#narrative analysis

[siderealcity]

So, one of the things I love about Dawntrail is the way the four competitors are introduced and framed.

Spoilers ahead.

We meet Wuk Lamat first. She's the reason we're here. But we'll come back to her.

So then, Zoraal Ja. He doesn't speak a single word throughout his first appearance. Even when approached, the first, and only, thing he does is tell his lackey to talk for him.

Look at what Erenville says about him when he exits the palace to the cheering of the crowd:

Erenville: Zoraal Ja. The First Promise and commander of the Landsguard. Sareel Ja, the palace seer. As he was so careful to remind the crowd, Zoraal Ja is indeed the natural child of Gulool Ja Ja. Alphinaud: And “Resilient Son”? Is that another title, like the First Promise? Erenville: After a fashion. Common knowledge has it that two-headed Mamool Ja cannot sire children… Yet Zoraal Ja was born all the same, with the Head of Resolve's features and the Head of Reason's scales─an extraordinary example of life's unyielding resilience. Alisaie: And a warrior's reticence. He says little, but the way he moves… I know a hardened soldier when I see one. Erenville: He's a natural swordsman─a gift he inherited from his father. Some even say that the son has already surpassed the sire. Should he come to power, the First Promise means to employ that martial prowess in the conquest of foreign lands. For this, he and his supporters have been labeled expansionists. This puts him in direct opposition to Wuk Lamat, who advocates for the preservation of peace. You may recall that she spoke of a claimant who “cannot be allowed to rule.” That is Zoraal Ja─the warmonger.

Zoraal Ja is clearly framed as the favorite by all of Tural to win the contest, but look at how Erenville describes him. Every compliment is instantly returned to his father. He's the Resilient Son, whose impossible birth was a miracle only Gulool Ja Ja could have managed. Look, see how much he resembles both his fathers. His sword skills are great--he inherited them from his father.

He resents his siblings because they, being adopted, are granted nothing by nature. Everything they get from their father is learned. Not innate. Koana's studies and Wuk Lamat's people skills are theirs. He doesn't see Bakool Ja Ja as a threat because they're too similar. All that makes both of them special came from their parents. But Koana, he sees as a threat or a useful tool. Koana has been recognized for what he's done on his own.

He's the perfect example of the pressures of the first-born child, even though we never get the impression that his father puts any pressure on him at all. It's the public who puts the full weight of their expectations on him, purely for a quirk of birth. Everything's expected of him, but if he succeeds it's not because of him, but because he's his father's son. Which is maybe why he refuses to engage with the people at all.

That's… going to come back to haunt us all later.

Then there's Koana. When Bakool Ja Ja insults his older brother, whom he desperately does not want to win this contest, he immediately jumps to Zoraal Ja's defense. The supporters who approach him don't have anything to say about him at all, they just want cool stuff. Bring us trains and airships and magitek doodads! He escapes from them as awkwardly as humanly possible. And note how differently Erenville describes him:

Erenville: Here we have Koana, the Second Promise, who spent time as a pupil at Sharlayan's own Studium. Alisaie: Now that you mention it, I think I did see him in the halls once or twice. There was nothing to suggest he was Turali, much less from a royal family. Erenville: That was by design. He forewent his usual garb and took an Eorzean name to avoid attention. Alphinaud: So it was Koana who introduced the dirigibles. And the railway, too, given what we just heard…? Erenville: In furtherance of his goal: to enrich Tuliyollal with every bright notion he learned of in Sharlayan. He is the hope of those who prize innovation. As aloof as he may seem, Koana and Wuk Lamat actually get along rather well. They bicker and banter as only close siblings do.

He was a student at the Studium, but we don't hear of any other achievements there. No graduating with honors. No inventions of his own. His accomplishments are mostly… being a royal, and therefore in a position to get other people's ideas implemented in Tural. And he seems to feel that. He doesn't want to be noticed, doesn't want to be lauded, won't take the encouragement of his followers, and doesn't promise them anything because he doesn't feel like he can.

He is very much caught in the middle all the time.

Between his love for his brother, who doesn't love him back, and whom he knows can't be allowed to rule, and his sense of duty to his nation. Between his feelings of inadequacy and his fear of failure. Between Tural and Sharlayan. Between his beloved baby sister and the contest that makes them rivals. Between his ideals and reality.

Perfect middle child.

Then we get Bakool Ja Ja. The outsider.

We know from the Dawnservant's introduction of the rite that historically only two-headed mamool ja were allowed to rule. He is set up, then, as the symbol of the old order.

And the moment he steps outside, the crowd goes wild.

He isn't the Dawnservant's son, but he is, as far as most of those onlookers are concerned, the next Gulool Ja Ja. The person who reacts most negatively to his appearance and bravado, tellingly, is a boonewa. A member of one of the clans that actually makes blessed siblings. That's… that's going to be meaningful later. Unlike the two claimants who preceded him, nobody asks him for anything. His supporters don't support him because they think he can help them. They support him because of what he is.

Erenville's description of him is notably brief:

Erenville: The chosen of Mamook, Bakool Ja Ja. Winner of the recent martial tournament, and the only claimant not of the Dawn's Promise. His strength is undeniable, but…you see how he is. A few devoted Mamool Ja are his only supporters. Krile: What would he do with the throne should he win it? Erenville: His policies and so forth? I doubt he's thought much beyond winning the contest itself. But one thing seems certain: if he does become Dawnservant, he will see the Mamool Ja exalted as the ruling class, and all others forced into subservience.

And yet… he's not the one Wuk Lamat was afraid of winning. Which is somewhat prophetic foreshadowing, really. Bakool Ja Ja is the only claimant who has no thoughts of the future. He has to win this contest because he exists. That's it. That's all there is.

He has to win because blessed siblings always win. If they don't… then why should they even exist?

That's… yeah.

And finally, Wuk Lamat emerges from the palace. With her mom.

If it wasn't clear before that she's the baby of the family, the fact that she makes her grand public appearance as a contender for the throne with her nursemaid should be a clue.

We have, at the moment that Erenville asks if we're sure we really want to be part of this, so far seen her wander off distracted in Sharlayan, get panicked by a talking bird, eat her weight in barbequed monster, and get extremely seasick. The one thing we know she wants out of this contest is to stop Zoraal Ja from starting a war the second he takes the throne. She is doing this, not because she wants power or has a vision for Tural, but because she opposes a bad vision.

She is so much the underdog in this contest that most of the crowd left before she appeared, assuming the show was over, and what's remaining is standing within earshot gossipping about how pathetic she is compared to the others.

Wuk Lamat is constantly in someone else's shadow. Her father. Her elder brothers. That random guy who got in here somehow. Sphene, when we get to Alexandria. She's invisible, and she seems to feel like that's just how things work. Even the soldiers who meet us at the docks need to take a minute before they realize who she is.

Erenville doesn't say anything about her, though he has a few words about how her supporters are mostly the elderly who remember the war. (I would imagine that includes a lot of non-elderly shetona, too.) But he doesn't really have to talk her up. The Reigning King of Dry Understatement may have insisted back in Sharlayan that they are not friends, merely long-standing acquaintances, but when she asked him for advice about finding allies for the contest, he recommended a god-slayer. Talk about fixing the fight. Not just recommended, he dropped what he was doing and went back across the ocean to recruit them. He could have pointed her at the Students of Baldesion. He was working with them already. Instead, he came back to Sharlayan and asked the Students to go get WoL. A person he knows is capable of crossing the entire universe to avert the apocalypse and also, for some reason, stopping to catch stray marmots along the way. He really wants her win. He just won't quite say that out loud.

"As you just witnessed, Wuk Lamat has no great army of supporters. Not yet, at least." Oh, Erenville.

[santacoppelia]

Putting the Meta in "Metatron"

(couldn't resist the pun, sorry)

Ok, this has been tickling my brain for a while. I've been thinking about how The Metatron designed his role and discourse specifically to manipulate Aziraphale into the end result we saw in the last minutes of S2. I become obsessed with it because… well, I'm a bit obsessive, but also because there were many really smart writing decisions that I loved (even when I despise The Metatron exactly for the same reasons. Hate the character, love the writer). If you haven't watched Good Omens Season 2, this is the moment to stop reading. Come back later!

We already know that in Book Omens, the role of Gabriel in the ending was occupied by The Metatron. Of course, the series introduced us to Gabriel and we won a lot by that, but I feel that the origins of The Metatron should be considered for any of this. He is not a "sweet old man": he was the one in charge of seeing over the operation of Armageddon; not just a stickler of rules, but the main promoter for it.

However, when he appears in the series finale, we first are primed to almost pass him by. He is in the line for buying coffee, using clothes that are:

obviously not tailored (almost ill fitted)

in dark tones

looking worn and wrinkled

This seems so important to me! All the angels we have seen are so proud of their aspect, wear clear (white or off white) clothes, pressed, impeccable (even Muriel), even when they visit the Earth (which we have already seen on S1 with all the visits to the bookshop). The Metatron chose a worn, comfortable attire, instead. This is a humanized look, something that fools all the angels but which would warm up someone very specific, can you guess?

After making quite a complicated coffee order (with sort of an affable and nervous energy), he makes a question that Crowley had already primed for us when asking Nina about the name of the coffee: having a "predictable" alternative and an unpredictable one.

This creates an interesting parallel with the next scene: Michael is discussing the possibility of erasing Aziraphale from The Book of Life (a punishment even worse than Holy Water on demons, because not having existed at all, EVER is definitely worse than having existed and ceased to exist at some point) when The Metatron arrives, interrupts the moment and signals having brought coffee. Yup, an amicable gesture, but also a "not death" offering that he shows clearly to everyone (even when Michael or Uriel do not understand or care for it. It wasn't meant for them). He even dismisses what Michael was saying as "utter balderdash" and a "complete piffle", which are the kind of outdated terms we have heard Aziraphale use commonly. So, The Metatron has put up this show for a specific audience of one.

The next moment on the script has Metatron asking Crowley for the clarification of his identity. Up to this moment, every angel has been ignoring the sprawled demon in the corner while discussing how to punish Aziraphale… But The Metatron defers to the most unlikely person in the room, and the only one who will push any buttons on Aziraphale: Crowley. After that, Aziraphale can recognize him, and Metatron dismisses the "bad angels" (using Aziraphale's S1 epithet) with another "catchy old phrase", "spit spot", while keeping Muriel at the back and implying that there is a possibility to "check after" if those "bad angels" have done anything wrong.

Up to this moment, he has played it perfectly. The only moment when he loses it is when he calls Muriel "the dim one", which she ignores… probably because that's the usual way they get talked to in Heaven. I'm not sure if Aziraphale or Crowley cared for that small interaction, but it is there for us (the audience) to notice it: the sympathy the character might elicit is built and sought, but he is not that nice.

After that, comes "the chinwag" and the offer of the coffee: the unnecessarily complicated order. It is not Aziraphale's cup of tea (literally), but it is so specific that it creates some semblance of being thought with care, and has a "hefty jigger" of syrup (again with the funny old words). And, as Aziraphale recognizes, it is "very nice!" (as The Metatron "jolly hoped so"), and The Metatron approves of him drinking it by admitting he has "ingested things in my time, you know?". This interaction is absolutely designed to build a bridge of understanding. The Metatron probably knew that the first response he would get was a "no", so he tailored his connection specifically to "mirror" Aziraphale: love of tasty human treats he has also consumed, funny old words like the ones he loves, a very human, worn, well-loved look. That was the bait for "the stroll": the moment when Aziraphale and Crowley get separated, because The Metatron knew that being close to Crowley, Aziraphale would have an hypervigilant soundboard to check the sense of what he was going to get offered. That's what the nasty look The Metatron gives to Crowley while leaving the bookshop builds (and it gets pinpointed by the music, if you were about to miss it).

The next thing we listen from The Metatron is "You don't have to answer immediately, take all the time you need" in such a friendly manner… we can see Aziraphale doubting a little, and then comes the suggestion: "go and tell your friend the good news!". This sounds like encouragement, but is "the reel". He already knows how Crowley would react, and is expecting it (we can infer it by his final reaction after going back for Aziraphale after the break up, but let's not get ahead of ourselves shall we?). He even can work up Muriel to take care of the bookshop while waiting for the catch.

What did he planted in Aziraphale's mind? Well, let's listen to the story he has to tell:

"I don't think he's as bad a fellow… I might have misjudged him!" — not strange in Aziraphale to have such a generous spirit while judging people. He's in a… partnership? relationship? somethingship? with a demon! So maybe first impressions aren't that reliable anyway. The Metatron made an excellent job with this, too.

"Michael was not the obvious candidate, it was me!" — This idea is interesting. Michael has been the stickler, the rule follower, even the snitch. They have been rewarded and recognized by that. Putting Aziraphale before Michael in the line of succession is a way of recognizing not only him, but his system of values, which has always been at odds with the main archangels (even when it was never an open fight).

"Leader, honest, don't tell people what they want to hear" — All these are generic compliments. The Metatron hasn't been that aware of Aziraphale, but are in line with what would have been said of any "rebel leader". They come into context with the next phrase.

"That's why Gabriel came to you, I imagine…" — I'm pretty sure The Metatron didn't imagine this, ha. He is probably imagining that the "institutional problem" is coalescing behind his back, and trying to keep friends close, but enemies closer… while dividing and conquering. If Gabriel rebelled, and then went searching for Aziraphale (and Crowley, they are and item and he knows it), that might mean a true risk for his status quo and future plans.

Heaven has great plans and important projects for you — this is to sweeten the pot: the hefty jigger of almond syrup. You will be able to make changes! You can make a difference from the inside! Working for an old man who feels strangely familiar! And who recognizes your point of view! That sounds like the best job offer of the world, really.

Those, however, are not the main messages (they are still building good will with Aziraphale); they are thought out to build the last, and more important one:

Heaven is well aware of your "de facto partnership" with Crowley…

It would be considered irregular if you wanted to work with him again…

You, and you alone, can bring him to Heaven and restore his full angelic status, so you could keep working together (in very important projects).

Here is the catch. He brought the coffee so he could "offer him coffee", but the implications are quite clear: if you want to continue having a partnership with Crowley, you two must come to Heaven. Anything else would be considered irregular, put them in a worst risk, and maybe, just maybe, make them "institutional enemies". Heaven is more efficient chasing enemies, and they have The Book of Life as a menace.

We already know how scared Aziraphale has always been about upsetting Heaven, but he has learned to "disconnect" from it through the usual "they don't notice". The Metatron came to tell him "I did notice, and it has come back to bite you". The implied counterpart to the offer is "you can always get death". Or even worse, nonexistence (we have already imagined the angst of having one of them condemned to that fate, haven't we?)

When The Metatron arrives, just after seeing Crowley leave the bookshop, distraught, he casually asks "How did he take it?", but he already knows. That was his plan all along: making them break up with an offer Aziraphale could not refuse, but Crowley could not accept. That's why he even takes the license to slightly badmouth Crowley: "Always did want to go his own way, always asking damn fool questions, too". He also arrive with the solution to the only objection Aziraphale would have: Muriel, the happy innocent angel that he received with so much warmth and kindness, is given the opportunity to stay on Earth, taking care of the bookshop. The only thing he would have liked to take with him is not a thing, and has become impossible.

If God is playing poker in a dark room and always smiling, The Metatron is playing chess, and he is quite good at it (that's why he loves everything to be predictable). He is menacing our pieces, and broke our hearts in the process… But I'm pretty sure he is underestimating his opponents. His awful remark of Muriel being "dim"; saying that Crowley "asks damn fool questions", and even believing that Aziraphale is just a softie that can be played like a pipe… That's why telling him the project is "The Second Coming" was an absolute gift for us as an audience, and it prefigures the downfall that is coming — the one Aziraphale, now with nothing to lose, started cooking in his head during that elevator ride (those couple of minutes that Michael Sheen gifted to all of us: the shock, the pain, the fury, and that grin in the end, with the eyes in a completely different emotion). Remember that Aziraphale is intelligent, but also fierce. Guildernstern commited a similar mistake in Hamlet, and it didn't go well:

"Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me, you would seem to know my stops, you would pluck out the heart of my mystery, you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass, and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me."

I'm so excited to learn how this is going to unfold!! Because our heroes have always been very enthusiastic at creating plans together, failed miserably at executing them, and even then succeeding… But now they are apart, more frustrated and the stakes are even higher. Excellent scenario for a third act!

*exits, pursued by a bear*

[gayofthefae]

I realized something tonight: If Byler wasn't endgame,

Season 2 wouldn't. exist.

Not the way it does for Mike and El anyway. There is absolutely zero reason to separate them. None at all. We've been over this before: any event that does not change the outcome is cut. Do you know what that implies?

Mike and El's separation CHANGED THINGS.

When they get together at the Snow Ball, it is DIFFERENT than it would have been at the end of season 1. Otherwise, they would have cut it, nay, never written it in the first place. They would have EITHER gotten together as they did in season 3 in season 2 OR gotten together for the first time after the Snow Ball after two seasons of buildup together.

Not what actually happened. What actually happened is that Mike spent a year's worth of sentimental alone time with Will - especially in that last week - culminating in him telling Will that he is the best decision he's ever made, and it changed how he felt about El.

I cannot emphasize enough that the previous paragraph was a factual recounting of events. The plot tells us that he spent a lot of screentime with Will. The narrative structure tells us that it affected his relationship with El upon her return.

Their separation was not used to build up their relationship. It wasn't used to deteriorate it really either. It was simply a pause. It served no purpose towards their relationship as they were already together conditional to her being alive. To serve a purpose for them would imply there was something missing in the first place, which they could have done if they hadn't yet been together. They were separated and fighting to get back to where they were as of the end of season 1. Changing nothing. Moving forward 0 steps. Even the Snow Ball itself represents that in being his intended ending to season 1. They are picking up where they left off. After they resumed their "pause".

Her absence from his life implies that his relationship with Will as it was in season 2 could only have occurred if he was single, supported by it changing drastically and suddenly as soon as he isn't, and it states that his relationship with El WOULD have stayed the same if it weren't for Will.

tldr: In conclusion:

*This epiphany was brought to you by Me Rewatching My Own WILDFLOWER Edit

[treasure-mimic]

Psychopomp and What Things Mean When They Don't Mean Anything

So if you haven't noticed or you don't follow me, I recently became interested in a small, one-man dev team indie game by name of Psychopomp. As a brief synopsis and pitch, Psychopomp is a game about a woman who seemingly suffers from paranoid delusions, through the lens of this narrator she tells us that there's a labyrinth of catacombs hidden underneath every public building and sets out to explore them to uncover the world's secrets, armed with nothing but a store bought hammer.

The game's intro puts it in words better than I could and more influential than any pitch is just seeing the protagonist's design.

As one commentator states, she looks like a skateboard mascot from the mid-2000s. Like she should be on those posters with a snarky quip just fucked up enough to catch those pearl clutching puritans off guard. I love the style and I love the tone and I love the premise.

This might be the best time to note that if you're interested in playing this game, you should stop reading here, as this discussion will contain spoilers. It's a short game, took me about 3 hours on my first playthrough, and it's pretty cheap, even has a free demo in the form of the base version with Psychopomp Gold serving as the expanded, completed experience.

Anyways.

I've always found conspiracy theories fascinating but in the modern age it can be hard to immerse yourself in these reality-detached belief systems without acknowledging, you know, the racist dogwhistling and tangible physical harm it's causing to society at the present moment. Psychopomp is able to pretty gracefully sidestep this issue by setting its anarchic anti-government sentiments against its protagonist's paranoid delusions rather than adherence to a faith or belief system.

Indeed, the game seems to take systemic beliefs as its central enemy. The entities that are necessary to kill to progress through its levels are defined by the systems they interact in, historical figures of elevated status, keystone positions in industrial manufacturing, even abstract systems like urbanism and DNA composition are posed as societal and oppressive. I'm not saying that there's no way to interpret the game in bad faith and make it directed at marginalized social, political, or ethnic groups, but I also struggle to imagine the person who takes the game literally on its face value?

Which I guess leads me to the main topic I wanted to discuss. The game very obviously has an unreliable narrator (for the record, the protagonist remains nameless for the bulk of the game, I will be referring to her as Venus as it's the closest she has to a name that's explicitly stated within the text itself) with the flavor of one whose intake of reality may be different from what's actually occurring. The game uses a combination of conspiratorial rambling and dream logic to stage its unreal tone; for example, one level delves into the "biology" of buildings, stating that they use graffiti to communicate and that black mold is a pheromone used to evacuate its inhabitants to allow for mating. Loading screens come with "Gameplay Tips" and "Real World Tips", both of which are often dense and inscrutable; for example you might get a pair like "Not all enemies are friends" and "Viruses do not exist. Illness is simply your body punishing you for what you've done wrong."

Surrealism and unreality as stylistic choices can be a bit of a tightrope walk to get right. On the one hand, if you make it explicit that a story takes place in a state that did not happen even within the story's universe, a dream or a hallucination, it can rob the narrative of its stakes, regardless of how well executed the internal metaphors are. Psychopomp very explicitly does not do this, regardless of what it is that Venus is experiencing, the game makes it clear through scientific logs and communications (as well as a brief epilogue set outside of her perspective) that something abnormal is happening, the question is just where in between normality and Venus's experiences does the truth of the game's narrative actually lie.

The other side of the tight rope is literal interpretation, presenting a setting that's absurd to our sensibilities but tangibly explainable, where meaning is supplanted by lore and the cosmology begins to solidify into a set of Calvinball rules that don't make sense, but are still adhered to, and this is the side Psychopomp threatens to lose me on. There is a credible argument to be made that there is no difference, that what Venus is experiencing is her reality without warping and distortion, it's a more credible argument than saying she completely fabricated all of it, and it's an argument I was starting to wonder wasn't the intended interpretation. Until I got the game's second, secret ending.

Psychopomp has one collectible that doesn't serve a direct gameplay purpose, but each catacomb has a key hidden away, often behind false mimic walls that bleed and scream when you hit them with your hammer, and which unlock new rooms in the only permanent location "Home". Initially a gray, cubical, concrete room with a single mattress and a small table with a radio on it, collecting keys allows you to further explore outside(?)/within(?) the home with a unique camera perspective and limited interaction. In the first layer there's a blob man who cries out in torment, demanding to know why you specifically made the world like this, giving some credence to the deification of Venus implied by the game's ending. In the last layer, Venus traverses underneath and past her own brain to unlock a repressed memory.

I take this as confirmation that there's some level of abstraction at play here. Under scrutiny it feels as though there must be some level of abstraction at play here because when taken as a whole, the conspiracies start becoming outright contradictory, even if you try to take the cosmology at play as fact, which are the closest thing to objective facts that we have.

See, Venus's perspective takes place an alternate Earth, one that both seemingly was broken off from the planet and now orbits it like a new moon but also has always existed. One of the locations is a natural history museum which explains the history of sentience on this counter-earth, humans rose, went extinct, were supplanted by a species called the thrait, then humans returned in a mutated form and retook the surface and forced the thrait back underground (though the museum also refers to the thrait as extinct despite being the most common friendly NPC you will encounter). Another location seems to imply that the humans of this world, or maybe only some of them, are artificial clay creatures, reinforced by the arbiters of the DNA factory too being clay alleles. The Human Seedbed even has the game's most effective jumpscare in it, where Venus cannot leave the area without being confronted with a jittering clay facsimile of herself.

But with that in mind, what the hell is Venus then? By no account is she one of these artificial clay people but then how did she get here? The game's introduction implies that she used to be a normal person, or at least closer to, with lived experiences inclusive of complete ignorance to this underworld, the game's endings imply that she's an immortal god-being who has been intentionally working towards her own reawakening, and that is actually one of the least ambiguous plot points within the narrative. None of the pieces of this world lock together to form a cohesive vision of a setting that operates on even the barest of internal rules, and yet the game in the same step refuses to be a character study or subconscious examination, I mean the epilogue is a damn sequel hook that involves assembling the damn Avengers to combat the ramifications of the events of the game.

So, I come to realize, I'm the problem. I might, in fact, be thinking about this too hard.

One of the locations in the game is called "Daddy's Bad Place". It is a single, tiny room of a house or apartment, frozen in a moment of tearing itself apart, that only contains a dusty old TV set with a small, pointless ornament sitting on top. In any other surrealist game, this isolated circle of clarity, a compact orb of recognizable terrain, would be a moment to deliver one single jolt of reality into the metaphor of the protagonist's journey through their own subconscious.

In Psychopomp the TV turns on and delivers a distorted warning about a giant insect which is deadly, deceitful, and above all, not real.

In Daddy's Bad Place I come to realize something. The lore is fake, the characterization is fake, the dichotomy of truth and delusion is fake, the insect is not real. Let's think about what I'm doing here for a moment, right? I'm trying to discern the truth from within a work of fiction. None of its true, none of it happened, what difference does it actually make?

The thing about conspiracy theories is that they don't make logical sense. It's a known phenomenon that conspiracy theorists love to debate, but cannot be reasoned out of their beliefs by facts or logic. There is never a counter, but always a failsafe argument that can be retreated to for safety. What conspiracy theories do make is emotional sense, they make narrative sense. The line that initially sold me on Psychopomp was one of the aforementioned loading screen tips, "All the food you've ever eaten is rotten. You have never tasted fresh food."

Patently false statement, does not hold under scrutiny, but I, as someone who lives in America and lives in a city center and has to get all my food through corporations, can look at a statement like that and say yeah. Checks out. I believe you. We would know if children were being smelted into egg slicers underneath public schools, but it resonates with our emotions about the systems of education we enforce upon children, so it could be true. We would know if buildings were a living, reproducing organism, but it resonates with the feelings of being born into a world where urbanism exists, has existed as permanent fixtures of the world, and is continuously encroaching upon the face of the world, so it could be true.

Anyone who understands the fundamentals of incentives and human psychology does not need to believe that there is a coordinated group of ontologically evil individuals driving the world to ruin for ruin's sake, but that narrative still feels true, it becomes validating in the ways that it plays off of the emotions of believers until it becomes a foundational pillar of belief that cannot be destroyed by logical contradiction.

Psychopomp, in the same way, presents information about its internal systems that cannot be true logically but form self-justification anyways through emotional resonance. It doesn't matter if the lore works because its stated, it isn't wrong, so it must be a truth. This is the way that Psychopomp emulates the unreality of the conspiracy theory in a way that can avoid the disturbing implications of the real world practice. I've made comparison to surrealism by dream logic and surrealism by internal self-reflection, but this is a different mode entirely and the game simply refuses to operate by those tropes at its core. Conspiracy is itself contradiction, not the soft contradiction of two halves of a dream that don't lock together, but the hard contradiction of attempting to apply emotion and narrative to a waking world that rejects either premise. Psychopomp, then, is surrealism by way of conspiracy.

[queerfandomtrifecta]

I am begging people to stop misconstruing “this plot point totally works because random, senseless, confusing, purely bad-luck things happen all the time in real life” with valid critiques of what does and does not constitute a well crafted narrative in media.

Media is not real life. Writer’s sat down, created these characters, and decided all the things they do and what happens to them. These characters inside a fictional narrative are not real life people subjected to uncontrollable real life events. Yes, art reflects life, and that’s totally valid up to a point in that creative choices made can and often are harmful outside the scope of the show/book/etc. But “It’s supposed to be confusing because some people act like this in real life. It’s supposed to not make sense because stuff like that happens in real life. How would you treat *real person*’s death if this happened to them in real life?” Well I sure as fuck wouldn’t be here on tumblr dot com writing meta about whether or not an actual real person’s death served a narrative structure in a way that was well crafted. Who the fuck would?? The death of fictional characters happens because the writers chose for it to and those ARE NOT THE SAME THING AS REAL PEOPLE REACTING TO A REAL PERSONS DEATH FROM A REAL LIFE EVENT.

Narrative critique of media cannot be applied to real people experiencing real life, and a faulty narrative is absolutely not immune from critique because “that’s how life is so it’s realistic whether or not it makes sense”.

[ashersbraincell]

Chara-cter analysis but I severely project onto them(prepare yourself for a wall of text, this IS the promised somewhat organised thoughts on chara as a character)

I really think they self-villanise as a coping mechanism, I really, truly do. All that calling themselves a demon? Dawg they are like at MOST 14. Of course they’re going to be edgy about it asf/pos

If they can just convince themselves that they are truly just pure evil and that they don’t care nor feel guilt, then life can just be easier. This is supplemented by the numbing properties of LV if we’re talking No Mercy run, and very much hinted at in the newest newsletter lore drop about them.

At it’s core, I think this comes from their hatred of humanity. I think, as they are in that phase of growing up where you realise not everything is as pure and innocent as you were clueless to as a kid, they very likely have become dead set in their view that humanity is inherently evil. And, even if they absolutely hate it, they still are human themselves.

And so, in an attempt to escape both humanity and their affiliation with it, they fall into the underground. I also think that their manipulation and teasing of Asriel is a result of their defeatist mindset about already being rotted and evil by humanity so they might as well teach this naive “crybaby” what the real world looks like. Because they see their past self, the one before learning about the inherent evil of humanity, in him.

But alas, to what extent we can’t be sure, they atleast regain hope that maybe just maybe monsters are better than humans. And since they don’t see their life worth much(being a rotten human being, afterall), they think that the only way they can “fix” the world is by exterminating the bad(humanity) and in the process freeing the good(monsters). So, the plan happens.

But, as we know, the plan doesn’t come to fruition. I really can imagine the pure spitting anger and frustration and hopelessness that Chara felt watching Asriel betray them for the sake of sparing the very humanity they hated. They just didn’t understand. Asriel really was naive, naive child.

And, after coming back, and seeing what Asriel had become(flowey), they lost faith in monsterkind aswell, this only made worse by how keen all the monsters in the underground are to attack the humans that fall down, despite them being children, the one pure, uncorrupted thing in their eyes. And under the orders of their adoptive dad, the one who they saw as the kindest being in existence, now yet another ruthless, heartless ruler(I also like how this then parallels them with Toriel, as I theorise they do take after her as suggested by them sharing way of greeting, whereas Flowey/Asriel shares Asgore’s).

The world was better off gone, then. That would solve everything, right? And maybe, just maybe, if they destroyed the world then they would surely go down with it(intense self hatred and self-villanised complex wooooo).

I really think this recontextualises both the true pacifist and no mercy runs.

In the No Mercy run, like many have theorised before after a certain youtube video analysis on them, we only confirm their beliefs. Confirm that both monsterkind and humankind are rotten and only seek to destory one another. We confirm their suspicions that their purpose is to destory the world for everyone’s good. And we give them the sweet sweet agent that is LV, and I do think they become addicted to it. It numbs their hurt, their pain, so perfectly afterall(undertale newsletter). And makes their job, their purpose, easier.

But in the True Pacifist run? Not only does our kindness show them that are is some genuine good in humanity, but we also gradually restore their faith in monsterkind throughout the run. From finding the genuine reasoning behind everyone’s actions and helping them overcome it and find alternative solutions, all the way to Asriel-the very first monster that shattered their faith in monsterkind. Treating the problem at the root, so to speak.

[xecutivecucumber]

An excellent analysis on CX-2 and how his identity affects the narrative. It helps that it's very funny.

[aybri]

So I talked a bit earlier about V2's nonexistence in the actual narrative, but what the fuck is up with the prime souls?

We learn a lot about them, we get secret hidden lore from them. If V1 isn't important to the wider narrative, and neither are the creatures it fights, then why do the prime souls seem so important?

Wait, I just figured it out. Narratively, Gabriel is the protagonist. The reason the prime souls seem so important is because they are important parts of Gabriel's past. Key elements of his character.

That's why they had such amazing fights and death speeches. That's why, compared to V2, they had dignified deaths. They are important to the wider narrative, but V2 wasn't.

And because V1 matters not to the true narrative, they aren't burdened by responsibility. All they know is violence. Gaining fuel is their only goal. And so, they kill Minos and Sisyphus without any repercussions, learning more about the history of Gabriel and not really giving all that much of a shit.

[edwardsissyhandsthtdanceslikeabb]

if azula needs redeeming, why wasnt she?

i read this analysis of Azuko? Zukla? idk but a critique of their sibling dynamic, particularly within the context of doomed siblings, and tho i don’t agree with it, it’s a testament to its writer that there’s innate value in carving out my thoughts from their own.

so a lot of my disagreement boils down to the fact that the way the analysis construed zuko & azula, from characterizing them as doomed siblings, to the way azula’s breakdown is framed, is a problem of taste and inferences, and how these interpretive elements can be incongruent with technical aspects like intent, convention, medium, or the functional mechanics of art overall.

firstly, i think its very important to highlight that while elite art is holistic and multifaceted, it is doubly focused and premeditated, and its constituents all occupy a purpose and position within it, as they are narrative elements first and foremost. which complicates things when creation and consumption are both such human, evocative processes, but i think looking at the rudimentary layers of a story are the north stars in subjective landscapes like this. and most salient of these, is the story’s anti-colonial roots, centering indigeneity explicitly, and the cultural, spiritual and earthly relationships therein, with the main conflict being restoring the dignity and autonomy of the subjugated, alongside the internal work and opposition that are necessitated in doing so. everything stems from that, and though there is complexity and nuance therein, and the story itself is immensely liberal in execution, it is also ultimately a good vs bad narrative, which it has every right to be, bc colonialism is bad, and colonialists are bad.

therefore, atla inherently adheres to convention, and has a preestablished idealistic framework. to illustrate this, it utilizes two central characters, both encapsulations of the dualistic nature of oppressor and the oppressed, and navigated thusly as foils to one another. zuko is thereby, the deuteragonist, and the depth or lack thereof, of his environment are equally conditioned by his position, as the confines of the kid’s tv medium, serialization as well as narrative structuring itself, craft him. kill your darlings and all that lol.

however, these positionalities, while abiding convention, are not binary, and while conclusive, they are not absolutist. zuko for example, is antithetical to a Madonna, stressed by him even having a redemption to realize, and azula too is done an injustice by any reduction to a whore / imperfect victim archetype. this compartmentalization, is luckily ill-fitting in accommodating their totality, and doesn’t incorporate the fact that consequence, in avatar, is not a condemnation of personhood, but a retaliation to action, and has mangled indiscriminately, with azula’s case actually, being the reclamation of principles and in-world intentionality.

to begin with, zuko, while most recognized for his redemption, is not functionally the redemptive character™, he’s an example of the sacrifice, sincerity and labor that are inherent to anti-colonial action facilitated by an absconding oppressor, of the inborn empathy and active resistance that are needed for a system to change, and how you don’t just get there through platitudes or amicability. those thematic niceties are ofc inherent to his story bc he’s fleshed out and the things that inspired him thusly are too, but that emotional and relational floweriness is a consequence of his actions, not their driving force (being embraced by imperial idolization, by his royal family, was not fulfilling), what drove him is a fundamental and intrinsic ideological disdain for the imperialist war machine — it was ultimately, an abstraction of self – by acting in service of others, which unlike letting imperialist standards (e.g. chauvinism and parasitism and “honor”) puppeteer him as an instrument of violence, is ironically, an act of true autonomy and discernment. deriving your value from mutualism and earning one’s stature, instead of asserting yourself on others and letting corrosive and paternalistic worldviews (and by extension the selfishness & self absorption i.e “honor” innate to that) rule your destiny.

azula, however, is meant to be an inversion of that, is meant to reflect what happens when you reject morality or connection, instead letting control and superiority entrap you. she is explicitly a cautionary tale, which also comes with its own oversights and inelegant implications, but she likewise, greatly exemplifies the internal decay and loneliness inherent to alienating yourself through cruelty and stratification. and is it not possible then that a girl who has valued herself by what she can inflict on others, would then have the very sanctity of existence warped at no longer being able to dominate, no longer deemed the ideal? is infection not a thing that savages, before it spreads? in this way, azula is poignant.

as the more intimate face of imperialism, she is humanized in her parasitism, but it is not used to soften her behavior, nor is it used to hand her redemption. it is not smth that she is owed for the very coincidence of her birth or blood, its earned, and she did not earn nor want it.

so when a character that suggested the utter evisceration of marginalized groups, and thereafter tried to murder a personification of colonial survivor’s guilt and endangered practices, is consequently left to mourn her superiority, just as her father before her, its smth we sympathize with within reasonable boundaries. when her brother, who she abused, doesn’t martyr himself to azula’s interiority, instead laboring towards his own destiny and happiness, rather than the genesis of azula’s redemption, that is not inconsistency, it’s peace. its making peace despite the fact that some would rather rot in the entrails of imperialism than afford its victims value, would rather hurt others, and in turn themselves, than embrace healing and progress

— (plus inflicting his values may not in fact heal, when healing is not inherently uniform, and growing is not innately moralistic).

now, there’s a whole nurture vs nature angle to this as well and these ontological arguments are often touchy, yes zuko had ursa and iroh. yes zuko was forced to challenge his preconceptions, but zuko wasn’t diametric to these things, and the supplementations he did receive were always compensatory. zuko was deemed genetically inferior by ozai and thusly ostracized, hence ursa’s gentle partiality, zuko was then mutilated and exiled, and naturally needed supervision, which was provided by an overseer who mirrored his disgrace. if denied these safeguards zuko would’ve been denied even palliative care, whereas azula was perceived as needing none when she was revered positionally and familialy.

yes being pit against zuko was toxic and destructive but its not at all equivocal to the outright abuse zuko suffered. ofc the threat of it was implicit but those who abet or orbit abusers are not inherently under threat, and i think azula is characterized similarly. it's not fear that colors her outburst against ozai, nor coerces her silence, its entitlement and a sanctifying of hierarchies: “i deserve to be by your side.” - it’s respect that earns her silence and it’s the promise of respect that goads her acquiescence, the prospect of accumulation. this is ofc not a healthy mindset to have bc azula hinges her value on perfection, performance and status, and it's evident how the pressure of that collapsed her, but it was a pressure she had embraced before. it was her adeptness that ozai latched onto, and before the inviolability of it was challenged, azula took advantage of her nature, she weaponized it, and it was that eagerness that ozai exploited.

as viewers we process this as the objectification it is, but its reality, is a systemic natured dehumanization, ingrained in any culture that seeks to mechanize its constituents (which is all societies actually. we are all complicit). ozai thinks he is honing her as did his father and his colonialist forefathers prior, and herein is not abuse in the conventional sense, but rather a tradition of commodification that extricates skill and hegemonizes personhood, it’s an existential death necessitated by imperialism. it’s the death of agency. azula embraced this necrotic philosophy until she was confronted with the consequences of her rot, and *that’s* what she got. consequences. of which she was spared throughout.

it was never personal.

sure we get glimpses of her humanity, her vulnerability, but they’re paltry and muddied too by an undercurrent of duplicitousness. azula flaunts zuko’s impending demise, yet later, includes him in her outings. azula relishes zuko’s mutilation, but also fetches him from the beach house. she falsely welcomes zuko back, then implores he join her sincerely. and azula shares her pain from ursa yet spurns softness still, from MaiKo’s juvenile fondness to ursa’s own guiding attempts. azula is ceaselessly cruel to zuko, then spontaneously benevolent to him once he has seemingly subsumed the apparatus of colonialism. and gives him credit for killing the avatar, yet shows a sly inclination of his revival. this isn’t to insinuate that azula is ontologically evil or that she’s an unnuanced, mono-faceted individual. and she was a child. yet zuko’s youth didn’t spare him from the grotesque terrors of death and alienation, and it didn’t temper her perpetual antagonism and bloodlust, she is demonstrably self-serving, and this is evidenced throughout.

this is not to shame her in her passivity, nor an expectation that she martyr herself or even commiserate with her brother. rather, her downfall is a reaping of autonomy, made subject to the tendency of one’s active leanings. in which the choice of her sibling abuse exacerbated her societal abuse, all festering, foremost, the abuse of her own soul.

so, relatedly, is it not possible that a character of her cunning, who emotionally degraded her own sibling while gleefully championing his attempted imprisonment, before graduating to attempted murder by preparing to electrocute him while he was enfeebled on the ship, then later tried to kill aang, tried to kill katara, gloated abt intending to kill zuko at the air temple, injured iroh while making her escape from the gaang + zuko. also endangered and coerced ty lee into joining her, imprisoned mai, nearly killed zuko as he tried to save katara (which was likely her intent, or at least meant to cripple zuko’s composure — dishonoring the agni kai) — need i go on. azula’s benevolence is conditional, and consistently transactional, and so is it not possible then that she gauged zuko’s swaying allegiances against her own armaments - when faced with iroh, a waterbending master, an earthbending master with groundbreaking abilities (>_-), and the literal avatar, after observing their – plus aang’s growth, and having been cornered before, then decided rather, that having another asset, puppet, contingency plan, in her pocket wouldn’t hurt.

maybe she was being benevolent, or maybe, azula, who too sat in liberated territory and was gifted a chance for growth and morality, rejected that chance over the value therein, tenderized for extraction, parasitizing instead. maybe azula too, was acting in the imperialist tradition of exploitation. maybe she holds the capacity for compassion and care — which we have gleaned regardless — but the tangentials and hypotheticals of the world are often not what is actualized, and they are not a thing that can be affected. empathy is an active pursuit, and it is mutualistic, provisional — and so there is not a ‘who’ of azula’s redemption, but a what, the ‘what’ that is to be influenced. the personalization of one’s own form, of an internal receptiveness to commiserate with. bc as is, azula is merely a husk of colonialism, and being a husk of colonialism is meant to be sad, its deliberately tragic, unflinchingly pitiable. disorienting. life shattering. that’s what you’re meant to feel, it is not an inadvertence of zuko’s arc, and it is not a coincidence of the narrative.

she is a trajectory within herself, and her fate is a whole within itself. just as zuko labors towards rectifying his nation bc he needs to, bc there is value in dismantling colonialism, not bc the imperialists are owed it, but bc everyone else is. zuko also watches, not with apathy or boredom as his sister implodes at this, but with pity, with grief, bc azula manipulated herself a bed of corpses, and it is not him who must choose not to lie in it. when healing is intentional, is active, and zuko has chosen to heal. when azula cannot be handheld and shielded from her war crimes and systemic violence bc she wasn’t hugged enough as a child. zuko too lost a core sense of support mournfully young, and moreover at many points in his development journey, but the inclination that told him to speak up in the war room is doubly the same inclination that told him to afford jin affection, or help the earth kingdom family, and save his crew member in the storm, despite this very vulnerability catalyzing his banishment.

azula had friends and she had adoration and she had paternalistic validation, but contentment is unattainable when accumulation is your driving force. and the only thing left to cannibalize is yourself. with this, azula’s downfall was not only inevitable, it was natural, foretold even. and just as iroh doesn’t adhere to whatever deficits were sewn unwittingly into ozai, nor is it demanded — it also isn’t azula’s fallibilities that now damn her. azula isn’t the “bad sibling”, devoid of nuance, she’s the bad person™. despite it all.

katara has ptsd and toph is blind, sokka is a non-bender and zuko was deemed handicapped then maimed thereafter, instability is not azula’s punishment, its an externalization of her decay, and its meant to be unrelenting and all-encompassing, because abstraction and objectification are totalitarian afflictions. likewise, her condemnation is not a consequence of gender marginalization, tho the undertones of spoilt brat tropes and somehow unconventional, inevitably crazed women sully our palates. we taste bias even where it perishes, even as the fire nation is seemingly meritocratic, and unabashed, imperfect girls are idealized story-wide. from toph to azula herself, who may be conflated for a sanist archetype, yet challenges gender roles and infantilization in her prowess and militancy, as she’s sterile and calculating and impassive, where zuko is feeble and undermined, aimless, emotional. she is far beyond any trope, contrivance or embellishment, and doesn’t flourish or encumber zuko’s arc, as he equally isn’t made to for her’s.

azula is a force beyond zuko, until she can no longer deny him, and azula haunts zuko until she doesn’t, until her own crossroads loom, her contrived dualism of failure or victor, aggressor and victim. and she is forced then to reckon with loss. azula’s end is not a reductionism at hands other than her own, her fall is not zuko’s win, nor does the show frame it gloriously, there is no joy in her misery, no minimization of her tragedy, from the score to the tone, in her chilling, animalistic pules, azula languishes in her self-destruction, and it is one entirely independent of zuko. with this, we are shown azula’s nuance, the unthinking allyship she inspired, yet the coercion and dereliction it veiled. the camaraderie and kindness she offered, to warn zuko against visiting iroh, to credit him unduly, yet the threat it masked, to stay unadulterated, to stay unctuous. the vilification she detested, and yet the love she scorned for its fragility and irrepressibility. ursa doesn’t confirm azula’s worst fears, ironically, sadistically, any love she may have held haunts her, is nearly derisory. impossible.

and while no debate exists that ursa neglected azula, or that she failed her duty to nurture and cater her parenting to azula’s needs and interiority, the factors that complicated that, such as ozai’s own domineering hold, alienated mother and child from any means of cultivating real love, and thusly the influences azula did ingest were brutality, unchallenged in nature, entirely singular. it’s a self-flagellation, a ritualistic and sustained self alienation, amputating any vulnerability, all perceived pluralities.

so azula, despite not consistently having her perspective expressed, still encompasses the products of colonial rearing, and its destructiveness isn’t meant to be contested, sugarcoated, not with others and not with the self. fascism has denied us azula the person, and that may be a consequence of format, but it isn’t a consequence of the narrative. nor realism. we are meant to acknowledge azula’s complexities in the intentionality of their artful crafting, while not undermining that architects of oppression still bleed. one can see themselves in azula’s struggles, in the humanity of her endeavors, while not decontextualizing the tenets of her positionality, while not undermining that every character that claimed their redemption, did so by choosing another, by loving.

and azula’s journey to love, to embracing her own humanity, is a journey solely her own. this isn’t to say that she doesn’t deserve support or guidance or love or care, but that’s not the point. that wasn’t the intent of her character, and that wasn’t the thematic priority of the show. it's an extrapolation. bc some ppl suck and that’s ok. and there are ppl you cannot help and that is ok. and sometimes the ppl you love will suffer, and that has to be ok. bc sometimes you choose yourself, sometimes you choose what you can, and that is ok. it is okay to grow, and it is ok to move on. that’s the point. it is ok to spit out the poison. forgive any tactlessness therein, but it’s a tough pill, and its meant to have an aftertaste.

however, it's not cynicism that one is meant to internalize, and it's not intended to inspire fatalism either, although the symbology of azula’s toxicity is excised, the human struggles she encapsulated remain, the intimacy of our empathy persists, and it will color the fire nation’s vices and pitfalls. bc when one can’t just will away indoctrination, as we saw with both azula and zuko, and even still with paku or toph’s parents, as hierarchies are intersectional and multifaceted, and in the trials of decolonization there will thusly be azulas’, but there will also be zukos’, and pakus’, and sokkas’. all with their very intimate, equally human complexes to confront, unravel and rectify. just as there sit your perspectives, as there too exist my own influences.

and while zuko may merely be a beneficiary of the prevailing zeitgeist (tho imperialism explicitly requires non-consent lol), where azula once functioned, and he may be no more ontologically owed redemption than azula, or deserving love over her, when in the forever-war of subjugation, it isn’t abt ontology or criteria, nor logicisms or hypotheticals, its abt action. so zuko tries. and that resistance, that anti-colonial praxis, is a good start, it’s the most meaningful start. zuko isn’t king, or redeemed, bc he’s genetically “good”, its bc he tries. that’s the point. not how efficient he is or how proficiently he embodies apparatus.

reparation. that’s. the point. the triumph of resistance juxtaposing the tragedy of complacency. bc nothing is immutable, and so nothing is too far gone.

.

.

Besides… it’s only a kid’s show heh.

[creaturecomplications]

TW: mentions of death(we all know who), analysis and acknowledgement of familial dysfunction in the TMNT 2012 narrative

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TL;DR immediately under cut

TL;DR: The 2012 turtles grew up in a dysfunctional family system created by Splinter and the poor writing accidentally gave a really good inside look to what real dysfunctional families are like. Also I still like this version, so I analysed it.

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Thought I'd share a thought I've had about the 2012 TMNT series for a WHILE. This is based on a mix of my own, admittedly somewhat limited, engagement with the series as well as what I've heard others say about it's writing quality and the particular issues it creates in the series.

TMNT 2012 unintentionally became a REALLY good look at what a dysfunctional family is like from the INSIDE. I say this as someone who grew up in a dysfunctional family system, though my parents were not physically abusive like Splinter was shown to occasionally be mostly to Leo but sometimes he dragged the whole family along for the ride. Regardless, let me give a couple examples.

People often complain how Mikey's character growth is just plain ignored by the writers repeatedly throughout the series(really anyone who isn't Leo or Raph, but Mikey's the focus for now). While this IS bad writing on their part, it's also something that ACTUALLY HAPPENS in dysfunctional systems like this. Mikey's role in the family is clearly the jokey, happy little brother. In families like this, you are not allowed to grow outside your role. No one will outright SAY it, but the family's reactions to such things will usually be enough for most people to shove themselves right back in their box. That said, some find spaces and people outside the family to explore these parts of themselves, and from what little I've seen Mikey seems to have done this with the likes of the Mutanimals, then, once he's back with family, everything deemed outside his role gets neatly tucked away until next time.

There's also their friends who, even those who've been accepted as family, don't get to see the full extent of the dysfunction. Everyone knows Raph and Leo fight, they'll yell at each other in the main room after all, but no one gets to see things like what I've watched of Splinter's and Leo's talks in the dojo, and most of Splinter's talks with Raph about his anger. Actually, a lot of Splinter's not-so-great actions are hidden, not just from their friends, but from a good chunk of his sons too. Then, once someone like April shows up, he's the loving, if some what strict, father that pretty much everyone in this community the turtles have built respects greatly. This respect isn't entirely without merit, I'll admit, but the point still stands that he acts better when people from outside their immediate family are around then he does when their not. I also wouldn't say he's the greatest towards any of his kids, but he's better to some then others with Raph and Leo getting the brunt of it, though even Raph seems to experience more warmth from him in the show then Leo does. He also seems to treat Raph and Leo better if Donnie and/or Mikey are around, though not as much as when friends stop by.

I know I've just spent an entire paragraph essentially sh*tting on Splinter, but I would like to point out that IS clear he loves his sons dearly. It's also clear he's a deeply flawed and traumatized character who I plan on exploring more. Regardless, it doesn't excuse his behavior and the toxic system he's created as a result of it. I think even more of an explanation could have been found if we knew more about his upbringing and the Hamato Clan outside of Tang Shen and Oroku Saki, but he actually doesn't seem to talk much about them which is FASCINATING to me considering how much pride he holds in his culture and in BEING Hamato. Quite frankly, I'd bet money he's recreated something very similar to what he grew up in, hence why he sees no problem raising the turtles the same but now I'm just speculating and making head cannons 😅. Either way, as much as he loves them, he was NOT the best dad.

Back to the main point, while the writing, again CLEARLY unintentionally, creates a really good narrative look at the inner workings of a dysfunctional family, there IS hope for them at the end from what I've seen. An interesting detail I've noticed is that the boys all seem to start getting along better and finding better ways to cope and work together whenever Splinter is out of the immediate picture for a significant chunk of time, like when their in space or at the farmhouse. It takes time, sure, but it's there. They also seem to do better and get closer as they get older, which is something my sister and I found in our own relationship. While Splinter's death is certainly hard on them, I imagine they'll stay close and things will only get better between them as time goes on. Maybe they'll realize how Splinter handled certain things wasn't great or maybe they won't, but either way I see room for them to be happier and more real, present, and honest with each other post series. Please feel free to respectfully give your opinion and your own observations, I'd love to see some other takes if possible! Also please keep in mind that I haven't watched the full series, mostly just clips with some episodes sprinkled in through the years so please feel free to tell and send me stuff so I can watch and learn more about these guys because I love them even if they're not my favorite iteration!

[siderealcity]

More Dawntrail narrative thoughts, this time about the Golden City. Spoilers below.

There are several layers to the Golden City as a plot device in Dawntrail, and I think they're interesting enough to just unpack them all and look at them.

The first time we hear the term, it's from Hades in Endwalker:

"Tell me, have you been to the ruins beneath the waters of the Bounty? Or the treasure islands beyond the frozen waters of Blindfrost, in Othard's north? The fabled golden cities of the New World? The sacred sites of the forgotten people of the south sea isles?"

It's telling that he groups that with the sacred sites of the south sea isles. The plot later tells us that they are explicitly connected to one another, but why does it call them "citiies," plural? Where's the other one, Hades?

(Also, we haven't yet been to the treasure islands in the north, but every one of those locations in the quote above has to do with cross-rift travel. Every. One. So, that may be something we see again later.)

But apart from their lore and plot significance (and potential foreshadowing), the Golden City is, from the first time we hear of it, a lure. Bait, dangled before an explorer, enticing them to go onward. It is, for lack of a better word, a promise of things to come. In the specific case in Endwalker, it's a promise that your story isn't over yet, there's still more to come. Even though you are, at that moment, standing in front of the amassed dead of countless worlds. Death is not the end, it's the beginning of new life.

The second time we hear the term, it's from Wuk Lamat. Who is, again, using it to entice us to join her. We don't know at that point that her actual title is, in fact, Promise. And that is significant.

It is, likewise, the bait for Krile's involvement in the story. The thing she knew her grandfather had been asked to study, the secret he'd kept out of the records of the Students, the promise of a connection. To the past, to someone she loved who is now gone.

But then there's the Rite of Succession. And it changes the meaning of the plot device entirely.

The Rite is structured to follow the Tulliyolal saga--the journey Gulool Ja Ja undertook, over the course of who knows how many years, to unify the peoples of Tural into a single nation. A journey which notably has nothing to do with the Golden City. To the Turali, it's a fairy tale. It is so detached from the story of Gulool Ja Ja that Koana immediately has to ask if the city being the final goal means his father actually has some proof it exists.

The Rite itself, as Gulool Ja Ja later admits to us, is meant to be instructional for his children. They are not meant to simply find and cross the finish line, they're supposed to be learning how to be the rulers of Tural.

As we complete feats in the rite, we are awarded stories of the Golden City by each of the races in Yok Tural. And they all follow a significant pattern: The Golden City was the literal dream of the Yok Huy. The conquerers of every single people in southern Tural. The stories we are given are the stories shared by colonized people of their oppressors.

The conquest of Yok Tural is mentioned repeatedly. Every group we meet was displaced and enslaved by the giants during their empire, and the ultimate goal of that empire was to find the Golden City--a paradise of eternal life without pain or suffering. It is at this point that the Golden City becomes a warning. It is the promise of self-destruction. Searching for it ultimately toppled the Yok Huy empire and changed the giants forever. It displaced and disrupted numerous cultures and started centuries of war.

It is, ultimately, the reason why Gulool Ja Ja ever had to play the role of peacemaker and unifier in the first place. The divide-and-conquer tactics employed by the Yok Huy created every problem he set out to solve.

Why did he choose to make it the final goal of the Rite of Succession? A place he famously did not find before becoming Dawnservant? Was it, perhaps, as a lesson to his children, his Promises? Especially his son Zoraal Ja who had dreams of empire?

But interestingly, the Golden City was also set forth as the specific goal for Erenville to find by his mother. Cahciua wasn't present in the flashbacks to Galuf and Gulool Ja Ja and Kettenram viewing the gate, but we know that she met them afterward, and had Erenville with her. Was she with them the first time they'd found the gate? I have to think she was. The only people who seem to have known for sure about it, among Gulool Ja Ja's circle of friends and allies, were the explorers. The ones who would have been interested in searching for it purely for the joy of discovery.

I think it's safe to say that for Cahciua, at least at the time that she gives her son his quest, the Golden City is the Almost Impossible Dream. One that can, in fact, be found, but crucially, not alone. The Yok Huy, who searched for it for generations, and crushed everyone around them trying to get inside, had it in their possession all along. But they never even saw the gate. It took Gulool Ja Ja, who had friends to help him, who actually discovered the way in. It is the promise of discovery through love and fellowship, for her only son who was withdrawn and antisocial.

And then we actually find it.

It is not an accident that the way to reach the Golden City is through a cenotaph of lost hope. We literally pass through waters littered with the bodies of children who were never born--promises never fulfilled--to get to its gate.

And it's eating the Yok Huy ruin. The electrope spreads out from the gate like an infection, over-writing the Yok Huy stonework, erasing their culture.

And it's still... oddly beautiful? But in the way a poisonous mushroom is beautiful.

And it's closed. We don't go through it at this point, though we walk right up to the seal on the doorway. Because we're alive.

We're told by Erenville that many people have sought the Golden City, never to return. And of course they didn't.

Because this is the gateway to death.

Zoraal Ja is the first person we actually see go through it. The False Promise. Just to reinforce that this is, in fact, Zoraal Ja's role, Sareel Ja leads him to the gate and hands him the key with a speech that is wholly constructed of the same false platitudes about Zoraal Ja's magical birthright that have driven Zoraal Ja to be this self-destructive and miserable in the first place. And we can see how much the speech upsets Zoraal Ja, who just lost the contest to both his siblings. He knows every word of his inherent greatness and destiny is a lie. Sareel Ja hands him the key, and he grips it like it might be a bludgeon without even looking at it. And the second time Sareel Ja makes a "Resilient Son" speech, Zoraal Ja literally stabs him in the back.

Having skipped all the lessons and warnings about the danger of pursuing death and destruction, Zoraal Ja walks through its front door.

And I don't think it's accidental that the dome appears in Xak Tural, even though the gate itself is located in Yak T'el, far to the south. Xak Tural is the land that defeated the Yok Huy advance without a single battle. The unconquerable land. This is the part of Tulliyolal that Gulool Ja Ja didn't have to fix because it was never broken in the first place. They very notably do not live in the segregated societies the people of the south do, because nobody imposed that on them. The towns we see are a mix of races living together, and probably served as the inspiration for Gulool Ja Ja to build Tulliyolal in the first place, differing people pursuing communal and sometimes conflicting interests together. These are the people Zoraal Ja has been rambling about nonsensically, "teaching the value of peace by the misery of war." The ones who don't need Tulliyolal, but merely want to be part of it.

He can make his mark here because his father never did.

When the dome appears over Yyasulani, we, the players, know it's Zoraal Ja's passage through the gate that caused it, but the characters don't learn this until after he's brutally slaughtered people. We players see the sequence of events as: Zoraal Ja, the Promise of Death, walks into the land of death and carries it out with him. But the characters are instead following the trail of death back to the land of the dead. We don't enter Alexandria through the Golden City. Not at first. We enter it through a swathe of destruction and desolation and a storm that never ends. That's our first view of it. The promise of ruin. We do not see the paradise that led the Yok Huy to their doom until after we know that Sphene, like the Yok Huy, is willing to lay waste to the lives around her to have her Golden City.

And then we have the vision.

I don't think it's an accident that the only people who have ever seen anything come out of the gate to the Golden City are the Warrior of Light, Gulool Ja Ja, Kettenram, Galuf, and indirectly Cahciua. All characters who inherently understand that life comes from death and the balance between them is vital. And it's symbolically significant that it's a child who is delivered from the land of the dead. Her parents don't come with her. The dead don't get to return, we get new life instead.

And then we go there. And it looks like Amaurot.

We call it Living Memory, but the resemblance to Amaurot, and the knowledge of what's actually here means that we immediately understand the lie. The Golden City, the cloud, the twelfth level of Everkeep, all of it has always been a false promise. Zoraal Ja, the False Promise, walked into the land of False Promises and became its king.

And Sphene, the Queen of False Promises, has always had the impossible task of keeping the dead alive.

As we make our way through Living Memory, it's notable that what we actually do is remove the beautiful, golden veneer from the land of the dead. The city is still there when we're done with it. We walk back outside through its gate. We do not have the power to remove death any more than we could destroy despair. But we take the lie out of it, we free the stolen life force to become life again. It's now just dead. No more promises of paradise or ruin to fulfill.

[santacoppelia]

The HUGE analysis - This season starts and ends with a discussion, doesn't it?

Ok, my loves. This was one of the really long metas I've been working with, and probably the one that has taken me the longest (because it depended a lot on rewatching the season time and again).

I couldn't help to notice that the fist interaction Aziraphale and Crowley have in season 2 is a fight, really. Yeah, we have the beautiful “in the beginning” sequence, with both of them being angels and happy and all the such (oh, how lovely, Neil Gaiman planting the seeds of why it will matter to us that Aziraphale will not be fighting the idea of inviting Crowley to Heaven, because he remembers that happy, careless guy). But after the intro, we see them having a big disagreement… And we end the season in the biggest disagreement they have had, probably, in 6,000 years.

I love over-analyzing and dissecting narratives and characters, and more so if I can use only what we’ve been shown in the screen. Therefore, I believe that the first fight of the season tells us a lot of the things we will need to know to understand the final fight of the season between them. Let’s take a look, shall we?

The first fight is motivated by having an amnesiac Gabriel in the bookshop.

They see the same circumstance: Gabriel in the bookshop means trouble with Heaven. He is also an individual risk, because he has menaced Aziraphale directly (well, Crowley under the visage of Aziraphale).

It affects each of them differently: even when they both panic, Aziraphale feels compelled to be kind to Gabriel (gives him a blanket and hot cocoa) while Crowley has a full-on panic induced reaction and gets defensive.

They propose opposite solutions: Azi wants to do the Good thing, taking the “higher road” (help Gabriel), while Crowley wants to do His Own thing: “Protect the precious, peaceful, fragile existence I have carved for myself”

At that moment, Aziraphale corrects him and marks a “we”, which is very interesting. But immediately after that, Aziraphale gets all "my way or the highway".

Crowley asks for clarification, with a well-leveled tone of voice: “Is this how it is going to go?”

Azi clarifies "no, I want you to help me!" But then he does the passive-aggressive thing: "if you won't, you won't". (oh, Aziraphale, how you triggered me here, my dear chap. I was angry at the character the first 6 times I saw this)

Therefore, Crowley is out. He marks a clear limit: “I won't. You are on your own”, and then storms out. No Eccles cakes would help him: he needs a breather and counting to 10. That doesn't help either.

Crowley only comes back after gaining an extra perspective: the "extreme sanctions" talk with Beelzebub.

When he comes back, Aziraphale will stand his ground: he feels he deserves an apology, which is delivered via a “I was wrong, you were right” literal admission (even when he probably wasn't "right", but that's their way... And they've been doing it since 1650, or so they say). Then they are able to work together again.

Now, let’s see how this dynamic plays out in their last discussion of the season:

They come from different sides of the same experience: Crowley went to Heaven to investigate and learned about the plans to continue with the end of the world, while Aziraphale stayed defending the bookshop. Then Crowley saves the humans, while Aziraphale solved the Beelzebub + Gabriel affair.

They haven’t had time to talk, as they get interrupted by The Metatron. While he takes Aziraphale, Crowley receives a visit from Maggie and Nina.

Each one of them gained an extra different perspective: Azi, the Metatron proposal (and veiled menace); Crowley, the pep talk/scolding from the couple they were trying to get together.

This makes them develop different solutions:

Crowley wants to finally admit what Azi has been saying all the season: they are a "we" (Azi said so when Crowley talked about his “precious, peaceful, fragile existence”; he said it again when talking about “our car” and reinforced it with the bookshop)

Azi wants to take the "higher road": go to Heaven, reinstate Crowley as an angel, so they can still work together.

Crowley sees the “usual dynamic” of their disagreements coming: it will be Azi’s way (or the highway). That has happened before, in front of our eyes, and not only in this season: it happened also in season 1, but we have already attested that it is still happening, and it is even “worse” (Aziraphale being a little “petty” with the “if you do, it is fine, but if you won’t, you are on your own” in the Gabriel discussion).

Crowley gets indignant. He asks, tentatively, if he told him where to stick it… And then he reinforces his belief. We are better than that, YOU are better than that, you don’t need them, I don’t need them; then he makes the first mention of the offer of getting back to Hell (which he hadn’t shared with Aziraphale), and makes a new point: I said no, neither should you!

Aziraphale goes back to the “you are the bad guys!” thing. Heaven being the side of Truth, of Light, of Good… It is not the propaganda Crowley needed for this move.

Crowley then clarifies the fallacy in his logic: when Heaven ends life on Earth, it’ll be just as dead as if Hell ended it.

Aziraphale then sees the "undesirable result" coming: Crowley is not going to accept, not with that argument.

Crowley makes his plead grow in urgency: Tell me you said no.

Aziraphale’s pitch of voice goes high (usually used as a sign of distress): “If I’m in charge, I can make a difference.”

Crowley understands. This is his “my way or the highway” moment. That’s why he comes up with the courage to make his half-proposal-half admission.

Crowley never gets to state out loud the “I want us to be together in a formal way” part. His voice breaks before he does so. He mentions all of the reasons they have to stay together, which Aziraphale already knows: we have been together for a long time, we’ve been a group (“our own side” was the way he always said it before) and we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t (Azi also knows that! He has been working hard into making Crowley notice it!)

You can see, when they shoot Aziraphale’s face, he squints a little during that moment: maybe questioning, a little disbelief? As usual with Michael Sheen, it is a blink it and you’ll miss it moment.

After the grunt, Crowley proposes his alternative solution: going off together, using Beelzebub & Gabriel as an example that they could.

Therefore, what Aziraphale has just listened is what he already knew: yes, they are a “we”. Crowley wants to run away (he had proposed it twice during the Armageddidn’t, another pattern they have already established).

The next step is the usual way for Aziraphale: he reinforces his proposal: come with me, to Heaven. Ill’ run it, you can be my second in command. This idea has rubbed me wrong since the first time I watched this scene. Why remark the hierarchy? (not to say that I’m in Crowley’s side in here, but… It was weird and uncomfortable to think of them in a vertical power structure; they have always been equals).

Then, he goes back to making a difference, only it is “we” this time. Crowley is noticing he won’t back down… But Aziraphale usually doesn’t.

“You can’t leave this bookshop” works as a representation, a figure of speech. “This Bookshop” is “This life we have been building”, and they both understand it as such.

“Oh, Crowley… Nothing lasts forever…” For Aziraphale, it means he can leave this for something greater. For Crowley, it means… Actually, the same. But without him. Because he knows the “my way or the highway” side of Aziraphale, and none of them will budge. Aaaaand… that’s Crowley heart breaking. The rest of the scene happens with Crowley in “breakup mode”.

Aziraphale is used to “the discussion dance”. He Insists, “Crowley! Come back, to Heaven, work with me! We can be together, Angels! Doing good!”. He promises all he can: “come back, work with me, we can be together”, which have always been Crowley’s triggers to change his mind. However, the problem lies within the “angels doing good”. That’s the part that Aziraphale would need to let go before getting back to Crowley.

And then, he breaks down: “I need you!!” That has always worked! Aziraphale knows that Crowley loves being needed, he won’t leave his angel when in need, right?

And then, he gets angry. And he questions if Crowley has understood what he is offering, which transforms in an “I don’t think your exactly and my exactly are the same exactly” all over again.

Crowley is already brokenhearted, so he answers truthfully, as far as he knows. He understands how terrible the offer of going back to heaven is for both of them, and is not aware of the veiled threat in Metatron’s offer. He knows that going back to Heaven is a non-negotiable boundary, and Aziraphale is absolutely determined to cross it.

Aziraphale, then, does his passive-aggressive shit again: “I guess there is nothing more to say”. My guy, my love, you need to become better at negotiating with your loved one.

This is where Crowley decides to show, don’t tell, the hurt: no nightingales. And then… The “You idiot. We could have been… us” (no, you couldn’t, it was always too late!!! First the pandemic, which I’ve decided to treat as canon, then Gabriel. They never stood a chance).

In this context, Crowley’s kiss is a desperate way to say good-bye to the person he cared most for the last 6,000 years; also an angry way to regain some semblance of control and affect Aziraphale; and a final way to get some “closure”. Is there desire? Is there love? Maybe. But they are lost in a cocktail of emotions that have been stated during the rest of the discussion.

The angry “I forgive you”, which is also a usual dynamic for Aziraphale when he is angry with Crowley, gets there too late for Crowley to react to. He has already “checked out”. That’s why the “don’t bother” feels almost like an afterthought and comes after a small sigh.

After watching this 16 times, I’m pretty confident that the first thing Aziraphale mouths is a “no…” and then… he sobs a little. Michael Sheen, you’re a beautiful actor. The rest of it is a masterclass in using microexpressions to convey a whirlwind of emotions in under 2 minutes.

Sooooo... Did I hurt my own emotions while writing this? Yes. Did I absolutely need to do so? Also yes. Even when I like doing intertextual readings (and that's why I like bringing some theology to some of my musings), reading what is in "the text" (in the scenes we have watched, in the dialogues we've been shown) gives me an enormous amount of pleasure, and I find a lot of comfort in believing that most of the things that I'll need to understand and enjoy a great piece of media are being given to me inside it. And I believe Good Omens is a great piece of media!!

I have no Shakespeare to offer you this time. Let me know what you think!!

[gayofthefae]

I love Lucas as Mike's ultimate foil. I love sexuality headcanons, don't get me wrong but at the end of the day, I think Lucas exists narratively as a straight man to hold up a mirror to Mike. He as a person is not Mike's foil in the way that Will and El are but he is in his relationships.

From season 1, Mike and Lucas both love Will, but it is deeply contrasted - even if not established yet or even necessarily for a specific reason, they want the audience to see that their love of Will is different: Lucas' quest to find Will is more urgent in solutions, Mike's more creative.

Season 2, Lucas is interested in a girl despite knowing her for under a week, but he actively pursues a relationship with her from the start, displaying feelings for her despite the narrative pointing us in the other direction, contrasting Mike, who connected with El as a person but was stagnant and didn't move in any way to pursue her until it was suggested. Because Lucas liked Max of his own volition, not suggestibility.

Season 3, Mike and Lucas both upset Will. The way in which they respond is very different. They both apologize, but Mike becomes defensive around certain subjects whereas Lucas apologizes with no sensitive topics and seemingly much more ease. Because Lucas' relationship with Will is platonic, and he has nothing to hide. Lucas also repeatedly leads initiations to get back together with Max, while Mike tags along behind him, consistently confused and requiring a push from Lucas to take the next step.

Season 4, Lucas apologizes to Max for small, excusable things he did like not checking in more than he already did whereas Mike becomes defensive, denying that he's done anything wrong, with his climax being apologizing and making true what was supposed to be true in the first place, catching back up to the starting point as opposed to moving forward. Lucas sees Max as she is changing but even with taking responsibility, Mike still sees El as who she was when they met, even going so far as to reference as much.

[celestialastronmy]

"I just watched The Legend of the Gobblewonker, and I’m curious—how does it use its narrative structure to play with conspiracy theory rhetoric? How does it both mimic and subvert the typical strategies used in real conspiracy theories? I’d love to hear your take on how the episode pulls this off!"

That's an interesting question since I've wanted to rewatch Gravity Falls. I'll try to answer the question to the best of my knowledge.

"Conspiracies and Lake Monsters: How Gravity Falls Spins the Truth in 'The Legend of the Gobblewonker"

In the quirky little town of Gravity Falls, Oregon, there are plenty of weird secrets hidden just out of sight. But what if those secrets are really just a cover for an even bigger mystery? Gravity Falls is full of spooky creatures and strange events, but maybe its biggest trick is how it uses storytelling to mess with us. This analysis dives into “The Legend of the Gobblewonker,” the show’s second episode, to explore how it mirrors—and twists—the usual tricks of conspiracy theories.

The Set-Up: Planting Seeds of Doubt

From the very outset, "The Legend of the Gobblewonker" primes its audience to question reality. The episode opens with the promise of an exciting fishing trip, a seemingly mundane activity that serves as the perfect cover for something far more sinister. But why fishing? Why now? These are the questions we must ask ourselves as we peel back the layers of this carefully constructed narrative.

Dipper and Mabel are presented as ordinary tweens on summer vacation. But are they really? Their uncle, Stan Pines, exhibits suspicious behavior from the start, insisting on this fishing trip with an enthusiasm that borders on desperation. Is he merely an eccentric old man, or is he deliberately steering the children towards a predetermined encounter?

This initial set-up mirrors a common tactic in conspiracy rhetoric: the idea that everyday events are not what they seem. Just as conspiracy theorists might argue that a routine government operation is actually a cover for nefarious activities, "Gravity Falls" suggests that a simple fishing trip could be the gateway to an earth-shattering discovery.

The Legend: Constructing an Alternative Narrative

Enter Old Man McGucket, the town kook who bursts onto the scene with wild tales of a lake monster known as the Gobblewonker. His frantic warnings and seemingly deranged behavior are eerily reminiscent of the "whistleblowers" and "truth-seekers" often central to conspiracy theories. But is McGucket truly unhinged, or is he the only one brave enough to speak the truth?

The show cleverly positions McGucket as an unreliable narrator, much like how mainstream media often portrays conspiracy theorists. Yet, by doing so, it simultaneously plants the seed of doubt in the viewer's mind. After all, in a town where the impossible is possible, who's to say the ramblings of a madman aren't actually profound revelations?

This construction of an alternative narrative – the existence of the Gobblewonker – mirrors how conspiracy theories often present a competing version of events that challenges the official story. The episode invites viewers to question the nature of truth itself, a hallmark of conspiratorial thinking.

The Quest: The Illusion of Investigation

Dipper and Mabel's decision to abandon their grunkle's fishing trip in favor of hunting the Gobblewonker is a pivotal moment. It represents the allure of the conspiracy – the temptation to seek out hidden truths rather than accept the mundane reality presented to us. The Twins journey into Scuttlebutt Island is framed as an investigation, complete with camera equipment to document their findings.

This "investigation" phase of the episode closely mimics the way conspiracy theorists often conduct their own research. There's a focus on gathering evidence, no matter how circumstantial, and interpreting every sign and symbol as potential proof of the theory. The children's excitement at finding a suspicious footprint or hearing strange noises mirrors the confirmation bias often seen in conspiracy circles.

However, the show subverts this trope by repeatedly presenting false leads and red herrings. The footprint turns out to be from a beaver with a chainsaw, and the strange noises are revealed to be mundane in origin. This clever misdirection serves a dual purpose: it maintains the mystery for the characters while subtly critiquing the tendency of conspiracy theorists to see patterns where none exist.

The Revelation: Deconstructing the Conspiracy

The climax of the episode, where the true nature of the Gobblewonker is revealed, is perhaps the most brilliant subversion of conspiracy rhetoric. The monster is exposed as a mechanical construct, operated none other than Old Man McGucket himself. This twist serves as a metaphor for the often-disappointing reality behind many conspiracy theories when subjected to scrutiny.

However, the genius of "Gravity Falls" lies in its ability to layer conspiracies within conspiracies. While the Gobblewonker is debunked, the episode ends with a tantalizing glimpse of a real lake monster. This final moment epitomizes the conspiracy theorist's mindset: even when one theory is disproven, there's always another, deeper mystery lurking just out of sight.

The Meta-Conspiracy: Gravity Falls' Self-Awareness

What if the true conspiracy of "The Legend of the Gobblewonker" isn't within the narrative itself, but in how the episode manipulates its audience? The structure of the episode – from the initial doubt, through the investigation, to the revelation and lingering mystery – mirrors the emotional journey of falling into and out of belief in a conspiracy theory.

By engaging viewers in this process, "Gravity Falls" creates a meta-commentary on the nature of conspiracy thinking itself. It invites us to question not just the events within the show, but our own susceptibility to conspiratorial narratives. The series as a whole often plays with this self-awareness, but "The Legend of the Gobblewonker" stands out as a particularly clever example.

Rhetorical Strategies Employed and Subverted:

1. Appeal to Skepticism: The episode encourages viewers to question the official narrative (Stan's fishing trip) in favor of a more exciting alternative (the Gobblewonker hunt). This mirrors how conspiracy theories often position themselves as the "real truth" behind mundane explanations.

2. The Expert Outsider: Old Man McGucket serves as the archetypal conspiracy theorist – someone who claims special knowledge but is dismissed by mainstream society. The show subverts this by revealing him as the hoaxer while still maintaining the possibility that real mysteries exist.

3. Pattern Recognition: The children's quest on Scuttlebutt Island plays into the human tendency to see patterns and meaning in random events. The show cleverly subverts this by repeatedly revealing mundane explanations for seemingly mysterious phenomena.

4. The Cover-Up: The mechanical nature of the Gobblewonker could be seen as a metaphor for how conspiracy theorists view official explanations – as elaborate constructs designed to hide the truth. However, the show flips this on its head by making the conspiracy itself the cover-up.

5. Moving Goalposts: The final reveal of a real lake monster after the Gobblewonker is debunked mimics how conspiracy theories often shift focus when one aspect is disproven, always maintaining that deeper truths remain hidden.

6. Emotional Manipulation: The episode's structure takes viewers on an emotional journey from doubt to belief to skepticism and back to uncertainty. This mirrors the emotional rollercoaster often experienced by those who engage with conspiracy theories.

Conclusion: The Truth is Out There?

"The Legend of the Gobblewonker" serves as a microcosm of the larger themes at play in "Gravity Falls." It simultaneously indulges in and critiques conspiratorial thinking, creating a narrative that is at once engaging and subversive. By structuring the episode to mimic common conspiracy theory rhetorical strategies, the show invites viewers to examine their own relationship with truth, skepticism, and the allure of hidden knowledge.

But perhaps the greatest conspiracy of all is how "Gravity Falls" manages to package these complex ideas into a seemingly simple children's cartoon. As we peel back the layers of this episode, we must ask ourselves: what other truths lie hidden within the colorful animation and witty dialogue of this series? The answers, like the real Gobblewonker, may forever remain just below the surface, tempting us to dive deeper into the mysteries of Gravity Falls.

Remember, in this town, reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, and nothing is ever quite what it seems. Keep watching, keep questioning, and never stop searching for the truth – no matter how strange it may be.

[ragde890]

CSM and writing Characters as sets of themes

I realised something while thinking about the characters in Chainsaw Man and their themes, which I think can be scaled quite easily to general narrative analysis. It's more of a way of looking at characters:

A character is a cohesive set of themes.

Obviously there are many more things that make up a character, but I'm going to make this generalisation because it makes the following analysis easier (especially when talking about character interaction). Since working with abstract things is tiresome and complicated, I'll use Chainsaw Man as an example throughout.

- - - - - (Obviously, spoilers) - - - - - -

Let's take Makima. The themes that represent Makima can basically be placed under a single heading: control. We can see this reflected in her role within the government, in the whole grooming thing, in the talk she gives to the Yakuza about necessary evils and even in her conversation with Kishibe, which has some pretty interesting traces of criticism to fascist historical revisionism (this blog discusses it extemeley well).

Denji's themes are way more chaotic, and difficult to place under a single heading. We have themes of abandonment, hypersexuality, grooming, dehumanisation - and many other things that we can hardly describe in a single word, such as his existential crisis at the banality of his "dream" once it is fulfilled at the beginning of the story.

The interesting thing about looking at the characters in this way comes when we see them interact. When Denji and Makima interact, the theme they both share is brought to the surface: grooming. To see two characters interact is to see the intersection between their themes. It seems very natural: obviously when Makima interacts with Aki, for example, their displays of control are going to be very different. It would feel out of character for both of them if Makima tried to control Aki with the same methods as Denji. These feelings can be understood very easily with this approach, because Aki's themes are related to revenge, family (both blood and found), loss; all of these play a role when you see how Makima tries to manipulate Aki.

This permeates every interaction between relevant characters. Again, it seems very natural, because it's obvious that we don't show the same faces or engage with everyone in the same way, and it's the same in fiction. But looking at it from this approach allows you to understand why that character shows that particular face to that other character. This is also useful from a writer's viewpoint! If you feel that the interaction between your characters is bland or too uniform, maybe stopping to analyse the characters from this perspective will help you find that missing spice.

Another interesting phenomenon is when character interaction is not just the intersection between themes but the birth of new themes (in the context of character evolution). Think of Denji and Power and how their themes are related at the beginning and end of the story. It is clear that Denji is given new themes by his interactions throughout Part 1. His learning about platonic relationships is a theme that he gets from interacting a lot with Power, but it clearly draws from both of their themes: it wouldn't feel as organic if he had learned it from Aki, and similarly it wouldn't have made sense for Aki to be the one to learn it from Power. This is because it's a theme that springs from the intersection between Denji's and Power's thematic sets, and could not come out of any other intersection.

Precisely because of this phenomenon, which generates a thematic evolution in the characters and narrative, the intersection between sets can change completely in different sections of the plot. Take Katana Man. In his fight against Denji in part 1, Katana is a character representing "traditional" family values, wanting to avenge his grandfather and refusing to accept what Denji says, but also fully accepting his role as a member of the Yakuza as something that does not clash with those values —it is in all of this that he clashes with Denji and the conflict arises not only phisically but also thematically.

In part 2, on the other hand, these "traditional" values are now entirely twisted (more than before) to show themes of misogyny, toxic masculinity, etc.... This is because the context in which Denji and Katana interact has changed, and their narrative and thematic roles are no longer the same. However, the set of themes Katana represents hasn't changed: he just showed different elements of it in different occasions, but the set remains cohesive as a whole (and you can analyze part 1 Katana with the acquired knowledge of part 2). We can see this more clearly if we treat the setting just as another character (with its own thematic set) with whom the cast is constantly interacting, bringing out some themes and keeping others buried.

Chainsaw Man is a particularly clear example because it has a particularly good variety of characters and their themes are very relevant to their characterisation, but you could do the same analysis of many other works.

Ultimately, I think it's a very good way to see how the themes of a work interact and intermingle through its characters to achieve good narrative cohesion (Chainsaw Man does this particularly well, and as a result is a very emotive work when exploting its themes). I also find this to be good advice when creating/understanding characters or writing interactions between. I can certainly say that it has helped me in particular.

[rockstar-pinkbug]

Okay, so... I just saw a post about how Godot and Iris should return in AA7(if or when that happens) specifically for the purpose of ending Phoenix Wright's story... by him dating or marrying Iris... like... that's the only way to end his character arc.

That just feels like shipping. Also, why does a character need to 'get his girl' to end his character arc?

but... then it got me thinking about something.

Phoenix Wright's arc as a main protagonist... already ended. It ended during the last case of the original trilogy. It ended with him and his friends/companions hanging out together after the trail.

Sure, you still play as Phoenix Wright in Dual Destinies and Spirit of Justice... but his main story is finished.

The 3 games afterward were mainly about Apollo Justice. And now Apollo Justice's story ended with him staying in Khura'in to help the kingdom's legal system.

But like I was saying... Phoenix Wright's main character arc is already over. He'll still probably be used as a protagonist sometimes, but he isn't the main focus of the story now.

Let me know if you guys agree cause I just kinda thought of this.