#They write it like that deliberately
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criminalcase-confessions · 1 year ago
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criminal case CAN be copaganda when the protagonist is a cop and extremely good at their job (and virtually the good guy no matter what)
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mercymornsimpathizer · 2 years ago
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tbh I think people deeply misunderstand the dynamic between harrow and ortus. imagine ur thirty years old working a minimum wage job and living in ur moms basement. ur manager is an overacheiving high schooler who knows the employee handbook by heart. like she will garnish ur wages if u don't upsell vigorously enough but also she needs a ride home because her learners permit says she's not allowed to drive past 8 pm. ortus nigenad is victim of the alienation of labor, send tweet.
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epiphainie · 5 months ago
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i've just finished my s7 rewatch and it's kinda so funny to me how much discourse people created over every bucktommy interaction when their whole arc boils down to tommy being patient and vulnerable with buck and showing up for him. like when you are not wearing shipper goggles under the name of "analysis" and don't try to reverse-engineer every word and look and shot with utmost bad faith, that's what it is. a simple and sweet story of a new exciting relationship with a guy who's understanding and willing to show up. literally the two things buck needs from a relationship but never had with his previous love interests. they are kinda sickeningly sweet and well-communicating actually lol
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essektheylyss · 6 months ago
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One thing that I feel is really interesting and often forgotten about Essek is that fundamentally, his characterization has been from the start based upon his desperation for external perspectives and connection, which, along with much of his narrative and mechanical positioning, means that he actually has an extraordinary and almost (but not actually, as I'll show) counterintuitive capacity for both growth and trust.
(Buckle in. This is a long one.)
In particular, I would argue, knowing now that many places where the plot touches Ludinus have long been marked for connecting back into the current plot, that he was quite possibly built as a prime candidate for radicalization by the Ruby Vanguard. He felt isolated from his culture, he was desperate for other connection, and he was certainly of the type to believe he was too smart to be drawn into such a thing, given his initial belief that he could control the situation and the fallout. If things had gone any other way, he easily could've been on the other side by now.
As such, he has been hallmarked by being fairly open to suggestion, perhaps for this reason, but the thing about that kind of trait is that it is both how people are radicalized and deradicalized. This is certainly true of Essek, who experienced genuine kindness and quite frankly strangeness from the Nein and was able to move from the isolation the Assembly had engendered to meaningful and genuine connection, largely propelled by his own internal reflection. By the time Nein are aware of his crimes, he's already begun to express regret to an extent and, furthermore, doubt in the Assembly, including explicitly drawing a line against Ludinus, even in a position where he was on his own and probably quite vulnerable.
Similarly, when the Nein reach the Vurmas Outpost some weeks later, he has moved from regret for the position he's ended up carrying a heavy remorse. This makes sense! He's fairly introspective, seems used to spending a lot of time in his own head, and was left with plenty to mull over. It's not some kind of retcon for him to have progressed well past where the Nein left him; it just means he's an active participant in the world who has done his own work in the meantime.
This is another interesting aspect to him. I've talked about this a bit before but I cannot find the post so I'll recap here: antagonists in D&D have significantly more agency than allied NPCs. Antagonists are active forces, against which the party is meant to struggle; allies are meant to support the PCs, which means they tend to be more passive in both their actions and their character growth. Essek was both built as an antagonist, in a position that gives him significant agency, and also was then given significant opportunity to grow specifically to act as a narrative mirror for Caleb's arc. Even when he becomes a more traditional D&D ally, he still retains much of that, though he occupies a supporting role.
I believe that this is especially true because of the nature of Caleb's arc, which I've already written on; the tl;dr of this post is that Caleb is both convinced that he is permanently ruined and also desperate to prove that change is possible. Essek is that proof, because he is simply the character in a position to do so. But this also means that his propensity for introspection and openness is accentuated! He has to do the legwork on his own, for the most part, because that's where he is in the meantime.
But he still ends the campaign necessarily constricted; he is under significant scrutiny, he's at risk from the Assembly, and he goes on the run fairly soon after the story ends. He spends most of the final arc anxious and paranoid, which is valid given the crushing reality of his situation. It would be very easy to extrapolate that seven years into this reality, he would be insular, closed off, and suspicious of strangers, even in spite of the lessons he's learned from the Nein and their long term exposure.
So seeing his openness and lightness now is surprising, but at the same time, given this combination of factors in his position in the narrative over time and his defining traits, it's not by any means unreasonable.
But one thing that I found so delightful is how much trust he exhibits, which is obviously a wild thing to say about Essek in particular, given much of what he learns is both earning and offering trust, which was something he says explicitly in 2x124 that he's never really experienced: "I've never really been trusted and so I did not trust." It makes up much of the progression of his relationship with Caleb, and the trust that he is offered by the Nein in walking off the ship is the impetus he needs to grow.
But I think it's easy to talk about trust when it comes to people who have proven themselves to you or to whom you've ingratiated yourself, and that's really the most we can say about Essek by the time he leaves the Blooming Grove. There is this sense in a lot of discussion of trust (not solely in this fandom) that it is only related to either naivete or love, but there's far more to it. Trust at its best is deliberate—cultivating an openness to the world at large is a great way to combat cynicism and beget connection instead. It allows a person to maintain curiosity and be open to experience, but it can be incredibly difficult to hold onto.
It is clear that the Essek we meet now is a very pointedly and intentionally trusting individual. He trusts Caleb and by extension Caleb's trust in Keyleth, as he shows up and picks up a group of strangers from a foreign military encampment and walks in without issue. He trusts the Hells to follow his lead moving through Zadash and to exhibit enough discretion so as to avoid bringing suspicion upon all of them. He trusts that Astrid will respond well to his entrance, but he also trusts himself and the Hells enough to execute a back-up plan in the case that she doesn't. In the end, he even trusts them enough to give them his name and identity.
He doesn't scan as someone who has spent half a dozen years living like a prey animal, afraid of any shadow he runs across in an alley, withdrawn into himself and an insular family, which would've been an easy route for him to take. He scans as someone who has learned the kind of trust borne of learned confidence and a trained eye for good will and kindness, which are crucial weapons one would need for staving off cynicism in his circumstances—as if he has survived thanks more to connection and kindness than paranoia and isolation. (If we want to be saccharine about it, he scans quite poignantly as a member of the Mighty Nein.)
So it is easy to imagine this trust and openness as a natural progression of his initial search for perspectives external to his own cultural knowledge. Though he makes those first connections with the Assembly to try to vindicate his personal hypotheses, he finds in them exposure to the deepest corruption among Exandrian mortals, which could've—and did, for a time—turned him further down that same dark path.
But it's also this same openness to exposure from the wider world that allows the Nein to influence him for the better, and in spite of the challenges he's certainly faced simply surviving over the past seven years, he seems to have held onto this openness enough to move through the world with self-assurance and a willingness to extend the kinds of trust and good will that he has been shown.
(I would be remiss not to mention that I was reminded about my thoughts on this by this lovely post from sky-scribbles and their use in the tags of 'light' to describe Essek's demeanor this episode, which is really such an apt word for it.)
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tetheredfeathers · 5 months ago
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One of the things that amazes me the most about the trilogy is how subtly Collins molds Katniss' mindset to a softer and more understanding place. And how does she do it?
Through Peeta.
Peeta is the embodiment of empathy, love, and kindness, which is one of the first things Katniss notices about him. He is the first person to deciphers the main goal of the games: to pit the districts against one another, as mere pawns to the Capitol.
Katniss imitates Peeta more than we think.
In the first book, when her ally Rue is killed, she finally understands that Peeta had figured it out before tepping foot in the arena. She begins to rethink her animal instincts that made her kill Marvel without a second thought, wondering what the games had made of her.
She understands, what she and had Gale refused to at the beginning of the book, when he says that killing a human is no different. But it is different, and this is a point of epiphany for her. She covers Rue with flowers to show that she is not a piece in their games.
Ultimately, this change leads to the final move with the berries that sparks the rebellion. It is Peeta's ideology of non-conformity and rebellion through non-violence that saves them both and leads their country to freedom.
Additionally, in Catching her demeanour towards the other victors is amusing to say the least. It is obvious that she has let go of her survivalist mentality, she gives the victors a chance (even the most extreme ones such as Cashmere, Glass and Enobaria ) to view them as they really are, setting aside the Capitol created image.
Peeta’s empathy and moral integrity underpin her actions and decisions as she leads the rebellion, she conveys that true leadership involves compassion and understanding, and not just strategy and strength.
Through Peeta, she learns to love more and to have more understanding for the people around her, whether it be her prep team or a career tribute. Peeta's existence is what primarily helps her survive and prevents her from adopting Gale's extreme realist approach to war.
Katniss is the apex of the love triangle, representing the middle ground between Peeta and Gale's liberal and realist approaches. However, she is unsure of her stance at the beginning of the first book.
“Not people,” I say. “How different can it be, really?” says Gale grimly. The awful thing is that if I can forget they’re people, it will be no different at all.
Throughout Mockingjay, Katniss often finds herself at odds with Gale’s strategies, especially when they involve potential civilian casualties. And even then Peeta is physically absent, his voice rings at the back of her head. Even in his semi hijacked state he manages to guide Katniss in his propos.
"Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that — what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?”
Peeta brings out this sympathetic side, and so she symbolically becomes a neutral ground between Gale and Peeta's mindsets. She embodies the balance between a liberal and realist approach to war.
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iridescentmirrorsgenshin · 6 months ago
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Thinking about kaveh’s newly found confidence in his relationship with alhaitham, in that he can openly talk about things with ease, such as seemingly mundane things such as his day, while previously personal information was not been shared between them due to their strained rapport and kaveh’s unease with how he fits into alhaitham’s life, such as kaveh going to the desert during the archon quest and not telling alhaitham. Previously viewing himself as a hindrance in alhaitham’s space, taking on all the household chores out of guilt, now kaveh actively takes up the space, both in the house and in alhaitham’s day.
Kaveh sits on the table in the living room because he feels comfortable in their living space, he feels comfortable to do so, as well as sharing wine, and snacks, because he knows alhaitham won’t reject him. they share their evenings together, kaveh buys coffee beans for the two to try together, kaveh buys wine for them to drink together at home, kaveh talks about things of interest in his day, which alhaitham shows active interest in – which is such a contrast to their previous rapport, in which kaveh avoided being upfront with alhaitham due to his perception of alhaitham as critical or judgemental and ultimately misunderstanding him
kaveh doesn’t think twice about picking up research on the temple of silence with alhaitham, despite how it mirrors their past thesis of king deshret and how it manifested in their differences pushing them apart, he openly offers to help alhaitham – in fact, he doesn’t even ask, he hears alhaitham’s unspoken request and responds to it in kind, agreeing to combine their efforts where they had previously rejected each other
when alhaitham excuses himself from the gathering at puspa’s café, saying that it’s him ‘done for the day’, kaveh follows this up with asking alhaitham if they should head to the house of daena before returning home. Kaveh is confident in his position as a priority in alhaitham’s life, whereas before, he couldn’t understand what alhaitham wanted from him, but here, kaveh understands that alhaitham simply wants kaveh’s presence – kaveh is assured enough in this to separate himself from alhaitham’s excuse to leave the gathering, he states ‘should we’, coupling himself with alhaitham, as he knows alhaitham won’t reject him – and alhaitham doesn’t reject him at all, in fact he shares the same mind as kaveh, stating ‘my thoughts exactly’ in the two leaving the company of the party, and heading home together. The two now have shared, aligned priorities – each other, and this is known between them
kaveh is all too aware of their differences, believing them to be mirror opposites, but, unlike alhaitham, he previously believed them to be ultimately misaligned – having opposing views to never intersect, whereas alhaitham believed that kaveh, as his mirror, was integral to the enhancement of his world and of his character. Now, kaveh has not only accepted himself as alhaitham’s mirror, seeing the benefit in the two of them finally working together once more, but also is comfortable with this, with this importance that he has in alhaitham’s life. rather than being guilt ridden about the burden he perceives he places on alhaitham, he accepts and enjoys alhaitham’s regard of him, as now this is an expressly mutual sentiment.
Kaveh is now confident in alhaitham’s esteem of him, his care, his intentions. he knows how tenuous their relationship was and the harm they caused each other, and he’s accepted this, and he’s moved on, alongside alhaitham, and together they’re building something familiar, and completely new, for themselves. Rather than rejecting alhaitham out of pride for his scholarly principles and any lingering hurt, he has accepted alhaitham, the other side of the mirror, and in this, he has accepted himself, and now, he can finally make steps to move on, to better himself, alongside alhaitham
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leonardcohenofficial · 18 days ago
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in thinking about the ways that people write meta and analysis on this website i think a great number of people have a hard time distinguishing between deliberate intentional meaning and naive interpretation / what can be read in a work purely but was unintended by the creator and to conflate the two to support a One True Reading of a work is quite frankly stupid lol
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nevertheless-moving · 7 months ago
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I wrote it. They ask.
"So you're essentially an expert on honor, right?"
Kaladin blinked at Shallan, unsure what to make of the question. The three of them had finished eating, and had moved to a smaller, shared table for drinks, secluded from the rest of the building by a hazy curtain. The conversation had been drifting lazily from the city's latest scandals to squire hijinks.
"What?" Kaladin finally said, slightly confused at the abrupt change of topic.
"Of course you are, you're the first person chosen by an honorspren in thousands of years!" Adolin said enthusiastically.
"I mean—"
"And you always figure out the right thing to do!" Shallan said.
"That's definitely not—"
Adolin nodded. "Never murder anyone in cold blood, even when they deserve it."
Kaladin sighed heavily. "Where are you two going with this?"
Shallan coughed into her freehand. "Well, you see, we've been having a little debate about...honor."
"And we were hoping you could settle it. Impartially," Adolin said, tone serious.
Kaladin squinted at him. There was something off about his expression. "Can't you ask Syl?"
Syl was meeting with some of the honorspren with newer bonds tonight; she had insisted that she could handle it on her own, and that he should take the night off, but he was sure she would be happy to switch places to come by and give her opinion on other people's business; that was practically a hobby for her. He wasn't sure sure where pattern was, come to think of it; he hadn't heard him buzz in a while.
"Actually we did!" Shallan said brightly.
"She was our first choice, no offense," Adolin said. "I don't think she entirely understood the dilemma."
"It's a bit too, well, human." Shallan took a large sip of her wine, emptying the glass, but didn't waive over a server for more.
Kaladin felt dread start to coil low in his stomach, the fragile relaxation of the evening starting to slip away. "...I'm going to regret hearing about this, aren't I?"
Adolin leaned towards him, turning wide, pleading eyes his direction. "Please, Kaladin?"
Shallan matched him. Stormfather. Not so long ago ago, lighteyes looking at him like that would have filled him with derision at most. What had happened to him.
"Fine." Kaladin leaned back in his seat, giving in. He was a little curious, even though he knew he wasn't going to be happy with whatever he was about to hear. "What is it?"
Shallan straightened, as if to give a presentation before the Queen. Storms, I have a really bad feeling about this.
"Well, as you know, I'm a lightweaver, and can change mine or someone else's appearance, such that they exactly resemble another. I can also create an illusion, so that it appears that an individual is present, when in fact, they are not."
"...Yes?" Was Shallan nervous? Adolin didn't kill another highprince, did he?
"Now, obviously, practicing lightweaving by pretending to be someone else, when done entirely in private, I mean just me, myself, and I, practicing my radiant abilities, can't possibly be dishonorable."
"I guess?"
Adolin leaned forward now, one hand gesturing sharply. "But what if I'm there? I mean, no ones suggesting that it would be acceptable for Shallan to assume a specific private individual's form in public."
"Unless it's to save lives," Shallan said.
Adolin nodded. "Unless of course it's to save lives."
"Or as part of my crown assigned radiant duties."
"Or that, can't forget to mention that."
"Or with said individual's consent."
"Naturally, consent makes all the difference."
"Quite a few shades of grey."
"Truly, once you think about it. Infinite nuance."
Kaladin pinched the bridge of his nose, scowling to keep from laughing. "Did you rehearse this?"
Shallan waved her hand in his face, forestalling any other objections. "In any case! Would we be disrespecting an individual, let's call this person 'Lin' for short, would we be behaving dishonorably towards Lin, were I to assume Lin's form, or have Adolin assume Lin's form, or have Lin appear while both of us are present, soley within the privacy of our chambers?"
Kaladin waited a few seconds for Adolin to chime in, but he just continued staring intently at Kaladin.
"...This is about Lyn?"
"No, not Lyn, Lin," Shallan corrected primly. He could just barely make out a difference. "Neutral born unto. Just, we don't want to say her — say their name specifically, but I thought saying 'the individual' would get unwieldy."
Ok, probably not about Lyn. Unless they're using a confusing fake name to make me think that. He started to feel a throbbing at the base of his skull.
"Is there some specific reason you want to look like... Lin?" He dropped his voice slightly, rubbing his temples. "Is it for a practical reason? Or do you want to make fun of her — them?"
"Definitely not to make fun of them!" Adolin said, voice dropping to match Kaladin's.
"Many people would consider it flattering," Shallan whispered. "For their form to be assumed in this specific context!"
"We're just not certain if Lin would think that, and we're worried that it would be worse to ask."
"So we decided to ask you instead, since again, you're —"
Kaladin waved a hand at her before they could jump into another bizarre routine. "Honorable, yes, whatever, fine. I get it."
Adolin put a hand on his arm, expression earnest. "Look. If you think we should just directly talk to Lin then we'll do it. We just...don't want to embarrass them, or hurt their feelings in someway. We genuinely aren't sure how they would react, and I mean. You don't have to ask someone's permission for thinking about them, but this is a step up from that, and it's not like there's many people who have had the option, so...hence the uncertainty, and asking for a neutral, completely unconnected, third party opinion."
"Alright, I...guess that makes sense? In an extremely weird way." Kaladin looked between the two of them. Shallan's expression was open and honest, but unfortunately that didn't mean much. Adolin was earnest, but there was something weird about his posture. Guilty? Excited? "But why do you want to see a lightweaving of Lin in private so much?"
Shallan pretended to take a sip out of her empty glass. "I assume you can guess, bridgeboy. Is it really necessary for us to say it aloud?" She had just a hint of red staining the tops of ears, but she colored easily. It could just be the alcohol.
"I really don't know," Kaladin said, baffled. "Is this a lighteyes thing? Like you want to, I don't know...model fashion on them?"
"Ooh." Adolin suddenly looked far too eager. "That's actually not what we were thinking."
"I didn't think it was a lighteyes thing," Shallan said. "But I suppose it could be. I don't have a significant enough sample size to presume." That was clearly a joke there that Kaladin didn't get.
Adolin cleared his throat. "Well." He made another sharp motion with his hands, letting Kaladin go. "As you know, Shallan and I are married."
"Yes, I was at your wedding," Kaladin said dryly.
"We are married," Adolin repeated, talking over him. "And that comes with certain... duties and privileges."
"Among which—" Shallan was definitely blushing now. "—and I suppose this could be considered an, ah, 'lighteyes thing,' is well. The need to create an heir."
They can't possibly be asking me this. Kaladin looked desperately to Adolin, but the man just gave him a sheepish, apologetic grin.
A small part of Kaladin curled up and died.
Blood Of My Fathers.
"No," Kaladin said. "Absolutely not. You are not asking me about something to do with your sex lives."
"You see," Adolin said. "I know you've said you don't have interest in, well, any of that. But for many the process of creating an heir is not just—"
"ARGH." Kaladin threw his arms up, crossing them over his head.
"— a responsibility but a pleasure which—"
"Almighty's Tenth name!"
"—can be performed creatively—"
Kaladin pressed his head to the table, burying himself in his arms to hide his too warm face and probably disgusted expression.
"Stop. Please. Stop." He knew he was whining in a way ill befitting a Windrunner of his Ideal, but the booth they were in was private, and Adolin and Shallan had seen him in far less dignified circumstances.
"Sorry," Adolin said, patting him on the shoulder. "Just wanted to make sure you understood."
"Well I don't!" Kaladin said, looking up but not lifting his chin from his arms. "And I don't storming want to! Why can't you just look like yourselves! I thought you liked how each other looked! I've literally caught you drooling!"
Adolin frowned. "I don't drool, bridgeboy."
Shallan's face was nearly as red as his face felt, but her expression was significantly more gleeful. "I…there may have been one sparring session I observed…that may have generated a small amount of moisture."
Adolin cocked an eyebrow, and smirked. "Moisture, huh?"
"I hate you two," Kaladin lied emphatically.
"Sorry, Sorry." Adolin patted him on the shoulder again. "So? What do you think?"
"I think Rlain is right and its a storming miracle humans have managed to accomplish anything when most of us are permanently stuck in mateform."
Adolin heaved a dramatic sigh. "About our question, Kal, come on. We know you don't like talking about this stuff but that's exactly why we needed your opinion! You're unbiased!"
"And honorable, yes you said. Have I mentioned before that the rewards for being honorable blow?"
They turned twin pleading expressions toward him and he caved immediately. Storms, he had gotten weak. "Battar and Shallash, fine," he snapped. "Fine, give me a minute, alright. Just stop talking. "
The two waited, Shallan only opening her mouth to make a joke twice, Adolin successfully nudgeing her quiet each time; Kaladin lifted himself up, elbows on the table and head in his hands as he looked down, forcing himself to actually give it serious consideration. Wait, I thought Veil was the one who was attracted to women. Oh. Right.
"Alright," he finally said. "I get that people can't always help what they...think about. That's fine. And I also know that trying not to think about something sometimes makes people think about it more, so."
Adolin and Shallan nodded. "You have no idea," Adolin said. "Seriously, I love Shallan, I've absolutely tried not looking at other women's — anyway. It's so much easier to just forgive eachother the occasional wayward glance or errant thought." They squeezed each others hands.
Kaladin sighed. "Right. Sorry if I came off as judgemental."
"No, no, you've made it very clear that you don't like talking about such things, it's completely reasonable to be unhappy. We are sorry for the times we...overshare in front of you."
"It's fine," Kaladin said curtly. "Really. I know you try. Anyway. I also understand that people sometimes, er, fantasize. That way. About things or people they don't actually want in real life. And. Uh. Sometimes people... act that out."
Kaladin stared determinedly at the table, face hot. There was a swirling pattern in the marble that he hadn't noticed before.
"You do?" Adolin said, sounding surprised.
Kaladin coughed. The swirling pattern kind of looked like a river, viewed from above. "There. Might have been an incident, early on in the army, when I heard a couple and, er, overreacted slightly. They took the time to explain things in... painful detail. It's fine. None of my business."
"That's. Very open minded of you," Shallan said, sounding slightly strangled. "Tell me, when the couple was explaining things — oof." Kaladin didn't look, but he was fairly sure Adolin just stepped on her foot, something he was infinitely grateful for. It had been an extremely mortifying lesson. The pair had said they weren't mad about being interrupted, but he was fairly sure they were lying, considering how much detail they went into in their explanation.
"Honestly, the whole...dressing weird, or calling eachother names or using ropes or whatever—"
Adolin made a choking noise. Kaladin kept looking at the little river pattern in the table. If he squinted there were mountains and farms too.
"—all that stuff isn't more or less...unappealing. To think about. Then just regular sex." Kaladin paused. "That is not permission to talk about that sort of thing with me. Please don't share anything about your sex life with me, ok?"
"Of course!"
"We know."
"So," Kaladin continued, rubbing his cheeks to try and get rid of the blush. "Wanting someone isn't breaking your vows. Neither is thinking about them. Probably talking about them is fine too."
He ran his finger along the small river in the polished stone. He could practically feel two sets of light eyes drilling a hole in him.
"My concern, of course, would be for Lin. If playing around with their image would affect the real person. My main concern is it will impact the way you two interact with them."
"If we thought it did then we'd stop immediately," Adolin swore without prompting. "The real person matters far more than our...baser feelings."
"Absolutely," Shallan agreed softly. "We truly don't want to hurt them. That's why we've been struggling with this."
"I believe you," Kaladin said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Alright, so you've already been...thinking about them, while together, and it hasn't impacted your interactions with the real person."
"No!"
"Trying not to think of them that way was worse," Adolin said ruefully. "I am...fairly sure they have not noticed any feelings on my part, and even if they had they've ignored them very politely so...like I said, if messing with lightweaveing changes that, we'll stop right away, but I don't think it will. We know who they are."
Kaladin studied the marble some more. He was pretty sure he had flown over somewhere in Alethkar that looked a bit like that riverbend, but he couldn't remember where.
"You cannot do this anywhere someone could possibly see or overhear," Kaladin said, looking up to make brief, serious eye contact with each of them. "Not visiting another city. Not where guards or servants could overhear, even trusted ones. Not in the duelist preparation chamber — yes I know about that. Not while exploring the less used parts of the city — yes, I heard about that too. Not in your sitting room or against the door, where someone passing by could overhear. Just in your own bedchamber, door locked."
"That sounds reasonable," Shallan said, flushing but solemn.
"Very reasonable," Adolin agreed, nodding sharply.
Kaladin grimaced, looking back down at the table. "I think...while part of me says you should ask Lin directly...that also sounds somewhat humiliating for everyone involved. I mean, again, it's more similar to thinking about someone than anyone else, and even if they were, er, flattered... It's not like you would actually be able to sleep together anyway, with your marriage oaths, so it would be a moot point."
"...Right," Adolin said unconvincingly. Kaladin decided not to think about that.
"So... it's alright?" Shallan said hopefully. "With those conditions? Not dishonorable?"
Kaladin forced himself to look up again, and immediately regretted it. They both looked far too eager.
"Not dishonorable," he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back.
"Thank you!" Adolin said, with way too much passion.
"Thank me by never speaking to me of this again, and never asking me anything like this for the rest of our lives."
"Yes to the first one, no promises to the second," Shallan said gleefully. "Well. Now that we've discussed that matter, how about we get back to talking about—"
"Leave. For the love of all that is good, please leave," Kaladin begged, not opening his eyes. Shallan took advantage of this by kissing him lightly on the cheek. Adolin hugged him from the other side.
There was the sound of spheres tossed on the table and rapid movements, and then they were gone.
Kaladin opened his eyes, shaking his head. One of them had knocked over a glass in their haste to leave. They had, of course, left a small fortune to pay the bill.
He left the winehouse feeling...bemused mostly. Maybe he'd go find Rlain and they could gripe about humans and mateforms together. He would probably not make eye contact for Lyn for the next week, even though he was fairly sure they were talking about Isnah or Beryl. Best not to guess. He kicked off from the ground, the rush of wind immediately clearing away discomforting thoughts or lingering stress of the day.
He smiled, speeding up and feeling his heart race with the exhilaration that only the sky could bring, with no pressing meetings or appointments to get to. Syl had been right. It was good to take a night off every now and again.
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seaweedstarshine · 11 months ago
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“They engineered a psychopath to kill you.” “Totally married her. I'd never have made it here alive without River Song.”
Sources: Let's Kill Hitler, Diary of River Song: My Dinner With Andrew, Closing Time, The Husbands of River Song, Diary of River Song: The Furies, Diary of River Song: Animal Instinct, The Ruby's Curse, Time of the Doctor
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waterlinkedgirl · 12 days ago
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Musical Touken Ranbu: Michinooku ~ Hitotsu Hachisu (Michinooku ~ A Single Lotus)
Here we go! Only a few days after the archive release and toumyu's ninth anniversary (congratulations!)
Michioku, or Michihasu, is a myu I have many conflicting feelings about, both positive and negative. However, I do believe that with the right amount of care in the next Mika-related story myu, the negative can still be cleared. Plus, I'm glad about a lot of things being re-established. The writer does need to step up her game a little on the plot-writing side of things, as well as the understanding-and-respecting-past-myu side of things, but as long as she does, this can still be given a proper place within what was already established.
Keep in mind that these are only the subtitle files, timed and tled to the DMM senshuuraku and the bluray respectively. The archive version will have a talk at the start, so the starting times of the subs will have to be delayed accordingly.
You can find the subtitles and my TL notes document here!
#touken ranbu#toumyu#water's translations#michioku#michihasu#how do I put this#seeing as myu's director Kayano has said in an interview right before Michioku that Kogi and Mika have a special bond#different from other swords-- and then they try to speedrun *Tsuru* and Mika having a what feels like it was intended to be#even greater relationship using a song called Kage Futatsu where KOGI'S signature song from Utaawase was Futatsu no Kage???#I SINCERELY want to believe it's incompetence rather than the writer deliberately pulling the rug from under Kogi's feet#bc the alternative is just cruel#I don't particularly mind the relationship Mika and Tsuru have in this play but I feel that not for a moment Kogi and kara respectively#were considered in the writing#anyway my final verdict is that this myu is what too many people think tsuwa is: the divorce myu (between Mika and Tsuru this time)#in all cases I hope myu can bring Shirakawa Yuki in again like with Datemyu just to offload myu's already deathly busy writer (she's done#5 myus in a month before which is just insane) because I feel this just isn't sustainable with the amount of carefulness a long-running#franchise like myu demands and the *writing* quality (not the production quality AT ALL Michioku's is great) is suffering for it.#like sure Michioku is loaded with references but they're references that either don't serve *Michioku's own* plot or their treatment shows#a lack of understanding of the work it's referencing-- for example Kashuu calling upon atsu's “This is how the shinsengumi fights!” actuall#goes completely contrary to the lesson he's supposed to have learned from atsuibun: that swords aren't disposable and that he has duties as#both soldier (captain in atsu) and as COMRADE and he makes the (already highlighted in Michioku!) dumb decision of butting in without#thinking-- and with that framed against manba's breaking trauma as well! He's supposed to have learned to stay rational and consider both#duties yet here he is ---BECAUSE of the reference--- completely leaning on the pre-atsu-development side of the scale#as if Ishi's words went one ear in one ear out. And yes the scene by itself could've worked as a subversion to show Kashuu makes the#'irrational' decision against what Ishi taught him to consider precisely because he cares for the people he's protecting but there is NO#groundwork laid at all for that in the rest of Michioku! This is what I mean with the carelessness of the references and the lack of#consideration for what prior myus were trying to SAY and ACHIEVE which is insane because she was the lyricist for those#it's more a collage of feelings provided through a set of characters calling back to the scripts of prior myu rather than#a story that evokes feelings bc the humans in it walk forward and act upon-- interact with-- the scenery on the road as left by prior human
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beaft · 5 months ago
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my curse is that i am incapable of writing fantasy without establishing all the rules beforehand. like, i know it's okay to just "write a cool thing and then justify it later", but i cannot do that because i have ADHD also known as chronic overthinker's disease. i'll get 100 words in and a character will drink some tea, and then i'll have to stop and ask myself where tea comes from in this world and how it's distributed and whether colonialism exists and are they heating up the water with magic or are they using a copper kettle or perhaps a cauldron and is tea-drinking an elitist Rich Person Thing like it was in the early 1700s or has it settled into common practice? and then it's an hour later and i have still only written 100 words
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sneakyboymerlin · 8 months ago
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Actual monarchists in the Gwaine tag. Scary
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youssefguedira · 7 months ago
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i dont know when ill get around to writing the larger fic this is part of but you know brain worms have this
Nicky offers to pick him up at the airport like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t been almost ten years since they saw each other, because he knows Joe hates planes and won’t want to try and navigate the two trains and two buses it’ll take to actually reach their hometown after the flight. And Joe doesn’t even try to protest, just texts him Thank you before he gets on the plane and then tries not to think about it for the entire flight. He fails.
When he arrives he’s exhausted, because it never really gets easier no matter how many times he does it. Moves through the airport like a zombie, operating mostly on muscle memory. He hasn’t been here in a long time. Still knows it well enough to navigate without really thinking about it. 
His suitcase is one of the last to come through on the carousel, but it does come through, and then he’s walking to arrivals with his heart in his throat. 
Nicky’s hanging back from the crowd, hands in his pockets. His hair is a little longer now, and at some point in the last decade he’s gotten his ears pierced, which Joe didn’t know. He’s wearing a dark green sweater and blue jeans. When he catches sight of Joe he smiles, small and restrained, straightens slightly.
“Hey,” he says as Joe gets closer, voice soft.
Joe has to swallow. “Hey,” he says hoarsely.
And he doesn’t even need to say anything else, because Nicky pulls him into a hug before Joe even has to ask, and Joe buries his face in Nicky’s neck and tries to breathe around the sob catching in his throat. One of Nicky’s hands comes up to cup the back of Joe’s neck, his thumb moving back and forth gently, and Joe is fragile enough that that gesture alone almost undoes him. 
Nicky pulls back first. Smiles at Joe. “You look good,” he says.
Joe has to swallow before he trusts himself to speak. “You too.” 
They linger just a moment longer, Nicky’s hand still on the back of Joe’s neck. Ten years ago, Joe would’ve kissed him; now there’s a gap neither of them quite know how to fill.
Finally, Nicky steps back fully, and Joe feels the loss of contact sharply. “We should go,” Nicky says. Joe nods, and follows him out of the terminal.
The car Nicky heads for is the same battered old thing he’s been driving since he got his licence. Joe wonders to himself how the car is even still going, and the look Nicky gives him tells him he knows exactly what Joe’s thinking.
It does something funny to Joe’s heart. He looks away, and gets in the car. 
“I brought you something to eat,” Nicky says before he starts the car, reaching for the bag by Joe’s feet. 
“You didn’t have to–” Joe begins, but Nicky cuts him off with a knowing almost-smile. 
“You hate plane food,” Nicky says, “and it’s almost two, and the other option would be whatever we can find on the way. I thought you might prefer this to service station food.”
It makes Joe want to cry a little. “Nicky,” he says, and can’t manage anything else. 
Nicky seems to understand. He pulls out what he had been looking for - a silver thermos, and a fork - and hands it to Joe. The contents are still warm when Joe opens it: pasta, warm and comforting. 
“Good?” Nicky asks, watching him.
Joe nods. “Good.”
“Okay.” Nicky looks at him for a beat longer, then turns away and starts the car. 
There’s a moment of delay before the CD player starts up, but when it does, Joe knows it from the opening note: he bought Nicky this CD from a thrift store the summer before he left for university, when they’d taken off for two weeks, just them and the car and the road. And there’s no chance that Nicky’s kept it in his car for ten years, but as they leave the airport and turn onto the motorway it makes it feel like they’ve done this a thousand times before, even though Nicky never picked him up from the airport when he came home, only met him at the station once or twice.
Joe finishes the pasta and tucks the thermos back in the bag. “Thank you,” he says, and it comes out a lot quieter than he means it to. 
Nicky glances at him. “We’re still a few hours away, if you want to try and sleep. I will wake you when we’re almost there.”
Joe might protest under other circumstances, but the flight was long, and he doesn’t sleep well on planes anyway. So he takes off his scarf and folds it into a makeshift pillow before leaning back and closing his eyes. Nicky drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat, hums along with the tune, and Joe lets the sound of his voice and the tapping of the rain on the window wrap around him like a blanket, carrying him off to sleep.
----------
Joe wakes to Nicky shaking his shoulder gently. “We’ll be there soon,” he’s saying. The rain has stopped; the radio is on, now, chattering in the way in the background. They’ve left the motorway behind for a much narrower road. Joe has to blink a few times before he catches sight of a sign and realises what Nicky means. 
He sits up. The position he’d been sleeping in hadn’t been great for his back or his neck, and he’ll probably regret it soon, but he’d slept a lot better than he might’ve expected. 
Being back always makes the rest of his life feel like a dream, like he’d never left at all. When the sign for their town passes Joe sits up, panic coiling in his stomach. He’s had days to prepare himself and still isn’t ready.
“Wait,” he says when they turn a corner two streets away from Joe’s parents’ house, “Nicky. Wait.”
“What?” Nicky asks. He doesn’t stop, but he does slow down.
“I can’t– I can’t do this.”
Now Nicky does stop, pulling into a lay-by. “What is it?”
“I don’t know, I just. Not yet. I need time.”
Nicky looks at him for a long moment. “When are they expecting you?”
“I didn’t give an exact time. Just sometime this afternoon.” He’d told his sister Nicky was coming to get him over the phone; she hadn’t said anything, but the silence had been enough. 
Nicky doesn’t say anything, but he’s got the look on his face that means he’s thinking.
“I’ll be okay by myself,” Joe says then. “If you need to work.”
Nicky shakes his head. “I have today off.” And then, before Joe can really think about that, he turns the car around and heads back the way they came. This time, he recognises the path Nicky’s taking almost immediately, turning away from the area Joe’s parents live in and towards the outskirts of town, where it starts to become mostly farmland.
“I can park the car by my uncle’s house,” Nicky says, glancing at Joe. “Then we can go from there.”
Joe doesn’t need to ask where; they’ve walked the same route so many times he could probably do it in his sleep. 
The sheep are out in the fields by Nicky’s uncle’s house, but he doesn’t see any of the lambs yet, though they must be coming soon. Nicky’s uncle let Joe try and help with lambing once, up until the point where Joe saw what exactly that entailed, and immediately lost his nerve. But he’d still let him help Nicky feed them every year.
There’s a little paved yard outside the farmhouse, where Nicky parks the car before grabbing the bag that had been by Joe’s feet. “I’m going to drop these off,” Nicky says. “You can come in, if you want?”
Nicky’s aunt and uncle have always been kind to Joe, but they will inevitably ask about his father, and Joe cannot quite bring himself to talk about that, not yet. 
“I’ll wait,” Joe says. 
It’s a few minutes before Nicky reappears, this time without the bag, but carrying a different thermos. He smiles apologetically as he jogs over. “I didn’t mean to make you wait long,” Nicky says. “But you know how they are.”
All Joe can do is nod. Nicky sets off down the path towards the woods that border the farm and Joe falls into step beside him. They don’t talk much on the way there, but they don’t need to: the silence is comfortable enough.
It’ll be spring soon. It’s cold but not cold enough to be uncomfortable, and the snowdrops are in full bloom, bright shards of white in the grass. The rain has stopped, but the smell of it still hangs in the air. They must’ve spent hours walking this path, enough that Joe doesn’t really need to look to know exactly where Nicky’s going.
This part of the river is just secluded enough that he can’t hear cars passing by anymore. The bench by the path is still there, though at some point they’ve built a shelter over it, which probably leaks but has kept it dry even after the rain. Nicky makes for it immediately. 
If he looked at the back of the third slat from the left he’d find their names carved into the wood, side by side. Joe very deliberately doesn’t look. 
Nicky sits down. Nods to the space beside him. When Joe joins him, he holds out the thermos.
“Tea,” Nicky says. “If you want.”
How many times have they done exactly this, over the years? In summer, they’d wade into the river; in winter, Joe always wanted to try skating on it, but the ice was never quite thick enough. Every time Nicky got into a fight with his father, every time Joe couldn’t bear to be in the house one second longer, they’d come here. 
Joe gives into memory and rests his head on Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky brings one arm up to hold him close, hand on Joe’s upper arm.
Joe closes his eyes, listens to the birds, listens to Nicky’s breathing. 
Nicky says, “When is the funeral?”
“Thursday,” Joe says. He doesn’t want to think about this, doesn’t want to think about the last conversation he had with his father, doesn’t want to imagine walking into his parents’ house and finding him gone. Of all people, Nicky will understand. It’s what brought them together when they were younger: being the only two students in their class who spoke English as a second language, and difficult fathers.
Silence falls between them, and Nicky doesn’t let him go, and Joe’s missed him, more than he really knew. He’d tried to stay in touch, and they had, for the most part, but it’s not the same as having Nicky beside him again.
Joe doesn’t think there’s anyone in this world who knows him the way Nicky does.
He doesn’t know why he says it, but they haven’t talked about it, and it feels like something they should, if only so Joe can lay this all to rest. 
Joe opens his eyes. “You, uh. You seeing anyone?”
Nicky doesn’t pull away, but Joe feels the way he goes still, tense. Slowly, softly, he says, “I don’t think this is the right time, Joe.”
“Is there ever a right time?” Joe asks, half-joking. 
Nicky doesn’t laugh. 
Joe clears his throat. “I’m not. So.”
Nicky exhales slowly, like he’s steadying himself. His thumb moves back and forth, back and forth where it’s resting on Joe’s arm, catching on the fabric of his coat. “Me neither.”
Joe’s not sure if that’s better or worse than if Nicky had said he’d found someone. If he had, perhaps Joe could put to rest the little part of him that will always be in love with Nicky. Not get rid of it entirely, but fold it away in a little corner of his heart and leave it there. This, though – this is possibility he doesn’t know what to do with.
“How long are you here?” Nicky asks quietly, moving his hand up to run his fingers through Joe’s hair, like he used to whenever Joe needed something to keep him grounded.
“I got two weeks off work,” Joe says. “After that I don’t know.”
Two weeks feels monumentally long and yet vanishingly short at the same time. And after?
They don’t talk about much after that. Small talk, more than anything else: Nicky’s still living in the same apartment, still working the same job, but Joe knows he loves it from the tone of his voice when he talks about the shelves he built for his most recent client, how he’s starting to make more of his own stuff, how his boss has been talking about retiring and leaving the whole business to Nicky. Joe could listen to him talk about it for hours. Maybe he does. 
It settles the frantic thing that had woken in his chest when they crossed the town line, and eventually, Joe says, “I think I’m ready.”
Nicky turns his head inwards and kisses the top of Joe’s head. Lingers there for a moment. It isn’t anything; it doesn’t have to be anything. 
“Okay,” Nicky says. “Okay.”
The walk back to the farm is largely silent, just as the walk there had been, passing the thermos of tea back and forth between them. They get back in the car, and Nicky drives them back to Joe’s parents’ house. 
Nicky pulls up on the curb outside the house. “Call me, if you need anything. Or just– call me.”
“I will,” Joe promises. He has two weeks; he’s not going to waste them. They haven’t been in the same timezone in a long, long time.
Nicky smiles, small and hopeful, and there’s nothing really to say, after that. 
Joe gets out of the car, and prepares to face his family.
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prodigal-sunlight · 2 months ago
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What do u have against ai? :(
How much time do you have?
1. Generative AI is trained on the works of artists and writers without consent or compensation. It’s literally stealing from actual people. And no, it isn’t “learning like a real person” because it isn’t a real person. It’s a program that is incapable of creating anything new of its one. All generative AI is built on theft by corporations from small independent creators.
2. It uses considerably more power than most other current technology. Like, arguably it is worse for the environment than NFTs. The amount of water it wastes is absurd, the uptick in energy usage is absurd.
3. Corporations are salivating at the chance to cut creative people out of products. They don’t want to pay people for their work because they don’t respect art and artists. As long as we live under a capitalist system, people need to be able to own what they create and be able to provide for themself with their own skills.
4. The misinformation and disinformation generative AI can cause and has ALREADY caused is insane. People have had their faces and voices stolen without consent or compensation. People can generate believable deepfakes of politicians and social figures that will degrade the truth and potentially even damage our already messed up political climate. How would you feel if someone posted a realistic video of you praising a product you never bought? Or vouching for a politician you hate? Or saying you think all gay people should die?
5. This one is just personal, but I don’t care what a machine “makes.” Creativity is special to me because it lets you see the world through someone else’s eyes. Art of all kinds—writing, art, music, roleplay—is a kind of communication. I want to communicate with people, not an inanimate object mimicking what a person would be like. The joy of art comes from creation. Reducing it to only consumption is a disservice to all humankind.
Certain scientific fields have genuine uses for other kinds of AI, and I respect that. But Generative AI is built on theft and disrespect; at best its used for shallow art that someone didn’t care enough about to make themself, at worst its used for scams, disinformation, and stripping away even more of people’s rights.
I legitimately believe there is no current ethical uses for Generative AI. Will there be one day? Its possible, but I honestly find that unlikely. For now, though, if you are pro Generative AI, please unfollow me.
I may not be the most talented artist/writer out there, but I have enough self-respect that I don’t want people who see me as replaceable by machines engaging with my creative works. I put a lot of time, passion, and love into my work. Someone who sees that as equal in worth to something an algorithm spat out in five seconds is not welcome here.
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cheeseanonioncrisps · 1 year ago
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Obviously the structure of an episodic series often requires characters to go from 'complete strangers' to 'close friends/family' in an unusually short amount of time. I get it.
Writers need a 'new guy' in the group to ask questions about the setting that the audience can't, but still (especially in comedy shows) want the fun dynamics that come from all the main cast knowing each other super well. It's one of those functional tropes like L-Shaped Blankets where you're required to suspend your sense of disbelief.
Having said that, I love when writers choose to take this trope and retroactively justify it by later on revealing that the Seemingly Normal Everyman Character is actually as unhinged as the rest of the group— it's just that their weirdness manifests specifically as an ability to form found family dynamics with literally any group they join, almost immediately after joining.
Like, you assumed that they just fit in so well because your group has a special vibe, but then you accidentally left them in the supermarket for like five minutes and by the time you realised and went back they were already Blood Brothers with the cashier.
Characters who are like friendly dogs in that you can put them essentially anywhere, with anyone, and they will just be like “welp! Guess this is my New Family now” and just go along with it.
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kindaorangey · 22 days ago
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recently i've been thinking about rowan omondi in terms of the "supportive black best friend" trope. i've had this idea for a while that it would be interesting to see a story that deals specifically with the psychological effects of being the designated "support friend", especially in cases where that character addressing/expressing their own emotions and advocating for themself would be stigmatised because of their race... and obviously, rowan fits into this neatly, actively repressing and refusing to talk about his feelings because he isn't usually given this sort of support by his friends, it's usually him who's supporting them. and i guess on a metatextual level, once he begins to address his own emotional repression and step down from that support role, you could view it as him becoming cognisant of his own role as the "supportive black best friend".
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