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possamble · 9 days

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What are your headcanons about Marcille's mom if you have any? It's interesting that what drew Donato to her was cause she lived the history he studied, or that was said somewhere at least. She must've had an interesting life.

so this was going to be just a normal answer but then I realized I have a Lot of Things To Say. so here goes, a compilation of what we know for a fact from the canon, what I've extrapolated from the visual cues and details, and my theories based on all of that.

Things we know for a fact about Marcille's mother because they were explicitly stated in the manga and supplemental materials:

She was a court mage for a Tall-man kingdom at the southern part of the Northern Continent

Donato, a court historian, fell in love with her because she had lived through the history he was studying, and he courted her for 17 years (age 15 to 32) before getting married

She was a cheerful person who rarely showed extreme emotion and took things as they came

She always cooked a huge meal for Marcille on her birthdays

She remarried a gnome after Donato's death and a short distance away from Marcille's childhood home

Pipi, Marcille's pet bird, was actually older than Marcille and originally belonged to her mother (bird died at 62)

She was extremely heartbroken when Donato died and ultimately ended up instilling a deep fear of mortality in Marcille with her words

the only time she showed extreme emotion in front of her family was when Donato could no longer eat his favourite dish near the end of his life.

She scolded Marcille for being cruel to ants (implying she can have a stern side when needed)

Things that are explicitly shown but mostly through visual cues

She has a very distinctive style of dress always involving a ribbon choker (mirroring Marcille's habit of always wearing a matching choker with any of her outfits that don't cover her neck)

She was almost stereotypically good at housekeeping and traditionally "wifely" things (very frequently depicted wearing an apron or doing some domestic chore when not at work, seems to have been an avid cook).

She knits? (also, note the affectionate smile as she's looking at Donato and Marcille reading a book together in the full panel)

She was as excited for Marcille's milestones as Donato was.

She didn't tell Marcille much about elven food

(there are a couple things that this panel in particular implies:

She lived a good deal of her life (if not being born and raised) in a mainly elven country in the West, implied by her knowing enough of an elven region's cuisine to prefer Tall-man food over it

seems to have a pretty carefree and casual demeanour overall, if this is how she replied to Marcille asking her about it (sounds like she never gave her culinary preferences that much thought to begin with)

slightly related to number 2, it seems like she and Marcille had a fairly casual parent-child dynamic (especially in comparison to the Toudens' memory of their father)

(local elf tastes Italian food once and never goes back))

However, she seems a lot more... serious in most of the other times we see her? Almost like the very stereotypical archetype of a graceful elf.

Subsequent conclusions about her personality:

Usually pretty carefree and cheerful at home, has been a loving and attentive parent throughout Marcille's childhood (while not being so doting that she didn't discipline Marcille).

Slightly more conjectural theories on her personality:

Had a much more graceful and professional personality at work, which would explain the more serious portraits we see of her.

Given that both she and Donato had positions at the royal court, it seems a little odd that she'd go out of her way to do all the housework herself, so maybe she just enjoyed doing it?

Now taping all the evidence together and toeing the line between analysis and fanfiction:

It's clear that she loved Donato very much and was utterly devastated by losing him. But there's one thing that really stuck out to me in what little we see of her:

Doesn't she seem... angry? The way she's gritting her teeth, clutching the tablecloth, and how this is the first and only time we see her eyes opened that wide. In the following panel, you see her being quiet and dejected after her initial outburst. She's still crying very intensely, but her brows are furrowed, and she's not really responding to Donato's affection in her body language.

We're not told the details of how she felt about losing Donato other than that it upset her. But this, to me, implies that she was angry and resented that he was aging, that the end of his life was approaching. An "it's not fair" type of preemptive grief. And if this was the first and last time she cried like this in front of her family, she was either very good at coping in private... or very bad at letting herself feel unpleasant emotions until they become unavoidable and end up overwhelming her.

It's not too remarkable a detail on the surface. It's even reminiscent of what the audience has seen of Marcille. But... when it comes to the big picture, you'd think an elf who voluntarily chose to marry a tall-man and have a half-elf child would have been better prepared for this.

It kind of recontextualizes her cheerfulness to me.

"I'm sure everything's gonna be okay!" (or some variation thereof, depending on what translation you have).

And this is stated to contrast her extreme grief when finally confronting Donato's failing body and eventual death. But I'm wondering if... maybe this optimism was why she was so upset. What if she went into all of it thinking "everything's gonna be okay"? What if she was a little young by elven standards, and just followed her heart thinking that her own resilience would get her through anything?

Of course, only to get completely overwhelmed when she actually loses Donato. She turns into a completely different person. And that's heartbreaking on its own-- but what the audience sees is the effect it had on Marcille. Can you imagine being her, watching your invincible and upbeat mother suddenly lose all the light in her eyes in one go?

I've already made a huge post about how I think Marcille models her "work persona" off her mother, but another thing that stuck with me as I was looking for more details in the manga was this:

copy pasting from the other post i made about it lmao it's like... the second she resigns herself to lifelong pain and terror, there's another portrait of her mother facing her like this. with their heads bowed, in mirrored body language of resignation and despair and sorrow. Except it's posed like Marcille is still looking at her mother but her mother is looking away.

It took me a second to realize, but I think that it's a visual metaphor for the fact that Marcille's mother was the only long-lived role model she had-- and she failed to model healthy grief for her daughter. I don't say this as an accusation or to disparage her as a character, but just as a matter of fact. In her, Marcille was seeing herself older and losing a short-lived spouse or loved one of her own, and all she saw was hopelessness.

But her mother didn't mean to instill hopelessness and terror in her. She wasn't really thinking of how it would truly affect Marcille at all (at least, that's how I'm interpreting her looking down and away from Marcille in the metaphor), she was just sad. And she, in her own way, was trying to protect her daughter and help her prepare for future losses.

What she meant was "loss is inevitable, and you have to learn how to be in pain but live on anyway." What Marcille heard was "loss is inevitable, and you will be scared and hurt for the rest of your life."

Again. Marcille's mother doesn't feature explicitly in the story the way her father does -- but in so many ways, her shadow, her silhouette, her reflection is always hanging over Marcille.

All that to say... headcanon-wise (everything from here on is 100% without evidence lmao), I'd like to think that she matured and realized that she failed Marcille. I imagine her being regretful about it, wanting a chance to fix it but never finding a way to insert herself back into Marcille's life when Marcille is so so so busy becoming the most accomplished mage possible. I imagine her being herself again, now, so many years after her loss and after remarrying -- but with her cheerfulness tempered with a lot more wisdom and the pain of having gone through loss like that. I think the second Marcille actually tells her what happened in the dungeon, she'd want to go running to her daughter again -- if Marcille tells her the full truth instead of just being embarrassed she let things get that far. (oh, the tragedy of her wanting to be more like her mother and an accomplished adult who doesn't need to be babied... being embarrassed to actually tell her mother how much she fucked up...)

There's also the tension of her having remarried -- I know that there's at least a little bit of resentment that Marcille harbours about that, because she's childish like that at heart even if she makes an effort not to externalize it. I think that her mother would be aware of that, potentially adding to her sense of guilt and apprehension at trying to reappear/intrude on Marcille's life. I honestly don't think Marcille has met her stepfather -- or even considers him a stepfather rather than "mama's new husband" and kind of a total stranger. I think she and her mother actively don't talk about it in their correspondence, like an elephant in the room.

but, ultimately, I think her mother is on her side no matter what. Ancient magic? Dark necromancy? Sure, she'll feel guilty and like she was partially responsible for setting Marcille down such a painful path, but she wouldn't care. that's her daughter!! she would've moved back west and been petitioning for her at the court, buying a house right next to the Canaries barracks and visiting her every day that she wasn't on a mission. And if her husband had opinions on Marcille becoming a "dark arts user," he either gets over it or it's divorce with him. Yes, she might have had her optimism completely humbled by losing Donato like that -- but she's still headstrong and self-assured and she doesn't care what people think of her. It's her way or the highway and she's always going to be in Marcille's corner.

(She also needs a name lol. I went with Juno, just to be cute about "Marcille"s closest real life equivalent being Marcella, which is the female version of Marcellus, which in turn is a diminutive of Marcus, which was derived from Mars. Absolutely in love with Marcille potentially being named after Ares/Mars the fucking god of war btw)

#asks #she could easily be interpreted as distant or neglectful after Donato's death too #with how little involvement she has in Marcille's life/the fact that Marcille doesn't even mention her when talking about her life prospect #and that's fair! I will argue to hell and back that she was a loving parent when Donato was alive #but there's nothing that suggests she remained a loving parent afterwards #I just think that like... parental relationships are so complicated in dungeon meshi #you cannot deny that the toudens' mother loved them dearly but that she failed them both miserably as a parent #and i think it'd be more compelling if Marcille's mother was a little like that too #not a totally and easily dismissable deadbeat #but someone who truly loves her daughter but was only human herself and couldn't be what Marcille needed at a crucial moment #and regrets it deeply #and that the distance between them is mutually self-imposed by complicated feelings of guilt and fear #and a little resentment from Marcille's side that she hasn't really properly processed #I don't know if I'll ever get around to writing it but i had this idea where Marcille does finally spill the beans to her mom and she just #immediately arrives in Melini #and its awkward for a bit but they do finally have a heart to heart and air it all out #and marcille starts freaking out that her marriage is rocky rn bc her new husband wants her to distance herself from marcille #on account of the crimes and all #marcille's like no you can't blow up your marriage for me and her mother just shuts that shit down #'you didn't choose to be born. i was the one who made that choice for you'#'i brought you into this world and i'll be damned if i don't take responsibility for that the entire way'#'you are entitled to *nothing less* than my unconditional love.'#and obviously that's not a sentiment that's exactly healthy as a universal statement about parenthood #but i think its what her mother would believe and what marcille needs to hear #and dungeon meshi does such a fantastic job at just... letting imperfect things just *be* without having to justify it immediately #it expects the audience to do their own critical thinking #and know that its not trying to make sweeping universal statements in every instance #marcilleposting #marcille donato

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mikuyuuss · 3 months

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Just finished S3 and I love Community sm. Normally, I get a little jealous when I see the ideal college life being portrayed in tv shows, bc I can't fully relate.

But with Community... There's something so comforting about a group of misfits living their best lives in a community college rather than a traditional university... I feel like it shows that regardless of your circumstances, whether you consider it "ideal" or not, you can still have a great time as long as you're with the right people.

Truly peak escapist show.

#community #community nbc #nbc community #I'm the opposite in that I went to a prestigious uni and ended up being miserable #Its only my friends that made it worthwhile #so I guess thats why community managed to resonate with me #its the comfort of that as long as your with the right people you can still have a great time #that and the sheer nerdiness I love it sm I love how this show embraces its wackiness in the best way possible #also me as I say this: I wish friends and college are real lmao #my post #jeff winger #britta perry #annie edison #troy barnes #abed nadir #pierce hawthorne #shirley bennett #also everyone did great so far annie troy and abed are my favs #im glad this show managed to be a part of my college life and more

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arctic-hands · 9 months

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This isn't an attempt at a flex I swear and I recognize people can have different learning experience and still be intelligent even if they don't/can't read, but given my abysmal education growing up I have to wonder what would have happened to my brain if I wasn't such a voracious reader as a kid

#i read everything from fantasy to nonfiction to Shakespeare #i once proved my fourth grade teacher was abysmally wrong about WWII solely because i had just read a book about the Holocaust #just a few months prior #otherwise i and the rest of the class would have internalized her 'lesson' that hitler died in WWI and WWII was solely about pearl harbor #God only knows where that train of belief would have led us #she had no business being a teacher and yes she hated me from then on and made my school life even more miserable #like literally sending me home in tears miserable

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jacksprostate · 2 months

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f Narrator wanting to murder maim mutilate m marla.. or marla/ male marla and narrator/f narrator worsties/besties. or marla/male marla and tyler… or anything with marla/ male marla..

Marlon called me, interrupted me at work, and he said he had a bruise. He said I needed to come and look at it right away, because he needed to know.

This was him, asking me, pounded flank steak, to look and tell him the nature of his bruise.

Marlon hasn't had health insurance in years, so he tries not to think about it, usually. It's easy, since there's no difference when you have health insurance. It's old hat.

But today, he thought about it.

And he noticed a bruise.

So I'm walking up to the Regent hotel after work, and he's in the lobby in his limp little tank top. He'd call it a wifebeater and imagine himself in place of the wife, I'm sure. I wonder if he isn't cold all the time. Mr. Marlon Singer, such a masochist just so he can show off his skeletal body with all the cigarette burns I have to hear him and Tyler laughing over.

I am Jane's abnormal hemorrhoid development.

He doesn't mention what Tyler and I stole from him, even though I think it was all the cash he had. Even though just three days ago he tried to chase me around the house and beat me with a broom. He made me and Tyler go sleep in the junkyard. Buried under our furs, howling at the moon. Maybe I can't fault him for that.

He couldn't keep it here where the guys he brings back could get at it, he said, and sure. But he should've known better than to tell Tyler about it, because now it's bags upon bags of lye being kept in the driest room in the house.

I work on grinding cracks into my remaining teeth as he grabs his neighbors Agatha and Dianne's Meals on Wheels kits. The delivery lady remarks on what a good young man Marlon must be, helping out these old ladies. Oh, yeah. A real, upstanding, mummified rat of a man. Maybe he helped them into the ditch. He yaps at me the entire walk up to his room, and I don't hear a word as I methodically rip up the skin around Tyler's kiss on my hand with a broken nail. It's been infected since Tuesday, and the ring of puffy red flesh makes the ghost of her lips white like the center of a neon tube. Always buzzing.

We get to his room, he says to me, "One of these boxes is for you, you know."

I think about all the women who bother to use what little time they have to operate charities that keep the poor and destitute alive enough to want to kill themselves. All that time spent cooking mac and cheese en masse and putting little packets of powdered milk next to little cartons of the liquid, like they get at schools and prisons, packets that can only be opened by the nimble fingers of caring relatives these elderly recipients do not have.

Sure.

Tyler told me I need to be eating at least two meals a day, or she'd steal a blender and make me drink raw chicken. So I eat the Meals on Wheels box. Sorry Agatha. I rip open the powdered milk packet, dump it into the carton, hold it closed, and shake it. Twice the calories. A recipe for palliative care.

Marlon's sitting there, quiet, eating Dianne's latest last meal. All the urgency is gone. Sucked dry. He's got pallor like a hospice heart failure. When dogs get treated for heartworms, the worms die, and sometimes, not all of them break apart. Sometimes, there will be thin, dead cords of necrotized nematode strung through their heart waiting for the right beat to fall apart and clot a vital artery. This can take years to happen. Your pet recovers perfectly from treatment until seven years down the line, you give it a doggy cupcake and a pulmonary embolism for its tenth birthday.

Marlon looks like he's had his first melarsomine injection and his owner is thinking about taking him to a dog park instead of bothering with the second. If you let a dog get its heart rate up too high when getting treated for all the parasites you let grow in it, its heart will explode. Or all the worms will clog its lungs. Whichever one it is, it's happening to Marlon here in this room. On this bed.

He says he'd found a bruise, a while back. A nasty little thing, like the crush of a plum under your thumb. Near one of his ankles. And Marlon Singer knew he couldn't afford any novel treatments, and he'd seen too many people rot from the inside out from them already. He did not go to the clinic down the street that gets its windows broken in often enough that there's just big black billowing sails of trashbags over their storefront more often than not. Marlon says he once saw a rat nailed to the door, which is something you'd think would be too neat and poetic for real life. He didn't go to the clinic because he didn't have to. And maybe if he was fucking guys he wanted to he would be a bit more cautious, but the men Marlon Singer gets to fuck are the type to have given him those bruises in the first place. They're the reason there's single mothers visiting that clinic, like half melted wax getting scraped out of the picture. He says he shouldn't feel guilty.

I tell Marlon about where I got the idea for poisoning all the food at the Pressman hotel.

He asks me what I mean by that, and I tell him about my first boss at the company I work for now.

When I first started there, I was selling our cars to companies. Bulk orders for work vehicles. My job was to not fuck up any contracts we already had. Marlon is probably aware, but the type of man involved in that sort of thing, he knows he's got you on a collar and chain. You and him both know he'll be renewing the contract, but you have to do the song and dance for him. Pretend you like how close he gets to you. Pretend you don't want to rip his testicles from his ballsack when he leans in sweaty and tells you how he likes your hair, did you go and do all that just for me?

Because he knows. And you know. But enduring this is what you were hired to do. If you were a man, you would've been hired to create a sense of the old boys club with this guy. But you're not.

There is so much pretense in the world.

Anyway, my first boss, call him Joe — whenever I'd return from those trips and dinners, Joe wouldn't pretend that it wasn't a shit job. He'd commiserate and wish me luck with the next one. He didn't overstep, he wasn't creepy, he kept his distance. The best you could hope for. Thirty days on the job, they asked me how I was doing, and I told them I was doing great. The job was amazing, I felt embraced by the company, my boss was great. One of those things was true to me.

And when Joe got his promotion, for being such a great regional manager, he cornered me in my cubicle and informed me he'd been jerking off into my nicely labeled thin salad lunches each time they showed up in the office fridge. He told me this with the same smile he'd always worn.

Marlon, he's next to me, and he leans closer like we're having a nice little confession. My skin itches.

It was before the 90 day clause kicked in my health coverage, so I had to wait at one of those free clinics like Marlon's, and I was surrounded by a lot of young men, wispy mangled pears. What little flesh was left was soft. When I told the nurse what happened, I watched myself die in her eyes. Dappling up with rashes and bruises until I was all painted and sunken like a bog body.

For the longest time, I wondered if I'd become the oral Mary. How many times I vomited in that office toilet, I don't know. I stopped bringing lunch.

The thing is, I couldn't see it in his face. Joe's, I mean. Not even when he told me. I couldn't see it in anyone. So I stopped eating out. Stopped eating altogether, really.

Marlon, his response was to go to the support groups. His tragedy was that it was a slow death, coming for him. Best to wriggle into the pile of dying bodies, see what it's like. Maybe that could muster enough suicidal impulse.

I tell Marlon, of course, I couldn't go to HR. I was a new hire with no evidence and previous record of liking my boss. I didn't want to tell my mom. I didn't want her to know. Those uncomfortable dinners became absolutely, wretchedly unbearable as I thought about the food I was being forced to share.

When the option came up for a dead end job in the least loved department in the building, I put on the best performance of my life to get the part. Best aspiring Compliance and Liability head and sole department employee, that's me. My new job was to keep secrets. It was, already, old hat.

For months I thought about waking up from a narcoleptic fit at my desk, with Joe leaning over the cubicle wall and asking if I was alright. I watched my stomach like it was nuclear. Every extra second it took until I bled like usual slid me closer to buying myself a shotgun and pumping a slug or two into my brain.

It's an unavoidable fear, I tell Marlon. You can't do anything about it. Once you know, you know. At some point, you have to find the peace in it. Imagine yourself, a balloon popping with meaty chunks flying apart, splattering onlookers and raining viscera.

For a month, six months, I had cancer. Worse than cancer. Every time I eat out, I get it again.

Marlon is looking at me, melting stained glass, drowning in that sort of shared pity you build together with someone who's dying.

I don't want Marlon to feel guilty.

I tell Marlon, that's why I poison the food at the Pressman hotel. Someone's got to do it. Blood in the tomato sauce, spit on the steak. Imagine what you could do to a soup. The men who go to the Pressman hotel, they're the kind that leave Marlon bloody and walking around Paper Street calling for Tyler to come out and burn more holes into him. They're the kind that get promoted from regional manager. They're the kind that lean in close, pull your wrist towards them, and say there's one way they know you could secure the contract renewal. The kind that almost ruin it in a temper tantrum when you don't, resulting in an upper management intervention on the 24th day of your new job. They're the kind that hear that shit and say you should've been more appeasing. More polite.

Don't feel guilty, Marlon.

I hope all of them rot so everyone can see the maggots eating their insides.

Marlon isn't smiling. I am unavoidably bad at distracting him. There's something final in it, when he sighs, and takes off his tank top. He says it's on his back, and I should just tell him.

I look. I see it. Black hole, botfly, necrosis. There's so many things these broken blood vessels could be. Withering, snapping apart like mummified heartworms. I imagine driving the two inch melarsomine needle deep into the muscles bunched upon his spine.

I look.

I press my hands into him, and I grip like I'm trying to rend my fingers through his skin, deep into his body cavity to rip out his guts. Like I'm trying to grab the rope of his small intestine and strangle him with it. Marlon's yelling at me and trying to hit me, arms flapping like a chicken, and I am bruising ten deep circles into the soft pearskin of his abdomen. It's the only place left on him that's mealy, that isn't frayed rope under worn out leather.

I tell him, you've got bruises. They look mostly normal, to me.

Don't worry too much about it.

And Marlon, he leans into me, and I let him.

#asks #fight club #female fight club au #my writing #obv directly in parallel to the book chapter #this has been sort of floating in my head #in the book its probably the most caring moment the narrator has for marla #and i think that is the same here actually #its just female narrator off the charts detestes marlon more in the first place. puts all her sense of sympathy and shared solidarity into #Tyler. but. yeah #anyway made marlon's life absolutely miserable #and the narrators #i actually went back and forth on that #i dont want to... necessarily... give her Solid Reasons in a way male narrator doesnt have #but its sort of inescapable that fucked up misogynistic shit would happen #and i was thinking how to resolves the food contamination question in my head #hard to explain #inherently more horrible shit will happen to her than male narrator #but not excessively and i want it to feed into the same issues. in this case her complete subjugation in the office and inability to freely #reject the horrific shit shes forced to play along with #resulting in her doing the same to the fat cats rolling by #anyway #she does care about marlon #its complicated

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dootznbootz · 2 months

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Odypen definitely and equivalently adore each other BUT I weirdly can't see them as the type to actually say "I Love you".

They still definitely vocalize their love for each other but it's more so in "My Joy", and "Extraordinary Woman", "Strange Woman/Man", etc. And very cheesy lines (both say some cheesy shit in the Odyssey, and he definitely does in the Iliad as well. "Joy like a drowning sailor seeing land" bit???)

I could see "I adore you" but even then, that's probably during very specific moments but the actual "I love you"??? I just typed it just now for fic shit and... It weirdly just didn't feel right and I don't know why. 😅

Idk maybe it's kind of because I see them as over the top in ways, they love wordplay and riddles and I think they'd almost think "...That's not good enough >:( " about it??? I don't know???😂

#I wrote this last night. I'll do the asks I got later. don't worry! :D #I am the cheese god remember?😅#I think these two would try to “out-cheese” each other and whoever is left speechless first loses #“I would forget my own name before I would ever forget you” bullshit. CHEESY #And yes. “I sleep in our nest with you or outside on the dirt” stupidity >:D #I plan for Odysseus as a beggar to ask why she waits so long. As he's been gone a longer amount of time than the time they had together #(Simply asking as reassurance. He knows his answer. Calypso asked him. but what about Penelope?) but she gets mad at the #“Beggar” and pities him as he must be telling the truth about having a miserable life if he never got the chance to know such devotion #How what they have could never be sullied by #something as trivial as distance and years. How the years with him were the best in her life. Only made better by their son.#'My dear Joy made songs and poems about love a reality as that was simply the life we shared. Even separated our 'song' will always echo #no matter how long it's been. I'LL make sure it always does. And I know he's doing the same... That strange man used to say that #even if he died his corpse would drag itself back to us before he'd ever give up.'#...I'm not one for 'odyssey zombie au' but when I first heard it yeah. :'D Came up with this back then #“His eyes as hard as flint or horn-” Bullshit! The sad lil fuck is hiding sobs with coughs and telling her to keep away for fear of her #catching whatever “illness” he has. The nice thing about being disguised as old means sickly old man works.#...#I'm noticing that Odysseus has a lot of silly oneliners while I write Penelope with a shit ton of set up :'D #They are so silly and I love them so much #...I wrote a lot :'D #Mad rambles #shot by odysseus #my headcanons #odypen #yahoo!!!#sometimes I wonder if I should tag this with more things but I don't want to taint the regular tags with my bullshit :'D I KNOW I'm insane

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restinpeacesensei · 8 months

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bath

(hello!!! please be polite and respectful; im very sensitive and i am not comfortable with comments like 'hot/sexy' or anything objectifying 😭😭 but something like 'he's pretty' etc is welcome! thank you so much!! 🥺💖💖)

#boueibu #binan koukou chikyuu bouei bu love!#cute high earth defense club love #akoya gero #gero akoya #my art #this is from 2015 from like the first two months i was in this fandom #it was made for a 1draw prompt on twitter #and ive never posted it here all this time #bc i KNOW if i'd posted it at the fandom's peak i would have gotten comments i was uncomfortable with #i know i probably robbed myself of hundreds of notes by not posting it then.. but if i'd been uncomfortable it wouldn't have been worth it #all the years that i spent feeling miserably uncomfortable all the time bc the only way i knew how to interact with the world was #'throw yourself out there and let everyone else say whatever they want'#which was actually traumatizing honestly. like trying to have a semi-intimate personal relationship with countless strangers #but i didn't know how to express my feelings or wishes and as a result they had no reason to think of them #discovering my right to state my wishes and boundaries has been life-changing #and with that i finally post this #thank you so much to everyone who's listened and treated me with respect and understanding 🥺 im so grateful for your kindness!! \;;////;;/

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concert-bflat · 10 months

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Thinks about how. Gloreth only starts looking at Nimona differently/strangely when her parents call her a "monster". Just throws that label with such a negative connotation on her. Gloreth fucking fights for Nimona immediately in the beginning saying that she's her friend and never once looks at her with ridicule until her mom just holds her by the shoulders and tells her she's a monster, straight in the eye, straight in the face. And just the word is enough to cause the change.

Nimona's getting fucking attacked and prodded and Gloreth doesn't even feel sorry for her just because she's now re-contextualizing everything around her but with that word. I'm so sick. She looks not in hesitance but at disbelief before she runs away. She sees Nimona trying to defend herself from literal Danger in any way she can (she's just a kid and she's fighting with people who won't listen, never will, people that she can't get through) but just sees that as more proof of her being violent, monstrous. She sees her friend all alone, with the odds and the world stacked against her despite them being. so similar but just tells her to go back to the shadows.

And like. Of course she believes those words calling Nimona a monster and takes them to heart. Her parents, the ones she would probably trust most are the ones that told her that. And she's young, she doesn't know much about the world or much better. And of course, her parents and the whole village don't know any better. They didn't see what she saw. They don't know or feel the need to know much more than the definition of the word "monster". But it hurts. God it hurts. It's wrong. It's not fair. It's really not fair.

And it causes this whole legend that will stay with Nimona to ridicule her for generations and generations and birth this system that she's trapped by and causes everyone to be so brainwashed. The one that makes people scared and build walls. That births unecessary distrust.

God. Even in the scroll illustrating Nimona and Gloreth, Nimona is portrayed as such a bigger and scarier threat than she ever could be or would be, until Nimona internalized and gave into those images and despair of course. It's not fucking fair.

Thinking about how when the villagers saw Nimona as a "normal" person they were happy for her just living her life and playing with her friend, she was just another kid being happy like she and every ("normal", apparently) person deserves to be, and they were allowing her to be happy then when they find out what she really is they hate her. They call her a monster and drive her out immediately. They don't look into the details that contradict the stigma, they just feel betrayal when they weren't even the ones who were betrayed (Nimona couldn't fucking help being who or what she was. And she was her own person. She was still. A someone. Why do things have to be different now?). I'm so sickkk.

Thinks about how Nimona feels so hopeless as to just. Accept and yield to that label. That label that was passed down to Gloreth. To the whole world. Such simple but awful words. Aughhhhhhhhhhh

Another post I saw talks about how this is a movie about how hate is taught. And oh my god it is. Hate it taught. It's done so simply yet so, painfully effectively. So devastatingly. And that hate teaches people to hate the world back. God I fucking loooove this movie

Also Nimona's such a Creature /pos /affectionate she's so relatable I fucking love her and I'm insane okay that's the post bye

#nimona #nimona movie #nimona gloreth #this is all to jsut say the trans allegory is INSANEEEHAUEORBHAEOH it. touched me.#watched this movie with some irls after never hearing of it befroe in my LIFE and. as a person who had. a very miserable june at home #and is still having kind of a miserable time at home #this movie made me feel. very accepted and loved :)#lmao at one of the emotional points with nimona one of my irls like dragged me in for a hug #because i was laugh-sobbing very loudly because being dramatic is fun LMAO exagerrated reaction y'know #and they said it's because they couldn't tell if i was actually crying or not #and while i don't think i was in that moment #i think i was genuinely crying at some point #not in an obvious way. just slight tears. and not the laughing kind #and it was great. what a great movie <3333 #the fact these themes are also. extremely prevalent in another piece of media im currently hyperfixated on is sooo unfair you can't do that #also unrelated but i love how casually ballister and ambrosius' relationship is portrayed #it's so nice to see it just. be there. and be wonderful #all in all yeah great movie i am now sick for life <3 #also i spent this whoel post misspelling “nimona” as “nimora” i'm :skull: good thing i reread and edit before posting

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“Image-obsessed celebrity can’t be struggling behind the scenes because being ultra-famous and almost pathologically protective of your public image is famously a very mentally healthy experience with no psychological downsides” is just as much of a dogshit parasocial take as “famous straight conventionally attractive if sometimes cryptic celebrity is leaving secret puzzles to prove to me specifically that she’s gay”.

You don’t know these people. YOU DON’T KNOW THESE PEOPLE. You can just like or dislike the music and it will be ok. I will not send the art cops to your house. Go to a coffee shop and put a tenner in the busker’s guitar case if you’re that exercised about it.

Also, not for nothing, being wealthy can be helpful with mental illness, but pushy stage parents and legions of obsessive fans historically Are Not. We’ve somehow blown straight past “money can’t buy happiness but it can pay for rent and doctor’s appointments which sure fucking help” to “no rich person has had a real problem ever” and I regret to inform you that that second statement is what the original platitude is about. It is, tragically, possible to have rent and groceries and doctors bills and cute clothes paid for without a second’s thought and still have a bad time of it, because even rich people are human beings who come from families of human beings and have human friends and lovers and staff and coworkers and part of the human condition is that sometimes some of us suffer.

I get the impulse to be resentful of someone singing about having a hard time when the spare change from between her couch cushions would easily save your life. I’ve been through a period of my life where I tried not to obviously resent my friends for *having food*. It’s ok if you can’t listen to her for that reason and in fact I’d argue that you shouldn’t. It’s painful, and it’s not the kind of pain that produces anything worthwhile, just more resentment. But “she’s making up alcoholism for clout” is such a deeply stupid way to phrase that. You don’t know her. What if she isn’t? What if she IS? Making up personas is literally part of her brand. Do you need a hug? Sincerely. I think a hug would maybe be more productive here. I’m sorry things are hard. It’s not fair. You’re right. It isn’t.

I just think one slightly overexposed pop singer is maybe not the main reason it’s hard.

#I’m probably not making any sense #but the utterly unhinged fanfic that just crossed my dash while masquerading as cultural analysis made me see red #I don’t even particularly care about tswift #I own 3 of her albums and don’t keep up with new releases #she’s done several things i deeply disliked #but i don’t think she’s a bad person #just young and out of touch #but the idea that having nice things is the same thing as being mentally or even physically healthy is rancid #it’s the cornerstone of the self-care bilking machine #and a way of making you miserable without giving you any tools to actually make your life better #HUMAN. CONNECTION. IS. HEALTHY. MONEY. IS. NOT.#that’s an oversimplification #rent obviously is healthy #abusive family isn’t #but your guiding principle needs to be forging strong healthy connections #not accumulating so much stuff that god can’t touch you

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