Visit Blog
Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.
buzzpedal · a day ago
i dearly love it when in videogames or tv shows the main characters gets a power that has lore and explanation behing and the power itself is just violence. power of fuck you
2 notes · View notes
cosmicskrull · 2 days ago
Someone: be a good person, Ana!
Someone else: stop lying, stop manipulating! Just be nice!!
A third someone: please just be who you pretend to be...
Tumblr media
0 notes
fandomblr · 6 days ago
The best part of being a psychology major is that now I can apply mental illnesses to LOTR characters. I’m currently learning about dissociative identity disorder (previously known as multiple personality disorder) and I realized that Gollum doesn’t meet the diagnostic criteria for DID because he doesn’t have amnesia in between his Sméagol/Gollum phases.
Stay tuned for: is the burden of the ring on Frodo a diagnosable mental illness or is that just my mentally ill ass projecting?
8 notes · View notes
ringwinner · 7 days ago
tag dump pt. 1
1 note · View note
“For I am Saruman the Wise, Saruman Ring-maker, Saruman of Many Colours!'”
What the heck is he talking about. What ring has he made.
8 notes · View notes
@ every single sharon anti who hated on sharon so intensely, sent death threats & bashed on evc repeatedly for no reason, etc.
just hope you know that YOU’RE the reason sharon is the power broker. YOU’RE the reason marvel ruined her character. they saw how much you hated her, and decided to take advantage of that. your hate is the reason marvel felt like turning sharon into a villain was the right move.
congrats. hope you’re happy.
35 notes · View notes
yet-another-heathen · 14 days ago
The Tale of Dharryad and Ijiax, The Song of the Prince and the Slave
2,796 words. Complete series. Original work, from the world of The Jackal of An-Nadr.
CW | slavery, war, mind possession, stabbing, betrayal, tragedy, major character death, burning alive (this one is VERY emotionally intense, DD:DNE)
Tag List | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @simplygrimly @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpvp @scrabble-rouser
This tale, the image of the crown and the collar, has been used in the stories of Nadeem's people for generations. It is a symbol of unfathomable love and loyalty, as well as a cautionary tale about the meddlesome nature of the jinn.
This is the story of Dharryad, the crown prince of Ires; the story of a single slave who saved thousands; and the story of the malevolent spirit of a jinn, trapped within an emerald ring—one that brought a kingdom to its knees.
True he may stay by his side
And into darkness pass
But at the light of the dawn;
Know, this too, need not end.
Before they were legend, they, too, were only men.
The sound of their planning had been echoing through the tent walls for hours. He had long stood outside the commander's room waiting for the right lull in conversation before he entered, but the muffled arguing had yet to cease. Finally, he took a deep breath, and slipped inside regardless.
Dharryad was bent over a map with his brows deeply furrowed in thought, and he didn't even spare a glance upward. Jad and Taslim were the first to register his presence, the latter cutting off in the middle of, "...can't just divert three thousand troops—"
He bowed his head low. Without sparing a glance away from the map before him, Dharryad waved a hand, "He may stay."
Jad gave him a skeptical look, but continued nonetheless.
"...the Compass Plains simply do not have the resources needed to support a passing army, and even with a solid supply train we would find ourselves starved of fresh water within days. We need to circle around at the base of the mountains, even if it means diverting course."
He carefully approached the table, and held forth his pitcher. He filled Taslim's goblet without a word. When he reached for Dharryad's, the emir placed his hand delicately over the rim to stop him.
"That would add almost sixty leagues to our march, general. Even if the horses could take it, our men are already growing weary. And I would not send them to battle in such a state."
He moved on to Jad, who turned to him only to order, "Leave the pitcher, boy," when he had finished. He obeyed, then retreated to a nearby corner and laced his fingers behind his back to wait.
"That may be the case, mi Emir, but by taking the Plains straight through, we risk losing just as many to thirst or desertion."
"Especially with the reputation of those lands for leading men astray. The mountains offer stability, and our forces would be best protected by holding to their base..."
For nearly another hour their conversation continued, until dusk had begun to set and the flickering warmth of torches replaced that of day.
"We bid you good night, Emir."
Dharryad gave an assenting nod. He turned as the tent flap closed behind them and the sound of their footsteps retreated.
For a long time he just stood there, fingers tracing over the sand markings that zig zagged across the map. There was a high-strung tension in his shoulders, that finally he came to himself enough to try to roll out.
"Accompany me."
Ijiax unhooked his fingers and came forward, garnering permission before starting to work at the ties lacing Dharryad's throat. Still his tired grey eyes had not left the map.
"What do you think of all of this?"
His fingers froze.
"Mi emir?"
The dark gaze fell upon him, and Ijiax realized, perhaps a moment too late, just how close they were. Then Dharryad nodded back toward his work.
"The siege. You have heard the plan. What do you think?"
"Emir, it is not my place—"
"It is if I have asked you."
He tried to swallow down the tightness rising in his chest. For a moment his eyes swept out over the miniature battlements and down the steppes, where they fell upon the intricately carved white horse that stood in the place of Al Bahlunawat. He traced the lines of sand that rippled around the city with his gaze, and followed them in their sweeping arcs back to Deimmam. The pressure that had been building in his throat threatened to break, and a smoky, familiar chill caressed his spine. The emerald ring on his finger began to burn.
Ijiax dropped his gaze back to his work, and a muscle slipped back and forth in his jaw.
"I believe Al Bahlunawat is being underestimated, emir."
"The horsemen?" his eyes turned back to the map, "We have plans to avoid the city by almost twenty leagues, I doubt if they will send their warriors that far to meet us."
"What if we needn't skirt the city?"
"What do you mean?"
"What mother Aaisha has said is true. I saw as much in Caneuit. Their people grow ever more restless for freedom. have the one thing they might weigh more than the backing of Diemmam."
Dharryad turned to him in surprise. There was something profound in the steadiness of his gaze, and it rooted Ijiax on the spot.
For a long moment neither of them moved. Then when Ijiax finally met his eyes there was something swimming in the prince's gaze that was gone in the time it took him to blink. Dharryad's fingers flitted to his own bracers and began working at the knots.
"Thank you, that will be all I require from you tonight."
It took him a moment for the meaning of the words to catch up to him, and a moment more for his stunned silence to break.
Ijiax stepped back and touched his fingertips to his temple, then gathered the empty pitcher and the two used goblets from the war table under his arm. He offered another short bow to the emir's turned back, then slipped out through the heavy curtain and into the chill of the night.
He was not called back into service until the next day, though he had waited outside the emir's tent for nearly an hour before his silhouette ducked out into the predawn light.
He followed him carefully through the lines of tents, beginning to believe he had gone unnoticed right up until the prince hesitated outside Al-Muwat's quarters and his steely gaze flicked to him. He gestured with his fingers, and ducked beneath the tent flap before Ijiax had made it to his side.
He followed him loyally, then immediately froze. There was wealth within the general's tent such as he had never seen, shelves overspilling with brass and gold tucked along the nearest walls. Pendants of ivory and jade hung from the ceiling, twirling in the rosy morning light. Even a single one of them would have been enough to buy him his freedom.
Dharryad ignored all of it, striding toward the back room in a way only the firstborn son of Isde al-Mohiuddin had any right to do. He looked every inch the war commander he was, down to the diadem twined round his throat and the khanjar in his fist.
Suddenly Ijiax's heart was racing. Surely he was not about to witness the murder of the Qaid by the hand of his own kin— but he needn't have worried, for when Dharryad finally made it to the end of his commander's bed it was his foot rather than his blade which shoved him out of it.
Al-Muwat awoke in a frenzy of sputtering curses and an ache behind his eyes that could only have been from wine. Above him his emir glowered, tilting the coppery blade toward his throat.
"Tell me of Al Bahlunawat."
The stars glittered above, frightening and cold, watching him until he had the good sense to slip inside.
His master's quarters were a mess. The contents of his war table were spilled halfway across the floor, sand and all, while three young female slaves scrambled to clean up the mess.
He stared at the destruction before him, then quickly crossed the room and ducked into the next.
What had happened in the marhaq was but a child's tantrum compared to this. Furniture layed toppled and broken, textiles torn from one end to the next and strewn about the wreckage. Ijiax stared at the mess in horror, then his eyes fell to the side of the half-collapsed bed.
"Mi emir?"
He approached the prince slowly, hands out before him as though he were settling some great beast. He knelt next to the man who looked more a shadow of himself than he'd ever seen him.
His eyes fixed, unmoving, at the collapsed crate across from him. He followed his gaze and gasped, feeling his stomach plummet through his spine.
The princess Umah d'Nakheel's necklace, the one he had seen her wear to her own coronation all those months ago, lie amongst three dozen other artifacts spilled across the floor toward the emir's feet. Ijiax felt the horrible, crippling implications of such a gift rip through him like a poisoned blade, and had crossed the room to slam the crate shut in a heartbeat.
He turned slowly back to the prince, who's eyes were still fixed unmoving on the spot where Nakheel's jewelry had been, and felt his throat tighten.
His emir looked as though a rage he had never before encountered had ripped through him. As though he were defenseless under the pointed blade of Diemmam's new Qaid. As though he were broken.
Forgetting all quarter, all reason, Ijiax crossed the room to him and gathered one of his fisted hands in his own. He stared at his emir as steel grey eyes, colder than he had ever seen them in his life, refused to move.
"She is not dead," he said firmly, squeezing the scarred knuckles within his hands, "They would never harm her when her objects alone were enough a message. She lives, Dharryad," he swore, "She lives now and she will live to see her city again. We will bring her home."
Ijiax shook him, desperate for him to look up.
But Dharryad's eyes stayed away from him so evenly he didn't know if his words had been heard. Then, voice shuddering, "I caused this. My sister, my baby Naki, rests in the hands of those monsters because of what I've done."
There was nothing but anger in his face, but a tear slid silently down the curve of his cheek. Something hardened in Ijiax, and it was unflinchingly that he clasped his emir's jaw in his hand and pulled his face up toward his own.
The word carried the weight of not only his rage, but the bitterness of the entire Iresian people behind it.
"No, mi emir. You will not give yourself over to this grief. Your Uhkti needs you," he insisted, "And I have never known my prince a man to turn away from his family."
Dharryad's eyes swam between his, until finally something in them softened.
And then Dharryad al-Mohiuddin, Prince of the Nine Rivers, Freer of the Twin Mountains. His emir...kissed him.
It was so terrifying and unexpected that he flinched away. Against his resistance the kiss broke and their eyes met.
Dharryad's eyes flashed up at him, shock at his own actions playing across his face. He looked so taken aback, and his mouth parted.
By the Most Merciful, they would kill him for this.
Ijiax silenced him. Their lips pressed together, tense and uncomfortable at first, then shifting closer as Dharryad melted into the touch. His hand curled behind his neck and every single other thought in the world softened away.
They parted only for a moment, the emir's half-lidded eyes locked on his own. There was something in them he'd never seen before. Some locked-away desire, smoldering beneath the surface of that incredible gypsum grey.
Then a wince of regret flashed across his handsome face.
Before Ijiax could apologize, explain himself somehow...calloused fingertips settled against his lips, cutting off any protest.
"I have a war map to draw."
Then Dharryad was on his feet, snagging the fabric of his turban off the floor and wrapping it about his own head. He started toward the door and then hesitated, turning back to cast a regretful look toward Ijiax.
"I am not done with this, little jackal."
Then he was gone, and Ijiax was left struggling for breath in an overturned tent, the ghost of a touch still warm against his lips.
And so from one hand to the next
The fell ring did pass;
And with it too,
The threads of madness sought their mark.
He let his relief show openly in his eyes, weight falling into his chains. The Qaid whipped around toward his prince in open shock.
Dharryad leaned back into the throne, every bit the emotionless conqueror he was claiming to be.
"I said no, Al Muwat. Need I repeat myself?"
At the challenge in his eyes the old man shied away, bowing his hand behind his palms.
"No need, mi Emir. It is the judgement of the Most High."
His eyes flickered to Ijiax's for one last moment, a bitterness turned toward him that the emir would not be able to see.
"Please excuse me, your eminence. I have urgent matters to attend to."
Dharryad waved his fingers in dismissal, and in a moment the Qaid was gone behind the clang and shudder of the immense brass doors.
The emir watched after him for a long, solemn moment, then seemed to realize that Ijiax was still in the room. His eyes softened as he turned toward him, taking all of him in with a flash of something behind his eyes. Then he settled further into the throne, visibly relaxing against the marble.
"Why, my little jackal, I think I might just enjoy you like this."
The deeper meaning of his words was not lost on him. He had to repress a small shudder, especially as his prince lifted himself from the throne.
He walked down the steps toward him like a predator circling in on its prey. His footsteps echoed loudly in the empty throne room, and with each one of them Ijiax felt something inside himself curl deeper and deeper into the hidden recesses of his mind. On the prince's finger, the emerald ring caught the light.
He offered a smooth smile, behind which his heart was pounding irregularly in his throat.
He drove the knife into his emir's stomach, leaning his weight into it until the blade crushed through his body and into the stone behind him.
Dharryad let out a wet gasp, stumbling slightly as he stared down at the blade. Then to Ijiax's hand. Then, finally, to the face of the man that had betrayed him.
He sobbed as he saw the realization dawn across his prince's eyes, green and dark and lost.
Then they slumped to the floor together, and Dharryad let out a groan.
"Aman...I'm so sorry," he wept, "I'm so sorry..."
He could hardly see past his tears as he bowed his forehead against his prince's, hands still knuckle-white on the khanjar. Blood, hot and thick, poured across his fingers and strained the white of his waist sash black.
Dharryad's fingers curled over his, then shakingly wrenched the blade free. He stared at it for a moment, his own blood coating his hands, then it fell to the tiled floor beside them with a clang.
Ijiax couldn't stop weeping as he saw the light behind his eyes begin to falter, and he finally realized he had not struck high enough.
The blade had pierced his lungs, not his heart. With a long, rattling breath, Dharryad sunk into his arms.
He had eyes for no one and nothing but his emir, even as the hiss of coals rose beneath his feet. He only made it a few steps into the wreckage before the pain overwhelmed him, and he collapsed his knees with Dharryad's body still cradled in his arms.
Ijiax bit down until his teeth threatened to crack, holding back the screams he felt trying to rip from him as the flames licked up his sides.
He leaned into Dharryad, his forehead collapsing his leather armor beneath its weight. Tears simmered before they'd even made it down his cheeks.
But in the end, the screams ripped through him nonetheless. He writhed and crumbled, clasping to his form with bloody knuckles, and he held to the man he loved until the very last breath from his lungs cut short.
His last thoughts were of his prince's smile. Of a sunny afternoon on the Purratu. Of peach wine.
The flames hissed and crackled, embers floating up through the air, and then everything but the fire went out.
16 notes · View notes
headcannonballs · 17 days ago
It is made clear that the ruler of the Woodland Realm was never in possession of a Ring of Power (even Cirdan of the Grey Havens held one, for a time). Yet of all the elven kingdoms of the third age, Mirkwood is the place which appears the most overtly magical.
Yup, it's headcannon time.
We know that Celebrimbor forged the rings during the second age and gave them to Gilgalad, Galadriel and in some drafts directly to Cirdan. It was only at Gilgalad's death that Vilya passed to Elrond.
From the attitude Oropher held towards the Noldor, it is to be expected that he would not be given a ring. And though Thranduil seemed less distrustful, I doubt any of the three felt close enough to him to wish to personally entrust their ring to him.
However, the Woodland Realm is a large elven kingdom that is remarkably close to Mordor. Leaving it unprotected would seem like great folly, especially when the Shadow rose and corrupted it from Greenwood into Mirkwood.
There must be something about Thranduil's rule which assured the rest of the Wise that he could hold his own, should the kingdom be under attack. And that is where magic comes in.
Tolkien's description of magic is very vague. Sure the Valar and Maia have powers, and so do magic rings embued with power. But other than that, most magical happenings go unexplained.
What is interesting is that overt magic in Rivendell (water horses and healing powers) and Lothlorien (stasis of the passage of time and preserving beauty) are explained through the presence of a ringbearer. But not the overt magic in Mirkwood, where the river is enchanted, bonfires can lead to hallucinations and doors are magical.
This leads me to think that Thranduil has powers, magical powers that are strong enough in and of itself to be a deterrent to enemies. It might not be as potent as a ring of power, but it is enough to protect his kingdom despite not being a ringbearer or being a light elf.
And I can't help but think that this has something to do with Thranduil growing up in Doriath under the guidance of Melian.
Oropher was noted to be a Sindarin Prince, and whether or not he was directly related to Thingol (a headcannon I'll leave for another post), he must surely be of high enough standing to occasionally get to meet the Maia Queen. It is during one of this meetings he decides to bring along his young son, and the blond elfling just charms Melian.
Perhaps the golden strands of his hair signified Vanyar blood, or reminded her of the golden tree. Whatever it is, Melian decides that this boy is talented, and she wants to tutor him.
Thingol too takes a liking to Thranduil, somehow seeing a lot of himself in the elfling. Oropher is delighted that his son has made an impression on his king and queen, and offers to bring him to the palace regularly.
And so it is, directly under the Maia Queen herself, that Thranduil learns his magic. He learns enchantments to repel and to protect, he learns the languages of the birds and is able to converse with them. He becomes more attuned to nature and the seasons, and finds himself as one with the forest.
Thingol occasionally drops in to their study sessions and speaks of Menegroth and trade with surrounding kingdoms and the day-to-day business of ruling. Thranduil is young enough to be just like a sponge and he absorbs all these knowledge, not really knowing what he will do with it but keeping it in his memory anyway.
And, after the fall of Doriath, the disappearance of Beleriand, the founding of the Woodland Realm and the death of his father, Thranduil recalls those lessons from long ago. He puts them into use and cannot help but think to himself, maybe Melian did see something in him after all.
107 notes · View notes
rudystree · 25 days ago
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
rudy by @/matthewkennethphotography
aka what you’d see if you opened up my brain like a cookie jar and looked inside
53 notes · View notes
nasheelahunter · 26 days ago
Tumblr media
Who'd have thunk that a K-drama about a Korean-Italian mafiosi would have a solid slab of Tolkien fan fiction? After Mr. Nam did a Gollum and called the guillotine file his precious, episode 15 makes sure no one misses the reference. First, there's the way Vincenzo eyes the file — it's very, very reminiscent of the way ring bearers gaze upon it in Peter Jackson's films — and then there's the revelation that Vincenzo slipped it into his pocket when he was supposed to have thrown it into the underground vault that would kept the file safely out of everyone's reach. He's basically replicating the actions of Isildur at Mount Doom (which makes Mr. Choi...Elrond...? That would certainly explain how that man can do pretty much anything and everything. Low-key loving Mr. Choi, especially after seeing his flying kicks in this episode).
"Only an evil man can use it properly," Vincenzo tells Mr. Nam and Cha-Young of the guillotine file, which is quite the alt version of how Tolkien saw the one ring of power but also makes me see the trio and Geumga Gang as a fellowship that is an ode to the Fellowship of the Ring.
Interestingly, Myung-Hee describes the power and potential of the guillotine file in almost the exact same terms as Vincenzo does, which is a subtle reminder of this show being about evil versus evil rather than evil versus good.
Tumblr media
Just in case we missed the connection, our man Han-Seok lays it out as obviously as is possible. I also distinctly remember hearing him quote "One ring to rule them all. My precious" when I saw the episode right after it dropped — mostly because he didn't complete the chant ("One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them") — but when I went back to check that bit, Han-Seok doesn't have any lines in English. So either my lust for Ok Taec-Yeon and love for Tolkien have intersected to induce hallucinations or Netflix is snipping bits that make them antsy.
What makes this ring of power/ guillotine file parallel so interesting is that Tolkien's world is one in which it's very clearly good versus evil. The good don't have shades of grey (somewhat literally: Gandalf the Grey becomes Gandalf the White) and it is their untarnishable goodness that makes them worthy protagonists who are able to vanquish Sauron's evil. Vincenzo, on the other hand, presents to us a very different world where there is no good and the only redemption we can hope for is in the better evil winning against the worse evil. Vincenzo, our anti-hero, has killed off more than a dozen men so far without blinking an eyelid. It's not just him. Everyone has some darkness in them because society and institutions are riddled with corruption. The good, like Cha-Young's dad, don't survive this world and therefore they can't really offer any meaningful challenge to the evil. In that sense, this is as much of a contrast as one can imagine to the Tolkien worldview that believed innocence and goodness could survive (and win) no matter what.
Yet at the same time, there are similarities. The bad guys are high up in towers, just like Saruman and Sauron. They find themselves challenged by a rag-tag bunch of nobodies. Tolkien's fellowship is mostly made up of people who are considered powerless. Similarly, the Geumga Gang are seemingly insignificant. Cha-Young, once an attorney at a powerful firm, is now just a regular lawyer. Vincenzo doesn't have the backing of his mafia family (though he does have a platoon of pigeons, which is clearly and hilariously way more effective). He's also the son of a housekeeper, which places him close to the bottom of the social pyramid, despite his tailored suits, opera-watching and wine-sipping.
So yeah, Vincenzo really could be Tolkien fan fiction. Imagine that.
52 notes · View notes
katra-connor · a month ago
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
by the amazing @same5_ Feels overload! They are so happy
82 notes · View notes
foedhrass · a month ago
Sauron the Deceiver
The Lord of Gifts no more - Sauron showing his true colors.
Tumblr media
More photos of Sauron and my other Middle-earth cosplays: or
56 notes · View notes
rainbowloliofjustice · a month ago
I hate how so many people just... lack any kind of critical media literacy across so many different genres and how just about every genre and common tropes, issues, etc. within them just get boiled down to "Oh this is bad because ableism/racism/homophobia" even though the tropes largely have nothing to do with that. It's like they have such a surface-level understanding of something and then proceeds to read into said surface-level understanding in a contest to see who can come up with the most disingenuous, bad faith, uncharitable and just all-around god an awful interpretation of it.
"Characters having prosthetics as an allegory for losing their humanity is ablest because it is saying that if you got into an accident you are a monster." No, you absolute peanut. Robotic parts specifically are an allegory for the loss of humanity in characters that just get rid of their human body because they were being reckless, stupid, thought that it was not perfect enough, too weak, etc. Oftentimes, this is juxtaposed with a character that is a robot but is more human than the cyborg or person that just gets another piece of them replaced with a machine.
Ironwood getting increasingly mechanical parts as he is making increasingly inhumane choices in regards to himself and others is not saying he's a monster because he had an oops boo boo and had to replace his arm. ESPECIALLY when his character is juxtaposed by a character who has a robotic arm (Yang) and a character who is a created robot (Penny). The reason why Yang said that her robotic arm (and even taking pride in it at that) is "just extra" because it is just an extra asset to who she is as a person, but not her whole person. In terms of Penny, she is entirely made of machines but has what amounts to a human heart and compassion because she makes a choice to be kind to people. The allegory here (that y'all failed to understand) is that it is not whether or not someone has prosthetic or robotic parts that determine their humanity, but rather their choices and how they treat others.
It is often also the same in stories where it has characters who have robotic parts such as Alita Battle Angel or anything that genuinely comes from cyberpunk dystopia. Alita (Who is completely robot mind you) is often more kind, compassionate, etc. than characters who are fully human. Hugo and his crew regularly steal parts from cyborgs who've done nothing to him and this is juxtaposed by characters like Grewishka and Zipan who are mechanical and monstrous but not because of their parts but because of their choices. Which is a strong contrast to Alita who is fully kindhearted and has a strong sense of justice and doing what is right regardless of whether there is a price tag on it.
In more dystopian stories wherein no short words, the corrupt government controls technology and spies on its people using it, it can be a question of how much of your humanity (in this instance, privacy and agency over oneself) you're willing to sacrifice for comfort or just because you had to. But of course, rather than looking at these stories as a potential warning that we should make laws that would prevent the government from using technology against its people under the guise of safety, convenience, etc. Or even having people question wtf do they do should the government get so corrupt that it can just hijack someone's arm or even just stop someone's pacemaker because lol why not.
Yeah I get it, it's uncomfortable but unfortunately, the people who need it the most are going to be the people most at risk to a corrupt government which is like... kinda the point.
But anyways moving on
The same can go for when stories use animals as a means of telling stories revolving around discrimination. But ofc people can only see it as a surface-level "racism" and then do their damnest to force characters into being black/poc or white (and for some reason, only those two races) while failing to realize that the reason it was done is that discrimination has more than one axis. I swear this logic is what has convinced me all the talk of intersectionality in activism is just a joke they say to get other people to just shut up and let them speak over them and ignore problems/issues they don't want to focus on. It's like the only thing they can understand is racism and even that racism is only if it is hatred and black people vs white people. And somehow even that is on its most basic level.
The reason stories like Zootopia and Beastars work when it comes to discrimination because it doesn't solely focus on the narrative of race and allows it to explore the implicit and explicit biases of every character that doesn't exclusively revolve around racism. It allows characters to be on the axis of sexism, racism, class, etc. and explore various -isms that are not always "negative" in the sense that it is just hatred, racial slurs, etc. and that it can be the "positive" racism like saying "you're one of the good ones" or that "they're a token to xyz for not being as bad as everyone else."
It allows characters to fall on multiple axes without people arguing whether they have it "too good to complain" because of just one axis of discrimination that they give more weight to than others for some arbitrary reason.
Even when it comes to things like nudity being a symbol of being true to oneself or purity (such as Sailor Moon or Kill La Kill) people manage to, unironically boil it down to just the writers feeling horny and therefore ignore any other kind of lore, storytelling, etc. that revolves around it. They took one thing, scrubbed, bleached, and then nuked it of any kind of context/meta just to say lol writers horny this bad it literally means nothing else even though there are whole ass plot lines revolving around it. Like do you just pick and choose what kind of plot or storytelling is Valid (TM)?
And this extends to things beyond that and I just don't understand how people can lack such media literacy when you can literally go and read anything you want online. Is it because of people being willfully ignorant? Just lacking media literacy for some reason? Only consuming and understanding media that has to have every meaning shoved down their throat like the tentacle down an anime girl's throat in a hentai??? Like there are so many questions as to how people can come up with so many dumbass takes.
221 notes · View notes