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This is an amazing take

Jinx’s psychosis comes through in these quick film scratched doodles. Whenever a flash of her unstable personality leaks out Arcane presents them as if Jinx herself took the film stock out of the projector and madly scratched these doodles into each frame before haphazardly stuffing the film reel back into the projector.

You could look at the entirety of Arcane as if it was a show that was filmed and edited by someone trying to tell a story, but then Jinx (as her own character) has found the film reels of the show and is actively interacting with it to tell her OWN side of the story. These scratches and doodles are essentially Jinx’s commentary track.

But what’s interesting to me is HOW her doodles often represents WHERE in her arc she is.

For example. Early on these doodles are deliberately being used to BLOCK out scary or unnerving imagery. The soldiers on the bridge, the bad memory of her sister yelling at her. Jinx chooses to draw OVER these moments. Literally trying to scratch them out from her memory. Because she’s a child here and Jinx’s personality has always been about protecting her child self, it makes sense that even as a commentator she is choosing to block out these moments to protect her child side.

But as the story goes along, her doodles take on a more narrative function. She starts doodling characters talking to her from the sides. She’s not blocking out the memories, she’s actively using the doodles to help give form to the formless voices in her head. She’s saying “see? I’m not crazy, Mylo was telling me shit! Look, there he is behind me!”

Near the end of Season 1 this narrative storytelling choice Jinx is doing starts to become even MORE clear. Now these doodles aren’t just to represent the voices in her head, they are used to re-contextualize her own memories. So as she thinks she sees Caitlyn laughing at her, she literally draws devil horns on her head, reframing this moment of Caitlyn’s fear as mockery.

And of course when Vi triggers Jinx in the climax of the season, her scratches become MUCH more visual and representational. These doodles don’t look like the usual film scratches we’ve seen up till now. If I were looking at this from a filming perspective this would be more like they were literally projected into the set Jinx is acting in. They’re multi colored. They look more pencil like than film scratched. They’re not as bloom heavy as previous scratches, and the film doesn’t jostle about as much indicating Jinx isn’t drawing these directly on the film stock like previously shown. I would say these look more like she’s literally surrounded by her doodles in-camera.

And this continues into season 2. She’s still surrounded by her demons, and it’s filmed the same way as in season 1. The only major difference is that now her doodles are interacting with each other. She draws Isha running around shooting away the bad doodles and trying to protect her. Once again this is Jinx telling her story through these doodles.

When Jinx loses Isha and is contemplating suicide, jinx’s doodles are ALL that remain. The screen turns black and nothing but Jinx’s doodles comes through. This is almost like the memory of her is so overwhelming that she literally blacked it out, and the only way to reinsert this moment into the show is for Jinx to draw it frame by frame. Up until now the doodles have always been drawn on top of the frame. And while Jinx is often in the shots and can appear small and overwhelmed by the doodles, she’s never just outright been blocked out by them. I think that’s what this moment represents. She is so lost that she can only recall this moment after the fact and redraw it. It’s not perfect, it may not have even happened this way, but it’s the only way she can piece together what happened between shots.

And finally… when Jinx enters the final battle, something different happens. Up until now Jinx’s doodles have been used to block out memories, draw the voices in her head, reframe moments from her perspective, etc. They’ve been abstracted and rough and off to the side or drawn haphazardly over the stuff she’s blocking out. She never draws it on herself. So what happens here?

She draws an accurate representation of what she looks like in that moment on top of herself.

This is Jinx FINALLY coming to terms with who she is. She’s showing us that in this moment THIS is who Jinx is. It’s not abstractly represented. She’s not blocking anything out. She’s not reframing the moment. Shes not recreating frames that were missing. She’s just drawing what is represented in the shot and who she is now.

If these doodles are Jinx adding commentary after the fact then this flash is her putting a punctuation on the end of her arc. Up until now these doodles could be seen as her showing HOW she became Jinx, but this final moment is her saying this version of her is the TRUE Jinx.

And of course, there’s the “THE END” shot. That is Jinx literally signing out her story. If you ever needed proof that Jinx is alive, the fact that Jinx doodles all over the show is proof of that. Arcane is Jinx watching back the story of her life and adding her own notes and commentary to the film reel itself and that is what WE, the audience, are watching.

THIS IS WHAT I'M SAYINGGG. Kendrick has some of the most interesting and well-done albums in recent history, and he's just such an interesting person to discuss and everybody wants to make it about the Canadian. People don't even look at the beef in context with who these artists are and what the significance of it is, people act like it just exists in a vacuum. Honestly, we need to get better material.

>Search for Kendrick music video gifs on tumblr bc I think they're cool

>look inside

>his whole body of work is being made about one singular rap beef

>rewatch older music videos and interviews

>look inside

>all the comments are about the rap beef even if the video is almost a decade old

Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.

The Ballad of the Two Travelers, Chapter Two

Chapter Two: First Steps to Friendship

Lyra was having a nightmare. She dreamed of an endless war, a pointless battle fueled by a rivalry fueled by things that should have been forgotten long ago. She dreamed of fire and lightning, clashing eternally in the heavens while the world broke. She dreamed of destruction and chaos, of decay and disease that festered and bred in the cracks of the world caused by that endless, pointless, hopeless war.

She dreamed of the cracks growing, laughing, spreading wider and wider still as hatred seeped within and drove everything further apart, a dark, tentacled miasma, reaching ever further in its will to consume all; this great evil Blight which threatened to consume the whole world.

She dreamed of the cracks already forming among her own people; the bitter, hurting wives, sisters, and daughters who in their hurt chose to hurt others, spreading their hate as they wreaked destruction upon the humans; and the few who begged for peace and were dubbed traitors by their kind. She dreamed of the great dark cavern between giantkin and humankind, a yawning abyss that would surely consume them all if they could not learn to cross it–

“L-Lyra? Lyra! Wake up, please!”

Her eyes fluttered open as she heard the anxious cries of her charge. She sat up quickly, looking around for any signs of obvious danger.

“What troubles thee, little one?” she asked after a moment. “I can sense no danger. Why dost thou cry out? Art thou hurt?”

Tristan shook his small head, and Lyra realized with a start he was quivering.

“I-I'm not hurt,” he said after a moment. “But....”

The human boy glanced at something just behind her. Lyra turned, and realized with a chill that the trees near her feet had been split and knocked over. She realized she must have kicked unconsciously in the throes of her nightmare, and had put the human boy in great danger.

“N-Nightmare?” The small voice of the human boy shook her from her disturbed thoughts. She looked down. His face held a look of such fear and apprehension, her heart nearly broke as her eyes met his.

I offer thee my most humble apologies if I have caused thee any distress. It is the duty of one such as I, who layeth claim to the role of maiden, to ensure that her charge is safe no matter what.”

She gently laid her hand in grass before him, a heavy feeling settling over her heart as he took a half-step backwards.

“Y-You don't have to apologize,” Tristan said with a smile that was clearly forced. His bright blue eyes were wide with poorly-concealed fear.

“Little one...” Lyra wanted to comfort him, to say the right words or do the right thing to reassure her little charge that she wished no harm towards him, but she could think of nothing.

She retracted her hand and laid on her side awkwardly, aware of an uneasy silence between them now. Again she wished she knew what to say, how to overcome the inevitable fear and anxiety on the small boy's part, but but her lips remained shut, and she remained silent.

It had been a little over a week since their meeting in the Misted Vales, and they'd made some progress on their journey. They were a day or so away from a human settlement Tristan had pointed out on his map, at which Lyra hoped to speak to the locals and tell them of their quest. She had hoped that Tristan's presence would inspire a call for peace, but she had to be sure that Tristan really trusted her, which had proven to be easier said than done.

Tensions were high on both their parts. Despite the lack of confrontation from either of them, there was a constant sense of disquiet between them both, a fact which maddened Lyra to no end.

It didn't help that traveling alongside a human was somewhat difficult, at least in the physical sense.

Tristan had at first tried to walk alongside Lyra as they made their way, claiming he was quick enough to keep up (he was not) and nimble enough to keep safe (he was not). Lyra, unconvinced, was therefore constantly on edge, afraid that she'd take one wrong step or careless motion and crush her little charge underfoot. She'd insisted upon carrying Tristan as they traveled, either in the palm of her hand, upon her shoulder, or within her pockets, much to the little one's chagrin. Though Tristan concealed his fear whenever they spoke, Lyra could tell he was just as nervous as she was, if not more. She could see it in the way he cast furtive glances whenever he thought she wasn't looking, and in his high-strung, stuttering manner of speech.

Lyra couldn't blame him. Tristan was barely the size of her middle finger, and was somewhat small and slight in build even for a human. To him, every little movement she made must have been terrifying, let alone the sight of her reaching for him, leaning close, or inspecting his body for wounds. Lyra herself felt nervous whenever her fingers brushed against the human's warm skin, feeling for broken bones or bruises. How easily she could bring him to harm with little more than a thought.... it frightened her just as it frightened him.

Lyra understood it would take time for her companion to get used to her, regardless of how desperately she wanted to connect with him. She would be patient, and gentle, and reassuring, as she always did, but she couldn't help but wonder if too gentle was a thing. Lyra had caught a few embarrassed looks and flushed expressions from Tristan as well as the nervous glances. She had considered that Tristan fancied her, and she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. To be sure, she found feelings of a kind blossoming towards Tristan; his small size concealed a kindhearted, curious spirit and a recklessness that seemed rather disproportional to his height (it was a miracle Lyra had only found him with a broken arm, she thought. Only four days ago had she caught Tristan attempting to steal the eggs from a blight-touched vulture, nearly falling from a withered tree at least thrice before running towards her screaming as the monstrous bird swooped down at him). All of this was wrapped up by a cute face framed by dark curls and a smile that, even when marred by fear, melted Lyra's heart every time she saw it. She'd come across many humans in her travels before, but Tristan was the cutest by far.

It was a bit of a conundrum for Lyra. On one hand, it was completely normal for a hero and a maiden to share feelings towards each other (if Tristan held any feelings for her at all, that is). Yet it was certainly unusual for a maiden to be able to pluck up her hero between two fingers and cup him in the palm of her hand. What's more, she wasn't sure she had a crush on her little companion, more of an admiration or appreciation. How desperately she wished to get to know him, for their companionship to become a true friendship!

Yet instead they sat in silence, a bridge of unease between them and neither of them brave enough to take the steps to cross it.

Well, Lyra thought. If I am to change anything, I must take that first step.

Tristan looked so small to her; even as she lay on her side she could have rolled over and smothered him with her waist alone. But she had to try.

“Um,” she said in a quiet voice, as not to scare the boy too badly. “Tristan.... I would ask something of thee.”

The human boy glanced at her but said nothing. Lyra took this as a cue, and pressed on. “Um....well.... if we are to be companions on this journey, I would hope that there would be no tension between us. Thou countenance has been laden with fear since we first met,” she said in a gentle tone as a shadow came over Tristan's face. “I would hope to relieve thee of thy worries as we travel on–”

“Have I been being weird?”

The outburst startled Lyra a little, but she smiled when she saw the bashful expression on Tristan's face. The question confused her a bit, however.

“I-I've been trying to get used to it, I really have,” Tristan said, his voice nervous and shaky. “I know we pledged ourselves to the quest, and that I've been an awful companion, and I'm sorry, it's just so strange to have spent so much time alone on a quest everyone said was a foolish endeavor and a naive, stupid dream, and boom, suddenly someone shows up out of the blue and not only says she'd like to accompany you, but actually wants to serve as a maiden? And I know I'm starting to ramble but really, Lyra, this has been a very strange few days for me, especially because you're a – well, you're a....” Tristan suddenly paused, and Lyra noticed a slight blush come over his face.

“A giantess,” she prompted.

“Yeah,” the human said, nodding hastily. “That.”

There was something in his voice, something he was hiding, but Lyra chose not to pry. She had gotten him to open up a bit. That was promising enough.

“Do not feel ashamed, little one,” she said in a comforting voice, slowly moving her hand closer towards him. “This has been strange for me as well. The path of one who pursues hope is always fraught with uncertainty and confusion. To encounter one such as thee, a human of such young age who would willingly leave his home and all he knew, and would willingly travel alongside the age-old enemy of his people, is astonishing to me. I consider myself blessed to have encountered thee, little one.”

Slowly, gently, she brushed her index finger down his tiny back, figuring it was the best she could do for a reassuring pat. She felt Tristan's body tense up, and her heart froze. Did he still feel such fear, even now? But then, to her joy, she realized Tristan was slowly relaxing, his shoulders slumping and his breathing slowing. Their eyes met, and Lyra saw fear, yes, but also a quiet sort of hope, peaking through all fear and uncertainty.

“Blessed?” he asked quietly, and Lyra's heart sang as a tiny, shy smile came over his lips.

“Yes,” Lyra replied quietly, nodding earnestly. “Blessed, little companion of mine. So please, do not be afraid. I swore an oath, to protect thee and guide thee. I would not let any human come to harm in my presence. Especially not thyself.” She allowed herself a grin. “Thou art mine, in a sense. My companion, my partner.... my friend.”

She gently rested her index and middle fingers over the boy's shoulders, figuring it was the best she could do for a comforting embrace. A warmth spread through her as she felt Tristan reciprocate, hugging her fingers against his cheek.

“Friends,” he said after a moment. “I... well, I like the sound of that. Friends.”

“Tis a simple sort of beauty in the word, no?” Lyra agreed.

They remained like that for some time, enjoying each what little touch of warmth they shared against the coldness of the Misted Vales. Then, Lyra sat up, and gently laid her palm out before him once more.

“Come hither,” she said. “Let us embark once more.”

Her hand was at least twice as long as Tristan was tall. Lyra still marveled at how there could be an entire race of beings that were so small. Yet Tristan had hesitated once more, his eyes looking downward at the palm and fingers that dwarfed him.

There was a moment of silence, long enough that Lyra had just resolved to retract her hand, cursing herself for moving too fast – then Tristan took a step forward, meeting her gaze with a excited sort of nervousness upon his face.

His steps were light, almost imperceptible against the flesh of Lyra's palm. It almost tickled her, but that may have merely been her excitement tickling her instead of the sensation of little feet walking against her hand.

Tristan slowly bent down until he sat, neatly snuggled in her palm. She had an entire life, in the palm of her hand... and what was more, that little life had placed himself there willingly. She hadn't scooped him up hastily, she hadn't plucked him up despite his protests, no, he had taken his life, and placed it Lyra's hands – literally.

She felt a soft tapping sensation upon her palm, and looked directly at the little traveler, forcing herself from her thoughts.

“If we're to be friends,” Tristan said, now wearing a mischievous grin, “I'll have to teach you to speak like a normal person. All those thee's and thou's are giving me a headache.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow, and lightly prodded him in the ribs, but she was smiling all the same.

“We shall see, little one. I am happy to see that thou hast developed a sense of wit in learning to trust me.”

Tristan grinned. Lyra grinned back, and she felt it in her spirit, something ancient and unknowable. She couldn't explain it even if she tried. But there was something in sharing a smile with a friend, something that she would protect as fiercely as she would protect the little life she held in her hand.

C.S. Lewis is one of the most culturally relevant and important authors for western society and Christians in general and i will die on this hill

I always kind of laugh when people get into the “Susan’s treatment is proof that C.S. Lewis was a misogynist” thing, because:

Polly and Digory. Peter and Susan. Edmund and Lucy. Eustace and Jill. 

Out of the eight “Friends of Narnia” who enter from our world, the male-to-female character ratio is exactly 1/1. Not one of these female characters serves as a love interest at any time. 

The Horse and His Boy, the only book set entirely in Narnia, maintains this ratio with Shasta and Aravis, who, we are told in a postscript, eventually marry. Yet even here, the story itself is concerned only with the friendship between them. Lewis focuses on Aravis’ value as a brave friend and a worthy ally rather than as a potential girlfriend–and ultimately, we realize that it’s these qualities that make her a good companion for Shasta. They are worthy of each other, equals. 

In the 1950s, there was no particularly loud cry for female representation in children’s literature. As far as pure plot goes, there’s no pressing need for all these girls. A little boy could have opened the wardrobe (and in the fragmentary initial draft, did). Given that we already know Eustace well by The Silver Chair, it would not seem strictly necessary for a patently ordinary schoolgirl to follow him on his return trip to Narnia, yet follow she does–and her role in the story is pivotal. Why does the humble cab-driver whom Aslan crowns the first King of Narnia immediately ask for his equally humble wife, who is promptly spirited over, her hands full of washing, and crowned queen by his side? Well, because nothing could be more natural than to have her there. 

None of these women are here to fill a quota. They’re here because Lewis wanted them there. 

Show me the contemporary fantasy series with this level of equality. It doesn’t exist. 

I have a political thought experiment that I would like to share with you all that I call "Persuading the serial killer," which is really just about how you'd persuade someone who exists outside of your moral framework.

This is inspired by the fact that I watch too much true crime, but the thought experiment goes like this: If you were faced with a serial killer trying to kill you or someone else, how would you convince them not to? Serial killers do not conform to common morals like "killing is wrong," so arguing "You shouldn't kill me because killing is immoral!" is not going to help you. They don't recognize your moral system as real or valuable, so you cannot use it to persuade them. I, personally, would argue like so: "I have a very regular schedule, and people have already noticed that I'm missing. My mother and I talk almost constantly. She alone is probably already panicking that I'm gone and has called the police. I also have serious medical issues on record, so they won't wait the regular 24 hrs to start searching for me. You have a chance to get away now, but not if you spend time murdering me and hiding my body." Straight practical reasons why doing what they want to do will bring about something they absolutely don't want, i.e. if you waste time on murdering me, a high-priorty missing person, you'll get caught and never kill again.

The way this applies to politics is that you're gonna encounter people who do not completely overlap with your morals - probably not serial killers though. Like most Republicans and most Democrats would agree that unprovoked homicide is wrong and bad. No one is trying to pass a bill to get murder blanket-legalized. But obviously, conservatives have different moral views on things like abortion.

You cannot argue with a conservative that abortion isn't wrong. Your opinion that life does not begin at conception or that the right to choose should be in the pregnant person's hands no matter what exists outside of their moral framework just like "murder is wrong" exists outside the moral framework of a serial killer. So if I'm trying to argue against abortion legislation with someone I know is anti-abortion, I argue that abortion laws don't reduce abortions or abortion-related deaths. That the real way to reduce abortions is to make birth control over-the-counter and available to teenagers without parental permission like in the U.K. That if they think that is bad because it "promotes" premarital sex, they need to choose which is worse to them: teenagers having sex or abortions happening because teenagers are still going to have sex. That more support networks for pregnant people who want to keep the pregnancy but worry about their ability to financially support the child would do more good, and that there are several run by churches (but not enough, perhaps they should start one at their church)! That anti-abortion organizations in Europe who crusade against abortion in these ways are more successful at reducing abortion than any country with laws on the books to stop it.

You can apply this with a lot of things, but in short, when arguing with someone with different political views or morals that are mutually exclusive with yours, it's a bad bet to appeal to "but that's wrong! but that's bad! but that's immoral!" Jump straight to the practicalities, i.e. "That won't get you what you want, and here's why," not "You shouldn't want this." This won't always work (ex: you might run through all those abortion arguments, not satisfy the conservative you're arguing with, and in the process figure out that they really just want to legally punish people for premarital sex and don't actually care about abortion). However, leaving your morals out of an argument is your best bet at getting through to another person who may not share them.

*Updated to remove use of the term "psychopath" because I'm told that's an outdated concept.

#redemption arcs my beloved

Twitter is screenshoting us more and more often

@cat-a-holic @smol-catholic-bean @ave-immaculata @raspberryzingaaa @thebirdandhersong

Though you guys would want to know.

watching zeke annihilate hundreds of teenaged scouts 😇😇😇😇🥹🥹🥹☺️☺️☺️🥰🥰🥰😍😍😍😘

Watching Annie obliterate the Levi squad 🥰🥰

My husband’s job primarily employs adult men but there is one (1) teenage girl and my husband said originally he worried she might be a bit of an outcast but instead every man on the crew was like “huh guess I am a dad/older brother now.”

I’ve got a bit more beef with politics (US and international) to get off my chest, and while I hope nobody gets mad at me over this, that isn’t likely. 

I don’t think that many people understand that while a huge difference in the changing political spectrum is changing morality, another issue that I think we have is that each side has a different agenda than the other but everyone wants everyone else to have their same agenda.

Some people are LGBTQ+, some are disabled, some are Christian, some are Muslim, some are family-oriented, some are pro-life, some are anti-gun. Most/all of it has to do with our experiences and how we have lived our life.

And the biggest problem isn’t that we have these differences, it is that we cannot work with other people who hold a different view of our agendas than we do. Two people who hold different views on the LGBTQ community cannot work together to help alleviate the suffering of those in poverty. People who hold differing views on how to alleviate suffering cannot work together over national security. 

And to the people who say that the other side wants them dead and so they cannot compromise with them on any issue unless they stop wishing you dead, I would like to say that people on the other side probably feel the same thing about the issues they care deeply about. This is what politics has come to now. 

This is my beef with politics at the moment. Possible solutions would be relearning how to see humanity in the other side, trying to see things from the other person’s perspective, and learning that you are not always right, but the likely hood of people starting to do that is slim. I am not perfect in this area; no one I know is perfect at doing this. But it would help, I think. I could be wrong. But as I look around, I wonder what this all would look like if we listened to each other’s experiences instead of instantly brushing people off if we disagree with them.