Being Ni-Ti Is Not Believing You Understand How Ni Ti Works For Untold Weeks, Quietly Obsessing Over

I think the Hunger Games series sits in a similar literary position to The Lord of the Rings, as a piece of literature (by a Catholic author) that sparked a whole new subgenre and then gets blamed for flaws that exist in the copycat books and aren’t actually part of the original.

Like, despite what parodies might say, Katniss is nowhere near the stereotypical “unqualified teenager chosen to lead a rebellion for no good reason”.  The entire point is that she’s not leading the rebellion. She’s a traumatized teenager who has emotional reactions to the horrors in her society, and is constantly being reined in by more experienced adults who have to tell her, “No, this is not how you fight the government, you are going to get people killed.” She’s not the upstart teenager showing the brainless adults what to do–she’s a teenager being manipulated by smarter and more experienced adults. She has no power in the rebellion except as a useful piece of propaganda, and the entire trilogy is her straining against that role. It’s much more realistic and far more nuanced than anyone who dismisses it as “stereotypical YA dystopian” gives it credit for.

And the misconceptions don’t end there. The Hunger Games has no “stereotypical YA love triangle”–yes, there are two potential love interests, but the romance is so not the point. There’s a war going on! Katniss has more important things to worry about than boys! The romance was never about her choosing between two hot boys–it’s about choosing between two diametrically opposed worldviews. Will she choose anger and war, or compassion and peace? Of course a trilogy filled with the horrors of war ends with her marriage to the peace-loving Peeta. Unlike some of the YA dystopian copycats, the romance here is part of the message, not just something to pacify readers who expect “hot love triangles” in their YA. 

The worldbuilding in the Hunger Games trilogy is simplistic and not realistic, but unlike some of her imitators, Collins does this because she has something to say, not because she’s cobbling together a grim and gritty dystopia that’s “similar to the Hunger Games”. The worldbuilding has an allegorical function, kept simple so we can see beyond it to what Collins is really saying–and it’s nothing so comforting as “we need to fight the evil people who are ruining society”. The Capitol’s not just the powerful, greedy bad guys–the Capitol is us, First World America, living in luxury while we ignore the problems of the rest of the world, and thinking of other nations largely in terms of what resources we can get from them. This simplistic world is a sparsely set stage that lets us explore the larger themes about exploitation and war and the horrors people will commit for the sake of their bread and circuses, meant to make us think deeper about what separates a hero from a villain.

There’s a reason these books became a literary phenomenon. There’s a reason that dozens upon dozens of authors attempted to imitate them. But these imitators can’t capture that same genius, largely because they’re trying to imitate the trappings of another book, and failing to capture the larger and more meaningful message underneath. Make a copy of a copy of a copy, and you’ll wind up with something far removed from the original masterpiece. But we shouldn’t make the mistake of blaming those flaws on the original work.

I did this, wtf...

this sounds so stupid and naive but I think a lot of problems wrong with our society could be fixed if we tried to understand each other, regardless of what we feel about the other sides beliefs. Only by recognizing the divides between us can we come to cross them

the u.s. army.

so outside of kink and improv where are people available to express "cartoon villain emotions" with

reaction image thread

CLOUDPOSTING!

People are like “it’s so beautiful no clouds at all” it could use a little clouds if I had to be honest.

You know your parents raised you right when you're struggling between like five of these

mine are carrots, specifically raw. i can demolish a bag of baby carrots in one sitting. eat them like chips, no dip required

(sorry if tumblrs limit made me forget yours but pls tell me)

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.

A boy can dream, can't he?

Rewatching the first episode of Attack on Titan after finishing the series is one of the most devastating experiences, because you see everything with completely new eyes from the first viewing.

And yes I'm yapping about this bc I just showed it to my Nana on a whim and my head is filled with too many thoughts to leave unwritten.

SPOILER ALERT BELOW

Like, the Titans go from being these terrifying monsters to being tragic victims. You can't feel scared or tense in the same way, knowing that these are men, women, and children, forced to become the monsters they've been called their whole lives.

The most prominent feeling, though, is that sensation of unease and dread that permeates the whole first episode. In a sense, it's similar to watching for the first time, as the episode opens with that famous statement that "at that moment, everything changed." You watch as these three kids engage in what seems to be a day like any other, but the icky feeling in the back of your mind reminds you that something about this world is simply not right.

But rewatching it is so much worse, particularly in the case of Eren Jeager.

You see this child, and you understand now that while he seems like an innocent child with dreams of freedom, you notice how *outspoken* he is, how fiercely he speaks towards everyone, and you feel even worse, because you know what this boy is about to go through, just how much he's going to suffer, exactly what he's going to do, and how much he's going to fight, fight, fight for what he believes in.

So when vogel im kafig starts playing, as the smiling titan - no, you think, *Dinah* - wraps her fingers around Carla's body, as the jaws close and the screams of that boy tear through the air, you know *exactly* what's going to happen next, but there's nothing you can do. So as much as it hurts the first time, the hurt that comes from a cruel, uncaring death of a mother, it's so much worse when you realize it's the beginning of a tragedy like none other.

It's the beginning of a story not of hope, or freedom, or even revenge (although the show is about this, the first episode seems eerily eren focused, at least to me), but it's the story of a boy who lost himself to anger, to pain, to fear, and to the endless cycle of fighting, fighting, *fighting*, always moving forward but never moving ahead, who became the exact monster he so hated; a slave to the pursuit of the very thing he do desperately desired.

You watch the credits roll. Maybe a tear appeared in the corner of your eye, maybe you simply let out a sigh, maybe you went on tumblr and posted an unnecessary rant about it, but you had to do *something* to express your feelings on what you saw.

It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. You know exactly where it went wrong, and you know there's nothing that could have been done to stop it.

In a sense, you're just as much a slave as eren was.