humans/humanoids in an ecosystem and what is okay to consume.

Take the kelpie for example. Senshi is attached to the kelpie that frequently joins him while he's fishing, even naming her. Marcille also thinks it's cute and supports the idea of Senshi riding it. After that doesn't turn out well Senshi apologises while delivering the killing blow, appearing remorseful. Nevertheless, he himself sets out to salvage usable ingredients from the now deceased kelpie and even Marcille uses some of its fat for soap.

That is an example of exactly the type of relationship I think humans should have with livestock animals. I'm mostly vegan (occasional exceptions made for fish and eggs) both because of the environmental and animal rights issues with large scale livestock farming/the meat industry. However, I very much support a harmonious approach shown by indigenous peoples and small scale farming for example. Where, similar to Senshi and the kelpie, the animal lives a good life and is loved by its keepers until it is killed and all its parts are utilised.

There is also something to be said about people's involvement in the slaughter of animals so they respect the origin of their favourite products, like Marcille with the soap, since that is likely one of the reasons people currently consume animal products in such copious amounts. I regrettably didn't save the post in my drafts, but I saw someone on here talk about how far removed we are in the west from the origin of our meat products and how absurd it is that people are disgusted by a fish served with its head for example.

Meanwhile, Laios and Chilchuck are arguing over whether it's okay to eat a fish-man since it resembles a humanoid. Laios naturally wants to eat everything but Chilchuck has reservations when it comes to humanoids. This comes up in later episodes as well, where the rest of the crew appears to have fewer reservations since the creatures are being killed in self-defense and they're now seeing the utility of not letting resources go to waste.

Now I wonder if they'll take it as far as cannibalism, but humanoids are already a close metaphor. In any case, it is a great way to showcase how the arbitrary values we attribute to different species influences what we consider to be acceptable food, even though it's all just meat. I mean, I could never slaughter a cat for example but somehow would be fine with eating human flesh...

[harmonictechnicality]

*based off this awesome art right here by @chocoarts - the sketch on the left in particular :)

It doesn’t take long for Steve to get used to Eddie’s raised-by-wolves levels of affection. The hair chewing and the shoulder nibbles and the freckle licking. It’s never classified normal stuff - definitely not stuff he ever did with dainty Hawkins High girls, that’s for damn sure.

But still, it takes no time to get used to it. Full on expects it, by now. The most notable time that Steve is expecting it is on their one year anniversary.

Two months prior to the Big Day, Eddie's spontaneity and Steve's boredom led to an impulsive stick-and-poke tattoo on Steve's forearm. Eddie wanted to give Steve a simple crown. Told him it was to reclaim the stupid nickname from high school, make it his own.

'Overthrow all the teenaged bullshit. Kick trauma in the metaphorical ass.' Eddie had said after completing it, smiling up at Steve. 'It's what kings do best.'

After that day, Steve decides to add on to his impulsive tattoo and surprise Eddie with it. He gets one small bat, just like the ones on Eddie's arm. Gets it right next to the crown, side-by-side. The same way they all fought together a while back.

As soon as Eddie sees the addition, he tackles Steve, linebacker style. Steve is ready for it, totally braces for the aggressive affection. Fucking loves it. Expects it.

However, Eddie doesn't just stop there. Oh no. He climbs up Steve's body, tightly wrapping his arms around Steve's neck. Wraps his legs around Steve's upper arms even tighter.

Which... how the hell did Eddie get so flexible? And when the hell did Eddie get so flexible? Like, yeah they do some semi-contortionist stuff in the bedroom, mostly when they're hyped up on sugary soft drinks.

But this? This is... new. Wild.

He clutches on to Steve like he's a goddamn tree trunk. Some rare tree species that's in grave danger of being chopped down from the rainforest or whatever. He’s making lots of pleased sounds, singing maybe. Hard to tell for sure.

Steve holds Eddie firmly, hands underneath his thigh, his back, anywhere that he can get a solid grip. Keeps him safe from whatever corporate bulldozer that dares to take down their weirdly amazing love.

"Shit, I'm crazy about you." Eddie nuzzles into Steve's hair. "Like... totally and completely."

Steve laughs, comes out a bit strangled from the way Eddie is clinging to him. "Guessing you like it, huh?"

"Duh." Eddie slides off, connecting their hands on his way down.

"It represents-"

"I know what it represents." Eddie interrupts, his expression softens from the reminder, the difficult topic they're both skipping around. "You don't have to say it."

He does though, Steve has to say it. Needs to say it the same exact way Eddie had said it to him two months ago.

Because yeah, they act tough about what went down that night. But that doesn't mean they should just be stuck in a cycle of Acting Tough. Pretending to be okay all the damn time.

So Steve takes Eddie's arm, the one that's covered with tiny bat silhouettes. He holds their two arms together and carefully brushes over each tattoo design. Tells Eddie to reclaim the stupid scars that litter his body.

"Fight off all the inter-dimensional bullshit. Kick trauma's metaphorical ass." Steve smiles up at Eddie, who suddenly looks serious, focused. "It's what heroes do best."

"Steve." The seriousness is wiped clean off of Eddie's face. It's quickly replaced with a gentle grin. Relief reaching over his furrowed brow. No more worry lines. No more grimace. He looks at ease. Content, maybe.

And as much as Steve enjoys making Eddie feel content, he wants him happier right now. So he switches up the energy, tries to lighten the mood a little. Steve hooks his fingers into Eddie's front pockets, readying to pull him in.

It's predictable, been his go to make-out move any time they're standing up. This is a special fucking day, however, and that calls for a Special Edition Make-Out Move.

So Steve digs each hand deep into Eddie's pockets, wiggles them around a bit. Watches Eddie's cheeks go pink, blotchy red in some places. Steve moves all of the coins and lint and questionable items out of the way, making room.

He takes deep breath, then yanks the seams at the very bottom of each pocket, flipping the material inside out. Sticking straight up from his jeans.

Eddie is all red now, flushed down to his neck. "What the..."

Steve tugs on the flipped out pocket seams, jolting Eddie closer. He lands on Steve's lips, colliding a bit roughly. For a second, they're too busy smiling to kiss properly. But Steve slides his hands up Eddie's chest, around his neck, scratches the tiny hairs on the back of Eddie's head, and that's it. That's all that it takes for them to get lost in the kiss.

Eddie's mouth opens, biting the center of Steve's bottom lip. Breathes out the warmest air as he lets go, returns to a softer approach. Steve licks over the spot, soothes the pulse that Eddie left behind.

"That was... different. " Eddie laughs. He swipes his tongue over Steve's cupids bow, traces an outline until Steve is laughing too.

"Bad different?" Steve asks.

"Not at all." Eddie shakes Steve by the shoulders like he’s nuts for asking such an outrageous question. "Besides, different is right up my alley, babe."

"I'm highly aware."

"Didn't realize I was such a bad influence on your freakier side."

"What can I say?" Steve shrugs, steals one of Eddie’s rings to twirl around his finger. "I'm very easily persuaded."

They head over to the couch, kissing haphazardly as they flop down. Eddie tugs and twists at the fabric of Steve’s shirt, stretching it out. Wrinkling it. Steve couldn’t care less if it gets ruined because Eddie will be the one ruining it.

Eddie sighs into the kiss. Not a sexy sigh either (which are obviously Steve’s favorite of the sighing variety). It sounds more shocked. Disbelief or something.

Steve angles his head away from the kiss to see that Eddie’s eyes are open, wandering all over Steve’s face. It’s pretty cute, seeing Eddie too busy just staring to even shut his eyes mid-kiss. Like his schedule is too jam-packed up with Gawking, has to multitask during their make out sessions now.

"Kinda can’t believe it." Eddie finally says, still staring.

"What?" Steve stares backs. Makes it a staring contest. Doesn't tell Eddie though cause he wants to win.

Eddie motions toward his pockets that are still turned inside out. "After one whole year, you still keep me on my toes with shit like that."

"I do?"

"Sure do. You're something else, babe.”

"I am?" Steve blinks.

Damnit, he lost the one-sided staring contest.

“Yup.” Eddie nods, transitions to chewing on a chunk of Steve’s hair like he always does. Sometimes, he’ll make mooing sounds. Especially after sex, when he’s at his goofiest. Most comfortable.

It’s fucking unreal how Steve has learned all of these quirks. How he waits for them, anticipates them. Every bit feels familiar to him now.

"You're unexpected in all the best ways, Harrington."

Steve tries not to gush at that compliment. It's not one he gets often.

Eddie stops chewing on Steve’s hair to kiss his cheek instead. The kiss is powdery-sweet, miles away from his usual eagerness. Still perfect somehow. Just like the weird stuff is somehow perfect too.

That's kind of who they are together. Weird and unexpected.

In all the best ways.

[atamascolily]

Sometimes I forget that Madoka's magical girl bow is literally a rose, and that we see it sprout and grow into its final form in its first appearance.

Homura also gets a bow in this episode, which I have always interpreted as the manifestation of her wish to remember Madoka's existence (since her old wish was rendered invalid by Madoka's becoming an eternal concept), thus becoming "Bowmura Akemi". However, it's not until it manifests in Rebellion that we see it isn't merely evocative of Madoka's bow, but its mirror.

Is the height difference between the bows significant here? I have no idea. Ditto for Madoka's bow being in bud while Homura's is in full flower.

Okay. So you remember Walpurgisnacht's trees, right? Those weird things that are mostly in the background and which are never directly commented upon or explained, but which are juxtaposed with Homura an awful lot? There's a common trope in myth, literature, and fairy tales about planting a staff into a ground and having it grow and magically turn into a tree, and now I'm wondering, Is this where Walpurgisnacht's trees come from? Because what is a bow but a curved wooden staff tied to a string....?

And yes, the bow is a rose bow (or a black rose bow), and the trees are almost certainly cherry trees, so the botany gets a little mixed, but it probably doesn't matter since a) magic and/or metaphor, and b) Madoka is associated with both pink roses and pink cherry blossoms, just like Homura is associated with black roses and bare branches, so the symbolism still works out.

This is all highly speculative, and I have no idea if this is where SHAFT is going or if it's just a coincidence, but I can't look at the bow anymore without wondering what would happen if someone stuck it in the ground, and what it might become. Especially since we may end up seeing that bow again in Walpurgis no Kaiten.

Meanwhile, back in Rebellion, Homura and Madoka appear to be doing some kind of Connect (or proto-Connect, since the Magia Record concept hadn't been fully developed yet) akin to Madoka and Mami's Tiro Duet attack earlier in the film. What's interesting about this shot is that there's no sign of black roses anywhere, which is not how Connect usually manifests in Magia Record, where the nature of the fusion is more obvious (i.e., Kyouko's spear + Iroha's crossbow becomes a giant crossbow that fires spears instead of arrows in the MR anime), but which may symbolize how Homura "blooms" in Madoka's presence.

In addition, the bow is now huge and I think it's not only what they're holding in their hands, but also the entire structure that's supporting them (which has wings!!) because you can see two sets of purple and pink jewels on either side. Maybe it's just me, but the "branches" of the structure are awfully tree-like and I can see what might be a few leafy shoots by their feet.

Also, they appear to be standing in the canopy of the cherry tree that has blossomed in Homulilly's skull with no transition whatsoever, which is why the background is abruptly pink. Which raises a question I had never considered before: is their combined bow the cherry tree itself (or a part of it)??? Is that what's happening here??

And if that's truly the case, then maybe my earlier thought about Homura's black bow somehow becoming one of Walpurgisnacht's trees isn't so far off base after all...

[vaperarmand]

it's iwtv fanfic friday and everyone's getting involved

some recs from all corners of the vampolycule <3

someone buy me roses by indigostohelit lestat/louis, e, 3.2k words

Lestat's frown deepens. “My God, Louis!” he says. “I am not some petty voyeur. My motives are noble. My heart is unselfish. Frankly this is an act of chivalry. Please take off your pants.”

(one thing about me is i go crazy for a religious metaphor. also louis is sooooo catholic in this. it's awesome)

it's been a long, hard twenty year summer vacation by moonieangel aka @loumandivorce louis/armand, e, 7k words

"Let me," Armand said. Louis looked down at him, uncertain, but his pupils were already dilated until the rings of green fire were almost invisible in his eyes. "I haven't been able to drink anything properly, recently," he said, as Armand knew he would say. "And?" Louis' jaw clicked shut. He looked affronted, almost embarrassed, and Armand was strangely delighted at the sight. "You're going to get off on sucking a soft cock?" he asked in disbelief. (Armand and Louis travel.)

(*aggressive tiktok influencer voice* if you haven't read this yet literally what are you even doing with your life. this is such a defining loumand fic for me it's crazy. it's like their true essence on paper. what loumand is like at home. it's so good. sooooo good)

He's Piano; You're Not Forte by Galadriel armand/daniel + armand/lestat, m, 4.2k words

The Vampire Lestat's album has just dropped, and it's causing discord in the Armand-Molloy household.

(armand is SOOOOOOO good in this. i love you obsessive armand. it's been too long since i've reread this one. going to do that now actually)

two-headed mother by tisiphones armand/lestat, e, 8.7k words

"Poor darling," Armand says, and the condescension in his voice is so awful and so offensive and Lestat wants to curl up in it and never, ever leave. "It's okay to let yourself be taken care of for just one night. You can't help what you need." --- It's Lestat's last night in Paris. Armand makes it a memorable one.

(yeah. this one's just. yeah. fellas is it gay to do a roleplay where your boyfriend pretends to be your mommy. probably not gay but it's definitely something)

every few centuries, somebody reinvents the coven by katplanet armand/daniel/louis/lestat, e, 20.5k words

Daniel asks Louis if he's sure when he first suggests it. He asks him again a few days later, to see if he's changed his mind. He makes a psychic collect call to Lestat, of all people, and asks if he's sure. Asks Armand if he's sure when he accepts the invitation, when they're packing, when they're on the way to the airport. When they're walking up to arrivals, Armand’s grip crushing Daniel's fingers, Louis smiling at the back of the crowd with his hands in his pockets, casual as anything, like they do this every day. They're all sure and sure and sure, so Daniel lets Louis pull him in with one arm, Armand with the other, and hug them both while a planeful of tired New Yorkers filters out around them into the muggy bayou dark.

(look okay i know this fic is mostly smut and all but it literally made me cry multiple times. it changed my worldview. it made me see colors previously not experienced by the human perception. it's everything to me. if you haven't read it just like. please please do.)

[omgthatdress]

actually i’m so sorry for the princess’ kids. like being royal must suck enough already but with those parents ???? poor things

okay, here's the full story: Märtha Louise has always been fucking kooky. Like for real if she weren't a princess she'd be a cult leader. She claims to be clairvoyant and in 2007 started her own school to teach alternative medicine (you know, shit that's not medicine at all). She lost the title of "Royal Highness" in 2002 and she's not a member of the royal house and had no public role.

HOWEVER, she was previously married to a man named Ari Behn, who was an artsy sad sack who was pretty respected as a writer but derided as an amateur when it came to his visual art. The two divorced in 2017, and then in 2019, he died by suicide. Genuinely fucking tragic.

So OBVIOUSLY there's trauma there. Like if her woowoo beliefs already had her believing in shaman types, the trauma of her husband's death had to have left her super susceptible to the right charismatic charlatan who tells her everything she wants to hear and gives her all the validation she's willing to ignore a million red flags for.

Honestly it kind of sounds like something a lot of families are dealing with: a loved one gets swept up into Q-Anon/Trump cult bullshit (the woo to Q pipeline is REAL) and you don't really know how to deal with it because the situation is fucking awful but you still love the person in spite of everything.

Or at least that's me projecting all my bullshit into the situation and how I'd be pitching it as a screenplay. Netflix HMU.

The whole mess has actually seriously damaged the reputation of the Norwegian royal family and along with calls for her to lose her title of "princess" it's created a pretty big movement calling for the abolition of the monarchy.

Which is surprising because the Norwegian monarchy is actually fairly low-key. King Harald is good at being genial and non-political and they're mostly involved in promoting Norwegian cultural stuff, which kinda seems like how you should do a monarchy, if you're gonna do one.

But then again it just underlines how inherently fucked up the institution of a monarchy is to begin with.

Anyway have you figured out already that monarchy as a metaphor for generational trauma is my absolute favorite trope and I absolutely lose my fucking shit whenever I see it playing out in public?

[old-acc-gaylorscatmeredith]

Hits different is the most explicitly gay song Taylor has ever released

'Bet I could still melt your world, argumentative, antithetical dream girl' she is directly addressing her dream girl here. She's saying she could melt the dream girl's world. Literally what else could that possibly mean?

'I used to switch out these Kens' for what? It could be she's referring to men as Kens because she plays with them like dolls, but specifically 'switch out' rather than 'play with' implies she's switched them out for something else, like another Barbie - something I've found to be a common experience among girls who like girls.

Also 'asshole outlaw' reminds me of her country roots, and country music is generally very homophobic and sexist. She used to comply by these standards and mindsets but not anymore. Now, 'don't need another metaphor, its simple enough' she doesn't need to disguise it as friendship, instead she's writing song explicitly about this dream girl who she's in love with and skipping the metaphors for other more direct references:

Like references to other songs too, like mentions of summer because of Cruel Summer with 'freedom felt like summer ... now the sun burns'. 'I snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer just to seal my fate' when the only garden gate Taylor's been seen around is Karlie's. The matching lyric: 'I'm drunk in the back of the car and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar' matches with 'I never don't cry at the bar ... I slur your name 'til someone puts me in a car' she's drunk and says 'Karlie' or 'Kar' which is mistaken for 'car'.

A New Romantics reference too, which is such a gay anthem I could write a whole other post about it. 'Like waiting for a bus that never comes' is to me a weirdly out of place lyric just like 'we wait for trains that just aren't coming'.

I'd even argue 'I heard your key turn in the door down the hallways/Is it okay? Is it you?/Or have they come to take me away?' is asking if interacting with Karlie at all is okay to do at all, if she can focus on the public drama about them actually being about her and Karlie, when all she can think about is being found out and taken away from her fame and reputation.

Then of course 'each bar plays our song nothing has ever felt so wrong' meaning 'their song' must be a popular and mainstream song to be played at bars so often, or more broadly could mean mainstream love songs in general which are mostly straight and don't feel right to her for some reason. Her friends tell her that's okay because 'love is a lie' but she knows they're only saying it to make her feel better, when that's not the real reason why 'moving on was always easy'.

Despite all the men she never really liked and the love that never felt right to her, this one person 'hits different'. You as the listener have a choice, either hear she's with her dream girl and it feels right, or that she 'just needed to meet the right guy', as straight people tell lesbians their entire lives.

This has been a gaylor essay thank you for reading

[eldest-of-katts]

okay because people have shown up in my dms talking smack I'm going to make one blanket statement on the 1000 year loli chilchuck thing.

yes, there has been a problem with young girls being put in suggestive positions in anime with the "uhmmm she's actually a bajillion years old" excuse. yes, other characters don't treat chilchuck like an adult. yes, he is short with big eyes.

However, chilchuck consistently acts like a grown man. he- in both the manga and the anime- straight up just is an adult. He looks like an adult when he is any other race during the swaps in the manga. When the other characters get turned into half-foots they look similar to chilchuck. He is explicitly stated to have more dungeon and general life experience than laios, and he acts like it.

The 1000 year loli trope explicitly functions as an excuse to prey on people who are inexperienced and unable to advocate for themselves. Chilchuck is a parent, is a union organizer, has explicit boundaries that he enforces rigidly, and he is treated as an adult man by everyone who doesn't have a fantasy racism-focused character arc/issue.

I can see how if you haven't read the manga and seen that he has an established life that he later reveals (and haven't paid attention to him in the anime lol) you could get a mistaken impression about him. Marcielle does too in the source material! It's part of her character at the start of her arc that she has issues with longevity!

The thing that irks me a little about this interpretation is that it leans into the child-coded discourse that was prominent a while ago (she's short!!!!! but has boob???? ILLEGAL!!1!) and it does a disservice to the themes of infantilization as a policy maneuver hurting the working class.

I saw chilchuck and his labor advocacy for half-foots both as a metaphor for racism (obvious take ik) and for ageism.

The working gen z as a cohort are being infantilized and pushed out of job markets due to infantilization, similar to half-foots in the show. gen z is being maliciously portrayed as too young to vote, enter office, know themselves, know their rights, and take advantage of their resources. Simultaneously, child labor protections and protections against workplace abuse are being rolled back in the US. In Japan, young people are being worked to the bone for nothing and are becoming disenfranchised as a generation while simultaneously expected to be the labor faction that supports the postwar generations in their old age.

Chilchuck's being treated poorly I saw as a clever commentary on the ways infantilization allows for protections to be stripped away under the guise that "oh it's just a job for teenagers- they don't need more than minimum wage" or "let the kids rescue the economy! they're always complaining about that job market!" while simultaneously stripping away rights under the guise of protection- "We can't have that on the internet! think of the children!" "to protect these young people we must raise the age of medical consent for hormones/reproductive health decisions!"

Kui's work with this series spoke to me on many levels, and specifically, the infantilization issue touched me in a way that few other pieces of media have. The struggle to be taken seriously in a stem field as someone young, as someone female, and as someone who had a high-pitched voice to the point I did years of voice training to be taken seriously, chilchuck's character resonated. I (kinda) understand your instinct to think "SHORT! CHILD! RALLY THE MASSES AND KILL THE PEDOS!!1!" but in this case, it's misdirected- mostly because the author was trying to use this misdirection to prove something to you, the reader.

Kui consistently makes cutting commentary on modern issues, the show's take on food neutrality as its headliner, but also the author's takes on cultural issues and the environment (with a focus on our place in the food web as animals). I feel that reducing chilchuck's very conscious position as a tradesman and an activist discounted due to his apparent age down to "1000 year loli ewwww let's send this random tumblr user suicide bait" just displays a lack of critical analysis of the show and a level of disrespect towards Kui and the work as a whole.

TL:DR- stop sending me kys messages I'm fucking that old man

[bemusedlybespectacled]

I volunteer with an organization of very high needs disabled people and I have to say, they delight in using AI to put stories together. It even inspires them to make their own edits and additions, though many struggle with typing or verbal skills. I don't want to tell anyone how to feel but it seems like weird ideological purity policing to exclude them from a social event where they might connect to people and find community.

So my first question is: why AI specifically? Why not literally any other method of writing? If they're capable of doing edits/additions, then why can't they first write the story out using speech-to-text, or an AAC device, or dictate it to someone else, and then edit/add to it later?

Coming up with ideas/a plot is creative and requires skill, but it's a different kind of creativity and skill than actually writing it down/connecting those dots. Like, James Patterson doesn't write most of his books; he writes out long outlines for a ghostwriter to work off of, then makes notes or changes to the draft before sending it back to the ghostwriter. It would be unfair to say that he doesn't have any skills at all, but it would also be unfair to say that he wrote all of his books himself when they were actually mostly written by someone else. A lot of the time, movies will have separate credits for the person who came up with the idea and the person who actually wrote the screenplay, because they are separate things requiring different skills.

NaNoWriMo, as a concept, is about practicing the latter skill. You're presumed to have already learned how to come up with ideas – otherwise, what would you work on for a month? The actual work of crafting enough sentences that your story becomes a full text and not an outline is really fucking hard, and that's why so many writers get stalled at the ideas stage and never actually write anything. If you don't have those skills to start, that's okay, because most people don't! The whole point is to practice them over the month! And even if you never hit 50k (I haven't!), you can at least say that you practiced that skill. Even if you only wrote ten words a day because that's literally the most you can do, writing ten words every day for thirty days is still a huge accomplishment!

To use the marathon metaphor from the originating post: both driving a car and running a marathon are skills, but they are not the same skill. If you can't run a marathon – if you are just trying to get to the point where you can walk briskly for five miles without tasting blood when you breathe – reaching that goal is still an accomplishment, even if you're not full on running a marathon. If you are just starting to learn how to drive without having a panic attack, being able to do that is also an accomplishment, even if it's not the same thing as winning the Indy500. Modest goals are still goals and achieving them is a thing to be celebrated.

But I don't think it's ideological purity to say that there's a difference between achieving a very modest goal because the "full thing" is just not feasible for whatever reason, and achieving a totally different goal entirely. "I finally drove to the store and back all by myself!" is genuinely great, but not something you'd necessarily work on in your running group.

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Grey 61

First / Previous / Next

Chloe sat in the large, empty room; on the floor cross legged, her long silvery hair spilling around her artfully. When Gord saw her, he rather thought it was a little too set up. She had arranged herself to look as serene as possible. He stood a respectful distance away, arms crossed, waiting.

"You might as well just ask what you're going to ask" Chloe said, without opening her eyes. "I'm never going to be able to reach inner peace with you standing over there, metaphorically tapping your foot"

Gord uncrossed his arms, awkwardly. "I... was going to ask if you'd show me how to meditate," he, said sheepishly.

Chloe opened one eye and regarded Gord. "Really." she said, flatly.

"Yes, don't sound too surprised. You've been meditating since you came back, and it really seems to help you. I remember you... before, and you were a lot more hot headed."

Before she was killed, and Gord carried her memory core in a duffle along with one hundred some odd others for a few centuries he meant. It made for odd relationships with all the AIs that he brought back. Chloe was an old friend even before that, so it felt especially odd.

Chloe nodded without opening her eyes. "Well then come on, sit down."

Gord got down onto the floor and sat across from Chloe. He folded his legs to match hers. One of the benefits to the bodies that were built for the AIs was they didn't have to worry about the same kind of biological degradation that the BIs had. Gord was just as flexible now as he was when he first got this body.

"Okay, now what?"

"Close your eyes."

Gord did as he was told. He tried hard not to feel silly, and only mostly succeeded.

"Okay, now what?"

"Now, think about nothing." Chloe tried to hide it, but a slight grin escaped her lips when she spoke.

"That's it?" Gord opened one eye and looked at Chloe. Her eyes were still closed, and she was still sitting serenely.

"That's it. But remember, Gord. Simple and Easy are two different things."

Gord sat and tried to think about nothing. He tried to concentrate on his body, how he was feeling, how the deck plates felt on his thighs and bottom. He listened to the HVAC hum in the room. Hmm. that sounded too loud. Gord would have to reach out to Environmental to see about them coming by to check on things. No, he's not thinking of nothing. Back to nothing, back to nothing. There was a click from the lock on the door. That's odd. It shouldn't auto lock like that unless Chloe configured it that way. She was right, this was hard. He opened his eyes, and saw Chloe standing over him, her hands on her hips.

"It takes practice, you'll get it." She reached out her hand to Gord. He took it and stood up. "What did you need? While I'm pleased that you're interested in meditation, I don't think that's the only reason you stopped by."

Gord nodded. "It's Fen. Reports are coming in that she's acting... odd since Northern died."

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "I won't comment that you're still getting regular reports on the current Empress of humanity, but will only say 'Odd how?'"

They started walking. Home was still pretty empty, but it was filling up more every day. New AIs were being built - not just the ones from Gord's supply of crystal memory cores, but whole new people - something that hasn't been done in nearly half a millennia. Chloe found that was was pleased to be seeing so many new faces.

"She's taking more trips out in her Imperial yacht, linking from site to site and making official visits." Gord said as they walked.

"So?"

"Yeah, but she never did it before. She's linking everywhere as well, even while the imperials are on a Gate building spree. They're putting them up everywhere. Rumor is she's traveling with a whole lab of K'laxi scientists too.

"Gord, I know you're not racist, so why is that odd? She was raised K'laxi, remember? It's her first language. I would think it would be more odd if she didn't have K'laxi around."

"It's more-" Gord struggled with the words, something that rarely happened to him. "-it's a feeling, I guess. I knew Fen when she was still with her first wife on that Gren station, just a refugee looking for purpose." His shoulders drooped. "She isn't the same person as she was."

"Nobody ever is, Gord. You know this better than most." Chloe's voice was softer, less cold than Gord remembered from before. "You've lived - actually been alive - longer than probably anyone else ever. You've seen so many people grow, live, change, live more, and die than anyone else will."

"That's my point. I have seen maybe millions of people grow and change in their lives, and what Fen is doing isn't what other people do."

"Well, few other people have been marinated in trillions of alien nanomachines from another dimension who are constantly searching for energy and give her frankly worryingly powerful abilities."

Gord chuckled. "Fair point. I only ever spent real time with Raaden and now Fen. There were a few others, one or two that I actually spoke with, but I never got to know them, and Fen is the first one I got to know before..." He frowned again. "I don't like it."

"At least she's doing things for AI rights. It's been too long since we've seen people who give more than a passing glance to us, and it's not a look of disgust." Chloe nodded and waved to a few people as they walked. They were approaching the main habitat of Home, and the crowds were getting thicker.

"Yes, that's all true, but-" Gord sighed. "I don't know. I can't really articulate it, and when I try it comes off as a hunch or a feeling. I'll think on it more."

"Maybe the meditiation will help." Chloe patted his shoulder once and turned, to go a different way down the hall. Gord continued on until he reached his office and sat. The paperwork was piling up again. He was hoping to be able to find an assistant to help him at least sort the piles into things he could safely ignore and things he actually had to read, but there weren't enough people yet. Gord was on his own to do his own paperwork.

As he read, and sighed, and marked up docs, and sent them off for revisions and political replies, his pad chirruped at him. It was a notification from one of his... operatives in Sol. Text only and sent via laser beacon at tremendous expense. Regular messages were sent via the standard postal lasers. To use a beacon meant they didn't want anyone else to see the message.

3RD FLEET DEPARTING SOL WITH YACHT AT HEAD. LOCATION UNKNOWN, BUT FLEET SPENT LAST WEEK STOCKING UP. ALL SHIPS LOADED FOR LONG TERM ENGAGEMENT

Gord read the message three times, willing his mind to try and make sense of it. The third fleet was the smallest, but was also the one with the newest ships. It was usually an expeditionary fleet, not an attack fleet. What do do? He didn't want to lose his asset to discovery, but he also had to know where they were going.

TRACK THEIR LINK AND PROVIDE DESTINATION ESTIMATE AFTER THEY DEPART. DO NOT FOLLOW.

Tracking the wormhole link was a tricky thing, and he was honestly surprised it was possible at all. When the wormhole generators were first developed, the destination of a link was known only to the ship going. These days, people can do a deep, probing scan of the area the ships were in and try and read the... echos of the wormhole. It wasn't completely accurate, but it usually got you to the same star system.

Half a day later, and Gord was getting ready for his shift on the Command Deck. Most of the senior AIs took turns being "in charge" of Home, but none of them really wanted to be known as the captain or commander. They felt it was much more like a shift leader or a manager. As he approached the command room, his pad chirruped again. He glanced down at the message.

LINK TRACKING COMPLETE. DESTINATION UNEXPLORED PART OF GALAXY. ESTIMATED COORDINATED INCLUDED. HISTORICAL TELESCOPE DATA REVEALS MASSIVE ENERGY SOURCE. PULSAR, MAGNETAR, OR SIMILAR.

Gord stared at the notification until one of the sensor officers, a new AI that Gord didn't recognize right away, spoke up. "Uh Gord? You all right?"

Blinking, Gord looked up from his pad. "Yes, uh, just got a notification while I was walking in." He looked down at the pad. "Say, can you pull up historical data based on coordinates?"

"Sure Gord. If we have something up to date, we can get it in a few minutes. Older data will take longer to search. We can always link a beacon ove-"

"No. No beacon for now. Just tell me what we know about these coordinates."

The young officer nodded. "Yes sir."

An hour later, they spoke up. "Gord? Those coordinates are way out there. Nobody we know has ever visited them in person. Hell, Jones and I are only 75% sure we could generate the power to link that far away."

"Jones?"

"He works in Reactor. I know him from playing pool."

"Ah. Please, continue."

"Anyway, it's way out there, and from what we can tell there's a really massive energy source there. Telescopes haven't tried, and nobody linked a beacon over there, but it's something."

"I wish Hat was still around." Gord said, frowning. Medicine Hat was his oldest friend and his ship. They were together for literal centuries, traveling the Galaxy. Hat was destroyed by Imperial forces back at the beginning of the AI war, and had refused Gords offer to taking a snap of his memory. His last act was to toss Gord into an escape pod and kick him out before blowing his reactor to slow down an Imperial Dreadnought.

The crew sat in silence, waiting to see if Gord was going to say anything else. He sat in his chair sullenly, not looking at anything. Slowly the crew turned back to their duties.

"Dammit!" Gord slapped the arms of the chair and stood up. "Chloe!"

"Yes Gord?" Chloe's voice came over the intercom.

"Get us a ship. You and I are going to see what Fen's up to."

"...Okay Gord. Meet me in the hangar in an hour."

[tofixtheshadows]

okay, if you're open to discussion, here's my view on why i think your mithrun take is somewhat reductive - prefacing this with yes, i understand you're talking about thematic positioning and not individual character motivations or goodness/badness, and no im not a particular stan of him or a kbms shipper or anything, if that helps you take this as discussion in good faith. (anon because i'll admit all the "ugh everyone who disagrees with me DOESNT KNOW HOW TO READ" does discourage from directly engaging!) yes, the elves are imperialist and yes the canaries are the primary arm we see of that in the story. yes, To A Point the violent manner that they, including mithrun, approach the problem of the dungeon is a reflection of this - it's not a coincidence that kui put this character ON this team. but when the discussion of it comes down to mithrun as the "representative" of this is where you lose me. in certain moments you could say he Acts as that, but it's not really the whole story of what his character is about or how he fits into the overall picture. multiple key moments are when mithrun notably acts AGAINST what the rest of the canaries would do, choosing to put (some amount of) trust in a tallman - we can have different reads on how much trust it is, but the effect definitely is that their approach is given a chance when normally the canaries do not allow that. the moment of asking kabru what he wants to do and following after laios, and Especially the moment of giving laios the go-ahead to try and defeat the demon, very much coming into conflict with flamela over it - in both of these scenes the other canaries represent the normal elven imperialist approach, and mithrun deviates from it. sure he thinks he regrets it a few minutes after the second one (because it did look like it failed, and because he's not exactly completely anti-imperialist either) - but in terms of what his character represents in the story, those moments are crucial to the ultimate "happy ending", and they're important TO the anti-imperialist theme that mithrun, the one with more personal reasons for being in the dungeon rather than simply being a canary & carrying out the empire's will because it's their job like the others, ISN'T acting on its side the whole time.

See this mentality is a little puzzling to me, because it treats my + others' speculation on the threat of imperialism in the story and Mithrun's role in it as if we created some sort of strict binary? As if he represents only this one singular thing, and doesn't share that role with anyone else, or that he needs to be condemned for it, etc. I don't think they're all passing around a "who represents imperialism and who subverts it" stick.

I mean, the story isn't very interested in that, is it? I believe in meeting a piece of media where it's at, which is why I'm not trying to hashtag cancel anyone over liking the elves or whatever. Dungeon Meshi is a story about ecosystems and food and hunger. It is very aware of the forces that create the situations around hunger, but ultimately it is mostly interested in food as the great leveler. We all need to eat and we all deserve to do so, even the people we might have considered enemies an hour ago.

The Canaries all get a seat at the literal and metaphorical table, even though, textually, they represent a world power whose monarch says, on page, that they are going to continue to monitor Melini and the people involved (this is a threat). Another story might not be forgiving of this. But Dungeon Meshi is not trying to be a political thriller, though as I've said, it is very aware of these things.

I, personally, am interested in the way Mithrun's story arc functions. If I talk about Mithrun, it's because he is a main character. Fleki, for example, is not a main character. Neither is Flamela. The Canaries are an antagonistic force (and not in a traditional "evil that needs to be defeated way", but antagonistic nonetheless!), but Mithrun is literally the representative of this force as the only one among them given a focus. And also because he is the captain of their squad. Even Flamela is only vice captain. Mithrun's motivations drive the Canaries as an entity in the story the same way his orders as their superior officer drive them as people.

So I am mostly interested in talking about violence, and to do that, I would be remiss to not touch on the circumstances that empower that violence. I cannot pretend like Mithrun does not arrive in the dungeon as the military officer of a first world power whose squad has the ability to arrest (and potentially execute) anyone they want, or that their success won't spell a de facto takeover of the region.

Does Mithrun care about that? No. I mean, I don't even think the other elves really care about that. It's kind of a moot point. They have a genuinely good reason for being in the dungeon and doing what they do, but they are still dangerous.

So when I touch on imperialism, which, again, is textually a part of the background of Dungeon Meshi, what I mean is: Mithrun's actions serve imperial interests regardless of his personal feelings, and they align with the threat of imperialism because oppression is inherently violent. That is where the comparison comes in.

If I were writing some sort of thesis on colonialism in Dunmeshi, I would say that the way Mithrun literally objectifies people- grabbing Kabru, ignoring his consent, using him as a projectile, brutalizing Thistle and Marcille- are physical manifestations of that inherent violence. The complacency of the other elves- their very punch clock villain natures- also serve the interests of imperialism. They're all in it together, they just disagree sometimes on the method. If Mithrun had gotten his way, the elves would have taken over the dungeon.

You are right that Mithrun comes into conflict with the other Canaries, and this is because Mithrun barely cares about sealing the dungeon. His one desire is his quest against the demon. This superficially aligns with the Canary's overall mission, but he will jeopardize that mission, the way he jeopardizes lives, for his personal goal. I don't really consider this an anti-imperialist metaphor even if it does eventually lead him to go against the Canaries' interests in trusting Laios. It's good he does that. It fits with the overall theme of disparate peoples uniting for the great leveler of hunger. Because, crucially, Mithrun agrees to it when Laios insists that he can defeat the demon. He isn't swayed by anything else. I do also think it's important that the one time he doesn't escalate to violence represents a moment of cooperation among these groups of people. We can say that Mithrun's self interest is better served by community than by state-sanctioned violence (and I do) but it doesn't cancel the rest of it out.

I'm also going to have to disagree with how much he trusts or respects Kabru. I would love if Mithrun did either, but the more I re-read the manga the less I'm sure of that. I think he sees Kabru as a useful tool. Again, I do not say this as a condemnation. I think Mithrun is nearly incapable of caring about anything else before the end of the story: I think his desire for the demon, his helpless hatred and self-immolating revenge, is so big that it blots out everything else for him. It's a tragedy. Mithrun is not entirely a rational actor, the way that someone in the grips of a debilitating addiction isn't.

You are free to disagree with me on this. I think I have an accurate reading on it, but I realize there is a lot of wiggle room.

My personal conclusion is that this

is a very long joke.

It sets you up to think that Kabru got through to him, that they are united against Laios, that they might have even achieved some level of camaraderie after their bottle episode.

Then Kabru and the Canaries show back up, and Kabru is ... handcuffed.

I didn't notice this the first time I read the manga! Kui does not draw any attention to the tiny magical cuffs, and the deliberately awkward way he holds his wrists for the next ten chapters didn't really hit for me until I had gone back over it. At this point I think it's supposed to tease how much Kabru is cooperating with the Canaries and how much of a threat he'll still poses to Laios.

It did not hit me until a second read that the punchline to this little arc is that Mithrun agreed to Kabru's idea because he had decided to use Kabru as bait. This is the equivalent of staking Kabru out to lure Laios and the others so that they'd let their guards down. Kabru looks very put out by it, he's still handcuffed, and he's got the surveillance state bird keeping him in line. This is not the situation of a guy who is trusted and respected by the person who put him in this situation. In hindsight, it almost makes Mithrun's agreement a joke in itself. "Oh, you wanna talk to Laios? Sure. Let's go do that. Hold still."

It recontextualized their time together for me. Made me notice how interested Mithrun was specifically in what Kabru had to say about this Laios guy.

You can kind of see the gears turning in his head. He correctly deduces that Laios is closest to the dungeon's heart. Therefore, reaching Laios will take him right to the demon. I don't think he actually cares about what Kabru wants. After all, Kabru says he wants to talk to Laios, and Mithrun doesn't let Kabru do that. He doesn't want to try Kabru's methods. He barely seems to think about Kabru at all.

We are treated to a three-chapter sequence of Mithrun and the other Canaries cornering a group of people they intend to arrest, interrogating them, intimidating them, and then Mithrun, especially, escalating the situation to near-lethal violence. Marcille releases the Winged Lion because she is menaced, talked down to, terrified, and injured. Even the other elves are appalled by how brutal and erratic Mithrun acts.

And that's what Mithrun's story is to me, actually. It's the very dark spiral that pain can send you down. It's about how his obsession is killing him. How it's keeping him from forming meaningful relationships. How it hurts the people around him and causes him to act cruelly. He cannot be reasoned with before he crashes and burns. If he had grown or changed as a person at all before the climax, his character arc would be less impactful. He has to tear through everything to get to the demon, look the demon in the face and be told point blank that he doesn't matter to it. He has to put all his energy into this path of violence to show how utterly impotent and self-destructive it is.

Dungeon Meshi understands the violence we all must do as living creatures. The inherent selfishness of killing and eating in order to survive, or fighting to protect yourself. It doesn't condemn that. It doesn't condemn the violence you do when you feel backed up against a wall either. But it does not reward this. Mithrun's all-consuming desire for revenge- and it is revenge, this is functionally a flailing quest for revenge even if he also wants to be finished off as a result- is as poisonous to him as the demon's bottomless appetite was to it.

Mithrun does not once stop to help anyone else during the climax. All the other characters converge to work together, even to put aside their enmity (like the elves and the orcs) to try and stop the threat. He doesn't turn away from his single-minded pursuit to help anyone, protect anyone, or heal anyone, though it's obvious that he could have done more good fighting by the others' sides rather than throwing himself at the demon over and over. Even the idea that he might help someone- the moment where he slaps Kabru out of a panic attack, but only because he genuinely wants to punish him- is treated as a joke.

It's only after all of this has occurred, and left him utterly empty, that Mithrun can stand up again as a new person. After he's looked into that yawning void straight on and realized what it meant to pursue it, where it was leading him. He gets up again because he agrees to share a meal. And because he agrees to help feed others.

Rage doesn't serve you. Community does. That's where his happy ending comes from. And maybe this is not the most thorough exploration of even this single topic, but I don't think I'm being reductive.

If I seem frustrated, it's because people have turned me into a ridiculous strawman because of these ideas, and then spent months shadowboxing that strawman while calling me a dumb pretentious cunt over it. This is often very funny, but even I have a tipping point. Good night.