#theme: argument
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arikitari-josei-osaka-naru ¡ 1 year ago
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Behhhhhhh! (For @smlgbtqweek 2023, Day 2: Argument / Laughter)
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poorly-drawn-mdzs ¡ 4 months ago
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At your side [End of Season 2]
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#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#wei wuxian#lan wangji#wen ning#jin ling#wen qing#jiang yanli#a-yuan#It may have taken a year but we did it! The end of season 2!!!#(Granted: this season was nearly twice the length of season one.)#It's been a really fantastic season to draw for. So many iconic moments! It was a lot of work but I had a blast B*)#I also enjoyed experimenting more and more with my comic style. I'm growing as a comic artist bit by bit!#There is even a little bit of shadowing in this one for next season. As a treat. All the fun (and not heart breaking) scenes to come!#Comic talk time: Recently saw 12 angry men for first time and I love the coincidence of the themes aligning here.#They both touch upon the horror of judicial systems - in which the most persuasive argument wins and the truth is a nuisance.#All it takes is one person to stand against the crowd and say 'I do not know what is true. And that is reasonable doubt enough.'#When the majority is for condemning someone guilty - that in itself is persuasive enough.#One will set their mind to what the 'truth' is and refuse to see it any other way. That their perspective is the only correct one.#No one is born with a monopoly on the truth.#Everyone has biases and agendas. Some care not for the outcome - only that they can be on the convenient side.#Lan Wangji is putting everything on the line to say 'I'm not going to go with the majority vote.'#And that is a huge deal in a story that is so politically focused as MDZS is. Everything is a careful chess move to these sects -#and to not play the game is basically sacrificing everything you are and your families name. For some it is unthinkable.#And there is no doubt in LWJ's mind. He would stand there and lose everything if it means upholding justice.#More importantly - these two have each other's backs. The bond is unbreakable. This is the most ride or die I have seen two people be.
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jonsnowunemploymentera ¡ 2 months ago
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There are people out there who genuinely think that the Starks aren’t thematically linked to ice in a way that is meaningful and central to the story? What?? I mean, never mind that they’re characterized as exclusively living in a frozen land, it is said that a Stark who goes south of the Neck melts. It’s not like their ancestral sword is called Ice. It’s not like they rule a castle called Winterfell. It’s not like their house words are “Winter is coming”. It’s not like their banner is a direwolf (a creature that is now synonymous with the snowy north) running on what is described as either snow or an ice-white background. It’s not like they are consistently characterized with having icy or cold demeanors to the point of it being a house trait (e.g., Benjen, Ned, Jon). It’s not like they ruled thousands of years as Kings of Winter. It’s not like the Starks, the wolves, are said to be uniquely suited to surviving winter. It’s not like a big part of their house legacy and how they even came to be is the construction of a giant ice Wall. It’s not like a key historical event in the last couple centuries is the Pact of Ice (Stark) and Fire (Targaryen). Apparently none of that matters 🙄 It’s so disingenuous to claim that any house with First Men blood would take on the role of ice. No, that’s a special characteristic given to the STARKS, and their connection with ice and winter and snow has thematic relevance.
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autisticandroids ¡ 1 year ago
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FAMINE: That's one deep, dark nothing you've got there, Dean.
[youtube with closed captions]
dean and his father. dean and his family. dean and how bad it is.
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(via @closetoyou1970)
#spn#vid#mind the warnings on this one for real#woe! fruit of my rewatch be upon ye.#pallas calls this my 'deangirl coming out vid' which honestly. true. but those who paid attention know i've always been a deangirl.#also. after this no more deanwinchester rilo kiley amvs I Pwomise#anyway. i'm not gonna give a full commentary here but a big reason why i chose this song is that the narrator#is essentially dismissing her own problems and instead watching the problems of someone else#and i kind of wanted to play with that theme. this is the parallels show so let's do some parallels. lots of things happen to characters#that are Like Dean somehow. either in personality or circumstance. that we know or can infer happen to him. but we don't see it bc it's#not sayable. not speakable. so like for an easy one. we see meg being tortured in caged heat. she also talks about apprenticing under#alastair just like dean. so i show her being tortured [in a way that is sexualized and demon-specific] and reacting how she does#because i invite the audience to imagine or interpret that this has also happened to dean at some point. we just don't see it#so there are many dean parallels in this video. some obvious. some subtle but textual. some products of my twisted mind. but that's the way#i am using them to make my argument.#oh also: dean voice sam's eyes going black is JUST like when he used to fight with dad and wouldn't listen to me when i told him not to.#i guess also the point is that because it's unsayable. dean can't say it. dean can't even acknowledge it. and so it bleeds through#into everything in his life#that's why it's important that the song narrator doesn't take her own problems seriously. dean doesn't either.
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casgirlsam ¡ 1 year ago
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weirderscience ¡ 5 months ago
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god. the amt of times ive seen fandoms for horror medias that have very explicit themes of sexual violence totally ignore it because it makes them uncomfortable to discuss their favorite Villain Guy as "The Guy That Rapes Women" in addition to "The Guy Who Kills Women With A Knife". its really bizarre. like you can acknowledge the murder but not the sexual violence? don't you think that the two might be a little linked? *shouldnt* you think the two are a little linked within this particular piece of media that actively tries to explore the way violence is used against women?
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khaotunq ¡ 1 year ago
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i'm your hell, i'm your dream; i'm nothing in between
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yourhighness6 ¡ 8 months ago
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I've been thinking a lot lately about how so many people miss the point of TSR completely. Like Katara did forgive Zuko because forgiveness is earned and no Katara didn't forgive Yon Rha because she can choose who to forgive/ who not to forgive and no Katara shouldn't have killed Yon Rha because the whole point of the episode is that you don't have to forgive someone to show them mercy. That's why Bryke insisting that Katara "forgave Yon Rha" after the fact is not only fucking stupid because she literally says something exactly to the contrary in the episode and it doesn't just remove her agency it removes the complicated moral theme
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seeminglyseph ¡ 2 months ago
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Apollo's entire vibe in God Games feels like "Dad Said I Had to Be Here" and I feel like that's so Golden Child of him
#seph listens to epic#epic the musical#epic the wisdom saga#apollo epic the musical#wisdom saga spoilers#i don't know why this is the funniest thing to me#like ive been listening to god games a lot#and like i think ares really wants to try and prove himself against athena#and hephaestus and hera want her to give at least one solid argument even if it doesn't have to be important to anyone else#aphrodite has like... a personal issue that needs to be argued but like. that's how love is. fickle and in need of personal justification#apollo like. did not bring a personal justification to the table. he even has sun imagery in the animatic#like yeah the song did not specify it was helios' cows and the musical has a theme of fathers getting vengeance for their sons#aeolus was a king in the Odyssey not a god so changing the sun god from helios to apollo whose cattle were slain is very minor#and would emphasize the theme of fathers and children and cycles of vengeance and Helios does get absorbed by Apollo so like. augh#either way. this guy did not prepare for the debate because he has so many other jobs and grabbed the latest thing he could think of#'Odysseus... uh. he. sirens. right. did that thing right? no? if that's true fuck it. if not i don't care.'#he doesn't even fully commit. he says 'if that's true release him'#he got that fucking prophet trickster tongue bullshit noncommittal agreement#because technically if Athena is proven faulty he can be like 'i said if it's true release him but it wasn't true oops'#don't expect straight answers from the god of prophets
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littlecrow4 ¡ 27 days ago
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I’m now declaring “The Square Root of Two” by The Two Man Gentlemen Band as a Fiddlestan theme song
Meeting adjourned
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onyxbird ¡ 1 year ago
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Saw a mention of "Thief juice: it's a mouth crime" in the Leverage tag and it sparked a glorious thought:
Brewpub menu using con names
A fair number of them look like straight-forward descriptions, nothing notable except perhaps the unusual inclusion of "the" before all of them, e.g., The Cuban Sandwich, The Cherry Pie, and The Apple Pie (most customers don't understand why the apple pie crust vents/decorations sometimes resemble life preservers, but it certainly doesn't occur to them to connect it to the very literal name).
Things turn significantly more confusing for most patrons with other menu items. Customers familiar enough with con-artist lingo recognize some of the established con names enough to figure out the naming theme, and some of them can guess at associations between some of the food and their namesake cons, but for the most part it's a mystery.
"The Fiddle Game" is Eliot's chili, at Parker's insistence. Hardison was initially a little concerned, since the "fiddle" is supposed to be an overvalued item that is actually essentially worthless, and, Parker, maybe we shouldn't be applying that to any of Eliot's food? But after Eliot gruffly cut him off and tried to pretend he wasn't a little choked up about it, Hardison decided not to stand in the way of Parker insights. (And he supposed she had technically named the chili after the con, not the fiddle itself, and the con was solid. A classic.)
No one on staff quite understands the private joke between the owners and head chef about using horsemeat in "The Lost Heir" burger--they all know it's actually bison.
And, finally, one of the most baffling to their clientele is also one of Eliot's few suggestions of non-literal con names for food, and an ongoing good-natured argument between Eliot and Hardison: Splitting a sandwich between two people with sides of soup or salad is "The Vegas Wake-Up Call." (It's like the Cuban Sandwich, but "the boyfriend shows up").
(BTW, for anyone else needing to reference Leverage con names, @glen-reeder compiled a list.)
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silverskye13 ¡ 5 months ago
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I vaguely remember something about Helsknight going to confessions? I’m interested as to why and what he confesses to :3
Hi, this has been in my inbox for a hot minute, but it got me thinking, and I kept thinking so. Have a snippet.
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Please read the tags for the TW list!
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The Confession room for the followers of the Saint of Blood and Steel was exactly the same room they trained and dueled in. The only difference was, at a certain time of day, on two specific days of the week, there was a little white sign on the doors that said "Confession Open." There was almost always a line. Only one person was allowed in the confessional at a time. There was no law or order or rule that dictated everyone wait in silence, but there was something particularly embarrassing humbling about standing in a line of armed and armored knights, all waiting patiently for god to slap them on the wrist.
The door opened. A knight exited with her head held high, though Helsknight noticed she clutched her arm a little too close to her body. She walked past the line down the hall, to the little room on the left where the pleasant and somewhat dissonant smell of baked goods warmed the air. The line shuffled forward a step.
The wait was long, and awkward, occasionally broken by stilted small talk, and the lethal sounds of mail and blade, and the scuffing of boots. Helsknight had gotten into the habit of bringing something to read while he waited. It gave him a good excuse not to make prolonged eye-contact with anyone, and he had grown bored of making shapes out of the mosaic tiles ages ago. He could only look at the same repeating pattern so many times before he realized they all looked vaguely like a dog lifting a leg to pee, and thinking about bodily functions while waiting in a long line was a great way to convince himself to leave the line. Then the chances of him getting home in a timely manner after his confession [or really going to confession at all] dropped exponentially.
The door opened. A young knight limped two steps down the hall before a priest, waiting at a nearby bench for expressly this purpose, dashed over and put the knight's arm around his shoulders. The knight muttered a wincing thanks, and together they limped down the hall to that same, sweet-smelling room. As soon as they turned the corner out of the main hall, the knight let out a loud curse, and there was the heavy sound of someone collapsing into a convenient chair. The line shuffled forward a step.
A twitchy squire standing in line in front of Helsknight stared at the door wide-eyed, and then forward to the confessional sign, which they regarded with the same blatant fear as someone confronting their own noose. Helsknight looked down at the little book he was holding, sighed, and decided to show a little mercy. He was at confession, after all.
"The Saint isn't cruel," Helsknight told them softly, and just the sound of his voice startled them nearly out of their boots. "Whatever your penance is, it will never be beyond your means."
The squire flashed him what was probably supposed to be a nervous smile, but which looked a lot more like a grimace. "What if I've fucked up really badly?"
Someone in the line coughed inconspicuously. Someone else cleared their throat. Helsknight fixed the young squire with a measuring gaze, and came to the conclusion this nervy kid had probably never "fucked up really badly" a day in their life. Though he supposed he'd been wrong before.
"You could start your penance early," Helsknight said, reigning in his sarcasm as much as physically possible, "by maybe not swearing in church."
The inconspicuous cougher down the line let out a much more conspicuous snort. The squire clapped their hands over their mouth and stared up at him in horror. Helsknight sighed and pinched the space between his eyes.
"Swearing isn't against our tenets."
The hallway murmured into a soft chorus of "Amens" and "Praise the gods" and one particularly ambitious "thank fuck." A few of the knights signed various salutes and benedictions to the Saint. The squire visibly relaxed.
"It's respectful not to," Helsknight continued after the murmured din died down. "Show the Saint your contrition by respecting Their home. Is your sword sharp?"
The squire seemed a bit taken aback by this sudden change in conversation topic. They unsheathed their sword a bit, showing a dull iron blade. "Uhm... it could stand to be sharper."
"You bring your kit with you?"
The squire sighed and rolled their eyes, more from disappointment at a new chore than any real defiance. They unsheathed their sword, dropped a large messenger bag off their shoulder, and started rifling through their things. The air was soon filled with the sound of whetstone on blade. Someone behind Helsknight tapped him on the shoulder. She pointed to the squire, then to Helsknight, and offered an approving thumbs-up. Good job on distracting the scared kid. Helsknight shrugged and held out his book, flashing the title in her direction. Everyone needs a distraction in this stupid line. She rolled her eyes, tell me about it, and moved her cloak to the side, showing off a little satchel with what looked to be art supplies. Helsknight smirked.
The door opened. A knight came striding out, running a stressed hand through his hair. He started to walk past the little door at the end of the hall, but a priest came dashing out to stop him before he could make it too far. They whispered amongst each other for a moment, heads bowed close together to keep their conversation private. The priest looped a consoling arm around the knight's shoulder, and together they walked slowly into the little room. The line shuffled forward a step.
No one ever stayed inside the confessional for long. Fifteen minutes, twenty. Once or twice someone dipped closer to a half hour. Then the door would open, and the line would shuffle. Helsknight had made it through about a chapter and a half of his book [an epic poem about the deeds of one of the Saint's paladins. He brought it to keep himself in a "contrite mood", whatever the hels that was] when finally it was the squire's turn to step inside. They bundled up their gear, offered Helsknight their bravest grimace-that-was-probably-a-smile, and walked inside.
The knight behind him asked politely, "Is that your squire?"
"No."
"Ah. Just being nice then?"
Helsknight offered an indifferent shrug. "It's everyone's first confession once."
She turned this somewhat nonsensical statement over for a moment, shrugged her agreement, and went back to sketching.
Time passed. The squire exited the doors with a relieved look on their face, though they clutched their right hand beneath their arm as though afraid to look at it. Helsknight sighed, closed his book, and stepped inside. The door closed behind him with a heavy click.
The room wasn't so much dark as it was simply not as bright as the hallway outside. Beside the door was a small table, and Helsknight turned and made use of it, setting down his book, then unbuttoning his tabard. He knew whoever was taking his confession today would be nearby, ready to help him doff any armor, but he wore mail today specifically so he could slip it on and off, without having to worry about all the buckles and clips that came with chest plates and grieves. When he'd relieved himself of everything he wore or carried, besides his leggings and his unsheathed sword, he walked towards the center of the fighting ring.
A knight in full plate stood in the ring's center, a great sword planted tip-down into the dirt between their feet. The sword was simple steel, as was the armor. No enchantment or ornamentation decorated the surface. There was no plume on the closed helm. They were the image of the Saint, an unremarkable warrior, all silent strength.
Helsknight knelt at their feet, laying his sword gently between them. He sighed out a long breath.
"I come to the Saint to be shriven," Helsknight said as deferentially as he could, in the face of an often repeated task. "By Their steel, and by my blood."
The confessor nodded. "Speak your confession, brother."
Helsknight winced, and barely stifled a groan. "It's always you, isn't it, Blade?"
The confessor let out a heavy sigh. "Come on man, this is supposed to be anonymous."
"Not my fault you talk like that."
"Heh? Talk like what?"
"Exactly."
The two fell into awkward silence, Helsknight probably much more awkward than Blade. He took a bracing breath.
"I... Come to confess the sin of Wrath."
There was a long pause.
"Again."
"This is normally where I ask what you did, and why," Blade said witheringly, "but it was plastered all over the broadsheets this morning."
Helsknight pinched the space between his eyes.
"If it makes you feel any better, I gotta agree with the West Side Tabloid. He had it coming." Blade said, leaning a little too nonchalantly on his greatsword. "You don't just call someone a coward like that. It's violence theater. If you bring real honor into it, you're begging for trouble."
"I... Agree."
"So, you lashed out in anger and got blood all over the nice Colosseum sand." Blade continued. "You lost your temper, but you were defending your honor. And I wouldn't even call it all that cruel. It's not like you tortured him or anything."
"Am I being pardoned?"
"Depends," Blade said, in a casual tone that suddenly didn't seem wholly his own. "Where else have you vented your Wrath, brother?"
Helsknight licked his teeth, as though he expected them to taste like blood. "I... attacked a thief today. He stole from me, and I was in my right to defend that."
"But you harmed him past self defense," Blade prompted, when the silence stretched long.
"If he hadn't escaped me, I would have." Helsknight paused, and added. "I had wanted to."
"Wanting isn't the same as doing," Blade offered charitably.
"I would not have stopped myself."
"Has Wrath consumed your life in any other ways, brother?"
"My hermit."
Blade nodded solemnly.
"We fought recently. I won. It was unprovoked. I was having a bad morning, and I needed -- I wanted to take it out on him. So I did."
"Have you asked forgiveness from the people you've harmed, in your sin of Wrath, brother?"
"No."
"Have you attempted any restitution?"
"No."
Very suddenly, the greatsword in Blade's hand was sheathed in red. It was light, bright and scouring, and it filled the air with the taste of blood. Even knowing it would happen, Helsknight flinched at the sight of it. His hair stood on end, and the air seemed charged, like the breath before a lightning strike. The Saint, alive and present, glimpsed for a moment through Blade. The confessor-turned-paladin tilted his head back slightly, and Helsknight knew if his face weren't covered in the helm, his eyes would be red, brimming with bloody tears.
In a voice that was Blade's, and something past him, empowered by faith, brutal and scouring, the Saint said, "Stand, and pick up your sword."
Helsknight did as he was bidden. His heart fluttered a little too fast in his chest, and while his hands did not shake, they felt near to it, unsteady. Helsknight was one of the best fighters to have ever crossed the Saint of Blood and Steel's threshold. If he were simply fighting Blade, there was a decent chance he'd win, though Blade had been his match many times before.
He was not only fighting Blade, though.
"As a knight of the Saint's order," Blade and the glimpse of the Saint beneath said, "you swore to uphold Their tenets, even in the face of great adversity. By raising your sword, not in Their wrath, but your own, you break that tenet."
Blade let out a breath, like someone barely keeping their head above water. Helsknight wondered if that was what being a paladin in the service of a Saint felt like: held under water, drowning under divine will.
"Yet Their order teaches that even the Saint is fallible, and once, Their will was driven, not by divine purpose, but by reckless bloodshed. As They were once challenged, now They challenge you. Do you accept?"
Helsknight didn't have to accept. This part had been emphasized a lot when he joined and took his first confession. Anyone was allowed to deny the Saint's trial and simply accept their penance. The penance wouldn't change. There was no incentive for, or against, besides maybe his own personal need to prove he really was in the wrong. Maybe it was pride made him accept every time. Maybe it was spite. Or, maybe, it was simply the need to punish himself for the lack of control he felt.
Solemnly, Helsknight nodded.
"Then Pick Up Your Sword, and Smite Me."
That was all the warning Helsknight was given. Blade, or the Saint, or the Saint's Will, or all three together, lunged.
It did not take long. By the third swing, Helsknight's blade was sent crashing from his hand, though he met the Saint's blade with all the strength and mastery he could muster. Losing to the Saint was an indescribable thing. It wasn't like losing a match in the Colosseum, or like losing a duel against Blade when they sparred. It was like an ant scratching at the heels of a giant, a kitten swatted aside by the massive claws of a dragon. If he swung his sword at a wall, at least there was the smallest chance the stone would chip. There was no chance in this. There was only the token effort of the attempt, one clash, then two, then three, and then his sword was gone from his hand. Blade slammed a palm into his chest, and Helsknight was on his back, gasping for breath, having crumpled so quickly he hardly had time to register he was watching the ceiling.
"By the divine right of contest, brother, Their will is done," Blade, The Saint, both and neither, said. Helsknight laid on his back and waited, catching his breath. "Hold out your sword hand."
A jolt of fear lanced through Helsknight then. He hated, he feared, hand wounds. It was an odd folly of his that he'd never been able to shake. Blade knew it. The Saint probably knew it. It felt unfair to punish him with it, or cruel.
Helsknight closed his eyes, and he stared down the scared little squire in his head.
[The Saint isn't cruel. Whatever your penance is, it won't be beyond your means.]
And then, for good measure, as he offered his right hand forward, [you deserve this.]
The cut was quick and clean. The blade was supernaturally sharp. The wound took time to hurt. Still, Helsknight's head spun. His breath came too quickly in his chest. Blade had to repeat himself twice when he asked for Helsknight's other hand. Then his vision tilted more, stars blooming in burst around his peripherals, edged in black.
When he found himself again, Blade had carried him to the table and rested him there, and stood bandaging his hands. His own hands were shaking, every shudder sending a jolt through Helsknight's arm. Helsknight turned this observation over distantly, curious in the way of the desperate, clinging to small details to better make sense of the world. Blade didn't normally shake when they did these sessions. Maybe he, too, had objected to wounding Helsknight's hands.
"Sorry... About that," Blade stammered hoarsely. "It's... You haven't made restitution. And it's a problem you keep having."
Helsknight didn't trust himself to speak, so he nodded.
"It's not bad," Blade said, trying to reassure both of them. "No muscles or tendons or anything. It was just a lot of blood."
"Yes," Helsknight said airily, still a little too unrecovered to explain the blood hadn't been the problem. Not really. Not that it needed explaining.
"Go see the priests down the hall," Blade informed him needlessly. "You need stitches, especially near the veins on your wrists. They need to heal naturally. Over time, as penance for your Wrath. You may lessen your time through acts of service to the church, if you so choose."
Helsknight nodded.
"Do you need help walking?"
Helsknight blinked slowly, his sluggish, shocked mind slowly crawling to life.
"Helsknight," Blade said, putting a still-gauntleted hand against his face. The cold metal felt good against his feverish skin. "Are you hearing me?"
"I hear you," Helsknight said, ashamed of how weak and small his voice sounded. "I need help with my mail.'
"Maybe we should make sure you can walk first?"
"Every other knight walks into this room and back out again fine," Helsknight said, his pride slowly crawling to life in his chest. "I just... I just need some help."
Blade, as much as a man obscured by a full suit of armor could, looked relieved. He nodded, and after a few moments of coddling, they managed to get Helsknight on his feet and dressed again. He squared his shoulders and walked with purposeness down the hall, his vision only swimming a little. The spiteful little animal in him wanted to keep walking until he was home, and he almost did. But a priest ducked her head out the door of the room at the end of the hall, and fixed him up in a concerned stare, and Helsknight, tired in body and soul, followed her inside.
The little room held tables and chairs, and a counter brimming with freshly made breads and rolls. Sweet things, prepared in advance of confession for those who might've lost too much blood, or for those who needed something soft and warm to take the edge off their penance. Helsknight allowed himself to be guided to a seat. The priest who had pulled him in checked over the hasty bandages, let out a disapproving tsk! and began organizing some supplies. She was joined by two other priests who began quietly discussing the best way to go about his stitches. Someone put a slice of some freshly baked something-or-other in front of him, and Helsknight ate it with the mechanical necessity of someone who recognizes a chore that needs doing.
Months later, Helsknight and Tanguish sat at a fountain outside the First Church of Hels, their breakfasts in their laps. Helsknight ran a thumb self-consciously along the odd, thin, centipede-like scar that danced from the center of his palm down his forearm. Tanguish must have noticed, because he asked, "How did you get that one?"
Helsknight turned his wrist so Tanguish could get a better look. "Lost my temper at something."
Tanguish ran a gentle finger across the misshapen skin, his touch cool and soothing. "It looks like it hurt."
Helsknight shrugged. "Not as bad as you'd think. It hurt more when they took the stitches out. S'why it looks like that."
Tanguish yanked his hand away like the scar had come alive and bitten him. "Why didn't you just drink a health potion?"
Helsknight chose his words carefully. "I needed to remember it."
Tanguish grimaced and allowed, "You... are very scary when you lose your temper." He reached out a hand to run his fingers tentatively along the scar again, as though he could somehow heal the long-passed harm. "You've gotten a lot better though."
Helsknight shrugged.
They returned to their prospective breakfasts, Helsknight eating with much less enthusiasm than his companion. He wished Tanguish didn't have such a preference for baked goods and sweet foods. They reminded him too much of that long hallway, and that door at the end of it -- and how long it'd been since he last stood there and waited to meet his Saint. Helsknight resolved to visit again when he got the chance. Just as soon as he ordered his list of sins. He remembered when he fought the Demon, sighed, and quietly put Wrath in its place at the top of the list.
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puppyeared ¡ 5 months ago
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i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you
#im reading that post that says artists are directors of audience reaction and not its dictator:#'you cannot guarantee that everyone viewing your work will react as you are trying t make them react. a good artist knows that this is what#allows work to breath. by definition you cannot have art where the viewer brings nothing to the table ... this is why you have to let go of#the urge to plainly state in text exactly how you think the work should be interpreted ... its better to be misinterpreted sometimes than#to talk down to your audience. you wont even gain any control that way; people will still develop their opinions no matter what you do#im thinking abt this again cuz i was thinking maybe the thing that lets adventure time work so well the way it does is cuz it doesnt#take itself too seriously that it gives the audience enough room to fuck with subtext and then fuck with them back yknow. i think it was#mentioned somewhere that they werent even planning to run with the postapocalyptic elements that are hinted in the show but changed their#mind after the one off with the frozen businessmen and dominoed into marcy and simons backstory. on the other side there are stories that#explain too much to let the story speak for itself and i think it ends up having to do more with the crew trying to lead ppl in a certain#direction than expand on what they have and i see a lot of this with miraculous. like when interviews and tweets are used as word of god in#arguments and it becomes a little stifling to play around with it knowing the creator can just interject. u can say its the crews effort to#engage with its audience but it feels more like micromanaging. and none of this is to say there ISNT room for stories that spell things out#theyre just suited for different things. if sesame street tried abstract approaches to themes and nuance itd be counterproductive#a lot of things fly over my head so i need help picking things apart to get it- but it doesnt have to be from the story itself. ive picked#picked up or built on my own interpretations listening to other ppl share their thoughts which creates conversation around the same thing#sometimes stories will spell things out for you without being so obvious abt it that it feels like its woven into the text. my fav example#for this might be ATLA using younger characters as its main cast but instead of feeling like its dumbed down for kids to understand why war#is bad its framed from a childs point of view so younger audiences can pick up on it by relating to the characters. maybe an 8 year old#wont get how geopolitics works but at least they get 'hey the world is a little more complicated than everyone vs. fire nation'. same for#steven universe bc its like theyre trying to describe and put feelings into words that kids might not have so they have smth to start with#especially with the metaphors around relationships bc even if it looks unfamiliar as a kid now maybe the hope is for it to be smth you can#look back to. thats why it feels like these shows grew up with me.. instead of saving difficult topics for 'when im ready for it'#as if its preparing me for high school it gave me smth to turn in my hands and revisit again and again as i grow. stories that never#treated u as dumb all along. just someone who could learn and come back to it as many times as u need to. i loved SU for the longest time#but i felt guilty for enjoying it hearing the way ppl bash it. bc i was a kid and thought other ppl understood it better than me and made#feel bad for leaning into the message of paying forward kindness and not questioning why steven didnt punish the diamonds or hold them#accountable. but im rewatching it now and going oh. i still love this show and what it was trying to teach me#yapping#diary
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moonsnqil ¡ 10 months ago
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trying to explain to my best friend that while aftg is a mafia book, the mafia isn't even the most prevalent theme and how really it's a love story at it's core but not in a fairytale way rather in the way horror movies are love stories
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arty-cakes ¡ 1 year ago
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horribly curious because I've seen lots of different takes on this and I'd like to know what the general consensus is
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bethanysmiled ¡ 4 months ago
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I wanted to share this dream my close friend had about me. It filled me with a haunting sadness, but a sense of genuine love as well.
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